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agentwhiskeysdarlin · 1 year ago

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Making It Up To You

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x F!Reader

Rating: NSFW 18+ (minors dni)

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

Word Count: 2.8k

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

ao3 link coming sometime…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you up to Jack Daniels?”

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

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

“Now. Go answer the door darlin’.”

“Okayyyy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” you spoke.

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

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

“Now you don’t know that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah I can’t lie I am.”

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

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

“I know but you need your rest angel.”

“I know,” your voice laced with sadness.

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

“Are you watching the same thing?”

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything frozen?”

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We really do.”

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

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

“I missed you too.”

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

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

Jack’s mouth fell open in fake appall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The groceries are still in the car.”

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

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

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

“Then proceed,” you smirked.

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

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bits-and-babs · 2 years ago

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𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐕𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐒 — 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 ‘𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐘’ 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐒

↳ summary: sick of sharing your lover, you pull out a master plan to convince him to stop 'seducing' his targets.

↳ pairing: jack 'whiskey' daniels x f!reader

↳ [2.1k words] content:18+ MDNI, jealous reader, soft!domme/sub dynamics, tying wrists, sex toys (m receiving), orgasm denial (m receiving), cum eating. This is a @beskarbabs remaster -- original post date 2021.

jack masterlist I| main masterlist |I join taglist

The last thing Agent Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels expected to see when he returned home from his essential field mission was indisputably what he walked into as soon as he came in through the front door of your shared apartment in New York.

You had been distressed by Jack's mission plan from the get-go, given the precariousness of him going undercover, but even more so when you were informed that he would need to... liaise with one of his targets. You'd told Champagne that he needed to get rid of those shitty "condom trackers" immediately after seeing the multiple disputes it had caused between other agents and their partners. Still, Champ had insisted that it was the most efficient way of tracking targets and that this was a matter of national security; you'd simply have to put your faith in Jack.

And you did have faith in Jack. You had complete assurance in his devotion to your relationship. However, that didn't mean you had to agree to share him with a target. He was a lady's man, a charmer. You knew he could flirt anyone, man or woman, into bed if he tried hard enough. But given he had no choice, and he always came home to you rather than running away with another woman, you didn't allow your jealousy to seep through until AFTER he came home.

Your distinct lack of clothing results in Jack's frankly amusing expression as he walks in from work, lips parted and eyebrows raised with shock as he looks you over. You wear nothing but the lacy lingerie set that Jack bought as a gift for your anniversary a few weeks ago. Bare, bar for the lace, you stand patiently in the middle of the hall, looking Jack over from head to toe with an expression of indigence.

"Well, well, Sugar. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He breaks out in that signature smirk of his, walking forward to wrap his arm around your waist. You put up your index finger, stopping the brash and self-assured agent in his tracks. He glanced down, noting the lasso in your hand.

"Darlin'-" You reach up, taking the knot of his tie in your hand and pulling it down and off, the fabric making a soft 'wooshing' sound as it slipped from his linen button-down. You then push your hands under the lapels of his blazer jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and onto the floor. He holds your gaze, his normally earthy-hued eyes dilated almost totally black.

You lean on your tiptoes, and Jack closes his eyes, expecting a kiss. Instead, you move your lips to his ear and whisper one word.

"Upstairs." It's not a request, it's a demand, and Agent Daniels looks like you'd just given him whiplash. Gawking at you, it takes him a minute to register precisely what you were telling him. He blinks in an attempt to shake himself from his bewilderment.

"Yes, Ma'am..." He finally responds, in somewhat of a daze, as he makes his way up the stairs. You knew your plan would catch him off guard, but his reaction had been priceless! He glances over his shoulder, ensuring you're following behind before he makes it up the stairs.

"Go sit on the bed," you command him. He does exactly as he's told with no argument, a rare occurrence for Jack, who could never seem to keep his smug and blustering mouth shut. You put it down to him being so shocked by your little surprise that he couldn't form a sentence. He sits pretty on the bed, palms awkwardly placed on his thighs as he watches you. He's not used to you taking control. You were always the one to do as you were told.

"Wrists together," You adjure. He does that, too, eyebrow arched slightly.

"Sugar, what are you up t-" You just give him a look, one that silently orders him to shut up. He presses his lips into a thin line, not saying anything more as you loop his lasso around his wrists. His eyes follow your movements, glad to see that you had, in fact, picked up a standard rope rather than his spare Statesman weapons.

You knot the rope tightly, pulling at his forearms to ensure he can't break free from his binds. The agent arches his brow in yet another querying gaze, and you respond by simply putting your palm to his chest, pushing him backwards so his back hits the bed and knocking his hat off in the process. You smirk at his obvious shock, trying to wiggle from his bonds.

"You gonna ride your cowboy?" He teases you, but finds himself speechless once again as you move onto your hands and knees, crawling up the bed until you're straddling his hips. He hadn't expected you to actually do it! You take his chin roughly in your hand, forcing him to look you in the eye.

"I don't like sharing you, Jack," you whisper. You're turned on by the level of power you now hold over him, and he can hear it in your voice, see it in your dilated eyes. He stumbles over his words, and you feel his cock stir in his jeans.

"Darlin', I was just doin' my job," he finally splutters as you pull open his button-down shirt, the clattering of those buttons hitting the floor making his eyes wide in utter shock. You smirk at his expression, noting the way his adam's-apple bobs. Have you made him nervous?

"You were," you agree, musing as you trail the tip of your index finger down from between his collarbones, tracing his sternum and finally slowing when you reached his belt, "But that doesn't mean I like it, Whiskey." His eyes flick to your hand, now in the process of unbuckling his belt. He's once again uncharacteristically bereft of speech, utterly dumbstruck.

"I need to remind you who you belong to, Jack." Your honeyed tone has his hands curling into fists in their confines. You've never been like this with him; it's such a pleasant surprise. You slip his belt out of the loops of his jeans and unbutton them in quick succession.

You shuck his jeans from his hips, taking his boxers with them. His breath hitches in surprise, muscles tense and assuming you would take him into your mouth. He closes his eyes slowly, tilting his head back into the pillows as he waits to feel your lips around his already throbbing cock- so when he feels the pressure of your weight on the mattress shift away from him, he snaps his eyes open in confusion, looking to see where those lips had gone.

He finds you leaning over the end of the bed, searching in the bedside cabinet for something.

"Whatcha up to, BabyGirl?" He queries, eyes following your hand as you dig around. A self-satisfied smirk stretches across your lips as you find what you are looking for. You feel Whiskey stiffen at the sight of the pink bullet vibrator in your hand. You had been sure to charge it fully when Jack left a few days ago, and it had sat in the cabinet waiting to be used.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson, Mr Daniels," you hum, holding the button down until it starts buzzing in your hand. You can see Jack begin to panic a little, realising how much control you have over the situation.

"What d'ya mean, a les-" Jack breaks off into a broken moan as you place the vibrator against the head of his leaking cock. It's red and angry already, throbbing with the intensity of the vibrations. He pushes his hips backwards into the bed in a futile attempt to escape the torture you inflict upon him, giving him a delicious arch in his back that has the crown of his head pushing back into the pillows.

"F-Fuck!" He chokes out as you trace the vibrator down his dick achingly slow. His entire body shudders at the warmth that spreads like tendrils in his lower abdomen. You smirk, watching his composure melt away.

"What is it, Jack? You speechless? I highly doubt that," you mock him, enjoying this display of dominance over your egocentric lover. But, funnily enough, he is indeed speechless. His moans had caught in his throat, arching his back further as you ran the tip of the vibrator over his balls before making its way back up to the end of his throbbing cock.

"You know I won't share you anymore, right?" You coo, watching as he tries to struggle against the lasso's bindings. It's fruitless, you both know, but his mind is so hazy with desire that he just can't think straight. He just nods desperately in response to your question, trying to form words.

"Fuck- I'm-" He chokes out another strangled groan as you circle the tip of his head, making his hips sloppily buck upwards into thin air, "I'm sorry."

You have to swallow your own moans; Jack wholly lost in this hedonism causing a subtle warmth to settle in your lower tummy. He convulses with a gasp as you lean forward, collecting the precum on the tip of his dick on your tongue. "Nghhh fuck!"

You can feel his thick thighs trembling already, and he starts babbling mindless garbage as he hurtles closer and closer to his climax.

"I wo-won't touch anyone again! Fuck-! Fuck Champ, fuck those st- shit!" He gasps out, body jerking as you trace his balls with your tongue, "fuck those stupid trackers!" You smirk, noting the deterioration in his self-control.

"You gonna only touch me, Agent Whiskey? Fuck me when you come back from your missions instead?" You murmur before brushing your tongue from base to tip. He shudders, barely able to hold it together.

"F-Fuck Darlin', I-I'm gonna-" He's cut off by a desperate and uncharacteristic wail as you pull away from him altogether, the vibrator still buzzing in your hand. Jack looks wounded, balls drawn up tight, and a pained expression cast across his face. You just give him a flirty smirk, eyebrow arched.

"Answer the question, Agent," You purr, watching his eyes roll back slightly into his skull. He seems to take a few shaky breaths, deep enough that you can see his ribcage expand on the inhale. You assume he's trying to gather his thoughts, so you press the vibrator's button again, turning it up to a higher setting before pushing it to the tip of his cock again.

If he hadn't had his arms tied in front of him, Jack practically would have folded in half with the way the upper half of his body jumped up from the bed. His whine is almost pained, knuckles white with the fists he'd made.

"I'm waiting," you drawl as he grits his teeth, trying to combine words into something like a sentence.

"I- Jesus!" He growls out, forcing his words out in that deep vibrato that sends chills up your spine, "I promise!" You coo gently, running the vibrator up and down the shaft of his angry red, veiny cock at a brutally slow pace. He's so close to cumming; you can see it in the way his abdomen muscles tense and his cock bobs.

"Good. You're mine. No one else's," You clarify, pressing the button to its highest setting and watching as Jack threw his head back with a ragged gasp as he came. Hard.

Ropes of cum coat his stomach and chest, dribbling down onto your fingertips as he bucks his hips into thin air again. The customarily composed Jack can barely breathe, coming undone at the eviscerating orgasm ripping through him. The moan that once again caught in his throat slips into something akin to a whine, all the muscles in his body tight and cramped.

As he finally comes down from his blinding high, Jack pants heavily, trying to stop the dizzying feeling in his head from the inability to inhale for a solid minute. Not ready to stop playing with this sexy, confident alter ego, you dip your fingers in the cum on his stomach, lifting them to your lips and tracing your tongue over it, moaning at the salty taste.

"Fuck, Sugar..." Jack pants, struggling against his binds again, "Let me out of these so I can kiss you." But much to his surprise, you don't answer him. Instead, you just shimmy your way up his body. He blinks, still in a daze.

"Darlin'-" He begins to question, but you just press your index finger to his lips as you straddle his pelvis, smirking.

"I'm not done with you yet. I still need to ride my cowboy."

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 2 years ago

Text

V ║ Appaloosa

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 4: Strawberry Roan | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 6: Mustang }

Rating: E

Summary: You and Jack play house for a day.

Warnings: This is filthy, light angst, feelings, flirting, insecurities, sexual innuendoes, protected sex, fingering, dirty talk, language, mention of food, no use of Y/N

Word count: 2.9k

Notes: Cowboy Jack and his Darlin' are back. This is a bit of a transitional chapter as we move into the second part of the their week together, and shit's getting real 🥺 I know it's been a while, and I hope this doesn't disappoint ❤️

Appaloosa: An American horse breed best known for its colourful spotted coat pattern.

Jack can’t remember the last time he missed his alarm.

When he slowly comes to, the room is quiet, the digital beep from his phone that you must have switched off but an echo in his ears. He exhales heavily through his nose and turns onto his side, where he finds you burrowed into your pillow.

You stretch languidly as Jack drapes his arm over you, warm and heavy, his bare skin finding yours under the duvet. His baritone rumbles in your ear. ‘Mornin’, darlin’.’

You smile as he presses a kiss to your temple. You mumble back, ‘Morning, cowboy.’

‘Sleep well?’

Shifting onto your back and blinking up at his face hovering just above you, you nod and let your gaze trail over his rumpled hair, his warm eyes, still hooded with sleep, and lips curled into a gentle smile. The morning light spilling through the window chases away the tailend of the chill from last night, and the air in the room is ripe with the musk of sex and slumber. You hum and pull him in for a chaste kiss.

‘Do the horses need feeding?’ you ask as he settles between your thighs, holding himself above you on elbows either side of your face.

‘No, I left the feed out for them last night,’ he answers, but stays still otherwise, as if he’s letting you take the lead on how this morning should play out.

You run your hands down his back, sliding slowly against his skin as you feel goosebumps bloom in their wake. Cocking your head to the side, you say, ‘So theoretically, if your guests don’t feel well -’

Jack’s brow immediately furrows in worry. ‘You don’t feel well?’

You shake your head, soothing your palms over his lower back as you reassure him, ‘No, I feel perfectly well. It’s just,’ you pause and bite your bottom lip. ‘Just theoretically - could we stay one more night?’

You can tell it’s not what he expected to hear, but the way his gaze darkens just ever so slightly doesn’t escape you. His voice comes out deeper when he finally says, ‘But we’re going to miss all the sights we were going to see today.’

With a slow nod, you reply, ‘I know.’

Jack shifts, taking his weight off one elbow so that his hips slowly but surely brush against yours. ‘We’ll have to take a shortcut.’

You don’t mean for your words to come out so breathless, but they do anyway. ‘I understand.’

Jack’s voice drops to a throaty whisper. ‘We’ll have to ride extra hard tomorrow to make up for lost time.’

‘How hard?’ you prompt, wrapping one leg around his waist, your breath hitching when you feel his hard length sliding through your folds.

‘Very hard,’ he breathes through gritted teeth, his large palms cupping your ass and squeezing greedily, pulling you flush to him.

‘How about I show you how hard I can ride, cowboy?’ You grin against his lips. ‘Will it put your mind at ease, sir?’

Jack groans and takes your lips in a searing kiss, rocking against your dampening core before pulling back to growl, ‘Not fuckin’ likely, darlin’.’

Jack’s never been one to cut work. Hell, he’d never even taken a sick day until his wife’s accident. After the funeral, he’d packed up his truck and headed straight into the woods, where he spent the entirety of three months in silent solitude in the depths of the forests.

Then he went back to work, and he’s never stopped since.

But right now, he can’t bring himself to care that he’s putting a blemish on his perfect record - not when his eyes are on your tits as you bounce on his cock, the pulse in your neck rabbiting under the scrape of his teeth when you throw your head back, nails digging into his shoulders and grounding him to the moment. In the back of his head, he hears the bed creak underneath, an off-key violin to the tune of your gasps and moans.

‘Fuck, darlin’, you ride me so well,’ he praises you, one hand coming down to smack you on the ass, which makes you stutter something incoherent as your pussy clenches around him.

‘Told you so,’ you somehow manage to reply smartly, prompting a growl from him as he thrusts up into you so hard that you nearly fall off his lap. ‘Jack!’

‘Just testin’ how well you stay on a buckin’ bronco,’ he sasses back at you with a debauched grin.

You bite your lip, hips desperately grinding against his. So close that your insides are trembling, you let his comeback slide, begging instead, ‘Do it again, Jack, please, gonna cum -’

He leans forward and presses a desperate kiss to your lips, his words catching in his throat as he feels you break around him. ‘Anythin’ for you, darlin’.’

Tequila’s battered truck rattles up to the Halfway House a few minutes after nine, the metallic grunts of the engine breaking the still of the morning. Jameson sits patiently on the passenger side, but his tail is thumping excitedly on the seat at the sight of his favourite playground in the mountains.

Whistling to himself, Tequila rounds the truck to let the border collie out, who bounds headfirst towards the paddock. Looking up, he grins at the sight of the three horses still in the stables.

Champ owes him fifty bucks, and he intends to collect.

He knocks anyway - his mama taught him manners - and he gives it a couple more tries before letting himself in, leaving the door ajar if Jameson wants to come in.

The house is silent, only the floorboards creaking under his boots as he makes a sweep of the living space. Remnants of the night before are scattered about in wine-stained glasses, empty dishes and dying embers in the fireplace.

He gotta give it to Jack. Man’s got moves.

Humming quietly to himself, Tequila pulls open the fridge door, the interior light flooding him in orange as he pokes his head inside, and his eyes light up at the half-eaten chocolate cake. He shrugs and reaches for it - might as well have a second breakfast while he waits.

And he doesn’t have to wait long. He’s just finishing up the last of his slice at the dining table when he hears movement down the corridor to the guest bedrooms. There’s a flush of the toilet and a trickle of water, then Jack emerges in just his jeans, head down while he does up the fly.

‘Mornin’ sunshine,’ pipes up Tequila, louder than he needs to. He enjoys the way the normally calm and collected cowboy jumps a foot in fright.

Rubbing his palm over his eyes, Jack groans and stumbles over his words. ‘Oh fuck. Sorry, I meant to call. Our guest - uh, she isn’t feeling well, so we’ll be staying one more night. So that she can - get better.’

Tequila crosses his arms, one eyebrow arched. ‘She isn’t feeling well, huh?’

‘Yeah, um - something with the food,’ mumbles Jack as he stalks over to the kitchen sink to pour himself a glass of water, which he downs.

‘Losing your touch in the kitchen, Daniels?’

‘Shut up, Teak,’ glowers Jack, steadfastly avoiding his friend’s gaze as he busies himself with moving the dirty dishes from the kitchen counter. He turns on the hot water and squeezes far too much washing up liquid into the stoppered sink. Grabbing a sponge, he begins to aggressively wash up.

Tequila watches with a pleasant smile and comments, ‘Funny choice of attire when our guest can walk in any moment, by the way.’

Spinning around with soapy hands, Jack opens his mouth, ready to make up another excuse - when his eyes alight on the box of condoms haphazardly ripped open lying in plain sight on the table in front of the other cowboy.

Pointing what he hopes is a menacing finger at Teak - as menacing as it can be with suds sliding off the tip of it - he growls, ‘Not a single word from you, understand?’

Tequila flashes him a shit-eating grin. ‘C’mon, a thank you would be nice. I drove into town specially to get you those rubbers, you know. Did I get the sizing right, by the way? Not too loose?’

Jack resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. ‘How did you even -’

‘Like recognises like,’ winks Tequila.

Rolling his eyes, Jack turns back to the dishes and says, ‘Just get the fuck out of here before she wakes up.’

‘I can’t,’ he protests. ‘I gotta collect your dirty laundry and strip the beds. Bet I only need to strip one bed though.’

The front door whines on its hinges - it really needs a good oiling - as Jameson runs into the house, barking at the sight of Jack, who gives him a wet pat on the head.

He freezes when he hears another door creak, but before he can sound the warning, you pad out of the corridor and into the living area in just his shirt, your eyes still squinty with sleep.

‘Did I just hear a dog -’ you stop abruptly in your tracks when you spot Tequila waving to you.

‘Mornin’ sweetheart,’ calls out Tequila with a two-fingered salute. He turns to Jack and pronounces, ‘Well, she hardly looks rode hard and put away wet, does she?’

You blink, your limited morning brain power preoccupied by Jameson, who’s shimmied up to you wagging his tail. Scratching him behind the ear, you try to muster a response to Tequila’s rather cryptic remark. ‘I mean, um, maybe not in so many words -’

Jack cuts in from across the kitchen. ‘Darlin’, do not answer that. It’s a southern sayin’ and he’s just tryin’ to wind you up.’

Tequila wriggles his eyebrows at you playfully. ‘Wind up the birthday girl? Never! Happy birthday, by the way. I’m guessing Jack showed you a good time?’

‘Get outta here, Teak!’

He surrenders with his palms up, vacating the kitchen table. ‘Alright, alright, no need to shout, Daniels. I’ll be back tomorrow then. If you decide to stay another night, just send a text,’ he pauses and gives you a suggestive wink. ‘We can always send a car to pick you up instead at the end of the week.’

Whistling at Jameson to follow, Tequila calls out over his shoulder in farewell. ‘Keep your saddle oiled and your gun greased!’

As the door shuts behind him, you burst into laughter.

‘What the hell did he just say?’

The afternoon light filters through the half-drawn blinds over the bathroom window, casting shadows on the tiled floor that only grow longer as the lazy hours tick by.

The water has long gone tepid, your plans for what was meant to be a quick bath alone derailed when Jack climbed in after you.

The condoms are in the bedroom, and neither of you are inclined to leave the tub, so he has you spread in his lap, your tits heaving just above the waterline. Bubbles cling to your nipples as Jack draws slippery circles on your clit, sucking hot kisses onto the side of your neck.

‘Harder, Jack. Mark me, please,’ you beg. His cock is hot and heavy in your hand, and you feel him twitch as your words hit home.

‘Yeah? Want me to fuckin’ brand you, darlin’?’ he growls into your ear before sucking on your skin so viciously that you cry out, thrusting his fingers into you as you start to cum. You stroke him harder, feeling him tense behind you before a violent shudder goes through his body, harsh breaths in your ear as he lets go. ‘That’s it, darlin’. So good for me, cummin’ so hard on my fingers like that while I mark you -’

You slump bonelessly into Jack’s chest when your high passes, and you tilt your head backwards so that he can kiss you fully on your mouth, tongues meeting languidly, your nails sliding into his wet hair to pull him closer.

Nose in your temple, he eyes the blooming hickey on the base of your neck with a deep grunt of satisfaction.

Jack’s voice is warm against the shell of your ear as he ambles up behind you, big palms leaning on the kitchen counter on either side of you. ‘Is it regressive of me to find the sight of you cookin’ very sexy?’

You smile, not looking up as you measure out the dried pasta. ‘It might just be that I’m wearing nothing underneath your shirt.’

You shriek when he draws up the hem to see that you’re not lying, ducking to press an open-mouthed kiss to the side of your naked hip before wrapping his arms around you.

‘What’s on the menu, chef?’ he asks, chin on your shoulder.

‘Carbonara,’ you answer, the ingredients you found laid out on the kitchen counter, along with the freshly cut parsley that Jack got from the garden.

‘With cream and peas?’ he asks dubiously.

You toss him a look over your shoulder. ‘Didn’t peg you for a pasta snob, cowboy.’

He chuckles. ‘I’m not sure who will want to wring your neck first - Poppy or the Italians.’

‘Good thing I can count on you to get me out of a spot of trouble, can’t I?’

‘Depends on how good that carbonara is,’ he teases, letting out an exaggerated oomph when you gently elbow him in the stomach in rebuke. He adds, ‘You didn’t have to cook, you know. I would’ve been happy to do it.’

‘You deserve a break,’ you say as you crack an egg for the sauce. You pause, the words caught in your windpipe as you hesitate. When they do come out, you don’t sound as nonchalant as you would’ve liked to. ‘And I wanted to show you that I can feed myself when you’re not around to cook for me, cowboy.’

It’s the first time any mention of what lies beyond this week has been articulated between you two. The air shifts, and for a split second, the unwelcome weight of reality suddenly looms over you, all-consuming - until you feel Jack shuffle on his feet behind you.

His calloused palms close over hands - you’ve completely overbeaten the egg mixture while your mind wandered - and you set the bowl and fork down, your restless fingers gripping the edge of the countertop instead.

‘I have no doubt you will manage without me,’ he says, almost diplomatically.

But when his hands find your waist again, he holds you tighter.

Out on the deck, next to the stairs, stands a serious-looking telescope. Over the carbonara - a home run, by the way - you remind Jack he promised a couple of nights ago that he’ll show you the constellations. Warm from eating in front of the fire, you venture outside afterwards with just a thick blanket draped over Jack’s shirt, your legs bare from mid-thigh down.

But the cowboy’s not very inclined to keep his end of the bargain.

‘I could fuck you all day,’ he hums distractedly into your neck.

You roll your eyes fondly. ‘You have fucked me all day.’

‘I want to fuck you all day tomorrow, too.’

‘Cowboy -’

‘And the day after.’

‘Jack - ’

‘And the day after that.’

You know he doesn’t mean to, but your heart sinks at his casual mention of days after - how many more do you have left before it’s just… after?

After this week.

After this trip.

After Wyoming.

After Jack.

You can hear the sands shifting. You can no longer tell the top of the hourglass from the bottom.

But you can’t dwell on that - not now.

‘You said you’ll show me the stars, cowboy,’ you try to redirect the conversation as he slides a hand under the shirt and squeezes your breast. You arch into his touch - it is beyond your comprehension how your body is still responding after all that he’s tirelessly wrung out of it today.

‘Don’t worry, darlin’,’ he quips, his other hand delving underneath the layers to cup your bare pussy. ‘I’ll make sure you see stars, all right.’

Then he bends you over the white railing - the blanket discarded at your feet and your shirt hitched up around your waist - you faintly hear the clink of his belt buckle and the rustle of a condom packet before he’s pushing into your wet cunt.

Your bottom lip stings as your teeth close over it, his fingers lacing with yours on the bannister as he thrusts into you. His moans fill your ears as you take him, his cock ramming into you so hard that you’re pinned to the railing on your tiptoes by the sheer force of his fucking.

‘You can be as loud as you want, darlin’,’ Jack coaxes. Facing the other way, you can’t see him, but you can almost hear his teeth grind as he fights to hold on. ‘Let me hear you, please, I need to hear you -’

He has you panting into the Wyoming night sky, the sweet sound of his name on your lips something that he will remember you by - months from now, when he sits on the porch on his lonesome, another cohort of strangers fast asleep in the bed that you two once shared on a crisp midsummer night.

Notes: It was so much fun writing Tequila into this chapter after Jack and Darlin' have had so much alone time together! I know this was quite a short chapter compared to what's come before, but I think a lot of my anxiety was actually coming from chapters running (which means more time and more editing), so I think we might be seeing more compact chapters from now on.

I'm thrilled to see so many new readers these few weeks, but I noticed that most only like the chapters. This is a gentle reminder that comments and reblogs are strongly encouraged ❤️ We writers put in so much of our free time on our fics, all we ask for is meaningful interaction to keep us going!

Horsey notes: I was googling Southern sayings that Tequila could deliver as a punchline, and ridden hard and put away wet was so perfect that I laughed out loud when I discovered it because it was so on-theme!

The phrase describes someone who looks unwell, and has a horsey origin. You never put a horse away wet if he's sweaty or washed down, they should always be towelled or brushed dry. This is covered in the last chapter when Darlin' scrapes Whiskey dry after hosing him down.

#jack daniels fanfic #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels #jack whiskey daniels #jack whiskey daniels x reader #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey

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fullcollectivecloud · 2 years ago

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COMING SOON…

#pedro pascal #the mandaloria/reader #pedro pascal x reader #the mandalorian #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #jack whiskey daniels #jack whiskey daniels x reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader

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prolix-yuy · 1 year ago

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Chapter 1: I Once Had a Different Path

Pairing: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x F!Reader "Sugar"

Summary: It's only been a year.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: T, discussions of a bad relationship, drinking, little bit of angst, will be E in later chapters so full series is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: Welcome back to Westworld Whiskey! Almost the moment I finished Cognitive Dissonance the idea for this fic leapt into my head, and I've been trying to figure it all out since! The outpouring of love for this story makes me unreasonably giddy, and I am so excited to share what Jack and Sugar have been up to.

This story takes place exactly a year after the events of Cognitive Dissonance. Honestly, the Westworld timeline is confusing as heck, and so much happens that the public wouldn't know or see, so in terms of the show it's taking place after the fall of the Delos theme parks early in season 3. I'm taking some liberties with how Westworld and the world around it works, but we should all have a good time because of it. For those not as familiar with later seasons, the "real world" takes place in 2053 in a modern futuristic setting.

Cross-posted on AO3

Decoherence Masterlist || Whiskey & Westworld Masterlist

The glow of sun on your back, baking into your skin and spreading golden through your limbs, makes today feel like a really freaking good day. You’re wearing your favorite outfit, your shoes are comfy on your feet, and the air is just warm enough that you don’t have to wear a heavy jacket. When the door to the coffee shop schicks open, the uplifting scent of dark roast and cinnamon sugar practically dances on your tongue.

Strike that. A fantastic day.

Lacey is already at her favorite sitting spot, a low table with two high-backed armchairs jammed in a corner far from the automated baristas and hiss of milk froth. She catches sight and waves, bright peony pink in her chiffon dress. Curled in the chair she’s akin to neapolitan ice cream, and just as cool when she gestures to your waiting cup. Not before jumping up to give you a hug, though.

“I’m so glad to see you! It’s been too long!” she exclaims, a sentiment you’ve often heard from long-lost acquaintances but Lacey puts every ounce of honesty behind it. You give her another squeeze before settling in your proffered chair, cradling the thick retro ceramic mug in your hands.

“Well you’ve been pretty busy, Mrs. Hughes,” you sing-song, back, knocking your shoes off so you can settle more comfortably. “How was the honeymoon? The photos were gorgeous.”

You descend into vacation chatter, looking at photos on Lacey’s phone and laughing over whatever little anecdote she shares. The coffee buzzes pleasantly in your veins, bittersweet on your tongue. The sun streams in the café window and drapes warmth across your shoulders again.

It feels like the perfect day.

"How's married life treating you?"

Lacey smiles, bright enough to crinkle her whole face, and the radiance of it blooms in your chest.

"Not much different really, which is probably for the best," she says, taking another sip of her coffee. You're prepared to ask her something else, some follow-up question, when she reaches over and squeezes your hand.

"You look really good, too," she says, her eyes softening. "I know it was hard, with the wedding and everything going on with Eric at the same time, but...you look so much happier."

Your throat tightens, but it's a welcome feeling for once.

"I am. Much happier."

She’s right. It was hard. Once you were alone with your thoughts, your decision made, all of the terrifying reality had crashed down on you. You’d sobbed in your car, half curled in the driver's seat, trying to will yourself to go inside and face Eric.

It didn’t get any better once you finally did. The shouting, the accusations, the tears, and shockingly a chair kicked against the wall so hard it left an ugly dent. He never laid a hand on you, but the anger raked across your pounding heart, the cruelty sinking into your flesh like teeth. You grabbed just enough of your things to escape, his bellowing voice following you as your hands shook.

What the fuck do you mean you’re leaving?

What the hell did Lacey say to you?

Are you fucking serious?

After all I’ve done for us?

I can’t believe you’re being so selfish.

What has gotten into you?

The words echoed between your ears while you laid in your motel room bed, too raw and ashamed to call anyone for a place to stay. You woke stiff and silent and achingly alone, and regret welled in your throat.

Were you being stupid? Were you giving up the life you were supposed to have?

But then the day passed, hours spent driving aimlessly with the radio on low, long walks on bike paths lost in your thoughts. And while failure burned behind your eyes, the dreaded whispers of why didn’t you try harder creeping into your brain, the vice grip in your chest began to unwind. A lightness you hadn’t felt in years began lifting your shoulders, your head, even the corners of your mouth.

The neverending ache was finally gone.

You slept better that night, and in the morning you called Lacey. She drove out to pick you up, her tight embrace ushering in a new flood of tears.

“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry,” is all she says at first, rocking you back and forth like when you were both young and upset about a schoolyard fight. Then more pointed questions, her face hardening as you detail the slow descent into unhappiness you’d been hiding from her for years.

“He never did anything bad. I just…I couldn’t…” You struggled to voice all the fears that still lingered until she squeezed your hands.

“He didn’t have to treat you badly to not treat you the way you wanted. And if he can’t change, or doesn’t want to change, then this isn’t right for you.”

A fresh wave of tears followed the well-worn tracks down your face.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

She rubbed at your face with a crumpled tissue.

“Everything is going to be okay.’

It took a few days before the tornado of Lacey’s true feelings pulled to the forefront. Later she’d tell you she barely kept her cool while you cried in her living room, Alan instructing her to punch it out at the gym rather than overwhelm you. But barely settled into your temporary housing, she rang you in the middle of the day.

“We’re getting your stuff.”

“What…?”

“Eric is at work, Alan did a drive-by and checked. He’s waiting with the truck. I’m picking you up and we’re getting your things, then we’re going to leave your key on the table and never go back.”

She was chatting in low tones with Alan when you answered the door, face lined with concern. The stern expression melted into dismay when she took in your tired eyes and sloped shoulders.

“That motherfucker should be ashamed of himself for doing this to you,” she spits out, crushing you into a hug that almost suffocates you.

“Lace, I was the one…” you tried to say, but she cut you off with a sharp chop of her hand.

“I’ve got plenty to say about Eric and what I think about him when everything settles, but I’ll tell you this - I fucking hate him for making you feel like this. And we’re going to get your things and never see him again.”

So you did, emptying your drawers and shared closet - always less room allocated for you than him. Lacey shuffled through mail and tossed in anything that had your name on it in a bankers box. Later you’d have to disentangle your lives, but for now you could take solace in having your toiletries back, and placing your photos and family heirlooms safe in Alan’s truck. He helped move your grandmother’s hope chest into the truck bed, and silently drove as Lacey let you lean on her shoulder. Your childhood stuffed dog sat in your lap, and its gentle weight gave you a moment of relief.

Eric’s shouting through the phone later that night sliced across your chest, but only for a brief moment. You’d left the ring on the counter, and that thankfully shut him up.

The following months had been a blur of canceled engagements, severed services, broken agreements and bitter voicemails. Eric tried a few times to entice you back, forgiving you for having cold feet and wanting to get dinner, coffee, to talk. Your heart tugged at the softness in his voice.

We can still make this work.

But then the cold reality of the situation crept in. He wanted the picture-perfect life he thought he deserved. He wanted to have everything without working for it. And most of all, he wanted you to be grateful for him giving you everything he thought you deserved. Not what you wanted, but what he decided you should want.

That was never going to change.

Lacey and Alan helped where they could, but you didn’t want to taint the excitement of their upcoming nuptials. So you told them you were fine and signed a lease on a modest apartment while you picked out the barbs of Eric’s latest outburst. You picked out a dress for her wedding and were secretly grateful that she didn’t make you a bridesmaid. You didn’t think you’d be able to keep it together in front of all her family and friends. You drank too much champagne and considered a tumble with one of Alan’s single friends but instead threw up in your hotel room toilet and woke up fully clothed on top of the bed. The first thought that greeted you once you could see through your headache was, “Thank fuck I’m not getting married.”

The giggles were sharp against your sore stomach, but with that you finally felt something in you begin healing.

“...and I know I wasn’t around as much as I could have been, and it kills me that you were going through it alone, and on my bachelorette for crying out loud, how insensitive was that…”

Lacey’s diatribe brings you back to the café and your cooling coffee and Lacey’s earnest grip on your hand. You shush her with a few squeezes.

“You were a big part of why I finally got up the courage to leave. And I am so fucking glad I did,” you say, earning another smile that glitters with morning light.

“I think someone else also had some influence,” Lacey says, looking pointedly over her cup as she takes an innocent sip. Your brow furrows briefly before the implication of her tone slams into your chest.

Jack.

“That was a year ago…holy shit, today,” Lacey exclaims, twisting her wrist to verify on her smart watch.

“Wow, yeah,” you say weakly, swirling the dregs of coffee in your cup.

Yet again, Lacey isn’t wrong. Jack did open your eyes to a world that could offer the care and comfort you were yearning for. But you’d been forced to push memories of him to the back of your mind.

Weeks after the breakup, with Lacey lying on your brand new bed in your half-empty apartment, you told her about your weekend with the suave yet gentle cowboy. She interjected with excited “I knew it!” and “Holy shit yes!” exclamations as you recounted the cattle run, the innocent lie, the dinner, and the lust-filled night (heavily redacted, met with disappointment). Once the story was told you laid beside each other, silence stretching until she finally said, “I’m so happy Jack helped you realize you deserve more.”

So were you.

“Did you ever think about booking another weekend?” Lacey asks, placing her cup down so she can more fully watch you, playful smirk making you roll your eyes. “I mean, before all the stuff in the news about them.”

Guests injured in the park. A veil of silence and NDAs falling over Delos. An uncertain return.

You chew on your answer for a moment. It’s easy to chalk up not going back to the current state of the park, but in recent weeks you had been thinking more and more about Jack. Maybe it was some old movie you caught late at night, horses riding across gloriously wide plains. A cowboy hat or two you swore you saw in a crowd, only to be tricked by perspective and light. Strong, broad silhouettes that reminded you of large hands, a clever mouth, a warm embrace.

Tell her the truth.

“No,” you finally sigh, putting your cup down a little firmly.

You couldn’t.

“Why not?”

“It’s all fantasy, I’m not into that more than once.”

You couldn’t bear to see him again.

“Not even a little more fantasy with a certain cowboy?” Her eyes drop to your left hand, and you realize you’ve been slowly rotating the turquoise band she gave you on your ring finger. When you returned the engagement ring it became a comforting weight replacing what you’d given up. You fold them instead under Lacey’s watchful eye.

“It’s not real,” is the excuse you give.

He’s not real, and you can’t have him.

Lacey shrugs, looking at the time again and gathering up her coat.

“Real enough that you changed your whole life over it,” she observes, not unkindly. You stand up as she gathers her purse.

“It was a perfect weekend. Going back would have ruined it.”

Him not remembering you would have ruined it.

Lacey sighs but acquiesces, giving you a hug and confirming your next coffee date in a couple weeks. They’ve become a sweet schedule you look forward to more than you thought.

Once she breezes out the door, all summer blush and cosmopolitan chic, you join the line to get a coffee to go. The machine at work is dismal, and you’d much rather spend the four dollars. You enter your order on the cool blue holoscreen and step to the side to wait. The warmth of a good conversation bubbles in your veins, a beam of sunlight caressing your back. Even the brief memory of Jack you allow - his hands soft on your skin, the tender brush of his nose on your cheek, how safe you felt in his arms - fills your heart to bursting. A smile plumps your cheek. Today really is an exceptional day.

But oddly enough, your toes are wet.

Looking down, you can’t help but let out an exasperated, “Oh c’mon you idiot,” as you realize you didn’t put your shoes back on, and have now stepped in someone’s spilled beverage. So maybe not the perfect day, but you’re close enough to home to swing by and grab a new pair of socks. Shaking your head, you spin on your heel to retrieve your abandoned shoes.

You could have done it a breath sooner, or later, and never been the wiser. Or you could have kept your damn shoes on - do we live in a barn, your mother’s voice echoes in your ears - and avoided the issue in the first place. But today, on an exceptionally perfect day, you turn and take a step just as someone passes behind you, propelling your frame into their broader form. You almost bounce, but the stranger catches you by your shoulders, large firm palms wrapping around your biceps.

“Whoa there,” a deep voice says, laced with a southern drawl. It tickles something in your brain, neurons firing at memories close to the surface.

“Shit, sorry,” you mumble, stepping back to apologize properly to the man you almost bowled over. As your eyes begin their ascent the voice is clearer, sharp as a bullwhip crack.

“You okay Sugar?”

Your breath freezes in your throat, eyes snapping to the man’s face. He swims in your vision before the soft curl of his brown hair, the delicate trim of his mustache, the hawkish curve to his nose comes into focus. If that wasn’t enough for your short-circuiting brain to manage, his plush lips part in concern, deep chocolate eyes darting across your face.

Jack?

“I - oh,” he says, his grip tightening on your shoulders. You wrench back, stumbling a half step away, still locked on his face.

Jack Jack Jack Jack Jack

People are looking at you now, agape and struggling to pull in a full breath, your brain tumbling like Alice down the rabbit hole.

Can’t be.

Jack.

Not real.

Jack.

How?

Jack.

“I can explain…”

Then the whole world shifts, and you’re falling.

#jack whiskey daniels x you #jack whiskey daniels x reader #jack whiskey daniels x f!reader #jack whisky daniels fanart #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x female reader #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x reader #kingsman the golden circle fanfiction #westworld fanfiction #prolix fics

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pedrito-friskito · 1 year ago

Note

Hiya! New to tumblr here, and I just saw your list! Hmmm I’ll go with 🎲 ROLL FOR FIC 🎲: Jack Whiskey Daniels & Fluff. ❣️ Thanks! 💓

hi lovely!!! thanks for the request!

full disclosure: this is the first time I’ve written dear ol’ Jack! put a bit of my own twist on it (and obvious canon-divergence cuz that’s just how we roll) - and the prompt I rolled was “is that my t-shirt?”

enjoy! xo

a promise - jack “whiskey” daniels x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: a bit of heartbreak, we kick canon to the curb, fluff and fluff and sweetness and fluff

You never thought you’d see him again.

That was the long and short of it. You knew him before, before he became one of the top agents for some secret service he wasn’t allowed to talk about. When he was just Jack, eldest son of the farmer that owned the ranch down the lane from the one you’d moved to after your parents inherited it. He was a few years older than you, all broad shoulders and cow-licked hair hidden beneath a dark suede hat.

You still remember the first day you met, the way he’d grinned at you from behind silver-rimmed aviators and tipped the brim of his hat in your direction.

“Well, hey there, darlin’.”

It was never a dull moment, with Jack Daniels living right across the way. He flirted with you endlessly, and you brushed him off more often than not. He was nice, and you got on well, but you weren’t blind or deaf; you knew he had a different flavour of the week that he brought home well, every week. While the rest of his family lived in the ranch house, Jack had taken it upon himself to turn the upper level of one of the barns into his own bachelor pad.

You saw it yourself at the tail-end of a Fourth of July barbeque, a few too many beers and a little too much sun clouding your judgment. Jack was fresh off his latest fling with some sweet little blonde thing, and you were about a month out from your breakup with your college boyfriend — to him, graduation equaled ending things. It was hot, sweat pouring down your back and not even the shade was enough to escape the humidity.

Stumbling a bit, you wandered the Daniels ranch on your own, a Corona dangling from your fingers, flip-flops thwacking against the grass with every step. You’d been gone maybe ten minutes when the barn came into view, you spotted the AC unit in the second-storey window, and found your destination.

You didn’t expect to find Jack sitting inside, mumbling to himself, and as you climbed the steps to his space, gripping the rail like a lifeline, you heard your name mumbled amongst his words.

“Just talk to her, ya big coward. You talk to girls all the time!”

As soon as you reached the top step, the blissful cool air from the air conditioner lifted your hair, and you nearly tumbled back in relief. Your gasp caught Jack’s attention and he shot to his feet, rushing forward and grabbing you, pulling you up and onto the solid floor. “Easy there, darlin’.”

His hands on your waist felt like fire, and he flinched away from you, the tips of his ears turning bright pink and his cheeks following suit. You couldn’t help your chuckle as he rubbed the back of his neck, staring down at his boots.

“You’re cute when you blush, Jack,” you grinned, sipping your beer. “I mean, you’re cute all the time, but especially when you—”

“Can I kiss you?” he blurted, and you were sure you hadn’t heard him right.

“Huh?”

“Please?”

Wordlessly, you nodded, your lips parting slightly, head whirling as you tried to catch up with what was happening. Jack took your beer, setting it safely on a desk near the staircase. There were all kinds of books scattered across the desktop, words you could barely make out. He put one careful hand on your waist next, ducking his head slowly, treading carefully, like you were a horse that might spook easily. In a way, you were; you knew his reputation, your heart was still on the mend. But in that moment, none of it mattered.

You hooked your fingers in the collar of his t-shirt and pulled his face down to yours.

Kissing Jack Daniels was like watching a fireworks display. Bright lights exploded behind your fluttered eyelids, replaced your blood with sparks of excitement. His lips tasted like whiskey and cinnamon and his hands moved to your hips, long fingers nearly meeting at the small of your back. The tip of his tongue touched the seam of your lips and you sighed into his grip, melting as you let him taste you, revelled in the girlish thrill that zipped through your entire being.

Despite the alcohol buzzing in your brain, the sun warming your cheeks, your body begging for him to give you more, you pulled back.

“I don’t wanna be another notch in your bedpost, Jack,” you murmured, your voice suddenly small, the confidence you’d tried to pour into your kiss slipping away like a summer breeze.

“You won’t be,” he assured you, shaking his head, tipping his forehead against yours. “I’ve been…I’ve been thinkin’ about you, darlin’, a lot lately. Lot more than usual.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Was tryna pluck up the courage to come talk to ya before you found your way up here.”

Your grin matched his. “Must be fate, then.”

“Fate, kismet, call it what you want, sugar, but I know one thing for certain: I’d like to spend the rest of this night kissin’ you, then maybe you let me take you out on a real date tomorrow night?”

You linked your fingers together at the back of his neck, his wayward curls tickling your knuckles. “Promise me something, Jack.”

“Anythin’.”

“Don’t break my heart.”

He leaned in and kissed the corner of your mouth. “As long as you don’t break mine.”

You woke up in his bed that next morning, the warmth of him curled around you. Despite the heat in the air, you basked in it, pushed yourself against him in all the right places until he was rousing beside you, hands starting to wander and lips finding yours again.

“Mornin’, sugar.”

The summer evolved from there. The majority of your time was spent at the Daniels’ ranch, following Jack around like a little lost puppy. He took you on long rides on horseback, exploring the hills and valleys that sprawled behind both your family ranches.

You watched him in the pastures, galloping along on his horse, Whiskey, lasso in hand, corralling the cattle back to their barns. He was a sight to behold, but watching him with that lasso was another thing entirely. His skill was something you’d never seen before. Jack tried to teach you, and by the end of the summer you were able to rope a cow from the back of your own horse, but you knew you’d never be as good as Jack.

Fall crept in, and there was no stopping the pair of you. You crept out of your own house and across to Jack’s barn nearly every night, the pair of you falling asleep in each other’s arms, waking the next morning to do it all over again. Rinse and repeat, there was no end in sight, and you silently berated yourself for every time you’d brushed off his flirting before the Fourth of July.

And then everything changed.

It was an unseasonably warm week. Mid-October and just as hot as it had been in July, and you’d planned a ride to the lake not far from the ranch. You’d packed a picnic, donned one of Jack’s plain white tees over your bikini, and headed over to the barn to start saddling the horses while Jack showered.

When he finally met you in the stables, you knew something was wrong. There was a pinch to his brow you’d never seen before, some unknowable spark behind his eyes that made your gut twist.

“Jack, baby, what is it?” You cupped his cheek in your hand, swiped your thumb across his skin.

“Nothin’, sugar,” he answered, shaking his head and pulling out of your grip, pushing his aviators up his nose.

Whatever it was, he hid it well as you rode to the lake, and it was another blissful day. The lake was quiet, secluded, and when Jack rolled over you on the blanket, planted his hands either side of your head and lowered his body to yours, your forgot any worry you had. You never made it home that night, instead following Jack up to the barn, your fingers twined together.

But when you woke the next morning, he was gone.

His dresser drawers hung open, their contents emptied. His favourite lasso was gone from the hook on the wall where he kept it, his hat beside it also missing. The side of the bed he’d occupied all night was cold, and a piece of paper with your name scrawled across the front sat on his pillow.

Inside, only two words: I’m sorry.

Tears in your eyes, your head spun. Anger spiked — more with yourself than with him — and silently, you told yourself that you had been right all along. You never should have let him in, let yourself get close to him. You’d only ever asked him for that single promise, and he’d broken it the first chance he got.

You collected your things from the barn, realizing you were still in his t-shirt, and walked back home in a blur. It took a few days for you to find the courage to go talk to his parents, if they knew where he had gone, if he was coming back.

“Oh, sweetheart, he didn’t tell you?”

That was the beginning of the secrecy. Even his own family didn’t know exactly where he’d gone, but that he’d been chosen specifically and that he’d be trained to become one of the best. It was what Jack had always wanted, they told you, and with every word, you felt like you knew him less and less.

You thought you were what he always wanted. He’d told you so.

Resigned, you pushed him from your mind as much as possible. It wasn’t easy, with the Daniels’ ranch always within view, a summer full of memories tugging at you every time you set foot outside your front door. You decided not to let it ruin you, and dove into working on the ranch, helping with the cattle and the horses and using what Jack had taught you.

Before you knew it, years had passed. You knew he came home for Christmas and his mother’s birthday each year, and you made it a point to make yourself scarce. Christmas was harder, especially when your families started celebrating together on Christmas Eve. The first year he was there, you’d nearly burst into tears when he cornered you in the kitchen and called your name softly, but instead, you pushed past him and spent the night in your room with a bottle of whiskey.

He didn’t come on Christmas Eve again, and now, it’s been nearly ten years. Ten.

Ten years, and yet when you gallop toward the road that cuts between the Daniels’ ranch and your own, broad shoulders come into view, and you know it’s him. Same hat on his head, mirrored aviators glinting in the sun, plain white t-shirt that strains in all the right places.

It’s been a decade, but as your horse gallops another few feet closer, you know instantly that something is wrong.

Your brow furrows as you get even closer to the fence separating you from him, tugging the reins until your horse halts, sliding from the saddle. Your chest is tight, your heart racing as you close the distance.

“Hi.”

“Hey there, sugar,” he drawls, and you inhale deeply, ignoring every girlish instinct you’ve buried so deep over the years. “Been a long time.”

“What are you doing here, Jack?” you ask, your voice blunt. You feel uneasy, unsure what’s going on, and you don’t have the time — or the emotional space — to beat around the bush with him.

He reaches up and pulls the aviators from his face. Those bottomless brown eyes are on full display, and in an instant you can feel yourself getting lost in them, but then something catches your attention, just beside his left eye. A scar of sorts, round and raised.

Following your gaze, he rubs at the mark. “I…I messed up, darlin’. Made some big mistakes, took a big hit, and they put me on leave, sent me home.”

“What d’you mean, a big hit? What happened to you?” The curiosity is obvious in your voice.

“I got shot,” he says, blunt as you’d been, and your heart skips in your chest. “M’alright, sugar, I swear. I’d lost some of memory when they woke up, but they found a way to bring ‘em back.”

Your brow lifts. “And how’s that?”

The corner of his mouth quirks, but it’s a ghost of the Jack Daniels smile you fell for that summer. It’s different, softer, sadder. You watch as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out something square. He hands it to you.

It’s a polaroid picture.

A picture of you.

You recognize it. The day at the lake. You’re sprawled back on the picnic blanket, your hair a fan around your head, Jack’s t-shirt covering your top, bikini bottoms peeking out beneath. You remember him standing over you, camera in hand. Is that my t-shirt? Smile, sugar, c’mon and gimme a good one.

You don’t know what to say. The words swirl around in your brain, some anger and some happiness, some relief and some fear. You just stare down at the photo, the younger version of yourself grinning back. “I…”

“You brought me back,” he says, and leans forward, resting his forearms on the wood of the fence. “More than once, I might add. But this time…this was different. I’m done, I think. For a long time, maybe forever. And I…”

“You thought you could waltz back into my life?” you snap, your fingers bending the edge of the photo. The anger has won out. “After what you did?”

“No,” he replies instantly, staring up at you from under the brim of his hat, “I don’t. I know what I did, how I hurt you. I know tellin’ you that what I did broke my own damn heart worse than anything I’ve ever experienced before doesn’t make up for it.”

There are tears brimming along your lash line, and you blink furiously, trying to force them back, but one betrays you, slipping down your cheek.

“I’m not askin’ for you to give me your forgiveness, sugar, but I am askin’ if you’d let me try and earn it.” He shakes his head slowly, and you can see the sheen in his eyes, made worse when he sniffs and rubs at his nose. “I know I don’t deserve it, but maybe if—”

You reach out suddenly, two fingers pressed to his lips, cutting him off. You know you should be angry, you know you should be a lot of things, but now… “Promise me something, Jack.”

“Anything.”

Another tear slips down your cheek as he wraps his fingers around your wrist lightly, squeezes his fingers at your pulse.

“Don’t break my heart again.”

You see his sharp inhale, the sudden lift to his chest. “Never, sugar. Never again.”

#my fics #a promise #jack whiskey daniels #sleepover sundae #jack whiskey daniels x reader #jack daniels #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #jack whiskey daniels fluff #jack whiskey daniels fic

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ravensmadreads · 2 years ago

Text

Positive Reinforcement

Rating: T? (for me being a Tease) 18+ !

Pairing: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x f!reader

Summary: oh god don't make me do this. This is a Tattoo Artist Jack Daniels AU that @fuckyeahdindjarin lovingly coaxed me to write and now here we are.

Warnings: cursing. bad writing? People being idiots? Yearn? Idk fam I'm new to this let me know

A/N: lots of love to @barbiewritesstuff for listening to me panic about this and for reading this and for letting me be a disaster about pedro despite not even being in the pedro fandom ! ily 💙 also this is my first fic AND first time writing fiction AND English isn't my first language AND I know nothing about tattoo artists or tattoos in general so I ask you to forgive the multitude of sins I'm about to commit.

Tagging: @fuckyeahdindjarin (you're the master and this is my humble offering) @barbiewritesstuff (i gotta be a menace) @chronic-ghost (all the italics for you bby) @sherala007 @oscar-wilde-thing @perennialdoll247

P.S the gif isn't related to the fic but damn guys its a gorgeous gif?!!

Oh.

Oh God.

This was a bad idea.

This was a no good, top of the line, terribly stupid idea; and that was saying something coming from someone who'd once pulled a double shift on nothing but 7 cups of espresso and half a chocolate bar.

So maybe your track record for making sensible decisions wasn't stellar, and somebody should've talked you out of getting a tattoo. But it was far too late for that now.

The needle was buzzing away happily; stabbing tiny pinpricks into your skin and your heart was trying to beat itself clean out of your chest. Although, the very handsome man, with the very wonderful biceps, and the inexplicably sexy Stetson, currently leaning over your arm might have something to do with that. Might have several somethings to do with that in fact since he's the entire reason you're in this predicament in the first place.

****

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels.

Proud owner of the tattoo parlor right across from the quaint little diner you co-owned and worked at. He'd given you a grin and taken your breath clean away with a "thank you darlin', that's mighty sweet of you" the day you'd welcomed him to the block with a box of cookies. Sufficient to say, you'd been a goner since then.

After four months of long distance pining, smiles exchanged across windows, (you'd dropped a fork the first time he'd grinned at you from across the street but that was nobody's business but your own), the very rare small talk, and borderline bullying from your bestie Ginger, you had summoned the courage to go ask him out. And promptly panicked at his front door.

Because how were you supposed to talk to one of the most perfect specimens of the male species you'd ever seen? When you knew next to nothing about him!?

Except for his coffee order from when he'd walked into the diner one fateful day.

It had been a slow day and you had been lamenting your lack of love life with Ginger when the front door bell had jingled to announce a new customer.

You'd twirled on your spot in front of the cashier and had been well in the middle of your welcome spiel before glancing up. Jack, in his infamous leather jacket, had been giving you a warm smile and you'd made a strangled squeak, to Gingers great amusement, before closing your eyes and trying to disappear into the Earth.

When that had failed, you'd taken a deep breath, counted to 5, before opening your eyes and regaining the ability to speak. He'd watched the entire thing with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes but graciously hadn't called you out on it. His parting smile and "you have a great day, honey" had been soft and you had caught yourself grinning about that smile, and that stupidly adorable pet name, throughout the entire next week.

Still, one coffee order and gentle smile didn't mean you could walk up to him and ask him out! He could be in a relationship! He could be married! He could turn out to be a total prick hiding behind a charmingly soft Southern accent!

Although, in that case, this little crush would be over and you could tell Ginger to suck it. Your mental spiral into the abyss had been interrupted by the door opening and the man of the hour himself poking his head out; his brows knit in concern.

"Everythin' okay, sugar?"

The sight of his brown eyes so close to you had thrown you for a loop. You'd gaped at him for half a minute before blurting out the first excuse that came to mind. You vaguely remember convincing him that you were here for a tattoo and rambling about always wanting one and him opening up shop right in front of you, seeming like a sign from the universe. (A sign that you were losing it? Maybe. A sign to get a tattoo. Probably not.)

He had taken your weird behavior as first time jitters and had led you in for a consult. He'd eased you into the shop, a hand on the small of your back, while recounting the story about how a drunk tattoo had earned him his infamous nickname. You'd been giggling too hard to notice that he'd already sat you down on a couch in the back and pulled out a sketchpad.

He had been all soft smiles and twinkling eyes and thoughtful ideas. While you had been a bundle of nervous energy; trying and failing to not stare at his pretty eyes, long fingers and sharp jaw. You're pretty sure he'd caught you checking gaping at his hands several times. But nothing in his demeanor had changed, apart from the appearance of a mischievous little sparkle in his eyes. Which had only made it harder to resist the urge to jump his bones right then.

You ended up agreeing to a small design (that you had totally fallen in love with), and he had given you an appointment for the very next day. Your protests had failed at his insistence and you'd just been able to nod around the lump in your throat when he squeezed your arm in reassurance.

"Trust me darlin', you're in safe hands. I know what I'm doin'.

A furtive glance at said hands and another nod from you had sealed the deal. (Best keep your mouth shut until you were sure that words were going to make it out instead of embarrassing whimpers.) He'd smiled at you as he walked you out with a particularly devious look in his eyes. Like he knew. Like he knew exactly why you were here and insisting on getting a tattoo. And you couldn't decide if that would be the best or worst thing to ever happen to you.

****

It was too late to do anything but reminisce now. The tattoo is halfway done and you're not one to brag but you'd made it through without too much fuss. A particularly vicious stab has you hitching a deep breath as you try not to flinch and suddenly, Jack's locking those soft eyes with you.

"You gotta stay still now, sweetheart okay?” he rumbles, his voice low and throaty.

Oh God.

That voice.

He could tell you to jump in front of a train with that voice and you wouldn't even blink. Your gaze drops to his mouth as his tongue peaks out to dart across those plush lips. You're caught up in the images of that tongue flicking out and tangling with yours. Figuring he'd be sweet at first; gentle and soft, with just the tiniest bit of pressure. Before licking hard and playfully biting your lower lip as he pulls away. Grinning that mischievous half smirk that makes you want to grab fistfuls of his hair and yank-

He clears his throat and you fall back to Earth. Gulping, your eyes meet his amused stare and you nod cheerfully in response, trying not to be completely transparent. Apparently you fail miserably, because Jack just sends a knowing smirk your way before carrying on.

"That's a good girl."

Oh.

Oh God.

This was such a bad idea.

You were going to explode right in this seat.

The hum of the needle starts again and you try to shift your focus. Your gaze draws, as always, to the man bent over you; his broad fingers encircling your arm and gently holding it in place. His eyes laser focused on the design. Your gaze moves to ogle his broad shoulders and the way the muscles ripple under the leather jacket covering him. He tilts his neck and you trace the skin trying to pinpoint the exact point you'd like to sink your teeth in. Okay enough! Suffice it to say, you definitely wouldn't mind being under him in a different context.

You nearly squirm at the thought of his broad body on top of yours, but catch yourself just in time. Wouldn't be out of character for you to mess up your first tattoo right near the finish line. That would be quite the story. 'O hey, nice tattoo, what's that squiggle at the bottom?' 'Oh. Yea I was just picturing getting cracked like a glow stick by my tattoo artist when he had a needle on my skin.'

You hold back a flinch and wriggle in the seat when Jack raises the needle from your skin to start a different line. Those caramel tinted eyes rise from the half etched pattern on your bicep and fix onto you as he looks over with a raised eyebrow.

“Behave darlin’,” he coos. “We're nearly there. You’ve been doin’ so well for me. Let’s not get carried away now.”

Oh.

Oh fuck.

This was a really bad idea.

You gulp and grit your teeth and nod for him to continue. You're thinking of kittens taking baths, ice cream in the park, that absolutely terrible but totally worth it for the eye candy vampire movie you'd seen last weekend, and how bad your issues with yourself had to be for you to get something permanently etched into your skin than tell a handsome man that you might like him. Mentally shaking your head at yourself, you glance over to see how much of the tattoo was left. Which turned out to be a mistake.

"Ack!" You cry out.

Fist clenching and arm twitching immediately, as you watch the needle touch a sensitive part of your skin, and you flinch badly. Jack lifts the needle and fixes you with a stern half glare. But there's a twinkle in his eye that has you giving him a sheepish grin.

"Whoops?"

You pout at him, with a teasing tilt of your head. He chuckles and your eyes flicker to his lips for a beat too long. When you look up, Jack's smirk has turned roguish as he catches you shamelessly checking him out. Again.

Oh no.

"Maybe you just need some positive reinforcement sweetheart, hm?"

Before you can even process the statement, he has already shut the needle off.

"Such misbehavin', darlin'."

He tuts at you before leaning down and pressing his lips against the corner of your mouth. He smells like leather. And a soft cologne. Both of which assault your senses; hints of pine mixed with sandalwood and something inexplicably him wraps around you, and it is dangerously delicious. His tongue darts out to have the tiniest taste as his mustache tickles the corner of your lips. Before you can restore the brain power needed to tilt your head, and maybe pull him on top of you by the lapels of his jacket, tattoo be damned, he's already pulling away.

"Fuck me."

The whimper that leaves you is entirely involuntary.

He grins at your flustered face as the needle starts again. His grip on your arm tightens and you squirm for entirely different reasons as he winks at you.

"Absolutely. But only if you're good and hold still now sugar."

Your jaw drops. There's nothing but static in your brain.

Wait.

Did he just- ?

Oh God.

"Be good for me now honey. 'M almost done. And then we can see about rewardin' good behavior."

Fuck.

This was the best idea you'd ever had.

****

#jack daniels x reader #jack whiskey daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #whiskey x reader #not a agent whiskey person #< this used to be an actual tag and now here we are #yeeting this into the void and running tf away

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bambiiboop · 1 year ago

Text

Tennessee Nights: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x AFAB!Reader

Part 1: Consolation Prize

Summary: a chance meeting in a bar leads to more than either of you could expect. You weren’t the target, but you’re one hell of a consolation prize.

CWs: absolutely filthy language / dirty talk / unprotected PIV sex (allusions to a birth control implant, however no condom is used) / oral sex (f!receiving) / anal play / breast play / implied age gap but nothing explicitly stated / enthusiastic consent / squirting / creampies lol / will update warnings as they apply.

Masterlist | Index - 2

“Get lost, old man.” The target - a pretty blonde thing in her late twenties - shoulders past Jack on her way back to her group of smirking friends. He has to resist the urge to cover his face with his hat, somewhat embarrassed by the sheer failure that was that attempt.

Not to mention, the remark on his age stings slightly. He didn’t think it was showing that much - hell, he looks damn good for forty two. Apparently not.

He’s mulling this over, grumpily ordering himself another drink, when you cut in.

“Put that on my tab, please. And make it two.” You’d noticed the harsh rejection - because that was all it would look like to an outsider - from across the packed bar, woven your way around the crowd to reach the slightly despondent looking cowboy.

You weren’t blind, had been watching him across the bar for a short while, wondered what he was doing in a place like this…. And had watched him get his ass handed to him, proverbially, by a pretty blonde in a cute minidress.

He was cute, in that older man sort of way, and hell, why not admit it? You were a sucker for a cowboy.

Jack looks up at the sound of your voice, tips his hat at you before he shamelessly looks you up and down, dark eyes drinking in every little detail.

“Now, darlin’, surely you know it’s bad manners for a gentleman not to pay for the drinks.” The corner of his mouth turns up into a little smirk, bruised ego already diminishing under your unexpected attention.

You give him a look that can only be described as flirty before you answer.

“You can buy the next round, then.” You shrug, as if that’s the most obvious answer in the world, and perhaps it is. Jack almost frowns, considers that he may actually be losing his touch, before he shakes the feeling off and gives you a bright grin.

“Sounds like a deal, hon. Gonna tell me your name, or is that a mystery?”

You laugh softly and give your name over to him.

“Pretty name for a pretty lady. I’m Jack, though you can call me Whiskey, if you prefer.”

You sip your drink and study him over the rim of the glass; he’s taller than you, but not by so much that he towers over you. Well built but not bulky. Dark hair neatly styled that you think would look much better mussed up and tangled, either from riding horses or from someone dragging their fingers through it. His jeans are almost too tight to be allowed, white shirt clinging to his arms. Add in the honest to god cowboy hat and boots, and damn.

It doesn’t hurt that he’s funny, charming in an outdated sort of way, and is full of interesting stories. That, and he doesn’t just stare at your tits while talking to you; even if he desperately wants to, he manages to at least maintain some semblance of being a gentleman.

“You need a ride home, sugar?” He asks finally, when you’re on your second drink - second drink together, third of the evening - his dark eyes almost depthless in the dim light of the bar.

You consider for a moment; you’d gotten an Uber to the bar and were planning on leaving the same way, but, well…

“Depends,” you give him a little smirk, “are you planning on coming in to say goodnight?”

Oh, he likes your confidence.

“That depends, darlin’, you planning on asking nicely?” He leans over into your space to ask the question, brushing your hair back from your face.

“Very nicely.” You confirm, leaning in closer, so your mouth is almost brushing his. His gaze darkens with lust as he tosses a couple of bills onto the bar counter then offers you a hand.

Hopping down from your perch on your barstool, you let him lead you out into the warm Tennessee night, towards a truck that absolutely suits him. He opens the passenger door for you, and you hop in, watch him round the cab and get in the driver’s side.

“Your place, mine, or right here in the truck?” He asks, the question sending a little shiver down your spine. Jack notices that reaction, has to bite back a little smirk because he apparently isn’t losing his touch after all.

“Yours.” You say; it takes great restraint for you not to take the option of right there in the truck, but it doesn’t seem remotely comfortable. Still, you slide over the bench seat and lean your head on his shoulder as he smirks at you.

“My place it is, hon.” One big hand comes to rest on your bare thigh as he throws the truck into gear and speeds off down the Main Street, heading out of town. He turns off onto a long driveway and you recognise one of the local ranches, raise an eyebrow.

“This is your place?”

“Sure is.” He makes enough money from Statesman these days to have afforded this place, a few acres of land with a nice old style barn and a half dozen horses, a few cattle. He does most of the work himself, hires a stable hand for when he has to leave for work.

Jack isn’t proud of much these days, came too close to being a bad man, but he’s proud of his little ranch.

“It’s beautiful.” You mean it, staring out the window as he pulls the truck up out in front of a good sized farmhouse. You’re still staring at the house, the honest to god rocking chair on the porch, when he circles the truck to open the door for you and help you out of it.

He’s never short for people to spend the night with, but he doesn’t tend to bring them back to the ranch. He leans towards hookups in alleyways, in his truck, being taken back to his lovers’ places.

You’re halfway across the porch when he scoops you up and carries you across the threshold, pulling you into a rough kiss as you wrap your legs around his waist, hold on tight.

Jack knows the layout of his house like the back of his hand, doesn’t have to break the kiss to carry you up the old wood staircase and into his room, where he finally sets you back down. You kick your boots off and then reach for him again, kissing him greedily.

This isn’t how he planned his night going; hell, he’d hoped to get the information from the target, drink himself stupid and crawl home to bed. Maybe, if he was lucky, get his cock sucked in the bathroom of the bar. You weren’t the target, but you’re one hell of a consolation prize.

Your lips part nice and easy for him the moment the tip of his tongue darts out, letting him explore your mouth with a sort of languid neediness. Without breaking the kiss, your hands reach for the hem of his shirt, sliding your hands under the fabric and up the solid muscle of his chest, pulling the shirt with you.

Reluctantly he breaks the kiss so you can pull the shirt over his head; toss it aside. He takes advantage of the separation to rid you of your own shirt, the lacy bra under it, one big calloused hand cupping your breast as he pulls you back into another kiss.

Your moans are muffled against his mouth as he rolls your sensitive nipples between his fingers; urged on by his touches you reach down to stroke his hardening cock through the rough denim of his jeans, humming approval when you feel how goddamn big he is.

He presses a knee between your legs, effectively spreading them so he can yank your shorts and panties down, barely waiting for you to step out of them before he’s grabbing handfuls of your ass and hauling you back against him, dragging one hand slowly across your thigh, thumb seeking out your clit as his fingers find your soaked core.

“Christ, sugar, absolutely soaked for me…”

You nod, working on getting his belt undone, jeans down, moaning like a whore when he curls his fingers inside you, pressing against your sweet spot; you reward him by soaking his exploring fingers with your slick, cunt wet and needy as he steps out of his jeans and backs you up towards the bed, letting you fall backwards onto it.

You whimper slightly at the loss of his fingers inside you, but any complaint dies on your lips as you stare at him, at the thick, curved length of his cock.

“That’s not going to fit-“ you say as he joins you on the bed, leaning over you to kiss at your bare throat.

He laughs softly, kisses down your chest and sucks greedily at your tits.

“Babygirl, I’ll make it fit.” He almost growls it against your skin before he returns his attention to your nipples, sucking and licking at them while you moan and arch your back up into him.

Smug, he continues kissing his trail down your body, tossing your legs over his shoulders to keep them spread for him before the tip of his tongue darts out to circle your clit, drawing teasing circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You moan, loud and needy, fingers twisting into the sheets as he devours your cunt like a starving man.

When your climax hits, hard and fast, you practically convulse beneath him, his hands holding your thighs open and your body in place as he licks up every drop of your slick, giving you a satisfied smirk as he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, pulling away from you.

“You better get back here-“ you warn him, and he laughs.

“Needy little thing, ain’t ya? Want my cock, baby? Gonna scream for me when I fuck you?” He teases you, rolling onto his back and patting his thigh. “C’mon then, come take what you need.”

You crawl into his lap, smirk down at him.

“And what if I wanted you to fuck me into this bed instead?”

Jack grins at you from where he’s lazing, one arm behind his head, the other hand resting lazily on your hip.

“Ride me first, sugar, then I’ll fuck you senseless. C’mon now, gotta prove it’ll fit.”

You realise then that he’s letting you take control just in case, so you can go at your own pace. It’s a fair point, because he knows damn well if he doesn’t let you take the reins, he’ll be too tempted to just slam into you and bottom out at once, sink every inch of his cock into you and make you take it, fuck you stupid. But he wants to be at least somewhat kind, so he lets you take control. Watches you through heavy lidded eyes blown wide with lust as you line yourself up, notch the head of his cock at your dripping entrance and sink down onto him, slowly.

“Oh, fuck, darlin’, that’s it. Take it, take it all, nice and slow now…” His hips rock up gently once he’s fully sheathed inside you, watching you wriggle your hips as you adjust to him.

You’ve never felt so goddamn full in your life, the thick head of his cock brushing against your sweet spot every time you move slightly. You swear you can feel him right in your womb, but you know that isn’t physically possible.

“Fuck, you’re so big…” your cunt tightens around him as he moves slowly, rocking up into you as you start to move, planting your hands on his shoulders as leverage as you lift yourself up and down his cock.

“Naw, sugar, you just have a tight little pussy. Fits me perfectly, can feel her soaking me already. Made for me.” He smirks up at you, slides his hand over to rub circles around your clit, groaning softly when he feels you clench around his cock.

Watching you bounce up and down on his thick length makes him practically ache for you, drawing his fingers up to your lips and pressing them against you. Your lips automatically part for him, let him push two fingers into your mouth.

“Suck on ‘em, sugar, there’s a good girl.” He groans on the last word as you suck on his fingers, work your tongue around them in a way that gives him a perfect image of how you’d suck his cock. Maybe next time, or later, or, hell, another day.

Without warning he sits up, wraps one arm around you to keep you steady as he holds onto you, giving you a moment to wrap your arms around his shoulders to hold on so you can keep riding him, able to bounce on his cock with much more force in this new position.

His fingers are wet, so wet, from your mouth as his hand moves to cup your ass, squeezing a handful of plush skin before he considers for a moment.

“You good there, darlin’, or you think you can take more?”

“Fuck, always want more, but what more can you give?” You ask it a little breathlessly, moan a little whimpery moan when he teases a wet finger around the muscle of your other entrance.

“Gonna take that as consent, hm?”

“Fuck, yes it is,” you breathe, moaning again as he slowly presses his middle finger inside, using his other hand to help guide you up and down his cock.

Your fingers curl into his hair, other hand bracing on his chest as you ride him, his hips rocking up to meet each bounce, pressing his finger deeper into your ass until you feel so unbelievably, wonderfully full. His mouth greedily finds your tits again, sucking marks into the soft skin as your head tips back, lips parted in a desperate moan.

“Gonna cum for me, hon? Cum all over this cock, look at this sweet little cunt, feels so good, babygirl, tempted to fill you up, fuck you full of my cum then fill this perfect ass up, too.” He’s not worried about any sort of accident, can see the scar on your upper arm where you’ve had an implant put in.

You tighten painfully around him again at the filthy words, making it perfectly clear that you have no problem whatsoever with what he’s suggesting, the idea of having both your holes stuffed with his cum making you shiver with need, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to your release.

“C’mon, sugar, give it to me, I can feel it, know you need to.” The hand that isn’t holding onto your ass, finger buried knuckle deep, moves to brace on the bed so he can buck his hips up; drawing his finger out slowly he slides two back in, pulling a desperate, needy moan from your throat as you clench around him, gush around his thick cock, your spend soaking every inch of him, dripping out of you.

“There it is, darlin’, look at that, fucking beautiful, gonna make me cum, you want it? Tell me you want it?”

“Fuck yes, please, need it so bad, want your cum, Jack, please,” you beg him, the words barely coherent between desperate moans as you still try to ride out your own climax, overstimulated by the fat cock fucking up into you and his thick fingers almost lazily fucking your ass.

“So fuckin’ pretty when you beg, fuck~” he almost reluctantly pulls his fingers out of your ass, lays a heavy spank to the soft skin, before his hands grip your hips, pulling you down onto him as he pistons up into you, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your shoulder as he lets go, fills your tight, wet cunt with hot ropes of his spend, growling into your skin as he does.

Panting into your skin, he brushes sweat damp curls from his eyes - you were right, he does look better with messy hair - and then smirks at you.

You’re still trying to catch your breath, but manage a weak smile.

“Holy fuck.” You gasp out, running your fingertips through his hair, giggling as you come down from your high.

“Holy fuck is damn right, sugar.” He agrees, making no attempt to move even as he feels himself start to soften inside you. Giving you a moment to recover, eventually he gently lifts you off of him, sets you down on the bed before he gets up to wander into the bathroom, coming back with a warm cloth to carefully clean you up with before he lays back down beside you, pulling you into his arms.

“Get some sleep, darlin’, I’ll show you the barn tomorrow if you like before I take you home.”

He’s comfortable lying there, stroking your hair as you curl into his chest, breathing deeply.

“Really?” You’re surprised he noticed you staring on the way in, but you love animals and are surprised he’d offer you a tour.

“Sure. You can say hi to the animals, we can have coffee, then maybe I’ll fuck you in the hayloft.” He gives you a cheeky smirk, kisses the top of your head before pulling the blanket up around you. “But for now, get some sleep.”

You hum, more than happy with everything on that itinerary, but you’re too exhausted to say so, so instead you curl up under the blanket, press a kiss to his chest, and fall asleep, leaving him wondering what the morning might bring.

You weren’t the target, but he figures you might turn out to be more than just one hell of a consolation prize.

#my writing #pedro pascal #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey #pedro pascal characters #Pedro pascal character fic #rue tennessee nights #Tennessee Nights Masterlist #my fics #Jack Whiskey Daniels x Reader #Jack Whiskey Daniels smut

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tommymllrr · 2 years ago

Text

coffee shop cowboy [ch. 1]

agent whiskey x barista!reader (coffee shop!au)

summary: if you were being honest, you’d had an absolute garbage day. up until the moment he strode through the front door of the cute little café that you worked at in those stupid cowboy boots.

rating: Explicit, 18+ (MINORS DNI)

word count: 3.7k

warnings: none for this chapter besides some swearing

notes: as someone who works in a coffee shop, i wanted to make a fic that catered specifically for me okay. reader is afab, but no pronouns or gendered terms are used so it can be read as gender-neutral. also i'm not super active here so find me on twitter if you're interested in seeing me talk about my upcoming fanfics and talk about pedro pascal and oscar isaac. :-)

chapter 2 on tumblr // read fic on ao3

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

If you were being honest, you’d had an absolute garbage day up until the moment he strode through the front door of your job in those stupid cowboy boots.

Well, in reality, you weren’t even supposed to be at the café. It was Monday, which meant you should have had the day off to relax after working long shifts all weekend. But no. You had decided to do your coworker, Mara, a favor by picking up her shift. All of a sudden, she was frantically texting you at 11:36pm that she had a “dentist appointment” she had forgotten about when you knew deep down in your bones that she was out late with her friends getting plastered downtown. So, being the people-pleaser you were (and needing the money), you dragged your ass out of bed and drove to work while the sun was still waiting for the moon to run its course through the sky to sling coffee and overpriced lattes to customers for eight hours. You knew Mondays were slow, so you hoped you had an easy day ahead of you as you unlocked the front doors for the day.

Nope. Everything went downhill about an hour into your day. Your coworker for the day showed up for their shift and took over barista duties, meaning you were to be the friendly face customers saw when they came in and placed their order. Which normally would have been fine. But you guessed everyone had woken up with a stick in their ass that particular morning because almost everyone was either rude, condescending, or obnoxious. You could count on two hands the number of people that had come up to you to complain that their drink tasted burnt or that it was too sweet or too bitter and demanded a remake, a refund, or both. You were sick of it and on the verge of having a breakdown.

And then he came in.

He stood in the middle of the café for a brief moment of time, looking around at the various folks scattered among the dining room working on their laptops or chatting among themselves while enjoying their drink of choice. He may have still been wearing the pair of aviator sunglasses he’d walked in wearing so you couldn’t be certain, but, by the way he was facing, you knew that his eyes had settled on looking at you. The man sauntered his way up to your counter and oh god he was gorgeous.

Once in front of you and the cash register, he slid the aviators off of his face and perched them along the rim of the black cowboy hat he was currently wearing. He looked up at the menu for a moment, squinting his dark brown eyes as he tried to read the small lettering on the boards that hung above your head. While distracted, you took the opportunity to take him all in. He was wearing a black leather jacket with a plain white T-shirt underneath and blue jeans and had an impressive mustache on his upper lip. His chin was dappled with a beard that was patchy in a couple of places and graying a little. But the thing that caught your eye the most was his belt buckle. It was a small silver flask with the logo for Statesman Whiskey on it and you wondered if it was a gift of some kind or if he had actual connections to the distillery. (You, actually, currently had a bottle of said whiskey among your very poor selection of alcohol at home - it had been an expensive gift from a close friend so you usually saved it for special occasions and days when you had a really bad shift at work.)

Finally, he spoke up, looking down at you with a frown.

“Do y’all just serve plain coffee? None of this fancy latte shit?” he asked, his hand waving vaguely to the menu board. God, he even had a Southern accent. Being in upstate New York, you didn’t hear Southern accents often if at all. But man. You would definitely let this man read you the most boring piece of literature, his words dripping like honey off of his lips as he drawls on and on.

“Uh, yeah, I, um, just started a fresh pot a few minutes ago. It’s our featured roast, um, a dark roast with notes of chocolate and caramel and citrus,” you rambled. And he was just staring at you with his rich, brown eyes and made you feel so incredibly small. “If you, uh, like dark roast coffees, you’ll like it. It’s good. We also have a medium roast available. Or, um, we also have cold brew and straight espresso shots that we can do hot or over ice. You, um, don’t have to order a latte.” You really wished the earth would open up beneath you and swallow you whole. Would be a lot better than having to deal with embarrassing yourself in front of the really hot guy in front of you because he most likely did not care a single bit about what you just said.

The cowboy blinked at you a few times, not saying a single word, and it made a wave of anxiety crash over you. And then he chuckled and flashed you a smile. “Well now,” he drawled. “Sure do have a lotta options. I’ll try a large cup of that dark roast you mentioned. No room for cream. I’ll take it black.”

“Um, sure. Yeah. What, uh, name should I put the order under?” you asked. If you were being honest, you technically didn’t need his name for the order. You were the one that poured the coffee - the fifteen-gallon containers you brewed coffee into were literally less than five feet behind you - and the tickets for them didn’t even show up on the screen over at the barista station. It was only because your curiosity was getting to you. Even if you never saw him again after today, you had to know his name (especially since you had a feeling that you’d be thinking about him for at least a few days).

“Just… put it under Whiskey,” he replied with a smirk.

Whiskey, you thought. Your eyes flashed back down to his belt buckle. There’s no way that’s his real name. And yet, it fits him.

You poured the dark roast from the brewing container behind you into a large to-go cup with a coffee sleeve over it. Your fingers brushed along his when you handed him the cup and it took all your strength to not drop the drink. You retracted your hand, shoved it deep into the pocket of the hoodie you were wearing over your apron. Whiskey nodded his head to you slightly as a sign of thanks and took a sip from his drink.

“Mmm,” he sighed after he was done drinking. You exhaled the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. “That’s one damn good cup of coffee. I think I found my new fix.” He winked at you, immediately feeling yourself blush like an idiot.

“G-Glad you liked it,” you managed to sputter out. “Um, our pastries are also really good. If you, um, like that kind of thing. I eat them all the time.” You shifted your gaze to the pile of scones, muffins, croissants, and other baked goodies that had been sitting in the space next to the register since you set them out before you’d opened. Whiskey’s eyes roved over the selection that was left before pointing at the last butter croissant you had left for the day.

“I’ll take that last croissant with me too,” he said finally. “Looks too good to pass up.” You nodded and used a sheet of wax paper to slip it into a pastry bag with the café’s logo on it. The pastry and coffee came out to just over six dollars and when you told Whiskey, he sat down his coffee to fish his wallet out of the back pocket of his blue jeans. He pulled out a worn-looking leather wallet that was covered in scuff marks and a dark-colored stain. When Whiskey opened it and started rifling through the cash he had on him, you immediately saw that he had a few hundred dollar bills in there. You tried not to let your eyes pop out of your head at the sight. Where the fuck did he get that kind of money? While your mind raced, Whiskey handed you a twenty dollar bill with a grin and told you, “Keep the change.”

The thoughts in your brain came to a screeching halt. You blinked at him, mouth open just slightly in shock.

“Wh- Huh?”

Real fuckin’ eloquent there, dumbass.

Whiskey just chuckled and repeated, “Keep the change.” He leaned into you a little, invading your personal bubble, but it only made you blush even harder. “As thanks for helpin’ me out and bein’ so informative.” Whiskey’s eyes cut over to look at your coworker who was currently making someone’s drink and had her back turned to you. You immediately cashed out his order and hastily shoved the remaining bills and coins into the front pocket of your apron.

“Um, Jesus Christ, thanks, man,” you blurted out. “I, um, really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, darlin’,” he replied and you felt butterflies burst through your stomach. This man was trying to kill you. He’d been sent specifically to murder you where you stood. “Well, I gotta head out. Have a good day now.” And with that, the cowboy who had just tipped you more than anyone had tipped you in the seven months you’d been working at the coffee shop exited the building.

You were a little embarrassed to say how smitten you were with him.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

About a month and a half had passed since Whiskey made his appearance at the little coffee shop you worked at and, since then, he’d been at least twice, sometimes even three times, a week ever since. You usually worked the register during your shifts, very rarely stepping away to work barista duties, so you were the one to always help him when he came in. (A bonus to this was the fact that Whiskey liked to slide you a couple extra dollars to keep for yourself in addition to the ones he put into the communal tip jar.)

You hadn’t meant to develop a crush on him. You had told yourself that, after your last relationship ended poorly, you weren’t looking for another one any time soon. But when Whiskey was so fucking handsome and he was always so charming and quick-witted and called you things like “darling” and “sugar”, his usual terms of endearment toward you that got under your skin in the best way possible, you couldn’t help but fall for him.

After the first few times that Whiskey had come in, when he’d reached the status of being a regular, you’d convinced him to branch out to try new drinks that weren't the large cup of dark roast coffee that he’d been ordering. One day, he’d come in looking like he hadn’t slept in days and you offered him just straight espresso shots poured into a cup.

“That sounds like exactly what I need right now, darlin’,” he grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Gimme as many as you’ll allow in a large cup over some ice, if you would. Already feelin’ like death warmed over, can’t stand the idea of somethin’ hot right now.” Not wanting to disappoint Whiskey, you’d ended up filling the cup with roughly six shots, which you were sure should be illegal somehow, and handing it over to him. But he’d slid you a twenty dollar bill for his seven dollar drink and told you to keep the change, like he always did when you served him. The very generous tip was nice, but you were still a tad bit concerned that his heart would explode from the amount of caffeine you’d served. Once the drink was safely in Whiskey’s hands, he’d taken a big gulp out of his straw, draining about a quarter of the cup in one sip. A wide grin had spread across his face when he’d stopped.

“Thanks, sugar. Already feel more like a human again,” he had drawled in that accent you couldn’t get enough of. You laughed and told him you felt the same way after having your coffee for the day too, especially during your shifts when you had to be there before sunrise to open the café. You two had chatted for another minute before he said he had some business to attend to and had to leave and you’d told him to have a good day with a genuine grin on your face.

Your biggest accomplishment, however, came when you had managed to talk him into trying one of the lattes on your menu and you had even been the one to make it for him. He’d told you early on that he didn’t like milk and had grimaced over the idea of ruining the bold, bitter flavor of coffee or espresso. You swore up and down that lattes were really good and promised to make something you were sure he’d enjoy. Whiskey had squinted his eyes at you, a skeptical look on his face, but he eventually relented and told you, “Alright, darlin’. If I hate it, you can have the rest. Free drink on me.” You’d quickly shooed your coworker Noah out of the way and told him to take over the register so you could make this drink.

Eventually, you’d settled on making him a latte with an extra espresso shot - a little on the bitter side and highly caffeinated, just how Whiskey liked it - and added in a couple pumps of your café’s cinnamon and vanilla syrups. You finished it up and handed it to Whiskey, who had been watching you make his drink behind the bar. He put the cup up to his lips and took a sip. And then immediately took another sip. And another. You were sure your grin was so wide, it was going to hurt your face.

“Alright. Maybe you’ve got something there,” he huffed out and you did a little victory dance internally. If you could make Whiskey like something out of his comfort zone, maybe you weren’t as shit at making drinks as your anxious brain had told yourself time and time again.

It was a couple days later right as you were just about to clock out for your thirty minute break when Whiskey walked up to the counter. Your apron was already off and you had a chocolate croissant set aside and ready to be devoured while you scrolled Twitter, but, for Whiskey, you’d make an exception.

“Hey, sugar, can I get my usual large dark roast today?” he asked, already reaching for his wallet. You turned around and poured the coffee into a to-go cup. Sitting it down on the counter in front of Whiskey, he handed you a twenty.

“Not another latte?” you fired back, teasing, as you counted out his change. He rolled his eyes at you, but he was smiling. “Also, I was just about to go on break and leave you to my coworkers, but you’re my favorite so I had to make sure I got your order before I clocked out.”

Whiskey’s face changed, his brows rising toward his hairline, taken aback by your admission. A shit-eating grin replaced the shocked expression a split second later.

“Oh, I’m your favorite now, am I?” He leaned on the counter, got slightly into your personal space like he did sometimes, and it made your face flush even more than it already was.

Shit. You honestly hadn’t meant to say that out loud, well, it was what you thought if you were being honest, but you had meant to keep that fact a secret. Let alone say that in front of Whiskey himself.

“I-I mean… well, I guess you are,” you mumbled once you found your voice.

“Well, would it be too bold of me to ask my favorite barista if they’d like to accompany me while on their break?” Whiskey inquired, looking at you from over the tops of his thin-rimmed glasses. The corner of his pink lips was upturned in a playful smirk.

If your face wasn’t on fire already, it sure was now. You nodded dumbly and grabbed the iced coffee you’d made for yourself earlier and the chocolate croissant, following Whiskey to a table near the window that looked out onto the busy city outside.

Your eyes darted back over to the bar once seated and you saw Aubrey give you a grin and a thumbs-up. It was the one day a week you guys work together and this happens. God, you were going to get asked a hundred questions and teased as soon as you come back from your break and maybe for the rest of your time as friends.

You munched on your croissant and Whiskey sipped his coffee as conversation flowed easily between you two. Teases and playful remarks and jabs at each other were weaved carefully through the entire interaction, just like always between you two. You can’t pinpoint exactly when Whiskey had opened up enough to you that he added the occasional flirt into his talks with you, but he had one day and those comments had made a little home in your brain to live there rent-free. You were in too deep when you found yourself returning fire with your own attempts to be smooth and playful. Granted, most of the time, Whiskey just smirked or gave you a smug smile or even a chuckle or two, but you couldn’t help it.

Whether or not Whiskey actually had feelings for you was a mystery, but you were too anxious to even think about telling him. Plus you didn’t want to ruin literally the only reason you had started looking forward to coming into work.

A lull in conversation had been reached, a comfortable silence falling between the two of you, when Whiskey suddenly piped up. “You know, I honestly don’t really care for coffee shops that much,” the older man admitted as he took a sip of his coffee. Your attention was drawn away from Aubrey - who had started making kissy-faces at you from behind the bar a couple minutes ago - and back to the very handsome cowboy that you had a crush on across the table. “Prefer to brew my own shit at my place. But, I was in the area for work and was still a tad hungover from the night ‘fore when I stumbled upon this li’l ol’ place. And I came to find out that there’s some damn good coffee here.” Whiskey’s eyes roamed over the café with the corners of his mouth upturned in a tiny smile.

“Thanks. I guess. I mean, the pay is shit and we get a lot of assholes sometimes, but the free coffee and pastries are good,” you said, taking a bite out of your croissant. Something he said struck you, though. You chewed and swallowed before continuing, “You know, in the couple of months that I’ve known you, you’ve never said anything about what you actually do for work.”

That smile slid off of Whiskey’s face in an instant. “Don’t really like to talk about it. Let’s just say I’m retired an’ leave it at that,” he replied in a low voice. His eyes were staring down at the cup clasped in his hands and you noticed his fingers were twitching ever so slightly. You might have been able to cut the sudden tension with a knife. Right as an apology was about to tumble out of your lips, feeling suddenly very awkward on prying into someone you only casually know’s personal life, Whiskey looked at you again with his usual smirk. “You know, I did my fair share of bartendin’ when I was younger, growin’ up in Texas. Also worked security. Rough-housed with quite a few drunk assholes in my day.”

You blinked a couple of times. The rate at which the mood changed yet again had given you some serious whiplash. You ignored the anxious voice yelling at you in your head and went on. “O-Oh… yeah?” you replied lamely as you stuffed another bite of croissant into your mouth.

Whiskey nodded. “Was a pretty sweet gig,” he continued. “Don’t think I’d ever go back, though. If I liked ya, I liked ya, and if I didn’t, I didn’t. Didn’t necessarily go well with havin’ a buncha customers. But I will say… watchin’ you reminds me of those days sometimes. You’re a damn hard worker and good at whatcha do.”

His compliment had a warm feeling spread through your whole body like wildfire. Your heartbeat went a little faster, sweat gathered on your palms, your face flushed. God, he had you so intoxicated, so under his spell, you felt like you were going to go mad as a result. You managed to squeak out a “thank you”, averting your eyes downward, attempting to hide your face from him.

(You were so engrossed by small splinters in the wood grain of the table that you missed the way that he smiled at you fondly, clearly able to see that he’d flustered you by how pink your cheeks had turned.)

Your phone lit up with yet another spam email notification and you realized when you saw the time that you should have clocked back in already. You quickly shoved the last two bites of croissant into your mouth and hopped up, chewing hurriedly. Whiskey’s eyes went wide at your sudden movements, watching you intently. Swallowing the sweet pastry, you sputtered out, “I have to go back to work now, have a good day, Whiskey. See you later this week?”

Whiskey nodded and moved to stand up from his chair, pulling on the leather jacket he had slung over the back of his seat. You tied your apron back on and started scurrying back behind the bar to finish the last three hours of your shift.

“Have a good rest of your shift, sugar,” he called to you as he exited the café. A wide, goofy smile was on your lips as you watched him head towards the parking lot.

Yeah, you’d never get tired of him.

#agent whiskey #whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #nesswrites.doc #jack whiskey daniels x reader #jack whiskey daniels x you

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absurdthirst · 2 years ago

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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.

#pedro pascal #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey imagine #agent whiskey fanfic #jack whiskey daniels x reader #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x f!reader #jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels smut #jack daniels #jack daniels imagine

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hauntedhowlett-writes · 10 months ago

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✨wip wednesday✨

got tagged by @atticrissfinch and @kedsandtubesocks , thank you my loves 💕

y’all know i have a wip list a mile long so here’s some snips from ones i’ve added to in the last few days. if any of them interest you, i’d love to hear from you 💖

title: bloodlust crisis of faith

pairing: vampire!din djarin x female reader

this one has two versions and i’ve recently decided to revisit the first version where the reader volunteers to help with caring for grogu so if you’ve seen this part…shhhh

untitled

pairing: max phillips x female reader

this is based on a tik tok i saw. max kidnaps you and forces you to go on a date with him

untitled

pairing: massage therapist!jack daniels x female reader

a very self indulgent fic inspired by the massage i scheduled for myself for my own thirtieth birthday.

future history

pairing: roommate!frankie morales x female reader

oh surprise they’re actually married

tags: @futureman @undrthelights @joelsgreys @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @atinylittlepain @wannab-urs sorry if you’ve already been tagged ily

#wip wednesday #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #din djarin x reader #din djarin #max phillips #max philips x reader #jack whiskey daniels #jack whiskey daniels x reader #jack daniels x reader

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agentwhiskeysdarlin · 8 months ago

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Eat Dessert First

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x F!Reader

Rating: NSFW 18+ (minors dni)

Warnings: cute banter, fluffy goodness, domestic bliss, oral (female receiving), cute nicknames and the cutest ending ever

Word Cont: 1.4k

Author’s Notes: Well long time no fic huh? Life really gets in the way sometimes. I decided when the writers block decided to stick around that I would go through some old fics I never posted and see if there was anything I could change my mind on. I picked five fics that I am nervous but excited to share! Thank you if you take time to read and even more so if you leave any kind of note. I am using my old taglist so please if you want to be removed or added please let me know!! Also for my ao3 readers I swear one day I’ll get it updated.

Ao3 link coming soonish

Your knuckles wrapped on the wooden surface of the front door as you entered the all too familiar ranch house. You were immediately met with the most amazing smell that had your stomach growling.

“I sure hope that’s my honeybee!” The southern drawl of the man you loved echoed from the kitchen and you smiled at the sound.

“Who else is going to just waltz in here barely announced?” You spoke with a smirk as you rounded the corner.

The sight before you would never get old. Your boyfriend of four years cooking away in his kitchen, making dinner for the two of you. It was an almost daily occurrence but it still made the butterflies in your stomach rapid. Jack Daniels and yourself had stumbled into each other's lives and even though a relationship was far from both of your minds things just fell into place. Jack paused what he was doing to turn to you. He pulled you into him and quickly locked his lips to yours in a deep, toe curling kiss.

“You keep kissing me like that cowboy, we are going to forget dinner and head straight for dessert,” you smirked as he pulled away.

“Now darlin’ I’ve been slaving away in this kitchen but you do know my favorite saying right?” He gazed down at you with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Life is short. Eat dessert first,” you let out a giggle as he pulled away and went back to his cooking.

You knew then you had to tempt him just a little bit more so you found a clear spot on the counter and jumped, sliding yourself comfortably on the cool service. Jack gazed at you and you gave him a wide innocent smile. He let out a chuckle and shook his head.

“What?” You asked, teasing him, swinging your legs gently.

“You drive me crazy. After all these years, you still just drive me crazy.”

“I am simply sitting on your counter minding my business. I have no idea what you are talking about.” You couldn’t keep the smile off your face if you tried.

Jack sat down the spoon he was using to move around whatever sauce he was working on and stalked over to you. You now were slightly taller than him but not by much but even with slightly looking down at him you felt as if he was gazing down at you.

“You know exactly what you are doing darlin’ and soon what I’m fixing will go in the oven for a bit and I am going to devour you.” Jack smirked knowing his words were going to leave you wanting.

He had definitely raised you. Your teasing manner fell and you found yourself panting, realizing how hot it was in the kitchen. You glared at him when he gazed over at you with a winning smirk.

“Don’t give me that look. If you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen darlin’â€¦literally.” He winked and you stuck your tongue out at him but followed up with a laugh which he joined in on.

The two of you fell into normal conversation asking each other about your days and anything else you had yet to discuss through the text messages exchanged throughout the day. These were the moments you always loved, the domestic ones. Simple and small but always left a lasting impression. You watched him as he moved around the kitchen before finally placing the almost finished meal into the oven and then threw the oven mitts on the counter. He all but stalked toward you and you welcomed him with opening your legs for him to stand between and laced your arms around his neck. Your fingers went into his hair as his lips fell to yours in a needy kiss. You sighed at the feeling of having him so close. So ready for him to touch you where you needed him most.

You had worn a pair of leggings which Jack maneuvered you carefully out of discarding them on the kitchen floor. He pulled away to look at you, his forehead resting on yours.

“No underwear huh? Did you plan this angel?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” you smirked and pulled his lips back to yours.

He smirked against your lips before finally moving down on you. His lips brushed down your neck and soon he was on his knees, his arms wrapping around your legs and spreading you open for him. You let out a whimper at the cool air hitting your wet center.

“Jack please,” you begged looking down at him with one hand white knuckling the counter edge and the other tangled in his brown locks.

“I’ve got you angel. Look at you so wet,” he breathed before his lips fell to you and you let out a loud moan.

Your head fell back to the counters behind you and your eyes fluttered closed in pure pleasure. This was something else that could never get old. The way Jack made you feel was not of this earth, hell the universe. He still made your head spin and he knew your body better than you did. Two fingers entered you and your mouth fell open in a gasp followed by a moan before you forced your eyes open to take in the sight before you. Jack’s head between your thighs pushing you closer and closer to your impending high.

“Jack I-,” you whimpered.

Jack simply answered with a moan against the vibrations coursing through you and the wave took you under. Your head went back, you back arched and you let out a loud moan that made you thankful Jack had no neighbors. He kept pushing you through your orgasm as your legs shook around him until you collapsed panting. His mouth fell away and his fingers left you causing you to feel empty. Your eyes fluttered open to be met with brown eyes gazing at you.

“Always so perfect and delicious,” Jack murmured as he kissed you.

You moaned against him, tasting yourself in his mouth. You reached down for Jack’s pants but his hand stopped you. You pulled away looking at him with a confused expression.

“It’s your turn,” you pouted softly.

“Later darlin’. We got all night,” he smirked as he gave you one more peek just as the timer went off. “Perfect timing dinner is ready. I gotta clean my girl up first.”

Jack made quick work cleaning the both of you up before helping you from the counter onto shaky knees. He didn’t let you go until you were stable and you couldn’t help but let out a laugh as you slipped your leggings back on as he pulled dinner from the oven.

“We are worse than a bunch of teenagers huh?” Jack laughed with you.

“Kind of but I love it.”

“As do I,” he leaned, giving you one last kiss before fixing each of you a plate.

You sat at his dining room table and dug in a comfortable silence falling between the two of you as you ate. You were glancing around Jack’s house as you always found yourself doing when you looked back at him. He had stopped eating and was watching you. You smiled softly.

“What is it?” You asked.

“Move in with me.”

It wasn’t a question, just a simple statement and it took you by surprise. It shouldn’t have, you had waited for it for a while now but all the same it made your stomach flip in the best way.

“Are you sure?” You spoke trying to keep your wide smile at bay.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything honeybee. It’s about time. I like the way you look here. It feels right when you are here. It doesn’t feel so big and lonely anymore and I don’t ever want it to again.”

You felt tears spring into your eyes but a smile split your face wide.

“I would love to move in. I’ve never felt more at home than I do with you.”

Jack’s smile matched yours and the two of you carefully leaned over the table and kissed each other. You finished your meals with bright smiles. The two of you laughed as you washed up the kitchen and made plans as you headed to bed to get you moved in. As you laid in bed Jack hovering over you already panting and wanting he smiled down at you before kissing you.

“Welcome home honeybee.”

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

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bits-and-babs · 2 years ago

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𝐏𝐚𝐧𝐂𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 — 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 ‘𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐘’ 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐒

↳ summary: a quiet day off work calls for something sweet. Jack treats you to some pancakes and naughty chaos ensues.

↳ pairing: jack 'whiskey' daniels x f!reader

↳ [2k words] content: 18+ MDNI, food, cooking, soft!dom x sub dynamics, spanking, oral (f receiving). This is a @beskarbabs remaster -- original post date 2021.

jack masterlist I| main masterlist |I join taglist

Given your tireless work schedules, it's uncommon for you and Jack to have mornings together. Spending those scarce daybreak hours in the kitchen was exceptional. For you to walk through the doorway in just your underwear and one of his oversized shirts to find Agent Whiskey taking breakfast into his own hands? Unheard of.

Jack had pursued you for quite some time. Flowers, chocolates, and gifts had all failed to win you over in his mission to make you his girlfriend. He'd tried everything from enlisting the help of Tequila to exaggerate all the reasons he'd be a good partner. He even begged Ginger Ale to put in a good word. Regardless, after months of attempts, he had resigned to accepting that you simply didn't see him that way.

That was until he invited you to breakfast after a particularly arduous mission that had left you with minor injuries and a foul mood. On that morning, the golden glow of the sunbeams leaking in from the window above the counter lit up the kitchen as the smell of batter warmed you up from the inside. You could remember it so clearly, Jack's hat cast to the side on the table you sat at as he flipped the pancakes diligently in the pan without dropping or creasing one.

The fluffiness, the sweetness that bordered on sickly yet still managed to be just perfect, was enough for you to reconsider your stance on your relationship with the mildly mulish man. The lemon juice and sugar sprinkled on top just for you gave you no option but to pay your compliments to the chef with a kiss.

It was Jack's favourite story. He told literally anyone who would listen.

It goes without saying, now that Jack had seduced you with his southern charm and humour consisting of mostly (if not all) dad jokes, that any morning the two of you managed to spend together, he would pull out the eggs, milk, flour and sugar. This morning appears to be no different.

"Are you making pancakes?" You ask softly, cheekbone pressed between his shoulder blades as you hold him from behind. You hear him chuckle softly, turning his face over his shoulder. You know what he's asking for and oblige, pressing a chaste kiss to his bronzed skin.

"Sure am, Sugar." He returns to his work, a smile hidden under that well-kept moustache. He takes up the batter bowl and expertly uses the spatula in hand to pour out the mixture into the frying pan without spilling even a dribble. He lays the spatula down into the bowl, handle propped up against the rim as he focuses on cooking the batter so it's perfectly golden and crispy.

The warm, homey smell of frying batter swirling from the stove makes your mouth water and your stomach growl, begging for something substantial. Finally, you decide you don't want to wait for Jack to use the mixture up, so use your index finger to scoop up some of the dough and smear it across your tongue.

Big mistake.

You see Jack's broad shoulders stop moving as he pauses his work. He leisurely lays down the pan on the heat mat lying on the counter before turning to you with a fixed and piercing gaze. He arches a thick eyebrow accusatorially.

"Did you just steal some?" His voice is deep, slipping further into his accent from the low volume. You look up into his eyes, your own wide with confusion at the abrupt change in atmosphere.

"... Yes," you admit. It comes out in a whisper, aware by now that Whiskey was planning something if the smirk tugging at the edge of his lip was anything to go by. He takes up the handle of the spatula from the bowl, slowly raising it and allowing the loose mixture to fall back into the bowl. He keeps his eyes on you.

"Clean it," he murmurs, lifting the head of the utensil to your mouth. It takes a second for his order to process in your brain. By then, he's already pressing the flat side to your lips. You stare up at him, bewildered, as you trail your tongue across the plastic. You can taste the sweetness that coats your tastebuds, but note the bitterness of raw flour.

Jack's eyes follow your ministrations, seemingly unaffected by your actions. He's the most unreadable you'd ever seen, his emotions usually worn on the rim of his cowboy hat rather than his sleeve, dangling between your eyes so it was impossible to miss. Right now, however, his face is blank.

The batter gathers on your tongue until you've cleared one side, and Jack twists the handle and exposes the other side to you. You also get to work on that one, humming softly at the addictively sweet taste.

Held at this angle, the mix begins to collect on the curve of the head. It drips onto your chin and dribbles down, catching your lover's attention. However, it isn't until it falls from your chin and onto the top of your breast that you notice his eye twitch, evidence that he was affected by the scene.

Jack pulls the plastic tool from you, inspecting it for leftovers. When he finds it clean, he looks back to you. He's rock-hard in his jeans. You had learnt that Jack's tight denim did very little to hide his excitement over the many times he'd had to restrain himself during missions. It certainly wasn't hard to miss.

"Hands on the table, hips out," he orders again. You blink up at him, a weak laugh escaping your throat.

"What are you gonna do, Jack? Arrest me?" You manage to force out, heart thudding wildly in your chest. He's looking at you like he could eat you.

"You gonna do as I say?" He questions, tone demanding. You do. You turn your back to him, bending at the waist and placing your palms on the dining table. You sense him come up behind you, kicking your feet apart as though he's about to search you while he sets the bowl of batter down beside your wrist.

"Last time I checked, you were a Statesman, not a police offic-" You yelp out as the sharp sound slap that practically reverberates around the room, the sharp sting burning its way into the flesh of your exposed ass cheeks underneath the hem of the shirt you had borrowed for the morning.

The blossoming sensation of prickling skin where the object had connected had you whipping your head around to glare at Jack, whose smirk informs you he had rather enjoyed your reaction. It's then that he wiggles the spatula in his hand, alerting you to the fact he had just spanked you with it.

"Jack!" You hiss, hand moving to rub at the irritated area, "What was that for?" He swats your hand away, taking the hem of his shirt you were wearing and hiking it up over your hips so your ass is entirely exposed to him.

"Punishment for stealing," he says simply, voice low and raspy. You roll your eyes, about to argue, when he lands the utensil on your thighs just underneath the crease of your ass. It sparks a harsh sting settling deep between your legs as you cry out in shock.

There's a silence that follows in the room, but inside your ears, you can hear the pounding of your blood rushing through your body, your heart thrumming so hard it makes your chest hurt. Jack was adventurous, sure, but this was new. Deep down, you know he had started this as a joke, but if the tent you had seen in his tight jeans was anything to go by, he was enjoying this... But, of course, he isn't the only one...

And it looks like Jack noticed.

He barely skips a beat, almost like this is what he had planned all along.

"You're gonna count them out for me, Sugar." He commands, palm settling on your lower back while he waits for your consent. His body language in your peripheral has changed, suddenly very serious and driven by arousal. You nod with a shaky breath, confirming.

"I wanna hear you say it, Darlin'." Even now, he still takes so much care of you.

"I'll count them out," you repeat you him, and you swear you hear him whisper 'good girl' behind you. The bite of the first two blows starts to ebb away, aided by the gentle stroke over the curve of your ass with the back of his fingers as he takes in the view of your pink cheeks.

He gives you no further warning than removing his hand. You hear the THWACK of the pancake turner first, but the hot, prickling pain follows the sound quickly, blooming across your cheeks. You let out a soft whine, releasing the sound in an attempt to ease the tension in your muscles.

"One," you squeak out, the power-play making you light-headed as your pussy flutters around nothing. Jack is totally silent, not allowing you to see his response to your reaction.

Another quick snap of his wrist and the sharp smack of the handle hits once again just under your ass. It hurts so good, a loud moan escaping your lips as you brace yourself against the tenderness. So caught up in breathing through the pinch, you forget to count out quickly enough.

"T-Two!" You try to correct yourself, but Jack has already noticed your 'defiance'. He tuts softly, shaking his head.

"You'll have to do better than that, Sugar. I'll let this one slide-" he grips your sore asscheeks gently, enough for goosebumps to rise across your skin at the deep throbbing between your legs, "But we'll start from zero if it happens again." You nod quickly, confirming that you've heard him.

He's gracious, soothing the pain he had inflicted for just a moment before striking you again, with the rubber head this time.

"Ffu- Three," you moan, the pulses of pain thrumming straight to your core. You can feel that you're soaking your panties through, dripping from the mixture of anticipation and smarting skin.

"Two more," Jack informs you, watching the way you rub your thighs together in search of some kind of friction for your stiff and aching clit. It's no use, you both know that, so you resign to whinging softly, acknowledging the last two blows.

He spanks you again.

"Fffour!" You struggle; the heat in your asscheeks and between your thighs is almost unbearable. You can practically feel the welts rising on your skin, the buzzing energy there creating perfect ghost-touches of the utensil.

The last blow strikes you so hard that you hear it ringing in your ears. It cracks like lightning up your spine, settling deep in your cunt as you wail on the final number.

"Fiiiveee~" Sobs escape you, tears collecting in the corners of your eyes at the relief and the intense need to be touched, to ride out an orgasm that had built up so much it felt like your legs were going to fall out from underneath you. You're shaking at the knees, relying heavily on the support of the table to keep you upright.

"Such a good girl, Sugar. You did so good," he murmurs, smoothing your skin with a light touch as he moves to his knees behind you. He kisses behind your trembling knees, your left first, and then your right. He trails the tip of his nose up the back of your right thigh, noting the whines of desperation that escape you.

"Mhmm. These," he whispers, pressing gentle and loving kisses to the swell of your stinging asscheeks, "These are my favourite cakes," he subtly teases you, and you laugh out weakly at his playful, cheeky side returning. Though, the laughter doesn't last long as he moves his mouth between your legs to trace his tongue over your still-clothed cunt.

"But nothing beats the taste of this..." he groans out, the sweet tang of your arousal painting his tongue. He holds your hip in one hand, thumbs tracing gentle patterns on your hipbone while he uses the other to tug your panties to the side.

"If you haven't learnt your lesson about stealing, I can think of another way to punish you," he rasps, nose nudging at your clit.

Needless to say, you dipped your fingers into the batter bowl once more.

Maybe twice.

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