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syd-djarin · 6 months ago

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Bell 😭 thank you so much ILYSMMMM 🩷🤭

Do It For Me | jack “whiskey” daniels x f!reader

For the greatest experience, recommend reading part 1 here. Can also be read as a standalone.

Summary: Jack returns home much later than he said he would. You punish him as you see fit.

Warnings: sub!jack, dom!reader, edging, safeword, some religious undertone references (Christ, taking the lords name in vain, “the Almighty”), a little angst in the beginning, alcohol, inability to tell the truth, mentions of Jack possibly being dead, blood, yelling, crying, anxiety spiral. Excessive, excesssssive use of pet names, (1) use of MOMMY, use of daddy, Jack is called a pretty boy and a good boy. Jack uses pet names for reader too (baby, sweetheart, sugar, etc.) Dirty talk, fingering, masturbation, oral (m and f receiving), face riding, Jack’s big cock, breeding kink if you squint, creampie, size kink, handcuffs, cowboy/southern references, mentions of pain and punishment. Reader has no major physical descriptions. And finally…your honor, they’re in love. LMK if I missed anything.

Thank you @milly-louise for the encouragement.

And of course, y’all already know that @katiexpunk put her sexy magic touch on this and is the best cheerleader and Slutty Smutty Sister. Katie is seriously one of a kind and it is a privilege to know her.

I truly have the best smut support there is. :’) Hope y’all enjoy!

smut below the cut.

Jack busts into your apartment like a force of nature, opening the door like a saloon door in the Wild West. He’s gasping for breath from rushing home to see you – climbing the stairs three at a time, testing his agility harder than any training ever did, simply from the fact that most of the blood is in his cock, eager to see you, rather than in any other part of his moving body.

“Hey baby, sorry I’m late—“ he trails off as he takes in the scene before him.

He finds you sitting at the dining table; candles lit, a bottle of red open on the table, one wine glass full, the other that’s smudged with lipstick empty, and his favorite meal waiting for him. His eyes flutter to you and he’s met with a pair of misty, red scleras staring back at him.

You rise from the table and storm off to the bathroom, your humiliation unbearable. Since you were a little girl, you have always been self-conscious of the way you look when you cry. Like one allergy attack short of an ER visit. Not beautifully poetic the way the girls in movies cry. Full on hyperventilating and snot running out of your nose. Once inside, hot salty tears stream down your cheeks. The pang in your chest knocks the wind out of you, disappointment burning through your body like wildfire, heating your skin.

You thought it might be nice to surprise Jack, to welcome him home from his two-week mission; the longest you’ve been apart since you’ve been together. Be home in a jiffy, sweetheart. Can’t wait to see you. I’ll be home around six, he assured you this morning over the phone, his voice smooth and silky.

Six turned into seven thirty, which turned into eight-thirty, and now here it is – nearing 11 o’clock, each passing hour without hearing from him only made you more upset. You wouldn’t be this mad if had he just called, texted, or hell, he could have sent a carrier pigeon to let you know he’s fine and that’d be late. All of your calls and texts to him went unanswered. You’re not unused to this, given his job and everything, but every time it happens it irks you in a way you can’t control.

But no, he didn’t – his absence acted like a tour bus, giving your mind an entire tour of all of the things that could have possibly gone wrong. What if he was hit by a car? Trapped in an industrial-size freezer? It’s not logical, but like…what if.

Or worse, what if he was dead? Jack wields around his mortality as if it were immortality in his line of work, meaning you worry about him like you get paid hourly to do so. The waiting, the worrying, and the not-knowing spreads under your skin like a fever with each passing minute. You don’t even care about the dinner getting cold, or to be honest, the fact that he didn’t respond to you. You’re past that, you’re emotions thick like a blanket. You just need to know he’s okay. He’s safe. He’s still alive, for fucks sake.

As you waited for him, your knee bobbing under the kitchen table, your thoughts oscillated between the worst-case scenarios, your stomach swirling in unease and dread.

And then –

There he was, swinging the door open, a shit-eating grin on his face as if he had no idea that you’d been expecting him for hours or that you’d made yourself sick wondering where he was.

You pat at your blurry lashline with a tissue, trying not to smear the makeup you worked so hard to put on earlier in the evening. Hurried and heavy boot steps echo outside the bathroom door, followed by a soft knock.

“Baby, can I come in, please?” He gently coos, his voice almost a little desperate, forehead leaning against the door. It’s not locked, but Jack is a gentleman above all and wants to respect your space. Even if it’s his fault you need it.

“Oh, fuck off,” you spit back, your voice wobbly. His heart sinks to the pit of his stomach; you’ve never spoken to him like this before. Normally you’re fairly carefree, and understanding, but the talons you like to keep hidden away are now on full display, brought out by a mix of worry, hunger, and anger.

You look in the mirror again, and your feigned attempts to prevent your mascara from running are useless. Your eyes are now puffy, beyond anything Benadryl or Clear Eyes could help, and even a bit raccoon-like. Great, a cherry on top of an already shit night.

You step back from the counter and lean back against the wall, allowing your legs to slightly give out as you slide down the expanse of it, the fabric of your dress riding up as you do. Your bare thighs hit the cool tile below you, cooling your hot skin. The tears that well in your eyes fall one by one, and don’t seem like they have any plans to ease up anytime soon. You run the back of your hand under your nose and move it to wipe away some of the moisture on your cheeks.

“Sweetheart?” He calls to you through the door, but he’s met with silence. “Baby, I’m so sorry I’m late. I can see how much this night meant to you, and I can tell you worked hard to make it special. I’m sorry I ruined it. Baby, please, open the door – let me see you.”

The sincerity in his voice causes your temper to simmer down. You plant your palms on the ground and push yourself up to stand. You know you look like a hot mess, but you don’t care. Let the fucker see how much he hurt you. Your palm finds the brass doorknob, and you quickly pull the door open, almost taking Jack with it, not realizing he was leaning up against it.

You stand there, arms by your sides, your fists rolled into little balls. Your cheeks are damp, and the stray hands of your hair are plastered to them, glued on by your tears. At first, you look at the floor, before lifting your gaze to face Jack.

His heart sinks when he sees you. “Oh sweetpea…fuck, I am so sorry baby,” he tells you once more.

“You’re late, Jack. Like really fucking late!” you cry out to him, not quite yelling, but not quite not yelling, either.

“I know I am, but baby –” he replies, looking at your lips, avoiding your eyes, before you cut him off.

“Why the hell didn’t you call me or text me? For fucks sake, Jack. I thought you were hurt! Or worse, dead. You could have been lying in a ditch bleeding out and I would have had no idea,” you spill out, spewing fire with your words. “Where were you anyway? Hmm? What had you so preoccupied you couldn’t even bother to tell me you were gonna be – oh I don’t know, five hours late?” You ask, a twinge of snarkiness behind your voice.

You’re only so keyed up because you care about him so much; trying to mask your pain with anger.

He inches closer to you, instinctively pulling your body into his. You resist as first, body rigid, not embracing him back. You’re still mad, but with the way he feels against you, you can’t help but soften. You wrap your arms around his middle, resembling the way a koala bear clings onto a tree. The firmness of his arms envelops you in a protective blanket, pulling you tight to him so you can see the pulse in his neck, lowers your cortisol levels, and cools your heated blood.

“I’ll tell you, but have to promise you won’t laugh,” he says, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head, inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo. Fuck, he missed you.

“I’m not going to laugh, Jack. Where were you? What the hell happened?” you demand to know once again, stepping back from him, disconnecting your embrace.

“I uh – well, I was trying to save a kitten that was trapped on the train tracks on my way home. I managed to grab it, but as I was hoisting it back up onto the platform, my phone fell out of my pocket. By the time I went back down to grab it, the train was right around the corner…and well, it was crushed. Then I had to navigate my way home without GPS, and I saw an old lady get robbed, so I had to help her. And then there was a runaway stroller…” he says, smiling. He knows your upset, but he tries to lighten your spirits with humor.

That’s his thing. Well, your thing together, you suppose. You’d always ask him how his day was at work, how his missions went, knowing he couldn’t ever tell you the truth. You jokingly said to him one night, “Well if you can’t tell me the truth, make something up, like rescuing a kitten in a tree or something.” You were half-joking, but it just sorta stuck.

You look at Jack and can tell from the look on his face that he is sorry.

“Spy stuff, then?” You ask, clearing the remaining tears from your cheek.

“Spy stuff. I’m sorry baby, I want to tell you, I do, it’s just…the more you don’t know, the better. I don’t ever want to tell you anything that could compromise you, I couldn’t bare it if you got hurt,” Jack says, a sincerity behind his voice.

You see it then – for as much as you love and worry about him. He loves and worries about you, too. He knows his work is a lot, and he can see the weight of him not being able to tell you the full truth has on you. The worry, the pain that lingers behind your eyes.

Your shoulders relax and your face softens. You won’t push him.

You know he’d tell you if he could. You run the pads of your fingers under your eyes once more, clearing away some of the fallout from your makeup. The anger from earlier dissipates.

He’s here. He’s safe.

You reach your hand out to him and allow your fingertips to curl around his pinky. You look up at him with doe eyes.

“Gonna have to make it up to me, cowboy,” you whisper, a seductive tone to your voice. “Behave for me and I won’t be too mean.”

You unhook his pinky and curl your full hand around his wrist, rounding around him, pulling him to the bedroom.

You push Jack so that he is seated at the edge of your shared bed, using your foot to wedge his thighs open, granting enough space for you to stand between them. His sable eyes are the size of saucers, his heart thrums at a rapid rate in his chest. He’s no stranger to it all, hell, he’s a trained killer for Christ's sake, and yet here he is – defenseless under you, at your total mercy.

You could tell him to get on all fours and bark, and he’d fucking do it. He doesn’t know what your end game is, but he’s itching to find out, much like the hard cock that’s quickly eating up all of the space in his jeans.

“You’ve been a naughty, naughty boy…” you say, stroking your finger along the razor edge of his chiseled jaw. A little tsk, tsk sound escapes your lips, and you move to grab his jaw with a firm grip. “What am I gonna do with you?”

He gulps hard, the prominent Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing as he does. You’re not wrong – he has been a naughty boy, oh god, if you only knew, but hearing you say it has him bricked up; hard, and desperate for you, and whatever you want to give him. He’s ready to worship at your altar, ready to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness.

He’s well-versed in taking charge and fucking you til you see The Almighty, but reversing those roles, having you boss him around for a change? He’s never experienced anything quite like it. The Statesman surely didn’t train him for this.

“Remember the safe word, baby?” You ask in a serious tone, momentarily pausing your sexual prowess.

“Oh fuck,” he chokes out. “Y-es, I remember, baby.” Your pussy throbs at the sight of your tough cowboy submitting to you.

“Good boy. Now, you’re gonna keep your hands to yourself. Can you do that for me?” You respond, your voice smoky, laced with pure desire.

He nods and a faint whimper escapes his lips. You squeeze his jaw with your hand, “Use your words like a big boy,” you scold, reciting similar words he used on you not too long ago. Use your words like a big girl.

“Yes ma’am,” he says, voice trembling with need, a twinge of submission behind it.

You can’t help the smirk on your face, taking over the reins and being in charge gives you a new thrill. Now you know what all the fuss is about.

You start undoing the buttons of his Western-style shirt. You’re taking your time, enjoying how each undone button reveals more of his lean body that gets softer the further down you go, but for Jack, it’s painstakingly slow. He squirms where he’s sitting and fights the urge to take over. He’s trying not to paint his jeans just looking at you being a minx.

Rip my fuckin’ heart out baby, is the only thought that crosses his mind.

“Patience, baby,” you purr and give his face a few playful smacks. You reach for his belt buckle, and he hisses when it presses against his rock-hard cock. You retreat, remembering the recurring fantasy you’ve been having for weeks now.

“Pants off, lay on the bed, and wait for me,” you order and he does as he’s told. Truthfully, he’s a little afraid of what you might do if he doesn’t. You walk over to your closet space, which is thankfully out of view from the bed. You take the opportunity to strip down to the silky black bra and matching panties you’ve been waiting to show Jack all evening. You gather the items you came to the closet for and step back into the bedroom.

Jack is lying with his back under a cloud of pillows, his head resting against the metal headboard. He’s almost naked, just like you asked, his thick bulge pronounced in his underwear. You swear you can see his heart thump out of his chest from across the room when his eyes trail over your nearly bare body. His breath catches in his throat when he sees what you retrieved from the closet. Fuzzy handcuffs, and one of your fluorescent pink dildos. He doesn’t mind when you use it on yourself, but he’d much rather give you the real thing. The silicon shape of it taunts him.

You lay the agents of eroticism next to him and crawl up his body to hover over him. He cranes his neck to kiss you but you pull back and place your index finger over his lips.

“Nuh-uh,” you scold. He whines, actually whines, and you have to compose yourself from melting on the spot. You pick up the novelty handcuffs and dangle them in his face, a mischievous and somewhat amused look on your face.

“Gonna put these on ya, pretty boy,” you say with a delicate cadence, almost questioning; giving Jack the room to protest. He’s never been restrained before, at least not in this context. He’s restrained you plenty of times, but you understand he might not like it; especially given the nature of his profession and his need to always be on guard.

But fuck it, if he has a problem with it, he can safe word out.

He doesn’t.

You lock eyes with him as you fasten the handcuffs around his wrists, one end on each, the other tethered to the metal bed frame. Your chest is so close to his face, close enough that his tongue can’t help but dart out and give your tits a little lick, the temptation of it too strong.

You pull away from him and look down at him. “Maybe I wasn’t clear enough the first time. You’re gonna keep your hands to yourself, and that includes your tongue. You’ll take what I give you when I give it to you. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jack nods, a smug look on his face. He thinks you’re cute when you’re demanding.

“Better wipe that little smirk from your face right now or I’ll leave you chained up all night, fuck myself silly with this plastic cock, and moan your name the entire time I do it. You won’t get a single taste. That what you want?” You ask, a condescending tone to your voice.

He doesn’t answer you, he just looks at you with lusty, glossy eyes. “What’s the matter baby, cat got your tongue?” you say, and a low growl leaves his chest.

“No, baby. I don’t want that. Wanna fuck you, wanna show you how sorry I am,” he says. You know he could bust out of the handcuffs with a swift tug if he wanted to. You know he could pin you to this bed and have you crying for him, following his every demand. What’s more, you know you’d like it.

But he knows he fucked up, and he knows this is his penance.

You let out a little purr of satisfaction when you see him tug at the cuffs, the rattle of them against the metal of the bed frame. His lack of somewhat self-imposed freedom shows you that right now he’s at your mercy.

You rise to stand on the bed, both of your feet on either side of him, positioned just above his head. The view you’re giving him is obscene, the sheer lace of your panties just barely covering your wet and glistening cunt. You dip your hand below the hand of them and use your fingers to gently nudge the soiled fabric to the side. You run your finger up your dripping seam, collecting your slick on your finger, gently passing over your throbbing clit as you do. A little gasp trickles over your lips. Jack can see the glisten on your fingertips and his mouth salivates, conditioned like Pavlov’s dog at the sight of your juices. He can smell you from where you’re positioned, the sweet scent of your arousal, and the groan he lets out is animalistic, primal. He’s kicking himself for the predicament he’s in, but at the same time, relinquishing control has never felt this good.

“Bet you wanna stuff your thick cock in this pretty pussy don’t you, Daddy. Wanna split me open, stretch me out, and claim me,” you taunt him, your fingers continuing their ministration against your clit, nearing you closer to your release. The filth spewing from your lips is mostly just to tease him, but fuck, if it doesn’t do something for you, too. Mostly because it’s true. You want him so bad, you can only imagine how he must feel.

“Answer me, baby. Tell me what you wanna do to this pussy when I finally let you,” you rasp out, your fingers alternating between slipping in and out of your wet and waiting hole.

“Fuuuck,” Jack growls. He can barely form words, too drunk off the sight of your pussy, watching you work yourself above him. “Such a pretty fucking cunt,” he hisses, “gonna fucking ruin you when I get out of these cuffs.”

“Yeah? Keep being a good boy for me and I’ll let you fuck me however you want baby,” you rasp, a little breathless, sprinting to the cliff of your orgasm,“But, you’re gonna make me come first,” you say, falling to your knees, holding the panties far off to the side of your slit. You position yourself right above Jack’s face, holding your glistening cunt inches away from his face. So close he can almost taste it, but not quite close enough.

“I wanna hear you beg,” you tell Jack, your hands threaded through his hair, pulling it back so he’s face-to-face with your pretty pussy. “Tell your mommy how bad you wanna taste her cunt.”

And shit, it’s raunchy, straight debauched. You don’t even have time to ponder the words that just left your lips, but it felt right. You can tell Jack likes it too by the way he practically falls apart under you, a whimper leaving his chest for the second time tonight, his eyes dark as the sea at night.

When he doesn’t answer you, you tug his hair and head back a little farther, dipping just a little bit lower, close enough this time for him to land a little lick on your wet center.

“Holy fuck baby, shit I need you so bad, please sit on my face,” he begs, “please let me taste you.” You’re more than happy to oblige, chasing reprieve from your aching core. You sit down on his face, your wet folds completely covering his mouth, his nose nudged right up against your awaiting clit. You don’t put all of your weight onto him yet, not wanting to cut off all of his airflow. He pulls away slightly, “Fucking give me all of it, baby. Don’t hold back,” Jack muffles against the skin of your pussy. His voice reverberates, his hot breath is ticklish against your sensitive cunt.

As much as you’re in control right now, old habits die hard, and him telling you what to do for the first time tonight coils the spring of your nearing release tight. You let out a slew of fuck, yes, oh my god daddy, yes, and taking the lord’s name in vain a few times. You’re riding the wave of your orgasm, and it’s so intense, to the point of dizziness. “Oh wait, fuck, think–” you lift off him slightly, just in time to see your release splashing over his face, completely drenching him. You fully move off of him, and look down at him, and he’s a mess. He looks at you with a primal grin to his face, his pupils so wide they edge out the color of his eyes.

“Oh fuck, Daddy. Look at you,” you moan, “covered in me, aren’t ya? Looks good on you. Now swallow it,” you demand.

You don’t have to tell him twice. He drinks up what he can while being restrained and you decide to gift him more by catching the stray droplets on his chin with your index finger and pressing it into his mouth. Jack savors your taste, eyes fluttering shut and practically growls. He’d argue it's the nectar of the gods.

“Shit, baby. You come for me like that and I’ll let you do whatever you want with me, this cock is all yours,” Jack rasps, thoroughly fucked out and under-touched. His cock throbs under the fabric of his boxers, waiting for you to touch him, to milk the soul right out of him.

“Think I’m gonna keep you restrained like this for a bit longer, baby. But don’t worry, since you’re being so good, I’ll put on quite the show for you,” you say, shimmying and kissing your way down the center of his stomach, leaving goosebumps in your wake. You nip across the neatly trimmed hairs that rest at the top of his cock, until you come to over them, your lips hovering just above the band of his underwear.

You look up at him through your lashes, and give him a little knowing smile; you love what you do to him and you’ve barely touched him yet. You slip the fabric off of him, releasing his thick cock; it’s bigger than normal right now, pumped full of so much blood, the prominent vein that runs down the side of it bulging, the tip of it shiny with his pre-come.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him. You’ve always admired his thick, delicious cock, but having free reign over it right now, the power to do whatever the fuck you want with it is almost overwhelming. You dart your tongue out and lick the tip of him, the taste is a little salty and heady. You moan and smile, before opening your mouth wide, releasing your tongue so it’s wide and flat. You grab his cock by the base of him and tap the mushroom head of it over your tongue, little thin strings of salvia trailing between your body and his as you do.

“Fuck, baby. You’re such a tease, killin’ me over here,” Jack moans, fighting his fuzzy restraints.

“Oh Jack, my love. Have you learned anything tonight? You’re mine. I’ll do what I want with you when I want to,” you rasp, opening your mouth wide, diving down deep on to the thickness of him as you do.

“Ah shit –” he cries out, happy to finally be touched, but not expecting you to deep-throat him from the get-go. “So good baby, so good oh my god,” he cries out as he juts his hips up, trying to nudge his cock deeper into your wet and waiting throat, chasing the warmth and wetness of it. You keep working him, it’s sloppy and intense, but so damn satisfying. You’re just happy to have him deep inside one of your holes, filling you in just the way you like.

But you want more. As happy as you are to keep up this teasing, taunting, and kinky show, at your core you just need him to fuck you. You need to feel him deep inside of you, deep enough to remind you that he’s here, he’s alive, and he’s yours. You need him to fuck you so hard that the sadness from earlier in the evening spills out of you, retreats into a corner, runs away, and hides, never to be found again.

“Want me to ride you, pretty boy?” You ask, though you already know what the answer will be. He nods furiously, and if you don’t put him out of his misery soon, he has half the mind to punish you.

“Sorry, baby. I didn’t catch that – use your words, I know how good you are at that; prove it to me,” you command, running your palm up and down the length of his wet cock, working him within an inch of his life.

“Yes, fuck, please ride me. Need to feel your pussy squeezin’ my cock,” he pleads, his patience wearing thin, “Don’t wanna come like this, sugar. Need to fill up that little pussy of yours, know how much she likes that, my come spilling out of you,” he moans. “Look so pretty when I’m spilling out of you, my girl,” he adds.

As soon as he finishes his last syllable, you line him up with your entrance and sink slowly. You gasp when he’s fully inside, your ass flush against him. From this angle, his cock punches your cervix in a way that deliciously teeters on pain and pleasure. You’re seriously considering uncuffing him, letting him ravage you, but ultimately you’re not ready to end your fun.

Your hand finds purchase on Jack’s sweat-slick chest as you bounce up and grind back down on his vicious cock. Your other hand between your legs, rubbing your clit in tandem with the plunging movement of your hips. Each movement fuses both of you together in shared ecstasy.

The flurry of emotions and sensations you’re experiencing at once is overwhelming; your second orgasm impending, the still raw and pent up feelings from your catastrophizing thought spiral that lasted for hours, and the sweet relief of having your cowboy back home with you. Exactly where he belongs.

He’s close and you’re both a little surprised he’s lasted this long. His honey-like drawl spewing out filthy words. The closer he gets the mouthier he gets.

Atta girl, ride this cock like you mean it. Look like straight up sin like this, baby. Fuckin’ goddess. Fuck fuck fuck. Thank fucking Christ you’re mine. Shit. fuck. damn. All mine, all mine.

Furling headfirst into euphoria, you roar out at a decibel that the neighbors on each side of you won’t appreciate the way that Jack is right now. A new flash of heat spreads throughout your body and you see stars behind your fluttering eyelids. You gush around his cock, pussy pulsating and immersing you both in your release.

“Fuck I’m—“ Jack is cut off by his own hoarse shout as he’s bucked into his own bliss, painting your insides with spurts of cum. He’s pretty sure he has died and went where cowboys go; he’s never come this hard in his life. He’s dizzy, borderline disoriented, chasing his breath like it’s a greased pig and he’s the poor chap pursuing it. You lean down and capture his lips in a frenzied kiss, another way of tethering yourselves to each other and back down to earth.

With trembling limbs you reach over to the nightstand and grab the tiny keys to the cliche cuffs still locked around Jack’s wrists. You fumble through unlocking them and you’re grateful that he is still hazy, otherwise he’d be giving you shit for it.

You dismount off of his softening shaft and feel your spent pussy leak down your inner thighs. A filthy idea pops into your fucked out head, your last act of dominance for tonight. You glide two fingers through your combined juices and bring them to Jack’s lips. The second time your fingers have been in his mouth tonight.

“See how good we taste together, baby,” you command, smearing some onto his plush lips. He sticks out his tongue, waiting for your offering. Much to your delight, he is still pliant under your control after you removed his restraints. He swirls his warm tongue along your fingers, lapping up every last drop.

You move off Jack’s chest in favor of tucking yourself into his side. Even though you were in control tonight, the need to be held post-coitus is still present. When he holds you in his strong arms, it’s your sanctuary. He’s not sure you know, but you’re his sanctuary.

Moments of tranquil pass and Jack breaks the silence.

“So…. Mommy, huh?”

END

#comment reblog #bell<3 #love my moots #tmlas

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