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Howdy Neighbor!
Chapter 11: Finally
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Agent Whiskey | Jack Daniels/AFAB!Reader
Read it on Ao3
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Chapter Art
Warnings: No use of Y/N, Legal Age Gap, Food & Drink Mention, Food Consumption, Alcohol Mention, Intoxication, Smut, Whiskey Dick, Oral Sex, Nipple Play, safe Sex, P in V Sex
Summary: You finally stay the night at Jack’s place for the first time.
You’re finally able to get Whiskey into the passenger seat of his Bronco after getting dried off and dressed. When you sat down in the driver’s side, you had to adjust the seat since it was so far back. Next, was adjusting the mirrors just to see properly. You didn’t realize how big he was until you started adjusting those small things. All the while you were making sure you could drive comfortably back to Whiskey’s place, he was giggling.
“What’s so funny, cowboy?” You raised an eyebrow as you turned the key to start the Bronco.
“Oh nothin’…” Whiskey smirked, “Just thinkin’ bout how you’re gonna love my bed.”
As you started down the dirt road you scoff, “That’s if you can make it to your front door in your drunken state.”
“Oh, I will.” Whiskey set his hat in his lap, leaned his head down to your shoulder and gave it a sloppy kiss, “I’ll make sure I will.”
As you pulled into his gravel pathway, you couldn’t help but feel lighter from the drunken kiss Whiskey had left on your shoulder. Even in this inebriated state, he was still soft and kind to you, never wanting to overstep your boundaries. He held onto you to keep his balance. Moonshine drunkenness is something different then the beer and tequila you were used to back in the city. He never put his full weight on you, always making sure you were able to move. As you made it into his home, he pointed down the hallway and you made your way down there with him. He then slurred his words as you missed his bedroom door. You chuckled to yourself; you had really fallen head over heels for this cowboy next door.
You were finally able to set Jack back down on his bed. He fumbled with his belt and fling it across the bed and onto the floor. He set his hat down on the bedside table and tore off his shirt, his chest hair still damp from the swim in the river. He then pulled his jeans down in one pull, kicking off his boots and tossing them with the belt.
“Lay with me, darlin’,” Whiskey slurred his words, “I’m gettin’ cold.”
You feel your face get hot, “Can I get comfy before I lay down?”
Whiskey leaned back onto his pillows, “As long as I get to watch you, pretty.”
You nod your head as you began to strip only to your underwear. Whiskey eyes took in every aspect of your body. Your perfections, imperfections, everything. He held out his hand and you took it as you laid next to him. He pulled you in close, and you felt his cock twitch underneath his underwear.
Whiskey grunted in frustration, “Damn moonshine. Wanna let you play with my rooster.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, “You know you can say cock around me.”
“Yeah,” Whiskey slurred, “But I just wanted to hear that pretty laugh of yours.”
You ran your hand through Jack’s hair, “I need you to sleep, cowboy. Don’t want you to feel too bad tomorrow.”
Whiskey pulled you close and gave you a soft kiss, then went to kiss your forehead, “Alright, but I promise to make tomorrow mornin’ the best mornin’ you’ll have.”
You kissed his forehead and said your goodnights as he pulled you into his chest. You wonder what the morning will bring with this cowboy.
You awake at dawn extremely thirsty. The sun is just coming up, so not enough light is in the bedroom just yet. You look over to your left, and see Jack, still asleep. His soft snores make you smile. You notice his hair is a slight mess, his stash is a little wild, but still perfect in your eyes. This is when you notice the soft dusting of chest hair on him. You want to reach out and run your hand down, but you dare not wake this sleeping beauty of a man. In this moment, you realize how much of a catch this man is. You couldn’t have asked for a better man.
You make your way to the bathroom and get a quick cup of water. You down it as you hear someone stirring in bed. As you come out of the bathroom, you are greeted by a now awake Jack in his bed.
He has taken off his briefs, revealing his erect cock. You couldn’t help but lick your lips. He was packing, no wonder why he has his personality. He leaned back, tilted his head to the side, and a cocky smile grew on his face.
“Like what you see?” Jack winked.
All you could do was nod yes. You make eye contact one last time before you strip yourself of your underwear. You walk over and kneel between his legs. You look up one last time, asking for permission.
Jack cupped your cheek, “Oh honeybee, go right ahead.”
Your lips slowly went over the tip and Jack let out a soft sigh. You slowly worked your way down the shaft, then back up to the tip. You could feel the saliva build up every time the tip hit the back of your throat.
Jack started to pant, “Oh baby, you’re gonna be the end of me,” More pants, “You’re doin’ a great job,” A sigh, “Fuck-just like that.”
He talked you through this. As you begin to bob your head more, your hands went to his thighs, you softly gripped them, and Jack released a lovely moan. He grabbed the sides of your head and shoved you down all the way to the base of his cock. It felt amazing, feeling his cock fill up your throat. Spit began to escape the corner of your lips as you let out a small choking sound. Jack quickly pulled your head back, releasing his cock from your mouth. You look up at him, spit now dripping off your face.
“I didn’t hurt-“ You cut Jack off.
“Use me, Jack. I want you.” You moan.
You take Jack’s cock and gather the spit to stroke him again. You then stuck your tongue out and made Jack’s cock slap against it. Jack’s eyes rolled in the back of your head as the slaps filled the empty room. His moans make you smile, and you wanted more. You got up off your knees, and pushed him back to lay on the bed. You straddled his thighs and began to run your core up and down his cock.
“Oh fuck, darlin’, you got yourself all wet suckin’ my cock, didn’t you?” Jack chuckled.
All you could do was nod your head yes. His cock felt so good, especially as you got to the head and it nudge your clit. It sent shockwaves in your body. Jack reached for one of his nightstand drawers and pulled out a condom. You quickly pulled it from his hands, ripped open the package and slid down enough to roll the condom over his hard on. This is really when you notice how big he really was. There was a prominent vein going across one side, his foreskin rolled back enough just from how hard he was.
Jack noticed the pause, “It’s all for you, honeybee. No one else.”
You position yourself above his cock, you saw his hands slowly come up to your hips and he guided you down onto his cock. When the head past your entrance, both of you moaned. Jack felt how tight you were, how warm you were. You slowly began to rock your hips down to take more of Jack’s cock. All Jack could do was praise you through every thrust. You finally shut him up with a kiss. It was passionate. All tongue, barely coming up for air. You loved it, you loved this man.
Jack placed his feet down on the bed and began to thrust up into you. It took the air right out of your lungs. You tried to call out his name, but all that came out was moans of pleasure. The sounds of his balls slapping against you filled the room. His hand slid down from one of your hips and started to rub on the bundle of nerves. You threw your head back as you began to reach your peak with every swipe of his thumb.
“Let go, darlin’,” Jack huffed, “Fuckin’ hell, let go.”
With one last thrust along with a rub of your clit, you saw white. Your body twitched, no longer in control. You felt yourself let go, and it’s the highest you’ve ever been. Jack quickly got you onto your back and he began chasing his high. Every thrust from him just made yours better. You truly felt like you had reached heaven with this man. The veins in his neck began to bulge out, and Jack leaned in close to your ear.
“I-hell-I love you.” Jack moaned out.
You kissed him, “I love you.”
With that confession, Jack finally hit his climax. His moans filled the room as his cum filled up the condom. You could feel every twitch of his cock inside of you. He fell on top of you, it felt nice. His weight held you down like a hug. You ran your hands up and down his back slowly. Jack lifted himself and slowly pulled his cock out of you, tied off the condom, and threw it in the waste basket next to the bed.
“See?” Jack smirked, still out of breath, “Told ya’ that this would be the best mornin’ you’ll have!”
All you could do was let out a small chuckle and pull him down for a soft, long kiss.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make breakfast soon, but I just wanna lay with you here.” Jack pulled you in close.
You smiled, “That sounds perfect, cowboy.”
Divider by saradika
#my fanfic#fanfic#fanfiction#lemon#fluff#howdy neighbor!#neighbor!whiskey#neighbor au#agent whiskey#jack daniels#agent whiskey x reader#agent whiskey/reader#jack daniels x reader#jack daniels/reader#afab!reader#afab reader#kingsman the golden circle#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal fandom
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x reader she's like Barbie. she can be anything. she can be everything. she can do whatever I'm not dare to do in rl and she can choose her man. *sigh* Life've never been better.
#ao3#ao3 fanfic#tumblr fanfic#joel miller x reader#din djarin x reader#francisco morales x reader#marcus acacius x reader#agent whiskey x reader#javier peña x reader#anakin skywalker x reader#jake seresin x reader#bob floyd x reader#bradley bradsaw x reader#august walker x reader#geralt x reader#clark kent x reader#sherlock holmes x reader#bucky barnes x reader#steve rogers x reader
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Alexa, play Bodyguard by Beyoncé
#joel miller#dbf joel miller#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#dbf!joel#pedro pascal#pedrohub#the last of us#pedropascaledit#beyonce#bodyguard#javier pena x reader#agent whiskey fic#frankie catfish morales#pascalispunk#jose pedro balmaceda pascal
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Hot Chocolate
Pairing: Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels x f!reader
Summary: You lead a quiet, boring life in a podunk town, but when a certain secret agent stumbles into your world needing your help to catch a criminal at the local carnival, your quiet little life changes forever.
Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, canon-typical violence (fist fights, whips and lassos, of course), smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, sexual tension
WC: 6.5K
Written for @pedgito's Summer Lovin' challenge ❤️
Humidity clung to the air, and although the sun had long set, the heat hung heavy in the fairgrounds but that didn't keep the whole town from coming out to the carnival that night. You lived in a small town with not a lot to do but every year the same carnival came through and set up shop for two weeks, attracting people within an hour's drive, and every year since you were sixteen you worked there for some extra cash. Back when you were younger, your earnings tended to go towards the booze you brought to the parties in the middle of the woods, surrounded by the familiar faces of people you grew up with and their siblings. Now that you were in your twenties, that money was put toward rent and a car payment.
When you were sixteen, you had a very different idea of what your life would look like by now. Hell, you didn't even think you'd be living in this town, let alone working the same shitty waitress job at the same shitty restaurant while you tried and failed to come up with a better career path. Money was tight and the last thing you wanted to do was move back in with your parents, so you picked up extra jobs here and there. The carnival wasn't a bad gig. Pay was based on seniority and since you had worked there for so many years, the money was good and the jobs were mostly pretty fun, but it was only two weeks and you would be back to pinching pennies again.
But a week before the carnival was scheduled to arrive, a handsome man with dark hair, even darker cowboy hat and yellow aviators strolled into your restaurant with a cocky smirk and requested to sit in your section, and everything changed.
You had greeted him like any other table and subtly stole glances his way while he studied the menu, trying to figure out if you recognized him. No, you surely would remember him. Aside from his obvious good looks, he stuck out amongst the usual crowd. Dark grey, form fitting suit with a matching tie and cowboy boots? That... you definitely would have remembered.
He leaned back in the booth, one arm draped across the back of the worn cushion while his eyes slowly dragged down your frame. You glanced around nervously, suddenly feeling like you were being judged, then his eyes traveled back up and stopped on your name tag. He repeated your name out loud as if it were a question and finally looked into your eyes. His intensity sent a shiver down your spine but you nodded, confirming your name, and he smiled. It was a slow smile, one that began as a twitch in the corner of his mouth and tugged to one side, pulling his dark mustache with it until his lips spread so wide you could see his teeth. They were straight and he actually still had all of them. Yeah, he definitely wasn't from your hometown.
He didn't come back into the restaurant after that, but it wouldn't be the last time you saw him.
Two days later you made a pit stop by the Piggly Wiggly for some groceries. You made your way through the parking lot to your beat up car, stopping dead in your tracks when he came into view. He was leaning casually against your driver's side door, one ankle hooked over the other and still wearing that suit. Or maybe it was a different suit. You couldn't remember but what you did remember was the bead of sweat that trickled down from underneath his Stetson, leaving an enticing wet streak along the side of his head. He said your name and smiled, trying to disarm you, but you were still wary. He held up both palms flat as if to prove he wasn't dangerous but something told you his hands were just as threatening as any other weapon.
"Got a minute to talk, sugar?"
You glanced around the parking lot and swallowed, every natural instinct screaming at you to run back inside the store for help but instead you found yourself slowly walking towards him, as if being pulled by a magnet or some other enchanting force.
It was a bit of a blur after that. He flashed his badge, Jack Daniels, it read, with the word Statesmen being tossed around quite a bit while he explained what he did for a living, all of it sounding rather impressive but also confusing. Espionage. Spies. Undercover.
"What's all that got to do with me?" you had said. He smiled.
"Glad you asked."
Apparently he had been trying to track down a dangerous arms dealer for years. With some information Jack squeezed out of a low level guard, he discovered the arms dealer was able to be so successful because he traveled with the carnival to evade local and federal law enforcement. Always being on the move kept him under the radar, and now Jack had his sights set on taking him down when the carnival arrived in your town, but he needed help.
Jack needed someone who was on the inside, someone who earned years of trust by working for the same people and living in the same town, someone completely unsuspecting.
You.
At first, you said no, unwilling to put yourself at risk even though he promised he would be hiding in the shadows and would be in constant communication with you through an earpiece and camera. Then he offered up a few thousand dollars to sweeten the deal and your resolve crumbled. He promised you would be under government protection and your involvement would be minimal: you just needed to find the target and let Jack know which booth he was going to work. Plus, you really needed the money.
That was how you found yourself in the mid-afternoon before your shift started being suited up with impressive, high tech gear. Jack watched patiently from the corner of the trailer. For the first time, he wasn't wearing a suit. He elected to wear a pair of dark wash jeans and a white tshirt that clung to his broad chest but he was still sporting his signature cowboy hat. A beautiful woman named Ginger outfitted you with a nearly invisible earpiece and installed a microscopic camera in the button of your polo shirt. She assured you there was a tiny microphone in the camera and that Jack and the entire team assigned to the case would be watching and ready to jump into action if anything went sideways.
Simple enough, you thought.
"How're you holdin' up, darlin'?" Jack mumbled, pinching your elbow between his fingers as he led you out of the unsuspecting double wide that currently hid Ginger and all her expensive equipment and into his Bronco.
"Uh..." you began, throat suddenly feeling dry when he started the car and turned onto the familiar stretch of road. They had set up a base in the woods about two miles away from the carnival which meant you would be there in less than five minutes. Your head was spinning, the adrenaline suddenly coursing through your veins and making you lightheaded. "Not so great, actually."
He turned his head and studied you for a moment before pulling off the road and throwing the car into park. He shifted in his seat so he could face you, one elbow resting on the back of his seat and the other on the steering wheel. "I ain't gonna let anythin' bad happen to you, you hear me?" You hadn't realized your breathing was becoming more labored and your face felt hot. He was probably just worried you were about to pass out and that's why he reached out to cup the back of your neck, forcing your attention off the carnival peeking through the trees and onto his face. Your gaze lingered on his dark brown eyes and chiseled jaw and hooked nose that looked like it would be perfect nestled between your thighs.
"You promise?" you whispered, tone a little more sultry than you intended. He swallowed and nodded.
"'Course. I'll be right there the whole time. All's you gotta do is tell me where he's gonna be and I'll do all the dirty work," he told you with a wink. Your eyes darkened a fraction, having a completely different idea of what kind of dirty work you'd like him to do before you blinked and snapped out of it. You chalked it up to your nerves but it was too late. He saw it in your eyes and he clenched his jaw, his gaze flickering down to your lips and then to the camera in your shirt before slowly pulling his hand away from the back of your neck.
"What code word d'you wanna use in case you need help and can't say it?" he asked, shifting back into work mode and merging into traffic.
You thought it over for a moment, grateful for the distraction.
"Hot chocolate."
He cocked an eyebrow and grinned. "Hot chocolate?"
"Yeah, I don't think it's something I would accidentally say because who the hell would order hot chocolate in this heat?"
He smiled wider. "Fair enough."
Jack dropped you off at the entrance of the carnival, reminding you he wouldn't be far behind and to stay alert. You bobbed and weaved your way through the crowded thoroughfare, the late afternoon sun beating down on the masses as they pushed wagons of children or carried various prizes under their arms while drinking cold lemonade or licking ice cream to combat the heat. You managed to get to the air conditioned office five minutes before your shift started and clocked in before examining the schedule. Jack had warned you the target wouldn't use his real name, so he made you study multiple photos of him the day before. Balding, but a dark horseshoe of hair curved around his head. He had a mustache, too, but not like Jack. The target's mustache was bushy and unkept, but Jack warned you that could have changed. He had a paunchy belly and he was approximately 5'10" but the most notable feature was a wide, pale scar that stretched from his right elbow to halfway down his forearm.
You glanced around the somewhat crowded office. Nobody seemed to fit that description so you focused on the schedule. You were set to work the lemonade stand. One of the more boring jobs, but at least you were with one of your good friends, Stephanie, who was working the candied apple stand next door.
"All good?" you heard Jack's gravelly voice echo through your earpiece. You had no idea how to answer that without looking like you were talking to yourself so you turned to a mirror and gave a quick thumbs up. He chuckled and you had to bite back a smile. "Alright, where are you workin' so I can get set up nearby?"
Again, you weren't sure how to answer but just then Stephanie breezed through the door. You called out her name and waved as she punched in and headed over to you, giving you a sweaty hug.
"We're working together tonight. You're on apples, I'm on lemonade next door," you told her, hearing Jack confirm your location in your ear.
"Awesome, should be a slow night after dinner," she replied, hooking her arm through yours and leading you back out into the busy dirt road lined with vendors and food carts.
As she predicted, you were rather occupied until the sun set and people began to indulge in fried dough and rides, leaving your little section of the fairgrounds quiet. For the first time in hours you glanced around, wondering if you could spot Jack, but he was no where to be found.
"So, did you meet any guys so far this summer?" Stephanie asked you, leaning over her counter and popping her gum loudly between her molars.
"Nah, not really," you replied, feeling the tips of your ears burn, knowing Jack was listening. "You?"
"Just one but he turned out to be an asshole," she said, rolling her eyes dramatically. "We gotta get out of this town, girl. I swear there's no one good left. I'm either related to them or already dated them and I can't stand any of 'em."
"Yeah, maybe one day," you replied, glancing around again.
"I'm serious. Maybe we oughta make a plan, y'know? Like we always said we would? Ain't you sick of waiting tables?"
"Like you wouldn't believe," you muttered. "But where would we go? We don't know anyone outside of here."
"I got a cousin up north, maybe we can visit her and see how we like it."
For a second you almost forgot the mission when, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a man matching the target's description disappear into the crowd. You squinted but you only saw the back of him and he was quickly getting away.
"Hey, can you cover for me?" you asked, already tossing your apron off and smoothing down your skirt.
"Yeah, sure. Been dead here for the past hour, take your time."
You hustled down the street, pushing people out of the way as you tried to catch up with the man you saw.
"Sugar, I lost ya, slow down," Jack's voice crackled in your ear.
"Can't, I think I saw him," you replied.
"Do not engage, y'hear me?" Jack said sternly. He sounded breathless now, no doubt rushing to catch up with you.
"I won't, I just wanna see where he's going."
You broke through the crowd and swiveled your head from side to side, desperately trying to spot the balding man. Now that you thought about it, he looked like he was wearing the same color uniform you had on. Your pulse raced as you turned around frantically, and just when you thought you lost him you spotted him walking up the steps to the house of mirrors. When he reached out to open the door, you saw the telltale scar and gasped.
"Jack! It's him!" you said, racing through the crowd again, dodging groups of children laughing and eating cotton candy.
"... stay... where are... losin' you-" you heard Jack's voice cutting in and out through your earpiece but the excitement got the best of you and you charged forward into the house of mirrors, the door slamming shut behind you, leaving you in a mostly darkened room. The only sounds you could hear were muffled conversations from families walking by.
"Jack?" you whispered, tapping on the earpiece and taking a few shaky steps forward. "Jack, if you can hear me, I'm in the house of mirrors. He's-"
"Looking for someone?" a man's deep voice said from over your shoulder, making you jump. You swiveled around and tried not to gasp in fear. It was him: Vic Leary, aka The Falcon. It was almost laughable how Jack had been chasing the man for years only to have him directly in front of you after a few hours. He took a menacing step forward and you swallowed tightly.
"Yeah, actually. I'm looking for my friend," you said, taking a small step backwards, a step deeper into the attraction.
"That right?" Vic sneered, taking yet another step closer. "Well I'm the only one here. Sure you ain't looking for me?"
You shook your head vehemently. "N-nope. I'm supposed to meet a friend here any minute, he's meeting me with some hot chocolate," you said the last part loudly and Vic frowned. Then he seemed to piece together that you were bugged or maybe he just saw his opportunity to strike because he lunged forward. Luckily, you were prepared and stumbled backwards out of reach, causing him to fall forward on his hands and knees. You spun around and raced through the dizzying hall of mirrors, Vic's angry curses and threats shouting after you.
The next tunnel had a wall of mirrors that shifted, causing you to feel like the floor was moving. You stretched your arms out and blinked rapidly, stumbling through and glancing over your shoulder in a panic, wondering where he went. It was quiet. His yelling stopped. Did Jack find him?
The next room was a literal maze, the walls and ceilings covered in mirrors, some curved and warped, some jagged and angular. You couldn't think of a worse place to hide and you needed to get the hell out of there.
"Can anyone hear me?" you whispered into your polo shirt, wincing when all you heard was sharp feedback in your ear. You turned a corner, jumping when you saw movement but calmed down when you realized it was your own reflection six times over. You heaved a sigh of relief and took another look around, trying to decide where to go next when a big, sweaty body jumped out from behind a mirror in front of you, tackling you to the ground. You screamed bloody murder and tried to squirm away, but he had you pinned to the ground with a hand around your throat. You scratched and kicked and yelled but it was no use. His fingers gripped the side of your throat and he watched with a sick smile as you struggled to drag in air, all the while clawing at the backs of his hands so hard, you drew blood. And just when you thought you might pass out, a black cowboy boot swung from behind your head and kicked Vic directly across the jaw, making him yelp in pain and fall backwards.
You coughed and scrambled away, clutching your throat and looking up to find Jack, his shoulders and chest heaving and his eyebrows pinched together in fury. Without taking his eyes off Vic, who was cupping his mouth, his hand collecting blood, he asked, "you alright, sugar?"
You could only nod and he told you to wait for him outside, but when you stood and took a few steps back the way you came, you saw Vic stand up and run in the opposite direction, nimbly dodging the mirrors, too familiar with the maze to be slowed down. Nostrils flared, Jack reached for his belt and grabbed a braided piece of leather. His thumb pressed down on a small button and like magic, the rest of the whip unfurled at his side. He then spun it over his head twice before snapping it forward, circling around the target's neck and yanking him back to the ground with a grunt.
Jack disappeared deeper into the maze, his grip tight. You looked over your shoulder, back to the entrance, then groaned and followed Jack. When you rounded the corner, he was towering over the suspect, whip back on his belt, Vic looking like he was knocked out cold. You peered around the last mirror, hiding from view while Jack pressed something on his watch and began to speak to a small hologram of an older looking man with a beard. He was telling him that the suspect was in custody and needed backup while he dug out a pair of metal handcuffs with his free hand.
Jack was distracted and didn't realize Vic had begun to move, but you did. When Jack's back was turned, Vic quietly rose to his feet and pulled out a knife from the back of his pants. He raised his arm above his head, ready to plunge the blade into Jack's throat. You raced forward and swung your leg out, hitting the backs of his knees with your shin and bringing him back down to the ground with a thud before he had a chance to inflict any harm.
Swirling around, Jack ended the call without warning and punched Vic directly in the nose. You heard a sickening crunch of bone and a howl of pain from the man's throat, but just as Jack was about to grab his arms and haul him to his feet, Vic rolled to the side and jumped up with a surprising amount of agility. Jack groaned and reached behind him, pulling out what appeared to be a lasso. He calmly glared after Vic, who was nearly to the exit, while circling the rope above his head. The lasso began to glow an icy blue, mesmerizing you for a moment until he snapped it down with an electric crack, wrapping and pinching the rope around Vic's lower leg.
You couldn't believe your eyes when his leg cleanly and completely severed below the knee. Slapping both palms over your mouth to muffle your screams, you curled up on the floor and watched as Jack approached Vic, who was making noises so pained and fearful that you were certain you would hear them in your nightmares for the rest of your life.
Jack was handcuffing him and warning him he shouldn't have run while the man sobbed pathetically in a pool of his own blood. You just stared, your whole body trembling at the carnage, completely numb. You didn't even hear when three other agents breezed past you to collect the target, followed shortly thereafter by a small cleaning crew wearing protective gear from head to toe. Suddenly the maze, which seemed so massive before, was cramped and making you feel claustrophobic.
His eyes finally met yours once Vic was officially in custody. His expression went from one of relief to one of deep concern when he saw the state you were in and he rushed forward to collect you off the floor.
"Hey, don't look at that," he murmured, but your gaze was still pinned on the blood staining the floor. "Eyes on me, darlin'."
You forced your eyes away from the mess and onto him, like he requested, but you were finding it difficult to breathe. Each inhale was a struggle, like your lungs couldn't expand all the way, and each exhale left your ears ringing.
"Get me out of here, Jack."
He nodded once and helped you stand. With an arm wrapped around your shoulders, he ushered you back through the maze towards the entrance. Once you were able to take in a deep breath of fresh, humid air, you started to feel a little better but the adrenaline was still coursing through your body, making you feel like you were practically vibrating.
People streamed past you laughing and joking, blissfully unaware of what just happened while you sat on a nearby bench with your head between your legs. Jack soothingly rubbed your upper back and waited for you to calm down. Your energy was too intense, the vivid images of what you just witnessed too strong and Jack seemed to sense it.
"Here," he said, leaning back and lifting his hips from the bench. Your eyes instantly locked onto his lap, where his fingers began to remove a small flask from his belt buckle. When he handed it to you, hoping the alcohol would help calm your nerves, you just continued to stare, all wild eyed and rabid.
"Have a little, it'll help," he urged while trying to ignore the hungry look in your eye. You blinked slowly and, with shaky fingers, took the flask and unscrewed the top. You winced a little at the burn but a minute later, your stomach felt warm and your muscles relaxed. You handed it back to him and he took a sip himself without breaking eye contact with you, then fastened it back onto his belt. You leaned forward, once again feeling inexplicably drawn to him, and brushed your fingertips lightly over the flask. You were playing with fire and you knew it. His eyes bore into yours with a blazing heat and he whispered, "you need somethin' stronger, sugar?"
You sunk your teeth into your lower lip and nodded. He stood up and grabbed your hand, glancing around the fairgrounds manically, the adrenaline from the past twenty minutes getting the best of both of you, it seemed.
The choices were limited and the closest area with any semblance of privacy was the bathroom and you both seemed disgusted by that prospect because he muttered fuck it under his breath and dragged you off the main road towards the dark parking lot.
Once he reached his Bronco, he twisted around and violently yanked at the buttons on your polo shirt. You yelped in surprise but when he opened his hand and showed you the button he tore off with the camera attached, you nodded. He flung it into the mud and dropped his earpiece, then you scrambled to do the same. Once you were as alone as you possibly could be, he pinned you against the side of his truck and pinched your jaw between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up to look at him.
"You sure?" was all he asked, pupils blown wide.
You nodded. "Please."
He groaned and crashed his mouth against yours, dropping his hand from your jaw to wrap around the back of your neck. He tasted like Jameson and you imagined you did, too. "Such a polite little thing," he whispered before plunging his tongue inside your mouth and licking past your teeth. You were moments away from unzipping his jeans and letting him take you right then and there when you heard a chorus of laughter from the next row of cars and you pulled away, gasping for air. Jack appeared just as wrecked as you felt, eyes all wild and skin hot with arousal.
"C'mon," he said, as if reading your mind he tugged you away from the car so he could open the door to the backseat. You practically launched yourself inside and by the time you spun around he was slamming the door shut behind him. He gazed at you for just a moment before shedding his cowboy hat and pressing your body into the seat, picking up where he left off. You took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of leather and gunpowder and his cologne, all ingrained in the fabric after years under his care.
His lips traveled down, grazing against your jaw and nipping at the spot behind your ear. His mustache tickled your skin, making you giggle, and you felt him smile against your throat at the sound. His lips latched onto your neck, sucking a bruise there while your hands dipped underneath the hem of his white tshirt. The fabric bunched up around your wrists the higher your fingers traveled up his torso, reveling in the way the muscles in his back twitched under your touch. Then his hips dropped against yours, resting his weight heavy between your legs, and you sucked in a sharp breath.
"Jack?" you whispered hoarsely.
"Mhm?"
"I-I want you," you stammered when his thumbs brushed over your breasts, nipples hardening through your shirt. "Want you so bad."
"You got me, sweetheart. I'm all yours," he mumbled, teeth scraping gently over your collarbone as he continued to move achingly slow further and further down your body.
You moaned and arched your back, pressing your chest into him. "Jack, I want you now," you tried again, and he clicked his tongue with a smirk.
"Where'd those manners run off to?"
"Please," you groaned. He hoisted himself up, holding his weight above you, the palms of his hands pressing into the seat on either side of your ribs.
"Say it again f'me, sugar. Y'just sound so pretty when you're beggin' for it."
"Please," you whispered this time, then dragged your hand down his stomach, stopping to cup his erection through the thick denim of his jeans. You rubbed the palm of your hand up and down enticingly, drawing a quiet moan from his throat. He hissed and pressed himself into your hand, rocking his hips and watching your fingers work him up and down. "Please, Jack, I need you."
His eyes flashed up to yours once before he sat back on his heels, fumbling with the tiny flask on his belt with an urgency that told you he heard exactly what he wanted to hear. He tossed both items on the floor before undoing his jeans and then, seeming to remember you were still fully clothed, dragged his hands up your thighs and under your skirt. His palms cupped your ass and squeezed before hooking his fingers around the edge of your panties and tugging them down. You lifted your hips to help, feeling slightly disappointed there wouldn't be enough room or time for either of you to fully undress, but you would make do.
"Goddamn, that's a pretty sight," he groaned when he pushed your skirt up enough to get a good look between your legs. He ran the pad of his thumb through your slit and you began to squirm impatiently. "Now, normally I'd prefer to take my time," he began, and your heart thundered wildly in your chest when he pushed his jeans down and pulled out his cock, hard and leaking. "But it would appear we don't have the luxury today, darlin'." He used one hand to steady your hip and the other to line himself up with your entrance, then you held your breath when he started to press forward, parting your walls and forcing you to stretch around his girth.
"Shit," you whined, tipping your head back and squeezing your eyes shut.
"Yeah, that's it," he whispered, watching as he slowly disappeared inside you, only looking back to your face once he was buried to the hilt. "How's that? Feelin' better now?" he asked a little breathlessly. You nodded and forced your eyes to open.
"Feels good," you murmured, licking your dry lips and gasping when he began to move. "Yeah, just like that, faster - please faster," you added hastily when you remembered his comment earlier about manners. The corner of his mouth curled up into a smirk before falling forward onto his elbows. He tugged one of your knees up so you hooked your leg around his waist, spreading your hips wide before feverishly latching his mouth onto yours, muffling your noises when he began to snap his hips faster and deeper.
"This what you needed?" he whispered in your ear. You tightened your arms around his neck, holding him close, the desire suddenly overwhelming to have him completely consume you and keep you in the safety of his arms. "Needed me to fuck you and turn that little brain of yours off for a while? Hm?"
"Yes," you admitted shamelessly. He was fucking everywhere. His mouth was drifting from your lips to your neck to your ear, his hands groping and gliding along your stomach or legs, his cock sliding smoothly in and out, each time catching on that one spot that made you see stars. Even his body heat felt like it was fully encompassing you. And he was right: it was exactly what you needed.
"Christ, too fuckin' good, sweetheart," he breathed, his hips stuttering for a moment before resuming a punishing pace. The way his lips melted against your own while the tip of his cock reached a depth inside you didn't know was possible was making your vision blur and your breath ragged. You were so caught up in the moment that you hadn't yet considered you wouldn't see him again after that night. Nor did you have a chance to realize how long you had been gone from the lemonade stand. Nothing else outside of his car mattered.
"Jack," you whimpered as heat began to lick and wrap around your spine. Your stomach tightened and your mouth was wide open, pulling in mouthfuls of air as quickly as you could. You were so close but you just needed a little more. He was busy pushing your polo shirt up and yanking down your bra, his hot tongue swiping greedily over your nipples one at a time with an appreciative groan before he sunk his teeth into your soft flesh, no doubt trying to leave a mark to remember him by.
"Love the way you say my name, darlin'. Music to my ears."
As if he could read your mind, his had slipped between your bodies and began to thumb at your clit. Your thighs tensed and you cried out, his name the only word your brain was able to conjure up, which, based on his enthusiastic reaction, pleased him greatly. You couldn't stop yourself. Your body began to meet him, thrust for thrust, your hips rolling, matching his rhythm and forcing his thumb to apply more pressure. Before you even had a chance to warn him your orgasm crashed down around you, so powerful and intense that it sent you reeling, his name and a string of unintelligible curses the only thing falling from your lips. And he fucking loved it.
"Oh, look at you," he groaned, "pretty little thing, all fucked out. Goddamn, you're gonna make me come, darlin'." His large hand splayed across your ribs and he stared, slack jawed, at the way your tits bounced from the force of his thrusts. "Shit, shit, shit," he grumbled, his jaw locking as he closed in on his release. "Where, sugar?"
"Inside," you moaned, trying to force your eyes to stay open so you could watch. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and dragged his eyes back up to your face.
"Don't say that."
"Please," you whispered, and you could see his resolve crumbling.
"Fuck," he groaned, then he shifted so he could grab onto your hips with both hands. It didn't take much longer, but each thrust after that was harsh and unforgiving until his body stilled and he came with a broken moan that you made sure to commit to memory. He panted for air and tilted his head back when he was done, his fingers still gripping your waist. An incoming call came through, lighting up the face of his high-tech watch, but he ignored it. Once he caught his breath and he began to soften inside you, he rolled his head forward, gazing down at you in admiration. "You're somethin' else," he rasped, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a half-smirk.
"You sound surprised," you teased.
"I am, but not because of this," he said, leaning forward to press a soft kiss against your lips. He slid out of you with a grunt and you sharply sucked in air at the loss. His dark eyes lingered a moment on his spend dripping out of you before gently fixing your bra and top. The sweet gesture made you smile.
"What, then?"
He grinned and tucked himself back in his jeans, then handed you your panties. "You saved my hide back there, brave girl," he murmured, pinching your chin affectionately. "Kickin' his legs out like that. Didn't know you had it in you."
You shrugged and tugged your underwear back on. "I didn't really think about it, he was going to stab you, I had to do something."
He hummed and leaned back in the seat, watching as you fixed your skirt and tried to tame your hair in the mirror before spotting his discarded cowboy hat on the floor. You grinned and picked it up, plopping it onto your head with a giggle. "How do I look?"
"Fuckin' beautiful," he said, making you laugh, "although you're doin' things a little backwards, sugar."
"What do you mean?" you asked, taking it off to see if you put it on wrong. He smiled and gently took the hat from your fingers and put it back on your head.
"The rule is, you wear a man's Stetson, you gotta ride the cowboy, but seein' as we did that already..." he trailed off and you giggled again when you finally understood. "But I suppose it depends on who you ask. Could mean somethin' else, too."
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
"Some say if the cowboy lets the lady wear his hat then he's interested in seein' her again," he said softly, watching as you became flustered at the suggestion.
"Oh," you breathed, feeling your skin heat up under his gaze. Reality slowly began to seep in. Now that Jack found his man, he would go back to wherever he came from and your boring life would go back to normal. But then he hooked a finger under your chin so you would focus back on him.
"Would you like that?"
"Would I ... yeah, of course, but-"
"I heard what you were sayin' to your friend. 'Bout wantin' to move?" he said, dropping his hand and shifting his weight. "What if we had a spot for you at the agency? Maybe doin' somethin' with Ginger, learn the ropes a bit? I think you got potential, sweetheart."
You laughed and shook your head. "I can't do what you guys do, are you serious?"
"You got guts. We can teach anyone how to use a weapon, but guts? That can't be taught."
When it became apparent he wasn't joking, you cleared your throat and glanced out the window. "I don't know..."
"You said yourself you're sick of waitin' tables," he reminded you, then pulled out a white business card and handed it to you. "I know it's a big decision. Think it over and gimme a call." He paused for a moment and a slow smile spread across his face. "But how 'bout you gimme a call either way?"
"Okay," you practically whispered, looking down at the card before shoving it safely in your pocket. He pushed open the door and slid down to the ground, then turned around and held out a hand for you.
You spent the rest of your night thinking over Jack's offer, replaying over and over in your mind everything you learned about the Statesmen in the past week and trying to imagine if that was something you could possibly do. You had pretty much decided it was a stupid idea, that it was dangerous and things like that didn't happen to girls like you, but when you punched in for your shift at the restaurant on Monday and looked around the dining room at the same patrons eating the same food they always did, listening to the same boring gossip and worrying about the same bills that always plagued you, something finally snapped. You tore off your apron and tossed it behind the computer before snatching your purse and walking out the front door without a second glance behind you.
You got into your beat up car and breathlessly dialed the number you had been staring at all weekend, your heart slamming in your chest excitedly. When Jack's familiar drawl answered on the other end, a huge smile spread across your face.
"That offer still stand, cowboy?"
#summerlovin24#kingsman fic#jack whiskey daniels#agent whiskey#pedro pascal#pedro pascal character fanfic#kingsman golden circle#kingsman fanfiction#agent whiskey fanfic#agent whiskey x reader#jack daniels fanfic#jack daniels x reader#jack daniels x you#jack daniels x female reader#agent whiskey x you
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Missing you
Jack Daniels ~ Agent Whiskey x afab!reader (wc: 2.6k)


“Wish you were here right now, all of the things I'd do. I wanna get freaky on camera” — Cybersex by Doja cat
SMUT ONE SHOT | MDNI | +18
Warning: Sexual tension | online sex | light voyeurism | sexual toy usage | porn with no plot | Not proofread | no use of y/n. | light praise kink | quicky
backstory: You found yourself in a particularly tiresome mission in the city of Rome. Although the work kept you occupied, it didn’t stop Jack from constantly calling you and expressing how much he misses you. One day, he sends you a special gift.

You found yourself rocking back and forth in your comfortable hotel room chair, captivated by the glorious sight of Rome through the window. The vibrant cityscape, a fusion of modernity and historic charm, held your attention so thoroughly that you could spend hours just gazing at it, if not for the fact that you were currently on a video call with your “boyfriend”, Jack.
The conversation went smoothly, the two of you chatting about your trip and how much you missed each other's company. In the midst of the conversation, Jack's voice suddenly shifted, hinting at a surprise.
"Hey sweetheart, I've got something special for you. Take a peek inside your suitcase, would ya?"
You glanced at the leather suitcase bearing the renowned S logo, the company monogram gleaming in the center. With a hint of anticipation, you carefully opened it, revealing a box wrapped in blue. You looked back at the camera and gave him a sly smirk, silently inquiring about the mysterious gift. Your mind buzzed with curiosity, wondering what treasures lay hidden inside the deceptively small box.
"Go on, open it," Jack's voice cut through the silence, his tone dripping with mischief and anticipation.
Your heart skips a beat as you gaze at the vibrator nestled in the blue box, a blush spreading across your cheeks. The sleek, purple device seems to wink at you, promising an unforgettable evening. You could feel Jack’s eyes light up with mischief as he saw your reaction on the small screen. A roguish grin spreading across his face.
"Well beautiful, looks like Santa came early this year," he draws teasingly. "I thought you could use some company on your little trip. Why don't you give it a test run for me, hmm?" His voice drops, taking on a husky, seductive tone. "I wanna see you play with it, darlin'. Put on a little show for me."
He leans back in his chair, showcasing his bulge to your hungry eyes. One of his hands casually rested on it, making him groan softly. His brown eyes practically undressing you through the screen, making your body shiver. "Don't be shy now.” He whispers. "Turn it on, sweetheart. Nice and slow. Let's see how loud I can make you moan from all the way over here."
The heat of your blush intensified. Hell, you felt like you were about to pass out from how overwhelmed yet turned on you were. Slowly, tentatively, you reach for the vibrator, your heart racing as you switch it on. The soft hum fills the otherwise quiet room. Your eyes widened as you felt how your hand quivered from the power of the toy, and you can't help but imagine the sensation it might bring.
As the vibrations grow stronger in your trembling hand, Whiskey's grin widens. He watched your every move, drinking in the sight of you under his spell. "That's it, baby. Mmmm, you look so fuckin' hot right now," he groans.
"I wish I was there with you, watching those pretty pink lips of yours wrap around that toy... But I guess this will have to do for now." He palms himself through his jeans, clearly getting off on the show. His free hand reaches for a cigar, lighting it up as he settles in to enjoy the view.
"Go on now, sweetheart. Don't keep me waiting," Whiskey urges, his voice needy with that typical hint of demand. "Bury that toy nice and deep, just like you like it. Fuck, I can almost hear those sweet little moans..."
He takes a long drag of his cigar, blowing out a plume of smoke. His eyes never leave the screen, riveted by your every move.
You disregarded your pants and underwear in a clumsy manner, feeling almost idiotic to do this through a video call, but in a twisted way, it was filthy, raw. Jack licked his lips, his gaze smoldering with lust as your anticipating legs opened just for him. He's clearly enjoying putting you in this compromising position, eager to push your buttons and drive you wild with pleasure, even from a distance.
With a deep breath, you press the vibrator against your sex, biting your lip as the buzzing warmth sends tingles through your body. inevitably, your back arches and you let out a mix of a gasp and a moan. Your eyes quickly go to the man on the screen, enamored by the sight.
"You're so goddamn sexy when you let yourself go like this. I love seeing you lose control for me," he praises, voice thick with lust as he chortles. "Now why don't you slip that toy in and out of that tight little pussy of yours and ride it for me? I want you to cum over and over until you can't even remember your own name."
Whiskey pushes his chair back, legs spreading wider. The heat in his gaze burns through the screen as he waits for you to follow his filthy commands. Slowly, you grind against the toy, looking right into his brown eyes, putting on a show just for him.
“Ah goddammit.” A loud groan of frustration escaped Jack, followed by the sound of his laptop slamming down as he abruptly ended the call. Your heart skipped a beat, pounding fiercely against your chest as you stared at the suddenly blank screen of your laptop. The sudden disconnection left you feeling both puzzled and worried, a flood of anxiety washing over you.
The sinking feeling in your stomach grows as you process the implications of Jack's abrupt departure from the call, but before you can dwell on it further, a bright flash of light emanates from your smart glasses, momentarily blinding you. The urgent meeting notification blinks insistently, demanding your attention. In a panic, you instinctively nod, accepting the video conference without a second thought.
As the holographic display materializes before you, you realize the gravity of your oversight. In the heat of the moment, you had completely forgotten about your state of undress, the vibrator still nestled between your thighs. A wave of embarrassment washes over you as you pray that the hologram's limitations will spare you from any potential mortification.
Shifting uncomfortably in your seat, acutely aware of the toy's presence and the lingering warmth it has left on your sensitive skin. Your mind races with the possibilities of what might happen if anyone were to discover your compromising situation.
Your heart skips a beat as your gaze lands upon Jack, his flustered expression instantly setting your nerves on edge. You can practically feel his eyes boring into you from behind the holographic display, his presence both comforting and unnerving.
With a quick nod, you acknowledge his presence, trying to keep your voice steady and professional as you address him. "Agent Whiskey."
“Agent Wine.” His response, laced with a knowing smirk, makes your cheeks flush with equal parts embarrassment and excitement.
The way he says your codename, drawing out the 'Wine' with a playful inflection, sends a jolt of electricity through your body. It's as if he's relishing in his knowledge of your compromising position. You squirm in your seat, the vibrator still nestled between your thighs, a constant reminder of your shared secret.
The meeting drones on, a seemingly endless parade of statistics and strategic plans. Your mind struggles to keep pace, constantly drawn back to the throbbing between your thighs. You try to focus on the cold, clinical data presented, but your body betrays you, each movement a torturous reminder of the toy hidden beneath your body.
Your eyes dart around the holographic conference table, avoiding the temptation to glance down at the source of your distraction. You know that looking at Jack will only make matters worse, his mere presence a constant tease. But in a moment of weakness, your gaze drifts to his face, colliding with those piercing brown eyes and that infuriating smirk.
A chill runs down your spine as you raise an eyebrow questioningly. Before you can utter a word, Jack's finger presses to his lips, a silent command to keep quiet. Your heart races as he reaches into his pocket, retrieving a small remote control. Without a word, he presses a button, and the vibrator springs to life, humming softly against your most sensitive flesh.
A sharp gasp escapes your lips as the sudden stimulation sends shockwaves through your body. Your hands fly to the edges of your desk, gripping the wood so tightly your knuckles turn white. The vibrations pulse through you, each wave building upon the last, threatening to consume you entirely.
You bite your lip, trying desperately to stifle any further sounds. Your thighs tremble, the muscles quivering as you struggle to maintain control. The holograms flicker and dance around you, but all you can focus on is the relentless throb between your legs, the heat building steadily in your core.
“Is everything okay?” Ginger's eyes sparkled with concern and confusion as she addressed you.
You mustered a composed response, trying to maintain a steady tone. "Yes, I thought I saw a bug. Apologies."
At that moment, Tequila spoke up with a bemused smirk. "A bug? You're afraid of a tiny insect, Wine?" Whiskey chuckles darkly at Tequila's comment, his eyes never leaving yours. He leans back in his chair, a smug grin playing on his lips, clearly enjoying your struggle.
“Yes, a bug.” Your eyes narrowed, teeth gritting together as you shot a warning glare at Tequila. He quickly got the message, backing down with a knowing smile.
You let out a silent sigh of relief, turning your attention back to the meeting. But even as you try to focus on the discussion at hand, your mind keeps drifting to Jack, to the power he holds over you in this moment.
You are silently pleading for mercy. But his gaze remains fixed upon you, his expression one of pure, unadulterated lust. He revels in this, in the knowledge that he holds your pleasure, your very sanity, in the palm of his hand at this moment.
The minutes tick by agonizingly slowly, each second an eternity of sweet torture. You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, the coppery taste mingling with the sweat beading on your brow. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, your chest heaving with the effort to maintain your composure.
Finally, the meeting draws to a close. The holographic displays flicker and vanish, leaving you alone with Jack and the lingering echo of the vibrator's hum. You slump back in your chair, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your denied release.
Jack's gaze locked onto you from across the room, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Sweetheart, you did great," he remarked before adding, "but I'm afraid we have some unfinished business to take care of."
Tossing the glasses into the bed, you called Jack again, slumping back in your chair, your body trembling with the effort of maintaining your composure.
As the video call connects, Whiskey's smirking face fills your screen, his eyes glinting with wicked delight. He leans back in his chair. "Well, hello there, darlin'," he drawls, his voice low and husky. "Looks like you're all alone now. No more prying eyes to worry about."
His gaze takes over your trembling form, taking in the sight of you sprawled out in your chair, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. You can practically feel the heat of his stare through the screen.
"I couldn't stop thinking about that little show you put on for me earlier," Whiskey continues, a predatory edge creeping into his tone. "The way you squirmed and bit your lip, trying so hard to hold back those sweet moans... Fuck, it was hot."
His free hand disappears from view for a moment, and when it reappears, it's wrapped around the thick length of his cock, stroking slowly. “You did so well" he purrs, his voice a low, seductive growl as looks at you. The way his rough voice turned into soft whimpers with each stroke sent a fresh wave of heat courses through your body.
His other hand actively looks for the controller, turning the vibrator a level more. It’s more loud, faster and intense, hitting all the right spots in your heat. “Fuck…” You cry out, thrusting your hips into the air as you look at him.
Your eyes drift downward, taking in the sight of his hand moving rhythmically, pumping his hardened length with slow, deliberate strokes. The knowledge that he is pleasuring himself while watching you only adds to the intensity of the moment, a heady mix of exhibitionism and voyeurism.
"Fuck yeah, just like that," he groans, palming himself harder. "You're so goddamn sexy, baby. The way you're movin' on that... Mmmm, makes me wanna bend you over and fuck you 'til you can't walk straight."
His gaze is intense, burning into you through the screen. "You like puttin' on a show for me, don't you darlin'?" Jack coos, voice low and rough with arousal. "Such a naughty thing, lettin' me watch you play with yourself. I bet you're drippin' wet right now, aren't you?"
Jack’s hand speeds up on his cock, stroking himself faster, getting off on the erotic display you're giving him. The other hand holds the controller, ready to push you over the edge at any moment.
“Just for you.” You utter, struggling to even talk as the level is torturing your pussy, barely able to keep your eyes on him.
“Damn right it's just for me," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "You're all mine, Agent. Every inch of that sexy body belongs to me." With that he turns one, then another cruel level more.
Your eyes roll back as the vibrations intensify, the toy mercilessly pounding into your sensitive flesh. Your body convulses, spasming uncontrollably. “Jack!” You cry out, begging him for something you’re not sure about. All you know is that the vibration is more than you can handle.
"Sorry sweetheart. I just wanna see you lose control. Fuck that pussy 'til you're screamin' my name. Show me how much you miss my cock."
His breathing grows ragged, chest heaving with each labored breath. He's completely entranced by the sight of you, lost in the fantasy of being there with you, taking you apart with his own hands and tongue. "Goddamn, you're so fuckin' hot," he praises breathlessly.
His words ignite something deep within you, a primal need that demands to be satiated. You arch your back, pressing the vibrator harder against your aching core as you ride the waves of sensation crashing over you. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, your chest heaving with the effort of holding back the impending release. The tension builds, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly until you can stand it no more.
With a cry of pure, unadulterated ecstasy, you let go, your body convulsing as the orgasm rips through you. The vibrator's hum seems to intensify, prolonging your climax, drawing out every last drop of pleasure. Through the haze of your own release, you see Jack's hand move faster, his breath coming in harsh pants as he chases his own end, whimpering your name like a prayer as he cums all over those strong, manly hands of his.
As the afterglow fades, his eyes meet yours, a wistful, almost vulnerable expression on his face. "God... Can we do this till you come back?" he asks, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty.
A playful smirk tugs at your lips as you lean, a mock pout forming on your face. "Someone's needy," you tease, enjoying the way his brow furrows at your words, making him look like a cute puppy.
Jack rolls his eyes, a familiar gesture that never fails to amuse you. "Yeah, yeah," he grumbles, but there's no heat behind his words, only a fond exasperation. “I just miss you.”
#agent whiskey#jack daniels#agent whiskey fanfiction#agent whiskey smut#agent whiskey fic#jack daniels smut#pedro pascal#pedrohub#agent whiskey x reader#agent whiskey x you#agent whiskey x afab#agent whiskey x female reader#kingsman#kingsman the golden circle#jack daniels x reader#jack daniels x you#jack daniels x afab#jack daniels x female reader#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x y/n#afab reader#oberyn martell x reader#oberyn martell x you#oberyn martell#Marcus Acacius#marcus acacius x reader#marcus acacius x you#marcus acacius x female reader#marcus acacius x y/n
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Who owns you?
Summary: You fall from grace as a group of raiders destroy your lavish community, taking in you as a macabre spoil of war
warnings: Dead dove do not eat, noncon, murder of unnamed characters (community), kidnapping, man handling, gang bang (not in this chapter but yeah), humiliation, virginity loss, reader being basically a sex slave, unprotected p in v, threats, darkness overall
Pairings: Dark! Joel Miller x reader, Dark! Javier Peña x reader, Dark! Marcus Acacius x reader, Dark! Oberyn Martell x reader, Dark! Agent Whiskey x reader, Dark! Dieter Bravo x reader, Dark! Frankie Morales x reader
series masterlist
Your boots padded on the uneven ground as your heart hammered on your chest, what was left of your community rising in flames. Once the habitat of the most prosperous survivors of the Cordyceps outbreak, reduced to ashes and death; and you, it's only remain.
You didn't even know of what you were running from, just doing it the second the alarms went off; it meant chaos, worse, Raiders.
That was what spared you. Your short flowy dress snagged on branches, red cowboy boots that were mostly a fashion statement proving themselves not ideal as you stumbled face first into the cold, sharp ground.
"What do we got here?" You heard a thick accent drawl, and your shivering body jolts your head upwards. A man, wearing a thin striped shirt and a thick, beige vest; His eyes are shaded by dark sunglasses and all that is recognizable is a thick mustache and a curved nose. "Are you alright?"
The rifle on his hand looks at you threateningly, as you retreat on bruised knees; The man takes off his glasses, realizing how intimidating he looked. "Oh-I'm sorry sweetheart, didn't mean to scare you."
You slowed your movements, gazing up at him, studying him. His chuckle still pulled at his lips softly. "I-I, My home-My home is being invaded by raiders."
You spluttered, and his eyes soften in understatement, body crouching to lift you off the ground. His arms were strong and tanned, and the way his hands wrapped around your arms gave your mind the slight fuzziness of comfort.
"Anyone with you?" He asked, his accent so foreign, you shook your head. "Alright, let me take you somewhere safe, mhm? can you tell me slowly what happened? My name's Javi, by the way"
You nodded, mouth blabbering everything you could remember, from the siren to the gunshots ringing to the fire; his hands never leaving your skin as he softly nudged you to follow him. He cooed at you, face scrunch in worry.
You didn't realize you were walking back into camp until the smoke hit your nose, making your head snap around wildly.
"Javi?" You ask, the name sounding bitterly in your tongue as you see him, lips pressed into a thin line to suppress laughter. Panic fuels into you as you see the group of men, thrashing the city. The boutiques, the stores, everything you knew.
Their gaze fall on you. Slowly, one by one, as they arise from the remains of your town; they are like walking dead, eyes hungry. You realized Javi's grip on you had become tighter, stopping you from moving.
His laughter rings in your ear as his arms envelop you, making it harder to breath. The man around you crowd closer, and you see flashes of your faces as the fear of the imminent swoons over you. You faint, knowing as soon as your eyes shut together that you are going to regret it.
The man, Javi, holds you tightly as you feel your knees buckle and your vision starts to swim. His strong arms keep you upright, even as the world around you begins to spin and darken at the edges.
Javi's voice reaches your ears, muffled and distant, as if he's speaking to you from the bottom of a deep well. "Easy there, sweetheart. I got you. You're safe now."
As your vision fades and your consciousness slips away, the last thing you see is the leering, hungry faces of the men surrounding you, their eyes glinting with a predatory light. The last thing you hear is Javi's low, rumbling chuckle, filled with a dark amusement that sends a shiver of dread down your spine.
The world goes black as you slip into unconsciousness, your mind reeling with the horrors you've witnessed and the unknown dangers that lie ahead. In the back of your fading consciousness, a small voice whispers a warning - that you may have escaped one nightmare only to stumble into an even darker one.
When you wake up, the first thing you see is an unfamiliar wooden roof; your muscles ache as you attempt to move, the hard mahogany floor hard against your spine, as if the soft blanket sprawled beneath you was non-existent.
"Finally." An unknown, Texan-accented voice sang; your head whipped painfully to see him. Your heart picked up, as behind the man were more.
You had seen him before; he stopped by your camp for food once. You cringed as you recalled how the townspeople turned him away, asking him if perhaps yesterday scraps were good enough for him.
“Feral stray” they had called him.
You remember getting a peek out of him, by the gates, his broad shoulders and pepper and salt hair branded into your mind.
Close behind him another man stood, same greyed hair, though he looked taller and held a scar along his cheekbone; his face was scrunched up, but his eyes told a different tale.
And then was Javi; you wanted to scoff as your mind recognized the nickname he told you to call him. He had taken off his sun glasses, dark eyes sliding up your face as he held a pleased grin, proud of his little catch.
You couldn’t get a proper look to the rest of the men as the “feral stray” spoke once again.
“Fuck, she looks terrified.” He commented, though no pity took place in his tone; a deep growl that warmed his skin.
You accessed the situation; they were bigger, stronger and more than you, but they stilled in their place, eyes raking slowly and precisely over your shivering form. You weren’t tied up, just laying there, and if you ignored hard enough the way Javi-Javier- had grabbed you before you fainted, there could be a simmering chance they were truly trying to help you.
“I-I-“ You staggered, but your brain couldn’t think of one thing to say in this situation. You planted your hands on the floor as you pulled yourself to sit up.
A breeze ruffled your skirt, and you eyes widened, feeling an unfamiliar chill in your core. A hand shot to your thighs, fingers gracing your most intimate place that you found bare.
“Looking for this?” Another men spoke, far more rough looking than the rest as he held your panties in his ringed finger. He laughed, eyes narrowing under brown tinted sunglasses.
Your hope was out the window, and you wished you’d be out the window too.
“I-please,” you managed to croak out, your best fake smile pulling at your teeth, as if attempting to back away. “I-I don’t want trouble.”
You suddenly weren’t a girl trapped in a house with seven men, but a highly esteemed comedian as the room erupted in laughter.
“Trouble?” One of them repeated, the one who looked the youngest, with short dark hair and a trimmed beard that shaded around his jaw; he gripped his dark yellow shirt as he cackled.
“Little girly doesn’t want trouble!” a thick, cow-boyish accent hollered as he took off his hat and pressed it against his chest.
You didn’t know if to laugh along or to cry, so your gazed fixed itself on the only one who wasn’t laughing; “feral stray”.
His glare was set on you, and you prayed and prayed he wouldn’t remember you, stealing a glance of him through the watch tower as the Community leader sent him away.
“That’s a pity,” He sighed, words profound and careful. “cause we do want trouble.”
With two long strides of his strong kegs he was besides you, looking down at you. Your mouth clamped as you pleaded with your eyes, tears kissing the brim.
Seven men.
One you.
Trapped in a house.
They were going to kill you.
Raiders were ruthless, never to be messed with, at least that’s what your community taught you, and by the cold, dark eyes that were posed on you, you knew then that it was true.
Stories flood your mind, murders, vandalism, theft, but never rape, despite it being the only reasonable thing this bunch would want to do to you. You had never heard about it.
“Please,” you attempted once more, hands sliding you away as they become clammy against the hardwood floor. “I-I’m no good, I’m a virgin, please-”
Their laughter dulled at your words, not suddenly, but intriguingly. You could hear some groans, some “sweet jesus” under their breathes.
“Feral Stray” bent at his waist, knees popping with effort as he reached his hard, calloused hand to grace your cheek.
“You know what they called me?” He asked.
Feral stray.
And he waited for you to answer, but you couldn’t. It was like kicking a bear that was already mauling you.
His fingers laced between the threads of your hair, still fresh from your expensive shampoo. You see his muscles flexing before you feel the stinging pain across your scalp. He tugs harder.
"You know what they called me, your stuck up, bitchy community?" He growled, and you whimpered. "Come on, pretty girl, give me the answer."
You felt as if he was going to rip out your hair, and you feared he might do it. Your neck craned painfully, looking at his furious face as a small trace of mockery, amusement was hid in his dark eyes.
"F-feral stray." You mumbled, barely above a whisper.
"Louder!" He screamed, the sound ringing in your ears as his face etched closer. You felt hot tears cascading down your cheeks, blurring the vision of the men in front of you.
"Feral Stray!" You yelped, as loud as the knot in your throat allowed you to say it. The grip stayed tight, pain blooming to your temples along the dull thump thump thump of a headache.
Suddenly you were pushed face first, your hands rapidly supporting you against the hard floor. You sighed, no longer feeling the head-exploding tension in your scalp.
A pair of hands pulled your hips up, forcing you to support them on your wobbly knees. Your head hung low, tears wetting the blanket beneath you.
"look who's the dog now," The man chuckled, a hand running over the expanse of your back. You sobbed at his words through ragged, half filling breathes. "that's it now, little puppy, come on now, bark."
Shame filled your cheeks as you slowly turned to look at him, pleading silent eyes, begging for it to be a joke. But he looked sternly at you, hand gripping your waist.
"Boss said to bark, puppy." The second eldest said, the one with the white t-shirt and the scar.
You couldn't bring yourself to do it.
"Seems like we got a disobedient one," Javi teased, boots etching closer to your line of sight. You dared to look up, look him in the eyes. "Bark baby, or you're gonna get in a lot of trouble."
His eyes looked slightly softer, still hungry and disturbed, but for a moment you had a deja vu of how he found you, even thought it was mere hours ago. The dusking sky outside told you so.
"P-please," You whispered to him, feeling the urge to cling to his leg. "please don't make me."
A grin tugged at his lips as he let out an amused breathe.
"There there," He cooed. "Not disobedient, just shy, am I right?"
Your head seemed to be locked in place as you attempt to nod at him.
"Well, she can't be shy when I'm asking her to suck my balls." The one who was holding your panties blurted; if you were looking at him you would have realized he had done a line of coke off of them.
"Patience, Dieter." The youngest one reprimanded him. "We can't expect a highborn girl to act so whorish on our whims."
"Like any good mare, just needs to be broken in." The cowboy one joked, making them laugh.
It felt so dystopian, how they joked about the situation. They could joke about it, while you stood shivering like a leaf.
"Don't get too excited," The scarred one spoke, with the regality of a Roman Emperor. "Boss is going to be the one to deflower her."
It irked you now, the casualness of all of it. The way they spoke of you like if you were merely a piece of meat, an animal even. Your knuckles turn white as you clutched the fabric beneath you, the warm blossoming from "Boss'" hand now unbearable.
"Do I even get a say?" You barked, immediately clamping your lips shut.
There were no slaps, no hair tugs, no pushes. All seven cold gazes directed to you. The hand on your back shifted towards your ass.
"Glad you asked," He grunted, kneeling behind your body as his immense back roamed over your flesh like a silent threat. "You don't."
You bit your lips as his touch became more demanding, kneading handfuls of flesh as he slowly pulled your thighs apart, your knees giving in. He hummed as he looked at you, and you never felt as bare.
If you looked forward, you could see the other men, hands wandering over their legs as they observed the scene, and if you looked backwards, you would see the look in his eyes. You opted to look down, the sound of zippers going down and Feral Stray's groans filling your ears.
"Haven't properly introduced myself," He spoke, pulling your ass cheeks apart and a breathless gasp from your lips. "Name's Joel; but you won't be calling me that."
You sensed an interchange of glances before Joel's fingers slipped once again into the hair at your nape, touch so gentle it almost cooled the sting of the previous grip, and pulled you up to face the men.
"Marcus." The one with the scar grunted, feeling your gaze on him.
Before you could continue to stare at him, the youngest one shifted “Oberyn.” he said, smirking.
“Whiskey.” The cowboy huffed, though you could tell it wasn’t his name. Not that it mattered as you felt Joel paw at your flesh.
“Dieter Bravo,” the coke-snorting one said, pulling up his sun glasses. “you may know me from the movies, did a shit ton of them back before the world went to shit-“
“Not now.” Joel bellowed, annoyed. His hands skimmed up and down your thighs, as if warming you from the biting cold.
Your eyes shifted to the one at the back of the room, the one wearing a baseball cap. He was deadly silent, had been all the time; you wouldn’t have noticed him if Javier wouldn’t have moved out of the way.
As they traced your stare, he lifted his eyes from the thing-looked like a toy helicopter- he had been fidgeting with. “Catfish.” He huffed, uneasy, returning his attention to the toy.
Silence wavered, only broken by your gasp as you felt one thick, calloused finger traced your slit. Fresh tears sprung as your neck gave out, once again facing the floor.
Two thumbs pulled your lips apart, exposing your most vulnerable oar to Joel; a deep seated growl roared through his chest as he observed.
"Gonna take your time?" Javier asked, leaning against the mossy green wall.
You felt his finger delve between your folds, touch warm as he pushed a little dipper; a soft whimper escaped you as he finally pressed a pointer finger at the top of your slit.
"Just this once." Joel muttered, deep in thought as he begun circling your nerve, weakening your elbows as your body urged you to lean forwards. Your nails dig into the wooden floor, urging you to stay up.
Their eyes, pairs of dark brown eyes posed on you, each glimpse of fresh skin they could get, your chest heaving and shining softly with a new layer of sweet, your jean jacket becoming unbearable under their hot gaze. Shame, shame warmed you up too.
They noticed, the dampness beading on your skin, cheeks red and heavy pants. How could they not? they were staring at your every move, how you shivered with Joel's swift touches on your clit, how you clamped your lips tightly, everything. If one wouldn't notice, at least the over five would.
"Getting warm there, honey?" Oberyn wondered, and you refused to meet his eyes.
"I think she is, why not shed a layer?" Whiskey teased, the low fap fa fap getting louder. It cringed in your ears.
"Acacius." Joel commanded, your brows furrowing, questioning if you had forgotten a name, or if there were more of them.
Your question was answered when Marcus thick thighs appeared in your vision, only recognizable by his worn down grey jeans. He pulled the jacket down your shoulders, the movement brief but forceful enough to let a small sound that you had withhold, all due to Joel's unwavering touch on your clit. He lifted one arm, gently, slipping the oversize denim off as you supported yourself in his scarred arm. The men almost moaned at the sigh of more exposed skin, and he finally pulled off the jacket.
He lifted himself on his knees, bulging crotch grazing against your forehead as you felt a tug on the soft cotton dress. Your head shot up, stuttering your words.
"P-please."
You didn't even know what you were begging for, an unfamiliar heat spreading through your core to your belly and to every bit of flesh you owned.
He looked down through almost black eyes, continuing to tug the fabric off your body until it came to your armpits. You wouldn't budge, hoping to sympathize with any trace of humanity in him.
For a few seconds he stopped, and you almost let out a sigh of relief as he dropped the dress; but then, his hands gripped around the hemline of the arm holes and a powerful screech of fabric ran through the air. After that, he continued ripping through the dress until it pooled beneath your quivering form.
The only thing you still had on was a flimsy bralette and your red cowboy boots.
Dieter commented something about it matching, but your mind race to the feeling of Joel pulling his hand away.
"This too?" Acacius-Marcus-you didn't even know now- asked, pulling at the clasp of your bra.
"Yes." One of them sighed, not Joel. He didn't break it, just let it slide off your arms.
The scene was almost ridiculous, clad in only fashionable boots, but it got them going. A palm smoothed down your shoulder blades, forcing your chest into the blanket and your discarded clothes. Before much warning, you felt two thick digits sink into your hole.
You cried, whining, trying to get away, but the hand was pressed to firm and in front of you Marcus still was there, working his belt buckle off. The sting opened your walls, and his pace was deliberately strong; in and out, against the sloppy holes that pushed tightly.
"Easy," He chastised, pace never faltering. "Gonna hurt more if you fight it."
You obeyed silently, fingers twisting against the floor, the sound of skin slapping skin growing louder as Acacius shifted beside you. You clenched your eyes, wishing to ignore everything as Joel sawed his fingers in and out of you.
The pain diminished, briefly, and your hand slapped against your mouth to stifle any pleasurable sound. He chose to scissor his fingers inside of you, preparing you for the inevitable.
It was normal it felt good, you knew that, that the way he was touching you was meant to feel good, but still shame crept over you as a coil begun tightening in your lower belly, cunt eager to take it in deeper.
Despite your efforts, whimpers and breathy moans escaped your palm, brows furrowed in submission as you felt him pull out his fingers, thighs shivering and rubbing to dissipate the pleasure that had struck you.
It lasted little, for the hot tip of his cock begun pressing against your entrance. You snapped out, grabbing Acacius thighs in order to get away as your hips were held prisoner in his hands.
"N-No, no please," You whimpered, but the other pair of hands tugged at your forearms, pulling you up to face him. With a steel grip, he forced you to plant your arms over his shoulder, back stretching and twisting as Joel pushed you onto his length.
"Hold-fuck-still," He grunted, pushing a girthy inch. Face inches apart from Acacius, you couldn't evade his glare as his hands clamped on your forearms. You stalled, getting lost in the enigma that held his face.
You pursed your lips as Joel brought you down further on his cock, pain irradiating from your core as he stretched you. As you attempted to move, Acacius held onto you with a force that told you he could dislodge your arms if he wanted to. From over his shoulder you saw blurry visions, the other men stroking their cocks, eyes like hyenas waiting for left overs.
The pain was unbearable, growing each time as you felt yourself being ripped apart by his cock, groans and moans were chanted in your ears, forcing you to take it.
"Fuck," He grunted, voice lost in pleasure. "So-fucking-tight."
He punctuated his words sheathing more of it into your core, though you felt as if you couldn't take more, as if he was fucking all the way to your guts. Your cunt clamped on his cock.
Acacius doesn't let up, his grip on your arms tightening as he forces you down further, impaling you on Joel's massive shaft. The pain is blinding, your walls screaming as they're stretched beyond their limits, forced to accommodate his incredible girth.
Joel grunted, his face contorted in pleasure, lost in the tight, wet heat of your core. His hands gripped your hips bruisingly, holding you in place as he continued to thrust, driving his cock deeper with each powerful surge.
As Acacius leaned closer, his breath hot and heavy against your face. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours, holding you captive in their gaze. "Take it, you fucking slut," he growls, his voice rough and demanding. "Take his fucking cock like the greedy little whore you are."
The other men watch, stroking their own hard shafts, their eyes gleaming with sadistic lust. They enjoy the show, reveling in your suffering and Joel's pleasure. The room is filled with the crude sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, guttural moans, and your own cries.
Joel's thrusts become more forceful, more punishing. He's chasing his pleasure, using your body for his own gratification. The pain is overwhelming, tears streaming down your face as you feel yourself being split open, ripped apart by his relentless assault. Acacius smirks at your tears, his grip on your arms not loosening even for one second.
"Fuck, she's gripping me so tight," Joel groans, his words punctuated by a particularly hard thrust. "Gonna... fuck... fill this cunt up..."
Acacius' fingers dig into your soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises, holding you mercilessly in place as Joel uses you like a fuck toy. Your body jerks and bounces with each violent thrust, your tits swaying hypnotically to the hungry hyenas.
"Look at them, whore," Acacius hisses, nodding towards the circle of men fisting their cocks, their eyes wild with lust and greed. "Look at how much they want to ruin your holes too. They're going to love wrecking your sloppy cunt after Joel's done flooding it with cum."
Joel lets out a guttural roar, his fingers sinking into your hips, leaving finger-shaped bruises. Your vision blurs as he hilts inside you with a final, brutal thrust, his heavy balls slapping against your clit. At the same time, his cock throbs and pulses, erupting deep inside your core.
"Fuck, fuck, fuuuccckkk..." he bellows, his hot seed flooding against your unprotected womb, painting your insides white. Your stomach bulges slightly from the sheer volume of his release.
Acacius' grip becomes loose as your body shivers, loosing strength with each final thrust Joel gives you. Soon enough, you cascade down his body, head laying weakly against his thigh as his open zipper rubs against your cheek. Your aching muscles betray you,
"There, there," Joel cooed, almost mockingly as his hand raise shivers along your spine. Your eyes become blurry as all you can hear is the men chasing their release and pain slowly overtakes your body, leaving you numb, almost lifeless. You found a strange sense of comfort from the warmth emanating between Acacius' legs, almost as if you wanted to curl up closer, but suddenly, you were pealed off by a sharp grip on your hair.
"Fuck, gonna cum in this throat-"
It all happened so quickly, but the one in the back, the only one who wasn't jerking off to all of this, shot up, stopping Javier with a harsh "WAIT" that shook the room. Hands slowed down, and gazes shot to him.
Catfish, he had said, rubbed his face in distraught as he hesitated his next words.
"Let her sleep, it's her first night."
You weren't focused on the laughs and hollers, but in Javi's leaking shaft mere inches from your lips; you have never seen one so close, each vein and ridge and it's pink tip, it's musky scent filling your nose.
"Awww," Dieter teased, pumping his cock with your underwear. "so sweet little Frankie, let the slut sleep huh?"
The Cowboy, Whiskey, chuckled. "Look at your pants boy, you are no better than us-"
"Alright." Joel cut them short, standing behind you. "She can sleep tonight, not gonna get much sleep in the next days..."
Tag list:
@tateypots
#Dark! Joel Miller x reader#Dark! Javier Peña x reader#Dark! Marcus Acacius x reader#Dark! Oberyn Martell x reader#Dark! Agent Whiskey x reader#Dark! Dieter Bravo x reader#Dark! Frankie Morales x reader#joel miller x reader#marcus acacius x reader#oberyn martel x reader#agent whiskey x reader#dieter bravo x reader#Javier Peña x reader#frankie morales x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal x reader#gladiator 2#the bubble#kingsman#the last of us#dark fic#fic rec#falling from grace#triple frontier#dark! pedro pascal#game of thrones
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private eyes - jack daniels x private investigator!f!reader (18+ MDNI)

this is for @iamasaddie little lady kinky may challenge! congrats on 2.5k! <333 I was paired with Jack / Voyeurism.
banner by: @cafekitsune
tags: voyeurism (reader watches jack), masturbation (m & f), reader is a private investigator, gratuitous descriptions of my fav cowboy stroking his big cock, dub-con a little? reader masturbates in her car but there isn't anyone around so public but private
a/n: this is the first fic I've completed in months. it's short and to the point, idk how i feel about it but it pushed me out of my writing slump! kinda want to do a part 2 for this, what do y'all think 👀
wc: ~1.6k
smut below the cut
“I want you to catch that son of a bitch in the act.”
The visibly scorned woman, Camilla, sitting across from you asks through tears, ones that she hasn’t allowed to escape down her cheeks; catching them right at the waterline with an overused tissue.
This isn’t the first time a disgruntled, mistreated, or betrayed lover has sought out your services — no shortage of shitty men leaving trails of destruction while they pillage and greedily chase their own interests. She’s no different, seeking closure from the broken-off engagement from her now ex-fiancée, Jack Daniels. The pair had been together for a year, engaged for three months and one day, out of the blue, Jack broke it off. According to her, he didn’t give a concrete reason, something vague about being consumed with his job and that “she deserved a better life than that”.
Of course you get paid a pretty penny for your work, but you take great pleasure in catching a man in the act. Whether the woman needs proof for divorce settlements, custody battles, or to just have leverage. Whatever the case may be, you find a gratification you don’t get anywhere else; the upheaval of a man trying to have his cake and eat it too.
The conventionally attractive woman you couldn’t pick out of a line-up slides her homemade dossier across the coffee shop table, tacky & sticky from previous patrons. You flip through the information presented to you, taking mental notes as you go. You can’t deny the heat that rises up your face as you study the picture of your next target. The deep sable eyes resembling a baby calf’s are staring at you through the glossy photo paper. He’s sporting a mustache reminiscent of Burt Reynolds that is calling your name. His smirk is laced with a charming cockiness.
“He’s quite the looker, I know. Hell of a lay, too,” her words snap you out of your daydream. Her words feel hollow, his looks are the only attributes she’s mentioned during the duration of the consultation. You're not getting paid for moral judgements and you remind yourself you don’t know the whole story.
“Which is why I want to know who he’s fucking. I know there’s another woman, or maybe even a guy… he’d answer calls in the middle of the night and step into another room and I swear I could hear a woman’s voice on the other end, he’d tell me he’s going on work trips… he works at a whiskey distillery, why the hell does he need to go on all these trips?” She explains, putting air quotes around ‘trips’ with her dainty, well-manicured hands, “he’d stay late at work a few nights a week, and then it turned into a nightly thing… Anyways, you come highly recommended, so I’m trusting you won’t let me down,” she adds. You’re not a fan of the passive aggressive, back-handed compliment she gives you, but ultimately you give her an understanding smile as you both rise from the table.
“I’ll be in touch,” you tell her, as you exit. As cliche as that line is, you love saying it every time.
Days of following Jack around have proven to be fruitless. The man has a simple routine: wakes up at six, traipses to the bathroom to begin his morning regimen of a showering, shaving and grooming his beloved mustache, and to conclude, adorns his body in his tight denim jeans, a crisp button-down, a cowboy hat, and boots to match. You hate to admit it, and someone would have to waterboard this information out of you, but the hat is doing something for him.
Or you.
Whatever.
He shops weekly on Wednesdays (he always puts the cart back inside the store, not the cart returns in the parking lot), takes the same route home everyday, watches Jeopardy while he eats dinner – you caught on quickly that he cooks during Wheel of Fortune, it appears he isn’t a big fan of Pat and Vanna, dishes promptly following Final Jeopardy and bed by nine. In three weeks Jack hasn’t had a single visitor, of any gender, leaves work at five like everyone else, the man isn’t adding up to be a cheating womanizer like Camilla had set him out to be. Not to say that he isn’t, but you’re not finding any evidence to support that claim. You’ve actually found yourself developing a crush on the man. He’s undoubtedly handsome, seemingly laid back despite his strict routine, and there’s something mysterious that lies beneath that you’re itching to unearth.
You’re parked discreetly across the street from his house. It’s a nice quiet street, with only two lamps to illuminate the surrounding neighborhoods, allowing you to stay shrouded in the night.
You’re about to call it a night, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, when you notice a lamp turned on in the living room. Fortunately, the window faces the street, making your job that much easier for you. You pick up your binoculars to peer in, adjusting the focus for your prying eyes. Thank the universe he left his blinds open.
He sits on the couch with his back facing you. It looks like he’s reaching for the remote, like maybe he’s having trouble sleeping, but when he settles back into the couch, you notice he’s butt ass naked, in all his glory. Even through the binoculars, you can see how big his cock is. Your mouth salivates at the sight, wanting to feel the stretch of him in all your holes.
You’re not supposed to see this. Not at all. Usually in your assignments, you don’t get the full X-rated view, just the PG-13 suggestive one, and you are more than grateful for that.
But not now.
You’re getting your own private peep show from the man you’re getting paid to spy on. You’re feeling like a grade-A pervert right about now but the sight is too glorious to look away. He spits on his hand, and languidly begins stroking his cock. He runs his other hand through his hair, his toned arms flexing with his movements, his chest heaving.
It shouldn’t turn you on like it does. For one, it’s highly unprofessional. Secondly, he’s unaware he’s got an audience. Morally speaking, it’s definitely not your shining moment. But it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, watching him tease and work himself up. You couldn’t pry your eyes away if you wanted to.
Jack’s not the only one getting worked up; your clit throbs so hard you feel like it’ll go numb. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears thump-thump thump-thump. You let out a whine when Jack massages his tip, precum dribbling out like a sweet nectar you’d like to feast on. He continues his slow movements, dragging out his pleasure at a delicious and excruciating pace. Somehow, this makes the whole scene that much hotter; the display of restraint and discipline. You wonder if he does that with his lovers. Teasing, teasing, teasing, giving just enough to drive you insane before slowing almost to a stop.
Possessed by desire, you haphazardly look for any lingering people outside before unbuttoning your pants to shove your hand to where it's needed most. You gasp at the cool air hitting your thinly clothed pussy, you can smell your own arousal seeped into your panties and it spurs you on further. You mirror Jack’s pace - teasing your lips with a featherlight touch, inching closer and closer to your needy clit, stopping just shy of it, to tease yourself more. It’s agonizing in the best way, taking your time like this. Normally, you like efficiency when making yourself come, rarely going the extra mile to turn the pleasure dial up, but this makes you question why you’re ever in a hurry.
You reach your clit, going in gentle circles to match Jack’s unhurried pace. You wish you could hear the sounds he’s making, all the grunts and whimpers escaping his plush lips.
He speeds up his strokes, now ravenous for his delayed release and so are you. Overtaken by the need to come, you drop the binoculars, letting them fall to the floorboard. You’re not even watching him anymore, having seen more than enough to commit to your spank bank. With your eyes closed and head pushing into the headrest, your mind is flooded with images of Jack fucking you slow, hard and deep, absolutely destroying your pussy – legs over his shoulders, hitting the spot that makes you scream and cry in euphoria. The image of him spilling into you, filling you up with his come is what tips you over the edge, your body shivers in bliss and you rock against your hand to ride out the high, feeling faint from the intensity.
After you’ve recovered and fumbled your chance of ever seeing The Pearly Gates, you dare to look back to his house, to find all the lights back off. It’s a bit of a relief, feeling less shameful of what you’ve done now that you can’t see him at the moment.
You button your pants backup and lean over to retrieve the forgotten binoculars from the floorboard, as your fingers grab them you hear a knock on the window. The sudden rap on the glass makes you flinch, feeling your skeleton attempt to flee from your corporeal body. Your heart drops to your stomach when you see Jack standing outside your car, leaning one forearm against the body so his face is level with yours. Fuck fuck fuck. You’ve been caught. Dizziness and nausea war within you as you roll down the window. You open your mouth to explain the situation, but words never escape your mouth.
“You like watchin’ people don’t ya?” he asks, his tone is dark, but not angry. No, it’s something else entirely.
“I–”
“‘S’alright. Caught onto ya pretty quick. A pretty face like yours ain’t hard to miss.”
“I– i’m sorry, um,” you scramble to find words, any words but Jack interjects again.
“You like watchin’, but darlin’ I want to know, do ya like bein’ watched?”
#snail trail alert 🚨#little lady kinky may#iamasaddie game#2.5ksaddies#jack daniels x you#jack daniels x female reader#jack daniels smut#agent whiskey x you#agent whiskey smut#agent whiskey fic#agent whiskey x reader#agent whiskey#jack daniels x reader#agent jack whiskey daniels#pedrostories#fanfic#smut
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Rope & Ride
Pairing: Jack Daniels x f!reader
Word count: 2.8k
Summary: Jack gets more than he bargained for when he gets too comfortable doing surveillance.
Warnings: SMUT Dub/non-con, NOT SSC/RACK compliant! Oral (f receiving), restraints, denied orgasms, stalking, breaking and entering, unprotected PIV, creampie, smoking, implied plot, but no substantial story,
A word from the author: Here is my very late entry in @wannab-urs ‘s The Dom That Middle Aged Man Campaign 2025 event. It’s been so much fun getting to share ideas and read stories written by the many wonderful writers involved and I’m so sorry that I’m past the deadline for posting. This is my first time writing Jack and I am so grateful to Gin for putting this whole thing together so that I could try something new.
Masterlist Turgid Members DMAMC25 Masterlist
He must be losing his edge.
You walked down the sidewalk toward your walk up, heels clicking against the concrete, and there he was, following along.
At the cafe drinking your coffee, at the library doing research, and as you shopped, there he was.
Maybe it wasn’t all his fault. A handsome man stands out, just naturally stands out, doesn’t he? Jack certainly does. He’s tall and slim waisted, but broad, broad, broad across his shoulders. He was neat, hair brushed into place, mustache trimmed, face sporting only the barest little scratch of whisker.
He might disguise himself, a suit, a leather jacket, dark aviators, a cowboy hat. Dark brown, never white. He knew he wasn’t a good guy deep down. A good guy wouldn’t follow a woman at all hours of the day and night. He wouldn’t peek in her windows or photograph her when she stopped to talk to someone. He wouldn’t tap her phone.
You wondered what he did with all the “evidence.” And you wondered how much longer you’d need to keep up the charade before he was finally done.
…
The day came one gray, drizzling evening three and a half weeks after you first spotted him. You’d received an urgent call from your sister in Dubuque, begging you to fly home right away, to take the first available flight and tend to an urgent family matter.
You hastily flung your suitcase onto your bed, threw in some clothes and took your coat and left. You hailed a cab beneath a lamp post, obscured by rain and your black umbrella, and disappeared into the night. A week, you’d said. He didn’t know if that included travel, but it was still plenty of time.
Jack got out of his car, a pale blue Mercury, nondescript, nothing flashy, and shut the door quietly. He crossed the street casually, with the confidence of someone who belonged right where they were. Your locked front door was little deterrent. Jack picked it easily, producing two slim tools from his jacket pocket and in less time than it would take to fumble with a key ring in the dark, he was inside.
He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of your apartment, and tuned his ears to the sounds of your apartment. Silent, save for a table fan left on by accident, a ticking clock, and the rain that tapped gently against your windows.
After a few still minutes standing stone still, Jack relaxed. He was careful to be quiet, even though he was alone. A small flashlight was fished from the same pocket where he kept his lock picking tools. He held it in his mouth while he retrieved two gloves from another pocket and put them on, flexing his knuckles against the soft leather. Jack swept the first floor, moving fluidly through your sitting room, your kitchen, past the laundry nook.
Each room was neat, but lived in. You’d obviously left in a hurry, a newspaper was draped over the back of your sofa, stockings dried in the bathroom. He brought the fabric to his nose and breathed in the scent, but only detergent was there, nothing of you. In your medicine cabinet he found the usual things, bandaids, toothpaste, hair pins, ibuprofen. Nothing unsavory or incriminating there, not under your sink. A rummage through your linen closet was the same, revealing only a predilection for soft pinks and fuzzy blankets.
Finding nothing of note in your bathroom, Jack moved to your bedroom. He closed the door behind him and inhaled deeply. It was, like the rest of your apartment, tidy and pretty. Unlike the others, this room smelled like you. Light, sweet, it reminded him of candy and flowers and warm, bare skin. Your bedside table was the first target of his snooping. A small lamp, a book, a framed photo of two young girls and a dog, and your telephone. He held the flashlight in his mouth again, freeing his hands to inspect the book. He flipped the pages and found nothing but a bookmark.
“I know there’s something here. Give it up,” he complained to himself, voice deep and twangy. Your drawer, your dresser, your closet, under your bed, he found nothing he could use. He checked his watch. It had been close to an hour that he had spent exploring your home, violating your privacy, and he had nothing to show for it. Annoyed, he sat on your unmade bed to think. He sat on the edge. He sank into the plush mattress, then took off his hat to lay back. He sighed, relaxing further, and closed his eyes.
Your scent was stronger here, where you slept. With his searching concluded, Jack let himself revel in the sick pleasure of being in your bed. He turned his head and breathed in deeply. He pulled your pillow over his face, and grunted into it as he palmed his thickening cock.
He was never one to take a souvenir, but he made a quick decision. Jack got up from your queen size bed and went back to your dresser. He upended the top drawer and found a silky pair of panties, pink, like you like.
He was certainly losing his edge.
So absorbed in his own pleasure, Jack didn’t hear you come back in. He tilted his hips, bucking against the scrap of girly fabric in his big fist. His jean were shoved halfway down his thighs.
It amused you to watch him. After so many weeks of his stalking and spying, you got the chance to do the same. You were sure he’d seen you in moments of undress. You hadn’t changed your routine after you figured him out, free all. You carried on like normal.
Now, with him in your bed, jerking off with your panties, he was exposed and vulnerable for once. You didn’t feel any shame when you stared at his cock. You studied it, the veins of his thick shaft, the dark hair around the base, the blunt head, blushing and leaking precum that smeared onto your panties with each stroke.
The carpet muffled your footsteps and you were standing between his knees, pistol pointed at his handsome face. Your voice startled him.
“Don’t come.” Your voice was velvety and smooth, but he startled anyway. It made you smile. His hands flew to reach for his own weapon, but he couldn’t reach. How foolish of him.
“Is this what you wanted, Mr. Daniels? You’ve been following me for weeks, everywhere I go, everything I do, there you are. You’ve heard my telephone calls, you’ve got enough pictures for quite an album. If all you wanted was a pair of panties, you should have asked me to dinner like a gentleman.”
“You know what I want,” he spat back, "tell me where it is.”
You hummed thoughtfully, as if you were really considering his demand, then brought your knee to rest on the mattress between his legs.
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Jack. Right now you are in my apartment, uninvited, lying in my bed, and doing something very nasty with my panties. I think that it’s time to talk about what I want.” You brought your other knee onto the bed and leaned forward, letting the snub nose of your revolver press into the fabric of his white button up. He didn’t seem to breathe as you dragged it downward over his belly, only making a panicked little cry as the cold gunmetal reached his still hard cock.
You took your panties from his hand, “say ah.”
He obeyed, letting you poke the fabric into his mouth.
“Now, I’m going to get up for just a moment and you are not going to move.” You raised your eyebrows, and nudged him with the short barrel of the gun until he nodded.
Jack closed his eyes and dropped his head onto your bed with a weary sigh.
You returned with a length of pink fabric, the sash of your bathrobe and pulled your reading chair closer to the bed. As instructed, Jack didn’t move. He was still hard and leaking.
“Stand up and strip, Mr. Daniels. Nice and slow.”
The panties in his mouth muffled his hostile ranting, so you pulled them back out, laying the wet, delicate fabric on his chest.
“This isn’t a game,” he hissed, lifting up on his elbows. “You know why I’m here.”
“You’re handsome when you’re angry. Strip.” You wished you had a cocktail right now.
He stood and glared at you, cock bobbing between his legs as he unbuttoned his shirt.
“Slower.” He started to argue but held his tongue, tossing the shirt onto the bed. He pulled his belt from his dark jeans, but you stopped him, holding out your hand for his belt buckle flask.
Of course Jack “Whiskey” Daniels had a full flask. You sipped his bourbon, letting it warm you and nodded for him to continue.
His shirt was first. He unbuttoned it without flair, tossing it onto your bed. His pants were next, already around his thighs, along with his black boxers. He shoved them down and stepped out of them. It wasn’t as sexy as he could have made it if he tried. He’s got a nice body, and he may be unhappy with his predicament, but he’s still hard.
“Turn around for me Jack, give me a little show,” you say, eyes dancing with mischief.
He huffed and turned stiffly. Even if he was mad as a wet hen you were going to enjoy yourself. It wasn’t often you had a man in your bedroom. Not with Jack tailing you, anyway. You weren’t about to give him a free thrill. You tilted your head and drank him in. He was aging, scarred and a little worse for the wear. You liked it. You liked how he looked with a little gray beginning to thread through his hair. He was still lean and strong, fit despite the slight paunch of his belly.
His legs were gorgeous, not the skinny chicken legs a lot of men have, they were shapely, same as his arms. Not bulging with too much silly looking muscle, just right. Nice and toned. His back was the same, his chest, with its sparse hair, dark, tight nipples, skin that must taste salty.
His softening belly, his weak spot, bore a dark patch of hair that lead you gladly down between his legs where your real nemesis hung. That cock of his, long, thick, still hard, even as he scowled at you. It leaned slightly left, which you could have guessed from the bulge you often noticed in his very tight jeans.
Taking the robe belt in your hands, you reached out to wrap it around his cock. You wanted to tie a bow, but Jack’s hands blocked you, hiding himself. That earned him a smack, and a warning.
“Don’t move, Agent Whiskey. Not one move without my permission, do you understand?”
He raised his hands in surrender and muttered. You let the smooth fabric drag over his turgid member, but instead of the bow, you made him turn again.
“Hands behind your back. Turn around for me.”
He closed his eyes, not bothering to argue, and you heard him exhale when you tied his wrists together in a pretty, but very secure pink bow.
You fluffed your bow and turned him to face you once more.
“There. I bet that feels a lot nicer than some old piece of rope, doesn’t it?” You smiled at him.
Jack couldn’t believe his predicament. He had made sure you were gone, he had checked his time, he hadn’t left evidence behind. He was going to jerk himself off into your silky underthings and leave, the panties his only souvenir.he doubted you’d even miss them the way your drawer was full of so many lacy, silky, soft little things. He made a mistake somewhere, and now here he is, naked, hard, tied up in between your bed and your chiffarobe, while you bossed him around. He dare not acknowledge the throbbing erection. It was plain enough for you to see.
You put him on his knees, guiding him down with your dainty little manicured hand on his shoulder. His tired knees sank into the mercifully plush carpet, and he sighed.
He watched you walk back and forth in front of him, small steps in your tall heels. He wondered what you were thinking. He wondered if you really knew what he was looking for. His mind raced, all of his training leaving him woefully unprepared for a scenario like this, especially when your panties fell to your ankles.
You stepped out of them gingerly and swept them aside with the toe of your high heel.
You liked him on his knees. He was better behaved when he was at a disadvantage. His pretty lips pouted, his big dark eyes searched your face for a hint of your next move, widening when you raked your fingers through his hair and gripped it, holding him as you stood before him, balancing on one foot with the other pressing into the edge of the bed behind him.
Jack welcomed your bare pussy against his face. He took it like an offering and accepted your soft, damp lips against his tongue. You stayed still, letting him lap at your folds for a few moments, then began to roll your hips, using his face. His nose, lips, chin, even the scratch of his mustache felt heavenly against your achy center. You kept on, soaking his face until you came.
Jacks cock throbbed between his legs, untouched and rock hard. Droplets of precum dribbled from his tip. You caught your breath on the edge of the bed and watched him, chest expanding between his wide shoulders. You placed one ankle on his shoulder, and leaned back on your palms.
“That was a good start, don’t you think?”
Agent Whiskey licked his lips and nodded. “Yeah. Real good. Untie me and I’ll make it a good finish too.”
It made you laugh, his confidence. It preceded him, of course, but you hadn’t experienced it for yourself.
“Really, Daniels? I can’t untie you now. We’re just getting started.”
There was only your dainty watch on your bedside table to tell you that more than an hour had passed since you pulled Jack up and onto your bed. More than an hour of him gasping each time you touched him, lip quivering each time you denied him an orgasm.
“Please. Please!” He plead for your mercy as you held his body down with yours, hand around his cock, twisting around it, working upwards and back down tortuously slow. His hairline was damp with sweat.
Each time he got too close you stopped, plucked a cigarette from your case and smoked it, appraising his deconstructed state from a few feet away, then ashed it in a crystal dish.
When his breathing steadied and his whimpering quieted, you took your place on top of him again. This time with his cock situated beneath you, slipping back and forth between your wet folds, never taking him inside, just using his pulsing cock to bring yourself to orgasm once more.
Jack's eyes shone with unshed tears of frustration and he tried in vain to chase his own orgasm. He wondered if he would ever come again or if you’d always stop him. He was crazy with need, mind poisoned with unspent cum.
Not long before the two hour mark, you decided how you’d wrap up this meeting of minds.
You straightened your back, lifted your hips, and slowly sank onto his cock. Your pussy squeezed and pulled him in, making him groan and tug against his restraints.
He was thick and long, filling you, pressing against your body, a wonderful counterpressure to your clenching cunt.
“Fuck. Oh, fuck! Yes!” He babbled, thrusting, stomach tensing, hips pushing up as much as he could manage to meet your thrusts.
You sped up, riding him hard with quick up and down strokes intended to thoroughly drain him of every last drop of cum. His face was a study in surrender. Glassy eyes, mouth slack. You watched him closely and pumped his body with yours. Your own pleasure was undeniable, you’d used his body for countless orgasms since you first caught him in your web. You took another, the first he felt for himself and it was enough. Jack “Whiskey” Daniels flooded you with his milky white cum.
You left him, panting, used up, and wet, not yet aware of how fucked he truly is now, and returned with a Polaroid camera. You snapped shot after shot, his face, his body, his softening cock, and one last shot of yourself, smiling, satisfied, triumphant wearing his hat.
#dmamc 2025#the dom that middle aged man campaign 2025#jack whiskey daniels#jack daniels#agent whiskey#agent jack whiskey daniels#kingsmen golden circle#Jack whiskey Daniels smut#Jack Daniels smut#agent Jack whiskey Daniels smut#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#bat writes#pedro pascal character smut#Jack whiskey Daniels x reader#agent whiskey smut#jack daniels x reader#jack daniels x you
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can you do odd!reader responding to her partner w/ a breeding kink?
absolutely! im so so sorry for taking the longest amount of time to respond to this anon </3
odd!reader not picking up stuff is so real to me
Fem, Masc, and Gn reader featured
[fem/afab]
God you were so pretty, was all he could think. Even from the back you were utterly beautiful. His cock continued thrusting into your slick walls. He’d slide his dick out till it was just his tip notched inside your entrance before pounding back in. It was a hypnotizing rhythm that had you drooling into the pillow beneath you.
The other pillow held your hips up, keeping you presented nicely for him. His hand crept around your hip to draw shapes on your clit. Seeing the way your folds stretched around him made his dick twitch inside your cunt. “Fuuuck. Gonna fill you with up yeah? Have you carry my babies? D’be such a good mom.” He choked out without a second thought.
He, of course, was the only one not giving it a second thought. You always gave it a second thought though. Craning your neck, you shot an almost worried look over your shoulder. “I’m on birth control…and we’re not ready to be parents.”
If he hadn’t been balls deep in you he might have laughed. His hips snapped before slowing down in shock. “No it’s- it’s just dirty talk, babe. A saying?” You blinked as the cogs in your brain turned, a smile brightening your features once you realized. “Oh! Okay.”
Seeing you move on so swiftly had him shaking his head and beginning to thrust into you again. His teeth sunk into his lower lip as he focused on how you clenched around his dick, fucking through his confusion. It wouldn’t be the first nor last time it happened.
[masc/amab]
God you were so handsome, was all he could think. Even from the back you truly were attractive. His cock continued thrusting into your walls. He’d slide his dick out till it was just his tip notched inside your entrance before pounding back in. It was a hypnotizing rhythm that had you drooling into the pillow beneath you.
The other pillow held your hips up, keeping you presented nicely for him. His hand thumb rested at the top of your ass, watching the lube drooling out over his cock. Seeing the way you stretched around him made his dick twitch inside your ass. “Fuuuck. Gonna fill you with up yeah? Have you carry my babies? D’be such a good dad.” He choked out without a second thought.
He, of course, was the only one not giving it a second thought. You always gave it a second thought though. Craning your neck, you shot an almost worried look over your shoulder. “That’s not possible….and we’re not ready to be parents.”
If he hadn’t been balls deep in you he might have laughed. His hips snapped before slowing down in shock. “No it’s- it’s just dirty talk, babe. A saying?” You blinked as the cogs in your brain turned, a smile brightening your features once you realized. “Oh! Okay.”
Seeing you move on so swiftly had him shaking his head and beginning to thrust into you again. His teeth sunk into his lower lip as he focused on how you clenched around his dick, fucking through his confusion. It wouldn’t be the first nor last time it happened.
[gender neutral]
God you were so hot, was all he could think. Even from the back you were captivating. His cock continued thrusting into your slick walls. He’d slide his dick out till it was just his tip notched inside your entrance before pounding back in. It was a hypnotizing rhythm that had you drooling into the pillow beneath you.
The other pillow held your hips up, keeping you presented nicely for him. Seeing the way you stretched around him made his dick twitch inside you. “Fuuuck. Gonna fill you with up yeah? Have you carry my babies? D’be such a good parent.” He choked out without a second thought.
He, of course, was the only one not giving it a second thought. You always gave it a second thought though. Craning your neck, you shot an almost worried look over your shoulder. “We’re not ready to be parents.”
If he hadn’t been balls deep in you he might have laughed. His hips snapped before slowing down in shock. “No it’s- it’s just dirty talk, babe. A saying?” You blinked as the cogs in your brain turned, a smile brightening your features once you realized. “Oh! Okay.”
Seeing you move on so swiftly had him shaking his head and beginning to thrust into you again. His teeth sunk into his lower lip as he focused on how you clenched around his dick, fucking through his confusion. It wouldn’t be the first nor last time it happened.
#odd!reader#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x you#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#kyle gaz garrick x you#kyle gaz garrick x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#soap mactavish x you#arthur morgan x you#arthur morgan x reader#captain john price x you#captain john price x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#john mactavish x you#john marston x reader#dean winchester x reader#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#javier peña x reader#javier peña x you#agent whiskey x reader#sirius black x reader#eddie munson x reader#coriolanus snow x reader#finnick odair x reader#wyll ravengard x reader#trevor hellraiser#ri’s requests 🪩
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Pedro Pascal with weapons, this is the post
#pedro pascal#pedrohub#gladiator ll#agent whiskey#oberyn martell#joel Miller#pedropascaledit#pascalispunk#jose pedro balmaceda pascal#pedro pascal fandom#pedro x reader#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal x reader
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in our ivory tower

➔ Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x f!Reader
➔ 1.1k words
➔ You enjoy the view from the top with your boss.
➔ Rated MA // unprotected p in v sex, creampie/cum play, gratuitous groping, semi-public sex, a little dash of exhibition kink, power dynamics kind of // reader has female anatomy and uses feminine pronouns, reader is generally able-bodied
The view from the top floor of the Statesman skyscraper is breathtaking. You’ve been here for months at this point and you still don’t think you’ll ever truly get used to it. You swear you can see all the way to the other end of Manhattan from here–miles and miles of glistening steel and glass that make you feel so inconsequential, so anonymous. It’s a good feeling.
The Statesman tower is a far cry from the little apartment in Hell’s Kitchen that you share with three roommates–this is luxurious, decadent. Everything is modern and brand new, everyone is dressed to perfection in clothes that probably cost more than you make over the course of a month. You’ve always felt like you don’t quite belong here–you might’ve even quit by now if it weren’t for your gorgeous view and the gorgeous boss.
The panorama of the city skyline is only elevated by the gut-clenching thrill you get when you’re pressed up against the sturdy, full-length window like this, with your boss pounding into your pussy from behind like there’s no tomorrow.
There’s always a little paranoid thought in the back of your mind, as you look down at the street a hundred stories below you, that you’d be fucked if the glass gave way. Not that Jack would ever let anything happen to you–he’s proven time and time again just how capable he is.
“That’s it, hmm?” He grunts with a particularly delicious thrust that slams his cockhead right into your g-spot. “Righ’ there, sugar?”
He’s always been able to find it with seemingly no effort. He folds you over like it’s nothing, hands sliding up from their tight grip over the bunched-up skirt on your hips so he can grab greedily at your breasts through the soft fabric of your shirt. His skilled fingers can find your nipples with ease even through the layers–it never fails to impress, much less to draw a loud moan from your lips.
“Atta girl.” He growls–a sound so low and animalistic that it makes your walls clamp down around him–so close to your ear that you can feel the bristly scratch of his mustache and the warm, panting breaths that are punched from his lungs with each thrust against your neck.
Your thighs are trembling with every vicious stroke of his cock, desperate for the release he’s been steadily working your towards. He’s always liked to play with his meal–to draw it out until you’re begging and crying for it.
You can feel the delicious friction of his denim-clad thighs against the back of yours, hear the clink of his belt buckle as his hips work. It’s easy to forget that anyone could walk into this conference room right now, anyone could look up out a window and see you being pulled apart.
Your fingers clutch uselessly at the smooth glass in a feeble attempt to steady yourself, but there’s no saving you. Not when you’re this close, not when you can feel his plush lips ghosting against your pulse point and his fingers are shoving under the neckline of your shirt to get a better feel of what he’s been pawing at.
“God damn, this cunt,” he grunts lowly–his thrusts are losing their rhythm, you know he’s getting close. “Sweeter ’n stolen honey.”
One of his broad palms gives up the delightful attack on your chest to skate down the length of your stomach and find your clit. He’s familiar enough with your body now, after months of sneaking around together like this–he knows exactly the right pace and pressure to use in order to have you crumbling in his arms.
And crumble you do–with a moan that you try to muffle behind your bitten lip, you shatter. Your entire body shakes with the force of your orgasm, barely held up if not for your palms against the glass and Jack’s hands moving swiftly to your hips to steady you.
He’s not far behind–a couple more deliciously firm thrusts have him pressed balls-deep into your messy cunt, filling you to the very brim with his cum until it’s leaking out around his softening length.
There’s a blissfully long moment where he stays crowding you against the window, hot breath flickering up the length of your neck from where he’s pressing open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder.
“A’right, darlin’?” There’s something so tender behind that whispered question in combination with the way his lips can’t seem to leave your skin. Almost loving.
You choke down whatever feelings you’re perceiving–imagined or real–and give a little nod. “Mhm.”
He pulls out with a quiet groan that makes it sound as if he’s in pain over being parted from you. One of those warm hands of his comes up and curves around your jaw, pulling your lips to his in a sweet kiss that’s a far cry from the way he was fucking you just a moment ago. He pushes his tongue against your bottom lip as his other hand sneaks down between your legs, fingertips ghosting against your over-sensitive cunt before he pulls your ruined panties back into their proper place.
“Clean these up for me?”
You’re accepting his cum-smeared fingers into your mouth before you can think of a response. His jaw drops open at the way you swirl your tongue around them, always so dedicated to doing exactly what he asks of you. Always striving to go above and beyond.
“Should give you a raise,” he murmurs, his voice a little high-pitched in a way that makes you smirk proudly.
You let his fingers go with an audible pop. “I wouldn’t turn it down, Mr. Daniels.”
You try to ignore the steady leak of his spend dripping into your underwear as you tug your skirt back into place. It’s only just past noon–you have plenty of work to get done, starting with clearing the conference table of all the rubble left behind from the meeting that concluded shortly before Jack got his hands on you.
You see it as he’s tucking himself back into those sinfully tight jeans–two smudgy handprints on the otherwise impeccable glass. You feel vaguely guilty on behalf of the cleaning crew who’ll have to deal with that tonight.
Jack doesn’t seem to have the same inclination. He shoots a wink your way as he picks his black Stetson up off the conference table and sets it on his head. “Have those meetin’ notes ready by the end a’day, ‘kay?”
“Yes sir,” you answer dutifully. It’s only one of the many reasons you’re his favorite employee.
➔ beta: @schnarfer ; dividers: @saradika-graphics
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#agent whiskey#agent whiskey x reader#agent whiskey smut#agent whiskey fanfiction#jack daniels x reader#jack daniels smut#jack daniels fanfiction#kingsman the golden circle#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#cece writes
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Falling from grace

You fall from grace as a group of raiders destroy your lavish community, taking in you as a macabre spoil of war
Warnings: Dark dark topics, noncon, abduction, mentions of killing a whole community, raider! characters, psychological, physical and sexual abuse, sexual slavery
Pairings: Dark! Joel Miller x reader, Dark! Javier Peña x reader, Dark! Marcus Acacius x reader, Dark! Oberyn Martell x reader, Dark! Agent Whiskey x reader, Dark! Dieter Bravo x reader, Dark! Frankie Morales x reader
Chapters:
Who owns you?
Clean
Someone's
Feather light touches
Defiled
Miller's
Drabbles
Period drabble
Before punching Acacius
Headcannons
Feel comfortable to request any idea you’d like to see play out in the story; I’ll try either to integrate it or create a hc or drabble about it!
Love, Red
#Dark! Joel Miller x reader#Dark! Javier Peña x reader#Dark! Marcus Acacius x reader#Dark! Oberyn Martell x reader#Dark! Agent Whiskey x reader#Dark! Dieter Bravo x reader#Dark! Frankie Morales x reader#joel miller x reader#marcus acacius x reader#oberyn martel x reader#agent whiskey x reader#dieter bravo x reader#Javier Peña x reader#frankie morales x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal x reader#gladiator 2#the bubble#kingsman#the last of us#dark fic#fic rec#falling from grace#triple frontier#dark! pedro pascal#game of thrones
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i think i need someone older ⸜❤︎⸝
#it’s giving dbf!#mi amor pedrito :(#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#agent whiskey#jack daniels#javier peña#kingsman#narcos#agent whiskey x reader#agent whiskey x you#jack daniels x reader#jack daniels x you#javier peña x reader#javier peña x you#agent whiskey smut#jack daniels smut#javier peña smut
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messy hair pedro…

#yummy yum yum#pedro pascal#pedrohub#joel miller#marcus acacius#agent whiskey#gladiator 2#gladiator ii#jack daniels#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader
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The Top Shelf - Jack Daniels X Female Reader
Title: The Top Shelf
Jack Daniels X Female Reader
Additional Characters: Ginger, Tequila (Mentioned), and Champ (Mentioned)
WC: 5,707
Warnings: Short Reader (mentioned to be below the average height for a woman), Kingsman canon violence mentioned (ie. killing/death), cursing, italics, nicknames, teasing, banter, flirting, Jack being Jack, jealousy, age gap very briefly mentioned, suggestive, slight angst, and fluff
You were going to kill whoever put your special snack on the top shelf. Actually, maybe you would torture them a bit first. Everyone in Statesman knew you couldn’t reach the high shelves, they knew that you had your own special cupboard to hide your snacks, and yet, your stuff somehow made its way to the top shelf. You knew you didn’t put them up there.
Now, standing in the kitchen, staring up at the top shelf, you glared at it; all the while, you were thinking about all the possible weapons you could use to cause harm on the person responsible. You were short, pretty short. You were below the average height for a woman, and you were mighty proud of it. Most people, mostly when you were still in school, would always say how lucky they were to be tall.
“Oh, I can reach things easier.”
“I can see easier in crowds.”
“I am the perfect height to be a model.”
Ugh. It was annoying as hell. There were a lot of things that you could do too. You could make your way through crowds easier, sliding through gaps. You got a lot more leg room in cars and planes. You could fit into smaller spaces; which oddly helped in your line of work. And you were often seen as less intimidating in social situations, which definitely helped in your line of work.
Being short was amazing, but not when people actively tried to make it harder for you.
And so, here you were, arms crossed as you tried to make up your mind on how you were going to get your favorite snack. You had three options. One; grab a chair or stool. Two; climb the counter and stand on it to reach. Or, three; ask for help. And you were not going to ask for help. You liked most of your co-workers, but you were a grown-ass woman - strong and independent - and you didn’t need help.
But, it seemed that fate - or destiny - was going to delay your snack time.
“You need any help, sugar?” You heard the deep, smooth southern voice behind you, and you immediately sighed. Even though you drank two cups of coffee that morning, his presence always made you oddly exhausted.
Turning around, you frowned, staring up at the man who had that stupid grin on his face. “No, I do not need help, Whiskey.”
The cowboy raised an eyebrow, eyes lifting to your snack and back down to you, “Are you sure?” He placed his hands on his hips, jutting out a hip, “I could grab that for you, if you want.”
You mimicked him, jutting out your own hip, your eyes narrowing, “No, thank you, Whiskey. I can get it on my own.”
Whiskey raised both his hands up in the air in defence before backing away, making you sigh and turn back around.
You huffed, biting your bottom lip as you started at the shelf. Maybe if you jumped just right, you could knock the damn thing down. Or if you really committed to climbing the counter… No… After the day you had? A grueling mission, a headache that wouldn’t quit… No, maybe it would be best to ask someone for help. Not from Whiskey or Tequila, but maybe Ginger would help you. You two were very close, so you doubted that she wouldn’t help.
With a spin, you turned around, planning to leave to seek out Ginger, but you jumped, letting out a squeak.
Jack- Whiskey was still there.
Leaning against the entrance way, his arms were crossed over his broad chest. That stupid smirk of his hadn’t faded, either. Jack’s smirk only widened, having the gall to look you up and down.
“Why are you still here?” You asked, crossing your arms again.
He didn’t miss a beat, “Enjoyin’ the view.”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes, “You’re insufferable.” You moved, slipping past him, muttering out an ‘I hate you,’ for good measure, just loud enough for him to hear.
“Mm,” He hummed, tilting his head as he watched you go, “You love me, sugar.”
You ignored him, forcing yourself to keep walking down the hall. Except, despite your best efforts, your mind drifted back to him. God, you loathed him. Him with his perfect body, perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect eyes, perfect voice, perfect- ugh. You hated him.
Ever since you started at Statesman, Whiskey - or Jack, as he told you that you could call him, but you never did - spent a lot of time with you. He’d seek you out sometimes, just to ask a dumb question that either Ginger or Champ could answer. He’d talk to you the most outside of missions, and even during missions, and by ‘talk,’ you meant flirt. He was such a damn flirt. It wasn’t just the smirks or the innuendos. It was the way he always made you the center of his attention. The way his voice dropped just a little lower when he spoke to you, and just you. The way he’d look at you like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.
And maybe, just maybe, that was the worst part.
Not to mention that, despite being so… Flirtatious with you, he would always stay a gentleman. He wouldn’t push things too far. He wouldn’t make you genuinely uncomfortable. For all his teasing and smooth-talking, there was a line he never crossed. Jack Daniels could be a cocky bastard, sure - but he was also a gentleman. And maybe that was what irritated you the most. Because if he was just another flirt with no sense of boundaries, you could dismiss him. You could roll your eyes, scoff, and walk away without a second thought.
But no. He had to be charming. He had to be kind. He had to have that damn Southern drawl that made your name sound sweeter than honey. And worst of all?
He had to make you like him.
And sometimes, you wished you could just have a real conversation with him. No flirting. No smirks. No subtle innuendos. No trying to get you all flustered. Just a real talk. But with Jack Daniels? With Agent Whiskey? That seemed damn near impossible.
You pushed open the door to the tech lab, stepping inside to find Ginger working away at her station, fingers flying across the keyboard with practiced ease. She didn’t look up as you fully entered, too focused on whatever complicated codes or systems she was working on.
With a dramatic sigh, you made your way to an empty chair - one of the spinny ones, thankfully - and all but collapsed into it, giving yourself a slow, lazy spin. At that, the corners of Ginger’s lips quirked up in amusement, though she still didn’t glance away from her screen.
You never really understood high-tech or coding. It just wasn’t your thing. Yeah, you were pretty good on a phone or computer. You did the basics and even a few tricks you picked up through the years. You could even use a fax machine, but you liked being in the action, doing the fieldwork, bringing justice. You left the screens and wires to Ginger, trusting that whatever magic she worked back here kept you alive out there.
Slouching slightly, you swayed the chair side to side, another softer sigh slipping past your lips.
Finally, Ginger spoke.
“Bad day?” She asked, a knowing lilt to her voice.
You sighed again, “You have no idea.”
“I kind of do,” Her grin widened, “I was watching over you and your mission this morning.”
“Yeah, yeah…” You muttered tiredly.
Ginger hummed, still typing away, “Whiskey?”
Your lips pressed into a thin line as you gave the chair one last spin. “...Yeah.”
Ginger finally stopped typing, finding a stopping point, and turning in her chair to face you as you lazily pushed your chair with your feet, rolling yourself closer until you were right beside her. She studied you for a moment, clearly amused but also curious.
“What’d he do this time?” She asked.
You huffed, leaning forward against the desk, resting your elbow on it and pressing your cheek into the palm of your hand. “He was just being himself today,” You muttered, voice heavy with exhaustion. “Flirting, smirking, calling me ‘sugar’ like it’s his damn job.” Ginger snorted, waiting for you to continue. You sighed again. “Honestly? I’m more pissed about something else.”
Her eyebrows lifted slightly, intrigued. “Oh? Was it Tequila?”
“No, not him,” You sat up a little, frowning, “I went to the kitchen to grab a snack, right? But when I got there, it was on the top shelf. My special snack. The one that I always keep in my cupboard.
Ginger’s lips twitched, and you could tell that she was trying not to laugh.
“And?”
“And I can’t reach it,” You grumbled, flopping back against the chair, “I swear, not being able to have my snack was more annoying than Whiskey today.”
At that, Ginger actually laughed, shaking her head. “Now that’s saying something.”
You nodded, pursing your lips as you began slightly turning the chair again. Ginger knew about your… Situation with Whiskey. You wouldn’t say everyone knew, but occasionally, Tequila would throw out some comment about how Whiskey was like your loyal puppy, always following you around, eager for your attention. It was annoying. And mostly untrue.
Mostly.
But Ginger? Ginger knew. And, more importantly, she knew about the part you refused to admit out loud - the part where, despite all of your frustration, all of the teasing and bickering, you were attracted to the older man. You trusted Ginger. With your life - both figuratively and literally. You knew whatever you said here, in the privacy of her tech lab, would never leave the room.
And yeah, she teased you sometimes. Tired to nudge you toward saying something to Whiskey instead of just glaring at him across the room or table during mission briefings. But she never pushed too hard. She knew when to joke and when to let you be.
“You know,” She trailed off, “I could always call Whiskey in here to help you with your snack problem…”
You only groaned, letting your head drop onto the desk. “Ginger. No.” You answered, your voice muffled from your arms.
You lifted your head just enough to give Ginger your best pout, eyes wide and pleading. “That’s why I came to you,” You said, “I was hoping you’d be a dear and grab it for me.”
“And why can’t you just ask Whiskey for help?”
You groaned again, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “Ginger, I know you are just pulling my leg, but come on! You are missing the point!” You sat up straighter, launching into a full-on rant. “If I ask him, then he’s gonna tease the ever-loving crap out of me. He’ll say something about how he’d love to help me out or some other nonsense that’ll make my cheeks all hot, which is annoying! And then, if I let him help, not only will his ego grow, but the next time this happens - god forbid - he’s gonna make it a huge thing!” You gestured kind of wildly. “Like, ‘Oh, need my help again, sugar?’ or ‘I think you just like havin’ me around, sweetheart.’” You mimicked his voice, lowering your own and adding his Southern accent on it. “And I know he’s the one putting my snacks up there in the first place, just to mess with me!” You let out a deep breath when you finally finished rambling, your arms falling limp at your sides. Ginger blinked at you, lips twitching, clearly holding back some laughter.
“... Alright, alright,” She relented, shaking her head, “I’ll help you.”
You let out a sigh of relief, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re a lifesaver, Ginger,” You said, standing up as she did.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it.” She teased, nudging your shoulder as you both exited the lab. As you walked side by side down the hall, Ginger glanced down at you, “So, what’s this snack, anyway?”
You perked up slightly, “My jumbo family-size bag of chips - my favorite flavor,” You emphasized, “I just got them last time I went out, and I’ve been dying for the right day to open them up.” You sighed wistfully, already picturing the evening ahead. “And tonight is the night. After I get my chips, all I want to do is go to my room, collapse on my bed, cuddle up with my favorite blanket, and put on my favorite movie.”
Ginger hummed in approval, “Solid plan.” As you neared the kitchen, she glanced at you again. “So… Aside from Whiskey, who do you think would’ve put your snack up there?”
You shrugged, “If it wasn’t him, then it was Tequila.” But as you turned the corner into the kitchen, you stopped in your tracks. There, sitting right on the counter, were your chips. Someone had pulled them down for you. Your brows furrowed as you slowly stepped forward, staring at the bag.
“Huh.” Ginger stopped beside you.
You glanced around, as if expecting someone to jump out, but the kitchen was empty.
“…Weird,” You muttered, reaching out to grab the bag. You stared down at the chip bag in your hands, your eyes narrowed in suspicion. Your eyebrows furrowed as your lips pressed into a tight line. Ginger, who had casually leaned against the fridge, tilted her head as she observed you.
“You know who would’ve pulled it down for you?” She asked, a knowing look in her eyes.
You tilted your head, eyes still fixed on the bag as you sighed. “I might have a clue,” You muttered, clearly still trying to wrap your head around the situation. “Thanks, Ginger,” You added, flashing her a small smile as you turned to leave. “Have a goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Y/N.”
As you walked down the hallway, the weight of your thoughts started to sink in, and just like that, Whiskey’s presence seemed to take over your mind once more. For the millionth time today, he invaded your thoughts. It was almost impossible not to think about him - his smirk, the teasing tone of his voice, the way he always seemed to know just what to say to get under your skin.
You weren’t entirely sure if it was him who had pulled the chips down for you. But Whiskey was the only person who knew you had been eyeing that snack that was too high up to reach.
It frustrated you - more than you were willing to admit. Why couldn’t you just hate him, like you always claimed? You stopped in your tracks for a moment, letting out a frustrated sigh. You were finding it more and more difficult to pretend you hated him and it was becoming a problem. It wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. But here you were.
~~~
Does this person know that you have plans on killing them?
You stared up at the top shelf, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. Once again, your snacks had been moved. This time, it was your candy.
It had been a couple of days since the chip incident, and now you were starting to wonder if this was a full-fledged conspiracy. At this point, you were getting really annoyed. Maybe it was time to just keep all your snacks in your room and save yourself the trouble.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, you turned around, already planning to find Ginger and ask for help again - only to nearly jump out of your skin. Whiskey stood there, leaning casually against the counter with that infuriatingly smug grin.
You slapped a hand over your beating heart, glaring up at him. “God, stop doing that,” You huffed.
His grin widened. “Darlin’, I figured you, of all people, would’ve known I was standin’ here. Ain’t you supposed to be a top-tier agent?”
You rolled your eyes, exhaling sharply. “Yeah, well, I guess I’ve been too busy trying to figure out who the hell keeps moving my snacks.” You raised a suspicious eyebrow at him. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who’d do such a thing, would you?”
Whiskey shook his head, an innocent smile stretching across his face. “No clue, sweetheart.”
Liar.
You didn’t believe him for a second, but before you could call him out, he casually strolled past you, making his way to the coffee maker.
And that’s when your brain short-circuited. Your eyes followed him instinctively, trailing down as he moved. The way his jeans fit - God help you - was downright unfair. Your mind screamed at you to stop staring, to look away, to get a grip. But your heart? Your heart was having a much harder time listening. Hell, it was only fair for you to stare at him. He stared at you all the time and teased you relentlessly about it. Turnabout was fair play, right?
Your gaze lingered a moment longer before you quickly looked away, hoping he hadn’t caught you. But, of course, you weren’t that lucky.
“You keep lookin’ at me like that, sugar, and I’m gonna start thinkin’ you like what you see,” Whiskey drawled, amusement dripping from his voice as he poured himself a cup of coffee.
Your eyes snapped back to his face, heat creeping up your neck when you saw him already looking at you. “I was not looking at you.”
Whiskey took a slow sip of his coffee, smirking over the rim of his mug. “Oh, darlin’… Don’t lie to me.”
You huffed, rolling your eyes again. “I hate you.”
Whiskey leaned against the counter opposite of you, sipping his coffee with that smirk still in place. “Sure you do, baby.”
“‘Baby?’ That one’s new.” You turned away from him, trying your best to ignore him as you glared up at your candy, still annoyingly out of reach. You really didn’t want to trek all the way to Ginger’s lab again, only for the candy to somehow miraculously appear on the counter like last time. You felt bad dragging her all the way here just for her help when it hadn’t even been necessary.
With a deep, resigned sigh, you finally muttered in stubborn defeat, “Whiskey… Can you help me?”
You didn’t have to look at him to know his grin widened. You heard it in the smug silence that stretched out before you heard the quiet clink of his coffee mug being set down. Then came the slow, deliberate footsteps. You barely had time to react before his presence pressed close. Your breath hitched as his chest brushing against your back, the warmth of him seeping through your clothes. One of his hands curled around your upper arm as he reached up with the other, easily plucking your candy from the top shelf. And just as quickly, he moved away, his hip bumping against the counter as he leaned against it, looking down at you with that insufferable, satisfied grin.
“Here ya go, darlin’,” He drawled, holding out the bag - only to pop a piece of candy into his mouth before handing it over.
You gaped at him. “Hey!”
He winked. “Payment.”
And with that, he sauntered off, whistling as he went, leaving you standing there, your face burning hotter than a furnace. You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, your body still tense from the lingering warmth of him. Pressing your back against the counter, you gripped the edge with both hands, your fingers curling tightly around it as if that would somehow ground you.
Why did he have to make things so complicated?
Your heart was still racing, your face still hot, and your breathing was irregular. Snapping your head toward the kitchen doorway, you shouted, “I still hate you!”
There was a beat of silence before his voice rang back down the hall, smooth and teasing-
“Liar.”
Your grip tightened on the counter as you clenched your jaw, staring after him.
That man was going to be the death of you.
~~~
It had been a long mission. A draining one.
All you wanted to do was grab something to eat, lock yourself in your room, and not emerge for the rest of the day. You weren’t needed for anything else, and your mission paperwork? That could be done just as easily from the comfort of your bed. You were exhausted, body aching, but if you were being honest, that wasn’t the only reason you were in such a sour mood.
No, that had everything to do with Whiskey. Normally, working with him wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Sure, he was insufferable, always teasing, always finding new ways to get under your skin, but you could usually go about your job, ignoring him to an extent. But this mission? This mission had made that almost impossible.
It was difficult enough, requiring both of you to be at the top of your game. You had gotten the information you needed - you sneaking in to grab the hard drive while Whiskey ran his distraction. And it had worked. Flawlessly.
Except… It was his distraction that left a bitter taste in your mouth.
You never thought it would bother you. Not really. But watching him turn on the charm, flashing that signature smirk, whispering sweet nothings into some stranger woman’s ear, touching them so casually, so easily-
You had no right to be upset. It was just a mission. And yet, you were upset. But, green was not a pretty color on you.
You stood there, staring up at the top shelf in the kitchen, your gaze fixed on the bag of chips that had been placed there again. For the third time in a row. It wasn’t just the chips. It wasn’t about the bag of snacks at all, really. It was about everything else. The mission. The way Whiskey had acted. The way he always acted, and the way you couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it. Your mind was tangled in a mess of frustration, jealousy, and... Something else you couldn’t quite pinpoint.
You stood there, frozen, staring at the chips, replaying the mission again and again in your head. You were so lost in your head, so absorbed by your own swirling emotions, that you didn’t even hear Whiskey enter the room. His humming filled the space briefly, but it faded as soon as he saw you.
He stopped, his head tilting to the side as his gaze fell on you, his eyes narrowing as he observed your face. He stood there for a moment, studying you. "Need some help?" He asked, voice light, teasing.
You didn’t even look at him. “No.” The word came out softer than you intended.
Whiskey’s grin faltered, and he took a step forward. His brows furrowed as he approached, now genuinely concerned. “You okay?”
You didn’t answer at first, your eyes still fixed on the top shelf. The silence stretched between you, and you could feel his eyes on you. You almost wished he would say something - tease you, make it light again - but instead, he stayed silent, waiting for you to speak.
But you didn’t. You didn’t know what to say.
Whiskey took a step closer, moving with that familiar, confident grace. He found his spot where he had stood just days ago - his side pressed against the counter, just a foot or so away from you, his presence still as intimidating as it was comforting. His eyes were trained on you, no longer teasing, but genuine concern written across his face.
“Want to talk about it, sugar?” He asked, his voice low as his hand reached up, fingers brushing against a few strands of your hair, tucking it gently behind your ear. “Might help.”
You took a step back. All the weeks of frustration - the teasing, the confusion, the ridiculous tension that hung between you two - came rushing to the surface. You couldn’t stop it. “Can you just stop teasing me all the time?” You blurted, shaking your head. “It’s not fair that you always play with my feelings like this.” Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “You’re always messing with me, making me question everything - whether you care or not. And I-” You cut yourself off, you had already said a bit too much.
You expected him to laugh it off, maybe smirk. But instead, Whiskey’s expression shifted. His eyes softened for a split second before they hardened, and in one swift motion, he stepped forward, his hands landing on your waist. Without warning, he lifted you, effortlessly placing you onto the counter in front of him.
Your hands instinctively landed on his shoulders, gripping them for stability, but as soon as you were placed on the counter, your palms dropped to your lap, your body frozen in surprise. Your heart raced as you stared up at him, eyes wide, and your breath caught in your throat. He was right there, so close you could feel the heat of his body. His face was a mere foot from yours, his expression less playful and more serious than you had ever seen. And his eyes, so dark, like chocolate, they were searching, confused.
His small frown deepened, his eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean I don’t care?” Whiskey asked, his voice soft but firm.
For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, caught between wanting to push him away and feeling an overwhelming urge to pull him closer. Your mouth felt dry, the words stuck in your throat.
You opened your mouth, but it was like the tension in the room made everything seem miles away, your thoughts jumbled. You ignored his earlier question, focusing instead on what had been eating at you. “Then why do you tease me so much?” Your voice was quieter this time, but the frustration still seeped through. "If this was all some kind of game-"
“You think I’m playin’ a game with you?” He cut you off before you could finish, his voice low and serious, with an edge that made you freeze. You nodded, your eyes dropping to your hands in your lap. “Look at me.” His voice was firm, insistent. Slowly, reluctantly, you did. “I ain’t playin’ with you,” Whiskey said, his tone softer now but no less intense. His hands moved to the counter beside you, leaning in close, effectively caging you in. “And I never have been.”
Your breath hitched in your throat, heart racing. Was he serious? Was he telling the truth? You couldn’t think, couldn’t move, but everything inside you screamed to reach for him. To believe him. But you were still afraid. You dropped your gaze, unable to hold his stare any longer. But he wasn’t having that.
Whiskey moved closer as he raised a hand, tugging his cowboy hat off and tossing it onto the counter beside you without a second thought. His fingers brushed along your skin as he reached for your chin, gently tilting your head up, forcing your eyes to meet his. His gaze searched yours, his fingers barely grazing along your jawline. He sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly, before his voice filled the space between you.
“Sugar, if you think for one damn second that I don’t mean every word I say to you, then you don’t know me half as well as I thought.” His fingers trailed along your cheek, “I tease you ‘cause I like seein’ you all riled up, yeah. But I sure as hell ain’t playin’ with you. I do care.” He sighed deeply, “You got me all twisted up, darlin’. And I don’t know what else I gotta do to prove it to you.”
His confession hung heavy in the air, settling deep in your chest. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t teasing - this was real. And it scared you more than anything.
You swallowed hard, a tiny sigh escaped your lips before you muttered, barely above a whisper, “I hate you.”
Whiskey’s lips twitched, the smallest hint of a smile appearing as he shook his head. “No, you don’t,” He said, his voice softer now, steady.
His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, his touch lingering, sending a shiver down your spine. Then, slowly, he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. But he didn’t close the distance - he stopped just short. You couldn’t look away. His eyes held you, drawing you in. Every breath you took seemed to sync with his, the space between you shrinking with every passing second.
Nervously, your hand slid to his on the counter, “Jack,” The sound of it barely escaping your lips.
He let you a shaky breath at the sound, so sweet from your lips. He leaned closer, his nose brushing against yours, his hand moving to fully cup your cheek, the calloused pad of his thumb brushing along your skin; his hand on the counter moved, resting on your waist. His gaze flickered down to your lips, then back to your eyes, giving you a chance to pull away.
But you didn’t. You couldn’t.
The moment his plush lips pressed against yours, a shiver ran down your spine. The kiss was slow at first, testing, his lips moving against yours with a softness that sent your heart hammering against your ribs. A sigh escaped you, your eyelashes fluttering along your cheeks as your hands instinctively slid up his shoulders, wrapping around his neck. Your fingers found their way into the hair at the nape of his neck, threading through the soft strands before giving a gentle tug.
Jack let out a low, guttural grunt, the sound vibrating against your lips. His grip on your waist tightened slightly as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His other hand slid along your jaw, fingers curling around the side of your neck, his thumb brushing over your pulse - where your heartbeat pounded wildly beneath his touch. The kiss was breathtaking. Dizzying. It stole the air right from your lungs, leaving you lightheaded in the best way possible. His lips moved against yours with a maddening mixture of tenderness and intensity, like he’d been waiting for this - aching for it - just as much as you had.
A soft whimper escaped you before you could stop it, your body pressing closer to his instinctively. Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging once more, and Jack groaned against your mouth, his grip on you tightening; swallowing every tiny sound you made like he needed them to breathe. Your legs parted slightly where you sat on the counter, and Jack took full advantage, stepping between them, his hand on your waist sliding down to your hip, thumb brushing over the exposed skin just above your waistband. His lips trailed over your bottom lip, teasing, before he stole another deep, lingering kiss, his breath mixing with yours, making your head spin.
His lips brushed against yours one last time before he pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting lightly against yours. His breath was heavy, warm, fanning over your lips as his thumb traced slow, lazy circles against your hip. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of what just happened settled between you, thick and undeniable. Jack’s eyes searched yours, dark and unreadable, before the corner of his lips curled into the faintest smirk.
“Well, sweetheart,” He murmured, his voice husky, still laced with the remnants of the kiss. “That sure didn’t feel like hate.”
You let out a small huff, still feeling quite breathless. Before you could say anything back, Jack’s hands found your waist again, his grip firm yet gentle as he effortlessly lifted you off the counter, setting you on your feet. The warmth of his touch lingering even after he let go. Wordlessly, he reached up and grabbed your bag of chips from the top shelf, handing them to you with an easy smirk.
Then, he casually asked, “Feel like hittin’ up a diner with me tonight?”
You stared at him for a moment, still reeling from everything that had just happened. Your heart was racing, your lips warm and tingling, and now he was asking you to dinner like it was nothing? Like he hadn’t just kissed you breathless?
You clutched the bag of chips to your chest, exhaling through your nose. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
Jack just grinned, tilting his head. “That a yes, sugar?”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Yeah… It’s a yes.”
His grin widened, pure satisfaction flashing in his eyes. “Knew you couldn’t resist me.” You scoffed, smacking his arm lightly before turning away. As you left the kitchen, Jack’s voice rang out behind you. “I’ll pick you up at six!”
You glanced over your shoulder, a smirk tugging at your own lips. “Don’t be late!”
He just chuckled, his voice muffled as you turned the corner and practically speed-walked down the hall. The excitement from the kiss still buzzed in your veins, making your steps feel light and fast. You reached your room, shutting the door behind you with a soft thud. For a moment, you just stood there, leaning against the door, your heart still racing. You pressed your fingers to your lips, replaying the kiss in your mind. A soft, almost giddy giggle escaped your lips before you could stop it.
Meanwhile, Jack stood in the kitchen, hands on his hips, a smile on his face. He stared at the floor for a moment. Then, his eyes flicked up to the top shelf, and with a mischievous grin, he walked over to your cupboard. With a smooth motion, he grabbed your fruit snack box and placed it high up on the shelf. Picking up his cowboy hat from the counter, he placed it back on his head. With a final glance toward the doorway you had disappeared through, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.
“Damn,” He muttered to himself, running a hand over his jaw before turning on his heel and striding out of the kitchen.
Six o’clock couldn’t come soon enough.
~~~
Main Masterlist | Kingsman Masterlist
#cute#fluff#x reader#slight angst#fanfiction#fanfic#x you#x y/n#x female reader#kingsman#kingsman the golden circle#kingsman fanfiction#jack daniels#agent whiskey#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#jack daniels x reader#jack daniels x female reader#agent whiskey x reader#agent whiskey x female reader#agent whiskey x you#agent whiskey x y/n#jack daniels x you#jack daniels x y/n
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Jack Daniels x F!Reader, dude ranch AU
A Palomino oneshot, but can be read on its own
{ Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }
Rating: E
Summary: Jack marks you as his in an unexpected way.
Warnings: PWP, Jack's belt leaves an impression on reader's skin, unintentional branding, unprotected sex, long-distance relationship, desperate and feral cowboy, no physical descriptions of Reader, very lightly edited, written as part of the Palomino universe, set after the end of the series, but can be read as a oneshot on its own
Word count: 1.4k
Notes: This little story came from an ask sent in by 🐴 anon in December 2022, which I have long lost, about a song that mentions a guy’s belt buckle leaving marks on his girlfriend's inner thigh while fucking. Naturally, they thought of Jack’s belt. 🐴 anon, if you’re still here, thank you for the inspo and for your patience ❤️
Also thank you to @lola-lola-lola for getting me horn knee about our cowboy again 😘 Writing Palomino smut first thing in the year was not on my 2024 bingo card, and I’m not mad about it!
Cutest dividers by @firefly-graphics.
It’s been two and a half months. Week after wretched week of phone calls on stolen time. Day after day of aching to reach through the phone screen and the distance between you to touch him.
It’s hard being hundreds and hundreds of miles apart. It’s even harder on weeks when he’s in the mountains with no reception. Harder to find time to call when you have to work late and he has to get up at dawn.
But you endure it all - for days like this.
It’s a rare weekend off in the high season, with Teak pulling back-to-back pack trips to cover for him, joking that he can’t take all his sighing and pining for his Darlin’ anymore.
Jack takes the last flight out on Friday night, arriving first thing on Saturday morning, before the city - or you - wake up. You’re half-buried under the duvet when the jingle of the key in the door jolts you from shallow slumber.
On unsteady feet, you wobble out into the hallway, crashing into the walls as you go, balance off-kilter from sleep.
But it’s ok - he catches you, all white t-shirt and tight blue jeans. Incognito, if you will, in casual sneakers, but the cowboy hat is on as always. You knock it off post-haste, burying your face in the side of his neck in a desperate need for contact, his warmth seeping into your skin and wrapping you up in the deepest of comforts.
His hair is longer than he usually keeps it, and your fingers twist into his tousled curls when you pull back, taking in the stubble on his sharp jawline, and his tired eyes. But before you can say anything, he leans in and slants his lips over yours.
The taste of airplane coffee is sharp and bitter on his tongue as he kisses you deep and messy. You startle when he suddenly slams the door shut behind him, not realising it was still open, and his beat-up weekend bag is tossed carelessly behind him somewhere in the doorway.
The legs of the kitchen table scrape jarringly against the floor as he crowds you onto it, big hands cupping your ass and pulling you against his straining erection through his jeans.
‘Fuck, it’s been too long, darlin’.’ His voice is gravelly from an apparently sleepless overnight flight, and hearing his voice finally on the shell of your ear has you whimpering needily.
‘Can’t wait any more,’ he growls, desperation thick in his voice.
With a flick of his wrists, he shucks off your ratty sleep shirt, eyes hooded as he gazes down at your tits, like he can’t believe he’s actually touching you. Cupping them, soft and heavy, with reverent, rope-worn palms, he sucks one nipple after the other between his lips, making you squirm against him and leak wet and sticky between your thighs.
Strong hands hold you in place easily as you buck, the scrape of his moustache almost painful on your over-sensitive skin, nerve endings on fire after being deprived for long weeks.
Too impatient to wait, you tug your pyjamas shorts down your hips and kick them off clumsily, panties tangled in your damp folds as you writhe under him.
You feel the breath catch in his broad chest at the peek of your pussy, a rapidly growing damp spot darkening your cotton underwear. Hooking his thumb under the fabric, he tugs it unceremoniously to the side, baring you to him.
‘Look at all this,’ he marvels, tracing the fleshy pad of his thumb through your folds, making you arch clean off the table. ‘So wet for me and you’ve barely woken up.’
‘Been thinking about you the while night,’ you admit, hips twitching as you chase his touch. ‘Couldn’t sleep.’
‘Did you touch yourself, darlin’?’
You shake your head vehemently. ‘No. Wanted your fingers. Your cock.’
His nostrils flare at your answer, unabashedly possessive in the way he looms over you.
‘Good girl,’ he murmurs into your throat, nosing the side of your neck while thick fingers thrum against your clit. ‘I was so hard for you the whole fuckin’ flight.’
As if to prove it to you - not that you need it - he rolls his hips into your inner thigh, the hard bulge undeniable.
You mewl, hooking your ankles around his waist. ‘Fuck me now, Jack - please.’
There’s a wordless fumble for the solid sterling flask bottle of his belt buckle, his usual level-headed composure nowhere to be found as he pushes down his jeans with shaking hands, just enough to pull his cock out of its denim confines -
And then he thrusts home inside you.
After months of only your fingers, it’s a stretch. But what a delicious stretch it is.
You feel him throb deep inside you, feel the thunder of a pained groan in his chest, pressed up against yours. Your cunt is all slick and give to his determined strokes as he begins to move.
There’s no finesse, hardly any awareness, when he fucks frantically into you. His solid weight pins you to the table, and it rattles precariously under your back.
Your legs are splayed obscenely wide and bent at the knees while Jack pounds into your wet heat, eyes wild and mouth hanging open, watching your tits bounce as you take him, your nails digging into the cotton of his white t-shirt. He never did take off your panties, and the fabric rubs your clit just so with every one of his thrusts, rapidly sending you to the edge.
In the back of your mind, you’re aware of the coarse scrape of his jeans against your inner thighs, and something digs hard into the tender skin, the repeated motion dulling the sensation to an almost numb pressure.
When you cum, you’re crying out before your head catches up, your body convulsing with blind bliss as your pussy clenches around him in a hot rush. The blood pounding in your ears is drowned out by your chants of his name, and then his hips start to stutter and his whole body tenses, frantic eyes on yours as he teeters on the edge.
‘Where, darlin’?’
‘Inside me.’
The words have barely left you and he’s coming, broken pants against your lips as he comes and comes and comes - spilling inside you, filling you to the brim until he’s empty, turned inside out.
Slumped, boneless on top of you, humid pants pressed into your shoulder, his fingers tangle with yours, squeezing as if to let you know that he’s here.
You almost doze off, the gradually slowing rise and fall of the cowboy’s broad chest a comforting anchor, when he rouses you with gentle lips along your jaw. You giggle, feeling him softening and sliding out of you, making a mess of your kitchen table.
‘Mornin’ darlin’,’ he says somewhat belatedly, warm eyes crinkling as he smiles at you.
‘Morning,’ you grin back, and when he shifts, you wince at the ache in your joints from being pinned to one spot for this very vigorous wake up call. His hands smooth over your legs in apology, and you jump when his fingertips brush over somewhere at the juncture of your upper thigh that is surprisingly sore.
‘What’s that?’ you ask, puzzled.
Jack doesn’t answer, curiously quiet. You look down to where he’s bracketed between your legs, watching him trace his index finger over the unmistakable imprint of his distinct belt buckle on the inside of your thigh, where it’s been digging into your skin the whole time.
He glances at you. ‘I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?’
‘No, you didn’t,’ you give him a knowing grin. ‘And are you really sorry, cowboy?’
He doesn’t even have the decency to look sheepish. Gently pinching your swollen folds together, he groans when a milky bead of his cum dribbles out of you, running down the inside of your leg and smearing onto the flask-shaped impression.
‘Ain’t sorry about somethin’ that looks this good on you, darlin’.’
‘Could’ve asked me before you branded me, you know,’ you half-joke, running your own finger along the deep lines carved into your skin, for now.
‘Beggin’ your pardon, I tend to forget my manners when I’m balls deep in a pussy as sweet as yours,’ he retorts, one eyebrow arching when he feels you shiver at his words.
You huff in jest, ‘Doesn’t sound like much of an apology if you asked me.’
‘Whatcha want, darlin’? Me on my hands and knees for you?’
Heat flashes under your skin, from your cheeks down to your toes, and Jack’s eyes darken as his tongue wets his bottom lip. ‘Alright. I hear you loud and clear, ma’am.’
Slowly, he sinks onto his knees in front of you, his joints creaking endearingly as he goes, and you can’t help but tease, ‘Easy there, cowboy.’
The wicked tip of his tongue peeks out, and you bite your lip in a moan when it cleverly traces the outline of the belt buckle on your skin, ending in a playful nip that pulls a gasp from you.
With an unapologetically smug grin, Jack winks. ‘I’m only just gettin’ started, darlin’.’
Note: Thank you for reading ❤️ I’ve missed these two, and if you’re new to Palomino, I hope you’ll give the series a chance!
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