#jack daniels kingsman

[pixelated-nmad]

i just think he's neat,, thats all. no other reason.

[lady-bess]

Fallout - Chapter 1 "Into The Ether"

Jack Daniels x F!Reader Explicit/18+ (Minors DNI please) Chapter Word Count: 6.7k Chapter Tags: Description of Injuries, Graphic Description of Injuries, Canon-Typical Violence, Comatose Patient, Grief, PTSD Referenced, Medical Equipment Mentioned (Not Graphic Detail), Angst, Golden Circle Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Deceased Character, Discussion of Death, Hallucinations.

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<- Previous Chapter (Prologue)

Four months after his accident, Jack is finally showing some signs of life. Clara and Jane work to stabilise him, but his welcome back to the land of the living is not as smooth as they'd like.

3:27am. February 8th, 2018.

It had been like any other evening. Quiet, fairly boring, and with nothing more than a soft hint of jazz music filling the crisp, white room. Aside from whenever agents needed urgent care, the lab was usually a peaceful place; but the night shifts were the best for it. Nothing but silence for hours at a time, filled only by a soft hum, pen tapping, or one of Statesman’s workers mumbling along with whatever tune the radio played. It went down like this most shifts. 

Until tonight.

A shrill ring came from the other side of the room – nothing overly loud, but in the dead silence of the room it was jarring enough that it made people jump slightly. Working away at her desk, the noises piqued the interest of the lab assistant, Jane, who was working the night shift. Normally her shift was a quiet one, tasked with monitoring anyone who was in stasis and just maintaining the equipment. It was her boss, Clara, who mainly used the machinery during the day.

Monitors sprung to life next to one of the stasis chambers in the Statesman labs. A higher heart rate than normal was picked up, a faster flow of oxygen was being delivered to the patient in question, and the chamber itself was registering small movements up and down their body. Standing from her seat, Jane went down to the stasis chamber that was making all the fuss, her heels clacking on the linoleum floor as she paced towards it. 

It wasn’t very often that Statesman needed to keep anyone in stasis – not long term, anyway. Most agents would be in it for an hour or two, potentially overnight if their injury was severe, and the nanites would do their job and get people fighting fit almost immediately after waking. But this case was unique. 

There was only one chamber in use at the moment, so finding the suspecting noise wasn’t too difficult. It wasn’t uncommon for this machine to spring to life on occasion if certain components needed adjusting to best support the life that laid within it, so Jane initially didn’t think much of the noises.

Jane stood at the foot of the chamber, which laid horizontally, plugged in to all manner of monitors and Statesman’s versions of life support machines (everything being significantly more technologically advanced than what even the best hospital in the world could offer, of course). She squinted at a panel that was fixed to the end of the chamber, trying to make sense of the numbers it was giving. This would always be the first thing to check; the panel in question gave out readings for inside the chamber, things like temperature, oxygen levels, and there were sensors littered throughout that would tell her if the patient had moved even a millimetre. It never yielded much information, and had so far only been useful at letting either Jane or Clara know what might need adjusting – but today those readings were very different, and she almost couldn’t believe her own eyes. 

“It can’t be…,” she whispered to herself as the panel told her there was movement being registered up and down the patients’ body. Nothing major, but their muscles were slowly starting to shift inside the chamber. It wasn’t enough to warrant being concerned by most patient’s standards, but this one was different. In the four and a half months since this chamber had been occupied, there hadn’t even been an eyelid twitch. Aside from their breathing, which in itself was being aided by an oxygen tank, many would look at the life within the chamber and deem the patient to be deceased. 

Jane moved down to the head of the machine, which had all the heart rate monitors, brain scanners, and life support machines set up. She glanced up at the heart rate monitor and gasped; for the first time since September last year it was actually registering the patient as having a steadier, stronger, heartbeat. The brain scan was also picking up more activity than usual, synapses firing properly for the first time in months. Their frontal lobe specifically was active, and activity was registering in areas of the brain that correlated to memory and executive function. Both the left and right lobes were firing up, indicating that movement would soon be noticeable on both sides of the body. A relief, really, considering what they went through…

Jane turned to the chamber and looked in through the glass panel which ran down the length of the chamber. Her eyes widened at what she saw; the patient who had laid borderline dead for over four months was now starting to twitch. It was barely noticeable, but after monitoring for so long the whole lab had gotten used to the fact this guy just never moved a muscle. At first she only noticed his hand move slightly, but the longer she observed the more movement she saw. His fingers spasmed, his legs kept making small jumpy movements, and then as she looked at his face she noticed his eyelids were flickering.

“Holy shit,” she said to herself, then promptly left the bedside of the chamber and headed back to the desk. She picked up the receiver of the phone which was there, and dialled her boss’ emergency line. Since this patient had come in, Clara had given Jane and all the other lab assistants strict instructions that her direct emergency line only be used in this very scenario. With shaking hands, Jane pressed the phone to her ear and waited for the click on the other end.

“Jane?” came Clara’s voice down the line. Jane breathed a sigh of relief at the sound – she knew what to do when the patient awoke, but she also knew it would probably be better if Clara were here. Not for her sake, but for the patient’s.

“Clara! Thank heavens. It’s happening; he’s waking up,” she said, then looked back over the machine. An even louder noise had just started up, indicating more significant movement. Jane couldn’t help but smile slightly – everyone had been waiting for this day since he came in. It was all a little surreal to think that it was actually happening.

“Are you sure, Jane?” Clara questioned, disbelief laced in her voice. It wasn’t that she doubted Jane, but rather that by now she’d written off this day as ever being possible. Jane nodded, still looking at the machine, until she realised Clara would have no way of knowing that she was moving her head. Clearing her throat, she looked away from the machine and paid attention to the call again.

“Yes, I’m positive. There’s movement, Clara. I can actually see it, too. It’s not just one of the machines playing Hell,” she explained.

“Alright, I’m on my way. Keep him stabilised. If you think he’ll wake up properly before I’m there, let him. It could be dangerous if we keep him under any longer than he’s already been. Don’t wanna risk another four months of nothing,” Clara explained.

“Got it; see you soon!” Jane said, and hung up the call. She headed straight back over to the machines and started monitoring, fiddling with some dials as she went to make the waking up process a bit more pleasant on him.

“Alright cowboy, let’s get you back with the living,” she muttered to herself as she worked away diligently.

After four months being in a comatose state, former senior agent Jack Daniels was finally waking up.

4:23am. February 8th, 2018.

“Jane?” Clara said, bursting through the door of the lab, hurriedly throwing her lab coat on as she strode towards Jack’s bed. “How is everything?”. 

Jane turned to see Clara walking through the lab, her eyes slightly wide in a kind of shock she’d never seen on her face in all the years she’d been working here. She smiled faintly, taking her reading glasses off momentarily while she spoke with her boss.

“We’re good, don’t worry. His movements are getting more frequent, and stronger, same with the brain wave frequencies. But he still isn’t awake yet,” she explained, handing Clara a digital chart of the patient’s progress. Clara mulled over the data, swiping through the various statistics to see how fast the rousing process was looking to be, attempting to estimate when he might be fully conscious. She nodded slowly as she took it all in, huffing out a breath of air as she finally let herself calm down. She’d made it in time, and that was what mattered.  

“Alright, let’s have a look at him,” she said, heading over to the opposite side of the stasis chamber. She analysed every machine, even though she knew Jane would have already looked over everything with a fine tooth comb. But it was the only thing she could do to put her mind at ease, the nerves for Jack waking up rising in her chest, and a sickening swirl presenting itself in her stomach. She steadied her breathing as she looked over the tests, eyes widening as she saw for herself that this was really happening.

“I’ve been thinking, Clara…,” Jane said, snapping her out of the little trance she’d been pulled into while her fingers danced over dials, wires, and tubing.

“What’s that, Jane?” she asked, looking over at her younger assistant. Jane chewed her lip slightly and nervously tucked a stray strand of her mousy brown hair behind her ear, knowing she was about to say what would be on most people’s minds once he was awake.

“When he wakes up…he won’t know will he? That you’re no longer Ginger, and that he’s no longer Whiskey,” she asked.

Clara sighed as she placed the chart Jane had handed her on the side, then shook her head solemnly. These last few months had been tough – with Jack in the med-bay this whole time, completely out of action, Champ still deemed it appropriate to hand over his moniker to Clara. She’d been reluctant to take the title at first, not wanting to step on any toes – but, as Champ pointed out, “He’s no agent of ours now, even if he does survive this”. So, she threw her hat into the ring. 

That had been the one thing to make the decision slightly easier; Champ had been dead set from the second he had his accident that Jack would no longer be on the payroll as soon as he woke up. He intended for the former agent to heal up, and then he’d be sent on his way. A new identity, and far away from here, left to fend for himself and deal with the consequences of his actions. 

Clara had taken over all Jack’s previous duties since the moniker became hers last September, including the training of new agents alongside Tequila. With Kingsman suffering heavy losses last year, and with Statesman resources backing their British cousins, a whole new generation of agents were being cherry picked from across the world to eventually be part of the new Kingsman regiment.

It had been a lot of work, albeit rewarding, but that didn’t stop Clara from having a hand in the labs. It was how she came to be here in the first place, and without these labs she’d never have had the hands-on expertise to even shoot for Jack’s old job. That and, having now got his moniker, there was an element of responsibility that she still felt for her old friend.

She hated what Jack had done, and his rationale for trying to derail Harry and Eggsy’s mission; but he still didn’t deserve this. Even the British agents had agreed that things went too far, and they hoped just as much as she did that he would soon recover – although it was almost a hell of a lot worse. Clara couldn’t bear to think about what could have happened if he hadn't been pushed so far over. If his head had tipped back just a little further, sending him into the machinery instead of clipping the outside of it – knocking him unconscious.

Shuddering slightly at the thought, Clara turned back to Jack. The head wounds he’d sustained were basically healed now, thanks to the Statesman developed alpha gel and nanites, but no doubt there would be memory loss and a stack of physical rehabilitation for him to go through. Statesman tech was good, but it wasn’t physically possible to prevent muscle atrophy in its entirety. Jack had a long road ahead of him.

But a complication in this road, she’d found, was Champ’s sudden change of tune. For weeks he’d been bitter about what Jack had done, as was everyone else in the organisation who knew him personally. They all knew about his strong feelings towards drug use, but never in a million years did anyone see it manifesting how it ended up. At worst it had caused a bit of tension between Jack and Jefferson (better known as Agent Tequila) whenever he mentioned using a narcotic substance recreationally, but the feud never went beyond a shouting match and aggressive eye rolling.

Lately, though, Champ had started wondering if Statesman were inherently to blame for Jack’s outburst. Agents went through routine psychological intervention, making sure that they were always fit for duty, but the tests stopped there. Previous trauma was never really considered, and with the exception of an on-site psychologist for when agents needed intervention after a mission, there was nothing in place for the team to use as an outlet for anything else they might have been struggling with.

Jack’s outburst highlighted a fundamental flaw in how agents were screened before going out into active duty, and Champ had begun to carry a lot of guilt on his shoulders as a result of this. Procedures could be changed, differences could be made going forward, but that didn’t undo any of the damage which had already been afflicted. He wondered how fair it would be to punish Jack indefinitely for something which could very well have been prevented by the organisation in which he worked for.

While Clara agreed that perhaps there was a better course of action than just sending Jack on his way once he was better, that did rather leave things in a sticky situation right now. He was slowly waking up, and he had no idea that life had changed for him quite so dramatically. Handling this would surely be difficult.

“No, Jane. He’ll have no idea,” she sighed, again. “I honestly think we can worry about that later, though. If he calls me Ginger, don’t correct him. Let’s get him awake and stable; then we can bring Champ in for a full debrief,” she said. Jane nodded, folding her arms across her chest as the two women just waited for time to pass. That’s all this was now – a waiting game.

“Yes, ma’am.”

A plush duvet surrounded Jack as he gently stirred from a good night’s sleep. The bedding had been freshly put on last night, and he always loved the first morning after changing the bed. The pillows were nice and fluffy, the sheets were all neatly tucked in, and everything smelt of fresh linen. Aside from sharing this bed with the woman he loved, there was nothing which could improve how he woke up feeling on mornings like these. 

Jack’s eyes slowly began to open - nothing major at first. Just a faint flicker to establish it was actually daytime - sunlight streamed through the cracks in the curtains in the master bedroom, lighting up the solid wood furniture Jack had spent so much time painstakingly crafting for him and his wife. 

He felt a warmth next to him, and a slight stir of movement. He rolled towards the shifting weight, his arms reaching out to touch the body of whom lay next to him. His hands felt soft skin and he smiled, humming in contentment, all while his eyes were still partially closed.  

“Jack?” a woman’s voice said. Her breathy voice filled his ears, making his entire body prickle with goosebumps. Her voice was always so calming, and the sound of his name coming from her lips filled him with a warmth that enveloped him entirely. It was something he could never get sick of. 

He opened his eyes more and smiled as he came face to face with his wife. She smiled down at him, leaning up on her elbow in bed. Her long, dark brown hair cascaded over her face and shoulders, brushing against his cheek. Jack smiled and chuckled as her hair tickled his face slightly. 

“Good morning, my love,” he said, reaching up to caress her cheek softly. His thumb stroked her soft skin, a stark contrast to the roughness of his own hands. She smiled and leant into his hold, her own palm moving to sit atop his fingers. 

“Morning, pumpkin,” she giggled. Jack smiled, his hand sliding down the woman’s tanned skin, down her shoulder, and across her arm. 

“When will that nickname be dropped, Lela?” he asked. She giggled again, sticking her tongue out flirtatiously. 

“Never! The day you agreed to marry me was the day you agreed to a lifetime of silly name calling,” she teased. 

Jack chuckled, slipping his arm across his wife’s waist as she slipped down back into bed with him. She was right - he had agreed to that the day they got married, but he wouldn’t trade this life for anything else in the entire world. 

“Alright, that’s fair enough,” he smiled, “Did you need something, my love?” he asked. Lela had got into the habit of waking Jack slightly earlier in the morning if their baby boy was moving around a lot - at first it was accidental, she would wake him when she couldn’t settle. But after a couple of instances he insisted that she just wake him, not wanting to miss a single precious second with his wife or unborn son. He always had a horrible feeling he’d miss something if he wasn’t awake and present for every second with her. 

“It’s time to wake up, Jack,” Lela said, smiling softly. Jack furrowed his brow, confused. 

“Lela, we are awake?” he said, chuckling softly under his breath. She smiled faintly, tears prickling her eyes. 

“No, Jack. I mean really, wake up,” she said softly, sitting up in bed. Jack wondered if she’d had another bad dream and was still slightly confused, so he sat up with her. He wrapped his arm around her waist and squeezed her slightly, comforting his wife. 

“I am awake, doll. We both are, we’re just still in bed. Everything is alright,” he said, planting a kiss to Lela’s cheek. She smiled softly at his touch, but sniffled. “What’s wrong, sugar?” he asked. 

Lela turned to face Jack, her eyes now red from holding back tears. His heart pounded in his chest, now concerned as to what was upsetting his sweetheart so badly. She had seemed fine just minutes earlier…

“You’re not awake, Jack. Not really. None of this is real,” she said. 

“Not real?” he said, clinging slightly tighter to Lela’s body. He didn’t want to believe a word she was saying. 

“Think, Jack. Really remember. What happened to me?” she said. 

Jack screwed up his eyes, a splitting headache shooting through his head, causing him to cry out in pain. Lela shifted on the bed, her hands holding either side of Jack’s head. 

A phone call. That’s all he remembered. A phone call that changed his life. But how-

“I died, my love. This isn’t real,” she said, answering the lingering question at the front of his mind. 

Jack opened his eyes at last to look back at his wife, nausea filling his body and a migraine coming on that made him feel like he was going to pass out. As he opened his eyes, everything around the two of them had fallen away to nothingness - only each other remained. There was no ranch, no comfortable king size bed, no hot mugs of tea on each other’s nightstand. Just each other in the vast abyss of nothingness. 

“You…,” he began, not entirely sure what to say. If she was dead, then where was he?

“You got it,” she said, smiling taut. 

“Where are we, Lela?” he asked, his fingers curling around her wrists as he desperately held onto her in case she left him. In case whatever vision of her that was clearly before him dissipated into the ether like everything else around him had. She shrugged. 

“I’m not entirely sure. I haven’t fully figured it out, truthfully. I’ve been here a while, but I wasn’t expecting you to join me any time soon,” she said. Tears ran down her face as she spoke, and by now her words were almost choking her in the back of her throat. 

“Why do I need to wake up?” he softly cried. Lela kissed her husband gently, tasting the salt from their tears as her lips touched his. 

“Because it isn’t your time. Not yet, anyway, Jacky,” she said. 

“But I don’t want to wake up. If I do, if I go - you won’t be there,” he sobbed. Suddenly the memory and pain of losing his wife came flooding back, overpowering Jack’s emotions. Wherever he was, he wanted to stay. He couldn’t go through that again. For so long he’d worked to repress what happened to Lela, never being able to cope with the fact she and their unborn son had been taken from this world. 

“I don’t want to say goodbye again - I can’t, I won’t!” he pleaded. Lela smiled softly. 

“I know you. And I know you’ll stay strong. At least, this time, I get to say it,” she said. 

“Say what?” Jack asked, his grip tightening on skin that slowly felt like he was losing his grasp on. 

“A proper goodbye. We never got one last time,” she said. 

“Lela, please, don’t!” he said. In spite of his grip, Lela slipped away from him with ease. 

“Jack, don’t make this any harder than it already is,” she cried, “But you’ve got to wake up”. 

With the words ‘wake up’, his vision became even less clear. Wherever he had been, he was slowly slipping away. He braced himself as best he could for whatever was about to come next. The only thing he knew for certain was that Lela would not be where he was heading. 

“Goodbye, my love,” he said, wiping his eyes of tears. 

“Goodbye, Jack,” she smiled, then whispered, “Wake up”. 

Jack’s eyes slowly began to open.  

5:39am. February 8th, 2018.

It was over an hour before there was any more significant movement from Jack. Jane and Clara had done all they could, and since she’d arrived at the lab earlier this morning, the two women had just been making sure that he would be comfortable when he eventually woke up. The side effects of being comatose for over four months would still cause havoc, undoubtedly, even in spite of the Statesman technology making the transition a more pleasant one. 

Blindingly bright lights – that was the first thing he noticed. That and a very dry mouth. Like, painfully so. Jack grunted slightly, trying to move his body and get a feel for where he was. 

What had even happened?

His eyes felt heavy as the lids fluttered open, Jack grimacing as the blinding white of the room he was in flooded his senses. Mumbled voices filled his ears, and in a way it felt like it was the first time Jack was actually hearing anything.

“Wh-what- where am I?” he muttered, but he wasn’t actually sure if he was loud enough for anyone to hear. 

His vision was blurry as he slowly began turning his head, trying to see where exactly he now found himself. All he could surmise thus far was that he was in a bed, and somewhere clinical, judging by the lack of colours shining out at him in the room. He could feel something up his nose moving as he turned his head, and with each movement a tube rubbed against the skin of his cheek. 

Was he in a hospital? The Statesman med bay? And why did he have a ventilator tube inserted? 

Jack blinked a few times to try and clear his eyes, and slowly the film began to dissipate across his pupils. Blurry masses of shapes began focusing somewhat, now making way for discernable objects. Monitors, IV bags, other beds further down the room. 

And then, running past his line of sight quickly, was Clara. She barrelled over towards him just as a wave of fatigue came over Jack, and a piercing screech came from one of the machines around his head. He screwed his eyes up, cursing inwardly at the noise, but when Clara muted the mechanism he found it hard to want to open his eyes again. 

All he knew was that he wasn’t with Lela anymore. He wasn’t sure how long he’d actually been with her, in whatever kind of purgatory dream-like state he’d found himself in, but every fibre of his body longed to be back there. He didn’t know exactly how he ended up there, how he ended up here either, but he didn’t greatly want to be anywhere other than by her side again. 

Back where he belonged. 

“Jack?”. 

The faint muffled voices of Jane and Clara managed to break through to Jack, and in spite of his best efforts to try and force himself back to the land of the dead, he just couldn’t. Slowly he began opening his eyes again, refocusing to the bright light and the face of Clara now leaning over him by his bedside.  

“Ginger?” he said, croaky and hoarse as he forced his words out.

“Jack, stay with us, we need to stabilise you,” Clara said, frantically messing with the controls on the panel closest to her. Without even realising it, he was panicking as he adjusted to being awake again, and it was sending all the readings way out of sync; she needed to get him under control before he flatlined again. His heart rate was off the charts, and his blood pressure was joining it. 

“Where am I?” he asked, breaths speeding up as worry set in, causing his chest to tighten in the process. He hadn’t been breathing autonomously for months, and his increased breaths was putting undue pressure on the ventilator which had kept him alive all this time. The more he woke up the more a tightness made itself known across his chest, sweat collecting on his brow as he panted, slowly feeling every wire and IV line that was inserted into his body. 

“You’re in the med bay. Calm down, Jack, it’s going to be alright,” she reassured him, administering procainamide to him through one of his IVs to try and return his heartbeat to normal. 

Jack felt the effects of the drug given have an effect almost immediately, and that weight left his chest in mere seconds. His breathing began to regulate, and the blood rushing through his ears from a pounding heart gave way to the sound of a gentle rumble of the machines behind his head. 

But then, like someone turning on a light switch, Jack’s mind went blank. 

“Whe-who…who am I?” he stammered.

“Shit,” Jane said. “Clara, his amnesia has already set in!” she exclaimed. Clara looked down at Jack, his eyes darting around the room frantically. They had worried that this would happen, that the amnesia often experienced by agents in the stasis chambers would rear its ugly head before they could properly stabilise him. 

“Get the photograph,” she said bluntly, her hands still working away at the machinery.

“But you said-,” Jane began protesting.

“I know!” Clara yelled, tears pooling in her eyes, “It might fuck him up for good, Jane, but we can’t have him forget who he is, or else there’s no going back. There’ll be no saving him. We’ve got to use it,” she explained.

Clara didn’t want to use the photograph of Jack’s wife for this - not after the grief of her death, and his subsequent actions, were the reason he was even in this position to begin with. But things had moved too quickly for him to be stable, for another prompt to be used - they didn’t have the time they needed to let him sit with something else, a new trigger, and hope it worked. He was crashing, and if he forgot who he was then it would be game over. 

Agents forgetting their own identities was not uncommon. The same happened with Harry only 18 months ago. But, unlike with Harry, Clara surmised that the trauma that would be needed to bring Jack back after a complete memory lapse would be too severe to safely recreate. They had to just work with what they had, and restore him as much as they could, before that became the reality. 

“Alright,” Jane said before rushing to Clara’s desk. Flinging open the desk drawer, she began pulling out a stack of paper files. Clara had made sure to keep all of Jack’s personal information nearby in case of an emergency, so anything people needed to know about the former agent sat in these brown envelopes.

Flicking through the papers, a photograph fell out. A small polaroid, with a woman’s portrait on it. She was young, early twenties, and had long dark brown hair. She was smiling in the photograph, taken on what looked to be a birthday, in a local bar that was still operational now, over twenty years later. Jane grabbed the picture and headed back over to the bedside.

“Jack, I’m sorry,” she whispered as she reached the bedside, holding the picture over his chamber.

“Oh…oh who-who’s this lovely lady?” he asked, the first smile in months spreading out onto his face. It hurt, he noticed, and for a brief moment he wondered why. But his eyes remained locked onto the image of the young woman, and slowly a searing pain started making itself known to him. Like a hot, burning migraine, gradually taking over his head as he tried to piece things together. 

Who was she? Why is she familiar? 

“She’s dead, Jack,” Jane began, steadying her breathing as she allowed Clara to continue to work away. Her boss gave her an approving nod before she continued her monologue, “Cops said ‘wrong place, wrong time’,” she said.

Jack’s eyes widened as everything, everything, came flooding back to him. Clara managed to just stabilise his vitals before the visceral screams started, filling the room and ringing in the ears of everyone around.

Jane withdrew the picture as Jack began to yell, his voice hoarse and screams cracking from not using his vocal chords in so long. But it was too much to bear as everything came flooding back; his wife, losing her, him joining Statesman, and every decision he had made which led him to where he now found himself; plugged into machines with a serious head wound. He had no idea how much time had passed, or how much of his life he’d lost in these four walls.

The heat he felt from the oncoming migraine soared across his head, almost burning at his temples as he sat bolt upright. Anger filled his body, raising his heart rate higher than what it had been in months. Clara’s eyes darted from Jack to the monitors, worried about her friend immensely. After waiting so long, this couldn’t be what ended him; she wouldn’t let him die like this.

“JACK!” she yelled, leaning forward and holding him by the shoulders and trying to get him to lay down again. “You’ve got to calm down, come on!” she pleaded. Her fingers tightened around his shoulders, bracing his frame in her hold. She nodded towards Jane who administered a higher dose of his IV medication, all the while allowing Clara to comfort him. He needed to lay down, or else he’d risk passing out and having to go through this rigmarole again. 

Jack’s breathing remained fast, the panic searing through him as he remembered everything that had led to this moment. His splitting headache shot through him again, beginning to feel like a pulsing sensation behind his eyes, which momentarily snapped him out of his anger fuelled haze for a moment to screw his eyes up and drop his head into his hands. 

“That’s it, come back to me,” she said, soothing him as she lay him down gently.

“She…she’s dead…and I-I almost…I almost killed millions,” he sobbed, tears streaming down his face. They stung as he cried for the first time in years, Jack never being the kind of man to show much emotion, even before the accident. He looked up, catching eyes with Clara.

She almost broke as she looked into them, dark brown pits which were laced with torment and anguish, bloodshot red and petrified. It was a look she had never seen before in Jack – he always was the one who kept things in check, never let anybody in, never let anybody show if he was suffering. She supposed that was where the fault lied with, really – the fact that he had never let anyone in on the fact he was clearly suffering with so much that it ended up bleeding into his work. His principles. His morals.

“But you didn’t, Jack. They’re alive. Eggsy and Harry stopped you,” she said. There was no point sugar coating what had happened – the truth would come out eventually. Her hand moved to gently caress his thick brown, and slightly greying, hair. She soothed him softly, comforting him as he came back to them. 

“Th-they did,” he said, voice quiet as he tried to piece together the entire chain of events that lead to him having a head wound this serious that it put him in this state for so long. “In September?” he asked. Clara nodded.

“Yes, that’s right,” she said, still holding him in her arms.

“What month is it now, Ginger?” he asked. Jane caught eyes with Clara, a look of sympathy on her face briefly – it was expected this would happen.

“It’s February, Jack. You’ve been out cold for four months,” she said, choosing for now to ignore him using her old moniker. A more appropriate time would come where he’d find out that now was no longer her title, and that instead she now carried his. 

He slowly nodded, wiping a hand down his face. He felt that his signature moustache had remained, a sign that someone had clearly cared a great deal for him personally while he’d been out for so long. 

“What was I thinking?” he said quietly, pressing the heels of his hands in his eye sockets. Clara sighed slightly, pulling him into her. Instantly he dropped his hands and wrapped his arms around her body, clinging to her for dear life. He knew that if it weren’t for Clara, there was no way he’d still be alive. He didn’t fully remember what exactly happened during the fight, what in particular got injured and how, but he knew for certain that she would have been the reason he would live to tell the tale. For that, he would never be able to thank her enough.

“You had a psychotic break. Or, at least that’s what we think. Unchecked psychological issues caused you to go rogue, Jack, and that should have been something we caught much, much sooner,” she explained.

Jack slowly released Clara from his arms, sighing to himself as he steadied his breathing and tried to collect himself. He knew he would undoubtedly have a long road ahead of him now, and no doubt a severe punishment to boot. His body felt weak the longer he was awake, and if he had truly been out cold for as long as Clara said, he would need to do a lot to recover from being almost dead for so long. 

But all that could wait, as far as Jack was concerned. He’d pay the price physically every day of the week if it meant that what he originally intended never came to fruition. But the thing he needed to know the most was what would happen now he was back. 

What was his punishment? 

“What damage did I do? What’s gonna happen to me?” he asked.

“Jack, I need you to just calm down. You’ve got a long road ahead of you both physically and mentally. Last thing I need right now is for you to be getting agitated. You just woke up from a coma,” Clara said, almost a chuckle in her tone.

“Clara,” he said, voice cracked and broken, “Please,” he pleaded, “I need to know”. Clara shook her head, but a pain in her chest tugged hard at telling those pleading eyes ‘no’.. 

“It ain’t my place, Jack. Champ will be down here later today though. Rest up, we’ll get you some solid food, and you can freshen up a bit if you can manage to sit for a prolonged period of time. That’s all I want you to do today,” she said.

“Clara, I-,” he began, but she turned around and cut him off before he could continue to speak.

“Are we clear, Jack?” she said sternly, a tone she didn’t like taking, but one she could if needed.

Jack’s breathing hitched as her voice tore into him, piercing his skull as he still adjusted to sounds again. He rarely heard Clara use that tone, and from those four words alone it answered to him any lingering questions he had about the severity of what was to come - even if it was Champ who would deliver the punishment, it was no doubt going to be harsh, albeit just. 

He nodded slowly as he settled back down into the bed he’d laid in for months, his arms loosening around Clara’s torso as her comforting embrace came to an end. She was right; all he had to focus on now was resting up, and seeing what his body could cope with after so long being comatose. The rest to come would unfold, and he’d come to learn about the fallout of his actions. 

“Yes. Perfectly clear.” 

Clara nodded and smiled faintly as she began explaining a few details to Jack about the condition he was in, and what rehabilitation might look like. But he wasn’t listening; not really. Her words got lost into muffled speech as he slowly began dissociating, the gravity of the situation dawning on Jack.

He worked for years to become the hard outer shell people knew him for; the stern agent who never complained, and never faltered. He repressed his wife’s passing for so long he almost could convince himself that it never happened in the first place. 

But now, after over two decades of burying and hiding behind the facade, Jack now had to finally open himself up to his reality. He would at long last have to face the music, and accept his suffering. 

A single tear rolled down his cheek as his eyes fluttered closed, heavy and tired after his body had to fight so hard to keep him stable and alive once he awoke. Clara wiped his cheek gently as she allowed him to slip away to sleep, happy he was stable enough to do so, then headed towards the phone. 

She picked up the receiver and dialled her boss’ number. She knew Jack would need time before proper questioning, or punishment even, but she had to let the relevant parties know. 

Taking a few deep breaths while the phone rang out, Clara’s hands stammered slightly with nerves and the anticipation that rose within her as she awaited for Champ to pick up the phone. Soon, the reality of Jack’s actions were about to become painfully clear - and it terrified her for what was next to come. 

The receiver clicked on the other end, and Champ’s familiar southern drawl filled her ears, paired with the fatigue from the early morning nature of the call. Clara would normally mock Champ for such a trait, but today there was no time. 

“Champ, it’s Whiskey. Jack’s awake, sir,” she said. 

“He’s alive.”

Series Masterlist | A03 Link | Tumblr Masterlist

Next Chapter (Ch. 2 - A Curious Affair) ->

A/N: Aiming to release new chapters every Wednesday! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated 💕 Thank you for reading!

LadyBess xox

[nicolethered]

Behind the scenes of Kingsman: The Golden Circle (2017)

[perotovar]

@ghostofaboy asked: jack daniels or joel miller | in/sp

[punkshort]

Hot Chocolate

Pairing: Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels x f!reader

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

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

WC: 6.5K

Written for @pedgito's Summer Lovin' challenge ❤️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Got a minute to talk, sugar?"

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

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

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

"Glad you asked."

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

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

You.

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

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

Simple enough, you thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hot chocolate."

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

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

He smiled wider. "Fair enough."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Get me out of here, Jack."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded. "Please."

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

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

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

"Jack?" you whispered hoarsely.

"Mhm?"

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

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

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

"Where'd those manners run off to?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't say that."

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

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

"You sound surprised," you teased.

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

"What, then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

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

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

"Would you like that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That offer still stand, cowboy?"

[freelancearsonist]

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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[duh-angel]

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.” 

[lady-bess]

*smuggles him home in my pocket*

[sugadolly]

i think i need someone older ⸜❤︎⸝‍

[survivingandenduring]

Agent Whiskey bts vs the scene

[lady-bess]

The way he turns here and you can see that his eyes are so soft, and so full of worry, physically pains me. A man who is so stoic, cold, and keeps himself to himself is nothing more than a broken shell at the end of the day, years of turmoil and pain so evident. His eyes betray who Jack so badly wants to be. And that got me thinking; what if Jack had survived TGC and, one day, let someone into his heart again...

The worry in his eyes make it seem like the world has stopped, as if he's just seen his sweetheart get hurt, or heard her call out for him - and he always listens for her voice. He always responds, because he knows what happens when he doesn't. He's already lost the love of his life once, and he'll be damned if he loses another. He can't imagine a world in which she isn't alright, the first woman he's let in for so many years. She *has to* be okay, and he makes it his mission in life to protect her at all costs. He knows if ever he were to lose her he'd never survive on his own now. She is his and he is hers.

She is eventually the reason why he leaves Statesman. Too frightened to lose her Jack, he hates the pain she goes through every time they have to part ways. Jack, of course, never listened to Champ and told her what his job was, down to every detail - even the ones he wasn't proud of. He couldn't help himself. One look into her eyes and he was a goner; he couldn't lie to her.

Above all else, he loved her too much. He fell fast, the feelings taking him by surprise at how suddenly they made themselves known. But he fought his fear, and pushed it aside for a chance at love with her.

And he never looked back. Jack lived out the rest of his life on the family ranch with his sweetheart, his old Statesman weapons stashed nearby to protect her should any unfriendly faces from his past come knocking one day. To his delight, they never do, and he gets to live out the rest of his life in tranquil peace with the woman he loves...

[nicolethered]

Pedro as Agent Whiskey behind the scenes of Kingsman: The Golden Circle (2017)

[perotovar]

the faceless series: jack edition | insp

[baronessvonglitter]

Darlin’ Cowgirl

Jack Daniels x f!reader

Word count: 3.1K

Summary: looking for a way out of a bachelorette party, an accidental butt dial becomes a booty call

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit and Mature, friends/coworkers to lovers, reader is at least 21, tipsy flirting/dancing, improper use of a mechanical bull, semi-public sex, fingering, oral sex (m & f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, smut, dash of romance with a happily ever after, no use of y/n, reader has hair and wears a dress

Author's Note: this was the first one-shot I'd ever written on AO3 and decided to post here as well 🤠🥃

JACK DANIELS MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

You aren't looking forward to the bachelorette party. You don't even like weddings, yet somehow you've been roped into being part of your old college roommate's wedding party simply because you ran into her at the grocery store a few months back. It was only when you had the bridal shower that you realized you were one of thirteen bridesmaids. Great. Now you'll feel even more invisible than you already do.

You've been in a slump lately, and the only thing bringing out of it is your devilishly handsome coworker Jack Daniels, aka Agent Whiskey. You're an Information Security Specialist for the Statesmen, an ultra-secret espionage agency, so naturally you keep the details of your job pretty hush-hush. Whiskey, as you affectionately call him, is one of your few confidantes, despite the fact that he flirts with you at every turn. You admit to yourself that it's a nice distraction from your loneliness, even if you feel his flirtatiousness is just a bit of fun for him, his own distraction.

You take your time in dressing up for the night: a spaghetti strap black minidress with a plunging neckline and silver cowgirl boots. At the bar you meet up with your fellow bridesmaids and the bride-to-be, who are all in shades of pink and white, near exact replicas of each other, nearly indistinguishable. You stick out like a sore thumb and you know it.

The bridesmaids want to take shots so you take some with them, hoping your anxiety will dilute just a little. Your inhibitions are lowered just a little, but not enough to go out to the dance floor with the others. You watch as others watch them, in admiration as they laugh and gracefully (despite the Buttery Nipple shots they'd all consumed just minutes ago) and wish you could be part of them. You hang back at the bar, politely declining offers to dance from men who come by to not-so-subtly ogle you. You feel like a piece of meat. Perhaps it was a bad idea to come out, knowing you hate places like this. However, just as you're about to order a Lyft, you get an incoming call from Whiskey himself.

Confused and blushing you go to a quieter place of the bar, which is still very loud. "Hello?" you practically shout into the phone.

"Hey darlin'!" you hear Jack's voice on the other end. "You called me?"

"Um.. no, I didn't.."

He chuckles, warm and low in your ear. "Yes you did, darlin'. I was hopin' you were okay."

You quickly check your call log and sure enough, you'd called him about fifteen minutes ago, when you and the bridesmaids were doing shots. "I must have butt-dialed you," you shout back, giggling.

"Aw, lucky me," he drawls. "That pretty ass was thinkin' about me?"

You're too flustered to reply.

"Where are you anyway? Loud as hell over there."

"I'm at a bar for a bridesmaid party."

"That one you were talkin' about earlier today? No invite, huh?"

You giggle again. "It's for women only."

"Exactly! That's my kinda good time!" You hear him chuckle again.

"Actually it's kinda lame. I'm thinking of calling it a night."

"Don't you dare," he says with mock authority. "Wait there a minute and I'll be on my way. Text me the address."

You hang up and text him, wondering what he's up to. You've never hung out with him after work, even with all the flirting you've both done. You think it's strictly professional with a touch of playfulness, but you've never been one hundred percent sure.

You hang out at the bar, wanting to be visible to him when he arrives, but it's only after you're returned from the ladies' room checking your makeup, outfit and hair, that you see him, well the back of him, and he's mingling with some of the bridesmaids, who are obviously taking a much-needed alcohol break from dancing.

You gently touch his shoulder. "Hey there, stranger."

He turns, smiling, and the look in his eyes becomes one of pure lust. He drinks you in, unabashedly. "Damn darlin', you look so good it hurts," he drawls.

You glance at the bridesmaids, most of whom are checking him out with flagrant interest. "Did you meet everyone? Kaitlyn's the bride-to-be," you introduce them.

"I have, and her husband's one lucky sonofabitch, if I may say so," he places a gentlemanly kiss on the bride's hand and she in turn blushes. "Who's your friend?" she asks.

"A coworker," you say mysteriously, glancing at Jack, who has now turned his whole attention to you.

"You wanna dance, darlin'?" he asks, extending his hand to you.

Your stomach drops, just because you're pretty shy about dancing, and if anything you'd like to leave him with the impression that you can at least move in rhythm. "Maybe the next song," you suggest. "But first, how about a couple of shots? On me."

He smiles and shakes his head. "Darlin', I can't allow that. My treat," he insists, and orders a couple shots of whiskey for you and him.

"Had to be whiskey, huh?" you tease him, taking the shot glass in your hand.

"Of course." He lifts his glass to yours for a toast. "To coworkers getting to know each other better," he says, and there's a twinkle in his deep brown eyes that's hard to miss.

"To getting to know each other better," you grin and down the shot. It's like fire in your throat and stomach.

"Too much for ya to handle?" he teases, having downed his with ease.

"Depends.. which Whiskey are you talking about?" you tease back, feeling a little surge of confidence that either comes from Jack or from the shot.

"You're a little firecracker," he says in a low voice, his eyes blatantly going over every line and curve of your face, and downwards to eyeball your neck, the curve of your breasts. You wonder what he's imagining.

"Firecrackers are fun but dangerous," you warn him with a cheeky smile.

"We both know I'm all about that danger. Ain't nothin' I can't handle.." a subtle lift of his brows suggests he means more than mere flirtation.

"Is that a challenge?" You step closer to him, and the scent of his cologne, notes of leather and tobacco, catches your attention.

He notices your stance, the way you've shifted from a sweetheart wallflower to a provocative temptress. "What if it is?" he whispers into your ear, his breath tickling your skin and raising goosebumps on your flesh.

You follow his lead and whisper into his own ear, your lips grazing his cheek. "Then I accept.." you keep the ghost of a kiss upon his freshly shaven cheek and slowly pull back, looking into his eyes and seeing a newly effected desire there. "Dance with me." You bring him out to the floor, having completely lost sight of the bridesmaids. Nothing exists now but you and Jack and this chemistry that's been building between you.

His hands are on your hips as "Neon Moon" starts to play, a slow and soulful song that suits the mood you're both in. The colored lights sweep across the room, casting blue and scarlet and amber glows across the crowd. You're lost in each other, in the touch of his hands on your hips, the way he caresses them, loving their shape. You rest your hands on his broad, strong shoulders.

"You're a good dancer, Jack. You know what they say about men who are good dancers," you tell him suggestively.

"Really? What do they think, Gorgeous?" He pulls you even closer so your bodies are practically flush together.

"That they're good in bed," you answer with an arch of your brow, as if to imply it was beyond your belief.

He looks at you like a man looking at his first meal in a week of starvation. "Do you want to find out just how good of a.. dancer I am?"

Heat blooms across your body, and your pussy clenches in response. It only takes a moment to imagine what it would be like, riding this cowboy. You see him and you realize you have him right where you want him. "There is something I've been dying to ride.." you gently tug his shirt to bring him closer, as if in a kiss..

For a moment he looks like he's going to melt from the heat coming off you. "Oh yeah, darlin'? And what exactly is that?" he smirks.

Your face lights up. "That mechanical bull!" You grab Jack's hand and lead him across the huge barroom to the line to ride the bull. Sneaking a look at his face, Whiskey looks bewildered, but manages to cover it just in time. "That stupid thing? I can think of something more fun to ride," he smirks again and you resist the urge to drag him outside and let him have his way with you in the alleyway.

You only smirk back at him as the operator calls you to come forward and get atop the bull. Getting on top is easy, but staying on will be hard. As soon as you're situated, the bull starts spinning and bucking, slowly at first to let you get your bearings. You laugh and hold on, your body moving with the bull, anticipating its every move. Your hips grind down to the leather, thighs locked tight as you move your pelvis forward. Catching Whiskey's eye you blow him a kiss.

Seeing that the ride is winding down, he goes up to the operator and pays him to let you go again. This time, apparently on Whiskey's orders, the ride goes slower, allowing you to continue your little show for Jack. Keeping eye contact with him, you imagine it's him beneath you. Suddenly you gasp as you realize the bull is moving faster, and you watch as Jack's expression turns dark, lustful. You bite your lip as the speed increases. Pleasure pools in your belly, more specifically between your thighs, and the first stirrings of pleasure begin to radiate outward to your limbs, You rear your head back, face pointed up in ecstasy, and a rolling thunder starts in your veins.

You don't realize it until it's happening but you're being led away by Whiskey to a small corridor where no one can see you, and buries his face in your neck. "Tell me to stop if that's what you want," he says, his voice strained. "But by all that's holy, you are the hottest god damn thing I've ever seen."

But by then your leg is already hooked around his hip, shamelessly rubbing against him, the pleasure from the bull ride still fresh in your body. "I don't want you to stop," you whisper.

He growls low in his throat, which you dare to kiss, grazing your teeth across his skin. He gives a sharp hiss, and when he presses against you you feel proof of his desire, as if you needed any more. His hand goes beneath the hem of your dress and slides up, finding the edge of your lace panties. "Black?" he murmurs, his lips still against your neck.

"How did you know?"

You feel the curve of his smile against your skin. "I always know." His fingers trace your inner thighs before dipping into your heated, slick cunt. "Christ woman, you're soaking wet. For me." With his fingers inside you he kisses you, and you tip your face up to lean into his kiss, He slowly pumps two thick fingers inside as he slips his tongue into your mouth, mimicking the movements, earning a deep moan then a whimper from you.

"Watching you ride that bull, I just know it was me you were thinkin' of," he whispers huskily against your ear. "God damn if you aren't the most gorgeous thing I ever laid eyes on,, been wantin' you a long time, darlin'."

Through the haze of desire you smile, finding the temerity to feel touched by his words. "Took you long enough to show it," you tease, cupping the back of his head as you kiss, leaning against the wall as he fingers your wetness.

He groans again. "As much as I want to continue, I'd like to find a more comfortable place to fuck you." He pauses to look to you for consent. "That is, if you still want this."

You reply by palming his rigid cock, already threatening to poke through his tailored trousers. "I absolutely do.."

In a flurry of movement he brings you outside. The bachelorette party is the last thing on your mind, if you even still remember it, All you can think of is being with Jack. He leads you to his truck, the spacious backseat warm and inviting. He's on you again as that door is closed, His mouth finds yours, tongue claiming you. "I want to be gentle, but I don't think I have it in me right now," he admits.

You shake your head. "I'm not asking for gentle, I'm asking you to fuck me, Jack."

You've never called him by his name before, never been so informal with him, but the look in his eyes tells you it's perfectly all right by him. He lays you down on the seat. "Can I get a little taste of ya, darlin'? Been wonderin' what you'd taste like since the day we met."

This draws a sweet whimper from you, to hear he'd always wanted you. "God yes, please.."

He gingerly removes your panties, kissing his way back up your calves and thighs once they're off. You blush when he breathes in your scent. His hands cup the backs of your thighs, hooking them over his shoulders and you can't help but feel exposed. "Christ.. woman, you're gonna be the death of me," he mutters before taking off his hat and leaning in to devour you.

You give a sharp gasp as you lean your head back against the seat, hands mussing his hair as he laps at your wet cunt, licking up your folds and dipping his tongue inside you. He gently laps at your clit, using more pressure with each lick until he cups his lips around it and sucks, listening to how much you like it, how much more you need.

"Fuck!" you shout, a victorious roar as you feel yourself so close to that edge, and Whiskey is happy to let you use him for your pleasure. His tongue draws shapes upon your clit, alternating between swiping with his tongue and suckling it. Only when you come and he sweeps across every fold to drink up your juices does he stop.

You practically push him down, effectively trading places with him as you kneel before him. "My turn.."

His gaze turns dark even as his face lights up. "Hell, I'm not sayin' no to that, darlin'."

Smiling, you undo his trousers and pull them down with his briefs. His cock springs out, thick and long, perfectly curved, smooth, perfect. "God, I just knew you'd have a big dick.." you whisper, tracing with your tongue from root to head.

Whiskey exhales, watching you work on him. He palms the back of your head but doesn't urge you any further than what's comfortable for you. You use your hand to stroke his base while getting the first few inches of him into your mouth, daring to deep-throat him, wanting to see that look on his face, wanting to see him go crazy for you.

"Jesus, darlin'. I'm so on edge right now I might just burst if you keep doin' that," he chuckles. "Get on up here and ride me, gorgeous."

You feel your heart pound in every extremity of your body, especially your cunt, as you get up and straddle him, hiking up your dress. He stops you a moment and caresses your cheek. "This okay with you, darlin'? I have protection if you prefer.."

You smile and shake your head. "I'm on birth control, and I'm clean."

He smiles back. "Ah good. I'm clean too, darlin'." You know it has to be true, as the agents do periodic physicals and are prohibited from missions for the slightest findings.

Kissing him, you rise over him, using your hands to find him and bring him into you. He slides in without any resistance, and you take your time trying to get as much of him inside as you can. "Fuck, Jack," you whisper as he fills you.

Through the pleasure of connecting your bodies he smirks. "Is that an order?"

You giggle a little. "Looks like I'm the one doing the fucking." Just as you say that, he pushes up from under you, moving you up, filling you up just a little bit more. "God!!"

Sinking his teeth in to his lower lip he grabs onto your hips and moves you how he wants, watching your body for clues on what you like and what you want more of. He pulls the front of your dress down and frees your breasts, suckling on each nipple at a time as you melt on top of him, inadvertently letting more of him inside. He's fucking you and you're fucking him.

You grab his hat from the seat next to you and put it on yourself, riding your cowboy. Whiskey watches you, whispering your name, calling you his Cowgirl, bucking his hips up into you until he bottoms out, then lifting you with long strokes until you push him down to grind down. His thumb flicks over your clit, swirling the letters of your name and his, hearing your wild moans and shuddering sighs. You've never come so hard or so fast. You feel the first fluttery feelings deep within, and they shoot through your veins, lighting up your entire nervous system, and you scream his name as your cunt clenches spasmodically around his cock, and soon you feel him spill his cum deep inside you, spurting its warmth to your insides.

It takes a moment for you to come back to earth, and when you do, Whiskey is kissing you, tenderly, with the remainder of the passion you two just shared. "That was.. wow," you sigh, feeling shy around him now, of all times.

"It was spectacular, darlin'. I hope you know I'm gonna want you again," he puts his forehead to yours.

"Is that so?" You blush with elation.

"Of course darlin'. I'm hopin' to make this a long-term association, if you're so willin'. But on one condition."

You raise a brow. "Already calling the shots, huh? What's the condition?"

"That the only thing you ride is me. Ain't no way I'm being upstaged by a damn mechanical bull ever again."

You laugh, and he loves the sound of it. "We'll put a pin in that conversation."

He strokes your hair. The electric light from the bar sign lights up the inside of the truck, magenta and cyan. "You comin' home with me tonight, Cowgirl?"

You smile and give him a soft kiss. "You bet, Cowboy."

divider by @saradika-graphics 👑

[for-a-longlongtime]

Pedro Pascal GIF Post For No Reason At All Whatsoever

No reason, really.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Pre-TLOU Writers Archive

A resource for finding pre-TLOU Pedro Pascal characters fics

Hey everyone, this is just an idea that randomly struck me. I joined the fandom fairly recently in 2022, but as we all know, our numbers have well and truly exploded since TLOU aired.

We are incredibly lucky that our fandom has a massive treasure trove of fics written by so many amazing writers in the last few years, especially for pre-Joel Pedro boys that new fans are now discovering. However, new readers will probably have hard time finding these fics because nothing about Tumblr is set up to efficiently find any fic, let alone 'older' fics published months and years ago.

Since there's been such a huge influx of new readers in the fandom who may be looking for new-to-them 'old' fics to read, I thought it would useful to start a list of writers who have been writing for Pedro boys since before TLOU aired to connect newcomers to ‘older’ fics. I'm starting with writers that I have personally read or know of, but please do drop me an ask or a DM if you would like to add or be added to the list (or removed from it)!

We have more than 100 writers listed in alphabetical order in the lists below. Please show them and their fics some love - follow, reblog, send asks and DMs! ❤️

A to H

I to O

P to Z (Part 1)

P to Z (Part 2)

Some admin:

*I am only including writers who have written for Pedro Pascal characters before TLOU aired. If I can't find a masterlist, then I can't add them to the list.

*If I missed anyone or accidentally left someone out in my screening process, please let me know! I'm only human.

*In case anyone twists this into something it's not, it goes without saying that there's always room for new fics and new writers! But the recency bias has been so strong these few months, I want to give some love to 'older' fics, especially pre-Joel Pedro boys ❤️