#kingsman fic

[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?"

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓

pairing: stripper!jack daniels x f!reader

genre: stripper AU, explicit, minors dni

word count: 4.2k

summary: frustrated by your everyday life, you seek solace at a male strip club. It's your first time and you're instantly mesmerized by the one that calls himself "Whiskey".

warnings: a mild start of a anxiety attack at the beginning, suggestive dancing, stripping, coming untouched, awkward moments, reader's first time at a strip club, unprofessional situations, mutual pining, sexual tension, use of good girl once

a/n: this idea was born whilst we were talking with @fuckyeahdindjarin about stripper!frankie and ofc since both of us are unhinged about a certain cowboy, the conversation steered naturally in the direction of stripper!jack ❤️‍🔥 I'd like to add that I've never been to a strip club and everything here (especially the dances) are born from me watching way too many male stripping tutorials and google searches, so it might not be %1000 authentic buuuuut hopefully it's fun nonetheless!

click for part two of the stripper!jack series

dividers by @firefly-graphics 💜

Your eyes are glued to the neon sign right above the bar. It flickers a bright pink, then purple, then red. In capital letters, it says: PEEP SHOW, and underneath it there’s a heart and in that, a keyhole. 

The music isn’t loud enough to leave you deaf, thankfully. You’re not sure you could’ve handled music blaring from the speakers like you were in a dance club. Make Up Sex by SoMo plays in the background, you gently sway with the rhythm refusing to look at the stage. The thumb of your right-hand traces over the knuckles of your left. You notice the bartender and tear your gaze from the sign.

He stands behind the counter, his presence radiating a magnetic charm. With a physique sculpted to perfection, he possesses an air of rugged masculinity. His hazel eyes hold a captivating depth, and his confident smile hints at a mischievous nature. As he moves with grace and confidence, he threads his fingers through his tousled chestnut hair.

“You look like you might need a drink,” he teases, his smile bright and comforting. “Anything I can help you with?” 

“Uh. . . a greyhound please?” 

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he replies, taking a step back as if about to leave. But then, he pauses, leaning in close. His breath gently fans your skin, a rush of excitement flooding your veins. “And just some friendly advice, try to relax. We promise we don’t bite,” he says with a wink and goes off to prepare your drink. 

You’re frustrated. Have you truly been that obvious? Who are you kidding— of course you have. You’re alone at a male strip club staring at the neon sign rather than the stage. Of course, they can tell you’re new here. You sigh and look around. The establishment is surprisingly neat. You notice a bachelorette party taking place not that far away from you, they seem to be having fun, screaming as a stripper sways his hips from side to side. He looks good. Chiseled abs, shiny chest, the whole thing shebang. 

Your heart sinks into your chest. You hate being alone and you’re so incredibly tired of it. Everyone you know is either busy or doesn’t care enough to spare you even an hour. It’s been two years since your last relationship and you swear the lack of company is eating you alive. It would be fine if you had a couple of distractions, like going out with friends maybe, but that proved to be an impossible ask. You’re not even sure why you’re so bothered. You do a lot of things alone. You enjoy your own company. Yet, for some reason seeing everyone together, having fun is more difficult today compared to other days. Your chest collapses on itself, your pulse quick under your skin. 

Suddenly it's very hard to breathe. 

You take short, sharp breaths, filling your lungs with the scent of musk and strawberries. 

Your chest continues to heave—Shit, are you about to have a panic attack in a freaking strip club? Now that will surely be in your top five most embarrassing moments. Nothing even happened, why are you feeling like this?

“You a’right there darlin’?” 

A voice smooth as honey reaches your ears. It curls around your body and keeps you still. Goosebumps flare across your skin, the small hairs that are scattered over the back of your neck standing with attention. Slowly, you turn. 

It’s one of the strippers, at least you assume it’s one of the strippers. He’s wearing a cowboy hat, a leather jacket, and some low-hanging jeans. He’s wearing a white mesh top underneath. You find yourself unabashedly gawking at him. You’re not sure how long you stare but you’re hoping it only lasted for a second. And if you’re really lucky, he wouldn’t have even noticed. 

In contrast to the other strippers you’ve seen so far, he appears slightly older with a softened stomach, yet possesses a lean physique sculpted by years of dance.

You swallow thickly, forcing your gaze back up. He’s clean-shaven except for a dark mustache, he’s smiling but you see a hint of worry in his gaze. Narrowing your eyes, you notice a small gold sticker in the shape of a star under his right eye. 

“I’m. . .” you swallow again and shake your head. You’re dumbfounded. “I’m okay, thanks.” 

The bartender places the greyhound you ordered, at the same time the stripper extends a hand, “Whiskey,” he says in a sultry way. You squeeze his hand and raise your eyebrows, your shake is a bit weak. 

“Whiskey?” you ask. He lets go of your hand and you bring it to your forehead, nervous laughter escaping you. “Oh, it’s your stage name. Of course.” 

His crooked smile is intoxicating, the tip of his tongue moves over his teeth. “My parents would have to hate me to name me ‘whiskey’ sugar,” he answers, rubbing his chin. A moment of silence follows as he thinks, ”Well, my real name ain’t any less embarrassing now that I think about it.” 

You want to ask him his real name but end up biting your tongue instead. You can’t ask him that, it would be rude, and even if you did you doubt that he’ll tell you. Pressing your lips tightly together, you drop your gaze to your drink. You curl your fingers around it. The sudden cold against your skin calming you. 

“First time?” he asks and you nod. “May I ask why you’re here then, so I can be of service?” 

That’s a good question. Why are you here? 

“I think to have some fun,” you mutter as you drag your thumb over the cool condensation. “I’m just. . .” you shake your head. “Nevermind, that’s stupid. Let’s just say I’m here to have some fun.” 

Whiskey observes you for a moment. His chocolate gaze taking in every detail of your expression. Are all strippers this attentive? you think, heat crawling up your spine. His hand slowly slides over the smooth bar until his fingers are gently resting above your wrist. You suck in a breath. His thumb moves over to the inside of your wrist, tracing the vein that pulses violently. 

“How about a private dance?” he asks slowly, as if you might bolt out the doors at any given second. “I promise to entertain you thoroughly, sugar.” 

You blink, “Really?” you ask instantly feeling foolish at the question. It’s a service he provides, that you will be paying for, of course he means it. Nonetheless, he seems amused by the question. He grins proudly, crowding your personal space. He tilts his head. Your fingers twitch around the glass and your eyes drop to his lips. 

Man, he’s dreamy. You’re starting to understand the appeal of these establishments. 

“Really,” he parrots back at you. “Follow me, darlin’.” 

With shaky legs, you do. 

The private room is a sanctuary tucked away from prying eyes. 

Your eyes follow the sumptuous drapes of deep velvet cascading from floor to ceiling. In the center of the room stands a circular stage much smaller compared to the one outside, its surface gleaming. Positioned in the middle of it, a solitary chair, adorned in lavish leather, and next to it a small table with a small remote on top. Whiskey closes the door as you enter and walks with confident steps. You stand awkwardly until he gestures towards the sole seat with his head. 

“Take a seat, sweetheart. Get comfortable.” 

“O–Okay.” 

You’re not aware of how close he is until you take a seat, he immediately follows, dipping low. He curls two thick fingers under your chin and tilts your head up, his gaze searching. 

“Tell me if anythin’ starts becomin’ too much, understood?” 

“Understood,” you squeak, cheeks growing warm. Without any hesitation, he starts the music. Acquainted by the Weeknd starts playing softly through the speakers. There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. The way he walks now is different from the way he walked when guiding you here. He saunters over to you, his shoulders rounding as he starts feeling the music moving through him. 

He stands in front of you, movements fluid and confident. You’re mesmerized by him.  He stalks even closer to you, and you feel the electric heat radiating off of his body. He slides his hands down your arms and you can't help but let out a little gasp. 

Whiskey continues to study your expression, He moves with grace and purpose, his body sliding and swaying sensually to the music. His hips rock back and forth in time, seemingly choreographed flawlessly. His hands glide down his body, tracing the contours of his definition before slipping up his torso. His movements are punctuated by smoldering gazes and slow, deliberate breaths. He rolls his shoulders, his leather jacket sliding to his elbows and falling to the floor a beat later. Your mouth waters. 

Suddenly, he turns and bends his knees, straddling your thighs. Your gaze drops, turning into saucers as you take in the sight of his tiny little ass. You exhale a sharp breath from your nose, nostrils flaring. He draws circles with his hips, nearly brushing against you but not quite, he gently holds your wrists, placing them in his inner thighs. His touch is feather-like and with two fingers, allowing you the chance to break free if needed. Your skin feels taut over your muscles, sweat building at your tailbone—he’s so close. You don’t even remember the last time you were this close to a man. It’s dizzying. 

Whiskey slowly extends his legs and slides your hands up, your fingers skim the apex of his thighs until he’s standing. 

Arousal builds between your legs, your lips a tight, thin line. 

Your hands are on his crotch. 

Oh god, you think you might actually faint. Wouldn’t that be fucking hilarious? 

Fuck he feels warm under your palms—

Scratch that, he feels big. 

He drops down as he rolls his hips, his body slides under your hands like a snake and your fingers move up his chest with the movement, feeling the mesh fabric and the firm chest underneath. Very inappropriately, your nails bite into his skin. If your eyes weren’t glued to this gorgeous man’s back, you would’ve missed the moment his hips stuttered, the smallest grunt echoing from the back of his throat. 

“Sorry,” you squeak, fingers twitching.  

“Don’t worry about it darlin’, just enjoy the show.” 

He stands back up again, guiding your hands down to his hips as he squats low. Before you know it, your hands are resting on his pelvis once more, feeling the underlying heaviness. He grinds forward, hefty bulge filling your palms. 

The music fades to the background. His steps in slow motion, he turns and straddles you normally, knees dipping as he raises his arms and grinds his hips towards you. Your breath catches in your throat. He’s so close. With his every move, you can smell the leather coming off of him, it takes you everything not to close your eyes and just inhale his scent. He steers your hands towards his ass, placing them against the firm mounds. 

You know that this is a strip show. You know that you’ll be paying him afterward—and tipping him generously. 

But, fuck, the way he’s looking at you shouldn’t be allowed. Something dark swirling in them, something ravenous. His smile is knowing, teasing, like he can read your mind and it’s unnerving. How does anyone leave this strip club not being a mess for this man? 

His fingers delicately trace the column of your neck, moving over to your shoulder and coming back. He’s observing you, eyes fixed on you as he searches for any kind of discomfort. Then he gradually wraps his hand around your neck. There’s no pressure and it feels slightly ticklish. 

He moves closer in tune with the music, his lips brush against your neck, your nipples tightening at the touch. He takes your hands and guides them up his chest and broad shoulders. His lips are barely touching yours and you can feel his softly blowing breath. He thrusts his hips, clothed cock nearly touching your chest, suddenly you’re holding your breath wishing nothing more than his touch. His ass flexes under your hand, firm and warm. 

Till this point, you were trying really hard to ignore how wet you’ve gotten. Subtly, you’re moving your hips, trying to add pressure to your throbbing clit. The wet fabric of your underwear grazes against the bundle of nerves, dipping between your wet folds. Your chest heaves and you swallow down a whimper. It’s been so fucking long since you’ve felt anything like this. Tension curls around your thighs and moves up to your stomach, arousal heavy between your legs. He must be used to this right? You can’t be the only one to get this worked up. 

Even if Whiskey does notice your weak attempts at relief, he doesn’t say anything. 

All your senses narrow on him as he kneels in front of you, the music dropping with him. With a wink, he takes your hands and guides them down his chest while leaning back to sit on his heels. Your hands slide down his torso, once again just shy in touching his length. With a body roll, he comes back up and grips the armrests of your chair, popping up into a bridge position. Your thighs are spread and he drops his head low, you swear you feel his breath on you before he slithers up again, lips nearly brushing the valley of your breasts. His face is an inch away from yours, only charm. He tilts his head, coming in closer as if he’s about to kiss you, then moves away again. 

You’re mortified when you find yourself instinctively chasing after his lips. 

He hums, the sound barely audible over the music, his smile never fades, “Good girl,” he mutters as his hands slide down to gently grip the back of your thighs. 

You’ve never been more aware of not touching someone in your life.

Whiskey pushes himself closer and lifts your legs. Despite the clothes that separate the two of you, you feel the sinewy fabric of muscle hidden underneath as your legs frame his narrow hips. He presses closer, positioning his length against you. You feel it. His cock throbbing and aching under those tight, tight pants. Your throat moves, the muscles in your jaw clenched. He grazes one hand up and up and up until the width of it rests over your hip. 

He continues his grinding, his jeans rubbing tantalizingly against your inner thighs. You feel his hardness through the thin fabric separating you; all you can think is how good it feels to have him there. His hands rub lazily across your hips, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Whiskey's hands snake up your sides, his fingers weaving through the flesh of your waist. His pelvis moves rhythmically against yours, each thrust accompanied by a low moan that you’re desperately trying to bite down. 

“You seem tense darlin’,” his breath is hot and heavy in your ear as he gently nibbles the sensitive lobe, tantalizing you further. “Could see it in your eyes as soon as I spotted you alone at the bar. Let go, sweetheart. It’ll be our little secret,” His hips sway in and out, sending shocks of pleasure through your body. You feel your breath catch and become labored, is—is he actually suggesting what you think he’s suggesting? 

God, you just don’t have it in you to care anymore. You’re too worked up, every touch feels doubled with the way he moves, smiles, and looks at you.

You can’t help but relax into his motions. He moves slower, teasing you as he coaxes your inevitable fall. He builds you up, and normally, you would bask in the relief that he would tear you apart soon enough—but the thing is. . . you two aren’t actually having sex. There’s a very high chance the build-up would last forever, that is, until the time was up. You’re being edged in the best way possible but you fear you might have a hearty breakdown if you can’t, as how he put it; “let go”. 

He must’ve sensed your worries because for the first time, his smile falters, brows furrowing with concentration. His eyes flit over yours briefly before cupping your chin and raising your head. You expect him to say something, anything—maybe call you his good girl again—but nothing escapes those lush lips. Your eyes drop to the divot of his bottom lip and he leans closer, cock fully moving over your puffy clit. Your teeth sink into the inside of your cheek. Your stomach bottoms out, there’s a faint buzzing in your ears as the pressure in you grows and grows until you feel it in the back of your eyes. 

Fuck—Are you about to come? 

Nonononononono—

Your body spasms in pleasure, an orgasm building from deep within you as the music and his body surround you. He smells of pine and leather and the scent assaults your lungs. Your insides begin to clench and your muscles carry on a delirious dance of its own as warmth starts to spread in waves throughout your body. Your toes curl and every nerve ending in your body is brought alive. You squeeze your eyes shut,  your breath quickens. You swallow down all the noises that threaten to spill out. All you can think of is how embarrassing this is, your cheeks are left burning, your orgasm washing over you in large waves against your better judgment. 

Whiskey barely slows, still rolling his hips with the guide of the slowing song. He does pull back eventually and you’re grateful for it. The inside of your mouth is dry, your eyes watered, the inside of your panties soaked. 

“S-Shit,” you whisper. “I’m . . . I’m—” 

He lets out a content sigh, if anything, he seems delighted by the whole ordeal. 

“Like I said darlin’,” he rasps, breath ghosting your lips. “This will be our little secret.” 

The music ends and you know your time is up. 

Hanging out at a strip club isn’t actually as mortifying as you thought it would be. 

After your first encounter with Whiskey, you thought you would never step into the glitter and glam of the club ever again. However, after a particularly tough day, you found yourself at the door once more. The bartender, who later introduced himself as Tequila, greeted you enthusiastically, and from that point on, you became a regular.

Despite being a regular, names were still off-limits, and you didn't mind. Everyone was entitled to their privacy, and it made it all the more special for the time when Whiskey might eventually reveal his real name, if that day ever came. You're still not sure where you stand exactly on the spectrum between being a customer and a friend.

You could never afford another private dance though, at least not if you wanted to have enough money for food this month. Nevertheless, you were content with just watching the performances, and seeing Whiskey entertain endless bachelorette and bachelor parties was always a delight.

And hey, surprisingly, Tequila made some killer iced coffees, which you greatly appreciated since you weren't the biggest drinker and a bit of a lightweight. The last thing you wanted was to get drunk with Whiskey around, as you had already embarrassed yourself enough. However, he was a man of his word. He never mentioned the incident that took place during his performance. In fact, he behaved as if it never happened. For a minute there, you even thought that maybe you had imagined the whole thing.

However, there were moments when he would simply give you a certain look, and in that instant, you knew for certain that he did remember.

“Here you go gorgeous,” Tequila says, pulling you from your thought as he places an iced coffee in front of you. 

Your eyes widen as you see whipped cream with a lavish cherry on top. 'Is there a special occasion I'm not aware of?'

He shrugs, “I was bored, it’s a slow night.” 

Thanking him, you turn in your seat. It was a slow night, with only a handful of people present. There was a couple seeking a good time and a couple of corporate-looking ladies. Whiskey was entertaining one of them, employing his Southern charm as he winked at the woman and tipped his hat. Over the passing days, you had come to recognize his dance choreography. It seemed he genuinely enjoyed what he was doing, which made you happy in return.

Sometimes you do wish you had met the man outside of these walls though. You can’t fight the longing you feel whenever you see him. Other than being ridiculously attractive —and knowing how to make a woman come without touching them— he was kind to you that day. He saw how miserable you were and tried to cheer you up. Sure, you were a customer, but still, he didn’t have to go the extra mile. 

You often thought about meeting him at a supermarket or something instead. Would he be as kind? Would he be as attentive? Maybe he wouldn’t even give you a second glance as he buys a box of cereal—you frown, when you think about it like that, maybe meeting him in a strip club wasn’t that bad after all.  

Whiskey's dance comes to an end and you have to fight every fiber of your being not to eat him with your eyes like a hungry, horny, wolf. You try to look disinterested, eyes moving to one of the other dancers. It’s too late though, his gaze catches your own. He smiles as he struts towards you. 

“How are you sweetheart?” he asks, pink tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “Is Tequila here treatin’ you well?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” You grin, gesturing to the whipped cream and cherry on top, as if it's obvious. His eyes drop to the fruit, glistening and wet. Without waiting for you to say anything, he picks up the fruit by the stem and sticks his tongue out. He catches the cherry with his lips, slowly drawing it into his mouth, and you watch, transfixed, as he chews. His jaw works over the cherry, then, a moment later, he shows you his tongue once more. 

On the tip of it, lays a neatly knotted stem. 

“Holy hell,” you whisper. “I should be mad because I was looking forward to that cherry but I’m too impressed.” 

With two fingers Whiskey calls for Tequila, “Get the pretty lady another cherry,” he says. 

“Show off,” the other man mutters but complies anyway. A quick moment later, there’s another cherry on a bed of white. 

You eye him warily, “You’re not gonna eat this one too, are you?” 

He laughs, “No darlin’. Don’t worry, enjoy your overly sweetened fruit.” 

Still not trusting him, holding it by the stem, you stick the cherry between your lips and quickly chew. He draws his brows together, “No show?” 

“If I was that talented with my tongue I wouldn’t be single.” 

“There’s more to relationships than a good tongue,” he answers. “I would know.” 

He’s single? 

You don’t know why the revelation shocks you, but it does. You didn’t want to assume anything based on his career choice and by personality alone, you didn’t really think he would be in the same boat as you. 

“You can act a little less surprised you know,” he teases, leaning against the bar with a curled lip. 

“S-Sorry, I just never thought you would be single you’re just so. . .” cutting yourself off, you press your lips together. He leans closer, teasing smile now shifting into a full toothy grin. 

“So. . . what?” he asks. His finger dips into the whipped cream, and he brings it to his lips, his deep gaze never leaving yours as he sucks it off slowly. “Dazzling, charming, talented?” 

Your throat goes dry and you have to swallow, “Well yes, all of those and. . . handsome.” 

“Compliments don’t get you a free dance, sweetheart,” he winks. “Just sayin’.” 

Your lips quiver, a hesitant smile curving your lips. Your cheeks warm under his gaze. 

Talking to him comes easy to you. You also enjoy his confidence, he knows he’s good looking and he doesn’t shame you for stating it, or make you feel less of a person for admitting. It’s freeing. Maybe that’s why you’re always visiting the club. He grants you a place to just be yourself, even if he does so intentionally or not, you appreciate it. 

“You, giving out a free dance?” you exaggerate every word, you mirror his movement and stick two fingers in the whipped cream. You bring them to your lips, savoring the sweetness. It’s subtle, but you catch the way his breath hitches. Your smile grows. “I never would expect such a thing.” 

“Good,” his voice drops dangerously low, almost sounding like a growl. Inching closer, his breath fans the side of your neck and you feel the rough scrape of his mustache against the shell of your ear. A whimper rattles your throat. “I would hate to be misunderstood.” 

He pulls back with a wink, he flashes you his canines, and drags his tongue over them. “See you around, sunshine,” he says, voice returning to normal. The words die in your throat as he disappears towards the back, presumably to get ready for his next show. 

You’re left staring, mouth agape. Flustered, you stir your iced coffee to feel the soothing sound of ice clanking around. 

You frown when you realize all the ice had melted.

Thank you for reading everyone! This one definitely tuckered me out but I think it ended up not being that bad?

Normally this was always going to be a two-parter but then the first part ended up being way longer than I intended (almost 8k) so I decided to split it into two chapters since didn't want it to be too long. Therefore, this little series will be three parts in total. I've written most of chapter two since it was meant to be a part of chapter one so it'll be out relatively quick!

That's it for now, sending everyone love and many hugs 💜

[something-tofightfor]

Birthday Kiss #1: Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels

Pairing: Agent Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels x Female Reader (Cider)

Word Count: 476

Rating: M?

Summary: A Kiss In The Open

Author’s note: 9 Pedro Characters. 9 Birthday Smooches. These are very lightly edited because they're supposed to be quick. Wanted to give all of you a gift to celebrate my birthday - and we're going to start out with Jack Daniels. This one's connected to Buried - but it can be read as a standalone if you're unfamiliar with that story. Thank you for your kind words and support. Hope you enjoy this.

You’ve been surveilling a target for hours when you feel it - eyes on you, the source unknown. 

It should terrify you, especially since you’re out in the open, in an unfamiliar place. But instead of letting yourself worry, you just pick up your coffee cup and take a sip, scanning the tables that surround you and trying to figure out who might be watching you. 

There’s no one on your radar, because no one that’s come and gone throughout the afternoon has seemed suspicious. They haven’t triggered the facial recognition in your sunglasses, and aside from the waitress, there hasn’t been a single person to even speak to you since you hung up with Ginger earlier in the day and headed out. 

But the feeling only grows stronger, your intuition telling you that even if you can’t find the source of the gaze, someone is looking. 

You feel it then, a hand on your shoulder from behind, fingers tightening over your bare skin. Before you can move to grab the blade in your laptop bag, you hear it - a voice in your ear, tone low and familiar. 

“Hey there, Agent. Happy birthday.” The words are followed by a press of lips to your cheek, and although your heartbeat is still quick, the elevated pace isn’t from anxiety. Instead, it’s from his proximity, even though having Jack Daniels close to you is nothing new. “Surprise.” 

You stand immediately, turning to face him, and even though you know exactly what’s waiting for you, your eyes widen and your grin grows at the sight of his face, Jack’s normally smooth cheeks covered in stubble and his skin just a little more golden than usual. “You’re here.” Breathing the words out, you step even closer, your arms winding around his neck as Jack’s move to your waist. 

“‘Course I am, darlin’.” He winks, shrugging his shoulders. “You thought I’d miss this?” You didn’t, even though the parameters of your mission required you to spend time apart before you linked up to complete it. “No way in Hell.” 

He kisses you slowly, but wastes no time urging your lips to part with his tongue, Jack’s stroking along yours in broad daylight like you’d planned for him to interrupt your afternoon all along. You taste mint and coffee, and as your fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, you smile, finally registering what he’d greeted you with. And when you break away, blinking up at him while you catch your breath, Jack’s eyes are bright, his smile broad. 

“You remembered?” He nods twice, leaning closer and kissing you again before he speaks. 

“Of course I remembered your birthday.” He winks, straightening up and letting one hand drop to take yours, fingers closing around them and squeezing. “What kind of a shit husband would I be if I didn’t?” 

---

[congressoutofwedlock]

“You sure you’re alright being back on your feet?” Eggsy quirked a brow as he hopped from foot to foot, knuckles wrapped in boxing tape whilst Hamish worked on affixing his own. “Is three weeks enough for that uh…”

“SON-0,” Hamish finished for him as he flexed his fingers in the wrappings, eyes half-lidded whilst he inspected the shift of his tendons beneath the fabric. “Synthetic Ocular Nanotechnology. Harry thought of it as an ironic naming play on ‘salvation.’”

At Any Cost, Chapter 2

[shadows-of-a-memory]

only a bruise (to keep the cycle going) - e.u.

trigger warning: mentioned off-screen domestic abuse gary "eggsy" unwin masterlist

Eggsy is tired. He's just gotten back from a mission, he's sore, he feels disgusting even after showering on the jet, and he just wants to cuddle with JB and take a nap.

But he made a commitment to meet you at the pub today, before he was assigned this emergency meeting, and no matter how worn he is, he's going to maintain it.

[thosewickedlovelies]

Ride | Javier Peña x Jack Daniels (x Reader)

Rating: E for Explicit

Summary: Jack finds Javi in his favorite spot

Tags: gay cowboy porn was my placeholder name for this; i think some domesticity snuck in tho; SMUT: dry humping, hand stuff, frottage, uhh discussion of having to clean up two horny cowboys’ worth of come if that bothers anyone. Reader appears only briefly in this but fem pronouns are used to refer to them.

Words: 2,012

Note: This is set in the far future of Rancher Boys, but it’s mostly pwp so you don’t have to have read anything else to enjoy it lol. Reader’s nickname is Silver.

Masterlist

Up in the hayloft, Javier dozes.

Or rather, he’s on the cusp of dozing. The air is sun-warmed, dusty and hay-scented. An old blanket cushions his back against the wood boards. He’s pushed his hat down over his eyes, blocking out the filtered light. The ranch’s usual animal noises are distant and muted. 

This has become a favorite spot of Javi’s (and not least because you spend most of your time here). This barn is generally unoccupied, peaceful, and most everyone else forgets about it, which means Javi isn’t usually found if he doesn’t want to be. 

So Javier lies warm and drowsy and on the cusp of dozing, his thoughts drifting like a butterfly on the breeze. He’s not trying to nap, necessarily- he wanted to see you, and knowing you were slated to be here today, figured he’d take a break while he waited for you to arrive.

The barn door opens below. His awareness stirs, but his breathing remains deeps and even. He doesn’t have to see you right away…he’s so comfortable, his consciousness slowing, saturated, bleeding at the edges like a sheet of paper about to dissolve.

“Javi? You in here?” 

The voice that calls his name is not yours.

Javi inhales sharply. It’s as much as he’s able to do, heavy as he is under the weighted blanket of comfort and sleepiness.

Booted feet clunk against the rungs of the ladder. “Are you nappin’ up here again? I swear, I oughta dock your pay…”

Javi’s mouth curves upward. As his hat is flicked off his head, his eyelids flutter, slow and heavy.

Golden light seeps in around the edges of a shadow. As Javi blinks the blear of sleep from his eyes, the dark splotch resolves into the familiar face of one Jack Daniels.

“And just what do you think you’re doin’, cowboy? Napping, in the middle of a workday? Shameful.”

“Dock my pay any more and I won’t be making anything.” Javier’s voice comes out gravelly with sleep.

Jack scoffs. “And you wouldn’t deserve it, neither.” 

Jack swings a leg over Javi’s hips and settles into his seat. He leans down, taking Javi’s face in his hands, and plants his mouth on Javi’s. 

Javi grunts, tipping his face up into Jack’s kiss. His fingers fumble with Jack’s shirt, eventually untucking it and reaching the warm skin beneath. He tries to arch up so his chest is pressed to Jack’s, letting out a whiny grumble. 

Jack releases his mouth with a huff. He stares down at Javi- ruddy flush in his cheeks, hair mussed, brown eyes liquid and hazy- and a smile cracks across his face. “You’re real fuckin’ cute all sleepy like this, you know that?”

Javier’s smile wavers between smug and bashful. “You’re real fucking cute all over me like this.” He adjusts his hips, unconsciously attempting to ease pressure on the erection that’s growing with every shift of Jack’s weight.

Snorting, Jack tilts his head, eyes dark and amused. “That so? You got proof of that, cowboy?” Sitting up straight, Jack trails his fingers down, down Javi’s chest, until he reaches the seam of his jeans. He presses down, and Javi’s hips lurch. His cock swells to fill Jack’s palm.

Javi licks suddenly dry lips. “That’s my line.” He tries to grumble, but it comes out more like a croak.

“Hmm?”

Jack’s eyes never leave Javi’s face. His hand works, firm, rubbing at the length of Javi’s cock beneath his jeans.

Pleasure clouds the edges of Javi’s vision. “Cowboy,” Javi grits. “You’re the cowboy.”

Shivers race up and down his spine. He groans helplessly, his head twisting to the side. 

One corner of Jack’s mouth curls up; his eyes are intent. “I reckon that’s true,” he agrees. “Riding this bucking bronco I got here.”

Jack grasps Javi’s hips suddenly, using them to brace himself as he leans forward. His own hips move, sinuous as a bull rider, rhythmically pressing his bulge into Javi’s.

“Fuck, Jack,” Javi gasps.

His hands splay and grip Jack’s thighs. Jack jerks forward, his palm slapping the floor next to Javi’s head. His breathing gusts against Javi’s neck. “If you want, sugar,” Jack croons.

It’s like all the pleasantly sleepy, content feelings that had been coating Javi were now concentrated, burrowing into his skin and arrowing straight to his dick. He wants more, wants to feel Jack’s skin, the hard-and-softness of Jack’s cock in his hand.

Jack’s tongue is in his mouth; his chest is pressed to Javi’s. He can hardly breathe. More. The tightness of Jack’s jeans has never been so aggravating, preventing Javi from getting a grip on the button. Catching on to Javi’s intentions, Jack stills, just long enough for both of them to rip open the other’s pants.

Javi wraps his hand around Jack’s cock, tight. His chest heaves as Jack does the same to him, tugging his cock carefully through the gap in his boxers. A groan escapes between Javi’s gritted teeth.

“Glad to see you takin’ my advice.” Jack manages to sound both stern and amused, only the barest bit breathless at their activities.

“..What?”

“About protectin’ your delicates?” Jack nods down at Javi’s unfamiliar undergarments.

“Oh, yeah. Well I, uh- I got a UTI. Before, not now,” Javi mumbles.

Jack lets out a bark of surprised laughter. “No kiddin’? Aw, Jav. Is that why you were so cagey about sex for a minute there?”

“Yeah. Just..felt stupid.” Javi looks away from Jack and his kind eyes and loving hands, stroking, stroking, evoking feelings that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Happens to everyone, cowboy. You just let me know your favorite brand so I can get you more for Christmas.”

Jack twists his wrist and Javi chokes on a shout, nearly writhing out of his brand new boxer briefs. Any lingering embarrassment is driven clean from his head. All that’s left is Jack- Jack’s work-roughened hand wrapped around his cock, Jack’s mouth on his again.

Jack leans down and then their fists are bumping, knocking into each other as they jerk each other off. Jack partially releases him only for Javi to feel Jack’s fingers nudging his; Javi retreats, and then Jack’s hand is enclosing both their cocks, and it’s rigid fire, slickness over callused palms, heat racing up through Javi’s body like wildfire. He’s gasping. “Jack-” 

“I know, baby, I know. You close?”

“Yeah.” Javi can’t seem to make himself move. He’s helpless to the pleasure Jack so expertly draws from him, only able to keep his hand in a loose grip around the base of their cocks, keeping them upright for Jack to manipulate. Jack’s hand brushes Javi’s with every stroke. 

A fist tightening around the base of his spine, coiling, winding all that pleasure up somewhere between his hips. Sweat flushes and prickles his skin. Jack squeezes them, his cock rigid and throbbing against Javi’s….and Javi snaps. His head tips back, his eyes squeeze shut as pleasure barrages through him. Ragged moans catch in his heaving chest.

“Fuckin’- sexy, Jav-”

Jack sounds pained. His hand keeps moving, faster. Javi’s release dribbles over his hand, hot and sticky, and Javi squeezes spasmodically. 

His eyes open just in time to see Jack come. Curved over Javi, Jack goes stiff and shuddery as a drawn bow. His eyes catch Javi’s half a second before they slam shut. Javi’s cock twinges at the prolonged contact, but he ignores it, instead focusing, fascinated, on the round of Jack’s mouth and the crimp in his brow as he comes.

When Jack finally relaxes, Javi’s hand is substantially stickier than it was before. Their combined release drips over his knuckles where they rest against Jack’s fly; Javi dreads to think of where else it ended up.

With a gusty sigh, Jack opens his eyes. Strands of hair, normally gelled flat, have fallen over his forehead. Javi’s fingers itch to smooth them aside before he remembers: he can. Javi lifts his free hand and gently pushes Jack’s hair back into place, skimming down his temple and past his jaw. He lets his hand fall and rest beside Jack’s, their fingertips brushing.

Jack’s eyes crinkle. “Hey, baby.” He leans down and kisses Javi again, so thoroughly it’s hard to tell if he’s satisfied or hungry for more. Could be both. “Good ride, cowboy?”

Javi’s heart is still thumping, and Jack’s kiss hadn’t helped. “Mmmm.” 

Javi glances down their bodies. Jack follows his gaze and grimaces slightly, tacky fingers flexing. He harrumphs. “The only disadvantage to male biology, I reckon. The mess.”

Mess, indeed. Javi’s shirt is beyond saving, splashed with come nearly three buttons up. Jack’s t-shirt had dipped in some of it when he leaned forward, but he could probably hide that by tucking it in. Although that would leave his jeans exposed, and, well…what goes up must come down. White stains are already evident, much more obvious against the dark denim.

Javi’s mouth twitches. “Silver has tissues in her office. Some towels too, I think.”

Jack huffs. “And how are we supposed to get there, walkin’ around like this?” He gestures to their very exposed and come-streaked groins. “I don’t think so. Here, you can’t wear that shirt outta here anyway. We can clean ourselves up with that and go from there.”

“And what am I supposed to wear out of here if we do that?”

“You can wear my jacket.”

Javi stares at Jack. “Your jacket,” he say flatly. Jack’s jacket and nothing else. It would be less obvious if he simply walked out shirtless. “If you wanted to see me in your clothes, you could have just said so.”

“Fine. I want to see you in my clothes.” Jack sits back and smirks at Javi, brazen as they come (ha). He still holds their cocks carefully, but the softer they get, the more difficult it will be to keep come from spilling anywhere else. “I’m sorry, Jav, but it don’t seem like we got any other options.”

Javi shifts in discomfort, knowing that Jack is right. The floor feels like it’s getting harder against his back, despite the blanket.

The blanket!

Through no small amount of wiggling, swearing, and teamwork, they manage to pull the blanket out from under them without getting come everywhere (else). 

Javi sets the very used blanket aside with a grimace. “I hope this isn’t a blanket she cares about.”

Jack flops onto his back with a sigh, sprawling on the bare wooden boards without any compunction “I’m sure it’ll be fine. C’mere.”

Javi obliges. Bare-chested, he settles into Jack’s side. All the tension seems to leech from his bones, and a sense of deep contentment replaces it, grounding him. Jack strokes his back soothingly, languishing in the afterglow. Javi’s eyes flutter shut.

It feels like they’ve had only seconds when the barn door opens again. Javi tenses; Jack only turns his head.

“Javi? Are you in here?”

This time, the voice that calls his name is yours.

Javi can feel Jack’s grin begin.

“Jack was looking for you,” you continue. Footsteps scuff toward the ladder. Javi’s face starts to warm. “He does know about this spot, you know. It’s only a matter of time…Oh!”

Your sound of surprise echoes over them as your head clears the floor of the loft.

Jack is grinning broadly. “Not to worry, sugar. I found him.”

“I see that,” you laugh.

For you can see, with crystal clarity, the pink in Javi’s cheeks and the flecks of straw in his hair as he props himself up from Jack’s chest. “Hey, baby,” he says, low and almost shy. “I was waiting for you up here, but then Jack came-” 

“Now just a second there, Jav,” Jack interrupts. “You came first, if I recall.” His drawl trembles with laughter.

Javi scowls, turning a glare on his masculine partner. His other partner is giggling, kneeling down to join them, radiating adoration like the sun’s warmth. 

“Now, now, boys. The real question is-” you stop suddenly, your attention snagged by something else. 

“-Is that my blanket?”

---

Thanks for reading! ❤️🧡

[acaciusbride]

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

Part Two: The Hayloft

Summary: Jack makes good on his promise to show you the barn… and the hayloft.

Warnings: adult content / dirty talk / smut with plot / sloppy oral (m!receiving) / spanking / choking / restraints if you squint / hints of D&S dynamics / unsafe sex (reader has an implant but no condom is used) / implied age gap but it’s not explicitly defined / tooth rotting fluff / soft Jack / praise / light degradation

Masterlist || Index: 1

The sunlight streams in through the glazed windows, illuminating your face as you sleep. Jack brushes his messy curls out of his eyes as he enters his room, small tray balanced on one hand, laden with two mugs of coffee, a small jug of milk and a bowl of sugar cubes.

It’s not often he has someone stay overnight, and even less often that he’s polite enough to offer coffee. Usually his lovers are gone before he’s woken up, but he made sure he woke before you. He promised you coffee, after all.

The smile that creeps, unexpected, across his face as he watches you stir, roll over sleepily with your hand reaching out to his side of the bed, frightens him slightly, but he buries that fear deep down inside as he crosses the room just as you’re sitting up, the blanket tugged up around your chest as you blink sleep from your eyes.

“Hey there, darlin’. How’d you sleep?” He sets the tray down on the side table, impulsively presses a kiss to your forehead. It’s just a hookup. It’s not like he’ll see you again after today, unless he wants to, so it gives him a feeling of control over the situation. A feeling he desperately needs, when he feels so afraid of how easily he gives you affection.

“Hm, really really well,” you admit, wriggling your toes as you wake up.

“I’m glad. How do you like your coffee? Milk and sugar?”

You nod, smiling softly as you watch him fix you a cup, pass it over to you. You take it with a quiet thanks, hold it in both hands and blow gently on it, inhaling the hot coffee scent.

“Smells good. Did you add something to it?” You swear you can smell spices in the coffee, but nothing overpowering. You take a little sip and make a pleased sound of approval. He grins.

“Allspice. Cinnamon, nutmeg, that’s all.” He shrugs one shoulder as he dumps three sugar cubes into his own cup, stirs it, takes a sip. “Were you still interested in seeing the barn?”

You nod eagerly.

“Can I?”

“Of course, darlin’, wouldn’t have brought it up if it wasn’t okay. We should take a shower first, though.”

You drink your coffee in companionable silence, then you get out of bed, gather up your underwear, shorts and shirt, put them on the bed, then follow Jack into the bathroom where he gets a shower going.

Under the warm water, he rubs your aching shoulder muscles, pulls you against his chest and exhales softly as you wrap your arms around his waist.

When you look up at him, he leans down, presses a gentle kiss to your lips, then the corner of your mouth, humming to himself as he does so.

You’re not usually the kind of person who showers and cuddles with a hookup, but he’s different somehow. Draws a side of you out that’s been long neglected. And besides, it’s nice. Being held, the warm water, the easy smile he gives you when he grabs you a big soft towel out of the linen closet.

You’re towelling your hair dry and wandering back into the bedroom when he looks at the outfit you had been wearing the night before; shorts, boots, a shirt that had made your tits look amazing but is going to be too thin for day wear.

As you’re buttoning your shorts, Jack taps you on the shoulder and passes you a plaid shirt.

“Here. You’re gonna get cold otherwise.” He’s dressed similar to the night before; jeans, cowboy boots, a t shirt that clings to his biceps, dark blue this time, and a leather jacket thrown haphazardly on over it.

You take the shirt, give him a little kiss on the cheek as you pull it on. The shirt smells like him, like the soap he uses and a cologne that has an almost spiced scent to it. It reminds you of the liquor you tasted on his tongue last night, of the spices he’d put in the coffee.

Jack waits for you to finish dressing, empties the bowl of sugar into his pocket before he leads you out of the room.

“Thank you.” You beam at him and follow him out of the bedroom, down the stairs. The house is even more beautiful in the daytime, well lit and with a lived in, country aesthetic. Any hint of wealth is subtle; there’s nothing about the place that screams money, though you’re aware he must have it.

“Hm, keep it. The color suits you.” He throws you an easy smile over his shoulder as he snags his hat off the hook by the door, leads you out onto the porch, across the driveway and into the paddock that separates the house and driveway from the barn.

Most of the cattle are out already and grazing; the younger horses splashing in the man made pond - it’s too small to be a lake - enjoying the mild weather. You watch them for a moment as you draw closer to the barn.

“C’mon in.” He opens the side door and leads you inside. It’s exactly like you pictured, old school, a few stalls open which you assume usually house the animals that are currently enjoying the sunshine.

“Someone you should meet, I think.” Jack leads you to the stall under the stairs to the hayloft, where an enormous dapple grey draft horse is nosing eagerly into her feed bag. Beneath it, a brass nameplate reads “Mayday” with a ribbon pinned beside it.

“Oh, Jack, she’s beautiful!” You vaguely recall seeing mustangs in the paddock, beautiful creatures you’re certain would win prizes at the rodeo, but it’s this giant of a creature that’s captured your attention.

He grins at your reaction.

“Yeah? You want to pet her?” He pulls a couple of sugar cubes from his pocket, then laughs when you give him a ‘what-do-you-think-dude?’ look, tossing you a couple of sugar cubes.

“Give her those and she’ll love you forever.” Jack leans towards overly masculine, to the point of toxic at times, but animals are his soft spot; sure, he has his mustangs, fiery energetic colts who win him prizes - and the attention of plenty of people- but Mayday was a rescue, an already middle aged former work horse who he’s rehabbed and settled into his barn as her retirement home.

You’re careful in how you approach her, palm open and out, so she can smell you first. Clearly she likes what she sees, or at the very least decides you aren’t worth biting, and accepts the lumps of sugar while you cautiously run your fingers through her neatly brushed mane.

“I get the stable hands to help with the mustangs, wild bastards that they are, but I do all of Mayday’s care myself. Course, they do the feeds too, so she’s not lonely.” Jack isn’t sure why he’s telling you this, worried it comes out too much like a brag, either about his money or that he does bare minimum, but you don’t take it that way at all.

“Aw, she’s lucky then, she gets all your attention.” You glance over to him, where he’s leaning against the stall door frame, watching you, before you look back to Mayday, who looks at you with big brown eyes, as though appraising you.

“Don’t worry,” you tell her softly, “I’d want to be his favourite, too.”

The smirk on his face is positively smug as he pretends not to have heard you, but you both know better.

“Hey, sugar, you reckon you want to see that hayloft now?” He doesn’t bother trying to hide his intentions behind anything; very aware of what he’d promised to do to you last night. Still, he’s giving you the option to say no, not wanting to assume.

You pretend to consider for a moment, just because you’re afraid of seeming desperate.

“Sure, I reckon I do.”

He gives you another lopsided smirk as he leads you back out towards the wooden stairs that go up, pausing only to grab a thick blanket from a storage chest. As you follow him up the stairs, your mind wanders back to last night, to how damn good he had felt, buried snug to the hilt inside you. The low groans that had torn out of him as he had watched you fall apart on top of him. The way he had let you think you had any sort of control, before he had slid his fingers into your ass and made you squirt all over that ridiculously delicious cock of his.

You’re absolutely dripping by the time you get to the top of the stairs, finding yourself in a standard hayloft, a few bales built up in walls and piles, strewn in an almost carpet across the floor. Jack wastes absolutely zero time in spreading the blanket out into the waist-high hay pile, making it into a sort of makeshift bed before he pulls you flush against his chest and devours your mouth in a greedy kiss.

You run your hands up his chest, loop your arms around his shoulders to pull yourself closer. Without breaking the kiss, he tosses his hat onto the hay pile, freeing up his hair for you to run your fingers through, using it to pull him right in.

“Darlin’, you gonna get any more eager for me? Bet if I slide my hand into these sinful shorts of yours I’ll find you absolutely drenched~” his hand slides down to cup your ass for a moment before it dances across to pop the button of your shorts.

You don’t stop him, don’t make any attempt to argue with him, give him a little smirk when he slips his hand into your panties, finds you just as soaked as he had hoped. Instead of an answer, you wriggle so you can step out of the shorts and panties as he yanks them down, kick off your boots and eagerly run your hand across the hard length of him in his too-tight jeans.

Jack growls into your mouth, pulls your newly acquired plaid shirt off and tosses it to the ground with the rest of your clothes; your thin undershirt from the night before and your bra soon join it.

He takes a moment to run his hands all over you, before he steps back and nods towards the makeshift bed in the hay.

“Make yourself comfy, sugar.”

You do as you’re told, boost yourself up into the pile of hay, stretching out lazily on the blanket, gaze heavy with desire as you watch him slowly shrug out of his leather jacket, strip off that too tight shirt.

“You see something you like, huh?” He grins at you, watches as you chew your bottom lip as you stare without shame.

“Maybe.” You grin right back, look him up and down, spreading your thighs a little to give him an excellent look at your dripping core.

He inhales sharply, watches you with his hands halfway through undoing his belt, gaze darkening with desire.

“Get on your hands and knees for me.” It’s a low, gravelly demand, but you respond to it almost immediately. “Good. Fuck, darlin’, look at you. Now come here.” He beckons you with one finger and you move, crawling on your hands and knees like he demands, until you’re sitting before him.

Jack looks down at you, on your knees for him, and tugs the zip of his jeans down, roughly palming at his aching cock before he draws the length of it out, a slight smugness to his expression when he sees your eyes go hazy with lust.

“You remember how nice this cock treated your tight little pussy? Fuck, she was so drenched for me, can’t wait to feel her again.” He drawls as one hand reaches out to knit into your hair, guiding you closer.

Your lips part automatically for him, let him feed the soft head of his cock into your mouth; taking him inch by inch until your nose is pressed into the soft curls at the base of him.

He groans, long and loud, rocks his hips slightly. If he’s honest, he half expects you to gag on him, but you’re stubborn, force yourself to take him, relaxing your throat.

“Fuck, hon, look at you. Such a pretty sight.” Jack looks down at you, on your knees for him, taking his cock into your throat and letting him take charge. He rolls his hips again, watches tears spring into your eyes as you suck him. His thumb moves to catch a stray one and you moan around him, working your tongue around the thick length of him.

Eventually, he draws back, pulls out of your mouth with a contented little groan, watching you settle back on your knees for a moment.

“Lay back for me, darlin’, get comfy.”

You do as you’re told as he crawls on top of you, pulling those too tight jeans down on his way, until he’s caging you in beneath him with his solid arms, leaning down to devour your parted lips. You’re eager in the way you kiss him, mess up his hair, moaning into his mouth when he presses his knee between your thighs, teasing your soaked core.

You can’t help it - you start to grind against his thigh, working yourself up.

“Ain’t even gonna have to do anything to get you ready at this point,” Jack huffs with a grin between kisses that are all tongue and desire. You shake your head, completely in agreement, and he laughs before he moves to settle himself between your legs properly, leaning in to notch the thick head of his cock at your soaked entrance.

Then… he stops. Right there, with just the tip of his cock inside you, taunting you. You make a desperate little sound, staring up at him.

“Beg.” He looks down at you with darkened eyes, pupils blown wide with lust. When you don’t answer right away, his gaze just gets darker.

“Beg me for it, darlin’, or we’ll stay here like this all fuckin’ day, you don’t wanna test my self control, I guarantee I’ll win.” He rocks into you ever so slightly, pressing maybe half an inch further inside, before you find your words.

“Please? Need it, need you~” you can feel yourself getting wetter around him, tightening around barely anything, desperate to be filled up by him once more.

“C’mon, sugar, you can do better than that. Use that pretty mouth.” Still, he rewards you, feeds another inch of his cock into your heat, making you whimper, drag your nails up his arms and settle on his back.

“Jack~” it comes out as a drawn out whine, and he smirks, a fiendish, lopsided smirk as he looks down at you wriggling beneath him, trying to get him deeper inside.

“All you gotta do is ask.”

“I am asking!” You huff, frustrated, “what, you want me to lay here and beg you to fuck me into this hay pile?”

He lays a sharp swat to your ass with his bare palm. You hiss out a moan, uncertain whether you like it or not.

“That would be a good start. And don’t be a fucking brat.”

You dig your nails into his shoulder blades and look up at him again with a somewhat needy expression; he’s right, his self control is far better than yours, and that spank has done something to you.

“Please, Jack, want your cock, want you to fuck me, feels so good, you feel so good.” You beg him. You’re just about to wonder whether that was enough, whether you went too far, when he seizes your wrists and pins your hands above your head with one hand, the other bracing himself as he moves, plunging to the hilt into you in a single movement.

You scream for him, arch your back up as he lays an open mouthed kiss to your throat, nipping at the sensitive skin there before he pauses, gives you a moment to adjust to his size.

“There you go, sugar, wasn’t so difficult, was it?” He rolls his hips almost lazily, keeping your wrists pinned in place. You wriggle experimentally, but find you can’t move at all. “Now, hon, you got a safe word?” Jack looks down at you, still full of lust and dark desire, but entirely serious now.

“Finite.” You say automatically, but you hope you won’t ever have to repeat the word.

“Good girl. Now you just remember that, ‘cause I’ve got some plans for you.” He starts to rock his hips again, slow at first, drawing himself almost entirely out of you before he plunges back in again, harder and faster each time until he’s pounding into you, the hand that isn’t pinning your wrists in place gripping tight to your hip to keep you in place.

“Ohhh, fuck, right there~” you moan it as he hits your sweet spot, over and over again, before he pulls out of you, releases your wrists.

“Turn over.”

You scrabble to obey him, wriggling your wrists to get some circulation back before you flip over onto your front, using your arms to brace yourself as he nudges your legs apart, lays a bruising spank to each ass cheek before he’s gripping your hips and dragging you back onto his cock.

You arch downwards, the new position even better than the last; it allows him to hit your sweet spot without barely trying, the sharp slap of his hips hitting your ass filling the hayloft as he drills into you.

One hand releases your hip, slides up your body, pausing only to tease at your clit for a moment, squeeze the curve of your tits, before his hand lightly circles your throat and presses.

“Fuck~ oh my god~” you moan, tightening around him at the slight pressure to your throat, drawing a dark little chuckle from his lips.

“Oh, you like that, do you?” He squeezes your throat again, still gentle, but enough for you to feel as he pounds into you from behind, pulling you up so your back is against his chest, allowing him to get deeper. You moan in answer, loud and drawn out, cunt tightening around him again but still not giving you the release you’re so desperate for.

You aren’t sure which you loved more; riding him with his fingers buried knuckle deep in your ass, keeping you so, so full of him, or this, being fucked into the closest soft surface, his grip on you hard enough to bruise.

He bites down on your shoulder, sucks the sensitive skin, hard enough to leave teeth marks and a deep purple bruise, still rutting up into you like a man possessed.

“C’mon now, babygirl, lemme hear those sweet sounds,” he growls it into your ear, and you oblige him, gasping and moaning for him as his hand tightens around your throat, cutting off your air supply for a few moments before he releases you, letting you breathe freely again.

“Such a good girl, bet you’d just take anything I gave you, huh? Shit…” he groans, pulls out of you again so he can put you on your back once more, hooking one leg up over his shoulder before he sinks back into you with a satisfied moan.

“You better cum for me, sugar, ain’t gonna last much longer, look at this pretty cunt, and fuck, darlin’, these tits~” he leans down to suck on your nipples, groaning in satisfaction as he does, at the way your hand immediately flies to his hair.

“Look at you. Perfect little slut for me, can feel how much this sweet little cunt wants to cum for me. Go on. Cum. For. Me.” The last three words are punctuated with hard, deep thrusts that make you scream for him once more, feeling yourself tighten around him before you entire body shakes beneath him with the force of your climax.

He fucks you through it, hard and fast, slowing slightly as you come down the other side, sweat damp curls falling into his eyes as he keeps a steady pace.

“There you go, sugar, look at that, such a good girl, that was perfect.” He groans again, leans down to press a sloppy, needy kiss to your lips before he seizes your wrists once more, pins them above your head. This time his grip is a lot more relaxed, but you make zero attempt at moving, enjoying being at his mercy as he fucks into you, clearly chasing his own release now.

“Fuck, Jack, wanna feel you…” you beg him, drawing a growl from his chest as he moves, harder and faster, grinding into you with each thrust, the soft curls at the base of his cock teasing your clit, drawing you close to a second release.

“Cum with me, darlin, let me feel you again,” he pants into the soft skin of your throat as he plunges deep, grinds, lifts your hips one handed to get you into a better position; that’s what does it, you scream his name as you fall over the edge once more, shaking beneath him as he slams into you half a dozen times before he groans loudly, grinding his hips against yours as he spills inside you, a seemingly endless stream of his spend filling your waiting, needy cunt.

“Fuck, fuck, there we go, look at you, takin’ me so well, such a good girl~” he leans down and kisses you, hard and fast, before he releases your wrists, keeping himself propped up on his elbows even though he’d love nothing more than to just collapse on top of you.

It takes him a moment to catch his breath, before he rolls to the side and pulls you into his arms. You can feel his cum and your own slick dripping out of you, down your thighs, but you don’t care in the slightest, distracted by the warmth of his arms.

“Been a while since anyone choked me,” you tell him finally, tracing little circles on his chest with your fingertips.

“Didn’t hurt, did it?” Jack asks, mildly concerned; he knows he can get intense, had been restraining himself as best he could.

You laugh, then give him a reassuring smirk. “It didn’t hurt. Wasn’t expecting it, but I liked it.”

He grins at you, stretches languidly before he sits up. “Good. Maybe you’ll let me do it again some time. And if not? Well, you can always come visit Mayday instead.”

You look him up and down, from the sweat damp curls sticking to the nape of his neck, to the soft hint of muscle in his arms, to his slowly softening but still impressively gorgeous cock, and smirk at him.

“I’d like that. All of it.” You reach for him, and he lets you, holding you close and laying back on the blanket, enjoying the morning sun as it streams through the wood of the barn and warms your skin.

“Yeah? I’d like that, too.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and relaxes; he’s got nowhere to be, and right now? There’s no other place he’d rather be than here.

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #6

xxx do or die

Eggsy isn’t sure where it all went wrong, exactly, whether it was a single bad decision or a million smaller ones that led him to walking directly into a trap. What he does know is that he’s monumentally fucked up, and now he’s going to pay for it. Probably with his life. He’s spent the last several weeks searching for the person or persons responsible for a string of disappearances within the SIS.

Well, he found the bastard. 

Or rather, the bastard found him.

Eggsy hadn’t even had the chance to fight back before he’d been injected with something and then he woke up here, handcuffed to a chair in nothing but his briefs. Even his earpiece is gone. His captor is standing in front of him, picking at his fingernails with a wicked-looking knife. 

He’s wearing Eggsy’s glasses. 

“These aren’t even prescription,” the man says, tapping at a lens with his knife. “And knowing you super-spy types, I’m guessing they aren’t just for the aesthetics. Is there someone watching you then?”

Eggsy doesn’t answer, just grits his teeth. It takes an enormous amount of effort to keep the snarky comments at bay. The man smirks

“There is, isn’t there. I’ve got an audience for this one. Now, that’s interesting. Changes my timeline a bit, perhaps, but I can work with this…” He tucks the knife into a sheath at his hip and then reaches into the pocket of his leather jacket, pulling out brass knuckles. He makes a show of putting them on his right hand, admiring them for a second before looking up at Eggsy, clearly gauging for a reaction. 

Eggsy doesn’t give him one. 

The man smiles again, then moves forward so suddenly that Eggsy doesn’t have time to brace himself before he’s smashed in the face, his head snapping to the side, a gash instantly opening across his (probably broken) cheekbone. He doesn’t move for a moment, just blinks a few times as he waits for his head to clear. And then he lifts his head and looks directly at the man, ignoring the sharp pain in his cheek and the accompanying ache hammering through his skull.

The man smiles. 

“You’re a tough one. Tougher than I’d’ve guessed from your fancy suit. I think I’m going to enjoy this.”

xxx 

It’s rare that Merlin feels completely helpless. But right now, that’s exactly what he is. Eggsy had been taken suddenly, without the chance to even activate his distress signal. It’s only because of the captor’s carelessness that Merlin even has eyes on the young agent--he’d tripped the glasses when he put them on, leaving Merlin with a front row seat to his violence. Eggsy is being held underground, so drones are useless, and Roxy is the only agent anywhere close to where Eggsy’s been taken. 

All Merlin can do is watch, and hope that Roxy gets there before Eggsy is killed. 

The kid is tough. Merlin knows that, had known it before they’d even started training. He had to be, otherwise Harry would’ve never brought him in in the first place. Even bloody and half-conscious, defiance is openly visible on Eggsy’s face. He obviously knows how to take a beating. Not that that makes this any easier.

The man’s been working on Eggsy’s ribs for the past few minutes. Merlin can hear the small gasps as the wind is knocked from Eggsy’s lungs. Every few blows, the man lets him catch his breath before starting in again. He hasn’t asked any questions. He isn’t looking for information. Merlin doesn’t need to see the man’s face to know that he’s doing this for no other reason than that he enjoys it, the sick fuck. 

It makes Merlin feel sick to his stomach. And it makes him angry, a simmering rage that he feels throughout his whole body. His hands are clenched into tight fists, knuckles white.

“Still not a peep?” the man says, his voice a mixture of surprise and amusement and annoyance and, beneath it all, the barest hint of admiration. He holds his bloodied hands up and turns them slowly, getting a good look at them. 

And then he brings the brass knuckles down and Eggsy’s knee, hard, and this time Eggsy screams.

“Bastard!” Merlin yells at the monitor, his heart hammering.

His fingernails dig into his palms.

He doesn’t notice.

Eggsy is panting now, his chest rising in small, sporadic bursts, and Merlin knows he’s struggling to catch his breath while also trying to keep from breathing so deeply that it hurts his fractured ribs. He looks up at the man, and while Merlin knows that Eggsy is looking at his captor's eyes, it feels like he’s staring directly at Merlin. Into him. 

“Lancelot, where the fuck are you?” Merlin doesn’t even try to keep the urgency (bordering on panic) from his voice as he looks over at the monitor that has Roxy’s feed.

“I’m still four minutes out from the coordinates you sent me, I’m moving as fast as I can,” Roxy responds, and it’s obvious that she’s as distressed as he is. “Have you found anything on the kidnapper?”

“Nothing,” Merlin says. “Haven’t had a good look at his face and there’s been no luck with voice recognition. Bring him in alive if you can. But you do whatever you have to do to get Galahad out of there, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir. Understood.”

Merlin turns his full attention back to the screen in front of him and his blood runs cold. The man has traded out the brass knuckles for a knife. 

“No,” Merlin says aloud. He doesn’t know who he’s speaking to, but he says it again, leaning forward in his chair. “No!”

The man steps toward Eggsy and places his left hand on Eggsy’s shoulder, bringing the knife up to Eggsy’s face. Eggsy flinches away from the blade and the man laughs, drawing it down his cheek. A thin line of blood wells up behind it. Eggsy’s gaze flicks up to meet the man’s, and once again Merlin finds himself staring into his agent’s eyes. 

There’s something different in his expression this time, and Merlin isn’t sure exactly what it is, at first. And then he realizes. Eggsy is looking at him. 

“‘s’okay, Merlin,” he says, voice low.

“Merlin?” the man laughs. And then he plunges the knife into Eggsy’s side.

“No!” Merlin screams it now, grabbing the edges of the computer monitor. “Shit! Lancelot, get in there now!”

He’s barely gotten the words out of his mouth when the man turns, and suddenly Merlin is looking into Roxy’s face. 

“Where the fuck did you come from?” the man says, and then the picture cuts off and the screen goes black. 

xxx 

Roxy fires two more tranquilizer rounds into the man’s back before she’s on her knees, patting down his unconscious form until she finds the key to the handcuffs. 

“Lancelot, update!”

“The suspect is down, but alive, I’m pretty sure,” Roxy says as she hurries to Eggsy’s side.

“And Eggsy?”

Eggsy is in a bad way. His face is a mess, with several open cuts leaking blood that runs down his neck and his bare chest. There are angry red bruises forming along both sides of his ribcage, and his left knee is dark and swollen. Worst, though, is the stab wound in his belly, which is leaking blood at an alarming pace, a small puddle already forming on the floor beneath him. At first glance, it doesn’t seem like he should be alive. But Roxy can see the shallow, rapid rise-and-fall of Eggsy’s chest, can hear the short, labored breaths.

“He’s alive,” she says as she hurriedly undoes the handcuffs, willing her hands to be steady because now, more than ever, she needs them to be. “We need medevac.”

“They’re on their way with backup, just a few minutes behind you.”

“Good,” Roxy says, shrugging off her jacket and balling it up as best she can before pressing it against the wound. Eggsy stirs, letting out a weak cry, and Roxy grimaces, looking up at him as his eyes flutter open. His mouth turns up in a weak smile that quickly vanishes into a wince. 

“‘ven smilin’ hurts,” he mutters, and his words are thick and clumsy around the blood in his mouth. “You…took your fuckin’ time. Wasn’ sure you’d get here.”

“Of course I got here,” Roxy says, heart plummeting as Eggsy’s eyes start to flutter. “Stay awake, Eggsy!”

“You’ve got to keep him awake!” Merlin says into her ear. 

“I know, I’m trying. Come on, Eggsy. Come on!” She pats his face and he stirs, looking up at her. She tries to smile. “The hard part is over, all you have to do now is keep your eyes open. You can do that, right?”

“Trying,” Eggsy gasps. “Ain’t ‘s easy as it looks…S-sorry.” His eyes roll and then his lids fall shut, his chin dipping down toward his chest. 

“Eggsy!” Roxy swallows the lump in her throat. “Hang on. You just hang on, Eggsy.”

xxx 

It takes two surgeries, a dozen units of blood, and a chest tube to stabilize Eggsy. Merlin watches over him through all of it. It isn’t until he’s settled into the recovery wing that Merlin dares leave his side.

“Would you like me to call you when he wakes up?” a doctor asks as Merlin steps into the hall. 

“Yes, please,” Merlin says. “How long?”

“A few hours, at least.”

Merlin nods thoughtfully. “A few hours will be plenty of time.”

And then he heads for the holding cells, letting the relief he’s feeling give way to a cold, hungry rage. His fingers twitch in anticipation.

There’s a conversation he’s very much looking forward to having.

xxx 

[scarlettacklen1986]

Dreams come true •Kingsman Merlin•

Word count: 400

Type: Fluff

Warning: Non

Paring: Merlin × Oc (description is kept limited name can easily be changed when reading)

Summary: Merlin goes to find Maya when she sneaks away from from a party to think to herself

"So I've lost Morgana," Eggsy announced as he walked up to Harry and Merlin at the Kingsman gala.

"She's probably hiding away," Merlin said handing his drink off to Harry leaving the large hall.

The corridors were quieter than the hall, Merlin checked where he usually found, Maya, Agent Morgana, when she decided to hide away and think, the gardens.

He went out to the garden found her sat on a low wall in the gardens, a beer bottle next to her, dressed in a bright red formal dress.

"You're a long way from the party, princess," he said.

Maya looked up from the ground smilling. "Yeah, lots people, lot of noise, you know what I'm like," she said.

"Understandable," he said "What were you thinking about?" He asked sitting next to her.

"Do you ever think that your dreams could come true?" She asked as she swung her legs.

"No," he replied quickly. "Why? Do you?"

Maya frowned slightly. "No. . .Just wondering" she said, Merlin nodded. "If you could have a dream come true? What would it be?" She asked.

"Honestly? This is my dream, I've never thought of anything else," he shrugged.

"Absolutely nothing? You've only ever wanted to be a quartermaster? You've got no dream?" She asked.

"Maybe a nice healthy marriage, a dog but yeah Kingsman is all I've ever known, next to the army and Kingsman has a much nicer uniform" he said.

"Do you have other dreams?" He asked her.

"Mhm, I guess, it's dumb." she shrugged.

"What is it?"

"I want to live out in the country, nice little house, a couple of dogs maybe, married to a nice guy, work in a little family bakery," she said.

"I guess a healthy relationship is a dream for every Kingsman," Merlin said taking her drink from the side stealing a sip.

"Expect Eggsy, he got it " Maya shrugged.

"So tell me, who is this perfect dream husband?" He asked.

Maya took her drink back from Merlin taking a long drink of it. "Well he's tall, he dresses well, a little older then me with glasses, bald and a rich thick Scottish accent," she said.

Merlin looked at her surprised. "Me?" He asked.

"Mhm, you occupy alot of my unconscious mind apparently," she said.

Merlin slid off the wall coming to stand infront of her, his hands rested on either side of her.

"What other dreams have I been involved in?" He asked lowly. "A lot of them," she mumbled "Maybe dreams do come true," he said tipping her chin to look up at him, kissing her gently.

[tegerton]

Dude, duuuuuuuuuuuuuuude! Does anyone even remember me? Sorry for the very long hiatus, but I’m dipping my toes back into fanfic writing. Hopefully I’m not too rusty. What better way to come back with trying out an original story, that’s right this bad boy is coming from my head.

You can all thank @justsomerandomfanfic for waking me up. Seriously, thank you so much for liking my writing. It means the world (I thought my writing was pretty bad not gonna lie haha) but I am so glad I can make someone’s day with it! Apologies in advance. Please let me know if I should add any specific warnings! Hearts, reblogs, and comments are lovely!

I am going to try and attempt a GN reader x Eggsy (please let me know if I need to fix anything)

Eggsy x GN Reader

Word Count: A little over 1k

Warnings: Implied fighting and not so great friends (it’s not too bad tho)

It was supposed to be just a chill night out with some friends at a rather less crowded bar. Yeah it was anything but that. Once the words “Manners, maketh, man.” were thrown into the mix and all bets were off the table. Various objects like tables, chairs, and umbrellas went flying as their eyes scanned to find various things.

1. Find a safe exit (The front doors had been barricaded shut, but there’s got to be an emergency exit somewhere in this dump).

2. Stick with the people you know.

3. Get out.

After a few close attempts the group decided to book it for an exit that was in the back of the little kitchen in the bar. The friends left in a hurry not giving their final remaining friend a clear plan.

“Thanks guys! Thanks for not TELLING ME THE PLAN!” The tone was in the midst of transitioning from rather annoyed to fearing for their life. But rather than hearing screams and carious grunts the room was eerily silent. It’s at this moment that they realized someone just saw their outburst. Turning to face the one man army they noticed the umbrella that had been previously used to take out at least half of the patrons in the bar who are currently laying on the ground. “Put the umbrella down.” The rather well dressed man slowly followed orders as he gently placed his Kingsman umbrella onto the floor. “Now, unlock the doors.” With some loud clicking the entrance was now unlocked. “Ok I’m going to leave.” It was an agonizingly slow exit as they never turned their back on the stranger.

“Sorry I ruined your night out.” Once his accent came out their heart dropped just the tiniest bit, it didn’t help that he sheepishly scratched the back of his neck exposing a rather good physique in the muscles of his arms.

“No, do not try to play the cute guy card with me.” Their hands pressed onto their hips as the shortness of breath from the entire situation finally caught up. A strained sigh came over as the lights reflecting off the rainy pavements were not helping.

“The cute card?” His hands fixed his suit as he finally exited the bar smoothly opening the umbrella right over both of their heads. “I’d rather say I’m just charming in general.” His wink was met with a side eye. “Alright I kind of get the sense that maybe I did something wrong.”

“Hmmmm I’m not sure let me go ask someone in the bar if they know,” It was the fake walk back to the bar that made him chuckle. “Oh yeah that’s right, they’re all passed out!”

“Would it make you feel better if I said I was Batman or something?”

“Batman doesn’t fight crime dressed like Bruce Wayne.”

“Batman isn’t Bruce Wayne.” The seriousness in his voice just made the joke even better. Their eyes rolled with a smile as a well deserved slug was met on his shoulder. “Let’s start over,” He offered his hand for a shake. “Eggsy.”

“Eggsy?” The bridge of their nose scrunched up in thought. “I haven’t been in the UK that long but I will admit that’s the most unique name I’ve come across so far.”

“Well my real name is Gary but I go by Eggsy!” His face was beaming as he explained the story of his nickname. On the other hand the poor bystander was just wanting to go home.

“Yeah that’s really cool and all but I kind of need to get home.” It was their polite yet desperate grimace and the shuffling of feet that made Eggsy connect the dots. Maybe don’t go straight for someone you’re interested in right after making them think they were your next victim. The string of muttered curses that left his lips made it hard to not fall deeper into the surprisingly chill and trendy guy. “Y/N, forgot to tell you. That’s my name.” Finally learning the mystery person’s name gave Eggsy a little faith that he wasn’t a complete failure with charming someone.

“That has to be the weirdest name I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh shut up!” In what would be the weirdest of situations the two found light at the end of the tunnel, a blossoming friendship that Eggsy only dreamed would turn into something else only with time. “No but seriously I have work at 7AM, I need sleep.”

“Do you need a ride?” A part of Eggsy was holding onto hope that the offer would be accepted but he knew the chances were slim.

“As much fun as that sounds, I drove here.” Y/N held up their keys as they pressed the lock button a couple of times causing the car to beep back. “Thanks for the offer.” The night was cold as they rubbed their hands together. “I hope to never see you pissed off at a bar ever again.” A cheesy smile was plastered on their face as Eggsy’s face flushed slightly but due to the cold weather he was able to hide it.

“Yeah hopefully next time we meet, it isn’t like this.” Y/N’s head turned towards him as they laughed a bit.

“What do you want my number or something?” The laugh died fairly quickly as they noticed the look on his face.

“I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed.” He gently kicked a nearby rock. After a quick number exchange the two finally went their separate ways. Y/N noticed the number scribbled on the back of some business card as they slipped it over for further inspection.

“Kingsman?” Some store they had never heard of as they just got in their car and headed back to their apartment. Opening the door their roommate came barreling through giving them a hug.

“Oh my gosh, I was so worried when we lost you at the bar!” Y/N’s shoulders slumped into the hug.

“Yeah you guys were real worried alright.” The tone and sentiment were definitely called for especially since nobody even reached out to help. Not wanting to give it the light of day Y/N just went to their own little room and locked the door. That whole friends thing was for another day, but not now.

The next morning was uneventful as their shift went by with nothing really special happening. Not a bad day, not a good day, just a day. But hey at least the customer’s weren’t the absolute worst today.

“Can I clock out?” The manager slightly jumped in her seat not noticing their hire, engrossed in their emails.

“Oh yeah, thanks for your help.” And with the okay to leave it was a race to find somewhere to get food. With food on the brain, they almost passed something until a shiny golden logo caught their eye. It was the Kingsman store, Y/N took a peek through the window to see what exactly was being sold there but was met with Eggsy who sat across from another man dressed up just like him.

“No way.”

[zebraljb]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Kingsman (Movies) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Merlin Characters: Harry Hart | Galahad, Merlin (Kingsman) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, meeting for the first time at a hotel, yearly hookup, Fluff, sex to love Series: Part 10 of 2019 Advent Ficlet Challenge Summary:

Harry and Merlin meet in a hotel bar for the first time on December 23, 1993...and continue to meet on December 23 every year for decades. They have just one night together every year, and it's only when Harry doesn't show that Merlin admits the feelings he's cultivated over time.

Loosely based on the concept of the movie/play "Same Time Next Year," although no one is cheating on anyone in this fic.

One of my fave things I've ever written.

[punkshort]

Thank you to everyone who participated in my writing challenge and reblogged/liked/commented on any of the works listed below!

➤ I will keep updating this list as more entries post

Joel Miller:

• Vacay Lover - Yacht Captain AU - @josephquinnswhore

• Come Fly with Me - Pilot AU - @punkshort

• Physical Therapy - Lifeguard AU - @eff4freddie

• Mr. Bakery Man - Baker AU - @honeyedmiller

Javier Peña:

• Orange Peel - Uber Driver AU - @captainredspade

Frankie Morales:

• Love in Hawaii - Tour Guide AU - @natasharomanoffsmotorcycle

• Water Cooler Courting - coworker AU - @crowandmousewritingco

• Hiding Place - best friend AU - @libraryofneith

• Neighborhood Watch - Neighbor AU - @joelalorian

• Poolside - Poolboy AU - @ghotifishreads

• Walking on Sunshine - Dog Walker AU - @sunshinehaze1

Dave York:

• The Prenup - Divorce Lawyer AU - @yxtkiwiyxt

• Lies, Excuses and Bullshit - Ex Boyfriend AU - @bitchesuntitled

• Doctor's Pet - Doctor AU - @evolnoomym

• Don't Move - Bodyguard AU - @almostfoxglove

• Every Breath You Take - Detective AU - @guiltyasdave

Dieter Bravo:

• Dieter's Sky High Brownie Delights - Chef AU - @pedges-world

• Bittersweet Love - Childhood Friend AU - @ozarkthedog

• Golden Girl - husband's best friend AU - @whocaresstillthelouvre

Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels:

• Sing for you Forever - Musician AU - @yopossum

• Forever - Groomsman AU - @morallyinept

• My Kink is Karma - Hitchhiker AU - @clawdeewritesfanfic

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[ladyaj-13]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Kingsman (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, MI6 Eggsy, Kingsman Harry, Developing Relationship, Spy Shenanigans, Undercover, Honeypots

Eggsy is MI6. Harry is Kingsman. They have each been tasked to seduce a suspected rival intelligence agent.

The intelligence part may be overselling it.

[derailedfiction]

Run boy, run | Merlin | Kingsman

Chapter 2: A dog's life

Pairings: Merlin x Cecilia (OFC) | Merlin & Roxy & Eggsy| Roxy & Gary “Eggsy” Unwin | Percival & Roxy | Percival & Gary “Eggsy” Unwin | tbs whatever you can think about probably will be there Word count: 5492 Warnings: violence, swearing

Summary:  It had been nearly a month since the Valentine’s Day and during it, he couldn’t recall any free moments. Because Arthur was dead, the issue of having a new leader was an especially urgent matter and until the new leader was found, he must have had everything under control, even the process of choosing a new Arthur. It could last for a few months just because other Kingsman’s cells had to have started their recruitment for fallen agents only then the final recruitment could be made.

A/N: I wrote it in 2015 pls have mercy on me. Also pls forgive me if there's somewhere Max instead of Hamish, I tried to change all of it.

He opened his eyes with hesitation. The few moments of precious sleep had just gone away and once more, he needed to face the reality, which was really gloomy. It had been nearly a month since the Valentine’s day and during it he couldn’t recall any free moments. Because Arthur was dead, the issue of having a new leader was an especially urgent matter and until the new leader was found, he must have had everything under control, even the process of choosing a new Arthur. It could last for few months just because other Kingsman’s cells had to have started their recruitment for fallen agents, only then the final recruitment could be made. All this time he hoped that the superior unit was most important and finding new leader for it should be top one priority, but unfortunately that dream was only realistic in Hamish’s dreams. He stretched his muscles cautiously so he wouldn’t wake up Cecilia, to whom he moved closer as soon as he finished stretching. With sleepy smile he thought about his luck, that he met the right woman at just right time and she had prevented ending one of his missions in rather tragic way. He could lay all day long looking at her and admiring her perfection but as he thought about all his responsibilities, he felt weary.

All this time Hamish remained silent to listen to her calm breath and peaceful dreams.

“You’re truly an adorable creature,” he whispered and kissed her arm.

“Mish, what’s the time?” she turned around to him and stroked his cheek. “Do you have much to do today?” As an answer, she received a tired sight and dismal moan. “It can’t be that bad, can it? Is it?” she asked as he rolled eyes.

Hamish left one more kiss on her collarbone and sat up.

“I’d let somebody cut me for one peaceful day…"he sighed as he took the glasses from bedside table.

Cecilia moved to him and hugged his waist. "Don’t be so drastic… That would be a shame if somebody cut you, Mish,” she murmured into his ear causing a pleasant shiver.

“Are you visiting your father today?”

“Yes. He’ll send car for me and Alex…” She said with very unhappy face.

She got up and stretched after her sleep. He was observing her over an arm. The view was quite absorbing as the t-shirt she was sleeping in was too short and when she rose her hands up it showed her haunches. Hamish smiled to himself until he realised that glasses were recording everything and he quickly moved head back. As soon as he got to the headquarters, he needed to delete this video before it was sent further.

“Prepare yourself to work, put on some nice suit and in the meantime I’ll make your favourite coffee. What do you say on that?” she asked while entering the wardrobe just to go out in blue dressing gown.

“You’re an angel, Cissy,” she gave him one of her brightest smiles. “How’s your arm?”

“Not that bad actually. After a month of rehabilitation, it’s quite good but sometimes it hurts like a hell. Good thing I got some free time from work.”

“Are you doing it on purpose?” Hamish asked with slight annoyance and jealousy. As an answer, she shrugged her arms with boorish smile.

“I don’t know my dearest. Am I?” She gave him a mischievous look as she left the bedroom.

Of course she did it on purpose. She always did and she loved teasing her husband. It was like a small hobby of hers if she got bored. However, Hamish wasn’t any better, and when it came to teasing between them quite often it was he who was winning. Fortunately for her, she had some other techniques to get him into the shape she liked.

Carefully she entered her son’s room to check if he was still asleep. As she heard his quiet and peaceful breathing, she left the room.

“Where are my shirts?”

“One should be in the wardrobe. If not check bathroom, I think I ironed one,” Cecilia answered Hamish’s whisper in a low voice to prevent waking up the boy. Her gaze rested on his well-shaped abs. “My God. One day you’ll give me a complex for being in such good shape, Hamish…” He laughed silently at that and disappeared in the bathroom.

Cecilia slowly went down the stairs watching out for her left foot so in the future she would be able to wear high-heels without more than usual pain. The best solution would be to lay down with her leg up but having Hmish and Alex to care after she had no free time to do so.

The kitchen looked like a battlefield as she was quite a messy chef, and Hamish would only sometimes be willing to clean after her. With a sigh on her mouth, Cecilia put the plates after yesterday’s supper into the dishwasher and started preparing coffee in tact with energetic music from radio. First, she turned on the express and then she grinded the coffee beans, and in the effect kitchen was full of characteristic and intense smell.

“Uh… How can he drink such horrible thing?” she wondered out loud checking if Hamish wasn’t standing right behind her. If so he’d look at her judgmentally with a look annoyance put on his face.

The blonde-haired woman sniffed at the grinded coffee and with highest level of disapproval she filled the express with it and put a cup under it. Even though she wasn’t a lover of the drink she was very proud of herself for possessing the ability of making one of the best coffees ever. With pleasant whistling, she continued preparing some breakfast for her husband.

“I heard you were talking shit about coffee,” his voice made her jump as she didn’t expected it at all.

“MISH! How many times do I have to repeat myself about that?!” she reprimanded the grown-man-adult. “My God like a child. What are you laughing at?”

“Anger marrs beauty, Cissy. Don’t make such a fuss about it,” she snorted angrily.

“Perfect timing for coffee,“ she handed a cup of aromatic coffee to him. "An espresso so you can be awake all day long,” after that she gave him a plate with eggs, toast and bacon. “And breakfast, so you have enough power to deal with today’s oncoming shit.”

She turned around to brew tea, whistling quietly at the same time. She would start dancing a little bit if it hadn’t been for her husband’s remarks about it.

“Well, well, at least someone is in a good mood,” he commented her actions and drank all of his coffee with one sip.

She shrugged, licking the teaspoon from the honey in a very suggestive way.

“Cecilia, calm down please,” he tried so hard not to look at her.

“No, no, no… You don’t talk like that to me, Hamish or you’ll be late for work,” he raised a brow as he heard her answer with the fake Scottish accent.

“Are you mocking me?”

“Never!” Cecilia looked at him in disbelief trying to retain her poker face, but just a second after she burst into laughter.

“Sometimes I wonder why I married you,” he shook his head, trying to finish his meal without any disturbance from Cecilia.

“Because I’m making the best coffee you have ever drunk,” she said confidently.

“True,” he agreed finishing his breakfast and standing up.” I need to go. I’ll be late so don’t wait for me with dinner and be nice to your dad,” he kissed her forehead between the sentences. “Send him my regards.”

“Of course. I’m sure he’ll be happy as usual.”

Her smile brightened his morning, and was the only good thing in it as he thought about it. Cecilia looked through the window when Hamish got into black car and drove away. With a slight sigh she braided her longish hair in a loose braid and approached the stairs.

“Alex! Get up, little one! You need to prepare yourself to visit grandpa!” the woman shouted and waited close to the stairs until she heard some kind of movement and sound of bare feet on the floor. Only then did she return to the kitchen to prepare food for herself and her son.

***

“Lancelot, I hope you have good news from the United States and their presidential crisis?” Merlin started as he sat down in the armchair in the main seat at the table. Even though he was sitting there for over a month, still the feeling remained unusual and it was hard for him to get used to it.

“Yes, I do believe so, Sir,” she started looking through her notes, which she had made last night. “As the great part of the previous government were killed on Valentine’s day, they had to choose some unconventional practices and within a week there are going to be held elections. The candidates are nothing special, which makes me think that they’re just figures and someone else will guide them from behind the scenes. But for now it’s not our problem, so I think that America’s issue is closed for some time.”

She finished just in moment when Galahad with his smug smile entered the meeting room.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said as he seated himself at Galahad’s seat.

“Eggsy as you took Harry’s place, it would be more suitable for you if choose to wear more formal clothing, especially for the meetings,” Merlin pointed out wearily, looking on the boy’s outfit with doubt.

“I know, I know. I was late anyway and if I had to put the whole suit on too I’d have been even later. Sorry for that. Won’t happen again,” he ensured, with nod to Lancelot as a form of greeting.

“Well then, getting back to the other crises; The European countries did exceptionally good work with overcoming ruling problem. The United Kingdom after losing its Queen, which is irreparable loss, won’t be the same again but the royal family is quite big so we can be queer for new King William. Unfortunately, I cannot be so optimistic when it comes to Kingsman. Glasses, please.”

He waited until they put on glasses and then he showed diagrams and names of fallen agents in the incident.

“As you can see all over the world, each cell of Kingsman has lost an agent or two. Which is not a good thing for overlay. If we stay weakened for too long it would make for a great opportunity to attack our organisation," while talking he changed the page and pointed out average number of deaths in European countries in comparison with other world’s countries. “Yes, Galahad?”

“What about new Arthur? As you don’t want to stay at his position – “ he started but was interrupted by Lancelot.

“Is there another recruitment oncoming?” she asked with her eyes on Merlin.

“Yes, there will be another recruitment, but unfortunately I have to wait until the other cells will start their supplemental recruitments.”

“Merlin, what is the point of it? There will be no such good candidate as you to take over Arthur,” Eggsy insisted on getting a more specific answer.

“Well thank you, but I do not see myself as a leading figure of this agency and I do not feel competent to do so. Therefore I believe that my concerns are good enough to start procedure for casting a new Arthur,” Merlin’s voice was peremptory and the forceful gaze he put on Eggsy, made him quiet for a few precious moments.

“What will the procedure look like, Merlin?” Lancelot queried trying to put the tension down.

“Good question, Roxy, but I’ll get to it later, as I haven’t finished with the number of deaths. Now, other agencies; FBI, CIA, MI5 and other intelligence organisations registered high numbers of fallen agents and unfortunately some of them, such as directors and important agents, were found out to be enlisted by Valentine, which basically meant their heads blew up,” he showed the last diagram and paused.

“Why are we looking at these week after week,” Eggsy wondered aloud, not even trying to hide that he was a little bit bored.

“Because, Galahad, the numbers are still changing, and even after a month the number of people killed grew, just because of maybe a simple miscalculation, and we need to be updated about any changes,” Lancelot answered the question, forestalling Merlin.

“Now, we can get to the current order of business. On Friday evening, recruitment for Tristian’s place will begin. I’m giving you two days so you can find your candidates and bring them here at 9 P.M. This time Percival will take care of the process and our candidates,” Merlin said with a bitter voice.

If he had to be honest, he’d love to run the recruitment for fresh, untrained minds which he could evolve into something great. It was something that gave him, maybe not the meaning of the life, but hope that one day, when he would be much older, the future would be as bright as today’s or even brighter because of high-trained, Kingsman agents, who were prepared for everything. The sight of people getting better and better was giving him pleasant chills and he didn’t want to give it up.

For now, he had to be satisfied with the part that didn’t suit him at all. Taking care of almost everything was slowly driving him crazy and he was exhausted of it. He knew he could depend on Lancelot, Galahad and Percival for finding needed backup information but his old habits were pushing him to prepare weaponry by himself, making all charts and numbers to presentation. Merlin was overworked and pushing himself to his limits. He couldn’t stand that Kingsman was literally on the bottom of its previous glory. It seemed to him, that the organisation was falling down and he felt obliged, in memory of Harry, Lancelot, every single fallen Kingsman agent, to keep it safe and bring it back to its previous glory.

But if that was going to happen the new Arthur had to be chosen and that wouldn’t be an easy assignment to accomplish.

“Now, answering to your question Lancelot. The recruitment for Arthur’s replacement will look much different from what you have been through because there will be no freshmen. To replace the head of our organization, each cell must provide one candidate. It must be one agent, the best agent on Kingsman’s behalf,” Merlin said after a little break. He still wasn’t sure who was going to be the representative of headquarters, and he was silently counting that Percival would agree.

“Will you be our candidate, Merlin?” Merlin looked at Eggsy with sight.

Huh, you’re not the only one who is wondering about that boy, he thought.

“I’m not sure, Eggsy. There are other agents who can be suitable candidates to represent us. And I’m sorry to inform you, that you won’t be taken under consideration even though I know you are valuable agents,” he pushed up glasses as he continued, “The other rule is that the candidate must have served the agency for no shorter than five years and must be older than thirty-five years old. So no offence but you’re both too young and too inexperienced.”

Merlin was about to add something else but was interrupted by Percival’s entrance. He was holding a couple of letters, which he handed Merlin.

“Thank you, Percival. Have you got what I asked you for?” he asked with light smile as he checked the addresses on envelopes. “I was just introducing Eggsy and Roxy to the rules of choosing new head of Kingsman.”

“That’s good. It’ll be useful in short future as we have to vote for our candidate. Also I’ve got what you wanted, and even something more,” Percival couldn’t help himself, and a self-satisfactory smirk appeared on his lips, “As you asked, I’ve contacted the heads of other Kingsman’s cells to start thinking about their probable candidates. At the moment three of them sent me back information about their candidates. Also two of them, the Australian and Middle-Eastern cells have already started supplemental recruitment.”

“That’s great news. Now Percival, I want you to contact some independent agents from our safe-zone and find one who would be willing to run the show. You know the rules,” Merlin noted something in his electric notebook. “From now, Galahad it’s your responsibility to check on, and receive information about the statuses from other Kingsman’s cells on their recruitment. As for you, Lancelot, you’ll be completing a list of candidates for Arthur’s place,” he paused as he looked at each of them. “All right, I believe that’s everything for now. You’re dismissed.”

Eggsy was the first to get up and leave, but just next to the door, he waited for Roxy.

“So have you thought about your candidate?” he asked with a grin.

“Not really, no. But in two days I think, I’ll figure somebody out. And you?” she looked at him as they went on to ground floor.

Their dogs were waiting patiently for them and as J.B. saw his master his tail started moving faster and not long after he was jumping around Eggsy’s legs, while Roxy’s poodle remain still.

“Good job, come here girl,” she called the dog and petted her lovingly. “So? What about your candidate? Do you have one?” Roxy put her eyes on him.

“Yes,” Eggsy answered with wide grin.

“And what? You’re not telling me anything about him or her?” she queried with narrowed eyes.

“All I can tell you is that if my candidate wins, you won’t be the only girl here, Roxy,” Eggsy shrugged.

She looked at him with a gentle smile. That would be a quite surprise if he brought a girl but frankly speaking, like a Galahad Senior, like a Galahad Junior, Eggsy was full of surprises and even though he was following the rules, he was doing it quite differently than the other Kingsman agents.

“What you’re lookin’ at?” Then she realized she was staring at him.

“Nothing Eggsy. I was thinking, maybe we could go and do some shooting training?”

Roxy changed topic with a little blush on her cheeks. She knew he would see it, but was thankful he didn’t make any remarks about that.

“Good idea but if you lose, you’re gonna be my slave for one day!”

She laughed loudly.

“You? Win? Over me? You sure you’re all right? I have better scores at shooting than you, Eggsy. That is no mystery,” Roxy said and let her poodle go onto the grass outside the building, “And I’m terribly sorry to say that but you’re going to be my slave, Eggsy.”

“We’ll see about that…”

He said it with so much confidence that she smiled again. He was a helpless patient with his cheeky temperament.

“C’mon girl, we don’t have all day!” Eggsy shouted as he was running outside to the rifle range. She shook her head and followed him.

***

“Merlin, could you tell me why you are changing the rules?” Percival asked as he was looking through the window.

“Why do you think? I’m just making them more useful,” he shrugged, while reading the letters, “Yes, I perfectly know that I should choose one of the main agents, but Percy that would take just too much time. Anyway three of our agents are heads of cells so I know them,” Merlin continued as he felt the sceptical look he received from Percival.

“That is exceptionally good, Merlin but they’re three out of eleven, except the candidate from headquarters which –“

“Won’t be me, Percival. And you know perfectly well why,” Merlin interrupted his friend looking up from the letters.

Percival stood shocked. He said nothing, as he knew Merlin was stubborn as a hell if he didn’t want to do something. He slighted wearily, checking through the window if Roxy or Eggsy weren’t about to blow up the rifle range, then he moved away.

“Sometimes you’re worse than Cecilia with your stubbornness,” Percival started, carefully choosing his words. ”But the fact is you need to know all the candidates and their abilities so you can make the right decision.” He finished as he took his seat right next to the Merlin, waiting patiently for his response.

“Percy, that’s why cells must send me all documents of the candidate, mission statuses and results of previous missions. Their tests, all of them. I will know everything about them before beginning of the recruitment. There is no need to worry.”

Merlin’s voice was confident and strong but Percival knew he had some doubts. Even though, he hadn’t shown many emotions, Percival knew that Merlin was the one who hadn’t gotten through Harry’s death and Chester’s betrayal. Of course, it was hard for all the agents but Merlin had practically been brought up in this place and Chester had somehow been like a father to him.

“All right, if you say so, but you must remember that on Friday we’ll be voting for the candidate and I’m pretty sure you’re a very serious candidate, Merlin. There’s no doubt about that,” Percival continued his little tirade hoping that he could make Merlin change his mind.

Merlin only cleared his throat in annoyance, because Percival wouldn’t do anything else but literally harass him by talking about it over and over through last month. Merlin swore to himself that if Percival would talk about it one more time, the man would end up on the Moon.

„Good Lord Percy, you’re a pain in the ass…”

“Because I know, you would be a great leader. You’re just a little bit too lazy, my friend,” he quickly moved aside to avoid a pen thrown by Merlin.

“Percy… Get out or I’ll go for more advanced weaponry, and we’ll see who is a little bit too lazy. Because one of the fires is going to burn your ass off, my dear friend.”

Percival chuckled and rose his hands up in surrender. He was aware, Merlin had all the needed abilities to be a leader, to be a damn good leader too, but he needed to stop being so childish when it came to the bloody recruitment. He didn’t tell Merlin, but since the incident he had been talking to other agents and persuading them that Merlin was the best candidate for new Arthur.

***

Cecilia was enjoying a rather peaceful late evening as Alex was asleep and she could rest a little bit with a glass of a Moscato while reading. She stopped when she heard a squeak of the front door.

“Hamish, is that you?” she asked involuntarily when she couldn’t recognise the figure in the darkness and just a second after she realized how stupid that question had been.

Oh yes, because a murderer would come in through the front door, answer the question and even ask you for a cup of tea, you stupid goose, she thought sarcastically.

“Yes. Why are you still awake?” she could sense the exhaustion in his voice.

Cecilia closed the book, putting it aside. “I didn’t feel tired enough, but Alex fell asleep straight away when he got to his bed,” she got up and approached him, “Are you hungry? There’s dinner in oven if you want.”

“No, thank you. I need to rest for a moment and I’m going to sleep. I’ve been having a headache since midday –“ he looked at her for a brief moment, “And yes, I took some pills,” Hamish added after seeing a question in wife’s eyes.

He took off his jacket and hung it on a bannister while going into the living room. As his gaze fell on the Nordic mythology lying on the table, Hamish undid the cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. He was dead tired but he saw something unusual and new near the fireplace and his curiosity won over.

“What’s that?” he pointed a small, furry ball on a lair.

“A puppy… My father at his end decided to be a good grandfather and presented Alex with a corgi puppy,” Cecilia sighed wearily and sat on the sofa. She grabbed her glass and finished the wine.

“A puppy? Maybe he’ll learn a little bit about responsibility, but I can see that it’s not entirely about the dog,” he said as he seated himself next to his blonde beauty.

“Hamish, please. Alex is only five and I can already see how he’ll take care of that dog. For the first month maybe, yes, but who will take it to the vet? Walk it? Not to mention that we’re usually at work and Alex is at school so the puppy will be all alone at home,” she said bleakly looking at the puppy as it shuffled it’s paws in its sleep.

“So it’s good thing you’re staying at home as long as your arm gets better as well as the ankle. But is it really about the dog?” he embraced Cecilia and pull her closer until she could rest her head on his shoulder. “I can help Alex with the puppy’s training. It’s not that hard.”

She sighed loudly and closed eyes for a moment to gather her thoughts. Maybe the dog wasn’t a bad idea at all. However, her father’s initiative was making her a little bit annoyed. It wasn’t even that he hadn’t asked her or Hamish. She just didn’t want to have anything to do with him, more than usual.

“It’s about my father… I’m constantly surprised by his actions and I have this unpleasant feeling that he wants me to carry on the family business, instead of Matt. No one tells me shit about it and apparently that doesn’t bother my father at all,” she answered after a long pause.

“There can’t be anything wrong, can it?” Hamish felt she tightened her muscles, “Come on, Cissy, there’s nothing you should worry about. Maybe he’ll think about it and change his mind. He’s and old man, they do tend to change their minds quite often…”

“Oh no, that’s not in my father’s style. He’s as stubborn as a mule.”

“Now I can see where you got that from,” Hamish laughed silently when she punched his side.

“The kettle calling the pot black, my dear,” she mumbled, faking being offended. “I don’t want to owe him anything, not since I became independent. He scares me somehow and I can’t recognise the man as my father.”

“Cissy, you can’t speak like that. After all he is your father and he brought you up and took care of you and your brother until you became independent.”

She rolled her eyes with a bored face.

“Hamish, I’m begging you, do not start this tirade again. I should be grateful for my parents. I am grateful for them but since my father’s illness he has changed unbelievably and I can’t recognise him,” how could she possibly be grateful for the double-faced man who was her father?, she thought ”He scares me sometimes…” she added with hesitation.

“Please woman. You and your brother are the last living relatives, especially as long as your mother has been missing since the incident,” he said irritated by her complaining. He was tired after long day at Kingsman’s facilities dealing with its shit and he didn’t have the energy or will to hear her complaints, although, he knew he should show some support. “Anyway, you’re aware he won’t live for long with such high state of his heart illness…” Cecilia looked incensed at him, “Don’t do that. I said something obvious and have known for long time. Of course that incident just made his state even worse.”

“God, I hate when you’re so direct,” she said angrily as she decided not to give him the satisfaction of admitting that he was right. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Oh, thank God!” he accidentally blurted out.

“Sometimes you act worse than Alex… Do you still have a headache?”

Hamish nodded. Despite taking a quite impressive number of painkillers, his head was still killing him. She suddenly started to fidget to free herself from his arms. Only when was she successful at her doings she sat on his lap and took of his glasses.

“Cecilia what are you up to?” he looked at her with half-open eyes and he had to admit she looked very appealing in semidarkness.

“Old, granny way to get rid of headache. Relax and close your eyes.”

He did as she said without hesitation, waiting for her next move. Within moments he felt her thumbs gently massaging and squeezing his temples. He give out a sigh of relief when he felt pain subsided. Fingers moved on to his forehead, massaging it with circular moves.

“Is it any better?” Cecilia asked tenderly.

“Absolutely, you’ve some magical skills,” he murmured with closed eyes.

“But you know if it’s still killing you there’s another way to deal with it,” Hamish raised eyebrow on that words.

“Don’t you say…” he smiled and opened one eye, as he got suspicious about her intentions.

She leaned closer to her husband with roguish smirk.”Mmhmm… It’s very effective when it comes to ladies headaches and I think it can also be effective on men’s headaches, don’t you think?”

Before he noticed it, Cecilia was in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt with one hand while in the other she held his tie. She bit her lip lovingly when he slowly slid his hands along her thighs pulling her skirt up higher and higher.

“Come here.”

As she leaned her head over his, Hamish kissed her, as if he couldn’t breathe without her lips. He could swore that her bright blue eyes became dark of lust and he couldn’t blame her. His hands wandering on her body and slowly exploring it all over again. He never had enough of it. Every single moan of pleasure he caused, he enjoyed twice as much as her fingers gently stroking his neck giving him the shivers.

„Mish, come here with your hands,” she traced them onto her hip and waist and eventually onto her breast.

“With pleasure”

Hamish whispered with husky voice while unbuttoning her shirt, under which he found a nice piece of lacy lingerie. With tender kisses Hamish traced path from her lips to soft skin between her breasts. He could feel like her body was melting under his touch and hear how much she enjoyed it.

“Perfect timing, Merlin…” he paused terrified.

“What?” Max looked at Cecilia, both surprised and petrified with wild thoughts crossing his mind that she somehow had found out about the truth.

“The dog, puppy is awake,” she said miserably.

“Could you please repeat the dog’s name?” he just noticed the little furry ball, which was trying to get on the sofa.

“Merlin. Alex named it like that. He has been quite obsessed with Arthurian legends since I started reading them to him. Everything is all right?”

Eggsy must know nothing. Under no circumstances , he thought as he nodded to Cecilia’s question. In that right moment he was close to the heart attack caused by his own son but realized it wouldn’t be that bad with such beautiful sight. Hamish looked at the unfortunate dog and he knew that it needed to go out to its business immediately otherwise there would be a catastrophe on the floor. He moved again, looked at his wife and with much regard he kissed the spot between her breasts, buttoned her shirt up and sighed. That stupid dog interrupted such a beautiful moment and that nearly made him cry.

“I’ll go out with him. I’ll be back just in a minute, my beauty,” he kissed her passionately.

“I’ll be waiting in the bedroom,” she said between kisses.

He watched her getting up with that specific smile, with messy hair and not properly buttoned shirt. Hamish followed his wife with his eyes until she got to the stairs.

“And what should I do about you? This house is not big enough to have two Merlin’s in it,” he said to the puppy, which was quite lively running around excited by its surroundings. “Come on, boy.”

He led the animal to the door and let it go into the garden. For a moment, Hamish observed how excited the dog was. It barked at a bird flying by, sniffed some bushes and eventually came back to him, putting its paws on his leg.

“What should I do about you, little one? I can’t call you Merlin, that would be strange…” he stood in silence thinking intensively what to call this little creature. A small smirk appeared on his lips when he came to the solution.

“The lady of my heart isn’t particularly patient. We need to go… Junior…”

[hoeplessl0nging]

chapter 17 of genesis is up!!

[something-tofightfor]

it's been a little while BUT I have been struggling to figure out how to verbalize the appreciation I have for this piece - and for YOU, simply for writing it.

First of all, thank you. Jack Daniels in an airport is the best possible gift anyone could ever get me.

Second of all HOW DARE YOU HIM IN THE STETSON AND THE GLASSES??!?!?

I think one of the things I love most about Jack is that even when he's focused on the job, he's always got his head on a swivel ... and in this case, that head is swiveling and looking for a pretty girl in an airport terminal.

And I'll be honest, when I first read this, I thought that maybe I was the person he was looking for. I thought maybe *I* was going to be the assosciate that he was seeking out, but I'm very glad to have been wrong.

(Also very cool tie in with the GGB and the villain's codename. I loved that.) I also really enjoyed the way you bragged a little bit about Jack's skill and his level of expertise within the organization; he was the right man for this job, and everyone knows it.

It's interesting to me that his only focus after finding this man is figuring out a way to encounter the Random Airport Woman ... and I love that for him. (Also for myself.) And I also really like how you wove in the Statesman tech into this; it's clever that they can communicate with eye movements and blinking - and that the messages pop up in the lenses. I need a pair of those. Would be super convenient for my day to day life. AND HE GETS TO TAKE A VACATION. Even better - I really think that all Jack needs is some time to unwind and he'll be better for it, so pick somewhere fun, Cowboy. (Not wanting to be tracked back to HQ is a good excuse, too. Smart, Ginger.) So now the mission has changed, and Jack has nowhere to be so let's get this show on the road.

Smooth. The button is SMOOTH. Of course that's tech they'd possess and use, and it make the "countertracking" even more understandable.

I love that Jack's use of it - and the way he transfers it into the other guy's glass - is so seamless; it makes sense. We've all seen the tipsy dude at the airport bar, and we've all been there when it comes to someone starting a conversation you don't want to have. But like ... it's Jack, so how can you not want to have that conversation?

Anyway. Good riddance. I hope they track him to exactly where they need to and Jack isn't necessary in apprehending him or ending the next part of the mission. Because he's gonna be busy.

Especially when she (I) sit down next to him.

OH HE IS A GENTLEMAN AND HE IS FLIRTING AND I LOVE HIM. Be quiet Ginger, give him a second you nosy bitch.

I've already told you this but the $48 flight with only the carryon at the weirdest possible time and absolutely no amenities aside from a seatbelt and POSSIBLY a working overhead fan is so me it hurts. I FELT this as I read it.

And while I've never been to the Louisville airport, I can only imagine how small it is and how little there would be to do there ...but that wouldn't matter the second I laid eyes on Jack.

One time, I had a layover in Phoenix coming from from LA, and it turned a 45 minute stop off into a FOUR HOUR LAYOVER because they had to GET A NEW ENGINE. Miserable. But at least it was at the end of the vacation and not the beginning, like this situation.

It always sucks to get those messages where the people you're meeting are already somewhere and having fun without you... especially if that place they're having fun is Vegas. Because missing hours in Vegas is terrible.

So yes. It's time for an insanely overpriced airport bar drink and why NOT sit down next to hunky cowboy man and get an up close view? What could it hurt?

listen. the thought of seeing him from the next seat over. the thought of him SMELLING LIKE THAT. the thought of those clothes on that man? AUGH. dreams. the stuff dreams are made of, that's what that is.

And he's switching to water ... HMM. I bet it's because he has to fly the plane and he wants to be as sober as possible, but it's also a good sign that this man didn't come to the terminal bar to get drunk so good for him and good for me.

Damn straight that bourbon is good. Why wouldn't it be?! they have an image to uphold, after all.

Yes. Yes without question. Yes, Jack, please take me to Las Vegas with you. I don't even care that you mention you're going there in the same breath as you tell me that you're a pilot and it's all VERY MUCH a coincidence... just get me to that plane.

I also LOVE the idea of Ginger listening to this conversation at her giant computer system and just GRINNING, because Jack is finally doing something fun and making a decision WITHOUT additional hardship or stress on her. I'm sure she appreciates that.

Also, this "me" in the story has already decided to blow off my friends in Vegas and spend as much time as possible with Jack. Sorry, friends. You'll understand when you see him. But hands off. He's mine.

Nat can buzz off. I know her intentions are good, but I assure you, if I go missing thanks to THIS pilot abducting me, it's what I wanted.

PLENTY OF TIME FOR ME TO TEACH YOU THINGS. SIR YOU NEED TO KEEP YOUR HANDS ON THE CONTROLS SO WE DO NOT CRASH. (but afterwards works. you can teach me whatever you want afterwards.)

Additionally: I am finding the first chapel on the Strip after we land and marrying him, so I hope he's ready. This was just a perfect little introduction, Alyssa. I love it and I love him and I love you. He's so much fun when he's not stressed all the time and I hope that this is the beginning of something good for him. An airport meet cute with the perfect amount of flirting and laughing is always a treat, and you did it perfectly here. You always make Jack feel so real and so FRIENDLY and I am thankful for it.

I don't know what I did to deserve such a great friend, but I'm so damn thankful. <3 you are the greatest.

Change of Plans

A/N: Although I am SEVERAL days late at this point, this is a gift for @something-tofightfor - HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RACHAEL! I hope your day was all that you wanted it to be, and that this year is the best fucking one yet. I so badly wanted this to be done in time, but you know me. Anywho, I love your guts and I hope you enjoy this chaotic little cake I whipped up with the help of one of your favorite cowboys.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: listen, don't do what Reader does here. Other than that... just some language. It's very tame. But don't do it.

Summary: Jack is there on business. You're there for pleasure.

He noticed you right away. 

Sitting in the waiting area near gate A-7, right leg crossed over your left and an open book in one hand, you caught his eye -

Well hello, gorgeous.

- and he had to repeatedly free his focus from your direction, reminding himself why he was at the airport in the first place. 

Damn it, Agent, you’ve got a job to do.

You turned the page of the book you were reading, letting out a sigh and stretching your neck, and Jack adjusted his position on the barstool he occupied so that he was forced to change his line of sight. He cleared his throat, lifting his glass to his lips and taking a sip. The bold, smoky flavor of the deep amber whiskey coated his tongue, and by the time he swallowed he was back on his task. 

He’d been sent to locate and detain a known associate of a crime boss that Statesman was attempting to bring down. Intel gathered from Agents assigned to the case suggested that the associate - a mid level player who occasionally dealt in black market weapons - would be traveling through Louisville on his way to meet with the mysterious and nefarious man they knew only as The Gatekeeper. The current theory was that The Gatekeeper was operating out of San Francisco - or more specifically, out of a secret underwater lair that was built into one of the foundational structures of the Golden Gate Bridge, hence his nickname. But Statesman had been unable to confirm that yet. Catching up with the Gatekeeper’s gun runner was their best bet when it came to pinning down his location for sure, and since he had the most experience with facial recognition and planting trackers, the assignment had gone to Agent Whiskey. 

So let’s find this shit kicker and get on with it so I can get on with… He resisted the urge to turn back in your direction. 

Setting his glass down on the cork coaster it was served to him on, he brought his newly emptied hand up to tap the arm of his gold wire glasses. At the touch of his fingertip, the stealth lens screens activated, and he used them to scan the faces of the people moving through the terminal. So far none had hit as a match for the Gatekeeper’s associate, but since the man was clever enough to book himself tickets on multiple flights that day to make it harder for anyone who might be looking to follow him, Jack had to keep checking until he either found his target or the last of those flights had taken off. 

I’ll find him. Soon as he shows up I’ll- 

But Jack didn’t even need to finish the thought, because his lenses detected the person he’d been waiting for before he could. Just as he was about to get up from his seat and position himself to intercept his target, though, he saw something else flash across his lenses. 

Mission directive has changed. Do not detain. Intel from Kingsman suggests associate may also be working with Golden Circle remnants in Canada. New directive is only to place the tracker and not to pursue until we know for sure who he is meeting. Agents in Vancouver and San Francisco have been put on alert and will be activated as needed. 

Jack blinked twice to acknowledge Ginger’s message, then used the movement of his eyes to send a question in response. 

Received. Return to HQ? 

He had his jet on standby there at the airport in the event that he needed to abscond with The Gatekeeper’s man, and he assumed that since that was no longer necessary, Champ and Ginger would want him to come back and await further information. Keeping one eye on his target, he used the other to read the new message that flashed across his lens, finding it to be a surprise. 

Negative. Don’t want to risk the chance of counter tracking. Take the Pony somewhere for a few days first. Vegas or Denver are preferable but Mexico City is also available. 

Well, shoot. Looks like I’m takin’ a vacation. My favorite kind of mission. 

Ginger had listed cities where Statesman owned properties that were reserved for off duty use - for when Agents had to lay low for a while, or for when they needed a safe place to recover from injuries sustained in the line of duty. There were several more located around the world, but judging by the selection that was presented to him, they wanted him to stay close enough to either have him back in Kentucky in a matter of hours, or send him to California or British Columbia in a pinch when the intel on who the associate was meeting with came back. 

Received. Target inbound. Contact when directive complete. 

With that, he lifted his finger up to tap the arm of his glasses once more, the screens deactivating so that he could remove them, folding them for safe storage in the inner pocket of his jacket. In a turn of luck, his mark headed straight for the bar he was seated at and sat down two stools over. He showed no signs of having made Jack for a secret operative, not even bothering to look in his direction as he ordered a drink from the bartender. 

Perfect. 

Jack’s grin was imperceptible as he used his thumb and pointer finger to pull one of the small “buttons” from the cuff of his jacket sleeve. Flattening it with a tight pinch, he dropped the bio-tracker into his own beverage and watched as it dissolved into the liquid. It finished just as the bartender placed a rocks glass of whiskey on a coaster in front of Jack’s target. He waited for the other man to take a sip, and then he closed the distance, scooting over one stool so that he was right next to him, and then he greeted the man with a jovial tone. 

“Did my ears deceive me just now, or did I hear you order the Statesman 12 year, my friend?” Jack pointed to the other man’s glass while holding his own. 

The other man turned to face Jack, a semi-scowl on his face, his annoyance over being addressed by a seemingly drunken stranger as a “friend” clearly written in gray-green eyes. “What?” He glanced down at Jack’s glass and then at his own. “Oh.” He grunted and gave Jack a nod before taking another sip of his drink. “Yeah. You drinking the same, I take it?” He arched one eyebrow and turned back to face the television screen behind the bar without waiting for the answer to the question he’d just asked. 

“Smoothest bourbon there is.” Jack held up his glass, inspecting the contents. To anyone else’s eye - even the man beside him - it would appear as though he were simply appreciating the way the overhead lights streaked through the rich amber liquid. In truth, he was making sure that the button-turned-tracker had been completely infused into the drink. Seeing that it was, he glanced over and caught his mark with his own glass midway to his lips once more.

Slow down there, son, leave some for our toast. 

Reaching for the man’s elbow, he stopped him from draining the last of his beverage. “How about we both raise our glasses to good taste and safe travels?” 

The other man jerked his arm away as though he’d been burned, the motion accompanied by a deeply frustrated sigh. Checking his watch, he rolled his eyes and shook his head at Jack. “Sure Fine. Just make it quick, I have a flight to catch.” 

As he presented his glass for the toast, Jack aggressively clinked the rim of his against it - with just enough force so that some of his drink had sloshed into the other man’s glass without him noticing. “Quick it is. Safe travels.” 

“Uh huh.” The sketch of a scowl was back as the man nodded again, knocking back the remainder of his drink, including the tracker. “Same to you.” With that, he slapped a fifty on the bar and left his empty glass, on his way to whatever gate would take him to whatever scumbag was waiting for him. 

The Gatekeeper or the Golden Circle… or whoever the fuck else. We’ll know soon enough. 

Taking his glasses back out of his pocket, Jack unfolded them and put them back on his face. With a tap of his finger the one-way screens hidden in the lenses activated again, and through a series of blinks and subtle eye movements, he sent confirmation of his mission back to Ginger Ale. 

Tracker planted. Target in motion. 

Before he got a response, though, he was distracted by a voice coming from over his shoulder. “Excuse me? Is anyone sitting there?” 

He turned towards the speaker and his eyes widened, lips lifting into a slight grin when he saw that it was you. 

Hot damn, she’s even prettier up close. 

His grin grew at your sudden, small intake of breath when your eyes met. “All yours.” Using one hand, he pulled the stool out for you as Ginger’s message started to scroll across his field of vision. 

You muttered a thank you as you chewed your lower lip. “You didn’t have to-” 

Well done Agent Whiskey. The tracker is live and we are following its movement. Which location did you select? 

“Now darlin’, what kind of gentleman would I be if I only did what I had to do?” He smiled, covertly answering Ginger’s question. 

Not sure yet. Stay tuned. 

You let out a sound that was almost a laugh, shrugging. “You’d be like most gentlemen I’ve known, I guess.” 

Agent, we need to know- 

Jack brought his hand up and tapped the side of his glasses, closing the communication screen and letting Ginger’s message go unfinished. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it and it wouldn’t be the last. He always eventually got back to her and never made her wait too long. But his focus had been drawn to you all afternoon, and now that you were sitting directly beside him, he wasn’t going to rush the interaction he’d been putting off for hours. 

“Then allow me to introduce to you a different kind.” He reached up and swept his hat from his head, laying it on the bartop, and extended his free hand to you.  “Jack Daniels.” 

–  –  – 

15 Minutes Earlier…

You checked your watch with a sigh, noting that you still had a little under an hour before you’d be called for boarding. 

It’s fine. That means I can start another chapter now. You rolled your eyes. I’ll need a new book for the flight home at this rate, though. 

It was one of those flights that didn’t make sense - with a 4 hour layover in a city that was completely out of the way of your destination. But that was why you’d been able to find tickets for only $48 each way, less than three days out. Things at work had been hectic, and you weren’t sure if you were going to be able to get the time off until the very last minute. So even though it certainly wouldn’t have been your first choice if you’d been able to book it months ago when the trip was first brought up, you were perfectly content to take the unnecessary stopover in Louisville on your way to Las Vegas. 

Doesn’t hurt when the people watching prospects are this interesting, either. 

You glanced over at the nearby bar and the astoundingly attractive man seated there who’d snagged your attention as soon as he arrived. He, like a handful of others in the terminal, wore a dark felted Stetson But unlike most, it suited him. As did his perfectly tailored suit and- 

Oh, fuck, he’s wearing glasses now. And they look damn good on him, too. 

You cleared your throat and forced your thoughts back to your trip and your reason for taking the less than desirable layover. Even though it meant spending hours alone in an airport, you were excited, because it also meant being able to see several of your friends who lived far away, and being able to celebrate your birthday with them. Well, not just your birthday. The trip was meant to be a group celebration to make up for the fact that you hadn’t all been able to get together for a birthday in years. Since there happened to be two of you who had birthdays in January, that was the month that was chosen. But the dates that were settled on had included your actual birthday smack dab in the middle of them, and you were looking forward to having something fun to do with people you missed. 

Which was why you groaned as you read the notification that popped up on your phone regarding the flight status. 

Delayed - Mechanical Issues 

“Fuck.” You muttered under your breath, closing the airline app and tapping your phone screen to open the group chat so you could fill the others in on your situation. Before you finished typing though, your phone vibrated in your hand and a picture popped up of two of your friends - Jess and Maddy - both wearing ear to ear smiles at Harry Reid International, the text from Jess simply reading two words followed by several exclamation marks: We’re here!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

Kayla chimed in next, responding with an emphatic YAY! and sending a screenshot of her GPS, showing that she was just under 2 hours out. Be there so soon! 

Nat still had her phone on airplane mode since she’d only taken off from LAX about an hour earlier, so you didn’t bother waiting for an update from her before you finished typing your own. 

Bad news, my flight out of Louisville is delayed. :( Mechanical issues… No idea when I’ll be there now, but I’ll keep you all posted. 

You sent the message and tucked your phone into the outer pocket of your bag as disappointment set in. As it was, the rest of your friends were already supposed to arrive half a day before you. But now, it was looking like you were going to miss out on the entire first day of the trip. 

Or more. 

Frowning at the thought, you tried not to let yourself get too upset until you had a better idea of your situation. You told yourself that it could be something quick and easy to remedy - maybe you’d only have to wait one more hour. Maybe less. Either way, you decided that since half of the group was already there, it meant that the vacation had unofficially started, and it was time you treated yourself to a drink. 

And if I know Jess and Maddy, they’re doing the same right now. 

You picked up your bag, slinging the strap over your shoulder, and headed towards the bar. It was moderately crowded, only a few stools left vacant scattered here and between other travelers. But as you got closer you noticed that the man you’d caught yourself spending more time watching than any of the others was still seated there - and that the seat beside him had just become empty. 

Perfect timing. 

That confidence lasted only until the man spun at the sound of your voice, and seeing him up close had nearly knocked the breath from your lungs. 

Oh, shit. He’s- 

By the time he’d given you his name along with his hand to shake, you’d noticed things about him that you hadn’t from across the room. Like the flecks of tan and gold that lightened his dark brown eyes, the distinct bow of his upper lip beneath his mustache and how it rested against the plush pillow of the lower one, the way you couldn’t see a stitch of leather on him aside from his boots, but the smell of it - along with bergamot - clung to him and made him even more appealing. 

You swallowed, his warm hand wrapping around yours and squeezing as you managed to tell him your name. “It’s nice to meet you, Jack.” 

Without letting go of your hand or releasing your eyes from the lock his own had on them, he repeated your name back to you, the sound of it making your face grow warm. “Pleasure’s all mine, I promise you.” 

When he winked as he withdrew his hand, you knew you were screwed. You ordered yourself a drink - something local, a bourbon you’d not seen before called Statesman - and Jack, though approving of your choice, simply asked for a glass of water. As you brought the glass to your lips, another thought popped into your head. 

But am I really screwed, though? Because… he seems just as interested as I am. 

Over the next half hour, you and Jack made small talk and subtly flirted in smirks and glances. You asked him what brought him to the airport that day, to which he’d answered: 

“Had some business here earlier. But that’s done, so the rest of my evening is completely free.” 

You shook your head at that, taking another sip of your drink. Damn that’s good. “Don’t you have a flight to catch?” 

At that, he grinned and spread his large hands wide. “Ah, well, that is one of the perks of being my own pilot.” He raised one eyebrow and leaned towards you. “I can leave whenever I choose.” 

Okay, I wasn’t expecting that. That definitely makes him even more attractive somehow, though. 

You mouthed the word wow and let out a stunted laugh as you reached into your bag to retrieve your phone. Some time had passed and you were hoping that there would be another notification about the status of your delayed flight. “That must be nice.” You groaned as you saw that there was nothing new from the airline, and several texts from your friends expressing their dismay over your travel woes. Shaking the phone in your hand, you sighed. “I’m here on a layover that got delayed and the rest of my friends are already in Vegas.” Looking over at him, you wet your lips with your tongue. “I’d love to be able to just… hop in and take off whenever I wanted to.”

–  –  –  

Well, shit. Did she just say Vegas? 

Clearing his throat, Jack reached up to tap the arm of his glasses. Several missed messages came through at once, all from Ginger, but he blinked them away as he spoke. “Well, I know we’ve only just met, and I’m not trying to make any suggestions-” Though I could. “- But I happen to be going to Sin City myself tonight.” He had to contain his grin at the flash in your eyes as he used the nickname for the gambling town. “I’d be more than happy to take you with me.” 

Destination selected. Las Vegas, Nevada, USA. 

You sucked in a breath at his proposition, and though he knew you were likely considering saying no, he hoped you’d say yes. “I… Jack, I couldn’t ask you to-” 

“You’re not. I’m askin’. I’ll show you my license and everything to prove that I’m legit, but darlin’, I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to.” He tilted his head towards the window. “No tellin’ how long they’ll need to fix that bird, and if your friends are already there…” He trailed off and shrugged, returning his gaze to you. “My jet is fully fueled and ready to go. I could get you there so you don’t have to miss out too much. More than you already have, I mean.” 

He could practically hear Ginger’s reply when it came through, but he fought the urge to let out a snort as he read it. 

IT’S ABOUT TIME, AGENT. Make sure your friend buckles up. We’ll contact you when you can return to HQ. 

You bit your lower lip again, and he couldn’t help but watch the way your teeth dug into your flesh. “I…” He saw the rest of your protest dissolve the same way the tracker had earlier, your eyes shifting from skeptical to excited until that’s all he saw in them. You laughed, then, lifting your hand and holding up one finger. “Alright. I’ll… yes. I’ll take you up on it. But on one condition.” 

Received. Will await contact. Over. 

Jack reached up to tap his glasses before removing them and stowing them in his pocket. He leaned in closer to you, concentrating on the quirk of your lips and the mixture of impulse and instinct in your eyes. “Let’s hear it.” 

“You let me buy you a drink once we get there.” You said it over the rim of your glass as you finished the last of it, eyes on him as you swallowed. 

An excuse to go out with a beautiful woman? That’s the condition? 

Jack flashed you a smile. “I think those terms are more than agreeable, ma’am.” 

–  –  ��  

What the fuck am I doing? 

You half laughed at yourself, but at the same time there was something about Jack that made you feel like you could trust him. You were aware that that could be a danger in and of itself, but your gut told you he was a good man, and you had always felt that you were a good and accurate judge of character. 

How’s it any different from meeting a guy and getting in his car with him? It’s not, really. 

It was, and you knew it was, but you hadn’t been wrong yet. And as much as you wanted to get to Vegas to see your friends, you also found yourself wanting more time to get to know Jack. He was offering you the chance to do both of those things, and even though you were looking for one, you couldn’t find a downside. 

Pulling out your phone, you opened the group chat and sent one text before switching it to airplane mode. 

Change of plans. Met a (really good looking) pilot who was on his way to Vegas and offered me a ride. Sending a screenshot of his license number in case I go missing hahaha. Just kidding. I’ll be fine. See you soon!

You knew what they’d say when they saw your message. 

Jess would likely just send a thumbs up - or possibly a photo of herself giving a thumbs up. 

Maddy would emphasize your message and respond with something like Okay but don’t die! 

Kayla’s message would be a more whimsical reaction like Jesus take the wheel! (Wait do planes have wheels?) or Life is short, take rides from hot pilots when you can with the peace sign emoji. 

And Nat would send advice from several documentaries and podcasts she’d seen or listened to, about what to do if you were being abducted. 

You laughed to yourself again at the entire situation. 

“Alright, Jack.” You hopped down from your stool and picked up your bag. “I’m ready when you are.” 

He stood, taking his hat from the bartop and placing it on his head. “No time like the present.” Running his hands over his clothes, he smoothed out his suit jacket. “Follow me, darlin’. And give me that.” He pointed his chin towards your bag. “I’m a gentleman, remember? Where would my manners be if I let a lady carry her own bags?” 

You shook your head with a smile and handed over your carry-on, leaving you with only your purse. “I don’t know. You’re teaching me about gentlemen, remember?” 

You knew when you saw his eyes darken that you’d made the right call. 

“Oh, sugar. I remember. Few hours to Vegas. Plenty of time for me to teach you things.” With that he started walking and you were left to follow, slightly stunned at the implications in his tone and in his words. 

This is definitely going to be a trip to remember, that’s for sure. 

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