#kingsmen golden circle fanfic

[justsomerandomfanfic]

We Meet Again - Eggsy Unwin X Female Reader

Title: We Meet Again

Eggsy Unwin X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Reader's boss

| Part 2 |

WC: 3,004

Warnings: Kingsman canon violence, guns, Reader is also a spy, spy stuff, suggestive (not a lot, but references a few suggestive things, none play out), teasing, banter, flirting, cursing, nicknames, slight angst, and fluff

"Target's turning the corner," You muttered, pushing your shades up, the sun blinding, as you briskly walked down the sidewalk, easily maneuvering past pedestrians as you followed the man a couple of hundred feet in front of you. You stuffed your hands into your overcoat pockets, eyes trained on the man whom you had been following for the past couple of days.

"Don't lose sight of him, Agent." The voice in your ear spoke just as the man you were following turned down another corner. "We need to know where he's going."

"I'm on it, calm yourself, would you?" You grumbled, your hand brushing against the rough brick wall of a building as you turned the corner, pausing as your eyebrows furrowed. "He's... He's entering a bookstore?" You relay, confused.

There was silence on the other line as you began walking towards the small, hole-in-the-wall bookstore, "Proceed with caution." Your boss then spoke.

Rolling your eyes, you let out a sigh as you pressed your hand against the swinging door, pushing it open as a bell rang from above you, signaling the workers or owner of your arrival. You lightly surveyed the room, taking in the small bookstore. 

You took note of the two workers behind the counter, lightly chatting with one another - eating their lunch, and the old woman sitting at a small table with a coffee in her hand, book in the other. It was actually a really nice-looking bookstore, and if this was any other day - when you weren't working - you probably would've enjoyed reading a book or two; you could easily imagine yourself sitting at one of the tables, reading a mystery novel. But today was different. Today, you wanted to reach your target, find out what you needed, and leave without getting caught.

The bookshelves in the little shop lined up in rows, giving way to the back wall where there were a few more tables and chairs, all covered by a white cloth. A large sign hung on the far wall, proclaiming 'Bookstore' in big, neon, red letters, and 'A Place Where Dreams Come True!' was written on a poster below in swirly orange letters, to the right side of it.

Slowly, you walked to an aisle beside your target, watching him from your peripheral vision as you tried to blend in and pretend that you were just any other regular, day-to-day, human being looking for a book. As you walked down the aisle, you let your fingers brush from spine to spine; you spotted several novels about time travel, some sci-fi, fantasy, and even an entire section dedicated to cowboy romance novels.

You then turned to look at the long bookshelf behind you, while allowing your gaze to peer through the tops of the books. You surveyed what you could of him, tilting your head slightly as you watched his hand reach out and grab a book from his side of the shelf, opening it, and placing it back a moment later. He was looking for something... But, the question was... What was he looking for?

Turning around again, you faced the previous shelf, grabbing a handful of random books before piling them in your arms. Then, you made your move, walking down your row of bookshelves and turning into his. Looking down at your books, you tried to pretend that you weren't paying any attention before bumping right into the target. You and the target staggered back slightly, your books falling from your arms - and the few in his - as you gasped.

"Oh, my goodness, I'm so sorry for bumping into you like that," You dropped to your knees, beginning to grab some of the books that you had 'accidentally' dropped. "I am such a klutz."

The man bent down on one knee, shaking his head as he began to pick up some of the books with you, "It's no problem. You like thrillers?"

“Hmm?” You paused at his question, looking up slightly to see the book in his hand that you had randomly grabbed, "Oh, yeah... I find them... Thrilling." You answered, feigning nervousness and embarrassment as you finished collecting the books in a neat stack in front of your knees.

The man was silent, as you felt his eyes on you, staring. You took a chance, glancing up at him above the rims of your sunglasses, your gaze finding his. His head was tilted to the side slightly, like some confused puppy, as his lips turned downward in a frown. It took only a split second for him to realize who you were, both continuing to stare at each other as your lips twitched; threatening to turn into a mischievous grin. With a flicker in his eyes, a knowing look soon found its way upon his face. 

But before you could even say a word, he swiftly pulled out his handgun, silencer at the ready, from his satchel. You let your smirk falter as he raised the gun to point directly at your chest, “You finally remembered to bring a silencer. Good for you…" You trailed off softly, quietly so as to not draw attention to the both of you, but deadly enough as you gave the gun one glance before slowly sitting up, raising your hands in the air beside your head. Why did he have to be so good at his job?

"Y/N... Long time, no see." He tried to play off, a grin creeping across his face. It had been a long time, seven months long. You hadn’t seen him since Rio. “You seemed to have forgotten how to properly tail someone. Miss me or something?"

"I'm not here for a reunion, Unwin." You responded, "Now, I'm going to stand up, slowly." You carefully demanded, your eyes never leaving his as you both slowly stood.

"Now," He began, as he took a few steps closer; a foot or so distance between the both of you. "Hand me the file, love."

"File? What file?" You asked, feigning innocence as you widened your eyes and tilted your head to the side. Blinking owlishly, “I don't have a file.”

His furrowed brows lifted slightly as he gave you a lopsided smile, letting out a small awkward laugh - between a laugh and a scoff; you could tell that he was clearly in discomfort, trying to lift the tension with his words. "This is quite the predicament you put me in here." There was no point in lying anymore. He knew you had it… Somehow.

"And I assure you, it'll be much worse if you don't put down that gun." You threatened, hating how much your arms were beginning to ache, "I'm not giving you the file, Eggsy."

"Oh, how I love it when you say my name, love." He sighed out, his tone almost taunting as you narrowed your eyes.

Clicking your tongue to the roof of your mouth, lowering one of your hands, pressing the small button on your earpiece, silencing it; allowing you to speak freely without your boss hearing. "Why do you have to be so frustrating?" You exclaimed, glaring daggers at the man before you.

Eggsy only shrugged, "I'm just trying to do my job." He answered before you caught him by surprise when you grabbed his wrist. In a matter of seconds, you moved your forearm over his, forcing him to bend at his waist as the arm that held the gun pressed horizontally against your stomach. With a sharp tug of your free hand, you pulled the gun from him, watching as he stumbled back. Blinking slightly, he frowned - obviously upset with himself at the fact that you so easily took his gun, "... Which you are delaying." He added, voice sounding a bit strained as he glanced from you, to the gun, and back. "I see you still got the moves." He mimicked your previous stance, raising his hands in the air.

"I'm just trying to do my job too," You lowered the gun slightly, resting it against his gut, "And taking your gun was almost too easy, Eggsy." You countered, trying to ignore how close you were to him; your eyes subconsciously drifting down his body, your heart beginning to hammer against your ribcage as you again met his gaze, "I just want to know what you know." You lowered your voice, your expression softening ever so slightly.

"What I know?" Eggsy huffed out a laugh, "I don't know any more than you do." He paused, letting his eyes flicker over your face for a moment - seemingly thinking - before continuing, "We could always come together and exchange notes-"

You narrowed your eyes, feeling your face flush slightly, "I am not going to let this turn into the last time we met."

Last time? Last time in Rio. That night that was filled with dancing, drinking, and getting intel. You were on a mission, a mission that crossed over with Eggsy’s. There had always been that palpable tension that had kept you drawn to each other. Something you'd never experienced before. It had been months since the two of you had run into each other - not even your missions could keep you both apart for long it seemed - ‘It was fate,’ Eggsy said one time - and you had your high doubts, but you were beginning to believe it. It was kind of strange just how many times you bumped into him, the sight of him still got to you every single time though.

There were so many times that you and Eggsy would meet on these missions and things would inevitably end up with the two of you in compromising positions together. You hated how wrapped around his finger you were, you hated how much he affected you. So, you pushed him away, trying desperately to stay distant. But, it was hard, hard to forget about him, hard to pretend that what you were feeling wasn't real, hard to forget his face, his voice, his scent, and his touch. Even now, you had to force yourself to stop from just smiling. You had to admit, despite yourself, you were almost glad to see him again. But, that night could never repeat itself. Not now, not when you were trying to get your job done.

You shook your head, "Stop playing around." You admonished, not wanting to admit anything to him. You hated the fact that you couldn't even act naturally around him. You hated the fact that you could barely breathe around him. You hated the fact that, whenever he was near, you found yourself flustered and nervous. And you especially hated the way your heart raced whenever you were near him... Eggsy was making things difficult, as always.

"Well, if you must know..." Eggsy began, "I think you liked it just as much as I did, love." He continued, his voice low and husky as you tried your best to remain calm, but your heart was racing. You didn't want this conversation to end up anywhere near the bedroom... Or the shower... Or anywhere else where things were more intimate with him.

You ignored his comment, your eyes snapped away from his, and glanced down at the satchel that he was wearing, "I can't let you jeopardize this mission for me, Eggsy."

Eggsy said nothing, still grinning as he quickly grabbed a hold of your gun, forcing your arm up, and spinning you around; your back hitting his chest and expelling a small ‘umph’ from you. Locking you against his body with his other arm and yours, he used his free hand to expel the magazine before pulling back the slide barrel; you watched in anguish as the bullet flew through the air almost in slow-motion and onto the ground with the magazine.

Sighing deeply, you finally acknowledged the way his hot breath tickled your neck, how the muscles in his arms flexed as he held you tight against him. "You never make things easy, do you?" You huffed, "I should have known better than to expect anything different."

Eggsy chuckled, nudging his nose to the hair on the side of your head before muttering, "Well, I guess that's one thing we've both got in common." Goosebumps began to rise from your arms at the feeling of his warm breath against your skin, causing a familiar heat to build between the two of you.

"I really don't have time for this." You tried to push out of his arms, but his grip tightened around you, keeping you pinned to his chest.

"You were the one that has been following me." He pointed out, a smug grin on his lips as you felt your heart begin to pound in your ears. The warmth from his body bled into your clothes, sinking into your skin the longer you stayed pressed up against him. You were struggling to focus. "You wouldn't want to tell me why, would you?"

Oh, how you hated him sometimes, how cocky he got. Though you also knew that he was just confident in his capabilities, it still irritated the hell out of you. You could already imagine the expression on his face. You could already picture the smug smile plastered on his handsome features as he held you so close to him. You could already see his eyes glimmering as they gazed down at you. He was loving this…

It was hard to concentrate, trying to think of a way out of this predicament as you felt as if your entire being was being engulfed in the smell of pine, and musk that was so incredibly intoxicatingly him... And... And...

And then, after all those thoughts ran through your mind, you snapped yourself out of it and back into action. Lifting your shoe, you slammed your heel down onto his foot, hard. You heard his breath catch in his throat as he groaned, and as his arms loosened around you, you quickly used your momentum to spin around. Raising your free hand, you grabbed the back of his neck, pushing his head towards yours; discomfort all over his face from the sudden pain to his foot.

You tilted your head slightly as you stared into those ocean-blue eyes of his, watching as his scrunched up face slowly softened as his eyes met yours. You then became acutely aware of how his tongue slid out between his lips to wet them, and how his eyelashes fluttered as he blinked several times - knowing full well what you were doing to him.

"I'm not telling you shit, Eggsy." You spoke, your voice barely above a murmur as the corner of his lips twitched up slightly.

He leaned into you a little bit more, moving his hands to rest on your hips. "It's alright, love." He answered, his voice low, matching yours, "I already got what I needed."

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as Eggsy pulled away, giving you one last grin before speeding his way out of the aisle and out of the bookstore. Mind racing, you patted down your jacket, eyes widening as you opened your jacket; only to find the file that was securely placed in the large inside pocket was gone.

Turning towards the window facing the outside of the shop, your eyes flickered from person to person before you spotted Eggsy. A mixture of disappointment, inner pain, and anger crossed your face as you watched him hurry across the street and start climbing into the passenger seat of a black car parked on the curb.

"... Oh, gosh." You muttered, shaking your head as you clicked your tongue to the roof of your mouth, "This is a damn mess..." You sighed, gritting your teeth as you clenched your fists tightly in frustration as you reached up and turned your earpiece back on; the fear of disappointing your boss rising once more. "I got some bad news, boss." You relayed, "He stole the file."

It was silent on the other line for a moment, and you felt a sense of dread creep down your spine. "He got the file?" Your boss's voice was calm, unnervingly so. "How the hell did he get it from you?" His tone suddenly became more annoyed, "I told you to watch him and just find out what he knows."

"I understand that, sir," You huffed, "I thought I could just talk it out of him... I wasn't expecting the gun-"

"Agent Montgomery." Your boss cut you off, "How long have you been an agent?"

You sighed, rubbing your cheek before getting down on your knees and collecting the gun, magazine, and stray bullet, pocketing them. "Six years, sir."

"Then you already know that you should always assume another spy has a gun or any other weapon, no matter where you go or what you do." You nodded, even though he couldn't see; his voice was stern as he continued, "Even if you think your target won't be armed, you should always assume they will be. I shouldn’t have to say this. If this happens again, you’re back on desk duty."

Running a hand through your hair, you pinched the bridge of your nose, "I'll get the file back, sir." You assured him before grabbing the books on the floor and taking them into your arms once more, "He can't get any further without the key." You finished, placing the books back on the shelf that you had gotten them from.

"Good." Your boss responded. You took a deep breath and wiped your still-warm cheeks with your palms, sighing as you straightened out your attire.

"He left in a black car, the license plate is '2FD224.'" You added while proceeding to leave the small bookstore that you made a mental note to come back and visit in the future.

Slipping your shades securely upon the bridge of your nose, your boss spoke up, "Do you know where he's heading next, Agent?"

You pursed your lips, stuffing your hands in your jacket pockets, as you venture out into the bright sun. "Italy."

---

Main Masterlist | Kingsman Masterlist

---

Should I make a part 2?

[asterias-record-shop]

Hyiaa!! If these prompts are still free can I please request

BINGO: Bimbo , Eggsy Unwin with the prompt

"I like having you covered in me. Smothered in me, full of me. Want all of you, and you need all of me." ?

Thank you for your time!

—𓆩[your majesty]𓆪—

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪 𓆩[updated bingo card!]𓆪 𓆩[bingo masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[join the bingo taglist!]𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - Eggsy Unwin x Fem! Princess! Bimbo! Kingsman Agent! Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - fluff, smut, maybe slight angst

𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 2.6K

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - Eggsy truly didn’t know how you were recruited into Kingsmen, but he wasn’t complaining. You helped him out a lot during training, but for fucks sake, were you blind to how Charlie and his friends looked at you? When you go missing, though, Eggsy has to save you. He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t.

𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - foul language and cursing || reader is portrayed as very naive and kind of an airhead || reader is portrayed as wearing tight and revealing clothes and likes makeup || sex positive reader || again, kinda ditsy || you’re an undercover spy princess now || you get kidnapped || edited timeline || lovesick eggsy || smut || fingering || masterbating || different positions || multiple rounds || size kink || cum kink || marking kink || rough sex turned soft sex ||

“Your mission,” Merlin spoke as you handed Eggsy, Roxy, and Charlie. “Is to win over the asset shown in the folder. And when I say win over, I do mean biblically.”

Eggsy smiles, opening and showing off the picture. “Easy. Posh girls love a little rough.”

Charlie scoffed, showing the exact same image. “We’ll see about that.”

Roxy giggled. “We certainly shall.”

“Yep! Mhm, sex! You need to fuck her,” you filled in, Charlie scoffing a slight laugh as Merlin smiled slightly and nodded. “Nicely! She’s an heiress.”

“Yes, Y/N, I’m sure they are aware she is an heiress,” Merlin spoke, a sheepish smile developing on your lips. “Anyways, you will be going to the club-”

“Oh, I love clubbing!” You say, Merlin looking over at you with a slight raise of his brows. “O-Oh I’m sorry… I’ll be quiet now.”

Eggsy smiled slightly as he stared at you, but his stomach twisted slightly at the thought of sleeping with someone else. Eggsy was faithful, he always was no matter what, and to be honest, he wasn’t very excited about sleeping with someone else when he wanted to be sleeping with you – both sexually and when he woke up.

“Anyways, you leave at 2200. Please be ready by then. Y/N, come with me.” Merlin smiled at you as you nod, smiling back.

“Yes, Merlin.”

As you both walked out, Eggsy quickly ran after you before Roxy could say anything. “Y/N! Y/N, wait up!”

“Oh, uhm,” you looked back at Merlin who nodded slightly, walking away as you turned. “What’s up, Eggsy?”

“I-I uhm… just wanted to talk to you real quick,” he whispered, looking back at the other two with a slight sigh. “If uhm… If I don’t go past this session-”

“You will,” you say, giggling. “I’m sure a rough boy like you can handle your liquor. And you’re very loyal too!”

Eggsy paused, tilting his head. “Loyal?”

You froze, humming. “Forget I said that. Anyways. Like you were saying?”

Eggsy cleared his throat, swallowing. “If uhm… I wanted to say that when I sleep with this girl,” he ignored your giggle. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“I’m aware,” you say with a shrug. “I had to sleep with a pair of guys, but not for the initiation part. The initiation part was actually easier than sleeping with those guys, how are you gonna be a crime lord with a small dick…”

He smiled as you continued to ramble off, his eyes slowly trailing over your pretty face all the way down to your tight clothes and perfect body, round and soft in every perfect place, and the thought of having your thighs around his head truly was a dream.

“Oh, I am so sorry… you had a question, what was it?” You tilted your head, smiling at him.

“I-I uhm… I just wanted to ask if after this session… if you would want to go out with me? On like… a real date?” He whispers, tilting his head slightly as you gaped at him.

“R-Really? You want… you want to take me out on a date?” You whisper, eyes narrowing. “Why? I have nothing to do with the choosing process.”

“I’m not trying to get points for the choosing process,” Eggsy clarified immediately, taking a step closer toward you. “I just… I want to take you out to see if we could… go out together as a couple.”

You paused, swallowing. “Oh…” you looked back at Merlin who was tapping on his tablet, then turned around with a nod. “I would like that. I would like that very much.”

“You would? Good. Good, perfect,” he smiled widely as you inhaled, smiling. “Go. I’m sure Merlin needs something important.”

You smiled, nodding as you leaned forward and pressed a firm kiss to his cheek. “I can’t wait.”

Eggsy smiled widely as you walked off, turning around to see Charlie and Roxy staring at him. “Did you just ask Y/N out on a date?” She spoke, tilting her head. “Really?”

You didn’t have a code name because there was no point. You were already known to the world, Princess Y/N who was the face of her kingdom, perfect in every way, though slightly naive – it didn’t make one bit of a difference to Eggsy. He truly, truly wanted to see how far he would get with you, and just maybe he would get you to the altar.

Right when they were about to leave, Eggsy noticed you in the corner, staring at yourself in the mirror as you flattened out the sides of your dress. For fucks sake, you looked absolutely stunning. Perfect in every way, the dark blue dress pooling at the floor as you slowly turned in the mirror.

He wasn’t used to seeing you in such a dark color, but you looked just as beautiful in it as you did any other color.

He couldn’t speak for a minute, but when it finally came to mind, all he could say was, “Wow.”

You looked over immediately, smiling as you walked toward him, heels clicking. “Going undercover,” you whisper, then shrug. “Kind of.”

“Well, I wish you luck,” Eggsy whispered back, trying to keep his eyes on yours and not trail over your body like a pervert. “You look… so beautiful.”

“Thank you, Eggsy, really,” you smiled back at him as he looked down at his clothes, completely underdressed compared to you. “You look great too.”

“You don’t have to lie, love,” he laughed slightly, embarrassed. How could he think a pretty girl like you would want to be with him? “W-Well… good luck on your mission. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“I could come to the barracks tonight,” you suggest, shrugging. “It’ll just be you and someone else anyways. I’ll bring you to my room.”

Eggsy smiled. “That sounds perfect, Y/N. Good luck, I’ll see you later.”

“See you, Eggsy.” You smiled as he leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before slowly turning around and walking off.

After he finished his initiation sequence, he waited in the barracks, reading a book as he slowly stroked JBs back, waiting for you to come in and take him back to your apartment for the night.

“Eggsy? Are you waiting for Y/N?” Roxy spoke, Eggsy looking up with a slight sigh.

“I was, yeah,” he whispered, shaking his head. Tomorrow was his day with Harry, and he couldn’t have thoughts of you interrupting it. “But I’m going to go to sleep now.”

“Oh, okay. Goodnight, Eggsy.”

“Goodnight, Rox.”

When morning came and Eggsy walked toward Harry who was speaking with Merlin, he inhaled as he heard your name on the TV. “Princess Y/N has been missing for three days now, gone and we haven’t been able to locate her since.”

“Y-Y/N’s missing?” His voice came out broken and hoarse, Harry turning around with a slight sigh.

“She didn’t come back from her mission last night,” Merlin says, shaking his head. “Y/N is a strong girl, she can handle herself. Now, go enjoy your day and we’ll keep looking for her.”

Oh, and then everything stacked up. With you missing, Harry being fucking murdered, figuring out that Arthur was with Valentine the entire time, he was so fucking tired. Now, about to die from Valentines dumbass soldiers, he couldn’t stop thinking about you — until the microchips came to mind.

After telling Merlin about the microchips, he could’ve sworn he heard your voice.

“Eggsy! Eggsy, is that you?!”

He quickly turned around, at this time ignoring the announcement that Valentine said and storing it for later, gasping when he saw you. “Y/N! You’re here!”

“Yes I’m here!” You giggled, sighing. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t come back and-”

“Don’t worry about that now, darling, what matters is that you’re safe,” he smiled as you leaned forward, pushing yourself closer to the opening, Eggsy doing the same before he heard Merlin’s voice.

“Hate to interrupt this lovely moment, but the fate of the world is about to be decided, Eggsy!”

Eggsy sighed as he pulled away, shaking his head. “As much as I’ve always wanted to kiss a princess, my darling, but I have to go save the world.”

You smiled, giggling. “You save the world, you can get me pregnant.”

Eggsy paused, blinking before nodding slightly. “I’ll be right back.”

You laughed, biting your lip slightly as he ran off. “Good luck!”

And as soon as he said his wicked last line to Valentine, he was already running to your cell and tried to open the door. He heard your laugh when it didn't open, clearing his throat. “Merlin, what’s the code?”

Merlin laughed and told him, Eggsy smirking as he slipped off his glasses and slowly walked in, holding back a loud groan when he saw your legs spread and your fingers working your cunt as you groaned loudly. “Fucking finally Eggsy, what took you so long?”

He laughed as he set down the champagne and the champagne flutes on the table, slipping off his tie before you pull your fingers out of your cunt and quickly moved to your feet, stumbling slightly before falling into his chest. “Are you alright, darling?” He laughed slightly as you giggled.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just… need you. So bad. Gotta hold up my end of the deal,” you tilted your head, winking up at him with another giggle. “You gotta put a baby in me, Unwin.”

He groaned loudly as he easily lifted you up, moving you back to the bed and dropping you gently onto the bed. He watched as you quickly parted your legs, sighing as Eggsy kicked off his shoes – carefully of course – taking off his suit before you leaned forward and held his tie. “Keep this on.”

“Whatever you say, princess,” he whispers, slipping his button down off from under his tie that you immediately took hold of and pulled him down. He leaned down, kissing you and savoring your lips on his as you moved your legs to wrap your legs around his waist. “For fucks sake, never thought I’d be kissing an actual princess.”

You giggled as he pushed down his slacks, pulling him down for another kiss and rutting your hips into his. “Oh please, please… just forget about the fact that I’m a princess and just fuck me. Not like a prince, I need that roughness.”

“Whatever you say, darling,” he whispers back, smiling as he watches you slowly lay back. “Are you sure you want it rough? Darling, I-”

“I’m a princess, Eggsy, just not one made out of glass,” you whisper back, smiling. “Fuck me, Eggsy, hard.”

Oh, you truly didn’t have to tell him twice.

He was quick to snap his hips into you, groaning loudly as your head tilted back, leaning down to tuck his face under your chin. His hips moved rough and quick, fucking into you like he was infatuated. In a way, he was, his mind blurring in pleasure as moans unconsciously fell from his lips, your cunt tight and perfect around him.

His cock was perfect inside of you, just the right length but heavy on the girth, thick and filling you up just right and absolutely fucking perfect. You gasped as you tilted your head back, savoring the feeling of him inside of you. Even with his strong and rough thrusts, he was still holding himself back, and you could feel it every time he held back from slamming his pelvis into yours.

It makes you take matters into your own hands, easily pushing him over and straddling his hips. “I said that I want rough Eggsy,” you whisper, placing your hands on his perfectly toned chest, roughly rolling your hips as you threw back your head. Oh, it was finally perfect. You could feel him in all of the places you desperately wanted him to be, letting out a loud groan as you rut your hips roughly into his. “I don’t want you to hold back, please, Eggsy.”

He groaned, his head tilting back just like yours, his hands automatically finding your hips to help guide you into his hips. Sadly, they were trying to get you to go slower. “Fuck, darling, don’t do this to me. I don’t want to hurt you, please baby-”

“I want it to be rough,” you responded, gasping as his hips roughly snap into yours. It was perfect, just like you wanted to, but it was a singular movement. “No! Eggsy please, please don’t stop!”

“Fuck, please… please, you need to tell me if I hurt you. Promise?” His voice was breathless as you nod, pulling his hands upward toward your tits.

“I promise. Just fuck me, Eggsy.”

This time he really didn’t hold back, immediately twisting you to lay on your back, inhaling as he snapped his hips forward to fuck you, rough and hard just like you wanted him to. He didn’t hold back, his hands holding your hips roughly. Oh, it was perfect and everything you wanted.

He was rough just like you wanted him to be, your body bouncing along with every thrust, head tilting back with pornographic moans falling from your mouth. The way you were being fucked was as though Eggsy was never given the chance to let loose, using your body as a way to escape.

His roughness wasn’t subjected to just his thrusts, leaning down and marking up every inch of your skin with hickies and bite marks from his mouth, his rough hands rubbing and gripping your body. You were basically sobbing when he was done, not even done as he panted above you, his cum dripping down your ass as he pumped his cock.

“Can I keep going, baby? Please, darling? I want to keep fucking you, want to fuck you so bad,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss against your ear. “Please?”

“I want you to keep going,” you didn’t care how sore you were, how full your stomach was of his cum. You felt sticky, gasping as he slid back inside of you, rolling his hips softly instead of what he was previously doing. “N-No, no, roughly. Rougher. Please.”

“You’re sure you can handle it?” His voice wasn’t taunting you, his lips pressing soft kisses to your skin. “I like having you covered in me. Smothered in me, full of me. Want all of you, and you need all of me. But I can’t give it to you if it’s gonna hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me,” you whispered back, shaking your head as you kissed his lips softly. “You could never hurt me. Keep going.”

He smiled, nodding. “Whatever you say, your majesty.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “It’s your highness. I’m not queen yet.”

“You’re almost there,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Your majesty.”

“There you go.”

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© asterias-record-shop

[thischarmingmandalorian]

Like A Man Without Skin

Ghost!Agent Whiskey x Reader

Summary: Your new apartment is haunted by the ghost of the sexiest man you've ever seen. My entry for @quinnnfabrgay-writes and @hauntedhowlett-writes Monster Smash!

Pairing: Ghost!Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit!

Warnings: Just… so much dirty talk. Pet names (Sugar, baby, sweet girl, good girl), groping, fingering, oral (f receiving but super briefly), pussy pronouns, is it vouyerism if you're watching each other?, obviously monster fucking, reader very briefly pulls her own hair? Not very heavily edited, I tried my best but if I read it one more time I'm gonna get embarrassed. Also very much a believer I ghosts (ask me about my own haunted apartments!) but I don't know how that shit works suspend your disbelief, babes!

Word Count: 3.1k

The first night, you blamed the house settling.

You had just moved to a new apartment and always had a hard time sleeping in a new place. You weren't used to the shadows that danced across your walls, that just repainted "landlord special" smell, or whatever that sound was.

That incessant crack that echoed through your living room, right outside your bedroom door, for hours. Literally fucking hours. You wanted to believe it was the floorboards creaking. This apartment was old, part of a three-story row house in a big city, and if the sleaziness of your landlord was anything to go by, it definitely wasn't up to code. You'd actually be more worried if it was silent in your apartment.

But still, the crack that… cracked… just outside your bedroom door was unnerving to say the least. It didn't sound like any "settling house" noise you were used to, but any alternative scared you too much.

That night you slept with the light on and a desk chair propped against your doorknob.

You got used to the crack in the living room after a few nights. You'd resigned yourself to the fact that it wasn't the house settling, but what it was eluded you. It never stopped, but it became a normal part of your nightly routine. Every night around 10 pm, when you'd leave your hall bathroom and shut the bedroom door behind you, it would begin.

Crack

And then a pause. You'd count to 30, and

Crack

This went on until you fell asleep. You soon started to count the noises behind your door until you dozed off - your record was 20 cracks.

On day five you got curious. Why was the noise only at night? Why was it always in the same spot? Most importantly, what the hell was making that noise?

You weren't someone who found the idea of ghosts ridiculous. In fact, the thought of being haunted seemed like a fun story to tell your friends over drinks on your usual Friday night bar crawl. If it was a ghost making that noise in the living room, that would be fine. You just didn't love not knowing.

That fifth night you performed your nightly routine like normal. Skincare, brushed teeth, pajamas. You shut the bathroom light off and walked down the hall to your bedroom. Only tonight, you left your bedroom door open. It was 9:55, so you sat upright on your bed and waited for the crack.

10 pm came and went. 10:30, 11. The crack never came. Dejected and confused, you finally shut the lights off and laid down to sleep.

You fell into a restless slumber, tossing and turning. The lack of… crack… bothered you. Why did it stop? What the hell was it?!

In your fitful sleep, you were acutely aware of the fact that your hair had found its way in front of your face, tickling your nose. You woke very briefly to push it away, but stopped any movement the second you were conscious.

Because you felt the slightest touch sweeping your hair from your face. Which was troubling because you were, of course, alone.

You shot up in bed, slamming the light switch and illuminating the room in a soft glow. You were still alone. But then… who, or what, had touched you?

"What the fuck is happening?" you mused out loud, expecting to be met with silence. Except a new sound emerged from the empty room -

Shhhhh.

"Don't tell me to 'shhh!' You 'shhh!'"

You felt crazy shouting at no one. Even crazier when you heard the noise again.

Shhhhh.

You realized this wasn't just a sound; it was… a voice. So it was a ghost!

Internally high-fiving yourself for solving this mystery, you remembered it was the middle of the night, and you had work in the morning.

"We're not done here," you said to your invisible guest, "we'll talk about this tomorrow."

Somehow you willed yourself to shut the light back off and lay back down. Still uncomfortable with the silence, you set your phone on the nightstand and let it cycle through a playlist of ambient noise. You're back to dozing off when you hear it again.

Shhhhh.

This time the sound is joined by the feeling of someone stroking your hair. A gentle, feather-light touch against your head, sometimes letting a finger trail down your cheek. You didn't want to admit it was soothing, and you already felt crazy. Thinking your apartment was haunted was one thing, but talking to the ghost seemed like a bad way to handle it. But you were oddly comforted by the presence you felt.

"You can stay until I fall asleep, then you gotta go for tonight," you whisper. The phantom hand stills on the side of your face as you speak, resuming it's soothing strokes through your hair once you finish addressing it.

The touch continues until you fall asleep, and so does the new noise.

Shhhhh.

Shhhhh.

Right before you fell into a deep sleep, you swear the noise changed a little bit.

Shhhhh.

Shhhhh.

"Sugar."

The next morning you want to chalk up the weirdness of the night before to a dream, but you know that's not the case. You wake up well-rested and ready to start the day, and notice your bedroom door had somehow shut during the night.

"Thanks for shutting the door," you speak into the empty bedroom, opening your closet to pick out an outfit for the day. You weren't expecting a response to your gratitude, but you smile when a familiar crack sounded from the living room.

You rush to open the bedroom door, knowing the living room will be empty, but knowing your ghost was there. "Hey, crack once for yes, twice for no, ok?" You feel ridiculous until one crack echoes through the room.

While you get ready for work, you play 20 questions.

"Are you a ghost?"

Crack.

"Are you… a woman?"

Crack. Crack.

Interesting… a dude ghost.

"Did you leave after I fell asleep like I asked?"

One incredibly quick crack. You appreciate him respecting you.

By now you're ready to change into your work clothes, so you decide to up the ante. "Do you watch when I get dressed?"

The two cracks couldn't have come quicker. You grin, loving that you have a gentlemanly ghost. But you want to have some fun. It's been a while since you've met a nice, living guy, and having a ghost seems like the perfect opportunity for some built-in male attention.

"Do you… want to watch me get dressed?"

Your smirk falls when no noise is made in response. You kick yourself for scaring him away. You start to stumble over an apology when you hear the same noise from last night.

"Sugar…"

"You talk?! What the hell, dude? I've been having you crack that… whatever it is, when you could've been talking to me this whole time?"

"Sorry, Sugar."

You soften. "Why wouldn't you talk to me before?"

"Too weak."

An interesting response. "What gives you energy?"

"Your attention."

Well. That felt nice to hear. "Lucky for you, dude, I have no one else to talk to around here. If it's attention you need, attention is what you'll get! Now, back to the task at hand… do you want to watch me get dressed?"

This time, a noise you haven't heard yet. A whimper.

"Please, Sugar."

You smirk, moving to stand in front of the full length mirror in your bedroom. Slowly, you bunch your oversized t shirt up over your ass, draw it above your hips, and fist the material up under your breasts, pausing to admire your own figure in the mirror. You turn to the side, watching as your reflection shakes its ass gently.

It's weird flirting with someone you can't see and barely hear. You're feeling both emboldened and shy, sexy and self-conscious. "How's this?"

"Teasin' me?"

You grin. "You said you need my attention to get strong! The longer this takes, the more attention I'm giving you! I'll ask again: this good?"

Crack. Yes.

"What the hell is that noise, anyway?" you ask, mercifully removing your shirt entirely, standing in front of your mirror in nothing but your underwear.

"Uh… a…" another whimper interrupted your ghost's train of thought. "Whip."

"A whip?!"

Crack. Yes.

"Why does a ghost have a whip?" you ask idly, thumbing the hemline of your underwear before sliding them down your legs with a shimmy.

"Long story. How long d'ya have, Sugar?"

You grab for your phone on the nightstand, realizing that if you tease this ghost anymore you'll be late for work. "No time! Last looks, dude! Gotta get dressed!" You pose for a second with your hands on your knees, bent at the waist with your ass wiggling before pulling on your work clothes.

"Really, Sugar? You're gonna leave?"

"I gotta work if I want to be able to afford this place! You don't want me to have to move out so soon, do you? There's so much more attention I want to give you," you pout into the mirror, bottom half clothed, briefly pausing to give your ghost one last look of your bare chest.

"Before you leave, Sugar, let me touch you."

You let your hands fall to your sides, remembering the featherlight touches against your cheek the night before, shivering at the thought of feeling it again. "Go ahead," you whisper into the empty room.

The touch is similar to the one last night, only now it seems stronger. This ghost wasn't kidding about attention making him stronger. Even though you couldn't see him, you can feel his presence behind you. You can feel fingers skating up your arms, stopping at the elbows and trailing back down. The touch disappears only to return on your hips, sliding from the small of your back to wrap around your front. You lift your arms slightly to accommodate him as his hands trail further up your torso, stopping just below the swell of your chest. You feel the ghost hesitate. Normally, if this were happening with someone you could see, you'd lace your fingers through his and coax his hand up to where you need to feel him, but this was all so new still. The ghost can touch you, but can you touch him? Would it look stupid to grope around for his hand? You decide your voice is your greatest asset at this moment.

"I said go ahead."

A groan erupted from behind you, right against your ear, making you shudder. You could almost feel breath against your neck, could almost feel the weight of a head against your shoulder as the ghostly hands dragged themselves up to grope at your chest. Your head falls back and you let out a sigh, your eyes falling closed. The hands tweak at your nipples before soothing the sting with a swipe of a thumb.

You're brought out of your trance when your phone rings. You feel the phantom hands retreat from your chest, a sigh heaving from behind you. Reaching to the bed to grab your phone, you see it's your boss calling. "I've gotta take this, I'm so sorry - hello? Yeah I'm just about to - oh? That sucks, what's the - yeah, no I can do that. OK, see ya!" You hang up and throw your phone back on the bed. The clothes you had yet to put on stay neglected, and what you have put on gets shucked off your body with haste. "You still here?" you call into the seemingly empty room.

Crack.

"Dude, now that I know you can talk, I'm not accepting whip cracks for an answer."

"Still here, Sugar. What was that about?"

"Good news! A pipe burst at my office - I get to 'work from home' today," you explain, making air quotes around "work from home." You know you're not getting shit done today. "So get back over here, we're not done."

You're still standing in front of your full length mirror, admiring your naked form when something starts to… happen… behind you. At first it's a thin mist, then it slowly turns into a more solid, human form. You stare in the reflection dumbfounded as your ghost materializes - he's still somewhat transparent, very obviously not human or living, but shit.

He's hot.

He's dressed in a cowboy hat and two-piece suit. And he wasn't kidding about the whip. It was curled neatly with the handle stuck in his back pocket.

"Oh my god. My house is haunted by the sexiest man alive," you muse, forgetting for a second that he can hear you. The ghost meets your eyes in the mirror's reflection, lips curling into a smirk as he tips his hat.

"Well I'm not alive, but that's mighty kind of you to say, Sugar," the ghost replies, moving closer to you again, "can I finish what I started, now that you don't have to leave? Please? It'd make me a very happy man."

You nod, watching in the mirror as the ghost reaches for you again. He skips the pretense this time, hands going straight to your chest, resuming his kneading and pinching.

"Wha- shit - what's your name? Seems backwards to let you touch me like this when I don't know anything about you," you tease.

"Whiskey. Agent Whiskey, Sugar."

You giggle. "Agent Whiskey isn't a name. What's your real name, and what are you an agent of?"

"Jack Daniels. And I'm stuck haunting this apartment, we have time to learn everything about each other. Stop distractin' me," the ghost punctuates his request with a nibble to your earlobe.

His hands, his mouth, while mostly solid, feel tingly, cold in a way that's akin to walking through fog. His breath is warm as it huffs against your neck, a delicious push and pull of sensation. He kisses down your neck and lands a bite to your shoulder, growling quietly as you moan in front of him.

"Ain't we a sight to see, Sugar? Keep your eyes forward."

Your eyes blink back open as you meet Jack's eyes in the mirror. You watch as his hands skate down your torso, hesitating close to where you want his touch the most. "Can you… will I be able to see you…?" You're not sure how being a ghost wearing clothes works, and you don't know how to ask; you hope he gets the hint.

"The suit stays on; sorry, baby. Gonna have to use your imagination. But, if it's any consolation, I used to look real nice under all this."

"I believe you. Now quit stalling and touch me," you make an experimental grab for his ghostly hand, delighted to be able to curl your fingers around his wrist and tugging it down, down to where he dips into your folds, fingers gathering the slick from your entrance and dragging it up against your clit.

"Let's move to the bed, Sugar. Need to see her."

You waste no time pulling Jack by the wrist to your bed. You prop yourself up against your pillow, legs spread wide and face flush with arousal and anticipation. You watch Jack as he stands at the foot of your bed, gazing intently at your body laid out for him.

"Jesus, Sugar. She's drippin' - it all for me?"

You give Jack a curt nod, beckoning him closer with your outstretched hand. "Come here and touch me, please." You see Jack's face change; where there was once a pained look of arousal, there's now a feral darkness that excites you.

"Since you asked so nicely, baby."

Jack puts his knees onto the edge of your bed and you feel the faintest dip on the mattress. Your breath hitches as you watch him crawl on hands and knees to situate himself between your legs. One hand holds tight to your hip while the other dips once again into your wetness, pulling away and chuckling when you try to buck up into his touch.

"Gotta be patient, beautiful. Your attention made me stronger, but I'll never be back at a hundred percent. 'm tryin'a hold you down, play along."

You agree to Jack's game and push your hips down into the mattress, curling your hand around his at your side. "I'll be good, I promise."

Jack smirks and bends his head down to whisper praise close to your ear, "that's my good fucking girl."

Jack punctuates his words with two ghostly fingers plunging into you. You moan loudly while your free hand grapples for purchase, twisting into your hair and gently pulling. "How long…"

"More than long enough, Sugar."

You swat at Jack's arm; he grins and moves his hand from your hip to slowly circle your clit. "That's not - oh fuck - what I meant. How long have you - uh huh, just like that - been stuck here?"

"Tryin'a focus, woman. Ask me in five minutes."

"Won't have to wait that long, Jack. Not gonna last."

Jack's thumb on your clit speeds up. He adds a third finger to the two working you open, the stretch delicious. Cold and warm, solid and ethereal. You could get used to this.

Suddenly Jack shifts and takes his thumb off your clit. You begin to protest, but find yourself gazing down at him, his face now level with your dripping pussy.

"Just wanna see if I still got it, Sugar."

You feel a sudden emptiness as Jack pulls his fingers free from you and you're about to protest, but before any words can leave your mouth he licks a wide stripe from your entrance to your clit, pointing his tongue at the last second and flicking it against you once, twice…

"Fuck, I'm… shit. Jack, I'm…" Your orgasm hits so hard that what you are is incoherent. So fucked out you can't think straight. If someone asked you your name at this very moment, you wouldn't remember.

"Oh, I know you're comin', sweet girl, ain't gotta tell me. I've got a front row seat to the show. Let go, Sugar. I've got ya."

You ride the wave of pleasure for what feels like forever, hips rolling and panting, soft moans escaping from deep in your throat as you come down. When your eyes open, you find Jack staring intently at your pussy, watching it leak and pulse around nothing.

"So fucking gorgeous, Sugar. Could get used to this."

You instinctually grab at Jack's hair, gently tugging to get him to your eye level. You feel his touch against your face, gentle and cool. "You better get used to it," you smirk, "you're kinda stuck here. Don't know how hauntings work, but trust that I'm not gonna try and get rid of you. Like, ever. Not after that."

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒

pairing: jack daniels x f!reader

genre: smut, minors dni

word count: 2.5k

summary: jack comes back home only to find you in a compromising position.

warnings: established relationship, female masturbation, getting caught, nipple play, pet names (darling, sweet/good girl, sweetheart), no y/n, bondage (i have dreams about that whip, i had to), edging, piv, come eating, some hurt/comfort vibes towards the end

additional warning: alright since I know not everyone can do this physically I'll just say it here just in case; reader does suck her own breast before jack catches her but there are no physical descriptions other than that, enjoy xx

a/n: this ended up being more filthier than I thought please don't look at me, my period is close

**divider by @firefly-graphics 💗

God, you missed him. 

You missed the feel of his rough hands coursing down your skin. His soft plush lips going hungrily down your neck. His words laced with something dark and sweet whispered into your ears over and over again. 

Jack has been gone for just a week and from what he’d told you, he might be gone for another week. You’ve been counting the days, waiting for the phone to call every night at 7 pm. He could hear the need in your voice, the ache. Jack had a sinful mouth. A mouth that could make the devil itself blush. Dolly enough you felt the tremors of hic vocal cord even more through the speakers, his hushed tone urging you to move your fingers faster, to bury them into the sweet pussy that he was missing around his cock. 

You shiver at the thought of it. 

You aren’t proud of your position right now. Your legs bare and spread, fingers drawing slow circles as you lift a breast to your mouth, ignoring the crick in your neck you suck. Your nipple hardens between the gentle bite of your teeth, a moan seeping into the flesh with the flick of your tongue. It shouldn’t feel this good. Despite being alone you feel embarrassed. How can you not? But in your defense, as you do it, you only think of him. His mouth, his tongue, his lips. You release the tight grip of your lips and flatten your tongue against the peak, your hot breath catches against the spit-slick skin, a whimper echoes from the back of your throat. 

The familiar heat of your orgasm starts to build, it’s a slow climb, one that makes you raise your hips off the bed to meet the tantalizing brush of your fingers. Your eyes flutter closed and you drag your tongue around your nipple, gently biting into it. 

“Jack,” you breathe out, unfiltered. “God, Jack, it feels so good.” 

You don’t hear the door, you don’t hear the familiar steps nearing the bedroom. 

You don’t hear him. 

“What’re you doin’?” 

You freeze. Your building orgasm dies between your legs, your fingers hovering helplessly above your throbbing clit. Your body screams, muscles grow taut and uncomfortable. Gently, you rock your hips forward and hope he doesn’t notice. Your eyes might be wide but you’re not looking at him. You can’t. His gaze is like hot iron pressed against your already burning skin. Your lungs shake. 

You swallow, your answer comes out broken, “Nothing.”  

“Really? Nothin’?” he steps closer, head cocked to the side. There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, one that makes you squeamish. “Seems like to me you have a tit in your mouth darlin’. I wouldn’t exactly call that nothin’.”

“I—” You pull your hands away and draw your knees up to your chest. His eyes drop to your burning core, hunger dilating his pupils. “I missed you,” you mutter, not knowing what else to say. 

“Oh, I can see that.” 

The bed dips under his weight, two fingers curl under your chin, and pull your gaze away from the spot on the wall. Your lips part when you meet his gaze, your body warming and melting like ice cream left under a summer shadow. His smile is crooked, his eyes growing soft the longer they stay on you. 

“I wanted to surprise you,” he says. “That’s why I’m home early. But really, you should’ve just called me sweetheart, I would’ve loved to help you out. You know that.” 

He removes his hat, exposing a messy mop of dark hair that curls right above his ears. A smile touches your lips. “I know that, it kinda happened spontaneously.” 

Jack cups the underside of the breast that was still wet from your tongue. He slightly lifts it, weighing it under his palm. 

“I liked you callin’ out to me. Definitely helps the ego.” 

You don’t answer, only watch with a hungry gaze of your own. His eyes are fixed on the rise and fall of your chest, sliding his hand up, he swipes a thumb over the sensitive peak. 

Heat drips down your spine, gathers at your tailbone, and warms you from the inside out. Your lips are pressed together when he pinches, your moan caught against your teeth. His grin is wicked, devilish. 

“I wanna play with you, sweetheart,” his grin widens when your breath catches in your throat. He leans forward, lips only an inch away, breath hot across your skin. “Will you be good for me?” 

Your sense of time and space has been completely destroyed by the man underneath you, his hips pressed snug against your own, lips latched on your collarbone. He sucks and bites, pulling you apart with nothing but his mouth. You want to touch him—Oh, how your body aches for it. To wrap your hands around his thick cock and pump him until strings of come drip down your knuckles. 

But you can’t. 

You fucking can’t. 

The leather of the whip digs painfully into your wrists, your skin feeling raw and open. Every time he forces your hips into an agonizingly slow grind, the thick handle hits the soft curve of your ass with every move. And the most painful part, the part that makes you wetter than you’ve ever been—he’s not inside of you. His cock drags between your soaked folds, bulbous head catching your clit every time. A generous amount of precum is gathered at the soft swell of his stomach, trickling down to the sheets. He must be painfully hard at this point but he’s still going. He feasts upon your chest, tongue swirling and pressing hard against your nipple while his hand kneads the flesh from underneath. 

It’s too much. Your head spins, a desperate sound twisting through you. His chuckle vibrates through your skin and he slides a hand up the back of your neck, fingers curling. 

You’re shaking now. Trembling. Burning. 

He kisses along your collarbone, wet lips leaving shiny streaks, his voice all gravel. “You know,” he purrs. “When I saw you like that, the desperation you had for me. . .” he cuts off, pressing his lips to yours and licking himself deep into your mouth before continuing. “I wanted to fuck you right that second, darlin’. Nearly lost all control. You drive me insane.” 

“The feelings mutual,” you gasp, grinding down on him. His thighs tighten underneath you, a groan leaving his lips. “So why don’t you just fuck me. Please, Jack, I need you.” 

“You need me, hm?” he smooths your hair, kisses your cheek. It’s incredibly tender compared to the tight grip his whip has on your wrists. Your back arches instinctively, pushing more of yourself into his hands. “I could keep you like this for hours. Just like this, writhing on my lap, beggin’ for me, achin’ for me. I’m very tempted you know? I did say I wanted to play.” 

A whimper scratches your throat. Your head drops to his shoulder and you find solace in the crook of his neck. His scent fills your lungs, gunpowder, leather, and the earth itself. Safe. So safe. You kiss him, drag your lips across the tender skin, leaving goosebumps. His hands move to your arms that are tied behind, his nails skimming down until fingers curl around the knot of the whip. 

“We can play,” you whisper, kissing him again. “I just want to make you happy.” 

“You do,” he answers quickly. You can almost hear the frown in his voice. “Of course you do. You’re my sweet girl, you always make me happy.” 

Jack’s fingers start working the knot, you quickly pull back, “Don’t remove it,” you blurt out. His brows raise with amusement, a toothy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Cheeks burning you look away, “I want you to fuck me like this,” you utter with a jutted bottom lip. 

“God, I need to be inside you,” he drawls, accent thick, and everything in you grows taut. “Been jerking myself almost every night thinkin’ about this sweet pussy.” 

“Really?” 

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he smirks, helping you raise to your knees. “You’re not the only one with a vivid imagination.” 

Jack positions his length against you, his fingers biting into your waist, watching the slow fall of your hips. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, biting painfully. You’re quick to move, dragging your nose down his, you lick at his mouth and urge him to release the abused flesh. He does so with a breathy moan, hips stuttering deeper into you as you suck it between your own lips, easing the pain of his bite. 

He takes your neck in his hands, thumbs caressing over the sensitive skin of your throat. His touch grows more insistent as he continues to trace circles and feathery touches up your jaw and around your ear and back down again. You hear him groan, deep and low, sending thrills through your body. 

Jack shifts his hips up into you, pushing himself closer to the entrance of your heat. He traces the curves of your body, pressing against you with every inviting motion. You can feel every inch of him pressing firmly inside of you. You groan at the stretch, you’ll never get sick of this. Never get sick of the feeling of being so full. He hooks a finger into one of the loops of the whip and pulls you down, hips flush against his. Your lungs convulse, breath hitching, pleasure burning you from the inside out. Your lips drop open and he shoves his tongue inside, ravaging your mouth and swallowing your cries.  

He guides the jump of your hips, snapping his hips at the same time you drop yours. Tears blur your vision, overwhelmed. Jack’s gaze is fixed on where you two connect, watching his cock disappear into the tight fist of your cunt. His movements grow harder and more aggressive, pushing you to your limits. His breath tangles with yours, his hands alternately caressing and holding tight to your wrists while his hips rotate into you. The room is filled with the sounds of rugged breaths. 

“Atta girl. That’s it, feels good don’t it?” 

“So good,” you say hoarsely, rolling your hips. “Don’t stop.” 

Jack fully laughs at that, it’s boisterous and loud, a small smile of your own makes its way to your lips. You would’ve laughed too if it wasn’t for his cock sliding in and out of you, a shudder rolls down your spine. He quiets down, eyes gazing deep into your own. 

“Oh sweetheart,” he says, voice dropping into something dangerous. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”  

He moves inside you, pushing himself faster and deeper. His thrusts become more powerful, almost urgent as he works to take you to the brink of ecstasy. His hands reach for your wrists, tightening their embrace and pinning you down to him, hammering up into you. All your focus narrows on the feeling of him. Heat builds between your thighs, cock drilling into you without hesitation. 

Finally, as the intensity builds to its peak, Jack's thrusts become almost frantic, and with each movement, waves of pleasure ripple through your body, leaving you gasping for breath. You’re both lost in each other. 

Your moans become louder and higher pitched as he drives himself ever deeper into you. You feel his velvety hardness pulsing inside of you, his hands grasping tightly—and he breaks you. 

Your entire body jerks, every fiber of your being coming to a sudden halt only to come back alive again. You think you cry out his name but your mouth is dry, your throat sore. He hisses at the way you squeeze him tight, your walls pulsing and gushing around him. You press your nails into your palms and a moment later Jack forces your hands open, the sharp ends finding purchase above his hands instead. 

“That’s it,” he sings his praise. “I got you, sweetheart, you feel so good, so fuckin’ good.” 

Jack withdraws slightly, still deeply embedded within you, before gently pushing you back down on the mattress. Your shoulders ache at the pressure yet you welcome it, pleasure still heavy in your veins. 

“I wanna come over your tits, darlin’,” he nips at your chin. “Is that okay?” 

With a moan, you nod. You manage to push yourself up, capturing his lips in a quick kiss before you fall back down again. He smiles down at you, eyes shining. 

Your eyes grow wide at the sight of him, strong body straddling your stomach, his flushed cock in his fist. He strokes himself, thumb swiping the slit as he pushes the head against the swell. Jack groans at the added pressure, gently rocking his hips. Slick trickles down from your core, forcing a shudder up your spine. Jack’s breathing goes ragged, eyes finding yours as his chin drops with a moan rattling his chest. 

He spills himself between your breasts, he grinds helplessly against them, cock twitching and throbbing as his come lands on your chest, throat, and chin. Your tongue slips from between your lips by instinct, sadly you can’t reach the traces of him. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, deftly bending over. He leaves you short of breath as he cleans you up with his mouth, licking himself clean off your skin. “Come here,” he utters, holding you by the shoulders and pressing your mouths together. He slips his tongue between your lips along with the remnants of himself. You groan at the taste. Bittersweet. Filthy. You swallow him down, tongue searching for more. “Greedy little thing,” he mutters between breaths. 

His kiss lingers for a moment until finally, he pulls away and smiles. Then, once again, your surroundings shift. You find yourself buried in his chest, your arms and legs angled awkwardly. 

“Let me get you out of this,” he says, untying you. “And then let’s shower, put some ointment over these marks.” 

You hear a hint of remorse at the end, brows furrowing, you cradle his face between your sweaty palms. With smushed cheeks, he gives you a confused look. 

“I wanted this, Jack,” you say clearly. “Don’t feel bad.” 

“I don’t,” he grunts. When you give him a look he relents. “I don’t, really,” he tenderly touches your wrists and gathers your hands between his own. “I enjoy it but I can’t help feelin’ a bit bad. It just happens.” 

“Come’re.” 

You pull him into a tight embrace, ignoring the soreness of limbs and burns. Jack buries his nose in your neck and inhales you, deep breaths raising goose bumps over your skin. Your fingers snake into his hair and you gently scratch his scalp, he hums, laying a kiss on your shoulder. 

“You take plenty of care of me. Just know that, okay?” his arms tighten around you. “Feel what you’re feeling but just now that I’m happy and satisfied.” 

“Okay,” he swallows, pulling away from you. “Now let’s get cleaned.” 

By the time you both climb into the bath, you’re both smiling, giggling (more so you rather than Jack), and briefing each other about all the things that happened while Jack was away. 

[penvisions]

buckles and barley {new series masterlist}

Fandom: Kingsmen - The Golden Circle

Pairing: Rancher! Jack Daniels x Ranchhand! Reader

Summary: You seek out a secluded ranch outside the city limits at the behest of your ill father. In search of one of his old friends he had lost contact with after returning from a deployment and a catastrophic fallout. But instead you find the charming, dedicated, and rather handsome son of the man who had already passed, Jack Daniels. A night of bonding over the iron wills of your fathers and you find yourself falling into bed with him, only to be called away by the hospital that your father had been rushed too.

Devastated but free from the ties of your former life, you return to the ranch a changed woman. With the help of a man who holds his own grief, you learn how to tend to the horses and maintain the land. Together, you dance around each other as the seasons change. Cultivating a life that you never envisioned for yourself.

Wordcount: undetermined

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, death of a loved one, strained family dynamics, grief, implied verbal abuse, implied anger issues, allusions to past relationships, reader finds herself, reader takes control of her life, minor injuries, accident prone reader, allusions to infidelity, miscommunication, pining, mutual pining, protective jack, adult content, sexual content, smut, p in v, unprotected p in v, oral (f and m receiving), more to be added as the story develops!

A/N: excited to delve into this once {by the grit of sandpaper} is concluded. will be doing a little bit of a different approach with this one, it's a new pedro character for me and i wanted to try writing a majority of this one before i begin posting to help establish a solid posting schedule!

ao3 link || navigation || main masterlist || ko-fi

sneakie peek || fic teaser || chapter one header

[lis-likes-fics]

Sweet as Sugar

Pairings: Agent Whiskey x Reader Word Count: 11.3k Warnings: NSFW, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pining, cunnilingus, blowjob, slight dirty talk, slight praise kink, cowboy rule, swearing (this is basic smut, I think), Whiskey’s a little confused but he’s got the spirit... A/N: I have a writer’s block toward the end of writing this, so what should have only take about a week took, like, a month. Hopefully, I’m back to writing again but I will make no promises bc it’s too gloomy outside for any good serotonin boost to write with. Thank you and enjoy this peace offering bc Pedro Pascal had found a way into my brain!

The mall was bustling with people, men and women coming and going, passing through to look at all the booths and tables showing off all the different organizations to one another as the convention continued on through the day. It was not just any convention, either. Secret services from all over the world, interconnected and soon-to-be, gathered that day to listen and learn and hopefully form closer partnerships to other companies. The entire building was rented out for this function.

Agents continued to pass by the big booth decorated with rhinestones and flowers, which advocated an elegant simplicity to represent the business they ran. Displayed on either side of the booth were two dresses: one a simple, yet fashionable wedding dress with intricate detailing sewed into every stitch, the other, a woman’s business suit with a flower pin carved from what looked like sapphires. Along the table were pieces of jewelry—watches, bracelets, rings, necklaces, just samples of what the company had to offer—and pamphlets of what exactly it was the business they were running.

And displayed proudly on the sign over their booth was a symbol, a renaissance style ‘Q’ that twisted and curved in classic cursive.

You sighed as you ran your hands along the sleeves of your blazer, your fingers grazing the cufflink on your wrist that matched the symbol of your agency. You had been standing behind your booth with one of three of your coworkers for about an hour now, waning the daylight in shifts between handling the booth and exploring the convention for food or company that was not the women running your station.

You looked over your watch as you awaited the return of your colleagues so you could switch off again, so you could leave the confines of advertising your business. Your outfit—a delicate gold satin button down that loosely tucked into your perfectly tailored white dress pants, which flowed along your legs and matched with white blazer to create your formal attire suit—was a perfect representation of your agency: distinguished and efficient. Your partner, though she wore silver and blue, stood beside you to match.

You smiled and shifted the clubmaster frames sitting at the edge of your nose as Pearl and Jasper returned, both women sending you nods and smiles as they took your places behind the booth for your switch. “We found the Kings just that way,” Jasper said, pointing in the direction they’d just come from before shifting the cloud of coiled black hair away from her face and securing it in a poofy ponytail. She then slipped her hands back into the pockets of her dark red suit, glancing back at Pearl as she spoke.

“They’ve got a nice booth. We might have some competition,” she quipped, smirking as smoothed her fingers over the thin chain of her necklace.

Opal, your own partner, laughed and shook her head. “Don’t we always have competition with the Kings?” she retorted, playful as she turned to walk with you. You agreed with her joke and headed in the direction Jasper had pointed in.

On the way, a pair of eyes spotted you and you offered a large grin. One of the agencies you partner with were the Amadoda Amafulege, the Flagsmen. They were a company set in Africa who you counted on for certain resources: information, jewels or gemstones, fabrics. They were reliable friends.

You and Opal approached them with wide grins, pointing them in the direction of your own booths to greet Jasper and Pearl. The interaction was short but warm hearted, and you were off again before you could be sidetracked by some other business you happen to work with. You both continued on walking, greeting physical bodies and holographic forms with waves and nods.

The large sign of the Kingsman symbol sat atop a booth as two well-dressed gentlemen with glasses stood behind their booth. One of them spotted the both of you, recognizing the likewise fashion choices as you came closer. Opal grinned, a mix of amusement and adoration in her tone at the company which both allied and competed with your own. “The famed Kingsman.”

The younger one smiled, offering a nod to you both. “Hello,” he greeted. When you finally stood in front of their booth, he reached out and handed each of you a pamphlet. You glanced over it, disinterested in absorbing information you already know. Both agents held their hands out for you. “Agent Galahad. This is Agent Merlin.”

The older man, Merlin, gave a courteous nod, “Pleasure to meet you.”

You nodded, shaking his hand confidently. “Back at you,” you responded. “We didn’t know if you’d be coming.”

Merlin gave a nod, smiling with a slight chuckle at your words. The Kingsman had not shown up to the last convention, business had gotten in the way and they were greatly missed. “We pulled some strings.”

You looked over their table at a few gadgets, some disguised as ties or watches, and then looked over at the two suits they chose to display similarly to your own booth. “Good to have the famous Galahad and Merlin,” you said, “and with a good booth.”

Your tone offered your impressed attitude toward their well-decorated station. Some of the booths here had not offered a lot of effort, simply their symbols on a sign and some pamphlets and gadgets on their tables. Plain. Boring.

“Some of these are severely lacking,” Opal said, practically reading your mind. She ran a hand through her hair, pushing the black curls out of her face so she could see as she offered her smile. “You’d think a secret service could put together a decent booth.”

Galahad extended a hand with his suggestion, "You should stop by the Statesman. You'd probably be impressed."

"We'll keep it in mind," you agreed, picking up one of the fancy watches on display. You examined it, the Kingsman symbol hiding under the glass, the gold lining on the band, the knobs and secret accesses embedded inside.

Merlin smiled, "In the meantime, we shall take a stop by yours."

Opal nodded, "Down by the Krispy Kreme. Can't miss it."

Your thumb pressed against the button on the side meant to wind the hour hand. It obeyed, pushing down and revealing a hologram of the Kingsman symbol once more.

"Very nice toy," you commented, pushing the button again to make the symbol retreat.

Merlin hummed, "You haven't found the kill button yet."

You shook your head, still examining the watch. "No, I have. You've got the poison dart here–" you tapped the near-invisible button on the side, "and the tranq dart here," you tapped the button next to it.

They raised their brows at you, impressed. "You've got them too close together, you should separate them a little more," you suggested. "Wouldn't want someone trying to knock an important target out and end up killing them instead."

The agents glanced at each other under Opal's watching gaze and your diverted one as you set the watch back down. Galahad nodded, "Right."

"Opal," you said as you turned to your partner. She hummed and you held your hand out.

"Oh, yes," she mumbled, lifting the lapel of her jacket to reach into a pocket. She handed it to you for you to present to both Kingsman. The box was lengthwise, a thin, golden thing housing a watch made by your agency.

"This is for Galahad—Harry—sent by our boss. She was hoping for us to run into you today. You'll give it?" You said, handing it over to the two.

"Of course," Merlin said, peeking inside of the box with a nod.

The two of you left again to go look at some other booths, or to find food. They sent you off with the directions to the Statesman, waving and wishing you farewell.

As you walked next to Opal, you recounted the booths you'd seen and the ones you hadn't on the way. You motioned toward the restaurant in the distance, smiling at the waft of good food as you got closer to it. You would all have to stop and eat there later today.

Your thoughts came to a halt when you heard someone's voice speaking to you, an unfamiliar voice that had you turning your head at the two figures approaching you.

"Hey there, sugar."

The voice had a Southern twang, smiling and confident as the owner slowed to stand in front of you. "Here we go," Opal mumbled beside you with an amused grin.

He was a handsome man, charming in the right ways. The black hat on his head accompanied his accent and his outfit, a suit that screamed professional cowboy. The mustache above his lip was kept and clean, and he wore it well, along with the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

He looked at you with his dark eyes, his tongue poking out to lick his bottom lip as he smirked. "How lucky am I to see a beauty like you in a place like this?"

There was a woman next to him with short dark brown hair mostly shielded by her own western hat, her skin shades lighter as her own glasses sat at the bridge of her nose. She held her hand out, "Hi, I'm Ginger Ale. This is Whiskey."

"Nice to meet you," you greeted her warmly, taking in the sight of her with a look that could only be described as an evaluation.

You turned to Whiskey, raising an amused brow as you held your hand to shake his. He grabbed it gingerly, bending at the waist to press a kiss to your knuckles.

"How do you do?" he winked, holding onto your hand a little longer before letting you go.

Opal chuckled, "He's cute."

He smiled at her, satisfied with her assessment as he grinned at her like some excited pup.

You tilted your head, nodding slowly. "Yeah… In a flirty toddler kind of way." His demeanor did not shift, your words were no dagger to his ego. "Just want to pinch his cheeks and pat his head," you chuckled, half-reaching like you would actually do it.

You might, his skin looked soft and you want to see his hair underneath his hat.

He winked again, licking his bottom lip, "You can do whatever you want, sugar," he quipped.

You chuckled. Cute.

"You think so?" you asked, tilting your head as you pitched your voice a few octaves to sound as sweet as the nickname he kept calling you.

He shifted so he was standing beside you, careful with his arm in case you didn't want to be touched. Thoughtful. He walked a little with you, leaving Opal and Ginger to stand next to one another and watch him guide you a few feet away.

"I know so," he chuckled. "What's your name?" He said "your" in that way only cowboys can say it: that slurred 'u' that made the 'r' slightly bleed into the last word.

You licked your bottom lip, offering a teasing gaze as you looked at him through your lashes. "Why don't you guess it?" You turned to him, setting your hands on his chest and playing with his tie.

He seemed charmed, entranced by your little gestures and looks. "Probably something pretty like that necklace," he smirked, motioning to your chest as his fingers brushed the golden locket around your neck, resting just between your breasts.

You took it in your hands, stroking the sides. "You like my necklace?"

"It's beautiful," he agreed, staring back at you with a gaze that matched the lovestruck puppy vibe he'd given you earlier. "Just like you," he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles once more.

"You wanna take a look inside?"

"I'd be delighted," he breathed, leaning forward just a little as his face huddled closer to you. You offered a tiny giggle as you undid the clasp, slowly opening the locket as you built the suspense of what could possibly be presented inside.

A bright light flashed quickly into Whiskey's eyes, there one second and gone before a full one could pass. Whiskey's hands rushed to his face as he made a slight groan, and he stumbled backward. You reached forward, pressing a hand to his chest, and watched him fall to the ground.

He made little sounds of discomfort, laying on his back as he brought his hands away and blinked rapidly. He stared in no clear direction, looking around blankly for…something.

Opal chuckled from her spot, Ginger stared with a mix of amusement and concern, and you just looked down at him with a smile as he tried to see.

You approached him, bending at the hips and looking down at him with a smile. You brushed some hair out of your face.

"This is my partner, Opal," you gestured toward her, though you knew he could not see. Your necklace had a device within it that temporarily blinded those on the unfortunate end of it—temporarily.

You pressed a hand to your chest, "My name is Diamond," you reached out and picked up his hat, which had fallen off his head. "Agents of the Queensmaiden."

You brushed the fabric of the hat, setting it over his face before straightening your back. You looked at Ginger Ale as you rejoined Opal's side. "Nice to meet you, Ginger."

She smiled and dipped her hat at you once, waving. "You, too. Feel free to stop by the Statesman."

You nodded, looping your arm with your partner's, paying the blind agent no mind as he struggled to his feet. "We were just headed there!" you smiled, amazed at the turn of events as you pointed it out. "We'll stop by later…when he can see again."

You turned with Opal, looking over your shoulder and grinning gently. "Bye, Whiskey," you giggled before taking your leave.

Whiskey reached out hastily, grabbing a hold of Ginger, just to make sure she was still there. The way she could have rolled her eyes and shook her head as a dopey smile spread over his lips. He motioned in the direction he thought you walked out in, sighing dreamily.

"I need her."

This time, Ginger did roll her eyes and shake her head. She took his outstretched hand and started pulling him back to the booth. "Come on, lover boy."

~

You did visit the Statesman’s booth—where you met Scotch and Tequila—but did so while Whiskey was away. You wanted to tease him, make him anticipate your arrival for you not to appear and leave him wanting more.

As the night waned, the booths were taken down to make room for the afterparty that had already begun. You were standing at one of the tall, narrow tables with Opal and Tequila, enjoying the music playing in the background as people mingled through the night.

As you laughed at a sarcastic comment made by Tequila, you heard the familiarly smooth voice of his colleague fill the space between you and couldn’t fight your smile.

“I see you’ve met my associate,” he announced himself, sidling up next to you as he leaned on the table. The look on his face held no defeat or upset, he was just as smiling as before as he took in the sight of you, once again entranced.

You chuckled, looking him up and down as you watched each other. “Oh,” you smiled, “so you can see again…”

He laughed heartily at that, amusement seeping into the sound and painting your stomach with butterflies, a light, airy feeling that bounced off the bones of your ribcage. He clasped his hands together, motioning with his head toward your chest, where your golden locket still lay idly by.

“Very nifty gadget, that necklace of yours,” Whiskey smiled, his eyes never leaving yours for long.

You picked it up, tracing your thumb along it like you had done before in a slight tease. “I’d like to think so. I designed it,” you confessed, setting it back down and looking at him, your head tilted up as you straightened your spine with pride. He tilted his head to the side, his grin deepening at your clear genius.

Tequila and Opal shared a look as they took in the interaction, chuckling lightly. “I’ll go ahead and step away now,” he said, doing just that and glancing back at your partner standing by his side.

She nodded her agreement, holding her hand out to the offered crook of his arm. “And I’ll join you.” She walked away with him, shaking her head and smiling as she left to go hang out with her own new plaything—of sorts.

Whiskey’s eyes looked you up and down as he thought over something for a moment before he simply spoke again. “Can I buy you a drink, sweetness?” he offered, holding his own arm out for you as Tequila had done.

You considered him, raising a brow. “I’m still sweet, huh?”

He flashed his teeth with his next grin, dipping his head down in a nod as a gesture with his hat. “Like sugar,” he hummed.

You sighed. “Okay.” Your arm looped through his own, and he smiled triumphantly as he gently tucked you into his side. You gave him a similar gaze to the one you’d given him before he ended up walking around blindly for an hour: your head tilted down as you looked up at him through your lashes, your smile soft, and your eyes teasing—the perfect demonstration of the less eloquently put “fuck me eyes”. “Lead the way, Whiskey.”

He walked you to the bar that had opened earlier on for the convention. The liquor was all top shelf stuff—they wouldn’t dare give low-quality alcohol to these highly respectable representatives of these agencies. He made sure you were sitting comfortably on your stool before he took his seat next to you—a true gentleman.

A bartender came down to the pair of you and smiled, waiting for your orders. “Scotch, neat,” you nodded, adding a “thank you” on the end as you looked away, anywhere but Whiskey while your eyes examined the many options behind the bartender.

“Actually,” Whiskey held his finger up, “I want you to try something.” You looked at him, narrowing your eyes teasingly at what he could be doing now. He turned to the bartender, pulling his hat off and setting it to the side to reveal the neatly kept hair underneath it. “Kentucky Statesman, whiskey,” he nodded.

They nodded back before stepping away to grab the bottle. You looked at him with a smirk as he gazed back at you, self-satisfied before you’d even tried the liquor he’d suggested. The bartender returned with the bottle of the amber liquid, showing off the label to ensure it was the correct one. When Whiskey nodded, they grabbed two glasses from under the bar and set it on the table, pouring the appropriate amount into each one.

You picked up the glass as it was given to you, swishing it around and examining it. You picked up the bottle in your other hand and looked at the label as you brought the lip of the glass to your nose to smell the heady scent of liquor. “Whiskey from Whiskey, huh?” you quipped, still only sampling the scent.

He laughed, sitting back with his glass in his hand, refusing to take a sip until you had. “Give it a taste.”

You smiled suspiciously, bringing the glass to your lips and sniffing it once more before finally tasting it. A sigh escaped you as whiskey lingered on your tongue before burning delightfully down your throat. It was magnificent, like liquid gold.

"Oh my god," you whispered under your breath, closing your eyes and shaking your head.

He smiled proudly, "Good, right?"

You looked at him, composing yourself once more as you straightened your back and too-slowly set your glass back down. You let out a long, calculated breath and just nodded too hard. "It's…It's good, yeah."

He finally drank from his own glass, hiding his chuckle as he beamed. "Go on," he said as he set his glass back down. "Have some more. On the house."

You looked at him, raising a brow. "I thought you were buying me a drink," you pointed out, taking another generous gulp.

He leaned back, motioning widely to the large selection of fine liquor. "Be my guest, get whatever you want."

You inhaled the intoxicating scent of the drink already in hand, your eyelids fluttering for a split second before you just shook your head. "I suppose I'll settle for this," you told him, sipping your drink and setting it down again.

Whiskey grabbed the bottle and refilled your glass. You looked up at him, narrowing your eyes playfully and smirking. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

He shook his head, "Of course not. Just tryna show you the plus side of a Statesman." He set the bottle down and winked at you.

You scoffed, anything but annoyed. "What, think I'll find you?" you swirled your drink around. "We'll hook up over some good liquor?"

His laugh was nearly explosive as he shook his head, seemingly amused in the deepest degree. "Oh, no," he said. "I intend to do more than simply 'hookin' up' with you."

You hummed your response, examining him for far too long and looking away before his dark gaze could override your self-restraint. You crossed your legs, turning your body to face away from him again.

"So," he breathed, "tell me about the Queensmaiden."

You took in a long breath and blew it out to think, reaching out and grabbing his hat discarded on the table. Feeling the fabric under your fingers, you tilted your head. "What do you want to know?"

He shrugged, "Where did it come from?"

"Well," you began, "It was formed some time after Kingsman, 1952, by a man named Bobby Gold." They way you said it, with reverence and sass, Whiskey's lips twitched in a smile. "He's like… in his late eighties now, looking good." You shook your head to get back on track. "He founded the Queensmaiden to be an all-women agency, picked a protégé to take his place and run it after he stepped down."

You turned to him with a boastful smirk, "She's the first Diamond—was the first Diamond, she retired. I knew her, worked with her when I first joined. I got her name, promoted from Quartz."

He nodded, deeply invested in the way you spoke as you played with his hat, made of sturdy, soft fabric. "Fascinatin'," he smiled.

You nodded. "Gold ran a really popular jewelry business of the same name, had a younger sister who ran a tailor shop for women's clothing with her husband. He founded it, she later partnered as co-founder. Now we're a boutique found in most countries…all over the world." You shrugged your shoulder so nonchalantly, like your boast wasn't a real boast. "It's very efficient, dare I say, more efficient than the Kingsman itself."

He snorted, "Don't tell them that."

You leaned forward, too close within his space, "They probably already know." You sidled up closer to him, a clear flirt as you smiled. You raised his hat to him and set it atop your own head.

Whiskey's eyes darkened as he watched you down his nose. "You know…" he said slowly, "there's this rule where I come from… Wear the hat, ride the cowboy."

You licked your bottom lip as your eyes flicked up and down his face. "Oh, I'm well aware." His hand reached out and grazed your arm, daring to bring you closer before you pulled away from him again with a sweet smile. "What about Statesman?"

It took a beat for him to recover before he was shaking his head. "Not as glamorous," he sighed thickly. "Agency in the south full of cowboys and rascals."

You traced the rim of your glass with your finger, picking it up again and bringing it to your lips. "Well, I love me a nice cowboy," you said as you looked at him over your cup.

"Lucky for me, huh?"

"We'll see." You took a sip from your glass.

Suddenly, the music which had been in the background shifted into something else. Country music blared through the speakers and caught the attention of everyone in the area. Some excitedly stood to go join the small group ready who may have recognized the music, but one look at the jukebox provided by one of the agencies here proved that it was, indeed, a southerner who'd started the music.

Tequila stood there with his hat on his head as he smiled, one hand held out and grasping Opal's hand as he spun her into his chest. He glanced up at Whiskey and nodded once before hopping off to the large space cleared to dance.

He was the one to determine what dance was being done as he twirled Opal around into a half amateur-half professional swing dance. People joined in with their partners and allowed themselves to be swept away into more amateur dancing—a dance Whiskey suddenly seemed confident to prove himself in.

"C'mon, I've never missed a swing," he smiled excitedly.

He took your hand and pulled you to the floor before you could protest. He swung you, making you stumble into his chest as you breathed quickly. "I've never swing danced before," you confessed.

He looked you dead in the eye, his own sparkling with excitement and hints of giddiness. "Just follow me," he breathed, his kissable lips forming the words in a way that made it impossible to deny him this.

You sighed, "You better know what you're doing."

He smirked, this one more sly than the last. "Trust me, sugar," he leaned in. "I know what I'm doin'."

You tilted your head, standing up a little more and placing your hands in his. Once you were situated, you smiled and let out a breath of courage. "Well," you whispered, "show me how a real cowboy does it."

Whiskey beamed before he pulled you into the music, quick steps and swinging arm making it impossible to keep up. He twirled you out, he twirled you back in, he switched you to one side and swung you to the other. He spun you under his arm and into his chest. Just when you thought he might slow down, he dipped and held you in his arms with heavy breaths.

He caught the hat as it fell from your head, lingering there and staring at your lips. You stared into the depths of his gaze, catching your breath as they mingled between you in soft puffs of air. He slowly straightened his spine, standing you up and setting the hat atop your head once more, admiring its place there.

You smiled, leaning forward oh-so slowly. His eyes fluttered until they were closed. He looked so calm, so gentle and pretty. You pulled his hat from your head and put it back on him, lingering there a moment before pulling out of his arms and missing his warmth.

He felt you leave and refused to watch you leave him behind. When he opened his eyes again, you were gone. When he turned his head to a mystified Tequila, Opal was gone.

A breath poured from his lips as he couldn't help but smile. He smiled at your charm, at the way you left him starstruck, at the way he'd slipped his number in your pocket in the hopes you called him, finding him again and leaving him with a little more closure as he looked down at his boots and shook his head.

"Fuck me," he cursed, chuckling to himself.

~

That was the last he saw of you for months, the last you saw of him for months.

You hated how much you thought about him—his puppy-like flirtations, his darkened gaze, his fascination, and the way he moved you like a tornado on the dance floor. You stared at the crumpled up piece of paper with his number scrawled on it all the time, considering, thinking, wanting to call.

But you never did. Never once did you pick up the phone and dial his number. Never once did you talk about him to your colleagues or your partners—not even with Opal, who was totally smitten with her own cowboy.

You missed him, but you were determined not to.

But that didn't mean a crossing of paths would hinder a good reunion.

You smiled at the receptionist at the front desk, who granted you a smile of his own with the tilt of his head. Walking up to the desk, you adjusted the purse on your arm and spoke. “Hello, I’m here for an appointment with Mr. Sullivan. I’m his three o’clock.”

He hummed, “I wasn’t aware Mr. Sullivan was taking appointments today. Name?” he asked, turning to his computer.

“Davis. We made an appointment together over the phone,” you stated in a sickly sweet voice. “Oh, I hope I marked the right day.”

He looked at you and just smiled, shaking his head. “No worries. I don’t see you in the database, but I’ll just give him a quick call to confirm. Alright?”

You nodded, thanking him kindly as you wiped your hands down your light suit. He picked up the phone and dialed the number to his boss’ office, giving you another large grin. When the phone was picked up, he began to explain the situation, and his reaction was full of wide eyes and stutters. “Yes, sir,” he answered, setting the phone back down.

He looked back at you regretfully. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Sullivan will not be taking any appointments today. You are welcome to reschedule, if you’d like.”

“Of course,” you nodded.

“Great.” He reached down under the desk to grab some papers before wincing. “I’ll have to go make some copies. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Not a problem.”

He disappeared behind a door behind the desk and you sighed, turning anyway to go up to the elevator on your right. As you were walking, you noticed a group of men walking down the hall, dressed in black with shades over their eyes. Security guards. You straightened your spine and merely kept walking. You were just at the elevator when you heard shots firing behind you. You groaned loudly and ducked for cover. Their gunfire was loud and thunderous, making couch stuffing and wood splinters fly through the air as you hid behind a desk behind a sofa in the cushy lobby.

You cursed under your breath as you dug through your purse. “No, no, no,” you mumbled as you selected which weapon you would use. You dug out a little silver disc and smiled. “Yes,” you declared as you pulled a little pin out of the side.

You threw it behind you where the guards were still shooting, and ducked down, waiting for a blow that never came as the gunshots continued. “Talc!” you yelled, shaking your head at the newbie in the weapons department and one of her faulty weapons making its way into your arsenal.

You huffed as you looked behind you before you suddenly heard a body drop. You looked over and your eyes widened in shock and surprise. Hiding behind a couch a little farther away from your own was a person who definitely was not on their side. He locked eyes with you, and your expressions became mirrors of the other.

“Diamond?” “Whiskey?”

The simultaneous ringing of your names only escalated the confusion as you stared at one another. “What are you doing here?” he questioned in as low a whisper he could manage to ensure you still heard him, holding a sleek, golden gun tight in his grip as he paid no mind to the small cavalry currently shooting at you.

“I’m on a fucking mission. What are you doing here?” you countered.

He shrugged, “On a fuckin’ mission.”

Shit. “Shit,” you huffed. You thought for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest. “What’s your objective?”

Whiskey pressed his gun to his temple, tilting it up as a gesture of his assassination attempt. You let out a breath of relief, pulling a drive with the Queensmaiden symbol on the side from out of your bra and showing it off to him. He sighed as well.

“Cover me?” you asked.

He smiled and nodded, sending you a flirty wink. “You got it, sugar.”

You grinned and counted down for him before ducking out of your cover and rushing to the elevator closest to you. Whiskey stood, grasping his gun as he shot. You pressed the elevator door button and glanced over your shoulder, gripping your gun tight as you waited impatiently for the elevator to open.

When you heard the ding, you had half a second to celebrate as a loud shot came too close to you. You looked down at the elevator button, flashing and sparking as it sat destroyed in the wall.

You pried the door open and shouted Whiskey's name over your shoulder as he retreated back. You got inside, jamming the button closed without missing a beat or waiting for him to get through.

The doors were already closing when he finally slipped through, a bullet missing him by an inch. In the safety of the elevator, you let out a breath and calmed.

There was silence, besides the breaths blowing through the space of the elevator. Whiskey looked at you as you raised your hand, looking at the clock face of your watch.

"You never called," he accused, looking at you with a raised brow and a look on his face that wasn't mad, but not entirely giddy with joy.

You shrugged, still not looking at him. "Been busy."

He chuckled, "With what?"

You missed his voice, that smooth Southern lilt that could lull you to gentle sleep or drive you insane with desire. With the adrenaline pumping through your veins, it was the latter.

"My job," you laughed, pressing a button on your watch as a hologram arose from it, circling the Queensmaiden symbol.

You turned to him, granting him a smile. You were more happy to see him than you should have been. "Did you miss me, lover boy?" you winked. "Tequila says you did."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "You've been talking with Tequila?"

You smirked, nodding. "Of course," you told him, swiping the hologram aside to pull up some files off of some computer. "He's with Opal. They hooked up after the convention."

He sighed longingly, leaning on one leg as he set his gun back in his holster. "And to think," he breathed. "That coulda been us."

You snorted, "Don't get ahead of yourself, cowboy."

You tapped away from the files you'd been scrolling through, pulling up some surveillance footage. There was a hall through the camera, one full of guards with more numbers than the ones downstairs.

"Aww," you muttered. "We have a whole welcome party waiting for us." You turned him with a grin, swiping away the hologram and returning your hand to your side.

He reached behind his back as he smiled. "How sweet."

Whipping his jacket to the side, he grabbed some sort of fancy handle, intricately detailed with gold and silver. You nodded, impressed as you looked at its design.

"Nice," you commented. You opened your jacket, sliding it off your arms and reaching behind you to grab a hold of a handle of your own. It was blue, a shining color that sparkled as Whiskey's eyes scanned over it.

The elevator dinged and you stood beside Whiskey with a smile. The sea of guards on the other side watched you with stern faces, ready for the inevitable fight as they stared down two people who didn't stand a chance.

"Well, howdy, fellas," Whiskey greeted, tipping his hat.

You tilted your head and smiled, "How do you do?" You pressed a small button on one end and the handle began to unfold, expanding into a dagger on one end of a strong rope and a heavy hammer-like weapon on the other.

At the sight of the weapon, the fight began. With drawn guns and angry glares, the guards were quick with their guns as they cornered you in the elevator.

The handle in Whiskey's hand extended into a lasso—a silver whip that he swung out into the small army. It wrapped around the gun of the man in the front of the group, holding on tight as he pulled it taut and sent him falling forward.

You took your rope dart and began swinging it, smacking a bullet out of the way as it hurdled toward you. You threw it and Whiskey watched, amazed, as it wrapped around some man's neck and the dagger embedded itself into his chest. You pulled it, and he spun around to the floor.

The other guards were distracted long enough for the both of you to retreat from the elevator and into the fight.

Ropes flew through the air, daggers pierced bodies, and electricity had them writhing in pain before dropping to the floor. Whiskey's rope wrapped around someone's neck as he pulled him in, punching him hard in the face and sending him to the floor.

He heard a pained yell behind him and turned to see some man falling to the floor with a blue knife in his back. You stepped forward, setting your foot on his back and pulling the dart out.

"That's cool," he said, admiring your weapon of choice.

You smiled, pulling a gun and shooting someone coming toward Whiskey from behind. "Thank you. It's made of sapphires."

"Oo," he smiled. "Duck." You did so, dipping down as he raised his own gun and shot another man aiming his gun at you.

He looked down at you, knelt on one knee in front of him, tightly gripping your rope tight. "What an interestin' position we've found ourselves in."

You scoffed, standing up too close to him. "Keep it in your pants, hotshot."

You turned on your heel, returning to the fight as the few guards who were left brandished their guns. The last of them were easy to take out, and you did. As you swung your rope at the last man standing you noticed a different rope do the same.

You turned your head to Whiskey as he smiled at you. "Looks like we made a connection."

You rolled your eyes. "Shut up." You grabbed your gun and raised it to the man, shooting him instantly and collecting your rope as he dropped to the floor.

You walked over to the body, bending down and wiping the blood from your blade before stepping over him and toward the grand office door down the hall. Whiskey was more than happy to follow you.

You take a card you'd snatched from one of the bodies and swipe it along the reader, the door sliding open to allow you inside. As soon as you crossed the threshold, you heard the sound of a gun click.

You both looked up at Mr. Sullivan pointing his gun at you, dressed in an expensive suit with hands that trembled only slightly with fear for his life. You sighed, looking back at him. "Well, you caught us," you said as you stood beside Whiskey. "Props."

"Question is…" Whiskey added, "who're you gonna shoot?"

Sullivan tilted his head. There was no amusement in his face, but he gave you a look that said "really?". He motioned between the two of you and raised a brow. "You've got some rope. I've got a gun. I can shoot both of you."

Whiskey nodded, agreeing with his logic. "Well, you caught us fair and square," he sighed dramatically. Then he smirked, "Pull the trigger."

Sullivan didn't like how calm you both were. He was holding a gun to your face, and you were telling him to pull the trigger. Why the fuck would you tell him to pull the trigger if he had the upper hand? Were you suicidal?

"There's just one little thing," you spoke, shifting on your side. "You brought a gun to a knife fight."

Sullivan missed the way you passed your rope dart to Whiskey, who took it with too much excitement and, with a few mighty swings, threw it at the unsuspecting boss. The rope wrapped around his neck, and he dropped his gun to grab it and force it away to no avail. The dagger came back around after its loops, and he had no time to process as it lodged in his chest.

Whiskey smirked before he pulled roughly on the rope, spinning the man round, unwinding him like a yo-yo. The dagger yanked from his chest and Whiskey caught it as it flung back. Mr. Sullivan dropped to the floor, choking on his own blood as it spilled from his wound.

You walked past him dismissively, stepping up to his desk and grabbing your drive. Sticking it in the computer, you began typing away as Whiskey admired your weapon.

"I needa get me one of these," he muttered.

"I've got plenty. I'll send you one," you suggested.

He looked up at you, his eyes glittering, "Really?"

"Why not?" You shrugged your shoulders. Leaned over the desk, you watched the loading bar slowly climb toward completion before you were able to withdraw the drive and stuff it in your pocket.

You grabbed a butterscotch from the bowl on his desk, helping yourself as you walked back over to Whiskey. You smiled at him and tilted your head. You hold your hand out to him, making a grabby motion.

"Can I have it back?" you asked.

He tilted his head up, smiling down at you with narrowed eyes. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" you questioned.

"Can I get something in return?"

You sighed and thought for a moment, continuing to smile at him as you returned your hand to your hip. "What do you want?"

He shrugged, pretending to think. "How about a pretty please?" he smirked, his eyes dark and inviting, his voice quiet and deep.

"You want me to say please?" you asked, standing too close as your eyes flickered to his lips for half a second.

Again, he shrugged, but his smile became more wicked. "A kiss on the cheek might suffice."

You chuckled deeply, standing on your toes as you leaned forward. You got closer, closer, and closer still until your breaths mingled. You shifted to his cheek, turning your head just enough so your lips nearly brushed his ear as you whispered to him. "You're going to have to try harder than that."

You took the rope from his grip and backed away from him, watching him watch you with lidded eyes. You backed toward a private elevator in the office, pressing a button on the wall as the doors opened. You looked toward the door you came in and smiled. "You've got company."

You stepped back into the elevator and the doors closed, shielding you from him as you waved.

Whiskey stood in the office, looking toward the door that was currently being beaten against by his visitors. Smiling and shaking his head, he laughed heartily. "Clever."

You stepped out onto the roof, taking the drive from your pocket and tossing it to the ground. You pulled your gun and shot at it once, destroying it entirely as you made your way to the jet waiting for you. You boarded it, climbing into the pilot's seat as you started it up and left.

As you flew away from the building, you glanced back at it and smiled when you saw a figure climbing up the side of the building to the roof. He looked over his shoulder at you, and you could make out the distinct sight of him waving his arm at you. Not to grab your attention, but to say hello.

You saluted him before departing for a second time.

~

Your next encounter with him was not so far in the future. In fact, it was later on that night.

You walked into the large house you were staying in after a long day out. Between your mission, your flights, and everything in between, you were about ready to pour yourself a drink and go to sleep early.

The house was owned by the Queensmaiden, a mission house for meetings or get-togethers or just a place for agents to crash after long days on missions. Since your trip today was done alone, your partner back at home serving as your tech that day, you were in this big empty home alone. You didn't mind much, it was a lot of space, you could turn on the stereo as loud as you want, there was plenty of expensive booze. You were all set for the night.

As you walked through the loud house, which was filled with the classic voice of Frank Sinatra, you made your way to the open bar. As you poured yourself a drink, you glanced at the label with a smile. Statesman whiskey.

"So you did like it."

You didn't turn around, but you smiled at the smooth tone of your cowboy behind you. You grabbed a second glass and poured him his own. You set the bottle down, picked up both cups, and walked over to him with a smile.

"It's alright."

You stopped in front of him, making a bad habit of standing too close. Passing the glass over, you looked up at him through your lashes. He wasn't wearing his hat, giving you a view of his tousled hair. Likewise, he was stripped down to a white button down with the sleeves rolled up, his shirt still tucked in his pants fastened with his belt. His tie was gone, and the top buttons of the shirt were undone. He saluted his glass to you, and you gladly clinked them together in a quiet cheer before taking a sip, your eyes never parting from his.

"You know," he sighed. "This disappearing act of yours is starting to get a little old, Diamond."

You shrugged a shoulder, "I can spice it up if you want."

He simply shook his head, "I think I'd rather pick a different act. It would put us in much different positions."

"Oh?" You smiled, reluctantly turning on your heel and stepping away from him. "What positions did you have in mind?"

You lounged on the couch, kicking off your shoes. You looked back at him with one hand on your glass and the other under your chin as you rested your head on the back of the couch.

He sighed once again, his whole body moving with him as he looked at you in that way that reminded you of a lovesick pup. He set his hands on his hips, leaning on the side as he contemplated.

"You never called."

His words from earlier pricked your heart in a special kind of way this time. You sighed and just shook your head, "No, I didn't."

The song playing through the speakers in the house faded out to welcome another. Sinatra's "I'm a Fool to Want You" was sharp in your mind.

You set your glass down and looked up at Whiskey again. You reached your hand out to him, wiggling your fingers in the hope that he'll hold your hand.

He did, and you smiled.

"I did miss you," you confessed.

That offered him some solace. "Honest?"

"Honest." He sighed, stepping closer. You sat up, settling on your knees as he still towered over you. He looked at you for a long time before suddenly smiling. He bent down, wrapping his arms around your body and surprising you as he hoisted you up, spinning you over the couch and setting you on your feet. You held onto him, laughing as he pulled you close to his chest. He slid his hand into your own, entwining your fingers as his other hand rested on the small of your back.

"Dance with me?" he asked.

You tilted your head, "Do I have a choice?"

He laughed and just shook his head. "No."

You laughed. He took a side step, swaying you in time with the gentle rock of the music. It was slow and steady, filled with too much emotion than should have been allowed for a couple who had only met once a few months prior. You rested your head on his chest, your eyes closed as you blew out a long breath.

His voice rumbled in his chest as he spoke, low and quiet. "How lucky am I to see a beauty like you in a place like this?" he smiled.

You chuckled, recalling those words from when you first met. "Am I still allowed to do whatever I want?" you asked, looking up at him.

He spun you out, twirling you before spinning you back in, your back pressing against his chest. He leaned down to your ear. "Never revoked the privilege."

You twisted your neck to see him, smiling at his face so close to yours. You leaned forward, your lips ghosting over his own as you considered it. For a moment, you considered it.

You swerved to hover your lips near his ear, "Catch me."

You stepped away from him, walking backwards as your eyes stayed glued to his. You watched him with the same dark, teasing eyes as you had used before. The naughty look on your face, the proximity at which you once stood, the tingling of your lips never grazing his but teasing him with the possibility of such a sacred union…the thought of never sealing that fate with you and leaving once again for another wild goose chase where he never knew if he would see you again due to the dangers of the lives you both lived. They were possibilities that made his heart ache in ways it shouldn't have.

He just shook his head, deciding then and there that he wouldn't let you have another swift get away, wouldn't let you slip through his fingers with nothing to remember you by but the ghost breaths against the shell of his ear where you exhaled your secrets. "Not this time."

He took a few long strides toward you, taking you in his arms and crashing his lips down upon yours. You gasped into his mouth, melting instantly into him as your legs turned to jelly. He held you close to him, supporting your neck with one large hand as he consumed you in a passionate embrace.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down and swaying gently as you finally kissed the cowboy you'd been craving for months. He bent down, wrapping his arms under you and lifting you to wrap your legs around his waist. He held you up with strong arms, walking you back until he was pushing you up against a wall.

When he pulled from the kiss, heavy, hot breaths were exchanged between the two of you. His hands roamed your body, drinking you in desperately. His mouth pressed against your neck, his tongue darting out to lick along your thumping pulse. You moaned, feeling the heat between your legs igniting with a fire.

His name fell from your lips as he nibbled on your neck. Your fingers tangled in his hair and you pulled on his messy strands.

He rolled his hips into yours, pulling a shaky breath out of you. Your leg tightened around him, bringing him closer as you mirrored his own movement from before, drawing out your pleasure with grinding hips and breathless sighs. He groaned as one of his hands gripped your waist to stop you.

Whiskey unwrapped your legs from him as he set you back down on your feet. When he sank to his knees, it was with a maddening amount of eye contact that he didn’t dare break. His hands smoothed along your sides, rounding to the front to undo the clasp of your slacks. He moved torturously slow as he pulled the slacks down your legs, revealing more and more skin to him as he went along. Your eyes fluttered when you felt his lips on your thigh.

You stepped out of the pant legs when they finally pooled around your ankle. Whiskey leaned forward to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh, his tongue darting out to taste the skin before taking it between his teeth in a gentle nibble. You stifled a moan at the feeling, watching his dark eyes drink you in.

When he finally fingered the waistband of your panties, he pulled them down in one swift tug to reveal yourself to him. He licked his lips and you bit down on your own. “Look at that,” he praised. “So pretty.” He looked up at you with a cocky smirk, holding the back of your leg up and setting it atop his shoulder.

He leaned forward and your lips parted so delicately when his tongue darted out to lick you. Your breath hitched, halting in your throat as his hot tongue delved between your folds. Like a fire, the warmth spread through your body as you melted into him. Your hips jerked, seeking his mouth.

His lips wrapped around your pussy, tasting you with an intoxicated moan. When he sucked on your clit, your breath trembled and a whimper managed to weave its way through your vocal chords. His talented tongue glided through your folds before retreating as he pulled back from you to look at your pretty face.

You looked down, whining lightly at him as he stared at you with eyes that glittered with praise. His hand trickled up your side before dipping between your thighs and into your warmth. “You taste sweet as sugar, sugar.”

You had to fight through your eye roll as you enjoyed the sweet stretch of his thick fingers inside of you. “You have very skilled hands,” you nearly stuttered. Your eyes fluttered as he curled the length of his fingers.

“Why, thank you, sweetheart,” he dipped his head as though he was still wearing his hat. He pushed his fingers in deeper, adding a third as he coaxed you toward a sweeter release. He was a lot gentler than you expected, treating you like a fragile lover. It warmed your heart, so used to the less patient lovers of one-night stands long since.

The sharp dig of dull nails into the flesh of your thigh contrasted with the prior feathery fingertips on your sides. You were breathless and needy, aching for him all over. With those same fingers still buried deep inside of you, he leaned forward and sucked on your throbbing clit.

The shocks of pleasure creeping up on you sparked along your skin—your fingertips, the very ends of prickly flesh. Your fingers gripped and tangled in his hair. Your hips stuttered forward, searching for his mouth in a desperate attempt to push yourself over the edge.

But he was doing it first, crooking his fingers in the perfect way here and digging the tip of his tongue into that sensitive bundle of nerves there as your pitch climbed higher and higher with the anticipation of a climbing buildup. The rubber band inside your belly snapped and your mouth dropped. What were supposed to be rises of whiny moans were just a symphony of shuddering breaths, arrhythmic and impassioned.

He was right there to ease you through the shocks, encouraging you with his tongue back down to the tingles that covered the expanse of exposed skin.

When he pulled away, his lips were still occupied with your body, pressing hungry kisses to your thighs and lower belly with a fervor that made you tug harder on his curling locks of hair.

He looked up at you with kiss-swollen lips, smiling like an idiot in love—no, not love. This was just lust. That's all. That was it. It didn't matter if that spark in your chest only pumped through your veins when he looked at you like that.

You smiled at him, breathless. "Take me to bed."

"Don't have to tell me twice."

He tightened his grip around your waist before he stood, tossing you over his shoulder and holding you with one arm. You yelped, dissolving into giggles as he carried you through the house and through the winding halls toward the bedroom.

On the way, you smiled as you passed by his hat sitting on a table along the walls. Reaching you, you had just barely grabbed it with your fingertips as you held it to your head.

He pushed the door open to reveal the room: a king-sized bed with golden sheets, a mini chandelier reflecting diamonds all over the expensive room, paintings and frames and shelves probably hiding more tools and gadgets than there are choices of liquor behind the bar in the main room.

He kicked the door closed behind him, admiring the room with a hum and a nod of his head before plopping you down onto the bed. You fell with a bounce, chuckling again as you held onto his hat. He smiled, watching you put it on your head and look at him with eyes that expressed far too much to be an innocent one-night stand.

Part of Whiskey hoped it was more than an innocent one-night stand.

So did you.

But if it was, he would rock your world. He stared down at you with darkened eyes, undoing his shirt and tossing it somewhere in the room. The rest of his clothes followed after until he was in nothing but his boxers. Then he did the same to you, except he didn't stop until you were bare before him, left in nothing but your expensive necklace and earrings to admire the way you still looked like the perfect reflection of the woman of his dreams. He left the hat. You looked perfect in it.

"Not fair," you complained with a grin. "I'm stripped bare, and you're still dressed."

You leaned up on your elbows, sitting up until you were situated on your knees as you leaned forward. You smiled up at him, hooking your finger in the band of his boxers to pull him forward. "Your turn."

He set his hand on your cheeks and nearly melted at the way you leaned into his warm palm, your eyes fluttering shut as a gentle breath blew through you. He shifted his hand so he pinched your chin, lifting your face to see better. "You're so fuckin' beautiful, sweetness."

"Oh, yeah?" you chuckled. "Prove it to me."

He leaned forward, bending down to your face and connecting your lips again. He licked into your mouth, tasting the remnants of whiskey on your tongue. You moaned, melting against him. You pulled away, your hand still hooked around his waistband. You tugged them down, ridding him of the meaningless article of clothing to reveal him to you.

Fuck, he was beautiful. Flushed tipped, thick, and throbbing. As you reached out and stroked your fist over his cock, he twitched in your hand and groaned. You bit your lip, leaning forward and giggling when his hat on your head bumped into his stomach.

He chuckled at you, tilting it up so he could see your face and you could move. You smiled at him before going back to his leaking slit. You leaned forward and licked him, flattening your tongue along his head to taste him. You moaned again, leaning forward to take a longer lick along the length of him. He breathed a curse under his breath, watching you lick him up as you worked your tongue along him.

His hand came to rest on the back of your neck, easing you forward without actually moving you. Your lips wrapped around him, slick and warm as you took him in your mouth. His head tilted back before he looked down again to see you, not wanting to miss a second of it.

"Fuck," he breathed, hips twitching. You smiled around him, working him deeper in your throat with the intent of taking the whole of him. "Fuck, you're amazing. How did I get so lucky?"

You whimpered, laving your tongue along the underside of his cock where the vein was throbbing. "You like that?" he asked. "You like when I tell you how fuckin' perfect you are?"

You nodded as best you could, wrapping a hand on the back of his thigh to pull him in some more. "You're so goddamn perfect," he promised. "Makin' me feel special like this. D'you feel special?"

You just moaned your response, suckling around him and pulling a rough moan from him. After a moment, he pulled you away, setting his hands on either side of your neck as he caught his breath. He looked down at you, smiling and pulling you forward to kiss you again. The way he kissed you this time was so much different than before, so much softer, slower, with more meaning behind it than there ever should have been. Fuck, you were drunk on it, craving his lips more and more with an impossible desperation, even while he was still kissing you.

He eased forward, moving you until you were laying on your back. His lips slipped on and off of yours, down to your neck as he buried his face there and suckled on the skin.

He settled himself between your legs, grinding down on you as you moaned into each other's mouths. You grasped his bicep, squeezing it tight as you stopped him. "Wait," you breathed.

He stopped immediately, looking down at you with a face etched in concern. "What? What's wrong?"

You smiled, "Wear the hat, ride the cowboy." Your hands flattened on his chest and you pushed him back with a huff, flipping him around so he lay on his back as you straddled him.

He smiled at you, setting his hands on your hips. "You scared me for a second there," he said, his thumbs stroking circles along your skin.

You hovered over him with shaky thighs. "Scared you weren't gonna get your cock wet tonight?" you chuckled.

He just shook his head, "Scared I hurt you."

Your breaths filled the rooms as your body slowed to a stop, staring at him. Your heart leapt and you allowed yourself, just for a moment, to succumb to its calling to him.

"You could never hurt me, Whiskey," you promised.

You only allowed him a moment to let it sink in before you were grabbing his cock in your warm palm, stroking him a couple times before guiding him to your soaked pussy. Sinking down on him, both your eyes shut as your breaths puffed into the air.

"Fuck," you moaned. You braced yourself on his shoulders, helping them guide you as you slowly rolled your hips atop his. His hands gripped your waist, blunt nails digging into skin and creating little crescent dents.

The sensations were amazing. His cock stroked along your velvet walls and sparked a desperate pleasure within you that had you forgetting about the little tingles of pain at adjusting to his length. You brought him deeper, your bodies connected indefinitely as you began your slow movements.

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the blossom of pleasure deep within you. You leaned back, placing a hand on the hat to keep it there as you rolled your hips, faster and faster, chasing the euphoria you craved.

"Look at you," he groaned. "Fuckin' ridin' me like a true cowgirl."

"Lucky for you, huh?" you smirked, breaking off into a whimper as the blunt head of his cock brushed against a sweet spot inside you.

He nodded, "Lucky for me."

You rode him, and you rode him hard, ignoring the ache in your hips and your legs from the continuous motion, ignoring the breathlessness shocking your throat at all the air you were taking in, ignoring the pounding in your chest at the way he stared at you: lips kiss-swollen, eyes sparkling, hands gripping. It was so much, too much, you craved this man more than you'd ever craved anything before in your life.

"Whiskey," you moaned, stifled moans tearing from your throat as his name spilled from your lips. "Fuck, Whiskey, you feel so good."

He hummed. "Take what you need from me, sugar. Take what you want." You leaned forward, holding yourself up with your hands on his shoulders. You were desperate, fucking yourself on him like it was your last time. When his thumb brushed your clit, a guttural moan ripped at your throat and your hips jerked. "That's it, sweetness. That's it."

He was just as breathless as you, guiding your hips with one hand and circling your clit with the other. "Shit," you sighed. "More. Fuck, Whiskey, I'm almost there."

"C'mon, sugar," he urged you. "Cum for me, Diamond."

You didn't care to hold back, you couldn't. You came with a shout, dropping forward onto him and burying your face in his neck. You moaned into his neck, pitchy and breathless as you came apart on top of him. Your hand tangled in his hair, he held tightly to your hips.

Your cunt clenched around him, squeezing and spasming and bringing him to the edge as his release tumbled after yours. One of his hands flew to your hair, holding you there as his fingers carded through.

Your hips canted a couple more times, milking the last ounces of pleasure you could get before you fell against his chest. He held you as you both slowly floated down from your highs, falling into the other's embrace as you came to.

The stillness that followed was like something out of a dream. The air was heavy with the smell of sex, but light with the breaths blowing from the both of you. Every inch of your body tingled, your fingertips felt like pop rocks, your skin prickled with a mix of warm and cold. Whiskey's heartbeat resounded through you, grounding you as you traced your fingers over his chest.

You could feel his hand stroking through your hair, rubbing gently into the back of your neck and making you feel like putty. You could stay like this forever, resting atop him and feeling the life he breathed into you from his chest.

"Jack."

You took in a small breath, leaning up and shifting yourself so he slipped out of you. You sighed a little before looking up at him with a lovesick grin. "Hmm?"

He looked at you, smiling right back as he chuckled lightly. "My real name is Jack."

You smiled and shook your head, burying your face in his chest as you chuckled. "Jack Daniels?" you joked, recalling the name brand Whiskey.

The way he chuckled made you look up at him. "Yes, actually."

You looked at him, smiling so wide your face hurt. "Seriously? Your name is Jack Daniels?"

He nodded, "Yep."

You shook your head, laying your head back on his chest and reaching clumsily over to grab his hat, which had fallen off your head. You set it over your face, shielding you from the light shining from the chandelier.

You sighed slowly, tracing patterns into his skin. You whispered your own name to him, glancing up at him and then back out to the little lion figurine on the small stand against the wall on the other side of the room. It was bronze, standing proudly with one paw perched up and his mouth dropped in a mighty roar.

Whiskey smiled, stroking his hand down your back and then back up to your hair. "You've got a beautiful name, sugar."

You smiled slowly. "Sweet as sugar?"

He nodded, "Sweeter."

You leaned up, your face inches apart. "You're gonna get a cavity if you have any more of me," you kissed his lips, long and slow and wanting more.

"The sacrifices we make…" he replied, chuckling deep in his chest as he kissed you again.

Pedro Pascal taglist: ... Tag yourself here...

[ninebluehearts]

flirty whiskey hopelessly in love with a shy reader

AWwwWWWw, okay bb

Sorry this took so long babes-

Also, I'm soo using the quote in this-

-------------------------------------------------------

You sat at the bar as you watched your friends dance with random men, nursing a blue Hawaiian. Now, most people would be lonely sitting by themselves while their friends had fun without them, but you? You loved it.

People watching was one of your favorite hobbies. Seeing people all dressed up and dancing, having the time of their lives after a long day made you really happy. It was almost like watching a live show.

And your favorite character of the night was sitting in the corner, sipping on what seemed to be a whiskey on ice. You've been watching him since you got here, and you were honestly shocked he hadn't noticed your staring yet.

"Hey!" Your friend said as she hugged you; though it was more of her draping her body on top of yours than anything.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"I'm tired. And I wanted to see you!" She sat on the seat next to you, asking the bartender for another shot of tequila.

You nodded, taking another sip from your drink. You glanced back at the corner of the room where the man had been sitting, noticing his disappearance.

You were honestly disappointed. Maybe in another lifetime you would've asked him out, or at the very least asked him for his name, but sadly, that would never happen in this one.

"My god, you have got to be the prettiest woman I've ever seen." A man said from behind you, a deep Southern accent evident in his tone.

You assumed he was talking to your friend, honestly used to it at this point.

"What's a handsome man like you doing here?" Your friend said, twisting her hair around her finger as she looked up at him, batting her eyelashes.

The man cleared his throat. "Respectfully ma'am, I wasn't talking to you."

You glanced behind you, making direct eye contact with the man from the corner. Shit-

You quickly turned your head back, staring down at your drink.

"Ugh, whatever, I've gotta piss anyway." Your friend said with a sigh, slightly slurring her words.

"I thought you wanted to go home?" You grabbed her hand, looking at her with panic in your eyes. Please don't leave me alone right now.

"Umm, no?" Your friend tugged her arm away, storming off towards the bathrooms, obviously offended.

"This seat taken?" The man asked, gesturing to the newly available seat.

You silently shook your head, keeping your eyes down.

"I'm Agent Whiskey, but you can call me Jack."

Agent? You wondered which agency he worked for. There had to be a million in Texas.

You responded with a simple nod.

Whiskey sighed, leaning in a bit closer. "Don't be shy, sugar. I saw you starin'."

Your eyes snapped up to look at him; so he had noticed?

Whiskey huffed out a laugh. "What? You thought I wouldn't notice a pretty girl starin' at me like that all night?"

"I'd hoped not." You mumbled, picking at a hang nail on your thumb.

Whiskey stood up, resting his arms on the bar as he leaned in close, his mouth ghosting over the shell of your ear. "Listen here baby, how would you like to ride home on a real cowboy? I've got a six pack on ice and my roomies out all night, so you can scream my name as loud as you need to, sugar."

Chills ran down your spine as blood rushed to your cheeks, your thighs squeezing together. "Excuse me?" You looked up at him, the smirk he had making it hard to maintain eye contact.

"You heard me. So, what'll it be, sugar? I ain't got all night."

"I don't know-"

"Hey now, don't listen to this." He said, gently poking your head. "But listen to this." Whiskey set his hand on your knee, slowly dragging it up your thigh.

You grabbed his hand, not enough to stop it, but enough to make you feel like you were in control. You were conflicted; the logical side of your mind was screaming for you to run away as fast as you could, but your heart?

Your heart was beating a million miles an hour and was practically begging for you to say yes.

"What about my friends? I can't just leave them."

"You didn't see them 'em slip out the door not even five minutes ago?" Whiskey asked, jabbing his thumb behind him towards the door.

"What?" You glanced around the room, your 'friends' nowhere in sight. "What the fuck." You mumbled, throwing back the rest of your drink.

"So?" Whiskey asked, moving a strand of your hair behind your ear.

You looked up at him, a beautiful shade of crimson painted on your cheeks. Fuck it.

You sighed. "Okay."

[lady-bess]

Fallout - Chapter 9

"Collision"

Jack Daniels x F!Reader Explicit/18+ (Minors DNI please) Chapter Word Count: 9.7k Chapter Tags: Fighting, Self Defence training, planned fighting (they don't hate each other - yet), physical combat, physical intimacy, unexpected romance, first kiss, Jack in sweatpants (that needs its own warning).

Series Masterlist | A03 Link | Tumblr Masterlist

<- Previous Chapter (Ch. 8 - "Back to Basics")

After hitting a bump in the road, you work with Jack and adapt his training programme with more of a focus on physical defence training. But when you push his buttons a little too much during your session, your worlds collide in ways you never expected.

A/N: Thank you so much for bearing with me for this chapter. Life has been a hell of a lot recently, but I think we're turning a corner now! Not going to promise when the next upload will be, but it'll not take a month!

Jack’s session could have set him back a bit with progress, but fortunately he was at your office two days later with a smile on his face that you honestly weren’t expecting. He closed the door behind him and headed over to your desk. 

“Sorry to disturb you, Mimosa. Is now a good time?” he asked. You looked him up and down and saw him clutching a small brown envelope, tucked just slightly under his suit jacket. Smiling softly, you replaced the lid on your pen and set it down on your desk, leaning back in your leather chair slightly.  

“Of course, take a seat,” you gestured to the seat in front of your desk and smiled as Jack sat down, “What can I do for you?”. 

Jack nodded, pulling the chair out from under the desk so that he could sit down. He leant forward over the desk first though, his arm outstretched, his hand still firmly holding the brown envelope. 

“This is for you,” he said, handing you the envelope and clearing his throat. You took it from him, furrowing your brow as you did. You opened the drawer of your desk to your right and reached inside to grab something to open it with. 

“What’s this?” you asked, sliding a small pen-knife under the seal of the envelope and tearing the delicate paper seal. Jack smiled taut as he sat down at last, breathing a slight sigh of relief as he settled into the seat - like parting with those papers had taken a physical weight off his shoulders, and now he could relax. 

“It’s an evaluation of my latest session with Loretta, which I had after the…incident the other day. She’s given some professional recommendations going forward, given what happened to me,” he explained. You nodded, sliding the note out of the envelope, and scanning over it quickly. 

It wasn’t really of any surprise that you would have to change things up to accommodate for Jack’s reaction. Perhaps he would be fine the next time he handled a gun, or he may never be able to fire a weapon again. Only time would tell which outcome was going to be your reality, so since his session the other day you’d been planning for a worse case scenario. 

You did your best to interpret Loretta’s handwriting, chuckling to yourself at the note she’d attached to the paper last minute which apologised for what she described as her “chicken scratch”, and promised that she would get these notes formally typed up as soon as possible. She was more bothered by you having them immediately, rather than worrying about how professional they might appear. 

Not much surprised you with Loretta’s summary of Jack’s condition, and a few phrases jumped out which you had expected to see; “patient exhibited negative response to the feel of firing a gun”, “patient and practitioner concerned about the potential of mental relapse if training is to continue”, “recommend a withdrawal from arms until a more thorough psychological evaluation can be performed”. 

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” you said, setting down the note and turning your attention back to Jack. He looked shy, a slight red creeping up his neck, and he couldn’t keep his focus on you as well as he had just a few days ago. You cocked your head to the side, surveying him for a moment. 

“How does it make you feel, Jack?” you asked. At the use of his name, and not his moniker, his eyes shone out at you as he locked onto your gaze anew. A coy smile made itself known, bashful and nervous; not the Jack you had come to know these last two months. 

“I-,” he laughed lightly, but it came out more like a scoff, “I feel ashamed,” he admitted. 

“Why’s that?” you asked. Jack shrugged, then let out a deep sigh and sank back into the chair opposite to you, breaking eye contact again as he screwed his eyes up in frustration, one hand rubbing that familiar scar on his forehead as he spoke. 

“Because I- I’ve been doing this for so long, London. And I know I’ve had a bump in the road, but still. I figured that by now I wouldn’t face any setbacks like this. I feel like I’m just wasting your time,” he said. You furrowed your brow and leant forward in your seat, bridging the gap between the two of you. 

“Jack,” you said softly, making his attention turn towards you. His deep brown eyes flicked back up to yours, and you could see the beginning of tears forming in the corners. You didn’t know if they were from anger, upset, or fear; but you had to guess that it was probably a healthy mixture of all three. 

“What you went through was not your average ‘bump in the road’,” you said, using air quotes and then chuckling softly in an attempt to lighten the mood. Jack laughed through his nostrils and one side of his mouth quipped up in the smallest of smiles, but still his demeanour remained downtrodden. 

“I know, I know, I just-,” he began, and as he spoke you could hear words getting caught in the back of his throat. He sighed, removing his stetson and placing it on your desk, before running both hands over his face. 

Concerned, you left your seat and walked around to the other side of the desk. Kneeling down slightly, you reached out and tenderly laced your fingers around the width of Jack’s hands, gently pulling them away from his face. He let you, a few tears tumbling down his cheeks as he let you grasp at his hands. Your thumbs softly caressed the back of his hands and that familiar quake you felt in the weapons room was evident again. 

“Shh,” you cooed, speaking softly. “You’re alright, Jack. Look, you don’t need to explain yourself to me if you don’t want to. I’m sorry if I pushed you?” you said, worried that you had in fact pushed him a little too hard. He shook his head, and you felt his hands slowly shift beneath yours; twisting slowly to begin enveloping yours in his. 

You let him. 

“No, no, it’s not your fault. I don’t feel pushed, it's just hard to talk about. Took me months to even get to this stage with Loretta,” he half smiled. 

It was then it dawned on him that he was being just as vulnerable with you now after only knowing you for two months than he was after Loretta worked for almost a year to properly break his walls down. He had always been open to therapy, and the benefits it would have for his rehabilitation programme, but that didn’t mean it was automatically easy for him to do so. But she had worked relentlessly for months to build up a rapport, to get Jack to begin speaking, and once he did the real healing had begun. 

And then here you were; fresh faced to the agency, virtually still a stranger to him, but yet someone he was willing to drop all defences for. The fact he was almost scared him enough to throw them back up. But as he sat here looking into your eyes, which reflected back nothing other than kindness and a willingness to help, with your fingers delicately laced around his - he knew he couldn’t ever do that. You’d somehow worked your way in, and deep down he didn’t think he actually wanted to get you out. 

“I guess I just feel useless, and like I’m wasting your time. And that’s a fuckin’ tough pill to swallow,” he chuckled, another tear cascading down his cheek. You squeezed Jack’s hands tighter and shook your head at him. 

“Don’t be so silly, Jack,” you whispered, releasing one hand to brush away the tears that fell from his eyes. He closed his eyes softly as he relished in the feeling of your soft hands on his skin again, the feeling just as intimate and caring as it was the other day when you gently caressed his scar. 

“You went through Hell and back just to wake up again. This was never going to be easy, so please give yourself more credit just for making it this far, okay?” you said. Jack opened his eyes again and looked down at you, smiling softly at the feeling of your hand now flattening out across his cheek and cupping it gently. As best he could without meaning your hand would move from situ, he nodded. 

“‘Kay,” he sniffled, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to come in here and cry,” he chuckled. 

The Jack sitting before you was a far cry from the file you had read about all that time ago. No longer would you, or anyone else, be able to describe him as stoic, unavailable, or emotionally closed off. He had come in here and laid all his cards on the table, and paid no heed to the fact it had made him lose his composure slightly. He let the tears fall onto the pads of your fingers, and cared not that you were wiping each one away that danced down his cheek. 

Your heart shattered slightly that he clearly still, deep down, did not see himself as worthy of this second chance. He’d been a pain for you from the start, but even though he had his moments still it was evident he was trying so hard to make the best of his situation. Since you’d started as his T.O., there was nothing you cared for more than making sure he got back onto his feet and to go back to being the incredible agent he clearly once was. Just with…minor adjustments. 

Still caressing his hand and cupping his cheek, you leant forward slightly and pressed your lips against his forehead. Jack’s breathing hitched as he felt you plant a tender kiss to his skin, and for the brief moment you made contact with him it was like time itself stopped. He held his breath and felt the muscles in his torso constrict slightly as his heart thudded loudly, blood rushing past his ears. 

Because, for that couple of seconds, you were within reach. For the first time, he could have reached out and grabbed you, planting his own kisses on you and making you his. He had to fight every muscle in his body to not do just that, and instead gripped your hand a touch tighter. Your kiss ignited something that had long since laid dormant in Jack, and that was the want and need to love and be loved. He hadn’t even realised that was a desire he had the ability to have anymore. It was like it had been buried, and you kissing him so softly was like a fire melting an ice cube. Thawed out the need he had swirling within his veins. 

Fortunately for Jack, you pulled away just as swiftly as you’d gone in for the kiss. 

“Cut yourself some slack, Daniels. Okay?” you said, smiling wide, totally unaware of the mental anguish that was now going on in Jack’s mind. He blinked a couple of times to try and snap himself out of the small spiral he felt himself careering towards, then nodded. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. 

“Good,” you grinned, now pulling away from him entirely. Once your back was facing him Jack left out a short exhale and composed himself as much as he could before looking in your direction as you sat back down. 

“So,” he cleared his throat, “what’s next for me?”. 

“Well, we have two choices. Ball is in your court for either,” you said, fiddling with a pencil on your desk. 

“What are those then?” he asked. You lifted one hand and pointed to the tips of your fingers as a way of counting when you reeled off his options. 

“We could either A, put you on a type of administrative leave so you can have a bit of time to yourself to process this. Or, B,” you tapped the tip of a second finger, “we can carry on with some adjustments. I had already assumed that you wouldn’t be back in weapons for a while, so I’ve made contingency plans until you feel ready,” you lowered your hands, “but it is entirely up to you.”

Jack bit his lip as he weighed up the options. On the one hand he really was quite shaken with how he had mentally reacted to just the sound and feel of a firearm going off the other day, and he knew that he definitely had a lot to work on before that could be attempted again. But on the other hand, he wasn’t convinced that hiding away from the world would do him all that much good - even if it was not the original plan, perhaps it would be better for him to remain with one foot in the door with his training, so he could at least make some progress somewhere. 

“Option B…what will that entail?” he asked. 

“More of the same, except I will swap out weapons training for hands on self defence and fighting. You haven’t done any of those classes yet as we’ve still had you working on your normal physical therapy, and didn’t want to push it too far,” you explained. Jack chuckled. 

“That and I didn’t fancy Tequila giving my ass a whooping,” he grinned. You couldn’t help but giggle either, and suddenly your mind created a scene of the two men fighting with one another. Except it didn’t look like a proper physical fight, but more like a bitchy, slapping catfight.  

You’d pay good money to see that. 

“He’s a bit occupied with Astrid at the minute to be worrying about beating your ass, Jack,” you grinned, “I’d just do that training, like I have for every other aspect of your rehab. You know Eve and how well she’s trained me, so I think you’ll still get a fair fight outta me,” you smiled. 

You’re fucked, Daniels, Jack thought. 

“Alright, well you beating me seems preferable over Tex. If nothing else you might be kinder about it when I fall on my ass,” he grinned. 

“I dunno about that,” you teased, “So, what do we say? Are we going for option B?”. 

Jack smiled at you, nodding, his spirits feeling considerably lifted over how he was when he set foot in this office a short while ago. He had half expected you to just shut down any further training until he was ready to try using firearms again, but the sheer delight that filled him at the knowledge he wouldn’t have to stop his training was music to his ears. He could have hopped over the desk and kissed you for being given this chance. 

Or perhaps there was another reason. 

“Yes, if that’s alright with you?” he asked. 

“Sure is. Meet me in the gymnasium tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.”

~~~

You’d gone into Jack’s physical fighting training feeling confident, and like you could really put a lid on the small crush you could feel bubbling beneath the surface. Ever since he’d left your office yesterday you’d replayed what the fuck made you lean forward and kiss him, but the thought you really couldn’t get out your mind was why did you so badly want to do it again?

Your hopes and dreams of this session going smoothly and without any more inappropriate thoughts were swiftly squandered though when Jack turned up to the gymnasium looking like he’d just stepped right out of your deepest, unspoken fantasies. Tousled curly brown hair which he’d clearly paid no heed to neatening out this morning, a slightly too tight white t-shirt, and grey sweatpants that hung just perfectly on his narrow hips. 

He’d stepped in with a wide smile, and if you didn’t already have a minor desire to flirt with him relentlessly and see where things went, you were convinced you would have gained such a need the second you laid eyes on him. 

Damn this man. 

You did your utmost best, though. Two hours later and you’d done a thorough evaluation of his strength and cardiovascular health, pushing his body almost to its limit before even beginning the self-defence class. 

You'd started him out on the treadmill, having him slowly increase his speed until he was borderline sprinting on the belt. He took periodic breaks, his body still not totally back to normal when it came to getting oxygen around him. All of his other physical rehab on the treadmill has been performed with a myriad of monitors and an oxygen mask, but you wanted away from that. There had to be a point in which these safety nets got taken away and Jack agreed he was ready to try. After the mental setback the other day, he wanted to feel like he was at least able to take a physical step forward. 

He did well, all things considered. Since his injury, his performance this morning was the best he'd done since starting his rehab programme. You let him rest for ten minutes after his run, allowing ample time for him to catch his breath and clean himself of the sweat which had begun to pour from him. 

“You alright?” you asked, hopping on the treadmill for a brisk jog while he rested. Jack nodded from the bench near you, his chest heaving. 

“I'll be fine. Fi-,” he inhaled sharply, “first run without oxygen,” he said. Through the pain and breathlessness though, you noticed, was a small smile creeping onto his face. One of pride, that said even though he was paying for it now, he achieved something today. 

You smiled over at him, happy for him that he had achieved what he had this morning. He turned to face you and returned the joyful expression, even brighter, and your heart fluttered at the genuine delight you could see written on his face. It spread beyond his smile, reflected in his softened brow and the way his eyes sparkled back at you. 

The innocence of joy was swiftly ripped away from you though, as Jack lifted his t-shirt to wipe the remaining sweat from his face and neck. You had to avert your gaze to prevent the prickling heat you felt beginning to creep up your neck from reaching your cheeks and giving away your ever increasing desire for him. The mere flash of his torso was enough to hurl your mind back to the more unsavoury thoughts you'd had recently, the ones you desperately tried to bury. 

Clearing your throat, you switched off the treadmill and came to a steady stop. Jack dropped the material of his shirt, thank heavens, and headed over to you for the next part of your session. 

You'd planned everything down to a T. You needed him using each muscle, warming it up and pushing himself to the limit, so that you could A, properly gauge his overall strength, and B, figure out his weaknesses. 

Starting Jack on the weighted gymnasium machines, you had him rifle through shoulder, chest, hamstring, and core workouts. Starting each one on a low setting, with each set you worked up the weights until finding his limit on each. 

Surprisingly, his current “max weight” wasn't far off what it used to be. You smiled to yourself as you marked down his progress on a chart Clara had given you, flicking back briefly to look at previous sessions, satisfied to see such a major improvement. 

Then you moved onto the free weights. Again, using similar exercises, you ran Jack through a routine of using dumbbells, kettlebells, and medicine balls to complete the circuit. Even though he’d just done very similar movements on the machines, you needed to gauge how well he could hold his own when he wasn’t supported by a seat. 

Again, you were impressed at how well he did. He wasn’t hitting the same weights as he could on the machines, but this was to be expected. He didn’t have to think much about keeping a secure core when sat down on half the machines like he did when standing up with free weights in his hands. Still, you marked down any progress he’d made, noting that he was still doing the best he ever had since before his accident. 

“Alright, what’s next?” Jack asked after the session, setting the weights down and running a hand through his thick hair. You swallowed the small lump forming in your throat, cursing yourself inwardly that your mind dared to be so unprofessional right now. 

“Self-defence. I want you to show me what you’ve got,” you said. Jack grinned at you, a little cocky, and you felt a small flame of heat beginning to simmer deep in your stomach at that look alone. You weren’t proud of the feeling that rushed over you, but it was becoming hard to ignore. 

“Sugar, do you mean to say you’re gonna try and attack me?” he asked, a faint chuckle in the back of his throat. You raised your eyebrows, hands on hips, and stared him down. 

“You’ll do well to remember who trained me, Jack,” you smirked, “Don’t think I could take you?”. 

“You can take me any day,” he muttered under his breath, praying to those on high that you didn’t hear him. 

You did. 

“I’ll have less of that, Daniels,” you chuckled, laughing through what you hoped was a joke so as not to let your own mind wander too far down the route of what that might actually be like. How it would feel to have him envelop you entirely, to take you as his. To mark you, claim you, and have any kind of way with you. 

“You’re right,” he cleared his throat, “I’m sure Eve would kick my ass for even insinuating that you couldn’t hold your own.” 

“A fate you do not want,” you grinned. Jack raised his hands in a mocking surrender, grinning as he stepped towards you. 

“Not at all,” he said, his voice lower now as he dropped his arms to his side. 

“So, why now? Why not see what I’m capable of at the start of this session?” he asked. 

“I needed you tired,” you said. Jack furrowed his brow in confusion. 

“Tired? Why?”. 

“To replicate how well you could hold your ground during a mission. You’ll never be on top form when you’re out in the field if you’ve already been working for hours, and I shouldn’t have to remind you about that. I needed to see how you’d fare once you’d been on the job for a couple of hours, and exhausted.”

Jack nodded as he listened to you explaining your reasons, and he admittedly felt like a bit of an idiot for not seeing sense in your reasoning sooner. You’d tried throughout all of his training so far to make things as real to life as possible, rather than overly clinical and ‘by the book’. It was a stark contrast to his first round of training in the 90’s, which was far more akin to being back at school, with rigid examinations in place and a proper code to follow for everything. You threw him into situations head first, but given what he’d been through these last two years he was grateful for it. He had about enough of other people mollycoddling him. 

“Okay, makes sense. So, when do we st- ah!” 

Before he could even finish asking when this test would begin, you were on him. A quick shove to his chest combined with your leg subtly wrapped around the back of his, and Jack tumbled backwards to the ground. You chuckled as he grimaced, rolling onto his side to get himself up, swearing under his breath. 

“Rule one; always be prepared,” you said, pacing around the agent as he stammered to his feet. 

“Fuck you, London,” he hissed. A sharp pain shot through his spine as he stood straight, his hand resting on his lower back. Since his accident he’d definitely not been as nimble on his feet, his back having taken a significant brunt from both the nature of the fight before the accident and the subsequent months he spent comatose. Clara had told him in the weeks since he woke up that he was starting with a degenerative spinal disc disease, a consequence of his years of service, likely tipped over the edge by the months of not being able to stay active. 

His symptoms were manageable, and fortunately it was in the very early stages, so on the whole he didn’t get too much trouble with it. But he knew that once he started this aspect of his job again, he’d have to keep a better eye on things. You practically throwing him to the ground sent a stark reminder that he was not the agent he once was. 

“Come on, get up,” you commanded, reverting back into your role as his training officer, your voice raising louder to alert Jack that this was no longer a friendly encounter. You liked to keep things fairly informal with Jack, given how much time the two of you spent together - it would drain your social battery rather too quickly if you had to maintain the professional persona almost 24/7. But when the time called for it, you’d revert back into the role you were trained for, and reminded Jack in your tone alone that you were technically the more senior of the two of you, even in spite of his senior age to you. 

Jack got to his feet and turned around to face you. He lunged forwards, trying to grab you, but you dodged his advances. Stepping to the side, you landed a sharp strike to the centre of his shoulder blades as he leaned forward, making him yelp again in discomfort and lean over, winded. He coughed a couple of times, and you contemplated striking again while he was resting on his laurels, pushing him back down to the ground. But you decided against it for now, and returned to pacing around him. 

“Pick it up, Jack. If I were the enemy I’d have you on the ground gasping for air right now. I’m being easy on you,” you said. 

Jack straightened himself back up and rolled his shoulders back, clicking a couple of joints into place. He took a few deep breaths and then turned to face you. 

“Don’t be easy on me,” he said, his eyes slightly narrowed and his brows furrowing to be all the more serious. You grinned as you saw the determination begin to brew in Jack, his distaste at you having already bested him twice in mere minutes starting to tug at him. For as much as he was a changed man, there was always a deep seated need within him to make sure he was the best he could be. It was something Loretta had picked up on, and had been the thing to drive him to remain emotionally closed off for so long, but in times like this he could still call on that urge. 

“You sure?” you asked. Jack nodded. 

“Positive, ma’am.”

“Good,” you smirked, “Now treat me the same way. I can hold my own. I want you to give me everything you’ve got.”

Jack looked down at you and began calculating what he was going to do. The determination that lived in him which made him always need to be the best at everything was running rampant, but something stopped him. 

The way you looked at him, so fierce but caring at the same time. He knew that you only wanted what was best for him, and that this was your way of pushing him to achieve what you knew he was capable of. But he also couldn’t hurt you, which is exactly what he’d have to do to prove he was still an agent able to do his job. 

You watched as Jack’s eyes flitted across your face, and if you kept quiet enough you thought you might be able to hear cogs whirring in his head. He was working out what to do, but something was holding him back. Eventually he leant forward with the intent to grab your wrists and prevent you from being able to lash out at him, but you were quicker on your feet than he was. 

You said you weren’t holding back. And you meant it. 

You evaded his first swipe at you, grabbing his wrist and tugging on his arm to make him almost lose balance. He cursed as he almost lost his footing, but managed to stabilise himself swiftly. He pivoted back on his heels and turned to face you, a smirk on his face. You winked at him, before delivering your next sequence of attacks. 

One hit, two hits, both blocked expertly. Even your attempt at a roundhouse kick, he blocked. Grabbing your ankle, he yanked hard and pulled your weight from underneath you, sending you crashing to the ground. It hurt like a bitch, but you grinned as you sprung back up again - he’d gained his fight back, you’d pushed his buttons just right, and for the first time you were seeing the agent that you knew he was capable of shining through. 

“Good blocks, Daniels. You’ve impressed me,” you said, returning back to circling around him. Now it was your turn to roll your shoulders back and realign joints. You might not have the same physical limitations as Jack, but a sharp land on your back still had its effects, even for the most physically fit. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jack said. 

The two of you were now playing a game of cat and mouse, constantly suspicious of and awaiting the other to make the next move. You wanted to take him by surprise, but you figured he was likely doing the same. At this rate you’d never get anywhere, so you thought fast on your feet and suggested something new. 

“Alright, let’s try something else,” you said, reaching into a cupboard at the side of the gymnasium with sports equipment in it. You reached in and grabbed an old table tennis racket which got left behind from a playful tournament the team all got involved in last summer. 

“What are you thinkin’, London?” Jack asked, using the brief respite he’d gained wisely. He could feel just how hot and bothered he was, and the sweat pouring from his body was severely giving away just how unfit he felt now. 

You stood up and headed back over to Jack, the racket in hand. It was the perfect size for what you wanted. 

“Let’s pretend that this racket is a weapon I’m holding. A gun, a knife, whatever you want to envision. I want you to disarm me,” you explained, twirling the racket in your fingers. “Is that clear?”. 

“Perfectly, ma’am,” Jack said. 

“Good,” you smirked, “You may begin.”

What proceeded next was something akin to a well choreographed dance. Every step Jack made in your direction, every arm's length he extended, and each swipe of his hand, you evaded. You were light on your feet, something Eve had made sure to absolutely nail during your training. Her motto had always been that it didn’t matter how hard you could fight, what mattered more was how well you could get out of a mess. You could have the best weapons, or be the best hands on fighter there is, but when push comes to shove if you can’t evade attacks in the first place, you’re as good as dead. 

Frustration rose in Jack for each move you dodged. So far he’d only managed to graze his fingertips against your forearm, before losing you as you spun out of reach. He grunted at each lost swipe, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at him. He knew he had to be smarter than this to out-manoeuvre you. 

He knew he had to play you at your own game, and to mimic how you were trained, pushing aside his previous training. Unlike you, one of his original T.O's back in the nineties had opted for brutish power over nimble-footed attacks; which, the more Jack thought about it, was probably how he died in action just three years after the men met. Since then he’d retrained himself based on sheer experience alone, never thinking to ask for help. 

But now a moment had arrived where he needed to think outside the box, and do something he’d rarely done before. Putting aside how hard he could punch, how fast he could run, how strong he was, Jack now needed to be clever in his moves. 

He paid attention to your footwork, the movements you used each time he leant forward to try and disarm you. He made a mental note of how you twisted your body at each swipe of his hand, how you turned and spun on your heels effortlessly to put distance between the two of you. Step by step he memorised how you moved in sync with him, and he smirked as he plotted his next moves. 

It was like the two of you were dancing a waltz together; stepping in time, circling each other, your eyes never leaving the other’s gaze. You desperately tried to think what Jack’s next move might be; it had been a while since he’d last tried to make a grab for your ‘weapon’, and it made you wonder if he was now calculating things. Was he finally learning the patterns, learning to be smarter with each move? 

He reached forward again, as he had done dozens of times since you started this exercise, but this time he made sure to move in a way that prevented you from turning away from him how you had. Jack caught you off guard, making you stumble just enough so that he could reach for your wrist and disarm you. He squeezed your wrist just right so that the tendons and ligaments were constricted slightly, causing the tension you had in your fingers around the racket to weaken. The wooden racket crashed to the floor, narrowly avoiding both your feet. 

“Gotcha,” he declared, his voice low and almost velvety smooth with how deep it was. You gasped as the wood ricocheted off the floor beneath you, the sound of it crashing being all that now filled the void between the two of you. Jack’s fingers remained around your wrist, and as you looked up at him there was a devilish twinkle in his eye that read ‘I win’. 

Not today, Daniels. 

“Oh, really?”. 

With Jack’s hand still grasping your wrist, you rotated your arm as much as you could in his grip, turning yourself so that your hand now held his forearm. Once your fingers could clamour at his skin, you yanked him hard and had his body lurch forward. Ducking down, you manoeuvred yourself underneath Jack so that his chest hit your shoulders. He let go of you in the haze you pulled him in, freeing your arm so that you could tug on his waist, rotate yourself beneath him, and pull him over your back and off his feet.

In one move you’d used Jack’s weight against him, and had him laid flat on his back in the gymnasium. He grunted as you used his weight to keep his arms pinned back beneath himself, unable to reach forward and try to fight back. He fidgeted beneath you as you swung a leg over his narrow hips to act as another way to distribute weight onto his body, keeping him pinned to the ground and unable to move. 

Exhausted, Jack’s breathing became more like panting as he almost accepted his fate. His chest heaved as he tried to collect himself and muster up an ounce of strength so that he might be able to salvage this. 

“Fuck, London,” he half-whined, half-grimaced, still fidgeting underneath you. The familiar twinge in his back he had earlier came back to rear its ugly head, and he was reminded yet again that he was no longer the fighter he once used to be. 

“Do you concede?” you asked. He shook his head, not wanting to appear like he was giving up the fight so easily. He might be older, still not recovered from his injuries, and significantly out of practice - but mentally, he was fitter than ever. That drive had returned in him, the fight he so needed, fuelling him each day to keep getting up and ploughing on. He had to keep going, he couldn’t stop to look back anymore, not after these last few years. He didn’t want to look back, either. 

Not when looking forward showed him you. 

“Where’s your fight then? You got cocky, delayed, and now look at you,” you smirked, taunting him. 

That lit something deep within him. You watched as the metaphorical switch flicked in his head that ignited a part of his brain which had not kicked into action in the whole time you’d known him. Smirking, you watched him process your words and wondered what this taunting could result in. Intrigue took over. 

Grinning down at Jack, you were just about to make him concede, to accept that there was not as much strength in him as you once thought, so that you might finally be able to begin a new training regime while he was being kept away from firearms. To make him see that things were not as they once were, and that he needed to get used to that. You plotted in your head what else you might be able to say to awaken whatever drive you’d seen light up his eyes just then, wondering if there was a button you could press which would make him snap. You needed, wanted, to see if those responses were still within the former senior agent, buried away after decades of use. 

What you had not realised, was that you had already pressed that button. Jack then did what Jack did best - he took you by surprise. 

Using momentum from what was left of his unrestrained legs, he hooked himself around your hips and flipped the two of you over. Your back hit the mat, and now with his own hands for himself again, he used them to grab your wrists and pin you down above your head. The weight of his legs on yours kept your hips firmly planted into the ground, Jack’s legs stretching down your thighs to stop you from moving them. 

You were impressed he had that much core strength left in him, and made a mental note to tell Clara about his improvements. To say he had needed rails at the side of his bed for six months after waking up just to get himself up in a morning, he’d come along far. 

But then, everything stopped. 

Jack didn’t move. He didn’t try and go for another attack, nor did he move so that you could retry another form of self defence. Instead he remained hovering above you, your breath mixing together in the small space between you. He was so close to you - sinfully, even. And what’s worse is that you didn’t even hate how it felt to have his weight above you, keeping you pinned firmly to the gymnasium floor. Something about this felt oddly right, even if in reality it was never something you could ever dare dream to imagine taking further. 

He felt that rush of adrenaline begin to die down within him ever since your taunting comment about him being implied that he’d lost the fight. Now he was acutely aware of what his movements in the last few moments had resulted in, and consequently where he now found the two of you. 

Jack’s eyes dared to look down at your lips almost on instinct. He’d had his own suspicions that a crush was being harboured by him for you ever since you kissed him on the forehead in your office, but he’d done his best to quell any such feelings he had. Besides, it wasn’t like he could ever go through with doing anything…But that wasn’t to say he hadn’t thought about your lips, their softness, and you with your kindness, ever since yesterday. 

He whispered your name as he breathed, his words softer now as the two of you began collecting your breath after your fight. He gazed down at you, and for a moment you succumbed to him - the hairs on the back of your neck stood on their ends, and a shiver ran down your spine. So much about this was wrong, but your mind was blank to any reason why you should tell him to get off you. 

You watched as Jack’s eyes never left your face, flitting across every feature of yours, but paying particular attention to your lips. His tongue darted out a small amount, wetting his lips briefly, as if what he was looking at was becoming difficult for him to resist. Like he wanted, no, needed, to taste you. 

Lord knows he was becoming hard for you to say no to…

His brain stopped working for a moment, and his heart took over. Still pinning you down, the two of you still collecting your breath after the fight, Jack threw away all professionalism you had both tried to maintain thus far. You might kick him off, you might slap him for this, and for all of it he’d take in a heartbeat plus any other punishment you deemed necessary if you didn’t reciprocate this. But something about this felt right, and like it wouldn’t be something you would be so against - the months of spending virtually every day together, the late nights working, the closeness, and the feeling he couldn’t shake that you actually cared for him. He was totally enamoured with you on a professional standpoint, but over these last few weeks that had slowly bled into an adoration for you on a more personal level. 

“Sorry,” he whispered quietly, feeling like he would definitely owe you an apology for this, before he completely caved, dipping his head down and pressing his lips to yours. 

You felt the air escape your lungs like a vacuum in space as he pushed his lips to yours in a soft but tender kiss. You knew that this crossed so many lines, but nothing inside of you cared to stop and question that right now. The softness of his moustache brushed against your top lip, a feeling that you were very unfamiliar with, but not one you minded. His lips were soft, almost delicate, which was a stark contrast to the rest of him. From your brief encounters physically you knew that Jack had calloused hands, and was plagued by the ailments of his injury. You didn’t expect that any part of him would be soft and delicate, especially given the hardened exterior he so often portrayed since his injuries. 

Your brain took a few moments to catch up with what your body was doing, but you found yourself quite willing to submit to Jack. Without much hesitation whatsoever, you kissed him back, allowing him to take your bottom lip between his when he went back in for more. You wished that you had your hands free to be able to run your hands through his hair, to tug on the thick curls at the nape of his neck lightly and keep him secured to you; to show him with your body and touch that you didn’t want this to stop. 

Closing your eyes, you got lost in the moment. Sighing gently, you parted your lips, and allowed him to have full control. You were telling him without any words that you were on the same level as him, that something had been growing between the two of you, and that he wasn’t totally insane for thinking it. You knew the look on his face just then when he looked down at you - pleading, desperate, and yearning for answers. Wondering if he was in the wrong for wanting to do this, to have you as his own. And while this could all come crashing down around you both any second now, for the moment you fused yourselves together neither of you dared consider what would happen once you parted. 

Jack's heart pounded in his chest. Through the smallest of gestures, you'd shown him your guard was lowered, and he was allowed in. He released you from his grip swiftly, moving one hand to cup your jaw as he deepened the kiss, his tongue lapping at yours. He was confident that he wasn’t about to get violently pushed onto his back, smacked away, or kicked where the sun doesn’t shine. He could relax and let go of the fear he had that you would not reciprocate such affection. 

He had you. Even if just for now, just in this moment laid out on the hardwood gymnasium floor, you were his. And he was yours. 

All restraint was gone now. With your hands free, you laced your fingers in his thick hair, tugging gently at the short curls that flicked up at the base of his skull. Ever so lightly you applied pressure through the tips of your fingers, and with each tug you were rewarded with a soft groan in the back of Jack’s throat. A shiver ran down his spine with every grab your nimble fingers gave to the curls at the back of his head, and he felt his hair stand on end as you did. 

For the first time in years, pleasure surged through Jack’s body. His fingertips pressed on your jaw harder, the desperation and need he had for you fuelling him to hold you tighter. His chest heaved with panting breaths as he devoured you, adrenaline coursing through him as he felt you react similarly to each touch of his lips on yours. His tongue nudged against yours, and the taste of you was almost enough to make him sinfully moan outright. 

But then something crept into his mind which made his grip loosen, and a panic replaced the lust and desire that he was feeling for the first time in years. Guilt sept in through his bones, and softly he released you from his hold. Still on top of you, his lips left yours, and he screwed up his weary eyes in shame. 

“I- I’m sorry, I-,” Jack stammered, a redness creeping up his neck in shame at what he’d done with you. Fear took over and he dared open his eyes to look at you, afraid of what your eyes would tell him. Would you be angry at him for overstepping the professional boundary the two of you had both worked on maintaining? Would you be upset at him for taking such a leap without either of you having ever discussed if this was something you’d be interested in?

But instead, he wasn’t met with either of those. 

“Jack-,” you whispered, pleading with him, not wanting him to stop. Through all the missions you’d been on over the years, the simple act of having Jack kiss you made you feel more alive than any time you’d risked your life. He’d ignited something that had for so long been neglected, and you weren’t ready to let that go just yet.  

“No, I shouldn’t have, I-,” he began, scrambling at his words to try and formulate an apology fast enough. 

“Shut up, and kiss me,” you said, paying little heed to the consequences. You knew that this would be something the two of you would have to work to unpick after this session, but in the moment you didn't want to think about that. You yearned to go back to the little bubble the two of you had created in the vast expanse of the gymnasium - to close off everyone else, and have it be just the two of you, in sync and finally listening to the urges you’d been fighting off. 

“W-what?” he asked, eyes wide and laced with confusion at your request. 

“Kiss me, Jack. Please,” you said, giving no further reasoning. You didn’t want to stop and think about the justification, you didn’t want to have to clamour for a reason why. It just felt so good to be in this position, beneath a man you’d come to care for so greatly, his lips on yours and your hands laced through his hair. 

You didn’t need to ask him a third time. 

Jack didn’t question anything else - his head dipped back down and caught your lips in another kiss. He knew, as you did, that this wasn’t going to be a simple thing either of you would be able to move past. But that was a problem for the two of you later - right now, no problems existed. 

With the reassurance you did want this as much as he did, Jack allowed his hands to wander across your body. Still with one hand cupping your cheek, the other traversed down the expanse of your torso, lingering for a moment over your chest. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat between kisses at the feeling of his deft fingers dancing over your nipples, so gently but yet with a need that showed itself in how eagerly he cupped the soft swell of your breast. 

Jack’s mind span as you so eagerly let him explore your body as if it was his own. Caressing your chest, his kisses became firmer and more passionate as a heat rose between the two of you. For so long he had never contemplated true intimacy with anyone else, resigning himself to years of meaningless hookups in bars with women he’d avoid seeing a second time if he could help it. He’d take his time, give them a night to remember, but he’d never been all that interested in the beauty in what it meant to take things slow, and to submit himself to any of them. 

But you were different. Like a siren calling lost men at sea, he was drawn to you in ways he could never explain. Taking you in was akin to taking an addictive drug, he knew that already, and that ever considering giving this up would be a near impossible task. 

You had to fight not to moan loudly beneath Jack as his hands continued to explore your body further, making your hair stand on end as the fabric of your clothing rubbed against your body. He timidly made his way down until he reached the hem of your shirt, then hesitated. You knew what he was considering, and what he so badly wanted to do. 

“Yes,” you whispered against his lips between kisses, giving him permission to explore even further. 

Grinning, Jack slipped his hand up under the hem of your shirt, and slowly slid his palms up your bare skin. You felt the calluses on his fingers drag against your flesh, and the sensation was pleasurable enough that you dared to contemplate what it might feel like to have his fingers elsewhere on your body. Your cheeks heated up at the mere thought of what that could be like, and you bridged the gap between you both with a kiss to hide your obvious embarrassment. 

Jack chuckled in the back of his throat as he gladly kissed you. He might not have noticed the heat of your skin, but he saw the dazed look in your eyes. The way your pupils dilated a little further, how blown out and glassy your eyes were staring back at him. He could tell from that alone that your mind was reeling as to what else the two of you might explore, and he’d be lying if he said that didn’t do something for him. 

Just to know that you were amenable to such exploration ignited a desire in Jack that he’d not had for years. The desire to lay with another, and for it to mean something. The prospect was still relatively terrifying, but for you he was more than willing to try and push those fears to one side so that he might experience such beauty once more. His own mind wandered at the thought of how you would look for him laid out on his bed, devoid of any clothing, begging for him to take you. 

Heat pooled in the pit of his stomach, and he felt his sweatpants begin to tighten as arousal continued to surge through him. A foreign feeling for Jack, with self pleasure being something he had only recently started considering again. There had been absolutely zero drive for him to indulge in such an activity for so long, with him being more focused on getting better physically, and then mentally. The act had very quickly fallen down the list of priorities that he had. 

But laying here with you, his hand slowly travelling up your bare skin, and with your lips fused to his, that urge had reawoken. He moaned softly against your lips as his fingers reached the band of your sports bra. 

How you wished you’d not dressed so practically for this session. You grunted beneath Jack in frustration as his fingers attempted to pry at the seam of your bra, but the strong elastic and reinforced band made it near impossible. It would only come loose if you were to release the entire band from the clasp that sat in the centre of your back, but from here there was no way that was getting undone. 

Still, his hands remained. He cupped your breasts and rubbed his thumbs over the peaks, grinning against your lips as you whined and writhed around beneath him at the sensation. He adored every small whimper that you made between kisses, every heavy breath that heaved from your chest, and every movement of your hands against him.

Your short nails dragged lightly across Jack’s back, feeling every muscle that spanned across his broad frame. You’d admired his stature from afar before, but never considered that there would be a time in which you would get to hold him against your body like he was yours to have. 

Jack was so easy to get lost in, and time almost stood still in the small bubble you’d made for yourselves laid out on the floor. The quiet moans and soft grunts, as well as the sound of your lips meeting in an embrace, was the only sound the filled the room. Both of you desired that louder moans and whimpers were what filled the empty space, but there had to be some element of restraint. 

Not that it was easy to stop going further. 

But then, cutting through the silence of the room; footsteps in the distance. Jack noticed before you did, and instantly pulled his hand out from up your shirt and went back to having you pinned down. You gasped as he pushed your arms back onto the cold floor, your lips breaking from his as he did. Looking up at Jack, his lips slightly swollen from the ferocity of your kisses, you heard the door to the gymnasium opening slowly, and the footsteps from outside the corridor coming inside. 

“And what exactly am I looking at here, agents?” a woman’s voice asked. 

Both of your heads snapped towards the direction of the voice, only to be met with the sight of a familiar redhead standing in the doorway. She was dressed in almost all black, even if she retained the cowboy aesthetic of the Statesman uniform, but today had opted to go without the hat. Instead, her curly red hair flowed around her face, which was adorned with a devilish grin and raised eyebrows. 

Eve. 

“Physical defence training,” you said, attempting to make it sound like you didn’t have a lump in your throat from being caught almost red handed making out with another agent. 

“I can see that,” she chuckled, now heading into the room, “But why is Jack here on top of you?”. 

“I disarmed her, she threw me to the ground, and I just managed to get the upper hand,” Jack explained, clearing his throat as he slowly began to peel himself off from you. You felt the weight from his body slowly begin to leave you, his legs sliding off yours and his hands loosening from your arms, eventually resulting in him getting off you entirely. 

“Mhmm, okay,” Eve chuckled as the two of you got to your feet, “And that’s all that was going on, right?”. 

“What else would there be, Eve?” you asked. 

She wasn’t dumb. You knew that, and she knew that. Hell, even Jack knew that, and he’d not had much interaction with Eve in several years. You just prayed to any God that might exist that she hadn’t actually seen what the two of you had done - speculation was one thing, but to physically see what had just happened? You weren’t sure you’d ever live it down. 

“Nothing!” she smiled as the two of you got back on your feet. You noticed out of the corner of your eye that Jack thrust his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, and you practically burned at the realisation of why he had to do that in the presence of someone else, given what had just happened. 

“What’s up, anyway? Wasn’t expecting to see you until later?” you said, taking your time to readjust your clothing which had been scuffed up during the course of the training session. Jack made no such effort, remaining as stiff as a board. 

In more ways than one, you suspected…

“Champ sent me,” Eve began explaining, smiling sweetly at you both. “You’re both needed for a meeting. Separately, though.”

“Separately?” Jack queried. Eve shrugged. 

“I know no more than you, Daniels,” she said, “All I’d suggest is you get a move on. He seems…I don’t know. Agitated, almost? I just wouldn’t keep him waiting.”

“Alright, thanks Eve. We’ll go get changed and head up shortly. We were almost done for today anyway,” you smiled. Eve chuckled, winking at you as Jack left your side to go and collect his gym bag. She leant forward so that she could whisper to you. 

“I bet you were…,” she said. 

Well, shit. 

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Next Chapter (Ch. 10 - "Furtherance") ->

[sgt-morgan]

Of Flowers and Family 💐

Summary: You and Jack have built a life together, the birth of your twins adding to your joy, and as you build a new family together, you find yourselves greatful for every day.

Warnings: mentions of death of a spouse, birth stuff, premature babies and NICU stuff, milk production, AFAB! Female identifying reader.

A/N: I saw this TikTok of a little girl swimming in a dress and it made me think of my favorite wild child Daisy Mae and her Papa Jack.

First fic in series

Second fic in series

Masterlist

Things at the ranch had settled nicely. Jack had his job, he had his horses, and he had the little garden of flowers he had started growing with you. Twins. You had twins, and girls at that. Violet Anne and Lavender Jane. Two more beautiful flowers to add to his bouquet along with his Daisy Mae, and you, his Honeybee making it all happen. He didn’t know how you did it, you made his life better just by being around, and every day he endeavors to do the same.

“Jack?” He heard your huff of bemused frustration and he smiles to himself. He was in his office, attempting to work on Statesman things, but had found himself listening to you humming in the kitchen and puttering around the house instead. He loved the sound of you in his space, the echo of your footsteps in the hall, your quiet voice filling his rooms and his days with peace he had thought he’d never have.

“Yes Honey? How can I help.” He huffs, standing and wandering into the hall where he sees you with two baby’s strapped to you, attempting to slip into your shoes by the door. He grins at the sight, you are radiant. The purple sling holding two dark haired babies who snoozed sweetly against your chest, and it almost melted his insides completely. He walks up to you and gently pulls the sling back from the two identical heads of dark curls.

They’re so small, barely home a month. They were born prematurely, almost three months ahead of schedule, but apparently that was common amongst twins. Their birth took one measly hour once your water broke, placenta and all. Then as soon as they were in this world, they were whisked away from you. He remembers how much his soul ached seeing the two tiny babies hooked up to tubes in those little incubators, how little and frail they looked surrounded by all those machines. He remembers how hard it was for you to show up early every morning, and leave as late as they would let you, to be with their babies. He remembers switching off days with you at the hospital, spending the day with a grumpy Daisy who was mad her sisters couldn’t come home, or staring at those two precious little girls in boxes. He remembers scrambling to buy premie clothing with you, you worrying your head off about money, and how much you needed, and whether or not any store would have clothing for them. Then he would gently remind you that he was technically rich, and he could get you anything you needed quickly. Remembers how you would smack him and say ‘Jack Daniels, it don’t matter if we sit high on the hog, if we use it all on bacon we’re gonna be flat on our asses .’ He remembers how you would cry at night, beating yourself up over nothing at all, berating yourself for not keeping them in longer. He thinks about all those sleepless nights when you would have to wake up and pump because your breasts ached and there were no babies to feed, how you panicked over having enough milk to send to the hospital. He remembers feeling useless, feeling angry at how little he could do to help you or his babies. Then, finally, after a month long stay, here they were, finally at home and content with their momma and daddy as they were meant to be.

Jack snuggles up to you, gently placing kisses on the soft tufts of hair, breathing in that new baby smell. They were his perfect carbon copy, dark hair, dark eyes, and personality for days, even when all they really did was eat and sleep. They were barely bigger that his forearm, he could hold them steady with their heads in the palms of his hand, and the tips of their toes would barely reach his elbows. They were so, so delicate, but they had an iron clad grip on everyone they came into contact with. Champ, Tequila, and Ginger, all doted on them already, spoiling them like they spoiled little Daisy Mae. Jack’s girls had made quite the impression on Statesman, and there was no Statesman agent (and on the occasion, Kingsmen agent,) around that was ashamed to say that anything his girls asked for they would give.

He remembers letting Tequila babysitting one night last week, prying you out of the house to get some fresh air. He took you to stroll around target for a few hours, and let you buy tons of premie clothes and fancy Easter dresses for you and the girls that all matched. He also took you to grab dinner, and got your nails painted. Never let it be said that Jack Daniels doesn’t spoil his girls. He remembers proposing to you in the Target parking lot that night, your hair a mess, clutching bags of premie clothes you sorely needed with two small babies in the house. It wasn’t how he pictured your engagement going, but laughing with you in that parking lot like you were kids, racing you to put the shopping carts away, he couldn’t imagine a better life than the one he was living right now. So the ring burned right through his pocket and onto your left hand in the neon glow of the red Target sign. He took you to Texas Roadhouse afterwords, and he will never forget eating rolls and giggling like little kids while you talked about the excitement of having all your children at home, and how much better your nerf battles would be in a few years. You are his best friend, you made him feel young again, and he wouldn’t have you any other way.

When you got back, giggling giddily through the door of your home, Tequila, Ginger, Galahad, and his wife Tilde were all snuggling the girls in the living room passed out cold to Frozen. Eggsy was on the floor, head resting between his wife’s legs, his arms loosely wrapped around a sleeping Daisy. Tilde snoozed in the armchair, a hand buried in Eggsy’s hair. Daisy was in Eggsy’s lap, legs wrapped around him like a Koala, her little face smooshed into his chest, arms hanging limply at her sides. Tequila was sprawled out on the couch, little Violet sleeping on his chest, his whole hand covering her back and dwarfing her. His Stetson was pulled over his eyes to block out the light. Ginger had Lavender in her crossed legs, creating a little basket for the baby to sleep in as she dosed against the couch, using Tequila as a pillow.

“Now when we left there was only one Agent here, and now I got three?” You laughed, whispering so as not to wake the babies, but softly enough to alert the adults to your arrival, before waking them, you had taken a billion pictures, and a copy of one rested proudly on Tequila’s desk. A picture of everyone freaking out a few seconds later when you showed them your engagement ring was on Whiskey’s.

He carefully stroked a hand down Violet’s little back, and gets lost for a moment in loving on his little flowers. You can’t help but watch fondly, letting him forget about what you called him in here for for a moment, just enjoying how much he loved his little family. Jack was already a good father, the way he treated Daisy like his own proved that, but seeing him with all three of your babies and handling it like a champ was such a blessing. You fell more and more in love with him every day.

“Sorry sweat pea, had to get my kisses in, but I seem to be missing one.” He grins wolfishly and you laugh.

“Oh? And who might THAT be?” You grin and lean in to kiss him softly.

“Got it!” He cackled evilly and kisses all over your face. He gets down on one knee and helps you slip your shoes on.

“This feels like I’ve been here before.” You laugh, gently placing a hand on Jacks cheek, staring at him with nothing but adoration in your eyes.

“Is that so? Well, while you got me here, I just figured I’d let you know I’d ask you a million times to marry me, but I’m glad it only took you once to say yes.” He winked and you chuckled as he kissed your knuckles and pulled himself up with a groan.

“Jack Daniels? If you had asked me the day we met to marry you, I would have said yes.” You laughed and he grins again, pulling in his own boots and Grabbing the diaper bag.

“Now, are we meeting your mother in law at the creek?” Jack arched a brow and you nodded with a hum of affirmation.

“Yes, she’s got Daisy Mae down there, and apparently she’s already jumped right in, dress and all.” You rolled your eyes and Jack laughed. “I put a towel and a change of clothes in there for her AND for you when you inevitably climb in after her. Jack grinned sheepishly, knowing you were right.

Today was a big day, today was the day he met your mother in law. Daisy’s only living grandparent, and the mother of your first love. Jack was nervous, you would never have to meet his deceased wife’s parents, because they couldn’t stand Jack, they had no contact after the funeral, and that suited him fine. Your mother in law was different. When you started dating her son, and she realized you didn’t have a mother, she took you in and mothered you like the daughter she never had. You spoke so highly of the woman, and still talked to her once a week even though her son had passed on. It was important to you that this woman blessed your new marriage, and he was a bit nervous. She hadn’t gotten to come down when Violet and Lavender were born, and when they got home, she very considerately waited to come down until they had settled in. She did however make a point of sending crocheted blankets and hats for the babies just like she had for Daisy. No difference would be made in these babies and Daisy on her watch, and Jack truly appreciated it. The closest the girls got to a grandparent on his side was Champ, so having a grandmother who loved them was something he truly appreciated.

He had talked to her once over the phone, expressly calling and asking her permission to marry you and adopt Daisy. The last thing he wanted was to be seen as stepping on her Son’s memory, and you loved her like a mother, so he wanted to do right by her. She was flabbergasted that he would go out of his way to do such a thing, and he will always remember what she said to him.

‘Darlin? That girl deserves the world. If my son were in her shoes, she would want nothing but the best for him, and I want nothing but the best for her because it’s what he would have wanted. That girl is my family, because I hate to say it, but I don’t have much left to spare, so as long as you’re okay with me treating you like a son, and you do right by my babies, all I can say is welcome to the family.’ She had been so kind, and he attempted to keep her as up to date as possible on the girls and your health while they were in the hospital. Today though, he would meet her in person, and he hoped that he would be all that she wanted him to be.

When you arrived at the creek, Daisy was holding court in the water with the frogs and the guppies as her subjects. She had a daisy chain on her head and a stick in her hands that she used like a wand. She was sat down and soaked up to her chest in her little pink play dress. Her hair was in a messy little bun on her head and she would reach up every once in a while to push her baby hairs out of her face with wet fingers. Jack grinned at the little wild child that had all but wrapped him around her little finger. She was his introduction to fatherhood, and she owned a special piece of his heart. He took a picture of her with his phone while you chatted with her grandmother Helen.

“He sure loves our Daisy don’t he?” Your mother in law sighed, grinning and taking one of the twins into her arms as you breastfed the other, planning to switch off momentarily, content to sit and watch your baby bewitch forest critters and swim about fully clothed in the shallow creek.

“Oh yeah, loves her with his whole heart. It’s enchanting.” You grinned.

“Oh my,” Helen chuckled, brushing a loose hair from your face while your hands were full. “You love him don’t you baby?” You nodded shyly and she hugged you to her side, pressing a hand to the side of your head while you leaned on her shoulder.

“Yeah momma, I do, but I loved James too.” You sounded a little guilty and she shushed you, instantly assuaging your fears with a motherly scold.

“I know you did honey, nobody could ever say you didn’t. I’m just happy you got a good one, it’s what my boy would have wanted. I want nothing but the best for you, and meeting him now? I know you’ll have it.” She cradled the baby close and grinned. “He makes beautiful babies, that’s for sure.” You laughed and it drew Jack’s attention, finally causing him to turn and come meet your mother in law. He removed his hat and slicked his hair back, reaching out his hand respectfully to Shake.

“Ma’am? It’s wonderful to meet you-“ he started nervously, only for Helen to smack his hand away and pull him into a bone crushing hug.

“I’m a hugger son, get used to it.” She laughed and Jack beamed at you as she welcomed him with open arms, it had been a long time since he had felt such motherly affection Ms he was taken aback by how easily she welcomed him into her arms. “I can’t believe I’m getting another son, I had one that was rowdy enough already, but I miss it.” She winked at him and they spent a good twenty minutes in quiet conversation while you all just mooned over the twins and little Daisy who was still prancing about in the water.

Eventually Daisy got tired, and Jack bundled her up in a towel to carry her home. The whole time you walked, he was in quite conversation with the little girl, placing kisses to her cheeks and forehead lovingly and Helen beamed at the sight, once again telling you how much she loved your new beaux. Eventually you reached the house, and you all stood around talking at Helen’s car.

“Will you be joining us for dinner tonight Helen?” Jack politely offered, taking Daisy back off her hands after she properly hugged and kissed her goodnight.

“Nah, I got myself a date!” You gasped and laughed and Helen winked at Jack who just looked stunned.

“Momma! You didn’t!” You laughed.

“Sure did sweet pea! Handsome fella too, met him when I took Daisy for ice cream this afternoon.” She laughed and you grinned. “Text me the code for the door though sugar, I’ll break in and make us all Breakfast in the morning and we can take the kids to the zoo.” She winked and Daisy, though exhausted, still found the energy to beg you to go.

“Oh alright,” you laughed. Hugging Helen one more time. “But you send me a picture when you get back so I know you got home safe, you hear?”

“Hey now! I’m the mom here not you!” She laughed, “go put my grand babies to bed and I will see you in the morning.”

Eventually your little house settled, the babies were in their cradles and Daisy was all washed up and tucked in. You were laying with Jack, and he was stroking your back while you talked about your days. He was glad to report that Helen officially loved him, and you were ecstatic, you knew she would, but it was nice to add another family member to your lives who loved him. One of the babies started crying about an hour or two after you fell asleep, and Jack got up to handle it, pressing a kiss to your forehead and muttering for you to ‘stay put.’

You could hear him in the other room, pacing and singing a little song about cowboys to the girls, so you snuck in to see both girls tucked into his arms while he rocked back and forth.

“Blue shadows on the trail

Little cowgirl close your eyes and dream

All of the doggies are in the corral

All of your work is done

Just close your eyes and dream little gal

Dream of someone.”

You broke out in a grin and you couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest woman alive. You had a second chance at love, and with someone who made you feel like you were a love struck teenager. Though it hadn’t been long, you and Jack had experienced a lot together, and through it all he proved time and time again there is nobody you would rather do life with. He settled the babies back in the crib and let the still blearily blinking Violet hold his finger while he finished the lullaby. You came up and wrapped your arms around his back, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades, before resting your ear against his back, listening to him rumble out the rest of the lullaby.

“Blue shadows on the trail

Soft wind blowing through the trees above

All the other little cowgirls are in the bunkhouse now

So close your eyes and dream.”

When violets eyes finally drooped close, he took one of your hands and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “I love you Honeybee, thank you for all my pretty flowers.” He mumbled, spinning to face you, palming your hair from your forehead and stroking your cheeks.

“No problem Cowboy, I do it ‘cause I love you.” You pucker your lips, and Jack leans in to easily oblige your kiss. You make your way back to bed, and your about to fall asleep when your phone buzzes, and you go to check, only to see a picture of Helen with her date and a little message to let you know she got home safe. When you saw who her date was you gasped.

“Oh my god Jack!” You laughed and he raised an eyebrow, rolling over to look at your phone.

When you turned it to face him, his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Is that Champ!?”

You cackled and Jack joined you, suddenly delighted by what a small world this turned out to be. Yep, your little family was coming along nicely, and there was nobody you’d rather share it with than your perfect cowboy, and your pretty babies.

-

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[dinsmechanic]

𝐉."𝐖".𝐃 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒

──.★ fooled around and fell in love [ @agentwhiskeysdarlin ]

⌗ f!reader

⌗ mostly in jacks pov

⌗ 3.4k

⌗ fluff

⌗ bar setting, alcohol consumption

⌗ brief mentions of death and funeral setting

⌗ 18+, piv, heavy makeout session, oral m & f-receive

──.★ honey honey how you thrill me [ @americnprometheus ]

⌗ f!reader

⌗ 1.7k

⌗ goofy fluff !!

⌗ insinuation to smut

──.★ when you say nothing at all [ @agentwhiskeysdarlin ]

⌗ f!reader

⌗ soft!jack

⌗ 1.4k

⌗ so fluffy

⌗ 18+, piv, sensual sex, floor sex, oral f-receive

──.★ save a horse ( ride a cowboy ) [ @deardjarin ]

⌗ f!reader

⌗ 1.5k

⌗ 18+, piv, office sex, riding, moving of voyeurism

──.★ bull ride [ @palioom ]

⌗ f!reader

⌗ jack's cringey

⌗ 2k

⌗ 18+, piv, public sex ( middle of nowhere ), spanking, dirty talk

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Recently Uploaded - 4/19/24 - Fanfic Friday

We Meet Again - Eggsy Unwin X Female Reader - Slight Angst/Fluff - 3.0k

[klarex]

I know my requests are closed, buuut I wanted to tell you that I added Kingsman, so if I open my requests box again, you can request them!

I'm going nuts about these films! I fucking love them so much😍

Anyway, have an amazing day!❤️

[sneetsnootyoit]

Realizing people really like your idea for a fic and they like hearing about a scene you wrote when you haven't even fully written the first chapter:

[weirdandnerdyinlasvegas]

My husband and I decided to go for a two week road trip for vacation. This is the hotel we stayed at the other night. All I could think was.... Damn this is like a freakin' Jack Daniels fanfic.

BTW this is the El Rancho Hotel in Gallup, New Mexico. Built in the 1940s. It's right on Route 66 and was built to host celebrities as they filmed in the nearby desert. The rooms are named after different actors and actresses as well.

[ninebluehearts]

Hi can I request a agent whiskey/ jack Daniel x plus!size reader. So the reader is an agent and is working with everyone that is trying to take down the drug cartel the reader is an agent and is a badass at doing her work so maybe she is in love with jack maybe one day they introduce a new agent to the team she is a girl she is thin blond with pretty blue eyes let’s just say all the guy’s welcome her and so does the reader the reader notices jack flirting with the new agent so when they have to do a small mission to get more information about the drug cartel they have to go under cover at a club and the reader has to flirt with the target the rest they just pair up into 2 teams so they are gonna be in the club make sure nothing goes wrong because their target has back up maybe theres a little fighting when the reader wears a dress she gets insecure because she sees the new girl and her dress and how it fits perfectly on her so maybe the new agent and jack had to play as a fake couple for the mission but what the reader doesn’t know is that jack is in love with the reader so maybe when they are fighting the reader gets stabbed in the leg when they get back she gets checked out jack wouldn’t leave the reader side and the doctor said she should be fine while in the infirmary the reader confesses her love for jack maybe it could end with them dating.(this might be to long uhh you could write it if you want it’s fine will if you don’t)

Sure thing, my love!! I'm so sorry this took so long!!

Warnings: Violence, blood, etc. (no smut)

-------------------------------------------------------

"You've gotta be kidding me.." You mumbled, staring at the group of men that were all huddled around the newest agent of Statesmen: Agent Malibu.

Malibu had honey blonde hair that practically glowed in the sunlight; the thick, wavy locks looked softer than a feather.

Which paired well with her deep, ocean blue eyes, the kind that you could swim in for hours, not even knowing you were drowning.

Even better, she had a perfect figure- she was thick where it mattered, like her thighs and hips, but her thin waist and long legs really completed the look.

It all made your stomach turn.

What made everything worse was that Agent Whiskey was in that crowd of men, supposedly 'welcoming her.'

Though you saw the grin he had- it was the same one he had given you when you first began working for Statesmen. Regrettably, you were engaged at the time, so you never did act on the obvious spark between you two.

Even when you broke things off with your ex, you never could find the right time- or gather enough courage- to ask him out. And now you were terrified that it was too late.

"I know! Isn't she perfect?" Your coworker, Agent Vodka, said, taking a long sip from his mug. "I don't know if I wanna fuck her or be her bestfriend."

You rolled your eyes, angerly placing your hands on your hips. "Aren't you gay? And married?"

"Me-ow, somebody's jealous." Vodka mumbled into his mug as he took another sip, quickly heading back towards his office to avoid your salty mood.

You shook your head, huffing out a sigh as you looked back at group of Agents. You managed to make eye contact with Whiskey, feeling the familiar burn in your cheeks when he smiled at you.

You gave him a small smile back, giggling when he tipped his hat at you. He always did stuff like that to make you laugh. No matter where you were or what you were doing, Whiskey always found a way to either make a silly face or flirt with you.

That's what made this all so confusing- the other agents were usually professional while working with you, so what made Whiskey different?

"Agent Amaretto!" Your boss, Agent Champagne, called out, motioning for you to come over to the group.

You hated suddenly having all of those eyes on you; especially hers.

You set your mug next to the coffee maker behind you, before awkwardly walking over to him, trying not to look at Malibu. "Yes sir?"

He motioned for the crowd of agents to get back to work, though Whiskey and Malibu stayed besides him. "Well, I assume you've met Agent Malibu?"

"Yes, sir."

"Wonderful! Well, the two of you will be accompanying Agent Whiskey on tonight's mission. Everything is already set up; Whiskey and Malibu, you'll be portraying Mr. and Mrs. Williams, a wealthy married couple from Spain. Amaretto, you'll be Mrs. Culpeper, a Russian widow. Everyone got it?" Champ asked, glancing between the three of you.

"Don't Whiskey and I usually play the married couple?" You tried to keep the attitude out of your tone, though you didn't think you were very successful considering the look that crossed Champ's face.

"Yes, but don't these two look better together? Look," Champ slung his arm around your shoulder, making you look at the 'couple.'

Your teeth grinded together, your nails digging into the palms of your hands as the green-eyed monster began to slip out of his facade.

"Ain't they just perfect together?" He asked, obviously proud of himself.

"You really think so?" Malibu asked, hugging Whiskey's arm as she looked up at him through her eyelashes; Whiskey winked at her in return, a sly smirk tugging on his lips.

"Well, I certainly have a lot to do to get ready then!" You pulled away from Champ before he could even notice that you were shaking with rage, your lips locked in a tight smile. "But do send me the files for tonight's mission."

And without another word, you quickly walked away from the group, holding your breath to keep the hot, salty tears at bay.

-

You spent the better part of your afternoon practicing a Russian accent and going over Mrs. Veronica Culpeper's profile, preparing for tonight's mission.

You reminded yourself to practice your breathing exercises, deciding to be an adult about the situation. You didn't have the right to be so possessive over Whiskey; you had your chance, and you blew it.

That's on you.

As you slipped on your short, silk black dress, you couldn't help but feel a slight sense of confidence. You didn't get to dress up often, so seeing yourself with a full face of make-up, your hair held back in your favorite clip, and wearing a dress that hugged your curves perfectly? How could you not feel absolutely gorgeous.

You took separate cars and left at different times than Whiskey and Malibu, not wanting to cause any suspicion.

Veronica had never met the Williams before, so at least it wasn't like you had to look at them together all night.

You slipped in your earpiece as you pulled up to the club, checking to make sure you were connected. "Whiskey, do you copy?"

"Yeah." He responded a moment later, whispering with that deep, gruff Southern accent that made you shiver.

"I copy too!" You heard Malibu say, her voice echoing as though she were in an empty room, like a bathroom.

You took a deep breath, composing yourself before exiting the car, greeting the valet with a thick, Russian accent as you dropped your keys into the palm of his hand.

As you entered the building, you couldn't help but glance around the room, looking for a familiar face.

"Hello there, I don't think we've met. Who are you?" A man asked from behind you, slight suspicion in his tone.

You turned, only to be met with the man of the night; Lucifer White, the leader of the biggest cartel ring in South America. The man you were all here to kill.

"I am Veronica Culpeper. I believe you knew my husband?"

"Ahh, yes! James! Oh, I do apologize for your loss. I'm sure you understand though, no?''

You blinked, trying to remember how Veronica's husband died. "Business is business."

Lucifer barked out a laugh, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. "A woman who understands how the business world works! I must have a drink with you!" He tried to pull you towards the bar, but you resisted.

Out of nowhere, five guards suddenly looked your way, not liking the disappointment look on their boss's face.

"I don't know.. Maybe I should walk around first? I just got here." You felt beads of sweat beginning to dampen your forehead, the panic burning in the pit of your belly.

"Are you kidding? That is the perfect time to get a drink! Come come!" He reached over and grabbed your hand, actually pulling you towards the bar now.

"Tell me, what is your choice of drink?" He shouted to you over the music, motioning for the bartender.

"I'll take your favorite." You said, throwing up your hands. "I feel adventurous tonight!" Your Russian accent was just as thick as his Spanish one.

Lucifer laughed, giving you a simple nod before speaking to the bartender in Spanish.

"So, what brings you here tonight? I figured you would be more than furious with me at the moment, no?"

And that's when it hit you; Lucifer killed Veronica's husband when an important deal went bad. James was supposedly working with the police, though there wasn't a lot of evidence to support that theory.

Even so, James was the first he killed when he discovered the undercover cops that were supposed to be buying his product.

Not even a minute later, the bartender gently set your drinks on the counter, giving you a nervous look as he prepared other customers. drinks.

"No. As I said. Business is business. My husband was weak." You said as you picked up your drink, raising it in the air. "To good business?"

Lucifer grinned, slamming his glass against yours. "To good business!" He began to chug his drink, watching you out of the corner of his eye to make sure you were drinking yours.

You raised the glass to your lips, preparing to take a sip, when suddenly it was ripped out of your hands. You looked up, watching as Whiskey tossed the glass back behind the bar, nearly missing the bartender's head.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Lucifer roared, standing to get in Whiskey's face. All of the guards in the surrounding area perked up, tightening their grips on their guns as they kept a very close eye on the situation.

"It was my mistake, really. I apologize. I thought she was someone else." Whiskey said, holding his hands in the air. You almost couldn't recognize him without his Southern accent.

You glanced around, catching a glimpse of Malibu, who was standing nearby to watch the situation unfold.

She wore a ruby red dress that hugged her waist perfectly, flaring out into a whirl of ruffles and glitter on the bottom. And even in a moment as tense as this, that familiar burn of insecurity began to creep into your mind.

"Who are you?" Lucifer demanded, gripping Whiskey's collar.

"Right! I'm David Miller, sir."

"Oh really? That's funny, because the David Miller I invited is currently in New Mexico. You see where I'm a little confused, no?"

"Jesus Chirst." Whiskey muttered, not even trying to hide his Southern accent anymore. He punched Lucifer in his jaw, sending both men to the ground.

That's when all hell broke loose.

Everything began to playout in slow motion- what seemed like dozens of men ran up from the first floor at the sight of a fight, trying to take on both Malibu and Whiskey.

You reached behind the bar and grabbed a bottle full of vodka. Storming over to one of the bigger guards who had his back turned, you tapped the back of his knee with your foot, smashing the bottle over his head once he dropped to his knees.

Holding onto the top of the shattered glass bottle, you stabbed an oncoming guard in the stomach with the broken glass, twisting the handle so the glass dug in deeper.

You felt someone grab you from behind, pressing a gun against the side of your head. "And to think I actually trusted you! I was going to make you mine." Lucifer snarled, the metallic smell of blood and alcohol wafting from his mouth.

"Awe, what a shame." You said, before slamming your head back into his face, causing him to stumble back as blood poured from the bridge of his nose.

"You bitch!" He cried out, holding his hand over his nose.

You turned, kicking your foot into his stomach so hard that he flew back into another guard, both of them falling to the ground.

Feeling something break on your shoe, you sucked in a breath, propping your foot up on a nearby barstool to see if you broke the heel.

In doing so, a guard took that as an opportunity, proceeding to jab his knife into the side of your thigh while you weren't paying attention.

You ripped your leg off of the chair, clenching your teeth together in agony as you ripped the knife from your thigh. "You fucker!" You screamed, hurling yourself at the man as though you were some kind of predator.

You all fought like hell for the next ten minutes, the war ending with a single gunshot to Lucifer's forehead.

You stood there panting, holding the gun in a vice-like grip. The familiar feeling of guilt swirled around in your stomach, making you lightheaded. You'd think that after eleven years of killing people, you'd be used to it by now.

Well, you'd be very wrong.

Whiskey and Malibu were by your side a moment later, Whiskey letting out a long whistle when he saw what you had done. "Bit of a hiccup, but I'd say that was a hell of a mission, huh?"

Malibu gave him a are you serious right now? look, gesturing to her torn, blood covered dress.

"Ah well, ya win some, ya loose some." Whiskey patted her on the back, suddenly going quiet when he saw the blood that rushed down the side of your leg, now pooling at your feet. "Please tell me that's someone else's."

You furrowed your brows together, glancing down to see the mess you unintentionally created. "Oh! Huh, I honestly forgot about that.."

Whiskey hurried to your side, looking up at you for permission when he grabbed the edge of your dress. Once you gave him the okay, he took one look at your stab wound and decided that you needed to go to the hospital.

"What? No, Jack, I'm fine! I'll just have Ginger look at it when we get back."

"Ginger is currently at home sleeping. Ya know who isn't? The doctors at the ER down the road. Now go get in the truck."

"I can drive myself-"

"Give Stacy your keys. She'll bring it back to the office for ya."

So now they were on first name basis?

The thought made you cringe, a sour look beginning to spread across your face. "I gave my keys to the valet."

"Got that?" Whiskey asked Malibu, nodding when she agreed. "Now, let's get you taken care of." He gently grabbed your arm, guiding you outside towards the parking lot.

-

"Let me get this straight," The doctor said, taking off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "You just fell on a knife?"

"Yup." You and Whiskey said in union, glancing at one another.

"And how exactly did you fall on a knife?"

You simply shrugged, tossing your hands up.

The doctor eyed you suspiciously, staring at Whiskey as though he did it. "Right.. Well, thankfully it's not very deep. You're going to need stiches and maybe some antibiotics, but you'll be fine. I'll be back in a moment to stitch you up, okay?"

"Thank you, doctor." Whiskey said, giving him a curt nod.

Once the doctor left, you let out a long sigh, beginning to pick at your nails. The only thing you could seem to think about was how Whiskey said Malibu's real name, no hesitation, no warning- he used it as though he'd known her for years.

Tears began to swell in your eyes, making you dig your nails into the palm of your hand to counteract them.

"Is the pain gettin' worse?" Whiskey asked, staring at your clenched fists.

Shit.

"I'm fine." You mumbled rather rudely, you'll admit.

Whiskey raised his brows, swaying his hip to the side. "Well what did I do?"

You rolled your eyes as you huffed out a sigh. "What are you talking about?"

"That! That right there. What's with the attitude?"

"I don't have an attitude, Jack."

"Bullshit. Are you still salty you ain't get to be my wife this time around?"

The lump in your throat began to swell, making it hard to swallow. "I was never salty in the first place. For fucks sake, can't you just wait in the waiting room? I'm a big girl, I can get a few stitches by myself."

Whiskey stared at you in awe. "Oh my god, you are!"

You turned your head so he couldn't see the heat that began to burn through your cheeks. "I'm not!"

"Listen Sugar, I'll make it clear to Champ that you're my number one girl from here on out, alright? I'm not sure how Stacy's gonna feel 'bout-"

"God, do you ever shut up?!" You cried out, finally looking at him with your tear-stained cheeks and wobbling lip. You couldn't hold back your jealousy any longer, hearing her name on his tongue for a second time making your body burn with pure rage.

Whiskey's smile quickly faded. He continued to stare at you as though he solved the worlds hardest puzzle. "Holy shit, you're jealous."

Your eyes went wide, your body suddenly dropping into fight or flight mode. "I don't need this." You jumped to your feet, ripping the curtain back before storming away from him.

"The hell you do!" Whiskey was hot on your tracks, grabbing your wrist once you were in arm's length.

Other patients that didn't have their curtains drawn began to stare at the scene; doctors looked at you both with suspicion.

"People are looking. Will you please just get back in there?"

"Are you going to shut up?"

Whiskey acted as though he locked his lips and threw away the key.

"Fine." You pulled your arm out of his grasp, walking back to the corner yourself.

Whiskey pulled the curtains back once you were both inside the makeshift room, stayed quiet like he promised. Though by the looks of it, his head was racing with thoughts.

You tried to sit on the edge of the bed, but the skin around your wound felt tight- as though your skin would rip if you moved too much. You sucked in a sharp breath, obviously struggling.

"Let me help-"

"Aren't you supposed to be staying quiet?"

Whiskey rolled his eyes. "Don't be a child. Seriously, let me-"

"I'm fine-"

Whiskey sighed, gripping your waist and lifting you onto the bed.

You sat there with a scowl, rubbing your sides. You hated being picked up. "Don't you ever do that again."

Whiskey stared at you for a while, his mouth agape. Not a moment later, he began to laugh- the kind of laugh that had him doubled over, holding his stomach.

"What?" You crossed your arms over your chest, wanting to know what was so funny.

"Ya know you're cute when you're mad?" He asked, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you.

You scoffed, turning your head away from him once again.

"it's true! You may be stubborn, but god damnit, you make up for it by bein' so adorable."

You turned to face him, your brows still furrowed together. "Why are you being so mean to me, Jack?"

"How am I being mean to you, sugar?" Whiskey cooed, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"By acting so nice to me all of the time! None of the other agent's treat me like this. They're usually professional- wanting to get a mission done as soon as possible. But you? You do stuff like this; taking me to the hospital yourself, buying me dinner, flirting with me.. Why?"

Whiskey shook his head, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "You really wanna know?"

"I wouldn't've asked if I didn't."

"True." Whiskey mumbled. He placed his hand on your cheek, guiding your face to his as he gently pressed your lips together.

You sat there frozen for the better part of the kiss, shocked that it was finally happening. Years of tension- of longing, hoping that he would someday feel the same finally poured out into one, single kiss.

And once you finally did kiss him back, your lips pressed against his with urgency, as though you were starving for his touch alone.

"Okay!" The doctor said, yanking back the curtain right as the two of you pulled away. "I hope I'm not interrupting, but are you ready to get started?"

"Not at all! Come on in."

"Great." The doctor and a nurse came in to set everything up for your stitches, not even realizing that they walked in on the best moment of your life.

You laid your head on Whiskey's shoulder, holding the edge of your dress back so the nurse could disinfect the area. "Can I spend the night at your place?" You asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

"Sure thing, sugar." Whiskey said with a laugh, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

Yeah, you were gonna be alright.

-

Hello! Thank you so much for reading!! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

Taglist: @dino-fart

[sneetsnootyoit]

I'M STILL WORKING ON IT OKAY

I promise it'll be worth it

Shhhhhh blame @wannab-urs