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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years

Text

Late July

Fandom: Kingsman: The Golden Circle

Pairing: Agent Whiskey [Jack Daniels]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit explicit.

Summary: Upon hearing about you from Tequila, Jack Daniels seeks you out with a full set of emotional baggage to work through. You happily oblige, helping him craft a scene that just might grant him some peace of mind. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @wrestlingfae @cookiethewriter @culturalrebel @jackierey09 @crookedmoonsaultpunk @duker42 @agirllovespasta @nelba @pedrosbigdorkenergy @lestrange2703 @youmeanmybrain @luvley-shadow @theocatkov @miscellaneousjunkk @reluctantlyresponsibleadult @buttons-beads-lace @gooddaykate @lackofhonor

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains consensual non-consent (surrender play), light domination, roleplay, unprotected sex, frank discussion of safe words, usage of safe words, dirty talk and light bondage. Remember that fanfictions are not research and that you should never engage in any activity if you do not trust your partner. Stay safe!]

There was just something about you that put people at ease, and Ginger Ale noticed during the interview process. "You have a gift!" She had praised you, her smile unexpected and bright. "I can see why Tequila recommended you for this position."

Granted, being the 'head of first impressions' at a distillery that was actually a front for a secret intelligence agency had its ups and downs, but you enjoyed the work and (if you were honest) the exciting interactions with the Statesman agents.

Tequila, of course, would practically drape himself across your desk as he regaled you with (hopefully) exaggerated tales of his heroics. The two of you were sexually involved but preferred to keep each other at arm's length out of the bedroom, neither party particularly keen on surrendering your freedom and committing to anything serious at this point of your lives. You admired his dedication to Statesman, and he in turn respected your desire to have a successful career. He also was blatantly mooning over a certain analyst.

Ginger Ale was quieter and sharper than Tequila, her dry humor a joy to witness. She was the one who had done your interview, and she had given you the full behind the scenes tour once your background check went through. She was beautiful, charismatic and smart as a whip. You hoped to one day be as self-assured as she was.

Champ tended to keep to himself for the most part, though you had encountered him several times in the past when he dozed off in a certain chair at the end of a sunlit hallway. The elderly man was like an old tomcat, you decided, able to prowl but more than willing to take it easy.

Whiskey was often away managing the affairs of their New York headquarters and as such, was the one that you interacted with the least. He would come breezing in at all hours, a slow smile and a wink directed your way before he would saunter past. The rare occasions that he engaged you in conversation were nerve-wracking, as you were a little starstruck due to the glowing accounts both Champ and Tequila had given of his prowess in the past.

Ginger Ale was a bit more down to earth, thankfully. "He's just a man who's lost a lot, and his reasons for wanting to change things for the better may not be entirely altruistic." She had informed you concisely when you queried about the origin of one Jack Daniels. You had picked up on the veiled sadness in his dark eyes, the age that seemed to weigh him down that wasn't entirely related to years.

So when the aforementioned Statesman agent had drunkenly expressed a certain desire to you at a company party, you couldn't hide a little spike of curiosity. Mainly because the two of you interacted so rarely. Hell, you wouldn't even call yourselves friends. Tequila must have told him about your side activities.

"Ever since I lost her, I can't fuckin' bring myself to raw anyone else." The confession had come out of left field, but you had done your best to play it off like it was normal. Lord knew you had done enough paperwork in your career at Statesman to understand that agents would just kind of…say things thoughtlessly if they believed they were in a safe environment. A hazard of the job.

"What do you mean, Mr. Daniels?"

"Call me Jack. Jesus, I ain't that old." He had hiccupped sharply, grimacing. "I just mean I...it's like a mental block. I wanna', I'm excited about it, and everything's fine until I try to come and boom. Python shrivels up like a damn salted slug and I'm left holdin' the bag tryin' to explain myself." He stared into his glass, looking pensive. "Real mood killer."

"Any idea why this might be?" You had prompted, leaning against the bar and idly scanning the throngs of people around you. It wasn't every day that so many of the company's rank and file rubbed elbows with the higher-ups, but you had to assume these economic mixers were what had kept the company (and intelligence agency) on such an even keel. It was a grounding experience, a way to remind the suits of their humble beginnings.

He scoffed out a breath. "Oh I know exactly why. When I lost her, I...we had only learned a little while before that she was havin' a baby. We'd been havin' a rocky time and we were actually thinkin' of breakin' up, but that news…" Jack had tilted his head to glance your way, his brown eyes distant. "If I hadn't gotten her pregnant, she wouldn't have been out shoppin' that day, y'know?" A sad smile had quirked his mouth beneath his mustache. "My fault."

At the time, you had made a noise of sympathy and gone to lay a hand on his arm before you could think better of it. He, instead of shrugging off your touch, actually ended up twining his fingers through your own and giving your hand a light squeeze.

Agent Whiskey's past was a shadowy affair in the Statesman organization. Though to be fair, no one really asked anything about anyone. Ginger Ale reasoned that the less people knew, the safer they and Statesman were in the event of a security breach.

Anything you learned from any of the agents, you tended to keep close to your heart. It was your nature to gather useful information and foster trust for a rainy day. That personality facet had served you well as you had climbed the ranks from intern to head of first impressions, and knowing that you were someone that could be counted on to hold your cards close put many people at ease.

Including one Agent Whiskey.

"Tequila said you were good at helpin'. I'd be much obliged if you'd consider takin' a crack at my sexual baggage."

...

"Alright so for your words, you've decided on 'sixth' as your 'yes I'm into this', followed by second for 'slow down but don't break character', first for 'slow down and do break character' and finally neutral for 'full stop'." You tapped the customary notepad on your lap, glancing over at the man across the table. The two of you were currently sitting in the kitchen of the vacation cabin that your parents had willed to you, the modest dwelling often your staging ground for affairs like this. The warm wooden decor tended to make your partners feel more at ease and less vulnerable. Perceived safety was, after all, incredibly important when crafting scenarios.

Jack nodded. "Gears are easy for me to remember. Simple."

"Got it. And no kissing on the mouth. Can I kiss you in other places, or would you prefer I didn't at all?"

"Kissin's fine." Jack allowed. "Whatever you wanna' do is fine, just not on my mouth." You jotted that down. "Hey, I uh...I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate you agreein' to help. I dunno' if this will work, but…" Whiskey rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Thanks. When Tequila mentioned your...extracurriculars, I figured he was jus' bein' outta' pocket again."

You grinned at that, giggling a little. "Does he get weird a lot?"

"I mean, he's uh...well, he's got his moments." Jack replied with a smile of his own.

"So," you hummed once you had checked your notes again, "after looking over all the information we've compiled, and the ideas you gave me an outline of, I'm thinking that you may want more of a 'surrender-play' kind of experience."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Dare I ask how that's different from what I already suggested?"

"Look, you and I both know that I couldn't keep you from moving if you wanted to. Now, if we had a real working dynamic going on and I believed that you would listen and trust me implicitly so that you don't end up hurting yourself or me, then we might have something. But as we are right now, that's not gonna' happen." Whiskey inclined his head with a rueful chuckle, acknowledging the truth of your words. "So I propose that it's more of a scenario where all the agency is removed."

The agent leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. "Explain."

"You need a scenario where you aren't in control and there's not even a chance of you being in control, taking any responsibility or guilt from the equation." You elaborated. "Basically, you would surrender your control so that you can indulge guilt-free. A lot of people do this coupled with a roleplay aspect in order to test new things that may be out of character for them."

"You coulda' jus' said you wanted to tie me up, sugar." Jack drawled. "I'll show you some good knots."

"You don't have any issues with being secured to...I guess a chair, probably? We'll keep you upright. If we sprawl you out on a bed that might be a little too vulnerable." You reasoned, waiting for his nod before you wrote it down. "I know it sounds contradictory, but I want you to be comfortable in what we do. Should I leave your clothes on?"

"If you can stand to, I'd appreciate it." The man answered with a cheeky wink. "Bein' naked and restrained is a little too close to the job description." He sighed after a moment, tipping the chair backwards as he laced his fingers behind his head. "Now I warn you, if I'm supposed to be an unwillin' party, I may display a little less Southern hospitality and a little more Southern history with my language, if you catch my drift."

You pursed your lips, squinting at him. "...is that your way of saying you might use a naughty word or two?"

You received a lazy finger-gun in reply, "bingo, cherry pie. You got any names you ain't a fan of bein' called?"

"Oh! I mean, I've heard just about everything in the book." You straightened up as a thought occurred to you, and then pointed back at him sternly. "No slurs."

"Ma'am," Jack sounded aghast, "I am not that breed of Southern gentleman. My lingo can verge on the spicy, but I sure as hell wouldn't stoop to that level."

You narrowed your eyes to drive your point home. "I really hope not." The agent inclined his head once more, putting a hand over his heart in a display of sincerity.

The front legs of the chair met the floor with a soft clatter, once again putting him on stable footing. "Now, I been wrackin' my brain tryin' to drum up a good premise like you asked, but I ain't exactly big in the screenwritin' department. I figure it could be kinda' like I'd been kidnapped? Drawin' a blank on why my kidnapper would be rawdoggin' me, maybe you can come up with somethin'?" He queried hopefully.

You furrowed your brow in thought, going silent as you carefully considered the hodgepodge of contributing factors. "Oh, I think I can manage."

...

This deck had been rigged from the start. In theory, you knew that he knew that. Still, he was certainly acting like it stung his pride a bit that he'd fallen into your 'trap' so cleanly.

Everything was going according to plan.

Whiskey struggled against the binds that secured him to the kitchen chair. His whip was safely confiscated. Lasso out of reach. Hat was still on his head. He had specifications, after all.

You left him to wriggle for almost half an hour while you got yourself ready. The man was a secret agent, after all. If he hadn't been restrained for much longer than that at any given point you would be very surprised.

You finally opened the bathroom door, sauntering out into the cabin's small kitchenette. "Miss me, love?" You crooned, committing to your role as villainous vamp stereotype number six. You had worn a plain set of underwear and an oversized white t-shirt, soft and see-through from the amount of times it had been washed. You got the feeling that if you went more elaborate, you might scare Whiskey off or make him too uncomfortable to really get into it. This scene was all about trust, and he hardly knew you. But he had sought you out for this. All you had to do was follow through.

"Was beginnin' to worry that you forgot about me, ma'am." The agent drawled back, his smile tightly sardonic and his low voice curling hot in your belly. "You fixin' to untie me yet?"

You clicked your tongue, the noise disappointed. "Whiskey, sweetheart, where's the fun in that? If I untie you, you'll just kill me."

"Can't blame a man for tryin'." Jack was absolutely in his element right now. He looked furious.

You ambled around behind him, slinging your arms around his neck and resting your weight on him briefly. "Remember," you murmured in his ear. "If you need me to slow down, or need to stop entirely, you say…?"

"Second, first and neutral." The agent replied readily. You patted his cheek.

"Good boy." You praised.

"Ain't my first rodeo." Whiskey's tongue darted out nervously to wet his lips and you wanted to reassure him, but you knew you had a job to do.

"Now, can I get you a light refreshment? Something to drink? Maybe some chips?" You offered, moving to the small refrigerator that you had stocked a little earlier in the day. Planning was imperative for engagements like this. "I have water, sweet tea, Coke…"

"Dammit woman, stop beatin' around the bush! Why the hell do you have me hogtied to this damn chair?!" Jack erupted.

"So rude." You chided him, removing a water for yourself and then leaning casually against the counter. "You really want to know, Mr. Whiskey?"

"Obviously." He scowled.

"Well be a patient boy and maybe I'll tell you." You hummed, not making eye contact as you unscrewed the cap on the water bottle. "It was more than enough trouble for me to get you here in the first place, big shot. Don't rush me."

"Listen, I'll be the first to tell you that I probably ain't who you're lookin' for." He said bluntly. "I'm just a simple liquor tycoon, nothin' more."

"Mr. Whiskey, if you continue to insult my intelligence maybe I will decide I've got the wrong man. And then I'll just get rid of you." You swirled the water in the bottle, fixing him with a thoughtful look.

"You're talkin' a mighty big game, woman." Jack grumbled.

You sloshed some of the water on your thin white shirt as if by accident, and began daubing at the gauzy fabric aimlessly. "Whiskey-"

"It's Jack." He spat.

"Oh, we're on a first name basis? How exciting!" You teased him, laughing when he muttered angrily under his breath. He was clearly enjoying the role of 'belligerent definitely-not-a-spy'. "Alright then, Jack. I won't beat around the bush, as you so tactfully put it."

"Hallelujah, some goddamn cooperation." He replied in a sulky tone.

"So, Jack, I need you to come inside me. Strictly so I can bypass Statesman's biomechanical security systems. It's nothing personal, I just assumed you would be the easiest target, you know?" You remarked with a shrug. "The flirty cowboy with the filthy mouth." He stared at you and you raised an eyebrow, half-convinced that his reaction was legitimate. "What? You do have a reputation."

"I hate to break it to ya', but you got the wrong beverage. You're lookin' for Tequila, ma'am." Jack retorted, his voice a little raspy. "You want...what?"

"I need you to come inside me so I can use the your genetic signature to bypass the security." Granted, you were pretty certain that Statesman used exclusively fingerprints, retina scans and time locks, but Whiskey had told you to weave a good story for the setup, not necessarily an accurate one.

Jack swallowed hard. "You've got bats in your fuckin' belfry, woman. You expect me to-"

"Oh no, that's the beauty of this arrangement." You interrupted him, still smiling. "I don't expect you to do anything aside from sit there and stay still while I ride you."

"Jesus fuck woman, you--shit, isn't there some other way to do this? I ain't keen on the prospect, but if there's literally any other way…"

"Sorry. This is the only solution that my superiors could get behind." You sighed, feigning regret. "And we might be here a while, from what I've heard." Jack's eyes darted to yours and he flushed, working his jaw. "Don't look so glum! I'm one of the best in my field. I'm sure I'll be able to compensate for your...lack of investment."

"You touch me and I swear to God-"

"Ah ah, naughty boys get gagged." You threatened gently, walking your fingers up the side of his face to stroke them back down his jawline. Jack glared at you, his dark gaze fairly luminous with fury and maybe just a touch of poorly-veiled interest. "Be a good boy and I'll let you talk as much as you want. Maybe I'll even let you play with my tits, hmm?" You asked, cupping your breasts through your still-damp shirt. "Would you like that, love?"

"I…" Jack trailed off, then snapped his eyes back up from your chest. "No!"

You tapped his nose, winking. "Oh I think you would. Don't be so stubborn, Jack." You cocked your head to the side. "No one from Statesman even knows you're gone. No one is coming to rescue you." You informed him, all the playfulness evaporated from your voice. "You're mine now, Jack. My own personal key-card."

"You won't get away with this." Jack snarled.

"I think I already have." You knelt between his legs, running your hands over the jeans that covered his thighs. He squirmed, trying to dislodge you, but you just moved with him. You dug your nails into his thighs. "You keep wiggling and I'm going to have to tighten the ropes, Jack. Is that what you want?"

"Oh you filthy fuckin' woman, you absolute bitch, let me go!"

"Hmm," you tapped your chin as he kept jerking and straining against the knots. "No."

Jack froze when your fingers unbuttoned the button at the top of his fly. "Now wait, wait just a damn minute, y-you can't--" he tried to plead.

"Oh I can. And I will." You looked up at him. "As long as we're in the right gear?"

"Sixth, sixth." He affirmed, flashing you a quick smile. You nodded and seamlessly resumed your play.

The zipper of his fly opened devastatingly slow, the agent exhaling raggedly when you pulled up his shirt and palmed his groin gently through the fabric of his boxer briefs. His cock was already half-hard, and you pointed that out with a mean little smirk on your face. "Oh no, looks like someone's interested." You crooned, rubbing your index finger over the head of his still-clothed dick.

"Fuck off, you...y-you-" he swore, rolling his shoulders as if he was testing his bonds. "You little bitch."

"Temper temper." You chided, ducking your head down to mouth over the fabric of his boxers. Jack gasped out another swear over your head, his hips twitching up to meet you before he slammed them back down. "Methinks someone doth protest too much." You snorted, splaying your fingers on the newly-revealed skin of his stomach. "We could make this so much simpler if you would just give in, Jack." You didn't miss the way his skin jumped at your touch, and you smiled against his boxers.

"You'll--you'll have to do better than that." Whiskey breathed. "You think just any ol' woman can get me up?"

You stood, leaning in close and pressing your mouth to his ear. His whole body flinched when you wrapped your fingers around his cock and gave him a nice, slow stroke. "Oh, poor thing. You must believe you're really special, hmm? God's gift to mankind every time you take someone to bed." You mocked, your teeth and tongue laving over his earlobe. "We're all so lucky to have you, Jack."

"Hhn-" Jack's shoulders went stiff, the man obviously biting his tongue.

"You don't have a choice, sweetheart. I'm going to get you hard. Then, I'm going to use your cock. And all you have to do, my lovely, handsome cowboy, is come inside me." You informed him, drawing a finger beneath his chin. "More than once, preferably."

"I'm not usually a man to voice my own shortcomin's, but I must warn you that this will be a futile-" Whiskey's words hitched in his throat when you stroked him again. "Fuck, no, don't touch me like that, you--"

"Stop playing hard to get, Jack." You murmured, slinking your free hand up the back of his neck to massage his scalp right beneath the band of his hat. "Give up."

"Never." He hissed even as his head lolled forward, granting you more access to rub his neck.

"Pity." You settled back down between his legs and wrapped your lips around his cock.

"No, no, dammit-" Whiskey growled, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Don't you fuckin'...no, no, don't use your tongue the-ah f-uck--" His protest died in a pitiful groan when his cock met the back of your throat. "Oh, you--fuckin'--you've got to be shittin' me woman, the whole-?" He grunted out haphazardly as you relaxed your throat and took him all the way down to the base. "You think y-you can take advantage of me jus' cuz' it's been a while since I got laid? Fuck you."

You hummed around his cock, wanting to giggle when he twitched and swore loudly. Your fingers dove past the hem of your underwear, and you moaned against him as you ran your index in slow, steady circles around your clit.

"I ain't fuckin' you, and I sure as shit am not gonna' come in your pussy." Jack snarled.

"Oh yes you are." You sang, rising to your feet and slipping your panties off. The white t-shirt came next, baring your breasts to the air-conditioned environment.

Jack seemed to forget that he was supposed to be vehemently against this yet again as he just...watched while you teased your nipples. You tugged at the taut peaks, rolling them between your fingers and making a show out of the whole bit.

"I can't wait to have you inside me, filling me up, just pumping me full of your come." You said with a smile, sauntering over until you would be in reach if his hands were free. Jack's tongue made a nervous reappearance and you tugged his chin upwards so you could see his eyes. "Are we still in gear? Or do we need to shift?" You asked. He seemed slightly dazed.

"Oh! Uh, sorry, s-sixth." He stammered. "Sixth, holy shit."

"Mm. Don't disappoint me and maybe I'll let you live." You remarked smoothly, swinging one leg over his lap and straddling him. Jack's shoulders were rigid again and you kneaded at them surreptitiously, trying your best to keep him in the scene and out of his own head.

You were well on your way to soaking wet with arousal. There was nothing better than when you had a partner that trusted you, regardless of whether you had truly earned that trust. Just the fact that they had blind faith in you to execute the endeavor that they needed...it was heady and sweet and you loved every second.

You rutted your pussy against the underside of Jack's cock, the man snapping his teeth at the sensation. "Too good?" You taunted, laughing when he swore again.

"I can't believe that you think I'm fuckin' enjoyin' th--look, any dick perks up at heavy pet-"

Cutting Whiskey off mid-sentence was quickly becoming a favorite pastime, you realized as you angled your hips and let the head of his cock push past your pussy lips. "In, just a little, give you a taste, sweetheart…" you sighed, rocking your hips forward and back but not allowing him to sink any deeper into you. "There, that's not so bad, is it?" You cajoled as he shuddered beneath you. "Just keep being good, my sweet cowboy, and this will all be over so much sooner."

"No, no-" He struggled to move, to do anything, but you had made certain to tie him exactly as he had specified. "Dammit, when I get free of here, I'll--"

"Shh, you think too much." You tapped your index finger to his lips, smoothing it over the bristle of his mustache. "Focus on your job right now, and everything will be fine."

Jack turned his face away, inadvertently presenting the thick column of his neck to you. And you, channeling your inner villain, leaped at the opportunity to lick and bite at the bared skin. He made a strange noise, a combination of a moan and a whine that had you raising an eyebrow.

"Is someone a little sensitive there?"

"No, I am not." He answered through gritted teeth. "I hate that you're touchin' me, that's all!"

"Hmm, it doesn't sound like you hate it." You mused, suckling gently at the spot where his jaw met his throat. You were very careful not to leave marks, as that had been another specification. Whiskey struggled underneath you again, only succeeding in pumping his cock up into you slightly.

"Don't, don't--" His voice actually cracked and you smiled, nuzzling your nose beneath his jawline and letting his dick settle deeper.

"Oh no, it seems like you do want to fuck me after all." You shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back and stroking over the base of his cock with two fingers. "Warming up to the idea of being my little fuck toy, Jack?" You teased, noting the way his knuckles whitened from his grip on the rope and his Adam's apple bobbed with the force of his convulsive swallow at your words. "I could just keep you here like this forever, you know. All tied up, helpless for me…" You squeezed the base of his cock and he gasped, trying to stifle the noise. "Soon, I'd have you trained so that you couldn't come from any other pussy aside from mine. Wouldn't that be fun?"

Without waiting for an answer, you let the last few inches of his dick enter you. You leaned back on his thighs, feeling the muscles coil and strain beneath your touch as you reached down and grazed your clit. You could feel the heat of his gaze on you, those brown eyes fixated on the motions of your fingers even as his cock split you open. You were grateful that he was secured, you weren't sure if you would have been able to take him otherwise. His cock curved thickly against your back wall, the engorged head throbbing back and forth over the area that made your whole body shudder in delight.

Whiskey's jaw was taut, his shoulders set in a rigid line that made you ache to get him to come undone in you.

"You're so quiet." You pouted, raising your hand and brushing your wet index finger over his slack lower lip. "Aren't you having a good time?"

His chest abruptly expanded, like he had forgotten to breathe for a moment or two. "Fuck you." Whiskey seethed, making you chuckle softly. "I ain't nobody's goddamn fuck toy."

"Sweetheart," you chided as you sat up. "That's not a very nice thing to say to the person warming your cock right now." You deliberately clenched down on him and Jack swore under his breath, shaking his head. "I can make you feel so good, Whiskey, if you just give me what I want." You insisted, cupping his face and pulling halfway off of his cock.

"N-N...No." He replied weakly.

You sighed, rolling your eyes and shaking out your shoulders. "Well, I tried." Your hands landed on his shoulders and you gripped down to steady yourself, your hips meeting his own with a wet slap! of skin. Jack's chest heaved, his eyes closed and head tilted back as you began to ride him roughly. "All I wanted was for you to come in me. I don't feel like that's asking for much!" You complained petulantly, rolling your hips against his when he was hilted in you with an agonizingly slow grind of your body.

Jack bit out a low "fuck," those tense shoulders trembling under your touch. You tucked your face into his neck to tease the sensitive area even more, your tongue tracing random patterns that made him squirm and writhe underneath you. "I don't--can't, can't, don't make me--" he tried to protest, his words fractured and pitiful.

"Yes you can, and you're going to." You snapped, taking a handful of hair at the nape of his neck so you could urge his head back further, leaving his throat at your mercy. "You're coming in me, Jack! Give up!"

...

"First!" He choked out, and you immediately slowed to a crawl. Your touch on him gentled significantly, no longer demanding but cradling, caressing.

"Easy, easy." You soothed, the unrelenting assault of your perfect hips gone to a slow and careful rhythm, back and forth like a porch swing in the summer heat. Your eyes searched his own, concern shining through.

Jack was speechless, his blind panic melting away at the sound of your regular voice. What the hell just happened? He licked his lips, only now realizing how dry they had gotten. "Sorry, I uh-"

"No apologies." You murmured. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Would you like to stop now?"

Whiskey took a long moment, running a mental check on his body. Nothing was sore, nothing seemed out of line. Everything was raring to go.

Everything aside from his brain, that is. The damn thing wouldn't stop conjuring up scenes of you pregnant and everything going to absolute fucking shit. It didn't matter that he had zero attachment to you, it didn't matter that you were on birth control. This was how it always was.

Every damn time things got serious with a new interest, "oh, let's start a family," Whiskey just wanted to curl up into a ball. Without fail, like clockwork, he would shut down.

And then the accusations would start, the distrust, "How come you can do it with protection but not without?" and it was disheartening, crushing to go through again and again. Explaining didn't seem to do a lick of good, it was always just that he was stringing people along, that he was a damn selfish prick, that he didn't care about what his partner wanted.

That couldn't be further from the truth, of course, but maybe that was his own fault for not dropping the bomb before getting attached to someone. He just couldn't ever seem to justify asking a person on their second or third date, "hey so what's your thoughts on having kids?" It felt manipulative, cheap, and if he was being honest, he knew for a fact that sometimes just the idea of having children was enough to scare a potential interest off.

You were the first person to try and help Jack really wrap his head around this whole issue. And yeah, that was the whole point in sussing you out, but…

Tequila didn't tell him that you actually gave a shit, or at least you were damn good at acting like you did. Whiskey bit his lip. "I'm okay." He said finally, trying for a smile.

"Anything chafing? Do you need some water?"

"I…" Jack trailed off. "Huh, I admit I am a bit parched. But that means you'd have to get up." He realized unhappily.

"Were you enjoying yourself?" You asked, sounding curious.

Whiskey got the hysterical idea in his head of you pulling out some sort of satisfaction survey at the end of your engagement, the notion making him smirk slightly. "God, yeah. I...yeah." He flushed a little bit. "Dunno' if I ever got this far after…after all my mental hangups and stuff. The fact that I don't have a say in the matter seems to be helpin', though."

"Okay, don't go anywhere. I'll get you some water." You patted his thigh, cautiously settling your feet on the floor and then going to stand with a quivery little gasp that absolutely stroked his ego.

Jack couldn't help his own groan at the loss of your heat, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Damn it woman, has anyone ever told you that your pussy is fuckin' perfect?" He muttered, his usual honeyed words suddenly clumsy in his mouth. "I mean, hell."

You laughed, bending over to dig in the small fridge for another water. Whiskey felt his entire body throb at the sight of you presenting yourself to him like that, and he sucked in a breath at your obvious teasing. Even in the soft light of the kitchen, he could see the glisten of the wetness between your legs. Hell yes, he found himself thinking stupidly as you turned back around.

"I'm just glad that you're doing alright. That's the most important part to me, after all." You assured him, unscrewing the cap on the water and tipping it to his lips.

Jack gulped greedily, feeling a few droplets escape his mouth and run down his neck to blot his collar. "I am. One hundred percent." He said firmly after he had slaked his thirst. "Let's keep goin'."

"If you're sure, absolutely." You acquiesced, smiling again. Placing the water bottle on the kitchen table, you then swung your leg over his thighs like you were vaulting back into the saddle. Jack held his breath, waiting for you to welcome his cock back into your body. And God he was so hard, he couldn't remember ever being this hard, what the hell--

But strangely, you didn't immediately resume from where you had left off. Instead, you put your arms around his neck and actually rested your forehead against his own, bumping his hat upwards.

Jack swallowed roughly, confused.

"Let me take this from you." You whispered. Whiskey felt pinned by your stare, he felt as if you could see every terrible thing he had ever done, every transgression laid bare under the weight of your gaze. "Let go of it. I have you. I won't let anything happen to you."

The words washed over him, soft and sweet. Your fingers slipped up into the hair at the nape of his neck to toy with the mussed ends that lurked there. The whole exchange was oddly intimate and Jack found himself at a loss yet again, simply grating out, "sixth," when he couldn't come up with anything else to say.

You reached down and stroked his cock, rubbing the head of it against your clit. And Jesus he could feel you, the difference in heat, the slick--

"Are you gonna' take it from me, sweet girl?" He hissed through his teeth like it wounded him to ask, trying desperately to cling to the illusion that he wasn't willing. "Take everythin' I've got?"

The blur between reality and this playdate was getting messier by the second. He wanted to fuck you, wanted to bury himself in you, spend every last drop inside the hot embrace of your quivering cunt. He wanted that. Jesus Christ, this wasn't part of the bargain.

This was a pantomime, specially designed pornography that existed only to coax a very specific reaction from his confused body. So why did he wish he had met you years ago? Why was he suddenly hoping and praying that the sounds you were making were legitimate instead of exclusively for his benefit, hoping that you were also enjoying this?

You angled your hips and sank back down on his lap, your hands going to your breasts where you proceeded to fondle and tease them until your nipples looked like they ached.

Whiskey fucking ached himself to wrap his lips around one pert little peak, swirl his tongue across the tip and make you come undone, rut his dick up into you until you cried out his name and soaked him--

Whoa cowboy, he chastised himself, a little startled by how sharp the longing was. You just kept fucking yourself on his cock, that hot, wet little pussy molded perfectly to every ridge of his member and he had never been this hard, this ready in his life. Despite the air conditioning in the cabin, your skin shone with sweat from all the work you were putting in and Whiskey couldn't recall a time where he had been more appreciative of someone else accomplishing a task within his field of vision.

Your hand slipped down, down, and Jack found himself following the trajectory until it delved between your legs and you started playing with yourself. "Jack," you crooned his name and it was like a prayer, reverent and soft, tender enough to coil itself around his lungs and choke him to death without a whisper of protest. You parted your legs even wider in his lap, exposing yourself to him so he could watch his cock slide in and out of you, so he could see himself fucking you open.

"Are you gonna' come for me, sweet girl?" He gasped, craning his neck and managing to tilt his head so he could mutter into your ear, "you just gonna' wrench one out for me, beautiful?"

"Mm, no, I'm not coming until after you come." You whimpered, still moving your hand. "But I'm so close, Jack. I want to come."

Your plaintive whine had him ablaze. God, he had never wanted to please someone so damn badly in his life. "I know you do, sweet girl." He murmured huskily, exhaling hot over the shell of your ear and loving the way you quivered in his lap. "You're so good, lettin' me blow my load before you get off--gonna' pump me dry when you come, aren't you? Just keep me inside you until that little pussy is all fucked out," he growled, barely aware of the words that tumbled from his mouth.

All he knew is that you were all a-tremble at his voice, your body as hot as late July against his chest, your eyes heavy with adoration that he did not deserve and God, he couldn't get used to that look even if it was fake. What if you stayed? he wondered absently. What if you stayed?

Oh fuck, he was about to come. Panic jabbed like the blade of a knife between his shoulder blades and Whiskey went silent, his teeth bearing down on his lower lip and his eyes slamming shut as he focused harder than he ever had in his life.

The smell of you, the sounds, the heat, the little spasms of your cunt around his cock…

Yes. Yes, God yes, he could do this--

"Come in me, sweetheart." Begging him, pleading, demanding, "Jack-!" You cried his name.

Whiskey groaned hoarsely, so low it was almost painful, and let go. He bucked his hips up against you as best as he could, minute little thrusts while he came harder than he had in years. "Oh," he snarled, gritting his teeth, "fuckin' Christ woman, I think you've ruined me, Jesus fuck."

Your hands threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck again and you held him, not tightly, but just enough to keep him steady, anchored. "There," you said abruptly, the snide, put-upon tone of your role contrasting wildly with the gentleness of your touch, "was that so difficult?"

Jack burst out laughing, not overly concerned with how strange of a reaction that was. Hell, was he relieved? "Jesus fuckin' Christ, you're great." He remarked breathlessly. "I don't even know what just happened."

"Oh?" You replied, raising an eyebrow. "The mess between my legs seems to allude to you possibly having an orgasm. Jury's still out though."

He grimaced apologetically, glancing down. "Sorry darlin'. It's been a while, y'know?" You rose up off of him again and he grunted as his cock slipped free from your body. Whiskey felt half-drunk, relief and release combining into a potent cocktail that left him boneless in the chair.

You quickly put your shirt back on and then crouched at his feet, beginning the arduous process of untying him. Jack just sat there, watching you drowsily. He couldn't do much else, really. "Any numbness or chafing?" You asked quietly, stirring him momentarily from his daze.

"Nah, nothin' yet." He replied, straightening his freed left leg and rotating his ankle in his boot. "A little stiff, but I've survived worse than that."

"And how do you feel?" You questioned, "physically and emotionally."

Jack gnawed at his lower lip, trying to force his sluggish brain past the haze of serotonin in order to give you a satisfactory answer. "...good." He said finally, scrambling to elaborate, "or uh, better, I guess. More okay than I've been in a fuckin' while." It wasn't a lie, he was surprised to discover. He hadn't actually put much stock into this endeavor, figuring it would be a fun little diversion that would end just like every other time. Of course, it didn't hurt that you were easy on the eyes, prettier than a peach if he was being honest with himself.

Your smile was bright and Jack's stomach knotted confusingly. "I'm glad."

His right leg was released and he shifted his weight in the seat, groaning happily when his hip popped. "Hey, wait." The agent belatedly realized, "you didn't-?"

"We were here for you." You reminded him. "Not me."

"Whoa now, that don't seem fair at all!" Whiskey protested, taken aback by your nonchalance. "You just put in all the work!"

Your laugh tripped down his spine like an aftershock. "Don't get bent out of shape! It's standard policy, Mr. Whiskey. Once the desired result of the scene has been acquired, the scene ends and I start with aftercare."

"B-But--you didn't get to get off though!"

"Me 'getting off' wasn't specified in our planning."

"I needed to specify that shit?! I figured you'd just kinda'..." His right arm was free now and Jack seized the opportunity to make a certain gesture, raising his eyebrows. "I mean, I was at your mercy!" He continued, bewildered. "You totally coulda' just kept goin'-"

"Yes, and that's exactly why when the desired result has been achieved, the scene ends." You interjected firmly. "Because you trusted me enough to let me take control, and I'm not about to break that trust by doing something selfish on a whim."

Jack exhaled hard, scooting his hat a little further back on his head so he could study you. You didn't look disappointed, or annoyed with him. He wondered how many times you had fielded ignorant questions like his own and he cringed at himself. "I'm...shit, I'm sorry. I don't have any right to be all shitty about it." He apologized as you moved out of his field of view to untie the rope securing him to the back of the chair. "I just feel like you worked so hard an' got nothin' out of your end of the bargain."

"It's sweet of you to be concerned about that, but don't take it personally, okay?" You assured him, "I do this because I enjoy it. The whole experience, not just the finale." The ropes around his chest sagged and Jack slid forward a bit in the seat, relaxing.

"Can I get that water again? Christ, I need a cigarette and a tumbler of the strong stuff after all that." He joked, clumsily tucking his cock back into his boxers. You pressed the bottle to his hands and he nearly dropped it, chuckling self-consciously. "Whups, sorry. I had my fists all bunched up so my fingers are stiff." Jack proceeded to down the rest of the bottle, wiping his mouth and mustache with the back of his hand after the fact. "So...what exactly is it you do for Tequila?" He queried nosily.

You laughed at him and God, God he loved the sound of your laugh. "That, Mr. Whiskey, is on a need-to-know basis. Just like this little soiree between the two of us." You chided, your eyes bright with good humor. "I would never violate a partner's trust in me."

Jack tipped the bottle in your direction, as if making a toast. "I'll drink to that, partner. What's next on the menu?"

"We'll talk out the scene and wind back down. Get cleaned up. I'll probably…" you paused, squinting at the clock over the sink. "You want some pizza? There's a joint not far from here that serves pies and chicken wings until midnight."

Jack groaned appreciatively, "I knew you were my kinda' gal. Lead the way to the debrief, ma'am."

It didn't really matter in the long run, he supposed. You obviously weren't interested in anything serious (if only because he figured that your flings with the stereotypical 'bad boy' Tequila would have become more regular in spite of the younger man's painful crush on Ginger Ale), and he could respect that. Still though, he couldn't help feeling a touch morose over the possibility of never engaging with you again.

He toyed with the idea of asking you for another 'appointment', but dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it arrived. Better to quit while he was ahead.

Or rather, he amended ruefully as he settled down across from you in the diner booth, his hair still damp and curling slightly beneath his hat from the quick wash he had indulged in at your cabin, better to quit now before I make even more of a fool of myself.

Part Two

#jack daniels #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #kingsman: the golden circle #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character #agent whiskey imagine #consensual noncon #whew where did this come from #enjoy!#working things out

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andrelasarrekingsman · 7 years

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Mira quien no se dio cuenta que le tome una foto. 😏

#statesman rp #roleplay #espias #roleplay español #kingsman rp

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vampyrasgone · 3 years

Text

ANALYSIS / DO NOT REBLOG. if you’ve found this analysis in the tags and have enjoyed it, thanks! but please do not comment or reblog, as this is a roleplay blog. likes, however, are appreciated!

in romanian folklore, the powerful solomonari were regarded as dragon-riders who controlled the weather, causing thunder and lighting, or rain, or hail to fall. and one way in which this belief was explained is that a particular pupil out of the graduating class of nine would be selected by the devil to become the designated weather-maker a magick-weaving, immortal warlock who rode the "balaur" - or dragon. or he became the devil’s personal general who rode the zmeu to make thunderbolts. it is in bram stoker’s work that we see none other than dr*cula himself being given these names - and the statement that he did in fact attend the scholomance.

“ They learned his secrets in the Scholomance, amongst the mountains over Lake Hermanstadt, where the devil claims the tenth scholar as his due. In the records are such words as ‘stregoica’—witch, ‘ordog,’ and ‘pokol’—Satan and hell; and in one manuscript this very Dr*cula is spoken of as ‘wampyr,’ which we all understand too well. There have been from the loins of this very one great men and good women, and their graves make sacred the earth where alone this foulness can dwell. For it is not the least of its terrors that this evil thing is rooted deep in all good; in soil barren of holy memories it cannot rest. ”

(2/2) “... Soldier, statesman, and alchemist—which latter was the highest development of the science-knowledge of his time. He had a mighty brain, a learning beyond compare, and a heart that knew no fear and no remorse. He dared even to attend the Scholomance, and there was no branch of knowledge of his time that he did not essay. ”

so how can we further connect the appearance of drac*la to Scholomance, where he apparently studied under the tutelage of pagans to practise the magic of king solomon? it lies in the name. drac, as i understand it, means devil. and in latin the name dracu/.ul means dragon. thus, in combining the theories of his namesake, we can understand that by becoming the 9th (or in the book’s case, the 10th) scholar that rode the balaur, he was both the son of the devil and the son of the dragon - for the school, the scholomance, was known by another name that i have mentioned dozens of times before: the school of the dragon. this school would have been incredibly close to alba county, though the lake that stoker speaks of is entirely made-up. instead, it’s assumed the university is actually under the city of sibiu - making it quite easy for a lord like himself to forsake his christian conversion and attend.

plus, what more could you ask for to scare your enemies than to be referred to as the devil itself? the hungarians referred to him as ördög, but to the russians in the kiev he was perun, calling down the lightning from the skies with nothing but a sigil and two hands. the balaur that he was given was a three-headed beast that was as long as the southern strip of the danube and as tall as own castle- thus, it would sleep in the ravine build around the cliff said castle found purchase, deep within the confines of the carpathian range. it shared a unique bond with him, and allowed him to harness some of her powerful traits. it strengthened his hearing nearly ten times, made his eyes able to detect the feint heat signatures of warm-blooded animals in the dark, and of course- made him immune to lightning so that it could easily touch his hands.

lightning magic his hands are the conduit here, and it is actually why he wears so many metal rings; it allows the electricity to go from one finger to the next without much movement- kind of like playing a piano. it can only be called from dark storm clouds and is done so without incantation by means of his pact with demons of the ars goetia (a process taught to students within the scholomance). drawing a storm, however, takes more effort. he has used this beyond his means as a solomonari to block out the sun for himself, sometimes casting the mountain range into near-darkness through a powerful tempest. this is done so that he can be seen in public, or so that he can hunt without the sun inhibiting his own powers. he understands this is a direct breech of his responsibilities, but has since forsook all but his essaying humanity’s chronicles and investigations. for almost 100 years, even as a vampire, he continued the work of the solomonar; he made spells, potions and tonics for peasants in the streets, all while he grew old without the taste of blood to be properly disguised. it is said that solomonar carry with them an axe in their magical tote, as well as a staff and an old spellbook that houses all their secrets. he wore disheveled clothes, often old robes that smelled of wax and incense, and while feared by all for what he was, had still been irrevocably kind. save to those who earned to have their farms burned by the strike of vicious lightning.

further into his undead, he began to wield his powers for ill means. he coated his castle in ice as to preserve the stillborn young his vampire wives had bore him, and froze over the lake at the bottom of the ravine so that his beast would no longer starve. he conjured fire for himself and cared little when the people below him shivered, holding up in his castle like a hermit in a cave. for nearly 400 years he stayed that way, picking off one-to-two people a month to satiate himself and his wives.

but we don’t normally see a modern vampire as being able to control the weather. this is because it belongs solely to dr*cula as an ability. van helsing states that:

“ he can, within his range, direct the elements: the storm, the fog, the thunder.”

he actually uses and utilizes these abilities while onboard a ship to england, the demeter, and almost capsizes the vessel with a brutal storm. in russian vampire lore, it is also thought that a vampire’s mere presence can result in terrible storms, as well as droughts, famines and plague.

sylvia states that in 1887, in the village of ivanovka, such a thing occured. a peasant that had commited suicide belonged to the village, which was suddenly afflicted by drought. the people felt that the deceased peasant was in fact now a vampire and that he was the root of the problem. sudden droughts or floods could certainly be devastating to agrarian settlements, just like how with plagues a frightened populace may look for a supernatural scapegoat. but vampiric folklore fills a need here.

animal conjury and bats while we know the count is a lycan through his ability to transform into a wolf, he is also able to commune and command dogs and bats. wolves, domesticated dogs and horses all are attuned to his language, which was taught to him as scholomance. he can speak with them by means of the mind, as well as by gesture, and they often agree to do his bidding in return for something they desire. this thing has often been referred to as the sight in another book that he frequents in- where he is in fact the villain who slays a rebellious white wolf and wears her pelt about his shoulders. in my canon, he does still have that coat and wears it often in the winter months, especially when in the forests where he can make the danger of his deed more known. when it comes to bats, he is so like them that you cannot separate him from them. from drinking blood to being able to locate a vein, to even the toxin in his mouth. he commands bats in the same way, and uses them as a means to attack his enemies if he is caught off-guard. their wings and their screams disorient his foes so that he can get his bearings. especially if he happens to be at high-ground.

one example of his connection to bats occurs quite early in the book. mina happens to be sharing a room with lucy during a visit to the town of whitby. mina awakens during the night and sees lucy pointing at and speaking to a bat outside of her window, which is a quite large. it is in fact the count in the form of a bat, speaking to lucy through her window to ask that she let him in.

but the vampire’s ability to transform into a bat is a fairly well-known trait at this point. sylvia points out that the pointy-ears of the vampire and their winglike-capes are often present as bat imagery to help cement the association. bats and vampires are both customarily nocturnal and feared for this reason, as they can spread - you guessed it - disease.

as for vampire bats, they will venture out at night and bite into its unwilling donor by using its extremely sharp canine teeth. it is this sharpness that allows the blood to go unnoticed by its prey-- the same is said for the count’s teeth, who are so viciously sharp that his victims do not feel them entering their throats until his mouth has fastened to the wound.

sylvia also points out that its been argued that st*ker invented the concept of bat-transformations for eastern european vampires when he wrote the book. as vampire folklore (slavic and balkan vampir folklore, that is) was devoid of bat transformations up to this point. this is actually not true, as there are actually three separate german and polish stories that give the bat-transformation to vampires, both that pre-date his book.

in the tale the maid of breslau, the undead maid of a shoemaker is able to turn into a variety of animals. a dog, a cat, a goat, a bat. and it isn’t the only eastern european tale to feature this trait; in wallachia, there was a being known as murony. murony was said to have been exhumed with long, claw-like fingernails and blood flowing from his mouth. this vampire was able to become a dog, a cat, a louse, a spider, a bat or any other predator with powerful fangs.

#headcanon tbt

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vampyrasa · 3 years

Text

ANALYSIS / DO NOT REBLOG. if you’ve found this analysis in the tags and have enjoyed it, thanks! but please do not comment or reblog, as this is a roleplay blog. likes, however, are appreciated!

in romanian folklore, the powerful solomonari were regarded as dragon-riders who controlled the weather, causing thunder and lighting, or rain, or hail to fall. and one way in which this belief was explained is that a particular pupil out of the graduating class of nine would be selected by the devil to become the designated weather-maker a magick-weaving, immortal warlock who rode the "balaur" - or dragon. or he became the devil’s personal general who rode the zmeu to make thunderbolts. it is in bram st*ker’s work that we see none other than dr*cula himself being given these names - and the statement that he did in fact attend the scholomance.

but we don’t normally see a modern vampire as being able to control the weather. this is because it belongs solely to dr*cula as an ability. van helsing states that:

“ he can, within his range, direct the elements: the storm, the fog, the thunder.”

#♔. ˋ like a drowning in the heart like falling endlessly from the skin to the soul . ˊ character study.#♔. ˋ like a drowning in the heart like falling endlessly from the skin to the soul . ˊ headcanon/meta.#laughing in fire meme #long post cw

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sithlordmando · 5 years

Text

agent jack ‘whiskey’ daniels nsfw alphabet

i saw someone do one of these for mando so i thought why don’t i give it a shot!

also give credit to @sithmando because she helped with a lot of this too!

WARNING: this is pure filth so, read at your own discretion.

nsfw alphabet — agent jack ‘whiskey’ daniels

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

jack is a snuggler. he won’t admit it but the best sleep he gets is after fucking you senseless. he prefers being the big spoon so he can nestle his head in the crook of your neck. he loves the way you smell and this gives him an excuse to enjoy it. when you’re done having sex, he’ll lazily pull you into him and kiss your forehead and you’ll fall asleep like that.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

jack is very proud of his legs, particularly his thighs and ass. he looks good in a pair of well-fitting jeans and he knows it. he really loves when you sit on his lap and grind yourself into him, humming as he tells you what a good girl you are.

jack is very much an ass man. he loves checking your ass out when you’re walking ahead of him or leaving a room. he appreciates a girl who can wear jeans just as well as he can. he likes to keep his hand on your ass and will give it a light squeeze or smack to remind you (and everyone else) who you belong to. sometimes he’ll stick his hand into your back pocket just to remind you that he's there. he also loves the view he has while he’s fucking you doggy style, seeing your ass bounce against his dick just hits different.

c = cum (anything to do with cum basically)

jack cums a lot. he knows that you know how to work him so that he cums quick. (quickies bent over his desk are a common thing.) he held back when he could, wanting to wait for you to reach your orgasm first. it’s super important to jack that you cum first. jack definitely prefers to finish inside of you, feeling that anything else is cheap and dirty, and that’s not how he feels about you.

d= dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

though he would never ask, jack wants to try anal. he can only imagine the way that it would feel around his cock. he would ease you into it, not wanting to hurt you. he always wonders but never has the balls to actually mention it. he knew that it was something that was over the line, and boy, did he not want to cross it.

e= experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he knows how to fuck. he fucks good. he knows how to hit every spot like it’s clockwork, loving the sound of you whimpering beneath him. he knows that you love it when he sucks on your nipples, gently biting when he switches between the two. he knows you love when he finger fucks you into your first orgasm on the way home from dinner. he knows you like being on top, but only because of the way he pounds into from below.

jack knows how to eat pussy. he knows exactly how to work your clit and bring you so close to an orgasm to then stop and act like he did nothing wrong. jack could cum at the sight of your reaction when he’s sucking on your clit while slowly finger fucking you at the same time.

f = favorite position (this goes without saying.)

hands down, jack loves when you ride him. he loves the view, the feeling, and loves that when you get tired he can still rail you from the bottom and make you scream his name. he also loves missionary, it gives him the perfect view of your entire body and he loves being able to tell when you’re about just from your facial expressions. it gives him even more confidence to know that he’s the one making you feel like that.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

jack likes to tease you a bit, and depending on the situation, can be a bit giggly with you when you’re both getting undressed. however, once he gets going, he gets going. when he’s close to finishing, he has no time for funny business because he’s so fucking ready to fall apart that he can barely string a thought together.

h= hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

jack takes pride in his mustache, so it only makes sense that he would maintain himself down there too. nothing crazy, but he does like to trim the hedges once in awhile and keep it clean. he has a bit of a happy trail leading to a well-groomed patch of hair.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

it depends. Sometimes jack enjoys a quickie and will pound into you relentlessly to chase his own release. however, if you’ve got the time, he’s a generous and romantic lover and genuinely wants to make you feel good. he paces himself, touching and kissing you as he fucks you slowly. after losing his wife, jack wants to savour every moment he has with you and show you just how much he loves and adores you.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

jack is horny, like, all the time. usually, he’ll fuck you to get himself off but if he’s out of town on a mission, his hand gets the job done. sometimes he’ll shamelessly call you while he’s doing it, telling you how much he wishes you were there sucking his cock or bent over the table taking it.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

jack is a kinky motherfucker. he’s down for anything. frankly the man is a poet with a lasso and knows how to use that shit in other ways too. he loves bringing a little bit of cowboy roleplay into the bedroom and will lasso you to him and tie your hands with it as he pleasures you relentlessly. sometimes, if you’re both feeling adventurous, you’ll have some fun with the whip too.

jack loves orgasm denial and overstimulation. he loves bringing you so close to the edge then backing away, watching as you’re a panting mess begging for him to fuck you. then there are the times where he fucks you into orgasm after orgasm with no mercy.

jack is also a dom. he likes being bossy and punishing you when you’re being a whiny brat. he’ll lay you on his lap and give your ass a few good smacks if you’re misbehaving. however, he can also appreciate when you’re riding him and telling him how good he feels inside you. it turns him on knowing he can pleasure you like this and he never gets tired of you telling him how good he makes you feel.

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

jack will literally fuck you anywhere as long as you’re okay with it. after a couple of drinks at the bar, you’ll be all over each other and go back to his bronco so you can ride him in the driver’s seat. sometimes, you can’t even make it to the truck and he’ll lean you over the sink in the bathroom of the bar and fuck you from behind, watching your face twist in pleasure in the mirror as he brings you to your release over and over again.

one time you even joined the mile high club on the statesman plane. after a particularly tough mission, he bent you over the pool table and fucked you senseless before moving you to the plane’s bedroom and taking his proper time with you on the bed.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

literally a cool breeze.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

jack does not like sharing. you’re his and no one else’s. the idea of someone else making you feel as good as he does has him seeing red.

although jack is into mild bdsm and choking, he doesn’t like hurting you. he’s very careful and makes sure that you’re 100% okay with whatever kinky shit he wants to try with you. above all, he just wants to make you feel good and show you how special you are to him.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

don't get me wrong, jack loves top. he loves watching you suck him off, with the occasional deepthroat that he knows you struggle with. but good lord does it feel great. he loves when you’re on your knees, face full of slobber and you’re looking up at him through your lashes. you always say “i probably look gross,” but he thinks it’s fucking hot and seeing you like that drives him crazy.

he loves when (on occasion) he can mouth fuck you. your mouth is so warm and cozy, and God, you know how to use that tongue. he won’t admit it because you’ve only done it a few times, but he loves when you suck on his balls. it’s like he’s transported to another dimension and he doesn’t want to come back.

when it comes to eating you out, jack is a pro. if eating pussy was an olympic sport, he’d win the gold everytime. he knows your body, so he knows exactly where to lick and suck to push you into oblivion. he loves the way you taste and will never not want to go down on you. you love the feeling of his mustache on your sensitive areas and how jack occasionally looks up at you with those big brown eyes while nestled between your legs.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? alow and sensual? etc.)

it all depends on the mood. if it’s a quickie, he’s fast and rough with his thrusts. he’s looking for a quick nut and it shows in how he fucks. when he can take his time, he starts off slow. he teases you by letting himself sit in you, feeling how you adjust to him and convulse around his cock. once he’s comfortable, he’ll start pounding into you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

jack is always down for a quickie. some days you’ll visit him at the office and the moment you walk in the door he’s ready to take you over his desk or on the sofa meant for sleeping on his long nights. you’ll be at dinner and he’ll keep teasing you so that the moment you two leave, you’re fucking in the backseat of his truck. even in the mornings, you’ll wake up to him feeling up your body and lingering kisses all over, leading to a quickie before you can even completely wake up.

r = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

when it comes to risk, you guys take one each time that you decide to fuck in his office, or anywhere in the new york headquarters. there’s always the risk of another agent walking in or an intern coming to take lunch orders. the two of you were caught once, that poor intern. she walked into jack taking you against the glass window overlooking the city. now everyone knows to knock first.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

jack has stamina. he’ll fuck you and cum, then continue fucking you until he cums again. with jack, it’s like he can actually communicate with his dick, “ok this is gonna be a quickie, now i wanna last longer, now we’re going to go a few rounds.” he loves pleasuring you so he makes sure that you always cum at least twice before he does. if not, he feels like he didn’t do well enough.

t = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he takes the strap. no, i will not elaborate.

he doesn’t like using toys on you. it’s a pride thing. what toy can make you feel better than his own tongue swirling around your clit? no dildo can elicit the noises out of you that his cock does.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

jack is a fucking TEASE. fuck. he’ll feel you up in public when you’re in a bar seated at a table full of people he’ll sneak his hand up your thigh and start rubbing circles around your clit as he leans over to you and whispers filthy things in your ear.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

jack is a dirty talker, especially when he’s bottomed out inside you and you’re clenched around him like a vice. he runs his mouth and calls you all kinds of things, tells you all the things he’d like to do you. he loses his mind when you’re fucking and has no filter. he’ll let out low groans occasionally and lets out an animalistic noise bordering on a growl when he cums.

w = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

jack would love to teach you how to work a lasso or whip. he thinks that’d he would have so much fun showing you, and that’d you look sexy as fuck doing it. he’s already brought you the gun range dozens of times with him. teaching you how to kick someone’s ass a bit old fashion? good heavens, he’d melt.

x = x-ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

the man is packing. his dick is LOUD and he knows it. we’re talking 7 inches, uncut, and thick. Sometimes he catches you staring at the bulge in his jeans and smirks to himself because he just knows.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

jack is a flirt. he’s utterly shameless. he’s always calling you pet names in public (darlin’, sugar, baby girl, etc.). he’s down to fuck wherever, whenever. at the office, in his bronco, in the bathroom of a bar, it doesn’t matter as long as you’re down. he can’t keep his hands off you, always feeling you up and whispering in your ear the things he’d like to do to you later when you’re alone. it seems like he’s always ready to go, it doesn’t take much to turn him on.

z = zzz (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

for jack, its easy to fall asleep with you by his side. he usually waits until you’re asleep, then he can rest for the night with you by his side. he’s a cuddler, so your back is either pressed up against his chest or you’re snuggled up by his side.

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #din djarin #javier pena #javier pena x reader

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