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atlabeth · 10 months ago

Text

too sweet

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: a night out makes hotch realize a few too many things.

a/n: me??? writing for criminal minds again out of nowhere??? what is going on. and i do not have an answer i was just in a hotch mood bc he's fine asf and i finally have the confidence to write for him here we are lol. hope u enjoy this short lil thing

wc: 2.4k

warning(s): alcohol consumption, a sexual joke or two, written in one go so might be a mess! aaron is all in his head but this is basically all fluff

Hotch can’t focus.

Mostly because he can’t stop glancing over at you. Normally it’s not a problem—he’d lost count of how many times he’d distracted himself from mounds of paperwork by meeting your eyes through his office window, often accompanied by a smile that made even his heart beat a little faster—and especially now, it shouldn’t be a problem.

You and Derek have had some kind of bet going on during the past few nights out—you didn’t believe he was as charming and suave as he claimed, and Morgan was all too happy to prove you wrong.

You bet that he couldn’t get at least five numbers every night, and come last Thursday, Morgan took the win at the end of the evening with a smile on his face. As punishment, the first round of their next night out was on you.

And that’s nice, sure. Hotch is always thankful that his team can still joke around and have fun with each other despite everything they have to deal with each day. He hopes they keep the light in their eyes as long as possible, especially the younger ones. He’s fine with being the stick in the mud, the one who never smiles, the iron willed chief that scares local uniforms.

Hotch is not so fine with the way he feels right now.

It’s a busy night at the bar, which is understandable. Hotch is sure half the precinct is out alongside them, celebrating the BAU finally solving the case that had torn them to shreds over the past week. You, Reid, and Garcia put the threads together an hour into scouring through evidence, and the unsub was cuffed before noon.

Certainly something to celebrate—there’s a reason the whole team agreed to go out tonight and leave tomorrow. Even Rossi decided to join when he learned you would be buying, but he’s already abandoned them in favor of catching up with some old friends. Hotch even thinks they might have another round in their future because of their solve, courtesy of the local chief. They had a long night ahead of them.

But you haven’t gotten the drinks yet, and Hotch wonders how long it’ll take even after you do. Because some officer is trying to talk you up, and you’re smiling and laughing along and giving him every bit of your attention.

Hotch recognized him the moment he set eyes upon him, even in plain clothes. He’s some joke of an officer from the station, and he’s been trying to get your number—or even just get your attention—throughout their whole visit. Always sidling up to you during debriefs, specifically giving you any information or evidence he finds—Hotch has overheard him asking for your number more than once.

Hotch has been so focused on the case he’s not even sure if you’ve rejected him or not, and the mere thought is enough to annoy him. If he wasn’t equally as sure of your ability to defend yourself and afraid of overstepping with you, he would have stepped in.

But it makes sense. The officer is young and handsome, you’re young and pretty—not to mention you have a way of lighting up any room you step into. Hotch spent the whole first month of your employment wondering why you would want to do a job like this. He’s spent the rest of it thankful that you did.

You’re sharp as a whip, naturally, but you’ve also done wonders for the team atmosphere. It’s hard to feel down with a smile like yours beaming his way. The job weighs you down like it does everyone, but you still manage to lift everyone’s spirits on the jet ride back before they jump into the next case. It’s impressive.

It’s also trouble. You’ve been part of the BAU for almost two years now, and Hotch has spent just as much time tearing his eyes away from you as he has working. It’s wrong, and it’s wholly inappropriate in terms of your working relationship—he’s your boss, for god’s sake.

But sometimes, Hotch will be beating himself up over one thing or another on a case, and you’ll plant yourself in his vicinity and refuse to leave until you’ve helped him work through it. If you ever tire of the FBI, he thinks you have a second calling as an elementary school teacher.

Sometimes the hotel they’re staying at will have truly shitty coffee, worse than they’re used to at the BAU, and you’ll already be in the lobby with a tray full of the team’s orders. Hotch never recalls telling you his order—you just figured it out, and you remembered it.

Sometimes his gaze will drift your way, and he’ll find you already staring at him. You look away just as quickly as he does, and it makes him wonder.

Hotch has made a living off of studying the behavior of others. More often than not, he finds himself profiling his co-workers just out of instinct. His job is to know what others are thinking.

But god. When it comes to you, Hotch doesn’t think he’s ever felt more unsure in his life. Especially when you look at him the same way he wants to for weeks, then act nothing but proper another day; when you fall asleep against his shoulder on the jet one night and entertain some desk jockey another night.

It makes him feel like a highschooler again, trying to figure out if Haley really liked him or if she was just playing around, and it’s more embarrassing than it should be. Especially when he’s still dealing with the lingering emotions from the divorce.

“Hotch.” JJ’s voice is enough to break him out of his trance, and he blinks as he turns to her. At least someone paid him the mercy to dispel his thoughts, even if only for a temporary time.

“What?”

“Did you hear a single word I said?” she asks, a slight smile curving on her lips.

“Of course,” he responds. “The chief’s over there talking with the commissioner. He’s the same guy who made your life difficult the last time we were in Milwaukee.”

JJ’s eyebrows shoot up, and she nods. “I didn’t think you were listening.”

“I think he just got lucky,” Morgan cuts in, his gaze darting over to you momentarily. “I think you were too focused on our drinks.”

Reid frowns. “I don’t think he was focused on the drinks. He’s—”

“Just making sure they’re still coming,” Hotch interrupts, and he straightens his tie. Today really has been a long one—usually, he’s better at covering these things up. “And I wasn’t lucky. I was listening.”

“Trust me,” Morgan says with a laugh, “I’m watchin’ her until I’ve got a glass in my hand. She’s not getting out of this after the way she bragged this whole month.”

“The stupidest thing to make a bet on,” Prentiss remarks, “especially with you.”

“She said she just wanted to prove you wrong,” Reid contributes. “She thinks you’re too cocky.”

Morgan grins. “It’s not cocky if you can back it up.”

Hotch’s attention goes back to you, and you’ve finally gotten their drinks. You’re loading them onto a tray like you’re the bartender yourself, and his brows crease. Maybe he should have gone up with you.

“Do you think she needs help?” he asks. How obvious is too obvious? Why does it feel like his brain only works at half power whenever it comes to you?

“She’ll be fine,” Prentiss says. “And if she needs it, that guy talking her up can help.”

“Jason Rodriguez,” Reid remarks. “He hung around her the whole time we were trying to pinpoint a location, and he wasn’t any help, which makes sense because he's practically desk-bound at the precinct. I’m surprised she got any work done.”

JJ chuckles. “I’m surprised he hasn’t given up yet. He’s been following her around all week, like some lost puppy.”

Morgan shrugs. “I dunno. She seems pretty into him.”

“I don’t think ex-frat boys are her type,” Prentiss says wryly. Hotch doesn’t think so either, but he doesn’t say anything. Contributing to this kind of conversation is certainly too obvious.

“I doubt we’ll be back here for a while. She might as well.” Morgan smiled. “She probably needs a win after such an embarrassing loss.”

Thankfully, before Hotch has to keep pretending not to care about this topic, you walk over carrying a tray of cocktails—and you’re alone. The subject of their previous conversation seems lost in the crowd, and he feels a dangerous amount of relief.

“Are you all talking about me?” you drawl.

“You know we are, sweetheart. Thought you were never gonna get here.” Morgan sits up, smiling at you. “What’d my win get us?”

“Long Island Iced Teas,” you muse as you set the tray down. “Enjoy it, because I’m gonna be working some overtime to make up for all these.”

Morgan grins as he takes his drink. “You should’ve never doubted my skills.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t need any help,” Prentiss says. “You’ve done this before, huh?”

“Bartended my way through college.” You slide into the booth next to Hotch, just a bit too close for a bit too long, and he hopes that no one can see his chest still for a moment. It’s impressive that he still hasn’t figured out how to lessen the effect you have on him. “I’ve probably got better hands than you, Morgan.”

“Do we need to make another bet?” he asks. “Because I’d love to clean out your wallet.”

“Maybe wait another month before you prey on any more poor, defenseless agents,” you croon, and Morgan laughs.

He pivots the conversation away from you when you pick up your drink and take a sip, and you look at Hotch. Whenever your gaze is on him, you make him feel like he’s the only person in the room. He’s sure you never look at anyone else that way, but Hotch wonders how much of that is his mind trying to justify his imagination.

“I’m surprised you agreed with this,” you say, mercifully interrupting his thoughts. “I thought you’d want us to go back tonight.”

“You all earned a night out after the work you did,” Hotch says. He thinks about taking a drink, but he decides against it, at least for now. He can barely trust his sober mind.

“You’ve earned it too,” you say. “We wouldn’t be anywhere without you, Hotch. You keep us all together.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think I ever would’ve connected the dots like you and Reid can with Garcia. I hate unsubs with secret codes.”

“I’ve always liked puzzles,” you muse. “There’s nothin’ like it when it all finally clicks.”

Hotch hums, and for a moment, he’s silent. Your gaze remains fully on him, and that might be why he has trouble thinking. It’s too easy to get lost in your eyes.

“What did that guy say?” Hotch finally manages to ask, because he honestly can’t help it. Morgan’s points actually worried him a bit, and he wonders what that says about him. Ex-frat boy certainly isn’t your type, but someone forgettable for a one night stand isn’t the most absurd thing in the world.

Your brows knit together as you drink some more. “What guy?”

“The officer you were talking with,” he says. “He seemed to like you.”

He’d been flirting with you since the moment you stepped into the precinct, actually, desperate for your attention, but Hotch didn’t really want to say that. He’s sure you noticed either way, if the rest of the team did.

“Oh. Him.” You shrug. “He’s nice, I guess. Definitely a looker. But he’s got nothing beneath that hair.”

“Morgan’s surprised you didn’t bring him back,” Hotch says. He wonders if he’s pushing too much, and again, he feels like a highschooler testing the waters. Do you know what you do to him? What you reduce him to?

You shrug as you take a sip. “If he knows what’s good for him, he knows he doesn’t have a chance. My attention’s on someone else.”

Prentiss calls your name and you get drawn back into the middle of the team’s conversation, and thankfully, Hotch has a chance to digest your words—and the stunner of a smile you flash at him before you get pulled into their talk.

His decision to not drink seems even wiser, now. Hotch has to loosen his tie, and he ignores Reid watching him. It’s futile trying to hide anything from Spencer Reid—the kid already knows everything.

Again, it's dangerous how much satisfaction he gets from it—from knowing you never really paid that officer a second thought. You didn’t smile at him the way you smile at Hotch. You don’t smile at anyone the way you smile at Hotch. He thought he was imagining it at first, or that he was just a bit too stuck up, but it was the honest truth. You paid him special attention, and he couldn’t blame the warmth in his chest from the thought on any alcohol.

He tunes back into the conversation just to hear Morgan demand you pay for his next drink.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous,” you say.

He puts a hand to his chest. “Generous? You’re just paying what you owe me.”

You laugh and shake your head. “Pick your poison, pretty boy.”

“How do you feel about tequila?”

You make a noise of disgust and shake your head. “As long as I don’t have to drink it.”

“You’re just paying, sweetheart.” Morgan’s eyes dart to Hotch, and he nods as he grins. “One for me and our fearless leader.”

Hotch shakes his head. “Someone has to get us back to the hotel.”

“That’s what cabs are for!” Prentiss exclaims. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Hotchner. You deserve to let a little loose.”

“It takes most people an hour to process a drink,” Reid contributes, “so you’ll be fine before we leave if you want to drive.”

“Come on, Hotch,” you say, and you nudge his shoulder. “You might as well—I’m paying.”

“...Fine,” he says, and the whole team cheers. Even Reid smiles.

“Y’know, you can smile tonight, Hotch,” you say with one of your own before you down the rest of your drink and stand up.

And one actually tugs at his lips. It feels a lot hotter in this bar with your eyes sparkling and you beaming right at him, and he fights the need to shed his jacket. Your grin somehow grows.

“That’s what I came out to see,” you remark as you pick your wallet back up from the table. “I expect another when I get back, Hotch. There’s a lot to celebrate tonight.”

Yeah, he thinks as he watches you go. There just might be.

#me ignoring all my wips for a hot man?? it's more likely than you think #also ive listened to too sweet on repeat for like 3 hours i dont want to take my whiskey neat anymore #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner imagine #sadie writes

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punkshort · 8 months ago

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Hot Chocolate

Pairing: Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels x f!reader

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

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

WC: 6.5K

Written for @pedgito's Summer Lovin' challenge ❤️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Got a minute to talk, sugar?"

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

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

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

"Glad you asked."

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

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

You.

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

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

Simple enough, you thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hot chocolate."

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

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

He smiled wider. "Fair enough."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Get me out of here, Jack."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded. "Please."

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

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

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

"Jack?" you whispered hoarsely.

"Mhm?"

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

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

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

"Where'd those manners run off to?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't say that."

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

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

"You sound surprised," you teased.

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

"What, then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

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

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

"Would you like that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That offer still stand, cowboy?"

#summerlovin24 #kingsman fic #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #kingsman golden circle #kingsman fanfiction #agent whiskey fanfic #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels fanfic #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x female reader #agent whiskey x you

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ventitititi · 2 years ago

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Bath sex pt.3

Because I'm feeling like headcanons, and these are fun! :>

Ayato, kazuha, gorou

Tw/cw: nsfw content, afab!reader, gn!pronouns, creampie

Ayato

🌱. LISTEN. This mans bath is no joke, i swear. He has the biggest tub, so its comfy for both of you together, and he's got all the best bath products. You, my dear, are having the bath of a lifetime

🌱. 100% will indulge himself in some tea and unwind with you in the tub, if you're at all interested that is. He's got back up plans, if you wanted something a little more... Intimate

🌱. Will have you leaned against his chest as he works his fingers in you, his lips brushing against your ear as he watches, whispering his thoughts for you to hear, "my... Look at how your pussy swallows my fingers, hm? Lovely, isn't it... Such a good little hole."

🌱. If it does get into straight up fucking in the tub, it's large yes but i imagine he'd want to admire the view of you riding him, his hands guiding your hips as he leans back to take it in, a thumb finding your clit as he smirks at you knowingly...

Kazuha

🌱. Our dearest poet would take his time in the bath, regardless of if it's cramped or not. If you're lucky enough to be in inazuma though, it's likely you'll be in a hot spring.

🌱. He'll be thorough in his loving of you, if you find yourself taking a bath together. His fingers would trace over your skin, and between loving kisses he'd breathe out poetry he'd written for you

🌱. Overall, very soft and gentle. His hips would be rocking into you slowly yet firmly from behind, his lips kissing across your shoulder blades, a faint smile across his lips as he whispers, "you're moans might be my favorite form of prose, love."

🌱. Definitely makes sure you're feeling good, too. A hand reaching down to gently circle your clit, the hot spring waters only serving to make the motions easier. Likely due to the nature of hot springs, the sounds you two make would also carry quite well (aka, you're loud and for a distance.)

Gorou

🌱. Our general! He'd be quite needy with you in the bath, probably having run it as a way to clean up from your earlier rounds... Unfortunately, seeing you exposed and dripping with water has him worked up again .

🌱. His bath is likely nothing luxurious, a little cramped even when its split between the two of you, but he's absolutely determined to make it work! He'll take his time finding whatever position is most comfortable for you both

🌱. Once he's satisfied with that though.... He's pounding away at you, whimpering softly and oh so needy, desperate to make you cum first as he fingers at your clit

🌱. If he succeeds in his goal of making you cum, he'll become even needier before reaching his own peak, biting down on his lip or your skin to try and silence his sounds as he cums inside of you<3 so much for getting cleaned up...

#genshin x reader #genshin smut #: ̗̀➛whiskey in a teacupೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #ayato x reader #ayato smut #ayato x reader smut #kazuha x reader #kazuha x reader smut #kazuha smut #gorou x reader #gorou smut #gorou x reader smut #fem!reader

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mariswxt · 5 months ago

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whiskey, baby

SUMMARY: Dean’s no longer a demon, and in order to deal with the horrors of all that he’s said and done he retreated into his own shell. Drowning himself in whiskey and his own problems because that’s all there’s left to do. Then there’s you, his demon self’s esteemed fuck buddy, who comes up with a two step plan to feeling good, only for a little while. Step 1? Let you take the reins. Step 2? Sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

TW: MOC!Dean, angst, demon trauma, post demon!Dean, Reader’s not a stone cold bitch and actually worries about Dean in this but in her own weird way, Dean doesn’t hate her for an odd reason, smut

STW: switch!Dean, riding, oral (m + f receiving), temperature + whiskey play, lipstick play (does it count?), marking, switch!reader, thigh riding (brief), pussydrunk!Dean, fingering, face sitting, ass slapping, thigh slapping, slight overstimulation, ring kink implied, major praise kink, dirty talk, damage of clothes, vocal Dean, threat of exhibitionism

A/N: Yes, this is a sequel to lipstick, baby, and you guys can make the comparison between Dean as a demon during the smutty parts and Dean post demon and more aware. Hope you enjoy!

NOW PLAYING: RIVER - BISHOP BRIGGS

Dean felt kinda empty, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. Being a demon didn’t suit him at all, and now that it was over he was left to deal with the reality of it all. The killing, punching people’s lights out, hurting Sammy, hurting in general— he hated it with every fibre of his fucking being.

“Fuck.” Dean growled under his breath, staring at himself in the mirror and finding he just couldn’t damn do it, looking away after barely five seconds because holy hell, he wanted to smash the mirror in just to please the Mark throbbing on the skin of his forearm. “Shut up, why don’t you, you… I don’t even know what you are.” He hissed at the Mark, but it didn’t shut up or stop pulsing.

The bunker door being banged on drew his attention away from his own flaws - thank God, if the bastard even existed - and prompted Dean to walk out of his bathroom, grunting an affirmation that yes, he was coming to whoever was behind the door.

When he wrenched it open with an expression that looked like the human equivalent of a ticked off chihuahua, he saw… you. Oh, fuck, oh, shit, you. The woman that he as a demon had incredible sexual escapades that may or may not have been the star of his dreams for weeks on end after the whole demon thing got cured. Pouring the whiskey on your body, you riding him till you both were spent— it felt almost lucid.

“You.” Dean murmured hoarsely, his throat feeling dry upon the sight of you and your gorgeous, sexy self. Today you were in denim shorts and fishnet tights - of course you were in something that made his senses go wild - with the same red plaid that was buttoned up this time, tucked in and the sleeves rolled to your elbows.

He kind of felt a little out of place. Out of place in his own home— that’s the kind of effect you had.

“Gee, how enthusiastic.” You drawled, leaning against the doorframe, brown paper bag clutched in one hand. “I really thought you’d be more inclined to see me, Dean, I’m partially offended.” You gave him a cheeky smirk, then grasped what was in the bag, showing him the neck of a bottle of Jack.

Oh. That changes things.

Dean’s lip twitched up at the sight, warming up to you like he would when drinking the good stuff. Then again, he knew that deep in that roughed up heart of his, he had a soft spot for you in particular. “That’s my girl.” He took the bottle, examining it with a chuckle as he let you inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

“So, Dean, how’ve you been?” You asked, following behind him, your boots clicking on the tile of the bunker’s floor. You looked around, pouting in approval at what you saw. Place was damn impressive. But you were also perceptive to Dean. The way he clutched that bottle like a vice, the slight tightness in his gait, the set of his brow. All subtle, but you’d had sex with this man enough times to know when something bothers him.

What? You were perceptive during sex too, you’re not only in it for the physical stuff. You’re not a monster.

However, Dean just shrugged, making a grumble of an ‘eh’, ambling with you towards his bedroom. “As good as a man can be, sweetheart. You?” Bullshit.

“I mean, how’ve you really been?” The question stopped him dead in his tracks, and he swallowed, eyes furtively glancing to you in a way that screamed ‘oh, shit’. But he didn’t say anything, just prompted him to trudge up to his bedroom, you following, rolling your eyes.

Dean Winchester was the sexiest man alive, but… my god, was he irritating sometimes.

“Three fingers, sweetheart?” Dean asked you as you stepped over the threshold to his bedroom, the guns and random trinkets he’d collected adorning the place as usual. His bed was messy, pillow and blanket askew, which he tried to sort out but only ended up messing it up further.

You smirked, winking as you closed the door behind you, kicking off your boots and moving to sit beside him on the bed, cross legged while he was propped on his hand, legs outstretched. “You know I can take it, handsome, don’t be shy.”

Dean couldn’t stop the visual from popping up in his head. Damn demon him for being so attracted to you. Then again, he couldn’t really say anything.

He poured you three fingers of whiskey in a glass and handed it to you with a soft grunt under his breath, his eyes flicking over you for the umpteenth time before pouring his own. “Here y’ go.”

“Cheers.” You smiled, clinking your glass with his before sipping some of it. “I know you better than you think, y’ know that? You’re struggling, even a blind man can see that one.”

Dean just grunted again, shaking his head. “M’ fine, darlin’. Don’t sweat it.”

“Don’t sweat it? Damn, you really are struggling.” You snorted, taking another sip of your whiskey. “C’mere, babe.”

Dean scooted closer, clearly not anticipating how your lips would ghost his jaw before pressing an open mouthed kiss to it, humming and sucking on the skin, making his breath hitch and eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. “Darlin’—”

“Shh.” You continued kissing down his stubble, drawing a quiet moan from him, not protesting as you plucked the whiskey from his hands and set it on the bedside table, guiding his hand to your hair.

Fuck. This is what he gets, for not having a woman’s touch in a while.

“Mm, baby.” Dean couldn’t help but groan, especially as your hands pulled off his flannel — wait, when did you unbutton that thing? — and tossed it aside, his back hitting the mattress, eyes hazy and hands flying to your soft thighs as you straddled him.

Not like he was roofied, he just felt so drunk. Not on whiskey, but on you, your lips, your gorgeous body.

Now he saw why his demon self liked you so much.

He exposed his neck to you, which earned a hum of approval from you, your hand cupping the side of it as your thumb brushed his pulse. “Attaboy.” You whispered, one hand smoothing back his hair (the whimper that left him was almost embarrassing). “Lemme take your mind off things.”

You returned the favour from the first time, grabbing the whiskey glass and pouring the contents on his chest, the cold compared with your warm body making Dean shiver.

His belt clattered to the floor.

Jeans went after.

And your tongue was on his chest.

Dean didn’t think he’d ever seen something filthier in his life, it rivalled the likes of Casa Erotica— your tongue flattening against the divots and ridges of his muscle as you collected the burn of the whiskey on your tongue, moving down and down, kissing his v-line, nuzzling his thighs.

“Don’t you stop, sweetheart.” Dean pleaded, voice strangled, hips bucking as your fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down and freeing his cock, which was already needy for you.

Damn, the effect you had on him was ethereal.

You chuckled, licking from his base to his tip while your thumb spread his precome, his hips bucking into your hand with a needy whine. “Not gonna stop, don’t you worry.”

“Gonna taste you,” He panted, his skin glowing already with a thin layer of sweat as his hand twisted in your hair, “when this is done. Mark my words, pretty girl, gonna eat you dumb— son of a bitch.”

“Looking forward to it.” You murmured before you took him into your mouth, working him fast while grinding into the bed.

The sight of him with his head tossed back, eyes rolled and freckled cheeks flushed like that was incredibly hot, ok? Don’t blame a woman.

You pulled off him to suck at his tip, which had him fisting the sheets, eyebrows furrowed in bliss. “So good, handsome. Taste so good.” You murmured, which earned you a sinful whimper.

Praise kink. Noted.

Your signature scarlet lipstick smeared on him — good — and left your mark, sucking and licking until Dean came, spilling into your mouth, but you’re a trooper, so you swallowed the whole thing.

Before you could register, however, you were being yanked up the bed and Dean’s hands were undoing your shorts, shoving them down — ripping your panties — and taking your fishnets to your knees, hauling you onto his face and barely letting you register before his tongue fucked into your soaking pussy, your eyes rolling back like his did, moaning in sync as one hand shot to the headboard and the other his hair.

His hands were so fucking reverent, gliding up your thighs, kneading them, one moving to deliver a light smack and grope to your ass, moaning when you began to grind down onto his tongue because you just couldn’t help it.

And then his hand slid up your back, around to your front, unbuttoning your plaid so his fingers could pay extra attention to your nipples (you would obviously show up to his house braless, y’all out there’d understand) as one long, thick finger thrusted up into your pussy, ring pressing against your g-spot in a way that had his name tearing from your throat.

How was normal Dean better than demon Dean? Or Deanmon. Whatever, either way, he was fucking you right.

“What if Sammy comes back, huh?” Dean growled into your cunt, licking every inch of it while he pushed a second finger into you, then a third, stretching you out and sending vibrations and electricity through your body. “Gonna give him a show, sweetheart? Show him how much you fucking need me?”

He ripped an orgasm from you, drinking it up like he was parched before flipping you over, getting your plaid off and entering you in one clean stroke while his mouth enveloped your nipple, sucking and nibbling.

“Shit, Dean!” You cried out, the first coherent sentence you could make since you rode his face and even that meant don’t you dare stop. And if any other man threatened you with exhibitionism you’d probably slap him and leave.

But this was Dean Winchester, so you’d make a thousand exceptions as long as he fucked your legs out.

He marked your neck, pounding into you like he just couldn’t help it, entwining your hands and pinning them above your head. “F-Fuck, baby girl. So tight— shit. Could fuck this pretty pussy forever.” He rolled over, putting you on top, and you took the cue to ride him, moans in tandem as Dean reached down to rub your clit. “Ride me, baby, c’mon. Give it to me, need it all. Please, need all’a you.”

Well, how could you say no?

“So good,” You panted, which earned a whimpering moan from Dean. “Gonna give it all to you, promise.” You clenching around him and his cock’s ride brushing your g-spot and all of it reaching places you didn’t know you had sent you over the edge, and before you’d realised it, he’d come before you with a strangled grunt of your name, hands moving to your hips to help you through your high despite being in it himself.

Once you’d come down from your high, and he his, you pulled off him, collapsing on the bed next to him, both of you flushed red, panting and so damn satisfied.

“C’mere.” Dean rasped, holding a hand out to you, and you were confused. The hell is he doing? “C’mere, baby.” He looked positively wrecked — you most likely did too — but that didn’t distract you.

“Why?” You tilted your head, pushing sweaty strands out from your face.

“To cuddle, why else?” Wow, he was a secure man, saying it outright like that. “I wanna hold you, sweetheart.”

He didn’t hold you as a demon. Nobody had.

So you scooted up to him, laying your head on his chest and allowing his arm to rest around your waist, other one acting as a pillow underneath his head.

Dean felt upset that demon him hadn’t taken the courtesy to hold this gorgeous woman, but now’s not the time to address that.

“Thank you, gorgeous,” He kissed your hair, “I needed that.”

𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

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duh-angel · 3 months ago

Text

Missing you

Jack Daniels ~ Agent Whiskey x afab!reader (wc: 2.6k)

“Wish you were here right now, all of the things I'd do. I wanna get freaky on camera” — Cybersex by Doja cat

SMUT ONE SHOT | MDNI | +18

backstory: You found yourself in a particularly tiresome mission in the city of Rome. Although the work kept you occupied, it didn’t stop Jack from constantly calling you and expressing how much he misses you. One day, he sends you a special gift.

You found yourself rocking back and forth in your comfortable hotel room chair, captivated by the glorious sight of Rome through the window. The vibrant cityscape, a fusion of modernity and historic charm, held your attention so thoroughly that you could spend hours just gazing at it, if not for the fact that you were currently on a video call with your “boyfriend”, Jack.

The conversation went smoothly, the two of you chatting about your trip and how much you missed each other's company. In the midst of the conversation, Jack's voice suddenly shifted, hinting at a surprise.

"Hey sweetheart, I've got something special for you. Take a peek inside your suitcase, would ya?"

You glanced at the leather suitcase bearing the renowned S logo, the company monogram gleaming in the center. With a hint of anticipation, you carefully opened it, revealing a box wrapped in blue. You looked back at the camera and gave him a sly smirk, silently inquiring about the mysterious gift. Your mind buzzed with curiosity, wondering what treasures lay hidden inside the deceptively small box.

"Go on, open it," Jack's voice cut through the silence, his tone dripping with mischief and anticipation.

Your heart skips a beat as you gaze at the vibrator nestled in the blue box, a blush spreading across your cheeks. The sleek, purple device seems to wink at you, promising an unforgettable evening. You could feel Jack’s eyes light up with mischief as he saw your reaction on the small screen. A roguish grin spreading across his face.

"Well beautiful, looks like Santa came early this year," he draws teasingly. "I thought you could use some company on your little trip. Why don't you give it a test run for me, hmm?" His voice drops, taking on a husky, seductive tone. "I wanna see you play with it, darlin'. Put on a little show for me."

He leans back in his chair, showcasing his bulge to your hungry eyes. One of his hands casually rested on it, making him groan softly. His brown eyes practically undressing you through the screen, making your body shiver. "Don't be shy now.” He whispers. "Turn it on, sweetheart. Nice and slow. Let's see how loud I can make you moan from all the way over here."

The heat of your blush intensified. Hell, you felt like you were about to pass out from how overwhelmed yet turned on you were. Slowly, tentatively, you reach for the vibrator, your heart racing as you switch it on. The soft hum fills the otherwise quiet room. Your eyes widened as you felt how your hand quivered from the power of the toy, and you can't help but imagine the sensation it might bring.

As the vibrations grow stronger in your trembling hand, Whiskey's grin widens. He watched your every move, drinking in the sight of you under his spell. "That's it, baby. Mmmm, you look so fuckin' hot right now," he groans.

"I wish I was there with you, watching those pretty pink lips of yours wrap around that toy... But I guess this will have to do for now." He palms himself through his jeans, clearly getting off on the show. His free hand reaches for a cigar, lighting it up as he settles in to enjoy the view.

"Go on now, sweetheart. Don't keep me waiting," Whiskey urges, his voice needy with that typical hint of demand. "Bury that toy nice and deep, just like you like it. Fuck, I can almost hear those sweet little moans..."

He takes a long drag of his cigar, blowing out a plume of smoke. His eyes never leave the screen, riveted by your every move.

You disregarded your pants and underwear in a clumsy manner, feeling almost idiotic to do this through a video call, but in a twisted way, it was filthy, raw. Jack licked his lips, his gaze smoldering with lust as your anticipating legs opened just for him. He's clearly enjoying putting you in this compromising position, eager to push your buttons and drive you wild with pleasure, even from a distance.

With a deep breath, you press the vibrator against your sex, biting your lip as the buzzing warmth sends tingles through your body. inevitably, your back arches and you let out a mix of a gasp and a moan. Your eyes quickly go to the man on the screen, enamored by the sight.

"You're so goddamn sexy when you let yourself go like this. I love seeing you lose control for me," he praises, voice thick with lust as he chortles. "Now why don't you slip that toy in and out of that tight little pussy of yours and ride it for me? I want you to cum over and over until you can't even remember your own name."

Whiskey pushes his chair back, legs spreading wider. The heat in his gaze burns through the screen as he waits for you to follow his filthy commands. Slowly, you grind against the toy, looking right into his brown eyes, putting on a show just for him.

“Ah goddammit.” A loud groan of frustration escaped Jack, followed by the sound of his laptop slamming down as he abruptly ended the call. Your heart skipped a beat, pounding fiercely against your chest as you stared at the suddenly blank screen of your laptop. The sudden disconnection left you feeling both puzzled and worried, a flood of anxiety washing over you.

The sinking feeling in your stomach grows as you process the implications of Jack's abrupt departure from the call, but before you can dwell on it further, a bright flash of light emanates from your smart glasses, momentarily blinding you. The urgent meeting notification blinks insistently, demanding your attention. In a panic, you instinctively nod, accepting the video conference without a second thought.

As the holographic display materializes before you, you realize the gravity of your oversight. In the heat of the moment, you had completely forgotten about your state of undress, the vibrator still nestled between your thighs. A wave of embarrassment washes over you as you pray that the hologram's limitations will spare you from any potential mortification.

Shifting uncomfortably in your seat, acutely aware of the toy's presence and the lingering warmth it has left on your sensitive skin. Your mind races with the possibilities of what might happen if anyone were to discover your compromising situation.

Your heart skips a beat as your gaze lands upon Jack, his flustered expression instantly setting your nerves on edge. You can practically feel his eyes boring into you from behind the holographic display, his presence both comforting and unnerving.

With a quick nod, you acknowledge his presence, trying to keep your voice steady and professional as you address him. "Agent Whiskey."

“Agent Wine.” His response, laced with a knowing smirk, makes your cheeks flush with equal parts embarrassment and excitement.

The way he says your codename, drawing out the 'Wine' with a playful inflection, sends a jolt of electricity through your body. It's as if he's relishing in his knowledge of your compromising position. You squirm in your seat, the vibrator still nestled between your thighs, a constant reminder of your shared secret.

The meeting drones on, a seemingly endless parade of statistics and strategic plans. Your mind struggles to keep pace, constantly drawn back to the throbbing between your thighs. You try to focus on the cold, clinical data presented, but your body betrays you, each movement a torturous reminder of the toy hidden beneath your body.

Your eyes dart around the holographic conference table, avoiding the temptation to glance down at the source of your distraction. You know that looking at Jack will only make matters worse, his mere presence a constant tease. But in a moment of weakness, your gaze drifts to his face, colliding with those piercing brown eyes and that infuriating smirk.

A chill runs down your spine as you raise an eyebrow questioningly. Before you can utter a word, Jack's finger presses to his lips, a silent command to keep quiet. Your heart races as he reaches into his pocket, retrieving a small remote control. Without a word, he presses a button, and the vibrator springs to life, humming softly against your most sensitive flesh.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as the sudden stimulation sends shockwaves through your body. Your hands fly to the edges of your desk, gripping the wood so tightly your knuckles turn white. The vibrations pulse through you, each wave building upon the last, threatening to consume you entirely.

You bite your lip, trying desperately to stifle any further sounds. Your thighs tremble, the muscles quivering as you struggle to maintain control. The holograms flicker and dance around you, but all you can focus on is the relentless throb between your legs, the heat building steadily in your core.

“Is everything okay?” Ginger's eyes sparkled with concern and confusion as she addressed you.

You mustered a composed response, trying to maintain a steady tone. "Yes, I thought I saw a bug. Apologies."

At that moment, Tequila spoke up with a bemused smirk. "A bug? You're afraid of a tiny insect, Wine?" Whiskey chuckles darkly at Tequila's comment, his eyes never leaving yours. He leans back in his chair, a smug grin playing on his lips, clearly enjoying your struggle.

“Yes, a bug.” Your eyes narrowed, teeth gritting together as you shot a warning glare at Tequila. He quickly got the message, backing down with a knowing smile.

You let out a silent sigh of relief, turning your attention back to the meeting. But even as you try to focus on the discussion at hand, your mind keeps drifting to Jack, to the power he holds over you in this moment.

You are silently pleading for mercy. But his gaze remains fixed upon you, his expression one of pure, unadulterated lust. He revels in this, in the knowledge that he holds your pleasure, your very sanity, in the palm of his hand at this moment.

The minutes tick by agonizingly slowly, each second an eternity of sweet torture. You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, the coppery taste mingling with the sweat beading on your brow. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, your chest heaving with the effort to maintain your composure.

Finally, the meeting draws to a close. The holographic displays flicker and vanish, leaving you alone with Jack and the lingering echo of the vibrator's hum. You slump back in your chair, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your denied release.

Jack's gaze locked onto you from across the room, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Sweetheart, you did great," he remarked before adding, "but I'm afraid we have some unfinished business to take care of."

Tossing the glasses into the bed, you called Jack again, slumping back in your chair, your body trembling with the effort of maintaining your composure.

As the video call connects, Whiskey's smirking face fills your screen, his eyes glinting with wicked delight. He leans back in his chair. "Well, hello there, darlin'," he drawls, his voice low and husky. "Looks like you're all alone now. No more prying eyes to worry about."

His gaze takes over your trembling form, taking in the sight of you sprawled out in your chair, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. You can practically feel the heat of his stare through the screen.

"I couldn't stop thinking about that little show you put on for me earlier," Whiskey continues, a predatory edge creeping into his tone. "The way you squirmed and bit your lip, trying so hard to hold back those sweet moans... Fuck, it was hot."

His free hand disappears from view for a moment, and when it reappears, it's wrapped around the thick length of his cock, stroking slowly. “You did so well" he purrs, his voice a low, seductive growl as looks at you. The way his rough voice turned into soft whimpers with each stroke sent a fresh wave of heat courses through your body.

His other hand actively looks for the controller, turning the vibrator a level more. It’s more loud, faster and intense, hitting all the right spots in your heat. “Fuck…” You cry out, thrusting your hips into the air as you look at him.

Your eyes drift downward, taking in the sight of his hand moving rhythmically, pumping his hardened length with slow, deliberate strokes. The knowledge that he is pleasuring himself while watching you only adds to the intensity of the moment, a heady mix of exhibitionism and voyeurism.

"Fuck yeah, just like that," he groans, palming himself harder. "You're so goddamn sexy, baby. The way you're movin' on that... Mmmm, makes me wanna bend you over and fuck you 'til you can't walk straight."

His gaze is intense, burning into you through the screen. "You like puttin' on a show for me, don't you darlin'?" Jack coos, voice low and rough with arousal. "Such a naughty thing, lettin' me watch you play with yourself. I bet you're drippin' wet right now, aren't you?"

Jack’s hand speeds up on his cock, stroking himself faster, getting off on the erotic display you're giving him. The other hand holds the controller, ready to push you over the edge at any moment.

“Just for you.” You utter, struggling to even talk as the level is torturing your pussy, barely able to keep your eyes on him.

“Damn right it's just for me," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "You're all mine, Agent. Every inch of that sexy body belongs to me." With that he turns one, then another cruel level more.

Your eyes roll back as the vibrations intensify, the toy mercilessly pounding into your sensitive flesh. Your body convulses, spasming uncontrollably. “Jack!” You cry out, begging him for something you’re not sure about. All you know is that the vibration is more than you can handle.

"Sorry sweetheart. I just wanna see you lose control. Fuck that pussy 'til you're screamin' my name. Show me how much you miss my cock."

His breathing grows ragged, chest heaving with each labored breath. He's completely entranced by the sight of you, lost in the fantasy of being there with you, taking you apart with his own hands and tongue. "Goddamn, you're so fuckin' hot," he praises breathlessly.

His words ignite something deep within you, a primal need that demands to be satiated. You arch your back, pressing the vibrator harder against your aching core as you ride the waves of sensation crashing over you. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, your chest heaving with the effort of holding back the impending release. The tension builds, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly until you can stand it no more.

With a cry of pure, unadulterated ecstasy, you let go, your body convulsing as the orgasm rips through you. The vibrator's hum seems to intensify, prolonging your climax, drawing out every last drop of pleasure. Through the haze of your own release, you see Jack's hand move faster, his breath coming in harsh pants as he chases his own end, whimpering your name like a prayer as he cums all over those strong, manly hands of his.

As the afterglow fades, his eyes meet yours, a wistful, almost vulnerable expression on his face. "God... Can we do this till you come back?" he asks, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

A playful smirk tugs at your lips as you lean, a mock pout forming on your face. "Someone's needy," you tease, enjoying the way his brow furrows at your words, making him look like a cute puppy.

Jack rolls his eyes, a familiar gesture that never fails to amuse you. "Yeah, yeah," he grumbles, but there's no heat behind his words, only a fond exasperation. “I just miss you.”

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stargrltara · 3 days ago

Text

𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒚

·.✧ ✦ ✧.·

MOONLIT BEAMS PAINTED THE APARTMENT IN AN ETHEREAL HUE, your body thumping on the couch beneath you, wooden floorboards creaking lightly as the sound echoed across the four walls. Your fingers drew lazy circles around the neck of the bottle of whiskey, before taking a deep swig, your throat setting ablaze at the burn of the alcohol.

The thudding at your door was unfortunately familiar. It’s like clockwork, once a week, maybe twice if he’s feeling eager. You love it, your body loves it. He always comes to you specifically, maybe other women but you’re never sure since the way he pleasures you sometimes makes you feel like the only woman in the world. Sometimes.

“—Open the fucking door.” a voice emerged from behind the door, an impatient edge in his tone. You huffed at his inconvenient timing before pushing yourself off the leather and moving to open the door.

Your arms crossed over your chest, blocking the entry as you just glared up at him through narrowed eyes. “You’ve got impeccable timing.” your tongue rolled sarcastically as you shifted slightly for him to shrug past you; and he just scoffed ignorantly.

“..what do you want, Jason?” you bit the inside of your cheek in anticipation as you leaned against the now closed door as he stood in-front of you, his broad frame towering over you and creating a gloomy shadow to rake over your body.

“You know what I want.” his voice was stern, almost assertive as if he left no room for debate. His crimson helmet glistening as soft beams reflected through the windows and his auburn eyes slithered along the shape of your body. The way your hair was slumped over your shoulders, only slightly covering your toned collarbones. Down to the baby tee you threw on along with the shorts, and those slippers you begged him to buy you; the pink bunny ones with the cute little bows.

He didn’t miss the way your eyes were faintly drooped, as if were a little intoxicated. You shifted in your stance at his staring, the silence thick and tension swamping your lungs. Your lips pressed toegther before you spoke up, speaking over the constant trickling rainfall slapping against the glass windows. “I don’t think so, honey.”

Right, you were standing your ground this time, playing ‘hard to get’. I mean, you seriously weren’t gonna let Jason take advantage of you everytime he’s horny after patrol. But the way he looked, just peering down at you with his rugged exterior.

His jet black hair sticking to his forehead as he discarded his helmet, the cool steel placed in the palm of his hand as he raised a single brow at you. His bronze jacket wrapped around his shoulders and his suit drenched in water. “That whiskey messin’ with your head?” he scoffed, head cocking to behind him gesturing to the bottle left on the coffee table.

You scoffed right back at him, shrugging past his broad figure, elbows colliding with his muscle as you sat at your couch, taking the bottle in your grasp. “You gotta ask more politely.” He narrowed his eyes at you skeptically, loud steps ricochet along the walls, “Ah, I see.”

His steps inched closer until he was standing with crossed arms above you, your piercing eyes fluttering fiercely at him: undoubted fire behind your orbs, the ember now seeping down every place in your body.

“—was never one for manners, doll.” he muttered low and rough, the nickname rolled off his tongue so effortlessly, as if it was just a conscious act. He tilted his head at you, playing into your game he landed on the couch with a thump, plopping next to you and taking the bottle from your hands, fingers brushing sending electric jolts to spark through both of your bodies.

He took a long swig from the bottle, lips dancing at the rim before pulling away, the alcohol burning his throat and sending chills down his body, hairs on his forearms raising. “..maybe you should consider learning.” your breath stammered watching him drink the whiskey, the action so alluring and attractive yet so tough.

Jason's eyes flicker to you as you scoot closer to him on the couch, you find yourself melting into the pit of lust and desire; his body tensing in response to your proximity.

He tries to maintain his stony expression, but it's obvious that your presence has an effect on him. He takes another sip of his whiskey, his mind warring between the desire to keep you at arm's length and the overwhelming need to pull you closer.

He turns slightly in his seat, facing you more directly, his eyes watching you closely as you close the gap between you. “No, thanks.” he gruffed coldly, fingers tighten around the whiskey bottle, the scent of your skin and the sound of your voice washing over him like a wave. His mind grows hazy, his thoughts swirling in his head as his attention is primarily focused on you.

Your eyes rolled at him, but there was undeniable tension and yearn in the rough of his voice. His abruptness and blunt tonecaught you off guard when he spoke, “Keep rollin’ your eyes at me ‘n i’ll make them stay like that.”

And suddenly, you felt the whiskey adjusting your mind; almost tormenting you as you could feel yourself giving into Jason’s games. The way his legs widened at his slouch position on the couch, big arms stretching to rest behind your head. He noticed your blazing gaze, the fire in your eyes almost burning through his skin.

Silence corrupted the atmosphere like a plague, and you shifted closer and closer until the barrier between your bodies was broken and you felt the warmth of his figure washing chills down yours.

He placed the whiskey down on the coffee table with a loud thud, your gaze faltering for a bit before he leaned in and ran his palm down your soft cheek. His fingertips grazed over your skin so lightly, and you couldn’t help but connect your lips with his.

The kiss started slow, deliberate and passionate. Your lips interlocked with each others, his tongue stroking yours ever so lightly. Though, the air grew thicker, and so did his desire.

He snaked his hands down your chest, finding your waist before pulling you into his lap; grip firmly on your hips. Your lips stayed connected , but you pulled away for air, taking a short breath and letting your eyes rake over his sharp features; lips parted and his eyes full of lust and hunger.

He couldn’t wait for you, he was eager. His palm pushing the back of your head into his as he kissed you again. Although, this time it was different, rough, even. His tongue darted out to lick your jaw and throat while he grazed his hands down to your hips as you began rocking against his.

The growing erection his pants became more and more harder by the second, and you could feel it. The dangerously massive length underneath you pushed against your heat.

You easily melted in his touch, your guided movements and sloppy kissing becoming more primal, more intense. You deepened the kiss, head pushing further into his and he groaned into your mouth rawly. That familiar sound sending electric waves into the pool forming in your stomach, fueling the heat and hunger.

His hands snaked up to pull at the hem of your shirt; struggled rapid movements. He became impatient and ripped the fabric off of you, “—what the fuck?!” a short gasp escaping your lips in shock at the sudden movement. “I’ll buy you a new one, doll.” he grunted after noticing your expression at the ripped shirt.

You nodded, mind too hazed to even worry before he leaned into your neck, laying warm, open mouthed kisses on your sensitive skin. Breathy gasps left your mouths while you were grinding harder on his clothed abdomen.

Jason pulled you off of him, laying you on the couch and leaning over you, admiring your beauty as you looked messy, intoxicated. Thick fingers pushed a hair behind your ear before he pulled off his shirt, tossing it onto the ground and unbuckling his belt.

Before you knew it, you were both naked, and he licked a long stripe from your throat down to the valley of your breasts all the way down to your abdomen, and he stopped right above your cunt. He spread your thighs gently, kissing the soft flesh. “mm..”

You let out light moans, but you were also eager for the his dick, so you interlocked your fingers in his hair and pulled him up. He glared up at you, brows furrowed. “..I want you, Jason.”

He chuckled dryly, jet black hair tickling your stomach. “Patience, doll.” he muttered lowly, another small kiss above your cunt, he was teasing you, making you desperate until you’d give in. “Patience..” he whispered again, eyes slithering down to your soaked cunt.

His tongue darted out, licking your warm folds, and laying sweet kisses there. He continued to tease you, to make you sigh in frustration and lust.

“—jasonnnn..” you whined, knowing he wasn’t gonna give you what you want, but to your surprise, he began to spread your folds, licking a stripe on your bud. “ohh— fuck..” you let out a breathy moan, his tongue dancing on your clit.

Jason was feral. He was lapping at your cunt, teeth grazing over your clit only making you wetter. His hands gripped on your inner thighs, keeping you in place and attempting to reduce your squirming. “Quit movin’ , baby.” Maybe the whiskey was making you feel more, making you feel every single inch of his mouth on you.

Your fingers were clasped onto his head, manicured nails scratching his scalp and pulling on his hair for some sort of relief. Your gasps and hiccups were loud, moans even louder. “—fuck!!” he was brutal, his pace was so rapid and he was eating you out like you were his final meal.

Your moans only fuelled his ego, and he spat onto your cunt, the saliva hitting you cruelly before shoving two thick digits inside of you. You sucked his fingers in so well, your walls tightening around him while he continued to abuse your clit with his tongue.

His tongue was relentless and rapid, carrying no mercy for your state. You were literally seeing stars while he devoured you, pushing his head deeper into your juices and sucking on your bud. You were squirming, and his hands clasped down onto your thighs even firmer, bruising.

He groaned into your cunt intensely, almost animalistic while your gasps were short and breathy. He curled his fingers inside of you, plunging them in and out repeatedly while you were moaning so loudly you were sure your neighbours weren’t pleased.

You couldn’t control your squirming when he was shoving his head into you and lapping at you so roughly and sloppily. He pulled away, glaring up at you as you propped yourself up on your elbows. His chin glistened with your juices, the city skylights reflecting on his strong, features. Though his brows were furrowed as if he was irritated at your moving. “—told you to stop fuckin’ movin’ .” he grunted lowly, eyes narrowing at you.

“..i’m sorry, jay— it’s just..” your chest heaved while you gasped for air, he didn’t even let you finish your sentence before he continued to destroy your cunt. “mm— so good! “ A whimper escaped your lips as his tongue ate you out like a man starved, and your moans grew louder and louder.

You were screaming his name, losing control and a whimpering mess. He scoffed into your cunt when he heard your breathy gasps grow louder and harder, knowing you were closer and knowing you were completely at his mercy restrained beneath him.

His fingers worked faster, plunging in and out harder as he pulled his head back to watch your expression; mouth formed in an ‘O’ shape while your head completely thrown back.“—lemme hear ya’“ he murmured lowly, staring at you intensely while his thick digits abused your cunt.

Your walls squeezed him so perfectly, his pace was so fast yet so amazing. Your moans grew pornographic, and lustful as your hips lifted up and down from the couch, you were so close. “C’mon, sweetheart.” his voice was nothing but a blur, your mind too hazed to comprehend his words.

Your orgasm hit you hard, moans and gasps bouncing off the walls as he watched you turn into a melting mess underneath him while your cum spilled from your cunt, seeping down onto the couch. “..there we go.” he groaned in satisfaction before leaning down, sucking and licking all of your juices, before his tongue flicked over your sensitive bud, not caring for the state you’re in.

He forced you to take raw intensity of the aftershocks, working you through them as your hands darted down to push him away, overstimulated. His hands flew up to yours, pinning them to your stomach as he kept his filthy pace on your clit; groaning into you.

Once he was done, he pulled off with a soaked chin, you were completely wrecked. Hair a mess, eyes all puffy from whimpering and crying and your breath panting. You were surely too tired to even actually fuck him, but to your surprise, he grabbed you by your ankles and flipped you over onto your stomach.

You let out a grunt as the man flipped you over roughly, “Don’t worry, i’ll go easy on ‘ya.” was all he said before slamming into you. Your walls clenched him in uncontrollably, and you were already soaking wet. Lewd slaps and slick filled the atmosphere.

Your groans turned into moans, which faded into short gasps and whimpers as you felt yourself getting closer. Jason’s fingers dug into your hips, lifting you up slightly from the leather as he hit deeper into your cervix. As he hit your sweet spot, he groaned almost pornographically at the feeling of being so deep inside of you. “You feel that, baby?”

You could only hum a strained groan in response, mind fuzzy and dumb from his raw, filthy thrusts. “What was that, doll?” His digits snaked up your hips, and to your lower abdomen where he felt his bulge inside your stomach. A low, gruff chuckle erupted from his throat as you gasped at the feeling of his fingers pressing into it. “Fuckk..” he grunted, “‘m gonna fill this pussy up so good.”

You gasped his name softly as you felt yourself getting closer, and he hummed in a faux sympathetic tone. “Jason— jay.. so.. so close..” your eyes rolled back, and your fingers dug into whatever you could manage to grip onto.

“That what you want, baby?” His cock was hitting your sweet spot so deliciously, so deep and hard. “..you want me to put a baby in you?” His pace fastened, asks he let out a guttural moan at your pussy fluttering around his cock, earning for his to twitch in response.

He pulled out before you could orgasm, and he flipped you onto your front, staring right into your puffy eyes from tears hinting at the edges. “—Want you to look at me while you come.” he panted, chest heaving and hair sticking with sweat. He immediately drove back into you, nestling himself so sweetly inside. His hands gripped your sides as he pulled you onto his thrusts, skin slapping.

Your eyes kept shutting, the whiskey was getting to your head and you felt a slight buzz; cock drunk. His fingers down, “—fuckin’ look at me.” grasping onto your chin roughly so your eyes can shoot open. His expression was focused, brows furrowed and bottom lip bit between his teeth as he tried to his back his moans.

Though, it was short lived as he leaned down, hands now holding you tight as he mating pressed into you, and your nails came at his back, scraping mercilessly as your mouth fell into an ‘O’ shape.

“mm..” he let out a moan. Then another. And then another which was deeper, more primal. He dug his face into your neck, “So fucking perfect.” he muttered, inhaling your scent and licking a stripe to your ear while he let out all his grunts, moans and slight whimpers.

“—Right there, jay !!” you moaned loudly, and he pulled his head out of your neck to glare into your eyes. His emerald orbs glistening in the dimmed lighting.

He moaned lowly, many gasps of pleasure escaping your lips while hispace getting uncontrollably faster; his tip twitched inside of you, your walls squeezing him in. “Gonna be a good girl ‘f me?”

You whimpered, nodding as you glare at him through drooping eyes, tears dried at your flustered cheeks. “Go on then, come on my cock.” he gasped as he felt your juices spill from inside of you, now coating the leather. The moan you let out was almost dangerous, it was loud and came from the heart. You were sure the windows and mirrors were gonna shatter.

“Shit..” he groaned as he painted your walls white, orgasm hitting him hard. So hard that his head collapsed onto your neck, and your fingers came up to scratch the back of his hair. Small mutters and praises of sweet nothings left his lips while he moaned at the feeling of your nails on his scalp.

After moments of intensity, he pulled out slowly, glaring down at the mess that was left before he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

“..do we have to clean this up?” he muttered, brow raising as a low chuckle left your throat, though you were so exhausted. “..’s not gonna clean itself, idiot.” He patted your hip, allowing you to rest knowing he fucked you dumb as he cleaned the area. The small gesture making your heart pound as you watched him through half lidded eyes.

He stopped abruptly, thinking for a moment before glaring down at your state, an amused smirk on his pale lips.

“—Can we order take out?”

·.✧ ✦ ✧.·

a/n: guys im bad at dialogue im sorry

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magpiepills · 21 days ago

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Rope & Ride

Pairing: Jack Daniels x f!reader

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: Jack gets more than he bargained for when he gets too comfortable doing surveillance.

Warnings: SMUT Dub/non-con, NOT SSC/RACK compliant! Oral (f receiving), restraints, denied orgasms, stalking, breaking and entering, unprotected PIV, creampie, smoking, implied plot, but no substantial story,

A word from the author: Here is my very late entry in @wannab-urs ‘s The Dom That Middle Aged Man Campaign 2025 event. It’s been so much fun getting to share ideas and read stories written by the many wonderful writers involved and I’m so sorry that I’m past the deadline for posting. This is my first time writing Jack and I am so grateful to Gin for putting this whole thing together so that I could try something new.

Masterlist Turgid Members DMAMC25 Masterlist

He must be losing his edge.

You walked down the sidewalk toward your walk up, heels clicking against the concrete, and there he was, following along.

At the cafe drinking your coffee, at the library doing research, and as you shopped, there he was.

Maybe it wasn’t all his fault. A handsome man stands out, just naturally stands out, doesn’t he? Jack certainly does. He’s tall and slim waisted, but broad, broad, broad across his shoulders. He was neat, hair brushed into place, mustache trimmed, face sporting only the barest little scratch of whisker.

He might disguise himself, a suit, a leather jacket, dark aviators, a cowboy hat. Dark brown, never white. He knew he wasn’t a good guy deep down. A good guy wouldn’t follow a woman at all hours of the day and night. He wouldn’t peek in her windows or photograph her when she stopped to talk to someone. He wouldn’t tap her phone.

You wondered what he did with all the “evidence.” And you wondered how much longer you’d need to keep up the charade before he was finally done.

…

The day came one gray, drizzling evening three and a half weeks after you first spotted him. You’d received an urgent call from your sister in Dubuque, begging you to fly home right away, to take the first available flight and tend to an urgent family matter.

You hastily flung your suitcase onto your bed, threw in some clothes and took your coat and left. You hailed a cab beneath a lamp post, obscured by rain and your black umbrella, and disappeared into the night. A week, you’d said. He didn’t know if that included travel, but it was still plenty of time.

Jack got out of his car, a pale blue Mercury, nondescript, nothing flashy, and shut the door quietly. He crossed the street casually, with the confidence of someone who belonged right where they were. Your locked front door was little deterrent. Jack picked it easily, producing two slim tools from his jacket pocket and in less time than it would take to fumble with a key ring in the dark, he was inside.

He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of your apartment, and tuned his ears to the sounds of your apartment. Silent, save for a table fan left on by accident, a ticking clock, and the rain that tapped gently against your windows.

After a few still minutes standing stone still, Jack relaxed. He was careful to be quiet, even though he was alone. A small flashlight was fished from the same pocket where he kept his lock picking tools. He held it in his mouth while he retrieved two gloves from another pocket and put them on, flexing his knuckles against the soft leather. Jack swept the first floor, moving fluidly through your sitting room, your kitchen, past the laundry nook.

Each room was neat, but lived in. You’d obviously left in a hurry, a newspaper was draped over the back of your sofa, stockings dried in the bathroom. He brought the fabric to his nose and breathed in the scent, but only detergent was there, nothing of you. In your medicine cabinet he found the usual things, bandaids, toothpaste, hair pins, ibuprofen. Nothing unsavory or incriminating there, not under your sink. A rummage through your linen closet was the same, revealing only a predilection for soft pinks and fuzzy blankets.

Finding nothing of note in your bathroom, Jack moved to your bedroom. He closed the door behind him and inhaled deeply. It was, like the rest of your apartment, tidy and pretty. Unlike the others, this room smelled like you. Light, sweet, it reminded him of candy and flowers and warm, bare skin. Your bedside table was the first target of his snooping. A small lamp, a book, a framed photo of two young girls and a dog, and your telephone. He held the flashlight in his mouth again, freeing his hands to inspect the book. He flipped the pages and found nothing but a bookmark.

“I know there’s something here. Give it up,” he complained to himself, voice deep and twangy. Your drawer, your dresser, your closet, under your bed, he found nothing he could use. He checked his watch. It had been close to an hour that he had spent exploring your home, violating your privacy, and he had nothing to show for it. Annoyed, he sat on your unmade bed to think. He sat on the edge. He sank into the plush mattress, then took off his hat to lay back. He sighed, relaxing further, and closed his eyes.

Your scent was stronger here, where you slept. With his searching concluded, Jack let himself revel in the sick pleasure of being in your bed. He turned his head and breathed in deeply. He pulled your pillow over his face, and grunted into it as he palmed his thickening cock.

He was never one to take a souvenir, but he made a quick decision. Jack got up from your queen size bed and went back to your dresser. He upended the top drawer and found a silky pair of panties, pink, like you like.

He was certainly losing his edge.

So absorbed in his own pleasure, Jack didn’t hear you come back in. He tilted his hips, bucking against the scrap of girly fabric in his big fist. His jean were shoved halfway down his thighs.

It amused you to watch him. After so many weeks of his stalking and spying, you got the chance to do the same. You were sure he’d seen you in moments of undress. You hadn’t changed your routine after you figured him out, free all. You carried on like normal.

Now, with him in your bed, jerking off with your panties, he was exposed and vulnerable for once. You didn’t feel any shame when you stared at his cock. You studied it, the veins of his thick shaft, the dark hair around the base, the blunt head, blushing and leaking precum that smeared onto your panties with each stroke.

The carpet muffled your footsteps and you were standing between his knees, pistol pointed at his handsome face. Your voice startled him.

“Don’t come.” Your voice was velvety and smooth, but he startled anyway. It made you smile. His hands flew to reach for his own weapon, but he couldn’t reach. How foolish of him.

“Is this what you wanted, Mr. Daniels? You’ve been following me for weeks, everywhere I go, everything I do, there you are. You’ve heard my telephone calls, you’ve got enough pictures for quite an album. If all you wanted was a pair of panties, you should have asked me to dinner like a gentleman.”

“You know what I want,” he spat back, "tell me where it is.”

You hummed thoughtfully, as if you were really considering his demand, then brought your knee to rest on the mattress between his legs.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Jack. Right now you are in my apartment, uninvited, lying in my bed, and doing something very nasty with my panties. I think that it’s time to talk about what I want.” You brought your other knee onto the bed and leaned forward, letting the snub nose of your revolver press into the fabric of his white button up. He didn’t seem to breathe as you dragged it downward over his belly, only making a panicked little cry as the cold gunmetal reached his still hard cock.

You took your panties from his hand, “say ah.”

He obeyed, letting you poke the fabric into his mouth.

“Now, I’m going to get up for just a moment and you are not going to move.” You raised your eyebrows, and nudged him with the short barrel of the gun until he nodded.

Jack closed his eyes and dropped his head onto your bed with a weary sigh.

You returned with a length of pink fabric, the sash of your bathrobe and pulled your reading chair closer to the bed. As instructed, Jack didn’t move. He was still hard and leaking.

“Stand up and strip, Mr. Daniels. Nice and slow.”

The panties in his mouth muffled his hostile ranting, so you pulled them back out, laying the wet, delicate fabric on his chest.

“This isn’t a game,” he hissed, lifting up on his elbows. “You know why I’m here.”

“You’re handsome when you’re angry. Strip.” You wished you had a cocktail right now.

He stood and glared at you, cock bobbing between his legs as he unbuttoned his shirt.

“Slower.” He started to argue but held his tongue, tossing the shirt onto the bed. He pulled his belt from his dark jeans, but you stopped him, holding out your hand for his belt buckle flask.

Of course Jack “Whiskey” Daniels had a full flask. You sipped his bourbon, letting it warm you and nodded for him to continue.

His shirt was first. He unbuttoned it without flair, tossing it onto your bed. His pants were next, already around his thighs, along with his black boxers. He shoved them down and stepped out of them. It wasn’t as sexy as he could have made it if he tried. He’s got a nice body, and he may be unhappy with his predicament, but he’s still hard.

“Turn around for me Jack, give me a little show,” you say, eyes dancing with mischief.

He huffed and turned stiffly. Even if he was mad as a wet hen you were going to enjoy yourself. It wasn’t often you had a man in your bedroom. Not with Jack tailing you, anyway. You weren’t about to give him a free thrill. You tilted your head and drank him in. He was aging, scarred and a little worse for the wear. You liked it. You liked how he looked with a little gray beginning to thread through his hair. He was still lean and strong, fit despite the slight paunch of his belly.

His legs were gorgeous, not the skinny chicken legs a lot of men have, they were shapely, same as his arms. Not bulging with too much silly looking muscle, just right. Nice and toned. His back was the same, his chest, with its sparse hair, dark, tight nipples, skin that must taste salty.

His softening belly, his weak spot, bore a dark patch of hair that lead you gladly down between his legs where your real nemesis hung. That cock of his, long, thick, still hard, even as he scowled at you. It leaned slightly left, which you could have guessed from the bulge you often noticed in his very tight jeans.

Taking the robe belt in your hands, you reached out to wrap it around his cock. You wanted to tie a bow, but Jack’s hands blocked you, hiding himself. That earned him a smack, and a warning.

“Don’t move, Agent Whiskey. Not one move without my permission, do you understand?”

He raised his hands in surrender and muttered. You let the smooth fabric drag over his turgid member, but instead of the bow, you made him turn again.

“Hands behind your back. Turn around for me.”

He closed his eyes, not bothering to argue, and you heard him exhale when you tied his wrists together in a pretty, but very secure pink bow.

You fluffed your bow and turned him to face you once more.

“There. I bet that feels a lot nicer than some old piece of rope, doesn’t it?” You smiled at him.

Jack couldn’t believe his predicament. He had made sure you were gone, he had checked his time, he hadn’t left evidence behind. He was going to jerk himself off into your silky underthings and leave, the panties his only souvenir.he doubted you’d even miss them the way your drawer was full of so many lacy, silky, soft little things. He made a mistake somewhere, and now here he is, naked, hard, tied up in between your bed and your chiffarobe, while you bossed him around. He dare not acknowledge the throbbing erection. It was plain enough for you to see.

You put him on his knees, guiding him down with your dainty little manicured hand on his shoulder. His tired knees sank into the mercifully plush carpet, and he sighed.

He watched you walk back and forth in front of him, small steps in your tall heels. He wondered what you were thinking. He wondered if you really knew what he was looking for. His mind raced, all of his training leaving him woefully unprepared for a scenario like this, especially when your panties fell to your ankles.

You stepped out of them gingerly and swept them aside with the toe of your high heel.

You liked him on his knees. He was better behaved when he was at a disadvantage. His pretty lips pouted, his big dark eyes searched your face for a hint of your next move, widening when you raked your fingers through his hair and gripped it, holding him as you stood before him, balancing on one foot with the other pressing into the edge of the bed behind him.

Jack welcomed your bare pussy against his face. He took it like an offering and accepted your soft, damp lips against his tongue. You stayed still, letting him lap at your folds for a few moments, then began to roll your hips, using his face. His nose, lips, chin, even the scratch of his mustache felt heavenly against your achy center. You kept on, soaking his face until you came.

Jacks cock throbbed between his legs, untouched and rock hard. Droplets of precum dribbled from his tip. You caught your breath on the edge of the bed and watched him, chest expanding between his wide shoulders. You placed one ankle on his shoulder, and leaned back on your palms.

“That was a good start, don’t you think?”

Agent Whiskey licked his lips and nodded. “Yeah. Real good. Untie me and I’ll make it a good finish too.”

It made you laugh, his confidence. It preceded him, of course, but you hadn’t experienced it for yourself.

“Really, Daniels? I can’t untie you now. We’re just getting started.”

There was only your dainty watch on your bedside table to tell you that more than an hour had passed since you pulled Jack up and onto your bed. More than an hour of him gasping each time you touched him, lip quivering each time you denied him an orgasm.

“Please. Please!” He plead for your mercy as you held his body down with yours, hand around his cock, twisting around it, working upwards and back down tortuously slow. His hairline was damp with sweat.

Each time he got too close you stopped, plucked a cigarette from your case and smoked it, appraising his deconstructed state from a few feet away, then ashed it in a crystal dish.

When his breathing steadied and his whimpering quieted, you took your place on top of him again. This time with his cock situated beneath you, slipping back and forth between your wet folds, never taking him inside, just using his pulsing cock to bring yourself to orgasm once more.

Jack's eyes shone with unshed tears of frustration and he tried in vain to chase his own orgasm. He wondered if he would ever come again or if you’d always stop him. He was crazy with need, mind poisoned with unspent cum.

Not long before the two hour mark, you decided how you’d wrap up this meeting of minds.

You straightened your back, lifted your hips, and slowly sank onto his cock. Your pussy squeezed and pulled him in, making him groan and tug against his restraints.

He was thick and long, filling you, pressing against your body, a wonderful counterpressure to your clenching cunt.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck! Yes!” He babbled, thrusting, stomach tensing, hips pushing up as much as he could manage to meet your thrusts.

You sped up, riding him hard with quick up and down strokes intended to thoroughly drain him of every last drop of cum. His face was a study in surrender. Glassy eyes, mouth slack. You watched him closely and pumped his body with yours. Your own pleasure was undeniable, you’d used his body for countless orgasms since you first caught him in your web. You took another, the first he felt for himself and it was enough. Jack “Whiskey” Daniels flooded you with his milky white cum.

You left him, panting, used up, and wet, not yet aware of how fucked he truly is now, and returned with a Polaroid camera. You snapped shot after shot, his face, his body, his softening cock, and one last shot of yourself, smiling, satisfied, triumphant wearing his hat.

#dmamc 2025 #the dom that middle aged man campaign 2025 #jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels #agent whiskey #agent jack whiskey daniels #kingsmen golden circle #Jack whiskey Daniels smut #Jack Daniels smut #agent Jack whiskey Daniels smut #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #bat writes #pedro pascal character smut #Jack whiskey Daniels x reader #agent whiskey smut #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you

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missyorkswhore · 4 months ago

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Pedro Pascal with weapons, this is the post

#pedro pascal #pedrohub #gladiator ll #agent whiskey #oberyn martell #joel Miller #pedropascaledit #pascalispunk #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro x reader #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader

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syd-djarin · 9 months ago

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private eyes - jack daniels x private investigator!f!reader (18+ MDNI)

this is for @iamasaddie little lady kinky may challenge! congrats on 2.5k! <333 I was paired with Jack / Voyeurism.

banner by: @cafekitsune

tags: voyeurism (reader watches jack), masturbation (m & f), reader is a private investigator, gratuitous descriptions of my fav cowboy stroking his big cock, dub-con a little? reader masturbates in her car but there isn't anyone around so public but private

a/n: this is the first fic I've completed in months. it's short and to the point, idk how i feel about it but it pushed me out of my writing slump! kinda want to do a part 2 for this, what do y'all think 👀

wc: ~1.6k

smut below the cut

“I want you to catch that son of a bitch in the act.”

The visibly scorned woman, Camilla, sitting across from you asks through tears, ones that she hasn’t allowed to escape down her cheeks; catching them right at the waterline with an overused tissue.

This isn’t the first time a disgruntled, mistreated, or betrayed lover has sought out your services — no shortage of shitty men leaving trails of destruction while they pillage and greedily chase their own interests. She’s no different, seeking closure from the broken-off engagement from her now ex-fiancée, Jack Daniels. The pair had been together for a year, engaged for three months and one day, out of the blue, Jack broke it off. According to her, he didn’t give a concrete reason, something vague about being consumed with his job and that “she deserved a better life than that”.

Of course you get paid a pretty penny for your work, but you take great pleasure in catching a man in the act. Whether the woman needs proof for divorce settlements, custody battles, or to just have leverage. Whatever the case may be, you find a gratification you don’t get anywhere else; the upheaval of a man trying to have his cake and eat it too.

The conventionally attractive woman you couldn’t pick out of a line-up slides her homemade dossier across the coffee shop table, tacky & sticky from previous patrons. You flip through the information presented to you, taking mental notes as you go. You can’t deny the heat that rises up your face as you study the picture of your next target. The deep sable eyes resembling a baby calf’s are staring at you through the glossy photo paper. He’s sporting a mustache reminiscent of Burt Reynolds that is calling your name. His smirk is laced with a charming cockiness.

“He’s quite the looker, I know. Hell of a lay, too,” her words snap you out of your daydream. Her words feel hollow, his looks are the only attributes she’s mentioned during the duration of the consultation. You're not getting paid for moral judgements and you remind yourself you don’t know the whole story.

“Which is why I want to know who he’s fucking. I know there’s another woman, or maybe even a guy… he’d answer calls in the middle of the night and step into another room and I swear I could hear a woman’s voice on the other end, he’d tell me he’s going on work trips… he works at a whiskey distillery, why the hell does he need to go on all these trips?” She explains, putting air quotes around ‘trips’ with her dainty, well-manicured hands, “he’d stay late at work a few nights a week, and then it turned into a nightly thing… Anyways, you come highly recommended, so I’m trusting you won’t let me down,” she adds. You’re not a fan of the passive aggressive, back-handed compliment she gives you, but ultimately you give her an understanding smile as you both rise from the table.

“I’ll be in touch,” you tell her, as you exit. As cliche as that line is, you love saying it every time.

Days of following Jack around have proven to be fruitless. The man has a simple routine: wakes up at six, traipses to the bathroom to begin his morning regimen of a showering, shaving and grooming his beloved mustache, and to conclude, adorns his body in his tight denim jeans, a crisp button-down, a cowboy hat, and boots to match. You hate to admit it, and someone would have to waterboard this information out of you, but the hat is doing something for him.

Or you.

Whatever.

He shops weekly on Wednesdays (he always puts the cart back inside the store, not the cart returns in the parking lot), takes the same route home everyday, watches Jeopardy while he eats dinner – you caught on quickly that he cooks during Wheel of Fortune, it appears he isn’t a big fan of Pat and Vanna, dishes promptly following Final Jeopardy and bed by nine. In three weeks Jack hasn’t had a single visitor, of any gender, leaves work at five like everyone else, the man isn’t adding up to be a cheating womanizer like Camilla had set him out to be. Not to say that he isn’t, but you’re not finding any evidence to support that claim. You’ve actually found yourself developing a crush on the man. He’s undoubtedly handsome, seemingly laid back despite his strict routine, and there’s something mysterious that lies beneath that you’re itching to unearth.

You’re parked discreetly across the street from his house. It’s a nice quiet street, with only two lamps to illuminate the surrounding neighborhoods, allowing you to stay shrouded in the night.

You’re about to call it a night, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, when you notice a lamp turned on in the living room. Fortunately, the window faces the street, making your job that much easier for you. You pick up your binoculars to peer in, adjusting the focus for your prying eyes. Thank the universe he left his blinds open.

He sits on the couch with his back facing you. It looks like he’s reaching for the remote, like maybe he’s having trouble sleeping, but when he settles back into the couch, you notice he’s butt ass naked, in all his glory. Even through the binoculars, you can see how big his cock is. Your mouth salivates at the sight, wanting to feel the stretch of him in all your holes.

You’re not supposed to see this. Not at all. Usually in your assignments, you don’t get the full X-rated view, just the PG-13 suggestive one, and you are more than grateful for that.

But not now.

You’re getting your own private peep show from the man you’re getting paid to spy on. You’re feeling like a grade-A pervert right about now but the sight is too glorious to look away. He spits on his hand, and languidly begins stroking his cock. He runs his other hand through his hair, his toned arms flexing with his movements, his chest heaving.

It shouldn’t turn you on like it does. For one, it’s highly unprofessional. Secondly, he’s unaware he’s got an audience. Morally speaking, it’s definitely not your shining moment. But it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, watching him tease and work himself up. You couldn’t pry your eyes away if you wanted to.

Jack’s not the only one getting worked up; your clit throbs so hard you feel like it’ll go numb. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears thump-thump thump-thump. You let out a whine when Jack massages his tip, precum dribbling out like a sweet nectar you’d like to feast on. He continues his slow movements, dragging out his pleasure at a delicious and excruciating pace. Somehow, this makes the whole scene that much hotter; the display of restraint and discipline. You wonder if he does that with his lovers. Teasing, teasing, teasing, giving just enough to drive you insane before slowing almost to a stop.

Possessed by desire, you haphazardly look for any lingering people outside before unbuttoning your pants to shove your hand to where it's needed most. You gasp at the cool air hitting your thinly clothed pussy, you can smell your own arousal seeped into your panties and it spurs you on further. You mirror Jack’s pace - teasing your lips with a featherlight touch, inching closer and closer to your needy clit, stopping just shy of it, to tease yourself more. It’s agonizing in the best way, taking your time like this. Normally, you like efficiency when making yourself come, rarely going the extra mile to turn the pleasure dial up, but this makes you question why you’re ever in a hurry.

You reach your clit, going in gentle circles to match Jack’s unhurried pace. You wish you could hear the sounds he’s making, all the grunts and whimpers escaping his plush lips.

He speeds up his strokes, now ravenous for his delayed release and so are you. Overtaken by the need to come, you drop the binoculars, letting them fall to the floorboard. You’re not even watching him anymore, having seen more than enough to commit to your spank bank. With your eyes closed and head pushing into the headrest, your mind is flooded with images of Jack fucking you slow, hard and deep, absolutely destroying your pussy – legs over his shoulders, hitting the spot that makes you scream and cry in euphoria. The image of him spilling into you, filling you up with his come is what tips you over the edge, your body shivers in bliss and you rock against your hand to ride out the high, feeling faint from the intensity.

After you’ve recovered and fumbled your chance of ever seeing The Pearly Gates, you dare to look back to his house, to find all the lights back off. It’s a bit of a relief, feeling less shameful of what you’ve done now that you can’t see him at the moment.

You button your pants backup and lean over to retrieve the forgotten binoculars from the floorboard, as your fingers grab them you hear a knock on the window. The sudden rap on the glass makes you flinch, feeling your skeleton attempt to flee from your corporeal body. Your heart drops to your stomach when you see Jack standing outside your car, leaning one forearm against the body so his face is level with yours. Fuck fuck fuck. You’ve been caught. Dizziness and nausea war within you as you roll down the window. You open your mouth to explain the situation, but words never escape your mouth.

“You like watchin’ people don’t ya?” he asks, his tone is dark, but not angry. No, it’s something else entirely.

“I–”

“‘S’alright. Caught onto ya pretty quick. A pretty face like yours ain’t hard to miss.”

“I– i’m sorry, um,” you scramble to find words, any words but Jack interjects again.

“You like watchin’, but darlin’ I want to know, do ya like bein’ watched?”

#snail trail alert 🚨#little lady kinky may #iamasaddie game #2.5ksaddies #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x female reader #jack daniels smut #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey fic #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey #jack daniels x reader #agent jack whiskey daniels #pedrostories #fanfic #smut

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blckbrrybasket · 9 months ago

Note

can you do odd!reader responding to her partner w/ a breeding kink?

absolutely! im so so sorry for taking the longest amount of time to respond to this anon </3

odd!reader not picking up stuff is so real to me

Fem, Masc, and Gn reader featured

[fem/afab]

God you were so pretty, was all he could think. Even from the back you were utterly beautiful. His cock continued thrusting into your slick walls. He’d slide his dick out till it was just his tip notched inside your entrance before pounding back in. It was a hypnotizing rhythm that had you drooling into the pillow beneath you.

The other pillow held your hips up, keeping you presented nicely for him. His hand crept around your hip to draw shapes on your clit. Seeing the way your folds stretched around him made his dick twitch inside your cunt. “Fuuuck. Gonna fill you with up yeah? Have you carry my babies? D’be such a good mom.” He choked out without a second thought.

He, of course, was the only one not giving it a second thought. You always gave it a second thought though. Craning your neck, you shot an almost worried look over your shoulder. “I’m on birth control…and we’re not ready to be parents.”

If he hadn’t been balls deep in you he might have laughed. His hips snapped before slowing down in shock. “No it’s- it’s just dirty talk, babe. A saying?” You blinked as the cogs in your brain turned, a smile brightening your features once you realized. “Oh! Okay.”

Seeing you move on so swiftly had him shaking his head and beginning to thrust into you again. His teeth sunk into his lower lip as he focused on how you clenched around his dick, fucking through his confusion. It wouldn’t be the first nor last time it happened.

[masc/amab]

God you were so handsome, was all he could think. Even from the back you truly were attractive. His cock continued thrusting into your walls. He’d slide his dick out till it was just his tip notched inside your entrance before pounding back in. It was a hypnotizing rhythm that had you drooling into the pillow beneath you.

The other pillow held your hips up, keeping you presented nicely for him. His hand thumb rested at the top of your ass, watching the lube drooling out over his cock. Seeing the way you stretched around him made his dick twitch inside your ass. “Fuuuck. Gonna fill you with up yeah? Have you carry my babies? D’be such a good dad.” He choked out without a second thought.

He, of course, was the only one not giving it a second thought. You always gave it a second thought though. Craning your neck, you shot an almost worried look over your shoulder. “That’s not possible….and we’re not ready to be parents.”

[gender neutral]

God you were so hot, was all he could think. Even from the back you were captivating. His cock continued thrusting into your slick walls. He’d slide his dick out till it was just his tip notched inside your entrance before pounding back in. It was a hypnotizing rhythm that had you drooling into the pillow beneath you.

The other pillow held your hips up, keeping you presented nicely for him. Seeing the way you stretched around him made his dick twitch inside you. “Fuuuck. Gonna fill you with up yeah? Have you carry my babies? D’be such a good parent.” He choked out without a second thought.

He, of course, was the only one not giving it a second thought. You always gave it a second thought though. Craning your neck, you shot an almost worried look over your shoulder. “We’re not ready to be parents.”

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freelancearsonist · 9 months ago

Text

in our ivory tower

➔ Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x f!Reader

➔ 1.1k words

➔ You enjoy the view from the top with your boss.

➔ Rated MA // unprotected p in v sex, creampie/cum play, gratuitous groping, semi-public sex, a little dash of exhibition kink, power dynamics kind of // reader has female anatomy and uses feminine pronouns, reader is generally able-bodied

The view from the top floor of the Statesman skyscraper is breathtaking. You’ve been here for months at this point and you still don’t think you’ll ever truly get used to it. You swear you can see all the way to the other end of Manhattan from here–miles and miles of glistening steel and glass that make you feel so inconsequential, so anonymous. It’s a good feeling.

The Statesman tower is a far cry from the little apartment in Hell’s Kitchen that you share with three roommates–this is luxurious, decadent. Everything is modern and brand new, everyone is dressed to perfection in clothes that probably cost more than you make over the course of a month. You’ve always felt like you don’t quite belong here–you might’ve even quit by now if it weren’t for your gorgeous view and the gorgeous boss.

The panorama of the city skyline is only elevated by the gut-clenching thrill you get when you’re pressed up against the sturdy, full-length window like this, with your boss pounding into your pussy from behind like there’s no tomorrow.

There’s always a little paranoid thought in the back of your mind, as you look down at the street a hundred stories below you, that you’d be fucked if the glass gave way. Not that Jack would ever let anything happen to you–he’s proven time and time again just how capable he is.

“That’s it, hmm?” He grunts with a particularly delicious thrust that slams his cockhead right into your g-spot. “Righ’ there, sugar?”

He’s always been able to find it with seemingly no effort. He folds you over like it’s nothing, hands sliding up from their tight grip over the bunched-up skirt on your hips so he can grab greedily at your breasts through the soft fabric of your shirt. His skilled fingers can find your nipples with ease even through the layers–it never fails to impress, much less to draw a loud moan from your lips.

“Atta girl.” He growls–a sound so low and animalistic that it makes your walls clamp down around him–so close to your ear that you can feel the bristly scratch of his mustache and the warm, panting breaths that are punched from his lungs with each thrust against your neck.

Your thighs are trembling with every vicious stroke of his cock, desperate for the release he’s been steadily working your towards. He’s always liked to play with his meal–to draw it out until you’re begging and crying for it.

You can feel the delicious friction of his denim-clad thighs against the back of yours, hear the clink of his belt buckle as his hips work. It’s easy to forget that anyone could walk into this conference room right now, anyone could look up out a window and see you being pulled apart.

Your fingers clutch uselessly at the smooth glass in a feeble attempt to steady yourself, but there’s no saving you. Not when you’re this close, not when you can feel his plush lips ghosting against your pulse point and his fingers are shoving under the neckline of your shirt to get a better feel of what he’s been pawing at.

“God damn, this cunt,” he grunts lowly–his thrusts are losing their rhythm, you know he’s getting close. “Sweeter ’n stolen honey.”

One of his broad palms gives up the delightful attack on your chest to skate down the length of your stomach and find your clit. He’s familiar enough with your body now, after months of sneaking around together like this–he knows exactly the right pace and pressure to use in order to have you crumbling in his arms.

And crumble you do–with a moan that you try to muffle behind your bitten lip, you shatter. Your entire body shakes with the force of your orgasm, barely held up if not for your palms against the glass and Jack’s hands moving swiftly to your hips to steady you.

He’s not far behind–a couple more deliciously firm thrusts have him pressed balls-deep into your messy cunt, filling you to the very brim with his cum until it’s leaking out around his softening length.

There’s a blissfully long moment where he stays crowding you against the window, hot breath flickering up the length of your neck from where he’s pressing open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder.

“A’right, darlin’?” There’s something so tender behind that whispered question in combination with the way his lips can’t seem to leave your skin. Almost loving.

You choke down whatever feelings you’re perceiving–imagined or real–and give a little nod. “Mhm.”

He pulls out with a quiet groan that makes it sound as if he’s in pain over being parted from you. One of those warm hands of his comes up and curves around your jaw, pulling your lips to his in a sweet kiss that’s a far cry from the way he was fucking you just a moment ago. He pushes his tongue against your bottom lip as his other hand sneaks down between your legs, fingertips ghosting against your over-sensitive cunt before he pulls your ruined panties back into their proper place.

“Clean these up for me?”

You’re accepting his cum-smeared fingers into your mouth before you can think of a response. His jaw drops open at the way you swirl your tongue around them, always so dedicated to doing exactly what he asks of you. Always striving to go above and beyond.

“Should give you a raise,” he murmurs, his voice a little high-pitched in a way that makes you smirk proudly.

You let his fingers go with an audible pop. “I wouldn’t turn it down, Mr. Daniels.”

You try to ignore the steady leak of his spend dripping into your underwear as you tug your skirt back into place. It’s only just past noon–you have plenty of work to get done, starting with clearing the conference table of all the rubble left behind from the meeting that concluded shortly before Jack got his hands on you.

You see it as he’s tucking himself back into those sinfully tight jeans–two smudgy handprints on the otherwise impeccable glass. You feel vaguely guilty on behalf of the cleaning crew who’ll have to deal with that tonight.

Jack doesn’t seem to have the same inclination. He shoots a wink your way as he picks his black Stetson up off the conference table and sets it on his head. “Have those meetin’ notes ready by the end a’day, ‘kay?”

“Yes sir,” you answer dutifully. It’s only one of the many reasons you’re his favorite employee.

➔ beta: @schnarfer ; dividers: @saradika-graphics

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#agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey fanfiction #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels smut #jack daniels fanfiction #kingsman the golden circle #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #cece writes

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