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oogaboogasphincter · 9 months

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Agent Whiskey/Jack Daniels x Female Reader - Whiskey Lives - Post Canon: Kingsman The Golden Circle - Happy ending for Agent Whiskey with Smut.

Jack is the best husband and I want he happy ending. 💖😭

Cabin Fever | Agent Whiskey x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT (18+ ONLY) MDNI! | hurt then comfort, mentions of Whiskey's trauma but nothing too specific, relationship troubles but don't worry they're all resolved by the end, spoilers for kingsman:tgc, alternate ending, swearing, pet names (sunshine, sweet pea, babygirl, honey, darlin', baby), unprotected piv sex (do as i say not as i write and protect yourself!), vaginal fingering, nipple play, tickling (jack has been charged with one count of getting too silly), reader and jack are married, reader has no physical description and uses she/her pronouns | 2.8k words

a/n: i can't even begin to apologize enough for the amount of time it took me to write this 😭 i was super busy w my personal life and i couldn't make up my mind about where i wanted to take this sweet request, but i finally stuck to one idea and i really hope you enjoy it!! 💙

After Eggsy and Harry detained Agent Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels following his confession of acting on his own interests, the prideful Statesman felt defeated. Hauled into the president's office by two burly officers, Jack got down on his knees before Champ with his Stetson clutched in his worried hands, brow furrowed in sorrow. Jack's ego was melted into a pitiful puddle as his boss rattled on about his misuse of power and desecration of Statesman dignity. Luckily, Jack's sweet brown eyes and his promise to never abandon his duties so traitorously again lowered his charge from permanent suspension to a temporary leave of post.

Jack's fallout was only halfway resolved. The next part frightened him much more than the first; he had to make things up to you. He departed the Statesman headquarters and hurried across the street to the nearest phone booth, where he dialed your number with shaky fingers. Amidst the dramatic downpour streaming down the windowpanes and the battering sound of raindrops on the roof, Jack tried to steady his anxious breaths as the line rang.

Given the covert nature of his Statesman work, Jack was barred from any and all communication with you for the duration of his missions. You understood and respected this ordinance from the beginning of your relationship and, while sometimes it could be annoying and inconvenient, you and Jack both would move mountains if it meant the preservation of your happiness together. However, this last missions had snagged on the delicate heartstrings of your relationship and put it to a test that Jack wasn't sure it would pass.

Throughout your relationship, he had always made sure to give you a heads-up about his call to action 24 hours in advance; no more, no less. It was only fair to you that way, so you two could give each other a proper, passionate goodbye and have enough time to warp both your morbid fears into eager promises of homecoming. But this last time was different. A bad type of different.

He had awoken you three months ago, in the middle of the night, with hurried scrambling to pack his suitcase. Bleary-eyed with sleep, you got up to help him, but he shook you off. Not in the sweet, considerate way he normally would - softly lulling you back to sleep with his velvet drawl - but in a jarringly despondent way instead. He didn't even meet your eyes as he stood rigid in the doorway, uninviting of your usual goodbye hug, with a white-knuckled grip on his bag. He spoke abruptly, "Should be back in about a month. Don't go pryin' into Ginger for clues if it's longer than that. I..."

He looked up for the first time that night into your eyes as his terse voice trailed off, morose darkening the usual brightness of his chestnut gaze. He didn't speak as he held your gaze, but more so breathed out the words on a heavy exhale, "I'll miss ya."

Without another second to rethink his ambition, he dropped his eyes to his boots and closed the door behind him softly. You sat there in the dark silence and stared at the golden outline of the door as Jack turned the hall light on momentarily. The unique sound of his nylon coat getting pulled on over his tweed jacket was his final goodbye and your final pang of sadness, or so you thought. Through the door, you head Jack whimper, his voice breaking as his breath caught in his throat, "I'm sorry." Heartbreak struck you like a lightning bolt and the sobs flooding your cheeks drowned out the rushed, cowardly thuds of Jack's boots down the stairs and out the door.

Against Jack's wishes, you drove to Statesman and consulted Ginger the very next morning. She assured you that, despite Jack's alarming behavior, it was warranted given the severity of the mission. She didn't give you any specific details, but she plied you with enough confidence to get through that first month of no Jack. As the second month began, you routinely checked in with her as your impatience and worry intersected into madness. You spent the days and nights pacing your floors like a caged animal, the highlight of your day being the ping of your inbox signaling that maybe, just maybe, Jack's safety was guaranteed and he was on his way home. No such message ever revealed itself, only false alarms that aggravated your torment.

Ginger's reports became few and far between, with the tops she would get about Jack's whereabouts pointing toward a less than favorable plight, until they ceased altogether. The third month was an evil cycle of pain, numbness and tragedy that kept you holed up in your apartment you shared with Jack. Unable to abandon your doom nor forfeit your hopes, you paced by the phone, the computer, the mailroom downstairs. Hard days had shortened to hard hours. Your eyes avoided the framed photos on the walls chronicling your friendship, your dates and your wedding with the man whose innocent, bright smile now brought you to tears.

The phone rang while you were in the shower for the first time in more days than you would ever admit (your spiral of depression had vexed your hygiene). You jumped out like a wet dog and immediately answered the unknown number with a shriek, "Jack?!"

"It's me, darlin'. It's me."

Jack's voice was hoarse with tension, desperation and agonizing release. Upon hearing your cries of relief, the joy that Jack lost on the night he left you slowly bloomed from its freeze and worked its way into his smile. Those little happy lines around his mouth and eyes that would deepen whenever he thought about you came to life as you ecstatically chanted his name into the receiver. Jack waited until your giggles died down to establish his sincerity.

"Listen, I was a real piece-of-shit for just walkin' out on you like that. You-" Jack is forced to pause as his heart chokes him up, thinking about the forlorn way you looked at him that painful night all those months ago. He swears he had heard your heart break in half, or maybe it had been his own. "You deserve so much more than that, sunshine. I gotta lot of explainin' to do, and I- I owe you my greatest apology, sweet pea... Will you forgive me?"

Of course, you forgave your husband in an instant. Jack is a beautifully complex soul, one whose radiant love is more than worth traversing the jagged trenches and steep cliffs of buried trauma and a demanding profession. You'd capture the world and wrap it up in a bow for him if he asked.

In an apology to you, and to take full advantage of his pardon from work, Jack took you back to his childhood home for a vacation. In a deep, rural cut of Kentucky countryside lies the grand cabin; outfitted with a wrap-around porch, hickory logs and the southern charm of acres upon acres of undisturbed land.

The perfect place to have long, intimate conversations by the fireside, Jack's honesty about his savory actions was illuminated the first night you stayed at the cabin. He took your hands in his and explained the whole ordeal, from start to finish, about how when he first got wind of the Golden Circle mission, his trauma was reignited like kindling; how at first he was intent on acting in Statesman's best interests, but then a thunderstorm began brewing inside him that he couldn't stop; how it just kept worsening until it had seemed to have passed in triumph, only for the flood to come and tumble him down from glory, nearly earning himself a gruesome death; how in the wake of his conviction the darkness finally cleared and he was able to see how foolish he had been, how reckless he was with his valor, how he endangered his comrades, himself, and, most importantly, his relationship with you.

With shared tears of bereavement, understanding and overdue reconciliation, your relationship's foundation was not only restored to its former glory, but reinforced with a newfound level of trust. Jack had dismantled the ground right under your feet, but he meticulously placed every crumble back into place until all was well again. His earnest indebtedness to you and unrelenting resilience to win your heart back had you wrapped around the cowboy's finger and pulling him in close by his lapels for a kiss.

What started as a soft dance, that of two lovers getting reacquainted with one another after a period of separation, didn't last long. The almost shyness you held toward one another dissolved into thin air when Jack's heavy hand returned home to your thigh, a place he rubbed soothing circles into when you were anxious and admired the plush give of your flesh under his adoring touch.

Tongues slipped into each other's mouths with practiced ease and your noses smushed together in your desperate efforts to get closer. You used all your might - plighted by your dizzying arousal - to try and pull Jack on top of you, eliciting a chuckle from the man, muffled into the increasingly passionate kiss. Jack's mustache bristled against your cheeks as he smiled, and with his lips remaining entwined with yours, he bent with your touch and granted your wish. His strong, protective arms gently moved you down to lie on your back and he rested his comforting weight atop you. His hand itched with desirous curiosity and it flowed over your figure, retracing his favorite paths down your body to remind himself that you're here now, that neither of you are going anywhere, that you'll never find yourselves anywhere near that painstaking hiatus ever again.

His sly fingertips nosed their way into the waist of your jeans, setting off a chain reaction of discarded clothes until both of you were naked. Your husband had to wretch himself away from your mouth, wanting every part of his soul to be consumed by you, but he had a plan. He laid you on your back once more and propped himself up with one forearm on either side of your head, gazing down at you with a lustful sparkle in his eyes and that warm, boyish smile. This is the Jack you know and love, and you couldn't be happier that he's finally home.

"We got a lot a' makin' up to do, darlin'," he practically purred into your ear, grabbing one of your thighs in each of his broad palms and hiking them up on his hips, where you still find yourself now, a few blissful hours later.

Your legs split impossibly farther apart to accommodate Jack's strong hips, grinding deeper up into your core with every thrust. Watching his cock drive through your swollen folds and into your plush depths, you grow feral at the explicitness of it all and bring your hand to your mouth. You spit onto your fingertips and ply your aching bundle of nerves with wetness, soothing your craving for more.

"'Atta girl," Jack growls, hypnotized by the tight circles you draw on your weeping clit.

He lays his index finger - still dripping with your slick from taking you apart earlier - under your chin, ruefully tearing your eyes away from the glorious sight of him claiming you over and over again. His hand wraps around the back of your head with purpose, fixing your gaze on his and pulling your whole body into his thrusts. The onslaught of pleasure combined with those big brown eyes staring you down, laden with fiery infatuation, strums a whimper out of you, one he quickly leans down and swallows in a sloppy kiss. He leans back on his thighs to watch you unfold and his carnality overtakes with a curl of his lip and a snarl.

"You gonna make yourself cum, babygirl?"

You shake your head rapidly, barely managing a noise of contest. Jack's brow furrows and his pace falters slightly as he attentively studies your expression, your vocal cords strained and sweat dappling your temples, "Y-you, Jack. You are gonna- g-gonna make me..."

You try to tell him that he's the one that's going to make you cum, that it's all him, it's all for him, it's always been and it'll always be him, but you gasp and splutter around the words. Looking into his eyes through your tear-filled ones, though, you know he knows. He knows he's the only one to ever make you feel this ravaged, this devastated, this loved. You don't see the way his momentary concern slips into a sly smirk at your incoherency; your vision blurs to a sludge of tan skin, brown hair and the pulsating red behind your eyelids of your impending orgasm, but you hear his salacious, sated groan through his teeth.

Jack's free hand grabs your chest for leverage as he ramps the pace of his drives back up, "Cum for me, honey." Against your sweat-slick skin, his thumb slips and brushes your nipple, catapulting you off the edge and into the abyss of pleasure.

You scream, scream his name, your walls tightening around him so hard you don't understand how he's able to continue plunging his cock in and out of your quivering cunt. Your cries of his name turn into shrieks when his thumb and forefinger stroll deviously across your breast and twist your nipple harshly, adding to the storm the deliciously rough texture of his calloused skin. You barely register the distant echoes of soft, tender encouragement as Jack's commanding tone melts away to pure awe, "Yes, baby, yes."

Jack nears his peak as you're still lost in the depths of your own. The sight of you writhing beneath him, rapture twisting the beautiful body he's worshipped over the years, injects his heart with a burst of warm affection.

On his mission, there were moments when your face eclipsed his vision, your melodic voice chimed in his ears, and devastation rotted his heart at the thought of never seeing you again. But, with you in his arms now, exposing him to the wondrous intimacy of your unconditional love, he feels like a live wire.

The bedframe rattles with Jack's incessant thrusts. His sultry sweat drips down his body and washes you in his addictive musk. Despite the sweltering heat of the moment, his nose scrunches up in a most adorable way as his balls tighten up with his impending release. Your pussy is hot and wet from overstimulation but you continue to leak around Jack's cock, coating him in your slick with every thrust.

"Please, please, Jack," you beg in a blissed-out murmur, floating in that fuzzy headspace such intense orgasms bring. Your fingers, weak with delightful fatigue, grab onto Jack's forearms. His veins protrude from his muscles gorgeously as he pins your hips to the mattress, fucking you deep. Jack cuts cleanly through your dwindling haze with a few final thrusts that slow from his frantic speed, but are twice as powerful in intensity. Grunts accompany his movements until his climax hits, his soft stomach tightening with a choked groan as his balls empty his sticky release inside you. His hips continue to buck his pulsating cock forward, stuffing your narrow heat full of his seed.

A shudder washes over him as he gingerly pulls his cock out, both of you hissing at the heavenly sting of your raw flesh. Your husband sits back on his ass with a huff, gazing at your fucked-out form with a stare glazed over with satisfaction. You meet his eyes when they flicker up at you with a playful wink, until he's torn back to your core when your pussy begins to squeeze out his cum from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Naturally his hand drifts to his dick, giving it a few gentle strokes. He's getting hard again, in spite of his reddened tip still drooling with cum. The corner of his mouth twitches up in a devious smile, and his fixed ogling makes him look like he's ready to pounce again.

You close your thighs with a giggle, covering your weeping entrance with your hands. Your smile is bright as he brings his hands to your sides and tickles your ribs, trying to get you to open back up. "No! No more, no more," you tease him through the symphony of your combined laughter.

You hadn't heard Jack's warm, genuine laugh since before he had gone off on his mission. It drowns you with overwhelming emotion before you can stop it; warm, happy tears prickle at the corners of your eyes.

Jack ceases his tickling and sighs dramatically, opting to wrap his arms tight around your waist, "Alright, darlin', alright." He notices the shine in your eyes and immediately cups your cheek with precious gentleness, "Darlin', what's wrong?"

You shake your head to ease his worry with a soft smile, "I... just love you." Your lovestruck gaze is mirrored in his blown pupils, just like the adoring arc of your lips. Jack leans in close to nuzzle his nose against yours, enveloping you in an embrace saturated with eternal devotion.

"I love you too, sunshine."

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tickle-bugs · 7 months

Text

The Ol' Kentucky Welcome

Summary: Eggsy’s attitude gets him into trouble at Statesman HQ. Whiskey and Tequila show him how they handle mouthy recruits with too much pride.

Anon: Hey! Love your work. I was trying to think of something I haven't read. So, kingsman and golden circle. Maybe eggsy, whiskey, and Tatum s characters get real drunk one night, start teasing each other and a full out brawl of a tickle fight happens!!! You can do it!!! Thanks!

Loose handwaving at and spoilers for Kingsman: The Golden Circle.

Becoming a Kingsman had done wonders for Eggsy’s impulse control and sense of self. He’s got restraint now, and better judgement—he doesn’t blindly chase a whim without considering the consequences first.

This is what he tells himself as he poaches a bottle of premium Statesman Reserve whiskey from a supply closet rather ominously labeled ‘This Ain’t For Sharing, Friend’. He makes sure to shuffle the bottles to disguise the large gap left behind on the shelf.

He settles in at the Statesman briefing room table, loosening his tie and shirt collar. He unbuttons his jacket and, in a rare flash of bad manners, kicks his feet up onto one of the nearby chairs.

The thought of Harry scolding him for it tugs at chest.

“Now what do we have here?” Whiskey whistles lowly, ducking into the doorway. Tequila fits in beside him. Eggsy gives a mocking salute before popping the cork on the bottle. He grabs a polished crystal glass from a platter on the table and pours himself a hefty bit.

“Looks to me like we’ve got a thief, Whiskey.” Tequila arches his brow. “Y’ain’t learned your lesson yet, Galahad?”

“Gentlemen.” Eggsy smirks and lifts his glass. The sharp kiss of the liquor burns his tongue, but it washes back with a smoky smoothness unlike anything he'd ever tried. He smacks his lips loudly, enjoying the slight twitch of Whiskey’s eyebrow in response.

“Thought you fancy-types were supposed to be polite.” Whiskey puts his hands on his hips.

“And I thought you brutish types couldn’t make something so delicious.” Eggsy angles the glass in the light. The liquid seems to glow.

Tequila ducks past Whiskey and takes a seat at the table, helping himself to a glass. He clinks glasses with Eggsy and they share another sip. Both of them sigh in unison, sinking deeper into their chairs. Whiskey throws Eggsy’s feet off his chair and takes a seat.

“You’re lucky I ain’t reportin’ you to Ginger Ale for theft.” Whiskey fixes himself a glass. He takes off his hat and rests it on the table. He shrugs off his jacket, draping it over the back of the chair.

“Report me for what?” Eggsy cocks his head. “You fine, upstanding gentlemen cracked open a bottle of your own reserve to share with your guest and I just had to say yes. Would hate to be impolite.”

Whiskey glares. Eggsy sips innocently.

“I like this motherfucker, Whiskey.” Tequila laughs, muffling himself in his fist. Whiskey shifts his glare.

“‘Course you do. You can’t keep your mug outta trouble to save your life.”

“Least my mug ain’t ugly,” Tequila grumbles. Eggsy snorts. Whiskey turns to fish for a pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket. As he leans forward, a silver shine peeks out of his pants pocket. Eggsy gently plucks a shiny lighter from Whiskey’s pocket and tucks it into his own.

“Champagne mentioned you’re a cheeky bugger.” Eggsy knocks shoulders with Tequila and winks.

“I dunno what that means.” Tequila frowns. They both watch Whiskey fumble around for the lost lighter and keep smooth, straight expressions.

“You get into shit. He’s fond of you?” Eggsy gestures at him. Tequila nods.

“Yeah, well…he wasn’t always. I’ve always been a bit of a firecracker. Didn’t make the best choices. Got people hurt. Built up a reputation for bein’ a problem, and Champagne started makin’ me own it.” Tequila watches his whiskey swirl in his glass. Eggsy hums thoughtfully.

“Sounds like Harry. He didn’t let me get away with shit. If I did something reckless, it was my arse on the line. But sometimes it paid off.” Eggsy smiles and thinks of stealing Harry’s cab on his way out of initiation.

“To good mentors.” Tequila inclines his head respectfully and raises his glass. Eggsy clinks their glasses together.

The three of them pass the time draining the bottle and looking out over the twinkling lights of the distillery buildings. A boyish mischief settles into Tequila, one that grows as the liquor in the bottle sinks. Whiskey starts to slur his words, but he maintains a hunter’s focus.

“Tell me somethin’, Eggsy. What brought you to Kingsman?” Whiskey watches him over the rim of his glass. His stare is piercing.

“Hm. Harry did. Not so different from Tequila, I reckon. I’d made a right fuckin’ mess and Harry saved me from it. Gave me a job. He saw something in me that no one else did.” Eggsy traces his fingers along the edge of his cup. He glances absently towards Harry’s cell and sighs quickly. Whiskey follows his gaze.

“Did your lepidopterist friend teach you to have sticky fingers, or do you just like causin’ problems?” Whiskey holds his hand out. Eggsy rolls his eyes and hands over the stolen lighter.

“I’ve always been good at nicking things. S’fun.” Eggsy grins and produces Whiskey’s wallet. Whiskey grumbles under his breath and snatches it.

“Feels like you’re the only one of your people that ain’t all hoity-toity. What other secrets are you hiding?” Tequila leans forward. The question grates against Eggsy’s better instincts. He searches Tequila’s face for the slightest bit of ill will. All that sticks is the way light catches softly on his eyes. Eggsy hums and turns his eyes to the ceiling to think.

“Well, my girlfriend bein’ a princess isn’t much of a secret anymore, so…I was a gymnast for a bit.” Eggsy grins. Tequila’s eyes light up and he starts snapping in Whiskey’s direction. For each snap, Whiskey gives a disgruntled hm until eventually they’re just swatting at each other.

“Whiskey, don’t we have them flippy bars down in the gym?” Tequila sniffs, blinking as the liquor hits his sinuses. Eggsy perks up. A spark of excitement picks up atop the warm flush of liquor in his stomach.

“We do. For Statesman agents. Y’know Rum and Cognac get real touchy ‘bout their stuff.” Whiskey raises an eyebrow.

“Well, we’re workin’ together now, ain’t we? ‘Sides, Rum and Cognac ain’t here. Let’s walk him down there. I wanna see what he can do.” Tequila claps Eggsy on the shoulder. Eggsy gives his best winning smile. Whiskey grumbles, then downs the rest of his glass.

“Fuck it. Fine. Five minutes.”

…

They stumble down to the Statesman training facility, passing by a very tired Ginger Ale who opts not to ask why Eggsy’s wearing Tequila’s hat (pretty simple, it’s ‘cause he nicked it). Whiskey puts his thumb to a scanner and the wall unfolds for them.

The lights click on in rows, lighting the industrial space. Eggsy gasps like a kid on Christmas morning.

Sophisticated weight training and combat equipment sit in neat rows. Eggsy locks in directly past that, drifting unconsciously towards a heaping pile of chalk bags. Pommel horses, beams, bars, and hanging rings sprawl out on a spring mat, all in pristine condition. A few launchpads and trampolines lay near the equipment. Eggsy laughs incredulously as he takes it in. Nostalgia flutters in his chest.

Eggsy immediately unbuttons his shirt, folding it cleanly and crisply. He shoves it and the cowboy hat into Tequila’s arms, adjusts his tank top, then works to unlace his shoes. The moment his feet are free, he sprints for one of the springboards. He hits it clean, just like he’d learned, and pushes off the vault, twisting through the air. His landing is a bit messy, but it’s functional, and he takes off to the parallel bars next.

The alcohol writhes in his system, but he doesn’t care. How can he? It’s been years. Coach’d told him he was good enough for the fucking Olympics and he hadn’t touched a set of bars since. The flex of the bars is a comfort to him. He flips and twirls, holding crisp handstands and tucks through muscle memory alone.

He dismounts beautifully from the parallel bars to the pleasant thrum of adrenaline and a smattering of applause.

“Hoowee, that was somethin’!” Tequila ruffles Eggsy’s hair, destroying the last hold of the gel on his head. Eggsy laughs and swats him away.

“Hats off to you, kid. Takes a lot of skill to pull that off.” Whiskey nods in respect. Eggsy returns it.

“I ain’t gonna lie, I thought you were gonna fall on your ass. I’m impressed.” Tequila slugs his shoulder with a brassy laugh.

“Thanks, Tequila.” Eggsy grins roguishly. “Mind givin’ me a boost?”

“Sure.” Tequila follows Eggsy over to the high bar. Whiskey loudly clears his throat.

“Boys, this has been…eye-openin’, but we really should get goin’. Early start tomorrow, I imagine. And this one’ll be fit to collapse when the time difference catches up.” Whiskey inclines his head towards Eggsy.

“Sorry, bruv? Can’t hear you all the way over there.” Eggsy gestures to his ear with a cheeky grin.

“I said—“

“No, no. If you have something to say, come whisper it in my fucking ear.” Eggsy snickers, hearing Merlin’s voice in his head. Whiskey rolls his eyes and saunters over.

“Look, I respect you ‘cause Champagne respects you. Other than that, you’re still a brat that oughta fall into line. Let’s turn in for the night. Both of you.” Whiskey raises his eyebrow. The honey tones of his voice make his annoyance all the more amusing.

“What’re you gonna do about it? Get me with your skipping rope?” Eggsy smirks. Tequila mutters a quiet aw hell and takes a step back.

“Maybe I will, you little shit.”

Eggsy comes to terms with a number of things about himself in that moment, and he puts them all away to process sober. Instead, he gestures for Tequila to give him a hand and reaches up for the bar.

Tequila picks him up by the waist, and it’s not the smooth, assisted lift he’s used to. It’s the clumsy grip of a drunk surprised by weight. Tequila does lift Eggsy up to the bar, but at the cost of his dignity— he spasms and makes a high-pitched noise when Tequila’s fingers press into his waist.

In hindsight, he should’ve seen the way Whiskey’s eyes narrowed at that.

“What the hell was that?” Tequila squints up at him.

“Nothin’. Thought you were gonna drop me. Bugger off.” Eggsy kicks weakly in Tequila’s direction. He backs up, hands raised. Whiskey steps in, hands on his belt.

“Get off the bar, Eggsy.” Whiskey sniffs authoritatively. The logical Kingsman agent buried in Eggsy’s brain sets off warning bells, but Drunk Eggsy, who is obviously of much sounder mind, ignores it.

“Make me, Whiskey.” Eggsy starts to swing in the space he has. Not enough to kick anyone, but enough to look like he will. He manages to rotate clumsily around the bar once, then hangs back down in front of Whiskey.

“You want me to embarrass you in front of your new friend? Okay.” Whiskey steps up to Eggsy and makes a show of sizing him up. Then, quicker than the draw of his pistols, his hands latch onto Eggsy’s sides and squeeze until he’s screaming and plummeting off the bar. Eggsy’s short life flashes before his eyes as he falls bodily into Tequila’s arms.

“Are you fucking mental?” Eggsy goes to shove Whiskey, but Tequila holds him back.

“Woah, watch that mouth of yours!” Whiskey laughs, eyes glittering. “You told me to make you. Your wish is my command, friend.”

Eggsy kicks, trying to break Tequila's hold, and he catches Whiskey right in the balls. He makes a noise like a wounded donkey and folds over. Eggsy snickers. Whiskey whips his reddening face up and glares.

“Now you’ve done it. Tequila!” Whiskey tosses something his way and he catches it. Eggsy barely has time to react before his arms are bound and hoisted in the air above his head. His toes brush the ground. The bar above him creaks in protest but does not give.

Whiskey puts his hands on his hips again. Eggsy wonders if that’s a cowboy thing or an American one.

“Skippin’ rope, bitch.” Whiskey grins, sharklike. “Now…you done with the whole insubordination routine or am I gonna have to give you the ol’ Kentucky Welcome?”

Eggsy snorts derisively. He tests his bindings. They hold steady. Fear starts to pierce through his liquid courage.

“I’m honored, bruv, but I’m in a committed relationship—“

Whiskey clicks his tongue and crowds into Eggsy’s space. He immediately steels himself for violence—what else would there be besides violence? He’s been jumped before. He’s no stranger to the predatory tilt of Whiskey’s head. He sets his jaw and glares.

“When Tequila first joined up, he carried a bit of them clownin’ instincts with him. That didn’t fly with Champagne. We had to figure out a way to take him down a few pegs without hurtin’ him. So, the Kentucky Welcome was born.”

“Aw, fuck you, Whiskey. Seriously, man.” Tequila pipes up from behind Eggsy.

“What does this have to do with me? I know you Americans love to hear yourself talk, but I’m not interested.” Eggsy tries to pull free. Nothing. Whiskey’s gaze gets softer, more mischievous. The change is deeply unnerving.

“Well, you remind me of Tequila. You’ve clearly got a good head on your shoulders, but you’re a little shit. So I’m gonna deal with you the same way we used to deal with him. Last chance, kid. You comin’ quietly or are we gonna have to drag you?”

Eggsy flinches when Whiskey reaches for him—years of habit die hard—and prepares himself for the hard crunch of knuckles into his ribs. Instead, he’s met with a gentle and persistent scritching.

A confused noise bubbles up at the back of Eggsy’s throat, quickly chased by a wobbly smile. He ducks his head and bites his lip.

Oh what the fuck?

Kingsman had taught him to resist the most painful and stressful of scenarios, but they’d never taught him what to do about this. Tilde’s maybe the only person who knows that he’s ticklish, and even then…he can convince her to let him go by kissing her senseless. Eggsy doubts that’ll work here.

“Uh oh, Galahad. Don’t tell me something’s botherin’ you?” Whiskey presses an insincere hand to his heart. Eggsy’s brain stutters for a moment as he realizes that Tequila’s the one scratching at his ribs.

“Fffffuck you.” Eggsy exhales sharply through his nose and closes his eyes--nope, that’s worse. So much worse.

Whiskey tickles under his arms and Eggsy yelps, bright laughter tumbling after. It shouldn’t be this bad—Tilde’s done far worse to him in jest, but somehow the teasing grin of his begrudging allies gets under his skin. His arms flex as he tries to pull himself up and away, but his strength collapses with every breath.

“Aw, y’all are twins.” Whiskey leans around Eggsy to smirk at Tequila.

“Whiskey.” Tequila’s languished tone being hilarious really doesn’t help things. Eggsy’s entire face scrunches as he tries to find his way back towards composure. A hiccup sneaks into his chest, and then he’s giggling incessantly. His chest feels like the sparklers he’d run around with as a kid, bright and fizzling and dissolving with every breath.

“Y’know, I wish I had tried this when I first caught y’all. Prolly woulda gone a hell of a lot faster.” Tequila’s voice floats past Eggsy’s ear. Eggsy manages a giggly growl and a halfhearted headbutt in his direction. Tequila tuts at him and folds his fingers into Eggsy’s waistline.

He makes a noise at a pitch that threatens to shatter every lightbulb in the room. Tequila’s calloused fingers strum Eggsy’s nerves like guitar strings and it tickles, fucking shit—

Tequila hooks his fingers just so and Eggsy kicks. Whiskey snags his ankle before a second devastating impact can occur. They make tortuous eye contact.

“Whiskey—“ Eggsy attempts to appeal to the cowboy’s humanity with what Merlin fondly calls his nuclear puppy eyes.

Grinning wickedly, Whiskey shakes his head and reaches for his trapped foot.

Eggsy’s eyes bug out of his head.

He wrenches his leg free, twists his hands, and flips upwards. Managing a gold-worthy handstand into a dismount, he frees his wrists and lands smoothly. Eggsy playfully curtsies. Tequila starts to clap. Whiskey smacks him upside the head.

“Alright, I’m done playin’ around. Grab him. If we’re caught down here at this hour it’ll be my hide.” Whiskey gestures for Tequila to step in. He does so, still a little off-kilter from the liquor.

Eggsy rushes in, expecting a clumsier rendition of the fighting style he’d been so painfully introduced to. Instead, Tequila smoothly blocks his blows and hoists Eggsy over his shoulder like a sack of fucking potatoes. One of his arms locks behind Eggsy’s thighs as they start to walk for the door. It takes him a moment to even process being upside-down. The sway of Tequila’s gait shakes some blood into his brain.

“Aw, y’all are twins.”

“—deal with you the same way we used to deal with him—“

A lightbulb clicks on in Eggsy’s head. He shouldn’t…but he could…but he shouldn’t—

He shoves his hands under Tequila’s arms. Before he can blink or breathe, they’re in a heap on the ground. Tequila’s cackling dead weight presses the air from Eggsy’s chest.

“Thought you’d put up more of a fight, bruv.” Eggsy’s eyebrows raise. Tequila shrieks at him in response. Eggsy manages to wiggle free and hop lightly to his feet as Tequila gathers his wits.

“There’s one of you and two of us. Be wise.” Whiskey cracks his neck. Eggsy looks over at Tequila and smirks devilishly. Tequila pales.

“I like those odds.”

The flurry of motion as they charge each other sets off the ‘fight’ center in his brain, but there is some comfort in knowing no harm is on the table. Eggsy flips and twists out of their grasp, taking advantage of his flexibility to pull off increasingly ridiculous dodges. He neatly sweeps both Whiskey and Tequila’s legs out from under them.

“Little help?” Whiskey gestures lamely at Tequila.

“Nah, I’m done. Y’all are nuts.” Tequila lays on his back, putting his hat down over his face. He folds his arms behind his head. Whiskey curses at him. Tequila gives him the finger.

Whiskey grabs Eggsy by the back of the shirt--really, he should know better--and Eggsy sweeps him again. Whiskey’s ready for it this time, though, and he manages a pin faster than Eggsy can roll away. Whiskey plants himself on Eggsy’s back like he’s settling on a bull.

“Aren’t you tired? Goddamn.” Whiskey sighs. Eggsy winces at the texture of the mat against his cheek.

It reminds him of Roxy and agonizing training sessions, of hours of sweat and bruising and his face stinging from being slammed into the mat. Even past the wave of grief, he remembers the shape of her smile when she would lecture him about letting her pin him on his stomach.

“Indefensible,” she’d say, prodding the back of his ribs. “You’re a sitting duck like this.”

And every time he’d roll his eyes, hooking his fingers behind her knees--

Oh. Hm.

As best as he can, he reaches back and latches onto Whiskey’s thigh, squeezing just above his knee. Whiskey hollers and tries to phase right through the floor. Eggsy rolls them over and pursues, squeezing and squeezing until Whiskey is a wheezing pile on the floor.

Eggsy flips onto his feet. He knows he’s imagining the fond, ghostly squeeze on his shoulder, but he puts his hand on the spot anyways.

“Now I’m tired. Goodnight, fellas.” Eggsy salutes with a wide grin, stepping over both cowboys. He gathers his belongings and saunters for the door, whistling pleasantly.

Whiskey rubs a hand over his face as he stares up at the ceiling.

“Kid’s fuckin’ lucky I like him,” Whiskey grumbles, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

“Might not wanna speak too soon. He took your hat.” Tequila puts his own ten-gallon back on his head and gestures towards the door with a whistle. Whiskey growls and shoots to his feet.

“Motherfucker! Eggsy!”

#my fics #this fic truly wrote itself. i blacked out and it just happened #and then i realized i didnt properly read the prompt and then rewrote it lol #is this good? *vague mumbling and shrugging*. did i have fun? absolutely #kingsman #ticklish!eggsy #eggsy unwin #ticklish!whiskey #agent whiskey #ticklish!tequila #agent tequila #<- contenders for some of my silliest tags #theres an au in my head where roxy merlin eggsy and harry play cowboy with the statesman agents for a while #mostly bc i want cowboy roxy...#anyways ive wanted to write kingsman forever! thx for the prompt hope you enjoy <3 #also anon 'you can do it!!! thanks!!!' has been in my head since you sent the prompt. like yea i CAN do it!!! thank YOU!!!!

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psychedelic-ink · 2 years

Text

Million Dollar Man | Chapter Two - Heart in a Cage

series summary: Two years had passed since your break up with Jack, a fellow Statesmen agent. But everything re-ignites again when Champ asks you to go San Francisco to investigate the disappearance of multiple women across the country and, sadly enough, agent Malibu. While doing anything with Jack is chaos enough, you also run in to another ex, a man that actually showed you kindness and someone you thought you could spend the rest of your days with that is until he started asking too many questions about your job, Frankie Morales.

pairing(s): jack daniels x fem!reader, past frankie morales x fem!reader, eventual (+endgame pairing) jack daniels x fem!reader x frankie morales

chapter summary: Tensions rise high between you and Jack when your suspect, Arthur Dunn, manages to escape. Frankie gets wrapped up in Statesman business.

word count: 8.8k

chapter warnings: graphic depictions of violence, canon typical violence, gory imagery, mentions human trafficking, alcohol consumption, near death experience, lots of nicknames being used by Jack (buttercup, baby girl, sugar etc.), oral (receiving), dirty talking, imagined voyeurism (feat. frankie), cumming on body, piv, angst, a brief panic attack, spoilers for kingsman the golden circle

a/n: sorry that it's been so long everyone, hopefully you'll all enjoy the new chapter <3

masterlist | series masterlist | playlist | series inspo board | AO3

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The clock ticks. The air inside the hotel room is still, silent, heavy with made mistakes. Every small movement of the hour hand makes a sharp sound, it’s in sync with the beating of your heart. Your eyes flicker to the wall, the round object taunting you both. You feel suffocated, unable to breathe. Jack’s sitting on the couch, his legs spread wide as he bounces one up and down. His head snaps to the clock.

“For fucks sake–”

Hauling himself up, he stomps towards where your gaze lays and yanks the clock off of the wall, leaving a round, brighter color of plaster behind. With a grunt he throws it across the room, it shatters at impact, glass shards flying everywhere. Your eyebrows raise but you’re not surprised. Jack didn’t like failure, no one really did, but he despised it. Dragging your gaze to him, you see that he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, breathing heavily.

“You should calm down,”

“Calm down, you say?” his eyes fall to you, his hand dropping from his face. “I’m going to jerk a knot in your tail girl, it’s your fault we’re in this situation in the first place,”

“My fault?” your voice raises a pitch but you don’t get up from the bed. “How is it my fault?”

“If you hadn’t been busy flirtin’ with your man–”

“My man?” you sneer and get up, anger bubbles inside you. “You were the one groping me during the job. It was like you were marking your territory, I mean you might as well just peed all around the table!”

Silence follows your outburst. He stares at you a moment too long before lowering his gaze, Jack lets out a stuttered breath. You know you’re right but you still can’t help but feel bad. The air is still heavy with tension, pressing your nails into your palms, you tear your eyes away from him. Your thoughts return to Frankie and your last moments together at the bar. You foolishly told him that you would call, well that will soon prove to be a big fat lie now wouldn’t it?

“We should go to bed, this argument is pointless. You put a tracker on him didn’t you? We’ll follow him tomorrow,”

He stills, eyes a shade darker as he looks at you with a questioning gaze. An unsettling feeling blossoms across your skin.

“You want me to sleep on the couch?”

You know that at this point if you say yes, he’d probably spend the night on the couch. Shaking your head, you turn to the bed and pull at the sheets.

“No,” you answer, voice barely a whisper. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow, you should get some decent sleep,”

“Thank you, sugar.”

The soft baritone of his voice surprises you. He heads for the mini fridge and begins to prepare himself a drink. You're dazed, not really knowing whether you should close the light, join him, or talk about what happened earlier tonight. You think this is the closest Jack has ever come to apologizing for anything, maybe he’s actually changed after all this time. Or maybe he’s grown softer with age.

“What are you doing?”

“Pouring myself a drink before bed,” he remarks, pouring whiskey into an old-fashioned glass. The gold liquid sloshes around, the ice coming up to the surface. “You want one?”

“Sure,”

“Mind getting the lights?”

Your movements are sluggish as you walk and turn the lights off with a sheer click. The city illuminates half of Jack’s face, a soft light softening the sharp edges and hiding the other half in darkness. Your eyes adjust to the shadows on your way back, you crawl under the sheets, back pressed against the wall while you wait for Jack to join you. Some part of you almost hears a soft hum of a melody, it’s reminiscent of the times Jack would sing a lullaby to you on nights you couldn’t sleep. His southern drawl enough to relax your mind and pull it down into a peaceful slumber. The pleasant sound of liquid spilling into glass fills the room, soon he joins you, extending you a whiskey with a twist. Just how you like it.

Your pulse picks up when you feel his knee graze upon your bare thigh. Images of an airplane bathroom floods your mind, the way your body contorted with pleasure in the reflection of the mirror as he took you from behind– Swallowing, you press your legs together, the heat between them growing.

Unaware of your predicament, Jack swirls the glass and takes a sip. His dark gaze is fixated ahead, it almost seems like he’s avoiding looking at you.

“I am sorry,” he croaks, your eyes go wide. “I didn’t mean to bring out any ol’wounds. How–” Jack swallows, adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “How did you two break up?”

Your eyes flicker to him, brows knitted together as you bite the inside of your cheek. Jack clicks his jaw, fingers twitching around the glass. He takes another sip and swirls the liquid in his mouth, the moisture on his lips glistening under the city’s faint light. You’ve never seen him like this before. He’s also never asked about your relationships, even when you were together, he just didn’t seem to care. When you commented on it he’d said;

“All that matters to me is that you’re mine in current time, I don’t care about your past nor future if it’s not with me. Why pain myself with the thought of you being with someone else?”

“He asked a lot of questions,” you mutter, pressing the cool glass rim to your lips. The citrus flavor makes your tongue stick to the roof of your mouth. “You know the rules, we can’t talk about Statesman business,”

Finally he turns to you, his eyebrows drawn together as his eyes flicker between your eyes and lips.

“A technicality? That’s why you broke up with him?” he tuts. “Poor fellow,”

“Frankie was suspicious, I didn’t want to keep lying to him– He was also scared I was…doing something else,”

“Something else?”

“Never mind,” you shake your head. “Anyway, that’s pretty much it. There wasn’t much else to do at that point,”

“You could’ve told him the truth,”

“Why do you even care, Jack?”

Annoyance laces itself into your tone. Placing the half empty glass to the bedside table, you slid down into the sheets and lay on your back, staring at the dark ceiling with guilt thrumming in your ears. His dry laughter reaches you, encircling you like a snake.

“I don’t,”

“Fine, then shut up about it.”

Jack downs the rest of his drink and kicks the sheets off of him as he lays down. A broken sigh falls from his lips, a tremble in his chest when he turns to lay on his front. Again, Jack leaves you simmering in your own anger, now guilt sprinkled into the mix. He’d said it as if telling the truth was the easiest thing to do. There are rules that need to be followed. You can’t just say you’re a Statesman agent to the first person that’s nice to you.

Okay, that wasn’t fair. Frankie is much more than someone who was nice to you.

You feel like a fool. You actually thought a conversation with Jack would end up being a decent one. Shame on your part. You should know better than to hope that the man has changed. He is still the asshole you once loved. Or maybe still love. You don’t know. He brings out the worst in you. Heart heavy in your chest, the feeling of it makes you toss and turn under the sheets. With a hitched breathing, you turn to your side, back facing Jack, and curl up into a small ball. There’s no way you can sleep now. Not with your mind in a fiddle.

The silence of the room fills with your heavy breathing. At least that’s what it feels like. Tears flood your lash line, threatening to fall as whimper after whimper stumbles out of your lips. You squeeze your eyes shut, lashes now wet.

Your side of the bed dips with Jack inching closer to you. His strong arm falls above your waist and pulls you close, flush against his chest. His chin is pressed snug on top of your head, Jack’s fingers find their way under your shirt and with a hum he draws lazy circles across your soft stomach. Goosebumps burst across your skin, the fine hairs on the back of your neck raising with his warm breath raking across your skin.

“Calm down sunshine,” he mutters, voice heavy with sleep. “You worry your pretty head way too much,”

“I can’t help it,” you’re not sure what’s happening to you, a tear escapes your eye and you tremble. “You don’t understand– I just never wanted to hurt him,”

“I know,”

“He was there for me when you weren’t. He… You don’t get to say stuff like that to me. It’s not fair,”

The silence is dreadful.

His thumb still moves across your skin, but now it feels as if it belongs to a stranger. It’s uncomfortable. You can almost almost hear his heartbeat, unlike yours, it beats steady in his chest. He slowly breathes out, the soft curls of your hair move along with the puff of air. When he speaks, your heart is about to leap out from your throat.

“You shouldn’t pay much attention to me,” his words unrushed, he takes his time pronouncing every word. “I didn’t mean to pry. I certainly didn’t mean to make you feel bad,”

“Whatever, let’s just go to sleep,”

Despite choosing to be petty, you can’t help the shake in your voice. Anger boils in your gut and you want him to feel it. And he does, by the way his thumb stills on your skin and the way he pulls an inch away, the curve of his nose now pressing against the back of your head. Jack doesn’t utter another word, and soon you hear soft snores making their way out of his lips, his arm still sprawled on top of you. You don’t move away. You don’t want to. Your anger fades, his warmth caressing your skin akin to soft waves.

The tears in your eyes dry away, your heart once again beating steadily.

You take in a deep, long breath, the air that surrounds the two of you is crisp, it chills your lungs. The cold nipping your skin as you follow Jack uphill. The Santa Cruz mountains are quite refreshing compared to the hustle and bustle of the city. Noticing the soft orange rays adding color to the otherwise blue sky, you stop and turn your gaze towards the horizon. The sun is only now rising. With a sudden call that came in last night from Ginger, you learned that Arthur Dunn had fled to the top peak of the Santa Cruz mountains. Which was odd, considering Ginger told you there was nothing up there. You and Jack had gotten ready in a hurry, both of you annoyed about being woken up so early.

“I swear if you we go up there and there’s nothin’ I’m gonna throw a fit,”

Sighing, you drag your gaze away from the view and to Jack. Rolling your shoulders, you speed up after him.

“Why do you always give her such a hard time?” you scold him. “She’s amazing at her job, you know this, I know this– hell the entire Statesmen knows this!”

Jack scoffs, the tips of his mustache flickering. You roll your eyes, grabbing the straps of your bag, you hug it closer.

“She wants to work in the field you know,”

He stays silent, only the occasional branch or two napping under his boots. You lick your lips, the air has thinned, making you spit cotton.

“Why do you always vote against her?”

This was one of those questions that you were always curious about but never had the courage to ask. Ginger, for the longest time, longed to be an agent, to work in the field. She loved her current place in Statesmen and knew it was important, but she also wanted a taste of the action which you understood. But whenever she had the guts to actually put herself out there, Jack voted against it. It had to be unanimous. You hated seeing her so broken down after each vote. And this situation only added to the bad blood between Ginger and Jack. It’s an odd thing to worry about considering your own issues with him but you desperately craved a distraction.

“Look, sugar, I know she’s your friend and all but,” he stops mid sentence, gazing ahead. A second later he chews on his bottom lip and kicks a small stone. “She’s not ready for the field. Bless her heart. She’ll just end up getting hurt,”

“That’s not your decision to make Jack,”

“Isn’t it?” he keens with a wide grin. “Then tell me, why do we cast a vote?”

Touche.

His chuckle is a baritone, clear and far-reaching. He got you good, you’ll have to hand it to him.

“Still, you’re too hard on her,”

“Why the sudden queries about Ginger, buttercup? Spit it out,”

You shrug, your feet digging into the dirt a bit deeper with your next steps, “There’s nothing to spit out. Just curious,” a hum vibrates in your throat. “So, you’re just worried she’ll get into trouble huh? Get hurt?”

“I worry about everyone equally, we’re Statesmen. We look out for each other,”

“Aw, you’re just a huge pile of marshmallows underneath that mean face, aren’t you?”

“Who’s out there sayin’ I have a mean face?” he grunts, his voice a tone lower, barely audible, but the wind carries his words to you.

“Mostly me,” with a grin you gently bump your shoulder into his. “It’s nice to see this side of you. Sometimes I forget you’re actually a good person,”

“Well, you fell for me for a reason, so I’m guessing that must be it.”

That, you were not expecting. Your heart skips a beat, body burning despite the cool, morning air. For some reason you thought he wasn’t aware of how much you cared in the past, even if everything that he did told you otherwise. You suck in a deep breath, eyes watering as it burns your throat. You decide not to say anything or add to it. The constant bickering exhausted you. It ate you whole and spat you out with every word said. However, it doesn’t matter if you don’t reply to him. His sentence sticks to you like a tick, you’re unable to remove it and it keeps sucking your life source, making you feel nauseous.

You fall behind, staring at Jack’s back as his long legs take him further away. Unconsciously your hand ghosts over the rope that dangles from your waist, the material itself isn’t heavy, but it might as well be made of iron.

You must be getting closer to Loma Prieta, the highest peak the Santa Cruz mountains has to offer, seeing how Jack’s demeanor changes. He hunches over, steps having more of a jump to them as he scans between the many sequoia, pine and oak trees.

A sudden gust of wind blows, urging you to look up towards the peak. A cumulonimbus cloud swirled at the summit, its tall, column-like appearance intimidating. Very faintly, you see the color of lighting crackling among the gray, a burst of light followed by a deafening sound. Air hurls between you and Jack, the rope on your hip fluttering and slapping your thigh as you try to move forward. The sheer force of it makes your eyes water, it makes it hard to breathe.

“Did you know there was gonna be a storm today?” you shout, shielding your eyes.

“No,” Jack screams back, he slows down, waiting for you to catch up. “It might be a trick to keep people away. Do you see that?”

He points towards the top, his lips an inch away from your ear as he fights the wind so his voice can reach you. Squinting, you follow his finger. You see a small outline of a building, it’s hidden among the thick flora but you can definitely see it.

“Yeah, I guess that’s where– Shit–”

With another strong gust of wind blowing past you, you stumble back, nearly toppling . over. Jack moves swiftly and without effort, he helps you regain your balance by wrapping an arm around your waist. He pushes you back up, a glimpse of worry in his eyes.

“You alright?”

“Y-Yeah, thanks,”

His attention drifts back to the building that gets closer with every step, his arm never leaving you as you walk against the wind, it’s the best security rope you’ve ever had.

The rest of the hike carries on without another word. It’s impossible to hear one another over the wind, and as the building looms over the two of you, it’s easy to shift back into work mode. You focus your senses, eyes flickering to every sound you manage to pick up despite the storm. The lightning quickly becomes more frequent, leaves and dust lifting off of the ground. Jack pulls you tight against his body, as if he’s afraid you’ll fly away, and leans down to speak into your ear.

“We should call Ginger, she might be able to pick off heat waves of who’s there when we’re closer,”

You nod, the building finally coming into view. A moat full of water surrounds it, a handful of stairs leading up to the main facility, a glass wall bordering around it. Blue lights buzzed in the glass, the color inching up the dark gray walls. Jack pulls you down behind a bush. Funnily enough you can’t spot any guards covering the multiple entrances. Either they’re stupid, or this is a trap.

He pulls out his Statesmen glasses, the nose pieces shifting down as he puts them on.

“Ginger, you there?”

“Yes, Agent Whiskey,”

The modulated voice echoes in your ears.

“We’re here, can you tell us how many complications we should be expecting?”

Soft taps against the keyboard and her voice buzzes in your ears once more.

“I can’t get a proper reading, there’s something disturbing our channels,” she says, sounding concerned. “You two should be careful, that storm isn’t normal,”

“Figured,” you grunt. “I swear, everyone’s an evil genius these days. So annoying,”

Jack’s gaze flickers to you, a grin spread across his face.

“We don’t know if he’s a genius yet sweetheart, don’t get your panties in a twist just yet. In any case, we should head out,”

“Good–”

“Ginger Ale, wait,”

“Yeah?”

She sounds a bit surprised, and worried. Which is a common thing whenever Jack addresses anyone with such an urgent tone.

“Thank you,”

You’re pleasantly surprised. A satisfying tingle of actually getting through to the stubborn man makes you smile to no end. In fact, you’re grinning like an idiot, unable to stop despite your cheeks beginning to ache. Ginger must’ve been shocked too because she doesn’t answer for a while, the only thing indicating that she’s still on the line is her subtle breathing.

“You’re…welcome?”

When a giggle forces its way out of your tightly pressed lips, Jack shots you a glare. Ginger clears her throat.

“Anyway, good luck agents.”

And she’s offline. You can imagine her telling Tequila about this, you’re definitely going to write this moment in your diary; The day Jack actually thanked someone. God is real.

“Shut up,”

“I didn’t say anything,”

“I can see the wheels turn in your head, girl–” he huffs, brows knitted together. “It’s not that big of a deal,”

“Well it is to me,” your wide grin softens into a smile, reaching out, you delicately trace your fingers down his jawline. “And probably Ginger,”

“I don’t know why you think she cares so much about this,”

“I don’t think I know. Besides a little praise hurt no one,”

The wind blows again, and you think it drowns out the rest of your words. But he heard you, loud and clear. You fail to notice the mischievous curl of his lips, his fingers lacing into yours, he drags the inside of your palm to his lips. The feeling erodes your skin, goosebumps rising not because of the cold or the harsh wind, but because of the softness of his touch. He presses a tender kiss, the bridge of his nose nestling against the curve of your palm. Jack continues to mold his lips into your skin, moving lower and lower, until he reaches the vein curving along your wrist, your rising blood pressure makes it pop. Your breathing caught in your throat, your lungs stuttered in your chest, not knowing what to do.

“If you wanted my praise you should’ve just said so, sugarcube,” he mutters, the ticklish sensation spreads from your wrist and makes the entirety of your body tremble. “What do you want to hear? How gorgeous I think you are? How I want to devour your very being so you can’t go anywhere? How I think you’re the perfect agent for any of mission?”

Eyebrows rising, your eyes grow wide. It feels like the storm is a manifestation of your thoughts. Chaotic, spiraling, confusing. His lips move along your inner arm, the soft skin burning with every scalding press of his mouth. You’re frozen. Body unable to move. Jack reaches the inside of your elbow, the wetness of his tongue leaving a wet trail that chills as soon as he moves away.

Bells start ringing in your ears. It’s loud, shrill. Nothing but red flags appear before your eyes, the color of blood waving across your sight as his lips bury themselves into the crook of your neck.

You jump away with panic surging through your veins. Heart beating in your throat as you fall and land on your bottom. Jack looks down at you confused, lips still parted. The moment is still in time, a bubble forming around you when the heated moment turns icy cold. He licks his lips and once again the world around you shifts, time moving forward. Swallowing, Jack rips his gaze away from you and stands up.

“Let’s go,”

Never in your life could you imagine him sounding so cold. Especially towards you.

Splitting up is a rookie mistake, but one Jack feels like he is forced to do.

The clean halls echoe with his footsteps, everything is too damn white, too damn bright. He hates infiltrating and having to be sneaky, he was always a more guns blazing type of guy. And if he was alone for this mission, he might as well have done just about that. But he can’t risk it, not when you’re with him. Jack would rather get strapped up into one of those hospital beds and get experimented on than to see you get hurt because of him. He’s made that mistake once, he wasn’t keen on making it again.

However, he contradicted himself. If he really didn’t want you getting hurt, he wouldn’t have offered that the two of you should split up. He couldn’t help it. Not after seeing the look in your eyes when you backed away from him, nothing but fear swirling in them. He hated seeing you like that. He hated that he was the one causing it. He’d damaged you, hurt you beyond repair. Never would he have thought that that hurt would make you fear him. But oddly enough, that same fear gave him the power to comfort you. In a way.

Jack still remembers how you spiraled down the clear signs of a panic attack. Then, the fear, the hurt, had granted him some sort of power over you. He couldn’t quite understand it nor did he care that much about it. If it’s the fear that’s going to help you, force you to calm down, then so be it. He’d be the villain to your salvation.

He had you, but he also didn’t. A curse.

Jack’s steps slow down. Maybe he shouldn’t have let you wander alone, you’re an exceptional agent, but considering recent events, he isn’t sure how put together your mind is. Internally cursing at himself, he’s just about to turn on his heel and head back, but a loud buzzing echoes between the walls, a murmur of words following soon after.

“What was it again? Agent Whiskey? Okay, alright–” whoever is talking clears their throat. “Agent Whiskey! This is Arthur, from the bar, and we have your girlfriend so, if you don’t want me to hurt her–”

“Oh screw you, you pompous–”

Relief washes over him upon hearing your voice, until then he hadn't realized how fast his heart was beating.

A growl is heard, and it’s soon followed with a violent sound of a punch. Jack’s blood starts to boil, seeing a set of stairs heading down, he quickly makes his way towards it and goes down them two at a time. He sees nothing but red.

“Anyway, like I said, if you don’t want her hurt– at least more than she already is– I advise you to– Oh there you are!”

Jack’s pulse picks up as he sees the sharp edge of a blade digging into your neck. Your arms are tied behind you, a thick layer of sweat coating your skin. Upon noticing a dark red circling the skin of your right eye, Jack grits his teeth together, the sound of it makes his stomach churn. He sees the thirst for blood lingering in Arthur’s eyes, he wouldn’t hesitate to press the blade a little bit deeper in order to end your life right then and there. He’s holding a microphone in his other hand, which he drops as soon as he sees Jack.

“There you are, now tell me,” he leans in closer to you, his disgusting cheek pressing against yours. He notes the way you wrinkle your nose. “Why are you two looking for me?”

Jack’s fingers twitch, the tips hovering an inch away from his trusty bullwhip. He takes a slow step forward, Arthur’s gaze flickers to his feet, Jack takes another step.

“We just wanted to ask a couple of questions–”

He stops when he sees a drop of blood trickling down your neck, you hiss but instead of squeezing your eyes shut, they’re glued to Jack, searching him for any kind of silent plan he can relate to you. Sadly, he has none.

“Stay back,” Arthur squeaks, blue eyes delirious. “I can hear you fine from there cowboy,”

Jack shakes his head, hands raised. “Don’t squat on your spurs son. I’m just trying to talk, just take a breath,”

The man eyes him suspiciously which Jack couldn’t care about in the slightest. His sole attention is focused on you. He allowed this to happen. Him and his stupid ego. This is why he never wanted you for this mission, you are his poison, he can’t think clearly when he’s with you. Your smell, your voice, your touch. All of it is enough for him to relapse into his old habits. He would burn the world for you, and there isn’t a damn soul out there who didn’t know this. Well, everyone except you.

Jack meets your gaze, this time he sees no fear, only relief. He shoots you a crooked smile accompanied with a wink, a wordless signal that tells you everything would be alright. He’s delighted when he sees the faint quiver of your lips curling up.

“We just wanted to ask if you knew anything about the disappearance of multiple women,” he says, his tone lighthearted and calm, despite the storm roaring inside him. Arthur winces, which answers Jack’s question. “So you do,” he muses, cocking an eyebrow.

“I–” Arthur shakes his head. “He’ll kill me, I’m not telling you two nothing.”

Arthur steps back, a slight tremor in his arm. The unstable movement makes the blade cut further into your skin, this time your eyes do squeeze shut, your breathing hitched as a pain filled whimper escapes you.

“I might do a lot worse if you don’t let her go boy,” he threatens, lowering his arms and grabbing the handle of his bullwhip. “Choose your next moves very carefully,”

“Oh don’t worry about that,” he cooes. “I know exactly what my next move is,”

There’s a press of a button and you vanish, the sound of wind rushing inside as raindrops loudly hit the metal floor. Arthur’s grin spreads wide and wicked.

You’re gone.

“How about that, now I have only one of you to worry about. Isn’t that lovely?”

“Greyhound!”

There’s a shake in Jack’s movements. He lunges towards the giant door Arthur had opened up, he ignores the needle like sensation of the cold raindrops and throws his bullwhip forward, hoping that the end of it will catch you and bring you up to safety. But before he can get a clear sight of you, Arthur comes in between him and the door, striking a knee right into Jack’s ribs.

“She’s gone son,” he mocks, he lifts a foot, and stomps it into Jack’s chest. The air gets knocked out of his lungs, chest squeezing tightly. “Now I’ll just have to kill you and that’ll be that,”

Jack doesn’t move. His body feels like it’s nailed to the floor, all sensations of life draining from his limbs. He remembers all those times he woke up drenched in sweat after being shown horrid images of losing you. Now, his body is fading into the same routine of paralyzation. The moment of Arthur throwing you down the mountain plays out before him in a loop. He can’t move, he can’t speak, his vision blurry with dark spots hovering above him. His mouth is dry as a desert. He actually did it, you’re gone, and it’s because of him. He can’t even process it. A world without you? Without your voice, your nagging and glares. Is that a world even worth living in?

His eyes follow the way Arthur’s lips move but he can’t hear him, a sheer ringing in his ears makes everything else fade away.

The last thing he sees is the light bouncing off the blade and blinding him.

All he feels is the grief running through him, making him unwilling to defend himself.

“Greyhound!”

That’s the last thing you hear before the ground disappears from underneath you, the blade replaced with the harsh chafe of the wind and the sting of rain. The scenery of mountains spin before your eyes, it makes you feel sick, bile rising up to your throat.

It takes you a moment before you realize that you’re falling.

“Shit shit shit!”

You adjust your position by drawing large circles with your arms, heaving a breath of relief, you stop madly spinning in the air and fall horizontally, at least now you have a bit more time until you break like a watermelon against the earth’s crust.

The sting on your neck is still fresh, pain blossoming as the wind passes through you. Horror and dread thrumming in your ears, you forcefully pull your hand up to your earpiece and manage to call Ginger.

“Agent Greyhound!” she shouts, making you wince. “What happened? Where are you? Your heart rate is off the charts!”

“I’m falling!” you shout back, panic laced in your voice. “Ginger I’m gonna fucking die what do I do? Help me out–”

A furious staccato of clicking echoes in your ears and Ginger’s modulated, also panicked, voice follows.

“Alright I locked in your coordinates and I’m sending aerial support right now but I need you to slow down,”

“And how will I do that?”

“Which shoes are you wearing?”

“I do not think now is the best time to criticize my wardrobe Ginger!”

The grassy ground grows closer and closer, fear spikes in your gut as death looms over you.

“Are you wearing the Statesmen issued boots or not?”

You vaguely remember putting them on this morning, groaning as they squeezed your feet.

You nod despite her not being able to see, then you add, “Yes– fuck– yes!”

“Click the heels together,”

“What?”

“Just do as I say and click the heels together!”

It’s hard, moving your feet closer together as you’re falling, the wind forcing them apart, but somehow you manage to click them together. Heat spreads across the soles of your boots and a faint hiss reaches your ears.

“Now move yourself so you’re falling vertically, like when you’re using a jetpack,”

Without a word you do as you’re told. Frantically moving your arms, you finally take the position and you notice that instead of falling like a brick now you’re floating…again like a brick but you’re not going as fast as before.

“Good, that’ll win us sometime,” more clicks follow. “It should be there in two seconds,”

“What should be here?” your heart is still racing in your chest, the need to throw up now stronger than ever. “Also, shouldn’t you tell us that these uncomfortable shoes have other utilities?”

“We gave you two a pamphlet–”

“No one reads those things,”

“Well maybe you should,”

You sigh, your eyes fearfully looking down at the ground. It’s still growing closer, it’s going to take you a while till you hit the soil.

“How about we argue about this when I’m on solid ground,”

“Agreed,”

A soft hum echoes in the air and wires strap around your waist, your arms, then, just like that, your descent down turns into the opposite. Looking up you notice a rather large drone with the Statesmen logo on it, thank god.

“Remind me to buy you a drink after this,” you mutter into the air piece.

“Noted. I’m free this saturday,”

Your body relaxes when the wind that was cutting into your skin ceases to exist. But that didn’t mean that the gusts coming from the storm didn’t send chills down your spine. The feeling reminds you of Jack, his blood curdling scream as you fell. Your heart beats with fear, you know that in a regular fight Jack can beat the likes of Arthur, but the circumstances are different. Rage will consume him, which is certain to bring his doom.

“Is Jack alright?”

“Not for long,”

Something bad is happening, you can hear it in her voice. You’re scared. Fear consumes you the same way rage would consume Jack. You can feel it sizzling across your skin, blood boiling within your fingertips.

“Shit– he’s not listening to me,” Ginger’s tone is hushed, worried. “Greyhound, get ready.”

The wires uncoil around you as soon as your feet grace the floor you were thrown off of not moments ago. Your eyes immediately land on the scene that was playing out, Jack on the floor, defeated with Arthur’s foot pushing him further into the surface. Why wasn’t he fighting back? Why wasn’t he–

Time stops.

You see the reflection of light in the blade, Arthur’s hand raised up as he clutches the handle of the knife, you can see the white of his knuckles.

Ironically enough, you were never one for needless violence. It’s something you frequently berate to your fellow agents, they make a show of the blood and gore. Especially Jack. He loves a good show.

But not you.

When time begins to flow again, everything around you moves in slow motion.

The blade begins to descend down. Jack’s eyes read no emotion, there’s no light in them, no nothing. No force of survival. He doesn’t know you’re there. He doesn’t know you’re safe.

With an iron cold gaze your fingers expertly remove the lasso from your waist. You hear the crackle of electricity as you throw it forward, the blue lighting blinding. It lights the room as if there’s a million news reporters inside.

You blink.

You miss the moment rope cuts deep into his flesh, the sizzling echoing as screams accompany the sound.

When you open your eyes you see the blood splattered across both Jack’s and Arthur’s outfit. Tiny droplets of red serving proof of the violence that entails for this job. Your stomach churns, the taste of bile returns to your tongue. It’s a sickening sight and you do whatever you can not to move your eyes towards the lifeless limb that’s an inch away from Jack’s face. The fingers still loosely holding the blade.

Arthur’s head snaps towards you, his other hand holding his wrist that now attaches to nothing. His eyes bore into you, anger and hatred evident in them.

“You fucking bitch!”

When Jack’s eyes meet yours, it’s like witnessing life being born. The light comes rushing back, his dark brown eyes now sparkling with specs of gold. His lips curl with disbelief and amazement.

“You’re alive!” he shouts, his giddiness contagious as you smile back at him. “How on earth did you manage that?”

“I told you, Ginger is really good her job,”

“Well I’ll be–”

Arthur glares down at Jack but before he can utter another word, Jack punches him square on his jaw. He falls back, falling unconscious as soon as his head meets the marble. Without casting Arthur a second glance, Jack gets up and hurries towards you with wide arms. He pulls you in for a tight embrace, the smell of pine and sweat engulfing you as you return the gesture with a hug of your own.

“I’m so happy you're safe buttercup,” he mutters, his heart beating fast. “It’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have–”

His voice breaks and so does your heart. Pulling back, you hold his face between your hands, your gaze soft as you stare at him.

“It’s alright. I’m safe. Nothing’s going to happen to me, I’m right here,”

“And you’re sure you’re not hurt?”

“Positive,”

“Okay,” his breath hitches, chest stammering. “Okay– I just–” he cuts himself off with a sigh and hugs you again, pressing your face into his chest. You hear his next words through the earpiece. “Ginger send in a cleaning crew. We got our suspect.”

Everything had been wrapped up in a pretty red bow in the end; Arthur was brought in for further interrogation by Statesmen, they were also investigating the odd storm and the rest of the building. Meanwhile you and Jack had headed back for your last night at the hotel.

Emotions still run high as you close the door with a push of a heel. Jack hadn’t said much during the road back, and him being silent always worries you. He throws his hat and jacket on to the couch and turns to you, you meet his gaze, warmth blossoming within your stomach when his eyes rake your body.

“Come’re,”

You don’t let him say it twice. Walking up to him, you just stare silently as he cups your cheeks, fingers gently caressing the skin, thumb grazing across the bruise that had gotten darker with time.

“I need to touch you sweetheart,” he groans. “Can I?”

Your eyes grow, and you blink rapidly. You’re surprised by the softness of his tone, melted caramel licking the inside of your ears. You sigh, nodding slowly. Jack leans forward, capturing your lips in mellow kiss. They move against yours sensually, he tilts his head, tongues shyly touching one another with deep gasps of each other's air. He takes a step, urging you to do the same but backwards. His lips and tongue devours you until the back of your knees hit the end of your bed, as you fall, his hand nestles above the small of your back and lays you down gently.

“Jack…” you whisper and his eyes flicker to you, hands ghosting across your clothes as he crawls above your frame. You hadn’t turned the lights on. The familiar light of the city elevates his features like the night before, only this time it casts a soft yellow, a heavenly glow. An angel. Your lips brush against his, your words seeping into his skin. “Jack, I need you, please,”

He doesn’t mock you. Doesn’t tease you. He licks the seam of your lips right before his mouth travels south, teeth nipping the sensitive skin of your neck. Your back arches, the wetness between your legs growing with every touch of his body.

Jack strips you slowly. He takes his time, paying special attention to move his fingertips across every patch of your skin. While he removes your bra, his thumbs ghosts over your peaked nipples, you gasp, pushing more of the flesh into his open palms. He accepts the offering, squeezing them as he would a ripe peach. Then he leans in, taking a bite of the sweet fruit. You press your thighs together, moaning as he takes bite after bite, savoring your taste with the swipe of his tongue.

Your hands move on their own accord, ripping away his stubborn buttons and throwing his shirt to god knows where. He chuckles, breathy and silent, as you spread your fingers over his chest. Jack pushes himself up your body, allowing you to trace your tongue across his sternum, your fingers pressing into his nipples. He quivers at the feeling, chin touching the top of your head as his breath hitches.

“You have quite the appetite,”

“I could say the same thing for you,”

“You haven’t even scratched the surface of my hunger yet, pretty thing. I'm starving.”

A disappointed whine parts from your throat when he slides down your body. But your disappointment is short lived as he pulls you to the edge of the bed, ass loosely hanging off, Jack throws your legs over his shoulders, face only an inch away from your core. His glance meets yours and you see nothing but the dark pits of lust. You whimper, body aching for his mouth. Without removing your underwear, he dips in, pressing the curve of his nose into your sex and inhaling deeply. His eyelids flutter, a groan rippling in his throat, he presses his mouth, tasting the remnants of your slick from over the already damp cloth.

Only images of curse words you so desperately want to say appear before your eyes, you’re unable to speak, the pleasure making nothing other than moans fall from your lips. Jack continues to taste you, the sound of his deep breaths making slick drench the fabric. Pulling back, he removes the undergarment, hence stripping you of the last thing separating you two. Jack spreads your folds with his fingers and blows a puff of air, grinning wickedly as he sees the way your cunt flutters around nothing.

“Jack stop playing with your food,” you hoped to sound more coy but instead it came out desperate and needy.

He stays silent. Allowing the words to linger in the air right before gliding his tongue between your folds, the tip ending on your clit, he presses against the sensitive bundle of nerves. The sudden burst of arousal makes your hips jolt, his tongue delves deeper, tracing the rim of your entrance before pushing through the tight muscle. Your hands find their way into his short hair, tugging at the dark locks, you pull him closer.

Life is nothing but fleeting moments of chance. You could’ve died today. The same Statesmen agents that took away Arthur might’ve been scraping your remnants instead. And that would be it, the end of your journey. Life is delicate. The slightest breeze capable of altering your life course just like that. And that thought alone makes you yearn for the man eating you out like a starved man, you’re restless, nails scraping against his scalp as you pull him closer and closer. At this moment you don’t care if you’re needy, desperate. You don’t care if the two of you should be doing this considering your past.

You just don’t fucking care anymore.

“Jack just fuck me, pelase,” you cry out. “I can’t take it anymore,”

“Not yet baby girl,” he groans into your core. “Want you to cum first, come on you can do it for us,”

“Us?”

You open your eyes, vision blurry, did you hear him right? Did he just say us? Your gaze lands between your legs, your breath hitches when you see that he’s already staring at you, a subtle curve of his lips peeking up.

“I want you to close your eyes sugar, will you do that for me?”

Nodding, you fall back and allow your eyes to flutter closed.

“Good girl,” he purrs. “Now, wouldn’t it be fun for you to cum all over me while your darling Frankie watches? Hm?”

It doesn’t take much for you to imagine Frankie there, your back arches, a wanton moan slipping past your lips while Jack’s fingers start to play with your clit. He mouths against your folds, still talking, pulling you further down into the darkest parts of your imagination.

“He’s right there isn’t he? Sitting on the couch, stroking himself while watching me give you pleasure. He’s hard as a rock isn’t he? Tell me girl, tell me how big his cock is,”

Your legs tremble and you fear you’re about to lose it. Unshed tears sting the corner of your eyes, heart beating at a maddening pace. He makes you imagine it so clearly that you can almost hear the lewdness of Frankie fucking his fist, his eyes focused, curls sticking to his head from the sweat– You gasp, rolling your hips into Jack’s mouth. He swipes his thumb over your clit once more before pushing two fingers in, your eyes roll back, your body tingles with want and need.

“Answer me,”

“He’s–” you swallow, mouth feeling incredibly dry. “He’s big–”

“Bigger than me?”

“T– fuck – Thicker than you, but–” you’re cut off when he purses his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking it into his mouth, your fingers tightens around his hair. “Y-You’re longer,”

He hums, pulling back briefly to mutter another question into your core.

“And what do you want him to do now, sweet girl?”

“I-I want him to kiss me while you make me cum,” you gasp.

His chuckle vibrates around your clit, the sensation makes your thighs close around his face. You can’t make out the line between what’s real or not anymore, you swear you hear footsteps nearing the bed.

“Can’t really kiss you and lick you but I can offer this,”

Light flashes before your eyes at the way he rolls his tongue after each word. And before you know it, you feel two wet fingers nudging at your lips. Greedily, you open up and suck him into your mouth, groaning at the bittersweet taste of yourself and the taste of his skin. Your lips move along his fingers as if you’re actually kissing someone, and after that no more words are spoken, Jack licks, sucks and nibbles. He doesn’t stop and soon, he has you cumming heavily into his mouth.

He slurps hungrily, licking between your folds until he’s satisfied that he’s taken in every single drop. The sheer force of your orgasm makes your head spin, your breathing uneven and quick. You feel like you’re dying. It’s too much. The thoughts of Frankie, the lewdness of Jack’s mouth, all of it builds up inside you, wetness blossoming between your legs again–

You bite his fingers.

“Ouch!”

Jack pulls back his hand and his mouth. Your dazed mind is only capable of making you whine and nothing else. Even then you’re still not quite aware of how hard you bit him, or if you even bit him at all. Only when he’s crawling up your body, muttering something along the lines of “you wild thing” you realize what you’ve done. A semblance that you need to apologize flickers in your muddled mind, but before you can, his lips press into yours. Jack sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, teeth gently biting into the soft flesh and when you meet his gaze, his eyes sparkle and a sting of pain breaks out across the skin.

“Ow!”

He releases you with a child-like grin, both hands cup your breast and at the same time he mouths the underside of your jaw. It’s hard to stay mad at him when he’s treating you so well. The pain almost dissipates immediately, leaving only a pleasurable tingle in its wake.

“Want me to fuck you now?”

“That would be ideal, yeah,”

When he slides into you, it’s so natural that you think that you imagine it. Jack buries his face into your neck, both hands gripping your head and pushing you back to have you expose more of your skin. He feasts as he thrusts into you, his strokes languid, forcing you to feel every inch.

It doesn’t take him long to dangle you over the edge once more, the coil ready to snap as his hips picks up, fucking into you nice and hard. He breathes heavily, teeth sinking into your skin. Without an ounce of fight, you moan his name, over and over again. Begging, crying, heaving.

You see a bright flash of white, mouth opening wide as you gush around him, cunt throbbing almost painfully while he continues to rock his hips.

“That’s it baby,” he rasps. “Break down, let me feel you–”

And suddenly you’re empty, cold. His body towers over you with his cock in his hand, soon you feel the scolding heat of his cum painting your worn out body. He heaves a sigh, head falling back as his lips part with your name. You watch as his body relaxes, he’s mesmerizing, and when he looks down at you, your heart nearly stops. Jack’s eyes are clouded when he leans down, his open palm smooths his seed over the skin of your stomach, you can see the way his eyelids flutter, his face full of something you can only describe as sorrowful. You’re not quite sure why though, there’s something else poisoning his mind and heart, something besides you.

Opening your arms, you wrap them around his broad shoulders and pull him down, the weight of his body makes you feel safe, secure.

When you wake up the next morning you see Jack sleeping on the couch, fully clothed and clearly ready to move on.

Maybe you should too.

It’s good to finally be back and fall into your natural routine. You greet the other agent with the tip of your head, smiling to the ones who smile back. Jack’s sitting right across from you, looking at Champ’s direction. He hadn’t spoken a word to you since the last night at the hotel, so, business as usual. Tequila sits right next to you, his shoulder pressed snug against yours as he leans in and whispers about getting drink later on, just you, him and Ginger.

When everyone takes their places, you notice Ginger at the end of the room and the lights go off, burying everyone in complete darkness. However, it doesn’t last long as Ginger slides her fingers across the surface of her trusty tablet. A hologram appears in the middle of the table, a faint shade of blue lighting up the faces of everyone inside.

“Has the suspect said anything useful yet?” Champ speaks, his voice strong.

“Not yet,” Ginger replies, eyes focused on Tequila. “But he’ll speak soon. Meanwhile we found someone else who’s been in contact with one of the victims,”

The hologram shits and shows a still frame of the outside of a crowded bar, squinting, you lean closer. You note a blond woman, tall and beautiful. But you’re not interested in the victim, rather you’re interested in who’s standing next to her. A familiar looking man. A man with a ballcap, his hand on the small of her back, seemingly guiding her inside.

“Who’s that?” Tequila asks and you feel your pulse pick up.

“That’s the last person to have seen her,” Ginger answers. “And his name is–”

You breathe out.

“Frankie,”

Everyone’s curious filled gazes turns to you, and you immediately regret speaking out. Anxiety squeezes around your heart, you feel faint. Pushing back your chair, you stare unblinkingly at the smooth surface of the table.

“Do you know him, Agent Greyhound?”

Champ’s question echoes in your ears. You want to say no. You want the earth’s crust to swallow you whole. Frankie can’t be involved– There was no way that he was–

“We both do actually,”

You look up, pulse quickening as you and Jack exchange a brief glance. His eyes comfort you but you still read no emotion in them. He’s become a blank slate.

“That’s good,” Champ clasps his hand together, you jump at the sharp sound. “You two can carry on with the investigation then.”

You can’t concentrate for the rest of the briefing, you fail to notice that Jack’s gaze never leaves you.

a/n: to be notified of future works follow @psychedeliclibrary and turn on notifications <33

#jack daniels x reader x frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #jack daniels x frankie morales #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #million dollar man #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x f!reader #jack daniels x fem!reader #jack daniels x f!reader

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echothefandomeater · 2 years

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Star Wars

Oneshots

Rain and Pining (Commander Cody x GN Jedi!Reader)

New Glasses (Bad Batch x GN Reader)

Oh What a Man (Captain Rex x AFAB Non Binary Reader)

Best Thing to Happen to Me (Modern!Obi wan x GN Teacher!Reader)

Like a Big Brother (Platonic Commander Wolffe x GN Padawan!Reader)

A Frustrating Lord PT2 (Anakin Skywalker x Reader, Regency era AU)

Reflection in Hyperspace (Tech x GN!Reader)

Hero Complex (Echo x GN!Reader)

Later (Echo x GN!Reader) -Spoilers for TBB season 2-

Series

Nothing here yet :)

Teeny Ficlets

Bad Haircut (Commander Cody x GN Jedi!Reader)

All For you (Sith!Obi wan x GN Jedi!Reader)

Marvel

Oneshots

Homemade Fluff (Scott Lang x GN Reader x Hope Van Dyne)

Kingsman: The Secret Service and The Golden Circle Oneshots Lean On Your Team (Eggsy x GN!Reader x Agent Whiskey)

#echo writes #my masterlist #my writing #masterlist #star wars #marvel #the clone wars #kingsman golden circle #kingsman secret service #kingsman fanfiction

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theodorebasmanov · 2 years

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I’ve rewatched “Kingsman: The Golden Circle”. (I guess Spoilers! Well, they are going to start at some point.) Swedish Princess drinking with English hooligans is a raver funny scene. The “first dinner with parents” scene, however, was so embarrassing! Empathic embarrassment was so bad. Since I’m rewatching and not surprised and devastated anymore, I have a few questions: What’s the sense of detecting incoming missiles if, firstly, you do it only when it’s a few seconds away, secondly, you anyway can’t do anything with it? Can’t think of anything aside from dramatic effect. Eggsy and Merlin (I have just found out that his name is Hamish) getting drunk, was a very lovely scene – “Another shot for Scotland?” Some more questions, this time about Harry and his “death” in the previous movie: Why didn’t you go to get his body? Why didn’t you become nervous, when you didn’t find it? I understand you had other problems, but after that, weren’t you planning to hold a proper funeral for Harry? The scene in the bar was pretty sad in the beginning - I’m so sorry Harry, I’m so sorry. By the way, with all my love to British gentlemen – a whip was cool as hell, especially counting that it’s almost the “Lasso of Truth” (you won’t want to lie when you can be electrified at any moment). Was that a reference for “The Bucket List” in the mountains? (There were two very old man – a white and a black, both seem to be sick.) A lovely one then. Oh my god, the assault of Poppy’s base… I don’t know if they’ve ruined John Danvers for me or gave him additional deep meaning. Anyway, I’m very dead, because I love Merlin, so much. Sir Elton is so cool and so is the action scene with “Saturday Night’s Alright”. The ending seemed pretty inspirational too. Don’t even get me started on actual politics, the only thing I can say – they got the President so right, that I can barely see the bloody difference. Oh no, I can, the impeachment was too fast. P.S. Fan fact, in the translated version she’s agent Cola, not Ginger Ale.

#movies #kingsman #kingsman the golden circle #harry hart #eggsy unwin #hamish mycroft #elton john #colin firth #julianne moore #taron egerton #mark strong #halle berry #pedro pascal #galahad #Merlin

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fuckyeahpedropascal · 1 year

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Near death experience: who does it best?

Joel Miller v Jack Whiskey Daniels

• Masterlist •

Stress: Joel v Javier

Holding a mug: Joel v Dave

Inhaling food: Joel v Pero

#pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal #tlou spoilers #the last of us spoilers #joel miller #kingsman golden circle #agent whiskey #jack whiskey daniels #pedro pascal polls #fuckyeahpolls

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cocoabubbelle · 1 year

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Watching “Scooby Doo, Where Are You?” (1969-1970 CBS) + Thoughts

Episode 11: A Gaggle of Galloping Ghosts

I dare you to say the title five times fast.

Never have I ever seen a werewolf with purple skin.

Animation Goof: Velma has two large moles/freckles/zits on each cheek for a few frames.

“Fortunetelling is all nonsense.” You hang out with a talking dog honey. Just saying.

Fortune teller has a jaw that can hammer nails. Oh, and red eyes.

Shaggy: *doesn’t believe in werewolves.*

Also Shaggy in a few years:

Fortune-Teller may or may not be in league with the purple-skinned werewolf.

Velma, a teenager, dismisses the threats of a person dressed up as a vampire. She is lucky she’s in a kid’s cartoon and one of the heroes, otherwise she’d be in potentially fatal trouble for being a smart aleck.

Daphne is too stunned to run away from the vampire-turned-bat with the rest of the gang and is trapped on the other side of the redrawn drawbridge because the writers want to remind the audience she’s supposed to be the damsel in distress.

With Fred’s help, Shaggy and Scooby swing over the moat and an alligator to lower the drawbridge and help Daphne. If screenshots were allowed, I would post a pic of the disgruntled alligator’s expression 😆

Despite repetitive experiences that demonstrate why Scooby is not an effective guard dog bc of distractions/fear, the Scooby Gang keep assigning him that role.

Animation goof: Shaggy apparently has not one, but two Adam’s apples.

Another animation goof: Scooby ran away from the purple-skinned werewolf exiting the scene from the viewer’s left, yet was hiding in the suit of armor seen on the viewer’s right when he saves Shaggy.

Scooby hides in the piano, and I am a horrible person for giggling when the lid slams on his tail and makes him yelp.

Shaggy’s skill as a ventriloquist is put into use again (see episode 7)

Scooby uses the ivory keys from the now destroyed piano to intimidate the werewolf. This works. I call shenanigans.

Shaggy’s body’s usual reaction to normal physics is questionable at best and impossible at worse. Also, his quick thinking trap works better than most of Fred’s planned ones. His life-preserving instincts are the only reason why he and Scooby didn’t just unmask the purple werewolf right then and there.

Frelma (Fred x Velma) moments as they try to find Shaggy and Scooby (they forget to mention Daphne.)

I’m gonna take a wild guess and guess that the vampire keeps transforming into a bat via a projector.

You’d think that for a smart girl who always loses her glasses, Velma would have found a way to keep them secure on her head or have them attached to some kind of necklace to keep them from falling. But nope; visually impaired people getting into trouble because of blind shenanigans is apparently more interesting and funny to watch.

Shaggy and Scooby: _?_ happened. This calls for a snack! Honestly? Valid and Relatable.

Shaggy how would you know ‘pickled vampire wings,’ ‘werewolf snacks: chunky style,’ and ‘new and improved fried moonbeams’ are yucky if you don’t even try them?

Scooby opens a door that not even 3 seconds ago he claimed was locked.

In the midst of escaping the Frankenstein’s monster, Shaggy and Scooby fall through an entrance that closes behind them, and we don’t see what becomes of them as the mechanisms turn ominously. Since there are more episodes and seasons of this show aimed for all audiences, we can assume they are fine and haven’t met their demise via a meat grinder. (Spoiler alert for those who haven’t watched accidentally came across the ending of The Kingsman: The Golden Circle while scrolling through the tv channels)

“This must be the playroom; there’s so many interesting toys.” Blind Velma in what looks like a medieval torture chamber.

Iron Maiden (the contraption, not the band) is sus.

Aaaaw. Shaggy x Velma moment when revealed he carries an extra pair of her glasses for her!

FINALLY they find Daphne!

I knew that Iron Maiden was sus.

Scooby is not a coward and actually attacks Dracula with the rope Shaggy and Velma use to help Daphne out of the dungeon. Good boy Scooby!

Iron Maiden is a secret passageway because of course it is.

Somehow the girls accidentally get split off from Shaggy and Scooby while traveling down a single dark hallway, but at least they find Freddy.

I don’t see why only Velma is the only one known as the smart one, as all members of the Scooby gang have shown several times they are intelligent as they are resourceful. Daphne proves it again by finding and writing down a secret message that serves as a clue to who these costumed weirdos may be.

We cut to Scoob and Shaggy having somehow gotten into a short ventlike area of the hallway and are crawling out. How???

What the heck is a Rumpus room?

Early Shaggy and Scooby are a lot more mischievous than in later adaptions it would seem. You guys are teenagers (yes including Scooby idc how old he’s supposed to be in dog years), what makes you think blasting a potentially dangerous costumed man with a hose is a good idea?

Scooby accidentally gets waterboarded.

You know what I said about everyone being as smart as Velma but in different ways earlier? Shaggy and Scooby are determined to prove I’m wrong by messing with mysterious chemicals. At least they’re smart enough to not drink the concoction.

Apparently they made a smelly smoke/flash bomb. Accidental or Chaotic Geniuses?

Guys seriously why aren’t you looking for your friends??? Why are we wasting time messing with mad scientist stuff? Did the writers not have any better ideas???

Oh finally Frankenstein’s Monster scares them away.

Scooby and Shaggy save themselves from experiencing what could have been a potentially dangerous rollercoaster ride down the stairs.

Fun Shelma back to back banter.

Shaggy is a lot more sarcastic than I remember him to be from my childhood.

Dracula-in-the-Coffin!

Shaggy and Scooby plan a makeshift trap. Will it work better than Freddy’s previous traps?? *there are 4 min left of footage* 🤨

As expected, the trap doesn’t do much. In other news, the coffin is revealed to be yet another type of secret passage.

I knew that Fortune-Teller was sus.

Scooby indirectly reveals that the Fortune Teller is actually Dracula and chases him down. Scooby is all sorts of impressive this episode.

What? Yet another competent Police Officer who reveals the criminal’s identity to the audience? What sorcery is this?

“Yes, and I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for these blasted kids and their dog.” YOU WERE SO CLOSE TO SAYING THE LINE! SO!!CLOSE!!!

Scooby Gang wonders about the flying bat when they should be wondering if the criminal was all of the monsters in multiple places at once or if he had a gang that’s been arrested with him or still on the loose.

Day 11 of no “And I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for you meddling kids!”

#hanna barbera #shenanigans #scooby doo where are you #scooby doo #scooby #shaggy norville rogers #shaggy rogers #daphne blake #fred jones #velma dinkley #wow it’s been a while #shelma #shaggy x velma #velma x shaggy #frelma #fred x velma #velma x fred #scoob

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obsessedwithpedritoofc · 2 months

Text

Oᴠᴇʀ Hɪs Dᴇᴀᴅ Bᴏᴅʏ (Jᴀᴄᴋ "Wʜɪsᴋᴇʏ" Dᴀɴɪᴇʟs)

ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels × Male Reader.

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 3,2 k.

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: Your boyfriend used to spend a lot of time outside, often putting his job as his top priority. After almost coming dead to you, you grow tired of it all and try to convince him to quit.

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: fluff, descriptions of smut, angst, established relationship, pet names, mentions of death, abandonment, spoilers of "kingsman: the golden circle" if you squint, no physical descriptions of reader, no use of Y/N (reader is referred to as Lost). (lmk if i missed any).

𝔸/ℕ: hellu dropping some more angst over here hehehe. as always, ill post something less angsty next so you can clean your tears and be happy before i post another angsty thing hehe. anyway, hope you like it. enjoy <3

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

He was finally back.

After being out for a week and having you the whole day waiting for him like a puppy, he came back home. As soon as you heard the clanking of his keys on the entryway table, you got up from the couch and ran to him. He caught you right in his arms when you jumped at him, spinning you around in the air as you left small kisses all over his face.

"How's my baby boy doin'?", Jack let you down and smiled down at you before giving you a decent kiss on the lips.

"I missed you", you pouted, leaning in for another kiss.

"Me too, beautiful", he held you tight against him, pausing to let out a sigh and take a deep breath of your scent. He had missed you, a lot. "How's my pretty fiancé been this week?".

That's right. You and Jack were engaged. Well, you had been for almost two months —he had been the one to propose, but you would have done it if he had given you some more time to actually come up with the idea of proposing to him, which you hadn't even thought of in all the time you were together. You loved him, you were so in love with him, but you used to focus on the fact that his job required him to be pretty far away from you for long periods of time, and that sometimes made you regret having fallen in love with him. It's not like you could persuade him to quit either. He was devoted to helping people, devoted to Statesman. That's actually one of the reasons why you fell in love with him. And right at the moment you didn't have the urge to make him change his mind.

"Better now that my pretty fiancé's home", you smiled up at him, getting on your tiptoes to kiss his nose. You saw how a light shade of red spread all over his cheeks. You both giggled.

"You're too cute to be true", he groaned and scooped you up in his arms, then ran to the bedroom. "Y'have no idea how much I've missed ya", he let you down on the bed and leaned to kiss his way down your neck. You couldn't help the quiet moan that escaped your lips.

"I missed you too, baby", your arms and legs wrapped around his torso to bring him even closer to you. "I'm so deprived of physical contact every time you go away", you whimpered exaggeratedly. He smirked. He knew what you were doing.

"Oh, are you, now?", his hands moved down to the hem of your shirt, lifting it just above your stomach. "Gotta change that somehow...", he crawled between your legs and started leaving open-mouthed kisses down your belly.

Soon enough, he was giving you the blowjob of your life and rearranging your guts with only his dick. Every time he did it made you remember just how much you really missed him when he was away. How much you missed his hands, the feather light touches he left all over your body as he teased you when not even five minutes ago he was hugging you tight, the feeling of his tongue licking yours inside your mouth in the most heated kiss possible, the feeling of your skin against his, your naked bodies together as he pounded relentlessly into you with his free hand on your own dick—.

And then you came. As hard as you ever had.

Jack followed suit, spilling his own cum inside you. Both of you kept moaning and panting until you could breathe more normally. Then, your beautiful fiancé made sure to clean you up, cuddle with you and take care of you in every way he could that night. He even ordered dinner so you could enjoy your night with a movie and a nice meal —and maybe another round or two of him rearranging your insides, too.

You had missed him, and he made sure that you knew just how much he had missed you as well.

Not to your surprise, you woke up to an empty bed next day. Already knowing what it meant, you still searched for Jack all around the house, but he was nowhere to be found. He had gone on another early morning mission. Again.

He had at least left a note on the fridge, where he promised you to be back soon —that very day if he was lucky— and with some nice food as a way to apologize for leaving so suddenly once again. You just chuckled and kept going with your day, like the many other times Jack had done something like that.

You waited for him. That very day —hoping he was lucky—, that week, that month. But there was no sign of him in all that time. Not a call, not a message, not a nothing.

Two weeks after he went away, you started worrying. He hadn't been away for that long. You didn't want to report his disappearance in case it would lead to an investigation of the Statesman, but sitting and doing nothing about it made you feel worse.

Still, that is what you did. Nothing. Just wait for him, hoping that he wasn't dead, crying and begging that he would come back to you soon with that nice food he had promised. You had to wait an entire month for that, though.

Another day of that torture, all by yourself waiting for your fiancé, had passed. You hadn't eaten, hadn't gotten up from bed, and had barely slept until pretty late hours.

Then, in the dead of night, you heard the door open.

Your eyes opened suddenly and you jumped off the bed, then went straight to grab the bat beside your nightstand.

You walked silently and carefully to the entryway, holding the bat above your shoulder and ready to strike the hardest blow your arms could pull off.

In the midst of all the darkness, you turned the lights on. And thank god you didn't strike that blow on your fiancé.

"Oh my god", you pulled Jack into your arms and hugged him as tight as your shaky arms allowed you to, dropping the bat to the floor. He hesitated a bit at first, but ended up hugging you just as tight.

"Sweetheart", he mumbled.

Before he could say anything else, you pulled back and fisted the neck of his shirt.

"Where the fuck have you been?", the tears streaming down your cheeks barely let you speak full sentences. "How dare you... leave me for a month, alone and thinking you might be...".

Seeing you couldn't finish, he grabbed you and pulled you back into his embrace, crying with you as you both calmed down. Finally, when you were no longer crying, you sat down and listened to what he had to say.

He told you how he had been captured by a cult that he and the Statesman were trying to stop from killing the whole state, how he had been tortured by them and how he could barely make it out of there after one of the other agents blew up the entire place.

"They did it to save the people around, honey", he said after a while of hearing you curse the Statesman with as many bad words as you knew.

"You could've gotten yourself killed! They could've gotten you killed!", you dropped weight onto the couch. "You have to quit this shit, Jack".

"You don't understand", he sat beside you. "This is my job. The sacrifice was necessary, but I was still lucky to make it out alive!", he grabbed your hands. "Why don't ya think about the good parts to this?".

"There are no good parts about this!", you pulled your hands away. "You're gonna run out of luck one day and it won't end well for you. For us", you cupped his face and pulled him close until your foreheads were touching. "Think about us, about me", you stared into his eyes, almost begging him. "I'm your fiancé. We're gonna marry soon but I need my fiancé by my side, and alive", you buried your fingers in the hair by the back of his neck, pulling him even closer to you. "Please, Jack", another tear fell down your cheek. "I need you here with me".

He took a moment, breathed deeply and let out a heavy sigh. He knew you were right. You should be his priority but he had been more focused on his job. And he knew you understood, but you weren't happy about it. You just wanted to keep him safe, out of danger, in your arms until death do you part —but you wanted death to be as far as possible from him. And he was doing the complete contrary, to yours and his disappointment. After all, he had been the one to propose to you —why was he acting that way?

"Okay", he stared back into your eyes. "I'll do it", he grabbed your face as well. "I'll quit".

To say you smiled, cried and laughed would be an understatement. You were euphoric. You had finally gotten your fiancé, your Jack, to spend his life with you and not fighting for an agency that wasn't worth his efforts and wouldn't hesitate to kill him if necessary. You hadn't been so happy since he had asked you if you would marry him.

Little did you know, his promise wouldn't last long.

You opened the door and stepped into the house late at night. Jack was already there, cooking some dinner for the both of you.

Since he had promised to be out of the Statesman two weeks before, he had claimed to have gotten another job, which required him to be away from home for the morning and most of the afternoon, but he came home just in time to make or order something to eat for when you arrived. That day was not different —you got home to Jack cooking and approached to give him his usual kiss.

That time, though, it was different.

He seemed off during dinner. He didn't almost talk to you, as he was lost inside his thoughts. He had barely touched his food or looked up from it, just playing with the pieces of chicken and vegetables in his plate.

"Jack?", you called him for the sixth time to pull him back to the real world. He threw his head up and stared at you with hooded eyes. "You okay?", you reached out to grab his hand. He looked down at them, then pulled his away from yours.

"Yeah, all good", he cleared his throat. He grabbed your plates and walked to the sink.

"Come on, Jack", you got up as well, giving him a stern though concerned look and crossed your arms. He turned around to look at you. "What's going on?".

"I told ya, 's all good".

"No, it's not. You don't get to be absent during most of dinner and answer to all my questions with monosyllables, then tell me everything's okay", you approached him and grabbed his hands. "Talk to me, Jack. Please".

He thought for a second, looking down at the floor. After a short while, he just nodded and took you to the living room.

"A'right, I'm gonna need ya to sit", he put you down on the couch, while he stood up. "I'm warnin' ya, you're not gonna like this".

"I reckoned so", you leaned back on the couch, crossing your arms again. Then you shrugged. "Talk".

Jack let out a heavy sigh and paced around for a moment before turning to look back at you.

"So", he cleared his throat one more time. "Remember when I told ya I'd left the Statesman and that I'd gotten a new job?".

That hadn't started well. Even worse than you had thought. But you just nodded.

"Well, I didn't", he let out a breath he was holding back.

"You didn't what?".

"Didn't leave the Statesman. And didn't get a new job".

You got up and walked towards the door, having had enough of his shit.

"Hey, hey!", he took your hand, keeping you from leaving. "I'm not done".

"Oh, there's more", you laughed in disbelief. "No fucking way—".

"They want me to go away again".

You turned your head in a sudden movement, your eyebrows frowned and your jaw half dropped.

What?

Not only had he lied to you about staying away from the Statesman and getting a new job, but he also had to go away again and was putting the job he had supposedly quit over you again when it should be all the way around.

"No", was your only answer.

"I have to go—".

"You're not going, Jack!", you tore your hand apart from his, still looking him in the eye. "You almost got killed last time, you're not getting killed this time", you held your tears back. "Not as long as I'm here to stop you".

"You're not stoppin' me, Lost", he looked back at you with pleading eyes. You saw in him the same expression you had been seeing the past months —the desire to stay with you being ripped from his grasp and replaced by the duty of saving the world. "I have to go", he repeated.

"Don't you dare", you grabbed his wrist with as much strength as you had left in you. "I'm your fiancé", a tear fell down your cheek. "You can't leave me again", you bit your lip to keep it from trembling. Jack cupped your face with the hand you weren't holding.

"Baby", he dried your tears with his thumbs. "The whole world's at risk", he kissed your forehead to try and calm you a bit. "If I don't go, more people are gonna die. People other than me and you. Hundreds, thousands, millions", he almost dropped to his knees. "And other worse people will be left free to do the fuck they want".

"I don't care!", you pushed his hand off your face and took a step back. "Your life is not less important than theirs. You can't risk your life, this relationship, over some shit the Statesman wants you to do. Let them do it themselves!".

"Darlin', listen. I love you—".

"Prove it!", you grabbed his hands. "Stay with me, marry me!", you looked at him with pleading eyes. "Stay safe with me".

He stared into your eyes, his own hooded. His chest hurt, he hated to argue with you over these things —he thought you were already over that, that you understood and you didn't have to fight anymore. But then again, he had lied to you, so he really couldn't ask for a better reaction from you.

"I'll go, and then I'll come back, and marry you, I'll—".

"Jack", you interrupted him. "You're not going".

He took a deep, shaky breath. There had to be a way to convince you. He couldn't leave all those people out there to die because of a drug dealer that had come out of nowhere, all because you didn't want him to die. He understood that you wanted him to stay —he would do anything in his hand to keep you from getting into an almost sure death if he were in his shoes. But he couldn't do that.

"Baby...", he cupped your face. "It'll be a week".

"That's what you said last time—".

"It's for real this time", he tried to give you a sincere smile. "I'll be back just in time, I promise. And then no more doin' stuff for the Statesman for a while. We can marry and do everythin' ya wanna".

For a while, his words resounded in your mind.

Just as there was no way to convince you to let him go, there was no way to convince him to stay.

And to tell the truth, you were tired of trying to beg him.

"Fine", your concerned and pleading expression was replaced by a stern one, just like your tone. "Go".

Jack let out another shaky breath. A brief smile was formed on his lips as he looked at you, thankful that you finally allowed him to do what he had to do.

"Oof", he pulled you into a quick hug, so quick that he didn't seem to notice you didn't hug him back. "A'right, uh... I'll spend the night here, though", he pulled away and ran his fingers through his hair. He was feeling nervous, impatient, almost euphoric. "Just gonna prepare my bag and—".

"If you walk into that room...", you stared at him, pausing to breathe as you kept your serious expression on. "If you pack that bag, I'm gone", you barely put any effort to keep the tears from streaming down your cheeks, anger replacing all the concern you were feeling before. "I'm not spending one more single day here waiting for you being all worried because you went on a suicide mission", your hands fisted at your sides. "I'm not".

He frowned. He couldn't believe what you were doing to him. You couldn't make him choose between thousands of lives and the love of his life. He couldn't make a decision like that.

"You can't do this to me, babe".

"I can", your jaw clenched. "I can't be in love with two men at the same time", you swallowed. "I need Jack, not Agent Whiskey", you huffed. "And it's clear that you can't be both of them at the same time", you took a step back, leaning on the wall behind you, and then shrugged. "So choose".

He stood silent, still, looking at you and thinking what was the right thing to do. Not only for him, but for you and the rest of the world. He knew what he had to do. It was just too difficult for him. But maybe it was for the best.

Maybe you would be better off without him.

"I love you", he mumbled one last time before walking out of the living room.

You stood there, trying to process the fact that, one more time, your own fiancé had chosen his job over you.

You weren't surprised at this point, just too mad to even move for a while.

Finally, you did. You walked into your living room and took just enough things to spend the night away. You would come back on the next day, when Whiskey was gone, to empty the house from all your things.

As you walked out, you heard him call your name behind you. You didn't turn back to look at him even once, and just tried to ignore the sound of his voice, even though that would probably be the last time you heard it.

You made your way to a nearby motel and payed for one night. You could barely sleep. Anger took the best of you that night and didn't let you close your eyes for a long while.

You looked at the engagement ring on your finger. Turns out you had forgotten to leave it back at the house. You didn't take it as a bad thing, though. You would keep that ring —even if it was locked in the back on your closet— to remind you of how much of a motherfucker Whiskey had been to you, and how he wouldn't choose to be with you over his job until he got to face death again.

You knew you wouldn't see Jack again, nor Whiskey. And part of you, not that deep inside you, wished he wouldn't come back.

Even if he made it out alive.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal characters #agent whiskey #agent whiskey fanfiction #agent whiskey fic #agent whiskey x reader #jack whiskey daniels

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