#whiskey x reader

[covetyou]

jack of all trades

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Whiskey x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: Circus AU, public sex, exhibitionism, unprotected PIV, oral (m receiving), brief fingering, creampie, is it mild bondage if it's part of a circus act?, reader is wearing a dress, optional fluffy ending. word count: 4.5k summary: A trip to the circus goes awry thanks to your meddling not-quite-nephews and a handsome stranger in a cowboy hat. Just how did you come to be bent over this barrel anyway?

A/N: clown!Dieter spawned a P-boy circus AU, and now here we are. I am not sorry.

I have an ex called Jack, so parts of this were disgusting to me, fyi. that name is tainted. fluffy ending came and hit me in the face, these two seemed too into each other to leave it there. totally optional and you can ignore its existence if you want.

divider by @saradika-graphics

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Sticky fingers clasp around your wrist, dragging your arm into the air. Your sort-of-nephews had been up to mischief all evening. What they were raising your hand for, you don't know, so you roll your eyes and play along, waggling your fingers skyward just as a beam of light hits you directly in the face.

Shit.

"Well there now, pretty lady, why don't you come on down here."

Double shit.

The voice of the man you'd spent the past twenty minutes fixated on booms over the speakers. Your not-nephews are cackling, your best friend shooting an apologetic look over their scruffy heads as a beautiful woman covered in sequins prances up the stairs to retrieve you. Before you know it you're being hauled down the steep steps, slender fingers holding you tight.

She glides elegantly over the dust covered arena floor, dragging you behind. You stumble, kicking up dust as you're pulled to the middle of the ring and left face to face with the ringmaster.

He was even more enchanting up close. The whole place was, really, but he commanded the space, dominated it, his smooth voice amplified by a microphone hidden at his hairline. You hadn't been to many circuses - none, actually - but you were fairly sure the black cowboy hat that sat on his head wasn't typical headwear for a man with his job description.

He takes one glance at you, sizing you up, before turning to his captive audience with arms spread wide.

"Looks like we found ourselves a damsel," he announces to the crowd, strutting around the ring, the tools of his trade clattering on a belt slung loosely around his waist beneath his jacket. He'd been a distraction from high up in the stand, but up close he was all consuming. You were grateful for the coat tails covering his ass, restricting your view as his hips swayed with each step.

The sequinned woman is back, tossing the Ringmaster rope threaded with something shiny. The tendons in his broad hands flex as he grips the cord, pulling it firmly and holding it up to be viewed by the crowd. At some point she approaches you too, whispering in your ear. You nod along, unable to hear a thing over the blood rushing in your ears and the distracting thrum between your legs. Standing here shouldn't be doing this to you, least of all in front of so many people, but it is. Fuck, you need to get laid.

The music ramps up, a conversation with the crowd totally missed as you fixate on the man before you. There's a distant toot toot and the ringmaster is hurrying back over to you, skillfully unfurling the rope.

"Hold this, sugar," he tells you, voice echoing over the speakers as he hands you one end of the rope. He begins to wind it around you, his long strides making quick work of each rotation. Soon, the rope is spiralled around your torso, across your hips, and winds down your legs. He tucks one end loosely into the last spiral - a kick of your leg could have the whole thing unravelling in seconds if you wanted it to.

A finger on your chin snaps your eyes to his, his dazzling lopsided smile catching you off guard as chaos erupts around you, and he's turning, quickly pulling his lasso from his belt as a group of clowns rush into the ring, galloping around on hobby horses.

Between the brilliant white lights and the galloping clowns, you don't know what's going on. The crowd seem to love it, loud cheers erupting as the ringmaster starts to swing his lasso. With a skilled flick of his wrist, he throws it, capturing one of the clowns and yanking him to the ground. The clown hits the ground with a drum roll and a crash of cymbals, rolling around before he can scramble back to his feet. The ringmaster does it again, capturing another galloping clown with a well practiced throw, one that grumbles and frowns as he's reeled in.

Every minute of chaos and clowns is another minute of sweet agony for you, stood wrapped in golden rope as you keep your eyes locked on the ringmaster in the cowboy hat. His form is elegant, skilled hands knowing the rope of his lasso better than your own know your own body.

When most of the clowns, and their hobby horses, are on the ground, rolling around with fake groans, he reaches for his whip, fingers clasping tight around the leather wrapped handle as the length snakes to the ground.

A final swing of his arm, and the whip slices through the air. a sonic boom cracks at the end of it, silencing any music and drawing a gasp from your chest. The crowd is stunned, the clowns are still, and you are painfully, unbelievably, wet.

Amazing really, how one flick of the wrist could make the sticky situation between your thighs so much worse.

By the time the clowns have rounded themselves up and hobbled off clasping at themselves in mock agony, the ringmaster is approaching you, winking before bending down to tug at the rope nestled against your leg. You can't help the twitch in your hips, rocking forward toward his face just as he takes in a deep breath. He stills momentarily, cocking his head, before finally freeing the rope, and you, and raising to his full height before you.

If you weren't mortified already, you definitely are when his eyes flick from your own, down to between your legs, and back again with a quirk of his eyebrow and a knowing smirk. Shit. The shuffle of your feet definitely doesn't help matters. This can't go on, you decide, you really need to get laid.

Escorted back to your seat, you spend the rest of the show with your legs clamped together and your jaw tensed, watching as the ringmaster comes and goes, introducing act after act, until they're all taking their final bows. Your resolve is all but gone as you watch him strut out of the ring for the final time.

Traversing crowds of revellers back to the car park, you say your quick goodbyes to your friend, her sons getting irritable now that the sugar high has ended and bed time beckons. You'll see them soon, you promise, and you turn on your heel, disappearing into the crowd once more.

You don't make it to your car.

Instead, you make the trek back to the big top, circling it until you find the crew entrance. Costumed performers are coming and going, staff hauling boxes and costumes to and fro. You wait for an opening and take it, darting into the tent as quickly as you can.

No one pays you any mind, they seem to not care that you definitely do not belong back here as you glance all around, eyes wide like a child in a toy store, making your way deeper and deeper into the backstage tent.

And there he is. The ringmaster in the cowboy hat. All suave smiles and flirty quips as he props himself against a supporting post, one ankle crossed over the other as he leans. There's a group of girls in front of him, all much younger than he is and eating up his every word. It might be sickening if you weren't so jealous of them.

You loiter, waiting for them to leave, wondering how much time you'd have to talk to him as each minute ticks by. It's then that he spots you, eyes connecting with yours as you stand awkwardly in the shadow.

He makes a quick excuse, hurries quick goodbyes, brushes his lips across four sets of knuckles, and then turns on you, making short work of the distance between you.

You don't know it then, but he's been hard, achingly so, since watching you leave the ring and head back to your seat. Every time he'd stepped backstage he adjusted his pants, letting his erection wane a little, only to head back out to your incessant stare, beautiful eyes staring down at him doing nothing but mildly torture him and make him stiffen in his pants. Over and over. Now you were in front of him, a chance dangled before him, ripe for the picking.

He reaches for your hand with his much larger one, clasping it gently. "Rude of me not to properly introduce myself back there. Name's Jack."

You try his name on for size, rolling it around your mouth a little before giving him your own.

"Got a little exciting back there, huh," he says in a low voice, brushing his thumb over his bottom lip, his eyes taking a leisurely meander down your body.

"Uh, yeah," you say, rubbing the back of your neck. "Look, I'm sorry if that made anything awkward I -"

He cuts you off with a laugh. "Woah there, sugar, never said anything about it bein' awkward now. Of course, if you got all some kind of way over the clowns, that'd be a different story," he teases with a wink.

Your eyes widen at the mention of the clowns, and Jack laughs again, revelling in the way he could so easily bring you to stunned silence. You'd barely even looked at the clowns, hardly noticing they were there save for a blur of color as they circled you in the ring.

"So what was it that did it for you?" He questions, a twinkle in his eye. "The whip or the lasso? Or was it my devilishly handsome good looks?" He cocks you that lopsided grin and you roll your eyes.

"You're unbelievable. Do you do this to everyone you tie up out there?"

"Most of 'em don't sneak backstage to find me after the show." Well, fuck, he's got you there.

Your jaw flaps stupidly, uselessly, as your brain fails to connect with any words. "I was just... It was..."

"All of the above then," he laughs. You roll your eyes and bite back a smile - he's got you beat. There's no denying that everything about the man set you on fire, scorching you from the inside out.

"Really I just wanted to... thank you. For the great show. You were incredible. Thanks for picking me to be your damsel."

"Oh, I don't get to pick, sugar." The initial disappointment at finding out he didn't pick you fades quickly. "But I do always like when they pick the pretty ones. Gives me something nice to look at. Something good to think about later, after the show." He doesn't need to say it for you to know exactly what he's talking about.

You consider your next move for barely a second - you'd come to thank him, get his number and maybe askin him for a drink, but now is your chance for something more - before taking a step forward, sliding a hand up his jacket to feign brushing something from his lapel. "That's a shame."

"A shame?"

"A shame that you have to wait until later."

His face lights up, a grin tugging at his lips once more. You're fixated on his plushness of them, watching as they form around each word. "Oh, trust me sugar, I'm thinkin' all sorta things right now."

"Thinkin' and actin' are different things entirely, cowboy."

"Is that what you want," he whispers in your ear as he ghosts a hand down the side of your arm, letting it rest softly on your hip. "You want me to act on all these thoughts?"

"Wouldn't be here if I didn't."

His lips capture yours, hands pulling your hips flush with his while mouth moves against your own. There's no push and pull, no fight, just pure pressure of you both trying to sink yourselves into the one another. You swipe your tongue against his bottom lip, dipping in and tasting the honey sweet softness of his mouth.

You pay the crew no mind - with how the man flirts they've probably seen this before. You're just another in a long list of faces that have found themselves attached to his.

"Ain't got much time 'til the next show," he pants as you still try to lick into his mouth. "If you want what I think you want, we gotta be quick about it." You nod, moaning as his hands explore the plains of your body, massaging your hips one moment, drawing blunt nails down your back the next before bunching your dress against your ass in one large fist.

"You're god damn gorgeous," he whispers, grabbing you around the waist once again and pulling you toward him. He stumbles, moving out from the shadowy place you'd occupied by the tent wall. You expect a quick getaway to a trailer, or a secluded part of the backstage, but your ass quickly collides with something solid.

"Wha-" you say, looking around to the spot he's dragged you. It's more brightly lit than where you were standing before, more exposed. He has you pushed against a barrel, legs parted so he can slot between them.

"Privacy is a luxury of time, sugar, and we got neither. Just say the word and I'll stop."

Saying nothing, you grab his belt, the large buckle glinting in the lamp-light, and tug him toward you claiming his mouth once more. You can be sneaky like this, you think, he can slip inside you as you wrap your legs around him, your skirt covering most of you.

It seems Jack has other ideas.

He spins you around, pushing you firmly against the barrel, the stiffness in his tailored pants pushing against the swell of your ass. His hands snake around you, like the rope had earlier, and grope at the pillowy soft tissue of your chest. People are still milling around, walking past and setting up for the next show, paying you no mind as he fondles you. His face nuzzles into your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. You're about to let your head lull back to his shoulder when his hands move from your breasts and push down on your shoulders.

"Oof."

The air is pushed from you with a huff as he bends you over the edge of the barrel, the rim biting into your belly as you hinge over it. He wastes no time in flipping up the edge of your skirt, bunching it at your waist and dragging his hands down over the globes of your ass.

"Think you're wet enough for me to stick it in?" he mumbles into your ear as he rubs at the damp crotch of your panties from behind. You moan into your arm. You'd been wet for most of the show, and he was about to find out.

Before you know it he's rounded on you and is pulling his cock out from his pants, giving you no time to answer. His cock stands stark and heavy, yet even as flushed and full as it is, it looks pale in contrast with the black of his pants and the bright red frame of his jacket. You salivate - wet definitely won't be a problem.

Someone runs past that moment, pulling you sharply you out of it. You're here, bent over a barrel with your dress flipped up, panty-clad ass on display, and cock hanging dangerously close to your face.

What the fuck are you doing.

A light tap on your cheek with the tip of his cock brings you back to him, a sticky drop of precum stringing between the two of you as he brings his cock closer to your lips.

You look up at him, his face shadowed by the brim of his hat.

"Don't pay them no mind, they seen it all," he says, swiping the side of his cock along the seam of your mouth. That's all the reassurance you need to stick out your tongue - the voice that told you you needed to get laid soon preening at the idea of it being here and now. The saliva that had been pooling in your mouth at the sight of it just moments ago works wonders, slicking up his length as he slides it across your tongue, drool seeping from your mouth and dripping down your tongue to fall in wet droplets to the dusty floor below. He teases his tip past your tongue, smiling fondly as you try to capture it in you mouth and suck him in with each swipe.

"That's it, get it wet. Give it some sugar, sugar."

You finally give in, grabbing his slicked length in your fist and pulling the tip into you mouth, sucking on it and swirling your tongue all around his ridge, tasting the precum your spit slicked tongue had already pulled from him. His head falls back as he groans, holding his hat to his head with his palm. You work over him, revelling in his moans as much as he'd revelled in the audiences applause, sliding your lips and hand up and down his cock.

"You're a wild one, ain't you?" he says, looking at you with the same awed expression you'd had plastered on your face during his performance. You suck on his tip one last time, releasing from your tingling lips with a soft pop.

"Uh-huh."

And his lips are back on yours, plundering your mouth, not minding that his own taste is on your tongue, a broad hand smoothing down your back to palm your ass once again. Your hand on his cock tugs, and he gasps into your mouth, a small needy thing that sends wetness trickling into your panties.

"Please," you whisper into his mouth. "Put it in me."

"Yes ma'am," he whispers, cursing as he steps behind you to tug down your panties.

He licks his fingers before swiping his spit slicked digits through your folds. Your hips twitch when they glide back and forth over your clit, before sinking into your pussy with ease. He removes them just as quick, rutting his slicked dick against your pussy instead.

"Damn, darlin', you're soaked."

The head of his spit slicked cock rubs through your glossy folds, teasing over your clit and dipping into your entrance.

"Think you can take it all in one, sugar? Ain't got much time to be wastin' here."

"Give it to me," you pant, pushing your hips back in a desperate attempt to find the tip of his cock again and draw it into you.

You don't need to wait long until he's pushing forward into you again, parting your slick walls with ease and burrowing deep into you. Maybe it had just been so damn long or maybe he was just so damn enchanting, but you never wanted this moment to stop. You're never leaving this god damn barrel. You want to take up home here and let him take root deep inside you.

You were a mess before he pushed into you, and now you're worse, sopping wet and creaming all over his cock as he slides in and out of you, his cock dragging against every ridge and bump inside of you with ease.

"Gonna make a mess of my pants, sugar. Costumin' ain't gonna be best pleased with me but, damn, if this pussy don't just feel too good to give up."

Tinkling organ music starts up as the next audience filters in to the main tent, you can hear the low hum of their voices, excited and eager for the upcoming show. You bite back a whine, the idea of him wearing your mess for an entire show, in front of that audience, too much to bear.

"Think you can come on my cock?" he whispers, draping his body over you as his fingers graze over your clit. The simple action already has you twitching, drenching his cock in yet more slick as he grinds slow and deep into you. You nod. Even with the crew around you, frantically rushing to reorganize props before the next show, you don't think you'll have a problem.

"That's it, gotta be quick now. Shit. You're nearly there already. Got your panties in such a twist you were ready to cream 'em."

You bite into your arm, moaning as his fingers quicken over your slick, engorged nub. His cock is dragging deep now, barely moving as he rocks his hips in the same slow rhythm.

A group of people begin hauling props to a side entrance ahead. You keep your eyes locked on them, their busy hands lifting and moving everything ready for the next performance. Jack's fingers are relentless, and you come undone with a silent scream around his cock, eyes still locked on the strangers in front of you. When your twitches fade, you fall limp against the barrel, Jack pressing a kiss to your neck now damp with your sweat.

"How about that, su-"

"Whiskey!" a voice shouts from nearby, and you jolt up, delirious and cock drunk, Jack's dick still lodged deep inside you. Shit.

Jack pulls back, uncovering you to the people around, people who had been drawn to look at you by the sudden noise. There had been no shame in it before, but now the horny haze was lifting, embarrassment was threatening you, heat flaring in your cheeks.

"Don't shy away from me now, sugar." It wasn't him that was the problem, it was the many people in the bustling backstage that were making you nervous. They paid you no mind before, but now the minutes were ticking down until showtime, they were all looking over, almost expectant, to see if and when their ringmaster would be finished.

"Got five minutes. Wrap this up," you look shyly over your shoulder at a tattoo'd man standing uncomfortably close. Jack keeps rocking into you, grinding deep and slow as he talks to the man.

"Just gonna empty my balls and I'll be right there," he says, so at ease he could have been talking about the weather. The tattoo'd man rolls his eyes, stepping away to start hauling out set pieces for the upcoming show.

"You gonna take it, sugar?"

You take one look at the tattoo'd man - he's still so near, he'd be able to hear everything. Swallowing, you look back at Jack and nod.

"Yeah. I want it."

"Then lemme hear those pretty sounds," and he picks up the pace, hips snapping into yours as you look around at him, eyes locked on him now that he was so ready to blow. Everyone else fizzles away, lost in the dust and low-light. The pounding in your ears and the pounding in your cunt in sync blurs out all other sound, the smell of him still so stark in your nose, even amongst the smell of dirt and cotton candy. A soft moan is all that escapes you, your breaths still ragged from your own orgasm as adrenalin races through you.

Pressure builds in you again. You won't, can't, come again so soon, but fuck if it doesn't feel so good. Large hands grip roughly at the meat of your ass, pulling you back onto him. With every bounce against his pelvis, you feel a deep moan bubbling to the surface until every thrust has a small shriek ripping from your lips.

"Ff- Jack. Oh, Jack."

"That's it. Gonna blow. You ready for it?"

"Yes, yes. Please," you pant, pushing your hips back to meet his every thrust, taking him in so deep you'll be feeling him in your bones for weeks. The harder he fucks, the louder the moans that tear from your throat, earning you looks that go unnoticed from the cast and crew that have gathered to start the show.

He stutters, his hips stilling for a second before shallowly thrusting into you. He lets out a deep groan, lowing soft and long as he releases inside you. You can feel it, the warmth of it seeping through you, drenching your pussy until it's sopping wet.

"Well if I couldn't just get lost in there for days," he murmurs, looking at you with a soft crinkle eyed smile. He bends to kiss you, his cock slipping from you as it quickly softens.

Pulling a handkerchief from an inside pocket, he wipes at the front of his pants, removing as much of your residue from him as he can as you stand, hoisting your panties back up around your hips and flipping down your dress.

"Look even more gorgeous fucked out, sugar. I'll be sad to see this pretty face go." He pulls you in to kiss you, lingering for a fraction before pulling back.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," you say softly, stroking the side of his face and smoothing down a flick in his moustache. His hat has not left his head.

"N - "

"It's showtime people, place please," a voice booms, hands clapping together harshly to get the attention of the crew. Shit.

You don't hide your disappointment, stepping away from Jack to let him get back to work. His whip and lasso are nowhere to be seen, and he still needs to grab them before the show starts. The moment is over, and so is your dry spell, you think, mentally preparing for the walk back to your car.

He's softly tugging you toward him before you can get too far.

"Now... I don't do private shows, but if you stick around, I wouldn't mind a repeat performance."

You can't help the grin that spreads across your face, and neither can he. "I'd like that, cowboy."

You wait, sitting on the barrel he'd fucked you over, stealing kisses between acts, watching as he adjust his pants to hide his stiff cock from the crowd, waiting patiently for another round with your ringmaster.

One day in the not too distant future, after months of travelling, belly heavy and feet swollen, you'll sit at a table laden with food, surrounded by your chosen family, telling the story of how your not-quite-nephews inadvertantly introduced you to the love of your life, the ringmaster in the cowboy hat.

When dinner is finished, you'll stand in the crisp air of the backyard, grateful for the off-season and a chance to settle before the chaos really begins. Large hands will wind around you, just as that rope did many moons ago, gently lifting your belly as a kiss is placed to your cheek.

"You didn't tell 'em the whole story," he'll whisper, placing his cowboy hat on the table.

"Mm, that is a story best kept just between you and me."

"And a few dozen people." You'll laugh into the chill air, clouds of white puffing from your mouth, the memory of the night that started it all so fresh in your mind. You'll turn and look at him fondly, stealing his cowboy hat and placing it on your own head.

"And a few dozen people."

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#jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x f!reader #whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x female reader #kingsman fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #jack whiskey daniels #fic: carnal-val #coveted fics

[sgt-morgan]

Of Cowboys and Daisies🐎

Summary: Jack is assigned to watch over a mother and her adorable little girl. As they get closer and closer to taking care of their problem, Jack worries he won’t be able to let go.

Warnings: AFAB! Female identifying reader, talks of cannon typical violence, death of a spouse x2, really a fluff piece.

A/N: I wrote this because I have that stupid Tik tok edit song stuck in my noodle.

Masterlist

Follow up fic

Agent Whiskey wasn’t sure he was going to survive this arrangement. Champ said it was temporary, but his idea of temporary passed about two months ago. It was a fairly simple assignment, and with everything that’s happened, an easy assignment is a lot kinder than getting kicked off the team. So he took the job, even though the rapidly approaching end of it made him want to drink until he couldn’t see straight.

“It’s a simple protection detail.” Champ had shrugged, pulling the file out of his desk and smacking it down in front of him with a sigh. “She’s a youngin’, at least to me anyway. She’s CIA, talented too, once her life is out of the red zone, I’ll probably recruit her. Sharp as a tack, quick as a whip, and she’s got the mouth of a sailor, she’s right up your alley.” Jack studies the files with interest, running a curious finger over the picture of you that was attached to the file. You were a looker for sure, he listened to champ go on, reading over your impressive and extensive file, until he ran across a bit of information that shocked him half to death.

“She’s got a baby?” He huffed, incredulous.

“Yeah, little girl, her names Daisy May, she’s three. She’s sweeter than a peach, got Tequila and Ginger wrapped around her little finger already, and Momma is just as bad.” Champ chuckled, pouring them both a glass of Statesman’s finest while Jack stared at him intent on hearing every detail Champ was willing to offer. “Her late husband was a SEAL. Top ranking, special ops, very high up on the food chain. One day she goes out to grab dinner with the baby, comes back and he’s dead with a note pinned to his chest with her cover details written all over it. Tried to deal with it on her own, then after about two months she pulls the bottle her daddy- former agent Brandy god rest his soul- left her and called us up asking us to make her disappear. So we called our buddies at the CIA, got her cleared, and we’re doing it. She’s our-specifically your- problem until we can take out whoever blew her cover.”

Jack stared at the amber liquid in his glass and thought long and hard about that one. It’s a dark story, indicative of his own. “Where are we keeping her?” He sighs, swirling the liquid once more before shooting it.

“Well son, that’s up to you. If you wanna do a safe house, that’s fine. We can radio y’all in and use satellite to do the rest, or you can use the ranch. Familiar territory for you, plenty of security, and it means we can all look after her and the little one when necessary.” Champ sighs when Jack slides his glass back over to him.

“Where abouts they from?” Jack questions, “They gonna be ok living in a ranch or am I working with city slickers?”

“Oh no, She’s originally from Prestonsburg, she’s Floyd county born and raised. They were living in Texas though. Her husband was a Texan, moved to Austin to be closer to family and all that. She ain’t got anybody but an Aunt back home, but she’s an Eastern Kentucky girl. She grew up riding horses.” Jack’s eyebrows shot up to the brim of his hat at Champs little interlude.

“Well Shoot Champ, you really shot the shit with her huh?” He laughs.

“Her daddy was a friend, and she’s just like him. She’s a good girl, you’ll like her.” Champ nodded him to the door, and Jack took the dismissal in stride. Champ had high hopes, and Jack just hoped he was right.

Reflecting on it now, it’s laughable how skeptical he was. You were a picture of perfection. When he first met you, he knew, and Daisy put the bow on top of the package.

Funnily enough his horse introduced you, Tequila and Ginger were walking you around the distillery grounds, and had stopped to let you show Daisy the horses. He found you standing outside of a stall, specifically the stall of his horse, Coke. Coke is an Appaloosa with a blanket with spots. He’s not normally friendly with newcomers, having a stubborn streak a mile wide, but Jack was shocked to see you stood in front of the Horse’s stall with no issue. You had the baby propped on one hip, with her head on your shoulder and a thumb in her mouth, and Coke’s muzzle resting on the other. You were casually talking to Ginger while Tequila stared on shocked as you fondly stroked the horse’s muzzle. Normally, everyone knew not to turn their back on his horse, unless of course you were him. Coke was known to be a jester, and liked to nip at your hair or push you around with his muzzle, but there he stood, cozying up to a woman he just met today. He stood back and kept watching, seeing what the horse was up to. He heard the horse nicker and huff, moving his head to push towards the baby and you laughed, letting the curious animal nuzzle at the girl.

“Yeah big boy,” you patted his crest as he moved his head off your shoulder to let the baby stroke his muzzle, “yeah- gentle Daisy May, be nice- yeah big boy, that’s my Daisy, you like her? Yeah, that’s the baby, are you a good boy? hmm?” You talked to the horse and he watched as you pulled a sugar cube from the shelf next to the stall and let the girl feed it to Coke. The big horse oh-so-gently took the cube from the girl, tickling her palm and she giggled. The horse huffed through his nose and threw his head a bit and you laughed. “Oh ho ho! Well, you liked that huh? I’d give yah another big boy but I don’t know if your rider would take too kindly to me fattening up such a pretty stallion, bet you make all those pretty broodmares happy huh? Yeah.” You laugh as he whinnies.

“Well, He took a liking to you quick.” Jack called, making himself known and getting closer to the stall. “Ol’ Coke here is usually a temperamental fella.”

“Who, this guy?” You smirk as the horse huffs again at Daisy’s hair making her giggle. “Why no, he’s a sweet fella. Ain’t yah big boy?” The horse bobs his head as if nodding in agreement and Jack chuckles.

“Don’t let him fool yah,” Tequila grumbled, eyeing the horse warily, “That menace picks on anybody that ain’t him.” He pointed at Jack with a glare and Jack chuckled.

“Now don’t be bitter sunshine, you’re just mad that he pushed you into the water trough last summer.” Jack grinned at you with a wink and you laughed. Then the girl on your hip tugged at your hair a bit and whispered in your ear. Like most children though, Daisy was not a good whisperer.

“Mama, wook, Cowboy.” She mumbled around her thumb, pointing to Jack’s Stetson. Oh how his heart melted, he knew he was a goner then and there.

“Oh man,” you gasped, “you’re right! I bet this is his horsey.” You nodded and the girls eyes twinkled with wonder.

“Horsey pwetty.” She nodded sagely, “Ask him mumma, wanna ride him.” She had the biggest eyes, her tiny curls were barely contained by the pigtails her hair was in. She was a pretty little baby, and a carbon copy of her momma, dressed in little denim overalls and a pretty flowered shirt. She was cute, almost too cute, he didn’t know how he’d survive the next month or so with those big eyes pleading with him to give her anything she wanted, he knew he would be too weak to say no, he has a hard time picturing anyone saying no to her, not even her momma. Speaking of the mom, she was beautiful. She had on a beat up Vietnam tiger stripe jungle fatigue with a patch reading ‘Brandy’ rolled up to the elbows. Her T-shirt read ‘Kentucky Strong’ and he recognized it as one of those charity shirts that raised money for the flooding in Eastern Kentucky. She had aviators perched on her nose and two dog tags around her neck, one that was clearly older than the other, one for dad one for her husband if he had to guess. The best thing about the outfit though, was the shorts, those beautiful legs on full display, so good looking he had to pry his eyes off of her with the strength of ten men.

Jack jumped in all at once, “Am I a cowboy sweet baby? What gave me away? Was it the belt buckle?” He playfully tugged on it and gave an exaggerated frown, the girl giggled a no, and he pointed to his boots. “Oh, must’a been my boots!” He kicked up a heel to show off the worn brown leather boots. The girl squealed and laughed again, and you watched delighted that your baby was having so much fun.

“No!” Daisy laughed again clutching her hands together while she giggled. “No it was the hat!”

“Oh! Why silly me!” He breathed a fake sigh of relief, “I forgot it was up there sugar! Can’t be a cowboy without the hat!” The little girl laughed again in delight and he grinned back. Tequila and Ginger stared on shocked, Whiskey hadn’t been this carefree in a while, this little girl was working miracles. “Oh but I’ve gone and forgotten my manners,” Jack smacks his forehead dramatically “I never got your name Little lady! My name is Jack, what yours?” He extended a hand to the girl and she beamed, tucking her tiny hand in his.

“I’m Daisy!” She grinned, shaking his hand.

“Well, ain’t that just first class, you’re as pretty as a flower, so you must be Daisy!” He grinned at the delighted little girl, then whispered to her conspiratorially, “And who’s this?” He pointed at you and Daisy nodded, her mouth an ‘o’.

She introduced you and Jack smiled, tiling his hat to you, “Pretty name for a pretty lady, I’m Jack Daniel’s, code name Whiskey ma’am, pleased to make your acquaintance, and this here’s Coke.” He patted the horse’s flank as he stepped closer to you.

Your smile was just as magnetic as your daughter’s, and Jack felt his knees buckle, “Pleased to meet you Whiskey, Jack and Coke is my favorite combo, so I got high hopes this’ll be a good arrangement.”

And it was, y’all got on like a house on fire, and now he was very used to having you in his home. He hadn’t invited anyone into his space like this since his wife died. He couldn’t find the appeal in it, but there was something about you and this little girl he couldn’t seem to shake.

You were more than willing to tackle any task, and it was one of the things that he enjoyed most about you. In the months you had been there you helped around the Ranch any way you could. Jack had gotten used to doing the chores on his own, but he was suprised by how easily you worked yourself into his routine. It wasn’t a big Ranch, it was near the distillery in Oldham county, right smack in the middle between Louisville and La Grange. The ranch hosted his three horses, six chickens, two barn cats, and about 10 or so cows. In the mornings, you were up just as early as him, you alternated putting on the coffee, then he would deal with the horses (Coke, Julep, and Sazerac. You got a big kick out of their names, and he loved how you chuckled anytime he mentioned them.) and the cows, and you fed the chickens and the barn cats (Tom and Jerry, all the whiskey themed names). When you finished gathering eggs and greeting the cats, he would come back to you bouncing the baby on your hip while cooking breakfast.

“Well, you feed my animals and make my eggs, aren’t you handier than a pocket on a shirt.” He grinned one morning and you rolled your eyes with a chuckle.

“Well Cowboy, someone’s gotta feed you, black coffee and a Marlboro red aren’t breakfast, and they never will be.”

You were also a brilliant agent. Once you were settled, you and Jack started digging into anything you could find about the people who killed your husband, and you proved yourself an invaluable asset in intel gathering. You dug up more in a single hour than some men hoped to find in a lifetime, but it took its toll on you for sure. Day in day out combing over your husband’s files and trappings, staring at the inner mechanisms of his whole life and wonder what it would be like if he was here to finish all of his loose ends. He understood, and he hated that he couldn’t just take the pain for you, but it was a comfort to the both of you to have someone to talk to.

“Oh, the first week after his funeral was hell,” you sighed, playing with your daughters curls as she slept peacefully on your lap in the evening sun, “I kept trying to call him, to vent with him about how scared and tired I was, only to be reminded this wasn’t a deployment or a buissness trip, he was just… gone. Daisy was a mess too, cried for him every night, wouldn’t sleep until I showed her this video of him saying he loved her that he made her when he went on deployment. It broke my heart.” You sniffled and Jack felt his heart ache with sympathy.

“I know all about that hurt,” he sighed, handing you a beer and settling next to you on the big wrap around porch, “I’d keep rolling over and reaching for her in the middle of the night, I’d touch the cold sheets and I’d remember and it would hurt me every time.”

“Oh god yeah, took me weeks before I could truly sleep on my own again, I used to put one of his shirts on his pillow and sleep with it, it was the only way I could get myself to bed.” You sighed, nodding and sipping the drink.

“I used to spray her perfume on her pillow,” Jack nodded, “When I ran out I forced myself to sleep without it, It was months before I could get a full nights rest again.”

“I couldn’t imagine having to deal with all that alone,” you grimaced, “I at least had Daisy, I hate that you’re alone.”

“Well, I was alone, but I’m not anymore, I got you.” He slung an arm around your shoulder and you basked in the sun together until Jack felt you go lax in his grip. You had fallen asleep in his grasp, and he was shocked at how good it felt to have you be so vulnerable around him. It melted something in his chest. What was he gonna do with you.

You and Daisy just kept growing on him. His life was no longer just solitude and shoot outs, now it was a little more tea parties and tag and it was a very welcome change. You both had him wrapped around your fingers, every moment he wasn’t spending working on the project with you, or with Ginger and Tequila at Statesman, he was with you and your little girl.

One evening you were playing a game of tag, when Daisy just about caused them both a heart attack. You were running around and chasing each other in the small creek out the back of the ranch. Daisy was a doll in her little floral one piece, her wet hair plastered to her forehead and her little feet splashing away. You were a sight too, a black bathing suit with a cut out under your breasts showing off an ornamental tattoo that he really just wanted to-

“Come on Dada, catch me!” Time froze when the little girl said it and your jaws dropped, when you finally met each others gaze, you snapped out of it and turned to your daughter.

“No sweetie, that’s-“ you tried but the little girl cut you off.

“I know mumma. It’s otay though, Dada is no here, so this is my OTHER dada. It’s otay to have two dada.” She smiled and meandered to Jack, squeezing him in a hug. The little girl was barely knee high to a grass hopper, but she had hit him with that bombshell so hard she might as well have been a giant. Then, she just toddled off, finding interest in the stream once more, gathering rocks.

“Darlin I’m so sor-“ he began and you waved it away.

“Don’t worry Jack, she’s three. She adores you, and her only other frame of reference for a consistent male presence is her dad. Besides, if she had to pick another father figure, I’d want it to be you.” With that, you went to go stop her from tormenting a frog, and he stood there like a statue. The way you so casually said that amazed him, you put so much unwarranted faith in him, and it made the hardened cowboy turn to mush. Whatever this turns out to be though, one thing is for sure. He would do anything in the world for you and that little girl, and this just drove it home.

Weeks passed and you all just continued to get closer. Daisy asked for him as often as she did for you now when she’s upset, and he was now totally attached to their evening ritual of snuggling on the couch and watching Bluey. Every day you got closer and closer, and every day you found out more and more about your husbands killer, which ultimately led you to today.

Jack had left early, sun not even being up and the morning dew had just barely settled over the grass. Jack had gotten the mission from Ginger last night, and you had prepped and planned with him until he swore the plans were tattooed on the back of his eyelids.

It was over quick, he took them out and got his necessary intel and now you were safe. No blown cover, no second attempt at murder, just efficiency.

You’re free. You could go anywhere you want and you’d be safe. Where would you go? Your aunt was in Pburg, not too far off, a couple of tolerable hours away. Your late husband’s family though… they were in Texas, and that was more of a stretch.

This was miserable, thinking of all the ways you would leave him, though you weren’t even his to begin with. You were never his, you were just his charge, someone he was meant to protect, you and that perfect little girl. He got so caught up in it, he forgot to protect himself, and now he was faced with an old companion he never wanted to see again, loneliness.

He finally pulled up to the ranch, and Coke and the others were grazing in the first paddock near the front of the house, until the clever horse sees him and trots over with something in his teeth. It was a little stuffed rabbit, Coke had it by the ear and dropped it in his outstretched palm. It was like another painful reminder of what comes next. What would he do when his life was no longer bows and bunny rabbits. How would he go back to the way things were before. He sighed and made his way into the house, he was somewhat confused to see the front room totally empty. Normally, you’d be feeding the baby at this time, she would be sat in in the booster seat he’d bought for the kitchen table, in the little pink bib she always wore, probably making a mess, but then she’s squeal and wave at him and tell him to ‘come sit cowboy! I share!’ You’d laugh and tell her he had his own to eat, and she would frown and say ‘mine better!’ Today though, the kitchen was quiet and he felt his heart hammering in his chest, had you already gone? Were you so excited to be rid of him? But no, there was the sound of a shower, his shower specifically. He wandered into his room, and the sight there strengthened his resolve and told him that he needed to buck up and tell you how he feels, because he never wanted to sacrifice this.

Daisy was laying on his pillow, the stuffed horse toy that was an exact replica of Coke was tucked up under her chin, and she contentedly snored away on top of his quilt. The only light in the room was from the lamp on his bedside table, and a sliver leaking out from the cracked door to his bathroom. He carefully tucked the little girls blank is up over her chin, and listened to you humming from the shower. He was used to sharing his bathroom with you, normally you used the one near your room, but when you needed to shower and Daisy was napping, you preferred to use his so you could hear her if she cried. The warm smell of your shampoo was wafting from the bathroom, and your clothes were laid out on his bed. He ran a hand over them with a soft smile, the whole thing just felt so domestic. The sleeping child, the woman in his shower, the three sets of boots by his door, the pictures on his fridge. They all just felt so natural, filling his empty space with the feeling of home.

“Jack? Cowboy? Is that you?” You called from the bathroom.

“Yeah Sugar, it’s me.” He called back softly, padding his way into the bathroom and leaning up against the sink.

“How’d it go Whiskey? Did all go to plan?” He heard the hopefulness in your voice.

“Yeah sweetness, we did it. You’re free.” He could hear you pause at the melancholy in his voice and he was kicking himself. ‘Don’t ruin this for her Jacky, she should be happy.’ He heard the water kick off and handed you your Terry cloth robe and a towel. Once you were decent, you opened the curtain.

“You say that, but why does it sound like you just signed my warrant?” You asked curiously, squeezing the ends of your hair with a towel. He hadn’t realized how comfortable you had gotten around each other, but he supposed he shouldn’t be all that shocked. All the small touches, the snuggles, then tender moments. He was addicted to them now, and he never wanted to kick the habit.

“Well, I reckon you’d wanna get back to your life now there ain’t a target on your back.” He sighs, removing his hat and running a hand through his hair.

“Oh Jack,” you chuckled and his head whipped up when your palms came to rest on his cheeks. “These past few moths have been some of the happiest moments of my life since my husband passed. My daughter loves you, you are so good with her, she’s had nothing but smiles and laughter. You make my days better, you make me happy.” You caressed his cheek and he was hanging on to your every word, staring into those beautiful eyes he dreamed after these days. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it clearer baby, you’ll have to pardon me for that, Lord knows I’ve been a little scattered, but I have my life, it’s right here, with you. That is, if you’ll have me.”

He was stunned, here in his arms he held everything he never thought he’d have when his wife died. A beautiful woman, a sweet baby, laughter, light, and maybe even love. “Oh honey,” he gasped, pulling you in and finally kissing you like he’s wanted to since he saw you that first day in the stables. “Wild horses couldn’t drag me from you and that little girl.” You giggled and kissed him again, and again. When you finally broke away, you grinned up at him, and in this moment if you had asked him to kill an army of a thousand, he would have asked you what time you wanted him home for dinner.

“Well then cowboy? Why don’t you get gussied up and we can celebrate our new beginnings. Together.”

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #Jack Whiskey Daniels #Kingsmen #Kingsmen and the Golden Circle #Spotify #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x female reader #jack daniels x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal character fanfiction #whiskey #whiskey x reader

[lis-likes-fics]

Sweet as Sugar

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey there, sugar."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Opal chuckled, "He's cute."

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

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

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

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

You chuckled. Cute.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You wanna take a look inside?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I need her."

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiled proudly, "Good, right?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugged, "Where did it come from?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lucky for me, huh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

You missed him, but you were determined not to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course,” you nodded.

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

“Not a problem.”

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

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

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

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

“Diamond?” “Whiskey?”

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

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

He shrugged, “On a fuckin’ mission.”

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

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

“Cover me?” you asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckled, "With what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I have it back?" you asked.

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

"Maybe?" you questioned.

"Can I get something in return?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You saluted him before departing for a second time.

~

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

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

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

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

"So you did like it."

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

"It's alright."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You never called."

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

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

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

He did, and you smiled.

"I did miss you," you confessed.

That offered him some solace. "Honest?"

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

"Dance with me?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't have to tell me twice."

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

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

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

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

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

So did you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded, "Lucky for me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jack."

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded, "Yep."

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

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

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

You smiled slowly. "Sweet as sugar?"

He nodded, "Sweeter."

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

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

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

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x female reader #kingsmen golden circle #kingsmen #whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x reader smut #agent whiskey fanfic #agent whiskey fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #kingsmen fanfic #kingsmen fanfiction #smut #reader insert #female reader

[prolix-yuy]

I have never, ever asked anyone for an ask before so I don't know any of the rules for these things. For the pairing, can we ask for a pairing like Marcus Pike x Jack Daniels x Reader (cause Double Agents is a Mood™️ and a Vibe™️) or like either of those Singular x Reader.

And it's ME, so obviously I have to choose "CHAOS and order" as the topic. Chaos is my middle name after all.

Also please feel free to make this as explicit as possible. I mean, as you'd like.

If I did this wrong and I should change something let me know because like I said I've never done this before, so it is to YOU - Tumblr Crush Bestie - that I am losing my ask virginity. Seems fitting! 😉

Aynsley. Oh Aynsley. You come into my house and ask for filth? For chaos? To be as EXPLICIT AS POSSIBLE?

I am happy to provide, my dear Tumblr Crush Bestie!

Sorry it's taken so gosh-darn long, these three were taking their sweet time figuring out the threesome twister game. I hope you enjoy!

Two Truths and a Lie

Pairing: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x F!Reader x Marcus Pike

Summary: If you said you didn't want what these two men have in store, you'd be a liar.

Word Count: 6.3k (YOU'RE WELCOME)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, m/m dynamics, mmf dynamics, breast play, biting, oral sex (m and f receiving), handjobs, brief rimming, use of anal plug, anal sex (m receiving), face sitting, PiV sex, everyone's bisexual, aftercare, dirty talking because I'm a slut for it.

Notes: I've been teasing this for so long and it's finally arrived! And I'm embodying the 'chaos' in the request by barely editing this. Should I have? Maybe. Will I deny us any of the filth these three get into? Absolutely not. Enjoy my lovelies!

The first time you lied you didn’t even know what you were doing. Barely speaking full sentences and you pushed a boy over in the playground. He was loud, mean, and you were so full of emotions your little body had to retaliate. But when the teacher came over and asked what happened, you lied.

“He fell.”

The boy was too embarrassed to admit it was you, ushered away by the teacher. And you basked in a new feeling that would grow to be your constant companion: the elation of getting away with it.

Now, much later in life, you’d perfected lying. You lied like you breathed. Tells well hidden, truths spread like jam on burnt bread, just enough to hide the taste. You didn’t want to be punished, or caught. It wasn’t about waiting for someone to call you out. Lying was a language you spoke fluently and without equal, and was a competition with only yourself as audience.

Take tonight, for example. You’d lied to your friends that you didn’t feel well enough to go out. You’d lied to the bartender about why you were here. You’d even lied to the Uber driver, who could care less why you were coming to a swank hotel bar this late at night. But that’s three unsuspecting participants and three more tallies on the invisible scoreboard. 

The truth, not that you’d ever say it, was that you were bored. Endlessly, achingly bored. If you had to listen to one more pregnancy story, or upcoming wedding plans, or theorize on whatever show everyone was watching this time, you might actually scream. So tonight you forewent the Mexican restaurant your friends love and came here.

The bar is lush in a way that makes you salivate. Burgundy velvet chairs flank dark leather Chesterfield couches, artfully arranged to create the illusion of privacy underneath the cathedral ceilings. Royal blue and black brocade wallpaper flanks you as you approach the bar, black walnut wrapped around a towering wall of liquor. The stools glint gold as you slide onto one, balancing delicately. It’s not until you put in your drink order and settle back that you see them.

Once you do, you’re not sure how they escaped your observation. Two men seated at a high top overlooking city lights, casually sipping from rocks glasses. One is clean shaven, short haired and neatly dressed. Corporate attire - a tidy suit, tie, crisp white shirt. His face is soft in the table’s candlelight, eyes crinkled in the corners enough to know he enjoys himself without reservation. 

The other man holds some of the same features - large hands swirling alcohol in his tumbler, dark hair and eyes, a broad build - but the similarities end with the confidence he’s exuding. His outfit is more cowboy chic, dark jeans and a gray suit jacket over a light pink shirt with a peek of suspenders under the lapel. His boots hook over a stool rung, tilted back as his companion leans forward. The smirk painting his face paired with his teasing eyes quirks a smile of your own. Definitely cocksure, and possibly for good reason if those tight jeans were anything to go by.

Then the cowboy reaches across the table and pinches the other man’s chin between his thick fingers, a softer look gracing his face. The other man flushes a light pink, eyes casting down as his smile turns bashful.

Suddenly you’re too hot, snapping your gaze back to your drink.

Not for you.

Not that you’d assumed either of them would turn their attention your way. They were both your type in a room with surprisingly few options, but the night is young, and your drink has barely been touched. You lift it to your lips for a small sip, letting the liquor burn in the way good sex can light you aflame (an experience you’d been low on lately) when a voice murmurs at your shoulder.

“Drinking alone?” 

The blushing companion is now at your elbow, respectful but close enough that it makes your skin tingle. He leans on the bar, nodding once to the bartender with a smile before redirecting his attention back to your purposefully neutral expression.

“For now,” you reply cryptically, taking a sip of your drink as you peek at him over the rim. His smile widens, a glint of teeth between soft, kissable lips. Shouldn’t have been fantasizing about a conquest tonight, now you’re too keyed in to a man who’s out of your league in several ways. 

“Would you like some company while you wait? My partner and I have a table,” he says as two glasses slide into his grasp. You shrug.

“My friends will be here soon.”

Liar.

“Of course. One drink.”

“Only one.”

Liar.

“As the lady wishes.”

One drink turns into two, your wits still about you but your attention pleasingly bewitched by the couple. Marcus, the one who approached, is an FBI agent specializing in art crimes, which you unabashedly question him about while the cowboy smirks in your periphery. 

“You can tell the difference between a fake and an original on sight?” 

Marcus chuckles into the rim of his glass, tongue peeking out to stop an errant drop. 

“Only the very bad ones. The good ones need analysis, imaging, carbon dating. But it’s amazing to see how far someone will go.”

His knee knocks into yours and remains there.

The cowboy’s name is Jack Daniels, which makes you scoff until he raises an eyebrow at you. He even works at a distillery, though he was a field agent in a past life. That’s how he and Marcus met, the mention exchanging fondness that makes you gaze into your own drink for distraction. He orders a round of Statesman as proof of his fine taste, and you have to agree it’s much better than the whiskey most men offer you as though you know nothing of liquor. 

He lifts his boot to catch on the low rung of your stool, opening the span of his thighs to you. If you didn’t know better you would think these two were…

“We have a question for you, darlin,” Jack says when the drinks run dry, pinning you with a smirk. You straighten your spine, chin lifted to pre-empt your refusal.

You didn’t want to see what these men might offer.

Liar.

“Marcus saw you come in and thought you were about the prettiest thing he’d laid eyes on. But I’m a little more discerning. I like women to be smarter than me.” You roll your eyes but he keeps on running that smooth Southern drawl. “Which you are. Clearly. So I’m gonna ask you this for the both of us, and it only goes for the both of us. Package deal.”

Your eyes dart between Jack and Marcus, observing their drastically different postures. Marcus is nervous, hands folded tightly in front of him, eyes locked on them as he worries at his lower lip. Jack, on the other hand, is a man negotiating a deal and has all the confidence in the world, though he’s tuned in to Marcus’ discomfort. You wonder briefly if this is how they work best, Jack taking the lead. The thought blares heat across your chest.

“What would you like to ask?” you reply cooly, even though your heart hammers so loud you’re sure they can hear it. It’s under control until Jack’s eyes flick down to your hand worrying at your glass. His gaze flits up - caught.

“We’d like to invite you up to our room,” Jack says simply, leaning back in his seat. Marcus finally tears his eyes from his hands and watches for your reaction. You smirk at them both.

“For a nightcap?” you ask innocently, but the dark humor that spreads over Jack’s face shakes your resolve.

“No, darlin, we’d like to invite you into our bed. If that’s favorable to you, of course,” Jack says, the game ping-ponging between you as Marcus watches. 

“I assumed I wasn’t your type,” you stall, interrogating yourself about the offer. Did you want to let them lead you away from here? 

You’re definitely not bored anymore. If anything you’re aching at the thought.

“You are,” Marcus interjects, pulling your attention from Jack’s intense stare. His face is open, eager, kind. He seems like the kind of man who wears soft sweaters and asks you how your day was and actually listens. What a pair they make. 

“I’d like to have an idea of what I’m getting myself into before agreeing to anything,” you say, but your voice is getting shakier by the minute. Marcus slides his hand across the table, fingertips lightly grazing the back of your hand. It’s grounding, comforting.

Electric.

“Safety for everyone, of course. Protection all around,” Jack says, speaking in a low voice that urges you to lean forward. It gives him the opportunity to graze his fingers along your thigh in a featherlight touch that burns you with arousal. “Marcus likes it when I take charge, but you’re our guest so whatever your comfort level is, we’ll respect. If you’d like to take a break or end it at any time, we stop.”

Then Jack leans in and destroys the final barriers between you and your decision.

“We both like to eat pussy, and will make you cum several times before fucking you. Marcus likes to be inside while I fuck him, but I’d like to feel you squeeze around me too. I won’t leave marks if you ask, but I like to use my mouth, and my teeth. Marcus wants to kiss you, often, and very thoroughly. He might be quiet now, but he’s vocal as hell when you get him riled up. I’m likely to never shut up unless my mouth’s busy.” 

Your breath is coming in quick pants now, Marcus’ fingers sliding along the back of your hand to open your fist and slip inside. Jack’s heavy hand on your thigh feels like all that’s keeping you held to the earth. Sensing your hesitation, Marcus leans in and breathes into your ear.

“Would you like that, sweetheart?”

You don’t hear your agreement over the rushing in your ears, but their twin smiles of satisfaction confirm it.

Staring into the mirror and psyching yourself up to leave the bathroom, you adjust your lingerie for the eighth time. Mauve lace clings to your breasts, your hips, just opaque enough to be pretty instead of lewd. In this moment you wish it was more exciting, more daring for these men who offered you a spot in their bed. How tame you must seem after all the bravado you showed in the bar.

You’re not ready for this.

Liar.

Gathering up your last bit of courage, you saunter into the hotel bedroom. You’d left Jack and Marcus there fully clothed, knowing smiles and the beginnings of flirty touches the last thing you’d seen. Now, you’re treated to a much more mouthwatering sight.

Jack is seated on the edge of the bed, jacket discarded and suspenders loose by his thighs. His shirt is messy and untucked, one final button around his stomach holding on for dear life after all the others abandoned their posts. His pants are open, and as you come to a stop you’re treated to Marcus’ deep groan as he swallows Jack’s cock to the base. His throat works as Jack tips his head back and sighs, hips gyrating a fraction against Marcus’ eager mouth. 

Fuck, it’s hot and drives a spike of arousal straight to your cunt. Marcus’ strong back, bare and rippling across Jack’s lap, begs for your fingers to dig into his meaty shoulders. You catch him palming at his crotch, big brown eyes opening to look up at Jack. He’s rewarded with thick fingers carding through his short brown hair, pulling back to breathe heavily on the tip of Jack’s cock before descending again.

“Gorgeous, isn’t he?” Jack rasps when you realize you’ve been staring too long. His hand extends to you, and for a moment you think it’s better to leave them to it. They clearly have history, and chemistry. You don’t belong here.

Liar.

You slide your hand into Jack’s, letting him lead you to sit beside him. Sinking into his side, he gives you the perfect view to look down at Marcus’ thorough deep-throating. His eyes drag up, and the hand gripping Jack’s thigh now comes to rest on yours. He’s firm but gentle, kneading the flesh there.

“I’d like to kiss you, sweetheart,” Jack whispers into the shell of your ear, dragging his lips just to your neck to press a featherlight kiss. You’re hesitant, but he lets you breathe against his mouth before leaning forward just enough to press your lips together. The wet mouth noises Marcus is choking out below you are a strange soundtrack to the sweetness of Jack’s kiss. He plies you with a few more, fuller, more forceful, before dragging his tongue over the seam of your lips. You part eagerly for him, meeting his full stroke with your quicker tongue. Jack groans into your mouth, the beginning of a smile curling against the corner of your lips. 

“Now him,” he says, leaning back and guiding your head down to Marcus. He slips off Jack’s wet cock, jutting thick and proud, and rises on his knees to take your head in his hands. There’s less hesitation here; you melt fully into Marcus’ kiss. Jack was right, Marcus kisses thoroughly, patiently, diving deep before pulling back to let you breathe. It builds a fire under your skin, your nails digging into his shoulders. 

Distantly you feel Jack’s thick fingers unclasp your bra, then his hands - callused in places that made you wonder if he was a real cowboy once - guide you to lay back on the bed. You part from Marcus with a small sigh, but Jack follows you down, the scrape of his mustache on your throat as he slips his thumb over your kiss-swollen lips. Settling on your back, Marcus’ hands slide under your knees and soon the smooth expanse of his back surges under your calves. 

“Look at this,” Marcus hums, stroking down your thighs. Jack hums in agreement as he slips your bra off, the cool air tightening your nipples. “Anything you don’t like, sweetheart?” Jack’s mouth distracts you as he blows across the swell of your breast, making your back arch at the sensation.

“No teeth,” you say, finally hazarding a look down your body at the men driving you to madness. Jack looks visibly disappointed, which makes you tug at his well-coiffed locks. “For him, not you.” Marcus breaks into a smile and honest-to-goodness chuckles between your legs, and Jack winks up at you before a slip of pink tongue wraps around your nipple. Any further instruction is wiped from your mind as you arch into the clever heat of his mouth, paired with the squeeze of his other hand around your neglected breast. His teeth graze your nipple, hips rolling involuntarily before getting pressed firmly into the bed.

“Can’t wait to taste this,” Marcus murmurs, and two fingers slide underneath the gusset of your panties, knuckles dragging through your folds. He leaves open-mouthed kisses below your bellybutton, dragging his nose down to smell you through the thin lace. You want so desperately to focus but so many hands pulling you apart so effortlessly has your eyes rolling up into your head and your body writhing. 

Finally, Marcus licks a wide path along your lacy slit as Jack rolls your nipple between his fingers and you keen out a desperate moan.

“Oh, baby, sounds like someone needs you to make her cum,” Jack teases into your neck, sliding his hand down and into your panties to tease your aching clit. Marcus is still licking along the lace, pressing his tongue at your entrance just enough that their touches light up every nerve carrying pleasure to your lust-soaked brain.

“Let me take these off you and get you all over my face,” Marcus purrs, lifting your hips to drag the last scrap of clothing off your body. They’re both still half-clothed and looking at you like a goddess draped across the bed, and it almost makes you balk.

Liar. It makes you even more excited.

Jack removes his fingers, sucking them into his mouth with a low hum while Marcus noses your inner thigh. You can’t stop your legs from trembling, but Marcus’ firm grip steadies you as he finally licks a slow path through your folds.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, arching into the pillows as Jack presses your hips back on the bed. 

“He’s good, ain’t he? Wicked tongue on him, and I swear he’s half fish, never needs to come up for air,” Jack teases, pressing his body against your side and stroking through Marcus’ short hair. He nips at your earlobe as Marcus begins lapping rhythmically at your entrance, his nose firm on your clit and his jaw bobbing against you. The waves of his tongue, the jolt of that hawkish nose, the dark pride simmering in his eyes as he watches you, all burn under your skin. Your orgasm is fast approaching, nipples tight and aching. Sliding your thumb over one, you coax the honey-sweet ache of arousal out against Marcus’ tongue. Jack notices and joins you, stroking his rougher ones over the sensitive buds. His cock ruts lazily against your hip, and you slide your hand around him to pump him in time with your rolling hips.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re so good,” he praises, sinking his teeth into the top of your breast just hard enough that prickles of pain pull you away from your heady arousal. It slams back into you the moment he releases the sensitive flesh, laving his tongue over the indents his teeth left behind.

“C’mon baby, that’s it, you’re so close,” Marcus encourages between your legs, lips barely leaving before doubling down. His whole head rocks against your cunt, long licks and drags of his lips and nose and chin through your messy sex. He must be coated in you, thick and tangy across his clean-shaven face. If Jack did the same, he’d carry you in that perfectly groomed mustache.

That image, Jack with his mustache dripping with your release, tightens your core as Marcus urges your hips to roll against him, chasing your orgasm frantically as he growls into your cunt. 

“Give it to me, baby, cum on my face, I know you have it right there for me, fucking give it to me. Cum on me. Cum on me now,” he orders, and with Jack’s whispered “He’s been so good, cum for him sweetheart,” you’re tightening around Marcus’ head and shaking through a fucking full-body orgasm. Faintly you hear Marcus chanting, “Yes, yes, that’s it baby, that’s it,” and Jack purring a diatribe of, “Good girl, you’re cumming so good for us, look at that, fucking gorgeous.” The room fades around the edges, the boys all you can focus on. Marcus’ eyes are shining with triumph, wiping his face as he beams up between your legs. Jack hovers over you, pride and sinful promise in his smile.

“That was a very good one, Marcus. Gonna give me a run for my money,” he says, stroking your cheek as you try to come back to the real world from your sky-high journey. The comforting warmth at your side fades as Jack sits up on the bed, tugging Marcus by his hair. Blearily you watch them kiss, tongues peeking out from their pressed lips as Jack tastes you on Marcus. He reaches down and deftly unbuttons Marcus’ pants, shoving everything down to reveal his weeping cock. Jack’s palms it, nodding to Marcus who leans over just enough to spit on his own cock before Jack gives him a few slow, firm strokes. You can tell how much Marcus is affected, mouth dropping into an O as his eyes drifting shut. Jack indulges him a few passes more before pulling a condom out of his pocket.

“Fill her up, pretty boy, she’s been so patient.”

You prop yourself up on shaky elbows as Marcus rolls the condom on, hazy gaze kindling the remains of your orgasm into a new possibility. He slots his hips between your thighs, crawling up your body to kiss you with the remains of your taste on his tongue. Jack stole most of it, but you can still relish in your tang.

“I want to fuck you, baby, can I? I’ll stretch you out good first,” he asks against your lips, the head of his cock resting just on your mound. He fists it and draws circles on your clit with the tip, your spine pulling tight up under him.

“Yes, Marcus, want you inside me,” you gasp, but before he fits his perfect cock inside he pumps two gloriously thick fingers into your cunt, stroking at your velvet soaked walls before curling them wickedly.

“So tight. Fuck, Jack, you’re gonna love this,” Marcus husks, scissoring his fingers and swirling his thumb over your sensitive clit. 

“Want to show her what you’ve been hiding, handsome?” Jack asks innocently, but you see goosebumps raise along Marcus’ arms and shoulders when the cowboy nips at his ear, winking at you. “Reach back here, darlin’, and feel,” Jack instructs as you follow the path of his hand around Marcus’ hip. He guides you to the smooth base of the plug in Marcus’ ass, making him shudder when you press your fingers against it.

“He’s been waiting all night for this, would you let me fuck him while he fucks you?” Jack asks. You trace a finger around Marcus’ stretched hole and he drops his head to your shoulder with a choked groan.

“You want that, Marcus? Want to fill me while Jack fills you?” His stuttering breath warms your neck as he nods. Reaching back, you prop yourself up with a couple pillows so you can better watch, your hands cupping Marcus’ face as Jack slowly works the plug out of him. When his mouth drops open you stroke your thumb along his bottom lip, pulling his attention from any discomfort back to you. Marcus empties out a sigh when Jack pulls the sensible black plug from him and places it on the bedside table. He returns with a slim bottle of lube that he dribbles onto his fingers.

“Now Marcus, I want you to put the tip in her and get yourself good and hard while I slide into your pert little ass. Once I’m in and you’re settled I’ll set the pace. Don’t want you hurting yourself.” The gentle instruction warms your skin as Jack smooths his hands over Marcus’ back and sides. He nods and you stroke your fingers through his hair reassuringly.

“You’re gonna feel so good inside me,” you say, circling your hips against his cock as he fists himself again. 

“You’re beautiful,” Marcus whispers, and as he wedges just the tip of his thick cock inside you he presses open-mouthed kisses to your neck and shoulder. The shallow stretch makes your toes curl, one of Jack’s hands massaging your calf as his mouth smacks against Marcus’ spine.

“Ready?” he asks one last time.

“Yes, Jack, please…”

The litany of moans and gasps Marcus litters onto your skin lights your arousal further aflame as Jack curses and pushes in. You’re enraptured by the concentration on his face, the tick of his jaw and swipes of his tongue over his lower lip as he thrusts shallowly into Marcus’ tight channel. You can feel every jolt in your cunt when he presses Marcus just a little further forward, burying himself just a little deeper inside you. It’s slow as cold molasses and driving Marcus to bliss. When he begins backing up against Jack you stroke his back, and Jack’s larger hand covers yours.

“Fuck, feel so full,” Marcus manages to say, and Jack leans over to kiss along his shoulders. Your mouth is already at the juncture of his neck, and Jack meets your lips with his own. Marcus turns his head enough to kiss you behind your ear, and to catch the hinge of Jack’s sharp jaw with a scrape of teeth.

“Okay sweethearts, I’m gonna fuck you now. Slow to start. Get our rhythm.” Jack then pulls back and thrusts forward hard enough to bury the rest of Marcus’ length inside you.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, Marcus already being guided back out before Jack fucks him back into you. “Oh holy shit, ohhhh fuck, yes, please, oh fuck it’s so good,” you moan brokenly, Marcus cupping your cheek and pressing his mouth to yours. You open for him, his tongue plunging into you as he pounds your cunt over and over again. The wet slaps are offset by the slick squelches of Jack’s cock fucking into Marcus, timing his thrusts just right to let you both feel every ridge and vein inside and around you. 

“Fuck, you both are so fucking hot,” Jack grits out, one hand gripping your hip, the other Marcus’, as he set a faster pace. Marcus drops to his elbows and rolls his hips harder, snapping into you and back onto Jack. The quiet moans he was hiding before erupt into full-throated shouts, which Jack muffles by shoving his fingers into Marcus’ mouth. He drools around them, and when his glazed eyes meet yours you lick the back of Jack’s knuckles and over Marcus’ lips.

“Filthy girl, knew you were,” Jack pants. “You close, handsome?” 

Marcus nods frantically, eyebrows pinching and fisting the sheets as he speeds up from Jack’s rhythm to chase his orgasm. Jack chuckles before folding over you both, crushing Marcus to your chest.

“I’ve got you, baby boy.” With that Jack pounds into you both, Marcus buried so deep you can feel Jack’s thrusts nudge him against your g-spot. You grip their hair, Jack’s eyes locking with yours as he growls through each thrust. 

“Call him a good boy, sweetheart.”

“Fuck, Marcus, you’re so good for me, feel so good inside. Cum for me like a good boy, Marcus.”

That’s all it takes, and Marcus is howling into your neck as Jack grinds deep. His cock pulses heavily inside you, the force of his orgasm shivering through his limbs as they lock and release. Finally he lets go, slumping his full weight onto your chest. Jack kisses the back of his neck, fingers stroking down his arms and soothing him through the aftershocks.

“You’ve got a way with him, darlin’, he rarely cums that hard,” Jack coos, sliding his arms around Marcus to guide him off. Rolling him to his back, Jack peppers Marcus’ face with soft kisses as he weakly throws an arm around Jack’s back. His other hand searches for yours, twining your fingers together as he blinks sleepily between you both.

“Shit, that was amazing,” he croaks, sending Jack to the bathroom for a glass of water and to dispose of the condoms. “C’mere, wanna hold you,” he adds, tugging you to curl up against his side. His hands roam your back, nose pressed against your forehead as his rapid heartbeat begins to slow. It’s oddly romantic, happy to give and receive this moment of comfort. But you’re sure it’s the end of the night, and you’ll be fine going back home soon.

Liar.

“Now darlin’, as good of a time as it looks like you were having, I don’t think you came,” Jack says once Marcus has had a good long drink and settled back into the pillows. 

“I had plenty of fun,” you say lazily, stroking Marcus’ chest as it rises and falls. Jack tuts and shakes his head, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Told you I wanted to eat your pussy too. Come sit on my face and let me give you another. Then, if you’re not too tired out, I’ll have you sit on my cock too.” 

Heat races over your body, and Marcus unwinds you from his arms. 

“Go on, gorgeous, Jack’s tongue is a treat you should never turn down,” he teases. “I’ll be along as soon as I catch my breath.”

Sitting up, you scoot closer to Jack as a strange nervousness settles in. Marcus is so open and easy to read, while Jack’s expressions always seem veiled behind a layer of showmanship and bravado. You find yourself worrying that you won’t be enough for him, for what he wants.

“What’s going through that pretty head of yours?” Jack interrupts your racing thoughts as he strokes his palm up your thigh. You shake your head, forcing a smile on.

“Nothing,” you say, your voice catching in your throat. Jack chews on his lower lip for a moment, then wraps his arms around your waist and guides you onto his lap. Straddling him, you hover as he pets your hips, smooths your back, and noses your neck with a gentle kiss along your collarbone.

“If it’s nerves, honey, then know that I have been looking forward to tasting, and fucking you all night. I want your tits in my mouth, your pussy, your tongue. I want to devour you, you’re so delicious.” He guides your hips down to press against his cock, hard and hot as he slips the soft skin against your wet folds. “You cannot possibly disappoint me, I could cum from your voice alone.” 

“Jack…” you breathe, and he leans back, pulling you along with him. Once flat on his back he guides your nipple into his mouth, humming indulgently as he teases the bud with his fast tongue and harsh sucks. You arch into his mouth, the length of his cock grinding against your clit. Switching to the other one, he nips lightly and chuckles when you jolt against him. His large hands paw at your ass, spreading your cheeks and kneading at the supple flesh. He cracks his hand against one with a sharp slap, soothing it with a stroke after. You’re dripping on him now, grinding along his length.

“Perfect, sweetheart, now climb up and put that hot little pussy on my face,” he orders, and all self-consciousness drips away as you climb up his body. Before you settle around his shoulders he taps your hip and guides you to swing around so you’re facing his neglected cock, hovering over his greedy mouth.

“Want your hand around my cock while I eat you out,” he says before pulling you down on his face. 

No matter the thorough fucking you just endured, Jack’s thick tongue sends a shudder up your spine, needing to grab his wrists. He hums into your folds, faster flicks than Marcus against your clit.

“I’m gonna drink you down, darlin’,” he purrs into your cunt, canting your hips so he can better seal his pouty lips around your clit. Falling forward, you loosely stroke Jack’s aching cock, throbbing with need after being denied his orgasm. Letting a dribble of spit drip onto his length, you slick him up to take a tighter grip. When your fingers glance over the ridge of his head his stomach tightens, hips rocking up to meet your strokes. 

“Your cock is gorgeous, Jack,” you praise, leaning down to place a soft kiss on the tip. The groan he lets out vibrates against your sex, eliciting your own pleasured sigh as he slips his tongue inside you.

“He’s very good at using it,” Marcus says just next to your shoulder, sliding off the bed to kneel between Jack’s knees. He replaces your hand on Jack’s cock, urging you to sit back up on Jack’s face. He worships your breasts with soft sucks and nibbles, working you both up higher and higher. You can feel Jack’s movements getting sloppier, distracted gasps bursting between your legs when he takes a moment to bask in his own pleasure. You weave your hands into Marcus’ hair, scratching along his scalp as he kisses his way up your neck and back to your waiting mouth. 

“Mmm, sweetheart he’s not gonna last much longer, and I know he wants to cum in you too. Let me wrap him up and then you can fuck his cock.” Marcus takes a moment to tear open a condom as you shuffle down Jack’s body. His mouth leaves you with a parting lick to your back entrance, the ticklish sensation making you giggle and scratch your nails down his flexing stomach. When you’re hovering over his cock, Marcus’ hand on the base guiding Jack in, he sits up behind you. 

“Most beautiful thing I’ll ever get to experience,” Jack murmurs, plastering his chest to your back and wrapping his arms around you. He guides you down as Marcus steadies him in, filling you so differently but so completely. 

“Fuck, Jack, you feel amazing,” you croon, head thrown back against his shoulder. Marcus lifts up on his knees to kiss Jack, clever fingers petting at your clit as you lift up just enough to let Jack feel the drag of your tight cunt, then back down to his base to elicit a wanton groan.

“Darlin’, you feel like heaven. Don’t know how Marcus didn’t bust immediately.” Marcus nips his Adam’s apple and switches to mouthing at your throat, both of their lips dancing along the expanse of your sweat-slicked skin. Sandwiched between them, the slide of their bodies against yours is addictive, intoxicating, endless in the pleasure it brings. Your cunt clenches around Jack, and he chuckles darkly in your ear before snapping his hips up into you.

“There’s my good girl, so tight around me. I’m gonna fuck you as hard and long as I can, but fuck me if you don’t feel like the best thing I’ve ever put my cock in.” Jack grabs the back of Marcus’ head and pulls him back to meet eyes. “Lick her clit, pretty boy.”

You didn’t think your arousal could climb any higher, but looking down to see Jack’s length sliding in and out of you paired with Marcus sinking down to lick a stripe from the base of Jack’s cock to your clit almost kills you. Marcus’ boyish smile would be your gravestone if you didn’t remember to breathe.

“Holy fuck,” you choke out as he lays out his thick pink tongue to stroke over and over along your joined bodies.

“Damn right, you’re doing so good for us Marcus,” Jack grits out, pulling you down on his fat cock so you don’t bounce away from Marcus’ talented tongue.

“Could do better,” Marcus says thoughtfully, reaching for the bottle of lube. Slicking up his fingers, he slides his hand down to tease Jack’s rim.

“Fuck, baby, you know how I like that,” Jack groans, bringing a wicked smile to Marcus’ face. Kissing your mound, Jack tenses hard under you with a broken gasp. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck, yes baby, that’s fucking perfect, you keep your fingers right there while I cum in her. Just like that, sweet boy.”

Leaning down you grab Marcus by the jaw and devour him, teeth clacking briefly as you fill his mouth with your tongue. He whimpers below you before you part, lips spit-slicked and slacked.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart, Marcus you better…” Jack threatens but Marcus is already latching his mouth onto your clit, sucking hard and fast while his fingers flex inside Jack. The relentless grind against your g-spot, the ruthless pressure on your clit, the overwhelming ache that can’t build anymore before it needs to go somewhere washes over you, and you cum with a wail on these two gorgeous men. Jack follows as your walls flutter around him, with a litany of, “That’s it baby, your pussy’s so fucking good, I’m…oh shit, I’m cumming, M-Marcus baby don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop, oh shiiiiii…” You faintly wonder if Marcus came again before a spurt of hot cum against your calf answers your question.

The silence that follows, filled with gasps and panting and weak hands on skin, is the moment you dread. It’s the last moment before the peace and quiet in your mind fades, urging you to gather up your clothes and go before you say something or do something that will ruin this. But with Marcus wrapping his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder, and Jack pressed against your back, you have no place to go. 

“Thank you, darlin’, that was the most fun I’ve had in a long time, wouldn’t you agree?” Jack says, pressing a line of kisses from behind your ear to the curve of your shoulder. Marcus leans back and thumbs your chin, tired eyes and a loose smile.

“Definitely. Can we take care of you now, sweetheart?” 

Your eyebrows must have pulled up into a frown, because Marcus chuckles just a little and cradles your head.

“What, you thought we’d fuck you and make you leave?” he teases, and you have to school your face carefully. You didn’t expect them to be this caring, or kind.

Liar.

Then you didn’t expect them to want more than your body once they were through.

Liar.

Then what did you expect?

Marcus thankfully speaks, similar to that that soothing way Jack enticed you here.

“Well then, I’m going to take you into the shower to clean you up, and Jack’s gonna make the bed and join us after. Once we’re clean and hydrated, I’m going to put on The Thin Man and we’re going to get into bed together. If you’re not comfortable spending the night, I understand. But I - we - want you to. Not just because tomorrow morning I want to wake you up with both of our heads between your legs.” Jack slides out of you and holds you in his arms, nuzzling into the back of your neck. 

“I don’t…” you try to say, both men waiting patiently. “I didn’t expect this. I don’t know what to do now.”

Liar.

You know exactly what to do. 

Stay.

Marcus’ lopsided smile and Jack’s pressed into your skin are promises you never asked for, but would gladly accept.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ve got you.”

END

#jack whiskey daniels x reader x marcus pike #marcus pike x reader x jack whiskey daniels #jack whiskey daniels x reader #jack daniels x female reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #whiskey x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #prolix fics

[ravensmadreads]

Positive Reinforcement

Rating: T? (for me being a Tease) 18+ !

Pairing: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x f!reader

Summary: oh god don't make me do this. This is a Tattoo Artist Jack Daniels AU that @fuckyeahdindjarin lovingly coaxed me to write and now here we are.

Warnings: cursing. bad writing? People being idiots? Yearn? Idk fam I'm new to this let me know

A/N: lots of love to @barbiewritesstuff for listening to me panic about this and for reading this and for letting me be a disaster about pedro despite not even being in the pedro fandom ! ily 💙 also this is my first fic AND first time writing fiction AND English isn't my first language AND I know nothing about tattoo artists or tattoos in general so I ask you to forgive the multitude of sins I'm about to commit.

Tagging: @fuckyeahdindjarin (you're the master and this is my humble offering) @barbiewritesstuff (i gotta be a menace) @chronic-ghost (all the italics for you bby) @sherala007 @oscar-wilde-thing @perennialdoll247

P.S the gif isn't related to the fic but damn guys its a gorgeous gif?!!

Oh.

Oh God.

This was a bad idea.

This was a no good, top of the line, terribly stupid idea; and that was saying something coming from someone who'd once pulled a double shift on nothing but 7 cups of espresso and half a chocolate bar.

So maybe your track record for making sensible decisions wasn't stellar, and somebody should've talked you out of getting a tattoo. But it was far too late for that now.

The needle was buzzing away happily; stabbing tiny pinpricks into your skin and your heart was trying to beat itself clean out of your chest. Although, the very handsome man, with the very wonderful biceps, and the inexplicably sexy Stetson, currently leaning over your arm might have something to do with that. Might have several somethings to do with that in fact since he's the entire reason you're in this predicament in the first place. 

****

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels.

Proud owner of the tattoo parlor right across from the quaint little diner you co-owned and worked at. He'd given you a grin and taken your breath clean away with a "thank you darlin', that's mighty sweet of you"  the day you'd welcomed him to the block with a box of cookies. Sufficient to say, you'd been a goner since then.

After four months of long distance pining, smiles exchanged across windows, (you'd dropped a fork the first time he'd grinned at you from across the street but that was nobody's business but your own), the very rare small talk, and borderline bullying from your bestie Ginger, you had summoned the courage to go ask him out. And promptly panicked at his front door.

Because how were you supposed to talk to one of the most perfect specimens of the male species you'd ever seen? When you knew next to nothing about him!?

Except for his coffee order from when he'd walked into the diner one fateful day.

It had been a slow day and you had been lamenting your lack of love life with Ginger when the front door bell had jingled to announce a new customer. 

You'd twirled on your spot in front of the cashier and had been well in the middle of your welcome spiel before glancing up. Jack, in his infamous leather jacket, had been giving you a warm smile and you'd made a strangled squeak, to Gingers great amusement, before closing your eyes and trying to disappear into the Earth.

When that had failed, you'd taken a deep breath, counted to 5, before opening your eyes and regaining the ability to speak. He'd watched the entire thing with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes but graciously hadn't called you out on it. His parting smile and "you have a great day, honey" had been soft and you had caught yourself grinning about that smile, and that stupidly adorable pet name, throughout the entire next week.

Still, one coffee order and gentle smile didn't mean you could walk up to him and ask him out! He could be in a relationship! He could be married! He could turn out to be a total prick hiding behind a charmingly soft Southern accent!

Although, in that case, this little crush would be over and you could tell Ginger to suck it. Your mental spiral into the abyss had been interrupted by the door opening and the man of the hour himself poking his head out; his brows knit in concern. 

"Everythin' okay, sugar?"

The sight of his brown eyes so close to you had thrown you for a loop. You'd gaped at him for half a minute before blurting out the first excuse that came to mind. You vaguely remember convincing him that you were here for a tattoo and rambling about always wanting one and him opening up shop right in front of you, seeming like a sign from the universe. (A sign that you were losing it? Maybe. A sign to get a tattoo. Probably not.)

He had taken your weird behavior as first time jitters and had led you in for a consult. He'd eased you into the shop, a hand on the small of your back, while recounting the story about how a drunk tattoo had earned him his infamous nickname. You'd been giggling too hard to notice that he'd already sat you down on a couch in the back and pulled out a sketchpad.

He had been all soft smiles and twinkling eyes and thoughtful ideas. While you had been a bundle of nervous energy; trying and failing to not stare at his pretty eyes, long fingers and sharp jaw. You're pretty sure he'd caught you checking gaping at his hands several times. But nothing in his demeanor had changed, apart from the appearance of a mischievous little sparkle in his eyes. Which had only made it harder to resist the urge to jump his bones right then.

You ended up agreeing to a small design (that you had totally fallen in love with), and he had given you an appointment for the very next day. Your protests had failed at his insistence and you'd just been able to nod around the lump in your throat when he squeezed your arm in reassurance.

"Trust me darlin', you're in safe hands. I know what I'm doin'.

A furtive glance at said hands and another nod from you had sealed the deal. (Best keep your mouth shut until you were sure that words were going to make it out instead of embarrassing whimpers.) He'd smiled at you as he walked you out with a particularly devious look in his eyes. Like he knew. Like he knew exactly why you were here and insisting on getting a tattoo. And you couldn't decide if that would be the best or worst thing to ever happen to you. 

****

It was too late to do anything but reminisce now. The tattoo is halfway done and you're not one to brag but you'd made it through without too much fuss. A particularly vicious stab has you hitching a deep breath as you try not to flinch and suddenly, Jack's locking those soft eyes with you. 

"You gotta stay still now, sweetheart okay?” he rumbles, his voice low and throaty. 

Oh God.

That voice.

He could tell you to jump in front of a train with that voice and you wouldn't even blink. Your gaze drops to his mouth as his tongue peaks out to dart across those plush lips. You're caught up in the images of that tongue flicking out and tangling with yours. Figuring he'd be sweet at first; gentle and soft, with just the tiniest bit of pressure. Before licking hard and playfully biting your lower lip as he pulls away. Grinning that mischievous half smirk that makes you want to grab fistfuls of his hair and yank-  

He clears his throat and you fall back to Earth. Gulping, your eyes meet his amused stare and you nod cheerfully in response, trying not to be completely transparent. Apparently you fail miserably, because Jack just sends a knowing smirk your way before carrying on.

"That's a good girl."

Oh.

Oh God.

This was such a bad idea.

You were going to explode right in this seat.

The hum of the needle starts again and you try to shift your focus. Your gaze draws, as always, to the man bent over you; his broad fingers encircling your arm and gently holding it in place. His eyes laser focused on the design. Your gaze moves to ogle his broad shoulders and the way the muscles ripple under the leather jacket covering him. He tilts his neck and you trace the skin trying to pinpoint the exact point you'd like to sink your teeth in. Okay enough! Suffice it to say, you definitely wouldn't mind being under him in a different context.

You nearly squirm at the thought of his broad body on top of yours, but catch yourself just in time. Wouldn't be out of character for you to mess up your first tattoo right near the finish line. That would be quite the story. 'O hey, nice tattoo, what's that squiggle at the bottom?' 'Oh. Yea I was just picturing getting cracked like a glow stick by my tattoo artist when he had a needle on my skin.'

You hold back a flinch and wriggle in the seat when Jack raises the needle from your skin to start a different line. Those caramel tinted eyes rise from the half etched pattern on your bicep and fix onto you as he looks over with a raised eyebrow. 

“Behave darlin’,” he coos. “We're nearly there. You’ve been doin’ so well for me. Let’s not get carried away now.” 

Oh. 

Oh fuck.

This was a really bad idea.

You gulp and grit your teeth and nod for him to continue. You're thinking of kittens taking baths, ice cream in the park, that absolutely terrible but totally worth it for the eye candy vampire movie you'd seen last weekend, and how bad your issues with yourself had to be for you to get something permanently etched into your skin than tell a handsome man that you might like him. Mentally shaking your head at yourself, you glance over to see how much of the tattoo was left. Which turned out to be a mistake. 

"Ack!" You cry out.

Fist clenching and arm twitching immediately, as you watch the needle touch a sensitive part of your skin, and you flinch badly. Jack lifts the needle and fixes you with a stern half glare. But there's a twinkle in his eye that has you giving him a sheepish grin. 

"Whoops?"

You pout at him, with a teasing tilt of your head. He chuckles and your eyes flicker to his lips for a beat too long. When you look up, Jack's smirk has turned roguish as he catches you shamelessly checking him out. Again. 

Oh no. 

"Maybe you just need some positive reinforcement sweetheart, hm?"

Before you can even process the statement, he has already shut the needle off.

"Such misbehavin', darlin'."

He tuts at you before leaning down and pressing his lips against the corner of your mouth. He smells like leather. And a soft cologne. Both of which assault your senses; hints of pine mixed with sandalwood and something inexplicably him wraps around you, and it is dangerously delicious. His tongue darts out to have the tiniest taste as his mustache tickles the corner of your lips. Before you can restore the brain power needed to tilt your head, and maybe pull him on top of you by the lapels of his jacket, tattoo be damned, he's already pulling away. 

"Fuck me."

The whimper that leaves you is entirely involuntary.

He grins at your flustered face as the needle starts again. His grip on your arm tightens and you squirm for entirely different reasons as he winks at you.

"Absolutely. But only if you're good and hold still now sugar."

Your jaw drops. There's nothing but static in your brain.

Wait.

Did he just- ?

Oh God.

"Be good for me now honey. 'M almost done. And then we can see about rewardin' good behavior." 

Fuck.

This was the best idea you'd ever had.

.

.

.

.

****

#jack daniels x reader #jack whiskey daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #whiskey x reader #not a agent whiskey person #< this used to be an actual tag and now here we are #yeeting this into the void and running tf away

[jjsmaybank20]

If someone doesn't start making glass onion fanfics soon I'm gonna scream. I desperately need them.

#PLEASE #whiskey x reader #benoit blanc x reader #duke cody x reader #lionel toussaint x reader #claire debella x reader #birdie jay x reader #miles bron x reader #andi brand x reader #cassandra brand x reader #helen brand x reader #glass onion #knives out #leos rambles

[tommymllrr]

coffee shop cowboy [ch. 2]

agent whiskey x barista!reader (coffee shop!au)

summary: if you were being honest, you’d had an absolute garbage day. up until the moment he strode through the front door of the cute little café that you worked at in those stupid cowboy boots.

rating: Explicit, 18+ (MINORS DNI)

word count: 6.1k

warnings: cunnilingus, oral sex, blowjob, vaginal fingering, soft!agent whiskey, lot of kisses

notes: here's chapter 2!! reader is afab, but no pronouns or gendered terms are used so it can be read as gender-neutral. also i'm not super active here so find me on twitter if you're interested in seeing me talk about my upcoming fanfics and talk about pedro pascal and oscar isaac. :-)

chapter 1 on tumblr // read fic on ao3

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The months went on and Whiskey showed no sign that he had gotten sick of the coffee shop - or more specifically, you - yet. 

Sure, there had been a few times where he’d gone almost a full week without visiting, but he always turned up one day with a smile and a more-than-generous tip. The two of you made light conversation while you worked the register or, during days you were behind the bar making drinks, after he’d gotten his coffee, leaning an arm on the bar so he could talk to you. Your co-workers, especially the ones you were actually friends with, teased you incredibly hard for it, always leaving your cheeks burning in embarrassment. One of the newest hires at the café, a very sweet girl named Angie, had asked during a slow morning shift how you and your boyfriend met. When met with your confusion, she’d simply replied, “That cute cowboy guy I’ve seen you with. He’s your boyfriend, right?” Your entire body was on fire as you told her that no , you were just friends , and then had spent a good five minutes in the walk-in cooler pretending to stock items while you recovered.

You had thought about making a move by asking if he’d like to get coffee from your favorite place that’s just outside of the city (you refuse to be one of those people who comes into their job to order something on their day off), but the one time you’d tried to ask him, he’d looked at you with those big, gorgeous brown eyes of his and you’d chickened out, instead sputtering something about how the weather outside was nice today. You’d called your best friend on Discord that night feeling absolutely miserable and they’d teased you gently, but reassured you it was okay and that the universe had its way of sorting everything out.

You had no idea how right they would be.

It was unusually busy for a random Thursday morning, but you were managing just fine (even if you were dragging a bit because you’d stayed up way too late last night starting to play The Last of Us now that the TV adaptation of it was coming out soon). And, because your luck happens to be absolutely terrible sometimes, a steady line of customers at the register had started in the minutes before Whiskey strolled in. You gave him a small smile and a wave while the customer in front of you finished paying for their coffee and he tipped his hat to you in response. After getting through the few customers ahead of him, Whiskey was in front of your register, grinning down at you. He had already reached into the pocket of the leather jacket he was wearing to grab his wallet.

“You know what, sugar,” Whiskey said. “I’m feelin’ like a latte today. Can ya make me that one ya always get for me?”

“Yeah, I can do that!” You looked to the people in line behind him and the smile slid off your face. “Actually… I know I always make it, but it’s busier than usual today and I don’t wanna throw off Aubrey by stepping in just to make one drink,” you said apologetically.

“Darlin’, it’s fine. Just promise you’ll be the one to make it for me next time.” He gave you a wink as he handed you a twenty to pay for his latte. Warmth spread through your whole body and you were grinning so big you knew you probably looked like an idiot to the half-dozen people who were behind your favorite customer. Whiskey stuffed the handful of bills you’d given him as his change into the tip-jar and shuffled out of the way. The customer behind Whiskey rattled off a couple of pastries he wanted and, out of the corner of your eye, you could see Whiskey talking to Aubrey at the bar. You don’t know why you suddenly felt anxious, but you did. Aubrey knew all about your crush with Whiskey – hell, she was the person teasing you the most about him – but you trusted her to keep your secret.

You put the two’s interaction out of your mind and went back to focusing on helping the people in front of you. While pouring a cup of coffee for a stern-looking businesswoman, you turned and saw Aubrey finally hand Whiskey his latte. Whiskey was about to walk away but you saw Aubrey lean in and say something, but you couldn’t make it out. He looked down at the cup and you watched as a slow smirk slid onto his face. Whiskey nodded his head toward your co-worker and he made his way out of the coffee shop.

The businesswoman you were pouring the coffee for snapped at you for taking too long and, immediately, you were brought back to what you were doing. You snapped the lid on her drink and apologized profusely while you cashed her out. 

A couple hours later, when it had finally died down enough that you weren’t swamped with people, you sauntered over to Aubrey, who was drinking her usual iced vanilla matcha latte and scrolling through Instagram.

“Hey, uh, what was that whole thing with Whiskey earlier?” you asked. Her eyes flicked up from her phone to yours before shooting back down to stare at her screen. You knew her. And right now, she was desperately trying not to look suspicious.

“Oh, nothing,” she said, trying to sound as innocent as possible. “May wanna check your phone though.”

You pulled your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans and clicked the button on the side to turn on your screen. A couple notifications from Twitter, a handful of new emails, an alert that your favorite podcast had posted a new episode… 

And a text message from an unknown number. 

You felt your heart stop as you hurriedly typed in your passcode to unlock your phone. There was no way. You were imagining this. Or today was all just one weird, very realistic dream and your alarm was going to go off any minute now. Opening the Messages app, you clicked on the message.

Today, 10:37AM Hey there sugar ;) Finally got your number.

Your pulse quickened. There was no mistaking whose number that was. There was no way. Unless this was some absolutely insane prank that Aubrey was currently pulling off with the help of your coworkers. But you didn’t think your coworkers were that cruel. So the only thing you were left with was that…

“Aubrey, you fucking did not give him my phone number ,” you hissed. She gave you a shit-eating grin and took a big sip from her matcha latte, slurping it way louder than necessary.

“Wrote your number on his cup. You can thank me later.”

Your eyes widened. “ Aubrey ."

“What?!” she said with mock offense. “Look, I know you’re too embarrassed about your little crush to actually do something yourself. If you get a date out of this, you owe me lunch for a week, bestie.” You groaned and covered your face with your hands. Honestly, with how chaotic Aubrey is, you shouldn’t be surprised in the slightest that this happened. But that doesn’t mean you were prepared for this to happen.

You decided to wait until after work to text Whiskey back, but the rest of your shift had been a blur. Even an inkling of an idea of what to say eluded you, even as you were walking through the door to your apartment. Pulling out your phone, you opened the Messages app and stared down at the two lines Whiskey had sent. You eventually just said “fuck it” and typed out a quick text.

Today, 3:43PM god i am so sorry for aubrey if you dont wanna message its totally cool i mean we barely know each other  and my coworker thought it’d funny to give you my number just don't wanna make things weird between us

You flopped back onto your bed and covered your face with your hands for the second time that day, wishing you could sink down into the earth. God, why were you cursed with being so fucking awkward?

Right as you were wishing you could go back in time and say literally anything else to come off as more smooth, your phone pinged with the notification sound of a new text. With slightly shaky hands, you unlocked your phone and stared at the message Whiskey had just sent you.

Today, 3:46PM Darlin, I’ve been wantin’ to get to know you more for a while now. You’re real sweet and funny. Comin’ to get coffee is the highlight of my week.

You stared at your phone, your eyes wide open. Holy shit. Before you even knew what you were doing, you started screaming into your pillow so as to not scare or disturb your neighbors. Your entire body was burning with warmth as you typed out a reply to him. 

Today, 3:54PM oh! im really flattered honestly i’ve wanted to talk more too just been too anxious to say anything

You stared at the screen for what felt like forever until you saw the three little dots inside of the bubble that told you Whiskey was in the process of typing something back. Your heart raced with what he could possibly say. Then, your phone pinged with a new message notification. His response was here.

Today, 3:58PM Oh, really now? Well, if you’d be interested, sugar, I’d like to invite you over for dinner. Could show you a good time. ;)

“Oh my god,” you breathed. You hurriedly typed out a response, too excited to speak, your heartbeat and your mind racing.

Today, 4:04PM consider myself very interested! give me a time and date and i’ll be there, cowboy ;)

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You may have taken one or two wrong turns and gotten stuck in traffic along the way, but you finally made it to the address Whiskey had given you. 

The date he’d given you to come over for dinner was a few days away from when he had asked you and you couldn’t have been less anxious about it if you tried. Shifts at work seemed to go by even slower than usual and Aubrey could sense something was up when you worked with her the morning after your text conversation. You didn’t dare breathe a word about it to her, though, you didn’t wanna give her a big head about the whole thing. No, she could wait to find out until after your dinner with Whiskey, even though you have her to thank for this whole situation anyway. (Also, you definitely didn’t need her on your ass about buying her lunch for a week yet.)

As you drove down the path that your GPS was telling you to follow, you realized his house must be at the very end of the street he lived on. A few more minutes passed before your phone said you had arrived at your destination. Despite the map saying you should technically be in his front yard, you could barely see Whiskey’s house from behind a massive wrought-iron gate. A little silver box on a pole was sticking out of the side of the road, so you pulled up and pressed the small black button on the device.

“Hey, darlin’, that you?” you suddenly heard Whiskey’s voice ask. The buzzer must have a speaker in it somewhere. His voice was a little crackly, but you still could tell it was definitely Whiskey.

“Yeah! I’m outside the gate,” you called back. A loud buzzing sound came from the box and, suddenly, the large iron gate in front of you opened so you could drive through. Following the long gravel driveway, you finally made it up to Whiskey’s house.

And your breath was instantly taken away the moment you saw it up close. 

It was an absolutely gorgeous ranch-style home, one that you definitely would have seen on one of those TV shows about people showing off their fancy houses and the thousands of dollars they had poured into making their house look as fancy as possible to impress other fancy people. Whiskey’s car, a gorgeous classic Bronco that was black with white trim, was parked just up the driveway, so you pulled in a few feet behind him. Right as you were getting out of your car, you heard the front door open.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he called out. He was leaning up against the doorframe, a glass of amber liquid in his hand and a wide grin on his face. He was wearing his usual blue jeans and cowboy boots, but he had swapped his usual leather jacket for one that was made from dark blue denim and had a bit of a high collar. “Glad you found the place okay. Hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

“I got a bit turned around a few times but I made it. Did have some reservations about you leading me out to the middle of nowhere, though,” you teased. Whiskey let out a chuckle as you approached him.

“Sugar, this is probably one of the safest places you could ever be,” he said with a smirk. “But I’m delighted that you’re here.” You felt yourself start blushing as Whiskey stepped aside to let you in. He closed the door behind you and, as you took in the living room around you, Whiskey fiddled with a security system panel on his wall.

The interior of the house was exactly what you had expected from Whiskey, if you were being honest. Brown leather couches and armchairs were circled around a massive stone fireplace in the living room. A large wooden coffee table, one that looked like it could have been handmade, was in the center of the room and on top of a Western-looking rug. The walls were also covered with paintings, one of a river in a forest with a mountain range in the background and one that you immediately recognized as the exterior of the Statesman Distillery. You could also catch a whiff of the delicious smell of roasting meat somewhere towards the back of the house. 

Whiskey muttered something about needing to check something and walked off, leaving you by yourself. You were a little hesitant at first, not wanting to look creepy or trying to pry, but you couldn’t help but look around.

As you looked around to take everything in, your eyes landed on a wall-mounted glass display case. 

Inside was what looked to be a whip with a loop at the end that had been tied to make a noose. When you stepped a bit closer to inspect it, you could have sworn you saw a flash of blue light somehow. You were staring at it when Whiskey cleared his throat behind you. You whipped around to face the older man and you instinctively took a couple steps backward as if you’d somehow been caught red-handed.

“That ol’ thing caught yer eye, sugar?” Whiskey said. His voice was quieter than usual, softer. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and came over to where you were standing. And all you could do was just look at his face. He had this look that you couldn’t quite decipher what it was supposed to mean as he stared at the whip. But if his stare was a laser, he would have cut through the glass and the wall behind it by now with how intently he was looking ahead of him.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Why the hell do you have a whip in a display case? Not that you can’t do what you’d like with your design choice, but it’s… certainly interesting.” You tried to sound light-hearted, attempting to diffuse this situation you didn’t know you had entered into, but Whiskey sighed deeply. 

“Don’t even know why I put this up. Hate looking at it most days,” he muttered. Suddenly, his head snapped to look at you, as if realizing he’d just said that out loud. He spun on his heel and walked back toward the kitchen. “Well, dinner’s almost ready, so you can head on in here. Got everythin’ all set up for tonight.”

You watched him turn the corner and head down the hall, frozen in place until you realized you should follow him. You quickly followed after him and you were suddenly in the biggest kitchen you’d ever been inside of. There was a giant kitchen island in the middle of the room with a built-in sink and a dark marble countertop. You could see two steaks cooking in an iron skillet on the stove to your left and Whiskey was in the process of pulling what looked to be some roasted vegetables in a pan out of the oven.

“Everything smells amazing, Whiskey,” you complimented as you took a seat on one of the barstools that was at the kitchen island. “Didn’t realize you were hiding a knack for cooking from me.”

Whiskey let out a loud laugh. “Oh, darlin’, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I can’t cook worth a lick,” he replied. “Favorite steakhouse on the other side of the county helped me out. The owner’s real friendly and was willin’ to sell me a steak dinner for two that I could finish in my own kitchen. Will have to take you there sometime.” He tossed a wink your way while he fiddled with the stove and you felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest.

After a few more minutes, Whiskey announced the food was ready and he escorted you into the dining room where a table big enough for the two of you to sit at and intimately enjoy dinner was set up. The meal Whiskey had got for the two of you was absolutely delicious and your mouth was already watering at the prospect of being able to eat it again, but this time in the actual restaurant itself. The two of you talked about your day at work and Whiskey even told you a couple stories from his days as a bartender. He had you laughing so hard your sides hurt at the time he had a guy who tried to pay for his tab with his prized chicken.

Whiskey brought out a plate that contained a massive slice of triple chocolate cake for dessert and, despite you insisting you couldn’t eat another bite, you dug your fork into the giant confection and almost moaned at how rich and amazing it tasted. About halfway through the cake slice, you leaned back in your chair to look Whiskey in his eyes.

“Whiskey, this was incredible, thank you so much for having me over,” you said with a smile. The older man smiled back and gently reached out to hold your hand in his. He hesitated for a second, as if he was worried that you didn’t want the touch, but when you scooted your hand a little closer, he laced his fingers with yours. It was the first time he’d touched you all evening and it made the butterflies in your stomach go wild.

“Real glad you decided to take a chance on an old guy like me,” he replied. “I… I’d been wanting to ask you out for a while now. Was worried how it’d look, what you’d think of me.” 

You squeezed his hand gently, feeling emboldened by his confession. “I, uh, actually thought about asking you to come to my favorite coffee shop with me. The place I go to when I want coffee on my days off,” you said bashfully. “But I… I chickened out at the last minute.”

“Darlin’, I’d go anywhere you asked me to,” Whiskey stated. “Say the word and I’m there.” If you weren’t currently holding hands with him, you felt like you might collapse right then and there. He would have taken you out with his words alone.

“O-Oh.” That was all you managed to get out. You were sure he could see how hard you were blushing. Whiskey let go of your hand and made his way into the kitchen with your plates from dinner. You stood and followed after him.

You watched as Whiskey set the plates in the sink before he turned back to you and walked over to where you were standing in the middle of his kitchen. His large hands settled on your hips, making your heart beat faster. Whiskey’s lips connected with yours in a passionate kiss.

The scratch of the stubble of his chin felt rough against your skin, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. After months, you were finally kissing the man you’d been pining after for so long. Whiskey let out a soft noise as your hands came to rest on his chest, bunching the fabric of his jean jacket in your hands.

“God, baby, you’re incredible, so gorgeous,” Whiskey groaned after pulling back from your kiss. When his mouth returned to yours, his tongue licked into your mouth and it felt so good, it was threatening to make your head spin. In between kisses that had you desperately needing more as soon as possible, he started to guide you towards the back of his house. Whiskey opened a door and you both entered the main bedroom of the property. It was a massive room with an extra-large bed and a door off to the side that was open just wide enough for you to see that it was the primary bathroom. 

The older man pulled back from your intense make-out session to look at you. His large hands were settled on your waist, rubbing the material of your shirt softly. “Please, sugar, tell me you want this as much as I do,” Whiskey said through slightly-grit teeth. “You’ve been runnin’ ‘round my head for weeks an’... I’ve been a patient man, but you bein’ here in my house is doin’ somethin’ wicked to me.”

“I do, I really do, Whiskey,” you replied with a grin. “I want you.” You leaned in to kiss him again, but his eyes drifted downward as he opened his mouth and it made you stop your advance.

“It’s… It’s Jack,” he muttered, turning his face away, suddenly interested in the carpet floor of his bedroom. It took you a couple seconds for your brain to process what he said. You gently cupped his face in your palms, the stubble on his jaw tickling your skin, but the touch made him look back at you. You met his eyes and you could see a little anxiousness hidden behind them.

“Jack…” you repeated. A wide grin broke out on your face as you breathed out his name again. “Jack.” His name fell from your lips and the man in front of you immediately softened. You watched the nervous expression, the tension of letting you know his name, not the moniker he was given during his time with Statesman, bleed out of his body. 

You pressed a kiss to his lips before you pulled back to look up at him. “Jack. Want you to fuck me. Been dreaming about it for so long now… Please .”

As if you’d flipped a switch inside of him, Whiskey – no, Jack – picked you up, your legs immediately wrapping around his waist. You let out a little squeak before you were gently laid down onto the bed and now, Jack was on top of you, kissing you like his life depended on it. He licked into your mouth again and you moaned against him. Jack’s hips grinded down against your clothed core. God, you could feel he was rock-hard under his jeans and you were dying to rip them off of him. You’d thought about this situation before, sure, but nothing from your wet dreams and fantasies could compare to how hot it was to actually be in the moment.

Suddenly, Jack was pulling away from you and stripping off his clothes, you following suit and pulling off your outfit only to toss it all across the room. You were a little self-conscious about his response to seeing you naked, but watching his eyes grow wider and his cock twitch the smallest bit made you feel invincible.

“Absolutely breath-taking, darlin’,” he murmured. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your chest. “Scoot up the bed more fer me, baby, wanna eat you like you’re the last meal I’ll ever have.” You burned at his words and you could only nod dumbly and pull yourself back toward the headboard. After getting settled, Jack pressed soft kisses up your thighs until he had reached where you both wanted him to be the most. He started off with teasing licks that made you feel like you were going to explode right then and there. His tongue gently flicked over your clit and you responded by fisting your hands tightly in the bedsheets, eyes squeezed shut as soft noises fell from your lips that you couldn’t back any longer

“Please, Jack,” you whined. “More. I need more.” You weren’t a stranger to sex, but the very limited encounters with your past partners were currently being blown out of the water. No one had ever made you feel like this before, so close to cumming in practically a minute flat.

“As you wish, sugar,” you heard him say with a chuckle. A kiss was pressed to the skin of your thigh before, true to his word, Jack ate you like a man starved. He licked long stripes up your pussy before digging into your clit with his mouth and his tongue that had you seeing stars. You looked down at Jack and you swore you got closer to orgasm just by seeing how his eyes were closed and his big hands were pushing your legs further apart so you couldn’t clamp down on his head.

“F-Fuck, gonna cum, fucking Christ,” you moaned loudly, head tilting up to the ceiling. You felt one of his hands disappear from its spot on your leg and then you felt a thick finger slip inside of you. The whine you let out was long and high-pitched and the instant a second finger was inserted to curl and prod at your g-spot, you came, cursing loudly and crying his name.

Before your brain could even think of something to say or a way to articulate how amazing that was, Whiskey was kissing you again. The taste of yourself on your lips was so incredibly hot.

“Never tasted anything so good in my life, sweet thing,” Jack said. He leaned down to lap at one of your nipples as he tweaked the other gently in between his fingers, making the stiff bud harden even more than it already was, and all you could do was lay there and whine Jack's name at the attention. You really thought he was trying to kill you with how much worship he was giving your body. He pulled off of you to press a kiss to where your heart would be before he looked back into your eyes.

“Now, gorgeous, we can go as far as you feel comfortable,” he said. “If you don’ wanna do anything else tonight, that’s okay with me. Ya can get me off or I can go take care of myself if you’d like, I just wanted to make you feel good.” You felt the butterflies in your stomach kick into overdrive again. Honestly, you really wanted Jack to fuck you, but you were still somewhat reeling from how hard he’d just made you cum with only his mouth and his fingers (that and you were more than a bit anxious about going all the way with him yet). But there was one thing you’d fantasized about several times…

“I… Ireallywannasuckyourdick,” you spat out. After saying it, you covered your face with your hands. You couldn’t believe you’d just said that. You heard Jack chuckle before you felt him gently take your hands and move them away from your face.

“Baby, I’d love nothin’ more,” he assured you. He leaned back and bared himself to you. For a moment, you could only stare at his cock and try not to drool at how hot he looked like this. His cock was hard and curled up toward his stomach with pre-come was spilling out of it slowly, dripping onto his torso. You settled yourself between his legs and licked an exploratory stripe up the vein running down his cock. Jack let out a loud groan and it only egged you on further. You took the tip into his mouth and lapped at the beads of pre-come that had spilled out. The salty taste of him was heavenly and, despite your earlier assumption that you might not be able to cum again soon, you felt ready to go all over again.

When you finally bobbed your head down, you thought Jack couldn’t moan any louder. You managed to fit all of him inside of your warm, wet mouth, the curly brown hairs at the base of his cock tickling you a little. You stayed down for a couple more seconds before it got to be too much and you had to pull off to cough slightly.

“Fuck, sugar, look so good with your mouth so full of my cock like that,” he groaned. Jack threaded his fingers in your hair and gently nudged you back toward his cock. “Gonna burn that image into my brain.” His words had you needing to reach down to gently touch yourself and you did so as you started to move your mouth up and down his cock again.

“S-Shit,” Jack hissed. You set a steady pace, fast enough to keep up with your need to finger yourself while you sucked Jack off, and it felt like all too soon, Whiskey was tugging on your hair just enough to make your body tingle in pleasure. “G-Gonna cum, sweet thing, make sure you take it all, so wonderful, that’s it, my good darlin’ .”

And that was all it took. His praise was what sent you over the edge.

You found yourself clenching around nothing as your finger frantically rubbed circles on your clit, humming around Jack’s cock as you came. Jack pushed your mouth down the smallest bit to fully sheath himself in your mouth and then you felt the hot burst of cum splash onto your tongue and down your throat. His fingers released their grip on your hair and you pulled off, swallowing as you did so. Jack gave you a wicked smirk at seeing you swallow his cum, but in an instant, he was cupping your face in his hands and making you look at him.

“I am so sorry I forced your head down like that, sugar,” he apologized. “Did I hurt you? I-I didn’t mean to, I swear, it’s just…” You cut him off before he could say anything else.

“It’s alright, Jack, I enjoyed it,” you replied. Your voice was the slightest bit hoarse, but you couldn’t care less. That was the single hottest thing you’d ever experienced in your life.

Whiskey gave you a kiss to your forehead before he got up off the bed, stretching a little as he did so, and walked into the bathroom. You let out a deep, contented sigh as you flopped down and buried your face into the soft pillow behind you. You felt like if you tried to get out of bed at the moment, you couldn’t. Your entire body felt exhausted, well-fucked, still drunk off of Whiskey’s cock that had been in your mouth mere minutes ago.

“Sweetheart, c’mon, move a li’l bit fer me,” he muttered. His Southern accent seemed even more pronounced than usual, which you thought was cute. “Gotta clean you up. Make sure my sugar’s taken care of.” You shifted from your current position to make it easier for Whiskey to wipe you down. The warm washcloth felt nice on your skin, getting the stickiness of your sweat off of you. Whiskey also pressed the cloth between your legs for a brief second and you felt your body get a small burst of warmth. Honestly, you were so worn out, you didn’t think you could be ready for another round if you tried, but that didn’t stop your body from trying.

Whiskey sat the washcloth down on the nightstand next to the bed and laid down, tugging you into his arms gently. You snuggled into him and you felt like you could fall asleep just like this. However, you did have one question for him.

“So… your name is Jack?” you asked after a few minutes of silence into the skin of his broad chest. Whiskey pulled his head back from where it had nestled on the top of your head to look at you with a smirk on his face.

“Would ya believe me if I told you my name was Jack Daniels?” he shot back. A loud laugh bubbled out of your lips. 

“Absolutely not ,” you laughed. Whiskey shared a laugh with you before he leaned in and gave you a long kiss to your lips. Your hand drifted up the soft skin of his back – the soft skin you had probably just scratched up even with your blunt fingernails – and threaded in the hair on the nape of his neck. Kissing Whiskey in this moment was tender and affectionate and you would give anything to stay like this forever. Curled up in his arms, you felt like you could take on anything.

“Well, it’s not the name I was given when I was born,” he started after he pulled back. His voice was low now, like he was sharing a secret. “Changed my name to it when I was a younger man. So, legally speaking, I’m Jack Daniels.” You blinked at him a couple of times.

“You changed your name?” you questioned. “How come?” Your fingers were still running through the hair on the back of his neck and at the question, you felt him tense up a little. Worried, you’d pried too much – despite currently being naked in his bed – you started to do damage control. Your fingers stilled and tightened, probably almost tugging at his hair. “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Before you could babble anything else, Jack pressed another kiss to your lips but it was short and chaste. It had you melting all over again. “Darlin’, it’s alright,” he soothed. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Gonna tell you everything one day. All ‘bout my past. You’re real special to me an’ you deserve to hear it from me before someone from back then finds out about you an’ tries to tell you.” His hot breath ghosted across your skin as he spoke to you, making your body shiver. 

You weren’t exactly sure what he meant, however. But you realized very quickly into your friendship that Whiskey never really spoke about his life, preferring to change topics over actually giving you an answer to something. You had a couple snippets of comments he’d let slip while in conversation at the café, but it wasn’t much. He’d mentioned that he used to work for Statesman Distillery (then again, his belt buckle had practically given that away the day you met), still had connections to them now that he was “retired”, and occasionally did work for them. He’d also mentioned once that, at one point, he was married a long time ago but he was divorced (you’ll never forget the way he looked incredibly uncomfortable when you’d asked about it before you changed the subject, something Whiskey had been thankful for). Sure, you knew about his hobbies and his favorite movie and other things of that nature, but other than that, Whiskey was a closed book.

Suddenly, you realized you’d been off in your own head thinking instead of saying anything back. Your eyes finally focused back on Jack and you could see that he looked ready to bolt at any second. Instead of prodding for more, you kissed the tip of his nose. “Hey, it’s okay,” you reassured him. “You can tell me more about you when you’re ready. It makes me worry about you, sure, but I still trust you.”

Whiskey gave you a soft smile and his grip around you got tighter. You looked up at him just in time to see his eyes slide shut and his breathing turn steady. You weren’t sure where this left your relationship with Whiskey, but you figured you two would talk about that in the morning. For now, you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the scent and the touch of your cowboy.

#agent whiskey #whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #nesswrites.doc #jack whiskey daniels x reader #jack whiskey daniels x you

[lesbianhotch]

getting used to the taste

notes: fem reader (codename Gin) x whiskey, some fluff, some undercover smooching

tagging my love @spacecowboyhotch

You’ve never liked whiskey.

More of a vodka person yourself, the dark liquor was never one of your favorites.

Too strong, too smokey; the tang of the malt that made your nose scrunch as you downed back a shot. 

Your distaste for whiskey extended to Jack Daniels as well. 

“I’m telling ya, it’s because you’ve never had the real stuff.” 

You and Whiskey have had this conversation before. Too many times in fact,as you nurse the drink in front of you at the bar. “And what’s the ‘real stuff’?”

He waves a hand dismissively at the wall of liquor behind the bartender, outwardly scoffing at the sight of it. 

“None of this junk. The top shelf here aint’ even a good top shelf.” 

You can’t help but chuckle at that, eye’s doing a quick scan of the bar and its patrons. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but not much here is ‘top shelf’.” 

Not exactly a dive bar but certainly nothing high end, you’re happy Whiskey left his hat in the Bronco outside, lest he stick out like a sore thumb. Your jeans and blouse helped you fade into the background, but Whiskey’s usual attire was a little formal for the middle of nowhere. He’d ditched his elbow patched blazer and was left in his white button down, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. 

Waiting for informants was never your favorite assignment. Sometimes they’d flake, sometimes they’d try to grease you for more cash than promised. Not a difficult mission, but frightfully boring. It’d been almost two hours now of sitting with Whiskey and making polite conversation while you waited for your man, who was looking more and more like a flake with every passing moment. 

Whiskey ignores your comment on the quality of the bar, tipping back his glass and finishing the rest of his drink. 

“One day you’ll let me take you out to a place that makes a good drink, and you’ll finally get what I mean.” You roll your eyes at that statement, and Whiskey cuts you off before you can open your mouth. “Not on a date Gin, christ on a cracker.” 

Whiskey, just like his namesake, came on a little strong. Not everyone’s taste. A flirt from the moment you meant, you’d laid it on him early on in your working relationship that you did not date people you worked with. He’d made a conscious effort to be your friend, he really did,but most entendres and one liners dropped out of his mouth on pure instinct. 

“People can have drinks together as friends. Just like we’re doin’ right now.”  You nod in agreement, pleased with your partner's statement. “Even though I know ya find me devilishly handsome-” 

You snort, and when you glance at Whiskey, you find a smirk on his face, seemingly holding back his own chuckle. 

And yes, of course you found him handsome, you had eyes. But the day you found yourself willingly falling into Jack Daniels arms, you’d be asking Ginger for a head check. 

You take one long final sip through your straw, the ice clinking against the bottom of the glass. You sigh and glance at your watch. 

“I don’t think this guy is coming.”

“I find myself agreeing with ya darlin.” 

Whiskey reaches into his back pocket and grabs his wallet, putting some bills on the bar before getting down from his stool. 

You follow him outside, and the warm spring day has made way for a cool night, the setting sun bringing in a gentle breeze. Whiskey pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his other pocket, holding it out to you in offering.  “We can wait a few more minutes, see if this guy swings by.” 

“Fine by me,” you reply, grabbing a cigarette and tucking it between your fingers. Whiskey provides the lighter, and he cups his hand around yours as he attempts to get it lit, battling with the wind that passes through his fingers. 

You both lean against the wall of the building, watching as cars pass by on the road in front, and you take a long drag, internally kicking yourself for this habit that you never let die. But hey, maybe you deserve a smoke once in a blue moon. 

The silence is companionable, and you’re enjoying watching the last rays of sunshine color the grass gold when you both hear the raising of voices. You turn to your partner, and he nods in silent agreement as you drop your cigarette and stamp it out under your boot.

You sneak over to the corner of the building, a dumpster blocking you from view as you listen to the bickering male voices. 

“-not my fault-”

“Not your fault? Too damn stupid to know how to double cross somebody-”

“-alright you two cut it ou-”

You rise up slowly from where you’re crouched, just enough to peek over the dumpster and your blood runs hot at the sight. 

Son of a bitch. There he is. Your informant, wearing exactly what he said he would be. Except he is certainly not alone.

He’s surrounded by four other men, two who you recognize right away due to their faces being on the wall of Wanted men at Statesman HQ. They were who you were planning on getting info on tonight, but instead here they are, no more than six feet away from you. Shit. Fuck shit. 

“No, I don’t know what they look like,” your informant hisses out, breaking you from your own thoughts. “They’re supposed to recognize me, that’s how I’m supposed to meet them.”

“Well, do you think you can lead them out here or not?” 

You know that you and Whiskey could take all of them down. Hell, you could do it on your own if you really needed to, probably with a hand behind your back. Except that wasn’t the plan, and kicking the snot out of these mid level criminals wouldn’t get you any closer to their boss, which was the ultimate goal. 

You’re lowering yourself back behind the dumpster, set on turning around as quiet as possible and making your way back to Whiskey when you accidentally bump your elbow against the side of the dumpster's metal exterior. 

Unfortunately for you, trash must’ve gone out the day before, because the emptiness of the dumpster causes the clang of your bone against the metal to ring loud in the air. 

“What was that?”

Shit.

You move back around the corner, walking as fast as you can without making too much noise, and Whiskey looks at you expectantly as he sees you try not to run.

“What’d ya see-”

“Shut up, follow me.” You grab him by the wrist, and he drops his cigarette as you pull him away from the wall.

There’s visible confusion on his face as you drag him back towards where you just came from, and you can only hope that the plan you’ve formed in a matter of seconds is one that will actually work. 

You spin him and shove him against the wall, reaching down and pulling his shirt out of his pants. There’s a hitch in Whiskey’s breath and you look at him with wide eyes, hoping that he’ll be able to read you, to know exactly what you’re going for.

Thank god he’s a smart man. 

He gives you the slightest nod, and you reach into your own blouse to tug your bra strap down your arm. You can hear footsteps around the building, and Whiskey puts his hand in his hair and vigorously scrubs it through, doing his best to make it disheveled. 

It’s now or never you realize, and you clamp a hand on the back of Whiskey’s neck, bringing him down close to your face. His arm winds around your back, and you do your best to let out the most ridiculous sounding giggle you possibly can. 

“Come onnn-” you slur, tugging your partner closer to the corner. “No one’s around, no one will notice.”

Whiskey plants a kiss on your cheek close to your ear, and his mustache tickles your skin. “Sweetheart, you’re too drunk. We gotta go home.” His voice is steady, a tinge of laughter sprinkled in, the perfect responsible ‘boyfriend’.

“Don’t be stingy.” You whine and try one more time to pull him backwards, and when you stumble over the rocky gravel of the parking lot, Whiskey follows you, and you both find yourself face to face with your would-be informant. 

You cover your mouth with your hand, giggling. “Oh my- I’m so sorry! You don’t work here do you?”

He makes a face, hands shoved into his pockets, and two of his burly friends bring up the rear, flanking behind him.

“No. Me and the boys were just out here for a smoke.” 

You smile, letting your eyes drift over to Whiskey. “Oh, we were doing the same. Well, a bit more than just a smoke but-”

“Now darlin, they don’t want to know that.” Whiskey squeezes your side, and you laugh, leaning your body weight into your partner, grateful as he holds you up. 

“If you don’t mind-” The informant gestures to where they had all been standing before. At a glance, you notice that the others have vanished, off to who knows where. “We’re talking privately.” 

Whiskey, holds up a hand, apologetic. “Our bad. I’m just trying to get this one to go home.” He nods at you, and you press your nose into his neck, nuzzling him. “You know how it is.” 

One of the men grumbles in agreement, and you can tell they’re getting antsy for the both of you to get the hell out of there.

You decide to push your luck. 

You feign annoyance at Whiskey’s words and gently push yourself away from him, stumbling forward and knocking into your informant. The gravel under your feet and the heel of your boots make it easy to ‘trip’.

“Christ lady!”

“Oh my god I-” 

His hand comes up to your arm to steady you, and there’s a slight kerfuffle as you regain your balance and Whiskey follows behind you, reaching out for you. 

Getting your hand on the front of the man’s jacket is easy, and your sleight of hand goes off without a hitch as one of Ginger’s miniscule sized trackers lands in his breast pocket. 

You apologize profusely, allowing Whiskey to gather you from behind and pull you away from the men. 

“Apologies fellas.” He waves them off, putting effort into dragging you back towards the car. You can’t deny that you go a little limp, just to make him carry you. Whiskey oughta do some work on this mission. 

You throw your arm up and wave wildly behind you, laughing all the while. 

The two of you round the corner, but you continue your act, arms wrapped around Whiskey’s middle as you hold yourself up. You press your nose into the underside of his chin, smiling.

“Mmm, you think we’re in the clear?”

Whiskey stops for a moment and adjusts his hold on you. To anyone looking your way, you’re the picture perfect portrait of a couple who’s had one too many. “Let’s keep it up till we’re in the car and out of sight, just in case.” 

Thankfully the Bronco wasn’t parked too far away, and your laughter turns real as Whiskey props you up against the car and opens the passenger side door for you.

“Alright, in ya go.” 

You plop yourself into the seat, ‘fumbling’ with the buckle before Whiskey clicks it in himself and closes the door. You relax into the seat, watching him with soft eyes as he rounds the front of the car and gets in the driver's side.

The Bronco comes to life, and Whiskey turns to you, smile on his face.

“How about some sugar, sugar?” He taps a gentle finger to his lips and you have to physically refrain from rolling your eyes.

“Mmm you’re pushing it, honey.”

“And you know that’s the only way I know how to be.”

You laugh shrilly through clenched teeth, and you lean across the middle console, sneaking a glance behind Whiskey and towards the corner of the building. They’re lurking there, just as you had been before, slightly obscured by the dumpster. They’re still fucking watching.

Shit. Fine. 

You slither a hand onto Whiskey’s firm chest, tugging gently on the fabric of his shirt. He follows you with ease, grinning at you. Your lips purse sweetly, and you notice Whiskey’s eyes flit down to see.

“You know what, you’re right. You do deserve some sugar.” 

You want this to be over as quickly as possible, really you do. Atleast, that’s the reason you give yourself as you press your lips to Whiskey’s as fast as you can. 

His mustache tickles your upper lip, but his lips are soft and there’s a lingering taste of cigarette smoke that should be gross rather than hot, but-

It’s hot.

You had planned for it just to be a peck, a quick little kiss to get those men off your back, but Whiskey tilts his head ever so slightly and presses his lips back into yours and from there, it all falls apart. 

Suddenly you’re opening up your lips and letting Whiskey’s tongue peek into your mouth, your grip on his shirt getting even tighter as you actually let yourself enjoy the feeling of being kissed. Which is what’s happening here- Whiskey’s taking the lead, Whiskey is kissing you, and yeah. It’s pretty damn good.

You have a brief thought about doing this until the sun completely sets, till the patrons are forced out of the bar and folks are telling you and Whiskey to get a room when there’s a gentle hand on your elbow that’s pushing you away.

The wet sound of your lips disconnecting makes your cheeks feel hot.

Whiskey smiles at you, and it’s not the smug look you’d expect from him. It’s charming, a sweet grin stretching out his cheeks as he wipes his thumb across his bottom lip.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your zeal darlin’, but I figured we shouldn’t get too carried away out here huh?” 

You glance around the parking lot, and to your luck, there’s nobody there. 

Your criminal friends must have lost interest at some point when Whiskey had your bottom lip between his teeth.

You sigh heavily, letting go of Whiskey’s shirt and leaning back against the car seat, letting your head loll back.

“Oh they’re gone, thank fuck. Get us the hell out of here.”

Whiskey leans an arm into the backseat and grabs his hat, perching it atop his head. 

“That was a pretty interesting diversion you cooked up there.” 

You lick your lips, avoiding looking at Whiskey as he backs out of the parking lot and onto the road. 

“Worked, didn’t it?”

You can’t see him, but you know he’s nodding in agreement as he drives. “Oh, absolutely.” There’s a soft silence as the wind whips through your hair and against your skin, the Bronco speeding down the road. For a moment, you have hope that Whiskey is going to let the kiss slide.

It’s short lived.

“Cherry?”

You turn in your seat. “Excuse me?”

There’s that smug grin you had missed before, plastered across Whiskey’s face as he sneaks a glance at you before putting his eyes back on the road.

“Cherry chapstick. That’s what ya tasted like. At least, that’s what I thought.” 

You curse the little tube in your back pocket. 

“Well that’s the only taste you’re ever gonna get of it. So, savor the flavor.”

Whiskey laughs, a short bark of laughter that comes straight from his chest. 

“And I ain’t asking for any more of it Gin, cross my heart.”

“Good.”

Whiskey pipes up again a few minutes later,-

“Unless of course, you want me to.” 

You laugh and shake your head, but the more you think about it, maybe you could get used to the taste of whiskey.

#my writing #oh boy this is silly #agent whiskey #whiskey x reader

[yandere-wishes]

Before seeing that old man I always thought my type is refined, classy older gentleman like Colin Firth(He's a major character in that movie series and I did fawn over him) but????

HIM???

He makes my mouth water for real

You see for another of my major fictional man needs me to be the bigger person around him, like cheering him up and always casting positive energy to balance out the negatives he has... Essentially being like an older sister figure looking after someone, it could get tiring at times.

But I can be the bratty little girl all I want with this old, perverted man (he is a pervert in the movie so this is not a baseless insult)

(Also I am frantically scribbling down your *ideas* on that man for my self-indulgent fic that I'm drafting)

-💙

There's always going to be "THE ONE" that completely revamps your taste and leaves you questioning your life.

Honestly, that's the best thing though!! Getting to experience the duality of your personality through fictional characters. One bringing out your more nurturing side. The other makes you want to misbehave (and crave punishment). It really is fascinating how we not only learn so much about ourselves through media but discover/hone parts of ourselves we never thought we had.

Sorry, that kinda got philosophical there lol.

But yeah!! YOU GO GIRL give that old perv a run for his money!! Make his blood boil and give him unneeded stressors in his life!! Every old man deserves a bratty girl to make his life a living hell!!

Tag me when you write it!! I'd love to read it!! I'm unfamiliar with his character but if it's general ideas for older men/younger women that you need then…

leaving lipstick kisses all over him!! Thank him walking outside with those markings still there.

Getting your hair pulled from behind, while he whispers just the most degrading, filthy thing in your ear. Why does it feel like he can read your mind?

He sees past your physical form. He sees the springy soul trapped within, whether yet still so juvenile. He feeds off your exuberance, longing for a time he felt the same way.

this is a classic but…tying your hands with his belt or tie. Or even using his tie as a gag.

Sleeping in his oversized shirts and waking up to him making breakfast.

feeling so insignificant in this world. Feeling like time is ticking too fast and knowing that losing each other is enviable. Yet finding comfort in each other's arms for mere feeble fleeting seconds.

Hope these kinda help darling!!

#yandere x reader #yandere #yancore #yandere x you #yandere aesthetic #red aesthetic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #din djarin #kingsman golden circle #kingsman golden circle whiskey #whiskey x reader #yandere din dgarin #tony stark #tony stark x you #yandere tony stark #tony stark x reader #boba fett #yandere boba fett #boba fett x reader

[bbuckysbeardd]

My fav small shop is dropping Pedro themed shirts on April 3rd at 830 PST

#pedro pascal #pedrohub #the mandalorian #the mandaloria/reader #mando x reader #pedro pascal x reader #Joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #space daddy #whiskey x reader #agent whiskey #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell #daddy #hot daddy #Star Wars

[welikethoseoddslove]

Whiskey Fics Anyone?

I love Whiskey but can't do the daddy kink for reasons ...anyone have any good smutty recommendations? If not send headcannons my way and I'll get on writing them :)

#whiskey x reader #whiskey x you #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey #kingsmen #kingsman #jack whiskey daniels #whiskey smut #pedro pascal #dreamalittledreamofme #welikethoseoddslove welikethoseodds

[ghostly-whiskey]

simon riley who you "meet" through a program where you can send care packages to soldiers. you don't think much of it at first, just a simple package with a few necessities and treats. and along with that, a short, but genuine and handwritten letter thanking the unknown soldier to you for their service.

and when you go to retrieve your mail a few weeks later after getting home from work, brows furrowing together as you shuffle through the stack of envelopes.

bill. another bill. advertisement. paycheck. handwritten addressed envelope from 'ghost'.

your brain doesn't even connect the dots until you are inside, fingers gently picking at the envelope until your able to drag a finger through the seal to open it. a simple piece of what looks like notebook paper is pulled from inside. unfolding it, eyes quickly scan the letter to get an idea what it's about.

you've done plenty of care packages before. never did you get a personalized thank you letter back, so, this was a first. the letter starting off by thank you for the package and that he enjoyed the items, especially the "sweet treats". the two words put in quotations as he referred to what you referred to them as in your own letter. your own brain cringing slightly as you remember what you wrote.

again, thank you for all that you do and enjoy the sweet treats!

and while you expected the letter to end after thanking you, it didn't. additional lines asking about you. the sets of questions ranging from asking how long have you been doing the care packages to general questions about yourself. then, at the very end, after signing off as 'ghost', you couldn't help but notice the chicken scratch of handwriting that added:

p.s. you don't need to respond back if you don't want to, just figured it be nice to get something back in return. thanks again.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley fluff #simon riley cod #simon riley x reader fluff #simon ghost riley x reader fluff #simon ghost riley fluff #ghost cod #call of duty #୨୧˚whiskey writes˚୨୧ #୨୧˚whiskey writes ghost˚୨୧

[prolix-yuy]

Congrats!!!!!!! Can I request a little something with our boy ~Whiskey~? Maybe like an old college fling and they see each other at a bar and things get ~spicy~?? Thanks!!! Congratulations again!!!

Ohhhhhh lovely, you've got me in a soft spot. I never thought Whiskey was going to be a recurring character in my PPCU but he keeps coming in and spicing things up! Let's see how a little meetup with an old college friend turns out...

My Bluebell Song

Pairing: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x F!Reader "Bluebell"

Summary: In all the time time I've known you and loved you from afar, let me go back on your way.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, breast play, grinding and groping, dirty talking Jack comes with his own warning.

Notes: Golden Circle? We don't know her here. Jack just has a nice job at a distillery and a heart full of lovvin'. Title is based on My Bluebell Song by Mark Olsen.

“Bluebell?”

Your head perks up, brows pulled together.

No one’s called you Bluebell since…

“Whiskey?”

The nondescript bar a few miles from home, one that’s so familiar to you it practically fades into the background when you enter, burst into light and color when Jack Daniels smiles.

“Well I’ll be damned, it is you!” he says, sliding up to your barstool to pull you into a warm hug.

“It’s been so long!” you reply, a breathy laugh squeezed out of you by Jack’s embrace. He pulls back to study your face, giving you a good long pause to take in how the years have changed him. College was far enough back that you miscounted the years, but your memory of the southern gentleman who was surprisingly adept at criminal law and international affairs was still sharp enough to hold against the real deal in front of you. 

A mustache, thick and well trimmed, sits comfortably on his face. A few more laugh lines around his mouth and eyes, though they look less used than you might suspect. The span of his shoulders is wider than you remember - maybe because he’s standing close enough that you can breathe in lungfuls of mint and musky cologne without it being too noticeable. The flannel he’s wearing is soft, the memory of its caress against your cheek soothing as you smirk at the buttons threatening to pop. He was always proud of the width and breadth of his body, and apparently his fashion hasn’t strayed from accentuating his best assets. 

“Never thought I’d be running into you in a place like this,” Jack says, stepping back to settle into the bar stool next to you. One elbow on the counter, long dexterous fingers stroking along the etched lines of his rocks glass. You know what’s in it, smell the heat of whiskey as clearly as you can smell the man that shares the name. 

“I never thought I’d be running into you, period. What have you been up to Jack?” you ask, turning in your seat to face him. The sideways smirk that used to make your heart dance plays across his face, though there’s a little more sadness to it. You can commiserate; the years have been kind and not to you as well.

“You know, the holidays. My dad’s alone now, so I took some time off to keep him company.” Your smile dims, a more empathetic one replacing it. 

“I was sorry to hear it,” you say, Jack’s grateful hum chasing your words. Your mom told you about Mrs. Daniels’ rapid decline.

“Home visiting too?” Jack says, changing the subject quickly as you clock the shine of his eyes. Those who knew Jack might have thought it brisk, but you knew Jack, and let him lead.

Jack had been the troublemaker, the rabble-rouser at your college. Athletic enough to be a fiend on the lacrosse field, and smart enough to hold his own in debate club, he was a heartthrob to many. But that’s not what drew you to friendship.

You worked as a stable hand through college, both for the money and for the enjoyment of being around the boarded horses after long days of classes. It was just the amount of palate-cleansing you needed to go home and study in the evenings. You’d heard of “that whiskey-named fella”, but it wasn’t until you were bent over in a stall putting down fresh hay that you exchanged words. 

“Excuse me ma’am,” came a careful voice from outside the gate, startling you upright as a few errant wisps of straw floated down from your hands. He was handsome then, more boyish and brash, but respectful when he apologized for startling you.

“Do you know if Sherwood’s still out on the grounds?” he asked, your brain finally clicking into motion. You directed him to the stable manager, mentioned that you thought his horse was getting a rubdown, and let him know where to check if he couldn’t find him there. He thanked you, and added with a self-assured smirk, “See you around, Bluebell.” The moniker furrowed your brow until you peeked over the stable door and saw the name etched into a plaque. 

Bluebell stuck, and so did Jack once he ran into you on campus. You thought he might be a tease about it, but your casual conversations over horses quickly expanded to favorite classes, homework help, lunches and dinners when you both were free, and the occasional wild weekend when obligations were lax. Holidays spent visiting each other for a handful of days, especially when you realized how close your homes were. You fit into each other's worlds easily, and left them amicably at the end of four hectic years.

You truly never expected to see Jack again. You assumed you’d chat, his number migrated from phone to phone, but whenever you thought of calling or texting it felt weird after so many years apart. So he became the soft memory of a good friend.

Until now, with his charming smile and easy conversation back within arm’s reach.

“Mom and Dad are thinking of downsizing…which they’ve said for years, but they’re asking me to take things so maybe they’re serious this time.” Your drink slips lower as Jack watches you with careful curiosity. It’s a look that made you feel seen in your youth, but now makes you feel…appreciated? 

You can’t remember the last time a man made you feel appreciated.

“I always liked that house,” he mulls, signaling the bartender for another round. 

“If you give them an offer, they might just take it,” you toss back, leaning on the bar as Jack turns back to you. You’re delightfully buzzy, shoulders lighter and warmth radiating down your spine at every new laugh Jack coaxes out of you. It’s the easy happiness you remember from late nights returning home from parties, mostly there because Jack invited you. The little thrill when he’d ask to crash at your dorm because you had a single and his roommate was asleep. How euphoric it felt to lay on the floor and stare at the Where’s Waldo poster you hung on the ceiling, Jack complaining about how your shag rug was in dire need of grooming. 

All the times you tried to work yourself up to touch him that ended with his soft snore sending you to your bed and a regretful groan waking you the next day.

“I don’t think it would be quite the same without you in it,” he says. The words are simple enough, rumbled out from between his full lips, but the quick glint in his eyes has waves of heat and lightheadedness washing over you.

Did he just…?

“I’m sure you have a better home waiting for you,” you say, regret instantly tanging on your tongue. Jack gives you a shrug, that smirk still playing beneath that gorgeous mustache. It kills you how good he looks with it.

“Nothing special, little duplex I rent close to the distillery. It’s a house, but not really much of a home.” The bartender delivers your drinks, and Jack strokes one thick finger along the rim of his glass. The heat that was licking your face and neck is now hurtling somewhere much more dangerous. “What about you, Bluebell? You made yourself a nice little home, a good life outside of this town?”

You return his shrug as casually as possible, the implications of your conversation strumming your heart.

“I haven’t settled on anything yet. Feels like I’ve still got some opportunities ahead of me.” You almost let out the nervous laugh sitting in your throat. You’ve never been so coy, yet so bold. But it’s Jack, the one you never let yourself believe you could get, and when he meets your eyes again your strumming heart stops.

“Someone special waiting for you?” he asks, slow as a sunset. Your answer is a gunshot.

“No.”

His smile ricochets into your chest.

“Good.”

Suddenly you can’t breathe, Jack’s gaze pinning you in place. His confidence has always been sexy but directing it at you, with unfamiliar seduction behind his words, has your mouth drying out. 

An interruption gives you time to compose yourself.

“Oh my god, Whiskey?!” comes a woman’s voice, the crowd parting as she beelines to Jack’s shoulder. 

“Maryanne,” he says with a laugh, treating her to a one-armed hug that she throws herself into. Breathing under control, you try not to jump to the next possible conclusion.

“I haven’t seen you since graduation? How have you been?” she gushes, hand planted firmly on his shoulder. Her nails are gorgeously manicured, long hair swept back into an elegant high ponytail. She’s effortlessly dressed, fitting in but standing out in a way that draws eyes. You vaguely remember her, a staple at Jack’s college parties. With a whoosh of your stomach, you recall that they dated, briefly. 

“Back in town for a time. The holidays, you know,” Jack answers, nodding at her kindly but curtly. The exchange has you see-sawing between dread and confusion. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was brushing her off. You desperately hope he is.

“Amazing. You look amazing, too, by the way. Really grew into these shoulders,” she says, squeezing his bicep with a laugh. He chuckles along with her, but you see his body shift away. You should try to give her the hint.

“Nice to see you too, Maryanne,” you interject, the force of her smile now turned to you. Her expression blanks, then recognition clicks.

“Oh my God, this is just a day of reunions!” she crows, giving you a hug too. Catching Jack’s eye over her shoulder, he shakes his head with a helpless shrug. 

“You should come sit with us, catch up!” Maryanne suggests, looking at Jack now instead of you. “A couple of the old crowd have a table in the back, I’m sure they’d all like to say hi.”

Fighting the urge to shrink into yourself, you try to keep a sunny disposition even as Maryanne is tempting Jack away. His eyes flit between you two, uncertainty painting his expression. Maryanne catches on and spins back.

“Of course you can come back too, we have plenty of room,” she adds cheerily. Your heart is hammering in your throat now, tears threatening to sting your eyes. It would be rude to refuse, but you don’t want to sit at a table full of people who wouldn’t recognize you without being at Jack’s elbow. You didn’t want to fake a smile for the next hour. You especially didn’t want to watch Maryanne flirt with Jack, see if he accepts her advances, see if he’s just having his fun with his old faithful friend and you’re just projecting something more.

A warm palm strokes down your forearm and dashes all your worries away like blowing dust from an old novel.

“Thank you for the invite, but my girl and I are having a night to ourselves. Please send our best wishes to the others,” Jack says as smoothly as any movie star could hope to deliver under pressure. Maryanne’s face freezes, contorts, and breaks into embarrassment with realization.

“Oh I’m such an idiot, I didn’t mean to…” she begins to apologize, Jack’s soothing voice smothering her frantic one, but you can barely hear them over two words echoing in your head.

My girl.

My girl.

Mygirlmygirlmygirlmygirlmygirl.

You smile understandingly at Maryanne, give her another hug before she slips back into the crowd and disappears.

Leaving you with Jack. Who just called you his girl.

His hand is still on your arm, but slowly slides down to your wrist, then over your knuckles, and finally under your palm to take your hand into his own.

“I hope that wasn’t too forward, me calling you that,” he murmurs, leaning in and studying your hand in his, almost as if he’s mapping out a scene in his head. The wisp of memory of all those times you wished you’d taken the first step are familiar in his face.

“Only if you don’t mean it,” you say, surprised at the steadiness in your voice. Jack peeks up at you through his lashes, and the mirror of your own hope makes you more light-headed than any drink.

“You’ve been my girl to me for longer than my pride will let me admit,” he husks, his other hand coming to brush against your knee. The room feels brighter all of the sudden, music too loud, conversations too close. You take in a shuddering breath, ordering yourself to have the strength you’d lacked so many times.

“I’ve always been your girl, Jack.”

He’s on his feet in a flash, fingers laced in yours and tugging you out of your seat.

“Come with me.”

It feels like you’re floating as Jack leads you through the growing crowd, fingers woven with his thicker ones. His flannel stretches tantalizingly across his shoulders as you follow him to the back of the bar where a hall leads to the bathrooms. Just as you duck out of sight of the other bar goers, Jack cups your cheeks and presses your foreheads together.

“Bluebell, I’ve chickened out on kissing you so many times,” he groans, whiskey-laced breath hot on your lips as your smile pinches your cheeks. 

“Glad to know I wasn’t the only one,” you manage to get out before Jack cradles your head and brings his lips to yours.

You can’t help it; you moan into his mouth, everything fading away around you - the music, the conversations - until it’s just Jack’s full lips fitting to your plush ones. A puff of air tickles along your cheek, Jack’s aquiline nose pressed into yours as he drags out kiss after kiss. Maybe it’s one long one, barely broken by the sharp inhales he pulls through his nose and the slow encroachment of his body against yours. One of his hands slides down your back to press you chest to chest, arms circling as you melt into him. This is what a swoon-worthy kiss should be like. This is what you missed all those years. 

He pulls back just enough to brush your lips together lightly, then gently swipes his tongue along the seam. The sensation startles your mouth open, fisting his hair in one hand and his flannel in another. It’s his turn to groan into your mouth, pressing you back into the cool wall.

“Bluebell, I should have been kissing you for years,” he groans, crashing your lips back together and darting his tongue in to slide against yours. Your need mounts, sucking his lower lip between your teeth playfully before exploring with teasing licks and gasps. Fighting between air and desire, you whimper when Jack pulls away, searching your face frantically.

“This doesn’t feel real. Tell me it’s real, Bluebell, because it’s the best damn thing that’s happened to me in years and I’ll be devastated if I wake up,” he pants, and you pull him into a hug that almost crushes his nose into your neck.

“It’s so fucking real, Jack, I’m…shit, I’m so happy,” you whisper, feeling Jack’s face turn against your skin before his mouth is hot and hungrily scraping along your throat. Mindlessly you part your legs and shift your hips to guide his thigh between yours, a thready noise eking out when he presses deeper and up against your heat. 

“Oh shit, baby, you’re so hot,” he garbles, hands coming to your waist as he kisses a path up to your ear. “Fuck, we shouldn’t be…doing this here. Don’t want anyone to see you like this.” In spite of his confession, he urges your hips to roll along his thigh and you bemoan wearing jeans out tonight. The double layers of denim keep the friction frustratingly soft. Though when Jack growls, “I only want to be able to see you like this,” it’s almost enough to get you there anyways. 

“Take me home,” you breathe, peeling him off you enough that he can see your urgency. His eyes are hazy, lips swollen and tempting enough to steal another kiss. He presses his thigh harder, making you come up to your toes with a squeak. It’s so close to what you need.

“Fuck, I’m staying with my dad,” Jack groans, fingers sliding under your shirt to tease at the skin along your waistband. You huff a laugh, lolling your head back.

“Same,” you add, voice cracking with the hilarity of it all. “It’s just like college all over again,” you observe, snorting out a laugh that Jack follows with a warm one of his own.

“No, if this was college I’d come back to your dorm and make love to you all night in that tiny little bed,” Jack corrects, both palms slipping down to squeeze your bottom as he slides his nose against yours. You stroke across his chest, fingers skating briefly over the peaks of his nipples and noting the little hitch in his breath when you do.

“The bathrooms lock,” you say, biting your lip at the look of disgust that scrawls across Jack’s face.

“The first time I get to fuck you will not be in a dirty bar bathroom,” Jack scolds, stepping back and taking the delicious heat and friction with him. You pout briefly, chasing his touch.

“Bill keeps it very clean, I’ll have you know,” you shoot back, earning a roll of the eyes and an enveloping of you into his body again. He places a chaste kiss on your temple, then another on the corner of your mouth.

“I’ve got my dad’s truck out back, we can go anywhere,” Jack whispers, the words barely out before you’re tugging him to the exit.

“I’ve always liked your dad’s truck,” you tease, earning a delicious flash of heat in Jack’s eyes.

“Don’t you start that,” he warns, but follows you out.

The back parking lot is dark, your only guide the flash of the truck’s lights. Jack puts you in the passenger side first, but as soon as the door shuts you’re on him again, pulling him by the flannel back to your mouth.

“Bluebell this is hardly better than the bar. I’m not getting arrested for indecent exposure by Mr. Benedict in my dad’s old truck.” The sheer ridiculousness of the sentence makes you pull away, eyes adjusted enough to the dark to find Jack’s in the ink.

“Mr. Benedict, the PE teacher, is a cop now?” you ask, pulling a chuckle from deep in Jack’s chest. It’s quickly becoming your favorite sound.

“Seems you need to get in on the town gossip.” 

His sassy remark is cut short when you palm his cock through his jeans, heavy and straining against the denim. 

“Seems like someone may not be able to wait until we find a better place,” you say, sliding your thumb under the thick ridge of the head. A guttural choke spurs you on, leaning over the center console to suck a mark beneath Jack’s ear. Your body is vibrating, all self-consciousness and anxiety thrown out the window in favor of Jack Jack Jack.

“Holy fuck, Bluebell, shit, okay, yeah, okay, let’s…” Jack stammers before you awkwardly crawl over to the drivers side, balancing precariously on your knees as Jack peppers kisses across the tops of your breasts. 

“Want you now, Jack, I can barely fucking stand it,” you plead, working open the top few buttons of his flannel. Jack takes the hint and rucks your shirt over your breasts, scraping his teeth along the fabric to catch your nipple. It spikes through your spine and into your cunt, your hips jerking. His thumb hooks into your bra strap and tugs it down, your breast spilling into his hot mouth. You could cry, his tongue swirling around the peak and sucking and rolling it between his lips creating the perfect ache. Grabbing the bunched-up hem of your shirt, you move to pull it over your head, your hips canting backwards…

And your ass hits the horn.

The blare of sound shocks you forward, and with a series of ratcheting clicks the well-worn driver’s seat reclines, sending you flying back with twin oofs! Your chest slams against Jack’s, and with a “shit!” you post up on your hands, still straddling Jack with one of your tits out and your shirt half on. He looks up at you, eyes wide in the moonlight, before he tries (and fails) to fight back a smile. 

“Just alert the whole town to our canoodling then, sweetheart,” Jack says before you both dissolve into laughter, tears streaming down your face. Jack rights your bra and helps you slide your shirt back down to a reasonable place before pulling you to lay against his chest. 

For a few long minutes you lay there, wildly uncomfortable with how scrunched up you are, but unwilling to move and break the spell. Jack has to speak first.

“I think this may be the universe telling us to do this the proper way,” he muses, fingers stroking up and down your spine. 

“And what would that be?” you ask, the rise and fall of his chest gentle against your cheek. You like hearing his voice vibrate under your hand.

“Taking you out to dinner first. Bringing you flowers, but also some for your mom. Ordering two desserts - I don’t share when it comes to chocolate cake.” You smile at the picture he’s painting. “After we drive out where we can stargaze, and I can kiss on you some more. Then we go back to a nice hotel, and I make fantastic love to you until we can barely stay awake.”

Your cheeks heat pleasantly, placing a kiss to the center of his chest. 

“Then what? What comes next?” you ask, suddenly sobered. This wild night years in the making still feels like a dream. How could it be more than that?

“Well, you did say your mom and dad’s house was for sale…” he muses, hands slowing as you come to your elbows above him. “I might be in the market for a change.”

You watch the small tics in his face - his tongue darting wetly over his lips, the intensity of his gaze, his concerned brow - and find comfort there.

“There’s a house I’ve been wanting to buy for years. Might be a better investment if we both went in on it,” you say, with only a little waver in your voice. “You know, as partners.”

Jack nods, guiding your head down to his for another deep kiss, slow and thorough.

“I like that. Let’s talk about it over…let’s say seven to ten dates,” he says. You press your foreheads together.

“Deal.”

When you get back into your seat, rearranging your clothes and trying to look more presentable, Jack hums thoughtfully while pulling out of the parking lot.

“I can also take you to a little place nearby, quiet spot in the woods. I’ve got a blanket in the back I can put down in the trunk before I bend you over and eat your pussy until you’ve soaked my face.” Your heart and cunt spike at Jack’s wicked tongue curling around this fantasy. “Then when I’ve made you scream around my fingers - as loud as you like, no one will hear you - I’ll give you my cock and make you cum until you can barely walk. Maybe even let you ride this old cowboy so I can watch you bounce in the starlight. If I can keep my wits about me that is.” He shoots you a look, hunger and affection and desire and maybe something that can grow more than you ever dreamed. 

You quirk an eyebrow back.

“Why not both?”

Jack smiles, and you realize how much you missed it.

“That’s my girl.”

END

#jack whiskey daniels x reader #jack daniels x female reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #whiskey x reader #jack daniels x you #kingsman fanfiction #lj's 500 follower celebration #prolix fics

[kiwisbell]

yellow bird [joel miller]

Taking the weight off your shoulders.

whiskey sour masterlist | my masterlist

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), dbf!joel, age gap (20s/40s), sexual frustration, academic-validation-to-praise-kink pipeline, these two are in lurvvvv, thigh riding, joel talks you through it, and maybe reveals a side of him we haven't seen yet, a lil fluid exchange, some sweet sappy talk because it's them what do we expect, pure self-indulgence, that’s about it

word count: ~ 2.7k

a/n: this was mine and @cavillscurls's challenge to myself to write somethin short and sweet, thank you mya for being a cheerleader throughout this whole process. and thank you hugely el @northernbluess for last-minute beta reading and telling me it does not(?), in fact, suck dick n cock. i envision this as part of the whiskey sour-verse, but you don't need to read the series to understand what's going on here! this honestly makes me super fucking nervy to post, but i hope you enjoy. xoxo

read on ao3!

follow @kiwisbellupdates and turn on notifications if you'd like to be notified when i post a fic!

The moon is carving a path through the darkening sky, and you’ve been quiet for hours. 

You sit at the dining table with your cheek in your palm, lidded eyes flitting relentlessly from one side of the page to another. Every couple minutes, you jot down some notes on your cue cards. Your coffee lies untouched next to your textbook. 

Each slash of pen across paper cuts into his chest. You write in bursts of furious energy, the paper sometimes bunching under your fist, black ink smearing—you only ever write in black—one letter into the next. Your jerky looping letters resemble nothing close to your penmanship. Your sentences are punctuated by squiggles rather than dots. The corners of your eyes are moist, your skin glowing gold under a filtered smattering of light from the street lamps outside. 

There's a tight line to the curve of your mouth, a gash of colour where your lipstick has faded. Weariness dulls the shimmer in your eye. You keep writing. 

“Thought you were goin’ out with your friends tonight,” says Joel. 

“Hmm?” You blink slowly, the sound of his voice dragging your gaze toward Joel: dressed in jeans and an olive flannel (a gift from you), he's watching you study, a worried slash between his brows. “Oh,” you say. “No. I bailed.”

A flare of his nostrils as he approaches you from the coffee station is the only indication he gives that he's frustrated. “You’ve been workin’ all day, baby. You haven't eaten.” He slides his coffee mug toward you and switches it with your own. “Here, take mine. Yours is gettin’ cold.”

You start to shake your head. “Joel, it’s—”

“It's either you drink mine,” he says, sliding the milk and sugar toward you, “or you take a break.”

You narrow your eyes. “You hate my coffee.”

“Relationships are sacrifice. C’mere.” He yanks the leg of your chair toward him until you're sitting beside one another. He dips his mouth to your temple, and sleep begins to tug at your eyelids. Still, you keep your books open, if not partially out of spite, as Joel drinks your too-sweet coffee and hides his grimace. 

“You hate it.”

Joel’s eyes slide to you over the rim of his cup, his chest pulling taut at the sight of the unshed tear on the outer corner of your eye, teetering. 

Your bottom lip wobbles, your last Sisyphean effort to hold the droplet of water at bay, and Joel sets down the mug. 

“You hate my coffee,” you whisper, not meeting his eye. 

It's the press of his hand to your lower back that makes your fingers tremble, curled tightly around your pen. “There are worse things I’d do for you than drink shitty coffee.”

“So you admit it's shitty.”

His fingers dance up and down your lower vertebrae. “You’re exhausted,” he says softly, his mouth grazing your shoulder. “Come and take a break. Can feel all that tension, sweetheart. Right—”

The warm press of his palm between your shoulder blades. The simple touch ignites pressure behind your nose. 

“—here,” he finishes with the pinch of his thumb and forefinger around your brain stem. 

Your head lolls gently in his direction. “I know what you're doing.”

An innocent sound pitches out of his throat. “Do you?”

Your lashes flutter as he begins to dig his palm into the tense balls of muscle in your back. The contact, warm and almost gentle, undoes you. The pearl stuck in your lashes shakes free. 

The impact of it carving a path down your cheek strikes his heart true. “C’mere, baby.” 

Pulling you reluctantly away from your workbooks, Joel sits on the couch and guides you on top of him, your thighs hugging his hips. “This sad face,” he says under his breath, brushing the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. “So pretty when you’re sad.” Your eyes dip when his stubble ghosts across your jaw, his lips warming the shell of your ear. 

You huff, your arms winding around his neck. “You’re wandering into patronising, Miller.”

“Hmm, big words.” His grin carves its shape into your skin. He nips the spot just below your ear and you gasp, your fingers curling in the locks at the nape of his neck. “Told you, baby—such a smart girl.”

You open your mouth to snip at him, but he’s sliding one big, rough hand underneath your silky shorts and pinching your ass. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he says, his pinky finger dipping under your waistband. 

“I’m fine,” you grumble, wriggling on his lap. He hums, the downward curve of his mouth on your skin etched in skepticism, his hands pulling you tighter to him.

“Tell me what’s wrong, baby.” His hand slides up your spine, lifting your little silk shirt, the hardness of him caging you in. “Tell me so I can fix it.”

You're gooey and pliant on top of him, hips flexing to fix your thighs around his waist, your body attuned to him in a way you refuse to fight. Joel Miller is yours. He’s always had your back. 

“I’m tired, Joel. I keep bombing these stupid fucking tests, and the new guy at work is incompetent, and I haven't had an orgasm in a whole week.”

Sometimes, you're surprised by how deeply you envy your Joel for being so fucking right. For knowing, even when you don't, how deeply your wounds sit. 

He frowns up at you, his thumb caressing the curve of your jaw, guilt and understanding pinching his ribs. “And I’ve been workin’ late,” he says. 

Silently, you nod, fisting the hem of his shirt. “But that's okay, Joel. I know you work hard. It's not your job to—”

He shakes his head, trailing his hands up and down your soft thighs. “I’ve been workin’ late,” he repeats, his voice thinning, “and I haven't been treating my girl like she deserves.”

Your cheeks warm at the way his hands reach your inner thighs, thumbs ghosting across your hip bones. “That's not true.”

“Baby, you look at me.” He cups you like warm wax and you're melting just the same, gaze sliding up to meet his. Brown, glinting gold as they catch the orange lamplight, his eyes don't leave you. “You need to come?”

Your mouth drops. You really fucking do. If he notices your slip—the way your hips still on his lap, your arms wound tight around his shoulders—he doesn't say nor soothe. “Joel, I didn’t mean to—”

He quiets you with a loving nip at your chin. “You wanna be a good girl?”

A shudder railroads down your vertebrae. Your core is tight, hot, your little pyjama shorts shifting over your pussy, velvet-soft. “Joel, you really don't have to—”

“You wanna come?” he says again, his teeth scraping the shell of your ear before he takes your lobe between them. You gasp, clutching him tight to you, a buoy bobbing above the torrent. 

“Yes,” you tell him, breathless, letting him play with the waistband of your shorts. “Yes. I need to come so badly. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I know, sweetheart. I’m a bad man, takin’ my girl for granted.” 

It’s not true, he’d never, has not once, and still you whimper at the sound of my girl on his tongue. 

“You are a bad man,” you tell him, halfheartedly shoving him in the chest. 

“And?” he prompts, drawing the poison from the wound. 

“And I need to come.”

Joel’s mouth curves in understanding, the hairs of his moustache bristling in the corners. 

“Take ‘em off,” he says. “Let me be good to you.”

You ease your thighs out of your silk shorts, and Joel’s got his hands on your shirt, lifting it up and over your head. A cool shiver snakes from your cool feet, now on the floor as you stand naked before him, to the scruff of your neck. It longs for the touch of his fingers. 

“God, you're fuckin’ beautiful.” Joel takes your outstretched hand, tugging you toward him. His palms smooth over the planes of your torso, thick fingers fitting to your ribs, the follower at the altar. It's only when he touches the small of your back that his eyes abstain from their reverent path across your body and meet yours. 

“Tell me what you want,” he says plainly, fingers catching at the ends of your hair. 

You crowd him, gaze sweeping down his body at the hard length of his cock down his thick thighs and the utter stillness of him when met with your type-A jitters. 

“To be your good girl,” you say. 

“I know.” It's a whisper in the quiet. Somewhere, distantly, the dishwasher churns through its cycle. A car horn blares. Wind blows. “Sit down.”

You go eagerly to him, your spirit alight with his closeness, the scent of pine and sawdust from a long day’s work, the soft cotton of his flannel, the scrape of his denim along your thighs. Wordlessly, Joel shifts you until you're straddling one of his thighs. 

The jolt of pressure to your clit makes you gasp, clawing for purchase on his chest. Your fists wrap around the lining of his flannel. 

Oh, God is the vague chant that eats at his liver, chewing on the ripe mass, the wound sealing over to deliver himself once again at your feet. It’s tossed into the space between you, maybe a little blasphemous, maybe thoughtless. It’s the glassy film over your eyes, those irises he could trace in the dark, the call of love that never quiets. 

“Feel good?” 

The smug bastard. His hand is still soft and sweet on your spine, climbing high only to drop, no longer meeting the resistance of clothing. The cool air puckers your nipples, your body tightening as you pull in on yourself. 

“You remember that first night?” he says softly, tucking your hair behind your ear. “You were so cold, baby. All alone and needin' a good strong hand.”

He squeezes your ass, forcing your hips to shift over his leg. The slow grind of your wet seam along the coarse denim makes your thighs tremble. “Fuck,” you whisper. “That's… that’s good.”

He hums like he knows. “You remember what you did that night?” he asks. “Climbed on me, just like this, and made yourself feel good. Thought I’d come in my pants then and there.”

Your breathless laugh hitches in your throat as your hips begin to grind down of their own volition. The friction is rough, unkind, nothing like the gentle press of his hands on your bare skin. Sweat begins to glisten in the hollow of your throat as you throw your head back and lose yourself in the rhythmic roll of your body over his thigh. 

“That's it,” he grunts, squeezing your hips, his cock twitching, untouched, in his boxers. You’re smearing your wetness over the denim, washing it dark, letting the light shift over your writhing body. “That's my pretty girl, usin’ me like you need to.”

“Ah, fuck,” you cry out, bearing down the weight of you on his leg, grinding hard against him as you seek your own pleasure. 

“Let's hear it,” he urges, gritting his teeth at the sight of your poor swollen clit, needy and glistening, exposed. “Lemme have it, baby girl, c’mon.”

Your moan is strangled, language muddied in your head as Joel surges upright and latches his mouth around your nipple. Biting and sucking raw, his rapacious mouth is warm nectar that pools hot in your belly, his hands coaxing your hips through their movements, guiding you in the dance nonetheless. 

“I'm your good girl,” you rasp, the coil pulling tight at the base of your stomach, the hollow bowl filling to the brim, keeping him, coveting him. 

“That's right. My good girl.” His hot breath blooms like possessive fingers where his mouth makes contact on your throat, plucking your nerve endings like a bushel of daisies. 

“I can feel you, baby girl,” he groans into your throat. “I can feel your tight fuckin’ cunt gettin’ me all wet. Feel you grabbin’ me like a goddamn cat. You close, huh?”

You whimper, your nails scratching at his chest through the fabric of his shirt, your stomach taut as you approach your high, bucking your hips hard against his leg. “Fuck, Joel, fuck! I’m so close—”

“Tell me who you are.”

“I’m a good girl.” You wind your arms around his neck as you begin to list, your breasts pressing into his chest, closeness sparking to flame as your warmth rubs up against him. 

He’s steadfast, thick arms holding you upright, as he groans your name into your ear like it's something blasphemous. “Who are you?” he repeats. 

“I’m your good girl, Joel! Fuck, I’m yours, your good girl. Oh, God, Joel, please…”

“That's right, sweetheart.” His hand latches around the nape of your neck, slick with sweat, while you bury your face in his throat. “My good girl’s gonna come all over me again, because that's what good girls do, hmm? They make themselves feel good when their bad men go and forget their place.”

You sob his name into the crook of his neck, the friction etching too much into your sore, rubbed-raw flesh. Your thighs hug him tight, hips thrashing hard above him as you come with a shout, your wet mouth dragging along the vein pulsing in his throat and trailing saliva in its wake. Joel doesn’t seem to care, coaxing you through your high when it starts to last a little longer than normal, pulling you so close that you can hardly remember your shape when it’s not slotting into him. 

There's a dark spot spreading over his jeans, and your inner thighs are sticky with release. Joel tilts your chin up with his mouth, littering kisses from your jaw to the hollow of your throat. His tongue darts out playfully as his fingers dip between your bodies and tease through your messy slit. 

“Joel,” you gasp, your face warm. He lifts two soaked fingers to his mouth and cleans them off with a couple swirls of his tongue. 

And he's kissing you before you can retreat into yourself. He turns you inside-out, bares your soul to him, and all you can do is taste the sweet tang of the release you gave yourself. 

Your tongues tangle, languid in your mutual exploration, the push-and-pull you've always known. By the time he pulls away to press his lips to your forehead, you're decently sleepy, your muscles gooey and your body slumping sideways in his lap. 

“Ruined your jeans,” you mumble. 

His fingertips ghost up and down your spine. A cool shudder blooms from each point of contact. He’s still hard, enough that it must ache, but he makes no move to free himself. “I like ‘em this way,” he says. 

You roll your eyes. “Such an idiot.”

Clicking his tongue, Joel says, “You treat your elders this way?”

You nip his nose. “Only when they’re sweet on me.”

He chuckles, brushing your hair behind your ear so he can kiss your temple. “You feel okay?”

Your hands slide up his chest, hooking around his neck, your fingers threading together in his hair. “I feel like a million bucks, baby. But next time, you can come inside me.”

The purr registering in your chest has him preening under the attention, his hands coming to rest just above your ass. “I’m gonna tell you what’s going to happen tonight,” he says, ignoring your apprehensive glare. “You're gonna put away your books, and eat a good dinner, which I’ll make, and you’ll rest.”

Your Joel is stubborn in his own way, and it shows in the tension above his brow, the splaying of his hand over your back. You reach for him and smooth out his frown with your thumb. “I’ll do whatever you say, Joel Miller. As long as you make my favourite.”

You could drown happily in the way he smiles. It always comes on slow, like he isn't quite sure of himself, but it will glow in his eyes. It will sing through him like a light through glass. 

“Yeah,” he says, “I can do that.”

Your blood calls to him. And you could do it all without him, sure—but he won’t let you. 

THE END.

#posting this and running #kiwisbell's fics #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #whiskey sour #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel #pedro pascal #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fluff

[jjsmaybank20]

Hi!!!! It's me again,🦁 Anon. I just looked at Glass onion and can I ask for a request for whiskey x reader. The reader was relaxing in the pool with others, and the moment whiskey comes out of the pool, the Reader literally froze and stared at her. The others started joking or making a remark about it until the Reader took Whiskey's hand and dragged her to her room because the Reader got excited.

Can the end be cute and fluffy?

Thank you very much!!!🥺

Speechless

Whiskey x Fem!Cody!Reader

Summary: Your girlfriend is gorgeous, and never fails to make you speechless.

Warnings: Nothing really, just fluff

Word Count: 759

navigation misc. masterlist

---

When you, your brother, and your girlfriend were invited to Miles Bron’s weekend getaway/murder mystery party, you knew you were in for a treat. Miles never failed to astonish, so arriving at his private island housing his massive complex, you couldn’t say you were surprised.

Miles was an eccentric person, so of course the rooms were assigned based off of chakra. You bid your brother and your girlfriend goodbye, and headed towards your room to get ready for the pool.

You throw on some swim trunks, a bikini top, and a hawaiian shirt to wear over it. You check yourself over, seeing that you look good, and head down to the pool to meet up with your friends. 

Making your way down, you see Lionel and Claire already on the side having a conversation. You approach them, and they greet you warmly. 

“Y/N Cody, as I live and breathe! We didn’t have much time to catch up. How is everything? How’re you and Whiskey?” Claire inquires. You go to answer, but are interrupted by Birdie making her grand entrance. 

“Guys. Lionel and Y/N, you guys are too hot to be scientists. And Claire, you look so cute.” You glance over at Lionel, and then you see Claire flipping Birdie off, making you laugh.

“You just gave Bird the bird, Claire-bear.” You exclaim, making Lionel laugh along with you. Claire then glares at you, hating the nickname you had assigned to her. Everyone in your group had a nickname that you had given them, which you always called them.

Claire is Claire-bear, Birdie is Bird, Lionel is Lion, Duke is Dick, Miles is My-My, Peg is Peggy, and Andi is… well, was Cassie. 

While in your own head about Andi, you tune out Birdie and Claire bickering. You finally tune back in when Claire re-asks you the questions from before. “Oh! Y/N, answer the questions from before Birdie interrupted. How is everything? How’re you and Whiskey?”

You smile at the woman, and respond, “Things are good! Lion and I have been absolutely stacked at work, but you know how Miles is. Me and Whiskey are doing amazing.”

Lionel then looks around for your girlfriend. When he doesn’t spot her, he inquires, “Where is your girl, anyway?” You then look around, also not spotting her. You open your mouth to say something, but a clearly not listening Birdie interrupts again.

“God and no masks I can breathe again. Look at this pool, maybe I'll go for a swim.” As soon as she finishes her sentence, your gorgeous girlfriend breaks through the surface of the water gracefully. Your jaw drops, your eyes widen, and you turn bright red.

Lionel and Claire quickly take note of this, and immediately begin teasing you. “Hey, Y/N. You’ve got some drool right there.” Lionel puts his finger on your chin. You immediately slap his hand away, not taking your eyes off of your girlfriend.

Claire calls out to Whiskey, shouting, “Hey Whiskey! I think you broke your girlfriend!” Whiskey glances over at you, smirking at the expression on your face.

“Baby, you okay?” She asks. You say something intelligent like ‘Uh- mhm- yep- so good.’ She laughs and swims towards the stairs leading out of the pool. You quickly get up, not bothering to bid your friends goodbye. You know they won’t mind.

As soon as you make it to where your girlfriend is standing, you grab her hand, yank her out of the pool, and pick her up bridal style before running to your room. She laughs joyfully, and wraps her arms around your neck.

---

Once you reach your shared suite, you shift her so that she is pressed between you and the door. You kissed her intensely, and quickly started to trail them down her neck. You heard her let out a breathy laugh and felt the vibrations in her throat when she asked, “What’s gotten into you, babe?”

You pull back and put your foreheads together, smiling at the woman you loved. “It just always amazes me how you seem to get prettier and prettier every time I look at you.”

Whiskey blushes at that, and pecks your lips again before hopping down from your arms. She grabs your hand and pulls you down onto the bed, making you let out a yelp of surprise. She quickly climbs on top of you. Cuddling into your chest.

You couldn’t be happier than in this moment, on this island, with the people you love. If only you knew how fast it would go to shit.

---

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[tommymllrr]

coffee shop cowboy [ch. 1]

agent whiskey x barista!reader (coffee shop!au)

summary: if you were being honest, you’d had an absolute garbage day. up until the moment he strode through the front door of the cute little café that you worked at in those stupid cowboy boots.

rating: Explicit, 18+ (MINORS DNI)

word count: 3.7k

warnings: none for this chapter besides some swearing

notes: as someone who works in a coffee shop, i wanted to make a fic that catered specifically for me okay. reader is afab, but no pronouns or gendered terms are used so it can be read as gender-neutral. also i'm not super active here so find me on twitter if you're interested in seeing me talk about my upcoming fanfics and talk about pedro pascal and oscar isaac. :-)

chapter 2 on tumblr // read fic on ao3

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

If you were being honest, you’d had an absolute garbage day up until the moment he strode through the front door of your job in those stupid cowboy boots.

Well, in reality, you weren’t even supposed to be at the café. It was Monday, which meant you should have had the day off to relax after working long shifts all weekend. But no. You had decided to do your coworker, Mara, a favor by picking up her shift. All of a sudden, she was frantically texting you at 11:36pm that she had a “dentist appointment” she had forgotten about when you knew deep down in your bones that she was out late with her friends getting plastered downtown. So, being the people-pleaser you were (and needing the money), you dragged your ass out of bed and drove to work while the sun was still waiting for the moon to run its course through the sky to sling coffee and overpriced lattes to customers for eight hours. You knew Mondays were slow, so you hoped you had an easy day ahead of you as you unlocked the front doors for the day.

Nope. Everything went downhill about an hour into your day. Your coworker for the day showed up for their shift and took over barista duties, meaning you were to be the friendly face customers saw when they came in and placed their order. Which normally would have been fine. But you guessed everyone had woken up with a stick in their ass that particular morning because almost everyone was either rude, condescending, or obnoxious. You could count on two hands the number of people that had come up to you to complain that their drink tasted burnt or that it was too sweet or too bitter and demanded a remake, a refund, or both. You were sick of it and on the verge of having a breakdown.

And then he came in.

He stood in the middle of the café for a brief moment of time, looking around at the various folks scattered among the dining room working on their laptops or chatting among themselves while enjoying their drink of choice. He may have still been wearing the pair of aviator sunglasses he’d walked in wearing so you couldn’t be certain, but, by the way he was facing, you knew that his eyes had settled on looking at you. The man sauntered his way up to your counter and oh god he was gorgeous. 

Once in front of you and the cash register, he slid the aviators off of his face and perched them along the rim of the black cowboy hat he was currently wearing. He looked up at the menu for a moment, squinting his dark brown eyes as he tried to read the small lettering on the boards that hung above your head. While distracted, you took the opportunity to take him all in. He was wearing a black leather jacket with a plain white T-shirt underneath and blue jeans and had an impressive mustache on his upper lip. His chin was dappled with a beard that was patchy in a couple of places and graying a little. But the thing that caught your eye the most was his belt buckle. It was a small silver flask with the logo for Statesman Whiskey on it and you wondered if it was a gift of some kind or if he had actual connections to the distillery. (You, actually, currently had a bottle of said whiskey among your very poor selection of alcohol at home - it had been an expensive gift from a close friend so you usually saved it for special occasions and days when you had a really bad shift at work.)

Finally, he spoke up, looking down at you with a frown.

“Do y’all just serve plain coffee? None of this fancy latte shit?” he asked, his hand waving vaguely to the menu board. God, he even had a Southern accent. Being in upstate New York, you didn’t hear Southern accents often if at all. But man. You would definitely let this man read you the most boring piece of literature, his words dripping like honey off of his lips as he drawls on and on.

“Uh, yeah, I, um, just started a fresh pot a few minutes ago. It’s our featured roast, um, a dark roast with notes of chocolate and caramel and citrus,” you rambled. And he was just staring at you with his rich, brown eyes and made you feel so incredibly small. “If you, uh, like dark roast coffees, you’ll like it. It’s good. We also have a medium roast available. Or, um, we also have cold brew and straight espresso shots that we can do hot or over ice. You, um, don’t have to order a latte.” You really wished the earth would open up beneath you and swallow you whole. Would be a lot better than having to deal with embarrassing yourself in front of the really hot guy in front of you because he most likely did not care a single bit about what you just said.

The cowboy blinked at you a few times, not saying a single word, and it made a wave of anxiety crash over you. And then he chuckled and flashed you a smile. “Well now,” he drawled. “Sure do have a lotta options. I’ll try a large cup of that dark roast you mentioned. No room for cream. I’ll take it black.”

“Um, sure. Yeah. What, uh, name should I put the order under?” you asked. If you were being honest, you technically didn’t need his name for the order. You were the one that poured the coffee - the fifteen-gallon containers you brewed coffee into were literally less than five feet behind you - and the tickets for them didn’t even show up on the screen over at the barista station. It was only because your curiosity was getting to you. Even if you never saw him again after today, you had to know his name (especially since you had a feeling that you’d be thinking about him for at least a few days).

“Just… put it under Whiskey,” he replied with a smirk. 

Whiskey, you thought. Your eyes flashed back down to his belt buckle. There’s no way that’s his real name. And yet, it fits him.

You poured the dark roast from the brewing container behind you into a large to-go cup with a coffee sleeve over it. Your fingers brushed along his when you handed him the cup and it took all your strength to not drop the drink. You retracted your hand, shoved it deep into the pocket of the hoodie you were wearing over your apron. Whiskey nodded his head to you slightly as a sign of thanks and took a sip from his drink. 

“Mmm,” he sighed after he was done drinking. You exhaled the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. “That’s one damn good cup of coffee. I think I found my new fix.” He winked at you, immediately feeling yourself blush like an idiot.

“G-Glad you liked it,” you managed to sputter out. “Um, our pastries are also really good. If you, um, like that kind of thing. I eat them all the time.” You shifted your gaze to the pile of scones, muffins, croissants, and other baked goodies that had been sitting in the space next to the register since you set them out before you’d opened. Whiskey’s eyes roved over the selection that was left before pointing at the last butter croissant you had left for the day.

“I’ll take that last croissant with me too,” he said finally. “Looks too good to pass up.” You nodded and used a sheet of wax paper to slip it into a pastry bag with the café’s logo on it. The pastry and coffee came out to just over six dollars and when you told Whiskey, he sat down his coffee to fish his wallet out of the back pocket of his blue jeans. He pulled out a worn-looking leather wallet that was covered in scuff marks and a dark-colored stain. When Whiskey opened it and started rifling through the cash he had on him, you immediately saw that he had a few hundred dollar bills in there. You tried not to let your eyes pop out of your head at the sight. Where the fuck did he get that kind of money? While your mind raced, Whiskey handed you a twenty dollar bill with a grin and told you, “Keep the change.”

The thoughts in your brain came to a screeching halt. You blinked at him, mouth open just slightly in shock.

“Wh- Huh?”

Real fuckin’ eloquent there, dumbass.

Whiskey just chuckled and repeated, “Keep the change.” He leaned into you a little, invading your personal bubble, but it only made you blush even harder. “As thanks for helpin’ me out and bein’ so informative.” Whiskey’s eyes cut over to look at your coworker who was currently making someone’s drink and had her back turned to you. You immediately cashed out his order and hastily shoved the remaining bills and coins into the front pocket of your apron.

“Um, Jesus Christ, thanks, man,” you blurted out. “I, um, really appreciate it.” 

“You’re welcome, darlin’,” he replied and you felt butterflies burst through your stomach. This man was trying to kill you. He’d been sent specifically to murder you where you stood. “Well, I gotta head out. Have a good day now.” And with that, the cowboy who had just tipped you more than anyone had tipped you in the seven months you’d been working at the coffee shop exited the building. 

You were a little embarrassed to say how smitten you were with him. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

About a month and a half had passed since Whiskey made his appearance at the little coffee shop you worked at and, since then, he’d been at least twice, sometimes even three times, a week ever since. You usually worked the register during your shifts, very rarely stepping away to work barista duties, so you were the one to always help him when he came in. (A bonus to this was the fact that Whiskey liked to slide you a couple extra dollars to keep for yourself in addition to the ones he put into the communal tip jar.)

You hadn’t meant to develop a crush on him. You had told yourself that, after your last relationship ended poorly, you weren’t looking for another one any time soon. But when Whiskey was so fucking handsome and he was always so charming and quick-witted and called you things like “darling” and “sugar”, his usual terms of endearment toward you that got under your skin in the best way possible, you couldn’t help but fall for him.

After the first few times that Whiskey had come in, when he’d reached the status of being a regular, you’d convinced him to branch out to try new drinks that weren't the large cup of dark roast coffee that he’d been ordering. One day, he’d come in looking like he hadn’t slept in days and you offered him just straight espresso shots poured into a cup. 

“That sounds like exactly what I need right now, darlin’,” he grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Gimme as many as you’ll allow in a large cup over some ice, if you would. Already feelin’ like death warmed over, can’t stand the idea of somethin’ hot right now.” Not wanting to disappoint Whiskey, you’d ended up filling the cup with roughly six shots, which you were sure should be illegal somehow, and handing it over to him. But he’d slid you a twenty dollar bill for his seven dollar drink and told you to keep the change, like he always did when you served him. The very generous tip was nice, but you were still a tad bit concerned that his heart would explode from the amount of caffeine you’d served. Once the drink was safely in Whiskey’s hands, he’d taken a big gulp out of his straw, draining about a quarter of the cup in one sip. A wide grin had spread across his face when he’d stopped.

“Thanks, sugar. Already feel more like a human again,” he had drawled in that accent you couldn’t get enough of. You laughed and told him you felt the same way after having your coffee for the day too, especially during your shifts when you had to be there before sunrise to open the café. You two had chatted for another minute before he said he had some business to attend to and had to leave and you’d told him to have a good day with a genuine grin on your face.

Your biggest accomplishment, however, came when you had managed to talk him into trying one of the lattes on your menu and you had even been the one to make it for him. He’d told you early on that he didn’t like milk and had grimaced over the idea of ruining the bold, bitter flavor of coffee or espresso. You swore up and down that lattes were really good and promised to make something you were sure he’d enjoy. Whiskey had squinted his eyes at you, a skeptical look on his face, but he eventually relented and told you, “Alright, darlin’. If I hate it, you can have the rest. Free drink on me.” You’d quickly shooed your coworker Noah out of the way and told him to take over the register so you could make this drink.

Eventually, you’d settled on making him a latte with an extra espresso shot - a little on the bitter side and highly caffeinated, just how Whiskey liked it - and added in a couple pumps of your café’s cinnamon and vanilla syrups. You finished it up and handed it to Whiskey, who had been watching you make his drink behind the bar. He put the cup up to his lips and took a sip. And then immediately took another sip. And another. You were sure your grin was so wide, it was going to hurt your face.

“Alright. Maybe you’ve got something there,” he huffed out and you did a little victory dance internally. If you could make Whiskey like something out of his comfort zone, maybe you weren’t as shit at making drinks as your anxious brain had told yourself time and time again.

It was a couple days later right as you were just about to clock out for your thirty minute break when Whiskey walked up to the counter. Your apron was already off and you had a chocolate croissant set aside and ready to be devoured while you scrolled Twitter, but, for Whiskey, you’d make an exception.

“Hey, sugar, can I get my usual large dark roast today?” he asked, already reaching for his wallet. You turned around and poured the coffee into a to-go cup. Sitting it down on the counter in front of Whiskey, he handed you a twenty.

“Not another latte?” you fired back, teasing, as you counted out his change. He rolled his eyes at you, but he was smiling. “Also, I was just about to go on break and leave you to my coworkers, but you’re my favorite so I had to make sure I got your order before I clocked out.”

Whiskey’s face changed, his brows rising toward his hairline, taken aback by your admission. A shit-eating grin replaced the shocked expression a split second later.

“Oh, I’m your favorite now, am I?” He leaned on the counter, got slightly into your personal space like he did sometimes, and it made your face flush even more than it already was.

Shit. You honestly hadn’t meant to say that out loud, well, it was what you thought if you were being honest, but you had meant to keep that fact a secret. Let alone say that in front of Whiskey himself.

“I-I mean… well, I guess you are,” you mumbled once you found your voice.

“Well, would it be too bold of me to ask my favorite barista if they’d like to accompany me while on their break?” Whiskey inquired, looking at you from over the tops of his thin-rimmed glasses. The corner of his pink lips was upturned in a playful smirk.

If your face wasn’t on fire already, it sure was now. You nodded dumbly and grabbed the iced coffee you’d made for yourself earlier and the chocolate croissant, following Whiskey to a table near the window that looked out onto the busy city outside.

Your eyes darted back over to the bar once seated and you saw Aubrey give you a grin and a thumbs-up. It was the one day a week you guys work together and this happens. God, you were going to get asked a hundred questions and teased as soon as you come back from your break and maybe for the rest of your time as friends.

You munched on your croissant and Whiskey sipped his coffee as conversation flowed easily between you two. Teases and playful remarks and jabs at each other were weaved carefully through the entire interaction, just like always between you two. You can’t pinpoint exactly when Whiskey had opened up enough to you that he added the occasional flirt into his talks with you, but he had one day and those comments had made a little home in your brain to live there rent-free. You were in too deep when you found yourself returning fire with your own attempts to be smooth and playful. Granted, most of the time, Whiskey just smirked or gave you a smug smile or even a chuckle or two, but you couldn’t help it.

Whether or not Whiskey actually had feelings for you was a mystery, but you were too anxious to even think about telling him. Plus you didn’t want to ruin literally the only reason you had started looking forward to coming into work.

A lull in conversation had been reached, a comfortable silence falling between the two of you, when Whiskey suddenly piped up. “You know, I honestly don’t really care for coffee shops that much,” the older man admitted as he took a sip of his coffee. Your attention was drawn away from Aubrey - who had started making kissy-faces at you from behind the bar a couple minutes ago - and back to the very handsome cowboy that you had a crush on across the table. “Prefer to brew my own shit at my place. But, I was in the area for work and was still a tad hungover from the night ‘fore when I stumbled upon this li’l ol’ place. And I came to find out that there’s some damn good coffee here.” Whiskey’s eyes roamed over the café with the corners of his mouth upturned in a tiny smile.

“Thanks. I guess. I mean, the pay is shit and we get a lot of assholes sometimes, but the free coffee and pastries are good,” you said, taking a bite out of your croissant. Something he said struck you, though. You chewed and swallowed before continuing, “You know, in the couple of months that I’ve known you, you’ve never said anything about what you actually do for work.”

That smile slid off of Whiskey’s face in an instant. “Don’t really like to talk about it. Let’s just say I’m retired an’ leave it at that,” he replied in a low voice. His eyes were staring down at the cup clasped in his hands and you noticed his fingers were twitching ever so slightly. You might have been able to cut the sudden tension with a knife. Right as an apology was about to tumble out of your lips, feeling suddenly very awkward on prying into someone you only casually know’s personal life, Whiskey looked at you again with his usual smirk. “You know, I did my fair share of bartendin’ when I was younger, growin’ up in Texas. Also worked security. Rough-housed with quite a few drunk assholes in my day.”

You blinked a couple of times. The rate at which the mood changed yet again had given you some serious whiplash. You ignored the anxious voice yelling at you in your head and went on. “O-Oh… yeah?” you replied lamely as you stuffed another bite of croissant into your mouth.

Whiskey nodded. “Was a pretty sweet gig,” he continued. “Don’t think I’d ever go back, though. If I liked ya, I liked ya, and if I didn’t, I didn’t. Didn’t necessarily go well with havin’ a buncha customers. But I will say… watchin’ you reminds me of those days sometimes. You’re a damn hard worker and good at whatcha do.” 

His compliment had a warm feeling spread through your whole body like wildfire. Your heartbeat went a little faster, sweat gathered on your palms, your face flushed. God, he had you so intoxicated, so under his spell, you felt like you were going to go mad as a result. You managed to squeak out a “thank you”, averting your eyes downward, attempting to hide your face from him.

(You were so engrossed by small splinters in the wood grain of the table that you missed the way that he smiled at you fondly, clearly able to see that he’d flustered you by how pink your cheeks had turned.)

Your phone lit up with yet another spam email notification and you realized when you saw the time that you should have clocked back in already. You quickly shoved the last two bites of croissant into your mouth and hopped up, chewing hurriedly. Whiskey’s eyes went wide at your sudden movements, watching you intently. Swallowing the sweet pastry, you sputtered out, “I have to go back to work now, have a good day, Whiskey. See you later this week?”

Whiskey nodded and moved to stand up from his chair, pulling on the leather jacket he had slung over the back of his seat. You tied your apron back on and started scurrying back behind the bar to finish the last three hours of your shift.

“Have a good rest of your shift, sugar,” he called to you as he exited the café. A wide, goofy smile was on your lips as you watched him head towards the parking lot.

Yeah, you’d never get tired of him.

#agent whiskey #whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #nesswrites.doc #jack whiskey daniels x reader #jack whiskey daniels x you