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syd-djarin · 5 months

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Treat Me Like A Slut - jack "whiskey" daniels x f!reader

warnings: explicit 18+. *MDNI*

a/n: I got the title of this from the Kim Petras song with the same name. It inspired the filth below.

y'all already know by now my sister in smut @katiexpunk helped me flesh out deets & all that. couldn't do it without you bestie babe. <3

word count: 4k+

summary: Jack returns home from a mission. You have a surprise and a request for him.

tags: Jack calls reader a slut multiple times (at her request), masturbation (m and f), size kink, unprotected P in V, oral (m and f receiving), cum eating, orgasm denial, codewords, dom/sub dynamic, pet names for reader (sugar, baby, sweet girl, kitten), reader calls Jack cowboy, references to Jack being a trained killer, reader buys and wears lingerie, established relationship, brief mention of anal play, Creampie !!!!, no physical descriptions of reader, excessive use of Daddy, rough sex, ankle biting, toe sucking, a whip gets mentioned, size kink, spanking, one (1) titty slap, Jack has some funny lines in this one, bruising, and finally Jack is just a menace in this one – sweet and kinky AF.

smut after the cut.

Jack hates jerking off.

Well, he hates jerking off when he could have you. Nothing can replicate the feeling of your lips on his cock or being buried deep inside your pussy. He fucks his cock in his fist anyway, not that he has much of an option at the moment. Sweet, salacious memories of you flood his brain as he tries to melt deeper into the mattress and he attempts to forget the past few weeks. This mission has been long and drawn out; time he would rather spend with you.

You’ve been dating for three months now and can’t stay away from each other. Like a moth drawn to a flame, Jack wants to constantly be in your orbit. When he first asked you on a date, you both agreed to take it slow. “I don’t wanna pressure you, sugar,” he said, and you had agreed that slow is good. You quickly learned that neither you, nor Jack, know the concept of the word. Your first date turned into an entire weekend together. Once he had sampled a taste of your sweetness, there was no going back.

It’s been an agonizing week for Jack. He’s always had a flair for the dramatics, but you can hear it in the tone of his voice that he isn’t exaggerating when he says this week has nearly killed him. Sure, being a Statesman is dangerous and he flirts with death on the daily, but being away from you? He’d rather be given the Old Yeller treatment than to have to be without you.

“Fuck, fuck,” he moans, taking a final few tugs at the silky smooth skin of his hard shaft before cum erupts out of him and onto his toned belly. “Fuck,” he says, letting out a long sigh, hand still on how pulsing cock as he stares at the ceiling wishing you were here to lick the spend off of him.

***

You were able to keep yourself busy and enjoy your alone time at first, but as the week went on, you became more impatient. Needy.

Tonight, your apartment feels smaller than usual, the air thicker, as you pace back and forth across the hardwood floor. The book you had been engrossed in lay forgotten on the coffee table, its characters suspended in a world you couldn’t quite bring yourself to re-enter. Your mind was too focused on Jack.

You check your phone for the umpteenth time, the minutes ticking by at an excruciatingly slow pace. The silence in the apartment echoes the restlessness in you. You feel a knot tightening in your stomach, a want, a need, a feeling of unease.

An orgasm might help, you think, but no matter how hard you try, your methods of self-pleasure never seem to fully satiate you. Sure, you’ve made yourself come a dozen times this week, but it’s not the same. You’re spoiled now; Jack’s expert hands, mouth, and god his cock have taken your pleasure threshold to new heights. He’s given you the best orgasms of your life, and now what you’re able to accomplish on your own is slightly abysmal. It’s infuriating or splendid, you can’t decide which, that he seems to know your body more than you do.

Despite knowing it won’t help, the siren call of your cunt wins over. As you lay on your shared bed, engulfed in the smell of his cologne still clinging to the pillowcases, the faint buzz of your vibrator and your sweet little sounds that drive Jack crazy add new noise to the silence. You imagine Jack and the slow, tantalizing drag of his cock in and out of you as you fold like a house of cards letting the aftershocks of your orgasm lull you to sleep.

Just one more day until he’s home.

***

The first light of morning filters through the curtains, kissing the room in a soft glow, you stir from your slumber. You let out a big good morning stretch, and clear the sleep from your eyes. As you sit up, the duvet cascades from your shoulders and you take a moment to bask in the quiet beauty of the morning. Today’s the day.

The list of things you have to do before your cowboy comes home already starts running through your mind like the end credits of a movie, and you spring out of bed and get ready for the day.

As you stroll through the downtown area, with only one bag in hand, you just so happen to walk by a lingerie store. Call it chance or fate, but the sexy tight number in the window catches your attention.

“Hey there sweet pea, what brings you in today?” the older woman greets you as you walk through the doors to the shop. She doesn’t particularly fit the vibe of the store, but her presence is a bit disarming. Of course, you’d shopped for lingerie before, but always online and never in person, so you’re a tad nervous.

“Oh, hi – uh, well I was just out running some errands,” you say, slightly lifting your bag as if to signal this isn’t planned before continuing, “the piece in the corner caught my eye, would it be possible to try it on?” you ask, your eyes dropping to the floor as you tuck a loose piece of hair behind your ear.

“Oh sure, honey, that’s a gorgeous one!” You smile and give her your size, and she tells you to look around the shop for anything else you might like to try on. You grab a handful and she leads you to the dressing room, telling you her name is Darla and to holler if you need any different sizes.

You save your favorite, the one from the window, for last. As you slip into the ensemble, the fabric feels luxe against your skin. It’s a lacy, scarlet red babydoll with a thong to match. You admire yourself in the mirror, letting your palms playfully dance over your curves. Any nervousness you feel walking into the store is slowly replaced with a new sense of confidence. Lost in the fantasy of how he’ll respond, there’s a little flutter in your stomach.

“How’s it going in there? Need any help with the laces?” Darla asks. You’re not sure if it’s in her job description to be so kind to her customers, but you like her.

“Great – I, I think I found the one,” you say, opening the curtain to let her finish fastening you into the fabric.

“Oh honey, you’re a knockout,” she says, and you feel your skin warm at the compliment. “Your man’s in for a real treat.”

Yeah. He really is.

***

Once home, the hours seem to pass by slower than molasses, as Jack would say.

You decide to take an ‘everything’ shower to kill time and to compliment your new purchase. You have the time, so you decide to go the full nine; you put on a hair mask, exfoliate, shave, and gua sha your face. You giggle as you remember Jack watching you do it once, except he couldn’t say ‘gua sha’ correctly, mispronouncing the ‘gua’ as ‘goo’.

You moisturize your body in your favorite body butter, the one that Jack thinks smells delicious, and paint your nails to match the lacy number you’ll be donning this evening. Pampering yourself like this, giving yourself the self-care you’ve been needing, amplifies the arousal that’s been brewing all day.

You illuminate the room with a warm flicker of candles, their soft glow creating an ambiance to the room around you while the dulcet tones of your favorite vinyl grace the air at a low volume. You slip into your red number and put the finishing touches on your look as you admire yourself in the mirror. You look hot, and you know it.

You’re ready to pounce on Jack as soon as he walks in.

Suddenly, the unmistakable jingle of his keys in the lock alerts you that he’s finally home. You hear the little creak of the door as he pushes it open, and then the commanding cadence of his boot-clad footsteps, a sound you could identify any day. You feel a buzz course through your body at your excitement as you take your place on the bed.

“Honey, I’m home,” Jack echoes through the entryway.

“In here!” you respond, throwing your voice in his direction.

As Jack swings open the bedroom door, his jaw practically descends to the floor in sheer astonishment, his bag meeting the ground with a resounding thud. A stunned silence envelops the room, his dark brown eyes riveted on you, unblinking and filled with an intensity that leaves him momentarily speechless, while a palpable hunger reflects in his watering mouth.

Holy. Fuck.

“Hi baby, I missed you,” you purr, your eyes locked on his, as you crawl on all fours like a tigress to her prey to finish greeting him, “did you miss me?” you ask, all flirt and no question in your voice, rising to your knees on the mattress to give him a better look at your body.

He must have died and this is heaven. There’s no other explanation for the beauty that is you before him.

He approaches you, his broad hands finding your hips as you interlace your fingers behind his neck. With his body pressed against you, you can already feel his rock-hard cock twitching in his tight, nearly painted-on jeans.

“You have no idea…” he growls in the nape of your neck before pulling away to eye you in a ravenous manner that makes your heartbeat in your pussy.

One of his hands leaves your side, and he reaches up to angle your chin towards him. He looks you in the eyes in a way that makes you feel like you’re the only woman in the world, his eyes saying all of the things his mouth isn’t. He smiles at you for a moment before he leans in and plants his lips on yours. He begins to kiss you languidly, and you both let out soft moans in unison at being in each other’s presence again. His groomed mustache tickles your lips, making you giggle into his mouth.

He pulls back, fiddling with the hem of the baby doll. “You wear this just for me?” he asks, his warm hand splaying on your tummy.

“Mhmm,” you respond, but it comes out sounding a little more like a moan than a reply. “I wanted to surprise you,” you confess while looking down at where his hand meets your stomach, “wanted to look sexy for you, Agent Whiskey,” you look back into his eyes, giving him a little wink, your allure calling out to him; snatching him up faster than any lasso ever could.

Jack normally doesn’t like his work to bleed through to his personal life, but hearing your honeyed voice call him Agent Whiskey is enough to make him abandon all the rules.

“Darlin’, ya always look sexy to me, like a goddamn sex kitten,” he drawls, leaning in to plant tender kisses on your neck, his grazing his teeth over the soft skin of your neck. You giggle, playfully swatting at him. “‘M serious, you are divine,” he adds, divine coming out more like deevine.

You may be the sex kitten in his eyes, but he’s the one lapping you up like a bowl of milk. His hands roam over the tight fabric that graces your body, and you get lost in the feel of his touch. His grip on you is tight, even though you’re fully pressed against him, he wants you closer. His need, his lust, awakens something carnal in you, causing you to lose control of your tongue as you all but word vomit, “Treat me like a slut.” Well, we probably could have eased into that conversation.

He pulls back and eyes your face in disbelief – this must be heaven – before a knowing smirk washes across his face. “Is that what you want, hmm? Want Daddy to get rough with ya, baby?” The hand that’s gripping the soft flesh of your hips begins to migrate down to your ass.

You whimper; becoming putty-like in his hands, more than ready to worship at his altar.

“Tell me, baby. Use your words like a big girl,” he urges, squeezing your ass with more force.

“Yes, daddy,” you choke out, “I want you to be rough with me, please…please.”

“My pretty girl wants me to treat her like a slut, then that’s what she’ll get,” He removes the hand on your hip, and the other from your ass, before guiding them to find yours. He interlocks your fingers together and looks at you a bit more seriously this time. You see the darkness that flickers behind his eyes. You know Jack is a dangerous man – a trained killer – but he’d never hurt you. No, this darkness is something different, it’s an insatiable desire to consume you in every way possible, to give you anything you desire.

“Wanna set some rules first, ‘kay?” he says, his voice low. You nod.

“If at any point you want me to stop, slow down, don’t like something, whatever, you tell me, alright? You remember our code word?” he asks, and you nod again. “Good. Now, you don’t get to touch me unless I tell ya to. You don’t get to come ‘til I tell ya to. Got it?”

“Yes, daddy, I understand,” you respond. He lets out another knowing smirk and palms himself through his jeans.

“‘M gonna take good care of ya, baby girl. Now, you gonna show daddy what a good little slut you can be?” he asks.

“Yes, daddy. Wanna be a good slut for you.”

You’re a little surprised at how quickly you slip into submission, although you shouldn’t be. Not when it comes to Jack. He’s a master at getting what he wants, and you’re not sure if there is anything that you wouldn’t do for him.

“Good girl. Now, off the mattress and get on your knees,” he orders, already unbuckling his jeans to free his wicked big cock.

You do as he says, feeling yourself sink your weight onto your shins and the coolness of the hardwood beneath you. “Open your mouth,” he says, his heavy cock in hand, stroking it to get it to full length.

You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, patiently waiting for your next instructions.

He continues to stroke himself, looking, admiring, the gift of a woman that sits before him. As he pumps himself, he takes a few steps forward so that he’s hovering above you. Your big doe eyes look up at him, and you’re drooling at the sight of him like you always have.

His thumb ghosts over his red and weeping tip, and he uses it to collect the dribble of precum that has beaded through his slit to wet the tip of his cock. He taps the mushroom head of it onto your tongue a few times, a sticky string of saliva trailing between him and your tongue with each lift before he eventually plants the tip fully in your mouth. Your lips lock around him, and you begin to moan, reveling in the heady taste of him. You want so badly to move, to take him deeper into your mouth, but he hasn’t told you to do so. He tangles one of his hands in your hair, firmly pulling; not too gentle, but not too rough, either.

Jack slides your mouth off of him. He’s admiring your present state; spit and precum smeared across your mouth and down your chin, hair disheveled and your eyes delirious from lust.

“Change of plans,” he says, offering no explanation as to why he’s suddenly depriving you of sucking him off.

“Don’t worry ‘m gonna take of ya, like I always do,” he says, kicking off his boots and shucking the rest of his clothes to the floor, “hands and knees on the bed, baby.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You’re clambering over yourself to follow directions, legs unsteady from your agonizing need.

Jack drops to his knees behind you, takes his thick finger, and slips it into your crack, under the lacy string situated between your cheeks. He pulls back on the thin string and releases it, the snap causing a pleasant sting against your skin.

“Soaking wet,” he hums, ‘always so fucking wet, you perfect girl,” he rasps, running that same finger through your seam, along the drenched lace, causing you to whimper. “Who’s got you so wet, baby, hmm?” he asks, knowing the answer, he just wants to hear you say it.

He lands a light swat on your ass when you don’t answer him. It sends a shiver through your spine, more arousal dripping into your thong.

“‘M not gonna ask you again. So tell me, who’s got your pretty pussy so wet, baby?”

“You, Jack, always wet for you, only you,” each word comes out shaky, so aroused you might collapse if Jack doesn’t alleviate the ache soon, “Daddy, please,” you cry.

Kneading the flesh of your ass he grunts in approval. “S’right baby, you’re mine. All mine.”

Jack pulls the thong to the side, revealing your dripping cunt to him. He spits down, trailing from your asshole to your clit, your legs clench in response. You’re using all your might not to move. This doesn’t go unnoticed by him, after all, it is his job to notice things; even on the subtlest level.

Ghosting a fingertip over your tight ring of muscle, rousing you, “You like it when I touch you like that? Touchin’ your other slutty lil hole?”

“Y-es, fuck,” gritting out through ragged breaths. He files that information for later, a smug grin plastered on his face.

He swipes his tongue from your clit up your entrance. He moans in response to your taste like you’re the best dessert he’s ever had; you whimper from the spark of pleasure of the warmth of his tongue. He teases you a few more times by lightly skimming up and down, licking you from your clit down to your aching hole. You can’t help but squirm, rocking your hips back to meet his mouth, chasing your high. He smacks your ass again, a reminder to keep still.

“Need more,” you whine pitifully, his grip on the back of your thighs is now ironclad, blocking you from gaining more stimulation that isn’t provided by him.

He halts his movements and pulls his face away from your pussy, but still close enough that you can feel his hot breath when he speaks, “I know I don’t need’ta remind you to use your manners.”

“Please, daddy, I need more, fuck, fuck, fuckkk!” you desperately cry.

“Good girl, askin’ so nicely,” punctuated by shoving a thick finger into your weeping entrance.

Jack pumps his finger in and out at a steady pace, all while flicking his tongue across your throbbing clit. When he thinks you’re relaxed enough, he slips in a second finger, and the added sensation and drag against your soft walls has you barreling towards the edge of your orgasm.

He can tell you’re close by the way your cunt grips down on him, tightening like a trap, one you never want him to leave. He slows his pace, edging you until you’re writhing in his grip. “Daddy, please, please let me come,” you’re heaving, covered in a sheen of sweat.

“My little slut gets to come when I tell her she can,” he torts.

Once he senses you’re no longer as close to finishing as you were, he slowly picks up his tempo once more and the attention he places on your clit brings you right back to the boiling point. Your fingers card through his dark locks as you hang on to him for dear life, doing your best not to come without permission.

“J–Jaa-Jack,” you cry, “I can’t hold on much longer, I’m going to come, I need to come.”

He wants to continue to edge you all night, but the growing ache from his neglected cock begins to get to him. As much as he wants to continue to devour you, his blood-filled shaft has other plans.

“Alright, you can come, let me hear you, pretty girl,” he whispers against your mound before his lips find their home around your clit, and his tongue begins to circle against it in just the right way. With his permission, you let out a sigh of relief; your orgasm washes over you like the ocean onto the shore, it’s loud and strong.

Jack gathers the slick seeping out of you onto his fingers and sucks it off, his eyes fluttering shut as he savors the final taste of your release. “That’s finger lickin’ good, baby,” he says. You might feel inclined to cringe at that, but you’re too fucked out to mind, but a little giggle escapes your chest at the comment. Only Jack could find the perfect balance of vulgarity and humor.

He drops both of his large palms to your thighs and begins to massage them with a soothing amount of pressure, grounding you through your floaty, blissed-out state, and it’s not before long that the need for more returns. He gently pecks soft kisses on your lower back, murmuring praises against your skin. Such a good girl, you did so good for me, my sweet and pretty girl. He’s sensual and sweet amidst the dominance he’s displaying, the duality makes your heart beat fast and your pussy flutter.

He rises to stand and positions himself behind where you’re bent over. He strokes his heavy cock as he marvels at how good you look like this, bent over, ass up, just waiting to be stuffed full of him. He lines the tip of his cock up against your wet and waiting cunt to gather a little bit of your slick on the head of him before he begins gliding his cock up and down through your messy folds. The sensation on your somewhat sensitive clit makes you let out a small little whimper.

“Want daddy to fuck you, pretty girl?” Just like before, he already knows the answer, he just wants to hear you beg for it, beg for him. His ego is as big as his cock. His words are as much of a tease for him as they are for you; his resolve begins to crumble further with every moment he’s not buried to the hilt inside you.

“Yes!” nodding your head despite the way it’s still spinning, “please—”

“Think she can fit it,” he asks, not giving you a second to answer as he drives the length of him inside you with no restraint. Your body jolts forward on impact and he clutches your waist, pinning you in place. Both of you are unmoving, gasping to catch your breath as you adjust to his size. It’s a stretch every time and you delight in it. “Course she can, cuz my girl is a perfect little slut,” he says, dragging his cock in and out of you with ease as your wetness coats him.

‘Fuck, baby. You feel so good, it’s like this pussy was made for me, just fuck, just for me,” he says, willing himself to not bust inside of you already, but it’s hard. Having you like this, at his mercy, coupled with the time he spent away from you, he’s shaking in his proverbial boots.

You start to reach your hand behind you to hold onto his arm, but stop, remembering the rules. You don’t get to touch me unless I tell ya to.

Jack beats you to the punch, “Go on, darlin’, grab hold’a daddy. You’re gonna need it.”

Just as soon as you wrap your hand around his forearm, he pulls almost out of you entirely before slamming back into you, the tip of his cock punches your cervix and you let out a little welp. The intensity of the relentless pace he has set has you breathless, keyed up, on the edge of another orgasm. He continues to fuck in and out of you, plowing into your pussy at a devastating pace; no mercy to be found.

Lecherous sounds echo through the bedroom; Jack’s hips slapping against the flesh of your ass, the wet squelch of your pussy, guttural groans and whines.

“Such a good fuckin’ slut for me, kitten… you take this cock so good, so fuckin’ tight, Jesus…” Jack rambles in between his thrusts.

“Tell daddy how it feels,” he commands, landing a sharp smack against your ass. “Feels so good, daddy, mmm, feel so full,” you sputter, an octave higher than you usually speak.

“Yeah I know, baby girl,” he pulls out, manhandling you onto your back, jerking your legs over his shoulders before he slams back into you in a matter of seconds, the intensity of it causes your tits to bounce and Jack loves the sight of it. The angle has his cock punching your cervix brutally and deliciously. Your cunt grips him tighter as you watch the way his jaw goes slack as he pummels in and out of you. He can use you like this forever and you’d be fine with it.

Jack turns his face to graze his teeth across your ankle, then bites the soft flesh, eliciting a yelp from you. The look in Jack’s eyes is voracious. He’ll never have enough of you.

“Eyes on me, baby,” he growls, gently slapping one of your tits through the cups of the babydoll to redirect your eyes into his. Locking eyes with one another while Jack ravages you has you hurling into another orgasm.

“Fuck, I’m so close, daddy,” just shy of shouting.

A cheeky grin breaks out on his face as if he’d gotten an idea just now. Jack lifts one of your legs off his shoulder and holds it steady, your foot now directly in front of his face. Without warning, he shoves your middle two toes into his mouth.

“Jack!” You actually shout this time. A mix of surprise and bliss.

“Scream my name as loud as you need to, sugar,” he teases, but admittedly, he loves seeing how loud he can get you to cry out his name.

He runs his warm tongue along your ticklish toes and you’re done for. “Can I come daddy? I’m so fucking close, please I need to come…” panting like a dog in heat.

“C’mon give it to me, pretty girl, gimme another and I’ll fill you up with my cum,” he encourages. He’s not far off from where you’re at. “Been such a good slut for me tonight, soak this fuckin’ cock…”

He’s rutting into you with such great force, you know you’ll be sore tomorrow. That thought is the last push you needed; you’re clenching around Jack while you’re coming; entering a rapturous daze.

“Oh fuck, Jack—fuck, ah!” mewling loudly. Your juices drip out of you onto his cock and the sheets. He loves how messy your pussy is.

“That’s it baby, mmmm such a sweet mess you made for me…” cooing at you.

He slows his speed way down, but keeps the thrusts deep, helping you ride out your second orgasm of the night.

A few hard, deep, slow thrusts and Jack is spurting his spend in your pussy.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck, baby,” halting his movements, resting his forehead against yours. The sticky sheen of sweat clings in the air; the distinctive smell of sex permeating the room.

He showers your face in tender kisses, leaving no patch of skin untouched. You adore the way Jack will fuck you within an inch of your life and will be caring and attentive afterwards.

***

Both of you lie still tangled in each others’ arms, Jack breaks the silence, “Maybe I should leave more often,” in that post-sex-husky-raspy voice you love so much.

“Nuh-uh, this week sucked without you. Leave for that long again and it’ll be you getting treated like a slut,” you taunt. You giggle uncontrollably, still under the effect of your climax.

He puffs out an exhale of relief. He’s not convinced you have a dominant bone in your body until you reveal that you purchased something else in addition to the red number still lingering on your body.

“You should see what else I bought,” you say, your voice suggestive enough to perk Jack’s ears up from his nearly fucked out comatose state. He opens one eye and looks at you with an inquisitive face. You let out a smirk, and jump up from the bed, a bounce in your step, as you walk over to the dresser across the room.

Jack’s jaw actually falls to the floor this time when he watches you reveal a long, black, leather whip.

“My turn, cowboy.”

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penvisions · 14 days

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sneakie peek {buckles and barley}

Pairing: Rancher! Jack Daniels x Ranch hand! Reader

A/N: this is a teaser for the series, i'm beginning to outline it and wanted to share a little bit with you since i'm not sure when posting will begin

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

Bright sunshine reflected off the frame around rearview mirror, making you squint your eyes to see through the amber of your sunglasses as it hit you square in the eye. The blue expanse of the sky littered with wispy clouds blurred.

The rumbling of the engine underneath the hood was a comfort that had soothed you since childhood. Such a simple thing, to be in a vehicle that was hurtled down asphalt, eating it up foot by foot, yard by yard, mile by mile. Taking you to someplace new, transporting you into a liminal space where you didn’t have to think about anything but the road stretched out in front of you.

You glance at the directions you had printed out and laid over the passenger seat, too anxious to have typed it into your phone or into the device installed on your dash. The matte screen of it was blank, the power wire bouncing with the turbulence of the moving vehicle. It looked like there was two more curves on your path to the destination and you began to turn the wheel ever so slightly to take the one coming up. The crunch of errant pebbles underneath the tires wiping the anxiety away as the hills all around you flattened out to open plains.

Lush, tall grass as far as you could see, wooden fences winding through patches of the land. Splotches of dark color corralled within the spaces. You wondered what they could be, thoughts lost until a long, high-pitched whistle broke the peace within the cab as it snuck inside your cracked windows. You turned your head along with the closest herd of animals.

You don’t know how you initially missed the shape of the tall man atop a horse as it galloped over the land. The steady beat of hooves on the ground mirroring the ones of your heart as your eyes took in the figure. From the top of his wide brimmed cowboy hat to the spurs on his boots. He was in a complete partnership with the horse he was perched on, both of them working seamlessly together to circle around a body of what you could assume was cattle as the shine of horns glinted in the sun.

A lasso whipping up into the air had you subconsciously slowing down, your right foot lifting off of the accelerator pedal. Directing the vehicle out of the middle of the road, stopping to a crawl along the right side. Distantly following the pair as they successfully landed a hold on biggest one of the herd and began to guide them away from where they had been roaming.

Stopping at the line of wooden fence that must’ve outlined a part of his property, the man dismounted and effortlessly unhinged a portion of it and swung it open. With smooth movements and controlled balance, the man was back in the saddle. Another sharp whistle had the herd of cattle moving through the open fence.

Breath catching in your throat as the man turned to face you across the plain, his left hand secure around the horse’s reigns while his right lifted up to tilt his hat in a greeting. You could see from your spot on the road, the vehicle barely moving along now that your foot was easing down on the brake, that he was grinning.

Heat flooded your cheeks as you realized not only had you been outright starting as the stranger went about his day, but that your vehicle had nearly halted as you did so. The sound of your engine still running giving you away. You raised your hand up in response, palm open and fingers trembling slightly.

With a click of his tongue to guide the horse after the herd, he turned around in the saddle, lasso circling in the air above him in a hypnotizing manner. Snapping his wrist, the rope flew out to wrap around the top of the open partition and it clanged shut with a tug. Turning back around to face forward, the horse sped off and disappeared over the other side of a rolling hill.

taglist: @morallyinept @readingiskeepingmegoing @cumberpegg @hiddenbabynyc

@persephone-girl @agiroflee98 @sawymredfox @fuckyeahdindjarin

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 4 months

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Change of Plans

A/N: Although I am SEVERAL days late at this point, this is a gift for @something-tofightfor - HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RACHAEL! I hope your day was all that you wanted it to be, and that this year is the best fucking one yet. I so badly wanted this to be done in time, but you know me. Anywho, I love your guts and I hope you enjoy this chaotic little cake I whipped up with the help of one of your favorite cowboys.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: listen, don't do what Reader does here. Other than that... just some language. It's very tame. But don't do it.

Summary: Jack is there on business. You're there for pleasure.

He noticed you right away.

Sitting in the waiting area near gate A-7, right leg crossed over your left and an open book in one hand, you caught his eye -

Well hello, gorgeous.

- and he had to repeatedly free his focus from your direction, reminding himself why he was at the airport in the first place.

Damn it, Agent, you’ve got a job to do.

You turned the page of the book you were reading, letting out a sigh and stretching your neck, and Jack adjusted his position on the barstool he occupied so that he was forced to change his line of sight. He cleared his throat, lifting his glass to his lips and taking a sip. The bold, smoky flavor of the deep amber whiskey coated his tongue, and by the time he swallowed he was back on his task.

He’d been sent to locate and detain a known associate of a crime boss that Statesman was attempting to bring down. Intel gathered from Agents assigned to the case suggested that the associate - a mid level player who occasionally dealt in black market weapons - would be traveling through Louisville on his way to meet with the mysterious and nefarious man they knew only as The Gatekeeper. The current theory was that The Gatekeeper was operating out of San Francisco - or more specifically, out of a secret underwater lair that was built into one of the foundational structures of the Golden Gate Bridge, hence his nickname. But Statesman had been unable to confirm that yet. Catching up with the Gatekeeper’s gun runner was their best bet when it came to pinning down his location for sure, and since he had the most experience with facial recognition and planting trackers, the assignment had gone to Agent Whiskey.

So let’s find this shit kicker and get on with it so I can get on with… He resisted the urge to turn back in your direction.

Setting his glass down on the cork coaster it was served to him on, he brought his newly emptied hand up to tap the arm of his gold wire glasses. At the touch of his fingertip, the stealth lens screens activated, and he used them to scan the faces of the people moving through the terminal. So far none had hit as a match for the Gatekeeper’s associate, but since the man was clever enough to book himself tickets on multiple flights that day to make it harder for anyone who might be looking to follow him, Jack had to keep checking until he either found his target or the last of those flights had taken off.

I’ll find him. Soon as he shows up I’ll-

But Jack didn’t even need to finish the thought, because his lenses detected the person he’d been waiting for before he could. Just as he was about to get up from his seat and position himself to intercept his target, though, he saw something else flash across his lenses.

Mission directive has changed. Do not detain. Intel from Kingsman suggests associate may also be working with Golden Circle remnants in Canada. New directive is only to place the tracker and not to pursue until we know for sure who he is meeting. Agents in Vancouver and San Francisco have been put on alert and will be activated as needed.

Jack blinked twice to acknowledge Ginger’s message, then used the movement of his eyes to send a question in response.

Received. Return to HQ?

He had his jet on standby there at the airport in the event that he needed to abscond with The Gatekeeper’s man, and he assumed that since that was no longer necessary, Champ and Ginger would want him to come back and await further information. Keeping one eye on his target, he used the other to read the new message that flashed across his lens, finding it to be a surprise.

Negative. Don’t want to risk the chance of counter tracking. Take the Pony somewhere for a few days first. Vegas or Denver are preferable but Mexico City is also available.

Well, shoot. Looks like I’m takin’ a vacation. My favorite kind of mission.

Ginger had listed cities where Statesman owned properties that were reserved for off duty use - for when Agents had to lay low for a while, or for when they needed a safe place to recover from injuries sustained in the line of duty. There were several more located around the world, but judging by the selection that was presented to him, they wanted him to stay close enough to either have him back in Kentucky in a matter of hours, or send him to California or British Columbia in a pinch when the intel on who the associate was meeting with came back.

Received. Target inbound. Contact when directive complete.

With that, he lifted his finger up to tap the arm of his glasses once more, the screens deactivating so that he could remove them, folding them for safe storage in the inner pocket of his jacket. In a turn of luck, his mark headed straight for the bar he was seated at and sat down two stools over. He showed no signs of having made Jack for a secret operative, not even bothering to look in his direction as he ordered a drink from the bartender.

Perfect.

Jack’s grin was imperceptible as he used his thumb and pointer finger to pull one of the small “buttons” from the cuff of his jacket sleeve. Flattening it with a tight pinch, he dropped the bio-tracker into his own beverage and watched as it dissolved into the liquid. It finished just as the bartender placed a rocks glass of whiskey on a coaster in front of Jack’s target. He waited for the other man to take a sip, and then he closed the distance, scooting over one stool so that he was right next to him, and then he greeted the man with a jovial tone.

“Did my ears deceive me just now, or did I hear you order the Statesman 12 year, my friend?” Jack pointed to the other man’s glass while holding his own.

The other man turned to face Jack, a semi-scowl on his face, his annoyance over being addressed by a seemingly drunken stranger as a “friend” clearly written in gray-green eyes. “What?” He glanced down at Jack’s glass and then at his own. “Oh.” He grunted and gave Jack a nod before taking another sip of his drink. “Yeah. You drinking the same, I take it?” He arched one eyebrow and turned back to face the television screen behind the bar without waiting for the answer to the question he’d just asked.

“Smoothest bourbon there is.” Jack held up his glass, inspecting the contents. To anyone else’s eye - even the man beside him - it would appear as though he were simply appreciating the way the overhead lights streaked through the rich amber liquid. In truth, he was making sure that the button-turned-tracker had been completely infused into the drink. Seeing that it was, he glanced over and caught his mark with his own glass midway to his lips once more.

Slow down there, son, leave some for our toast.

Reaching for the man’s elbow, he stopped him from draining the last of his beverage. “How about we both raise our glasses to good taste and safe travels?”

The other man jerked his arm away as though he’d been burned, the motion accompanied by a deeply frustrated sigh. Checking his watch, he rolled his eyes and shook his head at Jack. “Sure Fine. Just make it quick, I have a flight to catch.”

As he presented his glass for the toast, Jack aggressively clinked the rim of his against it - with just enough force so that some of his drink had sloshed into the other man’s glass without him noticing. “Quick it is. Safe travels.”

“Uh huh.” The sketch of a scowl was back as the man nodded again, knocking back the remainder of his drink, including the tracker. “Same to you.” With that, he slapped a fifty on the bar and left his empty glass, on his way to whatever gate would take him to whatever scumbag was waiting for him.

The Gatekeeper or the Golden Circle… or whoever the fuck else. We’ll know soon enough.

Taking his glasses back out of his pocket, Jack unfolded them and put them back on his face. With a tap of his finger the one-way screens hidden in the lenses activated again, and through a series of blinks and subtle eye movements, he sent confirmation of his mission back to Ginger Ale.

Tracker planted. Target in motion.

Before he got a response, though, he was distracted by a voice coming from over his shoulder. “Excuse me? Is anyone sitting there?”

He turned towards the speaker and his eyes widened, lips lifting into a slight grin when he saw that it was you.

Hot damn, she’s even prettier up close.

His grin grew at your sudden, small intake of breath when your eyes met. “All yours.” Using one hand, he pulled the stool out for you as Ginger’s message started to scroll across his field of vision.

You muttered a thank you as you chewed your lower lip. “You didn’t have to-”

Well done Agent Whiskey. The tracker is live and we are following its movement. Which location did you select?

“Now darlin’, what kind of gentleman would I be if I only did what I had to do?” He smiled, covertly answering Ginger’s question.

Not sure yet. Stay tuned.

You let out a sound that was almost a laugh, shrugging. “You’d be like most gentlemen I’ve known, I guess.”

Agent, we need to know-

Jack brought his hand up and tapped the side of his glasses, closing the communication screen and letting Ginger’s message go unfinished. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it and it wouldn’t be the last. He always eventually got back to her and never made her wait too long. But his focus had been drawn to you all afternoon, and now that you were sitting directly beside him, he wasn’t going to rush the interaction he’d been putting off for hours.

“Then allow me to introduce to you a different kind.” He reached up and swept his hat from his head, laying it on the bartop, and extended his free hand to you. “Jack Daniels.”

– – –

15 Minutes Earlier…

You checked your watch with a sigh, noting that you still had a little under an hour before you’d be called for boarding.

It’s fine. That means I can start another chapter now. You rolled your eyes. I’ll need a new book for the flight home at this rate, though.

It was one of those flights that didn’t make sense - with a 4 hour layover in a city that was completely out of the way of your destination. But that was why you’d been able to find tickets for only $48 each way, less than three days out. Things at work had been hectic, and you weren’t sure if you were going to be able to get the time off until the very last minute. So even though it certainly wouldn’t have been your first choice if you’d been able to book it months ago when the trip was first brought up, you were perfectly content to take the unnecessary stopover in Louisville on your way to Las Vegas.

Doesn’t hurt when the people watching prospects are this interesting, either.

You glanced over at the nearby bar and the astoundingly attractive man seated there who’d snagged your attention as soon as he arrived. He, like a handful of others in the terminal, wore a dark felted Stetson But unlike most, it suited him. As did his perfectly tailored suit and-

Oh, fuck, he’s wearing glasses now. And they look damn good on him, too.

You cleared your throat and forced your thoughts back to your trip and your reason for taking the less than desirable layover. Even though it meant spending hours alone in an airport, you were excited, because it also meant being able to see several of your friends who lived far away, and being able to celebrate your birthday with them. Well, not just your birthday. The trip was meant to be a group celebration to make up for the fact that you hadn’t all been able to get together for a birthday in years. Since there happened to be two of you who had birthdays in January, that was the month that was chosen. But the dates that were settled on had included your actual birthday smack dab in the middle of them, and you were looking forward to having something fun to do with people you missed.

Which was why you groaned as you read the notification that popped up on your phone regarding the flight status.

Delayed - Mechanical Issues

“Fuck.” You muttered under your breath, closing the airline app and tapping your phone screen to open the group chat so you could fill the others in on your situation. Before you finished typing though, your phone vibrated in your hand and a picture popped up of two of your friends - Jess and Maddy - both wearing ear to ear smiles at Harry Reid International, the text from Jess simply reading two words followed by several exclamation marks: We’re here!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Kayla chimed in next, responding with an emphatic YAY! and sending a screenshot of her GPS, showing that she was just under 2 hours out. Be there so soon!

Nat still had her phone on airplane mode since she’d only taken off from LAX about an hour earlier, so you didn’t bother waiting for an update from her before you finished typing your own.

Bad news, my flight out of Louisville is delayed. :( Mechanical issues… No idea when I’ll be there now, but I’ll keep you all posted.

You sent the message and tucked your phone into the outer pocket of your bag as disappointment set in. As it was, the rest of your friends were already supposed to arrive half a day before you. But now, it was looking like you were going to miss out on the entire first day of the trip.

Or more.

Frowning at the thought, you tried not to let yourself get too upset until you had a better idea of your situation. You told yourself that it could be something quick and easy to remedy - maybe you’d only have to wait one more hour. Maybe less. Either way, you decided that since half of the group was already there, it meant that the vacation had unofficially started, and it was time you treated yourself to a drink.

And if I know Jess and Maddy, they’re doing the same right now.

You picked up your bag, slinging the strap over your shoulder, and headed towards the bar. It was moderately crowded, only a few stools left vacant scattered here and between other travelers. But as you got closer you noticed that the man you’d caught yourself spending more time watching than any of the others was still seated there - and that the seat beside him had just become empty.

Perfect timing.

That confidence lasted only until the man spun at the sound of your voice, and seeing him up close had nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.

Oh, shit. He’s-

By the time he’d given you his name along with his hand to shake, you’d noticed things about him that you hadn’t from across the room. Like the flecks of tan and gold that lightened his dark brown eyes, the distinct bow of his upper lip beneath his mustache and how it rested against the plush pillow of the lower one, the way you couldn’t see a stitch of leather on him aside from his boots, but the smell of it - along with bergamot - clung to him and made him even more appealing.

You swallowed, his warm hand wrapping around yours and squeezing as you managed to tell him your name. “It’s nice to meet you, Jack.”

Without letting go of your hand or releasing your eyes from the lock his own had on them, he repeated your name back to you, the sound of it making your face grow warm. “Pleasure’s all mine, I promise you.”

When he winked as he withdrew his hand, you knew you were screwed. You ordered yourself a drink - something local, a bourbon you’d not seen before called Statesman - and Jack, though approving of your choice, simply asked for a glass of water. As you brought the glass to your lips, another thought popped into your head.

But am I really screwed, though? Because… he seems just as interested as I am.

Over the next half hour, you and Jack made small talk and subtly flirted in smirks and glances. You asked him what brought him to the airport that day, to which he’d answered:

“Had some business here earlier. But that’s done, so the rest of my evening is completely free.”

You shook your head at that, taking another sip of your drink. Damn that’s good. “Don’t you have a flight to catch?”

At that, he grinned and spread his large hands wide. “Ah, well, that is one of the perks of being my own pilot.” He raised one eyebrow and leaned towards you. “I can leave whenever I choose.”

Okay, I wasn’t expecting that. That definitely makes him even more attractive somehow, though.

You mouthed the word wow and let out a stunted laugh as you reached into your bag to retrieve your phone. Some time had passed and you were hoping that there would be another notification about the status of your delayed flight. “That must be nice.” You groaned as you saw that there was nothing new from the airline, and several texts from your friends expressing their dismay over your travel woes. Shaking the phone in your hand, you sighed. “I’m here on a layover that got delayed and the rest of my friends are already in Vegas.” Looking over at him, you wet your lips with your tongue. “I’d love to be able to just… hop in and take off whenever I wanted to.”

– – –

Well, shit. Did she just say Vegas?

Clearing his throat, Jack reached up to tap the arm of his glasses. Several missed messages came through at once, all from Ginger, but he blinked them away as he spoke. “Well, I know we’ve only just met, and I’m not trying to make any suggestions-” Though I could. “- But I happen to be going to Sin City myself tonight.” He had to contain his grin at the flash in your eyes as he used the nickname for the gambling town. “I’d be more than happy to take you with me.”

Destination selected. Las Vegas, Nevada, USA.

You sucked in a breath at his proposition, and though he knew you were likely considering saying no, he hoped you’d say yes. “I… Jack, I couldn’t ask you to-”

“You’re not. I’m askin’. I’ll show you my license and everything to prove that I’m legit, but darlin’, I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to.” He tilted his head towards the window. “No tellin’ how long they’ll need to fix that bird, and if your friends are already there…” He trailed off and shrugged, returning his gaze to you. “My jet is fully fueled and ready to go. I could get you there so you don’t have to miss out too much. More than you already have, I mean.”

He could practically hear Ginger’s reply when it came through, but he fought the urge to let out a snort as he read it.

IT’S ABOUT TIME, AGENT. Make sure your friend buckles up. We’ll contact you when you can return to HQ.

You bit your lower lip again, and he couldn’t help but watch the way your teeth dug into your flesh. “I…” He saw the rest of your protest dissolve the same way the tracker had earlier, your eyes shifting from skeptical to excited until that’s all he saw in them. You laughed, then, lifting your hand and holding up one finger. “Alright. I’ll… yes. I’ll take you up on it. But on one condition.”

Received. Will await contact. Over.

Jack reached up to tap his glasses before removing them and stowing them in his pocket. He leaned in closer to you, concentrating on the quirk of your lips and the mixture of impulse and instinct in your eyes. “Let’s hear it.”

“You let me buy you a drink once we get there.” You said it over the rim of your glass as you finished the last of it, eyes on him as you swallowed.

An excuse to go out with a beautiful woman? That’s the condition?

Jack flashed you a smile. “I think those terms are more than agreeable, ma’am.”

– – –

What the fuck am I doing?

You half laughed at yourself, but at the same time there was something about Jack that made you feel like you could trust him. You were aware that that could be a danger in and of itself, but your gut told you he was a good man, and you had always felt that you were a good and accurate judge of character.

How’s it any different from meeting a guy and getting in his car with him? It’s not, really.

It was, and you knew it was, but you hadn’t been wrong yet. And as much as you wanted to get to Vegas to see your friends, you also found yourself wanting more time to get to know Jack. He was offering you the chance to do both of those things, and even though you were looking for one, you couldn’t find a downside.

Pulling out your phone, you opened the group chat and sent one text before switching it to airplane mode.

Change of plans. Met a (really good looking) pilot who was on his way to Vegas and offered me a ride. Sending a screenshot of his license number in case I go missing hahaha. Just kidding. I’ll be fine. See you soon!

You knew what they’d say when they saw your message.

Jess would likely just send a thumbs up - or possibly a photo of herself giving a thumbs up.

Maddy would emphasize your message and respond with something like Okay but don’t die!

Kayla’s message would be a more whimsical reaction like Jesus take the wheel! (Wait do planes have wheels?) or Life is short, take rides from hot pilots when you can with the peace sign emoji.

And Nat would send advice from several documentaries and podcasts she’d seen or listened to, about what to do if you were being abducted.

You laughed to yourself again at the entire situation.

“Alright, Jack.” You hopped down from your stool and picked up your bag. “I’m ready when you are.”

He stood, taking his hat from the bartop and placing it on his head. “No time like the present.” Running his hands over his clothes, he smoothed out his suit jacket. “Follow me, darlin’. And give me that.” He pointed his chin towards your bag. “I’m a gentleman, remember? Where would my manners be if I let a lady carry her own bags?”

You shook your head with a smile and handed over your carry-on, leaving you with only your purse. “I don’t know. You’re teaching me about gentlemen, remember?”

You knew when you saw his eyes darken that you’d made the right call.

“Oh, sugar. I remember. Few hours to Vegas. Plenty of time for me to teach you things.” With that he started walking and you were left to follow, slightly stunned at the implications in his tone and in his words.

This is definitely going to be a trip to remember, that’s for sure.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please feel free to let me know by sending a message or filling out the form on my masterlist! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @dihra-vesa @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @trickstersp8 @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @competentpotato @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharine @novemberrain221 @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @Noisynightmarepoetry

#HAPPY BIRTHDAY RACHAEL!#pretend this was on time #jack daniels x reader #jack whiskey daniels x female reader #jack daniels x female reader #pedrostories #jack whiskey daniels fic #kingsman the golden circle #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x female reader #pedro pascal character #agent whiskey fic #jack daniels fic #it's cowboy times

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burntheedges · 15 days

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Passing Notes: Leap

Jack Daniels x gn!reader | 746 words | Passing Notes masterlist

summary: You’ve got a day off and you’re ready to rest and relax when a handsome cowboy shows up at your door unexpectedly.

a/n: happy gift exchange, El! @secretelephanttattoo This was obviously inspired by your leap day asks. I hope you enjoy it. lol

tags/warnings: flirting, surprise cowboys, food and drink mention, reader walks around their apartment and wears shorts, otherwise not described

...

You were settling in for a cozy day off at home — warm drink, soft blanket, comfy clothes and hoodie all present and accounted for — when you were interrupted by a knock at the door.

You sighed. Now? You were just getting comfortable.

Brow furrowed, you moved slowly towards the door, wondering who it could be. You checked through the peephole and found an unfamiliar man standing in the hall of your apartment building. He was wearing a black leather jacket and a cowboy hat. You squinted at him. Who’s this? You could see even through the warped view of the peephole that he was devastatingly attractive.

You opened the door and the moment he laid eyes on you, he smiled. It was too charming.

“Well hello there, darlin’! I’m Jack.”

Nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, and you tugged nervously on your sweatshirt. “Um, hello. Can I help you, Jack?”

“I’m here for leap day!” He said it in such a way that you could tell you were supposed to know what that meant. You didn’t.

“Leap day?” You questioned. You were lost.

Jack frowned a bit and dug in his pocket. He pulled out a crumpled form and showed it to you. As you read it, your eyes widened, and you remembered the ad you and your friends had seen at the bar last week.

Lonely on leap day? Not this year! Book a leap day date - February 29, 2024 - Call now! Spend the day with a charming, flirty, oh-so-sweet person of your dreams! Call ###-###-#### or visit leapdaydate.com today!

You stared at the form that clearly stated your name and address and that Jack had been booked as your leap day date for 12 hours. 12 hours??

You looked back up at Jack. “I’m so sorry, my friend must have booked it. We saw the flyer last week and talked about it. I had no idea.” You remember your friend Sarah had heard about the company from a coworker who had raved about it, which at least made you feel a bit better right now. You knew they had rules about how the whole thing worked.

Jack’s winning smile didn’t waver, but you could tell he was surprised. “That’s alright, darlin’. We can do whatever you’d like, if you want to keep the date.”

You realized you were keeping him in the hallway and stepped aside to invite him in. “Can you tell me a little more about what we’re supposed to do?”

He took off his hat and fixed his hair as he stepped inside. “Well, like I said, we can do whatever you’d like. Stay in, watch a movie, go out, have dinner. It’s up to you.”

That’s too many options, you thought. How could you choose from anything and everything?

“Are there any rules? Or things you don’t like to do?” As you said it, you realized it sounded like you were asking him about something you were pretty sure wasn’t on the menu and your cheeks burned. He grinned and winked.

“Nah, darlin’, I’m easy.” He winked again. On anyone else it would have been absurd but somehow he made it work. “But technically anything naughty isn’t part of the package.”

You hid your face in your hands and groaned. “That’s not what I meant, I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to be bored.”

You looked up to find him smiling at you again. “Darlin’, something tells me I’m going to have a great time.”

You smiled back, tentative. “Well let me get changed and we can figure out what we’re going to do.”

He glanced down your body and you felt your cheeks heat again. “Aw, you can’t keep wearing these cute little shorts?”

You bit your lip. Flirty, the flyer had promised. You tried not to read into it. “Not if we’re leaving the house. I might flash someone.” Why did you say that?

He grinned at you again and ran his tongue across his bottom lip. “Now, who’d complain about a thing like that? But no darlin’, I want you to be comfortable. You go get changed and I’ll prep the paperwork. Might put you at ease a bit.”

You smiled and nodded and headed to your room. A date with Jack? You glanced back at him and got an eyeful of his ass in those jeans. You smirked. Well, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have your cozy day at home interrupted after all.

#PPCUGiftExchange2024 #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x gn!reader #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels fic #x reader #bte friendship exchange

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lady-bess · 2 months

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Just A Date - Jack Daniels/Agent Whiskey

Part of the LadyBess Valentine's special! 8 Characters; 8 Dates 💜

Jack Daniels/Agent Whiskey x GN!Reader Mature/18+ (Minors DNI Please✨) WC: 1.7k Notable Tags: Fluff, Jack being the biggest sap you've ever seen, References to Spouse/Partner Death, References to Sex, References to Trauma/Implied PTSD, Admission of Love, Kissing, Shameful Flirting.

Paying a homage to my dear friend @avastrasposts for Jack's Valentine's Day fic, using a subtle nod to their bakery created in 'A Baker's Dozen' as where these two lovebirds met ❤ Please check out their work if you haven't already!

Anyone who knows me knows that of course I had to kick off these character Valentine's head-canons with the one and only Jack Daniels. And, oh boy, have I overthought about how that man would treat you on Valentine’s day…

Ahem...

Now, let’s get something cleared up first. Jack, as we see him in Kingsman: The Golden Circle is, deep down, a broken shell of a man. It’s been twenty years since he lost his first sweetheart, “the love of my life”, and it’s still got him so messed up that I cannot imagine him even wanting to date.

But after his… injury (yeah, that’s what we’re calling it. I’m in charge of the script now, Vaughn), let’s say Jack goes through some much needed therapy. After such time, he’s finally open to letting someone into his life.

This is the Jack I’ll be describing.

It had been years since he had actually wanted to celebrate this holiday. For so long he’d not had any reason to, and for years after losing his sweetheart Valentines day became nothing other than a harsh reminder that he had lost the one he loved with all his being.

But, years after the events of The Golden Circle incident (as Champ so aptly named it…), life was different for Jack. He’d left Statesman, the therapist he worked with helping him to see that for as long as he remained in that line of work he was never going to improve. Every bump to the head that saw him needing Ginger to prompt his memories with a picture of his sweetheart sent him back months with any progress he made.

Now, gone from the organisation, Jack was truly living for the first time. Settled in nicely on a small patch of land in the Kentucky countryside, he kept himself to himself predominantly. He’d met you by complete chance on one of his trips into town, nestled in the corner of a bakery where you both waited for your collection orders to be finished up.

He’d struck up a conversation with you there, it being easy to make small talk when a subject was handed to you on a plate – quite literally. It turns out you’d both ordered the same item from the bakery in question to take away, but there had only been enough for one of you to take it.

Jack, being the perfect southern gentleman, let you be the one to take it.

“Please, sugar, you have it. I’ll go ahead and order something else,” he’d said, tipping his hat towards you as you gingerly took the box from the worker’s arms.

“Are you sure?” you’d asked him. Jack grinned as he sensed the golden opportunity.

“I tell you what, sugar, give me your number and let me take you out sometime, and all will be forgiven,” he chuckled.

To his surprise, you’d agreed, blushing at the cowboy’s request and letting him type out the digits of your number into his phone. He watched you walk away, a slight skip in your step, and he began that moment planning your date.

That was seven months ago now, and now you were fast approaching your first valentine’s day together as a couple. Jack couldn’t be more nervous if he tried. He suddenly had the same level of anxiety as he did the day he asked his first love to marry him, which was ridiculous, because he had nothing quite to that extent planned.

Not yet, anyway.

But it had been so long since he wanted to make an effort on Valentine’s day that suddenly today was filled with all these great expectations. He’d actually managed to terrify himself into wanting to call off the whole day’s plans off. But he persisted, and from the moment the sun rose on the 14th day of February, Jack had been working tirelessly on his plans.

His day had started early, heading to the same bakery where you’d both first met to pick up a selection of savoury and sweet treats. Jack had considered going all out and cooking you a steak dinner under candlelight, but the more he reminisced on your time together, the better this idea suited the two of you.

Once he had everything he wanted, he headed to a nearby florist, and picked out some flowers for you. Twenty-eight flowers, each one signifying a week that the two of you had been dating. He’d smiled to himself bashfully as he waited for the florist to string the bouquet together, allowing himself to briefly think back on his marriage to his first love. This was the sort of gesture she would have adored, and he hoped deep down that she would be able to find comfort in knowing her cowboy was happy once again.

Jack took the flowers carefully and headed back to his truck; next stop, you.

Jack had mentioned something about valentine’s day to you a couple of weeks back, but nothing more had ever been said. Truth be told, you weren’t all that bothered, as you viewed the day as nothing more than an excuse for big corporations to push cheap tat on people in a bid to create an illusion of happiness. But Jack had said to keep your day free, so you let your cowboy run with whatever idea he had brewing.

Just before lunch, there was a knock at your apartment door. You turned down the volume on the TV as you headed over to go answer it, expecting it would be Jack, but not knowing for sure. Sure enough, it was.

Stood in a freshly steamed suit, a basket in one hand, and a bouquet of flowers in another, the cowboy before you looked absolutely ravishing (well, he always did, but today it was certainly more so). You smiled at him, giggling at the toothy grin that he shot back at you, a smile that was somehow brighter than you’d ever seen it before.

“Well, look at you, all scrubbed up nice,” you teased, stepping back to let Jack in. He set foot in your apartment, chuckling under his breath and rolling his eyes.

“Alright, alright, less of the teasing,” he joked, leaning forward and kissing your cheek before allowing you to close the door behind him.

“Okay, sorry!” you giggled, “You look good, Jack. Is this my valentine’s gift?” you asked, motioning to his slim yet muscular body, perfectly contoured under the fabric of the denim suit. Jack smirked, then shook his head.

“Maybe later, sugar. But for now, I got you these,” he said, handing you the flowers. Your face softened as you lovingly took the bouquet, handling them delicately. You made note to count the amount of flowers, and realised the significance behind them.

“Jack,” you began, looking up at your cowboy, “These are lovely. Thank you,” you said. “Let me put them in water!”.

Jack chuckled as he watched you head to the kitchen sink, filling up a vase that was already in the windowsill, and then carefully setting the flowers in the glass. You arranged them so that they would catch the sun while in the kitchen window, and gently placed the vase to one side once you had done.

“There! Oh, they look so lovely,” you said, “Seriously, thank you.”

“I’m glad you like ‘em. Now, I hope you also like these,” Jack said, now handing you the basket in his other hand. You took it from him, furrowing your brow slightly.

“What have you got buried in here then?” you chuckled, setting the basket down on the table. Jack stood next to you, his hand settled on the small of your back as you peeled away a small cotton cloth which covered the top of the basket.

The smell of freshly baked pastry hit you the second the cover had been removed. A mix of aromas, sweet and savoury, flooded your senses and almost threatened to make your mouth water. But the scent was familiar, like it was something you’d smelt a thousand times before…

“Are these from-,” you began, turning to look back at Jack, but stopping speaking at the look he gave you. It told you everything you needed to know.

“The bakery where we first met, yes,” he said, confirming your suspicions. “Felt apt that I should go there, back to where this all began,” he said, chuckling slightly. You turned properly where you were stood, allowing Jack to snake his arm around your waist properly and to hold you in his arms. You rested your hands on the lapels of his jacket and looked deep into his eyes.

“Look at you, getting all nostalgic with me,” you giggled, “What gives, cowboy?”.

Jack sucked his bottom lip in and averted his gaze momentarily. The one thing he wanted to say was something he had been toying with admitting for a while, but he had been so scared to do so. Eventually he took a deep breath in and looked back at you. Cupping your cheek with one hand, he kissed you softly. You kissed him back, smiling against his lips, and in a small whisper he spoke.

“I love you, sugar. With all my heart. Happy Valentine’s day,” he said.

You smiled at Jack, your heart pounding in your chest at the confession. You knew the trauma that he’d been through in his life, Jack had always been very open about that. It was something his therapist had recommended he be, to involve you in these discussions, and you’d even attended a couple of therapy sessions with him to show your support for him. Long before he had the courage to say he loved you, you knew.

“I love you too, Jack,” you said, softly kissing him anew. He sighed in contentment into the kiss, relief passing over him as he heard those sweet words leave your lips – words he had hoped you would speak, but not ones he ever wanted to guarantee.

In each other’s arms, together on this day, Jack felt like for the first time he was truly starting his life over again. And to do it with the one he loved?

Well, what could be better?

For more from this series, check out the Just A Date Masterlist! For more works from me, here's my main Masterlist! ❤

LadyBess xox

#pedro pascal #fanfic #fanfiction #agent whiskey #kingsman #jack daniels #valentines day #valentines fic #LadyBess Valentines Special #Fluff #SFW #agent whiskey fic #jack daniels fic #gender neutral reader #reader insert #no description of reader

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thatredheadwriter · 2 years

Text

Movie Day

jack daniels x reader

Here’s some more smut. This is the third fic I’ve finished in two days and I feel so powerful! Please enjoy dom!Agent Whiskey with edging AND overstim. This one’s just over 1.2k words.

This is an NSFW oneshot for female reader with Jack Daniels (aka Agent Whiskey) of Kingsman 2: The Golden Circle. This work contains smut and mature language and should not be read by those under 18. As a writer, I will attempt to make accurate warnings for each of my fics, however, I cannot guarantee that I will identify each and every sensitive topic. My works regularly contain swearing, allusions to/mentions of sex, and canon-level violence.

Content Includes (but is not limited to):

dom!Jack

sub!reader

Pet names (kitten, sweetheart, darling)

Fingering (f receiving)

Teasing

threats of ambiguous punishment

Edging

Oral (f receiving)

Overstim

Reader protests at overstimulation once, but does not safeword. I want to make it clear that this is an established couple with safewords in place.

Sub drop

After care bath

Please read at your own discretion and remember to consume your fanfiction responsibly.

“Ja-ack!” you whined, squirming in your seat.

The cowboy pinned to the couch halfway underneath you just chuckled darkly in your ear, “Hush, kitten. I can’t hear the movie.”

As if he’s even watching the stupid action-comedy the two of you had finally agreed upon just an hour earlier. Despite the way his chocolate brown eyes stayed glued to the TV, you knew he was focused on his hand inside your shorts–the one that’s been teasing you for almost exactly nineteen and a half minutes. His thick ring and middle fingers curled in and out of your sex as his thumb rubbed lazy circles around your clit.

When his fingers scraped that spot inside you there was no way to hold back the whimper that bubbled up, and Jack froze in retaliation. “I told you to be quiet,” he growled lowly, mustache tickling your ear, “I wouldn’t want to have to stop the movie just to punish this pretty pussy.”

You turn so suddenly to look at him that you nearly headbut him. The desperate look in your eyes has him softening instantly, the hand not buried in your cunt came up to stroke your cheek.

“If you can make it to the end of the movie, I promise you’ll enjoy the reward. Think you can do that, kitten?”

Your head is so cloudy you could only manage a pitiful nod, and Jack placed a kiss to your forehead before redirecting both of you to look back at the screen.

It was torture. Absolute hell.

Before you left Statesman to retire with Jack, you’d been through agent training, even though you were just a lab tech. You knew what it was like to be electrocuted, waterboarded, and shot. But right now, you’d relive every simulated extreme duress situation at once if it meant you could cum. The desperation was overwhelming.

It wasn’t just the physical need to cum, though. It was the man underneath you, the one whose hand expertly brought you right to the edge before easing back seven times–never once stopping. Jack was warm underneath you, strong and full of life. His broad shoulders cradled you perfectly as you became lost to the pleasure, chest rising and falling underneath you keeping you grounded in the moment, along with the faint scent of his cologne and the bourbon that always followed him.

You needed Jack. You needed him to make you cum.

Jack was surprised when you didn’t immediately react when the sunset on-screen faded to black, credits flashing across the screen. You didn’t respond until his hand stopped moving, for the first time in over an hour. Immediately your hips started grinding down, seeking the familiar friction he’d been so giving with, a pitiful whine slipping past your lips as you turned to look up at him.

“You did it, kitten,” he purred, pulling his soaked hand from your shorts. You watched in fascination as he sucked each of his fingers clean before pulling you into a kiss that made your head spin.

“Please-” you start to beg, but Jack cuts you off with another kiss.

“Shh, it’s alright. I’m gonna take care of you.”

You’re not sure how you end up back in bed, but you don’t care. Not when Jack has made camp between your thighs, eating like it’s his last meal. It’s a rare treat that Jack pleasures you like this without restraining you in some way first, and your hands are tangled in the sheets as you try to keep from doing anything that might get him to stop.

“Come on, kitten,” he raises his head just a few inches to speak just as he slips two of his thick fingers inside, sending you arching of the bed. “I can feel you. Cum for me, sweetheart.”

And you do. You’ve never been able to say no to that sweet honeyed voice, thick with a southern drawl that permeated every pore of your body.

It’s like floating, every nerve of your body in perfect sync as pleasure washes over you in wave after wave. But you’re slammed back down to earth as Jack’s nose bumps your clit at the same time he slides another finger into you.

“Too much!” you whine, and try to pull yourself up the bed to get away. But his arm around your thigh hold tight, not letting up even as your legs tense around his head.

“Give me one more, darling. I know you’ve got it,” he growls, fingers fucking into you even harder.

Any other time you’d be self conscious about the noises you’re making, or the wet sound of Jack’s fingers plunging into your pussy. But your brain melted away long ago, and Jack wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Kitten, you sound just as sweet as you taste,” he groans, “Come on now, soak me sweet heart.”

Jack finally releases your leg and fumbles wildly for your hand, yanking it out of the sheets and pulling it onto his head. Your fingers instantly tangle into his hair and tug hard as a sob rips through you and the world falls away around you.

The next thing your body knows is the tender press of Jack’s lips up the skin between your breast, the tickle of his mustache encouraging your heavy eyes open.

“There’s my girl,” he grins, relief evident in his voice. You just hum in response. “That was a big one, huh?”

He settles in next to you as you nod, curling into his side.

“Stay with me sweetheart,” he urges, turning your body to face him. “I need you to come back to me.”

“I jus’ wanna sleep,” you mumble, brow furrowing in frustration as Jack moves you again.

“I know, but I need to clean you up first, darlin’. Gonna let me take you to the bath?”

Jack doesn’t wait for your response, instead leaving the bed for the ensuite where you hear water running and the smell of rose and bergamot follows shortly after. Minutes later you’re guided into the bathroom and sinking into a hot bath.

Your sweet cowboy never leaves your side the entire time. Jack didn’t care that his t-shirt got soaked as he washed you, whispering little praises in your ear and pressing kisses to the glistening skin of your shoulder.

“I love you,” you smile tiredly as Jack wraps you in a big fluffy white towel.

“I love you too, kitten,” he murmurs into the top of your head. “You had me worried there for a minute. I thought I’d pushed you too far.”

“Never, Jack. It was perfect, thank you. I’m just sorry I didn’t take care of you.”

He rolls his eyes. “Sweetheart, there are very few things in this world that make me truly happy, but seeing you lose yourself like that…” he trails off, clicking his tongue, “That’s just something else.”

“Come on, cowboy,” you tug him towards the bedroom and manage to strip him of his shirt. “I still can’t feel my legs and I have no clue what that movie was about.”

Jack barks a laugh and lets you pull him into bed. Movie days are officially a favorite, for both of you.

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dinsmechanic · 7 months

Text

𝐉."𝐖".𝐃 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒

──.★ fooled around and fell in love [ @agentwhiskeysdarlin ]

⌗ f!reader

⌗ mostly in jacks pov

⌗ 3.4k

⌗ fluff

⌗ bar setting, alcohol consumption

⌗ brief mentions of death and funeral setting

⌗ 18+, piv, heavy makeout session, oral m & f-receive

──.★ honey honey how you thrill me [ @americnprometheus ]

⌗ f!reader

⌗ 1.7k

⌗ goofy fluff !!

⌗ insinuation to smut

──.★ when you say nothing at all [ @agentwhiskeysdarlin ]

⌗ f!reader

⌗ soft!jack

⌗ 1.4k

⌗ so fluffy

⌗ 18+, piv, sensual sex, floor sex, oral f-receive

──.★ save a horse ( ride a cowboy ) [ @deardjarin ]

⌗ f!reader

⌗ 1.5k

⌗ 18+, piv, office sex, riding, moving of voyeurism

──.★ bull ride [ @palioom ]

⌗ f!reader

⌗ jack's cringey

⌗ 2k

⌗ 18+, piv, public sex ( middle of nowhere ), spanking, dirty talk

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geliditramonti · 2 years

Text

Fallin'

Pairing: Jack Daniels (Agent Whiskey) x f!Reader

Summary: You and Agent Whiskey are on a mission and you’re at a dead end.

Warnings: swearing, shooting, falling

[Part 2]

*We're fucked. We're totally fucked.*

You can't think of anything else while hiding behind a small cement wall containing an outlet noozle, squatting on the ground of this building roof, while bullets fly over your heads hoping to caught you and blow your brains out.

"There's fucking loads of them!"

Shit, this was never in the cards. When Champagne entrusted you with this mission you thought you could do it without much trouble...and you would've gotten it if only Tequila hadn't decided to get high like a kid at his first party yesterday night, being completely knocked out this morning and leaving you and Whiskey alone to handle a plan set for three. Stupid prick. The goal of this mission was to take a dose of antidote in a test tube and go back to the base without being seen. It was meant to be a quick, clean work...but everything has gone to shit when the alarm went off and you found ourselves forced to run on this fucking roof, ending up surrounded and with no escape.

"We're not gonna make it" you say aloud to Whiskey, squatting beside you "they're too many!"

Your breath is racing, looking at his face and almost feeling his brain working really fast to come up with something. He just stays in silence for a bit before speaks, reloading his guns as fast as he can.

"Ok, listen" he says in a short breath "I lost my whip and only have a few slugs left. You have to cover me and you have to do it without missin' a shot. Got it?"

"I told you hiding on the roof was a stupid...wait, what?"

"You got that?"

"No, what...no! How-"

"Cover me!"

It's a split second, you don't even have time to reply while see Whiskey take a breath and stand up in a lightning movement, running to a group of soldiers with open arms and responding to fire with his two revolvers, jumping headlong into the fire conflict.

"Shit..."

You have no choice but to have his back. His brilliant plan was just to jump into the fray like that? Jesus. You aim as precisely and quickly as you can, shooting at those bastards who haven't given you a breath in over an hour. You shoot and keep shooting, watching Whiskey confront a group of at least seven soldiers in camouflage, picking them off one by one with some fast and precise movements. His motions are so fast that with your eyes you almost struggle to see them, seeing only the enemies fall ruinously one by one like little toy soldiers in the hands of a sadistic child playing war. You try to keep your concentration even if it's not easy while something touches your head so closely that you can feel the air shift on your ear, making you freeze for a sec.

It's a matter of seconds, of quick but very long moments, before you realize that Whiskey has run out of bullets...and so have you.

"Fuck!"

Hiding again behind the wall your hands convulsively move on your pockets looking for more bullets, you thought you had at least one box left...

"Fuck...fuck!"

The fear of seeing Whiskey die right in front of your eyes is making you more than shake and is clouding your mind, not allowing you to think clearly anymore. You have to figure something out. Even though you're a kick-ass at hand-to-hand combat in this context it'd be nothing but a suicide mission: others are on the way. You look at him spinning his lasso in the air like a cloud full of lightning, waiting for the first move of who'll have the guts to face him...and you can see a little smirk on his face from afar.

There he is, that's your cowboy.

When you joined the Statesman Agency a few months ago you did it convinced that you'd never break the rules that you had set to yourself. The first one: accomplishing a mission is the most important thing. It doesn't matter what it involved, what you should have lost, what you should have given up. If carrying the mission entrusted to you requires the loss of your life, fine. The second one: no distraction. If something had made you waver, distracted you in any way from your goal, made you lose your cool...you'd have eliminated it immediately no matter what. And the last but not least one: never, never get emotionally involved with a colleague.

And guess what: it's completely without pride that to this day you can say you've broken all of them.

You certainly can't deny it to yourself anymore: you fell in love with Agent Whiskey a long time ago now. You never had the guts to confess anything, limiting to observe him in silence from afar, admiring his experience and his incredible skills in combat...you've never seen anyone fight like him before. Fast, lethal, incredibly precise. His whip doesn't miss a shot and he wields his guns with great mastery. And then his way of behaving, of talking, of moving...so cocky and so fascinating. You always tried not to make him understand anything, shifting your gaze as soon as his curious eyes rose upon you realizing he's been watched.

"Agent Brandy, are you still with us?"

Champagne's voice brought you back from your thoughts in a second, making you feel so stupid as your cheeks turned red like a tomato straight from the oven.

"Uhm, yes..."

"Did you listen to what I just said?"

You nodded silently lowering your head, the shame was warming your skin while you felt the looks of the other agents around the table all on you. Whiskey, sitting in front of you, smiled softly as he looked down.

You never said anything, keeping it all inside and never leaking any kind of feeling. And damn, God knows how you fucking suffered every time he had to sleep with a target to plant some bugs or to extract important information for the purpose of a mission...but what were you supposed to do? Whiskey is your partner. How could you continue to work with him or even look him in the eye after his rejection?

"Take your time, Brandy!"

It's Whiskey's voice. Once again your thoughtlessness is interrupted by a voice that screams your name, bringing you back to the real world and pulling you out of yout thoughts pit. Here you are again, catapulted into this battle. In a second you take back the reins of your mind as your eyes fall on a gun that fell to the ground, still held by the severed arm of the man who was pointing it at Whiskey. His electric lasso cut him clean and cauterized. It's close, you can do it.

You can do it.

With a lightning movement you try to reach it, snapping forward without losing sight of it, but something squeezes your throat and drags you away, just giving you enough time to see Whiskey lose his lasso as you cling with both hands to the arm that's squeezing you up a few inches from the ground. You're having a hard time breathing. Without thinking too much and with a precise blow you stick the knife that's hide in one of your sleeve inside his thigh and free yourself from his grip, lowering and hitting him in the stomach as he grabs you by the hair, throwing you to the ground. You get up but lose your sight for a bit at the exact moment his fist hits your face, so hard that you almost blacked out. You can taste your own blood in your mouth. Your head starts spinning as you realize you're on the edge of the roof, there's the void behind.

Your eyes open wide.

"You're on the wrong side, bitch."

His evil little smile, those blue icy eyes, his hands covered with black leather gloves lean on you in a very fast movement that you see in slow motion. In a second you feel your body lose balance, falling backwards in a moment that seems eternal. You close your eyes, accepting your destiny and the fact that it had to be this way. That it's over. That you'll never see Jack again. That you were a disappointment to the Statesman, to Champagne, to your parents and to yourself...but in a split second something holds your wrist, making your body dangle in the void and bumping against the wall.

When you look up and see Whiskey, your heart leaps.

"Don't let me fall" you beg, looking desperately in his dark and frightened eyes "...please, don't drop me."

Despite his efforts he can't lift you up, his arm shakes and you feel his grip tightening more and more while 'cause of the sweat your hand starts to slip. His shoulder is bleeding, he has no strength left.

"Jack"

You look down and then up again, to his face that you're sure is the last time you see. Your heart's beating so hard you're afraid it's gonna jump out of your chest.

"Fuck, I...I can't..."

"Jack, I - "

It's a moment. A second. Your hand slips, no more friction, no more grip. Gravity drags you down with it and your body falls into the void. His eyes screams at you full of terror and desperation. You see them, you see them well as you fall back as they pierce your soul from side to side. You see everything in slow motion, Whiskey leans out even more in an attempt to grab you again, his open hand, his hat flying away from his head. His face, his fear and his despair are the last things you see, maybe he's screaming your name but you can't hear him anymore...and then...all turns black.

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ok-anon · 1 year

Text

Agent Whiskey Multi-Part Help!

So y'all know when I've written 4 pages of just an outline- it's gonna be rough. I just wanna make our cowboy s a d. SO per my last post, looking for other pedro!writers who might be willing to look over/collab on some ideas for this piece bc I need motivation lmao. Message me!

Also, the greatest motivation is knowin y'all are interested so lmk!

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thosewickedlovelies · 7 months

Note

#quick tell me ur theories on what's happening in this scene

Well ok let’s see 🤔 Maybe Jack sees Javi needs some new gear and has him try out a new pair of boots and spurs. Maybe Javi stumbles a bit after a few steps. Maybe Jack catches him, sits him down. Gives him a once over to make sure he’s good. Maybe Jack says something like “Well here’s the problem. Your spur’s loose.” Maybe he gently but firmly puts his hand on Javi’s knee with a “No no, you stay right there big boy, I got ya.” And maybe there’s a Lot of intense eye contact while he’s fixing that boot against his chest. Like idk maybe 🤔🤔

🩵 Pat 😅

@patternedlantern, my darling, my beloved. Anything could be happening here, u know? Like idk maybe 👀

The boots are clunky, clumsy. Javi feels like a newborn foal, stumbling about. The new metal feature on his boots is unfamiliar, a strange weight over his ankles and hanging on his heels. Right at his Achilles tendon.

An uneven board catches his foot and he trips again, pitching forward, the barn floor sailing up to meet him-

Javi clears his throat, flustered from more than just his fall. "Yeah. Fine." Jack had ushered him toward a crate, forgetting that Javier was slightly shorter than him, and now Javi sat with his feet off the ground and Jack between his knees.

Jack puts his body between Javier and floor. Javi lands flush against his chest, hands on Jack's arms as he steadies himself. The biceps he's unintentionally wrapped his hands around flex as they gently maneuver him upright. An amused drawl, murmured in his ear: "Easy there, cowboy." Those same hands guide him to a seat- gentle, but commanding.

"Y'alright?" Jack's eyes are black beneath the brim of his hat. The tack room is only half-lit at this early hour- sunlight pours in imperceptibly slowly, like crystallized honey filling the other half of the room, but where the two men stand is still shadowed.

"Sure you are," Jack rasps. He smooths at Javi's shirt, over his shoulders, down his chest. He does the same to his jeans- palms over his thighs, tugging straight the hems. His fingers skim the bare skin of Javi's calf above the boots, and Javi's jaw clenches.

He lifts his foot from Jack's grasp and plants it on his chest. A dark sound rumbles in Jack's chest. He reasserts his grip on Javi's boot, his knuckles whitening. The fingers of his other hand flit, long and graceful, over the metal spur fitting.

"Well now, here's the problem." His voice is deep and gravelly. Javi can feel his chest lift and fall beneath his foot. "Loose spur." Jack flicks the metal star, and it spins with a little whir.

Neither man pays the sound any attention. Javi's eyes are as round and mesmerizing as Jack has always found them.

Javier reaches for the spur to fix it- only to have Jack grab his wrist to stop him. "Nuh-uh. You stay right there, big boy. I got ya."

Jack, keeping hold of Javi's gaze and his foot, kneels. He sets his hat aside. Javi watches, speechless, as Jack tightens the spur, removes the boot from his chest, and then from Javi's foot. He does the same on other side.

Jack then braces his hands on Javi's thighs and pulls himself upright between them. Those graceful fingers skim Javi's jaw and tip his chin up.

The sunlight is closer now, reaching over Jack's shoulder to add to the wicked sparkle in Javi's brown eyes. With his back to the sun, Jack's eyes are still depthless, all-consuming. He glowers closer, until his breath brushes Javi's cheeks, and Javier has never been happier to stay in the shadows.

---

Like...maybe 👀😘

#WOW HI RANCHER BOYS I MISSED THEM #Pat im kissing you on the mouth for this 💗💗💗#javier peña fic #jack daniels fic #agent whiskey fic #jack daniels x javier peña #narcos fic #kingsman fic

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syd-djarin · 4 months

Text

Do It For Me | Treat Me Like a Slut, Part 2 | jack “whiskey” daniels x f!reader

For the greatest experience, recommend reading part 1 here. Can also be read as a standalone.

Summary: Jack returns home much later than he said he would. You punish him as you see fit.

Warnings: sub!jack, dom!reader, edging, safeword, some religious undertone references (Christ, taking the lords name in vain, “the Almighty”), a little angst in the beginning, alcohol, inability to tell the truth, mentions of Jack possibly being dead, blood, yelling, crying, anxiety spiral. Excessive, excesssssive use of pet names, (1) use of MOMMY, use of daddy, Jack is called a pretty boy and a good boy. Jack uses pet names for reader too (baby, sweetheart, sugar, etc.) Dirty talk, fingering, masturbation, oral (m and f receiving), face riding, Jack’s big cock, breeding kink if you squint, creampie, size kink, handcuffs, cowboy/southern references, mentions of pain and punishment. Reader has no major physical descriptions. And finally…your honor, they’re in love. LMK if I missed anything.

Thank you @milly-louise for the encouragement.

And of course, y’all already know that @katiexpunk put her sexy magic touch on this and is the best cheerleader and Slutty Smutty Sister. Katie is seriously one of a kind and it is a privilege to know her.

I truly have the best smut support there is. :’) Hope y’all enjoy!

smut below the cut.

Jack busts into your apartment like a force of nature, opening the door like a saloon door in the Wild West. He’s gasping for breath from rushing home to see you – climbing the stairs three at a time, testing his agility harder than any training ever did, simply from the fact that most of the blood is in his cock, eager to see you, rather than in any other part of his moving body.

“Hey baby, sorry I’m late—“ he trails off as he takes in the scene before him.

He finds you sitting at the dining table; candles lit, a bottle of red open on the table, one wine glass full, the other that’s smudged with lipstick empty, and his favorite meal waiting for him. His eyes flutter to you and he’s met with a pair of misty, red scleras staring back at him.

You rise from the table and storm off to the bathroom, your humiliation unbearable. Since you were a little girl, you have always been self-conscious of the way you look when you cry. Like one allergy attack short of an ER visit. Not beautifully poetic the way the girls in movies cry. Full on hyperventilating and snot running out of your nose. Once inside, hot salty tears stream down your cheeks. The pang in your chest knocks the wind out of you, disappointment burning through your body like wildfire, heating your skin.

You thought it might be nice to surprise Jack, to welcome him home from his two-week mission; the longest you’ve been apart since you’ve been together. Be home in a jiffy, sweetheart. Can’t wait to see you. I’ll be home around six, he assured you this morning over the phone, his voice smooth and silky.

Six turned into seven thirty, which turned into eight-thirty, and now here it is – nearing 11 o’clock, each passing hour without hearing from him only made you more upset. You wouldn’t be this mad if had he just called, texted, or hell, he could have sent a carrier pigeon to let you know he’s fine and that’d be late. All of your calls and texts to him went unanswered. You’re not unused to this, given his job and everything, but every time it happens it irks you in a way you can’t control.

But no, he didn’t – his absence acted like a tour bus, giving your mind an entire tour of all of the things that could have possibly gone wrong. What if he was hit by a car? Trapped in an industrial-size freezer? It’s not logical, but like…what if.

Or worse, what if he was dead? Jack wields around his mortality as if it were immortality in his line of work, meaning you worry about him like you get paid hourly to do so. The waiting, the worrying, and the not-knowing spreads under your skin like a fever with each passing minute. You don’t even care about the dinner getting cold, or to be honest, the fact that he didn’t respond to you. You’re past that, you’re emotions thick like a blanket. You just need to know he’s okay. He’s safe. He’s still alive, for fucks sake.

As you waited for him, your knee bobbing under the kitchen table, your thoughts oscillated between the worst-case scenarios, your stomach swirling in unease and dread.

And then –

There he was, swinging the door open, a shit-eating grin on his face as if he had no idea that you’d been expecting him for hours or that you’d made yourself sick wondering where he was.

You pat at your blurry lashline with a tissue, trying not to smear the makeup you worked so hard to put on earlier in the evening. Hurried and heavy boot steps echo outside the bathroom door, followed by a soft knock.

“Baby, can I come in, please?” He gently coos, his voice almost a little desperate, forehead leaning against the door. It’s not locked, but Jack is a gentleman above all and wants to respect your space. Even if it’s his fault you need it.

“Oh, fuck off,” you spit back, your voice wobbly. His heart sinks to the pit of his stomach; you’ve never spoken to him like this before. Normally you’re fairly carefree, and understanding, but the talons you like to keep hidden away are now on full display, brought out by a mix of worry, hunger, and anger.

You look in the mirror again, and your feigned attempts to prevent your mascara from running are useless. Your eyes are now puffy, beyond anything Benadryl or Clear Eyes could help, and even a bit raccoon-like. Great, a cherry on top of an already shit night.

You step back from the counter and lean back against the wall, allowing your legs to slightly give out as you slide down the expanse of it, the fabric of your dress riding up as you do. Your bare thighs hit the cool tile below you, cooling your hot skin. The tears that well in your eyes fall one by one, and don’t seem like they have any plans to ease up anytime soon. You run the back of your hand under your nose and move it to wipe away some of the moisture on your cheeks.

“Sweetheart?” He calls to you through the door, but he’s met with silence. “Baby, I’m so sorry I’m late. I can see how much this night meant to you, and I can tell you worked hard to make it special. I’m sorry I ruined it. Baby, please, open the door – let me see you.”

The sincerity in his voice causes your temper to simmer down. You plant your palms on the ground and push yourself up to stand. You know you look like a hot mess, but you don’t care. Let the fucker see how much he hurt you. Your palm finds the brass doorknob, and you quickly pull the door open, almost taking Jack with it, not realizing he was leaning up against it.

You stand there, arms by your sides, your fists rolled into little balls. Your cheeks are damp, and the stray hands of your hair are plastered to them, glued on by your tears. At first, you look at the floor, before lifting your gaze to face Jack.

His heart sinks when he sees you. “Oh sweetpea…fuck, I am so sorry baby,” he tells you once more.

“You’re late, Jack. Like really fucking late!” you cry out to him, not quite yelling, but not quite not yelling, either.

“I know I am, but baby –” he replies, looking at your lips, avoiding your eyes, before you cut him off.

“Why the hell didn’t you call me or text me? For fucks sake, Jack. I thought you were hurt! Or worse, dead. You could have been lying in a ditch bleeding out and I would have had no idea,” you spill out, spewing fire with your words. “Where were you anyway? Hmm? What had you so preoccupied you couldn’t even bother to tell me you were gonna be – oh I don’t know, five hours late?” You ask, a twinge of snarkiness behind your voice.

You’re only so keyed up because you care about him so much; trying to mask your pain with anger.

He inches closer to you, instinctively pulling your body into his. You resist as first, body rigid, not embracing him back. You’re still mad, but with the way he feels against you, you can’t help but soften. You wrap your arms around his middle, resembling the way a koala bear clings onto a tree. The firmness of his arms envelops you in a protective blanket, pulling you tight to him so you can see the pulse in his neck, lowers your cortisol levels, and cools your heated blood.

“I’ll tell you, but have to promise you won’t laugh,” he says, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head, inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo. Fuck, he missed you.

“I’m not going to laugh, Jack. Where were you? What the hell happened?” you demand to know once again, stepping back from him, disconnecting your embrace.

“I uh – well, I was trying to save a kitten that was trapped on the train tracks on my way home. I managed to grab it, but as I was hoisting it back up onto the platform, my phone fell out of my pocket. By the time I went back down to grab it, the train was right around the corner…and well, it was crushed. Then I had to navigate my way home without GPS, and I saw an old lady get robbed, so I had to help her. And then there was a runaway stroller…” he says, smiling. He knows your upset, but he tries to lighten your spirits with humor.

That’s his thing. Well, your thing together, you suppose. You’d always ask him how his day was at work, how his missions went, knowing he couldn’t ever tell you the truth. You jokingly said to him one night, “Well if you can’t tell me the truth, make something up, like rescuing a kitten in a tree or something.” You were half-joking, but it just sorta stuck.

You look at Jack and can tell from the look on his face that he is sorry.

“Spy stuff, then?” You ask, clearing the remaining tears from your cheek.

“Spy stuff. I’m sorry baby, I want to tell you, I do, it’s just…the more you don’t know, the better. I don’t ever want to tell you anything that could compromise you, I couldn’t bare it if you got hurt,” Jack says, a sincerity behind his voice.

You see it then – for as much as you love and worry about him. He loves and worries about you, too. He knows his work is a lot, and he can see the weight of him not being able to tell you the full truth has on you. The worry, the pain that lingers behind your eyes.

Your shoulders relax and your face softens. You won’t push him.

You know he’d tell you if he could. You run the pads of your fingers under your eyes once more, clearing away some of the fallout from your makeup. The anger from earlier dissipates.

He’s here. He’s safe.

You reach your hand out to him and allow your fingertips to curl around his pinky. You look up at him with doe eyes.

“Gonna have to make it up to me, cowboy,” you whisper, a seductive tone to your voice. “Behave for me and I won’t be too mean.”

You unhook his pinky and curl your full hand around his wrist, rounding around him, pulling him to the bedroom.

You push Jack so that he is seated at the edge of your shared bed, using your foot to wedge his thighs open, granting enough space for you to stand between them. His sable eyes are the size of saucers, his heart thrums at a rapid rate in his chest. He’s no stranger to it all, hell, he’s a trained killer for Christ's sake, and yet here he is – defenseless under you, at your total mercy.

You could tell him to get on all fours and bark, and he’d fucking do it. He doesn’t know what your end game is, but he’s itching to find out, much like the hard cock that’s quickly eating up all of the space in his jeans.

“You’ve been a naughty, naughty boy…” you say, stroking your finger along the razor edge of his chiseled jaw. A little tsk, tsk sound escapes your lips, and you move to grab his jaw with a firm grip. “What am I gonna do with you?”

He gulps hard, the prominent Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing as he does. You’re not wrong – he has been a naughty boy, oh god, if you only knew, but hearing you say it has him bricked up; hard, and desperate for you, and whatever you want to give him. He’s ready to worship at your altar, ready to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness.

He’s well-versed in taking charge and fucking you til you see The Almighty, but reversing those roles, having you boss him around for a change? He’s never experienced anything quite like it. The Statesman surely didn’t train him for this.

“Remember the safe word, baby?” You ask in a serious tone, momentarily pausing your sexual prowess.

“Oh fuck,” he chokes out. “Y-es, I remember, baby.” Your pussy throbs at the sight of your tough cowboy submitting to you.

“Good boy. Now, you’re gonna keep your hands to yourself. Can you do that for me?” You respond, your voice smoky, laced with pure desire.

He nods and a faint whimper escapes his lips. You squeeze his jaw with your hand, “Use your words like a big boy,” you scold, reciting similar words he used on you not too long ago. Use your words like a big girl.

“Yes ma’am,” he says, voice trembling with need, a twinge of submission behind it.

You can’t help the smirk on your face, taking over the reins and being in charge gives you a new thrill. Now you know what all the fuss is about.

You start undoing the buttons of his Western-style shirt. You’re taking your time, enjoying how each undone button reveals more of his lean body that gets softer the further down you go, but for Jack, it’s painstakingly slow. He squirms where he’s sitting and fights the urge to take over. He’s trying not to paint his jeans just looking at you being a minx.

Rip my fuckin’ heart out baby, is the only thought that crosses his mind.

“Patience, baby,” you purr and give his face a few playful smacks. You reach for his belt buckle, and he hisses when it presses against his rock-hard cock. You retreat, remembering the recurring fantasy you’ve been having for weeks now.

“Pants off, lay on the bed, and wait for me,” you order and he does as he’s told. Truthfully, he’s a little afraid of what you might do if he doesn’t. You walk over to your closet space, which is thankfully out of view from the bed. You take the opportunity to strip down to the silky black bra and matching panties you’ve been waiting to show Jack all evening. You gather the items you came to the closet for and step back into the bedroom.

Jack is lying with his back under a cloud of pillows, his head resting against the metal headboard. He’s almost naked, just like you asked, his thick bulge pronounced in his underwear. You swear you can see his heart thump out of his chest from across the room when his eyes trail over your nearly bare body. His breath catches in his throat when he sees what you retrieved from the closet. Fuzzy handcuffs, and one of your fluorescent pink dildos. He doesn’t mind when you use it on yourself, but he’d much rather give you the real thing. The silicon shape of it taunts him.

You lay the agents of eroticism next to him and crawl up his body to hover over him. He cranes his neck to kiss you but you pull back and place your index finger over his lips.

“Nuh-uh,” you scold. He whines, actually whines, and you have to compose yourself from melting on the spot. You pick up the novelty handcuffs and dangle them in his face, a mischievous and somewhat amused look on your face.

“Gonna put these on ya, pretty boy,” you say with a delicate cadence, almost questioning; giving Jack the room to protest. He’s never been restrained before, at least not in this context. He’s restrained you plenty of times, but you understand he might not like it; especially given the nature of his profession and his need to always be on guard.

But fuck it, if he has a problem with it, he can safe word out.

He doesn’t.

You lock eyes with him as you fasten the handcuffs around his wrists, one end on each, the other tethered to the metal bed frame. Your chest is so close to his face, close enough that his tongue can’t help but dart out and give your tits a little lick, the temptation of it too strong.

You pull away from him and look down at him. “Maybe I wasn’t clear enough the first time. You’re gonna keep your hands to yourself, and that includes your tongue. You’ll take what I give you when I give it to you. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jack nods, a smug look on his face. He thinks you’re cute when you’re demanding.

“Better wipe that little smirk from your face right now or I’ll leave you chained up all night, fuck myself silly with this plastic cock, and moan your name the entire time I do it. You won’t get a single taste. That what you want?” You ask, a condescending tone to your voice.

He doesn’t answer you, he just looks at you with lusty, glossy eyes. “What’s the matter baby, cat got your tongue?” you say, and a low growl leaves his chest.

“No, baby. I don’t want that. Wanna fuck you, wanna show you how sorry I am,” he says. You know he could bust out of the handcuffs with a swift tug if he wanted to. You know he could pin you to this bed and have you crying for him, following his every demand. What’s more, you know you’d like it.

But he knows he fucked up, and he knows this is his penance.

You let out a little purr of satisfaction when you see him tug at the cuffs, the rattle of them against the metal of the bed frame. His lack of somewhat self-imposed freedom shows you that right now he’s at your mercy.

You rise to stand on the bed, both of your feet on either side of him, positioned just above his head. The view you’re giving him is obscene, the sheer lace of your panties just barely covering your wet and glistening cunt. You dip your hand below the hand of them and use your fingers to gently nudge the soiled fabric to the side. You run your finger up your dripping seam, collecting your slick on your finger, gently passing over your throbbing clit as you do. A little gasp trickles over your lips. Jack can see the glisten on your fingertips and his mouth salivates, conditioned like Pavlov’s dog at the sight of your juices. He can smell you from where you’re positioned, the sweet scent of your arousal, and the groan he lets out is animalistic, primal. He’s kicking himself for the predicament he’s in, but at the same time, relinquishing control has never felt this good.

“Bet you wanna stuff your thick cock in this pretty pussy don’t you, Daddy. Wanna split me open, stretch me out, and claim me,” you taunt him, your fingers continuing their ministration against your clit, nearing you closer to your release. The filth spewing from your lips is mostly just to tease him, but fuck, if it doesn’t do something for you, too. Mostly because it’s true. You want him so bad, you can only imagine how he must feel.

“Answer me, baby. Tell me what you wanna do to this pussy when I finally let you,” you rasp out, your fingers alternating between slipping in and out of your wet and waiting hole.

“Fuuuck,” Jack growls. He can barely form words, too drunk off the sight of your pussy, watching you work yourself above him. “Such a pretty fucking cunt,” he hisses, “gonna fucking ruin you when I get out of these cuffs.”

“Yeah? Keep being a good boy for me and I’ll let you fuck me however you want baby,” you rasp, a little breathless, sprinting to the cliff of your orgasm,“But, you’re gonna make me come first,” you say, falling to your knees, holding the panties far off to the side of your slit. You position yourself right above Jack’s face, holding your glistening cunt inches away from his face. So close he can almost taste it, but not quite close enough.

“I wanna hear you beg,” you tell Jack, your hands threaded through his hair, pulling it back so he’s face-to-face with your pretty pussy. “Tell your mommy how bad you wanna taste her cunt.”

And shit, it’s raunchy, straight debauched. You don’t even have time to ponder the words that just left your lips, but it felt right. You can tell Jack likes it too by the way he practically falls apart under you, a whimper leaving his chest for the second time tonight, his eyes dark as the sea at night.

When he doesn’t answer you, you tug his hair and head back a little farther, dipping just a little bit lower, close enough this time for him to land a little lick on your wet center.

“Holy fuck baby, shit I need you so bad, please sit on my face,” he begs, “please let me taste you.” You’re more than happy to oblige, chasing reprieve from your aching core. You sit down on his face, your wet folds completely covering his mouth, his nose nudged right up against your awaiting clit. You don’t put all of your weight onto him yet, not wanting to cut off all of his airflow. He pulls away slightly, “Fucking give me all of it, baby. Don’t hold back,” Jack muffles against the skin of your pussy. His voice reverberates, his hot breath is ticklish against your sensitive cunt.

As much as you’re in control right now, old habits die hard, and him telling you what to do for the first time tonight coils the spring of your nearing release tight. You let out a slew of fuck, yes, oh my god daddy, yes, and taking the lord’s name in vain a few times. You’re riding the wave of your orgasm, and it’s so intense, to the point of dizziness. “Oh wait, fuck, think–” you lift off him slightly, just in time to see your release splashing over his face, completely drenching him. You fully move off of him, and look down at him, and he’s a mess. He looks at you with a primal grin to his face, his pupils so wide they edge out the color of his eyes.

“Oh fuck, Daddy. Look at you,” you moan, “covered in me, aren’t ya? Looks good on you. Now swallow it,” you demand.

You don’t have to tell him twice. He drinks up what he can while being restrained and you decide to gift him more by catching the stray droplets on his chin with your index finger and pressing it into his mouth. Jack savors your taste, eyes fluttering shut and practically growls. He’d argue it's the nectar of the gods.

“Shit, baby. You come for me like that and I’ll let you do whatever you want with me, this cock is all yours,” Jack rasps, thoroughly fucked out and under-touched. His cock throbs under the fabric of his boxers, waiting for you to touch him, to milk the soul right out of him.

“Think I’m gonna keep you restrained like this for a bit longer, baby. But don’t worry, since you’re being so good, I’ll put on quite the show for you,” you say, shimmying and kissing your way down the center of his stomach, leaving goosebumps in your wake. You nip across the neatly trimmed hairs that rest at the top of his cock, until you come to over them, your lips hovering just above the band of his underwear.

You look up at him through your lashes, and give him a little knowing smile; you love what you do to him and you’ve barely touched him yet. You slip the fabric off of him, releasing his thick cock; it’s bigger than normal right now, pumped full of so much blood, the prominent vein that runs down the side of it bulging, the tip of it shiny with his pre-come.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him. You’ve always admired his thick, delicious cock, but having free reign over it right now, the power to do whatever the fuck you want with it is almost overwhelming. You dart your tongue out and lick the tip of him, the taste is a little salty and heady. You moan and smile, before opening your mouth wide, releasing your tongue so it’s wide and flat. You grab his cock by the base of him and tap the mushroom head of it over your tongue, little thin strings of salvia trailing between your body and his as you do.

“Fuck, baby. You’re such a tease, killin’ me over here,” Jack moans, fighting his fuzzy restraints.

“Oh Jack, my love. Have you learned anything tonight? You’re mine. I’ll do what I want with you when I want to,” you rasp, opening your mouth wide, diving down deep on to the thickness of him as you do.

“Ah shit –” he cries out, happy to finally be touched, but not expecting you to deep-throat him from the get-go. “So good baby, so good oh my god,” he cries out as he juts his hips up, trying to nudge his cock deeper into your wet and waiting throat, chasing the warmth and wetness of it. You keep working him, it’s sloppy and intense, but so damn satisfying. You’re just happy to have him deep inside one of your holes, filling you in just the way you like.

But you want more. As happy as you are to keep up this teasing, taunting, and kinky show, at your core you just need him to fuck you. You need to feel him deep inside of you, deep enough to remind you that he’s here, he’s alive, and he’s yours. You need him to fuck you so hard that the sadness from earlier in the evening spills out of you, retreats into a corner, runs away, and hides, never to be found again.

“Want me to ride you, pretty boy?” You ask, though you already know what the answer will be. He nods furiously, and if you don’t put him out of his misery soon, he has half the mind to punish you.

“Sorry, baby. I didn’t catch that – use your words, I know how good you are at that; prove it to me,” you command, running your palm up and down the length of his wet cock, working him within an inch of his life.

“Yes, fuck, please ride me. Need to feel your pussy squeezin’ my cock,” he pleads, his patience wearing thin, “Don’t wanna come like this, sugar. Need to fill up that little pussy of yours, know how much she likes that, my come spilling out of you,” he moans. “Look so pretty when I’m spilling out of you, my girl,” he adds.

As soon as he finishes his last syllable, you line him up with your entrance and sink slowly. You gasp when he’s fully inside, your ass flush against him. From this angle, his cock punches your cervix in a way that deliciously teeters on pain and pleasure. You’re seriously considering uncuffing him, letting him ravage you, but ultimately you’re not ready to end your fun.

Your hand finds purchase on Jack’s sweat-slick chest as you bounce up and grind back down on his vicious cock. Your other hand between your legs, rubbing your clit in tandem with the plunging movement of your hips. Each movement fuses both of you together in shared ecstasy.

The flurry of emotions and sensations you’re experiencing at once is overwhelming; your second orgasm impending, the still raw and pent up feelings from your catastrophizing thought spiral that lasted for hours, and the sweet relief of having your cowboy back home with you. Exactly where he belongs.

He’s close and you’re both a little surprised he’s lasted this long. His honey-like drawl spewing out filthy words. The closer he gets the mouthier he gets.

Atta girl, ride this cock like you mean it. Look like straight up sin like this, baby. Fuckin’ goddess. Fuck fuck fuck. Thank fucking Christ you’re mine. Shit. fuck. damn. All mine, all mine.

Furling headfirst into euphoria, you roar out at a decibel that the neighbors on each side of you won’t appreciate the way that Jack is right now. A new flash of heat spreads throughout your body and you see stars behind your fluttering eyelids. You gush around his cock, pussy pulsating and immersing you both in your release.

“Fuck I’m—“ Jack is cut off by his own hoarse shout as he’s bucked into his own bliss, painting your insides with spurts of cum. He’s pretty sure he has died and went where cowboys go; he’s never come this hard in his life. He’s dizzy, borderline disoriented, chasing his breath like it’s a greased pig and he’s the poor chap pursuing it. You lean down and capture his lips in a frenzied kiss, another way of tethering yourselves to each other and back down to earth.

With trembling limbs you reach over to the nightstand and grab the tiny keys to the cliche cuffs still locked around Jack’s wrists. You fumble through unlocking them and you’re grateful that he is still hazy, otherwise he’d be giving you shit for it.

You dismount off of his softening shaft and feel your spent pussy leak down your inner thighs. A filthy idea pops into your fucked out head, your last act of dominance for tonight. You glide two fingers through your combined juices and bring them to Jack’s lips. The second time your fingers have been in his mouth tonight.

“See how good we taste together, baby,” you command, smearing some onto his plush lips. He sticks out his tongue, waiting for your offering. Much to your delight, he is still pliant under your control after you removed his restraints. He swirls his warm tongue along your fingers, lapping up every last drop.

You move off Jack’s chest in favor of tucking yourself into his side. Even though you were in control tonight, the need to be held post-coitus is still present. When he holds you in his strong arms, it’s your sanctuary. He’s not sure you know, but you’re his sanctuary.

Moments of tranquil pass and Jack breaks the silence.

“So…. Mommy, huh?”

END

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 2 months

Text

Recall - Part 2

WHAT THE F*CK IS PROJECT ASTER?

A/N: Not me sneaking this in under the radar while we're all riding the high of Pedro's SAG win. <- Actually, exactly this. I never meant for there to be such a long lapse between chapters but here we are and here this is - even if it is 695 years later. If you need to refresh your memory (I know I needed it) or you're just starting this series, you can catch up here. And if you want to come chat about this story or these characters, my inbox and messages are always open and I would absolutely love to hear your thoughts!

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: language, mention and description of gunshot wounds, even more angst than part 1, Jack Daniels and his Charm

Summary: You race back to the lab after receiving Ginger's message, only to be met with more questions than answers regarding Jack's progress.

You practically ran from the housing complex back to the lab, heart pounding and blood rushing in your ears the whole way.

Something is wrong.

Ginger’s message flashed behind your eyes with every blink. You had no idea what she meant, and that was what scared you the most. Despite the fact that Statesman had been developing and working on the Recall program for years before introducing it into standard protocol for all Agents, it was still relatively new technology. Preliminary studies were done on lasting effects of the nanites, of course. But the truth of the matter was that the program wasn’t old enough for there to be any real longevity data. Which meant that if there was a threshold for how many times the Recall program could be run successfully without causing damage, you didn’t know what it was… or if Jack had surpassed it.

How many times has he…

You were vaguely aware of one of the other Agents - Absinthe, maybe - waving hello and using your codename, but you were too lost in your thoughts to respond. Instead you kept walking, trying desperately to remember how many times Jack had gone through the restoration process. This was the second time since you had taken the position with Ginger, but you knew there had been others before then. You concentrated as hard as you could, trying to reconstruct the page in Jack’s file that had that information on it in your mind. That tactic had worked for you during exams in college and grad school - you’d close your eyes and picture your notes and pick out the answer you were looking for from memory. But the stakes weren’t nearly as high then as they were now. No matter how seriously you took your studies, adrenaline never coursed through your veins during a bio-chem midterm quite like it did as you made your way toward the elevator, and for all your concentration you simply couldn’t find the fact you were searching for.

Something else shook loose, though, as you stepped into the car and slammed the close door button - a memory of one of the countless times you’d shared that same space with Jack. It wasn’t just a random moment, though. As the doors slid closed and you felt the jolt in your stomach that told you the car was descending, you were struck with the memory of how it felt to hear Jack address you by your codename for the first time.

It was only your third day on Ginger’s team when the Silver Pony came in from New York, and you smiled to yourself as you watched it land smoothly on the runway.

He’s back.

The last time you saw Agent Whiskey, you were still working in scheduling and he had just been cleared to return to duty after being wounded on a mission. Duty, as it turned out, had meant an extended trip up north to meet with investors and sign off on some financial paperwork on Champ’s behalf. It was the type of work you imagined that an Agent like Whiskey hated. Not that you knew much about him. But from the very first interaction you had, you got the impression that he was a man of action, someone who preferred to be in the thick of things when things got thick.

And they certainly always seem to.

You didn’t know the full details of the injury that had taken him out of commission prior to the New York trip, but you knew that it must have been serious if the first thing he’d been assigned to upon his return had essentially been busy work. Though you didn’t like the idea of him - or any of the Agents for that matter - in danger, you were glad to know that he was back at HQ because it meant that he would be getting back to the kind of work that he joined Statesman for. The work that he did so well.

The path you were on, the one that connected the employee housing complex to the main building, joined with the path that led to the airfield, and just as you reached the juncture, you were joined by a pair of boots and the cowboy wearing them.

“Well ain’t you a sight for sore eyes? First face I see when I get back happens to be one I was actually lookin’ forward to seeing.”

What? Me?

He grinned at you, and the heat that you felt climbing your cheeks had nothing to do with the springtime sun. “Howdy, darlin’.”

Me. Okay.

Recovering as quickly as you could from the unexpected attack of his charm, you cleared your throat. “Welcome back, Agent Whiskey.” You returned his smile as he fell into step beside you. “Was being in New York so awful that you actually looked forward to scheduling your training and testing sessions?”

He tilted his chin and leaned closer to you. “Schedules have nothin’ to do with it. I am genuinely glad that the first person I saw this morning was you and not Tequila or Vermouth.”

That made you laugh, but it also gave you the perfect opportunity to tell him what he’d missed while he was away from HQ. “Well -” You thanked him as he held the door to the lobby open for you, letting you enter the building first. “That’s good, because as of three days ago, you’ll be making those schedules with someone else.”

Glancing over, you saw his eyebrows jump, an intrigued glint flashing in his eyes. “Is that so?”

Another Agent - Absinthe, from the sound of their voice - greeted Whiskey from across the room, and you saw Merlot throw him a smile and a wave as she continued to speak to someone on her earpiece. Even though he acknowledged both of them, his focus remained on you as you responded.

“It is.” You grinned as you reached the security turnstile that restricted access to the elevators. In your previous position, this would be where you’d have to tell Agent Whiskey to have a good day before heading down the first floor hallway that housed the non-classified offices. But not anymore. Pressing your palm to the scanner atop the turnstile, you waited for the blue light to flash before looking back up at the man standing beside you. “You’re looking at Ginger Ale’s new assistant lab tech.”

You stepped through the gate as it opened, turning in time to watch him place his palm on the reader. He broke into a smile then that reached his eyes, the corners of them crinkled with the force of his genuine excitement as he followed you through. “Well hot damn, darlin’, that’s great!” He bumped your elbow with his, the brief touch sending a jolt through your stomach. “Congratulations.”

Letting out a flustered little laugh that you hoped didn’t give away the effect his proximity was having on you, you reached out to press the button to call the elevator. “Thank you, Agent.” You reigned your smile in despite the fact that you were still over the moon about your promotion and everything that came with it. “I’m really looking forward to learning from Ginger.”

The elevator to your left opened, the two of you moving towards it. “And I’m sure she’s just as happy to have the help.” He held his hand up to keep the door from closing as you stepped inside, then joined you. The door stayed open for a few seconds longer, but even though no one else came through it and there was no need to, he stood close to your side, the scent of his cologne hitting you as you inhaled. Goddamn he smells good.

You swallowed and selected your floor, the lab level lighting up on the panel. Hand still hovering near the buttons, you tilted your head to the side, silently asking what floor he needed. But instead of answering and letting you press it for him, he reached in to do it himself, the position of his arm further caging you close. His fingertips grazed your knuckles on their way to the buttons and you had to stop yourself from gasping at the electric feel of his skin meeting yours. Pressing the button for the floor that Champ’s office and the boardroom were located on, he withdrew his hand. As he finally took a step back, you could see the hint of a smirk playing on his lips that told you he knew exactly what he was doing. Shameless flirt.

That didn’t come as a big shock. Though you hadn’t worked closely with any of the Agents yet, you knew that some - if not most or all of them - had reputations around the HQ offices. Tequila, though capable in the field and loyal to the Agency, was known to be somewhat of an overgrown frat boy with a penchant for drinking games and strange dance moves. Merlot mainly kept to herself, unless you were to get her talking about her most recent needlepoint project, which seemed far too tame a hobby for someone with as severe a stare as she had. There was Absinthe, the toxins and poisons specialist who, it turns out, could have had a career in comedy had he not joined Statesman, and Bourbon, the quiet one whose quirk you hadn’t learned yet. And then there was Whiskey, the shameless flirt.

But where others rolled their eyes at his syrupy compliments and quasi-pick up lines, you found yourself charmed by his southern antics. And by him in general.

As the elevator car began to move, the man sharing it with you spoke, his eyes widening in realization as he looked at you again. “Wait. Hold on a minute, darlin’. If you’re part of Ginger Ale’s team now, does that mean that you’ve got a-”

Your groan cut off the rest of his question. “A codename?” Wincing, you wrinkled your nose and let out a laugh that was part sigh, part scoff. “Yes. Or, rather, Champ is trying to get me to go by one. I’m not sure it’s going to stick.” Because there’s too many jokes to make about it.

He cocked his head to the side, one hand resting on his popped hip just above the coiled lasso that hung at his belt. Your focus was involuntarily drawn to the sight of his thick fingers curled casually around the synthetic rope, but you snapped your eyes back to his at the sound of his voice again. “Oh no?” He tipped his hat back, pushing the underside of the brim with two of the fingers you’d just been staring at. You swallowed and shook your head. “Well maybe I can help give it some traction. Care to share that moniker with me? I like knowing how to properly address the people that I-“

“It’s Maraschino.” You pressed your lips together to keep from smirking at the way his jaw dropped open almost comically.

“Maraschino?” Recovering quickly, his mouth quirked to one side, pulling his mustache with it. “Like the cherry?”

You rolled your eyes. “Like the cherry.” Glancing up at the numbers above the door, you saw that you still had a few floors to travel before your stop.

“And just what about that name makes you hesitant to use it?”

Laughing, you turned to face him more fully, resting one hand on the rail that ran around the inside of the car. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe I’m not looking forward to being asked if I can tie a knot in a stem with my tongue.” A brief scowl crossed your face as you recalled a moment from the previous day. “I already overheard Agent Moonshine mumbling something about popping cherries...”

You weren’t sure why Whiskey was the one with the bad reputation for being a flirt, when Moonshine’s watercooler talk was as uncouth as it was.

That turned his tone serious, one brow raised as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Is that so?” You shrugged and nodded. “In that case, it might be time to remind Agent Moonshine of his manners.”

You were just about to wonder if you’d said something you shouldn’t have when the lights above the door changed again, and the car began to slow to a stop - yours. “I… it’s fine, Agent, really, you don’t-”

“Jack.” You blinked as he said his name with a lopsided smile. “If you’re gonna be part of Ginger’s team then you’ll see my file sooner or later anyway, and I’d rather give it to you than have you read it off some screen.”

You sucked in a breath as the doors slid open, feet temporarily glued to the floor under Jack’s gaze. This is me. I need to get off. I have to- Your tongue slipped out to wet your lips as you finally responded. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jack.”

“Pleasure’s mine, Maraschino.” He winked. “And for what it’s worth? Call me old fashioned, but… I like it. I hope it sticks.”

Warmth rose in your cheeks and flooded your stomach as he addressed you by your codename, and right then and there you decided to keep it, Moonshine be damned. Though it sounds like that won’t be a problem for much longer.

Before you could respond, you heard Ginger’s chipper tone from the hallway calling you. “Right on time, Maraschino! Come on into the lab and we’ll get started. I want to show you the Alpha-Gel protocol.” You watched her press her ID card to a pad on the wall to open the lab doors, and then she was gone.

“Better not keep her waitin’ or she’ll get antsy.” Jack grinned.

“Right.” You laughed, bringing one hand up to absently roll one of the pearls on your necklace between your fingers. “You have a safe day, Agent.”

With that you left the elevator, feeling his eyes on you until the doors closed.

The memory from just over two years earlier vanished as the elevator jolted to a stop, the doors opening on the lab floor. The only thing you felt as you stepped through them was a cold shiver down your spine that you knew wouldn’t leave you until you were certain that Jack would be alright. Taking a deep breath, you prepared yourself as much as you could before using your ID card to enter the lab.

The lock panel beeped, the door sliding open with a whoosh, and as soon as possible your eyes were on him. Your ribs could hardly contain your heart as it pounded against them, the beat thudding in your ears, too. But to your immediate relief, he appeared exactly as you left him only a few hours before, and a quick scan of the monitors displaying his vital signs assured you that medically he was fine. Oh, Jack.

“You’re here. Good.” Your attention snapped to the sound of Ginger’s voice, the other woman adjusting her glasses as she crossed the room to where you stood. “That was fast.”

Grabbing for your lab coat, you thrust your arms into the sleeves and shook your head. “I came as fast as I could. What’s going on, Ginger? He looks…” Your forehead furrowed in confusion as you swallowed a tight knot. “Tell me what’s up.”

She nodded, deep creases cutting between her eyebrows to match the concern written on your face. “Remember when I told you that I had some files from Merlin to go over?” She pointed at the work station she’d been using when you entered the lab and started heading towards it.

“Yeah.” You nodded, following her at a clipped pace over to the main bank of monitors. But what does that have to do with…

On the largest screen she had Jack’s file pulled up, the page listing all of the programs, projects and missions he’d been a part of displayed alongside his Statesman I.D. photo. Many of them were from before you started working with Ginger, and therefore before you gained the level of clearance that you currently had, so you were in no way involved with them.

But I recognize some of those names because they were major milestones for the Agency.

Scanning the list, you took a moment to mentally tick off the ones you knew about. Project Rodeo. The São Paulo job. The Recall Program. Operation Card Shark. Project Whiplash. Jack’s file read like a textbook or a training manual on the most important discoveries and victories in the last twenty years at Statesman. You glanced over at the recovery bay to where he lay, still unconscious and connected to the machinery that would bring him back from the brink of death, and your chest ached.

He’s done so damn much for this place.

Not that you needed to read his file to know that Jack was an exemplary Agent, or a good man. There was a reason Champ had made him the youngest Senior Agent in Statesman history, just like there was a reason that you had let him into your heart. Turning your focus back to the screens in front of you, you vowed for the hundredth time that night that you would make sure that he pulled through. But just as you were about to question Ginger about what the files Merlin sent over had anything to do with Jack’s situation, something on one of the smaller screens caught your eye.

Wait a minute. That’s not right.

“This is…” Eyes narrowed, you shook your head as you looked over the information listed in the identifying features section. Every Agent’s file contained a catalog of scars, birthmarks, tattoos and other unique markings. It was used to keep track of injuries, to ensure that no one could easily impersonate an operative and infiltrate the organization, and - though you hated thinking about the final reason, you knew it was an important one - to identify an Agent in the event that they were killed in the line of duty in such a way that left them unrecognizable.

Looking quickly at the diagram, you realized that it was incomplete.

“Ginger, this isn’t right. It’s missing information.” You stepped closer to the bank of monitors and pointed at the diagram. It showed the scar on the inside of his right leg that he’d had since childhood, the smattering of freckles dotting his neck that you’d mapped with your lips, and a few other markings that you were aware of. “He’s got another scar right here.” You moved your fingertip to the area near the figure’s temple, tapping it twice. “And…” Turning to face the woman beside you, you let out a breath. “He’s got a tattoo on his chest. On the left side. I’ve… I’ve seen it.”

Her eyes widened behind the frames of her glasses. “A tattoo? Of what? When did he… Why wouldn’t it be listed in his file?” She shook her head, sending her short hair swinging about her ears.

“It’s a bundle of three wildflowers,” you responded, throat tightening as you remembered the last time you traced the delicate lines of those petals. “Asters. And-“ You shrugged, looking back over your shoulder. “I don’t know how long ago he got it, I just…” Trailing off into a frown, you watched Ginger pull up another tab from Jack’s file. “What are you d-“

You gasped at the image that appeared once she’d stopped typing, your right hand flying up to cover your mouth. Oh, fuck. A chill trickled sickly down your spine and you felt your heart plummet as you stared at a photo of the man you loved - his eyes lifeless and glazed over, a bullet wound blown through his chest. Jack…

Ginger must have heard your sharp inhale, because she immediately turned to you, apology clear in her expression. “Shit, Maraschino, I’m sorry I should have warned you. You weren’t… You didn’t see him like this when it happened.”

She gestured to the screen and you forced yourself to look again. Doing your best to bypass the graphic image of torn flesh and spilled blood, you focused instead on the date stamped on the upper left corner of the photo. It was from three months before you started working in the lab, and without having to ask, you realized that this must have been the incident that preceded the temporary transfer to New York that he had just returned from when you told him the news about your promotion. I had no idea that this even happened. He never told me about this and-

Despite your best efforts, your eyes slid back down to his chest - or what you could see of it - and you realized something else. The wound was situated just to the right of center, meaning that the skin of his left pectoral, though stained red with his own blood, was visible. There’s no tattoo there. There’s… he must have gotten it after this happened.

Minimizing the photo so that it was no longer the only thing on the screen, Ginger confirmed your conclusion by crossing the room and cutting open the snowsuit that Jack was still wearing lying in the Recall bay, revealing the delicate design of the three black and gray wildflowers inked there. “Shit.” She muttered the word under her breath, then turned to face you. “This is worse than I thought.”

Concern crowded your thoughts then, making logic difficult. What? It’s just a tattoo. How could… what does she mean? Stepping up to the other side of the bay, you swallowed. “Ginger, I don’t understand. What am I missing?”

She sighed and used one hand to adjust the arm of her glasses. “Agents are required to report any and all new identifying features including scars and tattoos. And Whiskey knows that. He’s the agency’s top ranking operative and currently our only senior Agent.” She shook her head. “He didn’t get to that position by ignoring protocol.”

She’s right. You sucked in a breath. “So you’re saying…”

“That he didn’t realize he hadn’t reported it. Or possibly that he thought he already had.”

Your eyes widened and your heart dropped like an anvil. Fuck. In your research you had theorized that issues with an Agent’s cognition - specifically the reordering and manufacturing of memories - could occur with repeated use of the Recall program, but you had yet to identify any symptoms or warning signs that would flag you or Ginger to the problem. Fuck, Jack. Your fingers twitched at your side and you had to physically stop yourself from letting them brush over the hair at his temple. What’s going on in there?

Steeling yourself for more bad news, you looked back up at Ginger. “What did you find in the files from Merlin?”

She met your gaze with a concerned expression of her own, and then crossed back over to the bank of monitors with you in tow. “Okay, well, you pretty much just confirmed what I was afraid of but…” There was a pause as her fingers flew over the keyboard and Jack’s Statesman file expanded to full screen view again. “So this is the file that we have on record for Agent Whiskey.”

You scanned it, rereading the same operation names and missions that he was a part of, nothing seeming off. “Okay?”

The keyboard clacked again with a few more strokes, and then an almost identical file popped up in a split screen view. “And this is the file that Merlin sent me.”

Immediately you noticed a difference. At the end of the list of missions there was one on Merlin’s copy that did not appear in the official Statesman record. Project Aster. As Ginger clicked through the pages, you noted several entries where the mystery project was referenced, including, to your horror, three instances where it looked like the Recall program was used in conjunction with injuries he sustained in the service of the clandestine op. The signature on all of the entries was an old one, and you realized that it wasn’t Champ’s, meaning that these entries, this project, pre-dated Statesman’s current leadership. “What?” You tried and failed to make sense of what you were looking at. “Ginger. What the fuck is Project Aster?”

She gave you a tight-lipped frown. “Right now? Your guess is as good as mine. I’ve never heard of it. And-” She attempted to open one of the tabs with notes under one of the entries, but the page wouldn’t open. Instead it displayed a message that sent a hollow feeling through your bones:

ACCESS DENIED. HIGHER CLEARANCE LEVEL REQUIRED.

It made no sense. There was no higher level of clearance. You sunk into one of the desk chairs in front of the monitors. This is bad. “How did Merlin find this?”

Pulling out the second chair with a sigh, Ginger sat beside you. “He said that he wanted to know as much about us as he could since we were the ones who brought Galahad back. I guess a healthy dose of skepticism is his M.O. and… and I guess he has good reason for that. I offered to let him look into our files since our organizations are working together now, but he said he preferred to access them on his own. He was able to hack our network, and it turns out that these files - our files? They were encrypted. That’s why Project Aster doesn’t show up on them.”

The full weight of the situation settled in your stomach. This could mean that Statesman is compromised. Or that Jack is. Or that- You squeezed your eyes shut against the onslaught of sinister theoreticals and tried to focus. “Well can he decrypt the rest of it?” Opening your eyes again, you pointed up at the screen. “Merlin. Can he-”

Ginger held up one hand, palm facing you. “He’s working on it now.”

You nodded, letting out a shaky breath that didn’t do much to steady you. “We need to get Champ in on this. See if he…See what he knows or-”

“He’s on his way here now. But I can’t imagine he knows anything about this.” She shook her head. “He wouldn’t condone hiding information this important. Not if it has anything to do with the Recall program, and especially not in regards to Whiskey. They came up in the agency together. Champ was the former Senior Agent, they… No. He’s going to be just as in the dark about this as we are.”

You felt utterly helpless, a hurricane of information swirling through your head and none of it falling into place. Checking your watch, you saw that there was less than an hour left on the countdown, meaning that whether or not you solved the mystery of what Project Aster was or why it was hidden internally, Jack would be waking up soon. For the first time since he went down, you wished you had a little more time to figure things out before his deep brown eyes opened again. Because if there’s something going on that we don’t know about, he could be in danger.

If the combination of Project Aster and the Recall Program had altered Jack’s cognitive function or rearranged his memories, it could mean long term brain damage. It could also mean that he had become a danger to Statesman. And if the files surrounding Project Aster are encrypted… You swallowed. Then we have no idea if any of the other Agents are affected.

Shit.

The only thing you could do until Champ arrived or Merlin was able to get through the encryption, was wait.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please feel free to let me know or you can fill out the form on my masterlist.

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#agent jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels x female reader #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x you #pedrostories #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels kingsman golden circle #jack daniels fic #agent whiskey fic #series: recall #part 2: what the f*ck is project aster #pedro pascal character

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burntheedges · 13 days

Text

Jack Daniels (Kingsman: The Golden Circle)

back to main masterlist | ao3 | updates blog | about the blog | join the taglist ☁️ - fluff, ✨ - smut (18+), ⚡️ - angst, 🌻 - comfort

ONESHOTS

Leap | 739 words | part of the Passing Notes collection ☁️ Jack x gn!reader, a gift for @secretelephanttattoo, summary: You’ve got a day off and you’re ready to rest and relax when a handsome cowboy shows up at your door unexpectedly.

#jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x gn!reader #jack daniesl x f!reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels fic #bte masterlist jack daniels #jack daniels

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wardenparker · 4 months

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New Year's Surprise

Jack Daniels x plus size female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 18.7k Warnings: Cursing, alcohol, internalized fatphobia, self esteem issues, pining, meddlesome friends, unwanted attention from a male coworker, light spanking, praise, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, Jack likes being scratched up, reader is described as having fingernails long enough to scratch (no specific length given), the love is requited they're just idiots. Summary: Ginger has a plan to get you and Jack to admit you have feelings for each other. She did not anticipate just how well it would work... Notes: Happy almost New Year everyone! Enjoy a little more winter seasonal smut and fluff from us to you 🥂🍾✨

"You're sure it's not too much, Ging?" Turning in front of the full-length mirror in Ginger's apartment, you inspect the glittering black cocktail dress that your friend helped you pick out at the mall during all those after-Christmas sales she promised you that you would find something at. She was right, like she always is, but now that the dress is on you, you're wondering if you haven't made a mistake. If it's not too revealing, or too short, or too tight.

Whoever in HR came up with this insane Cowboys and Flappers theme for the company New Year's Eve party deserved to have their head examined. You're not the femme fatale agent that gets sent out to seduce men and collect their secrets. Few men out there in the world are ever really seduced by the chubby girl in any given scenario, but it did tend to make you invisible. Invisible women can slip in and out of buildings in literally any kind of uniform and get through security without ever being harassed, and that works to your advantage on almost every case. Unfortunately, it also means that for the five years you've been a Statesman agent, you've also been fairly invisible to the man you've developed feelings for.

It’s perfect.” No matter how many times Ginger Ale tells you that you are sexy just the way you are, that insecurity gets the best of you. “I’m telling you, you will have every eye in the place.”

“I doubt it.” You sigh in the mirror and smooth your hands over the sequined dress one more time. “But that’s okay. I don’t want every set of eyes…”

“I know what set of eyes you want on you.” Your taste in men is your own, and Ginger won’t fault you for it, but she wonders why Jack. “It might do the man good to know that he’s got competition.” You don’t believe her when she says that it’s more telling that Jack doesn’t hit on you, but it’s the truth.

“He doesn’t, though.” Shrugging, you turn away from the mirror and decide to just go on with the night. Wishing won’t make it real and Jack Daniels barely looks at you. Even though you’ve partnered on cases, spend time together in and out of the office, and are arguably friends in every true sense? You’ve always wanted more with him. The only person who knows is Ginger, though, and you prefer to keep it that way since Jack will never return your affection. “And that’s…it is what it is. Even if you’re the only person I dance with tonight, it’ll still be fun.”

“Wearing that dress?” Ginger snorts as she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I’ll have the faith for both of us, how about that?” She knows that Jack won’t be able to resist you tonight, not when she’s lined up a few of the junior agents to dance with you already. It’s time that Jack settles down and finds some happiness, and what better time than the New Year?

******

While you easily could have had the party at Statesman considering the size of the grounds, Champ wouldn’t hear of it. He’s hosting the damn thing himself come hell or high water, in his favourite suit with his wife dressed to the 9’s in her flapper dress, and more caterers than you’ve ever seen in your life all making his early twentieth century coal baron’s mansion look as resplendent as the day it was built. The place is palatial, with a ballroom so big that the band he’s hired looks tiny in one corner despite being six-men strong. It’s music and liquor and appetizers passing by on trays when you and Ginger walk through the door, and you gasp at how nice it all looks.

“I know he does it every year,” you sigh to your best friend. “But the theme is always different and I swear somehow the house always looks better on new year’s.”

“Champ does know how to throw one hell of a party.” She agrees, snagging two glasses of champagne from a waiter as she walks by. Her own sleek flapper dress is a vivid purple, making her beautiful skin glow and for tonight, she’s wearing contacts. Her short hair is perfectly styled, a cap like illusion, highlighted with the crystal headband she’s picked. “To a New Year we will never forget.” She hands you one glass and adds, “or regret.”

“You’re certainly optimistic.” You flash her and grin and tap the rim of your glass against hers. “Finally going to talk to Alicia or is this just positive vibes?” It’s been two years since Ginger started crushing on the woman who supervises Statesman campus tours and visitor experience, but she hasn’t made a move yet. Being frozen in place with someone you care about is something the two of you have in common.

“Positive vibes.” She huffs, rolling her eyes and trying to change the subject. “Look! There’s Tequila!” She waves the younger agent over to where you are standing. “You made it! Didn’t think you were ever gonna get back from Brazil, or if you wanted to.” She adds with a grin.

“Those are two very different questions.” Tequila agrees with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. Did he have to come back? Sure. But did he want to leave the comfort and luxury of that beautiful woman’s bed? Not at all. “But I would not have missed dancing with you ladies for the world,” he adds with a wink. He’s very much in on Ginger’s plan, after all, and is looking forward to the fireworks it will bring.

You fluster slightly at his words, but Ginger knows that you don’t have your cap set on Tequila. You just don’t handle compliments well. “You’ll have to get in line.” Ginger warns him with a smirk. “As good as Rye looks tonight, every man in here is going to want a dance. After I dance with her first.”

“Well I reckon I’ll have to be second, then.” Tequila puts in a playful pout. “But only because I would never deny Miss Ginger Ale gettin to be first.” He smiles again and tips his hat, having opted to wear his best Stetson with an elegant Kingsman suit. “You don’t have to,” you insist, knowing Tequila always has more choices of dance and bedroom partners than he could ever feasibly make his way through. “I’m sure you have other people you want to dance with tonight.”

“No one important.” Tequila smirks as he drags his eyes up and down your outfit and whistles slowly. “And no one nearly as pretty.” He promises.

“Liar.” Though you roll your eyes at him, you don’t protest anymore than that. He’s your friend, after all. And if he wants to waste his time dancing with you, you’ll just enjoy it. Tequila’s a fantastic dancer, after all.

“Never lie to you, honey.” Tequila croons, taking your hand and lifting it to his lips. “Lie about what?” The voice comes from your left and all eyes swing that way.

“Jack!” Normally you know he’s coming. The smell of earthy, expensive cologne and the tap-click-shuffle of his boots on polished floors. The soft humming he gets up to when he’s pleased with himself, not quite melodic but endearing because it means he’s happy. But you sensed none of that just now, too caught up in the band playing and the fragrant flowers and the tickle of bubbly in your nose and throat. “Nothing. We were just talking about dancing…” He looks like a dream, and it makes you sick to your stomach and elated all at once. Another night of watching him fawn over every woman but you is what you’ve resigned yourself to putting up with, but it’s just rude of him to look so damn handsome in that black velvet double breasted suit and sleek black Stetson while he does it.

“Dancing, hum?” His eyes narrow slightly at the grip Tequila has on your hand and he wants to reach out and slap it away, but he just shoots everyone an easy grin. “Ready to cut a rug tonight, eh?”

"I guess so." The shyness that threatens to shoot straight through you is knocked off kilter by Ginger, who hoots in response. "She's got her dance card all filled up already, Whiskey. Should've gotten here earlier," she tells him with a smirk.

His mustache ticks, it’s the only change to his facial expression. “I’m sure Rye can squeeze me in.” His dark amber eyes slide over to you and swipe up and down your body. “Can’t you, sugar?”

"Of course." You'd throw over the whole goddamn list for him. Besides, you have no idea what Ginger could possibly mean by saying your 'card' is full. One dance with her and one with Tequila isn't a full anything. "Of course I can."

“Good. Then how about I refresh you ladies’ drinks?” Jack asks, slapping Tequila on the back a little rougher than necessary. “Come help me with that.”

"Sure." Tequila grunts, throwing you a confused expression like he can't figure out why the hell Jack needs help getting champagne when waiters with trays are everywhere, but he shoots Ginger a secret smirk before following Jack into the next room where the open bar is set up.

“Tonight will be perfect.” Ginger predicts with a smug grin as she watches the two men walk towards the open bar. .

“What the hell are you doin’, flirtin’ with Rye?” Jack’s easy grin falls away and his brows knit together as soon as his back is turned to you. “You know that girl ain’t your type.”

"I can't be nice to my friend?" Tequila asks, pretending to be positively aghast that Jack would suggest he's up to anything else. One hand ever goes to his chest with a dramatic gasp.

Jack’s eyes cut towards the other agent, a frown on his face. “It’s one goddamn thing to be nice, it’s another to flirt.”

"When did I flirt?" The younger agent counters, knowing full well that's what he was doing but not about to admit it because he wants to make Jack stew.

“You were flirtin’ the second you can outta your momma, but you gotta learn there’s certain girls you don’t do that shit with.” Jack growls, stopping in front of the bar and holding up two fingers. “Double 62 Triple Barreled.” He orders, wanting one of the rare whiskeys that Champ had broken out tonight. “And two champagnes.”

"Now, why is that, Jack?" Tequila hums, looking down at his friend. Jack isn't too much shorter than him, but just enough to annoy the older agent on occasion. "Why is Rye one of those girls?"

“Because…” that’s where his argument ends, because there’s not really a reason beyond his own feelings. “It’s…unprofessional.” He decides. “She’s an agent for Christ’s sake.”

Tequila snorts at this string of logic, accepting his drink from the pretty bartender with a wink and sliding a large bill into the tip glass on the bar top before looking back at Jack. "That's a load of horse shit and you know it, Daniels. You fucking know it."

He does know it, but he snatches his own drink up and rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He hates that his stomach twists and he wonders if you had been flirting back. Looking over his shoulder at where you are standing, he clenches his jaw at the tassels that are swaying every time you move. “Don’t get her damn hopes up.” He takes a sip of his whiskey. “We both know you ain’t gonna fuck her.”

"Nor does she want me to." This is gonna be a hell of a lot easier than he and Ginger thought, if Jack is always so fuckin wound up over you and he only just arrived for the night. "I ain't the one she has her eye on and everybody with eyes knows it."

Jack ignores that, huffing to himself as he tries to hid the fucking jealousy that curls in his gut at whoever you do have your eye on. Lucky son of a bitch. “No fuckin’ talkin’ to you, hardheaded S.O.B.” The champagne glasses are in front of him and he downs the rest of the drink to slap the crystal glass down and snatch up the flutes. Turning around without another word and stalking across the room towards you and Ginger.

It's only one room he has to cross, but by the time he gets there, Agent Brandy has sidled up beside you and Ginger and has his fingers ever so subtly on your elbow while bends his head and puts all his focus directly on you.

Halfway across the room, Jack jerks to a halt and growls, shaking his head as he resumes the walk and forces a moderately friendly smile on his face. “Didn’t think you’d be back from Korea, Don.” He interrupts as he arrives back at your group.

"Two days ago." Brandy flashes a smile in Jack's general direction but keeps his focus on you. "Glad I made it back in time, too. Champ throws a hell of a party."

His eye twitches but Jack nods. “Yeah he does. Shoulda brought that little gal you were seein’. Brandy. Brenda right? Or was it Bambi?” He shrugs. “Maybe all of them at once, knowin’ you.”

"Now don't be unkind, Jack." Brandy's eyes cut over to the older agent and Brandy offers what could be considered a modestly dramatic pout. "Or Rye might think the worst of me and throw me over for that dance I just got promised."

Jack seethes beneath the smile on his face. “Would hate for that to happen.” He lies, handing Ginger one of the glasses and then offers the other to you.

The glass is offered with a smile and you thank Jack, savoring even the tiniest moment of contact between brushing fingers as he hands it over. It's probably bordering on pathetic, how long you've carried this torch for Jack, and it seems like Ginger is really trying to encourage you tonight to come out of your shell tonight but you just don't know. As nice as everyone is being, it doesn't feel right. The only thing that feels right is when you're around Jack. It's just a damn shame that he doesn't feel the same.

It’s almost painful how the simple, innocent touch affects him. Now visceral his reaction is. Only the training that Statesman has given him keeps him from showing anything. “Well,” he hates to tear himself away, but he can’t be around you for too long. “I better go talk to Champ about some cases he wants worked tomorrow.” He offers.

"It's a party," you remind him, smile flickering as he steps back. Obviously the small touch that you'll be savoring for the rest of the night has had the opposite effect on him. But there's no need to show that. Not when it's fully expected that he doesn't want to be around you when there are plenty of other people to talk to and women to dance with. "Don't work too hard, okay?"

“Never do,” he nods at everyone and turns around and skedaddles over to Champ like his pants are on fire.

"Come on," Ginger loops her arm through yours and lends Brandy a smirk that you don't notice — you're too busy trying not to look after Jack. "Let's go dance, honey. The night is young and we are looking far too good not to show off."

Champ eyes Jack as he stops by his side. “Figured you’d have a gal in your arms by now.” He huffs as he reaches out to shake Jack’s hand. “Losing your touch?” Jack snorts. “When have I ever lost my touch?” He asks, pointedly refusing to look back over towards you. “Just surveying my prospects.”

"And how is Agent Rye this evening?" Champ doesn't even have to look to know that that's where Jack has just come from. He blew into the room so quickly that it's the only explanation for the fire in his heels.

“Don’t you start with me.” Jack groans, shaking Champ’s hand and huffing. “Far as I know, she’s dandy.”

"Why should I not start?" Champ knows damn well why not, but he enjoys riling up his friend. "Somebody beat me to the punch?"

“Every-goddamn-body here tonight is actin’ like they’ve never seen the woman in a dress.” He snorts, complaining about it even though he has already memorized the way the damned sequined dress clings to your curves and enhances them in ways that should be criminal. “It’s damned ridiculous and borderline workplace harassment.”

Smirking, Champ pours two glasses of his preferred Statesman 1972 Select, savoring the smoked cherry notes from that particular year. He hands one cut crystal glass over to Jack with his tongue set firmly in his cheek. "You know you'd be a hell of a lot less mad if you just asked the lady to dance your damn self."

The glare Jack cuts Champ is withering and he turns his head as he takes a sip, refusing to rebuff the remark. It seems like everyone is taking the piss with him tonight as Eggsy would say. (edited)

"She's allowed to have fun, ya know." Champ goes on, humming the thought as though the glare Jack just shot him wouldn't have struck a lesser man dead in his tracks. "Damn shame she hasn't set her cap on anyone. Big family dreams, that gal has. Always has. It'll be a damn shame when she finally decides to hang up her pistols and have a family, but I won't let her get farther than the training ring. Too good of an agent to just let her retire."

“Is there a point to your ramblings?” Jack grumbles. “Or are you just spouting shit tonight?”

"Do what I want in my own house." The older man chuckles heartily and claps Jack on one shoulder. "Got a couple of jobs to start the new year with. Come see me tomorrow and we'll figure out which one's yours."

He’s being dismissed and since Champ is also giving him hell, Jack quickly nods and walks off. Trying to walk around the ostentatious ballroom without looking at you. “Hello handsome.” A perfectly manicured hand drapes itself over his shoulder and the scent of gardenias and sandalwood fills his nostrils. “Tiffany.”

Like a bloodhound on a trail, you spot it from across the ballroom without even trying to. Twirling around with Ginger, your eyes catch sight of the gorgeous, skinny, leggy blonde who has let herself drape over Jack's side and you sigh. Deflate is probably the right word, but you remind yourself it was never going to happen anyway and just hold on to Ginger as the song comes to an end.

“What’s a tall, dark, handsome drink of water like you doin’ all by your lonesome?” She purrs, making him hide the wince he had at the put on accent of hers. She’s as southern as tofu and yet she tries to make it sound like she’s grown up around here. Still, she’s a distraction and the best part about it is that there’s no emotional strings. “Looks like I should be buyin’ you a drink, darlin’.”

"I wish you would," she puts on a too-high giggle and bats eyelashes heavy with mascara and augmented with false hairs. Laying it on thick, she pushes in even closer and lets her body fit against his with nothing left to the imagination.

Jack doesn’t feel anything but he paints a cocky smirk on his face as he turns to her. “Then let me go get something for you, what do you want, darlin’?”

“Champagne, of course,” she simpers, never once considering the fact that she’s at a party for a whiskey distillery. Hell, she hadn’t even dressed for the theme.

Tiffany hangs out at the bar Statesman regularly hangs out at. A groupie because she knows everyone there makes good money. He’d bet his bottom dollar she conned Scotch into bringing her.

“Some party.” Is her attempt at conversation, putting more effort into showing off her cleavage than completing sentences. “You distillery boys sure know how to treat your gals.”

“Of course we do.” Jack’s smile is wicked, but it’s a part of the persona he adopts when he is working a target, it’s not real. “Any gal of mine deserves to be treated right.”

“Is that an invitation?” She knows who Jack is. Knows the civilian job title he’s been at Statesman Distillery. Even if she knew what it was all a front for, she likely wouldn’t care. She might just try harder if she knew the real wealth being flung around between a lot of these people.

“Now sweetheart, I’m good for a night or two.” Jack drawls. “But I’ve got a lot of leavin’ left to do.” He hums, quoting the country song.

The pout on Tiffany’s face is both dramatic and pronounced, but seeing that he’s immovable in that point — and knowing his reputation — she makes a small sound of frustrated disgust before flouncing away. Apparently annoyed at having wasted her time on a line cowboy.

The huff that Jack lets out is one of pure relief. Happy that he won’t have to deal with her again for at least half the night. She might make her way back around depending on successful she is. It’s shameful to say, but most of the agents here have dallied with her, including Jack. However, he had only taken her home to satisfy a physical need. He slowly makes his way back to the bar to order another drink, not champagne.

His line of sight is unfortunate as he saunters back toward the open bar. Looking back out to the dance floor, he can see Tequila twirling you around and the two of you laughing as the younger man holds you close and mock-sings along with the band.

Jack’s frown is deep, furrowing his brow as he cuts his eyes away in a jealous huff.

It goes round and round like that for most of the night. One dance partner after the next sweeps you across the dance floor but never the partner you want. One beautiful woman after another sidles up to Jack and bats their eyelashes but none are the woman he actually wants at his side. It’s a three-ring-circus. A whirlwind. But you never seem to get close enough to each other to see that neither of you is actually having any fun.

It’s easy to have an arm around a woman, easy to smile and flirt. His eyes continuously find you on the dance floor. Ginger had been right apparently, you had a damn dance card that was slap full. He hisses under his breath, wondering how many of those men knew you bit your thumb when you were working out a problem or that your eyes changed to a lighter shade when you were feeling slightly bashful.

There isn’t a single night of your life where you’ve gotten this much attention from this many different men — or this many different people period — and while it’s fun in a whirlwind sort of way, you do find yourself clock-watching. Wondering why your fellow agents all seem to be paying you so many compliments tonight and why you sort of feel like Cinderella at the ball without a hint of the real Prince Charming, the closer it gets to midnight the more you’re thinking of just going home. The last thing you want is to glance across the ballroom at midnight and see Jack tangled up in a midnight kiss with some petite redhead or statuesque model with perfect curls. You’ll be happier skipping out early and being in your pjs with a book at midnight than you will be witnessing that.

It’s fucking infuriating to have so many people come between him and you. Every dang time he untangles himself to break in on your dance with some partner, Ginger, Tequila or Champ waylay him. He’s never had such a hard time getting to chat with you and it’s making him slowly unravel his temper. “Ah Jack, there you are.” He sighs and paints on a smile when Champ claps his back and shoves a drink in his hand. “Forgot to mention somethin’….” His eyes slide away from you laughing as you are spun around, bitter to be stonewalled again.

“Well if it ain’t the gol’dern Belle of the Ball.” The voice you hear behind you is the one person you were hoping to avoid tonight, and as you’ve just finished dancing with one of the guys from the technology department who you didn’t even think knew your name, there’s no escaping. Agent Vodka is one of those older men who doesn’t realize that James Bond is just a character and that no one drags that persona into their everyday life. He routinely ‘flirts’ with you like he’s bestowing you a huge goddamn favor for even looking in your direction, and you were genuinely hoping to avoid him tonight.

Vodka is handsome in a classical sense, some would say a silver fox, if he had a better attitude. As it stands, there’s a confused tilt to his Stetson adorned head and he rakes his eyes up and down your body in a very calculated gaze. “You musta cleaned up for hours. Getting ready for a good night.”

“Sure. I guess so.” You nod, tone polite but dismissive. Vodka has a tendency to interpret friendly as begging for hands to be put on you, and the last thing you want to do is encourage him. “Happy new year, Vodka.”

“Seems like Whiskey and I have been the only ones not with you tonight.” He intones, smirking slightly. “Guess you was savin’ the best for last, huh? Since Jack’s hangin’ all over the ladies, I’ll step in and claim this dance.” He doesn’t ask for permission, just stepping up to you and grabbing your waist.

“That’s really okay.” Reeling backward, Vodka is strong but your self-defense training is a hell of a lot better, and you twist in his grip to make sure he can’t get a solid hold on you no matter how hard he tries. “Appreciate the offer,” you huff, trying to push him away. “But I was just heading home.”

“Oh don’t be that way.” Vodka huffs and manages to pull you close. “Believe me, dancin’ ‘s just a prelude to what we can do later.”

“Which is exactly why I don’t want to dance with you.” You push back against him again, leveraging your elbow against his side to loosen his grip with a sharp shot to his liver. This has gone too far and is hovering on ruining the night — which has been fairly fun despite its lack of your favorite cowboy and coworker.

“Jack-“ Ginger doesn’t bother apologizing as she taps his shoulder and points out to the dance floor. “Why don’t you go save Rye?” She huffs.

At this point it’s obvious that it’s a struggle. People are giving you extra space on the dance floor as they realize what’s happening but for whatever godforsaken reason, no one has stepped in yet. Probably because they’re too shocked that Vodka has finally crossed the line into being physically inappropriate instead of just saying uncomfortable things.

“Sugar, I’m sorry I’m late for our dance.” Jack slaps his hand down on Vodka’s shoulder and digs his fingers into the fleshy muscle. Getting satisfaction from the immediate change in the man’s stance. “Don’t mind if I interrupt, do ya?” His tone is friendly, but there’s a warning woven in the words. Dark eyes turn towards you as you quickly step back from the other man’s grasp.

“Wouldn’t have thought you’d keep a dame waitin’.” Vodka mumbles, all sheepishness and apology now that he realizes he’s infringed on another man’s territory.

Jack doesn’t rip into the man like he wants to, everyone else is starting to relax and resume the party. “You probably need to lay off the liquor.” He tells the other agent, not really caring for the man either.

“You forget who we work for, Daniels?” Vodka huffs, giving Jack the stink eye. “Not like you go easy, either.”

“Last time I checked, I took no for an answer, Robbins.” Jack turns his back after letting Vodka go and sweeps you into his arms, effectively dismissing him.

The room damn near erupts into applause, chattering all around you erupting out of uncomfortable silence, but you don’t hear it. You don’t even see Tonic and Champ escorting Vodka out of the ballroom with the utmost immediacy so the dressing-down can be vocal and private. All you see is Jack, and all you hear is Jack. Even as quiet as he is, the huff he gives as he scoops you up and twirls you away speaks volumes. “Jack, you—you didn’t have to—” Of course, if he hadn’t, you’re not sure you could’ve gotten away so cleanly. “Thank you.”

“Don’t think a thing of it, sugar.” Although he has a few harsh words rolling around for everyone who didn’t step in. It’s like they were waiting for something. Alcohol’s done made their brains addled. “Although my own apologies for manhandling you to get you outta that sticky situation.” Even though he’s apologizing, he starts to lead you in a dance.

“I really don’t mind.” And that is the understatement of the goddamn year, as you instinctively melt against Jack the second he starts to move.

“Still…..” There’s finally a bit of happiness to the evening and he smirks down at you. “Now you can say your dance card has been filled.”

“Could’ve left Vodka off it completely,” you grumble lightly, but you still end up smiling. When Jack looks at you in almost any way you just light up from the inside. It’s instinctual.

“Don’t know what got into him.” Jack huffs, even though he’s saved you from encounters like that before.

“His namesake, most likely.” He had smelled like it, at least. A fact which added no charm whatsoever to your encounter. “Really, Jack. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Jack nods. “Sugar, you know that I know you are a capable agent. You coulda mopped the floor with him, but I’ll always give you whatever help you need.”

“I prefer not to bring hand-to-hand combat to Champ’s front door if I can help it.” If you let yourself really chew on the fancy, you could imagine Jack as rescuing you like a knight in armor. Like you were his to protect. “Not sure how much he’d appreciate that, regardless of how capable I am.”

“I think you’d find Champ more forgivin’ than you think.” He snorts, reminding himself of his own major fuck up just a few years prior. Champ had forgiven him and allowed him to regain the trust and confidence that he had destroyed through his own bling grief and rage.

“Maybe.” Jack certainly knows your boss better than you do even after several years with the agency, so you’ll differ from him. “But I’m glad to not have to find out. And…” The rest of the thought gets swallowed, and you cut your eyes away from him in embarrassment. There are some things better left unsaid and normally you’re so good at keeping your mouth shut.

“And?” Jack frowns slightly, not liking that you are holding back with him. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

“It’s nothing,” you promise him, shaking your head and acting like it isn’t the biggest, most honest confession in the world from you that sets your cheeks on fire and makes you even more bashful around him. “I’m just…glad I got to dance with you. That’s all.”

“You didn’t think you were going to dance out the old year without ole Jack now, did ya?” He sounds pouty that you would even think that.

"Honestly?" Shrugging slightly even with one of his hands splayed across your back and the other holding yours tenderly against his chest, you wonder how ever you ever manage to keep a damn thing to yourself with him around when your mind just sort of seems to melt in his presence. "I was going to split and ring in the new year in my bed with the book I've been reading."

Jack frowns and shakes his head, not agreeing with your plans in the slightest. “Now that seems like a waste.” He draws. “Mighty fine night to spend readin’ a book. You should be doin’ other things.”

"Not a lot of other options to pick from," you mumble, trying to force your mind away from immediately conjuring the mental images and repeated daydreams of doing just about everything under the sun with — and to — him.

Jack wants to protest that, but the song starts to close out and you almost stop in your tracks. Obviously believing that he will end the dance now that Vodka is gone and the set is done. Instead of dropping your hands, he pulls you tighter against him. “Is that why you wore a dress like that, sugar? ‘Cause you didn’t have any options?”

"Ginger picked it out." Wrongly assuming it to be an indictment of the choice, you frown reflexively and wonder why he's still holding on to you. The trouble is over and the song is done. Shouldn't he be finding someone better to spend his time with? "I know it's...it's not right. Flapper dresses are designed for women who look the opposite of me. But she insisted on sticking to the theme."

“Opposite of you?” He makes a face of utter confusion. “What are you talkin’ ‘bout? Dress looks good, fits you.” Maybe you have a shit ton of pins in the dress? His sweet wife would always have to pin her dresses to get them to fit right. Nearly every night they went out, he was helping her pin it just so.

Skinny is what you meant, but instead of saying so you just chew your lip and shake your head. Voicing that out loud would really just cement the ruination of the night and you don't want to do that. "Never mind," you insist instead. "I'm glad you like it." Even if he's just saying it to be nice, which you're sure he is, it's still nice to hear.

There’s something bugging him about the way you continuously quit talking and get around what you mean. The next song starts to play and Jack moves to that slightly faster tempo. “No one’s breakin’ in yet, sugar. So I’m keepin’ you unless you need a break?”

"No." Not from him. You would never, ever ask for a break from him. "No, I'm good." In fact, you've been so distracted by the rescue that you haven't noticed midnight creeping ever-closer. "I don't want a break."

Jack smiles, not the cocky smirk he adopts or the charming playboy facade that he uses on women like Tiffany. This is a genuine smile, one that makes his dimple show with a flash of white teeth and the crow’s feet around his eyes appear. “Then let’s dance, sugar.”

Champ chuckles when he sidles up beside Ginger with a fresh glass of champagne for each of them and his wife on his other arm, all ready to lead the midnight countdown after this song is over. "Took all damn night," he laughs to his co-conspirator. "And ya had to pull out the big gun with Vodka. But look at 'em."

“Man huffed and puffed at being used.” Ginger rolls her eyes and curls her lip. “But I promised him the Antarctic assignment. It will seem like punishment to everyone else and apparently he’s romancing one of the scientists down there.” Personally, she doesn’t see why anyone would be romanced by Vodka, but to each their own.

"It's for a damn good cause." Champ stifles a guffaw and even his wife looks amused at the way everything went down. "Everybody deserves to be happy, don't they? Even Vodka." It earns another snort from the older man and he aims a smirk at Ginger. "So what's the plan from here, Ging?"

“If Jack will get off his ass, there should be a kiss at midnight.” Ginger grins. “And maybe, just maybe, the dumbass will realize that it’s okay to want her. She wants him too.”

"Of course she does." Everybody knows that. Everybody with eyes and sense in their head, anyway. "He's just been stuck in the whole of his own grief for far too damn long. It's about time he broke free. Which is exactly why I went along with this plan of yours."

“I’m glad you did. Jack’s felt so guilty about actually developing feelings for Rye that he’s convinced himself that it’s wrong to flirt with her.” She takes a sip of her champagne. “When he breaks, it’ll be entertaining.”

"Entertaining for all of us." Grinning, Champ holds his glass out to his partner in crime in salute. "I sure as hell hope it happens right here for all of us to see."

Unaware that he’s being plotted against, Jack continues to hold you in his arms, taking you around the dance floor and trying to keep from asking too many questions that would potentially ruin his easy relationship with you. “Have you had fun? Other than Vodka? Your feet have to be killin’ you, all the dances you’ve been movin’ to.”

“It’s alright, I’ll have a hot bath and soak them. Aside from the one little interruption, everything’s been so nice.” This is the best part, without a doubt. Attention from other people is a novelty, the compliments and laughter a kind change of pace. But any time spent with Jack will always out do any other experience.

“A nice hot soak and a drink is always good to unwind.” Jack hums. “If other activities aren’t available.” The comment is warm, almost suggestive as he twists you around and then pulls you close again, feeling your softness against him and enjoying it.

It’s the worst kind of gut punch, hearing a comment like that from Jack, and your eyes are downcast when you curl back into his arms. It’s too unkind to be deliberate, but at the same time it’s such a careless comment that you just want to scream. He would never be intentionally cruel to you but the flirtatious tone of the comment is too much. “Maybe I should’ve gone with Vodka, then.”

Jack stiffens, frowning immediately and his blood pressure rises in anger. “What the fuck?” He hisses, the moment making him grip you tighter, almost the point of hurting you. “Why- you?” He’s at a loss for words right now.

“Well it’s the only offer I’ve gotten in…a year? Maybe more?” You shrug dismissively but his grip on you doesn’t allow for it, making your tone turn even more bitter in the process. He doesn’t get to get mad about who offers when he has no interest in himself. “Definitely more than a year, now that I think about it.”

“That wasn’t a goddamn offer.” He snorts. “It was a cowboy playin’ grab ass when his partner wasn’t willing.” He reminds you, dark eyes flashing angrily. “Otherwise known as assault.”

“And yet it’s still the only time any man has looked at me twice in more than a calendar year,” you hit back, practically hissing under your breath as embarrassed tears sting at your eyes. “Nobody’s exactly lining up to spend time with the fat girl except tonight which is Ginger’s doing. I know it is.” (edited)

The two of you are hissing back and forth, so preoccupied with your emotions that neither one of you are aware of the fact that the countdown for midnight has begun. The crowd around you starts to chant down from ten but Jack's too busy growling at you in anger. "Why are you so fuckin' quick to insult every goddamn person who decided to dance with you?"

“Because I know I’m right.” The two of you have never once torn into each other like this and while it breaks you’re heart, you’re so angry that lashing out is happening by instinct. It hurts so much more to be doubted by him and you can’t even express why. It’s devastating. “Do you even know what assignments they give me, Jack?” You hiss back, not hearing the shouts around you. “The ones where they need someone to be invisible! If they need someone plain and ignorable, they come straight to me. Do you know how much that fucking hurts? Because I’m good at it and that’s even worse than them just assuming. I’m excellent at not being noticed. At not being desired. It’s my fucking superpower. So no, I don’t think for a second that any of these dances were genuine moments of interest or offers for literally anything else. Because why would they be?”

His heart breaks and he's simultaneously enraged that you view yourself that way. "Five! Four! Thr—" He reaches up and grabs the back of your neck to yank you forward so your nose is less than an inch from his own. "You want a goddamn offer?" He snarls, losing all sense of reason when it comes to you and ready to prove how wrong you are. "Here's your fuckin' offer." Without another word, he drags you forward to plaster his lips against yours in an angry kiss.

It should feel terrible. It should make you so angry you slap him. It should make you feel a hell of a lot of nasty things, but instead what you feel is the undeniable melting of your own self against him, finally getting the only thing you’ve wanted since the day this infuriating cowboy sauntered into your life. Jack is firm under your hands, burning hot and intoxicatingly inviting in the way he does not pull away. You must have gotten so mad you blacked out, because this is impossible.

When you don’t push him away, when you don’t slap him, Jack growls. Using the soft sigh that you give to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue into your mouth with another groan as the cheers and sing of Auld Lang Syne happens all around the two of you.

Either you’ve burst a blood vessel from being so angry and ashamed or this is the best dream you’ve ever had. Jack wraps both of his arms tight around you and you cling to him, fists dig into the arm of his suit jacket and the hair on the nape of his neck as you silently beg this hallucination never to end. You can live and die in this moment and tell yourself that it was more than a dream. You can imagine this is exactly how fiercely Jack kisses when he really wants to. When he wants someone.

The kiss has turned from an angry mashing of his lips against yours to a passionate mingling of your breath and tongues. You whimper and his entire body tighten with need. Overriding the portion of his brain that is screaming that this is a bad idea, that he is bad for you and continuing to kiss you as everyone else has moved into dancing now.

Neither one of you has realized that his hat has been knocked off, or that he’s drawn you so close your back has bowed, or even that you’ve entirely given up on needing to breathe in order to never have to stop kissing him. Years of repressed desire and soul-crushingly unrequited love are just being poured into every second you spend drowning in this impossible fantasy.

“Well damn.” Champ chuckles from his position on the dance floor with his lovely wife. “Didn’t expect that long of a show. Boy don’t stop soon, he’s gonna devour her right there in the middle of the floor.”

“That’s what happens when you repress your feelings for six goddamn years,” Ginger snorts in amusement. “Should I go interrupt them?”

“No.” Champ decides with a shake of his silvery head. “Leave ‘em. Don’t want the boy to get spooked before he makes up his mind what’s gonna happen next.”

“And he will.” Ginger agrees with that completely. Jack spooks faster than a newborn foal.

“He would, where she’s concerned. Boy has his heart in it and he’s been fightin’ it.” Champ agrees as his wife chuckles. “He will figure it out.” She promises. “Rye won’t let him walk away from this with a smile and a handshake.”

“I think she’d rather die than let him go, at this rate.” The smile on Ginger’s face is soft. Glad that her friend is finally getting everything she — you — have ever wanted. It really is only oxygen that makes the two of you pull apart, panting for breath with fingers curled into each other’s flesh and clothes like you’re hanging on for dear life.

Jack’s eyes are dark and searching as he looks at you. Looking for the answer to a question and when he finds what he’s looking for, he grabs your hand and starts to drag you off the dance floor.

“Jack?” The realization that that really just happened ignites a small panic in your chest and a riot in your mind, and the fact that Jack hasn’t let go of you or run off in disgust is only confusing you more.

He doesn’t speak, he can’t speak right now. The people on the floor just seem to part, moving out of his way as he guides you off the floor. He does squeeze your hand though.

“Jack?” The longer he goes without saying anything the higher the panic rises, but you cling to his hand all the way to the front door of Champ’s house where the front room has been transformed into a coat closet.

Jack doesn’t answer and spins you around to press you up against the wall, kissing you again. “Get your fuckin’ coat.” He demands roughly.

It’s a much briefer kiss but it leaves you breathless all the same, and the determination in his eyes makes you shiver and rush to obey. If this is what you’re going to get with him — just a few demanding kisses before he decides it was a mistake and turns you away? Then you’ll take it.

His hat is missing, Jack realizes when he goes to readjust it and frowns. Patting his head and looking around to see if it fell off around here, but it’s nowhere in sight. It’s a small price to pay, but he runs his hand through his hair as you rush back to his side. “We’re leaving.”

He doesn’t seem angry, but for the life of you there is no version of tonight that goes any further. Not in your mind. A conversation about how you shouldn’t have kissed him — or at least kissed him back, since you have a dim memory of his hand pulling you to him right before your mind went blank — or at least about how it was a mistake is bound to follow.

The second your hand is in his again, Jack is dragging you through the doors and down the stairs of the house to his Bronco. He’s parked close, thank god and he can barely get the door open before he’s grabbing your waist and practically throwing you up into the seat.

It shouldn't be a thrill to be lifted up and tossed around as though you weigh next to nothing, but there is something in Jack's singular determination and focus that tells you not to question or fight it. If he wants to manhandle you a little before whatever uncomfortable confrontation is bound to happen? Well, it's not as though you haven't literally fantasized about that scenario. At least now you have a frame of reference.

He’s holding onto his control, barely. Racing around the front of the vehicle and jumping in beside you. He can’t even talk to you as he starts the engine. Thankful that his place isn’t too far away as he throws the Bronco into gear and slings gravel as he spins out.

The most surprising part might be that he reaches for your hand as he drives. His fingers curl through yours and hold onto you on top of the gear shift, not letting you do your usual thing of shifting away or curling in on yourself in uncertainty.

There’s only two miles left to go. He grunts as he slows down to make the turn and your hand moves the shifter with him, making sure that he doesn’t squeeze it too hard as he goes through the gears.

He's driving to his own house. You've done this route yourself more times than you can count for a thousand different reasons. The apartment that you rent with your ample Statesman salary is well on the other side of Louisville and Ginger lives closer to you than to Jack, so it's not like you have any doubt where he's headed. When he pulls the Bronco down his long and winding driveway toward the large farmhouse he's called home for a decade already, your hand tightens slightly in his, nervous and wondering what will come next.

When he cuts the engine, there’s a half a second before he opens the door. Almost speaking but he doesn’t. Instead, he’s climbing out to walk around the truck to open the door.

"I wish you would say something." Even if he's helping you out of the car and holding onto your hand, you can't figure out what's going on in his head. Not having any clue is making you a little panicky the longer it goes on.

Jack stops, two steps away from the path to the front door. “Do you want to come inside?” There’s a fear that you don’t want this. That you are not on the same page as he is.

He's not angry. Or upset anymore, that you can tell. But the determination in his gaze is still there for something that you can't quite put your finger on. "Yes," you decide, nodding as you step toward both him and the house. "I do." Whatever happens, you're hopeful it won't be bad.

You said yes. Your words spur him on again and he’s off like a shot, dragging you behind him. The biometric lock is a godsend. There’s no fumbling for a key at the door as he hustles you inside and slams it behind you both, pressing you against it as he attempts to devour your mouth once more.

This was not the reaction you expected. Not in any way. Not even when he had kissed you twice at Champ’s house before hauling you over to his place with the fires of hell scorching his toes. Anybody else might have read the signals, but not you. Not with the surprised squeal you let out or the soft moan that follows it — both completely outside of your control.

You’re alone now and this time, Jack doesn’t keep his hands on your waist. Both hands grab firm handfuls of your delightful round ass and squeezes as he presses into you. His painfully hard cock grinding into the soft pouches of your hips.

Because of the complete blanket of disbelief you're living under, it takes you longer than you're proud of or will ever admit to realize what is pressing against your hip. It's the first throbbing twitch from under his perfectly tailored suit that has your eyes flying open and both of your hands pressing firmly on his shoulders, breaking the kiss as you gasp in surprise.

“What- I thought-“ Jack’s frown is one of utter confusion as he drops his hands and steps back from you. Hating the feeling of rejection and suddenly wondering if he’s made a fucking fool of himself by getting twisted in knots by a woman who doesn’t actually want him. “‘m sorry.”

"Why?" The incredulous question is out of your mouth before you can stop it, and the confusion marring both of your faces makes you suck in a deep breath. "I—I just—I'm surprised," you admit, as damned foolish as that makes you sound. Fucking shocked is what you are, but you don't want to be labor the point and ruin whatever is happening.

He feels foolish and embarrassed, like he’s been caught with his hand in a candy jar. Reaching up and running his hand through his hair, he blows out a breath. “You said you wanted to come in.” He reasons. “I- what did you think would happen?”

"I—I don't know," you admit, feeling even more ridiculous than he does. Your back is still against his front door, crying out loud. "I ruled out you still being mad at me after you kissed me again but I didn't think..." Gesturing at him lamely, you blow out a breath and rub at the back of your neck. "I'm not saying I want to stop, I was just surprised." If this is the only chance you're going to get with him? You're going to take it and run with it as long as it lasts.

He frowns again, wondering how you could want him and yet be surprised when he wants to take you to bed. “So what do you want, sugar? Because I’m feeling like a penny at the bottom of a pan, rattled.”

The expression cracks the tension, at least for you, and an unexpectedly bright and beaming smile graces your lips as you reach for him boldly and find to your own delight and continued surprise that he doesn't draw away. "What I want is...a long shot." It's more than that, but you're downplaying your own fears to a rather extreme degree right now. Trying to be brave. "But...what are the odds you were thinkin' about taking me upstairs?"

“House odds.” Jack rasps out, knowing that the odds are always in the house’s favor when playing at a casino. “Pondered the idea of strippin’ you down right here and making you squeal against the door, but then tossin’ you over my shoulder and haulin’ you to my large, luxurious bed also has its merits.”

You genuinely have to shut your eyes to steady yourself, exhaling long and deep and praying you aren't actually moaning out loud like you are in your head. As it stands, both images he paints have your knees weak and your body shivering. "Eith—um—either one," you manage to stammer out, eyelashes parting so hesitantly that they flutter like wings. "Either one is good."

“Sexy as you look, sugar….” Now that he knows that you are on the same page as him, a little bit of the cocky swagger is back. “Thinkin’ it’d be a goddamn shame not to spread you out.” Despite your stature, Jack tucks his shoulder and scoops you up over his shoulder like you weigh nothing, bolting for the stairs.

"Holy hell, Jack!" A nervous shout and a squeak escape you when he picks you up, and you cling to his jacket as he carries you through the house you've visited innumerable times before.

Chuckling, Jack slaps your ass with his free hand as he ambles up the stairs easily. “Don’t be nervous, sugar, I won’t drop you.”

This time you definitely do moan out loud, too taken by surprise to stop the sound or swallow it before it can come out of your mouth and you know Jack heard.

He grins to himself, slapping your ass again and is rewarded with another moan. “Mmmmhm.” He chuckles. “Rye likes a little bit of light spanking. Noted.”

"Pretty sure I'll like anything you do," you admit ruefully, though you're quickly feeling the constraints of embarrassment fall away as he reaches his bedroom door. This is real. This is really happening.

"I'll keep that in mind when I hogtie you to the bed and lick whipped cream off your body." He teases, kicking open the slightly ajar door and striding into the room to toss you down on the bed like a character in a romance novel. Right now, he doesn't know if he's supposed to be the hero or the villain, feeling a bit like both as his rough handling of you as him immediately reaching for your ankles to pull off your shoes in his eagerness to see you naked in his bed.

“See?” You huff at him, heavy breathing coming from nothing but an undeniable surplus of desire. “That actually sounds sexy coming from you.” Everything does, but his quick fingers are divesting you of your shoes and that reminds you how your Spanx is part of this undressing process — which is the single least sexy thing in the world.

Jack rips off his tuxedo jacket and tosses it down on the floor. Climbing up onto the bed and over you to press against you fully, pinning you down to the bed with a groan. Quickly capturing your lips again in a frenzied kiss.

It makes no damn sense to you, but you’re not going to question it anymore. If Jack could have literally anyone in the world but for tonight he chooses you, then you’re just going to make sure he doesn’t regret it. That decision on your part sort of pulls you out of your nervous shock, and all at once your hands are pulling open his tie and fumbling with the buttons on his shirt with enthusiasm.

“There we go.” Jack groans when you stop acting shocked and start acting. Your hands on his body makes him shake and he can’t help but rock his hips forward. “Sugar.”

He could probably call you whatever he wanted and you would just go with it, but hearing him call you Sugar — that sickly sweet name he favors so much yet seems to bestow on you so rarely? It feels like you might melt so deeply into his plush mattress that you will never get up again.

Moving from your lips takes sheer willpower but he wants to explore more of you. One hand bracing on the bed and the other sliding up to squeeze your breast as he kisses down your chin and to the soft, vulnerable skin of your throat. “Driving me crazy, baby girl.” He coos, voice rough and lusty. “So goddamn pretty.”

No one who has ever met Jack would be surprised to learn how mouthy the cowboy is in bed. He’s mouthy in every other aspect of his life so frankly it would be pretty strange if this was the exception. Still, to hear those words said to you is beyond your wildest dreams. It’s surreal in the most sensational of ways. Even when you had dreamed of being with Jack, you had never dreamed of him praising you.

He groans when your fingernails bite into the skin on his chest as you hastily push the shirt opened. “Tigress, huh?” He growls, squeezing your tit again, a little harder this time and his hard cock pulses against your inner thigh. “Don’t worry, sugar. I’m just as goddamn eager as you. But ‘ole Jack likes a bit of wildness.” He bites down on your shoulder as he chuckles. “We’ll have ourselves one hell of a rodeo tonight.”

If you even knew where half this boldness came from, you might be a little embarrassed. But given the fact that you never thought this would happen, it mostly just feels like you're telling yourself not to waste the chance. Lightning never strikes the same place twice and this is your lightning strike, so you're going to lean into the whole thing if that's what he really wants. Your nails strike a path down his chest but get caught in his undershirt, a fact which makes you huff in frustration and search blindly for the hem to tear off that layer of clothing as well.

Jack groans and finally decides to give you what you want. Pulling back long enough to finish pulling his arms out of the shirt sleeves, he tears the undershirt off and throws it off the side of the bed to reveal his chest. Unable to resist pulling your dress down to pop your breast out and diving back down to wrap his mouth around a nipple.

"Oh fuck." It's a move you weren't expecting, but your back arches off the mattress instinctively to push your chest up and invite him to take and take and take — just as much as he wants to. If you were coherent enough to suggest it you would try to start wiggling out of your dress but as it is the only thing you can focus on is the heat of him surrounding you and the way every place he kisses you seems to catch on fire immediately at the press of his lips.

He suckles, bites and then licks the hard nub in his mouth like he’s gorging himself on you. Because he is. Hands searching for the zipper to your gorgeous dress. It’s beautiful, but it needs to be beautiful on his floor.

"If you want it off, you have to let me sit up," you manage to huff out, barely able to do more than pant at the way he's clearly trying to devour your tits first.

Groaning in protest, his lips are twisting in a pout as he pulls away. Panting breathlessly as he itches to launch himself at you again. “Hurry up, sugar.”

Your hands are shaking when you reach for the zipper, pulling it down and carefully undoing the clasp at the top before letting the heavily sequined cocktail dress slip off of your arms so you can maneuver it over your head. Half-naked in Jack's bed with panties so soaked you could probably wring them out is not how you expected to end this night, but here you are.

“Fuck.” Jack frowns at the tight shapewear he’s met with. “My present’s a little too wrapped for my liking, baby girl.” He hisses, curling his fingers under the layer to start stripping it off of you. “Want you naked.”

"It was the only way that dress was gonna look halfway decent," you mumble, shifting under him and definitely avoiding looking him in the face while he peels the Spanx off of you. It's a little bit too intimate even for the man you've wanted to be intimate with for years — to the point of making you feel completely naked even when you still have your bra and panties on.

He scoffs, nearly ready to whip his knife out and start slicing the material. “Bullshit.” He huffs, happy there’s just the bra and he uses two fingers to flick the four hooks open. “You don’t need nothin’.” Instead of explaining, he’s diving back into your tits while one hand dips into your panties.

“Fuck, Jack!” Instead of a tight reaction of shock, this time he’s rewarded with a moan and your legs falling open for him as the fingers of one hand dig through his thick hair to scratch along the base of his scalp. If he wants you to be bold, you’ll be bold. You’ll be whatever Jack wants as long as you just get to be in his bed for one night.

Jack moans against your tits, incredibly turned on by the pure moxy he’s always loved in you. Despite your utterly untrue view on yourself, you are sassy, sweet and sexy. That’s why he’s unable to resist now that he’s tasted you. Once he’s teased one breast enough, he switches to the other. “Gonna eat you up, sugar. Devour you whole.”

"All yours." It's sort of unintentional, the vow-like nature of the thing, but you're just being honest. You've really been Jack's since the day you met him. Even if it's taken so many damn years to get the two of you into this situation together, it's still the truth. "Whatever you want, handsome."

He groans, fingers sliding through the sweet slick that is covering your folds. “Want you.” He mumbles as he starts to slide his finger deeper, pressing against your entrance.

It's not even in your mind to ask why when he's splitting you open on two thick fingers like that, and you swear if that's how this night is starting you might actually ascend directly to some higher plain if you get to actual sex. "Ha—fuck— you have me."

“Mmmmmm.” He licks your nipple “Not yet.” He pouts, pulling his fingers back out of you to plunge them in again. “But I will, sugar. Cum for me and then I’ll have you like I’ve been dreamin’.”

The curse you groan out is nearly incoherent, more of an agreement than anything else but you'll be damned if you let this moment be anything less than memorable for both of you. Jack hovers over you and you wind your arms around him to encourage him to continue sucking on your tits while his fingers piston in and out of your pussy with determination. You know it won't take too much longer before your legs start to shake, and as if Jack knows it just as intuitively, he curls his fingers inside you and you gasp out a moan of his name.

His teeth nip at your sensitive flesh as he hisses. Feeling how tight your pussy squeezes his fingers and imagines his cock inside you. Tight and fucking scorching hot, just like he had imagined with his hand wrapped around his cock in the shower. “That’s it, pretty girl.” He coos before he sucks on your nipple again. Moaning when you arch up, writhing under him and making the prettiest, most desperate sounds he’s heard in a long time.

No one who has ever been in this bed has ever left it with any remaining doubts about Jack’s skills as a lover, and while you knew that before? Now you understand it oh-so-very deeply. His fingers pump into you mercilessly, curling at just the right angle to make you cry out in pleasure in every pass, and yet somehow he’s managed to keep the angle of that curl perfect while still holding them apart — stretching your eager pussy open and making sure you’re ready to take every inch of him. All of those intricacies combine with the dedication attention he is lavishing on your tits, and when the tense coil of restraint in your belly snaps it explodes into a thousand white-hot stars behind your eyes as you cum for him.

You’re gorgeous when you fall apart, just like he knew you would be. Keeping his fingers moving, he watches, enthralled with you as you cry out his name in a pitch that has his cock throbbing. The hot gush of your pleasure makes his fingers squelch inside you and he groans out your name while he starts to slow down the rhythm of his hand, letting you float down from your orgasm, drawing it out for you.

“Holy hell…” When your eyes open again you’re completely boneless beneath him, giggling softly at the light-as-air feeling in your body that never ever feels lighter than anything.

Dragging his wet fingers out of your cunt is his own personal kind of hell, but the urge to taste you is too great. Watching you with dark eyes as he slips his two fingers into his mouth with a lusty groan.

“Take your pants off.” The way you groan it is nearly an order but you definitely meant it to be begging, though at this point you don’t care. Especially when he arches an eyebrow at you and smirks. “Take your fucking pants off, Jack.”

Chuckling, he shuffles off the bed to oblige you. “Never let it be said I don’t follow orders, sugar.” He winks as he kicks off the tuxedo pants and hooks his fingers into his boxer briefs. “These too?”

“The fact that you even wear underwear is a shock,” you tease, motioning for him to continue stripping and trying — but probably not succeeding — to not stare.

He smirks. “Had to contain the beast for once.” He winks as he drags the tight material down. “Don’t wear ‘em normally.”

The Beast is probably as good a name as any, and you have to swallow a groan when he frees his throbbing cock — already damp with precum. It’s a wonder he can contain it, and you’re caught in between wanting to bend forward and taste him or just lying back for him to have his way with you. Curiosity and a curtain of lust win out on the short struggle, and you lean forward to take the purple head of his cock in your mouth just after he climbs back onto the bed.

“Fuck!” Jack moans out loudly and pushes your head away gently after a moment. “Baby, baby…” he pants. “You keep that up and this rodeo will be over before it starts.”

“Sorry…” Embarrassment burns your cheeks, and you shift back to get under his blankets. “I just had to know…”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Jack huffs. Kneeling on the bed and pulling the covers away as you hide your body away from his eyes. “Just don’t want to embarrass myself by blowing my load because of your pretty mouth before I can hear you scream my name.”

“I already have,” you remind him, a softness in your tone belied by the heat in both of your eyes. “Guess I might have to be a little louder this time.”

“Only if it’s right in my ear.” Jack wraps his hand around his cock and strokes it as he reaches for your thigh. “Buried deep inside that little cunt and feeling like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

It goes without saying that you’re both clean. All Statesman agents are required to have clean bills of health in order to be on the roster for missions and you’re both active agents. “I—have an IUD.” Is what you tell him instead, shivering a little at the reality of what is about to happen.

Eyes lighting up in delight, Jack’s lips curl up. “Oh sugar, it’s not my birthday yet, why are you showerin’ me with presents?” He coos, sliding his hand up and down your ample thigh. “Pretty as a damn picture.”

The real answer is that you’re desperate to feel him, but you just smirk instead, not wanting to get your heart more involved than it already is. “Because I don’t have a condom and I’ll be damned if we stop now because of it.”

“If you want me to get one…” Jack motions back to his pants. “I have one in my wallet.”

“I don’t want the barrier,” you admit, biting your lip at the extremely vulnerable nature of that confession. “If it’s okay with you.”

His smirk turns into a wicked grin. “You read my mind, sugar. I want to feel all of you.”

You could make a joke about how much of you there is to feel, but just this once you stifle the urge. Opting instead to reach out and gently cup Jack's cheeks in both of your hands before pressing a soft, earnest kiss to his lips. "Then what are you waiting for, Cowboy?”

As you lean back, Jack follows you. Climbing up your body and groaning as he settles between your thighs. “You want to cum again, pretty girl?”

"Not without you this time." The reality of Jack is better than anything you thought so far. Since this miracle is surely once in a lifetime, you want it to be as amazing as possible.

Jack groans your name, pressing his lips to yours in another hot, wet kiss. Passionate and consuming as he pushes an arm underneath you. “I’m right here with you.”

As impossible as it seems, he really is. He is right there with you, taking you in his arms and making you feel delicate and desirable for the first real time in your entire adult life.

He doesn’t rush, although he wants to. Every kiss is slow and thorough. Reaching down between you to take hold of himself to notch at your entrance. “Hold on, sugar. See if we can ride for longer than eight seconds.”

“I’m not gonna buck you, Jack.” You can promise him that, because you know damn well you’re going to hold onto this moment for dear life and not question the gift that it is. This one little shining moment is just for the two of you and you’re never going to forget a single second of it.

His eyes are watching, burning into yours as he starts to slowly rock his hips forward. Breaking you open with the first inch of his cock and swooping in to kiss you again when you gasp.

The world slows down, motions stretching into time and blending together in ways that you can’t quite wrap your head around so all you know in this moment is Jack. Every time he thrusts forward again your moans get that much deeper, until on the final experimental rock of his hips, he is seated fully inside you and you feel so spellbound and grateful for the moment that you’re all but sure you could cry. Instead you pour yourself into kissing him, rocking your own hips slightly to take him more comfortably and adjust to the weighty feeling of having him inside you.

“Fuck, baby girl.” Jack inhales sharply, stealing your breath as he tries to rein himself in, throbbing violently inside you. If it weren’t for the fact that he had promised you a rodeo, he would be cumming, overwhelmed by how hot and tight you are. You’re perfect, just like he always imagined. “You be a good girl and take my cock, m’kay?”

Good girl is another one of those sticking points for you just like getting your ass slapped, and if Jack had no idea before, he certainly does now, from the way your cunt just spasmed around his length and you moaned like you were coming all over again.

“Ohhhhhh.” Jack’s eyes nearly cross and he gives a particularly sharp thrust when you clamp down around him. “You like that.” He pants out. “You’re my good girl?”

“S’not fair,” you huff, throwing him a playful pout that gets cut by another shaky moan. “You’re finding all the buttons I like pushed way too easily.”

“You haven’t - fuck - figured out my buttons yet, sugar?” Jack ducks his head down and slides the arm not underneath you down your hip and thigh to pull it up higher. Sinking deeper into you with a moan of your name.

“Liking to have your cock sucked doesn’t—fuck!— count,” you tell him, back arching as he hits a new angle inside you.

He chuckles and licks at your pulse before he nips at your skin with his teeth. Fingers digging into your pillowy flesh and groans when you clench around him again.

Finding a rhythm is as easy as breathing. Being with him is so much more natural and intuitive than you dreamt it would be. Your natural tendency to be a little rougher is equaled by his enthusiasm for making the bedroom a loud and raucous experience. There’s no hiding from each other or demurring, not once you get going. It’s like something inside you has finally been unlocked after a lifetime of waiting — waiting for Jack to come along with the key that would open you up.

If it surprises Jack that you are wild in bed, it’s probably the best goddamn surprise he’s ever gotten. His back burns from the raking of your nails when he hits deep. He fucking loves it. Your wildness makes him go absolutely feral over you.

It’s the opposite of who you are in everyday life. A version of you just for him. A version of you that leaves your worries outside the circle of your bodies and embraces sex as something carefree. Which, if you’re honest, isn’t really how you’ve felt about sex with anyone besides Jack. (edited)

His lips and teeth map every inch that he can reach as he pumps in and out of you frantically. Trying to keep the pace hard and fast because every time your cunt clenches, his hips stutter from how fucking tight you are. “Fuck, my good girl.” He growls. “So fucking tight.”

“So fucking big,” you give back, starting to pant heavier and more unevenly. There’s a whine forming in the back of your throat that you can’t hold back and you bite down on the juncture of Jack’s shoulder as your legs threaten to shake all over again. You’re so close to cumming but you don’t want this to end.

Jack changes the tempo, slowing down and grinding his pelvis against your clit. “You gonna cum for me, baby girl?” He rasps out. “Cum on Jack’s big ‘ole cock and soak me?”

"So—oh, fuck—close, baby." The way you feel right now, you might actually fall apart at the seams when you cum again, but it will be worth it. It will be worth just knowing first hand how gorgeous Jack looks when he follows you over the edge. "Don't stop. Don't fucking stop, Jack."

“Never.” Jack growls, smashing his teeth together and hissing at the way you claw and writhe under him. It’s like taming a feral cat in a pillowcase and he loves it. Your thighs are crushing his hips and all he can do is imagine them around his head. “Cum for me.”

A half dozen thrusts later, your cunt is clenching down on his cock and pulsing with a fierce orgasm that has your thighs tensing at his waist and your back bowing off the bed. Everything seems to be happening at the top of however it possibly could, and that includes the way you cry his name into the night before collapsing back into his sheets with your arms and legs still around him, willing him to follow you to bliss.

Jack moans your name, pants it again against your lips. His brow knitted in concentration as he tries to last. His body tightening and tensing as his pleasure builds to that almost painful precipice. His heart pounding, but not because of the physical exertion, but because of the almost loving look on your eyes. “Love you.” He moans, right as his lips crash against yours and he breathes it into your mouth again. “Love you.”

You freeze under him, but Jack is too caught in his bliss to tell. Like a bucket of water has been splashed over the bubble of this night and popped that shell keeping you separate from the world. Did he just...? There's no way. There's just absolutely no way at all. You must have imagined it. Wished for it so desperately that you hallucinated the words. Because otherwise you're not quite sure what you'll do — because Jack has never lied to you. But he's also never given you any reason to think your feelings might be requited.

Caught up in his orgasm, Jack rides wave after wave of complete bliss as he empties himself into you, metaphorically and physically. Giving you every bit of himself as he finally acknowledges the truth of why he has always kept you at arms length. His love for you terrifying him, but right now, he’s flying. Collapsing into your arms and panting out your name as he catches his breath.

There's nothing you can do with this shock except bury it, holding him and gently stroking his hair while he catches his breath with his head on your chest. You imagined it, you remind yourself silently, blinking back tears at how much you wish it was true.

The whiskey, the emotions and the exertion have Jack cuddly and sleepy as he comes down from his orgasm. “Fuck, baby girl.” He hums, kissing your neck as he slowly pulls out of you and shifts to your side to roll you over with him. “Wore me out.” He chuckles. “But gave a hell of a ride.”

He tucks you into his arms to be his little spoon, not letting you get away for even a second. Any other time? This would have been thrilling. "Get some sleep, baby." Returning the pet name seems innocent enough, and you reach back to run your fingers through his hair gently. "You earned it."

His eyes are closed when he shoots you a sleepy grin. “Talk when we wake up, sugar.” He promises, fingers stroking your skin softly.

That promise might be why you sleep so fitfully in the night to follow. Why you're so wound up that when your Statesman issued phone chirps from your purse on his floor around 6:30 in the morning, your eyes open immediately. Jack has turned over in the night, sleeping on his back now with one arm still around you but not so tightly that you can't extract yourself to answer the message. That phone is used only for missions and confidential communication, meaning you absolutely cannot ignore it. Incoming Message: Agent Rye report immediately for mission briefing. CODE BLACK. Code Black. You curse under your breath, careful not to wake Jack, and rub one hand down your face in dismay. That level of secrecy in a mission assignment means you can't even wake him up to say goodbye. You're supposed to speak to no one, just proceed immediately to the nearest Statesman branch for your mission briefing. With a sigh and another, more colorful curse, you shake your head and glance back at the bed where Jack is sleeping soundly. There's nothing to do but get dressed and Walk of Shame your ass into the office. You just wish you could wake him up to say goodbye.

It’s been years since Jack has slept so well. Deep and dreamless, none of the nightmares that often plague his rest. The soft scent of you surrounding him and soothing him like nothing he’s had in a long time. When his eyes open, he’s feeling like he’s had the best sleep of his life. Frowning when he doesn’t feel you next to him. Calling out your name softly in case you were in the bathroom. “Rye? Sugar?”

There's no trace of you anywhere. He may as well have come home alone last night, except for the scent of you in the air and the scratches on his back. It's almost an insult when he sees a fallen sequin on the rug where your dress had been tossed.

“Fuck.” Jack’s slipped out of plenty of beds, ducked out and kept walking. The walk of shame was never shameful when there was a little bit of pep to his step, but right now, he’s pissed. Pissed you didn’t have the fucking balls to wake him before you slipped off like a thief in the night. Snatching up his pants, he digs into the pocket for his phone, dialing your number and ready to have it out with you.

"Hi! Sorry I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave a message and I'll call you back as soon as I'm able!" Your voicemail message is insultingly chipper when it picks up right away, almost taunting him. Like you aren't willing to talk, when nothing could be farther from the truth.

“Fuck!” Jack shouts, throwing the phone and scowling angrily. Pissed that you aren’t here, that you apparently don’t want to talk to him. “Fine, you regret it? Fuck you too.” He growls and stomps into the bathroom to shower. If you wanted nothing to do with him after he had let down his walls last night, he wants nothing to do with you either.

******

"What's got you all chewed up and spat out today?" Tequila raises an eyebrow at Jack when he comes huffing into the office, a little late and a lot pissed off. He had expected Jack to be in a stellar mood.

“Not a goddamn thing.” Even though his feathers are ruffled, Jack practically refuses to even think about you. To the point where he had thrown the sheets and the costly Tom Ford tuxedo away. “Whadda we got?” Desperate to concentrate on a mission, he jumps straight into business.

"Wingman prep." Tequila tells him, tapping the folder on his own desktop. "Somebody got tapped this morning and Champ wants us to comb some old mission files to prep for an extraction. Plan B sorta shit." And since all of the mission-ready agents on the Statesman payroll are top notch with years of experience under their belts, anyone potentially needing an extraction from a mission is a big fucking deal.

“Who got tapped?” Jack asks, grabbing a file and flipping it open with a frown on his face. “Scotch?”

"I thought you'd know already." Tequila's eyes snap back up to Jack in concern. "It was Rye."

Jack freezes and slowly lifts his eyes from the file to find Tequila frowning at him, confused by how he doesn’t know. “Why would I know that?” Jack asks after a moment. It explains why your phone was off, but you had still slipped out without saying a fucking word.

"Because...you went home with her last night?" Everybody knows that you and Jack left the party. Absolutely everyone. There was a whole extra celebration after you left. "Figured you woulda known by her getting up this morning and all."

There’s a split second where Jack wants to snap that you had left him to wake up alone, but he doesn’t. What comes out of his mouth instead, is to deny the whole thing. “Took her home.” Jack shrugs, lying easily as if he couldn’t care less. “She wanted to soak in a bath and read some book.”

The frown on Tequila's face deepens measurably, pure confusion marring his usually chipper face. "Bullshit," he huffs, leaning back in his desk chair. "I saw you kiss her. No way."

“Believe what you want.” Jack snaps flatly. “Where are we in planning the back up plans?” The hurt is soothed slightly by you being called away, but it doesn’t make it nonexistent. You hadn’t even left a goddamn message for him. He could have seen not waking him if you had left some sign that you didn’t regret the night even happened.

"Early stages." Knowing better than to poke the dragon when he's mad about something, Tequila defers to work like Jack clearly wants. "Tell me what you think, but I think me on the ground and you in the Silver Pony is the best bet." Whatever happened between you and Jack, the man is clearly hurt, and Tequila makes a note to go and talk to Ginger when he gets his next chance. If you had said anything to anyone, it would be to her.

“Whatever.” Jack practically rolls his eyes and shrugs. Usually he loves the opportunity to fly and show off in the Silver Pony, but he’s so worked up over you that he doesn’t even bat an eyelash. “Guess that’s the plan. If needed.”

“If needed.” All Tequila does is nod, but damn he really needs to talk to Ginger.

******

Jack holes up in his office, barely answering the phone and not leaving it all day, not even for lunch. Catching up on paperwork that is normally never done as he works through not being at home. Not remembering how you tasted and sounded last night. He’s even refused to pull up your camera footage, not wanting to see what you are doing. He’s miserable and is determined to stay that way.

“Thought I’d find you in here.” Champ’s gruff voice cuts through the silence long after everyone else has gone home for the night. He knew exactly where Jack would be. Especially after Tequila said the senior agent was out of sorts. “Come up to my office, Jack. We’re gonna have a drink.” It’s not a suggestion or a request. This is a direct order from this commander, and Champ turns around and heads back down the hall knowing Jack will follow.

Jack sighs and sets his pen down, ripping the reading glasses off his face and tossing them down on the folder. He had stayed cooped up in his office so he didn’t take his bad mood out on anyone so he doesn’t see why he needs to be called out onto the carpet. Still, he pushes back from his desk and follows the older man to the conference room Champ preferred over his official office. The bar cart in here was better stocked.

“Pick your poison.” Champ tells him, motioning for Jack to sit down at the conference table as he strolls over to the cart to grab a bottle and two glasses.

“Whatever your havin’.” Jack wonders what this is about, but he doesn’t ask. Just waits patiently for his boss to get to the reason in his own sweet time.

Champ grunts slightly, grabbing a bottle of ‘74 Reserve, and brings it to the table. He pours two fingers in each glass and slides one over to set in front of Jack before sitting down beside him and taking a sip from his own glass. “You’ve been hidin’ today,” he assesses after a moment of silence. “But I hear you damn near took Tequila’s head off this morning when you got in.”

“Can’t have a bad day?” Jack asks, picking up the whiskey and staring at it before taking a sip. “Woke up wrong, that’s all. I’ll apologize to the crybaby later.”

“He’s not a damn crybaby,” Champ huffs, covering his own amusement with a scowl. “I walked by your damn office, fool. And when he did come talk to me about it, it was because he was worried about you.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jack scowls and shakes his head. “I had a bad morning. I’m fine. Not gonna go off and try to kill all the drug users again.”

“Not saying you would.” Holding up his hands in a show of innocence, Champ leans back all the way and stares down his nose at Jack for a second longer before he shakes his head and shrugs. “But between you and me just these walls? Just thought you might wanna know that Rye got sent off Code Black, is all.” He isn’t supposed to say. Black is black. It’s too priority and top security. But you’d been so torn up this morning and Jack’s been so out of sorts in his own way that Champ has rightfully assumed that something fairly big must’ve happened after you left the party.

His jaw nearly drops. Champ never gives information away like that. He frowns, looking back down at his glass again and feeling relieved. If you had gotten a Code Black, you couldn’t wake him up. It would have been against protocol. He swallows and finally nods. “Good to know.”

“Just don’t want you stewing over it.” The older man says, watching carefully as he sips from his glass again. “You wanna be upset with anyone, it’s me. Not her.”

“Right.” Jack drains the rest of the whiskey and the crystal hits the table slightly harder than normal. “Anything else?”

“Nah. That’s it.” There’s nothing more that Champ can really say, and now Jack needs to process. That’s just how these things work. “See ya in the morning, Daniels.”

Jack stands. “‘Night, Champ.” He walks out of the room and back down the hall towards his office, looking down at his feet as he goes.

******

It’s two weeks before Tequila and Jack are given a stand-down order and told their rescue mission won’t be necessary. Mission success, they’re told with authority, even though it took longer than expected. They don’t get more than that, though, and Jack is walking past Ginger’s lab on his way out of the office late that night when he hears your voice again for the first time in weeks. It’s tired, and quiet, but unmistakable. “Can we just get this over with, Ging?” You ask your friend quietly, knowing that decontamination and a full physical are extremely necessary considering where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing. But you want to get the hell out of here and finally go talk to Jack.

He would never admit it, but he’s been living at Statesman. Barely going home to change and often refreshing the outfits that he keeps in his office for unexpected late nights. On call the entire time in case you needed him. Now you are here and Jack feels like running away. So much self doubt had built up over two weeks, he’s driven himself crazy over every little thing. Obsessing over the details of New Years.

“Once you have a clean bill of health, you go storm the ranch or whatever it is you’re going to do.” Ginger teases, full of warmth. “But I would try his office first.”

Jack frowns slightly and wonders what the hell Ginger is talking about, storming the ranch. He almost pushes the door open, but he doesn’t. Just wants to see what you will say if you know that he’s not listening.

“It’s been two weeks, Ging.” The pops and hums and beeps of her equipment punctuate your voice from inside the lab. “Every single second I haven’t been thinking about this mission I’ve been reliving that night. And I could kill Champ for sending me away Code fucking Black before I could even tell Jack how I feel about him.”

“I know it was bad timing.” He hears Ginger sigh. “But hopefully it gave you some time to think about what you’re going to say?”

Jack’s stomach twists and he feels nauseous. Wondering if you’ve decided that it was a mistake. He swallows harshly and whirls around, not wanting to hear how you plan on letting him down or friend zoning him.

“I’m going to tell him the truth,” he misses hearing you say. “That I’ve been in love with him for six years, and that I’m done being a coward about it.” This mission so easily could have killed you every single day that it became something of an eye opener. Getting back to Jack had become the most dominant and driving force in your mind at times.

Walking down to his office has Jack twisted in knots. He’s never been a coward before but he damn sure feels like running. Playing back that night in his head over and over had made him realize what he had said. More importantly, what you hadn’t said back. Walking over to his bar cart, he pours himself a heavy double and bolts it down. He’ll get wasted after you crush his hopes but that was needed so he doesn’t beg like a pathetic wretch. He needs to keep his pride somehow.

It’s twenty more minutes before he hears footsteps in the hall and hears your tentative voice calling his name. “Jack?” There’s nerves in it, anxiety hovering around you despite your triumphant mission. But you appear in his doorway looking worried and chewing your lip. “Hey…you’re still here.”

“Work’s never done.” Jack huffs, plastering on a friendly but not too friendly expression. “Haven’t seen you around in a few weeks. Mission go alright?” It’s painful to see you in that doorway, looking tired and beautiful. Reminding him of how you looked before he had fallen asleep and lost you.

“I’m home and in one piece.” It’s what you always say, but at least it’s true. He doesn’t exactly look happy to see you, though, and that makes you falter a little. Not enough to shake your resolve, but your optimism that he’ll respond with joy cracks right away. “Do you…can we talk a little?”

“Sure.” He takes off his reading glasses and stands. Moving over to the alcohol again. “Want a drink?” He asks, not looking over his shoulder at you. He sees the worry on your face and knows you are concerned about your working relationship. What he will do will be accept your wants, wish you well and promise that he will not let what happened affect your professional relationship. Then he will demand a transfer to the New York office, permanently. You nod and he pours out two drinks. “What’s on your mind, Rye?”

“Well…you are.” It seems like such an obvious answer that it almost feels silly saying it, but he won’t even look you in the eye so staring at the beginning seems like a good idea.

“Oh?” Turning around is hard, but he manages to look curious instead of sick to his stomach. “Now why would I be on your mind, sugar?” The endearment slips out and he nearly bites his tongue as he carries them over to the small sofa area.

The message is loud and clear: it really didn’t mean anything to him. Regardless, though, you have to power through. If he really didn’t mean what he said and has no interest in being with you, you’ll request a permanent transfer. Chicago, Dallas, Los Angeles — anywhere but here or New York. Swallowing a sigh, you accept the glass from him but just hold it in your hands while you gather your thoughts. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk before I had to leave,” you start, trying not to let the warmth and proximity of him get under your skin so easily. But you can’t really help it. “I did the best I could for a message to let you know what had happened, but it wasn’t much. And I’m sorry for that, too.”

His facade cracks, the scowl as quick to vanish as it appears and he scoffs. “Message received, Rye. A lone sequin on the floor. Practically like it was a dream, except for that.” He tosses back the whiskey. “Can you just get to the part where you tell me it was a mistake, you don’t want to ruin our friendship or work relationship? Or whatever bullshit excuse you’ve settled on to tell me you regret it?” His eyes are dark and pained when they finally land on you, barely resisting the urge to flee.

“On the floor?” Your brow furrowed instantly, a frown painting itself on your lips, and you set the glass in your hands aside to shift closer to him on the little couch. “Jack, I left a sequin on your nightstand.” The choice was even more horrible than you had worried it would be, apparently, because he looks so hurt he could actually cry. A fact which makes you instantly want to cry as well. “A black sequin was the best I could do for a signal. It—it must have…blown off. Stupid fucking flapper dress with all that fringe. It must have gone flying when I left the room.” There was no other breeze, no window open or fan blowing. Only you could have sabotaged yourself like that.

He doesn’t believe you and shakes his head. “Why would you leave a black-“ he trails off when it hits him. Black sequin - Code Black. Trying to tell him that you had wanted to leave a message but couldn’t. Champ had broken protocol by telling him about the Code Black and apparently you had tried to signal the same thing. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” You shake your head in resignation, blowing out a shuddering breath. “I didn’t want to leave. Especially not after…” Another shaky breath leaves the rest of you shaking in turn, and you shove your hands under your legs on the couch. This is the most terrifying thing you’ve ever asked a person in your entire life. “Did you…mean it? What you said?”

Jack bites his lip, wanting to ask you what you’re talking about but he can’t do that. You look distraught that he had thought you had just disappeared. “Yeah.” Jack admits quietly. “Look, I know that it’s not something you were expectin’ ta hear, and you don’t feel the same.” He rolls on with the emotions that he needs to get out. “I won’t be mad, or take it out on you. But that night….fuck.” He blows out a breath. “I got to touch you. Just like I fuckin’ dreamed of. And I couldn’t just let you think it was a heat of the moment thing for me.”

“Why do you think I don’t feel the same?” With your heart beating wildly and your shakiness only increasing, there’s a sort of explosive quality in your mind and body that you can’t quite figure out how to control. Like all you want to do is launch yourself at him for a kiss but you know you need to talk first. To get it all out in the open. To be honest with each other. “I—I honestly had no idea you thought of me as anything but a friend. I was…well…shocked is a bit of an understatement.”

Jack snorts. “I know my reputation. Hell, I crafted it. But I couldn’t flirt with you. It’s too- shit- you had me from the first time we met. I was fucking hooked and it wouldn’t have been right. You were a junior agent and -“ he shakes his head. “I was running from the kind of commitment you were made for.”

“Your reputation was built by a man who had loved his wife so deeply that he couldn’t bear the thought of loving and losing again,” you remind him quietly. You sure you hadn’t known that right away, but when you had learned about his wife and son, you understood implicitly. “But it…it never stopped me from falling in love with you. Even when I thought I’d never be more to you than an acquaintance. I considered myself damn lucky to eventually become your friend. I just thought…I thought the fact that you never, ever flirted with me…meant that it was unrequited. So I made myself okay with it. Until two weeks ago.”

“I respect you, Rye.” Jack murmurs quietly. “I didn’t want to make it seem like you were everyone else, because you weren’t.” It’s backwards and twisted, but no one ever said that he had defeated all his demons. “When I broke- I gave you everything.”

“More than you know.” A soft huff of a laugh escapes you and you shake your head again, willing your nerves to calm down even a little. “Just…please understand, Jack. That I’ve been in love with you since the second I met you. And the only reason I didn’t say it back the night we slept together is because I was so shocked to hear it from you in the first place. I thought I’d hallucinated what I wanted to hear, and then before I knew it we were asleep…and then I woke up to a Code Black.”

“I was upset.” Jack admits quietly. “Really upset.” He flushes slightly. “May have been thinkin’ some not-so-polite things until Tequila told me it was you who was slated for the mission.” He won’t tell you that Champ had broken the rules. “Convinced myself that you had run off to go save the world so you wouldn’t have to tell me that you’d had too much alcohol and that’s why you let me take you home.”

“Not at all.” Taking a chance, you reach for his hand and practically sigh in relief when he slots his fingers through yours. “I pretty much thought I’d died and gone to heaven, if I’m honest. I just kept thinking…if this only happens once, I never want to forget a single thing.” You squeeze his hand gently, wishing you could have said all this two weeks ago. “I’m sorry my message didn’t work. That’s…you have every right to think nasty things about me. I’m so sorry.”

“No I don’t.” Jack protests. “Not if you meant to be here. Not if you wanted to be here the next morning. Then it’s just a bad misunderstanding and I’m sorry.”

“Then I guess we’re both sorry.” He’ll never know that you cried all the way to the office that morning at having to leave him, you decide right now. It would only make him feel even more guilty and he doesn’t deserve that. “But I’m not sorry about what happened between us.”

“You aren’t?” He tightens his grip on your hand, relaxing slowly as you talk and he understands that this was one giant cluster fuck. He’s used to those, he can handle those. “That’s good, sugar. Because New Years was probably the best night of my life.”

“God, I hope you mean that.” Your shakiness is for more than one reason, although you needed to have this conversation first. Whatever the two of you decide will happen next is a decision made by both of you, not just you alone. “Because…Ginger couldn’t clear me…after my physical. I can’t go back on the list.”

Jack frowns, brows pulling together. “Why can’t Ginger clear you? What’s wrong?” There’s a number of things that can be fixed by Statesman tech and he’s worried that it’s something bad.

Your stomach churns with worry, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. The unmistakable advances of Statesman tech can do things that most doctors absolutely cannot, thanks to Ginger Ale, and you’re not sure whether to thank her or curse her. “It’s not that something’s wrong, technically,” you admit, giving another worried squeeze to his hand. “But we probably ought to have used that condom…”

Jack’s eyes widen and they drop to your stomach, discerning the meaning of your comment. You aren’t a liar and Jack would believe you if you said you didn’t sleep with someone else, but he’s confused. “Sugar- how?” He chokes out. “I got snipped when I joined Statesman.”

“When was the last time you had your sperm count checked?” You had made Ginger do the test three times, but the result was always the same. Your birth control failed and Jack’s second kid is already growing, if very slowly. “The chances of a vasectomy failing are less than one percent, but it can still happen.”

Jack frowns and then rolls his eyes and groans. “The chamber.” He remembers. “When I got shot and then- uh, put back together.” He shakes his head. “Ging said I might need to get it checked but I dadgum forgot.” He bites his lip and tries not to freak out over the fact that you are pregnant after your one and only time together. “What do you want, sugar?” He asks.

“Not more than you’re willing to give freely.” The answer is that you want all of him. Every single bit. Love and a life and a family. But you know that even if Jack does love you, he’s never loved anyone the way he loved his wife. And losing Maria nearly destroyed him, so he may not be willing to take that chance again. “But I…unless you really object…I’m keeping the baby. Even if you don’t want a commitment or anything. I just…you’re right about me. I want a family and if this is my only chance I don’t want to give that up. Especially not if I get even the littlest piece of you with it.”

“You think I would-“ he shakes his head. “No, I would never force you, one way or the other.” He frowns. “I was asking if you wanted to have a baby. And if you think I’m gonna sit back and let you raise it by yourself, you must have hit your dadgum head.”

“I want this baby.” It had only taken about ten seconds after learning it existed to determine that, even if you’re still grappling with the reality of it. “And I want you.” You inch closer to him on the couch. “However you want to be together. That part is up to you.”

“It’s been a long damn time since I’ve thought about being a daddy, sugar.” There’s a slight smirk on his face but he doesn’t make the obvious crude joke. “But I’m pretty traditional when you break it down. I’m not gonna want to be apart from you and our baby.”

He might not have made the joke but you still laugh, having made the sugar daddy connection in your mind easily enough. “I know it’s a lot, Jack. And we didn’t plan it. But…” All you can do is shrug your shoulders slightly, looking up at him with such obvious hope and even more obvious water behind your eyes. “But, I love you.”

“I meant it, baby girl.” He promises you, reaching out to caress your cheek and then cup it. “I love you. I love you so much, sugar.” Licking his lips, his eyes drop down to yours. “Can I kiss you?”

"I wish you would." practically beaming at him, you lean in and let the moment wash over you. Jack's lips against yours. His hands on your skin. His baby - your baby - is already starting to grow.

Jack pulls you close, pressing his lips against yours and groaning softly. “Sugar, you’re gonna have my baby.” He whispers against your lips in awe. “Just the one time, one time between your thighs and you are carrying my baby.”

“One time is all it takes.” You can’t help the broad way you smile, giggling softly against his lips as you steal another kiss.

“I don’t regret it.” He promises. “I don’t regret you.” He smiles as he kisses you again. “We really did shake things up for New Years, didn’t we?”

“Just a little bit.” Another laugh escapes you, and you lean into his side only to be rewarded with Jack’s arms encircling you and holding you close. “I don’t regret any of it. Except maybe not making my message a whole lot clearer.”

“We’ll get better at communicatin’.” Jack promises with a smile. “We’re partners now.”

“Do you want to go get dinner, maybe?” The end of a mission can be crazy even when it’s successful, and you just want to try to relax tonight. Especially with everything changing in your personal life too, apparently. “My treat?”

Jack scoffs and shakes his head. “You ain’t paying, sugar.” He huffs. “Not while you’re with me. If you want dinner, we can go out, or I can take you home and throw some steaks on the grill.”

“I kind of want to celebrate,” you admit, feeling silly about it even though it’s the truth. “If that’s okay?”

“Then we’ll go out and celebrate.” Jack promises before he frowns at something you had said. “Why would you have thought I would never be interested in you?”

“Because…” It feels sillier than the celebration thing now that you know the truth. Silly and even a little pointless, but he asked so you’ll tell him. “Because you flirted with every woman in the world besides me. Which Ginger said is how she knew you were interested in me. But I didn’t believe her.”

“You know you’re wrong, don’t cha?” Jack asks you. “When you said that you get sent on assignments to be invisible? You’re sent on the assignments you are given because you get the job done. Champ knows that if he gives you a task, it will be done.”

“Whatever the reason is, he’ll have to do without me for about a year.” It isn’t worth having a debate over your lack of self esteem with him right now, and you especially don’t want to ruin the mood by crying anything other than happy tears, so you just redirect the conversation altogether. “This baby is my top priority.”

“Our top priority.” He corrects you. He’s nervous, terrified really, but there’s no one he’d rather have a happy accident with than you. “Our New Year’s baby.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #Jack Daniels x f!reader #Jack Daniels x plus size reader #Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels #Kingsman Golden Circle #new years eve #new years fic #idiots in love #pining #the love is requited they're just dumb

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janaispunk · 24 days

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masterlist

so... i had the (insane) idea to go through all of my fic recs and to put them into one gigantic list. i don't want to talk about how long this took me BUT here we are! this list is gonna work like an archive, and going forward i'll be doing weekly fic recs (also linked down below).

please check the tags and warnings on each fic! if you enjoyed a fic, please show the writer some love <3

joel miller series

joel miller oneshots - part 1

joel miller oneshots - part 2

joel miller oneshots - part 3

javier peña series

javier peña oneshots

dave york series

dave york oneshots

frankie morales series

frankie morales oneshots

din djarin series

din djarin oneshots

dieter bravo series

dieter bravo oneshots

marcus pike series

marcus pike oneshots

ezra series

ezra oneshots

jack daniels series

jack daniels oneshots

max phillips series

max phillips oneshots

oberyn martell oneshots

javi gutierrez oneshots

tim rockford oneshots

comandante veracruz oneshots

lucien flores oneshots

clint oneshots

march fic recs part 1 & part 2

weekly fic recs

dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

#janas recs #fic recs #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller #javier peña #dave york #frankie morales #din djarin #dieter bravo #marcus pike #ezra prospect #jack daniels #oberyn martell #max phillips #lucien flores #tim rockford #javi gutierrez

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kedsandtubesocks · 3 months

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cowboys like us

Bull Rider!Din Djarin x F!Reader x Bronco Rider!Jack Daniels

summary: one cowboy is already a challenge, but two is either going to be your best blessing or worst curse

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, modern rodeo cowboys AU, Din is still a papa and has his baby, light discussion of the rodeo and events, light angst & miscommunication with eventual resolution, Jack & his sweet talk with calling reader ‘baby, honey, sugar,” bar scene with moments of drinking, heavy making out, intense grinding & dry humping, spicy moments, M/M/F & M/M dynamics, polyamorous exploration that leads to eventual poly relationship

word count: 5.9k

a/n: welcome to the first fic of the ‘Let’s Rodeo’ series! I know, I know, this is such a strange combo & AU but I’m such a sucker for cowboy Din and of course Jack decided to barge in and here we are lol, the biggest and deepest thank you’s go to @perotovar @lowlights @nothoughtsjustmeds & @beskarandblasters - this wouldn’t be here without y’all and I’m so eternally grateful…and to you if you’re reading this thank you so much

You wonder if maybe you’ve unknowingly slipped into a strange country song and not realized it.

Popcorn litters the floor all around. The plastic arena seat is a bit uncomfortable. A drunk woman behind you almost spilled beer on you but apologized profusely. There are more cowboy hats here than you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

But as you sit in this strange existence a voice over the loudspeaker comes and sparks up your soul. As the announcer’s voice booms, loud screams swallow up the air of the stadium.

You spot him already climbing onto the bronco and your heart jumps into your throat.

“The man smooth as whiskey!” The announcer screams clear and booming with an accented southern pride.

“Give it up for Jack Daniels!”

Shrill shrieks erupt fanatically loud as if the place now morphes into a boy band concert instead of a rodeo competition.

That is until the alarm sounds. The chute opens, and the ride begins.

Focusing on Jack is chaotic. The bronco bucks frenzied trying to throw the cowboy off with a wild strength. His black Stetson hat goes flying and your stomach drops at how rapidly his body whips around. Back and forth, back and forth, he tries holding on with simply one hand.

It’s terrifying. It’s hypnotic.

Then it’s over fast.

The beautiful horse flings off Jack and he lands on the dirt. You clutch the edge of your plastic seat. The horse continues bucking and your mind rushes to the worst case scenario of the creature’s strong might rearing down on Jack.

Then the cowboy springs up like nothing.

A smile even illuminates his handsome face and it ignites the crowd into a gleeful roar.

You don’t even know if he did good. You barely understand the point system or average or whatever it is.

The horse thankfully settles and Jack struts away effortless.

Suddenly Jack’s salt of the earth eyes flick up. He scans the crowd until his gaze lands on you.

The seat you’re in sits close to the edge of the arena, on the floor just right outside the ring.

Then, with all the confidence of a man whose job it is to ride a bucking bronco, Jack blows you a kiss.

The drunk woman behind you along with her friends scream their heads off thinking he blew the kiss to them. Maybe he did. He’s a damn flirt. You even glance backward to see one of the girls, very drunk, tries to calm herself down from freaking out.

Jack now walks heads to the side to exit. His eyes however stay glued to you. And the minute you turn back to stare at him…he winks.

Then he vanishes.

This cowboy might be this event’s closer, but this isn’t the end of the rodeo for you. The incoming bull rides shift the air. It’s considered another heavy hitter main event and the anticipation bubbles.

Unlike Jack, who arrives like a firecracker ready to brighten up any room he enters, this cowboy emerges like a shadow.

Keeping his head down, it doesn’t help that a protective mask covers his handsome face. However, the energy radiating off the cowboy’s deadly focus composure is like a quiet storm on the horizon.

He stays silent, doesn’t even lift his eyes up, almost in a focused trance.

“Mr. Silent and Deadly himself… Din Djarin!” The announcers boom out his name.

Then you watch as the man becomes a myth, one who tames a wild force of nature.

Din and bull fly out of the chute with a choking force.

In the same way your breath stopped watching Jack getting bucked around, the same dizzying panic fills you as Din battles the same force.

He stubbornly stays on, rides as the bull thrashes around. You wonder if this is where some mythologies stem from because it is something unreal watching this man move with this powerful creature.

The crowd hoots and hollers cheering Din on. You stay petrified in your seat.

Then the ride finishes fast.

Din flies off the bull and your breathing stops. Rapidly the trainers along with other cowboys scramble to settle the bull and check on Din. The bull rider casually rises up unbothered, unshaken, and the crowd goes wild.

You exhale a loud shaken sigh of relief. Your body feels like jello, as if fear has finally been exorcized from your body leaving you a boneless mess.

Suddenly Din rips the guard mask off and all attention falls to him. Sweat adds a shine to his face and his hair is a tousled mess but he’s never looked more gorgeous.

“What the fuck?! Dude, he’s hot too?!” Someone squawks out.

The ladies sitting behind you of course notice Din and squeal out feverishly. Unlike Jack, an actual peacock who owns the crowd basking in the attention, Din’s face stays lowered with his eyes averted shyly.

Until his dark eyes suddenly flicker up, like a viper peering out from a cave. His eyes find you surprisingly fast.

You and him simply stare at each other. Then so quickly Din averts his eyes away again and heads off.

The shakiest exhale leaves you.

Your heartbeat drums loud in your ears as if you were the one who just finished the wild rides. And maybe you did in your own way.

“Oh my fucking god!” Behind you one of the girls screams. “So many hot cowboys! Like, how the fuck do you pick just one?!”

Alcohol drenches her playful words. However, to you they become barbed and catch on your heart. Because how do you pick between two handsome cowboys different as day and night.

“Babe!” One of the girls giggles. “That’s the secret, you don’t pick just one! You have ‘em all!”

She howls a wild laugh and the others scream scandalized but gleeful. One of them even jokingly says ‘so you gotta catch ‘em all like pokemon!’ which almost makes you laugh.

But the words hang in your heart like a rusting anchor.

Grabbing your bag, you head out. Arriving at the backstage area of the arena, you flash the visitor’s access pass to security who lets you through. You’ve only done this a few times before but your heart still races getting this type of entrance.

Earlier today Din said he’d wait for you after in the small rest waiting room. When you open the door, you stumble upon a sight.

Jack's hand firmly holding Din’s face -

As the two men passionately kiss each other.

Jack’s taller than Din, slightly, not by much. Din’s build however is firmer, solid, compared to Jack’s sleek stature.

Immediately they both break away from each other as if electrocuted.

Din and Jack’s eyes catch sight of you and their faces fall. Din whispers your name out while Jack stays silent.

Reality rams into you like a released wild bull.

Because you realize you’ve interrupted them. You're barging in, an actual third wheel.

You want to move, want to say something. But you can’t even imagine what. It clicks that you read this whole situation wrong. Maybe neither of them actually held feelings for you.

A sudden loud knock on the wall makes you and the cowboys practically jump.

One of the event announcers pops his head in casually.

“Hey sorry, but you’re needed out back Djarin.” He says to Din then leaves.

Even with the surprise arrival and then departure, the thick tension doesn’t leave the air. If anything it’s caused a strange vacuum to form.

Jack now breathes out your name hesitantly. Yet, his eyebrows are furrowed hard, concerned and upset. Din’s dark eyes shine so visibly soaked with worry.

Before you can even say anything one of Jack’s main coaches and manager, Champ, waltzes in. He’s a striking presence that draws all the focuses to him

Champ whistles loud. “Who died in here?”

No one says a word.

“Alrighty then,” Champ shrugs, not wanting to dive into whatever he senses.

“Daniels come on,” he urges. “I ain’t waiting anymore. They’re probably waiting for you too Dinny.”

Champ’s nickname for Din, which Din himself detests, makes you smirk and brightens your spirit for a moment.

But the awful tension stays sticking to your skin allowing a poison to seep in.

“Hey there, sweet pea.” Champ nods his head acknowledging you. With a weak smile you nod back.

You politely excuse yourself and leave.

The walk out of the arena is the longest of your life.

Everything you just saw flashes through your mind a rapid flip picture book. You can process what you saw but can’t fully grasp it.

Even outside, the roar of the rodeo swirls around even in you.

You might have wandered into a country song earlier but you didn’t realize it was going to be a heartbreak one.

You met Din first in a grocery store parking lot.

It had been a total accident. Literally. You had gotten into a small fender bender with him in the parking lot of a grocery store.

He drove the oldest silver Honda Civic ever still existing and still can’t believe it didn’t even manage to take a hit. You were also horrified when you saw there was a baby sleeping away in the car.

Yet the entire time Din was so kind and concerned about your wellbeing.

You didn’t realize it then, but that shy and very handsome scruffy man with his ancient Honda Civic would change the orbit of your life.

Because that day you accidentally collided with a cowboy, it opened your world like a vast desert horizon.

Jack arrived soon after.

If Din was the soft daybreak, then Jack came in like a dust devil.

Though they competed in two different categories, you discovered many rodeo circuits crossed paths.

When you went to visit Din months ago at the ranch housing many of the cowboys for training, that’s when you first met Jack.

He walked straight up to you and asked if you were lost because he was concerned heaven was missing an angel.

He hasn’t shut his mouth since.

Before it was simply you and Din. But Jack is a force that seems to barge his way in like the wild broncos he rode.

He is shameless in flirting. He often playfully touches yours and Din’s cheeks often, or casually drapes himself over you or his fellow cowboy.

Din on the other hand is quietly sweet. He routinely sends you photos of the sunrises of all the cities he travels to.

So opposite, they almost are like the sun and moon.

You began caring for them fiercely and fell so fast.

But now, you contemplate if you simply played yourself a fool becoming your own rodeo clown.

All the ideas, all the heavy conflict of having to pick between the two of them, taste bitter on your tongue. You take a long swing of your drink to hopefully wash it away. It doesn’t.

Din texted you asking to please meet him here at this bar near the secondary training arena and now you wait.

It’s lively tonight. Even after being thrown into the world of cowboys, or rodeo circuits, sitting in the honky tonk bar feels as if you’re on another planet. The music thankfully has a nice beat so you enjoy the song playing.

Someone slides in besides you, not even sitting on the bar stool.

“You seem lonely.” The voice of a stranger.

Besides you, a lanky college freshman looking guy leans against the bar staring at you.

“Just waiting for a friend.” You politely answer.

“Well, maybe you’d like some company waiting?”

You’re about to decline when a looming presence arrives at your back.

“Sorry there buckaroo, but this lovely peach is taken for the night.”

Jack’s smooth voice rings out and shocks your system.

The stranger’s face drops comedically fast and the punk scrambles away without another word.

You turn around and it isn't just Jack behind you but Din is as well.

Jack wears his black cowboy hat and you’re surprised to see Din in one as well. He rarely wears his Stetson but it transforms him.

In typical western, the dark midnight cowboy hats are that of the outlaws, the bandits. One of Din’s managers, an older man named Cobb Vanth, once told you that.

And maybe these two are.

Yet, even as bandits, they stand before you like two country romance song dreams. The kaleidoscopic lights dance and radiate off them.

Din mutters your name with hesitation swirling in his eyes.

Panic prickles against your skin. You’re not ready yet.

So you turn to the bartender and order three rounds.

“Honeypie, we gotta talk.” Jack says low, strikingly somber.

Shaking your head, you swallow hard. “Not now. I just…can we just please…just wait for a moment.”

Please let’s just enjoy this false dream a little longer, is what your heart whispers out.

“Of course.” Din mutters and they both move to sit on either side of you, a sort of barricade you’re already missing.

The drinks come and in a nervous quiet move you and the cowboys cling your glasses together. Everyone tosses the shot back. The tequila burns and helps slightly.

You decide if this a goodbye to this dream, you want to at least enjoy it a bit tipsy. So you order another round.

“Careful.” Din urges, ever the cautious one.

“Come on.” You now perk up. “You two both scored high yesterday! We gotta celebrate.”

Which is true. Even with your brewing heartbreak, you still got excited seeing their scores from the app alert. Because that’s the person you’ve become. You have apps on your phone dedicated to rodeo cowboy scores. Well, you might be deleting those apps soon.

You move to take the next shot.

You raise your glass to your two dear cowboys - the ones who you text everyday, the ones you try facetiming as much as you can, your dearest friends.

And maybe that’s all they will be.

You toast to their scores and to them.

Din’s eyes hold a pained shine in them that makes your heart twist. Jack instead wears a rather terrifying steeled up composed face.

You feel empty taking this shot and only Jack throws his back with you. Din even doesn’t touch his drink.

This time the tequila goes down warm and numbing.

The alcohol begins to work its confidence magic in you as you tease Din for not wanting to drink with you. He however glares at you and you’re reminded of an unwavering mesquite tree.

Maybe this is a bad decision.

You can’t be selfish about this. These two found each other. All those moments you thought they had feelings you simply had read the situation wrong.

“Look,” you sigh now, deflated. “I’m sorry-”

Jack suddenly smacks his hand against the bar countertop. It’s aggressively firm, a loud startling whack of a noise.

“Dancin’.” Jack declares loudly. “We’re gonna dance.”

“What? You and him?” You ask over the music.

“No.” Jack snaps. “We’re all goin’. So get your asses up.”

Din scoffs.

Jack, with firm hands yanking on yours and Din’s sleeves, actually drags everyone to the dance floor.

You can’t comprehend what’s happening. The floor is heavily crowded and no one notices three more additions.

“I don’t dance.”

“I can’t dance.”

Both you and Din fling out the same hurried replies to Jack.

He barks a laugh.

“It ain’t about being good at dancin’. S’about feelin’ the music, feelin’ the beat.” He yells back and then instantly transforms into a commanding force.

Sliding behind you, Jack turns you around to face Din.

His and your eyes go wide.

Jack then reaches to yank at Din’s dusty jacket, effectively pulling him forward -

Straight to your front.

Your heart hammers loud in your ears, so loud it drowns out the music blaring.

“Relax.” Jack purrs out. “Just…feel.”

You want to bark back about how that’s easier said than done. But your tongue gets tied up so badly you can’t form words.

Then one of Jack’s solid hands moves to your hips while the other reaches across to rest against Din’s shoulder.

You’re locked into them.

Jack begins to move you slowly.

The music shifts into something sultry, almost aching to be a slow dance, but a lively beat keeps it moving. You didn’t even think country songs could have this kind of vibe. Even though Jack mainly guides your hips, you already start swaying to the beat on your own.

That’s when Jack slowly bumps and nudges his hip against yours, fully pressing you closer to Din.

The position isn’t lost on you. It’s undeniably intimate, overly sexual, and you’re worried how this looks to others in the bar.

Then Din presses forward firmer against you and your mind blanks for a moment. Now sandwiched between a cowboy canyon, a dangerous heat burst from your chest.

Jack moves his nose against your face.

“Relax gorgeous,” he whispers. “Just enjoy.”

Your eyes hazing over flicker to Din who stares out with a deep desire swimming in his eyes. Cautiously his hands now move to rest on your hips. One of them goes on top of Jack’s.

You swallow hard and pray the lingering liquid courage will bless you.

Deliberately, sensually, your hips wiggle and grind between the two of them. You might not be properly dancing right or even swaying to the beat, but desire is the one guiding your body.

Many times nights alone in your bed you've thought of them like this with you. And now, you’re here caught in the sticky heart of that passionate desire.

Din dives forward and presses his face against yours.

Jack groans as his nose buries into your hair. Their cowboy hats create a sort of cover over you casting a shade against the glittering bar lights.

You’re literally under their shadow.

“Oh baby.” Jack whimpers.

Your hands, which you awkwardly kept close to your chest almost afraid to touch this dream and have it pop like a soap bubble, now tingle. You want to touch them both as much as you can.

So one of your hands slides up to hold onto Jack’s face while your other runs up Din’s broad chest to his shoulder. Your hips continue to sway and grind between them.

Then, like a spark ignited, something shifts.

Maybe it’s more people crowding in on the dance floor, or the heat finally bubbling over, but you’re suddenly squished firmly between them, practically glued together. Din’s face, his striking nose, presses against yours while Jack burrows the side of his face against your cheek.

They purposely rut into you. You think this is maybe the closest taste of what it would feel like for them to fuck you and you drown in it.

With Din and Jack, both hard, grinding against your front and back, your eyes close. A debauched sensation sinks its claws into you. It’s sinful and utterly deliriously delicious. You worry you’re about to melt.

Lust rips through you, an incinerating beast, and you bow to it.

In that haze, Din leans down and licks the sweat on your neck. His tongue against your skin, electrifies you. You ascend out of your body and moan.

Your body bucks up hard begging for attention and release only to find you’re still firmly caught between a cowboy canyon.

Jack shushes you firm but low. “G’damn y’all ‘re gonna be the death of me.”

His voice slurs, almost sounded drunk in something dangerous. Din continues licking at your neck not stopping once.

Suddenly Jack moves and shifts your body. The jostling breaks the movement and snaps you aware, like you’re slowly waking up, wearily trying to recapture your focus.

Quickly he snags your hand and Din’s. Out of reflex you clutch onto Din’s jacket. Jack, now a focused man on a mission, guides the three of you out of the crowd.

“Where are we going?” Din mutters against your face.

“Don’t know.” You answer truthfully.

You can’t tell where Jack guides you. The haze still fogging up your focus keeps you surprisingly pliant. It also doesn’t help that Din now practically drapes himself against your back, a protective cowboy like cloak. His lips continue to softly try and kiss any inch of skin he can reach.

You never thought he’d be the greedier one.

Jack guides everyone down a hallway past the restrooms. He even shouts a friendly greeting at someone. Of course he would know people here.

“Get your asses in here.” Jack now growls and his accent seems stronger.

That’s where he opens a door to a small back office type room and barrels everyone inside.

Jack’s not gentle. He almost yanks everyone in like a panicking kid trying to hide something from their parents. The door slams behind him. You’re transported into a badly lit mess of an office.

Jack whips around, pitches forward and before you can react he moves to attack your neck alongside Din.

His tongue licks a possessive strip up to your jaw then starts biting at your skin.

A wild moan escapes you as your eyes blissfully close.

You’re burning up. Your body, now molten, is only held up by your cowboys pressing flat against you. Both Jack’s mustache and Din’s faint beard scrape against your skin beautifully. Two tongues maping out your skin makes your mind evaporate. Every inch of your body screams for them.

That’s when you feel Jack drag his tongue on your neck down towards Din.

With another playful nip at your skin, Jack moves to lick against Din’s mouth still on you.

The wildest moan escapes you and you almost come right then.

Both cowboys almost kiss each other while also trying to still taste at your neck has you absolutely dizzy.

It’s hot and consumes every inch of you. You’re panting ridiculously loud and you can’t even hold back your whines or whimpers anymore. Slick pools between your thighs and sticks to your body. Your neck feels just as wet with the spit covering your skin.

Suddenly a loud aggressive bang rattles the door and your perfect illusion pops.

Panic barrels into you like a wild bull and your eyes go wide.

But your cowboys react fast. Din protectively curls his sturdy arm over you and draws you closer. Jack whips around and stands protectively in front as if to block the view.

Thankfully no one opens the door.

“Ya better not be fuckin’ on my god damn couch, Daniels!” A man howls with laughter.

“No fuckin’ way in hell.” Jack hollers back. “Not when your nasty ol’ ass calls its home.”

From the other side of the door the owner of this room laughs electrically loud. The man smacks on the door twice, an almost playfully goodbye.

The blazing heat that was melting you now simmers out like a fast dying out ember. An awkwardness settles in its place.

Your mind sorts through the heavy doubts again. Were you just a toy for them to play with? And even though a more aggressive side urges you to just enjoy and not think more into this, you don't want to be seen as just an accessory to their duo.

So slowly and quietly you untangle yourself from them.

Din mutters your name slightly confused and Jack turns around looking towards you.

“Where ya headin’ out to, peach?” Jack asks surprisingly composed.

You quietly tell them you’re gonna head home. A thick tension returns, choking the room.

Din calls your name, solid and striking.

“We need to talk.” His words are firm.

You want to make a sarcastic quip that they weren’t much for talking a few moments ago. But you don’t. You want to go home, maybe wash your skin off till you reach bone. You want to wash them away because it’s sinking in.

This last taste of desire is maybe your goodbye.

“Now why ya gotta make it sound like we’re talkin’ about a goddamn funeral, darlin’?!” Jack huffs annoyed.

Din shoots him a sharp annoyed look.

Darlin’

You’ve never heard Jack call his fellow cowboy that.

His nicknames for Din ranged from ‘pigeon’ to ‘sourpuss’ all were affectionately teasing in nature. Now the tender pet name holds the unspoken truth, as if seeing them kissing didn’t solidify it earlier.

“I’m sorry, I just…I read this wrong…” your voice becomes small and deflated. You would head home with a broken pride, but you didn’t want to be bitter about this.

Your eyes flicker up to them.

“You two… I’m glad you both found each other.” You smile weakly, the strongest attempt at being honorable and good. Yet the words turn to ash on your tongue.

You promise you’ll text them when you get home and now turn to leave again.

“The fuck s’that all about?” Jack snarls and his words snap your spine straight.

“Jack.” Din chides him sharp and your attention whips back to them a bit panicked.

Anger, along with the faintest edge of annoyance, colors Jack’s handsome face as he glares at you.

Your face scrunches up confused. What is he so upset about?

“The three of us were practically just humping like fuckin’ barn animals in heat and you wanna say shit like that?” A hot flash runs in Jack’s eye and you swear he even sounds hurt.

“Don’t say it like that.” Din glares.

Your eyes flicker between them and an edge of panic starts crawling on your skin.

“Wait, what?” You mutter out confused.

Silence suffocates the room and it feels like you’ve entered into a classic western standoff waiting to see who will strike first.

“Oh baby,” Jack’s gentle exhale shatters the moment as his eyes stare so directly at you. “Ya haven’t realized it?”

“What?” You squeak out confused.

“We’re crazy for ya… like a bunch of fools tangled up in a damn lasso.”

Jack’s words ignite a flurry of sparks within your chest that knock you breathless.

Turning towards Din, you notice his Stetson hat slid off, possibly during the heat of the moment earlier. But it allows you the clearest view of his gruff face and you think he’s never looked younger. His face is open. Hesitation and worry linger in Din’s dark road eyes reminding you of how secretly tender hearted this cowboy is.

Then Din nods so slowly, agreeing.

You almost choke on an inhale.

The sudden thought of picking between them has a fanged spike of anxiety rushing through you.

You didn’t want to pick. But, were you being selfish because of that?

Sensing your hesitation, or catching whatever emotions now flood your face, both cowboys now hesitantly move towards you.

“Talk to us, please.” Din softly urges.

Your voice cracks, tripping on itself annoyingly conflicted. But you manage to cough out that you don’t think you can pick between them. You don’t think you ever could and you’re worried your heart might not even handle it.

“Oh sweet baby,” Jack breathes out.

Suddenly the back of his hand tenderly strokes your cheek. Din gently glides his hand to your back and softly rubs you soothingly.

Your heart jumps into your throat at their sudden shift in affections.

“You don’t have to worry…or pick.” Din explains softly and with comfort.

Wait.

“You both…” you exhale shakily. “You two want me? Want us?”

For some reason, the notion of ‘us’ strikes you right then and there. That idea of you and them becoming an ‘us’ feels like the most natural progression in your mind.

Your best friend, when you told her about you and these cowboys, had cautiously asked if there was maybe a possibility of a poly type relationship happening. You immediately shot her down, not even wanting to think of the option.

But if you had been honest, a part of you started feeling guilty at the thought of wanting that. You enjoyed spending time with Jack just as much as Din. And you enjoyed spending time with them together.

Now you stand on the new ground of something beautiful waiting for you to step into.

“Sweetheart, hate to break it to ya…but we’ve been an us even before our dumbasses even realized it.” Jack snorts.

Din rolls his eyes and you snicker. But Jack is right.

Tentative date-like nights included Jack joining. Jack constantly invited both you and Din to his ridiculously lavish RV he used for the rodeo road trip days. That eventually led to days where you and Jack waited together for Din to finish. Or Din and you watching Jack practice. Din even began bringing his adoptive son over and Jack took to the baby like a fish to water.

This path you unknowingly had been on now is about to be crystalized before you and it warms every bit of your soul.

But a sharp fanged doubt suddenly gnaws at you.

“Wait,” your voice wavers. “This…this isn’t the alcohol talking right?”

Din sighs, shaking his head no but Jack answers first.

“‘Fraid not gorgeous. Been wanting this for a while.”

All worries get snipped and float out of your body leaving you so limitless.

Din leans to draw you into his side embrace and burrows his face against you.

“Sorry we didn’t discuss this sooner.” He mutters. “It all just…kind of happened.”

You understand and lean back against him. Din exhales shaky, soaked in a relief you can almost feel in your bones.

“Now, now, you two angels can’t go leavin’ out ‘ol Jack.” Of course Jack chimes in.

“Maybe it’s time we rethink this.” Din dryly comments and you laugh when Jack squawks out like a disgruntled crow.

But he effortlessly manages to borrow against both you and Din. It’s a little cluster, a soft clanging of bodies, but it’s cozy and feels right.

Someone yells outside the door laughing and your heart jumps.

“Whose office are we even in?” Din mutters out.

“Jimmy’s. Well technically mine too since I own the bar with him.” Jack casually drops.

Of course he did.

“And as cozy as it is here,” Jack adds gently. Both of their hands now intertwine against your hip.

“I say we move this little party somewhere nicer, like let’s say…my trailer?” Jack offers.

His RV is nice. Din’s is very spartan compared to Jack’s that had a full king sized bed and jacuzzi.

They truly are your sun and moon, so opposite and yet so beautifully brightening up your sky. A beautiful buoyant bliss fills you knowing you’re in their orbit, just as much as they’re in yours.

Din’s baby boy is a fidgety one. While he enjoys running around, he also loves to watch the world form anyone’s welcoming arms.

Which at the moment happens to be yours.

The baby chews happily on his favorite adorable stuffed longhorn plushie while the two of you enjoy the peace of the arena.

Without the noise, the yells and commotion of the crowd, or the sea of cowboy hats, the arena is strangely quiet, almost church-like in its own way. You understand now how it can even inspire a deep devotion.

After all, you see it through the eyes of two cowboys.

The baby happily shrieks and begins twisting in your arms. You turn to see what’s gotten his attention.

“Why howdy there my lil’ tumbleweed!” Jack warmly cries out and without hesitation scoops the sweet little boy into his arms.

The baby squeals in delight as Jack peppers him with kisses. Your heart melts at the sight.

“Don’t worry, didn’t forget about you too darlin’.” Jack winks and leans to kiss you soft now.

His mustache tickles your lips and you smirk. He also playfully and lightly smacks your bottom. You shoot him a look while Jack innocently shrugs.

“Our cowboy come out yet?” He asks.

You shake your head. Not yet. Din being ever the respectful man he is, allowed the others to use the practice bull first and took the last slot available for the practice times.

However, his team and the others arrive just as fast. Din steps out, the true silent assassin he’s regarded as. He’s memorizing to watch, so deeply focused and intense.

The baby now whines at being held and demands to be put down.

“Don’t worry I’ll watch him, you watch Din.” You reassure Jack while he places baby boy on his feet. The baby immediately waddles away, absolutely giddy to be free.

“Lil’ stinker.” Jack affectionately teases with adoration shining in his eyes.

Your eyes now watch the curious little babe you treasure so dearly. Behind you though, the training starts.

The clang of the chute being prepared and the commotion of the team getting ready fills the arena.

Then the alarm blares. The loud noise has the baby jolting in surprise. Before he can cry at the sudden noise, you quickly scurry over and swoop him back in your arms. You playfully press a loud raspberry against his sweet chubby cheeks and he giggles.

The noise of the ride erupts with the thrashing of the bull and the upheaval of the dirt.

Then, it’s all over.

“Attaboy!” Jack cries with a loud proud clap.

The baby, now fully distracted by the commotion, seems happy in your arms again as you approach Jack’s side.

Quickly your gaze goes to the arena to make sure Din’s alright.

“How did he do?” You ask about Din.

“Better! Still ain’t as good as yesterday's time but rides like these just help keep ya warm and flexible.” Jack explains.

With the bull settled, Din moves towards Vanth to discuss the ride.

Din draws his helmet up and already has so much sweat on his face. It’s unfair how handsome he is, rugged and adorably scruffy.

“Bweh!” The baby happily spots his papa and squeaks.

The noise causes all in the ring to turn towards where you three stand. Cobb Vanth grins kindly and Din’s eyes soften immediately spotting your little cheering group.

“Yeah lil cowpoke, you didn’t get to see how good your papa was, but he did great.” Jack coo’s as he softly smooths out the baby’s hair.

With a pat on the back from his manager, Din jogs over to you and Jack.

It’s unique, this new carved out existence of yours with them. But it’s beautiful and feels as if it’s always meant to be, like this has been in your veins long before you even knew.

Din reaches the edge of the ring and you and Jack shower him with praise. It’s adorable watching him get flustered at all the attention given to him, especially when you lean and Jack lean to kiss his cheeks.

“Seems like your ridin’s was a little rusty today though, cowboy.” Jack purrs. “Maybe we should all have a nice private lesson after this.”

“Hope those lessons aren’t with you. Last time you were out by the second count.” Din, like the surprisingly snarky man he is, effortlessly replies back as snatches the baby wiggling trying to for him.

Jack squawks hilariously upset and you snicker as your heart fills to the brim.

The arena is quiet, a sacred space that watches over all of you together like this. And it’s special, having this moment here with both of them.

You think there might not be many country songs about snagging two cowboys, but it’s okay.

You find this song in your heart feels eternal.

#omg first fic of the series AHHH and if you’re reading this know I’m seating you front row to this rodeo thank you forever #let’s rodeo fic series #cowboy din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x f!reader #agent whiskey x reader #Din Djarin x Reader x Jack Daniels #din djarin x you #Jack 🤎#Din 🩶#cowboys like us tag

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