#kingsman fic

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓

pairing: stripper!jack daniels x f!reader

genre: stripper AU, explicit, minors dni

word count: 4.2k

summary: frustrated by your everyday life, you seek solace at a male strip club. It's your first time and you're instantly mesmerized by the one that calls himself "Whiskey".

warnings: a mild start of a anxiety attack at the beginning, suggestive dancing, stripping, coming untouched, awkward moments, reader's first time at a strip club, unprofessional situations, mutual pining, sexual tension, use of good girl once

a/n: this idea was born whilst we were talking with @fuckyeahdindjarin about stripper!frankie and ofc since both of us are unhinged about a certain cowboy, the conversation steered naturally in the direction of stripper!jack ❤️‍🔥 I'd like to add that I've never been to a strip club and everything here (especially the dances) are born from me watching way too many male stripping tutorials and google searches, so it might not be %1000 authentic buuuuut hopefully it's fun nonetheless!

click for part two of the stripper!jack series

dividers by @firefly-graphics 💜

Your eyes are glued to the neon sign right above the bar. It flickers a bright pink, then purple, then red. In capital letters, it says: PEEP SHOW, and underneath it there’s a heart and in that, a keyhole. 

The music isn’t loud enough to leave you deaf, thankfully. You’re not sure you could’ve handled music blaring from the speakers like you were in a dance club. Make Up Sex by SoMo plays in the background, you gently sway with the rhythm refusing to look at the stage. The thumb of your right-hand traces over the knuckles of your left. You notice the bartender and tear your gaze from the sign.

He stands behind the counter, his presence radiating a magnetic charm. With a physique sculpted to perfection, he possesses an air of rugged masculinity. His hazel eyes hold a captivating depth, and his confident smile hints at a mischievous nature. As he moves with grace and confidence, he threads his fingers through his tousled chestnut hair.

“You look like you might need a drink,” he teases, his smile bright and comforting. “Anything I can help you with?” 

“Uh. . . a greyhound please?” 

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he replies, taking a step back as if about to leave. But then, he pauses, leaning in close. His breath gently fans your skin, a rush of excitement flooding your veins. “And just some friendly advice, try to relax. We promise we don’t bite,” he says with a wink and goes off to prepare your drink. 

You’re frustrated. Have you truly been that obvious? Who are you kidding— of course you have. You’re alone at a male strip club staring at the neon sign rather than the stage. Of course, they can tell you’re new here. You sigh and look around. The establishment is surprisingly neat. You notice a bachelorette party taking place not that far away from you, they seem to be having fun, screaming as a stripper sways his hips from side to side. He looks good. Chiseled abs, shiny chest, the whole thing shebang. 

Your heart sinks into your chest. You hate being alone and you’re so incredibly tired of it. Everyone you know is either busy or doesn’t care enough to spare you even an hour. It’s been two years since your last relationship and you swear the lack of company is eating you alive. It would be fine if you had a couple of distractions, like going out with friends maybe, but that proved to be an impossible ask. You’re not even sure why you’re so bothered. You do a lot of things alone. You enjoy your own company. Yet, for some reason seeing everyone together, having fun is more difficult today compared to other days. Your chest collapses on itself, your pulse quick under your skin. 

Suddenly it's very hard to breathe. 

You take short, sharp breaths, filling your lungs with the scent of musk and strawberries. 

Your chest continues to heave—Shit, are you about to have a panic attack in a freaking strip club? Now that will surely be in your top five most embarrassing moments. Nothing even happened, why are you feeling like this?

“You a’right there darlin’?” 

A voice smooth as honey reaches your ears. It curls around your body and keeps you still. Goosebumps flare across your skin, the small hairs that are scattered over the back of your neck standing with attention. Slowly, you turn. 

It’s one of the strippers, at least you assume it’s one of the strippers. He’s wearing a cowboy hat, a leather jacket, and some low-hanging jeans. He’s wearing a white mesh top underneath. You find yourself unabashedly gawking at him. You’re not sure how long you stare but you’re hoping it only lasted for a second. And if you’re really lucky, he wouldn’t have even noticed. 

In contrast to the other strippers you’ve seen so far, he appears slightly older with a softened stomach, yet possesses a lean physique sculpted by years of dance.

You swallow thickly, forcing your gaze back up. He’s clean-shaven except for a dark mustache, he’s smiling but you see a hint of worry in his gaze. Narrowing your eyes, you notice a small gold sticker in the shape of a star under his right eye. 

“I’m. . .” you swallow again and shake your head. You’re dumbfounded. “I’m okay, thanks.” 

The bartender places the greyhound you ordered, at the same time the stripper extends a hand, “Whiskey,” he says in a sultry way. You squeeze his hand and raise your eyebrows, your shake is a bit weak. 

“Whiskey?” you ask. He lets go of your hand and you bring it to your forehead, nervous laughter escaping you. “Oh, it’s your stage name. Of course.” 

His crooked smile is intoxicating, the tip of his tongue moves over his teeth. “My parents would have to hate me to name me ‘whiskey’ sugar,” he answers, rubbing his chin. A moment of silence follows as he thinks, ”Well, my real name ain’t any less embarrassing now that I think about it.” 

You want to ask him his real name but end up biting your tongue instead. You can’t ask him that, it would be rude, and even if you did you doubt that he’ll tell you. Pressing your lips tightly together, you drop your gaze to your drink. You curl your fingers around it. The sudden cold against your skin calming you. 

“First time?” he asks and you nod. “May I ask why you’re here then, so I can be of service?” 

That’s a good question. Why are you here? 

“I think to have some fun,” you mutter as you drag your thumb over the cool condensation. “I’m just. . .” you shake your head. “Nevermind, that’s stupid. Let’s just say I’m here to have some fun.” 

Whiskey observes you for a moment. His chocolate gaze taking in every detail of your expression. Are all strippers this attentive? you think, heat crawling up your spine. His hand slowly slides over the smooth bar until his fingers are gently resting above your wrist. You suck in a breath. His thumb moves over to the inside of your wrist, tracing the vein that pulses violently. 

“How about a private dance?” he asks slowly, as if you might bolt out the doors at any given second. “I promise to entertain you thoroughly, sugar.” 

You blink, “Really?” you ask instantly feeling foolish at the question. It’s a service he provides, that you will be paying for, of course he means it. Nonetheless, he seems amused by the question. He grins proudly, crowding your personal space. He tilts his head. Your fingers twitch around the glass and your eyes drop to his lips. 

Man, he’s dreamy. You’re starting to understand the appeal of these establishments. 

“Really,” he parrots back at you. “Follow me, darlin’.” 

With shaky legs, you do. 

The private room is a sanctuary tucked away from prying eyes. 

Your eyes follow the sumptuous drapes of deep velvet cascading from floor to ceiling. In the center of the room stands a circular stage much smaller compared to the one outside, its surface gleaming. Positioned in the middle of it, a solitary chair, adorned in lavish leather, and next to it a small table with a small remote on top. Whiskey closes the door as you enter and walks with confident steps. You stand awkwardly until he gestures towards the sole seat with his head. 

“Take a seat, sweetheart. Get comfortable.” 

“O–Okay.” 

You’re not aware of how close he is until you take a seat, he immediately follows, dipping low. He curls two thick fingers under your chin and tilts your head up, his gaze searching. 

“Tell me if anythin’ starts becomin’ too much, understood?” 

“Understood,” you squeak, cheeks growing warm. Without any hesitation, he starts the music. Acquainted by the Weeknd starts playing softly through the speakers. There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. The way he walks now is different from the way he walked when guiding you here. He saunters over to you, his shoulders rounding as he starts feeling the music moving through him. 

He stands in front of you, movements fluid and confident. You’re mesmerized by him.  He stalks even closer to you, and you feel the electric heat radiating off of his body. He slides his hands down your arms and you can't help but let out a little gasp. 

Whiskey continues to study your expression, He moves with grace and purpose, his body sliding and swaying sensually to the music. His hips rock back and forth in time, seemingly choreographed flawlessly. His hands glide down his body, tracing the contours of his definition before slipping up his torso. His movements are punctuated by smoldering gazes and slow, deliberate breaths. He rolls his shoulders, his leather jacket sliding to his elbows and falling to the floor a beat later. Your mouth waters. 

Suddenly, he turns and bends his knees, straddling your thighs. Your gaze drops, turning into saucers as you take in the sight of his tiny little ass. You exhale a sharp breath from your nose, nostrils flaring. He draws circles with his hips, nearly brushing against you but not quite, he gently holds your wrists, placing them in his inner thighs. His touch is feather-like and with two fingers, allowing you the chance to break free if needed. Your skin feels taut over your muscles, sweat building at your tailbone—he’s so close. You don’t even remember the last time you were this close to a man. It’s dizzying. 

Whiskey slowly extends his legs and slides your hands up, your fingers skim the apex of his thighs until he’s standing. 

Arousal builds between your legs, your lips a tight, thin line. 

Your hands are on his crotch. 

Oh god, you think you might actually faint. Wouldn’t that be fucking hilarious? 

Fuck he feels warm under your palms—

Scratch that, he feels big. 

He drops down as he rolls his hips, his body slides under your hands like a snake and your fingers move up his chest with the movement, feeling the mesh fabric and the firm chest underneath. Very inappropriately, your nails bite into his skin. If your eyes weren’t glued to this gorgeous man’s back, you would’ve missed the moment his hips stuttered, the smallest grunt echoing from the back of his throat. 

“Sorry,” you squeak, fingers twitching.  

“Don’t worry about it darlin’, just enjoy the show.” 

He stands back up again, guiding your hands down to his hips as he squats low. Before you know it, your hands are resting on his pelvis once more, feeling the underlying heaviness. He grinds forward, hefty bulge filling your palms. 

The music fades to the background. His steps in slow motion, he turns and straddles you normally, knees dipping as he raises his arms and grinds his hips towards you. Your breath catches in your throat. He’s so close. With his every move, you can smell the leather coming off of him, it takes you everything not to close your eyes and just inhale his scent. He steers your hands towards his ass, placing them against the firm mounds. 

You know that this is a strip show. You know that you’ll be paying him afterward—and tipping him generously. 

But, fuck, the way he’s looking at you shouldn’t be allowed. Something dark swirling in them, something ravenous. His smile is knowing, teasing, like he can read your mind and it’s unnerving. How does anyone leave this strip club not being a mess for this man? 

His fingers delicately trace the column of your neck, moving over to your shoulder and coming back. He’s observing you, eyes fixed on you as he searches for any kind of discomfort. Then he gradually wraps his hand around your neck. There’s no pressure and it feels slightly ticklish. 

He moves closer in tune with the music, his lips brush against your neck, your nipples tightening at the touch. He takes your hands and guides them up his chest and broad shoulders. His lips are barely touching yours and you can feel his softly blowing breath. He thrusts his hips, clothed cock nearly touching your chest, suddenly you’re holding your breath wishing nothing more than his touch. His ass flexes under your hand, firm and warm. 

Till this point, you were trying really hard to ignore how wet you’ve gotten. Subtly, you’re moving your hips, trying to add pressure to your throbbing clit. The wet fabric of your underwear grazes against the bundle of nerves, dipping between your wet folds. Your chest heaves and you swallow down a whimper. It’s been so fucking long since you’ve felt anything like this. Tension curls around your thighs and moves up to your stomach, arousal heavy between your legs. He must be used to this right? You can’t be the only one to get this worked up. 

Even if Whiskey does notice your weak attempts at relief, he doesn’t say anything. 

All your senses narrow on him as he kneels in front of you, the music dropping with him. With a wink, he takes your hands and guides them down his chest while leaning back to sit on his heels. Your hands slide down his torso, once again just shy in touching his length. With a body roll, he comes back up and grips the armrests of your chair, popping up into a bridge position. Your thighs are spread and he drops his head low, you swear you feel his breath on you before he slithers up again, lips nearly brushing the valley of your breasts. His face is an inch away from yours, only charm. He tilts his head, coming in closer as if he’s about to kiss you, then moves away again. 

You’re mortified when you find yourself instinctively chasing after his lips. 

He hums, the sound barely audible over the music, his smile never fades, “Good girl,” he mutters as his hands slide down to gently grip the back of your thighs. 

You’ve never been more aware of not touching someone in your life.

Whiskey pushes himself closer and lifts your legs. Despite the clothes that separate the two of you, you feel the sinewy fabric of muscle hidden underneath as your legs frame his narrow hips. He presses closer, positioning his length against you. You feel it. His cock throbbing and aching under those tight, tight pants. Your throat moves, the muscles in your jaw clenched. He grazes one hand up and up and up until the width of it rests over your hip. 

He continues his grinding, his jeans rubbing tantalizingly against your inner thighs. You feel his hardness through the thin fabric separating you; all you can think is how good it feels to have him there. His hands rub lazily across your hips, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Whiskey's hands snake up your sides, his fingers weaving through the flesh of your waist. His pelvis moves rhythmically against yours, each thrust accompanied by a low moan that you’re desperately trying to bite down. 

“You seem tense darlin’,” his breath is hot and heavy in your ear as he gently nibbles the sensitive lobe, tantalizing you further. “Could see it in your eyes as soon as I spotted you alone at the bar. Let go, sweetheart. It’ll be our little secret,” His hips sway in and out, sending shocks of pleasure through your body. You feel your breath catch and become labored, is—is he actually suggesting what you think he’s suggesting? 

God, you just don’t have it in you to care anymore. You’re too worked up, every touch feels doubled with the way he moves, smiles, and looks at you.

You can’t help but relax into his motions. He moves slower, teasing you as he coaxes your inevitable fall. He builds you up, and normally, you would bask in the relief that he would tear you apart soon enough—but the thing is. . . you two aren’t actually having sex. There’s a very high chance the build-up would last forever, that is, until the time was up. You’re being edged in the best way possible but you fear you might have a hearty breakdown if you can’t, as how he put it; “let go”. 

He must’ve sensed your worries because for the first time, his smile falters, brows furrowing with concentration. His eyes flit over yours briefly before cupping your chin and raising your head. You expect him to say something, anything—maybe call you his good girl again—but nothing escapes those lush lips. Your eyes drop to the divot of his bottom lip and he leans closer, cock fully moving over your puffy clit. Your teeth sink into the inside of your cheek. Your stomach bottoms out, there’s a faint buzzing in your ears as the pressure in you grows and grows until you feel it in the back of your eyes. 

Fuck—Are you about to come? 

Nonononononono—

Your body spasms in pleasure, an orgasm building from deep within you as the music and his body surround you. He smells of pine and leather and the scent assaults your lungs. Your insides begin to clench and your muscles carry on a delirious dance of its own as warmth starts to spread in waves throughout your body. Your toes curl and every nerve ending in your body is brought alive. You squeeze your eyes shut,  your breath quickens. You swallow down all the noises that threaten to spill out. All you can think of is how embarrassing this is, your cheeks are left burning, your orgasm washing over you in large waves against your better judgment. 

Whiskey barely slows, still rolling his hips with the guide of the slowing song. He does pull back eventually and you’re grateful for it. The inside of your mouth is dry, your eyes watered, the inside of your panties soaked. 

“S-Shit,” you whisper. “I’m . . . I’m—” 

He lets out a content sigh, if anything, he seems delighted by the whole ordeal. 

“Like I said darlin’,” he rasps, breath ghosting your lips. “This will be our little secret.” 

The music ends and you know your time is up. 

Hanging out at a strip club isn’t actually as mortifying as you thought it would be. 

After your first encounter with Whiskey, you thought you would never step into the glitter and glam of the club ever again. However, after a particularly tough day, you found yourself at the door once more. The bartender, who later introduced himself as Tequila, greeted you enthusiastically, and from that point on, you became a regular.

Despite being a regular, names were still off-limits, and you didn't mind. Everyone was entitled to their privacy, and it made it all the more special for the time when Whiskey might eventually reveal his real name, if that day ever came. You're still not sure where you stand exactly on the spectrum between being a customer and a friend.

You could never afford another private dance though, at least not if you wanted to have enough money for food this month. Nevertheless, you were content with just watching the performances, and seeing Whiskey entertain endless bachelorette and bachelor parties was always a delight.

And hey, surprisingly, Tequila made some killer iced coffees, which you greatly appreciated since you weren't the biggest drinker and a bit of a lightweight. The last thing you wanted was to get drunk with Whiskey around, as you had already embarrassed yourself enough. However, he was a man of his word. He never mentioned the incident that took place during his performance. In fact, he behaved as if it never happened. For a minute there, you even thought that maybe you had imagined the whole thing.

However, there were moments when he would simply give you a certain look, and in that instant, you knew for certain that he did remember.

“Here you go gorgeous,” Tequila says, pulling you from your thought as he places an iced coffee in front of you. 

Your eyes widen as you see whipped cream with a lavish cherry on top. 'Is there a special occasion I'm not aware of?'

He shrugs, “I was bored, it’s a slow night.” 

Thanking him, you turn in your seat. It was a slow night, with only a handful of people present. There was a couple seeking a good time and a couple of corporate-looking ladies. Whiskey was entertaining one of them, employing his Southern charm as he winked at the woman and tipped his hat. Over the passing days, you had come to recognize his dance choreography. It seemed he genuinely enjoyed what he was doing, which made you happy in return.

Sometimes you do wish you had met the man outside of these walls though. You can’t fight the longing you feel whenever you see him. Other than being ridiculously attractive —and knowing how to make a woman come without touching them— he was kind to you that day. He saw how miserable you were and tried to cheer you up. Sure, you were a customer, but still, he didn’t have to go the extra mile. 

You often thought about meeting him at a supermarket or something instead. Would he be as kind? Would he be as attentive? Maybe he wouldn’t even give you a second glance as he buys a box of cereal—you frown, when you think about it like that, maybe meeting him in a strip club wasn’t that bad after all.  

Whiskey's dance comes to an end and you have to fight every fiber of your being not to eat him with your eyes like a hungry, horny, wolf. You try to look disinterested, eyes moving to one of the other dancers. It’s too late though, his gaze catches your own. He smiles as he struts towards you. 

“How are you sweetheart?” he asks, pink tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “Is Tequila here treatin’ you well?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” You grin, gesturing to the whipped cream and cherry on top, as if it's obvious. His eyes drop to the fruit, glistening and wet. Without waiting for you to say anything, he picks up the fruit by the stem and sticks his tongue out. He catches the cherry with his lips, slowly drawing it into his mouth, and you watch, transfixed, as he chews. His jaw works over the cherry, then, a moment later, he shows you his tongue once more. 

On the tip of it, lays a neatly knotted stem. 

“Holy hell,” you whisper. “I should be mad because I was looking forward to that cherry but I’m too impressed.” 

With two fingers Whiskey calls for Tequila, “Get the pretty lady another cherry,” he says. 

“Show off,” the other man mutters but complies anyway. A quick moment later, there’s another cherry on a bed of white. 

You eye him warily, “You’re not gonna eat this one too, are you?” 

He laughs, “No darlin’. Don’t worry, enjoy your overly sweetened fruit.” 

Still not trusting him, holding it by the stem, you stick the cherry between your lips and quickly chew. He draws his brows together, “No show?” 

“If I was that talented with my tongue I wouldn’t be single.” 

“There’s more to relationships than a good tongue,” he answers. “I would know.” 

He’s single? 

You don’t know why the revelation shocks you, but it does. You didn’t want to assume anything based on his career choice and by personality alone, you didn’t really think he would be in the same boat as you. 

“You can act a little less surprised you know,” he teases, leaning against the bar with a curled lip. 

“S-Sorry, I just never thought you would be single you’re just so. . .” cutting yourself off, you press your lips together. He leans closer, teasing smile now shifting into a full toothy grin. 

“So. . . what?” he asks. His finger dips into the whipped cream, and he brings it to his lips, his deep gaze never leaving yours as he sucks it off slowly. “Dazzling, charming, talented?” 

Your throat goes dry and you have to swallow, “Well yes, all of those and. . . handsome.” 

“Compliments don’t get you a free dance, sweetheart,” he winks. “Just sayin’.” 

Your lips quiver, a hesitant smile curving your lips. Your cheeks warm under his gaze. 

Talking to him comes easy to you. You also enjoy his confidence, he knows he’s good looking and he doesn’t shame you for stating it, or make you feel less of a person for admitting. It’s freeing. Maybe that’s why you’re always visiting the club. He grants you a place to just be yourself, even if he does so intentionally or not, you appreciate it. 

“You, giving out a free dance?” you exaggerate every word, you mirror his movement and stick two fingers in the whipped cream. You bring them to your lips, savoring the sweetness. It’s subtle, but you catch the way his breath hitches. Your smile grows. “I never would expect such a thing.” 

“Good,” his voice drops dangerously low, almost sounding like a growl. Inching closer, his breath fans the side of your neck and you feel the rough scrape of his mustache against the shell of your ear. A whimper rattles your throat. “I would hate to be misunderstood.” 

He pulls back with a wink, he flashes you his canines, and drags his tongue over them. “See you around, sunshine,” he says, voice returning to normal. The words die in your throat as he disappears towards the back, presumably to get ready for his next show. 

You’re left staring, mouth agape. Flustered, you stir your iced coffee to feel the soothing sound of ice clanking around. 

You frown when you realize all the ice had melted.

Thank you for reading everyone! This one definitely tuckered me out but I think it ended up not being that bad?

Normally this was always going to be a two-parter but then the first part ended up being way longer than I intended (almost 8k) so I decided to split it into two chapters since didn't want it to be too long. Therefore, this little series will be three parts in total. I've written most of chapter two since it was meant to be a part of chapter one so it'll be out relatively quick!

That's it for now, sending everyone love and many hugs 💜

#jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x fem!reader #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x female!reader #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey fanfiction #kingsman the golden circle #kingsman fic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters

[misspearly1]

Day Ten: Creampie - Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels

Kinktober22 List

WC: 2.5K Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Jealousy from reader & Jack finding it hot. Soft Dom!Jack. Smut. Unprotected PIV. Creampie. Fluff. AN: Ok, for the longest time I was worried that writing for Jack would make me want more, and it has. I was correct to think that haha. I really enjoyed writing for think sexy southern man (it's the accents, it has to be lmao) and I can see myself writing more for him in future. Hope ya'll enjoy, my loves <3

-

Working as the assistant of a very important figure in the New York Statesman building isn’t all as glitz and glam as it sounds. 

You were chosen - amongst so many other, more suitable, candidates - to be Jack Daniels assistant. Apparently something about you in particular was so special that he just had to have you be his personal run-around; answering his calls, taking messages or patching them through, collecting his mail, organising his weekly schedule, grabbing his lunch or his coffee every hour of the damn day. 

Whatever it be that makes you excel in your job role more than others, all you really saw yourself as was Agent Whiskey's errand girl. That was until one day four months ago when the man showed what you really mean to him - which was more than you assumed at first. Jack saw you the very first day you arrived for your interview. You stood out from the crowd like a sore thumb, sitting amongst men and women who looked like they were fresh out of the modelling industry, while you looked a little nerdy. 

You wouldn’t say that you look nerdy, but just comparing your style to theirs, you were seriously lacking the sexy look, and during your interview - which wasn’t even hosted by Jack - they took one look over your resume and gave you the job on the spot. No questions asked, just stated the monthly salary, and it’s a lot, gave you a time and date to start then sent you on your merry little way. 

At the time, it felt like you were making a deal with the devil, as if there was a catch somewhere hidden in the contract, however after showing up to your first day of work and running around all day after Agent Whiskey, doing each and every normal errand that he could ask from an assistant, you quickly started to think you had struck gold instead. 

Then, as more and more time passed working alongside Whiskey and not under him, you grew a bond, a connection to him that felt odd at first but became something beautiful. He’s always been a gentleman, right from the beginning, which you appreciate a whole hell of a lot considering the horror stories you’ve heard from friends about their bosses being disgusting sleazeballs. 

So you therefore suppose that’s where your attraction to Jack began to blossom, just having the bare minimum of respect that you deserve. But it wasn’t just the bare minimum either, it was more. Jack included you wherever he could, asked for your help and opinions, though he kept you out of the physical side of his line of work, you spent a lot of time in his office, helping him crack cases - which wasn’t really a part of your job, but you enjoyed nonetheless. 

Jack gave you days off whenever something came up, drove you home or picked you up whenever you had car trouble, offered you to join him during lunch, or asked to join you, continuously praised your work efforts and still does, brought you along to work meetings, big social events or fancy dinners with the cities officials. You didn’t just get a job in the New York's Statesman tower, you joined the Statesman - joined the family. 

And for one whole week, when a woman arrived at the office, you felt like you were just Jack's run-around because of jealousy. You instantly became aware of your attraction for your boss during that week because you were jealous of the woman who was stealing his attention from you. Her presence made your work boring and what it should be in the first place, because Jack was too busy with her, instead of you. 

Unfortunately, the jealousy bubbled up the surface and your thoughts spiralled, tricking yourself into believing you were just Jack's little errand girl all along, that he was just sweet talking you enough to not see that you were his slave that does everything he asks - but that wasn’t true, none of it was. That woman that was ‘stealing’ all of his attention was named Ginger Ale. 

She flew in from another branch in a different state, bringing with her, a new shipment of upgraded tech and the reason she stayed for the whole week is because she has family here. And besides, Jack and Ginger Ale have worked with each other many times in the past, however he hadn’t worked with her since you joined, therefore you didn’t know about her. 

But it’s besides the point, your jealousy blinded you from seeing reality, blinded you from seeing the way Jack tried to include you on numerous occasions but you ignored them all through your stubbornness. You fucked up royally and even contemplated looking for a new job, over thinking the whole situation once again as you though Jack would hate you for your sudden change of attitude. 

However, you once again, could never have been more wrong. After thinking calmly and not with your insecurities, you took the right approach and talked to Jack, apologizing for your actions, explaining where they come from and why, then told him that however he likes to deal with it, you would understand. 

Jack dealt with it by bending you over his desk and fucking some sense into you all night long until sunrise. Then, like the gentleman he always was, he bought you a clean set of clothes and breakfast, then shared a long three hour chat detailing how he has always had a crush on you, that he understood why you reacted the way you did and he is absolutely not mad about it either. In fact, he even went as far as sharing that it was hot and turned him on like crazy. 

Though you blushed red like a tomato for a good chunk of that morning, feeling embarrassed for getting jealous in the first place, the man went above and beyond to banish you shame forever. He asked you there and then if you’d like to skip past all of the fuss around dating and just be his lady. And at that point, after spending half a year working alongside him, you pretty much already were his lady, therefore your answer was an immediate yes. 

This conversation with Jack took place four months ago now, and you’ve never felt more emotionally secure. Still working alongside him, more like his partner rather than his assistant, you’re a team now. And at the end every working day, he calls you into his office for your ‘reward’ for all of your hard work before heading home together. 

Even right now, as the clock nears the end of your shift, you can feel his gaze on you from his office. Though you don’t look up at him, you can just see in the corner of your eyes how he’s waiting to call you into his office. Your legs squeeze together at the thought, lips roll together to hide your blushing smile and your sex pulses with anticipation for your reward. 

“Babygirl.” Jack calls and your whole body shivers. His voice was dark and sickly sweet, making you yearn to hear him whisper all the loving phrases you adore directly into your ear. Turning your head to meet his wanton gaze, you smile upon seeing him leaning against his desk, legs spread slightly with one hand held over his thigh. “Yes?” You answer, pretending like you don’t already know what he wants. 

The man simply smirks in return. Although there was a softness to his expression, make no mistake, the feral look in his eyes speaks to you. Lifting his hand and beckoning you with a finger, you nod to him and pile up your paperwork on the desk before wheeling your chair backwards. 

Fixing your skirt as you walk towards him, you prepared ahead of time today and didn’t bother wearing any panties. Just to receive your reward easier. Now standing before him and between his legs, Jack reaches out and pulls you in by your hips, asking. “Busy day today, huh sugar?” 

“Yes. It was indeed.” You sigh breathily. Resting both your hands to his chest, you toy with his suspenders, skimming your fingers up and down the fine black leather. Smirking upon remembering how he used them last week to spank your ass, it caught Jack's attention and he asked what you’re thinking about. “Oh, just about how much you love me.” You shrug, happily. 

Upon feeling his warmth sighing breath bellow across your face, you lift your head and gaze into his deep brown eyes. The corner of his bearded lip turns upwards with a smile, looking down at you through half lidded eyes, Jack nods once. “I love you a lot.” He whispers, then shoots you a wink as you continue to play with the suspenders. He, too, was thinking about how he used them last week right here in this very office. “Ready for your reward, sugar?” 

“I thought you’d never ask.” Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you try to hold onto some dignity, but your giddy smile betrays you. Jack chuckles softly, then lifts his hand to hold your chin with his thumb and forefinger, gently pulling you in to close the gap. Full, natural pouty lips sealing over your with a light peck at first, you tilt your head to the side and part your lips, inviting him to deepen it, which he does. 

“Oh, babygirl.” He sighs into your mouth before slipping his tongue inside, swirling it around with your own. You whine from the sensation and your eyes close instantly, relishing the way he kisses you so passionately. Dragging your hands up his cotton shirt, your fingers slip underneath his jacket as you caress his shoulders with a massaging squeeze, the action drawing out a groan from him. Music to your ears. 

Dropping his hands to your ass, Jack begins bunching up the fabric of your skirt and grunts with surprise when he feels your bare sex against the pad of his fingers. You feel him smiling against your lips, delighted that you wore no panties today. After grabbing a satisfying amount of handfuls of your ass, he breaks for the kiss and looks down to his belt buckle with one raised brow. 

“Hm, allow me.” Humming, you take his silent request and lower your hands to untie his belt as he continues to grope your ass, his fingers slipping between your legs and touching your most sensitive area. It was distracting, causing your actions to be halted for a moment as he rubbed your clit. You sigh frustratedly, bucking against his hand while trying to open his pants. 

“So needy.” Jack teases in a whisper, smiling from the pleasurable distractions he was inflicting. After unlocking the flask shaped buckle, the Statesmen’s logo imprinted on the metal, you then move onto the zip of his jeans and pull it down, watching as his bulge pushes through the opening. “I am indeed.” You retort playfully, then palm his cock over the fabric of his boxers, your chest swelling with pride upon hearing his choked grunt. 

A few moments later, it became apparent that Jack was now the one feeling so needy as he swiftly turned you around, the action making you gasp out a giggle, excited for what’s to come. He pulls you into his lap, then lines himself up at your entrance and pushes only the tip inside. “Sit on it, sugar.” He asks, not so patiently. 

Leaning your head back to his shoulder, you lift your arm and wrap your hand around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss before sinking down on his cock ever so slowly. The stretch was intense, always, but you adjust very quickly and rotate your hips. “Jack…” You gasp into his mouth from the fullness of him buried deep inside of you. “I know, darlin’.” Is all he says in return, almost with a smug tone, as if he knew how good it feels for you. 

Moving his lips in sync with yours, Jack holds onto your hips like they were his own personal love handles, his fingers carefully digging into the flesh to move you back and forth off his cock. “Holy fuck.” You whine, breathing heavy ragged breaths into his mouth from his movements. 

Already clenching around him, your tightness draws out another choked grunt from his throat. Jack can be very vocal when he wants to be, but sometimes he holds back and just simply focuses on all of the pretty noises you make for him. “I w-want…” You stutter, tilting your face away from him to look down at your body. 

“Use your words, baby. Go on, tell me.” Jack whispers. Burying his chin into your neck, he, too, looks down at your body and feels you fighting against his grip on your sides. You take over. Squeezing your thighs together, you take control from him and start thrusting back and forth. “Oh, there you go, darlin’.” Jack praises directly into your ear, gritting his teeth from your quick, hurried movements. “There you fucking go, Y/N. Don’t stop.” He growls. 

Crying that you're close to him, Jack drags his hand down your stomach and slips his finger between your folds, locating your clit quickly. Your hand lands atop of his, holding him tightly as you toss your head back, mewling from the added stimulation. When he feels your legs shaking against his, he holds his free arm across your breasts, pinning you close to him as he bucks forward. “Jack!” You sob with the stars erupting behind your eyes. 

“Let it all out, sugar.” He groans into your neck, grinding into you with his own climax reaching its peak. Jack keeps his cock buried to the hilt, painting your pulsing velvety walls with ropes of his creamy white seed. “Fuck! That’s it.” Grunting with each last few rolls of his hips, he spills every last drop and places his lips to your ear, whispering shakily. “That’s it, Y/N. Take it all, baby.” 

Whimpering and writhing against him, he was still rubbing nameless shapes on your clit, overstimulating you and prolonging your high. It felt too good and quickly became too much. “H-honey.” You manage to blurt, shaking your head as you pull his hand away from your cunt. Resting now, you sit in his lap and steady your breathing. 

Jack wraps his arms around your front, kissing your neck softly to bring you back down from your high. “Did so well, sugar.” He praises, smiling against the skin between your neck and jawline "gotta keep it inside though, otherwise I'll have to full you up again."

"You say that like it's a bad thing, hon." You laugh softly, then let out the weakest whimper as you lift your hips, feeling his warmth escaping you. "Oops."

Tilting your face again to meet his gaze, you shudder under his smirking smile, giggle lightly at the sight of his dark, dreamy eyes, filled with fire and lust. "Oh, I see. You want more." He says while ever so carefully grinding his hips, making an absolute mess of your cunt as his cum oozes out of your entrances. "I'll give you more, sugar but first, what do you say, hm?" He groans a question.

 “Thank you -" You release a heavy sigh, a sound mixed with amusement and exhaustion that satisfies Jack. "- thank you for my reward, baby."

-

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[tommysversion]

Tennessee Nights: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x AFAB!Reader

Part Two: The Hayloft

Summary: Jack makes good on his promise to show you the barn… and the hayloft.

Warnings: adult content / dirty talk / smut with plot / sloppy oral (m!receiving) / spanking / choking / restraints if you squint / hints of D&S dynamics / unsafe sex (reader has an implant but no condom is used) / implied age gap but it’s not explicitly defined / tooth rotting fluff / soft Jack / praise / light degradation

Masterlist || Index: 1

The sunlight streams in through the glazed windows, illuminating your face as you sleep. Jack brushes his messy curls out of his eyes as he enters his room, small tray balanced on one hand, laden with two mugs of coffee, a small jug of milk and a bowl of sugar cubes.

It’s not often he has someone stay overnight, and even less often that he’s polite enough to offer coffee. Usually his lovers are gone before he’s woken up, but he made sure he woke before you. He promised you coffee, after all.

The smile that creeps, unexpected, across his face as he watches you stir, roll over sleepily with your hand reaching out to his side of the bed, frightens him slightly, but he buries that fear deep down inside as he crosses the room just as you’re sitting up, the blanket tugged up around your chest as you blink sleep from your eyes.

“Hey there, darlin’. How’d you sleep?” He sets the tray down on the side table, impulsively presses a kiss to your forehead. It’s just a hookup. It’s not like he’ll see you again after today, unless he wants to, so it gives him a feeling of control over the situation. A feeling he desperately needs, when he feels so afraid of how easily he gives you affection.

“Hm, really really well,” you admit, wriggling your toes as you wake up.

“I’m glad. How do you like your coffee? Milk and sugar?”

You nod, smiling softly as you watch him fix you a cup, pass it over to you. You take it with a quiet thanks, hold it in both hands and blow gently on it, inhaling the hot coffee scent.

“Smells good. Did you add something to it?” You swear you can smell spices in the coffee, but nothing overpowering. You take a little sip and make a pleased sound of approval. He grins.

“Allspice. Cinnamon, nutmeg, that’s all.” He shrugs one shoulder as he dumps three sugar cubes into his own cup, stirs it, takes a sip. “Were you still interested in seeing the barn?”

You nod eagerly.

“Can I?”

“Of course, darlin’, wouldn’t have brought it up if it wasn’t okay. We should take a shower first, though.”

You drink your coffee in companionable silence, then you get out of bed, gather up your underwear, shorts and shirt, put them on the bed, then follow Jack into the bathroom where he gets a shower going.

Under the warm water, he rubs your aching shoulder muscles, pulls you against his chest and exhales softly as you wrap your arms around his waist.

When you look up at him, he leans down, presses a gentle kiss to your lips, then the corner of your mouth, humming to himself as he does so.

You’re not usually the kind of person who showers and cuddles with a hookup, but he’s different somehow. Draws a side of you out that’s been long neglected. And besides, it’s nice. Being held, the warm water, the easy smile he gives you when he grabs you a big soft towel out of the linen closet.

You’re towelling your hair dry and wandering back into the bedroom when he looks at the outfit you had been wearing the night before; shorts, boots, a shirt that had made your tits look amazing but is going to be too thin for day wear.

As you’re buttoning your shorts, Jack taps you on the shoulder and passes you a plaid shirt.

“Here. You’re gonna get cold otherwise.” He’s dressed similar to the night before; jeans, cowboy boots, a t shirt that clings to his biceps, dark blue this time, and a leather jacket thrown haphazardly on over it.

You take the shirt, give him a little kiss on the cheek as you pull it on. The shirt smells like him, like the soap he uses and a cologne that has an almost spiced scent to it. It reminds you of the liquor you tasted on his tongue last night, of the spices he’d put in the coffee.

Jack waits for you to finish dressing, empties the bowl of sugar into his pocket before he leads you out of the room.

“Thank you.” You beam at him and follow him out of the bedroom, down the stairs. The house is even more beautiful in the daytime, well lit and with a lived in, country aesthetic. Any hint of wealth is subtle; there’s nothing about the place that screams money, though you’re aware he must have it.

“Hm, keep it. The color suits you.” He throws you an easy smile over his shoulder as he snags his hat off the hook by the door, leads you out onto the porch, across the driveway and into the paddock that separates the house and driveway from the barn.

Most of the cattle are out already and grazing; the younger horses splashing in the man made pond - it’s too small to be a lake - enjoying the mild weather. You watch them for a moment as you draw closer to the barn.

“C’mon in.” He opens the side door and leads you inside. It’s exactly like you pictured, old school, a few stalls open which you assume usually house the animals that are currently enjoying the sunshine.

“Someone you should meet, I think.” Jack leads you to the stall under the stairs to the hayloft, where an enormous dapple grey draft horse is nosing eagerly into her feed bag. Beneath it, a brass nameplate reads “Mayday” with a ribbon pinned beside it.

“Oh, Jack, she’s beautiful!” You vaguely recall seeing mustangs in the paddock, beautiful creatures you’re certain would win prizes at the rodeo, but it’s this giant of a creature that’s captured your attention.

He grins at your reaction.

“Yeah? You want to pet her?” He pulls a couple of sugar cubes from his pocket, then laughs when you give him a ‘what-do-you-think-dude?’ look, tossing you a couple of sugar cubes.

“Give her those and she’ll love you forever.” Jack leans towards overly masculine, to the point of toxic at times, but animals are his soft spot; sure, he has his mustangs, fiery energetic colts who win him prizes - and the attention of plenty of people- but Mayday was a rescue, an already middle aged former work horse who he’s rehabbed and settled into his barn as her retirement home.

You’re careful in how you approach her, palm open and out, so she can smell you first. Clearly she likes what she sees, or at the very least decides you aren’t worth biting, and accepts the lumps of sugar while you cautiously run your fingers through her neatly brushed mane.

“I get the stable hands to help with the mustangs, wild bastards that they are, but I do all of Mayday’s care myself. Course, they do the feeds too, so she’s not lonely.” Jack isn’t sure why he’s telling you this, worried it comes out too much like a brag, either about his money or that he does bare minimum, but you don’t take it that way at all.

“Aw, she’s lucky then, she gets all your attention.” You glance over to him, where he’s leaning against the stall door frame, watching you, before you look back to Mayday, who looks at you with big brown eyes, as though appraising you.

“Don’t worry,” you tell her softly, “I’d want to be his favourite, too.”

The smirk on his face is positively smug as he pretends not to have heard you, but you both know better.

“Hey, sugar, you reckon you want to see that hayloft now?” He doesn’t bother trying to hide his intentions behind anything; very aware of what he’d promised to do to you last night. Still, he’s giving you the option to say no, not wanting to assume.

You pretend to consider for a moment, just because you’re afraid of seeming desperate.

“Sure, I reckon I do.”

He gives you another lopsided smirk as he leads you back out towards the wooden stairs that go up, pausing only to grab a thick blanket from a storage chest. As you follow him up the stairs, your mind wanders back to last night, to how damn good he had felt, buried snug to the hilt inside you. The low groans that had torn out of him as he had watched you fall apart on top of him. The way he had let you think you had any sort of control, before he had slid his fingers into your ass and made you squirt all over that ridiculously delicious cock of his.

You’re absolutely dripping by the time you get to the top of the stairs, finding yourself in a standard hayloft, a few bales built up in walls and piles, strewn in an almost carpet across the floor. Jack wastes absolutely zero time in spreading the blanket out into the waist-high hay pile, making it into a sort of makeshift bed before he pulls you flush against his chest and devours your mouth in a greedy kiss.

You run your hands up his chest, loop your arms around his shoulders to pull yourself closer. Without breaking the kiss, he tosses his hat onto the hay pile, freeing up his hair for you to run your fingers through, using it to pull him right in.

“Darlin’, you gonna get any more eager for me? Bet if I slide my hand into these sinful shorts of yours I’ll find you absolutely drenched~” his hand slides down to cup your ass for a moment before it dances across to pop the button of your shorts.

You don’t stop him, don’t make any attempt to argue with him, give him a little smirk when he slips his hand into your panties, finds you just as soaked as he had hoped. Instead of an answer, you wriggle so you can step out of the shorts and panties as he yanks them down, kick off your boots and eagerly run your hand across the hard length of him in his too-tight jeans.

Jack growls into your mouth, pulls your newly acquired plaid shirt off and tosses it to the ground with the rest of your clothes; your thin undershirt from the night before and your bra soon join it.

He takes a moment to run his hands all over you, before he steps back and nods towards the makeshift bed in the hay.

“Make yourself comfy, sugar.”

You do as you’re told, boost yourself up into the pile of hay, stretching out lazily on the blanket, gaze heavy with desire as you watch him slowly shrug out of his leather jacket, strip off that too tight shirt.

“You see something you like, huh?” He grins at you, watches as you chew your bottom lip as you stare without shame.

“Maybe.” You grin right back, look him up and down, spreading your thighs a little to give him an excellent look at your dripping core.

He inhales sharply, watches you with his hands halfway through undoing his belt, gaze darkening with desire.

“Get on your hands and knees for me.” It’s a low, gravelly demand, but you respond to it almost immediately. “Good. Fuck, darlin’, look at you. Now come here.” He beckons you with one finger and you move, crawling on your hands and knees like he demands, until you’re sitting before him.

Jack looks down at you, on your knees for him, and tugs the zip of his jeans down, roughly palming at his aching cock before he draws the length of it out, a slight smugness to his expression when he sees your eyes go hazy with lust.

“You remember how nice this cock treated your tight little pussy? Fuck, she was so drenched for me, can’t wait to feel her again.” He drawls as one hand reaches out to knit into your hair, guiding you closer.

Your lips part automatically for him, let him feed the soft head of his cock into your mouth; taking him inch by inch until your nose is pressed into the soft curls at the base of him.

He groans, long and loud, rocks his hips slightly. If he’s honest, he half expects you to gag on him, but you’re stubborn, force yourself to take him, relaxing your throat.

“Fuck, hon, look at you. Such a pretty sight.” Jack looks down at you, on your knees for him, taking his cock into your throat and letting him take charge. He rolls his hips again, watches tears spring into your eyes as you suck him. His thumb moves to catch a stray one and you moan around him, working your tongue around the thick length of him.

Eventually, he draws back, pulls out of your mouth with a contented little groan, watching you settle back on your knees for a moment.

“Lay back for me, darlin’, get comfy.”

You do as you’re told as he crawls on top of you, pulling those too tight jeans down on his way, until he’s caging you in beneath him with his solid arms, leaning down to devour your parted lips. You’re eager in the way you kiss him, mess up his hair, moaning into his mouth when he presses his knee between your thighs, teasing your soaked core.

You can’t help it - you start to grind against his thigh, working yourself up.

“Ain’t even gonna have to do anything to get you ready at this point,” Jack huffs with a grin between kisses that are all tongue and desire. You shake your head, completely in agreement, and he laughs before he moves to settle himself between your legs properly, leaning in to notch the thick head of his cock at your soaked entrance.

Then… he stops. Right there, with just the tip of his cock inside you, taunting you. You make a desperate little sound, staring up at him.

“Beg.” He looks down at you with darkened eyes, pupils blown wide with lust. When you don’t answer right away, his gaze just gets darker.

“Beg me for it, darlin’, or we’ll stay here like this all fuckin’ day, you don’t wanna test my self control, I guarantee I’ll win.” He rocks into you ever so slightly, pressing maybe half an inch further inside, before you find your words.

“Please? Need it, need you~” you can feel yourself getting wetter around him, tightening around barely anything, desperate to be filled up by him once more.

“C’mon, sugar, you can do better than that. Use that pretty mouth.” Still, he rewards you, feeds another inch of his cock into your heat, making you whimper, drag your nails up his arms and settle on his back.

“Jack~” it comes out as a drawn out whine, and he smirks, a fiendish, lopsided smirk as he looks down at you wriggling beneath him, trying to get him deeper inside.

“All you gotta do is ask.”

“I am asking!” You huff, frustrated, “what, you want me to lay here and beg you to fuck me into this hay pile?”

He lays a sharp swat to your ass with his bare palm. You hiss out a moan, uncertain whether you like it or not.

“That would be a good start. And don’t be a fucking brat.”

You dig your nails into his shoulder blades and look up at him again with a somewhat needy expression; he’s right, his self control is far better than yours, and that spank has done something to you.

“Please, Jack, want your cock, want you to fuck me, feels so good, you feel so good.” You beg him. You’re just about to wonder whether that was enough, whether you went too far, when he seizes your wrists and pins your hands above your head with one hand, the other bracing himself as he moves, plunging to the hilt into you in a single movement.

You scream for him, arch your back up as he lays an open mouthed kiss to your throat, nipping at the sensitive skin there before he pauses, gives you a moment to adjust to his size.

“There you go, sugar, wasn’t so difficult, was it?” He rolls his hips almost lazily, keeping your wrists pinned in place. You wriggle experimentally, but find you can’t move at all. “Now, hon, you got a safe word?” Jack looks down at you, still full of lust and dark desire, but entirely serious now.

“Finite.” You say automatically, but you hope you won’t ever have to repeat the word.

“Good girl. Now you just remember that, ‘cause I’ve got some plans for you.” He starts to rock his hips again, slow at first, drawing himself almost entirely out of you before he plunges back in again, harder and faster each time until he’s pounding into you, the hand that isn’t pinning your wrists in place gripping tight to your hip to keep you in place.

“Ohhh, fuck, right there~” you moan it as he hits your sweet spot, over and over again, before he pulls out of you, releases your wrists.

“Turn over.”

You scrabble to obey him, wriggling your wrists to get some circulation back before you flip over onto your front, using your arms to brace yourself as he nudges your legs apart, lays a bruising spank to each ass cheek before he’s gripping your hips and dragging you back onto his cock.

You arch downwards, the new position even better than the last; it allows him to hit your sweet spot without barely trying, the sharp slap of his hips hitting your ass filling the hayloft as he drills into you.

One hand releases your hip, slides up your body, pausing only to tease at your clit for a moment, squeeze the curve of your tits, before his hand lightly circles your throat and presses.

“Fuck~ oh my god~” you moan, tightening around him at the slight pressure to your throat, drawing a dark little chuckle from his lips.

“Oh, you like that, do you?” He squeezes your throat again, still gentle, but enough for you to feel as he pounds into you from behind, pulling you up so your back is against his chest, allowing him to get deeper. You moan in answer, loud and drawn out, cunt tightening around him again but still not giving you the release you’re so desperate for.

You aren’t sure which you loved more; riding him with his fingers buried knuckle deep in your ass, keeping you so, so full of him, or this, being fucked into the closest soft surface, his grip on you hard enough to bruise.

He bites down on your shoulder, sucks the sensitive skin, hard enough to leave teeth marks and a deep purple bruise, still rutting up into you like a man possessed.

“C’mon now, babygirl, lemme hear those sweet sounds,” he growls it into your ear, and you oblige him, gasping and moaning for him as his hand tightens around your throat, cutting off your air supply for a few moments before he releases you, letting you breathe freely again.

“Such a good girl, bet you’d just take anything I gave you, huh? Shit…” he groans, pulls out of you again so he can put you on your back once more, hooking one leg up over his shoulder before he sinks back into you with a satisfied moan.

“You better cum for me, sugar, ain’t gonna last much longer, look at this pretty cunt, and fuck, darlin’, these tits~” he leans down to suck on your nipples, groaning in satisfaction as he does, at the way your hand immediately flies to his hair.

“Look at you. Perfect little slut for me, can feel how much this sweet little cunt wants to cum for me. Go on. Cum. For. Me.” The last three words are punctuated with hard, deep thrusts that make you scream for him once more, feeling yourself tighten around him before you entire body shakes beneath him with the force of your climax.

He fucks you through it, hard and fast, slowing slightly as you come down the other side, sweat damp curls falling into his eyes as he keeps a steady pace.

“There you go, sugar, look at that, such a good girl, that was perfect.” He groans again, leans down to press a sloppy, needy kiss to your lips before he seizes your wrists once more, pins them above your head. This time his grip is a lot more relaxed, but you make zero attempt at moving, enjoying being at his mercy as he fucks into you, clearly chasing his own release now.

“Fuck, Jack, wanna feel you…” you beg him, drawing a growl from his chest as he moves, harder and faster, grinding into you with each thrust, the soft curls at the base of his cock teasing your clit, drawing you close to a second release.

“Cum with me, darlin, let me feel you again,” he pants into the soft skin of your throat as he plunges deep, grinds, lifts your hips one handed to get you into a better position; that’s what does it, you scream his name as you fall over the edge once more, shaking beneath him as he slams into you half a dozen times before he groans loudly, grinding his hips against yours as he spills inside you, a seemingly endless stream of his spend filling your waiting, needy cunt.

“Fuck, fuck, there we go, look at you, takin’ me so well, such a good girl~” he leans down and kisses you, hard and fast, before he releases your wrists, keeping himself propped up on his elbows even though he’d love nothing more than to just collapse on top of you.

It takes him a moment to catch his breath, before he rolls to the side and pulls you into his arms. You can feel his cum and your own slick dripping out of you, down your thighs, but you don’t care in the slightest, distracted by the warmth of his arms.

“Been a while since anyone choked me,” you tell him finally, tracing little circles on his chest with your fingertips.

“Didn’t hurt, did it?” Jack asks, mildly concerned; he knows he can get intense, had been restraining himself as best he could.

You laugh, then give him a reassuring smirk. “It didn’t hurt. Wasn’t expecting it, but I liked it.”

He grins at you, stretches languidly before he sits up. “Good. Maybe you’ll let me do it again some time. And if not? Well, you can always come visit Mayday instead.”

You look him up and down, from the sweat damp curls sticking to the nape of his neck, to the soft hint of muscle in his arms, to his slowly softening but still impressively gorgeous cock, and smirk at him.

“I’d like that. All of it.” You reach for him, and he lets you, holding you close and laying back on the blanket, enjoying the morning sun as it streams through the wood of the barn and warms your skin.

“Yeah? I’d like that, too.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and relaxes; he’s got nowhere to be, and right now? There’s no other place he’d rather be than here.

#my writing #my fics #pedro pascal #jack whiskey daniels #Tennessee Nights Masterlist #rue Tennessee Nights #Jack Whiskey Daniels x Reader #Pedro Pascal characters #Pedro Pascal character fic #Agent Whiskey #Agent Whiskey x Reader #Kingsman fic #Pedro Pascal x Reader

[thosewickedlovelies]

Get or Get Got

Jack Daniels x F!Reader x Javier Peña

Summary: Jack Daniels, having benefitted from much therapy, retires early from Statesman and founds Jack’s Ranch and Wellness Center, a therapy ranch open to all but specializing in people like he once was: former military or government agents, struggling with living a normal life again. Javier Peña, working on his father’s ranch after trading in his own harrowing career, has a vision of his future there in Tennessee. Can it be possible that such a place isn’t too good to be true? Javier intends to find out.

Tags: oblique (Narcos canon-typical) references to drug trafficking; otherwise no warnings! I think technically this should count as a rated Teen story, especially since the rating will go up later, but for now anyone can enjoy.

Words: 3390

Note: OMG WOW HII and welcome to the official first installment in the rancher boys fic universe!!! These three and their ranch have taken over my brain (and my blog), and I hope you find as much enjoyment in their story as I have :)

I think I’m gonna try to do a fun thing with chapter names for once, and name them all after cowboy sayings or other relevant idioms. This one is inspired by the saying “Sometimes you get and sometimes you get got.”

Masterlist

Javier Peña is not a nervous man by nature. He doesn’t hem-haw or agonize over which path to take; he reviews all the evidence available to him, and makes a decision. There’s no point in sitting around biting your nails; you either do the thing or you don’t. In his line of work, hesitation got people killed.

In his former line of work, that is. Hunting down drug kingpins who got a little too comfortable on the wrong side of the law, blinded by their bloated sense of self-importance. Dangerous work, his life’s work- until he quit. Too much politics, people in suits manipulating the world to the shape they wanted, regardless of the law or consequences. Irrespective of any set of morals Javier could discern. 

So he got out. He had done his due, made an impact. No one could say otherwise. Javier knew this for himself. He had a few regrets- but he knew that if he stayed, he’d have more.

Which is how he ended up here, fingers drumming against the steering wheel of his rental car and boots tapping dust all over the floor.

Hem-hawing.

The visitor’s outpost of Jack’s Ranch and Wellness Center wasn’t far from the main set of barns. Javier could smell the manure from here.

He ran through the debate in his head again. Why check in to the center as a patient instead of outright inquiring about a job? 

Just in case.

Oh, this place had glowing reviews. Former military or government agents like him who came home different, traumatized, fearing they’d never be able adjust to civilian life again, humbly and frankly thanking Jack and his team for giving them the tools they needed to recover. Farm and psychology professionals alike praising Jack’s methods and everything the ranch does. 

But you never knew what truly happened on the inside. That is why Javier is here, preparing to go undercover one last time- to ensure that this place is really worth it.

A pleasant chime sounds as he opens the door. To one side is a section that looks like a standard tourist shop- some Tennessee-related kitsch, a drinks cooler, a selection of what are probably “local crafts”. To the other is an open space with small clumps of waiting room chairs, likely for discussions with the smiling woman who’s rising from behind the counter.

“Welcome to Jack’s Ranch and Wellness Center, how can I help you?”

--

Javier coughs as a breeze blows the scent of manure to him, stronger now than it was an hour or two ago, before he’d been stuck inside with counselors to appease and forms to fill out. He was pretty sure he’d passed with them, but apparently Jack Daniels approved every admittant personally- Javi’s tour would be the final hurtle. 

He surveys the expanse of land as he waits. Much of the setup is familiar to him- he’d grown up on a ranch, after all. His father would approve of the tall fences, the brightly painted signs and buildings. Their family’d had to put most of their work budget toward functionality, not aesthetics. It looked like that wasn’t the case here.

Javier feels another pang of guilt for leaving his pop in the middle of their trip. But one glimpse of Jack Daniels’s setup at that farm expo had been all it took. Once he’d looked past the head rancher’s ridiculously spangled getup, he’d seen the encouraging gestures, the trust and confidence that he clearly inspired among his team. Javi had googled their logo and the idea had wormed into his brain and built a home and a career plan. 

“Javier Peña?”

Javi snaps to attention.

Jack Daniels. The man himself is striding towards Javier, long, tightly-pantsed legs eating up the ground. The clinging denim is a darker shade than that of his jacket; the white t-shirt beneath the jacket is tucked in. Who wears white to do ranch work? His belt buckle is big and shiny, but Javier doesn’t have time to study it before Jack reaches him, smile glinting twice as bright.

“Well, it’s nice to meetcha.” He extends his hand.

“Likewise,” Javi says.

Christ, there’s enough twang in Jack’s accent to make a banjo jealous. But his handshake is firm, and while his shirt is pristine, his cowboy boots are well-worn, and rings of dirt under his fingernails leave no doubt that he participates in the dirty work.

Jack is already offering effusive words of welcome, but Javi is only half-listening, absently flexing his hand to the ghostly rasp of Jack’s calluses. His attention is torn between Jack’s spiel and his person- there’s an honest-to-god lasso hanging at his hip, which he casually rests a hand over when he shifts his weight. It’s a movement so thoughtless that Javi immediately clocks it as second nature- Jack is as used to wearing that lasso as Javi is to tucking his gun in the back of his jeans.

“It’s not for show,” Jack says, amused.

Javier realizes he was staring, a second too late to have heard the end of Jack’s speech. “Uh-”

“It gets a lot of questions, especially from bolder folk,” Jack continues, sparing Javi the humiliation of a bumbling excuse. “But I only use it on humanfolk if they’re bein’ real naughty.” 

Jack winks, an easy grin turning up one corner of his mustache.

And Javi just keeps staring, because how often is the head of a therapy ranch a stunningly handsome, cowboy hat-wearing personality who winks at his potential wards?

“...Right,” Javi finally mutters. For an utter lack of anything else to say.

Jack straightens up, affecting a businesslike air again. “Well, what are we standin’ around for? There’s work needs doing! Let’s get on with your tour.”

–

Jack greets no fewer than five separate people before they even reach the second barn. All by name, all with genuine, eye-creasing smiles and claps on the shoulder. Javier watches silently, nodding politely when he’s introduced as a “future newbie” with an almost-touch and yet another wink.

“You let me know how that trick works out, y’hear?” Jack calls after the latest ranch hand.

The man (boy, really, wide-eyed and appearing fearful of rebuke simply for not yet being perfect at his new job) is hustling off to follow Jack’s recently imparted advice. The finer details of dairy barn tech went a bit over Javier’s head, but his eyebrows had raised at the expertise apparent in Jack’s answer. For some reason, despite the dust on the brim of his hat, Javi didn’t expect Jack to demonstrate such nitty-gritty knowledge. Javi had gained his own experience through lessons with his father; he wondered where Jack had learned.

“...Right,” Jack is going on, holding open the door to a third building, an “administrative outpost” and employee space. It must have been the original house on this land- Jack leads Javi through wide open rooms whose wood floors soak up the sunlight from windows on every side. Comfy-looking, mismatched furniture abounds, as do what Javi guesses are personal decorations from the employees- inside jokes that he has no hope of understanding. In the fully-equipped kitchen, a coffeepot whirs and spits, filling the room with its invigorating fragrance.

“I don’t like to overwhelm folks too fast, so we’ll take a little break here. There’s snacks in the cabinets, usually some drinks in the fridge, and it appears someone has so kindly put the coffee to brewin’ for us.”

Jack looks about to say more, when a ringtone trills from his chest. Before Javi has finished reflexively patting his pockets, Jack is excusing himself, whisking the phone from a panel inside his jacket.

“Ginger, darlin’, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Jack’s voice trails away as he strides out of earshot, boots clocking decisively on the wooden floorboards.

Javi’s thoughts snag on the appearance of the sleek phone in Jack’s hand. Something about it kept the sight running on a loop in his head…what was strange about it?

He’s too weary too figure it out. Javi slumps down at the kitchen table, immensely relieved to have a moment’s silence. His arms will be a fine pillow until the coffee is done brewing…

He reacts to the footsteps a beat too slow. “Oh! Sorry-” a feminine voice begins.

Javi all but jumps to his feet, nearly launching the chair across the tiles behind him. Clearing his throat, he straightens, attempting to look more alert than he feels.

“I heard Jack’s voice, so I thought you’d be him, but you’re not.” Your laugh is light and apologetic. “I don’t think we’ve met before. Are you new?”

You don’t look like any ranch hand Javi has ever seen. Like a deity sprung from the earth, maybe. Mud speckled on your graceful arms and eyes that remind him of an open field. But your boots are clumped with dirt and there’s an ID badge clipped to your belt, so you must belong here.

“Uh, yeah. Soon to be, anyway.”

“Oh, is Jack giving you the tour? No wonder you were about to pass out.” You laugh again, this time genuinely, and Javier finds his mouth automatically turning up in response. “Jack’s great, but he can be…energetic. You get used to it. But I won’t interrupt your nap.”

Eyes dancing with amusement, you return to your original quest. Mugs clink in one cabinet, bags of chips crinkle in another. Once you’ve retrieved creamer from the fridge, you turn to the now-silent coffeepot.

Javi sinks slowly back down in his seat, keeping a surreptitious eye on you. He wonders how many ranch hands here are women- and how many of them are the psych-certified. You don’t wear the green bandana Jack had indicated on the first person they met earlier. Other practical questions strike him all at once- will he be able to sneak booze into this place? Are admittants allowed to hook up?

Maybe he should have hem-hawed for longer.

Your phone dings, but only once you’ve finished doctoring your coffee do you pull it out. The bottle of creamer sweats on the counter while you scroll. At the sight of your clearly habitual motion, Javier realizes what it was about Jack’s phone that bothered him.

It wasn’t real. There wasn’t a brand or model like it on the market- only hypothetical designs that Javi remembers seeing in slideshows from his time as an agent. Tech that only the richest- or shadiest- people have.

What the hell shady activity could Jack Daniels be covering up with a therapy ranch?

“Sweet-talker!” Jack reenters the room, every inch of him lighting up at the sight of you. His eyes crinkle. He seems to forget about Javi entirely, all of his attention wrapping around you like an intimate hug.

“Jack.” You give him a warm smile in return. Something in the quirk of your lips makes Javi wonder what he’s about to witness.

“Haven’t seen you in a few days, Silver. You been hidin’ from me?” 

“No, just busy with the new alpaca. Her last owners definitely weren’t very nice to her, but I think I’m making progress.”

So you’re the resident…what, animal whisperer? Javi supposes that explains Sweet-talker. And Silver, for silver-tongued?

Jack’s gaze never leaves you. He hangs on your every word with fond eyes and a permanent half-smile. As if he knew he didn’t need to hear your words to enjoy them- the fact that they were from you was enough for him to be content.

Finally you lift your mug to your lips again, using it to hide your amusement. “Aren’t you going to offer your guest a coffee, Jack?”

A jolt of guilt straightens Jack’s spine- although he keeps his gaze on you for a second longer before turning. 

“Well, a’course!” When Jack faces Javi again, he’s beaming that charming, megawatt smile, no trace of annoyance or guile to be found. 

You slip Javi a sympathetic, knowing expression as you leave them the room. Javi nods, but his mind is elsewhere- churning over everything he thought he knew about Jack Daniels.

–

Over the next few hours, Javi’s brain steadily liquefies under the relentless stream of information from Jack. Barns for cows, sheep, horses. Feed and equipment storage for each. From somewhere comes the barking of dogs, but Jack tells him not to worry about them, glancing around with theatrical wariness that Javi is too tired to take the cue to ask about. Two large buildings at the end of the road ahead of them, one housing the admittant dorms and the other, recreational spaces and therapists’ offices. 

“We get folks with lotsa different stories. Some ain’t never set foot on a ranch before, and never do again- they get the peace of mind of physical labor and whatever other help they need, and then they go back to their real life. And if it works for them, it works for me. Some of the folks who are in this line of work want to stay, and sometimes I let ‘em. But all birds gotta leave the nest. I got a bit of a system set up with the neighbors to hire folks, get their friends to hire ‘em after. Help them get their bearings in the real world again, build up their trust in themselves.”

It’s clear what Jack is doing. By sharing such information about other admittants, he’s assuring Javier that’s he’s normal- that whatever his story or his reasons, he’ll be welcome here.

Jack’s increased silence is obvious, his questions gentle but probing, and Javi knows this is when he tells his story.

“I’ve been working on my dad’s ranch since leaving the service. I like being there for him, and I don’t mind the work- it keeps me busy. It was a relief to be home, for awhile. But..."

But then he saw them. The drug traffickers he’d worked so hard to put away, barely bothering to hide their illicit work. They weren’t the same people, of course. But that only worsened the blow. Only dug the wound that much deeper- the thought that whatever good he did, someone would always be out there undoing it, unless he kept going, always searching, fighting, sacrificing…

“But you’re not the same man,” Jack finishes quietly.

Javi clears his throat. “Something like that.”

He didn’t realize how honest his story was until he’d told it. Javier feels uncomfortably raw, visible. His hands betray his emotions, fidgeting, fingers and thumbs twitching and pressing at themselves in a grounding technique a therapist had once taught him.

The two men have stopped halfway down the packed gravel road. There’s nothing but open fields around them, the bald sky overhead. It doesn’t help his feeling of vulnerability, but Javi forces himself to meet Jack’s gaze from the corner of his eye.

There’s no pity in Jack’s face- only firm understanding. “Well, now. Let’s see if we can’t do something about that.”

Jack sticks out his hand. “Consider this your formal welcome to Jack’s Ranch and Wellness Center.”

His hand hovers, unwavering. 

This is it. Slower than earlier, Javi reaches out and takes it.

It’s less a shake than it is a clasp. An accord of wills; a squeeze in recognition of mutual understanding. A gesture as old as humanity.

Javier pushes aside unexpected, unwelcome guilt.

Jack’s smile expands until it’s the same pleased shape it’s been in all day. “Let’s go get you a room!”

The sun follows them like a watchful eye. It’s far from the hottest that summer will get, but sweat has long since trickled through to the spine of Javi’s shirt; he’s praying that his room will be their last stop today.

A figure glimmers into being at the end of the road. It’s you again, coming from the recreational building. Javi recognizes your gait- and the way Jack straightens up, vibrating like a puppy trying with all its might to restrain his excitement.

He waits until you’re in normal hearing range, at least. “Howdy again, Silver,” Jack calls. “Everything all right?”

“Hi again, Jack.” You smile and give Javi a nod as well. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Thursday is my usual appointment now, since switching therapists.” 

Jack smacks his palm exaggeratedly against his forehead, skewing the angle of his hat. “That’s right, I remember you tellin’ me. You’ll have to excuse this head of mine, honey, it’s been nuttier than a squirrel’s nest up here since havin’ to deal with-”

The same ringtone from earlier peals from Jack’s chest pocket.

Jack sighs. “Well, speak of the devil. I’ll just be a jiffy.” He flashes you and Javi an apologetic look before wandering away, and again Javi catches a glimpse of the sleek, hypothetical technology before it reaches Jack’s ear. 

You’re looking after Jack with an exasperated sort of fondness. Javier thinks quickly. This could backfire on him, make you defensive of Jack and unwilling to talk, but it would only be natural for Javi to continue the conversation where it left off…

“So what’s Jack been having to deal with?”

Your attention returns to Javi. “Oh, some new investors. They want to donate some crazy sum, but with the caveat of making some changes? It’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before.”

You flap a hand dismissively. More of your energy, Javi can see, is going into assessing him- your gaze flickering over him as you speak, a subtle sort of curiosity prodding at his shirt collar, his decidedly-not-cowboy boots, the hair curling over his forehead. 

One corner of Javier’s mouth curves up the slightest bit, holding your gaze when it finds his eyes again. Letting you know he saw you checking him out-

“Does this place have a lot of investors?” Javi allows his own attention to drift down while you answer, drawn again to your hips by the id badge, to your strong arms. 

-but that he didn’t mind in the slightest.

“There’s one consistent investor; any others are pretty sporadic. But we do well enough that that’s all we need.” 

Your chest puffs slightly, a hint of pride entering your eyes, still locked with his. 

Javier nods slowly in respectful acknowledgement, his smile growing a fraction.

“Good to know.”

But Javi’s stupid brain was like a dog with a bone, fixated on the way Jack’s damn phone glittered in the sun. He glances back over at him.

“They buy him that fancy phone as a bribe?” Javi injects some humor into his tone, summoning the half-smile he uses to suggest the idea of flirting.

It doesn’t work as he hoped. You glance at him sharply, any trace of flirtation flattened like the gravel into the packed earth beneath their feet. 

“What do you mean?”

Shit. “Nothing, just that I’ve never seen a phone like that before. It’s not exactly the latest iPhone, is it?” 

It wasn’t even the latest smart-flip-phone, or whatever the fuck they were calling them. Javi could swear it had changed, shifted its shape somehow, but with Jack’s hand engulfing it the way it had, he couldn’t be sure. Jack stood with his back to them- angled so that his right ear was entirely out of their view. Was it deliberate?

Fresh sweat prickles on Javi’s forehead, unrelated to the heat. 

Your friendliness has cooled like a cloud passing in front of the sun. “Jack likes to be up on new tech. For himself and the ranch.”

Before Javi can respond, Jack returns.

“Sorry about that, all. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Silver! Allow me to formally introduce you to Javier Peña, our newest admittant.”

Javi can see the moment Jack’s announcement lands. Your lips part; you blink rapidly several times. Is that..betrayal that you quickly shove down beneath a welcoming smile?

“Oh, that’s great! It’s so great here. You’re going to love it.”

There’s something strange about your expression now. Distance. A wall between you and Javier that you hadn’t put up before.

Ah. When you’d met earlier, in the employee space…you’d thought he was a ranch hand, a staff member like you. But now…

There go any of his ideas about admittants and ranch hands having relations.

Javier remains still as you bid them goodbye, continuing on your way back to the barns. From the corner of his eye, he watches you with something like regret.

Thank you for reading! 💗🧡

#javier peña x reader #narcos fic #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #kingsman fic #kingsman golden circle #javier pena x you #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x you #ktgc

[tegerton]

Dude, duuuuuuuuuuuuuuude! Does anyone even remember me? Sorry for the very long hiatus, but I’m dipping my toes back into fanfic writing. Hopefully I’m not too rusty. What better way to come back with trying out an original story, that’s right this bad boy is coming from my head.

You can all thank @justsomerandomfanfic for waking me up. Seriously, thank you so much for liking my writing. It means the world (I thought my writing was pretty bad not gonna lie haha) but I am so glad I can make someone’s day with it! Apologies in advance. Please let me know if I should add any specific warnings! Hearts, reblogs, and comments are lovely!

I am going to try and attempt a GN reader x Eggsy (please let me know if I need to fix anything)

Eggsy x GN Reader

Word Count: A little over 1k

Warnings: Implied fighting and not so great friends (it’s not too bad tho)

It was supposed to be just a chill night out with some friends at a rather less crowded bar. Yeah it was anything but that. Once the words “Manners, maketh, man.” were thrown into the mix and all bets were off the table. Various objects like tables, chairs, and umbrellas went flying as their eyes scanned to find various things.

1. Find a safe exit (The front doors had been barricaded shut, but there’s got to be an emergency exit somewhere in this dump).

2. Stick with the people you know.

3. Get out.

After a few close attempts the group decided to book it for an exit that was in the back of the little kitchen in the bar. The friends left in a hurry not giving their final remaining friend a clear plan.

“Thanks guys! Thanks for not TELLING ME THE PLAN!” The tone was in the midst of transitioning from rather annoyed to fearing for their life. But rather than hearing screams and carious grunts the room was eerily silent. It’s at this moment that they realized someone just saw their outburst. Turning to face the one man army they noticed the umbrella that had been previously used to take out at least half of the patrons in the bar who are currently laying on the ground. “Put the umbrella down.” The rather well dressed man slowly followed orders as he gently placed his Kingsman umbrella onto the floor. “Now, unlock the doors.” With some loud clicking the entrance was now unlocked. “Ok I’m going to leave.” It was an agonizingly slow exit as they never turned their back on the stranger.

“Sorry I ruined your night out.” Once his accent came out their heart dropped just the tiniest bit, it didn’t help that he sheepishly scratched the back of his neck exposing a rather good physique in the muscles of his arms.

“No, do not try to play the cute guy card with me.” Their hands pressed onto their hips as the shortness of breath from the entire situation finally caught up. A strained sigh came over as the lights reflecting off the rainy pavements were not helping.

“The cute card?” His hands fixed his suit as he finally exited the bar smoothly opening the umbrella right over both of their heads. “I’d rather say I’m just charming in general.” His wink was met with a side eye. “Alright I kind of get the sense that maybe I did something wrong.”

“Hmmmm I’m not sure let me go ask someone in the bar if they know,” It was the fake walk back to the bar that made him chuckle. “Oh yeah that’s right, they’re all passed out!”

“Would it make you feel better if I said I was Batman or something?”

“Batman doesn’t fight crime dressed like Bruce Wayne.”

“Batman isn’t Bruce Wayne.” The seriousness in his voice just made the joke even better. Their eyes rolled with a smile as a well deserved slug was met on his shoulder. “Let’s start over,” He offered his hand for a shake. “Eggsy.”

“Eggsy?” The bridge of their nose scrunched up in thought. “I haven’t been in the UK that long but I will admit that’s the most unique name I’ve come across so far.”

“Well my real name is Gary but I go by Eggsy!” His face was beaming as he explained the story of his nickname. On the other hand the poor bystander was just wanting to go home.

“Yeah that’s really cool and all but I kind of need to get home.” It was their polite yet desperate grimace and the shuffling of feet that made Eggsy connect the dots. Maybe don’t go straight for someone you’re interested in right after making them think they were your next victim. The string of muttered curses that left his lips made it hard to not fall deeper into the surprisingly chill and trendy guy. “Y/N, forgot to tell you. That’s my name.” Finally learning the mystery person’s name gave Eggsy a little faith that he wasn’t a complete failure with charming someone.

“That has to be the weirdest name I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh shut up!” In what would be the weirdest of situations the two found light at the end of the tunnel, a blossoming friendship that Eggsy only dreamed would turn into something else only with time. “No but seriously I have work at 7AM, I need sleep.”

“Do you need a ride?” A part of Eggsy was holding onto hope that the offer would be accepted but he knew the chances were slim.

“As much fun as that sounds, I drove here.” Y/N held up their keys as they pressed the lock button a couple of times causing the car to beep back. “Thanks for the offer.” The night was cold as they rubbed their hands together. “I hope to never see you pissed off at a bar ever again.” A cheesy smile was plastered on their face as Eggsy’s face flushed slightly but due to the cold weather he was able to hide it.

“Yeah hopefully next time we meet, it isn’t like this.” Y/N’s head turned towards him as they laughed a bit.

“What do you want my number or something?” The laugh died fairly quickly as they noticed the look on his face.

“I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed.” He gently kicked a nearby rock. After a quick number exchange the two finally went their separate ways. Y/N noticed the number scribbled on the back of some business card as they slipped it over for further inspection.

“Kingsman?” Some store they had never heard of as they just got in their car and headed back to their apartment. Opening the door their roommate came barreling through giving them a hug.

“Oh my gosh, I was so worried when we lost you at the bar!” Y/N’s shoulders slumped into the hug.

“Yeah you guys were real worried alright.” The tone and sentiment were definitely called for especially since nobody even reached out to help. Not wanting to give it the light of day Y/N just went to their own little room and locked the door. That whole friends thing was for another day, but not now.

The next morning was uneventful as their shift went by with nothing really special happening. Not a bad day, not a good day, just a day. But hey at least the customer’s weren’t the absolute worst today.

“Can I clock out?” The manager slightly jumped in her seat not noticing their hire, engrossed in their emails.

“Oh yeah, thanks for your help.” And with the okay to leave it was a race to find somewhere to get food. With food on the brain, they almost passed something until a shiny golden logo caught their eye. It was the Kingsman store, Y/N took a peek through the window to see what exactly was being sold there but was met with Eggsy who sat across from another man dressed up just like him.

“No way.”

#taron egerton fanfiction #eggsy unwin #taron egerton #eggsy imagine #eggsy x reader #kingsman eggsy #kingsman fic #kingsman fandom #kingsman fanfiction #kingsman fanart #taron egerton fanfic #taron egerton fic #kingsman #kingsman secret service #kingsman the golden circle #kingsman golden circle #kingsman the secret service #gary unwin

[scarlettacklen1986]

Dreams come true •Kingsman Merlin•

Word count: 400

Type: Fluff

Warning: Non

Paring: Merlin × Oc (description is kept limited name can easily be changed when reading)

Summary: Merlin goes to find Maya when she sneaks away from from a party to think to herself

"So I've lost Morgana," Eggsy announced as he walked up to Harry and Merlin at the Kingsman gala.

"She's probably hiding away," Merlin said handing his drink off to Harry leaving the large hall.

The corridors were quieter than the hall, Merlin checked where he usually found, Maya, Agent Morgana, when she decided to hide away and think, the gardens.

He went out to the garden found her sat on a low wall in the gardens, a beer bottle next to her, dressed in a bright red formal dress.

"You're a long way from the party, princess," he said.

Maya looked up from the ground smilling. "Yeah, lots people, lot of noise, you know what I'm like," she said.

"Understandable," he said "What were you thinking about?" He asked sitting next to her.

"Do you ever think that your dreams could come true?" She asked as she swung her legs.

"No," he replied quickly. "Why? Do you?"

Maya frowned slightly. "No. . .Just wondering" she said, Merlin nodded. "If you could have a dream come true? What would it be?" She asked.

"Honestly? This is my dream, I've never thought of anything else," he shrugged.

"Absolutely nothing? You've only ever wanted to be a quartermaster? You've got no dream?" She asked.

"Maybe a nice healthy marriage, a dog but yeah Kingsman is all I've ever known, next to the army and Kingsman has a much nicer uniform" he said.

"Do you have other dreams?" He asked her.

"Mhm, I guess, it's dumb." she shrugged.

"What is it?"

"I want to live out in the country, nice little house, a couple of dogs maybe, married to a nice guy, work in a little family bakery," she said.

"I guess a healthy relationship is a dream for every Kingsman," Merlin said taking her drink from the side stealing a sip.

"Expect Eggsy, he got it " Maya shrugged.

"So tell me, who is this perfect dream husband?" He asked.

Maya took her drink back from Merlin taking a long drink of it. "Well he's tall, he dresses well, a little older then me with glasses, bald and a rich thick Scottish accent," she said.

Merlin looked at her surprised. "Me?" He asked.

"Mhm, you occupy alot of my unconscious mind apparently," she said.

Merlin slid off the wall coming to stand infront of her, his hands rested on either side of her.

"What other dreams have I been involved in?" He asked lowly. "A lot of them," she mumbled "Maybe dreams do come true," he said tipping her chin to look up at him, kissing her gently.

#mark strong #taron egerton #kingsman #kingsmen secret service #merlin kingsman #harry heart #kingsman x reader #merlin x reader #hamish mycroft #hamish #kingsman eggsy #eggsy unwin #roxy morton #Roxy Kingsman #kingsman fanfiction #kingsman fic #kingsman merlin #kingsman merlin fanfiction #Kingsman Merlin fic #Kingsman merlin one short #kingsman imagine #kingsman merlin imagine

[zebraljb]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Kingsman (Movies) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Merlin Characters: Harry Hart | Galahad, Merlin (Kingsman) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, meeting for the first time at a hotel, yearly hookup, Fluff, sex to love Series: Part 10 of 2019 Advent Ficlet Challenge Summary:

Harry and Merlin meet in a hotel bar for the first time on December 23, 1993...and continue to meet on December 23 every year for decades. They have just one night together every year, and it's only when Harry doesn't show that Merlin admits the feelings he's cultivated over time.

Loosely based on the concept of the movie/play "Same Time Next Year," although no one is cheating on anyone in this fic.

One of my fave things I've ever written.

#kingsman fic #merlahad #alternate universe

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #6

xxx do or die

Eggsy isn’t sure where it all went wrong, exactly, whether it was a single bad decision or a million smaller ones that led him to walking directly into a trap. What he does know is that he’s monumentally fucked up, and now he’s going to pay for it. Probably with his life. He’s spent the last several weeks searching for the person or persons responsible for a string of disappearances within the SIS.

Well, he found the bastard. 

Or rather, the bastard found him.

Eggsy hadn’t even had the chance to fight back before he’d been injected with something and then he woke up here, handcuffed to a chair in nothing but his briefs. Even his earpiece is gone. His captor is standing in front of him, picking at his fingernails with a wicked-looking knife. 

He’s wearing Eggsy’s glasses. 

“These aren’t even prescription,” the man says, tapping at a lens with his knife. “And knowing you super-spy types, I’m guessing they aren’t just for the aesthetics. Is there someone watching you then?”

Eggsy doesn’t answer, just grits his teeth. It takes an enormous amount of effort to keep the snarky comments at bay. The man smirks

“There is, isn’t there. I’ve got an audience for this one. Now, that’s interesting. Changes my timeline a bit, perhaps, but I can work with this…” He tucks the knife into a sheath at his hip and then reaches into the pocket of his leather jacket, pulling out brass knuckles. He makes a show of putting them on his right hand, admiring them for a second before looking up at Eggsy, clearly gauging for a reaction. 

Eggsy doesn’t give him one. 

The man smiles again, then moves forward so suddenly that Eggsy doesn’t have time to brace himself before he’s smashed in the face, his head snapping to the side, a gash instantly opening across his (probably broken) cheekbone. He doesn’t move for a moment, just blinks a few times as he waits for his head to clear. And then he lifts his head and looks directly at the man, ignoring the sharp pain in his cheek and the accompanying ache hammering through his skull.

The man smiles. 

“You’re a tough one. Tougher than I’d’ve guessed from your fancy suit. I think I’m going to enjoy this.”

xxx 

It’s rare that Merlin feels completely helpless. But right now, that’s exactly what he is. Eggsy had been taken suddenly, without the chance to even activate his distress signal. It’s only because of the captor’s carelessness that Merlin even has eyes on the young agent--he’d tripped the glasses when he put them on, leaving Merlin with a front row seat to his violence. Eggsy is being held underground, so drones are useless, and Roxy is the only agent anywhere close to where Eggsy’s been taken. 

All Merlin can do is watch, and hope that Roxy gets there before Eggsy is killed. 

The kid is tough. Merlin knows that, had known it before they’d even started training. He had to be, otherwise Harry would’ve never brought him in in the first place. Even bloody and half-conscious, defiance is openly visible on Eggsy’s face. He obviously knows how to take a beating. Not that that makes this any easier.

The man’s been working on Eggsy’s ribs for the past few minutes. Merlin can hear the small gasps as the wind is knocked from Eggsy’s lungs. Every few blows, the man lets him catch his breath before starting in again. He hasn’t asked any questions. He isn’t looking for information. Merlin doesn’t need to see the man’s face to know that he’s doing this for no other reason than that he enjoys it, the sick fuck. 

It makes Merlin feel sick to his stomach. And it makes him angry, a simmering rage that he feels throughout his whole body. His hands are clenched into tight fists, knuckles white.

“Still not a peep?” the man says, his voice a mixture of surprise and amusement and annoyance and, beneath it all, the barest hint of admiration. He holds his bloodied hands up and turns them slowly, getting a good look at them. 

And then he brings the brass knuckles down and Eggsy’s knee, hard, and this time Eggsy screams.

“Bastard!” Merlin yells at the monitor, his heart hammering.

His fingernails dig into his palms.

He doesn’t notice.

Eggsy is panting now, his chest rising in small, sporadic bursts, and Merlin knows he’s struggling to catch his breath while also trying to keep from breathing so deeply that it hurts his fractured ribs. He looks up at the man, and while Merlin knows that Eggsy is looking at his captor's eyes, it feels like he’s staring directly at Merlin. Into him. 

“Lancelot, where the fuck are you?” Merlin doesn’t even try to keep the urgency (bordering on panic) from his voice as he looks over at the monitor that has Roxy’s feed.

“I’m still four minutes out from the coordinates you sent me, I’m moving as fast as I can,” Roxy responds, and it’s obvious that she’s as distressed as he is. “Have you found anything on the kidnapper?”

“Nothing,” Merlin says. “Haven’t had a good look at his face and there’s been no luck with voice recognition. Bring him in alive if you can. But you do whatever you have to do to get Galahad out of there, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir. Understood.”

Merlin turns his full attention back to the screen in front of him and his blood runs cold. The man has traded out the brass knuckles for a knife. 

“No,” Merlin says aloud. He doesn’t know who he’s speaking to, but he says it again, leaning forward in his chair. “No!”

The man steps toward Eggsy and places his left hand on Eggsy’s shoulder, bringing the knife up to Eggsy’s face. Eggsy flinches away from the blade and the man laughs, drawing it down his cheek. A thin line of blood wells up behind it. Eggsy’s gaze flicks up to meet the man’s, and once again Merlin finds himself staring into his agent’s eyes. 

There’s something different in his expression this time, and Merlin isn’t sure exactly what it is, at first. And then he realizes. Eggsy is looking at him. 

“‘s’okay, Merlin,” he says, voice low.

“Merlin?” the man laughs. And then he plunges the knife into Eggsy’s side.

“No!” Merlin screams it now, grabbing the edges of the computer monitor. “Shit! Lancelot, get in there now!”

He’s barely gotten the words out of his mouth when the man turns, and suddenly Merlin is looking into Roxy’s face. 

“Where the fuck did you come from?” the man says, and then the picture cuts off and the screen goes black. 

xxx 

Roxy fires two more tranquilizer rounds into the man’s back before she’s on her knees, patting down his unconscious form until she finds the key to the handcuffs. 

“Lancelot, update!”

“The suspect is down, but alive, I’m pretty sure,” Roxy says as she hurries to Eggsy’s side.

“And Eggsy?”

Eggsy is in a bad way. His face is a mess, with several open cuts leaking blood that runs down his neck and his bare chest. There are angry red bruises forming along both sides of his ribcage, and his left knee is dark and swollen. Worst, though, is the stab wound in his belly, which is leaking blood at an alarming pace, a small puddle already forming on the floor beneath him. At first glance, it doesn’t seem like he should be alive. But Roxy can see the shallow, rapid rise-and-fall of Eggsy’s chest, can hear the short, labored breaths.

“He’s alive,” she says as she hurriedly undoes the handcuffs, willing her hands to be steady because now, more than ever, she needs them to be. “We need medevac.”

“They’re on their way with backup, just a few minutes behind you.”

“Good,” Roxy says, shrugging off her jacket and balling it up as best she can before pressing it against the wound. Eggsy stirs, letting out a weak cry, and Roxy grimaces, looking up at him as his eyes flutter open. His mouth turns up in a weak smile that quickly vanishes into a wince. 

“‘ven smilin’ hurts,” he mutters, and his words are thick and clumsy around the blood in his mouth. “You…took your fuckin’ time. Wasn’ sure you’d get here.”

“Of course I got here,” Roxy says, heart plummeting as Eggsy’s eyes start to flutter. “Stay awake, Eggsy!”

“You’ve got to keep him awake!” Merlin says into her ear. 

“I know, I’m trying. Come on, Eggsy. Come on!” She pats his face and he stirs, looking up at her. She tries to smile. “The hard part is over, all you have to do now is keep your eyes open. You can do that, right?”

“Trying,” Eggsy gasps. “Ain’t ‘s easy as it looks…S-sorry.” His eyes roll and then his lids fall shut, his chin dipping down toward his chest. 

“Eggsy!” Roxy swallows the lump in her throat. “Hang on. You just hang on, Eggsy.”

xxx 

It takes two surgeries, a dozen units of blood, and a chest tube to stabilize Eggsy. Merlin watches over him through all of it. It isn’t until he’s settled into the recovery wing that Merlin dares leave his side.

“Would you like me to call you when he wakes up?” a doctor asks as Merlin steps into the hall. 

“Yes, please,” Merlin says. “How long?”

“A few hours, at least.”

Merlin nods thoughtfully. “A few hours will be plenty of time.”

And then he heads for the holding cells, letting the relief he’s feeling give way to a cold, hungry rage. His fingers twitch in anticipation.

There’s a conversation he’s very much looking forward to having.

xxx 

#whumptober2023 #no.6 #made to watch #kingsman #fic #blood tw #torture tw #swearing tw #beat up #stabbed #bass knuckles #eggsy unwin #kinsgman eggsy #merlin kingsman #kingsman fic #whumptober #my writing #my fic #whump #whump fic

[ladyaj-13]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Kingsman (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, MI6 Eggsy, Kingsman Harry, Developing Relationship, Spy Shenanigans, Undercover, Honeypots

Eggsy is MI6. Harry is Kingsman. They have each been tasked to seduce a suspected rival intelligence agent.

The intelligence part may be overselling it.

#kingsman fic #hartwin #my fic: the honeypots #my fic posts

[derailedfiction]

Run boy, run | Merlin | Kingsman

Chapter 2: A dog's life

Pairings: Merlin x Cecilia (OFC) | Merlin & Roxy & Eggsy| Roxy & Gary “Eggsy” Unwin | Percival & Roxy | Percival & Gary “Eggsy” Unwin | tbs whatever you can think about probably will be there Word count: 5492 Warnings: violence, swearing

Summary:  It had been nearly a month since the Valentine’s Day and during it, he couldn’t recall any free moments. Because Arthur was dead, the issue of having a new leader was an especially urgent matter and until the new leader was found, he must have had everything under control, even the process of choosing a new Arthur. It could last for a few months just because other Kingsman’s cells had to have started their recruitment for fallen agents only then the final recruitment could be made.

A/N: I wrote it in 2015 pls have mercy on me. Also pls forgive me if there's somewhere Max instead of Hamish, I tried to change all of it.

He opened his eyes with hesitation. The few moments of precious sleep had just gone away and once more, he needed to face the reality, which was really gloomy. It had been nearly a month since the Valentine’s day and during it he couldn’t recall any free moments. Because Arthur was dead, the issue of having a new leader was an especially urgent matter and until the new leader was found, he must have had everything under control, even the process of choosing a new Arthur. It could last for few months just because other Kingsman’s cells had to have started their recruitment for fallen agents, only then the final recruitment could be made. All this time he hoped that the superior unit was most important and finding new leader for it should be top one priority, but unfortunately that dream was only realistic in Hamish’s dreams. He stretched his muscles cautiously so he wouldn’t wake up Cecilia, to whom he moved closer as soon as he finished stretching. With sleepy smile he thought about his luck, that he met the right woman at just right time and she had prevented ending one of his missions in rather tragic way. He could lay all day long looking at her and admiring her perfection but as he thought about all his responsibilities, he felt weary.

All this time Hamish remained silent to listen to her calm breath and peaceful dreams.

“You’re truly an adorable creature,” he whispered and kissed her arm.

“Mish, what’s the time?” she turned around to him and stroked his cheek. “Do you have much to do today?” As an answer, she received a tired sight and dismal moan. “It can’t be that bad, can it? Is it?” she asked as he rolled eyes.

Hamish left one more kiss on her collarbone and sat up.

“I’d let somebody cut me for one peaceful day…"he sighed as he took the glasses from bedside table.

Cecilia moved to him and hugged his waist. "Don’t be so drastic… That would be a shame if somebody cut you, Mish,” she murmured into his ear causing a pleasant shiver.

“Are you visiting your father today?”

“Yes. He’ll send car for me and Alex…” She said with very unhappy face.

She got up and stretched after her sleep. He was observing her over an arm. The view was quite absorbing as the t-shirt she was sleeping in was too short and when she rose her hands up it showed her haunches. Hamish smiled to himself until he realised that glasses were recording everything and he quickly moved head back. As soon as he got to the headquarters, he needed to delete this video before it was sent further.

“Prepare yourself to work, put on some nice suit and in the meantime I’ll make your favourite coffee. What do you say on that?” she asked while entering the wardrobe just to go out in blue dressing gown.

“You’re an angel, Cissy,” she gave him one of her brightest smiles. “How’s your arm?”

“Not that bad actually. After a month of rehabilitation, it’s quite good but sometimes it hurts like a hell. Good thing I got some free time from work.”

“Are you doing it on purpose?” Hamish asked with slight annoyance and jealousy. As an answer, she shrugged her arms with boorish smile.

“I don’t know my dearest. Am I?” She gave him a mischievous look as she left the bedroom.

Of course she did it on purpose. She always did and she loved teasing her husband. It was like a small hobby of hers if she got bored. However, Hamish wasn’t any better, and when it came to teasing between them quite often it was he who was winning. Fortunately for her, she had some other techniques to get him into the shape she liked.

Carefully she entered her son’s room to check if he was still asleep. As she heard his quiet and peaceful breathing, she left the room.

“Where are my shirts?”

“One should be in the wardrobe. If not check bathroom, I think I ironed one,” Cecilia answered Hamish’s whisper in a low voice to prevent waking up the boy. Her gaze rested on his well-shaped abs. “My God. One day you’ll give me a complex for being in such good shape, Hamish…” He laughed silently at that and disappeared in the bathroom.

Cecilia slowly went down the stairs watching out for her left foot so in the future she would be able to wear high-heels without more than usual pain. The best solution would be to lay down with her leg up but having Hmish and Alex to care after she had no free time to do so.

The kitchen looked like a battlefield as she was quite a messy chef, and Hamish would only sometimes be willing to clean after her. With a sigh on her mouth, Cecilia put the plates after yesterday’s supper into the dishwasher and started preparing coffee in tact with energetic music from radio. First, she turned on the express and then she grinded the coffee beans, and in the effect kitchen was full of characteristic and intense smell.

“Uh… How can he drink such horrible thing?” she wondered out loud checking if Hamish wasn’t standing right behind her. If so he’d look at her judgmentally with a look annoyance put on his face.

The blonde-haired woman sniffed at the grinded coffee and with highest level of disapproval she filled the express with it and put a cup under it. Even though she wasn’t a lover of the drink she was very proud of herself for possessing the ability of making one of the best coffees ever. With pleasant whistling, she continued preparing some breakfast for her husband.

“I heard you were talking shit about coffee,” his voice made her jump as she didn’t expected it at all.

“MISH! How many times do I have to repeat myself about that?!” she reprimanded the grown-man-adult. “My God like a child. What are you laughing at?”

“Anger marrs beauty, Cissy. Don’t make such a fuss about it,” she snorted angrily.

“Perfect timing for coffee,“ she handed a cup of aromatic coffee to him. "An espresso so you can be awake all day long,” after that she gave him a plate with eggs, toast and bacon. “And breakfast, so you have enough power to deal with today’s oncoming shit.”

She turned around to brew tea, whistling quietly at the same time. She would start dancing a little bit if it hadn’t been for her husband’s remarks about it.

“Well, well, at least someone is in a good mood,” he commented her actions and drank all of his coffee with one sip.

She shrugged, licking the teaspoon from the honey in a very suggestive way.

“Cecilia, calm down please,” he tried so hard not to look at her.

“No, no, no… You don’t talk like that to me, Hamish or you’ll be late for work,” he raised a brow as he heard her answer with the fake Scottish accent.

“Are you mocking me?”

“Never!” Cecilia looked at him in disbelief trying to retain her poker face, but just a second after she burst into laughter.

“Sometimes I wonder why I married you,” he shook his head, trying to finish his meal without any disturbance from Cecilia.

“Because I’m making the best coffee you have ever drunk,” she said confidently.

“True,” he agreed finishing his breakfast and standing up.” I need to go. I’ll be late so don’t wait for me with dinner and be nice to your dad,” he kissed her forehead between the sentences. “Send him my regards.”

“Of course. I’m sure he’ll be happy as usual.”

Her smile brightened his morning, and was the only good thing in it as he thought about it. Cecilia looked through the window when Hamish got into black car and drove away. With a slight sigh she braided her longish hair in a loose braid and approached the stairs.

“Alex! Get up, little one! You need to prepare yourself to visit grandpa!” the woman shouted and waited close to the stairs until she heard some kind of movement and sound of bare feet on the floor. Only then did she return to the kitchen to prepare food for herself and her son.

***

“Lancelot, I hope you have good news from the United States and their presidential crisis?” Merlin started as he sat down in the armchair in the main seat at the table. Even though he was sitting there for over a month, still the feeling remained unusual and it was hard for him to get used to it.

“Yes, I do believe so, Sir,” she started looking through her notes, which she had made last night. “As the great part of the previous government were killed on Valentine’s day, they had to choose some unconventional practices and within a week there are going to be held elections. The candidates are nothing special, which makes me think that they’re just figures and someone else will guide them from behind the scenes. But for now it’s not our problem, so I think that America’s issue is closed for some time.”

She finished just in moment when Galahad with his smug smile entered the meeting room.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said as he seated himself at Galahad’s seat.

“Eggsy as you took Harry’s place, it would be more suitable for you if choose to wear more formal clothing, especially for the meetings,” Merlin pointed out wearily, looking on the boy’s outfit with doubt.

“I know, I know. I was late anyway and if I had to put the whole suit on too I’d have been even later. Sorry for that. Won’t happen again,” he ensured, with nod to Lancelot as a form of greeting.

“Well then, getting back to the other crises; The European countries did exceptionally good work with overcoming ruling problem. The United Kingdom after losing its Queen, which is irreparable loss, won’t be the same again but the royal family is quite big so we can be queer for new King William. Unfortunately, I cannot be so optimistic when it comes to Kingsman. Glasses, please.”

He waited until they put on glasses and then he showed diagrams and names of fallen agents in the incident.

“As you can see all over the world, each cell of Kingsman has lost an agent or two. Which is not a good thing for overlay. If we stay weakened for too long it would make for a great opportunity to attack our organisation," while talking he changed the page and pointed out average number of deaths in European countries in comparison with other world’s countries. “Yes, Galahad?”

“What about new Arthur? As you don’t want to stay at his position – “ he started but was interrupted by Lancelot.

“Is there another recruitment oncoming?” she asked with her eyes on Merlin.

“Yes, there will be another recruitment, but unfortunately I have to wait until the other cells will start their supplemental recruitments.”

“Merlin, what is the point of it? There will be no such good candidate as you to take over Arthur,” Eggsy insisted on getting a more specific answer.

“Well thank you, but I do not see myself as a leading figure of this agency and I do not feel competent to do so. Therefore I believe that my concerns are good enough to start procedure for casting a new Arthur,” Merlin’s voice was peremptory and the forceful gaze he put on Eggsy, made him quiet for a few precious moments.

“What will the procedure look like, Merlin?” Lancelot queried trying to put the tension down.

“Good question, Roxy, but I’ll get to it later, as I haven’t finished with the number of deaths. Now, other agencies; FBI, CIA, MI5 and other intelligence organisations registered high numbers of fallen agents and unfortunately some of them, such as directors and important agents, were found out to be enlisted by Valentine, which basically meant their heads blew up,” he showed the last diagram and paused.

“Why are we looking at these week after week,” Eggsy wondered aloud, not even trying to hide that he was a little bit bored.

“Because, Galahad, the numbers are still changing, and even after a month the number of people killed grew, just because of maybe a simple miscalculation, and we need to be updated about any changes,” Lancelot answered the question, forestalling Merlin.

“Now, we can get to the current order of business. On Friday evening, recruitment for Tristian’s place will begin. I’m giving you two days so you can find your candidates and bring them here at 9 P.M. This time Percival will take care of the process and our candidates,” Merlin said with a bitter voice.

If he had to be honest, he’d love to run the recruitment for fresh, untrained minds which he could evolve into something great. It was something that gave him, maybe not the meaning of the life, but hope that one day, when he would be much older, the future would be as bright as today’s or even brighter because of high-trained, Kingsman agents, who were prepared for everything. The sight of people getting better and better was giving him pleasant chills and he didn’t want to give it up.

For now, he had to be satisfied with the part that didn’t suit him at all. Taking care of almost everything was slowly driving him crazy and he was exhausted of it. He knew he could depend on Lancelot, Galahad and Percival for finding needed backup information but his old habits were pushing him to prepare weaponry by himself, making all charts and numbers to presentation. Merlin was overworked and pushing himself to his limits. He couldn’t stand that Kingsman was literally on the bottom of its previous glory. It seemed to him, that the organisation was falling down and he felt obliged, in memory of Harry, Lancelot, every single fallen Kingsman agent, to keep it safe and bring it back to its previous glory.

But if that was going to happen the new Arthur had to be chosen and that wouldn’t be an easy assignment to accomplish.

“Now, answering to your question Lancelot. The recruitment for Arthur’s replacement will look much different from what you have been through because there will be no freshmen. To replace the head of our organization, each cell must provide one candidate. It must be one agent, the best agent on Kingsman’s behalf,” Merlin said after a little break. He still wasn’t sure who was going to be the representative of headquarters, and he was silently counting that Percival would agree.

“Will you be our candidate, Merlin?” Merlin looked at Eggsy with sight.

Huh, you’re not the only one who is wondering about that boy, he thought.

“I’m not sure, Eggsy. There are other agents who can be suitable candidates to represent us. And I’m sorry to inform you, that you won’t be taken under consideration even though I know you are valuable agents,” he pushed up glasses as he continued, “The other rule is that the candidate must have served the agency for no shorter than five years and must be older than thirty-five years old. So no offence but you’re both too young and too inexperienced.”

Merlin was about to add something else but was interrupted by Percival’s entrance. He was holding a couple of letters, which he handed Merlin.

“Thank you, Percival. Have you got what I asked you for?” he asked with light smile as he checked the addresses on envelopes. “I was just introducing Eggsy and Roxy to the rules of choosing new head of Kingsman.”

“That’s good. It’ll be useful in short future as we have to vote for our candidate. Also I’ve got what you wanted, and even something more,” Percival couldn’t help himself, and a self-satisfactory smirk appeared on his lips, “As you asked, I’ve contacted the heads of other Kingsman’s cells to start thinking about their probable candidates. At the moment three of them sent me back information about their candidates. Also two of them, the Australian and Middle-Eastern cells have already started supplemental recruitment.”

“That’s great news. Now Percival, I want you to contact some independent agents from our safe-zone and find one who would be willing to run the show. You know the rules,” Merlin noted something in his electric notebook. “From now, Galahad it’s your responsibility to check on, and receive information about the statuses from other Kingsman’s cells on their recruitment. As for you, Lancelot, you’ll be completing a list of candidates for Arthur’s place,” he paused as he looked at each of them. “All right, I believe that’s everything for now. You’re dismissed.”

Eggsy was the first to get up and leave, but just next to the door, he waited for Roxy.

“So have you thought about your candidate?” he asked with a grin.

“Not really, no. But in two days I think, I’ll figure somebody out. And you?” she looked at him as they went on to ground floor.

Their dogs were waiting patiently for them and as J.B. saw his master his tail started moving faster and not long after he was jumping around Eggsy’s legs, while Roxy’s poodle remain still.

“Good job, come here girl,” she called the dog and petted her lovingly. “So? What about your candidate? Do you have one?” Roxy put her eyes on him.

“Yes,” Eggsy answered with wide grin.

“And what? You’re not telling me anything about him or her?” she queried with narrowed eyes.

“All I can tell you is that if my candidate wins, you won’t be the only girl here, Roxy,” Eggsy shrugged.

She looked at him with a gentle smile. That would be a quite surprise if he brought a girl but frankly speaking, like a Galahad Senior, like a Galahad Junior, Eggsy was full of surprises and even though he was following the rules, he was doing it quite differently than the other Kingsman agents.

“What you’re lookin’ at?” Then she realized she was staring at him.

“Nothing Eggsy. I was thinking, maybe we could go and do some shooting training?”

Roxy changed topic with a little blush on her cheeks. She knew he would see it, but was thankful he didn’t make any remarks about that.

“Good idea but if you lose, you’re gonna be my slave for one day!”

She laughed loudly.

“You? Win? Over me? You sure you’re all right? I have better scores at shooting than you, Eggsy. That is no mystery,” Roxy said and let her poodle go onto the grass outside the building, “And I’m terribly sorry to say that but you’re going to be my slave, Eggsy.”

“We’ll see about that…”

He said it with so much confidence that she smiled again. He was a helpless patient with his cheeky temperament.

“C’mon girl, we don’t have all day!” Eggsy shouted as he was running outside to the rifle range. She shook her head and followed him.

***

“Merlin, could you tell me why you are changing the rules?” Percival asked as he was looking through the window.

“Why do you think? I’m just making them more useful,” he shrugged, while reading the letters, “Yes, I perfectly know that I should choose one of the main agents, but Percy that would take just too much time. Anyway three of our agents are heads of cells so I know them,” Merlin continued as he felt the sceptical look he received from Percival.

“That is exceptionally good, Merlin but they’re three out of eleven, except the candidate from headquarters which –“

“Won’t be me, Percival. And you know perfectly well why,” Merlin interrupted his friend looking up from the letters.

Percival stood shocked. He said nothing, as he knew Merlin was stubborn as a hell if he didn’t want to do something. He slighted wearily, checking through the window if Roxy or Eggsy weren’t about to blow up the rifle range, then he moved away.

“Sometimes you’re worse than Cecilia with your stubbornness,” Percival started, carefully choosing his words. ”But the fact is you need to know all the candidates and their abilities so you can make the right decision.” He finished as he took his seat right next to the Merlin, waiting patiently for his response.

“Percy, that’s why cells must send me all documents of the candidate, mission statuses and results of previous missions. Their tests, all of them. I will know everything about them before beginning of the recruitment. There is no need to worry.”

Merlin’s voice was confident and strong but Percival knew he had some doubts. Even though, he hadn’t shown many emotions, Percival knew that Merlin was the one who hadn’t gotten through Harry’s death and Chester’s betrayal. Of course, it was hard for all the agents but Merlin had practically been brought up in this place and Chester had somehow been like a father to him.

“All right, if you say so, but you must remember that on Friday we’ll be voting for the candidate and I’m pretty sure you’re a very serious candidate, Merlin. There’s no doubt about that,” Percival continued his little tirade hoping that he could make Merlin change his mind.

Merlin only cleared his throat in annoyance, because Percival wouldn’t do anything else but literally harass him by talking about it over and over through last month. Merlin swore to himself that if Percival would talk about it one more time, the man would end up on the Moon.

„Good Lord Percy, you’re a pain in the ass…”

“Because I know, you would be a great leader. You’re just a little bit too lazy, my friend,” he quickly moved aside to avoid a pen thrown by Merlin.

“Percy… Get out or I’ll go for more advanced weaponry, and we’ll see who is a little bit too lazy. Because one of the fires is going to burn your ass off, my dear friend.”

Percival chuckled and rose his hands up in surrender. He was aware, Merlin had all the needed abilities to be a leader, to be a damn good leader too, but he needed to stop being so childish when it came to the bloody recruitment. He didn’t tell Merlin, but since the incident he had been talking to other agents and persuading them that Merlin was the best candidate for new Arthur.

***

Cecilia was enjoying a rather peaceful late evening as Alex was asleep and she could rest a little bit with a glass of a Moscato while reading. She stopped when she heard a squeak of the front door.

“Hamish, is that you?” she asked involuntarily when she couldn’t recognise the figure in the darkness and just a second after she realized how stupid that question had been.

Oh yes, because a murderer would come in through the front door, answer the question and even ask you for a cup of tea, you stupid goose, she thought sarcastically.

“Yes. Why are you still awake?” she could sense the exhaustion in his voice.

Cecilia closed the book, putting it aside. “I didn’t feel tired enough, but Alex fell asleep straight away when he got to his bed,” she got up and approached him, “Are you hungry? There’s dinner in oven if you want.”

“No, thank you. I need to rest for a moment and I’m going to sleep. I’ve been having a headache since midday –“ he looked at her for a brief moment, “And yes, I took some pills,” Hamish added after seeing a question in wife’s eyes.

He took off his jacket and hung it on a bannister while going into the living room. As his gaze fell on the Nordic mythology lying on the table, Hamish undid the cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. He was dead tired but he saw something unusual and new near the fireplace and his curiosity won over.

“What’s that?” he pointed a small, furry ball on a lair.

“A puppy… My father at his end decided to be a good grandfather and presented Alex with a corgi puppy,” Cecilia sighed wearily and sat on the sofa. She grabbed her glass and finished the wine.

“A puppy? Maybe he’ll learn a little bit about responsibility, but I can see that it’s not entirely about the dog,” he said as he seated himself next to his blonde beauty.

“Hamish, please. Alex is only five and I can already see how he’ll take care of that dog. For the first month maybe, yes, but who will take it to the vet? Walk it? Not to mention that we’re usually at work and Alex is at school so the puppy will be all alone at home,” she said bleakly looking at the puppy as it shuffled it’s paws in its sleep.

“So it’s good thing you’re staying at home as long as your arm gets better as well as the ankle. But is it really about the dog?” he embraced Cecilia and pull her closer until she could rest her head on his shoulder. “I can help Alex with the puppy’s training. It’s not that hard.”

She sighed loudly and closed eyes for a moment to gather her thoughts. Maybe the dog wasn’t a bad idea at all. However, her father’s initiative was making her a little bit annoyed. It wasn’t even that he hadn’t asked her or Hamish. She just didn’t want to have anything to do with him, more than usual.

“It’s about my father… I’m constantly surprised by his actions and I have this unpleasant feeling that he wants me to carry on the family business, instead of Matt. No one tells me shit about it and apparently that doesn’t bother my father at all,” she answered after a long pause.

“There can’t be anything wrong, can it?” Hamish felt she tightened her muscles, “Come on, Cissy, there’s nothing you should worry about. Maybe he’ll think about it and change his mind. He’s and old man, they do tend to change their minds quite often…”

“Oh no, that’s not in my father’s style. He’s as stubborn as a mule.”

“Now I can see where you got that from,” Hamish laughed silently when she punched his side.

“The kettle calling the pot black, my dear,” she mumbled, faking being offended. “I don’t want to owe him anything, not since I became independent. He scares me somehow and I can’t recognise the man as my father.”

“Cissy, you can’t speak like that. After all he is your father and he brought you up and took care of you and your brother until you became independent.”

She rolled her eyes with a bored face.

“Hamish, I’m begging you, do not start this tirade again. I should be grateful for my parents. I am grateful for them but since my father’s illness he has changed unbelievably and I can’t recognise him,” how could she possibly be grateful for the double-faced man who was her father?, she thought ”He scares me sometimes…” she added with hesitation.

“Please woman. You and your brother are the last living relatives, especially as long as your mother has been missing since the incident,” he said irritated by her complaining. He was tired after long day at Kingsman’s facilities dealing with its shit and he didn’t have the energy or will to hear her complaints, although, he knew he should show some support. “Anyway, you’re aware he won’t live for long with such high state of his heart illness…” Cecilia looked incensed at him, “Don’t do that. I said something obvious and have known for long time. Of course that incident just made his state even worse.”

“God, I hate when you’re so direct,” she said angrily as she decided not to give him the satisfaction of admitting that he was right. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Oh, thank God!” he accidentally blurted out.

“Sometimes you act worse than Alex… Do you still have a headache?”

Hamish nodded. Despite taking a quite impressive number of painkillers, his head was still killing him. She suddenly started to fidget to free herself from his arms. Only when was she successful at her doings she sat on his lap and took of his glasses.

“Cecilia what are you up to?” he looked at her with half-open eyes and he had to admit she looked very appealing in semidarkness.

“Old, granny way to get rid of headache. Relax and close your eyes.”

He did as she said without hesitation, waiting for her next move. Within moments he felt her thumbs gently massaging and squeezing his temples. He give out a sigh of relief when he felt pain subsided. Fingers moved on to his forehead, massaging it with circular moves.

“Is it any better?” Cecilia asked tenderly.

“Absolutely, you’ve some magical skills,” he murmured with closed eyes.

“But you know if it’s still killing you there’s another way to deal with it,” Hamish raised eyebrow on that words.

“Don’t you say…” he smiled and opened one eye, as he got suspicious about her intentions.

She leaned closer to her husband with roguish smirk.”Mmhmm… It’s very effective when it comes to ladies headaches and I think it can also be effective on men’s headaches, don’t you think?”

Before he noticed it, Cecilia was in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt with one hand while in the other she held his tie. She bit her lip lovingly when he slowly slid his hands along her thighs pulling her skirt up higher and higher.

“Come here.”

As she leaned her head over his, Hamish kissed her, as if he couldn’t breathe without her lips. He could swore that her bright blue eyes became dark of lust and he couldn’t blame her. His hands wandering on her body and slowly exploring it all over again. He never had enough of it. Every single moan of pleasure he caused, he enjoyed twice as much as her fingers gently stroking his neck giving him the shivers.

„Mish, come here with your hands,” she traced them onto her hip and waist and eventually onto her breast.

“With pleasure”

Hamish whispered with husky voice while unbuttoning her shirt, under which he found a nice piece of lacy lingerie. With tender kisses Hamish traced path from her lips to soft skin between her breasts. He could feel like her body was melting under his touch and hear how much she enjoyed it.

“Perfect timing, Merlin…” he paused terrified.

“What?” Max looked at Cecilia, both surprised and petrified with wild thoughts crossing his mind that she somehow had found out about the truth.

“The dog, puppy is awake,” she said miserably.

“Could you please repeat the dog’s name?” he just noticed the little furry ball, which was trying to get on the sofa.

“Merlin. Alex named it like that. He has been quite obsessed with Arthurian legends since I started reading them to him. Everything is all right?”

Eggsy must know nothing. Under no circumstances , he thought as he nodded to Cecilia’s question. In that right moment he was close to the heart attack caused by his own son but realized it wouldn’t be that bad with such beautiful sight. Hamish looked at the unfortunate dog and he knew that it needed to go out to its business immediately otherwise there would be a catastrophe on the floor. He moved again, looked at his wife and with much regard he kissed the spot between her breasts, buttoned her shirt up and sighed. That stupid dog interrupted such a beautiful moment and that nearly made him cry.

“I’ll go out with him. I’ll be back just in a minute, my beauty,” he kissed her passionately.

“I’ll be waiting in the bedroom,” she said between kisses.

He watched her getting up with that specific smile, with messy hair and not properly buttoned shirt. Hamish followed his wife with his eyes until she got to the stairs.

“And what should I do about you? This house is not big enough to have two Merlin’s in it,” he said to the puppy, which was quite lively running around excited by its surroundings. “Come on, boy.”

He led the animal to the door and let it go into the garden. For a moment, Hamish observed how excited the dog was. It barked at a bird flying by, sniffed some bushes and eventually came back to him, putting its paws on his leg.

“What should I do about you, little one? I can’t call you Merlin, that would be strange…” he stood in silence thinking intensively what to call this little creature. A small smirk appeared on his lips when he came to the solution.

“The lady of my heart isn’t particularly patient. We need to go… Junior…”

#merlin x ofc #kingsman fic #kingsman secret service #kingsman the golden circle #roxy morton #eggsy unwin #hamish mycroft

[just-here-for-the-moment]

File 22_Subject: My Condolences

Declassified HR Files Series Masterlist - a collaboration between @driedgreentomatoes and @just-here-for-the-moment

Summary: The Eddy is down Warnings: Partying too hard could cause early retirement --- From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: January 24, 2013 11:02 AM Subject: My Condolences

Richard Edward Van Horn (April 1, 1988-January 22, 2013)

Richard Edward Van Horn - known as “Dickie” to his friends and family - loved working out, swimming in Barton Springs, and volunteering at animal shelters. Dickie was pursuing a career in liquor production when he was called home to heaven far too early. The sudden accident that took his life at the Statesman Whiskey Distillery in Kentucky reminds all of us to treasure our loved ones and to follow safety protocols while working with vats of lethal acid. While his Earthly remains could not be recovered, we know that his spirit is at rest. Private services will be held later this week.

To: All Staff, Statesman HQ

It is with a heavy heart that I announce the passing of our own Agent Vodka, nicknamed “Deep Eddy” by some of you. Vodka was enthusiastic and eager to learn, and was able to contribute to several important missions while he was with us. 

Unfortunately - and based on the disgraceful manner in which he comported himself during his final, fatal mission - Statesman will retire the agent code name “Vodka” permanently. 

Fortunately we were able to keep the actual details of his passing out of the newspapers, although I am heartbroken that we could not return his body to his family, since toxicology testing would have revealed things that Statesman would rather keep unknown.

If anyone needs grief counseling during this time, I encourage you to take advantage of our Employee Assistance Program. You’re also welcome to come chat with me anytime.

//Champ -------------------- From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: January 24, 2013 11:15 AM Re: Agent Vodka’s passing

Champ, 

Mission report is attached. I’m taking a week off.

JACK

Attachment: MR_2013-Jan-24_Project Soaring Eagle.pdf -------------------- From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: January 23, 2013 11:19 AM Re: Agent Vodka’s passing

Jack, 

I’m awful sorry, I know you liked the kid. Let me know if you need anything. 

//Champ --------------------

< File 21

#HR Files Agent Whiskey #HR File Agent Whiskey #Pedrostories #Pedro stories #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #Agent Whiskey x you #Agent Whiskey x reader #Agent Jack Whiskey Daniels #Agent Jack Whiskey Daniels x you #Agent Jack Whiskey Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x reader #kingsman fanfiction #kingsman fic #kingsman fanfic #Agent Whiskey fic #Agent Whiskey fanfic #Agent Whiskey fanfiction

[thosewickedlovelies]

Cowboy Candids, X-Rated Edition

An erotic short story inspired by the art piece 'Jack, Revisited' in the exhibition Cowboy Candids from Tennessee, displaying the work of a local artist who lived amongst self-professed ‘cowboys’ in Tennessee for over a year to experience their way of life.

~AKA~

a Blow Job Fic (Rating: Explicit), ft Jack Daniels x GN!Reader of Rancher Boys 🧡 although the artist is real, and her name is @patternedlantern! 😍😍😍 I enthusiastically invite you all to bless yourselves with both the back view and the front view of Jack Daniels, Beloved Husband and House-Slut <3

Summary: Jack Daniels will wear whatever he damn well pleases in his own home, thank you very much. But you enjoy today’s choice so much that you decide to thank him 👀👅

Tags: a wild Jack Daniels booty appears. SMUT: oral (m receiving)

Words: 2566

Masterlist

---

The sun is still clearing the surrounding hills as you pad into the kitchen for your morning coffee. Your ritual mimics that of your husband’s, completed a few hours earlier- there’s a spoon in the sink and a pod still in the machine. A note on the fridge- morning ride xo -makes you smile as you open it for milk. You’ve gotten used to early mornings since joining Jack’s ranch all those years ago, but you’ll never be as early of a riser as him. He always leaves a note if his sunrise activities take him outside the house, though.

You crack a window while the coffee machine whirs, savoring the fresh, cool air. It’s damp with morning dew and smells of green, living things- no trace yet of the heat that would rise with the day. The sky is still pale, its mantle of clouds stitched in pink and gold.

You take a test sip of coffee before heading for the front porch. Perfect. Your spoon joins Jack’s in the sink.

You almost drop your mug at the sight that greets you beyond the threshold.

Jack is facing away from you, elbows resting on the wooden fence that divides your lawn from the neighboring field, seemingly surveying the land. With his hat and boots silhouetted against the landscape, it’s a moment that belongs in a museum. Maybe that exhibit you saw a poster for recently- Cowboy Candids from Tennessee, or something.

All he wears on his upper half is his gun holster. The leather straps criss-cross the expanse of his bare back, bridging the valley of his spine and accentuating the muscled contours of him, wrapping around his shoulders in a way that makes your mouth water.

But that’s not the part that was so unexpected.

Once you recover from the shock, a slow grin spreads across your face. You take a another sip of coffee, rolling the taste over your tongue, savoring the view for as long as you can while Jack is unaware.

You let out a long, low whistle. “Well, good morning to you too, cowboy. I didn’t think the moon was supposed to be rising at this hour.”

Your mug thunks carefully onto the porch table. The chair cushion creaks as you settle into it, wiggling with the anticipation of someone about to watch their favorite movie. 

Your husband’s bare ass jiggles as he starts to turn. 

You’ve seen these shorts before, but not for awhile. Almost a year, maybe, if the last time he wore them was in the summer. You refer to them as his “butt cheek cutoffs”, and if that doesn’t explain why they’re you’re favorite, well, then. Your imagination isn’t being literal enough.

His ass isn’t totally bare. His right butt cheek, in fact, is completely covered. Look at him from the right side, and he could be wearing perfectly average denim cutoffs.

From the left side, however- it wouldn’t be unreasonable to wonder if he’d been riding a very bad-tempered horse while cutting them. The bottom of his left butt cheek hangs like ripe fruit, plump and exposed and begging for a squeeze.

From the inner thigh outward, the hem is shorn along the bottom edge of the pocket. It veers sharply up at the pocket’s outer edge, shortening the length by another inch by the time it reaches the leg’s outer seam. They fare no better in the front- several inches of front pocket extend beneath fraying strands of denim on both sides, the improvised hems left with barely enough fabric to preserve his modesty.

Not that Jack Daniels has ever valued modesty all that much.

“Well now, look who’s up early,” Jack crows. His Tennessee vowels dip and swoop like cursive writing, piling up against one corner of his grin. “I didn’t expect you to be out of bed yet, darlin’.”

He lounges backward against the fence now, arms spread. The holster is occupied by his favored revolvers, one swaying against either side of his ribs. Jack props one of his boots on the lowest slat of the fence, lazily letting his leg fall open wider.

Your gaze immediately zeroes in on the swath of inner thigh revealed. The minimal length of his shorts betrays that he can’t possibly be wearing anything beneath them- there’s only a thin layer of denim between you and that bulge making a strain of the zipper. You grip the arms of your chair a little too tightly, your breathing deepening as hunger starts a slow swirl in your belly.

“The birds woke me,” you answer belatedly, mind still caught up in the sight of Jack’s long, bare legs. His boots end just low enough to display an alluring curve of calf- but it’s his thighs, sturdy and thick and corded with muscle, that are far more enticing at the moment.

Jack’s grin widens, delighted as ever that his antics have caught your attention. “I’m sorry to hear that, honey. You sure you don’t wanna go back to bed?”

His head cocks at an angle you’re all too familiar with, the brim of his hat tilting along with it. Jack rests a hand on his thigh, hooking his right thumb in the waistband of those shorts- lowering it far enough to reveal the crease of his hip.

Your lips part. There's so much of him on display. Jack Daniels is a lot of man at any time, tall and broad and brazen, but like this- strength sheathed in bare skin everywhere you look- how are you supposed to cope?

“Come up here,” you rasp.

Jack makes a show of each movement, oozing off the fence like liquid sin. But his long stride is a shade too quick to match his usual swagger. You rise to meet him as he ascends the steps- and then you’re in each other’s arms, mouths colliding in a hungry kiss. A deep, satisfied sound vibrates in your throat. Jack grunts when you knock his hat off, burying a hand in his hair. His bedheaded waves are only slightly flattened, still soft and free of product before his morning routine.

You keep a gentle grip on him when Jack breaks for air, panting against your lips. 

“Mm, what’d you say to that-” another quick kiss “-bed, darlin’?” He works damp kisses down your jaw, hands splayed along your spine with enough pressure to make your back arch into him- not that you planned to put any distance between you.

You sneak one hand beneath his gun and around his back, gleefully grabbing that handful of exposed ass cheek and squeezing. 

Jack’s hips jolt, and you make a noise of relish. The smooth flesh fills your palm perfectly, squishing and molding like the world’s best stress ball. Jack once joked that he’d spent so much time riding- horses, motorcycles, you name it- that he’d chafed off all the hair on his ass. After much thorough examination, you’d concluded that he was right- but, you’d promised, with a kiss to his still-heaving chest, you didn’t mind in the least.

Oh right, Jack asked you a question. “Too far away,” you answer, a gasp slipping out when he sucks hard at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. 

You maneuver him until you have Jack pinned against the wall of the house. “You up for some porch fun time, cowboy?” Your words dampen the skin of his neck, your kisses following.

Jack cuts a glance sideways, to where the porch swing sways innocently near the corner of the house. You know exactly what he’s remembering- knew when you suggested it that the three of you would remember it every time you used the porch from then on.

Your husband exhales a shuddery breath. “Anything you want, honey.” Jack’s gaze is full of intent when it returns to yours. 

Fluttering fills your belly for an entirely different reason. You hold his stare for several heartbeats; then you have to kiss him again, softly, although it quickly mounts to the same fervor as before.

“What I want-” your lips brush his ear “-is to take these ridiculous, sexy shorts off you, and then suck your dick.” 

Jack emits a faint, strangled noise.

“Is that okay?”

“Yes ma’am.” Jack manages a grin, his eyes round and hungry.

First, you wrap your fingers around the loops of his gun holster. You draw the leather straps down his arms, dragging them very deliberately against his skin, pausing when the bands encircle his wrists.

“Jaack,” you coo. Your husband has tipped his head back to rest against the wall, his eyes half-closed, heavy with desire. Besides his chest, rising and falling with hitching breaths, he holds himself perfectly still; tension thrums in his arms, taut with the effort of giving you the reins.

He rolls his head back toward you. The tip of his tongue peeks out to wet his lips.

You smile at him, all shameless adoration. You have no orders for him- you just wanted to see his face.

Jack gives a breathless chuckle as you continue, removing and carefully setting aside his holster. “You’re gonna kill me one day, darlin’.”

“You’re gonna like it,” you counter.

A last quick kiss to his lips, and then your journey begins in earnest. Down his neck and chest, over the plane of his belly, you plant swirling, open-mouthed kisses. He tastes of salt and hay and the open air; it rouses you, that wild combination, the same way it did when Jack first invited you for a ride on his property. Through various fields and an untamed stretch of woods, you followed him- until you returned to his house, where he followed you as together you explored every possible definition of the word 'ride'.

Now Jack groans, the same gorgeously stunned disbelief in his face as there was the first time you knelt before him. The flesh of his belly sinks between your teeth when you give into the urge to bite it. Just a little. You nibble your way to the button of his shorts, reveling in Jacks’s aborted twitches and gasps at each tiny pinch.

When your hands finally rest on his muscular thighs, you take a second to appreciate the sight above you. Jack’s chest is heaving, glistening with sweat and small red patches where your mouth traveled. His fingers are splayed against the siding of the house, as if searching for something to dig into that isn’t you.

Lowering your gaze again, you huff out a laugh. “Can’t believe I’m about to give you a blow job with you in just your cowboy boots.”

Despite his state, Jack laughs. “It can’t be the first time, can it?”

“I hope so.”

Then Jack doesn’t have anything else to say, because you’ve unbuttoned his shorts and taken his cock in hand.

You sigh happily as the heft of him fills your grip, all velvety skin and tiny, eager pulses of precum. They slicken his length nicely beneath the slide of your palm. Jack swears as you nuzzle into the crease of his hip, inhaling the musky, homey scent of him. 

“Please, sugar,” he groans, his voice cracking.

In answer, you lick another bead of fluid from the tip of his cock. You lave your tongue around the flushed head, Jack’s ragged, whimpery sighs like music to your ears. Finally, you stretch your lips around him.

Jack can’t resist. One hand leaves the siding to cradle the back of your head. Just resting there, needing to feel you, rather than trying to influence your motions. 

You smile adoringly up him- with your eyes, at least. 

With your mouth you engulf his cock, bobbing your head slowly and wrapping your hand around what doesn’t fit. You listen as you do so, cataloging Jack’s little sounds and gasps and shivers while you work him gradually toward ecstasy. 

Only once do you pause, a frown furrowing your brow at the unwelcome discovery that Jack’s shorts are in the way of you grabbing his butt again. You ease off his cock with an extra flicker of your tongue, and Jack chuckles as he catches on, helping you kick the shorts off around his boots.

With his smooth, squeezable ass filling your palm again, you plant your other hand on his hip to hold him in place as you take him in your mouth with renewed vigor. 

Jack’s groan fills the air, blocking out even the twittering of the birds. All sense of place eludes you as you tune completely into Jack- his stuttered praise, the rapid rise and fall of his belly brushing your face, the taste of him when he twitches on your tongue.

His fingers flex against the back of your head. Sudden desperation scrapes in his voice. “Wait, honey, shit, can I come on you-”

You’re happy to oblige him. You release his cock, leaning back to quickly strip off your shirt. In the second it takes you, Jack has grasped himself in one big hand, stroking rapidly. The sight immediately mesmerizes you- the shiny red tip appearing and disappearing in his fist as he pants for release.

You turn wide eyes upward and force your mouth to work. “God you’re so pretty like this Jack, come for me, please-”

And that’s all it takes. Jack’s knees wobble and he moans loudly, his release startlingly hot against your skin. His mouth falls open. His brow crumples, even as he keeps half-lidded eyes on the picture he’s painting.

You coo and praise Jack throughout, admiring the high color in his cheeks. He sags against the wall as the last shudder fades; you can already see the flood of post-coital hormones relaxing his face. Relief and gratitude shimmer in his smile.

His blissed-out gaze drifts, catching on something to the side. A bleary frown tugs at his lips. “Shoot, sugar. You ain’t even had your coffee yet.”

You genuinely have to turn and look to remember. Your mug from earlier on the patio table, still visibly full, but the contents long-forgotten. A laugh bubbles up in your chest. Barely recovered from (what sounded like) a fantastic blow job, and this is what Jack fixates on?

“It’s okay. I’ll add some ice cubes, call it an iced coffee.”

Jack looks down at you, blinking himself more alert. He finally seems to recall that both you and he have his come dripping from somewhere, and with a grunt he kneels, picking up the shorts that started it all.

“Sorry, sugar. You sit yourself back down there, I’ll grab some for you.”

Jack uses the worn denim to gently wipe most of the mess from your body. When he’s done, he kisses you, deeply and appreciatively, and you purr, happily running your hands through his hair again. 

Jack strides back inside- carelessly, gloriously naked, only his cowboy boots clunking against the floor. Cowboy Candids from Tennessee, X-Rated Edition. Giggling to yourself, you plop back down in your chair. 

When Jack returns, he’s barefoot, his footfalls dulled. Three ice cubes clink into your cooled coffee; your husband’s nude form fills your vision.

Jack chuckles lowly where he’s stopped in front of you. “Sorry darlin’, I should have said- sit down with your pants off.”

“…What?”

Heat sparks in your core when Jack kneels. His fingers dance up to waistband of your pants, and you squirm, laughing. “What are you doing?”

The chair cushion is cool against your bare ass. Your breath catches at the gleam in Jack’s eye.

“You’re havin’ your coffee. I’m havin’ breakfast.”

You gape, but Jack simply waits, his mouth quirked. He cocks an eyebrow at where your now-chilled mug is starting to sweat. 

(It’s not the only one.)

Swallowing, you lift the mug to your lips.

Jack gives you a devilish grin, and presses your knees apart.

---

Thanks for indulging my fun little meta experiment, friends.

Also if you haven’t already, you definitely now want to appreciate Pat’s art 🔪🧡 back view. front view.

Taglist: @thirstworldproblemss

#jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x you #kingsman fic #kingsman golden circle #kingsman golden circle fic #agent whiskey x you #rancher boys

[revenantemeritus]

A Gentleman’s Word (1/?)

A/N: I originally posted this story on Wattpad back when the first Kingsman film came out. This is the new rewrite of the original story. This is my first ever fic on Tumblr, so if the post comes out weird or if there's any errors. I will be actively updating this story, at least one a week since I am in the process of rewriting the original. I hope you guys enjoy it!

Pairing: Harry Hart x Kingsman!OC

Warnings: Mentions of death, unrequited love, pining, mild language.

Summary: Evelyn Wicker and Harry Hart have been inseparable since their time at the Academy. After being initiated into Kingsman the two worked side by side to ensure success. The only kick is Evelyn's deep-seeded love for her counterpart which at some point begins to interfere with her work. After their near death (and the death of Eggsy's father) the two both have a common goal; to right the wrongs. The recent death of James, better known as Lancelot, allows Harry to finally make good on the vow he took all those years ago. Evelyn is torn once she receives the news that Harry has been put into a coma after the incident with Professor Arnold, and she has to make a choice. But is it the right one?

Word Count: 1216

I'm sitting in my usual seat in the corner across from Harry's desk with my nose buried in a newspaper. Mornings like these were not usual, in fact most of our free mornings were spent this way. Harry Hart and I have been an inseparable duo since the moment we met as teenagers. We graduated secondary school together, we went through Kingsman initiation together, and we were inducted into the organization together. Galahad and Guinivere fighting side by side through even the most impossible of situations. Of course, due to the nature of our employment, we aren't always together. Both of us are sent on our own individual mission, promising one another that we will return to tell the tale.

From the outside looking in it would appear that we maintained the perfect friendship, existing amongst each other in harmony. Perhaps even for Harry that's how our relationship may seem, but the same cannot be said for myself. Truth be told, I have been harboring feelings for my partner since we were teenagers. I would be lying if I said that I haven't thought about telling him; so many years have passed, one would think I would have by now. It's been 27 years of keeping this secret to myself, and to be honest it's driving me crazy. I can keep things professional, that's no problem; but it's on mornings like these, when it's just the two of us, that my mind begins to wander. It's like a scene out of one of the corny romance films, always peering up at him from my newspaper while he's distracted. Except there are no stolen glances or unspoken mutualism, just one woman pining for a man far out of her reach.

I lower my newspaper and begin folding it, keeping my eyes focused on the task at hand. "Finished already?" Harry quips, looking up from the newspaper in front of him. I look up and give him a slight smile, "I am. Nothing terribly interesting today it would seem." I soon drop my gaze back down as I stand and walk over to the bin, tossing the newspaper in it. Behind me I can hear his newspaper rustling, and the soft tap of his glasses being set down on his desk. I turn around and face him, surprised to see that he has also gotten out of his seat. "You are certainly right about that," he walks over to where I'm at and tosses his newspaper in the bin.

Giving a short nod to him, I twist the doorknob and step out of the room, not taking another glance back at him.  I make my way to the kitchen where a kettle is waiting, water already boiled and ready to be poured. I take a glance at the front door, debating whether or not I should head home or stay for just a bit longer. Behind me, Harry is leaning against the door frame, watching me struggle through my indecisiveness. "Leaving so soon?" he says, raising an eyebrow at me as I turn and look at him with a halfhearted smile. "Maybe. I'm trying to decide whether or not I should actually buy groceries today, knowing they'll most likely go to waste." A soft chuckle erupts from his lips, the corner of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly. "That is true; you spend more time here or at headquarters than you do your own home." I turn and face him with a slight eye roll, "you're right. Maybe I should buy groceries for yours instead of mine, since I'm here so often and all." His smirk breaks into a full closed smile, the corners of his eyes creasing just slightly. "That wouldn't be a terrible idea; it's definitely not one of your worst." I place my hand over my heart and feign being offended, "now that's just hurtful." This time he lets out a genuine laugh, the sound of it warming my heart.

"Come now we both know you have had some wild plans in the past," he quips, still leaning against the wooden doorframe. I raise a brow slightly at him, "even so, how many of those 'crazy ideas' of mine have pulled us through some rather impossible situations." With that he holds his hands up in defeat, "you've got me there." Soon after the words cross his lips the room falls silent, the air growing stale between us. I take another glance at the door, trying to think of a valid excuse to leave. After another moment of ponder, I turn my head to him and open my mouth to speak, but the sound of our glasses going off stop them in my throat. I blink in surprise and reach into my cardigan pocket, pulling out my glasses. As I look back up, I find that Harry has retreated back into his office to retrieve his glasses. With a soft sigh I unfold my glasses and place them on my face, "Merlin." The line is silent for a moment, making my heart plummet into my stomach. "Merlin? What is it?" I wait a moment longer before a hear a saddened sigh from his line, "come to the conference room; we've lost Lancelot." My face fell in that exact moment, my eyes looking up to meet Harrys saddened expression.

"We're on our way," is all I say before pulling my glasses off, setting them on the kitchen table. Harry walks out of his office and returns to the kitchen, his eyes meeting mine as he approaches. "Do we know what Lancelot was doing?" I say, my voice coming out a lot quieter than I intended. "No, but I'm certain Merlin will fill us in when we get there." I nod and frown, finding it impossible to move from the spot I'm planted in. As I step away to retrieve my suit from his office, all I hear behind me is one simple word from Harry.

"Shit."

As I pull out my suit from the case I keep it in, my mind begins to wander back to the day that Lancelot became Lancelot. A day that I know Harry carries of the weight of to this day, despite it begin 17 years ago. It was his mistake that ended up killing one of the recruits, one that we all thought was prime Kingsman material. If it hadn't been for Unwins bravery everyone else in that room would have died alongside him. Merlin, Harry, Lancelot, and I owe our lives to the man who sacrificed his to save ours. I glance over my shoulder as I slide my suit jacket on, seeing Harry running a hand over his face. After sliding my final pieces into place, I exit the office and walk up behind him. I reach out and place a hand softly on his shoulder in support, hoping to ease his nerves as best I can. With a reassuring squeeze some of the tension in his shoulders loosens and he turns, facing me fully. My heart aches in my chest at the sight of his pained expression, the guilt of his past mistake clear in his eyes.

Without a second thought and envelop him in a hug, his arms immediately snaking around my frame.

"We'll make this right Harry, together."

Together.

#harry hart x oc #kingsman #kingsman the secret service #harry hart #eggsy unwin #merlin #lancelot #galahad #guinevere #kingsman fic #fanfiction #harry hart fanfiction

[scarlettacklen1986]

You Built A Fort? •Kingsman Merlin•

Word count: 985

Type: Fluff

Warning: Non

Paring: Merlin × Oc (description is kept limited name can easily be changed when reading)

Summary: Kate is worried about leaving Merlin with her son for the first time but Merlin is sure he'll be fine

"You're sure about this?" Kate asked as she grabbed her coat going towards the bullet train.

"Yes my love," Merlin repeated.

"I mean I just, I know he likes you but he's always been around me when he's also around you and I don't want him to act up with you," she said.

"My dear, I will be okay," he laughed kissing her again. "I love you and he loves you, we can bond over that. . .And Hot wheels," he smiled when she laughed.

Kate hugged him and kissed his cheek before he got on the bullet train. "I'll message you when I get there!" He called as it closed she waved him off starting back to her office.

The entire time she was in the meeting with Harry she was tapping her pen. "Percival," he said getting her attention again "Are you okay?" He asked concerned, not annoyed like the last Arthur but real concern.

"Merlin is watching Billy alone for the first time, I'm just really, really worried about how Billy will react to it, he's only 7 and he likes Merlin sure but I know he hasn't been great since his dad and I'm scared he'll think I'm trying to replace his dad and I'm not but how does a kid react to this stuff." she rambled. ". . .I'm sorry, that was a lot and it was really personal and you are my boss and Jesus Christ I need to shut my mouth," she groaned.

"You and Merlin are my friends Kate, I know how hard it's been for you, I'm glad you and Merlin have adapted and are happy and I know that Billy loves you enough that if Merlin makes you happy, he'll be happy," Harry smiled holding onto her hand. "Something else is bothering you," he said.

"Beck, he. . .He was an agent too, Billy's already lost him and I just. . .If Merlin gets hurt. . .Or worse or god forbid I am the one in the medbay, what would happen to Billy then," she said.

"Merlin is the Quatermaster he won't be in the field and I can do something to make it so you aren't in the field," he suggested.

"Just. . .Make it so I'm in the field less please " she asked.

"Of course I can, now let's wrap this meeting up so you can get home to your boys hm?" Harry smiled and Kate nodded.

By the time the meeting wrapped up she was gone for 3 hours.

Kate was quick to bid Harry goodbye and get on the bullet train then to her car.

The drive was another 30 minutes

3 and half hours she had left Merlin with Billy and she was slightly worried.

Kate unlocked the door stepping inside she saw a pile of blankets and pillows in the living room.

She leaned against the door frame. "What on earth have you two done?" She asked.

Billy ran out from the fort hugging her. "Hi mum," he said as she hugged him.

"Hey buddy, Where's Hamish?" She asked.

Merlin's head popped out of the Fort, he slowly climbed out the Fort. "Hi Love " he smiled finally standing.

"Hi, what on earth happened here?" She asked.

"We cooked dinner together, watched a new superhero movie and then made a pillow Fort " Merlin told her.

"And had a sword fight!" Billy said happily.

"A sword fight?" She asked looking at Merlin.

"We have a pirate in the making," Merlin beamed clasping a hand on Billy's shoulder.

"The superhero had my name!" Billy cheered.

"But the villain looked like Hamish " he added.

"Hm, how odd," she laughed.

"Why don't you go get ready for bed huh? I'll come and read you a story " she said.

"Can Hamish read it tonight?" Billy asked.

Kate looked at Merlin who nodded. "Of course little guy," he said and Billy ran upstairs.

"So it went well?" Kate asked.

"Amazingly," He grinned. "Billy's a good kid," he told her pulling her into a hug.

"I've arranged to not be in the field as often, I don't want to risk Billy losing another parent," she said.

"That's a good idea,"

"Now help me clean up your mess," she told him

The two clean up the pillows and blankets, Merlin went upstairs as Kate made two cups of tea.

When Kate came upstairs she heard Merlin reading to Billy finishing the last part of the chapter they were reading.

"Alright, night buddy," he said gently,

"Night Hamish " Billy said sleepily and Merlin left and turned the light off before closing the door.

Kate handed him one of the cups. "You know, if he likes those books, I have most of them," he told her.

"Really?"

"Yeah, of course, I don't read 'em,"

"Thanks," she smiled

The next morning, Merlin left before Kate or Billy woke up to get to work, then it was Kate who woke and made breakfast. "Morning buddy," she said as he came downstairs.

"How do you always hear me!" Billy whined.

"I'm a superhero," she deadpanned pushing a plate towards him.

"I really like Hamish," Billy said. "He's nice and he makes you happy," He told her.

Kate smiled. "Thanks, buddy," she ruffled his hair. "Let's get you to school," she told him.

Kate got into work and went straight to Merlin's office sneaking in silently walking over wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Morning Handsome," she said.

"How do you stay so silent in those blasted things?" Merlin said motioning to her heels.

"I'm a spy darling," she chuckled. "You know, Billy really likes you," Kate told him, "He told me this morning,"

"That's great," he turned around in his chair to face her, her hands went to his shoulders, his her waist.

"I love you," she smiled cupping his face before kissing him.

"I love you," he mimicked

#kingsman merlin imagine #kingsman imagine #Kingsman merlin one short #kingsman merlin fanfiction #Kingsman Merlin fic #kingsman merlin #kingsman fic #kingsman fanfiction #Roxy Kingsman #Roxy Mortin #eggsy urwin #kingsman eggsy #hamish mycroft #hamish #merlin x reader #kingsman x reader #harry heart #merlin kingsman #kingsmen secret service #kingsman #taron egerton #mark strong

[zebraljb]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Kingsman (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin Characters: Harry Hart | Galahad, Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Merlin (Kingsman), Roxy Morton | Lancelot, JB (Kingsman) Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Tuxedos Series: Part 1 of Tonight Summary:

Five times Eggsy loves Harry, no matter what he's wearing. And one time he loves him enough to tell him so.

Once upon a time I could write. I always liked this one. As always, dedicated to the amazing @tastymoves

#kingsman fic #hartwin

[stronglyobsessed]

Chapters: 6/?

Fandom: Kingsman (Movies)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Merlin/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin

Characters: Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Roxy Morton | Lancelot, Jamal (Kingsman), Merlin, Harry Hart | Galahad, Eggsy's Sister, Percival (Kingsman), Other Character Tags to Be Added

Additional Tags: Alternate universe - Furniture store, Eggsy is an ex-convict, Kingsman is A Furniture Store, Canon Elements, Getting Together, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Found Family, mentions of drug dealing, So much healing and comfort, Custody Arrangements, Sad with a Happy Ending

Summary:

After an 18 month sentence in prison for his involvement with Dean and drug dealing, Eggsy is left to fix his life. Without a father, mother, a sister who is in foster care, and a felony riding on his record, Eggsy is forced to live in nothing bigger than a large closet, and find himself a job.

Except being an ex-convict isn’t exactly a desirable quality when considering a future hire.

He works through applications, waiting for anything that might give him a chance, only to be left empty handed, and considering his old habits to earn some income. Until he gets a call from Kingsman Bespoke Upholstery, a company known for their hand made sofas, chairs, tables and more, and is offered an interview by Harry Hart.

Which is great, except it was the very company his dad risked his life for. But despite his reservations, Eggsy accepts, willing to do anything in order to fight and win custody of his sister.

He’s only expecting a paycheck from honest work. What he ends up with is a family, friends and love found in a bald Scottish man with a rough exterior, but the kindest heart.

#kingsman fic #kingsman #eggsy unwin #merlin #merwin #update #my update #fic #getting together