#cssjwd

[cannedsoupsucks]

This is what sweet fantasies are made of ❤

I loved the hand washing station bit! I've worked with livestock, so when I read the part about going to eat after petting all the animals my first thought was omg, go wash your hands! 😂

For your 100 follower requests: "More please" first kiss scenario with Tovar or Whiskey. WRITER'S CHOICE.

Alright this turned into something way bigger than I had planned. This sits at 2.7k. Don't ask me where the actual idea came from, I have no idea.

Also, I want you to know, I wrote the ENTIRE SCENE with the goats and then went "...I should make sure she likes goats."

Jack Daniels x f!reader. Meet cute at a county fair. No warnings, this is all cute fluff with kissing.

Without further ado, I present to you:

She Moves Through the Fair

You were standing off to the side of the crowds, by the animal housing. Your friend was 20 minutes late so far, which wasn’t like her. You’d texted her ten minutes ago to check in.

Finally, your phone buzzed.

Hey so sorry I forgot we were supposed to go today I can’t make it

You groaned out loud at that. Great. So now you were on your own at the county fair. You’d already paid the entrance fee, so you might as well stay now. This was not how you’d expected your day to go.

“Everything alright?”

You jumped, turning towards the voice. A man had come up behind you, hands stuck in the pockets of his jeans. He was wearing a black Stetson. Your lips twitched against your will.

“I’m fine,” you told him. “Just a change of plans, is all.”

“You need any help?” The man offered you a little smile, brown eyes warm.

“No, thank you. I think I’m going to go pet some goats and… figure something out.” You shrugged.

His eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Figure something out? Are you here alone?”

“Yes,” you answered reluctantly.

“Well, I’d say I’m sorry, but this means I get a chance to escort a pretty lady today.” He smiled at you. “My own company found someone else to run around with, so I seem to be unattached for the day.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. He didn’t flinch, just waiting patiently. Well, he was handsome, that was for sure. Seemed to have manners. And if needed, you could definitely get away from him – this was a county fair, not a private event. There was security around. And if you kicked up a fuss, you’d get bystander support.

“Sure,” you agreed. “Why not. You might get bored, though.”

“I’ll be bored on my own, so if that happens, at least I’ll be bored in lovely company.” He winked at you, almost over the top, and smiled when you giggled. “I’m Jack, by the way.”

You gave him your name and shook his hand, amused.

“I believe you said something about goats?” Jack grinned at you, motioning you to go first. You nodded and headed for the nearest animal housing area, perking up a bit. Sheep over here. That was fine. You patted every sheep that came up to the fence, saying hi to each one. Jack kept pace with you and, to your surprise, he also chatted easily with the sheep. Mostly he snuck sly little comments about the ��beautiful lady” he was with, making you grin every time.

“You’re quite a flirt,” you told him once the two of you finally reached the goats. “I think these guys will appreciate it more than the sheep, though.”

Jack threw his head back and laughed at that, bright and full-bellied. “You think so, huh?”

“Well, the goats are more active, usually,” you pointed out, as one headbutted your hand for attention. “Although if I were you I’d save the sweet talking for the pygmy goats, those things are too damn cute.”

“Favorites of yours, I take it?” Jack asked, leaning down a bit to pet a lazy goat who bleated at him without actually getting up.

“If I could, I would have like three of those,” you told him. “They’re so cute. And they’re a more manageable size than regular goats.”

“Looks like there’s some pygmies up there,” Jack pointed out, nodding to the end of the row.

“Don’t rush me, I’m getting there,” you shot back playfully. Jack just chuckled at you. “So, what brought you here today? You said you got ditched?”

“Promised a friend I’d come,” Jack told you with an easy shrug. “He wanted some help picking something out. ‘Course, soon as we’d done that, he got a call from another buddy of his and abandoned me to meet up with that group.” He shot you a flirty smile. “My gain, though.”

You chuckled. “Well, I dunno about that,” you murmured.

“I do.”

You felt your cheeks heat with blood and you ducked your head, momentarily flustered by his outright flirting. Then you smiled. “Well, we’ve got the rest of the day,” you pointed out. “I have no plans.”

“No?” Jack smiled. “Let’s see if I can’t change that.” He stepped around you, getting ahead of you, and winked before he sauntered off to the end of the row to the pygmy goats. He started chatting with an older gentleman on the other side of the fence, nodding back your direction once. You kept half your attention on him, curious what he was doing. But not quite curious enough to go butt in on the conversation. Instead you kept going down the row, petting goats.

At least until Jack trotted back over to you, looking smug as the cat that ate the canary. “Come on,” he told you, holding out a hand to you.

“What?”

“Come on!” Jack smiled, beckoning you again. You took his hand, and he promptly tugged you along over to the pygmy goats. The gentleman behind the fence opened up a section of fencing for you, ushering you both inside, and then efficiently herded you both into the pen with the pygmy goats.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, eyes huge. There were five goats and three kids. The kids were teeny tiny, and promptly ran over to investigate the two of you.

“Sit,” Jack encouraged you. “They’ll nibble a bit, so watch your stuff.” He gently pushed one kid away from nibbling on the hem of his jeans.

You sat, eyes still huge, and let the kids and the mamas sniff you and climb on you. They were adorable and friendly, and you were having a blast. Definitely needed to get like three of these little guys. Someday.

“How did you…?” You finally asked Jack several minutes later, after the kids had worn themselves out a bit. One of them had fallen asleep with its head on your foot, and you were loathe to move.

“Just had a friendly chat,” Jack told you, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“You’re incredible,” you told him with a blinding smile. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

Jack’s smile turned a little softer, almost shy. “Well, why not?” he countered. “You got stood up, looks like, might as well make the best of your day now.”

You had no words for that, so you just smiled helplessly at him and scratched one of the mama goats when she wandered over to you.

You could have happily stayed there all day, but you did eventually get up. Mostly because your stomach was rumbling, and Jack insisted the two of you eat. So you got up, said goodbye to the goats (and thanked the owner), and made your way outside to a hand washing station.

“Bright,” you grumbled as soon as you were outside, squinting. “It was not this bright earlier.”

“You didn’t bring a hat?” Jack asked, tutting at you.

“Forgot it,” you admitted. You looked at him, reached up, and stole his hat, plonking it on your head with a cheeky grin. “This’ll work.”

Jack’s jaw dropped for a moment, and then he swallowed hard, looking you up and down. “Looks good on you,” he croaked.

“Thanks.” You flashed him a grin and reached out for his hand. “Food’s this way, come on.” He followed behind you easily, letting you lead the way.

The food area was, as usual, crowded and large. There were at least a dozen different vendors, all with different types of food, everything from pizza and hot dogs to turkey legs to gyros.

“What are you in the mood for?” you asked Jack, stepping out of the way and scanning the different offerings. “And if you say anything with fried dough before lunch, I’m walking away.”

Jack laughed at that, slinging an easy arm around your shoulders. You didn’t flinch at the touch, a little surprised at yourself. “Nah, I’m pretty easy to please. I usually go for a hot dog, or a sausage to start.” He winked at you, and you choked and spluttered for a moment.

“Go, I’ll meet you at a table,” you told him, waving him on. He hesitated for only a moment before he nodded, releasing you and striding off to get in line. You took a few moments to admire the view as he walked away. Mmm. Those jeans did great things for him from this angle. (From any angle, really, if you were being honest with yourself.)

You did tear your gaze away from him so you could trot off to get in line for your own food. Fortunately, things went quickly, and by the time you had your food and turned to look for Jack, he was flagging you down from an empty table. A smile stretched your lips – he was squinting at you. You still had his hat on. Your heart fluttered, just a little.

“You can have it back, if you want,” you told him, touching two fingers to the brim of his hat as you sat down next to him.

Jack smiled, slow and sweet as molasses. “Nah,” he said. “Looks good on you. Keep it.”

You returned the smile, and the two of you settled in to eat lunch. You finally learned a bit more about him – he worked at a distillery. Not one you’d heard of, though you absolutely did not claim to be a connoisseur of whiskey. In return, you told him a bit about your own job, and the friend who’d cancelled on you today.

“We come once a year,” you told him as the two of you cleaned up. “Well. She sometimes comes more often, but the two of us always come. We usually do a bit of early holiday shopping. Eat junk food. Stuff like that.”

“Well, we’ve eaten some junk food,” Jack said, glancing at your empty plates. “We’ll get to more of that later. Haven’t done any shopping, though.”

“I’m not dragging you through the vendor buildings,” you protested.

“Who says you’ll be dragging me, darlin’?” Jack shot back with an easy grin. “I’ll tell you if I get bored, promise. Now c’mon.” He grabbed your hand, towing you along with him. The crowds parted easily for him, and you couldn’t help a little huff of jealousy. Of course he’d get from point A to point B without being elbowed half a dozen times.

To your surprise, Jack was just as enthusiastic about shopping as your friend was. He had an eye for quality, charmed the vendors into giving you better deals, and ended up with multiple purchases of his own. He stopped and bought beef jerky in a variety of flavors. He sampled local honey with you. He even somehow ended up in a half hour discussion with a local vintner talking about barrels, of all things. That one you mostly just watched, perplexed, only half following the conversation. Watching Jack was far more interesting, anyway. He was a social chameleon, able to fit in at any and every booth he stopped at. Honestly, it was fascinating to watch.

Jack carried half of your bags for you, ignoring your protests, until you huffed and gave in.

The two of you zig-zagged back and forth through the vendor buildings for a solid few hours, until you cried mercy and Jack insisted on a snack break. He parked you at a quiet out of the way table, away from the main hustle and bustle of the fair, and vanished with promises to return with sustenance. You sat backwards on the bench so you could lean back against the edge of the table, smiling. Your day had certainly turned out much better than you would have guessed.

Jack came striding back with a funnel cake, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“I haven’t had one of these in years,” you told him, amused as you took one of the forks.

“It is a fair,” he told you with a wink. “Haveta get something fried here, darlin’.”

“Fair enough.” You smiled at him, sitting closer than was strictly necessary on the bench to share the funnel cake with him. The quiet was easy between the two of you, comfortable and relaxed. The fair noises were a little quieter here, and nobody even passed by your table.

“You’ve got a little somethin’,” Jack said, pointing to his own cheek to demonstrate. You swiped at your cheek, and he shook his head. “Nope, still there.” After watching you wipe your cheek again, he chuckled. “May I?”

“Okay,” you agreed, heart tripping and then slamming into double time. Jack reached over slowly, giving you plenty of time to move, and his thumb swiped across your cheek, then again. You leaned into the touch, and his hand cupped your cheek instead.

“Can I kiss you, darlin’?” he asked, voice low and quiet.

“Yes.”

Jack leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. His moustache tickled a little, making you smile into the kiss. His hand was warm against your cheek as he held you there, pulling back a little.

“More, please,” you murmured, still smiling at him.

“With pleasure.” Jack kissed you again, a series of gentle kisses that slowly became less chaste until he finally pulled back. Your eyes fluttered open – when had you closed them? Jack was smiling, his thumb sweeping across your cheek again.

“I think we can safely say you rescued the day,” you murmured, smiling.

“It’s my pleasure, darlin’,” Jack assured you. He kissed you one more time, apparently unable to resist, and then sat back. “What else is on your agenda for the day?”

You pulled out your phone for the first time in hours to check the time and make sure you hadn’t missed any actually important messages. Nothing important. And it was getting later than you’d realized.

“I should probably head home soon,” you said regretfully. “I don’t usually stay for the music stuff. Too loud.”

“I understand.” Jack smiled. “Well, then, darlin’, you say the word and I’ll help you to your car.”

“You don’t have to,” you protested, already knowing it was useless and unable to hide your smile.

“I insist,” Jack told you with a grin of his own. “My mama’d box me ‘round the ears if I didn’t.”

You giggled at that and shook your head. “Come on, one more walk down the main road, just in case anything catches our attention.”

The two of you stood, Jack once again stealing most of the bags (although you had to admit he had them stacked and set inside each other to make things easier), and then you were off. You were at the far end of the fair, so you had a nice stroll towards the front. It was just about the point at which the type of crowd changed – the families with children were leaving, and the teenagers and young adults were starting to swarm in for the musician of the night.

Honestly, you were loathe for the night to end, but you needed to get home.

“Thank you for today,” you told Jack as the two of you walked back to your car. “Really.”

“It was my pleasure, darlin’,” Jack told you. He set down your bags in your car and then boxed you in against the side of your car, tipping his hat (which was still on your head) up so he could kiss you again. And again. And again. Finally he stepped back, lips shining and red, eyes dark. “I’ll see you again soon, darlin’.”

“Your hat,” you started.

“I’ll get it next time.” Jack gave you one last lingering kiss before he took two big steps backwards. “Go on home. Check your bags. We’ll talk soon.” He winked you and turned, walking away.

It took every ounce of willpower you had not to either go after him or immediately dig through your bags to find out what he was talking about. Instead you drove home as calmly as you could, the hat placed safely on the passenger seat. As soon as you were parked, you were gathering up the bags and the hat and bolting inside to find whatever he had left you.

A small bag that you didn’t recognize was tucked into one of the bigger bags. Inside was a pair of earrings you had talked yourself out of buying, citing that they were out of your price range, and a business card. The business card had two numbers: office and cell. Jack Daniels. The simple note written on it made your heart soar.

Call me anytime, darlin’. I’ll see you soon.

--

Tags: @fandom-blackhole @pedrocentric @beskarprincessjenny @sarahjkl82-blog @cannedsoupsucks @liviiii98 @adriiibell @seasonschange-butpeopledont @princessxkenobi @thirddeadlysin @pbeatriz @oonajaeadira @kiizhikehn-cedar @green-socks

[cannedsoupsucks]

“Stay here with me.”  Words I'd never expect to hear ol' Jack say 🥰

Buried: Part 9

Pairing: Agent Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x Female Reader (Agent Cider)

Word Count: 7,187

Rating: N S F W (and everything that goes along with it! - Language, sex, mentions of past womanizing, talk of various birth control methods, etc)

Summary: The cards have all been laid out on the table - or so you think. Jack still has one more trick up his sleeve … but you’re both going to get  exactly what you’ve wanted for years. 

Author’s note:

I am so sorry that it’s taken so long to get this out - but I got very sidetracked. Cider and Jack deserved my full attention, and I wanted to wait to write and post this until I could give it to them. It will not be three months until the next update - I promise. I’m already working on Jack’s POV of this chapter, so stay tuned for part 9.5 soon (ish)

Catch up on this story via my masterlist (link in the taglist reblog)

Side note: writing smut for Jack Daniels was a very daunting task. He’s a lot to handle in every sense of the word. 

Keep reading

[cannedsoupsucks]

I remember reading the previous version and I'm so excited to see it being retooled for Jack! Can you add me to the tag list please?

Jack Daniels: Contractual Obligations (Redux), Prologue

WC:  2622

Other Pieces:  This is part of a planned mini-series.

CW:  Talk of sex work, but no smut. 18+ only.

CN: If this looks familiar, it is - I'm self-plagerizing a fully-written/half-published piece for a different character. Consider the first iteration a junked car that I'm stripping for parts.

________________

It’s Brooke’s fault that Jack Daniels falls into your orbit.

Brooke is married to Charles, and Charles owns a series of trendy bars across Manhattan and Brooklyn. It’s necessary, the regular dinner parties with Charles and Brooke. Keeps the skids greased, keeps Statemen whiskey featured at a nice markup in those trendy bars. Jack would rather eschew these dinner parties, but he considers it work and puts on his most charming persona accordingly.

Which doesn’t mean he enjoys these dinners. Not at all. Charles knows him as Jack Daniels, senior executive at the Statemen distillery. Converses with him accordingly – boring talk about restaurant margins and rising real estate prices and proposed legislation around foie gras. Of course, Charles has no clue about Jack’s double life as a secret agent with a secret organization that keeps chaos from the door of the country.

Sometimes, though, the business talk falls away, and Jack becomes the preferred topic of conversation.

Tonight, after overelaborate plates of sea bass and tomato foam, Brooke swivels her head and fixes her eyes on Jack. She makes a comment about how it’s nearly impossible to find a spare woman to round out the numbers when Jack comes to dinner.

He turns on the charm, dials up the southern drawl. “Well, darlin’,” he replies. “Guess you’re enough woman for Charles and all of us bachelors.”

It makes her slap him playfully with the back of her hand, an oh, you rascal sort of gesture.

“You need a girlfriend,” she tells him. “A good woman to hold you down.”

Of all of the problems Jack has with women, being held down isn’t one of them. The women who pass through his life are almost all willing to stick around with him. Make an honest man of him, hold him down. Jack always has hope at the beginning of each nascent relationship that this woman will be the one, but it never turns out that way. No one can seem to fill the gaping hole left when his wife and unborn son died, and Jack always ends up cutting those women loose, in the end.

He does it kindly. He’s not a monster, after all. They are all lovely women. But that great gulf of grief….it’s like coastal shelf right in the center of his chest, a chasm of sorrow.

Charles snorts at his wife’s comment. “Finally run through all the available women in the five boroughs, Daniels?”

Jack grins at the comment, and he lets his reputation speak for him. His reputation is half truth, half bullshit. Sure, his bed oftentimes has a woman in it. Just as often that he sleeps alone.

“Maybe you should get yourself a sugar baby,” Charles continues. It earns him a playful slap from his wife, but his face gets a thoughtful cast as he keeps talking.

“No, I’m serious. Think about it. You need someone reliable for Statesmen events. Someone to keep you company. Instead of spending money wining and dining women with short shelf-lives, just invest in a sugar baby.”

It makes Jack’s smile slip. He says nothing. He hates the term sugar baby. It makes him think of…well, sugar babies. Squeaky-voiced barely-legal young women, mincing around in skimpy hot pink clothing, tottering on platform heels, pressing their overinflated fake tits against his arm as he wheels them around Statesmen social functions.

“How does one even find a sugar baby?” ask one of the other women at the table. Her husband supplies the answer (“there’s websites”) which earns him a glare and probably a fight once they get home.

Then the subject shifts onto the boring topic of the mayoral race, and Jack breaths a sigh of relief and counts the passing minutes until he can politely take his leave.

After he says his goodbyes, in the entryway of the home, Jack pauses to pull on his overcoat, to wind his scarf around his neck. A man from the dinner – some coworker of Charles – joins him, pulling on his own winter wear. Jack gives him a nod, receives a nod in return. The man clears his throat after a moment and spoke.

“Don’t go onto those websites,” he says, and it takes Jack a moment to get up to speed.

The man adds, “most of the women on those sites are flat-out grifters” and Jack is yanked back into the painful sugar babies discussion.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Jack replies dryly.

The man gives him an appraising look, then sighs and reaches into his pocket. Pulls out his wallet and a business card, and he hands it to Jack.

“I know someone,” he says. “If you’re interested.”

-----

Jack is not interested.

Jack is also not not interested.

A week passes, and then a month. Late one night, he peruses a few websites for sugar babies, and his suspicions are confirmed. They all look outrageously young, and Jack is certain there are women – girls – on the websites lying about their age. It makes him cringe in preemptive shame, and he closes the browser and purges his search history.

It’s another month of Jack playing with that business card. Pulls it out of his wallet, runs his thumb over the edges until they go soft and rounded.

Another month before he breaks down and calls.

It isn’t the sugar baby he calls. The business card belongs to the man from the dinner party, a man named Richard. Jack sets up lunch to get more information. It’s stupid. Maddening, but his interest is piqued and has never waned, even after a few months.

Over lunch in midtown, Jack and Richard exchange awkward small talk. It isn’t until the plates are bussed away and they are each nursing a coffee that the conversation turns to the topic at hand: the someone that Richard knows.

You.

“I’m not even sure if she’s available for a new client,” Richard says as they settle the check. “But if you want her contact information, I can give it to you.

Jack sighs, but then he nods. By the time he is back in his office, he has your phone number securely tucked away in his breast pocket.

-----

It takes another month to finally work up the courage to call you. He takes a mission overseas, and the thought is always in the back of his mind, the weight of your number taunting him. The entire maddening enterprise started in November, at that stupid dinner party. By the time Jack meets you, it is almost spring.

You are polite and frustratingly noncommittal on the phone when he calls. You only stay on the line long enough to get his name and to set up a meeting at a coffee shop. Which is where he finds himself now.

He gets there early. He has to wait. He isn’t nervous, exactly, but his heart does seem to thump a little harder in his chest. His pulse echoes in his inner ear like faraway thunder.

You look so normal that he almost misses you. Jack will come to learn that he has a lot of misconceptions – all rooted in media and his bit of research on the internet – about what you are. For now, the first misconception falls at the sight of you. He assumed you be in something a bit too risqué for a daytime meeting. Dramatic makeup, big hair, whatever.

You’re in dark-wash jeans and a cream-colored sweater, and your makeup is tastefully underdone. Your hair is down, but it’s parted and partially swept back by a silver clip. You look normal. Not young enough to be the girl next door, but maybe the girl next door’s older sister. Maybe a graduate at NYU, or a junior associate in a financial firm downtown. Younger than him, but not teetering on the edge of something statutory.

It’s you though. You zero in on him the moment you enter the coffee shop. You walk over and shake his hand, introduce yourself. He recognizes your voice from the phone call. It’s you.

You seem to sense his disorientation. You give a light laugh and gesture for him to sit down again, and you settle into the chair across from him.

“You seem surprised,” you say. “Expecting something different?”

Jack nods, opens his mouth to reply, but he is interrupted by the waitress. He already has his order in front of him, a double espresso, and he studies you a little closer as you place your own order of a cappuccino.

You are pretty, but not a knock-out. Well, maybe you could be with the right clothes and makeup – the more he studies you, the more you remind him of a blank canvas. The neutral clothing, the neutral makeup. All the women on those sugar baby websites seemed to hew to the same sort of fantasy, but maybe you have a different approach. Maybe you present a neutral option first thing for a reason. Maybe you only take on color and texture once you are beyond this awkward little first meeting.

Maybe he can mold you into what he wants, and that thought makes him sit up a little straighter.

That is the thought at the forefront of his mind as the two of you chat. You do most of the talking, easing him into it carefully. You start with inane small talk about the weather, and then you segue into business.

“How much do you know about this sort of thing?” you ask, and you tilt your head to wait for his answer. You have bright eyes, expressive, and he is suddenly aware that you are studying him as much as he is studying you.

“Almost nothing,” he answers truthfully. “I went on some of the websites – “

“Oh, those,” you break in, waving your hand. “Glorified back pages.” You take a sip of your cappuccino and ask, “What are you looking for, Mr. Daniels?”

An impossible question to answer. He wants a reprieve. He wants not to worry about finding a date to events, finding someone to fuck when he’s keyed up. He wants someone he can date without the stress of taking it to a more serious place. He wants a girlfriend without the stress of said girlfriend pushing for more. Pushing for more than he can give – pushing for his heart, when it’s already been scooped out of his chest years and years ago.

He tells you none of that. He couches it as companionship without the stress of finding and securing it, and you nod at that thoughtfully. You’re silent a long beat after he finishes talking.

“I always ask,” you finally say, “because many men have the wrong idea about these sorts of arrangements.”

“How so?”

Your lips curve into a smile. “Sex, Mr. Daniels. When I ask a man what they are looking for, and they give me a laundry list of sex stuff, I know it’s not a good match.”

Jack raises his eyebrows with a smirk that hides the filament of disappointment that curls in his gut. “So that’s off the table, honey?”

You laugh, the same light chuckle from when you first arrived at the coffee shop. “Of course not. But you’re paying for me, and that includes everything. Some call it the girlfriend experience. Breaking it down to a sordid little bucket list of all the things your wife won’t do is a waste of my talents.”

The phrase your wife makes his stomach turn, and he feels the loss all over again. Feels the wavelet of grief crest, break around him.

“I’m not married,” he says softly.

“Have you ever been married?”

He shakes his head. He lies. You don’t need to know that part of his life. So few people do, and he’s not about to share it with a stranger.

Another long beat of silence stretches out between you, and Jack wonders at the men you meet with in settings like this. Men like him, and men entirely different from him. Married men, bored with their lives, without the courage to really change them. Single men who are just tired and want the so-called ‘girlfriend experience’ for a moment before descending back into the fray.

You finish your drink and push the empty cup aside so that you can sit forward, your forearms on the table and your hands folded in front of you. All business all of a sudden.

“I am currently between situations,” you say matter-of-factly, as if you are a freelance consultant and not, technically, a sex worker. “If you are interested, the minimum is a six-month commitment.” You go on a little, discussing the technicalities, finally naming your price, which makes Jack nearly choke on his own spit.

“That’s ridiculous!” he says. “For that amount of money – “

“For that amount of money, you are free to try and find someone who will be at your beck and call at all hours, all days, for nearly whatever you want.” You smile at him, beatific, like a painting of a saint. “That amount is more than fair for the service I provide.”

“It’s expensive.”

You give a little shrug and sat back in your chair. “I know what I’m worth.”

Jack can afford it, and though you don’t say it, he has the distinct impression that if he doesn’t move quickly, you’ll find another situation with a man who will happily pay your exorbitant fee.

“Let’s say I’m interested,” Jack says. “What next?”

Another smile, another beat of silence as you reach into an inner pocket of your pea coat draped over the back of your chair. You pull out a thick envelope and hand it to him.

“Next step is that you read the contract,” you tell him. “Then we meet again to discuss specific questions. If we both agree then, we sign, you pay, and….” You let the sentence trail off, let Jack’s imagination fill in what comes next.

When Jack pulls out the tri-folded contract, it nearly springs out of his hand from the force it has been stuffed into the envelope. “Jesus,” he mutters as he thumbs through the pages. There is an entire list of hard limits, a section on health concerns….

“That protects both of us, by the way,” you say. “There’s an NDA in there. What happens between us stays between us.”

He nods absentmindedly as he thumbs through the pages. You wait a beat, and then you stand up. You pull on your coat, and you take out your wallet to lay out some money for your coffee. The expression on Jack’s face must have been surprise because you smile and tell him that you aren’t on his payroll yet, and you can pay your own way until then.

“Assuming I decide to put you on my payroll,” he says, and he narrows his eyes a little and sets his jaw in the way he does when he intimidates others. You don’t seem intimidated at all, though. You only hold out your hand and say it was nice to meet him and that you are looking forward to hearing from him. And then you leave.

The second misconception: that mild smile of yours hides a keen ability to read people. Jack won’t know it until later, when you tell him so, but you leave the coffee shop knowing that he will call you the very next day, after he stays up the entire night to read through your contract three times.

In the coffee shop, you see through his flimsy little act of hesitancy. Jack Daniels is absolutely going to sign that contract and put you on his payroll, and you know it the moment you set eyes on him.

~~~Tag List~~~ @bananas-pajamas @rachelxwayne @stardust-fray @massivecolorspygiant @imspillingcoffee @amneris21 @paintballkid711 @mad-girl-without-a-box @bestattempt @rosiefridayrogersunday @strawberrydragon @hoeforthefictional @greeneyedblondie44 @leannawithacapitala @stardust-galaxies @isvvc-pvscvl @mrschiltoncat @danniburgh @stillshelbs @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @tobealostwanderer @nuvoleincielo @knivesareout @frankie-catfish-morales @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @dianilaws

[cannedsoupsucks]

Your teasers are a workin' because I'm looking forward to reading more!

Asters

A/N: This is another teaser for Recall, and that’s really all I can say about that. Sorry I’m being so vague when it comes to this story, but hopefully when it’s finished you will understand why that had to be the case. Anywho- this also takes care of Day 10 from the September Prompt list. 

Catch up on the first teaser for Recall here- Classified. 

Prompt: Wildflowers

Warnings: discussion of injury, death, loss, trauma, pain, needles, this is angsty 😬

WC: 1.3k 

Like always, it started with an apology. 

Keep reading

[cannedsoupsucks]

Buried: Part 7

Pairing: Agent Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x Reader (female reader insert; no ‘Y/N’)

Word Count: 9,178

Rating: M: Language, canon-typical violence, repressed memories, mentions of character death, talk of sex, angst, past memories - see below or check tags for list of trigger warnings.

Trigger Warnings: mentions of death, blood, violence, weapons, injury, using a needle

Summary: You know what happened to you - for the most part - and now it’s time to talk it over with Jack  … and the people at Statesman responsible for your recovery. When you learn more about what happened and why no one told you anything at the time, will you accept the answers, or learn to distrust the people you believed cared for you? 

Author’s note:

Not me dropping 9100 words at 1:30 am…. 

This one is very heavy, too, but I can promise that after this, it gets a little easier. This is another Cider only chapter; including Jack’s would have made it entirely too long … so there’s going to be another .5 coming to get that out there.  I appreciate all of you more than I can begin to say - and thank you for reading and for your continued patience. As always, please feel free to jump into my inbox and say hello  (or yell at me) if you want to! 

The playlist for Buried can be found here, so if you have anything to add, I’m all ears.

Keep reading

[cannedsoupsucks]

Yay! They're finally getting on the same page!

Buried: Part 8

Word Count: 11,207

Rating: M: Language, mention of canon-typical violence, repressed memories, talk of sex, angst, past memories. This is a very angsty (but hopeful!) chapter 

Summary: You’ve spoken to Ginger. You know a lot more than you did a few hours earlier … but now it’s time to find Jack and figure out what happens next. There’s still plenty that you don’t know … but a ton that you want him to show you. 

Author’s note:

I know it’s been a long time on this one, HOWEVER, we’re back with more Whiskey and Cider - and this chapter moves things forward a TON… as you’ll see at the end. I promise that once they get all of these pesky details out of the way … the fun really begins. 

The playlist for Buried is linked on the Buried masterlist page, so if you have anything to add, I’m all ears.

Keep reading

[cannedsoupsucks]

Excellent chapter! I discovered that I held my breath a lot because I did a HUGE inhale after the last sentence.

Buried: Part 6

Pairing: Agent Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x Reader (female reader insert; no ‘Y/N’)

Word Count: 12,834

Rating: M: Language, canon-typical violence, repressed memories, character death, talk of sex, angst, past memories - see below or check tags for list of trigger warnings.

Trigger Warnings: death, blood, violence, weapons, enclosed spaces, panic attack, injury, heights, drowning

Summary: With the time fast approaching for your float session, both you and Jack have serious reservations about the activity … but is it what you need to remember what happened to you? 

Author’s note:

Oh, boy. This one is long. This one is HEAVY. This one is 80% of the things you’ve been waiting for explained. This one is not for everyone, so PLEASE heed the TW above and in the tags, and if I missed anything, PLEASE feel free to let me know and I’ll add them.

I want to thank all of you for reading this so far. I know that the point is to give Jack some happiness, and I PROMISE we’re getting there … but this had to happen first. I could have cut it in half, but didn’t want to, because there was no good place to do so.

I would love to know what you’re thinking after this chapter, so PLEASE feel free to hop into my inbox or send and ask or jump in on the comments. 

The playlist for Buried can be found here, so if you have anything to add, I’m all ears. 

Keep reading