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wardenparker · 9 months

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New Year's Surprise

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No one who has ever been in this bed has ever left it with any remaining doubts about Jack’s skills as a lover, and while you knew that before? Now you understand it oh-so-very deeply. His fingers pump into you mercilessly, curling at just the right angle to make you cry out in pleasure in every pass, and yet somehow he’s managed to keep the angle of that curl perfect while still holding them apart — stretching your eager pussy open and making sure you’re ready to take every inch of him. All of those intricacies combine with the dedication attention he is lavishing on your tits, and when the tense coil of restraint in your belly snaps it explodes into a thousand white-hot stars behind your eyes as you cum for him.

You’re gorgeous when you fall apart, just like he knew you would be. Keeping his fingers moving, he watches, enthralled with you as you cry out his name in a pitch that has his cock throbbing. The hot gush of your pleasure makes his fingers squelch inside you and he groans out your name while he starts to slow down the rhythm of his hand, letting you float down from your orgasm, drawing it out for you.

“Holy hell…” When your eyes open again you’re completely boneless beneath him, giggling softly at the light-as-air feeling in your body that never ever feels lighter than anything.

Dragging his wet fingers out of your cunt is his own personal kind of hell, but the urge to taste you is too great. Watching you with dark eyes as he slips his two fingers into his mouth with a lusty groan.

“Take your pants off.” The way you groan it is nearly an order but you definitely meant it to be begging, though at this point you don’t care. Especially when he arches an eyebrow at you and smirks. “Take your fucking pants off, Jack.”

Chuckling, he shuffles off the bed to oblige you. “Never let it be said I don’t follow orders, sugar.” He winks as he kicks off the tuxedo pants and hooks his fingers into his boxer briefs. “These too?”

“The fact that you even wear underwear is a shock,” you tease, motioning for him to continue stripping and trying — but probably not succeeding — to not stare.

He smirks. “Had to contain the beast for once.” He winks as he drags the tight material down. “Don’t wear ‘em normally.”

The Beast is probably as good a name as any, and you have to swallow a groan when he frees his throbbing cock — already damp with precum. It’s a wonder he can contain it, and you’re caught in between wanting to bend forward and taste him or just lying back for him to have his way with you. Curiosity and a curtain of lust win out on the short struggle, and you lean forward to take the purple head of his cock in your mouth just after he climbs back onto the bed.

“Fuck!” Jack moans out loudly and pushes your head away gently after a moment. “Baby, baby…” he pants. “You keep that up and this rodeo will be over before it starts.”

“Sorry…” Embarrassment burns your cheeks, and you shift back to get under his blankets. “I just had to know…”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Jack huffs. Kneeling on the bed and pulling the covers away as you hide your body away from his eyes. “Just don’t want to embarrass myself by blowing my load because of your pretty mouth before I can hear you scream my name.”

“I already have,” you remind him, a softness in your tone belied by the heat in both of your eyes. “Guess I might have to be a little louder this time.”

“Only if it’s right in my ear.” Jack wraps his hand around his cock and strokes it as he reaches for your thigh. “Buried deep inside that little cunt and feeling like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

It goes without saying that you’re both clean. All Statesman agents are required to have clean bills of health in order to be on the roster for missions and you’re both active agents. “I—have an IUD.” Is what you tell him instead, shivering a little at the reality of what is about to happen.

Eyes lighting up in delight, Jack’s lips curl up. “Oh sugar, it’s not my birthday yet, why are you showerin’ me with presents?” He coos, sliding his hand up and down your ample thigh. “Pretty as a damn picture.”

The real answer is that you’re desperate to feel him, but you just smirk instead, not wanting to get your heart more involved than it already is. “Because I don’t have a condom and I’ll be damned if we stop now because of it.”

“If you want me to get one…” Jack motions back to his pants. “I have one in my wallet.”

“I don’t want the barrier,” you admit, biting your lip at the extremely vulnerable nature of that confession. “If it’s okay with you.”

His smirk turns into a wicked grin. “You read my mind, sugar. I want to feel all of you.”

You could make a joke about how much of you there is to feel, but just this once you stifle the urge. Opting instead to reach out and gently cup Jack's cheeks in both of your hands before pressing a soft, earnest kiss to his lips. "Then what are you waiting for, Cowboy?”

As you lean back, Jack follows you. Climbing up your body and groaning as he settles between your thighs. “You want to cum again, pretty girl?”

"Not without you this time." The reality of Jack is better than anything you thought so far. Since this miracle is surely once in a lifetime, you want it to be as amazing as possible.

Jack groans your name, pressing his lips to yours in another hot, wet kiss. Passionate and consuming as he pushes an arm underneath you. “I’m right here with you.”

As impossible as it seems, he really is. He is right there with you, taking you in his arms and making you feel delicate and desirable for the first real time in your entire adult life.

He doesn’t rush, although he wants to. Every kiss is slow and thorough. Reaching down between you to take hold of himself to notch at your entrance. “Hold on, sugar. See if we can ride for longer than eight seconds.”

“I’m not gonna buck you, Jack.” You can promise him that, because you know damn well you’re going to hold onto this moment for dear life and not question the gift that it is. This one little shining moment is just for the two of you and you’re never going to forget a single second of it.

His eyes are watching, burning into yours as he starts to slowly rock his hips forward. Breaking you open with the first inch of his cock and swooping in to kiss you again when you gasp.

The world slows down, motions stretching into time and blending together in ways that you can’t quite wrap your head around so all you know in this moment is Jack. Every time he thrusts forward again your moans get that much deeper, until on the final experimental rock of his hips, he is seated fully inside you and you feel so spellbound and grateful for the moment that you’re all but sure you could cry. Instead you pour yourself into kissing him, rocking your own hips slightly to take him more comfortably and adjust to the weighty feeling of having him inside you.

“Fuck, baby girl.” Jack inhales sharply, stealing your breath as he tries to rein himself in, throbbing violently inside you. If it weren’t for the fact that he had promised you a rodeo, he would be cumming, overwhelmed by how hot and tight you are. You’re perfect, just like he always imagined. “You be a good girl and take my cock, m’kay?”

Good girl is another one of those sticking points for you just like getting your ass slapped, and if Jack had no idea before, he certainly does now, from the way your cunt just spasmed around his length and you moaned like you were coming all over again.

“Ohhhhhh.” Jack’s eyes nearly cross and he gives a particularly sharp thrust when you clamp down around him. “You like that.” He pants out. “You’re my good girl?”

“S’not fair,” you huff, throwing him a playful pout that gets cut by another shaky moan. “You’re finding all the buttons I like pushed way too easily.”

“You haven’t - fuck - figured out my buttons yet, sugar?” Jack ducks his head down and slides the arm not underneath you down your hip and thigh to pull it up higher. Sinking deeper into you with a moan of your name.

“Liking to have your cock sucked doesn’t—fuck!— count,” you tell him, back arching as he hits a new angle inside you.

He chuckles and licks at your pulse before he nips at your skin with his teeth. Fingers digging into your pillowy flesh and groans when you clench around him again.

Finding a rhythm is as easy as breathing. Being with him is so much more natural and intuitive than you dreamt it would be. Your natural tendency to be a little rougher is equaled by his enthusiasm for making the bedroom a loud and raucous experience. There’s no hiding from each other or demurring, not once you get going. It’s like something inside you has finally been unlocked after a lifetime of waiting — waiting for Jack to come along with the key that would open you up.

If it surprises Jack that you are wild in bed, it’s probably the best goddamn surprise he’s ever gotten. His back burns from the raking of your nails when he hits deep. He fucking loves it. Your wildness makes him go absolutely feral over you.

It’s the opposite of who you are in everyday life. A version of you just for him. A version of you that leaves your worries outside the circle of your bodies and embraces sex as something carefree. Which, if you’re honest, isn’t really how you’ve felt about sex with anyone besides Jack. (edited)

His lips and teeth map every inch that he can reach as he pumps in and out of you frantically. Trying to keep the pace hard and fast because every time your cunt clenches, his hips stutter from how fucking tight you are. “Fuck, my good girl.” He growls. “So fucking tight.”

“So fucking big,” you give back, starting to pant heavier and more unevenly. There’s a whine forming in the back of your throat that you can’t hold back and you bite down on the juncture of Jack’s shoulder as your legs threaten to shake all over again. You’re so close to cumming but you don’t want this to end.

Jack changes the tempo, slowing down and grinding his pelvis against your clit. “You gonna cum for me, baby girl?” He rasps out. “Cum on Jack’s big ‘ole cock and soak me?”

"So—oh, fuck—close, baby." The way you feel right now, you might actually fall apart at the seams when you cum again, but it will be worth it. It will be worth just knowing first hand how gorgeous Jack looks when he follows you over the edge. "Don't stop. Don't fucking stop, Jack."

“Never.” Jack growls, smashing his teeth together and hissing at the way you claw and writhe under him. It’s like taming a feral cat in a pillowcase and he loves it. Your thighs are crushing his hips and all he can do is imagine them around his head. “Cum for me.”

A half dozen thrusts later, your cunt is clenching down on his cock and pulsing with a fierce orgasm that has your thighs tensing at his waist and your back bowing off the bed. Everything seems to be happening at the top of however it possibly could, and that includes the way you cry his name into the night before collapsing back into his sheets with your arms and legs still around him, willing him to follow you to bliss.

Jack moans your name, pants it again against your lips. His brow knitted in concentration as he tries to last. His body tightening and tensing as his pleasure builds to that almost painful precipice. His heart pounding, but not because of the physical exertion, but because of the almost loving look on your eyes. “Love you.” He moans, right as his lips crash against yours and he breathes it into your mouth again. “Love you.”

You freeze under him, but Jack is too caught in his bliss to tell. Like a bucket of water has been splashed over the bubble of this night and popped that shell keeping you separate from the world. Did he just...? There's no way. There's just absolutely no way at all. You must have imagined it. Wished for it so desperately that you hallucinated the words. Because otherwise you're not quite sure what you'll do — because Jack has never lied to you. But he's also never given you any reason to think your feelings might be requited.

Caught up in his orgasm, Jack rides wave after wave of complete bliss as he empties himself into you, metaphorically and physically. Giving you every bit of himself as he finally acknowledges the truth of why he has always kept you at arms length. His love for you terrifying him, but right now, he’s flying. Collapsing into your arms and panting out your name as he catches his breath.

There's nothing you can do with this shock except bury it, holding him and gently stroking his hair while he catches his breath with his head on your chest. You imagined it, you remind yourself silently, blinking back tears at how much you wish it was true.

The whiskey, the emotions and the exertion have Jack cuddly and sleepy as he comes down from his orgasm. “Fuck, baby girl.” He hums, kissing your neck as he slowly pulls out of you and shifts to your side to roll you over with him. “Wore me out.” He chuckles. “But gave a hell of a ride.”

He tucks you into his arms to be his little spoon, not letting you get away for even a second. Any other time? This would have been thrilling. "Get some sleep, baby." Returning the pet name seems innocent enough, and you reach back to run your fingers through his hair gently. "You earned it."

His eyes are closed when he shoots you a sleepy grin. “Talk when we wake up, sugar.” He promises, fingers stroking your skin softly.

That promise might be why you sleep so fitfully in the night to follow. Why you're so wound up that when your Statesman issued phone chirps from your purse on his floor around 6:30 in the morning, your eyes open immediately. Jack has turned over in the night, sleeping on his back now with one arm still around you but not so tightly that you can't extract yourself to answer the message. That phone is used only for missions and confidential communication, meaning you absolutely cannot ignore it. Incoming Message: Agent Rye report immediately for mission briefing. CODE BLACK. Code Black. You curse under your breath, careful not to wake Jack, and rub one hand down your face in dismay. That level of secrecy in a mission assignment means you can't even wake him up to say goodbye. You're supposed to speak to no one, just proceed immediately to the nearest Statesman branch for your mission briefing. With a sigh and another, more colorful curse, you shake your head and glance back at the bed where Jack is sleeping soundly. There's nothing to do but get dressed and Walk of Shame your ass into the office. You just wish you could wake him up to say goodbye.

It’s been years since Jack has slept so well. Deep and dreamless, none of the nightmares that often plague his rest. The soft scent of you surrounding him and soothing him like nothing he’s had in a long time. When his eyes open, he’s feeling like he’s had the best sleep of his life. Frowning when he doesn’t feel you next to him. Calling out your name softly in case you were in the bathroom. “Rye? Sugar?”

There's no trace of you anywhere. He may as well have come home alone last night, except for the scent of you in the air and the scratches on his back. It's almost an insult when he sees a fallen sequin on the rug where your dress had been tossed.

“Fuck.” Jack’s slipped out of plenty of beds, ducked out and kept walking. The walk of shame was never shameful when there was a little bit of pep to his step, but right now, he’s pissed. Pissed you didn’t have the fucking balls to wake him before you slipped off like a thief in the night. Snatching up his pants, he digs into the pocket for his phone, dialing your number and ready to have it out with you.

"Hi! Sorry I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave a message and I'll call you back as soon as I'm able!" Your voicemail message is insultingly chipper when it picks up right away, almost taunting him. Like you aren't willing to talk, when nothing could be farther from the truth.

“Fuck!” Jack shouts, throwing the phone and scowling angrily. Pissed that you aren’t here, that you apparently don’t want to talk to him. “Fine, you regret it? Fuck you too.” He growls and stomps into the bathroom to shower. If you wanted nothing to do with him after he had let down his walls last night, he wants nothing to do with you either.

******

"What's got you all chewed up and spat out today?" Tequila raises an eyebrow at Jack when he comes huffing into the office, a little late and a lot pissed off. He had expected Jack to be in a stellar mood.

“Not a goddamn thing.” Even though his feathers are ruffled, Jack practically refuses to even think about you. To the point where he had thrown the sheets and the costly Tom Ford tuxedo away. “Whadda we got?” Desperate to concentrate on a mission, he jumps straight into business.

"Wingman prep." Tequila tells him, tapping the folder on his own desktop. "Somebody got tapped this morning and Champ wants us to comb some old mission files to prep for an extraction. Plan B sorta shit." And since all of the mission-ready agents on the Statesman payroll are top notch with years of experience under their belts, anyone potentially needing an extraction from a mission is a big fucking deal.

“Who got tapped?” Jack asks, grabbing a file and flipping it open with a frown on his face. “Scotch?”

"I thought you'd know already." Tequila's eyes snap back up to Jack in concern. "It was Rye."

Jack freezes and slowly lifts his eyes from the file to find Tequila frowning at him, confused by how he doesn’t know. “Why would I know that?” Jack asks after a moment. It explains why your phone was off, but you had still slipped out without saying a fucking word.

"Because...you went home with her last night?" Everybody knows that you and Jack left the party. Absolutely everyone. There was a whole extra celebration after you left. "Figured you woulda known by her getting up this morning and all."

There’s a split second where Jack wants to snap that you had left him to wake up alone, but he doesn’t. What comes out of his mouth instead, is to deny the whole thing. “Took her home.” Jack shrugs, lying easily as if he couldn’t care less. “She wanted to soak in a bath and read some book.”

The frown on Tequila's face deepens measurably, pure confusion marring his usually chipper face. "Bullshit," he huffs, leaning back in his desk chair. "I saw you kiss her. No way."

“Believe what you want.” Jack snaps flatly. “Where are we in planning the back up plans?” The hurt is soothed slightly by you being called away, but it doesn’t make it nonexistent. You hadn’t even left a goddamn message for him. He could have seen not waking him if you had left some sign that you didn’t regret the night even happened.

"Early stages." Knowing better than to poke the dragon when he's mad about something, Tequila defers to work like Jack clearly wants. "Tell me what you think, but I think me on the ground and you in the Silver Pony is the best bet." Whatever happened between you and Jack, the man is clearly hurt, and Tequila makes a note to go and talk to Ginger when he gets his next chance. If you had said anything to anyone, it would be to her.

“Whatever.” Jack practically rolls his eyes and shrugs. Usually he loves the opportunity to fly and show off in the Silver Pony, but he’s so worked up over you that he doesn’t even bat an eyelash. “Guess that’s the plan. If needed.”

“If needed.” All Tequila does is nod, but damn he really needs to talk to Ginger.

******

Jack holes up in his office, barely answering the phone and not leaving it all day, not even for lunch. Catching up on paperwork that is normally never done as he works through not being at home. Not remembering how you tasted and sounded last night. He’s even refused to pull up your camera footage, not wanting to see what you are doing. He’s miserable and is determined to stay that way.

“Thought I’d find you in here.” Champ’s gruff voice cuts through the silence long after everyone else has gone home for the night. He knew exactly where Jack would be. Especially after Tequila said the senior agent was out of sorts. “Come up to my office, Jack. We’re gonna have a drink.” It’s not a suggestion or a request. This is a direct order from this commander, and Champ turns around and heads back down the hall knowing Jack will follow.

Jack sighs and sets his pen down, ripping the reading glasses off his face and tossing them down on the folder. He had stayed cooped up in his office so he didn’t take his bad mood out on anyone so he doesn’t see why he needs to be called out onto the carpet. Still, he pushes back from his desk and follows the older man to the conference room Champ preferred over his official office. The bar cart in here was better stocked.

“Pick your poison.” Champ tells him, motioning for Jack to sit down at the conference table as he strolls over to the cart to grab a bottle and two glasses.

“Whatever your havin’.” Jack wonders what this is about, but he doesn’t ask. Just waits patiently for his boss to get to the reason in his own sweet time.

Champ grunts slightly, grabbing a bottle of ‘74 Reserve, and brings it to the table. He pours two fingers in each glass and slides one over to set in front of Jack before sitting down beside him and taking a sip from his own glass. “You’ve been hidin’ today,” he assesses after a moment of silence. “But I hear you damn near took Tequila’s head off this morning when you got in.”

“Can’t have a bad day?” Jack asks, picking up the whiskey and staring at it before taking a sip. “Woke up wrong, that’s all. I’ll apologize to the crybaby later.”

“He’s not a damn crybaby,” Champ huffs, covering his own amusement with a scowl. “I walked by your damn office, fool. And when he did come talk to me about it, it was because he was worried about you.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jack scowls and shakes his head. “I had a bad morning. I’m fine. Not gonna go off and try to kill all the drug users again.”

“Not saying you would.” Holding up his hands in a show of innocence, Champ leans back all the way and stares down his nose at Jack for a second longer before he shakes his head and shrugs. “But between you and me just these walls? Just thought you might wanna know that Rye got sent off Code Black, is all.” He isn’t supposed to say. Black is black. It’s too priority and top security. But you’d been so torn up this morning and Jack’s been so out of sorts in his own way that Champ has rightfully assumed that something fairly big must’ve happened after you left the party.

His jaw nearly drops. Champ never gives information away like that. He frowns, looking back down at his glass again and feeling relieved. If you had gotten a Code Black, you couldn’t wake him up. It would have been against protocol. He swallows and finally nods. “Good to know.”

“Just don’t want you stewing over it.” The older man says, watching carefully as he sips from his glass again. “You wanna be upset with anyone, it’s me. Not her.”

“Right.” Jack drains the rest of the whiskey and the crystal hits the table slightly harder than normal. “Anything else?”

“Nah. That’s it.” There’s nothing more that Champ can really say, and now Jack needs to process. That’s just how these things work. “See ya in the morning, Daniels.”

Jack stands. “‘Night, Champ.” He walks out of the room and back down the hall towards his office, looking down at his feet as he goes.

******

It’s two weeks before Tequila and Jack are given a stand-down order and told their rescue mission won’t be necessary. Mission success, they’re told with authority, even though it took longer than expected. They don’t get more than that, though, and Jack is walking past Ginger’s lab on his way out of the office late that night when he hears your voice again for the first time in weeks. It’s tired, and quiet, but unmistakable. “Can we just get this over with, Ging?” You ask your friend quietly, knowing that decontamination and a full physical are extremely necessary considering where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing. But you want to get the hell out of here and finally go talk to Jack.

He would never admit it, but he’s been living at Statesman. Barely going home to change and often refreshing the outfits that he keeps in his office for unexpected late nights. On call the entire time in case you needed him. Now you are here and Jack feels like running away. So much self doubt had built up over two weeks, he’s driven himself crazy over every little thing. Obsessing over the details of New Years.

“Once you have a clean bill of health, you go storm the ranch or whatever it is you’re going to do.” Ginger teases, full of warmth. “But I would try his office first.”

Jack frowns slightly and wonders what the hell Ginger is talking about, storming the ranch. He almost pushes the door open, but he doesn’t. Just wants to see what you will say if you know that he’s not listening.

“It’s been two weeks, Ging.” The pops and hums and beeps of her equipment punctuate your voice from inside the lab. “Every single second I haven’t been thinking about this mission I’ve been reliving that night. And I could kill Champ for sending me away Code fucking Black before I could even tell Jack how I feel about him.”

“I know it was bad timing.” He hears Ginger sigh. “But hopefully it gave you some time to think about what you’re going to say?”

Jack’s stomach twists and he feels nauseous. Wondering if you’ve decided that it was a mistake. He swallows harshly and whirls around, not wanting to hear how you plan on letting him down or friend zoning him.

“I’m going to tell him the truth,” he misses hearing you say. “That I’ve been in love with him for six years, and that I’m done being a coward about it.” This mission so easily could have killed you every single day that it became something of an eye opener. Getting back to Jack had become the most dominant and driving force in your mind at times.

Walking down to his office has Jack twisted in knots. He’s never been a coward before but he damn sure feels like running. Playing back that night in his head over and over had made him realize what he had said. More importantly, what you hadn’t said back. Walking over to his bar cart, he pours himself a heavy double and bolts it down. He’ll get wasted after you crush his hopes but that was needed so he doesn’t beg like a pathetic wretch. He needs to keep his pride somehow.

It’s twenty more minutes before he hears footsteps in the hall and hears your tentative voice calling his name. “Jack?” There’s nerves in it, anxiety hovering around you despite your triumphant mission. But you appear in his doorway looking worried and chewing your lip. “Hey…you’re still here.”

“Work’s never done.” Jack huffs, plastering on a friendly but not too friendly expression. “Haven’t seen you around in a few weeks. Mission go alright?” It’s painful to see you in that doorway, looking tired and beautiful. Reminding him of how you looked before he had fallen asleep and lost you.

“I’m home and in one piece.” It’s what you always say, but at least it’s true. He doesn’t exactly look happy to see you, though, and that makes you falter a little. Not enough to shake your resolve, but your optimism that he’ll respond with joy cracks right away. “Do you…can we talk a little?”

“Sure.” He takes off his reading glasses and stands. Moving over to the alcohol again. “Want a drink?” He asks, not looking over his shoulder at you. He sees the worry on your face and knows you are concerned about your working relationship. What he will do will be accept your wants, wish you well and promise that he will not let what happened affect your professional relationship. Then he will demand a transfer to the New York office, permanently. You nod and he pours out two drinks. “What’s on your mind, Rye?”

“Well…you are.” It seems like such an obvious answer that it almost feels silly saying it, but he won’t even look you in the eye so staring at the beginning seems like a good idea.

“Oh?” Turning around is hard, but he manages to look curious instead of sick to his stomach. “Now why would I be on your mind, sugar?” The endearment slips out and he nearly bites his tongue as he carries them over to the small sofa area.

The message is loud and clear: it really didn’t mean anything to him. Regardless, though, you have to power through. If he really didn’t mean what he said and has no interest in being with you, you’ll request a permanent transfer. Chicago, Dallas, Los Angeles — anywhere but here or New York. Swallowing a sigh, you accept the glass from him but just hold it in your hands while you gather your thoughts. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk before I had to leave,” you start, trying not to let the warmth and proximity of him get under your skin so easily. But you can’t really help it. “I did the best I could for a message to let you know what had happened, but it wasn’t much. And I’m sorry for that, too.”

His facade cracks, the scowl as quick to vanish as it appears and he scoffs. “Message received, Rye. A lone sequin on the floor. Practically like it was a dream, except for that.” He tosses back the whiskey. “Can you just get to the part where you tell me it was a mistake, you don’t want to ruin our friendship or work relationship? Or whatever bullshit excuse you’ve settled on to tell me you regret it?” His eyes are dark and pained when they finally land on you, barely resisting the urge to flee.

“On the floor?” Your brow furrowed instantly, a frown painting itself on your lips, and you set the glass in your hands aside to shift closer to him on the little couch. “Jack, I left a sequin on your nightstand.” The choice was even more horrible than you had worried it would be, apparently, because he looks so hurt he could actually cry. A fact which makes you instantly want to cry as well. “A black sequin was the best I could do for a signal. It—it must have…blown off. Stupid fucking flapper dress with all that fringe. It must have gone flying when I left the room.” There was no other breeze, no window open or fan blowing. Only you could have sabotaged yourself like that.

He doesn’t believe you and shakes his head. “Why would you leave a black-“ he trails off when it hits him. Black sequin - Code Black. Trying to tell him that you had wanted to leave a message but couldn’t. Champ had broken protocol by telling him about the Code Black and apparently you had tried to signal the same thing. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” You shake your head in resignation, blowing out a shuddering breath. “I didn’t want to leave. Especially not after…” Another shaky breath leaves the rest of you shaking in turn, and you shove your hands under your legs on the couch. This is the most terrifying thing you’ve ever asked a person in your entire life. “Did you…mean it? What you said?”

Jack bites his lip, wanting to ask you what you’re talking about but he can’t do that. You look distraught that he had thought you had just disappeared. “Yeah.” Jack admits quietly. “Look, I know that it’s not something you were expectin’ ta hear, and you don’t feel the same.” He rolls on with the emotions that he needs to get out. “I won’t be mad, or take it out on you. But that night….fuck.” He blows out a breath. “I got to touch you. Just like I fuckin’ dreamed of. And I couldn’t just let you think it was a heat of the moment thing for me.”

“Why do you think I don’t feel the same?” With your heart beating wildly and your shakiness only increasing, there’s a sort of explosive quality in your mind and body that you can’t quite figure out how to control. Like all you want to do is launch yourself at him for a kiss but you know you need to talk first. To get it all out in the open. To be honest with each other. “I—I honestly had no idea you thought of me as anything but a friend. I was…well…shocked is a bit of an understatement.”

Jack snorts. “I know my reputation. Hell, I crafted it. But I couldn’t flirt with you. It’s too- shit- you had me from the first time we met. I was fucking hooked and it wouldn’t have been right. You were a junior agent and -“ he shakes his head. “I was running from the kind of commitment you were made for.”

“Your reputation was built by a man who had loved his wife so deeply that he couldn’t bear the thought of loving and losing again,” you remind him quietly. You sure you hadn’t known that right away, but when you had learned about his wife and son, you understood implicitly. “But it…it never stopped me from falling in love with you. Even when I thought I’d never be more to you than an acquaintance. I considered myself damn lucky to eventually become your friend. I just thought…I thought the fact that you never, ever flirted with me…meant that it was unrequited. So I made myself okay with it. Until two weeks ago.”

“I respect you, Rye.” Jack murmurs quietly. “I didn’t want to make it seem like you were everyone else, because you weren’t.” It’s backwards and twisted, but no one ever said that he had defeated all his demons. “When I broke- I gave you everything.”

“More than you know.” A soft huff of a laugh escapes you and you shake your head again, willing your nerves to calm down even a little. “Just…please understand, Jack. That I’ve been in love with you since the second I met you. And the only reason I didn’t say it back the night we slept together is because I was so shocked to hear it from you in the first place. I thought I’d hallucinated what I wanted to hear, and then before I knew it we were asleep…and then I woke up to a Code Black.”

“I was upset.” Jack admits quietly. “Really upset.” He flushes slightly. “May have been thinkin’ some not-so-polite things until Tequila told me it was you who was slated for the mission.” He won’t tell you that Champ had broken the rules. “Convinced myself that you had run off to go save the world so you wouldn’t have to tell me that you’d had too much alcohol and that’s why you let me take you home.”

“Not at all.” Taking a chance, you reach for his hand and practically sigh in relief when he slots his fingers through yours. “I pretty much thought I’d died and gone to heaven, if I’m honest. I just kept thinking…if this only happens once, I never want to forget a single thing.” You squeeze his hand gently, wishing you could have said all this two weeks ago. “I’m sorry my message didn’t work. That’s…you have every right to think nasty things about me. I’m so sorry.”

“No I don’t.” Jack protests. “Not if you meant to be here. Not if you wanted to be here the next morning. Then it’s just a bad misunderstanding and I’m sorry.”

“Then I guess we’re both sorry.” He’ll never know that you cried all the way to the office that morning at having to leave him, you decide right now. It would only make him feel even more guilty and he doesn’t deserve that. “But I’m not sorry about what happened between us.”

“You aren’t?” He tightens his grip on your hand, relaxing slowly as you talk and he understands that this was one giant cluster fuck. He’s used to those, he can handle those. “That’s good, sugar. Because New Years was probably the best night of my life.”

“God, I hope you mean that.” Your shakiness is for more than one reason, although you needed to have this conversation first. Whatever the two of you decide will happen next is a decision made by both of you, not just you alone. “Because…Ginger couldn’t clear me…after my physical. I can’t go back on the list.”

Jack frowns, brows pulling together. “Why can’t Ginger clear you? What’s wrong?” There’s a number of things that can be fixed by Statesman tech and he’s worried that it’s something bad.

Your stomach churns with worry, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. The unmistakable advances of Statesman tech can do things that most doctors absolutely cannot, thanks to Ginger Ale, and you’re not sure whether to thank her or curse her. “It’s not that something’s wrong, technically,” you admit, giving another worried squeeze to his hand. “But we probably ought to have used that condom…”

Jack’s eyes widen and they drop to your stomach, discerning the meaning of your comment. You aren’t a liar and Jack would believe you if you said you didn’t sleep with someone else, but he’s confused. “Sugar- how?” He chokes out. “I got snipped when I joined Statesman.”

“When was the last time you had your sperm count checked?” You had made Ginger do the test three times, but the result was always the same. Your birth control failed and Jack’s second kid is already growing, if very slowly. “The chances of a vasectomy failing are less than one percent, but it can still happen.”

Jack frowns and then rolls his eyes and groans. “The chamber.” He remembers. “When I got shot and then- uh, put back together.” He shakes his head. “Ging said I might need to get it checked but I dadgum forgot.” He bites his lip and tries not to freak out over the fact that you are pregnant after your one and only time together. “What do you want, sugar?” He asks.

“Not more than you’re willing to give freely.” The answer is that you want all of him. Every single bit. Love and a life and a family. But you know that even if Jack does love you, he’s never loved anyone the way he loved his wife. And losing Maria nearly destroyed him, so he may not be willing to take that chance again. “But I…unless you really object…I’m keeping the baby. Even if you don’t want a commitment or anything. I just…you’re right about me. I want a family and if this is my only chance I don’t want to give that up. Especially not if I get even the littlest piece of you with it.”

“You think I would-“ he shakes his head. “No, I would never force you, one way or the other.” He frowns. “I was asking if you wanted to have a baby. And if you think I’m gonna sit back and let you raise it by yourself, you must have hit your dadgum head.”

“I want this baby.” It had only taken about ten seconds after learning it existed to determine that, even if you’re still grappling with the reality of it. “And I want you.” You inch closer to him on the couch. “However you want to be together. That part is up to you.”

“It’s been a long damn time since I’ve thought about being a daddy, sugar.” There’s a slight smirk on his face but he doesn’t make the obvious crude joke. “But I’m pretty traditional when you break it down. I’m not gonna want to be apart from you and our baby.”

He might not have made the joke but you still laugh, having made the sugar daddy connection in your mind easily enough. “I know it’s a lot, Jack. And we didn’t plan it. But…” All you can do is shrug your shoulders slightly, looking up at him with such obvious hope and even more obvious water behind your eyes. “But, I love you.”

“I meant it, baby girl.” He promises you, reaching out to caress your cheek and then cup it. “I love you. I love you so much, sugar.” Licking his lips, his eyes drop down to yours. “Can I kiss you?”

"I wish you would." practically beaming at him, you lean in and let the moment wash over you. Jack's lips against yours. His hands on your skin. His baby - your baby - is already starting to grow.

Jack pulls you close, pressing his lips against yours and groaning softly. “Sugar, you’re gonna have my baby.” He whispers against your lips in awe. “Just the one time, one time between your thighs and you are carrying my baby.”

“One time is all it takes.” You can’t help the broad way you smile, giggling softly against his lips as you steal another kiss.

“I don’t regret it.” He promises. “I don’t regret you.” He smiles as he kisses you again. “We really did shake things up for New Years, didn’t we?”

“Just a little bit.” Another laugh escapes you, and you lean into his side only to be rewarded with Jack’s arms encircling you and holding you close. “I don’t regret any of it. Except maybe not making my message a whole lot clearer.”

“We’ll get better at communicatin’.” Jack promises with a smile. “We’re partners now.”

“Do you want to go get dinner, maybe?” The end of a mission can be crazy even when it’s successful, and you just want to try to relax tonight. Especially with everything changing in your personal life too, apparently. “My treat?”

Jack scoffs and shakes his head. “You ain’t paying, sugar.” He huffs. “Not while you’re with me. If you want dinner, we can go out, or I can take you home and throw some steaks on the grill.”

“I kind of want to celebrate,” you admit, feeling silly about it even though it’s the truth. “If that’s okay?”

“Then we’ll go out and celebrate.” Jack promises before he frowns at something you had said. “Why would you have thought I would never be interested in you?”

“Because…” It feels sillier than the celebration thing now that you know the truth. Silly and even a little pointless, but he asked so you’ll tell him. “Because you flirted with every woman in the world besides me. Which Ginger said is how she knew you were interested in me. But I didn’t believe her.”

“You know you’re wrong, don’t cha?” Jack asks you. “When you said that you get sent on assignments to be invisible? You’re sent on the assignments you are given because you get the job done. Champ knows that if he gives you a task, it will be done.”

“Whatever the reason is, he’ll have to do without me for about a year.” It isn’t worth having a debate over your lack of self esteem with him right now, and you especially don’t want to ruin the mood by crying anything other than happy tears, so you just redirect the conversation altogether. “This baby is my top priority.”

“Our top priority.” He corrects you. He’s nervous, terrified really, but there’s no one he’d rather have a happy accident with than you. “Our New Year’s baby.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #Jack Daniels x f!reader #Jack Daniels x plus size reader #Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels #Kingsman Golden Circle #new years eve #new years fic #idiots in love #pining #the love is requited they're just dumb

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yougavemeyourheartyouknow · 10 months

Text

Oh, you wanna play psycho killer? (Ghostface! Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader x Ghostface! Peter B Parker) Part 1

RAAAAA! Excited about this one! Based off this post. Inspired by this drawing from Andalusia_Lu on Tiktok. Not proofread. Tbh I’m kinda nervous about this one but…Enjoy! Also in this story MJ and Peter are just friends. This is probably the darkest think I’ve written.

(Y/N) - Your name.

NSFW!!, Cursing, use of alcohol, death, murder, yandere behavior, Reader has a bf who does die, violence, blood, said reader’s bf calls her derogatory remarks behind her back, religious imagery(I think???), stalking, male masturbation, invasion of privacy, reader being drugged, panty stealing, stalking, implied kidnapping, gore, cameras being placed in readers home without their knowledge, it’s a horror one shot so… you know what you’re walking into. Dead Dove Do not eat, MDNI!

Word count: 2.5k

Part 2

Masterlist

—

October 31st, Halloween night. Also know as the night that gives college students an excuse to get fucked up while in a shit quality costume that cost 50 bucks at spirit Halloween.

That little rule you are not exempt from, that’s how you found yourself in a random college frat party at NYU, a bottle of beer in one hand, and your boyfriend’s in the other as you drag him through the crowd so you both can dance. The alcohol in your system made your whole body relaxed and your cheeks glow with a dash of red over them, your eyes half-lidded and your smile wide as you looked up at Daniel while Promiscuous from Nelly Furtado blasted through the house. You looked like an angel straight from heaven, although that might be due to your customer, being dressed up as Juliet from the 1996 movie, while your boyfriend was clattered in armor as Romeo. The costumes being your idea after having rewatched the movie a few weeks ago.

You both had lost the rest of your group in the crowd, Jess and MJ had said they were going to the kitchen while Miguel and Peter had said they were going outside to get fresh air but you haven’t seen them since, you wouldn't have extremely worried, if it wasn’t for the reason sightings of the ghostface killer that had been popping up on the news though. Sure maybe going to a party wasn’t the best idea either but you figured you would have been fine since you were going in a group, I mean, what wouldn’t you be okay? It’s not like an actual serial killer goes after a group of young adults who are all drunk right? But now you’ve lost 4 out of 6 people in said group. But maybe in the small chance you do get targeted, you should be able to stand a chance since your Daniel was always in the gym with Miguel, so he was pretty jacked (not as jacked as Miguel though but you’ll never say that out loud).

One song turned to two then to three, just like the beers in Daniel’s hand, you had slowed down so you could at least be sober enough to order a Lyft for when the night was over. Eventually you were whisked away from your boyfriend by MJ and Jess, thankful that they were still at the party and nothing happened to them.

“Hey, have you guys seen Peter or Miguel?” You shouted over the music after a while, Jess just shrugged, before MJ answered.

“They texted me that they found Daniel and he’s like, fucked up apparently.”

—

“Please!”

Stab.

“I don’t want to die! Please stop!”

Stab.

“I’ll give anything! Just don’t kill me!”

The begs and pleads become more desperate and sloppy with every second, the words slurring more together from the alcohol and the crimson red liquid dribbling out of Daniel's mouth. The sight was almost enough to make the two men feel pity. Almost.

“Anything?” The shorter one asked with an agonizingly slow head tilt, his voice altered from the voice changer attached to the plastic mask, signaling for the other to stop plugging the knife into their victim’s stomach. Despite not liking being told what to do, he dropped Daniel on the floor with a snarl. Daniel quickly retracted into a small ball, shaking arms going to cover his bloody wound with a groan and whimper.

“We want (Y/N).” If it weren't for him being in excruciating pain and bleeding out, Daniel would have thought they were joking, but the tone in which the words were spoken made his blood that was spilling out from his stomach and mouth run cold.

“W-what?” He asked as he tried to keep his breathing from becoming shallow and his head from becoming too dizzy, but he was failing miserably.

“You heard us. We. Want. (Y/N).” The larger one spoke this time. How badly, he wanted to emphasize each word with another stab, the knife in his hands twitched a bit as he tightened his grip on the black handle. He was itching for an excuse, but he’ll refrain.

For now.

Maybe it was the way he responded to a stressful situation, or maybe it was the lack of blood finally affecting his brain, but Daniel had the nerve to laugh. Fucking laugh. The laugh was breathy, and in between coughs and groans, causing Miguel and Peter to look at their prey like he was the crazy one. Rage filled their bodies when Daniel finally composed himself enough to talk again.

“Y-you can’t be serious? …Right? You-you’re gonna kill-kill me over some bitch?”

How fucking dare he.

How dare he speak about you like you were some random skank, like you were a pile of dirt. You were a fucking goddess, Miguel and Peter knew that, because they worshipped you like one. They didn’t see what you saw in Daniel, he didn’t deserve you, no one did, except Miguel and Peter, they would treat you better than any other man that roamed this stupid planet, and especially far better then the sorry excuse of a boyfriend that they had on the ground like he was a wounded animal.

For someone who was about to die, he sure had a lot of nerve.

He didn’t love you like they did, he didn’t know your every move like they did. They were like your real life guardian angels, always following behind you to make sure no one would harm so much as a hair on your pretty little head, and how lucky were they, that you were juuust oblivious enough that you don’t notice them, just enough to brush of your rummaged trash as raccoons, just enough that you didn’t noticed when a pair or two of your dirty panties go missing, you had too many to keep track of all of them anyways. Never knowing that one of the two would sneak into your apartment while you were asleep to grab them from your hamper, no matter which boy had decided to embark on their mission, both of them had to fight against the struggle to not stay and watch you sleep, fighting the urge to release their painful hard members and stroke while watching you sleep. They’d be lying to themselves if they said they haven’t lost the battle at least once before, biting into their free hand to stop any moans from escaping and waking you up, while they fist fuck their cocks with the other, but can you blame them?

They just loved you so much and you loved them too, you just haven’t realized it yet. How could you when that pest of a boyfriend of yours was pumping your head full of false thoughts? He didn’t love you like Peter and Miguel did. Sure Daniel might seem like he loved you so much, going as far as to get you flowers and gifts from time to time, but Miguel and Peter’s gifts they would give you were so much better, because these gifts were all given to you with the same purpose. To help them watch over you, make sure you were safe, strategically planning to make sure to eventually fill your entire home with cameras right under your adorable nose. The teddy bear that sits on your bed and the light up mirror over your bathroom sink were first of course.

Peter couldn’t help himself, with all of his force, he kicked Daniel right in the balls, causing him to curl up more in pain. Miguel was going to do the same when his phone pinged in his pocket, he quickly took it out and checked it, your name filling his screen made his heart skip a beat.

“It’s (Y/N). She’s asking where we are, and wants us to meet her at her apartment after she drops off Jess and MJ in 15 minutes.” Miguel mumbled as he looked down at his phone, before looking up at Peter then down at their prey on the ground. “She probably thinks we’re still with him, what should we do with him?”

Peter’s eyes followed Miguel’s gaze down to the half- conscious Daniel, silent as if thinking about what to say, or more likely what to do with him.

“We could leave him here for dead?” Peter suggested, but Miguel shook his head at the thought, too risky, they couldn’t have the chance of him being found by someone and taken to the hospital, that could ruin everything.

“You both… ar-are fucking psychotic! Killing me over some-some bitch who doesn’t eve-even give good fucking… fucking head!” Daniel yelled between coughs, more blood falling from his blue-turning lips, he looked like he had seen a ghost due to how pale he was becoming from the blood lost, and now he’s gonna become one. Miguel’s phone buzzed again, this time you only sent a single question mark, looking down at his phone.

“I want you to know that if I wasn’t about to be late to see you, I would beat this guy bloody, for the way he talks about you.” Miguel said out loud as if you could actually hear him, as if you were actually here to hear how true those words were, but instead Miguel raised his knife with one hand and grabbed Daniel’s hair with the other. Enjoying the way the Dani’s eyes widened in fear, his weak arms flailed around as he tried to fight the larger man off of him, but it was no use. “Guess I’ll just have to cut straight to the point.” He said, the smirk evident threw his altered voice before putting his knife against Daniel’s throat and slashing it open. Watching whatever life that was left in him drain from his eyes.

Peter being the skilled photographer he was, took a selfie of the two with their slayed animal, now it’s time to go claim their trophy.

—

Something was off.

Like seriously off, ever since Peter and Miguel disappeared at the party neither of them had answered their phone, and as soon Dani disappeared neither had he. Maybe the party wasn’t the best idea in retrospect, you let out a sigh as you entered your apartment, and collapsed on your couch, wanting to try and calm your racing thoughts a bit before you changed out of your costume. Closing your eyes, and taking in a deep breath.

Your phone started to ring.

Usually, you didn’t answer calls from people who weren’t already in your contacts, so the “blocked number” would normally set off red flags, but maybe the alcohol was still making your brain foggy, because without thinking you answer the call and put your phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

No answer.

You left out a huff and tried again.

“Hellooo?”

When you didn’t get an answer again you rolled your eyes.

“I think you got the wrong numb-“

“Wanna play a game?”

“I’m-I’m sorry?”

“I said, wanna play a game?”

“Um no thanks. I'm hanging up now.”

“Hang up and you won’t get to see your special surprise though.” Oddly enough, you grew a bit curious.

“Wha..what do I have to do?” You asked.

“It’s simple, We’re gonna play a small game of hot and cold.” You had a feeling this wasn’t a good idea, maybe you shouldn’t answer the call. “Right now you’re cold.”

Without another word, you slowly got up, and made your way down the hall, your floorboard creaking underneath your heels.

“Warmer.”

Your heart begins to beat in your ears, you bring a shaky hand up to the doorknob of your bathroom, you go to open the door when the voice from the other end of the phone spoke again.

“Colder.”

You quickly bring your hand back down to your side and let your heavy footsteps make your way into your bedroom.

“Hotter.”

You swallowed the thick lump of saliva down your throat as you made your way to the left side room, your eyes dead set on your closet.

“Hotter.”

You closed the gap between you and the closet, and brought your hand to the handle, mentally preparing yourself for whatever hides before the wooden doors.

“You're on fucking fire baby.”

Your hand drew back the door, the sight made you let out a blood curdling scream, almost dropping your phone in the process. Your Daniel, dead, sitting on the closet floor, gutted out like a fish. The voice on the other end of the phone let out a sly chuckle before speaking once again.

“Sorry about your boyfriend, guess all those muscles didn’t help much.” He mocked before the call went dead, and you finally released your phone, it falling to the floor, as your body began to shake and your breathing became rapid.

You let out a sob and began to stumble away from the mangled corpse that you once called your boyfriend, only for your back to meet with a what felt like a wall of muscle, you quickly look up over your shoulder, being met with the infamous ghostface mask that has been plastered all over the news.

“What’s the matter (Y/N)? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The altered voice taunted. No, no, no,no. This cannot be happening. You shook your head as another sob left your lips stumbling away from the masked killer and into the hallway, expecting him to follow after you, but instead he just watched you. If you were thinking straight. You’d probably realized that this was a trap, but you weren’t thinking straight, as you finally reached the front door, you went to unlock the door and leave your apartment, but before you even stepped foot out of the door a large hand came and grabbed you around your waist. You take in a deep breath and open your mouth to scream, but instead a white cloth came and covered your nose and mouth, the strong smell of chemicals quickly filling your lungs.

“Surprised (Y/N).” This voice was a bit deeper, then the one from your bedroom, your head became dizzy as you eyes fluttered, your vision was beginning to blacken, before you were fully go under, you saw the man holding you still was a lot larger than the other one, it clicked, there were two of them.

You black out.

—

“She out?” Peter asked Miguel as he slipped off his mask, Miguel following suit.

“Like a light.” Miguel smirks as he goes to pick you up bridal style, your body limply laying in his arms. The two couldn’t help but smile as they watched your sleeping form, so peaceful looking, like an Angel. Their angel. Their plan played out just as they wanted, you were theirs now, and theirs alone. No one could come in the way of you three anymore, all they had to do now was make sure you wouldn’t leave them. But how would you do that if you didn’t know where you were? You couldn’t. That’s why Miguel gently placed you in the backseat of Peter’s car, before getting into the passenger’s seat. They were going to make sure you were far, far away from your old life, so you could start your new one with your lovesick killers.

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charlesswife · 1 year

Text

Una Noche En Mónaco i

Vaya noche la de anoche. (What a night last night)

unem master list

pairing: charles leclerc x latina! reader

summary: after a one night stand between you and charles, charles continues on with his f1 career. until two months later, you come back claiming to be pregnant with his child.

warning: bad writing, charles is a bit of an asshole at first, is going to be a series. google translate because I do not speak french. teen pregnancy (very cliche, I know. I'm sorry)

a/n: this is based on the idea i posted yesterday, which you all seem to like a lot. i want to clarify that english isn't my first language so please be kind if you see any error, i am trying my best. Also I am very new to formula one, i am binge watching drive to survive and the races. also i hope the timeline is correct lmao. ALSO i am not very great at writing smut so don't expect to see smut until i get better at writing it. enjoy!

word count: 1,771

Just to clarify: If I'm not wrong. In 2018, Charles was 20, turning 21 in that year. Reader is going to have an age gap of two years. So reader is 18 turning 19.

gif is not mine! i love this gif tho, he looks so good.

March 2018

Everything from last night was a blur. I remember his green eyes on me. And then his lips. And then his skin. And then a bit more.

The music was louder than my thoughts. Monaco is a beautiful country with even more beautiful people.

Steph grabbed my hand and dragged me to the bar. "One Jack Daniel's with coke and one Cosmopolitan, please." She told the bartender.

"Cosmopolitan?" I asked.

"Oh girl, it's so good. It's vodka with cranberry juice, lemon juice, syrup, and..." She stopped for a second while her eyes drifted to something behind me. "Oh god, he's cute." I was going to turn around and look until she stopped me. "Wait, don't turn yet!"

By that time, the bartender put our drinks in front of us. I thanked him. "Girl, he's looking at you."

"Is he your kind of cute or mine?"

"I would do it sober, on a Monday." Okay. I have to turn around and see said man. "If he wants anything, he'll come to us." She dragged me to another part of the bar.

We danced and drank, and slowly I was forgetting about the 'gorgeous' man. I checked my phone. 12:00.

It has been two hours since we got to the bar.

When the song ended, we headed to the bar area, I asked the bartender for another drink. "Wait here, I have to run to the bathroom," Steph yelled in my ear and then made a beeline to the bathroom. I took the scenery in. The music was louder than before and everyone was dancing to a song I don't know of.

The bartender put the drink in front of me, and I thanked him again. I lost count of how many times I have thanked him.

"This is your fourth drink, is it not?" I heard a male voice next to me. I turned to see the owner of the voice.

Green eyes. Dimpled smile. His body leaned to mine.

"You're keeping tabs on me?" I asked.

"Hard not to," he said. He turned to the bartender and said, "Fermer la onglet. apporte-elle de l'eau. Je paierai la facture." (Close the tab, and bring her some water. I will pay for her bill.) The bartender nodded. The man turned to me again.

"What did you tell him?" I'm not even going to lie. His accent was very sexy.

"Nothing much. C'mon. Let's dance." he grabbed my hand and dragged me to the dance floor.

He pulled me close to his body. Very close. His green eyes and hands were all over me. And I let him.

He leaned closer to my ear and said, "So are you going to tell me your name or will I only know as the beautiful foreign girl?"

"You think I'm beautiful?" I asked laughing a bit.

"Everybody in this room thinks you are beautiful," he smiled, "So?"

"y/n," I told him. He repeated my name again, trying to see how my name feels on his lips. "And you?" I asked him.

"Charles" I repeated his name and his smile got wider. Deepening his dimples. "Leclerc"

Somewhere in the room, a phone rang. I was entangled with Charles that I just let it ring. His face is so calm, without worries.

"I can feel you staring at me, mon cherie," he murmured. "do you always stare at people when you wake up?"

"Not always," I said. "you're the only exception." He smiled at my comment and opened his eyes.

"Hello"

"Hi," I whispered.

"Was that your phone or mine?" He asked.

"I don't know. If it's important, they'll ring again." As soon as the words left my mouth. The phone rang again. I let out a little whine that made Charles laugh.

"That's your phone, that's not my ringtone." I got out of bed and looked for the phone.

"I can feel you staring at me, mon cherie" I mocked him.

"A sight like you should be stared at all the time." I smiled at his comment. I found my phone in between the pile of clothes that was left on the floor. Steph <3 appeared on my screen.

I lay on the bed again with Charles and answered the phone.

"Hey bitch, I've been calling you all morning"

"Sorry" I answered "I just woke up"

"Are you still with the French boy?" Steph asked with a joking tone. I can't remember most of last night. But she knows about Charles and the fact he speaks French.

"I'm Monegasque," He said a bit loud, just for her to hear.

"He says he's Monegasque" I repeated.

"Uhhh, native. I like it. Well, text me when you're on your way back" With that, she hangs up. I looked back at Charles.

"So, another round?"

At first, Steph was excited for me. She was hoping for Charles to be the next thing to occupy my mind instead of my parents.

She wasn't wrong. The Monegasque lived in my mind rent-free for the past month. Especially after I found out I was pregnant.

Two pink lines.

Positive.

"So? What does it say?" Steph asked. I didn't say anything. Tears started to form in my eyes. "Oh god, I need a drink" She disappeared from the bathroom to the kitchen.

Steph made me take a pregnancy test after several different random cravings that I had. She had enough of me after I ate a burger with extra extra pickles, and then more pickles on the side. For context, I hate pickles, with my life.

Fuck.

"y/n... what are you gonna do?" I haven't realized that she came back into the room, a glass of wine in her hand.

"well... what's done it's done. it's my responsibility to take care so it." I answered.

"Yeah! But so it's his! He has to be responsible too!" she yelled.

I let the tears run down my face. "And how?! I don't have his number! It's not like I could just send him a text saying 'Hey! remember when we fucked a month ago? well, I'm pregnant now, congrats! be responsible and take care of it"

Steph stayed quiet for a moment, just staring at me. After a while, she said, "Do you think he is on Instagram? I mean, think about it, almost everyone is on Instagram." she waved her wine at me.

"And if he's not?" my voice broke for a moment. This is all too much for me. I am overwhelmed and drowning in my own feelings.

"We can only hope so." She put her wine on top of the dresser and reached for her back pocket for her phone. "What was his name again?"

"Charles," I said.

"Love, I'm going to need more than that"

"Umm... His last name was a hard one. It was Lec... Lec-something"

For a moment, she looked at me and then back at her phone. "Leclerc?" She asked, doubt very clear in her voice.

"Yes! Leclerc. Why? Did you find him? You should get a job in the FBI" I commented while fidgeting with my hands. I was very nervous.

"Is it him?" She turned her phone towards me. The first thing I see was a black and white picture of Charles sitting on top of a counter with an Alfa Romeo jacket. The date was March 4, 2018. Just a few days before we met.

"Yes," I confirmed, "Wow, you are better than a PI" She slide her finger up a little and I looked at the username. Charles_leclerc with a verified check. "He's verified? Why is he verified?" I felt my heart going eighty miles per hour.

"You fucked and got pregnant by a Formula One driver," Steph said, in a monotone voice.

Oh fuck.

"What do I do now?" I asked her as I made my way to my bed to sit down.

"Well, you know who he is now. You just gotta find a way to find him and tell him." She said as she sat down and wrapped her arms around me.

Yeah. Right. Like that's going to be easy.

May 2018

"When will the phase of puking stops when pregnant?" I asked Steph as I rubbed my small bump.

"You're asking the wrong person. I am not Google" She replied.

"You would be more awesome if you were Google" I joked as I sat at the dinner table.

The aroma of pho and fried dumplings is drugging me right now. Steph is a great chef. So am I, but I hate washing dishes.

I am glad I have Steph to take care of me. Steph has been my best friend for the longest, she's a year older than me, but she treats me and takes care of me as if I'm her daughter. She was there for me when my parents died. She dropped everything and came with me across the world. And now she's taking care of me while being pregnant. I truly don't know what I would do without her.

Steph served me chicken pho and eight delicious fried pork dumplings. I waited for her to sit down.

She glanced at me for a second and then smiled. "You look like a child, waiting for permission to eat."

I laughed. "Well, I'm sorry I waited for you," I said as I grabbed the spoon and put some of the broth in it, and then took it to my mouth. It is so savory. "This is so good" I grabbed the chopsticks and grabbed a dumpling. I blow a bit into it so I don't burn myself. I took a big bite. "Oh my gosh, this is the best dumpling."

"You know what's better than a fried dumpling?" she asked while she wiggled her eyebrows.

"A soup dumpling!" I said. As soon as the words left my mouth, I heard a ting! coming from my phone. I thought my phone was in silence. We both laughed a bit at the timing and sound of the phone.

I turned my phone, immediately illuminating from the raise to wake mode. My smile dropped.

+377 123 456 7890

Hey, this is Charles. I'm in Monaco for a few weeks, mon cherie. Do you want to meet? 😉

I slammed my phone back to the table and looked at Steph. "What?" she asked. I looked back at my phone, making sure it wasn't a hallucination in my head. The text message was still there.

With shaken hands, I hand her my phone while I eat the other portion of the dumpling. She looked at the text, then at me. "Oh fuck..."

Oh fuck indeed.

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Ahhhhhh!!!!! This is the first chapter of many more to come! Please let me know what you think of it. I would very much appreciate any type of comment, whether it is your opinion or just anything! It would def motive me more to keep going.

@mac-daddy-210 @infinite-wanders @rbrsavage @itsyogurlkel @bbygrlllllll @nerdreader @imnotcryingyouare1 @killerangel88 @obx-mylove-things-blog @triorion @daniellarogers @insssanemindd @bosinclairsgff

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year

Text

𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄

pairing: stripper!jack daniels x f!reader

genre: stripper AU, explicit, minors dni

word count: 6.5k

series 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".

chapter summary: you bump into "whiskey" at the farmer's market and learn more about him.

warnings: awkward moments, fluff, mutual pining, sexual tension, bondage via jack's belt, piv, oral (female receiving), praise kink, fingering, dirty talking, brief mention of jack being widowed, angst & arguing at the end

a/n: sadly no stripping in this one folks but I promise we're gonna get some more (and our happy ending) in part three!

part two of i can feel your heartbeat

dividers by @firefly-graphics 💜

You don’t visit the farmer’s market as often as you used to but when you do, man, do you love it.

It’s almost therapeutic. You love the gentle morning sun warming your skin, you love the scent of fresh produce wafting through the air. You enjoy looking at the colorful display of flowers. While you walk, you look up into the sky, the clouds looking fluffier than ever. A soft wind blows and ruffles the leaves of the trees, the sound of it strong enough to make you believe you’re in another, more exciting world.

The crowd mimics the motion of waves in the sea. You follow the current, not having a particular stand in mind. The only thing on your list is buying some fresh fruit; some juicy peaches, and maybe some strawberries.

Lost in your thoughts, you don't notice a man stepping into your path until it's too late.

With an unexpected jolt, you collide into him, your momentum abruptly halting. Startled, you blink and take a step back, a mix of embarrassment and surprise washing over you.

It’s then that you notice an item slipping from his bag, plummeting toward the ground.

In that split second, your senses heighten, and you catch a whiff of familiar leather and a trace of a perfume that sparks a distant memory. But you can't dwell on it for long as your gaze fixates on what has fallen—a meticulously hand-carved wooden horse.

The delicate figurine lies there, its intricate details captivating your attention. The sunlight dances upon its smooth surface, casting intricate shadows that accentuate the craftsmanship. It is a thing of beauty, captivating in its simplicity and elegance.

You kneel down, carefully picking up the wooden horse. Its weight in your hand feels grounding. Your fingertips trace the curves and contours, marveling at the artistry that brings it to life.

Distracted by the wooden horse, you momentarily forget about the man with whom you collided. But as you rise to your feet, you finally take notice of him, standing there with a surprised expression on his face. Recognition flickers in his eyes, and a smile slowly curves his lips; meanwhile, you’re absolutely shocked. Your mouth falls open and your eyes go wide at the sight of a cowboy hat you’ve grown accustomed to seeing almost every night.

“Whiskey?” you say in a hushed, yet loud, whisper. “W-What are you—”

His smile falters at the sound of his stage name, it seems to you that he’s forgotten that you don’t actually know his birth-given name. He crowds your space, the scent of pine filling the air, unmistakable and comforting. When you part your lips the second time, it’s to apologize, but before you can, he claps a hand over your mouth and gently pushes you towards the back of one of the market stalls. Your heart races, his grip firm yet strangely gentle.

The rough surface of wood meets your back. You feel the subtle grooves and indentations beneath your palms and a shiver runs down your spine as his intense stare penetrates your defenses. He breathes heavily through his nostrils, lips a thin line.

“It’s Jack,” he grunts, almost begrudgingly. “My name’s Jack.”

“Jack,” you say, enjoying the way his name rolls off of your tongue. Then your brows furrow with realization. “Wait, is that why you call yourself Whiskey? Like, Jack, as in Jack Daniels?”

He gives you a pained expression, the corner of his lips lifting, “Guess my last name.”

“Nooooo,” you let out a hushed gasp. “Your last name is Daniels?”

“I told you my real name wasn’t any less embarrassin’.”

You tut with a grin, “You poor thing.”

He inches closer, leg almost between your thighs but not quite. Jack always makes his presence known. He is used to being center stage, garnering all the attention and whisking anyone away from their thoughts. His very being overwhelming and affective. You stiffen as awareness starts creeping in— the large hand cupping the column of your neck, his body imposing as it blankets yours, the thick wood behind your back. In the distance, you still hear the clamoring of people. Your breath catches in your throat, he’s only an inch away.

Your fingers twitch and you remember the wooden horse he’d dropped.

“Um, I think this is yours,” you blurt out, handing him the carving. He’s briefly startled but then pulls away, taking it from you. “It’s lovely by the way. Where’d you get it?”

“I. . . uh. . . I made it,” he mutters, tilting his head forward. Hiding from you.

“You made it?”

He nods and steps away from you.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” you tease, pushing yourself away from the market wall. You follow him into the crowd. “You’re truly a man of many talents. . . Jack.”

“Don’t make me regret tellin’ you my name.”

“I won’t,” you answer with a hint of mischief. You eye the bags he’s holding. “Are all of those wood carvings?”

“Yea,” he says. “I bring them for my mother-in-law, she sells them along with other stuff.”

“You—” your mouth dries and you swallow around the know forming rapidly in your throat. “Wait, you told me you were single.”

“Widowed.”

He says it in a way that doesn’t allow for any follow-up questions. His voice is curt, nonchalant. Tearing your gaze away from the crowd, you stare at him, your heart squeezing in your chest. You want to hold him, whether it's a hug or just a delicate brush of your fingers. You want him to know that you're here for him.

But you just can’t.

If you two hadn’t bumped into each other, he wouldn’t have ever told you. This was a truth that was spoken due to circumstance, not something he wanted to admit and that makes you feel incredibly guilty. “I’m sorry,” is the only thing you’re able to say.

You might be imagining it, but you think he starts walking closer to you. His hand brushes your waist and pulls you close—right then you realize you were about to crash into some poor unsuspecting woman with enough goods to feed an army.

He snorts, “You really out to be more careful, sweetheart.”

“Sorry,” you mumble, distracted by the hand cupping your side. The woman had already disappeared into the crowd but he’s still holding you close. Heat drips down your spine.

“What’s your favorite animal?”

The question takes you by surprise but you indulge him with an answer, “Foxes.”

“Hmm,” he looks down at his bag. “Darn, I don’t think I made a fox.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” a nervous chuckle bubbles from your lips. He makes a sound and the two of you continue walking through the crowd. When you reach almost the end of the stalls, he stops you.

“Wait here,” he says. “I’ll drop these off and we can look around together.”

“O-Oh you don’t have to—”

“If today is any indication you can’t function properly without me, sunshine,” he grins. “You’ll probably headbutt a fruit stand or somethin’.”

You stand there, your heart pounding in your chest as he leaves you. Your eyes trace his figure until he stops beside a middle-aged, elegant-looking blond woman at a nearby stand. They engage in conversation, their voices carrying faintly to your ears.

They seem comfortable in each other's presence, their conversation carrying a lightness that betrays a shared history. Her smile lights up her face, and for a moment, her eyes meet yours. You feel a jolt of nervousness, your instinct urging you to avert your gaze, fearing that you may be intruding upon a private moment.

You don’t want to pry, but you would be damned if you said you weren’t hungry for more information. . . .among other things.

Soon Jack returns, the bags he carried earlier now gone. His presence draws you back to the present, grounding you in the here and now. “You ready to go?” he asks.

“Sure.”

When your eyes find the woman’s once more, she waves at the both of you. Jack tilts his hat as he places his hand protectively over the small of your back, heat seeping through the fabric of your shirt and into your skin. You stumble for a moment before waving back.

You’re not sure how to react to any of this. Seeing Jack outside of the strip club feels forbidden, in a way. Like a certain spell has been broken. Before you knew his name it was easy to pretend your growing emotions were nothing other than you enoying the attention he was giving you. But now you’re in the real world. He has his hand on your back unprompted and is willing to walk around with you at the farmer’s market. In the club, a curtain of illusion looms most of the time. It’s another world. A separate little nook where you can disappear into and be pampered in.

That spell is broken now.

He’s a real person. Your emotions are real. Everything is.

And that terrifies you.

With the heel of his palm pressed firmly against the steering wheel, Jack parks in your driveway. Your eyes drop to his lap where his legs are spread, an enticing view by any means. His belt buckle shines under the street light coming through the windshield. The soft yellow softens the edges of his face, giving him an almost somber look.

He kills the engine, you wait for him to speak but he doesn’t say anything.

“Thank you for dropping me off,” you say, breaking the silence. You unwillingly grip the latch of the door. “So,” you add.

“So,” he clears his throat, and drags a thumb down the bridge of his nose. “I’ll see you around darlin’. Today was nice.”

“Yeah. It was.”

The two of you had ended up spending time together until the sun had set. You even had dinner together which was a pleasant surprise. It wasn’t awkward then, so you have no idea why you feel so unnerved right now. It’s as if your entire vocabulary had dropped from your head.

You swallow, thinking of your next words very carefully, “Would you. . . like to come in? I have a bottle of wine.”

Time seems to slow down, every sound around you amplified. The cacophony of crickets fills the night air, a gentle breeze rustles the leaves of nearby trees. You hold your breath as the car emits a soft creak. The muscle in his jaw twitches. He seems hesitant, his eyes glazed as if looking at the horizon. You shouldn’t have asked. Just because he was friendly doesn’t mean he wants to date, or have a relationship. And from what you’ve learned today, there is a very high chance that Jack wouldn’t be interested in any form of intimacy.

“Sure,” he finally says, his voice rough. “Lead the way, sugar.”

Despite the hot summer air, your skin is ice cold. He follows you inside, his body close yet painfully far at the same time. The skin at the base of your spine tingles. You have a feeling that he wants to wrap his arms around you but it remains only a thought. Briefly you imagine the phantom feel of his limbs coiling around you, the warmth you would feel.

You quickly unlock the door and invite him inside. You’re not sure what to do now that he’s in your apartment. Hands in his pockets, he gives his surroundings a quick once-over.

“Cozy,” he says.

“Thanks,” you mumble, not sure if that was a compliment or not. “So, wine?” without waiting for an answer you head to the kitchen. Jack follows. You're desperately racking your brain for conversation topics that won't be awkward, but your mind seems determined to make your life miserable by providing no ideas.

“Today was fun,” you say, reaching for the glasses. He makes a sound of approval and your gut simmers with something unpleasant. You grab the bottle of wine from the fridge and the cork from the drawer. With a frown, you struggle with pulling out the cork. “I hope. . .” you pull at it again. “you had fun. . .” you let out a loud grunt, too distracted to realize he’s rounding the small island. “. . . too—shit!”

Jack is right behind you when the cork finally comes loose and sends your arm flying back.

Your elbow slams loudly against something hard and pointy, the pain that blossoms from skin to bone immediate. Jack lets out a shout and when you turn you see him hunched over, holding his chin.

Oh god, you’re a moron.

“What were you doing behind me!?” you chide, your voice shrill.

“I should be the one fuckin’ yellin’,” he hisses, each word bouncing against the back of his teeth. He breathes heavily through his nose and slowly stands back up. He moves his jaw as if he’s testing if it’s broken. “I was gonna offer help. It didn’t look like you were gettin’ anywhere with the bottle.”

Your chest heaves, heart pounding maniacally beneath the cage, “I’m so so so sorry,” you say quickly. “I—I wasn’t paying attention. Do you need anything? Should I get the first aid kit?”

He’s still moving his jaw when his eyes meet yours. You hear the faint clicking of bone, the sound ominous to your ears. “Sorry,” you whisper again, feeling like a parrot.

Jack’s gaze grows softer the longer he stares at you. Momentarily his eyes flutter closed. He takes a deep breath and opens them back up again. The air around you is still, the only sound not drowned by the drum of your heart is the faint traffic coming from outside. With long strides, he’s at you in an instant, his body feeling larger than life itself. His fingers gingerly brush your cheek and you swear you feel electricity crackling across the skin.

“I should be the one apologizin’. It’s my fault for sneaking up on you like that,” he sighs, turning his hand, he drags his knuckles down your face. You’re reminded of the first time he danced for you, how he wrapped his hands around your neck. “I didn’t mean to shut down like that. Of course, I had fun today. I’m glad we ran into each other.”

In order to avoid appearing desperate and insecure, you sink your teeth into the tip of your tongue, consciously refraining from uttering the question: "Really?"

“That’s good,” you say instead, hating how unsure you sound. He definitely thinks that you don’t believe him. “For a while there I felt bad. I didn’t want to intrude.”

“Well, you didn’t.”

“Okay.”

His touch feels good on your skin. You don’t ever want him to leave, at least, not for tonight. It’s odd really, you’ve been much closer than this before but this feels more intimate, more nerve-wracking. His head tilts towards the bottle, the corner’s of his mouth curling up.

“Now pour us what’s left in the bottle.”

You’re grinning now, a sound between a chuckle and a snort dropping from your lips, “Okay.”

Jack picks up the glasses of wine as you lead him to the living room. You can definitely sense an energy shift between you two. You don’t need to force yourself to fill the silence anymore. Everything is more natural, just like it was before.

“I’m just glad you didn’t get my nose,” he says as he takes a seat on the couch. “It would’ve been bad for business.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you roll your tongue. “People love a rugged handsome man with a bit of blood.”

As soon as you sit, his arm comes up to lay above the backrest. His fingers draw patterns across your skin; stars, hearts, circles. Your muscles tighten, nipples left tingling at his touch. You breathe out slowly. Jack shuffles closer and spreads his legs, his knee digging into the meat of your thigh. His thumb smooths over the stem of the wine glass. You have his full focus, gaze brimming with intrigue.

“Is that what you like?” Every word is said tantalizingly slow, you shudder. “A bit of blood.”

Not the blood, you want to say, but the thought of someone stepping in to be a shield for me.

The words don’t come however and you just stare, your cheeks warm as he continues to toy with the small hairs scattered across the back of your neck. You’re actually glad you managed not to answer. You’re not sure if he’d want to stay after hearing it. There’s just something so intoxicating about another person caring enough to want to protect you, no matter what happens. And your lizard brain just thinks it’s hot. You’re aware it’s not the strangest thing but still, you don’t think it’s the best course of action to admit this to your stripper.

Well, not your stripper. He doesn’t belong to anyone but you digress.

“Tell me whatcha thinkin’ pretty girl,” he spreads his fingers around your nape, gently squeezing the side. You practically purr at the pressure. “You should know by now that I’m good at keepin’ secrets.”

The reminder brings a rush of warmth between your legs. You squirm and bring the glass of wine to your lips, taking two large gulps. “I don’t know what I’m thinking,” you answer, swallowing at the same time. “Besides you already know what the people want, don’t pretend that you don’t.”

“I do,” he hums. “But right now I’m more interested in what you want, sugar.”

“You. . .” you furrow your brows. “What?”

Placing the wine glass on the coffee table, he leans closer. His lips are tinted from the wine. “What do you want, darlin’?” he pressed his palm flat on your thigh. “Because to me, it seems like you have an itch you just can’t seem to scratch.”

Holy freaking hell.

You’re a goner— what kind of steamy cowboy romance book did this man climb out of?

“What about you?”

Your question startles him and his fingers twitch around your thigh, “What do you mean ‘what about me’?”

“Well,” you shrug. “What do you want?”

You’re giving yourself mental pats on the back for keeping your voice leveled. The fabric of your underwear is damp with arousal, your clit throbbing and aching for his fingers. There’s a storm raging inside you. A storm that you’re glad he’s not able to witness. You keep your breathing even. Nice and slow. His hand starts sliding up your leg, stopping when he reaches the crease between your legs. He smiles.

“I want to fuck you, darlin'.”

You hold your breath, your pussy bottoming out at his deep southern drawl. He leans in, lips brushing your ear before gently nipping the hard shell. Electricity spikes up your spine, a strangled moan parting your lips.

“I want to fuck you slow,” he continues on, tongue wet and warm over your skin. “Then I want to fuck you hard. I want to look in your eyes as you come for me again, sunshine.” without warning Jack cups your sex, fingers digging into your clothed folds. Your head snaps up, every bone going rigid in your body. “Want to feel that pretty pussy chokin’ my cock.”

You’re shaking and your ears are left ringing. It’s just one touch. One touch and your entire body is locked up, aching, begging. Your jaw hurts from how hard you’re clenching your teeth. He blows a puff of air, goosebumps rising over your skin. He kisses your neck, such a gentle, fleeting feeling. All blood gathers under his lips, pounding. You swallow.

“Your turn,” he rasps, circling your clit with two fingers. “What do you want, gorgeous?”

“I—I—” you look down to where his hand is, the sight knocking the air from your lungs. He’s actually touching you, fingers deep between your legs. Sweat beads at your temple. “I want that too.”

“Hm?” he’s amused, you can tell. A tone you’d grown accustomed to that you both hate and adore. You refuse to look at him. “You like the sound of that, pretty girl? Me fucking this neglected pussy? Has a man ever made you come before, sunshine?”

You don’t want to answer but you forget that silence is an answer on its own. “What is this a questionnaire?” His eyes glimmer under the dimmed light, how can he look so delighted while taking you apart you’ll never know.

“I’m takin’ that as a no,” he tuts and sticks his bottom lip out. “Poor thing.”

You might not admit it, but that doesn’t make him any less right. You haven’t really been lucky when it came to previous sexual endeavors. None of them really made you that comfortable to just let go. There were some that came really close, and some felt good despite you not finishing—some were just downright bad at it— That’s why his dance had surprised you. He worked you up so thoroughly and that added with the thought that you’d never see him again bred the perfect ground for you to just relax.

You had no idea the end result would be him in your apartment, telling you how badly he wanted to fuck you. If this is a dream you never want to wake up from it.

His hands slide to your hip, holding you tight as he leans over. You gasp when you feel his lips, so soft, so tender. His tongue swipes over your bottom lip hungrily, not asking but demanding to be let inside. You part your lips with a feverish groan and he slips inside. You seize him by the collar, pulling him closer, wanting more of him. Your head spins as he tilts his head, shoving more of him inside you, your tongue eagerly backing down so he takes full control. He squeezes the breath out of you, swallowing your tender moans of his name.

Jack’s hand tenderly cups your cheek as he pulls away, a string of saliva still connecting you two together. You breathe heavily, your lips stinging in the best way. Your eyes flit over his face. His lips kiss swollen, chocolate eyes a shade darker. With a thumb, he tugs down your bottom lip and swallows.

“Take me to your bedroom.”

“I’ve never seen you take off your clothes so fast before.”

He snorts, “Shut up. I ain’t on the clock. You think that’s how I undress all the time? I would get nothin’ else done.”

Jack unbuckles his belt while you take in the sight of his bare torso. A shudder crawls up your spine at the sound of the metal buckle coming loose. He has a smooth chest, which you already knew but still, to have it all to yourself makes your entire mouth water.

Your eyes drop when he rips the belt away with one smooth motion. Anticipation stirs in your chest, causing your eyebrows to raise. Before you can avert your eyes, he catches your gaze, his trademark grin tugging at his mouth. Belt still in hand, he comes closer. With a gentle touch, Jack's hands grasp the fabric of your shirt. Carefully, he pulls upward, the fabric gradually lifts, revealing the tender skin beneath. You instinctively raise your arms for him and he slids it completely off, leaving you in nothing else but your bra.

He dips down, kissing the soft swell of your breasts, one by one, “Can’t do anythin’ without me,” he says with no conviction. His lips move over your skin. “My helpless sweetheart.”

You barely hear the second part of his sentence, he had uttered the words softly, just above a whisper. The words resonate in you, short-circuiting your brain and shutting out unrelated thoughts. You like this. You like him taking care of you, guiding you. His tone holds no pity, only care.

His thumb follows the lace of your bra, tongue tasting the salt of your skin. You whine as your knees weeken, his mouth has no right feeling this good. He cups them from underneath and slowly pushes the satin fabric up, calloused palm grazing your peaked nipples. He swirls his tongue around the areola then closes his lips around the hardened flesh. Your back arches, filling his mouth with more of you. He groans as he opens his mouth wider, teeth softly caressing the skin.

“Jaack,” you breathe out as you shift from one leg to the other. Your panties stick uncomfortably to your core. You palm him through his jeans, feeling the weight of him. He sucks your nipple harder, pinching the other one. You want to taste him. “Let me,” you say, already going down.

Much to your surprise, he stills your movements. “No,” he groans. “Let me take care of you first.”

He pushes your arms behind you, locking your wrists together with one hand. Your breath stills when you feel the leather of his belt circling your wrists. “Can I?” he asks, breath fanning your neck.

Your stomach flips and not trusting yourself to remain upright, you brace yourself by dropping your forehead to his shoulder. Your entire body is winded. You place a small, chaste kiss over his clavicle, his chest raises with a deep inhale.

“Just promise this isn’t where you tie me up and steal my watch,” you joke, immediately regretting it when you look up to see his brows drawn together, a small snarl tracing his lips. “Sorry, that was in bad taste.”

“We don’t have to,” he says, his grip around your hands loosening. “And if we do we can stop whenever. I just. . .” he swallows thickly. Anticipation burrows into your skin. “I like the idea of you trustin’ me to make you feel good.”

“I do trust you,” you answer quickly. “And I want to. I just wasn’t aware how much I wanted it which is why I made that dumb joke.”

“I’m sure you can make it up to me,” he answers with a crooked grin. Suddenly, he tightens the belt around you and you let out a quick gasp, his lips are on your instantly, teeth nipping at your chin. “Does this feel okay?” he asks, slightly tugging on the leather.

It’s funny how such a simple thing can alter one’s mindset. You’re almost subdued, in a way, completely at his mercy. However, you don’t feel helpless either. His heavy palms move up and down your arms, you quiver as you drip for him, wetness gathering between your folds. You’re breathing heavily, heart bellowing in your chest, loud and strong. His skin against yours feels warmer somehow.

“Yeah,” you answer. “Feels more than okay.”

You hear the smile in his voice, “Well a’right then,” he helps you towards the bed, you drop head first into the pillows, hands securely at your back. His lips brush the tender skin between your shoulder blades. “Gonna taste this sweet pussy now, sunshine. I’ve been eager for dessert.”

“God, the mouth on you,” you swallow, feeling his breath ghosting your wet core. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Not yet,” he sighs, kissing right where the curve of your ass begins. “First I gotta make you come.”

You’re in the midst of thinking of a quip to answer with when you feel it. The wet, warmth of his tongue gliding up between your folds. Your body coils and unwinds almost simultaneously. He moves his jaw, pushing his tongue deeper. He traces your entrance with a pointed tip, licking himself deeper. The sound he makes are sinful—loud in the silence of the room.

Your wrists strain against the restraint, you push back wanting more of him. He groans into you, the reverberations seeping into your cunt. You’re withering helplessly, heat coiling tight in your stomach as your insides flutter and clench around nothing. Jack parts you with two fingers, his teeth like daggers against the sensitive flesh. With a loud cry, you feel your slick dripping out of you, making a mess of his face.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps, giving you another fat stroke of his tongue. His hand comes up to your asscheek, kneading the flesh playfully. You relax at the touch and drool over the pillows. It’s too much, yet not nearly enough. He circles his tongue around your throbbing clit and sucks it between his lips, you jolt at the pleasure and wiggle helplessly.

He gives you a gentle, yet firm, smack on the ass. A whimper echoes in your throat, your eyes shutting closed as your nails bite into your sweaty palms. “Settle,” he warns, voice deep and rich like molasses. “Use your words when you want something darlin’. Or else you ain’t getting it.”

You make a sound between a choke and a moan, despite your non-answer answer, he seems to understand.

“You want my fingers, sweetheart?”

You nod, another moan slipping from your lips.

He presses his lips over the heated skin and you keen at the soft touch of his mouth. “Can’t wait to be filled, hm?” he grins “You think you’re wet enough to take two, darlin’?”

The tips of his fingers press against your entrance, his touch nothing but a tease. “Yeah,” you answer, voice hoarse. He kisses your core before pushing two fingers in, they slide in easily, the sound of how et you are making you shudder.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises. “Fuckin’ soaked for her cowboy.”

He moves his fingers in and out of your slickened depths, coating them. His tongue returns to your cunt, your head left spinning as his talented tongue flicks, licks, and swirls. He moves his fingers in time with his tongue, plunging deeper into your sopping core.

Jack’s free hand roams your body, cupping your breasts as the intensity of his movements increases. His thumb brushes your hard nipple as he pulls you closer to his mouth, greedy to take more of you. Sparks of pleasure zig-zag through your body and you gasp as pleasure heaves through you.

Your hips buck as he moves his fingers faster, slipping them in then out with a maddening rhythm. His tongue slides faster and harder against your clit and you arch your back. You feel yourself clenching around his fingers, pleasure building and building until you’re a trembling mass panting for release.

Jack’s fingers fill you up to the brim, your inner walls quivering and contracting around them, eager for more. He pinches your nipples, sending shivers up your spine. You gasp and cry out as you build up towards your peak, trembling against him.

Finally, with one final thrust of his fingers and swipe of his tongue, you let out a loud moan as your orgasm rocks your entire body. Your walls weakly gripping his fingers as the pleasure spreads through your body, leaving you a boneless, exhausted mess.

He pulls his fingers from you and kisses your neck tenderly. “Oh darlin’,” his deep voice whispers into your ear before trailing kisses down your jaw. “Look at you, fuckin’ gorgeous.”

His cock lays heavy above your ass, smearing precum across your skin. You whimper, rolling your hips back, showing him what you need. His breath hitches. He meets your movements, slowly, grinding onto you.

“You want my cock?”

“Y-Yes, please,” your eyes roll as he teases you with the fat tip of his lenght. But before he fills you, a longing stirs in your chest. “Wait,” you gasp and he still in an instant, without looking at him you know his eyes are painted with worry. “I want to see you.”

“See me?” he repeats slowly, as if the words are foreign to his tongue.

“Please,” you add. “I want to touch you too.”

Swiftly, he unties you and throws the belt to the floor. Your arms drop loosely to your sides, a pleasant ache stirring in your muscles. Jack turns you side ways, your thighs offering him a velvet entrance to your tight heat. He caresses your back, his touch soothing. When your gaze meet his, there’s a slightly hesitation in them. Almost like he’s afraid of something.

“Is this alright?” he asks and you nod, reaching out to him. He sighs as your arms weakly wrap themselves around his neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss.

While your tongues intertwine, he enters you. Just like he promised, he does it slowly, every ridge felt by you. You tear away from him with a gasp, you’re overwhelmed by the size of him, stretching your sensitive cunt perfectly. When he’s buried himself in your completey, he pulls out in an equally slow manner. Your jaw drops wide, your walls trembling at the slow guide. The inside of your thighs shake. With only the tip inside, he pushes forward, slowly. Your nails bite into his back, tension coiling in your stomach as he presses his lips against yours once more.

“So warm,” he groans, eyes staring deep into yours. “Fuckin’ pussy was made for me.”

“Yes,” you cry out, holding him closer. “Made for you, Jack. Made for your cock.”

His hips stutter and your eyes go wide, a gutteral moan tainting your lips. “Please,” you beg. “Please, please, please—”

“Please. . . what, darlin’?” his lips brush your teary eyelids.

“Fuck me,” you whisper. “I-It’s too much, please just fuck me. Stop teasing.”

“Alright, sugar. I won’t.”

There’s a small window of clarity where the softness of his voice catches you off guard, but that feeling is quickly replaced by the overwhelming strike of pleasure hitting your spine. His demeanour completely changes. Slow and sensual grind of his hips becoming fast and merciless, he snaps into you, length gliding against a spot you can barely reach with your fingers. He breathes into your neck. Your mind is in a complete haze, the four walls around you dssapearing from existence.

You yelp when he flips you over to your back, spreading your trembling legs wide, his thumb falls on your clit and he begins to draw fast, precise circles around the bundle of nerves. You scream his name, pulsing around him as he fucks you deeper, harder until you’re coming undone around him once again.

You squeeze him tight before gushing around him, your back arching almost painfully with his continued thrusts. Pleasure rolls over your body in the form of tidal waves, and just as you’re coming down from your high, he pulls out, spilling over your stomach.

You look at him blearily, eyes barely able to focus on the heavy way his chest moves. He breathes heavily, the muscles that surround his stomach tense. Before you can utter a word, Jack dips down, claiming your lips in a heady kiss that you can only describe as a finality.

Jack parts away and hops off of the bed.

Your eyes widen, confusion swirling in them. Why is he getting dressed? You’re still within a heavy haze of pleasure, your surroundings feeling disoriented and dreamlike. With a weak hand, you reach towards him, hoping the action will convey to him not to go.

Jack already has one leg shoved into his pants when he sees you. Helpless. Needy. Your heart suddenly feels too big for your chest, tears build in your eyes. He hasn’t said anything yet, but you know. You just do.

He’s quick to clamber over to you, dropping to his knees and taking your hand into his own before dragging damp lips over your knuckles. Your chest heaves. You don’t want him to go.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice choked. “I can’t stay.”

“Why?”

He ignores your question, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stop by the club either, darlin’.”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap. He stiffens at your tongue, shoulders raising. He still has your hand enclosed in his. Your eyes sting. “I thought. . . I thought you liked me. . .”

You hate the way your voice cracks. You hate seeing the remorse in his eyes. You hate how tortured he looks, as if you’re the one hurting him.

“This ain’t gonna work out. Whatever it is.”

“Then why even come here? Why even. . .” you viciously pull your hand back, startling him. He stands as you straighten, leaning against the bed rest. You reek of sweat and sex. Marks of him, all of it, on you, on the bed, on the pillows. You cross your arms over your chest, refusing to pull up a blanket over your naked body. Refusing to be ashamed.

It doesn’t matter. Embarrassment sears your skin.

He doesn’t answer and you realize. Your heart lurches, your stomach dropping and churning uncomfortably. You can’t breathe—fuck, you can’t breathe.

“This was a goodbye,” you say coldly, the next words you whisper, broken. “That’s why you were distracted in the kitchen. You knew this was going to be a one-time thing.”

Anger flashes in his eyes, surprising you, “I thought somewhere along the way you would’ve figured that out too,” he snarls. “Wans’t it obvious from the start this couldn’t go anywhere?”

“It wasn’t obvious to me!” your hands drop from your chest and you’re crawling off the bed to meet him halfway. Just as you’re stepping down, your knees gave way beneath you, still weak. Jack takes a step forward and catches you, one arm securely wrapped around your torso. You push him away. “Fuck you—stop being nice to me!”

“Fuck me?” he repeats, bewildered. “Fuck you! I was just tryin’ to help.”

“Oh please, you were just helping yourself,” you hiss between gritted teeth. “Spare me any favors!”

Silence falls, the air still crackling with tension. You breathe heavily. Both your gazes remain locked on one another, both of you refusing to step down. You feel like a wounded animal, trying to bite back after being kicked.

“Just because someone does the bare minimum,” he says slowly, pulling up his pants. “Don’t mean their kind. I’m not the type of person you think I am, I’m just savin’ you the trouble of figuring it out yourself.”

He shakes his head, tormented.

“I’m sorry whoever it was who hurt you. I’m sorry they made you believe that every person is a shithead that’ll treat you like crap—but that just ain’t true. They are better people out there,” he sighs and pulls his shirt over his head. “I hate the way you look at me.”

“I look at you the same way I look at everyone else.”

“No, you don’t,” he smiles and all oxygen leaves your lungs. It’s a broken smile, the corners of his lips twitch. “You look at me like I’m more than I am. I can’t handle it. Not again.”

Not again.

What does that mean? What happened? What’s again?

The face of the elderly blond woman you barely saw flashes before your eyes. His mother-in-law. You shrink under his gaze, guilt, and regret coursing through your veins. You didn’t ask him how she died. He didn’t let you as and you figured he’d tell you when the time was right.

Now it looks like such a time won’t ever come.

“I’m sorry,” he says for how many times you lost count. His voice cracks. “This is the best for you, I promise, sunshine.”

He leaves and you break.

The way he said sunshine. . . it echoes in the loud emptiness of your bedroom.

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

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pedros-husband · 1 year

Text

you feel bad about your scars

pedro pascal characters x male reader

characters included: javier pena, joel miller, javi gutierrez, marcus moreno, ezra, din djarin, frankie morales, agent whiskey, silva, oberyn martell, dave york, dieter bravo, tim rockford, and dio morrisey.

javier pena: he doesn't understand why you don't like your scars, he has tons, and your always talking about how much you like his, so why are yours any different? he's not good with words, so instead he'll show you just how much he loves your scars, whether its gingerly kissing over each one, or a more steamy approach in the sheets.

joel miller: he himself has been self-conscious about his scars, to him they're a reminder of mistakes he's made, fuck ups. but it's a completely different story with yours. he's all over you the moment you say something about them. he was never a touchy lovey-dovey guy, even before the breakout, but when he met you, you changed it all. so, he'll wrap you up in blankets on the couch and put a random movie on that ellie stole from bill's, it's not like you two are going to watch it anyway with the way he's thinking og showing you he loves them anyway....

javi gutierrez: he loves every part of you, and when i say love i mean LOVES, adores, worships, you a GOD to him (in a cute way not a weird way)s o when you shy away from his touch when he traces over your scars, he pouts like a puppy. cue the- " mi hermoso why don't you like your scars? i think they are adorable", and with your permission, he will kiss every single one, muttering little words in between like 'my handsome man' and 'gorgeous'. hes such a sweet golden retriever boy i can't

marcus moreno: he thinks scars are just a normal part of your body (even if its from sh/surgery) so he sees them as a part of YOU, and he loves all of you, therefore he loves them just as much. if you comment on how insecure they make you feel, he'll wrap you up in his arms and cuddle you, pressing kisses to your neck and whispering 'they are part of you my love, and you are so very beautiful...my handsome husband.'

ezra: he doesn't really know how to comfort you on it, but he still assures you that he finds you very handsome and attractive both with or without scars, they don't define you and in his eys, you are perfect in everyway.

din djarin: he is a very shy boy that isn't great with words or affection but he want to show you that he finds you beautiful and even loves your scars ESPECIALLY, so he flips the autopilot on and grabs your wrist (gently), pulling you to the bunk room, he switches off the light and drags you into the bunk, wrapping himself around you and tracing over your scars with his fingers for hours on end until you fall sleep with a smile. its an unspoken sort of love but you can almost hear his thoughts as he delicately traces over the dark lines on you skin.

frankie morales: he's had his fair share of scars from being in the military, so when he hears your concerns about yours, he understands. He's hated his because they remind him of all the people he's had to kill, at the lives lost from his hands, so he will pamper you completely and re-assure you that yours scars are beautiful, and a part of you that he loves very much.

agent whiskey (jack daniels): he also practically worships your body so hes nearly enraged at the fact that you DON'T see your body and scars the same way, he whisks you up into his arms (get it :0) and nearly throws you down onto the bed, crawling on top of you and showering your whole body in kisses, his hands gliding over the lines off each scar and whispering in your ear how handsome they are, and just how much he loves them, and you.

silva: hes shy so it's hard for him to express just how much he loves them, but he wants you to love them too so he'll at least attempt to comfort you, stumbling over his words a bit but getting the point across nonetheless, and the thought makes your heart melt a little anyway.

oberyn martell: physical affection is basically the only way this man can communicate his feelings towards you, so that is what he does, during a steamy make-out session or passionate sex, where he'll focus on telling you just how much they turn him on/he loves them, and make sure you do not leave that bed/room until you feel the same way about them that he does.

Dave york: he has also been in the military, so he has his scars too, but you made him love his, meaning he's confused how you don't love yours too. he'll take both your clothes off, (in a non sexual way) and carefully trace his fingertips over your scars, mumbling about how they tell a story, then he'll sit back in his chair and let you do the same,occasionally piping in about a particular scar that he used to hate, that you made him love.

dieter bravo: he doesn't have that many scars so he doesn't fully understand why they would make you insecure or be worried about them, to him your still his handsome boyfriend and scars don't change that.

tim rockford: there is no way you couldn't love them, because tim reminds you how much he loves the every chance he gets. he thinks your scars are awesome, whether they are from self harm or a surgery, he will look at them and touch them for hours, just marvelling at them with big eyes, and will ask you details about how you got them (if your comfortable with it), and mumble about how sexy they are, and how much he loves his handsome boyfriend

dio morrisey: he thinks they're badass and goth as hell. if you say otherwise, he'll simply cut you off and just tell you to stop being so stupid. he thinks they're cute, but he won't admit that. he's a tough love kinda guy, but you see through it and can kind of read what hes really thinking and feeling about them anyway.

————————————————————————————

So I don’t know if anyone noticed but I deleted my Frankie fic from my page because I got SO self conscious about it and I probably won’t venture near the smut region again for a while because I overthought it so much… anyway hope you like this little thing :)

#joel miller #male reader #pedro pascal x reader #joel tlou #frankie morales #oberyn martell #oberyn martel x reader #male x male #dio morrissey #agent whiskey #jack daniels #tim rockford #dave york #ezra prospect #javi gutierrez #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader

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adventuringblind · 1 year

Text

Oscar the Matchmaker: Chapter Three

Oscar Jack Piastri x Reader x Max Verstappen

Summary: Jos overhear a conversation and the trio finds themselves in a confrontation

Warnings: Jos being Jos, Oscar throwing hands, implied homophobia and slurs

Notes: I definitely wasn’t listening to eye of the tiger while writing this…

Previous <-

Masterlist

It’s was only a matter of time until someone noticed. Max had been more then smiley as of late and it wasn’t just because he was dominating the sport. He’d fallen head over heal and looked like a love sick puppy.

His smile tends to grow a little extra when someone brings up either of his partners. He just blamed on the fact he thought they were doing well and had become friends with both.

Christian didn’t fall for it. He wasn’t team principal for nothing. He’s an observant man and had seen it in the way Max moved, his he talked, even in his driving.

Max found himself being pulled aside by Christian into a space where the people either didn’t bother them or didn’t care what they were talking about.

“Care to tell me what has you so happy lately?”

Max panics and stutters, then ends up just shrugging his shoulders. “The weather.” He mentally face palms at the terrible lie.

Christian laughs at him and grabs his shoulders. “It’s a miracle you can make it through interviews sometimes.” He releases him again before continuing. “Are you going to tell me the truth now.”

“First promise me you won’t be mad and that you won’t judge.”

“Would you like me to pinky swear it?”

Max rolls his eyes but continues one. “I’m in a relationship.”

“Well I already knew that part.” A skirt tugs on Christian’s lips. “Who is the lucky lass? Or is it a lad?” The playful eyebrow raise puts Max oddly at ease.

“Both actually.” His hands get clams and he wants nothing more to disappear at the confession. The fear of judgement giving him nervous energy.

“… Like two partners or gender-fluid?” The genuine curiosity in the older males voice made him relax. He wanted to know and was supportive it seems.

“Two Partners. Y/N and Oscar, actually.” He is hopeless. He can’t even say their names without smiling.

Christian is also smiling widely. “I’m so happy for you! Remember this is a safe space and if anyone says anything please let me know. If not afraid to tell someone off.”

Max feels the tension leave his body. His initial panic evaporating into think air. “Thank you, it means a lot really.”

“Are you three going to go public? If so then please tell me sooner rather then later so the team is prepared.”

“No plans for that right now, just figuring things out. But I’ll make sure to let you know.”

Despite their plans to not go public or let more people into their secret, someone was ,siting just around the corner.

Max texted them immediately after the conversation. They still had a few hours before the race so he wasn’t to worried about time.

Max: Christian knows

Y/N: … is he upset?

Max: No, he’s actually really supportive

Oscar: interesting turn of events

Max: you two aren’t mad with me?

Y/N: why would we be mad? Christian is basically your dad!

Oscar: we made a decision that we are disowning Jos

Max: I don’t think that’s how that works

Y/N: don’t care. He’s disowned.

Max chuckles at their comments. They are both younger then him but neither would hesitate to protect him from anything. Including his aggressive father.

He didn’t notice a problem at first. He thought it was normal until he got up to formula 1 and Daniel told him that it’s not. Christian and Seb followed after him. Soon Max was in a position where he had to come to terms with his childhood.

He’d yet to do that because despite it all, Jos is still his father and he loves him.

All that to say he wouldn’t be surprised if the female in their trio ended up punching him one day.

It had been an absolutely shitty race for her. She’s on the verge of tears when she’s getting ready to leave until Yuki comes sliding around the corner. “They have more stuff to talk about.” She can hear the annoyance in her his voice.

“What if we just run away.”

“I may be fast, but my legs are short. We’d never make it.”

She groans and sends a quick text to the boys telling them she is going to be late and they can leave without her. Instead of the response she was expecting, they said they’d wait for her by the paddock entrance.

She smiled reading the text, then locked her phone again.

Her legs feel heavy as she walks through the dark and almost deserted paddock. Her brain has already shut off and she wants nothing more then to curl up with her lovers and sleep until next year.

A pair of heavy footsteps fall in line behind her. She assumes it’s just leftover staff and continues her journey. That is, until she hears the thick Dutch accent of Jos Verstappen. The last person on the planet she wants to see.

“Can we talk for a moment?” He yells out to her.

“I’m late for something, sorry.” She doesn’t look at him. She fears if she does she might not be able to hold her tongue or hands and the last thing she wants to do it get in trouble.

It doesn’t take long for him to catch up. She blames her uncooperative appendages.

“We need to talk.” He grabs her bicep and she yelps in surprise.

“I really am la-“

“You and the Australian keep away from my son.”

She panics. Her breathing gets labored faster then she would’ve liked. Questions fill her mind of how he knows. She tries to yank her arms away but he tightens his grip.

“Never.” She spits. He used his free hand to wipe his face. She can feel him heating with anger as his movements become jagged. She readies herself for the possibility of a swing. At least if he hits her first then she can hit him back.

“Hey! Leave her alone!” The much more soothing Dutch accent yells from behind her.

“Is it true? You’re really lumping yourself in with this nonsense?” Max had almost forgotten why he doesn’t tell his father things. He’d had to relearn everything when he was finally able to spend time with people who wanted him to understand that the internalized homophobia that he’d grown up with was not okay in any sense.

“Yeah, I am.” Max keeps his distance. His father is prone to aggression and Max fears for the girl currently in his hold.

The fear and simultaneous relief flood through him as he pushes her straight to the ground. The look of pain and exhaustion in her eyes is hard to look at.

She doesn’t move. She can’t find the energy to do so.

“Your no son of mine. My son would never be a fa-“ He does not get the chance to finish his sentence. Oscar had connected his fist to the Dutch’s face and sent him stumbling backwards.

She could feel Oscar seething. She’d never seen him lose his temper. Ever. Since she’d known him. He could be cold and calculated but this was a whole new level.

She looked at Max who was now gently hugging Oscar from behind and trying to calm the anger behind the Australians eyes. He also looked at her for some sort of understanding. Neither of them had any clue what to do.

“Say it again. I fucking dare you.” Oscar held his gaze on the older man. It felt as if time had frozen around them. “You have no right to say such things.”

Oh. It clicked for her then. He’d done this before with one of her exes. A few of them actually.

It’s not like she’d never been with a female before. She’d been called that F slur before and it definitely didn’t feel right. Oscar had also punched them. There was no hesitation behind his swing either.

Jos just stares back at them and Max had no other ideas except to get Oscar away before he gets himself in trouble. She watches as he starts tugging him back towards the entrance. Stopping to give you a hand up. Then she held Oscars hand in hers the entire way back to the hotel. Despite his earlier anger, he held her hand so gently and occasionally placed kisses on her knuckles. Reciprocating the action to Max when they came to a stop sign or red light.

He’d still not settled down when they got to the hotel room. His frantic pacing and angry rant seemed to help, but only so much.

“Love, pretty sure there are other ways to help you get some of this energy out.” She purrs. Had she noticed max is turned on? Yes. Is she also turned on? Yes. Have both of them been whispering about the rage fueled Aussie being turned on? Again, yes.

He freezes and eyes both of them with a rather lustful gaze.

Sometimes the best cure to pent up energy is really good sex.

Max wakes up to the awful sound of his phone buzzing. The blissful feeling of his lovers tangled in the sheets with him now ruined by the terrible sound.

Still he looks at the caller ID and almost chokes when he sees Christian’s name on his phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey Max… I was wondering if you could shed some light on why your father called to tell me not to let, and I quote, ‘the deranged McLaren Australian’ anywhere near out garage?”

Max laughs. It’s probably not the right time and the other two are now awake and trying to tug him down into the bed, but he can’t help it. “Oscar punched him last night because he used the F word.”

“The F word? Doesn’t Oscar say fuck? I’ve heard him before I think.”

“I should clarify: the F slur.”

Silence falls from the other end of the line. For a moment Max things he lost connection until he hears Christian grumbling. “Tell Oscar he’s allowed in anytime he wants and your father will be receiving a strongly worded letter about how he’s not welcome back.”

Again, Max can only laugh at the situation and how it’s unfolded. He’s not complaining though. It’s nice knowing that he doesn’t always have to fight for himself.

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odetodilfs · 2 years

Note

hii, its me again🦈🦈 i have request in my mind rn.. can you do agent whiskey x male reader where they argue and agent whiskey suddenly say that m/n is annoying, so m/n decide to give silent treatment and agent whiskey want m/n attention 🎶🎶 and the rest you can just go crazy with it like they having sex or maybe cuddles time💙💙 anyway love your writing, keep it up💫💫

-anon🦈

Apologies

Hey anon, super happy to have you requesting here!! This was really fun and lovely to make!

Pairing: top agent whiskey x bottom male!reader Content: Established relationship, praising, breeding and soft Whiskey.

“Jack, you can’t just tell me you’re gonna be gone for a day then actually take 3 days then say your phone ran out of battery!” you were mad at Whiskey, he pulled this stuff regularly, “Sometimes I wonder if you cheat on me” you sighed, “Wait, sugar,” he called you, but it was too late, you were angrily stepping towards your room now, deep down you knew he wouldn’t ever cheat on you. The man was all over you when he was at home, but the fear was there.

You had booked a date with you and him at this fancy restaurant which was usually always full for yesterday, but he decided to come back a day later without even telling you, which made you so mad and you didn’t know why. Whiskey once again entered the room following after you, “Sugar- please-” he begged you to listen. You just sat on your bed, with folded arms, you shook your head, he frowned and stepped outside your room.

After a few more attempts over the next few hours that failed miserably he decided to stop and just let you do your own thing, ny now you regretted giving him the silent treatment and worried if you were going to get the same from him, so you walked up to him, he was in the living room, looking anxious, you had a sorrowful look on your face, his eyes lit up when he saw you, but he didn’t say anything, “Listen, I’m actually so sorry” he started

“No, it was me, I over reacted, I was just pissed cause I booked this place at a fancy restaurant and you couldn’t make it in time, I was silly” you admitted, “No, no, sugar, you weren’t, I’ll charge my phone often, I’ll tell you when my missions are prolonged” he held your hand as he said it, “Jack…” you went in and hugged him tightly, you could feel him melt in your arms, “We’re good now?” he asked you, “Yeah, we are, but maybe I want something to make up for missing the table I reserved at that fancy restaurant…” you flirted while grazing his inner thigh, “You sure you wanna ride me, sugar? This cowboy is tired” he said, pointing at himself.

“Well, I don’t have to ride you, you can fuck me missionary” you said, getting closer to him, “and get to see just as much of my face as you do whatever you want to me,” you continued saying seductively, “Fuckkk… when you put it that way-” he smirked,

“Yeah, you’ll still be in charge” you kissed his neck as he flipped you over on the couch, “Over… here?” you asked, surprised he wanted to fuck you in the living room, “Yeah, over here, I’ve wanted to get these clothes off you for too long now” he immediately started removing your clothes, “Already hard for me, hm?” he asked seductively, smirking at you, “I always am” you giggled and he started putting lube on his fingers.

It was clear he was desperate for you by the way he was frantically trying to get his fingers in your ass, even missing a couple times. When he finally put a finger in your as you moaned in pleasure, the first touch your man gave you always felt so good, “F-fuck- Whiskey-” you moaned

“Shh, it’s alright, I’ll add in another one, you’re taking me well sugar, so well” he praised as he started to push 2 fingers. When his fingers grazed your prostate you jumped in pleasure as a shock went through you, it felt so goddamn good.

“W-Whiskey, please-” you begged having no idea of what you were begging for,

but the way your legs were shivering and the cries you let out were more than enough to let him know you liked what he was doing, his fingers always worked magic on you. As he withdrew his finger from your loosened hole, you saw him lube up his dick, “Gonna make everything up to you sugar, getting late, making you lose money, I’m gonna make it worth it, gorgeous, just relax” he whispered into your ear as he smiled sweetly, “F-fuck- do whatever you want-” you whimpered as he started to go inside you, “My sweet boyfriend, he’s so tolerant with me, sometimes too tolerant” he chuckled, you were feeling so much pleasure but even then you chuckled too, “I love you” he said quietly as he started to thrust, you were feeling so much you couldn’t even say it back, it was absolute bliss.

As he kept thrusting, his dick hit your spot over and over again, you were moaning and groaning in pleasure, all Whiskey could focus on was the tight feel of your walls on his dick, how tight you were, how sorry he was, he leaned in and kissed you with full force, his mustache tickling your lips, “Mmm-” all you could do was moan into his mouth as he fucked into you with thrusts that were progressively getting harder. The way his dick felt inside you was heavenly and he nuzzled your shoulder as he saw you getting more desperate to cum, “J-Jack-” you sobbed as you felt yourself tip over the edge, you bit hard into his shoulder as your dick sprayed you and him with cum, when you clenched around him he couldn’t hold it anymore and he shouted your name as he came inside you.

As you came down from your high he looked at you and kissed you again, not as rough, but sweeter this time, you moaned and sighed into each other’s mouths as you kissed him back, “Do you want more, sugar? Anything for you” he smiled, you were honestly exhausted so you shook your head and instead roped him in for a hug, “No baby, I’m fine, I just really wanna cuddle you” you smiled as you kissed his forehead, “So we’re good now?” he asked with the cutest, dorkiest smile he could have, “We’re good my love,” you said as you held him towards you, “I love you” he started to say, “I’ll try to work on my timing” he smiled, “Thanks love, I love you too, more than anything” you stayed talking until eventually you fell asleep, warm, happy and in love.

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey x male reader #jack daniels x male reader #jack whiskey x male reader #jack whiskey daniels #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal characters #x male reader #gay

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obsessedwithpedritoofc · 8 months

Text

goodnighteveryone.

had an idea for a whiskey fic.

guess what its so angsty HAHAHAHA.

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

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wannab-urs · 8 months

Text

Outtakes - Long ass fics

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Howdy folks!

Here's a list of fics I've read that are either over 100k words or have 20+ chapters.

Summaries and tags are, in most cases, provided by the author - please be sure to read them as some of these fics may have content you do not wish to read.

Pedro boys currently included are: Din Djarin, Frankie Morales, Javier Peña, Joel Miller, Dave York, Dieter Bravo, Oberyn Martell, Jack Daniels, and Pedro Across the Street + a Din x Joel fic (no reader insert)

updated 7/22/2024

Din Djarin

Starlight by LovelessDagger | 300k

Summary: Nothing ever truly dies. Not the Empire, not the dark, not her. The Mandalorian should know this, and somewhere deep down he does. Whether he cares is a different story. Consequences and the whole of them be damned.

Tags: Assassins & Hitmen, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Blood and Violence, Explicit Language. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Morally Ambiguous Character, OFC, Trauma, Found Family, Betrayal, Secrets, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, Filled with existential dread, Sexual Tension, Heavy symbolism, two idiots with family issues form a family, Past Child Abuse, Mutual Pining, Angst, Eventual Smut, Clones, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sith, Imperial Inquisitors, Secret Past, No one tells the truth, Metaphorical Addiction

I Only See Daylight by @millersdjarin | 141.6k

Summary: You’ve stayed in one place all this time, knowing that any move to leave could lead them to find you. When a Mandalorian and his child crash land on your home planet, you can't turn them away for help.

Tags: Smut, slow burn, post-canon, trauma, past emotional/physical abuse, relgious trauma, scars, negative self-image, found family, injury, heavy angst, fluff and love

A Fresh Start by @theidiotwhowritesthings | 140k

Summary: When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant for everyone.

Tags: use of fake name, reader is hiding from a shady past, depressive symptoms, jealousy, pining, angst, hurt/comfort, medical trauma, nightmares, blood, injury, traumatic past, scars, slow burn, shooting training, sick child, fear and panic, canon typical violence, blackmailing, anxiety, self doubt, sexual tension, heavy petting, panic attack, male masturbation, arguing, mentions of alcohol and a bit of binge drinking, angst, people getting drunk, non descriptive torture, murder, fluff, mentions of death, non consensual groping of reader by a stranger, smut, oral f receiving

Stitches by @djarinsbeskar | 190k

Summary: What is a former combat medic to do when an injured Mandalorian stumbles upon her clinic one night on Klatooine?

Tags: Smut, action, fluff, angst, canon-typical violence

Beskar Doll by @justagalwhowrites | 232.4k

Summary: You have a knack for finding trouble, be it in the midst of Galactic Civil War or when trying to live the quiet life after getting out of the game. So when you're stuck fleeing your new home planet after pissing off the wrong people - again - there's only one person willing to take you: the Mandalorian. But after years of fighting faceless men, you're not the trusting type toward someone always wearing a helmet and the Mandalorian quickly suspects there's more to you than he knows.

Tags: Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Canon-Typical Violence, Pre-Canon, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Dry Humping, Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Protective Din Djarin, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, Din Djarin Removes the Helmet, Past Domestic Violence, Brat Tamer Din Djarin, Vaginal Fingering, Soft Din Djarin, POV Din Djarin, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Angst, Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), Mutual Masturbation, Masturbation, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, PIV, Unsafe Sex, Consent King Din Djarin, Din Djarin's Helmet Stays on During Sex, Vaginal Sex, Din Djarin talks you through it, Making Love, Pregnancy

Best Kept Secret by @lincolndjarin | 188k

Summary: Married off to a prince on a planet that you hate? New husband doesn't know you, and doesn't want to know you? New husband gifts you a personal Mandalorian body guard as a wedding present? Mandalorian is a wiseass who won't leave you alone? Lucky you.

Tags: no y/n, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Princess!Reader, Arranged Marriage, bodyguard!din, Smut, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Glove Kink, Light Dom/sub, Switch Din Djarin, Switch Reader, Body Worship, Din Djarin Has a Breeding Kink, Hate Sex, Creampie, Sex Toys, Anal Play, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, eventual pregnancy (right at the end)

Be-All and Endor by @djarins-cyare | 400k

Summary: Languishing in a dull and lonely existence on the forest moon of Endor after travelling there to help salvage Death Star wreckage, a nearly fatal encounter with a mysterious bounty hunter out in the forest heralds an opportunity to utilise long-forgotten skills and develop something more profound than you ever thought possible.

Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Romance, Love, Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut, Smut, Sex, Sexual Content, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Relationships, Healthy Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Dark Past, Additional Warnings In Author's Notes, Bounty Hunter Din Djarin, Soft Din Djarin, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Smart Din Djarin, Soft Dominant Din Djarin, Ewok Species, Mandalorian Culture, Mando'a Language, New Razor Crest, Thoroughly Researched, Worldbuilding, No use of y/n.

A Place of Safety by The_InvisibleWoman (AO3) | 178k

Summary: Persuaded into picking up one last quarry on his way home, an exhausted Mandalorian is in no mood for you, but he slowly begins to think that things are not as they should be. You’ve been on the run for so long and you don’t even know who from, but when you are captured by the bounty hunter, you think it’s all over.

Tags: Smut, slow burn, protective!Din, touch starvation, Din Djarin's point of view, fluff, angst, mutual pining, enemies to friends to lovers, rescue, falling in love, flirting, close proximity, gentle kissing, gentle sex, cuddling, threats of sexual assault, attempted sexual assault, self harm, tickling, noncon

Wrest Pin by BalletOrchard (AO3) | 366k

Summary: “I can help you escape the planet,” Mando said sharply, “But I want information in return.” She looked up at him through the small hairs on her face and she whispered, sounding almost lost…As if she didn’t know what else to say… “I have no information.” Something Mando did not believe.

Tags: panic attacks, force sensitive!reader, unprotected PinV sex, smut, mando is a dick, angst, slow burn (romantically), touch starved!din, bickering, arguing, post season 1, fluff, ofc!evangeline, she like doesn’t get off the first time they fuck which i feel like is worth noting, feelings of regret, minor character death (evangeline’s whole fam), follows canon, mando lowkey keeping evangeline against her will but like she’s hiding from the empire so, near death experience(s), the helmet comes off, oral f receiving, blindfolding, shower sex

Somewhere Beautiful by @peetiespetals | 235k

Summary: You have been working as a slave since the demise of your people and destruction of your planet. A stranger passes through your life and you make a bid for freedom, thwarted by the very man who inspired you to reach for it. In a twist of fate, the two of you are thrown together and must learn how to live with each other as the lines between slave and master begin to blur. Can you really tell the difference between duty and devtion?

Tags: smut, fluff and smut, angst, rough sex, bdsm, abandonment, neglect, physical abuse, love stories, shower sex, mutual masturbation, dom/sub undertones, oral sex, shameless smut, praise kink, bondage, biting, slow burn, spanking, orgasm control, orgasm delay/denial, cock warming, master/slave, vaginal fingering, deep throating, breast worship, pussy spanking, ball play, public creampie, edging, anal sex, foot jobs, handcuffs, cock bondage, panties in mouth, aftercare, jealous din djarin, hurt/comfort, overstimulation, strong female characters, hurt no comfort, porn with plot, sexual tension, porn with feelings, canon typical violence, slow romance, fluff and angst, anxiety, manhandling, pov second person, vaginal sex, nipple play, dirty talk, hair pulling

I Think of You by @prolix-yuy | 107k

Summary: A Mandalorian and a woman spend a night together, neither expecting the other to return. But the galaxy works in mysterious ways and many years later, despite a mission and a Creed and the cruelty of their lives, they find each other again and begin a journey of their own.

Tags: graphic smut, drinking, smoking, dirty talk, The Helmet Stays On, safe PiV sex, drinking, suggestive language, canonical-typical violence. mentions of past sexual experiences, angst and yearning, female masturbation, grinding, descriptions of male and female bodies, illness (not graphic), fingering (f receiving), male masturbation, sexy massage, hand kink, mutual masturbation, fingers in mouths, semi-unprotected PiV sex, descriptions of injuries, blood, and medical-ish procedures, allusions to sexual acts, hurt/comfort

Tied by @radiowallet | 26 chapters

Summary: Dr. Din Djarin is the top cardiothoracic surgeon in his field. His work is meticulous, his judgment unquestionable. And then he get’s a new first assist, who couldn’t give two shits about anyone’s reputation.

Tags: Smut, Cursing, Graphic violence, some questionable power dynamics.

Take Me to Church by @frannyzooey | 31 chapters

Summary: Set in a brothel in the late 1800’s in the Wild West, you’ve only been working there for a month when Din Djarin shows up. A bounty hunter who makes stops into town between jobs, he is known at the inn for his generous appetite and demanding preferences. Asking for you one night, he is pleased to learn you are well suited for him: your sweet nature soothing to his gruff temperament and surprising him with your ability to handle his rougher tastes. Demanding that you be made available to him every time he is in town, neither one of you is ready for where this request leads.

Tags: MFF, oral sex (female/male receiving), vaginal sex, dirty talk, mentions of murder, rope play, mutual masturbation, idk man lots of smut

Losing My Religion by @oonajaeadira | 108k

Summary: A Mandalorian comes looking for you with an assignment from an old friend, sending you on a mission and a union that you both need.

Tags: Smut, canon-typical violence, post-season two canon, reader is force sensitive, alternating point of view, angst, fluff, yearning, mind control, injuries, mourning a lost spouse, alcohol, feelings of betrayal, touch starvation, implied masturbation, kissing, bounty hunter kink, grinding and fingering, Mando'a language

A Shade That's New by FallenFern (AO3) | 111k

Summary: After Mando and Grogu part he goes back to bounty hunting. But its not enough. Desperate to feel again Mando accepts a more dangerous line of work. He joins your small crew on a new job, putting you in close proximity wether you like it or not. Wary of anyone, especially Mandalorians, you try to keep him at arms length. After all, anyone and everyone could be an enemy and you were going to treat him like one.Yeah, thats lasts long…

Tags: OFC!Shade, described as smaller than Mando, curly or wavy hair, able bodied, can blush/flush, Alternating 2nd Person POV. Smut, making shit up, not canon, after grogu and AU, emotional pain, plot with porn, enemies to lovers, slow burn, trauma, sexual tension, action and romance, blood and injury, blood kink, the helmet stays on, but it also comes off, blindfold, light bondage, sexual assualt, threats of rape (not by Mando), praise kink, begging, semi public sex, blaster kink, cock warming, daddy mando, oral sex (f and m receiving), smut marathon, I’ll kill anyone that touches you trope, demanding mando, comfort sex, minor character death, betrayal, mando to the rescue, revenge, reunion sex, say my name trope, edge play, rough sex, throat grabbing but not exactly choking

Scars and All by plaidamoosette (AO3) | 123k

Summary: Hidden away in the desert land of Jakku, you are slowly chipping away at the debt that you and your mother had accumulated following the death of your father to the horrible Denga Niima. But, after the recent passing of your mother, the debt has fallen on your shoulders. Using your skills as a mechanical engineer, you accumulate wealth for your slave master in the hopes that one day you will be free. Free to explore and live as your parents had always wished for you. But things change when you meet a certain bounty hunter when he comes to you to repair his ship. But, nothing is as it seems, and as the lies that were built around your life begin to crumble, you find yourself sucked into a journey of truth, betrayal, and... love.

Tags: Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst, Drama, Deceased Parents, Indentured Servitude, Soft Din Djarin, Soft Dominant Din Djarin, POV Alternating, Din Djarin Removes the Helmet, Protective Din Djarin, Intimidation, Male Masturbation, Touch-Starved, Loss of Virginity, MC doesn't know how to take care of herself, Female Masturbation, Burried Trauma, Readers knows how to fight back, Mandalorians (Star Wars), Mandalorian Culture & Customs (Star Wars), Some Canon material, A whole lot of other made up stuff

Back to You by @kyberblade | 231k

Summary: You’ve been friends with Mando for years, and he drops by your hole in the wall bar from time to time to catch up. This time, however, he’s carrying an extra little green passenger with him. They are on the run, which is unsettling because Mando doesn’t run from things. Things run from him. A tracking fob, a dead body, and a confession later, all three of you set out to help the child find it’s kind. (Aka: a really typical Din x Force Sensitive reader plot, but instead of the going from stiff scary Mando to friendly Mando it’s gonna kinda go the opposite way. Not in a bad way but she’s gonna finally get to see what exactly he was running from all those times he came back to see her.)

Tags: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Angst, Humor, Friends to Lovers, Introspection, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Romantic Friendship, Emotions, Grogu | Baby Yoda Being a Little Shit, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Protective Din Djarin, Good Parent Din Djarin, Soft Din Djarin, Force-Sensitive Reader, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Spicy thoughts, but no smut

Frankie Morales

Between the Raindrops by Jazzelsaur (AO3) | 148k

Summary: Two lives fall apart, then together. A journey told in parts and pieces. Frankie’s life is coming apart at the seams, when Ellie, a widow facing her own share of struggles, moves in next door. Together they find friendship, healing, and something more.

Tags: Widowed reader, divorced frankie, neighbors to friends to lovers, grief, mourning, angst, masturbation, pining, allusions to sex, eventual smut, slow burn, past drug use, alcohol, infertility, miscarriage mention, ptsd, handjobs, oral sex, smut, food, strained friendships, healing, allusions to verbal abuse, angst with a happy ending, idiots in lovedivorced!Frankie, widow!OC/reader, no one has kids, slow burn with great spicy scenes, smut! with plot

Sex Worker!Frankie AU by @prolix-yuy | 21 chapters

Summary: You’d never thought you’d be sitting on a hotel room bed, phone to your ear as you waited for someone on the other end to pick up. After a messy divorce you wanted something to ease the pain of loneliness. That something just happens to be the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, even if you had to pay for him.

Tags: Sex Worker!Frankie, implied other Triple Frontier Boys!Sex Workers, watch me make up shit about sex work, descriptions of male and female bodies, oral sex (F receiving), like super descriptive oral (there might be over 2500 words dedicated to Frankie’s talents), female masturbation, fingering (f receiving), safe PiV sex, a touch of Feral Frankie, one ass slap, fingers in mouths, some angst and feelings sprinkled in there for flavor.

Frankie Morales Box Set by @frannyzooey | 20 chapters

Summary: A series of one shots in which Frankie Morales shows you just how much he likes movie night.

Tags: oral, PIV, cum eating, hand job, cockwarming, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, thigh riding, dry humping, lots of other shit

Javier Peña

Lie to Me by @iamskyereads | 151.8k

Summary: A recent transfer to the DEA from the FBI makes you a target of hazing from your co-workers. Choosing to forget your bad first day at a bar puts you on a path towards meeting a new acquaintance. An expert on deception and psychological profiling, you are adept at catching liars. What happens when an increasingly stressful work environment begins to test the limits of your personal life and the one man at the center of it all, Javier Peña? Afterall, everybody lies about something. But how many are you keeping from yourself?

Tags: An AU of Season 3 of Narcos.Language, Alcohol/Drinking, Smoking, POV Switches, assholery, office pranks/hazing, hatin on the FBI and the DEA too, but we all hate on the CIA the most, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, thigh grinding, PIV sex, soft Javi, Pining, Sexual Frustration, Use of A Sex Toy, Edging, Oral Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Guns, police raids, Parallel plots to the show, Smut, sloppy blowjobs, Shower Sex, Social Anxiety, Nightmares, Rough Sex, spitting, Semi-Public Sex, Office Sex, Love in an Elevator, death of background characters, kidnapping of background characters, Shootouts, Masturbation, Breeding Kink, discussions of fertility, kink negotiations, Spanking, Brat behavior, Mild D/s vibes, Creampie, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sex in a Church, Unprotected Sex, TacVest!Javi, Orgasm Denial, Angst with a Happy Ending, Period-Typical Sexism, Hospital, scar, accident of background characters, historical classism/sexism/racism, Grief/Mourning, Body Insecurities, Cockwarming, threats of kidnapping reader, light teasing, Flirting

Learning to Live by @wheresarizona | 382k

Summary: While grocery shopping, you happen across a handsome man confused by some produce. Coming to his aid leads to an invitation for drinks, and next thing you know, you’re falling head over heels for Javier Peña—a good man who has trouble believing he is. Sparks fly when you meet and ignite an insatiable need that you both try to fight for the sake of taking things slow; Javi determined to do things right by you. The problem is, the two of you only have so much self-control.

Tags: Post-Colombia and Narcos S3, Story Starts in June 1998.POV Alternating, Soft Javier Peña, Meet-Cute, First Dates, Javier Peña Needs a Hug, Whirlwind Romance, Javier Getting the Love and Happiness He Deserves, Javier Is Stubborn At First, Javier Peña in Love, Javier Being a Consent King, Multiple Orgasms, Vaginal Fingering, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Hand Jobs, Come Eating, Phone Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Blow Jobs, Edgeplay, Body Worship, Shower Sex, Biting Javis Butt, Deepthroating, Biting, Javier Coming So Hard His Soul Leaves His Body, Spanking, Car Sex, Dry Humping, Public Thigh Riding, Face-Sitting, Dirty Dancing, Post-Sex Smoking, Aftercare, Feelings, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Dancing, Protective Javier Peña, Jealous Javier Peña, Getting Tipsy With Javier, Javier In Grey Sweatpants, Alcohol, Small Towns, Food, Road Trips, Post-Canon, Face-Fucking, Breeding, Rimming, Anal Play, Romantic Comedy, Cockwarming, Grief/Mourning, past relationship trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Horseback Riding, Love Confessions, Miscommunication, Arguing, Angst with a Happy Ending, Period-Typical Sexism, Canon Typical Drug Talk, Nude Photos, Overstimulation, Dysfunctional Family

Just Dumb Enough to Try by @whatsnewalycat | 108k

Summary: In 1993, you met Javier Peña in San Antonio. You made an emotional and physical connection with him. Now it’s 1998 and you’re starting a new chapter of life in Laredo with your fiancé. And who else walks back into the picture, but the man who left you high and dry five years ago.

Tags: alcohol use, Binge Drinking, Swearing, Recreational Drug Use, Cigarettes, Voyeurism, Smut, Bisexual main character, Touch-Starved, Female Masturbation, Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex, Dirty Talk, Teasing, Flirting, Mutual Pining, Cheating, Infidelity, Sexual Tension, Attempt at Humor, Soft Javier Peña, Movie Nerd Shit, use of daddy in a sexual context, Vulnerable Javier Peña, Angst and Feels, Family Issues, Mostly Post Season 3, Existential Crisis, Banter, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, friends to lovers to friends to lovers, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff and Humor, Oral Sex, Slow Burn, No beta idk I just got here, Fluff and Smut, Not Canon Compliant, Impact Play, Pain Kink, Domestic Violence, Praise Kink, Unplanned Pregnancy, Breeding Kink, Blood and Violence, Mild Gore, Kidnapping

Joel Miller

Feelings on Fire by @joelscruff | 110k

Summary: Back from school for the summer and staying with your devout Catholic parents, you ask Joel Miller to teach you guitar as an act of rebellion. Turns out, there's a lot more that he wants to teach you too...

Tags: Smut, age gap (reader is in her 20s, Joel is in his mid 50s), inexperienced/virgin reader, loss of virginity, corruption, mentions of religion/Catholicism, praise kink, pet names (babygirl, sweetheart, darling), dirty talk, masturbation, unprotected penetrative vaginal sex, creampies, cumplay, oral sex (female and male receiving), exhibitionism, size kink

Lavender by @justagalwhowrites | 253k

Summary: You're a college student in Austin, Texas, who gets a summer job nannying Sarah Miller. It's not long before her dad sees you as more than a babysitter - or more than a friend. But life - and an apocalypse - have other plans.

Tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Pre-Canon, Friends to Lovers, Protective Joel, Parent Joel, Joel is Bad at Feelings, Soft Joel, Fluff and Smut, Fluff, Angst, Smut, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Loss of Virginity, Miscarriage, Sexual Coercion

Closer by @beardedjoel | 193k

Summary: you are staying with your parents, helping them move into their new house in austin. what happens when joel miller, the attractive neighbor you've been eyeing obsessively starts to show you some much wanted attention?

Tags: smut, age difference (joel is 42 and reader is 25), porn with some plot, inexperienced reader, soft!dom joel, boyfriend! joel, possessive! joel, mutual masturbation, rough sex, spanking, creampie, unprotected piv, oral (m + f receiving), dirty talk, overstimulation kink, praise kink, so many pet names it’s not even funny, consensual somnophilia, cockwarming

Yearling by @justagalwhowrites | 186k (as of ch 27)

Summary: After years of surviving in the wilds of Wyoming after the cordyceps outbreak, you find yourself in Jackson. It's a town filled with friendly faces and the kind of world you hardly remember, let alone can connect with or understand. But one man - Joel Miller, another loner, like you - makes you think that trying to find your place in society again might be worth it.

Tags: Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Joel, Parent Joel, Angst, Soft Joel, Smut, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Past Sexual Abuse, Friends to Lovers

Hot and Heavy by @tieronecrush | 130k

Summary: Over the course of three summers, Joel Miller has become woven into the fabric of your life. You nanny his daughter, sneaking around in an illicit love affair. You keep coming home, and he keeps coming back to you. The last summer, you're home with no plans of leaving—and Joel seeks you out again. What chances do you have?

Tags: Neighbor!Joel, age gap, canon-divergence, no outbreak, alcohol consumption, mentions of food, pet names (sweetheart), familial and self pressure, reader is in college, nanny!reader, smut

Dave York

Notes on Tutoring by @honestly-shite | 189.9k

Summary: Mr. York becomes your new classical guitar tutor in your final year at music college. A dark, mysterious man, you struggle to get a read on him but that doesn’t stop you from finding many ways to push his buttons.

Tags: Smut, alternate universe, music college, age gap, teacher/student relationship, slow burn, PiV sex, power dynamics, angst, pining, alcohol and drinking

Dieter Bravo

Recovery Road by @chronically-ghosted | 108k

Summary: Dieter Bravo is on his last chance. Six months out of a two year stint in rehab, his marriage on the rocks, and his starlight fading, he reunites with an old director friend on a project that might save his career and his personal life in a single go. Enter Natalie Lorraine, his new enigmatic co-star. Together, they go on to lead a film that comes to define a generation – and are both mysteriously absent the night the film receives an Oscar for Best Picture. Their reasons for missing such a landmark event are their own.

Tags: Smut, age gap (Dieter is 35, reader is 22), drug usage, alcohol, smoking, infidelity, discussions of addiction and withdrawal, toxic relationships, masturbation, pining, angst, anxiety and anxiety attacks, mental illness, bad coping mechanisms, named reader, descriptions of reader's hair, bi!Dieter

Psychomanteum by @whatsnewalycat | 132.7k

Summary: You’ve recently taken on the customer-facing responsibilities of the small-scale cannabis bakery you and your late husband ran out of your apartment, which introduces you to occasional customer, Dieter Bravo. A friendship is sparked when you realize you have something in common: you’ve both died. What Dieter doesn’t tell you about his near-death experience, though, is that it foretold his life with you.

Tags: Smut (including - alternating power dynamics, consensual unprotected sex, penetrative vaginal sex, oral sex, anal sex), gried, alternating point of view, physical descriptions of OFC (including - tattoos, scars, being lifted by Dieter), drug use (including - smoking cannabis and consuming edibles, dropping acid, drinking alcohol, cocaine and morphine use), substance abuse, addiction, fame & paparazzi, canon divergent, suicidal thoughts and planning, divorce, near-death experiences, Bi4Bi romance, supernatural elements, ghosts and psychomanteums, spirituality, drag performance, long-distance relationship, friends to lovers dynamic, OFC is infertile, familial and relationship trauma - please refer to chapters for all warnings.

For the Love of Horror by @coulsons-fullmetal-cellist | 80 chapters

Summary: Dieter meets and falls in love with someone who absolutely loves horror films. The problem is, he's a big scaredy cat!

Tags: loose fit series, series of one shots and drabbles, tags on each chapter

Oberyn Martell

In Name Only by @forever-rogue | 21 chapters

Summary: Reader, the only daughter of late Lord and Lady Beesbury, is sent off to be married to Prince Oberyn Martell. After having been parted from her first love by her horrid mother, she refuses to marry a man she does not know or love and be pushed into a life of misery. But after threat of being cut off from everything she knew and loved, she finds herself leaving her home in Honeyholt and arriving in Sunspear, married to the Prince. Being the charming and kind Prince he is, Oberyn promises her that it does not have to be a true marriage, it can be a marriage in name only. Little does the newly anointed Lady Martell know, that being married to the Prince is so much more than she bargained for.

Tags: Smut, language, fluff, kissing, period-typical misogyny, angst, sensual touching, mentions of violence and injury, discussions of pregnancy, mentions of death

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels

Down the Rabbit-Hole by @absurdthirst, @wardenparker | 208k

Summary: When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.

Tags: mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing, Canon typical violence, Death, gun use, angst, Jack has a temper and Tequila has a dumb first name, Making Out, a bit of groping, heavy flirting, sexy shower time, a whole truck load of anger, Fisticuffs, a bunch of angry people being upset with each other, Kidnapping, Torture, burning victim with cigarettes, Broken Bones, a whole lot of gun pointing and talk about murder, medicine by injection, oral sex (f and m receiving), Outdoor Sex, Public Sex, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Sex, Cream Pie, Cum Play, Anxiety, Accidental Hurt, panic attack (symptoms based on my own personal experiences), intrusive/racing thoughts, physical symptoms of anxiety, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Guilt, Possible Unwanted Pregnancy, Lies, Nausea/Illness, Talk of Abortion, canon typical injuries, Family Planning, Mentions of Sex Toys, Lingerie, Spanking, rough sex, Flirty and somewhat explicit banter, Pregnancy, Discussion of symptoms, Mood Swings, cemetery/deceased loved ones, speaking to deceased loved ones

Pedro Across The Street (Calls)

Good. Things. Take. Time. by @oonajaeadira | 22 chapters

Summary: PATS is a massage therapist with special services. Or so he claims. He gives you a three-hour session you’re both going to enjoy.

Tags: Explicit marathon wall to wall smut, masseuse!PATS, sex worker!PATS.

Din Djarin x Joel Miller

Cosmic Oddities by fromthewhales (AO3) | 106k

Summary: Turning a clan of two into a clan of four and asking the very important, albeit unhinged question: What if space dad and apocalypse dad were Weird About Each Other?

Tags: parental bonding, parallels, angst, everyone has issues, everyone needs a hug, touch starved din djarin, injuries, strangers to ??? to lovers, smashing the space western and the zombie western together like 2 ken dolls, trauma, crack-fic adjacent at times, hurt/comfort, soft not super explicit smut, self harm, found family, din djarin eventually removes the helmet, blindfold, long distance relationship, survivors guilt, angst with a happy ending, non sexual intimacy, it gets worse before it gets better, alcohol mention, game II canon divergent — but boy does it come close, canon typical violence, minor character death, major character injury, bi!din djarin, bi!joel miller

Various

The Infinity Cube by @littlemisspascal | 20 chapters

Summary: When you play with a strange cube, you’re transported out of your current reality with your boyfriend Marcus into brand new ones starring alternate versions of your boyfriend who look and act entirely different every time. With each encounter, you start to wonder if you’ll ever make it back to your real universe?

Tags: language, fluff, angst

#fic recs #the spreadsheet digest #fanfiction recommendations #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #the spreadsheet outtakes #outtakes

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awritessomething · 8 months

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I have absolutely no ideas for writing whatsoever pleaseplease leave requests!!! Smut, angst, fluff, whatever y’all want I can probably do.

Ill write for these people and probably more that I forgot (all male character x fem!reader) :

Formula 1:

Max Verstappen

Lando Norris

Oscar Piastri

Charles Leclerc

Pierre Gasly

Lewis Hamilton

Carlos Sainz

Daniel Riccardo

Mick Schumacher

Criminal Minds

Spencer Reid

Aaron Hotchner

Derek Morgan

David Rossi (preferably young)

Marvel:

Bucky Barnes

Tony Stark

Thor

Sam Wilson

Deadpool

Steve Rogers

Spiderman (Tom Holland, Andrew Garfield, Miguel O'hara)

Call of Duty

Keegan Russ

Simon "Ghost" Riley

König

Phillip Graves

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Star Wars:

Anakin Skywalker

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Kylo Ren

Luke Skywalker

Han Solo

Outer Banks:

JJ Maybank

Rafe Cameron

Topper Thornton

John B. Routledge

Harry Potter:

Harry Potter

Cedric Diggory

Draco malfoy

Ron Weasley

Fred Weasley

Blaise Zabini

Regulus Black

Severus Snape

Tom Riddle

Sirius Black

Lorenzo Berkshire

Oliver Wood

The Walking Dead:

Glenn Rhee

Daryl Dixon

Rick Grimes

Carl Grimes

Sports:

Joao Felix

Jude Bellingham

Brock Purdy

Leon Draisaitl

Jack Hughes

Vince Dunn

Mitch Marner

Connor Bedard

Wayne Gretzky (young)

Miscallaneous:

Jack Champion (Ethan Landry)

Patrick Bateman

Batman (Christian Bale)

Johnathan Crane

Finnick Odair

Josh Hutcherson (Peeta Mellark, Mike Schmidt, Sean Anderson, Clapton Davis)

Rodrick Heffley

Colby Brock

Sam Golbach

Tristan Dugray

Dylan O'brien

Bellamy Blake

Patrick Dempsey (Derek Shepherd, Ronald Miller)

Joe Goldberg

Timothee Chalamet (Wonka, Paul Atreides)

Minho (The Maze Runner)

Keanu Reeves (John Wick, Neo, Alex Wyler, Dr. Beckham, Julian Mercer, Ted Logan)

Jim Halpert

Farkas

Ulfric Stormcloak

Miraak

Ben Schnetzer (Max Vandenburg, Brad Land, Russ Sheppard)

Ralph Macchio (Daniel Larusso, Johnny Cade)

Dallas Winston

Sodapop Curtis

Robby Keene

Zuko (atla dallas liu)

Jet (atla sebastian amoruso)

Cillian Murphy (Johnathan crane, jackson rippner, Neil Lewis)

Evan Peters (all ahs characters, Luke cooper)

What I wont do:

Pedophilia

Beastiality or anything animal-y

Waterworks

Male reader (sorry)

Character x character

Threesomes or anything not 1x1

Character x oc

Specific body types (i just don’t see the point)

Daddy/mommy kinks

Incest or stepcest

(I’ll prob have to add on but its midnight rn)

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year

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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

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