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#agent whiskey fanfiction
palioom · 7 months
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bull ride
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summary: out at a bar, jack watches you ride a mechanical bull and he can't wait to go home so you can ride the real thing.
pairing: jack “whiskey” daniels x f!reader word count: 2.0k warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n (but a lot of nicknames); some swearing; dirty talk; unprotected p in v; public sex (kinda); spanking; jack being lowkey cringe
• masterlist •
This had been supposed to be just a nice little evening out at the bar in town. Just a few drinks, some food and each other's company.
What Jack hadn’t expected to happen was to watch his girl ride a mechanical bull while he had the hardest boner of his life. He hadn’t known that the bar had installed one of these things recently and he also hadn’t known that she was quite good at riding it. 
Though he did know she was quite good at riding other things.
Jack watched her from his place at their table, sipping his whiskey as she was thrown back and forth, almost effortlessly moving with the mechanical beast. A laugh on her face the whole time, he swore she gave him a nasty little look whenever she faced him again, paired with a wink.
A wink that only made his dick throb harder.
Adjusting himself in his jeans, he stared at her bouncing breasts without any shame, a small hiss leaving him as he imagined her riding him like this. Moving back before she slid to the front again, pretending to wave a cowboy hat around with a loud laugh while the people around her cheered her on.
What a goddamn sight that was for his old cowboy heart. Seeing his girl ride a damn metal bull was as close as he’d ever get to see her ride the real thing.
She lasted an impressively long time, almost a minute long before she eventually got thrown off. Giggling and laughing all the while, her hair tousled and her face red when she came back to him. Adjusting her clothes as she walked.
And knowing immediately that he was horny as hell as she sat down opposite of him, the biggest grin on her face.
What a teasing little thing she was.
“I kinda wanna go again.” She said, sipping her own drink. The twinkle in her eye was playul, letting his blood boil hot.
“I know a different bull you can ride at home, sugar.” Jack replied with a wide grin, his dark mustache stretched wide over his white teeth. He shifted in place, his cock uncomfortably straining against the zipper of his jeans. “That one’s gonna be even more fun.”
A grin that matched his spread on her features, emptying the last of her drink while waving someone over to pay.
They had barely made it a quarter of the way home when he had to pull over, grabbing her by the chin to pull her into a hungry kiss, his fingers digging into her skin. Her hand reached out to palm him through his jeans, a low groan escaping him and tumbling right into her mouth.
He reluctantly pulled back, only to motion for her to get out and get into the truck bed of the Bronco. Needing her on his dick right now, riding him like she had that damn bull. The image still flickered in front of his eyes, the way she moved on that thing, like she knew exactly what she was doing to him.
“Wanted to be a cowgirl too, huh?” Jack asked, when he sat down at the edge of the truck bed, his hands on her waist pulling her closer. Their lips met again, his tongue slipping into her mouth while her arms snaked around the back of his neck, almost knocking his hat off of him.
“Maybe.” She giggled in between kisses, feeling his hands move under the hem of her shirt, his fingertips ghosting over her hot skin. 
Who would have known this would get him so hot and bothered? Just by holding onto that thing like her damn life had depended on it. 
Well, in a way she definitely had known. It was one of the reasons she had suggested this bar over the other ones they frequented.
“Let’s see how long you can last on this bull, pretty cowgirl.”
His hands moved to her jeans, working the button open before pulling down the zipper. Thank fuck it was summer, Jack really couldn’t have waited all the way home if it was any colder than right now.
Her pussy was already wet when he let his hand wander into her pants, rubbing over the slick, wet spot that had formed on her panties. She whimpered against his lips, breaking from him to look down at where his hand vanished, finding her clit through her underwear and pressing against it with one thick finger.
Languid movements, chuckling at how her breath hitched in her throat and her hips bucked into his touch. Rubbing over it again and again, enjoying the sweet sounds that left her, gasping and moaning, her feet shuffling apart.
“Jack, please.” She moaned, her lips finding his again in a sloppy kiss, her hands cupping his cheeks. “Don’t tease me, please, baby.”
His finger pressed down harder before he moved his hand back, biting her lip when she whined in protest. Going from cocky to putty in his hands so quickly.
Such a sweet thing, helping him take off her pants, her own hands palming his hard cock, making him groan.
“You’ve been teasin’ me the whole time you were on that damn thing.” He said, yanking her underwear down her legs while she continued kissing him. “C’mon, darlin’, you know this bull needs that cowgirl to ride him.”
A giggle left her, helping him to quickly work open his pants and move them down far enough over his ass that his cock sprang free. Hard and angry, in some desperate need for attention.
Jack hoisted her up, her legs straddling his narrow hips. He really didn’t care that they were on the side of the road and any passing car could see them do this, they were practically in the middle of nowhere anyways.
Taking his hat off of his head, he placed it on hers with a smirk, his hand finding her hips again and squeezing the warm flesh hard. How pretty she looked like this, watching her take his cock in hand to line herself up with him before she slowly sank down.
A guttural sound left her, enjoying the way he stretched her open more and more with every inch, until she sat in his lap.
“Atta girl, lookin’ so pretty takin’ my dick.” He chuckled, giving her ass a sharp smack which made her gasp. “C’mon, show me up close how you rode that thing.”
As she started to move, bouncing in his lap while bracing herself on his broad chest, he leaned back onto his elbows, enjoying the show. Mesmerized by how his dick vanished inside of her tight pussy over and over again, glistening in the low lights.
It made it hard to not just cum instantly, her perfect tits jiggling with every movement, her head thrown back. All while she kept making those noises, unabashed and loud in the silence of the night.
“Oh, fuck, Jack.” She moaned, one of her hands moving to her own breast, kneading it, rolling her nipple between two fingers. “Fuck, you feel so good.”
He chuckled, just watching her work.
“You liked ridin’ that bull more than this one, didn’t you, sugar?” The words were meant to egg her on, her hips stuttering momentarily before falling back into a rhythm, faster now. “Probably still thinkin’ ‘bout that huge piece of metal between your legs.”
She whimpered, his words only getting her closer to the edge. Changing the angle just slightly, she finally found more friction against her clit while his cock dragged along all the wonderful parts inside of her pussy. So thick and deep, each bounce better than the last.
Fuck, she wished he was fucking her right now, pounding her into the truck bed, knowing he would make it fast but hard with how worked up he was.
It was a miracle he hadn’t busted inside of her yet.
“No, Jack.”
He chuckled, one of his hands reaching out to smooth over her hip and down to her ass, caressing the spot where it had come down harshly. Only to do so again, loving the noises that left her lips.
“You better not, the only bull you need to ride is right here, sugar.” He said, helping her movements by guiding them once they started to falter.
Completely lost in the feeling of his cock, eyes closed and bouncing on him like her life depended on it.
“Just work it, baby, just like that.” The praise made her feel hot, sweat breaking on her skin as she continued to focus on the feeling of him inside of her. “Gimme a yeehaw, sweet cowgirl, c’mon!”
It was ridiculous, a breathless giggle leaving her as she opened her eyes and looked at him. She loved the smirk on his lips and the mischievous glint in his eyes.
Still, she obliged, taking one hand off his chest to lift his hat off of her head, just like she had pretended to earlier.
“Yeehaw, baby!” She yelled, making him laugh beneath her, wishing he could take a picture of this. Her, against the starry sky in the middle of nowhere, waving his hat around.
Maybe he should do that another time.
“Atta girl, keep ridin’ it, show that bull who’s the boss!”
Another harsh smack on her ass, the area red and stinging but simply adding to the feeling.
Jack could be so ridiculous sometimes, but she enjoyed it, grinding down into him harder.
“This bull’s got some stamina.” She breathed out, nothing but a whiny whisper. “Fuck, I’m close.”
He sat up again, his hands pushing her down into his lap, feeling her grip him tight when his lips found hers.
“Soak it, sugar,” Jack groaned against her lips, teetering right on the edge, “be a good little cowgirl for me and soak my cock with that talented pussy.”
His fingers found her clit, hurling her right over the edge with just the smallest touch, her arms wrapping around his neck once again as her pussy convulsed around him, breathless moans leaving her.
It made her head spin, the intensity of her orgasm and as her hips faltered, he kept guiding her movements, his fingers still working on her clit. Too much at once, biting his lip as he finally fell over as well.
Pressing her down into his lap, his dick spilling deep inside of her with a deep groan. He could never get enough of that feeling of her tight pussy.
His arms encircled her waist, keeping her close as she slowly caught her breath, slumped against him. That was too much of a workout tonight, first her session on the mechanical bull and now her rodeo on this one.
“What a ride.” She chuckled, leaning back to look at him. Taking his hat off of her, she placed it back on his head. “How d’you enjoy this rodeo, cowboy?”
Jack laughed, squeezing her tight.
What a filthy little thing.
“Never enjoyed bein’ ridden more than with this damn fine cowgirl on top of me.” He answered, giving her a little pat on the hip, signalling her to move off of him. If they were home already, she could have stayed sitting on his cock all night long but unfortunately they still had a bit of a drive in front of them.
She understood, moving off of him, still smiling but missing the feeling of him inside of her already.
Jack helped her get dressed again after he had put his own pants back in place, steadying her as she stood on wobbly legs.
“Which one did you enjoy more, darlin’?” He asked once they were finished and back in the car again. “There’s only one right answer here, sugar, so choose carefully.”
She giggled, pretending to think for a moment as he started the Bronco and took off.
“The mechanical one was wild.” She said, seeing him raise an eyebrow, just the corner of his lips curling up. “But nothing’s better than the real deal, don’t worry, Jack.”
He laughed at that, shaking his head.
“Nothin' better than a real bull to ride, that’s true, sugar.” Looking over at her briefly, she could still see the mischief in his eyes, promising nothing good. “But you should get a few more lessons in, cowgirl. There’s a lot to learn.”
She rolled her eyes, one of her hands laying on his thigh.
“And I’m sure you’ll be more than happy to teach me “
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beskarandblasters · 6 months
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An appreciation for the “small” fic writers
Hello! I wanted to create this rec for smaller fic writers (about 1,000 followers or less) because I know how it feels to be discouraged by the amount of notes you get and the amount of followers you have. So I made a post asking for your favorite small creators (including self recs you guys sent in and some of my favorites, too!) and here is that list! The banner is by the lovely theywhowriteandknowthings who I would mention here but they’re actually featured on the list below 👀🩷
Without further ado I present to you,
Some “smaller” Pedro Pascal writers listed in alphabetical order order along with what Pedro boys they write for! 🩷 (RPF about Pedro is not included)
@amanitacowboy - Javi P
@atticrissfinch - Joel & Javi P
@avastrasposts - Frankie
@beefrobeefcal - Frankie, Joel, Dave & Javi P
@bluestar22x - Din, Javi P, Pero, Javi G, Frankie, Tim, Marcus M, Marcus P, Joel & Whiskey
@bonezone44 - Joel & Ezra
@chaoticgeminate - Javi P, Javi G, Dieter, Pero, Frankie, Maxwell, Whiskey, Din, Marcus P, Marcus M, Zach & Mr. Ben
@cool-iguana - Din, Joel & Javi P
@coulsons-fullmetal-cellist - Dieter
@dark-scape - Joel
@decembermidnight - Din
@diversemediums - Javi P & Din
@frenchiereading - Frankie & Joel
@gmno-writes - Javi P, Din, Frankie, Joel, Dieter & Marcus P
@iamskyereads - Ezra
@idolatrybarbie - Frankie
@inthe-dark-tonight - Joel
@intheorangebedroom - Frankie
@ishabull - Marcus P & Din
@jenispunk - Joel
@julesonrecord - Joel, Whiskey, Ezra, Frankie & Dieter
@katareyoudrilling - Joel, Dave, Marcus P, Frankie, Javi P & Dieter
@kedsandtubesocks - Din, Javi P, Whiskey, Dieter & Marcus P
@kiwisbell - Javi P, Joel, Frankie, Din, Dave & Javi G
@ladamedusoif - Joel, Javi P, Mr. Ben, Din, The Thief & Ortega
@lahooozaherr - Din & Whiskey
@lincolndjarin - Din & Joel
@lovers-liability - Joel
@mandoisapunk - Din, Joel & Javi P
@milla-frenchy - Joel & Javi P
@missredherring - Tim, Pedro Across the Street, Oberyn, Maxwell, Marcus M, Marcus P, Joel, Frankie, Ezra, Din, Dieter & Whiskey
@mondaychildsworld - Din & Joel
@morallyinept - various Pedro boys, like pretty much all of them!
@ohforficsake - Frankie
@pamasaur - Joel
@pascalsbby - Joel, Whiskey, & Javi P
@penvisions - Joel, Frankie, Din & Javi P
@pimosworld - Frankie & Joel
@princessanglophile - Oberyn
@ramblers-lets-get-ramblin - Joel, Javi P & Frankie
@rhoorl - Dieter & Frankie
@romanarose - Joel & Frankie
@sin-djarin - Joel
@sirowsky - Joel, Javi P, Javi G, Frankie, Din, Marcus M, Marcus P, Pero & Dave
@secretelephanttattoo Joel, Marcus P, & Javi P
@sofasoap - Din
@sp00kymulderr - Javi P, Ezra, Marcus P, Joel, Dieter & Din
@stardustandskycrystals - Joel, Whiskey, Marcus M, Javi G, Dieter, Ezra & Javi P
@thelightsandtheroses - Dieter, Joel, Frankie & Javi P
@theywhowriteandknowthings - Din, Joel, Frankie, Javi P, Javi G, Dave, Dieter & Max
Part two!
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ezrasbirdie · 11 months
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cupcake - car salesman!jack daniels x f!reader
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moodboard (and fic) by me and @haylzcyon
summary: Jack Daniels, lead used car salesman at his dealership, has a crush on you, the pretty receptionist. It's too bad he can't get out of his own way. Luckily for him, you have patience and a soft spot for shy cowboys. rating/warnings: E [semi-public male masturbation, some objectification, fantasized sexy times, descriptions of food and eating, kissing, it's all very sweet okay, reader wears glasses] wc: 6k (whoops) a/n: as mentioned above, this was co-written by @haylzcyon! and it was an awesome, fun process, and i love her sm<;3 we set out to write a drabble, and then we lost our minds a little, and now we've created a universe. i said to myself no more AUs but i lied. we are very anxious and excited to present this sweet man borne from our various experiences with car salesmen. jack would've been better to us, and he's gonna be incredible to you, dear reader.
masterlist
~
“Hey there, sunshine.”
You look up from the papers on your desk into the deep, mesmerizing brown eyes of Jack Daniels, the top salesman of the quarter three quarters in a row. You know this because you spend most of your time filing those sales reports, marveling at sales bonuses that could pay your rent for a year.
Jack’s not even supposed to be here today. He doesn’t get back from vacation until next week. You know this because you have the schedules of all the salespeople in the dealership taped to the surface of your desk. You definitely don’t pay more attention to Jack’s schedule. 
It’s not like you’d memorized it or anything. 
Two weeks shouldn't seem like an eternity.
But he’s here now, standing with his hands behind his back, dressed more casually than you’ve ever seen him in a pair of blue jeans that sit snug on his slim hips, and a dark grey t-shirt with sleeves that hug his biceps. He’s missing his usual Stetson, and he looks so much softer with just a crown of soft, dark waves that he runs his fingers through as he waits for you to acknowledge him.  
He’s smiling at you. 
“Morning, Jack. Aren’t you off till Monday?” You ask with a yawn. It’s early still, and the dealership isn’t even technically open. 
“I am, but I got somethin’ for ya,” he says, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. You peer over the edge of your desk, eyebrows raised to better see what he’s holding.  
“You—you did?” 
From behind his back, he produces a small white box tied closed with twine. “I felt just awful about missin’ your party last week, so I got you a little something.”
“Party?” You ask before your brain catches up with you. Oh, right—your birthday party. That. 
They were supposed to throw you a party. Everyone else got a party. It wasn’t that big of a deal, just a cake and some punch in the big meeting room, and a card signed by everyone. That’s what you’d heard, at least. You’ve never gotten to go to one. The phone, unfortunately, never stops ringing. 
“Jack, you are so, so sweet. Thank you so much,” you say, trying to shake off that lingering ache of disappointment and eying the box he sets in front of you. “But you didn’t miss anything. There wasn’t a party or anything like that.”
Jack squints at you, nostrils flaring a little like that’s the last thing he expected you to say. “No party?”
“They couldn’t get anyone to cover the front desk,” you explain, heat blossoming in your cheeks, and you desperately trying to change the subject. “It’s fine, no big deal. Lemme see what you got me.”
You tug on the twine, and the box falls open delicately. Inside is the most beautiful red velvet cupcake you’ve ever seen. 
“Oh, Jack,” you breathe, looking back at him. “It’s amazing. Thank you, you really shouldn’t have.”
His cheeks are a delightful shade of rosy pink, a bashful grin spreading across his face. 
“You’re welcome, darlin’,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. He hesitates and takes a breath before he speaks again. The phone starts ringing, but you ignore it. You’re not open for another five minutes, and you don’t think you’d answer it even then; not with Jack Daniels being so adorable in front of you. “Listen, I was wonderin’ if you…are you busy tonight?”
“I have big plans with my couch, actually.” 
“What if I took you out tonight instead? Just to…just to make up for these idiots not doin’ something special for you like they ought to.”
You consider the offer, ignoring the butterflies flitting around your stomach. There’s no reason to think this is anything other than him just being nice, but you’ve never been alone with Jack. Up until about a month ago, you’d been convinced he wanted nothing to do with you. 
Regardless, having his full attention sounds incredibly appealing.
“That would be amazing, Jack,” you say. The smile he gives you lights up the whole gloomy day. 
**
The unfortunate crush you’d harbored for the man started your third day here. 
The woman you were replacing—a gorgeous, cheerful woman named Ginger—had left you alone for the first time to go to lunch. 
“You’ll be fine,” Ginger insisted, shouldering her purse, already halfway around the reception desk. “Remember, if it’s someone looking for a salesperson, send it to them in the list order, okay?” Ginger tapped a bright pink Post-it note with a list of names stuck to your monitor. “Top to bottom, and then start over.”
“And that’s because…”
“Because salespeople have egos, and if you send too many calls to one of them too many times, it starts a whole thing,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Okay, I’ll be back.”
You only had two accidental disconnects (which, yes, was an improvement), and your confidence had gone up by about ten percent when a man jogged toward you, looking down at an envelope in his hand. His face was obscured by the brim of a brown cowboy hat.
“Sweetheart,” he said, still not looking up. “Can you get me the keys to that 2012 Honda Acc—you’re not Ginger.”
He finally looked up at you, stopping short just before he got to your desk. 
“Nope,” you said, telling him your name. “I’m the new girl.”
“What happened to Ginger?”
“She’s…still here. She’s just moving to the back to take over as title clerk,” you explained. You tried not to think about how handsome he was, even with that ridiculous hat. 
“Oh,” was all he said. For several long moments, he was quiet, looking at you like he didn’t understand the concept of a new receptionist. 
“Did you…need something?” You asked, finally.
“Of course!” He said. “Sorry. Yeah, I needed some keys.”
Unfortunately for both of you, you had no idea where any keys were. 
“I, um, Ginger hasn’t told me about keys yet?”
You braced yourself for some kind of impatience—you already felt like you were wasting his time—but he just strode around to the other side of your desk, opening a drawer to your right while fastidiously avoiding direct eye contact. 
“The keys to the key cabinet are here,” he said, picking them up off a notepad. “And the key cabinet is there. They all have serial numbers that match them.” He read off a long series of numbers and you rifled through the keys until you came to the matching 2012 Honda Accord tags.
“Why do you ask me for them if you know where they are?” You asked, genuinely curious. He just stared at you again, though, and hot flames licked up the back of your neck, burning to the tips of your ears. 
“That’s just how it’s done,” he said at last. Oh, he definitely thought you were a moron.
“Okay, um, well, thank you,” you said. He flashed a tight-lipped smile and gave a quick nod. 
“No problem, sug—uh, no problem. Name’s Jack.” Then he turned around, disappearing around the corner. It pained you to note he had a distressingly cute little ass.
Ginger came back not long after, and you told her about Jack and the keys. 
“Is he shy or something?” You asked.
Ginger scoffed. “Jack? No. Not at all. He’s never met a stranger. Why?”
“He was just a little quiet with me.” 
“Uh-huh,” Ginger said like she knew something you might not. “Well, he’s probably just in a hurry. He’s usually plenty chatty.” 
And over the months, you came to see that he was very, very chatty. And friendly and funny, too. 
Just not with you. 
**
While Jack is preoccupied, backing into the spot next to where you parked this morning, you take the moment to watch as beams of the car lot's lights wash over his face. You’ve always found him handsome, but the sharp edges of his features catch and shine inside the dim cabin, illuminating the softer parts around the apples of his cheeks and the slope of his neck as he cranes it to check the side-view mirror. 
You actually think he’s beautiful. 
He's different tonight, too. Where his movements and words to you previously were ever awkward and spacey, he has been nothing but smooth and attentive since he picked you up at 5 o'clock. The way his jeans slid over the leather booth at the restaurant when he scooched close to hear you better was natural, and his sweet drawl so close to your ear in a crowded room was richer than any you'd ever heard. The way his eyes focused intently on the center of your face whenever you adjusted your glasses, and the way your name seemed to drip like honey off his lips sent goosebumps across your skin every time.
Jack is an exceptional salesperson; the kind of man who treats his customers like family and his coworkers as friends. But how he's treated you all night, on top of the heady energy radiating from him and filling the space between you right now- it's surely neither of those things. 
You've witnessed how polite and caring and thoughtful he can be, but there's still always been some invisible wedge driven uncomfortably between you. Something that kept him from loosening up; from giving you the casual assurance that he's interested in speaking to you as not just a coworker, but a friend.
All night you’ve struggled not to ask him what changed. 
Ducking your head and fiddling with the hem of your skirt, you try not to let your breath sound too shaken when his arm reaches behind your seat headrest. Jack’s torso twists and leans towards you as he peers out the back windshield, throwing a pleasant mixture of clove and butterscotch across the center console and more butterflies into your stomach.
Once the car’s in park, he gingerly turns the radio dial all the way down. Staring at his hand for a moment before letting it fall to the shifter, his jaw ticks before he turns to face you with an earnest smile. 
“Really glad you let me take you out tonight, darlin’.” 
Willfully ignoring the heat that spreads across your chest, you return the smile and reach for the purse at your feet. 
“Me too, Jack, I had a great time,” you say, beginning to dig for your keys, “Far and away better than the plans I had with my couch.”
He chuckles before grabbing his door handle to step out after you. “I sure hope so.” 
You’re still rummaging around the bottom of your purse as he mosies around the hood of his SUV, planting a hip against the grill. He's spectating your struggle with a look in his eye like it's the most amusing sight in the world. 
“Well," you say, disregarding the butterflies in your stomach under his gaze, "you obviously haven’t spent an evening in my living room eating Chinese takeout and watching Bake Off. It’s usually a blast.” 
“I believe that,” he concedes with a tilt of his head, a grin spreading across plush lips. “You like to bake?” 
“Sometimes,” you say, finally wrapping your fingers around your key fob and pulling the ring from the depths of your bag. “My kitchen is kind of small, so- oh, wait!” 
Turning on the spot, you start a brisk walk toward the clear glass walls of the dealership’s office. 
“What’re you after?” Jack asks, stepping in quickly behind you. 
“I left your cupcake on my desk. And frankly, Mr. Daniels, you’ve got me all wrong if you think I wasn’t planning on eating it in the bath tonight.” 
Your cheeks burn again but you shoot him a coy smile before placing your key in the lock and turning it. He closes the door behind you, stepping to the alarm panel on the wall to disarm it while you head to reception. 
Stretching over the counter on your tip-toes to retrieve the box, he’s only a few strides from joining you when you pivot and move toward the break room. 
“Gonna grab a couple forks.” 
You're reaching high, your fingertips just brushing the edge of the box of plastic cutlery atop the fridge when Jack sneaks in the doorway to the kitchenette. A sudden, booming rendition of “Happy Birthday” fills the room, nearly causing you to drop the box but saving it at the last second. 
A grin stretches across your face at the shockingly tone-deaf singing voice that bounces off the linoleum floor, as well as the sight of the oversized cupcake dwarfed in his hands. Even so brazenly off-key, the sound of Jack singing your name sends an excited ripple through your body. 
As he walks to the small table in the center of the room, Jack shoots you a wink before ending the song and placing the treat squarely in the center of the surface.
Thanking him, you stifle your giggles and revel in the brightest smile he’s ever given you in return. You both take a seat, the cheap plastic chairs creaking as you settle in front of the picture-perfect red velvet cupcake and take a better look at the confection. It’s topped with neatly piped frosting, both white and dark chocolate shavings, and looks absolutely delicious. Plucking the fork you offer him out of your hand, he watches as you bite your lip before sinking the utensil into the treat and bringing it to your lips. 
“Oh my gooood,” you moan, mouth half-full but unable to help yourself at the explosion of decadence on your tongue. Knitting your eyebrows and raising them as you swallow, you find his eyes and say, “Jack, this is amazing, you have to try.” 
He chuckles and raises his own brows. “I reckon I do. You’ve already given it quite the review.” 
Removing his hat and twiddling the fork in his fingers, he gestures for you to take another bite before digging in himself. The two of you sit in near silence while you eat–the trickling of the water cooler, the distant thrum of heavy traffic outside, and his grunts of approval over the cake lending a comfortable ambiance. 
As comfortable as you can be, considering the picture of Jack beside you. His plush lips purse enticingly with every bite he takes, and the red security light bouncing off the skin of his hands, his face, his neck, is more distracting than anything you've ever seen in this office. 
He looks up from the cupcake right into your eyes, like he’s waiting for the answer to a question. Because he is—you’ve just been too preoccupied with staring at that divot in his bottom lip to hear him. 
“Sorry,” you say, a nervous grin spreading across your face. “What did you say?”
**
Jack wasn’t sure what to do with you at first. After that initial stilted interaction, he did remember when Ginger mentioned a new hire coming to replace her at reception. But he’d been so taken off guard, you with your bright eyes and soft features sitting where he’d expected Ginger, he could barely remember his name before he gave it to you.
You were so pretty he couldn’t even make himself speak more than he absolutely had to, convinced that he’d say something foolish or offensive. For a reason he hadn’t ascertained quite yet, he really didn’t want you to think he was either of those things.
He had a plan—it was a good plan, really, it was. He’d get past his weird, unsettling crush on you, and be professional and cool. He just needed a few weeks to settle himself; talk to you in small doses, find some kind of flaw of yours, and focus on that. But he could never, ever make himself say more than three words at a time to you, and so he never found one damn flaw. 
Plan A fell apart quickly, and the only other plan was to avoid you entirely. That plan sucked, but Jack didn’t know what else he was supposed to do. Walk over and have some kind of normal conversation? Not when his tongue felt too big for his mouth every time you smiled at him. Not when every time you stood too close and he got a whiff of your perfume he felt all the muscles in his chest constrict–along with every stitch in the crotch of his trousers. 
So he chose distance. After a few months, he managed to delude himself into believing it had worked. He could look at you and give a pleasant smile without a twisting sensation in the pit of his stomach. 
And then came goddamn casual Friday.
When the dealership had a particularly good week, it always meant more work for the office. Recently, they’d had a lot of good weeks, and the ladies in the back were swamped with paperwork. And in the grand tradition of capitalism, rather than hire someone to help, the general manager suggested a “morale boost”. 
“They can wear jeans on Fridays!” He’d said. Jack’s eyes had rolled clear into the back of his skull at the proclamation. What the hell were blue jeans supposed to do for morale?
He got in early that first casual Friday by coincidence—he also had a ton of paperwork that needed to be completed before he sent it to the office. He was just gulping down his second cup of coffee when you walked in wearing a black v-neck t-shirt and the most form-fitting pair of dark blue bellbottom jeans he’d ever seen. 
They were certainly the tightest pants he’d ever seen you wear, anyway. It was like you’d been sewn into them, how they clung to every lush curve of your hips and ass. 
He almost choked on his damn coffee when you faced away from him to hang your purse on a hook next to your desk, the outline of your panties fully visible as you stretched your arms over your head and yawned. 
Jesus fucking Christ.
He was useless the rest of the morning. Any progress he’d made in the hour before you arrived was for naught as the paperwork just kept piling up. He couldn’t focus on anything other than you and those goddamn jeans - how they must bunch up a little around your hips under the desk, or what color those panties might be beneath them. Jack was sure if he lingered on the mental image long enough, the idea of peeling that tight denim off your thighs and abandoning it in a pile on his floor could make him bust completely untouched.
When you slipped into his doorway to quietly place his most recent sales numbers and a couple of messages on his desk, the sight of your fingers nonchalantly adjusting the strap of your bra, the quickest flash of purple–lavender–before you smiled politely and exited, nearly broke him.
When noon finally rolled around, he let out an exasperated sigh as he watched your form disappear out the front doors for your lunch break. Shifting his weight in his chair, he hastily tucked his half-hard cock into the waistband of his jeans and booked it out of his office. Mumbling an apology after almost barrelling over another salesman along with the elderly customer he was assisting in his rush, he didn’t even wait around to hear if it was accepted. 
He was a mess, but he needed to finish the day out. And in his frustrated and lust-addled state, he only saw one option for seeing this Friday through. 
After hopping into the front seat of his car and scanning the lot for signs of porters or customers, he threw it into gear and slowly crept towards the back fence. He backed into a solitary parking spot that was mostly obscured by low-hanging tree branches, unconcerned about any potential scratches they might leave on the roof of the SUV.
Jack’s heart was pounding like a bass drum in his chest before he even shut off the ignition, guilt creeping up the back of his neck. This was stupid. This was wrong. This was disgusting. 
The self-beratement continued as he let his hand fall to his crotch, his palm running smoothly over the bulge behind his zipper and causing a pathetic whimper to fall from his lips. 
It wasn’t like he’d ever done anything like this before, he tried to reason with himself. You just made him so crazy. Like a damn teenager.
He leaned the seat all the way back, still palming himself with his other hand and flicking open his belt. He reached into his jeans and groaned as he pulled his cock out, the guilt starting to dissipate as he rubbed his thumb over his slit. He hissed, pulling his hat low over his face and closing his eyes as he conjured up a vision of you in his head. To add to his shame, this wasn’t the first time he’d stroked himself to the thought of you. It wasn’t even the hundredth time. 
He squeezed the base of his cock and sighed. You’d let him tug those jeans off of you, sighing as he’d kiss down your thighs and calves and up again until he got back to your pussy, nosing the soaking wet fabric. Lavender, like your bra. He’d tease you there, and you’d giggle and slide your fingers into his hair and pull. 
He stroked a little faster, the wet, slick sound of his throbbing cock filling the car. It’s so loud, there’s a fleeting worry that someone might hear if they happen to walk by. 
Jack pumped frantically as he slipped back into his fantasy. You’d gaze down at him, biting your lip in some coy flirtation. 
“Aren’t you gonna kiss me, Jack?” You’d ask, and he’d trace his fingers up your thigh, slipping them under your panties. 
“Where, sugar?” He’d ask, and you’d lean your head back on the headboard in playful frustration. He wouldn’t be able to resist your pout. He never could in these little dreams of his. He was almost there, heat coiling in his belly.
He’d pull your underwear down in a quick, smooth motion, pushing your legs open and—
The sound of a car door slamming shut nearby broke his focus, Jack’s heart nearly jumping from his chest as he whipped the hat from his face and lifted his head just enough to peer through the windshield. His terror eased to find he was still well concealed, but a choked gasp stuck in his throat at what he could see from this vantage point.
There you were, standing next to your car with your fingers through your belt loops and doing some sort of half-jump, half-jig in an attempt to readjust the jeans on your hips. You were facing away from him, and he could just make out the way the material pulled tight at the small dip between your thighs, the shape of your perfect curves on display as you let go of the loops, gravity working to make your ass fall slightly with a bounce. 
An inhuman groan filled the inside of the car as he threw his head back onto the seat, eyes pinched shut and hips bucking sporadically into his hand as the image of the tiniest shake of your ass played over and over behind his eyelids. As hot, white ropes covered his fingers and belly, he continued fucking his hand with alacrity, losing himself completely in the extra slip in his stroke and the thought of what you might think if you found him like this–cock in hand, covered in his own cum and with the knowledge that it was you who put him in this wrecked state.  
When he finally let go of his cock, breathing deeply and reaching for the glovebox to find napkins and hastily clean his mess, deep shame filled his gut. 
This was downright wrong. He couldn’t keep doing this to himself. He couldn’t do this to you. 
On his drive home that night, Jack made a decision. Keeping you at arm’s length was obviously only exacerbating the problem, turning you from a whole person to an object he used to get himself off. Something had to give. 
So every day after that Jack would come in and tell himself he’d talk to you; he wouldn’t be weird, he wouldn’t stare at you and then play it off like he was trying to get someone else’s attention when you inevitably caught him. Every day he fucked up somehow.
He didn’t think it was that noticeable until Ginger, of all people, said something exactly two weeks ago.
“What’s your deal with the receptionist?” She asked as he hovered over her desk, waiting for a set of temporary tags. His mouth rounded, stomach clenching as he prepared his defense. 
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he said, folding his arms and tapping his foot against the concrete floor. She peered down at the offending noise.
“Stop that,” she said, glaring at him over her glasses, and he did. It did no good to bother the office ladies, and he knew Ginger was more than capable of making his life just difficult enough to drive him nuts. He didn’t think she would, but he wouldn’t test her. “You know exactly what I mean. You’re a total freak around her. You’ve never shut up the whole time I’ve known you, and she says you’ve never even had a conversation with her.”
“I’m—I don’t have that much reason to be talkin’ to the receptionist. I’m busy, you know,” he argued. Ginger stopped typing and looked up at him. 
“You bothered me plenty,” she reminded him, exasperated.
“That was different. We’re friends,” he said. “Been friends a long time.”
Ginger shook her head and gave her mouse a hard double-click, the whir of the ancient printer in the corner signaling the temporary tags were ready. “Well, she thinks you hate her. She asked me—very sheepishly, I might add—if I knew why. So get that under control, Jack. Reception is thankless and hard enough as it is.”
“She thinks I hate her?” He asked, standing up straight. 
That was certainly not his intention. 
“She said she’s the only person you never say good morning or goodnight to.”
“I—just—goddammit,” he said, snatching the tags from the printer. “I don’t hate her. Tell her I don’t hate her.”
But Ginger waved him away, and he skulked back to his office, taking the long way to avoid the reception desk. 
How could he possibly explain that if he talked to you too much, he’d tell you that he thought you were the prettiest girl he’d ever seen? And it wasn’t just that you were pretty—you were nice and charming and helpful, and you brought in cookies for everyone, and you were always reading a new book every time he saw you so he knew you were smart, too. And when your glasses slid down, your nose twitched like a bunny rabbit when you pushed them up.
And he’d never told you any of that because he was afraid you’d find out he had a crush on you. But so what if you did find out? He hadn’t even given you the chance to decide whether or not you liked him at all. He’d just decided all of it for you. 
Jack sat back in his chair and looked out at the show floor, straight to reception where you smiled brightly at a couple who’d just walked in. 
Had he really never said good morning to you?
He passed your desk that evening as you packed up and stopped, licking his lips and taking a deep breath. 
“You have a good night, sweetheart,” he said. You looked up at him like he’d sprouted a pair of bull horns, but after a moment a smile spread across your pretty face. 
“Y-you too, Jack. Thank you,” you said, like he’d just told you he’d paid off your student loans. Too grateful for something he should’ve been doing all along.
You were still smiling when you left a few minutes later, and all the way to your car, too. 
He could do this.
**
And here you are now in front of him, all beautiful and soft under the red glow of the security light. You have a smudge of frosting on the corner of your mouth, and when he tells you, you don’t answer. You just stare back at him with big eyes, and before he knows it, he’s reaching over the table and dragging his thumb across your lip to clean it off himself. It takes all of his self-control not to rub your lip a second time.
“Said you have a little somethin’ on your mouth,” he says, sucking the frosting off of his thumb. You’re still staring at him, and he can’t help but smirk. 
“What’s on your mind, darlin’?” He asks. You look away, biting that lip he just touched. 
“I’m just glad we’re hanging out. I thought…I just didn’t think you wanted to be friends with me. It’s nice.”
“...Friends?” He asks, scratching his chin. Not that he’d let you see the bill, but that dinner wasn’t exactly friend-date pricing. 
He hadn’t wanted it to be. 
Your eyes widen. “I mean, acquaintances. You know, more than co-workers. I wasn’t…just, like, casual friends,” you say, trailing off, looking back down at the cupcake. 
He scoots his chair right up next to you, close enough that he can smell your honeysuckle perfume, and hooks a finger under your chin, tipping your face up to meet his eyes. “Sweetheart, if you’re thinkin’ I wanna be friends, I’ve done this all wrong.” 
Warmth spreads through his chest at the dawning comprehension on your face, your lips parting as you exhale softly. He gazes at you for one long moment, giving you the time and space to back away if you like. He doesn’t think you want to, though. 
“I think you might be the prettiest girl I ever saw,” he says, his eyes roaming over your face. “And I’d like to kiss you, if that’s all right.”
“Yeah,” you breathe. “I’d like that a lot, Jack.”
He lingers just before his lips meet yours, one last deep breath before that leap forward into something he’s desperate to lose himself in, but you’re more impatient than he is. Or more courageous. 
You close the gap between the two of you, and you’re everything.
Jack lets you lead, ignoring the way the soft whimper you let out goes straight to his cock. You taste like cream cheese icing and strawberry chapstick, and your lips are so much warmer than he’d imagined. He thought you’d be gentle; timid, even, but you press your mouth firmly against his, your hand sneaking up his chest to grasp at his shirt collar to pull him even closer. 
He parts his lips—an invitation, if you’re interested. You accept, your tongue sliding between the gap in tentative exploration.
He can’t touch you the way he wants to, sitting like this. He pulls you up from your chair, his hands cupped around your jaw in an effort to keep your lips sealed to his. It works—you let out the sweetest whine, your tongue massaging his as he backs you into the wall, his hands free to roam your torso. 
Jack settles them on your waist, squeezing and kneading you over your blouse in an attempt to be a gentleman, but the noises coming from you are making that hard.
Really hard.
Especially when you hook your fingers through his belt loops and turn the space between the erection straining his jeans and your hips into nothing. You gasp as he pushes against you, and can’t stop himself from rolling his hips, desperate for friction. His instinct is to bend you over the table and fuck you until you’re a whimpering, quivering mess on his cock, but he can’t do that. 
He has to take his time with you.
“Darlin’,” he whispers shakily against your lips. It takes all of his self-control not to pull your skirt up and check if you’re just as turned on as he is. “Let’s slow down a tick.”
You still at his words and look up at him, shoulders slumping as you bring your arms to your side. 
“Did…I do something wrong?” You ask, and his heart drops at the waver in your voice.
“No,” he says quickly, cupping your cheek and stroking it in what he hopes is a soothing caress. “No. You’re perfect, darlin’, but I don’t wanna mess any of this up or make you think I’m just tryin’ to get up your skirt.”
“All right,” you say, still sounding a little uncertain. You have a right to be, after all of his capricious behavior over the last year. 
He sighs as he nuzzles his nose against your cheek, nibbling his way to your earlobe. Against his better judgment, he wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls it down until your hand meets his clothed, aching cock. 
You gasp, and he grins against your cheek.
“Feel that?” He asks. “Feel what you do to me?”
“Jack,” you murmur, squeezing him through his jeans. 
“Let me take my time with you, sweetheart. My little cupcake,” he teases. “Let me take you out again.”
“When?” You ask, sticking out your bottom lip. Goddamn, you’re cute when you pout. 
“Tomorrow? This weekend? When—”
“Tomorrow,” you say quickly. “Tomorrow is good.”
“Tomorrow it is,” he says, using the rest of his self-control to pull away from you. “Now come on. It’s late, and I want you to be here on time tomorrow so I can look at you all day.”
You giggle, and he can’t believe he’s wasted a whole year not hearing that. 
The rain that’s threatened the area all day has started to fall as he walks you back to your car, and he kisses you one last time against your passenger side door, holding his hat over your head in an attempt to keep you somewhat dry. When he pulls away, you’re looking up at him, mouth half open like you’re thinking of saying something. 
“What is it?” He asks.
“What changed?”
He thinks of asking what you’re talking about, but he knows. And you know that he knows. No need to play anymore games, he decides.
“I got over myself,” he says. “You deserve the chance to reject me without me decidin’ all this for you.”
A half-smile forms on your lips. “Why on Earth would I reject you?”
He swallows, throat dry as he considers it. He could list all the reasons he doesn’t deserve a woman like you, but something tells him you’ll rebuff every single one of them. 
“Lots of reasons. But I’m not above admitting I was scared,” he says. “Am scared.”
“Don’t be,” you say. “I don’t bite. Unless…well, not always.” You grin, lightening the mood without dismissing him. He grins, too.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. 
“Shit, I don’t wanna go home,” you say, but you yawn at the same time and stretch your arms over your head, your cardigan falling to the side and revealing a peek of that lavender bra, and he stifles a groan.
“Go home and go to sleep, cupcake. I’ll bring you breakfast in the morning,” he says. “And we can decide where I’m takin’ you tomorrow night.”
You give a soft, shy grin. “Cupcake, huh?” “Cupcake,” he says, nodding. “You’re as sweet as one, and you taste just as good.” 
“All right, cowboy, whatever you say,” you say. 
Several rounds of “I don’t want to leave” later, he watches you drive out of the lot and round the corner. He leans his head back and on the seat and sighs like he’s just gone on his first date ever, heart thrumming with adrenaline and hope. 
He has so many plans to make. 
1K notes · View notes
psychedelic-ink · 9 months
Text
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 💜
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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. 
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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. 
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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.
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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 💜
761 notes · View notes
fuckyeahdindjarin · 7 months
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IX ║ Warmblood
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Jack Daniels x f!reader
{ Part 8: Silver Pony | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }
Rating: E
Summary: The hardest goodbye you'll ever say.
Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, flirting, sexual innuendoes, semi-pubic sex, oral sex (F receiving), risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N
Word count: 7.6k
Notes: Here we are, at the end of the longest packtrip ever, and we did it with only one (1) little meltdown last night 😜 More notes at the end, but I just want to say - this has been a once-in-a-lifetime story for me. If a fic can be a soulmate, Palomino is mine.
Thank you for coming on this journey with me, I love every single one of you ❤️ Last thing, I never do this, but I must insist that you play this song when you get there. You'll know when 🥹
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Warmblood: An athletic, agile horse that is noted for its trainability and usually calm temperament, is commonly used in equestrian competition, and typically possesses Thoroughbred, Arabian, and draft horse bloodlines.
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Your awakening is gentle, soft and blurry around the edges, as if you’re looking through the lens of a Polaroid camera, tinted in sepia. The morning hour creeps across the ceiling of Jack’s bedroom in equal parts light and shadow, the curtains having been left undrawn last night. A crack in the window lets in the faintest breeze, but mutes all the sounds you’ve grown used to seeking out first thing in the morning, when your eyelids are too heavy to lift.
The hum of flying things, feathered or otherwise, charting their flight paths in your head by the buzz of their wings. The brush of the wind like a hand combing through grass and meadow. Even the sun speaks in the morning, raw energy strumming between constantly shifting air particles.
This stillness comes off as almost - unnatural. Even when straddling the divide between sleep and wake, you feel yourself making tiny adjustments to the physicality of being indoors again. Regret stains the corners of your consciousness, knowing it won’t take you long to recalibrate. Your body will return to what it knows, shedding your once-upon-a-time existence in the mountains like a coat discarded at the turn of the season. 
When the mattress dips behind you, sensation floods your veins like a shock to the system, flushing out the pins and needles in your limbs that you haven’t even noticed. Jack is warm and solid behind you, where he belongs. One leg nudged between yours, his sun-kissed arm across your waist, the only thing keeping you from tumbling off the edge. His breath whistles sweetly over the shell of your ear, and you smile. You don’t have to look over your shoulder to know that his mouth is parted in slumber.
The next time you come to, it’s the rude buzz of metal on wood that jolts you out of sleep. You squeak when Jack follows, almost inadvertently shoving you off the bed as he startles awake. But thankfully, his instincts are fully intact, and he catches you squarely in the stomach, biceps flexing as he pulls you back into his chest with an easy strength.
‘Sorry, darlin’,’ he rasps groggily, burying his face in your neck in an apology. You uncoil in a languid stretch, opening up your throat to the rough scratch of his moustache, wanting to feel the burn.
‘Phone, cowboy,’ you gripe when the vibration doesn’t stop.
With a heave-ho, Jack reaches over you to grab it, before falling back onto the mattress so heavily that the bedframe shakes. Rubbing his thumb and index finger over his eyes, he grouses into the receiver, ‘What?’
Teak’s voice on the other line is clear as day even though he’s not on speaker. ‘Where are you, man?’
You burrow into Jack’s side, and the wide span of his palm on your hip holds you to him possessively. ‘Where do you think I am?’
‘Listen. Poppy made sausage gravy and buttermilk pancakes. Y’all know what that means.’
You venture a peek at Jack, whose lips are pursed thoughtfully. You prompt, ‘What does it mean?’
He smiles down at you. ‘She really likes you, darlin’.’
Teak interrupts with a scoff. ‘Like her? She’s basically adopting you, sunshine!’
Your lips wobble - if you soften any further, you might melt into the mattress.  ‘Oh, Poppy.’
‘Look, I’ve been stallin’ them, but they’re fixin’ to break down her door. You lovebirds best get here quick!’
Tossing away his phone without a goodbye, Jack drops a kiss to your forehead. ‘Listen, we don’t have to go anywhere, you stay here and I’ll make you - cereal in bed?’ He pauses with a wince. ‘Actually, I’m outta milk. And cereal.’
You chuckle, reaching up to run your fingers through his endearingly askew bed hair. ‘It’s ok, cowboy, we should go. I need to pack anyway.’
Your tummy takes the inopportune moment to rumble audibly, and he pins you with a knowing look. ‘And you want that sausage gravy, don’t you?’
‘Shut up,’ you laugh, pushing him off the bed.
When you step out of Jack’s bedroom in last night’s clothes after a quick refresh in his neat ensuite, he’s already outside, warming up the Silver Pony.
The house is even cosier in the morning. Facing east, daylight fills every corner of every room, bringing out the patterns in the wooden panels. Your gaze lingers where you can’t. You want to study the cracked spines of the paperbacks on his bookshelf one by one, you want to press your nose into the shirts hanging in his closet, you want to peer around the door to a second room that is temptingly ajar - 
‘Darlin’?’
You look up, and Christ on a cracker - it’s downright unfair that even after a week of spending every waking minute together, this damn cowboy can still make your heart skip a beat just by standing.
Jack is on the doorstep, in what you assume is his ‘off-duty’ uniform. Instead of a plaid shirt, he’s wearing a simple white tshirt with a round neck that is decidedly not sweat- nor dirt-friendly, tucked loosely into the waistband of dark jeans that look a bit more polished, and if you would believe it, even tighter than the pair he wears in the saddle. While it’s business as usual with the Stetson and work boots, something unfamiliar hangs from the neckline of his top.
Plucking the gold-rimmed aviators from his tshirt, you slide them onto your face, winking at him through the tinted lens. ‘Nice shades. Gotta say, I didn’t peg you for such a snazzy dresser off the trail.’
He grins, all tidy teeth with a deliberately libertine edge, clearly enjoying the attention. Scooping you into his broad frame, he drawls, ‘Gotta look good for the ladies in town, y’know. They’re famished ‘cause you been hoardin’ me all week, darlin’.’
With an exaggerated huff, you elbow past him. ‘I don’t know how you manage to zip your ego into those tightass pants, cowboy!’
‘With lots of practice,’ he retorts, smacking you firmly on the backside.
‘Do you need your sunnies?’ you ask as you climb onto the Silver Pony behind him, pushing the aviators a bit higher on your nose where they’ve slid down.
He shrugs. ‘Keep ‘em. Gives you a reason to come back.’
You smile into his broad shoulders, palms sliding to interlock over his soft belly. The bike revs, startling a flock of birds into flight from a nearby tree, and you realise those six little words are the first to breach the subject of what comes after - which will come to be in a matter of hours, with your flight in the early afternoon, a prospect suddenly so frighteningly real. 
But in the same breath, it becomes blindingly clear that you don’t even need to hear the words.
Because you know there is a space for you in his bed, tucked into his body, curled around you. A spot for you under his arm resting on the back of his couch in the living room, in front of a woodfire when it snows outside. A seat for you at the back of his motorcycle, where you are now, breezing effortlessly downhill towards the ranch, the white fences and red roofs winking at you between the gaps in the trees that line the winding country roads.
When you dream in the months to come, you will always smell pine, white cotton, and well-worn leather as the Silver Pony carries you home.
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It’s a shorter drive than you remember. Jack’s watch reads just past half eight when you pull into the parking lot. He kills the engine as you dismount, passing him your star-spangled helmet to be returned to its place in the little cabinet for next time. You’ve turned on your heel towards the ranch when a hand on your wrist grounds you to the spot.
Hands that have made you feel safe, protected, wanted in turn over the past week.
There’s no fanfare, no declarations, as you watch Jack lace his fingers with yours, filling the gaps and the tips curling into the valleys between your knuckles. Palm to weathered palm, calloused from ropework and heavy lifting, you look up to meet his eyes. 
He peers at you, almost shyly, an incomprehensible notion after all that he’s done to you, and what you’ve done to him, across the expanse of the Wyoming wilderness. But there’s a chastity to this simple action, and you find your throat tight when he asks, ‘Is this ok, darlin’?’
Your heart swells, as if it’s going to grow claws and tear itself right out of your chest cavity. Bringing up your tangled hands, you brush a kiss across his knuckles, and his whole countenance lifts with the upward curl of his mouth. 
‘Yes, cowboy.’
The Statesman is putting on a show for your last morning. The sun is out, climbing high into the cloudless sky, with Jack’s aviators bearing the brunt of the harsh glare. It’s déjà vu when you retrace the path you took on the day of your arrival, the same crunch of gravel under your boots, the familiar scent of hay and horse on the breeze. 
The bird’s eye view of the ranch has your breath stuttering just like that first time you cast your gaze on the green pastures and the red roofs. And beyond, like a perfectly painted stage set piece, the Bighorns loom tall and majestic. You’ve seen the mountains in all their incarnations over the past week - they change colour as the sun and clouds move during the day, and sometimes, you swear they morph in shape too. 
It strikes you suddenly that just yesterday, you were but three specks moving across the vast landscape, the realisation almost bowling you over. 
Before all this, it wouldn’t have taken much to convince yourself that you don’t deserve it. That it was the horses doing all the legwork and Jack the navigating, that you haven’t really done anything but sit in the saddle. But something’s shifted, it’s been a baptism by long summer days and the great outdoors - and damn it all, you’re proud of yourself. 
You came on this trip alone, with nothing but a broken relationship behind you, a suitcase full of anxieties and riding gear covered in years of dust and neglect. You said yes, perhaps recklessly, when offered the chance to spend a week alone in the mountains with a complete stranger and the glamour of sleeping bags and portable showers, when it would’ve been easier (and certainly more comfortable) to turn it down. 
Somehow, you’ve come out the other end, long gallops over untouched grassland and starry campfire nights piecing you back together, only to fall so damn hard for this cowboy that you’re sure to break again when you get on that plane this afternoon -
An unexpected tug on your arm has you tumbling clumsily. ‘Jack!’
He arches an eyebrow and remarks, ‘Ain’t heard those cogs in your pretty head grind that loud since the first coupl'a days, darlin’.’
You shrug and, not wanting to sour the mood, deflect his attention with a lighthearted fib. ‘Just realised that I didn’t even come close to falling off once the entire week.’
When he chuckles, the thought comes to you that you’ll miss the way he laughs with his whole body. 
‘You did real good for your first rodeo,’ he pauses, then flashes you a lascivious smirk. ‘You ain’t bad at ridin’ bareback either.’
A rebuke of his crude quip is on the tip of your tongue, but then your nose picks up on the scent of bitter coffee and maple syrup, which is quickly followed by the sighting of the al fresco table set up not far from the grill last night, the singe of smoke and whiskey still hanging in the air.
From a distance, you can see Poppy and Champ engaged in what looks like a heated debate, both gesticulating wildly with fork and knife. On the opposite side of the table, an unbothered Teak mows down his breakfast as if he’s heard it all before, and Ginger is feeding Jameson pancakes under the table.
It’s the younger cowboy who spots you two first. He freezes, brows disappearing under the brim of his Stetson when his eyes flit downwards to your interlocked hands. A huge grin would’ve split his handsome face in two if his mouth wasn’t stuffed full of half-chewed pancakes. The beans are well and truly spilled when Jameson comes bounding over, barking his demands for morning cuddles.
Champ looks up, his argument with Poppy promptly dropped. ‘Aha! There she is! Howdy young lady, we were just wonderin’ where you -’ 
He halts mid-sentence, his head whipping towards his right where the guest lodges are situated beyond the stables, decidedly not the direction you’re coming from. The penny drops as he takes in your hand in Jack’s, eyes wide, and all the occupants of the table seem to inhale a collective breath that stops you in your tracks.
But not Jack. He ignores the gawking with a practised air of been there, done that, and ushers you into the empty seat next to Teak without skipping a beat. Planting a sweet peck on your cheek, he settles to your left and unfolds his starched napkin with a flourished flick of his wrist, which he tucks into the neckline of his tshirt.
‘Mornin’,’ he addresses the silent table in an exaggerated southern drawl. ‘If y’all would be so kind to shut your mouths, you’re embarrassin’ me in front of my lady. Now, pass the coffee if you please, Teak.’
Fittingly, it’s Champ who breaks the silence with a rip-roaring howl of laughter, palms hitting the table so hard you’re convinced everything on it jumps a foot from the surface, the ruckus sending Jameson scampering for cover. ‘Well, well, well! Butter my butt and call it a biscuit!’
Poppy leaps to her feet, halfway to the kitchen before shouting over her shoulder. ‘We’re celebrating! This calls for strawberry milkshake!’
Teak elbows you in the side. ‘Just so y’know, Poppy ain’t the type to make strawberry milkshake for just anybody.’ He salutes you with a crooked grin. ‘Welcome to the family, sweetheart.’ 
It’s a brand of chaos that is distinctly Statesman. Ginger and Champ are fighting each other to load up your plate with far too much food over your protests, Teak pours coffee into your glass and orange juice in the mug, and Jameson is probing your knees under the table for scraps. You meet Jack’s eyes, and he grins back at you with a wink over the rim of his cup.
There’s no reason why you should be this hungry after the barbeque last night, but you don’t stop until you’ve polished off the sausage gravy and biscuits, the welcome richness settling in the pit of your stomach and making you second guess if you have any room left for pancakes.
‘Young lady, I hope this means you forgive me for the strings I pulled to set you two up,’ pipes up Champ around a mouthful of bacon, washed down by black coffee.
‘You’ll hear no complaints from me, sir,’ you reassure him.
He raises a fist in a pantomime of indignation. ‘You wouldn’t believe the grief Jack and Ginger put me through for playin’ matchmaker! I demand a retraction from y’all!’
Ginger raises both hands in surrender. ‘Fine, I take it all back, even if it means you’ll be downright insufferable about it! But I’ll happily live with that!'
Jack slings an arm around your shoulder. ‘It kills me to say it, but you have damn good taste, boss.’
‘Well, y’all know what they say - ain’t a pot too crooked that a lid won’t fit!’ needles Teak.
‘Hey!’ You reach across to slap him on the arm as Jack chuckles behind you. ‘I don’t see you with a lid, you loud-mouthed kettle!’
Teak sasses back, ‘Fine, fine, how ‘bout - there ain’t a man that can’t be thrown, or a cowboy that can’t be rode -’
Right on cue, Poppy’s distant shout interrupts, ‘Tequila!’
Jumping onto his feet, the cowboy winks at you. ‘Hold that thought, sunshine - right away, ma’am!’
Unperturbed by the double entendres, Champ brings the conversation right back around. ‘Well, I do declare, this nosy old man gets it right -’
‘For once!’ heckles Ginger.
‘Joke’s on you, m’dear. I only need to be right once!’
There are oohs and ahhs when Poppy and Teak reappear with the decadent milkshakes in retro fountain glasses, topped with whipped cream and strawberry slices, distributed around the table.
‘So, what are we drinking to?’ asks Poppy.
You turn to Jack, holding up your milkshake. ‘To crooked pots.’
There are cheers and laughs up and down the table, and Jack clinks your glass with a grin as he adds, ‘And cowboys that can be rode.’
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You think about the cassette tapes that you used to watch when you were young. How at the end of a film, the black tape is all rolled up in the right window, and you were always the one to press the rewind button on the VCR. You still remember the whirr of the film as it went backwards, round and round, right back to the beginning.
When the coffee has gone cold and the morning chores come calling, the breakfast table empties, and you hear the click of that button when Jack offers you his upturned palm to walk you back to your cabin.
The tape rewinds as you pack. The outfit you agonised over that first day or your introductory ride with the cowboy has been laundered, and you slowly fold up each piece - the jodhpurs, the plaid shirt, the socks - and put them into your open suitcase.
The tape rewinds as you close the door to the cabin, and Jack carries your luggage across the yard in one hand, yours nestled snugly in his other.
The tape rewinds as you walk by the stables - you nip in quickly to say goodbye to Whiskey and Bourbon - past the main lodge, and the grazing field next to the parking lot.
Putting your suitcase down, Jack whistles with his fingers, the sound carrying in the wind. You see a familiar golden head pop up from across the field, and your nose prickles with the threat of tears as you watch Scotch canter towards you, ears forward and tail swishing with an attitude you can spot from a mile away. Climbing onto the first rung of the fence, you throw your arms around his neck and bury your face into his snowy mane as he snoops around your pockets, always looking for treats.
You pull an apple out of your travel bag, neatly cut in two. Scotch nickers, his velvety nuzzle tickles as he carefully plucks each half from your palm.
Combing through his forelock, you coo at him, ‘I’m gonna miss you, boy. You behave with your rider next week, you hear me?’
The key is already in the ignition of your rental pickup when Champ puts your suitcase and tote bag on the backseat floor, while Teak and Jack load the Silver Pony onto the back. 
Your arm almost falls out of its socket when Poppy passes you the promised takeaway lunch, packed into a chiller bag. 
‘You’re flying Delta right?’ she asks. ‘I’ll call them up with instructions on how to heat up the food. It’ll be good as fresh off the barbeque.’
‘Thank you so, so much Poppy,’ you say as she pulls you into a warm hug. ‘I hope you know you’ve ruined food for me. Nothing will ever come close to being good enough.’
She winks. ‘You’re welcome, honey. Come back soon, ok? There’s more where it came from!’
Ginger is next, and emotion clutches at your chest as you squeeze her slender frame in a tight embrace. ‘Just so you know, I was furious that you wouldn’t give me a refund when I called you up all those months ago.’
‘What can I say? I’m a tough cookie,’ she giggles, and hangs onto you for just a moment longer. ‘I’m so glad you didn’t cancel on us.’
Champ surprises you, forgoing your outstretched hand and giving you a hug for the first time. His tweed suit is softer than expected under your cheek, and smells like pipeweed and leather. 
‘It’s been an absolute pleasure, young lady. I’m sure we’ll see you again very soon,’ he winks. ‘And I’ll be in touch about the social media.’
Three steps away, Teak is waiting with his arms crossed, and he pushes off the truck to bundle you into his embrace, the hug as big and as bear-like as him, which makes you chuckle.
‘Anything parting Southern wisdom for me?’ you quip.
‘I’m all out, sweetheart,’ he says, giving you a pat on the back. ‘’Cept, y’know, that cowboy’s been grinnin’ like a possum eatin’ a sweet ‘tater all week, and it’s damn annoyin’.’
Jack rolls his eyes, one palm on your back as he herds you towards the truck. ‘C’mon, darlin’, we should make a move.’
Saving himself for last, Jameson trots up to you with a bark, tail wagging. The grass is warm and tickles your bare knees when you crouch down to give him one last hug, giggling at the wet kiss he leaves on your cheek. 
The leather of the passenger seat is soft as you sink down into it, while Jack closes the door behind you and crosses to the driver’s side. Inhaling deeply as the engine starts with a rusty rumble, you look up when he gives your hand a grounding squeeze.
‘Ready, darlin’?’
You nod, though not entirely convincingly. ‘Let’s go, cowboy.’
The Statesman gets smaller and smaller behind you as the truck eases down the driveway, and the four figures waving in the rearview mirror blur into tiny shadows through the mist of your tears. The metal frame of the vehicle squeaks with the movement as it rolls over bumps on the long dirt track, at the end of which, Jack takes a right with a one-handed turn of the steering wheel onto the main road, and the ranch slips out of sight.
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The midday sun streams through the windshield, hot on your skin. You’re glad you changed out of the jeans from last night into a lightweight dress, a slightly frivolous last-minute addition to your luggage that’s paid off. 
Staring out of the open window at the rolling landscape, it takes you right back to exactly eight days ago when you were driving down the dusty road - except this time, the Bighorn Mountains are behind you, and next to you is a cowboy instead of an empty seat. 
Unabashedly, you watch him drive. His right hand is woven in yours, disengaging only to shift gears every now and then. Under the brim of his hat, his eyes are on the road, occasionally darting sideways to find himself on the receiving end of your attention.
It’s certainly an adjustment to see him in the driver’s seat after a week in the saddle - Whiskey’s, then the Silver Pony’s. But it doesn’t matter, there’s no mistaking the competence behind his every movement, be it to ease his horse to a slower gait with the lightest closing of his fingers on the leather reins, or to redirect the truck with an effortless palm on the steering wheel -
‘Take a picture, it’ll last longer,’ he drawls, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.
‘Not long enough,’ you grumble, shuffling in close.
He half-turns, moustache brushing your temple as he murmurs, ‘Have I told you that you look beautiful in that dress?’
You press a secret smile into his shoulder. ‘You sure you don’t prefer me in jodhpurs?’
Untangling his fingers to slide blunt nails under the hem of your dress and up the inside of your leg, he replies diplomatically, ‘I can see pros and cons to both.’
Your breath hitches with a warning, but the instinctive parting of your thighs gives you away. ‘Cowboy -’
You startle at what sounds like a sudden crack of thunder, but it turns out to be an enormous interstate truck charging down the opposite lane. In a panic, your knees snap shut, trapping Jack’s wandering hand between the soft cushion of your legs. To your chagrin, he makes a point of waving to the driver as he passes by.
‘Jack, he definitely saw your hand up my dress!’ you chide.
He flashes you a knowing smirk, and you shudder when he digs into the meat of your thigh with a firm squeeze. ‘Somethin’ tells me you enjoyed that, darlin’.’
Your mouth opens, ready to object, but a familiar heat warms the back of your neck the same time your throat goes dry. It’s the same thrill from last night, in the cellar, not knowing if you’ll get caught bent over a whiskey cask, jeans pulled down just enough so that this cowboy could bury his cock deep inside you. 
Despite yourself, you shift in your seat, and Jack’s knuckles scrape the fast dampening seat of your panties. Choking on a strangled noise, he turns his wrist so that he can rub the outline of your folds through the thin fabric, his knuckles going white on the steering wheel. ‘Fuck. I feel that, darlin’.’
Another car comes down the opposite lane, a smaller sedan this time, and you’re bold enough to spread your thighs, letting him slip under your panties.
The car swerves sharply as hisses at the wetness he finds, fingertip gliding slickly between the lips of your pussy, smearing the mess all over as your hips rock into the contact. 
Through gritted teeth, Jack groans, ‘Darlin’, you’re soaked for me.’
‘Pull over. Now.’
He does - parking haphazardly behind a tree, barely a couple of yards off the main road before killing the ignition. 
You mount him immediately, throwing your right leg over his lap as if pulling yourself into the saddle, the pain an afterthought when your knee jams into the control panel on the door in your haste. Jack grunts as your hips slot flush against his, his usual composure nowhere to be found as he’s caught between undoing his seatbelt, pushing your dress up and scrabbling down the sides of the driver’s seat for the adjustment lever.
The sudden recline of the seatback pulls a squeak from you while knocking Jack’s hat clean off, and you follow to claim his lips in a messy kiss as he palms the swell of your ass.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he bites out, rocking up against your pussy, head thrown back. ‘You’re so fuckin’ sexy.’
He doesn't question you when you climb over him, taking the chance to scrape open-mouthed kisses down your neck instead - and when you sit back down on your haunches, his pupils blow wide at the sight of you wearing his hat and a flirtatious grin.
‘How about now, cowboy?’ you tease.
He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing hard as his eyes darken. ‘You’ll look even better sittin’ on my face, darlin’.’
Your jaw goes slack. ‘Jack -’
‘I want to taste you one more time. Need to. Please.’
Something breaks loose inside you, unhinges, and you crawl over the length of his lean body to steal a bruising kiss that has him hot in pursuit when you pull back. The hem of the dress brushes his face when your knees make landing on the backseat, on either side of the headrest he’s lying on. Reaching for the grab handle above, you pull yourself upright, bracing the roof of the truck while you hover over his beautiful nose.
Calloused fingers bunch up your dress to the waist, and Jack hums at the display of your drenched panties, before hooking one thumb around the seams and pulling it unceremoniously to one side.
‘Look at that pussy,’ he groans brokenly. ‘Always fuckin’ soakin’ for me. Just beggin’ for me to taste it, hmm?’
‘Jaaaack,’ you whine on an exhale. Looking down at how he’s so wantonly eyeing you, your back arches with a confidence you didn’t know you have. Thighs splaying wider, you know he hears the slick parting of your folds when he stutters a pained moan.
‘C’mere and let me eat that pretty pussy, darlin’.’
From the moment his lips close around your clit in a sloppy suckle, you know this is a different beast from that first time he took you apart with his mouth, deep in the mountains, under the secret cloak of night. The afternoon sun casts shadows where his brow is creased in studious concentration, his keen gaze flitting from where he delicately holds you open with his fingertips, to your cleavage, to your face, and all the way down again. Every twitch of muscle, every whimper caught in the web of his determination to relish all of you.
In no mood to tease, each measured lick and curl of his tongue hits its mark, your physical reflexes compounded by this show of devastating competence. He draws desperate sounds that you don't even register as your own, your needy cunt leaking all over his face and chin.
‘Cowboy,’ you mewl, reaching down to coil your fingers into his hair, the strands beaded with sweat and sticking to his forehead as he doubles down. Your squirming only makes him tighten his grip on your hips to hold you still, the bite of his fingers bordering on painful. ‘I’m so close -’
The insides of your thighs are cool and slippery, a sensation you’re well used to now, his spit and your slick completely soaking through your panties. His three-day stubble rubs your sensitive skin raw, and the top of his Stetson bumps against the ceiling as you angle your hips to catch his puckered lips where you need him most, chasing friction.
‘Jack,’ you whimper when you feel the first spark of orgasm deep inside you, the spiral instant and relentless. ‘Jack, Jack, oh fuck, - I’m there, that’s it - I’m cumming, don’tstopdon’tstopdon’t -’
Somewhere on the fringes of your scattered mind, you’re aware that the windows are down, not that you can do anything about it now - you thrash and wail and sob his name, all the while he laps at the mouth of your throbbing cunt. The sounds are obscene as he slurps and wrings every last drop of you until you’re pushing him away, nerves firing blindly from overstimulation, choking hoarsely when you catch your breath.
Watching you in a drunken daze, Jack finally draws back with a lewd pop, wiping his thoroughly soaked chin on your knee, which narrowly misses his nose as a violent, full-body shudder ripples through you.
‘Relax, darlin’,’ he cooes. All your joints have capitulated, so Jack has to bodily rearrange you, dislodging your shaky knees from his shoulders down to his sides to pull you in for a kiss. You moan at the sticky release his moustache smears all over your face, the taste of yourself thick and heavy on his tongue.
His brown eyes snap open when you sneak between your bodies to palm his erection through his jeans, voice strained. ‘Darlin’, we ain’t got the time -’
Deftly undoing his belt, that damned flask-shaped buckle that looks as ridiculous as the first time you laid eyes on it, you assure him, ‘Don’t worry, it won’t take long.’
He arches an eyebrow, taking in your face shadowed by his cowboy hat, but stays put otherwise, almost docile as he lets you take the reins. ‘Is that so? And you’re so confident, how?’
Shoving down his boxers and jeans, his cock springs free, hard and ready. With a brazen grin, you sit up and line yourself up to the swollen tip, declaring, ‘Because I want you to cum inside me, cowboy.’
You’re not sure if it’s you sinking down on him, or him snapping his hips upwards. All you know is that by the time your head catches up, he’s driven to the hilt inside you.
‘What are you - fuck you’re so tight -’ he wheezes against your lips, giving you no pause as he ruts into you recklessly, the crude slap of skin on skin filling every space the truck. ‘Whatcha mean by cummin’ inside you?’
‘I don’t know how I can be more clear, cowboy,’ you sass, when a particularly deep thrust almost jolts you off his lap.
‘But you’re not on birth control, darlin’ -’ he tries to reason.
‘I’ll take the morning after pill as soon as I land,’ you promise, holding his unfocused gaze. ‘Do you trust me?’
The wind is knocked out of you when his strong arms pull you flush to his front, his answer immediate and irrevocable. ‘With everythin’.’
There’s too much going on. The coarse scratch of denim on the inside of your thighs, his nails scraping down your ass, the desperate whimpers he leaves in the secret place behind your ear. The air grows humid and thick as Jack feels himself slipping, your pussy gripping him so tightly that his eyes threaten to roll back into his skull.
He gasps in a breathless warning. ‘Darlin' -’
‘It’s ok, cowboy,’ you croon, fingers carding through his dark hair. ‘I want to feel you deep inside me. All of you.’
His bones rattle with a vicious shudder at your words. Snarling, he bucks into you at a pace so unrelenting that you cry out with each snap of his hips. 
‘Gonna stuff you so fuckin’ full,’ he vows in between slippery kisses. ‘Been wantin’ to since the first time. Gonna fill your pussy with my cum, darlin’, you’ll be drippin’ with me for days -’
‘Yes yes yes do it cowboy, please -’ you beg, voice cracking.
‘Look at me,’ he orders, nostrils flaring as you knock foreheads. ‘Look at me while I fuck you full, darlin’.’
Choking on a whine, you feel him swell inside you until he teeters right on the brink. The raw need in his eyes robs you of your breath, and you grow faint on empty lungs as you sway with him -
And then his neck strains, his hips jerk, and you feel his abdomen cave in on itself when he lets go with your name on his lips, and his on yours. A primal roar fills your ears as he pumps you full of him, spilling into you again and again until all you feel is his cum hot and deep inside you, flooding your cunt, his whole body spasming as he pants raggedly for air.
A carnal musk hangs ripe and sweltering in the confines of the truck. Floating on a lazy stupor, you draw soothing circles on his quickly rising and falling chest through the aftershocks, his tshirt clammy with sweat, heart pounding under your palm.
Jack reaches up to push off his hat so that he can see all of you before pulling you in for a lingering kiss. When he softens, his spend dribbling slow and hot out of you, two thick fingers nudge between your thighs, and your back arches when he tenderly pushes it back inside.
His plea is a hoarse mumble into the side of your neck. ‘Keep me in you, darlin’. Take me with you.’
You nod, and smile, ‘Always.’
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The airport is tiny, and Jack seems to know everyone you cross paths with. From the security guard at the carpark (previously a groom at the Statesman) to the staffer at the car rental counter (Champ’s nephew), he’s busy tipping his hat and dispatching howdy’s left, right and centre.
‘Small town, huh?’ you quip.
He hums, ‘Welcome to cowboy country.’
And he definitely knows the brunette checking you in at the airline counter, all the while glowering at you over the top of your driving licence.
‘Ain’t seen you 'round town much lately, Jack,’ she says, affixing you with a none too subtle glare.
‘Y’know how it is in the summer, always busy,’ he replies a touch too politely. As soon as he drops your suitcase onto the baggage belt, he wraps one even less subtle arm around your waist and pulls you pointedly into his side.
You bite your lip as the woman’s eyes narrow and she aggressively punches your details into the computer system, surprised that the keyboard doesn’t break. Once your suitcase is on its merry way, Jack wastes no time spiriting you away from the counter without so much of a fare-thee-well.
You burst into laughter, elbowing him in the ribs. ‘Brrrrrr. That was cold!’
Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, admitting, ‘To be fair to her, she didn’t catch me at my finest moment.’
‘Do I want to know?’
‘Let’s just say there ain’t enough of this ol’ cowboy to go ‘round for the ladies in town,’ he winks.
‘Well, I hope they know there’s about to be even less of you going forward,’ you sniff primly.
Preening at the possessiveness in your tone, Jack ribs, ‘A tragedy, some might say.’
You huff, but can’t help a smile. ‘Well, aren’t I lucky to have roped you in, cowboy.’
‘And she can’t even lasso!’ he teases, leaning down to steal a kiss.
Feeling eyes on you, you duck your head, protesting, ‘Jack, people are looking.’
‘Let ‘em,’ he counters, prompting a gasp from you when he brazenly squeezes your ass through your dress. ‘I’m stakin’ my claim, darlin’.’
‘You already did in the truck, cowboy,’ you remind him, instinctively rubbing your thighs together, feeling the weight of his cum wet in your panties.
He hums, as if he knows, the sound deep and satisfied. His lips linger at the crown of your head, and he holds you close with his whole body, wrapping himself around your soul.
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All too soon, the old-fashioned Solari board you’re sitting under whirrs into action. The retro split-flap display spins and flips with a mechanical staccato to spell out ‘final boarding call’ next to your flight number, one of five scheduled for that afternoon. 
Stubbornly, you turn your face into Jack’s shoulder, inhaling him. He smells like horses and dappled sun filtered through leaves in a tree - you wish you could distil it into a bottle and take it with you.
You’re in denial, that much you know. You’ve warded off the thought of leaving too well, compartmentalised it and pushed it down somewhere it wouldn't be able to resurface.
But that’s the irony - even if you can keep it buried, it doesn’t change the fact that your suitcase is in the belly of the plane parked on the runway, that you’re about to leave Wyoming behind and put thousands of miles between you and this cowboy, who has gone uncharacteristically quiet as the minutes tick down.
Eventually, he murmurs slowly into your hair, as if the words are physically weighing him down. ‘C’mon, darlin.’
Your feet are heavy, dragging, and Jack has to practically strong-arm you out of the airport terminal and onto the tarmac. He holds you as you loiter at the back of the queue, until the crowd disperses, and the stewardess at the top of the boarding stairs gives you both a knowing but firm look.
That’s when the tears spill over the seams of your lashes where they’ve been teetering, held back by sheer willpower and clenched teeth. Ugly sobs bubble out of your throat, and Jack pulls you into him, his own voice thick as he rocks you soothingly. ‘It’s ok, darlin’. I’ll see you before you know it.’
‘But when?’ you wail, almost petulantly.
He answers with no hesitation, and it’s obvious to you that he isn’t just thinking on his feet, that he’s been making plans, but kept it close to his chest. 
‘We have back-to-back pack trips the next three weeks, so I can’t get away. But next month, after the Kingsman’s rescheduled bookin’, I’ll take a whole week off.’
‘That’s an entire month away,’ you grumble into the soaked front of his tshirt.
‘I know, but you’ll need time to plan all the things we’re gonna see,’ he jokes, recalling your fireside conversation. ‘You’re gonna take this country mouse to all the museums and art galleries and all kinds of big city adventures, ain’t that right?’
You give him a watery smile. ‘I stand by the sex and Thai takeaway in bed plan.’
‘Even better,’ he answers, and you hold onto the way the crease of his smile lines bring out the soul in his eyes. ‘I’ll call you, darlin’, ok?’
Somehow, you muster the good humour to tease, ‘The cool kids FaceTime nowadays, and I hear your phone doesn’t have a working camera.’
He laughs, and you can’t quite tell if it’s tears clinging to his lashes, or if it’s a trick of the light. He thumbs away the wet streaks from your cheeks, nose brushing yours in a solemn promise. ‘I’ll get a new one.’
‘Just for me?’
And then he’s kissing you, plush lips slanting across yours, dragging slow like honey. When he pulls back, he breathes, ‘Anythin’ for you, darlin’.’
Jack has to physically unclench his fingers to let you step back. When your hand slides out of his, it takes him everything not to pull you back, or run after you up the stairs. He grasps the railing so hard his knuckles go bone-white as you turn back to him one last time at the aircraft door.
You blow him a kiss, your smile brave but wobbly. ‘Goodbye, cowboy.’
He swallows hard, wanting to be strong for you, but still, his voice wavers. ‘I’ll see you, darlin’. So soon.’
You nod, your tears catching the afternoon light as the stewardess ushers you into the cabin.
Then it hits him. 
You’re not going to be in his arms when he wakes up tomorrow. You’re not going to be there when he reaches around for you - your face, your neck, your voice.
You’re not going to be there.
Jack watches your tear-streaked face appear at one of the windows, and he tries to smile at you, wishing he’d insisted on one last kiss. The heat from the jet engines and the sun is bouncing off the tarmac, but he’s cold, so cold, that his fingers have gone stiff. Nothing feels real, as if he’s been wrapped in cling film and dunked underwater, and he almost doesn’t hear the voice to his left.
The air traffic controller says apologetically, ‘’Mfraid we gotta clear the runway, sir.’
He fumbles over his words. ‘’Course. Sorry.’
Pressing his index and middle fingers to his lips, he waves the kiss at you, which you catch with your palm against the glass. Determined not to miss one single second, he slowly walks backwards with the controller beside him as he waves the batons.
He says sympathetically, ‘It’s always hard, but it gets easier.’ 
Jack glances at him with a questioning look.
He chuckles good-naturedly. ‘You ain’t the first lovelorn cowboy I seen on this runway sayin’ ‘bye to his city girl.’
His lips quirk despite himself, eyes still on you even as the plane slowly taxis away. He says, ‘I sure hope you’re right, man.’
With one last wave, the plane pivots, and you disappear around the bend.
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Empty. He feels empty.
The sadness is helium in his chest, inflating between the gaps of his ribs, and he feels himself drift even with each footfall of his heavy boots on the concrete, while a dull ache ricochets in the hollow spaces of his skull.
Grappling for an anchor, Jack forces himself to focus, one thing at a time. Key in the ignition, twist, the whirr of the engine. Switching on the radio, it cackles between the frequencies as he straps his Stetson to the backseat, then swings one leg over the saddle and puts on his helmet.
The static starts taking on shape, lyrics and guitar riffs cutting through the white noise and catching his attention just as he wraps his fingers around the rubber grip of the handlebars.
I want to ride off on a palomino
Feel the fire in my breath and the breeze in my hair as I go
Why the hell am I even looking back for?
For I know, where you go my love goes
For I know, where you go my love goes
He misses the ghost of your arms around his waist, the slope of your nose tucked into his nape. He misses you. He wants to see your face the minute you get off that plane on the other side of the country. He wants to hear your voice before he goes to bed tonight. He wants to tell you mornin’ first thing tomorrow when he gets up. 
As the 737 roars overhead, the shadow passing over him, he wonders if you can spot him from the clouds. 
He’d better crack on and get to the shop in town before it closes.
Steering smoothly out of the parking lot, Jack takes a left, the Silver Pony kicking up dust with a purr as she cruises down the country roads -
The same country roads that brought you to him.
Fin
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More notes: I've been writing fanfiction on and off for the past 17 years. Corny as it sounds, it feels like everything I've ever written has been leading up to this fic. I put my heart and soul into Palomino, and it's repaid me tenfold. It gave me the chance to write about my love for horses, to fall in love not only with cowboy Jack, but with Darlin', Teak, the entire cast and the horses, this whole universe that I built in my head. And it gave me all of you - the most wonderful, supportive friends and readers I've had the pleasure of writing for.
I hope I will have the chance to revisit the Palomino universe one day. But for now, I'm ridiculously proud for finishing this series and for giving it the ending it deserves. I don't think I will ever write a fic that I love so deeply again. Palomino was it for me, and I'm forever grateful that I got to share this incredible journey with all of you.
There are some special people I need to thank, please forgive me if I leave anyone out, I appreciate each and everyone of you ❤️
LJ @prolix-yuy: The wonderful friend and writer who made me fall in love with cowboy Jack in first place with her epic Westworld Whiskey series, which is also coming to an end next week. I've said this many times and I'll never stop saying it - there would've been no Palomino if not for LJ. Thank you for being my inspiration bestie, you are the literal best.
Ash @mandoblowmybackout: My OG bestie and fellow cat mum, one of the first people I screeched about cowboy Jack to, I treasure our friendship so much, thank you for your support.
Maddie @imaswellkid: Maddie, thank you for being in my corner throughout Palomino and for holding my hand when I need it (which is often). Talking to you about Palomino in person - well, talking about anything and everything to you in person - was one of the most surreal moments of last year, and I'm hoping it won't be long before I see you again.
Sil @psychedelic-ink: Sil, light of my life, thank you for always being there for me, for listening and talking me down from the ledge many times. I'm so lucky to have you, and to have you love cowboy Jack as much as I do. Talking to you is always the highlight of my day!
Peaches @ohsomightypeaches: Screaming at you/being screamed at by you about anything cowboy Jack is always so much fun, and not just Jack, but also Teak, Champ, etc.. Your love for this series is beyond infectious, thank you for your support and for always making me smile!
Skye @iamskyereads: Skye my love, I believe I was admiring you from afar when you popped up in my notifs with a reblog of the first chapter, and I remember how excited I was! So grateful that Palomino brought you into my life.
Heidi @wildemaven: Thank you for gifting Palomino with not one beautiful video edit, but also a gorgeous moodboard! You are an angel!
Jules @julesonrecord: My fellow cowboy aficionado, your enthusiasm for s'mores and Jack always makes me smile. Thank you for your support, truly.
Jo @mvtthewmurdvck: Thank you for listening to me rant and rave and holding my hand during my meltdown. I'm so grateful for you!
Snowsuit anon: It's always a joy to hear from you, and I will hold you forever responsible for sparking the snowsuit craze (affectionate) 💙 Thank you for your support my lovely!
A special shoutout to my lovely readers who have followed Palomino from the very beginning. Thank you for sticking with me, I really feel like we went on this trip together, all of us: @lola-lola-lola, @harriedandharassed, @witchisenpai, @miss-mandalorian, @fireproofmarta, @dreamymyrrh, @inkededucatednnerdy, @toomanystoriessolittletime, @freakrenaissance, @axshadows, @damnyoupedro, @thosewickedlovelies, @peridotsparadox, @radiowallet, @sherala007, @shirks-all-responsibilities
And needless to say, thank you for every single one of you (I wish I could tag everyone but we'll be here all day!), every comment, reblog, ask, tag for Palomino. You have been an absolutely joy to write for, your love and encouragement kept me going, I really don't know how I've been so lucky, y'all have my heart forever ❤️
Last but not least, thank you @saradika for these adorable dividers!
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creedslove · 10 months
Text
HEARTLESS 💔 - PART TWO
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Agent Whiskey (Jack Daniels) x f!reader
Summary: much to your horror, Jack shows up again and asks you to see his son one more time
(This is the second part of the one shot HEARTLESS 💔)
Warnings: angst, hurt, a little bit of fluff because Wyatt is super cute, mom!reader, asshole!jack, mentions of abortion
A/N: besties honestly i don't even know why I am doing this, while i was writing, i realized i don't like this suffering at all 😭 i think agent whiskey is such a dad and husband material and he's so handsome and sexy and he would be so affectionate and would give the best orgasms and cuddles in the world but i can't stop myself from pouring angst into people's lives 😭
1.7k words
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Wyatt whimpered as you sent him to bed. He wasn't sleepy at all and he wanted to talk about all the fun things he'd seen during the day. He loved to run freely through the green fields, he liked scaring away the chickens, petting the horses and watching the baby pigs. 
But his favorite part of the trip was the cowboy. He was so cool, Wyatt spent the rest of the day blabbering about him and asking you all kinds of questions. He was so innocent and pure, your heart shattered each time he would look at you with his little curious eyes and shoot you another question about the mysterious figure. 
Though he wasn't mysterious at all. It was his dad, not that Wyatt knew about it, you figured he was just too little for that, he was still your baby. He wasn't even four yet and he had to live his little life with only his mama as he'd been rejected by his dad since he was just a small little bean in your womb. 
You saw his begging, pleading eyes, just like Jack's and felt your heart clench, there was nothing he would ask you and you would say no. You sighed and pulled Wyatt into your lap "fine baby boy, if you don't wanna sleep now, then come cuddle mama!!!" You tickled his tummy and made him squeal and snuggle you. 
You sat comfortably in his small bed and let him sprawl over you, loving how happy he got. You ran your fingers through his soft curls and pecked the top of his head. He was waiting for a bedtime story as you always told him one, but this time, he wanted a cowboy story. You swallowed and took his tiny little hand into yours, stroking it gently 
"You really liked that cowboy, didn't you?" You asked your son and earned an excited nod "alright… let mama think…" you closed your eyes and thought of any story you could tell him, however, you didn't know any cowboy stories… the only cowboy story you knew was your cowboy… but that was a long time ago, when he was yours and you were his. 
Still, Wyatt looked up curiously, waiting to know what you had to tell him. 
You swallowed and began telling him the story about your cowboy. 
With a few modifications, some sugar coating and softness you told your son about your first encounter with the cowboy and how it made your heart melt. You told him how you two hit off and how the cowboy had a real nice job of fighting bad guys and saving the world, you couldn't control the pride in your chest as you saw the joy in Wyatt's eyes, loving that storytelling so much he often gasped and giggled.
And going down the memory lane, you managed to make your son sleepy, as he blinked his tired eyes and yawned "night night mama" he whispered before falling asleep.
You smiled at yourself and covered him up, silently walking out the bedroom and walked around your dark, empty apartment. Your mind wouldn't stop replaying the images of your day, your sudden encounter with Jack, something you really thought wouldn't happen soon. He looked handsome, like he always did, smelling great and if you didn't know any better, you would probably fall for his trap again, if he flashed you those beautiful eyes, gave you a grin and said any dumb pickup line with his accent. There was just something so attractive about him, and you had fallen for him once, but you wouldn't make the same mistake twice. 
You thought about how he hugged Wyatt, it didn't even seem the same man who rejected him, who simply broke things up with you once you found out you were pregnant. One day you were deeply in love with each other, and the next he was suggesting you get an abortion. It was something you just couldn't handle, you couldn't accept and just like you were alone in the world with your baby. 
When the doorbell rang, your heart clenched once more, you didn't even need to check, you just knew it was Jack. 
You dried your eyes and sighed, walking to the door and opening it for him. 
Jack stood there, looking almost as unsure as you did. He was holding his hat in hands and watched you hesitantly. You could tell he was looking for words to say, but nothing came out. 
"Come on in, Jack" you said and let him step inside, closing the door behind him and letting him get familiar with the place. 
Jack looked all over the place, he had never been inside your home and it hurt him how it looked homey and cozy. No matter how much he spent on decoration at his own place, he could never get it like that. 
He carefully watched the picture frames, so many photos of a life that could have been his as well, but he chose not to be a part of it, it didn't even matter his reasons now, the result was there: pictures of you on your baby shower, pictures of the first time you held Wyatt in your arms, his first birthday, his first day at daycare, mother's day… all those precious, beautiful moments, and absolutely no trace of Jack. 
"It's good seeing you again, Y/N… you look even prettier than before, sugar" the man turned to you, his voice was small and though his cocky way of speaking wasn't there, you couldn't believe the first thing he told you in years was a cheap attempt of charming you.
"What do you want Jack?" You folded your arms and stared at him, you didn't want to play games nor beat around the bush.
"I wanna be around my boy" he replied to which you scoffed and shook your head 
"Your boy? The same one that you rejected when he was nothing but a tiny little bean in my womb? The one you insisted on me getting rid of? I don't think so, Jack" 
He sighed ashamed of his past and took a step closer, to which you immediately took a step back, showing him you wanted nothing but distance from him. 
"I know what I did, and I know how awful it was, but after I saw him today… I realized I can't get away… please Y/N" 
"You think you can just walk in and demand to see my son? After you abandoned us? He isn't a cute puppy, Jack! You can't just find him sweet because you spent five minutes with him and think you can bring your shit storm into our lives. That's not how it works. I don't want him around you, because you are a mess and you will break his heart just like you broke mine!" 
"I didn't abandon you, Y/N. Don't be unfair with me!!! All these years, I followed the two of you from afar, I provided you with money and other things you needed.. hell, who do you think managed to get you this apartment lease?" He raised his eyebrow getting on the defensive "I wanna do it the right way, but if you make things hard, I'll get a damn lawyer and you will have to fight your cut ass off to pay for one yourself because I won't rest until I have my boy with me!!!" 
You knew Jack, he wasn't bluffing. He was the kind of man who got everything he wanted, but you just couldn't accept he could walk into your home and have a claim on your son after everything that happened, even threatening you to find an attorney. 
"It's not the same… money helps but it is not everything, where were you when I was pregnant and alone? When I needed someone to hold my hand and tell me things were fine? Where were you, Jack? When Wyatt had his first fever and I didn't know how I could help him calm down? When he said his first words? When he took his first step? You missed it all out, even if you had given me your whole fortune, nothing pays the memories you lost!" 
"I just want to see my son, nothing else Y/N… I don't want you, I don't want our relationship back" he said knowing it would sting you, he couldn't help but make his intentions clear. You two would never be together again, he knew that because you would never take him back, so he thought it was easier to just convince himself of it beforehand. 
You, on the other hand, could never be with him again, even if he hadn't done the things he did, there was still no way you could compete with a ghost, you just thought it was easier to convince yourself Jack never stopped loving his first wife and he never would, so your relationship was nothing but an adventure. 
You didn't want him to see the tears in your eyes, you didn't want to show how weak you felt at that moment. 
Before any of you could say anything else, tiny footsteps interrupted the argument that was about to explode. 
"Cowboy!!!" Wyatt said excitedly as he still rubbed his tired eyes but ran to Jack, giggling as he was so easily lifted up into his arms. The toddler was so affectionate, he just wrapped his small arms around his neck once more and rested his head against Jack's shoulder "miss you cowboy!" he giggled happily and snuggled.
You bit your lips and did your best not to cry, but it was pretty much impossible, you couldn't understand why your son liked that man so much without even knowing him. It wasn't fair to you, and you were ashamed to realize you felt jealous. 
Jack, on the other hand, felt his heart fill with pure joy for the first time in ages. He quickly kept Wyatt in a warm embrace, loving the smell of his baby shampoo and how cute his PJs were. 
His hand rubbed up and down his back as he sat on the couch, letting him relax completely and in a matter of minutes, Wyatt was back in dreamland.
You hated how easy it was for Jack to make your son fall asleep, and how much they already liked each other, it hurt you so much, but you were determined not to let that man get near you again.
_____
A/N: ¿Malparido, no?
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yeollie-plz · 3 months
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Swans A Swimming
Day 7 of Pedromas! | Masterlist
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Agent Whiskey x F! Reader
Synopsis: Agent Whiskey takes you for a swim.
Genre: smut
Warnings: exhibitionist, p in v sex, pool sex, unprotected sex, kissing, fingering, daddy kink, mentions of spanking, almost getting caught
Gif credits to owners!
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The minute you have slipped your cover off, his eyes were on you. The lacking material of your bikini left little to the imagination. And damn was he imagining.
All he wanted to do was rip it right off of your body. But he was going to take his time. Especially if he had you in such a compromising place. The pool wasn’t exactly private and Whiskey wasn’t exactly complaining.
“Well, sweetness, what do we have here.” He says as you wade over to where he is lounging at the shallow end of the pool.
Of course, you feign innocence, “I’m not sure what you mean.” As you speak you let your hand run across his chest. The water helping you easily slide your legs over his, straddling him.
“Wearing almost nothing.” He whispers, taking the sight of your breasts in fully, now that they were right in front of him.
“Thought you’d like it.” Your hands make their way around his neck.
He lets out a mix between a laugh and a groan at your statement. Hands now finding your waist as he pulls your body into his crotch. You feel him already getting hard.
“Whoa, cowboy, this turned on already?” Now it’s your turn to laugh. You bite your lip.
“Got me all excited.” He says, simply.
His hand leaves your hip to make its way to your core. He slips his fingers past your bikini bottoms and finds your clit quickly, massaging it. You whimper at the sudden feeling.
"That's it, baby, feel it. Let me pleasure you." You're whimpering again at his words. His index finger dips past your folds, quirking them a bit to hit your g spot.
"Jack-" You whimper.
"Words." Is all he says back, not needing to say more.
"Need you, quickly. We are so exposed here."
"Really? Thought my little exhibitionist would like it out here. What with the way you teased me at dinner the other night." His other hand has now made contact with your clit, rubbing it in time with his fingers.
"That was-that was different."
He tsks at you, "Not sure it was, pretty girl. I mean you're putty in my hands right now, I think you like it."
Instead of responding you just moan at his words and reconnect your lips to his. Biting down on his bottom lip with his fingers hit extra deep inside of you.
Now he's moaning into your lips as your hips buck into his hand, trying to get yourself off. You can tell he wants you as much as you want him. He's enjoying the fact that the two of you could be caught at any minute just as much as you are. You can especially tell by how easily he reacts to your touch when you decide to tease him back.
Your hands have found their way to his hardened dick, teasing him through the fabric of his swim trunks. He is once again left moaning, as his hips are now the ones bucking up. You giggle slightly at how much he reacts to you.
"Think teasing me is funny?" He says simply. The words are laced with subtle annoyance, more from a place of dominance than anger.
"Just want you so bad, daddy." The nickname makes him pause for a second. You smile to yourself, knowing what it does to him.
"You won't be laughing when I've spanked you more times than you can count later. When I bring you to your edge over and over again, but don't allow you to cum." Although the words are talking about punishment, they still make you wetter at the thought. A little whimper slips past your lips at his words.
Now he's laughing, before slipping his fingers out of you. You let out a whine at the loss, but he just tsks again. Pulling his trunks down just enough to let his dick out, he grabs your hips and lets the water help guide you down on it. You moan instantly at the stretch. Not giving you much time to adjust, he starts to lift you off of his dick before pushing you back on it. His hips move upwards to press his member even deeper into you.
He continues this rough motion, keeping the pace fast, trying to bring you both to orgasm quickly. You aren't sure if its because you teased him so much, that you are out in public, or because he can't wait to get your back to the bedroom. But whatever the reason you aren't complaining. Especially when his dick hits your g spot, causing you to fall forward slightly, loosing your balance.
He's laughing at you again, "See, putty." The words are matched with his thumb finding your clit again, working it in circles. His lips find yours and kiss you, hard. Slipping his tongue past your lips when you gasp at the mixture of feelings.
The water moves with his thrusts, splashing up around you two. But you are too busy to notice the chlorine in your eyes, not with the beginnings of your orgasm starting. Your walls clench around his dick, signaling your impending peak.
"Cum with me." Is all you need to hear before your walls are spasming over his dick, drawing his orgasm also out of him.
As your walls continue to milk him of his cum, his thrusts become slower and so does his thumb on your clit. When he has figured, you two are fully down from your highs, he pecks your lips before leaning his forehead against yours.
"Well, that was fun, but we might wanna calm down and get out of here. I think some people are coming." He says before tilting his head towards the sound of people yelling and laughing coming closer.
Quickly you lift yourself off of him, causing him to hiss at the speed you did it at. You fix your bikini bottoms as you walk up the steps and out of the pool.
Winking back at him as you purposefully show your ass to him before slipping your cover over yourself. More specifically your ass that he was eyeing like he had never seen anything like it. As his view is covered he looks up to your eyes, your eyes spark with play.
You bend down, face inches from his, "Come on, daddy. Why don't we try out the sauna?"
Your lips brush his, before pulling away right before he can kiss you. He falls forward a bit, expecting to meet you instead of air. You stand and saunter off towards the sauna. Swaying your hips, knowing that his eyes are bearing into you as you walk away.
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<- Previous Day | Next Day ->
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Taglist:
@britlord @kittenlittle24 @godlypresley @amyispxnk
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170 notes · View notes
lionlena · 10 months
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☆MASTERLIST☆
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Pedro Pascal
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One Shot:
♡A kitchen disaster
♡Just let it go…
♡New job, new problems...
♡Just breathe
Series:
♡His Curls - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (completed)
♡Hate run, love speed - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 (in progress)
♡We don’t love each other - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7 - Final (completed)
Request:
♡A perfect day for a perfect girl (It's your birthday and Pedro makes you feel loved and special all day)
Headcanon:
♡What sleeping position do they most like when you are with them? (Pedro Pascal characters)💤
♡How will they react to your makeup? (Pedro Pascal and his characters) 👁️👄💅
♡Headcanon: How do they behave when you have a migraine? (Pedro Pascal characters)🩹😴
♡Headcanon: How will they react if you tell them about CDD? (Pedro Pascal characters) 👰💔😱🤕
♡Headcanon: Who will be ready to kill for you? From most willing to least... (Pedro Pascal characters) 🔪💀☠️🩸
♡Headcanon: How do they cook for you? (Pedro Pascal characters) 🥕🧑‍🍳🍓
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Joel Miller
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One Shot:
♡This is just a nightmare… (The Last of Us ff/ Joel/Ellie)
♡Strong for both of us
♡Trouble with ex
♡Dyeing your hair…
Series:
♡Unforgivable mistake, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7 Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12 (in progress)
♡I can't be everywhere (No outbreak!) Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4... (in progress)
Request:
♡You need a better place (Joel loving a girl with epilepsy)
♡Blue dress (Joel Miller x plus size!reader)
Headcanon:
♡When Joel goes limp… (JoelMillerxf!reader)🤷🍆🩹
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Javier Peña
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One Shot:
♡I’ll protect you… (bc you’re mine)
♡I’ll hurt you… ( bc you’re mine )
♡I’ll leave you (bc youre not mine)
♡I'll stay with you... ( bc I love you)
♡You’re hot…
♡A girl from the street
Series:
♡Dancing With Your Ghost - Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Epilogue (completed)
♡Too many shadows behind you - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3,  Part 4, Part 5 (in progress)
Headcanon:
♡Nicotine (JavierPeña and You)
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Agent Whiskey (Jack Daniels)
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Series:
♡Dynasty - Part 1, Part 2, (in progress)
One Shot:
♡Mean (JackDanielsxf!reader)
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Javi Gutierrez
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One Shot:
♡Too hot
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Frankie Morales
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One Shot:
♡Lost cat
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Marcus Pike
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One Shot: 
♡"7.44 am"
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Oberyn Martell
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Series:
♡ Red Viper and Fox - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 (in progress, soon english version)
One Shot:
♡♕Queen's Milk
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The Old Guard (movie)
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One Shot: 
♡ Amira
♡ It hurts like hell    
580 notes · View notes
bits-and-babs · 11 months
Text
𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐕𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐒 — 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 ‘𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐘’ 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐒
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↳ summary: sick of sharing your lover, you pull out a master plan to convince him to stop 'seducing' his targets.
↳ pairing: jack 'whiskey' daniels x f!reader
↳ [2.1k words] content:18+ MDNI, jealous reader, soft!domme/sub dynamics, tying wrists, sex toys (m receiving), orgasm denial (m receiving), cum eating. This is a @beskarbabs remaster -- original post date 2021.
jack masterlist I| main masterlist |I join taglist
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The last thing Agent Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels expected to see when he returned home from his essential field mission was indisputably what he walked into as soon as he came in through the front door of your shared apartment in New York. 
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You had been distressed by Jack's mission plan from the get-go, given the precariousness of him going undercover, but even more so when you were informed that he would need to... liaise with one of his targets. You'd told Champagne that he needed to get rid of those shitty "condom trackers" immediately after seeing the multiple disputes it had caused between other agents and their partners. Still, Champ had insisted that it was the most efficient way of tracking targets and that this was a matter of national security; you'd simply have to put your faith in Jack. 
And you did have faith in Jack. You had complete assurance in his devotion to your relationship. However, that didn't mean you had to agree to share him with a target. He was a lady's man, a charmer. You knew he could flirt anyone, man or woman, into bed if he tried hard enough. But given he had no choice, and he always came home to you rather than running away with another woman, you didn't allow your jealousy to seep through until AFTER he came home. 
Your distinct lack of clothing results in Jack's frankly amusing expression as he walks in from work, lips parted and eyebrows raised with shock as he looks you over. You wear nothing but the lacy lingerie set that Jack bought as a gift for your anniversary a few weeks ago. Bare, bar for the lace, you stand patiently in the middle of the hall, looking Jack over from head to toe with an expression of indigence. 
"Well, well, Sugar. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He breaks out in that signature smirk of his, walking forward to wrap his arm around your waist. You put up your index finger, stopping the brash and self-assured agent in his tracks. He glanced down, noting the lasso in your hand. 
"Darlin'-" You reach up, taking the knot of his tie in your hand and pulling it down and off, the fabric making a soft 'wooshing' sound as it slipped from his linen button-down. You then push your hands under the lapels of his blazer jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and onto the floor. He holds your gaze, his normally earthy-hued eyes dilated almost totally black. 
You lean on your tiptoes, and Jack closes his eyes, expecting a kiss. Instead, you move your lips to his ear and whisper one word. 
"Upstairs." It's not a request, it's a demand, and Agent Daniels looks like you'd just given him whiplash. Gawking at you, it takes him a minute to register precisely what you were telling him. He blinks in an attempt to shake himself from his bewilderment. 
"Yes, Ma'am..." He finally responds, in somewhat of a daze, as he makes his way up the stairs. You knew your plan would catch him off guard, but his reaction had been priceless! He glances over his shoulder, ensuring you're following behind before he makes it up the stairs. 
"Go sit on the bed," you command him. He does exactly as he's told with no argument, a rare occurrence for Jack, who could never seem to keep his smug and blustering mouth shut. You put it down to him being so shocked by your little surprise that he couldn't form a sentence. He sits pretty on the bed, palms awkwardly placed on his thighs as he watches you. He's not used to you taking control. You were always the one to do as you were told. 
"Wrists together," You adjure. He does that, too, eyebrow arched slightly. 
"Sugar, what are you up t-" You just give him a look, one that silently orders him to shut up. He presses his lips into a thin line, not saying anything more as you loop his lasso around his wrists. His eyes follow your movements, glad to see that you had, in fact, picked up a standard rope rather than his spare Statesman weapons. 
You knot the rope tightly, pulling at his forearms to ensure he can't break free from his binds. The agent arches his brow in yet another querying gaze, and you respond by simply putting your palm to his chest, pushing him backwards so his back hits the bed and knocking his hat off in the process. You smirk at his obvious shock, trying to wiggle from his bonds. 
"You gonna ride your cowboy?" He teases you, but finds himself speechless once again as you move onto your hands and knees, crawling up the bed until you're straddling his hips. He hadn't expected you to actually do it! You take his chin roughly in your hand, forcing him to look you in the eye. 
"I don't like sharing you, Jack," you whisper. You're turned on by the level of power you now hold over him, and he can hear it in your voice, see it in your dilated eyes. He stumbles over his words, and you feel his cock stir in his jeans. 
"Darlin', I was just doin' my job," he finally splutters as you pull open his button-down shirt, the clattering of those buttons hitting the floor making his eyes wide in utter shock. You smirk at his expression, noting the way his adam's-apple bobs. Have you made him nervous? 
"You were," you agree, musing as you trail the tip of your index finger down from between his collarbones, tracing his sternum and finally slowing when you reached his belt, "But that doesn't mean I like it, Whiskey." His eyes flick to your hand, now in the process of unbuckling his belt. He's once again uncharacteristically bereft of speech, utterly dumbstruck. 
"I need to remind you who you belong to, Jack." Your honeyed tone has his hands curling into fists in their confines. You've never been like this with him; it's such a pleasant surprise. You slip his belt out of the loops of his jeans and unbutton them in quick succession. 
You shuck his jeans from his hips, taking his boxers with them. His breath hitches in surprise, muscles tense and assuming you would take him into your mouth. He closes his eyes slowly, tilting his head back into the pillows as he waits to feel your lips around his already throbbing cock- so when he feels the pressure of your weight on the mattress shift away from him, he snaps his eyes open in confusion, looking to see where those lips had gone. 
He finds you leaning over the end of the bed, searching in the bedside cabinet for something. 
"Whatcha up to, BabyGirl?" He queries, eyes following your hand as you dig around. A self-satisfied smirk stretches across your lips as you find what you are looking for. You feel Whiskey stiffen at the sight of the pink bullet vibrator in your hand. You had been sure to charge it fully when Jack left a few days ago, and it had sat in the cabinet waiting to be used. 
"I'm going to teach you a lesson, Mr Daniels," you hum, holding the button down until it starts buzzing in your hand. You can see Jack begin to panic a little, realising how much control you have over the situation. 
"What d'ya mean, a les-" Jack breaks off into a broken moan as you place the vibrator against the head of his leaking cock. It's red and angry already, throbbing with the intensity of the vibrations. He pushes his hips backwards into the bed in a futile attempt to escape the torture you inflict upon him, giving him a delicious arch in his back that has the crown of his head pushing back into the pillows. 
"F-Fuck!" He chokes out as you trace the vibrator down his dick achingly slow. His entire body shudders at the warmth that spreads like tendrils in his lower abdomen. You smirk, watching his composure melt away. 
"What is it, Jack? You speechless? I highly doubt that," you mock him, enjoying this display of dominance over your egocentric lover. But, funnily enough, he is indeed speechless. His moans had caught in his throat, arching his back further as you ran the tip of the vibrator over his balls before making its way back up to the end of his throbbing cock. 
"You know I won't share you anymore, right?" You coo, watching as he tries to struggle against the lasso's bindings. It's fruitless, you both know, but his mind is so hazy with desire that he just can't think straight. He just nods desperately in response to your question, trying to form words. 
"Fuck- I'm-" He chokes out another strangled groan as you circle the tip of his head, making his hips sloppily buck upwards into thin air, "I'm sorry." 
You have to swallow your own moans; Jack wholly lost in this hedonism causing a subtle warmth to settle in your lower tummy. He convulses with a gasp as you lean forward, collecting the precum on the tip of his dick on your tongue. "Nghhh fuck!"
You can feel his thick thighs trembling already, and he starts babbling mindless garbage as he hurtles closer and closer to his climax. 
"I wo-won't touch anyone again! Fuck-! Fuck Champ, fuck those st- shit!" He gasps out, body jerking as you trace his balls with your tongue, "fuck those stupid trackers!" You smirk, noting the deterioration in his self-control. 
"You gonna only touch me, Agent Whiskey? Fuck me when you come back from your missions instead?" You murmur before brushing your tongue from base to tip. He shudders, barely able to hold it together. 
"F-Fuck Darlin', I-I'm gonna-" He's cut off by a desperate and uncharacteristic wail as you pull away from him altogether, the vibrator still buzzing in your hand. Jack looks wounded, balls drawn up tight, and a pained expression cast across his face. You just give him a flirty smirk, eyebrow arched. 
"Answer the question, Agent," You purr, watching his eyes roll back slightly into his skull. He seems to take a few shaky breaths, deep enough that you can see his ribcage expand on the inhale. You assume he's trying to gather his thoughts, so you press the vibrator's button again, turning it up to a higher setting before pushing it to the tip of his cock again. 
If he hadn't had his arms tied in front of him, Jack practically would have folded in half with the way the upper half of his body jumped up from the bed. His whine is almost pained, knuckles white with the fists he'd made. 
"I'm waiting," you drawl as he grits his teeth, trying to combine words into something like a sentence. 
"I- Jesus!" He growls out, forcing his words out in that deep vibrato that sends chills up your spine, "I promise!" You coo gently, running the vibrator up and down the shaft of his angry red, veiny cock at a brutally slow pace. He's so close to cumming; you can see it in the way his abdomen muscles tense and his cock bobs. 
"Good. You're mine. No one else's," You clarify, pressing the button to its highest setting and watching as Jack threw his head back with a ragged gasp as he came. Hard. 
Ropes of cum coat his stomach and chest, dribbling down onto your fingertips as he bucks his hips into thin air again. The customarily composed Jack can barely breathe, coming undone at the eviscerating orgasm ripping through him. The moan that once again caught in his throat slips into something akin to a whine, all the muscles in his body tight and cramped. 
As he finally comes down from his blinding high, Jack pants heavily, trying to stop the dizzying feeling in his head from the inability to inhale for a solid minute. Not ready to stop playing with this sexy, confident alter ego, you dip your fingers in the cum on his stomach, lifting them to your lips and tracing your tongue over it, moaning at the salty taste. 
"Fuck, Sugar..." Jack pants, struggling against his binds again, "Let me out of these so I can kiss you." But much to his surprise, you don't answer him. Instead, you just shimmy your way up his body. He blinks, still in a daze. 
"Darlin'-" He begins to question, but you just press your index finger to his lips as you straddle his pelvis, smirking. 
"I'm not done with you yet. I still need to ride my cowboy." 
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join the taglist here
@xwing-baby , @mybugboy , @pansa-1-san , @pedrosprincess , @cosm1c-babe , @lil-stark , @heart-atttack @crybaby-blue-blog , @ssimelttilgniht @2pacacabra @pauldanosgf @leithatnight @kirsteng42 @dindjarinsmut @s0ftgabby @milly-louise @aynsleywalker @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @uncassettodiricordi @Lilmizmoz @howellatme @mortallyuniquepeach @maviee @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @stvrlights-world @alloftheboysivelovedbefore @girlofchaos @s-u-t @pintsizedsunshine @djarin-dreams @Malici0usPuff1n @solidly-indulgent @bii-aan-ckaa
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455 notes · View notes
javierssunglasses · 7 days
Text
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Cave In
Pairing: Jack Daniels x fem!reader
WC: ~1.7k
Warnings: literally just smut, all porn no plot, reader is able-bodied, kinda brat dynamics, somno ish?, Jack calls the reader sugar, unprotected piv, choking, minuscule amount of cumplay, no use of y/n, please lmk if i missed any!!!
Divider by @saradika-graphics
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Since joining you on your latest mission a week ago, Whiskey had picked up a new habit. One even he wasn’t aware of. You had shared beds on missions plenty of times. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for you to play a couple, needing the hotel arrangements to fit the bill. Neither of you were willing to let the other take the floor. And usually you were both well behaved sharing a bed, at most waking up to occasional cuddling. But this was something new. He’d taken to teasing you in his sleep. Completely unconscious.
It would start small. A grab of your ass. Tugging you closer with his hand coming to rest around your throat. Then it would escalate to a hand up your shirt, brushing against your nipples. His fingers digging into your hip, grinding you up against his rock hard cock. Then all of a sudden his grip would loosen and he’d be softly snoring in your ear.
You’d tried waking him up, but he never had any recollection of what he’d been doing. You could only play along so much before he was stirring from his deep sleep just enough to turn the other way.
Eventually you had started to question it. Was it a part of the dreams he was having? Is this how he actually felt about you? Did he ever remember it the next day? The one thing you did know, was Jack Daniels had you so tightly wound you were about to break.
Finally, you asked him about it. To say he was flustered was an understatement. He looked at you as if you’d grown an extra limb. You thought that would be the end of it, almost disappointed at the idea. Until he went to bed that night.
You were almost asleep when Jack began to mumble. It hadn’t taken long to learn that he talked in his sleep. And then you heard your name.
Scooting back until your back was flush with his chest, immediately his hands were on you, sliding over every curve, grasping at the meat of your thighs. You couldn’t help the gasps that escaped your mouth or the way your ass moved against him. Before long his lips were pressed against the back of your neck.
He was awake.
“You want me to fuck you, sugar? Nice and deep?”
“Please,” you managed to whimper out.
“You’re going to have to earn it.” You couldn’t help the wetness pooling between your thighs at his words. “Show me what you can do with that mouth of yours and I’ll give you anything you want.”
“What if I don’t want to?” It wasn’t that you didn’t want to. You wanted to. You just wanted to push his buttons even more. To toy with him how he’d been toying with you.
He was quick to pull back, leaving only his hand dancing over your waist. “Then I guess you’re not gettin’ what you want, now are you?”
“Jack!” You whined.
“We’ve got an early morning, best to just get some sleep.” His hand stilled, speaking as if it physically pained him to restrain himself.
“You’re really just going to go to sleep?”
“I told you what you’d have to do, sugar.”
You leaned up just enough to kiss along his jawline, “And if I don’t let you sleep?”
He rolled onto his back, pulling you on top of him, grinding up against you. “This what you want?”
You couldn’t fight the moans as his cock rubbed against your clothed clit. It took everything in you to speak, “No.”
He stilled, “That’s fine. Since you want to be a brat, we’ll see how pent up you are tomorrow. How about that?”
“You’ve been teasing me every night this week!” You rolled off of him, pouting like a child but you didn’t care.
“Think you can just keep me up all night and I’ll cave and rip your clothes off?”
You pulled him into a kiss, “Maybe.”
You tugged at the curls at the back of his neck, nipping at his bottom lip. He had virtually no reaction. No snarky comment. While he kissed you back he didn’t initiate another. Eyes closed as if he were truly trying to sleep.
You knew you could cave in at any time. You would love to have his cock in your mouth, to milk him for all he’s worth. But that would be too easy. And if you could cave, so could he.
As you began kissing your way down his neck and chest he cleared his throat, “You know, if I’m really teasin’ you that much in your sleep all you’d have to do is slide your panties down, maybe guide my hand a lil to where ya want it, and I’d fuck you right there. Awake or not.”
“That all I’d have to do?”
“That’s it.” If it were any other scenario you’d have smacked the smirk right off of his face.
“Maybe I’ll let you sleep then. Get everything I want another way.”
And just like that he caved. He let out a growl as he tugged your shorts down, taking your underwear with them, swiping his finger through your drenched folds.
“I’m not fuckin’ you for the first time without being awake to remember it. Not like I was actually gonna sleep anyway.”
You giggled, pulling your shirt over your head, gasping as he sank his finger into your core. He brought his mouth down to one of your breasts kissing and lapping at you. Using his free hand to roll your other nipple between his fingers. For the past week you’d been imagining what it would’ve felt like to have his hands on you this way, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the real thing.
“All of this just from me teasing you? Gettin’ you worked up just to go to sleep?”
He added a second finger, breaking away from you just enough to watch the way his fingers disappear into your entrance as you met the thrusts of his hand.
“Mhm.”
“Words, sugar.” He brought his thumb to your clit sending electricity through your body.
“J-just you, fuck.”
“Cum for me and I’ll give you whatever you need, just let go.”
It wasn’t long before you felt your orgasm approaching. He’d practically started you out at the edge. Just needing a little push. Then finally he curled his fingers up against the spongy part inside of you that made you see stars and you snapped. Sinking your teeth into his shoulder as you came.
Giving you a moment to recover, he finally kicked off his boxers. You knew he was big from all of the teasing. Yet still you were shocked at seeing how big, how thick, he actually was.
“You wanna fuck me then go ahead, sugar, ride me.”
Your legs already felt like jello but still you climbed on to straddle his hips. Both of you groaning as you sank down onto him. His hands dug into your hips holding you still against him. You whimpered at the feeling of being so full.
“I know sugar, just give me a second.” He pulled you down to his chest, holding you there just long enough to whisper in your ear, “Can’t believe I’ve got you trembling already.”
He tapped your thigh signaling you to move before snaking his hand up to wrap around your throat with a gentle squeeze. You began rocking your hips down onto him. Moaning at the sensation of the coarse hair at his base grazing against your clit. Growing impatient he lowered a hand to tease your sensitive bud. Between the lack of oxygen and the feel of his cock dragging through your walls you were screaming his name as you came as your orgasm ripped through you.
“Fuck, sugar.” He groaned at the sight of you falling apart on top of him, the feeling of your cunt gripping him. “Need you to give me another.”
���I can’t, too much.”
“Just one more, you can do it.” Without another word he slipped out of you, flipping you over and pressing you face down into the mattress.
He pulled your hips up to meet his own, notching himself at your entrance. Still drenched with your release he easily slid back inside. He wasted no time relentlessly slamming into you, leaving you reduced to nothing more than a puddle of moans and whimpers. He reached around to find your clit bringing you immediately to the edge of your third orgasm. He twitched inside of you as you fluttered around him, painting your walls with his seed.
You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you as he collapsed on top of you.
He lifted just enough to stare down at you as if you were delirious, “Are you laughing at me?”
“No, no!” You wiped at the tears that had formed in your eye, “I just would’ve said something days ago if I knew this was what it’d get me.”
He rolled his eyes and slowly pulled out of you. “Alright, lemme get you cleaned up.”
You smiled to yourself as he retreated to the bathroom. Eventually feeling stable enough in your body to flip back over by the time he returned, a wet washcloth in hand. He came to kneel in front of you and you carefully opened your legs.
You jolted back as soon as he touched you, where you had expected the warm soft fabric were instead his fingers. You winced at the overstimulation between your legs as he traced up your seam, gathering the cum and pushing it back into you.
“M’sorry. I know, sugar. Just couldn’t help myself.” He retracted his hand.
He was quick to work, offering both apologies and words of encouragement at every small sound of discomfort. He discarded the washcloth and returned to his spot next to you in bed, pulling you to his chest. After a couple of soft kisses to your shoulder it was his turn to laugh.
“You know, I planned to ask you out to dinner after this was over but I think we got a little ahead of ourselves.”
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absurdthirst · 6 months
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Kinktober 2023: October 9th
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Day 9: Slutwear, Squirting/Cumshots, Prostitution/Camming/Sex-for-Service
Agent Whiskey x F!Reader
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 1.3k
Warnings: Camming, technically sex work, voyeurism, sex toys, breast play, masturbation, dom/sub undertones, slight obsession
|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.
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The camera light blinks on, making you take a deep breath and adjust the lacy mask that completely conceals the upper half of your face. Last week, it had been a pretty rhinestone cat mask, but you had wanted something gothically sexy for the first day you are camming in October. 
“Hello.” You lick your lips, tasting the fruity lip gloss that you had thought would look good on the camera feed for your customers. The chat bar, where the users that are in your Cam ‘room’ can send you messages or just talk amongst themselves. There’s only one username here tonight and you see that he had paid for a private session. 
Whiskey. You had heard his voice a few times and imagined a cowboy from the top of his Stetson to the bottom of his boots. “Whiskey.” 
****
Jack groans in anticipation as the feed connects, catching the first sight of Kinkygirl4U. 
It had been a whim, a lonely, spur of the moment thing but since that first visit to the cam room, he’s been hooked. Eager to see you move, talk, fuck yourself. Touch yourself. 
No one at Statesman knows about this, they can’t know about it. It’s his dirty little secret, staying home when he could prowl the bars. Watching a computer screen when he could be sliding into bed with whatever woman he had charmed. 
The fact was, he was bored of that. It had lost its appeal. He was so tired of chasing women that he was going to forget their faces before he slipped out their front door. The endless flirting and one night stands. He knew he wasn’t going to commit, he couldn’t. 
Stumbling upon your page had happened by accident. Searching porn one night when the invite for a cam room popped up. It had been intriguing enough to click on and he had been pushed into your room just as soon as he had entered his credit card information. 
You had been perfect. A mix of innocent and vixen that had his cock throbbing as you touched yourself and interacted with the other people that were watching. Watching along with them as you made yourself cum, talked about your sexual experience and laid yourself literally bare in front of him. 
It had been the beginning for him. Every chance he had, he had logged on to watch you. Memorizing your broadcast times so he could make sure that he was in front of a computer. He had even locked his office door and watched you a few times when he was working at Statesman in New York. 
Jack turns on the mic and chuckles quietly. “Hello, Kinkygirl.” He purrs. “You sure look pretty in that mask.” There’s nothing else that you are wearing tonight, so he can’t complement your pretty lingerie, but your tits look mouthwatering. 
You giggle for him, something that is most likely practiced, but it sounds real and he can indulge in the fantasy that you are actually preening for him. 
“Whiskey, you naughty boy. You bought out the show tonight.” You playfully chastise him, but there is a grin on your face and your hand slides up to cup your tits and push them towards the camera. “Didn’t want to share, hum?” 
“Sure didn’t, sugar.” He grunts, drinking in the sight of you greedily and reaching for the overly large belt buckle that has a flask on it. Needing to free his already hard cock. “Want you all to myself. That’s alright, ain’t it?” 
You hum playfully, tilting your head up in thought even as you brush your thumbs over those perky nipples of yours. You know that Whiskey likes your breasts, he always wants you to touch them or pinch your nipples. Apparently a tit man behind his screen. “Of course it is, baby.” You decide, letting out a soft moan when your nipples are achingly hard and the pressure of your thumb turns slightly painful against it. 
Jack groans, loving how your back arches and your eyes flutter behind the mask. Just once, he would want to see all of your face. Even resisting the urge to have you found using Statesman resources. This is just for him, you think that he’s just some normal man and he likes it. 
“Good.” He grunts, flicking the button of his jeans open and sighing in relief. He can see, but there’s a certain sense of anonymity that he enjoys. You know a username, a code name of a code name in life’s little irony. “Why don’t you show me how wet you are, sugar? I’ve been thinkin’ about you all day.” He coos.
Smirking when you immediately lean back and start to spread your legs, willing to give him anything that he wants. It’s a rush for him, telling you to perform and you do it so prettily. Groaning when he sees how wet your folds are as you angle the camera down to let him get an up close view. 
“That’s a fucking pretty cunt.” He praises, pulling his cock out of his jeans and reaching for the lotion. He’s pretty much having to keep a bottle close by when he’s got you on his screen. Broadcasted to him in vivid color and 4K resolution. “So sexy, sugar. You love touching your little clit, don’t cha?”
He hisses when he wraps his hand around his dick, the lotion much cooler than your cunt would be. Watching as you breathlessly pant and start to touch yourself. He will watch whatever you want to do, eager to just devour you and he coos praises as he strokes himself. 
“Pretend you’re with a lover, sugar. Show me how you would ride a dick.” You have a toy, a dildo that you suction to the mirror that you have laying on your bed. Letting him see how it looks as you ride it through the reflection and he has been wanting to see it again since the first time he had seen it. 
You obey without even questioning it, making him twitch in his hand when he watches the thick pink silicone of the toy disappear inside you, watching your lips stretch around it and wondering if it feels as good as the real thing for you. “Oh fuck, sugar, that feel good?” He asks. “Bet it feels so good inside that little cunt. Nice and tight. That toy thick enough or do you like it thicker?” 
He’s pretty fucking girthy so he’s imagining how you would whine as you slowly sink down on his cock. Coming through the screen and straddling him in his chair. 
“It’s so good.” Your breathy moans are turned all the way up so he can hear every hitch in your voice. Never being turned on like then when someone is moaning in his ear. 
“That’s it, sugar. Ride it for Whiskey.” He moans out, eyes fixed on the screen where you are literally giving him his own private porno. Like those peep-show booths, but this is even better. It’s obviously in your room, where you live and relax when you aren’t filming. 
You are magnificent as you pleasure yourself in front of the camera, for him. Whimpering out his username as you start to bounce on the toy. He wonders what you are imagining. Are you imagining some version of him? Are you thinking about what you are going to do after, what errands you have to run? He’s so used to wearing his own mask when he is on a mission that he’s apparently more comfortable with you than with a person in the flesh. His little cam girl. 
Jack moans, cumming from the sight of your tits bouncing and the pressure of his cock. Covering his shirt and pants with his release as you start to cum yourself. Slowly working himself through his pleasure as you cry and shake over the toy before you stop moving. Pulling off of the toy and panting as you move closer to the camera. “How was that, Whiskey?” You ask breathlessly. 
Your face is sweaty and your eyes filled with passion or pleasure, that part he hasn’t quite figured out yet, but he will. Next time. “Perfect, sugar.” Jack murmurs through the internet connection that links you together. “Just perfect.” 
201 notes · View notes
palioom · 4 months
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string lights
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summary: you want to decorate the Christmas tree, Jack has other things in mind.
pairing: jack “whiskey” daniels x f!reader
word count: 1.7k
warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; dirty talk; unprotected p in v; some bondage; inappropriate use of string lights (and probably unsafe too)
a/n: finished this despite writer's block, enjoy!
• masterlist •
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Never ever give Jack Daniels anything that resembles a piece of rope.
That was something she had learned quite quickly while living with him, because if Jack was one thing, it was a fucking menace.
A terrible, hot and cocky menace.
As soon as he could get his hands on rope inside the house – and sometimes even outside of the house, like in the barn – he would not hesitate to use it. It was a fun habit, really. The things he would do with it ranged from grabbing things from across the room, to catching her so he could pull her into his body amongst other quite entertaining things.
Or loop it around her body for an impromptu bondage session. Pretty knots carefully placed all over her body, making her writhe below his broad frame while she desperately moaned his name.
She really should’ve known better than to let him detangle the string lights for the Christmas tree. Because usually, that was her job. It was calming most of the time, sitting cross legged on the sofa and slowly freeing inch by inch from the huge ball it had turned into over the year.
With the TV running in the background, while Jack got the tree all set up in the corner of the living room before he would start on the exterior of the house.
This time, she had given him the task to detangle them, all because she wanted to decorate the living room. She hadn’t gotten around to doing it before now, setting down the little cowboy themed ornaments wherever she could.
Santa dressed as a cowboy, cows instead of reindeers, fitted with small Christmas hats and festive looking cowboy boots were just some of the things.
They had even more ornaments to go on the tree, some downright ridiculous, but charming in a way.
But just as she was finishing up the fireplace, hanging up stockings that looked like cowboy boots, she felt something loop around her middle and pull her back.
And that’s how she had ended up here, string lights wrapped around her wrists and arms, looping around her torso. Blinking in colourful lights like she was the Christmas tree – just spread out on the floor in front of it.
Arms raised above her head, the lights leading to the nearest outlet, Jack knelt between her bare, spread thighs and laughed at the display.
“Ain’t you a pretty thing?” He drawled, the southern accent thick as he spoke. Always showing those pearly white teeth as he smiled, his rough hands smoothing under the fabric of her top.
They were cold, a shiver running over her skin and her nipples hardening beneath the knitted sweater. 
“I look like a fucking Christmas tree.” She replied with a small laugh, arching her back when Jack’s hands found the swell of her breasts. A moan slipped past her lips as he squeezed them, his clothed bulge rutting against her naked pussy when he shifted slightly. “You gonna put me on display instead of that?”
A twinkle appeared in his eyes, clearly liking the idea she had thrown out as a joke. The mental image of her standing in that corner instead of the tree, full of ornaments and string lights, simply was too good.
“Don’t give me ideas, darlin’.” He chuckled, leaning over her to slot his lips over her own. Grinding his middle into her on purpose, just to hear those small gasps and pants tumble into his mouth, her legs wrapping around his middle.
She struggled against the restraints, some of the warm bulbs pressing into her skin - Jack had made sure these were LEDs so he wouldn’t accidentally burn her. It was kinda fun to be restrained like this, but, fuck, she really needed to touch him. Open the zipper of those damn jeans so he could finally fuck her instead of rubbing himself against her clit.
“Jack, please.” She whined against his lips, his thick mustache tickling her skin as he kept kissing her. Like he was in no rush to continue, despite the hard length in his jeans. “Fuck me.”
Jack leaned back with a chuckle, smirking down at her while he admired his work. The blinking lights only added to the usual excitement of seeing her tied up, completely at his mercy but now bathed in a flurry of lights.
A small, wet patch was visible on his jeans, making her groan.
“I think I’ll be nice today, little lady.” He drawled, his hands running over her exposed thighs, then over her calves before leaving her skin and finding the zipper of his jeans. “Givin’ you an early Christmas present.”
Even a so-called present from Jack included some teasing, palming himself with one hand while a small groan escaped him, the other one slowly pulling down the zipper. Keeping her squirming in her restraints, on the plush carpet below her.
“You’re gonna give me a headache, Jack.” She groaned, her eyes glued to where his thick fingers now vanished into his jeans to pull out his cock. Already leaking, the tip fat and dark and just begging to be buried inside of her. “Gimme your cock, please.”
Jack spit into his hand, giving himself a few small tugs, languid and teasing before moving closer to her. Slowly he let the head drag through her glistening folds, coaxing a whine out of her whenever he nudged against her swollen clit.
Savouring this, and the sight of her, watching how she spread her legs wider so she exposed herself to him. A million ideas raced through his head as he watched the lights blink rhythmically, making him unable to wait any longer as he pressed inside of her.
“Oh, fuck yeah…” She breathed out, enjoying the stretch his cock brought as he stretched her open, her fingers flexing and needing to touch him.
He braced himself with one hand on each side of her head, his cowboy hat lopsided when he looked down at her, brown eyes even darker than before. This was so much better than decorating the tree.
“You think we can do other things with those lights, cowgirl?” Jack rasped, already overwhelmed by her when he started to move. Slowly, pulling almost all the way back before slamming himself back into her. “Tie you to the bed with it? Make it a lil’ more festive?”
She nodded, moaning when he hit that good spot inside of her. The idea was good, something about him tying her to the bed with these string lights instead of their usual rope just added to the excitement.
The small lights pressing into her skin, warming it up, definitely helped turn her on. To see her skin lit up in reds and blues and greens while he fucked into her, his face illuminated by them too.
“Sounds fucking good, Jack.” She breathed out, her back arching when he picked up his speed. One of his hands bunched up the fabric of her sweater, pulling it up to expose her breasts to him, the air of the living room cold against her heated skin.
“Look at you like this.” He groaned, ducking his head to suck one pebbled nipple into her mouth, licking and biting at it while he kept fucking into her. “Think these are sturdy enough to hang you from the ceiling?”
“Oh, God.” She moaned. They had recently gotten into it, letting Jack tie his knots all around her body and then suspending her from their bedroom ceiling. That image made her squeeze his cock hard. “Please, yes!”
Jack chuckled around her nipple, his own mind consumed by the image of her suspended by these colourful lights. He could decorate her like a tree, add ornaments to the knots, into her hair. 
She always wanted things to be more festive.
“Yeah, you like that, don’t you, little lady?” He drawled, feeling himself close to just spilling inside of her. The wet squelch of her was evidence enough that this needed to happen again. “Hangin’ from the ceiling, all nice ‘n pretty for me while I stretch your little pussy open with my fingers and my cock?”
“Tie me up again.” She whined, legs wrapping around his hips and pulling him in deeper. The wiry hair above his cock kept brushing against her clit, creating more of that friction she desperately craved, so close to the edge. “Gonna cum, Jack, fuck-”
The thought of it all - her hanging from the ceiling while the lights deliciously bit into her skin and Jack’s thick fingers fucked into her - let her orgasm crash into her, rolling over her like an avalanche. She pulled Jack closer, tightening the grip her legs had on him, a low grunt coming from him as her pussy sucked him in deeper, gripping him like a vice.
“That’s it, ‘atta girl.” He groaned, spilling his cum inside of her just a few shallow thrusts later, bending his head to press his lips onto hers, teeth clashing against each other with the force of it. “Cum all over my cock.”
Once again she strained against the string around her wrists, her arms hurting at this point while wave after wave washed over her, her whines and moans muffled by his mouth on hers.
Slowly calming down, he pushed himself up again, looking down at her while she dazedly smiled at him. Warm and cozy beneath him.
“You can detangle the lights more often, cowboy.” She giggled, wincing slightly when she moved her arms once more. Now that the rush of the pleasure and her orgasm ebbed away, it did hurt a little bit.
Jack swiftly opened the knots he had tied around her wrists before moving down her arms, granting her movement.
“I’m serious ‘bout you hangin’ from the ceiling, sugar.” Jack drawled, taking one of her wrists into his large hand once he had freed her and brought it to his mouth to kiss the faint, red mark there. A dangerous glint was in his eyes, and she knew that as the idea had sparked in his head, he would definitely go ahead and try it out with her. “We’ve got the setup, just gotta get more lights, mhm?”
She giggled again, shaking her head with a roll of her eyes. “Let’s get the tree set up first, alright?”
Jack laughed too, pulling out of her and then helping her get dressed.
Oh, he couldn’t wait to see her covered in those tiny lights once again. And maybe she’d let him decorate her just a little more, too.
235 notes · View notes
ladamedusoif · 2 months
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Gentleman Cowboy
Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader
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Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader
Word count: 3500
Summary: A solo getaway. A fateful glass of whiskey. And a very charming cowboy, ready to explore the big city.
Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI
Warnings: Alcohol references and consumption; non-canon compliant as is right and proper because that man deserved better; oral sex (F receiving); safe PiV sex; little bit of strong language; no physical descriptions of Reader other than her blue dress and red lipstick; fluff; Jack-typical pet names (sugar, sweetheart, darlin’).
A/N: A belated birthday fic for @agentjackdaniels, who deserves all the nice things - including a certain, irresistible, (retired) secret agent turned ranch owner.
Follow my writing blog, @ladameecrit, and turn on notifications to keep up with my writing.
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Charisma.
The jury’s out on whether you’re born with it or can acquire it. For some people, it’s just there. Natural, easy, instantaneous. Doesn’t mean they’re more attractive, necessarily, or more successful. Just… charismatic. 
Hard to explain, but you know it when you see it. And you’d seen it today, checking into the hotel for your solo birthday getaway. A staycation, of sorts - this is your home city, after all - but an escape nonetheless, a break from work, from stress, and a chance to mark another turn around the sun.
He was in the lobby while you were queuing to check in, sitting on one of the hotel’s chi-chi armchairs leafing through a city guidebook. By chance, you glanced in his direction at just the moment he raised his head.
He was all brown eyes, bright smile, dimple set in a tanned handsome face. More than that: he exuded charisma. 
He nodded. You nodded back. By the time you’d checked in and secured your room key, he was gone.
***
He’s been to this city many times before, but always for work. Never any time for sightseeing or getting to know the place. In retirement, he made it his business to return to those old stomping grounds he wished he’d seen more of, joyfully embracing the life of a tourist for a few days before returning to the horse-breeding ranch he owned and ran back home in Kentucky.
The hotel bar is elegant and modern, wooden accents and brushed metal fittings perfectly in line with his own taste. He’s settled in a cosy corner alone, whiskey tumbler in hand, when he sees her again. 
Her casual outfit from earlier has been replaced by a diaphanous, layered dress in midnight blue, printed with a pattern reminiscent of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. He half-expects to see a companion, joining her for a post-prandial nightcap. But she’s on her own.
Just like him.
The bar is quiet. He can’t help but overhear her at the bar. “It’s my birthday,” she tells the bartender, grinning happily. “They said I could have a complimentary drink.”
The bartender smiles and nods. “Sure thing, ma’am. What would you like?”
Jack watches as she peruses the gleaming shelves of liquor bottles behind the bar, noting the adorable way she chews on her lower lip while she’s thinking. 
“I’ll make it a whiskey. A Gentleman Jack, please.”
His ears perk up in spite of himself.
Thing is, Jack’s pretty good at reading other human beings. Part of the job, after all, and pretty hard to let something like that slide when you’re no longer an active agent in the field. 
He knows, then, that it might be a bit much for him to launch a typical come-on attempt at the bar. You seem like the type to find that too heavy-handed, disconcerting - cheesy, even.
Not that Jack minds cheesy, as required.
He returns to his book and when he looks up again, you’re taking your Gentleman Jack over to a small table in the other part of the bar. He taps his glass to get your attention. 
“Hope you don’t mind me overhearing, miss, but I just wanted to wish you a very happy birthday,” he says, Southern drawl as warm and as authentic as the Bourbon in his glass. He raises the tumbler to you, and you reciprocate. 
”Enjoy that whiskey, now. Fine choice, if I may say.”
***
He’s definitely not flirting with you. Right? Right. Just a Southern gentleman of the kind that’s all “manners maketh man” and “yes ma’am” and opening doors for ladies. Probably illegal for him not to wish you a happy birthday. 
Just a gorgeous man with the twinkliest, kindest eyes you’ve ever seen in your life, dressed in a beautifully-tailored western-style shirt and perfect dark denims, wishing you a happy birthday. Move along, nothing to see here. 
You settle in with your birthday drink and your copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude, immersing yourself back in the world of the Buendia clan. Occasionally, you glance back in his direction, and sometimes, he’s looking over at you, too.
Coincidence. 
As the alcohol hits you, you adopt a more cliched “mysterious woman” approach, as befits the slick of vintage-style dark red lipstick you’re wearing for the occasion. Let’s see what happens. No more looking over again, just you, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and Gentleman Jack. A good time to be had by all - handsome guy or not.
He’s gone the next time you raise your head. Empty seat. Empty glass. And your heart sinks, against your better judgment. 
“Fuck it. Another whiskey’s in order - for the room.”
You nod over to the bartender, ordering another of the same and asking for it to be put on your room bill. 
He returns swiftly with another crystal tumbler of the amber liquid and what looks like a business card. “Ma’am, the gentleman that was just here asked if he could pay for your next drink. Seeing as it’s your birthday. He just had one condition - that we pass this on.”
He hands you the business card, and it’s embossed on one side with a name:
Jack Daniels, Esq.
Some promotional thing, you assume, connected to the whiskey in your glass. But there’s something written in a clear, determined print on the rear of the card. 
A number - a room extension number - and a message.
Happy birthday, miss. If you want to say howdy, this is where you’ll find me - J.D.
You quirk an eyebrow. This seems…insane. Like a set-up waiting to be revealed. But you take the card and head to your room with the whiskey, half-expecting that the next time you look at the little business card it’ll be blank - the note gone, imagined, the product of your own febrile brain and the power of Gentleman Jack.
Still there. Still metaphorically winking at you, daring you to call.
***
One finger of whiskey down. Enough to give you the courage to dial that number. 
If it’s him, and he’s not a creep, just say thank you. That’s all you want, right? And he wouldn’t possibly want anything else.
He picks up almost immediately. “Well, hello there. Glad that barkeep gave you the card, miss.” His voice is low and honeyed over the line. 
You clench your thighs together involuntarily.
”I, uh…I wanted to say thank you. For the drink.”
He chuckles. Oh, fuck. That voice.
”Wouldn’t be any kind of gentleman if I didn’t buy a lady a birthday drink. Specially when she’s drinking one that bears his name.”
You pause for a second. This is…weird. Pinch yourself, once, twice.
”So that’s your actual name? Jack Daniels?”
”The one and same, at your service.”
The whiskey has emboldened you. “Ah, but are you a gentleman, Jack?”
You swear you can hear him inhale sharply. “Well, well. Guess you’d have to get to know me to find out.”
”Birthday or no birthday, Mr Daniels, I’m not in the business of inviting strange men into my hotel room.”
”Fine by me, sweet girl. How’s about I meet you in the lobby in five minutes? Might be cold but it’s a nice night for a walk. You know the city?”
”Lived here my whole life.”
He chuckles again. Oh, girl. You are in trouble.
”Now, ain’t that something. Perfect person to show a lonesome cowboy around. Grab your coat, sugar.”
***
He’s already waiting in the lobby when you walk out of the lift, wearing a black leather jacket with a corduroy-trimmed collar and a dark brown, felt broad-brimmed hat. Not quite a Stetson, but still perfect for a cowboy visiting the big city. His dark brown boots are impeccably polished, you notice.
”Well, hi there, birthday girl!” He grins, laughter lines around his eyes crinkling and emphasising the handsome contours of his face. “Guess we should introduce ourselves properly.” He extends his hand. “Jack Daniels.”
You introduce yourself and find yourself chuckling at the strange coincidence of his name. “Are you anything to the whiskey brand? I feel like I should know, just in case this is some insane promotional stunt.”
He laughs, a bright, genuine chuckle that makes your heart sing. “Sadly, I’m not the JD. But Whiskey was my…nickname. Once upon a time.”
”Makes sense,” you say, as he holds open the hotel door for you and you step out into the night. “Now, Jack Whiskey Daniels, where to?”
“I’ll leave that up to you, birthday girl. You’re the native and the expert. Happy to surrender myself to your capable hands. Only thing is…” He pauses, looking a little sheepish. “I’m hungry enough to eat a stable door. Mind if we pick up a little something on the way?”
You giggle, noticing the little flecks of grey among the dark hairs of his perfectly-trimmed moustache. “I’ve got just the thing, Jack. Come with me.”
***
”I cannot believe that delicious slice was two dollars. Two dollars! And they always say this city’s expensive.”
You swallow the last bite of your own pizza slice and laugh. “It is expensive, but the dollar slice still reigns supreme. Even if it’s two bucks these days.”
You wander companionably in the direction of the elevated garden walkway, your chosen destination for this stroll through your home city. “So this your first time here?”
Jack shakes his head. “Not quite. Been here a few times over the years, but…never got to see much. Always workin’, in and out of our headquarters. No time for just getting to know a place.”
You nod sympathetically. “If it’s any consolation, sometimes it’s harder to see the good in a city when you’re there all the time. So it’s nice for me to get to be a tourist tonight, too.” The two of you climb the stairs and emerge on the walkway, you pointing out key landmarks to Jack as you stroll along together.
”So are you on a break from work this time?”
He looks at you with a soft smile. “Retired. These days I spend my time on the ranch, down home in Kentucky.”
You clap your hands excitedly when he explains that it’s a horse-breeding ranch. “Oh, wow. I just love horses - truth be told, I think there’s a cowgirl streak in me somewhere. City girl or no city girl.”
He laughs that gorgeous, warm laugh, and you feel your heart skip a beat. “Always happy to welcome a city slicker cowgirl on a tour, sweet girl. You just say the word.”
***
As you walk, you realise just how attentively Jack is listening to you. He takes in every detail, every word that leaves your lips, whether it be about the city or about you. 
With a pang you realise that it had been a very long time since someone really and truly seemed to listen. To see you. 
Or maybe he’s just like that with everyone. You are equally rapt, revelling in the melodious rhythm and comforting timbre of his baritone as he tells you about his ranch, his favourite horses, his fascination with the city. 
You’d always assumed that you might be too overwhelmed in the presence of a man so incredibly handsome and charming to do more than just gape at his beautiful form. With Jack, though, you’d never felt more at ease. 
And, dare you say it - he seems pretty darn comfortable, too.
The wardens on the garden walkway announce that it’s about to close, and you find the nearest exit and return to street level. It’s almost imperceptible, but for an instant you swear you can feel his broad hand on your back as you cross the street, heading back to the hotel. 
“Now I’ve got a confession to make, Jack.”
He turns and raises his eyebrows.
”I’m hungry again. You want another slice?”
His smile feels bright enough to power half the city. “A two-buck pizza slice with the prettiest girl in town? Count me in, sugar.”
***
Your whole life, you’d assumed it was safer to wait until they made the first move. Helped avoid any embarrassing moments where you’d read the vibe wrong. Easier, too, to assume you would want someone more than they wanted you.
The electrical charge that’s crackling between you and Jack Daniels as you stand side by side in the hotel lift is a little too powerful for the “wait and see” approach. You look at him again, in side profile this time. 
Fuck. That is a beautiful man.
”Jack?”
He turns his head and smiles. Your hands find first his shoulders, then the light stubble on his jaw. He closes his eyes as you caress his face, dark lashes resting on his cheeks. You move closer, feeling his breath on your face, tilt your head, and lean in to find his lips in a slow, gentle kiss.
The lift pings as he pulls you tight to him, tongue seeking entrance to your mouth. His floor.
”I sure hope this ain’t too forward, sugar, but… would you like to come to my room?” 
You’re already walking out of the lift, holding his hand as you pull him down the corridor that leads to the guest rooms. 
“Thought you’d never ask, cowboy.”
***
No sooner have you got to the room than he’s pushing you against the wall, your hands hastily unbuttoning his shirt and jeans while his broad hands grope your tits through your favourite dress. 
“Goddammit, sweetheart, these are damn gorgeous,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the outline of your hard nipples under the light fabric. “You are damn gorgeous.”
”So are you, cowboy,” you purr, slipping your hand gently inside his boxer briefs as he moves you away from the wall and over to the king-size bed. Even half-hard, you are impressed by the feel of his cock in your hand - thick, heavy, and velvet-soft around the head.
He lays you down on the bed and quickly peels off his shirt, revealing a broad, tanned body clad in a white undervest that clings lasciviously to the muscles of his chest and back as well as the softness of his tummy. It’s a tantalising sight: Jack, his dark, silver-streaked hair slightly mussed and falling forward over his brow, propped up above you on the bed. You trace your fingertips over the pattern of freckles that peeks over the neckline of his vest.
”Can I taste you, pretty girl?”
You nod, throwing your head back and whining with pleasure as he gets to his knees at the edge of the bed and lifts up the skirts of your dress. He hums and moans contentedly as he buries his nose and mouth against your aching pussy, still wearing your panties.
”God-fuckin’-dammit. You’re gonna taste so sweet.”
With a swift tug your panties are off and his head is between your legs, stubble tickling deliciously over the sensitive skin on your inner thighs as his moustache presses against your wet folds.
”Taste me, Jack, please.”
The first long, slow, lick of his tongue up your slit is enough to have you moaning. 
“Fuck, sugar suits you. Sweet as fuckin’ sugar down here.”
Another long, slow lick, tongue flat against you, and then the tip finds your pussy, flicking over the hole and dipping in and out until you feel like he’s fucking you with it. His nose rubs against your swollen clit in time with the thrust of his tongue.
”You’re gonna make me come, Jack…keep doing that, that’s it.”
You focus on the sensation, the sounds that fill the hotel room: your gentle moans, Jack grunting against your pussy while his hand works his own cock, the lewd wetness of your soaking cunt as he brings you closer and closer to orgasm.
”C’mon, sweetheart, come for me - c’mon, good girl. Got you so nice and wet, darlin’, I know you’re close.”
He rests a hand on your tummy as your hips start to buck upwards, the orgasm building and building inside of you until, with a scream of his name, you come hard on his face.
”Think you enjoyed that, sweetheart.”
”Fuck, Jack, that was…fuck.” You sit up and he helps you out of your dress, eyes roaming over your body and settling on the curves of your tits inside the dark blue lace of your bra.
”Can I take this off, sugar?”
You nod, reaching for the hem of his undervest. “Sure, cowboy. But you have to be naked too.”
He is only too happy to oblige. Undervest discarded and boxers on the floor, Jack climbs onto the bed beside you and sits you up. He takes his time with your breasts, unhooking your bra and tossing it to one side before bringing his mouth to each nipple and lovingly kissing and sucking and caressing them in turn. 
“What do you want, baby?”
It’s a rhetorical question. You both know what you want. He breaks away and you lie back on the bed, spreading your legs, moaning delightedly as you feel his gorgeous weight settling on top of you. 
“Want you, Jack. Want you to fuck me until this whole city knows who’s having me.”
He flushes visibly and chuckles, standing up to retrieve his wash bag and returning with a packet of condoms in hand. “And there I was thinkin’ you were a shy little thing, sweet girl.” 
You laugh. “I’m shy until you get to know me, Jack Daniels. Shy, until…”
He positions himself back between your thighs, carefully rolling the condom over his impressively thick cock. 
“Until?” 
You pause for a moment to look into his eyes. “Until I feel like I’m safe with someone.”
He melts a little, leaning down to kiss you softly and slowly.
”That’s a heck of a compliment, sugar. A nice thing, to know you feel so safe with me.”
You smile and look up at him from under your lashes. “I think it’s your charm, cowboy. Not bad for two people who were strangers until a few hours ago.”
He hums happily and kisses you again. ”Not bad at all. Can I have you, sweetheart?”
”Yes fuckin’ please, Jack.” 
He takes you slowly, carefully, stretching you steadily until he’s fully sheathed inside you. He takes a moment, squeezing his eyes closed as he fights the urge to go straight to fucking you as hard as he wishes.
”Feel good, Jack?”
”Feels out of this world, baby. Perfect tight, wet pussy, perfect pretty girl.”
He pulls his hips back slowly before snapping back into position and you whine, wrapping your hands around his shoulders. 
“That feel good for you, baby?”
You nod frantically. “The best. Fuck me, Jack. Want to feel you.”
He builds up the pace slowly, steadily, taking you deeper and deeper before moving to take you harder and faster. Instinctively you hitch up your legs, finding your calves wrapping around his lower back as he starts to fuck you at just the right angle.
He babbles as he fucks you, praising you, promising you things you remind yourself not to see as anything more than sex talk. How he’ll bring you home with him someday, come back up to see you here, make you all his, how he wants to be all yours.
With a swift shift of his hand he finds your clit again. You come harder, again, crying out his name as he fucks and talks you through it. 
“Good, good girl, my good girl,” he murmurs, eyes locked on the place your bodies are joined as he watches you ride out your orgasm. “You’re so beautiful, you know that? Prettiest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”
His long fingers press hard into your hips and you can tell he’s about to come. For a brief, sudden, vivid instant you fantasise about throwing all caution to the wind and letting him finish inside you: filling you, claiming you for his, all his.
Jack comes hard, groaning and crying out your name. He rests on your shoulder for a moment, catching his breath, before pulling out and nuzzling in beside you. You turn to face him, fingers trailing through the dark, damp strands of wavy hair clinging to his brow.
”Good, darlin’?”
You kiss him. “Very, very, very good, Jack Daniels.”
He chuckles against your kiss. “And do you think I’m a gentleman now?”
You pull back and flit your eyes over his face, as if making an assessment. 
“Let’s see. Gentleman cowboy on the streets, gentlemanly demon in the sheets. Sounds perfect to me.”
***
You sleep soundly that night, nestled safely against Jack’s warm body. He wakes you with the gentlest of kisses to your forehead, and for a moment you can’t remember. 
And then those coffee-brown eyes, that smile, and you know you’re right where you’re meant to be.
95 notes · View notes
infinity-mars · 1 year
Text
Play With Me
Pairing: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x f!reader 
Word Count: 8.5k+
Rating: Explicit Smut (18+ only) 
Summary: You go out for a night of fun and encounter an alluring cowboy that does everything he can to capture your attention.
Also posted on my AO3 !
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You loved to dance. Those moments when your heart fluttered in your chest made you move like you could fly, relishing in the feeling of power it gave you. You weren’t particularly graceful or always on time, but there was a certain magnetic thrum in the air that bent you to its will all the same. 
From outdoor dance clubs to private velvet-roped lounges, discothèques, raves and rooftop bars, you’ve tried to see it all with your friend Kate by your side. 
The cool air nipped at you both as you finally walked inside the club, the heat of passing bodies a welcome feeling. The lit room had a hushed glow as people made their home for the night in plush seats off against the far walls. 
You imagined that the venue was similar to what Alice saw when she went down the rabbit hole and found herself in Wonderland. The bar certainly had the right name, you thought, the people walking around just as colorful as the children’s story. 
The bartender was quick and you were thankful, even though the drink he made was weaker than you preferred. Vodka burned as it hit the back of your throat, aided by the scoff that found you at the man chatting up your friend. 
Kate always had a thing for slightly pathetic men, like she could eat them alive. You were used to her routine by now, her colorful storytelling one of your favorite things to listen to over your morning coffee.
Honestly, you were both horrible together: you pitied the unsuspecting bystanders that listened in. Laughing at an old story she loved to tell at your expense, you didn’t see him at first. 
You wish you could go back to the moment he came crashing into your orbit, not noticing the person on your left until he made himself known. 
“Now what is a pretty bee like you lookin’ so bored all the way over here?” a gravelly voice spoke, the man’s lips tantalizingly close to the shell of your ear. 
Your eyes looked over before your brain could catch up, and what you saw certainly sidetracked whatever thoughts had possessed you before. Wearing a black leather jacket that swam in the neon light of the bar, he almost seemed to glow in a classic white shirt that tapered on his slim waist.
“I’m enjoying myself just fine thank you,” you retorted, taking a generous swig of your watered down drink to hide the rush of nervous energy that possessed you. You were used to beginning the chase, and it caught you off guard to be taken by surprise. 
How refreshing.
 A small grin flickered across his face at your answer. His dark hair and broad shoulders only made him more mysterious, the lolling drawl of his voice making you curious despite yourself. 
Men would approach you with the fashionable audacity they all liked to carry around with careless hands hoping for a quick fuck. Sometimes you’d indulge yourself, but the enjoyable heat of another person wasn’t worth it if they never shut their mouths. 
Your vibrator and weighted blanket made sure of that.
You were undecided if this man fit into that category though.
“That’s not what I see.”
“Hmm, what do you see then, if you know me so well?”
The man shifted his foot and leaned in closer, the subtle spice of his cologne clinging to his suede collar. The way he wore it was effortless, and you wanted to grab onto his jacket to either bring him closer or shove him back, depending on what he said next.
“I see a woman that’s bored out of her mind trying to convince herself she’s not, drinking alcohol not worth the proof on the bottle,” he explained, voice dipping lower as you turned to fully face him, finally meeting eyes that never strayed from you.”You want more than whatever junior over there could ever offer someone like you.”
“Someone like me?”
“Oh honey, I know I walked into that one with both feet. You’re just fishing for compliments now, aren’t ya?”
“Mmm, are you going to tell me what I wanna hear or are you going to buy me a drink?”
“The shit they mix here ain’t what you deserve, I saw that bartender mixing those drinks. Take a sip of this darlin’, and tell me I’m not wrong,” the man tempted, readily extending a sleek silver flask to you that was attached to his belt buckle. How scandalous .
The promise in his expression emboldened you. He had taken a drink from the flask himself before offering it to you in invitation.
“What’s life without a little risk?” His eyes seemed to ask.
You took the chance, the warmth from his hands lingering on your fingers as you took the flask from him.The delicate gold choker on your neck glinted in the light as you swallowed.
Taking a swig, you absorb the flavor. He knew his alcohol, and from the confidence of his statement nothing less than top shelf mattered. You could certainly respect that, wondering if his lips would have the same taste if he kissed you.
“You’re not wrong, it’s very good. I’ve always been partial to whiskey myself.”
“Just good? What you have in your hand is a rare share of Statesman Whiskey, made straight from the source in Kentucky,” he retorted, almost offended if not for the mischievous twinkle in his eye. Something you had said passed a test you weren’t yet aware of.“Even as a Yankee you must understand the quality of that. I knew you would.”
“You caught that, did you?” 
“I don’t miss a thing, and you have most certainly caught my undivided attention.” 
You shifted completely to turn your back on your friend and her man of the hour, uninterested in the conversation that no longer included you. 
This man was right about one thing: you had been bored, and hopefully he would measure up for the evening. He didn’t shrink at your gaze.
It was nice to be approached for once with an interest that could mirror your own. 
“I don’t know how you fit that ego of yours inside this place. This doesn’t exactly look like your scene if I’m being honest.”
He chuckles at that without taking offense and coyly tips the brim of his hat in your direction, smiling with a flash of tongue at your choked laugh that's just for him. 
“Let’s just say I’ve gotten a lot of practice over the years. Even more talking to gorgeous girls like you. A buddy of mine wanted me to check out this new place to meet up sometime for work .”
The queer way he said that wasn’t lost on you, but you figured it was just an inside joke of some kind. 
“You know that a honey bee can sting when it's threatened right?” 
The way he widened his stance in victory as you focused on him was intentional, the insufferable action the kind of cockiness you usually wanted to smother with your own if not for the way it oddly suited him. 
“Oh, that doesn’t deter me one bit. I’m sure your sting is just as sweet. I happen to like that.”
The grin peeking out from beneath his mustache looks genuine. You’re intrigued, looking at him now in consideration. As you checked him out from head to toe, one thing stood out rather prominently. 
“Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just really happy to see me right now?” 
New York might be a concealed carry state but he looked like one of the only men on the premises actually packing heat in all of the ways that matter. The well fitted dark blue denim hugging his thighs left very little to the imagination. 
He was tailored to torture you inch-by-fucking-inch.
“Why don’t you come dance with me for the next song and find out?”
Oh you definitely wanted to shut him up. Preferably with something else to keep that mouth of his busy. 
“No.”
“No? Give me one reason why not and I’ll leave you alone. You can take someone else home tonight and leave ol’ Jack behind.”
“So that’s your name then? Jack,” you reply. His eyes droop at the sound, half lidded and unhurried in the way he examines the way you say his name. 
You finally introduce yourself, like you hadn’t been bantering with the man for a while now. 
Like you hadn’t been imagining what he would look like after spending a night with you, scratch marks down his back a parting gift that'll make him think of you every time he moves.
“If you are so obliged, it’ll be the name you’ll be screaming later and that’s a promise,” he vowed, chewing on a mint he popped in with a cheeky wink thrown in your direction. On any other man that would be a turn-off, but you looked down and saw the way his hands clenched around nothing as you observed him. 
Jack was his own harbinger of surprises it seems. 
The second of silence that follows sears under your skin, charged and frantic for more friction. A quick reply caught on your tongue that you held in, keeping it for later: never let it be said that you didn't like flirting with delayed gratification every once in a while.
“How do you know that I don’t have someone already waiting in my bed for me?” You asked. Jack’s eyes were arresting, lingering lower on your chest for a few moments before looking into your own to answer you.
 He gave a satisfied hum when he found whatever he was searching for.
“I think the way you’re staring at me is all the answer I need.”
You’ll give him credit, he was saying all of the right things. Or at this point, you wanted them to be, your attraction only tipping in his favor.
“Now what is a Southern boy like you doing here? Not to be a cliche, but you’re a long way from home.”
“Oh, I’m just like anyone else. I work at the Statesman New York office, traveling a lot when I’m needed elsewhere. What do you do when you’re not talking to vagrants like me in strange bars?”
“I’m a romance novelist, dabbling in a lot of things really, you know how it is.”
“Hmm, now that sounds interesting. What words must form on that clever tongue of yours?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you flirted back. 
He began speaking again, the story he launched into exotic and altogether hard to believe, but it wasn’t the words that reeled you in. It was his large hands waving temptingly close that distracted you. You could care less about the time he almost died in Marrakesh after offending someone’s wife.
You’d commit the story to your memory later when the pleasant haze of him faded away.
His tale came to a close as you glanced down and laughed at the stereotype that for some reason didn’t surprise you.
“Can you even dance in those boots for anything other than a two step?”
“I can do a lot more than that.”
“With your shiny belt buckle and Stetson I’d almost think you’re compensating for something,” you teased. A flash of delight lit up his face at your observation, the smirk he sent your way something just north of sinful.
“Everything is bigger in the south darlin' and besides,” he trailed off, hands coming to slowly cage you in against the bar but not quite touching you. “Let’s be honest here, we both know you like what I’ve got underneath.”
You lean forward, a breath of air suspended between you as your mouth almost ghosts over his. Maneuvering out of Jack’s reach, you reach up and take the hat off his head.
You had no doubt he would have stopped you if he had actually wanted to, those large hands of his able to easily overpower and hold you down. 
You suppress a grin at the thought.
Putting the large hat on your head, you brushed out your unruly hair to make it stay firmly in place. His eyes unfocused for a moment before looking at you with renewed intensity, his jaw ticking to the side as he takes you all in. 
You loved the chase, but at that moment you were tempted to end the flirtation and leave the bar to see if those fingers would fill you up as well as they promised. 
“Come on, show me your moves," you dared, steeling yourself as you joined the growing crowd beginning to take over the dance floor. He convinced you. "Do your worst, Jack.”
A remix of one of your favorite songs set the pace as it moved through you. The bass was rich and dark in your veins as you danced, Wonderland falling away in the fury of bodies all around you. The charge that flitted low in your abdomen was one that threatened to crack you in two as Jack brought you back, your ass grinding into him after each beat.
It would be so easy to turn around and let yourself melt into the heat of him.
 But riling him up sounded like a lot more fun. So when the beat shifted so did you, one hand removing the hat from your head as the other reached behind you to bring him down to your level. 
“You know, there’s a saying I heard before that if you steal a cowboy’s hat you’re either fuckin’ or fighting, and darlin’ I don’t have any weapons on me right now. So what’ll it be?” He asked, his voice against your ear making you lean into his palms. 
You felt like smoke, weaving around him as you continued to dance.
“Mmmm, doesn’t a combination of both sound just as good?”
The reactive tightening of his fingers on your hips was just what you needed. The both of you were lost, the music loud enough to cover up how hard your heart was beating.
Jack runs his nose along your neck and jaw until he nips at the vein, the heat of his breath making your own decision for you.
Turning, you reach up and finally kiss him. It wasn’t a quick affair, the push and pull between you both a fight to see who would give in first. You wanted to memorize the feeling, imagining the burn of his facial hair on your thighs as you rode his face. 
You’d even wear his hat while you did it if he asked nicely. 
He tasted like mint and mussed hair dangled in front of his eyes, lightly brushing your forehead as you mingled together. 
You were both insulated in the crowd, kissing each other until you were hardly even dancing anymore. 
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Ready to leave the liquor and low lighting behind, you stopped Jack in his tracks. Backing him into the wall of the hallway you ventured into, you did so firmly, hands holding him hostage as you clung to the lapels of his leather jacket. 
The hunger he saw reflected in your eyes pinned him in place, and that alone made him want to ruin you. 
Leaning up in your high heeled boots so that you could kiss his cheek, the remaining lipstick you wore smeared onto his skin like a brand, the red lip print left near his opened mouth telling him that you were dangerous.
Better yet, his favorite kind.
“Follow me cowboy,” you rasped, leaving goosebumps in your wake as you lightly skimmed over his skin with your teeth. The fever consuming from now was one he hadn’t felt bubbling in his blood ever since his last mission months ago.
 He craved it.
Jack vaguely connected that you were an unstoppable force to his immovable object, ready to crash into him like the paradox you were presenting yourself to be. 
When he had clocked you from across the bar earlier he had admitted to himself that you weren’t the usual type of woman he jumped to charm into his bed. You had looked wholly unimpressed with your surroundings before, swirling the ice in your drink as the yuppie next to you preened like a toddler with a captive audience. 
The oncoming storm he’d read in the lines of your body told him another story, however, one that swept him into you and past the redhead that had been trying to catch his attention since he’d walked in. 
The shadow of something wicked had made Jack eager to align your passions with his own.
Impatient at his composure as he thought of this, you hooked two fingers into his belt loops and tugged him off the wall and into you, that jolt he felt from before electrifying below his skin as you pressed against him. 
Reaching down and lightly cupping one of your hands over the denim of his jeans, you felt him squirm the longer you dared. 
 His dark brows furrowed at your forwardness, wanting to taste you again.
Your hands were firm on him, brokering no argument for the sly agent to persuade you with. He admired your drive, easily taking the momentum from him and twisting it to your desires. You kept surprising him, and by the way you delved into his mouth you weren’t afraid of showing him this side of you.
You wanted him to say something, anything, so this time you squeezed with intent, the hiss in your ear headier than the alcohol on his breath.
His cock twitched under your hand, and god it was power . 
You enjoyed him like this: slightly wild but contained, a groan threatening to break through clenched teeth as you felt him up in public so casually. 
You kiss him possessively in that dark room, drinking him up and daring him to consume you in turn like he promised. He might have approached you first, but you were going to finish what you both started.
It was desperate and messy and loud but neither of you cared.
A couple walked close to the both of you, forcing you to break from him in the narrow hallway to let them pass. Your absence made Jack swiftly reconnect himself with your body, his large hand sliding down into the pocket of your jeans to roughly squeeze your ass that had been grinding on him only moments before. 
Leaving his hand where it was, he used it to direct you outside into the street. The nighttime air filled your lungs with relief, cooling the sweat that dampened your neck.
“You're positive you don’t wanna go back to my place? I can assure you the view from my floor is nothing to scoff at.”
“While that might ordinarily be tempting, Jack, your apartment doesn’t have any of the toys that I like to use,” you retorted. 
You could already imagine flashes of the night ahead of you at your apartment. 
“A pity then, I just know that you pressed against my floor to ceiling windows when the sun rises would be a pretty sight indeed.”
“Let’s enjoy tonight and plan on that for next time.”
Shame was not an emotion that Jack entertained often and he wasn’t about to start now, leaving your lipstick where it sat proudly on his face. A few people stared at him in the street, but no one stopped your brisk pace. 
At the last crosswalk he pinched your ass in retaliation when you turned to kiss him harshly, nipping his chin as you leaned back onto your heels. As if you were dry kindling struck by lightning, his hands trailed flames in their wake, each touch only hastening your steps forward.  
Exposed brick, industrial lighting, and high ceilings were what attracted you to your building when you first moved to the area. Your small loft on the upper floor gave you the privacy you craved, the cityscape around you comforting in the way it always kept moving. 
While waiting for the elevator Jack untangled himself from you to lean against the wall on your right. He stood there appreciating you as a few of your neighbors walked around the lobby, Jack tipping his hat to them as they passed.
You didn’t even realize you’d dropped it at some point to kiss him earlier.
“Prettier than a peach,” he murmured, his hand reaching to smooth over his mustache in thought. He was earnest, the mood shifting into something unnamed as the elevator dinged. You huddled into him as people came and went.
"You know," you began, "I'd look even prettier with your hands wrapped around my throat."
 He coughed into his hand, not wanting everyone else in the lobby to see how tight his jeans suddenly felt. You laughed.
You both stumble into your apartment, the size of Jack overwhelming as he backs you into the closed door. His mouth was persuasive, like a switch was flipped now that you were both away from everyone else. 
He left bruising kisses on your neck, completely unyielding in his quest to mark you wherever he could reach. His hands were on the back of your head, holding you in place as he gripped your neck just so. 
For a long suspended moment you were frozen, wanting to regain the ground you refused to lose. But hell, could this man kiss the thoughts from your head. 
Then, all at once, heat spreads through you, thawing you into action. 
Holding onto his jacket with your fingers you tilt your head back with a breathless chuckle, making Jack look into your eyes. You take up one hand and grip his chin, the other drifting to caress the lipstick mark you shamelessly left on his cheek. Pressing down on it with more pressure to show you meant your next words, you wanted him to listen. 
He smirked into your touch, a cocky sort of grin showcasing his dimple that felt entirely warranted as your breath stuttered in your chest. 
“Go sit on the couch,” you ordered. Kissing you once more before moving away, a filthy moan left you as his tongue darted out for a taste. His eyes didn’t look away until you turned your back, shedding clothes in your wake until all you had left on was the lace you were wearing.
“Would you like a drink?”
“Sure thing baby, pour me a bit of whatever you’re having.”
You didn’t leave him for long, reappearing with strong liquor and the type of lingerie that made you feel like you could eat a man’s heart in the marketplace like Beatrice once said.
The warmth from the drink you’d sipped in the kitchen enveloped you as it licked up your chest— you were in your element now.
Grounded in your body, you took a deep breath. 
Emerald lace and satin embrace you, assured in the sway of your hips as you walked over to your cowboy. Handing him his drink and swiftly straddling his parted thighs, you let him take you in.
 You don’t know when he became “your cowboy,” but it sounded right, for the night at least.
Say what you will, but Jack was flexible with a change in plan. He just had to bide his time, finishing the finger of bourbon left in his glass before setting it aside.
The way you spilled out of your lingerie had him drowning in you. Champ once told him that he was an adrenaline addict, chasing every mission that got his heart racing. He wasn’t wrong—you couldn’t function as a successful Statesman agent without a dash of daredevil in you.
And he just loved the way you moved.
His mouth descends on you again, leaving you once to gulp in a desperate breath before attacking with renewed vigor. 
He hoarsely spoke your name, and it was the best thing that had left his lips all night. You wanted him to say it again but this time underneath you, unbidden and desperate at the way you pulled it out of him. You slid your tongue into his mouth and brought up a hand to roughly yank at the hair on the sides of his head, until he bowed his back and leaned into you for a moment.
“Is this what you want?” You asked, snaking your hand underneath the cup of your brassiere to shove it aside and caress your breast, a groan breaking through your composure at the way Jack bucked into you. Though his breathing was measured and even, his lips parted at the sight of your nipples pebbling in the cool air. 
“You know, when I saw you at the bar I knew I had to talk to you, take you with me when I left,” he murmured, quiet in his admission as it rang true on his face. 
“Mmmm, honey, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but...you’re in my apartment at the moment, on my couch no less, drinking my bourbon,” you answer just as quietly into his ear. You graze over it teasingly with your teeth just to see him shiver. “And I’m wearing a matching set right now. So who really took initiative tonight, hm?”
Jack laughed almost in disbelief at your words, his body responding for him. It’s an honest sound, one that makes you kiss him deep enough to taste his tongue in the back of your throat.
Ultimately what you saw in his eyes was patience. And that was hotter than anything else he could have done. 
 You sigh his name, letting your head fall forward as he seeks out another kiss from you. 
“This is just the preview. I want it all, and I know you do too,” he breathed against your lips. “Now are you going to let me touch you, or do I have to watch you fuck yourself on my thigh before I can taste you? You can only tempt a man so far.”
“Is that a threat or a challenge I hear?”
“I did promise that you’d be screaming my name, and I take that job very seriously. You'll hear no arguments from me.”
“You sure you can handle me like that, cowboy?”
Jack was wavering somewhere between wholly aroused and perversely indignant. No one questioned him like this, in the bedroom or otherwise if he could help it.
 He hated how it turned him on like this. 
You’re not sure what emboldens you to tease him; your resolve only heightens the longer he looks at you, as if you could spill over into him and it still wouldn’t be enough. 
“I have never been more sure than I am right now.”
He knew how to fire you up. In many ways, you were both quite similar.
Restless and insatiable. 
Purposefully running your hands down his chest only to stop your exploration at his belt, the rumble in his chest was one of approval as you scratched at his abdomen through his shirt. 
You enjoyed yourself when pleasure could mix with a bit of pain, and you had an inkling that Jack did too. You wanted to deny him, reduce this enigma of a man into a begging mess before the sun came up. But your own need to be touched by him won out, and damn him for kissing you like that—as if you were the antidote to a fatal poison he had drunk in an effort to forget you. 
“You can touch me, Jack, but there’s something I want to do first.”
You meet his gaze for a brief moment as you pause in this position on top of him, being perfectly still when all you wanted was to hold him close until there was no space for questions or distractions.
An understanding passes between you both. Your body buzzes with nerves, synapses firing as all thoughts focus on the man holding you.
He grabs at your hips, whispering encouragement in your ear as he guides you to settle flush against his lap with your legs on either side of him. The zipper of his jeans and his belt buckle rubbed into your clit hard enough to make you shiver.
“ Fuck… ”  
Jack  scrapes his teeth over your jaw. Barely there. More of a breath across your cheek than anything. 
You reach back and unlatch your bra, throwing it away as he cups each breast in his calloused hands. Arching into his attentive mouth as it reached your skin, you threaded your fingers in his hair, messing up the hat flattened strands and tugging on them harder when he bit down teasingly. 
Letting your nipple go with a wet plop, he leaned back into your hands on his head.
“God, I am so fucking hard thinking about licking into that pretty pussy of yours, bet you taste real good,” Jack groaned. You answered in kind, kissing him again to swallow his words.
This was just the warm-up.
“I’m going to cum just like this against you, but if you move any more then I won’t be quite so kind later. Wanna make you earn it. I’m a generous lover, Jack, but a fair one,” you simpered, grinding almost cruelly against the hardness of him that you could feel throbbing through his pants. “You want me to be nice, don’t you?”
“Oh darlin’, I’m sure you’re sweeter than a saint,” he grunted, words stuttering as you brought his head up closer to yours, lips touching but not quite. Rotating your hips, you sigh into his mouth as you move against him. 
True to his restraint so far, he kept himself in place, his breath hot against your cheeks as your pace quickened. 
“Mmmm, can’t wait to have you inside me,” you sighed, his muscles straining beneath your fingers. Shuddering at the feeling of him under you, your first orgasm was creeping closer as it began trickling down from the tips of your fingertips. “D-don’t want you to cum until I’m done with you.”
Jack’s mouth opened partly in awe as you grinded on him with even more force. 
He had a hidden strength to him, and by the way his arms flexed around you he could have easily moved you under him at any time. The fact that he didn't demand it was arousing.
Fuck you were wet.
Tilting his head slightly, he enjoys the view of you on his lap using him for your own pleasure. Your tits bounce as you move, and he’s torn between telling you how perfect they are and moving just slightly to bury his face in your softness. He whimpered silently as you pulsed around him, able to feel it over his clothes as you threatened to unravel.
“Oh, look at you,” he exclaimed, voice a low rumble that stokes the fire in your belly. “Just like that, baby. Fuck, come on. Take what you need from me.”
He says your name once, fervent and taut, barely able to keep himself in check. The fact that he was still almost fully clothed made him need more . You were all warm skin and curves and he wanted to feel every second of you wrapped around him.
He tensed his thigh and shifted slightly but you didn’t notice as you rode out the waves of pleasure rolling over your clit.
It was exquisite and hurried and not the end goal but you didn’t mind. You had wanted to see if he would listen to you. If he could take what direction you gave him. It was an entirely different high you’d surprisingly discovered in your twenties, having a man in your control, making him beg with just your body. 
And yet, Jack did not beg for himself. The look in his eyes was expressive enough. Still he didn’t move, and that was what finally pushed you over. 
Gasping in shock, your orgasm softly washed over your skin. He eagerly watched, memorizing the way your mouth hung open at the feeling of him grabbing your hips with bruising force to drag you over him once again.
When you finally opened your eyes Jack was already looking at you, and you did not shy away. His hair was tousled from your hands, lips swollen, eyes bright—you savored him like the Kentucky whiskey on his breath. 
“Mmmm, you were so good for me,” you praised, voice heavy in your mouth as you recalled how to speak.
As you came back down he chased your lips, taking his time to touch you the way he could now that you’d fallen into his chest. His mouth was a wanting, wretched thing, tracing a path from your lips to your chest. 
You pulled back for a moment. “Do you want to switch to the–”
“I’m not done yet,” he interrupted, bringing you back into a heated kiss that had you whining into his hold on you. He slips his tongue in your mouth and seems to slow time licking into you just so, making you shiver. 
His hands were frenzied in the way they glided over all the flesh he could reach. 
You would torture him no longer.
His blunt nails traced over your spine, and you wanted to ask him to do that again. 
“Now you are a rare gift, my dear,” he hummed into your mouth. “I would hate for you to be tired already.”
“Oh, you don’t have to question my stamina,” you slyly answered. Even now you are still hazy in your bones, tethering yourself to his firm grip on your ass. “Worry about your own.”
The chuckle that leaves him is telling, and you clearly feel his frustration rolling off him now that you can think in complete sentences.
You kiss the corner of his mouth and swiftly hop off of his lap, trembling for a moment as you right yourself. There’s a slight damp spot from where you were sitting on his white shirt that had been hanging over half untucked from his jeans, but you’re too drunk on endorphins to feel embarrassed. 
You did that .
Your heart stuttered for a moment at the raw ache you saw in his face. Hooking your fingers in the slim waistband of your panties, you then cast them aside. 
It felt like an afterthought after what you had both just done, but the way Jack looked at you was anything but unappreciative. 
What you inspire in him is so erotically charged that he is momentarily struck dumb by what you do next.
Falling onto your knees you look up at him through your lashes, taking the flask attached to his belt buckle, the surface slightly wet from your release making it slick in your hands. It was silent in the apartment, the only sound Jack’s breathing as he watched you drink from the flask that he favored so much. 
You could taste yourself around the metal and lipstick and whiskey. A theme of the night it seemed.
Awareness flows down your spine at Jack’s gaze. As you take one more pull, his hands reach up to card through your hair, holding it in a makeshift ponytail, reaching for you with a finality that has you arching into him.  
You lead him into your room, wishing you had cleaned up a bit before tripping on the rug, laughing as you both stumble into your metal bed frame. 
“Now Jack,” you begin, bracing yourself for the next conversation you rarely walked into without some gut feeling bracing you up. “Do you have a safe word?”
He didn’t answer immediately, but when he did he was entirely focused on you. 
“I do, pretty girl. It’s sweet tea.”
The way his mouth caressed each syllable with that slow southern drawl shouldn’t have been as damning as it was.
“How do you feel about ropes?”
The way he lit up was thrilling. He looked away with unfocused eyes, enjoying a private joke that only he knew. It was the expression of a man that delighted in his own mystery. 
You couldn’t deny that a part of you was burning to know what he locked away. He prowled with that hidden energy, and knowing what you’d experienced of him so far, you would have to work for a proper taste.
“I happen to be quite gifted with whips and a lasso if I do say so myself. I’m rather versatile in that regard. Rest assured it is not my first rodeo.” 
“In that case cowboy, I want you...to tie me up,” you said before grazing your thumb across his bottom lip. He nodded slightly surprised, with the way you had directed him earlier he had thought you’d wanted to tie him up instead.
 It wasn’t like he couldn’t escape from some ropes if he really needed to.
He had been amazing under you before, but you wanted more. You wanted him to take your body and make your need dissolve on your tongue as you cry. You wanted it to hurt.
Jack felt like you could read his mind, look into the very heart of him and learn all of his desires. Palming himself over his jeans, he imagined the warmth of your mouth and had to stop from outpacing himself.
You walked into your closet with purpose, toeing on your favorite pair of stiletto heels as you grabbed your selection of ropes from where they’re hidden.
His eyebrow ticks up at the sight of you naked with only your Louboutins on, the black ropes in your hands are just as daring. He waits for you to settle onto the pillows of your bed before methodically tying your hands to hooks in the wall on either side of your headboard.
 It took him a few moments but his knots were sound, loose enough but tight on your wrists so you couldn’t break free. You were grudgingly impressed with how fast Jack could work when he was motivated, filing it away where you could exploit later.
He throbs at the salacious painting you rendered, spread out and glowing in the warm lighting of the room. With your opened legs you were vulnerable and slick and soft. 
Jack didn’t want to wait any longer before losing himself in you.
He shifted down to lay himself between your parted legs. You swiftly stopped him with your left leg extended fully out, the stiletto of your heel digging into his lowered shoulder as he kneeled on the bed. The startled look on his face made you tease him, grinding it in a little further before moving it down his chest to stop at the length of his cock straining for freedom. 
Pressing down.
The choked groan that he involuntarily let out was painfully erotic. You wish you could record it and hit rewind.
“Hold your horses, Jack. You have far too many clothes on. Strip for me first before you get what you want.”
To his credit he didn’t jump up and frantically discard the remainder of his clothing. Like you before his expression turned calculating, methodically shifting off the bed and taking off his shirt and discarding his pants along with his underwear. All are then folded on your nightstand, neat and pricise to minimize wrinkles.  
You swallow at the way he ignores your anticipation, but it brings no relief. 
His skin is tan like the rest of him, belly soft and strong before a small trail of dark hair leads down to the base of his cock sitting heavy against his stomach. 
You imagine tracing your tongue over every inch of him seeing where he’d fracture and break in your hold, only to put him back together again when he asked.
He was incredibly distracting like that when he wanted to be.
Captivated, your eyes stop back at his chest, small faded scars criss-crossing his skin, one worryingly close to his heart that had you straining for a closer look. His muscles ripple as he moves, the veins of his arms as formidable as the rest of him. 
Jack was focused as he finally settled low on the bed, fingers ghosting over skin as he hitched your legs over his shoulders. Kissing and nipping at the inside of your thigh, he took in a deep breath and let out a little hum, puffs of air hitting your pussy as he adjusted.
He leaned his head on your left thigh and looked up at you briefly.
“You remember the safe word, sweetheart?” He asked. You nodded, almost drunk at the heat of him crowding you. “I need to hear you say it.”
“Yes Jack, I remember it’s sweet tea. Now are you going to eat my pussy like you mean it or do I need to get myself off again?” You answered, tapping your leg down on his back knowing fully well how it would rile him up.
He grins at you savagely, leaning down the remaining space to lick a long stripe all the way up your folds. 
You buck into his mouth, your already sensitive clit coming alive again. He moves his arms to cage your hips in his hold, bringing you flush to his tongue by grabbing onto your ass. 
He was nestled between your legs, mapping your body with licks and handprints. Your half-formed praises and keening whine made Jack a mess of a man, grinding into the mattress as he drank up everything you could give him.
He loved your voice and the way it scattered into nothing when he sucked your clit into his mouth. He made no pretense at staying quiet, noisy and whole in his destruction of you.
Coming up for air, his mustache glistened, cheeks red from his own harsh breathing against your cunt. His lips were wet and you wanted to taste yourself when he kissed you. He reaches down for a moment and pumps himself harshly, tightly fisted and the sound he lets out...you feel it like a pulse.
His nose brushes you as he dives back in. If he could sink underneath your skin you would burst. 
He slides two fingers inside, your muscles clenching around him as far as he could go. Curling his fingers upward and holding them there, a hot fusion of unnamed pleasure and painful awareness zips through you. You can't help but squirm underneath him.
There it was.
Jack wanted you to call his name until he no longer connected it with himself, an uncontained force that compelled him to do whatever you wanted if only you'd say his name like that again. 
Wanting. 
“Fuck, when you say my name like that I just burn all over,” he murmured. “You gonna cum now, baby?”
You hum distractedly, the coiled tether in your abdomen snapping when he doubles down just right. He eagerly laps at you as your pussy flutters, climbing higher and higher until plunging you into nameless bliss. Each limb feels liquid as you touch down.
Jack keeps sucking and licking you without stopping and you can’t cover your mouth to muffle the whimpers that slip through. He adds a third finger and continues to move through each aftershock that bounces through your body.
“Come on. Lord—when you sound like that I don’t want you to stop. You’re not done yet, I know you can give me another one. Look at the way you take me in.”
You wanted to dodge his mouth as he sucked on you again, even the gentle way he prodded at you felt like too much. You weren’t going to beg yet, even for a man like Jack. Despite your discomfort you felt yourself stir again, weaker but no less corporeal, as he pressed down hard on your clit with a pressure that made your breathing pick up.
With effort you rocked into him once more and strained to lock your legs around his head, squeezing when he nipped at you. A handful of minutes later you were boneless and spent, legs trembling as he drew your pleasure out.
 He moaned at the feeling of being utterly surrounded, desperately sending you over again so that he could breathe. 
You couldn't think past the wall of sensation you were being held against without mercy.
This orgasm was harder than the last, a juggernaut that only built on the first. A few silent tears trailed down your face, so overcome that his facial hair burned similar to the hand shaped bruise already forming on your hip. 
You close your eyes so tightly that sunbursts bloom behind your eyes as you breathe through it.
Standing up to catch his breath, he used some of the slick on his fingers to slowly cover his shaft, aching from being hard for so long already. From the sheer size and weight of him that you can see, you’re glad for the bottle of lube on your bedside table, though you’re so wet it probably didn’t matter.
Jack settles himself over you, tugging you up into a fierce, messy kiss, teeth and tongues and harsh breaths traveling from his mouth into yours. 
You were so relaxed that the stretch of him affected you only for a moment as he buried himself inside you. The gasp when he moves catches in your throat, a ghost of all the pleasure he had given you just moments before leaving your body.  
 His voice stutters as he slowly thrusts inside of you, setting a steady pace. “Should keep you right here just like this, make you cum until you forget your own name. Would you like that? Take care of you like no one else will?”
You swear, picturing his words as they traced themselves down your body. As heavy as the feeling of Jack resting his weight on you was, you thrived on it. Your arms felt strained from being tied, but he curled around you just so, keeping you both connected for as long as possible.
Jack’s arms flexed as he adjusted to reach for you, extending his fingers until they pressed into your parted lips.
Swirling your tongue around his two fingers, you could taste yourself on his skin. He then leaned down and used them to press into your clit. It had you closing your eyes, too overwhelmed to speak through it. 
You didn't have any smart comebacks in you now.
His unrelenting tempo jostled the bed against the wall. Moving back to lean on his heels, Jack pistoning into you at this new angle was overwhelming but you simply didn’t care. He yelled out in a voice you almost didn't recognize, hoarse and wet as it ripped from his chest.
“Come on Jack, cum in me,” you panted. “ Fuck , I know you’re close. Can feel you aching for it. You’ve been so patient. So good . ”
You intentionally clench around him like a vice, and it has him tumbling into his own release moments later with a startled shout.
Satisfaction seizes his veins in a chokehold.
He collapses into your chest, the both of you covered in a slight sheen of sweat that was beginning to dry in the cool air.
Whimpering slightly as he pulled out, he worked through his own lethargy to take care of you.
He leaned up and undid the knots holding you hostage. Immediately your arms flop onto the mattress, the burn of your muscles just adding to the mental catalog of sensations you take stock of. With Jack resting on your chest you card your fingers through his hair, the both of you too out of breath to say anything for a few moments. 
The weight of him on top of you kept you grounded.
Warm. Languid. Eyes drifting closed at how heavy you feel. 
“You are gonna be the death of me, woman.” 
“Mhmmm, if that’s the case then I’ll wait to tell you my proposal then. Wouldn’t wanna kill you before another round, Whiskey.”
He lifts his head from your chest at that.
“What did you just call me?” He asked, eyes unreadable as they scan your face. You didn’t care, the words light in your mouth as they leave you.
“Whiskey. You taste like it. And if you think this is the only time I take you to bed, then let me inform you: I still need to drink my fill of you.”
He scratched at his mustache for a moment in thought before he smiles, the most genuine of the night that makes his eyes crinkle with laughter. There it was again, that secret in his expression that has you eager to ask what he’s hiding.
“You’re a very perceptive person, honey. I am thoroughly surprised by you. Tell me what you have in mind when I come back.”
He jumps out of bed to walk into your en suite bathroom, his ass distracting as you watch him fumble around before returning with a warm washcloth to clean you up.  Each brush of his hands on your body is gentle, reverent even as it glides over you. He kisses where your hands had been bound, asking if he was too rough.
You almost laughed. 
You liked it that way. 
Something inside you wanted to stay in the moment, gazing at each other in the dimly lit room. Not forever, just a little longer. You imagine him walking away from you out the door, and it puts an unpleasant feeling in your gut, like you wouldn’t see him again.
You had the sneaking suspicion that if Jack didn’t want to be found he’d disappear.
“So I was thinking,” you began, finally tossing your stilettos off the bed to lay under your quilt. “I have an ungodly expensive espresso machine that makes a decent latte and fresh beans in the kitchen. How about we take a quick nap and then fire it up before round two? I heard once that drinking coffee makes the sex even better.”
“Don’t you mean rounds three and four?” He teased, that ego of his purring at the thought of how much you spasmed and shook around him.
If you weren’t so relaxed you would have probably grabbed onto his balls in response, made him swear around that crooked smile of his.
You'd learn how he liked it and edge him until he melted out of his damn cowboy boots. The thrill of him was delicious, and you hadn't gotten to take a true bite out of him yet.  
“You think you can go another round later and finally ride this prize stallion?” 
That makes you slap at his shoulder. His laugh diffused whatever seriousness lingered and you readily agreed, the both of you winding down as exhaustion hits.
 As his arms settle around you, you imagine the potential of a future with this man of mystery.
 He had barely scratched the surface of what made you wild, and you wanted to change that. Leaving Wonderland with him tonight was an event you were eager to repeat. 
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whiskeynwriting · 1 year
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Old Man Things
Basically, all the old man things that make Daddy Whiskey, an old man.
SFW and NSFW below the cut. 18+ only (minors DNI)
A/N: I can't tell you how much I enjoyed writing this. That's my daddy🥰
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SFW
Every single time you text him, he finds a way to send a thumbs up emoji. “How are you, babe?” 👍🏻 “How’s work going today?” 👍🏻 “Wanna go out tonight?”👍🏻 “Did you buy toilet paper?”  👍🏻
Still reads the actual newspaper, and will do it at the breakfast table and while on the toilet. 
Has to wear reading glasses, likes to wear them while going to bed with a good book in his hand.
Grunts every time he gets up and every time he sits down. Every. Damn. Time. 
His back kills him, especially after missions. He’ll groan when he walks in, groan when he undresses, which will lead to you following him into the bathroom and showering together. You have him sit on the stone seat’s edge, rubbing his back beneath the warm water while bathing him, just letting him relax in your company. And he especially enjoys when you wash his hair. "Babycakes, you have such a sweet touch."
Texts using just his pointer finger. 
Still says “howdy” when he answers the phone. 
Has those grandpa potato house shoes and will not be giving them up anytime soon.
Likes to protect you and keep you as innocent as possible. You’re a grown woman but he doesn’t want the world to taint you. Because of this, he won’t tell you the details of his job, his missions, etc. 
Very old school with dating. Was a gentleman from the start. Opens all the doors for you, even inside your home. He makes dates a special occasion, not a ‘hangout’, and constantly buys flowers for you.
NSFW
Absolutely has bad back days, and will beg you to ride him. “Sugar, I can’t, not today. Please get up here, c’mon, climb on top of me. I know you love riding your daddy.”
Will smoke a cigar while you ride him.
Likes to watch you drink his whiskey he’s even spit it into your mouth before
Has the most guttural southern voice you’ve ever heard, and it makes you weak in the knees damn near every time he speaks. Let alone when he uses his bedroom voice. The difference between, “Hey honey,” and “C’mere, babycakes” couldn’t be more extreme. 
Jack being older than you meant he had more life experience. He was already established, already had money and skill, and was cocky about it. Truly, nothing turns you on more than seeing Jack’s confidence shine through. It reminded you just how easily he’s able to order you around, manhandle and control you. 
Whenever he sits down in his comfy chair, his hips shift forward with his legs parting wide, fully manspreading. And every time you walk in on him sitting like this, it makes you want to sink down to your knees and gag on him, remind him that you’re the best decision he’s ever made. You just want to give him everything you know he deserves. 
Can’t always last for a second round, or even last too long the first round. And gets crazy embarrassed about it. But you always do your best to reassure him, “It’s okay, daddy. It’s okay, don’t you know how much I love it? Every second that I have you? I know your beautiful body gets tired, baby… I love every second I can get”. Rubbing your hands over him, whispering sweet praise that makes him grin. 
Obviously loves being called daddy. Daddy. He wants to be in charge of you, in charge of your happiness and pleasure and general well-being. You’re his, in every sense of the word. His beautiful girl, his responsibility. 
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fuckyeahdindjarin · 9 months
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VIII ║ Silver Pony
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Jack Daniels x f!reader
{ Part 7: Fleabitten | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 9: Warmblood }
Rating: E
Summary: And just like that, your week at the Statesman Ranch comes to an end, leaving you grappling with the prospect of saying goodbye to Jack.
Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, grief, flirting, insecurities, very light soft!dom overtones, sexual innuendoes, risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N
Word count: 7.5k
Notes: Here we are, the penultimate chapter of Palomino. I had the last scene in mind since the very beginning of the series, actually putting it into words has been so emotional. Thank you as always for your patience and your love for this series, I'm eternally grateful that you're still with me as we wrap up this beautiful journey cowboy Jack and his Darlin' started almost a year ago ❤️
P.S. Please excuse typos and any mistakes as I had very little time to edit with the husband ill this weekend.
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Coaxing Scotch to a halt at the end of the track - the last lookout point before the trail slopes downhill and homeward - you let the leather reins slip long and loose as he stretches his neck and shakes out his mane with a low nicker. 
A hundred feet drop below, between the palomino’s ears turned forward in anticipation, is the Statesman Ranch in all its glory, nestled in the fertile valley of green pasture, with its winding creek and red roofs. You can see tiny people milling about, the stables busy in the middle of the afternoon, and horses grazing in the fields bracketed by white picket fences.
Out of the corner of your eye, Whiskey comes to a stop next to you, close enough that your knee bumps into Jack’s. 
You keep your gaze on the ranch below as you ask half-jokingly, ‘Is it too late to turn back now?’
He chuckles, and you twist towards him, your own lips curling. ‘I believe we had this exact same conversation the first day, darlin’.’
It’s not too late to back out, you know.
Oh no, you’re not getting rid of me now, cowboy.
You don’t even realise you’ve fallen quiet until his calloused hand slides over yours, fingers tangling together. Jack brushes a sweet kiss to the heart of your palm that goes right to the one in your ribcage. 
He cocks his head to one side in a gentle question. ‘Shall we rip off the bandaid, darlin’?’
Knowing there’s no other way around it, you squeeze his hand. ‘Let’s go, cowboy.’
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Jameson is the first to spot the five of you passing through the backgates. The sight of him zooming up the slope with his ears pinned back in excitement has you laughing, the horses nickering hello as his barks echo in the valley. 
It makes no sense really - you barely know this place after all - but something inexplicably comforting and familiar tugs at your insides as you ride through the ranch. Stable hands call out to Jack in friendly greeting and to you with polite ma’ams, between bales of hay being loaded, saddles and tack polished, and the clang of steel on iron from the farrier’s workstation out back. All the while, Jameson trots faithfully by your side, as if he’s known you all his life.
‘You sure know how to make a girl feel special,’ you coo at him and he barks back, tail wagging.
Jack winks at you and says cryptically, ‘Well, you’re about to feel a lot more special, darlin’.’
Sure enough, when the horses clop into the main stable yard, your jaw drops.
‘Look what the cat dragged in!’ bellows Champ with a huge grin on his face, standing in front of the stable doors with hands on his hips, larger than life than ever.
You chortle at the huge Welcome Back! banner stretched over the barn door, complete with over-the-top cowboy themed helium balloons, bumping into each other in the afternoon breeze. You catch Jack rolling his eyes fondly at the scene.
Champ gives Scotch an affectionate ruffle on the mane as he comes to a halt by the wooden post. ‘So - how was it, m’dear? Was it everythin’ I promised it would be?’
‘Everything and more,’ you answer in the affirmative as you dismount, letting him pull you in for an enthusiastic hug.
‘That’s what I like to hear!’ he beams and pats the palomino soundly on the rump. ‘And Scotch? Was he a good boy?’
‘The bestest boy,’ you gush, throwing your hands around the horse’s neck in a hug. ‘He deserves all the carrots and apples in the world.’
Swinging his leg over the back of Whiskey’s saddle and landing gracefully on booted feet on the opposite side of the post, Jack quips, ‘But you’ve already fed him all the carrots and apples in the world.’
Champ chortles. ‘And what about our cowboy? Was he on his best behaviour?’
Jack points a self-righteous finger at his boss. ‘I’ll have you know our guest rated the pack trip a perfect ten out of ten, so I’ll be expectin’ an immediate raise. Ain’t that right, darlin’?’
A loud scoff coming from the stables turns your head, and you smile when Tequila emerges, wasting no time taking his aim at Jack. ‘Hold your horses, Daniels. Pretty sure the food poisonin’ knocks a few points off!’
Crossing the yard with his usual swagger, he sidles up to the other side of Scotch and tips his hat at you, leaning his elbows on the saddle. ‘Welcome back, sweetheart. Good to see you up and runnin’.’
You bite your lip at the mischievous wink he tosses your way.
Champs harrumps indignantly. ‘You have some nerve askin’ for a raise, son! Poppy was madder than a wet hen she heard about that. As you well know, she expects a full report at dinner tonight.’
Jack huffs in jest. ‘I’m puttin’ in a call to my attorney as we speak.’
The banter is spirited and relentless as the cowboys make quick work of untacking and unloading the horses, Champ insisting you shouldn’t lift a finger and talking for more than the three of you. 
When the stable hands take away the last of the bags with your dirty laundry to be laundered, Jack takes a hold of both Whiskey and Bourbon. Clearing his throat, he seems to hesitate for a second, a tick in his jaw, but he eventually nods at you and says, ‘Well. I best be bringin’ the boys in now. Catch you later, darlin’.’
The bottom of your stomach gives out at the catch you later, darlin’, knocking the breath clean out of you, unprepared for the dread that courses through your veins like lead at the sudden prospect of being apart. Your fingers twitch with urgency, wanting to reach out, grab him by the front of his shirt, and cling to him -
Get a grip, woman.
You physically shake yourself out of it, and instead, try to bide your time. ‘Or, you know, if can I help with anything at all -’
Jack clearly catches on to your reluctance, but Champ is insistent. ‘Absolutely not! Now, it’s just gettin’ to four o’clock, so there’s plenty of time to go back to your room, clean up and join us for sunset drinks in a couple of hours. How does that sound, ma’am?’
Jack’s mouth stretches into a reassuring smile that you wish were imprinted into the skin of your forehead instead. With a promise in his eyes that it’ll only be a couple of hours, he leads the chestnut and pinto into the stables.
You don’t even try to hide the slump in your shoulders and your wistful, lingering gaze on the cowboy’s retreating back, nearly jumping out of your skin when Tequila gives you an almost brotherly pat on the shoulder over Scotch’s back. ‘I gotcha, girl.’
Speaking up, he calls out, ‘Hey Champ, Ginger was just tellin’ me that you got an urgent message from Harry, so you better give him a call back - you know how he gets when you don’t.’
The older man flinches dramatically at the mention of his accountant, flinging his hands up in frustration. ‘Damn distillery is more trouble than it’s worth! I better go - you remember your way back to your cabin, young lady?’
Before you can get a word out, Tequila cuts in, ‘Jack can show her the way if she doesn’t, I’m sure.’
The sly reference goes straight over Champ’s head as he bustles off, but not without a polite tip of his hat. Once he’s out of sight, you smile at the cowboy. ‘I appreciate that, Teak.’
He winks at you and spins on his heels to take Scotch to the washing bay. ‘Consider it part of our excellent service at the Statesman Ranch, sweetheart!’
You find Jack hatless in Bourbon’s box, his eyebrows reaching for his hairline, slick with sweat, when you slip in and shut the door quietly behind you.
‘Whatcha doin’, darlin’?’ he asks with a lopsided smile.
Even though you didn’t run into anyone on your way in, you glance around to make sure you’re alone before grabbing him by the open neck of his shirt and tugging him into you. One palm on his cheek, rough with the stubble starting to peek through since his last shave at the Halfway House, you press your lips to his, blood thrumming with the thrill of sneaking around.
You catch the hitch of his breath with a wet suck on his bottom lip and he groans - too loudly in the mid-afternoon quiet. Cheeky hands wander south and grab you shamelessly by the ass, his tongue questing deep into your mouth, and you can feel him hardening against your stomach, drawing a whimper from you.
Pulling back reluctantly, his nose still on yours, he growls. ‘Such brazen behaviour.’ 
Your tongue darts out and swipes the underside of your upper lip, drunk on the taste of him, and his dark gaze follows. ‘I think you like it, cowboy.’
‘Too fuckin’ much,’ he admits with a pained moan and a chaste kiss to your temple, nose in your hair, as if to calm himself down. ‘You should go clean up, I need to finish up here and you’re distractin’ me.’
You pout, laying your cards on the table. ‘But I miss you.’
His gaze warms at your admission, and he stoops to kiss you again. ‘I know, but it’s only for a little while, okay? I’ll come ‘round your room to pick you up at six.’
‘Fine,’ you reply begrudgingly. ‘Be quick, ok?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he teases and swats you on the bottom playfully as he herds you towards the door. ‘I won’t be long, promise.’
Taking two steps down the corridor, you look back one last time at Jack, who’s still watching you from the stall, leaning on the top of the door. When he blows you a lingering kiss, the thought strikes you unbidden -
If it’s this hard leaving him for a couple of hours.
Feeling the tell-tale sting in your nose and the prickle of tears at your eyes, you push the thought out of your mind - 
You put one foot in front of the other, and walk away.
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You didn’t realise how much you missed civilisation until you surprise yourself with the longest sigh under the rain shower. Head bowed under the steady stream, you take your time, lathering yourself until you’re cocooned in olive scented bubbles before rinsing, relishing the firm water pressure soothing the knots and soreness lurking under your skin.
But there’s a deeper ache, one that can’t be reached from the surface.
You have literally not been apart from Jack for the last four days. You’ve been showering together since the Halfway House, for crying out loud. It hasn’t taken you more than the stretch of an arm to catch his hand, or the turn of your cheek to find his lips.
A laugh bubbles in your throat as you wrap yourself in a fluffy towel. The word codependent springs to mind.
Standing in the middle of the room in just your underwear, you sort through the clean clothes that are folded neatly on the bed. Pulling on the prettiest top you brought and the same pair of jeans you wore on your birthday, you dig out your makeup bag and settle in front of the vanity, putting on a Spotify playlist and humming along as you get ready for dinner.
One second you’re blending in your foundation, then the next - liner in your grasp and poised over the corner of your eye - panic rudely sets in.
What if -
What if the chemistry between the two of you was conditional on forced proximity?
What if Jack was only attracted to you because there was literally no other woman for miles and miles?
What if -
You startle at the knock on the door. 
It’s deja vu when you pad across the oakwood floors on bare feet, your heart threatening to thunder out of your chest when you twist the knob clockwise.
Jack is leaning on the doorframe, freshly showered himself, damp locks curling into his forehead. The yellow flannel he’s wearing is new to you, but not the way the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, over his sunkissed forearms.
For one moment of madness, you want to sink your teeth into the thick, sinewy -
‘What is it, darlin’?’ he asks, amused by your scrutiny.
You shrug, fingers fidgeting with a touch of shyness. ‘Just thinking about the last time you were on this doorstep.’
‘When you were swept away by my good looks and charm?’ he quips, arching an eyebrow.
You let him have this one, teasing, ‘Something like that, cowboy.’
Straightening up to his full height, he pulls you in by the waist so that you’re almost standing on the worn leather tips of his boots, the span of his palms warm on the small of your back. He doesn’t even bother checking over his shoulder before brushing a tender kiss on your lips, and it takes you right back to that first time in the field of wildflowers at dawn.
And you just know, in your heart of hearts - there is no what if.
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In the middle of nowhere, up in the mountains, the sunset hour demands nothing short of worship. Miles and miles of grassland, trees and summer blooms become altars dipped in bronze at which to prostrate oneself as the sun sinks, rejoicing at the rapture of the end of day.
Whilst not as transcendent as what you experienced on the trail, the last sunset over the ranch is giving as good as it gets. The sun gilds the fields in gold on its descent as the stable hands bring in the last of the horses for the night while the swallows fly home above. The river that winds through the ranch is ablaze with the refracting light, and across the yard, you can hear the impatient whinnying of those waiting for their supper. 
Jack and Tequila are setting up the barbeque and firepit, the orange glow of the twin flames taking the place of the fading daylight. The familiar scent of burning wood grounds you - you’re feeling a bit out of practice being the centre of attention after being alone with Jack for the past week.
Ice cold lemonade in one hand and buffalo jerky in the other, you smile when Ginger approaches with a hug. ‘I’m sure you’ve had to answer this question about fifty times today, but how was it?’
‘You want the short answer or long answer?’
‘I want a dissertation if you have it in you!’
You sneak glances at Jack over Ginger’s shoulder while you chat, and he watches you back from afar as he bustles in and out of the kitchen, always trailing two steps behind Poppy. You catch snippets of their conversation as they go back and forth, and you pick up enough to know that she is grilling him on the ‘food poisoning’ incident. He shoots you puppy eyes every time he passes by, which makes you grin.
You may or may not have been a bit distracted by the cowboy when Ginger asks, ‘So, did you catch Jack washing in the river in the end?’
A violent cough racks your entire body as you choke mid-swallow, and she chuckles, giving you a comforting pat on the back. ‘It’s ok, girlfriend - I don’t have to know!’
You knock back more lemonade and choose to play coy. If only she knew.
Champ is in his element, swapping out your drink for a whiskey soda as the dusk deepens and making sure the snacks platter is topped up with locally made boar and elk salami. Despite only having half an ear in the conversation while he keeps an eye on the dinner prep, he’s somehow still fully invested, and is particularly interested in the photos and videos you’ve been taking on Jack’s DSLR.
‘And that’s what you do for a livin’, young lady?’ he asks, putting on his reading glasses so he can study the photos downloaded onto your phone.
‘Adjacent. I’m in marketing, I do quite a lot of business-to-consumer social media campaigns,’ you explain, switching to Instagram to show him your employer’s profile. 
Champ turns to Ginger. ‘Do we have the social media?’
She exchanges a fond smile with you. ‘No we don’t, boss, but we do have a website. I think it was last updated in 2012.’
Champ holds his chin between his thumb and index finger thoughtfully. ‘What do you think, m’dear? Should we get the social media?’
‘It depends,’ you answer truthfully. ‘If you want to boost occupancy, social media will definitely help connect new guests, and also encourage repeat visits. But if you asked me, I think the real potential is on the distillery side of the business.’
Champ perks up under his cowboy hat. ‘I’m listenin’.’
You tap the bottle of Statesman whiskey that’s sitting on the barrel table. ‘Jack told me that you only handle wholesale orders right now, which is perfectly fine. But if you want to go direct to consumers one day, social media is the way to go. I’ve worked with vineyards and gin distilleries, so I’ve seen how effective these campaigns can be.’
Humming pensively, Champ sips at his whiskey, neat, a faraway look in his eyes as he mulls over your words. ‘Well, that’s somethin’ to think about, I’d say.’
There’s no other way to end the trip than with a western cookout. The barbeque station is packed with trays of beautifully cut and aged meat from neighbouring ranches, sausages and brats, while the smoked brisket and ribs that have been cooking all day are brought out from the smoker in the kitchen. 
On the side, a picnic table draped with a chequered table cloth is crammed with baked beans (smoked in-house), corn on the cob, pasta salad and soda bread; and on the greens front, there’s homemade coleslaw, potato salad and greens freshly picked from the vegetable patch.
It’s a feast of epic proportions, and it doesn’t surprise you at all that Poppy is pulling out all the stops.
Jack mans the barbeque under her supervision, wielding the tongs with showmanship, and your heart purrs at the familiar sight of him cooking by firelight as darkness well and truly sets in. You feel slightly adrift not being by his side, but Champ is keeping you entertained and well fed, piling seconds upon thirds on your loaded plate despite your protests.
By the time Teak takes over at the barbeque and Jack makes his way towards the communal table where you’re all standing, you’re sipping slowly on your third whiskey and soda. You smile at him over the brim of your tumbler which he returns, and your body leans unconsciously towards him, before remembering where you are. He tucks his right hand into his back pocket, and you want to think that it’s because if he doesn’t, he would reach out for you.
Being denied his touch when he’s right there has you shifting your feet restlessly. Your fingers itch for him, there’s an insistent prickle under your skin that you know he alone can placate.
You venture a peek at Jack, wondering if he’s faring any better than you are. Feeling your eyes on him, he turns to you, his gaze dropping to your mouth none too subtly, the muscle in his neck tensing. Caught in the moment, all you want to do is to run your tongue down the hollow of his throat and taste the smoke on his skin -
You look away in case you do anything rash.
You’re barely holding it together when the conversation moves on to your birthday at the Halfway House.
‘And how was the dinner?’ asks Poppy animatedly. ‘Did you like the cake?’
Despite yourself, you beam, ‘Like it? I loved it, thank you so much! I was so spoiled.’
‘Did Jack show you a good time?’
‘Oh I should say so,’ cuts in Tequila despite being six feet away at the barbeque. At Jack’s glare, he quickly adds, ‘He decked out the place real nice, y’know, with balloons and shit.’
With a shake of your head, you chuckle, ‘And he dressed the horses up in birthday hats and tinsel!’
With the barbeque dying down to a low, simmering flame, Poppy slides in a couple of peach cobblers in pie dishes directly onto the embers to warm up. Leaving behind gravy-stained plates stacked up high on the barrel table, the group drifts over to the low-set deck chairs sitting in a tidy circle around the firepit. 
Emptying the last of the whiskey into his glass, Champ calls out, ‘Jack, m’boy, how ‘bout you run to the cellar and grab us another bottle of the fifteen years?’
‘Sure, boss,’ he replies, hanging back and catching your attention. ‘You wanna come look at the cellar, darlin’? It’s quite a sight.’
Champ is delighted. ‘What an inspired idea! Take your time, young lady, it’s not quite the distillery cellar, but we’ll save that for next time.’
Teak gives you a two-fingered salute and a knowing wink as Jack leads the way. ‘Enjoy the tour, sweetheart!’
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Jack barely waits until you’ve turned the corner behind one of the barns before backing you up against the wall. You taste whiskey and woodsmoke on his tongue as he pins you in place with his broad frame, and you haul him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him.
‘I missed you, darlin’,’ he whispers against your lips.
‘I was standing right next to you, cowboy.’
‘I know,’ he whines. ‘Took everythin’ to keep my hands to myself.’
Your cheeks warm at his words, and you reach up to brush an errant curl back from his eyes. ‘Me too.’
Jack grabs your hand and takes you on what must be a shortcut to the kitchen, since you don’t recognise the route. Practically dragging you down a flight of steps at the back, he lets go of you only to pull open a heavy oak door. Your eyes widen when the orange lights flicker on, stepping into the cellar lined with hundreds, if not thousands of bottles, floor-to-ceiling shelves nestled into stone arches carved into the walls. 
You wander the perimeter of the room, carefully pulling out dusty bottles high and low to inspect the years printed on the labels, but Jack is having none of it. Face nuzzled into the nook of your shoulder, he grinds his half-hard cock into you impatiently, calloused palms sliding under your shirt and squeezing your tits through your bra.
You moan, the sound echoing under the low vaulted ceilings. ‘What are you doing, cowboy?’
‘Want you now,’ he rasps into the back of your neck, teeth catching the sensitive skin.
‘What’s gotten into you?’ you ask, a laugh caught in your throat as he ruts against the cleft of your ass needily, a shudder rippling through you when you feel just how much he wants you through the denim.
‘It’s the change in altitude,’ he rasps, dry humping you in earnest now, his fingers fumbling with the front of the zipper. ‘And you’re really fuckin’ sexy in these jeans.’
‘Such a sweet talker,’ you tease, reaching behind you to undo his pants. ‘We got to be quick.’
He yanks the front of your jeans down so hard the movement jolts you forwards, flipping the denim inside out and dragging it down to the middle of your thighs, your panties going with them. His question is hot in your ear. ‘Want me to use protection, darlin’?’
You don’t skip a beat with an emphatic, ‘No.’
‘Fuck,’ he growls at your one-worded answer. ‘Lettin’ me fuck you bare? I’m one lucky cowboy.’
Your pussy throbs at his words alone, and you gasp in surprise when Jack manhandles you to the middle of the room, where a row of aged barrels rest on their sides, elevated on a sturdy shelf to keep them off the floor. He bends you unceremoniously over one cask so that your front is pressed up against the curved wooden surface, then, kicking your legs apart and notching the head of his cock at the mouth of your cunt, he sinks into you in one determined thrust.
‘Jack!’ you cry out, voice hoarse, filled almost painfully full, suspended on the tips of your toes as he plants his feet and drives into you, pulling out to the tip before plunging all the way back in, so deep you feel him in your throat. His breath is harsh and hot on the shell of your ear, but you can’t hear him over your own cries.
‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he croons throatily, his jeans rubbing the back of your thighs raw as his grip on you bites into your sides, holding you in place as you writhe. ‘Such a good girl, lettin’ me bend you over like this, takin’ me so well.’
Nails skidding over the wooden grain of the barrel as you scrabble for something to hold onto, you mewl, ‘Yes, yes, yes, feels so fucking good, cowboy!’
The slap of skin on skin bounces obscenely off the walls, and between the buck of his hips and his groans, you hear the slick squelch of your pussy stretching for him.
It seems to spur him on, and he snaps harder into you, rasping, ‘Look at you naughty thin’, lettin’ me fuck you in the middle of the cellar when anyone can walk in.’
Only then does it hit you - the absurdity of having fucked your way across the open country on this packtrip, taking for granted the liberty of literally screaming to the high heavens, free from prying eyes and ears. Juxtaposed against the sudden and very real prospect of getting caught, your body instinctively reacts.
Jack feels you clench wetly around his cock, a choked chuckle halfway in his throat. ‘Fuck, you filthy girl, you like that, don’t you? Want someone to walk in on us when I’m balls deep inside this pretty pussy?’
Your back arches, and he slides in so deep you’re sure you’ll be feeling him for days after, even when you’re a thousand miles from here. ‘Yes, yes, yes sir -’
The next thing you know, he’s gripping your hair and pulling, making you watch him over your shoulder. His eyes are black, jaw hanging open and teeth bared, and he’s gone - he’s thrusting recklessly into you, and you have no idea how your spine hasn’t snapped from being bent so far backwards. Then one rope-worn palm comes down on your right ass cheek in a cracking slap, making you gag on a half-groan, slick trickling down your thighs at the sting.
Jack leans over you now, caging you between his arms, his soft kisses on your neck an antithesis to the uncompromising rhythm at which he’s pounding into you. He coaxes, ‘Gonna cum for me, darlin’?’
Two of his fingers nudge between your legs and you whine when they make landing on your swollen clit. You nod desperately, clawing at the smooth wooden barrel under you. ‘Yes Jack, please make me cum. Please.’
‘Don’t you worry, you will,’ he says matter-of-factly, smearing mouth and tongue down the side of your neck. ‘You can do it. Make a mess on my cock, c’mon, darlin’ -’
When you clamp down around him, it takes Jack everything - everyfuckin’thin’ - not to let go and pump into you, fill that tight little cunt as you wail his name, quaking and squirming in his grasp. Air doesn’t quite reach his lungs, and he’s biting so hard on the insides of his mouth that it swells instantly, wanting so badly to mark you, to possess you in the most primal way a man can -
With a strangled groan, he pulls out, but only just - he’s already cumming before he can even wrap a fist around his cock, spurting crudely all over the swollen lips of your pussy and the curve of your ass as he milks himself dry, shudder after shudder. His spend drips so prettily down the back of your thighs, stopping just short of staining your jeans, that he goes light-headed for a moment. He sways, and if not for you grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him down for a lazy kiss, he probably would’ve keeled over.
He looks down at the mess he made, crooning into your ear, ‘You’re so beautiful covered in my cum, darlin’.’
You squeak, startled, when he runs this thumb down your slit, still so slick and wet for him, and he has to fight the urge to fucking scoop up his cum shove it into you, filling you only to have it drool out of you when he holds the pretty lips open -
He feels your eyes on him, like you can tell what he’s thinking. He winces, shame rearing its head as he apologises, ‘I’m sorry, I got carried away. Was it - too much?’
Cupping his cheek in your palm, you pull him down for another kiss. ‘Never. I’ll take everything you’ve got, cowboy.’
Jack somehow has a handkerchief in his shirt pocket, which he brandishes with a flourish, prompting a giggle from you. ‘A gentleman if I’ve ever seen one.’
With a playful smirk, he declares, ‘Damn straight - my mama raised me right.’
Gently, Jack cleans you up, and you’re happy to let him do all the work, your body heavy and sated. When he’s done, he swivels you around and presses his lips to your temple. ‘Come back to my house tonight, darlin’?’
You tuck your nose into the crook of his neck and breathe in deeply. ‘I’d love to, cowboy.’
He’s carefully folding up the soiled handkerchief and tucking it into his back pocket when you hear footsteps on the stairs, and the two of you have barely pulled up your jeans when the door swings open.
There’s a dramatic pause as Teak takes in your dishevelled state and none too guilty faces. Looking distinctly unsurprised, he bursts into laughter nonetheless. ‘The cellar? Is nothin’ sacred to you heathens?’
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The cookout winds down over bubbling hot peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream that Teak collected from the freezer in the kitchen on the way back. It’s pushing ten o’clock when Champ calls it a night, and you all help with bringing the dirty dishes and leftovers inside.
Poppy and Ginger make quick work of putting all the food in tupperware and into the fridge. Jack and Teak load up the dishwasher as you finish off the last of your drink.
Champ dusts his hands, as if he’s the one who’s done all the tidying up, and asks, ‘Your flight tomorrow isn’t until afternoon is it?’
You nod, passing Jack your empty glass. ‘Yeah, I need to drop off my rental truck as well, so I think I’ll have to leave around eleven.’
He pats you on the back. ‘Alright then, we’ll see you tomorrow mornin’. Have a good night’s sleep, young lady.’
‘Say goodbye before you go,’ adds Ginger, giving you a peck on the cheek.
‘Dinner was incredible, Poppy, thank you,’ you smile as she pulls you into a warm hug.
The redhead winks at you. ‘My absolute pleasure. I’ll fix you a little takeaway lunch to go tomorrow for the journey home. No plane food allowed for our guests!’
The kitchen empties until it’s just you, Jack and Teak, with the latter grinning at you two like a lunatic. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. ‘So you guys wanna hang, or -’
‘Get the fuck outta here, Teak!’ Jack growls.
The taller cowboy ambles over to you, joints loose with alcohol, and gives you what can only be described as a bear hug. 
‘Just try keep it down, will ya? It’s real quiet in the valley at night and some of us have to work early tomorrow,’ he ribs with an insolent wink. ‘Guess we won’t see you lovebirds at breakfast?’
‘Not if you’re there,’ Jack retorts, to which Teak flashes a good-natured middle finger and saunters off into the night.
Jack draws you into his arms and you slump against him, relieved that you’re finally alone. ‘Shall we, darlin’?’
His fingers curl securely around the back of your hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles at the base of yours as he closes the kitchen door behind you. It strikes you this is actually the first time you’re holding hands - there was no need for that when you were in the saddle, or camped in close proximity. 
Your cheeks stretch with a smile so wide that the muscles ache. The mundanity of walking side by side, hand in hand, shouldn’t be this thrilling.
It’s quiet other than the grind of gravel under your boots and Jack’s heavier ones. The night air is sweet, the blanket of stars above you just as magical, but it’s not quite the same kind of stillness at the lower altitude. Perhaps it’s the way the sound travels with buildings and other people around, maybe the very physics of it is fundamentally different.
Turning into the parking lot, your attention is piqued by a handsome motorcycle parked all on its lonesome next to the main lodge.
Pride in his voice, Jack says, ‘Darlin’, meet the Silver Pony.’
You know nothing about motorcycles, but you can appreciate the sleek lines, the classy tan leather seat and the retro elegance about her as you circle it. Her silver paint job gleams in the lonely porch light. ‘She’s beautiful, cowboy.’
‘She’s an old girl but she got good bones. I restored her myself,’ he proclaims proudly, before admitting, ‘And well, Teak helped too.’
Opening a little cabinet attached to the side of the main lodge, Jack pulls out a helmet that has you laughing. It’s painted red white and blue, stars, stripes and the full monty, with the word WHISKEY painted across the front in bold formation.
He grins at you. ‘Found it in a yard sale. Too good to pass up.’
Lowering it over your head, he tightens the strap carefully under your chin. It’s a bit big, but it’ll do for a short ride. Blinking up at him, it brings you back to that first day in the stables, and you feel the same pull that you did when he fitted you with your hat.
Except this time, you can do something about it. Standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, you giggle when your helmet slips and knocks into his forehead with a clunk.
Putting on his own sensible black helmet, he plants his left foot by the side of the bike and swings his right leg over the leather seat. 
You’re taken aback by the spike in your pulse at the sight - you’d think that having seen him on horseback all week would have prepared you for it. But there’s something about the way he leans over the top of the motorcycle, thighs wrapped around the metal body, forearms flexing as he grasps the handlebar. 
Starting the ignition and knocking back the kickstand with the heel of his cowboy boot, Jack nods at you. ‘Hop on, darlin’.’
You do, and you don’t need to be told to hold on tight.
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The Silver Pony purrs to a stop outside a modest cottage, about a ten-minute cruise from the ranch, down a short dirt track from the main road. It’s pitch black except for the headlights that illuminate an unexpectedly floral front garden. You hop off and take off your helmet before Jack kills the engine, plunging you into a very familiar darkness.
Switching on the light on his phone, he reaches for your hand and pulls you gently to his side, his solid warmth welcome even though it’s nowhere as chilly as it was up on the mountains. Flashing the light towards the front yard, he tells you, ‘Ginger has quite the green finger, this is all her work. It took some time, but the vegetable patch is just startin’ to come through this season.’
Keys jangling, Jack unlocks the front door and ushers you inside, flipping on the lights. 
It’s a cosy space, not big by country standards, but more than spacious enough for one cowboy. It’s clearly a man’s house, with a distinct lack of decorative touches other than a vintage map of Wyoming hanging over a dining table and a crowded bookshelf by the door. Dark wood with orange knots line the floors and ceilings, the warm tones reminding you of nights around the campfire.
Walking through the tidy but lived-in space, you pass an open kitchen with a breakfast bar that backs into the living room. A rustic stone fireplace stands in the corner, bracketed by a cosy sectional with deep seats.
Jack watches you mill about, taking everything in. When you stop by the fireplace, he asks jokingly from across the room, ‘So, what’s the verdict?’
You tease, ‘Not gonna lie - I’m disappointed there aren’t more spurs and lassos on the walls.’
He chuckles and steps into the kitchen. ‘You want a nightcap?’
‘Just water thank you, I think I’ve had enough to drink.’
Filling up two glasses at the sink, he crosses the room to join you at the mantelpiece.
‘How long have you been living here?’ you ask, setting your glass on the shelf after taking a sip.
He takes a moment to reply. ‘I took a long break off work after my wife died, then moved in here straight after. Couldn’t stand bein’ in our house alone - couldn’t bear bein’ there at all.’ He pauses, and his lips quirk with a wry smile. ‘Champ and Teak packed everythin’ up for me and drove it all here.’
His honesty hits you squarely in the chest, the weight of the grief behind his words nearly knocking you back a step. You reach for him, closing the two-step distance and wrapping your arms tight around his waist.
Eyes closed, he lets you anchor him to the moment. Maybe he shouldn’t, but the confession slips right through his teeth. ‘I haven’t brought any women here. Ever.’
He holds his breath as he feels you hold yours. 
You mumble into his chest, ‘You have to stop making it harder for me to leave, cowboy.’
Then don’t. 
The two words are on the tip of his tongue, and for a second, he worries that he actually said them out loud. But he knows he can’t. It’s mad. It’s been a week. It’s not fair on you, not when you have a whole life back in the city, thousands of miles away, and his is right here in the shadow of the Bighorn Mountains.
So he says nothing.
Eventually, you pull back and tip your face up towards him. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the wetness lining the seams of your eyes. 
‘Let’s go to bed, cowboy.’
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He watches you from the doorway, where he leans idly against the frame, body relaxed from the whiskey sodas at dinner. The curtains are drawn and the light from the bedside lamp soft, casting orange shades on the walls and your skin as you shrug on the shirt he leaves out for you. The last button done, you snuggle comfortably under his sheets, and his heart lurches.
Not for the first time, the thought crosses his mind -
You look like you belong here.
‘Are you gonna stare all night, cowboy?’ you tease, sinking into the pillows.
He shrugs and closes the door behind him, shedding his clothes as he goes. ‘Can’t help it, darlin,’. You look good in my bed.’
‘It’s so comfy,’ you sigh happily, watching him strip down to his boxers.
‘It’s just the hard ground talkin’,’ he says, climbing in next to you. Bundling you into his arms and sliding one leg between yours, he kisses you, a deep exhale leaving him as he does. You smile so wide the corners of your eyes crease, and he watches as they land somewhere behind him.
His stomach drops when it dawns on him what catches your attention.
But it’s too late. You sit up, leaning over him and grabbing a hold of it with gentle hands.
You stare up at him. ‘Jack.’ 
He doesn’t even remember the last time he really looked at the photo. It’s there when he wakes up, when he goes to bed. It sits on the bedside table by the lamp, probably covered in dust. 
Untouched.
His silence doesn’t deter you, but your tone is soft, and he understands that you’re giving him an out if he wants it. ‘What’s her name?’
His throat goes drier than sandpaper, and he’s suddenly speaking through a mouthful of cotton. It takes him two tries before he manages to enunciate. ‘Addison. Everyone called her Addie.’
‘Was this taken at your wedding?’
He nods, picking at a loose thread on the comforter.
‘Look at you all dashing in a suit, cowboy,’ you hum appreciatively, tracing a fingertip over the smart dark grey tweed jacket with navy accents. ‘Where did you get married?’
‘At her parents’ ranch.’
‘Under this magnolia tree?’
He nods again. ‘It was her favourite spot.’
‘She’s so beautiful,’ you say quietly.
His eyes dart to the photo in your grasp despite himself. Swallowing thickly, he says, ‘She’s buried there now, where she was always happiest.’
At that, you return the photo to its place on the bedside table, almost solemnly. This is usually the point when people stop asking questions, so when you snuggle into the crook of his shoulder, gazing at him expectantly, he frowns in confusion. 
‘What is it, darlin’?’
‘Tell me about her.’
Jack is stumped, flustered at your request. He shifts, sitting up stiffly against the headboard. ‘Like what?’
You shrug. ‘I don’t know. Like - how did you meet?’
His answer is short, factual. ‘On the rodeo circuit. We both worked on the tour.’
You give him an encouraging nudge. ‘And? What was she like?’
‘She -’ he pauses and holds his breath, weighing his words. In the end, it’s the truth that he tells you. ‘She was the best person.’
He stutters to a stop again, but you’re still peering at him, your expression curious and open. He knows you won’t push him, he trusts that you wouldn’t. He could reach out and switch off the light right now, and he knows you’d leave it at that.
But a small part of him demurs. He doesn’t have the words to describe it, but something unsettling and hopeful at once stirs in his stomach, one that is stopping him from cutting short this somewhat unconventional pillow talk.
So he tests the words on his tongue, starting with something small. ‘She was a cat person. All the barn cats loved her, no matter where we went on the circuit.’
Watching the way your eyes smile at the detail, he feels a little lighter. He adds, ‘We literally had cats camping out in our truck, and I’m allergic, so I’d be sneezing and covered in hives on the long-distance drives between rodeos.’
You laugh, and his chest swells with the realisation that he doesn’t remember the last time any mention of his wife sparked anything but sad side glances and commiserating pats on the back - let alone joy.
Over the years, he had let go of her joy. Because it doesn’t hurt as much to mourn her this way.
And the guilt that he did this, took the easy way out, is almost too much for one soul-crushing moment - until you lay your head on his chest, unfurling one hand and pressing it into his side, literally holding him together, rib by rib.
He tells you about Addie. Things he’s been afraid to remember, but even more afraid that he had forgotten. Her likes, pet peeves, where she went to college, her favourite show, her irrational fear of butterflies, her favourite dress, the song that always got her up on her feet dancing wherever she was, whatever she was doing, when it came on the radio. 
You listen, picking up on the way his voice falls back into that beautiful Southern cadence that you have come to know as he remembers his wife, nothing but love in his eyes as the guardedness fades with each memory he confides in you. You pepper the pauses with follow-up questions and playful quips where you’re draped across him, one arm folded underneath you and the other over his waist, but you feel yourself nodding off as the hour grows late. 
He holds you to him, his palm spanning your lower back, until you go quiet.
Jack is tired, his own lids drooping with impending slumber, the sprint down memory lane taking more out of him than he expected. Brushing a kiss to the crown of your head, he rolls you off his front and onto your side, tucking you into the rumpled sheets. Spooning you from behind, he murmurs one last thing on the shell of your ear.
‘She would’ve loved you, darlin’.’
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Notes: When I first started this series, I didn't have a backstory developed for Jack other than that his wife died eight and a half years before Darlin' comes on the scene. It's been such an organic and fulfilling journey developing his character and his history over the series, filling in the blanks as we and Darlin' got to know him better.
It's so important to me that his wife and his grief isn't pushed to one side for the sake of easy story telling. I've dropped little hints of his bereavement throughout the series, nothing too loud, but it's there in the background, my way of paying respect to one aspect of canon Jack that touches me very deeply despite the mess the movie makes of his story.
Out of all my Reader! characters, I would say that Darlin' is my most unassuming one. Not in a bad way at all, it's just that she doesn't have as loud a personality as Shiv or Pin, or as dramatic a storyline as Sweetheart. But this chapter, she just really came into her own. That last scene will stay with me forever ❤️
Edited to add a reminder that we still have one more chapter to go before we say goodbye to these two. I’m not ready 😭
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