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The Masterlist

✨ these masterlists are a compilation of wonderful writers* that have blessed us with their amazing works ✨

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the faceless series: jack edition | insp

Tea or whiskey

say what you want. i’m taking him to chili’s.

I've fallen into both the Pedro Pascal and Supernatural holes, and it looks I'm not gonna find my way out any time soon....well been in the Pedro hole for two years now and the Supernatural one for three... may need help, will keep posted

#BecauseThereIsNoSuchThingAsOneDrink

#BecauseThereIsNoSuchThingAsOneDrink

Palomino Masterlist

COMPLETE | Explicit 🔞 NO minors allowed

Jack Daniels x F!Reader

Series tags: Dude ranch cowboy Jack AU | mini-series | solo travel romance | lots of horsey details | self-indulgent AF | set in Wyoming | no physical descriptions of Reader

Note: You guys voted for Palomino to be the next WIP after Consent, and who am I to refuse? But honestly, thank you for voting for Jack, because I've been dying to write this story. If you'd like to be tagged, please comment, reblog or sign up at my taglist.

Part 1: Palomino

Unable to get a refund for a week-long horse-riding pack trip you'd booked with your ex, you decide to go solo. As it turns out, a rebound with a cowboy named Jack while traversing the wild landscapes of Wyoming might just be what you need.

Part 2: Buckskin

It's an eventful first day on the trail, to say the least.

Part 3: Dapple Grey

Tinder is a dangerous game. So is Never Have I Ever.

Part 4: Strawberry Roan

Jack pulls out all the stops for your birthday. All of them.

Part 5: Appaloosa

You and Jack play house for a day.

Part 6: Mustang

On the fifth day, you leave the Halfway House behind, and the conversation turns homeward.

Part 7: Fleabitten

You and Jack spend your last night together in the mountains - for now.

Part 8: Silver Pony

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.

Part 9: Warmblood

The hardest goodbye you’ll ever say.

Oneshots & drabbles

Deleted scenes from the series that I didn't have the word count for.

Bernaise: You watch Jack cook. Deleted scene from Part 4 - Strawberry Roan.

If Only: Jack smiles and brushes a thumb across your cheek. If only you knew.

Peeks into Jack and Darlin's life after the end of the series.

Pressing: Jack marks you as his in an unexpected way.

Real: You call Jack after running into your ex at a wedding.

Cowgirl Aesthetics: 'This dress won't last ten minutes in a real horse yard and you know it, darlin''.'

Headcanons

Miscellaneous headcanons - some requested, some no one asked for.

Silver Pony | Jack’s moustache | Jack and horses | Jack's guilty pleasures | Jack is king of the two step | Jack's allergies | Teak the artist

Visuals

Mostly made/commissioned for A Palomino Farewell.

Special edition chapter banners

Horses of Palomino

Palominogram: About last night

Palominogram: The cellar

Commissioned art

Belt buckle inspiration

Moodboard: Buckskin

Moodboard: Palomino

Horse girl representation

Recipes

Mama Daniels' express chili: featured in Fleabitten

Poppy's chocolate & rum cupcakes: featured in Strawberry Roan

Chapter sneak peeks: two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight

Bonus content

Art and misc. generously gifted by my sweetest friends ❤️

A Palomino Farewell

Palomino playlist

A birthday message from cowboy Jack and Cowboy yearning by the most talented @guiltypleasure-art

Palomino edit by the loveliest Heidi @wildemaven

Moodboard by the sweetest Keira @k-ra

Playlist by sweetest Sil @psychedelic-ink for A Palomino Farewell

Palomino-inspired cocktail recipe by darlin' Skye @iamskyereads

I can't believe that Palomino now has its own cocktail!!! I'm so honoured that Skye created and shared this recipe with us. All the elements are perfect, from the Campfire whiskey (Darlin's favourite time of the day - snuggling with Jack by the fire), apple (If Only reference) and Ginger (who convinced Darlin' not to cancel the trip). I cannot wait to try this cocktail myself, thank you so so much my love ❤️

More notes: This is a very personal story to me as I grew up loving and riding horses. I've been lucky enough to go on several horseriding holidays, and I'm writing directly from experience - except the hot cowboy part, sadly. Even if you don't ride, I hope you enjoy this story, and I will be the happiest writer if I impart to you even a fraction of the joy of exploring the great outdoors from the back of a steady (or speedy) steed.

{ Inspo }

{ Main Masterlist | Taglist }

I cannot believe I waited two years to read this!!! It’s been in the back of my brain for ages now and finally got it all read! Absolutely gorgeous story from beginning to end 🥲😍🥰

Palomino Masterlist

COMPLETE | Explicit 🔞 NO minors allowed

Jack Daniels x F!Reader

Series tags: Dude ranch cowboy Jack AU | mini-series | solo travel romance | lots of horsey details | self-indulgent AF | set in Wyoming | no physical descriptions of Reader

Note: You guys voted for Palomino to be the next WIP after Consent, and who am I to refuse? But honestly, thank you for voting for Jack, because I've been dying to write this story. If you'd like to be tagged, please comment, reblog or sign up at my taglist.

Part 1: Palomino

Unable to get a refund for a week-long horse-riding pack trip you'd booked with your ex, you decide to go solo. As it turns out, a rebound with a cowboy named Jack while traversing the wild landscapes of Wyoming might just be what you need.

Part 2: Buckskin

It's an eventful first day on the trail, to say the least.

Part 3: Dapple Grey

Tinder is a dangerous game. So is Never Have I Ever.

Part 4: Strawberry Roan

Jack pulls out all the stops for your birthday. All of them.

Part 5: Appaloosa

You and Jack play house for a day.

Part 6: Mustang

On the fifth day, you leave the Halfway House behind, and the conversation turns homeward.

Part 7: Fleabitten

You and Jack spend your last night together in the mountains - for now.

Part 8: Silver Pony

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.

Part 9: Warmblood

The hardest goodbye you’ll ever say.

Oneshots & drabbles

Deleted scenes from the series that I didn't have the word count for.

Bernaise: You watch Jack cook. Deleted scene from Part 4 - Strawberry Roan.

If Only: Jack smiles and brushes a thumb across your cheek. If only you knew.

Peeks into Jack and Darlin's life after the end of the series.

Pressing: Jack marks you as his in an unexpected way.

Real: You call Jack after running into your ex at a wedding.

Cowgirl Aesthetics: 'This dress won't last ten minutes in a real horse yard and you know it, darlin''.'

Headcanons

Miscellaneous headcanons - some requested, some no one asked for.

Silver Pony | Jack’s moustache | Jack and horses | Jack's guilty pleasures | Jack is king of the two step | Jack's allergies | Teak the artist

Visuals

Mostly made/commissioned for A Palomino Farewell.

Special edition chapter banners

Horses of Palomino

Palominogram: About last night

Palominogram: The cellar

Commissioned art

Belt buckle inspiration

Moodboard: Buckskin

Moodboard: Palomino

Horse girl representation

Recipes

Mama Daniels' express chili: featured in Fleabitten

Poppy's chocolate & rum cupcakes: featured in Strawberry Roan

Chapter sneak peeks: two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight

Bonus content

Art and misc. generously gifted by my sweetest friends ❤️

A Palomino Farewell

Palomino playlist

A birthday message from cowboy Jack and Cowboy yearning by the most talented @guiltypleasure-art

Palomino edit by the loveliest Heidi @wildemaven

Moodboard by the sweetest Keira @k-ra

Playlist by sweetest Sil @psychedelic-ink for A Palomino Farewell

Palomino-inspired cocktail recipe by darlin' Skye @iamskyereads

I can't believe that Palomino now has its own cocktail!!! I'm so honoured that Skye created and shared this recipe with us. All the elements are perfect, from the Campfire whiskey (Darlin's favourite time of the day - snuggling with Jack by the fire), apple (If Only reference) and Ginger (who convinced Darlin' not to cancel the trip). I cannot wait to try this cocktail myself, thank you so so much my love ❤️

More notes: This is a very personal story to me as I grew up loving and riding horses. I've been lucky enough to go on several horseriding holidays, and I'm writing directly from experience - except the hot cowboy part, sadly. Even if you don't ride, I hope you enjoy this story, and I will be the happiest writer if I impart to you even a fraction of the joy of exploring the great outdoors from the back of a steady (or speedy) steed.

{ Inspo }

{ Main Masterlist | Taglist }

I ║ Palomino

Jack Daniels x f!reader

 { Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 2: Buckskin }

Rating: M (will be E in future chapters)

Summary: Unable to get a refund for a week-long horse-riding pack trip you'd booked with your ex, you decide to go solo. As it turns out, a rebound with a cowboy named Jack while traversing the wild landscapes of Wyoming might just be what you need.

Warnings: Extremely self-indulgent solo travel romance, flirting, yearning, language, matchmaking themes, lots of horsey details, mention of breakup, no use of Y/N

Word count: 6.5k

Notes: This story encompasses a lot of firsts for me - first new series since Consent, first time writing Jack, first time writing something so action-heavy and close to my heart. While I'm not 100% confident I got everything right, I am so excited about this fic. I hope you're ready for the ride (I apologise in advance for all the horsey puns incoming)!

I want to call out (affectionate) LJ @prolix-yuy for lighting a fire under my ass for cowboy Jack with her incredible Westworld AU Cognitive Dissonance. I also need to thank Ani @deadhumourist for the idea of a company retreat that I used in this chapter, and for sharing with us her amazing Jack fic Under Marula Trees. And of course, Ash @mandoblowmybackout for enduring my almost non-stop screeching about Jack ❤️

More notes in the Series Masterlist on horses and travel, etc!

Palomino: a pale golden or tan-coloured horse or pony with a white mane and tail, originally bred in the south-western US.

The door creaks long and loud on its hinges as it opens, barely letting through a bustling figure before slamming shut so hard it rattles on its heavy oak frame.

At the long-suffering frown sent his way from across the reception desk, Champ holds his hands up in apology and tip-toes in exaggerated fashion to his desk. Ginger shakes her head fondly - being quiet is not one of her employer’s strong suits.

She presently returns to the phone call she’s in the middle of, using her most placating tone on this customer. ‘Look, we have regulars coming in the same week as you. They come every year for a company retreat, and they are just the loveliest people you can meet. I promise you’ll have a great time.’

The vintage Chesterfield groans under his weight as Champ settles down, and with a practised flick of his wrist, his cowboy hat lands on its designated hook on the wall. He turns to the ledgers Harry left on his desk two days ago - he can’t keep putting them off much longer…

His mind quickly wanders. He’s a people person, and he’s always been more interested in the dude ranch holiday part of the business. However, Ginger is so good at her job that she’s made him redundant, banishing him to the whiskey distillery side of things. 

It doesn’t stop him from keeping half an ear on the ongoing phone conversation though.

‘I’m so sorry, ma’am, it’s not our policy to offer refunds. But I promise you’ll have the best birthday with us on the trip.’

Champ steeples his fingers and leans back in his chair. Ah, a customer wanting to cancel. Always tricky.

‘Tell you what - since you’ve already paid a 40% deposit for two guests, why don’t I waive the 20% balance for your holiday for one party?’

Champ arches a grey eyebrow in curiosity.

‘Alright, perfect,’ chirps Ginger brightly. ‘We look forward to seeing you in a few weeks. Bye now.’

‘What was that about?’ he asks as soon as she hangs up.

Bringing up the reservations system on her computer, she types busily as she replies, ‘A guest booked a holiday with her boyfriend, but they broke up, and she wanted a refund for both their places. I convinced her to come alone instead with the discount. She’s here the same week as the Kingsman so she definitely won’t be lonely.’

Champ gives her a double thumbs up. ‘Nicely done, Ginger. And did you say it’s her birthday while she’s here?’

‘Yes. Don’t worry, I’ll give Poppy a heads up to bake a cake in advance.’

‘Do you have a photo of her?’

Ginger’s fingers pause and hover over the keyboard, a warning in her voice. ‘Champ.’

He blinks innocently. ‘What? I’m a nosy bastard.’

With a sigh, she pulls up a Whatsapp profile picture and holds up the phone to him.

He puts on his reading glasses to look at the screen, and proceeds to nod thoughtfully. Finally, they haven’t had any single guests at the ranch for months on end. Surely, she’s his type…

‘Champ?’ Ginger’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. ‘Stop meddling!’

He feigns ignorance. ‘Whatever do you mean, ma’am?’

She rolls her eyes affectionately. ‘He’s a big boy, he doesn’t need your help.’

Champ barks in laughter. ‘Like hell he doesn’t. Call the Kingsman and reschedule them, Ginger. I have a plan.’

You’ve never travelled on your own before.

Now that you’re speeding down the empty country roads towards the Bighorn Mountains - windows down, dust flying, radio blaring - you honestly don’t know why you waited so long.

You’re glad that the woman at the Statesman stood firm when you called a month and a half ago, asking for a refund. The discount sweetens the deal too.

To be honest, the week-long dude ranch trip you booked months ago had completely slipped your mind in the aftermath of the breakup. There were more pressing matters, like - what were you going to do with the house you bought and remodelled together?

You’d just finished tiling the backsplash with the vintage Italian mosaic you found at a flea market when you were informed that he didn’t feel the same way about you anymore. In fact, he hadn’t for some time.

You were only reminded of the trip when you started clearing your stuff out of the attic, finally having found an apartment you could afford on your own that is also not a shithole. You found the riding gear that you’d stashed away, gathering dust since you two started dating.

You should be thankful that at least there’s no costly wedding venue deposit to forgo or a pet custody battle to muddle through. He’s always hated animals - you really should’ve known. 

But you can’t bring yourself to not be bitter about everything. Not yet.

Maybe it’s a good thing that you’re going on this trip. That lazy bastard can start pulling his weight and sort out the house viewings for potential buyers for this week. He’s been dragging his feet - just because he can afford to pay both the mortgage and rent at his new bachelor pad doesn’t mean you can too.

You shake yourself out of it and crank up the stereo. Fuck it. You’re not thinking about him or the house or anything this weekend. It’s your solo birthday getaway and you’re gonna enjoy the fuck out of it.

And who knows? If you’re lucky, you could be rebounding with a handsome cowboy, like one of those awful Unicorn Club novels you used to read over and over again when you were fifteen.

You laugh, the pull of the muscles in your cheeks unfamiliar after weeks of disuse. A girl can dream.

You switch off the ignition, hands gripping the driving wheel tightly, and you take a moment to compose yourself. 

‘You can do this,’ you murmur, giving yourself a reaffirming nod in the rear view mirror.

Hopping off your rental truck, you shut the door behind you and start towards the only building you can see, a rustic lodge with a red roof. Statesman is blazened in iron letters, nailed proudly above a wraparound porch with welcoming rocking chairs and armchairs scattered about.

The gravel beneath your sneakers crunches loudly. You can hear in the distance sounds that you haven’t heard for a long time - clip clop of hooves, the drag of a barn door on rusty hinges, the low whinny of horses. You breathe in the mountain air scented with a whiff of sweet hay. Things that were familiar once upon a time. Your chest constricts at something blooming between your ribs, and a small smile lifts the corner of your lips.

There’s a bark out of the blue, and a border collie comes zipping towards you, wagging his tail so hard that his whole bottom wriggles from side to side. You coo excitedly and crouch down to give him a cuddle when a man with grey hair emerges from the lodge. It’s a warm day, but he’s wearing a suit with a cowboy hat.

In a booming voice, he calls your name in greeting and makes his way over to you. ‘We’ve been expecting you, young lady! The name’s Champ. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.’

You stand and shake his proffered hand with a smile. ‘Nice to meet you, Champ. It’s good to be here.’ You gesture to the empty parking lot. ‘Am I early or something?’

‘You’re our only guest this week, actually,’ he replies in a thick Southern accent.

You scratch the back of your neck, taken by surprise. ‘Umm, but the lady I spoke to on the phone - she said that there are regulars joining? A company retreat or something?’

‘Sadly, they rescheduled. It’s just you, my dear. You’re our VIP!’ he grins and claps you on the shoulder. ‘Come! Walk with me. I’ll have someone take your bags to your room. You can leave the keys in the car, it’s safe - but you keep any food to yourself or Jameson here will run away with it!’

The border collie barks at his name and Champ scratches him behind the ear, dispatching him with a wave of his hands.

Your host starts at a brisk walk. ‘So, how was your journey, young lady?’

You have to power walk to keep up with him as the gravel fades into firm sand. ‘Long, but glad to be here. I’ve been really looking forward to getting away.’

‘First time travelling alone, I assume?’ Champ smiles at you kindly.

You nod sheepishly. ‘I’m a bit nervous, to be honest.’

He laughs. ‘You’re entitled to nerves, but I promise you, you’ll forget all about that in three, two, one -’

Right on cue, you round the back of the lodge and you can’t help the gasp that slips out as you stumble to a stop.

The full landscape of the ranch comes into view beneath your feet. A picturesque river cuts through the green sweep of land, small lodges with matching red roofs are dotted all over one side of the bank, and bigger barn-like structures stand on the other. The Bighorn Mountains tower over the entirety of the property. You see horses grazing in a huge, fenced field, tails flicking lazily at flies.

Champ practically glows at your reaction. ‘It’s taken thirty years to get to where we are. I hope it will stand for many more decades to come.’

‘It’s - stunning,’ you say rather inadequately.

Champ winks at you. ‘Wait till you go into the mountains, my dear. Come along, now.’

You resume walking side by side, and he continues, ‘Now, since you’re our only guest this week, I can give you two options for your trip. We can do day-long rides with you, and you spend the nights here at the ranch. It’s more comfortable, but it does mean that you don’t get to go as deep into the mountains.’

Champ stops to take a breath. ‘Alternatively, you can go on a week-long pack ride with our cowboy and camp along the way, just the two of you. It's a magnificent journey, I can promise you.’

It’s a lot of information to take in so quickly, and you hesitate. ‘Um - ’

He holds up a hand at you and pauses abruptly, something catching his eye. ‘Ah, speak of the devil. Before you decide, you need to meet our cowboy. He'll be your guide for the week.’

You’re craning your neck to catch a glimpse when Champ bellows so loudly that you nearly have to take cover. ‘JACK! Son! Say hello to our guest for this week before you take the horses to pasture.’

Your ears still ringing, the silhouette of a man on horseback comes into view halfway across the yard. The dust seems to magically settle and part, and a handsome face framed by a cowboy hat, a tidy moustache and a wicked sharp jawline comes into focus.

‘Whoa.’

You belatedly realise that you said that out loud when Champ wriggles his eyebrows at you.

‘Howdy, ma’am,’ the cowboy calls back, tipping his hat politely. His voice rings brightly in the space between you, but the delicious lick of his Southern drawl makes goosebumps chase across your skin. You manage a weak smile and a wave, not trusting your power of speech at the moment.

‘Be back at four to take the lovely lady on her orientation ride, alright?’

Jack gives him a two-fingered salute. ‘Got it, boss. See you soon, ma’am.’

You watch unashamedly as the cowboy smoothly steers his horse around, and with a whistle, the dozen or so horses follow suit as he canters out of view.

‘So? What say you?’ Champ interrupts your thoughts with an expectant look.

You can’t help the stupid grin that breaks upon your face. ‘The pack trip sounds good.’

Champ claps his hands together so loudly that you jump. ‘Your wish is my command, ma’am. Or rather - Jack’s.' He winks. ‘He’ll pick out a horse for you and take you for a short ride to make sure you’re comfortable before the trip starts tomorrow. Sounds good?’

‘Perfect.’

Stopping outside one of the lodges near the river, Champ sweeps his arm in a flourish. ‘There we go, this is your lovely room for tonight, with the best views of the mountains. Poppy’s left some lemonade and sandwiches inside if you need a pick-me-up, and your bags will be with you shortly. Just make sure you’re ready by four. Got it?’ 

He holds up a hand to you, and you give him a high five. ‘Got it, Champ.’

‘Welcome to the Statesman, my dear.’ 

Watching you bound up the stairs with a spring in your step, Champ gives himself an imaginary pat on the shoulder. Well done, old chap. The plan is in motion.

You lay your outfits on the large bed as you chew on a delicious sandwich, weighing the options for your afternoon ride. You packed according to the list the ranch sent in your orientation email, but you wish you’d brought something nicer. They really should’ve included a hot cowboy warning.

You wanted to spend some time on the porch and enjoy the magnificent views of the mountains from your doorstep before the ride, but by the time you’re finally happy with your choice of clothes, you’re startled by rapping on the door.

Sucking in a steadying breath and smoothing back your hair, you turn the knob.

Fuck me sideways. This man is devastatingly good-looking on close inspection.

‘Hi, again,’ you smile, hoping your words didn’t come out as squeaky as it sounded in your head.

The cowboy returns your smile with teeth and tips his hat at you - black suede with a leather band - then offers you his hand. ‘Jack Daniels. Pleasure to meet you properly, ma’am.’

You give him your name and your hand. His grip is firm and assured, the slide of his palm against yours feels weathered and rope-worn. You cross your arms self-consciously, but the words that come out are bolder than you feel. ‘So, Champ says you’re my own personal cowboy for the week?’

He chuckles and plays along, giving you a small bow. ‘I’m at your beck and call, darlin’.’

His rich voice curls around every syllable, dipping and climbing with each inflection, but the languid cadence doesn’t waver. You decide here and then that this man can call you darlin' any time he wants.

He hooks one thumb through a belt loop, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. He runs his eyes up and down your body, both professionally assessing and not, lingering on your breeches, riding boots and half chaps. He arches an eyebrow at you and says in a playful tone, ‘So, I see you’re one of those fancy English riders.’

You gesture at the flannel shirt you’re wearing, the ends tied in a knot to give it a cropped fit. You think you look cute - hopefully. You choose to crack a joke, ‘Give me some credit, cowboy, I’m trying to fit in.’

He holds his hands up in surrender, pushing himself off the door. ‘My apologies, darlin’, where are my manners? The illusion is perfect. You ready to go?’

You grab your riding hat. ‘Absolutely.’

Jack takes one look at your helmet and tuts, plucking it from your fingers. ‘Oh no, that won’t do. That is one thing I don't allow on my rides. We’ll find you a real hat.’

It’s a short walk to the stables. You hang back with all the subtlety you can muster to quietly study the cowboy you’ll be sharing close quarters with for the next week. His walk is deliberate, he almost prowls, narrow hips undulating with the rhythm of his strut. When he reaches up to adjust his hat, his shirt strains over his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up in the afternoon heat. Your eyes are about to dip a lot lower when he turns back to look at you, and you duck your head like you’ve been caught with your finger in the pie.

Are you imagining the touch of self-satisfaction that’s crept into his warm eyes?

‘So, how long have you been riding?’ he slows down so you can catch up with him. You’re relieved he doesn’t call you out on your very obvious appraisal of him.

You shrug. ‘Since I was a kid, but I haven’t been on a horse since - ’ You pause to rearrange your words. ‘- for almost five years. And I’ve always ridden the English way, so I don’t know how well I’ll do with Western riding.’

He brushes away your concern. ‘Western is easy, it’ll be a piece of cake for you, I’m sure.’

The stables are large and airy with rustic beams framing a vaulted ceiling. Utility barns are clustered outside in close vicinity, but all is still in the mid-afternoon hour. Your footsteps echo as you make your way down the concrete corridor, Jack’s sturdy cowboy boots treading heavier and louder than your riding boots. Large and tidy stalls line either side, some empty and some occupied.

‘The horses spend most of the summer outdoors,’ explains Jack. Stopping in front of a huge chalkboard nailed to the wall, he gestures at the daily schedule listed next to each name, written in a neat hand. ‘We keep them on a weekly roster to make sure their workload is evenly distributed.’

Resuming your slow course deeper into the stables, Jack asks conversationally, ‘What are you looking for in your horse for the week?’

It’s a broad question that you don’t quite know how to answer. You purse your lips. ‘To be honest? I don’t know, it’s been a while.’

‘Ok. Let’s put it this way - what’s important to you?’ He ticks off the options with his fingers. ‘Character? Temperament? Speed? Stamina?’

Is it just you or did his voice dip an octave on that last word?

Flustered, you struggle to come up with a reply. ‘Um - ’

Seeing that you’re overwhelmed, he wipes the slate clean with a wave of his hand. ‘I apologise, I didn’t express myself well.’ He changes tact. ‘Why don’t you tell me about your favourite horse?’

That you can do. You think about the last horse you really loved, before you met your ex, casting your mind back to long weekend afternoons at the local stables. The answer comes easily to you as your eyes fall to the tips of your black boots.

‘I like a horse that's forward-going but responsive to contact, and on the hot-blooded side with a bit of an attitude - I like a challenge.’ Feeling his eyes on you, you lift your gaze to his apologetically. ‘Sorry, was that way too vague or way too specific?’

‘Not at all. I appreciate a lady who knows what she wants,’ he reassures you, seemingly pleased at what he’s hearing. ‘I got just the horse for you.’

You must be in the middle of the stables structure now, when Jack makes a sharp right turn into a spacious room. Your eyes widen at the rows and rows of beautifully polished Western saddles, bridles and an assortment of other tack, some of which you don’t even recognise. Eyeing the signs above each saddle, you remark, ‘I see there’s a recurring theme in the names.’

Jack hoists a gorgeously embossed tan saddle off its rack on the wall, holding it against his side as if it weighs nothing, then grabs the bridle next to it and a saddle pad. ‘What do you expect from a ranch that also runs a distillery?’

Your eyebrows shoot up. ‘A distillery?’

‘Whiskey,’ he replies, making his way to the exit. ‘I’ll show you when we ride up the mountain, it’s on the other side of the ranch. Champ spends most of his time in the distillery nowadays.’

‘Can I help with anything?’ you ask, your hands feeling very empty as you trail behind him.

‘Not a chance, darlin’, you’re the guest. But you can watch if you want,’ he adds mischievously.

Lord have mercy. This man has gotten you more wound up in the last fifteen minutes with a few cheeky words than anyone has in a long time. Pull yourself together, woman.

You pass at least another dozen stalls - this is easiest the biggest stables you’ve ever seen - before Jack’s long strides ease, and at his whistle, the handsome face of a palomino pops up from behind a door. He nickers and nudges the cowboy familiarly on his arm, ears pricking up in alert when you come into view behind him.

‘Meet Scotch,’ Jack says in introduction, giving him a firm pat on the neck. With an easy swing, he rests the saddle on the top of the door and unlatches it, leaving it ajar for you to shuffle in behind him.

‘Hello, gorgeous,’ you can’t help but coo, running your palm from his forehead - painted with a fetching white star - to his grey, velvety muzzle. ‘He’s sweet.’

‘Wait till you get him on the open road - he’s a speed demon.’ 

You must have let your nerves show, because Jack reassures you, ‘But only if you want him to be. He’s just as happy going steady.’

You lean against the wall as Jack makes quick work of tacking up. You admire the gentle way he fits the bridle over Scotch’s head and the bit in his mouth. Reaching out, you help untuck his white mane from the browband, etched with pretty flowery patterns, and brush out the tangles with your fingers as Jack fastens the clasps.

You can’t help but catch your bottom lip with your teeth when, with a soft grunt, the cowboy lifts the saddle over Scotch’s back. His shirt, tucked neatly into his jeans, stretches taut and you eye the hint of a soft belly underneath. It rests above an almost obnoxiously large belt buckle in the shape of - are you shitting me - a flask with Statesman spelled out in capital letters.

You quickly look away before you’re consumed by the want to reach out and check if it’s a real flask.

The Western saddle has far more bits and bobs than you’re used to, but you’re too far gone to pay attention to what Jack is doing with his nimble fingers anymore.

‘There.’ He straightens, dusts off his hands and places them on his hips, one dark eyebrow up. ‘I hope you were paying attention, ma’am, I might quiz you later.’

Oh shit. You stammer, ‘Um, I mean, you were quite quick -’

Jack crosses his arms and smirks. ‘I’m pullin’ your leg, darlin’. You’re so easy to rile up.’

Before you can restrain yourself, you take a step forward and give him a playful shove in rebuke. The joke’s on you though - the pectoral muscle underneath your palm is lean and hard, and your push makes no impact at all.

‘Employee of the year, ladies and gentlemen,’ you jest, retracting your hand reluctantly.

He leans in close and gives you an almost insolent smirk, voice dropping intimately. ‘Stop distracting me, darlin’, or we’ll never make it out of this stall.’

Fuck’s sake - your cheeks literally flame. You’re about as subtle as a bucking bronco.

Taking mercy on you, Jack herds you out of the stall with no further teasing, and Scotch follows obediently behind. You’ve barely scraped your brains back together when he stops by a doorway at the end of the stables, holding up a hand that brings the gelding to a smart square halt.

‘Stay,’ orders Jack in a stern voice as if Scotch was just a very large golden retriever - he has the colouring after all. He then nods at you. ‘Come on in, darlin’.’

Stepping into the small room, you gasp in delight - every conceivable surface is covered with cowboy hats of all colours and materials.

‘Let’s see what your size is,’ Jack mumbles to himself as he plucks some options off the wall. There’s no mirror, and you hold your breath when he steps into your space, putting one hat after the other on you as he narrows down the sizing. His face is set seriously, the bow of his upper lip drawn downward, brow wrinkled in concentration.

Eventually, you run out of oxygen and you breathe him in - summer grass, leather and smoke. Your tongue darts out and wets your suddenly dry lips.

In the minutest of glances, you catch his eyes flickering to your mouth for just a second. If you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t have spotted the fleeting stutter in his movements as he fits you with a cream suede hat with a brown leather braid. It sits snugly on your head without any pinch.

‘Try tipping your head forward and back,’ he instructs you, breaking the quiet tension. The hat doesn’t slip, and with a tap on the brim and a smile, he declares, ‘I think we’re good to go.’

Stepping into the open air, the bright afternoon sun makes you wince, and you pull your new hat a bit lower to shield from the light. You follow Jack across the yard, heading towards a chestnut with white stockings, fully tacked and waiting at a wooden post. Ruffling his thick mane, Jack says proudly, ‘Darlin’, meet my horse, Whiskey.’

‘How very fitting,’ you remark, smoothing a hand on his strong neck. ‘Hi, Whiskey.’

Scotch, who has been following you two dutifully, bumps noses with his friend in greeting. Reaching for his reins, Jack looks at you with a question in his eyes - all the tacking up, prepping and joking around is done. Suddenly, the likelihood of falling off your horse and flat on your bum in front of the cowboy seems extraordinarily high. Maybe you really didn’t think this through -

‘Hey,’ Jack cuts short your thoughts, chucking you gently under the chin. ‘Don’t be nervous. It’s all muscle memory - like riding a bike, you can’t forget. You do know how to ride a bike, don't you?’

Your shoulders quake with a laugh at his attempt to lighten the mood.

He tilts his head at you. ‘May I give you a leg up, darlin'?’

At your silent nod, Jack brings Scotch around, and you hope he doesn't see you wipe your sweaty palms on your breeches. One hand on the saddle horn, the other on the cantle you bend your left calf up and back by the hinge of your knee. 

Jack steps in right behind your heels, his frame dwarfing you even as he leans down at the ready. One strong hand closes around your ankle and the other just below your kneecap. His voice is deep and brushes against the shell of your ear. ‘On three, darlin’.’

He hoists you up so easily that you nearly go all the way over the other side of the saddle, but you grasp the horn just in time and land squarely in the seat, albeit a bit clumsily. You can’t help but wonder what else he can do with his easy strength - a whole lot of other things, you reckon -

Scotch shifts underneath you as he adjusts to your weight. The basic instincts of being on horseback kick in slowly but surely. You gather the reins in your non-dominant hand, put the tip of your toes through the stirrup irons, push your heels down and sit up tall. You inhale deeply and smile at Jack, who’s checking the tightness of the girth and the length of your stirrups.

‘All good?’ he asks you.

‘Yes,’ you reply, relieved that you feel less like a fish out of water than you’d feared.

Jack unties Whiskey from the post. Slotting his foot in the left stirrup, he effortlessly pushes off the ground and swings his leg over the saddle, settling gently into his seat. It’s really not fair that he’s able to do it so easily in jeans that tight.

Whiskey starts leading the way towards the back of the property and Scotch follows, obviously not pleased to be left behind. Jack holds Whiskey back so that you’re walking alongside him. ‘You’ve seen people ride Western?’ 

‘I get the general idea. Reins in my non-dominant hand. Leg aids are similar.’

‘If you want to turn to the right?’

‘Reins to the right and shift my weight the same way,’ you reply, recalling the research you did before the trip.

Jack nods approvingly. ‘Sounds like you’ve got it sorted, darlin’.’

Going up a gently sloping path, the ranch disappears behind you as you begin to climb above the property, and the landscape dramatically opens up. Your breath catches at the sight of the rolling plains that stretch too far for your eyes to see, towards the Bighorn Mountains. Scotch’s ears prick up in excitement at the space, nickering and chomping at the bit. You keep your contact on the reins light even as he prances underneath you, mindful not to pull on his mouth.

Jack smiles, and you hope you're making a good impression. ‘Wanna warm up with a little lope?’

‘Lope? You mean a canter?’ you retort jokingly.

He chuckles at your cheek. ‘Alright, ma’am, look at you with your fancy words.’

With a stern finger pointed his way, you warn him, ‘You’re not allowed to laugh if I fall off, deal?’

‘I know you won’t, but for your peace of mind, I’ll cross my heart,’ he jokes and traces the motion over his chest with his thumb. ‘After you, darlin’.’

With the lightest nudge of your heels, Scotch steps straight into a smooth canter. The sudden movement jolts you forward in the saddle and out of balance, but you quickly adjust, and your hips begin to follow the flow of the familiar four-beat motion. The wind sings in your ears over the steady rhythm of hooves hitting the earth, the mountainscape blurring into green and blue.

Jack is keeping pace next to you from a safe distance, meeting your eyes when you send the biggest grin his way.

For the first time in months, you feel joy.

The sun sets on a mild evening, so you agree to an al fresco dinner by the fire when Jack poses the question to you on your return from the afternoon ride. 

After a quick shower and changing into casual jeans and a sweater, you meet the rest of close-knit Statesman team at the dinner table, and Champ explains the logistics of the pack trip to you.

‘Since it’s just the two of you, you’ll only need one packhorse. You’ll sleep outside for the first two nights, then on the third, you’ll get to the Halfway House.’

The peculiar name piques your interest. ‘Halfway House?’

Champ chuckles. ‘Halfway as in halfway through the trip. We’ll drive out to stock up the house, bring you fresh clothes and anything you’d need for the second half of the trip back to the ranch. We’ll also collect your dirty clothes and have them laundered by the time you’re back. So make sure you pack two bags, we’ll sort them out tomorrow.’

Turning to Poppy, he starts discussing the provisions for the trip, and you take the chance to shuffle closer to Ginger. Jack is at the far end of the table, deep in conversation with a man introduced to you as Tequila (you didn’t ask), so you’re sure he can’t overhear you. You clear your throat. ‘So, I was wondering what the… lavatory arrangements are like out there?’

She gives you a encouraging smile. ‘It’s all au naturale, I’m afraid. But there are plenty of bushes so privacy won’t be an issue. We bring a portable shower for guests for the days you camp out, and there’s running water and electricity at the Halfway House. But at this time of the year, Jack usually just washes off in the river.’

Your jaw drops at that revelation, and before you can close your big mouth, you babble, ‘Wow… um, by wow I meant… bathing in the river must be… cold?’

Ginger gives you a knowing grin and clinks your glass. ‘I think you’ll have a great time on this trip, honey.’

It’s early, as the first day of a pack trip always is. The chill from daybreak still clings to the thin mountain air, but the glare of the sun is already strong, even from behind his sunglasses.

Jack runs through his usual checklists. Vetting the horses, triple checking the tack, bedding, food, supplies, first aid kit. He’s collected your bag from your doorstep and loaded it on the packhorse. You pack light, which he appreciates.

He spotted you at the breakfast table earlier, almost done with your toast, when he crossed the yard with the horses, so he reckons you’re on track to make a punctual start. With the heat forecast, he wants to make it to the cover of the forest path before midday. If you make good time, a sunset dip in the lake is on the cards.

As he double checks if all the straps on the saddle bags are properly buckled up, his routine is disrupted by a firm pat on his back.

Champ is a bundle of energy even at this early hour of the day, his suit on just the right side of presentable despite the wrinkles. ‘Have a good trip, son, and make sure you show our guest a good time. I like this one.’

‘You like everyone, Champ,’ retorts Jack, but there’s no real bite in his words. ‘Not sure it counts for much.’

‘I got a good feeling about her, I’m telling you.’ 

The younger man sighs, one hand on the rump of the packhorse and one on his hip as he braces himself for the usual spiel. ‘C’mon, boss - ’

‘You’re young, you’re single! If you insist on hiding away on this ranch in the middle of nowhere, you might as well at least try to have a good time when the opportunity presents itself.’

‘Why don’t you bother Ginger about it? She’s young and single too,’ grumbles Jack as he resumes his checks.

‘Because I know she can take care of herself. But you?’ Champ makes a face.

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, boss,’ he grumbles. ‘Just so we’re clear, I’m not hiding from anything. I actually like this job, but half the time I think you’re just trying to get rid of me.’

Spotting you over Jack’s shoulder, Champ gives him one last clasp on the arm. He leans in and says in a low voice, eyes sincere. ‘You don’t have to punish yourself forever, son. Live a little.’

Jack shakes his head as Champ moves away and calls out to you, his boisterous voice carrying even further in the cold air. He knows Champ means well. It’s not the first time he’s tried to set him up with someone, and he can confidently wager it won’t be the last. 

He knows for a fact that his boss rescheduled the Kingsman’s annual trip to engineer this one-on-one pack trip - they’ve been coming to the ranch the same time every year without fail since he started this job. He has no doubt they were more than delighted to be in cahoots with Champ in a scheme like this. 

Jack huffs a dry laugh to himself. He must be coming off as really fucking sad for Champ to go to such lengths this time. 

He straightens his well-worn denim jacket as you approach, looking almost shy this morning. You’re wearing a light fleece over what appears to be the same outfit from yesterday, hands tucked into pockets, hat dangling from the chin strap looped around your wrist.

He gives you a smile. ‘Mornin’, darlin’. Sleep well?’

‘Morning. Probably not as well I should have, considering we’ll be sleeping on the hard ground for the next couple of nights,’ you answer with a yawn, leaning on the post where the horses are waiting. You rub their noses affectionately. ‘Morning boys, how are we this fine morning?’

Jack gestures at the third horse. ‘This is Bourbon, our packhorse.’

‘Hey Bourbon.’ You give the pinto a firm pat, smoothing out his matted forelock.

‘You ready?’ asks Jack.

You put on your hat and nod determinedly. ‘Now or never.’

‘It’s not too late to back out, you know, ’ he jokes as you both start untying your horses from the post.

‘Oh no, you’re not getting rid of me now, cowboy,’ you quip.

When you’re both mounted, Champ and Ginger make an appearance, waving and beaming from ear to ear as you ride by. Champ grins, ‘Have fun, we’ll see you in a week! Don't come back unless you have plenty of stories to tell!’

You retrace the same path you took yesterday, up the back of the ranch and into the mountains. As the orange sun crests the top of the Bighorn, it dawns on Jack that he hasn’t spent any amount of time alone with another person for a long while, let alone seven continuous days with someone like you. 

He shakes his head. You’re a guest, that’s all. One who hasn't lost your gentle hands and soft seat despite not having spent any time in the saddle for years; who is quick on your feet yet easy to fluster; who laughs at his jokes and poorly concealed innuendos - but a guest. It’s his job to keep you safe this week, and he’s good at it. He’s done this for years and years.

Sometimes, he thinks that it’s all he has. 

Something like anxiety gnaws at his chest. You’re quiet, and he picks up on the stiffness in your shoulders. He clears his throat. ‘Nervous?’

You turn to him at his question, sucking in your bottom lip. ‘I suppose. Not about the riding, but… I’m a bit nervous about spending the week with you, to be honest. No offence.’

Well, at least he’s not the only one.

‘None taken,’ he shrugs nonchalantly. ‘And don’t worry, darlin’. Ol’ Jack doesn’t bite.’

His pulse skips a beat when you send him an almost impertinent sidelong glance. ‘I hope you do a little bit, cowboy.’

It takes him a second to let out a bark of laughter, and your whole body relaxes at the throaty sound. ‘Maybe I’m the one who should be nervous, then. Shall we stretch our legs? Start the day with a lope?’

Scotch recognises the word and whinnies, tossing his head excitedly.

A gentleman at heart, Jack adds, ‘Or later, if you prefer. We can go as fast or as slow as you want, darlin’.’

A slow heat burns under your skin at his words. Surely he must know what that sounds like, especially in that raspy drawl of his.

It must be the altitude that’s throwing your judgement out of the metaphorical window. Brazenly, you drag your eyes over him. His left hand grips the reins loosely, resting casually on the saddle horn, thick fingers of his other are splayed on his firm thigh, hips rocking to the pace of his horse.

You meet his curious stare in a challenge, imbuing your words with as much meaning as you could, letting a coy smile stretch your lips.

‘Let’s go fast, cowboy.’

As soon as your heels touch his sides, Scotch takes off at a lively stride, and Jack watches you go with a chuckle to himself.

‘Careful what you wish for now, darlin’,’ he mutters under his breath, and then he comes after you - fast.

Notes: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this first part! Comments and reblogs will be very much appreciated. If you would like to be tagged in the next part, please fill in my taglist.

If anyone is interested, there are some more horsey notes below (if it's boring, please let me know and I'll shut up lol):

About 'gentle hands' and 'soft seat': a kind rider uses 'quiet' aids to communicate with the horse (i.e. no pulling on the bit or flapping legs), and follows the horse's movements with their hips (i.e. their seat) to be gentle on the horse's back. It's a very subtle skill and you use a lot of core strength that is built over the years - sitting quietly on a horse is much harder than it looks!

If you can't tell, I ride the 'English' way and have never ridden Western. I've done as much research as I could, but if there are any inaccuracies, please let me know!

Title: Tied By Your Apron Strings

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word count: 916

Warnings: Smutty goodness; (what was meant to be a) housewife kink; oral sex (f!receiving); unprotected PiV sex (safe sex irl folks); Jack is an aftercare king; pet names and endearments. Reader is unnamed (Jack calls her “Moonshine”) and undescribed but does wear stiletto heels. No use of Y/N.

Notes: Inspired by @nothoughtsjustmeds’ Housewife Kink post, and by my conversation about it with @julesonrecord.

“Hey, Moonshine, I’m home!”

Jack walks in, his footfalls loud on the wood floor behind you. You smile as you turn on your white stillettos, his eyes all but bugging out of his head.

He coughs. Once. Twice. “Is that, uh… You get yourself some new lingerie?”

His pronunciation is horrendous but you grin, dropping the wooden spoon you were holding into the pocket of your apron. Your sweet, ruffled floral apron; the only material covering up the sheer lace bra and pencil-thin thong.

“Why, Mr. Daniels, whatever do you mean?”

You turn back to the pasta on the stove, adding a bit of salt and olive oil to the water, and you jump when you feel Jack’s fingertips on the bare small of your back. He’s caught the tie of your apron, pulling so slowly you don’t know for sure if he’s trying to undo it or move you closer.

It isn’t until the strings fall against your bare ass that you realize it was the former.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Moonshine.” He replaces the bow with his hands, moving them just as slowly around your middle to meet under the front of the apron. His thumb brushes the dip of your belly button; his pinky catching in the waistband of the barely-there panties. “Shut off the stove.”

“But dinner’s almost—”

You’re silenced by his lips on the side of your neck, open and wet and hotter than the flame under your pot as he nibbles tiny bites into your skin.

“Turn. It. Off.”

You obey, and Jack spreads his left palm over your stomach, his wedding ring smooth and just slightly cool against you. His right hand slides up to the front of your throat, tilting your head back as he traces his mouth along your jaw.

“Jack, baby, careful,” you exhale, your hands on the counter at either side of the stove. “You’ll burn me.”

“That’s my plan, sweetheart.” But he acquiesces, his hands not moving from their positions as he spins you both, your belly pressing into the kitchen island instead.

Jack pushes against your belly, forcing you to bend a little, and when you do, he drops to his knees, his fingers finding purchase on your thighs. He doesn’t even bother moving the minute bit of cloth between your legs, his tongue pressing it into you as he breaches your folds.

“Ohhh,” you groan. You’d be lying if you said this wasn’t your plan, but you’re still shocked, in a way. He’s just so good at it.

“Wider, Moonshine.” You spread your legs a little more, your heels wobbling a little, but the extra height gives Jack room to push his head further forward and run the tip of his tongue over your clit.

“Fuck!” You slam your hand down on the counter and he giggles against you, never giving up his rhythm. He works you, tongue and lips and even teeth working in tandem until your knees are shaking and you’re desperately trying not to crush him.

“Jack, I need you.”

At your words, he leaves one last, lingering kiss on your core and climbs up behind you.

“Tell me right now, sweetheart. Inside or out.”

“I-inside.”

He grunts a little, and you hear the clatter of his belt and the hiss of his zipper before his fingers dip between your legs again. “God, already so wet for me, my good little wife.”

“My husband,” you whisper as he bends you over just a little more and notches himself at your entrance. “My wonderful husband.”

He thrusts into you, easy and quick thanks to his mouth, and you cry out. “I gotcha, Moonshine. You’re taking me so well. Like always.” He drops a kiss in the dip between your shoulders. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“Jack, baby, move.”

He does, and you whimper. The angle has him deep inside you, splitting you open, but it’s the most exquisite pain and pleasure and pressure you’ve ever felt. He pushes harder and faster, your name spilling from his lips between your heavy, desperate gasps.

“I feel ya, sweetheart. Flutterin’ around my cock. C’mon, Mrs. Daniels, you can come for me, and then I’ll fill you up right.”

You move your hand to wrap around the one pressing into your belly, the material of your apron between your skin and his. You hitch your hips backwards, feeling the rough material of his jeans against the backs of your thighs as you ride him best as you can.

When you come, it’s with a scream you’re very sure your neighbors will hear, but you just don’t care at all. It also seems to be enough to tip Jack over the edge, and you feel him jerk and shudder as he spills inside you, coating your walls, his mouth buried in the space between your neck and shoulder.

When he slips out of you, he instantly grabs a paper towel and runs it under warm water, gently wiping you clean before he carefully adjusts your thong back into its correct place.

He cleans himself as you catch your breath, zipping up his jeans and tossing the towel in the trash before he carefully, gently reties your apron.

You finally turn, your eyes meeting his deep, dark, shining ones.

“Welcome home, Mr. Daniels,” you purr. He smirks wickedly and parts your lips with his own.

The pasta on the stove goes uneaten that night, and you discover…

…Jack looks really good in a floral apron.

Business and Pleasure

Pairing: Jack Daniels (Agent Whiskey) x Reader

Words: 1609

Warnings: SMUT, daddy kink, thigh riding, unprotected piv sex, Whiskey might be ooc bc I’ve never actually seen the movie lol he’s just dreamy

A/N: Ah okay this is my first time posting a fic to tumblr so pls be nice to me. Shoutout to @221bshrlocked for the awesome inspo and writing challenge; I've been a secret fan for a hot minute and I’m terrified excited for you to read this and hopefully enjoy it!

Prompts: “C’mere, you can sit on my lap until I’m done working”

“What? Does that feel good?”

Jack has been at that damn computer all day long.

He promised to spend the whole weekend with you, but of course some very important, life-or-death, world shattering paperwork just HAD to get done last minute, so now here you are sitting on the couch alone, waiting for him to give you attention.

You’re wearing your favorite outfit, a sundress that shows off your boobs but is still comfortable and flowy, and the man hasn’t even looked at you.

Finally deciding you have had enough of this, you stand from the couch and make your way to Jack’s office, gently putting your arms on his shoulders so he’s not startled.

“Jack… can’t that wait until Monday? How come your job gets to take your weekend time away from me?”

“Darlin’, you know this is important, and I promise I’ll be done as soon as possible” Jack turns slightly, giving a light kiss to the back of your hand. “Once I’m finished every ounce of my attention will be on you, babygirl.”

“But Daddy… I need you now…” You know it drives Jack crazy when you call him that and remind him how much you need him. It might be cruel but right now you just don’t care.

Jack lets out a low growl and spins his chair around to face you, his eyes dark.

“Now little girl, good girls don’t try to distract Daddy from getting his work done, if you want to cum tonight you’ll stop that now.”

“I’m sorry Daddy, I’m just so lonely” you say, giving him your best pouty face.

Jack seems indecisive for a moment, and you think you may have managed to convince him to leave the computer behind.

He sighs and takes your hands, “I really gotta finish this darlin’, but I can’t leave you alone looking like that. C’mere, you can sit on my lap until I’m done working.”

It’s not exactly what you had in mind, but it’s something, so you smile and sit across his lap making sure his arms are free to type. The feel of his strong chest behind you and his comforting scent surrounding you is enough to hold you off at least a little longer.

You patiently wait on his lap, and every so often, Jack allows his hand to brush your body. As he nears the end of his paperwork, he becomes more obvious with his teasing, beginning to type with just one hand while the other starts gently rubbing and squeezing your thigh. Then he moves his hand to your hip, where he pushes down ever so slightly encouraging you to move your ass over the ever-tightening spot on his jeans. He begins to move his hips as well, pushing himself into you and causing a rush of heat to your cheeks and a familiar ache between your legs.

A small whimper escapes from you and you move your hips more, trying to get friction where you need it the most.

Jack turns his head to you, the cocky smirk on his face that you hate because it looks so good.

“What, does that feel good?” Jack asks in a low voice, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you.

“Yes Jack, please” you breathe, praying for him to stop teasing.

Instead, he stops his movements completely, grabbing your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Daddy”

Finally deciding he’s done for the day, he turns the computer off and puts both hands on your hips. He maneuvers you so you’re straddling his thigh.

“If you want Daddy’s cock so bad, prove it. Make yourself cum on my thigh and I’ll take you to bed and make you scream for me. Can you do that baby girl?” Jack’s hands are rubbing up and down your sides, and you hold on to his strong shoulders.

“Yes Daddy” you breathe out again, beginning to slowly move your clothed core over his jeans, which provide an exquisite amount of friction combined with your lace panties.

Jack’s eyes rake over your body, and he can’t decide which is better: looking you in the eyes as you fall apart, or watching your pussy moving over him and creating a growing wet spot.

“Fuck yes, darlin’ that’s it, doing so well for me”

You close your eyes, focusing on the sound of his voice and your building release.

“Keep your eyes on me baby, Daddy wants you to see who’s making you feel this good.”

His hands are digging into your hips now, helping you move and you think (you hope) leaving bruises. You force your eyes open, making a face you’re sure looks pathetic.

Your breathing quickens, and your pace starts to falter as your orgasm hurtles toward you.

“Daddy, I-I’m so close” you manage to say between heaving breaths.

“Good girl, cum for me, cum for Daddy baby”

Jack’s words are all you need to throw you off the edge, your body shaking and your head thrown back, babbling Jack’s name amid a string of curses.

After you come down from your high and regain your bearings, you meet Jack’s eyes, which are gazing at you in reverence.

Jack finally captures your lips in a kiss, one hand on the back of your neck.

“Such a good girl for me, being so patient with me and coming so gorgeously. You still want Daddy’s cock darlin’?”

“Yes Daddy, I want to make you feel good” you reply as you stand from his lap and take his hands, leading him to the bedroom.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you pull Jack to you by his belt and start undoing it.

“Can you see how hard I am for you baby? This is what you do to me” Jack says while you unzip his pants and push them down, finally releasing his cock from the jeans which must have become quite uncomfortable.

You take his cock in your hand, thumb swiping over the swollen tip, spreading the precome over his length and slowly stroking it before taking as much of him into your mouth as you could fit.

Jack lets out a sigh, gently grabbing some of your hair, but careful not to pull.

“Fuck baby girl, that feels amazing but I don’t think I’ll last too long if you keep that up. I’m the one who made you wait for me all day, let me take care of you” he says as he removes himself from your mouth and moves you further up the bed. He pulls your soaked panties down your legs, and your dress up over your head, then settles himself between your legs.

He kisses you deeply, tongue seeking entrance for a few moments before moving to your jaw and down your neck. Between kisses, Jack continues talking. He always makes sure to continuously praise you, as if you don’t already know how much he loves you.

“-love this body. Such a lucky Daddy to have such a gorgeous little girl all to myself.”

He takes one of your breasts into his mouth while his hand palms the other.

“Fuck Daddy, feels so good” you breathe, arching your back up to him, “please Daddy I need you inside me. Please fuck me.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice baby,” Jack says, releasing your breasts.

You feel the blunt head of his cock at your entrance, and Jack kisses you again as he slides into you. After a few moments to let you adjust to him, he starts to fuck you hard, but still keeps a relatively slow pace.

You snake your hands into Jack’s hair, holding him close to you while he kisses and nuzzles between your neck and shoulder.

“Taking me so well baby, always so tight and warm for me” Jack says softly into your ear, then he moves down to your neck again, biting and sucking a mark into it. He then moves one hand between your bodies to rub your sensitive clit, causing you to moan even louder and bringing you quickly toward a second release.

“Daddy, I’m gonna cum again, please don’t stop” you beg, as he quickens his thrusts in time with the harsh circles his fingers traced on your clit.

“Cum on my cock baby, want you to make a mess all over me” Jack commands, looking in your eyes to watch you fall apart again.

Your second orgasm is more powerful than the first, causing you to cry out and writhe underneath Jack, but he doesn’t stop his movements despite your sensitivity.

“I know you’ve got one more in you baby, I’m so close, cum with Daddy baby girl” Jack practically whines as his own pace begins to falter and you feel him throb inside you.

Sure enough, another orgasm wracks through you just as you feel Jack’s cum paint your walls. You kiss Jack, swallowing his moans and your own, wanting him as close to you as he could possibly get.

You both ride out your highs and after a few moments Jack slowly pulls out of you and rolls onto his back, pulling you toward him so your arm is draped over his chest.

“So was that worth the wait?” Jack asks, quirking his lips into a crooked smile.

You laugh slightly, “yes it was Jack, I hope I helped you take your mind off of work too.”

“You definitely did, darlin’, and I promise I won’t spend another second thinking of anything but you the rest of the weekend.”

Jack places a soft kiss to the top of your head, and the two of you drift off to sleep.

M god he is so FINE!!! I need him😫😫😫😫😫

PEDRO PASCAL as AGENT WHISKEY Kingsman: The Golden Circle (2017) dir. Matthew Vaughn

Ayyyyyyyyyy 👉👉