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[k1ssuu]

SADDLE UP, COWGIRL 𐚁₊⊹

bull rider!abby x farmer’s daughter // word count : 1,086 // not proof read

Abigail ‘Abby’ Anderson, otherwise known as the best damn bull rider in the West. She’d been in the rodeo as a bull rider since she was old enough to do so. She was decent enough at first, but within a few seasons she managed to dominate all the other competition in town, and even in the state. She was the top rider in the women’s division, but managed to effortlessly beat the scores of the top ranking men as well.

Before you and Abby had gotten together you would admire her silently from the stands. You would drag your friends with you every Saturday just so you could see that girl ride. You never left disappointed. Now that you are together you continue to show up every weekend, supporting your girlfriend loudly from the bleachers.

There she was now, on the back of the bucking steer, her face furrowed in concentration. The way she moved her hips and the sight of her muscles flexing through her slightly too tight button up shirt had you captivated. Her skill was both impressive and so, so hot. Her dirty blonde hair shone in the afternoon sun, tied back in its usual neat braid. Counting down the timer in her head, you could see her look of concentration turn to one of triumph. The stands cheered loudly as the eight second timer buzzed, signifying that she had done it once again.

“Another incredible run for Abby with a score of 90 points! Each and every day she gets closer to a perfect score! Will next Saturday be the day she finally hits that big 100!?” The announcers said excitedly over the speakers, and the crowd only grew louder after hearing her score. You, of course, cheered along with them.

You watched as the bullfighters helped her off the bull, her smile wide as she waved to the stands. Quickly making your way down to the side of the arena, you met her as soon as she walked out. You met her halfway and wrapped your arms around her, burying your nose into her hair.

“That was incredible.” You pulled away, taking a second to admire her. A bead of sweat ran down her temple and her freckled cheeks were flushed a rosy pink. The smile that you loved so much had not left her face, and likely would not for the rest of the night.

“What, you surprised?” She asked sarcastically, her eyes wandering across your frame.

With a scoff you replied. “Obviously not.” To which she laughed and pulled you in for a quick kiss. Her lips were always soft and tonight she tasted like coffee and a hint of chewing tobacco. She always tasted like chewing tobacco after the rodeo. You both pulled away, stupid smiles on each of your faces.

She took a step back and wrapped her arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to her. “Come on, let’s watch the rest of the rodeo.” She said as she steered you into the direction of the stands.

You stayed for the remainder of the night, watching all the other bull riders (none of which were as impressive as Abby) and the barrel racers. The sun started to sink behind the mountainous horizon, painting the sky various hues of pinks, purples, and blues. Abby was a constant presence of warmth next to you, an additional layer of heat in the already humid air.

By the time the rodeo was over, Abby had maintained the highest score in the bull riding division, not that anyone was surprised to hear. She walked away from that arena with her chin held highly and you tucked under her arm. You walked amongst the crowd of people back to Abby’s car. Many offered their congratulations to your girlfriend as they passed, saying things along the lines of “you did it again!” and “nobody has a chance with you as their competition”.

She thanked each of them, her smile growing just a little bit bigger each time. Her arm tightened around you just slightly, keeping you close to her.

Everyone was covered in the reddish dirt, blue jeans and button ups were covered in it, which was normal after a night at the rodeo. The sound of everyone’s footsteps on the soft ground sounded like a herd of cattle traveling down the path. By now the sun had set and the stars had begun to twinkle up above.

Abby led you to her beat up old truck and opened the passenger door for you, ever the polite lady. Her truck was unmistakable. It was an old, worn down Ford that had rusted bumpers and holes in the seats. It smelled like her, too. All in all it was rough around the edges but comfortable enough.

Once you were situated in the passenger seat she joined you, sitting in the driver’s seat. However instead of turning the car on she just sat there and gave you a dopey smile.

“You did really great tonight, I’m proud of you, Abs.” You said, giving her a smile in return.

“Thanks. I love that you’re always there to cheer me on.” She said as she grabbed your left hand, holding it in both of hers. Your smile only grew wider at the gentle touch.

“What happened to that ego of yours? I was expecting some smart ass response.” You laughed.

“Well,” She laughed, not being able to come up with an excuse, which only made you laugh more. She laughed along with you and she cupped your face gently. She pulled you in for a kiss that started out gentle, your lips barely touching. It soon grew heavier and more passionate, her hand slipping to the back of your neck. You were practically over the center console by now, but you pulled away before she managed to pull you completely into the driver’s seat.

Her freckled cheeks were flushed, her lips were still parted, and her eyes were searching for your lips again. Her hair that was usually neatly braided was now messy, strands falling out and onto her forehead.

“Want to… head into the backseat?” You asked with a smile, motioning your head to the backseat of her truck.

She smiled back, and nodded. The both of you climbed into the backseat and you ended up on top of her, quickly ended up in a heated kiss once again.

Pulling away just slightly she mumbled against your lips “I think it’s your turn to ride, cowgirl.”

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©k1ssuu’24

[wardenparker]

American as Apple Pie

Jack Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 12k Warnings: Cursing, food/alcohol, meddlesome friends, mention of shooting/guns but the context is carnival games, cheesy flirting, Jack being Jack. Fingering, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex. Summary: Going to a Fourth of July party with your girlfriends turns out to be an unexpected whirlwind. Notes: It wouldn't be a holiday without a little fic to celebrate. Independence Day seemed best acknowledged with a heavy dose of Jack's good natured charm. 🎆🎇💗🤍💙

The Statesman Fourth of July celebration in Louisville, Kentucky is one of the biggest and loudest in the area. It was an excuse to drape everything in red, white and blue, perfect your Uncle Sam costume, and play Lee Greenwood’s ‘Proud to be an American’ on repeat. There is a special whiskey barrel that is opened every year since its founding in 1919. Huge grills are rolled out to cook hamburger and hotdogs by the thousands as it’s an open party for everyone. Ending in a spectacular fireworks show that lights up the sky.

Some friends wanted to go. Girls from the office who were looking for a more festive holiday celebration than watching their siblings' kids play in the pool and playing cornhole while their aunts bitched about grocery prices. Not having anything better to do, you had thrown on the only red, white, and blue clothes you had in your closet and punctuated the look with red lipstick just for fun. Maybe you'll have one too many and flirt with a cowboy. That wouldn't be too bad.

The bolero he normally wears around his neck with the button down and sports coat had been traded for an open collared shirt, a print of U.S flags on them. His normally painted on jeans exchanged for white shorts and cowboy boots changed out with boat shoes. Still, the black Stetson is firmly on his head, although the mustache was still impeccably groomed and no one would mistake him for anything but a cowboy as he drinks from a long neck bottle to beat the mid afternoon heat.

The music filtering through speakers all over the Statesman Distillery property is obviously country, but the actual number of Stetsons in the sea of guests is staggering even to a Louisville resident. It's that time of the year, you suppose, making your way toward one of the many drink carts with your friends as you scope out the crowd.

“Weeeeeellllll, holy shit.” Tequila whistles, twisting his neck as he looks over at the margarita cart, smirking at the choice of drink. “Get a good look at the shorts on those legs.” He nods, making Jack follow his gaze to the group of women who obviously just arrived.

"God bless the USA." Rum pronounces solemnly, only lifting his Stetson from his head to place it over his heart in salute to the group of four ladies in the tiniest shorts he's ever seen that are now getting their drinks.

“Goddamn I love the summer.” Jack whistles, winking at the one in the red top when she looks over at them. “Happy fourth ladies!” He calls out, lifting his beer towards them.

"Happy Fourth!" You call back, raising the frozen margarita you've just been served in their direction as you friends giggle mercilessly around you. The three men who are not bothering to censor their ogling are dressed in some of the worst outfits here. Tiny white booty shorts on one, a stars and stripes Kiss the Cook apron on the tallest, and the third wearing neon red shorts and a muscle tank depicting a bald eagle wearing sunglasses that says You Free Tonight? underneath.

"Rocks Paper Scissors for the tall one?" You friend Madi proposes to the group, eyeing the youngest and buffest of the men like he's the snack she didn't know she was craving.

“No, you can have him.” Tina snorts. “I’ve got my eye on the one with the eagle on his shirt.” She admits, drooling herself at the virile display of man, who can also enjoy themselves.

“Have fun,” you snort, shaking your head and focusing on your drink. “I came here to drink and to line dance very poorly, not to get picked up.”

“Why can’t we have it all?” Madi asks, giggling when the one in the apron motions the group over when no one has looked away.

“I’m not sure white shorts is the guy to break my dry spell,” you mumble to them with an amused grin as the four of you strut over to the men who were watching you. “And you two already called dibs on the others.”

“If you don’t want him, I’ll ride his mustache.” Sandra snorts, smirking slightly at the group of men. “I’m sure my fiancé wouldn’t mind.”

“Sure.” Tina giggles. “We’ll just call Brad up and let him know you’ll be late for dinner because you found a cowboy at a party.”

“He’ll understand.” All of you laugh, knowing that he definitely would not understand. He loved her completely and was lucky enough that she was just as crazy about him. Their wedding is only three months away.

“Ladies.” Kiss the Cook tips his hat gallantly and lets his eyes sweep over every single one of you. “A very happy Independence Day to you beauties.”

All three men clock the ring on the statuesque brunette’s hand and immediately understands that she is off limits. The other two tip their hats as well and Jack grins. “Can we offer you something to eat?”

There is a split second before you look over to fully take in the third man of the group that you’re apparently now hanging out with, and instantly regret the snap judgement made from yards away just a minute or two before. He’s only smaller by comparison, broad shoulders and a strikingly cut jaw accented by the aviator sunglasses he’s wearing and leading down to biceps as thick as his neck and hands that — fuck, if you’d seen his hands beforehand you wouldn’t have said a damn thing, he makes that beer bottle look like a doll accessory. “Ah—We—um, sure,” you manage to blurt out, nodding self-consciously and absolutely aware that your friends are never going to let you live down getting flustered in front of the cowboy.

Madi grins at the way you are suddenly tripping over yourself to accept the offer of a burger. “If we’re gonna eat, maybe we can know who is offering us a plate?” She asks, smiling flirtatiously at the taller man holding the spatula. The three men chuckle. “We go by our work nicknames.” Jack offers, pointing at Rum to start. “Ryan, also known as Rum. Because he can get any party started.” He introduces him with a grin. “Next, we have our ‘kiss the cook’, Luke, who we call Tequila. He thinks he can make clothes come off.” Tequila rolls his eyes and shoves Jack slightly as the older man tips his hat towards you girls. “And I’m Jack, otherwise known as Whiskey.” Tina grins. “Why do they call you that?” She asks, making Jack chuckle. “Because I go down as smooth as the finest whiskey.” He boasts, tipping his aviators down so his eyes find you again and he shoots you a confident wink.

“So you work here then, I assume?” Guys who work for a distillery having boozy nicknames it’s so far off base, but Jack’s declaration that he ‘goes down like the finest whiskey’ has you thinking mustache ride thoughts all over again and if you could do it you might just slap yourself for something so obvious. On the other hand? No man should be able to make a wink look as smooth as he just did.

“Only if you want us to.” Rum smirks at Tina and tips his hat back slightly. “Otherwise we can be whatever you want. Spies, cowboys, hell, maybe all three.” Tequila huffs a cough and slaps Rum on the back. “Are you ladies burger or hot dog kind of women?” He asks, changing the subject.

“I think there’s a rule that you have to have a hot dog on the Fourth of July, isn’t there?” Tina replies, batting her eyelashes pointedly.

“Absolutely.” Tequila agrees. “Now the question is-“ he points the tongs at all of you seriously. “Are you a chili cheese dog person or a peppers and onions person?”

The question sparks a full culinary debate, as Tina insists only mustard is necessary, Sandra and Madi are fans of peppers and onions any way they can get them, and you just shrug over it all because there's no point in trying to be dainty with a hot dog. A chili cheese dog is the only way to go.

Jack chuckles as the girls are chattering, except the one in the red. “You are awful quiet, sugar.” He comments. “Not choosy?”

"Very choosy," you tell him, laughing a little about how involved your friends are getting in this debate with the other two guys. "Chili cheese dog every time. But my friends like to pretend that it's possible to be dainty while eating a hot dog. I'd rather enjoy something delicious."

Jack grins at your answer and points a finger up to tip his hat back on his head. “No, you just gotta jump in and devour it.” He hums, his smirk slightly dirty.

"Whoever put you three in one place today is a menace," you inform him with a deeper, rounder laugh. "But I totally agree. The only way is to jump in."

Jack chuckles, leaning in a little closer to you. “Not true.” He coos. “We were brought together for a good time.” He shrugs and takes a sip of his beer.

It can be both," you concede, getting a whiff of an expensive, musky cologne under the grill and sunscreen smell that hangs all around this booth.

“Well then.” Jack snorts, tapping his bottle against your margarita glass. “To being a menace.” He offers with a smirk.

"Here." A long sip of your drink hides a flustered grin, but you don't mind having run into someone this charming and handsome right off the bat. You and your friends will wander away in due time, and they'll become a fun anecdote for the office, and probably material for the spank bank of each and every member of your group as well.

“So what made you decide to join our little celebration?” Jack asks without any sense of irony despite the bash being massive. There are bounce houses and carnival style game booths set up. Along with all kinds of food and drink.

"Girls' day out." Ordinarily you might feel bad for Sandra, being slightly singled out while the other three of you are being shamelessly flirted with, but she's chatting with Kiss the Cook as well and having a grand time. "When your day is office, home, and back again, sometimes a party is just what you need."

“Oh I understand.” He promises, even if his work is not as traditionally boring all the time, there are plenty of days that the paperwork tedium gets to him.

"Your days are probably a lot more fun than ours." Without knowing that you're reading his thoughts, you just decide to make conversation and enjoy whatever comes from it.

“Some days. Others it’s slower than molasses dripping off a spoon.” He likes the fact that you aren’t just flirting, there’s interesting conversation blooming. “Although I’m enjoying right now.”

"This must be one of the more fun workdays each year." Why wouldn't it be? There are half-dressed women all over the places, and whatever the orientation of these three might be, they're all definitely interested in women. You sip your drink again and find that your head tilts slightly in his direction instinctively. "We're not going to get you in trouble, are we?"

“Nah.” Jack waves away your concern, secretly touched that you would be worried about that. “Well just call this….public relations.” He teases, winking at you again. “How does that sound, sugar?”

"Like you should be a politician," you snort, but honestly you don't mind. It's been a while since you just flirted for the hell of it and it's fun.

Jack wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Sugar, you are breaking my heart.” He groans. “I would never want to be lumped in with those lyin’, thievin’ scumbags.” He shakes his head and puts his beer down to lay his hand over his heart. “I’m a patriot.”

Somehow that only makes you laugh more, and when you meet his eyes again it's with warm cheeks and a bright smile. "My apologies," you hum, tipping your margarita in his direction again like a salute. "We'll stick to drinking and flirting. No filibusters today."

“Now hold on….” Jack leans closer and chuckles. “Depends on what kind of filibuster we are talkin’ about.” He drawls. “Some of them can be a good time.” His eyes slide up and down your body suggestively.

Raising one eyebrow at him, sip your sour-sweet vacations through the bright pink straw and smirk. “You want to have a prolonged speech that stalls all activity about my body? Seems counterintuitive, cowboy.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “I don’t think you understand darlin’.” He leans in even closer. “We ain’t talkin’ during my filibuster, we’re just prolonging the main event.” He explains.

One second your head is tiled and the next second you're clamping your mouth shut on a bitten lip. He's just gone from casually flirting to casually painting a mental image that will last you weeks. "You're pretty sure of yourself, cowboy," you hum when you remember how to speak again.

“Have to be.” He admits, truth more than cockiness in his words. “You don’t have to accept, but….” He smirks. “You could always consider it your patriotic booty.” His pun is horrible and he knows it, but he uses it proudly. With the same confidence he wears his Fourth of July outfit.

You snort before you can stop yourself, shaking your head at him as you wave off the laugh as good natured. "That's awful." The play on 'patriotic duty' is absurd, but somehow he manages to make it circle back to charming in a way that is fairly impressive. From most guys it would just sound cheesy or plain bad.

“It is, isn’t it?” He agrees with a grin. “Really awful.” He reaches for his beer again and finishes it in one long swallow.

"Worst line I've heard in a very long time." Even though you're agreeing, you chuckle and shake your head. Why the hell not? When was the last time you just cut loose and had some fun? Can you even remember? "It's...not a no, though."

“Hmmmm.” He lifts a brow and smirks at you again as he reaches into the cooler next to him for another beer. “Well then, I better make sure that you are fed, sugar.” He tells you. “‘Cause you might be in for a hell of a night.”

"You promise a girl a hell of a lot." But for some reason you don't think he's lying, or even exaggerating that much. Maybe it's wishful thinking, you can't tell, but Jack fixes up your hot dog with flare and hands it over just as you finish your margarita.

He takes your empty glass and chuckles. “Would you like another frosty margarita? Or perhaps the blackberry old fashions that are being made?” He asks, pointing to another stand just a few feet away, featuring the ‘87 single barrel that Jack loves.

"I think I have to have whiskey this time, don't I?" Given his nickname, it would almost seem rude not to. Especially when you've decided to encourage him. At least you've been polite enough not to let your eyes wander down and inspect those tiny little shorts he has on.

“Right away.” Jack gives you a two fingered salute before he spins on his heel and hurries towards the booth to collect you the best blackberry old fashion you’ve ever had.

Sandra scrambles over during the momentary pause, searching your face for anything besides the focused attention you're paying to the cowboy's ass as he walks away. "Are we rescuing or retreating?" She murmurs, hot dog in hand but ready to bounce in a heartbeat if you need it. "Actually?" Glancing up at her, you offer a sideways grin of defeat. "I think I'm gonna hang out a while. Hot-but-cheesy cowboy kinda got to me. I wanna see how this plays out."

“Really?” Her brow shoots up and she grins at you. “Takin’ that mustache for a ride?” She teases. “I’m jealous. He’s got a fantastic one.”

"I'll tell Brad to grow one before the wedding," you tease, barely managing not to snort again with laughter as Jack heads back your way.

“Ladies.” Jack smiles with a charming aplomb as he hands you the old fashion he had made for you, and offers Sandra the one he had gotten for himself.

"Oh, I'm alright." Sandra insists, smiling her thanks but not taking the drinks. "Designated driver. I had my one and now I'm set for the day." That smile flashes over at you, and she squeezes your hip gently but encouragingly. "I think we're going to wander. You want to come?"

It's a clear chance to break away if you have suddenly changed your mind and you want to, but you shake your head and lean over to kiss your friend's cheek. "I'll catch up with you guys later," you tell her, though at present you aren't actually sure if you will or not.

“I’ll keep her entertained.” Jack promises when your friend’s eyes turn towards him and he can read a slight warning in them. “And return her to you when she’s bored with me.” He adds.

“You have our numbers,” Sandra reminds you. “One text and we come running.” She blows you a kiss before stepping away, satisfied that Jack will at least be respectful as well as pretty, and that’s worth its weight in gold.

“You don’t have to stay.” Jack hums. “But I’ll make sure you don’t regret it if you do.”

"Promises, promises," you sing song, but rather than letting the moment get heavy you take a first bite of your hot dog and groan happily.

He chuckles and lets you enjoy the hotdog, admiring the way you save a dollop of mustard before it escapes and takes a sip of his drink. “After you eat, are you wanting to dance or maybe play a few games?”

"Either." Pleased with the idea that he might put a little more work into this than just fucking you and having a nap after, you end up smirking a little before the last bite of your food. "Both?"

“Done.” He agrees easily, holding out a napkin for you like a gentlemen. Other agents have taken over the grills because Tequila and Rum have magically disappeared with your friends. “Games first, let your hotdog settle.”

Gone in mere minutes, you make sure you haven't smeared your mouth with mustard or chili before picking up the drink he brought you and motioning ahead of you toward the rest of the fair. "Lead the way, cowboy."

The first booth is one that all the agents have been warned to throw. It’s the shooting gallery. He grins as he cocks his head to the side. “Whatcha think?”

"I can't say I'm much with a gun. Besides maybe a Super Soaker." The big plushies and toys behind the counter look just as inviting as they're supposed to, though, and you shrug. "But what the hell. Think you can give me a few pointers?"

“Let’s see how you do and maybe I’ll help you win a prize?” Despite the warning, Champ won’t be too mad if he shows off just a little. Especially since all the prizes have been paid for by Statesman already, leaving the game free to play.

"I have a feeling I'm about to embarrass myself for your amusement." Despite that, you laugh and take your place at the booth. The moving targets are fairly standard — bright yellow duck-like figures that do not resemble the actual animals but look more like rubber duckies that will fall over on the track when shot. "Here goes nothing," you decide, figuring that if you get even two you'll be extremely proud of yourself.

Jack uses this to his advantage and presses close behind you, holding your elbow up. “Steady.” He murmurs in your ear.

"Hell of a thing to say to a girl when you're that close," you mumble, but the smirk in your voice is obvious.

“I can always say more.” He teases playfully, nudging your arm up slightly. “Be a good girl and take a deep breath.”

It's almost frustrating how well that works on you, making you inhale sharply and shallowly at the words and completely giving yourself away before you can follow the direction and inhale slowly like he's told you to.

You miss, but it was actually closer than Jack had figured the first shot would be. “Good job!” He praises, reaching for your hips and shifting your core slightly, brining you back against him more. “Try again, sugar.”

Whatever the cologne is he's wearing, it reminds you of a campfire in the middle of a forest and that might be fogging your mind more than helping you concentrate. Again, you inhale deeply and squeeze the triggering, putting far more work into this silly shooting game than you need to but finding that you actually clip one of the targets this time and manage to almost knock it over.

“Almost got it.” Jack hums in approval. “Let’s see you knock that same one down.”

Utter concentration isn't possible with him pressed up against you, but you breathe again and call yourself to order, managing to breathe and aim and drop your elbow and all of those other things in just the right harmony to actually knock over one of the targets on the next try. It's not enough to get you a prize, but it's enough to have you doing a little wiggled dance of celebration that all the effort paid off.

Jack chuckles, happy with your achievement. “Good job, sugar.” He praises. “You did a good job.”

"Not bad for an accountant," you joke, turning a little to beam at him.

“Not too bad at all.” He winks, nodding to the game handler as they set the target back up. “Now I want you to pick out which prize you want.” He tells you, taking the gun from your hand.

"Cocky." You smirk at him but glance back at the booth and consider the options hanging from the top of the booth. Right in front, there is a white teddy bear with blue and red stars wearing a Statesman t-shirt. "How about that one right there?"

Jack hums in approval and looks towards the attendant. “Ten shots in a row.” The kid, who can’t be more than seventeen explains. “Knock all ten down and you win the prize.”

There's no way he'll do it, but you step far enough away to give him room and wave one hand toward the little metal duckies. "Show off for me, cowboy."

Jack settles his hat more firmly on his head and since it’s ten shots, he picks up another gun to have one in each hand. “Oh I will.” He promises as he sends both weapons twirling around his trigger fingers in a smooth gun trick.

Despite literally asking him to show off, your eyes still widen with the trick and you're left half-giggling and half-staring as he knocks down every single target with grace and seemingly no effort at all.

The targets are easy and Jack might have been showing off just a tad by alternating shots with both hands, making sure that you know he’s just as accurate with both hands. The targets are down and he turns towards you with a grin. “Your prize, sugar.” He bows as the stuffed bear is handed to you.

More than a little surprised by the display that was just put on for your benefit, you choke out a laugh, thank the kid running the booth, and positively curtsy to Jack in exchange for the bow. “Alright, I admit it,” you laugh in utter surprise, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek like a fairy tale princess bestowing a token. “I’m very impressed.”

“Good.” Jack smirks slightly and looks at the bear. “I think it’s always important to impress a lady.”

“Consider us deeply impressed indeed,” you joke, holding up the bear beside you like it might have had an opinion in the matter all its own.

Jack smirks slightly. “Do you want to play some more games or dance?”

“I don’t see how we could do any better at the games.” ‘We’ here meaning him — your own performance was dismal but that hardly matters. He’s smiling at you like he wants to make you scream in the best way possible and you want to see if he moves as well on the dance floor if he claims to in bed. “Let’s go dance.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jack takes the hand that is holding your drink and carries it for you. Looping his arm through yours so you can still hold your bear. “We’ll let him watch and learn.” He jokes, motioning to where other stuffed animals are resting while couples cut up the large dance floor.

“For when all the other bears decide to have a hoedown of their own?” That’s about the cutest thing you can think of — aside from him — and you grin at the idea. “I like that. Teddy Bear Hoedown is like a sequel to the Teddy Bear Picnic.”

He chuckles and you go over to the large table, setting down your bear in a particular spot. “He will be safe.” Jack promises you.

“So full of promises today.” The little coo in your voice is teasing, but maybe that’s just how he is? Reassuring and protective is not a bad combination in a man. Not at all.

“My momma always said never make promises you can’t keep.” Even with your drink in your hand after he presses it to you, Jack sweeps you up in his arms to take you out to the dance floor.

“And you always do what your momma tells you to, like a good southern gentleman.” It’s just a guess, but as he twirls you around to settle against him, cradling you in his arms so you can drink and dance while you away with the slower tempo song that’s playing, you just have to grin. “Very smooth,” you admit without a hint of begrudging in the compliment.

“Sugar, all my moves are smooth.” Jack boast, smirking as he gently glides around the floor with you, taking special care not to jostle your drink. The next song will be faster, but right now, the breathless couples are resting slightly with the bluesy sounds of Patsy Cline crooning to them.

“I’m starting to get that.” Not that you mind. Coming to this whole big carnival for the holiday was just for fun after all. But you glance over at Jack after taking the last sip of your drink and find your smile going a little lopsided. It isn’t the booze. He is that handsome.

He hums, his voice a little rusty as he starts to quietly sing along with the song. Only slightly off key as he serenades you with a grin on his face. One that tells you he’s well aware that he’s not the best singer, but he enjoys being a little silly.

Maybe it’s silly. Or maybe it’s human. Maybe it’s because it’s both, you start singing along with him, quietly and just a tad off key. Two silly, awkward, imperfect little people out there on the dance floor swaying in each other’s arms and singing ‘Walkin’ After Midnight’ to each other like a chest moment from a 90s romantic comedy. It’s impossible not to look at his lips at least a few times, both of you grinning when one of you flubs a lyric. And at the end of the song when he twirls you around again to land tight against his chest? The only possible place you can look are his eyes or those lips again, like a magnet pulling you in.

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes drop to his lips, basically asking for him to kiss you. He leans in slightly right before the song changes and is incredibly peppy. A song to line dance to. “Oops.” Jack smirks.

One another day or with another man it might have annoyed or frustrated you to be more or less cockblocked by a deejay. Today? With Jack? Your answer to it all is just to snort in amusement at how pleased with himself he looks and let yourself get all swept up in the dance. It was barely an hour ago that you met him. It does no one any harm to spend a little more time together before things get frisky.

The beat is easy to dance to and despite the fact that you might not know all the steps, Jack does. “Just follow me, sugar.”

The trouble with line dancing is that if you don't know every move you end up looking like an idiot, but you nod and decide to put a little bit more trust in him for the time being. If you were about to kiss the guy, you should at least be able to do that, right? "I'm with you," you promise him, knowing you can keep up.

Jack files into the natural line that forms, partners slightly in front of their men and everyone starts to move together. ‘Heel, toe, dosey doe, come on baby. Let’s boot-scoot.”

Able to pick it up step by step, you follow Jack's lead for movement and watch the couple in front of you the once or twice you get confused, until you're very smoothly and easily moving through the dance with glee. It's such a simple thing but so welcome, and utterly fun to boot.

You are laughing and that is all that matters as Jack grabs your waist to pick you up and spin you around before setting you back down in time with the other couples on the floor. “Having fun?”

“Every second I possibly can,” you answer with a light, bubbling giggle. He’s a strong lead — which is wonderful in a dance partner but gives you ideas about what he could be like in bed. Not to mention how strong he is…

“Good.” Jack is almost ninety-nine percent certain that he is taking you home tonight, but he wants you to enjoy yourself.

"And I hope you are, too?" Glancing back at him as he turns you, you raise one eyebrow at him in question.

“No doubt, sugar.” Jack is a shameless flirt, but oftentimes it’s not leading to more than that. Unless it’s his mission to seduce a target. This- this is just for him and he likes that you are having fun with his corny nature. “Best damn party I’ve been to in forever.” He promises. “Company makes it good.”

“Company is what matters.” And maybe it’s the silliness of it all again, but you throw him a wink before the dance has you turning again. He seems to like a like cheese with his flirting, and frankly that just makes it more fun for you.

The song finishes up and Jack decides that he will twirl you around once more and dip you down low, just to make you giggle. People clap and he grins at you over his aviators. “Another dance, or another drink, sugar?”

“One more dance?” He’s far too much fun like this, with moves even you have to admit he can be proud of, and you’ll be damned if you’re going to give that fun up just yet. Besides which…it might be a bit embarrassing for the guy whose nickname is Whiskey to find out you’re a bit of a lightweight.

He waggles his brows when the song turns to another slow one, meant to press bodies together. “Never turn down a chance to hold a beautiful woman close.” He promises as he tugs you in.

“I don’t believe you do.” It may be a small moment of teasing but the fact that he doesn’t take himself too seriously speaks volumes to you. Relaxed and confident are too things that don’t always compliment each other well — it can come off as pure arrogance whereas he’s cocky in a way that is a bit cheeky and fun. Everything about the man is over the top. “But then,” you hum, winking for good measure. “Neither do I.”

“Really?” Jack’s grin blows into a fully devilish smile and he looks around speculatively. “And which beautiful woman would you choose?” He asks with a chuckle.

For his amusement, you make a show of surveying the room even while you’re pressed tight up against him, and nudge him slightly when you spot a cute girl in the corner being talked at by some other guests she doesn’t seem to be too interested in. “Do you see the cute little redhead over there?” Your own nose points the way to him when you nod. “In the corner? She’s at a table with a blonde, but these two guys keep trying to flirt with her. I think she’s talk rather be flirting with her blonde friend.”

“Good call.” Jack snorts. “That’s Grenadine.” He explains. “She works at Statesman too.” It’s interesting that you seem to have an eye for agents.

“Does everybody get a booze related nickname?” You ask, amused at the idea of it. If you all got accounting nicknames, things would start sounding weird very fast at the office.

“Mixers count.” Jack chuckles. “It makes it easy when there’s twelve John’s working around the place.” He reasons.

"Fair enough, I guess." That does, logistically, make a bit of sense. And frames Statesman as a fairly whimsical place to work in the process. After twirling around the dance floor a little more, you hum softly to yourself and lift your head, raising one eyebrow in question. "Did you always want to work in the booze biz?" He seems silly enough to appreciate the phrasing, and you grin. "Or do you want to be something else when you grow up?"

“Just wanted to raise some hell.” Jack admits with a chuckle. “Was in the Navy for a little bit. Found out I like the freedom of the private world better.”

“Rules.” You huff dramatically, blowing a raspberry to make him laugh. “Who needs ‘em?”

Jack laughs, a full belly laugh of good humor. “Exactly.” He agrees. “Plus the pay is better.”

“There’s that too.” A nod of agreement comes on the end of your own laughter. “Distilleries pay well? I can’t say I’ve ever thought about it.”

“Good enough to buy corny outfits for the Fourth of July picnic.” He jokes, taking his aviators off and turning them around to perch on your nose.

“That’s what your shorts need!” You tease, cackling out loud and pushing his sunglasses a little further up your nose. “Ears of corn! The perfect symbol of Americana.”

Jack laughs again. “I’ll have to see if I can order some for next year.” He hums.

"Perfect." The grin you aim at him is almost blinding. "I guess I'll have to come back and see if you found any."

His smug smirk deepens and he waggles his brows. “Yeah?” He asks. “Maybe I’ll have to model them for you.” He suggests. “Make sure they are cheesy enough. Rum talked me out of my Daisy Dukes of Freedom.”

"Oh my god..." You barely manage not to snort with laughter over that image. "Do I want to know?"

“Silkies.” He explains. “Running shorts in the military are…brief.” He hums with a grin. “I had some American Flag ones but then Rum was complaining my upper thighs were too white to wear them.”

"Your friend's objection was your lack of tan?" That only makes you laugh harder, and by the end of the song you're practically clinging to each other as you share that laughter between you. "I dunno, Jack." With your lips pursed, you correct yourself. "Whiskey." He's sure as hell smooth, so why not just use the nickname? "I think you might have to do a little tanning so you can wear them again."

“Well I left my speedo in Italy.” He chuckles. “So how do you suggest I tan?”

That opens up a whole new line of questioning, but in this moment you just flash him an even bigger grin. "Nude, hopefully."

He pretends to be shocked, mouth opened and he reaches for his chest as if he is clutching pearls. “Why I declare!” He drawls. “That is such a scandalous suggestion.” His lips curl into a smirk. “I love scandal.”

"I had a feeling you might." The song is over, your revolving has stopped, and as the next — much more upbeat — song begins, you tilt your head slightly to the edge of the dance floor. "You wanna go be scandalous, Whiskey?"

“Is that an offer?” He asks, lifting a brow and giving you a chance to change your mind. He loves to flirt and have a good time, but he wants it to be enthusiastic.

Hadn't he caught you staring at his lips maybe fifteen minutes ago? Was it really only just a few dances since then? It seemed like days spent basking in his energy and charm. Ah well. Why the fuck not? The Founding Fathers were all freaks anyway, might as well celebrate their way. "Yes."

Well, sugar…” Jack sweeps his hat off his head and holds it over his heart. “You just made my damn year.” He promises with a wink. “And I guarantee I’ll make yours.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that, cowboy.” Something tells you he’s bragging with plenty of proof to back him up, but you still give him a crooked smile as you dig your phone out of your pocket. “I’m going to tell my friends not to wait for me.”

“I’ll go collect Mr. Bear for you while you do that, sugar.” He nods and sets his hat back on his head and moves away so you can text your friends privately.

Sliding open your phone, the group chat you have with your friends is full of photos, videos, and excitement shared between them during the day. You’ve been apart from them longer than you expected but they seem to be having a ball — though Rum and Tequila don’t feature in any of the photos or videos so it seems like you’re the only one who stuck with an interested fella today.

Don’t wait up for me, ladies. You type out, and send along a selfie of you wearing Jack’s aviators with him picking up your prize bear off the table in the background. Gonna save a horse by riding that cowboy.

The answers that come back are swift and all congratulating you. Teasing you about your quick change of mind.

Yeah, yeah. I’ll give you all the gossip tomorrow. You write back, barely smothering a grin and you have to bite your lip to keep it at bay. I’ll send you guys a photo of his place and the address when we get there. If you never see me again, tell the cops it was the cheesy pickup lines that convinced me to go with him.

Jack watches you giggle as you put your phone away and walks back to your side with the bear. “See? Safe and sound.”

"Both of you." And something tight and gnarled in your heart seems to breathe more easily in a way you don't quite understand. It's an excitement you haven't felt in a very long time. "Lead the way," you say, accepting the bear happily when Jack deposits him in your arms.

“Did you ride with your friends, or do you want to follow me?” Jack’s Bronco is close to the party, having been here for hours bringing in coolers and helping to set up. He pauses by it and taps the side. “Give you a ride to your car if you want?”

“We all rode together, so I guess I have to beg a ride with you.” Saying it out loud makes it feel very real, but for some reason you’re not nervous. There is a tingle of anticipation and excitement but no worries.

Jack nods and opens the door to the passenger side for you. “Then let me give you the address of where we are going.”

“Thank you.” For both the door and for his understanding, you offer him a soft smile as you climb into the Bronco. So many men these days take the sensible precautions of women they’ve just met as an insult. It’s nice to not have to skirt the line and simply be upfront with him.

He smirks at you as he whips out his phone and opens it up to air drop you a location. “Nothing but details, sugar.”

“Which is the same thing the girls are gonna say to me tomorrow,” you tease, sitting back in the buttery soft seats as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“Then I better make sure you got nothin’ but good things to say.” Jack chuckles.

“I guess you’d better.” And you wink, even though the promise makes you squirm slightly in your seat.

“I don’t live too far.” Jack converses as he drives, wanting to you at ease. “That way I can be in the office easily in an emergency.”

“Like oh no, the whiskey isn’t old enough yet?” You ask, confused as to what kind of emergency a distillery could possibly have.

He chuckles. “Or the storage tanks collapsed and flooded the complex in raw, unbarreled whiskey.” He counters. “Thieves. Corporate spies.” He doesn’t get into the extra security Statesman has, that would be a little much for you to understand.

“Corporate spies. Thieves. You make it sound so…” Searching for the word, you notice he never even gets on a highway to get back to his place. He’s simply driving through a suburb as ramblingly as he pleases, and then turns down a long country road. “So very much like the beginning of a self-discovery novel, where the main character is just a lowly employee who finds out their job is really just a cover for something illegal or magical.” Grinning at him, you turn in the front seat and look at him instead of the drive. “Need an accountant? The place sounds fun.”

“Never know, maybe we could.” He chuckles, knowing he would enjoy seeing you around the office more. Might actually want to sit behind his desk more often if he could expect a view like you.

“Never know,” you agree, but your attention is quickly diverted by the little white-painted farmhouse with its picket fence and big shady trees outside that he pulls up beside. “It’s so cute!” You exclaim, having expected to see him living in something huge or deeply masculine. A house you’d see on Yellowstone or picture Clint Eastwood outside.

“Thanks.” He shoots the house a proud smirk. “My great-grandaddy built the place with his own two hands.”

“I love it even more now.” Madi would point out that you’re a sucker for a family story, and she would be right.

Jack is proud of the restoration and tasteful updates that have been done to the old place, an homage to the past. “Then you’ll love it when I tell you that they are buried up on that hill.” He chuckles, pointing to a little fenced off area around a large magnolia tree.

“Being a sentimental man runs in your family. I do like that.” When he pauses in sliding out of the Bronco to open your door and raises an eyebrow at you, you fluster. “Not that I assume you might be sentimental about me,” you clarify immediately. “Just that I appreciate a man who isn’t afraid to be passionate.”

“Sugar, that is something you’ll get to witness firsthand.” He promises as he climbs out and saunters around the front to help you out.

It’s a beautiful little place he’s got, and when he helps you out of the car you can see the wrap around porch does go all the way around, and that the house has been added on to in back. Maybe the second level was an add-on as well, you can’t quite tell. But it speaks to generations of love and stubbornness to stay here and add to this old place instead of moving or building new, and you like that. Loving and stubborn isn’t a bad combination by any means.

“Do you want a drink?” Jack offers. “Water, Coke?” He doesn’t just want to ply you with alcohol, so he offers other things, even though he is walking towards the bar cart in the corner.

“You can make two of whatever you’re drinking.” Whether that’s alcoholic or not, you have a feeling you’ll be putting your glass aside in favor of paying attention to other things soon enough.

“Hmmmm.” The countertop ice maker is put to use after you tell him this and Jack adds a little flair to his movements as combines orange vodka, pineapple juice and peach schnapps into a shaker and mixes it up before straining the cold alcoholic drink into two glasses and floats some blue raspberry vodka onto the top. “Here you go sugar.” He hands it to you with a wink.

“Do you have friends called Vodka and Schnapps, too?” It’s just a light tease, but he poured and mixed and assembled the drink so deliberately that you found yourself mesmerized by his movements. “Or one with the same name as whatever this drink is?”

“There are colleagues by those names.” He admits with a grin and takes a sip of his drink and groans in approval. “But this one was made just for you.” He hum. “I call this ‘Lick Her Right’.”

“Shit, Jack.” You end up smothering flustered giggles as you have your head at him and try a sip of the fruity sweet cocktail. It’s every bit as delicious as you expected and doesn’t taste a thing like alcohol — which probably means it’s the strongest drink you’ve had all day.

He chuckles at your cute little giggle. “Sweet with just a touch of twang,” he murmurs, stepping closer to you and leaning in to nuzzle his nose against your cheek next to your ear. “Just like the best pussy.” He murmurs in your ear. “Like I’m betting your pussy tastes.”

“Need you to do one thing for me before I let you find out,” you murmur, finding that just as you expected you’ve only had a few sips of the drink before something much more enticing has been presented to you.

“And what’s that, sugar?” Right now, he will offer you the moon. Give you whatever he needs to be able to strip off those tiny shorts of yours and drape your legs over his shoulders for a private Independence Day celebration.

“You’re gonna need to kiss me, cowboy.”

He laughs, tossing his head back and reaching up to take off his hat. “Much obliged to, sugar.” He promises before he swoops in for a kiss, his tongue still cold and fruity from the cocktail as he slides it into your mouth.

He’s playful and enthusiastic, two things you all but demand from a lover, and your arms slide around each other with greedy intensity as the rest of the room goes blank around you.

Jack’s drink is all but forgotten when he sets it on the table and pulls you closer, letting your body press against his as he plunders your mouth and groans in happiness that you accepted his invitation to come back to his place.

The half-wall behind you becomes the perfect thing to lean back against as Jack presses in, holding you as close as he is holding the last shred of decency you’ve got as you plunder each other’s mouths eagerly. You’re damn lucky your glasses didn’t get so thoroughly tossed aside that they fell over and stained his rug, but right now all you care about is chasing that sticky sweet taste from each other’s tongues.

His hands slide under your tiny little tank top, fingers pinching the back of your bra strap and unhooking it with one hand while the other slides under the cup to posses one breast. Keeping his tongue tangled with yours as he moans at the soft fullness of it, the hard nipple against his palm.

It's so smooth you might have barely noticed the movement at all, except his hands are hot and callused and the touch of them on your skin makes you moan into the messy kiss with enthusiasm. Nothing but the perfect heat and heaviness of him can penetrate your mind at this point — and that includes the heaviness growing hard in his own shorts as you both do your best to stay as pressed against the other's body as possible.

Jack presses his cock against your tiny shorts, grinding into you as he paws and plucks at your tit, pulling the most beautiful sounds from your throat as he slides his other hand to your neglected breast to give it the same treatment.

Pressed between Jack and the wall, your own hands wander freely. Mapping his body from broad shoulders down to slim waist, there is no hesitation there when you slide one hand into the back pocket of his shorts and pull him forward, inviting him to grind into you just as much as he likes as he swallows your moans.

There’s nothing wrong with a little over the clothing humping in Jack’s mind. Grinding against you and squeezing your tits as he kisses you is just the warm up for the night, although it feels pretty fucking good as you pull him closer.

The world has gone the most gorgeous shade of blank, narrowing down to just Jack, and when you finally can’t breathe in any more of him and have to break the kiss for air, the matching groans you let out are sweeter than any other sound.

You’re gorgeously giving and soft. Yielding to him. He reluctantly releases one breast and pulls back just a bare two inches to slide his hand between to you pop the button open on your shorts. His hand immediately sliding inside to delve into your panties.

“Fucking—” The rest of the curse, whatever it is, gets swallowed up by your moan as his thick fingers make quick work of finding your slick and swollen clit to draw circles around it that have you seeing double.

You’re wet and nothing is sexier to Jack than a wet pussy on an eager woman. He groans into your mouth. “Already so wet.” He rasps. “Want to see how much wetter you can get.”

“Before I dehydrate?” You huff, growling into a kiss with ferocity and angling your hips to try to get him to slide his fingers inside you. Not that it’s been very long at all since he first kissed you, but you’re on fire with wanting him and have been for hours. “Or before you finally fuck me?”

He chuckles into your mouth and bites at your lower lip. “Both?” He teases, rubbing your clit again before he finally gives you what you want and slowly sinks two fingers into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Shaking as he twists his wrist and presses the heel of his palm against your clit, you’re even more pinned against the wall behind you than you were a second ago. Far from finding it confining, your fingers dig into Jack’s broad shoulders with enthusiasm as you cling to him in that moment.

“That’s it.” He groans, feeling your walls pulse around his fingers and he hums in approval. “You’re little pussy likes my fingers.” He coos. “Why don’t you cum on them for me?”

If you could ever cum on command, it would probably be right now. It would be for the pair of thick fingers curled so perfectly inside your cunt every time he pumps them inside you that your vision whites out a little at the edges. It would be for the man who makes you simultaneously tense and limp with need. As it is, your toes are curling in your sneakers and you're about damn ready to flood his hand any second while the only sound you can make as an incoherent moan.

“Sugar, sugar, sugar.” He groans. “You’re so close.” He continues to finger you, loving how your eyes are rolling back. “Just let go and give it to me.” He begs. “I want to strip you down and eat your pussy, but I can’t until you cum for me.”

The absolute whimper of frustration on your lips and hearing what's coming next mighty really be what does it. What has you moaning his name into the warm evening air and holding onto him so tightly that your fingernails leave neat little half-moon shapes at the base of his skull. When you cum it's full force, with shaking legs and an arching back, and all you can think — when you eventually get your thoughts back after the fireworks subside in all your nerves — is how fucking glad you are that you took a chance on going home with this man.

Jack loves to see a woman cum. Always beautiful and you are no exception. The hollow of your throat is the perfect place to moan his praise, the white shorts he’s wearing becoming damp and showing it as he leaks pre-cum into the material. His fingers are soaked and making the most obscene sounds as he pumps them into your cunt until your entire body sags against the wall and is only held upright by his pinning you there. Then he slows his wrist and ease you to a stop as you pant his name. “Good girl.” Jack rasps against your throat. “Now I want to see what kind of mess your pussy made.”

“You’re gonna have to give me a second,” you huff, giggling under your own breath and a little dizzy. If he can do that with his hand, the rest of him is going to reduce you to a puddle. “Stripping is tricky when my legs are wobbly.”

He chuckles and pulls his hand out of your shorts to grab your thighs. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that.” He promises, pulling you up into his arms and guiding your legs around his waist as he pulls away from the wall to carry you through the house to his bedroom.

It only encourages you, which you’re sure was his intention, you steal kisses and swoon at this strength as you carries you down a hallway. By the time he turns into his room you’ve found the spot on the long column of his throat that makes him moan when you suck on it, and the bruise you’ve left there will be sure you remind of you every time he looks in a mirror for at least the next few days.

Jack’s bed is large, inviting and it’s not as heavily masculine as you might expect. The comforter is pillowy when he lays you down and smirks as he pulls back to look at you. “Now it’ll be easy to strip you down and not worry about those legs, except for how they look on my shoulders.” He boasts.

“I think I’m past the point in my dignity where I can dispute that,” you tease, wishing he hadn’t stood up fully because now he’s too far away for you to grab.

Jack unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off his shoulders. Revealing the shape of his hard cock pressing through the white shorts and he grins down at you. “We will just have to have an undignified time then.”

“Deeply undignified, I hope.” You agree, letting your eyes wander down the length of his body and darken all over again at the sight of what is waiting for you.

“Is there any other kind of sex?” Jack snorts, quickly unbuttoning and stripping down his shorts to groan in relief when his cock bounces free.

If you were going to debate with him, whatever argument you had gets lost on your tongue. He's a mouthwatering sight — veiny, cut, and curved just right so you know you're not only going to have him pulsing against your g-spot later but you're going to be cross-eyed and breathless while he's at it. "Fuck I hope not," you grin, licking your lips. "At least not tonight."

He smirks proudly and kneels on the bed, shuffling closer to reach for your shorts. He drags them over your hips along with your panties while you lift your hips so he can slide them down your legs and toss them on the floor. Eager to spread your thighs and get a good look at that slick pussy.

Sure it was only five minutes ago that your legs were shaking in his living room, but when he very surely moves your ankles to open your legs wide on top of his bed, your fingers drop between your spread legs without hesitation. His eyes on your pussy have you craving touch all over again.

There’s only your shirt left and Jack hates for the material to conceal your tits from his eyes, so he slides his hands up, grabbing the hem of it to pull over your head, unable to resist dipping his head down and lapping at a hard nipple.

It was barely a scrap of a shirt and this is so much better — tits free for his attention and back arching up to meet his mouth just as eagerly as he dips his head. The cool air in his room makes your already hard nipples peak even tighter, but all you can think about is the heat of his mouth and the heaviness against your thigh. Every inch of him feels incredible and he's not even inside you yet.

He lavished attention on one, then the other before he pulls away with a pop and a grin as he starts to slink back down your body. Intentions clear as he scrapes his teeth over the top of your mound and pulls your legs up onto his shoulders to cradle his head.

"Jack..." his name is a whine from your lips as he kisses the insides of his thighs, and one of your hands fists in his hair to tug encouragingly at the short strands.

He chuckles and blows a little air on your pussy to hear you whine again, your hips jerking up to try to meet his mouth. “Now, let’s get down to the business at hand.” He intones seriously. “You’ve got a pretty pussy that is begging to be eaten.” He looks up into your eyes and winks. “And I’m just the cowboy for the job.”

He dives in like a man starved, making you feel like every single woman whose pussy he tried to eat over the years must have denied him otherwise there wouldn't be any reason to be this voracious. That first lap at your slit has you gasping sharply, eyes rolling back in your head and tugging tighter on his hair in needy, silent gratitude. You'll be lucky if you can form any words beyond his name in all this. His name and endless repetitions of 'yes' or 'fuck'. But that's all you need.

Anything that Jack sets out to do, he does with vigor and eating your pussy is no different. His hands are wrapped around your thighs, pulling your hips up to his month as he devours you. Wanting to feel the sting of your hands pulling at his hair while his tongue carves a path through your folds.

He means to overwhelm your senses entirely and he's doing a damn good job, right down to how tightly he manages to hold you in place while he leaves no part of your soaking wet pussy untouched. Maybe at another time you might have fought of wrestled or taken some of the lead, but he's swept you away so entirely today that all of your usual sass is reduced to whimpers and moans under his attention. Probably because the attention of that long tongue of his is well worth submitting to.

He had been right, you do taste delicious. Making him even more ravenous as he explores what makes you whimper and whine his name as his tongue laps at your swollen clit.

Every time your hips twist or roll to beg for a specific kind of friction. he seems to be anticipating it. He reads the waves of your body like it's a second language, intuiting what you need and giving it to you with growls and groans of his own that vibrate through you and make you see wave after wave of stars.

His mustache is coated with your juices, his chin slick with them, and still he continues to devour you. Licking into you and pushing his tongue into your pussy like he is starved for you, his hooked nose pressed against your clit as he groans in pleasure.

It doesn’t matter how long you lay spread out like this. Or how long Jack spends devouring you like you’re his new favorite dessert. The walls could crumble down around you and you would still be begging for more.

Jack can feel your body start to tense, your thighs tightening around his head briefly and then relaxing only to do it again. He holds them loosely, wanting you to squeeze him and he rolls his tongue back up to your clit to lap at it.

The second time you cum for him isn't like being carried away on an ocean wave. Even the arch of your back is like being washed out to sea, and the roaring of your blood in your ears making you feel like you've just crashed on top of a wave in some dramatic engraving. It's like all of your senses are both being hugged tight and being blasted wide open and you're drowning in every sensation but your nerves are tingling with life as you float back down to earth in his bed.

Humming softly, the pads of his thumbs rub your inner thighs, soothing you as your breath starts to slow down. You had screamed loud enough to wake the dead. A feat that has Jack feeling mighty smug as he watches your closed eyes bounce around under your lids.

"Fucking hell," you manage, once you stop panting and have the presence of mind to push up on your elbows to be able to see him more fully.

Smirking up at you, he winks as he unfurls himself from between your thighs to rest on his knees. “How are we doing so far?” He asks, even though he knows the answer. “Feeling patriotic yet? Or should we really make you see fireworks?”

"I think we'd both be missing out if we gave up now." After all, you've barely done a thing for him. And if his cock feels half as good as it looks, you refuse to miss out on that.

“I have to admit, I’m dying to know what you feel like around my cock.” Jack confesses, his hand squeezing his cock and pumping it lightly.

"I think it's time for you to find out." There is a smirk curling in the corner of your mouth as you sit up, and with one hand beckon him closer. "Don't you?"

“Yes ma’am.” He hums. “Do you want to save or horse, or see if I can hold on for eight seconds?” His brow arches in question and he wonders what you will say.

“On your back, Jack.” You grin up at him, already shifting over to switch places. Even if this isn’t where you end up, you want to ride that handsome cowboy for at least a little while.

“Never say I don’t follow a lady’s orders.” Jack drawls as he lays down, tucking one hand behind his head and the other still pumping his cock languidly.

“Not if you know what’s good for you.” That smirk stays in place as you straddle his hips and lift yourself up, braced for your cunt to be so wet from his attention that he slides inside you right up to your throat.

Jack helps, holding his cock up for you line up. “Take your time, sugar.” He coos, watching you with a predatory gaze. “It takes time to make sure you are seated right.”

“Not too long.” A moan escapes your lips as you sink down, but you take him at a slow, steady pace. “I’ve been thinking about this all damn day.”

“And here I thought I couldn’t be the one to break your dry streak.” He teases, having read your lips from the margarita stand with the assistance of his glasses. He had turned off the special features before he put them on your nose earlier.

“Were you spyin’ on me earlier?” The best you can do with him halfway inside you is to raise one eyebrow as if you vaguely disapprove, but it doesn’t hold a single drop of water when you let out a shuddering little gasp and take more.

“I can read lips.” He admits with a grin. “Don’t worry, sugar, I didn’t hold it against you. Just made me want you more.”

"Now I feel like I ought to have made it harder for you," you purr, but the truth is that he'd had you from the first real smile. Not the smirks, not the intrigue of just being handsome in general. The first time Jack genuinely smiled at you, you had felt your heart beat a little faster. Now it's your pussy that's reacting to him, though, and you shift your weight to lean back and give him a long view of your whole body as you start to bounce on his cock. Whatever his reason for being interested in you, it is well worth it.

“Jesus Christ.” Jack hisses, sliding his hands up to your tits again. “You are such a pretty thing, so fucking beautiful.” He groans, admiring the view as you use him.

"View can't be as good as mine." Panting between each word is the only way to get them out, because your mind is so fuzzy all over again from how good he feels that all you can focus on is how well he fills you.

He would have to disagree, but you steal his ability to speak when you roll your hips and squeeze him tight. All he can do is groan and squeeze your tits harshly before sliding his hands down to your hips.

"Hold on, handsome." It doesn't take more than a few movements of your hips to establish a rhythm, and one that you're both thoroughly enjoying. With Jack's fingers curling insistently into your flesh, you pick up the pace and let your eyes slide shut in bliss.

Jack groans your name again and again when you fully seat him inside you. Giving you the encouragement and praise through the panted words.

It's a damn good thing that his bed isn't an antique like his house. Once you get going, with his encouragements and your own seemingly insatiable thirst for this man, it would be a damn shame to sacrifice an heirloom to your shared lust. The sheer power and force of your enthusiasm with his strength makes it feel like you're going to fuck each other into the stratosphere to begin with, there's no reason to lose furniture.

“That’s it, sugar.” Jack slaps your flank in encouragement and moans when you roll your hips down at little harder. “Fuck, you do know how to ride a man, don’t you?” He counts his lucky stars you wanted to come home with him. “Ride me hard.”

He might have been the one to make the joke about lasting the length of the ride, but you have no intention of getting bucked while you're on him. The prominent veins of his cock scrub your walls like they were made for you, bringing deeps moans and shuddering growls of his name from your lips with every bounce and rock of your body on his.

Bracing his feet on the bed, Jack tilts his hips up, changing the angle and he chokes out a sound of approval when you squeal in pleasure. “There it is.”

It's the exact angle you need to have the head of his cock battering against your g-spot with just the right amount of pressure, and right now you're prepared to swear that no one has ever managed to find the spot that perfectly before. Just like his fingers curling against it earlier, your vision whites out as your eyes slide shut again and you could swear this is what being on fire feels like as you cry his name out in that quiet little farmhouse.

When your pace stalls, Jack picks up the slack. Driving up into you while your walls convulse and you shake on top of him. Groaning out your name raspily as he works himself towards that same peak you are currently cresting.

It's so easy to fall forward, bracing yourself on his chest with both hands and letting him take over the pace. Your third orgasm ripples through you so sharply and definitively that you practically scream, but his arms are there to catch you and pin you to his chest while he races toward his own pleasure.

It only takes a few driving thrusts until his holding you tight, locking his arms around you and grinding up into you. Your name is moaned into his ear as he floods your fluttering pussy with his cum. “Fuck sugar.” He groans. “Little pussy is milking my cock like a dream.”

"I'm afraid..." You're both panting, and you rest your forehead on his rising chest for a beat and giggle to yourself. The flow of endorphins is making you feel so light you could fly. "I've been neglecting her. She was hungry."

“Pussy like that needs to be seen to frequently.” Jack chuckles breathlessly and strokes your back as the sweat clinging to your bodies starts to dry and cool. “I’ll be happy to make sure that happens.”

"Oh yeah?" In the bliss of the moment, when you pull back to look him in the eye, it's like you're seeing a completely different side of the needy and addictive man who was pushing you up against a wall a mere hour ago. This Jack is soft at the edges, boyish and gleeful, not to mention beautifully relaxed as he cradles your body against him. "Thinkin' about asking me out, cowboy?"

“Considering it.” He admits before that soft smile curves into more of a smirk. “I think it would be my patriotic booty to keep you satisfied.” It’s the repeat of the joke from earlier, but completely worth it because of how cheesy it is. “What do you say, sugar?” He asks. “Want to make everyday Independence Day?”

"I think it's only right." Stretching slightly, the tip of your nose nearly touches his and you dip your head barely lower to hover above his mouth. A single centimeter of movement and you would be kissing him. "It'd be a damn shame to never ride my new favorite steed again."

“Damn shame.” He agrees. Since you’ve been in his house, the sun has slipped below the horizon and he reaches up to cup your cheek just as the first muted boom of the fireworks from Statesman is heard. “Happy Fourth of July, sugar.” Jack murmurs before he crushes his lips to yours, happy that he had decided to go to the celebration rather than taking a mission. He had never had a better Fourth than this one.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

[chimivx]

home;run -> fem!reader x mlb!mingyu, mlb!vernon, mlb!dk

College didn't work out, so you're stuck with the next best thing. Living with your superstar brother, traveling with his championship winning team, haunted by your past and heavily influenced by your present.

wc; {part seven} 3.6k warnings; 18+, sexual content, alcohol consumption/abuse, bad influences around her, manipulation, her name gets taken advantage of in public media, if i missed anything please let me know!! notes; peese n lurv. <3

Cheers could be heard down every street in Iloa, the Lions stadium alive, living, breathing, exploding full of love and support, every voice showering down onto the field of ten or so men stretching, throwing around baseballs, or sprinting across the grass.

In the bullpen, the smack of DK’s hundred mile per hour baseball hitting the leather of Woozi’s glove echoed against the walls and carried up to the kids in their matching jerseys dangling their heads over the railings to watch them, calling down for them to throw a baseball up into the stands. Standing on the sidelines, coaches, other starting and backup pitchers, they’d grab whichever ball DK discarded and tossed it up to the boys and girls, watching their faces light up with joy.

A sweet smell lingered in the air, one mixing with that of the savoriness of the comfort foods the boys on the team indulged in after a victory, one they hoped would happen today. Pretzels, soft chewy cinnamon bites, ice cream stands around every turn, every corner of the stadium. Women and men wandered about with bright red shirts on, carrying bins of ice cold drinks, beers, and water bottles, their voices booming through and over the crowds eager to get their buzz on. Fans waiting in line at the stores, full of Lions merchandise, were calling them over, swiping their cards without checking the price, and chugging the can as best as they could before they were allowed to walk through the door. An excellent ploy, get them tipsy and they won’t care what they’re picking up off the shelves.

Bouncing in your black boots, skinny jeans on your legs and a silky custom Lions bomber jacket on top of a bodysuit, you held a water bottle in one hand and an ice cream cone in the other. Grooving to the music radiating the walls of the stadium, a pop beat from a music group that prided themselves on being the biggest fans of your brother, the cutest group of seven talented boys the Lions were now partners with, you pulled on the elbow linked with yours, accidentally rocking them with you. Sunglasses low on your nose, you turned and smiled. Latched to you tight, elbows locked, Ryujin licked her ice cream and raised a brow.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she said, letting you rock her to your heart's content as the two of you strolled through the first floor pavilion. “Is this that group DK likes?” 

“The group that DK is friends with?” Correcting her, she smiled and rolled her eyes. “We had a few of them over in the off season while I was home with him, they’re cool.”

Ryujin dodged a man barreling toward the seats carrying one of his kids in his arms while the other ran behind him. “Jesus,” she muttered. “This place is crazier than last season.” Catching the drips of ice cream down the side of your cone with your tongue, you winked to a group of girls around your age staring at you and Ryujin and gave them a wave as you passed by them.

“They need them to win,” you said.

“They need to use manners,” she countered, giving you a look.

Shaking your head, waving to some other people who actually called out your name and greeted you properly, you said, “Then we need them to win. You don’t wanna see these people when they lose.”

Ryujin, having been on guard for your sake since she arrived three days ago, gave the people a stare, not caring what they thought of her. She overanalyzed them all. Back in February, a little over a month ago, when the Mingyu story broke the internet, your name was drug through the mud. You weren’t so innocent either, though you were, you knew what you did, what had happened, but to the media you were a drunken mess homie hopper. 

The photos of Vernon safely placing you into his passenger seat couldn’t even compare to the photos of Mingyu and Daya, taken from far away, not up close like people would do to you when you were dating him. That thought alone disgusted you, that you weren’t worthy of certain boundaries like Daya apparently was, that you could have cameras shoved in your face while you were kissing your boyfriend in a public space, but there she was, on his lap, tongue in his cheek, and the photos and videos were grainy as fuck. 

He couldn’t defend himself. It took about twenty four hours for you to be able to face him, even at the training games they had played the following day you ignored him, sat in the stands with your sunglasses on, arms folded, legs crossed, only cheering and clapping when ‘Now batting, first basemen, Chwe Hansol’ was announced through the stadium. Simply to piss him off, of course. Videos of that hit the internet to no one's surprise, everyone was way too involved in the scandal that almost took down Vernon’s name as well.

The two of you spoke that night, the day after the story nearly imploded your lives, with DK and Vernon on standby, the two waiting in the hallway outside of your hotel room to Mingyu’s demise. Your precious, golden hunk of a boyfriend couldn’t say two words to come back from what he’d done. With grace, somehow, he listened to your telling of how the night went, how he’d acted in front of your brother, and what he’d said to Vernon.

His only reasoning, that wasn’t an excuse to how he ended up with Daya on top of him, was that she came onto him. Loosely believing it, that he didn’t realize what she’d been doing, you let him go with a hug and his thousands of soft apologies for everything he’d been putting you through without realizing. 

That was the Mingyu you used to know, before the money, before the fame got to his head, before he was one of the stars on the team, a huge name in baseball. The nice Mingyu, the one who’d catch onto the things your parents would say and give you a silly look with a roll of his eyes, the Mingyu who once upon time said he wanted to take care of you one day, wanted to give you a life you deserved. 

But, he was all talk. A hug, whispers of I’m sorry, it was as simple as that.

All the mentions of realization seemed to withstand the pressure of the media cracking down on him in interviews, the way people would run into him on the street and bombard him with questions of you, of Vernon, of the scandal, of what he’d done. Every single time he would own up to it. Left within him, though you broke his heart, wouldn’t forgive him, told him that you two did not work together, was the care he held for you. The love he said he had, which out of everything, was the one thing you wholeheartedly believed in.

Protecting your name, defending you, speaking about you with a softness in his eyes only when asked, he at least kept one of his promises. Giving you a life you deserved, a safe one. He gave you your space, he didn’t try to come back, he didn’t fight to hold onto anything, he respected what you had to say, what you wanted, which would’ve driven you mad if Vernon weren’t standing in the hallway, if you didn’t have history clinging to him, love for him. A boy that podcasts and drama influencers alike were calling stupid for involving himself with you, for getting between you and Mingyu, that if you two were to get together after this it’d be a shorter relationship than the one you’ve just come out of.

All the more reason for Mingyu to come out and admit to what he’d done, which in turn, destroyed Daya and Hoshi’s marriage.

Desperately clinging to whatever she possibly could, sloppily throwing stories together, making absolute dogshit up about you, about Mingyu, about your brother, she scrambled miserably to hold onto her husband and the beautiful, wonderful life he’d given her. 

You and Hoshi spent some time together in the days following the break up, bonding in a way you’d never expect. Across dinner tables after days of baseball, he’d sip his beer and tell you story after story about what a witch his soon-to-be ex-wife was. He never meant to marry her, which didn’t make him out to be partner of the year, but when they found out she was pregnant with their daughter he put a ring on her finger and owned up to the new life he was bound to live.

He wasn’t looking for an excuse to divorce her, to escape her, to get rid of her, but he wouldn’t say he wasn’t grateful that this ended up happening. As for his daughter, he wouldn’t give her up for the world, when he spoke on Daya their daughter never came up. It was all her, his now ex-wife, or in the process of becoming ex-wife. He’d always shower Tora with love, would show up for her, and give her the world whether he was with her mother or not. And that’s who Daya became to him, the mother of his daughter, nothing more.

She was the curse of last season after all, the fans had no problem discarding her after Hoshi made the one and only public post to announce his divorce.

In doing so, combined with Mingyu’s unspoken compliance, Hoshi aided in the repairing of your name, of Vernon’s name, and within weeks things started to turn around.

“I don’t like the way some of these people are looking at you,” Ryujin said, holding onto you a little tighter each time someone's eyes spent more than two seconds on you. 

Tugging her out of the way of a family staring at their phones then pointing to the signs above their heads, confused as to where they were going, you yanked her toward the row of stairs leading to the first base line. “Most are fine,” you assured her, pausing at the top of the steps. The man working the row gave you a smile and a nod. “How are you?” Returning the smile, you watched his cheeks blush.

“Fine, Miss Isla, and you?” he asked with another nod of his head.

Looking at Ryujin, then back at him, you nodded as well. “Fantastic. There’s three more behind us, they should-”

“ISLA!”

The high pitched scratchy scream struck your heart. Eyes wide, head snapping to look down at your seats in the first row, you couldn’t help the obnoxious screech that came out of you involuntarily, simply triggered by a glimpse of their beautiful faces. Ryujin slipped her elbow out of yours, accepted the ice cream cone you slapped into her hand, and let you go, discarding the sweets before leisurely following you down the stairs, not running like you were. 

“Oh my god,” you breathed, skipping a few steps at a time, “Oh my god!” Heads were turned from the seats slowly filling the sections, you and your sisters shrieks gathering attention like clockwork. Even if you weren’t actively causing a scene, when the five of you were together people paid attention. 

Jumping off the last step into the row, you didn’t even have a second to look at any of them, to mess with the adorable outfits they’d thrown together, you were in their arms and their arms were around you, squeezing you, the four of you lost in whispers and Tori’s teary eyes. When Ryujin made it down the steps she wiggled herself into the middle, her hands grabbing onto three different parts of two different girls.

Aurora, Tori, Yuna, Ryujin, they were here. Once you found out they were coming to opening day you upgraded their tickets, you grouped them in with yourself and made sure they’d be down here on the field with you. It’d been months, and after the last few weeks, you needed your sisters. Partially the reason why Ryujin came days earlier after she’d gotten clearance from a few of her classes. Like DK promised, she stayed in his house with you, she hung out with your brother and actually got to know him for him and not the almighty baseball superstar he was made out to be.

She liked him as your brother more, and DK took to her in the same way. Within three days it felt like you were trapped with a big sister as well as a big brother with how they both ganged up on you, teaming together to tease you like big siblings should while whipping you into shape at the same time. The other three were set to come back to the house with you tonight, staying for the length of the three game series the Lions were opening their season with, and you couldn’t wait for them to spend time with the brother you spent so much time telling them about at Nasara.

“Tor,” you whined first as the group hug dispersed, reaching for her bronzed cheeks glowing in the March sun. Her glossy pout worsened, making you giggle, forcing your thumbs to her bottom lashes to keep her makeup in place. Tori came close to Ryujin in your heart, another trustworthy sister to share some secrets with, to open up to, she matched your try anything once energy, your party loving twin.

Grabbing your wrists, her red nails brushing your skin, she shook her head. “It is so good to see you, Isla,” she said, her voice quiet, half broken. “You have no idea what the hell we went through after you left, what we thought happened to you, it was so scary.”

A smile pricked your lips. “Ryujin throwing a sneaker at Yeji’s head?” Giggles sounded around you. “I heard all about it.” Wiping her eyes, you took her hands in yours and squeezed them, giving Aurora a glance. “I heard about everything.”

“How did you know?” Aurora asked, her observant eyes intriguing your own, the girl always on some mission to know. “You said something to me, do you remember?” Truthfully, no, you did not, and you weren’t at a point yet where you had the balls to admit it. Aurora seemed to catch on quick. “Before any of us knew anything… Caught onto anything, which, we didn’t, you knew.”

“And it cost you,” Yuna chimed in, laying a hand on your shoulder. Giving her and her chocolate curls a smile, you shrugged.

“I’ll be honest,” you whispered. “I thought it was obvious.” The laughter that broke out warmed your heart, thank god.

“Let’s not get stuck on this right now,” Ryujin pulled you out the girl's hands and moved you in front of a seat that looked straight out to first base. “We have a game to watch, we can talk about this later.”

Shuffling around the chairs, deciding who was going to sit where around you, an insane amount of questions were thrown your way, every single one involving Vernon.

“Are you guys dating?” Yuna asked from beside you on your right.

“Were you guys dating before? At Nasara?” Tori asked from your left.

Aurora poked her head forward. “Just so everyone knows, he told me about her first!”

“Shut up, let her speak,” Tori elbowed her leather jacket that so obviously belonged to Wooyoung. 

Ryujin threw her hands up, her eyebrows furrowed, the crease in her forehead deep. “I knew the whole time?!”

“Shut up, let her speak,” Aurora said to her, the two breaking out into giggles, throwing playful hands at each other. 

Tori rolled her eyes, her fluffy lashes fluttering as she looked between you and Yuna. “These two, I swear they’re on each other more than anything I’ve ever seen.”

Perking a brow, a smirk lighting up your lips, you leaned forward to witness them swatting at each other's hands, giggling like little kids. Yeah, you knew that one. “Ror,” you caught her attention, and Ryujin’s, “You and Wooyoung? Finally?”

She blinked, many times. Tori took her bottom lip between her teeth, her face going blank. “I mean,” she started, shrugging, gaze flickering out onto the empty field. “Something like that.” Confusion filled your face and she smiled, a breathy laugh escaping her. “We’re not putting pressure on anything,” she clarified. “So many big things have happened this year, we just want to… Be.”

You knew that one.

Letting her know you understood her with a smile, you shifted to Tori who just finished taking a deep breath, her eyes fixed forward. “What about you?” you asked her, letting the other two go back to giggling with one another. Yuna listened in to them, paying no mind to the quiet way Tori spoke back to you.

“What do you mean?” she questioned within a whisper.

“You know what I mean,” you laughed, “How’s Mingi? Mr Loverman? I miss seeing you guys be you,” you nudged her arm, “Your relationship is my favorite, I yearn to have what you two have.”

“Yearn?” She smirked.

“I know words, Tor,” you said, sitting up straight. Gesturing to yourself, you said, “Haven’t drank in two weeks, I’m remembering words I used to know when I was good at school, I’m tryna use them all, one word a day.”

Her eyes began to shine. “Two weeks,” she whispered. You nodded, feeling proud, keeping your anxiety locked away for the time being. “Isla, that’s great.”

“Thanks,” you sighed, accepting her hand she offered you. “It’s hard.”

“But you’re doing it,” she smiled.

“Longest streak yet,” you whispered, and she squeezed your fingers. “This doesn’t get you out of the Mingi question.”

Her face fell. “Damn it.”

“Don’t tell me you guys broke up?” you asked, and she turned toward you, flustered, her cheeks flushing of color.

“No, no, no,” she whispered as fast as humanly possible, “Not that, we didn’t break up, it’s just…”

“Soul said that!” Aurora’s cackle cut her off, Ryujin and Yuna laughing with her.

Closing her eyes, Tori took a breath before looking at you. “I don’t know how to describe it. It sounds horrible in my head, I don’t think I can say it out loud, if I try I either look like a jealous bitch or a shitty girlfriend.”

Placing your other hand on top of the one you were already holding, you smiled something soft. “It’s okay,” you said. “Thoughts are one thing, actions are another.”

Tori frowned. “I love him, you know I do.”

“Tor, we all know that.”

She glanced away, collecting her thoughts. The booming voice of the sportscaster sounded over the speakers and the now full stands erupted into cheers. “We’ll talk later,” she said, forcing a smile onto her face as the Lions were called out onto the field, every person in the stadium leaping to their feet.

Adrenaline shot down your spine, your anxiety pushed aside by the excitement that buzzed within your heart. DK, the first to run out onto the field, shot a hand in the air, waving as the music blasted for their arrival, guiding them to their places on the field. Player after player, they ran out, hands in the air, greeting their fans, searching for their family in the stands, saying hello to cameras pointed their way. The field flooded with love from both players and fans.

Number seven hit the field, cleats in the grass, and your heart skipped a beat. This was it, the first game of the rest of his life. Brown curls popped out beneath his hat, curls you had your fingers in last night from the passenger seat of his car after Ryujin slammed her door shut and hurried up to your brother's house, Vernon dropping the two of you off after a shared dinner amongst friends. He took a second, pausing as the crowd went wild for him and his teammates. Tipping his chin backward, chocolate eyes wide, an absolute look of awe, he turned in a slow circle, attempting to look at every single person, until he found you.

The world went quiet around you, though everyone and your sisters still cheered with every ounce of power within them. A smile lit up his face, one he wouldn’t normally wear so publicly, too much emotion for people who didn’t know him. Watching him wear it now, taking in all the love the fans threw his way, you swore you could cry. 

He was meant to go to first base, everyone was taking their places on the field, the other team was on their way out, but once he found you he was stuck. Glued to you. Drawn to you. He couldn’t even say hi to your friends, his friends, he hurried over and grabbed onto the net separating the two of you, beckoning you closer. Stepping up to the ledge, grabbing onto his fingers that poked through the net, you smiled.

“Girlfriend,” he whispered, pressing his nose to the scratchy yarn.

Leaning into him, doing the same, your noses brushing, you whispered, “Boyfriend,” with a giggle.

“This is fucking crazy,” he said. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“I’m so happy you’re here,” you said. “You made it.”

“Fuck,” he gasped.

“Remember to breathe,” you whispered. “You can do this.”

Sucking down a breath, he released it all too fast, whispering, “I love you,” before pressing his lips to yours, unafraid to let everyone in the stadium in on the secret you two have been keeping for two weeks now. A secret that you’d try to keep, that both of you wanted to keep, for yourselves, and yourselves only.

Though you knew, after this, #visla would be trending faster than anything.

home;run masterlist | talk to me | ao3

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.

[harryforvogue]

something from a fic i'll never write. i've been reading way too much about faeries, changelings, and heirs

***

She spots him as soon as she enters through the threshold, eyes snagging with his. He looks away quickly though, and then glances over his shoulder to make sure the person he sees is just a trick in the light, and that her hair isn’t really billowing around her in white fans, and her eyes aren’t the color of obsidian rock found in the depths of the caves of their homeland. She knows it, however, that he’s seen her, because to the regular mortal eye, she’d subdued herself to have gentle brown eyes, hair with white highlights, and a figure that isn’t so sickly and thin.

Sauntering her way through the crowded bar, she’s sure he feels her approach. His back tenses, and his handsome face contorts into a look of dread. But he doesn’t move, showing the bravery of the prince of Faerieland that he is. She fixes her blouse as she sits down on the seat beside him, resting her elbows delicately on the bar. 

“Hello.”

The man looks at her for a second too long, noticeably looking at her shoulders to find her hidden wings, before returning to his amber drink. “Sprite.” His tone is cutting, abrupt. “I’d like to be left alone.”

“Worry not. I’m not here to gloat or embarrass you, changeling heir. I’m here to welcome you to the mortal lands and ask that you speak truthfully with me. Now that you’re no longer bound by the rules of Faerieland and are able to lie of course.”

She orders herself water with a lemon wedge.

His eyes rush over to hers, dark with anger. “Do not call me that.”

She shrugs, taking a sip of her water. “What do I call you then?”

“Nothing. You stay the hell away from me.”

She clicks her tongue. “Sure, I can do that. After you do something for me. And I’m not hard to please. All I need is a vow that you’ll leave these mortals alone, and I’ll never speak to you again.” Another sip. “That is, well, until you leave me a bloody mess to clean up. Then I leave you as a bloody mess for someone else to clean up.” She smiles at him.

The man, or rather the abandoned adult changeling that would have been a false king, doesn’t say anything for a moment. He observes her as she finishes her drink and orders another one from the bar. The bartender looks at her hazily, the fog over his eyes registering a young woman who happens to be pleasantly chatting with her date at the bar. 

She’s not so sure what the mortals see when they look at this new arrival though. How good is his glamor? Is it an intentional glamor, or whatever has remained on him from his journey to mortal lands?

What she sees, though, is a man likely in his late twenties, with dark curls tucked behind his ears, in casual dark jeans, and a white shirt. Around his neck is a pendant, an ancient one that shows his heritage and his lineage. He is incredibly beautiful, as all royal faeries are.

She sits in the presence of the heir. Or now, the exiled heir. Removed from the lineage after being humiliated before the court. She’d heard about it through her spies in Faerieland. She never would have expected him here though.

He stares back at her. Clearly he’s used to seeing various different faeries, trolls, nymphs, and other woodland creatures (which she is) because he doesn’t blink an eye at her appearance. She’s long come to terms that her haggard, wild, looks cannot come close to the beauty of mortal women, but it’s nice to be seen. The heir looks at her real features, and not the ones she’s applied with glamor to look like the rest of the women in the bar.

Finally, he looks away. Looks back at his drink. “I’m not here to kill anyone.”

“That’s a relief,” she answers brightly. “Now I don’t have to kill you.”

He doesn’t answer.

She barrels on. “They call me the Queen Sprite here. Because this land is so close to the land of Faerie, many exiles and defectors come here, but their nature gets the best of them. They terrorize the mortals, often killing them. My job here is to prevent that. I’ve grown quite sentimental of the mortals.”

“And who put you in charge of that?” the heir says icily. Clearly he doesn’t want to be bothered. She doesn’t care.

“I did,” she replies. “I’ve been here for 26 years. A changeling myself. Though only 9 of those years have I been called Queen Sprite.”

“By whom?”

The heir’s lingering authority remains in his voice. He must be used to ordering about faeries and servants. She feels the pull of his magic trying to draw out a truthful answer from her.

“There’s no need for glamor,” she says. “I’ll answer any question truthfully. You’ll find it’s possible to lie here, but I will not do so. Not for a fellow changeling.”

“I am not,” the heir hisses, catching the eyes of several bargoers, “one of those.”

“You are,” she answers calmly. “Just as I am.”

“I am not like you.”

She finishes her drink and holds a hand up kindly when the bartender approaches her again, signaling she’s done with drinks of the night. “I put myself in charge. And it’s gone quite swimmingly, and it will continue to do so as long as you don’t raise your voice at me or threaten me.”

The heir’s eyes are darkened. He looks down at her with a sneer, eyebrows dipped low. His hands are in fists on the bartop. “We will have no problem as long as you quit calling me that.”

“You must have known your whole life,” she presses. “How different you are. A man in Faerieland that is more mortal than fae. And a royal. One that looks different from his family, though his internal characteristics may be similar to the King.”

“Leave the hell alone, sprite.”

She ignores him, pressing on the bruise some more. “You must have known that your abilities were all learned. That the longer you stayed in Faerie, the less human you became, and maybe you were scared at first, waiting for you to be returned to your human parents in exchange for the other changeling, but it never happened.” She shakes her head sympathetically. “Really, it’s a tragedy. Instead of being sacrificed, you were made to believe you were truly a member of the royal family. That you could in fact rule your court.”

“That is enough!” the half man half fae shouts, slamming his hand down on the bar. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you’d do best to walk away before I do something we’ll both regret.”

She glamors their conversation to make it look like a lover’s spat.

“I told you not to threaten me,” she answers, tapping her long fingers on the top. “I’m not your enemy. I’m like you–”

“You are nothing like me,” he seethes. She watches him throw back his drink. “And you’d do well to remember that.”

The anger lingers in the air like a dark cloud. Instead of leaving, he sits there, gripping his glass so tight, it cracks at the rim. 

“You can’t leave,” she says. “Physically, you’ve been unable to leave the bar. I’ve watched you for three days now. The drinks don’t affect you. The people don’t affect you. All you’ve done is sit here and feel sorry for yourself.”

“I’m not tearing mortals apart limb from limb so let that be solace for you, and proof that I don’t intend to harm,” he growls.

She sits up straighter in her seat. “How do I know that? You may as well be like a ticking bomb waiting for the right moment to explode.”

“And I supposed you think you’re the diffuser?”

“I am. I told you, I’m the Queen Sprite of these lands. I’ve sat with my council and we’ve talked about it. I need to deal with you personally. You’ve got to figure out if you’re going to stay here or if you’re going to barrel your way back to Faerieland. And if you do leave, you’ll return angrier.”

“So you say my only choice is to stay here.”

She shrugs. “If that’s what you got from what I’ve just said.”

He stares at her, enraged. “You live up to your name.”

A low blow, but she swallows it gracefully. “I live up to my nature. As do you.”

She leaves then, putting some bills on the counter to pay for both her drinks and his, giving him a once over before leaving. 

***

The next day, the heir is still in the bar. He avoids her by talking to a young woman beside him. By midnight, he’s kissing her, so the sprite leaves.

***

The day after, the heir is still at the bar, in a booth now. He nurses a couple shots, knocking them back one after the other. She watches from a distance, and then approaches when he’s taken at least ten or eleven.

“You know they won’t affect you,” she tells him.

He turns his head to look at her, eyes clear. “I can snap your neck right this very moment, sprite.”

She leaves, letting him lick his wounds.

***

The following day, he sits at the bar without a drink before him. His hair is unruly, falling into his eyes. His knuckles are red and raw, which alarms her, but she soothes herself with a reminder that men do many stupid things. He could have just punched the wall in anger.

He doesn’t look like he’s been to Faerieland because his magic seems to be slipping. When she looks at him, she sees him in his usual white shirt, but sometimes when she blinks, he’s in a black shirt. 

“Hello, prince.” She sits beside him.

He turns his head to look at her. His eyes are red and filled with sorrow. “Sprite,” he answers.

“How are we feeling tonight?”

“I need to go home.”

She orders herself a drink. “I’m afraid the court isn’t home for you anymore.”

He surprises her by putting his head down on the bartop, dropping his hands to his lap. He looks younger, though more ruffled, not longer with the air of royalty. He’s looking more human, more exiled. His shirt flickers in color. 

“I was the crowned heir,” he says, voice muffled. “I was the one they wanted.”

They stay silent for sometime.

Then, the prince says, “I tried to go back. They’ve locked all the doors. Some magic I don’t know. Magic I’ve never been shown.”

“I figured they would.”

“I feel like a child. Like my parents have abandoned me again.” He raises his head to look at her. “I remember it very well. When they took me. I think the fae part of me enhances those memories. I was barely 3 years old. Pretty old for a changeling, though. But after I got over it, I adjusted to palace life so well that I..I guess I just thought…” 

He takes a deep breath, eyes golden. She wonders what his real eye color is. 

“But clearly I’ve thought wrong.”

“What is your name?” she asks him. “We always have space for new exiles.”

At the last word, he shudders, but his shoulders fall with defeat. He stares down at her for some moments before he says, “Harry.”

A ripple of magic runs through her. Half human or not, his true name willingly rolling off his tongue makes her shiver. She stares back at him with largened eyes.

“Okay,” she says carefully.

“My true name holds no weight. And despite being an exiled prince, you cannot have control over me with that name. These limits, at least, can be upheld in the mortal world..” 

Harry stands up, taking a deep, shaky breath. “Show me where you hold council, sprite. And be prepared to be dethroned.”

She stands as well, fluttering to get ahead of him as they leave the bar together. She feels a warm glow in her chest at the sight of him in the dark night, face illuminated by a weak lamp on the street.

“Welcome,” she says earnestly, “to the mortal world, your highness.”

[sixpennydame]

Hey hey hey bestie, I’m here for #24 with Jean.

ありがとうございます✨

Dee, my lovely, it's all your doing that I'm having a Jean moment to begin with! 楽しんでください！

Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)

Cowboy!Jean x Fem!Reader

C/W: Slightly dom!reader, face sitting, NSFW, Minors Do Not Interact!!

You loved to hate Jean.

He was, without a doubt, the cockiest bronc rider on the pro rodeo circuit. And as much as you hated to admit it, it was for good reason. Jean almost made it look effortless; as the wild horse bounded out of the chute, kicking and bucking, Jean would hold on tight, leaning back and anchoring his feet into the stirrups. He would ride it out, the full eight seconds, every time. He knew he was the best, and he had no problem telling (and showing) everyone. It infuriated you.

As a barrel racer, you often saw him at the same rodeos, a gaggle of women always waiting for him. He'd take pictures of them and sign autographs - an arrogant smile on his face as one woman unbuttoned her shirt for him to sign her breasts.

God, you hated him.

But you also loved to fuck him.

The first time, the two of you were drunk and horny after both winning in your respective events. A group of you had ended up at a honky tonk joint in Cheyenne, Wyoming, and as he spun you around the dance floor, he pulled you close, his hand moving down to the small of your back as he asked to go back to your hotel room.

It just never stopped after that.

There's a knock at your door and you open it to see him there, an arm leaning on the door frame.

"Hey," is all he says before he saunters inside. The moment the door clicks closed, you're grabbing him by the shirt and pinning him to the wall. His hands start to unbutton your blouse as yours move down to his muscular ass that’s squeezed into his tight Wrangler jeans.

Clothes fly off and you push him onto the bed. "Please...sit on my face," he begs. His voice is soft and needy, and as you straddle his shoulders, moving slowly towards his face, he whimpers.

You hover just above his mouth and feel the heat of his breath on your intimate parts. "You want this?"

"Fuck yes," he responds, "I wanna taste you...wanna make you feel good." His rough hands wrap around your waist, resting at your hip bones, but he doesn't dare push you down on him because he knows..

..you're in control.

You lower onto his face and he immediately drags his tongue along your vulva. He’s precise - he knows your body by now and knows exactly the way to move to make you feel good. But that doesn’t mean you just sit there. You begin to slowly grind your hips back and forth and moans of pleasure from both of you fill the room. His hands grab at your breasts desperately as your hips move faster, then in a circular motion. The new movement causes his tongue to flirt around your clit, but when he finally latches on it, you stop. He sucks on your clit, switching between light and hard suction, and it causes you to grab onto his hair. You know that his cock is rock hard behind you, and a part of your wants so badly to reach back and touch him, but you and he both know that this is how the game is played.

Your pleasure is first and foremost.

Jean continues to suck on your clit and lap at your pussy until your legs start to shake and your climax washes over you. When you move back, his face is covered with your juices. “Shit, I love how you taste.” His hands move up and down your thighs. “What else do you want?”

You move further down and start rubbing your pussy on his cock, causing him to take in a deep breath. “Depends…is that the best you can do tonight?”

“My wild girl…I’ll let you do whatever you want. Use me all night long, if that’s what you want.”

You love it, watching Jean moan and writhe beneath you as you fuck him. Within the four walls of your hotel room, the cocky, arrogant bastard becomes your slave, willing to do whatever you want, for as long as you want it. You sit up and put your hands on his pecs, feeling his muscles tense, his body coated in a layer of sweat, his eyes watching your body as his cock disappears inside you again and again. He knows you won’t stop until he’s given you everything.

And both of you know this won’t be the last ride.

—//—

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[kaytheday]

Wild Woman at the Rodeo

Barrel racing used to be her escape. Cherry used to get on that horse right after her best friend Marcia had finished and ride as fast as she could. Her hair whipping behind her, all thoughts of school and boyfriends and not being good enough leaving as she put on those boots. 

That was before Dallas Winston started competing in the event after the barrel races. He would stand up on the fence next to his buddies. Laughing, talking loud, a toothpick hanging out of his mouth as he stomped around in his cowboy boots. 

Don’t get Cherry wrong. She didn’t get nervous in front of crowds and she was hardly opposed to yelling at a hood to leave her alone but Dallas was something else. He was interesting in the way that a firecracker was interesting. Moving so fast, dangerous and loud that it nearly blinded you. 

It was one rodeo after her and Marcia had finished riding. She was in her signature pink rodeo shirt with the two cherries on the pocket, cute flare jeans to go over her boots. She was talking to Marcia and smoking a rare cigarette. Things hadn’t been great at home lately and she knew her dad wouldn’t be able to distinguish the rodeo smell from cigarette smoke. 

“How you ladies doin?” Cherry ashed her smoke on the chain link fence before turning around to find none other than Dallas Winston. He was wearing worn levis over scuffed cowboy boots. He had an oversized flannel shirt thrown on, unbuttoned, exposing his flat stomach and a scar that ran from his rib to the top of his jeans. She huffed out a sigh, not really wanting to get into it with him. 

“What do you want?” She said in a no nonsense tone she’d heard her mother use plenty of times when she was younger.

“Woah, woah baby.” He smirked, putting his hands up in mock surrender while Cherry took another drag. “Just wanted to say that you guys are good riders, that’s all.” His New Yorker accent peeked through his words, twisting around his mouth playfully. She scoffed a little. 

“Thanks. Now don’t you have somewhere to be?” 

“I got a race to win if that’s what you mean.” The corner of his lips curled up into a small smile. “Why, you gonna come watch?” 

“Maybe, maybe not. You’ll just have to wait and see.” he smirked and left. Lighting a cigarette with a match on the bottom of his shoe as he walked away. 

Cherry would be lying if she said she didn’t like the compliment a little bit. The problem with her potential to fall in love with Dallas Winston was it could mess up everything she had worked so hard to build with the rodeo. 

Cherry was an entirely different girl at the rodeo. She was no longer her parents' little princess who went around in starched clean dresses and got good grades. In the rodeo ring, she was a wild woman. Her red hair whipping like the untamed winds of Oklahoma. She knew how to play a crowd like a lioness, rows of teeth looking like a smile but they still knew how much that bite could hurt. Here, she was more than a soc or her parents' money. 

More than anything else, the rodeo was Cherry’s escape. It was her escape from her sick mother at home and her emotionally absent father. An escape from the life of Socs and Greasers. An escape from everything that made her life rough in all those secret edges. 

She vowed then and there. She couldn’t fall in love with Dallas Winston here or anywhere. Despite his crooked smile and way he had complimented her, his flat stomach and the way he lit a cigarette. She wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t risk giving up the one thing that was truly hers. The one thing in her life that reminded her she was alive. 

The rodeo reminded her of the blood that ran through her veins like fire. It reminded her of the stories of horse women ancestors. The wild women that no man could tame. She thought of herself as one of those wild women. Her feet thundering across the plains of Oklahoma loud shrieks erupting from her lips like fire from the mouth of the dragon. She only felt that at the Rodeo. At the rodeo, she was truly alive. At the rodeo, she was free. 

This is for day 5 of @outsidersweek!

[writingplotbunnies]

Best Served Cold (5/?)

Pairing: Jax Teller x OFC

Summary: Sophie shows up to her first SAMCRO party complete with fighting and a conversation with Gemma.

Word Count: ~4400

Warnings: angst, illegal activity, possessive behavior, sexual content, canon typical violence

A/N: This is my first SOA fic, so let me know what you think. This is a multipart fic, so let me know if you want added to the taglist.

Later, Sophie stood in front of her bed, hands on her hips, glaring down at the rather small pile of clothes scattered across the mattress. She’d never been good at picking an outfit, doing her hair, finding out if her complexion allowed for warm or cool tones in her makeup. That had been Olivia's job. Over the years, she’d simply do whatever it was her sister had told her. Like adding layers to her hair, and texturizing the ends - whatever the hell that meant. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to look good because she did, especially tonight, it was that the Corps didn’t care, and anytime she’d been forced to dress up, well they provided a uniform for that, too. Raking her hands through her hair, Sophie wished she knew someone in this town she could call for help. Jax would likely make some suggestion about not wearing anything, which, while flattering, wouldn’t exactly be a practical solution to her current dilemma. 

“Maybe if I close my eyes and point…” 

She needed a dog. At least then talking to herself wouldn’t make her feel quite as crazy. But, she talked to herself a lot. Wasn’t anything else to do when she was staked out in the middle of nowhere waiting for her target to finally decide to show up. 

Growling in frustration, she snagged a pair of skinny jeans Olivia had given her for Christmas a couple of years ago, and a burgundy racerback tank top with a screen-printed dandelion on it. Once dressed, she slid on her well-worn black, low-heel ankle boots. Glancing at herself in the bathroom mirror, she figured it looked good enough. Never quite the smoky eye her sister always managed to paint on her face with perfection, but she didn’t look like she’d just been sucker punched either, so she took the win. 

Stopping at the couch, Sophie pulled her ankle holster from her duffel before lifting her foot onto the arm of the couch and attaching it. She didn’t want a repeat of earlier if one of the other Sons or whoever else she met at the party hugged the wrong side of her body. Tucking her phone and ID into her back pocket, she grabbed her keys and locked up behind her. 

Sliding into her car, Sophie took a deep breath. She wanted to make a good impression. After Jax had dropped her back at the station, she’d done a lot of thinking. Maybe it wasn’t forever, this thing with Jax, but she wanted to do her part to make it last - see what it could be. Just because she’d never had roots, at least, not as an adult, didn’t mean she didn’t want some. 

Pulling into the TM lot, Sophie took a moment to take in the whole scene. A far cry from the quiet, but busy auto shop, the place had transformed into a veritable den of debauchery. It kinda reminded her of a few mid-deployment parties she and the teams had set up when they needed to blow off some steam. Excitement thrummed through her veins at the prospect of letting off some steam and having a good time. It had been this part of the MC life that she found most surprising when it came to Olivia. They’d done their share of partying together, but her sister had always been the more reserved of the two. Not a wallflower, but not the cannonball into the swimming pool with a Roman candle in her hand type either. Hers had been a quieter chaos. Maybe that’s why Olivia had been drawn to Drifter - the balance. 

Shaking herself from thoughts of the past, she slid from the car, tucked her keys into her front pocket and walked towards the madness. Fire-filled drum barrels were scattered around outside. Women half naked stood, or sat, with a court of men around them. One leggy blonde had her arms wrapped around a young man who seemed content to do nothing more than suck her tits while she ground herself against him. Off to the left, shirtless men threw punches at each other inside a boxing ring while some of the others, beer bottles dangling from their fingers cheered them on from the sidelines. She noticed some money exchanging hands. 

Glancing around, she tried to locate Jax. She spied who she thought were Tig and Chibs sitting over at some picnic tables. Since they were the only other two faces she recognized, she moved towards them, careful to weave through the small packs of bodies. 

“Hiya, love,” Chibs called when he caught sight of her. 

Tig grinned up at her. “Hello, beautiful.” 

Sophie smiled, but looked behind her. “I kept my car parked far away from your perv eyes, Tig. No more flirting with my baby. She’s too young for you.” 

Chibs laughed and knocked his shoulder against Tig’s. “Got you by the balls.” 

“I wish,” Tig mumbled under his breath. 

She sat on the table next to Tig and gave a friendly pat on his shoulder. “Sorry to disappoint you.” 

He gave her a flirty look. “I’m sure you can find a way to make it up to me.” 

Sophie laughed. “Keep dreaming, man.” 

“Aye,” Chibs said, voice a bit sharp as he glanced down at Tig. “You know how this works.” 

Tig nodded. “Yeah, man. I got it.” 

Chibs shook his head before necking his beer and taking a long swallow. “Not me you’ve gotta be worrying about now is it?” 

Clearly looking for a way to change the mood, Tig looked at a young blond man sitting near them. “Prospect, get the lady a drink and be quick about it.” 

The blond looked at her shyly and offered her a smile. “What’s your poison?” 

“Rum and coke, or a beer.” 

“Go on,” Chibs called as the prospect stood from the table. “Be quick about it.” 

She laughed as he scurried into the clubhouse. “I’d say be nice to the poor boy, but something tells me he’s used to a little hazing around here.” 

“It’s good for them.” 

They all turned to watch the fight, and the kid brought her a drink more quickly than she expected. Taking a sip, she nearly coughed. Sophie had expected a strong drink, but it was like they’d filled the Dixie cup with rum and walked a can of Coke next to it. Rum with an essence of Coke. Now that she knew, she took a smaller sip from her cup as she continued to watch the two in the ring duke it out. The bald one had decent form. He had a wildness in his eyes that commanded her attention. 

Sophie slid from the table, and wandered through the crowd to get a closer look at the fight. She’d always enjoyed the boxing matches the Navy boys engaged in during cruising days. For a few moments, she stood among the other spectators sipping her rum with a splash of Coke and watching the exchange of punches. Both men had grins on their faces. 

“Hey, sexy,” a voice slurred in her ear. His hand wrapped around her waist, fingers inching up her torso, just shy of her breast. “Run inside and get me another beer.” 

Ignoring him, Sophie moved out of his grip, figuring he’d wander off to easier, more willing entertainment. She continued to watch the fight. Not taking the hint, the drunk guy behind her reached out, grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. 

“Listen, bitch, go get me another beer or get lost.” 

Looking him over, she noticed the kutte, but there weren’t any patches on it. He had dark hair and a stupid-looking face, or maybe that was just the expression on it. The kutte looked the same as the one the blond guy, the prospect, who’d been sent off to get her a drink wore. Seemed prospects were lower in the chain than guys like Chibs and Tig. Not that it would make any difference for her personally, but she wanted to avoid making Jax’s life more difficult if it could be avoided. 

Shaking his grip loose, she moved through the crowd back towards the table. Just as it came within view, the majority of the crowd behind them, the idiot grabbed Sophie’s ass.

“Don’t walk away from me, sweetheart. I wanna have a good time tonight.” 

Eyes at her hairline, Sophie spun around to face him. “The fuck did you just say to me, asshole?” 

“You heard me. Croweaters do as they’re fucking told around here.” 

Sophie rolled her shoulders. “Look, go find someone willing. No isn’t exactly a complicated word - means no.” 

When he reached forward again, Sophie’s patience was shot. She landed a right hook across his cheek, feeling her knuckle split on one of his teeth. Sucking a breath in through her teeth, she cursed. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but seeing the way the idiot’s face snapped to the side made it worth it.

“Go find Jax,” she heard Chibs tell someone. 

Her moment of distraction cost her. The guy backhanded her with enough force for her head to whip to the side. 

“Bastard!” 

Sophie spat on the ground. What kind of an idiot slapped someone in the middle of a fistfight?

Before she could return the favor, arms wrapped around her torso, pulling her back. Across from her, a lumberjack-looking guy with a beanie on his head had his arms wrapped around the idiot who thought no meant please touch me more. 

“Alright, lass, leave him be.” 

Thrashing in his hold, Sophie wanted nothing more than to cover her hands in his blood. “Let me go. Bastard needs to be taught a fucking lesson about respecting boundaries.” 

“Aye,” Chibs agreed. “That he does, but not by you. You got your shot.” 

She stopped struggling only to whirl around and poke her finger into his chest.

“That love tap I gave him?” 

Sophie knew she was screaming, knew she was likely making a scene, but she couldn’t stop herself. 

“Bastard grabbed my arm, then my ass, and took a grab at my breast all without my permission. He’s lucky I haven’t ripped his fucking balls off and shoved them up his ass.” 

She watched Chibs’ face darken the more she spoke, but before either of them could say anything else Jax, closely followed by Tig, came jogging up to the group.

“What the fuck?” Jax asked, eyes moving between Sophie and the guy. 

“Don’t know exactly what happened, man,” the lumberjack-looking man spoke. “But, your girl landed one hell of a punch on Shepard’s face before he backhanded her.” 

She watched Jax’s jaw work as he closed in on the guy who’d slapped her. “That right? You do that to her face?” 

“Never seen her around here before. Wanted a new piece of ass tonight.” 

Sophie started struggling in Chib’s arms again, and managed to slip his grip. Faster than Jax could stop her, she’d lunged forward and punched Shepard in the face and then the kidney. 

“Sophie!” Jax pulled her back. “Come on, stop.” 

He pulled her a few feet from the group, pressed her back against the wall and glared at her. 

“I’m not apologizing for beating the shit out of that fucking creep.” 

Jax shook his head, small grin on his face. “No one’s asking you to.” 

Sophie opened her mouth, but closed it. It hadn’t been the response she expected. 

Jax grabbed her chin and tilted her head to the side, noting the red mark on her cheek. 

“He do that to your face?” 

She nodded. “Asshole didn’t even have the decency to punch me. Little bitch slaps like a fucking girl.” 

Jax pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. 

Sophie released a deep breath. “Look, I know there are rules or whatever for the girls at these things, and I tried to get him to stop. If he’d just been drunk and handsy and left when I said no, it wouldn’t have been a big deal. But he followed me. I moved away, walked back to where Chibs and Tig were sitting, but he kept following me. No one touches me without my permission, Jax. No one.” 

He nodded. “No one should be touching you. I’m gonna go deal with that, and you’re going to stay with Chibs and Opie while I deal with it.” 

“Jax - ”

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m gonna deal with it, Sophie.” 

Searching his face, she saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw ticked. She nodded. “Make him bleed.” 

With a smile, Jax pulled back from where he’d crowded Sophie into the wall. “As you wish, darlin’.” 

Taking her hand, Jax led them back over to the table. By now, the boxers in the ring had stopped, and a large crowd gathered to where Opie still had Shepard restrained. 

“Jax?” Tig asked, a hopeful expression on his face.

Jax pulled Sophie closer to him, arm wrapped around her in a clearly possessive gesture. 

“He’s gonna pay for that bruise on my girl’s face.” 

“You’re choosing some croweater over me?” Shepard asked, voice incredulous. 

Jax tightened his grip on Sophie in warning. She forced herself to relax knowing he needed to handle this himself. Later, she’d have him explain the hierarchy of this whole thing to her. 

“She look like a croweater to you?” Tig asked, sounding actually curious. “Does she act like one? Use your brain, man.” 

Shaking his head, Jax glanced up at Opie. “Tape him up.” Turning to Tig, he grinned. “Take bets, boys.” 

Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, Tig placed a hand on his chest. “Love you, man.” 

Chibs handed Sophie a roll of tape. “Get him ready, lass.” 

Nodding, she turned to Jax and pointed to the picnic table. “Sit.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

She swatted at his arm. “I’m not an officer, but I might let you salute me later.” 

As Jax tugged his shirt over his head, she swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. He caught her watching and winked. 

“What the hell’s going on?”

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw an older man with a gray beard and a cigar in his mouth walking over to them. “I’m teaching the prospect a lesson about touching things that don’t belong to him.”  

Sophie wanted to snort because honestly, who the fuck said shit like that? Still, she enjoyed the way Jax’s voice went low and deep. She focused on wrapping his hands, making sure the tape would do its job to protect his hands. 

“Clay, this is Sophie, Sophie, this is Clay.” 

She smiled over her shoulder at him. “I’d shake your hand, but they’re a bit busy at the moment, but it’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

She heard Clay’s deep chuckle behind her. “Likewise.” 

“What’s going on?”

Sophie recognized Gemma’s voice. 

“Jax is gonna teach the prospects a little bit of a lesson tonight.” 

Even with her back to the woman, Sophie could feel the deep frown on Gemma’s face. Sophie finished wrapping Jax’s hands. Pulling back a bit she motioned for him to hold his hands out. 

“Test it.” 

She watched the way his hands moved as he flexed his hands. Nodding, she smoothed her fingers across the edges of the tape. 

“Looks good.” 

“You’ve done this before.” 

Sophie winked. “Once or twice.” 

Standing from the table, he walked over to the ring, Sophie on his heels. Before entering the ring, he turned and wrapped Sophie into his arms and kissed her like it was his dying wish. When he released her, she staggered back a couple of steps before she felt a gentle hand against her back. 

Glazing over her shoulder she smiled at Opie as he steadied her. 

“He likes you.” 

Sophie nodded. “You got that impression, too?”

“Yeah, it’s good to see him happy.”

The bald guy who’d been fighting earlier in the night entered the ring and gestured for both fighters to approach. 

“Let the ass-kicking begin.” 

He’d barely moved out of the way before Jax lunged at Shepard. She wanted to wince at the sound his fist made against the man’s face, but she couldn’t muster enough sympathy for it. Jax fought like a man possessed. Unlike the earlier fight, this was clearly not for entertainment. Seemed as though Jax decided to work out a few of his demons on Shepard. After a brutal combination of hits, Shepard managed to knock Jax back with a lucky southpaw. Sophie saw the grin on Jax’s face. Watched the sweat slide down his torso, noted the small cut on his eyebrow. Most of Shepard’s face was littered with bruising, and small cuts. Both men had blood on the tape on their hands. When Jax had Shepard on the mats, she grew concerned. He’d clearly won the fight, but if he kept going - 

“He’s gonna kill him.” 

“Happy won’t let that happen,” Opie responded. 

Sophie startled, not realizing she’d spoken out loud. Instead, she nodded dumbly, eyes fixed on the fight. It wasn’t that she held Shepard’s life as sacred or anything, but she didn't want Jax to commit murder in front of this many witnesses. Just when she was going to step in and put an end to it, she saw Happy pull Jax off the now unmoving body beneath him. She couldn't make out what he said, but he whispered something in Jax’s ear that had him relaxing. 

Around her, the crowd went wild with cheers, and many slapped Jax on the back as he left the ring, swagger in his step. She grinned as he closed in on her. 

“Hey, champ.” 

He smiled at her before turning to Clay, face serious. “He’s out. I’ll never vote that piece of shit into my club.” 

Clay took a puff from the cigar in his mouth before nodding, a pleased sort of pride in his eyes as he looked at Jax. “Whatever you say, VP.” 

Jax nodded. 

Clay looked at Sophie, something unreadable in his eyes. “Get him cleaned up.” 

Sophie nodded, knowing something important had just transpired, but without understanding the rules, she didn’t know exactly what. Whatever it was, she thought it was good. Jax swung his arm across Sophie’s shoulders and led them into the clubhouse. They maneuvered around couples in various states of sex before moving down a hallway in the back. He led her into a room that smelled like him, and looked as though no one had ever taught him how to clean. 

“Sit.” 

“You like giving me orders.” 

Sophie grinned. “Occupational habit.” 

She walked into the adjoining bathroom and soaked a washcloth in warm water before coming back into the room. As she’d asked, Jax sat on the bed, eyes hooded as he watched her move towards him. He spread his knees in invitation. Grinning, she moved to stand in front of him, and he brought his hands to rest on her hips. Letting him enjoy the feel of her body beneath his hands, she began to wipe the blood from his face. He hissed when she pressed against the cut at his eyebrow, but didn’t make a move to stop her. Quickly clearing the rest of the blood and the sweat from his face, she threw the towel to the ground before sinking her hands into his hair and tilting his head back. Unsure who moved first, their lips crashed together as his hands moved to lift her onto his lap. 

Sophie moaned into his mouth, loving the way his arms felt wrapped around her. Again, she thought this was all too fast, but when his fingers snuck under the hem of her shirt and began to lift it from her body, she quickly pushed the thought from her mind. Even if it was too fast, too soon - it was also too late. Might as well enjoy it before the other shoe dropped. Breaking apart so Jax could pull her shirt over her head, Sophie looked down at him, loved knowing she’d put that look on his face - the one that told her she was the only thing in the world that mattered to him in that moment. Before he could pull her bra off, she took his hands in hers. 

Kissing his tape-covered knuckles, she met his eyes. “Let me.” 

He nodded. Keeping her eyes on his, she slid from the bed onto the floor to kneel in front of him. She saw the way Jax’s throat worked as he swallowed, eyes dark with desire. Carefully, Sophie began to unwind the tape from his left hand. When it was free of tape, Jax moved to touch her, but she held a hand out, mock frown on her face. He pouted but offered her his right hand. She removed the tape more quickly this time. 

“You should ice them. Tape did a good job, but you really went to town on his face. Nothing’s gonna keep you from swelling and being sore tomorrow.” 

“Later.” 

“Jax - ”

“Later.” 

He hauled her up onto the bed and moved them towards the headboard, settling her against his body. Jax’s fingers teased up the exposed skin of her spine.

“Not packing?”

Sophie chuckled. “Always. Ankle holster. I was kinda hoping this blonde biker would want to wrap his arms around me. Didn’t want anything getting in the way.” 

Jax kissed her. She reveled in the feel of his skin against hers. The sweat on his torso cool between their bodies as she writhed on top of him. As his fingers once more reached for the clasp on her bra, a knock at the door drew them apart. 

“Zip it up,” Opie called through the door. “Bobby’s here. Clay wants you outside.” 

She felt Jax’s sigh as he threw his head back against the pillow. She muffled a laugh against his chest before pressing a kiss to his skin. 

“Gotta do what the boss says.” 

“Clay can fuck off.” 

Sophie laughed. “Come on. You and I both know they’ll just send someone else, and Tig doesn’t seem like the knock politely type.” 

Jax groaned. “Picked up on that?” 

Sophie slanted him a look. “Yeah, he’s real subtle.” 

Figuring he’d not get up on his own, she rolled from the bed and looked around for her shirt. Glancing over at Jax, he stood from the bed and ran a hand through his hair as he walked into the bathroom. She realized he didn’t have a shirt with him. 

“You keep spare clothes here?” 

“Yeah. Should be a clean shirt in the dresser.” 

She opened the drawers until she found the right one; she pulled out a white shirt with SAMCRO screen printed on it. Pulling it to her nose, she sniffed it just to be sure. It smelled like him, and, thankfully, it also smelled clean. When he came out, she tossed it at him and ignored how domestic the whole moment felt. Too much. Too soon. Too easy. 

“You coming?” Jax asked as he stood at the door. 

Sophie picked up her shirt. “I’ll meet you out there.” She paused and pointed at him. “Someone got blood on my shirt.” 

“Just grab one of mine, babe.” 

“Thanks. I’m still gonna see if I can get the blood out of this one. Go on. I’ll be fine.” 

Jax nodded. He stepped to her and kissed her gently before leaving the room. Sophie sighed and shook her head. Had Olivia felt like this? In the early days with Michael, had she been this overwhelmed? They’d met while Sophie had been deployed, and when she made it home, they were already pretty established. Even though Michael understood Olivia had been holding back, waiting for Sophie to meet him. He’d joked about being more nervous meeting her than he had been their parents. She’d just grinned because while her parents could be intimidating, Sophie could’ve killed him and he’d never have heard the bullet. 

Making her way into the bathroom, she glanced down at the shirt. It was a lost cause, and she hated washing blood out of things. Better just to burn it and move on, but she also hated shopping for clothes - especially without Olivia here to go with her, or more specifically to make her go at all. 

“Fuck it.” 

Sophie tossed the shirt in the trash can she saw under the sink before walking back to the dresser. She pulled another one of Jax’s shirts from the drawer. This one was dark blue with SONS screen printed across the front. Sliding it over her head, she sucked in a deep breath, loving the way the shirt smelled. After all the posturing outside, she should feel something she thought. Some sort of feminist bullshit about belonging to a man, but she didn’t because the feeling didn’t suck. 

Closing the door behind her, she walked down the hallway towards the main room of the clubhouse. She saw Gemma at the bar. Sophie watched her eyes widen ever so slightly before her lips pursed into a thin line. Maybe wearing Jax’s shirt wasn’t such a good idea. It wouldn't have been the first time she’d wandered around with someone else’s blood staining her clothes.

“Still haven’t worked out what you’re doing here,” Gemma began as she pulled the tops off of two beers. 

Sophie took the hint and moved to the counter. Taking the offered beer, she saluted with the neck before taking a swallow. 

“You’re clearly not one of them - ” Gemma gestured to the various women scattered around the room having what appeared to be a good time with the available men. “Even without his crow you act like his Old Lady and you don’t even know it.” 

Setting the beer down, Sophie met Gemma’s gaze. “I’m not gonna sit here and insult you by pretending I understood the details of what you just told me, but I know a hierarchy when I see one. Regardless of what position I do or don’t hold on it - no one has a free pass to my body unless I want them to. That’s not what I came here for.”

“Seemed just fine with my son having a free pass to your body.” 

Sophie smirked. “He’s got good hands.” 

Gemma smirked. “I think you’ll be just fine, but you might want to avoid punching any more guys in kuttes.”

Sophie held her hands out. “So long as they keep their hands to themselves, we have no problems.” 

“This club,” Gemma said. “It’s Jackson’s life. It’s in his blood.” 

Sophie frowned. “I know. But, it’s been like a week. Don’t be picking out China patterns just yet. What I feel for him it’s intense, but it’s also new.”

Gemma lit a cigarette. “Does it scare you?” 

“Of course it does. Scares the shit out of me,” Sophie answered. “It’s real.”

Part 6

Master List

[henrioakley]

❝ i guess that's just the way them wild horses run ❞

Age: 35

Gender identification: Cis woman, she/her

Residential area: Downtown

Occupation: pharmacist, part-time roper & barrel racer

Two positive traits: Passionate & adventurous

Two negative traits: Headstrong & hot-tempered

Length of time in Briar Ridge: 35 years

Faceclaim: Kylie Bunbury

haunted eyes and vacant stares, mismatched furniture, leaving texts on read and not answering the phone, well worn jeans and boots, a fridge full of beer, shiny buckles displayed on a disorganized mantle, burning off secrets in hot baths, a longing to be anywhere but here, disassociation with the family name

parental neglect tw, drug dealing tw

Born and raised in Briar Ridge she turned out to be everything her mother didn't want her to be. Half the time she would criticize Henri for being more like a boy rather than the daughter she'd always hoped for.

The house she grew up in Briar Ridge Hills had always been too big and empty for her tastes. Too well put together and always kept immaculately clean. Nothing felt real in her childhood home. Like it was an image rather than a life.

With her mother a politician Henri always had to be on her best behavior because whatever she did reflected on her mother. For the most part as a child she abided by that. It wasn't until she hit her teens and when her father skipped out on the family that Henri rebelled.

She'd always been jealous of her school friends and neighborhood friends who got to play and have fun while she had either piano lessons or dance class. She also had extra school work because her mother wanted her to take on more because she was meant for some big ivy league.

What she wanted the most was a horse and to work at a stable so that she could learn her way about what Henri was obsessed with.

She'd been drawn to horses and the rodeo since she was a small child. One of her childhood friends had invited her to come along to a rodeo event and from then on she'd been hooked.

There were hardly any women in any of the events and that had only motivated her more. She was tough, strong, and incredibly athletic with all her training so she knew she could do it.

When she was sixteen her mother went off to the state capital and left local politics behind. For some reason her mother thought it was fine to leave her own child behind. An aunt moved in but what little control Henri's mother had on her soon evaporated.

Not only did she get herself in with some of the cowboy crews, they also taught her to ride and the ways around the lifestyle.

Henri began traveling with them and helping out. Even before she was fully good enough to give competing a go she tried anyway, thinking it was the best and quickest way to learn.

Turned out to be the hardest and most brutal but she wouldn't have changed it for anything.

When her mother found out what Henri was doing the threats came that she would cut her off if she didn't straighten out and the fear of being further abandoned hanging over her head sent Henri to university where over time she worked to become a pharmacist.

Aside from her uni work, pharmacy tech job, Henri continued to rodeo whenever she could. There was something wild in her heart that couldn't be contained.

Once Henri finally became a pharmacist after extensive schooling she found herself a lucrative side business of selling medication on the side. It's all going into a savings to eventually buy herself a ranch and support her real passion in life.

potential connections:

childhood friends — anyone within age range that she could've grown up with. either they got along or didn't but would love to have some historic connections!

side hustle customers — anyone that would buy prescription meds off of her. she doesn't judge and can keep a secret if they can.

uni buddies — easy one here! people she met through the local uni.

rodeo family — whether they're apart of the scene as a fan and supporter or a competitor as well gimmie all of this!

neighbors — unfortunately until she can buy her dream property for her ranch she's suck in a townhouse downtown.

fwb/flings/hookups — a casual thing here as she has no real interest in a serious relationship. it's pretty much stuck in her head that all relationships/connections are fleeting and that everyone will eventually leave at some point.

don't come near me at all — the person she's in love with but she's kind of an asshole to them to keep them at a distance. last thing she wants is to become vulnerable and get herself disappointed and hurt. something to be plotted out!

more to come! this is just a jump off point!

[ymijeansblog]

Naughty or Nice? 3 Early-Aughts Styles to Wear From Day to Night

During the busy winter season, choosing outfits that seamlessly transition from a day of errands to a glam night out is essential. Luckily, one infamous fashion period was all about merging work and play effortlessly: the early 2000s. From iconic red carpet looks to nostalgic magazine spreads, chances are you’ve saved a few vintage outfit ideas that feature early-aughts trends to your fashion mood board.

This winter, make the most of the Y2K revival and make it to all of your winter events on time with versatile, stylish outfits. Here are three early-aught styles to wear this winter for a cute daytime look or a sleek evening outfit.

Off-the-Shoulder Tops

Give FOMO the cold shoulder this season with a top that’s perfect for everyday wear and glamorous evening looks. Off-the-shoulder tops are having a moment this winter, thanks to the early 2000s revival, from collarbone-skimming sweaters to shoulderless bodysuits. The best part of this trend? Off-the-shoulder tops are easy to dress up or down, making them a versatile closet staple.

For a casual, everyday look, style an off-the-shoulder top with a pair of great-fitting jeans, sporty sneakers, and minimalist jewelry. For an evening look, swap out your sneakers for kitten heels or square-toe boots, add a pair of statement earrings, and finish the look with a bomber or leather jacket. To balance out the wide neckline of this trend, opt for curvy jeans with a slim fit that makes you feel confident and comfortable.

Utility Style Fashion 

Think bomber jackets, cargo pants, and camouflage prints—utility fashion was a defining trend of the late ‘90s and early 2000s. Just about every it-girl, from Beyoncé to Britney, was wearing utilitarian fashion during the early aughts. This style is the perfect way to balance out girly pieces with structured elements, adding a unique touch of contrast to any outfit. Plus, this versatile trend is perfect for chilly weather, as utility-driven closet staples are typically warm and cozy.

For a daytime utility look, style junior cargo pants with your favorite lacy cami, a cute cardigan, and tennis shoes. For an elevated evening look, wear a leather bomber jacket or combat boots with a silky slip dress.

Dresses Over Jeans 

Let's face it—this trend is infamous or iconic depending on who you ask, but one thing is certain: it’s eye-catching and undeniably Y2K. Since this look was everywhere during the early aughts, from red carpets to street fashion, it’s easy to recognize as a nod to this iconic era of fashion. Besides, chilly winter weather is the perfect excuse to play with layering!

A vintage slip dress over a pair of wide leg or barrel jeans, paired with delicate jewelry, a tote bag, and simple shoes is perfect for a Y2K-themed brunch with the girls. For an evening look, emulate Gigi Hadid’s stunning streetwear style with a floor-length sweater dress unbuttoned from the waist down. The result? A cinched waist, a trendy outfit, and a (surprisingly warm) Y2K look.

Whether you’re styling a naughty or nice look this winter, these three iconic early-aught styles have you covered.

About YMI Jeans

Since the early 2000s, YMI Jeans has brought the cutting-edge Los Angeles fashion scene to women everywhere with budget-conscious denim and accessible styles. Born during an iconic era of fashion and pop culture, YMI Jeans quickly made a name for themselves in the fashion industry as an innovative, reliable brand. With a focus on functionality and fit, YMI Jeans crafts apparel that empowers women to feel and look their best. With innovative fabrics and designs, this inclusive brand engineers tummy control jeans that celebrate and hug your shape while making the latest styles—from junior cargo pants to plus size flares—accessible to everyone. With comprehensive fit guides and style resources, YMI Jeans connects fashion lovers with the latest trends and reliable staples.

Find Y2K-inspired clothing and outfit ideas at https://ymijeans.com/

Original Source: https://bit.ly/3B9n8Ym

[effortless23]

Top 5 Denim Brands Offering the Best Plus-Size Barrel Jeans in 2024

Denim trends come and go, but the rise of barrel jeans has made a lasting impact, especially for plus-size women. With their unique shape—high-waisted, roomy around the hips, and tapered at the ankle—barrel jeans offer a chic, flattering fit for curvier figures. As more brands embrace inclusive sizing, there’s no shortage of stylish plus-size barrel jeans to choose from in 2024. Here are the top 5 denim brands leading the way.

1. Good American

Good American, co-founded by Khloé Kardashian, has quickly become a go-to brand for plus-size denim. Their focus on size inclusivity and body positivity has made them stand out in the fashion world. Good American offers a variety of plus-size barrel jeans that combine comfort with high-quality fabrics, ensuring a perfect fit for every curve. With sizes ranging from 00 to 24, this brand caters to all body types, making it easier for plus-size women to find trendy barrel jeans that fit like a dream.

Why It Stands Out: Good American is known for its contouring waistbands and innovative stretch denim, which enhances the comfort and support of their jeans. Their barrel jeans give a modern, relaxed fit while maintaining a polished look.

2. Universal Standard

Universal Standard is famous for its size inclusivity, offering clothing from size 00 to 40. Their plus-size barrel jeans are no exception, with options that are designed to flatter every body shape. Known for its premium materials and expert tailoring, Universal Standard’s barrel jeans combine structure with flexibility, making them a top pick for anyone seeking both style and comfort.

Why It Stands Out: The brand is committed to creating high-quality, durable denim that doesn’t stretch out after multiple wears. Their barrel jeans are perfect for day-to-night looks, whether you're dressing them up with a blouse or keeping it casual with a T-shirt.

3. Madewell

Madewell has always been a favorite for denim lovers, and their plus-size line is no different. Offering sizes up to 28, Madewell’s plus-size barrel jeans are designed with thoughtful details like reinforced seams and just the right amount of stretch. Their collection combines the effortless, cool-girl style Madewell is known for with the functional design elements that make plus-size denim fit well.

Why It Stands Out: Madewell excels in providing timeless yet trendy denim that appeals to a wide range of personal styles. Their barrel jeans come in various washes, allowing you to choose between classic blue denim, black, or even distressed finishes for a more casual vibe.

4. Levi’s

As one of the most iconic denim brands in the world, Levi’s continues to evolve with fashion trends while maintaining its dedication to quality. Levi’s plus-size barrel jeans come in a range of sizes and offer that classic, durable denim feel with a contemporary twist. With their extensive denim expertise, Levi’s ensures that their plus-size jeans deliver both structure and comfort.

Why It Stands Out: Levi’s barrel jeans offer a blend of vintage and modern styles. Whether you’re a fan of a more rigid, old-school denim or prefer something with added stretch, Levi’s has a plus-size barrel jean that fits your needs. Plus, they’re perfect for any casual or semi-formal occasion.

5. Torrid

Torrid is a beloved brand known for catering exclusively to plus-size women, offering sizes 10 through 30. Their focus on creating fashionable, curve-friendly clothing makes them a top choice for plus-size barrel jeans. Torrid’s jeans feature a wide range of washes, fits, and lengths, so you can easily find a pair of barrel jeans that suits your body and personal style.

Why It Stands Out: Torrid designs their jeans specifically for curvy women, meaning their barrel jeans are crafted with the fit and shape of plus-size figures in mind. From extra stretch in the waist to roomier hips and thighs, their denim provides a flattering and comfortable fit for all-day wear.

Final Thoughts

Finding the perfect pair of barrel jeans can feel like a challenge, but with these top brands leading the way in plus-size fashion, it’s easier than ever to look stylish while feeling comfortable. Whether you prefer a more structured fit or a flexible, stretchy option, there’s a pair of barrel jeans for every taste and body type.

For more tips on finding the perfect fit and styling your look, be sure to check out our pluz size barrel jeans guide, which offers detailed advice on how to wear and pair this must-have denim trend for 2024.

[petrajanelle]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Rockies VINTAGE Jeans Mom High Rise Size 5/27 x 36 XL Beige Tan Khaki Rodeo 90s.

[cool-davenport-fl]

Alta Citron in Davenport, FL

The presence of Alta Citron in the city is exciting. Since it has remarkable luxury apartments Davenport location for rent these days, you can easily find an amazing apartment unit. Well, it’s perfect for those who want to live in a comfortable apartment unit for rent at present. The said place has amazing community amenities. It includes Social Lounge, Smart Package Center + Mailroom, Clubhouse + Coffee Bar, 24-Hour Fitness Studio, Spin Center with Fitness on Demand Screened Lanai Lounge, Expansive Conference Rooms, We-Work Spaces, Pool Pavilion + Outdoor Kitchen, Pet Spa, On-Site Maintenance, Grilling Stations, Fire Pit, Free Weights, Dog Park, Detached Garages, Resort-Style Pool, and more.

Davenport, FL

In preparing an itinerary, it’s significant to check out online articles. In case of searching pre-scheduled events in Davenport, FL area, it is essential to check Eventbrite posts. For example, it’s posted on their website that there will be Christmas Winter Festival- Kissimmee this coming Saturday, December 9, 2023, at around 10:00 AM at Florida Technical College. Besides, the Women in Real Estate Networking event is scheduled on Friday, November 17, 2023, at around 5:00 PM at Barrel 239, 3rd Street Southwest, Winter Haven, FL, USA. Lastly, you can also attend the Citrus: Past, Present, and Future activity this coming Thursday, December 7, 2023, at around 10:00 AM at Mackay Gardens and Lakeside.

USA Water Ski & Wake Sports Foundation Hall of Fame Museum

The USA Water Ski & Wake Sports Foundation Hall of Fame Museum is famous in Davenport, FL. Well, the said place wants to spread the love of water skiing and all towed water sports around the United States and the world. Aside from that, the most inspiring and accomplished members of their sport are honored annually in the USA Water Ski & Wake Sports Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony. Moreover, preserving their history is one of their core missions. In addition, the USA Water Ski & Wake Sports Museum inside the Visit Central Florida Visitor's Center celebrates the very best of towed water sports during the past 100 years.

Lindsay Davenport will be the next US captain for the Billie Jean King Cup

There are many interesting news reports in Davenport, FL location. In a recent news article, the topic was about Lindsay Davenport. Reportedly, as Lindsay Davenport gets set to take over as the U.S. captain for Billie Jean King Cup, she thinks back to what she called “the most amazing” of her three championships as a player in the team competition. Besides, it was in 1999, back when the event was still known as the Fed Cup, and King was the Americans’ captain. Moreover, Davenport helped beat Russia in the final with newly crowned U.S. Open champion Serena Williams, then just 17, and Venus Williams.

Link to maps

USA Water Ski & Wake Sports Foundation Hall of Fame Museum 101 Adventure Ct, Davenport, FL 33837, United States Head southwest toward Adventure Ct 174 ft Turn right toward Adventure Ct 82 ft Turn left onto Adventure Ct 39 ft Turn right onto Graystone Blvd 0.2 mi Turn right at the 1st cross street onto Heller Brothers Blvd 0.1 mi Turn left at the 1st cross street onto Home Run Blvd Destination will be on the right 423 ft Alta Citron 3020 Base Blvd, Davenport, FL 33837, United States

[privateeye-cj]

Charlie's Angels Rewatch - Angels in Chains (Ep. 4, S. 1)

Story

A woman in blue jeans scales a fence. She is chased by three guys in uniforms and the scene leaves us staring at a mean looking guy down the barrel of his rifle.

The Angels are hired to find out what happened to her. The prison she was incarcerated in on trumped up charges says she's been paroled. But no one has seen her since.

The Angels soon find out how easy it is to get arrested in that town, where it's even illegal to hitchhike.

A female prison warden (Mary Woronow) with designs on Jill and a stare that impresses even Sabrina, another warden who hits Bree in the kidneys for mouthing off, hard labour on the potato fields, a really creepy male guard who Kelly makes a pass at to get out of trouble - all the elements of a 1970s women prison flick lead to a drawn out chase when the Angels are busted.

Best Quote

Jill: What are you in for?

Billie: I busted someone's head in for asking nosy questions.

Jill: Ok, here's nosy question number two.

Gayest Moment

The warden with the three-mile-stare cleans up nicely with her hair down, serge trousers, vest and white shirt for the party at the house.

Her avid gaze at Jill playing the dumb blonde...

Greatest Mystery

How did they get out of charges for killing the sheriff?

Rating

Five out of five manacles

The flared jeans and light blue shirts of the prison uniform look good on the Angels. For some reason, the female wardens wear skirts.

Sabrina has a much to happy and beautiful grin when Kelly tells her Jill scored a talkative drunk guy she took off to some of the bedrooms.

Luckily the guy is so drunk he goes to sleep after spilling the beans and this time Jill doesn't have to go through with what he thought he'd get.

So once again, we are not shown the horrible details, not even for the side characters. Therefore we can swipe the horrible facts implied under the carpet at the laughing end.

[mondoradiowmse]

07/05/23 Mondo Radio Playlist

Here's the playlist for this week's edition of Mondo Radio, which you can download or stream here. This episode: "Candied Yams", featuring classic funk and more. If you dig it, don't forget to also follow the show on Facebook and Twitter!

Artist - Song - Album

James Brown - Make It Funky (Part 1) - The Singles, Vol. 7: 1970-1972

James Brown - Super Bad (Part 1 & Part 2) (Promo Version) - The Singles, Vol. 7: 1970-1972

Norma Jean & Ray J. - Right Time-Wrong Place - Raising Hell

Norma Jean & Ray J. - Raising Hell - Raising Hell

Black Heat - The Jungle - Black Heat

Black Heat - Wanaoh - Black Heat

The Beginning Of The End - Funky Nassau (Part II) - What It Is!: Funky Soul And Rare Grooves 1967-1977

United 8 - Getting Uptown (To Get Down) - What It Is!: Funky Soul And Rare Grooves 1967-1977

The Politicians Feat. McKinley Jackson - The World We Live In - Psycha-Soula-Funkadelic: The Hot Wax Sessions

The Politicians Feat. McKinley Jackson - Everything Good Is Bad - Psycha-Soula-Funkadelic: The Hot Wax Sessions

The Sons Of Truth - Son Of The Deacon - A Message From The Ghetto

5 Spiritual Tones - Bad Situation - Good God!: A Gospel Funk Hymnal

Gospel Comforters - Yes God Is Real - Good God!: Born Again Funk

Skeeters - Big Dumb Wagon - Wine, Women And Walleye

Ann Peebles - 99 Pounds - Straight From The Heart

Satisfaction Unlimited - Somebody Else's Woman - Think Of The Children

George McCrae - I Get Lifted - In Yo' Face!: The History Of Funk, Vol. 3

Sly And The Family Stone - In Time - Fresh

Sly And The Family Stone - Thankful N' Thoughtful - Fresh

Aaron Neville - Hercules - Mojo Presents: Heavy Soul

Curtis Mayfield - Freddie's Dead - Mojo Presents: Heavy Soul

L.T.G. Exchange - Money Mad - Susie Heartbreaker (Ghetto Child)

The Meters - People Say - The Very Best Of The Meters

Earth, Wind & Fire - Shining Star - The Best Of Earth, Wind & Fire, Vol. 1

The Isley Brothers - The Heat Is On (Part 1 & 2) - The Heat Is On

The Isley Brothers - Hope You Feel Better Love (Part 1 & 2) - The Heat Is On

Earth, Wind & Fire - Getaway - The Best Of Earth, Wind & Fire, Vol. 1

Parliament - Mothership Connection (Star Child) - Mothership Connection

Funkadelic - Cholly (Funk Getting Ready To Roll!) - One Nation Under A Groove

Bootsy's Rubber Band - The Pinocchio Theory - Ahh ... The Name Is Bootsy, Baby!

Bernie Worrell - Insurance Man For The Funk - In Yo' Face!: The History Of Funk, Vol. 5

Betty Davis - Is It Love Or Desire - Is It Love Or Desire

Betty Davis - Bottom Of The Barrel - Is It Love Or Desire

[lifestylelaguna]

Trousers: The Chic and the Comfy

It’s no secret these days that trousers, straight-cut pants, and high-waisted ‘mom jeans’ are the newest closet staple. A lot of us wear these comfy pair literallyyyy almost everyday! We have surely added this style piece to our favorite fashion go-to pieces because whether we go out for brunch with the barkada, go on chill dates with bebu, or mix and match our office fashion- in maluwag na pantalon we trust!

Check out these 7 chic trousers that’ll make you look effortless yet classy:

The Classic Black: Best paired with strappy heels! This one’s for those who wanted to look classic and posh at the same time.

SM Woman Fashion Cigarette Pants with belt

SM Woman, ₱449.50 ₱899 Save 50% off!

The Pants That Screams “Look at me!”: No need to plaster a “Notice me, lods!” top ‘coz this one will definitely bring the attention to you! 

 SM Woman Casual Chloe Pants

SM Woman, ₱899

On Wednesdays, we wear PINK: Channel your inner Regina George with this uber comfy and high-waisted pink pants from GTW!

GTW Urban Harbor Gingham Pants

GTW Urban, ₱799

BONUS: Get one for bae too: Best surprise for your boo? Something that’ll make him remember you- most especially at work! These Cotton Twill Pants are best paired with brown loaders- available The SM Store. 

Men's Mainstreet Basic Cotton Twill Pants

Mainstreet, ₱699

Because all shapes and sizes are welcome: Here at SM, we honor women’s bodies whatever shape and size they come in because whether you’re an XS, a 4XL, or anywhere in between, we’ve got it all for you! 

SM Woman Plus Denim Julia Ecowash Pants

SM Woman, ₱879.20 ₱1,099 Save 20% off!

For casual Fridays: Perfect for those days where chill meets the chic. Throw some white shoes on with these denim pants! Get the white shoes here. 

SM Woman Denim Elysse Barrel Pants Gartered Waist

SM Woman, ₱799.20 ₱999 Save 20% off!

Something that’s office-appropriate and fashionable: ~Lava walk~ the way to your meetings because office outfits don’t need to be boring! 

SM Woman Career Jocelyn Straight Cut Pants

SM Woman, ₱899

Like whatchu see? Add to card these fashion goodies and tag us in our socials when you post! @smsupermalls! Check out this article for fashion finds that are welcome to all shapes and sizes!  Make sure to follow our Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, and Twitter for more updates. Happy shopping, aweSM fam!