#tequila statesman

[tickle-bugs]

The Ol' Kentucky Welcome

Summary: Eggsy’s attitude gets him into trouble at Statesman HQ. Whiskey and Tequila show him how they handle mouthy recruits with too much pride.

Anon: Hey!  Love your work.  I was trying to think of something I haven't read.  So, kingsman and golden circle.  Maybe eggsy, whiskey, and Tatum s characters get real drunk one night, start teasing each other and a full out brawl of a tickle fight happens!!!  You can do it!!!  Thanks! 

Loose handwaving at and spoilers for Kingsman: The Golden Circle.

Becoming a Kingsman had done wonders for Eggsy’s impulse control and sense of self. He’s got restraint now, and better judgement—he doesn’t blindly chase a whim without considering the consequences first. 

This is what he tells himself as he poaches a bottle of premium Statesman Reserve whiskey from a supply closet rather ominously labeled ‘This Ain’t For Sharing, Friend’. He makes sure to shuffle the bottles to disguise the large gap left behind on the shelf.

He settles in at the Statesman briefing room table, loosening his tie and shirt collar. He unbuttons his jacket and, in a rare flash of bad manners, kicks his feet up onto one of the nearby chairs.

The thought of Harry scolding him for it tugs at chest. 

“Now what do we have here?” Whiskey whistles lowly, ducking into the doorway. Tequila fits in beside him. Eggsy gives a mocking salute before popping the cork on the bottle. He grabs a polished crystal glass from a platter on the table and pours himself a hefty bit. 

“Looks to me like we’ve got a thief, Whiskey.” Tequila arches his brow. “Y’ain’t learned your lesson yet, Galahad?”

“Gentlemen.” Eggsy smirks and lifts his glass. The sharp kiss of the liquor burns his tongue, but it washes back with a smoky smoothness unlike anything he'd ever tried. He smacks his lips loudly, enjoying the slight twitch of Whiskey’s eyebrow in response.

“Thought you fancy-types were supposed to be polite.” Whiskey puts his hands on his hips. 

“And I thought you brutish types couldn’t make something so delicious.” Eggsy angles the glass in the light. The liquid seems to glow. 

Tequila ducks past Whiskey and takes a seat at the table, helping himself to a glass. He clinks glasses with Eggsy and they share another sip. Both of them sigh in unison, sinking deeper into their chairs. Whiskey throws Eggsy’s feet off his chair and takes a seat. 

“You’re lucky I ain’t reportin’ you to Ginger Ale for theft.” Whiskey fixes himself a glass. He takes off his hat and rests it on the table. He shrugs off his jacket, draping it over the back of the chair.

“Report me for what?” Eggsy cocks his head. “You fine, upstanding gentlemen cracked open a bottle of your own reserve to share with your guest and I just had to say yes. Would hate to be impolite.”

Whiskey glares. Eggsy sips innocently. 

“I like this motherfucker, Whiskey.” Tequila laughs, muffling himself in his fist. Whiskey shifts his glare. 

“‘Course you do. You can’t keep your mug outta trouble to save your life.” 

“Least my mug ain’t ugly,” Tequila grumbles. Eggsy snorts. Whiskey turns to fish for a pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket. As he leans forward, a silver shine peeks out of his pants pocket. Eggsy gently plucks a shiny lighter from Whiskey’s pocket and tucks it into his own. 

“Champagne mentioned you’re a cheeky bugger.” Eggsy knocks shoulders with Tequila and winks.

“I dunno what that means.” Tequila frowns. They both watch Whiskey fumble around for the lost lighter and keep smooth, straight expressions. 

“You get into shit. He’s fond of you?” Eggsy gestures at him. Tequila nods. 

“Yeah, well…he wasn’t always. I’ve always been a bit of a firecracker. Didn’t make the best choices. Got people hurt. Built up a reputation for bein’ a problem, and Champagne started makin’ me own it.” Tequila watches his whiskey swirl in his glass. Eggsy hums thoughtfully.

“Sounds like Harry. He didn’t let me get away with shit. If I did something reckless, it was my arse on the line. But sometimes it paid off.” Eggsy smiles and thinks of stealing Harry’s cab on his way out of initiation. 

“To good mentors.” Tequila inclines his head respectfully and raises his glass. Eggsy clinks their glasses together. 

The three of them pass the time draining the bottle and looking out over the twinkling lights of the distillery buildings. A boyish mischief settles into Tequila, one that grows as the liquor in the bottle sinks. Whiskey starts to slur his words, but he maintains a hunter’s focus. 

“Tell me somethin’, Eggsy. What brought you to Kingsman?” Whiskey watches him over the rim of his glass. His stare is piercing. 

“Hm. Harry did. Not so different from Tequila, I reckon. I’d made a right fuckin’ mess and Harry saved me from it. Gave me a job. He saw something in me that no one else did.” Eggsy traces his fingers along the edge of his cup. He glances absently towards Harry’s cell and sighs quickly. Whiskey follows his gaze. 

“Did your lepidopterist friend teach you to have sticky fingers, or do you just like causin’ problems?” Whiskey holds his hand out. Eggsy rolls his eyes and hands over the stolen lighter.

“I’ve always been good at nicking things. S’fun.” Eggsy grins and produces Whiskey’s wallet. Whiskey grumbles under his breath and snatches it. 

“Feels like you’re the only one of your people that ain’t all hoity-toity. What other secrets are you hiding?” Tequila leans forward. The question grates against Eggsy’s better instincts. He searches Tequila’s face for the slightest bit of ill will. All that sticks is the way light catches softly on his eyes. Eggsy hums and turns his eyes to the ceiling to think.

“Well, my girlfriend bein’ a princess isn’t much of a secret anymore, so…I was a gymnast for a bit.” Eggsy grins. Tequila’s eyes light up and he starts snapping in Whiskey’s direction. For each snap, Whiskey gives a disgruntled hm until eventually they’re just swatting at each other. 

“Whiskey, don’t we have them flippy bars down in the gym?” Tequila sniffs, blinking as the liquor hits his sinuses. Eggsy perks up. A spark of excitement picks up atop the warm flush of liquor in his stomach. 

“We do. For Statesman agents. Y’know Rum and Cognac get real touchy ‘bout their stuff.” Whiskey raises an eyebrow.

“Well, we’re workin’ together now, ain’t we? ‘Sides, Rum and Cognac ain’t here. Let’s walk him down there. I wanna see what he can do.” Tequila claps Eggsy on the shoulder. Eggsy gives his best winning smile. Whiskey grumbles, then downs the rest of his glass. 

“Fuck it. Fine. Five minutes.” 

…

They stumble down to the Statesman training facility, passing by a very tired Ginger Ale who opts not to ask why Eggsy’s wearing Tequila’s hat (pretty simple, it’s ‘cause he nicked it). Whiskey puts his thumb to a scanner and the wall unfolds for them. 

The lights click on in rows, lighting the industrial space. Eggsy gasps like a kid on Christmas morning. 

Sophisticated weight training and combat equipment sit in neat rows. Eggsy locks in directly past that, drifting unconsciously towards a heaping pile of chalk bags. Pommel horses, beams, bars, and hanging rings sprawl out on a spring mat, all in pristine condition. A few launchpads and trampolines lay near the equipment. Eggsy laughs incredulously as he takes it in. Nostalgia flutters in his chest. 

Eggsy immediately unbuttons his shirt, folding it cleanly and crisply. He shoves it and the cowboy hat into Tequila’s arms, adjusts his tank top, then works to unlace his shoes. The moment his feet are free, he sprints for one of the springboards. He hits it clean, just like he’d learned, and pushes off the vault, twisting through the air. His landing is a bit messy, but it’s functional, and he takes off to the parallel bars next.

The alcohol writhes in his system, but he doesn’t care. How can he? It’s been years. Coach’d told him he was good enough for the fucking Olympics and he hadn’t touched a set of bars since. The flex of the bars is a comfort to him. He flips and twirls, holding crisp handstands and tucks through muscle memory alone.

He dismounts beautifully from the parallel bars to the pleasant thrum of adrenaline and a smattering of applause. 

“Hoowee, that was somethin’!” Tequila ruffles Eggsy’s hair, destroying the last hold of the gel on his head. Eggsy laughs and swats him away. 

“Hats off to you, kid. Takes a lot of skill to pull that off.” Whiskey nods in respect. Eggsy returns it. 

“I ain’t gonna lie, I thought you were gonna fall on your ass. I’m impressed.” Tequila slugs his shoulder with a brassy laugh. 

“Thanks, Tequila.” Eggsy grins roguishly. “Mind givin’ me a boost?” 

“Sure.” Tequila follows Eggsy over to the high bar. Whiskey loudly clears his throat. 

“Boys, this has been…eye-openin’, but we really should get goin’. Early start tomorrow, I imagine. And this one’ll be fit to collapse when the time difference catches up.” Whiskey inclines his head towards Eggsy. 

“Sorry, bruv? Can’t hear you all the way over there.” Eggsy gestures to his ear with a cheeky grin. 

“I said—“

“No, no. If you have something to say, come whisper it in my fucking ear.” Eggsy snickers, hearing Merlin’s voice in his head. Whiskey rolls his eyes and saunters over. 

“Look, I respect you ‘cause Champagne respects you. Other than that, you’re still a brat that oughta fall into line. Let’s turn in for the night. Both of you.” Whiskey raises his eyebrow. The honey tones of his voice make his annoyance all the more amusing. 

“What’re you gonna do about it? Get me with your skipping rope?” Eggsy smirks. Tequila mutters a quiet aw hell and takes a step back. 

“Maybe I will, you little shit.” 

Eggsy comes to terms with a number of things about himself in that moment, and he puts them all away to process sober. Instead, he gestures for Tequila to give him a hand and reaches up for the bar. 

Tequila picks him up by the waist, and it’s not the smooth, assisted lift he’s used to. It’s the clumsy grip of a drunk surprised by weight. Tequila does lift Eggsy up to the bar, but at the cost of his dignity— he spasms and makes a high-pitched noise when Tequila’s fingers press into his waist.  

In hindsight, he should’ve seen the way Whiskey’s eyes narrowed at that. 

“What the hell was that?” Tequila squints up at him. 

“Nothin’. Thought you were gonna drop me. Bugger off.” Eggsy kicks weakly in Tequila’s direction. He backs up, hands raised. Whiskey steps in, hands on his belt. 

“Get off the bar, Eggsy.” Whiskey sniffs authoritatively. The logical Kingsman agent buried in Eggsy’s brain sets off warning bells, but Drunk Eggsy, who is obviously of much sounder mind, ignores it. 

“Make me, Whiskey.” Eggsy starts to swing in the space he has. Not enough to kick anyone, but enough to look like he will. He manages to rotate clumsily around the bar once, then hangs back down in front of Whiskey. 

“You want me to embarrass you in front of your new friend? Okay.” Whiskey steps up to Eggsy and makes a show of sizing him up. Then, quicker than the draw of his pistols, his hands latch onto Eggsy’s sides and squeeze until he’s screaming and plummeting off the bar. Eggsy’s short life flashes before his eyes as he falls bodily into Tequila’s arms. 

“Are you fucking mental?” Eggsy goes to shove Whiskey, but Tequila holds him back. 

“Woah, watch that mouth of yours!” Whiskey laughs, eyes glittering. “You told me to make you. Your wish is my command, friend.”

Eggsy kicks, trying to break Tequila's hold, and he catches Whiskey right in the balls. He makes a noise like a wounded donkey and folds over. Eggsy snickers. Whiskey whips his reddening face up and glares. 

“Now you’ve done it. Tequila!” Whiskey tosses something his way and he catches it. Eggsy barely has time to react before his arms are bound and hoisted in the air above his head. His toes brush the ground. The bar above him creaks in protest but does not give. 

Whiskey puts his hands on his hips again. Eggsy wonders if that’s a cowboy thing or an American one. 

“Skippin’ rope, bitch.” Whiskey grins, sharklike. “Now…you done with the whole insubordination routine or am I gonna have to give you the ol’ Kentucky Welcome?” 

Eggsy snorts derisively. He tests his bindings. They hold steady. Fear starts to pierce through his liquid courage. 

“I’m honored, bruv, but I’m in a committed relationship—“

Whiskey clicks his tongue and crowds into Eggsy’s space. He immediately steels himself for violence—what else would there be besides violence? He’s been jumped before. He’s no stranger to the predatory tilt of Whiskey’s head. He sets his jaw and glares. 

“When Tequila first joined up, he carried a bit of them clownin’ instincts with him. That didn’t fly with Champagne. We had to figure out a way to take him down a few pegs without hurtin’ him. So, the Kentucky Welcome was born.” 

“Aw, fuck you, Whiskey. Seriously, man.” Tequila pipes up from behind Eggsy. 

“What does this have to do with me? I know you Americans love to hear yourself talk, but I’m not interested.” Eggsy tries to pull free. Nothing. Whiskey’s gaze gets softer, more mischievous. The change is deeply unnerving. 

“Well, you remind me of Tequila. You’ve clearly got a good head on your shoulders, but you’re a little shit. So I’m gonna deal with you the same way we used to deal with him. Last chance, kid. You comin’ quietly or are we gonna have to drag you?” 

Eggsy flinches when Whiskey reaches for him—years of habit die hard—and prepares himself for the hard crunch of knuckles into his ribs. Instead, he’s met with a gentle and persistent scritching. 

A confused noise bubbles up at the back of Eggsy’s throat, quickly chased by a wobbly smile. He ducks his head and bites his lip. 

Oh what the fuck? 

Kingsman had taught him to resist the most painful and stressful of scenarios, but they’d never taught him what to do about this. Tilde’s maybe the only person who knows that he’s ticklish, and even then…he can convince her to let him go by kissing her senseless. Eggsy doubts that’ll work here. 

“Uh oh, Galahad. Don’t tell me something’s botherin’ you?” Whiskey presses an insincere hand to his heart. Eggsy’s brain stutters for a moment as he realizes that Tequila’s the one scratching at his ribs. 

“Fffffuck you.” Eggsy exhales sharply through his nose and closes his eyes--nope, that’s worse. So much worse. 

Whiskey tickles under his arms and Eggsy yelps, bright laughter tumbling after. It shouldn’t be this bad—Tilde’s done far worse to him in jest, but somehow the teasing grin of his begrudging allies gets under his skin. His arms flex as he tries to pull himself up and away, but his strength collapses with every breath. 

“Aw, y’all are twins.” Whiskey leans around Eggsy to smirk at Tequila. 

“Whiskey.” Tequila’s languished tone being hilarious really doesn’t help things. Eggsy’s entire face scrunches as he tries to find his way back towards composure. A hiccup sneaks into his chest, and then he’s giggling incessantly. His chest feels like the sparklers he’d run around with as a kid, bright and fizzling and dissolving with every breath. 

“Y’know, I wish I had tried this when I first caught y’all. Prolly woulda gone a hell of a lot faster.” Tequila’s voice floats past Eggsy’s ear. Eggsy manages a giggly growl and a halfhearted headbutt in his direction. Tequila tuts at him and folds his fingers into Eggsy’s waistline. 

He makes a noise at a pitch that threatens to shatter every lightbulb in the room. Tequila’s calloused fingers strum Eggsy’s nerves like guitar strings and it tickles, fucking shit—

Tequila hooks his fingers just so and Eggsy kicks. Whiskey snags his ankle before a second devastating impact can occur. They make tortuous eye contact. 

“Whiskey—“ Eggsy attempts to appeal to the cowboy’s humanity with what Merlin fondly calls his nuclear puppy eyes. 

Grinning wickedly, Whiskey shakes his head and reaches for his trapped foot. 

Eggsy’s eyes bug out of his head. 

He wrenches his leg free, twists his hands, and flips upwards. Managing a gold-worthy handstand into a dismount, he frees his wrists and lands smoothly. Eggsy playfully curtsies. Tequila starts to clap. Whiskey smacks him upside the head.

“Alright, I’m done playin’ around. Grab him. If we’re caught down here at this hour it’ll be my hide.” Whiskey gestures for Tequila to step in. He does so, still a little off-kilter from the liquor. 

Eggsy rushes in, expecting a clumsier rendition of the fighting style he’d been so painfully introduced to. Instead, Tequila smoothly blocks his blows and hoists Eggsy over his shoulder like a sack of fucking potatoes. One of his arms locks behind Eggsy’s thighs as they start to walk for the door. It takes him a moment to even process being upside-down. The sway of Tequila’s gait shakes some blood into his brain.

“Aw, y’all are twins.”

“—deal with you the same way we used to deal with him—“

A lightbulb clicks on in Eggsy’s head. He shouldn’t…but he could…but he shouldn’t—

He shoves his hands under Tequila’s arms. Before he can blink or breathe, they’re in a heap on the ground. Tequila’s cackling dead weight presses the air from Eggsy’s chest.

“Thought you’d put up more of a fight, bruv.” Eggsy’s eyebrows raise. Tequila shrieks at him in response. Eggsy manages to wiggle free and hop lightly to his feet as Tequila gathers his wits. 

“There’s one of you and two of us. Be wise.” Whiskey cracks his neck. Eggsy looks over at Tequila and smirks devilishly. Tequila pales. 

“I like those odds.” 

The flurry of motion as they charge each other sets off the ‘fight’ center in his brain, but there is some comfort in knowing no harm is on the table. Eggsy flips and twists out of their grasp, taking advantage of his flexibility to pull off increasingly ridiculous dodges. He neatly sweeps both Whiskey and Tequila’s legs out from under them. 

“Little help?” Whiskey gestures lamely at Tequila. 

“Nah, I’m done. Y’all are nuts.” Tequila lays on his back, putting his hat down over his face. He folds his arms behind his head. Whiskey curses at him. Tequila gives him the finger. 

Whiskey grabs Eggsy by the back of the shirt--really, he should know better--and Eggsy sweeps him again. Whiskey’s ready for it this time, though, and he manages a pin faster than Eggsy can roll away. Whiskey plants himself on Eggsy’s back like he’s settling on a bull. 

“Aren’t you tired? Goddamn.” Whiskey sighs. Eggsy winces at the texture of the mat against his cheek. 

It reminds him of Roxy and agonizing training sessions, of hours of sweat and bruising and his face stinging from being slammed into the mat. Even past the wave of grief, he remembers the shape of her smile when she would lecture him about letting her pin him on his stomach. 

“Indefensible,” she’d say, prodding the back of his ribs. “You’re a sitting duck like this.”

And every time he’d roll his eyes, hooking his fingers behind her knees--

Oh. Hm. 

As best as he can, he reaches back and latches onto Whiskey’s thigh, squeezing just above his knee. Whiskey hollers and tries to phase right through the floor. Eggsy rolls them over and pursues, squeezing and squeezing until Whiskey is a wheezing pile on the floor. 

Eggsy flips onto his feet. He knows he’s imagining the fond, ghostly squeeze on his shoulder, but he puts his hand on the spot anyways. 

“Now I’m tired. Goodnight, fellas.” Eggsy salutes with a wide grin, stepping over both cowboys. He gathers his belongings and saunters for the door, whistling pleasantly. 

Whiskey rubs a hand over his face as he stares up at the ceiling.

“Kid’s fuckin’ lucky I like him,” Whiskey grumbles, pushing himself up onto his elbows. 

“Might not wanna speak too soon. He took your hat.” Tequila puts his own ten-gallon back on his head and gestures towards the door with a whistle. Whiskey growls and shoots to his feet. 

“Motherfucker! Eggsy!”

[lady-bess]

Fallout - Chapter 8 "Back to Basics"

Jack Daniels x F!Reader Explicit/18+ (Minors DNI please) Chapter Word Count: 6.4k Chapter Tags: Trauma response, description of training, description of weaponry, use of a gun, PTSD/Trauma flashbacks, traumatic reaction, grounding, slight intimacy, description of wounds/scars, beginning of a friendship, drinking, eluding to being drunk at times (sensibly).

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<- Previous Chapter (Ch. 7 - "An Encounter")

Training Jack proved to be somewhat difficult - especially when he finally had a weapon placed back in his hands.

A/N: Thinking of changing the artwork for this series...thoughts? Also I'm officially scrapping an upload schedule. I started this as an every Wednesday idea, but I've found it too restrictive. I'm now just going to upload whenever I had a chapter ready! It'll still be regularly that this series gets updated, but that just gives me a bit more freedom!

Your time spent in the bar after work was somewhat different to how you first imagined it to be. Rather than the tipsy affair you had in your head, instead you opted for nursing a whiskey while plotting what training you could offer Jack. You swilled the contents of the glass around briefly as you contemplated what you had planned, your eyes scanning over scrawled notes littering the book you’d been using, before you were joined by a familiar southern drawl. 

“How’s it coming along?” Tequila had asked as he slid into the booth with you, a cold beer in hand. He took a swig of the drink as he got himself settled in next to you as you both awaited the rest of your party to join.

“I think I’ve got it nailed down. Here,” you pushed your notepad over towards Tequila, “have a look and see what you think?”. 

Tequila took another swig from his bottle before setting it down on a coaster and turning his attention to the book you’d been jotting down notes in all evening. Although your meeting with Jack was brief, combined with what Tequila had already told you about his rehabilitation after Jack had left had given you a good framework to start plotting with. You knew before Tex had given you more information that this would have to be a very different training plan, but you hadn’t anticipated just how different. 

Time. That was going to be the main difference - even in spite of the fact Jack had been a very well respected, and highly trained, agent for so many years, there was not an element of this that you could rush. Normally your goal was to get recruits to a high standard as fast as possible, and as you only ever dealt with the weapons training it was simple for you to streamline the process. All your training could be simplified as the more you practise, the better you get.

But Jack would have to be different. The kind of trauma he had faced over his life, totally unchecked too, made you take a different approach. You wouldn’t even dare put a weapon in his hands for a few weeks at least, and only would on the advice of Loretta. 

Tequila nodded slowly as he read over your notes, following the words with his finger - an endearing trait about Tex you’d picked up on when he told you about his dyslexia, and the struggles he sometimes had when it came to the admin side of his job. He’d found ways to make it work for him, and never didn’t turn in his reports, but there were still times you’d see him struggle. Your handwriting probably didn’t help, either…

“Looks good, London,” he said, smiling as he handed you the book back, “are you gonna start training him right away?” he asked. You nodded, placing your ribbon page marker into the book before closing the cover and tucking the book back in your bag. 

“No point delaying things. I imagine Jack’ll want to get going soon anyway. Sounds like he’s been itching to get back out there,” you said, returning to nursing your drink. Tequila chuckled as he took a sip of his drink. 

“You’re not wrong there. For months he was fine, and didn’t want to really think about it. But these last few weeks he’s turned a corner and there’s been a huge shift in him - and for the better, too. He’ll be pleased to know you’ll want to start immediately.” 

You smiled at Tex, finishing the last of your drink. 

“It’s good to have you back. I missed you; we all did,” you said. He pulled you in for a side hug, squeezing you tight into his solid frame. He planted a soft kiss in your hair, then released you. 

“I missed you too, kid.”

You’d spent the rest of that evening catching up with Tequila, finding out about his life in the UK with Astrid, who when she joined the table the two of you both almost broke down in tears after finally being reunited. She coddled you in her arms and it was like no time had passed at all - suddenly it was over two years ago,  the night before you found out where you were being stationed, and the two of you were drunkenly hugging like your lives depended on it. 

Tequila and Astrid would be staying States-side for a while, but that didn’t stop the two of you treating that night like you’d never see each other again. By the time the morning rolled around, and you peeled yourself off your bed, you cursed the fact you’d let Astrid talk you into three rounds of shots to finish the night off. Getting up to brew a pot of coffee, you thanked your lucky stars you’d told Jack to not meet you until the afternoon, and opted to type up his training plan from your work laptop at home so you could at the very least nurse your hangover in the comfort of your sweatpants and no bra. 

Jack’s training plan was a solid one, and this was probably the most thought you’d ever put into a recruit’s programme. Which sounded bad, given that for over a year it had been your job to train the next generation of recruits - but Jack was complicated, he wasn’t a fresh slate like so many who walked in through the doors of your office. There were so many adjustments you needed to make before you could confidently loosen the reins with him like your other students, even if he did technically have more experience than you in this line of work. 

The major adjustment you’d had to make with him was significantly dialling back on the combat and weapons side of things. Having spoken to both Tex and Loretta to get an idea of the kind of rehab programme he’d been undertaking, it was clear that the very last thing you should consider was putting a weapon in his hand. Which was something you knew anyway, but after re-reading his therapy notes once the caffeine hit your system that morning, you thought twice about also getting him involved in physical combat. 

That afternoon, once you’d made yourself look somewhat presentable, you’d started at ground level with Jack, and so began the next two months of you being his 1-on-1 trainer. Meeting at your office, he’d then been given a tour to the site as if he were a fresh-faced twenty-something who had been poached by Statesman, with no prior secret service training under his belt. He’d met all his new colleagues, some of whom he already knew , and learnt about all the recent developments that had happened since he’d been taken off active duty. 

Then, the admin work. How you didn’t pull your hair out with him you’d never quite understand - for a man who had been in a job literally engulfed with technology for the best part of two decades, it was like watching a fawn how to walk on ice when it came to him getting to grips with the new system and the way in which things were filed. Long gone were the days of brown envelopes containing classified information, a system he was so comfortable with, and in with digital. 

After the twelfth consecutive training day of getting him used to the system, you almost lost your rag at him. You were behind on your own paperwork now, with Jack’s training slowly becoming to the detriment of your own cases. At just turned four o’clock one afternoon, with your head in your hands, you grumbled at him. 

“How did you manage before?” you’d asked, genuinely curious how he’d gotten by if he was this shit with technology. He’d just shrugged, wiping his hands across his face in equal frustration at the fact he couldn’t grasp it. 

“I’d had assistants for years! I never needed to worry about any of this shit,” he’d said, which suddenly answered a lot of your questions. 

Jack was the biggest pain in your ass you’d ever known. You thought that for someone who had been given a second chance at life that he might be a little more grateful to the training you were giving him – and in the discreet manner in which you were giving it. Jack didn’t make it easy for you; for as much as you were happy with the cover story that he was brand new to Statesman, the former senior agent spent a fair bit of his time out chatting to other colleagues in a way where it was very obvious he clearly had a past with the company.

But still, you persevered. Sticking to your word, you didn’t tell anyone who he really was, even when you were asked about it. Schmidt had enquired about him on a few occasions.

“Tex says he’s new, but I’m not convinced y’know. Is there more to it?” he’d asked one afternoon you’d gone to get coffees. You’d just shrugged it off, answering with a non-committal, “Not that I’ve been told”.

But in spite of how much you wanted to ring his fucking neck some days, Jack gradually got the hand of it. He saw how much effort you’d put in, and when he’d noticed you not leaving your office one night just to catch up on your own work, he’d seen the sacrifice you were making to your own caseload just to make sure that he was getting the training he’d needed. 

Filled with guilt, he’d brought you a latte that next morning ( with an extra shot of espresso) , and had started pulling extra hours himself to make sure he had it nailed. He would repeat anything he didn’t understand time and time again until he cracked it. You found him one night cooped up in the library by himself in the corner, desperately typing away on a laptop. The smallest quip of a grin could be seen on his face, and you slinked away that evening with a sense of pride that he’d finally started getting it. 

After that night, spending time with Jack slowly got more tolerable. You’d be lying if you said that the two of you hadn’t got off to a rocky start - he was someone who had been so used to getting any privileges handed to him on a silver platter, and now for the first time in years he was actually having to work for it. It had obviously ground his gears, and he’d resented you somewhat while he was getting to grips with everything anew. As his training officer, you became the face of all his misfortune, in his mind you were the reason that he wasn’t progressing faster. 

But once he got over himself and let his ego calm down, he started to see that none of this was your fault, and instead you were doing everything in your power to help speed this along. In a way he started to admire you - how you held yourself, how kind you were, and how far you had come with Statesman in such a short amount of time. The two of you might have still butted heads from time to time, but on the whole it was getting to be a much more amicable relationship the two of you had. 

Finally, Jack started making progress in leaps and bounds. Not only was he finally getting the hand of filing the paperwork, and making record time for some of it now after hours of practice, but Loretta had finally cleared him for using firearms. 

“There ain’t a guarantee he’s totally ready. There never will be, child. But his sessions have been the most positive since I met the guy. I’d say it’s worth a try ,” she’d said. 

You were nervous about the prospect of Jack handling a weapon - you’d read his file and knew what a marksman he used to be, and how he could handle himself in seemingly any situation. Of all the agents who were serving with the organisation at the time of his accident, Jack had suffered the fewest injuries across the entire team, even in spite of how long he had worked here. There was a part of you who worried that he’d try and relive his glory days, and go too far too soon, and you wouldn’t be able to stop him. 

But you trusted Loretta, and if she said his sessions were becoming more positive, and that this was worth trialling, you had no reason to not believe her. She was an honest woman, worth her weight in salt, and would never suggest Jack do something if she didn’t think he was ready to take on the challenge from a mental standpoint. 

So, just over two months after your formal introduction, you were finally in the weapons department. Jack marvelled at how the room had changed since his time in here last - even though this is where the two of you had met, he hadn’t really paid much attention to what this room was like. His focus had more so been pinned on the woman in a waistcoat who was to be his training officer for the foreseeable future… 

There were so many safety features installed here in comparison to when he was last in here for official training duties. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he took in the dozens of additional locks and biometric keypads that now covered the cases of weapons and internal doors to the weapons room, a clear indicator of what went wrong with him. 

You let him have a session just getting used to the feel of the weapons room now - even if Loretta had said he could try the weapons, you were in no hurry to put a gun in his hand on the first day. You’d been strict about it, locking away all bullets and magazines behind a biometric lock tailored to you before his session had even begun, just to make sure that he couldn’t suddenly flip a switch and go all trigger-happy. 

But to your great relief, he didn’t. He happily took in his new surroundings, made notes as to the newer weapons that had come in since his time, as well as just get a feel for what a gun felt like again. 

Jack smiled taut down at the small silver revolver, engraved with Statesman’s ‘S’ on the leather handle. It was not all too dissimilar to the kind of pistols he once carried. It was almost bittersweet to handle them once again, and you stood back and watched how he reacted to having them in his grasp once more. 

“You alright?” you’d asked him. Jack had simply nodded, caressing the metal with his thumb gently, before putting them back in their allocated holder. 

“Yes, ma’am. With your permission, I think I’d be ready for us to start using them in training, if you saw fit,” he’d said. 

Truthfully, you no longer had a reason to say no. Loretta had cleared him, and after a couple of sessions where any and all ammunition had been under lock and key, you were satisfied that he was as ready as he could be to start that part of the training now. 

So, you agreed. 

But when it came to those sessions, you were instantly regretting your decisions. For the first time in weeks you were seeing the cockier side of Jack again, the side you’d come to learn  would come out in a situation when he thought he was the only person who could know the answer. It wasn’t very often he would drag up his prior stint with the agency in a session with you, mainly due to the risk of someone overhearing who was not meant to know anything about his former moniker. But also because he’d agreed, along with yourself, Champ, and Loretta, that he’d likely fare better if he didn’t focus on what once was, and instead only looked forward to what would be. 

You weren’t sure what exactly got into him this morning to make him such a colossal ass , but you had no fucking patience for it anymore. You were almost ready to call the session to an early close, but after making him wait for so long to give this a go, you figured you owed it to your student to at least let him have a go. 

That didn’t mean he remotely appreciated your generosity. 

“I know how to hold a fuckin’ gun, Mimosa,” Jack said, anger evident in his tone and an annoyance seeping in. You rolled your eyes ( for the fifteenth time this session, you might add ) and sighed as Jack gripped the handle on the pistol. 

“You used to know, Seltzer,” you said, earning you a disapproving grunt from the former senior agent. You knew it pissed him off no end to be called by anything other than Jack, or Whiskey, but that was a title his own stupidity has forfeited. You’d happily remind him of that whenever he so needed it - it helped to bring him down a little bit, you found. Normally you’d call him Jack, but today you couldn’t be fucking bothered with his childish attitude. 

“Stop callin’ me that,” Jack murmured under his breath as he started loading the pistol for the first round of shots. He had hoped you wouldn’t notice, but unfortunately for him your hearing was significantly sharper than what he gave you credit for.

“Seltzer, I’ll have less of that,” you said. Jack’s eyes darted up to meet yours, a flush creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks as he realised he’d been made. You couldn’t help but chuckle under your breath as you caught the agent, virtually red handed, embarrassed that he’d been found out. 

Or slightly angry. You weren’t sure. 

“Sorry,” he said coyly, breaking eye contact. He rolled his shoulders back, warming up his muscles to get into position and start firing the pistol at the target.

You furrowed your brow as you watched how he held himself, lining his body up for the shot. The muscles in his shoulders tensed all wrong, his arms weren’t bent properly, and his feet were far too close together. You leant back against the bench at the back of the room, lined with weapons and ammunition, and crossed your arms across your chest. Jack wouldn’t hurt himself if he took a shot like this, so you didn’t need to intervene from a health and safety point of view. But you wondered if he took a shot like this, which would inevitably be off-target, it might make him realise he needed more help than he imagined. 

Jack got into position, albeit the wrong one, and inhaled sharply. He knew something wasn’t right, he could feel it. The gun felt too heavy, his arms were locked up, and his body felt like it was twisting in a manner that was now foreign to him. This was something he’d done day in, day out, for over two decades. He plainly refused to accept that he’d forgotten this ability, and instead of doing the sensible thing and asking for a correction, he carried on.

Like an angry bull going after a bull rider.  

He inhaled sharply and squeezed the trigger, releasing a bullet from the barrel, his breath never exhaling as he took the shot. The sensation of the bullet flying out the barrel careered up Jack’s arms and left a shaking feeling coursing round his body, his muscles still locked up and not releasing even once the bullet was out from the barrel. Time seemed to slow down as he watched the bullet fly out across the room, and avoid the target completely. 

Jack sighed at the miss, but what frightened him more than the disappointment that he’d failed was the feeling he was left with after. Not anger, not frustration - but anxiety. Even long after the sound from the shot firing had ceased ricocheting around the bunker the two of you were in, the noise continued to ring in his ear. 

The pitch of the bullet ringing around in his head got louder and more high pitched with every passing moment, and he screwed up his eyes to try and make it go away. It felt like the beginning of a sharp migraine piercing through his skull, and he’d not felt pain like this in a long time. It all concentrated near his temple, where the scar from his accident stood prevalent. 

A few seconds after the failed shot, you looked to Jack and saw that he wasn’t making any effort to move. Not just to get into a better position, but to do anything. He wasn’t reloading the gun, he looked as though he was barely breathing; the only thing that was moving was his face, which was painted with a pained expression. 

“Seltzer?” you said, pushing off the bench to step closer to him. He still held his position, but you could see that something else was taking over control over his body. 

He didn’t respond to your voice. Truthfully, he didn’t hear it. The ringing of the gunshot ran around his head, bouncing off the sides of his mind and sending a piercing shriek through him. Jack grunted, faltering on his stance, and fumbled with his weapon slightly as he tried not to drop it from the pain the noise brought him. He panted, quickly flicking the gun to have its safety mechanism on, before dropping it to the ground in a panic. 

“ Jack ?!” you said, now actually worried. At the use of his real name he seemed to snap out of whatever haze he was in, and his eyes darted around to meet yours. Your heart shattered as you looked in them, and all you could see reflected back was fear. 

“I- that’s never- I don’t know-,” he stammered, his mouth dry and making it almost impossible for him to form a coherent sentence. You unfurled your arms from across your chest and went up to him, reaching out and gently placing your hands around his trigger hand to comfort him. 

Jack shook throughout his body, and beneath your palms you felt every nervous quake which ran down through to his fingers. You gently applied some pressure, trying your best to ground him, employing techniques you’d picked up at MI5 for trauma responses within your colleagues. You’d all seen some shit in your time, and it had become rather useful you’d found. 

Jack closed his eyes, his ears still ringing and the world around him spinning while he stood in place. His heart thudded in his chest and he could hear every beat as blood rushed through his ears. He found himself clinging to you like a lifeline, finding that your touch was the only thing keeping him from completely spiralling. 

With your other hand, you softly interlocked your fingers with his which rested by his side. His hand gripped yours tighter and you watched as he screwed up his eyes to try and calm himself, his breaths deep and steady. With a gentle voice, and getting closer so that you could speak in just a whisper, you spoke. 

“You’re alright, Jack. I’ve got you,” you said. He had no reason to trust you yet on a deeper level, aside from the fact you’d kept the secret about his identity for over two years. But in this one act alone he learned more about you than he perhaps knew about some of his colleagues whom he’d been working with for several years. He’d spiralled a few times over these last two years, and had to learn on his own how best to bring himself back to square one - but perhaps with you by his side, that might be easier. He never imagined that somebody else might be able to quell his troubled mind in any way, let alone how he so desperately needed. 

Slowly, the grip Jack had on you began to loosen, and his eyes opened. You smiled softly up at him, never once letting go of him as he regulated his breathing and began to calm down. He shot you a watery smile once he was calm anew, and you felt him trying to retract from your grip. You let him, pulling your hands away. 

“You alright?” you asked, letting his hands slide out from yours. Jack nodded. 

“Yeah, I- I think so. I’m sorry, ‘bout that…,” he said, looking almost perplexed as to what had just happened. You smiled softly and tipped your head towards a bench at the side of the training room, notioning for him to join you. He followed you to the bench and watched you remove your Stetson, setting it down on the seat to your left, before beckoning for him to take the one on your left. 

“When did you last fire a gun, Jack?” you asked. He shrugged, then sighed. He took his own hat off now, revealing the head of thick brown hair beneath it - albeit slightly more grey at the roots than what you recall from seeing in that photograph of him just over a decade ago. 

“On the day I got injured. One of the last things I heard was gunfire, before I-,” he sighed, again, “-yeah…”. 

“I’m sorry, Jack. Tequila eventually gave me the details of what happened that day,” you said, looking up at him. It was then, without his hat on and so close to you, that you saw the scar on his temple. You gently raised your hand and brushed your fingertips over the scar, and Jack grimaced as you did. Deep down he didn’t hate how the feeling of your soft touch was on his skin, but he couldn’t show such weakness. Not when he was trying all he could to appear tough. 

He sighed solemnly, letting his tough facade slowly fade from view. Of all people, there was no point hiding this side of himself from you - you needed to know as much about how he was doing in order to help him, and he’d be damned if he was about to face setbacks all because he didn’t want his pride to get damaged. 

You retracted your hand from his scar, not wanting to draw too much attention to the area, and instead reached over to take Jack’s hand in yours. Your fingers softly slid between his, but it was Jack who responded with a tightening grip. 

He smiled faintly down at your intertwined hands, the feeling now so foreign to him. It had been a long time since anyone had shown Jack physical affection, and even longer since that affection felt like it came from a place of love and care. After his wife passed he’d not wanted anything with women beyond meaningless hookups, and the second things began to feel more intimate, he’d shut things down. On a couple of occasions he’d entertained the idea, but those relationships never lasted longer than a few months, and as soon as he felt as though she cared more for him than he felt he deserved , he ended things. 

So something as simple as having his hand held, while completely clothed, was almost bizarre. But he noted, as he watched your fingers softly curl around his, and your thumb caress the back of his, that he didn’t hate the way this felt. 

“Thank you, Mimosa,” he said softly, “You’re a credit to this organisation, you know?”.

“Yeah?” you asked, turning to now look at Jack. He turned his head and smiled at you, a pair of deep brown eyes boring into you and making you feel warm and comforted from the inside. Even though it was you who was helping him right now, you yourself took comfort in the gentleness that was reflected back at you. 

“Yes. Tequila really undersold you,” he chuckled. You rolled your eyes, not remotely surprised. 

“Oh jeez, do I want to know what he said about me though?” you giggled, and Jack laughed with you now. 

“Only good things, Mimosa. I promise!” he explained. 

“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about,” you snorted. 

“Oh, stop,” Jack chuckled, his hand gripping yours tighter, “I very much got the impression that the two of you enjoy winding each other up. So for him to still be able to sing your praises? Yeah, I trusted that he meant every word. And he wasn’t wrong; not about a single thing.” 

“Thank you, Jack. That means a lot to hear,” you smiled. 

Jack nodded, then cleared his throat and loosened his grip on your hand. He’d calmed down enough now that he felt as though he could clear up in here for the day, and didn’t want to burden you any longer with his feeling of not being alright. He’d make a point to go and see Loretta after your session, he thought, and as you let him retract his hand from yours, both of you grabbed your stetsons and stood up. 

“You feelin’ better?” you asked, and Jack nodded, putting his hat back on his head. 

“Yes, ma’am. I’m gonna head and see Loretta before our next session, just to go over today. But I think for now I’m gonna have to throw the towel in,” he smiled. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” you said, shaking your head. “This was always going to be a strange adjustment, and a big step to take. See Loretta, and perhaps next session we’ll do more work in weapons that don’t involve guns.” 

“Sounds like a plan. Got anything in mind?” he asked. You grinned, looking over to one of the wall panels which was filled with ropes and lassos. 

“I might have some ideas cooking up, yeah,” you chuckled. 

Jack followed your gaze to the cabinet, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t get a twinge of excitement at the thought of gripping a lasso again. It was one of the parts of his job that he missed the most, the power that came from being so nimble with a whip or lasso. 

He noticed, as he turned back to look at you, the way your fingers danced over the handle of your own whip. He’d seen it before, but he grinned as he watched you fiddle with it, he noticed it was a very similar model to the one he once owned. The way the small switch stood out on the end, signifying yours would turn electric at a moment’s notice, had a buzz go through Jack at the thought of you using it. 

He’d been wanting to ask for a few weeks why you chose that weapon - it wasn’t exactly conventional when he made the choice, and with the amount of technological advancements that had come along since his time he very much doubted that it was any more preferable now. You turned back to look at him and were greeted with a cheeky grin, a far cry to the face of the man who you had just seen almost broken not ten minutes before you. You furrowed your eyebrows in curiosity, and folded your arms across your chest in defence.

“What made you decide to have a whip as your signature weapon, by the way?” he asked, that playful smirk never diminishing. 

Ah, fuck. Busted. 

You cleared your throat, a warmth dancing across your cheeks at the reality you were now faced with. You knew that your decision to carry this weapon out of slight admiration was bound to come up one day, but you had hoped it would be much further down the line than this. You began trying to pace away from Jack, your feet moving towards the door. 

But something stopped you. 

Jack reached out and placed his hand on your arm, effectively stopping you in your tracks. Now you were really done for. You dared to make eye contact with the cowboy again, and butterflies swirled in your stomach as you did. 

“Well? Come on, don’t keep me waitin’. I don’t know many that would choose such a weapon. Colour me intrigued!” he said. 

You rolled your eyes, but chuckled to yourself. You figured there was no better time than the present to rip this bandaid off, anyway…

“Fine, fine! Twist my arm, why don’t you,” you began, clearing your throat and inhaling sharply before continuing. 

“I read your file before I knew about you from Tequila, and your stats impressed me immensely. Your success rate, how little you got injured, and the kind of missions you were involved with. From a professional standpoint, I admired the work you did,” you said. “And then I finally got the chance to speak to Tex about you. He told me so much about you, but one detail that always stood out was your choice of weapon. I’ll admit, I was intrigued.”

“Really?!” Jack said, dropping his hand from your arm and replacing playful smirk for a smile of genuine joy. You chuckled as you watched him, slightly giddy, at the prospect that you might have for a second been inspired by him.  

“Yes, really . I couldn’t get my head around the benefit of a weapon like this,” you gestured to the whip by tapping the handle that was hooked to your hip, “But I was interested in finding out. So, on the downlow, I had my training officer show me the way with one”. 

“Who was your T.O?” Jack asked, the two of you now heading towards the exit. 

“Eve. She’s just got back from a prolonged, and well deserved, break. Have you ever worked with her?” you asked. Jack smiled and nodded.

“Yes, I’ve had the pleasure. Does explain a whole lot about you and your training style though, given she shaped you into an agent.”

“She’s the best. I’ve missed her these last couple of months, but it’s been nice to not be worried about her getting injured recently,” you said. Jack shrugged before opening the door for you, allowing you to step out of the weapons room, then followed by him. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure. From what I recall Eve seemed to have a knack for getting herself into a pickle even when she wasn’t working!”. 

You laughed to yourself as you locked the weapons room door behind the two of you, turning the key in the lock and then entering the code 719002 into the door. He wasn’t wrong about Eve - even if he hadn’t worked with her for a couple of years, his assessment was alarmingly accurate. She was the best agent you’d ever worked with, but her ability to get caught up in minor self-inflicted accidents was almost comical. 

“You’re not wrong, I’ve seen her trip over thin air before,” you said, still giggling. Jack laughed with you, and then softened as you turned to look at him. 

“Thank you, for today. And for your patience in general. I know I haven’t been the easiest agent to train,” Jack said. You chuckled. 

“You can say that again,” you told him, winking playfully as you tucked the key to the weapons room in the inner pocket of your jacket. 

“Sorry,” he winced. 

“It’s nothing, Jack. You’re a pain in my ass, but… I’m coming to like having to deal with your… quirks ,” you chuckled. 

“ Quirks ?!” he said, not able to hold back a laugh. 

“Yes, quirks! You’re bloody impossible sometimes!”. 

Jack laughed with you, then shook his head in amusement. He knew you weren’t wrong, and that he had been reluctant to some of the changes which had been made recently, but every day he was grateful for the attention and devotion you showed him. 

“Okay, okay, fine . I’ll admit it!” he said, raising his hands as though he was in surrender. You giggled, playfully patting the side of his right rib cage gently as a physical way of telling him to knock it off. 

Jack smiled down at you, feeling totally relaxed in your presence. There hadn’t been many instances in the last two years where he’d felt like he was genuinely calm, or at peace. But something about this friendship that was blossoming between the two of you made him feel like nothing had ever gone awry, and that life wasn’t perfect. 

He had to drop his arms down to his sides fairly quickly, as he found the longer he stayed fooling around with you like this, the more he had the urge to pull you in for a huge hug. Something told him that you might not be totally against that, given the fact you’d already not shied away from using physical touch with him where needed, but that was a line he knew he shouldn’t cross. 

“Go see Loretta, Jack. And have tomorrow off, or use it for database study. I don’t want to overwhelm you given today,” you said. Jack nodded. 

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll let you know when I’ve had my session,” he said. 

“Thank you. I’ll liaise with Champ and Tequila, and let them know about this too. You just get yourself some rest,” you insisted. 

“Thank you, Mimosa. I’ll see you soon,” he smiled, and then the two of you parted ways, heading off into respective parts of the building for the rest of the afternoon.

Even in spite of the drawback Jack had faced today, he was able to walk away optimistic, and with a spring in his step. He knew he still had a long way to go, and the hours he’d need to put into it would be nothing short of monumental. But with you as his T.O, he could actually begin to imagine his life after this was over. 

A second chance. Not one he ever thought he’d deserved, but one he was slowly beginning to earn. 

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[poylesh]

THE STATESMAN AGENTS

Okay... This time it was the Statesman's turn, I only did the ones that appear in the movies, should I add the empty positions? Honestly, I liked it a lot. I was inspired by the image below. I will upload the PSD to DEVIANTART next, wait for it.

[brinleyparke]

Kingsman Fic Ideas/Prompts

Merwin, Perciwin, Hartwin, or Gen: Charlie gets kicked out or at least punished for the water prank.

Parachute test fix-it (Merwin or Gen): Perhaps Merlin takes a minute to understand why Eggsy has said chip on his shoulder

What if Eggsy and Charlie were the last two in the parachute test?

"Manners maketh man. You'd do well to remember that Mr. Hesketh." Or Harry is none too pleased when he finds out how Charlie has been treating Eggsy. (Can be Hartwin or Harry can be more of a father figure in this)

What if Charlie had passed the loyalty test?

Harry lets Eggsy teach Dean a lesson after Eggsy fails the final test and comes home and finds out that Dean hit his mom.

Post-TGC: (Merwin or Gen) Merlin lives, but Eggsy still feels guilty. He's also angry because Merlin sacrificed himself to repay Eggsy's father, not because of Eggsy himself, which parallels Harry saying, "Can't you see that everything I've done has been about trying to repay him?" in the first Kingsman film.

AU - Canon Divergence, Enemy of My Enemy: Eggsy doesn't kill Charlie. Eggsy and Charlie have to team up against a villain, not necessarily Poppy.

Merwin or Gen: Daisy asks Merlin to dress up as Gru for Halloween so that her and Eggsy can be minions.

H/C after train track test

Maybe Eggsy is upset that he was drugged.

Maybe Eggsy has been drugged before, so he has a panic attack or a nightmare after the train test.

Maybe Eggsy is still freaked out a little because he thought he was gonna die.

Eggsy gets de-aged to 4 years old (mind and body). Harry takes care of him until they can turn him back. (GEN FIC) Based on this fanart:

Eggsy gets de-aged to 4 years old (mind and body). Merlin takes care of him until they can turn him back. (GEN FIC) Based on this fanart:

Eggsy gets de-aged to 4 years old (mind and body). Harry and Merlin take care of him until they can turn him back. (GEN or Merlahad FIC)

Eggsy gets de-aged to 4 years old (mind and body). The agents of Kingsman take turns taking care of him until they can turn him back. (GEN or Merlahad or Harry/Percival FIC)

Harry apologizes to Eggsy for what he said and the assumptions he made in the Black Prince.

Tilde tells her parents about Eggsy.

Merwin or Gen: After the toast to Merlin, Eggsy leaves the room (maybe he goes to the bathroom or something) and breaks down. Harry or Tequila or Ginger Ale comforts him.

Tilde meeting Daisy and Eggsy's mother for the first time.

Post-TGC: Eggsy has nightmares about Merlin and almost losing Tilde, and Tilde comforts him.

During training, Eggsy has nightmares about Dean.

After Merlin's "most dangerous job interview" speech, Harry explains the bruises on Eggsy's cheek and neck.

After the water test, all of the recruits receive physicals. Eggsy doesn't have much medical history because Jamal treated most of his injuries. The doctor and/or Merlin are concerned about the scars and/or broken bones or bone fractures that didn't heal properly.

"When was the last time you ate?" Or Eggsy's first meal at Kingsman. He's not particularly gross or rude about eating; he just eats very fast. Roxy or Merlin is concerned. In other words, Eggsy has food insecurity issues.

"What's his story?" Or during or after TGC: Ginger Ale or Champ is curious about Eggsy, and ask Harry what Eggsy's story is. Or maybe they ask Eggsy himself

Songfic based on "Waiting For Superman" by Daughtry about Michelle waiting for Lee to come back home even after Harry told her he was dead.

Songfic based on "Save Me" by Jelly Roll

Songfic based on "How to Save a Life" by The Fray

Eggsy meets Merlin's nephew, who is fancast as Richard Madden. They hit it off pretty well. (You can make up the name of Merlin's nephew.)

Merwin: Eggsy and Daisy convince Merlin to watch Brave with them.

Eggsy dresses up as Robin Hood for Halloween. 🔥🔥🔥🥵🥵🥵

Arrow x-over: Kingsman needs the Green Arrow's help.

Reacher (TV) x-over: Tequila tries to recruit Reacher.

Reacher (TV) x-over: Dixon or Neagley is recruited to Statesman to be the new Ginger-Ale

Supernatural x-over: While doing recon on what Kingsman believed to be a Satanistic cult, but is actually a coven, Eggsy gets de-aged to 4 years old (mind and body). Harry (or Merlin or Harry and Merlin or all of Kingsman) takes care of him until they can turn him back. Harry or Merlin knows someone in the British Men of Letters and makes some calls to get help reversing the spell. (GEN or Merlahad FIC)

Constantine (Arrowverse) x-over: While doing recon on what Kingsman believed to be a Satanistic cult, but is actually a coven, Eggsy gets de-aged to 4 years old (mind and body). Harry (or Merlin or Harry and Merlin or all of Kingsman) takes care of him until they can turn him back. Someone at Kingsman knows John Constantine and gets in contact with him to ask for his help. (GEN or Merlahad FIC)

[agenttequila]

Kingsman: The Golden Circle promo photoshoot BTS

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

KINGSMAN HEADCANON

Tequila is an excellent line and swing dancer; he goes dancing every thursday night.

[jadedontaskwhytoo]

My fave casting so far. Except Amber Turd cuz we don't accept husband beaters in my chat. So let's replace her with...

Got any problems?

statesman two-one,   knights of the whiskey distillery

[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!

[blckbrrybasket]

Would you do Agent Whiskey accidentally getting his Agent partner pregnant on a mission?

Thanks 😊

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1k

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: vaguely described sex, p in v, unprotected sex during ovulation, little bit of angst(?), mainly fluff

Jack shouldn’t be fucking anyone on a mission, let alone without a condom and he knew that. What could he have done when he saw you double wielding revolvers to cover his back? You and him were already together, so it should be no surprise that he got turned on by you, but in the middle of a shootout was a predicament.

He had to readjust his erection at least three times when running away alone. The moment you had gotten back to statesman though? He was on you in a second and thus arose the problem of having no condom.

“It’s fine, Jack,” you murmured, kissing his chin. “I can take a plan B, it’ll be okay. Besides, I missed feeling you..” Whiskey sighed heavily, shuddering over you at the sound of his name on your lips. He missed when he was stationed in the New York headquarters. Most missions needed him there, but for this one he was able to visit Kentucky again and most importantly you.

“Are ya sure?” His rough finger traced the side of your face, eyes on yours. “Don’t wanna go knockin’ ya up.” Your eyes grew wide while you scoffed and playfully kicked his back, legs around his hips. “Have some class!” Whiskey chuckled, leaning down to kiss the column of your throat. “I wouldn’t mind though…”

The thought made you pause. Having a little mini version of you and him running around? Damn, they’d be stubborn. “No one’s getting pregnant,” you reassured, “not now at least.” The words would land in a cruel twist of fate, but for now Jack smiled against your skin and sunk into you. “Can ya imagine that? Mmm, makin’ ya a mama?” Shivering, your fingers ran through his cropped hair. “Jack…you can’t just say things like that.” He shrugged, nipping your neck. “Why?”

“Because then I’m going to want it.” Whiskey closed his eyes with a groaning rocking in and out of you. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath. He hadn’t thought of kids in a long, long time — not since his son had passed away.

He had lost so much that day; a wife, a son, himself. Yet, he found he felt more like himself in the past few years with you than he had maybe ever. Working in this field left little secrets to be had. You knew everything about each other but never got bored of the other. If he were to have children with anyone, he’d want it to be you. It was always you.

But today wasn’t the day.

Whiskey didn’t know when he would have kids, but surely it wasn’t now. A comfortable silence fell between the two of you, slick sounds filling the air over your hushed breathing. And later when he was going to clean you, his cum seeping down your thighs, you couldn’t help but think how warm you felt.

Sweaty, probably gross, but content. Jack was the root for all of these things. In the moment you wanted to snapshot it and keep the picture of this memory for forever. In the next coming weeks it was what helped you get through the violence. On the other side were quiet, domestic moments with Jack. All you needed to do was to get out and complete the mission, which by all accounts was easier said than done.

It had been four more weeks, two weeks over the projected time of the mission being completed. Things had gone south quickly, Tequila’s bombshell going off too early which in turn exposed where you were. You were lucky enough to be hauled off by him. Tequila knew if you got hurt that Whiskey would kill him, not to mention he would miss the shit out of you.

Jack though had been one of the Statesman who scattered, going underground. After the firefight there was still no sign of him. Radio silence. You didn’t know how Jack had contacted Champ, telling him he was trying to come home. He was stranded, hidden, but unsure if he would make it home yet. Hr couldn’t just give you false hope.

So you remained worried and in the dark. If your attention hadn’t been drawn away from your oncoming sickness you would have known he was coming back, but the nausea was too much. And if your body didn’t ache so much you would have realized earlier on that you missed your period. Ovulation is a tricky thing, and you had slept with Jack in the same time frame.

However, as forbidding as it seemed, the universe was still on your side. In a breakthrough, Whiskey had been able to escape where he was hidden and make it to another headquarters, being flown back to Kentucky. He’d have plenty of stories to tell another day, but stepping onto the tarmac, all he wanted was you.

You were the first person he sought out. After trying to make an excuse of why he needed to leave, Champ simply waved him off with a laugh as he muttered about young love. Not a moment later Jack was running to your shared room, tired of being called Agent Whiskey. He needed to hear your voice lovingly whisper his name until he grew old and hard of hearing.

Pushing open the door, the last thing he expected was the expression planted on your face. Your hand was resting on top of your head, the other hand holding a light stick. The situation pieced itself together in his head and he didn’t have to question what type of test was in your hand. “What does it say?” Jack hesitantly asked.

The sound of his voice was a shock that paled in comparison to the positive pregnancy test in your hand. You turned towards him, unshed tears collecting on your waterline. A mix of emotions washed over you, mainly happiness from him being safely home, another large part of you panicking about the baby. “We’re parents, Jack.”

His and your baby was inside of you right now. Unborn, unliving, but growing. His and yours. You were a team, and he’d be damned if he didn’t step up for the part of whatever you decided to do. Yet, it still couldn’t stop him from staggering to sit on the bed, hand covering his open mouth. “I’m a father?”

[muiitoloko]

JEALOUS HARRY HART - KINGSMAN

Author's notes: Hey, guys! Just letting you know that in this one shot your character, you, uses the code name Bedivere. Any spelling errors please let me know as English is not my first language.

Summary: Harry Hart, the epitome of composure and chivalry, finds himself consumed by jealousy as he observes you gracefully dancing with Agent Tequila.

Pairing: Harry Hart ( Kingsman ) × Fem!Reader

Warnings: Jealousy, Possessiveness, and Bad Language (maybe?)

First and Second part here.

The grand hall of the Kingsman headquarters was elegantly adorned, transformed into a setting befitting a formal dinner. High-level agents from Kingsman and Statesman mingled, their conversations blending with the melodic tunes that filled the air. Among the guests, Harry Hart, the newly appointed head of Kingsman, codenamed Arthur, exuded an air of authority, his eyes surveying the room.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the attendees, Harry held a secret—a clandestine relationship with a fellow agent known as Bedivere. Their connection had quietly blossomed behind closed doors, fueled by stolen moments and shared passions. The age difference between them whispered constantly in their hearts, but their love transcended those trivial boundaries.

As the doors swung open, softly announcing the arrival of someone, a few eyes turned to the captivating figure that commanded attention wherever she went. Her entrance was elegantly late, her form exuding confidence, with mischief dancing in her eyes. Bedivere had just returned from a demanding mission, her weariness concealed beneath her seductive charm.

Searching the room for Harry, Bedivere's gaze fell upon Eggsy, known as Galahad, who was engaged in conversation at the bar with a Statesman agent, recognizable by his cowboy hat. A mischievous smile played on her lips as you approached, her steps graceful and magnetic.

"Eggsy," you greeted, your voice carrying a hint of playfulness. "You seem to be enjoying yourself tonight."

Eggsy turned, his eyes widening in surprise as he registered Bedivere's presence. "Well, well, look who's here, Bedivere. Allow me to introduce you to Agent Tequila," he said, gesturing to the Statesman agent.

Tequila's gaze fixed on Bedivere, his lips curving into a mischievous smile. He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of her hand, attempting to mimic an English gentleman. Tequila couldn't help but tease, "Is that how the English do it?"

You chuckled, your eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh, Tequila, you have much to learn about our customs," you replied, your tone laced with playful banter. Eggsy inclined his head slightly at the call through the earpiece of his glasses.

Seizing the opportunity, Eggsy excused himself, leaving Bedivere and Tequila alone. You turned to the bartender, ordering a glass of whiskey. Tequila's curiosity got the better of him, and he remarked, "I didn't know you were a whiskey girl."

Bedivere's smile grew, a touch of mystery coloring her gaze. "Well, there's more to me than meets the eye, Agent Tequila," you said, your voice filled with a mix of amusement and secrecy. Taking a sip, you savored the familiar warmth of the amber liquid.

The playful banter continued, a dance of humor and charm between Bedivere and Tequila. As the music filled the air, Tequila pointed to the dance floor, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "Care to teach me how to dance like a true English gentleman?"

You hesitated for a moment, your thoughts briefly lingering on the fact that you hadn't spoken to Harry yet. But you pushed those concerns aside, assuming he was busy with his duties as Arthur and entertaining Agent Champ, the head of Statesman. With a nod and a smile, you placed your hand in Tequila's, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor.

Near the dance floor, Harry's eyes followed Bedivere with a mix of admiration and unease. Alongside Eggsy and Champ, his attention was divided between their conversation and the captivating sight of Bedivere gracefully swaying on the dance floor with Tequila. There was a twinge of jealousy in Harry's heart, a possessiveness he struggled to suppress.

His grip tightened around his martini glass, the cool glass offering a brief respite from the heat coursing through his veins. Harry took a deep breath, steadying himself, determined to maintain a facade of composure. He couldn't let his emotions get the best of him, not when the future alliance between Kingsman and Statesman was at stake.

Unaware of the internal battle Harry was waging, Champ continued their conversation, discussing the intricacies of their joint operations. Harry nodded and smiled, his responses automatic, his mind elsewhere. He discreetly activated his glasses, sending a private message to Bedivere, urging her to meet him in the serene gardens just beyond the corridor.

With a renewed determination, Harry excused himself from Champ's company, offering polite pleasantries before making his way towards the exit. The air outside was crisp and refreshing, a stark contrast to the bustling energy of the party. The moon cast a gentle glow upon the meticulously manicured gardens, providing a serene backdrop for their clandestine rendezvous.

Bedivere's heart raced as she received Harry's message through the glasses. Confusion momentarily took hold of her. What had you done this time to justify such urgency? You had been behaving impeccably, or so you believed. Nevertheless, duty called, and you knew shouldn't keep Harry waiting.

Stopping the dance, Bedivere turned to Tequila, a apologetic smile on her lips. "I'm sorry, duty is calling, and I must go," you explained, your tone sincere. Tequila nodded, lifting his cowboy hat in farewell, understanding the demands of your profession. "Until next time, Bedivere," he said with a tinge of regret.

With a sense of purpose, Bedivere quickly made her way through the crowd, her eyes scanning the room for Harry. The dimly lit corridor that led to the serene gardens beckoned, and you followed the path, hoping to locate him there.

Suddenly, you felt a firm grip on your wrist, and before you could react, you were pulled into a secluded corner. You collided with a solid chest and looked up, meeting Harry's annoyed gaze. Confusion swirled in your mind as he spun you around and pressed you against the wall, his hands on either side of your head, effectively trapping you between his body and the hard surface.

"What are you doing, Harry?" Bedivere questioned, her voice filled with surprise and anticipation. Her heart raced, intrigued by the unknown intensity in his eyes. This was a side of Harry you hadn't witnessed before, and it both thrilled and intrigued her.

Harry's tone was laced with a touch of jealousy as he asked, "Were you enjoying yourself with Agent Tequila?" Bedivere couldn't help but smile mischievously, realizing the source of his agitation. Harry's composed demeanor was slipping, and it was thrilling for you to witness him crumble in your presence.

Toying with the button of his suit jacket, you provocatively replied while undoing his jacket, "Oh, Harry, I must admit, I was having a splendid time." Your words elicited a low growl from him, his hand finding the back of your neck, guiding your gaze to meet his. The intensity in his eyes softened his resolve, and you found yourself melting under his touch.

You reassured him, your voice filled with warmth, "Tequila is just a colleague, nothing more." But Harry retorted, his voice husky with desire, "He wasn't looking at you like he wanted to be just a colleague. He was looking at you like he wanted to eat you alive." Bedivere couldn't resist teasing him further. With a playful smile, you said, "And isn't that how you look at me too, Harry?"

Harry's grip tightened around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His touch sent shivers down your spine as he whispered, "The difference is, I can look at you like that because you belong to me." Bedivere nodded, acknowledging his claim, feeling a sense of belonging and security in his possessiveness.

Their lips crashed together in a passionate kiss, the culmination of their hidden desires and the release of pent-up tension. When they pulled apart, Harry whispered in your ear, his voice filled with desire, "Go home and wait for me in my bed, Bedivere." You played with his tie, your voice teasing as you asked, "What? Are you planning to eat me tonight, Arthur?"

A smile graced Harry's lips as he took a step back, buttoning his jacket. "Count on it," he replied, his eyes filled with promises. With a final glance, he turned and walked away, leaving Bedivere yearning for more.

Watching him disappear back into the Kingsman mansion, Bedivere adjusted his attire, a sense of anticipation coursing through his veins. You walked confidently to where you had parked the car, ready to obey Harry's command and go home, knowing that your passion would ignite again behind closed doors. The night held promises of love, desire and a future intertwined with secrecy and adventure.

As you walked away from the garden, Bedivere couldn't help but smile. No matter what challenges they faced, their love remained unyielding, stronger than ever. And you looked forward to the moment when you would find yourself in Harry's arms, ready to explore the depths of their connection once more.

[loreandcreation]

As of August 13th 2024, the canon characters that are still OPEN:

Literally all of them save:

Eggsy Unwin || Galahad

Harry Hart || Arthur

Seriously if we don’t see a body (if they were ‘killed off in the movies’) and/or you can justify how they survived or if they’re a villain and you can justify how they fly under the radar anyone is available.

Only characters that are exceptions to the rule so far are:

Jack Daniels: he was turned into a hamburger

Gazelle: she was hit with the fastest acting neurotoxin

Poppy Adams: overdosed on poisoned heroin.

Brief Intro:

ToOurUnion is an 18+ Kingsman RP server taking place after the The Kingsman: Golden Circle with the rebuilding of Kingsman and their collaboration with the Statesman. You can play a Kingsman, a Statesman, or a civilian with the ability to reserve Canon characters or create your own original characters.

Brief Need to Know:

You will need to prove your age with your D.o.B as this is a 18+ server

Canon character reservations are first come First Serve.

There is a light activity requirement

[sgt-morgan]

Of Cowboys and Daisies🐎

Summary: Jack is assigned to watch over a mother and her adorable little girl. As they get closer and closer to taking care of their problem, Jack worries he won’t be able to let go.

Warnings: AFAB! Female identifying reader, talks of cannon typical violence, death of a spouse x2, really a fluff piece.

A/N: I wrote this because I have that stupid Tik tok edit song stuck in my noodle.

Masterlist

Follow up fic

Agent Whiskey wasn’t sure he was going to survive this arrangement. Champ said it was temporary, but his idea of temporary passed about two months ago. It was a fairly simple assignment, and with everything that’s happened, an easy assignment is a lot kinder than getting kicked off the team. So he took the job, even though the rapidly approaching end of it made him want to drink until he couldn’t see straight.

“It’s a simple protection detail.” Champ had shrugged, pulling the file out of his desk and smacking it down in front of him with a sigh. “She’s a youngin’, at least to me anyway. She’s CIA, talented too, once her life is out of the red zone, I’ll probably recruit her. Sharp as a tack, quick as a whip, and she’s got the mouth of a sailor, she’s right up your alley.” Jack studies the files with interest, running a curious finger over the picture of you that was attached to the file. You were a looker for sure, he listened to champ go on, reading over your impressive and extensive file, until he ran across a bit of information that shocked him half to death.

“She’s got a baby?” He huffed, incredulous.

“Yeah, little girl, her names Daisy May, she’s three. She’s sweeter than a peach, got Tequila and Ginger wrapped around her little finger already, and Momma is just as bad.” Champ chuckled, pouring them both a glass of Statesman’s finest while Jack stared at him intent on hearing every detail Champ was willing to offer. “Her late husband was a SEAL. Top ranking, special ops, very high up on the food chain. One day she goes out to grab dinner with the baby, comes back and he’s dead with a note pinned to his chest with her cover details written all over it. Tried to deal with it on her own, then after about two months she pulls the bottle her daddy- former agent Brandy god rest his soul- left her and called us up asking us to make her disappear. So we called our buddies at the CIA, got her cleared, and we’re doing it. She’s our-specifically your- problem until we can take out whoever blew her cover.”

Jack stared at the amber liquid in his glass and thought long and hard about that one. It’s a dark story, indicative of his own. “Where are we keeping her?” He sighs, swirling the liquid once more before shooting it.

“Well son, that’s up to you. If you wanna do a safe house, that’s fine. We can radio y’all in and use satellite to do the rest, or you can use the ranch. Familiar territory for you, plenty of security, and it means we can all look after her and the little one when necessary.” Champ sighs when Jack slides his glass back over to him.

“Where abouts they from?” Jack questions, “They gonna be ok living in a ranch or am I working with city slickers?”

“Oh no, She’s originally from Prestonsburg, she’s Floyd county born and raised. They were living in Texas though. Her husband was a Texan, moved to Austin to be closer to family and all that. She ain’t got anybody but an Aunt back home, but she’s an Eastern Kentucky girl. She grew up riding horses.” Jack’s eyebrows shot up to the brim of his hat at Champs little interlude.

“Well Shoot Champ, you really shot the shit with her huh?” He laughs.

“Her daddy was a friend, and she’s just like him. She’s a good girl, you’ll like her.” Champ nodded him to the door, and Jack took the dismissal in stride. Champ had high hopes, and Jack just hoped he was right.

Reflecting on it now, it’s laughable how skeptical he was. You were a picture of perfection. When he first met you, he knew, and Daisy put the bow on top of the package.

Funnily enough his horse introduced you, Tequila and Ginger were walking you around the distillery grounds, and had stopped to let you show Daisy the horses. He found you standing outside of a stall, specifically the stall of his horse, Coke. Coke is an Appaloosa with a blanket with spots. He’s not normally friendly with newcomers, having a stubborn streak a mile wide, but Jack was shocked to see you stood in front of the Horse’s stall with no issue. You had the baby propped on one hip, with her head on your shoulder and a thumb in her mouth, and Coke’s muzzle resting on the other. You were casually talking to Ginger while Tequila stared on shocked as you fondly stroked the horse’s muzzle. Normally, everyone knew not to turn their back on his horse, unless of course you were him. Coke was known to be a jester, and liked to nip at your hair or push you around with his muzzle, but there he stood, cozying up to a woman he just met today. He stood back and kept watching, seeing what the horse was up to. He heard the horse nicker and huff, moving his head to push towards the baby and you laughed, letting the curious animal nuzzle at the girl.

“Yeah big boy,” you patted his crest as he moved his head off your shoulder to let the baby stroke his muzzle, “yeah- gentle Daisy May, be nice- yeah big boy, that’s my Daisy, you like her? Yeah, that’s the baby, are you a good boy? hmm?” You talked to the horse and he watched as you pulled a sugar cube from the shelf next to the stall and let the girl feed it to Coke. The big horse oh-so-gently took the cube from the girl, tickling her palm and she giggled. The horse huffed through his nose and threw his head a bit and you laughed. “Oh ho ho! Well, you liked that huh? I’d give yah another big boy but I don’t know if your rider would take too kindly to me fattening up such a pretty stallion, bet you make all those pretty broodmares happy huh? Yeah.” You laugh as he whinnies.

“Well, He took a liking to you quick.” Jack called, making himself known and getting closer to the stall. “Ol’ Coke here is usually a temperamental fella.”

“Who, this guy?” You smirk as the horse huffs again at Daisy’s hair making her giggle. “Why no, he’s a sweet fella. Ain’t yah big boy?” The horse bobs his head as if nodding in agreement and Jack chuckles.

“Don’t let him fool yah,” Tequila grumbled, eyeing the horse warily, “That menace picks on anybody that ain’t him.” He pointed at Jack with a glare and Jack chuckled.

“Now don’t be bitter sunshine, you’re just mad that he pushed you into the water trough last summer.” Jack grinned at you with a wink and you laughed. Then the girl on your hip tugged at your hair a bit and whispered in your ear. Like most children though, Daisy was not a good whisperer.

“Mama, wook, Cowboy.” She mumbled around her thumb, pointing to Jack’s Stetson. Oh how his heart melted, he knew he was a goner then and there.

“Oh man,” you gasped, “you’re right! I bet this is his horsey.” You nodded and the girls eyes twinkled with wonder.

“Horsey pwetty.” She nodded sagely, “Ask him mumma, wanna ride him.” She had the biggest eyes, her tiny curls were barely contained by the pigtails her hair was in. She was a pretty little baby, and a carbon copy of her momma, dressed in little denim overalls and a pretty flowered shirt. She was cute, almost too cute, he didn’t know how he’d survive the next month or so with those big eyes pleading with him to give her anything she wanted, he knew he would be too weak to say no, he has a hard time picturing anyone saying no to her, not even her momma. Speaking of the mom, she was beautiful. She had on a beat up Vietnam tiger stripe jungle fatigue with a patch reading ‘Brandy’ rolled up to the elbows. Her T-shirt read ‘Kentucky Strong’ and he recognized it as one of those charity shirts that raised money for the flooding in Eastern Kentucky. She had aviators perched on her nose and two dog tags around her neck, one that was clearly older than the other, one for dad one for her husband if he had to guess. The best thing about the outfit though, was the shorts, those beautiful legs on full display, so good looking he had to pry his eyes off of her with the strength of ten men.

Jack jumped in all at once, “Am I a cowboy sweet baby? What gave me away? Was it the belt buckle?” He playfully tugged on it and gave an exaggerated frown, the girl giggled a no, and he pointed to his boots. “Oh, must’a been my boots!” He kicked up a heel to show off the worn brown leather boots. The girl squealed and laughed again, and you watched delighted that your baby was having so much fun.

“No!” Daisy laughed again clutching her hands together while she giggled. “No it was the hat!”

“Oh! Why silly me!” He breathed a fake sigh of relief, “I forgot it was up there sugar! Can’t be a cowboy without the hat!” The little girl laughed again in delight and he grinned back. Tequila and Ginger stared on shocked, Whiskey hadn’t been this carefree in a while, this little girl was working miracles. “Oh but I’ve gone and forgotten my manners,” Jack smacks his forehead dramatically “I never got your name Little lady! My name is Jack, what yours?” He extended a hand to the girl and she beamed, tucking her tiny hand in his.

“I’m Daisy!” She grinned, shaking his hand.

“Well, ain’t that just first class, you’re as pretty as a flower, so you must be Daisy!” He grinned at the delighted little girl, then whispered to her conspiratorially, “And who’s this?” He pointed at you and Daisy nodded, her mouth an ‘o’.

She introduced you and Jack smiled, tiling his hat to you, “Pretty name for a pretty lady, I’m Jack Daniel’s, code name Whiskey ma’am, pleased to make your acquaintance, and this here’s Coke.” He patted the horse’s flank as he stepped closer to you.

Your smile was just as magnetic as your daughter’s, and Jack felt his knees buckle, “Pleased to meet you Whiskey, Jack and Coke is my favorite combo, so I got high hopes this’ll be a good arrangement.”

And it was, y’all got on like a house on fire, and now he was very used to having you in his home. He hadn’t invited anyone into his space like this since his wife died. He couldn’t find the appeal in it, but there was something about you and this little girl he couldn’t seem to shake.

You were more than willing to tackle any task, and it was one of the things that he enjoyed most about you. In the months you had been there you helped around the Ranch any way you could. Jack had gotten used to doing the chores on his own, but he was suprised by how easily you worked yourself into his routine. It wasn’t a big Ranch, it was near the distillery in Oldham county, right smack in the middle between Louisville and La Grange. The ranch hosted his three horses, six chickens, two barn cats, and about 10 or so cows. In the mornings, you were up just as early as him, you alternated putting on the coffee, then he would deal with the horses (Coke, Julep, and Sazerac. You got a big kick out of their names, and he loved how you chuckled anytime he mentioned them.) and the cows, and you fed the chickens and the barn cats (Tom and Jerry, all the whiskey themed names). When you finished gathering eggs and greeting the cats, he would come back to you bouncing the baby on your hip while cooking breakfast.

“Well, you feed my animals and make my eggs, aren’t you handier than a pocket on a shirt.” He grinned one morning and you rolled your eyes with a chuckle.

“Well Cowboy, someone’s gotta feed you, black coffee and a Marlboro red aren’t breakfast, and they never will be.”

You were also a brilliant agent. Once you were settled, you and Jack started digging into anything you could find about the people who killed your husband, and you proved yourself an invaluable asset in intel gathering. You dug up more in a single hour than some men hoped to find in a lifetime, but it took its toll on you for sure. Day in day out combing over your husband’s files and trappings, staring at the inner mechanisms of his whole life and wonder what it would be like if he was here to finish all of his loose ends. He understood, and he hated that he couldn’t just take the pain for you, but it was a comfort to the both of you to have someone to talk to.

“Oh, the first week after his funeral was hell,” you sighed, playing with your daughters curls as she slept peacefully on your lap in the evening sun, “I kept trying to call him, to vent with him about how scared and tired I was, only to be reminded this wasn’t a deployment or a buissness trip, he was just… gone. Daisy was a mess too, cried for him every night, wouldn’t sleep until I showed her this video of him saying he loved her that he made her when he went on deployment. It broke my heart.” You sniffled and Jack felt his heart ache with sympathy.

“I know all about that hurt,” he sighed, handing you a beer and settling next to you on the big wrap around porch, “I’d keep rolling over and reaching for her in the middle of the night, I’d touch the cold sheets and I’d remember and it would hurt me every time.”

“Oh god yeah, took me weeks before I could truly sleep on my own again, I used to put one of his shirts on his pillow and sleep with it, it was the only way I could get myself to bed.” You sighed, nodding and sipping the drink.

“I used to spray her perfume on her pillow,” Jack nodded, “When I ran out I forced myself to sleep without it, It was months before I could get a full nights rest again.”

“I couldn’t imagine having to deal with all that alone,” you grimaced, “I at least had Daisy, I hate that you’re alone.”

“Well, I was alone, but I’m not anymore, I got you.” He slung an arm around your shoulder and you basked in the sun together until Jack felt you go lax in his grip. You had fallen asleep in his grasp, and he was shocked at how good it felt to have you be so vulnerable around him. It melted something in his chest. What was he gonna do with you.

You and Daisy just kept growing on him. His life was no longer just solitude and shoot outs, now it was a little more tea parties and tag and it was a very welcome change. You both had him wrapped around your fingers, every moment he wasn’t spending working on the project with you, or with Ginger and Tequila at Statesman, he was with you and your little girl.

One evening you were playing a game of tag, when Daisy just about caused them both a heart attack. You were running around and chasing each other in the small creek out the back of the ranch. Daisy was a doll in her little floral one piece, her wet hair plastered to her forehead and her little feet splashing away. You were a sight too, a black bathing suit with a cut out under your breasts showing off an ornamental tattoo that he really just wanted to-

“Come on Dada, catch me!” Time froze when the little girl said it and your jaws dropped, when you finally met each others gaze, you snapped out of it and turned to your daughter.

“No sweetie, that’s-“ you tried but the little girl cut you off.

“I know mumma. It’s otay though, Dada is no here, so this is my OTHER dada. It’s otay to have two dada.” She smiled and meandered to Jack, squeezing him in a hug. The little girl was barely knee high to a grass hopper, but she had hit him with that bombshell so hard she might as well have been a giant. Then, she just toddled off, finding interest in the stream once more, gathering rocks.

“Darlin I’m so sor-“ he began and you waved it away.

“Don’t worry Jack, she’s three. She adores you, and her only other frame of reference for a consistent male presence is her dad. Besides, if she had to pick another father figure, I’d want it to be you.” With that, you went to go stop her from tormenting a frog, and he stood there like a statue. The way you so casually said that amazed him, you put so much unwarranted faith in him, and it made the hardened cowboy turn to mush. Whatever this turns out to be though, one thing is for sure. He would do anything in the world for you and that little girl, and this just drove it home.

Weeks passed and you all just continued to get closer. Daisy asked for him as often as she did for you now when she’s upset, and he was now totally attached to their evening ritual of snuggling on the couch and watching Bluey. Every day you got closer and closer, and every day you found out more and more about your husbands killer, which ultimately led you to today.

Jack had left early, sun not even being up and the morning dew had just barely settled over the grass. Jack had gotten the mission from Ginger last night, and you had prepped and planned with him until he swore the plans were tattooed on the back of his eyelids.

It was over quick, he took them out and got his necessary intel and now you were safe. No blown cover, no second attempt at murder, just efficiency.

You’re free. You could go anywhere you want and you’d be safe. Where would you go? Your aunt was in Pburg, not too far off, a couple of tolerable hours away. Your late husband’s family though… they were in Texas, and that was more of a stretch.

This was miserable, thinking of all the ways you would leave him, though you weren’t even his to begin with. You were never his, you were just his charge, someone he was meant to protect, you and that perfect little girl. He got so caught up in it, he forgot to protect himself, and now he was faced with an old companion he never wanted to see again, loneliness.

He finally pulled up to the ranch, and Coke and the others were grazing in the first paddock near the front of the house, until the clever horse sees him and trots over with something in his teeth. It was a little stuffed rabbit, Coke had it by the ear and dropped it in his outstretched palm. It was like another painful reminder of what comes next. What would he do when his life was no longer bows and bunny rabbits. How would he go back to the way things were before. He sighed and made his way into the house, he was somewhat confused to see the front room totally empty. Normally, you’d be feeding the baby at this time, she would be sat in in the booster seat he’d bought for the kitchen table, in the little pink bib she always wore, probably making a mess, but then she’s squeal and wave at him and tell him to ‘come sit cowboy! I share!’ You’d laugh and tell her he had his own to eat, and she would frown and say ‘mine better!’ Today though, the kitchen was quiet and he felt his heart hammering in his chest, had you already gone? Were you so excited to be rid of him? But no, there was the sound of a shower, his shower specifically. He wandered into his room, and the sight there strengthened his resolve and told him that he needed to buck up and tell you how he feels, because he never wanted to sacrifice this.

Daisy was laying on his pillow, the stuffed horse toy that was an exact replica of Coke was tucked up under her chin, and she contentedly snored away on top of his quilt. The only light in the room was from the lamp on his bedside table, and a sliver leaking out from the cracked door to his bathroom. He carefully tucked the little girls blank is up over her chin, and listened to you humming from the shower. He was used to sharing his bathroom with you, normally you used the one near your room, but when you needed to shower and Daisy was napping, you preferred to use his so you could hear her if she cried. The warm smell of your shampoo was wafting from the bathroom, and your clothes were laid out on his bed. He ran a hand over them with a soft smile, the whole thing just felt so domestic. The sleeping child, the woman in his shower, the three sets of boots by his door, the pictures on his fridge. They all just felt so natural, filling his empty space with the feeling of home.

“Jack? Cowboy? Is that you?” You called from the bathroom.

“Yeah Sugar, it’s me.” He called back softly, padding his way into the bathroom and leaning up against the sink.

“How’d it go Whiskey? Did all go to plan?” He heard the hopefulness in your voice.

“Yeah sweetness, we did it. You’re free.” He could hear you pause at the melancholy in his voice and he was kicking himself. ‘Don’t ruin this for her Jacky, she should be happy.’ He heard the water kick off and handed you your Terry cloth robe and a towel. Once you were decent, you opened the curtain.

“You say that, but why does it sound like you just signed my warrant?” You asked curiously, squeezing the ends of your hair with a towel. He hadn’t realized how comfortable you had gotten around each other, but he supposed he shouldn’t be all that shocked. All the small touches, the snuggles, then tender moments. He was addicted to them now, and he never wanted to kick the habit.

“Well, I reckon you’d wanna get back to your life now there ain’t a target on your back.” He sighs, removing his hat and running a hand through his hair.

“Oh Jack,” you chuckled and his head whipped up when your palms came to rest on his cheeks. “These past few moths have been some of the happiest moments of my life since my husband passed. My daughter loves you, you are so good with her, she’s had nothing but smiles and laughter. You make my days better, you make me happy.” You caressed his cheek and he was hanging on to your every word, staring into those beautiful eyes he dreamed after these days. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it clearer baby, you’ll have to pardon me for that, Lord knows I’ve been a little scattered, but I have my life, it’s right here, with you. That is, if you’ll have me.”

He was stunned, here in his arms he held everything he never thought he’d have when his wife died. A beautiful woman, a sweet baby, laughter, light, and maybe even love. “Oh honey,” he gasped, pulling you in and finally kissing you like he’s wanted to since he saw you that first day in the stables. “Wild horses couldn’t drag me from you and that little girl.” You giggled and kissed him again, and again. When you finally broke away, you grinned up at him, and in this moment if you had asked him to kill an army of a thousand, he would have asked you what time you wanted him home for dinner.

“Well then cowboy? Why don’t you get gussied up and we can celebrate our new beginnings. Together.”

[something-tofightfor]

Smutsgiving 2023: Pumpkin Pie and Whipped Cream / Agent Whiskey

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x female reader

Word Count: 1,178

Warning: NSFW.

Author's Note: I have missed writing for my favorite cowboy like you would NOT believe. This is the second prompt I settled on - and I wanted to keep it for last, but decided I couldn't wait anymore.

Smmary: You know what Jack wants.

“Hey, Tequila … can I take the rest of that home?” You pointed at the pie on the counter, eyes flicking from it to the man in front of you. “Since Jack couldn’t be here, I figured that if he comes back in the next couple days…” 

“‘Course.” He shrugged, nodding. “You can take the rest of the whipped cream, too. We won’t need it.” Perfect. 

An hour later, you were back at home, in your pajamas and unloading all of the leftovers from Statesman’s annual Thanksgiving dinner, the shelves of your refrigerator filled with the things that Ginger and Tequila had insisted you take. 

There had only been three absent Agents that year, and unfortunately, Jack was one of them. You didn’t know where he’d been - exactly - but if the text message you’d received that morning was any indication, he was on his way back home. And home means to me. 

It wasn’t new between you, but it was still uncertain, thanks to your chosen careers. And that meant having to understand that until retirement, there was always a chance that you and Jack would be apart on holidays. Doesn’t make it easier, though. 

With a quiet sigh and a frown, you spun away from the refrigerator and gasped at the sight of Jack leaning against the entryway pillar, his arms crossed. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 

“Jack.” You barely finished the word before you were moving, sprinting across the room and throwing your arms around him. He returned the gesture, the man laughing quietly as he held you close. “You’re home.” 

“I am.” He only pulled away long enough to tilt your chin upward with two fingers, his lips set into the smirk that you’d first fallen for. “And nobody but you knows.” 

“We should take advantage of that, then.” You had a feeling that Ginger did know, but also knew that she wouldn’t spoil the time you had together unless it was necessary. “I brought home leftovers from dinner.” You leaned in, kissing him on the mouth briefly. “Including half of a pumpkin pie.” 

“You know that’s my favorite.” His smile widened, Jack looking past you and deeper into the kitchen. “But only if -”

“Oh, I got that, too.” Grinning, you went back to the refrigerator and opened it, pulling the pie and the can out. “He gave me both cans, and this one’s not full, but there’s still plenty.” 

You felt his hands on you again after he approached from behind, Jack sliding one large palm beneath your sweatshirt and along the skin of your stomach, urging you to press yourself against his chest. “Plenty for the pie, or plenty for what I really wanna do with it?” 

“Both.” His fingers curled slightly, and you continued. “I know you, Jack Daniels. And what you want.” 

Pulling out of his hold you turned to face him, holding out the can. He took it wordlessly, and once your hands were free, you used them to rid yourself of the sweatshirt you’d thrown on over the tank top you slept in, tossing it to the side and then moving to one of the stools in front of the breakfast bar. “Do you now?” He followed you, head cocked to the side. “You think that the first thing I want as soon as I walk in the door is -”

“Yes.” Biting your lip, you kept your eyes on him. “I know it is.” Jack popped the cap off of the can and then shook it, pushing his shoulders back. You watched him shamelessly, heat rising in your cheeks at the way his t-shirt stretched over his chest and the muscles in his arms flexed with the motion. “And if you tell me I’m wrong, you’re lying.” 

“You’re not wrong.” Arching a brow, Jack scoffed. “At all.” You laughed when he tilted his head back and raised the can, squirting a large dollop directly onto his tongue and groaning at the taste and then swallowing, licking his lips clean before clearing his throat. “Tastes good.” 

He had a sweet tooth - it was common knowledge for you and a few other Agents, but you were still unprepared when he closed the distance between you, holding the whipped cream up again, eyes locked with yours. “You gonna eat the whole can, Agent Whiskey?” 

“Maybe.” He paused before the next squirt, his eyes narrowed. “No, you know what?” Before you could reply, Jack’s aim changed and he was pressing the nozzle down just above your collarbone, the cold cream making you gasp when it collected on your skin. “Bet it’ll taste even better offa you.” 

You were speechless, the only sound you were capable of making a quiet moan when he suctioned hs mouth to your shoulder, his tongue sweeping over it to collect the sweetness there. He hummed, mouth exploring much more of your skin than was necessary before he straightened up. 

The look in his eyes was molten, and you knew without a doubt that Jack would not be using any of the whipped cream on pie in the near future - and that was perfectly fine with you. “Well?” Uncrossing your legs, you used both hands to grip the edge of the counter. “What’s the verdict?” Your heart was pounding, the limited contact after so many days apart making your body tense. “Is -”

“Think I need another taste.” He set the can down next to you and then reached for the hem of your shirt with both hands, easing it up and over your head. “Just to be sure.” 

You giggled at that, bracing yourself on the countertop and pushing your chest forward. 

The next spray landed on the swell of one breast, the chill of it peaking your nipple almost immediately - but Jack didn’t suck that away. Instead he flattened his tongue against your chest, licking it clean as you leaned forward and closed your eyes, inhaling the scent of his freshly-washed hair. Oh it’s good to have you home, Jack. 

He lapped at your skin, clearing the stickiness away and then lowering his head enough so that he could swirl his tongue around your nipple before drawing it between his lips and sucking. Your back arched - one hand rising from the counter’s edge to tangle in his dark locks, and the gentle tug you gave him urged him to release you with a pop, Jack meeting your gaze again. 

“Welcome home, Jack.” You nodded twice, fingers curling against his scalp. “I missed you.” 

“Missed you more, darlin’.” He took a breath and then kissed your chest again before making his way up your throat and to your lips, Jack’s capturing yours with a bruising intensity that contrasted with the sweet stickiness that lingered on them. “Lemme make it up to you?” 

It was an unnecessary question - and he knew it - but you still nodded in agreement, one hand reaching to your right. “You sure can.” His gaze dropped, the man watching as you curled your fingers around the metal cylinder. “But we’re bringing this with us.” 

— 

[lady-bess]

Chapter 2, A Curious Affair, is dropping tomorrow! Here's a little preview for you all!

"I won’t say a word to the others,” you said. “No, you’re right, you won’t,” Tequila said. “You’ll go about your day, and forget all of this. Forget you saw me, forget you saw Clara, and definitely forget the name Jack Daniels,” he said. He slowly started to back away from you, clearly realising just how much closer he’d gotten to you. “If anyone asks, you didn’t see me. I was never here,” he said.

Fallout - Full Story Masterlist

Jack Daniels x F!Reader Explicit/18+ (Minors DNI please!) Current Word Count: 9.3k - ✨ Updated After Each Chapter ✨ Series Tags: Second Chances; Angst; Canon-Typical Violence; Description of Injuries; Fluff; Enemies to Lovers; Enemies to Friends to Lovers; Depictions of Grief, Trauma, PTSD, and Depression; Explicit Sexual Content; Explicit Language. (Each chapter will have more specific tags)

"Fallout [noun] - the adverse side effects or results of a situation”.

After being seriously injured during the Golden Circle mission, Jack Daniels must atone for his crimes. Placed on house arrest on Statesman grounds, he must prove to Champ and the rest of the team that he deserves a second chance. But when that day comes, he finds a thorn in his side: Agent Mimosa.

Series Masterlist;

Prologue

Chapter 1 - Into The Ether

A03 Profile Link | Tumblr Masterlist

New chapters every Wednesday!

[anabdaniels]

I have a request if you don’t mind. I would love to see how Agent Whiskey is when it comes to dating a trans masc person. Maybe the reader has a crush, but always sees him flirting with women, and isn’t sure. It could end in a sweet smut where he shows you how handsome the reader is. Im just so feral for this man and I know he’s so sweet to his lovers 🥰🥰🥰

Hi there! First of all, forgive me for the eternity it took me to write this hahaha. I loved your request, and yes, we know Jack is a sweetheart with his partners. Hope you enjoy it! 🥰

Heart to heart, eyes to eyes

Paring: Agent Whiskey x TransMasc!Reader

Word counting: 3.4k

Rating: +18

Warnings: Slight mentions of transphobia, minor mentions of male unpleasant behavior (not related with our cowboy, as always), reader does binding and haven't done any gender-affirming surgery (Is this the right name of it? I don't trust google 100% with these topics.), slight smut, fingering, unprotected sex, implied age gap (only if you squint), no beta (we die like half of Pedro's characters).

A/N: This is a new field of writing for me and I did my research to not mess up with anything, but I highly appreciate (respectful) corrections in case I had write anything I shouldn't.

Masterlist

Despite not being the most antisocial person in the world, you used to run from some of the Statesman parties, even after working there for a few years, you still couldn't understand how everyone in the company seemed to have so much disposition for parties and alcohol.

That was one of the occasions when you made an exception and attended the party, regretting immediately when you saw that some guys from another distillery had been invited; while Statesman people could drink a whole barrel of bourbon and still keep their common sense and morals untouched, those fellas from the other company were a bunch of douchebags even before they started to drink.

You looked over the party to find your group and, judging by the expression on their face, you weren’t the only one hating the presence of the guests. You approached your friends with a slight smile, stopping next to them.

“Y’all could’ve texted me about those assholes, I’d have come back home.” You said letting clear your dissatisfaction.

“And have one less person to hate ‘em with us?” Tequila retorted before taking a sip of his bourbon.

“I hate to be this type of person, but I’m with Tequila on this.” Ginger affirmed in her usual calm tone.

“Seems that at least one of us is having fun with them.” You pointed while observing Jack seeming to be having the time of his life while talking to the guys along with Champ, envying those scumbags for a moment, after all, it must be amazing to have Jack that excited and close to you. You took a sip of your Marguerita to ignore your thoughts, not wanting to let your teenager-in-love-like thoughts take over. During all that time you worked at Statesman, you could see Jack having most of the ladies sighing for him, but you never got anything concrete when the subjects were men. He seemed to be sympathetic and friendly with most of them, but nothing more than that. You weren’t up to being the one to find it out, only the scenario of making your friendship with him weird with your feelings already made you uncomfortable enough.

Your wandering thoughts were cut when you saw Jack walking towards the group, rolling his eyes and loosening his tie after taking the remaining whiskey in his glass at one sip.

“This job ain’t worth the stress.” Jack sounded drained “Those fellas can’t be for real.” He shook his head and leaned on the wall next to you.

“What was it this time? All women are gold-diggers or the world is losing its values?” Ginger rolled her eyes as she remembered the miserable few times she had to talk to them.

“Yeah, they complained ‘bout women, even that I doubt they ever touched one and started with the whole anti-gay bullshit. Next time Champ calls them, I ain’t showing up.” Jack snorted and rubbed his temples.

“Now that ya back, can we get outta here?” Tequila questioned without disguise how much he was hating every minute of that and Jack agreed promptly.

As it was usual when the parties were horrible, the four of you left the bottle-shaped building and walked to the bar on the dependences of the distillery. Jack unlocked the front door and turned on the lights, already walking behind the counter, making himself comfortable with a glass of whiskey. You smirked at the opportunity to mess with him a bit and sat on one barstool, resting both elbows on the counter.

“Can you get me a drink handsome?” you pressed your lips together, doing your best to pretend you weren’t feeling butterflies in your stomach. Engaging your little joke, Jack threw a dishcloth over his shoulder and placed a toothpick on the corner of his mouth while approaching you.

“And what such a beautiful thing likes to drink?” he asked with his hands resting on his side of the corner, smirking with the charm that only Jack Daniels could have.

“A Statesman with coke.” You emphasized the Statesman part, looking from the crown of his Stetson to the top of his boots, daring the most you were capable of at the moment to clarify what you meant, feeling your legs trembling with the chance of it getting wrong. Jack wasn’t naive, he knew very well the difference between a joke between two friends and an actual flirt, and he was aware that you weren’t joking with him.

“You ain’t only a gorgeous face, hum? Have an amazing taste either.” Jack winked at you and moved to grab the drink for you.

If wasn’t for the rush of adrenaline, you would’ve noticed Ginger and Tequila chuckling and nudging each other with their elbows while observing you and Jack interacting, both staying at a safe distance to not interrupt the moment since they had noticed long ago that you had a little crush on Jack.

Despite feeling your heart beating in your throat, you kept a neutral expression as Jack handed you the glass and drank from it, running your tongue over your lips as you tasted the drink, mesmerized by how talented Jack seemed to be doing anything he tried.

“I’m starting to believe that the looks of the bartender match the quality of the drink.” You pointed in a soft tone.

“Is this good or bad?” Jack asked with a smirk, his lips glistening wet by the whiskey.

“In your case, is fantastic.” You shrugged with a playful smile, taking another sip of your drink.

The moment was interrupted by someone’s phone ringing, you and Jack looked towards the other side of the room, seeing Ginger picking up her phone with a not-amused expression, rolling her eyes a few times during the call. When she was done, she sighed and finished her drink.

“Apparently Champ talked too much about our technologies to those bastards and now they want to hear more.” Ginger explained unpleased with the situation.

“My condolences.” You said playfully and she chuckled.

“This is the moment I consider starting to believe in supernatural forces to ask ‘em for help.” Ginger said calmly and looked at Tequila “I’ll not suffer by my own.”

“I’ll get another buzz and meet ya halfway.” Tequila answered without getting what Ginger was trying to do, making her raise her eyebrows and tilt her head slightly towards you and Jack, only then making him realize what she meant. “Y’know what? I’ll cause some deficit on the good drinks Champ saves for those assholes.”

Promptly they left, leaving you two alone; you felt a few butterflies in your stomach as you realized that, worrying about all the previous flirting jokes. Jack took a sip of his whiskey as he walked around the counter, sitting on the stool next to you.

“I thought you’d never admit it.” Jack said with a smirk, shamelessly looking at your mouth and then back to your eyes.

“What do you mean?” you questioned with a nervous chuckle, playing with the cup coaster on the counter.

“I ain’t blind, sugar. I’ve seen the way you looked at me.” He explained with no flourishes, making you turn red as the Budweiser cans on the fridge.

“Don’t get me wrong, Jack. I know we’re friends and co-workers and I get it if you didn’t like what I’ve said…” you got interrupted by Jack’s thumb pressing gently against your lips, making you weak on the heart.

“Calm down, sweetheart, I’ll not bite.” He leaned slightly forward to your face “Only if you ask.” Jack whispered and winked at you, keeping his hand on your face.

“So, you’re fine with it?” you asked hesitantly, fearing the answer. You knew Jack’s reputation as a heartthrob, but you always saw him with women, short, tall, black, white, skinny, fat, blond, brunette, ginger, blue eyes, dark eyes, everything, but always women.

“I’m more than fine.” He chuckled and caressed your cheek, leaning a bit more and pressing a gentle peck on your lips. You sighed louder than you expected and threw your arms around his neck, not hesitating to enjoy the opportunity life had just thrown on your lap, letting yourself go as he turned that into a real kiss.

Jack wasn’t clueless, realizing faster than the blink of an eye that you were into him and he couldn’t be more satisfied with it, after all, he was far away from having no interest in you, in fact, Jack had been interested in you since the very first day he saw you at the distillery, and after you started to work on the agency laboratory with Ginger, he was always finding an excuse to go there, but when you seemed to not be up to take a step huger than friendship even with the signs that you were into him, Jack conformed himself with being simply your friend. And, in your defense, at the beginning, you thought that Jack was only being sympathetic with you and when he started to frequently show up at the lab, you assumed that his thing was with Ginger, since they had a pretty strange relationship, seeming to hate each other sometimes, just to be all friendly and holding each other the next day.

You got lost in your thoughts as you processed that you were truly tucked between Jack’s arms, feeling your heartbeat wilder than ever as the adrenaline ran through your body. When Jack got out of his stool and stood between your legs with one hand in your hair and the other on your hip, you felt a hint of disappointment at the bottom of your heart, but at the same time you weren’t surprised; he wouldn’t be the first man to want to hook up with you in an arguable place, away from everyone.

But, of course, Jack Daniels wasn’t an ordinary predictable man.

Realizing that you seemed slightly tense, Jack assumed that he had moved a bit too fast, so he leaned slightly back, keeping his hands on you and resting his forehead against yours with a satisfied smirk on his face.

“Y’ okay, honey?” he asked quietly, gently rubbing his thumb on your hip.

“Yes.” You nodded while assimilating the unexpected changing of events “Just processing everything.” You admitted the truth and chuckled, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“We have all night for you to put yourself together.” He whispered and pressed another soft kiss on your mouth, making you smile against his lips.

As both of you expected, at some point in the night Jack was requested to get back at the party. You got back with him, imagining that he would act as always around you in front of other people and you couldn’t be more mistaken. He walked holding your hand all the way back to the central building and didn’t let go of you once you were back at the party, randomly passing one arm around your waist or caressing your fingers while speaking with everyone.

It seemed to take forever until the party ended and you were thanking all the possible existent deities for it. Catching you by surprise, but not that much since you knew him very well, Jack offered to take you home and you accepted without thinking much before answer, but you sure were thinking even less when you invited him to enter while he was parking in front of your house.

Everything after that seemed like one of the thousands of thirsty dreams you used to have; the first 20 minutes you two spent complaining about everything you could at that party were fine, but then came that miserable elephant-in-the-room moment, that both of you knew that was necessary to talk about, but wasn’t that easy to start, so the most you dared to do was kiss Jack’s cheek and try your lucky nestling on his arms, being warmly hugged by him while his fingers caressed your scalp, ending up with both of you falling asleep on the couch.

Heaven.

Undoubtedly you were feeling in heaven those last weeks.

On the years of friendship, you had already realized that Jack was an incredible person, but you were amazingly surprised with how much of an amazing boyfriend he could be and how proud he seemed every time he had the chance to show you off. Every time he saw you around Statesman, he wouldn’t waste the chance of holding or kissing you, always seeming to be the happiest someone could be.

You got to spend a lot of time at each other’s house, and that Saturday wasn’t different. Jack had picked you up in the middle of the morning and as usual made sure to keep you comfortable and papered while he cooked lunch, only the smell of it making you hungry. Once the meal was done, somehow you ended up tucked on Jack’s lap while eating, being distracted a few times by him cleaning the food sauce from the corner of your mouth or simply leaning to kiss the top of your head or the curve or your neck. The cold winter afternoon made the bed way too inviting, so you and Jack got cozily under the covers, talking about a lot of stuff, per usual, Jack didn’t waste the opportunity of dropping a few flirting comments, extinguishing your focus on anything else.

Another thing that wasn’t a novelty, there was a reason why the two of you had spent a good amount of time making out, only making out.

Yes, you were completely feral for Jack and he needed no effort to throw your libido in the heights, but you needed some time before taking a bigger step, still unsure of how it’d work, after all, the most you were in love with Jack, he still was a middle-aged southern cowboy and you didn’t have the best experiences with this category of men.

As usual, you worried only about enjoying the moment, not being able to say when you got mounted on top of Jack, sighing heavily as his hands moved over your back, thighs, and ass. With the passing time, things started to get more complicated to manage; you started to feel your body heat getting almost unbearable, your breath was getting complicated to catch since Jack seemed focused on leaving you breathless, and the soft nudge of his restrained erection between your legs didn’t make you any favor.

Diving on your desires, you sneaked your hands under Jack’s shirt, groping his skin as you moved your hips involuntarily against his fly, sighing heavily against his lips. Following your rhythm, Jack allowed his hands to travel over your body, sneaking in your t-shirt, and making you contort involuntarily under his calloused palms. You didn’t think much about what you were doing as you completely untucked Jack’s shirt from his jeans and started to open its buttons.

Your wave of courage was cut at the very second you realized Jack’s hands reaching your binder, making you freeze and lean slightly backward. Jack realized immediately that something was wrong and cupped one of your cheeks.

“What’s wrong, sugar?”

“I might’ve not told you some details between the lines.” You spoke quietly, sitting on his thighs “I haven’t made any surgery after the transition.” You looked away chewing your bottom lip “And now you probably see me as a woman.” You couldn’t hold back your pre-judgment, after all wouldn’t be the first time someone invalidated who you were simply because you didn’t feel the necessity to make any surgical change.

“Hell no.” Jack retorted without second thoughts, getting sat on the bed on a jump, keeping you cooed on his lap “I’d never start to see my man as a woman because of a little detail like this. You’re a guy, if I wasn’t aware of the details, I’d surely think you always have been a man… No, I mean, I know you always have been a man, but I think you got what I’m trying to say.” You couldn’t hold back a chuckle with his little desperation to explain himself, afraid to sound like a jerk.

“I got what you mean, don’t worry.” You smiled and leaned to give a peck on his lips “So, you’re fine with it?”

“Not wanting to sound harsh, but I don’t care about these things. I like who you are, I like you being a man, I’d like if you were a woman, or if you weren’t neither of them.” He confirmed calmly, catching you by surprise with his last remark.

“Someone has made his homework about the queer community, hum?” you questioned playfully, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Sincerely I got lost about some stuff, but was quite interesting.” He confirmed resting both hands on your thighs, caressing your skin softly.

“Don’t worry, you’re getting the way.” You said in a melted chuckle and leaned to press your lips on his, sighing as he grabbed you by the hips, flipping you to lay on your back.

Once more you saw yourself lost in Jack’s kisses, having a hard time concentrating on resuming your task, getting rid of his shirt. The further you got into removing each other’s clothes, the more you knew you’d be obsessed with having the warm feeling of his skin all over yours, especially when he was that gentle with you, even when was clear that he was as thirsty as you.

Any crumb of hesitation you could have left vanished as you dived into the attention of your handsome cowboy and, once his idle fingers reached between your legs, everything was a blur in your mind: his mustache tickling against your neck, his free hand caressing from the middle of your chest to your lower stomach, his velvety voice whispering and mumbling about how handsome you were, how soft you felt on his hands, how much he was planning to make you lose your straight thoughts even more. There was no room for you to do more than dive in on his teasing and fall apart on his fingers, contorting and whimpering as your orgasm made your muscles feel like jelly.

Fascinated by the vision of you boneless, Jack couldn’t help himself, picking you and nestling you on his lap as you calmed down while he soothingly rubbed your back. When you recovered strength enough to straighten up, you didn’t beat around the bush to get mounted on Jack’s thighs, eager than ever to go forward, wondering how better that could get.

“I hope all your bragging about your stamina at Statesman wasn’t a lie, ‘cause you might’ve just encouraged my dirty thoughts.” You said with a soft smile, hanging your arms on his neck.

“Y’ can bet I can deal with your naughty, honey.” Jack affirmed with his usual cocky grin, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer, shamelessly letting his hard cock nudge your throbbing core, taking a quiet whimper of you.

“Now that’s some good news.” You retorted playfully and moved further, slowly taking him inch by inch inside you. Wanting to savor that moment, you sank your face into the curve of his neck, taking a second to enjoy everything going on.

Amused by your contemplative manner, Jack wrapped one arm around your waist and leaned you against the pillows, kneeling between your legs without moving your upper body away from his. Bracing himself in one arm while keeping the other around you, he started to move at a calm pace. Your moan came out louder than you expected, but you couldn’t help it while feeling that good, all cozy while nestled in Jack’s arms, surer than ever that letting him know you had a crush on him was the best decision you ever made in your life.

Getting that deep in your thoughts, only worked to make everything feel even more intense, making you unconsciously squirm and sink your hands on Jack’s skin, squeezing it tight.

“Everything alright, love?” Jack asked as he felt you tensing up.

“Yes.” You nodded slowly, needing a bit of effort to open your eyes and look at him “Just got a bit carried away here.” You admitted and leaned your head, resting your forehead on his jaw, smiling with his low chuckle.

“You better get used to it, beautiful boy.” He answered playfully and kissed the top of your head “I have no plans to stay away from you.” Your smile widened and you tucked yourself even more against him, having no doubts that he meant it.

Tagging: @missladym1981

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Horses & friends of Palomino

This post has been a long time coming - I'm so excited to finally share the "face claims" of the horses and other animal friends in the series as part of A Palomino Farewell!

Darlin' | Scotch, Palomino

The titular horse of the series, Scotch is described as having a white star on his forehead (reference). Palomino is a colour, not a breed, the latter of which is not specified in the story. Jack describes Scotch as a 'speed demon', but he's responsive and only goes fast when he's asked to. Favourite treat - apples!

* Darlin' has no physical descriptions in the series. I have a separate post planned discussing diversity for horse riders.

Jack | Whiskey, Chestnut

Whiskey is described as a chestnut with white stockings. His breed is not specified in the series, but pictured is an American Quarter Horse. It's mentioned in the drabble If Only that Whiskey has been with Jack since he was a foal, and he knows little tricks like picking up saddle pads for on command.

Champ | Tanqueray, Friesian

Tanqueray makes a cameo in A Palomino Christmas. He's the stables elder and described as 'supremely poised' - just like his dad.

Tequila | Patron, Clydesdale

Teak's horse isn't mentioned in the series, but I've always imagined him with a big, sturdy horse like a Clydesdale. And I don't know about you, but these two faces are really twinning for me 😂

Ginger | Ale, Dapple Grey Lusitano

Ginger's horse isn't mentioned in the series either, but I imagine she would have an elegant horse like the Lusitano.

Poppy | Cider, American Paint Horse

Cider makes a brief cameo in A Palomino Christmas as 'Pie', which I like to think is her nickname. I just think this American Paint Horse goes so well with the redhead!

Bourbon, Cob | Half-Pint, Shetland Pony

Bourbon is the trusty pack horse that goes on the trip in the series, whereas Half-Pint is everyone's favourite naughty pony who makes a cheeky appearance in A Palomino Christmas. The above pictures are true to scale 🤪

Jameson, Border Collie

Above left is a rare archival photo of Jameson as a puppy and on the right, of Jameson on horse-walking duty at the Statesman.

Barn Cats

The barn cats are a bit of an Easter egg! They're mentioned in an obscure headcanon about Jack's allergies, which was expanded on in Part VIII - Silver Pony. Should we name each of them individually?