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kiwisbell · 3 months

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yellow bird [joel miller]

Taking the weight off your shoulders.

whiskey sour masterlist | my masterlist

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), dbf!joel, age gap (20s/40s), sexual frustration, academic-validation-to-praise-kink pipeline, these two are in lurvvvv, thigh riding, joel talks you through it, and maybe reveals a side of him we haven't seen yet, a lil fluid exchange, some sweet sappy talk because it's them what do we expect, pure self-indulgence, that’s about it

word count: ~ 2.7k

a/n: this was mine and @cavillscurls's challenge to myself to write somethin short and sweet, thank you mya for being a cheerleader throughout this whole process. and thank you hugely el @northernbluess for last-minute beta reading and telling me it does not(?), in fact, suck dick n cock. i envision this as part of the whiskey sour-verse, but you don't need to read the series to understand what's going on here! this honestly makes me super fucking nervy to post, but i hope you enjoy. xoxo

read on ao3!

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The moon is carving a path through the darkening sky, and you’ve been quiet for hours.

You sit at the dining table with your cheek in your palm, lidded eyes flitting relentlessly from one side of the page to another. Every couple minutes, you jot down some notes on your cue cards. Your coffee lies untouched next to your textbook.

Each slash of pen across paper cuts into his chest. You write in bursts of furious energy, the paper sometimes bunching under your fist, black ink smearing—you only ever write in black—one letter into the next. Your jerky looping letters resemble nothing close to your penmanship. Your sentences are punctuated by squiggles rather than dots. The corners of your eyes are moist, your skin glowing gold under a filtered smattering of light from the street lamps outside.

There's a tight line to the curve of your mouth, a gash of colour where your lipstick has faded. Weariness dulls the shimmer in your eye. You keep writing.

“Thought you were goin’ out with your friends tonight,” says Joel.

“Hmm?” You blink slowly, the sound of his voice dragging your gaze toward Joel: dressed in jeans and an olive flannel (a gift from you), he's watching you study, a worried slash between his brows. “Oh,” you say. “No. I bailed.”

A flare of his nostrils as he approaches you from the coffee station is the only indication he gives that he's frustrated. “You’ve been workin’ all day, baby. You haven't eaten.” He slides his coffee mug toward you and switches it with your own. “Here, take mine. Yours is gettin’ cold.”

You start to shake your head. “Joel, it’s—”

“It's either you drink mine,” he says, sliding the milk and sugar toward you, “or you take a break.”

You narrow your eyes. “You hate my coffee.”

“Relationships are sacrifice. C’mere.” He yanks the leg of your chair toward him until you're sitting beside one another. He dips his mouth to your temple, and sleep begins to tug at your eyelids. Still, you keep your books open, if not partially out of spite, as Joel drinks your too-sweet coffee and hides his grimace.

“You hate it.”

Joel’s eyes slide to you over the rim of his cup, his chest pulling taut at the sight of the unshed tear on the outer corner of your eye, teetering.

Your bottom lip wobbles, your last Sisyphean effort to hold the droplet of water at bay, and Joel sets down the mug.

“You hate my coffee,” you whisper, not meeting his eye.

It's the press of his hand to your lower back that makes your fingers tremble, curled tightly around your pen. “There are worse things I’d do for you than drink shitty coffee.”

“So you admit it's shitty.”

His fingers dance up and down your lower vertebrae. “You’re exhausted,” he says softly, his mouth grazing your shoulder. “Come and take a break. Can feel all that tension, sweetheart. Right—”

The warm press of his palm between your shoulder blades. The simple touch ignites pressure behind your nose.

“—here,” he finishes with the pinch of his thumb and forefinger around your brain stem.

Your head lolls gently in his direction. “I know what you're doing.”

An innocent sound pitches out of his throat. “Do you?”

Your lashes flutter as he begins to dig his palm into the tense balls of muscle in your back. The contact, warm and almost gentle, undoes you. The pearl stuck in your lashes shakes free.

The impact of it carving a path down your cheek strikes his heart true. “C’mere, baby.”

Pulling you reluctantly away from your workbooks, Joel sits on the couch and guides you on top of him, your thighs hugging his hips. “This sad face,” he says under his breath, brushing the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. “So pretty when you’re sad.” Your eyes dip when his stubble ghosts across your jaw, his lips warming the shell of your ear.

You huff, your arms winding around his neck. “You’re wandering into patronising, Miller.”

“Hmm, big words.” His grin carves its shape into your skin. He nips the spot just below your ear and you gasp, your fingers curling in the locks at the nape of his neck. “Told you, baby—such a smart girl.”

You open your mouth to snip at him, but he’s sliding one big, rough hand underneath your silky shorts and pinching your ass. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he says, his pinky finger dipping under your waistband.

“I’m fine,” you grumble, wriggling on his lap. He hums, the downward curve of his mouth on your skin etched in skepticism, his hands pulling you tighter to him.

“Tell me what’s wrong, baby.” His hand slides up your spine, lifting your little silk shirt, the hardness of him caging you in. “Tell me so I can fix it.”

You're gooey and pliant on top of him, hips flexing to fix your thighs around his waist, your body attuned to him in a way you refuse to fight. Joel Miller is yours. He’s always had your back.

“I’m tired, Joel. I keep bombing these stupid fucking tests, and the new guy at work is incompetent, and I haven't had an orgasm in a whole week.”

Sometimes, you're surprised by how deeply you envy your Joel for being so fucking right. For knowing, even when you don't, how deeply your wounds sit.

He frowns up at you, his thumb caressing the curve of your jaw, guilt and understanding pinching his ribs. “And I’ve been workin’ late,” he says.

Silently, you nod, fisting the hem of his shirt. “But that's okay, Joel. I know you work hard. It's not your job to—”

He shakes his head, trailing his hands up and down your soft thighs. “I’ve been workin’ late,” he repeats, his voice thinning, “and I haven't been treating my girl like she deserves.”

Your cheeks warm at the way his hands reach your inner thighs, thumbs ghosting across your hip bones. “That's not true.”

“Baby, you look at me.” He cups you like warm wax and you're melting just the same, gaze sliding up to meet his. Brown, glinting gold as they catch the orange lamplight, his eyes don't leave you. “You need to come?”

Your mouth drops. You really fucking do. If he notices your slip—the way your hips still on his lap, your arms wound tight around his shoulders—he doesn't say nor soothe. “Joel, I didn’t mean to—”

He quiets you with a loving nip at your chin. “You wanna be a good girl?”

A shudder railroads down your vertebrae. Your core is tight, hot, your little pyjama shorts shifting over your pussy, velvet-soft. “Joel, you really don't have to—”

“You wanna come?” he says again, his teeth scraping the shell of your ear before he takes your lobe between them. You gasp, clutching him tight to you, a buoy bobbing above the torrent.

“Yes,” you tell him, breathless, letting him play with the waistband of your shorts. “Yes. I need to come so badly. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I know, sweetheart. I’m a bad man, takin’ my girl for granted.”

It’s not true, he’d never, has not once, and still you whimper at the sound of my girl on his tongue.

“You are a bad man,” you tell him, halfheartedly shoving him in the chest.

“And?” he prompts, drawing the poison from the wound.

“And I need to come.”

Joel’s mouth curves in understanding, the hairs of his moustache bristling in the corners.

“Take ‘em off,” he says. “Let me be good to you.”

You ease your thighs out of your silk shorts, and Joel’s got his hands on your shirt, lifting it up and over your head. A cool shiver snakes from your cool feet, now on the floor as you stand naked before him, to the scruff of your neck. It longs for the touch of his fingers.

“God, you're fuckin’ beautiful.” Joel takes your outstretched hand, tugging you toward him. His palms smooth over the planes of your torso, thick fingers fitting to your ribs, the follower at the altar. It's only when he touches the small of your back that his eyes abstain from their reverent path across your body and meet yours.

“Tell me what you want,” he says plainly, fingers catching at the ends of your hair.

You crowd him, gaze sweeping down his body at the hard length of his cock down his thick thighs and the utter stillness of him when met with your type-A jitters.

“To be your good girl,” you say.

“I know.” It's a whisper in the quiet. Somewhere, distantly, the dishwasher churns through its cycle. A car horn blares. Wind blows. “Sit down.”

You go eagerly to him, your spirit alight with his closeness, the scent of pine and sawdust from a long day’s work, the soft cotton of his flannel, the scrape of his denim along your thighs. Wordlessly, Joel shifts you until you're straddling one of his thighs.

The jolt of pressure to your clit makes you gasp, clawing for purchase on his chest. Your fists wrap around the lining of his flannel.

Oh, God is the vague chant that eats at his liver, chewing on the ripe mass, the wound sealing over to deliver himself once again at your feet. It’s tossed into the space between you, maybe a little blasphemous, maybe thoughtless. It’s the glassy film over your eyes, those irises he could trace in the dark, the call of love that never quiets.

“Feel good?”

The smug bastard. His hand is still soft and sweet on your spine, climbing high only to drop, no longer meeting the resistance of clothing. The cool air puckers your nipples, your body tightening as you pull in on yourself.

“You remember that first night?” he says softly, tucking your hair behind your ear. “You were so cold, baby. All alone and needin' a good strong hand.”

He squeezes your ass, forcing your hips to shift over his leg. The slow grind of your wet seam along the coarse denim makes your thighs tremble. “Fuck,” you whisper. “That's… that’s good.”

He hums like he knows. “You remember what you did that night?” he asks. “Climbed on me, just like this, and made yourself feel good. Thought I’d come in my pants then and there.”

Your breathless laugh hitches in your throat as your hips begin to grind down of their own volition. The friction is rough, unkind, nothing like the gentle press of his hands on your bare skin. Sweat begins to glisten in the hollow of your throat as you throw your head back and lose yourself in the rhythmic roll of your body over his thigh.

“That's it,” he grunts, squeezing your hips, his cock twitching, untouched, in his boxers. You’re smearing your wetness over the denim, washing it dark, letting the light shift over your writhing body. “That's my pretty girl, usin’ me like you need to.”

“Ah, fuck,” you cry out, bearing down the weight of you on his leg, grinding hard against him as you seek your own pleasure.

“Let's hear it,” he urges, gritting his teeth at the sight of your poor swollen clit, needy and glistening, exposed. “Lemme have it, baby girl, c’mon.”

Your moan is strangled, language muddied in your head as Joel surges upright and latches his mouth around your nipple. Biting and sucking raw, his rapacious mouth is warm nectar that pools hot in your belly, his hands coaxing your hips through their movements, guiding you in the dance nonetheless.

“I'm your good girl,” you rasp, the coil pulling tight at the base of your stomach, the hollow bowl filling to the brim, keeping him, coveting him.

“That's right. My good girl.” His hot breath blooms like possessive fingers where his mouth makes contact on your throat, plucking your nerve endings like a bushel of daisies.

“I can feel you, baby girl,” he groans into your throat. “I can feel your tight fuckin’ cunt gettin’ me all wet. Feel you grabbin’ me like a goddamn cat. You close, huh?”

You whimper, your nails scratching at his chest through the fabric of his shirt, your stomach taut as you approach your high, bucking your hips hard against his leg. “Fuck, Joel, fuck! I’m so close—”

“Tell me who you are.”

“I’m a good girl.” You wind your arms around his neck as you begin to list, your breasts pressing into his chest, closeness sparking to flame as your warmth rubs up against him.

He’s steadfast, thick arms holding you upright, as he groans your name into your ear like it's something blasphemous. “Who are you?” he repeats.

“I’m your good girl, Joel! Fuck, I’m yours, your good girl. Oh, God, Joel, please…”

“That's right, sweetheart.” His hand latches around the nape of your neck, slick with sweat, while you bury your face in his throat. “My good girl’s gonna come all over me again, because that's what good girls do, hmm? They make themselves feel good when their bad men go and forget their place.”

You sob his name into the crook of his neck, the friction etching too much into your sore, rubbed-raw flesh. Your thighs hug him tight, hips thrashing hard above him as you come with a shout, your wet mouth dragging along the vein pulsing in his throat and trailing saliva in its wake. Joel doesn’t seem to care, coaxing you through your high when it starts to last a little longer than normal, pulling you so close that you can hardly remember your shape when it’s not slotting into him.

There's a dark spot spreading over his jeans, and your inner thighs are sticky with release. Joel tilts your chin up with his mouth, littering kisses from your jaw to the hollow of your throat. His tongue darts out playfully as his fingers dip between your bodies and tease through your messy slit.

“Joel,” you gasp, your face warm. He lifts two soaked fingers to his mouth and cleans them off with a couple swirls of his tongue.

And he's kissing you before you can retreat into yourself. He turns you inside-out, bares your soul to him, and all you can do is taste the sweet tang of the release you gave yourself.

Your tongues tangle, languid in your mutual exploration, the push-and-pull you've always known. By the time he pulls away to press his lips to your forehead, you're decently sleepy, your muscles gooey and your body slumping sideways in his lap.

“Ruined your jeans,” you mumble.

His fingertips ghost up and down your spine. A cool shudder blooms from each point of contact. He’s still hard, enough that it must ache, but he makes no move to free himself. “I like ‘em this way,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “Such an idiot.”

Clicking his tongue, Joel says, “You treat your elders this way?”

You nip his nose. “Only when they’re sweet on me.”

He chuckles, brushing your hair behind your ear so he can kiss your temple. “You feel okay?”

Your hands slide up his chest, hooking around his neck, your fingers threading together in his hair. “I feel like a million bucks, baby. But next time, you can come inside me.”

The purr registering in your chest has him preening under the attention, his hands coming to rest just above your ass. “I’m gonna tell you what’s going to happen tonight,” he says, ignoring your apprehensive glare. “You're gonna put away your books, and eat a good dinner, which I’ll make, and you’ll rest.”

Your Joel is stubborn in his own way, and it shows in the tension above his brow, the splaying of his hand over your back. You reach for him and smooth out his frown with your thumb. “I’ll do whatever you say, Joel Miller. As long as you make my favourite.”

You could drown happily in the way he smiles. It always comes on slow, like he isn't quite sure of himself, but it will glow in his eyes. It will sing through him like a light through glass.

“Yeah,” he says, “I can do that.”

Your blood calls to him. And you could do it all without him, sure—but he won’t let you.

THE END.

#posting this and running #kiwisbell's fics #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #whiskey sour #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel #pedro pascal #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fluff

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avenging-fandoms · 1 year

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Pedro Pascal Masterlist

***some links do not work :( please inbox me if you need help navigating a fic!

SMUT:

Call Him Daddy

All for Me?

Soft Lover

Mando's Kinks

Friends with Benefits on Narcos

Trying for a Baby

Fingered to Tears

Degrading

Fucking Enemies

Cowboy Hat Rule - Agent Whiskey

Obsessed - Javier Pena

The First Time - Din Djarin

My Toy - Din Djarin

Inexperienced - Oberyn Martell

Punished - Joel Miller

FLUFF:

Movies and Edibles

Rain at the beach

Pretty

Stay with Me

New Years

Pretty Boy

Southern Accent

Proud

Accidentally Spotted

Welcome Home

Spanish

Cleaning his Glasses

Admiration

I'm Home!

Wink Wink

I'll Keep You Warm

Bad Day

Physical Touch

Unexpected Christmas Together

Nervous Mistletoe

Costume Change

Sugar Daddy

Drunk in Love

Power's out

Do I Look Pretty? - Dad!Pedro

New Neighbor - Agent Whiskey

Home - Marcus Moreno

Cat's Out of the Bag - Marcus Moreno

Sleepy - Din Djarin

First Kiss - Din Djarin

I Love You - Din Djarin

In This Together - Din Djarin

A Well Needed Hug - Din Djarin

You Can Stay - Javier Pena

Is This Your Shirt? - Javier Pena

Dating - Joel Miller

First Kiss - Joel Miller

Oh Baby - Joel Miller

Oh Baby - Joel Miller - Part 2

Nicknames - All Characters

ANGST:

Lasso - Agent Whiskey

Helping Hand - Din Djarin

Save me - Joel Miller

Memories - Part 1

Memories - Part 2

MISC.:

Husband!Pedro moodboard

Instagram

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driaswrld · 5 months

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higuruma who likes wine. i'm thinking he likes it almost as dry as his coffee but he's very appreciative of the fruity undertones — like you can tell the mood he's in based on the wine he's bought.

he wins a case and he already has a bottle of pinot noir open and waiting for when you finally get home, tie loose and manspreading on the couch, hair tousled and a small dopey smile (yes he started without you but don't worry, he's sure you can keep up)

or maybe he's lost a case and you're pouring him a third glass of california cabernet in the warm bathtub, soap bubbles on his frown lines, arms wrapped tight around you while you straddle him, his teeth grazing your shoulder (he's literally just a brooding baby, hold him pls)

either way, he fucks you idk why i was talking ab the wine. idk anything ab wine. basis is he fucks you while wine drunk really.

#📰 — archive #spit in my mo—#anyways #hiromi is a wine guy #nanami is more of a whiskey guy #he prob buys his wine at the same store everytime #very particular ab picking whichever one feels right in his hands #idk he might be autistic i think hes literally me #do not let him pour your wine though #he'll never let you stop drinking #this man is here for a GOOD time okay?#hes not stopping til the bottle is ran thru #will 100% call you wasteful and tease you if you can't keep up #loathes being called an alcoholic bcus god forbid he has attachment to a substance other than you #jjk higuruma #higuruma x reader #higuruma smut

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ventitititi · 9 months

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Bath sex pt.3

Because I'm feeling like headcanons, and these are fun! :>

Ayato, kazuha, gorou

Tw/cw: nsfw content, afab!reader, gn!pronouns, creampie

Ayato

🌱. LISTEN. This mans bath is no joke, i swear. He has the biggest tub, so its comfy for both of you together, and he's got all the best bath products. You, my dear, are having the bath of a lifetime

🌱. 100% will indulge himself in some tea and unwind with you in the tub, if you're at all interested that is. He's got back up plans, if you wanted something a little more... Intimate

🌱. Will have you leaned against his chest as he works his fingers in you, his lips brushing against your ear as he watches, whispering his thoughts for you to hear, "my... Look at how your pussy swallows my fingers, hm? Lovely, isn't it... Such a good little hole."

🌱. If it does get into straight up fucking in the tub, it's large yes but i imagine he'd want to admire the view of you riding him, his hands guiding your hips as he leans back to take it in, a thumb finding your clit as he smirks at you knowingly...

Kazuha

🌱. Our dearest poet would take his time in the bath, regardless of if it's cramped or not. If you're lucky enough to be in inazuma though, it's likely you'll be in a hot spring.

🌱. He'll be thorough in his loving of you, if you find yourself taking a bath together. His fingers would trace over your skin, and between loving kisses he'd breathe out poetry he'd written for you

🌱. Overall, very soft and gentle. His hips would be rocking into you slowly yet firmly from behind, his lips kissing across your shoulder blades, a faint smile across his lips as he whispers, "you're moans might be my favorite form of prose, love."

🌱. Definitely makes sure you're feeling good, too. A hand reaching down to gently circle your clit, the hot spring waters only serving to make the motions easier. Likely due to the nature of hot springs, the sounds you two make would also carry quite well (aka, you're loud and for a distance.)

Gorou

🌱. Our general! He'd be quite needy with you in the bath, probably having run it as a way to clean up from your earlier rounds... Unfortunately, seeing you exposed and dripping with water has him worked up again .

🌱. His bath is likely nothing luxurious, a little cramped even when its split between the two of you, but he's absolutely determined to make it work! He'll take his time finding whatever position is most comfortable for you both

🌱. Once he's satisfied with that though.... He's pounding away at you, whimpering softly and oh so needy, desperate to make you cum first as he fingers at your clit

🌱. If he succeeds in his goal of making you cum, he'll become even needier before reaching his own peak, biting down on his lip or your skin to try and silence his sounds as he cums inside of you<3 so much for getting cleaned up...

#genshin x reader #genshin smut #: ̗̀➛whiskey in a teacupೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #ayato x reader #ayato smut #ayato x reader smut #kazuha x reader #kazuha x reader smut #kazuha smut #gorou x reader #gorou smut #gorou x reader smut #fem!reader

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 4 months

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Pressing

Jack Daniels x F!Reader, dude ranch AU

A Palomino oneshot, but can be read on its own

{ Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

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

Warnings: PWP, Jack's belt leaves an impression on reader's skin, unintentional branding, unprotected sex, long-distance relationship, desperate and feral cowboy, no physical descriptions of Reader, very lightly edited, written as part of the Palomino universe, set after the end of the series, but can be read as a oneshot on its own

Word count: 1.4k

Notes: This little story came from an ask sent in by 🐴 anon in December 2022, which I have long lost, about a song that mentions a guy’s belt buckle leaving marks on his girlfriend's inner thigh while fucking. Naturally, they thought of Jack’s belt. 🐴 anon, if you’re still here, thank you for the inspo and for your patience ❤️

Also thank you to @lola-lola-lola for getting me horn knee about our cowboy again 😘 Writing Palomino smut first thing in the year was not on my 2024 bingo card, and I’m not mad about it!

Cutest dividers by @firefly-graphics.

It’s been two and a half months. Week after wretched week of phone calls on stolen time. Day after day of aching to reach through the phone screen and the distance between you to touch him.

It’s hard being hundreds and hundreds of miles apart. It’s even harder on weeks when he’s in the mountains with no reception. Harder to find time to call when you have to work late and he has to get up at dawn.

But you endure it all - for days like this.

It’s a rare weekend off in the high season, with Teak pulling back-to-back pack trips to cover for him, joking that he can’t take all his sighing and pining for his Darlin’ anymore.

Jack takes the last flight out on Friday night, arriving first thing on Saturday morning, before the city - or you - wake up. You’re half-buried under the duvet when the jingle of the key in the door jolts you from shallow slumber.

On unsteady feet, you wobble out into the hallway, crashing into the walls as you go, balance off-kilter from sleep.

But it’s ok - he catches you, all white t-shirt and tight blue jeans. Incognito, if you will, in casual sneakers, but the cowboy hat is on as always. You knock it off post-haste, burying your face in the side of his neck in a desperate need for contact, his warmth seeping into your skin and wrapping you up in the deepest of comforts.

His hair is longer than he usually keeps it, and your fingers twist into his tousled curls when you pull back, taking in the stubble on his sharp jawline, and his tired eyes. But before you can say anything, he leans in and slants his lips over yours.

The taste of airplane coffee is sharp and bitter on his tongue as he kisses you deep and messy. You startle when he suddenly slams the door shut behind him, not realising it was still open, and his beat-up weekend bag is tossed carelessly behind him somewhere in the doorway.

The legs of the kitchen table scrape jarringly against the floor as he crowds you onto it, big hands cupping your ass and pulling you against his straining erection through his jeans.

‘Fuck, it’s been too long, darlin’.’ His voice is gravelly from an apparently sleepless overnight flight, and hearing his voice finally on the shell of your ear has you whimpering needily.

‘Can’t wait any more,’ he growls, desperation thick in his voice.

With a flick of his wrists, he shucks off your ratty sleep shirt, eyes hooded as he gazes down at your tits, like he can’t believe he’s actually touching you. Cupping them, soft and heavy, with reverent, rope-worn palms, he sucks one nipple after the other between his lips, making you squirm against him and leak wet and sticky between your thighs.

Strong hands hold you in place easily as you buck, the scrape of his moustache almost painful on your over-sensitive skin, nerve endings on fire after being deprived for long weeks.

Too impatient to wait, you tug your pyjamas shorts down your hips and kick them off clumsily, panties tangled in your damp folds as you writhe under him.

You feel the breath catch in his broad chest at the peek of your pussy, a rapidly growing damp spot darkening your cotton underwear. Hooking his thumb under the fabric, he tugs it unceremoniously to the side, baring you to him.

‘Look at all this,’ he marvels, tracing the fleshy pad of his thumb through your folds, making you arch clean off the table. ‘So wet for me and you’ve barely woken up.’

‘Been thinking about you the while night,’ you admit, hips twitching as you chase his touch. ‘Couldn’t sleep.’

‘Did you touch yourself, darlin’?’

You shake your head vehemently. ‘No. Wanted your fingers. Your cock.’

His nostrils flare at your answer, unabashedly possessive in the way he looms over you.

‘Good girl,’ he murmurs into your throat, nosing the side of your neck while thick fingers thrum against your clit. ‘I was so hard for you the whole fuckin’ flight.’

As if to prove it to you - not that you need it - he rolls his hips into your inner thigh, the hard bulge undeniable.

You mewl, hooking your ankles around his waist. ‘Fuck me now, Jack - please.’

There’s a wordless fumble for the solid sterling flask bottle of his belt buckle, his usual level-headed composure nowhere to be found as he pushes down his jeans with shaking hands, just enough to pull his cock out of its denim confines -

And then he thrusts home inside you.

After months of only your fingers, it’s a stretch. But what a delicious stretch it is.

You feel him throb deep inside you, feel the thunder of a pained groan in his chest, pressed up against yours. Your cunt is all slick and give to his determined strokes as he begins to move.

There’s no finesse, hardly any awareness, when he fucks frantically into you. His solid weight pins you to the table, and it rattles precariously under your back.

Your legs are splayed obscenely wide and bent at the knees while Jack pounds into your wet heat, eyes wild and mouth hanging open, watching your tits bounce as you take him, your nails digging into the cotton of his white t-shirt. He never did take off your panties, and the fabric rubs your clit just so with every one of his thrusts, rapidly sending you to the edge.

In the back of your mind, you’re aware of the coarse scrape of his jeans against your inner thighs, and something digs hard into the tender skin, the repeated motion dulling the sensation to an almost numb pressure.

When you cum, you’re crying out before your head catches up, your body convulsing with blind bliss as your pussy clenches around him in a hot rush. The blood pounding in your ears is drowned out by your chants of his name, and then his hips start to stutter and his whole body tenses, frantic eyes on yours as he teeters on the edge.

‘Where, darlin’?’

‘Inside me.’

The words have barely left you and he’s coming, broken pants against your lips as he comes and comes and comes - spilling inside you, filling you to the brim until he’s empty, turned inside out.

Slumped, boneless on top of you, humid pants pressed into your shoulder, his fingers tangle with yours, squeezing as if to let you know that he’s here.

You almost doze off, the gradually slowing rise and fall of the cowboy’s broad chest a comforting anchor, when he rouses you with gentle lips along your jaw. You giggle, feeling him softening and sliding out of you, making a mess of your kitchen table.

‘Mornin’ darlin’,’ he says somewhat belatedly, warm eyes crinkling as he smiles at you.

‘Morning,’ you grin back, and when he shifts, you wince at the ache in your joints from being pinned to one spot for this very vigorous wake up call. His hands smooth over your legs in apology, and you jump when his fingertips brush over somewhere at the juncture of your upper thigh that is surprisingly sore.

‘What’s that?’ you ask, puzzled.

Jack doesn’t answer, curiously quiet. You look down to where he’s bracketed between your legs, watching him trace his index finger over the unmistakable imprint of his distinct belt buckle on the inside of your thigh, where it’s been digging into your skin the whole time.

He glances at you. ‘I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?’

‘No, you didn’t,’ you give him a knowing grin. ‘And are you really sorry, cowboy?’

He doesn’t even have the decency to look sheepish. Gently pinching your swollen folds together, he groans when a milky bead of his cum dribbles out of you, running down the inside of your leg and smearing onto the flask-shaped impression.

‘Ain’t sorry about somethin’ that looks this good on you, darlin’.’

‘Could’ve asked me before you branded me, you know,’ you half-joke, running your own finger along the deep lines carved into your skin, for now.

‘Beggin’ your pardon, I tend to forget my manners when I’m balls deep in a pussy as sweet as yours,’ he retorts, one eyebrow arching when he feels you shiver at his words.

You huff in jest, ‘Doesn’t sound like much of an apology if you asked me.’

‘Whatcha want, darlin’? Me on my hands and knees for you?’

Heat flashes under your skin, from your cheeks down to your toes, and Jack’s eyes darken as his tongue wets his bottom lip. ‘Alright. I hear you loud and clear, ma’am.’

Slowly, he sinks onto his knees in front of you, his joints creaking endearingly as he goes, and you can’t help but tease, ‘Easy there, cowboy.’

The wicked tip of his tongue peeks out, and you bite your lip in a moan when it cleverly traces the outline of the belt buckle on your skin, ending in a playful nip that pulls a gasp from you.

With an unapologetically smug grin, Jack winks. ‘I’m only just gettin’ started, darlin’.’

Note: Thank you for reading ❤️ I’ve missed these two, and if you’re new to Palomino, I hope you’ll give the series a chance!

#palomino series #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x fem!reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x fem!reader #x reader #jack daniels imagine #agent whiskey imagine #jack daniels smut #agent whiskey smut

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psychedelic-ink · 6 months

Text

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐅𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒

ㅤㅤjoel miller x f!reader x jack daniels

genre: smut, minors dni, dude ranch au, modern au

word count: 7.7k

summary: joel challenges jack to make you into the finest there possibly is in two days.

warnings: threesome (mfm), mlm dynamics, some jealousy, outdoor sex, piv, oral sex, dirty talking

a/n: happy birthday @fuckyeahdindjarin 🎉 I hope you enjoy you slutty cowboys--both of them nearly gave me a heart-attack while writing ❤️‍🔥 this gif was made my the lovely @pedrorascal who I am so grateful for helping me out preparing your this bday surprise!

**dividers by @saradika

You take a breath and sneak out of the cozy room. It had been hard parting away from your cozy bed. The warmth provided by the hand-knitted blanket and the scent of delicious wood made you want to never leave. They’ve really done a great job decorating the rooms of the dude ranch. It still holds the Western theme you love, but it's also adorned with rustic charm, from the weathered leather furniture to the handcrafted wooden accents, creating a welcoming atmosphere.

It had been a couple of days since your arrival. You were tired of... well, everything and desperately needed an out. You wish you could say that it happened like in the movies— a divine sign that made you come here, but no. There was no divine intervention, no mysterious flyer sticking to your face. You had to do an endless amount of research to find the perfect place, and when you were done, you picked the ranch that had the least foot traffic. You were running away from people. Choosing the most touristy one would defeat the purpose—you wanted to be alone.

And you were glad that you did. The place was amazing. Surrounded by large mountains and wide fields. This place wasn’t so people would come and see what was what. It was an actual ranch with actual people working all the time. Accepting guests was the side hustle and not the other way around.

There were two cowboys that you constantly saw: Joel Miller and Jack Daniels. Both charming, both handsome enough to make you want to scream. Jack had been personally assigned to you, but Joel was always around, watching, observing, and, of course, running his mouth. You’ve grown accustomed to their odd friendship... rivalry? It was actually kind of cute to see Jack turn all red whenever Joel said something to undermine him. And the other seemed to know that well.

Two talented cowboys. And you, who had no idea what the hell you were doing.

Which is why you were escaping your room like some kind of criminal at the brink of dawn. Joel’s teasing wasn’t only reserved for Jack, you got your fair share as well and it was even worse when Jack chimed in—the two seasoned horse riders letting you know just how out of your element you were. You needed to train without those two constantly spitting quips your way.

You silently make your way to the stables and blindly reach out towards Honeydust, the palomino Jack had gotten you accustomed to. You gently guide her away from the other horses. The rose-pink light of dawn has begun to trickle through the open windows, painting Honeydust’s coat in a gorgeous hue. You regret not bringing your phone; you would’ve loved to show Jack and Joel later on.

“Alright girl,” you mutter as you pat the side of her face. She whinnies slightly and digs her hoof into the ground. “It’s you and me. Let’s show them how it’s done.”

As you reach for the saddle, you smile to yourself. You might not be that good at horse riding yet but you did learn some things—like the value of a good saddle. You take a moment to inhale the scent of it— a mix of leather, hay, and a hint of earthiness.

Honeydust stands patiently, seemingly aware of your fumbling attempts to secure the saddle. You take a deep breath, remembering the lessons Jack patiently gave you about saddling up. Slowly but surely, you manage to get everything in place. As you tighten the cinch, you feel a sense of accomplishment. A week ago, you hadn’t been able to do this. Maybe you're not a full-on cowboy, but you're determined to learn the ropes.

With the saddle secured, you grab the reins and lead Honeydust out of the stable, into the cool morning air. The sky is a canvas of pastel colors—blues, pinks, and golds blending together as the sun inches higher. It's a breathtaking sight. You pat Honeydust on the muzzle and press your cheek against her, watching the sky.

“Isn’t it beautiful,” you whisper to her. “Honestly I’m gonna hate going back. It’s been a couple of days and I’m already attached to this place.”

Honeydust snorts and shakes her head. You smile wide as you pat her again, “You’re right. No room for sentimentality.”

Mounting Honeydust, you settle into the saddle, adjusting to the feel of it beneath you. The quiet creak of leather is drowned out by the sounds of the waking ranch. Birds chirp in the distance, and you take a deep breath, your lungs filling with the fresh scent of the outdoors—

But then you’re slipping.

And then falling.

With a loud, sharp gasp, you find yourself unexpectedly upside down beneath Honeydust's belly. Panic sets in as you register the proximity of her powerful legs, your eyes widen, your heart pounding loudly in your chest. Honeydust remains still, your body still miraculously hanging to the saddle.

Your heartbeat starts to slow, you take a deep breath. You’re fine. You’re okay. You just forgot to fasten one of the belts.

“Need any help there, sweetheart?”

Fuck. Busted.

“I’m fine,” you answer, emphasizing the latter. Jean-clad legs come into view. “Just. . . trying a new riding style.”

“Is that so?” Joel drawls, amusement dripping with every word. “And what would you call this one? The hangin’ fool?”

“Rude.”

His hips cock to the side and you see him placing both hands on his narrow hips, “Would it be better if I called it the hangin’ beauty?”

“Yes actually, it would.”

Your cheeks warm as he steps closer. You try not to stare, or perhaps that’s just you lying to yourself, but whatever your true intention was your eyes linger right over his crotch. Even with the thick jeans and the belt buckle, you know he’s packing underneath there. You can especially tell now since this is the closest you’ve ever been to it. Your mouth waters. Your brain delving further into sinful imagination when his low chuckle echoes in your ear.

“A’right then beautiful, let’s get you out here.” he stops for a beat, his knuckles brushing down the outer part of your leg. You shudder, your legs tighten around Honeydust. “Unless you wanna show me this new ridin’ style of yours?”

“You know what, I think I’ll take a rain check on that.” your voice is shrill and pitchy. Your eyes start to throb. “Especially since all the blood in my body is currently in my head.”

“Oh shit—Okay, just gimme a sec.” he slides his hands under your armpits. “A’right now let go.”

“What?”

“Just let go, sweetheart. I got you. You’ll be okay, promise.”

With a sharp breath, you close your eyes and loosen your legs. Joel's arms wrap further beneath yours, drawing you closer. You feel the tightening of his biceps, feel the huff of his breath against your cheek. He takes a step back and suddenly unbalanced, he falls backward, pulling you along.

With a huff, Joel lands on his ass, and you find yourself comfortably nestled against his chest. It takes you only a second for your gaze to find his. You hold your breath and so does he. His hand pleasantly curls around your waist, keeping you from moving away. His chest is firm under your own, your nipples tightening when you shift a bit, the graze of fabric makes you shudder.

His other hand comes to brush a strand of loose hair behind your ear. You swallow not once but twice. The warmth of Joel’s palm cradles your cheek and a slow breath exits your lungs.

“You a’right?”

“Y—Yeah. . . thanks for helping me out.”

“My pleasure.” His voice is deep, hoarse even, and it scratches your ears just right. You find yourself drawn to him. Your eyes dropping to his lips and back up to meet his heavy-lidded gaze. His lips part. The divot in the middle of his bottom lip more prominent than ever. You lean in without a thought, he mimics you, coming in closer and closer. Your chest heaves. Your heart beating madly against your chest.

“What the hell are you two doin’ canoodling here?”

You jerk away, your eyes lingering on Joel long enough to see the disappointment in his gaze. His eyes close slowly and he takes a ragged breath. Shifting slightly you see Jack holding a hay bale. His eyes are narrowed, his brows knitted together as his gaze flits between you and Joel. You chew the inside of your cheek, embarrassment heating you from the inside out.

“We ain’t canoodlin’,” Joel answers, agitated. “I found her hanging upside down under Honeydust’s belly. Who’s fault do you think is that?”

Jack’s mouth opens and closes, his cheeks suddenly flushed. His gloved hands tighten around the hay as he pushes it up his arms. Then finally, with a softened gaze, he turns to you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you reply, your heart currently beating in your throat. “I just forgot to fasten the other side of the saddle.”

Joel squeezes your waist and you’re suddenly hyper-aware that you’re basically on his lap still. “It’s not your fault, sweetheart. You have a shit teacher.”

“Excuse me?” Jack’s tone is enough to have you scrambling off of Joel’s lap. If looks could kill, Joel would be dead right now. On your feet, you move towards Honeydust, and with great comfort, she nuzzles your chest. Joel smiles lazily when Jack drops the bale of hay and walks up to him. “You better take that back, old man.”

“Yeah?” his eyes glow with mirth. “Make me.”

Involuntarily you cover your mouth with a hand. Is it bad that you’re secretly enjoying this? The amount of testosterone in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife.

Joel slowly gets up, as if he has all the time in the world, and faces Jack. He’s slightly taller than the latter, smile still tugging at his lips as he tilts his head ever so slightly down. Jack’s nostrils flare.

“You want me to knock you out in front of our guest?”

“I’d love to see you try.”

Joel takes another step closer, his chest nearly flushed against the other, he jerks his head to the side and places his hands on his hips. You swear you see Jack’s skin darkening with a deep shade of red from his chest to his neck. His jaw is wired tight, the muscle there twitching.

“How about this,” Joel grins. “You manage to make our sweet girl here a full-on cowgirl in two days and I’ll eat my words right outta your hand, Whiskey.”

Jack huffs and clicks his tongue, “Don’t call me that.”

“It’s your name isn’t it?”

“It ain’t and you know it.”

“Your parents shouldn’t have named you Jack Daniels,” Joel rolls his eyes, “Do we have a deal or not?”

You hold your breath when Joel extends a hand. Jack’s eyes briefly find yours, his fingers twitching. The morning chill is still in the air and despite it, beads of sweat appear on your skin. Two days. Two days and you still don’t know how to put on a saddle right. With a small shake, you attempt to warn Jack but that only makes him smile.

He turns to Joel, “Deal,” he answers, taking his hand. “Two days. Be ready to eat your words, old man.”

They shake on it and as they do Joel gives you a not so subtle wink. It reminds you of just how close the two of you were a mere couple of minutes ago. You avert your gaze, suddenly shy to face him, and think about what might’ve happened if Jack hadn’t interrupted.

When Joel leaves, Jack lets out a long sigh and turns to you.

“You slipped, darlin’, really?”

“In my defense, it was early.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He shakes his head but you see the way his lips curl upwards ever so slightly. “Anyway, wait for me here and I’ll be right back. We gotta get you into tip-top shape because I ain’t gonna lose to Joel.”

“I warned you, you know,” you softly kick the dirt with the tip of your boot.

Jack’s tongue moves over his bottom lip, a shudder crawls up your spine and heat pools between your legs. He grips the bale of hay and throws it over his shoulder.

“That’s why I accepted the challenge, sugar. No guest of mine is gonna leave here without feelin’ like they can conquer the world.”

“Jack this is impossible I’m never going to get the hang of this.”

“With that attitude you sure ain’t gonna.”

With a crooked smile, Jack watches as you draw your shoulders together and stomp your boot against the soil. The lasso is tight between your fingers, the tips of which are chafed from turning the lasso again and again in an attempt to loop the rope around one of the wooden posts. He tilts his head to the side when you turn to him, a pleading expression etched onto your beautiful face.

"This is never going to happen," you huff. However, instead of keeping his eyes locked on yours, his gaze drops to where your flannel hugs your breasts, the poor buttons struggling to keep it all together. His cock swells at the thought of licking them, sucking on your hard nipples while the sweetest noises flee from your lips. "Jack?"

He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s been staring at your gorgeous tits, he drags his gaze back slowly, his smile only growing upon seeing your parted lips and glazed eyes. “Yeah, sugar?”

“We’re never going to win this thing with Joel,” you say and he doesn’t fail to notice how breathless you suddenly are. “How am I supposed to learn to do everything a cowboy can in two days? Seems a bit unfair.”

“Not everythin’,” he struts towards you and peels the lasso from your fingers. “We just need to cover the basics. No one is expectin’ you to catch a knife in mid-air with a lasso.”

Your brows furrow, “What? You’re saying you can actually do that?”

“‘Course I can,” he chirps back. “Unlike you, I’m a top-notch cowboy.”

His heart breaks a little when he sees how defeated you look, with a small nudge to your shoulder, he draws your gaze back to him. “Want me to show you again darlin’?”

“Sure but I’m not sure it’ll do me any good. I’m horrible at this.”

With a reassuring grin, Jack steps back, unwinding the lasso he took from you. He takes a moment to adjust the coils and then demonstrates the art of lassoing, the rope flying through the air in a graceful arc before landing perfectly around a wooden post.

“You see, it's all in the wrist,” he explains as he smoothly tightens the loop, making it look deceptively easy. He repeats the motion a couple of times, each throw precise and controlled.

“You know who’s really good at this?” he asks, returning his attention to you. “Joel.”

You snort, “I feel like that man is good at everything. But I’m not sure why you’re telling me that.”

“Well, you know who used to suck at it—me.”

“You?” you raise a sole eyebrow, and a teasing smile touches your lips. “You who can catch a knife in the air, supposedly, that is.”

“It takes a lot of practice, sugar. That's what I’m tryin’ to tell ya. I sucked at it. Couldn’t even do one loop. Then the old timer helped me out.”

“Joel?”

Yup," he says, noticing your shock. He had been shocked too when the man had shown him how to properly do it. It was both amazing and terrifying. Jack had never had someone care about him enough to actually show him how it's done instead of letting him struggle on his own. "And eventually, I got the hang of it. So will you.”

You smile wholeheartedly and take the lasso from him, “Thanks, Jack. I. . . I appreciate it. You actually really respect him, don’t you? Despite all the banter and arguing.”

“That’s just how I show love, darlin’.”

“You never argue with me.”

His eyebrows tilt up, along with the corner of his lips. You avert your eyes as you loosely hold the rope in your hand, the exercise quickly forgotten. Jack closes the distance until there's only a breath of space between you two. He entertains the idea of lifting your head by the chin, forcing your gaze upon him, but he refrains. He wants you to listen to him and oblige.

“Look at me, darlin’,” His eyes shine with delight when you do, he leans closer. “You want me to fight you?”

Your brows furrow, your lips forming the most adorable pout, “No. Of course not.”

“You sure?” This time he does cup your cheek to keep your gaze fixed on him. His pinkies move towards your neck, drawing soft patterns up and down your skin. You visibly shudder, a soft breath escaping your lips. “I see how you watch when Joel and I start to bitch and moan at each other, sugar. You sure you’re not into it even a little?”

He knows your answer. But he allows you to giggle and escape his hold anyway. “You’re ridiculous,” you say and as a response Jack wants to touch on the fact that you can’t look at him anymore, however, he’ll allow you to escape him for now.

“Come on then, now that you got your giggles on, let’s see you at least pull in one of those cones.”

While you attempt to just do that, Jack ends up regretting teasing you because he ends up thinking about Joel instead. It’s hard to admit that the constant bickering is the obvious telltale sign of something more. And he knows there’s something. Joel only weaponizes his tongue when you’re around. Or someone else for that matter. But when it’s just the two of them it’s different. It’s lingering touches and heavy scotch-filled conversations. Sometimes Joel would even whisper so he wouldn’t wake the others. Jack shivers as he remembers how Joel’s lips felt against the shell of his ear. Downright sinful.

It always remained at that, however. Touches and looks and talks. Nothing more and nothing less.

“Jack,” you say, your voice drawing him away from thoughts he’s happy to be drawn away from. “How did you end up here? Like with Joel and the rest.”

“It’s not much of a story. I was lookin’ for a job and came here lookin’ for one.” He lifts his hat and combs his hair back with his fingers. “I actually met Tommy first. Joel doesn’t like the hiring process and says his younger brother is a better judge of character. I met him after I was hired. Then I met the little munchkins.”

“You mean Sarah and Ellie?”

“Yes ma’am I do,” he reaches forward, letting his fingers nearly brush yours. He chuckles, "I also know what you're doing, so stop stalling and throw the damn lasso already."

You take your bottom lip between your teeth and all Jack wants to do is pry it away from the sharp edges, "Oh, are we arguing? Should I add this moment to my journal?” you manage to lock your gaze with his, a grin spreading across your face. “Does this mean you love me?"

He takes a step closer, leaning ever so slightly into your personal space. A hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, he breathes, "How 'bout this? You throw that rope, and I'll kiss you, sweetheart. Then you’ll really know what I feel."

Your eyes widen, "You’ll... excuse me?"

A wicked glint in his eyes, he quips, "I'll kiss you, full-blown on the lips. And believe me, it'll be my pleasure to lay one on you."

"Just throw the rope? Aren't you selling a bit short?"

Jack takes another step towards you and you can feel the heat radiating from him. His voice low and husky, he counters, "Fine then, manage to actually lasso something, and then I'll kiss you."

"You're mean. You said you'd only do it if I threw it." You challenge him by taking a step closer and he’s delighted to see it.

Cupping her face in his hands, he grins, "Changed my mind. And you have yourself to blame for it."

With all his heart Jack wishes for you to make the throw. Something primal and ugly in him finds extreme joy in being the one to kiss you first. He hated to admit it, but his heart broke a little when he found you and Joel together, lips almost about to touch. He hated feeling like an outsider. Especially when it came from Joel.

With a determined glint in your eyes, you take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Gripping the lasso in your hands, you start to swing it in a circular motion above your head. It’s sloppy and uneven but he can see how much care you’ve put into your stance. Jack watches intently, noting the way you shift your weight from one food to another, a subtle smile playing on his lips.

As the lasso gains momentum, you release it at just the right moment. It sails through the air, forming a perfect loop. Jack's eyes follow its trajectory, silently urging it to find its mark. The loop descends gracefully, and, with a satisfying thud, it settles around a nearby plastic cone and you pull it towards yourself, the plastic moving with ease.

A triumphant grin breaks across your face as you complete the throw. “I did it,” you gasp in a low tone, panting. Your head suddenly snaps towards him, a shit-eating grin plastered over your perfect lips. “I DID IT!”

Jack only smiles as he leans in and cradles your face in a rush. He crashes into you, lips meeting yours in an eager, lingering kiss. He teases the seam of your mouth with the tip of his tongue. Just a brief preview of how badly he wants this to happen. His hands slip to your ass, kneading the plump flesh, his cock stiffens at how you moan into his mouth. You press against him and Jack can’t help but roll his hips to feel more of you. It’s been so long. Too long since he felt something warm and tight around his cock.

He parts away by dragging his lips down to your chin and from there to your neck. He nips at your pulse, feeling it beating against his mouth.

“Jack,” you breathe. “I—Wow—”

“Kissin’ is one thing I’m better at,” he chuckles deeply into your ear. “Among other things.”

He holds you by the neck and gently pulls away. He can’t get enough of the expression you’re giving him; pupils blown and lips slightly parted. Your chest heaves heavily, your pulse beating wildly under his palm. Jack brushes your lips together, smiling upon hearing you whimper.

“Now, throw that lasso again and I’ll give you another kiss.”

And it all comes down to horse riding. You should be surprised but you’re not.

The sun was finally setting over the ranch. A subtle chill settling at the base of your snake as the sun went down. It had been a tiring day full of lasso throwing, ax throwing, and knotting. Your back ached and when the final challenge finally befell you all you wanted to do was go back to your room and sleep. The only thing that gave you an ounce of energy was Jack’s proud smile after every challenge that was won. Joel seemed genuinely impressed. And you were genuinely surprised to find yourself acing every task. Seeing how smug Jack got made your heart flutter and stomach draw tight.

The two of you had done a lot of kissing that day. It hadn’t gone any further but deep down you really wanted it to.

You feel a deep sense of Deja Vu when you find yourself staring at Honeydust with a saddle in hand. You take a deep breath, fingers tightening around the leather. The open air gives you a sense of calm, the cloudy sky a pleasure to gaze upon.

Jack touches the small of your back, goosebumps rising across your skin at the gentle touch, “You got this darlin’ don’t worry so much.”

You briefly glance at the track Joel and Jack had set up for you. Wooden fences stand tall at various intervals, creating a series of jumps that make you sweat just by thinking about them. Your eyes linger on the strategically placed cones that form a zigzag pattern.

“Honestly no matter what happens I’m impressed,” Joel cuts in, cupping Honeydust’s cheek. Your gaze moves deftly from the track to the man standing before you. As always, he looks amazing in his red and yellow flannel. “You’ve done well sweetheart.”

“Maybe you should just forfeit and accept we won then,” you answer, smiling. Joel shakes his head.

“Someone is sure of herself.”

“Hell yeah, I am.”

“Look at that,” Jack pipes. “Soundin’ like a true cowboy already.”

You expertly secure the saddle onto Honeydust's back. The leather feels cool beneath your fingertips as you tighten the straps, ensuring a snug fit. Adjusting the stirrups, you make sure they're the perfect length for your legs. As you stand beside the horse, you can feel the intensity of Joel and Jack's gazes on you. Their eyes trace the curves of your movements, a subtle tension lingering in the air.

With everything in place, you take a deliberate breath and swing yourself onto the saddle. The leather creaks slightly under your weight as you settle into position. Honeydust shifts beneath you. You catch Joel's gaze, and a sly smirk plays on his lips. His eyes linger a moment longer than necessary, you let out a puff of air, your legs tighten around Honeydust..

"Remember, just go with the flow. You and Honeydust are a team," Jack advises and with that, you head off.

Gently nudging your heels against the horse's side, you urge Honeydust into a graceful gallop around the track. The steadying thud of her hooves pounding against the dirt creates a harmony that molds with the song of the wind, transporting you to a place of serenity. Each hurdle makes your heart jump with excitement. The jumps seem impossible at times. As you zigzag through the cones, you can feel Honeydust's muscles tense and relax under your hands, transitioning from one step to the next with the gracefulness of a dance—

A sudden jolt disrupts the rhythm, and you find yourself tumbling to the ground. You let out a deep groan as your back hits the earth and with the corner of your eye, you see Joel taking hold of Honeydust’s reins, calming the poor palomino. Jack’s face comes into vision a second later.

"You okay, darlin'?" When you nod and begin to get up, his worry turns to frustration as he glances at Joel. "This was supposed to be about teaching, not pushing her to the damn limit."

"I didn't mean for her to fall, Jack. So don’t act like that was my intention."

“No, your intention was to make me look like I don’t know what I’m doin’.”

Jack, eyes still glued on Joel, helps you up. Your head is still spinning a little from the adrenaline rush but other than that you feel fine. Your eyes flitting between both men, your stomach twists and turns at how they’re both glaring at each other. This time is different from the arguments. This time they both genuinely look like they’re about to explode. Joel has his jaw tight while Jack has both hands in tight fists. “Guys. . .”

"Why you gotta make everythin’ personal?" Joel snaps, ignoring you all together. “It was just meant to be a harmless bet.”

Jack's eyes narrow, he tears his hand away from yours and your heart drops, "You're the one who makes it damn personal by goadin’ me all the damn time."

“That’s. . .” Joel’s eyes grow soft, his demeanor changing entirely. You watch the furrow between his brows relax, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly. “I’m—”

“Can it,” Jack hisses through gritted teeth and raises a hand. “I don’t want your apology, I just wanna go. Unless you think I’m gonna be bad at that too.”

You reach out, head still spinning, your fingers graze the back of his jacket and he slips from between your grasp. You part your lips to call out to him. To tell him to come back. But Joel takes a hold of your hand and lowers it with the shake of his head.

“I know where he’s goin’. Let’s go.”

“Are you telling me he has a brooding spot?”

“He does.”

The sun had set. The crickets now singing under the starry night, but Joel can't focus on any of it. He can’t because he might’ve actually screwed everything up for good this time— which would be typical of him.

After months of contemplating whether he should take the next step or not, he’d finally made Jack snap. That had never been Joel’s intention, obviously. But he wasn’t the best at flirting. Never had been. And when Jack came into his life, all fresh faced and a lashing tongue, he couldn’t help but fall for him a little.

You’re walking just a little bit behind him, trying to keep up. He can feel you staring at him. Your eyes curious like a newborn gazelle’s.

“If you stare any harder I’m gonna start blushin’ sweetheart.”

“I’m. . . I wasn’t. . .”

“Sure you were,” he sighs. “It wasn’t my intention to be hard on him you know. It just. . . sorta happens. I care a lot about him and I just want him to. . . “ He clamps his mouth shut. What was he supposed to say? How he was hoping that all the teasing would finally push Jack into his arms? How he wanted to do more than touch Jack when he knew no one else could see.

“You want him to. . . what exactly?”

“I don’t know,” he says through gritted teeth. “It’s complicated between us.”

“You both have a crush on each other and don’t know what to do about it. It’s not that complicated.”

Joel’s mouth opens and closes— then opens again. “And how the hell do you know that?”

“Because he talks about you a lot,” you answer with a soft smile. “He said he cares about you. And about your opinion.” Joel’s eyes narrow as you rub the back of your head, your eyes dropping to where you would be taking your next step. “I just don't know where I fit in all of this.”

“What do you mean?”

“You and I almost kissed,” you say finger moving between you two. “Jack and I actually kissed. And well. . . I don’t want to get in the middle of anything. It might be a bit sudden but I like you guys, I care about you, and want you guys to be together if that’s what you want.”

“It’s not your job to worry about us.” Joel huffs, his guilt gnawing at him. “But I get what you mean. We. . . we didn’t intend to put you in that position. I can assure you this wasn’t some twisted game we were tryin' to play. I can't talk for Jack but I care about you. And I care about him if that makes sense. But I fear that me being emotionally constipated might’ve ruined it with him. He gets mad every time I open my mouth.”

“That’s because you tease him all the time and honestly he’s not doing any better than you.” Joel’s eyes go wide when you suddenly cradle his cheeks and bring his face towards your own. “And you haven't ruined anything Mr. Miller. You just need to tell him exactly what you’ve been telling me.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

Before he can reach he feels the soft touch of your lips. You kiss him slowly—tenderly. Joel follows your lead, parting his lips, he allows you to slip your tongue inside. He sucks on your tongue, enjoying the way your body presses against his.

When you pull back, you’re completely dazed.

“Now what was that for?” he asks.

“To keep everything even” you answer, smiling. “Now let's go get our brooding cowboy.”

It doesn’t take long for that to happen. They find Jack sitting on the ground, his back pressed snugly against the wooden fence. He’s staring at the stars. The gentle light streaming down his face and down his neck, Joel’s heart skips a beat at the sight and he feels as though he can’t breathe.

Only when they walk closer does he notice the bottle of whiskey. He lifts the bottle to his lips and takes a swig, Joel’s eyes follow the way drops of amber trickle down his sun-kissed skin.

All Joel wants to do is lick the bitter drop off of him.

The two stop before him. Neither of you knowing what to do or what to say. Joel attempts to apologize by parting his lips and that is the exact moment where Jack finally meets his gaze.

“I know,” he says curtly. “Sit.” Jack extends the bottle of whiskey. Joel, without a word, sits down and takes the bottle. Just as he’s taking a swig, he notices you’re about to leave. Thankfully Jack stops that from coming to fruition. “And where do you think you’re goin’? Sit your ass over here.”

Joel almost cackles at how shocked you look. With the tiniest yelp escaping your lips you sit down right next to Jack. Taking a mouthful of whiskey, Joel extends you the bottle. You take it and chug it down immediately—Jack snorts and finally Joel feels comfortable enough to laugh alongside him.

“Calm down darlin’, it ain’t runnin’ away.”

“Sorry,” you hiccup, shoving the bottle into Jack’s chest. “I’m nervous.”

“Well, don’t be,” Jack sighs and his head falls back against the fence. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way. I—”

“We know,” Joel says with a fond smile. He throws his arm over Jack’s shoulder and cups the back of his head, his hat tumbling to the ground—it was now or never.

For the first time, Joel brings their faces together without the tease of what he might or might not do. He kisses Jack tenderly, softly. Just like how he wanted to treat him during all those nights they were alone together. Jack digs his fingers into Joel’s shirt, nails nearly biting into the skin. Much to Joel’s surprise, the other man tastes sweet. Their tongues move together, still unsure but eager to explore.

When Joel opens his eyes ever so slightly, he sees you staring in awe.

He nearly breaks away laughing. But also, he can’t really blame you for your expression.

It really does feel magical.

You hold your breath. Every nerve ending you have is buzzing with want and arousal. The space between your legs pulsing as you watch Joel tilting his head, slipping his tongue through Jack’s eager lips. Deep down you feel like you’re intruding. That this is a tender moment that should just be between the two men but you can’t help but stay there, like a deer in headlights, watching.

You shudder at the sound of Jack moaning, his hands grip Joel’s shoulder and host himself up the older man’s lap. He grinds down, swallowing Joel’s gasps, he parts away, a trail of saliva connecting the two. You’re still holding your breath. The tips of your fingers numb, your brain a whirlwind as it registers the sight before you.

“Stupid old man,” Jack rasps, tilting his head to the side. “Gettin’ all sappy.” Then his heavy gaze finds your struck ones. He reaches out and in a dream-like state you take his hand, his fingers hastily close around your wrist and tugs you towards him. Your gasp is caught in your throat when he kisses you. The taste of Joel and whiskey still heavy on his tongue.

A hand that doesn’t belong to Jack trails up the curve of your ass and squeezes. A choked-out moan drops from your lips only for Jack to shove his tongue between them. He sucks on your tongue and nips at your bottom lip all the while rolling his hips over Joel’s lap.

“God, look at you two,” Joel groans, giving your ass another firm squeeze before moving his attention to Jack’s spread thighs. “I want to watch you eat that pretty pussy up, Jack. Bet you want that too. . .”

Joel palms Jack’s cock through the denim, stroking him with a smug smile. Jack parts away from your lips with a whimper. His chest heaves. “Yeah,” he gasps, staring into your eyes, and his hips jerk, chasing the heat of the other’s palm. “Want you to make a mess of me, sugar.”

“Please,” you answer albeit not really needed. Your body falls back to sit on your heels, Joel crashes his lips against the younger cowboy’s, drinking the noises in like a starved man. He rips his flannel open while straightening himself, the momentum of the movement forcing Jack to grip Joel’s shoulders. He slides off of Joel’s lap, the kiss breaking when he directs his full lust-addled attention to you.

His gaze is enough for you to start struggling with the buttons of your jeans. You kick them off in a rush and before you can take off your shirt Jack is already laying you down upon the soil, the stars above blinking down at you with mischief. Joel sitting close, pulls your head so you’re nestled comfortably above his lap. His hands cradle your face, thumbs stroking your skin gently. It’s a complete contrast compared to how Jack is. He slides your panties to the side, the pad of his thumb resting right above your clit, he stares at your from between your spread-out thighs.

“Fuckin’ delicious,” he mutters right before delving in. He drags his tongue slowly up your folds while tenderly stroking your clit. Your back arches off of the earth, your eyes fluttering closed as he goes back down, only to kiss you tenderly. He takes his time with you. His jaw moving and tongue teasing your fluttering entrance. Your breath catches in your throat, your chest rattling, Joel shushes you while praising Jack at the same time.

When your eyes finally open, you find Joel looking down at you. His thumb traces the underline of your bottom lip and moves down until he reaches the hem of your flannel. Flattening his thumb over your stomach, he pushes the fabric up until he exposes you to the sky completely. He cups both your breasts and smooths his fingers over your tingling nipples.

“So hard already. . . you must really like what he’s doin’ down there huh?”

Tears stinging the corner of your eyes, you nod. Your silent reply is answered with a sharp bite to the inside of your thigh. Your body jolts, a gasp of pain rattling your throat. Joel smiles. “I think he wants to hear you, sweetheart.”

“I love it,” you moan and as a reward, he pinches your nipples.

“Good girl.”

Jack presses his tongue deeper, your body clenching at both the words and the movement. He groans into your cunt, the bridge of his nose brushing your aching clit deliciously as he swirls his tongue. Your stomach coils tight and you push more of yourself into Joel’s palms, your mouth drops wide. You want more. You need more. You want them both to take and take and take—take until you forget your own damn name.

“Joel. . .” you breathe. He looks down at you curiously. “I want to suck your cock.”

Jack stops only for a moment before his eyes flutter closed and loses himself in you. Vaguely you can see the way he grinds down, a groan reverberating between your legs. Joel sucks in a breath and exhales from his nose. “You sure?”

Your answer is ready on your tongue, and as soon as you give it to him, he expertly unbuttons himself. The tip of his cock pushes against your lips and your breath hitches. Precome smears over the soft flesh, your tongue darting out for a taste, you end up tasting from the source instead. Joel’s hips stutter.

“Holy fuckin’ hell,” his hips jerk a second time, this time thrusting himself deeper into your mouth. You feel him leaning over, a second later you understand he’s reaching for the other man who is working you toward your orgasm. “Jack com’ere—Let me taste her.”

Jack doesn’t make Joel repeat himself and unwillingly pulls himself away from between your legs. Your tongue swirls around Joel’s cock as Jack kisses him deeply. He licks himself deep into the older man’s mouth, stealing a moan deep within Joel’s chest. While Jack steals the breath from Joel’s lungs, he pushes two fingers into you with ease. Your eyes rolling, you take more of Joel into your mouth, prompting the other to instinctively thrust deep enough to make you choke around him.

He parts from Jack with a gasp, “Fuck, that’s it, sweetheart, choke on it.” he says through gritted teeth. Both men look down at you with dark eyes, the shadows caused by the moonlight caress their backs, deepening every crease of their faces. You shudder.

You’re surprised to see Jack dipping down, lower from where you’re sucking Joel’s cock, he sucks the tender skin of the base, and the sound that Joel makes almost feels inhumane.

But Jack doesn’t linger. He pulls away from both of you, his torso tall between your legs, he strokes himself at the sight of your mouth full of the man he admires.

“You like having your mouth full, darlin’? Such a dirty girl allowing two men to have you like this out in the open.”

You whimper and nod, eyes flooding with tears as Joel shoves himself deeper. Spit and precome trickle down from where his cock stretches your lips.

“Fuckin’ filthy,” Jack says giving himself a firm squeeze before swiping his palm over the head of his cock. With his other hand, he follows the contour of your leg, reaches all the way to your hip. “You’re ‘bout to feel much fuller.”

He shoves himself inside you with a single thrust; your channel tightens around him, a moan escaping your throat. Your mouth is pulled away from Joel briefly, gasping for air, before he pulls you back. He adjusts his hips and slides back into your mouth, kneading the back of your neck.

“You feel that? How hot and wet you are? Both of us stretching you?” Jack's voice is gruff as he thrusts into you; your eyes close as pleasure radiates through your body, your skin left tingling. You can hear Joel moan and pant in the background, his cock throbs above your tongue and you hollow out your cheeks.

Your eyes flutter as Jack's cock glides in and out of you; his plunges getting deeper with every thrust. You feel overwhelmed by both of them. You’re left breathless and spinning. You feel only them and nothing else.

You grip onto Joel to keep yourself teetered to the moment as Jack's movements become more desperate, Joel matching him thrust for thrust. With each gasp, Joel's cock slides further down your throat.

The tightness inside your body grows; waves of pleasure cascade through you. The pressure builds and builds and builds—You’re so close you can taste it. Jack presses a palm over your mound, adding pressure as he draws quick and tight circles around your clit. Your throat convulses around Joel’s cock and he pulls out, his length resting comfortably above your lips. You breathe heavily against him, his cock slick and warm on your skin.

“Atta girl,” he coos. “Just a bit more. . . Show us how pretty you look when you come.”

You feel the pressure between your legs mounting with each hard thrust from Jack, your moans becoming louder and more desperate. Joel encourages Jack to go faster, and with each plunge you feel the tension in your core build higher and higher.

And finally the coil snaps.

Your whole body trembles and shakes. Your orgasm still rolling over your body like a violent wave. Jack pumps his hips into yours as he digs his hands into your hips. He keeps thrusting relentlessly, pushing himself as far in as he can before he pulls out. His jaw goes slack, cock gliding over your mound, he spills over your skin. You shudder at the trickle of his seed.

Joel’s cock slides across your lips, teasing you. Your tongue darts out and quickly wraps around him, you tilt your head to take in all of his length. You push your mouth onto him, bobbing your head up and down until he groans. His hips buck erratically and at the same time you feel the touch of Jack’s mouth against the side of your neck.

You swallow everything that he offers you, savoring every moment of the taste of him. You stay close to him until his breathing returns to normal, his thighs shaking underneath you as he pulls out.

“Holy shit,” Jack chokes out as he collapses on top of you, head right above your chest. Joel wipes the sole tear that had escaped you eye and smiles. You bring his palm to your lips and kiss the rough skin.

“It’s going to be hard walking away from all of this,” you whisper, shuddering when Jack’s mouth moves against the side of your breasts.

“Who says you have to walk away?”

You don’t have it in you to go into the details of your life and how you have to go. Or entertain the idea that maybe the things that you thought were important aren’t as essential that you thought after all. It’s pure chaos and right now all you want is to feel their warmth against your bare skin under the stars.

For now, you are content and feeling grateful for the two amazing men who coincidentally made themselves an inseparable part of your life.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x f!reader #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x fem!reader #joel miller smut #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x fem!reader #joel miller x reader x jack daniels #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfic

689 notes · View notes

emmalandry · 8 months

Text

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

𝔼𝕞𝕞𝕒'𝕤 𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟛

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

𝟙.𝕊𝕚𝕫𝕖 𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜 ~ 𝕂ö𝕟𝕚𝕘

𝟚.ℂ𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕦𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ~ 𝕁𝕠𝕙𝕟 ℙ𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕖

𝟛.𝔹𝕠𝕕𝕪 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡 ~ 𝕊𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕣 ℝ𝕖𝕚𝕕

𝟜.𝕊𝕖𝕩 ℙ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕟 ~ ℍ𝕠𝕓𝕚𝕖 𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕟

𝟝.𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕘𝕙𝔽𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 ~ 𝕊𝕚𝕞𝕠𝕟 ℝ𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕪

𝟞.𝔹𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 ~ 𝕄𝕚𝕘𝕦𝕖𝕝 𝕆'𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒

𝟟.𝔻𝕒𝕕𝕕𝕪 𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜 ~ ℝ𝕒𝕗𝕖 ℂ𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕠𝕟

𝟠.ℂ𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘 ~ 𝕁𝕁 𝕄𝕒𝕪𝕓𝕒𝕟𝕜

𝟡.𝔻𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 ℙ𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ~ 𝔹𝕚𝕝��𝕪 𝕃𝕠𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕤 & 𝕊𝕥𝕦 𝕄𝕒𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕣

𝟙𝟘.𝔾𝕦𝕟 ℙ𝕝𝕒𝕪 ~ 𝔹𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕪

𝟙𝟙.ℙ𝕙𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕊𝕖𝕩 ~ 𝔼𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕃𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕣𝕪

𝟙𝟚.𝕊𝕖𝕩𝕋𝕒𝕡𝕖 ~ 𝕁𝕠𝕖𝕝 𝕄𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕣

𝟙𝟛.𝔾𝕝𝕠𝕣𝕪ℍ𝕠𝕝𝕖 ~ 𝔸𝕒𝕣𝕠𝕟 ℍ𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕟𝕖𝕣

𝟙𝟜.𝕊𝕡𝕒𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 ~ ℙ𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝔹. ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕖𝕣

𝟙𝟝.𝔻𝕣𝕪 ℍ𝕦𝕞𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕘 ~ 𝕋𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕃𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕕𝕠𝕟

𝟙𝟞.𝔻𝕒𝕔𝕣𝕪𝕡𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕒 ~ ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕄𝕖𝕖𝕜𝕤-𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕚𝕟

𝟙𝟟.𝕆𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕦𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ~ 𝕋𝕚𝕞 𝕃𝕒𝕗𝕝𝕠𝕦𝕣

𝟙𝟠.𝕃𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ~ ℝ𝕠𝕞𝕒𝕟 𝔹𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕘𝕖𝕣

𝟙𝟡.𝔼𝕩𝕙𝕚𝕓𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕚𝕤𝕞 ~ 𝕂𝕒𝕚 𝔸𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟

𝟚𝟘.𝕂𝕟𝕚𝕗𝕖 ℙ𝕝𝕒𝕪 ~ ℙ𝕒𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝔹𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕟

𝟚𝟙.𝔽𝕒𝕔𝕖𝕊𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 ~ 𝕄𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕪 𝔸𝕝𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕣𝕚

𝟚𝟚.𝕄𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕪 𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜 ~ ℝ𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕪 𝕄𝕖𝕖𝕜𝕤

𝟚𝟛.ℍ𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕊𝕖𝕩 ~ 𝕁𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕤 ℙ𝕒𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕔𝕙

𝟚𝟜.ℙ𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕤𝕖 ~ ℙ𝕠𝕡𝕖 ℍ𝕖𝕪𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕

𝟚𝟝.𝔻𝕖𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕕𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ~ 𝕁𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕃𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕝𝕖𝕪

𝟚𝟞.ℝ𝕠𝕝𝕖𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕪 ~ 𝕂𝕖𝕖𝕘𝕒𝕟 ℙ. ℝ𝕦𝕤𝕤

𝟚𝟟.𝔹𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕜𝕞𝕒𝕚𝕝 ~ 𝕃𝕦𝕜𝕖 𝔸𝕝𝕧𝕖𝕫

𝟚𝟠.𝕊𝕖𝕩 𝕋𝕠𝕪𝕤 ~ 𝔻𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕜 𝕄𝕠𝕣𝕘𝕒𝕟

𝟚𝟡.ℝ𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕤 ~ 𝔸𝕘𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕎𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕜𝕖𝕪

𝟛𝟘.𝕄𝕦𝕥𝕦𝕒𝕝 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕓𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ~ 𝕂𝕪𝕝𝕖 𝕊𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕣

𝟛𝟙.𝔻𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕪 𝕋𝕒𝕝𝕜 ~ 𝕋𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕠𝕣

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

ℍ𝕚 𝔾𝕦𝕪𝕤! 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕤 𝕘𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕒 𝕓𝕖 𝕞𝕪 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕀'𝕞 𝕤𝕦𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕖𝕩𝕔𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕕! 𝕀 𝕙𝕠𝕡𝕖 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕖𝕟𝕛𝕠𝕪𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕤𝕖 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖! 𝕀𝕃𝕐 𝔸𝕃𝕃! 𝕄𝕎𝔸ℍ ~ 𝔼𝕞𝕞𝕒

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

604 notes · View notes

sugadolly · 8 months

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i think i need someone older ⸜❤︎⸝‍

#it’s giving dbf!#mi amor pedrito :(#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #agent whiskey #jack daniels #javier peña #kingsman #narcos #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #agent whiskey smut #jack daniels smut #javier peña smut

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palioom · 8 months

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bull ride

summary: out at a bar, jack watches you ride a mechanical bull and he can't wait to go home so you can ride the real thing.

pairing: jack “whiskey” daniels x f!reader word count: 2.0k warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n (but a lot of nicknames); some swearing; dirty talk; unprotected p in v; public sex (kinda); spanking; jack being lowkey cringe

• masterlist •

This had been supposed to be just a nice little evening out at the bar in town. Just a few drinks, some food and each other's company.

What Jack hadn’t expected to happen was to watch his girl ride a mechanical bull while he had the hardest boner of his life. He hadn’t known that the bar had installed one of these things recently and he also hadn’t known that she was quite good at riding it.

Though he did know she was quite good at riding other things.

Jack watched her from his place at their table, sipping his whiskey as she was thrown back and forth, almost effortlessly moving with the mechanical beast. A laugh on her face the whole time, he swore she gave him a nasty little look whenever she faced him again, paired with a wink.

A wink that only made his dick throb harder.

Adjusting himself in his jeans, he stared at her bouncing breasts without any shame, a small hiss leaving him as he imagined her riding him like this. Moving back before she slid to the front again, pretending to wave a cowboy hat around with a loud laugh while the people around her cheered her on.

What a goddamn sight that was for his old cowboy heart. Seeing his girl ride a damn metal bull was as close as he’d ever get to see her ride the real thing.

She lasted an impressively long time, almost a minute long before she eventually got thrown off. Giggling and laughing all the while, her hair tousled and her face red when she came back to him. Adjusting her clothes as she walked.

And knowing immediately that he was horny as hell as she sat down opposite of him, the biggest grin on her face.

What a teasing little thing she was.

“I kinda wanna go again.” She said, sipping her own drink. The twinkle in her eye was playul, letting his blood boil hot.

“I know a different bull you can ride at home, sugar.” Jack replied with a wide grin, his dark mustache stretched wide over his white teeth. He shifted in place, his cock uncomfortably straining against the zipper of his jeans. “That one’s gonna be even more fun.”

A grin that matched his spread on her features, emptying the last of her drink while waving someone over to pay.

They had barely made it a quarter of the way home when he had to pull over, grabbing her by the chin to pull her into a hungry kiss, his fingers digging into her skin. Her hand reached out to palm him through his jeans, a low groan escaping him and tumbling right into her mouth.

He reluctantly pulled back, only to motion for her to get out and get into the truck bed of the Bronco. Needing her on his dick right now, riding him like she had that damn bull. The image still flickered in front of his eyes, the way she moved on that thing, like she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

“Wanted to be a cowgirl too, huh?” Jack asked, when he sat down at the edge of the truck bed, his hands on her waist pulling her closer. Their lips met again, his tongue slipping into her mouth while her arms snaked around the back of his neck, almost knocking his hat off of him.

“Maybe.” She giggled in between kisses, feeling his hands move under the hem of her shirt, his fingertips ghosting over her hot skin.

Who would have known this would get him so hot and bothered? Just by holding onto that thing like her damn life had depended on it.

Well, in a way she definitely had known. It was one of the reasons she had suggested this bar over the other ones they frequented.

“Let’s see how long you can last on this bull, pretty cowgirl.”

His hands moved to her jeans, working the button open before pulling down the zipper. Thank fuck it was summer, Jack really couldn’t have waited all the way home if it was any colder than right now.

Her pussy was already wet when he let his hand wander into her pants, rubbing over the slick, wet spot that had formed on her panties. She whimpered against his lips, breaking from him to look down at where his hand vanished, finding her clit through her underwear and pressing against it with one thick finger.

Languid movements, chuckling at how her breath hitched in her throat and her hips bucked into his touch. Rubbing over it again and again, enjoying the sweet sounds that left her, gasping and moaning, her feet shuffling apart.

“Jack, please.” She moaned, her lips finding his again in a sloppy kiss, her hands cupping his cheeks. “Don’t tease me, please, baby.”

His finger pressed down harder before he moved his hand back, biting her lip when she whined in protest. Going from cocky to putty in his hands so quickly.

Such a sweet thing, helping him take off her pants, her own hands palming his hard cock, making him groan.

“You’ve been teasin’ me the whole time you were on that damn thing.” He said, yanking her underwear down her legs while she continued kissing him. “C’mon, darlin’, you know this bull needs that cowgirl to ride him.”

A giggle left her, helping him to quickly work open his pants and move them down far enough over his ass that his cock sprang free. Hard and angry, in some desperate need for attention.

Jack hoisted her up, her legs straddling his narrow hips. He really didn’t care that they were on the side of the road and any passing car could see them do this, they were practically in the middle of nowhere anyways.

Taking his hat off of his head, he placed it on hers with a smirk, his hand finding her hips again and squeezing the warm flesh hard. How pretty she looked like this, watching her take his cock in hand to line herself up with him before she slowly sank down.

A guttural sound left her, enjoying the way he stretched her open more and more with every inch, until she sat in his lap.

“Atta girl, lookin’ so pretty takin’ my dick.” He chuckled, giving her ass a sharp smack which made her gasp. “C’mon, show me up close how you rode that thing.”

As she started to move, bouncing in his lap while bracing herself on his broad chest, he leaned back onto his elbows, enjoying the show. Mesmerized by how his dick vanished inside of her tight pussy over and over again, glistening in the low lights.

It made it hard to not just cum instantly, her perfect tits jiggling with every movement, her head thrown back. All while she kept making those noises, unabashed and loud in the silence of the night.

“Oh, fuck, Jack.” She moaned, one of her hands moving to her own breast, kneading it, rolling her nipple between two fingers. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

He chuckled, just watching her work.

“You liked ridin’ that bull more than this one, didn’t you, sugar?” The words were meant to egg her on, her hips stuttering momentarily before falling back into a rhythm, faster now. “Probably still thinkin’ ‘bout that huge piece of metal between your legs.”

She whimpered, his words only getting her closer to the edge. Changing the angle just slightly, she finally found more friction against her clit while his cock dragged along all the wonderful parts inside of her pussy. So thick and deep, each bounce better than the last.

Fuck, she wished he was fucking her right now, pounding her into the truck bed, knowing he would make it fast but hard with how worked up he was.

It was a miracle he hadn’t busted inside of her yet.

“No, Jack.”

He chuckled, one of his hands reaching out to smooth over her hip and down to her ass, caressing the spot where it had come down harshly. Only to do so again, loving the noises that left her lips.

“You better not, the only bull you need to ride is right here, sugar.” He said, helping her movements by guiding them once they started to falter.

Completely lost in the feeling of his cock, eyes closed and bouncing on him like her life depended on it.

“Just work it, baby, just like that.” The praise made her feel hot, sweat breaking on her skin as she continued to focus on the feeling of him inside of her. “Gimme a yeehaw, sweet cowgirl, c’mon!”

It was ridiculous, a breathless giggle leaving her as she opened her eyes and looked at him. She loved the smirk on his lips and the mischievous glint in his eyes.

Still, she obliged, taking one hand off his chest to lift his hat off of her head, just like she had pretended to earlier.

“Yeehaw, baby!” She yelled, making him laugh beneath her, wishing he could take a picture of this. Her, against the starry sky in the middle of nowhere, waving his hat around.

Maybe he should do that another time.

“Atta girl, keep ridin’ it, show that bull who’s the boss!”

Another harsh smack on her ass, the area red and stinging but simply adding to the feeling.

Jack could be so ridiculous sometimes, but she enjoyed it, grinding down into him harder.

“This bull’s got some stamina.” She breathed out, nothing but a whiny whisper. “Fuck, I’m close.”

He sat up again, his hands pushing her down into his lap, feeling her grip him tight when his lips found hers.

“Soak it, sugar,” Jack groaned against her lips, teetering right on the edge, “be a good little cowgirl for me and soak my cock with that talented pussy.”

His fingers found her clit, hurling her right over the edge with just the smallest touch, her arms wrapping around his neck once again as her pussy convulsed around him, breathless moans leaving her.

It made her head spin, the intensity of her orgasm and as her hips faltered, he kept guiding her movements, his fingers still working on her clit. Too much at once, biting his lip as he finally fell over as well.

Pressing her down into his lap, his dick spilling deep inside of her with a deep groan. He could never get enough of that feeling of her tight pussy.

His arms encircled her waist, keeping her close as she slowly caught her breath, slumped against him. That was too much of a workout tonight, first her session on the mechanical bull and now her rodeo on this one.

“What a ride.” She chuckled, leaning back to look at him. Taking his hat off of her, she placed it back on his head. “How d’you enjoy this rodeo, cowboy?”

Jack laughed, squeezing her tight.

What a filthy little thing.

“Never enjoyed bein’ ridden more than with this damn fine cowgirl on top of me.” He answered, giving her a little pat on the hip, signalling her to move off of him. If they were home already, she could have stayed sitting on his cock all night long but unfortunately they still had a bit of a drive in front of them.

She understood, moving off of him, still smiling but missing the feeling of him inside of her already.

Jack helped her get dressed again after he had put his own pants back in place, steadying her as she stood on wobbly legs.

“Which one did you enjoy more, darlin’?” He asked once they were finished and back in the car again. “There’s only one right answer here, sugar, so choose carefully.”

She giggled, pretending to think for a moment as he started the Bronco and took off.

“The mechanical one was wild.” She said, seeing him raise an eyebrow, just the corner of his lips curling up. “But nothing’s better than the real deal, don’t worry, Jack.”

He laughed at that, shaking his head.

“Nothin' better than a real bull to ride, that’s true, sugar.” Looking over at her briefly, she could still see the mischief in his eyes, promising nothing good. “But you should get a few more lessons in, cowgirl. There’s a lot to learn.”

She rolled her eyes, one of her hands laying on his thigh.

“And I’m sure you’ll be more than happy to teach me “

718 notes · View notes

kiwisbell · 8 months

Text

Whiskey Sour

chapter one: old-fashioned

Reuniting with your estranged father while you finish college in Austin has unintended consequences. His best friend, for one.

series masterlist

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

series tags and warnings: dbf!joel being extremely criminally attractive, big ol' age gap (40s/early 20s), unprotected piv (do not follow the leader), creampie, multiple sex positions, multiple orgasms, oral sex (m and f receiving), dry humping, spitting, biting, joel miller is a MUNCH, very appropriate use of a showerhead, consensual somnophilia, yoga, heavy emphasis on payphones, daddy issues, family reunions, angst, dead mom, grief and mourning, father/daughter relationship, bartending, reader is a woman in STEM (author is not), being a student in university deserves a warning probably, attempted drugging (roofies), college boys suck, possessive sex, possessive joel, protective joel, obligatory warning for joel's salt-and-pepper hair, masturbation, wet dreams, no outbreak AU, hurt/comfort, healing, no sarah or ellie, stargazing, face-sitting, pining/yearning, happy ending

word count: ~ 5.5k

chapter 1: old fashioned

It begins with a letter.

You wade through boxes and green garbage bags and nearly trip over a pile of old assignments on your way to the landline. The piece of paper trembles in your hand as you carefully dial the number he gave you. It rings twice.

“Hello?”

The skin of your knuckles stretches around the bones as you clutch the receiver hard. How is it possible for your heart to give out over the sound of a voice you’ve never heard?

“Hi,” comes your soft reply. Too casual, too easy. This is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Your words should reflect that. “You… asked me to call.”

A soft sigh fills your ear. It is not a sigh of resentment or resignation. It sounds relieved. He is relieved to hear your voice. “It’s”—you think you hear his voice break, and then the clearing of his throat as he starts over—“it’s good to hear your voice, kiddo.”

For some reason, the word makes your nose burn. The sting of tears pricks your brows down to your eyes. You swipe your thumb across your cheeks. “It’s… weird to hear yours. How are things?”

How are things? What an astronomically underwhelming question. But he chuckles, the sound of it somewhat hesitant, like a test. “It’s been a while. Maybe that's the sort of conversation you'd like to have over dinner.”

You squeeze your eyes shut to expel the tears. Over dinner. It’s such a simple thing. How can a person reconcile blood and empty air? For years, you've asked questions, you've pictured him, you’ve dreamt. You have imagined a man standing in the doorway, a man with your complexion and your hair (not your eyes; those are your mother’s), a man who stretched out his hand and said, It’s me, kiddo.

But the man never came. At first, when you were growing up, you resented him. How could a man leave your mother? How could a man never wonder, even idly, what it would have been like if he stayed?

Over dinner. Like old friends catching up.

“Mom’s dead.”

You choke on the words, pressing your forehead to the wall. Your fingers leave prints on the letter in your hand. Flashes of existence inside a hospital, drinking stale coffee, sitting hopelessly by her bed as she faded. Being the one to decide that the plug must be pulled. Kissing her forehead and answering questions even as you gasped for air, drowning with no hand to pull you from the water.

Planning the funeral. Speaking at the funeral. Being hugged and kissed and hardly knowing another person there. Swirling around a whirlpool but never being able to get sucked in. Too much work to do. Always too much work to do.

“I know, sweetheart.” His voice grounds you in the present, no longer the memory of months ago. “I know.”

“I need to know that isn't why,” you tell him. “I need to know you didn't send me the letter because of… because she's gone.”

“No, kiddo. No.” Your heart feels like it will give out, half of it in his hand, all the way across the country. “I loved your mom. I did. But we were kids. We were going in different directions. We didn’t want to play tug-of-war with our little girl. It wasn't fair to you.”

You sniffle. This is a man you have never known, never met, but held you nonetheless. He cradled you in your arms when you were born, and now you are strangers. The uncanny weight of grief and reunion settles in your chest. “She found someone,” you tell him. “His name’s David. He was there when she…”

“Good. That's good.” He sounds like he really believes it. “Look—I know we're states apart. I know you have no ties to me.”

“Actually…” You look at the letter. “I’m moving. I’ll be finishing college in Austin.” There’s a pause over the line, and you don’t quite know what you’re waiting for, but you realise that he wants you to act first. He’s putting the onus on you to decide what you want to do with the next phase of your life.

You look around your apartment. In a week, you’ll be on a plane to Texas, leaving your existence here behind. It never felt like life; it was always a monotonous shuffle from one task to the next, falling behind in your work and school, pulling double shifts and all-nighters at the library, and trying not to drown in the grief that had begun long before your mother was really gone.

Your next life will not be like that. You will be happy. The sun will revitalise you. The heat will wake you up. You will meet people and you will hold your mom close to your chest, whispering to her about all the new things you get to experience.

You don’t want to live your new life alone. You’ve been alone for so long.

“So…” You wet your lips and realise just how dry they are. “If you’re still in the area, and you’d like to—”

“Yes,” he blurts out. “Yes. Sorry. I’d like the hell out of that.”

“Good.” You smile, as if there’s anyone around to see you. “I’ll… call you tomorrow. If that’s okay.”

“I’ll be here, kiddo.”

The echo of his voice gradually fades in your ears as you look around your apartment. What used to be yours.

Your name is scrawled at the top of the letter, with a cordial Dear, preceding it. It’s unusually neat for a man’s handwriting, and there isn't a single word crossed out or replaced. It’s thought-out, long mulled-over, meticulous.

You’re probably thinking: this came out of nowhere. I know it seems like that. But I’ve been writing this letter for months.

I know we don't know each other, but I want to change that. I’m in a good place. I want to know that you are, too. I want to see your face and be involved in your life. It may be too late, but I don’t want to be the father my father was. I’ve got a beautiful daughter out there, and I want to earn the right to know things about her life.

Austin is nice. It’s hot. You’re probably used to snow in New York, but I can take you shopping once you get settled in. I want to do better. I want to do something.

I will never get back the years I wasn’t there to see. I will never be the father I should have been. But I don’t want to live the rest of our lives apart, knowing I never got to see you. I don’t even know what you look like.

My phone number’s at the bottom of the page. If you don’t want to speak to me, I understand. But if you do, I’ll wait by the phone.

All my best,

your dad.

That’s how it begins.

The next time you call, you describe yourself to him.

Your hair colour. He asks you to specify the exact shade, like he's examining a colour wheel through a magnifying glass. He wants to know your complexion because he's curious to know if you've got more of your mother’s colouring or his. Into the fifth straight minute of trying to describe your own hair, you begin to laugh, and offer to send him a picture of yourself.

No, he says, adamant. I want to see for myself. When you get here.

“Do you remember her eyes?” you ask.

“Of course I do.” He laughs. “They had this way of lighting up when she was excited about something. Our first date, I took her to the county fair, and bribed the worker to let us onto the carousel even though we were both too tall. She was so happy.”

You smile, toying with the phone cord. “She was like that until the end. Always so excited to update me on her soaps.”

“She was still into soap operas?” His laugh is a little rugged this time, a little choked-up. “She’d corral me into those pieces of shi—garbage. I always got invested.”

“I’m in college, y’know. Don’t have to censor yourself.”

“I know,” he says sheepishly. “Just… not used to this.”

You untangle your finger from the cord. “Is it too weird?”

“No!” he blurts out. “No. It’s—good. I've been pacing in front of my mirror, rehearsing my conversation starters like it’s a fucking stage play. Your mom knew I’ve always been terrible at talking.”

You’ve been on the phone for nearly an hour, so you lower yourself onto the couch and the cord stretches taut. “So how did you get a date in the first place?”

“I got on my knees and begged.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not,” he protests. “She was a busy person in college, just like you. Never had any time for dating. We both went out with mutual friends one night, and we all got a little drunk. I took her to the dance floor and asked her to go out with me.”

“And she said yes?”

“I had to ask her again over breakfast the next morning, while we were nursing our hangovers, but yeah. She gave in.”

The next night, you call him while you’re making dinner: “Macaroni and cheese,” you inform him.

He makes a disgusted noise. “Seriously?”

“Don’t even open your mouth if you’re going to insult macaroni and cheese.”

“Did it come from a box?”

You’re taken aback by how his voice sounds then, somewhat stern but fond nonetheless: he sounds like a dad. “Yes,” you say sheepishly.

“When you get to Austin,” he says, “we’re putting a real, good steak in you.”

“What if I’m vegetarian?”

“You aren’t. You told me yesterday.”

You grin. “That was a test.”

On Wednesday, four days before you board the plane, you tell him about school. Neither of you remember that you’re supposed to reserve some information for when you see one another in person, and you spill the details of your life to the man on the other end of the line as if you’ve been bottling them for years. Maybe you have.

“That sounds…” He whistles. “… really fucking hard.”

You shrug, knowing he can’t actually see you. “It’s all right. I spend most of my time studying when I’m not working. I like the challenge. I like solving problems.”

“I’d say I’m the same way,” he says, “but I think most people would agree contractors cause more problems than they solve.”

“I don’t know about that,” you laugh. “I think my landlord has you beat.”

“Where will you be living when you get here?”

“It’s a townhouse for rent in Austin, pretty close to campus.” You stir the macaroni to make sure it doesn't stick to the bottom of the pot. “I’ll have three roommates, but it’s better than paying the whole way while I’m still trying to work through Mom’s bills.”

He hesitates for a moment. “Have you met them?”

“Last time I visited Austin to see the campus, I have taken a few too many shots in a bar and gotten friendly with another girl who was looking for a housemate during the full term.”

“Yeah?” He sounds amused. “You do a hell of a lot better than me.”

You tuck the phone between your ear and shoulder as you move to the sink and drain the pasta. “Aw, c’mon. You’ve got friends.”

“I’ve got a friend,” he clarifies.

Placing the pot back on the stove, you find yourself smiling without meaning to. “Yeah, well, I’d love to meet them.”

“You will,” he says.

“So. Ranch or bungalow?”

“More like a shotgun shack,” he snorts. “Just… don’t need a lot of space for one guy.”

You frown. “You live alone?”

“Oh, I had a couple girlfriends,” he says dismissively. “Nothing lasted very long, but I’ve never made an enemy out of them.”

“It’s always nice to know they won’t break in with a knife to claim revenge for how you've jilted them.”

“No, never. They’d break in with a shotgun. This is Texas.” You both share a round of laughter as you shake a package of neon-orange cheese-like substance into your macaroni. “What about you?” he asks. “Do I need to break out my shotgun?”

A part of you warms, illuminates, even though you know he’s joking. “Prospects are thin,” you tell him. “I’ve had a few boyfriends, but they’ve all felt…”

“Like idiots?” he supplies.

“Like kids,” you say with a scoff. “They were never really up for being with a girl who works, studies, volunteers, takes care of her mom, and takes care of two homes. I get it, I do. A relationship isn’t really in the cards.”

“You’ve got plenty of time,” he says warmly. “I’m sorry you had to grow up so fast.”

“Don’t be.” It may be true, but you never resented your mother. How could you? She provided for you your whole life until the sickness worsened; she dedicated her love and her life to you, and she was your best friend. You’re happy to be the one to provide for her, in a way, now that she's gone. “She’d want me to be happy. Happiness is moving far away from this place.”

“Too big-city for your taste?”

You settle down at your one-person dining table—your couch—and stretch the phone cord. “Something like that.”

The day before your flight, you cry to him for the first time over the phone.

“I… I…” Your chest is heaving, your vision blurry with tears, your hand clutching the receiver so tightly that your skin stretches taut over your knuckles.

Your forehead is pressed to the wall as you sit with your knees to your chest on the floor. You can't breathe. There's not enough air in the room to fill your lungs. You want to sink cleanly through the floor and feel your bones melt, disperse into the foundation. You want to put your organs through a sieve so they’ll uncoil. It’s the only way your traitorous body will loosen with relief.

“Kiddo—”

You can hardly hear him. You’re drowning, grasping for the surface. “I can't leave her.”

How could you possibly think it’s fair to her to up and leave the only city you've ever known? The city you grew up in, the city that housed all your memories… How could you think for a second that moving away is honouring her memory? “I can’t… I can’t just go to Texas. She’d hate me. She… I’m a terrible daughter. How can I—”

“Hey. Hey.” His voice is firmer now, assuming control, guiding you with a firm hand. “Can you hear me, sweetheart?”

You suck in a rattling breath and hiccup. “Yeah.”

“Good. That’s good. Can you put your hand on your heart for me?”

“Wha—what?”

“I've got my hand on mine. Go on, kiddo.” You lift your free hand to your chest and press down, your heart hammering under your palm. “You feel that heartbeat?”

“Yeah,” you croak.

“Mine’s going nice and slow. Can you imagine a nice, slow heartbeat?”

You nod, even though he can't see, but he still says, “Good. I know we're far apart, but just imagine you’ve got my heartbeat. Take it from me.”

And it's nothing like any advice you've ever received, but it's working. You picture a slowing heart, calm and content, and feel yours gradually ebb. For a while, you can't speak, your mouth dry as cotton, your fingers loosening around the receiver.

Then, “You still with me?”

All you can do is breathe out a hoarse Thank you.

“Kiddo?”

“Yeah?”

“You need a ride from the airport?”

Your laugh is somewhat wet and teary. “That would be nice.”

“Give me the time. I’ll be there.” You can hear a smile in his voice. “I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”

“Me, too.”

Hanging up always makes you ache a little bit—right in your throat. You always feel like you have to punch your insides back into place, but it’s good. It will be good.

You have his complexion. You definitely have his smile.

You see him before he sees you, but that’s because he’s holding up a sign with your name on it. Seeing him allows you to put a face to a name, but it also jars you into a halt. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt and even from yards away, you can see the slight tremor in his hands. You decide to stop torturing him and walk right up, rolling your suitcase to a stop next to you.

His eyes meet yours, and he knows. You know he does. For a moment, it becomes clear neither of you know what the fuck to say. He assesses you, his gaze sweeping over your face, and his eyes tear up when you break into a smile.

“Hi.”

His laugh is raspy. “Hi.”

You step forward and wrap your arms around his torso. His breathing hitches into a choked sob, and his hand settles in your hair. “It’s good to see you,” you tell him, your cheek squished against his chest.

“You look so much like her,” he says into your hair.

“I don’t know.” You laugh a little. “You smiled, and I saw myself.”

When you pull away, he takes your carry-on and suitcase. “You don't have to—”

“I plan on making up for lost time,” he says pointedly. “What kinda man would I be if I didn’t start with a couple bags?”

“Smart,” you hum, following him outside the airport to his car. It’s a beat-up truck, the exact type you’d expect a contractor to drive. “Work your way up to the hard stuff.”

“You have something in mind?”

“Oh, yeah.” You settle into the truck next to him. “A million boxes that haven’t arrived yet.”

“Your papers are all in order,” says Cindy from Academic Counselling. Her smile is bright and she is kind, but she keeps her glasses attached to a chain so she won't lose them, even though she can't be a day over 35. “So, don’t worry about the statement of account, because your scholarship should cover it. We’ll need your photo for your student ID card, but all you have to do is submit that before the term begins. We look forward to having you here.”

You shake her hand and hope she doesn't notice that you're shaking. After thanking her one too many times and accepting one too many University of Texas lanyards from various staff members who are thrilled about having a new scholarship student (and a new sob story about a recently-dead parent), you step out of the Student Services building into the fresh air.

It’s early September in Austin, which means it feels somewhat like January and April and (not quite as hot as) August in Austin. The sun is out today, and it brings your blood to a low simmer, the rays dancing on your skin as you take the scenic route back to the parking lot. Under the cover of trees, you listen to the leaves rustle and the birds cry overhead. Tucking all three of your lanyards (all in varying degrees of burnt orange and white) into your bag, you fish out your keys and slide into your car.

For a moment, you rest your forehead on the steering wheel and take three deep, calming breaths, like Jill used to tell you. You’ll miss her yoga sessions, but in the spirit of being your closest friend back in New York, she recorded an entire feature film’s worth of videos and sent you on your way with the CDs. They’re still in boxes, along with most of your belongings.

You pull into the parking lot of Sandy's Bar just after 4 in the afternoon. Shuffling through the staff entrance, whose door doesn’t seem to open all the way, you hurriedly change into your black skirt and polo shirt and stuff your purse into your locker.

“How’d the meeting with the Hand of God go?” asks Rob, shouldering his way into the staff room with a large box marked FRAGILE. You clear a place on the table for him to set it down, and the popping of his joints as he stands upright thanks you.

“They're perfectly nice there,” you tell him. Rob is probably too old to be working a bar job, and he's probably more suited to a life as a bouncer with his huge, burly frame, but he’s worked every shift with you since you started last week, and he makes you feel safe. He walks you to your car after each shift and keeps an eye on would-be handsy patrons. “I think they’re excited to promote me on all their brochures. There’s something alluring about a girl with a dead mom, making her way through college alone.”

Rob chuckles. “Did you at least get some merchandise?”

“If I ever take up a second job as a hotel manager, I’ll have plenty of lanyards to hold all my keys.”

“Get out there, smartass. Gotta serve the alcoholic public.”

You salute him and settle yourself behind the bar. There are two men nursing pints of lager on the other side when you tap out Heather from her shift. She sighs happily, patting your shoulder as she makes her way out the way you came in, already massaging her own neck. “Good evening, fellas,” says Rob to the men behind the bar. “Here for the game?”

“Longhorns kick off tonight,” says one of them. The other’s eyes are glued to the body television at the end of the bar. “If they're even half as bad as they were last season, there’ll be a parade in the streets.”

Sandy’s is not actually owned by Sandy: something you discovered when you interviewed with Rob the day after you touched down in Texas. Sandra is the name of his wife, who does not work in a bar but in a law firm. It’s a decent bar, which means it’s old and there are always plumbing issues, but the beer is good. And there’s always a game on the television.

An hour into your shift, the crowd finally kicks up. The game is still in the first quarter, and the Longhorns are—predictably—losing. Outside, the dirt parking lot is full, and the neon sign is beginning to illuminate the pinkish sky.

Around seven o’clock, your father walks in.

“Hey!” You break into a grin and wave him over. “How was work?”

“Hey, sweetheart.” He leans over the bar and kisses your cheek, settling into the stool across from you. “You know work: pourin’ concrete and fillin’ holes.”

“And you do it beautifully. You want a beer?”

“Actually, yes. Please. I’m not driving tonight.”

You lift your brows. “Why’s that?”

“My friend decided to tag along.” He jerks his head in the direction of the bathroom near the entrance. “Had to handle business first.”

You set a bottle of his favourite Sam Adams amber in front of him and lean over the bar. “Does your friend know I exist?”

He laughs, toasting his beer to you in thanks. “Oh, he knows plenty.”

Your eyes narrow playfully. “That doesn’t sound like a good thing.”

“It’s not,” says a new voice. A gruff voice. “Can only go up from here.”

Your eyes slide to the newcomer. You cannot help but let your mouth drop to compensate for the air that’s been punched out of your lungs. It isn't that you expected your dad to inform you that his best friend was devastatingly handsome; it's just—

Shit. It’s devastating. He’s tall, tanned, and has wide, strong shoulders that taper to a fit but soft belly; the olive T-shirt he’s wearing stretches nicely around those upper arms like he's instigating the fabric into tearing. His eyes are coffee-brown, but they aren't bitter. They glimmer a bit when he smiles, and the lines around them indicate he’s close in age to your father. His tousled dark brown hair is peppered with grey, especially in his moustache and the patchy beard. He runs his fingers absently through it as he looks at you, his eyes dipping low and then flicking back up to your face.

Your father claps the man on the back. “This is Joel Miller.”

“Hi, Joel Miller.” You beam at him and shake his outstretched hand. His hand is larger than yours and his fingers are calloused, but he holds your hand with a firm grip and doesn't break eye contact. “I’d ask what you like to drink, but you're responsible for this old man’s life tonight.”

Joel chuckles. You can still feel the imprint of his palm when you drop yours to your side. “I’ll behave,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He’s got the same Texan lilt as your dad, but it’s more pronounced. You wonder if you sound like the New Yorkers you grew up around. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Joel. How do y—”

Rob barks your name. “You got other customers, sunshine.” He gives your dad a pointed look. “Happy reunions later, gentlemen. Don’t steal away my moneymaker.”

Your father flips him the bird, but you roll your eyes good-naturedly and send an apologetic smile their way. The Longhorns make their first touchdown, sending an uproar through the crowd around the television. People are playing pool in the corner and others are digging into Sandy’s best cheeseburgers at the scuffed tables. It’s unfamiliar and it’s warm, but you’re beginning to learn the regulars’ names. You’re beginning to memorise the streets.

You’re beginning to remember that you deserve to have a life.

Joel watches. He can’t help it.

He’s known Mike since they started working together, fresh-faced and a little naïve about what it really took to run a business. He’s mentioned his daughter so many times that it started to feel like grasping at a scrap of paper on the wind: something unreachable, intangible. An opportunity he’d never get back. Joel never expected Mike would have this. You. Here, with a radiant smile, without resentment or malice, living in his city and rebuilding your life.

Joel’s happy for Mike. He really is. He just never expected you to look the way you do.

Pretty. Really fucking pretty.

You move behind the bar like you own it. Your uniform is simple. A short—short and tight—black skirt and a black polo shirt, all of the buttons undone. You’re diligent with your patrons, refilling when asked and monitoring when necessary, your smart and incisive eyes scanning the entire bar while you engage in your menial tasks. You have a habit of tucking your hair behind your hair even when it’s not in your face.

You move like water, and your eyes hold something old. Undefinable. Joel does his best to focus on his friend’s casual drabble, or the football game, or anything else. But his eyes keep drifting back to you, his hand going to his beard and rubbing at the grey patches there.

He doesn't know why he watches. Maybe he never thought he'd see the day his best friend found the daughter he’s talked about for so long. Maybe he wants to assess your feelings, see if he can map them out. But when he lets his gaze linger, he sees your smile in those eyes, and it engulfs any worry. You’re independent. You're used to putting on that front. It’s frustrating that he can't see past it.

Thankfully, an uproar from the corner of the bar draws his gaze away.

“Fuck you.”

“Nah, man, fuck you!”

“Don’t be such a dick. Pay up.”

“In your dreams.”

“Hey.” Joel frowns. You’re already there, placing yourself between the two burly men fighting by the pool table. “What’s going on, Henry?” you ask the older man.

“This… this fuckin’ asshole cheated!” replies Henry, gesturing wildly to the other man. “Covered the pocket with his fuckin' fingers on the eight ball. Now he owes me the money.”

“I didn't cheat,” says the other man, surging forward and knocking you aside. Next to Joel, Mike hops off the stool and leaves his beer behind, his jaw twitching as he heads for the centre of the conflict.

“Yes, you did. I would have won,” insists Henry.

The other man scoffs. “Yeah. Maybe you're just a lousy shot.”

Mike shoves the guy square in the middle of his chest. “Play nice,” he warns.

You turn to Henry and fold your arms over your chest. “How much did he owe you if you won?”

“Twenty bucks.” Henry’s grey fireman’s moustache twitches.

You face the other man. “And you don’t want to pay up.”

“I’m not paying him shit,” says the guy. Joel rolls his eyes.

“Then you’ll both pay,” you decide. “Twenty bucks cover charge for starting shit in Sandy’s. And pushing me,” you add to the other man.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Twenty bucks.” You pluck the cues from the men’s meaty hands and rack them on the wall. “No more fighting.”

Joel watches the men reluctantly sidle up to the bar and fish twenties from their wallets. His gaze shifts to you and Mike, who briefly squeezes your shoulder and asks if you're all right. You shrug him off with a smile and a playful shove to the shoulder. I can handle it, Joel gleans from the shape of your mouth.

He thinks you can. He just can't help but think that if Mike didn't intervene, he himself may have even decked that asshole for pushing you aside.

“So. Tell me how you two met.”

Your dad’s in the bathroom and there's a lull in service—the game is in the fourth quarter and the Longhorns are down 24-7—so you decide to take the opportunity. It’s only polite.

Joel’s drinking root beer from a bottle Rob found at Bloom’s: it's retro and somewhat nutty (is root beer supposed to taste nutty?) but it's better than a fucking virgin cocktail. He’s got a habit of maintaining eye contact even while drinking. It’s intimidating, but it’s gentle, and you guess it has something to do with his warm brown eyes.

Joel examines you for a moment, as if he hasn't been doing so all fucking night. Your chin is in your palm and you're looking at him with a vested interest in what he has to say. It’s so charming that he doesn't think he could say no if he wanted to.

“The exciting version,” he says, “is that we bumped into each other in this very bar and made a bet. If I beat him at a game of darts, he’d go half-in on my business proposal.”

“Your business proposal,” you hum. “Which was…?”

“A business.” Joel takes another swig. “We both had the skills and we were both strapped. So I beat him, and we signed the paperwork.”

“That”—you lean in, giving him one hell of a mischievous smile—“is not the exciting version. Exciting would be… I don’t know, a duel at dawn.”

Joel lifts his brows. “I’ve never pointed a gun at him, but it's never too late to try, I guess.”

“To trying new things, then.” You lift the rag in your hand like you're making a toast. “I’m glad he has you, Joel. I mean it. It’s… nice to know he isn't lonely here.”

Joel sits up a little straighter, his fingers tracing the path down his strong nose. You watch it happen, studying the slope, the movement, the way his biceps flex when he wraps his hands around the bottle once more. “Do you—” He stops himself to clear his throat. “Did you have someone? Back in New York?”

You look down and take your bottom lip between your teeth. Joel watches the movement and takes great pains to flick his eyes back up to yours. “My mom,” you tell him. “She got sick, and couldn't beat it. She always wanted me to follow my dreams, and she knew that being with her every day never let me. Trust me, I didn't want to leave her.” A mirthless laugh escapes you. “I still carry all her medical bills to remind me she's still here. I just never expected… to find my dad.” You meet Joel’s eyes again and smile. “And if you were asking if I had a boyfriend, the answer’s no.”

Joel’s blood thrums along with his pulse at your boldness. He can feel his cheeks warming under your gaze. Your lashes flutter when you blink owlishly at him, your polo shirt unbuttoned just enough to expose the swell of your breasts. Your body is young, soft, smooth—

He swallows, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob. The air in the bar has been sucked out through a wind tunnel; both of you simply watch one another breathe. Your collar grows hot and sticky, while Joel takes another sip of his shitty root beer to cool down. He clears his throat to ready himself for a civil reply, but your father comes back to rescue you both in time.

“Talkin’ about me?”

“Apparently, you can’t throw darts for shit.” You’re the first to gather back your composure and go back to wiping down the counter. But you look up briefly and Joel is still looking at you, a glimmer in his eye you can almost call dangerous, and your body hums.

You, he thinks, will only get me in trouble.

#pedro pascal #kiwisbell's fics #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #dbf!joel #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #whiskey sour #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #tlou hbo

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multimuseficreblogs · 1 year

Text

❅ pedro characters a-j ↳ including pedro pascal, dave york, dieter bravo, dio morrissey, din djarin, ezra, frankie morales, jack "agent whiskey" daniels, javi gutierrez, javier pena & joel miller ❅ pedro characters k-z ↳ including pedro pascal, marcus moreno, marcus pike, maxwell lord, max phillips, pero tovar, tim rockford, zach wellison

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deardjarin · 1 year

Text

save a horse (ride a cowboy)

agent whiskey x f!reader

sometimes you get a little… jealous

words: 1.5k

warnings: smut, office sex, mentions of voyeurism

⋆⭑✦⭑⋆

You know your partner.

You know how he flirts with most people he meets, but you also know how he would never be unfaithful to you. But, you can’t help but get a bit jealous when you hear him tease other girls.

You checked in two women for a meeting with the Agent: an older lady and a young college student who both work for a private investigation company. You can hear the younger girl giggling through the glass door- giggling. You’re sure Whiskey is pulling his usual tricks to strike a deal with the ladies.

You find yourself gripping your pen harder than usual.

The meeting ends at precisely 4:35.

The women kindly bid their goodbye, but the younger’s face is bright red.

Frustrated, you input the time into your system.

You smooth out your pencil skirt and fix your hair when you stand up. The room is awfully quiet; you need a certain Statesman agent to break the silence.

The automatic door opens with a quiet swish, revealing Whiskey sitting behind his desk. He’s staring intently at his computer, most likely sending off emails to his fellow agents.

“Jack Daniels.”

Whiskey beams, leaning back in his office chair.

“Well hell-o little miss,” He drawls, slightly tilting his head to the side. He beckons you with one hand, and pats his thigh twice. “C’mere, sugar.”

You keep your gaze firm, even though you want to stumble over to him like a newborn deer and collapse in his arms. Your heels click softly on the polished hardwood as you approach him, and instead of slipping into his lap, you stand behind him. Resting your hands on his shoulders, you give him a little squeeze.

“Did you have a productive meeting?” You ask, kissing his cheek. A bit of stubble pokes your lips, but you don’t mind.

“I sure did,” He replies, smoothing the fabric of his pants.

You twist a lock of his dark hair between your fingers, and trail more kisses down the sharp line of his jaw. He exhales a shaky breath, tightening his grip on the arms of the chair.

“Were those girls nice, Agent?” You continue. Whiskey shifts in his seat, noticeably aroused.

“They sure were- sweetheart, may I ask why you’re interrogatin’ me right now?”

You hum, running your fingers over the knot of his tie.

“I’m sure if you’d given them the chance, they’d be all over you,” You comment. “I mean, who wouldn’t? That’s what happened with us.”

The corner of Whiskey’s mouth turns upwards.

“Is that what this is all about?” He asks.

You maneuver yourself around and slip onto his lap, straddling his thick thighs with yours. His calloused hands immediately fly to your waist, steadying you.

“Maybe,” You breathe, cupping his face in both of your hands.

“You and I both know that I’d never touch another woman as long as you’re with me,” He says. His fingers find their way under the hem of your pencil skirt, and his touch burns.

“That so?” You ask, trying not to melt at his words. He hums, turning his head to the side and kissing your palm.

“You gonna let me show you how much you mean to me?”

You nod, breathless, and kiss him.

His kisses are always sloppy, a little messy, but they’re so full of passion that you don’t mind. Accidentally, you knock his cowboy hat off of his head.

“Are-“ You whine when his lips meet your neck, mustache rubbing against your sensitive skin. “Are you going to lock the door?’

“Maybe I’ll keep it open,” Whiskey drawls between kisses. “I’m sure those girls would love to see you, squirmin’ like a bug on my lap. Or maybe that shy little intern- what was his name? Frankie? I see the way he looks at you when he brings up papers.”

You moan, grinding your clothed cunt against his thighs.

“Jack…”

You’ve given up on your original plan. Whenever his hands- oh, his hands, cup your ass, you lose any semblance of rational thought.

Whiskey pulls away, making sure you’re balanced, and fiddles with the top button of your blouse. You usually keep a few undone because Whiskey likes it, but it’s clear he wants to see a little more than what you’re showing.

“Just gorgeous,” He groans when he fiddles with the last button, leaving your stomach and bra exposed.

“C-Can you lock the door?” You ask bashfully, shivering when Whiskey’s fingers brush over the curves of your hips.

“‘Course,” He says. Wrapping his arm around your waist to keep you steady, he leans forward and logs on to his high tech computer. There’s a faint beeping sound from the keypad outside of the frosted glass door.

“Make me so fuckin’ hard, baby,” Whiskey groans, gripping your wrist and guiding your hand to his crotch. As expected, your hand brushes against the hard outline of his cock, trapped in the fabric of his jeans. “Feel that? S’all for you.”

A strangled moan falls from your lips, and you give him a gentle squeeze.

“Let me-“ You stop mid-thought and hastily undo the clasp of his belt. The metal clang interrupts the sound of your heavy breathing: the only sound in the office. Your hands shake as you fiddle with his zipper, and with a deep breath you pull out his cock from his boxers.

Whiskey moans deeply at your touch. He’s warm and hard and you want him inside you so bad.

“Stand up, baby, take off your skirt,” He orders. You can see him clench his jaw, most likely restraining himself from standing up and throwing you against the desk.

Your legs are shaky as you unzip the back of your skirt, pulling the black fabric downwards. Watching you with dark eyes, your partner slowly pumps his cock.

“Sit back down, princess,” He murmurs, patting his thigh with his free hand.

Damn straight, You think. I’m his princess.

“Jack, I- I want to feel you.”

You notice the way his dick has left a wet spot on his dress shirt- shit, now he’s going to have to go home and change, all because of you-

“Mm!” You exclaim when Whiskey’s rough fingers find themselves inside your panties, pressing against your swollen clit. You have to grip onto his broad shoulders while he massages your wet cunt.

You’re a little upset when he pulls his hand away.

“Soaked.”

You feel like the air gets knocked out of your chest when he brings his fingers to his lips, tasting you.

“So sweet,” He growls. “Sweet like a goddamn Georgia peach. Wish I could taste you all day.”

His words feel like they make your body temperature rise to a thousand.

“Whiskey,” You half scold, half moan.

“Fuckin’- wanna bend over the desk? Let me fuck you from behind?”

You shake your head, gripping onto the expensive fabric of his suit jacket.

“Let me ride you, Jack.”

Whiskey throws his head back and swears. You let out a breathy laugh; you, and only you, can have him wrapped around your finger.

“I’ll let you do whatever you want,” He blurts, cock twitching against his stomach. “You gonna ride this cowboy, sugar?”

“Yeah,” You breathe, and your thighs shake as you lift your core enough so he can slip inside you. Whiskey holds your panties to the side while he guides the tip of his cock to your entrance. The two of you moan as you drop downwards, your ass pressing against his thighs.

“Shit,” He grunts through his teeth.

You take a moment to catch your breath before moving.

Jack keeps his hands on your waist, but leans forward to chase your lips. You cup his face in your hands, mindlessly kissing him while you move your hips. He fills you up so well, stretching and stuffing you in a way no one else can. You’re no stranger to this, in fact you’re quite skilled, but your legs still burn from the effort. It’s nothing compared to the way Whiskey’s cock slides in and out of you, though.

“Just like that,” He mumbles in between kisses.

You clench around him every time your clit brushes against his jeans. You’re sure Whiskey can feel it too; he squeezes his eyes shut each time it happens.

“S’good, sweetheart,” He praises. “Ready to cum?”

You shout in pleasure, nodding vigorously. His fingers find their way back to your clit, rubbing quick circles against you.

Your whole body shakes from your release.

It’s embarrassingly quick, but Jack keeps mumbling “that’s a good girl” in your ear. He continues to thrust into you, his movements becoming sloppy and erratic.

You slump against his chest while he finishes deep inside you, hips stuttering against your skin.

“Ain’t never had a better girl than you,” He says softly, brushing the back of his hand against your cheek. You smile; he always gets soft after he’s with you.

Before you can respond, the computer lights up.

Incoming Video Call: Agent Champagne

#hello gorgeous!#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey smut #jack daniels x reader #dearest writing

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ventitititi · 1 year

Note

😫 The Bathtub Sex post!!! 🫣 If it's not to much to ask, may we have a pt2 w/ Venti, Kaeya and Zhongli? 🙏🙏

I've gotchu nonnie!! Tysm for the ask<33 (tbh, i was already entertaining doing a pt.2 with zhongli so this works out for me too xD)

Tw/cw: NSFW content, bath sex

Venti

- tbh probably drinks in the bath and decided to break the habit by indulging in you instead<3

- is clingy/needy, marking up your collarbones, neck, shoulders, anywhere he can get to he'll leave a mark tbh

- he just wants everyone to know his darling dearest is not on the market</3

- probably has you ride him tbh, sitting back to enjoy the view as you bounce in his lap, his thumb finding its place at your clit, not minding the splashing water around you two

- definitely lets out low whines and moans right into your ears, enjoying the effect his sounds have on you. He is a bard after all, and what is this but another symphony?

Kaeya

- a TEASE, takes his time getting into the tub with you, puts on a little show as he strips, don't think he doesn't know how you look at him

- shoots you a playful wink before climbing in, opening his arms in invitation for you to relax against his chest

-honestly probably only fingers you in the tub, but takes his time doing so. He's nothing if not thorough when it comes to your pleasure

-very attentive to your whines and reactions, will be ready to go for a proper round once you're out of the tub (probably fucks you over the counter tbh)

Zhongli

- He's another i think would indulge in leaving marks on your skin, although a lot less than venti

- only a small hickey or bite mark every so often

- prefers pressing kisses to your skin, hips rocking into yours with sinful groans

- honestly the bath is probably so hot its steaming (provided you yourself are comfortable with that temperature)

- will make sure to leave his presence ingrained into you, leaving you empty and aching once you're finally done </3

- overly sweet the entire time, he just wants you to know how much he loves you, fingers teasing your nipples and pelvis grinding into your clit, rocking into you at a steady pace

- a little headcanon but he's probably really happy/sated when you're done and lets out low, rumbling purrs from deep in his chest, eyes crinkling in a smile if you comment on how much you like the sound

#: ̗̀➛lost is a good place to startೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ #: ̗̀➛whiskey in a teacupೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #zhongli x reader #zhongli smut #zhongli x reader smut #kaeya x reader #kaeya smut #kaeya x reader smut #venti x reader #venti smut #venti x reader smut #fem!reader

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pascalsbby · 9 months

Text

Little Bunny

Javier Peña x you

Summary: 2.1K Javier mistakes you for someone looking to make money. He doesn’t know that your dad is his boss - Or - Extremely frisky Javier gets bratty reader on her knees and takes what he wants <3

Warnings: 18+ mdni, SMUT, age gap, flirty and sweaty Javier, face fucking, he takes what he wants, dominate & aggressive, darkish!javier, pet names, praise kink, dirty talk <3

Based on this ask from @justlulu : Hey, I LOVE your dark content 🩷 I was wondering if you write for Javi Pena too, and also if you take requests?

I do take requests!! Thank you for your kind words. This is my first Javier post. Please comment and let me know what ya’ll think! 🤍

You wanted his huge hands to pull you up to his mouth, light you on fire and suck whatever he needed from you. You’d burn for him, one look in your direction and you were sure.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

The store’s bell rings as the door opens, letting in more of the unforgiving summer air. Along with it comes a broad figure, cast in the shadow from the awning. A quaint “buenas,” was directed towards the register as the fluorescent lights flickered, taking him in too. The artificial glow on his sweat-covered skin dropped down the collar of his shirt. It was a darker pink, unbuttoned and covered in his swelter. Leather jacket atop.

You knew what he was right away. In the way he walked, scanned the room before even stepping two feet inside of it. This town was full of them. You knew who he was a few moments after. He turns towards you, eyes hidden behind yellow aviators. They were one of three prominent features gracing his face, the others being his nose and neatly trimmed mustache. Each guided his presence with a dignified assurance, leaving an indelible mark on anyone fortunate enough to gaze upon his countenance.

In other words, he was fucking beautiful. And he was fucking delusional if he thought the Ray Bans weren’t going to set him apart from the general public. They were his staple and they screamed, “I’m probably a fucking DEA agent.”

You’d heard of him too, Javier. Or Peña, in the stories your dad told you. “You could never tell anyone these things mi vida, I tell them to you because I want you to be safe while we’re here.” You’d spent too many times looking at the pictures on his desk, the ones he had put in front of you stating, “puedes confiar en estos hombres si lo necesitas.”

“You can trust these men if you need to.” Is that so? Since when have you been able to trust any man? Especially ones who look like that in a pair of fitted blue jeans. Especially ones who take you from everything you know and move you to a different country in order to ‘make sure you’re protected’.

The store was mostly empty besides you- and now him. His presence was heavy, not easy to ignore. He looked too pretty- and he looked like your next game piece.

His cologne immediately filled the air and was followed by what an entire pack of cigarettes must smell like. You wanted his huge hands to pull you up to his mouth, light you on fire and suck whatever he needed from you. You’d burn for him, one look in your direction and you were sure.

Javier must have felt you eating him up and you blush, feigning casual interest in the snacks in front of you. But he smirks as his lips part, catching you starring. “No he visto a nadie tan hermosa como tú en mucho tiempo.” Fuck.

He was in front of you, having already looked you up and down as he walked towards you. What a dog.

“I’m sorry?”

“Ah,” he chuckled, looking around. “You speak English.”

“I do.” At least you used to, before he spoke to you and you had to crane your neck upwards to meet his eyes. He had taken his sunglasses off at some point, you were too enamored by his waist to see much else.

“I said, ‘I haven’t seen anyone so beautiful in so long.’”

He swiped his thick thumb across his pouting lips while he waited for your response. That usually works, huh?

It did.

He was flirting with his bosses daughter. He had absolutely no idea who you were, where you were going after this. The power that you yielded, simply from the last name you held. You quietly laughed. He must think you’re full of information, by how hard he’s trying. Why wouldn’t you want to be full of him? He was trying to get something from you.

His demeanor shifted as he waited for a response. Not towards embarrassment, he doesn’t seem the type. More so towards, ‘Fuck. Maybe I came on a little too strong.”

You open your mouth, contemplating what to say next as your eyes return to his. A spark of something…lust? Recognition? No.

His gaze flickers before he turns his attention back to the snacks. He knows that this is the most important part of the conversation.

“I was thinking the same when I saw you walk through that door.” You surprised him. He sat down the crumpled bag and looked back at you.

“Is that so?” He started, but you interrupted, not wanting him to keep the conversation going and figure who you were, how young you were, that you weren’t worth a shit when it came to flirting. That you weren’t someone who couldn’t be an informant.

“Can I have one of those?” You pointed towards his crotch, meaning his back pocket where his tattered box of cigarettes sat against his ass. You watched as his smile spread, laughing beneath the deep breath he takes as he pulls them out and smacks them flat against his wide palm. He picks one and hands it to you.

He lowers his voice as he steps even closer. “You can have whatever you want, conejita. Let’s take this outside.”

You looked down at his fingers and imagined what they were capable of, how long they were. All of the spots inside of you that they could caress. You took the cigarette and looked into him.

“Let’s.”

You imagined Javier liked to keep his outside of work activities on the low. His dirty little secrets were easier to keep when he hid them behind the facade of work. Of doing good for the world. They also happened to do well with his cock. You wondered if he paid them, too.

Of course he does. He’s a gentleman. ‘Someone to rely on’.

You put it between your lips as he dug in his other pocket for his lighter. “How can you fit anything in those? Let alone find anything.”

“Hey, these jeans don’t look good on just anybody, baby.”

Baby.

You huff and he falls back, scrunching his eyebrows towards the setting sun as he lights his own cigarette, first. What a gentleman. The fine lines of his face soften after he takes a long hit.

His hands ghost your face as the click of the lighter ignites and the fire burns closely to your face.

“What’s your name, anyways?” You ask, pulling in the burn.

“Peña.”

“Do you have a first name? Or is the last one just cooler?” He smirks.

Both of you sat in silence for a moment, looking around the street at the children playing.

“S’not too safe for you out here right now.”

“Why’s that?”

“Mierda, eres difícil, ¿no? Just trust me.” He huffed out a laugh.

So you did. There were eyes everywhere, if need be. You said what he had been pining for the entire time.

“So take me home then, Peña.”

He wasted no time walking you to where he was staying, the warmth of his palm not leaving your lower back until you made it to his front door. He had been trying to get small things out of you during the stroll. Where were you from? Why were you visiting? You didn’t give him much and you could tell it was bothering him. Every once in a while he would look down at you, his breath falling right into the ticklish spot on your ear. You wanted him.

It didn’t come as a surprise to either of you when he guided you in the door, shut it quickly and then grabbed the back of your head, moving his lips against yours.

He was soft and gentle, but his grip in your hair was stern- he’d seen the world, felt it. Watched it bleed, be unmerciful. He kissed you on your lips, then once on your cheek as an apology for not being able to contain himself. He kissed between your collar bones, lovingly, moving down to your breasts.

“How old are you again?”

“20’s. Old enough.” You were breathless. His lips were kissing at your sweat.

“Mhmm,” he moans against your skin.

“Gonna have to fuck it out of you, aren’t I?”

“I don’t give away information for free, Peña.”

“Get on the bed mi conejita.” He growled. For his line of work, he wasn’t very patient.

It was dark in his room, and the entirety of it smelled of him. You wanted to sink into his sheets and cover yourself in him. You made your way to the bed in the right corner of the room, the only light from the orange streetlights, barely on from the newly descending darkness.

He had been a flirt since the moment he opened his mouth, but he saved himself for the darkness. You prop yourself up, sitting at the middle edge of his bed with your feet on the ground, waiting for instruction. He seems like he’s the type who wants to be in charge.

His shirt is off quickly, and the amber light hugs the curves of his chest, his hips. His lips touch exactly what he wants them to, nothing more. You wanted them to wrap around you like they had his cigarette, before.

His nose kisses you, too. He kisses like he never will again. And he doesn’t, not really. Not many people have touched his lips, as compared to the rest of him.

He’s an angry man, it runs through his veins, and you can feel it in his force. But he wants so badly to be calm, still, soft, in the way he caresses you. How can you not be angry at the world when you’ve seen what he has?

The thing is, you have. Not to his extent, surely. But you’d seen a lot pass your dads desk.

“Now tell me, cariño, what do you need to give me what I want?” You scoffed as he pulled away, removing his arms from either side of you on his bed.

“Tell me your first name and then let me suck your cock.”

Who was winning at this game?

You pushed him forwards and made enough space in front of him for your body, as you slid down to your knees, hitting the hollow wood harder than anticipating as you unbuckle his belt. You go ahead and take it all the way off, kissing his stomach as you fidget with his zipper. His hair peaks out over the top of the layers as you impatiently pull his jeans lower.

He’s so hard that it’s making it difficult to take them off, cock pressing against the tight denim. He gasps softly as your hand reaches him. You pull his already showing head out of his boxers, licking your lips before wetting his tip and licking up anything he was already willing to give you.

“Javier,” He gasps his own name.

“Mmm,” you moan as you hold it in your hands. It’s heavy, long. His balls are heavier as you grasp them, only imagining the sound they’ll make slapping against your cunt.

You’d teased him enough.

“Javier,” you were whining now. He groaned at his name on your tongue, mixing with his precum.

“Hush and open your throat.”

You pushed your wet tongue into the bottom of your mouth, opening your lips wider in attempt to take him easily. But this wasn’t going to be easy, considering the size of him.

You let the saliva pool in your mouth and he lifts an eyebrow, asking for permission. You look up at him and nod.

Immediately his hand are in your hair, moving them around as he finds the right grip to fuck himself into your mouth.

“Too big baby? I thought you were a big girl? Old enough? That’s so cute, it’s not even all the way in. Let’s see if you can do it, hmm?” He lifts his head and it falls backwards as he takes your throat completely, your neck and body jumping at the intrusion. You find yourself lifting your hands to his hips, trying to find anything to hold onto as he fucks himself down your tongue and into the back of your mouth.

“So pretty, little bunny.” Finally revealing the nickname he gave you. “But I’m not finished yet.” You sputter around him, opening your throat even wider.

Your knees are carrying a dull ache, and you almost wish you hadn’t asked to suck him off. You remove yourself from him and attempt to catch your breath.

He continues carving out the shape of his cock in your throat and you relax, letting his angry head hit the back of your neck.

His voice is so deep, vibrating even, but his whimpers aren’t as they slip past his lips. He’s ruthless in his attempt.

“All done, sweet thing?” He pulls himself from your throat and looks at the connecting spit.

“I’m not. If this mouth isn’t gonna tell me what I want to hear than I might as well fill it as I see fit, yes?”

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

Masterlist

Ya’ll, I saw this ask, thought about Javier smoking, and then this happened within 45 minutes…

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