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katiexpunk · 1 day

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Let's go babes, the smut treasure is calling

chokehold

1.6k / pairing: tattoo artist daddy dom!joel miller x sub f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | notifications blog | ko-fi

chapter summary: Joel teaches you how to face fuck.

chapter warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, unspecified age gap, established relationship, reader is described to have hair and is able-bodied (but otherwise, unspecified), swearing, dirty talk, smut, lots of pet names (sweetheart, angel, little bunny, etc.), dacryphilia (kink = getting aroused by tears), dom/sub dynamics, innocence kink, praise kink, degradation kink, daddy kink, face fucking/oral (m!receiving), size kink

A/N: very lightly edited, but I wanted to give a little love to joel and little bunny since the third chapter is taking me some extra time! divider is by @firefly-graphics! and always a thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for reading this over and endless encouragement <3

Joel’s eyes roll to the back of his head, slow and steady, because that’s just the pace you’re taking him.

Facefucking is still experimental to you. He’s your first partner, and you’re nervous to impress.

What you don’t know is that Joel would never judge your inexperience. All sexual pleasures involve trust, praise, and a little direction.

Joel stokes your hair affectionately, growing more possessive as he gently guides your mouth up and down his thick length.

You can feel the power shift as your knees dig into the floor, eyes hesitantly meeting his while you try to take more of his shaft. You want more, you’re willing to push your limits.

Joel seems to sense your loss of inhibitions, your twinkling eyes meeting his whiskey ones.

“Want me to use that pretty little mouth of yours?” Joel’s words vibrate through the room. He pulls his cock from your lips, smearing his tip from one corner of your mouth to the other as you catch a breath. His warm pre-cum slips onto your tongue, and all you crave is more.

Watching you desperately try to get him past your parted lips again is enough to force out a dark, low chuckle.

“Wanna hear y’say it, baby.”

Your impatient whine and eager hands on the back of his thighs make you beg, “Please, Joel,” in that wrecked voice that he loves so much.

Joel presses his hips forward once more, watching his tip slip past your puckered lips and back into the hot heat of your mouth. “Yeah, right where I belong, huh, baby? Right where that cock belongs.” Joel’s hand comes to cradle your face, tracing the bulge of his length against your cheek with a sinister smirk.

The further he pushes on, your tells start to show. He admires the way your eyelashes flutter, gagging and coughing around him but insistent not to let yourself off. A stray tear slips down your cheek. He collects it with his thumb and brings it past his lips, tasting what you give him.

“Even your tears taste pretty, sweetheart,” he mutters predatorily, watching as your eyes blow wide, shyly moaning against his length.

“When it gets to be too much, try to stay on. Swallow around me,” Joel gently nods his head. “Go on.”

You obey, swallowing around the thick trunk of his cock, throat feeling a little looser now. You’er oh so willing to take on the discomfort just to please him. Anything for Joel, because he’d do anything for you.

As his hips pick up a lazy pace, Joel encourages you to drop your hands from the safety blanket of his thighs. Like the good girl you are, you ease them to the base of your spine and lay one wrist over the other. He’s tied you up in that position more times than he can count, allowing Joel to take control and use you as he pleases. Such a good fucking girl.

Tears pool along the top of your cheeks, the sight of glassy eyes igniting a fire deep in his belly. The overflow of saliva trickles out along the corners of your mouth, pooling down to his length and soaking the coarse hair on his balls.

Joel watches as you shift anxiously on your knees, eyes pleading because somehow you want more.

“Oh, honey,” he drapes in a degrading tone, stroking your hair away from your wet face and letting you catch a breath as his hips halt. “Need more, don’t’cha, doll?” He drawls, cooing softly as you lay your head against his thigh. Your orbs lazily look to him and nod weakly, still measly sucking on his tip.

You bravely flick your tongue along his tip’s sensitive slit, toying at the idea of getting a rise out of Joel.

A hiss is released past his clenched teeth, his whiskey eyes turning wild. And then you do it again.

Joel’s hips jerk like that of a bucking bull. His hand in your hair turns to a fist, causing you to clench your eyes closed at the scorching prickle along your scalp. Joel scoffs as you fucking moan against him.

His grin turns wicked, twisted at the thought of you enjoying some rough love.

“Fuckin’ naughty, aren’t ya, little bunny? Yeah, bein’ a damn brat,” he chastises, watching as you frown around his tip and sucking it insistently. “Think m’gonna have t’finish deep down that pretty throat of yours, make ya choke on it,” he remarks as he repositions your head with a newfound need to punish.

Joel gathers your hair into two sets of pigtails, fisting them between his large palms. He watches you struggle to stay upright and drags you into position. “Keep that cock in your mouth, don’t let it go, sweetheart,” he gripes as you struggle to maintain him. It almost feels like a twisted game the way he nearly slips loose from your heat.

Your mouth was full, jaw aching for a break that was nowhere in sight. Your fingers intertwine to keep them locked at the very base of your spine, whining nonsense against his cock. Soaking wet and dripping onto the hardwood, your pussy clenches around the ghost of what is currently occupying your mouth.

You wanted to touch yourself so fucking bad. The self-discipline it took to keep your hands together makes your stomach churn. Your pearl twitches with enthusiasm, drenched in your own arousal.

The muscles in your thighs are tight, your chest heaving and causing your bare breasts to rise and fall at a quickened rate. The overflowing spit that drips down from his balls lands on your chest. Joel can’t seem to stop staring at the gleam.

Your nose brushes against his thick pubic hair as he buries your face against the base of his stomach, and you sputter up a cough. Lungs squeezing, throat tightening, you will yourself to swallow around him and stay right where you are. I’m yours, Joel. Please, take me, use me.

“Fuck,’ he growls upon yanking you off his cock, smirking widely as you gasp for lost breaths. “Love that goddamn throat,” Joel mutters before reaching past you and pulling your hands to the front of his thighs, which quickly form a home for you. It’s grounding, to feel him, to feel his blood pumping through his body, and etch mine on the inside of his upper thigh mindlessly.

“Got me so close, honey,” he starts, and you’re already eagerly nodding. Joel brings his thumb to your throat and slowly circles one spot against the column of your flesh. “Wanna feel myself right here, think you can do that, sweetheart?”

Your eyes soften at the depth he wishes to go, but you’d do anything for him. You nod shyly and drop your jaw, flattening your tongue just for him. Always for him.

Joel’s pace is gentle at first, working up a rhythm that has your throat molding perfectly around him. You gag each time he thrusts all the way, knowing when to swallow and when to breathe, Joel has taught you this new erotic art.

The saliva dripping down to the base of his cock greets your chin repeatedly. You hollow your cheeks around him, and he moans naughty filth.

“Such a pretty slut for this cock, make me feel so fuckin’ good- god damn,” Joel pauses with his length fully down your tight throat, grinding himself against your mouth as you clench your eyes close and gag. Joel places his thumb on that sacred spot against your neck, and he can feel his tip bulging against the column of your throat. You’re so fucking full of him, and it’s enough to make him spill.

The hold he has on your hair tightens, scalp prickling as you cry out along his length. Salt bitters your tongue, weakly swallowing back load after load of his warm, thick come. You swallow around his length and moan lowly, all muffled and messy for him as he crashes harshly through his own concocted orgasm.

Your nails etch half-moon shapes into the back of his thighs, keeping him there, pushing for him to cross the finish line. And it was all for you.

Tears of happiness stream down your face as you let him finish painting your throat, releasing with a dramatic pop as you do your best to swallow every last dribble. You’re careful as you give his sensitive tip a few sweet kitten licks. His hands are at the ready in your hair as he hisses harshly, ready to control you if it’s too much overstimulation for your poor old Daddy.

Sponging kisses down his softening length, you lay your head against his thigh, carding his fingers through your hair. A soothing hum leaves your throat, fluttering your eyes closed as his thumb comes along to brush away the stray tears.

It’s easier to ignore the throbbing between your legs now that Joel has found peace. Your heart pounds in your ears, and you listen only slightly as he begins to coo gentle affirmations for you.

Joel holds your hands and helps you stand, your arms already tiredly linking around his neck as you lay your head on his shoulder.

“Such a sweet girl,” he whispers, “always make Daddy so happy, you know that?” Your head bobbles loosely. His sweet remarks make your muscles even more pliant in his arms as he easily sweeps you off your feet and moves you to lie across the bed.

Joel takes all of you in. Sweat glistening along your temple, parted lips lacquered in spit, the extra effort it takes you to swallow, how perky your nipples are, and the slick that’s all but made a mess down your thighs.

“Shit, she’s so pretty f’me,” Joel whispers as you grin weakly.

“My turn now?” Your wrecked voice squeaks, to which Joel slowly nods, helping you pitch your legs up on the edge of the bed.

“Your turn now, little bunny.”

#call me picaso #or dickaso #or whatever you want #ahoyyyyy sluts

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katiexpunk · 2 days

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😵‍💫 nothing hotter than a man fucking you so good you can’t form words and then adding in a cocky line about not being able to hear you. This one nearly took me out, god damn.

Ruined!

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel is an old man who struggles to cum sometimes. You’ve got time to kill and a tight hole to fill.

Warnings: 18+. Peepaw brainrot + a dash of anorgasmia. Unprotected p-in-v, cockwarming, age gap, daddy kink.

Note: Finals are whooping my ass left & right. This is a quickie.

Word count: 1.2k | Part of the Waiting Game ‘verse

Surely he was hurting you now.

Joel Miller had a kink for many, many fun activities, but splitting a sweet young thing like you over his cock to the point you were almost in tears was just not one of them.

At the same time your poor, surely-bruised walls pulsed around his hardened length, he felt a pang of guilt. His balls were pressed against your ass like two lead weights, soaked with the remains of your third release, and his mind was at war with itself—keep fucking you like this? Pull out and offer his sincerest apologies for not being able to cum? A boy your age would’ve never had you waiting around like that, aching around his cock, much less begging for something as simple as a cumshot.

He decided to go straight to the source. Leaning over your prone body on the bed before him, he was careful not to rut his hips or jostle his dick around too much.

Joel pressed a hot, stubbled kiss to your cheek, then:

“‘S’it too much, baby? She need a break, maybe?”

Joel thumbed at that space where your body ended and his began and nearly lost his mind to the pearly-white slick that had accumulated with time. Two hours time, he had to remind himself while you moaned and writhed and bucked your ass back. Your cunt was choking him.

Crying, too.

Your eyes flew open the moment his words reached you.

“You kiddin’ me, Miller?! I could do this shit all day.”

Sometimes Joel forgot you were only in your twenties. Really, the thought only occasionally crossed his mind in moments like these—or when your father, his best friend, happened to bring you up—but when it did, it hit him hard. You were young. Lively. Surely far too spry and full of life to be messing around with a man as old as him.

Joel’s guilt ran almost commensurate with his pleasure when he felt you anchor your feet on the bed and start to fuck yourself back and forth over his still-throbbing dick.

Almost.

He planted a hand beside your head and grinned. He let you fuck him. Felt you pull off, crawl up the bed a little, then beckon him back to your body, where your ass was now pointing up and your back was arched in invitation.

Almost.

“You know I can’t sleep without your cum inside me.”

And you made a point to spread your knees and look behind you with a smile as sweet as Milo’s tea, fingers drumming a beat against the bedspread in anticipation.

“You do wanna fill me up, don’t you, daddy?” you teased.

Yeah, no. The guilt was gone. Joel could worry about being a depraved old man when he was done cumming.

Then he was back inside you, driving his hips until every last inch of him was wrapped snug within your wet and velvety embrace, and he sighed. A real protracted one, like the kind he was liable to exhale after climbing two flights of stairs, or else just hoisting himself off the sofa. Or lifting you in his arms and fucking you hard against the hood of his Bronco. Any time. Any place. You were kind enough to oblige him with the best cardio of his life, so the least Joel could do now was make you cum again.

He snatched your hands up in one of his own and placed your wrists at the base of your spine. With his other, free set of fingers he took to rubbing your clit gently.

“SON OF A—”

“—good girl.”

You let out a bloodcurdling scream into your pillow and secretly hoped this man’s dick would never deflate again. Not with the way he was sawing his thing back and forth and dragging you to the edge, circling your clit like you were the single most precious thing in the world to him.

“Oh, sweet pea, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Like he could feel the tears staining the cushion himself.

“Mmrooonme,” you cried into it, voice garbled by cotton.

“What’s’at, honey? Can’t hear ya.”

Joel then bent at the waist, pretending to be leaning in to hear you better, when really he knew he’d be digging in your guts with that big, bulbous head of his and making you squeal again. Hands still held captive behind you, you inched your chin back on the pillow so your moans could be heard even louder while Joel sped up.

“You— ruined me,” you repeated. Now clear as ever.

Joel tried to hide his smile and glanced down between your body and his. Then, while his ring finger joined the other two to make their tight, light circles, he returned,

“Ruined? Pussy feels just fine t’me.”

You’d kill him if he wasn’t so good at this. You turned your head more to meet his eyes from the corner of yours.

“No. Ruined me. For anyone else.”

Probably forever.

“Good.”

You knew he liked it that way.

You saw it in his eyes. Felt it in his touch. The hefty, broad, and greying Joel Miller had been loafing around on this earth long enough to know how to claim what was his. When his hips knocked yours to lay you flat on the bed, you already knew what was coming next.

First, his arms came to rest on either side of your body.

“Shit,” you whimpered.

Next, his lips went trailing down to your ear.

“Just a little more, sugar—that’s it,” he murmured while his hips sank in, and you felt that big, delicious stretch.

Then he released your hands so they were free to squeeze the sheets, and when they did, his moved over them—lacing his fingers through your own—and his lips pressed a kiss to your jaw. He held you in a tender grasp. His breath was hot on your neck, and the whole of his body was blanketing yours. Joel knew you liked it like that, which is why he made sure not to leave an inch of space in between. He was grunting, rutting, holding you close while his cock drilled a maddening pace inside you.

“You ruined me too, y’know,” he mumbled into your skin.

His nose was flush with the side of your cheek, nudging inward. Begging you to turn your head just a little more so he could kiss you. Weak as you were, you obliged.

And you moaned against that grey, stubbled chin of his when the thrusts above you had your cunt grinding the bed, rubbing that soft and helpless nub on the sheets.

“C’mon— let daddy have it,” he growled, “Let daddy have it and make it his, huh? That okay by you, baby?”

It was.

More than okay, as confirmed by the orgasm that tore through your body moments later while your teeth sank into the flesh of Joel’s lower lip and your cunt clenched and soaked over him whole. Joel wedged his tongue in your mouth and fucked you through it. His broad and callused hands were like iron around your own, holding you tight and keeping you still amidst a maelstrom of pleasure that combed over your every last nerve.

He licked into your mouth. Licked over it. Took the sick and distinct pleasure of knowing no one but him got to see you like this, with your jaw hanging slack and your eyes rolling back and your whines repeating quietly, ‘Daddydaddypleasedaddyfuckohfuckdontstop.’

Maybe ruined wasn’t such a bad thing to be at all.

#Joel miller smut #honestly a crime this man isn’t real

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katiexpunk · 2 days

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Let’s fucking goooooooooooo 🖤

Riddles

18+ account - minors do not interact

dave york x f!reader

Word Count: 3600ish+

Rating: E One-Shot Summary: You realize your husband may not be who you think he is (the most typical Dave York summary)

One-Shot Warning: established relationship, teasing, flirting, praise, dirty talk, pet names, fingering, semi-public smut (private balcony opera box baby!!) smutty flashbacks

Random Comment(s): I know nothing about the Opera and Vienna. Researching this made me feel like my boyfriend needs to take me to this hotel. Right? Readers dress was inspired by Lupita Nyong'o’s 2014 Oscar Dress. Also, the riddles I use in this story were TOTALLY leveraged from the world of Google. There is a Chuck Bass quote in this story, you’ll recognize it when you see it.

@janaispunk– this went in a different direction… but I hope you like it. I still plan to do a one-shot that more’s related to what we discussed. So many WIPs.

@goodwithcheese – I told you I would write a Dave fic because of the results of that poll.

Tagging additional folks that engaged on the Last Sentence tag game where I previewed this story (let me know if you want to be removed)

@wildemaven, @schnarfer, @kedsandtubesocks, @katiexpunk, @heareball, @mermaidgirl30 , @sixhours, @punkshort

🥝💚 Reblog + Support Writers + Comment 🥝💚

Thank you so much for reading! If you like this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging.

Vienna, Austria

Dave had surprised you with tickets to Vienna for your birthday. He knew that it had been a dream of yours to attend the Vienna State Opera since you were a little girl. He had truly outdone himself by booking a suite in the Hotel Sacher Wien. The suite stretched across much of the top floor allowing you to enjoy the comfort and amenities of the hotel, but with privacy and peacefulness. The first day you got here your jaw dropped when you saw the top-floor views. As you stepped out on your patio, you were greeted with stunning panoramic views of the cityscape. You could see iconic landmarks such as St. Stephen's Cathedral with its towering spires, the Danube River winding its way through the city, shimmering in the sunlight, and the majestic Schönbrunn Palace surrounded by lush gardens. The city skyline stretched out before you, dotted with elegant buildings and bustling streets. You couldn’t believe that Dave stayed in places like this all the time, you couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. Your job barely required any travel as you worked for a non-profit foundation in Boston, but Dave traveled extensively all around the world.

“Dave, this is so beautiful,” you gasped when you felt him pull your back to his chest and wrap his arms around you as he licked at your neck.

“I’ve got something more beautiful right here,” he murmured before he picked you up and threw you on the giant king-sized bed and fucked you over and over again until the both of you were too spent to do anything else but lay in bed the rest of the day. There was no sightseeing on the first day of the trip. You didn’t care because he was one of the most beautiful sights anyway.

You were doing your nighttime routine as you got ready for bed tonight. You two had been here 4 days, and tomorrow was the night you would watch “L'Elisir d'Amore” at the Opera. You had noticed that your Dave had seemed especially… distracted tonight. If you were being honest with yourself, you felt he had been slightly distracted this entire trip. Dave was a DIA operative so he tended to keep his emotions guarded and hidden. You assumed his job naturally made him paranoid, since he was cautious and strategic in his interactions, always watching and analyzing the people around him.

When you first met Dave a few years ago, it felt like he was so mysterious. It had thrown you off since you had grown up being an Ambassador's daughter and had been used to the discretion required since you had grown up with the Foreign Service. But, you had never dated someone as reserved as Dave who didn’t let his guard down… ever. It was probably the military training in him. Over time he became more open with you, allowing you to see a deeper, more intimate side to himself, but at the end of the day, he was still a fairly guarded individual with others.

You stepped out of the bathroom and tightened the belt on your robe and found Dave sitting on the patio, sipping a glass of wine and watching the city come alive below.

He felt your presence before you sat down next to him and turned his face towards the palm of your hand to place a quick kiss on the center of it.

“Hi, handsome,” you murmured against his neck before placing a soft kiss behind his ear.

His eyes were fixed on the horizon as his brows pulled together in thought.

“Is everything okay?” you asked

“Everything’s fine,” he quickly told you.

“You sure?” you gently pressed, rubbing your hands lovingly up and down his chest.

Dave’s eyes fell briefly closed before he finally turned to look at you to lean forward and crush his lips against yours. You whimpered at the sensation of his lips on yours because you loved kissing Dave, he had a way of always making you feel drunk off him. You pressed your lips harder against his feeling that you were already losing control when you started to feel yourself get dangerously wet.

His cell phone rang and he pulled away from you looking frustrated since you could see that he was already very hard and straining against his pants. When he took a look at his screen, you could have sworn his jaw set in a harsh line.

“Sweetheart, I have to take this. I’ll be back,” he said as he quickly squeezed your hand and stood up to go inside your room. You turned around and noticed he picked up his hotel room card, put on his shoes, and ended up leaving the hotel room.

It was odd, but you also knew his job required privacy and strict confidentiality protocols in order to protect sensitive information. You decided to focus your attention back to what was in front of you. At night, the city really lit up, casting a warm glow over the rooftops and creating a magical atmosphere. You could see the flickering lights of cafes and restaurants and heard the faint strains of music drifting through the air.

But now you were distracted. Why was work calling him if he was taking paid time off and currently out of the office?

You had dozed off last night when you realized that Dave’s call was going to take much longer than anticipated. You didn’t remember what time it was when you felt the bed dip and felt Dave caressing your hip, his lovely fingertips tracing the edge of your panties as he kissed your shoulder and whispered you goodnight.

You woke up and stretched lazily and rolled over to feel the pillow beside you and realized Dave wasn’t there, but there was a note left on his pillow.

My perfect girl turns a year older today. Let’s play a game. I have blades but I’m not a knife. Want to cool down? Give me a whirl…

-DY

It was a riddle, he knew you loved them. You had shared on your first date that you and your family would play a lot of brain teasers and word association games while you were growing up. You smiled running your fingers over the note. He had given you an easy one.

There was only one fan in the hotel room, and it was in the living room. You walked over to quickly flip the switch and let the breeze hit you while you saw a piece of paper fall from the top of the fan. You bent over to pick it up. It was a certificate to go downstairs to the hotel spa and get yourself a massage and facial. You looked at your watch and realized that you had to move quickly, your appointment was soon.

After your 2 hours at the spa were finished, one of the receptionists handed you a card to read. You were giddy, it was your next riddle.

I swirl, I twirl, fine and neat. I'm not made of skin or snow. I come in many styles and hues, and can make you feel like new.

-DY

This one would be harder to locate, but you had told Dave that you would probably buy a dress for tonight's show a few days ago. You remembered telling him that when you had passed by a shop not too far from the hotel. You quickly left the spa to go to the store and were greeted by an attractive male staff manager.

“Hello Mrs. York,”

You raised your eyebrows at him in surprise.

He chuckled. “Your husband showed me a picture of you and said that my job today is to devote my attention to finding you the perfect dress for this evening. Would you like some champagne?”

You smiled at him brightly. “Please, and thank you,”

You spent the next hour drinking, swapping stories with Killian about the men in your lives, and trying on a few dresses. You hated shopping, but this experience had been more fun than usual, and you were trying to soak up your “Pretty Woman” moment as long as possible.

“Holy shit, that’s the dress,” Killian said with his glorious accent once you put on a dress his colleague had handed to you.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and decided he was right. Also, when you looked at your watch, you realized you needed to get back to the hotel to start getting ready.

“Did Dave leave a note with you by any chance?”

“He did, he said you get a head start this time and that your next clue is somewhere in your hotel room,” Killian responded while he checked you out and handed you the note.

You waved goodbye to Killian and his staff and opened up your note once you stepped outside.

Born from the sun’s kiss and earth’s tender grace. I age with patience and care, a treasure concealed, my essence rare.

-DY

You walked up to the hotel and quickly hopped in the shower to ensure you would make it to the Opera by 7:00 PM. Once you were done getting ready, you started searching the room for the item and you found the bottle of wine hidden inside the decorative vase on the table in the dining room.

You picked up and read the bottle, Weingut Schloss Halbturn Cabernet Franc. It was the bottle of red you two had drank last year at a DIA gala event and you had told Dave how much you had loved the taste since it had been bold and structured. Taped to the bottle was your final riddle of the night.

Meet me here tonight. Make a wish, but don’t take a drink.

-DY

You walked to the famous Opernbrunnen fountain and went to the standing in the grounds of the State Opera House. You stepped out wearing your dress that had a plunging neckline, a full skirt with pleats and a long train, all made of a shimmering light blue fabric. You were wearing minimal jewelry, letting the dress speak for itself and your makeup soft and natural, with a pop of color on your lips. You stood in front of the fountain in awe, it was just as stunning as you could have imagined.

You felt somebody tap your shoulder and turned around to find an utterly fuckable man in front of you.

Your husband looked delicious as always wearing a three-piece single-button tuxedo with a black contrast peak lapel. “You’re simply stunning, Mrs. York,” he motioned with his finger for you to twirl around for him, so you did. “Something this beautiful deserves to be seen on someone worthy of its beauty,” he murmured, motioning to your dress.

The comment made you want to cry, but you didn’t want to mess up your makeup. “You look pretty handsome yourself, Mr. York,” you said as your lips met his for a quick hello. “Thank you for today and all my gifts. But, I missed you today,” you pouted.

He hummed, pressing his lips more insistently on yours. “Happy Birthday, Sweetheart,”

He pulled out of his pocket an individually wrapped Bouchard chocolate. You beamed at him. He knew your vices all too well.

“I know you much you love dark Belgian chocolate, so I thought you could have a snack before the show,” he smirked.

“But, what if I wanted something else in my mouth?” you teased.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your body tightly to his. Dave brushed his lips along your ear as he rocked his hips against you.

“Do you feel what you do to me?” his voice was low, raspy, and it sent shivers down your spine.

“Yes,” you whispered shakily as he pressed his impressive erection against you harder to prove his point. You moaned when his hands moved down your waist, to your hips, and back down to cup your ass.

“Let’s get inside before I get arrested for fucking you in front of this fountain, yeah?”

You giggled while he continued to grip your ass.

“Ready?” He asked

“Yup,” you replied, popping the P for dramatic effect as you both turned to go inside.

“Dave,” you whined, pushing his hand away when his fingers slid high up your thigh and grazed your panties under your dress during the second act while you two were sitting in a private balcony box,

He brushed your hair to the side, and kissed your neck, “I just want to see what’s under this dress,”

You laughed. “Dave come on, the other private balcony box isn’t that far away from us,”

You knew it was a weak protest and that you didn’t sound serious at all.

“But, baby, you’re wet. I can feel it, and I can smell it.”

You inhaled slowly, your chest rising and your lips parted at his words.

“You know how much I love your pussy. Fuck, I wish my tongue was inside of you right now,”

“David,” you moaned.

“Fuck,” He loved it when you called him by his full name. It was because he associated it with sex. You only called him David behind closed doors.

He slid his hands under your dress again and then slid his fingers into your panties, stroking his index and middle finger along your slick, hot center.

He watched your tongue slide out to wet your dry lips. He was winning. You spread your legs wider, demanding his attention.

Then finally he slide his fingers through your soaked pussy.

You moaned throwing your head back, giving into the pleasure as his fingers inched deeper inside of you. Your moans turned into keening cries as he continued and your hips rocked against his two fingers. You realized your moans were starting to blend with the sounds of the characters Nemorino and Adina. The opera singers were delivering powerful performances that enhanced the intensity of David circling your clit with his thumb quickly in harmony with the music.

“Are you going to be good for me?”

David's dirty words were blending with the "Prendi, per me sei libero" duet currently happening in the background.

“Y – Yes, I’ll be good for you David,” you whimpered as he continued to pump his fingers inside of you working you steadily towards release.

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of the night, licking every inch of you,”

The image he had implanted in your brain made you clench around his fingers harder.

“Oh, I can feel that you like hearing that. You’re being so fucking good for me, my good girl,”

“I’m so close,” you cried out closing your eyes.

“Let me hear you, baby,” he told you as he moved faster, hitting your more sensitive spot.

The music continued to swirl around you, enveloping you in its spellbinding beauty, as you were swept away by what you were feeling.

“Open your fucking eyes, and look at me while you come,”

“Oh fuck, David,” you opened up your eyes to see the absolutely wrecked look he had on his face. You bit down on his shoulder, as hard as you could when you felt your body explode and you felt yourself convulsing around his fingers with your release as the final notes of the opera echoed through the hall and the audience erupted into thunderous applause.

He tangled his hand in your hair and pulled your head towards his mouth to pull you in for a deep kiss. He slowly pulled out his fingers once he saw you had calmed down eith your bresathing and put them in his mouth to lick them clean.

“You taste so much better than Chocolate, baby, But, I’m not done with you yet,” he said with a wild grin.

“Mmm,” you breathed. “Is that a promise or a threat?”

He kissed you softly. “Both,”

You woke up the next morning to a lovely ache between your legs and Dave was still completely passed out. After the show ended, you two were originally going to grab a late cocktail, but you were both aching for one another after Dave’s performance in the balcony opera box that you went back to the hotel immediately. As Dave undressed you, you couldn’t help but feel like something was slightly different. He was always insatiable for you, but last night there had been a desperate urgency and longing in the way he kissed you, touched you, and buried himself inside of you on the floor because he couldn’t wait to get on the bed. It was almost as if he was coming back from war and needed your touch to feel like you were really here.

“I love you,” you said as you felt intense pleasure building inside your belly while he thrusted inside of you deeper and deeper.

“Say it again,”

“I love you,” you repeated.

“Fucking again,” he said possessively.

It wasn’t like him to need the validation. It was out of character for him to request reassurance.

“Fuck, you’re everything to me David, I - I love you so much,” you moaned out pushing your hips upwards, wanting to feel his cock buried deeper inside of you.

“That’s it, you can take it,” he growled as he as he drove into your soaking cunt over and over again on the floor at a brutal pace. “Let me feel you come on my cock, baby,”

When he emptied himself inside of you, you felt him dripping down your thighs and you felt your own orgasm course through your body.

You two laid together quietly while he rested his head on your chest and then he put one of his hands over your rapidly beating heart.

“God, I fucking love you,” he whispered.

You looked at your phone and noticed you had received a text message from Carol who was married to one of Dave’s colleagues.

Carol: Did you and David hear the news? Susan Plummer was murdered yesterday in Brussels. They think it was a robbery.

She had sent you an article link as well. The article explained that details were still emerging but so far it was suspected that she was stalked by a robber to be attacked and stabbed with a knife in her hotel room.

You were shocked, Dave worked closely with Susan and they had known each other for many years. You quickly got out of bed and were about to call Carol on the patio when you bumped into a chair in the dining room that dropped the pack of Bouchard chocolates on the ground from Dave’s tuxedo jacket.

You couldn’t help but keep staring at the packaging of the chocolates that had scattered below you. You picked one off the floor and inspected it closely. Your father had been the Ambassador of France and a respected diplomat, so you had spent some of your childhood living there. You distinctly remember that whenever your parents craved certain Belgian chocolates, you all as a family would make a road trip out of it and go to Brussels or Bruges. You remember your brother one day being annoyed at the idea of leaving since he was trying to hang out with his friends.

“Dad, this is like 3 hours away, we can get chocolates here in Paris,” he complained.

“I’m craving Bouchard. And, you can’t get Bouchard anywhere, only in Brussels. It’s made there and only sold there.”

“What a wonderful fun fact,” your brother said sarcastically.

“I’ll let you drive,” your father bribed.

Your brother's eyes lit up, realizing your father was going to drive his Ashton Martin instead of using the chauffeur service that was offered to him through his job.

“Deal,” your brother said.

“Shotgun!” you screamed.

Your parents chuckled as you all left the residence.

You had been so distracted last night that you hadn’t even thought to question how Dave could have found Bouchard in Vienna. Because why would you?

Vienna to Brussels was approximately a 1 hour and 45 minute flight. And you hadn’t seen David all day yesterday since he had set you up on your mini birthday scavenger hunt.

You felt a throbbing headache beginning to form and felt a profound sense of unease as your brain started to spiral.

1 hour and 45 minutes

The constant travel and lack of predictability in his schedule all the time with work.

1 hour and 45 minutes

The times he would sometimes come back home with injuries that he brushed off as accidents.

1 hour and 45 minutes

The isolation and uncertainty you felt at times about his whereabouts and activities.

1 hour and 45 minutes

The way he fucked you last night with so much raw intensity. A silent declaration of his devotion.

You closed your eyes. Deep down, you knew that you had always questioned the true nature of your husband's work. But, you didn’t want to believe that his suspicious behavior meant what you thought it could mean. There had to be a reasonable explanation for the situation.

As you slowly picked up your feet to walk back towards the bed, you looked at your husband's sleeping face and thought back to the first riddle he told you on your first date.

I am the whisper in your ear, but you refuse to hear me clear. I speak the truth you try to hide. What am I?

Denial

And that’s when you realized what this birthday trip really was. It was his alibi.

Additional Comments:

Okay, also you can totally buy Bouchard outside of Belgium, but I just needed to create that illusion that for the story. Also, I’m not as smart as reader. My ass would have bumped into the chocolates and just popped one into my mouth… and thought nothing of it. Oops?

#katiexpunk tbr #I’ve always wanted to fuck in a private opera box #not really but I do now

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katiexpunk · 3 days

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You already know I thought about you when I wrote it bb 😗🖤

Our breeding kink 🤝 Joel Miller

Fuck Me, Fill Me

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader | W/C: ~4K | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: Accidents happen all the time — people fall, knives slip, condoms break. You spent years successfully avoiding one. Except things are different now, you're ready for more. Your husband Joel is more than happy to oblige.

Warnings: Joel has one mission in this one -- knock you the fuck up (if that's not your thing, kindly move on). Heavy on the breeding kink. No age gap is mentioned (make it your own). So much dirty talk. Fingering. Dry humping/grinding. Praise kink. Size kink. Unprotected P in V. Rough sex. Semi-public sex. Sex in front of a mirror. Multiple creampies. No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. TLOU au. Reader has no physical descriptions except hair (no type or color) long enough to hold on to. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: I have no excuses for this one except that I have Joel brain rot and baby fever. Shoutout to the Capital One Lounge at IAD for the idea. Written on a plane.

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

Accidents happen all the time — people fall, knives slip, condoms break.

It’s inevitable, really. A known fact of life. Call it Murphy’s law, bad luck, or just plain stupidity…

You’ve spent the majority of your teens and 20s successfully avoiding an accident.

If it can happen, it will happen your superstitious aunt used to say, and you were a believer.

Lord knows you've had more than enough evidence in your life to back up her words. From the tummy ache after eating way too many cherries, to the conspicuous brown stain that ruined your pristine white blouse. A blister on your heel from shoes that were supposed to be 'broken in' but never quite were, and the painful crack in your skin that followed. Proof was everywhere, and you learned to expect the unexpected.

You hold tight to that belief, while Joel does the same to your hips, fucking you within an inch of your life in the airport lounge bathroom.

But how you both ended up in this position was no accident.

++++

It never seemed like the right time—you had so much more to explore, achieve, and experience. Becoming a mother would complicate everything; at least, that's what you convinced yourself. You were content to rely on that little orange pill each day, despite its own set of side effects, because it kept your options open.

You weren't sure you'd make a good mom anyway. Your own mother certainly wasn't a shining example, and you had no reason to think you'd be any different. You couldn't even keep a cactus alive—how could you possibly care for a child?

But something changed not long after you and Joel got married. Maybe it was maturity slowly finding its way in, like warm honey filling the spaces you once closed off. It softened you to the idea of chubby cheeks and tiny fingers, gentle coos, and quiet lullabies sung in the deep southern drawl that had become so familiar.

Initially, you weren't sure how Joel would take the news, but when you told him you'd reconsidered, his reaction was beyond anything you'd expected. He was over the moon, filled with an urgency you'd never seen in him before. It was like you'd handed him the key to his deepest desires, and he was eager, almost desperate, to turn it and bring new life into your world, yours and his.

He made it clear just how eager he was when he took you in his arms and twirled you around the kitchen in joy. Then, without missing a beat, he bent you over the counter, yanked down your jeans, and made his intentions unmistakably clear. He fucked his cum so deep inside of you that night that you felt the warm dribble of him the next morning.

++++

Good things come to those who wait.

The words seem almost lifeless as they peer back at you, the paper they're printed on showing signs of age and Scotch tape keeping it glued to the break room wall above the microwave. The optimism they once held has faded, leaving behind nothing but cynicism and wear.

Yeah. Right.

The shrill beep of the microwave snaps you back to the present, your shoulders tensing. You shake off your irritation, clutching the warm coffee that’s been reheated three times, its heat barely reaching the chill of your underlying pessimism. It’s a small comfort, but enough to soften the ache of disappointment that nags at you every month when hope fizzles out.

Back at your desk, you bury yourself in work, flipping through emails and juggling various applications. Headphones in, you’re almost lost in your own world when a notification on your phone pulls you back. It's your cycle tracking app, reminding you that you're due to ovulate in a couple of days. But wait—

No, no, no. You quickly count the days in your head, then scramble to open your work calendar. The schedule's a blur until your eyes land on the words "Work Trip: Jackson, Wyoming." They jump off the screen, almost mocking you. Looks like timing won't be on your side this month. Unless —

Would it be too ridiculous to change an entire work trip just so you could make love to your ridiculously hot husband, and let him fill you again and again? You think not, but you know your boss might say otherwise.

You spend the rest of your workday figuring out Plan B. The irony is not lost on you that you’re seeking out an entirely different kind than you used to.

++++

As you settle into the couch, your legs draped across his lap, he begins to massage the soles of your feet in that soothing way that sends a ripple of warmth up your spine. You can't help but glance at his side profile—the elegant slope of his nose, the chiseled cut of his jaw, and the effortless curls of his salt-and-pepper hair that rest at the nape of his neck. He's undeniably handsome, a sight that never gets old.

His touch spreads a slow heat across your skin, your stomach fluttering in response. It's always been this way—the world could be crumbling outside, but with Joel, in your shared cocoon, you feel entirely at ease, wrapped in safety and affection.

“You're really gorgeous, you know,” you murmur, almost too quietly to be heard. You swirl the wine in your glass and meet his gaze as you take a sip.

“Nah, that's you, sweetheart,” he replies with a wink, his touch transitioning to featherlight kitten caresses as his fingers trace a path up your shin. He's not trying to seduce you, not really, but his touch and the intent gaze he holds on you are enough to ignite a slow burn under your skin.

You relax into the cushions, your head sinking back into the pillow, reveling in this moment. When he pauses, even for a second, you squirm, and he chuckles softly. “Such a needy little thing, aren't cha?” he teases, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he resumes his gentle strokes. “Mhm, sure am,” you hum, your eyes closing as you melt into the sensation of his skin on yours.

He slowly journeys upward, callused palms gliding along the smooth skin of your thigh, alternating between soft strokes and firm squeezes. Each touch seems to awaken a deeper need within you, and you're all too aware of the growing bulge beneath your calves, a silent but potent reminder of the desire simmering between you. It's enough to make you ache for him, crave his closeness, the kind of closeness only he can provide.

You lift your head, and he's already adjusting, his broad frame looming over you. He locks eyes with you as he takes the wineglass from your hand, placing it on the coffee table with care, then shifts his full attention back to you. You push your hips upward, meeting his, and he presses down just enough to make it clear that he’s in control, his body holding you firmly but without discomfort. You know he’s got you right where he wants you.

Your eyes meet his, and the intensity in his gaze leaves no doubt—this is happening. He props himself up on one forearm, his other hand tangling through your hair, his knuckles brushing against your cheek with a tender touch. He thrusts his hips into you with more urgency, his lips descending to capture yours, drawing out a soft moan from deep within you.

“Fuck sweetheart, feel what you do to me?” he groans, pressing his lips harder against yours. He tastes the wine on you, and your tongues intertwine, each movement slow but deliberate. You work your arms free from your sides and slide your hands into his hair, tugging gently, your nails grazing his scalp. The deep groan that escapes him tells you he's feeling everything—the pull, the scrape, the heat. It rumbles from his chest, reverberating through you, and it's intoxicating.

With your lips pressed firmly to his, he captures your bottom lip between his teeth, giving it a teasing bite as he thrusts against you. The rough denim scrapes against your inner thighs, and he slots himself perfectly between your legs. His mouth leaves yours, tracing a path of soft kisses down your jawline, lingering at that sensitive spot just behind your ear before he pulls the lobe into his mouth. You moan, fingers tangled in his hair, while your other hand explores the broad expanse of his back, craving the feel of him, unable to get enough.

“Joel,” you whimper, his name almost a question on your lips.

He doesn't pause, thrusting with just the right pressure, almost ignoring your plea. You move your lips to his shoulder and whisper, “I’m ovulating.”

That makes him stop. He props himself up on one forearm, his free hand on your ribs, his intense gaze locking onto yours. His eyes darken, pupils eclipsing the rich brown you know so well, and he groans deeply. Fuck.

“Yeah, sweetheart? Mmm, big mistake telling me that, now I’m just going to pump you full of my cum all night, gonna fuck you again and again, keep you so full of me that it’ll have no choice but to stick this time.”

You whimper at the thought, and his words go straight to your already wet core, your pussy fluttering around nothing, practically begging to be filled.

You want him so bad, but right now, he wants you more — wants every part of you, wants to change you forever. His head dips back to your neck, and he's practically grinding into you, the pressure so intense it feels like he's already fucking you through your clothes. His beard rasps against your cheek, leaving a trail of red marks as he works his way down to your chest, hastily undoing buttons, uncovering your breasts, and teasing your nipples to hard, eager peaks.

It would almost be embarrassing how turned on you are right now if it were anyone but him, how easily he can fluster you, turn you into a babbling mess.

“Well, not right now, but I am next —” you start to say, but quickly lose your train of thought as his whole hand comes down to cup your sex and the feel of his palm pressing against your dripping center.

“Sorry darlin’, what was that?” He asks, doing little to hide the smug tone behind his voice, obviously pleased with the effect he has on you.

“I am next week, while I’m supposed to be in Jackson for work,” you manage to get out, the words coming out soft, a barely there thought, your attention mostly on the sensation of his thick finger that has now curled its way deep inside of you, your panties pushed to the side as they should never have been there in the first place, not with him in the room.

“Come with me,” you ask, your words a tad breathless as he adds another finger to your dripping center, your slick coating them completely, and when he doesn’t answer, you’re not sure he heard you behind the haze of his arousal, the blood thrumming through his veins. Not that you can blame him, it’s so hard to fucking think, to breathe, to string together a rational thought that isn’t dirty when you’re together like this.

“Gotta feel this pussy first,” he rasps, the words slightly muffled against the tenderness of your breast. His words sober you for a brief second, as you playfully push against him in protest.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," you laugh, and he can't suppress the goofy grin spreading across his face. He loves this—the playful banter, the way you bring out his lighter side, the perfect blend of passion and humor that flows between you. It's always been like this, effortlessly flirty, endlessly fun. You’re the perfect combination of sexy and cute, and better yet, you’re all his.

“Alright baby, I’ll come with you, on one condition,” he says, adding a third finger, and the stench of him is intoxicatingly delicious, perfect, and intense in the best way. You already feel so fucked out, you’re not sure how he’s managing to find the will to set fucking conditions right now, but still, you humor him —

“Conditions, huh?” You moan as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, the pads of his fingers grazing at the soft spongey spot inside of you that makes you see stars.

“Yeah, sweetheart, conditions,” he says, nipping at your chin. “You’re gonna be the good girl I know you are and come all over my fingers, and then I’ll make sure that you’re full of me all week, whenever you want it baby, I’m all yours,” he rasps, his breath coming a bit more ragged now at the thought of your proposition and his.

His fingers are still deep inside of you, he positions his wrist just right and brings the pad of his thumb to your clit. Your slick, combined with his filthy fucking mouth, and his thick cock pressed against you, creates the perfect conditions for the inevitable. He’s never not made you come, and you sure as hell know he’s not about to change that narrative now.

If it can happen, it will happen.

“Come on pretty girl, show me how pretty you come on your husband’s fingers,” he says, not really asking, but rather ordering in the tone that lights every nerve in your body on fire with arousal.

The warmth in your lower belly spreads outward, wrapping you in a blanket of pleasure. Your limbs tingle, your vision blurs, and your toes curl as the intensity builds. For a split second, everything goes hazy, and you let go, surrendering to him completely. He takes control, guiding you through the waves of ecstasy, pulling you into a bliss that only he knows how to reach.

“So good for me, sweetheart. You are so perfect.”

He makes you come once more soon after and then fucks you deep and slow. It’s all whispered praises in your ear, a firm grip on your hips, and his cock barely leaving your cunt before he’s slamming back into you, desperate to keep the tip of him as close to your cervix as possible.

Come with me, you moan, and he knows exactly what you mean this time.

“Shit, baby, I can feel you squeezing me, taking me so good —” his words break with a moan as you come for the third time, falling apart on his cock, before he adds “gripping me so goddamn tight.”

His thrusts slow and he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, and paints your insides in thick ropes of cum, holding your gaze as he throbs inside, not daring to move and risk any of his spend coming out before he wants it to.

He plants a soft kiss on your lips and tells you that you’re going to look even more gorgeous with his baby inside of you.

++++

The delayed flight to Jackson was just another reminder of life's unpredictability.

What started as a simple 30-minute delay quickly turned into an hour, then two, and now you're both three hours past your original departure time.

You find yourselves in one of the newer airport lounges, sitting in overly posh chairs. It's surprisingly uncrowded given the chaos that usually comes with airport delays. Your luggage is safely tucked away in the lockers, your bellies are full from the free snacks, and the irritation from earlier is fading thanks to the complimentary drinks. The ambiance is unexpectedly chic. Even the bathrooms feel upscale—private, enormous mirrors, fancy soap, and paper towels so luxurious they might as well be hand towels.

Joel is deep into a well-worn Western novel, its cover frayed and spine cracked from countless readings. You're scrolling through an article about the best positions for conceiving, smirking when you realize you and Joel have tried most of them, and then some. Just as you're in the middle of your read, your cycle tracking app sends a notification—you're at peak fertility, starting now. Have fun! ;)

Shit.

Who knows when you'll actually make it to your hotel room in Jackson tonight? You glance up from your phone, stealing a look at Joel. He's always handsome, but there's something about him in his glasses—the way the frames sit on the bridge of his nose, the slight furrow in his brow as he focuses on the words in his book. It's endearing how he still reads with such intensity, even though you know he's revisited these same pages countless times.

Your pussy flutters and aches at the sight, giving you a cheeky idea. He did say you could have him whenever you wanted.

You clear your throat, hoping to pull Joel's focus from his book, but he doesn't seem to notice. You try again, this time a bit louder, and all you get is a distracted, "You okay, sweetheart?" without him even glancing up.

You know you’ll need to be more direct to capture his attention.

"I'm going to use the restroom," you say, and he nods, eyes still on the page. Once inside, you leave the door unlocked and hike up your dress, exposing your bare breasts. You pinch your nipples between your thumb and forefinger until they harden, then push out your chest, angling your smartphone for the perfect shot. The result is a provocative selfie that you know will make him put that book down.

You attach it to a message for Joel and quickly type out your request — come knock me up in the bathroom, Cowboy.

He’s joining you in the bathroom faster than you thought he would, careful to avoid any curious eyes or draw attention to the fact that he’s about to absolutely wreck his wife.

Once inside, he locks the door behind him and grabs your waist, guiding you back until your hips hit the counter's edge. His hands roam over your body, lifting the hem of your dress until it's bunched around your waist. He kisses you with a desperate hunger, as if he hasn't had you in years.

"You sure you want to do this here, sweetheart?" he groans against your lips, shifting between playful nips, gentle kisses on your cheeks, and heated sucks at your jawline. The anticipation in his touch is palpable, but he's still checking to make sure this is what you want.

“Never been more sure of anything in my life except for the day I married you. Please fuck me, Joel, need to feel you stretch me out” you say, your words crossed between a whimper and a plea.

God, just when he thought you couldn’t get any more perfect.

“Yeah? My girl wants me to fill up her tight little hole,” he teases, already knowing the answer. He moves his hand to your dripping core and lets out a deep groan when he discovers you’ve already removed the barrier of your underwear for him.

“Fuck baby, I’d do anything to taste you right now, wanna hear all those pretty noises you make and the way my name sounds when you moan it for me,” and you soften more under the heat of his words, letting your mind drift to thoughts of how good it feels when his head is between your legs, gently wringing orgasm after orgasm out of you like it’s his fucking job.

“Gotta make this one quick, though. Can you be quiet for me, sweetheart?” He asks, and all you can do is nod.

"Good girl—c'mere, turn around," he instructs, guiding you with his hands until you've spun around, your hips pressing into the sink. His hand travels down your spine, making you arch toward him slightly, and he bends you over even more. In the mirror, you see him behind you, his eyes locked on yours as he quickly unbuckles his belt and lowers his jeans to mid-thigh. The anticipation is electric as you watch him in the reflection, knowing exactly what's coming next.

He spits into his hand and jerks himself, all the while holding your gaze, admiring the way your breasts are pressed up against the counter, perky and perfect. His cock twitches at the thought of what they’ll look like all swollen and full of milk.

He lines himself up against your wet and waiting hole, holds your hips steady with one hand, and gathers your hair in his fist with the other. He gently tugs it so your chin is angled up, eyes even straighter looking into the mirror. He loves watching you take it.

“You’re gonna watch as I fuck you, sweetheart,” He rasps as he presses himself into you in one stroke. You’re so fucking wet, your greedy cunt accepts him easily, despite his size. Like it knows what it wants, and what it needs. There’s a dull delicious sting at the intrusion.

“Oh my god, Joel, you’re so bi—” You break off in a moan as he pulls out and then slams himself into you deep and hard.

“God damn, look at you, my perfect fucking girl. Taking me so well, like this cock was made for you, huh baby?” His voice is firm, but quiet, just above a whisper. He’s not wasting time, he sets a punishing pace, and all you can do is let him use you.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fill me, fill me” you cry out, and he brings his hand to cover your mouth.

“What’d I say about being quiet, baby?” He holds you like that. You slip your hand between your thighs and rub your clit, a dangerous combination when he’s fucking you in this position. You come so fast that you think it might be a record. The tightening of your cunt has him on the precipice of his release.

“You’re fucking mine,” he growls, fucking his cum into you over and over, using every drop of him to give you what you want.

It might not stick this time, hell, it might not stick next time, but one thing is for certain — Joel will keep you full and fucked either way.

END

Reblog + Support Writers + Comment

A/N Continued: Thank you so much for reading! On a side note, my engagement here has been really low lately. :( As much as I'd love to say I don't care about the notes, I won't lie and tell you I don't need them for validation. If you like this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging. I'll love you forever.

Tagging some moots for visibility (lmk if you want to be removed if the subject matter isn't your thing. No hard feelings!) @endlessthxxghts @syd-djarin @auteurdelabre @morning-star-joy@theoasisofthings @chulopascal @morallyinept @sweetercalypso @xdaddysprincessxx @burntheedges @punkshort @pedrostories @bastardmandennis @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings @josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @survivingandenduring @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @javiscigarette @ro-nahime-things @gwendibleywrites @missladym1981 @morgaussy

#Moots are the best #I can literally say I thought about you while I wrote this hot 🌽 and it’s not weird

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katiexpunk · 3 days

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OooooOooooOooooooOooo Kylee, dude you got me on some whore shit with this one ☠️🥵