mochamadeleines

[mochamadeleines]

best part about tlou is being able to just make joel run around carrying heavy stuff so we can hear him panting and grunting with effort 😌

[mochamadeleines]

JAVIER PEÑA’S HOTTEST MOMENTS

18. 71/139 votes → Javi being snarky

{+ bonus}

[mochamadeleines]

*flirting with an older man* when i was born you had already attempted suicide once

[mochamadeleines]

GOOD FUCKING GOD

HAPPY TO BE HERE M DROOLINHGG

cranberry christmas

part iii of my series "texas sweet!" texas sweet masterlist and my masterlist

summary: it's your first christmas with the miller family, which brings all sorts of new feelings out of you and joel. he relieves your anxiety in a few giving ways (tis the season!)

tags: 18+, smut, anxious!reader, dilf!joel, joel is kind of a flop (but in a cute way), gentle!joel, found family (a little), the miller family being cute, reader has an anxiety attack, mentions of troubled family life, dorky christmas cheesiness, reader celebrates christmas, heavy on the f!reader for this one, reader has boobs, reader has hair, reader wears lingerie, dryhumping, almost powerbottom!joel (?), begging, nippleplay, hickeys, coming untouched, praise kink a little, realistic people in unrealistic situations, establishing of relationship

part i -> part ii -> part iii

a/n: this honestly got way out of hand, but i LOVE IT!! i hope you all have a lovely holiday season <3

(5.1k, not beta read)

“How long have you been a dad again?” 

You’re staring at the pile of gifts that Joel has “wrapped” so far. The striped paper is wrinkled on a few of them like he balled up the paper before wrapping the gift, other ones have glaring bald spots that reveal what they are without having to unwrap them. 

Joel huffs, grumbling to himself as he’s hunched on the floor, cutting out another square of paper to wrap a book. 

“Long enough to know that if I stay down here too long my back’ll hurt tomorrow,” he responds. 

The Christmas tree in his living room has been thoroughly decorated, leaving the lights to reflect from glass ornaments onto his face. Joel looks stressed tonight, but he’s just been stressed all the time lately. The colder months have brought shittier weather, which has him worried about snowfall on sites that couldn’t take it at the moment. Anytime you’ve seen him recently, his skin has still been cold from the outside, his nose slightly red. 

He looks at your pile of gifts, which have been neatly wrapped and finished with stick-on bows, and then scrunches his face, quietly mocking your words. You laugh, feigning offense as you tilt your head.

“Oh I’m sorry, I just assumed you would have been better with your hands, Joel,” you retort in return. Instantly his head is back up so he can look at you, a shocked expression on his face. 

“You sayin’ I’m no good with my hands?” He asks, a bit incredulous.

Your eyes are rolling before you can help it, smiling as you shake your head.

“No–” you start.

“I can prove that I got perfectly fine hands. Fingers too for that matter,” he dares.

Joel shoves the wrapping paper out of his way as he scoots his way over to you, his knees scrubbing the hardwood floor. He’s smiling stupidly, clearly excited to get out of wrapping gifts.

“Joel!!” You huff, trying to squirm away from him as he gets closer to you. You’ve learned he has a serious personal space problem.

“What, angel? S’not like anybody else is home,” he grins, nosing at your cheek.

And God. Yeah, finally, nobody is fucking home.

You and Joel have been something for the past however many months. Time has flown quickly, with life and love brushing past your skin in a wind of smiles. Work takes over Joel’s life before he realizes it, and it happens a lot. Maybe that would be a problem for most people, but you live right next door. It’s not like there’s space between you, especially since you can knock on his door whenever you want to.

But you’re both adults, and spontaneity requires energy that you both lack. 

The current schedule you’ve fallen into is seeing him on Friday evenings, whenever he gets home from work, a small date on Saturday if you have the energy, and family dinner on Sunday. Yes, you’ve now worked up the courage to look his daughters and brother in the eye. After you started showing up more often they began to bond with you more, especially his girls. Ellie and Sarah are both young, both smart, and as different as they are, it just makes for a firecracker-y relationship that’s hard not to interact with.

You’ve fallen into place as Joel’s something, as someone to his family.

The only problem you and Joel have is actually getting alone time. Since you both work so much, and he’s so family oriented, it’s been hell actually trying to get alone time with him. Not even just time to… do stuff. Just having a private moment is tough. Someone is always in his house, and as much as you have your own house, his feels more like home. 

You didn’t even set up your tree this year. The living room is bare of holiday cheer, save for the growing pile of presents that you’ve built in the corner near the couch. Finding home in Joel has not helped you find your place in Austin still, the lack of familial familiarity has sucked the love from your walls. The whole house just feels like dead skin that’s ready to flake away anytime you’re there. You want to brush it from its plot of land and go back to the place next door, where warm light and voices hold the roof down and raise it all the same. 

So yeah, your house isn’t really where you want to be, ever. Sacrificing sex with Joel isn’t the best, but you want to be around him more than anything. As long as he’s there, you don’t care so much if he’s getting you there. At least not usually. 

“Yeah, no one’s home,” you repeat back to him.

The incandescent bulbs that are strung onto the tree are casting light through his hair. Tiny flecks of grey are all you can get a view of right now as he pushes his nose beneath your jaw, pressing kisses to the tender skin that tingles under his lips. 

“Mhm,” he grunts, biting at your skin then kissing over it when you wince slightly. “N’they won’t be home for at least an hour.” His hands are skimming over the waistband of your pajama pants, warm fingers dipping to touch the band of your undies. 

“Yeah,” you say again. You’re losing words. It always feels like you lose your words, breath, and brain around him, but maybe it’s because you don’t need it. Joel keeps kissing at your neck as he reaches around, tapping your bum so you lift up for him. 

The lights in the room flash into pink as your eyes slide shut and your pants are tugged down more. It’s been too long, you need this, he needs this. 

Joel doesn’t hesitate. As soon as your pants are down enough, his hand is in your undies, skimming the hair there and then pressing against you. A surprised huff puffs into your neck as he feels how wet you’ve gotten, how quick. 

And then keys. And then the front door is swinging open. And then your pants are shoved up and everyone’s home and you aren’t in your mind, but it’s fine. It’s fine. 

You’ll find time before Christmas. 

—

Today is Shitmas.

“Shitmas. Y’know, like the day in Christmas week where you do a bunch of Christmas-y shit,” Tommy had informed you about a week ago, after you had slowly turned to look at him in the living room.

The Miller family does Shitmas on the 23rd of December, and supposedly it includes, but is not limited to, family pictures in the living room, cookie baking and decorating (lead by Sarah), and sock snowman making. 

They do this every year, and you can tell because as soon as you show up on Shitmas, you’re greeted by little sock snowmen. They line the stairs, each one with a year labelled on the belly. The first few are singular snowmen, but somewhere along the way it turns into two, marking when Ellie joined their family. Over the years they’ve obviously improved, but there’s something special about the first few on the stairs. Mismatched eyes, splattered glitter glue, and Joel’s printing on their bellies, instead of Sarah’s, all grace the earliest dated snowmen.

Ellie was the one to let you into the house today, since apparently Joel is helping Sarah bake and his hands are “nasty,” in Ellie’s words. 

“Kinda ugly, huh?” Ellie teases as you crouch to look at them on the stairs. Sarah calls out somewhere in the house, over the noise of the electric mixer, and it makes you huff a laugh.

“I think they’re endearing. It’s nice that Joel keeps these,” you reply. She somewhat agrees, an “I guess,” begrudgingly leaving her lips before Joel finally walks up and she skips off back to the kitchen. 

Joel’s drying his hands with a dishtowel still as he embraces you, sighing deeply. 

“Hey angel, sorry. Fuckin… Raw egg all over my hands,” he mutters as he squeezes you tight. The two of you pull apart for a moment, but not before Joel’s going back in and pressing a kiss to your forehead. As your palms settle against his chest, you can’t help but notice how warm he is, the skin beneath his shirt, hot and giving plushly under your fingers. 

“I like the girls’ snowmen,” you tell him fondly, peeking over your shoulder at them. When you look back at him, he’s looking at them, a softness in his eyes.

“Ellie hates doing those, she only does it because Sarah likes to.” 

—

Shitmas has been stupidly fun so far. Watching Tommy and Joel try their best to decorate cookies while Sarah makes Great British Bake Off worthy ones, all while Ellie smears smiley faces onto each one in an effort to make her sister proud has raised your spirits infinitely. You decorated a few cookies, but mostly watched in awe as Sarah expertly pressed sprinkles into each of the cookies and piped patterns onto them. It kind of felt like wasting cookies to not let her decorate them, even though she bakes them each year so everyone can participate. 

Now, you’re sitting on the couch. The cookies are all sitting on the kitchen counter, abandoned as each family member bustles around the house getting ready for the picture they’ll take in front of the tree. 

Surprisingly, Tommy is done getting ready first. Honestly you figured it would have been Joel, but maybe he’s putting some extra effort in today, rather than just running a comb through his hair. Tommy’s appearance at first is only surprising because of how meticulous he can be with his hair. Joel has told you about the times they’ve been late because his hair was “fighting” him some mornings. 

“Hair cooperated with me,” he says as he takes a seat next to you on the couch. Sometimes it feels like Tommy can either read your mind, or just says shit to take up space. You respond with a nod and a mild expression of acknowledgement, a little off in your own world. 

“You forget your flannel or somethin?” Tommy asks next. You almost nod again, on auto-pilot, but then stop.

“What?” You ask, head turning in his direction. He laughs in disbelief, and for a moment you feel embarrassment start burning at the base of your neck in fear he’s laughing at you. Were you told to bring something and didn’t?

“Hold on,” Tommy says, grunting as he curls up and off the couch a second later.

He leaves you alone in the living room, left to listen to the crackling fireplace channel on TV and the sound of Ellie protesting over Sarah wanting to put hairspray on her. 

Tommy’s heavy footsteps clomp around upstairs, leading into Joel’s bedroom. Not dissimilar to the girls downstairs, the rumble of Joel’s voice hits the floor and you roll your eyes, holding a laugh. There aren’t words you can make out, but you’re sure that Joel is mightily unhappy at the random intrusion of his brother.

The more you learn about this family, the more you feel like you’re falling into place, and the more you experience being in it, the farther away your own family feels.

You sit on the couch, still as can be, as you listen to the sound of Tommy rummaging around his older brother’s room, the sound of the hairspray being spritzed while Ellie groans. The sounds are feeling increasingly farther away, even though the girls are downstairs and the boys are only upstairs. Your eyes move to the cookies sitting on the counter, the messy dishes in the sink, and suddenly the stickiness from the icing beneath your nails is too much. 

What are you doing here? What is this Hallmark movie family you’ve found yourself in? 

The thump of your heart ramps up, pumping blood to your ears and making it rssshhhh in the back of your mind just as you begin to chase your breath. It’s all too nice, and maybe you aren’t entirely undeserving, but this is all so unfamiliar. Your own family isn’t terrible, but in comparison to this, it feels so dull. Christmas was just lights and presents before, not tradition and excitement the way that fucking Shitmas has been so far. You’re one activity into the day and it’s already so much better than what you can remember from back home. 

Maybe this is what influenced your decision to stay in Texas for the holidays. Maybe somewhere in you, you knew that this would be better. You’re sitting here, in another family’s home, taking your own family for granted, and for what? Some cookies and some pictures? For the sake of a relationship that isn’t even labelled yet? You deserve this, you deserve to chase your breath and wipe your tears. Selfish girl, if you didn’t feel right in your own family, what right do you have to find a place in theirs?

Nobody in this house asked you to be here but Joel, and really, you just showed up on his doorstep. 

Your eyes are shut as you catch your breath, squinched together so tightly that you see sparks of colour behind your eyelids. Tears keep slipping out and you wipe under your eyes politely, trying not to choke on any noises. The bathrooms are occupied, don’t make a fool of yourself in the living room. 

Tommy and Joel’s voices increase in volume until they’re in front of you, and you open your eyes to see the pair staring at you. Tommy avoids your eyes as soon as you’re looking back at him, while Joel just seems a little shocked.

“Hey,” Joel says, a festive red flannel in his grip. “Why don’t we head upstairs for a second?”

—

You cry for a long while before you actually manage to tell Joel what’s upset you. 

Sat on the edge of his bed, you cry into your palms until your cheeks are red and blotchy, and snot covers the inside of your palms and the bridge of your nose. It’s ugly, nasty, and not what you want to be doing at all. Your family is fine, just boring and emotionally detached, and you’re crying about it to the hardest working single father you know, who has essentially built his life on his own with the help of his brother. 

“I just feel so stupid and– and totally out of place. What have I done to earn my place here?” You ask him, eyes puffy and sad as you stare up at him.

Joel looks hurt. He has looked hurt for a long while, but you couldn’t see it when you were buried in your palms. His brows are pinched, his eyes wrinkled at the outer corners as he looks at you, almost seeming to pity you. For a moment his eyes flash away, not to anything in particular, but just to gather himself.

“Earn your place? Baby, what?” He questions. You stay quiet, feeling just as confused as he sounds. 

His hands clench where they rest on his thighs, then relax as he sighs, head tilting to the side so he can look at you again. 

“You don’t… earn your place in our family, darlin, you’re invited.”

How could you be so fucking dense?

Anyone that’s in Joel’s life, apart from Sarah, is somebody he actively invited in. His allowance of Tommy to be a near second father figure to Sarah and Ellie, his adoption of Ellie on its own,  the majority of his family has been let in. It could have been just him and Sarah, but he wanted more so he allowed more, and he allows more because he loves what the more in his life is. 

Joel takes a deep breath, again, and seems to steel his nerves. 

“You are so much more than invited into our family, angel, you’re welcomed wholly. But, if that’s too much right now and it’s bringing you worry, it’s fine for you to just be my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend.

That is not the topic right now, that is so not the topic right now, but he said the word. 

Joel loves the more in his life, and now he’s added you to that “more” officially. A label, a name, a little add-on to your identity. You’re putting “Joel’s Girlfriend” on your imaginary nametag in a million different fonts in your head before you realize he’s still talking. 

“You fit right in with us, baby. The girls love you, Tommy loves you, I love you, but you know that one,” he laughs. “It’s up to you if you wanna think of yourself as a part of our family, but know that we already do.” 

A smarter response should come out of your mouth here. Joel has just said a lot of touching things that have sunk into the meat of your body, warming you, but a smart response isn’t something you can manage.

“I’m your girlfriend?”  You ask.

Joel’s brows furrow. “Yeah?”

He says it the way an eighth grader would say “Duh.”

Your look of “When did this happen?” meets Joel’s look of “Where have you been?” at the same time, and only then does he realize. 

—

His apology for completely forgetting to ask you to be his official girlfriend for the last however many months is by cleaning you up really nicely for the photo.

Joel starts by fixing your hair, letting you sit between his knees as he gently pulls it away from your face. His hands run through it so carefully, a tenderness that only an experienced girl-dad like him could provide. When he’s finished, he leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your head, adding a mumbled “sorry” in, just to really save his ass. 

With anyone else you’d be upset at them for forgetting something so pivotal in a relationship, but with Joel you lend as much patience as he gives you. He’s busy, stupidly so, and with how close and intense the two of you are with one another, it’s not absurd for it to have slipped his mind. In some ways it’s flattering, and you’d like to ask how long he’s been thinking of you as his girlfriend. 

You’re just about to when he holds up the flannel in front of you, the one that he and the rest of his family are apparently wearing for the photo.

“You don’t have to. Seriously. We just talked about family and stuff and if you aren’t ready for that, then that’s–” He’s talking fast, but not as fast as you move to grab the flannel from him.

“I’m your girlfriend, of course I have to be in the picture.”

—

The rest of Shitmas was less, well, shit. 

Ellie and Sarah did their yearly sock snowmen after the photo was taken and they turned out lovely, or at least Sarah’s did. Ellie purposefully overstuffed hers with rice just to see how big she could make the snowman before he exploded, which resulted in him exploding later that evening when his rotund body toppled down the stairs.

Now it’s Christmas Eve, and you’re prepping for tomorrow morning. Your house still isn’t decorated in the slightest, the only festive thing about it being a laundry basket full of gifts that you’ll tote over to Joel’s tomorrow morning. 

Your lower back is absolutely killing you from wrapping the last of Joel’s gifts, something he had warned you of, but you had foolishly ignored. You figured it was an old man thing, not a consequence of too many presents. It feels like heaven when your back finally rests against the couch, your head leaning back as you sigh.

Since talking with Joel yesterday about the family stress and what the two of you are, you feel a hell of a lot better. Your lungs almost feel like they’re more open than before.

Just as you’re relaxing, eyes sliding shut in stressless bliss, someones at the door. 

You grunt as you peel yourself off the couch, trudging to the door and opening it. It’s strange that anyone is at your door, especially since Joel is out with Tommy and the girls going Christmas light spotting.

Or at least he’s supposed to be.

Joel stands at your door in a loose shirt and grey sweatpants, looking sheepish. 

“Do you want to come over for a bit?”

—

Alone. Finally, alone. 

You’re sat halfway on Joel’s lap, sucking a mark into his neck as he leans back, cursing softly. 

“Fuuuckin’ god, you know I missed you,” he groans. You nod into his skin, teething at the skin softly before pulling back to lick at the reddened spot. 

Your hands grip up his sides, feeling the solid width of his body, the plushness of his tummy when your hands sink into the right spot, and you want to whimper. He’s so stupidly big, and you’re so grateful he took his shirt off almost as soon as you both started making out.

Under the lights of the tree, he already looks fucked out. Joel is almost completely limp against the back of the couch, head leaned back to expose his thick throat, bitten down and bruised with marks he might regret in a few hours. His eyes are halfway shut, but dark as ever even in the warm glow of the room which also illuminates the contours that form along his tanned skin. 

He feels your eyes on him, his own opening in an attempt to meet yours, but it only brings attention to his face. Pink lips sit pretty on his face, slightly parted and puffy from kissing you dizzy earlier. Again, his eyes squeeze shut as you drag your nails up across his chest, only to fly open.

“Wait– Wait I have something,” Joel sputters. He slides you off his lap, scrambling to the Christmas tree with boyish urgency.

Joel returns with a red present, one that he actually wrapped fairly neatly.

It’d be sweet if you weren’t literally two seconds from tearing his grey sweats off his body and riding him into next year before he had shoved you off. 

“It’s not Christmas,” you point out, but he shakes his head and shoves the gift into your hands.

Begrudgingly, you unwrap the gift and lift the lid off the box beneath the paper. Laying flat in the bottom of the thin box, cushioned by white tissue paper, is a red, babydoll, nightie. A blush lashes across your cheeks as you lift it out of the box, discovering that the top of it has no bra cups, or really anything to support your tits at all. Red ribbon frames the bust of the nightie limply in a triangular shape, a fluttery mesh making up for the remainder of the piece. It looks and feels expensive, and on top of that it’s totally sexy, even more so since Joel is the one that bought it for you.

Joel had gone out and picked this just for you, he had probably thought about you wearing this every night for the past week. The idea of it is making you increasingly more aroused, your eyes flicking to his, then down to the bulge in his pants. 

“If it’s too much then I’ll return it but,” Joel’s chest is heaving with excitement, biting his lip as he looks at the nightie, “but I kind of want to fuck my beautiful girlfriend before Christmas.”

The two of you are upstairs quickly, with Joel settling in bed and you changing in the bathroom. 

You look at yourself in the reflection of the mirror once you’ve put the ensemble on, if you can call it that. The underwear that came with the nightie are barely a scrap of fabric. Normally you’d feel really uncomfortable in something like this, hyperfocusing on small things, like how the pouch of your belly looks, or how your tits don’t look nearly as full as you want them to, but not right now. 

Joel Miller just gave you, his official girlfriend, lingerie for Christmas. Because he wants to fuck you in it. 

Shamelessly, you open the door into Joel’s bedroom, basically bouncing onto the bed. 

“It’s so nice,” you tell him right away, wanting to show your gratitude. He’s down to his boxers as he lays beside you, eyes scanning up and down your body as you sit in his bed, almost as sexy as you are naked. 

Joel is still like that for almost a minute, making your brain run haywire. Tonight, he’s left the bedside light on. It’s probably so he can see you, but it’s always special when he lets you see him while you both get intimate. He doesn’t touch you at all, just scoots up the bed so he’s sitting upright and unblinking, until finally:

“I want you to use me,” Joel blurts out. 

It’s more surprising than the gift. Your voice is a tiny whine in the back of your throat, your mouth forming the word “what,” but before you can finish, his hands are on your hips, lifting you onto his thigh. 

“There, I want you to use me there,” he near-demands. 

You’re speechless. Joel is vocal in bed for sure, always talking a lot and never really quiet, but he hasn’t been so… commanding before. He’ll ask for things occasionally, a certain position or act, but not like this. Your hips are still as he pushes you down onto his thigh, the hair on it smushing into the softness of your skin. 

“C’mon, angel, I can feel you. Fuck my thigh, use me, I want it.” He encourages.

Joel’s hands grab onto you tighter now, starting to make you move your hips until you do it on your own. It feels like you’re making a dumb face, eyes wide and brows pinched together, but you can’t help but feel surprised.

This is Joel, your Joel, who was hesitant to have sex with the lights on, or even let you look at his dick in general, and now he’s making you hump his thigh? It’s completely new to you, but you aren’t mad.

Once you’ve picked up your own pace, and stabilized yourself with your hands on his shoulders, he reaches up. Joel keeps his eyes trained on your face as he takes advantage of how your tits are on full display in the nightie, plucking and rolling your nipples in his fingers all while talking you through what’s going on. 

“I know, I know you needed this,” he nods at you, “I needed it too, baby. Missed you like this.” 

It feels awfully good grinding against his thigh, and something about this newfound side of Joel with the added fact that you guys haven’t had a moment alone in probably a month, is making this so much more explosive. You roll your hips just right and gasp as one side of the undies slips into the slit of your cunt, the less soft edge of the elastic brushing your clit. A pathetic noise is ripped from you as your hips stutter, body shocked from the sudden direct stimulation.

“No,” Joel says right away. His hand reaches around and cups the bottom of your ass, letting his fingers sink into the crease between your butt and thigh as he drags you forward again. 

“Want your messy pussy all over me, please angel I need it so bad,” he says, guiding your movements as you start to go limp, head falling back. You barely register the feeling of his hand on your waist, trying to balance you as he fucks your wet cunt onto his leg. 

You let out a tiny noise as the elastic of the undies bites into your clit again and for whatever reason it makes Joel groan too. 

“S’exactly what I wanted, angel. Wanted my pretty girlfriend to come all over me an’ have her tits in my face.”

Whatever the hell has gotten into him you hope it gets into him again. He keeps rubbing you into his leg until you’re begging for more stimulation, your limp arms reaching to grab at his hand and push it up to your breasts again. 

“M-my nipples,” you beg softly, tears pricking at your eyes from the overstimulation on your clit. He doesn’t hesitate, half smiling as he starts playing with your nipples again.

“Like this? Is this gonna make my pretty baby come?” He teases as he rolls your nipples repeatedly between his fingers.

All of it is too much, but it’s exactly what you wanted at the same time. Your orgasm completely fucks you out as you keep your eyes on his, mouth hanging open dumbly as he keeps one hand playing with your nipple and the other reaching down to cup your ass and grind your cunt harder on his thigh. 

“Good girl, fuckin’ God,” Joel says, staring down as your ruined undies mash into his skin. You can’t tell if you’re coming down or if this orgasm is just super long for no reason, but if it was ending, it’s extended the moment Joel’s thigh clenches up.

You look down as you whimper, wondering why he’s chosen midway through your orgasm to fuck you up again, but then realize that he didn’t choose. 

A fat, pearly, translucent bead, sprouts from where the head of his cock lays beneath his black briefs. You can see it grow bigger in the light, listening as Joel groans and curses, his lower half thrashing beneath you. His chest is heaving and the hand on your ass is digging deep. 

“Jesus– God, baby, what you do to me,” he grits through his teeth as his back finally hits the headboard again. 

Frankly, you’re speechless. You didn’t realize that would happen, or really that it could happen. You weren’t even touching him and he came, he was only watching you. It isn’t like he shot a huge load of come, but still, something came out. 

Joel seems to be coming to the same conclusion as he breathily laughs, looking down at the mess before tugging you down onto him anyway, burying his nose in your hair. 

“Good gift,” he mumbles, maybe to you, maybe to himself. “Definitely buyin’ you another one next year.” [ <3 ]

----

please leave comments, rbs/tags, or drop into my askbox ! i love to chat and listen <3 tags (people who i think will like this?? maybe??) @bambisweethearts , @pascalssbabyy , @ajps-posts , @starcaviar , @hisvision , @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal , @joeloverture , @mochamadeleines , @taeslarityy , @theweedisasterxoxo , @pawnshopb1ues , @hellishjoel , @slutty-express , @kyloispunk , @rainbowcosmicchaos , @stefanibear003 , @pedrostories [i plan on making an updates blog or something soon, apologies!]

[mochamadeleines]

AWW THIS IS GEN SO NICE !! i only have two fics up n yet we made it guys... thankies

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@katareyoudrilling @katiexpunk @kaysfanficcorner @kedsandtubesocks @keeper0fthestars @keeshya6 @kilojulietsierra @kiwisbell @knivesareout @krissology @kteague 

@l0ngschl0ngking @la-lunaluna @lacroixwh0r3 @ladamedusoif @lannister-slings-and-arrows @laureliciousdefinition @lavendertales @lavenderursa @legendary-pink-dot @leslie-lyman @levi-llama @liltangerineart @lincolndjarin @linzels-blog @littlebirdsbookshelf @littleferal @littlemissmiller @littlemisspascal @littlepadika @lokischocolatefountain​ @lola-writes​  @loslentesdepedrito @louswrld11 @loversandantiheroes @lowlights @lucyeyelesbarrow @lumoverheaven @lunasblipsandblurbs @luvpedropascal @luxurychristmaspudding

@macfrog @magneticecstasy @magpie-to-the-morning @magpiepills @mandoalorian @mandoblowmybackout @mandoisapunk @mandorush @mandosmistress @marisferasiop @marvel-and-mischief @massivecolorspygiant @max–phillips @mcfreakin-bxtch @mendessi @mermaidgirl30 @metalnecklace @mewhenimsad @miceenscene @milkymoon2483 @milla-frenchy @millersaurora @millersdjarin @mishasminion360 @miss-oranje-disco-dancer @missadangel @misslexilouwho @misspearly1 @missredherring​ @mochamadeleines​  @mochiduh @mondaychildsworld @moon-sang @moondirti @moonlight-prose @moralesispunk @morallyinept @mostly-megan @mothandpidgeon @mountainsandmayhem @mourningbirds1 @movievillainess721 @mrsjavierp @mrsmando @mssalo @multifandomfanfiction @multific @murder-wife​ @musings-of-a-rose @mybworlds @mylostloversbookmarks @myownwholewildworld @mysterious-moonstruck-musings

✦ N - S ✦   

✦ T - Z ✦  

[mochamadeleines]

birthday girl

summary: sometimes a girl just needs to cry her way through her birthday; joel makes sure you cry for a good reason this year.

tags: 18+, smut, praise kink, crying, crying during sex but not for bad reasons, fingering, joel has big hands (duh), soft sex, sweet sex, clingy!reader, academic!reader (implied), reader is younger than joel, reader is in college still but no age is discussed, anxious!reader, quiet!reader, soft!joel, dom!joel (a little?), praise kink (again), boyfriend!joel, use of the following nicknames: baby, dove, birthday girl, reader has hair, size difference kind of, happy ending :]

a/n: it's my birthday today !! and i felt like projecting into a fic so here is this thing i wrote in one sitting HAHA <3

(1.4k, not beta read)

“Baby?” Joel calls softly.

He’s knuckle deep in you, stretching you across two of his fingers. You can feel how you’re melting onto him, how you clench onto him in every way possible.

There’s no possible way that this is comfortable for him, not in the slightest. You can tell that his wrist is aching, that the forearm he’s resting on is aching, but he hasn’t said anything yet and you don’t want this to stop.

He’s laid beside you kind of, with one of your legs out on the opposite side of the bed while the other is sandwiched between his own. He always lets you hold yourself open how you want, and tonight you want to be as close to him as you can. 

Your arms are awkwardly hugging his neck down to you, so you can nuzzle into his cheek and tell him how you’re feeling. This kind of attention can feel so anxiety inducing sometimes, this weird pressure to come for him quickly so he can be done with it, even if that isn’t what he wants.

Joel will coax your release from you no matter how long it takes, or how many times you want it. He doesn’t mind, he’s always telling you he doesn’t mind, but he needs you to talk to him through it.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly, curling his fingers in you. It makes your hips twitch slightly, a soft mewl leaving your throat in response.

“How’s my birthday girl doin’? Is this good?” Joel asks. 

You’re stupidly lucky to have him.

He carried you up the stairs after you began bawling into your birthday dinner, salty tears mixing with the pasta that Joel slaved over for the evening. You couldn’t swallow anymore of it, everything was feeling so heavy already and each gulp of food was landing like lumps of grease in your stomach. 

This year has been lonely, painfully so. Somewhere between high school and postsecondary you shrank back into your shell, leaving behind friend groups and growing into your own skin. It felt good for the first little while, but your success and achievements in classes didn’t make up for the sinking feeling in your heart. You have some friends, but not enough for a birthday party, and they aren’t close enough to remember your birthday anyways. 

Going out to dinner felt stupid if it was just you and your boyfriend celebrating, it didn’t feel important enough. Joel fought you on it at first, but gave up when he noticed how upset you were. Instead, he made dinner for you and set up some decorations.

You feel a little guilty, thinking about the birthday banner downstairs, the pasta on the table, and the cake in the fridge, but then he curls his fingers again and your eyes flutter.

“Need your words, dove,” Joel says patiently. He doesn’t thrust his fingers at all, just pushing them against your walls softly to remind you he’s there.

Managing to nod, and find your voice, you murmur a yes, feels good, but your voice is so small. Joel picks up on it right away.

“You wanna talk, baby? S’okay if you don’t, s’okay if you’re feelin’ quiet.”

Tears start to billow and burn in the bags beneath your eyes, stinging as you close your eyes and shake your head into the crook of his neck. Your hands clasp behind his neck, pulling him closer, and he nods. 

You feel so embarrassed and guilty, but also stupid. Here is Joel, giving you all you need, and you can’t even speak up for him. You didn’t finish his dinner, or blow out the candles, and he’s still reassuring you. 

“Is it good slow? Deep and slow right now?” he asks into your ear, scruff scratching your ear.

Your soft nods reassure him and he resumes a slow pace, pushing up against your wall as he presses kisses down the side of your head and in your hair, hushing you. The feeling of his fingers in you is so foreign still, not quite new but not your own either. He’s such a stretch compared to yourself, one that makes your brain fuzz over. 

Joel curls his fingers in you, then strokes the inside of you with the pads of his fingers as he begins to talk.

“It’s okay you’re bein’ quiet, baby, you know I don’t mind. Don’t matter if you can use your voice or not, s’long as you keep bein’ the good girl you are.”

Now the tears spill over, hot and rolling slow down your heated cheeks. There are so many emotions and he’s monopolized this overwhelming feeling into pleasure as he pulls wetness from you and spills it onto his knuckles, into his palm. You’re surprised you’re even this turned on when you’ve had such a shit day, but you know it’s because of him. 

He hasn’t realized you’re crying yet, still fingering you at an easy pace, something he hopes you can handle. 

“Jus’ wanna make you feel good, you deserve it. My strong girl’s been so tough lately, workin’ so hard to make me proud, huh?” 

Your tears pour into the fibers of his tee as you push your head down into his shoulder, nodding as you catch your breath between a quiet sob. This recognition feels so different, so much better. 

“You cryin’?” He asks quietly.

His fingers don't still. You’ve cried a lot tonight, if you wanted it to stop he knows that you’d tell him, or kick him. You have your means of communicating, even if you’re feeling too much to speak. 

Nodding into his shirt, you breathe out a shaky little breath. His neck feels clammy under your hot palms, but you can’t bring yourself to let go.

“S’okay if you’re cryin’, that’s okay, baby. It’s tough bein’ the birthday girl, right? So much stress sometimes, hard to be that pretty and special,” Joel reassures, pulling his fingers almost fully out of you before slowly easing them back into you. There’s a nasty noise coming from you, one that would be lewd if he wasn’t so sweet.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s so hard for you, but you’ve been so good. Best birthday girl I know,” he hums, pushing a little harder into you now. It makes your eyes draw together as tears brim, a little sound pulling itself from your chest.

“M’so proud of you, dove, you know that? I wanna make you feel good, an extra special birthday gift for bein’ so disciplined,” Joel adds.

He drags his face down to yours, shrinking into his own body in a silly way so he can nudge your nose with his. Your eyes are closed but it doesn’t matter, you don’t know if you can handle seeing anything right now. Joel presses a kiss to your forehead, pushing deeper and a little faster into you as his fingers curl, drag, and press into you just right.

“Can I give you that, huh? You want your gift, birthday girl, since you were so good? 

Everything is melting now, the tears down your face and the space between your thighs. Wet is everywhere, from your cheeks to his knuckles. Hot, and sticky, and dripping, all of you being kept together from where he’s plugged himself into you. Trying to speak, you make noises, but just babble aimlessly through a desperate sob.

Somehow, through your orgasm, you drag him closer. He’s nearly collapsed on top of you now, barely able to keep moving his fingers as you clench around him, spilling onto him.

“There you go, dove, there you are,” he shushes softly as your chest heaves with a mixture of gasps and sobs.

He doesn’t pull away from you, just lets you cling and sob as you need, kissing wherever he can. 

It takes awhile for you to come down, but when you have he doesn’t pull away except for sliding his fingers out of you. Your head feels distant from you, eyes soft and chest exhausted.

“Maybe we can try this birthday thing again tomorrow, hm?” Joel asks, adjusting you so he can lay with you in a more comfortable position. Your head rests on the meat of his chest and you nod, eyes half open. Honestly, apart from what happened just now, today sucked. Having two birthdays sounds perfectly appealing to your melted little brain as he holds you close to his warm body.

Tomorrow, tomorrow can be your birthday.

[mochamadeleines]

[mochamadeleines]

At Night

rating: 18+

characters: Din Djarin x F!Reader

summary: After months of silent torture Din Djarin hears the sound of his onboard mechanic pleasuring herself and whimpering his name. He decides he has to do something about it.

a/n: For my sweet @almostempty because she knows why. Now, don't y'all come for me saying "That's not what happens in star wars" because I've barely seen it. This is just some smut for my slut2slut sister.

At Night

It happens every week at the same time. 

Din is always laying in his bed, his helmet off and one arm behind his head. His armor always rests on the end of the bed in an organized pile.  

And then there you are, whimpering directly on the other side of the metal wall. 

"Please," you coo, breathy morphing into a shuddered moan. "Please let me touch you." 

You're alone in there, your own bedroom next to his on the ship. Both are modest, and on across the other side in his small cubby is the kid, likely snoring away. 

If Din concentrates he can hear the wet noise of your fingers in your cunt. He can imagine it too, the way your fingers would look splayed around your clit, the way they'd tease your nipples. 

But he can't do that. He forces his mind to turn to work. Of the upcoming bounty he's been hired to collect. 

You're his employee, experienced with ship mechanics and desperate to travel around the galaxy. Suggested to Din by Karga during a routine visit. 

"Let her work on it this week," Karga had insisted with a clap to Mando's back. "If you're not happy with her work, you don't have to pay her." 

Grogu was besotted with you from day one, watching you with the wires most days, tilting his head and cooing. And you never lost your temper, even when he tried to help with the wires and ended up knocking out the navigation for half a leg. You just laughed, patted his head and told him to go "see your Daddy." 

And at the end of the week you came to him, wiping your hands on a towel and giving him a proud smile.

"She's a beautiful pre-empire ship and now she'll travel to the Outer Rim smooth as lightning.” 

Din had been impressed, taking his time surveying your work, walking around the ship. There were other things that needed to be repaired, things that would take months.  

"I see there's quite a bit more work to be done," you'd observed as if reading his mind. "I don't know how you feel about this, but I've never really traveled off Nevarro. I'd love the chance to travel a bit of the galaxy."

Din just stood there, peering out at you from his helmet. He couldn't understand what you were driving at. 

"Sooooo, I was thinking maybe I could tag along with you for a bit? You wouldn't have to pay me, I have credits saved. Just lodging and food is needed and then," at this point you sighed dreamily, "I'll get a chance to see some of the galaxy." 

It was too much like charity for Din and he was about to tell you so when a sleepy Grogu woke in the crook of his arm and reached for you. You jumped at the opportunity, shooting a charming smile Din"s way. 

"Plus I'll help take care of your kid." 

///

Of course he'd agreed to this, passively amused at how easily you slid into this life with them and now it's been three months of travel, bounties and brief conversation. And it's been two months of this twice-a-week routine you've set for yourself. 

"Just this time," you pant, the bed creaking as you touch yourself. "I'll make you feel so good, I promise." 

Din feels his cock twitching and he frowns. You're not always this vocal, usually just muffled groans and creaking metal. The first time he heard it he assumed you were having a nightmare. He heard the groans and movement and he assumed that you were half asleep. He was nearly out of his own bed to check when he heard the whimper, a sound that crawled down his spine and immediately had him hard. 

It was then that he realized what you were doing. And even though he knew it was wrong he continued to listen night after night. He never touches himself when he hears you, thinking that would be a true overstep. You didn't know he was listening and he was too embarrassed to bring it up.

It makes him short with you, snapping at you or just ignoring you in favor of focusing on other things. If he looks at you too long he can hear memories of your whimpers and moans. The ones that remind him that you’re not just a talented mechanic, you’re an incredibly desirable woman.

You're getting close, you’re panting quicker, the wet sounds increasing. He starts when your hand must slap against the wall of your bedroom for stability and it echoes into his room. You’re so close he’s sure he could touch that wall and feel the heat from your palm.

"Yes! Fuck just like that! Please come inside me!"  

Din bites the inside of his cheek and prays for morning. 

///

You collapse back onto your pillow, cheeks flushed and hair sticking to your temples. You can’t believe how hard you came just now, your hand sliding down from the metal ship wall. You’re panting, your cunt fluttering at the memory.

Din.

It’s always Din in your mind. Din fucking into you, Din whispering filthy things in your ears, Din commanding you come for him.

But it wasn’t always like this. 

When you first started the two of you were cordial. You worked hard, were kind to the kid and didn’t bother Din much. As the time went on things seemed to twist and the normally quiet Mandalorian was suddenly withdrawn and snappish. You couldn’t understand it, but it didn’t bother you much. You'd faced worse verbal onslaughts.

And it would have continued on in this tense partnership if only you hadn’t seen him bring in a live bounty for the first time about two months ago. Normally they're dead or unconscious, but this humanoid was very awake and very angry being dragged in by the muscular Mandalorian. 

"What are you looking at?" The Anzat hissed at you, his nostrils flared as they passed by to the carbonite chamber. “Filthy kronging scum.”

Neither of you had been expecting Din to slam the man into the nearby wall. The sound echoed into the hull of the ship. You heard the crunch of bone and the sharp hiss from the man. You were thankful Grogu was in the cockpit, away from the brutal scene.

"Talk to her again and I'll make sure you don't take another breath."

His sinister sotto voce rasp through the modulator made your blood pump and that evening you brought yourself off twice in quick succession, whimpering in your bed at the memory. Din’s arms, Din’s voice, the commanding way he moved, the scissoring of his long legs as he walked. Din Din Din.

You were paranoid that maybe the Mandalorian heard you that evening but he acted no differently the next morning and it had thrilled you to have this sexy little secret to yourself about a man so formidable.

So why not continue? What started as a sporadic way to blow off energy was now something you looked forward to. You limited yourself to twice a week though. Just to keep yourself sharp. You spent your free time wondering what he looked like under the armor. You saw a flash of wrist once, the color of deep sand and it thrilled you. Is he all gold under there? Is his mouth plush? His eyes sharp?

Tonight however it was too much to hold back. Seeing Din with his blaster raised as he threatened a man who attempted to steal from a poor woman at the market was too sexy for you to ignore. 

Your fingers were in your pants in a hurry that evening, you body arching off the bed in desperation within seconds, desperate to chase the sensation of Din’s phantom fingers and his deep voice.

You think about bringing yourself off again, but fatigue slowly sets in and you fall asleep with a smile on your face, hoping that morning approaches slowly.  

///

The next morning you wake up and shower ready to face the day. You’re landed in a lush and upscale planet with large buildings and rich looking humanoids. You spend your morning and early afternoon doing a check of materials and ship scans, frustrated to note that the antenna on the hanger is loose. Upon closer inspection to the anterior you can also see some of the scanners are cracked.

It must be from yesterday’s flight. Space debris must have chipped away at the patch job Mando insisted on. You sigh and travel into town with the credits Din saves for such expenses. You return empty-handed several hours later. You travel to the cockpit and smile at the sight of Grogu seated on Mando's knee babbling before frowning.  

"The long wave antenna is loose," you inform his back. "Plus the exterior sensors at the back. We shouldn’t have rushed the job.”

Din is turned from you, not willing to make a turn of his head. If he does he’s going to see you in that tight mechanics outfit where you’re not trying to look sexy, but you do when you’re all sweaty. He places Grogu on the jump seat next to him.

“So go into town and get the supplies. Last time I checked that was your job.”

“For your information, I already did,” you snap. “The antenna was in but it was the wrong size. The sensors will take a day to arrive and so will a new antenna.”

You’re coming closer to him, the sound of your boots scraping the metal floor. Din feels his stomach tighten and he wills you to go away. He busies himself with the buttons on the panel, silently praying you’ll stop coming closer.

“So we’ll travel without them.”

“Are you insane?” you’re irritated that he doesn’t even have the decency to turn around and face you. “We’ll be in a freefall within seconds. You’re a good pilot, Mando, but last time I checked you weren’t force-powerful enough to glide through the air without a working nav transmitter.”

“Fine,” Din sighs. “We’ll stay on the ship overnight-“

“The guy at the shop says ship stays are illegal here because of criminal activity,” you cut him off.

"What do you suggest?" Din offers dryly. 

"I think we should get a place in town for the night." 

Din swears under his breath and soon the three of you are in the foyer of a nearby hotel with Din handing over credits for two adjoining rooms.  Grogu babbles in the satchel at his hip, gazing around with large black eyes, fascinated by the upscale patrons who wrinkle their nose at the three of you.

You don’t care, you’re excited by the luxury of this small diversion. The fresher onboard the ship is usually lukewarm at best with soap that smells like bleach. The blankets are scratchy and the bedding uncomfortable. You think about stealing the pillow from the hotel room once you arrive. 

Once inside your separate bedroom you lower your bag to the floor. You can't believe how beautiful and clean and bright everything is. You nearly skip into the tub, reveling in the warm water and sweet smelling soaps and hair cleansers. You change into fresh clothes and give the closed door between you a light tap. 

"Come in."

You walk into the adjoining room to see Grogu playing with his silver ball on the large bed. Din is setting up a small nest of blankets and pillows on the table across the room and you realize it's for the baby. 

"I'm going to grab something to eat at the bar downstairs," you tell him. "I saw it when we came in. Do you want me to bring you anything back?"

Din doesn't answer you at first. He fiddles with something in his pocket before crossing the room and shoving credits into your hand. 

"Just something for the kid." 

"I'm happy to pay."

Din says nothing, just stares at you through his visor. At least you assume he does. You'll never see his eyes so he could be closing them for all you know. You also know that the conversation is closed. 

"I'll get him something good."

Din makes a grunt of acknowledgement and then he's gone back to setting up a small bed for his son. You watch his broad back before moving out the door and down to the bar. 

The place is quiet, populated with a few tired travelers who, like you, need something to eat. You order a curried nuna roll and spotchka. You eat and drink slowly, looking out the window to the bright city. You wonder if you have enough energy to do explore tonight. 

"Hello beautiful." 

A deep voice sounds at your left and you see a handsome man dressed to the nines in expensive looking garb. He wears many elaborate looking braids in his long purple hair. He stands next to your table. 

"Seems we're both eating alone. You mind if I join you? I hate eating by myself." 

You nod shyly. You don't often get to socially interact with others on the job. You're usually blasting from one planet to the next. 

For the next little bit you and the handsome man chat back and forth. He's here for business and he asks you lots of questions about yourself. Its nice to have company, especially one this attractive and attentive.

"All this chatting has me parched," the man eventually says, sweeping a look over you appreciatively. "Can I buy you another spotchka?"

You look at your drained glass and nod. "Yes, thank you."

" I'll be right back, beautiful one."

You blush at the compliment and watch the handsome man walk off, weaving through the tables. You glance back out the window, feeling your heart trip inside your ribcage. It's been a long while since you had sex and this man seems to be putting out all the signals. 

Plus the one man you desperately want to sleep with can barely stand you. But that doesn't stop you from fantasizing about what it would be like to have a man like Din Djarin fuck you. Would he be gentle? Rough? 

Your still internally debating this when the man arrives back with your drink and slides it across the table to you. You realize only now that he's been asking so much about you that you don't even know his first name. 

You're about to ask him just that when you feel a looming presence at our back.

"It's time to go."

You glance over, surprised to the Mandalorian standing behind you. His hands are tight curls at his side. He seems furious.

"What? Why?" You scrunch your nose in confusion. "I'm just having a drink with a new friend." 

"Well your friend dropped something in your spotchka at the bar."

You whip your head back to face the man who looks at Din darkly. He tilts back in his seat, sucking at his teeth as he scans the imposing figure behind you as if he isn’t terrified. 

"And who are you?" 

"A friend."

Mando has never referred to himself as such and a distant part of you is touched by the remark. You kind of assumed he hated you.

"Well friend, I never did anything to this," he insists before tapping the side of your glass. "So you can just keep on walking."

Din sighs through the modulator, obviously tired from the day and the interaction. You wonder if he's going to leave you to get back to your semi-date. He surprises you by leaning forward, his chest plate nearly touching the top of your head.   

"Drink it then."

The man goes from agitated to suspiciously quiet at Dins request. No, not request, his order. The man's light eyes move from Din to you before he sneers.  

"Your father tag along with you on all your dates?"

You're about to reply when Din slowly tilts forward and his voice drops another register.

"Drink. It."

"I'm not-"

Din's blaster is at the man's temple immediately buzzing. He leans over you to do it, the beskar cold on your back. 

"If there's nothing wrong with it then you don't mind drinking it."

The man looks wildly around but Dins broad frame blocks you all from view of the other patrons. Finally his furious gaze lands back on the Mandalorian’s helmet.

"And if I don't?"

"Who said I was giving you a choice?" Din taps the barrel against the man's cheek. "Drink up."

There's something about the dark tease from Din that has a heartbeat between your legs. The man sighs heavily before looking at the untouched drink in front of you. He grits his teeth before sneering at you. 

"This was such-"

"I didn't say you could talk." 

Fuck, why are you so turned on by the sharp way Din commands this interaction? He holsters his weapon for the time being. 

You squirm in your chair slightly as you watch the man raise the glass to his mouth and throw the drink back. He lowers the glass back down onto the table, glaring at Din over your shoulder. 

"Satisfied?" He shakes his head and prepares to stand. "I'm outta here."

He goes to slide out of his chair but Din just speaks in that rasp of his, low and sultry. 

"You'll sit there until I say you can go."

There it is, that thrumming between your legs growing stronger. The three of you sit in silence, the man blinking at the two of you and frowning. You're confused at what Din is getting at when the man suddenly relaxes, slumping slightly in his chair and laughing quietly to himself. 

What the fuck?

You can still feel Din pressed up against you from behind. You even feel the vibration of his speaking through his beskar.  

"Pick up the glass."

The man stares up at Din with a crooked smile and drowsy hooded eyes. "S’empty." 

Din is silent in reply and the man exhales, knowing what will come next if he disobeys. You watch as the handsome man reaches forward and shakily raises the glass, but you note that his movements are uncoordinated. 

The glass clunks onto the tabletop when his fingers can no longer grip it properly. The man looks like he wants to say something ugly but thinks better of it. He tries again to grip it, but he’s weaker than a baby tooka.

"Don't fight it," Din tells the man. "It's inevitable." 

The man goes to reply but you can see the way his lids begin to lower and he starts to tilt forward.  You continue watching the man continue to slump over the table until his forehead connects with it. 

"And now we're going," Din says with a light tap to your shoulder. 

You respond immediately, standing and then Din's got his large hand at the small of your back and is guiding you through the bar to the elevators in the lobby. You shoot him a concerned look. 

"I never got the kid anything to eat."

"He was exhausted and passed out. I'll get him a big breakfast tomorrow." 

He punches the number for your floor and the two of you ride up in silence before you glance over at him. He's such an imposing figure to many in his armor and helmet, but you find him strangely reassuring. 

"How did you know?"

"I know his type and I've seen it before. Drugged you would have felt relaxed and even giddy. He would have suggested you go back to his room and under the influence you would have agreed. They're he would have taken all your credits and if he was feeling particularly bold he'd have some fun with your unconscious body as well." 

You shudder at the realization you were so close to having something happen to you. Thank the Maker Din happened to be in the bar and notice just then. What if he’d arrived later?

"Thank you," you tell him earnestly placing a hand over his vambrace. "I'm so glad you were there." 

Din's helmet tips down to see your hand on his body and you snatch it back, embarrassed. You've never touched each other before. 

The elevator stops and the two of you exit quickly. You head into the room and part from him immediately going into your room. You're so embarrassed at your emotional response you don't even wish the sleeping kid a goodnight. 

///

It's dark and the kid is snoring across the room. Din wears only his pants in the bed. His chest is bare and warm to the touch. And his helmet rests next to him on the bed, prepared to throw it on when necessary. 

He's just drifting off when he hears the soft sound of your whimper through the door. 

"Drink it," you murmur, breath catching in your throat. "Fucking do it." 

Wait, are you getting off to the memory of that asshole from earlier? Just because he was handsome? The thought makes him clench his teeth furiously. Here he is mooning over you and your pleasuring yourself to thoughts of another man. 

"He told you to do it," you groan, "so do it."

Din hears your shudder so much clearer now that only a door separates you

"Fuck, Din-"

Din freezes in his bed, his eyes blown wide. Did you just-?

"Just once," you pant in your room, voice trembling with desire. "Just fuck me once. I'll make you feel so good." 

Din's cock is immediately hard. You're thinking about him in bed right now? The thought makes him feel heady. 

"Right there," you moan, voice growing louder. 

You don't realize how the sound is traveling. He's worried you're going to wake the kid. That's what he tells himself as he pulls on his helmet and shuffles to your door. He could knock and tell you to quiet down. He could snap that you're making too much noise in your sleep and save you both the embarrassment. 

But instead he pushes into your room and snaps the door closed behind him. 

///

You hear the sound of your door opening and closing and you immediately go silent, your fingers trapped between your thighs. Then there is silence. You wonder if you imagined it but there feels like a presence is in the room with you. 

Your face is warm and cunt soaked from your fantasizing. You're irritated that your orgasm is suddenly draining from your body. Still you remain stoic, frightened that perhaps the man from downstairs found you.

"Keep going." 

Din’s husky voice is unmistakable in the darkness. You lay in bed frozen, unsure of what you do or say at this point. He's your boss. You’re sure that you heard him wrong; this is just your fantasy bleeding over into real life.

You hear a creak and then feel the bed dip as he lowers himself next to you. His body is warm and you think he may be shirtless. The thought makes you shiver. 

His wide palm slides down your forearm, trailing down to confirm his suspicions; your fingers are crooked over your clit and your pussy is wrecked. Din's brings his hand to lightly rest over yours, waiting to feel how you touch yourself. 

"I said keep going."

You choke on your reply, exhilarated and terrified. Din has never made overtures towards you and yet here he is wearing his helmet and not much else. You can feel the heat from his skin and a part of you is desperate to lick it.

After a second of hesitation you begin to circle your clit, embarrassed at the wet sounds that occur. You're so fucking turned on right now you're dripping and Din’s hand is heavy over yours. 

Din feels his heartbeat everywhere, his cock, his chest, his ears. He can't believe he's doing this and he can't believe you're letting him. But you're so wet and he's so hard that he feels emboldened.  

"What were you thinking about just now?" 

You want to be humiliated but you're too turned on to deny him. And let's be honest, he's here with you in bed so obviously he's not offended. Even if its just for one night you want the fantasy to be real.

"You. I was thinking about you."

Din feels his breath catch. Obviously he suspected it, but hearing it out loud is something else.

"You think about me a lot?"

"Every time I touch myself." 

Din bites down on his lower lip, wishing so strongly that his helmet could come off in your presence. He wants to kiss you right now, to suck your tongue into his mouth. 

"I think about sucking your cock," you continue to confess as your fingers work faster over your clit. "About how you'd sound if I licked you so softly over and over."

His fingertips feel as your fingers begin to rub quicker against your clit. He swallows a groan, shifting closer to you.  

"What else?"

You don't miss how his voice sounds a little breathless. For some reason that causes fresh arousal to coat your fingers.

"I think about how I want to keep your cock warm while you drive the ship. Just sitting there for hours while you guide us through the galaxy. Not moving until you tell me I can." 

Din groans and you lose your train of thought as he gently urges your fingers from between your legs only to replace them with his own. Now it’s him pressing against your clit, him pinching lightly before rolling the slippery flesh between the pads of his fingers. Your head falls back on the pillow; hips rolling as Din finally touches you where you've always dreamt of. 

"I think.... I think about you fucking me on the floor like an animal," you confess in a hush. You have many times; thoughts of Din unrestrained have you arching into your hand most nights. You feel as Din shifts, elastic snapping and the dry sound of skin along skin.  

"More." 

It takes you a moment to realize that he's brought his cock out of his pants and is stroking himself as he teases you with his fingers.

"I fantasize that behind your helmet you’re watching me."

"I'm always watching you."

This confession has you feeling electric. His thick fingers are slipping inside you, coating themselves in your arousal. For a moment you just let yourself give into the sensation, thighs spread and hands clutching the bed for purchase. 

"Din."

He breathes slowly beside you and you attempt to touch his bare skin but he pulls back. The meaning is clear: he'll touch you, but you don't get to touch him. 

"I watch you when you work and you don't notice me," he continues as his fingers begin to slide in and out of your soaked cunt, the drag and pump making you keen. "I watched you tonight at the bar."

"Why?"

"At first because you were taking so long. And then because I was jealous seeing you with that useless piece of shit."

His fingers are sliding in and out of you quickly. He's fucking your pussy with just his digits and you're seeing stars, he grunts when your body trembles under his touch. 

"Jealous at the thought that he was going to get to fuck you instead of me." 

He didn't realize until tonight that perhaps you wanted him just as badly. He strokes his cock more furiously, the pre-cum drooling over his knuckles, making each tug slick and delicious. Your hips are jumping and he swallows a moan when he feels you start to flutter around his knuckles. 

"Din-"

"Don't talk," he orders in a husky murmur. "Just come for me." 

And you do. You come so loudly that his hand comes off his cock to cover your mouth to keep from waking the kid next door. You taste the salty pre-come from his palm, eyes rolling back as you catch your breath. Din sounds equally spent, despite the sound of his hand furiously stroking his cock. 

"Please," you beg in a cracked voice as you slide down the bed, your fingers lightly tugging his hand from his stiff and pulsing cock. 

 Din feels your mouth circle the tip of him, tongue swirling around the mushroom head. You smile around his cock, taking it deeply and groaning when you hear his unrestrained hiss of pleasure. 

"I think about you," he suddenly tells you in a rumble. 

He feels you pull off of him, tongue darting out to lick a stripe from base to tip. Your heart is thrumming in your chest, a smile blooming in the pitch black that he cannot see. You’re delighted to hear this, relieved that this lust hasn’t been one sided.

"What do you think about?"

"About this right here. Your mouth on my cock." Din swallows as your hand begins to stroke him. "Only wish I could see it."

He feels your hand falter slightly around the base of him.

"Turn on the light." 

He doesn't hesitate. He reaches up to flick the light on before staring down his body to see you there between his legs. Your hair is mussed and falling into in your flushed face, your luscious tits spilling out of your nightdress. You raise a brow in silent question as you begin to suckle lightly.

Well?

Din wasn't expecting it to go this far. He told himself he was just going to talk about the noise carrying over into his room but now you're between his legs with your hot mouth stuffed full of him. 

"Better than I ever imagined."

You keep your eyes trained on him as you take him deeper, relishing the groan that sounds out from behind his helmet. You look up his golden body and hold in a sigh. He's beautiful. 

"Faster," he all but begs, legs shaking when he watches your head bob up and down for him.

Your mouth is stretched so wide, full of him. You're so wet you can't stand it. Despite coming moments earlier you throb everywhere. Your fingers snake between your thighs, pausing as you look up at him with an imploring gaze.

“Go ahead,” he nods.

You begin to rub furiously as he bucks his hips and his cock up into your mouth. He fits there so perfectly, so delicious and thick. Its seconds before he watches the hand beneath your nightdress still and he feels your mouth quiver before you shiver and continue. 

Your soaked fingers come to stroke the base at the same time as you hollow your cheeks and Din feels like he's in another galaxy. He can't help but let his head drop back when you take him to the hilt and you don't gag, you just keep going, eyes closed

He spreads his legs wide, spearing up into your mouth as he looks back down at you. You don't falter, you take every thrust and you want more. It's not long before Din feels his stomach tightening and spine tingling. 

"You want it down your throat?"

You nod, eyes opening to shoot him a cock drunk smile, saliva at the corners. 

"Mhm."

You look so peaceful as you hum in delight around him. That sweet desire is what sends him over the edge into pleasure. He spills himself down your throat, body jerking and strangled noises escaping through the modulator. 

You suck and swallow, not wanting to waste any part of him. When he's finally spent and his legs twitch you crawl back up the length of his body and collapse next to him. He curls around you, arm falling over your middle. He speaks to you in a rough whisper as you fall asleep. 

"Tomorrow morning we can see about that floor fantasy." 

[mochamadeleines]

When y/n does something so cringe that i have to look at the invisible camera for a sec.

[mochamadeleines]

i am a die hard game version joel miller lover

[mochamadeleines]

Watch Your Mouth

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel teaches you to keep quiet during sex.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Silence kink. Size kink. Breeding kink. Age gap. Joel is a lot more experienced (!) Finger sucking. Orgasm denial. Soft dom!Joel x10000.

Word count: 1.9k

Maybe a hand was too much.

A kiss to stifle your cries, a tongue between your lips to steal any trace of a whimper before it could ever leave. Joel knew by the way your wet, pliant hole stretched wider and wider for him with each thrust that you’d eventually quiet down—but he needed silence now.

And he’d get it when he clamped his palm over your mouth. At first, your brows lifted with surprise, then pinched inward like you didn’t understand, then twitched again, involuntarily, when the head of his cock cleared a path straight toward your cervix. You whimpered into his hand and made a point to dig your heels even deeper in his back. Joel had promised he’d be better about that.

“‘M’sorry,” he mumbled.

Another stab. Another whimper, only louder this time.

“Sorry, baby, I’m—” Joel stopped to fight back a groan of his own, before pressing his palm down with even more force, “—sorry, jus’ need ya real quiet right now, okay?”

You tried to nod, but the weight and stricture of his grip were as heavy as lead against your face. Add to that the soft, sawing motions of his cock going in and out of your cunt and the nudge of his oversized tip at your cervix, and it was all you could do to just lay there and take it. Joel knew this was brand new to you—he’d been your first not too long ago and the only partner since—so he eased back and lifted his hand when you gave it a tug.

Grey stubble was already licking at the corners of your mouth with Joel’s minuscule kisses of reassurance when you giggled and squeezed him tighter between your legs:

“I’m tryin’, Joel. Really, I am,” you whispered.

“I know, sweet pea,” he whispered back, “I know.”

He took the palm he’d used to stifle your moans and smoothed it over your cheek, coming to rest at one side so he could kiss you fully. Maybe a hand was too much.

He’d inculcate restraint some other way, and if it didn’t come easy, a few more fucks on the forest floor like this one would probably do the trick. Your mouth opened up for his tongue just like your cunt would open up for more of his cum and the rest of your body would surely follow suit, learning to control the noises of pleasure as needed.

“Good girl,” Joel murmured against your lips, feeling you clench around him and expel a breath rather than whine. He withdrew himself to the tip, then plunged back in, “Such a good, perfect girl for me, ain’t ya, sweetheart?”

At length, you yelped into his mouth. You couldn’t help it. Rather than reprimand you with words or smother your lips with his palm, though, Joel kept fucking you gently.

“‘S’okay, pretty girl, it’s okay. I know that feels good.”

His mouth was next to your ear now, praises audible to no one else but you. It added a whole new dimension to your pleasure; Joel could tell from the way your walls constricted around him and choked him, sucked him in. The feeling nearly elicited a groan from his chest, but of course, he had all the resolve of a seasoned professional. Decades and decades of practice had done that for him.

“Joel,” you mewled.

Your face was screwed up in a grimace, eyes likely to be brimming with tears any second now. Joel slowed his pace once more, felt a pang of guilt for how big he felt inside you—how those decades and decades of practice set you drastically apart from each other in experience—and this time, he didn’t try to muffle your whines. He just stroked the top of your cheek with one thumb, and with the other, snaked a path between your body and his.

Admittedly, Joel was still learning about yours. He wasn’t sure if the whimpers you’d made were born wholly of pleasure or just a sense of being stretched out and filled. Because you yourself were still learning to be vocal, Joel figured he’d give the latter a stab. He started thumbing your clit in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure.

It worked, and it didn’t.

Your walls parted easily beneath the quiet ministrations of his thumb, opening yourself more to Joel’s thrusts, but they also tore a scream out of your throat—the kind that was liable to stir the leaves on every tree and alert any clicker within a two-mile radius to your presence.

The kind of outcome Joel had been trying to prevent when he’d brought you on patrol with him in the first place. The kind of sound he was trying to fuck out of your body completely; teach you to keep quiet and still for when the two of you inevitably got bored during perimeter watch and rolled the sleeping bag out to fuck.

Joel tensed above you and cast a quick look around. Sure, he’d picked a decently safe spot, but then you—

“Joel, I—”

Without thinking, the man stopped and stuck the first thing he could possibly fit in your mouth: his thumb. Whatever you’d been trying to say to him was promptly lost in a hum against his knuckle, lips enveloping the thick, callused digit like some tangy-flavored lolly. Joel’s hips sank back into yours, slowly, and he felt the reverberations of another moan spill over his finger.

He swallowed and stared. That shouldn’t have been nearly as sexy as you’d just made it seem, especially when your life and his hung in such a precarious position.

Joel dragged his cock back out and happened to graze a sensitive, spongy ridge inside you, which made you moan again. You hollowed your cheeks and gritted your teeth a bit more against his thumb, gripping Joel’s forearm for support as he continued to fuck you.

And, had you stayed like that a moment longer, you probably would’ve seen a shiny string of drool start to pool and stretch and fall out from one side of his mouth. Instead, Joel switched hands and popped the thumb that had been toying with your clit into your mouth, eyes glazed over with desire as they drank in the sight of you sucking his thumb again. The tip was still soaked with your warmth and slipped easily past your parted lips.

Another sound bubbled up your throat when you got a taste—Joel had always been in the habit of kissing you after eating you out, so you were well-acquainted with the flavor, but never had he fed you your own arousal on his finger. This felt obscene, something more than just pornographic as those deep, brown, lust-addled irises remained glued to where your lips closed around him.

“Y’like that, huh?” he said, voice reduced to a whisper once more while you nipped and suckled at the skin.

You bobbed your head to indicate yes, opened your mouth to tell him softly that you liked it so much—loved the taste and grit of his finger on your tongue, in fact. You wanted to show him you could be vocal, too, when Joel’s frame rose over yours a little more and seemed to blanket it entirely. Like he wanted to shield you, in a way.

“Shhhh, shhh…keep suckin’ like that. Stay still, okay?” Joel murmured, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that this was a test. He was nodding, rutting gently between your legs, wedging his thumb deeper inside the wet, velvety contours of your mouth and waiting for a look from you to say that you understood.

You weren’t sure if you did, but you nodded anyway. Joel’s thumb made a wonderful sort of makeshift gag as he continued to thrust inside of you, his body somehow lowering to get even closer to yours. When he’d gotten sufficiently near, he pressed a kiss to the side of your mouth—now stuffed with his thumb and leaking spit—and muttered something about how good you were for him, how nicely you fit around his cock. Then he tilted his hips and proceeded to pound you into the ground like an animal in heat. The only thing separating your ass from the patch of grass underneath it was a flimsy little blanket, and the only thing tethering you to earth, it seemed, was Joel’s cock. Your ankles locked behind his back, and his nose settled next to yours, breathing hard.

Even if he knew how to suppress his moans, the panting and strangled gasps were far beyond Joel’s control—as were the filthy, perverse words pouring out of his mouth.

“‘S’all mine, ain’t she, hon? Tell me this pussy’s mine.”

“Tell me she’s mine to fuck, stuff full’a cum, right here.”

And he gestured to the spot where your body stopped and his began, squelching noises punctuating each new thrust. Neither one of you minded the sound right now, especially when you knew where this was headed next.

Joel was grinning against your skin before he kissed it.

“She wants a baby, doesn’t she, honey? Wants me to put a baby in her and make that belly swell up pretty?”

You knew just as well as Joel that neither of you wanted children in a world like this—thoughts of breeding only occurred to you both when you were about to cum. Particularly when Joel’s thumb was slipping out of your mouth and his fingers were pinching either side of your face in a single grip, lips moving above yours. Making you meet his gaze as he squeezed your cheeks in a pout.

“You want my babies, baby?” Joel mumbled.

You felt a familiar twitch in his cock. You nodded.

Joel pinched harder and shook his head, unsatisfied.

“Say, ‘I want your babies, Joel.’”

“I want your babies, Joel.”

“Say, ‘I’ll be nice and quiet if you cum inside me.’”

“I’ll be nice and quiet if you cum inside me, please, Joel.”

Your voice was already hoarse from how low you had to whisper, how hard Joel’s broad and hefty stomach was pressing into your own, stealing the breath from your lungs and wreaking havoc on your brain as you struggled for air and imagined a world where your tummy was a little rounder. Plugged up with his cum one day and growing bigger with his child there inside you the next. The thought was dizzying in the abstract, enticing to the slightest degree in reality, and if you had to guess from the expression of the man currently sweating, grunting, and rutting into your body, you’d bet he felt the same.

It really was a shame you had to stay so quiet.

But, whether a clicker was five miles away or standing directly over his shoulder, Joel didn’t seem to care at all. Soft, silent reserve cast aside for the time being and hips slamming a bruising pace against your own, Joel seemed fine to let out sounds to show he was right about to cum. Grunts and whimpers were spilling left and right off his filthy, pretty tongue; his eyes were all but rolling back.

Truly, he couldn’t look more magnificent if he tried.

“Fuck, baby, I’m— I’m so close. Gonna fill you up.”

Featherlight clusters of soft grey hair were now darkened with sweat. They rested comfortably across his forehead. Under them, two thick brows furrowed in concentration.

“Gonna knock you up,” he added through gritted teeth.

That part was not a threat, but a promise.

You felt a tug and a pinch in your own stomach, signaling your oncoming release. You spread your legs wider for Joel, pressed a kiss to his jaw when he leaned in closer, made room for him to spill his load just how he wanted, and when it seemed he was a second from his peak—

A twig snapped nearby.

Both of you froze in place.

[mochamadeleines]

Cry, Baby

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel fucks you to the point of tears. That’s all.

Warnings: 18+. Dacryphilia (kinda). Unprotected p-in-v. Girthy, unspecified age gap. Daddy kink. Jealous Joel.

Notes: Sorry for using pussy pronouns. It will happen again.

Joel Miller was a man of few words in most every place except the one where he found himself about to beat the brakes off your pussy. Then he never shut the fuck up.

“Uh-huh…just a little more…I know, sweet girl, I know.”

You had your hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel of his ‘71 Ford F-100, but rather than driving anywhere, your ass was comfortably parked on the front of his jeans—straddling his lap backwards while you rubbed your half-clad cunt over stonewashed denim. It was hell.

You’d been grinding against the bulge beneath those jeans so hard, and for so long, your white cotton undies had parted to the side, and your pleasure was nearly stretched commensurate with just how pathetic you felt.

Your head dropped between your two hands on the black molded plastic of the wheel, and you let out a whine.

“Joel—”

“Keep goin’.”

“This ain’t fair!”

Without hesitation, the hands that were holding your hips tightened their grip, and now Joel was raking your lower half over his. Rutting your core back and forth.

“You wanna know what ain’t fair?” he seethed.

He didn’t wait for you to answer.

“How much she’s been droolin’ over me all night.”

‘She’ meaning your unfucked cunt, of course.

Joel then punctuated his sentence with a particularly hard press of his palm—forcing you to lay flat on the steering wheel, hips tilted back to him. With just one callused finger of his other hand, he found you soaked between your folds. He dragged it from your clit to your aching hole, and you heard him sigh, as though sad.

“It’s a cryin’ shame,” Joel said. Lamenting.

You were almost lost to the sensation of his finger rubbing you up and down, but somehow, you managed, ‘W-W-What is, Joel?’ in between soft, plaintive sounds.

Sometimes you forgot how much older he was than you. Sometimes you said he was just like the boys your age. Other times he had you pinned like this, breaths calm and cruelly measured while you damn near came apart beneath his hand, and then you remembered everything.

“You just couldn’t wait ‘til we got home,” he grumbled.

Using the same hand he’d been stroking you with, Joel laid a quick slap to your cunt, and you jumped. Your head narrowly missed the roof of his truck; still, you groaned.

“‘M’sorry, Joel,” you keened.

You weren’t. The old man knew you weren’t.

The hand that had been splayed over your back sank in. The force of that push pressed your belly to the chipped Ford logo at the center of the steering wheel, and with the added pressure went the blare of the car’s horn.

The sound might’ve lasted two seconds before you scrambled back, desperate, into Joel’s broad chest. A couple old-timers making their way from the bar to their cars in the parking lot cocked their heads curiously in your direction a couple yards away. Seeing nothing of note, they lost interest just as quick and kept walking.

“Sorry for what?” Joel said.

At the moment, he didn’t seem to notice, or care, that his truck was parked a mere stone’s throw away from the Tipsy Bison, and bar-goers were milling freely between the building and the cars all around you. His belt unbuckled all the same, zip came down in a blink, and his thick, veiny, throbbing, and angry cock came to rest between your cheeks. He started to push you forward.

“Sorry for— for flirtin’ with Tommy,” you stammered, sucking in a breath when you felt him run the head of his cock between your lips. You could hear a soft squelch.

“And Lucien?”

“And Lucien.”

“And—”

“And Dieter, and Frankie, and Javi, and Marcus.”

Rattling off the names of all the men you’d been flirting with at the bar to make Joel jealous and take you back home to fuck you became an embarrassing chant.

“And?”

“…and Mayor Garcia,” you completed, sheepishly.

Back in there, you hadn’t been too proud to stoop to a politician’s level, even. That was how needy you’d been to get attention, and now Joel was giving it to you.

As hard as he could—he didn’t wait for the ‘OK’ before seating you on his cock. You were simply pulled back from the wheel and into his lap, onto his stiff erection, and before you could steady yourself, he started drilling.

“Even through these panties—” Joel tugged at the cream-colored cotton he’d easily slipped past, “—even through that slutty little skirt, I could feel how wet she was.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, and your hands found purchase in the torn-up leather of the seat, fisting strings and patches of fabric in a helpless sort of plea as Joel took over. With the buttons of his dark green flannel searing a stripe down your spine and his grey-speckled chin coming to nudge between your neck and your shoulder as he fucked you, you felt content. Secure.

Spilling more for him, then. Seeping rivers down the length of his shaft as he breached your walls and made you his all over again. And again. Leaving trails of arousal with every thrust, and rolling your head, limply, into his.

“She cryin’ for me?” Joel breathed, “Or somebody else?”

As if on cue, his cock hit the most sensitive ridge inside you, and you felt yourself gush even more. Dripping now.

“You.” Your voice was raw.

“Me?” Joel’s degradingly sweet.

Before you could answer ‘you’ once more, the driver’s door cracked open beside you both. For one panicked, terrifying second, you thought someone from the bar might’ve caught you two—then you were stunned to look over and see it was Joel’s own tough, steel-toed boot that had propped the door open to the cool night air.

The truck was facing the bar’s front door, shielded only by some foliage and a hatchback car about half its size. Other than that, you were exposed to whoever happened to pass by the big, bay window and take a look inside.

Joel felt you tense, and he pressed a kiss to you neck. Then he slid you carefully, almost tenderly, to the left until you were perched over the side of the seat with your legs dangling out of the truck—still filled to the hilt with his cock and pressed tight to the front of his chest.

“Cry a little more,” he urged.

Then, when your pussy gave an involuntary clench and drenched him some more, he slipped a hand around your front and started toying with your clit. Your gaze was wide, almost frightened as you stared ahead at the bar and saw patrons making rounds about the tiny place, fearing one might see you and Joel, but it felt so good. And wrong. And reckless, having this man who was easily decades your senior bouncing you up and down on his cock and letting you soil the front of his Wranglers.

“Pussy’s fuckin’ soakin’ me, pretty girl,” Joel let out a chuckle and gave your shoulder a playful bite when you pulsed around him again, “Squeezin’ me real tight, too.”

It was like your body was beyond your own control. You scarcely even realized your cunt had him gripped with such force, much less made a mess of his old denim. He just held you to him and kept pressing rough, stubbled kisses to your shoulder, reminding you over and over how sweet you were, how well you were taking him, how nice and tight and goddamn pretty that pussy must’ve looked gushing around daddy’s cock—maybe we can fuck in front’a the mirror so we can see it later, huh, baby?

You would’ve said yes to anything he said, you reckoned.

Especially when his arms moved over your front and you felt him grin, and he hugged you while he fucked you—nobody made you feel quite as special while they were splitting you open. Nobody’s balls felt quite as heavy and firm and full while hitting your ass by turns, and certainly no one but Joel could make you cum just as quick when he leaned into your ear and said, ‘Let go for me, darlin’.’

You did, and you felt his warmth follow inside you with the friction of just two more thrusts. Your head fell back on his shoulder, a moan clawed out of your throat, and the warm, euphoric feeling of release washed over your senses in waves, one trembling sensation after the next. Joel’s groans were quick to spill into your own, and, likewise emptying himself, he held your hips to his and made sure every drop stayed right where he wanted it.

His spend was always heavy, but this load felt larger than usual—like he’d been aching to fuck you full of his cum. Just as you both were coming down from your highs, you couldn’t help but key in on that soft, sticky warmth, likely to come oozing as soon as Joel pulled out of you.

In fact, you got to be so focused that you jumped when you felt something press to your cheek a second later.

It took another moment to register it as a kiss from Joel.

Then his tongue, dragging softly up the side of your face.

You started to laugh, about to ask him what the hell he was doing, when you felt a tear slip out of your other eye. With the sudden, sharp influx of pleasure, the moisture had leaked out without you even feeling it. Joel grinned.

He gave your cheek a light squeeze, wiped the other tear with the pad of his thumb, and kissed you again before mumbling in your ear, almost teasing as he said it:

“Crybaby.”

[mochamadeleines]

la pafait ♡

[mochamadeleines]

their last dance huh

[mochamadeleines]

[mochamadeleines]

HANDS AND ARMS HANDS AND ARMS HANDS AND ARMS

[mochamadeleines]

The way Venom covered Eddie's mouth... 🤌✨