𝑀𝐼𝐿𝒦’𝒮 𝐻𝒪𝒰𝒮𝐸 𓂃 shoes off at the door ꜝ
poutie dollfaced brat ❤︎ princess bred ragdoll
𓊈 𝒮𝐻𝐸’𝒮 𝐻𝐼𝒮 𝒫𝒜𝐿𝑀𝐹𝒰𝐿 𝒪𝐹 𝒯𝑅𝒪𝒰𝐵𝐿𝐸 𓊉 milk twnties blk she ⋆ her 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 dollfaced brat with sharp teeth hidden behind glossy lips . scented of marshmallows ， bergamot ， and pink pepper . spoiled down to the bone marrow . 🔔 if found wandering ， return her home
immediately . she bites .
𝐈. this is a 20+ blog. minors, do not interact. anyone 18 and up may heart, comment underneath, or reblog my posts, however, i prefer if people 20 & up followed me. having 18+ or nothing at all in your bio will get you blocked.
𝐈𝐈. i am a black girl therefore all of the readers i write for will be black. if you are not, feel free to still read, but don’t set any expectations for representation that isn’t meant for you.
𝐈𝐈b. i only ever write for hyperfeminine readers, which means she’ll usually always be wearing skirts, dresses, hair bows, have acrylic nails, lots of jewelry, etcetc. if this bothers you, you may not like it here.
𝐈𝐈𝐈. this is also a dark content focused blog. you may see themes of fauxcest, dubcon, noncon ノ rape, and ddlg in my writing and posts. i don’t care if you have a problem with it. if your first instinct is to enter my inbox or comments to lecture me about ethics or how you feel morally superior, understand now that your discomfort is not my responsibility. block me and curate your own experience here on tumblr dot com.
𝐈𝐕. in regards to sending me links ( twt or tt ), 75% of the time they will go unanswered, especially if sent with no context. i am very picky with twt links ノ don’t always find them hot enough to elaborate on them specifically.
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𝐈𝐗. don’t ask me to trigger tag because i will not. why? i just don’t want to. once again, curate your own experience here on tumblr dot com.
𝐗. i truly could give less of a fuck if you dislike the concept of aging up ノ black washing characters. these are lines on a screen, i will make an apple an orange if i want to.
𝐗𝐈. sometimes my interests change. don't follow me if you expect a chain of uniformed content.
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𐂯 𐂯 𐂯
𝓦𝓗𝓐𝓣 𝓘 𝓦𝓘𝓛𝓛 𝓦𝓡𝓘𝓣𝓔
exclusively black female readers , daddy kink , impact play , choking , things with spit , watersports , fauxcest , dubcon , some noncon ꒰ only non penetrative . bonus points for reader performing said noncon on character ꒱ , cheating , anal , polyamory , hybrids , pet play , predator x prey play , ddlg , dacryphilia , age gaps , size kink . . . & mostly everything that does not file underneath those things ↓ .
𝓦𝓗𝓐𝓣 𝓘 𝓦𝓘𝓛𝓛 𝓝𝓞𝓣 𝓦𝓡𝓘𝓣𝓔
male reader , nonbinary reader , ‘ tomboy ‘ reader , dom reader , fat or chubby reader , incest , underaged reader or character in sexual contexts , anything with scat , vomit , or blood , major degradation , teacher x student , necro , fisting , race play , angst with no happy ending , strict fluff with no smut .
jealous boyfie Connie gets extremelyyyy possessive and dark you say???? baby omggg we are so ready and sat! Is he an explosive anger type of man who only loses his shit (obvi never in a way to hurt reader) after letting little things she does slide that are designed to purposefully piss him off orrrrr is he the type to snap and grab her by the back of the neck after an entire day of her not listening to a word he says 🤭🤭🤭
he’z deffie a Slow riser to anger . he has a great therapist n wuz in && out of anger management courses when he wuz a teen so :33 he knows how 2 read the first signs of his irritation and pull it together . reader has to do multiple thingz over the course of abt a week 2 rllie piss him off . he’z only perceptible to blowing up Immediately when he feels like their relationship iz bein tried by outside sources [ hence , last blurb i wrote ] .
but like , whenever he does hit his limit . . . then yh , he’z prbly backin her in a corner , grabbin her by the jaw and bitin out quiet , hard orders && tellin her , “fix yo’ fuckin’ attitude . i’m not playin’.” orrr “watch what the fuck i do when we get home.” n he does it Anywhere ! she pisses him off at an industry event , he’z calmly leadin her to a back corner near the kitchenette or outside in a parking garage && he’z uncaring if someone happens 2 hear . neither of them r going anywhere . say a rumor happens 2 hit the blogs then both their teams r scrubbing it clean .
reader hates when he gets like that tho . it scares her . . . but also makes her pussie wet so :T what can u do
Thinking how someone could spoil you rotten but it's a selfish gesture and they are actually ruining you for anybody else. Giving you anything you need anytime you want. Fussing over you and dressing you up, undressing you too and tucking you in bed, asking in the sweetest voice what do you want from them tonight with their fingers tucked so deep inside you it's hard to come up with a true answer. Having you pretty much be their baby and princess and doll until the point it's a bit objectifying but you've never felt as safe and loved as with them so it's okay
currently working on — playing hard to get with 1940s!bucky , ‘nd something with sam 😼
currently wearing — white tennis shorts with a compression tee cause I just got back from the gym after tennis
current obsession — arguing with people online
last google search — “did people have cars in the 40s” I know it’s stupid but I only searched this cause I wanted to see what kind of car they drove okay dont judge
favourite flower — ngl i dont have one but gun to my head finger on the trigger life on the line i would probably say dahlias
latest song ， back to your place by october london
currently watching ， jjk szn 3 , rick & morty szn 9
currently reading ， nothing :c
currently working on ， long icky ony fic & a litl drabble for ocho rios armin
currently wearing ， bubblegum pink pj set :3
current obsession ， buying and building intricate lego sets ໒꒰ྀི ∩ ⸝⸝ ∩ ꒱ྀིა i think i finally found another hobby that’ll stick around 4 a long , long time .
last google search ， edikted becuz dey hv a sale goin on right now && i wanted to see if i cld find any new , cute pieces .
favorite flower ，love lillies . and m starting to really love peonies . i want them to b heavily included in m wedding flower arrangements .
𖤘 tagging @tojisteddy @honeyroots @blehbarbie becuz u guyz interest me & i wna know .
ony bitin down on his bottom lip while smiling a litl bit as you sniffle and pout down at the floor , turnin your head away frm him when he steps closer towards you to ask , “tell me what’s wrong. what dada do, baby?”
Summary: You’re in the middle of a rant, and Joel Miller couldn’t care less. He’s calm, dismissive, and entirely too confident for a man who should probably be listening. But then he does something bold enough to stop you mid‑sentence—and suddenly the argument turns into a different kind of standoff. One you’re not sure you’re ready to lose—and he can see every crack forming.
Warnings: 18+, Smut, MDNI, slight fluff, sleazy!joel, fuck buddies, fat!joel, riding, pinv, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names, JOEL CALLS YOUR PUSSY HONEYPOT, daddy kink just once, Joel talks shit most of the time, orgasm control (?), one (1) spank, nipple play, biting also once, male masturbation, no outbreak
A/N: Guys, I can’t believe how beloved sleazy!Joel has become… 🤭 I hadn’t planned on it, but I ended up writing a little continuation to ‘Strawberry Creampie.’ It’s not as filthy as the first one, but it definitely has its own dirty energy and Joel’s nonstop, ridiculous yapping. Enjoy, pookies!! <3333
“Joel, this is disgusting. It’s stiff. It’s literally stiff with gasoline and whatever the hell you spilled on it. And you left it on my couch. My couch.”
The van feels like it’s melting. Heat clings to your skin, the air thick and heavy, carrying the usual mix of gasoline and old leather. (And cigarettes, though you’ve long since gotten used to those.) Under all of it, your nose still catches Joel’s cheap aftershave—the one he splashes on like holy water.
In your mouth, a lollipop.
He bought it for you while grabbing his cigarettes at the gas station, leaning over the display with that lazy, sleazy grin and saying, “C’mon, hon. Grab a color. You always look real cute when you’re workin’ on one of these.” Then, lower, just for you: “Get the biggest one they got, sweetheart. You always handle it just fine.”
And now, Joel is slouched in front of you, on the built‑in bench with sweat all over him. His shirt was tossed somewhere behind him, leaving the broad, heavy spread of his stomach bare to the thick summer air. Sweat beaded along the crease where his belly met his ribs, sliding down in slow, shining trails.
He’s got a cigarette tucked behind his ear, another unlit one rolling between his fingers, and a beer sweating on the table besides him. He looks like he’s been here for hours, like he’s slowly melting into that furniture.
His eyes aren’t even on the shirt you’re holding in front of him. Instead, he sighs dramatically, like you’re the one inconveniencing him.
“Sweetheart, you’re talkin’ like I marched into your place with a whole god damn laundry basket and dumped it on your bed. It’s one shirt. One. And it ain’t even that bad. Smells like a hard day’s work, that’s all.” He shrugs.
You stop pacing just to stare at him.
“It smells like a gas station bathroom.”
“You’ve ever been in a gas station bathroom, baby?” He chuckles hazy. “‘Cause if you had, you’d be thankin’ me for bringin’ somethin’ in your house that smells better than that.”
You groan, rolling your eyes and toss the shirt at him. It lands across his stomach and he doesn’t even flinch. Just lets it sit there like a napkin he’s too lazy to move.
“And another thing,” you say, pointing at him. “Stop leaving your cigarettes in my apartment. They’re everywhere. On the counter. On the floor. In my plants. One was in my plants, Joel.”
He snorts. “They ain’t lit. They’re fine.”
You push the lollipop off to the side, letting it sit deep in the hollow of your cheek. Joel’s eyes flick to the way it bulges your cheek out, the stick tapping against your lip every time you speak.
“They’re dirty,” you snap. “They’re gross. And you leave them everywhere like some kind of—”
“Like some kinda man who ain’t got a trash can in his van,” he interrupts, gesturing around the cramped space. “Look at this place. You see a trash can? ’Cause I sure as hell don’t.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“It’s a damn good one.”
You throw your hands up. “You’re impossible.”
Joel leans back even further, belly rounding, thighs spread, looking like he’s settling in for a real long, and real comfortable argument. (His favourite thing to do).
“Impossible? Sweetheart, I’m a delight. You just dramatic as hell. You get all worked up over nothin’. A shirt here, a cigarette there—“
“And my leftovers,” you cut in sharply. “Don’t forget those.”
Joel pauses, squints, then nods slowly as he remembers shoving your leftovers into his mouth all at once the night before.
“Oh yeah. Those were good.” He licks his lips.
“They were mine.”
“They were sittin’ in my line of sight,” he counters. “And you know how I get when I’m hungry. You can’t just leave food around me like some kinda test. That’s entrapment.”
You stare at him, jaw dropped. “Entrapment?”
“Damn right. You left ’em right there on the counter, all innocent‑lookin’, like they weren’t beggin’ me to eat ’em. What was I supposed to do? Walk away? I ain’t no saint.”
You can’t believe what you’re hearing. How one person can lack even an ounce of responsibility or respect is beyond you. It feels like talking to a child who hasn’t learned the basics of common sense yet.
So, you pace again, muttering under your breath, waving your hands, ranting about boundaries and hygiene and how he’s slowly turning your apartment into a landfill, because apparently turning his own van wasn’t enough and he has to turn your—
“Keep goin’, baby. I like when you get all fired up. You start walkin’ around, talkin’ fast, wavin’ your arms…gets you all worked up.” His voice drops into that long, lazy drawl he uses when he wants to get under your skin.
You whip around. “Don’t.”
He grins wider.
“You never take anything seriously. Ever. Not the mess, not the cigarettes, not my space, not the fact that you treat my apartment like a damn storage unit—”
Joel exhales a long, dramatic sigh, head tipping back against the wall.
“And you know what? I’m done. I’m done letting you walk in, eat my food, leave your crap everywhere, and act like it’s all just—just—”
Joel lifts a hand, palm out, like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “You’re wound up tighter than a damn banjo string. C’mon now. You know I don’t mean nothin’ by it. I just get comfortable. ’Cause you make it real easy to get comfortable.”
You stop pacing just long enough to glare at him.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be so comfortable. Maybe we shouldn’t even be hooking up at my place anymore. Maybe you should just stay in your van and keep all your trash to yourself.”
You don’t even realize what you’ve just said until it’s out. It hangs in the air, heavy and sharp, your mouth gaping open. Joel also goes still for half a second—just long enough for you to notice—then he huffs a laugh, low and amused.
“There she goes,” he mutters. “Sayin’ things she don’t mean just ’cause she’s mad.”
You spin back towards him.
“Don’t—” you start, throwing your hands up. “Don’t do that thing where you act like you know everything. I’m not mad, I’m just— I’m just tired of you acting like you can do whatever you want in my house.”
So, you start pacing again, words spilling faster than you can even organize them.
“And you never listen, Joel. Ever. You just sit there with that face, like you’re above it all, like nothing I say matters, and I swear it drives me insane—”
The lollipop shifts in your mouth, knocking against your teeth. You pause mid‑sentence, annoyed at the sudden sweetness hitting your tongue again. You pull it to the other cheek with a sharp click.
“—and this stupid thing keeps getting in the way,” you mutter, waving the stick vaguely before you shove it back between your lips
“And—“
Your eye catches on something tiny.
Tiny and wet.
Sitting just below Joels belly. His hand is wrapped around it, covering the pulsing veins you know all too well, while it keeps releasing generously amount of white fluid from the tip.
Joel was jerking off. Without you noticing, he pulled the waistband of his down away—and then (somehow) sneakily pulled his cock out.
His posture shifts, his breathing grows heavier, his eyes darkening—fixated on you with a hunger that makes your stomach flip. His hard cock is free, tip smudging against the underside of his belly, leaving small, sticky droplets of pre-cum on his skin.
Fucking bold.
“What are you—are you fucking serious right now?” Your eyes look at him up and down.
He doesn’t even look guilty. Heck, not even surprised.
Because what else do you expect from a man who uses pussy as his fleshlight and laps around your folds like it’s his last meal on earth?
He tilts his head, eyes slowly dragging over your tank top, your chest, the lollipop you’re still absentmindedly chewing on.
“What?” he drawls, voice thick. “You’re walkin’ around in that tiny little shirt, no bra, nipples all perked up, suckin’ on that damn lollipop like you don’t know what you’re doin’. I’m only human, baby.”
“Joel,” you start. “You’re such a—”
“A pervert?” he offers, grinning. “Yeah, sweetheart. You knew that when you let me in.”
You’re too stunned to speak.
He keeps moving up and down lazily, while his eyes are half‑lidded and fixed on you with that slow, filthy amusement he always has when he knows he’s getting to you.
He doesn’t even pretend to care. He never does.
“Go on, sweetheart,” he drawls, voice thick and lazy. “Finish your little rant.”
You roll your eyes so hard it almost aches, but you keep talking anyway.
Or at least, you try to. Because with Joel, it’s always a power play. He watches you fight for your composure like it’s for his entertainment, taking in every twitch of irritation as if it’s something he needs for to stay alive. He lives for this—your stubborn attempts not to react, and the way you inevitably do.
Your words start to trip over each other the moment you hear his low groan. Not because you’re giving up, but because you know exactly where this goes. You’ve been down this road with him before. You know the slope, the heat, the way your body starts to anticipate him before your mind catches up.
He is still jerking off, slowly.
“You’re—you’re just so disgusting,” you say, but it comes out more frustrated than anything else. “You can’t just—Joel, seriously, I’m trying to talk to you.”
“Ain’t stoppin’ you,” he murmurs. “Keep talkin’.”
You look away, trying to pace again, trying to hold onto the thread of your irritation, but the heat in the van is crawling under your skin, and the only thing you start to hear is Joel’s breathing picking up. You try to not look at him—him and his leaking cock, rock hard, pulsing with each—
“Oh, you done?” he interrupts your thoughts.
You don’t answer. Because you can’t. He has you wrapped around his finger.
“…Thought so.”
You exhale, long and shaky, more frustrated with yourself than with him.
Then he says it.
“C’mere then.”
You stand there for a moment, jaw tight, fingers flexing at your sides, trying to pretend you’re still deciding.
And you can’t believe that Joel’s hunger—his shamelessness, his filth, all that god damned sleaze he wears like a second skin—always has an effect on you.
But let’s face it: you wouldn’t be in his van if you didn’t have the same messed‑up, dirty, feral thoughts running through your head just like he does.
“Sit.”
And that’s what does it for you.
The way he says it like he knows exactly that you’re going to.
You don’t even realize you’re moving until you’re already stepping towards him, tugging your pants down as you go. Your panties slipping with them, pooling at your feet by the time you reach him.
You lower yourself, holding into his shoulders while Joel grips the tip of his cock, lazily playing with your folds, nudging against your clit, and then—slowly inching his way into your cunt. You sink down on him, breath hitching as you feel your walls being stretched around him.
“Slow…slow…don’t let your attitude hurt my honeypot.” He murmurs, looking down.
You stop halfway to give him a scoff.
As you start to sink slowly again, cunt swallowing the last bits of his pulsing cock, you hear his voice again: “There she is,” smug. “Couldn’t help yourself, huh?”
He chuckles when you drop onto his lap, hard enough to make his belly move.
You shoot him a glare, shifting on his lap, trying to get used to the burning stretch. “Shut up,” you mutter—which only makes his smirk deepen.
“All bark, no bite.”
Joel’s eyes stay on you as he leans back, arms folding behind his neck while he settles comfortably on the bench. The smug look on his face tells you this was his plan all along—getting you on his lap just to watch you crumble for him.
But you’re not backing down. You know exactly how to make him crumble too.
You breathe out, hands stabilising on his shoulders as you lift yourself up and sink down again. You swallow, already feeling his tip nudging against that spongy spot inside you.
You can see Joel’s jaw tighten, like he’s fighting not to break that smug smirk on his face—but you know him. He’s crumbling inside.
“Mhmm, always thinking with your cunt, that’s how I know her.” He nods. “Thought you were gonna keep up that little tantrum all day. But nah, you see cock and balls and your mind goes blank.”
You lift, and settle down again. Harder this time.
“And you always use your cock and balls to get you out of every single argument and confrontation,” You rock your hips. “But yea, i’m the one that thinks with her cunt.”
Joel bites back a groan when your hips start to get used to a rhythm, riding him in a steady, controlled pace.
“You’re cute as hell, baby. Look at you, all worked up and pretendin’ you’re still mad.” He drawls lazily. “Go on, keep talkin’ your little talk—I’m lovin’ every second of it.”
You can hear it in his voice—the way he holds himself back from not gripping your hips, from not letting out a sound, from not pushing you against the table and fucking you until you forget your own name.
You smirk, lifting yourself up and sinking around him again, repeating the process, fueled by a sharp, reckless need to prove you’re not the one breaking first.
“Oh, now she’s hopping.” He smirks, fingers suddenly sliding up to curl under the hem of your shirt. He starts to tug it higher—and you smack his hand away like he’s lost his damn mind.
Joel’s eyebrow furrow.
“Lemme see my girls.” He mutters. “C’mon now…don’t leave me hangin’. I’m starvin’ over here.”
“I know. That’s the fun part.” You nod, smug.
“Hm. She thinks she’s real funny today.” He taps your thigh, amused. “Go on then. Let’s see how long this pussy can keep that up.”
He leans in, quieter. “Cause I already can feel her fluttering.”
You swallow, but continue to move your hips.
His chest starts to rise in heavy, uneven breaths, sweat glistening along his stomach as he tries to keep his hands where he put them—laced behind his head, knuckles white with restraint, trying, oh so hard, to ignore your cunt clenching down on him.
The long‑forgotten lollipop taps against your teeth as you smirk down at him, suddenly aware you can use it to tease. You pull it from your mouth, a thin strand of sweetness stretching before it snaps, and you drag the candy across his lips with deliberate slowness.
He exhales sharply, eyes narrowing up at you.
“You’re real funny,” he mutters, but he still parts his lips, letting you press the candy to his mouth.
His jaw works once, slow, like he’s tasting more than just sugar—eyes still locked into yours.
And while he sucks on the candy, another idea to break him sparks in your mind.
You lean in and bite into his neck, teeth sinking into skin—hard enough to leave a mark, sharp enough to make him jolt and make his cock switch.
The lollipop slips from his mouth, clattering onto the table as he lets out a rough sound he clearly didn’t mean to make. And you know, you got him this time.
“Hey,” you say, “I wasn’t done with that.”
“Ya know, most folks apologize after takin’ a chunk outta someone’s neck,” he says, clearly annoyed. “Not you. No, you’re sittin’ here mournin’ a piece of fuckin’ sugar.”
“You liked it. You groaned.” You say it quietly, a smile on your lips as you trace the grey stubbles along his neck.
“I like a lot of things, hon,” he murmurs, slowly melting at your lips against his neck. “What more I like is this pussy wrapped around me. Heck, ain’t even close yet. Keep goin’.”
Joel lands a sharp spank on your right ass cheek, forcing a sound from you that cuts straight through the calm front you were trying to hold. A moan.
He chuckles.
“There she goes,” he mutters. “Knew you’d crack.”
You set your jaw, brows pulling together as you start to pick up your pace, going up and down his cock with a sharper, more deliberate movement. You’re done playing around—and he can tell.
“That’s it, ride all that anger out.” He says but you see that the sudden intensity knocks a rough breath out of him, his head tipping back, hands twitching like he’s fighting the urge to grab you.
And then you slowly start to feel it—your slick dribbling down the sides of his cock, walls fluttering and spasming; every roll of your hips giving away a squelching sound and Joel can feel you holding back.
Your lips form into a straight line, eyebrows still pinched and your cunt can’t do nothing but soak into his lap, your body completely betraying you.
“Let me help you out, pretty girl. Looks like you’re startin’ to lose it.” He murmurs, before you feel the pad of his thumb going through your messy folds and then touching your aching, little clit, sitting just between the mess—switching.
You release a whine, stopping your movements on his length to take a deep breath so you don’t come on the spot. He doesn’t stop, his thumb keeps rubbing lazily over your nub, determined to make you more sensitive.
You try and swat at his hand again, stubborn as ever, but he just shakes his head with that slow, lazy little smirk that always gets under your skin.
“Nuh‑uh,” he drawls, voice low and maddeningly calm. “You wanted a challenge, didn’t you?”
You grit the words out through clenched teeth, “Fuck you.”
He just chuckles—like he’s been expecting that exact crack in your voice.
“Oh, I know,” he coos, eyes half‑lidded, savoring the moment you finally slipped.
His thumb on your clit speeds up, massaging tight, little circles around the nub and pushing that dry, cracked texture of his digit into your flesh, over and over again.
Your breath stumbles, trying to keep moving your hips.
And before you even expect it, Joel tugs at the hem of your shirt, flipping it upwards and releasing your tits to him. His hand immediately lashes onto one of your nipples; already sensitive and pebbled as he pinches the little nub between his fingers.
That, unfortunately, does it for you.
Your hips stutter, you stop your rhythm while your hands hold onto his chest, breathing through the stimulation and trying so hard not to come.
Joel smirks. His thumb slowing down, fingers leaving your nipple to slowly caress down your sides.
“Knew you’d burn yourself out tryin’ to beat me. You always do. Come on now…breathe. I got you. You did real good, pretty girl.” He murmurs, cupping your cheek. “Let me take it from here.”
Your whole body goes slack, the last of your stubbornness draining out of you as his hand cups your cheek. You try to glare at him, you really do, but the warmth in his voice makes your breath hitch instead. “Don’t…” you mumble, cheeks hot, “don’t talk to me like that.” There’s no real bite behind it. You’re melting, and he knows it.
“Mm‑hmm…that’s what I thought,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over your lips. “All that stubbornness and look at you now.”
His voice drops, warm and maddeningly sure of himself. “Breathin’ all shaky, tryin’ so hard to pretend you’ve still got some fire left.”
He tilts your chin up gently, eyes soft but smug.
“You don’t. Not with me. And that’s alright, baby. I got you.”
Something in you just…folds. Because he’s right, and you hate that he’s right, and you hate even more how gentle he sounds when he says it.
You feel your resistance slip, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left to hold onto.
And you can’t ignore the tight coil in your stomach, pulled so taut it feels ready to snap. Your gummy walls clinging around his cock for dear life, while your clit throbs in anticipation.
You need him.
“Buckle up now, honeygirl… let me show you how this is really done.”
With that, Joel’s grip settles on your hips—solid—fingers digging into your flesh as he starts to pound into you, hard and rough. Your body moves on top of him, tits moving up and down, head lulling from side to side. You try to stabilise yourself on his shoulders, sudden moans and whines leaving your lips.
“Easy now…that’s it. Let me hear you.” He murmurs through gritted teeth. “Don’t hold back on me, darlin’. I want every sound you’ve been tryin’ to swallow.”
His hips snap harder from underneath, swollen cock hitting that sweet, sensitive spot in you, making your head spin and shaky sounds slip past your lips. You tip your head back and catch Joel’s dark eyes on you, focused and intent, studying every little detail of your face.
“Joel—please,” you don’t know what you’re pleading for.
Joels hands grip you even rougher, knuckles white as he leans forward until the top of his head settles against your chest, his hair brushing your skin as he exhales roughly.
“I know,” He rasps against your skin. “Cunt is soft as warm honey now, baby. I can feel you letting go.”
He eases his head away from your chest, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek with surprising gentleness.
“Turning into butter in my hands, huh? Aren’t you, sugar?”
He pulls you in, brushing a gentle kiss against your lips like he’s trying to settle you.
“My sweet girl.”
That steals the breath right out of you. For a second you freeze, thrown off by the sudden softness—then everything in you loosens, warmth flooding through your chest as the words sink in.
Joel feels it; your walls clenching on him, flooding his lap with the same wetness he loves to lap on whenever he eats you out.
“Daddy’s honeypot is sucking me in so nicely.”
“Don’t call it honeypot…” you whine.
He lifts an eyebrow, the ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Oh, I’m callin’ it that,” he says, like it’s already settled. “Cause that’s what it is. Daddy’s honeypot.”
You moan out, louder than before and your head falls on his shoulder. His thrusts speed up once again, Joel pressing himself deeper, tighter as if he already knows that you’re on the verge of coming.
“Mmm… there it is. Sweet, messy thing,” he says. “I can feel you tremblin’. Come for me, sweetheart. I got you.”
You gasp, hiccuping his name as you nuzzle into him closer, sudden waves of your orgasm rushing through you. Your belly tightens, your body locks in and your fingertips curl into his skin.
Joels hip stutter, thrusts followed by squelching sounds of your come and while you try to ride your high out, you feel Joels cock throbbing rapidly—finally spurting his warm release into you.
“There we fuckin’ go…” he groans out. “This pussy is heaven.”
His thrusts slow down, grip softening on your hips as you breathe through the last waves of your release, nuzzling into his neck and placing a few kisses here and there.
Joel sinks back, dragging in a sharp breath, then another, his chest heaving as he tries to steady himself.
“I’ll be damned… we’re sweatin’ like whores in a church.”
You huff out a tired laugh against his neck, your forehead nudging into the warm skin there. Joel tilts his head just enough to brush his jaw against your hair, a small, worn‑out sound rumbling in his chest.
After a moment, he reaches blindly towards the table besides you, fingers closing around a cigarette pack. He shakes one out, sticks it between his lips, and lights it with a low groan.
He takes a long drag, exhales slow, then mutters around the smoke, “Lord…my damn back’s gonna kill me tomorrow. Ain’t twenty anymore, that’s for damn sure.”
Then, you start to push herself up, moving sluggishly, like your body hasn’t quite remembered how to work yet. But Joel has other plans. Before his cock is even halfway out your cunt, he pulls you back in, making you sink down around his softening cock again.
You gasp, eyebrows pinching, looking at his unbothered face.
“You’re not goin’ anywhere. Not ‘til I say so.” He murmurs besides the cigarette.
You tries to push at his shoulder, but it’s weak, more symbolic than anything. “You’re such a pain.”
And then you nuzzle right back into his neck. Your breathing evens out almost instantly, soft and steady, your whole body going slack as sleep pulls you under.
Joel shifts the cigarette at the corner of his mouth, glancing down at you with a tired huff.
“Figures,” he murmurs around the smoke, voice low and rough.
He leans back against the couch, sunlight catching in the curl of smoke drifting past his face, and just watches you sleep—peaceful, quiet, completely gone—wishing he could have this forever.
Sleazy!joel Masterlist
This is not really proofread so please ignore the mistakes yall🫣 anyways…i’m planning a little special valentines day fic for our @/coffeguitar babies hehe <333
omg everytime I’m on here I see ppl harassing u ugh…ignore them ur amazing!!🙂↕️💕
LOL i used 2 think “why do i seem 2 constantly b the one attracting these psychos” . . . but learnin how 2 separate my thoughts frm pther ppl’s actions has helped tons . some ppl r jus sad losers in real life && not every weird thing they do iz abt me .
