#bridgette talks

[keerymehome]

Joe guiding reader through giving her first bj...fingers gently massaging her scalp...him holding her hair back politely in a makeshift ponytail...his pretty hazel eyes looking down at her with so much love and adoration as he murmurs sweet praise to her...all while also talking straight filth and askin' her if she likes the taste of him

sksjskashslsjsl going to go feral

Can I go feral with you for a second?

"Relax your jaw, sweetheart." Joe's fingers knead are kneading slow circles against your scalp, encouraging and soothing you at the same time. "That's it."

He's gathering your hair, twisting it into a loose ponytail at your crown - holding it back so carefully, not pulling- yet, he's still in awe and can't believe you're letting him see you like this.

His hazel eyes catch yours when you look up, completely blown out while still being soft full of adoration. "So pretty," he breathes. "My good girl."

Then his voice drops, to a fucking filthy tone: "You like how I taste? Tell me."

You can't help but whimper around him, which causes him to groan - now his hips are rolling in controlled thrusts, grip tightening just enough.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, watching you with a dark tint in his eyes that's even worse than the words silling from his mouth. "Fuck, look at you. Taking me so well. Such a quick fucking learner."

He's praising you in the absolutely filthiest way as he gets closer to cumming. "Gonna make me cum into that pretty mouth of yours?"

And when he does finally paint the inside of your cheeks he's observing his masterpiece while watching you swallow every drop.

[uwukiri]

guess who’s back thots

[keerymehome]

So guys, I'm like.... crashing out over that hoodie.

Like big time.

And I'm imagining like popstar reader, Joe's performed earlier in the day, your sets finished not to long ago and now your both just watching in the crowd.

----

The headliner's synths are washing over the crowd in waves, but you're already drifting somewhere else, the land of exhaustion. Your stage adrenalines bled out somewhere between the food trucks and the beer garden, leaving just the dull ache in your calves from your shoes and the hoarseness in your throat from singing.

Joe notices.

"C'mere, popstar," he murmurs, as your both dancing together, his hands find your hips, turning you to face him. You blink up at him with the hood from your own jacket over your head - at the way his mustache catches on the neon nights, at the fondness in his eyes that he never bothers to hide anymore, even as you can see the cameras pointed on you. "Arms around me."

You don't hesitate. Your arms slide around his waist, hands finding their place at the small of his back, and you collapse completely into him. Chest to chest, your heartbeat finding his through layers of cotton. His oversized hoodie is soft, worn in, smelling of him and fog from the stage.

He zips it up around you slowly - one inch, two - drawing you into the warmth of his body until your cheek is pressed against his collarbone. The zipper finishes at your shoulders, cocooning you both in the fabric. You feel his chin drop to rest atop your head, your able to catch the way he exhales as his shoulders relax.

"There," he whispers. "Better."

You hum against his chest, fingers tracing lazy patterns into his spine. His hands have found their favorite places - one stroking up and down your back, the other now tangled in your hair, thumb brushing your temple in rhythm with the song being played. He sways, just slightly, and you follow, but your locked together in a tiny private orbit while the festival spins on around you.

Your ear is pressed flat against his sternum. Your able to listen to his heart - that steady drum and feel your own slowing to match it. His waist is thick beneath your arms, solid and soft, something to hold onto when the world feels too loud, too bright, too much.

"Good show," he says again, "Couldn't take my eyes off you."

You squeeze him tighter, face hidden away from the world, make-up lightly smudged. "You always say that."

"And I always mean it."

The music swells more as the act begins to end, confetti cannons firing somewhere as your eyes steuggle to stay open.

"Rest," he breathes. "I've got you."

And you do - until the lights begin to fade, and the crowd clears out as he carries you back to your hotel room.

BABY.

[keerymehome]

Oh to have Joe’s mustache ticking your thighs…

Why haven't I gone like, publicly feral on how much I love that fucking mustache yet?

From the first touch you can feel how coarse it is - it's not like that sandpaper-rough feeling, it's alive. Thousands of individual hairs, each one a tiny spark being sent across your skin as he presses his mouth to your inner thigh.

You can feel the heat of his lips underneath, the wet warmth of his tongue, but it's the frame around his mouth that has you gasping. That brush of hair dragging slow and deliberate across you, scratching just enough to remind you where he is. Every movement sending shivers racing up your spine - your nerves are confused, overwhelmed and unable to decide between ticklish and erotic nature.

He starts to move higher and the sensation intensifies. Softer skin meets coarser hair. You feel each individual strand catch and release, catch and release, as he works his way toward your core where you're aching. Your fingers are digging into his scalp, holding on - needing something, anything, to support yourself against the overwhelming feeling.

When he does finally tastes you, it's the contrast that wrecks you. The soft, wet heat of his tongue, surrounded by that persistent scratch against your most sensitive area. He groans and the vibration travels through the hairs, doubling the sensation - so wet and rough, soft and sharp, all at once.

You arch into him more without meaning to, chasing the feeling, and he obliges. His jaw works and the mustache starts to scrape rhythmically now, a steady friction accompanying every lick. It's too much and not enough at the same time, the tickle building alongside the pleasure until you can't separate them anymore - until the scratch of him against your skin is as essential as his tongue inside you.

When you cum, you feel it everywhere. The spasms of your release, yes, but also the texture that is him marking you, claiming you in this absurd, fucking intimate way. The aftershocks make you twitch, so oversensitive, and even that small movement grinds his mustache against your thigh, prolonging the feeling further.

After, when he crawls up to kiss you, you catch his face in your hands quickly. Running your thumb across that ridiculous, perfect brush of hair. You can still feel it everywhere he touched- a ghost lingering on your thighs, a hightened sensation that makes you shiver when you press your legs together.

"Still hate it?" he mumbles against your palm.

You pull him down on your mouth to show him exactly how you feel.

[keerymehome]

kinda just thinking while i was listening to some of the “decide” songs and can’t stop wondering if joe has some kind of “sex voice” like, yk…when he deepens his voice like in gloom when he says “undress you w my eyes im ready to go”

just wondering if he really use his voice like this yk

GOdddd.

just wanted to know your opinion abt sorry for this

🫣

I feel like if it happens it's going to be accidental? Like Joe doesn't even notice when he does it.

So he's gotta be really deep into it.

Let's say you’re straddling his lap, hands in his hair, and he’s murmuring something against your collarbone. Kinda like a half-praise, half-plead. But the vibration that rumbles out of him is different... or more right I guess in the most devastating way. Deeper than his speaking voice. Rougher. Completrly unrehearsed.

"Did you just?" you start, but he cuts you off with a groan when you roll your hips, and there it is again: that subterranean register, the one you'd only heard on the record that sounds like velvet.

Joe freezes. Blinks up at you, suddenly self-aware that your focus has shifted, cheeks flushing pink. "What?"

"Your voice," you say, grinning now. "It dropped."

"It what?" He clears his throat, embarrassed, trying to pitch it back up to that familiar tone. "No it didn’t - "

"Yeah it did." You press into him more, ever so delighted. "You went full 'undress you with my eyes' on me. Accidentally."

He covers his face with one hand, laughing while being absolutely mortified. "Oh my god. Stop."

"Make me."

He peeks through his fingers, eyes soft, and when he speaks again - "C'mere" - it’s there again. This time he hears it, flinches slightly, but you’re already kissing the embarrassment away.

"Don’t fix it," you whisper. "I like when your voice leaks."

"Oh fuck," he groans, dropping his hand, voice still trapped in that lower register. "Leaks. That’s horrifying."

But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t correct it. Just pulls you down and lets himself slip further until it's comfortable.

[keerymehome]

fingering i need joe to finger me come here pretty boy

AUWNDUAOQ CALLING HIM PRETTY BOY I'M FUCKING ON MY KNEES.

The dressing room door closes behind him with a loud click. Joe finds you on the couch, knees already pressed tight, and his smile goes dark, like he's been waiting for this all night.

"Come here, pretty boy," you say, and he's already dropping to his knees in front of you, spreading your legs with rough hands calloused hands.

He pulls your jeans off quickly, mouth pressing hot on your inner thigh, slowly higher, higher - until he's able to blow cool air we're your absolutely soaked. You let out a whine and he's chuckling impressed that such a simple action can make yoh melt.

"So wet already," he murmurs, and sinks two fingers knuckles deep into you - no fucking warning, theres both a stretch and burn as he curls them perfectly to press into you walls. Your head thunks against the wall behind the couch.

"Fuck - "

He starts pistoning hard, palm grinding your clit, the wet sound is obscene. "That's it," he breathes, watching you unravel against him. "Come on my fingers. Now."

You do - clenching around him, shaking, crying out his name - and he continues to finger you through it, slow and deep movements now, until you're trembling, so oversensitive that your pushing at his shoulder.

He withdraws, makes sure to suck his fingers clean, eyes never leaving yours.

"Pretty boy," he repeats, standing, straining hard, the line of his cock visible through his pants. "That's new, I could get used to it.. But I think I need to hear you say it again."

[keerymehome]

Do we think Joseph whore Keery would like to have his nipples played with? Like…biting?

Hehe... hehehe Joseph Whore Keery is my new passion in life.

Let's say it's innocent at first - your just tracing over the lines of his chest while you watch TV, Joe's sprawled half-naked beneath you on the couch. But then your thumb brushes over his nipple, no thought behind it, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

You look up. "Sensitive?"

"Nah." He shrugs, trying to brush it off, too casual about it, eyes fixed on the screen. "You're just cold."

Fucking liar.

You do it again - now on purpose, circling slow around the darkened area before flicking over the top of the nipple, watching the way his jaw tightens. His hand finds your waist, fingers digging in just enough to let off a warning.

"Baby."

"What?" You pretend to act shocked while leaning down, replacing your thumb with your mouth, and suck... hard.

"Jesus - " His whole body jerks now, the remote clatters to the floor. You feel the way his chest starts to rise and fall faster, his other hand coming up to grip your shoulder - he's not pushing you away, just holding on for dear life.

You bite around him then. Gentle, then again harder when he moans.

"Fuck," he breaths, and his voice dropped, rough now, composure cracking right down the middle. "Okay. Okay, you made your point - "

You look up at him, chin resting on his sternum, and grin. "What point?"

His eyes are dark now, fixed entirely on your lips. "That you're evil."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"Don't you fucking dare."

[keerymehome]

We moved on from joe keery post fargo era too fast

Yes. Yes we did.