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saraqueensblog · 5 days ago

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cw: daddy k!nk, breeding k!nk, r@pe fantasy, g@ng r@pe fantasy, g@ngb@ng

Been thinking about being passed around all my daddy’s friends.

Usually when my daddy comes home, he’ll take me wherever he finds me. Whether I’m waiting for him on the couch, if I’m in the shower, if I’m cooking dinner, the moment he sees me he on me, fucking into my tight little cunny no matter if I want to or not. My tears appear, either staining onto the sofa cushion, falling into the meal I’m making, blending in with the shower spray as I plead and beg “daddy p-please slow down, I-it hurts”

He never does though. He never stops, he never slows down. If anything my pleas egg him on, making him plow into me painfully, as hard as he can, for as long as he can. My daddy fucks me violently, pulling my hair, biting into my skin, smacking my clit, doing whatever he can to get his frustrations out, no matter how much he’s hurting me, until his balls are drained, and my pussy is reluctantly stuffed full of his cum.

One day when he comes home, I’m in the kitchen cleaning off the small table we eat at. My heart races when I hear the front door unlock, my pussy is still sore from when he fucked me this morning. There’s still some part of me that hopes that if I please well enough, daddy will take it easy on me.

But the door opens, and I hear multiple sets of foot steps enter the house, following my daddy as he finds me in the kitchen. I see his friends from work, so many of them, standing eagerly around, looking up and down my frame, smiling wickedly at me. “D-daddy?” I ask.

He flashes a sickening smirk at me, and steps forward as he starts unbuckling his pants. “You’ll be a good lil hostess, won’t you?” He says mockingly, stepping forward and pushing me face down on the table. My shrieks are covered up by the dark chuckles of the group of me around me as he starts tearing off my leggings, my panties, kicking my legs apart. He grips the back of my neck and pressing my face harder against the table. “Where’s my good lil girl huh?” He mocks. “Daddy brought all of his friends so he could show off this tight-“ he slams his cock inside me without any prep, my pussy barely wet “little girl cunt and this is how you act?” He clicks his teeth as he begins pounding into me. “Guess I’ll have to teach you a lesson, and let all my friends breed you and all your little holes.”

Tears are already streaming down my face but his words cause me to wail “no no no daddy please ill be good I promise I don’t want it-“ I push my torso up with my hands only to be knocked back down when two of his friends step around to my front and yank my arms out from under me. Before I can catch my breath again, one of my daddy’s friend’s cock is in my face, shoving itself down my throat. Daddy’s cock keeps punching into to me painfully hitting my cervix over and over again. “Since I own this pussy,” he growls. “I’m gonna breed it first.”

He reaches over with his hand and hooks two fingers in my nostrils, cutting off my air supply, and tugs up. I don’t even register the cocks that are put into my hands, but I do registered the way my neck strains as his friends cock slides deeper and deeper into my throat at the new angle. Daddy smacks the bulge in my throat, causing me to jerk and gag as I struggle for breath. Just as my vision starts to fade he lets go of my nose and thrusts his cum deep into my pussy, not letting any of my womb remain uncoated.

He pulls out harshly, barking out one of his remaining friend’s names to trade places. Cum coats my throat, filling my esophagus to the point of choking as another cock slides into my used pussy. This time, I feel fingers prod at my other tight hole, stretching me uncomfortably wide. I gurgle out a whine, trying to swallow the cum enough to breathe again, gasping as much air as I can through the tears before the cycle starts all over again.

I lose track of which cocks have been inside me and which ones have yet to rape me. cum dribbles out of my pussy, ass, and mouth, just being used as a cum dump doll for all of my daddy’s friends.

I can feel my bell and womb slosh with the semen inside me, my fertile little unprotected pussy bred and filled to the brim. At some point my daddy turns me over to my back on the table, and him and all laugh as he presses down on my lower stomach and cum gushes out of me even more.

I look up at him with wet and teary eyes only to see that all of their cocks are still hard. My daddy grips my jaw and bends down to mock me. “You’re gonna take all of their cum, until it’s stuffed so deep that you’re leaking it out for a week, until you’re bred so well, there’s no doubt you’ll be pregnant by sunrise, like a good little breeding slut.”

I whimper as he smacks my cheek harshly, slapping my tit, my tummy, and my clit, before lifting my legs over his shoulders, and plunging his still hard cock back into my flooded pussy.

He groans out again, and chuckles before addressing the other men. “Round two boys.”

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saraqueensblog · 5 days ago

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Walking around in nothing but a miniskirt and no panties so that anyone can just bend me over and fill my needy wet pussy with cum over and over again <3 I want to be groped and used as a cum dump so bad <3

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saraqueensblog · 5 days ago

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Third Sunday of June | Husband!Joel x Wife!reader | one-shot | 18+ minors DNI

Summary:Father’s Day comes quietly this year. Your daughter is asleep on Joel’s chest. The world is still. There’s no fanfare, no gifts—just softness and the weight of what you’ve built. He’s not sure he deserves it. You spend the day reminding him he does.

A/N: Spent my morning thinking about Jackson!Joel with a newborn on Fathers Day. So I made this. It’s grief, healing, memory, devotion. And Joel Miller saying “mama” in a way that will stick to your ribs. if you like to get horny and cry at the same time this one is for you. ps. i wrote and edited this real quick, sorry if its a mess

Warnings: 18+ MDNI , grief (Sarah mentioned), BREEDING KINK,SMUT, ITS ALL SMUT,baby in established relationship, domestic softness, emotional intimacy, smut (fingering, oral f receiving, piv, creampie, praise kink, use of “mama,” slight dom!Joel, tooth rotting.

You wake up slowly. Sunlight filtering through the little gaps in the curtains, painting the room with streaks of gold and pink. You reach over beside the bed, arm searching. You find nothing When you roll over, you feel him, solid and warm against you. Joel is lying there, pillow propped up behind his head, awake. His eyes are puffy, you can’t tell if he’s even slept at all. Your daughter is sleeping on his chest, he’s got one arm wrapped below her, cradling her. He makes her look so impossibly small. “Good morning, lover,” you whisper, voice barely awake. He rolls his head toward you, looks down, and smiles softly. “‘Mornin', darlin’,” he mumbles, his voice too rough with sleep, maybe something more. His throat sounds a little tight, eyes are wet. “Did you sleep alright?” you ask. He just nods once, slow, looks down at her in his arms. “She woke up for a while an hour or so ago, got her back down quick,” he whispers. “You always do, think your voice makes her feel safe,” you say, “probably all that talkin' n’ singing to her you did before she was born.” He smiles again, just barely. Doesn’t say anything. He just curls his hand a little tighter around her back. You watch his thumb start to move, rubbing tiny absent-minded circles—like he’s grounding himself. His face is set in soft worry, as if he’s scared that if he stops touching her, one of them will drift away. You shift closer to him, tucking into his side, resting a hand over his. “She’s perfect,” you murmur. His jaw shifts some, and he closes his eyes. You feel it in the way his breath catches in his throat. The way his hand stills. “She looks just like her sister,” he says. You nod. “Yeah, I see it too.” The words, the room, the light. It all hangs there. Fragile. You don’t try to patch it, just listen, just let him speak if he wants. “I keep thinkin’—“ he starts, then shakes his head. “Hell. I don’t know what I’m thinkin’”

You press your lips to his shoulder.

“It’s okay if it’s everything all at once.”

You hear him swallow hard.

“Feels like I’m cheating. Lovin’ her like this. Havin’ her at all.”

You sit up slowly, shift so you can take the baby gently from his chest, and lay her down in the bassinet beside you. She stirs once, just for a moment, then settles.

Joel watches you the whole time, eyes fixed and glassy, throat working around something he can’t quite say.

Once she’s settled, you turn back to him, knees tucked at his sides, your hands bracing on his chest.

“Joel,” you say, voice gentle, but firm. “You never stopped loving Sarah.”

He stays silent.

“You just… didn’t let the world stop forever. Didn’t stop living. And that’s okay.” You bring your hand up to his face, caressing his jaw. “You’re allowed to keep moving forward, she’d want you to, baby.”

“I don’t know how to do this.” He exhales something shaky from his chest, “It’s been so long, I feel like I forgot how.”

You’re scratching the nape of his neck now, both hands on him, reminding him you’re here, you’re real.

“You don’t have to know everything. That’s why we have each other.”

You prop yourself up on an elbow, kiss the corner of his mouth. “Why don’t I make somethin’ for you to eat?” you offer, “pancakes?”

He looks at you, caught off guard. Like he wasn’t expecting kindness today.

“You don’t need to do that.” He says.

“Let me take care of you.” You whisper, kissing him again, on his lips now.

He doesn’t keep protesting, just looks at you with his big brown eyes as you slip out of bed and walk out of the room.

The light in the kitchen is still gentle, golden.

You move through it quietly, just to let him have the stillness.

You cook, shape the pancakes into little hearts.

It's simple, but it's the simple things that take you back to before this. Before everything got dark.

You go into your pack and pull out the gift you've been holding onto for a few weeks.

You put the card on the table. The one you scrawled in crayon. The one you spent an hour trying to get just right while he was on patrol.

Paint everywhere, from her head all the way into every nook of her toes. She'd fussed the whole time.

Her little footprint was perfectly stamped in the middle of the paper in blue.

You set the table, and plate the food. Put the card on his seat.

You know he'll come out as soon as he smells it.

You boil the water and take it out. Coffee.

You traded one of the gentlemen who came through town a few weeks ago. Joel didn't know. He thought you were at Tommy and Maria's, but you were really with that man's family, painting them a portrait. He gave you a tin of coffee beans, you thanked him, and thanked him, and thanked him. He didn't know.

You grind them up, and as soon as it hits the hot water, you hear his feet hit the ground.

After a few minutes, he rounds the corner with your baby in his arms, both of their hair messy from sleep.

He doesn't speak, just walks up to you and leans his forehead against yours, holding her between you like she's the most precious thing in the world. Like she's everything. Because she is.

You eat in silence. Nothing but the sound of birds outside, the sound of cutlery scraping, and her cooing every so often.

When he opens the card, his eyes go glassy all over again. He picks it up and turns it over in his hands like it might crumble. Or maybe he will.

"You're too good to me," he murmurs as he sips the coffee.

"Not possible," you say, sitting right next to him, resting your hand over his on the table.

"You are my heart, Joel. You always have been, always will."

You squeeze his hand, he lifts it and kisses the back of it, looking right into your eyes. His gloss over with something too soft to name, no edges today.

The rest of the day passed like a dream.

But not in the way where it felt unreal—no. In a way where everything blurred at the edges. Where the light felt like it stayed warm a little too long, the breeze was too gentle to be anything but divine.

You sat on a blanket in the grass while Joel strummed the guitar, back leaning against the old porch post, your daughter nestled in his lap.

She kicked her feet, babbled. He stared at her, listening like she was preaching scripture. She swatted at the strings, and he just smiled, letting her. Didn't even try to stop her when she slapped the frets and giggled like she'd invented the very concept of music herself. He just kept strumming, singing something soft and low, the melody familiar and broken in, like an old t-shirt.

You watched them like that for hours, something deep in your chest, something you couldn't speak either. Something much too big for just love.

When the sun sank low behind the horizon, and the bugs came out, you cooked again. Something simple, warm. Pasta. You stood in the kitchen together, and he kissed your shoulder as you cut herbs. The baby giggled at every sizzle of the pan.

Later, you both bathed her. Joel held her like she was made of porcelain, crooning quietly under his breath while you rubbed soap through her soft little curls.

Eventually, when you put her down, he read to her. The same dog-eared books he always chose. Sesame Street, Robert Munsch… His voice was steady and soothing. Her little hands clung to his finger even as she nodded off.

You played cards, sitting cross-legged at the coffee table. You let him beat you at rummy. Twice. Then you teased him, accused him of cheating. He looked smug as hell, happy. After, you told him that if he was gonna hustle you, he'd better be the one doing dishes. He said, "Yes, ma'am," in what was still left of that lazy southern drawl you loved so damn much. It made your stomach flutter.

Now you’re in the bathroom, running the shower. You make him get in, reluctant as he is, you convince him. He trusts you. He loves you. You pour shampoo into your palms and lather it, scrubbing his hair with all the tender care in the world. He sighs into your chest as you scratch at his nape. Tipping his head down so you have easier access. He does the same for you. When the soap is rinsed and the water begins to cool, you press your body to his, arms wrapped and wet around his shoulders. You kiss him. Not hard, not desperate, or fueled. You just let your bodies melt together while the water runs over you like rain. When you break the kiss, you look up at him, water cascading through his curls, over his face. His lips are red and a bit swollen, his eyes aren’t glassy anymore, they’re dark. Hungry. The water seems to have been able to wash away some of the weight of today. He leads you out of the shower, wraps your hair up in one towel, and takes a second to dry off your body, paying perfect detail to every inch. You do the same for him. There is something so special about days like these. Where everything feels slow, comfortable, connected. They don’t come often anymore, not since the baby. You both get dressed in pajamas, he puts on pants, you just a shirt. Trying your very best to be quiet as you open drawers so the baby stays sound. He stands behind you as you stand at the end of the bed and watch her for a while. He wraps his arms around your middle, palms flat on your belly. He leans his head onto your shoulder, mouth beside your ear, whispers, “Thank you for giving me her.” You turn your head, look him in his eyes for a minute, and respond. “No, Joel.” You kiss him again, “Thank you. Thank you for making me a mama.” “I love you.” is all he responds, mumbling it into the curve of your neck, kissing the soft skin there, sending static waves all the way through you. He wraps his big hands tighter around your belly, kissing up from your shoulder to your jaw as he slowly walks you backward toward the bedroom door. As soon as you let the door softly click closed, the air in the house changes. It charges. He doesn't say anything when you guide him toward the couch—no. He just follows, like you're tethered to each other. His hands are still locked on you as you make your way to the couch in the dark.

He pushes you down onto it, then drops down to his knees. You reach forward and run your fingers over his bare shoulders, digging them into the tension that's there, today, every day. You massage him, cradle his face, and touch everything you can reach. He kisses you like he means to undo you. Slow at first, like he's still not quite convinced this is what he deserves. Like every inch of you is prayer, and he's scared to speak it too loud. His hands trail up beneath the shirt you're wearing. His shirt. Callused fingers palming gently at your sides, up and down like he's relearning the shape of you. He leans in and kisses you, harder this time. Still not demanding, it's like he's just claiming you as his. It's the kind of kiss that breathes in you like he's starving for oxygen and tastes like memory. Like every version of him that's ever loved you is all showing up at once.

You moan into his mouth when he slides his hand down from your jaw, over you collarbone, down lower. He stops to cup your breast, circling his fingers so gently over your nipple. His mouth moves down your body and replaces his hand. He sucks and flicks at your skin through your shirt, rolling his tongue over and over.

You can feel his restraint start to slowly slip. Feel it leaving him through short, little panting breaths.

The way he touches you is slow, full of that all-familiar ache. His hands find your thighs, your waist, and finally up under your shirt. When he pulls it over your head he pauses like he's seeing you for the first damn time.

Your hands reach for his face, thumbs brushing the sides of his jaw, rough with stubble.

You watch his eyes darken as they make their way over your body, traveling, lingering at the softest parts. Your belly, your chest. All of the places that bore witness to what you built together

He lays his palms flat against your stomach and stops.

"She was right here," he says, voice quiet. "You carried her right there."

You cover his hand with yours, pressing it tighter into your skin. "She was," you whisper. "And you loved me through every second of it."

His other hand slips down, cupping between your thighs—you feel him shudder when he finds you already wet, needy.

"Still love you like that. More, even."

You breathe out something shaky. "Then take me there again, Joel."

You watch his throat as he struggles to swallow, his brows twitch into the smallest furrow for a moment. He leans into you, rests his head against your bare thigh.

"I've been feeling like the word was gonna end again," he murmurs. "Like this peace...this quiet...this thing we built is just borrowed." he keeps his head down, "I don't wanna waste it. I wanna remember everything."

You slide your fingers into his hair and tug. Not hard, just enough to make his eyes flick up to you, glinting in the low light.

"The world isn't ending again, Joel, we're gonna keep building ours, together. Everyone's safe," you say.

He kisses the inside of your thigh, then higher, then higher, then higher.

He hooks a finger underneath the waistband of your panties and then looks up at you, like he's asking for permission.

You nod, and when he peels them down, he doesn't just look—he stares.

"Fuck, so wet already" he says, voice dripping in awe "You miss me too mama?"

That word—oh god, that word. Mama. It hits you like a chord strummed right through your ribs, makes you pussy clench, has your whole body aching. It wrecks you every time. The way he says it is like praise. Like a god damn title.

"Think I'm not always like this for you?"

He grins, its soft, not cocky, but maybe proud.

Pleased.

"You ruin me so easily," he says, voice low and worn. "Every fuckin' time."

"Joel," you whine, grinding your hips down toward his face.

He chuckles against you, then flattens his tongue, licking a long stripe right down your center, groaning when he tastes you. His lips wrap tight around your clit and he sucks, gentle at first—then firmer. He works you until your back arches and your hands are fisting the cusions.

He eats you like it's the first time, maybe like it might be the last. Like this is the only way he knows how to say thank you for staying.

You whimper, tilting your hips, thighs tightening around his neck.

"Baby, fuck--"

"Yeah, that's it," he murmurs against you. "Give it to me. Let me take care of you."

Your whole body arches when he slips two fingers inside, curling them just right. It's too much, it's not enough. It's perfect.

"God damn, I love the way you sound when I got my mouth on you," he says. "Wanna feel you, c'mon, wanna feel you fall apart for me."

You come, mouth parted in a soundless cry, legs trembling, until his name pours out of your mouth like a broken hymn.

His pace doesn't falter; he doesn't stop. Just licks you through it, lets you ride it out on his tongue. Holding you still, taking everything you give.

When he finally rises from your thighs, his beard is glistening, his eyes are dark.

He kisses your belly, then higher. Then your lips, like he's giving it back to you. Your taste, your need, your surrender.

"Gonna let me love you right?" he asks, voice rasped. "Let me give you everything?"

"Yes, please, Joel--need it. Need you."

"Been thinkin' about this all night. You. The way you looked this morning with her in your arms." He crawls over top of you. "You were made to be a mama."

Your breath stutters, heart kicking.

"You know, you're real mean when you talk like that," you whisper.

He looks down at you, grinning as he tugs down his sweats. You watch as his cock springs free, thick, flushed and leaking.

"You sayin' it's a turn on?"

You nod, biting your lip.

He groans low in his throat, wrecked, and lines himself up. The head of his cock drags through your slick.

He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, watching your face the whole time. Eyes wide, mouth open in awe.

A moan is torn from you, loud, head falling back. He sinks in all the way, hips flush to yours now.

He stays still once he’s buried deep. His hands frame your face.

“I’ve never loved anything like I love this,” he says. “You. Her. Us.”

Your eyes sting. Your chest cracks open.

“I know,” you whisper. “Me too.”

He starts to move��slow, deep thrusts that drag along every inch of you, rolling his hips into yours.

He grabs your hand and puts it over your belly with his. Pressing down right where you’re full of him.

“Wanna give you another one” he breathes. “Wanna keep fillin' our life with good things”

“Joel—”

He grabs your hips tighter, ruts harder, deeper. It doesn't feel like fucking. It feels like this is carving. This is memory. This is making something.

“You want that?” he asks, voice breaking. “You wanna give me another?”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Fuck, yes.”

He slows down some, shallower, grinding against you, the head of his cock catching on your opening over and over driving you insane.

“Turn around,” Joel murmurs, he growls. “On your hands and knees, baby.”

You don’t argue. You don’t ask. You feel it in his voice—that threadbare edge, the way he’s holding back like it’s costing him something. And you want to take the leash off.

So you nod. Slow. Wordless.

And roll.

Every limb feels loose, useless, boneless from how hard he just made you come with his mouth, but you shift, dragging your trembling body onto your stomach, then pushing up to your knees.

Your arms buckle a little under you. Joel’s hands are there instantly, one bracing your hip, the other gliding up your spine.

“Easy, sweetheart. I got you.”

You arch for him, shuddering, and you hear the crack in his breath. The way he exhales, like it hurts. Like the sight of you like this just knocked the wind out of him.

“Goddamn. Look at you,” he whispers. “Still fuckin’ cryin’ for me.”

You whimper when his hand spreads you open, thumb brushing through your folds. You’re slick everywhere. Down your thighs. Pooling between them. The contact makes you gasp.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he says, almost like it’s a prayer. “All over my fuckin’ couch. That from me, mama?”

Your voice is ragged. “It’s all from you.”

That earns you a moan.

You hear the soft slap of him stroking himself, the wet sound of his cock in his palm. You arch a little deeper, offer him everything.

And then he’s there.

The head of his cock presses back to your entrance and you both gasp as he slides inside.

The stretch hits different from this angle. Sharper, meaner, fucking heavenly. He presses in all the way, to the hilt, hands locked tight on your waist.

“Jesus Christ,” he hisses. “You feel like you’re fuckin’ made for me.”

You drop your head between your arms, mouth falling open. “I am, Joel.”

That makes him grunt. Low and rough.

He pulls back and thrusts in again, and it makes your knees slide an inch forward on the couch. Makes your voice break on a gasp.

The rhythm he sets is brutal—faster, deeper now. Dragging, grinding thrusts that punch the air from your lungs. “Still got more in you?” he pants, hand sliding up your back. You nod, forehead to the cushion. “As much as you want.”

His hand slides down again. Palms your ass. Spreads you wider.

“You said you wanted to feel it,” he murmurs. “Want me to make it count this time?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, Joel.”

He leans in over your back, one hand dragging up your belly now, wet with sweat, with slick, with heat.

“Then take it, mama,” he growls in your ear. “Take all of it.”

The sound you make is wrecked. Raw, wordless.

The filth from his mouth has your head swimming.

“You feel that? That’s me. All of me. Still fuckin’ hard for you. You’re wringin’ me out, baby. You want another one so bad? I’ll give it to you. I’ll fuckin’ give it to you.”

You don’t even recognize your own voice when you sob, “Please—please don’t stop—I need you—”

He grabs your hips, both hands now, and drives into you so deep it’s like he’s trying to break you.

You cry out. Eyes wet. Skin burning.

He moans, broken.

“Gonna come—fuck, baby.”

“Do it,” you whisper. “I want it, Joel, I want all of it.”

That’s it. He breaks.

He slams in once, twice. Then groans loud, slurred and filthy as he buries himself deep and pours into you.

You feel it. Warm and thick. A slow bloom of heat that makes your whole body tremble.

He stays there, cock still pulsing, his breath ragged, his hands bruising your hips like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

You both collapse on the couch, spent, wrecked. Happy Neither of you moves for a long, long moment.

He lays a kiss between your shoulder blades. “I hope it sticks,” he breathes. You turn your head to look at him, eyes glassy but glowing. “It will,” you murmur. You guide his hand to your belly, covering it with yours. Anchor to anchor.

“Happy Father’s Day, baby.” Then, from down the hall, soft and sudden. A cry.

Tiny, insistent, familiar.

Joel’s breath catches in his throat. He presses his forehead to your back. You feel his shoulders shake.

You whisper, “She knows.”

And he laughs, choked up and tear-wet. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, she does.”

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saraqueensblog · 5 days ago

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if i could request a fic if youre down to write it, but joel feeling conflicted (but turned on) about his urges to breed/knock up the reader, but ultimately cant resist so he gives in, going feral 👀 tysm if you write this!! ♡♡♡

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

warnings: unprotected p in v sex, daddy kink, breeding kink, just a tiny bit of choking and Joel being a little rough

You felt so fucking good.

I mean, like, criminally fucking good.

Your eyes were closed, your body putty underneath him as he'd drained all the energy out of it with the previous 2 mindblowing orgasms.

All you were left able to do was moan and cry out his name while gripping his strong bicep, even the thighs around his waist were barely hanging on.

That's what Joel Miller did to you. Every single time: He fucked you so good you forgot your own name. Literally.

"that's a good girl" he grunted, drilling into you mercilessly "my good girl" he breathed, his mouth to your ear now "letting me stretch this little pussy- taking me so fucking well"

the sound of skin on skin and the squelching of your juices drenching him filled every inch of the room, but all you were able to hear and feel was him.

His cock so deep inside you you could feel it in your belly, his left hand on your waist, gripping tightly, his fingers wrapped around your neck, cutting out your oxygen intake just enough to make every sensation he was providing you with double down. And then finally, all you could hear was his voice, his hoarse, deep voice, traced with lust and malice, grunting and breathing every dirty thing that crossed his mind, until finally... he let one he shouldn't have slip.

Listen, Joel wasn't one to hide anything, in or out of the bedroom, but this... this was too much. It was wrong, and it was filthy and it wasn't something you'd ever talked about, but before he knew it, before his brain could realize it, the words had left his mouth.

"yeah take that-take my cock- fuck- look at that, you're sucking me in" he groaned, feeling your walls squeeze and squeeze around him "begging to be filled up- this little pussy's begging to be full of my cum" he growled, his hand going to your face now, squeezing your cheeks as you opened your eyes, and to his surprise, moaned even louder, your walls strangling his cock now.

Oh fuck yeah

"You like that?" he mocked, as your legs trembled and your brain felt ready to leak out of your ears "you'd like to be my little cumslut? Just let daddy fill you up again and again? Fuck a baby in you?"

You could hear and feel the way the idea was turning him on more and more, his thrusts getting sloppier and his voice getting more strained.

You nodded, half a second away from passing out.

"Good girl" he groaned, his hand on your thing moving to your belly "Fuck-Can't wait to see this all swollen- let everyone know you're mine" he sighed, his sweaty forehead dropping to his "Only mine- That I get to fill you up whenever I please, that you're begging for my cock every night"

Your vision was blurred, and your body felt ready to implode, and you were close, god you were oh so close

"You're gonna come?" he grunted, his hips still working overtime to split you in half "You're gonna milk my cock? take every single drop I give you?"

"yes" you moaned, your voice not even sounding like your own "yes please daddy give it to me"

"what?" he taunted "what do you want sweetheart?"

"y-your cum" you cried "D-deep inside of me daddy"

"f-fuck" he growled, praying to whatever god that would listen to not wake him up if this was a dream "good fucking girl- take it then" he said, as your eyes squeezed shut, a tsunami of pleasure overcoming you as you reached your orgasm "take my cum like the good little girl you are"

And just like that, you did, as he shot every single drop of his spent inside of you, you moaned, watching him do exactly as he said: filling you up to the brim, as he breathed soft that's it, and every single drop babygirl- just like that, until finally, he collapsed on top of you.

he stayed inside you the entire night, the only explanation given, a simple: "Can't let any of it go to waste darlin'"

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saraqueensblog · 5 days ago

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I loveeee your mean!joel fic. Pleasee give us more mean!joel por favorr i need that man to straight up bully me

────۶ৎ beg for it

mean!joel makes you gag on his cock, fucks you stupid, and fills you up.

warnings: smut, dom!joel, mean!joel, degradation, spitting, choking, hair-pulling, face-fucking, rough sex, slapping, breeding kink, name-calling, cumplay, verbal humiliation.

ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: i let him be extra cruel. no mercy. just filth. hope ur knees are ready.

ᖭ༏ᖫ

“what’s that?” joel drawls, cock heavy in his fist, tip leaking as he looks down at you on your knees like you’re fucking pathetic. “you wan’ it that bad you’re droolin all over my fuckin boots?”

you nod, lips parted, eyes glassy.

he tsks. “jesus christ. never seen a thing more pitiful. ‘n here i thought you had a lick a’ pride.”

he fists your hair and jerks your head back, lets his cock slap against your cheek. “open that mouth, baby. not gonna ask twice.”

you do, tongue out, and he gives you just the tip, slow roll against your tongue. “you like that? feelin’ me heavy on your tongue like this?”

you hum around him and he shoves deeper. “bet you do. bet you dream about this cock stuffin that mouth full all night long, huh? poor little thing just layin there soakin through her panties thinkin ‘bout me bullyin’ her throat.”

you gag, but he doesn’t stop. just fucks into your mouth like it’s owed to him. like it ain’t nothing special.

“nothin but a hole, ain’t you?” he growls. “good for gettin’ fucked. not for talkin. not for thinkin. just for takin.”

he pulls out, hand slick with spit and precum, and grabs your chin hard. “strip.”

on the floor in seconds, ass in the air, you hear the buckle before you feel him again.

he doesn’t go slow. he doesn’t ask.

just one brutal thrust and he’s balls-deep, one hand on the back of your neck, the other slapping your ass so hard you jolt forward.

“fuckin’ tight,” he grits out. “you clenchin’ like that on purpose or you just needy?”

you whimper and he laughs — mean and low and full of it.

“needy lil whore,” he says, spitting down your spine. “knew you’d take it. all that mouth earlier, now look at you. stuffed full. beggin’ for it.”

he starts pounding. no rhythm. just brute force. just claiming.

“you feel that?” he hisses. “that’s my cock stretchin you wide. ruin’ you for anyone else. this pussy’s mine now, y’hear?”

you nod, sobbing out some wrecked, broken sound.

and he moans — deep, ragged.

“gonna fill you,” he pants, cock twitching. “gonna pump you so full you’ll be drippin down your thighs for fuckin’ days.”

he grabs your hair, yanks you upright so your back arches against his chest.

“say it,” he growls in your ear. “say who this cunt belongs to.”

“you,” you gasp. “fuck, joel—it’s yours.”

he laughs again, low and smug.

“damn right.”

then he cums. hard. deep. shuddering through his whole body as he presses you down again, hips still moving, grinding it in.

“take every drop,” he says, breathless. “don’t you dare fuckin’ waste it.”

ᖭ༏ᖫ

thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.

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saraqueensblog · 6 days ago

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saraqueensblog · 6 days ago

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prompt #20 - pedro pascal - “if you knew how good you taste…”

CW: smut, oral (f!receiving), munch!Pedro supremacy, worship vibes, filthy praise, overstimulation, unhinged obsession 😵‍💫💦

---

It should’ve been over.

You were breathless, legs still trembling from your second orgasm, fingers buried in his curls, trying to gently coax him up toward your mouth. You wanted to kiss him, wanted to pull him into your arms and tell him enough, that he’d done more than enough.

But Pedro wasn’t done.

His hands gripped your thighs tighter, dragging you down further on the bed until your legs were fully open for him again, trembling and slick, your chest still heaving from the high he had just given you.

“Pedro—”

He looked up, eyes glassy, lips wet, flushed like a man starved.

“Don’t you dare stop me,” he muttered, mouth already moving back to where he wanted you most. “You have no idea how good you taste…”

Your head fell back with a broken moan, thighs instinctively trying to close—but he wouldn’t let you. His palms pushed them apart again, holding you open like a gift he refused to return.

“I’m serious, baby,” he murmured between licks, voice low and almost reverent. “I could die between your legs and I’d go smiling.”

You whimpered, back arching when his tongue circled you again—slow, deep, greedy. He groaned into you, sucking with just enough pressure to make your toes curl.

You tugged his hair, voice cracking. “Pedro, I—can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he rasped, dragging his tongue up with precision that made your vision blur. “One more. Give me one more. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

You cried out, hands fisting the sheets, body melting into the mattress as he devoured you like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

And when you came again—louder, messier, completely undone—Pedro moaned like he was the one getting off.

He finally came up, face flushed and glistening, the most satisfied, fucked-out smile on his lips.

“Fuck,” he breathed, laying beside you, kissing your shoulder while you struggled to come down. “You're never getting rid of me. I’m obsessed. Addicted. Ruined for anyone else.”

And you couldn’t even speak—not yet. But the way your body curled into him, the way your fingers found his hand under the blanket, said everything.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that. send me your prompt!

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saraqueensblog · 10 days ago

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hii first off, i just wanted to say i love all of ur fics, u r honestly so talented with the way u put so much little details and emotion into ur work.

secondly, i would like to request something with no outbreak joel and reader just had a fun night with her friends that involved some drinking and joel always picks her up from wherever she is and take her home and takes her makeup off and and reader is really clingy and he’s just trying to get her ready for bed.

Drunken nights

Pairing: no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader Summary: After a fun night out, you’re tipsy and clingy—and Joel, as always, takes you home and gently takes care of you. Warnings: established relationship, fluff, Joel is being very caring, clingy reader

The night air is warm when you push the door open, laughter still tucked in your chest from the goodbyes you just said. You wobble slightly on the sidewalk, a half-drunken smile playing on your lips as your heels click unevenly against the pavement.

The moment you spot Joel’s truck idling under the dull orange glow of the streetlight, your whole body seems to sigh with relief — like it knows the night isn’t really over until you’re folded into him. He’s always there, always the one to come get you no matter the hour, no matter how tired he is, and even now, as you approach the passenger door, you can see the soft, amused shake of his head when he sees your goofy grin.

You slide into the seat with more enthusiasm than grace, tugging the door shut behind you and immediately leaning across the console. He smells like soap and cedar and the faint ghost of motor oil, and you bury your face into his shoulder like you’ve been missing him for weeks instead of hours.

“You’re so warm,” you murmur into his flannel, your voice slurred at the edges, sticky with wine and exhaustion. Joel hums quietly, one hand resting on your thigh as he begins the short drive home, thumb moving in slow, steady circles over your bare skin.

“Have fun?” he asks, though you’re already halfway through a contented sigh, nodding against him, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sleeve like you might fall out of the truck if you let go.

“Mmhmm. Missed you, though,” you whisper.

Joel glances at you from the corner of his eye, the edges of his mouth lifting. “You just saw me this morning.”

“I know,” you say, stretching the syllables out dramatically. “It’s been forever.”

He doesn’t argue, just reaches over to tuck your hand into his and squeezes once. You’re quiet the rest of the way home, except for the occasional soft hum of whatever song’s playing low on the radio and your fingers playing gently with his calloused knuckles like it soothes you.

By the time you make it to the house, you’ve melted into something boneless and lazy in your seat, your head rolling toward the window while Joel comes around to open the door for you. He always does that, too — opens doors, holds your coat, walks on the side closest to traffic like it’s instinct. You giggle when he wraps his arm around your waist to steady you, your feet clumsy on the walkway. “You’re strong,” you tell him with a grin, laying your head on his shoulder as you walk.

“Damn right I am,” he mutters, unlocking the front door one-handed while keeping you upright with the other. “And you’re clingy as hell when you’re tipsy.”

You gasp — theatrically — pressing a hand to your chest as he guides you inside. “Am not. I’m just affectionate.”

Joel snorts, kicking the door shut behind him and steering you toward the bedroom. “Sweetheart, you’re hangin’ off me like a koala.”

You don’t deny it. In fact, you lean harder into him, hands sneaking under the hem of his shirt just to feel the warmth of his skin, the soft give of his belly. He grunts softly, but doesn’t stop you — just murmurs something about needing to get you ready for bed and reaches for the zipper on your dress.

The room smells faintly like lavender and laundry detergent, dim and quiet except for the sound of crickets chirping through the open window. Joel’s fingers are gentle as he undresses you, his touch reverent even as you swat playfully at his hands and insist you can do it yourself.

“You’re gonna fall over if I let go,” he says, and you pout but don’t argue, lifting your arms so he can ease the dress over your head.

He disappears into the bathroom for a moment and comes back with a warm washcloth, cupping your chin and tilting your face up toward him. “C’mon,” he says softly. “Let’s get this gunk off you.”

You close your eyes as he wipes away your makeup with careful, unhurried strokes, the rough pads of his thumbs cradling your cheekbones. There’s something sacred in the way he does it — not rushed or distracted, but like it matters to him, like taking care of you is the most natural thing in the world. He knows your face like it’s a map he’s studied for years, eyes tracing over every feature with quiet affection. When he’s done, he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another to your forehead.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down with a whimpering sound. “Don’t go,” you murmur. “Wanna sleep on you.”

Joel huffs a soft laugh, scooping you up with practiced ease and setting you gently on the bed. He grabs one of his old t-shirts — the one you always steal — and helps you into it while you cling to his wrists like he might vanish if you let go.

“Joel,” you whisper as he tucks the blankets around you, his broad hands smoothing over your hips. “Stay right here. Please.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, baby,” he murmurs, toeing off his boots before crawling in beside you. “Just needed to turn the light off.”

You latch onto him the second he settles beside you, arms tight around his middle, legs tangling with his. He’s warm and solid beneath you, his chest rising in slow, steady breaths that lull you deeper into sleep. One of his hands rubs slow circles over your back while the other strokes your hair, over and over until your drunken fog starts to blur into dreams.

“You always take care of me,” you murmur sleepily against his collarbone, your breath soft and damp on his skin.

Joel’s voice is quiet, almost lost in the hush of the room. “Yeah, I do. Always will.”

And with your face tucked into his chest and his heart beating steady beneath your cheek, the world falls away — just the two of you wrapped in the kind of warmth that has nothing to do with temperature. Only love.

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