First of all: Some parts of that fic are bothering me but I edited it 1000 times and I honestly can't stand to read it another time so I'm sorry 👉🏼👈🏼💗
AND I think I tagged everyone who wanted to be tagged...if I forgot somebody please leave a comment and I'll write it down for my next fic 🥺💗 it wasn't on purpose I just lost track 👉🏼👈🏼💗
Ah and that gif hm? It's doing something with me...
Summary: You're Negans daughter and Rick uses you for his advantage and as his reward.
Trigger: cnc❣, spanking, dirty talk, choking, praise kink, degradation, humiliation, age difference (no minors), oral fixation and my usual smutty stuff
You try to resist the iron grip of the guy behind you, but he unblinkingly drags you to the car waiting for him and you plead, "Let go of me, please."
Undeterred, he growls, "I most certainly will not."
This morning you were assigned to a base of your group and when you arrived at the building, it was already overrun by the assholes from out of Alexandria and you were about to leave to report to Negan, when you ran straight into the broad chest of this guy who has now tied your hands behind your back and is pushing you into the passenger seat.
You have no choice but to stare angrily at the guy with the blue eyes, and as he climbs into the driver's seat, you ask, "Where are you taking me?"
Out of the corner of your eye, you see him glance at you briefly before muttering, "You'll see."
The guy starts the car and you slide around on the seat to make it more comfortable with your hands tied behind your back.
The more you look at the guy next to you, the more nervous you get. Yes, he could have killed you right there like the others, especially since you didn't even see him coming, but he didn't and you don't know if you might not be better off dead.
You bite your lower lip as you think about how you could get out of the situation, but the blue-eyed guy is much bigger than you and you doubt you would have a serious chance against him.
That's why you sigh softly and ask, "Will you at least tell me your name?"
You get a simple "no" and could hit the roof in frustration.
If only you had just said you wanted to support another base this morning or not gotten up at all.
Instead, you're sitting in a car driven by a complete stranger who is now steering the car to a group of other cars.
Frantically, you try to catch a glimpse of the people in the other cars, but the cars are so staggered that you have no way of making out more than the reflection of the trees around you.
Questioning, you look to your driver because he turns off the engine and keeps his gaze out of the window.
Confused, you lean forward to see better.
All the cars have turned off their engines and you could swear that they are all looking in the same direction.
With a furrowed brow and your body tense with curiosity, you follow Mister Nameless' gaze and then raise your eyebrows in surprise when you see a guy on the hill sneaking up behind one of your colleagues.
You'd love to scream for him to turn around, but that's when it happens.
Your colleague turns around, but by then it's too late and the guy stabs him.
You want to scream and avert your eyes, but you can't do anything but stare as the guy grabs your colleague and friend by the neck and just throws him to the ground.
He lies bleeding on the grass and the guy who did this to him lifts his chin arrogantly and says something you can't hear.
As he turns his back on your bleeding friend, you start tugging at your bonds and hiss, "No, no, no."
The guy had the balls to do this on his own and it's not until he lets go of the walker, who's tied to a post so he can pounce on your colleague, that you realize the shit you're in.
The cars are started and you look at your driver who, like everyone else, is heading towards the guy who is now coming back down the hill.
You can't take your eyes off the man who is moving towards the cars with such confidence, as if he owns the world.
He has a certain charisma that you've seen a lot with Negan, too. Except that with Negan it's often accompanied with a lot of humor and levity, and the guy in the gray shirt doesn't look like humor is his secret weapon.
With him, it looks more like he wants to rip out the throat of anyone who gets in his way with his teeth.
You can't suppress a tremor as he gets close enough to your car and his hard stare lands on you through the windshield.
Your passenger gets out and walks up to the man in gray, "Rick, the base is taken and I found the woman by accident at the very end when I was heading back to the car."
Rick?
Rick.
Of course!
So this is the leader of Alexandria that Negan told you about. You've never seen him with your own eyes because Negan never allowed you to come along when he was with them, but he said that this Rick wasn't sane.
In fact, you saw respect in Negan's eyes when he spoke of Rick, which doesn't make you loosen up now, especially since Rick now asks in a low voice, "Then why is she still breathing?"
Panicked, you try to loosen the restraints one more time.
"Take a good look at her. Don't you notice anything?"
Your driver nods in your direction and when Rick looks back into your face through the glass, you are frozen.
The restraints are forgotten and you can't stop looking into his beautiful blue eyes.
Sure, the guy who drove you here had blue eyes too, but damn, they weren't even close to that beautiful.
Rick's dark hair and gray beard make them look more intense and you have to pull yourself together not to start drooling because he's generally incredibly handsome.
Shit, maybe the most beautiful man you've ever seen.
His gaze is glued on you and he tilts his head slightly when you suddenly see realization flash in his eyes and he starts to move.
Rick approaches the car and you try to slide as far away from the door as you can, but he pulls the door open and grabs your arm with ease, dragging you outside.
Stomping, you try to fight him off, but he remains completely unimpressed and pushes you to your knees in front of him.
It's so easy for him to push you around that tears come to your eyes as you look up at him.
You have no chance to get out of the situation and clench your teeth tightly as he slides his gaze over you again in the light of the sun, "You're his daughter."
It's not a question, but a simple statement that still makes you cringe, not knowing if that very thing would be your death sentence or if the fact that Negan is your father will save your life.
Tears run down your cheeks and yet Rick can clearly see the resemblance between you and your father.
When he looks at you, he can see your father in you and nevertheless he can't deny that he likes having you on his knees.
Your big eyes look at him pleadingly and at the sight his cock presses hard against his pants.
Fuck, you're so incredibly young and beautiful.
The way he's looking at you makes you feel uneasy, and all dignity is flushed from your body as you push your bottom lip forward and sniffle, "Rick? Right? Please let me go. I promise I won't say a word about what I saw here."
He lifts his head to look at the round of people gathered around you, and you take advantage of the brief moment when his piercing eyes aren't on you to eye him, but you immediately jerk your head back up as your eyes land on the slight bulge in his pants.
That's when you'd rather watch his chest widen as he takes a deep breath and announces to everyone, "Nothing changes in the plan. We're going ahead."
Kneeling, you turn your head and watch the others nod and head to their cars, the guy who brought you here also leaving you, and in that moment you miss the quiet assurance that he wouldn't have hurt you.
Looking back up at Rick, you're not sure what's going to happen and you just start crying harder.
It's always been that way.
Whenever you're scared, you can't hold it in, and now you're scared to death.
You're still kneeling in front of him when you hear the cars slowly pulling away and you try again, "Please, I just want to go home."
With dark eyes, Rick reaches out to touch your face and you wince as he brushes the tears from your cheeks with his thumb.
"Oh, I'll take you home, princess."
He grabs your hair and tugs up on it, making your scalp burn and you cry again, "Please don't."
His hand moves to the back of your neck and his fingers dig into your skin, "You don't even know what I'm going to do to you yet."
Anything but gently, he pushes you back toward the car and presses your small body against the cool metal, making you shiver again.
Rick's body is close behind you, but not close enough to touch you, and you squint your eyes as his deep voice reaches your ear, "I'm sure you want to make yourself useful in order to survive. Do I see that right?"
Sniffling, you nod, already having an idea of what he would ask of you.
But he grumbles, "Smart girl."
His hand slides from the back of your neck to the small of your back, and blush colors your cheeks as you notice your lower belly clench expectantly.
Through his flat palm on your back, he can feel you trembling in fear of him and that makes him smile.
It will be so easy to break you.
Slowly he presses himself against you and the feeling of your round ass against his hard cock makes him hum with satisfaction.
Your body is pure perfection and your huge fear of him has been apparent to him since the first time he saw you, which only makes everything that much easier for him.
Gently, he rubs against your ass and then murmurs harshly, "You do what I want you to do."
You lower your head and whisper a soft, "Yes."
Your fingertips graze his belt buckle as he rubs his cock against you, and your heart hammers in your chest as he leans in and whispers in your ear, "Like I said, I'm driving you home. Only now you're mine and I'm going to show that to your father. You won't do anything that I won't like, and if you're a good girl, you'll stay alive."
Before you can respond, he pulls back and drags you by the upper arm into the passenger seat.
With flushed cheeks, you watch him walk around the car and drop into the driver's seat next to you.
You swallow hard, not daring to take your eyes off him as he pulls up, afraid he'll take advantage of your inattention.
Your eyes are glued to his profile and you can't stop wondering if his hair is as soft as it looks.
You wonder how long his hair would be if you smoothed out the curls at the nape of his neck.
He raises an eyebrow and without looking at you, he asks, "Would you like to touch me?"
Hectically, you tear your eyes away from his face and direct your gaze to his hands on the steering wheel. Bottom line: this isn't much better.
Your voice betrays you as you mutter, "No."
A small laugh slips from Rick's lips because he can still feel your gaze on him.
He knows for a fact that you're afraid of him, but it's not all you feel.
He can't believe how lucky he is to have you run into his arms, and he'd be out of his mind if he didn't use that luck to drive Negan up the wall.
Looking out the window in disbelief as you see what Rick's people have set up outside the Sanctuary, you whisper, "Oh my God."
Cars reinforced with metal walls are parked in front of the main entrance and everyone is heavily armed.
Panicked, your eyes search for your father, but you can't see him anywhere.
Not yet.
Rick's raspy voice reaches your ear as you still stare at your home, "Remember what I told you. Don't do anything that would make me punish you."
You nod and tears come to your eyes again.
As Rick takes you out of the car you do exactly what he asks and don't resist his grip.
You don't resist as he brushes a few strands of hair from your face and stay close to him as he asks you to.
A short time later, you hear your father's voice and close your eyes tightly.
Your father doesn't take Rick seriously and you can hear that very clearly.
Carefully, you look over at Rick, who keeps his beautiful blue eyes fixed on Negan, "I found something on the way here."
Your father laughs, "What? A fucking bucket of gold?"
Rick juts his chin, "Better."
Blindly, he reaches for you and you let him pull you in front of him.
Immediately your eyes land on your father, all features slipping from his face.
He stares at you like you're an apparition and you can see the panic in his eyes as Rick places a hand on your lower stomach and hugs you tightly to his body, "What a coincidence, huh?"
Negan takes a step forward, "Let her go, you bastard."
You can't look your father in the eye as Rick slides his second hand over your shoulder and calls out in amusement, "Why should I? She seems to like it with me."
His hand closes around your jaw and he presses a finger against your trembling lips.
You know what he wants you to do, but you can't bring yourself to do it.
That's when he squeezes harder and hisses so only you can hear: "Princess."
You want to live. You really do.
That's why you open your mouth and Rick slides his finger into your mouth.
He's not worried about you biting because you're way too scared of him to dare.
That's why he just smiles at Negan, "She likes it a lot. She has talents you don't know about."
It's so incredibly inappropriate and humiliating, but his body against your back and his finger in your mouth makes you squeeze your thighs together unobtrusively and more as a reflex you start sucking on his finger.
Surprised, he straightens up a little further and slides a second finger into your mouth, mumbling softly, "That's my good girl."
Your eyes are fixed on the floor in front of you and you continue to suck submissively on his fingers.
By itself, his touches aren't very sexual, but when he then slides his hand under your shirt, Negan bellows, "I'll chop your hands off, you sick asshole. She's just a kid."
Confusingly gentle, he pulls his fingers out of your mouth and says loud enough for everyone to hear, "Please tell everyone how old you are, princess."
Rick has his sources and has known since before you were found by his people that Negan has a 23 year old daughter, so it doesn't surprise him when you murmur, "23."
His fingers dig into your skin and you repeat louder, "23, Rick."
The hand on your skin is warm and you get goosebumps as he pushes it a little higher, "And trust me. The things she can do are appropriate for her age."
Oh God, his hand feels so good on your body that you press a little further against him and he murmurs, "Princess, you make me proud."
Your head is spinning and just as you're about to lift your head to look Negan in the eye, Rick shoves you behind a metal wall and raises his voice, "Do you really wanna make me count?"
It all happens so fast.
At first everything is calm, until then all hell breaks loose.
Still with your hands bound, you let yourself slide to the floor and try to make yourself as small as you can.
Your gaze is fixed on Rick and you pray with every shot that it doesn't hit your father.
Wildly, Rick jerks his head around and yells over the din of the coming walkers, "Get up."
Unsteady as a newborn, you get to your feet and he grabs you by the arm to drag you back to a car.
Shots are still falling and you pull your head in as best you can to avoid getting hit as Rick practically throws you into the back seat of a car.
Because of your bound hands, you land ungently on your stomach and can't get up either.
The only thing you can somehow manage is to turn your head so that you can catch a glimpse of a woman steering the car and Rick sitting in the passenger seat, tensely trying to see something through the window.
You suspect he's trying to find your father, but the harder he searches, the more you relax.
He is alive. He must be alive.
In fact, that's your only hope of getting away from Rick and his people.
After some time, you clear your throat softly, "Rick?" As you do so, you try to keep your voice as soft and innocent as you possibly can.
He doesn't turn in your direction, but you hear a soft "Huh?" which you take as a quiet agreement that you may continue speaking, "Could you take off my shackles. I promise not to do anything you wouldn't want me to do."
Deliberately, you use words similar to what he used earlier and you hear him sigh softly in response, "Connie? Will you stop for a minute?"
The woman asks no questions and stops in the middle of the street, allowing Rick to get out.
You don't see him walk around the car, but he pulls the door open behind Connie and slides into the back seat, lifting your upper body and placing you on his legs, "You can drive."
Connie does as he says and he leans over you to untie your bonds.
As he does, your nose presses into his thigh and you whimper softly as you feel Rick tense beneath you.
His hands reach for the rope holding yours bound and he tries not to think about how hard you're breathing into his crotch and the sounds you make every time he moves even minimally.
He knew it would be easy to subdue you.
But he didn't expect it to be SO easy.
As gently as he can, he unties the rope from your slender wrists and immediately you sit up and slide as far away from him as you can.
Amused, he raises his eyebrows, especially since not too long ago you were pressing your ass against him.
Your eyes are huge and completely focused on him, and some dirty thoughts nestle in his head at the sight.
Slowly he lets his eyes wander a little lower, where your breasts press against your thin top with every frantic breath, leaving little to the imagination.
The fact that his blue eyes undress you with his gaze alone doesn't make you feel any calmer in the passenger seat and you take a deep breath, "What are you going to do to me?"
That's the question you've been asking yourself all along, and when he looks you in the face again, you're not sure you should like what you see in them so much.
His eyes are veiled and the way he tilts his head forces you to squeeze your thighs together again, which of course doesn't escape his notice and he grumbles harshly, "You'll see."
He doesn't try to pull you closer, or talk to you further.
Instead, you all wait for the gate of Alexandria to appear before you.
You, especially, are waiting for it because you've never seen it before.
Your father had enough reasons not to let you near it, except that all his caution couldn't prevent you from walking through the streets of Alexandria with Rick's hand low on your back.
You are hyper aware of Rick's presence, but his hand on your body can't stop you from turning your head in all directions to see as much as you can.
You've seen only a few of the communities that work with your father, but you like Alexandria best of all.
It looks like a cute little town, and you're so distracted by it that you barely notice Rick sliding his hand from your back to your hip, pulling you even closer to him.
Your body feels so good in his hands that he has to pull himself together not to groan out loud on the spot and clenches his teeth tightly.
He takes it up a notch and pushes you toward his house.
When it gets through to you where he's leading you, the curiosity is suddenly completely gone and you resist his grip around your waist, "Wait."
Unmoved, he pushes you further toward the door and you panic.
Being alone with him doesn't feel right and more than dangerous.
Especially with locked doors and the way he looks at you makes you nervous and you brace yourself with all your strength against him, "Please don't."
Sighing, he stops and rolls his eyes before he drops a bit and just throws you over his shoulder. You don't even have enough time to react before he stomps through the front door and as it slams into the lock, you finally start to fidget.
Like a fish out of water, you struggle and tearfully cry, "Put me down."
Rick grips your thighs tighter and has to stifle a laugh as you try unsuccessfully to free yourself from him.
At your wriggling, your pretty breasts keep pressing against his shoulder and he can't resist the urge to close his free hand around your thighs as well, except he lets his hand wander between them.
His hand is still a few inches away from your crotch, but even so, you immediately become very still and wait for what he would do next.
Your body is treacherous and when you notice your pussy clench expectantly because his big hand is so close, you grit your teeth and try to straighten up.
At that moment, he withdraws his hand before you feel it hard on your ass.
He hit you! He actually hit you!
Outraged and humiliated, you gasp, "Put me down."
Never would you admit that the sharp pain went right between your legs.
So you push yourself back up, Rick rolls her eyes and slaps your ass, harder this time, and at your soft whimper in response, his cock twitches in his pants, “Stop it.”
It's ridiculous how hard you try to get away from him because you wouldn't stand a chance anyway.
Especially because he knows you like it.
He steers you to his room with you on his shoulder and throws you on his bed.
Immediately your eyes are on him again, as if you were a deer in headlights, and only when he starts to unbutton his shirt do you lower your gaze.
Trembling, you sit on his bed and don't dare to look at him because you don't want him to read in your face how much you want to touch his bare chest.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see his shirt slide to the floor and you risk a little peek through your eyelashes.
His pants sit low on his hips and you briefly wonder how a belly button can be so beautiful.
Your eyes wander a little higher, over his scars on his left side and up to his collarbone.
God, even his collarbone is kneeling.
A soft moan slips from your lips and Rick takes a small step towards you, "Come here."
Carefully, you look him in the eye and can see the desire.
The man wants you badly and you're pretty sure it's mostly because you're the daughter of his enemy.
Rick raises an eyebrow challengingly. All you're supposed to do is try to resist him and put him to the test. You'll end up begging him to have his cock inside you.
Rick wants to defile you and break you.
Hell, he wants you to beg to be his.
He wants you to beg to touch him.
He wants you to beg him in tears to be fucked by him.
Afraid he'll pounce on you if you resist him, you slowly stand up and take a small step in his direction so you're only inches apart.
He lifts a hand and slowly runs it through your soft hair. You are so damn beautiful and pure innocence, which only turns him on more.
Gently he pulls your hair and you swallow hard as he leans in and his lips graze your pounding pulse, "You were a good girl today, princess. Did exactly what I expected of you and then some. Would you like a reward for that?"
'Oh God' is all that goes through your mind as he spreads hot kisses on your neck and you clench your hands into fists to resist the urge to touch his flat stomach.
Rick takes another small step toward you and now your breasts are pressed against his torso.
You feel his tongue sliding over your neck and you can't suppress a soft gasp, making him growl, "Well?"
At that, he grabs your hands and forces your small fists to unclench, pressing your palms to his bare skin.
He's hot and feels so incredibly good under your fingertips, but you force yourself to say, "No." And feel Rick's hands just below your breasts, "Are you sure, princess?"
Your fingers brush over his belly and you notice his stomach muscles tighten the closer you get to his pants.
Your touch is so light and innocent that Rick almost loses his mind, and as he takes a deep breath to bring himself under control, your scent goes to his head.
Shit, you smell so good, he'd like to press his nose into your skin the whole time.
His beard scratches your skin as you murmur in a low voice, "I'm sure."
Slowly, he lifts his head and looks down at you lasciviously as he purrs, "Then I'm just picking up my own reward for today."
Confused, you frown as he's already grabbing your waist and lifting you back onto the bed behind you.
He pushes you onto your back and you cry out in panic as you feel his weight on your body.
Rick is heavy as hell and you can only move minimally under him, which you might have actually liked under other circumstances...okay yeah, maybe you like it under these circumstances.
His hips are between your thighs and you can feel his cock between your legs.
At that, you're pretty sure he's big.
Bigger than you can handle.
Without a second thought, Rick reaches for your hands, which still linger on his stomach, and holds them above your head.
With huge eyes, you look back up at him and would love to brush some of his strands of hair that have fallen forward out of his handsome face.
You should be scared.
You should be screaming.
But all you can bring to your lips is, "Am I your reward?"
Quietly, Rick laughs out, "Would you like to be my reward, princess?"
You bite your lower lip and lower your gaze to his lips before muttering, "No."
Rick slides his free hand down your body to your pants, then mumbles softly, "Well, I'll just take it then."
You don't resist a bit as he undoes the button from your pants, moaning softly as he shifts his weight in the process and his cock presses into just the right spot.
He slides his hand down your pants and your whole body rears up at the first contact. His fingers run through the wetness he's been provoking all day and he hums softly, "You know, I only had to look at you once and I knew it would be easy to get you."
Fluttering, your eyes fall shut and he barks, "Look at me."
Immediately you open your eyes and look into his blue eyes that caught your eye in the first few seconds.
Slowly he draws circles around your clit: "The way you looked at me, princess. The way you're looking at me now. That is enough for me."
Your hips jerk up to meet his fingers, but his touch remains light, "You're mine now."
Shuddering, you take a breath as your pussy clenches for nothing, begging to clasp his fingers.
As if of their own accord, your legs lift and wrap around Rick's waist to pull him closer to you, and as a small reward, he runs his finger around your entrance, "You say you don't want to, but your body says something completely different."
You lower your gaze to his tanned arm reaching between your thighs and whisper again, "Don't."
That's when he slides a finger inside you and you moan his name.
He holds your arms tightly together above your head and can't take his eyes off the blush that's slowly working its way up your cleavage to your neck.
You look so beautiful as you try to squirm on the cool sheets, trying to escape his grip while wanting more from him.
His whole body screams to just pounce on you as your wetness spreads all over his hand, but he has other plans.
Your pussy clamps around his fingers and he laughs hoarsely, "So you want me to stop even though I can barely move my fingers because this little pussy wants to keep me so bad. How pathetic."
His finger strokes your warm walls and you moan, "Rick, please."
His thumb presses down on your clit and you press your head firmly into the mattress beneath you as you feel your belly growing warmer and forming a knot.
You barely notice when he lets go of your hands and wraps his hand around your neck instead.
Your thoughts only circle around the sensation he can invoke between your legs, and each time you clench tighter around his fingers.
What more could he want than to squeeze the air out of you while fingering you?
What could be better than feeling your pulse beat on both ends?
Gasping and struggling for air, you look him in the eye again and thrust your hips towards him, but just at the moment you think you're going to burst into a thousand pieces, he pulls his hand away from you and you howl, "No, no, no."
Slowly he lets go of you and shoves the finger that was inside you into his mouth before taunting you, "You made a mess, princess."
His hand shines with wetness and your cheeks blush even more as you imagine what you must look like between your thighs.
With embarrassment, you try to squeeze your legs together, but he just shakes his head arrogantly, "Nah. I want my reward."
You barely recognize your own voice as you croak, "I don't want to, Rick."
Your head knows full well that you shouldn't want him.
He's kidnapped you and forced you into his bed, but you also can't deny that your body aches for him and wants to feel his cock.
Preferably so deep inside you that you would never let another one between your legs again.
Grinning, he looks down at you because you say you don't want to and your now free hands still try to reach for him.
He leans back enough to grab your waist and turn you onto your stomach, where you immediately try to straighten up. But he puts a hand between your shoulder blades, holding you down with ease.
It is at that moment that you realize how much stronger he is and what an inescapable position you are actually in.
Cockily, he murmurs, "On your knees. Just your knees."
You bite your lower lip, knowing exactly what's coming as soon as you press your butt against his cock.
Awkwardly, you somehow slide onto your knees and he praises you, "Good girl. Doing exactly what I ask of you."
Rick removes his hand from your body and notes with satisfaction that you don't move an inch, closing your eyes in shame as your arousal slowly runs down your thighs and Rick can clearly see it.
Groaning, he puts his head back in his neck and his cock twitches in anticipation of entering you.
With his finger he has already felt how tight and willing you are, but the thought of sinking his cock into that pussy makes his heart beat fast.
The wetness runs down your thighs as you hear Rick undo his belt and pants.
For a brief moment, nothing happens and the only things you hear are your frantic breaths and your pounding heart.
But when you want to open your eyes, you already feel Rick's hand on your neck and his hard cock on your most intimate place.
With a jerk you push yourself towards him and whimper softly.
He feels so hot and hard against your swollen labia that you barely notice him teasing you, "I thought you didn't want to. Well, I'd say it's too late to change your mind now."
Confused because you thought he was going to fuck you, you frown, but before you can ask what he means, you feel it.
The hand that isn't on your neck has his cock in it, and he's jerking off while just pressing his tip against your pulsing entrance.
He doesn't penetrate you and that only makes you more desperate.
It takes all his willpower not to fuck your sloppy pussy, but the way you immediately start gyrating your hips to get him to penetrate you deeper is reward enough.
Moaning, you try to get him to take you, but you're so unsuccessful that it brings tears to your eyes again and he taunts you, "So you do want my cock?"
Instead of answering you try to press yourself further against him again, but you have no chance and the tears of humiliation fall on Rick's bed sheets.
His hand keeps slapping against your thigh as he continues to jerk off with pleasure and then wraps his hand from your neck around your chin and then slides two fingers between your open lips again.
Muffled, you moan out and he growls, "If you don't want to talk, I guess you'd best use your mouth to suck on my fingers, huh? That's what you want. Like in front of your father when you couldn't stop. Do you like being used by me?"
Completely out of it, you nod and he hisses, "Speak."
Muffled by arousal and his fingers, you moan, "Yes, Rick." Before you go back to sucking on his fingers in your mouth, barely thinking straight.
You have no idea if the wetness on your pussy is from you, or his precum mixing with your arousal, but you're ready to beg him.
Begging and pleading with him to fuck you.
Just what he's wanted from you all along.
With his fingers in your mouth, you beg, "Please Rick." And he laughs softly, "You want me to fuck your sloppy pussy?"
Hectically, you nod and whimper, "Yes."
He moves forward an inch and immediately your pussy clenches begging and he mocks you, "Are you my good girl?"
All dignity is flushed from your bones and you cry, "Yes, yes, yes. I'm your good girl. I-" With one thrust he penetrates you and your long drawn out moan fills the room.
He's so big and hard inside you that you feel like he's tearing you apart from the inside, and yet you try to get more of him inside you, gyrating your hips again.
You're so insanely tight that Rick briefly feels like he's going to pass out before he blinks and looks down at your trembling body begging to be fucked through and that's all it takes for him to pull back a little and then thrust hard into you again.
He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and tugs you up by your hair enough to murmur, "So nice and tight for me" in your ear murmur and in response you pulsate expectantly on his cock.
He thrusts into you again, "And willing."
You're so full and wet that you can barely bring more than his name past your lips as he lowers a hand to your clit, turning you to wax in his hands. His deep thrusts are everything you can think about and every time he hits that one spot inside you, you cry out in pleasure.
Gently, he sucks on your earlobe and murmurs, "Now, princess."
Rick clenches his teeth tightly as you hoarsely scream his name and your whole body tenses. He doesn't know any different and lingers inside you as you come on the fullness inside you and can't stop pressing yourself tighter and tighter against the man behind you.
His warm and big body behind you makes you go weak and as you hear him growl "Fuck," you moan his name and he growls, "Fuck, you were made for me."
And that's when you feel him twitch inside you and his thrusts become messy and erratic.
Breathless, you turn your head and as you see the pure arousal in his eyes you reach for his hand and intertwine your fingers with his.
As you do so, his body falls forward, burying you beneath him.
Gasping, he rolls off you and you cling to his hand as if it were your lifeline as you try to catch your breath.
You turn your head to the side to look at him and groan again as you see his chest rising and falling rapidly and how his curls lie around him on the bed like a halo.
Immediately he turns his head too and raises an eyebrow questioningly, and the only thing you can bring past your lips is, "You haven't kissed me once."
He shrugs, "So what? I wanted to fuck you."
You don't know what he sees in your eyes, but it makes him sigh softly and lean in to place his lips on your pout.
The kiss is incredibly gentle in contrast to his words and actions, and you lift your upper body to meet his.
Gently, he lets his tongue slide over your lower lip and you willingly open your mouth to him, which he immediately takes advantage of, making you sigh softly before he moves away from you and you follow him to reunite his lips with yours.
But he shakes his head, "That's enough."
Sluggishly, you drop back onto the bed and he hums softly, "Get dressed."
Questioningly, you look at him and he rules, "What did I say?"
Immediately you slide off the bed to put on your pants as he looks up at you lying in bed and grins, "Good girl." Because he knows you'll do anything for him.
kenny. omg. hear me out. being rick’s stress relief during the alexandria arc of s5 😵💫 like omg yeah he’s clean shaven now but can’t go two days w/o fighting w someone from alexandria, got restrained by michonne n everything… figures he needs smth else to keep the group in alexandria’s good graces and settles on smth along the lines of free use w you!! can’t be too shitty of a day if you get fucked into the mattress by the end of it ♡
hnghhh em omg i love you so bad. ur genius for this. i put a little backstory because i'm physically incapable of not being longwinded lol <3
rick grimes x fem!reader
rick needs a little stress relief with all the new responsiblities at alexandria
cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, age gap (early 20s/late 30s)
You always thought stress was supposed to decrease someone’s sex drive, but now that you were getting fucked dumb every single night, you were sure that wasn’t true.
Rick had to be the most wound up person you’d ever known, constantly up in arms about something. Ever since he and his group arrived at your once peaceful community, there’d been nothing but conflict. At best it was petty drama, at worst guns were drawn and brains were about to be splattered all over the pavement.
The worst it got was that day you saw him in the middle of the street hunched over the doctor like a rabid dog. You’d stayed back, keeping your distance from him as he waved his gun around and rambled on about control. Crimson blood dripped from his hairline all over his face. You couldn’t tell whether it belonged to him or the incapacitated man beneath him.
You’d never seen anyone like him. Living in Alexandria since the start of the outbreak meant you were pretty sheltered. The people here rarely raised their voices let alone tackled each other through windows. He looked like the physical manifestation of what everyone warned you life outside the walls was like.
It was scary, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on.
Needless to say, you were pretty eager to offer yourself up to take the position watching him while the others decided what to do going forward.
You entered the room while he was still asleep. He was as peaceful as you’d ever seen him. Taking a seat in the chair beside the bed, you looked at him almost as if he was encased in glass, a specimen for your examination. His skin still had the scarlet tint of blood. His brown curls lie stuck between his temple and the ratty old pillow on the bed.
It startles you a bit when his eyes flutter open and connect with yours. Awkwardness sludges through your veins, but he looks you over like it’s nothing. You know you’re one of the least threatening people he’s come across in the new world.
“You’re the one they got babysitting me, huh?” he rasps.
“I guess so,” you respond with more timidness than you would like.
His tongue slides out between his lips and licks the chapped skin while he continues to stare you down. It’s hard not to squirm in your seat, to shift your thighs against one another and make your desire known. Before you have a chance to think through your course of action though, he speaks again.
“Are you nervous?” he asks, his tone not looking to provoke a reaction but simultaneously wanting you to recognize your inferiority.
You shrug. He wasn’t gonna get the satisfaction. Not yet anyways.
“Are you scared of me?” he continues.
“No,” you answer.
“Good,” is all he says in response.
That was the last thing he said to you that day, but you could still hear the simple syllable in your mind. He might have been done talking to you. You weren’t through with him though. Under the guise of being assigned to watch him, you continued to linger around him as he went about his tasks in the community.
You tended to follow him around like a puppy. You were curious about him, watching him with inquisitive eyes, peeking over his shoulder as he cleaned his gun or tuned his transceiver. Your gazes were adoring too. It was obvious that you admired the way he could take control of a room with his words, how his people looked to him with reverence when he spoke.
He intoxicated you. In a world lacking things to do, observing Rick became a hobby for you.
He noticed of course, but he couldn’t say he minded. At least someone in this fucking place had an interest in survival and saw the value in listening to him. Plus, it didn’t hurt that you were pretty cute. He didn’t mind your company, didn’t mind teaching you things here and there. In his eyes, you were the least annoying out of all the new people here.
You both were on watch when you got a little promotion from least annoying. The two of you were sitting on the platform attached to the wall. It was night. Neither of you could sleep. Instead of telling you bits and pieces of the nightmares that kept sleep from him, he decided to teach you how to put a scope on a rifle. Nodding along to each thing he says, you watch his fingers and take note of every little thing he does. He gives you a few tries with it, but you’re still struggling to get the thing attached.
That’s when he looks at you, his expression unchanging, and pats his lap.
“C’mere.”
It’s out of your control really. You don’t even have a second to think about it before your legs have pushed you across the platform to the spot he beckoned you. With your back against his chest, his arms encase you and come around front to show you up close how to fasten the scope. When he’s done, he detaches it and makes you try.
His hands slide down your arms, lingering on the skin for longer than needed. They trail down to your sides then your hips. You bite your lip and try to focus on the task he wants you to perform rather than his touch. But then he leans forward to watch your hands work. His chin hovers above your shoulder. You can hear his breaths next to your ear. Once you’ve got it, you can essentially picture his subtle smirk in your mind.
“Good girl,” he croons teasingly.
You turn your head slightly, looking at him with your wide, innocent eyes. He chuckles and reaches up to stroke your cheek. Neither of you know what you’re really doing but one thing leads to another and you’re kissing. Then he’s got his hand up your shirt, groping your tits. It all comes to head and ends up with you straddling him, sinking down on his cock and burying your head in his shoulder.
Biting the fabric of his t-shirt to keep quiet, you begin to rise and fall. It felt so good as if it was what your body had been aching for. You felt the most alive you ever had in this shitty new world, and if the way he was gripping your hips and returning your thrusts were any indication, Rick felt the same way.
You both grunt and moan quietly as your bodies rut together with a primal desire for satisfaction. His lips glide over your collarbone and up your neck to the spot behind your ear. You let out a sharp whine which causes him to grin.
“Need you to be quiet, sweetheart,” he chides, “Don’t want to wake any of the others, do you?”
You’re quick to shake your head and cover your mouth with your palm, but you don’t stop bouncing. You needed him deep, rearranging your insides to a perfect mold for him.
“Then again,” he breathes, “They could stand to learn a thing or two from you. So obedient, eager to please…”
His words trail off as he helps you ride him. You’re so tight and warm, and for the first time since he set foot through those walls, his mind feels clear. He doesn’t hear the constant jabbering for his attention. His head doesn’t throb with the sensation of being pulled in five different directions. It’s like each thrust into your heat clears away a worry. By the time he cums, he feels drained of all his stress.
He needed more of that feeling. He couldn’t get enough of it. It was the start of a routine for the two of you. Everyday at least once, you were getting fucked till you were a drooling, dazed mess. And sometimes it was more than once. Sometimes he had you on your knees in the armory in the afternoon or pulled you into a storage closet on a morning supply run.
He had fifteen years on you, but most of the time he was the one leaving you exhausted.
And today had been a particularly bad day for Rick. Everything that could go wrong did. Alexandria was running low on a collection of different things, walkers were gathering at the East wall, one of the gate’s locks was rusting, a sprinkler broke, and on top of everything, he had to deal with everyone’s constant bitching.
The only thing that kept him from losing his shit was the thought of you laid in his bed at night waiting for him, batting your long eyelashes over those pretty doe eyes as you sat there in nothing but his t-shirt and a pair of panties. The end of the day couldn’t come soon enough.
He grits his teeth and dashes all across the community to try and get everything solved by sundown. The workload keeps him busy which fortunately makes the time go by faster. He also tries his best to keep his cool with people. There was no use starting petty conflicts when he had something much nicer to screw with now.
As soon as everyone’s headed off to bed and all the perimeters have been checked, he can’t get home fast enough. He’s quiet coming in. He didn’t wanna wake anyone. If someone got in his way now, he’d flip his lid worse than any of them had ever seen.
He’s up the stairs in seconds, taking them two at a time. Whisking the bedroom door open, a deep sigh seeps from his lungs as he sees his daydreams become realities of the night. Your pretty legs are on display for him as you lounge in the bed reading a book. He crosses the room and grabs you by the ankle to pull you closer to the edge of the bed. You already know what time it is and feel a dull tingle in the pit of your belly.
“Stressful day?” you ask as you finish the page you were on.
“Is the sky still blue?” he grumbles as he presses a kiss to your calf then another further up against your knee.
You smile at the quip, placing the book on the nightstand just in time as he flips you over onto your stomach. He climbs on top of you, squeezing your waist and nuzzling his face against your neck.
“Those people don’t even know how much they should be thanking you, baby,” he mumbles, “They don’t even know how many times a day you save their asses.”
You squirm a little beneath him as his fingers hook around your panties and tug them down. The sound of his zipper follows and it’s no time before you feel the weight of his dick against you.
“Needed you so bad all day,” he says.
“I needed you too,” you whimper as you feel slick gathering between your thighs.
He nips at your earlobe and rubs his hands up under his shirt you have on to tease the sides of your breasts.
“S’cute, honey,” he whispers, “Thinking about me while you did your little chores, hm?”
“Yeah,” you whine as he starts to line himself up and slot himself in the correct position.
It was such a familiar feeling, but each time it still made a chill run through you. Your insides ached with the pleasure that came from being filled up by him.
“Perfect girl. That’s just the way it should be,” he mutters.
He wastes no time before he starts thrusting. It only takes a couple before he starts groaning too. On nights like these, he was in no mood to take his time or savor the moment.
“So tight for me, Christ,” he chokes out, “There’s nothing like you.”
You moan softly too, putting your head down to muffle your sounds with the blanket. His hand rests around your neck for leverage as he fucks into you faster.
“That’s right, pretty baby. You’re so good for me. Givin’ me what I need. You’re the only one who can,” he grunts.
He snaps his hips harder, trying to find the limit of how hard he could go without being too loud or smacking the headboard into the wall. You claw at the ratty blankets on the bed as your toes curl. Your head turns to the side a little to peek up at him, and his eyes roll back.
“Everyone’s always fucking looking to me for something. No one can look at me like you can though. Those gorgeous eyes, all glossy for me. Not a thought behind ‘em right now,” he pants.
You nod weakly while digging your teeth into your lip again. It was getting harder to suppress the noises with the blanket alone.
“Rick…” you whimper, “Oh fuck, Rick.”
You gasp as he starts hitting the perfect spot. His stiff cock slips effortlessly in and out of you over and over and brushes that nook each time.
“Mhm. You’re the only one I wanna hear calling my name. Everyone here’s always whining for me, bitching for something. Not my girl though. The only time I hear you whining is when I’m balls deep, fucking you like you deserve,” he whispers.
You nod against the mattress. Your body rocks with the momentum of each thrust. Every stroke was working you closer to the edge, and Rick could feel his own impending as well.
Both his hands slide down to your hips to grip them hard. He keeps grinding and rolling his hips into you.
“Give it to me, princess. Lemme feel it. Gotta get my fix,” he says just as you start to tense up and jerk around below him.
You cum with a high moan into the plush fabric beneath you. Your body trembles and twitches as it handles the rush of euphoria. He keeps fucking you through it. His own noises start getting needier, closer to whimpers than groans. He grunts for a second as he finally feels release. He pulls out quickly and lets it spurt all over your ass. He’d so much rather do it inside, but he really didn’t need something else to worry about nine months from now.
With his release, the both of you are able to settle down for the night. He rolls off of you and quickly gets you cleaned up, so he can crawl into bed and hold you against his chest. The second most soothing thing to your pussy was the warmth of your body against him.
“So good for me, sweetheart. Always make things so good for me,” he sighs and lazily kisses your head, ready to drift off with the comfort of knowing this little scene would repeat itself tomorrow.
masterlist | updates blog | ao3 mirror
pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader
summary: [no outbreak] joel is the only guy you know with four wheel drive in the rarely-snowy state of texas, so it seems like a no-brainer to have him pick you up from work — until his truck breaks down, leaving you two to the classic 'huddle for warmth' solution.
warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!joel, age gap (assumed 20s/40s), reader borrows joel's coat, but does not wear it and uses it as a blanket, self-indulgent humor & banter, joel has sarah and she's a 15y/o menace which means liberties are taken with the timeline, blink & miss it drug mention, close proximity, unprotected piv sex, vaginal fingering, (mocking) dirty talk & dirty talk alluding to anal but no actual anal, daddy kink, degradation, dom!joel, brat!reader, brat tamer!joel, mild bondage (with a scarf), rearview mirror sex, clit stim, riding, doggy, a few pussy spanks, 2 spanks, truck sex, sort of edging, getting caught after the act [no use of y/n]
word count: 12.3k
a/n: this fic was a labor of love from a request i received earlier this month. i didn't expect it to be this long but i really enjoyed these two! massive massive massive shoutout to talia, @lovesickonmybed, for putting up with me + advising. this fic was way too much to handle on my own. they're the reason i pulled it off. joel is latino here, but i think game!joel can be interpreted as latino too, so read who you'd like.
“Looking ahead for our chances at wintry precipitation tonight – measurable snow, freezing rain, or sleet. It’s hard to get snow here in central Texas – if only, huh? We’re seeing some strong flurries tonight, turning into snow showers in the early morning. Low chances of any significant build up, but you can expect hazardous driving conditions. Black ice and low visibility will make extensive travel dangerous–”
The radio in Keith’s Hardware is old fashioned, curving around the volume and tuning knobs. It’s one of the ones that still has a dial pointer, which is almost always aimed at 92.7 if Keith’s in the back (country); 96.7 (pop) if it’s just you and the only other girl that works in the carpenter’s wet dream of a store. Right now, though, it’s neither of those stations. The pointer is at 162.4, the weather station.
You’d known you were in for it on the drive into work. Watch the weather and it’s real nasty out there airing from your parents lips on your way out of the house for your eight hour shift. The drive had been a gunmetal sort of gray, clouds streaked through the sky and spitting bullets of sleet at your windshield.
For a little bit, the weather had almost cleared up. You’d sworn you’d seen a splotch of sun when you’d tried to step out for break, just to be driven back in by your too-thin jacket and the cold as balls temperature.
Now, though? It’s fucking freezing, and the flurries that the weatherman mentioned are starting to fall. And as much as you’d told Keith that your shitty two-wheel-drive couldn’t handle it, he’d insisted on scheduling you and Liz for close.
Which is where Mr. Miller comes in.
Joel Miller, your dad’s buddy. Joel Miller, the grumpiest secret-softie you’ve ever met. Joel Miller, a knight in shining armor with his 4x4 Ford F150 instead of a horse. Although, if your fantasies are correct – and you like to think they are – what’s between his thighs certainly makes up for the lack of a horse. But he isn’t bringing you for a ride on his cock. He just so happens to be the only man your dad knows with a four wheel drive vehicle, or at least the only one willing to spare you from spinning out by giving you a ride home. Just thinking about it has a knot pinching in the back of your throat. His hands, big and wide and stretching over the gear shift. One muscled arm dangling over the wheel. Looking over his goddamn shoulder to back out —
Liz hops up on the check-out counter where you’re counting up the last of the cash, a spread of Hamiltons, Grants, and Jacksons. You wouldn’t expect a girl like her to work at a hardware store, especially one in the backstreets of the seedy part of town. Some sort of family emergency had driven her back to Austin from NYU design school, which you’re thankful for. Mainly because you get out of cutting wood panels since she has the better eye for measurements, but also because after years of sulking in Keith’s, you finally have someone to talk shit with.
“Those heart eyes aren’t for fuckin’ Alexander Hamilton,” Liz says, tapping her acrylics on your ledger to get your attention. You cough, flipping her off with your pen still in-hand. Liz hums, pretending to think about it as you put down the last numbers. “Although I wouldn’t be too surprised. You do love a geriatric man.”
“Joel isn’t that old,” you scoff, arranging the bills into slim white envelopes and then licking them shut. “He’s just an… acquired taste.”
“Sure, his jizz probably tastes like prohibition-era booze–”
“What the fuck,” you wheeze, hands going out to brace yourself on the closest display case. Your head dips as your chest shakes with laughter.
Liz stays completely straight-faced as she continues, “You’ll have to have 911 on speed dial because if you clench, his heart’s giving out.”
“It is not,” you say, voice still strained with the laughs that won’t stop punching out of you.
She puts her hands up in defense and crosses her legs at the ankles. “Hey, it’s not my fault you like playing whac-a-mole with Great Depression dick.”
“Liz!” You playfully shove her off of the counter, thrusting the envelopes into her hands. “You’re nasty. Fucking nasty.”
She splays a wounded hand over her heart, fanning herself with the envelopes. “You know you love me.” She slips into the office behind the register. You hear the click of the safe before she calls over her shoulder, “Any particular reason you’re fantasizing on the clock?”
“Not fantasizing,” you refute. Liz pops out of the back with a uncertain look scrawled on her face. “My dad talked him into picking me up today so I don’t drive into a snowbank.”
“Sounds like the beginning of a shitty porno.”
“Don’t give me hope.”
“I’m just saying,” she grins. “You can still come to mine. Only a five minute walk with zero chance of rejection.”
“You have such little faith in me.”
She purses her lips. “Mkay…. Pro-tip: Keith probably has some Viagra sitting around in his desk drawers.”
“Liiiiiiiz,” you say. You’re about to tune her out completely when familiar headlights light up the wet asphalt, beaming through the windows. The engine idles, a soft rumble through the linoleum floors. The truck lights dim, leaving Joel in the buttery shine of the streetlamp. His thick arms stretch across the wheel, and he rakes one large hand through his hair. “Shit, speak of the Devil.” You clip off your nametag, tossing it into your half-open bag. “Can you finish closing tonight? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“No problem, no favors necessary.” She closes the register. You fumble to get your bag over your shoulder, not wanting to keep Joel waiting. “Use protection!” she calls after you, and you make sure to flip her off one more time as the door clangs shut behind you.
A wall of cold hits you like a blade of lightning. Wind unfurls, mauling telephone lines and frosted treetops, rippling your jacket. Not even the worn scarf around your neck seems to be doing its job. Suddenly, every one of your limbs feels like an icicle. Joints almost freezing up, you half-jog, half-penguin strut your way to Joel’s passenger side. You wipe the ice off of the door handle with your sleeve. A few stray flurries dust you as you tug the door open, exhaling in relief as you haul yourself onto the side steps and into the toasty warmth of the Ford F150.
You cozy up in the seat, too preoccupied by thawing your hands with long, winded breaths to notice the affronted look Joel is throwing your way. “Are you tryin’ to catch your fuckin’ death, girl?”
“No death to catch. It’s not that cold.” The way you’re shivering says otherwise. Joel pins you with the raise of his brow.
Before you know what he’s doing, he’s groaning as he reaches over the center console into the backseat. You see a flash of his trucker jacket before it lands in your lap, flannel-lined and heavy. You use it like a blanket, draping it across your torso and wrestling your hands into the inside pockets. The canvas smells like car exhaust and off-brand Dollar General deodorant, two things that are so inextricably Joel. As much as you hate to admit it, the warmth is already inking its way across your skin – or maybe it’s just being next to Joel that’s heating you up. “Thanks,” you grumble.
When you adjust in your seat, the inside of your foot catches an empty Dr. Pepper can on the floor. It rattles when you accidentally kick it forward. You lean down and pick it up, going to place it down in the cupholder, only to find it overpopulated with random Home Depot and Whataburger receipts.
“Tax deductions,” he shrugs. “Gotta eat on the job.”
“And a…” You pick up the receipt and squint at the faded typography. “$3.29 strawberry milkshake is part of that, I figure?”
Joel grunts, “Tommy’s order.”
You smirk. “Sure it is.”
“Quit shit stirrin’ and put on your fuckin’ seatbelt.”
You reach back, fingers snagging it and tugging it down. Groping for the belt between the seats and the center console, it goes on for at least five seconds too long before Joel grabs the buckle and shoves it into the slot. His fingers brush your thigh as he pulls away from you and settles his foot over the gas pedal. The singular touch shouldn’t make butterflies beat at the walls of your stomach, but it does. Everything about him does.
Now that you’re all settled in, everything about him is also settling in. The fact that he’s only wearing a tight-fitting white t-shirt now that his coat is off. His sleeves are constricting enough that his muscles bulge below the strip of fabric. Ample scruff dapples his jawline, and his hair is disheveled in the way that you’ve learned you like it. You trail your eyes down his body, his tummy, across the undone drawstrings of his dark gray sweatpants, and no, you move on quickly from there, because you refuse to get riled up in the passenger seat.
He’s slowly peeling out of Keith’s parking lot, arm thrown over the back of your seat. You’re starting to fail at your mission of not getting riled up when you see the flex of his bicep, the way his eyes meet yours as he turns to look through the back window. He turns out of the parking lot and onto the relatively barren, icy streets–
“What the hell are those?”
Joel side-eyes you, brows furrowed. He follows the line of your gaze to his feet, which you’re used to seeing in New Balances or steel-toed work boots, but are instead wearing… fur-lined crocs.
“These here? Yeah, got ‘em recently, good for my days off with all this nippy weather. Sarah told me they’re ‘all the rage’ with the youth–”
You can’t help it. You damn near double over with laughter, clutching at your stomach. Joel’s coat nearly slides off of you, but you hang onto it with your pinkie finger, quickly going dizzy from lack of air. “‘All the rage’? Oh my fucking God– Joel, she was pulling your leg. Those are fucking hideous.”
“Hey, now–” He sighs, pinching his nose bridge with the hand that isn’t dangling over the wheel. “Zip it, I don’t needa justify my shoe choices to ya.”
“Does she do anything other than give you shit these days?”
“You’re one to talk about givin’ shit, y’know,” Joel says. Unfailingly, he smiles. The smile that pulls at the edges of his lips. The smile that he only ever gets when talking about Sarah. It doesn’t matter where – loading up his plate with barbecue, your dad asking him while he’s picking up junk mail in the morning, or on the job. If someone asks him about his daughter, Joel fucking beams.
He sucks on his teeth for a second, and then, “She’s picked up soccer. Goalkeeper. Damn good at it, too, all them other kids on her team can’t match her collapse dive.”
“Of course they can’t,” you say. “She’s got better reflexes than a house fly.”
Joel hunches over the wheel, effectively ending the conversation as he concentrates on the road. The only noise is the rumbling engine and the wagging of the windshield wipers as he attempts to navigate the black ice polka-dotted roads. It shouldn’t be as arousing as it is, seeing him in such a state of focus, his thighs tensed as he manipulates the gas and brakes to stop early, start slow. His arms thickening when he makes a right turn. Thumbs drumming drumming drumming on the wheel and maybe they’d do the same between your legs—
“So how’s work?” you blurt out.
Joel mumbles something that you can’t quite make out.
“Huh?”
“Fuckin’ ‘big shot’ gringos up my ass all day. Goddamn shitshow.” He shakes his head, his lips thinned. “I tell ‘em terraforming is gonna make it look like a Flinstone-owned-and-operated putt-putt course. They say do it anyway. I tell ‘em that orderin’ custom windows is gonna put us months behind. They say do it anyway, then come up jibber-jabberin’ all ‘bout how long it’s takin’. And it’s fuckin’... window madness, not one window in that hellhole matches another. Ain’t had so much trouble buildin’ a house since Sarah had me build her one from Hobby Lobby when she was little. Their architect musta been doin’ lines.”
You think you’ve seen Sarah’s dollhouse before when visiting, just in passing when the guest bedroom door was left open a smidge. You remember stalling in the hallway to look at it, with a fleece of dust growing on the tediously placed shingles and the oakwood front door left open like it’d been waiting for someone to come home. But Sarah outgrew it, and although Joel would never admit it, you know he’s too sentimental to leave it on the curb.
“How bad can building a dollhouse from a kit be?”
“With a five year old yellin’ like a drill sergeant in your ear? Worse than you think. She even made me rig the damn thing with electric so she could have her pink chandelier.”
You pout at him, “Wah wah, I’ll bet you loved it.”
“Was a nuisance at the time. But, uh, she was fiddlin’ with some ‘a the dolls I’d gotten her. Don’t think she knew I was watchin’, had gone to put ‘er to bed ‘cause it was a school night. She was readin’ this book I always read to her. Something about… a stuffed bear with a missin’ button and a girl that was tryna to buy him. I don’t fuckin’ know–”
“Corduroy?”
“Yeah, that. Anyway, she was reading, usin’ the same tone I always used with her, tucked her dolls in for the night, and switched off the lights. I don’t think I loved it until then.” There’s a glistening in his eyes at the memory.
You smirk, “Sentimental bastard–”
The truck slides. Or maybe it coasts, skimming across the thin film of black ice. Joel eases down on the brakes, hauling to a stop next to a Minivan with its warning lights on. It’s a long stretch, and you can’t even see all the way down the highway with how thick the snow is. No two snowflakes are the same, but you find it difficult to believe when you’re looking at what must be millions of them. They pirouette, landing on window panes, rooftops, and wind-agonized tree branches. Everything is blotted with white. Red warning lights glare on the ice back at you.
“Shiiit,” Joel says as he squints at the road ahead of him. He scratches at his scruff.
“Tell me you’re not going to drive through that shit.”
“I’m not,” he says.
“Then how the fuck are we getting home?”
“Chill it–”
“That’s the last thing I need to do,” you huff.
“I’m takin’ the detour.”
With that, he jerks the wheel — a bit too recklessly considering the weather, in your opinion – and pulls off onto a slippery backroad. The snow seems to have clung to the trees more back here, a sort of incandescent saran wrap over the oaks. At a bend in the road, icicles hang from a yellow sign that says CURVE 30 MPH. Joel takes it at ten.
You’re not checking out his hands while he drives, no, of course not. You’re looking at the gazillion lights on his dashboard display. “You usually have that many lights on?”
“Ain’t your truck, ain’t your business.”
“I’m ridin’ in it, ain’t I?” you mock his accent.
Joel sighs heavily. “Drivin’ me up the fuckin’ wall.” His hands clench briefly around the wheel. “Auto repair shop’s been price gouging, I’m tryin’ to get Tommy to hook me up with his buddy in San Anton–”
“Won’t be able to drive to San Antonio if your bumper falls off halfway there.”
Joel’s voice is dry as bone. “Ha ha. You get off on bein’ a smartass?”
It’s three words – that’s all it is. Just a throwaway phrase that he probably doesn’t even realize he said. If it were anything more, you’d know. But Joel, saying those words in that order? Damn him, because it turns your blood effervescent. You stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together underneath his coat. You’re about to make another quip that’ll not only distract you, but also surely drive Joel up the wall, one of your favorite activities.
His truck putters from ten miles per hour to eight.
Eight to six.
Six to four.
“Motherfuckin’.... shit,” Joel says again, this time much more urgent as he wrests the wheel to the side. The truck skims over the frosted roads and onto the shoulder, rolls for two seconds, and then falls to a complete, utter stop. The windshield wipers pause while they’re still up. Heat no longer spits out of the dusty air vents.
It’s the loudest silence you’ve ever been in.
“...So do you get off on letting your truck break down or–”
Joel sighs in the way that dogs do. “Thin ice, missy.” He unbuckles his seatbelt and pulls out his phone. “I’ll give Tommy a call.” He stares at the screen for ten seconds. Taps it. Shakes it.
“No service?” you ask.
“No service.”
“Let me try mine,” you mumble, shifting in the car seat. Sure enough, zero bars. Even though you know it won’t work, you press your dad’s contact. It goes straight to voicemail. “Well, shit.”
“Shit,” Joel echoes.
It’s unspoken, but you both know the harsh reality of this harsh wintry night: no phone service, no operational truck, and… no heater.
“Hang tight,” Joel says, reaching over the center console and hijacking his coat from your lap. He wrestles his arms through the sleeves and zips it up. He shoves the door open against the hoarse wind that keeps the trees at a slant, hops out, then slams it shut hard enough for the vehicle to rock. From how hard the wind was blowing, stray flurries dust the truck’s interior.
You can’t really see what he’s doing – the snow’s too heavy, the hood popped wide open for him to investigate the truck’s viscera. You run your hands up and down your thighs, already feeling cold. Without the heater, it won’t be much longer before you turn to an icicle in the passenger seat. The hood bangs back down.
Joel climbs in from the backseat, slams the door as hard as humanly possible, and then scoots to the middle seat.
You crane your neck to see him as he shakes out his cold-reddened hands before puffing air into his cupped palms. “What’s wrong with it?” You ask.
He lets out a frigid breath. “Don’t fuckin’ know, snowin’ too damn hard to tell.”
“Ten bucks it was one of the lights on your dash,” you say.
Joel glares at you, still huffing into his hands. His fingertips are bright red to match his ruddy cheeks. Snow is sprinkled through his hair like soot, quickly melting to beads of water on his windblown curls.
“Got some… hand warmers up in that glovebox. Grab the whole pack.”
You lean forward, kneeing it open and rifling through all of his shit. Insurance papers, more receipts, Miller Contracting business cards, a folded pocket knife, lens wipes, and –
“When’s the last time these saw daylight?” you huff out a laugh as you hold up a battered box of condoms.
Turns out, snow isn’t the thing that makes Joel Miller redder than a tomato. It’s the fifteen year old, very expired condoms hiding in his glovebox.
He clears his throat and averts his eyes. “Jesus. Forgot those were in there.”
You shake the box around and pluck a condom out of it. Looking for the expiration date, you turn it over and over in your hand. “August 31st, 2004. Really that long since you got some, Miller?”
“Put ‘em back,” he grumbles. “Pain in my ass.”
You snicker, replacing the condom box with the box of hand warmers. They’re unopened, still sealed. You snatch Joel’s keys out of the ignition and swipe them across the tape. “Happy?” you toss them over your shoulder.
“No.” He tears open the pack and rubs his hands together around the warmer, sighing when it begins to heat.
“Dick,” you grumble.
More tearing. “Brat.” Another warmer lands in your lap.
“Oughta get comfortable. We’re gonna be here a while,” Joel says.
“And whose fault is that?” You ask as you weigh the warmer in your palms. The front seat already feels cramped, and you’re quick to unbuckle your seatbelt. Your legs and arms fold like pretzels as you climb into the backseat. The curse that leaves you when you hit your head on the roof has Joel rolling his eyes.
“Pipe down. First thing in the mornin’ I’ll make the walk out to that country club a mile out and use their phone. Just gotta ride out the night. You ain’t ever roughed it before?”
You fall on all fours on the backseat, finally pulling yourself upright next to him. “Never had a reason to. Like, what if I have to piss? What if I get hungry?”
Joel shrugs. “Tough.”
The cold is starting to settle into your bones. Even your tongue feels popsicle numb, and your fingers are stiff where they wrap around the warmer. It’s like you’ve been trapped in a snowglobe and shaken up by a handsy toddler with how the wind rattles the truck and the snow swishes outside. You suppress a shiver, leaning against the door. Condensation is already building on the windows. Absent-mindedly, you begin to trace a portrait of Joel in the moisture. Your fingertip squeaks against the glass. Your masterpiece wouldn’t be complete without his signature scowl, so you’re sure to paint a frown on his face and his forehead wrinkles on thick.
“Didn’t know you were an artist,” Joel comments from the opposite side of the back. “Looks nothin’ like me, by the way.”
You smirk, “But you knew it was you.”
Because there’s nothing better to do than burn time, you spend the next ten minutes filling up the window with whatever nonsense doodles come to mind — hearts, stars, trees, and of course, the only one that Joel seems to be fond of: Sarah, smiling and curly-haired.
Reality only settles in when you’re done with the ephemeral illustrations, their outlines starting to dissolve back to regular droplets that streak down the windows. You’re stuck, for God knows how long, on this shady backroad that the Zodiac Killer would’ve loved during his heyday. With your dad’s best friend that you’ve been harboring a dangerous crush on.
And it’d be impossible to forget that it’s freezing fucking balls.
“Joel?” you say into the dark truck.
“Hm?”
Always one to speak your mind, you say, “It’s freezing fucking balls.”
A sound that might be a laugh leaves him. “Here,” Joel says, unzipping his jacket. He tosses it over to you, and you snuggle back up with it, nose burrowing into one of the creases in the fabric. His coat smells like him – like cheap body wash, chewing gum, and gasoline.
You try putting your hands in the pockets, even going as far as to open up a new hand warmer for each one, but they’re full of loose change and, expectedly, more receipts. When you curl up against the corner between the door and the seat, the hard plastic bites into your oversensitive back. Sitting upright or cross-legged doesn’t work, and when you test drive sitting diagonally with your feet propped up on the console, Joel makes a disproving noise and swats gently at your shin. You prop your forehead up against the window, but it’s cold enough to give you a brain freeze.
“Jesus Christ,” Joel snorts. “Get over ‘ere, you wuss.” He hauls you over, big hand splayed over your waist, and drags you across the bench to his side. You yelp in surprise, but only for a second before you’re crushed against Joel’s side. “Can’t have ya gettin’ hypothermia,” he jests.
You don’t know where to put your hands, but eventually, you settle on cupping his neck. Touching Joel, hell, even just being near him, is like being by an open furnace. Or maybe the heat is just your stomach doing somersaults at being this close to Joel after years of frivolous pining. His nape emanates warmth, the kind that flows down your arms and wraps comfortingly around your chest.
Joel exhales, the tendrils of his breath curling from the frigidity. He grabs his coat from the side and flattens it over the both of you, a piss poor replacement for a blanket, but all you’ve got.
Still, cold seeps in through the cracks in the doors, spoiling whatever lukewarm air remains. It doesn’t help that Joel had hopped in and out of the truck to play eye spy under the hood. The truck struggles to hold onto heat properly, especially when it isn’t producing more of it.
Joel sort of… flickers against your back. You think nothing of it until it happens again, this time in short bursts, and then turns into full on shivering.
“Who’s the wuss now, old man?”
Joel tenses up behind you. “Funny,” he says. With your hands cushioned against his neck, you feel the grate of his voice in his throat. “This is the best you’re gonna get unless you wanna be butt ass naked to share heat.”
It should be a joke. But the way he says it… doesn’t sound like a joke.
You go still, lifeless, not even sure if you’re shaking anymore. Because now, the only thought in your head is being pressed against Joel, his soft cock hardening against you, his palms splayed and rubbing over your stomach to keep you warm. And if his cock needed to get somewhere warmer, too…. Your clit twitches at the thought.
You smother the initial shock in your voice with your usual solution: sass. “So what, we’re gonna fuckin’ huddle for warmth?”
As much as you enjoy the idea, you're already dripping — and that’s just from your body being pressed against his, breathing the same air as him, closer now than you’ve ever been before. With no panties in the way, it’s not a stretch to say you’d be dripping down his thighs. You’d hate to have that conversation.
“Would you rather freeze to death?” Joel asks. You look up at him from where you’re curled into his side and find no gleam in his eyes. This isn’t just some knee-slapper for him. Joel Miller is being completely, irreversibly serious.
“I’d rather something less like Naked and Afraid, Joel!”
“It works,” he says, nose flaring. “They do it in those fuckin’... action movies all ‘a the time.”
“I didn’t know Hollywood was writing survival manuals for pervs–”
“God, you’re a piece ‘a work, ya know that?” His eyes flick down to you, and maybe it’s just the fact that this road is damn near pitch black, but his pupils seem larger than before. “Listen, I ain’t tryna perv on ya. I also ain’t tryna send you back to your old man with four fingers missin’ from frostbite.”
There’s no way you’re actually seriously considering this. You’ve heard of cold temperatures impairing thinking, but not like this. Your dad’ll go chasing after Joel with a pitchfork and a shovel if he finds out the man who was supposed to get you home safe and sound was cuddling naked with you. Cuddling naked with you in the backseat, no less. You’re certain Joel won’t try anything – he’s not like that. No matter how flustered you get in his lap, he’d never take advantage of you. What you aren’t certain of is your ability to stop yourself from asking him t0 take advantage of you.
This is practical. It’s only supposed to be practical. He wouldn’t be suggesting something this drastic if you both weren’t shaking like a rattlesnake’s rattler.
“Fine,” you say, already unwinding your scarf from around your neck. Determined to keep some semblance of boundaries up, you add, “No peeping, Miller.”
Joel makes an exasperated sound as you once again scoot out from his coat and across the bench, working yourself out of your shoes, your cotton zip-up, and then the stiff Keith’s uniform – a blue polo and jeans. Joel’s eyes are respectfully trained on the truck’s floor mats, which you’re only just now noticing has a sun-bleached Lisa Frank sticker tacked onto it.
Down to your bra and panties, your heart rate picks up. Your fingers are so fucking cold that it’s hard to get your bra straps out of the way so you can unclasp the damned thing, and then it falls to the floor. Your nipples harden in the face of the cold. The only thing you keep is your scarf, which do you do your best to cover your tits with. Scooping up your discarded clothes and tossing them to the front seat, you let out a shaky breath.
Fuck it.
You shimmy out of your panties and get rid of them just as quickly. When you try telling Joel you’re decent, or rather indecent, nothing comes out. Instead, you have to clear your throat with a strained, “All good.”
“Alright,” Joel says, rustling around. You hear his crocs scrape against the mat, and then his shirt swishing over his head.
He doesn’t tell you to look away, but since it’s implied, you look out of the window. The snowy trees tremble in the wind, and you almost wince when you see a small sliver of his tanned skin reflected in the glass. His crocs clunk on the ground when he kicks them off, and you watch his criminally tight t-shirt go flying over the passenger seat. You casually grip the Jesus handle, hoping that Joel doesn’t notice your fist tightening around it when you hear him untying the drawstrings of his sweatpants. When his sweats and boxers follow the path of his shirt, breathing gets a lot harder than you remember it being.
Just an hour ago, you’d been certain that this would be nothing more than a ten minute drive. Maybe, if you were lucky, he’d call you a casual pet name that would fuel the wriggling of your hand between your thighs that night.
The tension in the air is thicker than molasses. Each breath you take is fragile.
“I’m ready when you are,” Joel says.
Since you’re already half-naked, and since chickening out is out of the question, you inch over to Joel’s side. The air tumbles out of your lungs in one fell swoop when your bicep meets his. With some fidgeting, you bring your legs up at an angle beneath you, wrapping around his side in a way that has you feeling a little bit like a koala. You talk yourself into keeping your eyes forward and then scrub your palms across your freezing arms.
Joel, more indifferent than you think anyone else in this situation could be, abruptly casts his coat back over the both of you.
And, fuck him, he’d been right. The engulfing canvas of his coat keeps warmth trapped where it can be passed easily between the two of you. Or maybe it’s just being confined and skin-to-skin with Joel that has you heating up.
The silence is cruel – it’s much harder to make conversation about work or dollhouses or whatever the hell else when you’re naked. Only the wind’s sibilance keeps you company.
You can get used to this, you think. Drift off into a somewhat sound sleep with your head on Joel’s shoulder and hope that you don’t drool all over him or moan his name in your sleep. More embarrassing things have happened to you.
But then, as if you’re the unluckiest person alive, the temperature drops even more, and suddenly, you’re shaking like a leaf all over again. Your teeth almost clack together as you try to stammer out to Joel, “C–cold, Jesus fucking… Christ that’s cold.”
Joel pouts down at you, but you don’t miss the way his lip quivers. “Should I call the wambulance?”
“Should I call the r–r–r–retirement home to pi…pick up a ru–runaway resident?” It sounded a lot better in your head than bouncing off of your frozen tongue, you have to admit.
“Drama queen,” Joel mutters into your ear. “Can’t do anythin’ more about it. Sorry–”
“Can I sit on your lap?” you blurt out so quickly that you don’t even have time to think about it. You grimace, partially covering your face with your hands. Shit.
Joel’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
You’re already half doomed. Why not go all the way? “Listen, it’s just fucking… fucking freezing, Joel. Holy shit.”
“That bad?” he chokes out.
“You’d be warmer than the seats,” you defend. “I’ll be careful, I promise. Best behavior.”
Joel seems to ponder it for a moment, brows stitched together while he looks down at you from where you’re furled up against his side. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek before giving you a slight nod. “Alright.” You nod in return, heart in your throat. “–But you better mean it when you say best behavior. Can’t have any ‘a this shit gettin’ back to your dad.”
Another nod. You hold your breath as you shinny your way onto Joel’s lap, mounting him from the front so his chest hits your back. In your attempt to get comfortable, you bracket your legs around his. His soft cock fits at the small of your back, and even though he’s as flaccid as can be, he’s big. Apparently your imagination isn’t too far off. Joel’s sharp intake of breath forms a pit in your stomach, and you know when you’re warming up for an entirely different reason than close proximity, you also know that you need to calm yourself down. Fast.
Think of something awful. Like that time that you had to dissect cow eyes in sophomore year biology. Think about mold. How many murderers you’ll walk by in your lifetime. Expired leftovers. Anything–
You adjust yourself in an attempt to get away from Joel’s cock. Instead, your hips move just so his cock slips between your thighs and bobs against your slit.
You whine.
Your body immediately locks up once you realize what you’ve done. Crawling out of the truck to die a hypothermia-induced death seems like a much kinder fate than facing Joel, but no matter how much you scream at yourself to reach out and unlock the door, your hands refuse to move. You hadn’t noticed how wet you’d gotten, and you have no idea how. It’s smeared across your thighs, and now pressed up against your back after Joel’s dick had dragged through it all.
Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit–
Chancing a look over your shoulder, you’re surprised to find the tips of Joel’s ears flushed, cheeks cherry ripe. His Adam’s apple bobs when you meet his eyes. Holy fuck.
You’ve flustered him.
For some reason, the thought makes your chest a lot lighter. You look away nonetheless, but this time, with a newfound gleam in your eye. There’s no such thing as a bad accident, right?
Maybe Liz was right about having to call 911, because when you ‘accidentally’ repeat the movement, Joel stops breathing all together. His cock, almost hard now, you’ve noticed, bumps against your clit. You almost swallow your tongue trying to keep your moan down.
“The fuck you think you’re doin’?” he asks, his gruff voice scratching at your ears.
“I didn’t mean to,” you lie straight through your teeth, a smug little grin spreading on your face. Something about his semi-hard cock between your bodies tells you he’s going to say no to your next suggestion. “Maybe you should put the coat between us, instea–”
“Are you outta your fuckin’ mind, girl?” Joel’s voice comes out raspy. He shakes his head, clears his throat. The vibrations rumble up your spine. “And take away the whole point of stayin’ warm? Now quit it. Ain’t that hard to sit still.”
You try your hand at listening – for all of two seconds.
You hike your hips up, fumbling with his coat as you slot his cock against your slit once more, pushing yourself forward. The coat slides right off of you, falling in a dark lump on the floor. Neither of you care — you’re both too heated for the lack of cover to make a damn difference. Joel hisses, a sound like water hitting an open flame. His hands fly down to your waist, anchoring you to his lap. A surprised noise squeaks out of you.
“What, you got rocks rattlin’ around in your brain?” Joel scowls. “You’re real impolite for a cocktease, sweetheart.”
Butterflies flap around in your stomach from his words. It’s enough to make your head tip against his chest so you can look up at him, lips shaped in a perfect pout. “I’m not,” you say.
“Not a cocktease, huh? Not even when you’re rubbin’ all over my lap?”
You gasp as your hands fly down to cover Joel’s, nails etching into where his fingers meet your bare skin. You tug at his wrist, trying desperately to guide him where you so desperately need him.
“Not happenin’,” Joel grunts, yanking your hands behind you and pinning them to your waist like you’re nothing more than a poseable doll. His large, work-worn hands make yours look damn near miniature as he holds you down. The sudden roughness douses your inner thighs with a new wave of wetness. “Jesus, girl. Poor thing, gettin’ all hot and bothered. Don’t blame ya for tryna get me to help out. Can feel ya dripping down my legs, gushin’ like a sprinkler.”
“S–sorry, fuck, ‘m sorry,” you whisper, words sticky with your arousal. Your clit twitches from his words, embarrassment and need doing all the work to keep you warm.
“Nahhh,” he says. “I don’t think you are, baby.” Maybe it’s the condescension he’s purring in your ear, maybe it’s the pet name; most likely, it’s a combination of both that has you convulsing in his lap. It’s like he’s found all of the right buttons to press to get you riled up, getting you back for all of your snide comments earlier.
His fingers find the fabric of your scarf, luring it off of your neck so he can cord it around your wrists. You squirm when you realize what he’s doing, and a breathless huff of his laughter brushes your cheek. “I’ll be damned if you ain’t gonna be, though.” He draws it tight, tight enough for you to feel your pulses bumping into each other. Joel leaves a fair amount of your unreasonably long scarf loose.
“Joel, what the fuck are you up to?”
“Teachin’ you some sweet southern belle etiquette, darlin’. Such a goddamn troublemaker, grindin’ on me like I’m some kinda… frat boy.” He shakes his head, disbelieving. “Pullin’ that shit with your pops’ friend. Real fuckin’ classy.”
“Like you’re so different. Who’s the one that’s tying me up? Huh, Mil–”
You hear the hit well before you feel it, a firm whack to your cunt that makes your vision blacken and electricity scurrying up your spine. It takes you a second to come back to yourself before a ragged cry pulls its way out of your lips. You jolt in his lap, bound arms bobbing in front of you as your body instinctively lurches for control. You damn near kick your feet, accidentally ricocheting yourself into Joel’s chest. His forearms hold you there.
“Guess I’ll make it crystal clear for ya, baby, since that dumb lil’ head ‘a yours is havin’ some trouble. My truck, my rules. You’re ridin’ in it, ain’t you?” You nod reluctantly as he turns your words from earlier in his favor. “That was a warnin’, you showoff. Think you can bat your slutty ‘fuck me’ eyes an’ get away with murder.” He fucking tsks at you.
He pulls his hand away from your pussy, and you’re both surprised and not surprised at all to see it covered in your arousal, webbed between his calloused fingers.
“Got a whole goddamn slip ‘n slide down here…” murmurs Joel. You whine, bucking your hips against him. “Oughta just…” he starts, nudging his cock towards your hole. The noise you make is pathetic. “Stop ya from ruinin’ my seats. Cork you right up.” You tense up, fully expecting the intrusion, but his dick passes your cunt right up, instead sliding up to meet your clit. It taps against your swollen nub, and if his goal was to stop you from ruining his seats, you’re certain he’s already failed with how quickly you gush all over the upholstery.
“But that’d be real nice, wouldn’t it? Givin’ ya what ya want so early on…” Instead of pulling away like you expect, Joel griiiinds the head of his cock against your clit. You moan helplessly, head falling back across his shoulder.
And then he does it again.
And again.
And agai–
“Joooooel,” you whine, knees jerking each time his tip meets your most sensitive spot. Heat spins in your stomach.
He backs his hips up “What? Thought you loved this with how much you were gettin’ at it earlier.”
You shake your head rapidly in the negative, chest rising and falling at a breakneck pace while he teases you.
“So you can deal, but you can’t play?”
“I think you’re just taking your sweet old time getting it up, old man,” you grit out, knowing damn well he’s stiffer than titanium behind you.
Joel hums. “Ah, she’s got jokes.” His cock slips back, quickly replaced by his hand engulfing your mound. Your clit twitches ever so slightly against his palm lines, and you’re almost convinced you could get off from that alone. His palm cracks against your cunt again, somehow even harder than the first time. You cry out, eyes burning from arousal and the slightest edge of pain.
With his thumbpad, he taps your clit like he’s just scrolling through the cable guide with a remote. Fleeting movements that have you wanting more more more. It heals the sting of his slap even if the echo of the hit still simmers in your stomach. Your cunt throbs so hard that it hurts, jumping up to meet Joel’s scarce ministrations.
When he retracts his hand, your hips chase the movement. “See this?” he taunts, fluttering his wet fingers in front of your face. You make a choked noise when his drenched middle finger breaches your lips. He doesn’t even need to tell you; you latch on and suck yourself off of his calloused skin. You’re mostly salty, but a little sweet, and tasting yourself on your own tongue by his insistence manages to make you even wetter.
Joel takes his spare fingers, just as soaked, and smears them all around your chin and lower cheeks. He presses down on your tongue as he does. You gag from the pressure, and you can’t hear his laugh over the roaring of your blood in your ears, but you feel it rattle his chest where it meets your spine. Your slick cools quickly against your burning skin, syrupy as it clings to your face. “Need a bib, baby?”
He pulls his finger from your mouth with a pop and your scarf-wrapped hands spring to wipe yourself from your lips, hoping to save yourself from the humiliation of having your own pussy juice anointing your face. You only scoop up a little before Joel lowers his forearm over yours, but for once, you’re faster than him. You swipe your wet hand over his mouth, smudging as much as you can along the scruff surrounding his mouth.
He wraps a burly hand in the scarf and yanks your hands back into place. All you can do in response is giggle, but the breath is swiftly knocked out of you when he drives his cock right into your clit. “Think you’re funny, don’t ya?” He asks, and finally grunts as he rolls his hip into you. A break in his resolve, a sign that he wants this, or at least the discipline of this, as badly as you do.
You almost weep from the pressure, that rope of pleasure in your stomach that he keeps knotting tighter and tighter and tighter with each stroke of his cock, his fingers. “Joel!” you cry out as he follows it up with another firm swat to your clit. His cock spreads your folds as he softens the bashing, nuzzling his tip against your spasming cunt.
“Really, oughta give standup a go one ‘a these days. Be a real hotshot.”
“Oh yeah?” you pant, light headed and woozy.
“Mhm. If the whole crowd’s drunk.” His cock nudges your nub with a new vigor.
“Assh–”
Right as you’re about to press down and follow the sensation, Joel senses it. His cock gives way through your cheeks, just in time for him to land a ruthless slap across your pussy. It’s harder than the others – makes your ears ring for a second, gives you a sort of visual snow that has you doubling over and gripping at the closest object for purchase, which just so happens to be the metal rods coming out of the headrest.
“Ain’t what you should be sayin’ if you’re plannin’ on gettin’ what you want, sugar,” Joel tuts. He shakes his head at you. “Don’t wanna hear no lip from ya, girl.”
You open your mouth, argument on the tip of your drool-loaded tongue, but your halfhearted attempt at defiance doesn’t last long. Joel’s hand clamps around your chin, denting your skin into your teeth. He jerks your head to face him, knocking you down a peg with scathing eye contact. “You’re pushin’ it.” He loosens his grip.
“As if, Miller. If those pre-Cold War condoms are anything to go by, you’ve been dying for a chance to get your dick wet. Doesn’t matter how much lip I give you, you aren’t gonna blue ball yourself for much longer.” Satisfied, you raise your brows at him.
Turns out, he is going to blue ball himself for much longer, because he lands six slaps in rapid succession across your sopping cunt. The skin smarts, and you cry out. Your grip tightens around the headrest rod to the point of strangling it. Your eyes water, and you can’t tell if you’re crying. Too consumed by Joel, everything has melted into him – the smell of sawdust perpetually sewn into his skin, his cock sealed against your body.
“How many times are ya gonna poke the bear before you learn your lesson, you cheeky little shit?” Joel’s palm cups the inside of your right thigh, just above the knee. He traces circles with his thumb, and heat trails after him with everywhere he touches. “See, the thing about havin’ ‘pre-Cold War condoms’ is that I’ve had a helluva lot more time to learn self control than you. Can wait as loooooong as it takes for you to get your head on right. Don’t matter if you’re waterfallin’ down my seats or not, pretty girl. I’m giving you exactly what ya deserve.”
You whimper, trying (and failing) to get your magma hot core closer to Joel’s unfairly large hand, still splayed out on your inner thigh. You can’t stop how you squirm in his lap, smearing your arousal everywhere with each movement you make.
At a snail’s pace, his hand begins to inch up your leg. Joel pauses to grope at you as his hand travels upward. Handfuls of your skin, rubbing at your scalding hot thighs. Your patience is wearing thin by the time he gets midway there. You need him to touch you. And that’s just the tip of this impossibly destructive iceberg.
You shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t have let him go down this shitty backroad, shouldn’t have agreed to your dad’s ridiculous idea of Joel picking you up, shouldn’t have asked to be naked on his lap, shouldn’t have gotten naked on his lap, shouldn’t be leaking like a twenty-year-old pipe in a building he’d been hired to renovate. If your dad ever finds out–
“Joel, please, please – plea…” you trail off, dissolving into incoherent whimpers as his hand hovers over your cunt. You’re running hotter than a radiator now, and if you both wanted to be warm, then you’ve got your wish. Although mostly gibberish, Joel has to understand what you want from him. It’s just that the bastard is unwilling to provide.
Joel reaches down to pinch your clit, and your body can’t even discern from pleasure and pain anymore. You react the same to it all, back arching as you try desperately to plant yourself on his cock. “Shhh, shhh, quit runnin’ your filthy mouth. Only gonna get yourself into more trouble.”
You swear you hear angels singing, swear you see the pearly gates when he gives your clit a merciful rub. Melting into him, you exhale shakily.
“See? All nice ‘n quiet when she’s gettin’ what she wants.” You wouldn’t even dream of mouthing off to him now.
“I want – I need…” you gasp out, putty in his hands. Moldable to his liking. Everything you’d pretended not to want.
“Go on,” he coos. “Tell daddy what you need.”
You don’t even hear him say that word. You’re too hooked on begging, begging, begging. “Please – Joel, oh god, please – I need… I need… please please please, fuck, it hurts–”
Joel clicks his tongue. “Nuh uh. Start over. Always such a chatterbox ‘cept for when I need ya to be.”
“Wha…?” you ask, admittedly dazed from the harsh treatment that you’ve come to crave more of.
“Tell daddy what you need,” he repeats, words molasses slow.
You clench, gushing even more all over him. Shit, your next paycheck might have to go to replacing the goddamn seats if you keep up like this.
“D–D… D-” you start stammering out, but you’ve lost autonomy over your body long ago, and apparently that goes for your tongue, too. “Da– Da… pl–”
“Any day now,” he scoffs.
“Daddy!” you spit out all at once. “Please, please, daddy, fuck – fuck me, daddy, please, I want your cock, daddy. Feels so fucking big. Need it daddy, it hurts… please, ngh– daddy!” Tears are burning the corners of your eyes, fueled almost entirely by arousal and partially by frustration. You squirm, cunt crying all over the place.
“M’kay, baby,” he says. Running a hand down your chest and squeezing your nipple on the way down. He slides his hand down your stomach to cup your mound, giving your clit slow, gentle circles. Your hips jump forward, and this time, he doesn’t stop you. “Daddy’s got ya.”
At the first intrusion of his middle finger in your cunt, you jump. It’s a lot compared to what he’s been giving you, but nowhere near enough. A second finger slips inside. He doesn’t have to do much work to stretch you out — you’ve been seeping out of you since you first got on his lap. He’s all too quick thrusting them in and out of you – the messy squelch of your pussy filling the backseat has you burying your chin against your chest, averting your eyes. The heel of his palm bumps persistently at your clit with each shift of his fingers inside of you.
“I know you ain’t a virgin, but you’re soakin’ like one. Too damn cocksure to ain’t have had a cock in ya before. Prancin’ around like a glorified dick trap.” You inhale sharply when his fingers scrape that spongy spot inside of you that you can never reach yourself. A moan rips out of you. The combination of him talking down to you and rubbing your g-spot has you dangerously close to cumming. Your moan is quickly swallowed up by more of Joel’s condescension.
He starts mumbling to himself then, obscenities that make you clench even tighter around his fingers. “Gonna get you all sore baby, make you regret beggin’ for this dick like a horny ‘lil bitch that ain’t ever been laid in her life. Fuck you so hard you’ll be cryin’ for daddy’s cock up your ass instead, turn you into an anal slut, too.” He’s too busy listening to himself talk, too absorbed in his own world to feel you balancing on that razor-thin edge.
The noise you make is inhuman. You pulse around him, doing your best to stave off your impending release. “Daddy–” you warn, but he cuts you off then, too. Joel grinds his cock between your ass cheeks, his precum dripping down your slit to meet your trembling cunt.
“Ever been fucked here before baby?” He swipes his tip along your asshole, and the way you shudder is answer enough for him. “Don’t get all jumpy, sweetheart. Ain’t gonna fuck ya there right now. Be cruisin’ for a bruisin’.” Still, he replaces his tip with his free hand’s thumb, simply rubbing at the ring of muscle. You fidget in his lap without an end-goal. You just want to be close to him, want to take everything he’s willing to give you. His fingers hook just right inside of you. “Would love to be the first to unlock this pretty backdoor. If this tight ‘lil pussy’s anything to go by… Christ. You’d look so pretty squirmin with my cock in your ass, baby–”
“Daddy!” You scream as your orgasm guts you. His fingers and his voice rip your climax right out of you and your cum streams down your inner thighs and Joel’s hand, still smacking against your clit with each thrust. Your cunt spasms around his flexing fingers. He has to fold an arm over your chest to keep you from sliding off his slippery lap entirely.
All the way through the aftershocks that make your limbs quake, Joel holds you upright against his body, still bumping his palm and fingertips against your clit and g-spot. You swear you can feel him smiling against your shoulder.
“Didn’t tell ya you could cum, darlin’,” Joel murmurs, flicking his cum covered finger across your clit. You wince in overstimulation, a whine catching in your throat.
“‘M sorry, daddy,” you pant. His hands go up to
“‘S okay, babygirl. Pretty pussy couldn’t help it when I was talkin’ ‘bout fuckin’ your ass, huh?” His hands rove up your stomach to play with your tits, palming and stroking, getting his hands all over every carnal part of you.
You hum into his bicep, “Mmmm.”
“That’s alright. Don’t mean you’re gettin’ away with a slap on the wrist though. C’mon, up,” he guides with a small slap to your thigh. You adjust, bringing yourself onto your knees so he can enter you from behind. You look down at his sturdy thighs, flexing as he adjusts himself between your legs. He gives you one more teasing thrust through your thighs, poking your oversensitive clit one more time before reaching down to spread your folds.
You moan as he presses against your entrance, and it’s not the best time to have a come to Jesus moment, but – Joel’s size was in no way over exaggerated between your legs. You stiffen in realization, and Joel, attentive as always, notices. He guides your chin to face him and nuzzles his nose up against yours, mouth tracing down to your lips. Your breath mingles, stagnant in the long-forgotten chill. A cushion of softness against all of his spiky edges that showed up tonight. “You’re on top, baby. Take it as slow or as fast as ya want.”
Nodding at the reminder, you find yourself that you don’t want to take it slow. You want to be as sore as he’d promised, want to feel him for days and be reminded of this every time you look at the winter morning’s frost on the shingles outside.
Sinking down over his throbbing length yanks the air out of your lungs as you seat yourself with him bottoming out and going balls deep in your cunt simultaneously. He grunts against you in surprise, softening the blow of your heady moan. “Attagirl,” he huffs into the crease between your neck and shoulder. It’s a stretch, searing up your thighs and to your lower back. You’re brought back to yourself when Joel rolls his hips into you, making the pain liquefy into mind-numbing pleasure. You spend thirty seconds waiting for him to fuck up into you in a way that changes your philosophy around the world, but instead, he’s still and solid inside of you.
“Go on,” Joel coaxes, placing a steady hand just shy of your mound. “Gotta prove you deserve to cum again.” He taps your thigh as if he’s telling you to giddy up, and the shame warms the back of your neck better than any heater ever could.
You whimper. His hands coast up your thighs, squeezing your hips tight before falling to grip the seats below. You’re still weak from your last orgasm, shaky legs struggling to hold yourself up as it is. “Daddy… I can’t…”
“Ain’t no different than fuckin’ y’self on that vibrator or dildo or whatever the fuck’s in your nightstand. Girl like you, gotta have a wimpy ‘lil fucktoy somewhere.” His words make you clench around him, and he groans into your neck. Joel looks up at the front window, now covered in snowflakes. He smirks when he spots the rearview mirror. “Oughta make you watch yourself. Show a pathetic, cockstarved slut what happens when she bites off more than she can chew.” At that, you mewl, grinding yourself down. The chuckle he lets out is lined with cruelty.
Joel pins you to his chest with one burly arm and leans forward with a hash of grunts from effort. He reaches out towards the rearview mirror, lowering it to face the middle seat that you’re both braced on. He sinks back quickly, and it almost gives you whiplash before you make eye contact with yourself. You can see everything. Tremors travel up your legs and into your arms. Your body is getting freezer burn from how cold and hot you are at the same time. Pleasured tears threaten to spill over your waterline. Joel’s smug fucking face as he murmurs endlessly at you.
Your mouth is parted as you take yourself in, truly a pathetic, pretty little picture as you pant. “C’mon,” Joel coaxes, squeezing your ass. “You can do it. Make daddy proud. I’ll even give you a boost.” Joel reaches to your tied hands and quickly undoes the scarf, letting it drop to the floor. You flex your fingers and then reach out for the chairs ahead to get a good grip.
You prop yourself up on your knees, anchoring yourself to the two chairs in front of you. Using a combination of your upper and lower body strength, you rise halfway off of Joel’s cock before your body gives out. His balls slap wetly against your clit. He laughs, still not touching you at all. Your head flops forward as you look down to where the two of you meet, and then at the mirror where his cock is buried deep inside of you. You whine in dismay.
He wasn’t lying when he said he was going to get you sore. You can only moan. It’s pleasure like you’ve never had it before – too much, not enough, painful, so good. “Please, Joel – I can’t… can’t handle it.”
“I’ll decide what you can handle,” he says.
“You’re– you’re so fucking mean,” you rasp.
“Gets you this soaked, baby. Don’t see your pussy complainin’. You love bein’ treated like a piece ‘a meat. Like a little fleshlight for men to fuck.”
You clench, tight. “Ah!” Joel fucking sniggers behind you, but a rush of confidence spills through you at the underlying moan in his throat.
Determined to get what you want, you tighten your grip on the front seats. Haul yourself up, almost so that the tip slips right out, and then collapse back onto Joel’s cock. And, shit, it’s a lot. You doubt you could handle his cock in missionary, but being made to ride him in such a compromising position, sprawled out across his shitty backseat? That’s an entirely different animal, one that you hadn’t expected to have to handle.
You focus on doing just enough to please him and just enough to keep yourself intact. You repeat your movements two or three times, rising and falling. Little moans and whimpers, some pained, some good when he nudges your g-spot just right, slip in and out of you.
You’re shaking like a leaf on his cock as you somehow manage to lift yourself another time before fucking back on him. “Daaaddy.” Your lips quiver as you form the word. A single tear runs down your face from overexertion, and he’s quick to wipe it up with his thumb as if it was never there. You look truly whorish and pathetic, just like he’d wanted, bouncing on his cock with the last of the energy you have left in you.
His tip jabs against that goddamn spot again, and you double over on the center console. You take heaving breaths, making eye contact with yourself in the mirror, desperate to please as you attempt to keep humping him with the change in angle. You’re letting out strings of disoriented words, but barely can tell that you’re talking.
“I fuck you dumb already? Slutty little girl. Told ya you were in for it. Ain’t ever had much of a knack for listenin’. Gonna dick you down now, sweet girl.” He drags your legs into the crook of his elbows, holding you upright for him as he shifts to his knees between your legs. Braced on the center console with your pussy settled on his cock, the new angle makes you cry out. You hold yourself up on your elbows, giving shallow rolls of your hips in return as Joel gets settled inside of you.
The first thrust makes your eyes roll back so far that you see black. “Feel good?”
“So… so fu–fucking goo… good daddy,” you whimper into the console, gripping the sides of it just so you have something to hold onto.
“Swallowin’ daddy’s dick whole in this greedy cunt. Goddamn, drippin’ down my fuckin’ balls. Such a masochistic slut, all after a poundin’ from an old man. All up in a tizzy for this cock.”
You moan your agreement, completely submissive to Joel’s wills. You move like a ragdoll for him, letting him yank you back on his cock while he meets you there, thrust for thrust. He pulls out, a small mercy, but when he sheathes himself back inside of you in full, it’s the beginning of a punishing pace.
You don’t even notice yourself drooling all over the console until Joel says something about it. “Droolin’ from two places. Yeah, baby, you needed this. Daddy’s pretty cockslut.” You whine especially loudly when Joel drags you back across the console, damn near fast enough to give your stomach rugburn.
Hands framing your spread legs, Joel hooks them both around his torso, using the leverage to plow into you. You’re boneless beneath him, mouth frozen in silent moans. His hips meet your ass with each shove of his cock in your sloppy cunt, the obscene sound of slap after slap pealing out within the truck. “Damn lucky we’re in the middle of nowhere,” Joel growls on another thrust. “Someone woulda been knockin’ on the window long time ago with how loud you’re bein’.”
“Mmph,” you gasp when Joel tosses one of your legs up and over the passenger seat. You hold yourself there as he digs his fingers into your other thigh, shifting his spare hand to your mound.
“Daddy please please please plea–” you start panting like a broken record, desperate to feel his hand on your clit, which throbs with inattention on the console. You grind frantically on the edge just in case he denies you again.
Joel laughs above you, fully smudging two fingers across your clit in a blur of indescribable pleasure. “Ain’t gonna make ya beg this time. Can’t wait to feel ya creamin’ ‘round me… maybe I’ll make ya lick that up too. Nasty bitch.”
“Joooel, oh fuck, please…” you whine as he continues railing you, this time fiercely tweaking your clit in-time with his movements.
The new position has his thrusts meeting your cervix, and you scream, pleasure corkscrewing through your body. There’s nowhere for all of it to go with how viciously it burns in your stomach – all you can do is take it and whine for him. “Takin’ it real good. See what happens when ya behave? You get this fat cock splittin’ your whore cunt in two, jus’ like you were askin’ for.”
He grips your hip tight, clearly expecting an answer. You slur, “Mhm, daddy!”
Joel rubs faster circles around your clit, spouting filth while he drills your pussy. You can tell he’s chasing his own release, too, hips frantically fucking in and out of you, his cock twitching every single time you clench. You’re burning up as he jackhammers your pussy. Your second orgasm of the night brims low in your stomach, “Come on, baby, know you’re close. Feel this slutty pussy squeezin’ me. You gonna ask permission like a good girl this time, or are ya gonna go back to your defiant little slut self?”
“No, daddy,” you whimper, suspended in thin air over orgasmic bliss. He’s rubbing your clit erratically, doing everything he can to hold you in place. “P-please daddy, can I come?” You practically scream it out.
“Go ahead,” he says. “Come for daddy’s, come allll over daddy’s cock.”
The band snaps. Your back arches, and you feel time stop in the second before you fall slack on the console, spasming from the best orgasm of your fucking life. Your clit feels like there’s fucking pop rocks on it, something that not even your vibrator has ever achieved. “Thank you daddy!” you cry out, repeating it as you lose all feeling in your bones. You hardly have any control over your body anymore – it’s just Joel Joel Joel Joel. Sated and weary, you just lay there, letting Joel fuck into you.
And fuck into you he does – roughly, helping you ride out your orgasm as he pursues his. “That’s my girl,” he says, and you swear that alone could make you cum all over again. “Lettin’ your daddy use this juicy, well-fucked cunt to get his own.” He can’t hold back his moans, that’s how you know he’s close, grunting and gasping as he rocks his hips into yours. His hand lands on your ass in a sharp smack, and your pussy clenches in exactly the way that he expected. He lets out a particularly ragged noise, folding himself over you to nip at your neck and rest his forehead against your shoulder blade. “Daddy’s close, where do ya want me, baby?”
“Tits,” you whine. It’s a miracle you can even get that one word out, but somehow, you manage a few more. “Come on my tits, daddy.”
“Fuck!” Joel shouts, yanking himself over you. You help him roll yourself over and sit up on your elbows, and he jerks himself once, twice, before spraying his load all over your tits with the loudest groan yet. His brows fold together as he cums, eyes drooping and his mouth parted as he takes deep breaths.
You sit there for a handful of heavy minutes, listening to each other’s jagged breathing and the sawtoothed wind outside. You’re both so fucked. Literally, and figuratively. Stuck in the buttfuck middle of nowhere, you with your dad’s proclaimed bestie’s cum drying on your tits, and said bestie staring at you with post-coital puppy dog eyes and your cum all over his balls.
You’re the first to speak up, still winded. “That was… that was good.”
Joel nods mindlessly, tongue swiping out to lick his lips. He beckons you closer, and on trembling legs, you bring yourself to the backseat. You return to your previous position, huddled up and curled next to the door. Joel fumbles around under the back bench for a little until he comes up with a small, sunbleached pack of princess-themed pocket tissues that have to be as old as Sarah is. He dabs at your chest before stuffing them into the closest empty cupholder, and then brings you closer to his chest.
You don’t notice yourself falling asleep when all you can feel is Joel.
There’s better ways to wake up than a furious rapping on the window, but that isn’t the first thing you notice. You blink your eyes open groggily, only to face an egg yolk sun cracking wide open over the treeline and snowmelt bleeding out from every given surface. Joel’s behind you, nose in your neck, snoring softly with his arms wrapped around your middle. You take a moment to admire him – his sun kissed skin and his peaceful expression. It takes you a moment to remember you slept with him. You slept with Joel, and it was the best fuck of your life.
You’re stretching, on the verge of a yawn, when you see the familiar head of black hair over the window. “Shit!” you shout. Joel jerks to life behind you, mumbling something that sounds a lot like ‘what?’.
You scramble to pull the coat over the both of you from where it fell off of you in the middle of the night, covering your naked bodies. “Get dressed!” you hiss to Joel, searching for wherever the fuck your panties ended up last night.
“What the hell’s gotten into ya–” he starts, and you feel the exact moment that he realizes Tommy Miller is outside of the truck. “Motherfucker,” he curses, swaying towards the front seat to snag his clothes. You see him almost put his head through his T-shirt armhole three times before he gets it right. His sweatpants are next, which he tugs up his bare legs without even searching for his boxers.
“Joel?” Tommy shouts outside. “Wake up, sleepin’ beauty!” He knocks on the door again, the windows blurry from melting snow. You have that to thank, at least. It buys you enough time to tug your polo over your head, but not enough time to button it all the way up.
“Fuckin’... dumbass,” Joel huffs as he clips the lock on the door and kicks it open, looking at least somewhat composed. You take deep breaths, looking between the two of them. “How’d you find us?”
Tommy looks Joel up and down, scrutinizing him. “What happened to southern gentleman manners? I came out here to save ya from Mt. Everest, brother! Least you could say is ‘thank you’.”
“Thank you,” you fill in for Joel, even if the last thing you’re feeling is grateful.
“Her daddy threw a hissy fit, y’know? Told him you were fine and we’d go lookin’ for ya in the mornin’. We saw all that backup on the highway, I went this way, he went that way, turns out my gut was right. ‘Course my dumbass brother would take this route… hey, you’re truck’s a fuckin’ mess.” Tommy sinks his hand into the closest cupholder, pulling out a wad of tissues that have been soaked in his cum. You hiss as if you’ve been scalded with boiling hot water.
Joel starts, “Tommy–”
“What the fuck is this shit?” The realization seems to dawn on poor Tommy when he’s peeling apart the tissues, and he drops them like they’re a thousand pounds. You can’t even bring yourself to scold him for littering as the wind carries them away. “Joel. You dirty dog!” He says, eyes flitting between the two of you like it’s the most impossible thing in the world.
Your heart picks up to a speed that can rival most NASCAR drivers and your face burns like hot asphalt. You look pointedly down at the ground.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Joel seethes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Get outta here, you little shit.”
Tommy’s hands go up. “Hey now, I ain’t doin’ anything. That is not a conversation I wanna have with her daddy.” He clears his throat, effectively clearing the air along with it. “So, uh, truck break down?” Joel grunts in affirmation.
“Been tellin’ ya you need to make a stop at the auto shop… C’mon, I’ll get y'all home,” Tommy says, jingling the keys to his own truck. “Call a tow on the way.”
Joel drags his feet all the way to Tommy’s passenger side. You get your wallet and jacket together, winding the latter around your waist. The sun almost blinds you on your way out, and Tommy stops you.
“I hope you didn’t let ‘im stick it to ya with them prehistoric condoms. You’re smarter ‘n that.”
“God, no,” you huff out.
“I dunno what’s stupider, lettin’ my asshole brother hit it raw or gettin’ a UTI–”
“Okay!” you announce, hands going up as you round the back of Tommy’s truck. “Conversation over.” You’re still smiling playfully at Tommy as you clamber into the back of the truck, sighing when the air conditioner hits.
Just like that, back to the same old same old sunny, shithole state of Texas. Joel looks at you in the rearview mirror and winks at you. You guess not everything has to stay the same these days.
series masterlist | part one | part two | part three
dark!Joel Miller x f!reader
Word Count: 2.1k
Summary: A newcomer to Joel's group of raiders makes a pass at you. Joel reinforces his dominance.
Warnings: DARK. dead dove do not eat. raider!Joel is not a good man, dark!Joel Miller, mention of past assault (not by Joel), dub-con due to power imbalance and implied captivity, reader can have a little stockholm syndrome as a treat. watersports, piss drinking, canon-typical violence, gore, piv intercourse, unsafe sex, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), bit of both game and show joel, sorta d/s dynamics I guess, not RACK compliant
Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 4 - Overstimulation / Human Urinal, inspired by this prompt list from @absurdthirst and this gifset from @a7estrellas. I did not come up with raider/hunter!Joel or dark!Joel and many great writers have built in this sandbox before me.
also on ao3
You’d like to say that six months ago, when the group of raiders “took you in,” you would have fought tooth and nail to avoid this situation. You wished you could say you ever really fought back at all.
But after Joel Miller had found you in a supply room during a raid, sobbing and struggling under a FEDRA officer, you had never even so much as told him no. Not after he pulled the man—your husband, who had been starving and abusing you since your wedding night three weeks ago—off your aching body and pummeled his face into the ground. When all that was left was pulp, he had helped you to your feet with bloodied hands.
“You okay?” he said. His furrowed brow and cold eyes told you he was dangerous more than the corpse on the ground, as his concern was for you alone, entirely barren of remorse or disgust.
You nodded, but the tremor of your hands betrayed you. He shucked off his jacket and helped you into it, numb as you were, and zipped it up. It was long enough to give you the illusion of modesty since your clothes were nowhere to be found.
He had led you down the stairs and outside, crowding you into the passenger seat of a dented, rusty pickup.
“Wait here,” he said, shutting the door.
And you had.
Now, you were knelt between Joel’s heavy boots in the living room of the main safe house. He was sprawled on the main sofa, beer in one hand and the other on the back of your head. The others were milling about, drinking shitty moonshine, and enjoying the spoils of today’s raid.
You had an old, soft flannel on and Joel’s thick cock in your throat. He was holding you there, motionless, while your eyes stung and watered. Every so often, he’d guide you to bob up and down or shove your face down to lick his balls. He was dragging it out, savoring it in a rare display of luxury.
Their haul today meant easy living for a couple months after striking an unfortunate band of Fireflies. After the slaughter, they had returned with crates and cases of supplies. You, however, had spent the last two days locked in your room upstairs.
The upper floor of the house was Joel’s. The door at the foot of the stairs locked from both directions, the sole key to which never left the chain around his neck. Your little room had a mattress and a door to a Jack and Jill bathroom. Joel’s room, where you actually spent most of your time, was on the other side. But it had been locked, and you had been left with plenty of food and water but absolutely nothing to do.
So when Joel came home in a better mood than you’d ever seen him, you jumped at the opportunity to go downstairs. He didn’t like you down there most of the time, didn’t like anyone seeing you but him, unless he was putting on a show of dominance.
Like now. Your quiet obedience on full display, a reminder that even in a time of prosperity, Joel Miller was still the king.
He took the last swig of his beer and handled the bottle off to a lackey (you didn't see them enough to tell them apart, or care enough to learn their names). He let go of your hair and gave your cheek two sharp pats, smirking when you scrambled to please him. Your hands had been clasped behind your back where they belonged, but he was ready to cum, so you wrapped one around the base of his cock and massaged his balls with the other, using your throat as roughly as he would.
This was second nature, now. The only days you went without his cock in your mouth were the days he was away on raids. When you had woken that morning without the ache in your jaw and throat, you had been sad. (Whatever that said about your life now wasn’t something you wanted to think about too hard.)
Saliva coated your fingers where they grasped the very root of him, smearing on your face as you buried him as deep within you as possible. Tears scorched your cheeks as you gagged and struggled to remember to breathe through your nose.
He snapped his fingers in your face, drawing not just your eyes to his but capturing the attention of everyone else in the room. He held your gaze and your head in place as hot ropes of cum shot down your throat.
Drained, he let you up, a lazy grin spreading as you coughed and sobbed for a moment.
“Shit,” said one of the newer recruits, too young and stupid to survive for long. “I call next.”
The tension in the room was immediate. One of Joel’s smarter lackeys stepped away from the splatter zone. He was, after all, sporting a new denim jacket from the haul.
Joel held your eyes for a moment before slowly looking up at the offender. He rose, forcing you to scramble back a few inches to make room. His flaccid cock was eye level with you now, but you didn’t dare look away from his face. The satisfied grin had sharpened, his dark eyes clear and dangerous.
“Yeah? You want her to suck you off?” Joel drawled.
How this man had lived to his mid-twenties astounded you. He was making eye contact with a predator with apparently zero awareness of the danger.
“Fuck yeah, man,” said the future corpse.
Joel dragged his eyes back down to you. “Open up, sweetheart.”
The other man made to move toward you, but Joel raised one finger and waited while you opened your mouth, tongue out. Your heart was racing. You didn’t believe he would actually let someone else touch you, but there was still a sharp jolt of fear.
Joel took himself in hand, lifting your chin up with the other. He cocked an eyebrow at you—not seeking permission, but granting a warning. You realized what he was about to do right before it happened, tensing every muscle to fight the instinct to snap your mouth shut.
It wasn’t the first time Joel had pissed in your mouth, but that didn’t make the acrid stream any more pleasant. It burned your raw throat on the way down. He didn’t look away from you, thumb stroking your jaw gently. When he finished, he held his cock out for you to lick the tip clean. You pressed a soft kiss, offering forgiveness he didn’t require, and sat back on your heels.
He looked up at the other man, waving a loose arm in your direction. “Ya still want her?”
“You’re fucked up,” the newcomer said, shaking his head. “That’s fucking disgusting.”
Joel laughed and pulled your head to his thigh, one ear pressed against it and his large palm over the other. You squeezed your eyes shut just in time as he drew his pistol and shot the man in the crotch in one fluid moment. The bang still jolted you, and you pressed your face harder into Joel’s rough jeans.
He took his hand off your ear to stroke your cheek. “Get him out of here,” he barked at one of the others, who immediately dragged the screaming, writhing man out of the house.
Joel squatted down, hands on your shoulders. “You okay?” He inspected you, brushing his hands over “your” shirt to make sure none of the viscera had reached you.
You nodded, though you were shaking a little and forcing slow, wavering breaths in and out.
“That’s my girl,” he said, brushing a thumb over your swollen lips. He stood up and helped you up, leading you upstairs without another glance at his men.
Your hand grasped tight in his rough, calloused palm, and he led you to his room, where you sat on the edge of the bed, eyes downcast.
He toed off his boots and slid his belt out of the loops of his jeans. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll wash the taste outta your mouth.”
You looked up to watch him shuck off his gray t-shirt, captivated by the way it peeled off his biceps and fluttered to the floor. It was followed quickly by his jeans and boxers. His cock sprung free, hard again already after the thrilling turn of events.
You made to slide to your knees, but he clicked his tongue at you. “C’mon, I ain’t that mean. Lay back, sweetheart. You did so good out there for me.”
You obeyed, ass perched on the edge, knees bent and legs spread wide, braced against the footboard. He stepped between your legs, running a hand over your stomach.
“Look at you, princess, you’re soaked.” The crooked smirk returned as he lightly dragged a finger through your wet folds. “You liked that?”
A wretched flush overtook you from your face to your chest, ears burning. You looked away, but the sharp tsk brought your eyes back to him.
“Don’t hide from me,” his voice pitched low and dark, the drawl always thicker when he was stalking prey. “It’s a good thing, baby. Tell me why you’re dripping.”
“Felt safe,” you murmured, blushing harder. “I like bein’ yours.”
He grinned and pushed his thumb down on your clit, watching as you gasped and jerked.
“Good girl,” he said and sank to his knees.
He chuckled, watching your eyes grow wide. He didn’t want to spoil you, so this was a rare treat. He spread you with two fingers, licking a wide stripe from your cunt to your clit. Your hips jerked, and he lay an arm over them, pinning you down as you sobbed a long moan.
A rare treat, but a divine one. He ate you out like you were the first oasis in the desert. Licking and sucking, plunging three fingers deep into your pussy until you fell apart on his tongue. And he didn’t stop, teeth nipping at your clit until the aftershocks of your orgasm crested smoothly into another. And another. You were sobbing full out, thrashing to pull away from the suffocating pain and pleasure, but he held you in place until the sixth orgasm left you sprawled, loose-limbed, eyes dazed.
“That’s it, baby,” he crooned, standing up and raising your knees to your chest. You hadn’t the strength to move where he wanted, but he was more than happy to manhandle your pliant, soft body.
Your eyes fluttered open when he notched the fat head of his cock at your entrance, only to roll back and shut again when he pushed into the hilt in one smooth stroke. You were slick, and he had stretched you with his fingers (another luxury you weren’t always awarded), but the sheer size of him never failed to take your breath away.
There was no slow, gentle sex with Joel. Only the rough, demanding pace he set immediately, hands bruising your already mottled hips. It didn’t take long, him having already spent once that day and your body in no condition to handle a long session. When he began to flood your cunt with his warmth, he reached down and pinched your clit, twisting cruelly. Your scream was loud but broken, rough with overuse, as he ripped another orgasm from you.
He slipped out and crawled onto the mattress, gently moving you up to rest against the pillows with him. “Open,” he said, tapping at your jaw.
You let your mouth fall open, not a spare thought in your brain, as he made good on the promise to wash the taste of his piss out. Reaching between your legs, he scooped up a glob of your mixed juices, bringing them to your tongue. You automatically closed your lips around him, sucking and licking. He repeated the motion twice more until he was satisfied, then pulled you in for a deep kiss, chasing the taste of both your pleasures.
It wasn’t until after he lulled you to sleep, brushing the sweat from your brow, that he pulled his clothes back on and crept out of the room.
Outside, his men had tied the injured sonofabitch around the wrists and slung the rope over a solid branch, his feet just barely dragging on the mud below.
He jolted alert as Joel approached and began sobbing in fear. Joel spit at his feet.
“Shame you didn’t bleed out already,” Joel said, drawing his finger along the blade of his favorite knife. The blood pooled on Joel’s fingertip, dripping down to his wrist.
The other man watched, eyes wide with terror, and began screaming around the rag in his mouth.
“I mean, a shame for you,” Joel said, with a shrug and a quirk of his lips. “I’m gonna have a real good time, though.”
*title from "There's No 'I' in Team" by Taking Back Sunday.
status: ongoing
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
summary: you're back from college for the summer, staying with your devout catholic parents in your childhood home while they order you around and try to keep authority over you. as an act of rebellion you ask your new neighbor mr. miller to teach you how to play guitar, but it turns out there's a lot more he wants to teach you. no outbreak, no use of y/n.
rating: 18+ explicit
warnings (for the entire fic): age difference (reader is early 20s, joel is mid 50s), inexperienced/virgin reader, loss of virginity, corruption, mentions of religion (reader's family are very catholic), praise kink, pet names (use of babygirl, sweetheart, darling, etc), dirty talk, masturbation, unprotected p in v sex, creampies, comeplay, oral (both f and m recieving), exhibitionism, size kink (and all that might entail; joel has a big dick, tummy bulge, etc)
I sat down and consumed this like Kirby over the weekend and I’m fuckin. I wish I had more words but this is nourishing something in me idk how to explain. 🫠 also holy fuck it’s HOT. Like insanely so.
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