i started this blog so i can share my worst thoughts about my favorite old men 🥰
be ready for uncensored thirst and delusion
my faves are: jeffrey dean morgan/negan smith, norman reedus/daryl dixon, joel miller (specifically game joel), captain price, billy butcher, kendall roy, & arthur morgan 🎀🤍
i also love anything aesthetic and have a particular liking for egl/lolitafashion.
my fics: (also posted on ao3)
Thank You, Mr. Miller (dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader)
Run, Rabbit, Run (low honor!Arthur Morgan x f!reader)
Taming of the Shrew (dark!Arthur Morgan x f!reader, mini-series)
RDR2 Characters as Green Day Lyrics and Part 2 (not a fic, I just don't want it to be buried)
Someone Like You (Dutch van der Linde x f!reader)
Sharing is Caring (Joel Miller, Arthur Morgan, John Price, & Ghost x f!reader)
Deja Vu (dark!Joel Miller x f!reader)
stepdad!Joel blurbs parts one and two
i love to make new friends! so don't be afraid to msg or interact 😚
I can't stress enough how badly I don't want to post this. I've been in tears all morning.
But it’s gone too far. It went too far a long time ago and frankly, I should have thrown in the towel eight months ago when this all started, but I’m officially done. I’ve stuck out months of cruelty, of stalking and harassment, of messages wishing for my death. Two weeks ago it escalated when anons began taunting my friends with mine and my fiancé’s personal information, and they’ve since shared that information, as well as photos, with the confessions blog. It’s not about my comfort anymore and sticking out the cruelty I’ve been enduring for months on end in hopes that _maybe_ things will get better. It is about our safety, which has been compromised, and it’s about my loved ones who never had any part of this blog and my writing, who do not deserve to be dragged into this. And I don’t deserve it either. I thought that by formally leaving behind the Pedro/Joel/tlou fandom the harassment would lessen, but it hasn’t. It’s clear that I cannot continue here.
While it is my choice to leave this blog behind, please understand that this is not something I’m doing willingly or happily. In many ways, I feel like this is being taken from me, and I am heartbroken that something that once brought me so much joy (and still does, sometimes) has been twisted and distorted into something so awful and insidious. I guess this is just the unfortunate consequence of what this place has become, the witch hunts the internet encourages. The confessions blog is a fantastic example of what it looks like to give into the ugliest parts of yourself and to make it the problem of everyone else. They burnt a fandom to the ground to the point that there's nothing left, and it still isn't enough for them because they are that fucking empty inside. What's laughable is that they think they're helping, right? I get called a woman who only thinks with her cunt and a woman who is just as dangerous as an abusive man for the fiction I write, but sure - take lessons in feminism from the blog that has spent months on end terrorizing a fandom full of women and queer folks. I'm rambling and this isn't new or insightful but let me just say this - if you contribute(d) to this blog and the vicious harassment of myself and other people, I hope peace never fucking finds you. I hope the guilt of what you've done to real fucking people, mind you, hits you like a fucking train and you have to live with the knowledge of the kind of person you are for the rest of your life. You've done to me and others things I would never do to another human being, ever.
I used to have hope that things would get better, but that was a long time ago. I don't know where to begin fixing what has been irreparably damaged, and I think tried for months to hold onto the shreds that I had left...I just can't anymore. I’ll still be on ao3 writing and posting. Over the next few days I’ll be sifting through this blog and migrating all of my writing over there. I really hope you follow me over there ♡
Thank you to everyone who’s made this special. There’s more of you than I can count and name ❤️ I hope to come back to this one day if things ever get better, but I can't count on that so I am kissing blog strang3lov3 goodbye. Keep being good to each other, kindness is never a waste.
I'm sorry this is happening. I don't like it either.
summary: overwhelmed at the crowded block party, you were thankful when your neighbor tommy, invited you on a gas station run with him and his older brother joel. the only problem is, tommy’s truck only holds two people and joel’s been waiting for his chance to get you alone.
cw: 18+ MDNI, no outbreak au, i imagined joel in his late thirties, flirtatious tommy, a brief panic attack, joel being a peeping tom, male masturbation, jealous!joel, non-con vouyerism, pet names, dry humping, gas station sex, dub-con, sexual frustration, raw sex, slut shaming, bicep choking, clit slapping, rough sex, big dick miller, breeding kink, overstimulation, forced creampie, slight aftercare
wc: 6.4k
a/n: first kinkmas fic! got a little nasty with my brain worms and couldn’t stop writing, i just miss summer and the heat so bad
Every December, as the sun would begin to drift down the horizon, most people would turn in early, choosing to stay inside during the cooler Texas nights—but not your neighbors.
Without fail, your neighborhood always figured out a way to celebrate Christmas early, planning a special celebration days before the holiday, the weather always turning out perfect for the occasion.
Usually, the temperatures would remain comfortable enough for light sweaters and jeans—but this year’s celebration was different—a scorching hot heatwave decided to come to fruition, seeping its muggy warmth all across Texas, the temperature particularly unpleasant in Austin.
You knew the sun would be baking today—the news alerted you of the rising tempers—yet it still didn’t prepare you to feel punched in the face by the suffocating humidity even when getting dressed, the sweat begun to pool around your forehead although you put on the smallest, thinnest clothing you owned.
Opening your backdoor, the bright sun instantly blinded you; the smell of booze and barbecue smoke sneaked up your nose as you walked out your white screen door to the backyard, the hinges snapping against the wall.
Thankfully you were just on time, walking through the soft grass, the freshly mowed clippings fluffed around your toes in excess, the strands sticking to your freshly lotioned skin causing your ankles to itch as you stride through the yard.
You can feel the sound of music beginning to shake in your eardrums—the country music booming out from the multicolored speakers.
As you approach the cul-de-sac, you quickly realize how crowded the block party has become.
Your neighbors have been hyping up this party for weeks now, an all-American, trashy way of celebrating Christmas, and if there was one thing people enjoyed most, it was drinking—always throwing unnecessary parties as an excuse to get shitfaced with little to no regrets, today being no different.
You were unable to complain as you imagined swimming in some rich neighbors pool, eating all of the free food you could muster and washing it down with expensive beer. Truthfully—that sounded like a damn good Saturday evening, and who were you to turn down some free ribs?
You could finally make out the lyrics to the end of the song that's played on your walk over. Getting distracted by all the people crowding the street, you almost trip over the spread out extension cords connected to the array of machines.
You didn’t expect it to be this crowded, the winter holiday was a time for families and cozy nights inside in front of the tv, but to your surprise—that didn’t stop everyone from showing up in abundance.
The strangers standing around the block weren’t dressed in the usual ugly Christmas sweaters, instead they shedded their layers for swimsuits and red sunglasses—you could only imagine how uncomfortably warm the large fuzzy Santa hats felt in this heat.
As you ventured further down the road, you stepped around the wooden corn hole setups and the booze spilt puddles, trying to find a good place to sit down and people watch, waiting to see someone you know. It was abundantly clear you misunderstood the popularity of the random celebration—the people going all out.
You watched in awe at the plastic fold up tables piled full with food, the lawn chairs and water inflatables filled the paved driveways, and the crowd? It was far too massive for the small space, hundreds of people spread out around the houses, their voices loud and slurred as they ran around rampant.
You quickly grew overwhelmed at the crowd, not recognizing any familiar faces, you finally found a safe spot out of the sun and underneath a tree. Leaning against the bark, you crossed your arms in an attempt to soothe yourself.
“Hey! Started to think you weren't gon’ show up.” A voice speaks, ripping you from your panicked thoughts.
Looking up in the direction of the noise, you see Tommy smiling brightly at you, holding a beer with his shirt unbuttoned. His cheeks looking flushed red from the sun, his freckles painting his nose bridge.
You go to reply, smiling big in his direction, but the grass crumbles behind him, a brown boot coming into your line of vision.
You quickly make eye contact with Joel, the man you always tried your best to make a good impression on, yet it always fell flat—him never bothering to start a conversation with you, no matter how hard you tried.
“Hey! Yeah-I um, I just got here.” You say loudly, yelling over the music. “It’s like, really crazy, I didn’t expect this many people to show up.”
You don’t mean to talk so much, yet the words effortlessly fall from your lips, quickly becoming overwhelmed with the party goers—and the quiet older Miller staring you down.
“You alright?” Tommy questions, raising his eyebrow in concern at your panic.
“Just…overwhelmed, lotta people here.” Humming quietly, you bow your head into the grass, staring at the small pale insects deep in the dirt. Joel instantly makes you start to second guess your actions just with his eyes—all without saying a word.
“We were just ‘bout to leave. Gonna head over to the gas station ‘n pick up some beers, you're welcome to join us.”
Tommy’s inquisition makes your ears perk up, more than ready to abandon whatever plans you had at the party tonight. “Okay, sounds good actually, thanks.”
Tommy looks over at his brother, yet Joel’s face remains stone cold. “Joel, you alive over there?
He doesn’t look at Tommy, instead he chooses to keep his eyes on you, holding eye contact as he lets out a grumble.
“You still comin’?” Tommy pushes, and you watch as Joel finally looks away from you, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, swallowing his spit.
“Yep,” he speaks, and you can barely hear him, his voice hoarse and raspy, his hand coming up to push his hat down over his eyes.
Joel stood there similarly to you, his awkward intimidating presence a much starker difference than his lively brother, Joel not bothering to talk to you.
It wasn’t that you were trying to irritate him, and you truly believed you’ve never actually done nothing wrong to him—but each time he’d stare at you, you were met with the same look in his eyes of pure indifference.
The same look he’s doing right now as you turned your head to look at him, his broad body standing firmly in place. His eyes met yours as he cleared his throat, cautiously taking a single step forward.
Joel knows you—well, he kinda knows you. He knows of your parents, far too old to pay attention to whatever their promiscuous daughter got up to.
He remembered the first time he met you, he was helping your dad replace his brake pads one early summer morning, his sweat dripping down his face into the collar of his shirt thanks to the Texas heat.
Bent over, he heard your flip flops clomping against the cement when you stepped into the garage, your voice sickeningly sweet as you asked your father for some cash to go shopping.
Joel peered up at the noise, his ears perking up your sugary feminine voice, and when he saw you? He knew you were it—a cute little thing, far too young for him, yet that didn’t stop his eyes catching on the flesh of your thighs hanging out your denim shorts.
He watched you stand next to your father, your eyes glazed with a hint of manipulation as you silently begged for the cash.
As he breathed in, letting the air fill his lungs full of breath he didn’t realize he'd been holding, he instantly got a whiff of your strong smelling perfume—the fruity substance just as sweet as your voice, he quickly grew dizzy in the large garage. As his sweaty hands stuck to the metal of the car, he wondered to himself if it was you or the humidity that had this effect on him.
Your father didn’t bat an eye at your presence, instead he smiled brightly, showing you his teeth, lovingly pulling you into his side. He balled his hand into a fist, carelessly messing your hair up with his closed palm.
Joel attempted to listen to what he mumbled in your ear, yet it was quiet enough to not pick up his words, and he couldn’t help his eyes fall back onto your face.
He watched as you giggled, kissing your father on the cheek, you thanked him loudly for the money, waltzing back into the house, but right before you closed the door—you smiled at him, the apples of your cheeks shining as your eyes crinkled, and Joel knew he was in trouble.
Less than a week later, on an evening where Joel came home late from work, he pulled into his driveway, the brim of his hat not helping in his favor as the setting sun burned orange hues in his eyes. As he approached the garage, something caught his eye—there you stood, twirling your hair between your fingertips, giggling at some nonsense Tommy was spewing.
Joel felt puzzled, his brother—and you? Hitting it off? He simply couldn’t believe it, Tommy was cocky and raunchy, and a girl like you wouldn’t be caught dead being friendly with a guy like him.
He felt a sour feeling tucked tightly in his abdomen, jealousy creeping itself up deep inside of him, and he quickly began to hate the feeling.
He was green with envy as he shut the truck off, the roaring engine coming to a silence, he stepped out his seat, rounding the truck to grab his paperwork out of his tool chest.
Joel could instantly tell his presence cut your conversation short, and when he walked up the pavement—his instinct was right, watching as Tommy gripped your arm, nodding his head at whatever you were whispering.
Joel didn’t look over as he brushed shoulders with Tommy, the action hard enough he stumbled, but Joel paid no mind, slamming the front door behind him.
Tommy causally brought you up in conversation that night, doting on how funny you were, the two of you having a lot in common. Joel couldn’t hide the snarl that appeared on his face as Tommy babbled on about his new connection with the cute girl across the street.
As if God was playing a cruel joke on him, Joel always saw you outside after that, typically with little to no clothes on, parading around your yard doing god knows what.
Sometimes he’d catch you outside next to his own backyard, swimming or tanning—you always greeted him with that same big smile, and Joel couldn’t stop himself from staring at you.
He felt dirty—and maybe he was, always turning around, hiding himself behind the white fence, swiftly adjusting himself in his suddenly too tight jeans.
He began to wonder why you never started a conversation with him and why it seemed like everyone got a chance to get to know you except for Joel, and that began to piss him off.
From that moment on, he constantly caught himself looking out his window, hoping to see you in the grass, ready to finally talk to him, but for Joel? The world never worked out correctly, and when he finally saw you out the window, it was a much different sight than he expected.
The clock rapidly blinked in the pitch black bedroom, the green flashing lights shined brightly at Joel, reading just a couple minutes past midnight.
Cursing to himself—he was exhausted, the long days and even later nights were starting to eat at him mentally, finding himself unable to fall asleep easily nowadays, his work schedule not helping.
Throwing the covers off his legs, he decided to get out of bed, maybe walk around the house and get a glass of water, striving to reset his mind from the unnerving task of sleeping.
Running a hand over his eyes, he looked over to his cracked window, the cool air filling the bedroom in a comfortable manner. Walking up to the window, he leaned himself on its steep edge, peering outside into the night.
As his eyes adjusted to the warm street lighting, he instantly caught something in his tired gaze, there stood you—completely bare, inches away from your own open bedroom window.
Maybe it was too much over the counter sleep medicine, or maybe he shouldn’t have had a beer after dinner that evening—surley, his eyes were deceiving him.
But there you were, your bare spine glistening in the soft light of your bedroom, the warm hues from what he presumed to be your lamp, hugged the curve of your plump ass. Your silhouette somehow appeared to glow through the closed window—even from hundreds of feet away.
Holding a white towel in your hands, you shimmied it side by side, delicately ridding yourself of the droplets of water that trickled down your body from your late night shower.
Joel’s heart fell into his stomach, his blood pressure instantly turning his ears pink, he cautiously hid himself behind the navy curtains.
Rapidly blinking his sleep deprived eyes, he attempted to rid himself of your image but it was no use—like each time he sees you, your essence burns a perfect cutout tucked away deep inside his memories.
He felt like a teenage boy once again, peeping on his attractive much older neighbor—yet this time it felt increasingly dirtier, you were young—too young to be gawked at like a piece of meat, but Joel couldn’t stop himself, feeling the same growth in his pants he's felt all week long, and with each time you being the cause.
Bringing a hand down to palm himself, his nostrils exhaled the underlying tension he was holding in, feeling his cock jerk in the combines of his sweats.
Watching you was an adrenaline rush he never knew he needed, his eyes trailing your bare frame as you bent over, fumbling in your wooden dresser.
Joel’s breath stuttered as he gripped himself through the cotton, his dick rock hard at the sight of you, and he couldn’t help himself from pulling the elastic waistband down—his cock wildly springing up to his stomach, his typical pink tip reddened and angry.
Stroking himself, Joel watched as you pulled your panties over your ass, hiding the delicious view of your ass. Joel bit his lip, thinking of how soft and plush your thighs were, watching how they jiggled as you turned around.
Joel collected a loogie of spit, letting it fall onto his cock with a small ‘tut’, he rubbed it on himself, the wet squelching filling his bedroom. He pounded his free hand against the wall in a fist, the cool smooth paint against his calloused hand, but all he could think about was how you’d feel on his cock.
Your unaware movements caused Joel’s knees to buckle, your swollen breasts now in his view, your nipples looking right back at him. He turned his view to your face in an attempt to not cum so quickly, and he was unable to tell your exact emotion spread across your face, yet your features were much softer alone in the relaxing moonlight.
Raising your arms, you quickly scrambled into a cut-off white tank top, the hem tickling right under your breasts. The covering was incredibly thin—so thin Joel could see the outline of your pebbled nipples.
He began to feel disappointed, the show ended as quickly as it started, but Joel was so enamored by you—and he could feel his balls tightening, growing increasingly close to his release.
His hand was rapid against his cock, pumping it as fast as he could, the motion burned deep in the muscles of his inner thighs but then—he saw it, your eyes looking over in the direction of his house.
You looking in his direction caused his hips to buck in his hand, you none the wiser; had no idea someone was watching you—touching themselves at your naked body.
The concept was so juvenile and dirty, it caused Joel to cum hard and fast, his cum spurting down his hand, making a mess of his sweatpants.
After an outfit change, Joel finally slept well that night, dreaming about you, and when he finally could get his hands on you.
You think he’s going to finally say something to you—finally address you like you mean something, but instead, he pivots his movements—his boots kicking up a small mountain of dirt as he turned around, heading over to the parked truck.
You could tell Tommy’s teasing was beginning to effect Joel, his jaw ticking each time Tommy opened his mouth, the bones tightening in his face so strongly, the tenseness spreading to his neck, highlighting his veins.
“We takin’ my truck?” Joel questions, the first time he’s really spoken up in front of you today.
“Nope,” Tommy responds quickly, his lips popping the ‘p’ sound. “Gotta take mine, was gonna fill up my tank, ‘s almost about on empty."
Joel shivered at the inclination, Tommy’s truck couldn’t fit the three of you, hell—it could barely fit him and Tommy. The red two-seater truck was old and cluttered, the middle console so tall it could barely squeeze a second body in, let alone three.
“Ain’t enough seats for three.” Joel grumbles, furrowing his eyebrows.
You look at Tommy, his lips spread into a smug smile, and back at Joel—his face ghostly white at the idea of having to take you with them.
“Where am I supposed to sit?” You question, butting in their brotherly conversation with a curious glint in your eyes.
Tommy pats your hip, wiggling his eyebrows. “Hey that’s alright, me n you can share a seat.”
Joel blinks hard at Tommy, watching how he raises his eyebrow at you, his lip curled into a cocky smirk. There’s no way in hell Joel is going to let that happen.
“No chance I’m driving your truck, last time I did the tire fell off the axle.” Joel blurts out, his words charged in dominance.
Tommy sighs at Joel, staring at him with the knowing brotherly look in his eyes you can’t quite decipher.
“Then how about yall share the passenger seat then, just a couple minutes away, shouldn’t be too big of a deal right?”
Joel gets into the truck first, his boots flicking up the dirt stuck to the running board, his knuckle gripping the handrail with a groan.
He adjusts his legs against the floorboards, graciously giving you enough room as he spreads them wide, your own personal seat for the next uncomfortable sweaty minutes.
Shakily, you mimic his movements, grabbing onto the hand rail, you yank yourself up into the truck, clumsily landing in between his open thighs.
The position wasn’t terrible, you just felt awkward—sitting on a man’s lap who’s barely ever uttered a word to you made you feel funny, you could feel the clammy sticky skin of your lower back against his forearms, the uncomfortable situation already beginning to swirl deep inside your belly.
Bump.
Bump.
Bump.
Tommy should have told you he was taking the backroads, the terrain uneven and filled with potholes.
It was growing impossible to hold still on top of Joel’s lap, each time the truck plowed into a pothole—you couldn’t control your movements, your ass rubbing directly in between Joel’s legs, the friction driving straight into his cock.
You tried to force your weight into the balls of your feet in an attempt to relieve the tension on Joel—but it was impossible, each time you’d go over a hump in the ground, you’d end up right where you started, directly on his clothed cock.
You could tell it was affecting him by the way his hands flew down onto each side of your hips, gripping the flesh in his palms. His big hands held you so tightly his fingertips were sure to leave bruises in the soft flesh.
The short ride seemed much longer with Joel pressed against you like this. Arching your back—you could feel the outline of his cock against the inside of your thigh, the large imprint poking into your ass.
You tried to distract yourself from the tense situation, focusing on the dirty floor, the build up of sawdust so strong it ticked your nose, but you were unable to stay focused—especially when Joel’s hands swallowed your waist so easily, you caught yourself tracing his veins with your eyes.
“Tommy, outta all the ways you coulda went, why the hell you’d pick this one?” Joel questions, his gravely voice vibrating behind you.
Joel can feel you let out a shaky sigh against him, your back moving against his belly.
If you could only hear what Joel was thinking, or—what his dick is thinking, you’d probably scramble off of him, hell—you’d probably ride back home in the trunk with the metal tool box, far away from his perverted self.
“You saw how busy the street was, ain’t no way I was drivin’ through that fuckin’ crowd.” Tommy bites back, and you can’t help the feeling in your gut of nervousness, maybe you shouldn’t have come along with them, the air in the truck suddenly feeling suffocating.
In an attempt to get some fresh air, your arm reaches over to the passenger side door, pushing your finger down onto the window button, you hear it screech as it rolls down, the warm wind beginning to blow your hair back.
Catching a glimpse out the open window, the hot air flows into the truck as you stare blankly into the open fields, watching the sun begin to dip below the horizon.
But one particular swerve of the car causes your body to jump in the air, and as you land down against Joel’s legs you see him staring at your face through the passenger side mirror.
He looked angrier than the last time you saw his face, his lips pursed into a tight line, the irises of his eyes deepened into a dark black—frustratingly staring directly into his target—you.
Joel wasn’t holding up well, your ass feeling much better against him than he could ever imagined, and oh was he was growing mad— his body furious at how oblivious you seemed to the situation, he was sure that you were purposely rubbing yourself on him in an attempt to rile him up, and Joel was seconds away from snapping.
Joel angled his hips in such a way to feel the space where your thighs met between your cunt, the feeling instantly gratifying—your weight snug against his dripping cock.
The feeling made him quickly grow dizzy, and he could smell your sugary perfume mixing into your sweat—the smell causing his tastebuds to wetten.
He watched how your face seemed scared and uncomfortable, your wide eyed gaze staring back into his through the mirror made him want to take you right there in front of Tommy—that will show him, show him who you’ve belonged to this whole time.
The idea of taking you now, slipping his cock out of his jeans and pushing your panties to the side was a wet dream for another night fisting his cock alone.
Joel was too focused right now, remaining calm with your body on him in the tight angle—the gravel under the tires vibrating your ass onto his dick.
The heat omitting from your barely covered cunt seeped through the denim of his pants, you continuously tried to take your ass of his cock, yet the movement causes your skirt to raise up your thick thighs, placing your thinly veiled pussy right onto his cock, and he could ever so slightly feel the pulsating squeezes from your cunt.
Tommy remains completely oblivious to what’s occurring beside him, humming to the song that plays low on the radio and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.
As the truck finally pulled into the gas station, Joel couldn’t help himself from “accidentally” pushing his hips up into yours, and he couldn’t hide his chuckle that slipped from his throat when he heard a small squeak slip past your own lips.
You couldn’t wait for Tommy to unlock the truck, pushing the button yourself—you peeled off Joel and out of the truck quickly standing on your wobbly legs, desperately trying to get yourself out of the uncomfortable situation.
“Gonna go use the restroom,” mumbling, you tucked your arms over your chest, staring back down at the beige gas station pavement.
The lights from the sign buzzed in your ears as you waltzed over to the glass door, pushing your body into it, the bell rang as you walked inside, heading straight to the only bathroom at the back of the store.
Joel watched your hips bounce while you ran away from him, and Joel wasn’t going to let you get the chance to slip away once again. He’s been waiting on this moment for far too long, a chance to finally get you alone.
He takes one look at Tommy, mumbling an excuse about buying the beer, he hops out of the truck—following you inside.
The shifty bathroom smells of stale disinfectant and mold, the old rusted lock barley works as you attempt to wiggle it shut, a sliver of the isles still leaking through the small crack on the side of the door.
Turning the faucet on cold, you push down on the plastic soap containers grey button with your palm, fighting with the thick old soap that refuses to drip down.
Cursing to yourself, you bang the side of it, watching as it tumbles off the wall and down onto the floor with a loud shatter, the contraption busting wide open, pink slimy soap seeping on the vintage tiled flooring.
“Shit!” You curse to yourself, bending down to clean up your growing mess, you don’t hear the door creeking open over the faucet pouring water down the drain.
“The fuck was that?”
His voice startles you, jumping so hard you feel as if your heart stopped, you look over in the direction—instantly knowing who it is.
“What?” You question, wondering if he heard the crash echo through the thin walls, but your response only pushes his temper further.
Joel steps further into the bathroom, pushing himself up against the wall, making sure to actually lock the rusted door into place.
“Shit, don’t you look at me like that, you know exactly what you were doin’.”
Your stomach sinks further at his admission, the adrenaline pumping in your blood. “I-I didn’t mean to, I swear!” You exclaim, your eyes wide and desperate as you defend yourself. “Went to get soap and it fell off the wall.”
“What?” He scoffs, looking at you then the disheveled container. “I…I ain’t talking about that.”
Joel takes a step forward, the floor creaking underneath his boots as he closes you in.
“Fuck, you got no clue what you’re doin’ to me do ya?”
You really don’t mean to irritate him, even though he came into the bathroom you were using, you still feel like at nuisance, his aggressive demeanor making you feel small.
“Is this about the truck? You could have drove, Tommy said-”
“Don’t you bring him up right now,” Joel’s voice ticks, his eyes darkening.
You watch him in the reflection of the mirror slowly steps forward, his frame easily filling up the small bathroom. Squinting, you brace yourself—having nowhere to hide, the feeling of him brushing up against you makes the hairs on your arms prickle.
The lighting is hazy in the bathroom, the hissing green hues distorting his face, and like a hunter hunting his prey—Joel has finally caught you right where he wants you.
Gripping your hip, he pushes you back onto his hard cock, and you can instantly feel him against you, the denim tight from his swollen cock—all from your teasing.
“You feel that? Been doing this to me since you met me, prancing ‘round outside like a slut, never payin’ me any fucking attention.”
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you watch as he bends your spine down lower, forcing you to arch your back. Your shirt lifts up at the position, feeling the cold porcelain on the freed skin of your belly.
Joel absentmindedly grinds his cock into your ass, watching every quirk of your face through the mirror. He feels bad for what he’s about to do, but you’ve been teasing him for far too long and a man can only take so much.
“All on purpose right? Trying to get me riled up? Well shit it’s working.” He spits, his words like venom, and in some sick way—you feel your wet cunt get even slicker, rolling your hips back into his, meeting his movements.
“Answer me.” Joel orders, his tongue clicking.
He slides his free hand up your spine, and you can feel his calloused fingers twitch ever so slightly through the material of your top.
His hand travels up towards your head, his fingertips grazing the hairs nestled at the nape of your neck. His hand coasts around to your face, his palm resting snugly against your chin, he forces you to stare back at him in the cracked mirror.
“Yes I-yes, ‘s all on purpose. ‘m sorry,” you manage to choke out, giving into his sick game, his cock feeling too good against your covered pussy.
“You ain’t sorry, actin’ all sweet, ‘s an act ain’t it?” Joel whispers into your ear, bending his body weight onto you.
His belly crushes your frame, unable to breathe as your chest is pressed so deep into the sink, you can smell the fruity soap swirling deep downwards the drain, yet you remain focused on him, your eyes meeting his.
“Yes, been wanting you Joel, just too scared to talk to you.”
“Yeah? Things ‘bout to be real scary, shoulda been good, spoken up in the first place.” Joel scoffs, finally pulling himself off your body.
The hand that remains on your side comes down the hem of your skirt, he has you believing he’s going to pull it off, but he doesn’t bother—instead pushing the flimsy fabric up past your hips, he uncovers your cunt, barely confined inside of your cotton panties.
“All it took was one word,” Joel mumbles, more so to himself as he throws his head down against his chest, fumbling with his belt buckle.
“Woulda took ya out, nice dinner.”
You can hear the metal of his zipper pulling against the grain of teeth, the denim brushing in his hands as he yanks them down to his knees.
“Took ya back to mine and fucked ya real nice ‘n slow.” Joel hisses, and you can tell it’s from his cock hitting the cold air from behind you, even though he’s not focused on your face, your me focused on his, watching him as if smoke will erupt from his ears in anger.
“It’s a shame, taking such a pretty thing in such a nasty fucking bathroom.”
He finally looks back at you, his head shaking in disappointment, he takes a hand down to your soaked puffy cunt, pulling your panties to the side in such aggression, the fabric burns, scratching on your inner thighs.
“But you want that don’t you? A dirty fuck for a dirty girl.”
And with that, Joel pushes his cock into your entrance, stuffing you full of his thick red tip, the head already filling you up as you mewl, the feeling ripping your thighs open.
Your jaw turns slack at the stretch, choking on your breath; the feeling of his cock is incomparable to anything you’ve ever felt before. You were far from a virgin, but for someone this big and strong, your cunt couldn’t take it, squeezing down hard on his cock in an attempt to still his movements.
“J-Joel, you’re hurtin’ me.” You cry, begging for him to give you a chance to take him, yet he smirks at you in the mirror, his lip curling just barely enough you almost miss it.
He’s never heard a painful plea sound so pretty, and he hopes you can forgive him, but when it comes from your pouting distraught lips—he almost busts right then, before he’s even got the chance to fully fuck you yet.
“Good, need ya ta learn a fuckin’ lesson.”
Joel was telling you the truth, he wishes things were different—he would have loved to be a gentleman, do all the sweet things he’s telling you, yet Joel knows himself—he knows what he needs and more so what you can handle.
Pulling himself out of your tight pussy, he watches as your slick coats his dick. He shutters as he slams back in, your warmth sucking him back in; he grabs your hip to stabilize his movements, his thrusts picking up speed.
“Knew you’d be too damn tight, just needed me to loosen ya up huh?” Joel tuts from behind you, his cock ramming so hard into your pussy, you can feel the tip of his dick prodding at your cervix, the tight muscle aching against the protruding presence.
God, Joel feels obsessed with your cunt—the way you pull him inside, it’s everything and more he could have ever imagined. Your velvety walls smooth over the skin of his dick, so soft and wet, makes his legs shake with each thrust.
Your pussys quickly becomes a sopping mess around his dick, feeling him mold himself into the perfect shape in your cunt; he fucks you deep—each thrust knocking the wind out of you.
“J-Joel, ‘s too much!” You gurgle, gripping on to the sink so tight it begins to shake off the wall, you can see the porcelain's dirt-stained caulk looking back at you.
“Shit you like that don’t ya?” Cursing, Joel grinds his cock into you, his pelvis flush fo your ass.
Your hands react faster than your brain can realize, throwing your arms back, your right arm instantly finds Joel’s neck, pulling him closer.
Joel’s quick to respond—spreading his large hand over the expanse of exposed skin on your belly, he rushes his palm up the flesh, his hand rubbing your shirt off your chest.
The fabric gives at your breasts, watching in the mirror as Joel manhandles flimsy fabric off the fat of your chest, exposing your soft breasts—you watch him carelessly touching you in the mirror as if he owns you.
“Looks even better up close,” Joel breathes into your neck, bunching the fabric of your top so far up your body it begins to rub angrily at your neck.
The grinding sensation he’s giving you is too dull for the intensity you’re craving. You push your ass onto him—pushing his hips backward in an attempt to use his cock for your own pleasure.
Joel pulls back slightly, watching the way you take his cock all by yourself, the noise of your ass clapping echoing off the walls and deep into his eardrums causes him to shudder.
“Fucking yourself using my cock, lookin’ so damn pretty.” Joel coos, approving your movements.
But Joel has waited for this moment for far too long, and he would be crass to allow you to use him like this, he much rather use you—just like he planned
He grips you tightly around him, pushing his belly deep into your spine, his arm comes around your neck; his bicep sitting snug around your throat.
You let out a gargled moan at the new angle, his cock tilting itself just right it begins to rock fast against your g-spot.
“Tell me how good I feel, hell—can see it in your face, just how bad you want this dick.” Joel pushes, not wanting you to be quiet.
He needs to hear every single squeak out of your mouth, the need for your pretty little voice to scream his name would be a stroke of his ego he could only imagine in his dreams and he’s so close to getting it—knowing exactly what you need from him.
He brings the hand on your hip down in between your legs, pushing his pointer finger and middle finger on your clit, he begins to rabidly rub the bead, the feeling making your eyes roll into the back of your head.
His skilled fingers are too much for your body to handle, the feeling only intensified by the bicep around your throat, you can’t help but feel breathless, your moans becoming raspy as he holds your limp, fucked out body up.
He can feel your cunt fluttering around his cock, your legs clenching around his hand tells him you're close and Joel isn’t far behind, his balls skin tight as they slap loudly onto your skin.
“How ‘bout I cum inside ya? Make you prance around town with my fucking kid in yer belly?”
His words make your belly quiver, imagining Joel out of all people in town to be the one to claim your cunt as his makes you feel a way you’ve never felt before—his seed knocking you up in an aged gas station bathroom is disgusting—yet so satisfying you can’t help but moan out in agreement.
“Can feel ya clenching on me doll, shit-know you want it, want my cum inside of ya like a slut.” Joel babbles, himself coming closer to his release.
Joel cums before you, his girthy cock spurting thick ropes of his seed deep into your walls, you can feel the cum seeping deep past your cervix.
“Cmon, gotta feel ya cum for me baby.”
His words do it for you, pushing your knees together, your body begins to shake, your bones prickling with stars as your muscles burn. Your orgasm snaps through you like a rubberband, Joel having no choice but to help you stand up straight, your legs feeling like jelly.
As you cum, Joel’s hand comes down on your clit, slapping the puffy bead into overstimulation, you scream out loud, your knuckles turning pale on the edge of the sink.
Screaming, you thrash around his grasp, using both of your hands to release yourself against his angry palm, he finally lets off your pleading cunt, your clit throbbing in agony.
“Gotta take it out, ‘s gonna sting.”
Pulling out, his cum instantly falls from your stretched out cunt, the warm clear liquid seeping down your legs, Joel is quick to rip a paper towel, wetting it in the bathroom sink.
Swiping it up your cunt, you hiss in discomfort—although it’s a nice gesture after he abused your cunt, the scratchy surface of the towel burns the inside of your thighs, each wipe of his hand hurting more than the next.
“I’ll see ya outside,” Joel mutters under his breath, “gotta buy beer, ‘s what I came in here for.”
You watch as he zips up his jeans, the dark spot of precum dampening against his denim catches in the light as he walks out the bathroom, leaving you in your messy clothes, ass and tits out with his cum still seeping out of your pussy.
Confusion washes over you, and if you thought you didn’t understand him before—you sure as hell don’t get him now.
Being Price’s neighbor where you ask him if he’ll come with you to meet the person you’re selling your old air fryer to because you’re scared of being kidnapped. He’s had his eye on you for a while but hasn’t gotten the opportunity to act, so he’s happy to help you out and accompanies you to the empty parking lot.
Only for Ghost to show up as your buyer.
He stares down Price, annoyance abound on the parts of his face that are showing. He did, in fact, intend to kidnap you, but the captain’s gone and thrown a wrench in his plans.
Price is aware of Ghost’s intentions too. He turns a blind eye to the lieutenant’s unsavory activities because it doesn’t affect how he performs his job. But Price needs to make it clear that he can’t have this one.
Earlier, Price had insisted on pretending he’s your husband, so he slings his arm around you and tucks you against his chest.
“How much were you charging for this again, sweetheart? Forty quid? Better make it fifty.”
And that’s how Ghost leaves the meeting with an air fryer and no bird to go with it, fifty pounds poorer.
(But later down the line, due to Ghost’s incessant grumbling about it, Price will let him have a taste of what he missed out on.)
i wanna beg joel to slap me and proceed to cry when his heavy hands do it too hard🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️
warnings: fauxcest, reader calls Joel Dad, Joel calls reader kiddo/kid, face slapping, overstimulation, sizekink, dacryphilia, hint of breeding kink, hand kink, age gap obviously, mention of it being too much for reader, Joel is kinda mean but loving, he laughs at her a little, Joel is big and strong and heavy and reader can’t move under him, I need him so fucking bad holy shit
notes: a drabble a day keeps the doctor away! I’m sick in bed so I have nothing to do but write. Keep the requests coming 🩷
“Where’d you hear about that anyway?” Joel asks, his eyebrows raised. He puts another log into the fireplace, where a crackling fire is warming your living room. You shrug, your cheeks hot and red.
“I…didn’t.”
Joel looks over his shoulder, wipes his hands on his jeans, and gets up. He looks so big from your spot on the couch, tall as a skyscraper when you look up at him.
“You came up with that all by yourself, kid?”
You shrug again. You’re pushing it, you know you are. It took Joel weeks to finally fuck you after you begged him to, to see past the fact that you’ve been calling him Dad for the past six months, ever since you came to this place.
“C’mon,” he says softly, walking over to you and looping one thumb through the belt loop of his jeans. “Spit it out.”
“When you…took me on patrol. And we found that raider, and you thought he might have information on who tried to blow up the gate…you slapped him.”
Joel doesn’t answer for a couple of seconds, then he sighs.
“Kiddo, I tortured that man for information. You want me to stick a knife in your knee, too?”
You blush further, and shake your head, but keep looking up at him, expression hopeful.
“Christ almighty, you’re serious, huh?”
Another nod, and Joel sits down next to you, pulls you against his broad and warm body.
“You want me to slap your pretty face?” His voice is low and quiet, an undeniable tenderness laced through it. “Sweetheart, it’s gonna hurt.”
“I like your hands,” you mumble, and wrap your fingers around two of his, your thumb tracing the lines on his big palm. “I like how strong they are.”
Joel chuckles, and lets his hand drift up and down your thigh.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, kid.”
***
“Please, Dad,” you say, eyes wide, and Joel thrusts into you again, a low grunt falling from his lips.
“You’re too pretty to hit,” he argues, and places his hand on your stomach, applying pressure gently until you see stars. He fucks into you deep, and not gently, but slow. He’s thorough. Taking his time, pressing his fat cock into you until it’s on the brink of painful, his full body weight on top of you.
“Please,” you beg again, and wiggle your hips impatiently when Joel stills inside of you. He stares down into your face, his breath coming in huffs.
“You mean it?”
You nod frantically.
“You want your old man to hit you?”
A hint of disbelief in his voice, but something else, too. Anticipation, maybe. You know Joel likes his strength, especially compared to your lack of it.
“Yes,” you breathe, eyes wide and glued to his. He clears his throat, his cock still deep inside of you. You know you’re fluttering and squeezing around him, you can’t help it.
“Alright, kiddo. Alright.”
His hand leaves your stomach, he slides it up your sternum and over your throat, then grabs your jaw.
“Bite down,” he orders, “don’t want ya to accidentally bite your tongue.”
You obey, and he nods. Then his hand is gone from your face, and you close your eyes in anticipation, but Joel speaks again.
“Look at me.”
You do, your hips twitching upwards involuntarily. He chuckles at your impatience, and you whine, needy and desperate for him to start rutting into you again.
Then, his palm collides with your face, hard. The impact knocks your head to the side, and all the air in your lungs leaves your body with a wheeze.
“Oh fuck,” Joel groans, and his hips push you further into the mattress, as he tries to fuck you deeper. His brain catches up, realises he’s already all up in your guts, and he drags his cock out of you, then slams back into you. Your cheek burns and stings, but the shock of the impact is somehow worse. Joel has never fucked you like this before, so uninhabited and out of control. You register your own moans and whines, as you lay under Joel’s heavy and big body, and simply take it.
He slaps you again, and your pussy spasms around him, your body unable to keep up with all the sensations you’re feeling. You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, from the delicious pain, but also the sheer amount of stimulation. They roll down your cheeks, and Joel chuckles.
“I told you, baby, didn’t I? Y’don’t know how to handle a beatin’.”
He picks up the pace, his cock hitting your cervix with each thrust, and suddenly it’s all too much. A sob wrecks your body, because you feel so good, so much, because Joel is everywhere, and you can’t help it, you start to cry.
“Oh baby,” Joel coos, never stopping, “you need a break?”
You move your head, half head shake and half nod, and Joel laughs quietly, his body pressing you into the mattress as he thrusts in and out of you.
“How about you come for me, see if you feel better then? All wound up, kiddo.”
“Yeah,” you breathe, your hand digging into Joel’s biceps.
“Yeah,” he agrees, “you just let go, sweetheart.”
And you do. It feels like your whole body tenses up, and you whine, as Joel presses his cock into you repeatedly. Erratically, your hips move upwards to meet his, but it doesn’t matter you’re not meeting his thrusts, he’s too strong anyway. Just keeps fucking into you, as you twitch around him, your eyes wide but unseeing.
He almost never comes at the same time as you. He likes to wait it out, watch you twitch from the overstimulation. But today he grunts as soon as you’re done, and you feel his thick ropes of seed spill deep into you, your hands going limp with satisfaction and sliding down his arms.
“There ya go, kiddo,” Joel mutters, his cock still spurting and twitching inside of you. “There you go.”
His movements still, and he’s breathing heavily, his heavy body resting on top of you. It’s hard to breathe, but you don’t mind it, your eyes fluttering closed. You’re exhausted, satisfied, plugged up with Joel’s cock, and used. His lips find your cheek, and you make a soft, satisfied sound.
Tags - smut, the gentlest noncon/dubcon situation, hatefuck adjacent, enemies to lovers aww ♡, rick gets you off and you can't stand it, sexual frustration, oral sex, little bit of forced orgasm action, unprotected piv, creampie. 2.3k words
A/N - to piss off the love of my life @cvntoid
It’s been hours that you’ve been going at this, huh?
The soft linen sheets are warm and sticking to your body, dampened by your sweat and your arousal. You’re getting pretty desperate now, aren’t you? Biting down on your lip to quiet your cries, and those tears running down your cheeks are hot and sticky, falling into your temples and hairline. Your clit’s all swollen and aching, and both of your hands are beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts as you frantically fuck yourself, aching for that release. And it’s just not happening.
Such is life sometimes. It’s just how you’re wired, just your nature. There are days that you can spend hours fucking yourself, happily cumming over and over and over on your own fingers. And there are nights like this one’s shaping up to be where you go to bed hungry, starved. All pissed off and wound up, humping the mattress but nothing comes of it. The waste of time and energy makes you frustrated, doesn’t it?
You could…you could swallow your pride and ask Rick, you know. Right? Oh, you have to know you could. But you fucking hate him, and that’d be against the Rules. Those arbitrary rules of yours. He’s just in the next room over and still awake, undoubtedly kept up by all of your whimpering and moaning. You’re not exactly quiet, anyway. But he’d take good care of you and your little issue. He always does, doesn’t he? He’s just that kind of man, the man who knows how to do things and who’s good with his hands. A fixer. A problem solver.
Rick doesn’t give much of a shit about what you do like or don’t like - and he certainly does not care about your opinion of him. Makes zero difference at all to the man. He knows what you need and that’s enough for him to be able to do what he has to get done. He’s got it all in his head, memorized in his muscles moving against you, inside you. His warm body on yours, and those thick, wrinkled fingers fucking away inside of you. He can drive his cock up into you real nice, and kiss it against your cervix to make you spasm and clench around him, maybe even fuck right through the tissue. In some painful, twisted mockery of irony, it’s like you’re made for him. Maybe you are, and would that truly be so awful?
But you, you’re too stubborn for your own good. Too stubborn to let Rick help you, to use the better tools he lends you in place of your own shitty, gaudy whatever-the-fuck multitool that nobody’s ever found useful even before all this shit. Too stubborn to quit rubbing your fingers haphazardly over your slippery pussy, too stubborn to ask for Rick’s careful, thicker, steadier fingers instead. And so you keep trying, keep spinning in circles. Your fingers are soaked down to your knuckles, the flesh all soft and pruned as you try hard to find your climax, only for it to be lost to you, buried somewhere deep inside that you don’t have access to. But you know who does.
“Fuck,” you hiss, tossing your head back and at the same time, ripping your hands away from your center. Your skull lands with a thud against the wall, the knuckles in your fist knocking against the mahogany end table next to you. Hurting all over, the tears are spilling faster. You feel so stupid and pathetic like when you’re like this, unable to figure your bullshit out.
You hear Rick’s bedsprings creak and groan as he gets out of bed, followed by his heavy footsteps. His door opens after that, and then there’s three raps on your door. Fucking Rick can never leave well enough alone.
He doesn’t even wait for you to give him the okay to enter your room, he just strides inside, standing bowlegged with his hands on his hips as he narrows his eyes at you sitting upright on the bed.
“Just hit my head, Rick. I’m fine. Go back to bed,” you sniffle, rubbing your sore knuckles.
“Sounded like you hit it awful hard. And it looks like you did somethin’ to your hand there, too.”
“Didn’t do anything,” you mumble, dropping your palms into your lap. Rick sighs and approaches you, taking a seat next to you on the mattress, silently noting how warm the blankets feel. You’ll never get anything past him. “Go away. I said I’m fine.”
“Tough. I wanna look,” Rick drawls, turning on a lamp. He reaches for your face and lowers it, and with his other hand he combs his fingers through your hair, looking and feeling for any swelling or bruising. Rick takes your hand next, running his thumb over your knuckles, carefully tracing each of the contours. You gasp when he brushes over where it hurts the most and quickly pull your hand away, but Rick’s grasp lingers. “I know, I know,” he murmurs, gently letting you go. “Why’d you hurt yourself?”
You shrug.
“Why’re you cryin’?”
Another shrug. “Because I hit my fucking head, so obviously it hurts.”
Rick gives you a look, knowing better, knowing that you know better. “Hurts, huh.” His hand reaches for your face and wipes your tears off with the pad of his thumb and then his knuckle, staring at you closely. Rick wonders if you’re gonna drop the act and just ask already. Mumble it in your shitty little tone so he can tend to you and put your ass to sleep. His patience for you is slim, worn thin by your attitude.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll bet it does hurt. Where at?”
“My head,” you snap.
Rick nods. “Uh huh, sure. Where else? Hand, yep. That’s right. What else is hurtin’ you?”
He fucking knows. Rick tilts his head and stares at you intensely, pointedly, his steely blue eyes seeing right through your act. Starting at your knee, Rick touches you gently, just rubbing his thumb back and forth. Your eyes dart from his hand to his face as he slides it up your leg, breath hitching in your throat as his fingers travel under your damp shorts, finding the soft flesh of your inner thighs all wet and sticky. “Here, maybe? Little bit?” he whispers as he tickles your dripping seam, then chuckles mildly, amused. “Poor fuckin’ thing. But you can’t be throwin’ temper tantrums like this, you know better. How old are you? Hm?”
You glare at Rick, trying hard to maintain your composure as his fingers tease you, drawing idly up and down your lips. You inhale a deep breath and exhale shakily, your eyes fluttering shut when you feel him at your clit, fingertips lazily ghosting over the sensitive part of you. It seems that he can’t lead you to bed, but he can still make you sleep.
“Take these off.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Yes, you do, and m’not havin’ the argument. Not letting you keep me up all goddamn night because you can’t get yourself off. You can take the shorts off or I can. Choice is yours.”
Rick gives you a moment to comply, and pulls rank when you don’t. He clicks his tongue and reaches for your hips, bunching the fabric in his hands as he yanks it down your legs, ignoring your complaints and protesting. He takes off your shirt next, then his own clothes. “Open up, lemme see.”
“Rick, get the fuck away–”
He blocks your kicking and thrashing - not that you’re even fighting especially hard, anyway. He knows it’s all for show. Keeping up appearances, but for whom? Does any of it really matter when his cock is deep inside you, reaching places nobody else ever has? Making you feel things you can’t even make yourself feel?
And he forces you open all the same, which on some level means..you kind of want it, don’t you? Want Rick. Or at least, you don’t want it bad enough to fight against it any harder than a tantruming child. Rick gets a look at your swollen cunt, glistening and nearly visibly throbbing. “Lie back,” he demands in a soft tone. “Do it now. Not askin’ you twice.”
Rick loves the way you roll over so easily. You fall back onto your smushed pillows and are pulled closer to Rick by your hips, his fingers pressing hard into your skin. He begins with kisses, soft licks against your inner thighs. He’s thoughtful, takes his time. He’s no brute here, but he could be if he wanted to. He could tear into your flesh with his sharp teeth, and maybe one day he just might. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.
He licks you from the bottom of your cunt to the very top, looking at you through his brows. You’re so quiet all of a sudden, huh? Grasping at the sheet with your left hand, right hand twitching a little, and what a neat little idiosyncrasy that is. He’s noticed it before. And there’s other things about you too, like the specific way you moan. Almost like you’re aching and in pain, and in many ways you are. Or your stupid little gasps, those sharp, shivery inhales when he kisses on your ear when you’re at your very closest.
Rick sucks your clit into his mouth, holding you still as you squirm. You’re a sensitive fucking thing, and he knows that it’s all too much to feel his whiskered lips around your clit, tongue flicking directly at the little ball of nerves. You really don’t take much at all, and never have.
He slides two fingers into you, curling them repeatedly, stroking that place that makes you see stars. Rick feels you clench around his knuckles and listens to you moan in time with those tiny bursts of internal pleasure you feel, and how special is it that Rick of all people is here to experience it with you? To bring you to that point, push you away and pull you back all over again. And it’s all at Rick’s hands, how about that?
You whine when Rick pulls away from you, trembling when he kisses up your soft stomach and between the valley of your breasts, all the way up to your jaw. You smell yourself on his beard and taste yourself on his tongue when he kisses you, one of his hands above your head as he pumps his cock with the other. Rick nudges your thighs apart and whispers against your ear, lowering his hips.
“I fucking - I don’t fucking like you.”
“Found your voice again, huh.”
You exhale shakily as Rick drags the thick head of his cock through your wet and puffy folds and lingers at your entrance. “This - it does’t mean–”
“Oh, jus’ shut the fuck up,” Rick groans, taking your breath away as he slides into you in one swift, fluid thrust. It’s not particularly harsh or fast, but it’s enough to quiet you, to remind you of what he’s here for. “M’so tired of you runnin’ your fuckin’ mouth at me. I don’t care, sweetheart. Don’t care if you like me or not, what this means or doesn’t. Just be quiet and fucking take it.”
Rick draws out of you, shifting his weight so he can cover your mouth with his wide palm. “M’doin’ you a kindness. Doin’ us both a kindness, actually.” He pushes back in, breathing out a moan as he bottoms out. “So close your eyes. Relax. Enjoy yourself.”
It’s hard to maintain your glare at Rick when he fucks you like this. Pulling out of you, pushing back in, dragging the tip right over the part of you he knows you can’t reach. Rick chuckles at how your face softens as you give into the pleasure, because what other choice do you have? No more lines, no furrowed brows. It’s just you and Rick, and your dumb cunt clenching as he repeatedly fills you with his length.
“Not so bad, is it? Feels kinda good.”
“Mm…mm-mm.”
“Yeah, it does. Hey - it’s allowed, sweet pea. Can be our little secret.”
Whether you realize it or not, you wrap your legs tighter around Rick, deepening the way he fucks you. You moan under his palm rhythmically, your eyes gently closed as he rolls his steady, practiced hips. He’s done this a million times before, but never to brats as stubborn and obstinate as you. And he knows you’re close - Rick’s rubbing your clit with his fingers, coaxing along your release. It won’t be long now.
“I feel you squeezin’ on me. I want ya to be good and let it happen. No more fightin’it.”
When Rick lifts his hand, you don’t hesitate to spit at him to fuck off. Rick lowers his face and kisses you, slipping his tongue past your lips to tease your own. Oh, you’re a sucker for that, you romantic little thing. Daddy’s happy to provide you with your little fairy-tale ending if that’s what it takes to get you to surrender, to behave. You moan into Rick's mouth as you cum on his cock, subconsciously pulling him closer, needing him deeper inside. He bruises your cervix with his every thrust, and the pulsing of your walls spurs on his own release, in turn intensifying yours. You can feel Rick filling you up with his hot, milky spend, ribbon after ribbon painting your insides and leaking out, dripping onto the already dampened sheets. Oh, what a mess.
Rick pulls out of you and leaves you lying naked on the bed, your thighs trembling and your breaths unsteady. He dresses himself in the low light and bends over you to lay a kiss against your forehead, turning out the light at the same time. “Get to bed.”
if you enjoyed please reblog with some nice thoughts :)
okay i’m gonna say it: fandoms are kinda dying on tumblr, and they’re starving because nobody reblogs anymore.
like… i don’t wanna be that person but be for real?? likes are cute and all but they do nothing for creators. ZERO. NADA. a reblog is literally the oxygen mask keeping this blue hellsite alive. you say you “love” a fic, an edit, a gifset? then BABES… reblog it. boost it. let it breathe.
half the time creators are out here pouring their entire soul, spine, AND three vertebrae into something just for it to get 200 likes and 3 reblogs, two of which are their own. that’s why people stop posting. that’s why fandoms feel empty. content doesn’t magically fall from the sky — it comes from people who feel seen.
and i promise you: reblogging is free. it costs you like 0.2 seconds and suddenly you’re personally responsible for keeping a whole fandom alive. congrats!! so yeah. if you like something? reblog it. scream in the tags. yell. keyboard smash. put sparkles. do whatever. just don’t let creators feel like they’re shouting into a void.
reblogs feed creators. reblogs keep fandoms thriving. reblogs literally save lives (okay maybe not literally but u get it).
support the creators you love !!!!!! or else we’re all gonna be sitting in empty tags like clowns.
