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ghostlovesbaguettes · 4 months ago

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EHEHEHI GHEEVEVHWE. R DJWOQCWVEI

oh MY golly GOSH

WHY IS IT LIKE SO INSANELY… tasty? TO HESR HIM USE *that* NICKNAME??????? MA’AM THIS WAS FUCKING DELICIOUS

Catnap

Joel interrupts your nap on his thighs. (1.5k)

Tags - dubcon, pervy!joel, blowjob, joel jorkin’ it just a little, manspreading, napping Fic help - @beefrobeefcal thank you for giving me your eyeballs! A/N - for @toxicanonymity’s Manspreading Olympics. I realize this has only a smidgeon of manspreading but I figure better some than none, right? That’s the general rule of thumb with manspreading anyway.

On Joel’s worn, overstuffed couch, you find your eyelids becoming heavy as the old movie plays on an old CRT TV; the screen looks fuzzy and the sound is tinny. Joel’s right next to you, and unlike you, intently watching the movie. He pays you no mind until he feels your head gently fall to the side, now resting on his shoulder. He looks down at you and feels your cold hands wrap around his thick forearms as you snuggle into his side. “Hey, you,” he whispers. “You fallin’ asleep on me?”

“Mm-mm,” you mumble, burying your face in his neck to shield your eyes from the light pouring in from the window. You inhale him, the sweat on his skin and the faint smell of his soap. The wiry, graying hairs of his beard scratch and tickle your forehead. “I’m not even tired.”

“Oh, sure you aren’t,” Joel teases. He nudges you with his shoulder, “Why don’tcha lay down, kiddo. I know you need it.”

“Mm-mm.”

You’re speaking in just syllables now, low-effort hums and mumbles as your head becomes cloudy and Joel’s voice feels like it’s getting farther and farther away.

“Just a catnap,” he urges, speaking in a low and gentle tone, “Twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes. You can do twenty minutes. An hour or more is too much, you’d be waking up even more tired than you are now. Ten minutes is too little, doesn’t give you enough time to actually drift off into sleep. Twenty minutes is perfect. “Okay.”

“Hop off’a me for a second,” Joel gently pushes you in the opposite direction and gets up from the couch to adjust the blinds. He twists the rod until the blinds block out most of the light coming from outside, then sits back down at his place on the couch and pats his lap. “Lay down.”

You lay down and rest your head on Joel’s thick, meaty thighs, your face turned toward his soft belly, where you can see the trail of hairs traveling down his abdomen. You hadn’t noticed before that his jeans were undone. “Go to sleep, now,” he murmurs. He pulls an old crocheted blanket off of the armrest of the couch and lays it over your body, making sure it’s tucked over your shoulders and under your toes. Joel then snakes his hand beneath the blanket and tugs your shirt up your back to gently scratch your skin, lazily dragging his fingers up and down your spine. With his free hand, he turns down the volume of the TV. It’s not five minutes before you’re sleeping peacefully on his lap, curled up like a kitten.

When the movie ends, Joel peers down at you. Your lips are plump and parted as you breathe steady, short breaths. You look so relaxed, so innocent and peaceful as you sleep. Joel can’t help but to stroke your cheek with the back of his hand, push some hair out of your eyes. He chuckles quietly when he notices that you’re drooling on him, soaking a little damp spot right onto the crotch of his jeans. Joel uses his thumb to swipe some of that spit away and fuck, there’s a lot.

He finds himself staring at your lips, all wet and warm. He thinks about that warm, wet mouth of yours, how good your lips would feel wrapped around his cock. He sighs and palms his growing erection, massaging his member over his jeans. But it’s not enough, and Joel’s growing anxious to relieve himself.

Delicately, cautiously, Joel reaches beneath his jeans and pulls his half-hard cock out, not-so accidentally brushing the head across your lips. He spits into his palm and begins to stroke himself, sliding his hand up and down his length. But it’s still not enough - he’s cramped, limited like this. What he really needs to do is spread his legs, give himself room to breathe, room to cup and gently squeeze his balls. He spreads his legs and he knows he should be careful not to wake you, but his mind quickly changes. At this point, that’s his intention. To wake you up, slide his cock down your throat. He strokes his cock, deliberately nudging your face with it.

It works like a charm. You stir a little, brows knitting together before you wake up with slightly bloodshot eyes, staring in confusion as Joel touches himself. “Shoot, I didn’t mean to wake ya,” he lies. You sit up a little, Joel notices the indentations of his denim on your cheek. He rubs his thumb over the marks, soothing them. “M’sorry, kiddo.”

Joel continues stroking his length as you watch. “Oh, fuck. Goddamn,” he curses, then presses his thick, blunt head against your lips, smearing his precome on them. “Open,” he tells you, making the decision for you. “You’re gonna take care of it.”

He adjusts you a little, then pushes his cock harshly into your mouth so that you gag and sputter on it. “Ohh, I know,” he coos. “You’ll get used to it.”

Joel tangles his fingers in your hair, eyes rolling back into his skull as you take his length down your throat. He rocks his hips up and down, drawing in and out of your mouth. His cock has now stiffened to its fullest size, and you have to open your mouth wide to accommodate him. “Fuck, baby. That’s it, that’s it.”

His cock pulses under your tongue as he rolls his hips, doing the majority of the work himself. He can see it on your face that you’re not entirely lucid, with your droopy, glassy eyes. He fucks your mouth all the same, head leaning back onto the couch, a little bit of sweat begins to gather on his tummy and on his forehead. You let out a quiet, sweet little moan for him. “Atta girl, baby. Make some noise for me,” he grunts. “Tell me how much you like my cock down your throat. S’it feel good, pretty girl?”

“Mm,” you hum, nodding your head as your eyes flutter shut.

“Makin’ such a mess of me,” he murmurs. In your drowsy state, you’ve completely soaked him. Spit dribbles down your lips, down your chin, matting that thick patch of graying curls that surrounds his shaft. He fumbles around and reaches for one of your hands, then guides you to cup his balls gently. You squeeze them gingerly, rhythmically as he fucks your throat.

Joel yanks the crocheted blanket off of your body and slides his hand down your back, then tugs your pants down your thighs, exposing your ass to the cool air. His hands are warm as he gropes fistfulls of your flesh in time with each of his thrusts. He feels your tongue traveling along his shaft, tracing up and down that swollen, pulsing vein that climbs the underside of his cock, causing him to gasp and bite down on his own moans. “Oh, fuck. You take it so good, kiddo.”

He squeezes his eyes shut as he revels in the feeling of being enveloped in your heated mouth, absentmindedly pushing you down on his cock, then pulling you back up again. He’s losing his gentle touch as he approaches climax, but he can’t help it. Your mouth, your tongue. It’s all so velvety, so warm and inviting and wet. “Fuck, right there. Right there. Don’t move, sweetheart, just stay like that. I’m comin’.”

His fingernails dig into your skin, dangerously close to your pussy as he rolls his hips at a quicker pace. You’re whining, crying softly as he fucks your mouth. With a few more shallow, quick thrusts, Joel feels that warm, sticky feeling in his gut. His balls tighten and his cock twitches between your lips and he lets out a deep and guttural groan, emptying himself down your throat. You swallow every drop of that salty, warm spend that he gives you, humming when he finally pulls out of your mouth. Joel’s chest heaves as he catches his breath, and you press a couple of kisses onto his heavy balls. “You’re a good girl, baby,” he praises. “You’re so good.”

Joel notices a stray bead of his come sitting on your swollen lips, then collects it with his thumb and pushes it back into your mouth. He tucks himself back into his jeans, then helps you adjust to a comfortable position on his lap, similar to the one you rested in before. “There you go,” he mumbles. “That’s all better, hm?”

You lazily nod your head, “Mhm.”

Joel pulls the blanket back over your body, just like he did before. “Alright, honey. Go back to sleep.”

If you enjoyed, please reblog, send an ask, tell me your thoughts! Your kind words keep me motivated to write.

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ryansosilly · 2 months ago

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Could the sinner really be redeemed? Can he be saved or just lulled to temporary rest? Is peace of mind an achievable, realistic goal for the truly wicked by heart?

Nikto was by all means a good soldier. An unstoppable force once on the field, the only thing that could possibly stop him from finishing this mission was a bullet in the head, point blank.

As proof that he has yet to be stopped, he was still there, alive. Here and there would be a better thing to say. He couldn't keep himself down by any means of the word. All of Nikto, every one of them had differing views and nobody around him could really guess who they were speaking with. Only you. To your surprise it was not that difficult. The contrast between his different 'selves' was pretty prominent, it only takes actual care and to pay attention to notice. Something nobody else was willing to put. Of course, there were those mandatory therapy sessions Nikto was forced into just to still be deployed but they were nothing but a legality. Even his therapist understood that in how..broken, twisted of a man Nikto is, laid the true strength he had. Frankly? He wouldn't be 'Nobody', 'Nikto', if it weren't for the trauma. He knew it, they knew it, his teammates and therapist..nobody stopped to think further. It made everything simple for him.

But sometimes no matter how simple ones life is, nothing will stay the same. A change here and there, an unexpected switch, break, snap or trigger and everything goes back to shit. Nikto constantly needs to be knocked into his damn place. A wild rabid dog punched and kicked into place by the higher ups just for him to bite them and run away for a day or two. Childish, he knows. Stupid decision, he knows.

But he made him do it. Nikto wasn't at fault for running away.

It was a pretty damn unlucky time for that to happen. Everything piled up in his head, the voices being louder than before during a night at a safehouse. He has actively been going through a manic episode for the past days, he had lost track of it. Gripping his mask as he violently shook his body. He hated feeling like this but oh it felt so good.. his only peace of mind was the possibility of a death, of a redemption or some sort of magic potion to revert everything back to how it was. He couldn't handle this state he was in, so, to prevent himself from being seen like that, he ran away.

A stormy, rainy middle of the night, even the bustling highway had almost fully emptied out, leaving nothing but a foggy semi visible road with bright yellow signs. How did he get all the way out of the forest to the highway? He didn't have a clue but he felt so...good. The rational part of his brain was screaming that was a horrible idea!!! If they catch him out, disregarding orders and doing as he fucking wishes, he'll be in a really damn big trouble he doesn't need right now but the mania had other plans.

He... they? Who? Nobody was still in full gear, believing that anytime now, someone, or something, will come out and try to catch him, so might as well be prepared! A gun prepared in the ready as he stood in the middle of the street, staring at one same point. His body was still shaking even if he could hardly feel it from the cold.

Nobody was coming. There was no-one there, not a single car. That ruined Nikto's mood even more. What did he even want? Why would he want someone to catch him? Is that a game for you, Nikto?

Well, lucky for you..

As Niktos body started to give up from the unexpected rush of adrenaline and the freezing cold started to creep in to under his gear. No amount of gear can keep the cold out when he felt it inside of himself long ago. His legs freezing. To him, all of this had happened in the blink of an eye.

To you? The worried you? It has been almost 2 days. Nobody managed to find the man. Why? They weren't on a search. Only you noticed. So, doing the responsible thing.. you took an umbrella during the very next night of Nikto's disappearance and went out.

Weird, this rain hasn't stopped for days now? If anything, it's only getting stronger..

The umbrella did a surprisingly good job at keeping you dry and resisting the wind but your vision was still ' impaired ' from the neverending fogs taking over the entire street, maybe the whole city. This horrible weather hasn't moved and does not seem to be planning on leaving. Nikto found it fitting, you not so much.

Ah. Could you guess..

By the street, against a tree with an injured leg covered in dry blood lays Nikto. You found him. Slowly stepping closer to him, your grip on the umbrella remaining as tight as possible. If this was some sort of a cheesy movie, you'd say that Nikto might just be the direct source of this heavy rain and strong wind.

Nikto..Nikto?

In front of his eyes..from his very eyes, he could swear that he saw an angel, perhaps an angel of death, coming to claim him already. That umbrella above you, your clothes.. he could swear there were black wings right behind you as you stopped your steps right in front of him.

Eyes barely open, he took a deep breath, letting it out. There was no longer any little amount of warm breath showing from his 'mouth' as his body was colder than the very cold streets under him.

'it matches me' he thought to himself. Matching his heart. The heart that felt..ever so tiny bit warmer now that an angel as beautiful as you came to claim him. For once, he didn't want to fight. The dog did not bite anymore.

You spoke, spoke again and asked questions but weren't met with any reaction or answers. Was there a point in speaking?

Moving your umbrella from protecting you to being above the injured soldier. You weren't the one who needed protection even if Nikto may not view it as such. Maybe you really were an angel and he wasn't just deluded man who had given up to his insanity. Maybe..

Maybe.

Maybe..

The rain 'stopped' . It felt..a little less cold for Nikto. The only thing he could remember before passing out for who knows which time now was..how close you were, how..warm you felt just from getting closer. If he could ever believe his eyes again, he couldn't hope for anything but you in front of him until the end. Maybe it was just the mania speaking for him.

Maybe it was just the need for love, the need to be known, felt and seen that spoke for him. Maybe.

Before he could reawake and be greeted by the heavenly kiss he didn't think of being worthy of, he felt himself being picked up by the arms. After so many years, no matter your state, a soldier must remain awake. Calling him a light sleeper would be an understatement.

"Let's go back."

He could so vaguely hear your voice. Who..were you? [Redacted], are you an angel? A good or a bad omen? Why would you help a man like that? Did nobody teach you to let the weak die?

His eyes, once again, betraying him, falling back short. He couldn't hear your voice anymore. Only the loud loud rain that sounded like gunshots, deafening his already hurting numb ears. All he could hear was...?

Breathing..soft breathing. The one of a calm person. A person..not one that lives inside of Nikto's head. But someone else. He was being saved for once. Of course, when in the battlefield, he was brought up to his feet a couple times before, patched up but..never has he been saved.

No strength in him was left to think, to fight, to respond. He was at your mercy and instead of finishing the job, you took him 'home'. If he was awake, able to speak, he would be yelling at you to finish him off. You should've killed him when you had the chance. Were you stupid or just too soft for the army? Was he disgusted or thankful? Answers for which he couldn't think right now.

All he knew for a certain was that he wasn't alone and that everyone within him had involuntarily accepted your help. For which..as much as he hates it, he'll be indebted to you. He'll be nice for a day or two, maybe a week then everything will go back to normal.

That was the plan.

Oh..but the plan.. the plan was ignored, the mission unsuccessful.

He let you help him. Again. Again..again. and never repaid you. Every time he felt like he was losing himself, he'll subconscious limp to your room, his mind going back to that rainy night. When he was saved. He wanted to be saved. He wanted to be saved more than he wanted to be alive, to be alone.

Tonight, being especially tough on him. Everyone and everything was so loud. Earlier a bomb exploded so close to him, his ears were still bleeding but he refused to get himself checked out due to panic. What if he hurt himself badly enough to never be able to hear your voice again? He surely deserves it.

He 'deserves' it. He believes he does. Yet.. he is limping to you after the mission, shaky hands on the walls, leaving bloody prints all across it without a single fuck left in the world to give.

He needs to get to you. To the one who makes it ever so slightly closer to bearable. His saviour.

Stumbling down the halls, ignoring the nasty looks he got from other soldiers and just..focusing on the ground, his feet. Left foot, right foot.. he remembers how you helped him get on his feet so many times. Was it just something you did for everyone? Of course it was. Teamwork was a main thing for everyone here..yet.. you felt gentle to him.

Too gentle for him to consciously want to get close to. But now? That ' consciousness' was no longer there. What remains was only the broken shell of what used to be a man, a walking upcoming suicide, a living Ghost.

Closer to a zombie, a corpse that moves and growls in pain, he made his way down to your office. Once again, it was in the middle of the night. He got lucky that you took a night shift, finishing some paperwork. (Some of which, was meant for Nikto to fill but without telling him, you took most of the loads of work.) That's when you heard the thumping, the stomping and dragging of feet coming up to your door and stopping abruptly.

You spun your chair around to look at the door just in time to see it being kicked out open.

There he stood, once again, a broken mess. There was nothing visible in his eyes. No life, no ideas, no thoughts. Truly, a dead man. Yet, he walked. Walked..stepped right inside your room, walking up to you.

The desk was directly in front of the door with only the chair in between. Perfect set up for him if you ask. A simple room, he quite liked it. (Which was his excuse he used to justify sleeping in the office when you did work because you made his nightmares less worse just be being there.)

The silence was deafening, only the drops of blood hitting the floor along with the heavy sounds of his dirty boots that were muddled by a carpet making a sound. You understood, he understood. Nothing else was needed before he collapsed down on his knees right in front of you. One of his arms grabbed the armrest of your chair and the other one grabbed your ankle, pulling you and the entire chair closer. He was in no means gentle. Nikto didn't even think he was capable of being gentle. Maybe you'll get a bruise on your ankle for that grip but it was completely irrelevant.

His grip lessened immediately when he saw you didn't fight. Both arms releasing what they held as he rested then on your lap instead, his head laying down on his arms. From then, he was completely motionless. He could barely breathe with the mask on and in that position but to him, being close and not alone was far more important than any stupid amounts of air.

Your hand slowly put down the pen on the desk, making sure to not spin the chair around while you were putting the pen back on it's place. No need to wake him up now.

You stayed during his worst times. You stayed during his best. You stayed.

So, he'll stay. For an hour or two, he'll cry unknowingly. Most of his disfigured face could not even feel such sensations anymore. He needed you to look at him and tell him that he is crying. The water droplets were too gentle, too insignificant to feel against his bruised up, mostly skinless face. The face you still caressed so lovingly when you decided to help him. When you were nice enough to suggest him vaseline to make his face less itchy. When you cleaned and put on his mask.. a damn privilege for which you waited literal years to get. You waited for him. You were patient and careful. You understood.

How could he not cry?

A hand softly petting his back in a calm soothing manner. Ever so slowly, you leaned down to fully embrace him in a hug while still letting him let his pent up emotions. His ears felt muffled, his legs sore from running, crawling and hiding. Arms sore from carrying all those heavy weapons around, his face..his face simply just always hurt. Something always hurt. Mentally and physically.

But now? Yes, everything still hurt but..now there was a reason for him to want to make it stop hurting. To get the help he needs. His shaking only increased as you caressed him, eyes shut tightly, his teeth clenching, jaw sore. This feeling of vulnerability was sickening to the very core but his core couldn't be more glad than it was now that he got this. That now..he wasn't alone.

You weren't an angel, a god or a therapist but you were his saviour. His angel and his god. The one god that he could pray to and not feel betrayed by. Someone who heard his cries and helped. He couldn't be more thankful. Spiteful, hateful..so many conflicting emotions. Things he couldn't deal with alone.

He felt like the luckiest person alive. He finally felt like a person.

Nikto was no longer just a nobody, a killing machine. When with you, he was someone. He was someone. Someone with a reason to be. And treated as such.

For now, this someone will enjoy your time together. Worshipping the ground you step on for as long as you allow him.

The poor rabid dog has finally been taken to a shelter. Shown love. Shown care. Even if he still bites sometimes, he still has a home.

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