Ficklepickle

Negan had Carl pulled over his lap, squirming and pretending to put up more of a fight than what was worth. He was seething, tired of the attitude, tired of his mouth. Good for nothing but sucking cock and spitting vinegar, not that Negan really knew the first one.

“Fucking let me go, old-“

“You’re gonna shut your goddamn mouth, kid. Ain’t having it anymore, that fuckin’ mouth is what got you here, and I’ll be fuckin’ damned if I let you even think you can get away with being such a righteous little asshole. You really think you can talk down to me while I’m being welcoming and nice? And walk off scot-free?” The interspersed growls in Negan’s voice, leaned down and right next to Carl’s ear, was enough to stop Carl squirming.

“Never been goddamn disciplined before, huh? Been runnin’ around, acting like you own the place. Stops being cute when you’re disrespectful as shit.” Negan continued, barring his forearm over the dip in the small of Carl’s back. He pushed Carl’s jeans down, not his ridden up boxers, but he had to get rid of the jeans. What the fuck is the point in a punishment if the kid won’t feel a thing?

The jeans pulled down at his knees and Negan could hear Carl’s nails dig into the couch cushion.

“Got anything to say?” Negan asked, voice calmer.

“Fuck you-“ Smack.

The first swing wasn’t that bad, just enough to keep Carl’s attention, make him jump a little. Make his watch his mouth. Negan waited for him to speak, giving him a long moment, but nothing came. Carl thought if he played along, this would be easier on him. He was wrong.

Negan took his silence gracefully, giving a harder smack across his ass, over and over in the same spot until Carl’s breathing picked up against the couch cushion, a little shaky.

Negan gave him a moment before, again, upping the proverbial ante and swinging his hand down in flat, harsh strokes across his already reddening ass. By the end of this set, Carl was shaking and whimpering, squirming again and digging his nails into Negan’s thigh and the couch.

Negan pulled Carl’s arm back, pinning his wrist to his upper back and making him gasp as he added pressure.

“Pathetic that I have to go to these measures, kid. You’ll be apologizing soon, gonna treat me with some goddamn respect.” Carl scoffed, gasping sharply when his wrist was pushed farther up his back.

The next set was relentless, and the boy’s hips really fucking were lifting and pushing back while still jerking away and forcing his hips back into Negan’s lap. Negan just laughed and kept going, pausing when he heard a genuine sob.

“Neeg- Negan, fuck- Stop it…” He whined, squirming his hips in a small rut, and Negan swore he may have just felt something he shouldn’t be feeling from this kid.

“I don’t hear an apology.” He chirped, rubbing over the redness just enough to let Carl know where his hand was, earning the smallest whimper. Otherwise, silence.

“Have it your way, princess.” The older man growled, shifting for more leverage before absolutely just spanking the hell out of the boy. Originally, he was counting to ten for each set, but not this one. He didn’t count, nor did he stop, even for the heaving breaths and jerking hips against his thighs.

He didn’t stop until he heard the most broken gasped out groan, only just this side of intelligible to know it sounded like an apology, accompanied with a full bodied shudder from Carl.

Carl gave the tiniest, most pitiful noise when Negan soothed over the swollen, red skin through the thin fabric of his starchy boxers. He pushed his hips back into it, panting and keeping his face down.

The only confirmation Negan needed that he had just wrecked this boy was the wet spot soaking through Carl’s boxers into Negan’s jeans.

Someone: *uploads smut fics of my favorite ships*

Me:

Negan:

Rick: