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Xuebing Du
Peter Solarz
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

@theartofmadeline
KIROKAZE
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blake kathryn
almost home
styofa doing anything

pixel skylines

Kiana Khansmith
Claire Keane

Love Begins
hello vonnie
Misplaced Lens Cap
we're not kids anymore.

shark vs the universe

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Monterey Bay Aquarium
trying on a metaphor

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@cadavercarcass
caineâ19ânovemberbabyâafab/anypronounsâinfp/intpârequestsopenâmasterlist
youâre so good at dark!joel. that fic had me scared in all the right ways !!!
eeeek! I love love love that you guys loved that fic so much đ
iâm literally begging for ANY sayid jarrah x reader đđ
we love sayid here, trust as soon as im back in my writing groove there shall be !
Hey babe! I loved ur truck driver Joel fic and it says in ur pinned post you have a master list but thereâs no link :( is it on another platform like ao3 or is it just my phone bugging?? Thx!!! :3
I don't have a masterlist currently but I am going to be creating one soon, it was in my bio for the future but I abandoned my account for awhile đ
âput me in a movieâ made me so fucking horny pleaseeeđđ
would you think about maybe doing a part 2? idk if this is like⊠too dark so iâm sorry if it is but maybe joel keeps her, is tracking her ovulation & breeding kink? or go wherever you want with it !!! amazing writer :)
AHHHHH THANK YOUUUU im glad enjoyed it đ€ i am hoping to get back into writing so if i get to writing a part 2 I will definitely implement something like that!
saw that twd quote in da bio⊠would u ever be open to writing for negan??
so sorry I've been gone y'all đ I could try small blurbs for him, I'm not confident in being able to write his tone correctly, but I am always willing to try!
your pathetic!joel was so HOT!!!! like what in the world did you lace him with??? if the inspiration strikes and you ever feel like writing more of that pathetic old man, trust and believe Iâll be firstin line to eat that up!!!
YETH MA'AM!!!!!!
I was possessed yall...
word count. 905
cw. smut, not rough rough sx (bucky manhandles you a tad), desperate/fear sx ??, bucky is brutally honest when he's scared, he calls you stupid once or twice but he doesn't mean it, teeny description of bullet graze and assumed death.
an. im so mad, I made a moodboard for this and it would not cooperate with me during drafting.
you gasped into buckys mouth, the little air left in your lungs knocked out as he shoved you against the bedroom door. his metal hand fix around your jaw, the other claiming the roots of your hair.
it was a simple mission: sneak into the party, find the evidence you had been looking for, and leave. get in, get out.
easy peasy, right? wrong
it was your own fault;you could admit that at least. the idea was to pull one of the goons away to give yelena an opening, deviating from the original plan. it was working; it would have worked if he hadn't seen your gun strapped to your inner thigh.
of course, it had kick-started a full-blown shootout, in which the side of your head got grazed.
only, from buckys angle, he saw a bullet go from the front of your head and come out the back and watched you drop as blood pooled around your (in his perspective) lifeless body.
which brought you here, getting the wind knocked out of you, his hands delicate near your head where fresh stitches held your flesh together.
he pulled away sharply, "lay down..." it came as a growl more than anything.
"buckyâ"
"now!"
he barely raised his voice, more so his tone.
you obeyed, eye contact strong as you backed up till the back of your knees met the bed, signaling you to crawl backwards as he began stomping towards you. you tried to scold him about getting on the bed with his boots onâyou were swiftly cut off.
"be quiet." bucky heaved, his hands gently but firmly meeting your chest to pin your body down to the mattress.
his fingerless gloves rubbed against the skin of your wrists as he pinned them, tensing his hands into fists for a moment before they traveled down your arms and back to your jaw, open-mouth kissing you again, his tongue meeting yours.
whimpering against his mouth, you brought your hands to his face to pull him closer. he quickly ripped away from you, a sharp 'don't' stopping you before he flipped you onto your stomach.
he was never rough with you; even now most people wouldn't consider his actions rough, maybe assertive, maybe. but the way he manhandled you now was so out of character, the stern tone of his words shocking you.
you felt him lean over you, chest meeting your back as he harshly whispered into your ear, "tell me to stop," you didnât, "good."
his hands both connected at your hip, grabbing the waistband of your shorts and panties before ripping them enough to shove them aside. you panted along with him, listening closely to the metal of his belt clink when he undid it, shoving his pants down just enough to free his cock.
he hovered over you again, harsh kisses planted on your neck and shoulder as his warm hand pushed the back of your knee up. he let his hand move to your core after, his middle finger dipping in to test the waters. when he was sure you were thoroughly soaked, he made quick work of fucking into you.
bucky set a desperate pace from the start, ignoring your little gasps in between near screams that scratched your throat. he didn't talk you through it as he usually would, didn't moan your name or any sweet nothings, and didn't call you his good girl.
when your head shifted on the pillow, laying your stitches into the case, his hand quickly came to the back of your neck and forcefully turned it back so your stitches weren't rubbing on the pillowcases. even with the anger he exuded, he took care of you.
your high didn't take long to build, and you could feel how his dick twitched inside you. he stopped for a moment, barely giving you time to whine when he pulled you up to stand on your knees with him. his arm locked around your front as he resumed his pounding. that was when he spoke.
"what the hell were you thinking? hm?"
"i-i.. i trieâ"
"you weren't!" he growled, "you were fucking stupid."
his mouth and hips were as unrelenting as the other, it shouldn't have made you clench like it did. you felt the vibration in his chest when he groaned.
"I give you an order, you follow it, you don't fuck off and do your own thing." he scolded you in succession with his thrusts, you could barely focus on his words, just the roughness of his voice.
you whined as you clenched around him again, a whimper falling from him afterwards. the rope snapped without warning and you shook against his hold, he followed behind you. his voice broke in your ear when he did.
bucky was quiet, not unusual, as he cleaned you up. undressing himself fully and tossing your destroyed shorts away, he held you to his chest.
"I saw you go down... and I just..." he started, you glanced up at him sleepily.
"I just, I don't know, felt like I died when I thoughtâ" his voice cracked and his brows furrowed, his hand on yours tightening.
you breathed out to apologize, but he beat you to it. "never fucking do that again, baby." he begged.
you just nodded, words dying on your tongue. he nodded with you, kissing your hairline as he exhaled like he was breathing for the first time.
coming soon... đđđđđ
requests are currently open for all characters, but bucky barnes requests and drabbles will be prioritized so I can focus on my new bucky series! thank you for your love and patience đ«¶
characters i love are tagged, but i am open to writing just about any character (male or female or nb!) from the following fandoms!
the walking dead (amc)
supernatural
lost (2004)
marvel
game of thrones
yellowjackets
note. I am most comfortable writing in the perspective of an afab and female-presenting reader. I can do my best in writing open gendered self-inserts if requested, but please bear with me if it leans towards femme. I also try to make my fics as inclusive as possible, but can occasionally make the mistake of writing more in my own pov as a white, able-bodied person. I write for fun mainly, to see fics I imagine come to life, so they are often in my own self-insert mindset.
please be understanding <3
hot to go
pairing. pathetic!joelmiller x waitress!reader
description. you're tired after a long day of serving, ready to close when a sad old man walks in. maybe heâll make it worth your while.
tags. smut, pathetic sad old man, he knows its wrong and wants you anyway, small talk, much!joel!, abrupt/open ending, needy!joel, limited dialogue. not dark joel, but he waits for like an hour late at night for you to leave your job.
word count. 3.7k+
an. this was ever so slightly rushed as my hyperfixations have changed from joel to bucky and I want to start writing a series I have for him, but trust it will be beautiful. also diverted from the original request but hopefully its still enjoyable! gif cred
You sighed gently as you heard the chime of the doorbell, the sound ringing a second time as it closed behind the patron who had decided to enter the diner half an hour before your shift was meant to end. It wasn't like there was an all-night diner filled with rotating staff down the road.
They had to enter your diner, which you had grudgingly agreed to cover on your one day off, of course. To make matters worse, two coworkers chose not to show up, so you were left to work the closing shift by yourself after the kitchen staff left.
Your feet throbbed with each step, and the uniform, which was uncomfortable but reliable for fat tips, dug into your waist where the apron was knotted tightly. A dull ache pulled at the base of your ponytail, and the steam from sizzling eggs and endless cups of coffee left your once-perfect makeup looking damp and shiny.
You turned with a wide smile that never quite touched your eyes. Tilting your head, you delivered the well-rehearsed greeting you gave every customer, voice dripping in practiced sweetness. After twelve hours of speed-walking and customer service voice, your brain was operating on autopilot, and it took a moment for the figure in front of you to fully register.
He appeared to be at least fifty years old, unless he had aged prematurely due to a difficult lifestyle, which you doubted. He was the type of man who had been attractive in his twenties and had matured into his handsomeness by the age of forty; his features were masculine but softened by gentleness. Silver slithered steadily across his temples and through his still-brown hair. His face had character due to its prominent nose, which lifted slightly when he gave you a half-smile. In contrast to you, it made it to his eyes, winking at you from the faint crow's feet at their corners.
After swallowing and letting your eyes widen for a heartbeat, you put the mask back on, smiling a little more genuinely this time.
âGood evening! Pick any table you like; Iâll be right with you.â From your position behind the counter, your voice drifted across the diner, singing an octave higher than your typical speech.
He nodded firmly, then slipped into a booth near you, his fingers neatly laced on the shiny vinyl tabletop. Breathing slowly, he looked around the vintage décor, not so much admiring as analyzing.
You washed your hands before approaching his table, carrying yourself with a sway that disguised your exhaustion.
âWhat can I get for you tonight, sir?â
The notepad stayed tucked away; instead, you clasped your hands lightly in front of you, voice honeyed as you addressed him. You felt a sudden flutter in your stomach as his eyes raised to meet yours and his brows arched subtly.
âJust a coffeeâs good for me, sweetness,â he said, his voice gravelly, worn with age and possibly a bad smoking habit.
âAny cream or sugar?â Ignoring your accelerating heartbeat, you continued speaking.
âNo, thank you. Bitter as this old man suits me just fine.â When your giggle slipped, a smirk pulled at his mouth, and his self-deprecating remark turned into a smile.
With a playful gleam in your eyes and a slight tilt to your posture, you teased, "I don't know." âYou seem plenty sweet to me. Would you like a pastry with that? The kitchenâs closed, but I can still pull something from the warmer.â
He seemed to ponder, gaze flicking briefly to the menu propped at the edge of the table before he clicked his tongue.
âNot sure. I can be a bit picky with my sweets.â
You tapped your chin and leaned an elbow against the booth's divider, creating a playful tilt in your posture.
âWell, our special today," yesterday technically, you thought, "is classic American cherry pie.â
His eyes sparked at the mention; the lines at the corners deepened, though the thought tugged at something nostalgic. "Oh⊠please donât tempt me.â
You laughed softly, straightening as you moved your hands to rest on your lower back, the sway of your hips betraying your amusement.
âTemptationâs half my job description,â you teased, lowering your voice just enough to let the words linger.
His shoulders relaxed as his fingers drummed absently on the tabletop while he leaned back against the vinyl seat. âThat so? Then I suppose the real question is whether your pie is as sweet as your smile.â
The quip caught you off guard, and heat rose in your ears and cheeks. You tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, hiding the flutter behind another polished grin.
"So," you said, tilting your head, "why don't we let you be the judge?"
He responded with a nod, "I suppose it's only fitting that I have a sweet treat when I get a sweet server."
To hide the curve of your smile, you cocked your head away from his stare and then looked back over your shoulder. âComing right up.â
As you walked carefully and methodically across the diner, the weight of his eyes followed. Behind the counter, you placed a slice of cherry pieâprobably a little past its primeâin the warmer. The scent of coffee lingered on your hands as you lifted the pot and returned to his booth to pour a tall, steaming mug. Before stepping back for the pie, you gave him a gentle smile and acknowledged him as the earthy scent rose in a swirl of vapor.
The heat from the pie permeated the plate as you carried it back. He took a deep breath through his nose when you placed it in front of him. His posture softened as a quiet sigh escaped, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to release with the exhale.
With a half-smile, he looked up at you after picking up the fork and turning it once between his fingers.
âYou always serve dessert with this much attention, or am I just lucky tonight?â
With your arms folded loosely in front of you, you shifted your weight onto one hip and grinned.
âDepends. Most folks donât notice appreciate slow and steady.â
âMm.â He cut into the pie, the fork sinking into the soft cherries with a satisfying scrape against the plate. "They're idiots then."
You laughed lightly, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. âCareful, sir; keep that up and Iâll start thinking youâre trying to sweet-talk me.â
He raised his mug in a small toast before taking a sip, his eyes never leaving yours. âAnd what if I am?â
Your laugh slipped out, colored by a faint scoff. Flirting with men older than your grandfather was hardly new territory. Half survival, half performance, it was part of the job. Watching a man who is well past his prime brighten from a little feminine attention can be endearing, but you've never experienced it quite like this.
He seemed to be seeing more of you than you were letting on, and there was something about that that made the routine act feel different. More like choice than routine.
He caught your laugh and smiled, his fork hovering above the pie. âJoel.â
You tilted your head. âHm?â
âMy nameâSâJoel. As much as I like you calling me âsir,â I reckon Iâd like to hear you say my name more.â His southern drawl tugged on something in your chest.
âJoelâŠâ You test the name's weight by letting it roll over your tongue. âCanât say I know any Joels around here. You here for business or pleasure?â You reasoned that if you had to work overtime, you might as well engage in some conversation with a handsome older man.
He finally lowered the fork, slicing into the pie with slow precision before answering. âBit of both, I sâpose,â he said, the twang in his voice rolling smooth as whiskey. He lifted the bite but didn't eat it right away, his gaze fixed on you as if deciding whether to give more. âWorldâs got a way of mixinâ business and pleasure, donât it?â
Your arms were folded loosely across your apron as you leaned a hip against the edge of the booth. âDepends on the kind of business,â you teased, but beneath the lilt of your words was a real curiosity.
Joel smirked around the fork as he finally tasted the pie, chewing thoughtfully before nodding once. âSweet. Just like you promised.â His gaze moved briefly to your hands before returning to your face. âDonât often get both in the same place.â
âI suppose not.â You let your eyes wander to the diner's glass, street lamps illuminating an old pickup parked in the lot by itself, except for your vintage beauty, a present from your grandfather on your sixteenth birthday. There was something charming about it, even though the gears were old and the engine shuddered. Not so different, you realized, from Joel.
You didn't hesitate when he motioned to the seat across from him and asked you to humor an old man. The next hour was spent sitting there, chatting aimlessly as the aromas of black coffee and warm cherry blended together. He grimaced as though you had cursed him when you mentioned that you preferred iced coffee, mocking you by saying that coffee was supposed to be hot. A warm flush rose up your neck as you struggled to defend your decision, laughing nervously.
Time passed you by unnoticed until you looked at the clock and saw it was 12:47 AM. The reminder brought the exhaustion back, and the mental fog that had lifted during your effortless conversation returned. Joel seemed to notice and began wrapping up quickly. You cleaned and put away his dishes as he left, leaving only a faint trace of his presence.
Closing the diner didn't take longâjust wiping down his table, double-checking the ovens, and turning off the lights. It was nearly 2:00 AM when you stepped outside. Your keys jingled, each step you took crunching against the gravel, but the sharp scent of smoke made you look up. A familiar figure leaned against his pickup, the vehicle still untouched. Smoke drifted lazily from the small ember in his hand, curling into the cool night air.
You came to a stop a few feet away, your stomach twisting. You'd enjoyed his company inside, but seeing him waiting for you outside made the hairs on your arms stand up.
"Joel?" you squeaked, trying to keep the fear out of your voice.
âHey⊠I know how this looks. I just⊠God, uh, this is gonna sound patheticâŠâ He muttered, scratching the back of his head and shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
You tilted your head while listening. Maybe it was foolish to hope he wasn't a creep, but something in his voice seemed genuine. You trusted your instincts and decided to listen to him.
âI really enjoyed talking to you,â he said, dragging the words slowly. âHavenât had that⊠in a real long time. Hell, probably havenât had that since⊠'fore you were born.â His calloused hand rubbed across his face, brushing against the stubble on his jaw before dropping to tap the cigarette with his other hand. He took a drag, inhaling deeply and allowing the smoke to curl into the cold air. âI was just⊠I donât know, being honest. Figured Iâve got nothing to lose. Was hoping you might want to⊠humor an old man?â He let out a nervous laugh at the end, nodding toward his car as if to soften the request.
Your lips tightened into a playful line, trying to hide the smile tugging at your cheeks. âHumor an old man?â You teased with a low, sultry voice.
He gave a rough laugh, the sound catching in his throat, before lowering his head slightly and returning your gaze. âYeah⊠if youâre willinâ.â
You swayed on your feet for a heartbeat, feigning hesitation as you considered your "decision," then took a slow step closer, and another. You felt his gaze as his breath hitched, just enough to make your pulse skip. You had to bite down lightly on your lower lip to keep a giggle from escaping.
Your fingers reached for the cigarette that still dangled between his fingers. With a grin, you flicked it away and stomped it out, then lifted your gaze through your lashes to meet his.
"So?" you murmured, allowing the single question to hang in the cool night air while waiting.
He didnât answer immediately. Instead, the tension coiled in his shoulders, the slight shift of his stance telling you he was waitingâwanting. His hand hovered near yours for a moment, the warmth radiating from his skin brushing against yours.
Then, as if you had reached a silent agreement, he leaned forward, allowing his lips to brush yours in a gentle, testing kiss. It was soft and light at first, but it was enough to make your knees weak and your breath catch as you felt his beard tickle your face. You returned it by tilting your head and allowing your tongue to slip across his lips.
A strong pulse rushed from your stomach to your clit, and you felt your anatomy begin to pulse in anticipation. You let a foot lift ever so slightly to press your thighs together, but you underestimated Joel's expertise, it seems, because he immediately took note. And you knew when he began to grin into your kiss, his tongue more confidently brushing yours while grunting low and heavy into your mouth.
His hands reached out to pull your face closer to him, curling your upper lip between them before releasing it to do the same with your lower lip. His breath warmed against yours in the few moments between kisses, his teeth taking the place of his mouth and gently tugging on your lower lip. With a fleeting kiss, he leaned back, one hand leaving your cheek to reach for the passenger-side door, the other cradling your face and pulling you along.
It clicked open as he dragged you along, kissing you once before allowing you to enter the tall vehicle; his gaze followed your figure as he held your hand to keep you steady. He stepped in and immediately leaned over and reached to the side of the seat; his hand leaning on the head caused it to fall back, dragging you down with it. Joel crawled over you before carelessly slamming the door. His eyes softened when he saw you jump at the unexpected sound, and he apologized softly as he laid his body over yours.
He lowers his forehead to yours before catching your mouth again, your hand mirroring his as it cups his cheek. You can taste bitter coffee and cigarette, but there's still a hint of sweet cherry on your tongue when his lips brush against yours again. His other hand moves from your cheek to your neck, then down your chest. It stops below your breasts before it rises again, pushing one up as his thumb presses in between the space separating them.
His cheek scratches yours as he moves to your neck, leaving wet, open-mouth kisses on your skin. You tilt your head to the side to give him more access, shivering with a gasp as his thumb passes over your clothed nipple. You can feel his fingers under and alongside your breast press as he hears you.
You let your hand fall down his chest, to his belt, and eventually to the bulge growing in his worn jeans. It hovers at first before you press your palm into itâyou gasp as he groans into your neck; you can feel the heat from his cock through his jeansâit feels thick and heavy in your hand.
The hand on your chest jumped to your waist as he tightly squeezed you in his palm; his eyes were closed tightly, his mouth hanging open, and a few soft groans floated out of his throat as you palmed him. His face nuzzled your neck absentmindedly while he tried and failed to keep his hips from gently rolling into your hand.
"Fuck... stop, baby." His hand wrapped around yours and gently pinned it to the head of the seat. "Gonna end this 'fore it starts." He grins playfully against your cheek.
He pushes himself up to face you, scanning your features before lowering himself. His knees crack as they slide from the seat to the floor, and his rough hands gently pull your hips closer to his face. You used to enjoy the convenience of having undershorts built into your skirts for work, but now you did anything but that. Your hips twitched against Joel's face, his nose pressed into the fabric as he inhaled, and his lips kissed your clothed pussy. He licked a slow stripe from your hole to your clit, and as you looked down, you saw his eyes rise and his lips curl into a grin at your response. Your head fell back with what was nothing short of a whimper, your hands meeting his hair. Grey twisted with a faded brown, it was soft and thick in your hands. He kissed your covered clit again before sliding his hand into your undershorts' crotch from the side. His knuckles brushed against your damp panties as he grabbed and roughly pulled on the shorts. You let out a yelp as the seams tore, briefly digging into your hips before the cloth gave way. You had little time to react before your panties were pulled to the side and his tongue was inserted into you.
His nose brushed your clit as his delicate muscle explored your walls, the mix of your wetness and his saliva making squelches much louder than you thought possible. He shook his head a little and growled, sending a tremor through you. He did nothing to stop you from rolling your hips greedily for more.
You cried, "Joel..." as you clenched your fists and tugged at his hair roots.
He pulled away to exhale deeply across your heat, kissing it repeatedly as if it were his long-lost love. Every other time he kissed, his tongue touched your clit before his lips found your inner thigh, and his fingers moved to take its place. He spread your lips and watched your hole tighten around nothing.
"Look how fucking needy she is, baby... leaking like a damn faucet." His middle finger poked at your entrance while his pointer and ring fingers kept you spread. "S'okay, I can fix that." He muttered before wrapping his mouth around your clit, his middle and ring fingers sinking into you. You groaned as your back arched off the seat, the old leather sticking to your sweat-soaked body. As his arm began to piston his fingers, he quickly added a third, flattening his tongue against you. There was no resistance, only a grunt against your clit with each twist of your hips. As his saliva trickled from your pussy, his name slipped from your mouth. He drew away from you briefly, panting just a hair's breadth from your skin. He heaved, his chin gleaming in the dim streetlights. "Tastes so good, baby..." inside of He kissed your pussy tenderly, as he had done with your lips. He kissed you as a lover would. Each time he moved his mouth, your hips were pushed closer and higher. He allowed it, even appreciated it, and smiled every time. He withdrew again, causing you to whine. He watched you intently as your gaze fixed on his. "You wanna cum?" He teases.
You stumbled, nearly every thought in your head hazy, "FuckâPlease."
"Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll make you cum." He scraped your inner thigh with his teeth. "Gonna make this pretty pussy push all that sweetness out for me." He took his time returning his mouth to your center, dragging a slow groan as his tongue dove back in. His hands were on top of your thighs, thumbs stroking the sides, but he did nothing to keep you down as your thighs cinched around his head. He sucked down your arousal with every groan you were struggling to cover up. You could feel every hushed moan he made but couldn't hear. His facial hair needled your inner thighs, but even with your head tilted back and your eyes sewn shut, you could feel the heat of his stare. Your mouth hung open as he continued to pull every sound out of you. He seemed as loud as you were, and as he lapped at you like a thirsty dog, the heat coiling inside you grew. With each drag, your muscle would clench around his. He could feel them growing in quick succession, his hands gripping your thighs tighter as he breathed you in. You were unable to think; all you could feel was the touch of his tongue, the prick of his beard, and the vibration of his throat as it circled your clit. Your chest heaved as your groans grew louder and your hands tightened around his hair. "That's it, baby... cum for me," he exclaimed almost whiningly. "C'mon, let me feel it." What broke you was his pleading, your voice breaking, and your body trembling. Without any desire of your own, your hips attempted to flee as your groans blended with his. You stopped writhing and shaking, but he continued to move. The man's boyish groans cut through the flood of your pleasure, and his mouth continued to devour everything your body offered him of your pleasure.
As he ate your pussy, you gasped and panted, defenseless against his unrelenting mouth. Your moans turned to whimpers, and your hands pushed weakly at his head. Reluctantly, he turned his mouth to your thigh and pulled back.
"Feel good, baby?"His voice tipped into a higher pitch as he asked.
You nodded dumbly with a soft "Uh-huh.You felt him smile against your thigh before he moved away, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing. With a furrowed brow, you turned your head to see what he was doing. Your gaze was drawn to the driver's side door as he stepped inside with a groan. He turned and gave you a strangely tender look.
"You comin' home with me?" He asked.
You hesitated for a moment, the weight of his question settling in your chest. The warmth of his gaze made your heart race, and you found yourself nodding, excitement bubbling up inside you at the thought of the evening ahead. His mouth twisted into a smile as he exhaled deeply and started the car with unsteady hands.
I have a beautiful bucky barnes au series cooking right now đ if anyone would like to help proofread when i finish the first part, please lmk! I want it to be perfect đ
PLSSSS MORE TRUCK DRIVER JOEL WE'RE OBSESSED
AHHH YESSIRRRRYYY
I LOVE UR TRUCK DRIVER JOEL FIC!!! PLZ WRITE MORE DARK!JOEL!!! if u take requests maybe u could write about a female college freshman working in the diner for the first time, and shes all flustered while joel hits on her ^w^
THANKNYOOUUU!!!!! I actually love this, and requests are currently open!! I'll get working on it soon đ
put me in a movie
pairing â dark!truckdriver!joel miller x f!reader
description â you hitch hike to escape your small town, but the man that picks you up isn't the savior you initially see him as.
word count â 11,886
tags â dead dove do not eat!!! smut, noncon, age gap, drugging, perv joel obviously, body betrayal, throat-fking, creampie, forced breeding, what else is there to miss? oh, he spits in your mouth once. this is actually evil and entirely self-indulgent. read at your own risk. this is not meant to romanticize or promote the behavior written and is purely fantasy. THIS GETS SUPER DARK SUPER FAST, BEWARE !!!!
notes â this has been hiding away in my wips for almost a year, and I finally rushed out the ending. so yeah, kinda sucks near the end, but i was gooning writing it, so sue me.
You sighed sharply, letting your arm fall to your side for what felt like the hundredth time. The weight of the sun pressed heavily on your shoulders, the heat clinging to you like a second skin. A warm breeze teased strands of your damp hair from your face, a mercy against the uv rays. Tilting your head back, you gazed at the expanse of blue sky that had darkened in the hours you stood on the side of the road, your patience steadily unraveling like an old, worn thread.
How hard could it be to hitch a damn ride?
All you wanted was to escape the stifling monotony of this rundown, bumfuck-nowhere town. Where time seemed to crawl and every day bled into the next. There was nothing to do except drink cheap beer in collapsing barns with the people your age you could tolerateâwhich, frankly, wasnât many. Your graduating class had barely scraped together two hundred students, and most of them were already neck-deep in their great-grandparentsâ conservative, redneck ideologies, content to stay trapped in the same traditional, endless loop you were desperate to escape.
Entertainment options were laughably slim, unless you counted gossiping at the diner or staring at the peeling wallpaper of your living room. The highlight of the week was usually a herd of cattle escaping or a barn dance, where everyone pretended their lives werenât as dull as dishwater.
It was no wonder that generations before had filled their houses to the brim with children. After all, raising a family gave them something to do, a purpose to cling to in the otherwise monotonous grind of small-town life. And maybe, just maybe, it helped fill the silence that crept in at night, the kind that even wolf songs couldnât drown out.
It wasnât all bad, you supposed. At night, the air hummed with the songs of frogs and crickets, a sound that felt almost sacred. The stars lit up the sky in a way that was impossible to see from the city, their light twinkling like scattered diamonds. Fireflies blinked alongside them, tiny, fleeting beacons in the dark. Those moments, rare and quiet, made this place almost bearable.
Almost.
But Christ on a cross, when the sun rose, it brought the same crushing realization: there was nothing for you here. Nothing except Sunday mornings at church, where people whispered behind hymnals and dissected the sins of their neighbors, the same people they'd smile brightly at as they prayed for blessings to come to them. At least they handed out free donuts. Small mercies, you thought bitterly, kicking at a loose pebble on the cracked asphalt beneath your feet.
You adjusted the straps of your backpack, the weight of it pressing uncomfortably against your spine. The highway stretched ahead in an unbroken line, a mirage shimmering in the distance, promising freedom just out of reach. All you needed was someone to pull over, just one car willing to take you somewhereâanywhereâthat wasnât here.
You even went so far as to wear the most revealing clothes you could find, not that your wardrobe had much to offer in that department. A perverted driver was still a driver, and at this point, you were desperate. Youâd taken scissors to an old shirt, hacking it into a crop top that bared your midriff. The fabric was frayed and uneven, but it did the job. Your shorts were another matter entirely, uncomfortably tight and clearly too small, leftovers from when you were a kid. The waistband dug into your skin, and you had to keep tugging them down to avoid cutting off circulation.
God forbid any girl showed an ounce of skin in this town. The stares you got on your way out were enough to make you want to sprint out, but you were banking on that very same scrutiny to catch the attention of a passing car. Modesty might have been the golden rule here, but you werenât above breaking it if it got you out of this dead-end stretch of nowhere.
You felt ridiculous, humiliated even, but the thought of staying here was far worse than enduring the leering eyes of some old man. You were used to that already. Men in this town had a way of looking at you like you were an object on a shelf they might pick up, inspect, and set back down when they were done. Youâd learned to ignore it, to shrug off the uncomfortable heat of their stares and the muttered comments you pretended not to hear.
This was just more of the same, except now you were using it to your advantage. If showing a little skin meant one of those creeps would stop and offer you a ride out of this godforsaken town, then so be it. Dignity wasnât exactly high on your list of priorities right nowâfreedom was.
If only one of these fuckers would actually stop. Youâd been standing here long enough to feel the sunburn creeping across your shoulders, sweat pooling at the small of your back. You threw your arm out every time, trying to look as pitiful, or enticing, as possible, but all you got in return were waves of hot air as they sped by.
Was it just your town where men stared at women like predators? Or was that just how men were everywhere? You had no way of knowing. Your entire life had been spent here, in this suffocating bubble of prying eyes and wagging tongues. Sometimes you wondered if the rest of the world was different, or if the same lecherous glances and whispered judgments waited for you on the other side of this horizon.
Still, staying here wasnât an option. Even if the grass wasnât greener anywhere else, at least it would be different grass. And different was all you were asking for.
You were snapped out of your thoughts by the thunderous roar of an engine, deep and rumbling, shaking the stillness of the road. A semi. Your heart leapt, both with hope and a twinge of unease. Youâd heard the stories, truck drivers were lonely old men whoâd fuck anything with a heartbeat, and even that was a stretch. The thought made your stomach twist, but desperation outweighed caution.
Throwing your arm out again, thumb raised high, you focused on the massive vehicle barreling toward you. The sheer size of it was almost intimidating, the largest thing youâd seen on the road. Its grill gleamed in the sunlight like a steel beast, and you could already hear the hiss of brakes as it began to slow down.
This was it. Maybe luck was finally on your sideâor maybe you were about to make the worst mistake of your life. Either way, it wasnât like you had much to lose.
The semi groaned to a stop a few yards ahead of you, its engine idling. The driverâs side door creaked open, and out stepped a man, an old man, just as youâd expected.
His hair was almost completely gray, though uneven splotches of the lighter color dotted his scruffy beard like it couldnât decide whether to age gracefully or not.
The glare of the sun bounced off the truck, making it hard to get a clear look at him, but you could tell enough. He was much larger than you, his frame broad and solid like heâd spent his life lifting things far heavier than the backpack you hauled. His hair had a slight curl to it, messy and unkempt, like he hadnât seen a comb in days.
He tilted his head toward the passenger side, gesturing with his chin as he spoke. His voice was deep, slow, and unmistakably southern.
"Well, donât just stand there, girl. You need a ride or what?"
There wasnât much kindness in his tone, but there wasnât any malice, either. Just a bluntness that matched the heat of the day. Your hesitation lingered for a moment before you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.
You all but scaled up the side of the truck, your legs shaky from a mix of exhaustion and the strain of hauling yourself up. The heat of the day clung to you, making every movement feel heavier than it should have. By the time you managed to get one foot inside, your muscles were screaming in protest.
The older man was already back in his seat, one wrist draped lazily over the steering wheel. He chewed on a wad of tobacco, the sound wet and unmannered as he watched you crawl in with a measured gaze. His eyes flickered up and down your figure, lingering just long enough to make your skin crawl. You swore you saw his hand shift subtly, adjusting himself as a low groan escaped your lips from the effort.
You settled into the passenger seat, the cracked leather sticking to your bare thighs. His stare lingered for a moment too long at the way they expanded before he finally spit into an old plastic bottle by his side.
âWhere ya headinâ, sweetheart?â he drawled, his lips curling into a half-smirk that didnât reach his eyes.
Now that the sun was no longer blinding you, you could finally get a good look at him. To your surprise, he wasnât all that bad-looking. In fact, he was quite handsome in a rugged, weathered sort of way. His deep chocolate-brown eyes had a sad look to them, like they had seen more than they cared to share. His nose was prominent, giving his face a bold, defined structure that worked with the lines etched into his skin. Those wrinkles, instead of detracting from his appearance like you'd expect them too, seemed to enhance his features.
Your eyes flicked to his hands resting on the wheel. They were large, rough-looking, the scarred, calloused kind of hands that did hard labor. An old, scratched watch clung to his wrist, the leather strap worn and glass cracked, but still functional.
Practical, like him, you figured.
Despite the circumstances, you found yourself momentarily distracted by his appearance.
âWell?â he asked again, the smirk on his face still lingering as he spit tobacco into his bottle. âWhere ya headed?â
You hesitated, your fingers gripping the edge of the seat. âAnywhere but here,â you muttered, your voice low but firm.
He chuckled at that, a low rumble that seemed to reverberate through the cab. âFair enough. Lucky for you, I ainât goinâ anywhere near here for a good long while. Buckle up, sweetheart.â
You slid your backpack off your shoulders, letting it rest on your lap as your fingers found the charms hanging from the zippers. You twisted them absentmindedly, trying to occupy your mind and ignore the creeping weight of his gaze. The truck didn't move. Confused, you glanced at the gear shift, expecting to see his hand on it. Instead, his hand rested on his thigh, his fingers tapping lazily against his jeans.
Looking up, you caught him staring at you again, his dark eyes locked on yours for a moment before shifting downward. He sighed, tilting his head slightly like he was deciding what to do next. Without saying a word, he leaned toward you.
Your breath hitched as he closed the space between you, his face so close you could almost feel the faint stubble on his jaw and the silver strands in his hair. His arm brushed your shoulder as he reached for your seatbelt.
"Seatbelt's stuck," he muttered, though you hadn't even tried to buckle it yourself. His large hands gripped the strap and gave it a few tugs, his breath fanning across your cheek as he grunted, the plastic clicked before the webbing slid free and he pulled it across your chest.
The motion seemed smooth at first, but you stiffened when his knuckles grazed the curve of your breast. He didn't pause or acknowledge it. His gaze wasn't on the seatbelt or even his hands, it was fixed lower, right where the strap pressed against your chest. His eyes lingered there shamelessly.
He adjusted the strap, tugging it tighter against your chest, his fingers brushing over the swell more than once. The way he moved was deliberate, too slow to be casual, like he was testing how far he could push before you said something.
It didn't feel accidental, but it wasn't obvious enough for you to call him out on it, either. Your throat tightened, and you froze, unsure whether to flinch or let him finish.
âThere,â he muttered, his voice low and rough, as he clicked the belt into place. For a moment, he didnât move, his face lingering close enough for you to see the faint lines around his eyes and the uneven streaks of gray in his beard. Then, without a word, he leaned back into his seat with a grunt, as though the small task had been a chore.
His hand moved to the gear shift, and the truck rumbled forward, pulling onto the road with a jolt. âCanât have you flyinâ out the windshield,â he said, his voice laced with dry humor.
You didnât respond, your heart still racing from the unnecessary closeness. Staring out the window, you gripped the straps of your backpack tightly, trying to shake off the lingering feeling of his hands, unease prickling along your skin.
Joel glanced at the cracked dashboard clock, tapping it lightly with his knuckle as if that would somehow make the time change. "Weâll probably hit a truck stop in a few hours," he said, his voice breaking the long silence in the cab.
He finally broke the silence with a grunt and a glance at the dashboard. ââBout two âtil we hit the next one,â he said, shifting in his seat and rolling his neck like it ached. âGonna pull in there, grab some food. Might get a room if the lot ainât full.â
You didnât look at him, just nodded a little, eyes fixed on the streak of pavement disappearing beneath the truck. âOkay.â
He glanced at you then, like he was waiting for more. When you didnât say anything, he added, âThey got showers too, yâknow. Clean ones. Not five-star or nothinâ, but they get the job done.â
âCool,â you murmured, trying to sound neutral, like you werenât clocking every word.
Then he smirked a littleâjust a flicker, barely there, but you caught it. âDonât worry, you can have your own bed,â he said, voice low, tone meant to be reassuring but sitting wrong in your gut. âUnless, uh... youâd rather save a few bucks.â
You turned to look at him, your expression unreadable. âIâve got cash,â you said, flatly.
âDidnât mean nothinâ by it,â Joel said with a chuckle, eyes flicking to your chest again, not even subtle about it this time. âJust jokinâ around.â
You looked away, jaw tightening.
He scratched his beard, shifting in his seat again. âYouâre real quiet,â he said after a moment. âKinda figured a girl like youâd be more talkative.â
âA girl like me?â you asked, without looking at him.
âYeah,â he drawled, his tone casual as his fingers drummed against the steering wheel. âCâmon you ain't exactly dressed for church, honey.â He turned to you with a grin.
You rolled your eyes before you forced yourself to focus on the landscape outside, the golden hues of the setting sun casting long shadows across the empty fields. But even as you tried to tune him out, you could feel his gaze darting toward you. It wasnât constant, but it was enough to set your nerves on edgeâquick, almost imperceptible glances at your legs, your chest, the curve of your neck.
Every time you caught him, he shifted slightly, like he hadnât been looking at all. His fingers rubbed idly against his thigh, the movement subtle but deliberate.
âDonât get too quiet on me now,â he said after a moment, his voice breaking the uneasy silence. âA guy can only handle so much quiet before he starts gettinâ lonely.â
You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. âIâm just tired,â you muttered, hoping that would be enough to end the conversation.
âTired, huh?â Joelâs smirk widened as he leaned back in his seat, one hand lazily adjusting his belt. âBet youâve had a long day, stickinâ that pretty thumb out on the highway. Lucky for you I came along. Not everyone out hereâs as friendly as me.â
The way he said âfriendlyâ made your stomach churn. You shifted in your seat, pretending to adjust your backpack as an excuse to look away. âYeah,â you said flatly, unsure of what else to say.
He chuckled again, a deep, gravelly sound that filled the cab. âYou know,â he started, his tone turning thoughtful, âtruck stops ainât so bad. Some of âem even got little diners... Hell, if youâre lucky, you might even find a little entertainment.â
You glanced at him sharply, but he kept his eyes on the road, his expression unreadable. You gritted your teeth, damn religious upbringings, you forced yourself to be polite and dryly humor his conversation. âWhat kind of entertainment?â
Joel shrugged, his fingers still idly tapping his thigh. âDepends on the stop. Some got TVs, little gift shops... and sometimes, you meet interestinâ people. Yâknow, folks passinâ through, lookinâ for a little... company.â
Your pulse quickened, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. âIâm not really looking for company,â you said quickly.
His grin widened, and he let out another low chuckle. âDidnât think you were, sweetheart.â
You turned back to the window, your heart pounding as the shadows outside grew longer. The truck rumbled on, the uneasy tension between you thickening with every mile.
The truckâs turn signal clicked lazily, a rhythmic tick that cut through the hum of the engine as Joel guided the semi off the highway and into the glow of the truck stop.
The lights hit first, flickering fluorescents mounted on leaning poles, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. The parking lot was littered with rigs and pickups, a few scattered sedans, and the occasional figure ducking in and out of the convenience storeâs heavy glass doors. Beyond that, a rundown diner and a flickering neon sign that buzzed louder than it glowed. It wasnât much, two diesel pumps, a few bent metal benches out front, and a crooked billboard advertising pie that probably hadnât been served fresh since the Reagan administration, and behind it, the shape of a small roadside motel slumped under a sagging roofline.
Joel shifted the truck into park with a heavy hand and let out a grunt, stretching his arms above his head until his back cracked. His faded shirt lifted just enough to reveal a strip of his stomach, leathery and scarred. He caught you looking, not at that, exactly, just observing the place, but he smirked like youâd been staring.
âNot bad, huh?â he said, pulling the key out of the ignition. âCozy little stopover.â
You looked out at the rows of trucks and diesel pumps, trying not to fidget. The stillness inside the cab after the engine died was sudden, as if the noise from the it had been cushioning something you didnât want to feel.
You said nothing, unbuckling your seatbelt with a quick snap and reaching for your backpack, your fingers finding those familiar charms again. You rolled one between your thumb and forefinger, grounding yourself. The tension in your chest hadnât left since you climbed into the truck. If anything, itâd only settled deeper.
Joel opened his door and climbed out with a grunt. âFoodâs better than it looks,â he said over the roar of the diesel engine cooling off. âDinerâs got burgers, eggs, hash. All the heart-attack bullshit you could ever want.â
You followed after a beat, the door heavier than you expected. He waited for you at the base of the steps, one hand resting on the open door like he was holding it open for a date. You stepped down, trying not to flinch as his eyes moved with you, tracking every inch.
You stared past him at the diner, its windows fogged and glowing yellow under too-dim lights. A man smoked on a bench by the door. He looked tired. Everyone here did.
Joel jerked his chin toward the motel attached to the back of the lot. âGonna check if they got any rooms left,â he said, spitting a wad of his chewing tobacco into the dirt. âYou hungry, or what?â
âYeah,â you said, your voice flatter than you intended. âStarving.â
He grinned at that, like it pleased him. âGo on then, I'll meet'cha.â
Inside, the diner smelled like grease and bleach, two things that didnât mix well. The waitress behind the counter didnât look up when you entered, too focused on a crossword puzzle. Joel slid into a booth a few minutes after you had, patting the cracked vinyl across from him.
The seat felt sticky. He leaned back, one arm stretched lazily across the backrest like he owned the place, the other already reaching for a menu he clearly didnât need.
âGo ahead,â he said, nodding at you. âOrder whatever. Iâll cover it.â
You eyed him, unsure if it was kindness or another invisible string. He caught your look and smirked.
âCâmon. Not tryna poison you. Just donât like eatinâ alone.â
You nodded slowly, glancing down at the menu as he watched you over the top of his.
Joel leaned back in the booth, the vinyl seat creaking under his weight. One arm sprawled across the top, the other cradling his plastic cup of water. He let out a long sigh, an exaggerated exhale, like he was trying to be noticed.
âBeen on the road five weeks straight,â he muttered, glancing out the window like he might spot someone he used to know. âStart talkinâ to myself if I donât get some damn conversation.â
You looked up, cautious. He smiled, but it was thin. Forced.
âLife gets quiet when you get to my age. Too damn quiet, sometimes,â he said, fingers tapping idly against the side of his cup. âWife gone. Kids donât call. Truckâs about the only thing still wants me 'round.â
He chuckled softly, but there wasnât much humor in it. More like he expected a certain reaction and didnât care if it was genuine.
âThatâs why I donât mind pickinâ up company when I can,â he added, taking a sip and eyeing you over the rim. âMakes the road feel less... long.â
You didnât respond, just nodded faintly. He didnât seem to careâheâd already settled into his little performance.
âNot askinâ for much,â Joel went on, looking down at his calloused hands. âJust someone to talk to. Hearinâ a pretty voice now and again reminds me Iâm still 'round, yâknow?â
His eyes flicked to your mouth when he said it.
âHell, you donât even gotta talk if you donât want, face's pretty 'nough on its own,â he added with a little grin, eyes crinkling like he was doing you a favor. âIâll just ramble on till I lose my voice. You can pretend I ainât even here.â
You raised an eyebrow. âSeems like you want someone to listen to you talk till your mouth hurts.â
That got a chuckle out of him. âAlright, fair,â he said, scratching at his beard. âI like a little attention. Guilty as charged.â
The waitress came over, tired eyes scanning the table. Joel ordered without looking at the menuââbacon cheeseburger, extra pickles, fries, and a Coke,â before nodding at you to go ahead.
As you gave your order, you could feel his gaze on your face, lingering just a tad too long on your lips when you spoke. When the waitress walked off, Joel leaned back again with a grunt.
âBet you think Iâm some sad old bastard,â he said, smirking.
You tilted your head slightly. âYou donât seem all that sad.â
He laughed again, low and knowing. âDonât gotta be sad to be lonely, darlinâ.â
He said it so easily, like it was the kind of thing heâd said a hundred times before. Like it worked on someone, once.
There was something off about the way he spokeâtoo rehearsed, maybe. Like heâd said this all before. The âpoor old manâ routine. Alone on the road, no family, no one to talk to. It felt... thin.
Still, something about it tugged at you.
Maybe it was the way he sighed after every sentence, like he didnât expect you to care. Maybe it was the worn in look behind his eyes.
You glanced down at your lap, your fingers twisting the zipper of your backpack until it bit into your skin.
You knew better. You really did. People didnât get like this for no reason. Men didnât hand out kindness for free. But even as your gut whispered caution, another part of you, smaller, quieter, felt bad for him.
He wasnât pushing anything. Not yet. And you were tired. Not just from standing on the side of the road, but from months of going nowhere, of waiting for someone, anyone, to see you.
Joel caught your eye again, that half-smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth. âDidnât mean to lay it on thick,â he said, almost sheepish now. âGuess I donât talk to people much these days. Gettin' rusty.â
You tried to smile, but it came out just as performative as his. âItâs fine. I get it.â
He tapped a finger against his glass, his tone softening. âYou runninâ from somethinâ?â he asked, not accusing, just curious.
You hesitated. âNot really. Just⊠done with where I came from.â
Joel nodded like he understood. Maybe he did. âAinât nothinâ wrong with wantinâ out. Some places donât give you much reason to stay.â
His voice was quieter now, less performative. For a second, it felt more real. Or maybe you just wanted it to.
You studied him for a beat longerâhis hands, his eyes, the worn creases in his skin. You could still feel the phantom touch of his fingers pulling your seatbelt earlier, still see the way his gaze had lingered a second too long.
But right now, he looked tired. Lonely. And something in you, despite everything, softened just a little.
âI appreciate the ride,â you said quietly. âReally.â
Joel looked at you for a second, then nodded once and leaned back again. âAinât no trouble,â he said. âLike I said, road gets real damn quiet.â
You both fell into silence after that, the kind that wasnât entirely comfortable.
Heâd tried to make small talk over greasy plates and chipped mugs of diner coffeeâasked about your favorite music, your family, whether you had a boyfriend âwaitinâ around somewhere.â He framed it as harmless banter, chuckling over his fries, talking with his mouth half full like it wasnât meant to mean anything.
You mostly nodded, gave short answers. Your appetite had all but vanished the longer his eyes lingered on you.
They didnât wander constantly, Joel wasnât that obvious. But every so often, as you cut into your food or brushed hair out of your face, youâd catch him watching you instead of eating. His gaze would always drop quickly, back to his plate or the tabletop, but the silence between those glances felt thicker each time.
You told yourself it was nothing. You told yourself you were tired, overthinking.
But by the time he paid the bill and motioned for you to follow him outside, your stomach had twisted into something tight and uneasy.
The air had cooled a little with the setting sun. Crickets had started their nightly hum, and the truck lot buzzed quietly with the sound of engines cooling and the occasional burst of laughter from inside the diner. But your ears were filled with the sound of your own footsteps following Joelâs.
He led you past the edge of the lot, toward a squat, single-story row of motel rooms behind the diner. Faded numbers were bolted onto each door, and the porch lights above them flickered weakly, as if unsure whether to bother staying lit.
Joel stopped in front of one, jingling a key in his hand. âOnly had one left,â he said, turning the knob. âTold the guy itâs just for a few hoursâ shut-eye. Not like Iâm settlinâ in.â
Your heart skipped. Just one?
The room door creaked open. Joel stepped inside first, tossing the key on the nightstand and flipping on the light. A yellow glow filled the room, bouncing off stained wallpaper and a twin bed with a faded comforter. The A/C unit in the window rattled weakly.
The moment you stepped into the room, something felt different.
Not in the air itself, the motel room still smelled like bleach and dust, but Joelâs presence had changed.
He didnât say much after unlocking the door. Just let it swing open, stepped inside like he owned the place, and gave the room a lazy once-over. Gone was the exaggerated sighing, the talk of loneliness, the half-hearted chuckles meant to make you feel bad for him. Now he moved slower, more comfortably, like someone whoâd settled into something.
You werenât sure what.
He let the door close behind you with a click that made your pulse hitch. He didnât bolt it, he didnât need to. The message was already clear.
Joel walked over to the table near the bed and dropped the room key with a soft clink. His hand hovered for a second, then he sat in the chair near the window, stretching out with a tired grunt. One arm slung over the backrest like he was getting ready to stay awhile.
âNot bad,â he muttered, adjusting the waistband of his jeans before running a hand through his graying hair. âCould be worse.â
You didnât answer. You were still standing near the door, backpack hugged to your chest like a shield.
Joelâs eyes flicked up to you. Slower now. Less polite. Like he didnât feel the need to pretend anymore.
"You can sit, yâknow,â he said. âAinât gonna bite.â
He grinned at his own joke, but it didnât reach his eyes. They were darker now. Not cold, just⊠sure. Like whatever this was, it was already decided in his head.
You moved slowly, choosing the edge of the bed farthest from himâyou wished the separate beds calmed your nerves, they didn't. The springs creaked as you sat, and the sound felt too loud. You kept your backpack in your lap, your hands gripping the strap.
Joel let his gaze linger for a moment longer, then leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling. âYâknow, most folks would be grateful by now,â he said idly, like he was commenting on the weather. âFree ride, free food, place to rest. Ainât a bad deal.â
Your spine stiffened slightly. There was no edge in his voice, no threat. But there was something underneath it. Something that made your stomach coil.
âI am grateful,â you said carefully.
âMm.â He didnât sound entirely convinced. âYouâre just real quiet is all. Hard to read.â
You didnât reply.
Joel scratched at his jaw. âGuess itâs just been a while since I had company.â He looked at you again, head tilted, lips just barely curved. âItâs nice. Real nice. You're nice.â
You felt your shoulders tense. He wasnât doing anything, not really, but you could feel it building. The shift. The subtle way he took up more space now, like just getting you through that door had changed everything.
Joel stood up, stretching again with a low groan, and walked toward the mini fridge. He bent to open it, empty, but lingered there a second longer than needed. When he straightened, he looked at you again. Still that same expression. Casual. Relaxed. Like this was just the natural next step in whatever he thought was happening here.
âIâm gonna go grab us some drinks,â he said, voice lighter now, maybe even cheerful. âYou want soda, water, somethinâ stronger?â
You blinked. âCokeâs fine.â
He nodded, already halfway to the door. He paused, hand on the knob, then turned back.
âYou lock that behind me if it makes you feel better,â he said, his voice quiet. âBut Iâll be back in five. Donât go disappearinâ on me.â
He winked. Not playful. Not mean. Just⊠like a joke he thought you were in on, even if you didnât know the punchline yet.
Then the door clicked shut behind him, and you were alone.
The silence returned.
You sat still, backpack clutched to your chest, heart pounding a little faster than before. You werenât sure what Joel thought this was. But for the first time, you were sure of one thing:
He thought he was owed something.
You werenât sure why you stayed.
Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was the weight of your backpack digging into your spine for hours that made you too tired to run again. Maybe it was something worse, something harder to admit. That small, scared voice that told you: This is what you asked for, isnât it? A ride. A room. A way out.
You told yourself it was fine.
But when Joel came back a few agonizing minutes later, holding a single room-temperature soda like it was some kind of gift, that thin illusion started to crack.
"Vending machineâs shot to hell," he said, tossing it onto the end of the bed like he expected you to jump at it. âStill good, though. S'just warm.â
You nodded, reaching to take a grab the bottle. You tried not to acknowledge the way your heart sped up as you leaned closer to him, your hand shaking.
Joel didnât seem to notice, or didnât care. He kicked off his boots, grunted as he lowered himself into the creaking chair near the TV, and grabbed the remote from the armrest.
The television flashed on, its speakers crackling as static fizzled into some old cable rerun. The volume was too loud for the tiny room, but Joel didnât adjust it. He just leaned back and settled in, letting the laugh track fill the silence like white noise drowning out your thoughts.
You nerves were so shot, you hadnât noticed the bottle hadn't hissed when you twisted the cap.
When your leg started to shake it was just a tremor at first, barely noticeable. But it spread, up your thigh, into your stomach, into your chest. Your heart fluttered under your ribs, fluttered wrong. Your throat was too dry. The lights were too yellow. The TV too loud. His breathing, even and steady from across the room, was the only rhythm that didn't match your panic.
You stood quickly, too quickly.
âBathroom,â you muttered, grabbing your bag without really knowing why. Just needing it close.
Joel gave a vague nod, his eyes barely lifting from the screen. âTake your time.â
The bathroom was even smaller than you expected. Dim light. Cracked tile. A fan in the ceiling that buzzed faintly behind the walls. You closed the door and leaned against it, gripping the edge of the sink with both hands.
Your reflection stared back at you, paler than before. Eyes wide. Lips dry.
You didnât even notice you were crying until the first drop hit the sink.
You werenât scared, not exactly. But something inside you was twisting tight, something old and instinctive that didnât care about politeness or gratitude or second chances. Something that whispered, Leave. Now.
You splashed water on your face. Once. Twice. The cold shocked your nerves, grounding you just a little, enough to breathe. But your hand trembled as you reached for the towel, and you had to brace yourself before you looked in the mirror again.
You stared at your own eyes for a long time.
You could still leave. You hadnât unpacked. Your legs worked fine. The door wasnât locked.
But outside that door, Joel waited. Not a stranger anymore. Not really. And that was somehow worse.
You dried your face, turned off the faucet, and in front the door of the bathroom for a beat, staring at the crack under it, the yellow-lit room shared the space of flickering blue light from the TV.
âYou alright in there, sweetheart?â he asked, his voice warm again, sounding gentle despite how he'd had to hollar over the TV.
You took a breath. Then another. You told yourself you were overreacting.
People were weird, sure. Joel was⊠weird. But maybe thatâs all it was. Maybe your nerves were shot from being on the road, from standing in the sun for hours, from not eating enough. You were tired. That made everything feel worse.
One night. Get some rest. Ditch him in the morning.
That was the plan. Simple. Safe.
You pushed open the door and stepped out into the dim light of the room again, trying to slide your expression back into something neutral. Something nice.
You gave him a polite, too-sweet smile in return, it was automatic, from that church-girl buried deep in your gut. You didn't owe him anything, but you still felt like you had to at least perform gratitude. Like that was part of the deal.
It was tight-lipped, polite, instinctual. The same smile youâd been trained to give since you were a kid, the smile that didnt reach your eyes, that said Iâm fine, thank you, donât worry about me.
He smiled back.
Not kindly. Not broadly. Just this thin, smug little thing tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He tried to play it off like nothing. Reached for the remote. Adjusted his posture. But it didnât go unnoticed, not by you. Joel looked over at you from the chair, his arms resting behind his head now, relaxed.
You crossed the room, easing yourself onto the top of the bed. The blanket was old and dusty and reeked of stale detergent. Still, it beat the side of the highway. You opened the Coke and took a sip. Flat. Warm. Still, it gave your hands something to do.
On the TV, that same crusty sitcom was still going. Joel had turned the volume up since you'd gone. The laugh track punched through the tiny speakers like a drill to the temple. The jokes came rapid-fireâloud, overacted, dated.
You werenât really listening until one of the charactersâa middle-aged man with a gut and a mustacheâjoked about slipping a woman something to make her âact with less prudence.â The studio audience howled. His female co-star gave him a fake slap on the shoulder with an annoyed glare. The scene moved on.
You didnât laugh. You didnât even smile.
Joel did.
Not loud. Just a low huff of a chuckle, amused. Right in time with the laugh track. Like it had hit a nerve in him. The wrong nerve.
You stiffened. Your spine straightened just a little more. You didnât look at him.
It was the type of joke that made men laugh in bars when theyâd already had too much and werenât watching their tone anymore.
Joelâs laughter stopped as quickly as it came. But when you risked a glance, you saw it, that same smug curl at the edge of his mouth, his tongue poking briefly at the inside of his cheek like he was chewing on something he wasnât going to say out loud.
You looked away.
Itâs the show, you told yourself. Itâs the show. Heâs just laughing because itâs on.
But the hairs on your arms were standing up anyway.
You shifted around on the stiff mattress for what mustâve been the better part of an hour. The bed creaked with every movement, the scratchy comforter brushing against your skin like old sandpaper. You kept changing positionsâlegs folded under you, then stretched out, then pulled back in. Nothing felt comfortable. Nothing felt settled.
You kept reaching for the bottle of Coke on the side table, fingers brushing it absentmindedly before pulling back. The ritual repeated over and over until finally, you just brought it into your lap. The half-full bottle had lost what little fizz it had, but you held onto it anyway. The weight of it in your hands was something solid, something to focus on. It gave your fingers something to do besides twist the hem of your shirt or pick at your skin.
Joel hadnât said much. The flicker of the TV lit up his face in little bursts. Every so often, heâd glance over at you. Not long enough to say anything. Just enough to make your body flare up with heat as your blood rushed.
You tried to focus on the show, but your brain had gone fuzzy. Not foggy, exactly, but distant. Like your thoughts were moving through syrup. Your limbs felt a little heavy, your eyes dry.
The Coke sat in your lap like a small weight. When you went to take another sip, you hesitated, your hand lifting slower than you expected. The bottle felt heavier than before. Not by much. Just enough for you to notice.
You frowned a little, blinked once, then twice. Maybe it was exhaustion. Your nerves had been running hot all day, your body could just be crashing. That had to be it.
Still⊠something felt off. You gripped the bottle a little tighter.
Your head rolled slightly on your shoulders as you tried to blink the haze away. You gave a small shake, like maybe you could rattle the exhaustion out of your skull, but it clung to youâdraped heavy over your limbs like a damp blanket.
You werenât that tired.
At least, you hadnât been.
You blinked again. The TV was still flickering, the showâs punchlines rolling out like clockwork. Joel chuckled along with the laugh track, low and content. Like nothing was wrong. Like everything was exactly the way he wanted it.
You didnât look at him. You just focused on the bottle in your hands.
It wasnât spinning, but it felt like it could be. Your fingers curled a little tighter around it as if that might tether you to the present. You told yourself again that you hadnât eaten properly. That this was just your body protesting the long day. That the motel room was warm, and Joelâs TV was loud, and your senses were frayed.
But still⊠your skin was buzzing. Not panic, just static. An edge.
You reached for your phone without thinking, fingertips fumbling slightly with the zipper of your bag. You didnât even know who youâd text if you needed help, but the need to do something was rising in your chest, your instincts growing louder, like background noise you could no longer ignore.
âFeelinâ alright, sweetheart?â Joel asked suddenly, not looking at you.
You jumped slightly at his voice, your fingers freezing over your backpack. You glanced at him.
His eyes were still on the screen, but his smirk was back. Not wide, not obvious, just there. Subtle, like he was hiding something behind it and didnât care enough to try hard.
âIâm fine,â you said automatically, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.
Joel made a little humming sound, like he didnât quite believe you, but he didnât press. Just leaned back further in his chair, exhaling like a man pleased with how the day turned out.
You turned your eyes to the bathroom door again.
It wasnât far. You could go in, close the door, lock it. Just for a minute. Just to breathe.
You planted your hands on the edge of the bed and pushed yourself up. Your legs didnât respond the way you expected.
For a split second, it felt like they werenât even attached. Your knees nearly gave out as you stood, a sharp, disconnected jolt rushing through your lower body like the numbness you get from sitting too long in one position, but worse. There was no familiar prickle of circulation returning, no tingling promise of sensation coming back. Just absence.
And something about that absence made your chest tighten.
You reached out, grabbing the wall for balance. The Coke bottle in your hand slipped from your fingers.
Behind you, Joelâs chuckle drifted lazily through the static of the television. Not loud. Just enough to make the air feel thinner.
âYou alright there?â he drawled, voice a little too casual. A little too slow.
You didnât look at him. âYeah. Just, stiff legs.â
Your voice sounded strange even to your own ears, it was muted, distant. You could feel his eyes on your back now, tracking your movement more attentively than before.
You didnât turn.
Didnât say anything else.
You pressed your hands against the rough motel wall, the chipped paint cool against your skin. Your legs felt weak beneath you, shaking softly, and you couldnât seem to make them move.
Your breath came fast and shallow, chest tightening with each inhale. The vintage chair creaked faintly nearby, a reminder that Joel was still in the room, still watching.
You didnât look over.
Your eyes darted to the flickering TV, its pale light casting long shadows on the cracked wallpaper. It buzzed softly, filling the silence with pointless noise.
Maybe not so pointless.
You could hear him settle out of his chair, the scrape of fabric on denim. Joelâs footsteps shuffled behind you, slow and deliberate.
âEverything alright, sweetheart?â His voice was low, smooth, and far too casual. Almost mocking. It didn't sound like a question.
You didnât answer. You couldnât.
Instead, you pressed your palm harder against the wall, willing the tremors in your legs to stop. But the more you willed it, the worse it felt, like your body was betraying you, leaving you trapped between fight or flight, but doing neither.
You swallowed the lump rising in your throat, biting your lip to keep from shaking or crying. Your heart hammered so loud you were sure he could hear it.
You wanted to run. To scream. To disappear.
But you stayed still.
You didnât realize he was approaching again until the floor creaked just to your left. A soft sound, but close. Too close.
âHey, câmon now,â Joel said, voice gentle in a way that made your stomach twist. âYou donât look too good. Maybe you should lie back down.â
His hand reached out, palm warm and rough as it hovered near your arm. Not yet. The faux tenderness in his tone didnât sit right with the look in his eyes. They were too alert, too interested.
âIâm fine,â you said quickly, though your voice was hoarse and small. You hated how it sounded.
âYou sure? âCause youâre swayinâ a little.â His hand landed on your arm this time, solid and steady. But he didnât grip.
That should have made it better. It didnât.
It was the stillness in his hand that made your skin crawl, how his thumb pressed, then circled slowly, like he was mapping out your pulse.
âCâmon,â he said again, guiding you gently, not forcing, but not offering space to resist. âJust for a minute. Youâll feel better when ya do.â
When... not if.
You let yourself be led. Partly because your legs still felt unsteady. Partly because you didnât know what would happen if you pulled away.
He walked you the few steps to the bed, hand never leaving your arm, and helped you sit. His other hand reached for your shoulder, too familiar now, the way it rested there a beat too long.
You flinched.
Joel paused, then gave a soft chuckle under his breath. âEasy now. Ainât tryinâ to scare you."
But when he leaned in to adjust the pillow behind you, his knuckles dragged against your collarbone. His other hand hovered lower on your side, not quite touching your hipâbut close enough that the heat of it made you recoil inside.
âYouâre all tense,â he murmured, gaze slipping down your frame like a slow leak. âJust breathe, alright? Youâre safe.â
The worst part was how convincing his voice sounded.
But you knew better.
Your body knew better.
You sank down against the bed with a strange sort of heaviness, like your own limbs no longer belonged to you. The mattress dipped beneath your weight, a dry, musty scent rising up from the sheets.
You tried to sit upright, to keep your spine straight, but your body leaned without permission, your muscles slackened under the weight of your own breath.
Joel didnât go back to the chair.
You heard the soft groan of the mattress again, felt the subtle shift beside you before your eyes caught up. He sat on the edge of the bed now. Right next to you.
Not touching, but close.
You turned your head toward him slowly, eyes trying to focus. Your brain felt like it was wrapped in cotton, every thought dragging through molasses.
âWhyâŠâ you started, but the rest of the sentence didnât come.
Your tongue felt thick. Heavy. Wrong.
He smiled, small, faint. You might've miss it if you werenât looking. But you were looking. Because watching him felt like the only thing tethering you now.
âYou okay, sugar?â he asked again, quieter this time. Closer. He didnât sound worried. Not really.
You tried to speak, but your words came out slurred, barely above a whisper. âMâfineâŠâ
It took all your strength just to swallow the lump in your throat, even that felt like work. You could feel your pulse behind your eyes now, slow and sluggish.
Joel didnât move away.
His arm rested across his lap, hand curled on his thigh. The same hand that had guided you here. The same hand that lingered too long.
His eyes werenât on your face anymore.
You saw that.
You felt that.
Still, you couldnât quite pull your body back. Couldnât seem to make your limbs respond.
You were here. And so was he.
And something deep in your gut told you the space between you wouldnât stay empty much longer.
Joel's calloused hands reached toward the strap of your bra that had peaked out from your shirt. He lifted it in his fingers almost carefully, letting it lead up to the top of your bra. Your mumbled incoherently at his touch. He shushed you softly.
He didn't speak anymore, he didnt need too. He brought his fingers back up to your collarbone before laying his palm across it, the strap caught between his fingers as he pushed it down your shoulder. His body leaned forward to press his lips to your collarbone. His beard was scruffy and sharp against your soft skin, like needles.
His lips were dry and cracked, the wetness from his saliva being the only softness. He pecked at the bone a few times before his mouth wrapped around it, sucking.
Your hands weakly moved to his shoulders, but his hands patiently wrapped around your wrists, pushing them to sit by your head. The bed dented down. Your writhed weakly. He continued sucking and nipping at the spot till a dark mark appeared.
The knot in your stomach churned as he licked over where he bit to soothe your skin, his beard felt like a hundred tiny needles digging into you. Red appeared around the purple. His thumbs pressed into your wrists, feeling your pulse as you whimpered. His mouth lifted for a moment, his breath hot on your irritated skin.
"Your hearts finally slowin' down sweetheart, ain't losin' ya am I?" He huffed with a humor only he had. His mouth wrapped around the mark again, his tounge tracing your collarbone as he hummed.
He hadnât lied, your heart finally slowed, but the panic stayed lodged in your chest. Each beat hammered against your ribs, like it was trying to tear its way out and leave you behind. The thump in your chest spread your blood throughout your body, heat rising on your skin.
His hands werenât tight on your wrists, his thumbs traced slow circles on your pulsepoints before sliding into your palms. His mouth kept defacing your shoulder. There was no violence in it, if anything, he almost seemed to be comforting you.
You couldnât decide if that made it better, or worse, or if it changed anything at all.
Your knees dragged upward in another weak attempt to slip free, but your bones felt like wet cement, heavy and useless. You turned your head away with a thin whine, your body mustering what little control it had to spill tears that slid into your ears. Your chest heaved as you writhed.
Joel shushed you without cruelty, his hum low and pitying, the vibration running from his throat into your collarbone. His mouth scattered pecks over the marks fresh on your neck and shoulders before he propped himself on an elbow, still looming above you. One calloused hand smeared the tears across your right cheek while his lips caught the ones on the leftâand you swore his tongue slipped out to taste the salt straight from your skin.
âDonât cry, sugarpie⊠I ainât gonna hurt you, promise. Didnât mean to upset you none. I just get real lonely out on the road, is all.â
He looked and sounded so genuine, like he truly believed every word he spoke. His lips brushed your ear when he talked, his voice almost swallowed by the blare of the TVâand now you understood why it was so loud. Not that it mattered. The only sounds you could make were thin, mousey whines, easy to mistake for the creaks of the old bedframe or an actual mouse.
Your lips trembled as you turned your face from his hands, eyelids pressed tight. The only refuge you had was to pretend, if only for a moment, that none of this was real.
âHey now⊠look at me. Let me see those pretty eyes, baby.â His voice stayed soft, but there was an edge of annoyance beneath it.
When you didnât obey, his hand closed around your face, squeezing your cheeks until your lips puckered. He tilted your head toward him, but your eyes stayed shut. He clicked his tongue, then used his other hand to peel one eyelid open. Your iris was barely a ring around your blown pupil, whatever heâd given you was already winding through your blood, sinking heavy into your bones.
He smiled softly. âThere she isâŠâ he whispered, letting your eyelid flutter shut as his hand slipped into your hair, fingers combing slow like he meant to soothe. âPretty, pretty girl.â
His lips met your forced pout in a mockery of a kiss, his tongue brushing gently against them, coaxing for a response you never gave. When you didn't reciprocate, he nipped at your lips gently.
He pulled back just enough to watch your face, your eyes still screwed shut, leaving you with nothing but the ghost of his touch. His hand hovered at your shoulder, and he grinned at the weak tremors rippling through your body. Slowly, he let his fingertips trail down to your hip, slipping beneath the hem of your shorts to trace the waistband, his blunt nail dragging a cruel line across your pelvis.
"It's okay, hun." He whispered as he slipped another finger into the waistband.
You felt his hand turn in your shorts, the pads of his fingers now touching you. You tensed but made no move to resist, not that you could. His hand slowly, painstakingly, moved deeper into your shorts. You quietly cried as his middle and pointer finger dragged across your clothed clit before it was quickly replaced by his palm, fingers down to your slit. Your heard a gravelly groan reach out of his throat.
"Fuck sweetie, you're soaking through your panties." He chuckled near the end of his words before exhaling heavily.
Your eyes wanted to shoot open, but only managed to lift with a furrowed brow. His eyes met yours, his bottom lip between his stained teeth. Confusion was painted on your features.
"Yeah baby, you're panties are fucking ruined." He huffed, his palm pressing onto your swollen clit.
A humiliating gasp was ripped from you as more tears fell from your eyes. No, no no no...
"Mhm, shit baby, see? Your body knows I'm not hurting ya, what was all that fuss about?"
The pads of his fingers brushed over your clothes slit, the wetness became more obvious as you heard a sickening squelch when he pressed them into your sopping hole over your panties.
"Ah... Joel.." you cried, your voice never felt smaller.
His hot breath fanned your face with a pant, "Yeah, baby, say my name."
You shook your head weakly, your eyes traveling down to where his hand disappeared into your shorts. You remembered you had hands as you tried to push his hand away. In your haze, you accidently pushed him closer, letting his palm rub harder into your clit.
You wanted to puke when your felt a shot of pleasure crack through you, you wanted to die when you felt your hips roll into his hand. Your voice cracked with a wordless 'No'.
Joel beamed, "You got such a needy pussy, baby... look at her, she wants so bad. She knows whats best for you... she just wanna feel good."
You grit your teeth as your hips rolled again, his hand meeting it with a circle of his own. Your nails dug into his forearm, but they barely made an indent. You felt his leg cross over yours as he hummed your thigh. His cock was hard in his jeans, the bulge large and visable despite your brain fog and the dark room.
His hand left your shorts for a moment, and you felt a wave of relief before you felt them fall straight to the button on them.
He unbuttoned them with one hand as he groaned, lifting himself to his knees. He grabbed at the waistband at both your hip bones and tore them down. You tried to cross your legs but one of his hands met your thigh and shoved it to the side, just long enough to get your shorts off.
He brought both hands to the back of your knees, dragging you down for his thighs to meet the back of yours. He spread you open and stared down like he was holding his fridge open, deciding what he wanted to feast on. He barely felt the tug of you trying to close them. In a last ditch effort you moved your hands to cover your crotch, and that's when you felt it.
You were completely soaked through, the wet spot making your white panties transparent. It was like something inside you broke at that moment. Your body had decided to completely betray you.
As if he noticed you resolve falter, he brought his hands to the side of your panties and ripped. One side, then the other. Throwing them across the room to land somewhere on the carpet. You bit into your hands as you stopped pulling away. Eyes distant but open, he would take it.
His hands lifted your shirt over your bra before he shoved that up too. It squeezed over the top of your breasts almost painfully.
"God bless you, baby... perfect fucking pussy," his hand slapped it as he leaned forward, "and perfect fucking tits."
His mouth wrapped around your nipple, tounge circling it wildly as he sucked the nub between his teeth. Your body reacted how it wanted, and you could only whimper and whine pathetically. He rested above you on one forearm while his other hand met your leaking slit again. His thick middle finger dragged up and down it, your wetness coating the pad. He brought it to you clit, circling slowly before he flicked it.
He moaned around you nipple when you jumped with a cry. The more your body reacted the more he seemed to lose it. He switched to the other nipple, "Gotta give her some lovin' too." He chuckled.
The actions repeated for a few minutes you think, your perception of time got foggy with each circle, flick, and switch.
The vibration from his groans tickled your breast, making your back arch further into his mouth. He was almost fucking drooling, copious amounts of spit shined your chest like you'd been rubbed down in oil.
He abruptly moved down, his hand leaving to grip your hips, holding them down as he settled between your legs. He licked a long stripe across your slit, shaking his head side to side as the muscle circled your clit before he sunk it into your organ. His hands moved to your chest as he tounge fucked you, fast and unrelenting. He only lifted from you to spit on you pussy before he flattened his tounge across your entire slit and diving back in.
Every groan and moan from his vibrated against your clit and the inside of you. You felt breathless and violated. And when a knot formed in your stomach that you couldn't decipher at first due to the sinking dread that had settled there, it was too late.
With a broken cry, you threw your head back as your legs shook around his head. His voice raised over the tv for a moment with how loud he growled against your pussy.
He detached from you before appearing in front of your eyes and shoving his hot tounge down your throat. You grimaced as you tasted yourself, your pussy still throbbing from your orgasm.
"Sweet as cherry pie, baby." He mumbled against your mouth. His tounge dragged along the inside of your mouth, just another hole to him. Along the ridges of the roof of your mouth to the back of your teeth.
He sucked on your tounge harshly before unlatching, raising back on his knees again with a hushed 'Fuck...' undoing his belt. The clink of metal echoed, as he stood. He didn't bother taking his jeans off, just shoved them down enough to release his raging cock.
He walked to the side of the bed, grabbing your arm and dragging you closer. His dick hung heavy as it twitched, face level with you. You closed your mouth tightly and turned your head, only to met with a gentle but forceful tap from the back of his hand. The same hand grabbed your jaw as he leaned down to meet your eyes.
"I'm only gonna say this once, you don't fucking bite. I don't wanna hurt you, sugar, but you bite my fucking dick and I'll knock your teeth out." He said it sternly with raised brows.
You only looked at him fearfully before he spoke again, "Do you understand?" You nodded.
He loosened his grip and brought his thumbs to the sides of your mouth, forcing it open. "Relax your throat, sweetheart. Be good for me, m'kay?"
What else could you do other then what you were told?
The tip leaked as he dragged it across your lips before he got an idea, backing up and manhandling you to lay with your head upside down on the edge. He returned to your lips, a couple heavy slaps of his cock landed on your cheek before he told you to stick your tounge out, and he slid into your warm waiting mouth.
He groaned as he moved till his balls touched your nose, stilling there for a moment as you suffocated. You whimpered around him as you brought your hands up, "Breath through your nose, sweetheart." He instructed.
He pulled out leaving just the tip in your mouth before he slowly bottomed out again. He didnt waste time changing the pace, his hips thrusted steadily. Drool dripped from your mouth as he fucked it, his heavy, twitching balls smacking your nose each time. He brought his hands to take your wrists, settling them on your stomach as he leaned forward so he could thrust harder. He panted and groaned, cursing occasionally inbetween.
One of his hands left your wrist to smack your pussy once before he lifted himself. Bringing one knee to the mattress, he stood as he thrusted downward into your throat. His hand enveloped it with a growl when he saw the shift inside of it. His eyes were locked on the bulge that appeared in your throat when he shoved it down.
His thrusts became sloppy as he got louder. He lean forward again, fully pounding your throat before hot seed filled it. You felt it hit your uvula in bursts, forcing you to cough and gag, your body desperately trying to suck in air through your filled neck. He stilled at the deepest point, his tip twitching to hit the back of your throat as you felt his balls tighten against your nose. He exhaled roughly before giving you one more slowly thrust, pulling out.
You gasped desperately, veins bulging in your face and neck. Your eyes were pink and your head was swimming due to it hanging upside down for so long. Spit and snot leaked down from your face along with his cum.
Kneeling next to you, he nuzzled your head with his own with soft shushing. "That's it, breath, honey... You did so good, took it so good. Made me feel so good, baby..." he muttered, kisses moving across your temple.
When your coughing subsided you breathed a sigh of relief that it was over, mumbling incoherently as your brain struggled to process. The fog lifted when you felt his hands around your ankles from the other side of the bed, dragging you to lay on it again. He crawled to join you before twisting you back around so your head was at the pillows.
Cries came more freely now as you saw his still hard cock scoot closer to your pussy. You head turned before narrowing in on a sheet of tablets sitting on the side table he'd been sitting at. Two blue pills missing.
Your throat burned as a weak cry tried to crawl out, but he'd abused it to the point of you loosing your voice. Pathetic squeaks falling from your mouth instead. You felt his cock slap against your pussy, it instinctively pulsed at the pressure. He pressed the tip to your clit, thrusting against it. Your back arched as your hips rolled with his, your brain was so fuzzy you didnt even register the noises spilling from your lips.
The stretch was sudden as he pushed into you. Your lips trembled around him as he slid inside easily. Your spit and already soaked his cock immeasurably, but the lube that leaked from you without permission added to it ease of which he came inside you without friction. You felt impossibly full when his hand came down to push on your lower stomach as he began working.
There was no build up, the speed was set from the jump as he hauled himself over you. His hips met yours with heavy thrusts, pounding into you without thought. The only time he let you breath was when he kneeled again, only to grab the back of your knees and shove them next to you head as he somehow fucked you harder. He felt no need to speak anymore, only occasion growls of how wet you were, which you hadn't needed verbal acknowledgement of. It was clear from the wet slaps that echoed in the room, bouncing off the walls and into your ears as you laid limp and took it.
Your mouth hung open as noises continued to force themselves from your throat, you had been so gone that you didnt flinch when you spit into your mouth, your throat instantly tensing as you swallowed it. You had lost almost all feeling, your hearing muffled, you took no notice of the impending release.
"Fucking shit baby... pussys so fucking tight 'round me... you gonna cum again? Hmm? You love this fucking cock, you know you do. You're body knows you do."
It went in one ear and out the other, you were reduced to a whimpering hole.
You didnt react when he pulled out to flip you onto your stomach, shoving one knee hip while the other stayed straight. He laid atop your seemingly lifeless body as he shoved himself back in and quickly resumed his previous pace. The cupped smacking sound reverberated with his pounding, your voice now muffled by the pillows you faced.
You felt his weight as his chest met your back and he rutted into you. Your fingers twitched with a mix of exhaustion, pleasure, and anxiety. He swiped your hair from your shoulder as he sucked another mark onto you from behind. Your voice raised a pitch as he thrusts began sloppy again.
"You're gonna make me cum again, honey... fuck yeah that's it, you can take it, knew you could." You whimpered as he lifted your hips, shoving you onto him just as harshly as he was fucking you. But you tightend around him all the same.
"Come on, cum with me, baby! Want your pussy to clamp down and suck my cum right out of my cock... milk me fucking dry, baby... lemme fill up that sexy fucking pussy!"
A scream was at the back of your throat as your body jumped like you were electrocuted. It came out as a broken cry as you shook violently. He didn't stop even after your orgasm run its course, only fucked you faster. Your hips pulled away as you mindlessly scrambled away from his unrelenting ones, but you were still under the influence of his roofie, and he was still so much stronger.
And so for another agonizing few minutes you shook and writhed and cried till he bottomed out. Cumming deep inside your abused cunt. You felt the warmth fill you as his tip hit your cervix, it spread quickly down to your opening where it leaked down onto the bed. He let himself to thrust a handful more times as he drained his balls inside of you.
And then he stayed there, his hand lifting your hips to keep it from leaking out. But there was so much, it filled your entire cunt. You felt his hands reached and pinch your slit closed around his cock. His mouth came to your ear as he whispered.
"Gotta make it stick... make sure you get nice and full."
You have nothing left in you to protest, only tears slipping by. You're so fucking dirty, cum and spit and snot and tears and sweat. The blanket your sprawled on feels like got left out in the rain.
You feel his cock soften inside you of before he pulls out. Two fingers immediately replace it, stuffing the little that leaks out back into your brushed pussy. You begin to lose your senses, your body unable to force itself to fight awake anymore.
You only feel the repeated drag of his fingers, a clicking sound like a camrea accompanied by a flash of light, and his breathless heaving. The bed shakes as he falls next to you before you feel his arm loosely wrap around you waist, pulling you into him. You eyes droop as you gave in. A lump forms in your throat when you feel a twitch against your ass as you slowly loose consciousness.
#NEEDTHATNEEDTHATNEEDTHAT
A soft whimper spilled from his lips as you rolled your hips, slow but shaky, and the movement made his breath catch in his throat. Lionâs hands spread across your lower half, thumbs pressing gently into your hip bones, fingers curling just above the curve of your ass. He didnât guide or grip you, just held.
His eyes were focused on you, wide and non-blinking, pupils blown, tracking every twitch your body made. He looked dazed, lips parted and glossy, watching your chest rise with each rock, your stomach tighten with each grind. Your body, on him, around him, seemed to knock the air from his lungs.
He licked his lips absentmindedly, his mouth dry from the way he'd been panting. His eyelashes fluttered like he might fall asleep if you slowed, just melt into the mattress, but every time they fell, he forced them back open. He had to see you. Had to watch.
Your back arched when the head of his cock grazed that special spot, hands bracing on his thighs as you leaned back. You felt the muscles tighten under your palms, and his legs gave the slightest jerk, like he was holding back from bucking up into you. His voice got caught somewhere in his chest when your pace shifted just slightly, a breath hitching behind clenched teeth.
He let out something between a sigh and a moan, wrecked and heated. âWhat'cha you doinâ all the way up there, hm?â he hummed, the words slurred. His voice cracked like his balls had just dropped.
You blinked down at him, eyes half-lidded, humming in response, breath caught in your throat, hands sliding up higher on his thighs as your hips moved again with his.
His middle finger brushed the small of your back, just a little pressure, just enough, and you followed it without even meaning to.
âCâmon down here with me, baby,â he whispered, low and lazy.
You followed his voice blindly without thought, like a siren. Your mouths met as your bodies did, messy and open, teeth catching once before you both calmed. His tongue met yours in a slow drag, and he sank back into the bed with a groan so soft it almost sounded like he'd already come.
His hands were everywhere now, palms skimming up your spine, curling over your shoulders, fingers tangling in the back of your hair. You followed the pull, arms sliding past his head to brace against the pillows, your chest pressed to his, skin hot and damp and trembling with every shaky inhale.
The kiss turned sloppy, desperate. Neither of you could catch a rhythm, too much want, too much ache, too close to the edge.
Your hips curved and your forehead dropped to his, breath spilling against his mouth. He tasted like sweat and meat and you.
The knot broke with your voice, and he wasnât far behind.