#miracle hair oil

[oraahwellness]

Oraah Miracle Hair oil Vs Onion Hair Oil

Revitalize your hair with Oraah Miracle and Onion Hair Oils! 🌟 Miracle Oil enhances strength and shine, while Onion Oil promotes growth and fights dandruff.

Choose the perfect hair oil for your hair journey today!

Website: https://oraah.in/collections/beauty

[tribalblackoil]

The summer can be really unkind to your hair due to excessive heat, humidity and sweat. Getting enough sunlight is good for health, but excessive heat, humidity and exposure to sun can damage your hair. It can make it dry, brittle, dandruff-prone and unmanageable. Hence, adding a good summer hair care regimen becomes very essential during this harsh season.

If you are looking for ways to keep your mane happy this summer, here are few summer hair care tips that you may find helpful.

Screen

Use a hat or scarf to protect the hair from direct sunlight. Hair loses the moisture due to heat and hot wind that may lead to dryness and brittle hair. Covering your head saves you from harmful UV rays as well as protects your scalp from losing the moisture. It also shields the hair from damages caused by hot wind.

Hair Wash

Wash the hair less often as frequent hair wash rips off the hair of its natural oil, which in turn aggravates oil production making it greasy once again. Natural shampoos or homemade shampoos cleanse the hair without striping the natural moisture off making the hair clean and healthy.

Heat Less Often

Blow drying your hair damages the hair root. During summer, forget the use of blowers as your hair is already exposed to summer heat. Air-dry your hair and keep a loose hair style to save it from excess heat and discomfort.

Wide-Tooth Comb

Avoid combing your hair while it is wet as it is that time when it is most prone to breaking. Allow the hair to air-dry before you comb your hair. Unlike brushes which pull and tear hair while working through hair strands, wide-tooth combs gently untangle the hair without pulling thereby preventing breakage and damage.

Conditioning with Oil

After washing your hair, condition it with a natural or herbal oil. Hot oil massage conditions and moisturizes the hair as it penetrates down into hair shaft and deep into the scalp. Herbs have been playing an essential role in hair health since ages. Various herbs in form of oils, masks and powder are used to promote hair growth and prevent hair fall even in harsher weather conditions.

Use of herbal hair oil helps in retaining moisture in your hair without making it greasy.

Herbal Care

Unique herbs such as Kala Agaar, Kala Dana, Kali Musli, Kali Haldi, Bhringraj, Brahmi, Wild Onion Seeds, Jatamansi, Indrayan promote hair growth, enhance volume, and make hair thick and shiny. These herbs work throughout the year no matter what the weather conditions are. Tribal Black Oilis one of such herbal oils that has all the above-mentioned ingredients that promises to keep hair healthy even in this scorching summer.

Summer is the time, which bursts with a lot of outdoor activities. Avoiding excessive sunlight, having healthy and balanced diet and following a holistic lifestyle goes a long way in making one healthy physically, mentally and emotionally. What works for healthy body, works for healthy hair too.

Reference:- https://www.tribalblackoil.com/blog/summer-hair-care-tips.html

[la-ro-ki]

hello my fellow ballers,,,, i bring you more food in these trying times :]

small junior high miragen edit/redesign

[xluxsolarisx]

WHAT??? you-?? hUH? ...you're so powerful

i'm an adult living alone for the first time ever with poor impulse control and a massive sweet and savory tooth. this was fated by the stars to happen i think. i'm like if sisyphus actively chose to roll the boulder up and down because he thought it looked nice tumbling down. so nice that maybe it would be worth the work it would take to get it up back up there so he could do it again. well. this isn't like that at all but you understand.

[vangoggles]

my long beautiful natural nails broke at the base and i am devastated. i guess now that they're short i can do this obnoxious shade of chartreuse (sally hansen xtreme wear in subway surfer) that would have been too much when they were long. or maybe i'll just go back to black. i think my new regular shade will be sally hansen miracle gel in shock & mauve, which on me is a very demure & very mindful pale pinky nude

[pimentadeacucar]

Pantene Pro v Miracles Queratina Óleo Capilar Milagroso

[cheswirls]

spent $$ i didn't rly have on kerastase shampoo bc im tired of my hair always breaking like i full bleached it back in 2017 and i kid you not it has not grown any longer since then bc it's so fragile. it's grown lots and lots like i got rid of the bleach yrs ago but it's so damaged bc I kept re-dyeing so much and haven't rly done more than trim my ends since highschool tbh

anyway!!! im trying this expensive shampoo following an olaplex leave-in spray bc that was 20$ to last me not even 2wks and less than 5 uses but I did realize that while (hopefully) this shampoo works its magic i do rly need a hydrating product to help fortify my hair. the conditioner i have is so meh and the leave-in conditioner spray I was using in april-may ran out so I get outta the shower and my hair still feels so dry??? i had to resist trimming the ends again aaaaaaaaa ive trimmed so much over the last 6 mths which sucks bc it's not growing back

so I got! a hair mask! tonight!! all the ones at work were 2.50$ for not a lot but I got one for less than 2$ that was bigger than all the others w a bunch of coconut oil in it? i probably won't wash my hair again tmrw but I wanna soak my hair and portion out some of this conditioner mask to try and see how it does bc it's made for curly hair and idkkkk what it's gonna do to mine (it's not straight more naturally wavy but also not curly by any means y'know??? i have the native american/far east russian(siberian) hair gene of Thick and Unruly and this mask is for coily hair types so we will seeeeeeeeeeeeeee ig augh it should be fine but if not then im fine with it being a waste of not even two bucks

but I think doing deep conditioning masks every so often alongside this shampoo made to strengthen hair will be better overall than doing one over the other right??? like obviously I want my hair not to snap so easily but I would also like for it to not feel dry.

anyway long rant over update tmrw mb

[beautyfineshopparis]

African Pride Shea Butter Miracle Growth Oil.

[lookingjoligood]

Review of OGX Extra Strength Damage Remedy + Coconut Miracle Oil Penetrating Oil

I recently stumbled upon a true miracle in a bottle – OGX Extra Strength Damage Remedy + Coconut Miracle Oil Penetrating Oil. This product has been an absolute game-changer for my hair. With its heavenly coconut scent and luxurious formula, it has become an essential part of my daily beauty routine. Allow me to share my experience and provide you with all the details you need to know about this…

[miraclehealthsecrets]

Benefits Of COCONUT OIL For HAIR | Coconut Oil Hair Treatment | Coconut Oil For Hair Benefits

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Watch The Video

Welcome To Miracle Health Secrets

Hope You are feeling GREAT and hope that this video helped you out to learn some new Health Secrets Today. 

We would be providing a New Health Secret Every SINGLE DAY, so make sure you subscribe to get the best health secrets everyday. 

Don’t forget to share this video to friends and families, You never know when the information that you share can be a MIRACLE for someone else’s life. 

Hope to see you tomorrow. 

Note:

Video For General Information Only - Not For Medical Advice

Links Provided Can Be Affiliate Links

#CoconutOil #Hair #CoconutOilBenefits 

****

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[oraahwellness]

Oraah Miracle Hair Oil is the answer to your frizzy, dry, and damaged hair.  It helps reduce frizz and breakage, making the hair smoother and shinier!!

Website: https://oraah.in/collections/beauty/products/oraah-25-in-1-miracle-oil

[vampire-matcha]

Thinking about Mechanics!141 and fem reader with a shitbox car (totally not me). You're in there every three to four weeks with something going wrong with your death trap of a car. The boys aren't sabotaging your car or anything. They don't need to. Your car is just that bad. It's a miracle it hasn't killed you yet. You're trying to save up for a newer car, but your shitbox keeps burning a hole in your wallet with every light blinking on your dashboard. It's to the point that the boys recognize you as soon as you walk into the shop. They hear the bell ring and they just know it's you again.

(Contains: sex as payment, oral sex/blowjob, fingering/masturbation) but of a different style from BitW but enjoy. Not proofread :p

"What is it now?" Price asks, wiping the motor oil from his hands on a greasy rag. You're already looping the key fob off your keychains.

"It's shaking whenever I get above 45."

"What part of the car is shaking?" He asks, pulling up your information on the computer.

"All of it," you say, slapping the key onto the counter with a huff. Price gives you a sympathetic look.

"Darling, you should really get yourself something more reliable," he tells you. You sigh and lean your elbows on the counter. His eyes glance down to your chest and the low-cut shirt you were wearing.

"I'm trying, Price," you say with a little more attitude than you intended. "It's impossible to save money when everything goes back into this fucking car!" You run your hands over your face. "I'm gonna die in that thing," you mutter, only half-joking. Price stops typing for a moment, thinking to himself.

"What if we could work something out?" He asks tentatively. You look up at him to see him already staring you down.

"Like... a loyalty discount?" You try to clarify. Surely he didn't mean...

"I was thinking something more along the lines of... an alternative method of payment." He leans against the counter in front of you, his face close to yours. He smelled like what you'd expect: motor oil and engine grease and musky, manly sweat. "Something under-the-table..." Your heart skipped a beat at the double-meaning of his words, allowing him just enough plausible deniability if you chose to not accept. You swallowed hard.

"What do you have in mind?" You ask softly, your heart pounding in your chest, and with how hard Price was staring at your cleavage, you think maybe he could see it. You reach a hand out to stoke a finger along his arm, feeling the coarse hair all over it. The corner of his mouth quirked up.

"I think I have something in the back office that might work. Follow me and I'll show you."

It wasn't that you were totally desperate. Well, you were. This car had cost you thousands more than it was worth and you needed to save any penny you could when it came to it. But you wouldn't have followed just any mechanic into the rinky-dink office at the back of the auto shop. This was John Price. And he was all man.

"You want that discount, you're gonna have to work for it."

Broad shoulders tapering into a narrower waist, but still lined with the perfect ratio of hearty muscle and soft belly, all leading down to an alluring bulge and plump ass, and finally, those thick, beefy thighs. Not to mention his hands: thick, strong, and calloused from years of hard manual labor, and forearms and biceps that twisted and flexed underneath his button-down work shirt.

He holds the door open for you, his body crowding you into the tight space. The office is more of an oversized closet with a desk and an old computer. He closes the door behind you both and settles himself into the rickety office chair, which creaks under his weight. He sits with his legs spread and his hands on his thighs and gestures for you to come closer.

You kneel between his legs and he smirks, adjusting his hips in the chair while you work open his belt. He lets you open his trousers for him but pushes them down for you so his semi-hard cock can spring free. He sighs when you take it into your hand, stroking him to full hardness.

He isn't much of a moaner, you didn't expect him to be, but his chest puffs as you take the tip into your mouth and suck on it lightly. Your hand moves up and down his shaft slowly, your fingers moving to meet your lips. You lick around the head and push the tip of your tongue into his slit, making his hips jerk lightly.

You close your eyes, letting yourself fully focus on his cock, letting desire and submissiveness take over your mind as you work to please him on your knees. You take him deeper into your mouth, widening your jaw and rocking your mouth side to side to fit him farther down. Your other hand slides up his thick, meaty thigh to massage his balls while you find yourself in a gentle rhythm. You bob your head, going down just far enough, but not enough to gag you, and sucking hard on the way up as your hand holds and twists the base. You melt onto him, the feeling of him in your mouth quieting your mind, leaving any thought of hesitancy far, far behind. All you need is John Price's dick in your mouth, and you think you could reach enlightenment between his thighs.

You barely register the fact that you're moaning around him until he's teasing you for it.

"Yeah? You like this, don't you? Letting me drag you to the back of the shop to suck my cock like the little whore you are." You whimpered at the filthy words he was spitting down at you. "Knew you would- the boys and I- knew you'd like us usin' you like this," he says with a grunt as he watches your eyes roll back. "Go on and touch yourself for me, dear."

You let go of his balls and quickly open your pants to sneak your hand inside. Your pussy is soaked, your fingers gliding through your lips with ease. You moan louder as you circle your clit, the motion sending sparks through your pelvis and thighs.

"There's a good girl. So obedient. I can hear how wet you are for me." He places a hand on your head, not pushing, just guiding your pace up and down his length. You press your tongue to the underside of his cock to add pressure while you touch your clit, the wet nub buzzing with electricity.

"Just like that," he puffs. He holds up his shirt and you see through your fluttering lashes the way his abs constrict with pleasure. "Go on, make yourself cum like that. Think you can do it? You think you can cum with my cock down your throat?" His hips jerk up into your mouth again with more urgency.

Your thighs twitch as your stomach tightens. His vulger words send you over the edge, and your hips stutter against your hand. Your body twitches and thrusts on the floor between his thighs.

"Good girl- good fuckin' girl," he says, his voice deep and strained, and he fists your hair harder and pulls it tight. The rush of euphoria makes you moan around him low and loud, and he cums into your mouth with a grunt. You choke on the salty fluid, swallowing what you can, but some of it slips out of your lips and drips down your chin.

He pulls you off and takes a good look at how ruined you are, your lips swollen, your eyes unable to focus, your hand down your pants, and best of all, his cum decoration your face. He smiles at you and hands you a relatively clean rag to clean your face. Little black streaks preplace white droplets on your skin, and he can't help the fond smile that creeps up on him. He's marked you now in more ways than one.

He untangles his hand from your hair and let's you rest your head on his knee until you catch your breath. You take your hand out of your pants, and he motions for you to raise it up to him, and instead of wiping it with the rag, he leans forward and sucks your wet fingers into his mouth. He holds your eyes and you feel his tongue swiping across the pads of your fingers, until he releases then with a smack of his lips.

"I'll let the boys know about our little arrangement. They'll collect their own payment when you pick it up tomorrow," he says with a wink. He helps you stand up and walks you back to the front, leaving you with one final squeeze to you ass. "Oh, and you might want to wash your hair," he adds as he opens the door to the garage. He hands up a greasy hand. "Got motor oil in it. Sorry."

[splishsplashgash]

My Lawrence Oleander headcanons

-he dumpster dives behind gardening and floral shops sometimes.

-Lawrence either eats like he's at 5 star restaurant or like a feral racoon in the trash.

-Lawrence actually deeply cares for his sisters he just doesn't know how to express it.

-His first pet was a fish,he'd sit for hours watching it in the family living room.

-Lawrence developed his plant obsession because his father would often garden,after his parents found out about his hobby with dead animals his father started teaching him about plants in hope that it'd give him a different hobby.

-Lawrence has to listen to either white noise or nature sounds to go to sleep

-Lawrence only showers once a week,and when he does it's an everything shower,aka shave,wash hair,body,etc.

-Lawrence is a rainbow baby,his parents calling him a miracle but once he got older his mother would murmur when he walked past that he was a curse instead

-Lawrence would clean the house when his family left hoping that they'd see him in a different light but they'd come home and say nothing,ignore him.

-Lawrence as a kid didn't eat his boogers like other kids he'd eat and pick at his scabs instead (me too Lawrence me too.)

-Lawrence was designated babysitter when ever his parents would leave for dates or other things.

-Lawrence hated school,we all know that, but I believe that Lawrence's teachers probably loved him,that they would call him sweet and hardworking.

-Lawrence likes routine and when his routines are messed up it angers him

- (Okay this one is more jokingly but...) He uses MC's piss to pass his works drug tests.

-He buys those essential oils that those old white ladies promote saying it will cure everything and all that junk

-He doesn't know much about technology,yeah he'd search stuff up on the family computer and on his phone but besides that he doesn't really know much.

-avid nail biter

-lived off Arizona Green Tea as a teenager

-Let his sisters braid and play with his hair when they were younger

-When he got his hair cut as a kid by his mom he'd cry everytime to the point she gave up on cutting it anymore

That's all I can remember right now I'm sure I have more though lol.

[cinnamonest]

Beleaguer

"Failed escape attempt" yandere series - Diluc

WARNINGS: dark content, fem reader, noncon, captivity, belting/spanking, manhandling, humiliation, darling has a somewhat defined personality, hair pulling, implied forced impregnation at the end, forced fem/housewifization + thinly veiled if not wholly unveiled misogyny, swearing, there's a lot going on here and none of it is holy

--------------

‘Fill cap to line. Causes intense drowsiness and loss of motor function within 5-10 minutes. Soluble. Do not operate heavy machinery if taken within the last 24 hours.’

You blinked a few times, focusing your vision. Your mind could be deceiving you, after all. But when you looked again, the vial in your hand read the same words as it did moments before.

You'd merely gone to set the oil back into the cabinet when the force of pushing one knocked over another further within, coming across the bottle in the very back in the process of fixing the mishap.

You grasped it firmly in your hand, merely blinking in disbelief as you read over the words again and again.

“Oh my God.”

You spoke aloud to yourself, standing alone in the spacious kitchen, the words slipping out on their own in a low whisper.

Daily life as you now lived it brought a sort of mind-numbing stillness to it. Life was repetitive and uneventful. You woke at the same time, performed the same mindless tasks, the same chores, the same interactions. You said hello and good morning to the same maids every morning (you'd lost the willpower to continue being cold to the staff a long time ago), you came down and went through the same routine, wore the same clothes, had the same conversations.

The only thing that ever changed was a few different foods on rotation from week to week and the names and faces of the strangers that came in and out of the lower rooms - although they were all one and the same to you, their attitudes and the way they treated you and looked at you was as though each was the same individual with merely a different face.

And consequently, you'd reached a state of numbness, you went through the tasks mechanically, without thinking, perhaps intentionally shutting down your mind to make acceptance easier. Disconnected, unreal, everything melted together and the days and the people were all one long continuous sequence of occurrences.

It was easier that way. Resisting brought anger, frustration, tears, misery. Allowing the numbness to take over allowed some escape from the reality itself.

Which was likely why reading the words themselves felt like a shockwave through your body, as if suddenly the world regained its colors, you could feel your heart beating and your lungs fill with air. Like a sharp and sudden awakening from an endless, empty, dreamless sleep.

You felt a sudden wave of shame immediately following the shock, chastising yourself for even allowing that numbness to take over, like you might have felt angry with yourself in the past for oversleeping or spacing out and missing something important.

You recognized the handwritten label stuck to the bottle, having gone to the same place for something or another in the past — the alchemist’s lab in the city. That essentially meant it had to be highly effective.

Not only that — the fact that the seal was broken and about a third of the liquid gone, would mean it was very likely the same substance used on you more than once. If so, “drowsiness” was an understatement — it would knock you out cold for hours at a time.

You heard yourself breathing in ragged, quick breaths, you stumbled and steadied yourself against the counter, looking up and around you, suddenly aware of the world around you, everything felt real. The emotions came flooding back — humiliation, resentment, fury.

This was a way out. A miracle.

In your sudden awakening, your mind, sprung back to function, as if the wheels were once again turning, took only a mere minute to formulate a plan. It wasn't really difficult at all — in fact, there was perhaps not a single moment more perfect for you to have stumbled across this opportunity. You were, after all, just about to fill glasses, the final step in your meal preparation.

You set the vial down and ran over to the other cabinet — wiping your hands on your apron to rid them of any residue from cooking — and opened it up, swiping a bottle of juice and returning to the center of the kitchen. The corners of your mouth pulled upwards beyond your control into a grin as you went about the process.

Have a taste of your own medicine, bastard.

You smirked even wider, practically beaming as you popped a tablet out of the packaging, dropping it into one of the glasses. It made a fizzing sound as it grew smaller and smaller, and you watched with wide eyes as it disappeared. Just to be certain, you bent your head down and gave it a sniff, but there was no distinguishable smell or color that would give it away.

And you were certain that, if this was in fact the same drug that you'd consumed, there was nothing about it that tasted unusual.

And once it was complete, for yet another moment you merely stood, staring, grinning and trembling, processing this sudden turn of events. It would be easy, right? The sun was already about to set, the staff were no longer in the fields except for a few security guards that patrolled here or there. It would be easy to spot and avoid them.

You just had to get Diluc to drink this, wait for him to pass out, and run, right? Sure, traversing the road barefoot might be difficult, but that would probably be the extent of your hardships, provided you could get out.

Get out, get on the road, make a straight shot for Mondstadt, go straight to the knights and tell them everything that had happened to you. Maybe you could steal one of the horses they kept for plowing to make your getaway. Your chest burned at the thought of getting your revenge — no, your justice. You deserved this, you deserved freedom — and he deserved whatever consequences would come his way.

…No. You realized, albeit with frustration, that getting revenge wasn't really an option. He had power and money, and you knew all too well how good such people were at evading consequences.

You would just have to run. Staying in Mondstadt certainly wasn't an option. You'd just go… somewhere. Specifics didn't matter as long as you got away from here.

And sure, you'd made a few attempts to get out before, quickly foiled and harshly punished. But you'd never had an advantage like this before. He couldn't chase you down if he was out cold.

You took deep breaths, trying to calm down. It would all be over soon.

You finally managed to wipe the mischievous grin off your face. You knew you couldn't afford risking him getting suspicious if you were too outwardly giddy. Instead, you tried to maintain only a small smile, the numb, dopey smile you'd trained yourself to wear. Nonetheless, you shook your head and settled the plates and glasses onto a tray, carrying them out to the little table that sat tucked away in an alcove in the hallway connecting the main hall to the kitchen. He preferred to eat here when it was just the two of you, with plain cups and plates, rather than the massive dining room with all its ornate tableware — that was only for formal occasions, you'd discovered, whereas this was out of sight from the constantly-bustling staff.

You set the food and drink out — careful to be mindful of which cup was which — then stood, returned the tray to the kitchen, then the vial to the cabinet and, with a spring in your step, turned and made your way down the hall.

You were careful to make sure everything was as it was supposed to be. Straightened your posture, ran your hands down the front of the dress to smooth it out.

You began the short journey from the kitchen to the study, footsteps light and soft, short steps that slowed your pace. No heavy steps that thumped against the hardwood, no letting your weight fall onto each foot all at once, and no slouching. Nor any other such improper, inappropriate behaviors.

It really was a beautiful building, though, so you thought to yourself as you glanced up at the ornate windows. You'd been here before, on your own volition, back long ago, of your own volition. You'd walked by it plenty of times, and once or twice had taken a moment to stroll around the vineyard, figuring it would do no harm, as you were never noticed.

Now, it was a sort of beautiful prison, such an elegant architecture for such a suffocating place.

Upon reaching one particular door, you raised a hand up and gave a gentle knock. A voice came from behind the door.

"Mm?"

You took another deep breath, calming yourself down, trying to mentally switch the ‘on’ button for your sweet obedient wife act you hoped you had mastered well enough by now, complete with an upward shift in octave and sing-song-y touch to your voice. "It's me."

You heard a chair scoot backwards, heavy footsteps, and the door opened. "...Hey." A hand rested on your head. "Food ready?"

"Yes sir." You gave a soft smile.

"That's good... thanks." He patted your head, and seemed to stifle a yawn. His voice was drained, nearly a mumble.

"Are you ok?" You tried your best to make your voice sound soft and concerned, furrowing your eyebrows in a way you hoped looked worried, pushing your lower lip out a bit.

"Just tired. Lots of work today. I'll just eat and then we'll go to sleep."

Oh yes, you will.

Fighting the urge to grin, you slowly made your way back together down the hall — remembering to keep your footsteps light, forcing a sort of soft, feminine gracefulness to your manner of walking, lest you be reminded to do so.

Every little second, every step, every word was practiced and poised. Now, having reawakened to your resentment and defiance, just acting it out made you feel sick.

There was, nonetheless, a residual sense of dread, a nagging pit in your stomach that went deeper than the surface-level nervousness.

There was a major disadvantage — this would not be the first time you tried something like this. Granted, not with this particular substance, but you had once managed to make him horribly sick for well over a day with rat poison, and once again with liquid pesticide meant for the vineyard. Both incidents were purely for the purpose of amusement and spite, which you’d reveled in despite the unfortunate consequences you’d suffered.

The first time, he'd been totally unsuspecting, and the second time he'd been too distracted and busy to notice anything even if you had let something slip. You could curse yourself now in hindsight — if you hadn't committed those first two offenses out of sheer spite, you'd be able to pull this off much more easily. But now, he’d learned you would do something like that, and if the slightest thing was wrong in the taste or appearance of it, he'd get suspicious immediately. You weren't even sure if a single sip was enough to do anything, considering how diluted the substance now was. You’d just have to hope he’d drink the whole thing.

You did your best to make idle conversation as you walked, talking about whatever you did that day, as if it was ever any different from any other day. Your nerves felt electrified, your body tense and stiff as you sat back down and took a bite of this and that, trying to contain your anticipation, trying to look at him out of the corner of your eye rather than directly. He didn't say much, but that wasn't abnormal, only slowly taking in bites of this and that. It felt like an eternity of waiting.

Come on, get thirsty, drink it...

Finally, his hand reached out to the juice. You felt your breath hitch.

Come on, come on!

You stopped moving, anxiously waiting for him to drink.

So caught up in your excitement that you didn't realize you were letting it show on your face, that you had ceased your own motions to stop and stare intently.

It took him stopping and looking up at you with confusion in his expression, for you to feel a spike of panic as you realized the mistake.

"...Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Hm?" You immediately tried to correct the behavior, going back to cutting at something on your plate with a smile, hoping the way you stiffened wasn't visible. "Sorry, I just… I spaced out a second, what did you say?"

He was silent for a moment.

"...Nothing."

Ok. Good save.

You popped a bite of food into your mouth. Besides, despite being an overall intelligent man, he had a tendency to be rather dense sometimes, surely he wouldn't pick up on something like that.

You were fine for now— what is he doing.

You noticed an odd look spread across his features, eyebrows furrowed a bit, as if thinking something through.

Then, he stood up, glass in one hand, and grabbed yours with the other.  He swapped your drinks and sat back down, looking up at you with a neutral, cold stare.

Oh.

His gaze didn't falter. He set his elbows on the table, and rested his head on interlocked fingers. "Is there a problem?"

Oh no.

"N-no, I was just... why did you...?" You felt your body go cold, and try as you might not to, you knew panic must be showing on your face.

"It's the same thing, isn't it? So it's fine."

You couldn't miss the suspicious tone to his voice even if you'd tried to ignore it.

"...Right." You smiled, but you felt your lips tremble a bit. You could save this, for now, even if it didn't work out in your favor. You looked at the food, but you could still feel his gaze on you, so, hoping to pacify his suspicion, you brought the cup up to your mouth and tilted it as if you were drinking, closing your upper lip to the glass so that none of the juice actually got in your mouth. Then, after a moment, you pulled it away, swallowing to further the deceit.

He seemed satisfied by the action — right? It looked like he bought it, right? — and looked back down, resuming eating. There was a tense, awkward silence, so you attempted to fill in the empty space.

"D-did you, um, do anything fun today?"

"I wouldn't call anything I do 'fun,'" he muttered. "Just met with a bunch of people, one after the other... there's lots of business partnership contract renewals around this time of year, so they have to come here for that process."

"Mhm." You couldn't care less, but feigned interest. You knew Diluc well by this point, and knew how to appeal to the things that would soothe him the most. One of the most important factors in that was listening to whatever it was he had to say, no matter how boring (which, really, most things having to do with his work were). He liked to feel listened to, didn't have anyone else to go to, you supposed. Lots of stress, high expectations, and no solid support figure probably was the root of his psychological issues. — said issues were something you had spent a lot of time contemplating and trying to figure out in your spare time, given their now inherent effect on your own life.

But you presumed that most men without stress and some kind of serious issues generally did not go around abducting women they barely knew and forcing them to live in their homes. At least, not to your knowledge.

You had often wondered why someone like him wouldn't choose someone who was already that ideal, someone who already exemplified those traits… but as time went by you began to understand that that simply wasn't good enough.

That there was an allure to someone like you, to someone like him. That your very existence as you were on your own upset the man — you'd noticed that within the first few minutes of interacting with him, back when you first started coming to that damn bar you now wish you’d never set foot in. The displeased expression and dismissive tone at your vulgarity and defiance and aggression. You'd thought, back then, that the man disliked you —and he did, in a way.

But for someone who seemed to have such distaste for you, he sure did fail to ever leave you alone. There was some impulsive need to say something to you at some point in each encounter, as if he couldn't allow you to go about your night without at least one look of disdain or passive-aggressive comment. The only thing that seemed more irksome to him than your existence, was the fact that you always bit back, always said something in return, and thus your interactions had only fueled your and his disdain for each other further and further.

The mistake you'd made in your original assessment of him, that you’d slowly come to understand with time, was that he was not a person who simply avoided things he disliked, like most people — he was hellbent on fixing whatever irked him, remediating whatever was perceived as wrong.

You had not been an exception.

Now in the present, as you tried to focus on maintaining your calm act, he kept on talking about this or that. Some people who came by today, some guy who keeps trying to get him to sign some agreement he doesn't want to, this isn't a particularly good crop this season, but he's seen worse, blah blah, nothing you cared about.

You continued eating, which soon turned out to be a mistake — your throat was dry, food wasn't helping, and you desperately wanted something to drink, but you could do nothing but raise your glass up and pretend you were actually drinking your juice. You thought, for a moment, he seemed to look at the glass, and fear he realized the amount wasn't going down ran through your mind, but you tried to calm yourself. If you started imagining things in your paranoia, you'd only increase the chance of him noticing your panic.

There was obvious suspicion a few minutes ago, sure, but there had been plenty of times he had falsely suspected you of things in the past, and was generally willing to believe you once presented with contrary evidence, even once becoming, albeit reluctantly, apologetic when realizing you'd done nothing wrong.

Finally, although you were suppressing the urge to cough at the dry scratchiness of your throat, you finished eating, and, like you knew you were supposed to, stood with a forced little smile and grabbed your plate, extending a hand for him to give you his as well, and took them both back to the larger kitchen area through the open doorway, barely hearing his ‘thanks’ as you scurried off.

You set the plates down, immediately turning on a faucet and cupping water in your hand, before drinking it down to soothe your throat.

Alright, so things didn't turn out quite like you were hoping, but that was ok. There was plenty of the substance left. Just wait a few days, do it again, and control yourself better next time so as not to strike any suspicion. Easy.

The maids would take care of washing plates off, but you needed to dispose of the remainder of your drugging attempt just in case. There was only droplets of juice left in his, and, of course, yours was full. You washed his — well, originally yours — out first, running some water over it, thinking it would be odd if one was washed out and not the other, and you didn’t want to take any chances.

You heard him walk into the kitchen behind you, and unease creeped back up into your chest. But that wasn’t so bad, right? He’d think you were trying to help the staff out, and he’d think that was good, wouldn’t he?

You hummed a bit, and set his glass upside down in its proper place, reaching out to yours and preparing to pour it down the sink drain, when his hand latched around your wrist. You went stiff.

"You should finish it."

Any confidence that you had successfully eased his suspicions might as well have been poured down the drain as well.

"...Hm?" You forced a smile, albeit twitching. “O-oh, I just didn't... finish all of..." You were painfully aware that your voice trembled, and, in a last effort to appear like you weren't nervous, forced yourself to turn your head and look at him.

"You didn't drink it at all." His face was flat and cold, eyes ever so slightly narrowed, but his voice was dark, quiet, knowing. "It's good for you. Don't let it go to waste."

You couldn't argue that you didn't like it — it was the same thing you drank every single night. Nor could you confess why you didn't want to do so. Of course, drinking it was technically an option. You'd just pass out and be forced to deal with the consequences once you woke up — although the cynical part of your mind thought maybe passing out wouldn't be too bad right about now.

Now, the expression on his face grew darker, fully obvious as a look of accusation, and the tone that followed matched.

“Unless there's something wrong with it.”

Your mind scrambled, unable to think of a way out. Your smile widened and twitched, and your body shivered, trying and failing to force a look of happiness, but the crushing feeling of defeat was beginning to settle in. "I... ah, hah, I, um..."

His expression and voice didn't waver, in contrast to your cowering. Looking down on you with something like frustration, perhaps disappointment. There was the slightest edge of a quietness in it, as he continued, "If there is, then tell me."

The last two words came out firm. A command.

"I... I..." You swallowed, visibly shaking, no longer able to hide the fear on your features. You bit your lower lip, and, feeling your eyes burn, your resolve broke.

You hung your head, and replied in a quiet voice, wavering on the verge of tears.

"...I'm sorry."

He released your hand, but snatched the glass out from it, immediately dumping the mixture down the sink. You reached up, wiping away the watering in your eyes that were threatening to become tears.

"Where is it?"

You stiffened at the firmness in his voice. You tried your best to look up, questioning in a pathetic whimper. "...Hm?"

"The— I don't know, whatever you put in there. Where is it?" There was a rising frustration in his tone.

You hadn't thought about that part. Of course, how could you not realize he'd do that if he found out? There wouldn't be another opportunity to try again. That realization left a sting of despair in your chest, you chastised yourself for not saving a smaller portion hidden away. If you'd been smart, you would have prepared for this possible outcome, and saved some so that he would think he'd taken it all. Dammit.

For a moment, you were silent.

"Tell me."

You tensed up, biting your lip.

You were afraid, but it also made you angry. The commanding, authoritative tone, as if he owned you, as if he had any right to tell you what to do. There was a time where you would have responded to anyone who spoke in such a way to you with equal aggression, if not outright violence. Your pride swelled in your chest, digging its heels in at the thought of being obedient, sickened by the notion of giving in.

At your hesitation, he said your name.

It was a low tone, a clear warning in response to your defiant silence. You jolted, and scurried over to the other side of the kitchen, trying to bite your lip, hands trembling as you opened the cabinet and pulled out the container and turned around, hanging your head and standing stiff with fear and humiliation as he took it from your hand and read the front of the package.

He sighed, but as he did, some of the tension seemed to roll off his frame. "...Oh. That." He caught the confused expression you had at those words, and elaborated. "I thought it would be—” he cut off and took another heavy breath, whether out of exasperation or relief or both, you weren't sure. “I thought you were trying to poison me again… or kill me.”

"No," you shook your head rapidly. “I wouldn't… do that…” Granted, you may have very well have chosen take the chance if it was an option, but such honesty would be ill-advised when your current objective was to deescalate the situation you'd landed yourself in, and hopefully quell any further anger before it emerged.

Yes, this was practical, you told yourself — and more importantly, told your wounded sense of pride. You were just being practical, strategic.

Besides, the sedative was the only thing you had available, anyway… well, had had available, since it was now certainly going to be taken from you.

You stood perfectly still as he moved, pulling a key out of his pocket, mumbling something about how he had no idea how that even got there, as he unlocked what you had come to refer to in your mind as the "forbidden" cabinet  — where all the various dangerous things lay, such as knives, skewers, rat poison (moved there after the previous incident), bleach even.

You were aware that he and all the staff members possessed a key, as you'd sometimes catch maids or other workers accessing it for various purposes, so you assumed it was there solely to keep those things out of your reach. It had started out as a few knives, but the collection had slowly built over time due to your creativity with what remained at your disposal.

“And here you were actually starting to improve,” he mumbled. The words were heavily laden with exhaustion, frustration.

You clenched your fists. The words crawled under your skin, bothered you viscerally, knowing there was truth to them. Thinking back, over the past few weeks, you'd become more complacent and behaved than you'd ever been prior — part of it had been an act, sure, but a creeping dense of paranoia made you wonder if you’d been settling into it, if it had been starting to become natural. You rejected the thought, insisting otherwise to both him and yourself.

“That's— that's only because I've been here so long… you're wrong…”

Even though the words were spoken weakly, the mere act of disagreement was not within the boundaries of complacency and acceptable behavior. It was not normal for your good wife act. The defiance was slowly bubbling up to the surface, and you could tell from the way you say you saw his jaw visibly clench, that he noticed that as much as you did.

He narrowed his eyes as he turned his head towards you, before shaking his head and returning to putting the offending substance away. He was moving some of the things around to make space for the new object, placing it inside before locking the doors shut again, back turned to you.

But then, there was only more silence as he reached up to rub at the side of his temple with one of his hands.

You hoped for the best, that perhaps the lack of murderous intent on your part would serve to significantly lessen his anger, or that due to contrast, he would view trying to sedate him as a petty offense. Trivial. Overlookable.

“But why would you even want to knock me out…?” He trailed off, looking to the ground in pensiveness. And then, the worst thing you feared happened — the exact intent seemed to click with him.

Your gaze cast to the floor, you could just see him move out of the corner of your eye, walking back towards you, but in fear, you couldn't bring yourself to look up. You saw his feet facing yours as you looked down, and a shadow cast over your hanging head. He was standing right in front of you, and, perhaps out of pride, or perhaps accepting it was inevitable anyway, you forced yourself to look up, eye-to-eye, his own narrowed with disdain.

“…You were going to put me to sleep so you could run off again.”

You stiffened. “No,” you immediately rushed to your own defense. “I just—”

“Yes, you were. Don't—” he huffed, finishing his sentence with gritted teeth, “don't lie to me.”

“I'm not!” Your words that time came out more angry than fearful, your own frustration with everything beginning to balance our your fear.

“I just said—” he cut his words short and took a deep breath, reaching up to rest his face in his hand in a gesture of exasperation. His next words were not as intensely angered, more of a tired frustration laden in them. “You really never learn, do you.”

The words, simple as they were, had a strong effect.

Your fear and anger dwelled in your heart in a state of coexistence — you’d been tamed enough that avoiding pain and consequence was your usual priority, with the anger, the inherent defiance in your spirit, taking a secondary place. But with the right choice of words, the right circumstances, that same defiant spirit that he so very much hated, that he worked so hard to erase, would come bouncing back. A routine you’d been through more than once by now.

That same spirit of defiance had slowly been rising, had been your whole reason for your attempt, but with that, the switch flipped. Your hands balled into fists at your side.

“Learn what?!” Your voice came out louder than before. “Goddammit, I—”

The irritation on his features grew. “Don't raise your voice. And for the millionth time, watch your mouth.”

“I'll do what I want!” You leaned your upper body forward in exertion. “You’re the one that never lets me go anywhere! I wouldn't have done it if you didn't keep me locked up like an animal!”

His head snapped up fully at your voice, eyes narrowing into a glare.

“Don't get an attitude with me.”

Your eye twitched. That was one of your many rules that you so despised, the one you were most frequently found guilty of violating. Commands you were held to for no other reason than the desires of someone else, a projection of an ideal you were so brutally forced to conform to. Don't raise your voice, don't get a bad attitude, don't walk so loud, don't slouch, don't curse, don't make that face, don't talk back. The “don't” commands were bad enough, but the expectation of the inverse, the image you had to conform to, was even worse. To be nice, to sit there and smile and do whatever was instructed without so much as a complaint. Those were the good traits that you were supposed to have, that you were to be instilled with — as if a wild animal to be caught and domesticated.

A dam holding back your emotions seemed to break. You finally raised you voice fully, nearly yelling.

“It's your fault for making me stay in here in the first place, you bastard!” You snarled. “You keep acting like this is normal and it's not! You kidnapped me, dammit! You're mad at me for breaking your stupid rules when you're the one committing a fucking crime!”

You were speaking with such forceful anger you leaned forward with the exertion, panting heavy breaths, hands curled into fists. Your fury reached a peak, throwing aside all regard for whatever line your next words may cross.

"And you know what? I don't belong to you, I'm not your — I'm not anyone's goddamn dainty little fucking housewife! I don’t have to listen to a damn word you say, you bastard, you—”

You hesitated to finish your sentence, about to deliver another onslaught of curses, but stopped short when you tilted your gaze up, and your eyes met.

His eyes narrowed, staring at you with something like abject disgust, irritation, exasperation, but the silence was what amplified your dread the most. A single second of heavy, tense quiet passed, and then you saw him reach down to his waist, grasping at the front of his belt and unfastening it before pulling the other end, rapidly pulling the whole thing out of the loops.

“Come here.”

A very firmly-spoken command. Your stomach felt as if it flipped over on itself, a sudden cold feeling across your flesh, a learned response. You took a step back, drawing your hands up to your chest in a defensive reflex.

You hesitated, feet spread apart as if to move, but in what direction you weren't certain. Your eyes darted to the left and right, and froze as your gaze settled on the arch leading to the hallway.

Which he must have noticed, given the look he shot you. His voice grew quieter, more foreboding. “Don’t you dare run. Come here. Now.”

You had not yet fucked up quite this badly before, not done something to this magnitude — poisoned him, yes, and had outbursts, yes, but never back-to-back, the offenses stacking on top of each other. That outburst just then was the most vicious one you'd had since you woke up here, and you would be given far less lenience now than then. The thoughts of past punishments for even mild transgressions crossed through your mind. The blood drained from your face, your heartrate picked up faster.

It was stupid, really. So, so stupid, so futile, and had you really thought about it, you would know how pointless it was. But in the moment, you weren't operating so much on reason, so much as the dread in your gut and instinct.

For that reason, you turned in the opposite direction, bolted through the door to the hall, and took off running.

"Wh—” You heard the sound in his throat cut off as you bolted, clearly taken aback by the choice of action, but soon followed by a throaty groan of frustration you could hear all too well.

You didn't even really know where you were going. Nor what you planned to accomplish. The building was large, there were plenty of hallways to run down and turns to take — you turned left at the end of the room, then took and immediate right, unable to remember the structure enough to coordinate any plan of action as to where to run, just following the need to run away.

The doors were always locked from the inside and out now, one set of locks to keep intruders out and the other to keep you in. Breaking glass windows was a risk you didn't want to take, and it would alert anyone nearby to your location immediately and would only serve to greatly increase any potential consequence. Thus, for the time being, perhaps you were looking more for a place to hide. Maybe if you could just do that, find a place to cower and wait out the brunt of his anger, he would calm down by the time you came out.

Well, really, you knew that probably wasn’t doable, but it was nice to at least think for a moment.

And a moment was all you got.

You hesitated as you reached a spot where the hall split into two different corridors, and that one moment of hesitation was enough to close the gap between you. You squealed and flailed as a hand forcefully grabbed at your hair, pulling you back.

“Ow!” You squirmed, the balls of your bare feet thumping on the hardwood as they stumbled to regain your balance. “Let—let me go! Ow, ow, that hurts—”

“Hold still.” The command was firm, a foreboding voice that made your heart race.

The fabric around your torso pulled taut against your skin as he took a fistful of the back side of it, other arm harshly wrapping around your waist before you felt your weight lift upward, feet leaving the ground.

You thrashed, but even doing so to the best of your ability had no effect. His grip didn’t budge.

You grunted as you were effectively slung over his shoulder. He started moving forward, footsteps heavy and frustrated. “Gh!” You squirmed, flailed, all to no avail.

Your resistance began to falter in realization of the futility of fighting the now-inevitable, groaning in miserable anger and weakly bringing your clenched fists down on his back as you were, with seemingly little effort, carried down the hall, taking a turn and ascending up the staircase. It was only a short distance from the top to the bedroom door, which opened in a swift, furious motion, likewise slamming shut behind you.

You grunted as you were thrown down onto the mattress. You put your hands down and pushed yourself upward, beginning to try and crawl away, but a hand caught you by the back of your shirt again, pushing your upper body down. You made a rough, irritated noise in the back of your throat as you squirmed, but soon your hands were pinned behind your back, leaving you face down with your hips in the air.

You inhaled a sharp gasp of air and stiffened when you felt the skirt end if the dress hike up, the waistband beneath pulled down, cool air on your bare flesh.

“Wait wait, no, I'm sorry—”

You instinctively jerked forward, squirming, heart beginning to pound in your chest. You had had enough experience to know that this was far more painful on bare skin, as if the humiliation ritual of it all wasn't bad enough.

You felt like a petulant child, begging and whimpering. You tried to move, but the hand pushing down and your knees being positioned right on the edge of the bed effectively forced you into holding the position, with no way to move.

“Then you should have thought about that before you decided to do what you did.” There was no trace of mercy or empathy in his voice. “This is entirely your fault.”

“But I—”

You cut off with a squeal, body lurching forward as sharp pain came down on the sensitive skin on your ass, the smacking sound echoing in your ears. Your jaw clenched, muscles tensing. He wasn't holding back either, one strike was enough to make your eyes begin to water.

“This wouldn't have to keep happening—”

Another strike on the enunciated word. You hissed a sharp breath through clenched teeth and groaned, hips reflexively jerking forward in an attempt to pull away, to no avail.

“—if you could just—”

Another strike. You winced and stiffened, groaning and straining your muscles pulling against the firm hold forcing you in place.

“—give it up—”

And yet another.

“—and learn to behave.”

Another and another and another, three in quick succession. You yelped and jolted at each, a miserable sound coming out of your throat. Unable to maintain enough pride to hold them back, tears streamed down your face.

“Stop, stop…” you whimpered. “It hurts…”

But the only reply you got was calloused and merciless.

“It’s supposed to.”

The next strike was harder than the previous ones. You squealed, taking deep, gasping breaths. Your legs trembled.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, I won't do it again—”

“You said that last time.”

Your heart sank. You didn't have any reply other than to whimper in misery and anticipation, turning to a throaty cry of pain as you were struck again.

“It's for your own good. You would be happier if you just give in. But you insist—”

The leather came down hard. Your shoulders wracked with a sob, completely breaking the last of your resolve to hold back your reactions.

“—on being stubborn.”

The belt came down again, your body jolting and face contorting with the pain once more.

It was the final strike to drive you over the edge.

"I'm sorry!"

You couldn't speak further for a moment, having to take a few heaving gasps. Your shoulders jerked with a sob, sniffling, tears streaming down your face.

The only thing outweighing the stinging, striking pain itself was the tight feeling in your chest of humiliation and bitterness. It was intended as such, of course, to hurt not only your body, but your pride as well.

Your body trembled, heaving breaths and whimpers filling the following quiet. Perhaps your misery was finally deemed worthy of mercy, as despite your tensing in anticipation, no further sudden pain followed, only the lingering, hot sting on your bare flesh.

There was only a heavy sigh.

“Are you done being a brat?”

You sniffled, nodding your head against the sheets. “Mmhm…”

There was a momentary pause, perhaps giving you the opportunity to catch your mistake on your own. After you failed to do so within a few moments, the hand around your wrists tightened, a wordless threat. A brief panic surged through your mind, but you realized where you'd erred within a second.

Still, even though you opened your mouth, taking a breath to speak, some last little spark of stubborn pride flickered up, bitter and spiteful, and for a moment, you refused to give in to it, the one rule you so deeply resented more than any other.

And then he said your name — a foreboding, low tone, a warning.

Thus the brief moment of dignity was extinguished in a single word. You practically blubbered out the words, distorted by your sniffling and slurring.

“Y-yes sir…”

Finally, the grip on your wrists released.

“Good.”

You slumped forward, trembling hands reaching out to pull yourself further onto the bed before you went limp on your stomach and still, head spinning and exhaustion setting in as you came down from the high of the expense of so much energy and stress. As your head cleared, you became aware of the discomfort of wetness on your face, reaching up wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand. The sting was bad enough that you didn’t even bother pulling your clothes back into place to cover yourself, not wanting the fabric to brush against the now-sensitive skin.

There was a long moment of quiet. You weakly turned your head, seeing the pensive look on his face, eyebrows furrowed and looking at the ground. Something about it felt ominous, made your stomach shaft to churn.

“This keeps happening in a cycle,” he muttered, a low voice, almost as if speaking more to himself than you. “You start to improve, and then you regress again.”

Had you not been so utterly weary, not to mention bearing the lingering sting to your backside, you might have gotten defensive, snapped at him over referring to succumbing to the spiritual torment of your life as improvement. But now, spirit already broken as it could be for one day — at least, so you believed in that moment — you only closed your eyes, trying to ignore him. Maybe you could rest your body, at least a little, before the inevitable disturbance of a different form of exertion.

But when you squeezed your eyes shut, as always, the thoughts came rushing through your mind, emotions and recollections all at once, too intense for you to bear. Thinking through everything over again, your mistakes that led you to where you were now — not so much the events of the last hour, and more the grand scheme of things, how much you regretted ever making eye contact with him, or ever setting foot in that damn tavern.

Each and every day, you replayed the final conversation you two had had, sitting there in his own bar after everyone else had gone home, with you insisting on drinking more until you were content. After so much time — or perhaps due to the effect of the drugs, or the alcohol — you'd forgotten what the whole of the conversation was even about, only your response to one of those half-muttered comments about how this or that behavior of yours was unattractive, how you'd never get married if you kept it up, or any of the other things he said that irked you so.

You'd glared, snapping at him.

What makes you think you get to tell me what to do?

The only other thing you remembered — no, it was perfectly burned into your memory, crystal-clear despite your intoxication at the time — was the way he'd frozen, the look on his face when you'd said it, the glimpse you'd caught of it for a mere second. Slack-jawed, eyebrows furrowed, staring down at you with some amalgamation of disbelief, fury, and pure, unadulterated disgust.

Well, it wasn't the only thing you remembered — he'd walked away for a moment, you'd nearly drifted off in drunken haze, and something was shoved into your hands, you drank it without question (like an idiot, you often reprimanded yourself) and then, the next memory was waking up in his bed.

It played over, and over, and over, as you lay there shivering, cold and exhausted. As much as you resented him, you couldn’t help but feel enraged with yourself, each time you thought back to each interaction. That you didn’t recognize that something was wrong, that the degree of quiet malice he seemed to hold for you was unnatural, obsessive, dangerous. You’d just shrugged it off as just being his nature. Such an idiot, you thought to yourself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

A heavy sigh pulled you out of your thoughts.

“…”

Whatever he was actually now thinking, though, he didn’t say aloud.

Instead, predictably, his hands grabbed at your thighs, pulling you back across the bed. The same familiar knot of dread began to twist in your chest again.

You groaned, a sound of combined exasperation, pain and exhaustion. Your voice came out weak. “N-no, don’t… it’ll hurt too much…” Despite your verbal protest, you couldn’t actually summon the will to do much more than a weak squirming with your body as the dress was pulled up. Your attempts to hold your arms down proved futile as they were easily grabbed and maneuvered to allow him to pull the clothing off entirely, throwing it onto the mattress.

“It’s not going to hurt you,” was his only reply, an assured and matter-of-fact tone, like it was an objective, predetermined truth that you were foolish to contest. His hands moved to your hips, pulling on them to pull you back into your prior positioning. “It only hurts because you don’t relax enough.”

You might have remarked that the two back-to-back statements were quite the contradiction, but in the moment you were too lost in a combination of daze and panic to be too sarcastic. The pull jolted your mind back into full clarity. You tried to push yourself up on your hands, but his hand pressed to your back again, holding you in place.

“Wait, wait—”

You cut off in a shrill wail, toes curling and legs kicking out reflexively as the sting of the stretch set in. Your back arched in a reactive attempt to get away from the sudden intrusion that felt like it was splitting you apart, cleaving your body in half.

"Just—just hold still," his grip on your wrists tightened as your hands attempted to jerk back. He moved one hand to the other, taking both your wrists in one hand so he could reach down to your hips with the other, grabbing at one with a bruising grip and holding you still in place before sliding out, then back in, a second time, then a third.

You gritted your teeth, tears forming in your eyes anew as your body tensed up. The friction burned, the stretch ached. "It hurts," you whimpered, speaking through your teeth gritted in pain. "You-you're tearing me apart..."

"Just relax. You’re too tense.”

“I can’t just—gh!”

His arm shifted from pressing you down to wrapping around your torso, pulling your upper body back up from behind, while also preventing you from pulling yourself forward, and instead pulling your body closer against his, bouncing you back and forth on his cock. Each movement brought your ass bouncing back against his hips, a harsh sting on still-sensitive flesh.

"A-ah, ah…” you clamped down on reflex, trembling hands reaching behind you to push him back, but you were so weak it did nothing. “Wait, wait…” Your words came out slurred and strained.

Suddenly, to your surprise, the movement actually stopped. There was a moment of pause, and for that moment, you actually believed maybe you were receiving whatever semblance of mercy the man was capable of.

You heard his heavy breathing in your ear, felt him let his head fall downward for a moment, as if in thought.

Then, his hands moved once more — this time, one grasping at your waist, forcing your back into an arch, the other reaching up, palm against your throat and his fingers curling to grasp your jaw.

“Fight me off.”

With that, he pulled back, and slammed forward again. You squealed, every muscle tensing and spasming at the ripples of sensation it sent through your nerves.

“What? I don't— what are you—”

Another harsh, slamming thrust cut you off.

“Remember what you said before? When you first came here?” His words were spoken in a low, dark tone, dripping with vengeful spite. His fingernails dug into the flesh of your face. “You told me you didn't need anyone.”

The hand on your hip tightened its grip as you pulled your hips forward, jerking you back as his own hips snapped forward, the motion ramming into you in full all the way down to the base, the flesh of your ass pressed up against his hip bones.

“You said you were strong, that you didn't need protection.” The grip tightened, painfully pressing down. “You said you could take care of yourself.” His fingers curled further into your skin. “Remember that?”

Even in such a flat tone, his voice felt utterly mocking. The defiance you'd thought he'd already drained from your spirit began to surge back up in full force, a burning rage filling your chest.

“If you're so strong,” he continued, words muddled with heavy panting breaths, bouncing you back and forth with increasing pace, “then you should have no problem—” he took another heavy breath, next words coming out as half-spoken, half-hissed through clenched teeth, “fighting me off.”

You stiffened, eye twitching, a rough throaty sound of fury coming from your mouth as you began to squirm, to no avail.

“Come on. Prove it.” His voice grew more intense, lower, harsher. “Push me off. Do it.”

You practically growled, an animalistic sound, savagely reaching up to claw at the hand gripping your jaw, pulling your body forward with all the strength you could muster.

But it was nothing by comparison. As if fueled by your resistance, he only slammed into you faster and harder. At that point, the fluids leaking from your body lubricated the movements, the pain ebbing away, replaced by a warm, tight sensation, pressing against the spots in your body that made you melt, the sheer stretch becoming pleasurable.

“Or maybe you're wrong.” He jerked your head back to the point that the side of your face touched his, his heavy panting warm against your ear. “Maybe you should accept that you're weak.”

The grip on your jaw caused his palm to dig into your throat, not enough to choke you fully, but enough to cause discomfort.

“You need someone to— you need me.” His head titled ever so slightly downward, his hair brushing against the back of your neck.

Trying to turn your head away proved futile, the iron grip keeping it just as firmly locked in place as your body.

“You're so naive. The weak are supposed to be self-aware.” He spoke through clenched teeth, intense anger seeping into his voice. “But you had to go and act so tough—”

A harsher thrust than any of the ones preceding it, so hard you gagged on air, unable to even scream.

“—and be so goddamn mouthy all the time.”

Your strained, animalistic noises continued, pulling your body forward with every single ounce of strength you were physically capable of.

You didn't move. It felt as if you were trying to pull yourself out of steel chains, pure futility. Your arms trembled with the strain, and yet you didn't budge.

“As if I couldn't just reach over and break you any time I felt like it.”

Your toes curled, muscles tensing in pleasure-pain, each movement ramming into a spot that sent sparks of pleasure up your spine, whilst also causing the flesh of your backside to slap against his hips, sending jolts of pain through your body all at once.

“As if any of those guys you were such a little bitch to couldn’t have done the same.”

Sweat coated your skin, running down your back. The bed creaked, violently slamming against the frame. He pulled you so close that your shoulder blades pressed to his chest.

“Do you have any idea how easy this is? I'm not even trying.”

The words felt like a knife to your chest. In the past, you'd been irritated by you inferior physical strength, but admittedly you hadn't stopped to really think more deeply about the matter of your inability to free yourself, in the bigger picture of things.

A heavy, cold feeling began to seep out of your heart, through your chest, into your blood. A dawning realization of your total powerlessness, of your weakness. It was harrowing, brutal, and unforgiving.

You took heavy, gasping breaths. The intensity of every sensation was too much, driving you to a brink of what felt like madness. The ache in your body, the chill in your blood, the pleasure and the sting and the despair.

Your resolve broke. You went limp, panting, eyes watering with bitterness and fury, hot tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes, weak voice coming out as a blubbering whimper, broken up by the incessant thrusts jerking your body back and forth.

“I-I’m, I'm so, sorr-eee…”

The only reply you got was a single word.

“Good.”

You closed your watery, burning eyes. If you couldn't escape in reality, you could at least escape in your mind, desperately trying to block out the thoughts and the shame and the bitterness, trying to focus on sensation, feeling, the way you trembled at the pleasure. The way the sharp sting and the heat of the pleasure began to blur together, the pain itself only intensifying the rising tight, warm feeling inside.

You threw your head back to rest against his chest, whimpering like an animal. Your hands now only weakly reached behind you, grasping at his torso, neither pulling nor pushing. Each movement grew move intense, somehow even harder and harder still, inhumanly fast, flesh slapping against flesh, the sound amplified by the slick and sweat that coated the skin where your bodies conjoined. Your body began to quiver.

The climax that came over you was not the strongest you'd ever had — your body was far too exhausted and pained to even summon such a thing — but the high shot through your body nonetheless, waves of intensity rushing throughout. You let out a long, high-pitched sound as it peaked and ebbed away, mind slipping into a state of nothingness, a fog so thick you might as well have been unconscious.

You barely felt the motions stop, the way you were lowered down to rest on your stomach. Your attention was only briefly pulled to the surface of your consciousness with the sudden sensation of emptiness, the way your insides spasmed to clench on empty space, the chill that set in as the sweat began to cool over your body, and finally the shifting of the mattress as weight settled onto the other side, sitting beside your limp form.

And then, as your consciousness swayed, one faint little thought kept you from slipping away.

Something was different. You were limp and numb from the stupor, mind lost in a haze, but a faint sense of alarm slowly drug your consciousness back to alertness. Something was different, something was wrong.

You shifted, muscles reflexively clamping down on the now-empty space, and stiffened as you felt something fluid ooze out of your slit, drooling down your flesh and onto your thigh.

“Did… did you… cum… inside me…?”

You turned towards the figure blurred by the residual tears and dizziness. You could make out him sitting there, the bright red hair and the flesh tone of his unclothed upper body, see him running his hand over the top of his head, pushing sweat-drenched strands of hair back.

Your stupor had left your eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, but they immediately snapped back fully open as the next words registered with your ears, spoken in a fully nonchalant, matter-of-fact tone.

“This will be good for you.”

You sat up — a movement that took effort, nearly falling back down on hands still trembling with aftershock, and looked up at him with panicked confusion plastered on your face. “…Huh… what?”

Now you could make out his eyes, looking into yours, continuing on in the same blunt voice, as if speaking of a trivial matter.

“…I was waiting. I thought it would be a bad idea to give you a kid before you showed some improvement.” After a moment of pause as he sat more upright, he continued, “But thinking about it, that could be part of the reason you're so badly behaved to begin with. You're… imbalanced or something.”

He held a hand out palm-up in a casual gesture.

“So, it will calm you down.”

You stared, slack-jawed and wide-eyed in disbelief and horror.

“That's—” you twitched. Your voice was hoarse, each word hurt, as if dragging broken glass down your throat. “You're insane. You can't— you can't do this to me. I can't do that!”

“You're being overdramatic.”

“Overdramatic?!” You pushed the heels of your hands into the mattress to propel yourself backwards, crawling away from him as if it would do any good. “No, you don't understand, I… I can't…!”

Your breathing began to speed up, right alongside your heart rate. Panic consumed your train of thought. The implications of the very notion were, for you, world-ending — it would change everything, it would debilitate you and any hopes you had of ever leaving. Even beyond that, just the mere thought, the mental image the idea created, made you shudder.

You looked down. Between your legs, some of the cum had begun to ooze out onto the sheets.

Right, you could extract it all, to the best of your ability, and hope for the best. Your legs were trembling so badly you weren't certain if you could support your own weight, but nonetheless, you tried to make your way to the edge of the bed.

“No, no, I… I need to go wash off—”

“No, you're not.” His hand latched onto your arm, roughly pulling you back. You fell onto your side with a grunt.

You stiffened and whimpered as you felt two of his fingers wipe the inside of your thigh, collecting the semen that had slipped out with gravity and your movement, and pressed the fingers back inside of you, not wanting any to go to waste.

“Don't move around so much.”

Panic turned into aggression, like a cornered animal. Your nose wrinkled up with the furious expression that crossed your face.

“There is no way in hell I'm—”

Your words cut off once more as his hand latched onto your jaw, eyes narrowing.

“…Do you want to do this over again?” He tilted your head up, forcing you to look him in the eye. “Because I have no problem with that, if you keep mouthing off.”

You froze up again. The despair took hold. You didn't have any more fight left in you. It wasn't worth it, you couldn't handle another round with the belt.

You bit your lip, shaking your head. It wasn't until he sighed, and gave you an irritated look that you recognized your mistake once again.

“…No, sir…”

He closed his eyes, seemingly content with the rectification. “Good.” He pulled you down further, until you were lying on your side. “It's late enough to go to bed. You need sleep.”

You lay motionless, aside from the still-lingering shivering, watching as he shuffled off the remainder of his clothes and turned off the nearby lamp, plunging the room into near-darkness, before laying back down, turning back towards you, pulling you close.

His arm wrapped around your back, keeping your body pressed to his. Your face rested against his collarbones.

He shifted a bit, causing his hand to just barely brush over your backside — you stiffened, sucking a sharp breath in through your teeth.

“Mm, sorry.”

The half-hearted, sleepy mutter was all you got — an apology you knew was only for the momentary accidental touch and not the pain itself. That would be deemed deserved and justified, should you ever complain, and would probably earn you the same punishment again.

Your face scrunched up with misery, as if about to cry, but your body couldn't produce any more tears.

“Night.”

You felt the rumbling in his chest against yours. You swallowed the lump in your throat before you replied, voice barely more than a whisper.

“…Goodnight…”

There was still a little bit of light coming in through the window — it wasn't even really fully dark yet, the last few rays of purplish twilight visible in the sky.

You wondered if you'd ever see it from any other view than the estate ever again — but pushed the thought away, as you didn't like what you thought might be the answer, nor the way it made you think of the conversation that transpired moments prior.

You closed your eyes, shifted around a bit and — wincing at the fluid that drooled down your leg — tried your best to rest.

[withahappyrefrain]

"For someone who hates me, you're not pulling away."

Feels like this was MADE for Jake!

"You gotta be fucking kidding me," you muttered, praying your sunglasses would conceal what you were really looking at.

It seemed like a higher being was out to personally spite you. Because not only were you being forced to spend the whole day with the guy you hated,

He looked fucking hot without a shirt.

Of course he did. It wouldn't be fair if he had a physical flaw, the universe had decided it so.

It was supposed to be a bonding experience, pilots versus mechanics. Why was beyond you, considering you actually liked everyone in your current squadron.

Well, except one pilot. A blonde pilot. A cocky pilot. A pilot who thought the sun rose for them personally to shine a light on their ass. A pilot who had become the bane of your existence.

"Hey Rosie!" You ignored the nickname (all because you wore a fucking red bandana) he insists on calling you, turning to your coworkers instead.

"Your not so secret admirer has arrived," your coworker Nicole giggled.

"Please don't remind me. I already have a headache from him and the game hasn't even started," your index fingers rubbed your temples in a vain effort to soothe the dull ache that came from Jake Seresin.

"Well don't look now but he's coming your way," and with that Nicole walked away, no doubt to go flirt with Bob.

"Hey Rosie, looking pretty good," he pushed his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, making it clear he was looking at you.

"You're going to get burnt with all that baby oil, Seresin," you stared at your phone, not wanting to make eye contact. Or to look at his broad chest.

"Aww, you care about me." He was close. Too close. You could see the hair on his broad chest.

"The same way one cares about a dying mosquito," you took a step away, hoping it would deter him.

Jake has the audacity to chuckle, "You're funny Rosie. Why don't we make this game a little more interesting?"

You raised your eyebrows in mocked surprise, "You're actually going to show good sportsmanship? I'm impressed Seresin, miracles really do come true!"

If your comebacks deter him, he doesn't show it, which is honestly the worst part. No matter what you say, it doesn't drive him away. No, it has the opposite effect, encouraging him to continue to try and interact with you!

Fucking Seresin.

"Nah, but God, you're real cute Rosie," he has that stupid smirk on his face, the one you hate so much. His perfectly white teeth are showing as he oozes Hollywood charm. It's the smirk that makes you briefly consider continuing to chat.

"What do you want Seresin?" You grumble, looking down at the sand. The warmth you felt washing all over your body was clearly the sun, nothing (or no one) else.

"Why don't we make a bet?"

"What are you, twelve?"

Again, he chuckled, as if he found your remarks amusing rather than insulting, "C'mon Rosie, there must be something you want."

"For you to leave me alone." If you had looked up from kicking the sand, you would have seen the assured look on his face fall, his brows knitted together in worry, the corners of his lips turning downward.

But you didn't, giving him time to remask, "Alright Rosie, if y'all win, I'll leave ya alone."

The offer made your head shot up, "And if your team wins?"

His grin widens, "You know me Rosie, I'm a simple man." Lies. "There's not too much I want, just one thing really."

"Just name it Seresin."

"A kiss."

He couldn't be serious. He was.

But your crew had prepared for this game. Nicole would certainly be able to distract Bob, was the dagger's dark horse. You felt good about your chances.

So you shook on it.

Which is how two hours later, you ended up in the parking lot, pressing Jake against his stupid Jeep Wrangler, your lips on his, hands tangled in his stupidly soft hair.

"For someone who claims they hate me, you're not pulling away," He murmurs, victory written smugly across his face.

"Shut up and kiss me Seresin."

"Anything for you Rosie."

[nova-is-a-writer-now]

Highway Heat

Summary: Your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere and the trucker you flag down offers more than just roadside assistance.

A/N: Lord oh lord… I tried to be good i swear, i really tried to behave. The thing is my sweet beta reader @hautecouture02 requested a little roadside encounter one shot with Joel, specifically asking for FLUFF, and i swear on everything holy I tried my best to keep it PG… but sometimes things don’t go as I planned. So here, take this absolute filth of a one shot that’s little more than PWOP. ENJOY!!!!

Warnings: As previously stated, this is pretty much PWOP, Trucker!Joel i know nothing about trucks lol, maybe some dub!con at first but the internal dialogue shows hella consent, groping, fingering, a bit of praise and a bit of degradation, pet names like so many of them im not gonna list them all almost too many pet names if you believe in such a thing, grinding, oral male receiving, deep throating

Masterlist

You’re a good person—hell, a great person even. You give your spare change to homeless people, you donate to the puppy shelter every once in a while, you hold your friend’s hair back when they’re throwing up in the back of the club. You’re definitely not the type of person who deserves to be stranded in the middle of nowhere, sweating buckets despite wearing nothing but a spaghetti strap tank and the tiniest pair of shorts you own. This feels like some kind of cosmic punishment.

It is, undoubtedly, the worst possible time for your car to stop working. You’d been putting off the usual checkups on your car for months, knowing full well it was overdue for an oil change, a tire rotation—or whatever men who know their way around a toolbox always say. Your ex used to handle all of that for you, always acting like it was his job to make sure your car ran smoothly. He was that kind of guy who would go out of his way to make your life easier—didn’t mean he was above cheating though.

So now, you’re stuck in your geriatric Honda Civic, the AC busted and the engine refusing to start.

After a few minutes of trying to will it back to life, it’s clear you’re stranded.

You step out of the car, and the heat hits you like a goddamn slap to the face. The road’s deserted, no signs of life for miles, and of course, your phone has no signal. Perfect. Just fucking perfect. You glance down the road, hoping for a miracle, when you spot the rough outline of a truck—a big one, maybe a sixteen-wheeler—coming up in the distance.

Relief washes over you for about two seconds before your brain kicks in, running through every horror movie scenario. But it’s not like you’ve got a buffet of options, so you throw up your hand, waving the truck down as it rolls closer.

It’s a beat-up old thing, paint chipped and covered in dust, but it comes to a slow stop right behind your car. The door creaks open, and out steps a man.

He’s tall, broad, with a face lined with age and tan from long days under the sun. The net cap he wears lets a few of his longer dark curls peek out, the front pieces overpowered by graying hair. He sports a faded plaid shirt and jeans, a pair of well-worn boots kicking up dust as he steps toward you. His dark, intense eyes size you up like you’re part of the landscape he’s used to navigating.

“You alright there, sweetheart?” His voice is deep and gravelly, but the drawl is the star of the show, thick and sweet like honey.

You clear your throat, trying to keep your frustration in check. “Car broke down. Won’t start. No service either.”

He nods slowly, like this is exactly the kind of situation he expects to find out here. “Well, good thing I’m passin’ through.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes a little at that, but desperation makes you bite your tongue. “Think you could take a look?”

He stares at you for a moment, long enough that you wonder if he’s going to offer any help at all. But then he lets out a low sigh, scratches the back of his neck, and walks over to your car, popping the hood like it’s second nature.

For a while, there’s nothing but the sound of him tinkering under the hood, the occasional grunt or muttered curse as he checks things out. You stand there awkwardly, feeling the heat bearing down on you, watching as beads of sweat gather at the back of his neck.

Finally, he steps back, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Shit’s runnin’ on fumes. When’s the last time you had it serviced?””

You shift, feeling stupid. “A while. My ex used to handle it, and, uh… I’ve been busy.”

He gives you a look, something between amusement and pity, before shaking his head. He leans against the car, arms crossed. “I can tow you to a shop in the next town, but it gon’ be a ride.”

You blink up at him, surprised at his offer. “You don’t mind?”

“Nah,” he says, with a shrug, “I’m headin’ that way anyway.”

He moves back to his truck, grabbing a few chains and a tow hitch from the back. Within minutes, he’s hooking up your beat-up Honda Civic to the rear of his truck, working with the ease of someone who’s done this a hundred times before.

“You sure this is safe?” you ask, watching him as he tightens the last chain.

“As safe as it’s gonna get,” he replies with a shrug, brushing the dust from his hands. “Ain’t no mechanic shop out here, so this’ll do ‘til we get to the next town.”

You hesitate, then eye him. “You’re not gonna, like, chop me up and throw me in a ditch, are you?”

He chuckles at that, a nice gravely sound. “If I was, don’t think I’d tell ya, sugar. But no, I ain’t in the business of chopping people up.”

You look at him for a bit longer before sighing. “Fuck it, let’s go.”

He turns, heading back to his truck, his broad back facing you and making it a hell of a lot harder to concentrate

“Name’s Joel, by the way,” he says, glancing back over his shoulder as he opens the passenger door for you.

“Thanks, Joel,” you say, stepping up into the truck’s cab, the cool air from his AC hitting you like a blessing. Maybe your luck hasn’t run out just yet.

You sink back into the seat as he climbs up on his side of the cab, letting the icy air wash over you. There’s something else prickling at your senses though—something that has nothing to do with the temperature. It’s him.

Joel’s glances are obvious, a little too long, lingering like he’s sizing you up. Normally, it’d make you roll your eyes, maybe even tell him off. Old guy like him eyeing you up is nothing you’re unfamiliar with. But today? With the way your body feels sticky and tired, and the way the breakup has left you all out of sorts… you’re almost enjoying it.

You’ve been craving attention and the shitty one night stands with guys from dating apps have done nothing to satiate that need. It’s been months since anyone has touched you and that rational part of your brain that would be yelling at you to be aware of the sleazy old trucker who just picked you off of the side of the road is sounding real quiet right now.

“So…” His voice pulls you from your thoughts as he shifts in his seat, resting one hand lazily on the wheel. “Where you headed?”

You hesitate, eyes on the road ahead. “Just… trying to get home.”

He hums, slow and deliberate. “Home, huh? Got anyone waitin’ on you there? Boyfriend?”

The word slices through you, sharper than you expected. You tighten your jaw, glancing out the window. “No. Not anymore.”

Joel makes a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. “Well, ain’t that a shame. Pretty thing like you, all alone.”

You should hate the way he says it, the way his eyes flicker toward you like he’s just waiting for an opening. But instead, there’s a strange warmth pooling in your stomach, your pulse picking up in a way you’re not proud of. You shift in your seat, crossing your legs like it’ll somehow tamp down the growing tension in your body. He doesn’t miss it, his smirk growing a little wider.

“That line work on most girls?” you quip, trying to keep things light.

Joel chuckles, the sound low and dangerous. “Depends on the girl. But you look a little… flustered.”

Your cheeks heat up, and it’s not just the sun this time. “I’m not flustered.”

“Sure about that, darlin’?”

You glare at the open road, biting your lip as you try to ignore the way his words are messing with your head—and your body. It’s been way too long since anyone’s looked at you like this. Really looked at you.

The silence stretches out as the truck rumbles along the deserted road. You try to focus on anything but the tension in the air and find it’s impossible. His presence feels inescapable, it fills the cab wrapping around you, pressing down on every nerve.

“You never told me,” Joel says after a while, breaking the quiet. “Where’s home?”

“Texas,” you say quietly, your voice a little steadier now. “But I’m not in any rush to get back.”

“Family trouble?” he asks, his eyes flicking toward you again.

“Something like that,” you mutter. “It’s complicated.”

He hums in response. “Don’t I know it.”

You shift in your seat, crossing your legs, catching Joel watching you out of the corner of his eye. His gaze lingers a little too long on your bare thighs, and there’s a flicker of something dark passing over his face, but he says nothing.

You want to ignore it—God, you should ignore it—especially since you’re stuck with him for a while longer. But the rising heat in your body and the quickening pulse beneath your skin make it hard to think straight, harder still to make good decisions.

So you bite.

“You gonna keep staring, or is this part of your charm routine?” You cock a brow, trying to ignore the way warmth crawls up your neck.

A slow smirk curls at his lips, but he doesn’t look away. If anything, he leans in closer, his hand resting just near your leg, making the air between you buzz. “You think I’m layin’ it on too thick?”

“Little bit,” you quip back, though your voice betrays you with how soft it comes out. You bite your lip, trying to stay sharp, but his eyes flick down to the movement, and the pulsing need low in your stomach tightens. “It’s not working, though.”

His smirk widens, like he’s enjoying this far too much. “Funny. Seems to me it’s workin’ just fine.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the way your heart races when he shifts closer, his fingers brushing against your leg. The touch is light, almost casual, but it’s enough to send a shiver racing up your spine, your breath catching in your throat.

“You can roll your eyes all you want, doll. It don’t change the fact I can see what you need, clear as day,” he purrs, his voice dropping lower.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” you snap back, though your words lack the heat you want them to have.

“Little bit of attention.”

He reads you too well. It drives you insane. “I don’t need anything from you. Just get me where I need to go.”

A quiet chuckle rumbles from his chest. “That so? ’Cause the way you’ve been shiftin’ in that seat says otherwise.”

You bristle at his words, but the truth sticks like a thorn. There’s a reason you haven’t told him to stop, a reason you haven’t shut this down. You’re tired, frustrated, and the way his eyes keep grazing over you… you can’t stop wondering how easy it’d be to let him pull you under, to let him take all your worries away.

“You’re losing it, old man,” you shoot back, even though you know it’s a losing game. He sees right through you, but that doesn’t mean you’re gonna make it easy.

“Am I?” he purrs, his hand sliding up to rest fully on your thigh. “So, you don’t want me touching you like this, darlin’?”

The way he says it—slow, deliberate, laced with that sweet, thick accent—it’s all innocence, even though everything about it screams otherwise. You know you’ll be hearing that “darlin’” in your head later, when you’re playing with yourself.

You smirk, giving him a little more rope. “I didn’t say that.”

He hums, eyes flicking between the road and your legs. “And I’m guessin’ you wouldn’t say a word if I moved my hand higher, would you?”

Your legs part just slightly, almost like an instinct. Barely noticeable to anyone else. But not to Joel.

“Look at you,” he drawls, a shit-eating smirk spreading across his lips. “Already makin’ it easier for me.”

You’re about to fire back, ready to keep this banter rolling, when his fingers slide higher. A soft sigh escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“You ready to stop actin’ up, or we still playin’ cat and mouse, pretty girl?” His eyes lock on yours, dark and unwavering.

Your pulse quickens at the challenge in his voice, your breath catching in your throat. His fingers are still on your thigh, warm and rough, and it’s messing with your head. You know you should stop this now, make him pull his hand back, but you’re not sure if that’s what you want.

“I’m not acting up,” you murmur, trying to hold on to some sense of control, even though his touch is making that damn near impossible.

His grin widens, like he’s got you exactly where he wants you. “Mhm, sure you ain’t.”

You glare at him, but it’s weak. Pathetic, really, and the worst part is he knows it. He knows how to get under your skin even though he has known you for half an hour, knows exactly what buttons to push to unravel you just enough to keep you hanging on.

“I mean it,” you snap, though your voice wavers. His hand shifts slightly on your thigh, fingers curling just enough to make your stomach twist into knots.

“I wanna believe you,” His voice is low, a quiet rumble that vibrates through you, all the way down to where you’re aching for him to touch you. He leans in a little more, so close now that you can feel the heat radiating off him, smell that familiar scent of worn leather and something dark and intoxicating. “But you keep lettin’ me touch you. Kinda sends a different message, don’t you think?”

Your heart’s pounding in your chest, the steady rhythm of it loud in your ears. You don’t know how to answer, don’t know if you want to answer. Every rational thought in your head is telling you to stop, but your body isn’t listening.

Instead, you shift slightly, your leg pressing into his hand, just enough to encourage him to keep going. His eyes darken, and a slow, dangerous smile tugs at his lips.

“Thought so,” he mutters, and then his fingers start to move again, sliding higher, testing the boundaries you haven’t set.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the sigh that’s clawing its way up your throat, but it slips through anyway. He hears it, of course he does, and the satisfied gleam in his eyes makes your face flush with heat.

“You wanna tell me to stop, now’s your chance,” he murmurs, his voice soft but carrying an edge of challenge, like he knows damn well you’re not going to.

His gaze shifts between the road and you and it almost seems like every time those eyes are back on you they become darker.

You glance at him, your heart in your throat, and there’s that flicker of hesitation—you should say something, should stop this before it goes any further—but the way his fingers are brushing higher, dangerously close to the ache between your legs, makes it impossible to think straight.

So you just meet his gaze, and you don’t say a word.

His smirk grows, and his hand drifts even higher. “Good girl.” This time he fully gropes your thigh, groaning like he’s been waiting to unleash this. “You wanna take these off for me, sweetheart? Let me give you as much attention as you want.”

He must have some psychic hold on you because you follow his instructions with no hesitation this time. Your fingers eagerly unbotton your shorts and pull the zipper down, lifting your hips to shimmy them down.

He looks at you for a lot longe than he should taking into account he’s currently driving a beast of a vehicle. “Lord above… you’re a sight and a half, darlin’”

He goes back to massaging your thigh, making circles with his thick fingers, going each time higher. Once he reaches your panties he stops and just rests his hand there, right at the edge of where you want him most. His fingers teasingly brush the fabric, enough to make you gasp, but he doesn’t go any further.

“You’re gonna have to ask for it,” he rasps, his voice thick with something darker now. “Tell me what you want, pretty girl.”

His words are like a key turning in a lock, and your resistance crumbles. You can’t deny it anymore, not when his hand is right there, so close to what you need, your entire body burning up under his touch.

“Joel…” you whisper, your voice almost pleading now, barely more than a breath.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his hand pressing a little more firmly, his fingers tracing along the outline of your heat through the fabric. “That’s what I wanna hear.”

Your breath stutters, and your hips shift on their own, pressing into his hand. You’re barely hanging on, the tension between you two crackling like a live wire, but he’s still holding back, waiting for you to give in completely.

“Please…” you finally manage, the word spilling out before you can stop it. It’s humiliating and liberating all at once.

“Please what?”

You let out the shadow of a moan. “Please touch me.”

Joel’s hand slips under the fabric, his fingers finally finding your core, and the groan that escapes him sends a shockwave of heat straight to your core. “Good girl,” he breathes, his voice like gravel as his fingers start to move in slow, torturous circles.

Your head falls back against the seat, a whimper escaping your lips as he finally gives you what you’ve been craving. “Jesus, Joel…”

“Feels good, huh?” he rasps, his eyes flicking from the road to you, watching the way your body reacts to every touch, every motion of his hand. “Told you I know exactly what you need, baby.”

You’re melting under his touch, your body humming with the pressure of his fingers moving against you, his voice guiding you deeper into the haze of pleasure. You’re not even sure what’s more intoxicating—the way he’s touching you or the way he’s talking to you, that low, commanding tone unraveling you completely.

“That’s it, sweetness, grind on my fingers, make that little pussy feel good” Joel growls, having a harder time keeping his eyes on the road now.

“Fuck… that feels you good da-“ you stop yourself before you’re able to finish the word. Your ex didn’t like you calling him that, so you usually kept that particular kink under wraps, but something about Joel is making it surface back up.

He looks up at you, pupils blown out. “Say it… say wha you wanna say baby.”

You lose all restraint and moan loudly. “It feels so good, daddy.”

“That’s right, babygirl.” He moans “Daddy’s fingers make your pretty cunt fucking drip don’t they?”

His words send a wave of pleasure through your body, a mixture of shame and intense arousal surging in your chest. You’re too far gone to stop now, letting the haze of lust pull you under completely.

“Yes,” you whisper, the word slipping out like a confession. “So fucking wet.”

Joel’s fingers move faster, rough and skilled, coaxing you into a rhythm that has you arching your back against the seat. His other hand grips the wheel tight, knuckles white, and you can tell he’s barely hanging onto his self-control, but that only makes it hotter.

“Jesus, you’re a fuckin’ dream,” he growls, voice thick with desire. “Been wantin’ to ruin you since the minute you sat your pretty ass in this truck.”

The vulgarity, the way he talks to you—it should feel wrong, but instead, it’s like gasoline thrown on the fire already burning inside you. You grind down harder on his fingers, chasing the high he’s offering, the tension building fast in your core.

You glance over at him, his jaw tight, eyes darting between the road and you, and there’s something so filthy about the way he’s trying to keep it together while driving, the way his control is slipping. You want to push him, make him lose it completely.

“You’re losing it too,” you pant, breathless, pushing your hips into his hand. “Can’t even keep your eyes on the road, can you?”

His gaze snaps to yours, dark and predatory. “Careful. Keep talkin’ like that, and I’ll pull this truck over.”

The threat in his voice makes you shiver, heat pooling low in your belly. You’re right on the edge, your body strung tight as a bow, every nerve lit up under his touch.

“Do it,” you challenge, voice breathless and wrecked.

Joel’s eyes flash with something dangerous, his hand gripping your thigh so hard it almost hurts. Without another word, he swerves the truck off the road, gravel crunching under the tires as he pulls into a secluded spot off the highway.

Your heart is pounding, adrenaline mixing with the arousal as he throws the truck into park and turns to face you fully. The look in his eyes is feral, like he’s done holding back, and you brace yourself for what’s coming next.

“Such a little attention whore, baby,” he growls, unbuckling his seatbelt with one hand, the other still teasing you between your legs. “I’m all yours now.”

In one swift motion, he pulls you onto his lap, your thighs straddling his hips, the weight of his hard length pressing against you through his jeans. He is big, a lot bigger than you expected and it makes your mouth water,almost like your body is showing you how badly you need him in a million and one ways.

His hands grip your hips possessively, eyes locking with yours as if daring you to make the next move.

You don’t hesitate. You grind down on him, both of you letting out low moans at the contact. The friction sends sparks flying up your spine, and you can already tell this is about to be the kind of reckless, dirty, no-going-back encounter you’ve both been craving.

Joel’s hands slide up your back, fisting in your hair as he pulls you down to feast on your neck. His lips trail down, biting at the sensitive skin there, and it’s too much, too intense. You feel like you’re going to combust right here in his arms.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he mutters against your skin, one hand slipping between you to push your panties aside, his fingers slipping through your slick heat again. “Filthy little slut, letting a stranger put his fingers inside you. Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own name, pretty girl.”

Your hips buck against him, the promise of release so close you can taste it. “Fuck, Joel, please…”

“Try again. You know better.” his tone is firm and commanding, all the previous playfulness gone.

“Please daddy, let me come”

“That’s it,” he groans, his thumb circling your clit with just the right amount of pressure, pushing you right to the edge. “Come for me, darlin’. Let me feel this tight little whole clench on my fingers.”

The way he says it with such authority, has you unraveling in his lap, your entire body trembling as you come hard against his hand. Your vision goes white, pleasure crashing over you in waves as you grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

Joel watches you, his eyes hooded and hungry, soaking in every second of your release. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers until you’re shaking from the aftershocks, your body limp and boneless against him.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and satisfied as he finally pulls his hand away, bringing his fingers to his lips to taste you. “Tastes even better than I imagined.”

You’re still catching your breath, head buzzing from the intensity, but the way his hardness presses against you makes it clear you’re far from done. It’s not like those other times when finishing a guy felt like an obligation, when the effort barely felt worth it because they didn’t take the time to get you there first. But Joel? Joel made you come so hard you can’t help but want to return the favor. It’s not a chore—it’s something you crave.

“My turn,” you murmur, fingers already working at the button of his jeans.

His grip tightens on your hips, eyes darkening as he watches your hands move, but there’s a flicker of restraint. “Don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart. Can’t have this beast of a truck just parked in the middle of the road.”

You shift back onto your own seat, lifting your leg off his lap to give yourself the space you need. The desire to make him feel just as wrecked as you burns in your chest, so you lean down, your gaze steady on his as your fingers trail lower.

“You can drive,” you say, voice low, teasing. “I’m not stopping you.”

Joel’s eyes flash with something dangerous, his jaw ticking like he’s fighting with himself. For a second, you think he’s going to tell you to stop, but then he huffs out a breath, shaking his head with a low chuckle. “You’re trouble.”

You smile up at him as you feel him start the engine again, your hand slipping lower, teasing him through his jeans.

Joel’s breath hitches as your fingers brush against him, a low growl vibrating in his chest. His hand tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white as he tries to focus on the road, but you can tell he’s losing the battle.

His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he tries to keep his cool, but you can see right through it. The way his body is responding to your touch, the way he’s barely holding it together, it only spurs you on.

You undo his jeans and pull the zipper down, feeling the heat radiating off him. His breath stutters, and his hand slips to grip the side of the seat, trying to ground himself as you free him from the confines of his jeans.

You wrap your hand around him, feeling how hard he is, how thick, and the groan that escapes his lips sends a thrill through you. “Fuck,” he breathes, eyes flicking between the road and you, his control slipping more by the second.

You lower your head, your lips grazing his tip, and Joel’s entire body tenses. His hips buck up, instinctively searching for more, and you can’t help but smirk as you take him deeper into your mouth.

“Holy shit,” he groans, his voice rough and ragged, his hand instinctively flying to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. “You’re gonna get us both killed.”

But even as he says it, there’s no hint of him wanting you to stop. He keeps urging you on in slow, measured strokes. The tension in him is palpable, and you can feel the way his control is fraying with every flick of your tongue, every inch you take him deeper.

His breathing grows ragged, and he glances down at you, eyes dark with heat and disbelief. “You’re so pretty with a fat cock stuffed in your mouth baby, look at you ”

You hum around him, the vibration making his hips jerk again, and the low groan that rips from his throat sends a fresh wave of adrenaline coursing through you. He’s unraveling, right in front of you, and you’re loving every second of it.

You pick up the pace, your hand working him in tandem with your mouth, and Joel’s growl turns guttural, his grip on the wheel tightening. “Right there, darlin’ girl, don’t stop…” he hisses, head tipping back slightly as his hips move in time with your rhythm, chasing the release that’s so damn close.

His eyes flick between the road and you, pupils blown, struggling to stay on course even as his focus is being torn apart by you.

“Fuck, baby… I’m not gonna last if you keep—” He cuts himself off with a harsh groan, his hips bucking again, muscles taut and trembling as he loses the last shred of his composure. He’s completely at your mercy now, and it’s making him wild, his control slipping fast.

You don’t let up, your hand dropping lower to play with his balls, and he’s right on the edge, teetering dangerously close. His breath comes in ragged bursts, and his body tightens under you, his hips jerking harder, more desperate now.

“Where do you want it, baby?”

Instead of answering you take him deeper down your throat, your nose burrowing in the dark curls at the base of his cock, his smell so musky and intoxicating it makes you dizzy.

“Shit, shit—” Joel’s voice is a strangled growl, and then you feel him pulse in your mouth, a low, guttural moan tearing from his throat as he finally comes undone. He’s barely holding onto the wheel, the truck swerving just enough to make your heart race, but it’s clear he’s past caring. He spills hot and hard into your mouth, the sound of his release drowned out by the pounding of your own pulse in your ears.

You keep going, milking him for every last bit, until he’s trembling beneath you, his breathing ragged and uneven. When you finally pull away, he’s still gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing anchoring him to reality.

“Holy fuck,” he mutters, his voice rough and wrecked. His eyes flick down to you, wild and wide, before darting back to the road. He lets out a breathless, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “Best hitchhiker I’ve ever picked up, that’s for damn sure.”

As if on cue, the truck finally pulls into the shop, the hum of the engine fading, the weight of what just happened still hung thick between you two. Joel cuts the ignition, his hand lingering on the key for a beat too long, like he wasn’t quite ready to step back into reality. He realizes his now soft cock is still out and starts to zip himself back up.

You try to gather yourself, smoothing your clothes and brushing a hand through your hair as if it’d erase everything that had gone down on that highway. You can tell it’s gonna stick with you for a good while longer though.

Joel clears his throat, glancing over at you with a look that was somehow both satisfied and conflicted. "Well, we’re here," he mutters, but his hand was already fishing in his back pocket for something. "Here." He hands you a crumpled business card, his name scrawled across it with a number underneath. "In case you run into any more car trouble or, y'know... anything else."

The corner of his mouth twitches, like he knows damn well this had nothing to do with the rugged old thing and everything to do with the heat still simmering between you. You take the card, trying to hide the smirk tugging at your lips.

"Thanks," you reply, pocketing it casually, though the way your heart raced gave you away. "For… you know, all of it."

He just gives you that signature look of his—half-smirk, half-smolder—and with that, you slide out of the truck, legs still feeling like jelly as you walked away. You didn't even need to turn around to know his eyes were glued to your retreating figure.