#ii shattered glass au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alltheirdamn · 7 months ago

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Rotten | cowboy!joel x f!reader

Part II

Summary: Joel just can't leave you alone, and you hate it. Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 6.5k Warnings: No-Outbreak AU, banter and arguing, mentions of guns/violence, smoking, explicit language, sexual tension, brat taming, mild dubious elements, spanking, slapping, choking, rough unprotected piv sex, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, squirting, facial/cum eating, joel doesn't really take no for an answer, lots of angst A/N: I just couldn't get enough of these two. all my love to @lotusbxtch and @mermaidgirl30 for squealing over the filth every single day with me. ride that cowboy girlies, it's worth it ;) Part I

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Your fingers were wet from the condensation rolling off your glass of sweet tea, the steady stream of droplets splattering against your bare thighs. The day had been exhausting; the cattle were abnormally restless and decided to drift too far out in the fields. Hours riding Mac left your legs sore, and honestly, you just wanted to smoke your Marlboros and sip on your tea. With your boots kicked up on the porch railing and a cigarette between your lips, you were blissfully content.

That is, until your peace and quiet were shattered.

Dirt kicked up in the distance, and the steady rhythmic hum of an engine grew louder as it drifted closer to your house. You groaned in frustration, already knowing who to expect. Dear God, was Joel Miller relentless. You reached behind your porch chair, fingers curling around the shotgun propped up against the wood. You warned him.

His beat-up Red Chevy stopped beside your home, and you tracked his movements as he opened the door. Lifting the gun to your eye level, you aimed the barrel toward his truck. Your finger hovered over the trigger, steady and calm. Joel stepped out of the driver's seat, adjusting his belt buckle against his stomach. You wouldn’t kill him; you weren’t that mean, although it was tempting.

One quick pull of the trigger and you sent a warning shot into the side door of his truck, rupturing the metal with a resounding bang. Joel ducked down, letting out a startled grunt before turning his head to inspect the damage. Whipping head toward you, Joel stared you down with narrowed eyes.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he huffed. “That how y’welcome all your visitors?”

“Only the ones who piss me off!” You shouted.

Joel ran a hand down his scruff, swaying in place as if deciding whether to approach you. Do it, you thought. He made one cautious step, and you rewarded him with another cock of your shotgun, the barrel loaded and ready to fire.

“Take it easy, darlin’. I only wanted to come talk,” Joel cautioned, his hands raised in defeat.

“S’nothin’ to fuckin’ talk about, Miller,” you said, your eye squinting down the barrel line.

Each step of his cowboy boots crunched the earth below, slow steps progressing forward. Joel walked to the edge of the porch; his shoulders hiked to his ears and arms still raised as if he were approaching a wild bull. Serves him right to be scared of you. You may have let him get the best of you the first time around, but you wouldn’t let that happen again.

“Can y’put the damn gun down, darlin’?” He barked.

“Can y’take your ass back to your side of the pasture?” You tossed back.

The closer he got, the clearer his features became; the scruffy graying beard with small bare patches against his jawline, the worry lines deeply etched into his tan skin, and those damn brown eyes that plagued your thoughts night and day. You still thought about how soft they were when he looked at you before he left the stables, a kindness that flickered through the amber specks and filtered out that rage. It was truly unfair that such an insufferable man could be so damn handsome.

Joel’s boots knocked against the first step of the stairs, and your grip tightened around the shotgun. His eyes tracked your fingers as they flexed around the metal, your knuckles tense.

“I ain’t take you for the murderin’ type,” he said cooley.

“Reckon you don’t know much ‘bout me to be assumin’ that. Who knows, maybe I got myself a pile of bodies lyin’ in the grass behind my house.”

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest as he advanced another step, still testing the waters with you. You rocked back in your chair, propping the heel of your boot on the railing for stability.

“Wanna show me all them dead bodies then, darlin’? Prove that you’re not all bark and no bite?” He smirked.

You angled the shotgun past the side of his head and sent a shot flying out into the yard. Joel flinched hard enough to knock himself into the stair railing, his weight jostling the porch. With a coy grin, you lowered the gun an inch and shrugged your shoulders.

“Can’t show ya’ if you’re dead,” you grinned.

Joel lunged at you, ripping the gun from your hand and tossing it feet away from you. He gripped the back of your chair and drew his face closer, his pupils dilating the longer he glared at you. Rolling your tongue across your teeth, you raised your hand to his neck, drifting it up the scruff under his jaw. A shallow breath exhaled from his lips, and he stared at you in anticipation. Oh, he thought you were going to kiss him? Cute.

With a quick snap of your wrist, you smacked your hand across his cheek before shoving him out of your face. Joel barely moved an inch, your hands smacking into solid muscle that wouldn’t budge. All that softness in his eyes was displaced with an unmistakable sense of rage, his friendliness shattering away as his cheek flushed from the impact.

“Now y’done pissed me off, you fuckin’ brat,” Joel snarled.

His hand shot out to your throat, yanking you from your porch chair and to your feet. His grip was hardly as tight as last time but still forceful enough to render you powerless. Your eyes flickered toward the gun across the porch, so far out of reach and unattainable. You should have shot him when you had the chance.

“Be a good girl and invite me in,” Joel ordered, nodding toward your front door.

You wagged your head back and forth, your lips curled up and ready to spew venom. Joel only brought your face closer, his upper lip twitching under his mustache.

“Do it. Now. Or I swear to God, I’ll make last time look like a goddamn walk in the park.”

“Surprised y’got any sex drive left in you, old man,” you gasped, his fingers tightening around your neck.

“Christ, you fuckin’ infuriate me,” Joel grumbled.

He used his grip on your neck to propel your feet backward, guiding you toward your front door and over the threshold. The heel of your boot snagged on the lip of the door, sending you flailing back, only for him to grab you by the waist and yank you forward into his sturdy frame.

Even with his hand wrapped around your throat, Joel had never looked more gorgeous than he did at that moment. Swimming through the rage inside his eyes was a hint of worry, as if he genuinely thought you’d stumble to the ground. The reaction time of his arm circling your waist and the small exhale of breath off his lips, a quiet I got you in his own way.

The moment dwindled as fast as it came, a flickering flame extinguished somewhere between the threshold and the entryway of your tiny farm home. Joel reverted to his aggressive tendencies, manhandling you onto your worn-down floral sofa. The springs beneath the cushions squeaked under the weight of your bodies as he pinned you down, his face a breath apart from yours.

“You ready to play nice, darlin’? Or am I gonna have to ruin that pussy again just to shut you up?” He questioned.

Your hands grazed over his torso, tracing the outline of his soft stomach and over the buttons traveling up toward the collar of his shirt. You watched Joel’s eyes flutter closed for the briefest moment, only to fly wide open as you sunk your nails into the hair at the nape of his neck. You tugged hard on his salt and pepper hair, enough so that his neck strained back.

“Get the fuck off me, Joel,” you seethed, the words snarling out between your teeth.

“We both know that ain’t fuckin’ happenin’.”

Joel wrangled you over and onto your stomach, his hand still firmly clasped around your throat. He quickly caged your legs in between his muscular thighs, molding your body into the sofa cushions. Half your face was smothered into the dingy couch, your hair tossed in streaks over your eyes and clouding your vision. With his free hand, Joel cupped the curve of your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh that peaked out beneath the cut-off of the denim.

“Y’still got my handprints branded into your ass, darlin?” Joel asked.

He didn’t care to know the answer as he smacked his hand down, the bite of his skin against the fabric sending electric jolts of pain up your spine. Truth was, the bruises he left were still there—yellow, horrid welts that were a ceaseless reminder of last time. You wouldn’t ever admit it, but sometimes you found yourself in the mirror tracing the outline of his fingerprints, fantasizing about his hands on your body.

“Answer me,” Joel commanded.

“Fuck you,” you said, your voice muffled into the couch.

“Always gotta have an attitude, don’t you?”

Joel’s hand connected with your ass again, this time hard enough to elicit a small whimper from your lips. You could deny it all you wanted, but it was making you unbearably wet. You squirmed under his grip, finding some sort of relief within the friction of your shorts. Joel caught onto your movements and chuckled at your lost efforts.

“Got you all riled up, huh? This sweet lil’ pussy need takin’ care of?”

He cupped your sex through your jeans, the roughness of his hand spurring you on even more—stupid body for responding the way it did to this man. Joel pressed his fingers against the seam of the denim, finding your swollen clit hidden beneath. You exhaled loudly, your body sagging further into the cushions as he rubbed rough circles over the aching bundle of nerves.

“Right there, darlin’? That feel good for you?” Joel taunted.

“Mhmm,” you whined.

“You wanna cum for me?”

You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, holding back the plea for release. Joel knew what he was doing; he knew you wouldn’t beg. You were too stubborn and too defiant to ever beg for it. At least, not again. But his fingers worked faster—harder—keeping you on the edge of ecstasy the longer you stayed silent.

“C’mon,” he urged. “Ask nicely, and I’ll let you cum.”

You turned your head into the sofa, burying your face into the cushions as you let out a frustrated cry. Fuck this man. Fuck his ability to turn you pliant and easy. Your body bucked against his hand as he worked at you in tantalizing movements, the friction of his palm against your sex becoming dizzying.

“Please,” you muttered, your voice muffled and quiet.

Joel’s hand unwound from your neck, taking its place within the tresses of your hair. A swift tug back, and your eyes strained to meet his as he loomed over you.

“I didn’t hear you,” he growled.

You swallowed thickly, trying to form another plea, but you couldn’t make a sound. Joel tugged on your hair harder, enough to make you cry at the pain. Your nails dug into the couch, and you managed a small please through a strangled moan.

“Too bad, darlin’. Bratty lil sluts don’t get to cum. I just wanted to hear y’beg for it.”

He released his grip on your head, shoving you back down. You groaned in frustration as his hand vanished from between your legs. The couch shifted beneath you as Joel rose to his feet, wandering around your living room and into your kitchen.

“Where’s your smokes?” He asked, rifling through the drawers as if he owned the place.

You lifted yourself, stretching your neck and detangling your hair with your fingers. Your clit painfully throbbed against your panties, your core still fluttering from the phantom orgasm that never came. Joel continued his search, slamming drawers shut and opening cupboards without a care in the world as if he didn’t just have you pinned down and begging for release. The temptation to run out and grab your gun was thrumming inside your veins; just one shot and you’d be free of him. Joel glanced up at the exact moment you shot to your feet, gunning for the door.

“Don’t even think about it, darlin’,” Joel warned.

“You expect me to let you roam ‘round my house uninvited?” You questioned.

“I expect you to be a good host and find me a damn cigarette,” he snapped.

“Well, they’re on my porch. So, if you’ll let me leave for a damn second, I can bring you one.”

Joel leaned against the kitchen counter, considering you with eyes narrowed. You folded your arms over your chest and stared at him, both of you in a silent showdown. With a lift of his chin, he motioned for you to go ahead and retrieve them. Disappearing out onto the porch, you scooped up your pack of reds and lighter, lingering an extra moment as you considered the gun lying on the ground.

“I’m waitin’!” He called from inside.

“Christ, I fuckin’ hate you,” you said, walking back into the house.

Joel had made himself all too comfortable on your couch, his legs spread open and arm lazily draped over the back cushion. You immediately noticed the bulge in his jeans, a telltale sign that he was just as worked up as you were. Tough fucking luck. If he wouldn’t get you off, you wouldn’t help him either.

“Y’ hate me, huh?” Joel asked, his lips curving into a smug grin.

You didn’t respond as you smacked the bottom of the cigarette carton against your palm. Joel flicked his fingers, urging you closer, yet you stayed planted to the ground.

“Gonna give me one of those, darlin’?”

“Why should I?” You huffed. “Y’come into my home uninvited and act like you own the damn place. Actin’ all demandin’ and rude.”

Joel let out a low whistle, rolling his neck back and forth. You continued smacking the carton, your lips set in a firm line.

“What’s rude is tryna kill someone who only came to talk. So, come here and sit.”

“And if I don’t wanna?”

“For one goddamn minute, can y’just not be so fuckin’ stubborn?” Joel huffed.

“Fine.”

You strode toward the couch, aiming to sit beside Joel, only to have him wrap an arm around your waist and pull you into his lap. Your thighs pressed against his as you settled into his body, the rugged muscles of his legs flexing beneath you. You were too close to him, too aware of the way his eyes sparkled with rich amber flecks in this nearness. Joel studied you without an ounce of anger as if none of what had happened between you ever existed. It made it terribly hard to continue hating him when he looked at you that way.

“Y’gonna be a good girl and give me a smoke now?” Joel asked.

Rolling your eyes, you removed a cigarette from the carton, offering it to him. Joel only shrugged, parting his lips ever so slightly to invite it into his awaiting mouth. Your fingers brushed against the scruff of his jaw as you placed it between his lips, his mouth quirked up in satisfaction.

“You trust me with a light?” You questioned.

Joel squeezed your waist softly, his other arm still thrown across the couch. You twirled the lighter between your fingers, your thumb rolling over the sparkwheel haphazardly. One good flick of the lighter, and you could send him up in flames—burn your whole house down with him inside, and you’d finally be at peace. He was a ceaseless man with little regard for you or your damn peace, and you were growing tired of entertaining him.

“Light it,” he ordered, the cigarette hanging between his teeth.

You sparked the flame, letting the heat of it ripple over your skin as you brought it to the butt of the cig. The tip ignited with a flicker of embers, the cherry end burning bright as Joel took a long drag. He lifted his hand from the couch—still keeping one firm on your body—and situated the cigarette between two fingers.

“Wanna tell me where y’learned to shoot like that?” He asked, his head tilted to the side.

“My parents. They taught me everything I know,” you admitted.

“Everythin’ aside from manners,” Joel countered.

“Shut up,” you snapped. “I ain’t gonna sit here and let you speak of my parents like that.”

You didn’t like talking about them; the reminder of their absence was sometimes too much to bear. You had so many responsibilities thrown onto your shoulders when they died, and although you took those responsibilities willingly, it didn’t quell the grief still lingering. You didn’t have your parents anymore, but you had their land to care for and their wishes to uphold.

Joel took a sharp inhale from the cigarette, letting the smoke plume between your faces. The stench of smoke was something comforting to you, always had been, but coming from his mouth, it pissed you off.

“Hey, now,” he said softly. “Was only kiddin’, darlin’. Didn’t mean to strike a nerve.”

“Your entire presence strikes a fuckin’ nerve, Joel. Why are y’even here?”

“Like I said, I came here to talk.”

You pulled the cigarette from his lips, taking it to your own and inhaling a long drag. Joel arched a brow, watching as you hollowed your cheeks around it, the flicker of the butt burning brightly in his face.

“Then talk,” you hissed, tilting your head to exhale the smoke.

You leaned back, discarding some of the ashes against the tray on your coffee table. Joel’s hand urged you back to his chest, pinning you closer than you wished to be. You adjusted yourself on his lap, absentmindedly, shifting your body over his hardened cock. Joel choked on a breath, his fingers digging into your waist. Oh. Funny how you had all the power now.

“Talk,” you repeated, grinding your body down against his again.

“I know what you’re doin’,” Joel grumbled.

“Y’gonna talk or what, Miller? I’m waitin’.”

Joel cursed under his breath, grabbing the cigarette from your fingers and returning it to his lips. His eyes never left yours as he drew in a breath, letting the smoke linger inside his mouth a second too long before exhaling. The smoke billowed around your face, and you scrunched your nose in annoyance.

“I wanna negotiate,” Joel offered.

“No.”

It was a quick response, one without a second thought. You wouldn’t even entertain the idea of negotiations. Why? Because there was nothing to fucking negotiate. This land was yours, passed down through generations, and would remain that way. No amount of bitching and moaning from Joel would make you reconsider.

“Y’didn’t even let me finish,” Joel remarked.

“I don’t need to listen to you. I ain’t negotiating my land.”

You reached for the cigarette again, yet Joel suspended it in the air and out of reach. You glared at him, trying to grab his hand to drag it toward you. Joel’s strength outweighed yours, and he had you beat every time you tried aiming for it again. Shoving at his chest, you moved to swing a leg over his lap and climb off, but he dragged you right back to his chest. His hand roamed up your side, curving along your hip and over the swell of your breast. Cupping your face with one large hang, Joel squeezed your cheeks together and forced your lips to part.

You struggled against his grip, your eyes full of rage as you watched him take another drag of the cigarette. With your mouth partially open, he leaned close and blew the smoke over your lips and into your mouth. The fragrant odor of the smoke licked up your nose as you inhaled, your lips inches away from his. You didn’t like it. You didn’t want him close. Joel’s eyes bounced between your eyes and lips, the temptation of drawing you closer palpable in his body language. The nicotine buzzed inside your head, and you pulled away from his face right at the same moment he leaned closer.

“Don’t,” you warned, smoke exhaling from your lips.

Joel dropped his hand from your face, a clear shift in his mood arising as you watched his eyes flicker with disappointment. It was all over his face: the furrow between his brows, the downturn of his lips… He wanted to kiss you. You wouldn’t let him, though; that was too much. If he wanted to manhandle you and fuck you however he pleased, that was fine. You welcomed it, actually, because you knew one taste of his mouth, and you’d be ruined. You didn’t want intimacy with Joel, not when your family’s land was hanging in the balance. He’d reel you in with false pretenses and have you aching for more, only to tear it all away.

He cursed under his breath as he pressed his body to yours, leaning forward to discard the cigarette into the ashtray. The bulge beneath his jeans prodded your sex at this angle, eliciting a ripple of pleasure up your spine. A small gasp bubbled out of you as Joel readjusted himself beneath you.

“You don’t wanna talk?” Joel asked, raising his voice. “Fine. Better not say a damn word unless it’s my name while I fuck you.”

In a millisecond, Joel had you pinned down to the couch again, your hair splayed around you and your breath whooshing from your lungs. His fingers worked at the zipper of your jeans, yanking them down your legs and discarding them over his shoulder. Propping a knee onto the couch, Joel undid his belt buckle and freed his cock from the confines of his jeans. Precum glistened on the tip, and he stroked himself slowly as he pulled your legs apart, molding you into the position he desired.

“Only wanna hear y’scream my name. Y’understand that?” He growled.

Joel coated the head of his cock with the slick covering your folds, pushing himself in with one deep thrust. You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut as your body adjusted to his size. This angle was so much different than last time, and you could feel every vein and ridge of his cock rub against your fluttering walls. You focused on your breathing while he plunged deeper, breaking you open and fucking into you with hard thrusts.

Caressing the back of your knee, Joel drew your leg up and over his shoulder, bending you in half until he was spearing into your core.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

You shook your head, whimpering at the sensation of his cock splitting you in half. Searing pain bloomed across your face as Joel’s hand connected with your cheek. Your eyes shot open, tears welling on your waterline, the sting of the pain churning into a wave of pleasure through your core. You forgot how addictive his touch could be when he was angry. His pupils swallowed the entirety of his eyes, a dark, endless abyss staring straight back at you.

“Do. You. Understand?” He grunted between thrusts.

You didn’t respond, a tear slipping down your cheek. The phantom touch of his fingers on your skin lingered still, and your clit throbbed with a sudden flurry of arousal. Joel’s hand wrapped around your jaw, forcing your mouth open. He leaned down, pressing his weight into you as his face neared yours. A trail of spit fell off his tongue and crashed into the back of your throat, and you flinched away from Joel as he pressed harder.

“Swallow, brat.”

You struggled to swallow it; your throat constricted as his grip around your jaw tightened. He plowed into you, drilling your core with violent strokes until a gargled wail left your mouth. His spit slid down your throat, and he hummed in approval.

“Good girl.”

He stretched your other leg up and over his shoulder, your ass lifting off the couch. You wanted to beg him to stop, yet nothing would leave your lips. Not even a sound as the noise of his hips slapping against yours filled the air. The thrum of your heartbeat vibrated through your chest, the pressure inside your stomach growing stronger as you propelled closer to the edge of your orgasm. Every muscle in your body grew taut, your clit aching to be touched…aching for relief from the violent flames lapping at your spine. So close. It was so close you craved for more.

Maybe you didn’t want him to stop.

“If you ain’t gonna listen to me in a normal conversation, then you’re gonna listen now,” he gritted.

You flexed your jaw under his hand, trying to shy away from his piercing stare. You didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to listen… didn’t want anything but the opportunity to seek release. You could handle the pain—you welcomed it. The harder he fucked you, the less you had to think. And if you kept thinking, you’d drown in the consequences of your doubt. Keep him angry, you thought. Keep him the enemy. You couldn’t let him be anything more.

“I don’t want your land,” Joel punched out through clenched teeth. “Keep it. I don’t give a shit.”

The buzzing inside your skin dulled out at his words. It was so hard to focus on what he was saying when your mind was melting from the inside out, his cock driving into you with brutal speed. He didn’t want…

“What?” You choked out.

Joel’s hand clamped down on your mouth, muffling your words as he bottomed out and kept himself seated inside you. The rhythm of his thrusts stopped, and he let his hips press into yours as he stared down at your tearful face. You were so fucking full of him you couldn’t breathe.

“Listen,” he snapped.

You muffled out his name, the sound slipping through the space between his fingers. He only pressed harder, your body folded in half beneath his weight. You clenched around his cock, rocking your hips slightly to quell the need curling inside your stomach.

“I ain’t gonna take your land from you, ‘kay? All I’m askin’ for is permission to come ‘round without you tryna kill me.”

No. The word was lost inside the palm of his hand. You wanted your land, and you wanted Joel gone. You didn’t trust him when he said he didn’t want your land. How could you trust him when he had you pinned to the sofa?

“This is what’s gonna happen,” Joel offered, snaking a free hand down between your legs. “You’re gonna agree with me and let me come and go as I please. Then maybe I’ll let you cum.”

Calloused fingers circled your clit, forcing a cry from your mouth. Tantalizing, slow draws over your sensitive bud pulled desperate sounds out of you, each one of them stifled against his warm hand. Joel worked himself into shallow thrusts, pulling out to the tip and driving right back into you. You couldn’t fend off the orgasm bubbling under the surface, the nerves inside you lighting on fire.

“Please!” You screamed between his fingers.

Joel’s lips twisted into a sneer, beads of sweat rolling down his temples as he pressed his fingers harder against your clit. Your eyes glossed over with fresh tears as you fought off the impending release rolling through your body.

“Say it.”

Your back arched off the couch as you chased the strokes of Joel’s fingers. Circling and circling… You were so close to the threshold of ecstasy, and you knew he’d tear it away from you if you didn’t relent.

Joel ripped his hand from your mouth, tangling in the hair at the crown of your head. He forced your eyes down to where your bodies connected, your focus on his cock as it disappeared inside you.

“Y’wanna cum on my cock, darlin’?” Joel taunted.

“Fuck! Please, Joel!” You gasped.

With your chin tucked into your chest, your legs dangling over his shoulders, and his cock spearing into your core… you couldn’t hold back your orgasm any longer.

“Say it!” Joel commanded.

“Okay!” You sobbed. “Just let me cum, Joel! Please!”

Joel assaulted you with a repetition of thrusts, each stronger than the last, until your orgasm exploded through your body. His name tore from your lips as your back curved off the couch and your legs squeezed around his neck. He kept his thumb circling your clit, your orgasm never ceasing to end as the inferno burned inside your core. Wet, hot arousal gushed out of you, splattering onto Joel’s navel and staining his denim shirt. His eyes flicked up to yours, a wicked grin splitting his face.

“Look at the mess you’re makin’. Just drenchin’ my fuckin’ cock.”

“Joel!” You whined, squirming against his hand.

“Nuh uh, darlin’. Wanna see how messy y’can get. Keep goin’.”

He released his grip on your hair, forcing your head to fall against the arm of the sofa. Shuffling his knees forward, Joel continued his brutal thrusts until your arousal sprayed around his cock and dripped down the seam of your ass. There wasn’t enough air in your lungs as you alternated between screaming his name and begging him to stop.

“Since y’wanted to cum so goddamn bad, you’re gonna keep takin’ my fuckin’ cock ‘til you ruin this damn couch,” Joel grunted.

You were crying… hard. Your mind was on the precipice of hysteria as waves of your orgasm bolted through your veins. Lewd sounds of his body slapping against your wetness echoed through the room, the cushion beneath you soaked from your arousal. You attempted to claw yourself backward and away from Joel, but his grip was violent, and he only yanked you closer.

“I can’t—I can’t anymore!” you sobbed. “Please, Joel…please.”

“Gimmie one more,” he demanded.

You shook your head in protest, your sobs hiccuping inside your chest. Your core was too fucked out, your clit was painfully sensitive, and you were sitting in a pool of your arousal. How did Joel manage to turn the events of the day around in his favor? You had control at the start—you had the gun— but now he had you folded in half and strewn out in a heap of tears.

“I can’t!” You wailed. “Too much—too much…”

“Poor thing,” Joel taunted. “Always beggin’ for it but can’t take it.”

You writhed beneath him, your body twisting and bending to alleviate the painful sensations rolling through your nerve endings. This was it; this was how you died. Drunk on pleasure and torn apart by the man you wanted to hate.

Another orgasm tore through your body, consuming you from the inside out. Your scream pierced through the air, and you collapsed into the cushions, soaked with sweat and tears. Joel made a strangled noise above you as your sex clamped down around his cock, no doubt pulsating harder than it had the last several orgasms. His cock slipped from inside you, leaving you hollow and aching to be filled again. Your body craved the fullness, yet you sagged with relief knowing he stopped.

“C’mere,” Joel grunted.

He slung your legs off his shoulders and yanked you down the couch by your ankle. Positioned over your face, Joel stroked his cock above you, his fingers glistening from the arousal that stuck to his velvety skin.

“Open that fuckin’ mouth, darlin',” Joel urged.

Your head was so hazy you hardly registered his words. Parting your lips, you whined softly and stared at him…waiting. Joel’s eyes connected with yours, that deep furrow in his brow more prominent than before. Rage still sparked behind his eyes, but in your delirium, you saw more. You saw right past his facade, just as he saw right past yours. Whatever terror etched itself into your features, it caught his attention, but he was painting your lips and face with his release before he could decipher it. Hot ropes of cum spattered against your lips, the salty taste covering your tongue as it trailed into your mouth. Remnants of his release coated your chin and neck, warm reminders of his futile efforts at staking his claim.

He hadn’t claimed you, no matter how hard he fucked you. You wouldn’t let him claim you. And you most certainly wouldn’t let him claim your land.

Joel slid his finger through the mess along your neck, scooping his cum onto the pad of his finger and dragging it across your lips.

“So fuckin’ pretty all covered in my cum,” he praised.

“Fuck you,” you whispered, though your words meant shit, as you rolled your tongue over your bottom lip.

Joel gave you a soft grin, smoothing down your hair and cleaning the mess off your face with one hand. The same hand that had inflicted pain just moments ago, the hand that brought you to release more times than you could physically endure.

But now the touch was soft—caring, even. And that frightened you more than the violence he showed when he was provoked. It was this side of Joel that made you scared, and you wanted to run as far from it as you could.

“Let’s get you up, darlin’,” Joel said, hoisting you by the shoulders until you sat under his shadow.

He massaged your legs as you swung them over the couch, attempting to relieve the tension within your muscles. You shrunk away, standing on unbalanced limbs, and distanced yourself from his wandering hands.

“I need a shower,” you decided. “Y’can see yourself out.”

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you.”

“Well, I’m done fuckin’ talking!” You argued.

You spun on your heel, your hands clenched at your sides. Joel’s eyes stayed focused on you as he worked at stuffing his cock back into his jeans. Half-naked before him, you felt a million times smaller than you had when he arrived.

“Why are you so hateful?” He questioned, rising to his feet.

Your lips curled up, a slew of spiteful words dancing on the tip of your tongue. But Joel wasn’t finished.

“This is your land,” he said, stepping closer. “I ain’t gonna argue that anymore ‘cause it’s a lost cause. And I ain’t tryna steal it from you. I can promise you that.” Another step closer. “So, why do y’hate the idea of me comin’ around?”

“Because I hate you,” you responded.

“You hate me, huh? Is that how y’feel ‘bout me when I’m pullin’ orgasms from your body? ‘Cause I think you fuckin’ love it. You love bein’ fucked by me. You get me all riled up ‘cause y’know what’s comin’ for you.”

“I hate you,” you repeated.

Joel lifted his hand to your face, cupping your cheek with a featherlike touch. You wanted to shy away, but you were too tired to move.

“I don’t think y’hate me at all, darlin’,” he whispered.

He leaned closer, placing a kiss on your forehead. You squeezed your eyes shut, holding off another round of tears brimming over the surface. Pushing your hands against his chest, you shoved Joel away, your body staggering back with the force of your action.

“Get the hell outta my house,” you cried, no longer keeping the tears at bay.

Joel stared at you with a pained expression, his eyes searching through your glassy eyes for the falter within your words. He didn’t budge; he didn’t move an inch. You shoved at his chest again, but it was no use as he wrangled you into his arms and lifted your chin to meet his eyes.

“When are you gonna quit fightin’ me?” He asked softly.

It was a sincere question; you saw it swimming behind the rich chocolate of his irises. Pleading. Begging. He wanted the truth, but you wouldn’t give in. You couldn’t.

“I’ll quit fightin’ when y’learn to leave me alone.”

“What if I don’t wanna?”

He was a breath away from your lips, the rich scent of farmland wafting off his skin as it mixed with the smell of sex. It was intoxicating being this close—close enough to wonder what his lips would feel like on yours. While your body ached for him in one way, your heart ached differently. It was an ache you wanted to keep fighting because the moment you lost that battle, you’d lose everything.

“I don’t want you comin’ here anymore, Joel.”

“Why?” he pressed.

Silence blanketed over you, weighing down the words lodged in your throat. The rapid beating of your heart matched his as he kept you tight to his chest. You were suffocated by the emotions you couldn’t say, and you were slowly sinking further down.

You struggled against the arm that bound around your waist, helplessly trying to break free of his hold. He finally relented in defeat, letting you shuffle back until there was a healthy gap between your bodies. Running a hand down the scruff on his chin, Joel gave you a simple nod and retreated toward the front door.

“Until you can give me a reason, I’m gonna keep comin’ back.”

He left without a glance over his shoulder, the room around you shrinking in size without his presence looming over you. Searching for your shorts, you quickly dressed and hid behind the window curtains as you watched his truck rumble to life and speed down the dirt roads. There was no goodbye between you, and you knew there wouldn’t be. Joel wasn’t giving up, no matter how hard you pushed him away, and eventually, he’d win.

And you hated knowing the truth.

Behind the billowing dirt trail of his truck, Joel watched as your house faded from view. His knuckles were white around the steering wheel as he thought about the way he left. He was doing this for fun; at least, that’s what it felt like at the start. Getting on your nerves, pissing you off, seeing you completely unraveled underneath his hands, Joel loved it. He loved the thrill of having you tamed down and quiet, compliant to anything he asked and did.

Then he had you pinned underneath him, and he saw the fear in your eyes. You weren’t scared of him. You were scared of the emotions electrifying between the both of you. Then you pulled away from him, denying him any affection, and he fucking hated it.

He couldn’t understand why you got under his skin the way you did, nor why he cared so much. It wasn’t supposed to end up this way, yet Joel wanted to keep tearing down your walls. He wanted to hear you tell him the truth.

He wasn’t going to stop until he got it.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel x f!reader #joel x reader #tlou #cowboy!joel #no outbreak!joel miller #no outbreak au #smut #mini series #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou

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hcneymooners · 2 months ago

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⋆ arcane but it's a private university au ( for the girls: pt. ii )

ice princess!f!reader x multi. f!characters. men & minors dni.

synopsis: private university!arcane headcanons but it’s really specific bc it’s based on my time at catholic private school except this au is just a private hold the catholic.

cw: this part contains scenarios for jinx, sevika, & ambessa. writing for jinx was actually my favorite portion (ambessa, please forgive me.) suggestive content. notes: i love them so bad. you can find part one here. i didn't include the intro since i did it in the first one! i love you.

jinx : the "bad influence."

୨୧ the two of you met mid-sprint, fleeing a party broken up by the police. it was one of those raw, electric moments where adrenaline surges and strangers become allies in chaos.

୨୧ in the frenzied escape, she tripped, her knees hitting the pavement hard. without hesitation, you yanked her up, kicking away an overzealous officer with surprising precision.

୨୧ all you caught were glimpses: two impossibly long blue braids swinging like a pendulum and wide, heavily-lashed pink eyes that lingered on yours, a strange curiosity etched into their neon stare.

୨୧ your fingers found hers without thinking, and together you ran—your heeled feet stumbling across glitter-streaked concrete littered with shattered glass and discarded red cups.

୨୧ the chase ended in a hole-in-the-wall thai spot, rain pouring in sheets outside. bundled in your oversized vintage fur coat, dark brown and impossibly warm, you glanced at her—soaked, shivering, and unapologetically smug.

୨୧ against every instinct, you shifted, lifting the bulk of your coat to drape over her smaller frame. pressed close, you felt the cold bite of her skin and the cherry tang of her perfume, thick and sharp. her stomach—toned, pale, and adorned with vibrant tattoos—drew your attention as it flexed when she flagged down the waitress.

୨୧ she was so deeply beautiful and so fucking close to you and you’re shivering and wet together.

୨୧ silence settled between you as she grew overly familiar, stealing bites from your plate and feeding you egg rolls with a crooked grin. her nails scraped against your bottom lip, and she laughed when you blinked, stunned, swallowing more than just food.

୨୧ at some point, she leaned in, stealing a sip from your drink, her lips lingering on the rim.

୨୧ you paid.

୨୧ "thanks, ice princess," she murmured as you left. only then did it hit you—she knew you. you must’ve crossed paths on campus, and yet, she felt like a stranger from a different world.

୨୧ she pressed a glossy pink kiss to your cheek, saluted with mock reverence, and vanished into the seedy underbelly of the city.

୨୧ you thought about her for weeks.

୨୧ you didn’t expect to see her again. but days later, there she was on campus, leaning against the vending machine in your dorm building like she belonged there.

୨୧ “ice princess,” she greeted, that crooked grin pulling at her lips. ��guess we’re neighbors.”

୨୧ you didn’t know what to say. it was one thing to pull a stranger out of trouble and share a meal in some forgotten corner of the city. it was another to see her here, part of your world, like she’d been there all along.

୨୧ she started showing up more often after that—slipping into your study sessions at the library, tagging along when you grabbed coffee. she was loud and reckless, her laughter echoing off the quiet walls, drawing stares that you pretended not to notice.

୨୧ it wasn’t long before she started pushing you out of your comfort zone. sneaking you into underground parties, dragging you to rooftop hangouts where the city stretched out beneath you, glittering and endless.

୨୧ she made you feel alive in a way you hadn’t realized you were missing.

୨୧ you couldn’t stop staring at her tattoos, the colorful, intricate designs that covered her stomach and arms. one night, without thinking, you reached out to trace a line along her skin.

୨୧ she caught your hand before you could pull back, her fingers curling around yours. “you like ‘em, huh, mama?” she said, her voice low and teasing. your cheeks burned, and you stammered something incoherent, but she only laughed, pressing your palm flat against her stomach. “gonna get one just for you. we can match.”

୨୧ she had a habit of being overly familiar—feeding you bites of her food, letting her fingers linger against your lips as you swallowed. one time, her thumb brushed your bottom lip, and you caught her smirk as she let her teeth graze her fork, slow and deliberate.

୨୧ you knew you were falling for her. it was impossible not to. the way she leaned in close when she talked, her perfume sweet and enticing, her lips always just a little too close. the way she made you feel like the only person in the room, even in a crowd.

୨୧ not everyone saw her the way you did. when someone from your social circle made a snide comment about her, you didn’t hesitate to defend her. “she’s smarter than all of you combined,” you snapped, your voice colder than ice. “and she’s got more heart than you’ll ever understand.”

୨୧ it was after that that she started pulling away. her laughter came less easily, her touch less frequent.

୨୧ “you don’t get it,” she told you one night, her voice brittle. “i’m… broken. you shouldn’t—”

୨୧ “jinx,” you interrupted, your tone firm but gentle. “i’m from a legacy family. and, according to my family, i "choose" to like girls. i’m definitely fucked up. so how could i judge you?”

୨୧ she stared at you for a long moment, her eyes softening, and for the first time, she was at a loss for words.

୨୧ your first kiss wasn’t rushed or reckless. it was quiet, heavy with the weight of everything building between you.

୨୧ you were sitting together on the roof of her sister’s apartment, the city lights stretching out below, and she was looking at you like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

୨୧ “you’re staring,” you teased, your voice barely above a whisper.

୨୧ “yeah,” she said, her grin softer than you’d ever seen it. “so what?”

୨୧ before you could answer, she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours like a question. when you didn’t pull away, she kissed you deeper, her hand cupping your jaw, her thumb tracing your cheekbone.

୨୧ she tasted like strawberry chapstick and danger, and you never wanted to let her go. when she finally pulled back, her forehead resting against yours, she smiled.

୨୧ “told you,” she murmured, her voice soft and warm. “you’re stuck with me now.”

୨୧ you smiled back, cheeks aching. "i'm not stuck. i'm right where i want to be." ୨୧ she leaned back, dragging you into her lap. a slender finger dipped into your skirt's waistband and fingered the lace dip of your panties. your breath hitched, and she kissed your throat. "c'mon. lemme hear you, mama."

୨୧ from that moment on, you were hers—completely, irrevocably hers.

p.s you say fuck it, choose her over your fuck ass homophobic family, get disowned, get married, start a million dollar engineering empire, & have isha.

sevika: the older student.

୨୧ you first noticed her in your advanced biochem lab—all sharp angles and calculated movements, her mechanical arm gleaming under fluorescent lights as she measured solutions with military precision.

୨୧ sevika was notorious among grad students: brilliant, ruthless, and absolutely not interested in working with undergrads. which made it particularly unfortunate when professor silco paired you together for the semester's research project.

୨୧ she was older than most students—whispers said she dropped out years ago and came back after “handling some things.” no one was brave enough to ask what that meant, but her reputation kept most people at arm’s length.

୨୧ her expression when your name was called could have curdled milk. you lifted your chin, met her gaze steadily, and pretended your heart wasn't racing.

୨୧ sevika didn’t bother to introduce herself. she just crossed her arms over her broad chest and grumbled, “you’re doing the talking.” her voice was low, almost lazy.

୨୧ "i'm not carrying dead weight," she said at your first session. you noticed a scar bisecting her left eye, the way her jaw clenched when she spoke. "if we're doing this, we do it my way." “thought you said i’d be talking,” you snapped back.

୨୧ 'her way' meant late nights in the lab, your designer clothes traded for practical cotton, hair pulled back from your face. she worked you relentlessly, expecting perfection in every measurement, every calculation. but beneath her harsh exterior, you caught glimpses of something else—the way she'd correct your form without mockery, how she'd appear with coffee when your hands started shaking from exhaustion.

୨୧ it was after one of these late sessions that it happened. you were walking back to your dorm, mind fuzzy with fatigue and feet stumbling, when rough hands grabbed you from behind. before you could scream, a low voice cut through the darkness: "let her go, or i remove your hands permanently."

୨୧ sevika stood there, golden eyes burning in the streetlight, her mechanical arm whirring softly. the would-be mugger took one look at her and ran. you stayed frozen, heart thundering in your chest, until she clicked her tongue in disapproval. “get it together, princess. come on."

୨୧ she led you to an alcove and watched you flutter with delayed panic like a bird, mouth twisted with an unreadable expression. "you need to learn to defend yourself," she said finally. it wasn't a suggestion. you opened your mouth to argue, but she cut you off. “gym. tomorrow. six am. wear something you can actually move in."

୨୧ that's how you found yourself spending your mornings with sevika, learning to throw punches and break holds. she was a harsh teacher, but her hands were surprisingly gentle when correcting your stance. "again," she'd say, and you'd try to ignore how your skin tingled where she touched.

୨୧ soon enough, she started showing up wherever you were—whether it was a coffee shop, the library, or your favorite bench on campus. “just passing through,” she claimed. still, the way she always ended up sitting beside you said otherwise. she knew you were anxious, your body tensing whenever someone passed by. your airpods haven’t been in noise cancellation mode for three weeks.

୨୧ her mechanical arm fascinated you. one day, you asked about it, your curiosity outweighing your hesitation. she shrugged, but you caught the faintest twitch of a smile when you told her you thought it was beautiful.

୨୧ the project evolved, and so did whatever was growing between you. she started letting you help maintain her arm, teaching you the intricate mechanisms. your fingers would brush as you worked, and sometimes she'd let them linger. "careful," she'd murmur, but you were never sure if she meant with the machinery or with her.

୨୧ in these moments, she had a way of looking at you that made your stomach flip—like she was sizing you up, deciding if you’re worth her time.

୨୧ you began to seek her out. the first time you loitered in the parking lot of her condo, fingers twitching nervously as you texted that you stopped by. she opened the door and lounged against the doorway, thick thighs bared by her boxers and skin gleaming from a recent workout. she laughed as you gasped and turned away.

୨୧ “what the fuck, sevika!” “princess, we have the same parts. they probably would feel real nice pushed togeth—“ “SEVIKA.”

୨୧ she pushed you out of your comfort zone in quiet, deliberate ways. you’re dragged to the campus bar, taught how to play pool (and lose), and laughing when you scratch on the break. “you’re hopeless, princess,” she teased, her smirk revealing her perfect gap teeth.

୨୧ her teasing was relentless, and she always called you “princess” and sometimes “baby girl” like it was on your birth certificate. you flushed every time, which only encouraged her.

୨୧ the first time you successfully pinned her during a self-defense session, she actually laughed—a rich, surprised sound that made your heart stutter. "not bad, baby girl,” she said, still beneath you, her organic hand warm on your hip. you became acutely aware of your position, of how close her face was to yours. neither of you moved for a long moment.

୨୧ if you’re becoming way too possessive of her, sue you. you’re the only undergrad who’s smuggled yourself under her wing and you’d like to keep it that way, goddamnit. you were never good at sharing anyway.

୨୧ it came to a head at an afterparty, your eye twitching as you watched some bitch (sorry!) trace her talons across sevika’s waist, which was framed admirably by a dark pair of jeans that were practically painted on.

୨୧ it only took a few seconds for you to stomp across the room and root a hand around her neck, drawing her into a searing kiss. you kissed her like you were trying to draw juice from her lips, moaning as she tugged you in closer.

୨୧ she kissed like she fought—precise, demanding, taking no prisoners. she backed you against the counter, knocking over a bottle of malibu, mechanical hand cool against your hips. “didn’t know you had it in you,” she laughed. “shut up, sevika. my god.” you grabbed her collar, reeled her back in.

୨୧ "you're my special girl,” she'd tell you later, tracing patterns on your skin with metal fingers. “the only one i give a fuck about. no competition.” her voice was bleeding with affection, and you curled into her side. she pressed kisses to your hair and leaned over to set an alarm for the both you—one for her, four for you.

୨୧ it worked, somehow—your refined, gilded edges against her sharp ones. you learned to throw a punch; she learned that you would lock her out if she didn’t allow you to spoil her relentlessly. “princess, i already have a bike.” “keep talking, honey, and i’ll purchase the whole dealership.” “now—“

୨୧ "you're trying to kill me slowly,” she grumbled, watching you charm your way through department gatherings. but she'd be there anyway, a solid presence at your back, her mechanical hand resting possessively at your waist. and when you'd lean into her touch, she'd hide her smile in your hair.

୨୧ if anyone found it strange to see the ice princess curled up in the lap of the most feared grad student on campus, well, one look from sevika's narrowed eyes was enough to silence any commentary.

୨୧ you were a fucking princess, both in real life and in her bed, but fuck you were hers. and sevika protected what was hers.

ambessa medarda : the professor.

୨୧ you first saw her across a dimly lit hotel bar. you were three drinks in, mascara smeared from crying after the worst fight yet with your mother. "disappointing," she'd called you. "ungrateful." all because you refused to date the son of her country club friends.

୨୧ “mommy, please,” you’d sobbed. “i’m not ungrateful. i just don’t love him.” she’d left you with the dial tone.

୨୧ you rubbed a fist across your face like a child, attempting to gather yourself. your phonecall was denied again, and you winced at the tinny voice of your mother’s voicemail, setting it down and turning it off. god, this was the worst thing to happen to you in a long time.

୨୧ with a sigh, you glanced up at the mirror behind the bar. she was looking right back.

୨୧ the woman was striking—white locs swept into an elegant updo, wearing a low-cut red dress that hugged her body tightly. she moved like a lioness, back flexing as she hunkered down over the glossy wood. her golden eyes met yours, and your stomach began to spin. you knew this was the beginning of a dangerous game.

୨୧ after a minute she walked over, hands bearing water instead of another drink. "crying in bars rarely solves anything, little one," she said, her accent rich and heady. when you tried to argue, she simply raised an eyebrow, and you found yourself downing the glass in its entirety.

୨୧ you kept eye contact as you swallowed, tongue peeking out to lap at the remnants along your lips.

୨୧ you don't remember who moved first. but you remember her hands—strong, calloused—gripping your thighs. remember her voice, rough with want, whispering against your neck. remember the way she claimed you, leaving mottled marks you'd find days later.

୨୧ you remember waking up alone in her hotel room, a glass of water and two aspirin on the nightstand. no note. just the lingering scent of her perfume—spiced and earthy—on the sheets.

୨୧ you tried to forget her. tried to forget how she'd called you “sweet girl” when you'd bitten her shoulder, how she'd laughed darkly and pinned your hands above your head, called you “easy” when you sobbed out pitiful demands for her to go harder and faster, do destroy you from the inside out.

୨୧ then came the first day of advanced military history.

୨୧ "good morning, class. i'm professor medarda."

୨୧ your blood ran cold. there she stood—your favorite fantasy, your most well-spent drunken night—looking devastatingly beautiful in a tailored suit. her eyes found yours immediately, and you saw the recognition flash in them, followed by something darker, more primal.

୨୧ you tried to drop the class. she denied your request personally.

୨୧ "running away?" she asked during mandatory office hours, pouring tea from an ornate set. "that's not the fierce girl i remember. you scratched me all up.”

୨୧ your cheeks burned. "professor—"

୨୧ "ambessa," she corrected, sliding the tea across her desk. “i think we’re past the formalities.”

୨୧ you couldn't avoid her. she called on you in class, her voice caressing your name. kept you after lectures to "discuss your work." you told yourself the tension would fade.

୨୧ it didn't.

୨୧ "i need a teaching assistant," she announced one evening, when you'd stayed too late reviewing your paper. "someone sharp. strategic. devoted.” her fingers brushed yours as she took your empty teacup. "interested?"

୨୧ you should have said no. you should have viewed her wolfish grin as a red flag, grabbed your shit, and hauled ass. instead, you heard yourself say, “of course.”

୨୧ being her TA meant late nights in her office, her perfume making you dizzy with memories. meant watching her command rooms full of students while remembering how she'd commanded your body. it meant pretending you couldn't feel her eyes on you, hungry and possessive.

୨୧ "we should establish some boundaries,” you said finally, after weeks of delicious torture.

୨୧ "should we?" she moved like a predator, backing you against her desk. "or should we discuss how you keep shivering when i get too close?"

୨୧ your breath caught. "this is inappropriate."

୨୧ “mmm, entirely," she agreed, one hand sliding into your hair, the other around your neck. “now, tell me to stop."

୨୧ you didn’t.

୨୧ “little minx,” she murmured and you kissed her, surging forward and into her lap.

୨୧ it became your secret—stolen moments in her office after hours, weekends at her apartment where she'd cook elaborate dishes and tear your papers to shreds, nights where she'd make you forget your own name and squeal hers.

୨୧ “good girl” she'd murmur against your skin, switching to noxian when you drove her too far. she ordained you with names that meant something far more possessive and crude in her native tongue.

୨୧ the whole thing made you feel deliciously stained and you sought her out to purify you time and time again. you kept it hidden until graduation. until you had your degree in hand and nothing left to lose.

୨୧ the scandal was delicious—respected professor medarda and her former student, now openly living together. your mother was horrified. society whispered.

୨୧ "regrets?" ambessa asked one morning, watching you sip the spiced coffee you'd grown to love.

୨୧ you thought of that night at the bar, of all the paths that led you here. "never." it turned out some mistakes are worth making twice.

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riddleswhcre · 12 days ago

Text

────۶ৎ PART II: WEAR MY NAME

you tried to escape him. pretended he wasn’t real. ignored the way the mirrors whispered, the way the shadows stretched, the way something unseen touched you in the dark. but now he’s here—watching, waiting, stepping through the glass and back into your world. you should run. you don’t.

warnings: DO NOT PROCEED IF YOU VALUE YOUR SANITY. dead dove: do not eat. smut, fingering. You are being watched. dub-con, marking/claiming, overstimulation, size kink, degradation/praise, predator/prey, choking (light).

part 1 au more

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

it starts with the mirrors.

at first, it’s easy to ignore.

a shape in the reflection when you aren’t looking directly at it. the faint sense of something standing behind you, just past the edge of your vision.

shadows that stretch too far.

too dark.

too familiar.

you tell yourself it’s exhaustion. stress. your mind holding onto the trauma, twisting it into something that feels real.

but the mirrors aren’t the only thing.

it’s the touch, too.

the way your body shivers at nothing—a cold breath against your ear, the brush of fingers along your waist, the faintest pressure against your throat.

like hands that aren’t there.

like a presence you can’t shake.

"you’ve been acting weird," your boyfriend says one night, voice groggy with sleep. his fingers graze your bare hip under the duvet, warm, grounding. "are you alright?"

"yeah," you murmur. lie.

he hums, already drifting off again, pulling you closer into his heat. but even as he holds you, your body remains tense, waiting, braced for something unseen.

something inevitable.

you stare past his shoulder, into the darkened mirror across the room.

nothing.

you exhale. force yourself to close your eyes.

but you feel it.

the weight of a gaze.

the press of something cold and unknowable, lingering just out of reach.

watching.

waiting.

and when sleep finally takes you—

you dream in shadows.

you’re in your flat.

alone.

or at least, you should be.

the air is thick. cloying. the lights flicker, the shadows curling at the edges of the room like smoke, shifting, breathing.

you tell yourself it’s a dream.

it has to be.

but you don’t wake up.

your feet move before you register it, carrying you towards the mirror in the hallway. your fingers tremble as you reach out, touching the cool glass—

and he is there.

not a reflection. not a shadow.

him.

tall, poised, dressed in black, the same knowing smirk curling at the edge of his lips.

"hello, little one," tom murmurs, voice velvet and ruin, sinking into your bones.

your pulse stops.

you stumble back, but there’s nowhere to go. the wall meets your spine, cold and unyielding. your chest heaves, your mind screaming at you to wake up, wake up, but tom only tilts his head, watching you, drinking in your panic like it amuses him.

"i told you," he says, stepping forward, out of the mirror, into your space, into your world.

his hand catches your chin, fingers cold as death itself, tilting your face up.

"you didn’t think you could run from me, did you?"

your breath shatters in your throat.

"you’re not real," you whisper.

his smile sharpens.

"oh, little liar," he murmurs, thumb dragging along your bottom lip, pressing in, forcing your mouth open just slightly.

your stomach twists. heat coils low, unwanted, unbearable.

because you remember.

the way he felt inside you. the way he owned you, the way he ruined you.

"this isn’t happening," you breathe, barely a whisper.

tom hums, the sound low and pleased, fingers slipping lower, ghosting down your neck, your collarbone, lower still.

your body betrays you.

he sees it.

"poor thing," he purrs, leaning in, lips brushing against your ear, breath cold and cruel. "you really thought i’d let you go?"

his hands settle on your waist, gripping, fingers pressing into flesh.

"i saved him for you."

his knee parts your thighs, and you let him.

"and now, you’re going to show me how grateful you are."

his grip tightens on your waist, pulling you closer, your body melting against him despite yourself.

"tom—"

he shushes you, his thumb dragging over your lower lip, pressing just enough to make you feel it, enough to remind you that he’s in control here, not you.

"you keep saying my name like it means something," he murmurs, gaze flicking over your face, watching every twitch, every flicker of fear, of need. his fingers slip lower, slow and deliberate, trailing down your stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of your shorts.

"but you’ve already given yourself to me, haven’t you?"

your breath hitches, your whole body tensing before you even feel his touch.

because you know what’s coming.

he does too.

he wants you to.

"so warm," he breathes, fingers brushing against your slick heat, teasing, not quite giving you what you need. "so obedient."

your thighs clench, but his knee presses between them, keeping them apart.

"don’t be shy now," he taunts, voice mocking, smooth as silk, his fingers spreading you open, just barely pressing inside before retreating, denying you, making you chase the feeling.

"i want to hear you."

his thumb brushes your clit, so light it’s unbearable, and you whimper, your body betraying you completely.

his dark eyes gleam. he loves it.

"that’s it," he breathes. "such a desperate little thing. you missed me, didn’t you?"

you shake your head, but the lie doesn’t even reach your lips before his fingers slip inside you, slow and devastating, his palm grinding against your clit.

you cry out, hips bucking into his hand, body reacting before your mind can even catch up.

"oh?" his smirk sharpens, watching you come apart so easily, so quickly, his fingers dragging against every sensitive part of you, fucking into you deep and slow and merciless.

"you did miss me," he purrs, mocking, triumphant.

your cheeks burn—with shame, with need, with something worse, something deeper, something you shouldn’t want but do.

"look at you," he murmurs, lips ghosting along your jaw, your throat, your ear, pressing wet, biting kisses against your skin.

"trembling for me."

his hand curls around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, keeping you where he wants you as he fucks his fingers into you, faster now, his touch relentless, devastating, perfect.

"you can fight it all you want," he murmurs, voice low, ruinous, his breath curling over your lips.

"but your body already knows who you belong to."

his fingers curl, and pleasure spikes through you, sharp and unbearable, your body tightening around him as you choke on a gasp, as your vision goes white, as your world shatters beneath his touch.

you’re still shaking, still breathless, when he pulls his fingers from you, dragging them through your slick heat one last time before bringing them to his lips.

he licks them clean.

"perfect," he murmurs, smirking when your thighs clench again at the sight of him tasting you.

you know what’s next.

so does he.

you swallow hard, your whole body burning with the memory of how he felt inside you, how he filled you, stretched you, owned you completely.

his voice is low and cruel and full of promise.

"we’re just getting started, little one."

his belt clinks, the whisper of leather sliding free, and your whole body tenses, heat curling deep in your stomach.

he notices. of course, he does.

"nervous?" he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement.

his cock presses against you, heavy and thick, dragging through the slick mess between your legs, teasing, spreading you open just enough to remind you how easily he can break you again.

you swallow hard, forcing your voice steady. "you wish."

he laughs softly, mocking, knowing.

"oh, little one," he breathes, nudging the head of his cock against your entrance, pressing just slightly, just enough to make you ache.

his hands tighten on your hips, holding you still, keeping you where he wants you.

"i don’t have to wish for anything."

he thrusts forward, burying himself inside you in one slow, devastating stroke, stretching you open, filling you completely.

your head tips back, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your body shudders beneath him, your hands gripping at nothing, at him, nails digging into his arms as he doesn’t move, just holds you there, letting you feel every inch of him.

"fuck," he groans, his voice low and ragged, his fingers digging into your waist, gripping hard enough to bruise. "so fucking tight. taking me so well."

he stays still for another second, just long enough to make you squirm, whimper, arch into him.

then he moves.

his first thrust is slow, deep, dragging his cock out of you before snapping his hips forward again, making you cry out, making your body tighten around him, making your vision blur with pleasure.

"that’s it," he murmurs, his grin sharp, dangerous, his pace slow but merciless, grinding deep, hitting exactly where he wants, exactly where he knows you need him.

"you can fight it all you want," he breathes, lips ghosting over your ear, his hands gripping your hips harder, pulling you against him with every thrust.

"but you’re already fucking yourself on my cock, aren’t you?"

you choke on a whimper, hips rocking instinctively, chasing the friction, the pressure, the unbearable heat building inside you too fast, too much.

he sees it, feels it, fucking loves it.

"so desperate," he murmurs, voice dripping with mockery, watching you unravel beneath him, helpless, already broken, already his.

"so eager."

his hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow, tight circles, making your whole body tremble, making your thighs clench around him, making you sob his name.

"so fucking perfect," he groans, picking up his pace, fucking into you harder, sharper, rougher, making sure you feel every inch of him, making sure there’s no part of you he hasn’t claimed.

his lips brush your jaw, your cheek, before settling at your ear, his voice low and dark and inescapable.

"tell me," he breathes, his cock throbbing inside you, his fingers fucking relentless on your clit.

"tell me how badly you need me to fill you up."

your breath shatters, pleasure coiling tight, unbearable, your body already so close, so gone, so completely fucking ruined.

"fuck, tom—"

"tell me."

his hips snap harder, his teeth scrape your throat, his hand tightens on your hip, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

"beg me for it."

your vision blurs, pleasure spiking, your whole body arching into him, taking everything he gives you, giving him everything you have left.

"please," you gasp, desperate, mindless, gone, nails dragging down his arms, clinging to him, pulling him deeper.

"please, tom—"

"that’s my girl," he groans, thrusting into you harder, chasing his own release, fucking you exactly how you need, exactly how you begged for.

"you’re mine," he breathes, voice thick, dark, ruined, his pace losing rhythm, turning desperate, wild, merciless.

"mine," he growls again, his body tensing, his cock throbbing deep inside you, and then he finally lets go, slamming into you one last time as he spills inside you, hot and thick and completely inescapable.

you barely register your own release—blinding, shattering, consuming—your whole body shaking beneath him, clinging to him, every nerve lit with fire, with pleasure, with ruin.

for a long moment, neither of you move.

his breath ghosts against your ear, shaky, uneven, his fingers still gripping your waist, still keeping you where he wants you, still deep inside you, making sure you take every last drop of him.

and then—

his lips brush your throat, slow, lingering, almost… possessive.

"perfect," he murmurs, voice dark and sated, his fingers dragging down your thigh, spreading you open again, just to admire the mess he’s left you in.

"so fucking pretty like this," he breathes.

you shiver.

his hand slides back up, fingers curling around your jaw, forcing your gaze to his.

his lips twitch into a smirk.

"you wear me well."

your breath is shaky, body still trembling, still weak and ruined beneath him, the table digging into your stomach, his cock still buried inside you, still keeping you full, still holding you in place.

but he isn’t done.

his hand ghosts lower, fingers trailing across your stomach, your hips, pressing lightly against your inner thigh.

"a perfect mess," he murmurs, admiring the way your body still twitches from aftershocks, the way his cum slowly drips from between your legs, slick and filthy and undeniable.

"and all mine."

you shudder, your breathing uneven, and his fingers curl into your hair, not to pull—just to hold.

his lips brush your ear, soft, barely there, but his voice is dark, thick, ruinous.

"tell me, little one," he breathes.

his hips shift slightly, and you whimper, your body still too sensitive, still stretched, still aching in the best way.

his smirk deepens.

"did you really think i’d leave you after this?"

your stomach twists.

"this was just the beginning."

his fingers tilt your chin up, forcing your gaze back to his, making sure you see the hunger still lingering in his dark, endless eyes.

"you’re not done with me yet."

his smirk sharpens, something darker curling at the edges of his lips.

"and i’m certainly not done with you."

your heart stutters, heat flooding through your veins, a dangerous mixture of dread and something else, something you don’t want to name.

tom leans in, his nose skimming your jaw, his voice nothing but a whisper of a promise against your skin.

"i hope you weren’t planning on waking up just yet, little one."

and when he moves again, when his fingers slide back between your legs, when his cock hardens inside you, ready to take you all over again—

you realise he’s right.

you’re not waking up.

not until he’s satisfied.

not until he’s done with you.

and tom riddle is never done.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

you see him too, don’t you? the mirrors never lie.

thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.

350 notes · View notes

doumadono · 28 days ago

Text

I - A SUCKY ENCOUNTER

Summary: lost in one of the desolated Dregs, the ruins of Musutafu, you barely escape death at the Ash Market — only to be saved by a vampire with striking turquoise eyes, a creature who should have devoured you… yet chose not to

Warnings: mentions of blood, murder, vampirism, destroyed world, vampire AU, vampire Dabi

WCT: circa 2.3k

𖥸 SANGREAL - chapter II 𖥸 SANGREAL - playlist 𖥸 MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The Dregs of Musutafu stretched like a corpse long abandoned, bones of metal and stone jutting out against the sickly dark sky. The air was thick with the copper tang of old blood, choked with the remnants of a world that had burned long before you were born. Wind howled through the alleyways, stirring up clouds of dust that clung to the crumbling buildings, rattling loose metal, and whispering like voices of the forgotten. The city — if it could still be called that — was a graveyard of rust and ruin, its streets infested with things that should not have survived.

This place belonged to the lowest of the low. To the starving. To the cursed. To the monsters who had been abandoned even by their own kind.

You pulled your cloak tighter around yourself, the fabric little more than a barrier against the illusion of safety. Your body screamed for rest, weakened, sluggish, starving. It had been too long since you’d eaten properly — your stomach gnawed at itself, your limbs felt heavy, and the dull ache in your head had begun to blur your vision. You tried to shake it off, to keep moving, but every step through the ruined streets felt like dragging chains.

The Ash Market had been a mistake.

It was supposed to be a simple trip — barter, trade, disappear. The underground market, tucked into the skeleton of an old subway station, was where the desperate and the damned gathered to scrape out what little existence they could. Blackened lanterns flickered over stalls lined with stolen rations, half-rotten produce, scraps of old-world fabric, and — most coveted of all — vials of blood. The scent had made your stomach churn, hunger clawing at your ribs as you forced yourself to ignore the pangs gnawing inside you.

And then the raid happened.

It hadn’t been Sangreal. If it had, there would be no survivors. No time to run. No bodies left intact. Whoever had stormed the market had been desperate, brutal in their methods but sloppy. Probably a group of rogue vampires decided to hunt. Screams had cut through the smoke, and you had barely escaped with your life. The market had been torn apart in an instant. Bodies hit the floor. Blood spilled. People ran. You ran.

Now, you lurked through the streets of the Dregs, your boots crunching over shattered glass and loose debris, each step heavier than the last. You were weak, too weak. Your breath came shallow, chest tight as you forced yourself to keep going. The last thing you could afford was collapsing here, alone, vulnerable, with nothing but the cold and the dead for company.

But the Dregs were never empty.

You heard them before you saw them. The stench of rot came next, curling through the air, creeping into your lungs. Then came the laughter. Low and raspy.

Low-class vampires.

A gang of them — five, maybe six — lounging in the desolation like carrion birds picking through a corpse. Their bodies gaunt, their faces drawn with the unmistakable signs of blood deprivation.

You could see them now, lingering in the mouth of an alley, their bodies hunched and twitching, the dim glow of their feral, predatory eyes cutting through the dusk. Their clothes were tattered, soaked in filth and old blood.

One of them turned, his head snapping toward you, nostrils flaring.

Shit.

You’d gotten too close.

The leader, if he could even be called that, stepped forward first. He was tall, but hunched, his bones jutting against his skin, his fingers far too long, sharp, pointy nails blackened with dried, old blood. His mouth twisted into something that barely resembled a grin, revealing teeth stained yellowish taint. “Look what we have here,” he rasped, voice like dry leaves scraping against pavement.

The others shifted behind him, their shoulders jerking with unnatural movements. They weren’t just hungry. They were starving.

And they had just found a meal.

You.

Your stomach twisted. Run.

But your body betrayed you. You stepped back, your heart slamming against your ribs. Too weak. Too slow. You could fight one, maybe two — but you wouldn’t stand a chance against all of them, not like this.

You tried to move, but they were already on you.

The first one struck like a shadow, grabbing your wrist before you could twist away. His fingers were ice, skeletal claws digging into your skin. He yanked you forward, sending you stumbling.

A second lunged from the side, knocking you off balance. Your back hit the crumbling wall of an abandoned building, your breath shoving from your lungs in a painful gasp.

“Where are you running to, girl?” One of them sneered, pressing in close. His breath was rank with spoiled meat, his fingers gripping your throat just tight enough to make a point.

Panic spiked through your veins. You fought, thrashing against them, but you were weak.

They smelled it, felt it, fed off it.

One of them laughed, a sick, wet sound, dragging his tongue over his lips. "Not even gonna fight back? How charming."

You did. You tried. You kicked, shoved, twisted, nails raking at exposed skin, but it only made them more eager. “Leave me alone!”

The first one leaned in, inhaling against your pulse, his body shuddering. “Fuck, she smells so delicious!” Sharp teeth neared your neck, breath rank with old blood. His fangs gleamed as he opened his mouth wide—

And then the world erupted in blue.

A blue explosion erupted into the alley, scorching the air with a howling roar. The heat lashed out, impossibly fast, impossibly precise.

The first vampire’s head snapped back, an inhuman shriek bursting from his throat as fire tore through him. His body ignited instantly, blue flames devouring flesh and bone. The remnants of flesh blackened, bubbled, peeled, his shrieks high and animalistic as the fire devoured him whole.

You hit the ground, your body jerked free as your attackers scattered.

One of them bolted into the darkness, but another wasn’t fast enough. Another blast cut him down. The smell of burning flesh and searing bone filled the air. The flames roared too bright, too hot, too unnatural.

You gasped, shoving yourself up on weak arms, blinking through the haze of ash and embers.

And then — there was nothing but silence. The fire flickered, dying back to embers.

And then you saw him.

He stood just beyond the fire, its flickering glow licking at the edges of his figure. His silhouette was razor-sharp, lean and tense with a predator’s stillness. He was tall, wrapped in dark clothing that looked as battered as the Dregs themselves. The coat hanging from his shoulders was worn, stitched together from scraps of fabric and lined with soot.

His face was scarred. Jagged, uneven burns twisted over pale skin, climbing his jaw and sinking into the hollows of his cheeks. His bangs — white and unkempt — fell into glowing, ice-blue eyes that cut through the dimness like shards of glass.

He was watching you.

The last surviving vampire made the mistake of moving.

Your rescuer lifted a hand, and the air roared. The fire lashed out again, merciless and precise, swallowing the vampire in an instant. He barely had time to scream before he was nothing but cinders.

The fire receded, flickering into embers at his feet. The alley was silent, nothing left but the stench of charred bodies and the acrid tang of burning flesh.

You swallowed hard, staring at the man, your pulse pounding in your ears.

He didn’t speak. He just watched you, eyes flickering over your face, then lower — to where blood seeped from the gash on your shoulder, staining the thin fabric of your sleeve.

The change in him was immediate.

His breathing hitched. His shoulders went rigid. His body stiffened. His fingers twitched. His throat bobbed.

You could see it in his eyes, the way his pupils dilated, the way his jaw clenched so tightly you could hear the faint grind of teeth.

Your blood.

You realized it too late. Your wound had opened, and now he could smell it. He was a vampire, too.

His hand twitched, fingers curling into fists as if fighting some invisible war within himself. His throat bobbed with a swallowed breath. The heat in his gaze burned differently now — hunger, sharp and violent, carving its way into his expression.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

He sucked in another breath, then forced himself back. His hands shoved into his coat pockets, shoulders tense, stiff. He tilted his head slightly, a slow, assessing look that made your skin prickle. “You’re lucky,” he murmured, voice low and rough, like gravel dragged across embers. “If I hadn’t been here…” His lips tugged into something between a smirk and a snarl, his voice laced with something dark. “Well. You wouldn’t be alive.”

You swallowed, throat dry. “Who…” Your voice cracked, but you pushed forward. “Who are you?”

He huffed a breath, shaking his head. “Nobody.”

A sharp breath left him, and then he moved. His boots scraped against the cracked ground as he stepped closer. His knees bent, his weight shifting with unnatural ease as he came level with you, just a breath away. A predator lowering itself to inspect its prey, you thought to yourself.

He wasn’t like the others. You had seen many vampires before — their madness, their hunger. But this one… His hunger was controlled. Measured. A beast was bound in chains.

You tried to roll away from him, but your limbs wouldn’t listen.

His head tilted, watching you like something he couldn’t quite figure out. Like something too fragile, too tempting, yet dangerous all at once. “… You’re such a mess.” His voice was low, rough, and darkly amused. “Didn’t think you’d still be breathing,” he murmured, tilting his head. His gaze flicked over you, taking in every injury, every weakness. “Guess you’re luckier than most.”

Your fingers twitched against the pavement, uselessly grasping for something that wasn’t there.

He noticed that too. “You’re not gonna try and fight me, are ya?” His smirk deepened, like he was enjoying the idea of it. “Hate to break it to you, doll, but you’d lose.”

A breath hissed through his teeth as he leaned in slightly, head tilting. His nostrils flared. Then he cursed under his breath.

You knew why. The scent of your blood filled the air between you.

You were sure he would go for your throat in the next second, that his fangs would sink into your flesh, piercing it easily.

But the turquoise-eyed didn’t.

His gaze didn’t leave you, but he made no move to close the distance. His lips parted, his tongue flicking briefly over his sharp, long fangs like he was tasting the scent of your wound. His jaw tightened.

You trembled. Your chin quivered. All the fear, the exhaustion, the pain, the desperation pressed against your ribs, begging to be released, but you swallowed it down. You couldn’t break. Not in front of a vampire. Not in front of him.

His hand lifted slowly, fingers long, nails pointy and sharp like claws. You barely had time to flinch before he caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head upward, forcing you to look at him.

You shuddered.

His grip was cold, firm, but not rough. The pad of his thumb barely brushed the edge of your jaw as he examined you, his turquoise-blue gaze locked onto yours with unnerving intensity.

Your lips parted, but you had no words. Your mind blurred, your thoughts scattering like the wind. Your body finally gave out. For a moment, you were acutely aware of everything — the rough press of cracked pavement against your back as you collapsed, the way your fingers twitched uselessly in the dirt, how your heartbeat hammered too fast before slowing as the darkness pulled you under. You tried to breathe, but your lungs refused to obey. You tried to move, but your body felt like it no longer belonged to you. And as the shadows crept in from the edges of your vision, an unbearable thought lodged itself into your mind like a splinter beneath skin.

Was this the end?

Would the last sights burned into your failing vision be the ruin of a world, the sky choked in ash, hanging like the veil of a dying god over the wreckage of Musutafu? Would your final memory be the embers of a fire that had saved you, yet left only corpses in its wake — a fleeting, merciless light that had momentarily spared you from a worse fate?

Or would it be him? A vampire with the coldest, most haunting eyes you had ever seen — so unnatural in their beauty?

But before any answer came, the inevitable darkness swallowed you whole.

And then — there was nothing but a consuming void, vast and endless, where even sound dared not exist. The weight of your body, the cold of the night, the ache in your bones — all of it vanished into the abyss.

And somehow, in that infinite darkness, you felt free. Free from the hunger gnawing at your ribs, free from the constant fear of being hunted, free from the agony you had once dared to call life.

And as the last shred of your consciousness flickered like a dying ember, a fleeting thought surfaced — perhaps this was what people called mercy.

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