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skbeaumont · 5 months

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Five for Five | Joel x Reader Oneshot

“I ain’t stupid.” His tone is heavy now, words grating out of his throat like rusty razor blades. “Last I checked, we had one hundred and two. There’s ninety-seven here. That’s five missing.”

Summary: It was probably a stupid idea to trade five ration cards for a tiny bottle of perfume, and it's not surprising that Joel is angry, but you think it might just be worth it. Tags/warnings: fem reader, smut, dubcon, spanking, punishment, dom!Joel, sub!reader, first time, oral (m receiving), fingering, pet names, unprotected p in v, aftercare. Word Count: 4k

A/N: Forgive me father for I have sinned. This is pure filth. Please mind the tags/warnings.

“Where are the rest?”

Joel’s voice cuts through you as soon as you step inside the apartment. It’s late, already dark out, and the dangerous edge to his words makes you jump as you step inside, shoulders aching, feet numb from the long walk back home through the QZ.

“Jesus fuck, Joel. What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer, just holds up his hand and shakes the stack of ration cards that are clutched in his fist. The only light is coming from the wonky reading lamp in the corner and it casts an amber glow over the apartment and Joel’s stern face.

“I said,” his voice is steady, clear, but you can already hear the frustration that’s buried underneath it, the anger that’s so quick to rise in him threatening to bubble over, “where are the rest?”

“They should all be there,” you reply, letting your eyes fall down to your boots, toeing them off so that you don’t have to look at his face.

“Well, they ain’t.” He takes a step toward you, his own boots heavy on the worn linoleum floor. “And I wanna know where they are.”

“Did you check under the floor?”

Of course he’s checked under the floor, and of course they aren’t there, because last night you took a handful – five, max – and traded them for a tiny bottle of perfume that’s now stuffed under your mattress. Joel rarely checks the ration cards – he lets you deal with that side of the dodgy business you’ve been running together for the last year and a half – so you’d thought you could get away with it. That he wouldn’t notice. But this is Joel, and he’s noticed.

With this last he slams the pile down on the kitchen side next to you, stepping right up into your space so that you feel his breath – hot and tinged with the scent of cheap bourbon – on the side of your face. You’ve seen him angry so many times, but it’s never been directed at you before, and you’re starting to understand why most people avoid his gaze in corridors, why men cross the street when they see him coming.

“Did you miscount?” You ask, fighting to keep your voice level, light.

“Did I miscount?” He repeats, slow, each word enunciated like it’s a full sentence on its own, and you realise it was probably the worst thing you could have said.

His fingers are hot on your chin when he grabs it, tilting your reluctant face up, dragging your eyeline to meet his. His face is a sight to behold: eyebrows furrowed, deep groves carved out in the lines that surround them, his jaw tense, a muscle twitching as he grinds his teeth. There’s danger in his eyes; a fire behind them that burns as he stares down at you.

“No, I didn’t miscount.” He spits the last word out, eyes tracing the blush that’s crawling up your throat, the way your eyes dart away from his, the flicker of your pulse – fast, rising – in your throat. The trace of the misdirection, the lie, so obvious.

He can read you like a book, always could. But you’re stubborn. You’re not giving anything away if you don’t have to. Those cards are yours as much as they’re his, and this one thing you’ve allowed yourself in eighteen months is worth the way his fingertips are digging into the sides of your face.

“What did you trade ‘em for?” He asks.

“Fuck you.”

He laughs at this, lets your face go and takes a single step back, swings his arm to his side and lets it carry him into a half turn. You slump back against the door, peeling paint sticking uncomfortably to your back. But it’s a short-lived reprieve.

“Fuck me?” He repeats, turning back to you. “After all I’ve done for you, all the shit I’ve taken for you-”

“I didn’t ask you to!” Your voice is shrill compared to his gruff curses, but you continue, adrenaline spiking, “And you’ve been the cause of at least half of that shit, Joel. Don’t make out like you’re some knight in shining armour when we both know the truth!”

The truth: that he’s brutal, feared by almost everyone in the QZ; that people only trade with the two of you because of your hard work and negotiation skills. Joel’s good for enforcing things, for smuggling things in and out, and for sending a message when anything goes wrong, but he’s also a broken man whose anger has got him into more than a few scrapes that you’ve had to get him out of with nothing more than your sharp tongue and quick thinking.

He lets you rally this outburst at him, doesn’t blink in the face of it, until you’ve finished. Then he’s striding back to you, slamming the hand holding the cards hard against the door behind you. It makes you flinch away but his other hand’s back on your jaw, grip tighter this time, forcing you to look up at him.

“Where are the rest?” He repeats, brandishing the ration cards so that they’re inches from your face.

“They’re mine as much as they’re yours.” You say, quietly defiant despite the way your voice shakes.

“You trade them?”

“What does it matter?”

“Nuh-uh,” He twists his hand, turns your face away so that you’re forced to look to the side instead of into his face and he can say the next words into your ear. “This ain’t how this works. I ask the questions, you answer ‘em. Did. You. Trade. Them?”

His face is so close to yours now that you can feel spit landing on your cheek as he speaks, his breath hot in your ear. It shouldn’t turn you on, but it does. You can feel yourself getting wet, slick pooling unbidden between your thighs. It’s hard to ignore a man like Joel, but it’s even harder to get close to him. You don’t think he’s ever been so near to you before, not even when you’ve tended each other’s wounds after a run went south.

You’ve always wanted him to; held a secret flame that’s grown brighter and hotter over the last few months. There’s something undeniably attractive about Joel. The way he moves, the quiet confidence he exudes and the brutal, coiled power of him. You’ve watched him set his fist into another man’s jaw and wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of his temper, his passion.

Now, with his face so close to yours, his thick fingers digging into your jaw, you feel yourself sinking into it, relaxing despite the tension of the situation. You want this, you want his anger and razor-sharp focus. It’s overwhelming in the best way, and you feel tears burning at your lower lashline.

“Yes. I traded them.”

A tear slides down you face and Joel’s eyes trace its path as it glides over your check, pooling in the corner of your mouth, salty and unrepentant.

“What for?”

“Perfume.”

He laughs again, but this laugh is full of derision, not mirth. It’s a punch of a laugh, straight from his chest, catching in his throat and distorting into a growl that sends a shiver up your spine and a bolt of lightning through your cunt.

“Perfume.” He repeats, turning your face in his hand so that you’re looking at him again.

His pupils are blown wide, his face a mask of fury and something else that has you pressing your thighs together, seeking friction. He notices you doing it, lets his eyes follow the movement of your hips, the desperate, needy breaths you’re sucking in. He grins, teeth bared.

“And what, exactly, do you need perfume for?” He asks, not giving you time to answer before he’s bending down and pressing his nose into the side of your neck, inhaling deeply, stubble scratching your throat. “Smell sweet enough to me already.”

“Joel, please,” you say, but you’re not sure what you’re asking for, because he’s licking a thick stripe up the side of your throat and you think if he stops you might scream.

“Buy it for those boys I see sniffing around you sometimes? Huh?” He asks, drawing back from you and shaking your face in his hand roughly. “Knew you were nothing but a fucking slut.”

“I just- I wanted something nice.” You try to explain, the words catching in your throat as he slides one thick thigh between yours.

“Something nice? What makes you think you deserve something nice, hmm? Ain’t nothing nice in this place, you should know that as well as I do.”

And you do, God knows you do. The QZ is dark and twisted and fucking soul-crushing, but you’d wanted the perfume, wanted it with a deep yearning that matches the way you want Joel to keep going now, to push you and punish you and take what he wants.

“I think you need to learn a lesson, baby.”

You’re nodding into his hand, tears rolling down your face, splashing onto his thick fingers. He lets go of your jaw, takes you by the wrist and pulls you into the room, toward the sofa, over his knee when he sits. Your stomach is pressed into his thighs, face buried in the dirty sofa cushion and he’s got one hand pressing into your spine, the other searching out the button of your jeans. He undoes it, wastes no time in dragging the worn denim down your shaking thighs.

“You’re gonna lie there and take it, you hear me?” He says, splaying a hand over your bare ass cheek, moving the line of your knickers out of the way so that he can squeeze the meat of you, fingers dipping between your thighs, finding the slick liquid that’s leaking from you.

“Jesus Christ, you’re soaked already. Fuckin’ filthy little thing, aren’t you?” His accent is somehow thickening, vowels lengthening, the twang of his consonants increasing.

“I asked you a question.” He says when you don’t immediately reply, and you nod your head, wipe your wet eyes against the sofa.

“Count for me.” He says, and before you can take a breath to prepare, his hand is coming down sharply on you.

The sting is sharp; delicious.

“Count.” He hisses, and you whisper a faint one, breaking off into a moan when he lets his fingers graze the side of your puffy lips.

You wish you could see his expression, see if this is affecting him as much as its affecting you, if he’s watching with something like ecstasy on his handsome, haunting features.

The second smack is harder than the first, sharper and sweeter for it. It makes you jerk against him but he’s holding you down firmly with one solid hand in the middle of your back, pressing you into his thighs, into his lap. The denim of his jeans is rough against your bare stomach, scratching you skin where your shirt’s risen up. The third slap makes you yelp, harder again, but he soothes it immediately with his palm, rubs the flesh of your ass.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Enjoying being bent over my lap and spanked like the dirty whore y’are, huh?”

You can’t believe the filth that’s dripping from his lips. Sure, he curses plenty, and you’ve heard him cuss out entire rooms full of angry men, but this is something else entirely. This is animalistic and derogatory and indecent. And God help you, its sending rushes of hot liquid practically gushing down your thighs.

“Be so easy to slide myself inside you, you’re so goddamn wet.” He says as he sends another harsh slap onto your ass. “Open you up and press myself inside this soaking cunt, hmm? Bet you’d let me, too, let me do fucking anything to you.”

“Yes, Joel, please, anything.”

His third laugh of the afternoon is throaty and coarse, full of self-indulgence. It makes the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, makes you clench your thighs together and grind your teeth to stop you from crying out again.

“You gonna come like this, baby?” He asks, sliding his hand over the meat of your ass, down between your thighs to press at your entrance, slipping beneath your ruined underwear. “Come on my lap like the dirty fucking slut I know you are?”

The sweet sting as he pushes two thick fingers inside you almost pushes you over the edge there and then, but you bite into your lip – probably drawing blood, but you’re too distracted to notice. He curls his fingers, drags the pads of them over the soft flesh inside you, seeking out that spot that makes you almost black out, pleasure ratcheting up so suddenly that you gasp, coming hard in his lap, muscles shaking and contracting, cunt squeezing his fingers tight.

“There she is,” He hisses, curling them again, chasing you as you shift against him, overstimulated.

How is he so good at this? You’ve never seen him with anyone – he’s always given the impression that he has no interest in sex, in relationships, friendships, even. But the expert way that he’s playing your body like an instrument, chasing your moans and gasps like they’re the air he needs to stay alive, tells a completely different story. And when you jerk in his grip and he presses you harder against him, shifting on the sofa, there’s suddenly a very clear indication of just how much of an affect this is having on him, too.

“Shit,” His voice is ragged now: This outburst isn’t controlled in the way that the rest of the curses he’s been spewing into your ears have been. It’s unexpected and bitten back behind a grunt as your hip comes into contact with his cock – a solid, hot weight that fills the front of his jeans, pressing the button of his flies into you, his pocket a line of stitches on your stomach.

The next smack is all the harder for the tiny huff of a giggle you let out, which turns quickly into a hiss of pain when his palm comes down hard against you.

“Concentrate,” He warns when you don’t immediately count the spank aloud. “’m teaching you a fuckin’ lesson, here, remember?”

“Four.” You say, pressing your face harder into the cushion, rolling your hips just slightly so that his cock twitches against your stomach.

“Five for five.” He says, soothing your heated flesh with the palm of his hand before bringing it down one final time. “Five. Think you’ve learnt your lesson?”

You twist round in his lap, eyes dancing when you see the flush that’s tinted his cheeks, the way his gaze is lingering on the swell of your ass cheek in his hand, perspiration beading on his heavy brow.

“I don’t know, Joel, do you?” You say, voice teasing, and he snaps his eyes up to your face as he hisses through clenched teeth.

“Fuckin’ mouth on you, you insolent little slut,” he curses, fisting the collar of your shirt and pulling you upright, opening his legs so that you slide between them onto the cold lino floor.

“Think we can find a better use for it, hmm?” He leans back against the couch, pops the first button on his jeans. Your eyes follow the movement hungrily, unable to look away as he slide the zip down painfully slowly, tooth by tooth, the clicks loud in the silent apartment.

He doesn’t take the jeans off, just pushes them far enough down his thighs that he can fist his cock where it sits, heavy and thick, in his underwear. There’s a dark stain at the tip that makes your mouth water, and when he drags his briefs down, too, you lick your lips greedily.

He’s painfully hard – head flushed a deep red, veins standing out boldly against his thick shaft. There’s a thatch of dark hair at the base, and his balls are heavy and full when he tucks the waistband of his briefs underneath them.

He strokes himself lazily a few times and you let yourself look up to his face. His eyes are dark, pupils eating into the deep brown irises, brows furrowed slightly. The amber light of the lamp is casting his face partly in shadow and it only accentuates the strong, curved line of his nose, the deep creases that lines his eyes and forehead. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that exists, his gaze so sharp and focused it makes you dizzy.

“C’mon then,” he says, running a hot hand up your jaw to grip the back of your neck, pulling you in towards him. “I got no doubt you know exactly what you’re doing here.”

The scent of him is musky and something distinctly masculine, and you bury your nose in the thick hair at the base of him, place a heated kiss to the side of one thigh. This alone make him moan, a deep, throaty sound that lights you up from the inside.

You press your lips to the tip of him, flick your tongue out to kitten lick at the slit.

“Fuck,” he curses.

He’s sensitive. When you wrap a hand around the base of his cock and place your lips around him he hisses, fingers tightening their grip in your hair, free hand fisting the loose cover of the worn couch. You take him further in, suck your cheeks in to caress him, work your tongue over the delicate ridge at the head of his cock. He tastes like salt and sweat and something distinctly Joel, masculine and heady. When he hits the back of your throat you try not to gag, try to swallow him down, throat contracting around him so that he groans and curses.

“Jesus Christ, baby. Your mouth is fuckin’ filthy.”

You grin around his cock, work your hand over the part of him that won’t fit, then pull back and lick one long strip up his shaft, letting your tongue follow one of the thick veins. He presses himself back into your mouth, tightens his grip on the back of your neck and raises his hips off the sofa.

“You want me to fuck that pretty little mouth, baby?” He asks, and you nod, feel hot tears prickling in your eyes when he starts moving, dragging his hips back and then forward, forcing his cock into your mouth, down your throat so that you feel like you’re choking, like all that exists is Joel and his hard cock, his breathy moans and filthy mouth.

“Got such a clever fuckin’ mouth, baby. Just needed to find a way to put it to good use- shit, yeah, that’s it.” He pushes you down once more, groans as he bottoms out on your throat, then releases the back of your neck so that you can pull back.

You’re a mess, tears rolling down your face, saliva pooling in your mouth and joining your lips with Joel’s cock in long strings. Joel’s looking down at you with fire in his eyes, his dark gaze flicking from your mouth to your eyes to the open buttons of your shirt and the swell of your ass.

“Get up,” He says, wrapping his hand around your upper arm and pulling you to your feet.

Before you’ve time to get your balance he’s bending you over, forcing you onto your hands and knees on the sofa. He lines himself up behind you, drags the blunt head of his cock through your soaking folds and presses himself inside your cunt.

The stretch is intense. You squeeze your eyes shut, press yourself back against him as he inches inside. He pauses for a split second when he’s sheathed himself fully inside, then pulls out and begins a punishing pace, fucking you into the sofa, his hands gripping your hips so hard you’re sure he’ll leave marks in the shape of his fingertips.

“Pussy’s gripping me so fuckin’ tight, darlin’” He says, and something in your chest swells at the sound of ‘darlin’’ rolling off his tongue like that, full of something that’s dangerously close to fondness.

He’s a cacophony of contradictions, greedy hands gripping your hips possessively, then smoothing up your back under your shirt before sliding back down to slap the soft flesh of your ass. His thrusts are hard and intense, cock hitting that spot inside you that makes electricity jolt in your stomach with each movement, but then he bends over you, slows his hips so that he can kiss the skin of your throat. His voice – deep, husky, reverberating in his chest – keeps up a filthy chorus that has you whimpering into the couch, but he’s praising you, offering you gentle encouragement, his words warm and dirty and entirely overwhelming.

Being so good for me, baby, pussy’s so fuckin’ wet and tight around me. Can feel you getting close, you gonna come like this, huh? With my cock buried deep inside this pretty little cunt?

Without waiting for an answer he wraps an arm around you and finds your clit with two of his thick fingers. He starts rubbing confident circles over it, bringing you closer and closer to your inevitable climax. You grip his arm with your fist; fingernails digging into hard muscle.

Then suddenly you’re coming apart, white noise blocking out the sound of his hips slapping into yours and his voice and the low level hubbub of the other apartments, until there’s nothing left but your pleasure and his cock and his clever fingers, his nose pressed into your throat, teeth nipping the tendons there.

The world fades back into existence as you come down, muscles jolting. You feel yourself clenching around him with the aftershocks. Joel gasps into your neck, squeezes your tits over your shirt.

“Fuck, just like that, gonna come in this sweet cunt. Shit, that’s it.” His thrusts falter, hips slamming into yours.

You feel him twitch inside you as he comes, ropes of hot cum painting the inside of you, his stuttering breath at your ear.

You stay as you are for a moment, both gasping for breath, hearts hammering in your chests. His embrace is suddenly tender, muscles shifting as he relaxes against you. You don’t say anything, but he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, and that simple gesture opens a floodgate in your chest.

He pulls out of you but keeps his arm around you, guides you both down to lie on the couch, your back pressed to his front. The light in the apartment feels different than it did earlier, the orange hue warmer, kinder than it was.

Joel peppers kisses along the back of your neck and over each shoulder, his strong arm keeping you firmly against him. He wraps a thick thigh over both of yours and tightens it, anchoring you in place. You sigh in contentment, head quieter than it’s been for months, years, possibly.

“I didn’t hurt you?” He says into your hair, voice low.

“No, Joel.”

“You sure? I’m sorry if I was too rough. I don’t- I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I liked it, Joel.”

He chuckles darkly, hooks his chin over your shoulder and teases the skin under your ear with his teeth.

“Fuckin’ filthy, aren’t you? Always knew you were.” He presses his nose to your neck, inhales deeply. “Perfume’s nice, by the way.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #the last of us fic #joel x you #joel x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction

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marnle · 2 years

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My sweet, sweet Dove - Mafia!Bucky x Fem!reader

Summary - Bucky Barnes finds the peace he so rightfully craves in his best friend, the worlds upon his shoulders, yet his lust for you lives on through his darkest of days.

Warnings - smutttt, juicy af, mentions of violence, slight alcohol consumption, grinding etc.

A/n - Hi all, my requests are open! I’ve never really published my works before, so this is all new to me, but feel free to drop a request, and I’d love to see what I can do! :)

Enjoy, safe reading! <3

————

You sauntered into the kitchen, it was incredibly dark, yet a small lamp situated in the corner illuminated the majority of the room, drowning it in a blanket of rusty amber. You grabbed a small glass and walked towards the sink, filling it with cold water, it swirled around the glass as though it were a prisoner, fighting against its confines. You propped yourself up on the marble countertop, it was icy underneath you, a considerable difference to the heat that burned underneath your skin and through your veins. The deep, angered and somewhat laboured voices that previously echoed through the halls had silenced. They’d swirled through the walls, up the stairs, and burst through the windows too. Bucky had informed you that he was working late, you’d understood what he’d meant, yet the scale of debate that evidently had occurred left you feeling drained - and you hadn’t even been in the room.

Bucky was one of your closest friends, your main confidant in the times you needed him most. So when you informed him that you had nowhere to stay, he practically offered his whole life to you, and you took it with his blue eyes piercing what felt like your soul. So you resided in his main estate where he conducted his official work, his official business meetings, you knew he was dirty, and downright inequitable, but his loyalty was unlike any other, your friendship was unlike any other, and you owed him the world and more.

So as you sipped your water, and pondered the evident lack of sleep that laced your features, you didn’t hear his office door finally open after hours, or the trudge of his tired feet upon the dark wooden floor approaching, the leather of their seams making the slightest of noises.

His black silk tie sat loosely around his neck, his mountainous shoulders were tightly winded practically up to his ears, the top buttons of his previously pristine shirt were undone, and said shirt was hanging messily out of his slacks, of which sat loosely on his hips, his brunette hair was unkempt, almost spikey as the last of the gel he’d previously put in began to finally wear away.

“Doll? You alright?” He asked, snapping you out of your trance, he moved opposite to you and plopped himself shakily down on the floor with a large sigh, leaning against the kitchen cupboards behind him, his head thrown back in a show of exhaustion.

You simply hummed.

“Why are you still up?” He queried, running his large hand through his hair, absolutely destroying any remnants of orderliness it previously had maintained. Glaring at the girl in front of him almost alarmingly.

“Couldn’t sleep is all.” You replied, taking another small sip from your glass before handing it downwards towards Bucky. He accepted it, and pulled out a metallic flask, pouring a brown liquid into the mix, swirling it, then drinking it. It burned the back of his throat and warmed him from the inside out. He looked at you curiously, his oceanic eyes bore into yours in order to gauge a reaction. It was silent as you returned his eye contact, you were sure you could hear a pin drop.

“Well, hand it over.” you laughed nervously, taking a gulp of the alcoholic beverage. It also burned your throat, causing your face to scrunch up in disgust. You could hear the deep rumble of Bucky's laughter in the background, it sounded angelic to your ears.

“Bad night?” You asked, anxiously pinching the skin of your fingers as you awaited his reply, not wanting him to ever suffer at the slightest. You observed the way his jaw slightly clenched and went slack, how he breathed slightly faster at such, and slowly regained his composure not a moment after.

“Something like that Doll.” he replied, letting out yet another sigh. In complete honesty, the meeting was a mess, his business partner had backed out of a paramount deal, meaning he’d have to find a backup as soon as possible, something that wasn’t likely. This left him open to financial attacks elsewhere. He’d even lost his temper, covering his golden signet ring that sat dormant on his finger in a layer of carmine; the ring you twirled when you felt anxious. His business partner had messed up his ring, his new enemy had messed up your ring, and Bucky had made sure he paid for it.

“Is there something I could do to make you feel any better?”.

He subtly nodded, allowing his stoic exterior only to fall in your presence, something that exhausted him beyond words.

He kneeled and shuffled towards you whilst you sat upon the counter, arms open, knowing exactly what he needed. He pushed his head into your stomach, breathing in your scent, roses and fresh linen, it made him feel safe. His was sandalwood, it engulfed your scenes and knocked the wind out of your chest, just like it always did.

You placed your hand upon his head, stroking your fingers through his hair as you felt the tension leave his large body, you leaned down and placed a small kiss on the crown of his head.

This caused him to gaze up at you, a longing in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before, and you were sure yours mirrored them as such.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You whispered at a barely audible level, you could feel his warm breath against your skin.

“Like what?” he replied, his voice breathy and almost desperate.

Your hands moved down from his hair towards his chin, cupping his face as though he was the last living being on earth. Your eyes fluttered between his lips and his eyes, the room was spinning, the air was thick.

“Like this.” you whispered before slowly bringing his face to yours, and placing your smooth lips over his own.

Bucky felt as though his world had stopped, his heart was erratically beating, his head didn’t feel as though it was his own, his body wasn’t his own. The tension had been snapped just as quickly as it arised, and Bucky felt as though he was on cloud nine, there and then he decided that the feel of your lips against his own was the singular most effective high he’d ever encountered, it was a high he was now addicted to, and one he’d never ever let go.

He stilled in your grasp, causing you to pull away.

“Bucky, I’m so sorry.” You muttered, a wave of red covered your cheeks, horrified at what you’d just done. Yet before your brain could sabotage you further, and convince you otherwise, Bucky slammed his lips onto yours, grasping the back of your neck in his large hands. He groaned at the taste of you, a sweetness he’d only ever imagined.

He pushed into your mouth, your teeth collided in a show of desperation and finally requited lust. You slid your hand into his brown hair once again, yet under completely different circumstances.

You grasped his hair, pulling him off of your lips, it made him groan.

“Tell me you don’t want this, tell me you don't Bucky.”

“You know I can’t.”

He picked you up, wrapping his large arms around your torso, his fingers pushed under your shirt, drawing circles upon your skin, skin of which felt as though it were a juvenile flame of the sun.

You tucked your face into the crevice of his neck, his scent was the strongest it had ever been, it blinded you, and you loved it. You dragged your lips across his neck, biting and nipping at whatever skin you could, making his groans rougher, whinier.

He’d walked you both into the living room where he dropped backwards onto the couch, you in his arms. You were sitting in his lap, he was so extremely hard under you that you couldn’t help but tease.

You slowly rolled your hips, the friction causing you both to moan in unison, in pleasure. He grasped your body as though you were his life line, and even though he hadn’t said as such, you both knew it was true for the both of you.

You continued to grind against him, you moved against each other as though you were made for each other. Your moans were beautiful, they made him lose his mind, his great intelligent mind reduced to nothing simply by your presence alone. His hands grabbed your hips for a moment, your face was directly in front of his, you inhaled his breath as though it were your last.

“Doll, I can’t last long like this.” He moaned, more like a whine, in an attempt to keep his composure.

“I bet.” you replied, causing his mouth to fall even further open in a state of disbelief, allowing you to sink your teeth into his lip, stealing even more of his sacred breath away.

Instead of slowing down you sped up, with Bucky’s hands gripping your waist so tightly, you were sure his touch was to be ingrained upon your soul. He ran his hand down towards where you longed for him most, and cupped your pussy, pushing his palm into your clit, causing you to let out a moan that echoed off of the walls, a moan he was sure he’d never forget. He ran his other hand up your body towards your nipple, and twirled it between his fingers, swapping between the two, making you feel as though you were atop of the world. The sight of you was enough for him to come right there, yet he’d only ever imagined this moment, and wanted, no, needed to drag it out for as long as possible, as long as he humanely could.

“Come on baby, let go for me.” He purred, gazing into your eyes as yours fought to stay open.

“Shh, that’s my Doll, let go love.” And you did, your body arched into his grasp, he pushed his palm even further into your clit as you came, creating such delicious pressure, you thought you were going to burst. You wrapped your arms around his body, engulfing him and curling into him to fit his form as though you were perfectly moulded to him as he came too, groaning and bucking his hips whilst his stomach and glistening abs contracted over and over again, he’d entirely lost control, the lust he felt wasn’t matched by another soul.

Your sweaty bodies sat wrapped around each other, breathy whimpers left the both of you as you fought your natural instincts to breathe. Bucky grasped your face, and silently laughed as he brought his lips to yours once again.

“My sweet, sweet Dove, how you’ve had me forever.”

————

Fanx 4 reading bros :)

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junkdrawerfics · 1 year

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Not So Simple Moments

Some of you requested a part 2 to "Simple Moments" so this is that! It's not what I planned, but I like it and I hope you do too!

Summary: You decide it's time to broach the topic of you being turned with Jasper. He really doesn't want to talk about it, but you're both adults and you love each other, so you talk about it.

Word Count: 1362

Warnings: nothing serious, mostly a little bit of angst and fluff

---

“Alice says you’re going to turn me,” you mention offhandedly as you run your fingers through Jasper’s hair, sectioning off a few pieces before starting a braid.

The blond stiffens where he’s sat in front of you. When you invited him over to watch Wall-e, this was certainly not what he was expecting.

“Alice says a lot of things,” he murmurs slowly, keeping his eyes trained on the rusty, little robot on the screen.

Out of all the movies you’ve made him watch, this one seems to feel oddly familiar. It’s much like your story. Him, an old creature, obviously out of place in this world, falling irrevocably for something so sweet and fiery like the white robot, like you. Being terrified of letting you go. Terrified of you getting hurt.

Pinning the braid to the back of his head, you move to the other side of his temple and quietly ask, “What do you say about it?”

Jasper takes a deep, unnecessary breath, his next word slow, hesitant to roll off his tongue, “Darlin’...”

You press your lips together. That's a familiar tone. It’s the one he uses when he wants to avoid a conversation. You need to talk about this though.

“Does it scare you?” You ask, voice still soft as you twist the strands together.

The blond is silent for a moment. The only sound in the room is the soft music of the movie, and you hum along as you tie off the braid and pin it with the other, forming a little crown around his head. You know he’s thinking, trying to figure out exactly what to say, he just needs the time.

Fondly, you curl your arms around Jasper’s shoulders and give him a soft squeeze. You’d wait a million years for him, if that’s what he needs, and that feeling must rub off on the vampire, because he leans into your embrace, rigidness slipping away.

“I don’t understand you, darlin’,” Jasper drawls, tilting his head a fraction to look at you. You press a gentle kiss to his lips, drawing a familiar, slanted grin from him. “I’ve lived 161 years and never met anyone like you.”

“You’re avoiding my question, Jas,” you chastise, despite the blush dusting your cheeks, “Don’t think you can distract me with your southern charm.”

“You don’t think it’ll work?” Those amber eyes gleam with mischief as he beams up at you.

“Not today, cowboy.” You carefully ruffle his hair before straightening up and letting yourself be a little more serious. “I think we should talk about this, Jas. It’s important to me.”

Jasper’s brow furrows, all too aware of how truthful you’re being. Pushing himself up from the floor, he settles down next to you on the bed. He leaves a respectful gap between you, just a handful of inches, but it feels like a chasm, so you scoot closer and take his hand. Jasper instinctively intertwines them, his thumb brushing tenderly over your knuckles, and it just feels right.

“Does it scare you?” You ask again, voice practically a whisper.

“Which part?”

“Either?” You analyze Jasper’s face, searching for any clue of what he might be thinking, but his features are carefully blank. The buzz of nerves in your chest only worsen at that. “Do you want me to turn?”

“Yes.”

You let out a heavy breath. The single word eases every sliver of doubt you’ve been carrying the past few weeks, and he can feel it.

“It would be nice to not want to kill you, darlin’,” Jasper jokes (only partially) with a small smirk as he brings your wrist to his lips, pressing them daringly to your pulse, “And I’d be a fool to not want a forever with you.”

“Well, you are no fool,” you giggle, heart racing away, and you know Jasper can hear it when he perks a teasing brow at you.

“I most certainly am not, ma’am.”

“Don’t you dare start with that.” You shoot him a glare, but the smirk never leaves his lips as the vampire presses another kiss to your knuckles.

You linger in the moment, in the feeling of his cold touch. The silence between the two of you is heavy but comfortable, like a blanket, sealing you off from the rest of the world. You don’t even remember the movie playing in the background. It’s just you and Jasper.

“So you’re scared of the “you” part,” you whisper eventually, finitely.

Jasper replies, reluctant and quiet, “I can’t hurt you, darlin’.”

“Even if it’s something I want?”

His lips draw into a tight line. You can practically see the conflict play out in his eyes, like flashing gunfire. Like a wild animal, frozen between fight or flight and fear. Fear of himself. A sad sigh slips past your lips when you realize why. He still sees himself as the monster.

“Jasper,” you start and drop his hand in favor of cupping his face gently. He needs to feel you on this. His amber eyes bore into yours, wide and uncertain. “I will never make you do something you don’t want to do, ever. What you want is important to me. We are a team, right?” He gives a slight nod, and you smile. “So I want this, and I want it to be you, not just because I love you, but because I trust you, Jasper. But if you don’t want to, that’s okay.”

Jasper’s eyes dart between yours, edged with an unspoken desperation. It’s like he’s not 160 years old, and instead the young teenager he was when he was turned. The years slip away and he feels just as scared as he had back then.

Yet here you are, with far fewer years, only the existence of this small town behind you, looking at him, and telling him he has a choice. Telling him you trust him. And he can feel it, feel the absolute earnesty in your words, the love pouring off of you as you look at him with such gentleness and understanding. It’s like warmth pouring over him, something he hasn’t felt in such a long time.

“Now,” you hum, reassured by the way his eyes settle and how his shoulders slump, like the weight is finally falling off of them, “that was a lot, so we are going to finish this movie, okay? And you’re going to take your time to think about it, because we’re not rushing into anything.”

You lean forward and give him a kiss. It’s soft, just the barest press of your lips to his, but when you draw back, there’s that relieved grin pulling at his lips again. Jasper catches you by the waist before you can pull away, drawing you right back in. His lips press insistently to yours, though his touch remains overwhelmingly gentle, like you are the most fragile piece of porcelain. It makes something warm pool deep in your chest, leaving you breathless when you finally pull away.

“I’m afraid we might have to start to movie over,” Jasper muses after a moment, and you can’t help but burst into a fit of giggles, still trying to catch your breath.

“Were you enjoying it?” You ask, eyes suddenly wide with excitement.

“I was.” The vampire presses another, fond kiss to your forehead, drawing the cutest sigh from you. “Though I enjoy your presence even more.”

“...You just liked me playing with your hair, didn’t you?”

You can feel his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin, and you swat playfully at his chest.

“That doesn’t mean I wasn’t enjoying the movie” he defends himself, voice bright with concealed laughter.

“Sure, cowboy, now shush. I don’t have the energy to lecture you twice,” you declare, twisting so you can look at the tv again.

“I wouldn’t dare bring your wrath down again,” he teases as he pulls you into his lap, chin propping on your shoulder.

“If you think that was my wrath, we’re in for a bumpy road, cowboy.”

“It’s a good thing we’ll have forever then, won’t it darlin’?”

You smile, heart fluttering at the promise behind his words.

“It certainly is.”

---

This definitely took on a life of its own when I started writing, as most of my stuff does. I'll hopefully write another part with the actually turning, because a few people wanted that, but I liked this conversation and thought it'd be important.

Also, Jasper identifying with Wall-e is something I never knew I needed in this life, but it just works so gosh dang well.

#jasper hale #jasper whitlock #jasper whitlock x reader #jasper hale x reader #jasper x reader #twilight #twilight saga #x reader #reader insert #reader #someone hug this man

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cryptidclaw · 1 year

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Guess who redrew their redraw of the Into the Wild Cover!

IDK if im going to go back to redrawing all the covers or not... but I really wanted to redraw this one!

its the same as the last redraw, it has Redtail and the shadowy form of Tigerclaw at the bottom and my round Rusty design (though this time he has his updated version of the design)!

Previous Redraw

[Image ID: A digital illustration, which is a redraw of the original Warriors: Into the Wild cover. At the top of the cover is the "Warriors" title written in navy blue, and below it is written Into the Wild which is white and lined in the same navy blue. Below the title is a portrait style frame centered in the middle of the cover, this frame depicts Fire(paw) sitting perfectly centered and looking up in awe, he is a small chubby long furred bright orange tabby with folded ears one being black, at his feet his his kittypet collar which is blue and has a tag with the letter R on it. The background behind Fire is bushes in differing shades of green leading up to a blue sky. Behind this frame, filling up the rest of the cover, is a illustration of green bushes and trees leading down to grass, with a cloudy sky overhead. At the bottom of this illustration are two cats, one cat, Redtail, a sleek black and red tortoiseshell tom with amber eyes, is crouched on the left side of the cover, looking at the second cat on the right side. The other cat is a silhouette of a large long furred tom. At the bottom of the cover where the author is usually listed, is written “Rise of Change” in yellow text, in the same font as the book title./End ID]

#cryptidclaw's warriors au #rise of change #warrior cats #warrior cats design #warriors #warriors book cover #warriors into the wild #into the wild #warriors redraw

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thelov3lybookworm · 11 days

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Gone Through Enough (part 3)

Day 3: betrayal

Summary: Fathers betray their children. Children betray their fathers. Its nothing new.

But at least they have each other.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 1223

A/n: a lil tinier, fast paced. but i loved writing it lol, hope you like reading it 🤭

@erisweekofficial

✨ENJOYYY✨

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

The rough hand at Y/n’s waist squeezed at her skin, then started drawing circles as the high lord led her to his bedchambers.

She had no choice but to giggle at whatever he had said, disgust crawling through her veins.

Initially, she had felt betrayed. She had cried herself to sleep the night her parents had discussed their plans on how to execute the perfect assassination, feeling like she was just a pawn.

But she knew her parents would have kept her away from all this if they could, and so the next day she had gone up to them and asked them to give her any job and that he would help them out in any way needed.

Her father had smiled at her, his eyes shining with pride as he explained everything in detail.

And so here she was, batting her eyelashes and begging Beron to hurry up and take her to his room already.

"You know, that first day when you were back and you ran away after our dance, I was very upset by your actions." he whispered, the huskiness in his voice almost enough to hide the dangerous edge in it.

Y/n had already prepared her response.

"I just got so shy. You looked so ravishing, and I never imagined getting a chance to dance with you. And you made me feel so special, it was overwhelming."

"Is that so? Fret not, little mouse. I will teach you how to behave around me from now on."

His eyes shone with lust that disgusted Y/n. And not just lust for her body.

He wanted to control her. It was exhilarating for him.

He leaned close, his hand tightening on her hip, but Y/n danced back, her lips lifting seductively before she twisted on her feet, her feet carrying her towards his bedchambers.

Where Eris would be waiting.

Y/n was disgusted by Beron as he began racing after her, his chuckle sending shivers down her spine. How he could even want to bed someone he had seen grow up was beyond Y/n.

The double doors soon came into view, and Y/n sped up, grasping the handle as soon as it was within reach. She twisted it downwards hastily, then shoved it in.

"Stop making it hard for yourself, mouse. It will only end in punishment. The longer you keep me waiting, the longer I will keep you begging-"

He choked on the last word, and Y/n turned in time to see Beron’s wide eyes before he began sagging forward. She barely had time to jump back, her chest heaving as she watched him fall forward.

Lifting her eyes, she met the burning amber of Eris before he lunged forward, grabbing the dagger he had buried in his father’s back, twisting. The moment he pulled the jewel encrusted dagger, iron hit Y/n’s nose, the rusty scent so pungent it almost made her double over.

She retreated further, bile burning its way up her throat as Beron glared at her, then turned his head to sneer at Eris, his stubble more enhanced under the dancing fire from the hearth.

"Should have killed you when I had the chance." He muttered, the poisoned words a little too loud in the silent room.

Y/n stifled a gasp, her eyes flying to Eris. She had to hold herself back from going and holding his hand, which curled into a fist the moment the words left Beron.

"You should have. Now, see, I became the one whose hands you die at." Eris pouted. "So sad."

"You’ll never be enough. Never good enough for anyone to be loyal to you. It’s only a matter of time before you lie in my place, my body replaced by yours, my blood by yours. You weren’t good enough for the girl to return, what makes you think you’ll be good enough for a whole court-"

Eris had already shoved the dagger into Beron’s throat, his eyes wild as he stared at his father.

He dropped to his knees.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Eris stared at the blood as it spread, seeping into his pants, the slight sting in his knees from his drop barely noticeable as his father’s words revolved in his mind.

Never be good enough.

Not for the girl.

Neither for the court.

Not for the girl.

Not for the girl to return.

Not enough.

He moved his eyes from the pooling blood to his writhing father, and he watched intently. Forced himself to watch as life left his eyes, Eris’s heart beating in his ears.

He made sure to watch in case he had nightmares in the future. This way, he could at least soothe himself that he had actually killed the old bastard.

He could not hear a single thing over the roaring of the organ, his blood running cold.

Warm bands wrapped around him from behind,jolting him out of his reverie. He lifted his head, turning to meet the gaze of his friend.

Her eyes were filled with tears and a silent apology, though Eris could not fathom what for.

She grabbed his hand, tugging gently. He went without question, numbness spreading through him as he followed her to the hearth.

She pushed him onto the couch.

She settled down next to him, staring into the fire as she fiddled with her fingers.

Finally, after long moments of silence, she parted her lips, licking them.

"I wrote letters."

He blinked, glancing at her before returning his gaze to the fireplace.

"Sounds… great."

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. "I wrote to you Eris."

He turned to her, his heart slowing down. His eyebrows knitted the longer he stared, eyes stinging.

"What do you mean? I never got any…"

A tear rolled out of her left eye, her face crumpling. "Oh, Eris."

She grabbed him by the neck, pulling him into her.

Eris stared at the far wall, watching as the light from the hearth danced.

I wrote letters.

And he had never gotten them. Or maybe someone had made sure he didn’t.

So that he could be isolated, so he could be easily moulded into the perfect heir.

Oh mother, boil me.

She had written to him, for gods knew how long, and he had assumed that she did not care about him anymore. That the only one he loved had thrown him aside, just like everyone else had.

I wrote to you.

And then he let go.

He clutched her back, sobs wracking his body as he buried his face in her neck. She held him back equally fiercely.

He cried just like he had before when he was thirteen, when his father would beat him and Y/n would come to comfort him. He sobbed for the first time in over a century, because alone, he knew even the walls were his enemy.

But with Y/n next to him, he felt like he could conquer the world. Like he could let out every emotion he possibly could and nothing could touch him ever again.

Now that she was with him again, tears and vulnerability was strength instead of weakness. They were no longer the sign of oncoming punishment.

And just like that, the betrayal he had committed against his father meant nothing to Eris.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

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