#poor dark shark

[talesfrommedinastation]

Real talk: why does this seem like some shit Clone Force 99 would do?

And which unassuming commander/general would Dark Shark be? Cody? Bly? Anakin Skywalker is too much of a chaos demon, Rex is too used to insanity, and Obi-Wan is too snarky.

[olath124]

"Let's cross our sharks!"

In answer to this:

Damn how bad it was, why?!?!

Or the beginning of Vlurt. The pairing nobody ever wanted.

Of course, Vlad belongs to @ouroboros-hideout ...

Are you happy?

[pochaccoups]

hhu’s love languages (nsfw)

seungcheol —; biting

oh, how he loves to sink his teeth into your precious skin.

he’ll admit it—it’s a little bit (read: a lot) of a possessive thing. it’s not enough for him to have you face down, ass up, writhing underneath him as he pounds you into tomorrow. he just can’t resist from leaning over you, pressing his broad, sweat-slicked chest to your back, and clamping down on the curve of your neck with his teeth.

it doesn’t help that you say his name so pretty when he does; a breathy, high-pitched moan of two syllables—“cheollie,”—that drives him to insanity.

and it’s not just your neck that falls victim to his bite. it’s his favourite, yes—it’s easily accessible in all of your favourite positions, after all. but no part of you is safe.

when his head is between your legs, he kisses up along your calf, mouths at the fat of your thigh before you feel the soft sting of his teeth sinking into it. only then is he satisfied. only then does he give you what you want: his mouth on your pussy as he eats you out so good it leaves your entire body shaking.

when you’re sat in his lap, bouncing on his cock like a bitch in heat despite the way your thighs burn, his mouth finds your tits like a moth to a flame. they’re sensitive, he knows that, so he’s considerate enough to go a little easier on them, nibbling at the soft skin. he’ll still leave his mark on them, of course, only instead of bite marks he litters your chest with dark little love bites.

he loves nothing more than seeing your reaction to his dirty little habit. when you waddle off to the bathroom and leave him laying there in post-orgasm bliss, a yelp of his name has him grinning and jumping to his feet.

he finds you glaring at the mirror, with your hair a mess and your features flustered from the sight of the perfect teeth indentation on your right shoulder.

“i look like a shark attack survivor! how am i supposed to cover this?” you ask, exasperated.

and the worst thing about choi seungcheol is how hard it is to be mad at him. when he presses himself against you, snakes his arms around your waist, and drops his head to dot kisses all over the mark in question, you find yourself melting into him with an ease like it’s ingrained in you.

eventually, he speaks up, muttering his words into your skin: “don’t cover it.”

wonwoo —; hand holding

wonwoo, your sweet wonwoo. so shy that he gets flustered when you hold his hand in public.

in the dim lighting of your bedroom, though, he’s not so shy. in fact it’s you who’s flustered, your body searing hot, your head spinning from the weight of your boyfriend on top of you.

he’s got you manhandled onto your stomach, kneeling between your spread legs, fucking you like he’s trying to carve the shape of his cock into your very womb. what’s worse is the way his hands, lithe and pretty, take yours, pinning you to the mattress so he can drive his hips harder into you.

“w-wonwoo,” you sob, squeezing and grasping at the fingers that are laced with yours.

“hmm? what’s wrong, pretty girl?” he asks, practically cooing into your ear. “can’t take it?”

“i can,” you whimper, clenching around him, pressing your hips up into his thrusts. to show him.

“yeah, there you go. fuck, take my cock so good, don’t you?”

if you were to try and tell anyone that jeon wonwoo was capable of speaking like this, you’re sure they wouldn’t believe you. the wonwoo who can barely hold your hand in front of others, let alone kiss you? that wonwoo?

it’s the same wonwoo who fucks your face without remorse, who fingers you until you squirt, who eats you out until you can’t feel your legs—that wonwoo. and the best thing about him is that he’ll hold your hand through all of them, even as he abuses your poor cunt, like it’s reassurance. a touch of mercy to remind you he’s still your boyfriend who loves you so much even if he fucks you like an ex.

after all, he is a romantic. what’s more romantic than your pretty boyfriend holding your hands when he’s fucking your brains out?

mingyu —; choking

it may or may not be his habit of playfully grabbing his members by their neck that floods your mind with the idea of being in their place.

you’ve always had a thing for mingyu’s hands, even before you’d started dating him. the sheer size of them, the thickness of his fingers—all of it would have you squeezing your thighs together at just the thought of what he could use them for. (to make you see heaven and above, as you came to find out).

but mingyu is a gentleman in the most literal sense of the word. he’s big, he’s strong, and he compensates for that by treating you like glass. not that he doesn’t fuck you hard when you ask, but putting his hands around your neck is not something that even enters his mind. he’d let himself be struck dead before he’d use his strength to harm you.

fortunately, you’re good at getting your way with him—especially when he’s got his dick buried inside you. every last shred of his rationality goes straight out the window the moment he feels the hot, wet embrace of your pussy around him.

he grabs at your hips, your thighs, your tits; his fingers cling to every inch of your skin to keep himself from falling over the edge of insanity because you’re so fucking tight around him that it’s dizzying.

“gyu,” you moan, and he’s alert in an instant, like a dog called on by its owner, ready for his next command. “choke me?”

his thrusts falter and his features are questioning, yet you don’t miss the way his cock throbs against your walls at your words.

“baby, i don’t know if i should-”

“please, gyu?” you plead, gazing up at him, tightening your thighs where they’re wrapped around your waist. “for me?”

and kim mingyu is many things, but tenacious is not one of them.

when it comes to you he’s hopeless, nothing but a weak fool in love. it’s why he doesn’t stop you when you take him by his wrist and guide his giant hand to sit just above your clavicle. you don’t make him squeeze or anything, you leave that up to him. you just want him to see it, to feel it. to get a glimpse into the fantasy you’ve been keeping from him.

his hips slow, his eyes darkening as he gazes down at you with an affection you’ve never seen from him. gently, his fingers, which almost wrap around the entire circumference of your neck, start to press. it’s barely enough pressure to tickle, but fuck, it’s so hot it sends your eyes rolling back.

suddenly mingyu gets it. adrenaline flushes through his body and goes straight to his cock—it’s a sight he wants etched into his brain forever. your eyes hazy, a tiny, content smile on your kiss-swollen lips, his massive hand gripping your neck as he fucks you with a new kind of fervour. he gets it, and he can’t believe he didn’t get it sooner.

you can see it clearly—how, in just a matter of time, he’ll have his forehead pressed to yours, his cock grazing the spot that has you seeing stars over and over while his hand cuts off your airflow, choking you hard, the way you’ve always wanted.

vernon —; spitting

is it cliche and predictable to assign him this? maybe. but what if he’s not the one doing the spitting?

he’s a little bit obsessed with letting you do what you want with him. it’s not a dom or sub thing—vernon’s an easygoing guy in all aspects of life, and if you feel like sitting in his lap and making out with him until you’re both gasping for air, the last thing he’ll do is complain.

his favourite thing of all is when you ride him. fuck, everything about you is mesmerising; the way you grind your hips over his cock so expertly, the way you brace your hands against his chest, letting your nails rake into his skin ever so often, the way your head tips backwards and your moans spill out in the sweetest song.

vernon gazes up at you like you put the stars in the sky, like you brought about life itself, like he can’t believe he’s the one who gets to see you like this. his eyes, dark, round, and glimmering, are a picture of how enamoured he is with you. he has no idea how crazy it drives you.

it’s natural the way your hand reaches for his cheek, the way your thumb moves to glide over his lips, soft and puffy. vernon falls in love for the millionth time when you dip it inside his mouth, push it gently against his tongue, gathering up his spit on the tip of your finger. it makes his dick jump to be at your mercy like this. his hips buck up into yours, desperate to drive himself even deeper into the addictive heat of your cunt.

you press his mouth open, just slightly, just enough, and lean forward. a pearl of your saliva, of you, lands in the centre of his tongue, and he doesn’t have time to swallow it before your mouth finds his, kissing him with greed. it’s messy—lips smacking, your moans mingling with his, but the thing about vernon is that you cannot get enough of him. even though he’s inside you and you’re skin to skin with and your mouths are connected.

you pull away, your grin cat-like, your attention shifting back to the stretch of his cock as you bounce up and down him with a newfound desperation.

“god, you’re hot,” he whispers, his own lips quirking into a fucked-out smile.

“yeah? you like it when i spit in your mouth, hansollie? so dirty,” you reply.

he doesn’t last much longer after that.

[targaryenluvs]

— UNCHARTED WATERS

pairings: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader, percy jackson x sister!reader

summary: four months of keeping percy in the dark were over, you could only hope he’d understand your reasoning for keeping him there. or the one where percy finds a polaroid of luke and a girl eerily similar to his sister, donning not a lot of clothing.

warnings: suggestive content/photos, poor percy’s eyes, arguing, confrontation, makeups, hugs & motherly reader, protective percy

a/n: the end has come 😭 i’ve absolutely adored writing this series and i’m glad it’s here sad it’s here and sad it’s over.

taglist: @songofthesun @gayforyelena @taloulalila @honeydanny @7s3ven @sssi-nr @percabethtears @gr1mes-cc @2hiigh2cry @10ava01 @ahh-chickens @fangirl-swagg @anotherblackreader @midmourn @lovelyforesst @urfavpogue @lilacspider @mysteris-things @whoreyzontal @lunalixya @dangelnleif @wordsarelife

part i, part ii, part iii, part iv

iv. uncharted waters

luke’s mouth was currently held hostage by your hand, tightly clamped over his as you waited for the kids to pass by. you were currently hidden behind large rocks in the pond, and half-naked. “if you lick my hand i swear i will drag you under the water, and you know i can.” you whispered to him. luke’s amusement was no where near yours, you could tell by the fact that he jabbed your side which caused you to shout.

the two campers turned at the sound of distress, eyes frantically scanning the area, before turning around and continuing their way back to camp. “that was close.” luke grinned whilst you hit him, “that was all your fault! now come on, before the sun sets.”

“why, is my girl scared of the dark? don’t worry i’m right here baby.”

“am not!”

“are too!”

“am not!”

“are too!”

“you’re so annoying luke.” the two of you made your way into the cold, clear waters. the day had been pretty busy and the idea of swimming before showering all the paint and grime was nothing but appealing to you. but your peace would only last so long around your boyfriend.

“what’s that shark movie y/n? and what does the music sound like?”

“jaws? and the sounds like, dun-a, dun-a.”

you should’ve seen it coming. luke repeated the sound, as you closed your eyes and faced the sun, he waded through the water before you looked his way. he was gone.

“luke? luke where did you—,”

you screamed as luke came up from below you, tipping you face first. “what the hell!” as much as you loved to hear luke laughing all you wanted to do was drown him. “it’s one thing to mess with me above ground, but in the water?” luke’s grin was wiped off as a wave came from behind. “wait hold on—,”

it was officially your turn to laugh as luke resurfaced, gasping for air. “not cool.” you covered your smile with both hands, “kinda cool.” you murmured as he made his way to you, hands around your waist as you looked up at him. “you think that was funny?” you meekly nodded as his hand tightened, another wrapped around your neck to draw you in.

the night was fast approaching and the two of you were currently laying on the shoreline. “i knew i brought this for something.” he whipped out the camera, “you look perfect as usual, would you do me the honour of modelling for me?” you grinned, “of course.”

luke wouldn’t stop staring at the picture, the whole way back to camp. so instead of allowing him to ogle the photo the whole night you tucked it into your jean shorts. claiming the decision to be for the greater good.

if there was one difference between you and percy, it was tidiness. he wasn’t terrible but he wasn’t as obsessive as you. so imagine his surprise when you passed out, towel, shorts and swimwear laid around. “kids these days, i tell you.” percy muttered as he picked up the clothes to be washed the next day. but as he did, a certain polaroid fluttered to the floor.

“what the?” he turned it over, and then had a heartattack.

“WHAT THE F—,”

“ow! why on earth are you shouting? and no swearing.” you groaned out loud. percy stomped his way over to you then waved the picture in your face, “what on earth is this? huh?” you snatched the picture from his hand before sitting on it, “nothing, what’re you talking about?”

percy clutched his head, before dramatically flopping down on his bed, “i think my eyes need to be rinsed.” you rolled your eyes, “stop being so silly, it’s a cute photo. just not a lot of clothes.” percy quiickly sat up, “exactly! and some guys hand tucking your hair behind your ear. i didn’t even know you were dating someone y/n, let alone taking weird photos.”

you’d been caught out, it was bound to happen sooner or later so you might as well tell him. your feet hit the floor before moving over to him, “i’m sorry i didn’t tell your perce, really. i just— i didn’t want to freak you out. i wanted you to continue getting adjusted to camp and all before i told you anything about it. it happened recently, and i didn’t mean for it to but feelings… are the one thing you can’t control. i’m sorry, i really am. and i’m so grateful i have such an amazing little brother who feels like he needs to protect me but you are my little brother. i’m eighteen, and more than capable of making my own decisions.”

percy didn’t want to understand what you were saying. he wanted to go find this guy and let riptide work it’s magic. but annoyingly enough, everything you said did make sense. “fine, i won’t go maiming tonight. i’m still mad you kept it from me, don’t you trust me?” your eyes teared up at the notion, “oh god no! i mean, yes, yes i do. i trust you with every bone in my body and that’s why i knew you’d try and hurt the poor guy. you’re so incredibly strong that you’d send him packing perce.”

percy’s lips twitched, a grin forming, “i am pretty amazing arent i?” you wrapped an arm around his shoulder, “that you are brother, that you are.” he hugged you so hard that it knocked you both back onto the bed.

“i guess i won’t hunt him down today.”

“thank you percy.”

“there’s always tomorrow.” he muttered.

“no perce!” he smiled up at you before wiggling out of your arms, “who is it huh?” you covered your face before sighing, “luke.” percy’s shoulders dropped, “stuff tomorrow.” he charged out the door as you ran after him, “no wait!” coincidentally the two of you rammed right into luke, “i heard shouting, i was concerned. are you okay y/n?” you smiled as he percy huffed, “no yeah, forget about the 12 year old you pummelled over viciously. continue focusing on my sister please.”

“he knows, i told him.” luke’s eyebrows raised, the reasoning behind percy’s jabs and stare revealing itself.

“oh.”

“you’ve got ten seconds castellan.”

“for what?”

“to run.”

“what did i do?”

“that photo didn’t take itself.” percy pulled out riptide, tapping it against his other hand as you stood behind him, watching luke laugh. “he’s, he’s kidding right?” you shook your head, “he’s giving you a head start castellan, i’d advise you to take it.” luke’s smile dropped as he began to step back, “i… you’re kidding.”

“ten, nine, eight—,”

luke’s shoes collided with the floor as percy shrugged, “countings for losers.” you reached out for him but it was too late, “cheater!” luke kept looking back as you sat down infront of the cabin, you officially had two idiots to look after.

[gladiatorcunt]

pwetty please more dom art, switch patrick, sub reader. that blurb was so so good i think “Go ahead and make daddy cum while I give him kisses, ‘kay?” may be the hottest thing anyone has ever said ever actually

# 🫀HONEST HEARTS 🪤 !!

cw: WEIRD VIBES, dom art switch patrick sub reader coded, heavy on the art x patrick, breeding kink/pregnancy/ambiguous baby trapping (???), art’s lowkey mean, daddy kink (referring to patrick), patrick calls you a slut, oral (afab reader receiving), patrick’s sandwiched in between you & art, anal sex (m receiving), summer heat will have you displaying behaviors and acting in ways, ambiguous era, feminization (one use of “mama” not in a mommy kink way), stream of consciousness style writing, they’re gross but so are you, reader having a hamlet holding up the skull moment

Art fucks Patrick like a bat out of hell, you lie beneath them wet and wanting as you watch patrick’s sweaty body flail around like a ragdoll. Art squishes your bodies together, pressing his weight against Patrick's back. There’s so much pressure on your lungs, you’re scared you’ll pop. The humid July air is so thick around you that the plush bedding feels swathed in a soft old film yellow tint, you and Patrick swap glassy eyes when his tip finally sinks into your tight ass. No lube in sight, you want pain that only skinny dipping in a private river after dark will fix. Reminders of youth, the sting from the current as it travels through the indents of teeth.

You would think Art had become a ferocious shark, inky pupils dripping onto Patrick's shoulder blades and toothy grins, feral and lead only by his cock at the first scent of blood he could catch. yours, Patrick’s, his. Patrick fucks your ass to the point of no return, his pace never ceasing until all you is the word “Daddy” howled out over and over. Every thrust earns art deeper inside of him, Patrick greedily rolls his hips back. In appreciation Art leans down and watches his spit highlight how cock drunk the two of you are, a see through trail trickling down both of your faces onto the pillow.

It’s like Art doesn’t have any worth until he’s fucking you and Patrick out of your minds at the same time. He hooks his chin in Patrick’s shoulder, winking down at you as he ramps up the speed of his thrusts. Patrick’s eyes tighten in pleasure-pain but any sounds he has to offer are muffled in the seams of your slick lips, you open your mouth to catch them and hoard them all. Breathy pants and whines and growls becuase Patrick may be the one getting fucked the most, but you should never forget who’s next in line to benefit from this little symbiotic expression of your relationship. You’re the atlar, solid foundation and the center of life’s devotion. Art and Patrick are the attendants, bringing you animal sacrifices in the form of their flesh and soul and hearts. In their bones and in the nerves connecting to their brain, where you all exist in an undefiled state even as fluids are spilt in between the cracks in the marble. A poor man’s kintsugi.

Patrick begs Art to cum, but you defer to Patrick when it’s your time to be a babbling brook around his thick length. Art always says yes when the other man’s balls deep in you, plus he has dibs on your pussy this week. It’s in their nature, to desire each other carnally and still keep each other entangled in steep competition even when those desires are fulfilled in excess. Art really wants a baby, you’ve been too gung ho to bounce all over the world as if it were your very own tennis court. Explaining it by using their busy careers as an opportunity, you must not know that you’re best when you’re right where they can see you. Even if they’re not there, jerking each other off to grainy security cam footage is their own bonding time. Sometimes you put on shows for them, modeling expensive lingerie that you think is going to be a surprise for their welcome home. Art always has an eye and a hold on Patrick, they both want that with you too.

“Go on,” He whispers for only Patrick’s uniquely shaped ears to hear, sorry angel. “The sooner you give our baby that nice big tangy load I know you’ve got for us, the sooner I can get their tummy swollen.”

Daddy gets his favorite kind of kisses when he floods your ass with cum, and he licks the remaining drops off your stretched rim with Art’s hand heavy on his head. You get your kisses too, from each of them until you’re sinking so far into that dreamy kind of headspace that affection from you means you lazily smack your lips together and call it a job well done. Fuzzy voices coo at you that it was indeed a job well done, squelching noises accompany Patrick reluctantly pulling out. You both whine the exact same way, Art beams and shushes you, using Patrick’s bruised ass to get rock hard and wet again for your puffy pussy.

“Just like that, fuck! Should have taken a picture, don’t you think? Make it last longer, keep you useful.”

All talk, as long as he’s alive he’ll have use. Existence breeds obsession, split three ways, the way some god intended. Like calls to like, moths to flame, water to silent desert rock, bleeding knuckles to piping hot iron, copper to silver, bones to soil, ball to grass-clay-concrete court.

Patrick hates it when you and art fight, turning him into a scared puppy. He doesn’t say to your face that he agrees with Art, that you shouldn’t leave the house amidst all the stress that a possible pregnancy can bring. Stress that’s easily worked off under their touch, stuffed full of so much cum that it might as well replace your gray matter. You can’t run laps around the house despite it being what your anxiety is telling you to do. You have to wait there on the toilet, holding each of their hands as you wait for the test results. Once the necessary time has passed, you can’t overcome your nervousness and instead wait for Art to look at one of the sticks.

You barely catch a glimpse of the test result when you’re tackled. Patrick’s on you first, sucking your tongue into his mouth while cradling your head in his hands so you don’t feel it when you bump into the wall. Art chastises him of course, pulling him back by his ear to give you some space. They’re both smiling, wide and blinding white grins so dazzling that you’re worried you’ll go blind. Their reactions alone tell you more than you could ever need to know, the monarch butterflies scurry from stomach to stomach. Those teeming with life and those forever starving. Art gives you a slow kiss and hums into you, the vibrations travel down to your flexing toes. Bubbly laughter drowns out the cracks of lightning outside, baby blanket blue on fire white.

You want to be loved in a way that’s wrong and out of sorts, your arousal is heightened by what your paranoia tells you will be someone’s undoing. Yours or theirs. Both. No one really needs pure intentions to love or be loved at the end of the day, and maybe that’s something to be grateful for. There are people who can love the sin as well as the sinner. Your hormones are doing a number on you, that much is clear, if you’re philosophizing about the morals of being in love when there more than likely are none. There’s just that so much time to think, that initial fear of being left when you yourself would be too overencumbered to. Art picks up on these kinds of thoughts more often than Patrick, who’s just happy to belong somewhere and to someone. The former busies himself with the heft of your tits. Sucks the life out of your hard nipples and then some, he adores when you come begging with a dripping cunt after a late afternoon nap because you had a very good dream.

“Lie back angel, working so hard right now… you need a break, mama.” Art giggles, engaging in a riveting one on one conversation with your throbbing clit, rapidly flicking it with his tongue as he locks clear eyes with your sleepy blinks. “Pussy’s gushing like a fountain now, ‘s so chubby too, I hope you never fucking work off the baby weight.”

Later they’ll wipe you down from the shower with their tongues, slurping up the water droplets like they’re bugs hovering around an in bloom blush pink flower because they’re freaks like that. Patrick’s out on the now usual run to the nearest convenience store for your latest cravings, he’ll try it with you too no matter what it is. Art does his best, but you’re too sensitive to others being nauseous to handle seeing his skin almost cartoonishly flood with a light mossy green undertone. Fall brings a whole new array of food combinations and flavors of snack cakes just waiting for you to inhale them worryingly quickly. Art brings your focus back to him with a teasing nip to your bud, closing his lips around it and giving it a firm suck as the front door unlatches. The crinkling of plastic grocery bags reach your ears before Patrick’s corny “Honey, I’m home!” does. More single minded than a dog with his bone, the bags clatter to the floor and his shoes pound the floor on the way to where you’re cumming on Art’s face in a flash of white.

Patrick frowns, “You know I don't like you being a slut when I'm not there, now you owe me two rounds.”

Art reminds the other man that you might not have the energy for the two rounds he’s imagining, full of slapping skin and ghoulish howls, Patrick simply says that you can drift off while he ruts away. Into you or on you, so long as his puffy tip is touching some sort of skin, makes him wish he could burrow and dig a tunnel inside you. Live in one of the chambers in your heart, Art in the other, your kids in the next, a no vacancy sign boarding the last of them shut. You tilt your head to the side so he runs his nose along the faint line of your pulse. He should record the echoing rhythmic thumps for when they’re traveling and can’t sleep without their missing piece. His chest burns when the words well up and won’t come out how he needs them too, how can you express that you need to live in someone’s very dna without letting your huge dick do the talking for you? He’ll quite possibly never know, maybe a rare showing of Art riding Patrick into the center of the earth as he gasps for life saving breath will be enough for you.

[johnwickb1tsch]

Everyone is sending GIF requests, so, here is mine. Hint: Jealous John? (Though I doubt this man can ever be jealous but...whatever comes to your genius brain)

Thanks!

@sweetwolfcupcake SWEEETS!!!!! I loved this prompt SO MUCH!!! You're such a genius. *kisses your head* I hope you like this! 💗💗💗

Bodyguard!John Wick x Shy!Curvy!Fem!Student!Reader

⚠warnings: threat of noncon (not John), mention of parental death

For the record, you didn’t mean to fall in love with John Wick. But he was nothing like the other goons your father had tasked with guarding you before.  Wick was tall, and handsome, and had the soulful eyes of a poet. You know he’s dangerous; he can kill a man 30 ways with a pencil (the men of your father’s Bratva will not shut up about it) but he seems so…gentle. And the thing that really proved your undoing?

That good looking bastard was bookish, and it did something inconceivable to your lit major brain. Ever your dark shadow, you spent countless late nights in the library together, and so many Saturday afternoons browsing the used bookshops, combing for treasures. He would rescue the books that looked better fit for the waste bin, taking them to repair. Maybe he was there to protect you, for your father had many unsavory enemies, but it was easy to forget when John discussed with you the finer points of the Bloomsbury Set or the themes of Anna Karenina.  

Maybe your father assigned John to you because he was one of the few gangsters around in his brigata one could trust to guard a relatively innocent young lady–that didn’t mean John was safe from you. You just couldn’t help yourself; you’d like to plead insanity, your honor, the night you finally broke and tried to kiss him, while he was helping you with your homework for Russian Lit 301. 

How stupid you felt, how utterly pathetic, when he’d very kindly dislodged you from his so soft mouth, looking at you with pity in his sad dark eyes. “You know…we can’t do this,” he told you.

Mortified, you’d fled to your room and cried, knowing you are the most ridiculous human being on the face of the earth.

What were you thinking?

You are nothing like the tall, ethereal creatures that populate the clubs where Wick frequents with your father. You are shy, and curvy, and frankly…a nerd. An old soul, your father would say fondly, but you know he is just being kind.

You’re not sure how you got it into your head, that you were going to make Wick sorry. You’ve never been one for going out, but you decide to give it a whirl, wanting to be anyone but yourself. You decide to go to the Red Circle, to hang out with the other Bratva brats who care way more about clubbing and clothes and who’s fucking who, than classes at NYU. 

At first you really hate it–but after a few shots of vodka, it’s not so bad. John has to hang back, keeping an eye on you but not interacting with your friends. He’s scary good at lurking in the shadows, but you know he’s keeping an eye on every move you make. Maybe that’s why you let Alexsei kiss you, the son of a semi-friendly loan shark who works in proximity with your father. You don’t really like him, if you’re being honest. But he’s not totally hideous–and he’s there–and John will have to watch it all. 

You and Alex start to have a thing. It’s no big deal. Something to do, on the summer break from your studies. You invite him over to watch a movie, knowing you’ll have the house to yourself. Your father is always at his office doing business, your idiotic brother is always out getting into trouble with his khuligan friends, and your mother…is dead, God rest her poor soul. 

You can tell Alex is a little drunk, when he shows up at your door. He’s very handsy, when you settle in on the couch to watch the latest mindless action flick, his pick. It’s ok, until he tries to unbutton your pants.

You have a secret. 

You’re 21, nearly graduated from university–and you’re still a virgin. 

This is not a thing you intend to give to Alexsei Plushenko. You don’t even really like the way he touches you.

“Stop, Alex.”

“Don’t be scared,” he tries to coax you. “This will be fun.”

“No,” you say. “Let’s just…”

He covers your mouth with his, shutting you up, his heavy body pinning you on the couch. “Don’t be such a stuck up bitch.” His groping fingers squeeze your breast clumsily, painfully, before fumbling with your jeans again. You try to push him off, but he’s heavy, and strong.

Suddenly, he is yanked from you like he weighs nothing at all. You hardly recognize what is happening at first, until you hear the sound of flesh striking flesh. John is on him, his iron fist meeting the younger man’s face. 

“John! Stop!” 

Wick looks up at you, meeting your eyes in a primal lock of stares–your heart drops and soars again, as you feel as though you’ve stumbled on a wolf over his kill, and the wildest thing?

You get the inkling that wolf is jealous. 

“Don’t hurt him anymore,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. A beating will make some complications for your father. A death? Could mean war.

Wick punches the handsy young man one more time, his eyes never leaving yours, before hauling Alex up by the collar and frog marching him out the front door, tossing him down the concrete steps of your home.

John finds you waiting for him in the marble foyer, his eyes wild, his knuckles torn. You don’t even know what to say. 

“What did you even see in him?” he finally demands, clearly annoyed.

“He wasn’t you,” you answer without thinking.

Wick steps up to you, toe to toe, so that you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. His hair has broken free from its slicked back style, tendrils in his eyes.

He’s never looked more beautiful, your savage savior.

“You’re trying to get me killed.”

You shake your head, the very thought anathema to you. You are transfixed, unable to look away, unable to think. “You’re too precious to me,” you admit, and screw your eyes shut the moment you admit it, a spear of mortification piercing you from your heart to your stupid, aching, cunt.

“Milaya…” 

It’s the sweetest thing he’s ever said to you.

Your eyes drop to his knuckles, torn open in his defense of you. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Not to me.” You don’t know where you get the courage, to take his hand, and lead him up to your room. You can hardly believe it, that he actually follows you. In your ensuite bathroom you dab at his knuckles with a washcloth, slather him with ointment and plaster him with bandaids. You run out of sober flesh colored ones, so the last cut gets a Disney bandage, Ariel and sea-flowers decorating this severe man’s knuckles. 

He lets you do all this, watching you intensely with those dark eyes you’re certain can see into your soul. You stand too close–and he lets you, this haunted man who watches over you day and night. Your whole life you have never wanted for anything, your father’s money buying you all your heart could possibly desire.

Until now.

You find it hard to meet his eyes, zeroing in on a spot of blood on his stark white dress shirt. 

“Y/n.” With a gentle knuckle under your chin he turns your gaze up to his again. “You are too smart, and too beautiful, to be wasting your time with a fuckboy like Alexsei Plushenko.”

The first part you already knew. The second, from this man’s lips? Your knees nearly collapse out from under you, a flood of excitement and dread coursing through your system. You almost can’t stand it–it’s like being burned alive, and your native shyness rears with a vengeance. 

You try to flee, back to the safety of your room, and your books, your imaginary lives that can’t really hurt you–but he catches your hand. His grip is not hard, but it is enough to stop you dead in your tracks. 

“Y/n…” He’s pleading with you, but you don’t understand what he’s asking you. 

“You said you don’t want me, John…” you say, still unable to meet his eyes. “So let me go.” 

He answers by pulling you against him, the solid line of his torso a brick wall beneath the hand you raise to catch yourself. But bricks are not warm, like the flesh beneath his designer clothes. You can feel the wires in your brain sizzling, the synapses simply melting down. Your heart is Chernoble waiting to happen. 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“You said–”

“I said, ‘We can’t.’ Not, that ‘I don’t want you.’”

You almost cannot breathe, your heart attempting to beat out of your chest, a ringing in your ears that drowns out all else. There is nothing, nothing, in this world you’ve wanted more, than to hear those words from this man. But now that he’s standing before you, against you, holding you–you cannot move. You do not know what to do. 

He solves this problem by cupping your cheek in his big hand–God, how you’ve noticed those hands–and then he is pressing his mouth to yours, gentle at first, but then…hungry. As though John Wick has been starving, for you, and it’s all you can do just to stand there and take it without melting into a puddle on the floor. His arms wrap around your back, holding you, lifting you to your tiptoes as he devours you. When at last he pulls back you are left seeing stars, struck utterly speechless with your hands on his broad shoulders. 

“Tell me to stop,” he raggedly demands, his eyes boring down into yours. 

Finally, you find your courage, meeting his stare. “I don’t want you to stop,” you whisper. 

“Good. Because I don’t think I can.” He kisses you again, just as hungrily as the first time, his arm an iron band around your waist and his fingers sneaking up into your hair. That’s your kryptonite: your hair, and blithely you know he can do anything and everything he wants to you now.  

Your father is a bad man, but you have not had a bad life. You have never known hunger, or true physical pain. He has protected you from the violence of his world. He has played things smart enough that not even the FBI can touch you, even though they absolutely know what he is and where your family gets its money. Despite all this, you have been dying inside, a slow, withering demise, until John Wick’s lips touched yours. He is the life-giving rain over the desert; your heart is a field of wildflowers erupting in a superbloom. 

This time, he leads you, in between kissing you, to the loveseat at the foot of your bed. He sits, and only when he tries to pull you into his lap do you resist. “John…I’m too…much,” you insist, conscious of your generous flesh and what it would be like to set that on top of him, afraid he’ll be horrified. 

However, he just scoffs at you, grabbing you up anyway and guiding you down. For a moment you are weightless–he knows how to upset a person’s balance, how to use their weight against them to put them on the floor. This time he uses it to put you on him. You’re not exactly proud of it, but the ease with which he utterly manhandles you makes your long-neglected lady parts sing with desire. 

“You are perfect, dietka,” he insists, pulling you closer with hands on your round behind, “And I am very strong.” For the first time in you can’t remember how long–he smiles at you. That beautiful half smile with a sparkle in his dark eyes that takes your breath away–you love him so much it hurts. 

This time you don’t feel so shy, about kissing him. You feel like your bones are filled with butterflies, and you both moan and giggle as you do your best to devour each other from the mouth down. Aside from an appreciative squeeze of your thighs bracketing his hips, he doesn’t try to seduce you, even though you know you absolutely would have given him anything he asked you for. He is content, just to kiss you, for this night at least, and oh. He’s good at it too. 

You decide you would burn down the world, for one more kiss from John Wick.  

Later you find yourself snuggled in your bed with John, fully clothed, your head on his shoulder as he toys with the fine hairs at the back of your neck. His touch is heaven, and with your legs twined with his it’s hard not to squirm and writhe against his muscled thigh like a horny little gremlin. 

Later, you tell yourself. It can wait for later. 

Like maybe, tomorrow. 

“We’ll have to be careful,” he warns you. “If your father…” 

If your father found out, the best thing that could happen to John is getting fired. 

“I won’t let you get hurt,” you promise, kissing his bearded cheek, praying you’re telling the truth.

He chuckles at this; a deep sound you feel more than hear. “I thought that was my job?”

“You know what I mean.” 

“I know.” He looks down at you with a tenderness that curls your toes. “It would be worth it, for you.” 

Your heart has suddenly decided it would like to take up residence in your throat–permanently.

“Oh, John…”  

He kisses you again, a soft brush of lips that renders you weightless. This is how you die: it’s almost too much to stand, this impossibly full feeling in your chest. Then he narrows his eyes at you playfully. “You have been driving me mad, you little minx. I wanted to kill everyone who so much as looked at you in the Circle.” 

You snort at the thought–you do not understand, really, that he could absolutely do it too. 

“Not to worry. I think the library is more my speed.” He rests his head against yours with a small, contented sigh. “Mine too,” he admits. The smell of old books around you is a soothing balm to you both. 

You know small bits of his past. Morsels he has sprinkled, here and there in the conversations you have had. You know he did not have an easy childhood. You know that this life was not really his choice. Even less so than most, who move and work in the Underworld. 

“If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?” you ask. 

He lifts an eyebrow at you. “I’m liking New York, at the moment,” he tells you with an affectionate squeeze. 

“Oh come on.” 

“Fine. I like Paris a lot.” 

“Hmm,” you answer, but what you think, is: Done.  You will have the opportunity to arrange to study abroad soon, and you think a trip away from the Tarasov territory might do you both some good.

Surely Papachka wouldn’t deprive you of your most trusted bodyguard?

[2-dsimp]

D͟͟͟͞͞͞A͟͟͟͞͞͞R͟͟͟͞͞͞L͟͟͟͞͞͞I͟͟͟͞͞͞N͟͟͟͞͞͞G͟͟͟͞͞͞ C͟͟͟͞͞͞A͟͟͟͞͞͞F͟͟͟͞͞͞E͟͟͟͞͞͞: F͟͟͟͞͞͞e͟͟͟͞͞͞a͟͟͟͞͞͞t͟͟͟͞͞͞u͟͟͟͞͞͞r͟͟͟͞͞͞i͟͟͟͞͞͞n͟͟͟͞͞͞g͟͟͟͞͞͞ t͟͟͟͞͞͞h͟͟͟͞͞͞e͟͟͟͞͞͞ Y͟͟͟͞͞͞a͟͟͟͞͞͞n͟͟͟͞͞͞d͟͟͟͞͞͞e͟͟͟͞͞͞r͟͟͟͞͞͞e͟͟͟͞͞͞ V͟͟͟͞͞͞I͟͟͟͞͞͞P͟͟͟͞͞͞ O͟͟͟͞͞͞n͟͟͟͞͞͞i͟͟͟͞͞͞ P͟͟͟͞͞͞o͟͟͟͞͞͞l͟͟͟͞͞͞i͟͟͟͞͞͞c͟͟͟͞͞͞e͟͟͟͞͞͞m͟͟͟͞͞͞a͟͟͟͞͞͞n͟͟͟͞͞͞

“So that’s it? All I need to do is just sign the NDA? And I can start working at the Darling cafe? There’s no need for my job interview at all?” You asked, in an apprehensive manner. Looking down at the sheet of paper which was placed in front of you by the smiley masked man who went by the name of Smiles.

“Yup! No need for a job interview or anything remotely tedious! You’ve already been approved by me, the head honcho of this particular Darling cafe branch. So there’s no need.” Your soon-to-be boss sounded off with a humorous tone in his airy voice that wasn’t muffled behind the mask. He merely spun a pen between his gloved fingers as if he was on autopilot. His other hand propping up his chin as he stared at you from his eye holes.

“All I require is for you to work wholeheartedly as a fine Darling in our establishment! Simple enough yeah?” He added, his tone carefree as he then leaned back within his office chair. His legs were crossed, while his arms moved to the back of his head.

This was your golden ticket out of debt! Your father being the deadbeat he was shifted all his debt onto you. His eldest child so that he could live Scot free and mooching off of the poor souls he swindled out of their money. To spend on drinking and gambling.

“Wow that’s great! You know I’ve heard some rumors about this place.” Smiles, stilled his eyes growing dark. He then inched forward from his lax position to hunch over the office table like a brooding old man. “Hah? What rumors did you hear sweetheart? Nothing strange right?”

“No, not at all! I’ve only been hearing good things about how the Darlings get paid generously. And even get healthcare benefits as well. I just wanted to fact check if that was true if that’s alright?” You rambled sheepishly, you had hoped that the rumors were true. You needed all the grace you could get with the shitty situation you’ve been held captive in.

After working many part time jobs that only paid minimum wage. You couldn’t help but be frustrated at how little of a dent you’ve made in getting your father’s debt off your shoulders. So it made you desperate to find any kind of job that would provide you the leverage you need to save yourself from potentially being sold off as collateral by the loan sharks.

“Oh that’s what you meant by rumors, haha! Yes you’ll be paid generously! As hazard pay will also be included.” You blinked at his words, hazard pay? What could be so hazardous working at a cutesy cafe of all things? You wanted to ask a question about it only for him to brush it off with an air of nonchalance.

“Don’t worry about that tibit too much it’s just a precaution per se. Since we cherish our Darlings dearly.” Smiley said with a serious undertone, while he had leaned back in his rolly chair to pull out a drawer to retrieve two stamps. Setting one onto the table next to you while he held the other in his grasp.

“Now to wrap things up, all I need you to do is sign the dotted line and then stamp yourself. Any part of the body will be fine.” He instructed, absentmindedly loosening up his tie. As if the mask he was wearing was making him feel a bit heated.

“Um stamp myself? As in just me and not the paper itself?” You asked dumbly, taking ahold of the stamp. It smelled alluringly sweet from the ink it was coated in. But the stamp mark would just wear off right? So what was the point?—

“It won’t wash off, it’s permanent. If that was what you’re wondering about dear.” Smiley, hummed pulling down his arm sleeve to reveal his stamp mark. It was a small QR code imprint on his inner wrist. “Let’s just say that It’s a safety measure we take to have your identity registered in our employee system. As lots of rats try to impersonate our workers/patrons or sneak in uninvited.”

That statement unnerved you a bit, but you didn’t have any time to waste. With determined hands you stamped yourself on the body part of your choosing. And steadily signed the dotted line completely missing how Smiles eyes had glowed faintly behind the holes of his mask.

His grip on the helm of the stamp he had splintered from the bubbling joy he felt at nabbing yet another prospective darling under his wing. The masked man could practically taste the sweet victory on his tongue. from beating his petty associate in a bet for whoever could pull in the most Darlings for their Yandere patrons.

“Well it’s been a pleasure. Welcome to the team Darling! Now let’s get you all prepped and ready for your debut to our lovely Patrons I’m sure you’d be a popular choice. ”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧

“Alrighty Mister Koori, your Yandere Patron ID is all set for the Darling cafe!” Chimed the Helper at the front desk, they were neither a darling nor a fellow Yandere patron and seemed to be a working third party between the two factions within the Darling cafe. “Thank you for taking the time to fill out the questionnaires, it’s just to make sure your profile is 100% accurate for future darling match making.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧

The Helper hummed, tapping away at the service patron screen. Glancing up at the giant Oni man, who was a whooping 10 feet tall. Making everything dwarfed from his size, where he had to duck his head to avoid his horns from scraping against the top of the front door entrance. “And seeing as you’ve invested in becoming a VIP member of ours would you like to see the latest edition of Darlings within our fine establishment?”

“…”

Wordlessly the Water Oni extended his huge calloused hand towards the attendant. Waiting for the catalog to be placed within his grasp his face remaining blank. Though his frosty eyes betrayed his nonchalance with a glimmer of interest.

“None of these will do.”

Shimo, grumbled underneath his tusks. Scanning over the catalog over trying to find someone who’d be the calm to his brewing storm. The only reason he even invested his time in coming out here. Despite his distaste for being in a public crowded setting.

Was because of his police patrol partner, Naan’s recommendation of the Darling cafe. Singing it high praise reviews of how the cafe helped them to successfully capture their own lover.

“Well sir how about you take a look at the exclusive selection for our VIP guests. I’m assuming you’re looking for the sunshine type of Darling, yes?” The Helper guessed and Shimo merely nodded truthfully. Liking how observant the worker was saving him from any needless chatter about what he was searching for.

The previous darlings on the public catalog looked so bland in his eyes. The Policeman wanted a darling who’d be his ray of sunshine on a rainy day. An optimistic type if you will, as it’ll complement against his cynical outlook on society. Thanks to his tireless job of catching felons and menaces to society for a living.

“This one…I want them to serve me.”

Shimo said softly, his claw tapping at your portrait within the exclusive catalog. Where your profile appeared underneath the Newbie Darlings listings. He admired the way you were so cute in the picture. Hair all messy with a sheepish smile on your lips, you looked as if you walked into a gust of wind which knocked you off kilter. And it was no doubt your newbie appearance that attracted him.

“Hoh? You’ve got a good eye! Luckily that darling has just been recruited to be working with us today on opening night. I’ll be sure to schedule the both of you to meet immediately” The rapid typing from the Helper alongside a sound ping coming from Shimo phone. Indicated that the date had been set for 9pm, right around where his shift would end.

With a chuff of satisfaction he tipped his hat towards the Helper and sauntered off ducking once more underneath the door frame. His cold heart thrumming with heat from the thought of being able to meet his prospective darling in just a couple hours.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧

[9:00pm Opening night of the Darling Cafe]

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧

The whistling bells from the door rang as a familiar giant figure slouched his way through the small entrance. Shimo, was dressed in a traditional Oni garb, of exotic divine beast furs, his iron club situated right upon the strap of his waist.

He already had a look of annoyance at hearing how chatty everyone was in the cafe. Dreading jam packed spaces as he was easily prone to anger given his temperament. Nonetheless, the blue oni was guided by the Helper who greeted him politely. Making way for the VIP section where the ogre was pleasantly surprised with how spacious and quaint the area was.

“Mister Koori, here is your VIP seating section. So whenever you come in you can just waltz on in here and get comfortable without needing to wait in line” They had booths tailored for Yandere Patrons of all shapes in sizes. Ranging from the Giant plus section for the bigger customers. And fairy sized section for the smaller ones.

The Helper then checked his watch. His eyes fixated on the moving hands before he grew a faint smile. “Well mister Koori the Newbie Darling you’ve requested will be arriving shortly! Just tap this button if you need my assistance or have any questions.”

With a polite bow the Helper waltzed away back to his station at the front desk leaving Shimo to his thoughts. But it wasn’t long until his train of thought derailed at feeling a cold splash on his attire alongside a faint presence falling against him. He blinked slowly, veins popping out one by one as his tusks grew in pure agitation. He was about to put his iron club to good use.

That is until he heard your apologetic frantic voice drowning in his ears like a pleasant water stream. His chilled glare softened seeing the newbie Darling he’d handpicked himself. Situated between his thighs clutching onto the server platter. Their outfit also covered in the daiquiri slush.

“I’m so sorry! Oh no your exotic furs— My god they look like they cost more than my life, Just give me a moment I’ll wash them myself ASAP—”

Your floundering made his lips twitch upwards a bit in a slight smile. He didn’t look like it but he did enjoy fucking with people despite his no nonsense attitude.

“It does cost more than your life. These furs came from divine beasts I killed myself. It wasn’t an easy feat.” The Water oni spoke, his words as tranquil as the ocean. Glowering down at you with a half lidded gaze. His large clawed fingers gently tilting your chin upwards so your eyes met with his own.

“I could file for destruction of property in this case. So what’re you going to offer me as compensation? To make me overlook this incident, Darling?”

.

.

.

Let me know if yall wanna see more of the Darling Cafe! ψ(｀∇´)ψ

[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/n: Literally I woke up today and thought that i had stabbed myself in my sleep because my whole body was aching, yep, no, it was just my period that started. Hell week may have started but at least I found energy enough to write this ♡

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Yandere content, period talk, super suggestive, implied kidnapped reader, gn!reader. Alucard is a little creepier here but I love him nonetheless.

The room was dark, the dim light of the bedside lamp casting weak shadows against the walls. You were curled up under a heavy blanket, trying to stave off the pain in your abdomen. The dull, aching throb was relentless, the cramps coming in waves that made you wish for anything that might provide some relief. But it wasn't just the pain that kept you on edge tonight — it was him.

Like a shark, you'll knew Alucard would come to check on you and the sudden smell of blood.

You knew Alucard was there before you even saw him. His presence was impossible to ignore, a suffocating weight that seemed to wrap itself around you, pulling the air from your lungs. It started with the faint sound of his chuckle echoing from the darkness, that rich, mocking tone that sent a chill running down your spine.

“Poor little thing." He cooed, his voice dripping with condescension. “Does it hurt?”

You didn’t answer, clutching the hot water bottle tighter against your stomach, trying to shut him out. But you knew that wouldn’t work.

It never did.

Alucard was, surprisely, a yapper. He could keep talking for hours on end for the both of you if he was in the mood. And right now, that seemed to be the case.

“Now, now, don’t be like that.” Alucard’s voice was closer now, and you felt the mattress shift as he settled himself right at your side, watching you with that twisted, predatory grin. “You should be used to me by now, shouldn’t you?”

You gritted your teeth, refusing to meet his gaze, but he wouldn’t allow it. His gloved hand reached out, cold and unyielding, grasping your chin and tilting your head to face him. Those eyes — burning crimson and impossibly bright — pierced through you and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“There we go,” He whispered, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, slow and deliberate. “That’s better.”

You tried to pull away but he only tightened his grip, holding you in place as he leaned closer, planting a chaste kiss on your lips before smiling. “Do you have any idea how irresistible you are right now?” He murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “The scent of your blood… it’s intoxicating.”

“Alucard, you're disgusting,” You managed, though your voice sounded weak even to your own ears.

His grin widened, sharp and wicked. “Oh, but blood is blood, darling, no matter where is coming from." He moved closer, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, an unnatural warmth that made your skin prickle.

“I can hear it, you know. The way your blood pulses, so warm, so inviting.” He paused, inhaling deeply, his eyes fluttering shut as if savoring the scent. “You’re practically begging for me to taste you.”

“Go to hell!” You snapped, more out of desperation than courage.

Alucard laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through the room. “I’ve been there, darling,” He said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “And I assure you, it’s not nearly as interesting as you are, not as tempting as you are.”

His hand left your chin, trailing down the side of your neck, fingers tracing the curve of your collarbone with an almost reverent touch. “You’re trembling,” He noted with amusement. “Is it fear? Or is it something else?”

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms as you struggled to maintain some semblance of control. But he noticed everything. “The pain,” He continued, “it must be excruciating, isn’t it?”

He let his hand drift lower, resting against your stomach, pressing down just enough to make you wince. “I could make it go away.”

You flinched, trying to pull back, but he only followed, leaning over you, his weight pinning you down. “All you have to do is ask, my love.” He whispered, his lips so close to your ear that you could feel the cool air of his breath.

“Why?” You managed to ask, your voice barely more than a ragged whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because,” Alucard smiled, his voice softening in a way that sent a new kind of fear curling through you, “I want you. All of you.” He moved his head, burying his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. “I want to consume you. To make you mine in every possible way.” His tongue flicked out, tasting the sweat on your skin, and you shivered violently.

“And this…” He pressed harder against your stomach, the pressure sending another wave of pain crashing through you. “This just makes you all the more irresistible.”

“You’re sick,” You spat out, your eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“Perhaps,” He conceded with a lazy smile, “But so are you, my love. After all, you’re the one who hasn’t tried to run away yet.” His eyes gleamed with triumph, knowing full well that even if you had tried, there was no escaping him.

“You crave this, don’t you?” His voice dropped, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “The pain, the fear… the way I make you feel.”

You shook your head, desperate to deny him, but you couldn’t stop the way your body reacted to his words, the way your breath hitched, the way your pulse quickened under his touch. And he noticed, of course.

He always noticed.

“Liar,” Alucard laughed, his mouth hovering just above your skin, his fangs grazing the sensitive flesh of your neck. “You can deny it all you want, but I can hear the truth.” He paused, savoring the way you trembled beneath him. “I can feel your heartbeat, so frantic, so desperate. It’s beautiful.”

Alucard shifted, pulling back just enough to look at you, his gaze searing into yours. “You belong to me,” He said, his voice a dark, possessive growl that sent shivers down your spine. "Keep lying to yourself, love, it's endearing to see."

With one last lingering touch, he finally pulled away, standing over you as his form seemed to dissolve into the shadows of the room. “Rest well, darling.” He purred, his voice echoing in the darkness.

“I’ll be back later. And when I return…” He paused, letting the silence stretch, his eyes flashing one last time before he disappeared completely, “I expect you to be just as delicious as you are now.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you alone in the silence, your heart pounding in your ears, your body trembling with a mixture of fear, anger, and something you refused to name. But as the pain in your abdomen flared up again, you couldn’t help but think about his words, the way he had touched you, the way his eyes had burned with something beyond hunger.

And in the depths of your mind, a terrifying thought took root — he would be back. And a part of you would be waiting.

[nubuckleather]

Low key what if Eddie isn’t spending all his free time sitting around and moping at the beginning of s8? Remember this man is the only member of the og 118 team who has an offscreen social life and knows how to make friends outside of his coworkers.

Buck is like “oh no poor Eddie we have to make sure he doesn’t feel alone,” meanwhile Eddie is playing basketball and poker and throwing himself into new activities like cheese-making classes and axe throwing and book club that he never had the time to try before

Buck rounds up Hen and Chimney and somehow even Ravi and they all show up at Eddie’s with beer and Scattergories but the house is dark and empty and then Buck gets a call from Tommy who’s like, “babe he’s out with Trevor and Ian from our pick-up games and apparently he’s drinking something called a ‘shark bowl margarita’”

[crappymixtape]

come a little closer

REQUEST → dear nonny, SUMMER BLURB PARTY ❝ 💬 prompt 58, “do i make you nervous?” where steve and reader are more acquaintances and have mutual friends? – tina invites you to a party while her parents are out of town, but aren’t you too old for this shit? and then you run into steve and, god you wished you’d said no • +18 ( a little king!steve, a little spice, a little frenemies and a little fluff • steve harrington x reader )

C O M E A L I T T L E C L O S E R 🎶 waiting for a girl like you, foreigner

This was easily the stupidest decision you’d ever made, telling Tina you’d come to her party and then actually showing up. Because you were too old for this shit. Because you’d been out of high school for a few years now and who partied like this anymore?

You shot Eddie and Robin a glare as they stood next to you snickering under their breaths. They’d dragged you along with everyone else to crowd down in the basement and wait outside a closet door to see if Tommy and Carol would ever come out.

Seven minutes in Heaven. The most asinine game of all time, but everyone was eating it up. It’d been well over seven minutes and you were tired of hanging out with a bunch of old high school acquaintances.

“I’m leaving,” you hissed at Eddie and he grabbed at your hand with ringed fingers.

“No, not yet,” came out in a whine, looking down at you with big, brown, puppy dog eyes.

“There is no way in hell I’m going in that closet.”

Eddie grinned, smile lines creasing his cheeks. “C’mon, it’s not that bad.”

“Eds, you need glasses. Look at this,” you waved an arm around at the potential candidates you’d have the ‘pleasure’ of sharing a small, dark, linen closet with.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “The worst is already in there,” he teased, “’sides, Harrington’s here.”

Harrington.

“Don’t even think about it,” you muttered and he grinned even wider.

“What? He’s nice now. Saved my ass more than a few times,” Eddie protested and you rolled your eyes.

“Absolutely not.”

Steve Harrington and his stupid member’s only jacket and perfectly coiffed hair and million dollar smile, the one that could – apparently – bag any girl he wanted. It had boggled your mind when Robin told you she’d made a new friend, Steve Harrington, can you believe it?? No, you couldn’t. Since when did King Steve buddy up with band geeks? A few shifts at Scoops Ahoy and you were already playing second fiddle to some asshole jock.

Well, not today. You didn’t need this.

Shooting back the last of the whiskey sour in your cup you gave the handle of the door one last glance and shook your head – stupid – but when you moved to leave the crowd gave a whoop.

“Shit, Tommy!” “Carol, oh my god, how was it??” “Did you find heaven?” “Gross!”

Tommy emerged from the closet triumphant, pumping a fist in the air with Carol under his arm, cheeks flushed and a big grin on her face. Everyone was eating it up and the thought of having to go in there with someone, anyone, made your stomach flip over.

“Eds, I’m going–”

“No–Sweetheart, stay!” he begged, nudging Robin with his elbow, “Right, Robs?”

“Are you kidding? No, you can’t leave. This is just getting good! What, are you nervous or something? Oh my god, you are! What’re you nervous about? Is it cos Peter Townsend is here? He’s so not your type–”

“Robin,” you hissed, cheeks flushed as every pair of eyes in the room settled on you.

“Wha–oh,” Robin chuckled and pasted on a piss poor excuse for a smile.

“You can’t go now,” Carol purred from under Tommy’s arm, “You’re up next, hon.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This wasn’t happening.

“Sorry, I have to be up early tomorrow for work and–”

“It’s only seven minutes,” Tommy sneered, the grin on his mouth pulling up at the edges – a shark with blood in the water.

You couldn’t breathe, air sucked out of your lungs as your grasped at straws, trying to muster up another excuse. You desperately looked to Robin and Eddie for help, but they were too busy whispering and giggling at your expense and your cheeks burned.

“Fine,” you pushed, trying your best to sound unbothered, chin tipped up in defiance.

“That’s more like it,” Tommy said with a whoop, rubbing his hands together, “And while you were too busy arguing with tweedle dee and dum over there we all decided you’re in with Harrington.”

Your stomach lurched dangerously, queasy and full of dread.

“But, I thought you were supposed to spin–”

“Nah, we put it to a vote,” Carol cut you off picking at her nails, “Better not keep him waiting.”

Keep him waiting? Your eyes frantically searched the sea of faces staring at you, but Steve wasn’t among them. When your gaze finally settled on the closet you saw it was just barely cracked, a shadowy figure shifting in the inky black just beyond.

You thought you were going to be sick, but you weren’t about to be made into a wuss. Turning to Eddie you grabbed his beer and chugged it in one go, then finished off whatever was in Robin’s cup too, shit, easy sweetheart.

“You’re on the clock,” Tommy goaded as Carol took hold of your hand and tugged you toward the closet.

“Have fun,” she teased, voice sing-songy, shoving you through the door and shutting it behind you, plunging you into darkness.

❝ MAYBE I’M WRONG, WON’T YOU TELL ME IF I’M COMING ON TOO STRONG?

Your eyes strained against the black of the small room, your body all too aware of there being someone else in there with you. It made the air thick, too warm and too close and the booze swimming through your veins had you feeling on edge.

“Thought you were gonna stand me up.”

Steve’s voice broke the tension and you jumped at the sudden noise, pulse fluttering against your neck.

“You’re lucky I didn’t,” you cut back, trying to stick to your guns, but then he shifted a little closer, his breath warming over you cheek, and it melted whatever resolve you had left.

“Ouch,” he half-laughed, arm brushing yours as he rocked on his feet.

It was slow, but your eyes were adjusting, dense black shadows blurring into soft indigos and violets and Steve’s face swam into focus. Thick, dark lashes framing warm, hazel eyes, the strong slope of his jaw, moles chasing across his neck and cheeks and that dumb grin. The one he was giving you now.

"This is stupid,” you muttered and Steve laughed, tutting at you.

“You didn't have to come, you know,” he teased and you gifted him with a particularly bratty eye roll.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” you snarked and it pulled the corners of his mouth up into a tiny grin.

“At the time, huh? Not anymore?”

You scoffed, shook your head and folded your arms over your chest, but the words wouldn't come. Stuck in your throat at the way you could feel the warmth of Steve's chest lingering just a few inches away, the scent of his cologne making you dizzy, hazy at the edges and all of a sudden unsure.

Shifting on his feet, Steve's toes bumped into yours as he put a hand on the wall next to your ear and leaned a little closer.

“Do I make you nervous?” he asked, his voice notched a little lower, closer, closer, closer, and it made something in your belly twist.

“Nervous?” you huffed a weak laugh, “Keep your pants on, Harrington. I don’t even know you.”

“D'you want to?” Your breath caught in your throat as he crowded over you and lifted a hand to tuck your flyaways behind your ear. “You can obviously do whatever you want, but–” his tongue flicked out to chase along his lower lip and heat pooled in your belly at the thought of what he might taste like, “–aren’t you a little curious?”

“Curious?” you breathed, voice barely above a whisper and he nodded softly.

“Yeah, what it would be like.”

You’d been in classes him with since grade school, watched as he won everyone over for popularity in middle school and shot to the top of the social pyramid in high school all while you lingered down at the bottom with Eddie and Robin and Jonathan, but you couldn’t deny it. Of course you’d looked at him just a little too long, eyes stuck on the way his Levi’s hugged in all the right places, heart racing when he smiled at you from down the hall.

“To kiss you?” you asked and he hummed, a low rumble in his chest.

“Only if you want to,” came out strained, a strangled sound as he pushed the words from his lips and you found yourself arching into him.

“I–” you started, lashes fluttering atop your cheeks, “–I want to.”

And Steve wanted it too, hadn’t realized just how down bad he was for you. You in those jeans. You and the way you seemed immune to his charms. You and your confidence and fire and disregard for everything ‘cool’ or ‘trendy.’

“You sure?” he asked again, body tensing as your hips bumped into his, jaw ticking as he bit down on the heat swelling his chest.

“Kiss me,” you whispered and he felt himself unravel at the way your voice edged on needy, a little desperate, a little bossy and God – you were hot.

His free hand moved to rest on your waist, fingers pressing into the plush of your hip, breaths falling heavy between you as he leaned down, down, down to capture your bottom lip between his and it was like a rubber band snapping.

Years worth of tension pulling and stretching and straining as you both played it all off like nothing. Like you didn’t care. The thought of you being with each other like this a joke, but the only people you were fooling was yourselves.

Steve tugged at your bottom lip and it pulled a sound from your throat that put him in the palm of your hand — soft, pliable, yours. He dropped his hand from the wall to grab at your other hip and you teetered a little off balance, grabbing at his shoulders to steady yourself.

Your arms looped around his neck too easy then, like they’d been doing it for years, like they’d mapped the curve of his neck and muscles pulled taut across his back a thousand times. Pressing your tongue to the seam of his lips he opened to you and you licked into him, tasted spearmint, cheap beer, Steve, and you wanted more.

He slotted a knee between your thighs and you gasped, a lovely pretty sound he wished he could keep forever, keening for him as he pressed your back into the wall. Parted your lips with a pop and dragged messy, open-mouthed kissed down your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder–

“Harrington, is your watch broken? Jesus it’s been like ten min–”

“Shit,” Steve stumbled away from you into the shelves full of towels as Tommy yarded the closet door open, the sight of you two dropping his mouth into a little ‘o’. Hair messed, foreheads dewy with sweat, lips kiss-bitten and a hicky sucked to your neck.

“My bad, did you need another seven?” Tommy grinned.

Head leaned back against the shelves, Steve squeezed his eyes shut, chin tipped up as he pushed a heavy sigh from his lungs and all too aware of the way the crotch of his jeans was way too tight.

“Yeah, maybe,” Steve hissed, hands tangled in his hair and it made you laugh. A soft, little thing without any heat behind it, cheeks flushed and pink.

“It’s all good, Hagan,” came out easy, confidence swelling where Steve’s had deflated, “We can finish it in the car.”

And God, Steve would’ve made a mess of his pants right then and there if you hadn’t pulled him from the closet and up the stairs out to your bronco with a bench seat more than wide enough to fit two people on top of it, more than confident you wouldn’t need another seven minutes.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[thegnomelord]

Shark

- 🦈

(Brainrot time! Blame dougielovelove for their new work. Had a bit of a bad day and i usually dont write spicy things

This one can be set in monster au. Readers a captain of a whole different task force meant for oceanic endevours. Im talkin the readers a shark hybird (biased) their lieutenant a whale hybird, sergent an orca or a pufferfish, their newest recurits a fuckin salmon, the works.

They're close knit, heck even poly if you want. Price and the Reader meet through connections with Laswell. They find out they hav the same target, price is stubborn and wont drop the mission, despite how most of his team is not suited for water.

Reader respects it and they work really well together. A bit too well, even to the point theyre considering merging the teams.

Completely honest, Price is starting to fall for their fellow captain. I mean how can you not, they've swooped in and saved them countless times, preventing the oceans waters from completely swallowing them in the dark abyss.

Not to mention his sergents and lieutenant are just the cutest, so eager to do well and work together with his own. Just protective instincts, hit him to the point hes pickin everyone up and scentin them. They're his hoard now.

Reader and Price are settleing paper work in his office. Readers busy writing down important information and signing off reports, but price cant help but stare. How swift his hands move as each words is made and written, how tight his claws grip the pen with every small minisucle flick of the pen.

He hiccups a small flame when their fellow captain decided to extravagantly spin his pen when he trys to recall the missing info. How smooth it moves between his blackened fingers, swirling and turning flipping all between nimble and flexible rough- and hes hard.

Reader realizes Price is distracted, before he can call out their name, he glances down just to see whats got him so wrapped up in his mind.

Now all i can think about is Reader forcing Price to focus and finish his paperwork while hes got both his assets shoved up his ass. Price is just a mess, making his paperwork a completely unusable. Yet, the reader still wants him to finish, becuase if he dosent Price definitely wont.

Or they decide to have some fun, release the pent up desire the poor dragons been keeping buried. A soilder be it 141 or be from the readers own team, walks in. Can't help but love how the stoic draconic captain looks so small and pathetic under his co-leader. Joining in on the fun just to see how wrecked this great leader can get.)

Okay, this is cool and my horny is up but I made a few changes as I like characters to be more mythological and just animal hybrids, though those are cool too

CW:NSFW, quick and rough, subbot Price, Gaz, Oc sergeant, domtop reader

Price loves you. But you are one cruel bastard.

Those big rough hands of yours trace his taught belly, webbed fingers making a shiver crawl up his spine and stealing what little thoughts are left in his head as one of your hands trails down the smooth scales of his tail. "Come on dear captain, just a few more pages to go." You purr, chest rumbling against his back like the thrum of an engine, your lips tickling his pointy earlobe.

Price swears he's going to die; pants around his ankles and legs spread, stretched so wide on both of your shafts he can feel your heartbeat by the way your cocks twitch against his walls, each labored breath making his hole clench down desperately, his own hard cocks left hard and unattended.

It would be one thing if you claimed him like he wants you to, pushed him flat on the desk and fucked into him like he's nothing but a bitch to pump full of your cum.

But you don't. You just sitting inside him, hard and throbbing and still despite how much he tries to tempt you by clenching down. Price finds himself cursing the amount of patience you have.

"Sweetheart," He groans, voice too light and whiny for his own ears, head thrown back to give you a heatless glare. "C'mon, don't tease me." Price tries to grind his hips down but you hold him firm.

"Not until you finish those reports." You grunt, authoritative, and Price is stuck between wanting to bite you in revenge and trying to stifle a pathetic whine. "Go on, you only have a few pages left."

Those damn reports. Price can barely read his own handwriting, a light tremor in his fingers from the way your cocks press against his prostate. "Cruel bastard." He growls, sucking in a breath and clenching around you.

His chest flares with pride the second your claws dig into his body, not even your mind able to hold back the animalistic need to buck into the tight willing heat surrounding you. But it's a double edged sword — a hiccup of flame sparks from his mouth, your cockheads bumping his prostate and making a bead of precum spurt from his cocks.

"As if you're any better." You growl in his ear, your hair tickling his skin as you roughly nip at his though hide, pleasure and pain loosing their borders in his mind.

He doesn't notice the nicking on the door, but Price is ready for hell to swallow up when he finally registers the door open, his blue eyes rising to meet Sullivan — your hippocampus sergeant — who looks just as mortified to walk in on you like that as Price.

Sullivan's dark horse ears flicker back, the iridescent scales along his cheeks turning from ocean green to a vibrant embarrassed pink, "I- is this, this a- I can leave if, if, if- this looks like a-" The poor man stumbles over his words, eyes bouncing between Price's debauched form and your amused face.

It gets worse when Gaz pokes his head in behind Sullivan, "Hey captains are you-" His jaw falls, pupils dilating like he's a crow that just saw a shinny penny. "-oh."

You just chuckle, rough voice putting Sullivan at ease. "At ease boys," You snort, don't even attempt to hide anything, one hand sliding down to stroke his cock, so slick with his precum that his shaft slides through your hand just from you squeezing it. "Need something boys?"

Even from here Price can see the way Sullivan's eyes darken as well at the deep moan that tumbles out of Price's throat and Price has to bite his lip to keep the noises in check.

"I-" Sullivan sucks in a breath, scales slowly turning to the shade of an overcooked lobster. "I. . . I forgot."

"Can we join?" Gaz asks, chuckling at Sullivan's wide-eyed look. "What? As you weren't thinking it." He shrugs and places a kiss on his cheek when Sully nods meekly.

"I don't know." You hum, letting go of Price's cock to tilt his head to you, meeting his eyes. "Do you want your boys to help you keep focused?"

Price swallows, knows that all that awaits him should he accept would be pleasurable torture, but his bones burn with the need to have his hoard close to him, taking care of him for a change. "Yeah," He growls, less whiny and more demanding.

You hum and roll the chair back to create space for the two men beneath the table, "On your knees." You don't miss the way the authority in your voice makes both men shiver.

"You heard him," Gaz grins and pulls Sullivan towards you two by the hand, reminding you more of a puppy than any harpy as he happily gets on his knees.

Your gaze skirts to Sullivan as he tentatively settles on Gaz's right, pitch black eyes hidden behind that fringe you keep telling him to cut. "You alright with this Sully?" You ask, knowing the man's sexual experience is limited to one girlfriend and your team, and even then he's shy about many acts. "You don't need to do something you're unsure about. No one is going to be mad."

"I, yes. I want this." He swallows, looking back at you. "I, uh. . . I got some pointers." He says shily.

Gaz just snickers and throws his arm over Sullivan's shoulder. "I helped," He says proudly, wing spreading out to wrap around Sully's back.

"Rubbing off on my sergeant already huh?" You snort, your attention turning to Price when he growls, capturing his lips in a kiss to placate his demanding draconic side while your hand lets go of his cocks — an open offering to the two sergeants.

"Only in a good way." Gaz grins and leans in, opening his mouth and pink little tongue lolling out to lick at one leaking cock like he knows Price likes, lips wrapping around the tapered head and sucking on it, amusement bubbling in his chest when you hold Price's hips firm so he can't buck up.

Sullivan follows suit, less confident but still willing, holding the other cock in his smooth scalled hand and tentatively giving the crown a kiss, dark eyes watching both of your reactions as he slowly trails kisses around the cumhole, growing bolder with every small whimper until he's gently suckling on the tip like Gaz had done.

"You're doing good Sully," You praise, even your voice is hoarse from the way Price squeezes down on you now that the two sergeants are servicing his cocks. "You too Gaz." You reach down to gently pet his hair so Kyle doesn't feel left out, "Both of you, so good for me and Price."

Price, for his sake, may as well be a mindless animal from the way his brain is steadily melting out of his cocks like a lit candle, moaning low in his throat, his eyes closed to just feel the pleasure that's assaulting him on both ends. He can tell the difference between Gaz's and Sullivan's mouths, the duality of firm swipes of the tongue across his shaft and the kitten licks on his most sensitive parts making his head swim, hips trying uselessly to fuck into the hot mouths and your own cocks.

He whines when you grip his hips firmly. "No," You snort, both arms keeping his hips still so he can do nothing but endure. "You're not getting off until the job's finished."

Price shivers, "Bastard." He growls weakly, his eyesight blurry as he tries to focus on the document.

"Pot, kettle." You grin against his skin, helping guide his arm towards the documents where he left off. "C'mon, it's just a few pages, then your sergeants will be able to reward you fully."

[roses-r-rosie3]

Cool With You

Tim Drake x Parent!M!Reader

Warnings: angst subject, fluff, suggestive bi!reader, struggling!parent!reader, kinda long fic,

Summary: While on patrol, Tim comes across the reader who is being harassed by loan sharks in an alleyway. When Tim saves the reader, he notices a baby is in the reader’s arms and before he can ask any questions the reader walks off. Tim decides to track the reader down and talks to him at the park.

A/n 1: This post is inspired by @strangeshoepatrolbandit

A/n 2: this was originally supposed to be one long story but I decided to split this into separate parts so that you guys had something 😭

Quote: “So… uhh… rough day huh?”

✁ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was a dark and stormy night in Gotham and Tim was out on patrol as usual. There was surprisingly nothing really happening that night so Tim decided to call Alfred and just have a chat.

In the middle of their conversation, Tim heard some noises in an alleyway, so he decided to check it out. It could’ve been some rats digging the garbage can for some food, but something in Tim’s gut was telling him that it wasn’t. Lo and behold there were some guys in the alleyway surrounding someone and harassing them.

“Hey fellas, what are you up to?” Tim asked.

One of them immediately turned around and tried to attack Tim. The guy tried punching Tim, but quickly got knocked out. As soon as the first guy went down, the rest of them immediately went after him. One by one, Tim knocked all of them to the ground until it was only him and the person they were surrounding.

“T-thank you so much sir!” The guy said.

Tim took a moment to look at the guy’s face. He looked so handsome, so innocent. Were those people trying to mug the poor guy or something? But that’s when Tim noticed that the guy had a baby in his arms. Who’s baby was that? It couldn’t possibly be the guys, he looked far too young to even be a father.

“Is that a bab-”

“Sorry I have to go” the guy said quickly before walking off quickly.

Tim didn’t even have time to process what you said before you zoomed away. When Tim finally came to his senses, he tried to see if you were nearby, but you disappeared. That was really weird.

After that night, Tim couldn’t stop thinking about that guy. He was stuck in Tim’s head, so much so that Tim decided to do some research and try to crack who that guy was. After weeks and weeks of investigating, Tim finally found out who the guy was.

A guy named y/n l/n. A former college student who dropped out due to unknown reasons. You used to be the top of your class, you would’ve even been valedictorian. But one day you just dropped out without an explanation.

Tim found out that you worked several part-time jobs to pay rent for your crappy apartment. He felt bad for you, from what he’s seen, you came from a wealthy background, you had good looks, good grades, good friends, and a good social status. But what happened? Why was that baby in your arms? What did those guys want from you?

Those are the questions that Tim wanted to find an answer to. He decided that he was going to follow you for a whole week, just to get an idea of your schedule so that he could “accidentally” bump into you.

He found out that you just worked the whole day, but the only time you weren’t working was to go home, and to go to the park to relax during your break. Bingo, he knew exactly what he was going to do. For the first time in a while, Tim actually made sure to get a good nights sleep beforehand. What were you doing to him?

It was the day that Tim was planning to “accidentally” bump into you. Tim was feeling really happy and giddy, was it because he finally got a good night’s rest or was it because he was excited to see you?

You usually walked into the park around 3:30pm so Tim just had to wait for you to sit on the bench where you usually sat. When you finally arrived you immediately sat down at your designated bench.

Tim felt a bit nervous at first, was he being too creepy? Should he have just let you be? But regardless, Tim took a deep breath before walking up to you.

“Hey can I sit here?” Tim asked.

“Yeah, of course” you smiled.

Tim sat down awkwardly and you both sat there in silence for a good five minutes before Tim spoke up.

“So… uhh… rough day huh?” Tim said.

“Don’t even get me started” you chuckled.

“Work problems?” Tim “guessed”.

“Yeah, I work all day. I barely have time to spend with my kid, he spends more time with my neighbors than he does with me” you joked.

“You have a kid?” Tim said.

“Yeah, I accidentally got a girl pregnant when I was at a party. We decided to keep it but she didn’t want to be a mom so she gave up her parental rights. I don’t blame her but it’s kinda hard you know?” You confessed.

Tim started putting the pieces together in his head slowly but surely. The reason why you dropped out was to take care of the baby.

“I-I’m sorry if I overshared” you apologized.

“No, no, you’re fine, how’s life like with the baby? Tim asked.

“It’s pretty hard, but I’ll always be grateful that I have him, I honestly don’t know what I would do” you chuckled.

“What’s his name?” Tim asked.

“Theo” you smiled, thinking about the image of your child.

“That’s a wonderful name” Tim complimented.

“Thanks” you said.

It went silent again and for some reason, Tim just felt attached to you. He wanted to get to know more about you, but not in a “I need more information about him” kind of way, more like a, “I want get to know more about him” kind of way.

“Hey uh, I can watch him for you if you want to” Tim suggested.

“It’s fine I don’t want to trouble you, and I’m pretty low on money right now, so I wouldn’t really have anything to pay you with” you replied.

“I can do it for free” Tim said.

“Really? Thank you so much, you have no idea how much that means” you exclaimed.

I know what you’re thinking, ‘why would you just trust some random stranger that you just met with your baby?’. Something in your gut was telling you to let him.

“My name is Tim by the way” Tim smiled.

“Y/n” you smiled back.

You pulled out your phone to check the time, and your break was almost over already!

“Shit, sorry but my break is almost over” you said.

“Can I get your phone number before you go?” Tim asked.

“Oh, yeah sorry about that” you said before typing in your number on Tim’s phone.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then” you smiled before waving bye to Tim.

Tim looked on as you slowly walked away. When you were finally out of his eyesight he started looking back on the conversations until he realized something….

HE OFFERED TO BABYSIT! Tim couldn’t even take care of himself properly! Let alone a baby! WHY?! WHY WOULD HE DO THIS TO HIMSELF!

Tim took some deep breaths before slowly calming down. Who knows maybe babysitting won’t be that hard. He spent the whole night looking up videos of how to change diapers and take care of a baby. All he could do now is pray that all we go well….

[nofingjustaninchident]

Hi, I just read your two Jason fics and I love them. Could you write a daughter of Poseidon x Jason and maybe Percy being a overprotective brother. Thanks. Love you

⛧° jason grace x daughter of poseidon! reader hcs °⛧

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

content: jason grace x daughter of poseidon! reader, platonic!percy jackson x reader

warnings:

a/n: guys, i reached 100 likes with just two posts omg you're amazing!!! so, i kinda got a few other requests waiting, but they’re TOO good to make just headcannons or to be poorly written, so they’ll take a little while longer to be posted. nothing much, tho (i hope). enjoy!

Protective is an understatement.

Percy is literally the most protective brother ever, even if you're just one year younger than him.

He feels as if he's job to protect you from everything and everyone that could possibly think about hurting you.

So when you started hanging out more with him and his friends, he couldn't have made it more clear to all of them that you were completely and totally off limits.

But did this silly little rule stop Jason to date you?

Of course it did!

My baby is just too obedient and such a rule follower... poor boy

Anyways, you had to make the first move.

Even with that, he was pretty hesitant to do anything such as holding hands in public.

In reality, he wasn't afraid of Percy, he just didn't want the other boy to get mad with him.

So, one day, you called both Percy and Jason to have a very serious conversation in the Poseidon cabin.

Percy was, as usual, completely clueless about anything, so he just babbled with Jason.

Who, by the way, was a complete mess of blushing and stuttering.

You obviously thought it as endearing, cause it really was.

"You're probably wondering why i called you here today." you said, a wicked smile on your face.

Percy was hugged with his plushie (you had matching shark plushies, Dory and Nemo) while Jason wanted to dig a hole in the floor and never come back from it.

"What's up, sis? If it's something to do with missing chocolate, i have nothing to do with it." The dark haired boy said, smiling.

Little did he knew that smile was gonna fade in three seconds.

"Me and Jason, we're dating." You said, quickly.

Percy's face fell.

"W-what?" He asked, his eyes darkening.

"We're dating. Like, boyfriend and girlfriend."

"So... you're dating Jason. Not Leo?" Percy asked.

"No, why would i date Leo-" You were cut off by a grateful sigh coming from your brother's mouth.

"Thanks the gods. As long as it's not Leo, i can handle it."

Jason turned to him for the first time, as if he wasn't even believing the words he just heard.

"Just... break her heart and i'll break your neck." Percy said with a threatening smile and patted Jason's back, leaving the cabin.

Alright, enough of the Jackson drama, back to Blond Superman.

He's the literal sweetest person alive.

He👏🏼learnt👏🏼 how 👏🏼to 👏🏼swim👏🏼 for👏🏼 ya

Bro's whipped

And he took Percy's words as his life rules

He made his best to make you happy whenever you're with him

Like, literally anytime

Once you cried next to him cause a fish didn't talk to you (it was a plastic fish, but you were on ur period, okay?)

He literally took you to the beach so you could chat and gossip with the real fishes

And you were so happy he nearly melt at that sight

That's when he knew he had fell in love with you

Romantic dates EVERY WEEK

He bribes the Demeter kids to give him your favorite flowers every once in a while

He always keeps some sort of physical touch, doesn't matter if he's holding your waist, your hands, touching pinkies

You got the point

He's just too madly in love

For him, you're the most beatiful, unique, hot, perfect, powerful, hot, smart, hot, strong, HAVE I MENTIONED HOT, person in the whole world

Literally, he would kiss your feet if you asked him to

He's glad you don't, actually

He stopped eating anything that comes from the marine animals after you got together.

Like, absolutely anything

Oh, and i've mentioned this on a previous hc, but he literally pays for absolutely ✨everything✨

Like, honey, don't even come near your wallet

Oh, and he buys you lots of gifts constantly

From plushies to books to makeup to sketch books in case you like drawing

And he's totally a languages guy

And with your ADHD and dyslexia, he helps you a lot

And you help him with maths.

Of course, he always has a nickname for you.

"Hey, mermaid?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

[ephemerensis]

Steamroller // Tim Drake x GN! Reader

happy new year! little enemies to lovers kind of thing kind of (theyre just like on opposite ends and they don’t really know it). stalker update for all interested parties: i think he’s starting to lose interest and give up 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️! also i graduated! yippee! NOT proofread.

—

Your favorite nights were ones like these, windswept and carefree as you sped down an empty street on your motorbike. With the last of your tasks wrapped up for the week, it was smooth sailing until the next rotation. Or so you thought before you heard a familiar grating voice bark at you, swinging into the view of your side mirror and chucking something at you.

Switching lanes, you narrowly avoided the batarang that came whizzing by. This guy again. Swinging your bike back around, you pushed the brakes to screech to a halt.

“Nice try bat rat, maybe aim next time!”

If it wasn’t so dark, you’d see the scowl plastered on his face as he stalked towards you. Red Robin hated you, and that was an understatement. Which was fine, you didn’t like him much either.

“Didn’t need to,” he spat. Pressing a button on his suit started up something like the sound of metal scraping pavement behind you. Before you could react, the sharp little object he threw at you came reeling back where it came, and the wheezing sound of your back tire losing air came with it. He threw a grappling hook at you.

“You’ve got to be joking.” In a way, it was your fault for taunting the guy. But this was the sixth encounter this week, if he wasn’t constantly out to get you, you’d think he were in love.

“What were you doing at the rendezvous point Penguin set up?” He stalked towards you, for what you weren’t sure. Sometimes he just wanted to provoke you, other times he’d just go for the swing. But you didn’t have time for that today.

“Intel, not that it’s your business.” You ripped a patch out from your utility belt, slapping it on the tire he just rudely tore a hole in before applying pressure to see if it’d last the way back.

“I’ll decide what my business is.”

“You stalking me everywhere says otherwise.” The tire sank more than you would’ve liked, but it would do. He stopped ten feet in front of you; looks like he didn’t want to fight tonight either. You rummaged through your pockets for good measure.

“I am not stalking you. You’re just where trouble happens to be.”

“Yeah. If that helps you sleep at night.” When your fingers brushed against the smooth plastic you were searching for, you mounted the bike again, turning on the headlights and adjusting your mirrors. It’s important to drive safe. “Anyways! Move.”

“What-“ Before he could finish his thought you pushed on the accelerator, watching him dive out of the way. It’s a shame his reflexes were so fast, if you ran him over he’d be out of commission for at least a month.

You tossed the plastic discs behind you as you sped off, leaving a flush of smoke behind you. He was good, but he wouldn’t be able to trace you with this.

Mercenary work never really was for you, let alone vigilante work. But growing up poor in Gotham and constantly grappling with loan sharks and the other unsavory groups your parents brought upon your family taught you a few things. And you found out you were pretty good at getting things done, the sneakier stuff: spying, stealing, occasionally taking out single targets, the quiet things. It felt bad but being hungry felt worse, survival of the fittest or something like that.

You were so good you paid it all off, and made a profit; enough to get yourself and your brother through college, and give the ol’ crime lords the slip. And things were good.

You liked your 9 to 5 office job, sorting through papers and typing on your laptop. You liked talking to your neighbors and inviting them over on the occasion for taco night. You liked your partner and the cozy apartment you lived in together.

Until your useless brother threw it all away, talking to the wrong people, getting into debt again, throwing around your name where it would mean anything, and it was square one.

So now you’re here. Running from some vigilante freak that has it out for you when you haven’t even done anything all that bad; it’s the people you work for he should be worried about. Instead he wants to breathe down your neck every night of the week, and he fails, every time. Maybe that was why he got so mad, as if there aren’t bigger fish to fry.

When you got back to your apartment, it was almost three in the morning. Slipping in as quietly as you could manage, you breathed a sigh of relief to find all the lights still off. Your boyfriend, Tim, always sleeps with a night light on, something about being scared of the dark. Lucky for you, he worked ungodly hours which made sneaking around a lot easier.

You’d just slipped into your pajamas when you heard the front door open and someone flicked the lights on. You could tell Tim was frustrated by the way he walked, brisk and heavy as he tugged off his coat and tossed his tie into the abyss. But he softened when he saw you, stopping in his tracks with an almost guilty look on his face, like he was sorry for feeling anything but joy in your presence.

“Oh hey, were you waiting up for me? I told you not to.” You shook your head, making your way over to press a kiss to his cheek and hold his hands. They were still cold from outside, the walk from the parking garage must’ve been treacherous.

“Are you okay?,” you asked, running your thumbs over the back of his hands. They were rough hands, surprising for a rich boy, but in your palms they were always so gentle.

He let out a breath, laughing a little before settling into a rueful smile, “I can’t get anything past you, can I? I’m okay. Just work stuff.”

“What kind of work stuff?” You tightened your grip on him, tugging him over to sit with you on the couch. He complied, leaning on your shoulder as he sunk into the cushions.

“Just something I can’t quite… resolve.” He sounded so tired. Business always went well, and Tim was a genius, it was a wonder how he ran into so many problems in the office. Sometimes you wanted to reach into that pretty skull of his and take a peek into his brain, maybe he was just overthinking things, or maybe you’d finally understand that you could never understand. Both would soothe you.

“Yet. Everything works out in time, and you’re the best I know. Can I help?” You felt him tense when you ran your hand over his shoulder, pulling away immediately to check on him. But before you could manage to ask he reached for you, shaking his head.

“No. It’s sensitive material. I’m okay,” he insisted, leaning on you again as he perched his arms neatly where they would fit around you. “Can we just stay like this for awhile?”

It was a good thing he never asked for anything malicious, because you’d say yes to just about anything he asked.

“Yeah.” You’d never known power so intimately before you held his skull to your chest. The way he surrendered himself and was whole, shedding the burdens of his responsibilities entirely to be vulnerable for a moment. But it was coupled by an intense fear, that his trust was rare and very easily abused or misguided if you weren’t careful. And if you weren’t, it felt as if he wouldn’t ever be vulnerable again.

“Thank you, and I love you,” he whispered. Your tired, hardworking boy.

“I love you more,” you answered.

It turns out the “I’m okay” business was a massive tri-colored bruise that bloomed on his left arm. He was careful to hide it, and if you didn’t wake up a little earlier than usual you would never have known. You didn’t ask, clearly he didn’t want you to, but you were concerned— and moreso curious. He did spar with his siblings, this you knew, but they’d never do something like that to him. Maybe he was sleep deprived and got stuck between the elevator doors somehow, you wouldn’t put it past him. If you had time later, you could check in while he’s in the office, drop off dinner or something to make sure he wasn’t getting picked on.

You got up an hour after him, as you always did. There was a rhythm to your morning routine that you adored, it was comfortable; reliable. Tim made the coffee, and you made breakfast. When you first moved in together he’d offered to cook, being the one to get up first and all, but he was hopeless. Anything beyond instant noodles was a fire and food safety hazard. And you made a mean scrambled egg.

You cooked so he did the dishes, a compromise you never objected to— it was your least favorite house chore. You’d loop his tie for him when he was done, and he’d kiss you on the forehead to leave first. Your job started a little later.

At least it would if you hadn’t requested a temporary leave of absence while you worked for Gotham’s worst. You had to report whatever intel you gathered yesterday night to Black Mask. He’d have another assignment for you after, you were sure. But if you were efficient with these things, it could all be over in a month or so.

That’s what you told yourself as you waved him out the door. Thursday nights Tim usually got back at a human hour, if you could wrap up business early you could be home by the time he was too.

Black Mask was waiting for you by the time you got there, unsurprisingly. It never got easier looking at him, freakish and impossible to read, behind his skeletal metal teeth.

“Penguin’s plan?” He’d asked before you had the chance to fully enter the room, eager as ever to maintain his grasp on power. Breathing isn’t worthwhile unless you’re winning he told you once.

“He wants to spread some influenza with his birds. It’s not serious, but the cure he’s selling is. It’s highly addictive and one of a kind. I got photos on this drive.” You placed it on the man’s desk, pushing it towards him as far as you’d dared. “He’s colluding with the woman who runs the second biggest pharm-tech company in the city. It has a six week timeline, some of it was in motion last week so five from here out.”

“Okay.” Without missing a beat he’d already decided your next assignment, “get me the cure.”

“Four people have access. A team or a raid would be better suited.” You took a breath to answer him. This wasn’t possible, at least not easily. It wasn’t a job you wanted to take, and it wasn’t practical. Money wasn’t Black Mask’s pursuit, it should’ve been enough just to thwart his enemies, not profit from them.

“I don’t pay you to argue.”

You had to swallow the fear that crept up your throat. Fear of death was always within reach, that much was obvious when you took on mercenary work, but the fear Black Mask brought on was a little more primal. Something instinctual you had to ignore.

You couldn’t take this job. The both of you knew it would go over the hours you were signed for, anything that could arouse suspicion from your normal life was carved into stone as off limits. Tim couldn’t know, that was the rule. And this assignment could take you weeks, “…it breaches our contract.”

“I pay overtime. And let me remind you, you’re in no position to say otherwise.”Disagreeing twice was a hefty endeavor and the man was right, you had your brother to consider. It’s always funny, the way you think you have any say in things. “Get me the cure.”

You didn’t have time to pack up, leave a note, or meal prep dinner. It was burdensome to disappear, at least a little. But Tim would be okay; hurt, but okay. It’s not like he’d miss you terribly, he was working over-overtime as it was, and you hoped he would forgive you when you got back.

So you vanished. It was quiet work, mostly tailing people to get a lead, working to worm your way in to the right social circles, sorting through files while people slept.

Red Robin was looking for you, or at least investigating your activity. He’d have caught you a few times now if you weren’t more focused on working during the day. Not that he knew what was going on, that much was evident. Not that he would be able to do anything if he did run into you again anyway, that boy just kept losing. Or maybe he didn’t want to win.

It was hard to know what his objective was. Just that he thought you were bad news and made things harder than they needed to be. But he did intrigue you. Righteous Red Robin never fought dirty and it was a little flattering how he was insistently so hot on your trail. Maybe you’d tease him about it after this whole ordeal and he could throw another grappling hook at you.

It only took two weeks to gather enough standing in Penguin’s sphere to have access to his office. With all the snooping you’d done, you knew every possible password and key you’d need to access the files for Black Mask. If you broke in tonight, you’d be by daylight. Theoretically.

So you took to it. It wasn’t hard to break in once you knew where everything was. Nothing was terribly discreet, just about as hidden as valuables would be in someone’s home. Getting into the main computer was a breeze, you’d talked up enough patrons and underlings for them to spill every access code they knew. As you slipped in a USB to transfer the remaining files you needed, a familiar set of footsteps sounded behind you.

Brisk, decided, and determined to be quiet, you knew he was lurching forward with a right hook before you had the chance to turn around. You jerked your body out of the way before he could make contact, putting as much distance between the two of you as you could manage. Thankfully the file transfer already started before he rudely interrupted your heist, you just needed to buy time.

“Can we not do this today?” You couldn’t help the annoyance creeping under your skin; Red Robin’s timing couldn’t have been worse. If he’d shown up ten minutes later you would’ve been gone. Of all the times to barge in, he chose to when you were just about done.

But he was faster than he usually was, before your thoughts could finish flowing through your skull he was throwing something at you again; muttering a sharp, “shut up,” in tandem. A gasp left you as it grazed your cheek, he’d never drawn blood before, even so minutely.

Before you had a chance to react he was on you, swinging his staff with enough force to kill a man. It was all you could do to avoid it before the next swing came, overbearing and deadly, unlike you’d ever seen from him. Any ounce of annoyance left in you evaporated in favor of fear and adrenaline, he was angry.

“What is your problem? If this is about running you over, I knew you’d dodge it!” The knives you had tucked away in your boot straps were useless, you didn’t have time to reach for them and even if you had them there were no openings to intervene. With a stroke of luck, he hit the wall hard enough for his staff to get stuck, giving you enough time to make a run for the window. The files would have to wait.

Just as you were reaching to pull up on the windowsill, a batarang caught the fabric of your shoulder, pinning you to the wall. Another grazed your outreached hand, distancing you further from your escape route.

If you were scared of Black Mask, you were terrified of Red Robin. Or at least, this state of him. You’d never noticed before how the whites of his mask looked like headlights, barreling towards a sundered deer. With whatever cognition you had left, your uninjured hand reached for the dagger in your boot, but you were slow and he wasn’t feeling gracious. He grabbed your wrist with one hand, pinning it next to your shoulder, and with the other he jerked you forward by your collar.

A glimpse of metal hanging on your neck made his scowl deepen and you winced for whatever he would throw at you next. But instead of a punch or getting hit with a blunt object, you felt the release of pressure when he snapped the dainty silver chain from you.

“Where did you get this?” he barked. There was something off about the way he said it, untethered. The necklace in question wasn’t something controversial; a chain with a pendant Tim had inscribed with his initials next to yours.

It wasn’t particularly valuable, nothing anyone would steal, but it meant something untouchable to you. Exactly eight months into dating he told you he loved you for the first time and presented you with it. The letters were rough around the edges from mistakes in sanding and carving when he etched the metal for you himself. And now it was being dangled in front of you, a reminder of all you could stand to lose if things went wrong. So easily snatched from you, as if they never belonged in the first place.

“Give it back.” You moved to sweep your leg under his feet, kick him, whatever you could to get it back and get out. It wasn’t fair in the slightest, he should know it wasn’t something to steal. But he just tightened his grip on your wrist and kneed your ribs once hard enough for you to keel over and stop moving.

“Where did you get this?” His anger was building, you could hear, but you didn’t care much anymore. He didn’t have the right.

“It’s mine,” you spat through gritted teeth.

“Liar.” A pang of confusion hit you, as if this were something to lie about. He was in your face now, and you glared back behind your own mask. If he didn’t back off soon you had half a resolve to bite his nose off. “What did you do to the owner? This is your last chance.”

Like Red Robin could do anything to you. You felt like a dog backed into a corner, sure enough. But upper hand or not, no one wins in a fight against a rabid dog, even if you manage to put it down.

“And I’m telling you for the last time, it’s mine.” But if you get put down, you can’t crawl back. The courage behind your words was starting to sound like desperation. “My boyfriend gave it to me and you need to give it back.”

And then your resolve was gone altogether, a plea more than a demand, for absolution. Your voice quivered on the last few words, maybe it was for the better, it seemed like that was the only part he heard anyway.

The blood in your wrist started flowing again as he let go of it, looking at you with something akin to terror. Swallowing lead, you considered taking the chance to run; rip the sleeve that was caught and book it. But something held you there, vulnerability? Or some deviant of the terror he was feeling. Your legs wouldn’t move now.

He was slow in reaching for your mask. You must’ve been slower, because you didn’t stop him. You couldn’t do anything at all, not with the way your heart was pounding in your ears. Everything in you was screaming all at once, but you couldn’t understand a thing they were saying and it was getting hard to breathe.

You squinted to adjust your vision once the mask was off, and something wet slid down your cheek. Dust must’ve gotten under the thing, you weren’t one to cry.

“Y/N?” He’d caught you and you let it happen. You heard the chain clink on the floor, and you were so sorry to Tim that you let it happen. Soiled something he put time into. Maybe it was fitting, you always took that boy for granted.

You flinched when he reached for you, pressing your eyes shut. But Red Robin didn’t cuff you like you expected. Knock you out, threaten you, chain you to a street lamp outside for the police to collect. Instead you felt arms wrap around you, hefty and secure, a welcoming warmth in juxtaposition to the cold, stagnant office air. And you knew these arms, and you knew this feeling, and you knew this scent.

“Tim?” It came out like a squeak, you didn’t intend that.

And then his head was buried in your shoulder again, his spot as it’d always been. “I thought someone took you.”

He took the liberty of freeing you from the wall first, and you dropped to the floor. Your knees felt like jello. It made sense, some of it. The late nights and the injuries.

“Without a ransom note?” you murmured. You didn’t know what else to say. It’d been Tim the whole time.

“Don’t joke.” He knelt beside you, tucking a stray strand behind your ear. After the shock, the guilt came barreling in. You caused his injuries. You got in his way. You ran away without saying anything. You’d been hurting him the whole time.

“I’m sorry.” You squeaked for the second time. After the guilt was the confliction. You didn’t know to do. Half reaching for him, half shying away.

So Tim grabbed your hands, stilling you completely with just that. He pulled a strip of cloth out of his belt to wrap around the palm he cut moments before. It was shallow, nothing that would scar.

He was probably as confused as you were, quiet to sort out the events as they’d unfolded— and the before. There was a lot to ask and a lot to explain, you wouldn’t know where to start. And if you did start, you didn’t know if you could stop. It was too much. You were tired. There were time constraints. The first bit of reality slipped itself into your mind, the two of you weren’t the only two in the world and you were here on a job. “Please don’t ask, I’ll tell you when I have the heart but please don’t ask. I might cry. I’m sorry.”

“You’re already crying.” His thumbs brushed your tears away as if just to prove it. But they stayed after, running the pad of his fingers over your cheeks for as long as you’d let him. A soothing pattern.

“Am I? I’m sorry.” Your eyes were locked onto him, and you knew he was looking back even if his eyes weren’t visible. The longer you stared, the more the tears seemed to flow. And you couldn’t fathom why you were crying.

“For what?” He said it as if nothing were wrong, and that’s all it took for the dam to burst. Flinging your arms around him to cry your worth into his shoulders. You didn’t deserve this boy.

“I love you,” you sobbed.

“I love you more,” he answered.

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

extremely unpopular ship but. marc/luca with 24 + 21

marc/luca: 21 (biting) + 24 (dacryphilia)

Luca braces for it like he braces for hitting the ground after being highsided off his bike. Marc saying you’re nothing like Valentino or you’re just like Valentino. Or—God fucking forbid—being sorry about how shit the Honda is. Poor boy, wasting his career on a comeback that won’t deliver.

He never does. Which is half the reason that they’re doing this, in the first place.

It’s not an accident, is the thing. Luca enjoys making mistakes with his eyes wide open.

He grinds up into Marc, dirty, slow sweeps, right against his prostate. The wet squelch of lube echoes gunshot loud between them, accusatory—as does Marc’s breathless little gasp. Luca keeps at it, again, again, again, so he’ll get another one of those noises, but Marc only throws his head back, puts it against his shoulder, miles of smooth, tanned skin in his bobbing throat.

Pretty, Luca thinks, a hysterical little laugh stuck behind his teeth, shaking when he runs a forcibly idle touch over Marc’s waxed, soft thighs.

“More?” He asks, careful.

Marc nods—open-mouthed, greedy—and drags him to hold his cock. Luca’s hands are calloused, bony, dry. Probably doesn’t feel that good, in retrospect. Marc bucks into his grip anyway, fucks into his slightly unsteady fist with abandon, like he’s bending a bad bike to take a tricky corner.

Luca bites into the soft insides of his cheek. Focus.

So he leaves a bite on Marc’s throat next. Mean, deep—it’s right there, after all. Presses down hard on the imprint of his teeth he left on the swell of Marc’s pec, on his nipple, on the knob of his hipbone. They’re growing dark already, a splotchy purple-red on gold, ugly, round lines.

He keens, jolts, legs falling open, hooked over Luca’s skinny knees. It’s like pressing on the keys of a baby grand at random, only to find out everything sounds fantastic. His cock twitches in his hand, leaks. Each slide is wetter and easier than the last.

Christ. Luca sucks in a breath, tucked against the corded muscle of Marc’s neck.

But Marc is allergic to breaks or something like that. Twists his head around and tugs him up by his hair. They’re looking at each other—which should technically be sobering, a cold wash of reality, but only makes Luca ache to press a kiss on the corner of his shiv-quick smile.

In a bit, maybe.

“You really are mean,” he says, winded, in this dangerous, wild delight.

Luca arches an eyebrow, immaculate through the hell press of Marc’s ass around his cock, how it rakes over him like an electric shock. “You asked me to.”

“People don’t usually—ah, shit, see—first fuck is usually a warm-up. Very polite.”

Luca debates for a split second, five lights and off they go, prying the words from the bottom of his throat. I actually get off on making people cry, just like that. Decides against it at Marc’s dark, cutting stare, his open-mouthed, shameless hunger. Too much like feeding a shark.

Makes himself grin, instead. “I’m very polite. You always say that.”

“Asshole,” he says—in Spanish. Putilla, like Luca doesn’t know what it means. And he laughs through it too, this ugly, honking laugh.

It’s not what you call someone doing a favor, sort of. Luca keeps smiling.

Squeezes Marc’s cock hard, drags his nails all the way to his flushed, wet head. Marc chokes on whatever noise he was making, scrambles to scratch him back, at his wrist, legs twitching to cover himself up on instinct.

He lets them fall limp, though. Stares wide-eyed, expectant. Challenging. Luca croons something sweet-sounding, backs off just a little. His grip is too tight, cruel, but more pleasure now, working him over in quick, rough twists of his palm.

Nothing about it is pretty, exactly—except Marc crumbling against him, Luca is at his strings. Except Marc whining, high-pitched and raw, when he shivers and comes with Luca running a nail over his slit and biting down on his nape.

Luca grunts, muffled through Marc tightening up around his cock, through the pound of blood in his ears.

It’s probably the funniest—most absurd—consequence of going to an engineer’s birthday party, he thinks, nerves in overdrive, about to giggle or moan or come, same fucking difference, heart drumming against his ribcage, thoughts hitting every corner.

Marc hisses out a thick noise, holds his arm. There’s no real strength behind it. Luca gets back on with what could be called his meanness, smears Marc’s come over his own dick. Jerks him only a fraction gentler than he was.

He isn’t crying, yet.

Not like he asked to, not like Luca wants to see.

But maybe soon, he thinks, perverse and not caring all that much about it, heat prickling under his skin, spit pooling over his tongue. Luca gives him a light nibble on his earlobe as a reward, more intent than actual pressure.

“More?” Luca breathes out, barely a whisper.

Marc—lashes wet, fluttering, almost there—nods.

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Ed has such a profound air of exhaustion throughout s2e2. He's just so tired. Something about how he's cried off most of his makeup makes his eyes look so swollen and like he has such dark circles around them (which I'm sure was an intentional makeup choice).

I'm kissing his poor tired eyes and giving him a neat plush shark and a heating pad and tucking him into bed