plutoswriting

[plutoswriting]

a midnight snack

dracopia x reader word count: 7.1k part 1 of 2 on ao3 here!

He's a vampire, looking for an ethically sourced blood supply. You're entirely fascinated by the concept of being friends with a creature of the night. But tonight, he's kind of handsome and you're kind of drunk. And things most definitely are not going as planned.

There’s something just so entirely magical about the night. You love it. You love the mystery and intrigue of it, the way everything is shrouded in darkness. The night just feels so much more alive, so much more interesting. The people are stranger, the memories you make are far more surreal than anything that could ever happen in the light of day. No, you were made for night time. You are supposed to be here, wandering through the cool night air, looking up at the few stars unobfuscated by light pollution, as you hop between bars. It’s perfect, almost. The streets are filled with other drunk partiers, nighttime lovers, stumbling around and laughing over nothing. There’s a melding of music, contrasting genres, filtering out the open doors of various establishments as you wander by. The dive bar playing nineties grunge, the sports bar soundtracked by dad rock, the club blaring out some remix of a remix of a song you’ve not heard in years. It’s a little chaotic, it’s a night filled with opportunity.

And you’re stone cold sober.

It’s the sort of night you’d love the faint buzz of tequila pulsing through your veins, you are craving a little liquid courage to push you into the strangest of situations, so you can show up to the morning debrief with a smile and a story. But you’ve pulled the short straw as designated driver so you’re staying sober, sighing as you watch through the window of the whisky bar, observing some attractive older men as they converse and sip at their drinks. You wonder if this is where your friends really want to begin the night — you’d been promised dancing, and there’s certainly none of that in there. Although, the older men in that bar are far more your type than the usual club crowd, so it would provide a more stimulating scene.

In fact, there’s a man in that very bar who has immediately caught your eye through the window. In amongst the well-tailored business suits, there’s a man who is… well, different. He’s alone, a drink in his hand, but he’s not drinking it. That’s not what draws you to him, however, as you through the glass. First, it’s the cut of his black suit, sinfully tight, practically painted on. It clings to him, to his thighs. His face, a little too far away to see his every detail, further intrigues you. Dark painted circles around his eyes seem a dramatic contrast to his perfectly groomed sideburns, his neat pencil moustache. And yet, it works perfectly.

A part of you wants to go in, to flirt and laugh and maybe take him out back into the alley. He looks so awkward, standing at the bar alone. But a hand is on your arm, pulling you to the line for the club next door. After all, you were promised a night of dancing. Where else would you be going? But as you queue for entry, you cannot help but wonder about that strange and handsome man in the whisky joint. You’d never seen him before. This is your town; you know the regulars. He is no regular, that’s for certain. You wonder if you’ll ever have the good fortune to run into him, rather than just staring through a window.

The club is packed; some DJ you’ve never heard of is performing a set tonight, so everybody just has to be here. You can’t blame them; there’s not a whole lot of excitement around these parts. Or rather, there’s not a lot of excitement if you’re unwilling to search for it, if you’re unwilling to find the thrills barely lurking beneath the surface of your regular haunts. And usually, you’re in the know. Your friends might be tired of your disappearing acts, when some odd stranger lures you away with promises of a good time, but you know what you’re doing. And you always come away with an exhilarating tale, whether it be a night-long romance, the idiosyncratic behaviours of unknown people, adventures into yet undiscovered places on the outskirts of town.

For you, there’s not a whole lot of intrigue in watching a second-rate celebrity DJ spin tired tracks. At least, not while you’re sober. Not while you’re watching everyone else slam back tequila shots. Not while you’re trying to push off a too-drunk finance bro, who cannot understand the meaning of the word ‘no’ as he tries to grind up on you upon the dance floor. It’s packed enough, within the overheated and over-capacity dance floor, for you to get away with hitting him. Hard. He stumbles away, slurring some less than pleasant insults under his breath. You force yourself to relax.

But you cannot; there’s too much happening, you’re a little too sober to deal with the drunken and overeager crowd, you just need a moment. With a promise of a swift return to your friends, you find yourself out in the back alley, the one between the club and the whisky bar, for a quiet cigarette. A peaceful moment in which you are mercifully alone.

Or rather, you’d thought that you’d be alone. But no. There’s a figure, enveloped in shadows. The alley has the most abysmal lighting, lit only by what filters in from the streetlights on the main road, from the propped open door you’ve snuck out of. But there’s a figure not so far from where you stand, veiled under the cover of darkness. A shiver runs up your spine. Something about being out here, hidden away in the unpopulated alley, nobody knowing where you truly are… this stranger could do anything to you right now. But then, that’s not necessarily abadthing. Hell, maybe this stranger could be the one who fixes the course of your night for the better, who leaves you with a story and a handful of treasured memories. You glance over, briefly, as you rifle one handedly through your bag for your pack of cigarettes.

You still, almost immediately. This stranger… well, the alley is dark. There’s barely enough light to make out this shrouded figure. But something within the darkness is glowing. Their eyes, it has to be their eyes. This figure, this person — if they even are a person, for while you have no proof of the existence of the things that go bump in the night, it is better to be safe than sorry — has the most hypnotic eyes. Mismatched eyes. One which glows a bright white, an ominous gleam within the dark oblivion. Fear freezes within your veins. That oft-ignored instinct to run is loud, screaming within every fibre of your being, telling you to flee, to never look back.

You do not. That instinct is strong, yes. Innately, you have the most inexplicable feeling, as if you might be this stranger’s prey. But you cannot run. That curiosity that burns within your veins will not let you. And besides, the figure isn’t doing anything; just watching you, unwaveringly, unblinkingly. There’s more important matters at hand, anyhow.

The packet of cigarettes you’re futilely searching for is not in your bag.

And it’s a bad idea, you’re sure of it. But you so desperately want to feel the rush of nicotine wash over you, as you take this moment of peace within the chaos of a night out, as you lean back against the cool brick walls, the steady thrum of music faint in the background.

“Hi.” You chirp, smiling your brightest of smiles at the figure in the darkness.

They are silent, for a moment. Those glowing eyes blink, slowly.

And then, the figure steps forward.

Your breath hitches; you recognise the man standing a few feet from you. He’s the distinguished man from the whisky joint. And now he’s here, in front of you, still in his sinfully tight black suit. Close up, he’s just as distinguished as he’d seemed through the glass panes. But, up close, you can see a sense of hesitancy within his mismatched eyes, as he watches you, as if your acknowledgement of his presence is most surprising.

“Me? You are… talking to me?” He asks, his voice slightly accented. There’s a slight awe to his tone, and it makes you smile.

His almost self-conscious demeanour is so at odds with the way your body is screaming at you to run from this most dangerous of predators. You are so entirely intrigued, you want to know everything about this perplexingly, menacingly, harmless man.

“Well, is there anyone else out in this alley?” Your grin widens as he actually glances around at your words.

This man, a threat? You aren’t sure if you can picture it.

“Ah, well, no.” He replies, a little sheepish.

But his eyes, while conveying his discomfort, an odd awkwardness, are trained upon you once more. Unblinking, unwavering. Predator’s eyes. This is it, you realise. Your fun of the night. This man has something about him, some secret, some story to tell, and you want to discover just what it is.

“Then, yeah. Hi to you.” You smile once more. And if your tone is a little flirtatious, well, what’s the harm in that?

“Buonasera, Signorina.” He nods slightly, his manner quaint and formal. Rather unusual, for a chance meeting in a dingy alley behind the club.

You finally place the accent; Italian. Interesting. It’s rare, to run into someone who isn’t from your dead-end town. It only heightens your fascination with him.

“You got any smokes? I guess I thought I had a pack, but…” You sigh, shrugging slightly.

“No, I am sorry. I do not smoke.” He responds softly.

You are sure he’s somehow, inexplicably closer to you than he’d been moments before. There’d been no sound of movement, and you’d barely glanced at your disappointingly cigarette-free bag for a second. But he’s closer, you’re sure of it. He’s staring most intently at you. Fear, instinctually primal, heightens. Your intrigue deepens.

“So, you just like to hang out alone in back alleys, huh?” You quip, with a small laugh, watching a look of embarrassment momentarily colour his visage.

“I — what? No, of course — no. I do not, eh, loiter, in alleys. I simply… I needed to think. Alone, in the quiet. It was… too loud. Too many heartbeats, too many people.” He seems concerned at whatever implication he’s inferred from your words. There wasn’t one, not really. You don’t think he’s some creep. You’re certain that he’s interesting. And that’s the best thing a man can be.

“And what are you thinking about — I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.” You ask, offering your own to this intriguing man in front of you.

“Copia. I am Copia.” He tells you, and it is as if he is reminding himself of that fact. He seems… a little lost, nervous.

“Copia. Nice to meet you. So, tell me; what has you lurking in a dark alley on this fine Saturday night?” You inquire again, grinning widely.

He looks hesitant, as if he is unsure whether to share his innermost thoughts. Honestly, you can’t really blame him. After all, you’re some unknown girl. Not everyone is as interested in the lives of unknown individuals as you are. Not everyone is willing to spill their soul’s secrets to another stranger in the middle of the night. He sighs, brow furrowing.

“I — tell me, dolcezza, are you a believer?” There is a hesitance clear within Copia’s tone. As if he knows whatever he has to say might just be a mistake.

Truth be told, you aren’t entirely sure what he means. Religion? Aliens? Good? Evil? His words are obtusely vague and hard to figure out.

“Well, I suppose it depends. I believe in some things, I guess.” Your confusion is evident within your tone as you eye him with confusion.

He is watching you, ever unwavering.

“Monsters. Do you believe in monsters?” His accented voice finally pronounces. The words are soft, quiet. And yet, despite the noise of the drunken revellers in the streets, the muffled thrum of the bass from inside the club, his words feel unreasonably loud.

Monsters?

“I… what kind of monster?” Your mouth is unreasonably dry, the words are hard to get out. That feeling of fear, that you’d repeatedly brushed off, it is back with a vengeance.

Copia’s eyes flicker from yours, down to your neck for the briefest of moments. It is as if he suddenly knows that your pulse is racing, that fear and adrenaline is rushing through your body.

“Dark creatures, predators, those who feast upon mankind.” He elaborates, eyes scanning your face, for any indication of your thoughts.

You wonder, if this is all a good idea. But then, it’s far more fun than you’d be having upon the dance floor, uncomfortably sober and fending off the touches of drunk men.

And besides, you’ve never had an encounter like this. Despite the fear, you cannot help how captivating this all is. A strange and handsome man, with such an awkward demeanour, asking you about… vampires. You decide to simply go along with it. A small fragment of your mind cannot help but ask why he’d bring up such a thing. Could he be… surely he couldn’t. But he seems to trigger such a primal fear, a terror of being hunted, innately ingrained within your most base instincts.

“I mean… I’ve never had proof of such a thing. But I don’t know everything. I’m just a girl at a club, you know?” You answer him carefully, gazing back at his inexplicably mismatched and gleaming eyes.

Humans do not have eyes like that, do they? And they look… real. Contact lenses do not glow. You cannot help but wonder. You love the night. Could this be some real creature of the night, standing right in front of you? It is terrifyingly fascinating, you watch him with a kind of awestruck horror.

“I am such a creature, dolcezza.” He declares.

It would have been far scarier, had he not looked so tense, so uncomfortable at his own admission.

You want to believe it. He could be delusional, suffering some mental issue you’re entirely unequipped to handle. But… something deep within you says otherwise.

“Huh. Really?” Your voice is a little shaky, you’re hoping he’ll provide more information.

“Sì, recently created. It is… well, a long story. But my situation, it is not so simple.” He seems slightly anxious, fidgeting slightly with the sleeves of his suit.

“So, you’re a vampire?” You clarify, wanting a direct confirmation.

After all, he’s not exactly what you’d pictured when thinking of vampires in the past. He’s attractive, sure. But he’s not inhumanly grotesque or preternatural in his beauty. Does he have fangs? If so, they aren’t obvious. His eyes are not ordinary, but they’re not the blood red you’d have thought. He’s pale, but not deathly so, he does not look all corpse-like.

“Sì. And I find that I have this problem, for I do not so much like the idea of feeding. The blood… it is intoxicating. I crave it, I need it. But the death, the murder, it is not for me. I find that I’d prefer a much more… consensual arrangement. This is my issue.” He looks tense, on edge, as he tells you of his problem, running a gloved hand through his neatly styled hair.

Once again, find yourself deeply enthralled by this odd and perplexing man. A vampire, who does not want to kill? It’s like something from children’s literature. The cuddly vampire. Although, dressed like that… your eyes flicker down to his obscenely tight trousers once more, then back up to see what you recognise as barely restrained hunger within his eyes. Perhaps he is not so cuddly. There is still an edge of danger there, and you’d be remiss in ignoring it.

“You want to ethically source your blood supply? Have you considered animal blood, or whatever?” You giggle a little at the thought of this rather serious looking man — for despite his awkwardness, his unease, he cuts a rather distinguished figure — comically biting into the neck of some small and unfortunate critter.

“Animal blood is not viable. A myth of modern media.” He replies offhandedly, waving the suggestion away, before tilting his head slightly as he looks at you with a burning curiosity. “But, eh, you believe me?”

It’s a good question. You don’t quite know what you believe. But you know there is something about him. He doesn’t seem entirely human, not according to your most animalistic senses. But vampires aren’t supposed to be real. It’s a slight conundrum, and for the first time tonight, you are rather glad to be sober. God knows what your drunken mind would have made of this situation you’ve landed yourself in.

“Undecided. But this is way more interesting than whatever DJ is supposed to be on tonight, so I’ll play along.” You decide to be honest with him; after all, what else is there to say?

“You require proof?” His voice is oddly earnest.

This man, Copia, he is entirely shattering all your perceptions of vampires. He lacks any of the suave sexiness you’d have expected from such a being. Instead, he is awkwardly sincere. Handsome, sure, but entirely not what you’d expected him to be. Despite that… you kind of like him, you think.

“Can you do that?” You ask him, your interest piqued more than ever.

Copia nods, a quick little nod. He’s standing several feet away from you, and you’re wondering exactly how he’s going to prove such a thing to you. How does one prove vampirism? It’s perhaps a little hard, secluded together in an alleyway. You’re pondering this question, when all of a sudden, he proves himself. He’d been several feet away from you. Your eyes are trained upon his form, unblinking, curious to see whatever actions he’s about to perform. Is he delusional, is he truly a preternatural being? And then, instantaneously, impossibly, he is standing toe to toe with you. So fast, that you cannot even see his movement. It’s a split second thing, so quick that you can feel the disrupted air rippling around him. He is inches from you now, and you watch his face oh-so closely. His gaze is intense, his eyes laser focused upon your own. There’s a desperation there, a want for something. For blood, you are sure of it. His lips part, and your eyes flicker down for a moment. Two sharp fangs are now visible. Pointed and vaguely menacing. You should be scared. But you meet his eyes once more, you see that vague discomfort he seemingly has about his undead state.

Copia might be a deadly predator, an unpredictable danger. But at his very core, he is a deeply awkward man, you think.

“Oh.” You finally utter, breath catching in your throat.

Something about this situation is oddly… arousing. That’s a thought you dismiss almost instantly. You are a little pent up, you’ve not gotten any in a little while. You are confusing lust with bloodlust. Because that look within his eyes, that barely restrained desire, that is not for you. That burning need is for your blood.

“Indeed.” That hunger within his eyes grows more obvious with every passing second.

You go to say something, some terrible quip that neither of you will laugh at, but the words are lost to you with a sudden movement from Copia. He’s trapped you in place, his arms either side of your body, clawing at the brick wall behind you. The wall is cold against your skin, but you barely register it. What you are most aware of is Copia, with his lips mere millimetres above the artery within your neck. You can practically feel his lips against your skin, ice cold. He is still, preternaturally so. Is he even breathing? Your heart is pounding, your breath shaky. This is dangerous, he is dangerous, and you have perhaps gravely underestimated him. His body is inches from yours, radiating an odd chill. There is no doubt in your mind now, over what he is.

Copia is indeed a vampire. And he might just be about to kill you.

You let out a soft whimper as he breathes in deeply, as if he is inhaling your scent. You wonder what you smell of. Perfume, the night air, cigarettes, fear? He exhales with a groan, and you hope that this isn’t the end for you. Death, in a dingy alley, does not appeal all that much to you.

“Hai un profumo delizioso, che fa venire l’acquolina in bocca.” He mumbles, lips brushing against the delicate skin of your neck as he does so.

You don’t speak Italian. But you can tell, from the needy edge to his words, that he wants your blood. Adrenaline is coursing through your veins. The worst part of it all, is that your burning curiosity has not left your body. Despite the fear, despite the terror, despite the very real possibility of dying at any given moment… you are still deeply intrigued. A part of you wants to know what it would be like. How it would feel for him to sink his teeth into you and drink deep. It’s deadly. It’s stupid. But you want to know.

But, despite his need, he does not tear at your skin, he does not bite. He is simply there, breathing in your scent, listening to the racing of your heart.

“Right… you’re a little close.” You finally say, breathless. It is unclear to you whether that breathlessness is caused by excitement or fear.

Copia pulls away, abruptly, awkwardly. He fiddles with the cuffs of his suit jacket once more, clearly embarrassed by his lack of control.

“Apologies, dolcezza.” He chuckles nervously, as if he expects you to tell him to fuck off, to get away from you.

It’s as if he hasn’t realised how he has all the power here. While you aren’t entirely sure what vampire lore is real, what is manufactured… he has supernatural speed. You are almost certain he could overpower you, oh-so easily. And still — god, maybe you’re naive, stupid, a reckless thrill-seeker — you cannot help but like this odd vampiric man.

“You really are thirsty, huh?” You grin at him, unable to help the shocked laugh that falls from your lips. Tonight has been entirely unbelievable. Impossible, even. You’ve loved every second.

“Sì. It is becoming… unbearable.” His voice cracks slightly, and you wonder how long he has suffered, how long he has starved himself out of a fear of hurting people.

It’s kind of sweet, in the most macabre of ways. Especially as his eyes repeatedly flicker to your neck, the way his lips are parted and his fangs are still visible. Copia wants your blood.

And you want to give it to him.

“Bite me.” The words are out there before you can even really think about it.

It’s almost funny, how the two of you freeze almost instantly, exchanging shocked looks. You cannot believe you said those words aloud. He can scarcely dare to hope that you meant it.

“Che cosa vuoi dire? Explain.” His voice is stern, but there is a frenetic edge to it.

He is starving. It would not be fair to tease him. And, the more you think about it, the more you realise just how seriously you meant it. There’s something about him. He is… deeply interesting to you. Copia is oddly captivating. He is just so entirely mystifying. Everything you’d expect him to be, he is not. Every expectation he has subverted with ease. A singular night is not enough to get to know him. And you very much would like to know this odd creature, this awkwardly kind vampire who simply wants an ethically sourced blood bank, who does not want to hurt anyone. An idea — it is slightly cracked, not entirely thought through, an insane risk, but you do not care one iota — is forming within your mind.

“You’re a vampire. Do you know how fascinating that is? My friends tell me I have this problem, you see. I have the worst desire to chase adventure, constantly. It’s the adrenaline rush, or something. I don’t know. Anyways, you’re a vampire. That’s pretty fucking cool. And maybe a little terrifying. But I have a proposition.” You inform him, a smile growing upon your face; the longer you think about it, the more certain you are that this is a wonderful idea.

“And what might that be?” He gazes at you curiously, warily, as if he is not entirely sure as to where it’s going. As if he can scarcely believe that you are about to offer him a viable solution to his problems.

“I’ll let you feed off me. A safe amount, not enough to like… actually hurt me. But every few days, or however often you need it, you can find me.” You say, matter of factly, as if you are offering to loan him a sweater or give him a ride somewhere. As if you are not putting your life in his own undead hands, and simply hoping for the best.

He stares, unblinking, the disbelief evident upon his face, a hint of relief within his eyes. But he waits, for a few moments, as if he is waiting for you to reveal the punchline, tell him that this has been some sick joke, that you could not care less about his starving or his moral dilemmas.

“You… you are not joking.” He finally says, unconvinced.

“No, not at all.” You give him a reassuring smile, a winning smile, hoping to prove that you really, truly mean it.

“You would do that? For some peculiar man you’ve never once met before?” He is still incredulous, as if no one has ever done him a favour before.

Although, this is a rather large favour. But what can you say? You’re a risk taker. You have always believed in, depended upon, the kindness of strangers. And you really want to know what it’s like to have a vampire for a friend.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” You shrug, for you feel very unconcerned about the consequences. While those primal instincts are still screaming for you to run, they have dulled some. There is another part of your mind, a louder part of your mind, who is certain that he will not deliberately hurt you.

“I kill you.” Copia says gravely, fear evident within his mismatched eyes.

You have to admit, he does have a point with that one.

“Oh. Well… let’s try not to have that happen, huh?” You giggle, and he steps forward once more, this time at a more human speed..

The tension is rising, settling over your body. You cannot tear your eyes from him. His movements are smoother than they had been, and you wonder if his more predatory instincts are taking over.

“Of course, dolcezzina.” He murmurs softly, inches away from you.

Adrenaline is coursing through your veins, your heart is racing. You’re sure he can tell. That barely restrained hunger is becoming more evident with every passing second, as he moves ever closer.

“So, do you want to… do it? Right now?” You whisper, barely able to form the words. Something about this… it feels intimate. Should it feel intimate?

“Let me bring you home. To your own place. So that you can… rest, afterwards.” Copia leans in, resting his forehead against your own. His skin is ice cold against you.

And that sounds great. You’d love for him to take you home, to figure out more about him, about his vampirism. You want to know who exactly Copia is, you want to be his friend. But, a realisation strikes you. This is not where you are supposed to be right now. You’re not sure how long you’ve been out here, but you are supposed to be partying with your friends.

“I can’t leave, not right yet. I’m the designated driver for my friends, you know? Can’t you just — you know what? Just do it here. It’ll be fine. I don’t need it all nice and fancy. And you… look, you clearly need something now. So just… don’t take a lot. We can do this again another time, yeah?” You tell him, an urgent need practically possessing you.

You’re not a patient person. You don’t want to wait for the night to end, you don’t want to risk never seeing this handsome and strange vampire ever again. And so, you practically beg for him to take you, to bite you, to drink you, up against the brick walls of this desolate alley.

Copia looks conflicted. For the briefest of moments, you think he might tell you no. But then, he places his gloved fingertips upon your face, brushing against your cheek, trailing down to your jaw. He tilts your head slightly, revealing your bare neck to him, providing him with better access to the veins located there. Leaning down once more, he presses his face into the delicate skin, breathing deeply. Your breath quickens, shallows, you hardly know what to expect. Copia’s lips are poised carefully over your jugular vein, and you can feel the blood pumping, anticipation growing. A gloved hand slides around your waist, forming a tight grip, holding you to him. He breathes out a soft, shaky breath against your skin. You swallow deeply, letting your eyes flutter closed.

“Ready?” He whispers, lips brushing against the skin.

Words feel impossible, so you nod slightly, barely perceptible. But Copia knows what you want. He knows what he needs. You are both barely breathing, filled with a tense anticipation for the act that is about to occur. It is terrifying. It is exhilarating.

So slowly that it makes you want to scream, he opens his mouth, lips brushing against your skin. You can feel the sharp pointed ends of his fangs, pressing painfully against your unbroken skin. They are razor sharp, and you find yourself wondering if perhaps you should beg him to stop. You’d not considered the pain. Will it be entirely agonising? Your breath hitches in your throat. He pauses. It is as if he is waiting for you to plead with him, ask for him to spare you. But you do not. How many people can say they’ve met a vampire and lived to tell the tale? Despite how utterly insane it is, you will not back down from this. With a deep — albeit slightly shaky — breath, you steel yourself for the act to come. Copia seems to take this as an acceptance, as a sign to proceed.

And so, it begins. His fangs nip at you, as if he is hesitating. But then, suddenly, they are tearing through the skin of your neck as if it is paper thin, as if it is the most pathetic of barriers. It is agonising. Your mouth falls open, but the pain is so blinding, you cannot make a sound. You’ve forgotten how to make sound. Every part of your mind is lost to the agonies. Your knees buckle beneath you, but you do not fall; you are vaguely aware of his arm tightening around your waist, of him stepping closer, moulding his body to yours, pressing you up against the wall, securing you in place. But the ripping sensation fades, changes. There is no longer the searing pain of shredded skin. Hot blood is seeping from the ragged wounds upon your neck. Copia is practically cradling your body to his, gloved hands holding you tightly. It’s almost like a most macabre make out session, the way he laps at the wound, pressing what feels like warm and wet open mouthed kisses upon your neck. Except, that warm and wet sensation is your blood, spilling from an open wound. Sound is still beyond you, you cannot make a single noise, eyes squeezed tightly shut, mouth open in a silent whimper. Yet, it is not so unpleasant. Perhaps you are a little light-headed, a little dazed from blood loss. But there is something about the way Copia is pressed up against you, desperately drinking down your blood. He lets out soft sighs, barely audible, as he tastes you. And curiously, you can feel his hands gently caressing the exposed skin of your back, as if he is trying to reassure you, comfort you. He does not want to hurt you, you are safe. Oddly enough, you believe it. He won’t hurt you, no more than is necessary for his feeding.

The moment feels like an eternity, although you know it is not. It probably lasts no more than a few minutes. But eventually, the odd sensation of him drinking you down finishes, Copia begins to lap up any stray droplets, as if cleaning the wound. He lingers over the wound, dragging his tongue, his lips, over it. The bite aches, but it does not feel so raw, it is not as painful as you’d expected. He seems to have finished, but he does not move. He inhales softly, as if committing the moment, your scent, to memory.

Patiently, you wait for him to be done. It’s for the best, that he has not moved away so soon, for you are not entirely certain of your ability to stand. In fact, you are feeling a little dazed, everything is slightly hazy. But you do not mind. That adrenaline rush you crave is still pumping through your veins. It is not often you are rendered speechless. You kind of like it. This odd stranger, this vampire, has entirely surprised you. But what has surprised you most, is that you are entirely unopposed to letting this situation happen again. The danger, the anticipation, the unexpected intimacy of it all… you rather like it.

Slowly, carefully, Copia steps back to look at you. His grip upon your waist loosens, but he does not let go. You are grateful, for you are sure you would have fallen onto him. As it is, you stumble a little, he has to steady you. Looking up at his face, you can see a deep concern in his eyes, as he scans over you. It’s kind of nice, if a little strange, that he cares. Usually the guys you meet in back alleys are a lot less concerned about your wellbeing. Although… this isn’t your usual sort of situation. You’ve never been bitten by a vampire before.

Your eyes flicker down to his mouth, to catch a glimpse of the fangs that had so easily torn into your skin. There’s a small smear of blood, your blood, at the corner of his mouth. He clearly has not noticed it. before you can think twice about your actions you are leaning forward, raising your hand to wipe the blood away with your thumb. Copia catches your wrist almost immediately, holding your hand in front of him, eyes zeroing in on the trace amounts of blood.

“I — there was a little blood. Figured it’s best not to go around with a bloody mouth and all.” You tell him uselessly, as if he cannot see the blood staining your skin. He can probably smell it.

Copia raises your hand back to his lips, glancing up to meet your eyes. And with the most predatory of stares, his eyes glowing, he opens his mouth once more, pointed fangs dangerously exposed. Your breath falters once more. But he does not hurt you, he would not hurt you. His lips brush against your hand, cool to the touch. You swallow deeply as his tongue languidly trails across your thumb, pulling it into his mouth. There’s a spark of something between you, there’s heat pooling in the pit of your stomach. He is lapping up the remaining droplets of blood from your fingers, it should not be so enthralling. Unhurriedly, he withdraws from you, releases your thumb from his mouth, your hand from his strong grasp.

You have to try, incredibly hard, to repress a whimper at the loss of contact. A part of you, that small voice in the back of your mind that craves danger and excitement, wants him. Carnally. Shouldn’t this, this odd little feeding experience, be enough? Shouldn’t friendship with this remarkable creature that should not even exist be enough? You try to shake away the lust-filled thoughts. They are a little too dangerous, even for you.

Copia too seems to be shaking off his own kind of lust. Blood-lust. That predatory look fades, that awkwardness and unease returns to his body.

“I am sorry, I — that was perhaps inappropriate. I am most grateful to you, dolcezza. How are you feeling, I did not hurt you too much, no?” He apologises, eyes darting from yours to the hand that you have left lingering in the air where he released it.

Quickly, you drop your arm back down to your side, trying to play it off as if you were not totally into whatever it was that just happened.

“Fine, actually. I mean, a little light-headed. But, no, I’m fine.” You are rambling a little, what with the light-headedness making your thoughts more than a little sluggish.

Perhaps that is why you’re feeling so weird, so captivated by him. It’s the blood loss.

“I am glad that you are not hurt. I am not so practised, I was afraid of hurting you too badly.” He flashes a wide, uncomfortable smile. It makes you wonder if this was far more dangerous than you’d anticipated, letting an inexperienced vampire feed from you.

Copia could have so easily made a mistake, and killed you dead. Or undead. You’re not entirely sure how that all works.

“It was… I don’t know. Indescribable. When do you need to do this again?” You laugh, unable to find some tangible explanation for how exhilarating the experience was.

And it’s true. You’ve never felt more alive. You’re on top of the world, you’re intoxicated by how thrilling it was to have experienced such an electrifying brush with danger, with death, and won. Sure, it hurt at first. But it was the oddest melding of pain and pleasure. And you think, maybe, it could be even better. There’s no denying it. You need it to happen again.

“You mean to say… you would not mind? Should this happen again?” Copia looks at you incredulously, as if he’d expected you to tell him that it was terrible, horrible, that you’d never want to see him again.

Honestly, you feel kind of bad for the guy. He’s clearly had absolutely terrible luck with the vampire thing so far.

“Oh, of course not. Here, do you have a phone? I’ll type in my number and address and we can figure something out. Later though, because my friends are going to kill me for disappearing like this. Again.” You laugh, although it turns into a grimace as you realise exactly how long you’ve probably been gone for.

This was supposed to be a quick smoke break. Instead, you’ve made a strange friend, and developed an odd new interest in being fed upon, in being Copia’s very own ethical blood bank.

As you ponder your friends’ reactions — really, how pissed off can they be, if you return to them before the night is over — you are startled from your thoughts. Copia has lunged at you. But not to hurt you, bite you, kill you. No. His arms are wrapped around you, he clings tightly to you as he pulls you in for an awkward hug. You’re certain he does not know his own strength, for his embrace is vise-like, you can hardly breathe. But he seems to realise, and hastily pulls away from you.

“Sorry, sorry. I am just — I am overwhelmed with gratitude.” He smiles awkwardly at you, as if he’s not entirely sure what to do now that you’ve agreed. That air of nervousness surrounding him is stronger than ever, and you cannot help but find it a little endearing.

“No worries, seriously. You got a phone?” You ask, and he fumbles within a pocket of his skin tight pants — how he fits anything within there is beyond you — and pulls out his phone. Quickly, you type your details into his notes app, and pass it back. “Okay, there you go. Call me, yeah?”

With that final demand, and a final look back at the vaguely awestruck vampire watching your every move, you slip back into the club. It’s busier than ever inside. The music is loud, a bad remix of a song you hate. Blood loss has left you a little hazy, but it’s fine. You’re fine. You’re more alive than ever. Stumbling through the crowds of partiers, you finally spy your friends, gathered at the bar, a round of drinks between them.

God, you could use a tequila shot right now. Anything to dull the headache brewing. Blood loss or bad music? It’s hard to say which is the cause. Finally, having weaved your way between dancers and drunkards, you are reunited with your friends. It’s as if nothing has changed. But everything has, you think. Something has fundamentally changed. After grabbing some soda water from the bartender — you’re pretty sure you are supposed to rehydrate after blood loss, although you’ll admit to being entirely clueless on the matter — one of your friends pulls you aside.

“Where the fuck did you go?” She shouts over the music, looking more than a little concerned.

She has every right to be — it’s been an hour since you left for a cigarette.

“Back alley, met a guy.” You wink at her salaciously, as if your meeting with Copia had been nothing more than a rough fuck against the brick walls.

“Yeah no kidding! God, that’s the biggest hickey I’ve ever seen.” Your friend laughs, gesturing to your neck.

Your hand flies up immediately, trying to cover it. Not that it would do much good, for she’s already pointing it out to the rest of your group, giggling about your escapades. While you can’t see the wound, this supposed hickey, you know it probably looks atrocious. It feels tender to the touch, you cannot help but wince at even the slightest pressure upon it.

The song changes; finally, a track you like. Grabbing onto your friends’ hands, you pull them towards the dance floor, ready to let loose. The haziness of blood loss has shifted, changed. You feel euphoric, adrenaline rushing through your body. And as you dance, laughing with your friends, you are reminded so easily of why you love the night. You love the possibilities of it, the intrigue. As you move your body to the beat of the song, your eye catches something off in the distance.

Mismatched eyes, one a bright white. Copia is here, watching.

You are certain you’ll see your vampiric friend again, soon. And you cannot wait.

[plutoswriting]

a midnight snack

dracopia x reader word count: 7.1k part 1 of 2 on ao3 here!

He's a vampire, looking for an ethically sourced blood supply. You're entirely fascinated by the concept of being friends with a creature of the night. But tonight, he's kind of handsome and you're kind of drunk. And things most definitely are not going as planned.

There’s something just so entirely magical about the night. You love it. You love the mystery and intrigue of it, the way everything is shrouded in darkness. The night just feels so much more alive, so much more interesting. The people are stranger, the memories you make are far more surreal than anything that could ever happen in the light of day. No, you were made for night time. You are supposed to be here, wandering through the cool night air, looking up at the few stars unobfuscated by light pollution, as you hop between bars. It’s perfect, almost. The streets are filled with other drunk partiers, nighttime lovers, stumbling around and laughing over nothing. There’s a melding of music, contrasting genres, filtering out the open doors of various establishments as you wander by. The dive bar playing nineties grunge, the sports bar soundtracked by dad rock, the club blaring out some remix of a remix of a song you’ve not heard in years. It’s a little chaotic, it’s a night filled with opportunity.

And you’re stone cold sober.

It’s the sort of night you’d love the faint buzz of tequila pulsing through your veins, you are craving a little liquid courage to push you into the strangest of situations, so you can show up to the morning debrief with a smile and a story. But you’ve pulled the short straw as designated driver so you’re staying sober, sighing as you watch through the window of the whisky bar, observing some attractive older men as they converse and sip at their drinks. You wonder if this is where your friends really want to begin the night — you’d been promised dancing, and there’s certainly none of that in there. Although, the older men in that bar are far more your type than the usual club crowd, so it would provide a more stimulating scene.

In fact, there’s a man in that very bar who has immediately caught your eye through the window. In amongst the well-tailored business suits, there’s a man who is… well, different. He’s alone, a drink in his hand, but he’s not drinking it. That’s not what draws you to him, however, as you through the glass. First, it’s the cut of his black suit, sinfully tight, practically painted on. It clings to him, to his thighs. His face, a little too far away to see his every detail, further intrigues you. Dark painted circles around his eyes seem a dramatic contrast to his perfectly groomed sideburns, his neat pencil moustache. And yet, it works perfectly.

A part of you wants to go in, to flirt and laugh and maybe take him out back into the alley. He looks so awkward, standing at the bar alone. But a hand is on your arm, pulling you to the line for the club next door. After all, you were promised a night of dancing. Where else would you be going? But as you queue for entry, you cannot help but wonder about that strange and handsome man in the whisky joint. You’d never seen him before. This is your town; you know the regulars. He is no regular, that’s for certain. You wonder if you’ll ever have the good fortune to run into him, rather than just staring through a window.

The club is packed; some DJ you’ve never heard of is performing a set tonight, so everybody just has to be here. You can’t blame them; there’s not a whole lot of excitement around these parts. Or rather, there’s not a lot of excitement if you’re unwilling to search for it, if you’re unwilling to find the thrills barely lurking beneath the surface of your regular haunts. And usually, you’re in the know. Your friends might be tired of your disappearing acts, when some odd stranger lures you away with promises of a good time, but you know what you’re doing. And you always come away with an exhilarating tale, whether it be a night-long romance, the idiosyncratic behaviours of unknown people, adventures into yet undiscovered places on the outskirts of town.

For you, there’s not a whole lot of intrigue in watching a second-rate celebrity DJ spin tired tracks. At least, not while you’re sober. Not while you’re watching everyone else slam back tequila shots. Not while you’re trying to push off a too-drunk finance bro, who cannot understand the meaning of the word ‘no’ as he tries to grind up on you upon the dance floor. It’s packed enough, within the overheated and over-capacity dance floor, for you to get away with hitting him. Hard. He stumbles away, slurring some less than pleasant insults under his breath. You force yourself to relax.

But you cannot; there’s too much happening, you’re a little too sober to deal with the drunken and overeager crowd, you just need a moment. With a promise of a swift return to your friends, you find yourself out in the back alley, the one between the club and the whisky bar, for a quiet cigarette. A peaceful moment in which you are mercifully alone.

Or rather, you’d thought that you’d be alone. But no. There’s a figure, enveloped in shadows. The alley has the most abysmal lighting, lit only by what filters in from the streetlights on the main road, from the propped open door you’ve snuck out of. But there’s a figure not so far from where you stand, veiled under the cover of darkness. A shiver runs up your spine. Something about being out here, hidden away in the unpopulated alley, nobody knowing where you truly are… this stranger could do anything to you right now. But then, that’s not necessarily abadthing. Hell, maybe this stranger could be the one who fixes the course of your night for the better, who leaves you with a story and a handful of treasured memories. You glance over, briefly, as you rifle one handedly through your bag for your pack of cigarettes.

You still, almost immediately. This stranger… well, the alley is dark. There’s barely enough light to make out this shrouded figure. But something within the darkness is glowing. Their eyes, it has to be their eyes. This figure, this person — if they even are a person, for while you have no proof of the existence of the things that go bump in the night, it is better to be safe than sorry — has the most hypnotic eyes. Mismatched eyes. One which glows a bright white, an ominous gleam within the dark oblivion. Fear freezes within your veins. That oft-ignored instinct to run is loud, screaming within every fibre of your being, telling you to flee, to never look back.

You do not. That instinct is strong, yes. Innately, you have the most inexplicable feeling, as if you might be this stranger’s prey. But you cannot run. That curiosity that burns within your veins will not let you. And besides, the figure isn’t doing anything; just watching you, unwaveringly, unblinkingly. There’s more important matters at hand, anyhow.

The packet of cigarettes you’re futilely searching for is not in your bag.

And it’s a bad idea, you’re sure of it. But you so desperately want to feel the rush of nicotine wash over you, as you take this moment of peace within the chaos of a night out, as you lean back against the cool brick walls, the steady thrum of music faint in the background.

“Hi.” You chirp, smiling your brightest of smiles at the figure in the darkness.

They are silent, for a moment. Those glowing eyes blink, slowly.

And then, the figure steps forward.

Your breath hitches; you recognise the man standing a few feet from you. He’s the distinguished man from the whisky joint. And now he’s here, in front of you, still in his sinfully tight black suit. Close up, he’s just as distinguished as he’d seemed through the glass panes. But, up close, you can see a sense of hesitancy within his mismatched eyes, as he watches you, as if your acknowledgement of his presence is most surprising.

“Me? You are… talking to me?” He asks, his voice slightly accented. There’s a slight awe to his tone, and it makes you smile.

His almost self-conscious demeanour is so at odds with the way your body is screaming at you to run from this most dangerous of predators. You are so entirely intrigued, you want to know everything about this perplexingly, menacingly, harmless man.

“Well, is there anyone else out in this alley?” Your grin widens as he actually glances around at your words.

This man, a threat? You aren’t sure if you can picture it.

“Ah, well, no.” He replies, a little sheepish.

But his eyes, while conveying his discomfort, an odd awkwardness, are trained upon you once more. Unblinking, unwavering. Predator’s eyes. This is it, you realise. Your fun of the night. This man has something about him, some secret, some story to tell, and you want to discover just what it is.

“Then, yeah. Hi to you.” You smile once more. And if your tone is a little flirtatious, well, what’s the harm in that?

“Buonasera, Signorina.” He nods slightly, his manner quaint and formal. Rather unusual, for a chance meeting in a dingy alley behind the club.

You finally place the accent; Italian. Interesting. It’s rare, to run into someone who isn’t from your dead-end town. It only heightens your fascination with him.

“You got any smokes? I guess I thought I had a pack, but…” You sigh, shrugging slightly.

“No, I am sorry. I do not smoke.” He responds softly.

You are sure he’s somehow, inexplicably closer to you than he’d been moments before. There’d been no sound of movement, and you’d barely glanced at your disappointingly cigarette-free bag for a second. But he’s closer, you’re sure of it. He’s staring most intently at you. Fear, instinctually primal, heightens. Your intrigue deepens.

“So, you just like to hang out alone in back alleys, huh?” You quip, with a small laugh, watching a look of embarrassment momentarily colour his visage.

“I — what? No, of course — no. I do not, eh, loiter, in alleys. I simply… I needed to think. Alone, in the quiet. It was… too loud. Too many heartbeats, too many people.” He seems concerned at whatever implication he’s inferred from your words. There wasn’t one, not really. You don’t think he’s some creep. You’re certain that he’s interesting. And that’s the best thing a man can be.

“And what are you thinking about — I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.” You ask, offering your own to this intriguing man in front of you.

“Copia. I am Copia.” He tells you, and it is as if he is reminding himself of that fact. He seems… a little lost, nervous.

“Copia. Nice to meet you. So, tell me; what has you lurking in a dark alley on this fine Saturday night?” You inquire again, grinning widely.

He looks hesitant, as if he is unsure whether to share his innermost thoughts. Honestly, you can’t really blame him. After all, you’re some unknown girl. Not everyone is as interested in the lives of unknown individuals as you are. Not everyone is willing to spill their soul’s secrets to another stranger in the middle of the night. He sighs, brow furrowing.

“I — tell me, dolcezza, are you a believer?” There is a hesitance clear within Copia’s tone. As if he knows whatever he has to say might just be a mistake.

Truth be told, you aren’t entirely sure what he means. Religion? Aliens? Good? Evil? His words are obtusely vague and hard to figure out.

“Well, I suppose it depends. I believe in some things, I guess.” Your confusion is evident within your tone as you eye him with confusion.

He is watching you, ever unwavering.

“Monsters. Do you believe in monsters?” His accented voice finally pronounces. The words are soft, quiet. And yet, despite the noise of the drunken revellers in the streets, the muffled thrum of the bass from inside the club, his words feel unreasonably loud.

Monsters?

“I… what kind of monster?” Your mouth is unreasonably dry, the words are hard to get out. That feeling of fear, that you’d repeatedly brushed off, it is back with a vengeance.

Copia’s eyes flicker from yours, down to your neck for the briefest of moments. It is as if he suddenly knows that your pulse is racing, that fear and adrenaline is rushing through your body.

“Dark creatures, predators, those who feast upon mankind.” He elaborates, eyes scanning your face, for any indication of your thoughts.

You wonder, if this is all a good idea. But then, it’s far more fun than you’d be having upon the dance floor, uncomfortably sober and fending off the touches of drunk men.

And besides, you’ve never had an encounter like this. Despite the fear, you cannot help how captivating this all is. A strange and handsome man, with such an awkward demeanour, asking you about… vampires. You decide to simply go along with it. A small fragment of your mind cannot help but ask why he’d bring up such a thing. Could he be… surely he couldn’t. But he seems to trigger such a primal fear, a terror of being hunted, innately ingrained within your most base instincts.

“I mean… I’ve never had proof of such a thing. But I don’t know everything. I’m just a girl at a club, you know?” You answer him carefully, gazing back at his inexplicably mismatched and gleaming eyes.

Humans do not have eyes like that, do they? And they look… real. Contact lenses do not glow. You cannot help but wonder. You love the night. Could this be some real creature of the night, standing right in front of you? It is terrifyingly fascinating, you watch him with a kind of awestruck horror.

“I am such a creature, dolcezza.” He declares.

It would have been far scarier, had he not looked so tense, so uncomfortable at his own admission.

You want to believe it. He could be delusional, suffering some mental issue you’re entirely unequipped to handle. But… something deep within you says otherwise.

“Huh. Really?” Your voice is a little shaky, you’re hoping he’ll provide more information.

“Sì, recently created. It is… well, a long story. But my situation, it is not so simple.” He seems slightly anxious, fidgeting slightly with the sleeves of his suit.

“So, you’re a vampire?” You clarify, wanting a direct confirmation.

After all, he’s not exactly what you’d pictured when thinking of vampires in the past. He’s attractive, sure. But he’s not inhumanly grotesque or preternatural in his beauty. Does he have fangs? If so, they aren’t obvious. His eyes are not ordinary, but they’re not the blood red you’d have thought. He’s pale, but not deathly so, he does not look all corpse-like.

“Sì. And I find that I have this problem, for I do not so much like the idea of feeding. The blood… it is intoxicating. I crave it, I need it. But the death, the murder, it is not for me. I find that I’d prefer a much more… consensual arrangement. This is my issue.” He looks tense, on edge, as he tells you of his problem, running a gloved hand through his neatly styled hair.

Once again, find yourself deeply enthralled by this odd and perplexing man. A vampire, who does not want to kill? It’s like something from children’s literature. The cuddly vampire. Although, dressed like that… your eyes flicker down to his obscenely tight trousers once more, then back up to see what you recognise as barely restrained hunger within his eyes. Perhaps he is not so cuddly. There is still an edge of danger there, and you’d be remiss in ignoring it.

“You want to ethically source your blood supply? Have you considered animal blood, or whatever?” You giggle a little at the thought of this rather serious looking man — for despite his awkwardness, his unease, he cuts a rather distinguished figure — comically biting into the neck of some small and unfortunate critter.

“Animal blood is not viable. A myth of modern media.” He replies offhandedly, waving the suggestion away, before tilting his head slightly as he looks at you with a burning curiosity. “But, eh, you believe me?”

It’s a good question. You don’t quite know what you believe. But you know there is something about him. He doesn’t seem entirely human, not according to your most animalistic senses. But vampires aren’t supposed to be real. It’s a slight conundrum, and for the first time tonight, you are rather glad to be sober. God knows what your drunken mind would have made of this situation you’ve landed yourself in.

“Undecided. But this is way more interesting than whatever DJ is supposed to be on tonight, so I’ll play along.” You decide to be honest with him; after all, what else is there to say?

“You require proof?” His voice is oddly earnest.

This man, Copia, he is entirely shattering all your perceptions of vampires. He lacks any of the suave sexiness you’d have expected from such a being. Instead, he is awkwardly sincere. Handsome, sure, but entirely not what you’d expected him to be. Despite that… you kind of like him, you think.

“Can you do that?” You ask him, your interest piqued more than ever.

Copia nods, a quick little nod. He’s standing several feet away from you, and you’re wondering exactly how he’s going to prove such a thing to you. How does one prove vampirism? It’s perhaps a little hard, secluded together in an alleyway. You’re pondering this question, when all of a sudden, he proves himself. He’d been several feet away from you. Your eyes are trained upon his form, unblinking, curious to see whatever actions he’s about to perform. Is he delusional, is he truly a preternatural being? And then, instantaneously, impossibly, he is standing toe to toe with you. So fast, that you cannot even see his movement. It’s a split second thing, so quick that you can feel the disrupted air rippling around him. He is inches from you now, and you watch his face oh-so closely. His gaze is intense, his eyes laser focused upon your own. There’s a desperation there, a want for something. For blood, you are sure of it. His lips part, and your eyes flicker down for a moment. Two sharp fangs are now visible. Pointed and vaguely menacing. You should be scared. But you meet his eyes once more, you see that vague discomfort he seemingly has about his undead state.

Copia might be a deadly predator, an unpredictable danger. But at his very core, he is a deeply awkward man, you think.

“Oh.” You finally utter, breath catching in your throat.

Something about this situation is oddly… arousing. That’s a thought you dismiss almost instantly. You are a little pent up, you’ve not gotten any in a little while. You are confusing lust with bloodlust. Because that look within his eyes, that barely restrained desire, that is not for you. That burning need is for your blood.

“Indeed.” That hunger within his eyes grows more obvious with every passing second.

You go to say something, some terrible quip that neither of you will laugh at, but the words are lost to you with a sudden movement from Copia. He’s trapped you in place, his arms either side of your body, clawing at the brick wall behind you. The wall is cold against your skin, but you barely register it. What you are most aware of is Copia, with his lips mere millimetres above the artery within your neck. You can practically feel his lips against your skin, ice cold. He is still, preternaturally so. Is he even breathing? Your heart is pounding, your breath shaky. This is dangerous, he is dangerous, and you have perhaps gravely underestimated him. His body is inches from yours, radiating an odd chill. There is no doubt in your mind now, over what he is.

Copia is indeed a vampire. And he might just be about to kill you.

You let out a soft whimper as he breathes in deeply, as if he is inhaling your scent. You wonder what you smell of. Perfume, the night air, cigarettes, fear? He exhales with a groan, and you hope that this isn’t the end for you. Death, in a dingy alley, does not appeal all that much to you.

“Hai un profumo delizioso, che fa venire l’acquolina in bocca.” He mumbles, lips brushing against the delicate skin of your neck as he does so.

You don’t speak Italian. But you can tell, from the needy edge to his words, that he wants your blood. Adrenaline is coursing through your veins. The worst part of it all, is that your burning curiosity has not left your body. Despite the fear, despite the terror, despite the very real possibility of dying at any given moment… you are still deeply intrigued. A part of you wants to know what it would be like. How it would feel for him to sink his teeth into you and drink deep. It’s deadly. It’s stupid. But you want to know.

But, despite his need, he does not tear at your skin, he does not bite. He is simply there, breathing in your scent, listening to the racing of your heart.

“Right… you’re a little close.” You finally say, breathless. It is unclear to you whether that breathlessness is caused by excitement or fear.

Copia pulls away, abruptly, awkwardly. He fiddles with the cuffs of his suit jacket once more, clearly embarrassed by his lack of control.

“Apologies, dolcezza.” He chuckles nervously, as if he expects you to tell him to fuck off, to get away from you.

It’s as if he hasn’t realised how he has all the power here. While you aren’t entirely sure what vampire lore is real, what is manufactured… he has supernatural speed. You are almost certain he could overpower you, oh-so easily. And still — god, maybe you’re naive, stupid, a reckless thrill-seeker — you cannot help but like this odd vampiric man.

“You really are thirsty, huh?” You grin at him, unable to help the shocked laugh that falls from your lips. Tonight has been entirely unbelievable. Impossible, even. You’ve loved every second.

“Sì. It is becoming… unbearable.” His voice cracks slightly, and you wonder how long he has suffered, how long he has starved himself out of a fear of hurting people.

It’s kind of sweet, in the most macabre of ways. Especially as his eyes repeatedly flicker to your neck, the way his lips are parted and his fangs are still visible. Copia wants your blood.

And you want to give it to him.

“Bite me.” The words are out there before you can even really think about it.

It’s almost funny, how the two of you freeze almost instantly, exchanging shocked looks. You cannot believe you said those words aloud. He can scarcely dare to hope that you meant it.

“Che cosa vuoi dire? Explain.” His voice is stern, but there is a frenetic edge to it.

He is starving. It would not be fair to tease him. And, the more you think about it, the more you realise just how seriously you meant it. There’s something about him. He is… deeply interesting to you. Copia is oddly captivating. He is just so entirely mystifying. Everything you’d expect him to be, he is not. Every expectation he has subverted with ease. A singular night is not enough to get to know him. And you very much would like to know this odd creature, this awkwardly kind vampire who simply wants an ethically sourced blood bank, who does not want to hurt anyone. An idea — it is slightly cracked, not entirely thought through, an insane risk, but you do not care one iota — is forming within your mind.

“You’re a vampire. Do you know how fascinating that is? My friends tell me I have this problem, you see. I have the worst desire to chase adventure, constantly. It’s the adrenaline rush, or something. I don’t know. Anyways, you’re a vampire. That’s pretty fucking cool. And maybe a little terrifying. But I have a proposition.” You inform him, a smile growing upon your face; the longer you think about it, the more certain you are that this is a wonderful idea.

“And what might that be?” He gazes at you curiously, warily, as if he is not entirely sure as to where it’s going. As if he can scarcely believe that you are about to offer him a viable solution to his problems.

“I’ll let you feed off me. A safe amount, not enough to like… actually hurt me. But every few days, or however often you need it, you can find me.” You say, matter of factly, as if you are offering to loan him a sweater or give him a ride somewhere. As if you are not putting your life in his own undead hands, and simply hoping for the best.

He stares, unblinking, the disbelief evident upon his face, a hint of relief within his eyes. But he waits, for a few moments, as if he is waiting for you to reveal the punchline, tell him that this has been some sick joke, that you could not care less about his starving or his moral dilemmas.

“You… you are not joking.” He finally says, unconvinced.

“No, not at all.” You give him a reassuring smile, a winning smile, hoping to prove that you really, truly mean it.

“You would do that? For some peculiar man you’ve never once met before?” He is still incredulous, as if no one has ever done him a favour before.

Although, this is a rather large favour. But what can you say? You’re a risk taker. You have always believed in, depended upon, the kindness of strangers. And you really want to know what it’s like to have a vampire for a friend.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” You shrug, for you feel very unconcerned about the consequences. While those primal instincts are still screaming for you to run, they have dulled some. There is another part of your mind, a louder part of your mind, who is certain that he will not deliberately hurt you.

“I kill you.” Copia says gravely, fear evident within his mismatched eyes.

You have to admit, he does have a point with that one.

“Oh. Well… let’s try not to have that happen, huh?” You giggle, and he steps forward once more, this time at a more human speed..

The tension is rising, settling over your body. You cannot tear your eyes from him. His movements are smoother than they had been, and you wonder if his more predatory instincts are taking over.

“Of course, dolcezzina.” He murmurs softly, inches away from you.

Adrenaline is coursing through your veins, your heart is racing. You’re sure he can tell. That barely restrained hunger is becoming more evident with every passing second, as he moves ever closer.

“So, do you want to… do it? Right now?” You whisper, barely able to form the words. Something about this… it feels intimate. Should it feel intimate?

“Let me bring you home. To your own place. So that you can… rest, afterwards.” Copia leans in, resting his forehead against your own. His skin is ice cold against you.

And that sounds great. You’d love for him to take you home, to figure out more about him, about his vampirism. You want to know who exactly Copia is, you want to be his friend. But, a realisation strikes you. This is not where you are supposed to be right now. You’re not sure how long you’ve been out here, but you are supposed to be partying with your friends.

“I can’t leave, not right yet. I’m the designated driver for my friends, you know? Can’t you just — you know what? Just do it here. It’ll be fine. I don’t need it all nice and fancy. And you… look, you clearly need something now. So just… don’t take a lot. We can do this again another time, yeah?” You tell him, an urgent need practically possessing you.

You’re not a patient person. You don’t want to wait for the night to end, you don’t want to risk never seeing this handsome and strange vampire ever again. And so, you practically beg for him to take you, to bite you, to drink you, up against the brick walls of this desolate alley.

Copia looks conflicted. For the briefest of moments, you think he might tell you no. But then, he places his gloved fingertips upon your face, brushing against your cheek, trailing down to your jaw. He tilts your head slightly, revealing your bare neck to him, providing him with better access to the veins located there. Leaning down once more, he presses his face into the delicate skin, breathing deeply. Your breath quickens, shallows, you hardly know what to expect. Copia’s lips are poised carefully over your jugular vein, and you can feel the blood pumping, anticipation growing. A gloved hand slides around your waist, forming a tight grip, holding you to him. He breathes out a soft, shaky breath against your skin. You swallow deeply, letting your eyes flutter closed.

“Ready?” He whispers, lips brushing against the skin.

Words feel impossible, so you nod slightly, barely perceptible. But Copia knows what you want. He knows what he needs. You are both barely breathing, filled with a tense anticipation for the act that is about to occur. It is terrifying. It is exhilarating.

So slowly that it makes you want to scream, he opens his mouth, lips brushing against your skin. You can feel the sharp pointed ends of his fangs, pressing painfully against your unbroken skin. They are razor sharp, and you find yourself wondering if perhaps you should beg him to stop. You’d not considered the pain. Will it be entirely agonising? Your breath hitches in your throat. He pauses. It is as if he is waiting for you to plead with him, ask for him to spare you. But you do not. How many people can say they’ve met a vampire and lived to tell the tale? Despite how utterly insane it is, you will not back down from this. With a deep — albeit slightly shaky — breath, you steel yourself for the act to come. Copia seems to take this as an acceptance, as a sign to proceed.

And so, it begins. His fangs nip at you, as if he is hesitating. But then, suddenly, they are tearing through the skin of your neck as if it is paper thin, as if it is the most pathetic of barriers. It is agonising. Your mouth falls open, but the pain is so blinding, you cannot make a sound. You’ve forgotten how to make sound. Every part of your mind is lost to the agonies. Your knees buckle beneath you, but you do not fall; you are vaguely aware of his arm tightening around your waist, of him stepping closer, moulding his body to yours, pressing you up against the wall, securing you in place. But the ripping sensation fades, changes. There is no longer the searing pain of shredded skin. Hot blood is seeping from the ragged wounds upon your neck. Copia is practically cradling your body to his, gloved hands holding you tightly. It’s almost like a most macabre make out session, the way he laps at the wound, pressing what feels like warm and wet open mouthed kisses upon your neck. Except, that warm and wet sensation is your blood, spilling from an open wound. Sound is still beyond you, you cannot make a single noise, eyes squeezed tightly shut, mouth open in a silent whimper. Yet, it is not so unpleasant. Perhaps you are a little light-headed, a little dazed from blood loss. But there is something about the way Copia is pressed up against you, desperately drinking down your blood. He lets out soft sighs, barely audible, as he tastes you. And curiously, you can feel his hands gently caressing the exposed skin of your back, as if he is trying to reassure you, comfort you. He does not want to hurt you, you are safe. Oddly enough, you believe it. He won’t hurt you, no more than is necessary for his feeding.

The moment feels like an eternity, although you know it is not. It probably lasts no more than a few minutes. But eventually, the odd sensation of him drinking you down finishes, Copia begins to lap up any stray droplets, as if cleaning the wound. He lingers over the wound, dragging his tongue, his lips, over it. The bite aches, but it does not feel so raw, it is not as painful as you’d expected. He seems to have finished, but he does not move. He inhales softly, as if committing the moment, your scent, to memory.

Patiently, you wait for him to be done. It’s for the best, that he has not moved away so soon, for you are not entirely certain of your ability to stand. In fact, you are feeling a little dazed, everything is slightly hazy. But you do not mind. That adrenaline rush you crave is still pumping through your veins. It is not often you are rendered speechless. You kind of like it. This odd stranger, this vampire, has entirely surprised you. But what has surprised you most, is that you are entirely unopposed to letting this situation happen again. The danger, the anticipation, the unexpected intimacy of it all… you rather like it.

Slowly, carefully, Copia steps back to look at you. His grip upon your waist loosens, but he does not let go. You are grateful, for you are sure you would have fallen onto him. As it is, you stumble a little, he has to steady you. Looking up at his face, you can see a deep concern in his eyes, as he scans over you. It’s kind of nice, if a little strange, that he cares. Usually the guys you meet in back alleys are a lot less concerned about your wellbeing. Although… this isn’t your usual sort of situation. You’ve never been bitten by a vampire before.

Your eyes flicker down to his mouth, to catch a glimpse of the fangs that had so easily torn into your skin. There’s a small smear of blood, your blood, at the corner of his mouth. He clearly has not noticed it. before you can think twice about your actions you are leaning forward, raising your hand to wipe the blood away with your thumb. Copia catches your wrist almost immediately, holding your hand in front of him, eyes zeroing in on the trace amounts of blood.

“I — there was a little blood. Figured it’s best not to go around with a bloody mouth and all.” You tell him uselessly, as if he cannot see the blood staining your skin. He can probably smell it.

Copia raises your hand back to his lips, glancing up to meet your eyes. And with the most predatory of stares, his eyes glowing, he opens his mouth once more, pointed fangs dangerously exposed. Your breath falters once more. But he does not hurt you, he would not hurt you. His lips brush against your hand, cool to the touch. You swallow deeply as his tongue languidly trails across your thumb, pulling it into his mouth. There’s a spark of something between you, there’s heat pooling in the pit of your stomach. He is lapping up the remaining droplets of blood from your fingers, it should not be so enthralling. Unhurriedly, he withdraws from you, releases your thumb from his mouth, your hand from his strong grasp.

You have to try, incredibly hard, to repress a whimper at the loss of contact. A part of you, that small voice in the back of your mind that craves danger and excitement, wants him. Carnally. Shouldn’t this, this odd little feeding experience, be enough? Shouldn’t friendship with this remarkable creature that should not even exist be enough? You try to shake away the lust-filled thoughts. They are a little too dangerous, even for you.

Copia too seems to be shaking off his own kind of lust. Blood-lust. That predatory look fades, that awkwardness and unease returns to his body.

“I am sorry, I — that was perhaps inappropriate. I am most grateful to you, dolcezza. How are you feeling, I did not hurt you too much, no?” He apologises, eyes darting from yours to the hand that you have left lingering in the air where he released it.

Quickly, you drop your arm back down to your side, trying to play it off as if you were not totally into whatever it was that just happened.

“Fine, actually. I mean, a little light-headed. But, no, I’m fine.” You are rambling a little, what with the light-headedness making your thoughts more than a little sluggish.

Perhaps that is why you’re feeling so weird, so captivated by him. It’s the blood loss.

“I am glad that you are not hurt. I am not so practised, I was afraid of hurting you too badly.” He flashes a wide, uncomfortable smile. It makes you wonder if this was far more dangerous than you’d anticipated, letting an inexperienced vampire feed from you.

Copia could have so easily made a mistake, and killed you dead. Or undead. You’re not entirely sure how that all works.

“It was… I don’t know. Indescribable. When do you need to do this again?” You laugh, unable to find some tangible explanation for how exhilarating the experience was.

And it’s true. You’ve never felt more alive. You’re on top of the world, you’re intoxicated by how thrilling it was to have experienced such an electrifying brush with danger, with death, and won. Sure, it hurt at first. But it was the oddest melding of pain and pleasure. And you think, maybe, it could be even better. There’s no denying it. You need it to happen again.

“You mean to say… you would not mind? Should this happen again?” Copia looks at you incredulously, as if he’d expected you to tell him that it was terrible, horrible, that you’d never want to see him again.

Honestly, you feel kind of bad for the guy. He’s clearly had absolutely terrible luck with the vampire thing so far.

“Oh, of course not. Here, do you have a phone? I’ll type in my number and address and we can figure something out. Later though, because my friends are going to kill me for disappearing like this. Again.” You laugh, although it turns into a grimace as you realise exactly how long you’ve probably been gone for.

This was supposed to be a quick smoke break. Instead, you’ve made a strange friend, and developed an odd new interest in being fed upon, in being Copia’s very own ethical blood bank.

As you ponder your friends’ reactions — really, how pissed off can they be, if you return to them before the night is over — you are startled from your thoughts. Copia has lunged at you. But not to hurt you, bite you, kill you. No. His arms are wrapped around you, he clings tightly to you as he pulls you in for an awkward hug. You’re certain he does not know his own strength, for his embrace is vise-like, you can hardly breathe. But he seems to realise, and hastily pulls away from you.

“Sorry, sorry. I am just — I am overwhelmed with gratitude.” He smiles awkwardly at you, as if he’s not entirely sure what to do now that you’ve agreed. That air of nervousness surrounding him is stronger than ever, and you cannot help but find it a little endearing.

“No worries, seriously. You got a phone?” You ask, and he fumbles within a pocket of his skin tight pants — how he fits anything within there is beyond you — and pulls out his phone. Quickly, you type your details into his notes app, and pass it back. “Okay, there you go. Call me, yeah?”

With that final demand, and a final look back at the vaguely awestruck vampire watching your every move, you slip back into the club. It’s busier than ever inside. The music is loud, a bad remix of a song you hate. Blood loss has left you a little hazy, but it’s fine. You’re fine. You’re more alive than ever. Stumbling through the crowds of partiers, you finally spy your friends, gathered at the bar, a round of drinks between them.

God, you could use a tequila shot right now. Anything to dull the headache brewing. Blood loss or bad music? It’s hard to say which is the cause. Finally, having weaved your way between dancers and drunkards, you are reunited with your friends. It’s as if nothing has changed. But everything has, you think. Something has fundamentally changed. After grabbing some soda water from the bartender — you’re pretty sure you are supposed to rehydrate after blood loss, although you’ll admit to being entirely clueless on the matter — one of your friends pulls you aside.

“Where the fuck did you go?” She shouts over the music, looking more than a little concerned.

She has every right to be — it’s been an hour since you left for a cigarette.

“Back alley, met a guy.” You wink at her salaciously, as if your meeting with Copia had been nothing more than a rough fuck against the brick walls.

“Yeah no kidding! God, that’s the biggest hickey I’ve ever seen.” Your friend laughs, gesturing to your neck.

Your hand flies up immediately, trying to cover it. Not that it would do much good, for she’s already pointing it out to the rest of your group, giggling about your escapades. While you can’t see the wound, this supposed hickey, you know it probably looks atrocious. It feels tender to the touch, you cannot help but wince at even the slightest pressure upon it.

The song changes; finally, a track you like. Grabbing onto your friends’ hands, you pull them towards the dance floor, ready to let loose. The haziness of blood loss has shifted, changed. You feel euphoric, adrenaline rushing through your body. And as you dance, laughing with your friends, you are reminded so easily of why you love the night. You love the possibilities of it, the intrigue. As you move your body to the beat of the song, your eye catches something off in the distance.

Mismatched eyes, one a bright white. Copia is here, watching.

You are certain you’ll see your vampiric friend again, soon. And you cannot wait.

[plutoswriting]

Personal Sessions

Summary: Your new gym comes with a few perks. Heated swimming pool, sauna, and your very own personal trainer. Bucky Barnes. And he has the best way of making sure you work up a sweat.

Pairing: MMA!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Smut, size kink, belly bulge, choking, praise kink and hint of breeding kink, beefy Bucky.

A/N: Beta’d by the lovely @maladaptivexxdaydreaming and @lfnr-blog-blog-blog.

|Masterlist↬MMA Masterlist↬Library ↬Kofi|

Good for one free personal training session.

The neatly handwritten words stare up at you.

A thin ribbon of blue ink smeared across the words from where he circled the word personal.

Putting the corners of the thin white card between your fingers, you spin it to the front. Brooklyn’s 107th Gym embossed in bold black lettering above a pair of red and blue boxing gloves.

Steve G. Rogers and J. Bucky Barnes inscribed in fine black lettering.

You trace your finger over the latter’s name.

Bucky Barnes.

He’s been starring in your dreams ever since you walked into his gym a few weeks ago. And after you discovered a few videos of his fights, demonstrating his sheer strength and agility, he’s the reason your favorite vibrator has been getting more of a workout than you have.

Turning the card back over, you blow a shaky breath through your lips.

Good for one free personal training session.

And you wonder just how personalized it will be.

Keep reading

[plutoswriting]

It should 100% be illegal for companies to make you give them your payment information when you sign up for a free trial version of their product. It is not necessary and there is no good fucking reason for them to do it. It’s blatantly just so they can steal forgetful customers’ money.

[plutoswriting]

[plutoswriting]

Adding my own!!

guys guys let me start a new picrew chain please

make yourself in this and then reblog.

tag anyone you want!

here's mine:

tagging @taylorswifff @lesbianfanfictionenthusiast @mikedisasterqueerwheeler @mikesgaylittlethoughts @delusional-dingus @nancyfilm @trashmouther-4 @bylrlvr @vrysorcha @paladin-n-cleric @fleura4 @buck-yyyy @theonebyler @thingsarenotgoinhwell @nyx-rougesang @nessuno-odissea-stuff @sorry-i-panicked @harryandginnydeservesbetter and anyone else who wants to join :)

[plutoswriting]

My Angel - Bucky Barnes Smut

Summary: Bucky Barnes, your father's best friend has been very, very patient about matters involving you. Seeing you in that outfit however, he can't help but want to corrupt his angel.

Pairing: DBF! Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: main kink: corruption, age gap: bucky is 40 reader late twenties eg: 26, smut, dom/sub dynamics, possessiveness, slight dark bucky, praise kink, mild degradation kink, nickname - angel, oral f receiving, p in v, multiple orgasms, cockwarming, handjob, cosplay, cum play, Bucky Barnes is a warning MINORS DNI

A.N: i always wanted to write DBF!Bucky and the best way is smut I guess, hope you enjoy! also side note i know nothing of the hobbit and i did ask my best friend @stevesmewmew about it. also song i constantly heard while writing - dirty thoughts - chole adams

Word Count: 3020

Main Masterlist || AO3 || Kinktober Materlist

You stare at yourself in the mirror, gnawing your bottom lip. The white dress looks pretty, sort of flowy, your cheeks heat at why you picked the outfit. 

The lace sits nicely, you stare at the silver woven crown you DIY-ed. Placing it upon your head. You don’t know the first thing about the character apart from what you found on google. 

Galadriel, you stare at your attempt of cosplay one more time. You do admire the dress. All your best friend said was she was powerful, innocent and that she had battle skills as well as knowledgeable. She seemed badass. 

You knew the man’s eye you watched to catch was a fan of the franchise. You wondered who he would dress as, your palms smoothen over the dress once again. Grabbing your purse you do a final check and head downstairs. Nervousness blooms in your abdomen.

Your elder brother’s annual halloween party was an excuse for friends and teens to sort of let loose. The only reason it was even allowed was the fact that Bucky Barnes, your dad’s best friend and neighbour would keep the antics in line. The same man who you wanted to impress tonight.

Usually he would be having fun with everyone and covering for your brother’s shenanigans and mostly keeping you company and coaxing you out of your shell for about an hour and then you both would sneak into the theatre room to have a horror movie marathon. 

As you traverse downstairs, the party already in full swing. Music thumping, you squeeze past the crowd in the hallway going to the kitchen for a drink. You wonder if forgoing the wig makes a difference as you head to the fridge. Shrugging you uncap the bottle. Glad, that the kitchen isn’t occupied yet. 

“Holy fuck.” The voice startles you and the water drops across your chest. You wince turning to tell of the source. Your throat dries when it’s Bucky — dressed in a suit, fangs peaking through his lips. 

“B-bucky?” You confirm, he’s gone for the modern vampire vibe and you can’t stop staring at the fit of his inner white collared shirt. 

“You, you’re dressed as—,” his eyes trace over you, crown to hem of the white gown. His fake fang sinks into his bottom lip. Tongue then peeking out to wet the flesh. 

You gulp eyes on his lips, “G-galadriel.” 

“You look, ethereal.” He admits, you look away shyly. 

“Thank, thank you.” Internally your heart hammers at his response. 

Bucky steps closer, towering over you. His woodsy cologne evades your senses, he reaches up, fixing your crown. Fingertips then trace from your temple to your jaw to your chin, tilting your head back. 

His heated gazes prompts your thighs to clench. Bucky inhales deeply. 

“Such innocence.” He murmurs, “So much light. How would you look flush against darkness?” Bucky questions he can feel all the blood rush to his cock. Your nipples hardened perceivable through the lace. The tea towel he holds pressed against your chest. 

He wants to push you against the wall and kiss you. Wants to rip the lace off with his teeth, watch how your lips part moaning his name, or stretched around his cock, how would you look bouncing on his— you blink up at him, he shifts back. 

“Can’t taint you, can I?” He muses. You frown. 

“Bucky I,” 

“Do you like my outfit?” He gestures, changing the topic. 

“Vampire?” You giggle when he smiles brightly, fangs bared. 

“From those shows you like,” He admits sheepish. 

“The one I like wears a leather jacket.” You tease, he narrows his eyes. 

“Oh so when I caught you salivating at the suit wearing one, that was what?” He chuckles when you huff caught in your own web of lies. 

“I do like him in a suit, you might just make it better.” Your fingertips trace the undone jacket button, biting your lip you look up at him.  

Bucky breathes your name in warning, not for himself but for you. He had begun to disregard warnings the night he coated his fist and abdomen with his cum thinking about you.

“Want to know a dirty little secret?” You burn his curiosity brighter than light. He nods. 

“I wore the outfit for you.” Your hand traces up to the jacket lapel, Bucky breathes deeply. 

“You dressed up as one of the most innocent characters of my favourite series, for me?” Bucky recounts, god your perfume so sweet. How would you taste? He wonders. 

“All for you.” You admit, swallowing when his palm finally meets your waist. Warmth sears through your skin as his thumb brushes over the lace. 

Bucky’s mind is a swirl of should I, should I not, but you were making it so easy. So easy to choose the idea to corrupt you. 

The groan he produces rumbles in his chest, Bucky watches as you shift and your pelvis moves in the slightest to your thighs clenching. 

“Want to know a dirty little secret, Angel?” He questions, palm trailing up your side, to your breast. 

“Y-yes.” You bite your lip trying not to make a sound as he palms the flesh through the lace. 

“I want to ruin you, with my tongue, my fingers and my cock.” Bucky’s voice is deep, you softly moan at his words. 

“Look at that, little innocent angel wants to be ruined.” He comments, tugging on your nipples. 

“You’re going to look so pretty wrapped around my cock, begging for release.” He tugs on your earlobe, you feel his thigh between your legs, your hips buck involuntary, you whimper at the contact. 

“Look at you Angel, turning into such a needy, pretty slut for me.” Bucky marvels at the way you’re complying, the way your needy little breaths are making him so hard. 

He pulls away as he hears boisterous laughter approaching. You whine at the loss of him. 

“Angel.” He chastises. Handing you the dish towel to help soak the water from your dress. 

“Oh hey, Mr. Barnes, hey tiny.” Your brother chuckles when you groan at his stupid nickname for you. He busies himself taking out drinks from the wine cooler. 

“Hi Y/N. What happened?” Nick Fowler, your brother’s best friend steps closer to you. 

“Just spilled a drink,” you shrug, his grey eyes on you. 

“Oh I’ll help—,” Nick’s hand outstretches, but Bucky steps closer, “She’s got it.” 

Nick’s jaw tenses, Bucky only smiles at him. 

You look between the two, not understanding the reason for the stare down.  

“Run along now.” Bucky speaks sickly sweet as your brother calls out to Nick, he gives you a once over and then leaves with him. 

You look at Bucky, he turns to you, signs of irritation leaving his features. 

“Meet me in my theatre room?” Bucky smiles when you nod eagerly. 

He cups your face between, his metal and calloused hand. 

Blue eyes, admire you. 

“I want the crown to remain on, though I wonder if it will stay secure after I’m done with you.” Before you can react he presses his lips to yours, warm, soft lingering taste of his whiskey. 

The cold metal of the refrigerator blooms across your back as he presses you against the appliance. 

You kiss back, as his tongue swipes at your bottom lip exploring your mouth. Taking his bottom lip between your teeth you suck on the flesh, he moans your name, grinding against you. 

Bucky parts his lips from yours, your lust blown eyes gaze up at him, so innocent. 

“Oh, Angel. I don’t think I have any patience left any longer.” Is all he says before grabbing your hand and guiding you out the side door, towards his house. 

Bucky’s hands are everywhere, your knees either side of his lap, the dress pushed up bunching around your hips. He lifts his hips ever so slightly, you cry out around his fingers. 

“Go on Angel, get them nice and wet. Good girl, oh are you chocking on my fingers already? Oh sweet little needy baby, what will you do with my cock then?” He tuts, pulling his fingers out of your mouth, a trail of saliva connects from the tip of his finger to your lips. 

“Ask for my fingers Angel.” Bucky smirks as you whine. 

“Please.” Your hands rest on his chest. 

“That wasn’t a really good job.” He chastises, “You can do better sweet Angel, go on say the filthy words of what you want from me.” 

Staring into his eyes, your skin heats, Bucky shifts his hips again, you mewl. 

“Bucky please.” Your hands clutch at his half unbuttoned shirt. It hangs off of his shoulders.

“Please what?” His left hand moves up your back, cooler fingers find the zipper undoing it. 

“Please fuck me with, with your fingers.” You bite your lip. 

“Only my fingers?” He teases thumb brushing over your inner thigh. 

“Do you want to sit on my face baby? Do you want me to lap up your sweetness? Bet you taste so good.” His thumb brushes over your clit.

You nod, you want all of it. 

“No panties, no bra, were you wanting me to fuck you?” He raises a brow, thumb applying pressure. 

You nod preening, “Want, want you.” His left hand urges you to kneel straighter, index and middle finger circling your entrance. 

“You want, me, Angel?” He confirms again, “Look at you, clenching around nothing, let’s change that shall we?” His digit sinks into you, Bucky swirls it around touching your walls, he then begins to pump in and out. 

You begin to meet the slow thrusts, your gown beginning to fall from your shoulders. Bucky swears as he sees the untouched skin and the pebbled nipples. 

“Look at you,” Two fingers fucking into your cunt, “Meeting every thrust, not so innocent are you?” His lips latch onto your nipple, sucking and biting your head thrown back his palm rubs over your clit as you grind down upon his fingers.

Bucky shifts his attention to the other nipple, the pace of his fingers increasing he adds a third, “Have to stretch you out don’t I? Aw, Angel are you going to make a mess on me? My Dirty, dirty girl.” 

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky—,” His fingers continually tap over the spongy sport, stars begin to cloud your vision, left hand gripping your breast, tweaking your nipples. 

“Go on, cum for me Angel, this is only the beginning of your ruin.”  Bucky smirks as you shudder against him, cunt squeezing his fingers, thighs trying to close, your hands tugging on is hair.

Lust blown blues admire you unraveling, the bliss spreading over your features as the orgasm takes you, your walls begging to keep his fingers in, Bucky’s palm rubbing circles over your clit and the burn of it delicious. Your shaking from the aftershocks ceases. It takes everything in Bucky not to have his fingers replaced by his cock swiftly. 

“You with me Angel?” Bucky chuckles, when you blink through the haze. 

“Y-yeah.” You run your fingers through his hair.

“Crown’s still on.” He chuckles, bringing his slick covered fingers to your lips, “Have a taste, you need to know how you taste without me.” 

His fingertips trace your lips, your tongue follows. Bucky then tastes you from his fingers and moans. 

Your dress is pushed off of your body, Bucky’s hands roam in admiration.

“So fucking delicious, I deserve a reward don’t I? For being this patient, for letting you remain untainted by me this long.” He looks at you, you nod. Bucky taps your hips and you move off him to allow him to slide down.

He kisses your clit, “Already needy, my, my.” his tongue licks over your folds, humming at your taste.

“Grab onto the headboard, Angel.” He says before his lips wrap around your clit and he sucks wantonly upon the pulsing nub. Shivers bloom across your back.

You moan, grinding onto his face, he groans. Hands clutching your hips not letting you move away, Bucky laps at your entrance, licking stripes from your clit to circle and back. Nibbling on the clit your mewls and preens don’t stop, his light scruff burns deliciously over your inner thighs and folds.

“Bucky please, please, please—,” You warn as the coil snaps again, his hips lift off of the bed in response as he hungrily devours you for every single drop. When he doesn’t relent you try pulling away, you can feel yourself getting slick again as his ministrations continue. 

His large hands push you back to sit on his lap again, pink lips glistening as he smirks. He pulls you close chest to chest.

“Rewarding.” He comments lazily tracing patters on your thigh.

You look down, the tent in his pants achingly visible.

“Can, can I?” You request.

“All words, Angel, need to know the filth that goes on in that innocent little mind, tell me is it all for me? Have my thoughts been corrupting you?” Your thighs squeeze at his word.

“Have you touched yourself thinking about me? Played with my pussy without asking me?” His thumb returns to your clit.

“Yes.” You squeak.

“Tell me what you’ve thought about baby?” He questions, “Tell me while you undo my pants, go on.”

Shaky fingers reach for the button, “I’ve thought, I’ve though about you fucking me, in your study.” You undo the zipper.

“Bent over my table?” He questions watch your tits with every deep breath you take.

You shake your head, toying with the wait band of his boxers.

“Against the window? My sweet, innocent, Angel wants the world to see I’m fucking her?” He questions, you nod.

“And maybe the table too.” You add, drawing amused laughter from him.

“What else, Angel?” He questions pace on your clit increasing, “Take my cock out.”

You do as he says, pumping him from bottom to top, his length is massive and girth as well. You bite your lip.

“Angel, don’t worry your pretty little head, it’ll fit, pussy was made for my cock.” He hisses as you rub your thumb on the slit then you bring the precum covered digit to your lips, locking eyes with him.

“Go on, taste me.” He watches as you clean your thumb eyes closed and humming at his taste before returning your hand to his cock.

“Stand up, we’re going to my office.” Bucky’s cock twitches in your hold.

His clothes are discarded, he easily lips you up, legs wrapped around him, his cock shifts over your folds with each step, Bucky keeps his lips pressed to yours as he easily moves to his office down the hall.

“Bend over the table corner.” He instructs, setting you down, you do as he says the cold marble has you shift, the rounded corner touches your clit.

“Just how I pictured.” He hums appreciative, lining himself up with you, slowly sinking in inch by inch you both moan in synchrony. Bucky grabs your hands holding them behind you. The arch it creates has him move in deeper, tip right against your g-spot.

“Fuck, so fucking tight, look at you, spread out for me, what would people say? Innocent little Angel is Bucky’s pretty little slut. She fantasises about being fucked by him. I’ll fuck you on every surface if you ask me.” His hips snap you cry out, clenching hard around him.

“Only you.” You whimper, as his pace increases, the cold marble rubbing against your clit.

“Fuck, how good are you squeezing me, cunt doesn’t want to let me go.” Bucky groans, pulling you up.

His cock moves deeper, your back is against his chest, his left hand moves to your clit, right hand around your throat squeezing lightly. Your walls quiver around him.

“Oh Angel likes being choked? Fuck, you’re perfect. My pretty little slut, look at you.” He groans, adding pressure and the sounds of his cock have you mewl and preen.

“Please, please, please,” More incoherent thoughts spill from your lips, he feels so good, so good. So deep.

“Only I, get to see you this way don’t I? Begging, on the brink of bliss.” 

Yes, yes, yes—“Bucky, please—,” 

“Look at you, can only think about my cock filling you up so good, can’t you Angel?” He bites down on your neck, leaving his mark. 

“So, g-good,” You choke on another moan.

Your hands around his neck, your nails manage to claw at his flesh. Bucky knows he’s not going to last, he knows you aren’t going to either. 

“Go on Angel, cum so you can feel me everywhere. My dirty, little, pretty girl. Innocent little slutty Angel.” His words set off the flame that consumed your veins, distantly you hear a desperate cry of Bucky’s name, Bucky groans your name in response your spasming walls setting his orgasm off.

He continues to fuck you through your orgasms, panting in his arms, Bucky loves how your pussy feels wrapped around him. He leans back taking you with him into his plush chair. 

Cock still inside of you, his fingers rubbing at your clit, you protest, his hand clutches at your hair, lips swallow down your protests, fingers moving fast your babbles return, cumming undone on his cock, marking it with yourself. 

“Look at that Angel, you’ve claimed my cock.” He admires the fluids coating your thighs and his balls, gathering the cum, he brings his fingers to your lips. 

You keep your eyes locked with his, as you lick his fingers clean. Your clit pulses at the taste. Bucky smirks feeling your pussy clench. Your mind is a haze as his lips press kisses to your temple and cheek. 

“I’ve got all night to corrupt your thoughts further. Against the window next, Angel. I know someone who would hate to miss out on the show we put on.” He chuckles darkly, hands roam your body. 

You hum tiredly, basking in the warmth, Bucky’s eyes shift to the broken crown discarded to the floor. 

“Little corrupted Angel.” He hums, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, "My Angel." He repeats, placing a soft kiss over the love bite on your neck.

"All yours, Bucky." You whisper, tilting your head back to meet his blue eyes.

-x-

permanent tags for bucky: @slutforsexyseabass

[plutoswriting]

𝐝𝐚𝐛𝐢 + 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐧𝐨 ┆𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐨 + 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 ┆𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐢 + 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ┆𝐡𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐬 + 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 ┆𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐰𝐚 + 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤

cw. c. somno, creampie, riding, praise, doggy, hair pulling, degradation, use of daddy + good girl, overstim. — rbs are appreciated — event m.list | main m.list

#𝐃𝐀𝐁𝐈

It’s late when he comes back to your shared apartment, brows furrowed as he snorts before slipping under the covers, his cock hard and throbbing as he holds you in his arms.

“Fucking tight, doll,” he moans pressing his face into the crook of your neck, one hand on your hip to steady you and the other in your hair as he pushes into you, balls deep.

You moan and whimper pulling your hand back to grab his spiky hair, “your cunt is squeezing me so good” he gasps in your ear, “fuck, doll.”

Your eyes roll back as Dabi pushes more messily against your ass, his thick head pressing into your sweet spot tearing off muffled moans from your lips.

His thick cock shoved into your pussy begins to twitch making you wake up fully and begin to sway back and forth, “c-cumming” you blurt out rubbing your clit with your fingers.

Your cunt gushes around his girth, your folds fluttering around him as Dabi begins to pour his copious load into your soaked slit, “so fucking good oh shit” he murmurs wrapping his arms around your quivering body.

Keep reading

[plutoswriting]

Asking for directions

[plutoswriting]

Can you write about how the kuroshitsuji boys would initiate sex / foreplay ? If you're comfortable with that 👀

How the kuroshitsuji boys/women initiate sex

I am more than comfortable with this my love. Thank you @lacharcutiere for proof reading ♥︎

Sebastian -

Every night you sleep in this top, after all it is twice your size. He knows you’re only wearing bloomers underneath so his advances are predatory. His eyes stalk your body taking in every curve and detail before wrapping his hands underneath your tits. He prefers initiating via actions not words. His breath tickles the back of your neck, making your hair stand in anticipation before he starts guiding his hands down to your thighs, he rubs little circles on your thighs before making his way back to your shirt. Sebastian breathing becomes heavier, suggesting you’re about to fuck, before he begins to undo the buttons of your shirt one by one. Whilst doing this he lets his fingers tease your skin sometimes taking a little longer to undo a button to run his fingers along your collarbones and over your tits. He backs you onto the bed before holding you under him, his figure lurking over you as he bends down to kiss you before finally taking your bloomers off.

Undertaker -

Casual touches are passed throughout day and night: he sees you bending down putting something away so he comes closer, standing right behind, you hands placed on your hips. When you jump from the sudden intrusion he cries out and laughs before walking, away but he is infact very turned on. You stand in your shared bedroom changing your sweaty work clothes. Your top that was placed on your bed stand must’ve been misplaced as you can’t seem to find it; instead your top is on top of the drawer in the middle of room. Turning to put your top on, you spot Undertaker leaning against the doorframe watching you, eyes covered but arms folded. You can never tell what he’s thinking without looking at his expressions, but he’s practically undressing you with his eyes. The sexual tension makes the temperature in the room almost unbearable but yet again he turns his back, returning to work with his ‘guests’. It’s the end of the day and as everything comes to a close, you close your eyes until you feel Undertaker tugging your body closer to his, fingernails leaving scratches on your arms as he flips you onto your back.

Grell -

Leaves a note on the door. The note contains the message of ‘ u wan sum fuk.’ She’s behind you all bright eyed and bushy tailed waiting for your answer.

[plutoswriting]

Sebastian taking his s.o’s virginity

𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇’𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒: smut below the cut

Literally there’s no one better suited for the occasion

Sebastian isn’t human, and that comes in handy if you’re someone who wants to wait and take things slow until you’re at that intimate level of trust. He won’t be pushy about having sex with you if you’re not ready. He’ll play the perfect gentleman as long as you like

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t dying to get to know you at that level. You can feel the longing in his kisses and the desire in his caresses barely kept in line behind a respectful facade

The moment you tell him you’re ready he’ll be deeply honored. He knows how much this means to you

He’d take you on a really nice date for the whole day, every single thing carefully planned and staged to be the romantic prelude to the final act of the night

But should you suddenly make up your mind during a heated make out session Sebastian won’t be objecting

It sounds egocentric, but the fact that you picked Sebastian to be your first makes his ego puff with pride

Sebastian will slowly undress you, and if you attempt to cover your gorgeous naked body from his eyes he won’t let you do it

He’ll speak only the sweetest of praises in your ear, chasing the fear and insecurity away in a second

He’ll encourage you to undress him yourself in hopes of making you feel more confident around him

Sebastian loves adulation, so his body is chiseled to handsome, manly features, he’s so beautiful even without anything on his skin that for a second it makes you think that you probably don’t look anywhere nearly as pretty as him

Sebastian chuckles at your words. “Don’t be silly Y/n, if you could only see yourself right now, all pretty and blushy. My lovely kitten”

Foreplay is long and sensual, and it’s mostly to get you used to this cascade of new sensations. Sebastian pays attention to every single detail, from the places where you like being kissed the most, the ticklish areas, the little noises you make when his hands caress your thighs. He registers all of this in his head for future use

Doesn’t matter hoy shy you may be about it, but Sebastian will insist on eating you out. He’ll run his hot tongue all over your already soaked pussy, greedily tasting as much as he can, not stopping until you’ve reached your first orgasm at his hands

It’s inevitable for penetration to be slightly painful at first. But it’s only an instant. Sebastian distracts your mind from the pain with vigorous kissing and caresses all over your body

Sebastian is wonderfully endowed down there, and although you may be concerned at first wether if all of that will fit inside you, you’ll be pleasantly surprised how nicely stuffed you feel when he’s inside, the mere sensation of his throbbing cock almost bringing another orgasm on you

He’ll focus on your pleasure, keeping his thrusts as soft and controlled as he can. Trust me, he wants to pound into you like a wild animal, the sensation of your tight velvety walls squeezing his cock is driving him mad and it takes every strand of self control he has to not go beast mode on you. Not now anyways, there will be another time for that

Sebastian likes biting. The brief stings of his fangs on your sweaty skin give you ridiculously pleasant sensations

So expect a lot of hickeys and love bites the next morning

Added bonus if you scratch his back or pull his hair. He’ll inevitably go a bit harder if you do this, not to mention of you happen to bite him back

Sebastian will fuck you until you can go no further, and by the time you’re finished you’re beyond exhausted

A little blood from your pussy is to be expected in your first time. The sweet smell of your blood immediately gets to his sensitive nostrils. He’ll lick your cunt clean, the warm wet tongue soothingly washing away the shock your body is still in, the taste of your fluids mixed with his seed and a droplet of virgin’s blood almost sending Sebastian on another lustful impulse again

But sadly for him you’re almost passed out

He’s the king of aftercare. If you have the energy he’ll draw you a soothing steaming bath where he’ll either help you clean yourself or give you some personal space, whatever you wish

There’s lots of kisses, pet names and tender affections. Sebastian will tuck you into bed and cuddle you until you fall asleep

Normally he’d leave the bed the moment you’ve fallen deeply asleep, but tonight he’s staying, and if he’s being especially fluffy he’ll even sleep along with you, but will make sure to wake up before dawn to get you some hot breakfast ready the moment your beautiful eyes open

In short, one hell of a butler = one hell of a lover

-🌸🐇

[plutoswriting]

Um I think eddie broke

Pov: Eddie is wondering why they are so mad

[plutoswriting]

[plutoswriting]

Filthy Criminal• 18+ Content

Warnings- Gun Play, Knife Play, Mentions of Stealing, Cursing, Degrading, Praising, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Sex, Spitting, Breeding, Spanking, Rough Sex, Dom/Sub Dynamic, Pet Names (Dollface, Babydoll), Overstimulation, Pantie Kink, Authority Kink.

Summary- Greed powered your veins, taking over your morals. You snuck into your supervisors office, eyes set on stealing his prized possession— until he caught you in the act.

Pairings- Rough!Supervisor!Bucky & Criminal!Submissive!Reader

Word Count- 4.6k

Author’s Note- You can tell I’m down tremendously bad, I will be attending Sunday church after this.

A criminal, a title you became accustomed to. You were one of New York’s most wanted fugitives, nearly top 5 most wanted on the FBI watch list. You stole from anyone, not caring what their reputation held or what their connections were.

If you wanted something, you got it— no matter the price.

Currently, you worked for the notorious Winter Soldier— becoming his corporation’s full-time pirate. Anything Barnes wished for, you got it. But, this time? You were swindling from the Winter Soldier himself.

Recently, Barnes bought a historical dagger from Mesopotamia, the first civilized city on the planet. It was the same blade you had your eyes on since it went on display at the museum— the only downside, your supervisor put the order on before you could snatch it.

Of course, none of that stopped you. Your heart was set on having that dagger, and you were going to get it— at any rate.

Today was the perfect day. The mansion was vacant, along with James’ office. James and a few of his armed guards were attending a business seminar with Stark Industries, allowing you to snatch the dagger before someone detected you.

You checked the surrounding area, making sure none of the guards stayed behind. The halls were clear, the security cameras currently down— giving you the chance to quickly slip into his office without a trace.

His office was simple, with dark curtains and decor— files on files piled lazily on his desk. Your eyes nearly lit up once you saw the dagger— displayed proudly on the center of his desk. The copper blade shimmered in the dim light, the moon reflecting off the stone.

“God, aren’t you a beauty.” You mumbled to yourself, cautiously tip-toeing over to the desk. Your hands jerked as you reached for the blade, the digits of your fingers just barely scuffing the handle.

Your body froze entirely when you felt the frigid metal of a pistol loaded at your head, the thick sound of it being cocked back made you squirm. You closed your eyes, mentally screaming at yourself for getting caught so easily.

Whoever held the gun to your head chuckled behind you, placing a hand on your waist— fingertips digging into your flesh. “Stealing from me, babydoll?”

It was James. You knew that voice anywhere.

“Sir-“

“Speak and I swear to god, I will fucking blow your brains out.” He said sternly, pressing the tip of the gun into the back of your skull— enough to make your head throb from the pain.

You gnawed at your lip, obeying your boss’ orders. You stayed silent, listening to James click his tongue— his foot tapping against the floorboards. The silence was dangerous, the eerie feeling making your skin crawl.

You couldn’t move an inch, your body was paralyzed in panic. You feared no one— everyone feared you, but James? He was by far the most cold-hearted and formidable person you met. He had everyone wrapped around his finger, kneeling at his request.

James was pretentious, defiant, and bitter. He had all the right to be, he was a man of truth after all. James never once spoke a lie, he always crossed his heart— kissing the cross on his chest as he spoke.

“My, my. What should I do with you? I have to punish you.” James insinuated, the grip on your waist tightening by the millisecond.

You opened your eyes, looking at the window in front of you. James stood behind you, his hair was slightly disheveled, his black tie loosened around his neck— the veins in his neck pulsing as he fastened his fingers around the handle of the gun.

You found yourself breathing heavy— getting elicited by the current situation. The adrenaline was surging through your veins, electricity coursing through your skin. The way his hands felt against your skin made you shiver, the cold metal huddled against your head exciting every hormone in your body.

“Cat got your tongue, dollface? Or are you too afraid to disobey me?” He asked, his tone flat and gravel— as if he was wishing you would define him.

You scoffed, instantly regretting your decision. “Don’t know what you're talking about, Sir.” You spoke firmly, holding your confidence high— letting it trickle down your body.

“Do you think I’m stupid, Y/n? Mm, let’s talk about your punishment.” James said, his patience completely worn out from your sassy remark. “You’ve been such a naughty girl.” He added on, his voice turning into a sultry growl— his hot breath tickling the back of your neck.

“Punishment? Oh, what type of punishment, Sir? You asked playfully, squirming underneath his grip— kneading your ass against his crotch.

James nearly groaned, a raspy chuckle flowing off his tongue— withering down your spine. “Don’t push it, babydoll. Now, you want my glock or the fucking dagger?” He warned.

Your hormones went into turmoil, heat pooling from your cunt— your slick dripping onto the stretch of your panties. Your head was hazy, unable to process his question fully— leaving you dumb. James scoffed, growing tired of the silence. He drew his hand back, removing it from your waist and using it to strike you across the ass— his handprint painted underneath your pants.

“Fuckin’ answer me, Y/n. I don’t have time for your games.” He demanded, patience growing thin and sexual frustration growing robust.

“Both. God, use both.” You begged out in desperation, finally giving on to James’ demands.

You heard James chuckle from behind you, finally placing the gun aside. His free hand slithered around to grab the dagger, gently clasping it around his palms. “I’m gonna treat you like a fuckin toy, got that?” He growled, dragging the knife down your shirt— ripping the fabric in half.

Your body fluttered, the cold air of the room hitting your exposed back— nipples hardening underneath the fabric of your bra. James nearly went feral at the sight, the deep red color of your bra sending him overboard— wondering if you had panties to match.

“Did you not hear me?” He asked, spanking your ass again— adding force to his palms as he did so.

Your breathing shuddered, watching as James placed the dagger aside— his fingers hooking underneath the waistband of your leggings. “Yes, sir. I heard you.” You exhaled.

James smiled, caressing his large-sized palms along your waist— drawing them down to the curve of your hips. “For such a filthy, scum of a criminal, you have such a gorgeous body.” He degraded, his firm words making you whine.

You choked on your whimpers, roughly slapping both hands over your mouth. James chuckled at your innocent reaction, continuing to whisper degrading comments in your ear— hands still ravaging your body. Your body was burning from his intoxicating touch, blood rushing through your veins— your temperature rising hastily.

In a swift moment, James had your back shoved against the desk— his steel eyes devouring your body with a single look. He scanned you carefully, a sinister grimace spreading across his face. “Take off your pants.” He demanded, reaching for the pistol that laid next to your body.

His fingers bandaged around the gun, your eyes watching him intently. James traced the gun down the middle of your chest, gripping the handle with all his strength as a shaky moan left the tip of your tongue. He nudged the gun into the middle of your stomach, leaving a circle indent from the pressure. “Strip, I want to see you.” He ordered.

You gulped down the dry lump in your throat, dragging your fingers underneath your leggings. You pulled the fabric off your ankles, booting them aside— not caring where they landed. You stood bare in front of James, wearing nothing but a matching red lingerie set. James sucked in his bottom lip, shoulders puffing up as he reached for the hem on your underwear.

“These are pretty, babydoll. Take em off and leave them on my desk.” James barked, his pinky grazing the damp spot above your clit— the sweet friction making you moan in delight.

Your eyebrows wrinkled together in humiliation, but nonetheless bowing to his request. You hooked your index finger around the waistband of your panties— pulling them down your plush thighs. Your cunt was completely exposed, your wetness glistening off your thighs, seeping down your legs.

You did as you were told, placing your red panties on the middle of his desk— adding color to the dark mahogany wood. “Good girl, now take the dagger and cut your bra off.” James praised.

You were humiliated. James looked at you as if you were nothing— nothing but a whore used for his enjoyment. You choked down the dry lump in your throat, reaching for the blade that laid on his desk. You licked your lips slowly, pointing the blade to the straps of your bra.

You sliced the straps in half, letting them slide off your shoulders— leaving the center of the bra. James gawked in lust as you pushed the dagger into your skin, dragging it down the center fabric. You looked at James with wide eyes, giving him your best puppy dog expression— the lace seams shredding underneath the blade.

The lace bra fell to the ground, your perky breast now fully exposed— your body now given to his mercy. James studied your body, his moist tongue rolling over his lips. He wrapped his fingers around the glock, an evil smirk plastered across his chiseled face. James pressed the gun into the flesh of your shoulder, pushing you down slightly.

“Lay on your back, and spread your legs.” He instructed you, not bothering to strip out of his clothes.

You nodded your head, hoisting both your feet on the edge of the desk— spreading your legs apart as you laid on your back. Your warm slick dripped onto his desk, your pussy drenched in your arousal. James’ eyes broadened, his mouth slightly ajar as he watched your juices ooze out of you.

“Jesus Christ, babydoll. You’re fuckin’ drenched.” He idolized, running the head of the gun up your folds. “What are you, a shameless slut?” He degraded, watching how your body reacted to the feeling of his pistol.

Your eyes crossed over, sweet moans spilling out of your mouth— the cold metal of his gun nearly fucking you stupid. “Oh, yes. Fuck, I am.”

James slapped the side of the gun against your cunt, the sound of your wetness filling his ears sweetly. “Mm, that’s my good little babydoll. Now, I’m gonna fuck this sweet little pussy of yours. Stuff it full with my glock.”

You moaned softly at the touch, nodding your head frantically. God, you were so despondent to feel him— to feel his gun stretch out your walls, to prepare your pussy for the feeling of his thick cock. James watched you like a hawk, the tent in his pants becoming tight as your body faded against his toying touch.

James brought the gun to his face, flattening out his tongue— pressing the metal against the pink flesh. He hummed in delight, the taste of your juices coating every inch of his wide tongue. His eyes practically rolled back, the taste of your fluids sending him overboard.

You watched James intensely, your eyes following his fingers as he cocked back the gun— the sound of metal bullets hitting the floor made you tremble in goosebumps. “I know you love the adrenaline, but I’d like to keep you in one piece until I can stuff my dick inside you.” He ridiculed, his steel eyes glowing in sinful desires.

You lost your ability to speak, the thought process of forming a sentence completely obliterated. You whimpered in response, giving James the satisfaction of knowing he already fucked you stupid with his words. The cold tip of the gun rushed through your body, the barrel slowly being pushed inside you. Your hips buckled, eyes crossing over together as James pushed the barrel fully inside you.

Your hands excitedly reached for the edge of the desk, digging your fingernails into the wood as he started moving the barrel in circles. A loud yelp flowed off the tip of your tongue, your body melting into putty as James consistently fucked you with his gun— pushing into you until he reached your sweet spot.

Your body jolted with each thrust, the legs of the desk scratching the floor as your body shook. “You like being fucked with my gun, Dollface? Hm, like being treated like my fuckin toy?” James mocked you, watching as your body submitted to him— as if he was of higher power.

Your eyebrows crumpled together, pain and pleasure washing over your core— your hands hopelessly latching onto the flesh of James’ forearm. Your mouth hung open, unable to form words— only broken moans slipping off your wet tongue.

“I’m sorry, babydoll. I didn’t hear you?” He taunted you, moving his wrist— fucking you faster with the metal of his pistol.

Your eyes shot open, pupils enlarged. Your back arched, hips bucking with each ragged movement. “Ah, fuck. Fuck, yes!” You cried out, tears filling up your beautiful eyes.

James smirked, slowing down the harsh pace of his wrist— letting nothing but pleasure take over your body. “Mhm, I bet you do. My good little fucktoy.” He degraded, a mocking pout wiping over his face— watching yours contort at his jabs.

An erotic expression washed over your face, eyes crossing over as your eyebrows furrowed into a thick knot. You felt the room spin, your mind in a deep haze— thought process foggy and wiped out. Your knees gave out, your strength weakened— barely able to keep your legs propped up.

Your body was close, the uneasy knot grinding against your core— your abdomen tightening, muscles flexing as your body trembled. James watched in all his glory, his eyes glowing a dark fury; nothing but the devil peeking through his sinful smirk.

“You wanna cum, dollface? Beg me. Beg for me to let you cum all over my glock.” James spoke firmly, roughly bringing his movements to a halt.

You whined at the sudden stop, a single teardrop streaming down your flustered cheek. The knot in your core was tied tight, your whole body engulfed in an uncomfortable heat— begging to be set free.

“Please, James. Please let cum, I can’t hold it anymore!” You wailed, screwing your bright eyes shut.

“C’mon, babydoll. Tell me where you wanna cum.” James chuckled, refusing to cave into your small and worthless pleas.

“James, baby. Please, let me cum all over your gun. Baby, please.” You begged, opening your eyes; revealing nothing but a dam of tears— letting them stream down your face.

James smiled, his ego rocketing at the sweet sound of your moans— his name flowing off your tongue like fresh vanilla. He pumped the barrel faster, your clear liquids shining through dull metal. “Cream my glock, dollface. Show me what a good little whore you are.” He said, his tough hands clasping onto your chin, calloused fingertips digging into your flesh— patting the side of your cheeks.

Your ears flared in heat, thick streams of blood rushing to your head— making you see stars. The fast movements made your core snap, the tight feeling engulfing your whole body— legs quivering as your hips bucked upwards. The creamy white substances coated the metal gun, taking away from the charcoal grey color— your body creaming the barrel fully.

James sucked his teeth, his eyes memorized by your orgasmic expression. He felt his jeans tightening, his tent growing prominent— his cock nearly bursting through the seams. “I bet you taste good, too bad this is your mess to clean up.” He cocked an eyebrow, slowly pulling the gun from your utilized hole.

He smacked the head of it against your lips, the salty taste of your fluids leaking through your lips. You moaned against your tongue, giving James wide eyes. “Yes sir.” You complied, sticking out your tongue— letting James gag you with his gun.

You worked your tongue around the barrel, sucking up every drop of your cum— engrossed with the taste of yourself. James watched with heavy eyes, forcefully pushing the gun further down your throat. “Mhm, just like that. Gag on it, babydoll.” He chuckled, using his free hand to wipe your tears.

You hallowed out your cheeks, taking the gun to the back of your throat— your tonsils swinging against the barrel. James muttered a small moan underneath his breath, his nostrils flaring as he watched you. “Fuck, I can’t wait to break you.”

Eyes widened, you looked down— nearly foaming at the mouth from the sight of his erection pressing against the zipper of his jeans. “Mm, you did that to me. All you, babydoll.” James cooed, tossing the gun on his desk— your saliva dripping down the side of it.

James bucked his hips into the crook of his hand, palming the hardness of his cock through the denim jeans. His steel eyes hooded, the friction making his nose flare— jaw tensing as he massaged himself. He looked down at you through his eyelashes, his evil smirk resting lazily on his face.

“You want this, babydoll? Or did my gun fuck you stupid already?” James asked with a mocking tone, his coarse fingers fiddling with his belt buckle.

You licked your lips, eyes nearly popping out of your sockets at the sight of him. “Yes, please. I want it so bad.” You adjusted your body, lifting your foot off the desk— using it to palm James through his jeans.

“That’s my good little babydoll, so desperate for me.” He ridiculed you, pulling his belt from the loops— dropping it to the floor.

You looked up at James, those beautiful blue eyes clouded with a sinister desire— sparks of electricity in his irises. His fingers linked under his shirt, clasping the hem and lifting it over his head— tossing it across the room without care. James worked the button of his jeans, slowly— teasingly pulling down the zipper.

His eyes never left yours, his feet moving on their own as they kicked off his jeans— stumbling with excitement. James’ Ralph Lauren boxers clung to his muscular body, his rock-hard erection pressed against the seems— desperate to feel your warm walls. Pre-cum was dripping from his head, leaving a damp spot on the grey-colored briefs, the arousal on full display.

“My apologies if I ruin these.” James tugged down his boxers, reaching for your pretty red panties and wrapping them around his length.

You nearly choked on spit, watching with desire as James jerked off to your panties. Shaky grunts and guttural curse words filled the office, his pearly whites on display with each hiss of pleasure. His biceps flexed with each pump, aggression tight in his fist— the grip on his cock making his veins pop.

James stroked his cock, his pre-ejaculate adding to the previous damp spot on your panties. “You want this inside you, hm?” His voice was shaky, his sweet pleasure melting off his pink tongue.

“Yes, please. Just fuck me already.” You begged, eyes clouded with nothing but a sexual longing.

James cocked a smile, tossing your panties back onto the desk. His rough hands gripped the flesh of your thigh, pushing your legs against your chest— standing in between you. The length of his cock brushed against your slick folds, your shoulders shuddering together from the tight friction.

With his free hand, he took hold of his shaft— lining it up to your tight hole. James tucked his face into the crook of your neck, a bright smile forming on his face as he pushed himself inside you— your shaky moans trickling down his neck. James nibbled on your salty neck, the taste of sweat and tears coating his taste buds.

His wet lips soothed your sultry skin, sharp pearly white digging in your skin— his kisses trailing up to your jawline. Your mouth was ajar, small measly moans slipping through your swollen lips— being swallowed up by James’ rough kiss. His lips were soft, defining his rough and demanding movements— nothing but sweetness and passion taunting his lips.

His tongue swiped across your mouth, the leftover taste of your release washing over his taste buds. James tucked his hand on the back of your neck, your thick strands of hair tangling between his fingers. He brought your face closer, eagerly diving deeper into the taste of your lips— becoming drunk off your touch.

Your head stiffened, James’ possessive clasp on the back of your neck restricted any movement— urging to keep you close to him. James pulled away, his swollen lips still brushing against yours— watching your lips quiver as you inhaled sharply. “Be a good bitch and open your mouth.” He solicited, nuzzling his lips against yours.

You shamefully obeyed, your tongue poking past your bruised lips— mouth hanging open at his mercy. James smirked proudly, pursing his lips together— using his tongue to swirl his spit around. You looked up into his rich eyes— eyebrows clustered together as you watched his spit drip onto your tongue, swallowing it thickly.

“Good. Now, hold your legs up so I can fuck you like the whore you are.” He instructed, slowly retracting his cock before teasing your tight hole.

Your sweaty palms gripped the underside of your thighs, keeping them firmly pressed against your chest. You could feel his hips bucked against your thighs, his skin smacking against you— red marks coating your delicate skin. James’ cock fucked you with ease, your warm slick coated his girth length entirely— nearly making him unravel.

James let out a trembled exhale, his nose crunched together as your walls clasped around him— squeezing his cock entirely, milking him for every inch he stuffed you with. His brown hair fell flat against his face, the soft strands of hair sticking against his sweaty forehead— his sweat dripping down his body, making his abs glisten in the dark lighting.

With each thrust, James picked up his pace— your body jolting against the desk with every harsh stroke of his hips. “Oh, fuck! Shit, James!” You cried out, pain mixing into the pleasure that overwhelmed your body.

“Fuck, Y/n. Be quiet, I don’t want anyone hearing how much of a filthy whore you are.” James gritted his teeth, slamming himself inside you, burying his cock deep inside your warm walls.

The pleasure was overbearing, your mind melted into putty— his cock truly fucking your stupid. You lazily held your legs up, thighs aching with a tight painful pleasure as James fucked you with no remorse— showing your body no mercy. James pressed his thumb against your bundle of nerves, drawing circles on your swollen clit.

“Oh, James.” You moaned.

James looked at you, danger clouding those rich blue eyes. His movements stopped suddenly, his fingertips digging into the side of your neck— tears forming in your eyes from the violent grip. “Babydoll, keep that pretty little mouth shut or I'll gag you with your own panties.”

His eyebrows furrowed together, looking down at you with mockery— waiting for you to answer him. “Hm, c’mon use your tongue, dollface.” He teased you.

Your lips quivered, a shaky breath pushing its way off your teeth. “Please, sir. I swear I won’t make a sound.” You begged, aching to feel him inside you again.

“Awe, does my pretty little doll miss my cock inside her?” James widened his eyes, giving you a puppy-dog expression. His hands worked the bottom of his shaft, using your slick as a lubricant— slowly pushing the head back into your sex.

“Fuck, James. Shit, I miss it so much, so fucking much.” You moaned, hips bucking into James’ hopelessly trying to feel friction.

James slammed inside you, his heavy balls smacking against your asscheeks— tight walls swallowing every inch. Your body jolted, back arched and chest pressed against James. “God, babydoll. You’re so fucking tight.” He gritted his teeth, bottoming out every inch of his length.

His strokes were intense— aggression buried with every thrust of his hips, forcing nothing but pain and pleasure into your body. You could feel your head spinning, mind getting high off James’ touch— the aura radiating from his body becoming your favorite drug of all time.

You looked up at James with fucked-out eyes, his cold eyes staring into you like a hungry animal. Without say, his body was pushing you into his desk— lips colliding with yours. Your eyelashes fluttered shut, moans being swallowed by James as his tongue danced around yours— tasting every inch of your body.

James bucked his hips stiffly, snaking his arm around your body— pressing the digit of his thumb against your clit, drawing circles against the abused bundle of nerves. Your legs trembled, arms threatening to give out— an overwhelming knot bubbling in your stomach, waiting to snap at his mercy.

“Mm, I want to see you cum all over my cock, babydoll. Cream all over my dick, all fucking over it.” James mumbled against your skin, his hot breath tickling your skin as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

You withered against James, his hot breath making your skin tingle with lust. Your body was punch drunk, intoxicated with the feeling of his cock plowing past your walls— twitching against the warmth of your cunt, aching to release his seed.

James watched as your legs trembled, tight knots tickling your aching thighs. James reached for your calves, placing both legs on his shoulders— letting his sex push into your cervix, hitting a new pleasure. “Fuck, dollface.” He grunted out, pushing lazy strokes into you— chasing out your high.

You huffed in, nibbling on the bruised skin of your lips— your stomach turned flips, body threatening to snap with each thrust. James drew rigid circles on your clit, his neat movements turning sloppy— focused on making you cream his cock.

“Mm, shit. How about I cum in this pretty little pussy? You want that, babydoll?” James muttered out, his breathing broken into choppy huffs of air.

Eyes crossed, you mumbled a short yes.

James gripped your cheeks, the pads of his fingers digging into your flesh— leaving abrasion on your delicate skin. “What was that? Use your words, babydoll.” He said firmly, looking down at you with starved eyes.

“God, yes! Please, James!” You wailed— eager, aching to feel his warm cum inside you.

“Whatever my babydoll wants, she gets.” He grunted out, forcing one more thrust inside you.

You felt your core snap, that tight knot engulfing into pleasure— your entire body absorbing the punch-drunk feeling of his cock, letting your sex cream around his length. Your body jolted with each sloppy thrust, James fucked you through your orgasm— forcing your body to take him until his core unraveled.

James huffed, his chest caving in— shoulders puffing with each heavy breath, sweat dripping down his face. His pale cheeks were flushed a bright red, his body twitching— veins popping as his muscles flexed. James pushed into you, letting his cock bottom out— his warm liquids squirting into your cervix, stuffing your used cunt.

His nostrils flared, pearly white teeth sinking into his swollen lips. “Fuck, babydoll.” He heaved, watching his creamy liquids seep out of you.

James pulled his cock out, watching your body shudder from the loss of him. James used his middle finger, scooping up his cum— stuffing it deep inside you, sure it wouldn’t make a mess. “God, aren’t you a pretty little cumslut.” He admired, rubbing his cum-coated fingers along your folds.

You exhaled, looking up at James with a pout. His heavy palms wrapped around your jaw, his thumb playing with your bottom lip. “Have you learned your lesson, dollface?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” You said softly, body worn out— mind still a hazy fog.

James smiled, giving a praising slap to the side of your cheek. “Good. Now, let’s get you cleaned up. You look like a filthy whore right now.”

[plutoswriting]

[plutoswriting]

like a hot dad

content: nsfw, long haired levi, breeding kink, daddy/mommy kink if u squint, dilf levi, post war canon

warnings: +18 content, mild manga spoilers, f!bodied reader.

wc: 1.5k~

tags: @motherfckerrr bc they commented ehe

a/n: i genuinely had no idea where this was going i just kept writing and somehow ended up with being h word for dilf long haired levi and idk how to take it back tysm

also pls reblog if u can!! i’m tryna gain back my old followers from my previous blog due to shadowban, so spreading the word could def help!! tysm either way<3

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do you think levi would grow his hair out post-war?

idk mahn but the vision of him with a short wolf-ish is really getting to me.

i feel like maybe he’d let it grow accidentally. with the healing process for his knee and the rest of his wounds i feel like he wouldn’t really care about his hair, and you’re totally in for it.

it’s a huge change. for years, you’re used to levi’s neat hair and infamous undercut, and you were 100% into it. but now as he finally lets you cut his hair for him instead of doing it himself, you kinda slowly fix it in a wolf cut and let it grow gradually.

you’d come up with excuses every time he asks you to cut his hair.

“i have so much to do around the house today, my love. maybe tomorrow?”

“oh, i’m on my period today. i can barely stand up.”

“oh! i forgot i have to go get stuff from the market! i’ll be meeting gabi and falco, i can’t be late, can i?”

once he gets frustrated with you, the raven silk was already down to his nape. it shaped his face beautifully, and once you caught him with a pair of scissors in the bathroom, your soul left your body.

“WAIT!” you dash to him, holding down the armed left hand. “you’re not left handed! you wanna ruin your hair??”

“shut up,” he rolls his eyes at you. “you’ve been putting me off for months. look how long it’s gotten!” he gestures with a hand to the mirror in front of you two. “i look hideous.”

you slip the scissors from his hands, and levi catches the little sly smile that slips on your face as you squeeze yourself between his body and the sink.

you watch the realization fall on his face while your hands slip in his hair.

“is this what i get for letting my guard down around you?”

“you look beautiful,” you tell him, love struck as you are, never missing the pink dust that rushes to his cheeks “everyone compliments you for it. you still wanna cut it off again?”

“i don’t give a shit about anyone else.” he grumbles and looks down between you both, leaning on his cane. “i don’t look representable.”

“you don’t have to look representable,” your tone lowers in sincerity. a thumb grazes the scar on the right side of his face. “you’re not a captain anymore, my love. you’re free to do whatever your heart pleases.”

he looks up at you, features blank, but you know well how your words are tossing and turning in his brain.

“besides,” your smile returns back to your face, and you pull him a little closer. “you look extremely hot.” a hand trails down to the hem of his shirt, your eyes following the movement, then you return your gaze back up to him. “like a hot dad.”

his eyebrows shoot up, playfulness making an appearance on the previous stoic features. “like a hot dad?”

“mmhm,” you affirm with a mock-nonchalant nod, and you slip away from him jjjuuust when he was about to pull you in. you look at him over your shoulder, mischief pure in your gaze. “i’ll go check on dinner for the guests coming tonight. feel free to join.”

only except that ten minutes later, the kitchen is completely empty and you two didn’t manage to make it past the living room. he was seated on the sofa, head throw back with his fucking hair framing his delicious expression like that, you swear you could cum untouched in your position between his legs as you get to work.

“like a hot dad, huh?” he mumbles, all breathless and shit once you were seated in his lap, his length stretching you perfectly. a hand reaches up to wipe away the remaining of his previous climax on the corner of your lips. you throw your head in the crook of his neck, the pleasure of your hips rolling skillfully against his hitting you bad. “you could’ve just asked, lovely. wanna make me a daddy?”

you manage a shaky nod when he begins to meet your hips halfway.

a hand trails up from your waist to garb your neck, squeezing deliciously as he pulls you away from his neck to take a good look at you. “words, my love.”

“yes,” you nod, eyes closed in bliss. one of your hands grab the wrist of the hand around your neck. “wan’ make y-you a…hhah… daddy.”

“fffuuck…” he groans out when you squeeze around him, letting himself gather enough strength before he throws you off of him and onto the sofa. when your thighs are squeezed together at the painful loss of contact, a palm falls on one of them, leaving a flushed mark in its wake.

“open wide, baby.” he grabs a hold of his cock while he holds the back of your opening thigh to keep the pair apart. the years upon years in the survey corps leave you as flexible as you can be, so when he presses your thigh back, your joints bend easily at his will. pumping himself a few times as he gazes at your glistening folds, another groan breaks out from deep in his chest.

“god, look at you.” he rolls his hips in, and you feel him slip through so pleasurably that you can’t hold back the loud whimper that escapes you.

because damn, how could you not from this view? this is a face of a determined, pussy-drunk man. sweat broke on his forehead, a few strands sticking to the skin while the rest of his hair falls around his face perfectly. you see a ting of pain on his features, and you scatter to try to change your position for a more comfortable one for him, but he is quickly pushing you back down to the couch, a hand falling to your lower abdomen.

the pressure he puts there makes you forget your own name, and it shows on the way your body shivers with bliss. his thrusts increase in velocity, the maddening roll of his hips against yours throwing you in a whole other dimension.

a hand reaches out to grab yours, and through the dizzying pleasure, you realize that levi is pressing your own hand to your abdomen underneath his.

“look how deep inside am i,” he grumbles, leaning down to press a kiss on your bouncing tits. you feel his length stroke in and out of you the more levi puts pressure on your hand. “taking me so well. always so well, baby.”

he takes control of your hand once more, feeling you squeeze familiarly around him, and he pushes your fingers through his hair. you yank on the strands immediately, pulling out a fucking growl out of the man as he leans down until your chests were touching, putting a bit of his body weight on you for support.

you latch onto him like a koala, the burn of your core muscles stretching as he pushes you in a mating press mixes well with your pleasure-high brain. levi kisses, licks, bites down on your neck to leave marks you’ll have trouble hiding later, but you don’t give a shit. you arch your neck more, letting out a long moan when he nips at a certain spot, the bliss turning you mad.

levi is breathless. his puffs of air fan your face when he brings his face on top of yours. a whimper escapes past his lips, his features twisted with pleasure uncontrollably, and you drown in the sounds he makes.

“wann’ make you a mommy too,” he mumbles, open lips landing on the corner of your lips. “wanna…hhah… fill you up. over,” he pauses, delivering an especially harsh thrust that you feel at your cervix. “and over again.”

“levi, i’m so—,”

your body begins to curl into him, eyes closing uncontrollably, and the poor man barely has any chance to ready himself for the way you tighten impossibly around him as you give him your first climax.

your body shivers and quivers, shaking as he overstimulates you chasing after his own pleasure. he leans back up, hands harshly grabbing your lips as he manages to pull you even deeper, and you tightness milk him.

it isn’t the first time he cums inside you, but this one sure hits different. after a few more thrusts that manage to abuse your cervix, levi stills stiffly with a strong groan, and you feel his warmth coat your walls .

he gives you a few more deep strokes as he leans down to kiss you deeply, making sure he fucks all his load deep enough.

his hips still once more, but you keep devouring his lips. weak moans are erupted from both of you as you two calm down gradually, before levi throws sway your attempts of calming down your still-raging arousal when he pulls away, leans up, and slowly pulls out of you.

and he watches the mixture of both your orgasams begin to pool out of you, and you watch as he takes two fingers to push everything back in. you shamelessly roll your hips against bis digits once more.

he looks up at you, fingers still engulfed, snd a smirk takes over his handsome features.

“one more time for good measures?”

[plutoswriting]