#sound a like Adam driver

[moonlightsmasquerade]

I remember once i had a dream with I was at school and for some reason all the TMC teens were my classmates, the adults were the teachers AND GABRIEL IS THE FUCKING PRINCIPAL??

The only thing animated from the dream I remember is being in Gabriel's office with Adam bc we did smth ig

ASDFGHJKLKJ of course adam went to the principals office

#that sounds like a fun dream! ive only ever been adam murrays uber driver in a dream

[katnissgirlsmakedo]

This is sooo dumb and irrelevant but due to a recent post i have to ask. Do you have a southern accent? Only asking because I feel like I need to factor that into the way i read your posts in my head

it’s not dumb and irrelevant i love talking about me… anyway the answer is no not really but i’ve been told my voice is not Entirely as “normal american accent” as i think it is. i’m from rural virginia so i’m not Really Southern OR Really Northern it’s dumb as hell, like i grew up around a lot of people with accents and a lot of people without them so it’s like a mix really. sometimes i know certain words come out of my mouth wayyy more southern than anything else in the same sentence (example: babygirl. important word on this blog, don’t go reading it like it’s two words… it’s not to me…) anyway the closest example i can think to what i sound like is josh hutcherson (known kentucky boy who assimilated into california) like in thg when he mostly sounds like Normal American but there’s enough of a twang there to know it’s not really Normal. however also just in general i don’t know what my real voice sounds like because i change how i talk depending on like. everyone i talk to and i do it unconsciously so who even knows. (example: i lower my voice when i talk to girls i want to think i’m cool. because i’m normal) anyway hope everyone enjoyed this beth history lesson <3

#re: last nights post about logan lucky which was the basis of your question. like they just sound normal to me it’s so irritating to say a #southern accent is an actor doing a silly voice. like i KNOW they said that because daniel craig DOES do a very exaggerated voice in knives #out and they were basing their statement on that but seriously. to make a blanket statement like that is so. ughhh #like. any other character in that movie i know a guy who sounds like that… #adam driver isn’t Doing A Silly Voice i KNOW guys that talk like that. hello #asks #anonymous

[norrizzandpia]

i am Politely Asking for the lando post-race imagine you mentioned 👀👀👀

Your guys’ wish is my command 🤭

All He Needed Was Her (LN4)

Summary: Following the Vegas ‘23 crash, Y/n and Adam find Lando in his hospital bed, yearning for the comfort of his girlfriend’s touch.

Warnings: a panic attack, inferences of death, Lando crashing

Note: that crash was so hard to watch and i still have not recovered

Silence encompassed the space around her, her mind sick with the images of Lando’s crash. What she thought could potentially be his first race win had turned into her worst nightmare as Lando’s car laid smashed against the protecting fences. Her mouth stayed agape as she listened to her boyfriend’s broken “I’m ok,” followed by concerning whimpers and groans. Her eyes frantically searched the room, the faces of his loved ones burned into her brain with their watery eyes and panicked looks. She couldn’t bear the tension within the space, the expressions of the people around her like he had died. The room closed in on her quickly, allowing for no space to breathe or get out of the anxiety filling her lungs. She felt trapped, a panic attack coming on inevitably when she saw the way his hand shook, his arms trying to push himself out of the car yet failing continuously.

She shoved the headset off her ears, shutting out the taunting sounds, before throwing herself into the crowd behind her and pushing them to the side as she tried desperately to claw herself out. She couldn’t turn her head back to see the screens, not even when applauding emitted and a good sign emerged. Y/n reached the door, her hand grasping the handle and hesitating. A large hand grasping her shoulder called her back, willing her to open her eyes and see the survival of her love. When she turned around, her eyes looking up, she was met with the soft look of Adam, Lando’s father.

No matter how comforting he was trying to be, his bloodshot eyes reminded her of the risks her boyfriend took, the chances of him not getting out of that car after a race.

It was too much.

Her heart beat out of her chest and she struggled to find air, her impending anxiety surely, gradually, painfully encroaching her being.

Adam, being familiar with the anxiety attacks his son got, saw the signs, opening the door behind her quickly and shoving her into the empty hallway. His hands landed on her biceps, gripping them as he shook her gently.

“Y/n?” His voice was distant and Y/n wanted to run toward it, however nothing was ever that easy.

He tried again, “Y/n, breathe with me.”

Her mind understood, her lungs expanding shortly as he began to inhale. Tears seeped through the crack of her lips, adding to the drowning she felt she was enduring.

She blubbered and sobbed as she tried to follow his pattern, proving difficult when suffocation seemed probable.

Nevertheless, Adam’s determination triumphed, her mind slowing down as her body caught up.

He looked at her with pity as she came down, his eyes swimming in a certain sympathy she didn’t recognize. This was deeper, he was seeing the pain she was bearing, relating to it because of the exact connection they both nurtured with the boy.

His hands left her arms, stilling at his sides as he began to coax her toward his driver’s room, “How about you rest for a while? That seemed really bad.”

She shook her head immediately, “No, I need to be awake for Lando. What if he needs to go to the hospital?”

Adam closed his eyes as he nudged her into the small room, “Then, I will come wake you. But, for now, he’s going to go to the circuit’s medical center and there’s nothing we can do. It’s best if you allow yourself to relax after that.”

She knew he was right, more so because he sounded exactly like his son. When she had these horrid experiences, Lando was right beside her immediately, gently leading her to any surface where she could lie down. He knew exactly how to make it go away, she never expected to have to do it without him or because of him. He was consistently advocating for her rest after an attack, something that always helped her recover more quickly.

That memory, those habitual instances, persuaded her to give in to Adam’s pleas. He smiled at her as she brought a blanket over her body, Lando’s scent encompassing her body.

“I promise I’ll be back when I have updates.”

She nodded, trusting him like she had for the past few years, “Okay, thank you.”

He closed the door with a nod, the dark haunting her enough to close her eyes and lean into the quiet, peaceful embrace of sleep.

—

She was awoken by shaking, more specifically Adam’s hands shaking her upper body.

“Y/n, wake up.” He whispered, his words guiding her back to the world.

Her eyes fluttered open, “Yeah?”

He seemed stoic, rigid and stressed, something that made Y/n truly wake up, “Lando’s at the hospital. They said we can meet him there.”

She shot up from her laid down position, “What?! The hospital?! Is he okay?!”

His father sighed beside her, getting up and showing how antsy he was to move when he lingered by the door, “I don’t know.”

—

The pair burst through the doors of the hospital, launching themselves at the nurses who sat behind the desk. Their words mixed together as they sputtered out his name, occupation, and situation. This proved to be inefficient because the women looked back at them blankly.

Y/n tried again, “We are here to see Lando Norris. He is a Formula 1 driver and he was involved in an accident.”

It dawns on the employee and her head tilts slightly, “I can’t give out information on him because of his status and occupation. I am sorry. Unless you can prove you are family to him then I can’t give you anything.”

Adam’s hand flew to his pocket, whipping out his wallet and showing her his identification, proving his blood relation to Lando. Y/n watched with a heavy heart as she realized she had nothing to show, she wasn’t family. She was crushed as she realized he would be able to go on to see their boy without her.

When the woman gave him the room number, she gave it to him on paper so as to deter anyone overhearing, he bolted. He was right at the door that led to another hallway when he stopped and turned around, motions for Y/n to follow him.

“I need to see your proof of family relations.” The nurse beside her said expectantly whilst Adam moved back over to the desk.

She shook her head, “I’m his girlfriend. I don’t have proof of blood relations.”

The nurse shrugged, “Then, I’m sorry, I can’t have you go through.”

Y/n opened her mouth to fight back, but Adam interrupted her, “No, she has to. I’ve just shown you I’m his father, take my word for it. Please. My son needs her right now.”

The nurse seemed to be at a crossroads as her gaze flickered between Adam and Y/n. Finally, she nodded curtly and the two were running throughout the building. Down different hallways within the floor, they quickly reached his room. Without thinking, Adam charged in, a strong wave of emotion hitting him when he saw his son wrapped up in a hospital bed.

“Lando,” He sighed, arms falling around Lando’s body as he squeezed him softly, careful with him.

“Hi, dad. Thank you for coming. I’m sorry if I scared you.” He mumbled into his shoulder, hand laying loosely over the back of his father.

Y/n watched from the corner, tears pricking the sides of her eyes at the sight of him. She watched as they pulled back, Lando’s eyes meeting hers and softening with relief before Adam was coughing and excusing himself from the room.

When they were left alone, she walked slowly to him. She stood in front of him for a moment, both individuals taking in the other after the traumatic time apart. When he had had enough of not holding her in his arms, Lando reached out and pulled her closer to his body, arms linking around her hips as he stuffed his face into her chest. She breathed out as her hands tangled in his hair, both of them memorizing the way the other calmed them in such a state.

He clung to her, breathing steady as she whispered sweet, quiet words of love and encouragement to him.

“Sit with me?” He asked with a low volume, pulling back slightly and looking up at her.

She could never say no to his deep green eyes, “Always.”

He shifted to the side as she slid in next to him. She watched the way his eyes lingered over her lap. Chuckling, Y/n sat further against the wall, “Lay your head on my lap, baby.”

He smiled at her brightly, a childlike grin as he shuffled down and set his curly hair over her pants.

A silence passed before she was whispering again, “I love you so much. It was so scary seeing you crash today and I just could not live a life without you. I love you, Lan. You’ve ruined my life for the better. There’s no way I could ever go a day without you.”

He nodded below her, “I can’t either. I kept asking for you when I was at the circuit after the crash, but they kept telling me I couldn’t have any visitors with the impact I had just endured. I was so angry, all I wanted was you. I’ve been like a sitting duck as I stared at the wall and waited for you to arrive. But, now that you’re here, I already feel like I’m getting better. That’s your impact on me. I love you too, love. Being without you for that was worse than the crash itself.”

She looked down at him, leaning over to kiss his temple. When he felt the pressure, he turned his head. She had been pulling back, but got the hint when he looked up at her expectantly. He giggled as she leaned back down, meeting his lips with her own in an intimate, soft kiss.

When they pulled back, she watched his eyes slowly close when she began massaging his scalp and tugging gently at his brown hair. He moaned quietly at the feeling, stroking his hand over her leg as she comforted him with just her presence.

He buried his face further into her lap, breathing her in. By the change of angle, she lost sight of his face, only relying on the monitor to tell her he had fallen asleep when it evened out, reaching a rhythm.

Only then did Adam return, smiling lightly at his sleeping son laying in the lap of his girlfriend. Truly the sweetest sight, he thought, something he would’ve taken a picture of had Y/n been asleep as well.

He sat in the chair beside them, cocking his head at her.

“Thank you.”

The two words caused Y/n’s eyebrows to draw together, confusion etched into her face, “For what?”

Adam sighed and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, “For being there for him. Not just now, but all the time. He’s always put everyone else first. He’s always made it the biggest priority to make others feel good when he wasn’t at all. Cisca and I always wished for someone to come along and take care of him right back. Turns out our wishing wasn’t in vain. Here you are and he’s finally understanding what it’s like to be loved that way.”

Y/n stared at him for a moment, eyes averting back to her sleeping boyfriend strewn across her lap, before choking out, “Thank you, Adam. That means the world from you.”

“Just speaking the truth.” He shrugged, leaning back in his chair before kicking his legs up toward the end of the bed. He watched her lean her head back, scumming to sleep just like Lando, her hands still buried in his hair.

That was when he took the picture, sending it to the Norris Family group chat, it including Y/n, and assuring the members of Lando’s wellness.

Adam (2:35 AM)

Image Attachment

Adam (2:35 AM)

Lando’s okay! Don’t worry! All he needed was some medication to calm his nerves and Y/n 🧡

#mclaren #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagines #mclaren formula 1 #lando norris fanfiction #lando norris fic #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando norris #lando norris x you #lando norris edit #las vegas gp 2023

[venusacrossthestars]

your hands in mine

Pairings- Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

WC-1k

warnings- fluff, thunderstorm, 1 sexual-ish innuendo

A/N: this is something special for @arieslost and her obsession with hands, especially Charles' hands. I wrote this and am posting in today (3/12) in honor of our 3 years of friendship. I wouldn't be who I am without her. nyoom duo till the end.

f1 masterlist

The roll of thunder is what startles you out of your slumber. Senses clouded by the lingering effects of sleep. For a moment you are unsure as to where you were. This looked nothing like your apartment. Another wave of thunder brought back the realization, I spent the night at Charles’. 

You and the Monégasque driver had spent the entire day together, doing everything and nothing. He had a week off between races and was adamant about spending it all with you, not that you were complaining. This night had been no different. The two of you had gone out for a nice dinner, a little local spot near Charles’ flat that had live music. Your walk home was filled with a comfortable silence, which was one of your favorite things about being with Charles. The two of you didn’t need to be in constant conversation with each other, just each other presence was enough. 

The peacefulness followed the both of you as you worked through the motions of your nightly routine. Yours ended with reading a few chapters of whatever book you were reading and Charles practicing the piano. Kissing him before you each went off to do your own routine was the last thing you could fully remember. You must’ve fallen asleep out on the balcony and Charles must’ve carried you to bed. 

Turing over in Charles’ arms was a task easier said than done. Anytime the two of you spooned his arms would magically become vice grips, impossible to get out of. However, Charles must have been equally, if not more, beat than you. The rain helping lull him to sleep as it had done to you, his arms were lax across your middle, making it easier to roll over to your opposite side. 

As the wind picked up, a cool breeze swept through the open windows making you nestle further into Charles’ bare chest. Your hands coming to rest across his chest. Another thing to love about him, he always slept shirtless. It was impossible to deny how handsome Charles was, and contrary to popular belief of the media, you weren’t with Charles only for his looks and fame, though it was a perk. You didn’t care about any of those things. When he was with you he wasn’t Charles Leclerc Prince of Ferrari, he was just Charles and that’s all you needed. 

The rain began to pour harder and you couldn’t restrain yourself from staring at Charles’ sleeping figure, it was as if Michelangelo personally carved him out of marble. His sharp features only a tad more relaxed in his slumber. Shamelessly, you move your hand from his chest and lightly begin to trace his face with the backside of your hand, carefully trying not to wake him. Content with your mapping skills you move your hand back to his chest, now mindlessly drawing shapes into his tan skin. 

You continued your drawing, listening to the sounds of the storm as it raged on, lost in your own world. You would’ve stayed like that for longer if it wasn’t for a practically bright flash of lightning followed by a wave of thunder that had enough force to shake the room. This startled Charles from his slumber, which in turn startled you. 

“We should close the window before the floor gets all wet,” Charles mumbled out, still in the clutches of sleep. 

“Too comfy, don’t wanna move,” you mutter into his skin. 

Charles slides out from under you, causing you to whine at the loss of contact. 

“I’m going to be right back, mon cheri, do not worry.” 

With your eyes well adjusted to the darkness of the bedroom, you can make out the outline of Charles’ back, along with the muscles that flex as he closes the window and redraws the curtains that have been blown open. You watch shamelessly. How can a man be that perfect? 

“See something you like?” Charles teases, standing at the foot of the bed. 

“Best view in the city.” Your answer seems to satisfy Charles as he climbs back into bed, back to your previous position. 

Now, instead of your hands tracing Charles’ features it is Charles whose hands soothingly roam your arm. On one particular ticklish pass of his hand, you let out a small giggle and before he can go back to try and tickle you again you grab his hand. 

With his hand in yours, you bring it to your lips and press small kisses against each of his knuckles. Happy with the amount of kisses you have given him you bring his hand back down and absent-mindedly play with his fingers. Charles, still awake, says nothing and continues to let you do as you please. 

“I love your hands,” you admit. 

“I know,” he chuckles out, “I like my hands too, especially when they are wrapped around your throat.” 

You gasp at the statement, “you pervert. I’m complimenting you and your head is stuck in the gutter.” 

“It always is when you’re around.” 

You roll your eyes at his comment and he pinches your side in retaliation, “you can’t even see what I did.” 

“I know you, and I know you just rolled your eyes at me.” 

Well, he’s got you there. You stop messing around with his fingers and now it is Charles’ turn to fiddle with yours. He copies your motions, bringing your hand to also kiss each knuckle. Instead of stopping as you did with his, he lightly massages the meat of your palm. 

You are fighting the feeling of sleep, but it is a losing battle between the massage Charles is giving you and sound of the rain hitting the now closed window. Charles mutters something that your foggy brain is unable to catch. 

Laced with sleep you ask, “what did you say?” 

“Just that I love your hands too.” Charles says while kissing your ring finger but you are too far gone to hear the last part. “And one day I’ll put a ring on your finger and be able to call you mine forever.”

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fluff

[fictioonbanger]

race car driver eren<3!

warnings?; smut obvi, hint of jealousy.

speedracer!eren; who loves driving you around in his all black srt hellcat, has a personal “y/n’s seat” tag in pink glitter on the bottom side of the passenger seat. “baby you didn’t..” you looked back at eren who stood behind you with a huge smirk on his face staring down at you, waiting for your reaction. he was so proud in himself he knew you’d love it. you were hugging him tightly placing soft wet kisses onto his neck. “you like it pretty? got it in pink for ya..” he groaned from under his deep voice as you kissed his chin and adams apple. feeling the vibration of his voice he spoke on your lips as you smirked to look up at him. “mm it’s beautiful my love, i love it.“ you couldn’t help but feel so giddy at erens actions he loved you.. he loved you as much as he did his precious car.

speedracer!eren; who got in trouble with you for driving so fast after his racing match taking you both home, still pumped up on adrenaline. “eren you hit this corner hard so god help me.” you said sternly looking at him, you hated when he drove fast. eren would think your being over dramatic everytime you told him to slow down. to him he doesn’t think he’s going fast.. but i mean obviously is. “mm yeah beautiful.” he’d hum and stare at your pouted glossed lips giving them a long warm peck as he leaned over the arm rest to your seat. “no, im serious ren, ‘hate that shit.” you didn’t react to his kiss and still kept stern. “aight yea baby i heard you..’m sorry y’know i don’t mean to.” he placed another kiss on your pouted lips that you eventually gave into. you hated when he raced also, i mean at a point it was too much and everytime you’d watch and support him from the side line your stomach would bubble and ache. every hard turn he took, the tumbling of the other cars on the side of him from getting hit by another, the anticipation waiting to see your husband cross the finish line and seeing the green flag wave so highly. the relief and squeal you would let out seeing him catch first place.

speedracer!eren; who proposed to you after he won his first game 4 years ago, you’d been dating him before his racing career. supporting him all the way with every decision he made, being by his side in moments of need.. vice versa. you’re his high school sweetheart, you’re his day one. eren loved showing you off, letting everyone know you’re his, will forever be and only. he took you to car shows that everyone expected you to be at, having you in the car of course as he showed out to everyone. driving circles with his driver friends who were right behind him shouting from their cars to the other people in the circle crowd. you deep down had a little hatred for the shows, you hadn’t honestly realized how many women loved your man. screaming his name from the crowd, trying to walk up towards him for a autograph, batting their lashes at him to get his attention at his conferences. eren tried to act like he didn’t notice, he did, but he didn’t notice your attitude towards it.

speedracer!eren; “don’t act like you didn’t notice how close she was trying to get to you, not to mention she SAT her hand on your shoulder while laughing.” you huffed out to eren after the dinner with some friends and employees at the racing center while he was driving home. all he could do was chuckle, that’s all he ever did when you complained. you hated it , it was like eren never took you seriously. after your words you sat quiet in the car as he drove, nothing but the sound of the car revving. “why you bein so quiet?” eren turned his head towards you eyebrows furrowed scanning your every move as you sat there with crossed arms, looking out the window, your signature move. eren didn’t answer you for a reason, he didn’t understand why you were jealous. he never paid attention to anyone else, especially any other woman. why should you feel like someone could ever take your spot? he knew what you were feeling and your feelings were oh so understandable. he just couldn’t have you thinking like that, he sighed and drove the whole way silent. you’d occasionally glance at him gripping the wheel and starring ahead of him not saying a word.

speedracer!eren; who finally got you both home, opening the car door for you and walking behind you silently into your shared home. you sighed and rolled your eyes at his silence and dropped your purse onto the counter walking towards your shared room. you were stopped and taken aback a bit by the force that slightly shoved you into the wall. eren had you put between both him and the cold wall behind you looking down at your eyes. his green orbs piercing into your own, like he was scanning your face all over again for the first time. “r-ren? what’re you doing?!” you said in a confused and honestly irritated tone looking back up at him waiting for a answer. he didn’t reply just tilting his head and raising his eyebrow at the way you spoke to him. he didn’t like when you were mad at him, especially for something he didn’t do. it wasn’t intentional of letting the woman touch and flirt with him. he just ignored it and didn’t care like the usual, his attention was fully forged on you the entire time anyway. “who you talking to like that?” he was searching for a answer out of you. the scowl look on your face and you hurriedly crossing your arms made eren roll his eyes. he knew you were upset about the situation but what could he do? “you! ren! now move please..i need to get in the showe-“ eren scoffed hearing you speak, and grabbed your wrist before turning towards the room. you were so confused of the sudden movements but followed behind.

speedracer!eren; who fucked you all night, having you recite how much you meant to him. “you’re daddies only girl right? nobody could replace you y/n.” he mumbled the last words while looking down at where you two were connected. the white ring forming from the last orgasm you had and his pre cum mixing, he was groaning from the sight and landed a hard smack to your ass to wake you up from your last orgasm. you were face into the pillow and yelped from the contact letting out a accidental moan at the stinging feeling. “stay up f’ me pretty..need you awake baby, wanna hear you repeat it.” eren spoke softly sliding in and out of you effortlessly. hitting your soft spongy spot over and over making a whimper leave your lips with every thrust into you. “mm yeah i’m daddies only g-girl! fuck!” your eyes rolled in the back of your head as you spoke and moaned your words. eren smirked hearing your words and decided to stop finally teasing and get you your last nut. thrusting faster, gripping tighter on your waist slamming you back onto his dick, and fucking into you. eren was a groaning mess and his thrust started to recklessly come on as he was finna nut. “cum with me pretty please baby, just wanna make you feel g-good..fuck.” eren plead out a breathy moan as he tilted his head, thrust sputtering as hot stream’s of cum swarmed your tummy. you came on his dick, gripping onto the sheets below you, eyes shutting tightly as you continued to still throw back on him to finish your nut. eren was gripping your waist tightly, biting his bottom lip and whimpering as he continued to release into your tight cunt. snapping his hips into you more as he drained himself into you. you were gripping him, literally milking his dick. eren sat with a half open mouth as he finished and groaned. setting his forehead on your shoulder from behind you, panting and rubbing up your back with a warm hand. he placed soft kisses onto the crook of your neck and back. “stop thinking you got competition with these bitches y/n, they could never be you baby. let alone breathe the same air as you my love..” eren mumbled into your shoulder as you both came down from your high. you were tired and fucked out but you listened to every word he spoke. you shouldn’t be jealous, eren was wrapped around your finger as you were of him.

#black reader #black y/n #eren x y/n #eren x black reader #eren x black y/n #eren smut #eren jeager smut #eren jaeger #eren x you #eren x black fem!reader #eren x reader #eren headcanons #eren yeager

[velocesainz]

You're mine

(LN04)

F1 masterlist | main masterlist

Summary: Lando joins you in the motogp paddock to support you but overhears some of the other drivers talking about wanting you to ditch Lando for them. What is his reaction?

Warnings: smut, degradation, minors dni

Pairing: Lando x motogp!racer!reader

Lando POV:

I walked into the moto gp paddock in Valencia. Since us, f1 drivers, had winter break I decided to join my girlfriend y/n to support her.

"Lando I have to go for the PR meeting, shouldn't take more than an hour. You can hang around the paddock and explore if you want" y/n told me awaiting an answer.

"Yea of course, I know how to take care of myself you know" I replied slightly amused by how worried she was to leave me alone.

"That's debatable but anyways, see you later babe" y/n said and skipped away.

Damn. I really love her.

I was walking around the paddock when I stumbled outside the Ducati hospitality noticing y/n's friends, Augusto and Fabio, why not say hi?

As I got closer I guess they didn't notice me, they seemed too engrossed in their own conversation.

When I got to hearing distance I caught a glimpse of what they were talking about.

"I know right she's so hot! I wonder why she's single" I heard Fabio say.

Who were they talking about?

"Y/n's not single dipshit, she's with that landi, landa- whatever his name is" Augusto corrected.

"I honestly don't understand what she sees in him. He sounds like a chipmunk and looks like a kid trying to look cool growing a goatee. Look at us! We're literally like god's compared to him" Fabio laughed.

"Honestly though, she's the hottest girl I've seen in my life, and on top of that she races in motogp? Oh! she has my heart. I bet I could satisfy her needs much better than he could. I bet he's like 3" Augusto adding smiling.

"You know, seeing her winning and smiling around the paddock I just want to grab her and just take her right then and there. She's just so irresistible. Did you see her Calvin Klein shoot? I swear I use some of those photos to masturbate" Fabio replied.

"Such a pity. She is so fucking beautiful. Maybe in the future we can share her after stealing her from that dumb spoiled brat boyfriend of hers. Really wish we could stop pretending to not want her every second" Augusto laughed, Fabio laughing with him.

I had heard enough. How could they say that? I thought they were supportive of our relationship. I thought they respected y/n.

I guess not. They clearly wanted her for themselves, they were so disrespectful. How could they say such vile things about their fellow driver?

I left the Ducati hospitality walking back to the Yamaha hospitality to wait for y/n to get back, but in complete fury.

Y/n POV:

I got back from the PR meeting and the rest of my media duties for today were finally done.

I can now spend time with Lando. Poor thing must've waited so long.

I made my way back to the hospitality to find my boyfriend sitting on a chair with his head in his hands. That's odd.

"Hey babe, you ok?" I asked cautiously, maybe he was sleeping? Lando is known after all to sleep in the most random places in the most random positions.

He looked up at me and I saw an almost unrecognisable emotion. Anger, rage mixed with lust?

He grabbed my hand harshly and took me straight to my driver's room.

I saw Fabio and Augusto right next to my room as they were chatting, I waved at them and they waved back giving me a weird look.

Lando threw me into the room and closed the door locking it in the process.

"What is wrong with you Lando?" I asked confused, what had gotten into him all of a sudden?

"Take your clothes off. Right now." He demanded in a cold tone. That was really hot but I wanted to find out what was wrong with him.

"Not until you tell me what's wrong" I said adamant.

"God you're so stubborn. I guess I'll have to do it myself then." He said as he came closer and pinned me to the wall.

He roughly started taking my clothes off "You wanna know what happened? Your so called "friends" who are standing outside this room, were saying absolutely disgusting things about you like how they would take care of you better than I could, how they wished you were their little slut, so they could use you. Let's get you to scream out loud so they can hear how much I satisfy you so don't hold those noises back love" he purred into my ear

At this point my panties were completely soaked, and he noticed

"Already so wet huh? Hearing that her friends want to fuck her so bad makes the slut so needy" he whispered into my ear making my knees go weak.

He took off all of my clothing and proceeded to take off his as well, his body is just so sexy I can't stop looking at it.

"I don't think I can wait for any foreplay. Let's cut to the chase yeah bitch?" Lando said as he kissed me.

All I could do was nod feverishly, not being able to form any words.

He quickly aligned his cock with my pussy and bottomed out in one harsh thrust causing me to let out one of the largest moans I've ever let out in my life.

He keeps thrusting hard and fast into as curses and moans keep leaving my mouth.

"Such a dirty little bitch, showing everyone how much I please you. Beg to cum little whore." Lando whispered.

I just couldn't resist his touch

"Oh Lando please give me your big, fat cock, please please let me cum!" I begged with the most innocent look on my face.

"Such a good whore. Cum, cum with me" Said Lando satisfied with my begging as he continued to thrust into me hard and fast as we both reached our highs.

He groaned lowly and I nearly screamed as we both came together.

I heard shuffling outside

"That ought to tell them who can please you and who can't eh?" Lando said in a husky voice

"You're mine, love, only mine."

#f1 #f1 smut #f1 x reader #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #formula 1 #formula 1 smut #motogp

[catopoliscat]

driving safety / ijichi kiyotaka/fem!reader.

ijichi should be focused on the road. too bad for him, you're sitting right next to him. you can never quite get enough of those little sounds of his.

tags: nsfw. 18+. handjob. sub!ijichi. dom!reader. unsafe driving practices ehe. semi-public. you jerk him off while he drives basically lmao. wc: 2k. a/n: *holds him up like a cat* i just think he's neat

mdni.

Ijichi not being able to meet your eyes shouldn’t have been as cute as it was.

He might have blamed it on proper road etiquette, which seemed to be as much a part of him as his own heartbeat was - but you both knew differently. The bead of sweat curving down his temple and the the ragged breaths falling past his lips was telltale enough. The blush covering his cheeks, neck and ears was just a blaring sign.

Your hand curves a little further alongside the inside of his clothed thigh, and your eyes flash with delight as you feel the wiry muscle underneath twitch. Neither of you are sure whether it’s trying to twitch toward you, or away from you.

Ijichi’s fingers shake against the steering wheel. His knuckles are white.

A lazy smile curves your lips as your fingers dance a little higher, tracing the inside seam of his neatly ironed slacks, until you meet the curve of his groin. You hear Ijichi’s breath hitch, and the thick swallow that follows. Your eyes flick up to the bob of his Adam’s apple, and your gums pulse with the desire to nip at it.

You restrain yourself for now. He was driving, after all.

Your hand pauses against the crook of his thighs, not quite meeting the bulge that you know already sits between them, but the threat is clear. You wait to see if he’ll push you away. He doesn’t - but there’s a rigidity in his ever muscle in his body that makes you think of a marble statue statue.

In a sharp movement, your hand cups him properly through his pants, greedy fingers falling over and squeezing the protrusion of his cock, and you feel it pulse underneath your touch.

Instantly, your name falls past his lips on a rushed exhale, his spine curving forward in his seat slightly. “P-Please,” he breathes out, his whisper almost lost to the sound of the car engine. His eyes fall shut for a second, scrunching as if in pain, before opening wide, seemingly remembering that he was driving all at once. “I’m driving-“

“Do you want me to stop?” You cut in, and Ijichi’s dry lips clamp shut.

You didn’t think so.

Your hand presses against his clothed cock a little more insistently, following the curve of it up and down across his zipper. You don’t miss the way his hips subtly shift, the perceptible buck as his body craves more friction - and you certainly don’t miss the ragged exhale, or the strangled sounds he makes in the back of his throat.

You imagine this must be torture. It would be easy to make him finish into his slacks like some horny delinquent, and the thought of him having to attend his next meeting with his own release coating the inside of his thighs is an appealing one. But you restrain. There were better ways to wind him up.

“Do you want me to touch you properly, Ijichi?” You ask, your voice light and airy, almost caring - had it not been for the subtle bite of teasing underneath.

Ijichi swallows thickly, a moan dying in the back of his throat that makes it sound dangerously like a whimper. “We’re in public,” he murmurs, eyes glancing to the driver's window.

“And?”

The more your hand presses against the bulge in his trousers, the more his forehead seems to inch closer to the steering wheel, his spine arching. His eyes are still glued to the road in front, but you don’t miss the way they snap down to your hand every now and again. He always seemed to be enamored by the sight of you touching him like this, almost as if he couldn’t believe it.

A small groan leaves his lips as you press your palm against where the tip of his cock would be, the sound almost pained as his eyebrows twitch inward.

You click your tongue. “Eyes on the road.”

Ijichi’s eyes snap up to the road again, and he just about manages to slow the car down at a stop light before he rear-ends the car in front. Even riled up as he is, the movement of the car is still smooth.

The engine quietens slightly, though the rumble of it is still felt underneath the pair of you. The sound of the indicator seems to match the hush of Ijichi’s breathing and your own excited heartbeat.

A thick silence follows as your hand remains over his clothed cock, feeling it throb underneath your warm palm. To your surprise, Ijichi is the first to break it.

“Please,” he says, his voice thick and strained, his eyes trained on the car in front of you. His pupils are sharp, if not dilated, and he seems to be focusing on the license plate as if it might speak for him.

You tap a finger against his cock, right over where the head would be, and he jolts, a small bleat tumbling past his lips. “What?” You reply. “You have words, don’t you? Use them.”

Ijichi’s resolves weakens further at the tone in your voice, and his shoulders hunch, his eyes flicking down to his knees. He mumbles something, his cheeks darkening, and you raise an eyebrow.

“Try again,” you say, and there’s a clear note of impatience in your voice.

He breathes the same thing out again, and while you hear it perfectly fine, you’re not satisfied.

“If you’re not going to behave then-“ You go to pull your hand away, but quicker than you give Ijichi credit for, his hand jumps from the steering wheel to your wrist, halting your movement. His grip isn’t tight, it’s barely there at all honestly, but there’s a tremble in his fingers that bely his clear desperation. You let him guide your hand back to his trousers, and something close to a whine and a sigh of relief falls from his lips.

“T-take it out,” he says, his voice breaking on the last syllable. He swallows. “Touch… touch me properly. Please.”

The lights turn to green, and Ijichi’s hand quickly leaves yours to return to the steering wheel, the car picking up speed once again.

For once, you decide to oblige him, although you do briefly entertain the idea of leaving him hard and aching in his trousers for longer. You only had a few minutes before you arrived back at the school, however, and you wanted to see him fall apart before that.

With deft fingers, you reach over and quickly unbuckle Ijichi’s belt. The clink of the metal seems like a gunshot in the overheated space of his car. The zipper soon follows, and with enough room to maneuver, you free his weeping cock from the constrains of his trousers.

Ijichi lets out stuttered sigh as you take him into your palm, your fingers gripping the base firmly. A bead of precum glistens at the tip, dripping down the side of his flushed pink head. Your thumb swipes over it, and Ijichi’s knees twitch inward.

You start to stroke him, your hand twisting and sliding against his overheated flesh in a motion that’s become almost routine for you. You were almost sure you knew Ijichi’s cock better than he did now.

“G-God,” he moans out, his breath hitching on every upstroke of your hand. The way his tip was leaking pre was making the glide more and more fluid, and you were beginning to wonder if Ijichi enjoyed the thought of this happening in public more than he initially let on.

“Does it feel good, sweet boy?” You coo, a glint in your eye that's almost predatory. Your incisor bites down on your bottom lip, and Ijichi’s eyes flick to it instantly. You already know the thoughts that are running through his head, because the same ones are running through yours.

He nods, another sigh falling past his lips as you stroke him with a lazy, leisurely pace. Finding his answer unsatisfactory, you give the fat head of his cock a tight squeeze, and Ijichi nearly doubles over.

“So good!” He bleats out. “It f-feels so, so good I-“

His eyes glance down to the sight of his flushed cock in your hands, and his words break off into another pitched moan. He looks back up, and has to rapidly blink away the lustful fog in his eyes in order to concentrate on the road.

It’s rapidly clear that he’s growing closer and closer to the edge. His thighs repeatedly twitch together, and the more pleasure starts to overtake him, the more desperation to cum starts to win over his usual restraint and refinement.

Murmured pleas spill past his throat, and his ragged breaths quickly turn to pants. He can’t buck up into your palm like he usually might, so he has no choice but to settle for the pace you’ve set. You’re not sure if that brings him more pleasure or agony. They often seemed like the same with Ijichi.

“I’m close,” he quickly pants out. His hands shake against the steering wheel, and when he reaches for the gearstick his hand almost slides off of it. “Please, I can’t do this, not here, not while-“

You pump him quicker, and a shout tears it’s way past his lips. The car swerves slightly, but Ijichi is quick to steady it. He calls your name, but the tone is too pitched and warbling to tell whether it’s a plea for you to stop, or a simple call of pleasure.

Torment is clear on his face, his need to cum fighting with his desire not to crash the car with the both of you in it.

The slick, lewd sound of your hand fisting his cock fills the space as you speed increases, and soft ‘ah’s’ and calls of your name leave Ijichi’s mouth like a prayer.

He grows closer and closer to that edge, his cock pulsing in your palm to the beat of his racing pulse, and it looks like it’s taking every fibre of his near limitless concentration to focus on the road. His eyes threaten to scrunch up and close repeatedly, only to blink back wide a second later as he fights the pleasure growing in him.

“Are you going to cum for me, Ijichi?” You say lowly, and a whimper is his immediate reply. “Are you going to spill all over my hand like a good boy?”

That seems to do it for him, because in a moment the car swerves almost dangerously, the wheel knocking against the curb as he hits the breaks. The car lurches, but you don’t have anytime to register that he’s pulled over to the side of the road before Ijichi falls back against the seat, a loud groan leaving his lips.

“Please, hah, please, please-“ His voice is little more than a high-pitched whine at this point, his hips bucking up desperately into your palm now he doesn’t have to use the pedals. A thud rings out in the car as his head falls back against the headrest, his chin jutting up to the roof as his lips fall open. “I’m so close, I’m close-“

A hand falls to your thigh, and his fingers dig into the plush flesh as his eyes stare down at your hand as it works his cock to the end. A shaking whine builds in his throat, his fingers tightening on your thigh until they threaten to bruise.

You quicken your pace just a touch more, focusing on the sensitive head, and he’s teetering right on the edge. A simple ‘cum for me, Ijichi’, is enough to push him over.

“Hah- c-coming! I’m c-” Your name falls past his lips in one long, drawn-out call as his cock twitches. Ropes of his release coat your hand, each pulse being accompanied by a strangled moan as his hips continue to buck up into your palm. Warm, pearlescent cum oozes over your fingers and knuckles, trickling down his own skin, staining his slacks and the hem of his shirt.

He breathes raggedly, his chest heaving. He turns his head almost lifelessly to face you.

You continue to stroke him until his moans are reduced to nothing more than trembling whimpers, his hips still bucking weakly into your hand. Your movements don’t stop until he’s riding the line of oversensitivity, and he’s begging you to stop.

And even then, you continue.

masterlist.

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujustu kaisen #ijichi kiyotaka #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #ijichi x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ijichi smut #ijichi kiyotaka smut

[dabisbratz]

FORGIVENESS. — aizawa shouta x male reader

wc: 2.1k

WARNING: dirty talk (sho has the filthiest mouth ever :O), choking (brief), manhandling, slapping, face-grabbing, degradation/humiliation, semi-public sex, frottage, blowjob mention, creampie, ruined orgasm

genitalia terms: dick, cock, hole, cunt, pussy (even though these terms are used the readers genitals are ambiguous)

a/n: UMM I THINK I GOT CARRIED AWAY WITH THE…….. DIALOGUE no one talks about how embarrassing it is to write this stuff outtttt my face is burning

“I just want to know why.” Aizawa says, hunched over with his hands in his pockets. You can see how tense his shoulders are, and the furrow of his brows almost makes you want to get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness. In the middle of Musutafu’s central police station, you sit in an uncomfortably stiff chair that digs into your thighs, the plastic all but holding you in place. It wasn’t even your fault— Okay, maybe throwing the first punch was your fault. And ignoring Shouta’s dire instructions to stay out of trouble. And maybe you deserve a slap on the wrist for instigating….But what was a broken leg to a regeneration quirk?

And maybe the whole argument-in-front-of-the-police thing wasn’t very smart either. So what, you’re a big boy. You can handle yourself, you don’t need Shouta’s saving.

“He’ll live.” Is all you say, watching Shouta’s jaw clench. His adam's apple bobs in his throat as he nods once, crossing his arms over his chest. Through his black shirt, though baggy, you can see the swell of his biceps as they rest on his opposing knuckles. And because you just can’t help yourself, you grumble, “Bitch deserved it anyway.”

“Right..” He laughs, almost in disbelief, as he signs something you can’t quite make out at the reception table. Then he turns to you and grabs your arm, tightening his grip as he walks you out the station. You have the urge to run, to scramble out of his grasp and go as far as your legs will take you. To your left, a police officer looks ready to ask you more questions but he’s interrupted before he can even take an opening breath. “He’s with me, I got it handled.”

You’re fucked.

“Airheaded little boys and bars don’t mix,” He makes a passing comment, opening the passenger's seat to his car and hastily pushing you in. Usually, the casual dominance of his large, veiny hands buckling your seatbelt for you would have you swooning, raising your chin to steal a kiss on his stubbled cheek with a saccharine smile. Instead, you turn your head away, watching Shouta close the door and briskly walk to the driver’s seat, and from there he sits with bristle, moving his hair out of his handsome face. His eyes remain heavy-lidded, dark circles cascading into deep shadows around his tired eyes. “Do you—“

“I know you can’t say the same for yourself, but I handle myself just fine.” You feel quite proud of yourself for that one, crossing your arms over your chest and setting your jaw— just like you’d seen the hero do before.

“Aht, what do I always say about speaking over me?” Aizawa’s grip on your jaw tightens, squeezing your cheeks and pushing your lips together. You look much sweeter like this, quiet and anticipating as you look at him with wide eyes. His dark eyes are even darker, stone cold and unrelenting— but you can see a trickle of red light gleam through them. “Repeat it.”

“‘M’not sh’posed sh’to…” And part of you wants to ignore how the sadistic quirk of his lips upturns as you speak, but the brat in you just can’t let it go. You roll your eyes, averting your gaze as if the traffic lights are the most entertaining things you’ve seen in a while.

“Oh, so you can listen,” You just choose not to. His grip loosens as he pulls out the parking lot, driving in silence.

Save for the occasional blinker signal sound as he drives— wherever you’re going isn’t home, you’d realized after a particularly sharp turn into a vacant lot. During the drive, Aizawa seems to have collected himself, his long, dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail that trickled down his shoulders. Evidently, he didn’t want to drive angry, and most certainly didn’t want to punish you while angry. “Need me to pound some sense into you, baby? Knock those bratty thoughts right outta that pretty head of yours?”

A high whine threatens to escape your throat, Shouta reaching over to grab your throat and nip at your lips, trailing hot, wet kisses and bites down to your chin and throat. He seems to move your body so easily, manhandling you into the perfect position to be used, into positions that have you whining and moaning like a slut. Your legs spread across his lap, and had his seat not been lowered, you’d surely have smacked your head into the ceiling.

It’s embarrassing, all it takes is a few kisses and bites to have you rutting in his arms, desperate to blow off steam and even more desperate for him. Aizawa’s hands rest at your hips, holding you down while he grinds into you slowly, like he’s fucking you, save for the layers of clothes in the way. You click your tongue, fingers exploring the dark sea of hair framing his face. You go to pull, wrapping the locks around your fingers, but your efforts are fruitless.

“You wanna touch? That’s cute. Ask for it, I know you can use your manners, gonna ask to touch me, baby?” He whispers in your ear, his voice deep and gruff and stern. It’s completely rhetorical, he’s demanding you ask. The low purr of his voice sends shivers down your spine, instinctively you move to touch between your thighs, to feel pressure where you need it, but you can’t.

Because Shouta stops you with his stupidly large and strong hands. Because Shouta’s gaze is stern and downright scary. Because Shouta’s dick could be inches down your throat by now, had you just been a good boy, and the promise of that in the future makes you want to pause. Still, you groan, because how dare he deprive you of his dick. How dare he let you sit there, drooling for it and whiney as if that’s not evidence enough.

“You just needed some attention, didn’t you?” Aizawa purrs, unbuttoning your clingy jeans and pulling them past the swell of your ass to place a harsh smack straight across it. You jerk forward, face falling into his shoulder as he laughs at you, condescending and evil and mean. “Needed Daddy to hold your hand, whisper a few pretty words in your ears and give that greedy pussy a stern talkin’ to.”

“Don’t— don’t call it that,” You whisper, weak in the knees and your limbs feel like jello.

“Why not? That’s what it is, isn’t it? Always so ready and pretty, always aching for Daddy’s tongue, fingers.. his cock. Got a perfect pussy on my boy, don’t I? S’a perfect fit.”

His dick springs to life, through the fly of his comfortable pants and twitching against his matching black sweatshirt. Your mouth waters, watching as the brown-pink tip leaks precum, a particularly pretty vein disappearing into the head and wrapping around his shaft. You want to trace it with your tongue, drool all over it and have him force it down your throat while you cry and moan. Knowing Shouta, he’d pinch your nose and watch you struggle to breathe with a sweet smile on his face.

You can hear the faint click of the center console organizer closing, and the loud squelch of lube pouring, but you don’t expect the cool sensation of it being rubbed into your skin. It feels nice against the blazing smack from earlier, but all you can think of is how obscene you must look, whining in your Daddy’s arms while he prods at your hole and squeezes handfuls of your ass. Cool air brushes against your hole, you’re spread out for anyone to see, back arched while you push back on his fingers and moan like a whore.

“Such a greedy hole,” Shouta tuts, smacking your ass once more as a warning to get you to stop moving. You both know if he wanted to he could simply grab your hips, hold you in place and finger your brains out, but he wants you to keep your composure yourself. You said it, anyways. You can handle yourself just fine. “Gonna let me fuck this cunt stupid, baby? Stretch you out like you need it. Don’t rush.”

His fingers curl inside you, moans bubbling in your throat as your hips buck forward, your front clothed and aching. Your eyes roll back, a knot forming in your stomach as your abdomen clenches and his fingers thrust into the same sweet spot over and over and over. You mewl and cry, blabbering nonsense into his ears while he nips at your cheek, calling you a slut for liking this so much, for trying to take his fingers deeper, even once they’ve reached the final knuckle.

“Never. Fuckin’. Satisfied.” He enunciates with particularly sharp thrusts before slowly sliding his fingers out of you, feeling your hole wink around nothing, empty once again. He wipes the remaining lube on his fingers onto your face, watching as your watery eyes blink in delayed confusion. He smiles, sadistically sweet before slapping you across the cheek and pushing his fingers into your mouth, watching your lips curl into a dopey smile. Still, you’re empty.

Too empty.

“Wait.. wait.. Sho’, wan’ more.. c‘mon, give it t’me, please! I can— M’your good boy, m’a good boy..” You sob, wailing in his cock as he pushes his head against your hole. You wriggle down, watching as his strong hands tighten around your waist. He holds you there, thrusting up into your hole to use you like a fleshlight, groaning as your warmth wraps around his big dick, and kisses his tip with velvet.

You squeal, eyes scrunched closed as he raises you up and down as if you weigh nothing, an aching burn in your thighs as you struggle to push down onto his cock.

“Shut up, if they catch you taking a Pro-Hero’s dick like some whore that’s all you’ll ever be known for,” He gasps, spreading your cheeks apart to watch his cock disappear inside you through the side-view mirror. Sticky precum holds you two together, making a particularly sloppy sound when he pulls out completely, then slams back in. “But you’d like that wouldn’t you? Wanna be passed around at an agency, see how many loads you can take in that fuckin’ cunt.”

“M’sorry, Shou— M’sorry Daddy, please..!”

“You’ll take what I give you, brat,” His thrusts grow sluggish and sloppy as you crash into him and pant in his ear, tears streaming down your pretty face as every coherent thought leaves your brain. All you can muster out are jumbled pleas, toes curling as you grab his shirt— how slutty you must look while he’s still fully clothed. “You can handle yourself, right? You’ll cum on this dick with no hands, let Daddy fuck a load into you while you cum since you think you’re such a big boy.”

The knot in your abdomen tightens, your hole fluttering around his cock as Shouta moans, and you feel your body shutter as it briefly goes numb. You’re cumming, your head falls forward as he uses you like a fucktoy, bouncing in his lap with tiny, “Uh, uh, uh”‘s. Your hole grips him like a vice, swallowing his cock impossibly deep until you feel warmth flood your stomach, but before you can ride the high of getting your release, Shouta shoves you down at the hilt of his dick, pumping rope after rope inside you.

You want to cry, ball your hands into fists and beat at his chest because of course, you’re not allowed to cum. Of course, your orgasm is ruined and he gets to huff out satisfied breaths.

So mean.

“I know,” He sighs, breathless and tired as he slowly lifts you off his cock, hissing at the sensitivity. You let him do it, clawing at his shirt with a newfound lack of strength, whining as he catches the cum leaking out of you and pushes it back into your spent hole. He squeezes your ass one last time before pulling your pants and underwear back up, buttoning your jeans as if he didn’t just fuck you within an inch of your life and leave you high and dry. “I’m so mean, so mean. I’ll make it up to you.”

Too fucked out to say anything, you let him situate you back in the passengers seat, watching as he buckles your seatbelt for you. Whining, you grab his wrist, letting a sleepy smile grace your lips as he kisses your cheek. You had a lot to talk about once you got home, but he’d let you sleep for now.

“Brat.” He hums, nothing but love in his voice.

#₊˚⊹♡ 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓈𝓎 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝑔𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒 #anime x male reader #mha x male reader #bnha smut #aizawa x reader #my hero academia aizawa #aizawa shota x y/n #aizawa shota smut #aizawa smut #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x you #shota aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa imagine #aizawa imagine #aizawa shota x reader #x male smut #x male reader #x bottom male reader #bnha x reader #bnha x male reader #bnha x m!reader smut #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #aizawa x male reader

[official-cvntified-gay]

Play Pretend (Reneé Rapp x Reader)

𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘴 "𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦"

﹒⪩⪨﹒

"It's all for publicity Reneé" Her manager explained, she tilted her head at her management. She's still skeptical about the idea, her manager didn't say who.

"I don't know... who is it with?" She finally asked, her team looked at each other before Adam said your name.

"Y/n L/n" she swallowed thickly, not believing her ears.

"Now why didn't you start with that?" She mumbled incredulously. Adam rolled his eyes at that, knowing that the deal's already settled.

A few weeks into your new relationship, the teams discussed how you would blow this relationship up. Truth be told, you're just doing this for fun, you were asked for help by a dear friend.

And it also didn't hurt when you have such a pretty thing.

Given your reputation, you don't need any further proof that you're successful. Your name speaks for itself.

Some would say you're doing charity work. But looking at Reneé's endless potential, you think otherwise. You wonder what else could you help her with.

You argued about that with Adam. But he explained that the management "wants to speed it up" which you called bullshit, seeing right through them.

But you both won't lose anything if you do this.

So, here you are. In a well-known bar, hands wrap protectively around her waist. Despite your argument that she doesn't need you to boost her name. Your teams suggested that you go out on a date to stir the conversation.

But you found it to be cliche, knowing this situation quite well. You told them to trust you with this and took Reneé to a bar, of course, you asked if she was all right with this and she agreed instantly.

"You alright, darling?" Your words are smooth, and you are quite known as someone suave. And that's exactly why Reneé admires you. Your thumb caresses her clothed skin, and you pull her closer to you. You gave her a soft smile when she let out a small gasp.

"So pretty in my arms" You caress her cheek with your other hand. She let out a ragged breath, her breath warm and her hand on your chest trembled lightly as she squeezed her thighs together.

"Yeah! Let's grab a drink!" She brushed off the situation, enthusiastically pulling you to get a drink. You spend the night having fun. Your bodies dance with each other as you try to converse through the loud sound of music and people.

"Are you having fun?" She questioned, hands around your neck while yours on her waist. Your body glistens with a few sweats.

"I am actually." You grinned while you swayed your bodies. "So how is this supposed to boost us?" You smiled at her, before whispering in her ear.

"Trust me." You winked before letting the music take over your bodies, once you both had enough. You took her outside. Making sure that she's well taken care of.

Outside the bar, you found some bench to sit on. You notice how her hair bothers her, so you put her hair into a ponytail, kissing her forehead after doing so. She mumbled a small thank you while looking up with those eyes of her.

"You're adorable" You gave her nose a peck before removing the jacket you wore, and you put it on her. Making sure to check on her every few minutes.

Reneé knows her limits, but for some reason, she wants to be taken care of, especially if it's from you.

She wants to be babied.

"Can we go home?" She asked softly, you couldn't help but giggle at her cuteness. You nodded "All alright darling, I'll call my driver" With that you call your driver, her head on your shoulder while you stroke her cheeks softly as you talk to June.

You kissed her head, you put down your phone. Smiling when you notice something in your surroundings. You continued stroking her cheeks while she slurred out her drunken thoughts.

You nodded and agreed with her throughout her speech, smiling fondly at her. It's not hard to like this woman.

After a few minutes, June pulled up. You carefully guide her inside the car. Taking her to your house, you help her sober up for a moment in your guest room. You gave her your hoodie and comfy pajamas. You prepared some ibuprofen and water in case she woke up with a hangover.

"Holy shit!" You heard her voice, your face forming a proud smile as your plan worked. You sip your coffee while you wait for her.

"Good morning, darling" you greeted with a rasped voice, she looked up from her phone to look at you with wide eyes. "You've seen this?" She walked closer to you to give you her phone.

"I made breakfast" You motion your head to the food you set up for her before looking at her phone.

"Cute pics," you said calmly, Reneé looked up from her eating her food. You sounded like you're just looking at some cute dog pics.

"What?" She asked confused, you gave her phone back.

"Send the pics to me, we look cute," you said before continuing with your coffee. She quickly dm the pics to you.

You saved the pics that the paparazzi took last night at the bar, you saw them taking pictures before you went home. They are so predictable, hanging where they know celebrities hang out.

So you weren't surprised when the pictures would end up online. You forwarded the image to your team, sending them an "I told you so" message.

"How'd you know?" Strangely, Reneé doesn't call you with pet names. She felt that it was too intimate for her. Knowing that she would mean it if she called you any pet names.

"Doesn't matter, but it's probably all over socials." Knowing her fans and yours, it was all over the media.

"What do we do next?" she had a few ideas in mind, and you smiled at her. "Nothing, we watch how they take it" Renee nodded, knowing that you were right and her pounding head didn't give her a chance to answer.

"Did you take the ibuprofen?" you sigh when she shook her head. "I was shocked and ran to find you" You set down your cup before walking away to get her something to cure her hangover.

"What do you wanna do today?" Once you handed her the medicine she asked.

"Get to know each other" you answered surely, knowing that to successfully fool the public. You have to at least know each other.

You both spent the day with each other, it was nice. You got to know each other, surprised at how comfortable and easy it is to speak with her. You notice how you enjoy her presence and her personality.

Renee's drawn on you, listening to every word you say. She likes you and it's not hard to like her. Throughout the day you painted each other's nails.

You took a quick picture of her painting your nails, knowing what you should do next. She noticed you taking pictures and posed for a few photos before concentrating again.

Renee found these moments memorable. She knew she would think about this for a while. Once the day ended, you two parted ways.

You scroll down on your phone, you smile as you see countless of images and a few video clips of you and Renee at the bar. You scroll through TikTok to see your For You page full of edits of yours and Renee's. You applaud their creativity.

You saw a few vids of influencers talking about your so-called "hard launch" Time flies as you watched, liked, and reposted some few TikTok about relationships. Not reposting videos of you both. But liking a few cute videos since for sure the creators would inform their viewers that you liked the vid, that would lead to them further believing your relationship.

You sent a few cute edits to Renee, laughing at her comments. You both discuss a few things that you could do together to feed into the already blowing-up conversation.

Reneé's never reliant on one person, she likes to do things herself. But she's always saying yes to you. Going along with your plan, she loves how you take initiative.

"You do it your way baby. I'll follow" she says, now more comfortable with throwing pet names. You always make sure that what you're doing is for both of your benefits.

Deciding to keep appearance, you take her into one of your many interviews. And Reneé just follows because she knew you would take care of her needs.

"What are you doing?" Her voice is soft and small, she follows your movements with her eyes. "Just making sure you'd be comfortable" You held her hand and lead her to the set. You greeted everyone and introduced yourself.

"Hi, I'm Y/n L/n and I'm gonna be reading some of your most unhinged thirst tweets." Once you're in front of the camera, you're in your element. You're one of the most requested people to read some thirst tweets. You winked at the camera, while silently preparing yourself.

Because knowing how Twitter can be, you let out a giggle as you read the first tweet.

"I want y/n to manhandle me, choke me, spank me. Thank you" you giggle in between your sentences. You look at the camera and the people behind it, laughing as you hide your face with your hands.

"Ma'am? I guess we're starting with a bang. I hear you darling" You grab a new paper, muttering an "Oh God" as you read the sentence.

"It's from @calmed_t1ts I want y/n to breastfeed me like the mother she is" I looked at the camera while biting my lip. The staff laughed at the tweet and I could hear Reneé let out a small scream when I read the tweet.

"You know, my mother never breastfed me-" I proceeded to tell a whole different story at the same time acknowledging the tweet.

"I want this framed in my room by the way." You shook your head with a wide smile, before grabbing the next paper.

"Oooh, come here darling" you motion for Renee to come as the tweet addresses you both, you look at the staff for approval and they nod.

You guided her to sit on your lap casually, and you gave her the paper for her to read.

"Looove the username, deal" Renee nodded, not even flinching at the tweet. She looked at you for approval. You shrugged your shoulders at her.

"Give me details, darling" You looked at the camera, and before you could say something. Renee remembered something.

"Oohh remember when you-"

"Okay, thank you so much dearest!" You gave her a quick tight hug to silence her, before you playfully motioned her out of your lap. She giggled while she stood up.

The rest of the segment where with Reneé, it's unplanned but it was so fun and memorable. It shows how easy things are with Reneé.

You couldn't wait to see where this thing leads you...

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘮? 𝘫𝘬

(𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘱𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘱 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦😭)

𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘯𝘥

#renee rapp #mean girls 2024 #regina george #regina george x reader #renee rapp x reader #mean girls #lesbians #gay

[kittykatthatbitesback]

Hey! I love your beach head canons, and I would love to see your take on the Hazbin Hotel characters on a road trip/maybe a trip to a theme park? I feel like that would be cute lol.

Yes of course! This sounds so fun but I decided to make it a road trip to wherever the reader decides (Theme park, wherever)! This actually works perfectly as a prequel/sequel to my Beach Trip! Headcanons I've posted. Hope you enjoy!

Hazbin Hotel Road Trip! Headcanons

Characters: Charlie, Vaggie, Alastor, Angeldust, Husk, Sir Pentious, Vox, Lucifer, Adam, and Cherri Bomb

Charlie 🐐🫶

Originally wanted to be the one to drive, but Vaggie figured her inclination to be distracted by anything on the side of the road would cause everyone to crash, so Vaggie refused to let her drive at any point

Doesn’t even have her license so she wouldn’t be able to drive anyways so

“Ugh fine! Well, then, I call shotgun!!”

Went from Princess of Hell to passenger princess hehe

Was upset at not driving but got over it quickly as realizing she enjoys the view more than driving

“Oh my gosh look at those deer! Wait there’s more over there! Wait. Did we just drive past the rest area, I need to pee again!!”

Constantly nags the driver by chitchatting to them, regardless if they’re listening

A bad habit of hers is playfully hitting others when Charlie talks, but she forgets to not do this when driving

A couple of minor accidents nearly occur but she is unfazed

Is so pumped and asks to stop and look at any roadside attraction

It begins to become a bit annoying after a while

Vaggie ❌🥀

Is the one who drives for the most part on this road trip

Is a bit grumbly because she was woken up so early by an eager Charlie to go on this trip and needs her beauty sleep

Is the only one who can handle Charlie’s constant nagging and pushing, and is also the only one with a license out of the whole group, so logically the ex-Angel is the one who drives

Only pays attention to the road and not Charlie unfortunately for maximum safety

Is sipping on a large Circle K cup that she filled with Monster Energy prior to the trip

This just barely wakes her enough to watch the road

Has a bit of road rage but these guys are from Hell, what can you expect

Refuses to waste gas so only stops for gas when the car is literally empty

Empty like everyone else had to get out of the car and push it to the nearest gas station that was three miles away, empty

“Come on guys, we’re almost there.” She’ll say smugly sipping her Monster from within the car in the AC

Alastor 🦌📻

Was invited on this road trip, but ended up driving on his own to their destination

Yes, he doesn’t have a license, but he’s the Radio Demon he does what he pleases

Mainly decided to drive separately so that he could listen to his radio in peace without complaints or extra unnecessary noise

Is listening to jazz, and keeps on repeating the songs: “Fly Me to the Moon” and “Sing, Sing, Sing”

Also prefers to be alone, he vibes better that way and is more in his element

Drives the coolest, red, vintage pick up truck ever

All the girls and guys at the stop lights are just fawning over him but the Radio Demon can’t see anything past the road in his shades

Drives super fast and only stops for gas, which considering the age of his truck, ends up happening often

Angeldust 🕷️❤️‍🔥

Wanted to get one of those party buses with the strip poles inside but now has to make do with the crew’s giant van

Enough space to do lines of coke so it’s okay

Obviously snuck in drugs and alcohol, this is a given, it’s Angeldust come on

“I call aux!!” and plays his playlist titled Cunty B*tch

It’s a bunch of Ayesha Erotica, Kesha, Lady Gaga, Britney Spears, etc.

Screams all of the songs at the top of his lungs while hanging out of the window

“HE MIGHT NOT LOOK LIKE HE GETS BITCHES, BUT HONEY THAT DICK WAS ELEVEN INCHES!”

Husk has to pull him inside but he’s just having the time of his life

Loud as Hell but provides the entertainment, and Vaggie appreciates his music taste

Has to get Vaggie to pull over and proceeds to violently throw up all the alcohol he chugged earlier on the side of the highway as Cherri films laughing from inside the van

Immediately falls asleep after this embarrassing moment as the aftermath of his “fun” takes a toll on him

Husk 🐈‍⬛🥃

Was planning to catch up on missed hours of sleep by dozing through this entire trip, but Angeldust made this quite hard

Is wrapped up in a blanket, eye mask on, earplugs in, headphones on, neck pillow propped, and stuffed toy snuggled (HE SLEEPS WITH A STUFFED TOY OMG)

It’s a miniature Pegasus he named after his favorite drink: Whiskey

Angeldust, Cherri, and Adam won’t stop making fun of him the entire trip

This, plus Angeldust’s music, Charlie’s nonstop talking causes Husk to EXPLODE

“IF YOU ALL DONT SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR A SECOND!”

But his geared-up sleep ware makes him look a bit goofy as he shouts this, so everyone instead bursts out laughing

The feline just grumbles to himself as he decides to just stare out the window depressingly for the rest of the ride

Gets bored and ends up practicing Poker and Solitaire with the cards he brought

Is also keeping an eye on Angeldust who at first was off the wall

Once Angeldust passes out, Husk covers him with his blanket so he’s not cold (aww)

Sir Pentious 🐍🥚

Actually was the one who designed and crafted the van

The original van wasn’t big enough for the whole crew after Cherri decided to join in last minute, so of course the snake is going to build an ENTIRE new vehicle for his Cherri Bomb <3

Engineered the van for maximum comfort and refused Angeldust’s pleads for strip poles inside; “Thossse would be ssso uneccesssary!”

Instead, he included luxurious feet space, and AC and heater system throughout the whole van, seats with massaging for backs and feet, mini TVs on the back of each seat, and a fancy mini fridge for food

Also built miniature seats for his Egg Bois with built-in heating pads in case they get too cold in the AC

These Egg Bois have a really specific temperature range they can survive in, so those same heating pads were engineered by Sir Pentious to also work as cooling pads

“Anything for my babiesss”

Came extra prepared and was the only one to bring snacks and drinks to put in the cooler

Is constantly offering Cherri a water or coke whenever she is “looking a bit dehydrated”

Which happens to be every 2 minutes according to him

Is trying so hard to flex on her the fact that he built the van

“Ssssoo Cherri, how are you enjoying the back masssssage? I programmed it to perfectly meet the needsss of a beautiful lady like you”

Bro with 0 rizz somehow ends up charming her

Vox 🖥️⚡️

This TV ignores the mini TVs Sir Pentious built arguing they’re “not of top Vox quality”

Tries to hijack them to prove his point, but Sir Pentious is smarter than that and even his mini TVs are Vox-resistant

Ego bruised, now tries to hijack the radio to turn off Angeldust’s loud ass music, but Sir Pentious ALSO came prepared for that

Sir Pentious even shaped his seat and headrest to fit Vox’s big ass TV head perfectly, so Vox isn’t able to complain about anything

Now an upset Vox is left to sit in silence for most of the trip

Will chime in occasionally to the conversations but you can tell his pride was hurt

Spends his hours of silence to brainstorm ways to defeat Alastor

Lucifer 🪽🐤

Brought his rubber duckies to play house with them on the ride

To everyone’s surprise, knows all the lyrics to all of Angeldust’s songs

“What! I enjoy these too!” Proceeds to lip sync them in the most fruity way

Is Lucifer straight or gay? Bi? No one knows.

Is definitely that one person in a car ride to try to start a game of “100 bottles of beer on a wall” or the game of concentration

LIVES for these games

“20 questions” is his favorite

Tries to get everyone involved and yells at Husk once he sees he’s playing his own game of Poker

Husk suggests that Lucifer should play the silent game

Will try to convince the others to play by reciting them old dad jokes

This does not work

Adam 🎸🤘

Will definitely pig out on all of those snack Sir Pentious brought

“YO WHERE THE FUCK IS THE BEER”

Forces Vaggie to stop at a gas station 5 minutes into the trip to buy 3 twelve packs of beer

Is absolutely in his happy place with the massage chair, vast feet space, TV playing “Too Hot to Handle”, chips, and beer

Is the only one who manages to trash his space with wrappers, spills, and crumbs

Does not give a fuck

Has his window down, sunglasses on, and wind blowing in his face while he just yells

Shouts and catcalls to every hot chick they pass by

Brought an air horn to do that more efficiently while on the highway

Is seated next to Vox so is taunting and teasing him about the whole incident earlier

“Hmm not so tough anymore huh? Even these mini TVs are doing a better job than you!”

Is a bit of a menace

Cherri Bomb 🍒💣

Only joined last minute for the trip because she thought it would be lame at first

But Angeldust promised to bring along drugs and alcohol so she agreed

Made a certain snake sooo happy that she decided to come

Is constantly nagged by him throughout this whole trip but she has grown used to it

She even starts to think it’s cute how much he cares

Has to stop to go pee so often because of all the beverages Sir Pentious keeps offering her

Doesn’t wait for a rest area, will pop a squat on the side of the road

Sings along with Angeldust (and Lucifer??) to all the songs

Actually she’s the one who made the playlist and shared it with Angeldust ;)

“Ooh ooh skip this one, the next one’s even better!”

Brought an Erotica novel to read (she usually just skips to the good parts)

Is glad to be sitting next to Angeldust but still films him as he throws up so that they can joke about it later

Passes time with him playing, Fuck, Marry, Kill

She ends up answering Fuck to all the options

#hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin hotel #hazbin husk #hazbin lucifer #headcanon #hazbin charlie #alastor #hazbin art #hazbin hotel edit #alastor hazbin hotel #sir pentious #hazbin hotel adam #lucifer hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #vaggie hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #alastor x reader #huskerdust #husker x angel dust #husker hazbin hotel #husker x reader #angeldust #angelhusk #hazbin hotel husk #vivziepop #vaggie #hazbin hotel fanart #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer

[darkdemeter]

GUARD DOG

The DARK DEMETER WRITING CATALOGUE, WANDA MAXIMOFF COLUMN (ONESHOT) #4 —

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

Mafia! Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader

A/N — First time doing the sex pollen trope so it may be a bit stiff? Looking at doing more werewolf exposed to sex pollen stuff because I think it’s an interesting concept!

WORD COUNT — 24.7k

READER DISCRETION — Mafia/mob orientated stuff — violence — death — slight alluded to relationship with Natasha — trauma, some ptsd — mention and implied SA and forced sexual encounters (none main cast) — graphic depictions of torture, "animal" cruelty, experimentation and family death — exposure to sex pollen (reader only) — mention of previous usage of drugs (forced) — reader is dehumanised, usage of negative titles/names — sexual themes — SMUT** 18+ MINORS DNI — monster-tongue fucking — "Mate" usage and status — will feature "male variant" and "female variant" smut separate segments — I think that's it?

SUMMARY — All that you are is a guard. An obedient soldier. You have killed, maimed and other atrocities, but before you lose yourself you will do all these things for her. With the death of Pietro, Wanda remains as the sole heir to the Maximoff empire. As her loyal guard, it is your duty to protect her at all costs, and you will do so until your last breath; come what may. You now engage in a manhunt for Brock Rumlow, to exact revenge for the Maximoff heiress. However, it's not that simple. He's disappeared to the winds without a trace and so, those of the American brotherhood come your aid. However, when they bring news of Brock's whereabouts, it will force you to encounter a part of your dark history that you've purposefully kept hidden from Wanda. Ironic that you will venture to a place that still holds you captive yet is the stepping stone of how you gained your "freedom".

ACT I: AMBER & BLOOD

It all happens so fast. After a torturous incline of sinister  lingering just out of reach, Rumlow finally struck. Wanda could very well have died tonight if it weren’t for you, unfortunately, Pietro is lost in the crossfire. 

A black SUV rolled over with a fried, sizzling engine, and crumpled metal, Wanda’s leg is pinned between the driver’s seat and her own, unable to prevent Pietro from being dragged out. 

His yells of protest mix with the blood curdling sounds of flesh being pummelled and choking on his own blood. Wanda cries out in her suffering, her agony that cuts her deeply like a knife, turning without pause. She now realises she should have listened to you when you told them it was a set up. 

She’d been adamant the Rumlow Family had want for peace, such as them, and that with some luck, they could forge a new schematic and plan to control the European territories together in their newfound alliance. Foreign powers were not often taken in by those of the European empires and families unless they proved to have wealth, power, influence and anything else that could bolster their own standing. 

How wrong the Maximoff twins were, to think of such pleasantries like children with an over imaginative mind for wishful thinking. To believe honey-coated words. They were revealing their hand of cards to the dealer before it was the right time. 

She and Pietro only glimpsed at the surface of this opportunity, they didn’t take care in looking into the depths, they blindly ignored your advice to consider what was being offered. They had no elders to hit pause and test them, to let them properly judge the situation accordingly. 

The only means of guidance the twins were offered after the death of their parents did little in doing the right thing. Blubbering messes, hidden agendas, so-called family friends that failed so miserably in their job to counsel the Maximoff heirs. Trusted members that swore they would do all in their ability to protect the interest of the family, blood and business all.

It then fell into the palms of your clawed hands. Hands that were often healing bruised and splintered knuckles if not blood stained. It was up to you to rectify their mistakes. To provide the support of being a shadowy advisor, because of the scolding looks you were given whenever you tried to voice your own opinion at the sit downs. 

The ideal scenario of meeting with the Rumlows also implied that you were nowhere in the picture when the negotiations went down. Yes, Wanda and Pietro both agreed that your presence would only push Rumlow to refuse the deal, along with their desired terms.

 Did they truly think that he wouldn’t agree under the silent oath that he would later turn on them, your presence there or not? Rumlow was the dagger in the cloak. 

That’s why you were not in the car with them when it happens. But you were tailing behind them, to ensure that they were safe. That was your job, your purpose to be with the family, to protect them. And thankfully, given your experience, you knew something was off from the very start. 

The black, winding street lined by the green foliage of woodland is shrouded in darkness, Rumlow’s men are convinced that this was the perfect spot for their ambush to take place. Their cars formed a blockade in the direction the SUV was driving through, the white lights blaring through the thick shroud of night, a thin and constant blanket of fog muffled their black silhouettes. They appear more ghost-like than they really were. But they were very much real. 

Wanda continues to scream for her brother, pleading with the suited men to let him go, but they don’t. Instead, they laugh and joke while Pietro is beaten into a broken, bloody mess. His face is cut and littered with dark welts that contort his features, a hideous display of the brutality that could have been avoided if they just listened. 

She tries again and again to pull her leg from the tight wedge but cannot. When the car rolled, it sealed her fate, locking her in place to endure the cruelty of their consequences. 

You hear her shout for you then. Her voice, shrill and raw with desperation, she wills you to be at her side; unexpecting that her words seemed to be a work of magic when the large, muscular frame of your other side leaps from the canopy of trees and bushes behind her.

Rumlow thinks he is the only beast that none can trifle with. His memory is lacking or perhaps he’s purposefully blocked out the incident. 

The men who are your now sworn enemies are caught in the frenzy of their panic, alarmed by the swift form that tears Pietro’s attacker into shreds in seconds, his blood rains down like a storm, covering them and the dark road illuminated by the streams of light. 

From Wanda’s trapped place, she cannot help the swell of admiration and hope in her green eyes, the men cower before you as you protectively stand over Pietro’s unconscious body. The threads of her vocal cords are tightly constricted under the influx of tears that mist her eyes, making them faintly shine, yet she prevails to utter your name in the midst of her shock. To see that you actually came for them. 

Like a guardian angel. A guard dog. 

The fiery orbs of your amber eyes haunt the darkness and even so far to reach Wanda’s soul. To behold the gaze of such anger, she cannot even pray that those targeted by such hatred find rest when their bodies have grown cold and lifeless.

It is one thing to test the fury of a man. It’s a completely different story when one tests the wrath of a werewolf. As far as the reputation of your collar goes, you don’t take kindly to your enemies, as expected, nor are you known to be merciful towards prisoners. If they intend harm on those that are under your protection, they will die. 

In the amber fires of your eyes that bare the gateway to the underworld, she sees that deeply driven will to protect. She finds comfort in that notion, that you are here right now, already one man torn to pieces, and several more to join him, she releases the breath in her chest like a floodgate as she utters, “kill them all.”

The large outline of your muzzle dips obediently and you turn your sights to the men sent to kill the heirs to the Maximoff Family. No mercy. There was to only be blood and carnage. 

Your towering height only drives the stakes of primitive fear further into their hearts as your bloody jaws pry open, bellowing a baritone howl that freezes fauna and flora both, terrorising their once moment of harmony. 

One of the men shouts orders to the others, his words die on the junction of his Adam's apple when you strike an arm forward. Your claws puncture first and followed by the digits of your pawed fingers, he chokes around the intrusion, and with an equally viscous tug you tear the cords from his throat. 

Claps of gunfire echo with each flash, bullet after bullet try in vain to penetrate your hide, some find more prominent purchase while others ricochet off you and clank against the bloodstained road with false promises that that single bullet would be the one to bring you down. 

For a family allied with the very facility that made you the ruthless killing machine - a family who have knowledge of their fingertips - they were greatly under prepared, sorely lacking the equipment needed to cause you any real damage. 

One man gains a surge of bravery or stupidity and he runs at you, gun in hand firing until his magazine is emptied before he knew it, you see his very life flash before his eyes as you raise your opposite arm up and sweep downward. His scream is cut short when his head is shredded in half and blood gushes in oozing streams, he falls with a meaty thump to the ground. 

Two men armed with shotguns empty their barrels, reload and fire again, the process repeats itself. It’s the middle one that awakens that predator drive in you when he turns and makes a run for it. 

You run at the two men and dispatch of them, claws tearing through their suits and divulging the contents of their stomachs, their internal organs now unguarded by the crushed remnants of their bones, they topple free and onto the ground at their feet. Their legs are quick to give out as shock wracks their bodies, hands shakily attempting to pull their innards back in with little hope of succession. 

The final man who now flees the scene wheezes, and quite loudly at that, firearm disarmed when your jaws clamp shut around his forearm and tear the limb from his shoulder with a squelch and a bone-breaking pop. 

He clutches at the deformity of his missing arm and his hand is soaked with his blood, the wound leaves a trail to paint a streaky, black line that now shines under the uncovered moon; taking a leisurely peek through the veil of obsidian clouds. 

You can tell that the shock is getting to him as much as he tries to carry on, he’s becoming weaker. He now stumbles like injured prey, exactly what he was to you in this moment, whimpering as he drops to the road with a helpless grunt. 

He’s desperate from how he crawls from you. You slowly stalk behind him with some level of intrigue, head cocking to the side and your ears twitch against the blowing breeze, you snarl lowly when he turns to peer up at you. 

“P-please!” he shouts weakly as you flip him into his back with minimal effort, “d-d–don’t! No–!” 

You make him suffer for the trouble he and his fellow men put Wanda and Pietro through. You make the agony last, something that goes against the natural instinct to end a poor animal’s suffering; it was broken out of you in that facility. 

You maul to hurt people. You kill to hurt people. All things natural and that bring you closer to that connection, that tie that binds you to the balance of nature, was ripped out of you to mould you into an obedient pet. 

An animal that follows orders. The duality between wolf and human, both were equally broken in.

His screams of horror and agony tear through the night until he couldn’t anymore, his throat tired out from screaming to whatever god he held faith in, your teeth rip into his bowels and chest, flesh and bone minced into chunks of paste and blood. He now laid bare with the entirety of his midriff destroyed. The light in his eyes now faded. 

The threat is now neutralised, you realise and swiftly you turn and trudge back to Wanda. When you reach her, she’s managed to just wiggle herself a little ways out of the open door frame, fragments of glass dig into her palms until they draw blood, mere droplets in comparison to what you drew from Rumlow’s men. 

“Y/N,” she whimpers quietly in relief. Her face is scrunched tightly with a hiss as she attempts again to free herself, a strangled cry of frustration is what it takes for her tears to break free. 

Your ears are pinned far back against your head at the sound. Brutally self-beating in her vulnerable state. You reach forward with a growl, you shove the leather seat forward and with the mechanical gears popping, Wanda’s leg is freed. You help in dragging Wanda out from the car, Your nose is wet and hot against her skin when you press it to her, inhaling her scent as you sniff her over for any potential injuries. 

“I’m fine,” she assures you but the wrinkle of your muzzle tells her you don’t appreciate her diffusing the matter of your job. “Pietro!” 

Wanda pushes herself to her feet with newfound strength. She hurries to her twin brother and rolls him onto his back, a gasp on her tongue, you hear her breath hitch in her lungs while she takes in the sight of him. 

Her next move is hesitant but she has to know. She dips her head, turning it and presses it against his chest, her hand covering the deep cut right at her nose, the iron scent of blood fills her senses and her face winces. 

The lively thump in his chest is silent. 

“I knew this would happen. I told you, but you didn’t listen.”

Though with words so evident in their truth, Wanda finds them venomous and harsh to her ears, still in the grasp of shock, the loss of her brother is the final straw. Not only two years ago her parents were killed, and now another Maximoff finds themselves in the grave. She is the sole surviving heir to the Maximoff Family and their empire hinges upon her. 

A burden, you feel, is crushing her from the inside as all eyes will now turn to her. 

She sits on the edge of her lage bed with her legs pressed tightly together, hanging down over the side, hands folded in her lap in defeat. Her long hair shields her tears from you, when you glance up from your place at her vanity do you catch her reflection. A girl done in by the trauma. In the moonlight that pours through the window, her body is quivering in waves, mind and body at battle with overcoming the death of her brother. 

You cannot help but wonder if maybe this is all your fault. Had her parents not been killed, had you been there to protect them, would she have been spared from it all? 

She’s terrified. The grief that accompanies her loss doesn’t go unshared, you have your own reasons to mourn. Pietro, although a little too cocky at times, was a good brother and son who intended to change the playing field of your world. A young man who had a vision but ultimately was blinded by his ideas to see the world as it was, that there were those who saw different alternatives to get what they wanted. 

And Rumlow was one of those people. 

The heat of your body angrily laps at the streak of icy coldness of your blood when you hear behind you the shriek of a thousand tears, memories shattered into pieces, torn apart by the fragile thread between life and death and all the unfair tactics this life offers.

 Wanda now screams into the palms of her hands, body caught in a violent spasm amidst the ocean of her pain. “H-he’ll come back any minute… he will, he’s just– just in a meeting–”

You walk slowly towards her and kneel down in front of her. “Wanda, look at me,” you growl and turn her chin up so her watery eyes meet yours. 

“He’s gone. Rumlow isn’t going to play things out the way you both hoped he would. Think about it, he fucking almost ended this entire family tonight had I’d not been there.”

The delicate, plump shape of her lips part with a small and faint gasp, her eyes bore the slow realisation of what you were saying. Yet her eyes beg for you to take back what you said. To offer her an escape from it all, to just tell her what she wants to hear; not what she needs to. 

It’s unfortunate news to her as you shake your head slightly. You cannot let her fall into the false dream that everything was alright. Like a bandaid, you have to rip it off. She had almost been killed. Had you not been there, after the men dealt with Pietro, they would have gotten her too. The thought of it causes an unwelcome shiver to run up her spine. 

“Rumlow aims to snuff out the entire Maximoff Family in order to gain territory. And he’s not going to stop until he’s put you in the ground too.” 

How could your words be so hard to hear but equally so right in their conviction? You were trusted by her parents, someone they considered part of the family despite your otherwise humble dismissal that you were just a guard to the family. They considered you equal to their standing. 

And Wanda waved off your warnings as if you didn’t have a clue. Hell, she doesn’t even know half of what you had to endure at the facility. The horrors of your time growing up in that damn place are accounts you’re not overly excited to share with anyone. 

“Wanda,” you say her name to draw her unfocused eyes, to bring her back to you, “you’re all I have to protect now. I swore that I would do everything in my ability, and I will. But promise me, you won’t do anything like that again.”

Your eyes hold her attention, firm and unwavering in the looming silence between you. She feels her heartbeat race a little quicker now as she becomes lost in the certainty of your protection, the caged beast beneath the surface, she nods. “I promise.”

“Good.” You sigh heavily as something finally eases the tension in your shoulders, you let them drop lower and bow your head, face inches from resting in her lap. Her fingers comb the length of your hair, soft and drenched from your quick shower to rinse off the blood that clung to your fur. 

She lets her head dip as well and soak in the scent of your shampoo, a strong smell of pine, something naturistic, compared to the one she used. Not at all the scent she would peg you for with your rough exterior and stoic personality.

But that was all a front. Time and time again she’s seen a side to you that you keep away from others. A tenderness you reserve for her, even your claws tend to be drawn back whenever you’re just in her company. Much like they were now, she marvels at the sight of those sharpened tips that you use as a weapon, as they now reduce back into the nail beds. 

Other than that, all she got to see was your dominating and intimidating stature, tough as iron front, letting all know that she was under your unwavering protection. That you guard her. 

Your head rolls up and your noses brush against each other, breaths mingling together in the miniscule gap between your lips, an inch apart you would have considered inappropriate before. But that was when you were unsure and reserved, humbly turning down any sort of praise and keeping your feelings locked away in some dark corner of your heart. 

Before you came to realise you were in love with her. 

You try to calm the rapid increase of your heart rate as if somehow she is still in the clutches of immediate danger, that at any moment she will be taken from you. Her lips, so plump and full and kissable, ghost over yours in silent contemplation. She knows just as well as you that this teeters on a fine line, that this can jeopardise everything between the two of you. 

And nobody could know. A werewolf guard and the heiress to one of the largest and well established criminal empires in the world, if anyone found out, it would cost you both everything. 

What terrifies you is the thought that you could lose Wanda at any moment. The constant what if questions. 

‘What if I were unable to prevent her demise? What if I fail her?’

“I just can’t lose you, Wanda.”

You shake your head at your own words, their meaning so plain and simple: a confession. 

“I promised your parents that I would always protect you.” 

It’s like she could see through the cover up. Yes, you did swear yourself to them that you would protect their children, their daughter, but you also used it as a line of defence. To save face from the awfully timed confession. 

“They’re gone, Y/N. Swear it to me.” 

Her hands cup the shape of your face, the pads of her thumbs soft, delicate against the contours of your features, the tiny and healed scars that littered your face alone, the rest of them were hidden beneath your clothes, how her simple touch calms you and makes you more alive than ever. Her touch is a revival. For once, you’re given the reprieve you long for. To feel trusted wholeheartedly. Loved.

Your hands run up the sides of her thighs until they pause right on the rise of her rear, your fingers grasp firmly and tug her that little bit closer, your forehead pressed to hers and that amber glow shines brightly in your eyes in the dimly lit room. 

“I swear it.” 

Your lips come together as two separate forces once held far apart for too long, now the pull draws you both inwards to the other, magnetic and electrical. Passionate and hungry. You waste no time in sharing one another’s taste as your tongues glide and entangle amidst the heat of your kiss. 

Her fingers rake through your hair and tug on the roots, earning one guttural of an animalistic moan from you, the sound results in a wetness to pool between her thighs, and you can smell her alluring scent. Your hands knead her arse, your tight grip possessive as you have her in your grasp, after all this time. 

You’ve done many horrible things in your long life. But Wanda drowns it all out. For a moment or more, you are free of the guilt, the shame, the fear of being capable of hurting her. You’d snap the next man’s neck or shoot a hundred bullets into a corpse without so much as a sweat. But you’d be damned if you laid a hand that intended harm on Wanda. 

And that’s why you swear to her now, that your loyalty shall remain intact. Because you have killed for her. You will kill for her. 

It came with the job but now it comes with the instinct, the desire to have her as your own. 

Then again, that was the light of your soul, what little there was that isn’t eclipsed, the faction of your humanity and questionable morality, talking. 

ACT II: ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE & WAR

ONE WEEK LATER

The party was hosted in honour of Pietro, a final toast and salute to the young male heir, a dear boy and treasure lost in the battles of struggling power. Many of the European mobsters respected the Maximoff Family, and would attend the party to pay their respects forward. 

However, Pietro’s death did not only shake the foundations of the criminal underworld within Europe, but overseas as well it would seem. So when mobsters from the Americas attended the honorary party, to say you were more protective in regards to your duty to Wanda and the Maximoff Family doesn’t cut it. 

Tony Stark and the band of his notorious brotherhood swagger in, Tony wearing a brighter shade suit than those of his company - who at least took greater care in setting their palettes to the familiar dark shades of mourning - the bright pink of Stark’s tie makes something seethe inside the pit of your stomach. 

The disrespect of Pietro’s memory makes your blood rush and the wolf inside is itching to unleash itself right there and then. You can just tell he’s stirring up the party on purpose, no doubt to get the attention of Wanda, and your assumptions were correct when Natasha joined your side. 

You took to seeing over the guests from the upper balcony that circles the lower level of the great hall. Your eyes narrow and zero in on the American group of gangsters the moment they walk in, not too long after their arrival does Stark lead them over to the bar, the server working double time to fulfil their order. 

Natasha follows the target of your gaze and smirks. “You’re burning holes into them with your eyes.”

She sees the amber hue dissipate, but only slightly, the lowly embers ready to become a roaring fire once the right fuel is added, to be devoured by your anger. “They’re here for a foothold.”

You only hum, the sound is short and dismissive. “They’ll behave themselves and ask for nothing, if they know what’s good for them.” 

“Stark has already sent an inquiry forward to have an audience with Wanda,” Natasha says and you finally look at her behind the hardened scowl, set hard into your face like stone. Your grip tightens on the glass nestled into your palm, the sound of a fragility splintering in your hold threatens the iced liquor of becoming a wasted mess on the floor. 

You take in her appearance, red hair short and styled into wavy curls, makeup neutral for the most part, save for the shadowy appeal around her eyes and full lips painted in red to draw attention - even yours momentarily - to them. 

She takes notice of your eyes wandering her body from head to toe and she playfully quirks a brow. “See something you like?” 

As if to test your resolve, she arches her back ever so slightly, her already short, black cocktail dress rides only higher, leaving little to the imagination. The work of art is already standing there beside you. Once you would have leapt at the opportunity, but not anymore. That was the old you that would have instantly pulled Natasha to you and smacked her rear until they were red with your handprint, whispering in her ear all the ways you would deal with her teasing.

But the new you stands above that. You’re loyal to one woman and one woman only. 

With an unamused shrug, you take a swig of your liquor. The taste rolls over your tongue with a rich, burning sensation. 

“Not interested, Romanoff. I’m a changed wolf.”

She chuckles at that, head tilting to the side with a cheshire grin. “And here I was, getting all dolled up for you. What a waste.” 

She juts her bottom lip out and you roll your eyes, gaze falling back onto the scheming mobsters below. 

“Maybe not. You can always use your skills down there,” you nod your head in the direction of your eyes, “and convince them to back off.”

“You can’t always protect her from people like them. Sooner or later, she will have to engage in business deals, and you can’t keep her hidden in her ivory tower forever.”

“Not forever,” you correct sharply, “just until Rumlow is dealt with and she has recovered from Pietro’s death. The last thing I want is for her to be taken advantage of.”

What you’re asking of her is laughable to her by the way she quietly cackles beside you as if you told some hilarious joke. “Naw, Puppy, are you letting something show?” 

You shake her head in response to her nonsense, you won’t be baited into feeding into what she alludes to. 

“You know, I hate how it’s expected of us women, when our means of support is taken. Now that Pietro’s gone, she’ll be expected to marry some rich overlord or some don.”

That makes your blood run cold and skin turn searing hot. The idea of Wanda marrying someone like that isn’t what you want to be thinking about right now, no matter how true Natasha’s statement is, it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Your tongue runs over your top teeth, a fang manages to nick the moving muscle, drawing a few drops of tangy blood to join the tartness of truth. 

You bite back your next comeback, the muscles in your cheek clenching tightly like coiled springs ready to snap under the pressure, she and Tony both are equal in their game to piss you off tonight. Nobody wants to see a werewolf snap, even those who think they do, they’re quick to see the error of their ways. But Natasha always found the thrill in that, in her little games, she was always doing something to rattle your chain. 

“Just do that for me, yeah?” 

“And what if I don’t?” 

She teases you again, bending one leg forward until her thigh brushes the centre of your groin. Her eyes are half lidded in her mission to weaken you, to break you in, and in this case you’re not taking a single liking to the notion; that someone is still trying to achieve what another has already done, too far gone in your head that it’s a fried mess of pure disturbia. 

Your other hand curls around her bicep and you drag her towards you and spin her, pushing her back against the pillar next to you. She stares up at you, eyes wide and hopeful in their longing to watch you crack, your lips curl into a sneer. 

“You don’t want to find out.”

You push her away from you, taking great care not to be so rough, lest she falls back and stumbles in her black high heels, she scoffs with a wave of her hand. “Alright, alright, I was just fooling around. I’ll deal with them.” 

With a gust of a snort through your nose, you nod and take your leave after draining down the rest of your drink and slamming the glass down on a nearby server’s platter as you strut off. You pay no mind that the force you restrained only prior with Natasha had transferred over and the glass shattered upon impact with the metal tray, glass clattering and ringing like a steady beat of a drum. 

Your little show with Natasha proved to be quite the performance to the American mobsters who occupied the seats by the bar. 

You didn’t want to doubt Natasha, but you held some mistrust in her task to do as you asked, the matter more personal than practical to the business side of things, but you wanted to seek out Wanda. 

You couldn’t blame her for lingering back from the party for the time being and drown herself in the sorrows of isolation. 

But particularly after Natasha brought up the case of marriage, you had to seek Wanda out. Your fear is irrational, fearing that somehow someone who played the part of some wealthy don or overlord was with her now, down on one knee and presenting her a ring as they asked the question. 

“Will you marry me?”

You all but force the door open with a thrust of your arm, the hand on the doorknob wary of the strength you forced to choke it with. You’d been so deep in your messed up head, you actually thought you heard someone’s voice ask the dreaded question. 

You catch your unhinged jaw in the act, about to scream your objection before Wanda has a chance to either accept or deny, but she looks up at you from her place behind the large, dark wooden desk, the sacramento green leather only brought about to highlight her form. 

She gives you a look of expectancy and beckons you in with a gentle wave of her hand and inviting, sad smile. “Y/N, please come in. Is there something to report?” 

You shake your head in response to her question as you walk into the office - her office - but you believe that it was also to shake the intrusive thoughts in your head away. With a sigh of relief, she lets you involve yourself in her space and become accustomed to whatever strikes your fancy. 

You walk across the way towards the table on the opposite side of the room beneath the large window, curtains tied back to reveal the onslaught of rain and brewing storm clouds. Even the heavens were crying over the loss to the Maximoff Family it seems. 

You hit yourself with the stronger alcohol, tip the decanter and pour the rusty brown liquid into a short whiskey glass. You all but slam the decanter down, this time you thankfully avoid smashing it into crystalised shards. 

Wanda turns her head in your direction. “Everything alright?”

“Just peachy,” you huff as you stare out the window, brows knitted together and you take a sip of your beverage. The burnt taste is stronger than the drink you acquired at the bar, but it does little to quell your troubles and bring about that soothing buzz that warms your chest. 

“I take it you received Stark’s inquiry?”

“I did. And I assume, by the way you’re aggressively scowling, that he’s here?” she answers from her place at the desk. You take another gulp from your glass, lips pulling back into a thin line. Your eyes become thin with a glare, the stare awfully predatory with warning. 

“Yeah.” 

She stands from her seat and wanders over to where you are, the long skirt of her dress tightly fits her silhouette, the ruffle slit along her thigh provides some relief for movement, you watch as she carefully approaches you. 

Her naked hand reaches up and with a touch so delicate in its pure nature to soothe, you lean your cheek into her palm with a rumbling purr, the sound brings a smile to her lips as you’re lured by the touch you were deprived off for most, if not all, of your life. 

How can a mere touch be capable of healing the disturbed fragments of your tormented mind for but a moment? But just like that, the illusion of your wishful thoughts is shattered. Your tone is sharp and cuts straight to the point. 

“Wanda, I strongly advise against it.” 

“I-I know, but listen–”

“No, you listen!” 

Wanda gasps aloud when the shackles of your mind threaten to snap right there, the mentality of a previously caged animal losing itself to the mindless blur returning for the fraction of a few seconds, you pin Wanda in place against the table you stood by, glass rattling together violently from the force behind it, your arms cage her at both sides. The second time she becomes trapped without the capability to escape. 

She has no choice and is forced to watch a darkness creep into the blazing hellfire of your glowing eyes. “Men like him are dangerous. They are the definition of what makes a man untrustworthy. If you choose to see him, then you may as well have Rumlow be walking through the front door as well.”

“I think I can handle a few men in suits, dog.”

‘Dog...’

That was a fine line being crossed. She’s never called you that before and the shrinking of her pupils leads you to believe she regrets letting the word slip out. You can’t begin to dig up the memories of those old bones, the unidentifiable names and titles that stripped you of who you were. Your teeth ache from the pressure that compresses them together like metal plates of a vice, the muscles beneath eyes darkened by exhaustion, they twitch in recognition of the heat of tears. 

Quickly, you squeeze them shut to hide the shameful level of care she'd see. The embarrassment you carry for that more than professional fondness for the heiress. There are just some things that are unable to escape you. In some form, either by something you do or by someone else’s hand, it triggers the past to return and hits you with a punch to the gut, forcing the memories back into the forefront to torment you. 

Through a battle of grit you push aside the conflict that makes your head swim and dizzy. “Will you think that way during or after he has you pinned like this, as he and his men have their fill of you?”

It’s the question that makes the penny drop. One that doesn’t need an answer, you don’t want an answer to. 

“Because believe me when I say this, Wanda, that I have bore witness to too many women who said very similar things and ended up as the victims at the dealing table; not the victors. All the while, I was ordered to sit. Stay.” 

The number of times that shock collar went off to prevent you from protecting those women have only blurred together. The victims became faceless and shielded by the black behind your eyelids. You wouldn’t watch. The one luxury within the sea of evil your prior masters afforded you. 

The striking green of her narrowed gaze widens, the act she portrays to exude confidence and power - qualities expected highly of her more than ever now - they drop within an instant of your words that shatter all hope. Words that bring about the monstrous turn of reality, the world infested by such evil that it plagues all who come into contact with it. You as well, counted as both the victim and driving force that instigates it. 

She sees the recollection of something dark and prominent dominate your eyes, watching the dying embers of amber come to life like fire. Your dark pupils once lingering in the shadows of your thoughts stare Wanda down, right into every inch of her young, and all in all, untouched soul; while also having never left her alone to begin with. She feels the notch of fear bounce in her lungs. Threads of rubber bands quivering, at any given point ready to snap. 

You’ve never given her reason before to be scared of you. But now, you both anxiously bask in the uncertainty of that now. 

These were stories you had no thrilling interest in sharing for the passing of time. Oftentimes you’d rather take a silver bullet to the heart and be done with it all. But then who would protect her from the monsters? 

Monsters who only needed the skin on their bones and the horrendous intention behind their actions to do unspeakable things that violate, destroy and corrupt. 

The dread brings death to the liveliness that Wanda can only bring, a unique source that shimmers in her brilliant eyes, a green hue you knew you were enraptured by the moment you met her. She can’t even bring herself to say anything, to question you and what those eyes have had to endure before the Maximoff Family took you in; sheltering you for what you thought would be just a little while. But no, they took you in. Gave you a place to belong. 

Before the Maximoff Family, you had served numerous other crime lords and the like. As a loyal hound tethered to their leash, you obeyed every whim, every command, no matter how heinous it made you appear; a feral animal at the ready with the simple utterance of an order. 

You knew how these people did their dealings, how they operate and scheme. You’ve seen men getting gunned down across the table, women taken advantage of, and prisoners with sacks over their heads begging for their lives before their slaughter; by your hand or by that of your boss. 

Wanda would be tested and prodded by the elders of the criminal underworld. And if they can see it can be done, you know they won’t hesitate to make her one of those women who were bent over and taken on the very table meant to guard their interests and forge alliances. 

You refuse to let that fate befall Wanda. 

So you take it upon yourself to educate her a little on the matters of criminal diplomacy and negotiations. You push yourself against her until her front is flushed to yours, her breasts having no space but to brush on your chest with every deep breath she takes. Through her dark lashes that bat at you with dark innocence and longing, the colour of her eyes forces a groan to tumble over your bottom lip. 

“Still think you’re capable, Kitten?” 

Your core is a fire that warms every part of her being, she’s drowning out the sorrows with you as her addictive fix, all that she can think about is how you create that electric charge that shocks her nerves and causes that wetness to pool between her thighs once again. The reverberating and husky texture threaded that gives your wolf a voice makes her head swim. 

How that voice would feel against her sensitive, swollen bud as you devoured her, carnally and without restraint. To truly succumb to your beautiful nature and have her the way you would want to. Your nose burrows into the arched curve of her jaw and neck, her perfume hits your senses first, smelling of lilac and vanilla but beneath it, her natural scent hides.

She takes longer than she would have personally liked to answer you, the blurred haze of her mind frazzles any attempt to utter a response. 

“I-I… I just thought that maybe he can– he can help us find Rum–LOW!” You bare your teeth against her neck with a low growl. Her body flinches against the wall of your body. 

“Quit with the stuttering, and let’s try that answer again.”

A hand grasps hold of her face, fingers firmly pressed into the skin of her cheeks and forcing her gaze upwards. You’re leaving her with little to no choice. You remove your hand when her head moves within its grasp in a nodding motion. 

The arch of your brow rises slightly as you wait to hear what you know that must be made known. You want her to admit it. “No.”

“Better,” you drawl, teeth grazing the plains of her warm skin, you can very well taste her but you crave more. Your hands hold her by her hips and your fingers dig into her, sure enough to leave bruising behind. 

“Shit, I need you…” She’s on you in a flash of a second, lips hungry in their mission to ravish you and invade all thoughts you had prior, filling your mind with only her. Wanda’s legs leap off the ground and circle your strong waist and your hands support the extra weight you carry, the slit of her dress parts to reveal the tantalising prize of her thigh, in which you curl your palm around greedily. 

You shuffle back, allowing your heightened senses to guide you back until the back of your calves butt up into one of the accompanying, sacramento leather sofas, you drop yourself into the cushion with Wanda straddling your lap. 

Your lips latch hold of one another, caught in the erotic dance that shuts out all imposing forces. You use a hand to handle her and roughly pull her closer, fingers becoming entangled in the roots of her red locks. Her front rhythmically rocks into you as your clothed bodies try desperately to reach one another’s skin.

Fuck, how her body fit so snugly into yours and so perfectly, it’s like she was made for you. That somehow, Mother Nature herself, ensured that Wanda Maximoff be the only woman to belong against your body, to make your lungs burn with great fervour and stir the strongest instinct to protect. The fitting piece of the puzzle you never realised you were missing until now. Like two marble statues carved, you’re infused together, the bond of carven contact intimate and soul binding. 

The call of something distant and past, a faint memory once far lingering behind reaches through the veil and beckons you to entwine the separate threads of your souls as one. 

Your tongue darts out and teases her top lip. She moans, soft and deep, she parts her lips for you and you slither the eager muscle in, running it over her own, she moans again until you swallow the noise. Her fingers are clawing, clenching the fabric of your suit jacket until her nails scratch at the threaded seams, head tilting to the side as her hair falls onto her exposed shoulder. 

Her taste is divine, hypnotically venomous that leaves you craving more with every passing second. Her core that’s now buzzing in her aroused state, she whines at the friction of your pants digging in between her thighs. Just as you, she craves more. 

She drinks down the vibrations of a husky purr crawling up your throat, she lets out a small noise that all but has both your hands on her arse in an instant, tugging her impossibly closer while she continues to grind away; core against fiery core. 

Her left hand trails down the length of your larger body until it rests over your groin. Your head dips back against the sofa’s back when she palms you, rubbing you firmly through your trousers. The muscles in your torso strain and flex, pangs of arousal shoot to every nerve end in your body. 

“But maybe they won’t dare touch me if they know who I belong to,” she breathes out when she has a chance to break away from your lips, before a high pitched gasp is ripped from her chest. You buck your hips up, harshly to rub her sensitive bud through her panties, the sensation drills her further into lustful madness. 

“Wanda,” you warn between clenched teeth, “that’s quite a few important men I don’t really feel like cleaning up after.” 

“Imagine our relief.” 

Yours and Wanda’s head snap in the direction of the voice. American, a hint of the borough of Brooklyn, and his eyes a cold, harsh winter of blue. He stood there at the entrance of the office alongside those of their criminal brotherhood, tall and broad shouldered next to a man who matched his height and physique, his own hair short and blonde but eyes very much the same; a reflection of something icy in his blue orbs. 

James “Bucky” Barnes and Steve Rogers. You recall their faces. Not only theirs, but the others too share the same form of recollection, that of a dark skinned man, hair shaved back and facial hair styled similar, clean and simple. He too is equally broad across the chest as Bucky and Steve, his dark eyes ever haunted with that looming glare meant only for you. 

To Sam’s side is a lithe shaped personnel, long, raven hair grazing to his shoulders and slicked back behind his ears, pale skinned and pointed nose, and of course, that wide and toothy grin that spoke one language: trickery. 

Amidst the wall the four men form, adorned in their dark, three piece suits, was Tony standing front and centre, his short brown hair slightly brushed in an unkempt manner unique to him. He was a hard man to miss in a crowd when you think about it, in his extravagant suits and auburn tinted glasses. 

They stare at you and Wanda, caught in the compromising position you find yourselves in, their eyes smirking and accusatory. 

A deep, hostile growl rattles loudly into the air, laced thickly with silent tension, and Tony raises a hand up. He leans his shoulder and Natasha walks past him, a smirk of her own plastered on her lips. Her eyes, green and dark like the woodland canopy, portray the power she now holds over you. Of course, she would do anything to ensure Wanda’s dignity remain intact, but yours; she could have some real fun with you. 

Natasha always favoured the power struggle when you both treated the other as nothing but a reliever of stress. When the dynamic of your relationship with Wanda hadn’t been so intimate. 

“Well, to think I was actually correct that you were letting something show back there,” she chuckles and you tug Wanda closer to you, lips contorted into a snarl, “I don’t think you’re enlisted in your paperwork as a certified breeder, or that you’ve been granted your freedoms pass, Wolf.”

“Y/N?” Wanda questions with a whisper, her brows pinched in her confusion. You cannot bear to look her directly in the eye, just catching her stare from your peripheral. 

You growl again and the flicker of amber brightens around your obsidian pupils. 

“Natasha–”

“But Stark wants a deal. I advise we hear him out, don’t you agree?” 

The room gathers silence like dust as you gather your racing thoughts and reel them back in. However much you despised the clean up, now seems like the one and only chance you have to keep this as a tight lipped secret. You would deal with Natasha on your own afterwards.

But Wanda beat you to it as the skin beneath her palms quivered and grew flaming hot to the touch, she had to draw her hands away lest you burn and blister her skin. 

“Okay, we’ll hear you out. But my guard stays.”

“I believe they’re more than that, but very well, they’ll stay.” Tony huffs a haughty chuckle, nodding as he kinks his fingers in sign to his men to follow his lead, to approach you both. Wanda slips out of your lap and smoothes out any crinkles in her dress, chin tilted down to avoid looking up at the mob boss as he stalks closer to her. 

She feels vulnerable, far more than she would have liked, the surge of confidence she had prior to being caught - that naive hope - of getting the upper hand vanishes before her very fingertips. Despite the power of Europe to sustain her as the top Family, she’s revealed her hand yet again to the wrong sort, the dangerous sort. 

The sort that can now utilise you and her as a form of blackmail. The society of criminals as a whole finding out about this would bring a tidal wave of backlash towards Wanda, she would be hindered greatly, maybe even lose support and thus, the empire of the Maximoff Family would crumble into ruin. 

And if Pierce found out, then there was nothing stopping him from dragging you back to that facility. Natasha is correct in regards to your paperwork. You’re no free dog. It darkens your heart to think that you never have been and most likely you never will be. 

Seeing Tony stand in front of Wanda, testing the boundaries of her personal space, he intrudes and you immediately stand on your two feet and meet behind her, your firm front grazing against her back. Your hands ball into tight fists and the claws come back out, harshly they bite into your palms. 

That bright light of amber never once threatens to go out like a singular flame of a candle. It’s a shadowed threat to them that the wolf is just beneath the surface, staring them point blank in the eye, you witness the faint, fiery glow reflecting in their own eyes. 

Wanda is warmed by the heat of your body behind her, she almost finds herself leaning into you but refrains. She must remain strong in front of these men.

By the venom in your voice and the scarred recollection of something horrific past, she couldn’t underestimate these men, and especially not now. Not after what they’ve seen. 

She gestures for them to make themselves comfortable. A tactic she picked up from her father whenever he conducted business, the non verbal form of communication to guide fellow associates and company to relax themselves. 

Your eyes momentarily leave the tinted shades of Tony’s glasses, his eyes meeting yours after he sent a cheeky wink to Wanda, and your eyes narrow sharply when you spy Natasha coming around behind one of the sofas. With a baritone levelled hum, you catch Wanda’s gaze and you cock your head towards the desk, telling her to get behind it. 

It was a matter of ensuring she wouldn’t be in such close proximity with the mobsters, that if they dare to try anything, they have several feet to cross before they can even reach her. 

Wanda does as you indicate and with her head held high and shoulders dropped back, she struts to the large, red wood desk and takes a seat; once the men have taken theirs. 

‘Good girl.’

A ghost of a smirk crosses your features. You’re proud that she managed to pick up on a thing or two, given the position you’re both now caught in, she’s going to regain some of that stolen power. She sits in the tall backed seat, the dark green brings her even brighter shade to shine and almost ominously. The wired wall lights fuel the room with a dark orange halo, but the storm outside grows bolder, thunder begins to roll in to fill the void of silence. 

Each of the four men occupy the four sofas and Natasha lingers between Steve and Tony, she’s like a cat lounging happily, body poised against Tony’s sofa with darkened grace. And still she wears that prideful smirk. Your jaws clench hard, the familiar ache of your vice-like strength makes itself present and the muscles in your cheeks strain and flex. 

You join Wanda’s side, a clawed hand rests on the back of the seat, but unlike Natasha’s relaxed pose you take to carrying a sense of duty and responsibility - chest puffed out and shoulders straight. You’ve seen these very men and more of their own brotherhood operate in sit downs before. Letting your guard down is not an option. 

“So,” Wanda clears her throat and all eyes fall to her, “am I right to assume you want for a foothold in Europe?” You’re both amazed by how well she’s holding herself in front of Stark and his captains, but another part of you dreads how long she can keep it up for. 

“That’s right.” Tony smiles wide with a nod of his head. “I understand that the loss of your brother has struck quite a nerve among the European Families. We wish to lend our support to you and aid you in finding Rumlow. As far as I’ve heard, he has mysteriously gone silent since the attack.”

“But at the price and percentage of the Maximoff’s empire and holdings,” you cut in sharply, tone bitter from the audacity Tony dared to flaunt. He was a blood and power hungry tyrant hidden in the guise of a peacock, strutting around with his colourfully crime-stained feathers - accomplishments that weren’t lacking admiration by many.

The men before you each glare at you in warning to keep yourself in check. They mean to challenge you, to restrain you and remind you of your shackled status, just like the others that scorned you for doing what was not in your job description.

But Wanda doesn’t allow these men across the seas to get away with such iron-glad judgement. 

“Quite right, Y/N,” she praises, eyes bearing the form of daggers, “I cannot just simply agree to your support without knowing the finer details. Terms must be discussed, gentlemen, and I will not leave this meeting with no clean water in my basin.”

You feel the corner of your lips tug up at the flustered, annoyed sight of Tony and his men. Bucky and Steve glance to one another, the pure intent for murder springing to light as a bright flash of lightning blinks through the window. Loki looks to Tony, tight lipped and tongue to the cheek of his mouth in contemplation. 

Are they figuring out that the foundation of their newly gained power is beginning to struggle? Fuck, you hope so. 

“Then we’ll make our terms known,” said Sam with a danger-laced purr, “as a start, we want access to trade outposts and warehouses from Russia to Romania, as well as along the coast of Italy. On top of that, our asking price is fifty percent of the Maximoff holdings and shares, forty percent of earnings from the black market - twenty percent commission if the supplies are manufactured or supplied by us - and thirty-five percent earnt from legitimate business pools.”

You and Wanda spit in unison, “As a start?” 

They really were coming straight in with the big guns. Tony usually was direct, but had a way to honey the words into better luring in the fish. Sam, however, was more abrupt and bold in his demands. 

“I’m able to provide the necessary warehousing and trade routes for them in Russia,” Natasha affirms from her place, sharing a look with Tony. Was this part of some elaborate scheme? 

As far as you could tell, Natasha was on board with keeping Europe completely clean of the American mobsters and criminal empires. What changed? 

“No, that– that is too much…” Wanda’s stumbling over her words. She’s beginning to let those cracks show and you can see the telltale signs that the wolves are now closing in. Bucky smirks, dark, shoulder length hair casting a shadow over his bright blue eyes, nodding as he observes the ever faint breaking in Wanda’s resolve. 

“I have holdings in the military that rivals Rumlow, and as far as I’ve investigated, you are fundamentally lacking within the weapons trade and already, you’re beginning to be cut off from your intel and extortion resources. Really, the only reliable bird you have to your ear is this stunning fox,” Loki says with a hand gestured to Natasha, who waves a hand at him. 

“We have gained a surge of supply and demand for our weapons, thanks to me of course, and if you agree to our terms, I assure you that you’d want for nothing ever again.”

You cock your head to the side and narrow your eyes, a sliver of amber visible within them. As much as you would like to announce the man a thief, for being the likely one responsible for your out of pocket trades with weapons, you think better of it. 

‘We’re not known to be saints at our roots. Our foundations are built on thievery, murder and extortion.’

Tony Stark is a brilliant minded man when it comes to manufacturing products and supplies, both for the public and the underworld. He had quite the gallery. But even then, he wanted for more. He wanted plots to further his expansion. 

‘What if he asks…’

You swallow down the poisonous bile of wrath and disgust climbing your throat. No way in hell would you allow Tony to drop to one knee and live. If that is even his goal to ensure this alliance sticks. 

More and more, Wanda slinks away in her seat, shying away from it all as the walls break further under the pressure of this attack. 

Tony puffs his chest out, arrogant that their plan is working and weaving its way into the folds brilliantly, with Natasha there as a vouching card in their hand of cards. Steve and Sam both lean forward slightly and Loki grins again, pearly white teeth glistening and taunting in the ice blue haze of another lightning flash. 

Thunder rumbles in, louder than before, providing a baritone and ominous tumble of beats. The tension grows thicker and Wanda sits back in her seat, mouth agape in her dissipating will to remain strong, fearing that she’s truly trapped herself and her hands fiddle together under the cover of the desk. 

Something stirs within her core that pulls her green eyes to yours, slightly overstimulated and red with a glisten of tears, she’s telling you with her gaze alone that she needs your help. 

She needs her guard to protect her. 

With a furrow of your brow and hard pressed line of your lips, you assure her with a nod of your head. Wanda became painfully aware that she has to pass the reins over to you in this moment before it’s too late. 

Natasha’s face instantly drops before the initial change. All she had to witness was that plea in Wanda’s eyes and that obedient nod of your head, she straightens in her place, almost submissively shrinking away. 

The structure of your face begins to alter, morphing until the skin shreds around the protrusion of a long, canid snout and sharp fangs, Long, straight ears twitch from the brief moment of muffled noise, the fur on the nape of your neck mimics that of your hair and blends down the slope of your growing spine and outward stretching of your shoulders. You’ve grown several feet taller, if the men before you who now pin their backs to their designated seats had to guess it, they would have to summarise to at least eight and a half feet. 

Your clothes become ragged scraps that fall to the floor, and what little still clings over the form of your body is shredded at the bends of the fabric. 

Fur covers skin and a thick, bushy tail sweeps down to the wood panel floors, your body contorted to accuminate a thicker layer of skin and muscle, fur in a thinner density cascades down your front, most of the fluff of it covering from your shoulders and down the back of your arms and back. 

A sight to behold, you’ve changed into a monster to strike terror into the hearts of the mob bosses. Powerful men who know your weakness, who are most probably armed with that very weakness. But are they favouring their odds to make the first move? 

An angry bolt of lightning illuminates the scene for them, your hackle puffs up and with a fold of your ears, you snarl a viscous and predatory sound straight from the bowls of your gut, your very fur bristles from the vibrations throughout your body.

“Unacceptable. Try again.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Miss Maximoff,” Tony says between clenched teeth, head tilting further back when you bend forward enough that your back stoops low and your larger head is at level with Wanda’s. 

The pink of your bared gums is slick with saliva, the long tendril of your tongue comes between your teeth, licking over the top of your lip and nose. 

“Put the dog away, young lady,” Tony attempts to order only for Wanda to shake her head, refusing to obey his order. A raspy snarl bellows in the hollow of your throat. 

“No, I think I’ll keep the wolf out.”

Tony visibly squirms in response to this denial. 

Wanda tilts her head and sensing her eyes on you, the burning furnace of yours glances back at her and she smiles. She’s finding that resurgence of confidence in the comfortable luxury of your protection. With you, she wants for nothing. 

“As they said. Let’s try this again,” Wanda says with her voice renewed with strength. 

“Come on, you can’t seriously think you can–”

“I think she can.”

Steve holds a hand of compromise up to cease the bickering on both sides of the deal. His eyes move between Tony and then you and Wanda. “We didn’t come here to fight, Miss Maximoff. But we’ve had this plan on the back burner for years.”

“How unfortunate for you,” Wanda interjects with a click of her tongue. Steve isn’t impressed with the sokovian’s accented sarcasm. With a huff through his nose, he continues, “your father was unable to be convinced. We had hoped that you may be better where he was not. We’re offering you support here, a life line, all you need is to grab hold of it and say yes.” 

Wanda’s brows pitch down and she gives the captain a chilling scowl that dare he admit haunts him, especially when such a beast at her side leans evermore forward, at the end of its tether and ready to attack. Never has he ever worried about you before during sit downs in the presence of your former bosses. 

They had their ways to keep you in line, the only time you would shift would be to kill some prisoner who had no further use and thus, no purpose to remain alive when privy to such information, or to maul a fellow gangster that didn’t see eye to eye on the table’s terms. 

Had they now turned into that very man?

Right now, Wanda held a dangerous animal in her grasp. With one command she can set you upon them and they would become the mauled victims in the meeting room. 

“Forty percent within the Maximoff holdings, twenty in the black market with a ten-to-ten split on commission to our own donated supplies, the other five we place into a shares fund that we both equally have access to but must come under agreement to use it,” he pauses and when he sees you both nod, he knows it’s safe for him to carry on. 

“For now, we want the trade outposts on the coastline of Italy and within Russia. We can sort out the finer details for warehouses elsewhere and the like at a later time. When Rumlow is kicked out of the fold, we refurbish you with his estates, a cut of his holdings and you can have access to those as warehouses and your own trade outposts. Some connect to fine routes that make for excellent business opportunities.”

Tony looks to have sucked on a lemon, lips pursed and dark brows pinched together. Bucky and Sam share much of the same expression, Loki although, appears mildly amused by these adjustments. 

You suspect that they had come together and agreed that they would not be swayed into lowering what they originally asked for. 

But all in all, you and Wanda find that to be your middle ground. She looks to you again as if to see if you approve. When she sees you nod to her, she knows she can continue. 

“Very well, I accept those terms.” She then lets her eyes flicker up to Natasha. “I trust that you do retain some level of loyalty to the Maximoff Family, Romanoff. So I will let you deal with the matter of your offer in regards to warehouses for our new… allies. But I admit, I cannot exactly wave you through freely into settling in Europe until Rumlow is dealt with. Permanently.”

Natasha nods to this, obviously in agreement with it. To what exactly her own intentions are in allowing them to have access to her own warehouses is primarily not your concern; your only concern is Wanda. But you’d be lying if you weren’t a little curious about Natasha's motives. 

There is a cold bitterness in Wanda’s final word. The grief still comes to her, the death still so fresh to her. And she plans to exact her vengeance against those who have taken almost everything from her. 

Although defeated, the men become more at ease, and with a wave of her hand, Wanda dismisses your overprotective stance. She stands up from her seat, finger pads planted on the smooth surface of the desk. 

Everyone of the four men eye Wanda, dark in their curiosity of her next move. “Now, about Rumlow…”

Tony clicks his tongue with a finger pointed upwards, memory finally catching up with him. He too stands up and for a moment you believe he intends to come at Wanda, your body jostles into action with a deep, rumble of a growl that fades into the next chorus of thunder. Wanda is quick to usher your calmness, hands delicate as she strokes the fur along your back and over the crown of your head. 

Tony slightly stumbled back on his heel but ultimately made it to the table by the window. His sights were set on the liquor. He helps himself easily to the fine brand of whiskey and downs a gulpful. “He was in America but he covered his trail. We cannot say for sure where he is.”

“So how can we find him?” Wanda asks to hide her groan of defeated annoyance. Tony peers over his shoulder, but his focus does not land on Wanda as you suspected. No. They land directly on you.

The way his eyes bear into you like that, it unknowingly unsettles you. You shift your weight on the four pillars of your limbs and your ears flatten against your head as Tony takes another languid sip of his drink, hissing in delight at the taste. 

“I know that he has a business partner that knows where he is. He’s In Madripoor. You may know him as Vision.”

Why, of all places, of the single partner to have knowledge of Rumlow’s whereabouts; why did it have to be Vision, Madripoor’s criminal overlord of the drug trade?

Each muscle in your face is touched by the sting of something best left forgotten, memories you wish you could just shake, a past that you wish every waking moment would leave you alone. You choke on a whimper, the sound weak and hitched tightly in your throat, it causes you to wince in phantom pain. 

“It’s awake. Vitals are stable for now.” 

A doctor whose identity remains hidden behind the white mask over their face, hovers in front of you, studying you behind the bars of your cage, they’re a voice drowned out by the overstimulated sense of your hearing. The background is filled with a high frequency ring, the people around you move in a blur, faces only recognisable and in focus in the line of your tunnel vision.

“Another dose.”

“Let me out!”

“Sir, if we give it anymore, it may have unforeseen side effects.”

“Another dose. As you wish, Sir.”

“Just give them the injection.”

“Let me out!”

That face you recognise haunts you, you scurry further away into your cage but no matter how far you retreat, the back of the cage pushes you forward until your face is against the bars and inches from his own. Alexander Pierce. 

His eyes marvel at the sight of you. He admires the near end product of you. His finest pet in the facility, the role model for the others, and a grand and valuable asset. But he needs this experiment to work.

Another face comes into focus and you cannot fight the roar that shreds through your throat. He ushers Alexander away for a moment, their backs to you as they speak, their words going unheard as another figure moves to block them out of your sight.

“Preparing the asset for injection of the serum.”

“No!”

A doctor approaches you and within the clutches of a gloved hand, they raise a needle high into the sight of your peripheral. The liquid bubbles in the tube, the white lights above blind your vision and make the serum glow a reddish pink. 

Your muzzle is restrained, but nothing physical holds it shut, by sheer force are you trapped in place inside that cage. 

You're carted out and laid atop a metal table, the surface is cold against your back. 

“Vitals are spiking, we need to tranquilise the asset now.” 

“They can take it. I know they can.” 

“Let me out!”

The sting of the needle penetrates the thick layer of your hide. Your fur bristles, your heart pounds heavily in your chest and your mouth feels dry and hot. 

Your body violently convulses. Muscles become strained and skin constricts you, like leather straps holding you down, your very own skin holds you prisoner. In your chest a scream is locked deep inside. Your leg kicks out in a desperate flurry to move, the act is only half successful before a cramp reels your leg back into a trapped status. 

“Y/N?...”

All you can do is pant, loud and thick in the overly bright lab, it feels so cramped being surrounded by these blurred ghosts. 

“I don’t want this!”

“Mr Pierce, Sir, it may not take to the serum still. It’s body fights it.”

“They can take it. I know they can.” 

“Second dose of the serum. Rumlow, please stand by in case of emergency execution.”

“I never wanted any of this!”

Your mind begins to cloud and mist over, your vision turns a shade of that reddish pink, you can hear the unsynced rhythm of all the collective heartbeats in one room. Your muscles spasm in timed units of two minutes, three minute gaps in between your muscles fall lax against the table. 

Your natural body heat increases and you feel as though you’re burning away. But you’re not feeling the desired effects of the poison now flowing through your veins. You writhe and shake against the invisible restraints. 

“Let me go home!”

You want to go home. Where is home? You have no idea what or where home is but all you have is a feeling. A deep-rooted feeling. Is it somewhere far away from here? It must be. It feels long gone. 

Home can’t be the facility. Not in the iron bars, not the metallic and clanky shackles that bind you in place, that keep you there against your will. Home doesn’t restrain you. It comforts you. 

“Where is home?”

Your own voice echoes but nobody reacts. It falls into the deafness of the void. They refuse to listen to the asset of their experiment. 

“Where is home?”

Home cannot be the cold concrete of your cage, or the moth riddled lights that paint only the centre of your cage in a sickly yellow tint. Your home is elsewhere but forgotten. Never seen by you. Never embraced by you nor are you embraced by it. 

“M-Mother!”

Shock rattles you, your vision flashes white before that reddened tint returns over your vision. You see your mother opposite of you, laid on a similar table but she’s turned on her back. Her ribcage is torn open and exposed. 

“You’ll be alright, Y/N. Just think of me and you’ll be alright.”

Her body is knocked to the floor and instantly, the world around you is swallowed up by darkness. You smell the dried odour of blood and rotten meat. Only that shitty yellow light flickers to illuminate her body. From the darkness you see the foul creatures leap out and tear her apart. Their eyes are whitened with madness. Their minds are tortured into a spiral of neverending want for carnage. Lost to the touch of their humanity. 

She cries out, howling and yelping as they shake her apart, her body remains still throughout the attack. She cries out to you. She’s begging you not to watch, urging you to never see it happen. Try as you might, you attempt to claw your way towards her, to defend her. You can’t. You’re unable to protect her from those monsters. No matter how far you crawl, the back half of your body dragging behind you like dead weight, you can never get any closer.

“Ready the injection.”

“Vitals are peaking, we cannot risk another dose so soon.”

“We’re losing vitals, we’re losing it!”

“Ready the injection.”

“Give them a moment. They’ll pull through.”

Your back, laced sweat, arches up from the bed, a groan is on the edge of your lips but cannot escape. You’re fighting. Fighting and struggling against it, it will not let you go. You struggle about, rocking your body from side to side, your muscles fall loose for a few seconds. 

You try to cease this moment. But then you’re trapped again. Pulled back into the mixture of torment. 

“Y/N, wake up. Y/N!””

Everything is dark red, the erratic pulse of your heart flushes pink in time with each coursing beat, the voices are drowning in the song. 

Your mother is strewn about the cage, the corners blacked out, bleeding into the void beyond.

Your breath stills as the yellow light shuts off with a whirring moan. 

You’re back in the lab. Alexander’s hand grips at the fur along your neck until he’s tugging it harsh enough to rip it out. “Don’t you dare give in, dog. Embrace it. I need this to work. I’m counting on you.”

You just want your mother back. But she can’t come back to you. She’s gone. She’s taken from you. Has been for a long time now. 

You grew up in that cage alone. 

Suddenly you’re knocked off that metal examination table. You see a woman in the blackness of the cage’s corner. She weeps into the crook of her elbows, hands bloody and clutching onto the iron bars. Her feet slip in the inky, crimson puddle at her feet whenever she tries to pull herself up to stand. 

Her naked body is covered in blood and marks made by claws and teeth. It’s… confusing. 

“G-get away– f-from me! M–monster!”

A shroud of dizziness cloaks your mind and you stumble slightly on your hind legs. Your vision goes from dark to bright, unable to make its decision and commitment. You see now that your clawed hands are covered in a warm and thickened substance, crimson and smells of iron. 

“Another failed attempt.”

“Mr Pierce, the experiment has ended in another failure. It’s body cannot adapt to the serum as we hoped.”

Alexander Pierce glares at you from the window in the observatory room. His lips screwed into a thin line and his brows troubled by the news. His fists clench together until his knuckles turn white. 

“What did you make me do to her!”

“Mark them down as unbreedable. Gas it.” 

The vents hiss with an aggressive poison clouding the cage. You can’t see through the green haze, your lungs slowly giving out the more you breathe in the gut wrenching scent of the gas. The taste is awful on your tongue and soon enough, you taste bile along with it. Your body lurches forward and you fall. 

The woman’s face had been hidden, unable to make out any distinct features, to put a face to an unknown name. She lays ahead of you some feet away, the gas having killed her far quicker than you. 

Her hair that you swear was once a chocolate brown colour is now brighter. Her eyes lost that light of life but you can make out the green shade of them, and that unknown face and unknown name is now identifiable, you can hardly believe who you see before you - with you - dead in that cage. 

“W–Wanda…”

You cough and sputter as the air in your lungs becomes far too polluted to continue breathing. A low, sombre howl fills the chamber and your vision goes dark. 

“Y/N!” 

Finally you find the willpower to scream and it utterly terrifies Wanda, chilling her to the core at the horrific shrill and raw intensity that ensures your vocal cords are shredded and sore. The much needed reprieve that brings tears to her eyes and a hand to clasp over her lips to keep herself from sobbing aloud, all because you’re in pain, you’re suffering, and she fears she’s unable to help you. 

“Wanda! Wan… Wanda…” Your shoulders rise and fall in rapid succession, chest taking in the fresh air that thankfully isn’t polluted by the gas, only the four walls that are now imprinted with your screams. 

She crawls the small distance between you both across the bed. When she finally reaches your side she brings your head to her chest as she ushers you to relax, the rest to that scarred mind filled to the brim with horrors you want to forget. You can’t forget. 

However, the world is still a little fuzzy, at least it appears that way, as if the fogginess followed you out of that world and into this one. You wish to call it a nightmare, and it was for the most part, but the most ghastly and haunting nightmares always stem from the evil roots of the past. 

“Wanda… oh, fuck, Wanda.” You sigh in your relief and you don’t hesitate to pull her to you, face burying into her chest, absorbing this one good thing that is her - just her - before the claws of that darkness tears you from her; and you fear for good. 

You can always feel yourself slipping. You’ve run, only to continue slipping, and you still run, only to remain slipping away. No matter what, you know you’re falling into madness. 

It’s just a matter of time. You’re a ticking time bomb at this point. And you’re left to wonder, how will you protect her then?

“Shh, shh… I’m here, Y/N. I’m here,” she whispers against your scalp, lips beating down a warm breeze that begins to recharge you and make the fuzziness go away. 

Is this home? It’s uncertain but maybe it can be. 

‘Maybe she is my home.’

“It’s okay, not real, Y/N. You’ll be alright.” Your arms pull tighter around her, the words of your mother echo in the misty haze of your memory, tears prick at the corner of your eyes. She whines softly that you’re squeezing her too hard. With an uttered apology into her breasts, you slightly ease your iron grip so she is able to breathe. 

You don’t ever want her to experience being at a loss for air, to never suffer the suffocation she had to in your nightmare. All you want for her is her safety. There is nothing else. 

But this is war and when love is thrown into the fray and spied as a weak point, there is no level of fairness to what comes next. 

ACT III: MIXING POISON WITH PLEASURE

A FEW DAYS LATER

Streaks of light reflectively race across the sleek, black coat of the escort car as it passes over the long draw of the bridge. Steve and Bucky occupied the driver and passenger seats, the tinted shield muffles the snippets of their conversation. Perhaps old friends reminiscing on memories, talk of minor business advantages, all of which you can only suspect without much confirmation. 

Tony and Sam sit across from you with their backs to the tinted panel, leaving you and Wanda to be the target of their sharp and penetrating observation, done so in silence. 

Silence that is broken by Tony taunting you, his new hobby since being stuck on a jet together for a few hours prior to the drive. “Excited to be going back? A lot of familiar sights and faces to get reacquainted with.” 

Something in your stomach flips and your palms grow clammy, eyes fluttering from side to side as you chase to calm the unease setting into your shoulders, heavy with the weight of the question upon you. 

Your eyes freeze when Wanda’s eyes meet yours, a faint crinkle in her brows prods you inaudibly for clarification. An answer to the mystery of your place exactly in Madripoor. 

A part of your past that you left ambiguous and for good reason. Wanda’s parents were the only ones who had knowledge of your origins, so to speak. How exactly you made your exit from the facility and right into the employment of some prideful overlord. 

“Not particularly,” you answer quietly, the answer dry on your tongue. Ice clinking together when he orientated his wrist to churn the liquor, Tony chuckles over the rim of his glass, the nervousness in your tone a dead giveaway to the truth of your feelings. Repressed to save face. 

“You’re rather well known among the populace,” Sam chimes with a cold drawl. His eyes are thinned into a glare. “For reasons… Well, I’m sure you know why. Can’t say the same for her.” 

His head cocks in Wanda’s direction and you feel that worry simmer more in the pit of your stomach. 

“Y/N, what are they talking about?” Wanda finally asks, voice strained by the betrayal of her hurt, the seed planted in her mind that she is some sort of outsider to the information that passes between you and the two men seated before you.

“It’s nothing, Wanda.” Your answer is fired too quickly to simply mean nothing. No, she knows you’re hiding something sinister. 

“You know,” Tony sighs to conceal a gurgle in his throat, “I’ve said to Steve once that I don’t trust people without a dark side. But you…” 

He utilises one finger to point at you, accusation at his fingertip, the ice clinks harshly against his glass now. “You’re the exception. I don’t trust you because you have too much of a dark side.”

Your brows pull down hard and your lips curl into a tight frown. You feel the animal stir below the surface of your skin. Your muscles tense until the skin begins to strangle around them. Outside, the familiar buzz of criminal life and night lights give away your location. 

“And why exactly do you think I have too much?” 

Your nightmare from that night comes to you in flashes. Perhaps Tony is right in his given reason…

He taps a finger to his temple slowly. “Because, I’ve found that Alexander’s werewolves always tend to be fucked up in the head.”

This underlying fact is not exactly news to you. But hearing it from another person, it begins to dawn on you. The slipping away. Your eyes falter until they see nothing but the toes of your boots.

Never would you think that you’d be on route to Madripoor. Back to the established territory of all crime, the residential host of the black market. A place which incidentally led you on the path you lead now, despite still lacking your freedom, the Maximoff Family did allow you some sense of it. 

But you still weren’t in complete control of your life. When children mature, they’re expected to go out into the world and make a piece of it their own. When you matured, you were put out into the field and ordered to complete that task. And then another after that, and so on. Never given the chance to make a little piece of the world yours. 

The world - the criminal world - made you theirs. 

And because Alexander did a fantastic job in rearing an obedient pet, you were an expensive investment. Surely enough to continue pouring funds into the project that supplied loyal hounds into service. Last you heard, more and more werewolves came into demand after your rise of succession. 

And a good part of it began here. Now Madripoor remembers you just as much as you remember it. 

Steve pulls off to the side of the street, engine purring lowly, Bucky pats his shoulder before he shuffles out of the car. Sam pulls a handgun from the hidden holster in his jacket, checks over the magazine and slots it back in. Tony pours himself another drink as you, Wanda and Sam also exit the car.

“I’ll see you guys when you get back to the hotel. Try to stay out of trouble, dog.”

You rasp over the curve of your shoulder, eyes burning with that dangerous amber. Tony snaps his fingers at you to garner your attention. “Hey, keep the eyes from doing that. You’ll be recognizable enough, don’t let that get you pulled into a messy fight.” 

You grumble in response to his warning. Like he’s ever been in a messy fight, too busy firing the gun when his assailant's back is turned. Wanda stands right next to you, brushing against your arm. Draped over her body is a long, fox fur coat that reaches the ankle of her black heeled boots. Her chin tucks into the soft textured collar to keep something of her identity unrevealed. 

If she is discovered so early before you locate the man you’re looking for, things could escalate into that messy fight Tony wants you to stay out of. With a wave of his hand, the car pulls out and speeds off down the strip, leaving the four of you on the sidewalk, left at the entrance way that leads down into the slums of Lowtown. 

It’s like Madripoor was frozen in time, everything is how you remember it. The dark and neon black market scene, stalls and cube stores packed with an assortment of supplies anyone in the business would need, whether that be for the amateurs - which were the usual target customers - or the cluster of smaller gangs. The big time runners had designated storehouses to spare where they obtained their supplies, and ran other dealings and hand-offs in and out of private rooms in the clubs. 

The only thing that has changed only serves to prove Tony’s case; there are more werewolves about. Beasts loyally shackled to their masters, bought and enslaved to obey. In passing, you spot a rather poor sight. You’ve seen gangsters put their skill into the ring countless times and a way to earn reputation and some cash. 

However, now they’ve taken it further and put werewolves into the pits. The crowd enveloping the ring cheer and shout, arms pumping in their enthusiasm for their bet to win. Meanwhile, two wolves are pitted against each other. A male and female, her body is more lean - and dare you admit it with a gulp - scrawny looking than the male’s. He’s been taken under someone with finer living circumstances than her, better resources and care. 

Bucky, Sam and Wanda follow your stern inspection of the fight. You smell their mingling scents of unease at the sight. 

“So this is what Tony meant,” you sneer. Bucky and Sam don’t answer you but you just know that if they did, they would confirm it. 

The male has the female pinned, she yelps and in a flurry of panic, she snaps her jaws around the bulk of muscle on his shoulder, her teeth doing little to rip into the flesh hard enough to get him to back off. 

He’s enjoying the torment of her struggle. The way he isn’t rushing to finish off the fight, idle in his stance above her as he holds her down. 

It truly sickens you. Humans can be a foul lot, corrupt in their ways of seeking entertainment to cure their boredom and wealth to cure themselves of poverty. But it’s all you know. 

Even then, a deep-seeded growl emanates from you and rumbles the tension laced air around your companions when you see the male become aroused by the squirming female. 

“Come on,” Sam says rather quickly and wraps a hand around your bicep, dragging you away before you do something that will get them into trouble. 

Wanda gawks at the monstrous sight, the female’s whines and howls echo in her ears, perverting her with images she never wanted to ever conjure up while Bucky steers her after you and Sam with equal haste to his partner.

You take no leisurely pleasure in walking through these parts and it doesn’t help that you get questioning glances from the large variety of locals. You too follow in Wanda’s lead in keeping your identity on the down low, you use the high collar of your jacket to keep your features unrecognisable to the crowd. 

Sam and Bucky tail behind you both with a lax swagger to their step, eyes taking in the neon and polluted scenery around them. The slums are where the amateurs and those smaller gangs operate freely and without much prejudice. Above the poverty, Hightown shines with the more luxurious affordability, belonging to the bigger fish, the real criminal powers. 

And Vision has that power within that grasp. Up there, rubbing elbows with the grand gentlemen and dolled up women, mingling and gaining alliances under his belt. So why venture into Lowtown? 

Because once, these streets harboured a terrible incident, one that now leaves your face smeared on for show as wanted. Because just down the series of lanes and roundabouts of corners, there is a divide between the common criminals and Vision’s depot, because it also operated as a factory. 

“So you’re not going to tell me anything about what was said back there?” Wanda asks. You tilt your head and you catch the sharp incline of her raised brow, her eyes piercing through the veil of your clouded, troubled thoughts. 

“Not really something I want to go into detail about.” She huffs at your response. Ever the one to avoid the topic whenever the subject revolves around you. 

It’s little wonder how she knows what she does about you. “So you have some sort of history with these men in particular, you have some estranged connection with Vision and with Madripoor, and to top it all off: Tony doesn’t trust you because of this supposed… dark side. What is it you’re hiding from me, Y/N?”

She’s getting assertive with each word as she walks in stride with you, eyes glaring up from the curtain of her hair, still keeping her chin as low as possible. Your lip curls up to reveal sharp, elongated canines. 

You rasp coldly, “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

There is a challenge in those green eyes of hers, unrelenting to be brushed off. After the connection you both shared, the way your lips were in sync with one another and how your bodies melded together in the heat of that feral passion and need. She thought you could trust her, to be more open with her. 

It seems she was wrong. 

“Don’t take it to heart, Miss Maximoff,” Bucky drawls from behind and a growl resounds in your chest, “Y/N is what we tend to call a wounded dog. Licking the wounds of their injured pride because they can’t afford to let anyone in.”

“And on top of that, they end up all fried in the head,” adds Sam with a venomous tune. You can just sense the dance of his eyes, brows high and cheekbones drawn down in his taunting. 

If they were trying to get a rise out of you, they were succeeding much to the unwelcomed behest of your annoyance, maybe filling in for Tony’s absence. But if they intended to heed Wanda with a warning of who you were before your employment as a guard for the Maximoff Family, then you fear that this is also a succession in the making. 

Wanda stops in place and turns to face the two men behind her, willing herself to not shy away from them or the way they tower over her. “You speak of my guard as if they are purely a mad-driven, bloodthirsty animal who has no grasp of the human they are. Wolf beneath or not. Show some respect or else.”

Sam and Bucky also stop, causing you to commit halfway in turning to look at the scene. Sam sighs as his eyes divert from the Sokovian heiress. “Apologies, Miss Maximoff.”

But just like that, the act switches and he gestures with a hand, a dark smirk on his lips. “But look at this. I mean, criminals are wanted all the same. But in Madripoor? My, that is one persevering poster. One mean lookin’ animal.”

You snarl towards Sam and Bucky as they guide Wanda’s sights to the screen panel that displays a photo of you. Written beneath, it states the price rewarded for your capture and turn over to none other than Vision. 

100,000 Madripoor dollars. 

Her gloved hand lifts up, her plump lips - lips that you want nothing more than to savour and taste against yours again - agape in their shock to find a piece to the mysterious puzzle that is you and your shrouded past. A past you preserve in the shadows and where she believes you intend to keep it. 

Away from her. Out of sight, out of mind.

Out of your own fucking mind. A twisted and corrupt mind. Is what these men say true? Are you some wounded hound licking at the gaping festering scars of your past mistakes and vulnerability? 

Her fingers curl forward, mere inches away from the display of your face, fingertips just caressing the digital profile of your jawline when a hand snaps hold of her wrist. The grip is tight and a gasp is torn from her lungs, eyes watery in their gaze as they stare into yours; that amber hellfire prominent beneath the cooler tones of the neon lights and grey tinted smog. 

Your jaw is clenched hard. She’s really struck a nerve now, unintentionally, but still, another attempt at crossing that line leaves you with a bitter taste of something resentful. Ashamed. 

“Let’s go.” You leave no room for her to argue. With a hand on the small of where her back is, your hand momentarily feels the true soft, silkiness of her coat, you push her forward to continue walking. Then your eyes lift up to meet eye to eye with Tony’s men, the two of them basking in the way you hide Wanda from yourself. 

Twin smirks stretching their lips, they both chuckle in cause of their muted plot. Now you’re beginning to think they’re trying to poison Wanda against you. 

“What? We’re just trying to help the two of you bond, being some couple and all…” Bucky hums with a shrug, blue eyes darting between you and Wanda curiously. 

“We’re not–” You bite the words that become overthrown when Sam’s hand slaps your arm. 

“Besides, it’d make an interesting story for the kids.” 

They walk now, passing on either side of you like the haunting walls of a tunnel that locks you into that place where your nightmare meets you halfway, blurring it all together. 

‘Fuck, I hate this place!’

You take one look at the wanted poster, eyes shadowed heavily by the furrow in your brows. That’s when an idea springs to mind. Your crazy and fucked up mind… with a crazy and perhaps fucked up idea. 

“Yo, you coming or what?” Sam hollers out to you and you visibly stumble back a couple of steps, shaking your head of whatever came over you there. A sense of sinking finds itself in your stomach again. 

“Come on, the depot is up this way.”

You briskly walk past all three members of your company, blatantly you avoid looking in Wanda’s eye, simply pushing her forward again, as gently yet urgently as you can muster. 

At the end of the street and another few corners and you were where you needed to be. Behind the tall chain link fencing, the yard is crawling with security as expected, watching over the compound’s goods waiting to be loaded into the trucks waiting in the docking bays. Thankfully, the guards pay no mind to you, as if you don’t exist to them. Ghosts within the smog. 

“So this is it, huh?” Bucky sneers with a visage of judgement. “Doesn’t look like much to me.”

“Because this is one of his ‘private’ storehouses that also happens to be the manufacturing powerhouse of his supplies,” you retort over your shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, you need to explain this to me again. You want us to turn you in for the reward money?” Wanda cannot believe what her ears hear. This will now be the fourth time you’ve had to reiterate your proposed plan of getting in. 

“There’s no way they’ll just let us in. And if we sneak in, Vision will most likely flee. We gotta lure him in.”

“By using you as bait,” Wanda clarifies and you nod. She’s shaking her head, now in sheer, utter disbelief. 

“No no, this could actually work.” Sam taps a finger to his chin, the gears in his head turning the wheels of schemes. “But if we’re going to do this, we gotta rough you up a little bit. Make it look like we’ve dragged you into the joint.”

Your brows arch in a way that expresses your confusion. “What exactly are you–” 

Given no more time to question him, Sam strikes his arm forward into a left hook, and shit, did he go all in for it. The adrenaline in your blood pumps but not before the initial sting of the surprise attack hits you first. Wanda makes a noise between a gasp and a horrified shriek, her hands cup over her nose and mouth to muffle the sound. 

“The fuck!” you spit harshly, biting back on the urge to shift right there and then. Sam had distracted you with his left and now he swiftly drives his right fist into your gut, forcing your back to the brick wall of the building next to you. 

“Sh-shit, okay… n-now I get it…” Sam only nods with a shit eating grin and you’re convinced he’s enjoying this, soaking it in and will most likely brag about it to Tony and the rest of them. 

“Come on, Buck, let’s rough them up.” Bucky didn’t need anything else to motivate him to join in, he steps around Wanda and at Sam’s side, he also drives a hard hitting punch into your stomach that causes you to keen forward with a groan. 

Your head hangs forward and Sam brings his right knee up and butts your nose, splitting it. You grimace with a pained wince to keep a temperamental roar at bay.

Yeah, they’re fucking enjoying this. 

You’re not even close to recovering, swaying on your two feet as a hand nurses the space between the bottom of your ribcage and stomach, you lift your head only for Sam to land a knock to the corner of your brow, temple buzzing a little. That’s when Bucky comes in with an upward strike, your lip busted in the fray of his blow. 

You can only growl and grunt, having to further suppress the wolf below the surface so it doesn’t come back with an attack of its own. 

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” Wanda hisses at the three of you. After a few more hits to sell the act, Bucky pulls his handgun free of its holster, racks the slide and puts it to your bruised temple. 

“Adding a little bit of realism to the play. If we walk in and they’re not a little bit bruised up, then they’ll know something’s up,” reasons Sam with a glance to Wanda who shrugs, that scowl of her disapproval showing in all its glory. 

The cute way her nose scrunches a little. Fuck, you can’t help but grin yourself with a breezy, husky chuckle, eyes sly as they look Wanda up and down. It must be the rush of adrenaline and pain that’s gotten you a little riled up.

“We have to make it believable,” you drawl, voice hinted with a lacing of sarcasm, but Wanda cannot help the way it stirs her core; nickname and all. Those eyes you’re giving her are doing things that make her cheeks become dusted with a pink hue. 

Wanda shakes her head and she crosses her arms, firm in her resolve that getting the shit beaten out of you is a little more than crazy, in fact, she thinks it’s completely psychotic. No less, you weren’t given a fair warning in the beginning and now here you are, it’s like you’re getting off on being brutally beaten. 

For you, it gave you a weird sense of reprieve. It took you away from the usual routine of pain and replaced it with something new - fresh - and it made you feel alive. 

Much like when you shared a few passionate sessions of expressive want with Wanda. That kindling of being alive after wandering around, licking your wounds, feeling dead in a way to the world.

“I-I don’t think that was called for,” Wanda utters once her bottom lip is safely hidden beneath the fur of her collar. She’s shielding herself, her embarrassment and you can’t help the way the wolf becomes intrigued, head tilting to the side with that shimmer of amber passing over your eyes. 

“If it gets us closer to Vision, then it’s worth every punch. Now come on, you looker, let’s hand you over to ‘em,” Bucky grins with a dark chuckle.

Your hand moves up to cradle your jaw, the scent of blood wafts into your nose and coats your tongue, Wanda’s heels clap against the pavement as she walks up to you. Her hand brushes along your hand and replaces it. She’s observing your face, a soft and troubled frown does little to hide the true concern from her orbs, ever so delicately glazed with a watery coat. 

“I hated that,” she drawls with a strong and lowered lilt of her Sokovian accent. You can only find it within yourself to flash her a smirk. 

“I don’t think this is the right plan. What if they actually take you away? Y/N, I don’t have any clue as to what’s going on here, but it just sounds like a terrible idea.” 

“Wanda, you just have to trust me.”

There’s hesitation in her eyes, you can see it, conflicting with her want to trust in you, but how exactly could she just go along with this plan? She never saw it at the time, but now she knows Vision is a dangerous man, and whatever history you have with him makes her skin crawl uncomfortably. Who knows what you’re all walking into.

Still, she bows her head in agreement and you both tail after Bucky and Sam who weren’t too far up the way. “Are we ready?” Sam asks while Bucky repositions his gun at level with your head. 

“Ready,” you reply and Wanda mumbles her own answer. With a roll of your shoulders, breathe in and out, adjusting yourself before you enter the lion’s den and then you let Sam and Bucky direct you inside as Wanda tucks herself to Bucky’s other side, a little distant from him. 

“Hey, what’re you doing here? This is private property, you need to leave.” One of the guards stationed at the front gate of the depot approaches, gun in hand as he stares your group down, a few of his fellow guards also take a wary stance in your arrival. 

Bucky cocks his gun against your jaw, tilting it up to showcase to the guard.

“We saw your wanted pet. Now we’re here to collect.” 

The guard’s firm and sceptical gaze moved between the three before they settle on you, squinting in a moment of faint remembrance, out of knowledge by seeing your poster or because he was maybe one of the guards who worked here and remembers you by face, he gruffly huffs with a cock of his head. 

“Yeah, bring it in. Take the stairs down when you get in and head through, the guard there will let you pass.”

The sound of a buzzer sounds off and it shakes your brain like nails on a chalkboard. The chain link fence rattles to life and slides open, the guard above loom as dark shadows from the white blaring lights behind them. 

With a small mock salute, Sam passes the guard, following closely at his side now is Wanda and Bucky nudges you forward. You have to hand it to them, they know how to get an in. You distinctly remember seeing them bring in numerous prisoners and deadbeats who refused to pay up. 

The guard wrinkles his nose at you and with a gurgle in his throat, spits at your feet. You almost break character with a laugh, dark and sinister before you imagine tearing him open until he’s nothing but bite sized chunks for the local street dogs. 

The guard unlocks the door with a keycard and pin, the metal door hisses as it swings open. Entering the building and ignoring the way your stomach knots up, the pungent smell of iron, fuel and a hint the residue of the facility’s drugs suffocates your lungs and blocks your nose from smelling anything else, anyone’s scent. 

You take the immediate stairs to your right, the hallway ahead blocked off, reserved as the onsight dormitory for security. Down into the depths of the factory, you walk the narrow walkway in the otherwise spacious room, rooms to both your left and right sealed off into smaller cubical styled holdings, protected under padlock and doors fashioned from old cages. 

Old cages big enough to house something like you.

Another door is opened by the occupying guard watching over the room. He shares the same scornful look the first guard at the gate did, however, you pick out his features and identify him as one of the unlucky men who was caught in the crossfire. The side of his head closest to you and his jaw is mangled and flesh wrinkled, all down his neck before his vest and shirt cuts off the rest of the damage inflicted.

Again, you almost break character, but not because some guard had the audacity to disrespect your boot. No, it’s because of the memories in the lab you now stand in. It took Bucky a hard shove when he noticed your hesitance to cross the threshold. His need to remind you of the loaded barrel pinned to your jaw forces you to brave the nightmare before you. 

The adrenaline, that smugness you airily carried. All gone. Your lungs give way to a shaken inhale and your eyes take in your surroundings of the lab. 

It’s been a while since last you saw of the place, and nothing much has changed. No less the man in charge. Seeing him now, it really is a packing punch to the gut, your insides violently churn with a sickening swell of bile. This is an encounter you’d wish would never come to pass but here you are now, all to find out where Rumlow is. You had to stiff upper lip and face the broken record you left behind you. 

But seeing him only makes this harder. Dressed down into a white, button up shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, he stands with his back to you, leaning his weight to one side. 

“Yo, heard you were looking for a lost pet?” Sam hollers, garnering the man’s attention.

He turns to leer at you four, blue eyes cold and malicious, pupils shrunken in the way of a madman and hair haphazardly sweeps past his ear, shrouding half his face in shadow. Lines form on the outskirts of his cheeks with a deranged smirk. 

“Ah. You found it,” he hisses in glee, “I must thank you sincerely for this delivery.”

You’re brought forward at the nudging of Bucky and now you stand under the scrutiny of Vision himself. A man-made monster by his own devices. His upper body contorts to lean forward slightly, head tilting heavily on its axle to gauge your expression, to probe at your mind, just as he had done so many other times. 

Furthermore, it does little to boost your self-esteem when he whistles and snaps his fingers in front of your face. “Are you in there, dog?”

You swallow without response. With a snort of amusement, he’s satisfied by the compliance of your silence; your defeated resolve to fight back - though he does enjoy a good show from time to time. To see the rage burn in your eyes like a fearsome storm of fire. One that swears to devour him in the flames of your wrath once you broke free of your shackles. A storm that never came to pass until that fateful night, but a storm that didn’t sweep him away into ash. 

He directs his attention to someone else and only then does your upper lip curl into a snarl, a feral sound of an animal under threat, or in this case, Wanda being under threat, Vision sneers at your attempt to intimidate him. 

“Always one with a temper,” he sighs as if reminiscing on those memories, like they were days of happier times. Perhaps they were to him.

“Wanda, it’s good to see you again after all this time.” He pulls her hand up to grace her gloved knuckles with his lips, the eyes of a predator drinking in the sight of her discomfort. 

“Vision.” Her tone of voice is cold. Strict and aimed sharply as a dagger to penetrate the fortitude of his unwanted advances. Vision was never one to take a hint. Much like Wanda’s lack of knowledge of you, you were left in the dark in regards to her relation to Vision.

Now you see it. They at some point in the past shared some form of intimate connection. One that she inevitably regrets with every fibre of her being that uses her body to shield herself. She all but rips her hand from his grip, her other hand subconsciously wipes at her knuckles. Vision quirks a dirty blonde brow up in the face of her denying act towards his given affections. 

To ease the infectious growth of humiliation on his part, he shoves his shoulders back and cocks his head. “Come, you must be paid for a job well done.” 

He directs two guards, two of your own kind, rendered obedient to his command, to lead you away from Wanda, Sam and Bucky. She’s mortified once your presence is eliminated from the group, leaving the three of them alone with Vision. 

Bucky and Sam are quick to catch the wary glare you cast their way, a low threat to not abandon you there, to not let this play act go too far; the last thing you want to do is fall back into that pattern. To have Wanda be subjected to just a taste of what ordeals and trials you had to endure. 

“I’m sorry to hear about your brother. He had a bright future ahead of him.” Vision’s condolences die on the tip[ of his tongue, turning into ash that rots away any ounce of sincerity for her loss. She cannot bring herself to respond verbally. 

Wanda is moreso driven apart from you by Vision, his hand a little too close to lingering too low on her back, the sight of it forces a growl from between your clenched teeth, the two guards overseeing you snarl in your direction. 

Obedient pets to him, twisted into a falsehood of loyalty. Wolves corrupted by the unfortunate dealings of their upbringing. Much like the ones in the fighting ring, like you, they don’t lead their own lives. They do as they’re told. They obey.

Following where the drug overlord ventures, he leads the three of them over to a far table in the corner, procuring a black suitcase. He hands it to Bucky. 

“There we are, 100,000 Madripoor Dollars.”

Your eyes glance from the shackles to Sam and Bucky with narrowed eyes. Silently, through eye contact alone, you’re telling them to hurry the fuck up and spring into action, to get the situation under their control before things take a turn for the worst. 

“Now, if you’ll be on your way, gentlemen–”

“We’d like to have the money recounted. Just in case, you know. Wouldn’t want the boss to feel cheaped out of our work,” Bucky snips suddenly before Vision could turn them away. He also notices the way Vision leers at Wanda like a salivating beast, no doubt he’d try to keep her with him as he practically booted them out the front gate. 

This comes as a hindering surprise to the man, blue eyes glassed over with something void of any true human emotion. 

With a nod of his head, he beckons over one of his assistants, and the summoned woman takes the case from Bucky to ensure the promised amount is all accounted for. 

“What’s your whole deal with the mutt? Why pay such a hefty price for ‘em?” Sam questions, tilting his head in your direction. If they were here to divulge information about Rumlow, he wanted to make sure they knew exactly what they were getting themselves into.

Vision turns to follow where the man was looking and a dark smirk crosses his lips. Your eyes glow with the animal’s boiling rage, a formidable sight to behold and marvel at. He’s missed having you as his lab pet. 

At first, Vision is reluctant to share his thoughts, however, something that is unreadable to your observant gaze, his smirk turns into a wide grin that causes Wanda’s complexion to pale. 

“The Asset is among the very first of its kind to achieve such accomplishments. Paving the way for its kind. An investment with so much poured into it,” answers Vision. 

“Would you like to see what my work entails?” His own question, laced in deranged malice, is met by three unsure visages. 

‘What the actual fuck are they doing?’

Without so much as a word, Vision is herding them off behind a large control panel, screens displaying all sorts of data and diagrams of humanoid and werewolf anatomy. “As I am sure, you know I was partnered with Alexander Pierce for his little project.”

“Was?” Sam sneers in confusion. 

Vision nods slowly. “Yes. After… numerous trials ending in failure, Pierce cast me aside. Told me that my work wasn’t good enough, that for all my progress with the serum, the desired goal wasn’t meeting his expectations.” He pauses to calm the venom behind his words. His eyes glare at the screens before they rise to meet your harrowing stare.

“Prepare it for trial exposure to serum SX-P,” he commands his workers, lithe fingers jabbing expertly against the keyboard. 

“So why exactly did Pierce get rid of you?” Bucky asks now and Vision takes a moment to cease his actions and turn to look at him. 

“Alexander’s campaign was relatively new and industrial to begin with. At first, potential investors weren’t convinced that werewolves could be rendered ‘tame’ to serve as liable enforcers and guards. There was a lack of trust in his project—” Vision began before needing to pause, the sound of your irritated growls bouncing off the four walls of the expansive lab as you’re led by the guards.

They shove you down to sit on the horizontal, metallic surface that centre’s the room. But you’re not going to make it easy for them, play acting or not. You thrust an elbow back, colliding into one of the two guards who stumbles back with a pained howl, hand nursing their broken nose that weeps with blood, the other guard retaliates with the butt of his gun. Your head lurches to the side, further damage to your already busted lips runs down the side of your chin. 

His partner comes around for round two, fist raised high to land a blow to your contorted snarl, but Vision reels him back in with a single command. “Enough! I need it in as good condition as I can get it.”

He glares at one of the nerve wracked doctors. “And put the muzzle on the damn thing!” 

The guards pin you down against the table and restrain your wrists and ankles in the shackles bolted down into the table. 

Wanda is beyond the conceivable thoughts, utterly repulsed by this dark crater she must know festers in the world. That this treatment is inflicted upon you - and perhaps countless others - she looks to Sam and Bucky. Both of them mirror each other’s stoic expressions and tightly clenched jaws.

“We have to do something,” she whispers just enough for Sam to make out. 

“As I was saying.” Rattling his throat of any vocal hindrance, he combs his dishevelled hair back. “It was vital to raise an exemplar to the species, to garner investment support. Thus, the animal before us contributed to that. But when the investors learnt that we didn’t have enough stable minded werewolves, it was cause of another concern. Given my expertise, Alexander then came to me… and I tried. I really did. But each trial failed, each match was torn to shreds.”

Your eyes meet Wanda’s, the tearful glaze that wavers beneath the fluorescent lights, your troubled brows only deepen into a scowl when a doctor procures a muzzle. It’s not familiar like the leather and metal barred one Vision often used for you, this one was crafted for a nefarious purpose. The guards tug your head back to keep you from engaging the doctor, their hands work swiftly in snapping the contraption around your mouth and the base of your neck.

That is when you’ve had enough of this charade. This is when you decided here and now that Vision will pay for all those years of fucking around with you, tormenting you, provoking you without giving you the chance to rectify the errors of his arrogant ways. 

The moment that muzzle went over your face is when the game field changed. Your muscles strain and flex, body violently convulsing in your struggle to break free, your claws growing longer and clawing divots into the metal beneath your palms. 

Alarms and panic ensues. It all moves in a tight framework of blurriness. Rage has blinded you to this point. 

Wanda’s screams echo over the fog of your hazed and crazed mind, layering over into a morphing choir, other voices are muffled. All you can recognise are the two forms of something similar to your own towering one, their ears pin back and their snouts curl up to bare their teeth.

In a matter of seconds you're tangled between the two wolves, clawing and maining at their flesh until blood paints the polished floors, a racket of gunfire disturbs your ears. The nape of one of the guards is in the clutches of your jaw, you twist harshly and snape the elongated bone of their spine. 

The second pushes you hard, bearing down on you with clawing fists and gnashing fangs that tear into the flesh and muscle of your shoulder and upper arms.

More gunfire blinks and sprays into your vision, white spots in the heat of your vision. Your hind legs arch up and kick the second guard off of you, their body flying back into a heap of equipment that combusts into a show of sparks upon impact. Workers flee in all different directions, more guards from the outside flock into the lab in a blaze of bullets. 

Some penetrate through your thick hide and others aren’t so fortunate. Your ears twitch in response to Wanda’s voice, she shrieks your name, your head whips around in the direction to see her behind cover, Sam at her side as he takes shots at the guards. 

“Look out!” 

Her warning comes a second too late. A bullet fires at your shoulder, clean and true; an entry and exit wound. Your eyes momentarily meet Vision’s, a handgun of pristine gold flickering in the distance he kept from you. But your moment to strike is thwarted by the familiar reddish pink now shrouds you in a thick cloud. 

The scent burns your senses and stings your eyes until the word wavers before you, your muscles fried and you’re choking on the smell of each chemical and pheromone in the gas. You roar amidst your stampede, chaos of tossing anything in your path aside. There are screams, pleas for mercy and shouts to shoot to kill; despite the conflicting order of Vision to keep you alive. 

By now, the blaring alarms set off the emergency lighting, the once white lights darkening into a shade of red. Wanda calls your name again and again. You can’t see her through the tinted colour of the gas, your tail sways wildly from side to side, skin growing far too hot for your liking, you yelp in discomfort. Your body slumps against something that clanks together as the world around you spins. You grunt and snort to blow the burning scent from your flaring nostrils to no avail. Another fired bullet and hiss, and then a forceful gust of the same gas sprays directly over your face. Your howl as the agonising sting it causes, irritating your skin and fur, your clawed hands swipe at your face. 

Your lungs feel like they are weighted down like iron anchors with each intake of air. You hear Vision laugh from above and your head snaps upwards, seeing him reign high above in his victory, from his place on the looming platform. 

“But I figured it out, dog. Like all things natural to a wolf, it needed to be exposed just the same.” 

His blue eyes beam wide in their amazement. Their admiration. You rear back as a shattering cry of a roar bellows from deep within your chest. Saliva coats over your gums and teeth and sweat has already begun to seep into your fur. 

Vision gives a gesture of a mock salute before he dashes away, Sam and Bucky far too late and miss any shot they could have landed, the overlord making his escape. 

“We gotta get outta here!”

“Where are we gonna go, Sam? There’s this fucking gas everywhere and—” Bucky cannot exhale another word, set off into a coughing fit. 

“We have to find Y/N!” Wanda shouts to the two men. 

She’s gaining higher ground. Her heels clatter against the metal framework of the platform. “I’I think I see them,” she calls out, head darting left to right, arching to see the dark shape before it sinks away into the reddish mist. 

She continues to search until she is no longer able to. A scream is torn from her lungs when the platform shakes and jolts her forward, hands grasping the railing before she’s thrown over. 

You stalk towards her with each step you take threatening to break the now unsteady frame you both stand upon. The once familiar glow of amber now feels strange to her, like she doesn’t recognise you - shouldn’t recognise you - and yet she says your name all the same. It’s the only thing that’s the middle ground now.

She backs away slowly and you continue forward until you arch forward swiftly, hands snatching hold of her, she struggles in your grasp. “Let me go! Let me go, Y/N!” 

You growl in warning to her, the sound rumbles like booming thunder, she can feel it even through the thick layer of her coat. 

Your nose buries into the crook of her neck, ignoring the way she squirms about in her resistance. 

“We’re coming, Wanda,” Sam’s voice coughs from below, his shoes hitting each step hard with Bucky not far behind, skipping one step to reach you both quicker. 

“Get off her,” warns Bucky with an arm raised, gun aimed at the bevel between your hellish, animalistic eyes. Eyes that he sees no humanity within. 

You raise your head high to snarl at the intruders. There is little to remember or recognise, all that you feel is the need to kill and something more, something that stirs within your core. Your hips move to grind against Wanda, angling them to soothe that growing ache between your thick, powerful legs. 

Wanda whimpers and that’s the last straw either man can take. They open fire and give Wanda the opportune moment to break free of you, she pushes away from you; but not before one of your hands snatch hold of her collar. She falls forward but Sam catches her before she can fall face first against the creaking metal, dragging her further away from you. 

Bucky continues to rain bullet after bullet. The constant bite of the attack eventually deters you and your form moves, crashing through the side window of the lab. Glass bursts in a flurry and all that can be heard by the trio is the baritone howl that fades into the night. 

Bucky pulls his phone from his pocket and lifts it to his ear when the call is received. “Steve, tell Tony we’ve got a loose collar problem.”

“Well, that could’ve gone much smoother. Now we have a sexed up hound on the loose.” Tony presses the glass to his temple with a huff in his low of defeat. Only Steve could have an idea how many drinks he’s had that night and he’s beginning to look a little rough for wear. 

Bucky and Sam were in no top shape either, the two of them nursing their own bruises and scrapes in the fight to escape. They’d done well in keeping Wanda out of harm’s way, but as for them, they paid the price for it. 

The tired sag beneath his hazel orbs. It makes her wonder just how bad this spanner in the machine is, how it affects Tony so. 

Without her coat, Wanda is left only with a sense of unease, the article of clothing lost to the clutches of you; a missing you. She continued to replay earlier events over and over, trying to pick out and decipher each little detail’s meaning. 

Vision obviously had a goal to win back Alexander’s favour. The abandoned project could have been yet another scheme to bring in profit, as Vision clearly made his intentions known. 

He was after profit in the breeding ring. 

“So regale me with the synopsis again: Pierce had Vision create a sex pollen engineered specifically for werewolves to then use on Y/N, however, it failed in the past until now, where you believe Vision has succeeded. That’s what I’m hearing, right?” Tony paces the kitchen now, pupils shrunk and hand quivering in the restraint of his outburst. 

“Basically down to a T, Boss,” confirms Sam with a tilt of his head. Tony runs a hand down his face as he sighs audibly. 

He takes a moment to reabsorb this information, Bucky grunting as he shifts his weight, having taken to laying on the couch. He took a werewolf arm to the stomach that flung him across the lab. In his books, he was deserving of a little rest. 

“So how do we find them?” Steve asks after another moment of periodic silence. That’s when Tony’s eyes slowly float over to Wanda, that flicker of realisation dawning in his eyes, he lifts a hand to point at her. 

“Where’s your coat?”

Wanda is chilled by the way Tony draws attention to this question, its nature a mystery that begins to make her head churn and her stomach flutter; and she isn’t sure in what way exactly. 

“U-uh…” Her eyes dance between Sam and Bucky, uncertain to give her answer, but when Sam nods his head to her, she breathes in deeply. “Y/N took it. They… snatched it off of me, th-they tried to grab me but I slipped out. That was right before they fled.”

“Oh, well then, that solves our little lost dog problem.” The mob boss breathes an air of sarcasm to fan the flames of his words. But it also pulls everyone’s eyes to him, confusion visible in each of their own gazes. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wanda asks and Tony chuckles dryly in response, eyes zeroing in on Wanda’s. 

“It means that we can stay put. They’ll find you.”

Wanda isn’t sure what to make of it. Wandering down the hall to her separate apartment, Tony’s words play over the backdrop of your acts of slaughter, your actions of violence and aggression and primal desire. When you snatched a hold of her coat in the lab, she could sense it, that need to have her beneath you, to ravish her wholly without consequence or regard for anything or anyone’s order.

Having her within your grasp was an exotic experience. She felt the power you possess in its entirety without needing to experience every single level of it. She could just tell it was there. 

 ‘They’ll find you.’ Tony’s words repeat themselves for the millionth time.

All she can think about is you. Where you are, if you’re alright, and how you’re coping with that pollen running in your veins. Tears coat her eyes in a blurred, wavering curtain. What if you got yourself killed?

No. She cannot think like that. She won’t think like that. But can she help it?

Still trapped in her mind with the troublesome thoughts and endless unanswered questions.

It begs one of the questions for her, how Tony can be so sure that you will find her, and how her coat had any relevance to his statement. His warning. 

Soon enough, one cruel thought only breeds another. Vision’s disturbing fascination with his drug trade, with the sex pollen. It just makes sense - all of it - in the city of dark and neon. A criminal’s haven. 

Something in the jumble of her scattered thoughts told her you didn’t consider Madripoor as a haven. What she saw in your eyes back in the lab; a raw and bone chilling expression of fear, she has only left to suspect that you see Madripoor as a prison. 

Her chin wobbles slightly at the thought of you going through years of that hell and torture, to be trapped without anyone there to help you. To save you. 

The city isn’t even an impressive sight to her. It’s poisonous, built on ruin and lies, betrayal and dirty money. What’s worse is that she’s lost you, some part of you, because of this fucking city. This cesspool of despair, destruction and corruption. Werewolves of a varying amount now dwell in those other towering buildings - hell, perhaps even in the same hotel as her - and below in the streets of Hightown. In the slums of Lowtown. And you’re somewhere amongst it all.

All because of those who used and abused you. For profit. 

All Wanda can think at that moment is to just see you. To be near you. All she wants is for this to be over and to go home with you. 

Everything she could ever want, she sees in you. She just wants you.

But Madripoor has taken you from her. Swallowed you up in the festering dark and neon glow. A wolf lost in the haze, with nothing but that desire to want. And maybe, if Tony is at all correct in his fearfully made assumption, you’re a lost wolf with a desirable appetite for her.

It almost feels like some dark, wet fantasy of hers. To believe that the only reason you have her coat now is to track her down. Because you want her. Her skin is plagued by a sudden chill that makes her spine tingle. 

She takes a moment to bring stillness to her negative and lust spiralling thoughts to dry the unspilled tears as she finally arrives at the door of the apartment. Withdrawing her key, she unlocks the door and enters. 

The room is dark, left to remain cold in the vacancy. Or so Wanda thought. Closing the door behind her and pressing her back to it, it takes her a moment to regain her strength and composure before she pushes herself off it; only for her back to all but smack hard against the door again. Her mouth fell agape and eyes widening.

Even in the unlit space of the common area, the neon haze of the opposing buildings floods in through the wide panel windows. But none of them compare to the sharp amber of your eyes hiding amidst the darkness. The lethal regalness of the true born predator that uses this element to their advantage. The common area is a mess, furniture torn to shreds, miscellaneous decorations littering the floor and the walls, canvases to long and jagged claw marks; a lot of them. You’ve practically left no space left safe in the chaos of your outburst. 

And your large form is at the centre of it all.

“Y/N,” she breathes out, breaking the silence between you both. Your eyes flitter up to meet hers from your previous interest point, the accumulated bundle at your large, pawed feet. Blankets, sheets, pillows and anything else in your wolfish mind you deem comfortable to lay on the floor.

Wanda’s eyes move over you. Were you… building a nest?

Your amber eyes burn into her soul, the pit of radiant hellfire focuses on her with primitive hunger. The sight of her against that door makes your core become plagued by shockwaves of agony that disperse downwards, turning pain into an empty void of pleasure that moves downwards, to the aroused mound at the juncture between your powerful, muscular thighs. You could do some very damaging things to her up against that door. 

And there she sees it, her coat clenched tightly in the grasp of your right hand. So Tony had been correct in the end. You used her coat to track her down from wherever you’d escaped to, only to then follow her scent here. 

The heavy pound of your weight on your pawed feet moves closer to her, the article of fox fur discarded to the pile - or what she presumes to be a nest - and she’s soon cornered. 

Muscles ripple beneath fur, the colour of it always a delicate sight Wanda found herself often cherishing. Soft to the touch, well groomed beyond the scars that litter your body, hideous marks that remind you of what you are. But to the hidden scope of Wanda’s own thoughts, you were the closest thing to sculpted perfection; the rough edges providing a ruggedness that many often depicted as ruthless and merciless. 

But she knows that you use those sharp edges to protect her. To protect yourself. 

“Remember me, Y/N. Y-you know who I am, l-look at me–”

Your muzzle wrinkles and you snarl, pink gums lined with long, sharp teeth bare at her in a display of what she perceives as hostility. She’s only begun to slide along the wall and away from the door before one of your larger arms thrusts forward. She yelps in surprise and flinches back, your other arm follows suit of the first, trapping Wanda between you and the wall behind. 

Your maw extends down as a raspy snarl echoes in the back of your throat, the foundations of a monster with not an ounce of humanity left in the soul, her eyes are now coated with a hot layer of tears. “You know me, Y/N, I know you do! Look at me, remember me.”

She can’t even bear the thought to fathom the fates of the other victims. With Vision’s lack of details, it ended up being both a blessing and a curse. Now all she thinks about now is becoming another one of those victims. And how the aftermath would only break you. 

“I remember, Mate.”

Wanda would celebrate in her relief, had it not been for that single word. Mate. Goosebumps form over exposed skin, her breath hitches in her throat and she cannot refrain from the needy moan surpassing her lips when you push your overly large body to hers, bending down low to grind the dangerously aroused location against her. 

“I fucking need you. I need you so badly.”

“I–I…” The words escape her, leaving her to the dizzying of her own growing desire. To be beneath you, to have you ravish her beyond reprieve. 

“One way or another, I’ll have you in that nest, Mate.” 

The lilt of your baritone growl reverberates in the chamber of your ribcage, husky and primal laced. Dominating. Wanda’s mind swims with the endless possibilities, that black sea of fantasies rising up in crashing tidal waves. Her head arches back into the door and leaves her neck bared for you, the long, pink tendril of your tongue laps at the dew of her skin, deliciously sweet and intoxicating, it brings out a pleasurable rumble from you. One that she feels vibrates her alit core. 

“Do you know how long I’ve been repressed, Lamb? All that torture and for what? Only to suffer without release. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

Oh, there’s something in the way you blatantly threaten her with a fucking good time. A chill runs up the column of her spine and she mewls, you roughly begin to grind your body into her in your dire need. Suffice to say, you aren’t kidding her when you warned her that you’d have her one way or another. 

“I want to help you now,” she whispers softly. Her hands roll through the texture of your fur, nails scratching at you like a kitten, your shoulders jolt with a rumbling chuckle. You purr lowly, breath hot against her neck, “You know how.”

The razor points of your canines rake over the sensitive spot, right where her mark belongs, and exposed to the point that you could do it; and she would have no chance of fighting it. 

She pants now, whining when the bulge of your mound rubs over her aching pussy, already her lips are sweetened by her juices. 

“I want this. I want you… Mate.”

Her scent is alluring to the point that you think it’s a drug of its own, a dose of it enough to get your blood pumping and your heart pounding, her words only serve to break the last restraints you barely have a hold of. 

The action is swift and drags a gasp from Wanda’s lungs, your right arm scoops her up, resting her ass along your forearm as you hoist her up, in tandem your left hand claws down, slicing her short dress down the middle; leaving her milky skin exposed in her lingerie. 

Your left hand moves her thigh over the curve of your shoulder and with this guidance, she does the same for her other leg, her drooling pussy just below eye level now. Her scent wafts into your senses and you growl, tongue running over the daggered incisors lining your maw. 

“You smell good, Lamb.”

The drawl of your wolfish tone makes Wanda’s eyes roll back, her hips bucking at the pleasuring sensation of your hot, wet tongue licking a long strip upwards, from the edge of her folds to her pulsing clit. All her hands can do is clutch hold of the long, silky locks of fur that are reminiscent of your hair. 

“Sh–shit!” she squeaks with jostled breath, “D-do that again?”

You obey her request with a haughty snort, snout wrinkled into a prideful smirk. The fabric of sheer and opaque of her panties being a perfect blend to pleasure and torture. She’ll want more soon enough, you’re sure of it. Your tongue laps upwards again and she groans quietly with a struggling pant. Her mouth hangs open, and shit, if that isn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen then you can happily take a silver bullet to the brain. 

Her body quivers with each stroke of your tongue, wide enough to cover her entire cunt each time, and a little rough to offer that desirable friction she craves, and of course warm to sooth the chill that envelops the rest of her skin. “A–ah! Hah!”

“Feels good, doesn't it, Mate?”

Wanda is pleasure-struck, unable to form a single tangible response by word. All she can do is nod her head frantically, streaks of her brownish hair fall over her visage contorted with delight, a moan bouncing in her throat. “M–mmhm…”

A dark chuckle escapes you and that smirk turns into a wolfish grin. “That’s not all this tongue can do.”

Her brows lift in curiosity and her plump lips fall apart with another moan, her anticipation is short lived by you putting her out of her misery or before she can question you. Your teeth slip between the band of her panties and her skin, revelling in the way her body shivers against you, with a quick snap the fabric is torn apart and gives the perfect view of her dripping cunt. 

Your maw is buried between her legs in an instant, tongue greedy devouring the slickness on her folds, the taste as sweet as honey on your tastebuds, your ears pin back when her fingers ring further towards the roots of your fur. 

“F-fuck, fucking hell, oh shit!” she gasps loudly, “Y/N!”

A hot fan of breath hits her sensitive bud as you part your powerful jaws wide open, you press the thinner tip of your tongue to her entrance, teasing her slickened folds until she’s mewling for you, fingers clenching your fur harder. 

“Please… please,” she begs, doing her best to angle her weeping core for your leisure whilst keeping her thighs balanced on the broadness of your shoulders. 

“Show me what else it can do.”

With a pleased huff with her begging, you angle your tongue and push forward. With each impending inch that sinks further between her southern lips, she whines softly - dare you say it - she’s howling tenderly in her reverie of euphoria. 

With each surpassing inch she realises that your tongue alone is as thick as a well endowed man. And it only seems to keep going and her hips wriggle, lips trembling until her teeth sink into her bottom lip to keep her screams at bay lest the entirety of Madripoor hears what its finest werewolf does to defile her. 

You grunt when you’ve filled her with all that you can with the pink and hot, muscular organ. Breaths heavy and heated, each wave hits Wanda’s clit and brings a delightful spring to coil in her abdomen and her pussy to clench around you. 

Her back arches slightly in sync with the first thrust, the wet muscle powerful enough to make her gently bounce upwards, a breathless wisp of air is pressed from her lungs forcefully. 

“Oooh, oh yes, j-just like that.”

You repeat the motion again and her legs squeeze closer around your large head. Her nails dig into the nape of your neck. Your arm that doesn’t support the weight of her lower body comes up and your clawed hand supports the back of her own neck, her head lazily drops back, eyes rolling into the back of her skull as her lips close shut. 

Her hips roll into the next thrust, meeting your wet muscle halfway, and the way she moans makes you groan. 

So your pace quickens and becomes rougher, her body bounces with each forceful stroke, continuing to roll her hips in tandem, following the set rhythm with a chorus of wistful moans and teetering howls of her own. 

You’re enraptured by the sight of her. The heiress at your beck and call now, drawing closer to her starlit climax. She feels it, deep inside, like rubber bands coming together and twisting in wait for the inevitable snap. 

She chants your name, a one word mantra that drives you to the precipice of lustful insanity.

Her tight walls only tighten with each push and pull of your long tongue, dragging against the current that seeks to pull you in forever with no chance to grant escape. More of her aroused juices get you drunk in your haze and your greed becomes damn near insatiable as you drink every drop you’re granted. The few stray drops of her sweetness only roll down the flexing front of your torso. 

“I-I’m close.” She breathes deeply through her nose, eyes squeezed shut as her fingers claw the absolute shit out of your silky fur. All these things mixed together in a delicious combination makes you growl, and that sound shoots through your cunt-fucking tongue, and brings her walls to clamp around it hard. Her body is wrecked by the crash of her orgasm, coating your tongue with a mouth watering amount of her release, you groan at the taste. 

Your tongue works at slowing down, stoking the fire to cool down, her breasts push and strain against the thin fabric of her lingerie, nipples stiff beneath the sheer’s opacity. With a husky grunt you pull the slick drenched muscle with a moistened pop, Wanda’s body reacts with a flinching motion.

Fuck, how you enjoy having her like this. Before now, you’ve held back, refused to carry on any further out of fear that it would be too much for her. Now seeing her, drunk on your mere tongue and her quietly pleading more of you, you think she can handle it. 

When Wanda manages to recover enough of herself that her eyes open to look at you. She isn’t sure if she should be aroused or terrified by the expression on your canid visage. Your lips lift over the line of your gums, stretching to a smirk. 

You drop the courtesy support you offered her, the only thing keeping her suspended at your eye level is the large form of your single hand, circling around the slender build of her waist. Her body is still recovering from her orgasm, lazily but trying, she supports in holding herself from falling back.

In this moment, she’s at the mercy of an eight and a half foot animal doped up on sex pollen. She’s at the mercy of you. 

“Now, let me show you how a werewolf really fucks.”

COMING SOON...

— MALE VARIANT — FEMALE VARIANT — ACT IV

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST

@alexawynters @alyciaddict

#the dark demeter writing catalogue #treehouse taglist #werewolf reader #female reader #male reader #gn reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x werewolf! reader #wanda x reader #mafia au #angst #x reader #mob au #wanda x werewolf reader #wanda maximoff #werewolf #sex pollen #monster fucking #wanda x reader smut #wanda maximoff smut #wanda x you #werewolf smut

[nvnvmi]

thinking about…

(minors dni)

nanami, who doesn’t love the idea of you working out alone. especially so early in the morning — you could trip and fall, there could be a car whose driver isn’t paying attention, something could happen to you. for your safety, it’s best that he joins you on your little jogs. beside, waking up without you is just miserable.

nanami, who cooks breakfast while you’re showering. he’s seen the protein bars you try to pass off as a meal. you need something more nutritious after such a strenuous workout. there’s a joy in cooking for his wife that’s hard to find anywhere else.

nanami, who wakes up with ease when his alarm goes off while you grunt. complain. kick the covers off while demanding another five minutes. he never rushes you, never chastises you. the alarm is set for ten minutes (five is never enough), and he’ll get your clothes ready. make sure you have socks by your sneakers. you’ll come tumbling out of bed when you’re ready.

nanami, who boxes you in bed when it’s time for a rest day. his arms locked around your middle, he pulls you back against him. not even bothering to open his eyes. “not today, darling.” he mumbles, lips brushing against your hair. “sleep.”

nanami, who sees you staring at him when you run. watching the sweat trickle down his face. coating his neck, back, chest. it’s an everyday thing, but sometimes your gaze last a little longer. breaths, more like pants, a little a deeper (and not from the exercise).

nanami, who thinks you’re just so fucking filthy when your tongue laps up the sweat. desperate little whines as you try to get every drop. he lets his head roll back to allow you better access to his neck, chuckling when your tongue runs across his adam’s apple. “oh, sweetheart, you must be parched.”

nanami, who can feel you dripping through your leggings. soaking through every inch of clothing as the desire starts to built. driven to the extreme by a few salty droplets. when your hips rut against his semi, concealed by his tight gym shorts, he realizes what a mess you’re making.

nanami, who can only take so much. you’re stripped bare, sweaty clothes a heap at his feet as he pins you to the kitchen counter. legs hooked around his waist, cock fucking into you with the prettiest sounds.

nanami, who loves to take his time. to praise you, kiss you all over, make you feel how deeply his love runs. except in moments like these. when he barely has to fuck you to make your brain break, whines broken and his name slurred. he’ll wrap a hand around your throat and squeeze a little too tight, hips moving rougher than they probably should. your cunt is just so nice, so tight, so warm. and when you become a dumb little dog, licking her owner, how is he supposed to react?

“poor little puppy. you’re lucky daddy wants to breed you.”

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #nanami kento smut #nanami smut #kento smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #kento x reader #nanami kento #jjk nanami #ᡣ𐭩 hmms ᡣ𐭩 #i had this thought on the treadmill and binge wrote it at work #oops

[norrizzandpia]

Spa (LN4)

Summary: When a reality check causes Y/n to worry about him coming home to her every day for the rest of their lives.

Warnings: puking, mentions of panic attacks, mentions of death

The day had begun like any other. The couple woke up together in the hotel room paid for by McLaren, lugging themselves downstairs into the conference room that held a buffet just for the crew and drivers, before trudging back upstairs to change and get ready for the qualifying session. Neither one of them were awake enough to carry out a lengthy conversation with the other like they usually would, opting for comforting silence instead. They had gotten to the track easily, as well. Traffic being light and fans not crowding them with how early they had arrived.

Everything had been perfect.

Even when he began his laps, it looked like he was going to get pole position. There had been excitement and hollering as he rounded each corner and completed another lap. Completely contradictory to the silence that overtook the room when his car slammed into the wall and spun out.

She had been watching intently before it happened. The headphones placed on her as she gripped Cisca’s hand, both women being ecstatic at the possibility of their boy getting to start first at tomorrow’s race. Huge smiles on their faces and eyes plastered to the screen, they yelped out when engineers turned around to shoot them hopeful smiles at his performance.

“He’s doing so well!” Y/n exclaimed as Adam sidled up to his wife’s side.

Nodding and smiling, he looked at his son’s girlfriend, “Yeah! They’re saying he’s set to gain pole!”

At that, she had made a hop in the air and returned her eyes to his fast moving car. All three of them stood together at the next corner. The split second veering turned into their worst nightmares. One minute she was watching the love of her life succeed in completing another corner while the next his helmet was boggling side to side from the force of the accident. Her smile disappeared slowly, the beeping and yells around her not fully translating in her head for a few moments.

When she turned to his parents, however, it fully hit her. Cisca’s teary eyes and Adam’s shaking hand did her in.

“Was that him?” It was a stupid question to ask. For one, they had been watching him for ages, the camera never changing, and for two, the bright papaya colored car gleamed a “4” right on the front, staring her back almost as if to taunt her.

Nonetheless, she held onto hope someone would tell her it wasn’t her beloved partner in crime. Although, as somber as it was, that moment never came. Instead, she heard Andrea’s persistent voice off to the side, distant but still there.

“Lando, are you okay?” Silence.

“Lando, can you hear me?” Again, silence.

With the sound of Andrea’s pleading and the image of Lando’s smoking car, she ripped the headset off and stormed out of the room. The tears were running hot down her face and her whole body shook as she flung herself down different hallways in search of the bathroom. Images of their times together flashed in her mind, threatening the end of them. Pictures of him laughing at her jokes, the time they went out at 2 AM to get ice cream, his panic attacks, their fights, meeting his parents, her moving in with him. Everything mocked her now, as if dangling him right in front of her face like he wasn’t being lost to her at that very moment.

Her hand held her mouth closed as she spotted the bathroom’s sign. Once she got through, her body fell to the floor in a hunch, aggressively letting go of everything she had consumed with him that morning.

Her body cringed and cried as she suffered mentally and physically. Somewhere along the way, gentle hands appeared behind her to gather her hair and rub her back.

“It’s okay. He’s going to be okay, honey.” Cisca’s voice soothed as she coaxed the girl out of her turmoil.

Y/n would’ve asked questions about his condition and the updates she had missed, but her body wouldn’t allow her a moment to breathe. It continued to lurch her forward with the force of her dry-heaving and vomiting even after everything she had ever put into her body was forced up. If she was in her right mind, Y/n would’ve realized that the violent nature of her body’s reaction was in combination with the panic attack which had started the moment he crashed. Though, she wasn’t in her right mind, so she was left to take all the emotions at once and for all they were.

It had to have been an hour that Cisca and her sat like that, Y/n dry heaving before leaning over to puke again. The tears never ceased and she began to doubt her mental strength when it came to her boyfriend’s job and the risks he took every day.

“I’m scared.” She finally got out as the two women leaned against the stall’s walls.

“Me too, but he’s okay. After you left, he responded on the radio, "Only has a few bruises and scrapes.” Cisca tried to reassure.

However, Y/n shook her head, “Well, that’s good to hear, but my thing is,” She paused as she tried to find the right words, “How do you do this every weekend? Allow him to go out there and risk his life while you just have to stay put and be helpless.”

Cisca’s mouth dropped open in realization as she nodded, “It’s a fear we all have, so, I guess, that’s where I’ll start with it. You’re not alone. But, you do have to realize that he’s a trained professional who knows what he’s doing. You need to trust that Lando is capable of preventing these things on his own.”

“But, he didn’t today? How do we know there won’t be a next time and that next time won’t end up with just a few bruises and scrapes?” Y/n persisted.

His mother’s hand came to rest on her knee, “We don’t. I’m sorry, Y/n. I really wish I could tell you something better, something that will guarantee his safety, but I can’t. I know exactly how you’re feeling and I know that when I was going through it, I just wanted people to tell me he would be okay, but that’s just not the truth and to tell you that would be unfair.”

Y/n’s silence as she took in her words allowed for the door’s interruption. It squeaked and whined as it opened, revealing a bandaged Lando on the other side.

“I came looking for Y/n after Dad told me she rushed off. I got worried.” He said as he made his way further into the room, coming to stand in front of the open stall and smile down at some of his favorite women.

Cisca snorted as she got up to hug her son, “Worried? We’re the ones that should be worried.” As she pulled back from their embrace, she squished his cheeks and whispered, “Glad you’re okay.”

He smiled down at his Mom, the woman who had done so much for him, and said, “Can’t get rid of me that easily!”

Her short cackle was the last thing the couple heard as she shut the door, leaving them completely alone. Lando’s eyes trailed back down to his girl, on the floor and weak after her prior activities.

“You okay?” He whispered as he got down to sit beside her, his hand coming to rest on her thigh.

She nodded, “Yeah, just got sick a little. How are you though?”

He shook his head, “I’m fine. No need to worry about me. Seriously, though, Y/n, I heard the vomiting was bad and-”

“Lando, of course, we need to worry about you. You almost died.” She snapped, silencing his growing ramble.

He stared at her for a moment, “No, I didn’t. Yeah, I was in jeopardy of breaking a few bones and getting a concussion, but not death.” The tears in her eyes returning made him wrap her in his arms, “Baby, I’m okay. I’m always going to be okay. I’ll always come back to you.”

She nodded, wiping at her tears as she hid herself in his chest, “I know, but what if you don’t? What if you can’t avoid it and I lose you?”

Her hushed pleas for his comfort broke his heart as he cradled her head, “That’s not going to happen. Y/n, look at me,” He guided her face to look up, “you are too important to me to risk not being able to spend the rest of my life with. My job puts me at a higher risk of danger, yes, but it is completely in my control if I end up dead and that won’t ever happen. I love you too much to miss out on marrying you and growing old with you.”

Her small hands gripped at his waist as they leaned further into each other’s warm touch on the dirty bathroom floor. Y/n was quick to nod, not wanting to think about it anymore, as Lando laid his head down on top of hers.

His comforting embrace told her one thing, however.

Whatever happened, she would always be grateful for the times she got to love him.

Note: bro tell me why i dont know if i like this or not… but im posting it anyway bc sitting with Lando on the floor of a bathroom seemed too good to withhold

#f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #mclaren #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagines #lando norris edit #lando norris fanfiction #lando norris smut #lando norris #lando norris x you

[irisintheafterglow]

smoke his ass! (pro racer!gojo x you)

cw/tags: a lot of swearing lol, established relationship, banter and dialogue driven

note: didn't think this would get too long, but i liked writing this a lot! hope you enjoy :)

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

"that fucker in the ford is going to get smited if he doesn't stop being the ass-est human to ever exist."

"is it smited or smote? smot?" your pit lead shoots you a smirk, absolutely certain of who the 'fucker in the ford' was that was making your driver so infuriated. "i'm not sure smited is a word," suguru whispers through your mic.

"you're gonna be next, suguru geto. burnt to a crisp that would make hell jealous."

"geez, satoru," you mutter, praying that a convenient line of static or the sound of the wheels revving distorted his threats on any live feeds of his pov. "what's got you so worked up?"

"he needs to take me to dinner first before he rides my ass!" the last three words of his declaration blare in your headphones and you wince, already aware of the hearing loss you must experience from being around deafening engines all the time. the engine temperature spikes as satoru flicks the lever up a gear and makes a narrow pass around the second-place porsche. with the ford and the porsche eating his dust, he was able to regain some momentum with such an unexpected maneuver. he's quick to rein in the flare in his temper, though, and he can already predict your protests to pushing the car at an unnecessary time. "i know, i know. that pass was untimely, but i'm mad as hell right now."

"you're about to be madder," you say with no ounce of remorse and automatically tune out the groan of frustration crackling through the line. "i'm pitting you for new wheels and i wanna check your windscreen. that mcclaren crash during lap four probably threw some bad debris your way." his silence speaks volumes, his irritation obvious. yes, the stop may force satoru to work harder on his way back to the podium, but it was necessary to keep him safe for the remainder of the race. his car swerves unceremoniously into the pit lane and suguru's crew make quick work of replacing the tires. you meet his eyes through the window and find them seething, his gloves holding the wheel in a white-knuckle grip. before you could blink, he was zooming away again, adamant on showing the ford driver what the honored one is truly capable of. "you with me, satoru?"

"loud and clear. can i get a 'who's who' on that ford?"

"magic word?"

"i'm in shambles for you," he replies without missing a beat.

"look, you're climbing back to second and he's in fourth, satoru. he doesn't matter-"

"he plays dirty, so he does matter if he keeps trying to flip me into fucking oblivion," he counters and you sigh, defeated. you double-check the roster and see a name you weren't familiar with, someone who must have flown under the radar from the lower circuits.

"fushiguro. fushiguro toji." you watch the ferrari icon next to satoru's name steadily climb the leaderboard as he returns to his spot in third, with the porsche in front of him and the ford on his tail.

"new?"

"to these races, yeah, but it seems that he's dealt with drivers like you before."

"what do you mean, 'drivers like me?'"

"i mean that we've found a more reckless driver than you." the ford cuts a hard left to come parallel with the driver's side, barely missing one of satoru's back wheel wells. "case in point."

"then i think it's time he learned his place," satoru snarls. within seconds, he throws the car into a higher gear and swings wide on the following right turn, accelerating at the peak of his centripetal force and slamming on the gas at the straightaway. "how's that for reckless driving, asshole?"

"take a breath, hotshot," you chuckle and hear him click his tongue in defiance. you're slightly in awe of his move, but you weren't going to tell him that over comms. "you've still got a few more laps to go and you can easily burn out if you're not careful," you remind him but feel in your bones that he's found his way back into his groove, his own little pocket of racing that was created when it was only you on the line, him on the track, and a podium finish in sight.

"stay on the line?"

"i'm not going anywhere, sweetheart." you can hear him smile at the rare slip of affection, something you're very cautious about when you were both in professional settings. while your relationship with satoru was no secret, you tried to keep public reminders to a minimum to avoid overshadowing his racing career. you knew which story the press would choose first between his love life and his titles. "just get back faster."

"i'm trying, but this mercedes is giving me a rough time." you fight the urge to laugh, having seen this sequence play out numerous times in the past. towards the end of races where something threw him off, he tended to lose morale during the last few laps. however, since you became his lead engineer, you've developed the uncanny skill of saying the three magic words to fire him up again.

"you're in a ferrari, gojo satoru," you say. "smoke his ass." like clockwork, the words register in his mind and he finds a new sense of determination, rocketing past the mercedes and over the checkered line for another first-place finish on his shelf. "there you go, there's my speed demon boyfriend," you murmur in his ear when he tugs off his helmet and gloves and holds you close.

"sorry for getting pissy about the ford," he says quietly so that only you can hear it. "i hope i didn't hurt your ears too badly."

"they're still ringing," you joke, "but i'll be fine as long as you aren't arrested for assault on fushiguro toji." a dangerous glint catches in satoru's bright blue eyes, one that makes the corner of your mouth turn down in a scolding frown.

"i'm not doing anything," he sings innocently while you make your way up the stairs to the winners' stage. "not yet, at least. and, for the record, i'm elated that he didn't make podium." before he leaves, he's quick to give you a peck on the cheek that makes your face heat. "and, i love you a lot. i'm gonna go get our trophy now, so wait here."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #satoru x reader #satoru x you #satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk pro racing au #jjk au

[sugar-coat-it]

Mask kink with 2016 Halloween Matty <3

This is so specific, idk who the fuck is going to read this. Anyways, I’m a slut, hope you like my very niche love for Kylo Ren Matty (IT’S LITERALLY DECEMBER TOO, HALLOWEEN IS SO OVER I NEED TO BE PUT DOWN)

Fem! Reader 

Contains: Mask kink, unprotected penetrative sex (riding), low-key filthy dirty talk, praise, degradation (light), kink exploration, pussy slapping, hella pet names, them being sweetie pies 

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Matty is preparing his Kylo Ren costume for his Halloween show, totally unaware of his girlfriend’s raging mask kink.

—---------------------------------------

“Right, if I look like a wanker, I need you to just tell me!” Matty shouts from the hotel bathroom.

You smile to yourself as his voice echoes through the room, having been patiently waiting for him to show you the big surprise he had planned for the show in a few weeks on Halloween. 

“I’m sure it’s fine, Matty!” You call back, trying to coax him out of the bathroom.

Finally, he obliges, swinging the bathroom door open dramatically. The second he steps out, he’s swinging around a red lightsaber, trying to imitate the noises they make in the movies, all while dressed as Kylo Ren. Your eyebrows raise with a surprised laugh as he comes towards you, pretending to slice you with the fake, light-up lightsaber.

“Nah, never mind, I definitely look cool as shit,” He gloats, and you can tell he’s got that boyish grin on his face even from under the mask.

Your boyfriend tosses the lightsaber down onto the bed, now holding his hand out like he’s using the force. You give a playfully unimpressed stare, crossing your arms as he continues his antics.

“I’d force choke you, but you’d probably like it, you slut,” He rasps, trying to sound like Adam Driver but failing so miserably. He barely got the sentence out before he started giggling his loud, unfiltered laugh.

“Very funny,” You say straight-faced, pushing his tensed hand away from your face.

You take a moment to fully drink in the sight of him now that he’s not flailing the lightsaber around. He was draped in all-black fabric, leather gloved hands, and a mask covering all his features except a slit for his eyes. You swallow thickly, your mind going places it definitely should not because of a silly costume. 

“Yeah, you look cool, I like it,” You smile, trying not to be obvious with the way you’re attempting to process all of this… your gorgeous boyfriend wearing a mask like that, making a simmering feeling pool deep inside you.

“Uhuh. The band’s all gonna dress up like Star Wars characters too, it’s really mint,” He grins, practically bouncing on his heels with how excited he is about the little theme they put together.

As lovely as it all is that the band is doing a themed Halloween show, and it’s Star Wars, and Matty seems thrilled, you’re a little preoccupied with the way he looks with only his pretty brown eyes looking back at you through the space in the mask. 

“Are you listening?” He interrupts, cocking his head at you with some sass to the motion.

You sit up straighter on the bed, acting like you’d been burned by the way he caught you daydreaming. You try to think of an excuse, something, anything, but what comes out is:

“Yes, I’m listening, but also, you look far too good for someone wearing a Star Wars costume you got off Party City,” 

You can see his eyebrows raise through the slit in the mask, an amused laugh coming from his throat. Clearly, he didn’t expect the rushed response of praise to come from your lips. Silently, he steps closer. You don’t need to see his face to know he’s smirking, growing emboldened by how enamored you seem at the moment. He places a gloved hand on your chin, holding it to force you to look up at him as he towers over your seated position. You can feel heat prickling at your cheeks at the intense eye contact, his eyes are dark, from what you can see. 

“What? Is it cause you fancy Adam Driver?” He teases, running his thumb over your jawline. 

You shake your head at him, eyes wide as one of your most secret fantasies comes to life. Never in a million years would you have asked Matty to do something like this for you, but now, your wet dream has practically fallen into your lap. With his free hand, he reaches up to start to take the mask off, but you quickly reach to grab his wrist, your body moving faster than your brain. Matty freezes, you can practically see the cogs in his mind turning as he tries to figure out why you stopped him. He’s silent, waiting for you to explain yourself as he raises a puzzled eyebrow at you.

“Could you… keep it on?” You suggest softly as if slowly dipping your toe into the pool of possibilities.

“Keep it on?” He echoes, an amused tone to his voice like he’s not sure if you’re playing with him or not.

You nod slowly, looking a little nervous to be broaching the idea. He chuckles, a newfound darkness to his voice as it starts to click for him. He grips your jaw a little tighter, a glint in his eyes that you can’t quite read.

“Ohh, I see,” He says lowly, now moving to sit on the bed and swiftly pull you into his lap.

You swallow hard, anticipation pulsing in your veins as you settle on his lap, his leather-gloved hands resting on your hips. You can see the way Matty’s eyes sparkle with mischief now that you’re closer, only able to read his expressions through the slit in the mask. There’s something thrilling about it that you can’t put your finger on. He leans in, getting closer to your ear, voice slightly muffled by the plastic as he whispers to you, using this newfound discovery to his full advantage.

“Have you got like a kink for that or something?” He teases, knowing full well that you must if you’re reacting the way you are.

You’re silent, lips pressed together in a thin line as you neither confirm nor deny his accusation. He gives your hips a squeeze, a triumphant chuckle rumbling in his chest. As slightly embarrassing as this all is, him having this edge on you is making you hot and bothered. 

“Aw, my dirty girl,” Matty coos, his thumbs now rubbing little circles into your hip bones.

Your breath catches in your throat at that. You’ll never be used to how his silver tongue always seems to conjure up just the right words to get you soaked. Your boyfriend’s talent with words doesn’t just extend to his songwriting, he’s also the filthiest dirty talker you’ve ever heard. 

“Y’know, if you didn’t want to see my mug while we fuck, you could have just said so, fucking hell,” He laughs, holding a hand to his chest dramatically in mock offense. 

“You know that’s not it, Matty,” You quip quickly, with a roll of your eyes.

“I know, I know,” He relents, bumping his forehead against yours apologetically. The gesture is a little more awkward than intended with the mask on his face, but it’s still cute. 

A moment of silence passes like neither of you knows where to go from here. You’ve never actually considered the logistics of your little infatuation. Deciding to make a move and break the tension, you slowly lift your shirt over your head, watching as Matty’s eyes instantly flick down to your chest, letting out a little satisfied hum as his gloved hands slide up your sides. Skilled fingers circle around your back, undoing the clasp of your bra in a split second. Letting out a shaky breath, you let the sensation of the cool leather of his gloves on your tits put a haze on your mind. The roughness of where they’re stitched together grazes over your nipples as he cups your breasts. 

“How’s this gonna work? I can’t even kiss you,” Matty pouts, giving your nipple a pinch between his thumb and his forefinger. 

You whine, back arching at the sudden rush of pleasure he allows you, shamelessly sliding further down in his lap. Your hips are right over the slight bulge in his trousers now, you bite your lip at the feeling. Need is clouding your thoughts as you try and piece together how you want this to go, lewd images flashing through your head. 

“I can still ride you though,” You suggest, rolling your hips down against his to punctuate your point. 

Matty grins beneath the mask, you can see it in the way his eyes twinkle at you. He circles his thumbs around your nipples, relishing in the way your back arches so prettily for him as he does it. He only grows harder as you grind onto him, a little grunt leaving his lips at the delicious friction. 

“I like the sound of that,” He murmurs, eyes growing more lidded at the idea, “Should I take everything off but the mask, then?” 

You nod at him with an excited smile. Matty can’t help but chuckle adoringly at how eager you seem to try this out. He claps his hands down on your ass suddenly, making you squeak as the resounding smack rings out in the quiet hotel room. He then carefully moves you off of his lap to shed himself of the cheap costume, making intense eye contact with you as he undresses. That’s one thing about Matty, he absolutely loves making you squirm with unflinching eye contact, whether he’s fucking you or just trying to get you riled up. And you’ll be damned if it doesn’t work every time. 

With your clothes and his costume in a pile on the floor, he sits against the headboard, his cock hard with pearls of precum dripping against his stomach. He watches you through the slit in the mask as you approach slowly, crawling over to him with the eyes of a siren. The tension is thick in the air as you sit on his thighs, his hands instantly finding their way to your sides, tenderly running along your skin. A shiver licks up your spine at the feeling, but you need so much more than just his fingers ghosting along your body. Your heart thrums in your chest as you stare down at him, totally bared to you except for the mask, his tattooed skin on full display for your eyes to devour. 

“It’s hot as balls under this thing,” Matty grumbles, his hot, heavy breath making it warm under the mask, it’s only getting worse as he gets hornier. 

You give him a look and he tries to relax his body with a sigh, much more intent on pleasing you than anything else, he just likes complaining. His head goes slack with a thunk of the plastic mask against the headboard, making him giggle. You just shake your head at him with a smile, now grabbing hold of him at the base of his cock, lifting your hips over him. His fingers constrict at your sides, holding you still so you can’t sink down onto him, making you look down at him with furrowed brows. 

“Don’t you need me to get you ready first?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

You just smile at him coyly, sliding a hand down between your thighs. His eyes are glued to your fingers as you spread your folds for him, showing him just how soaked you are, practically dripping down your thighs. You watch his eyes go wide as he murmurs a breathy “fuck” at the little display. Clearly, you don’t need any preparation. Matty’s hands relax again, allowing you to continue. Looking very pleased with yourself, you run the tip of his cock through the arousal gathered between your thighs, both of you letting out a little sigh at the feeling. Once you felt he was thoroughly slicked with your honey, you align yourself with him and sink slowly, mewling at the feeling of him stretching you out inch by inch. Matty’s head tilts back with a moan as you envelop him perfectly, fingers digging into your hips.

“Ohh, god. Perfect little fucking cunt…” He mutters, pussy drunk already and you’ve only just started.

You rock your hips a few times, just letting yourself adjust to the slight ache of him filling you so snugly, placing your hands on his shoulders to support your body. Your clit drags against his pelvis, catching against his skin as you grind down on him slowly, pulling a moan from your lips. Matty’s hands guide your hips, helping you rock back and forth as he watches you like you’re a work of art before him. 

“C’mon pretty girl, go ahead and fuck yourself on me,” Matty encourages, giving your hips a tap with his fingers. 

You whimper at the gravelly tone of his voice as he lets filth spill from his mind right to his lips. You waste no time following his instructions, starting to bounce in his lap with vigor, looking down for a moment to watch as he disappears inside you. You moan softly every time you drop down onto his shaft, tits bouncing as you move, much to Matty’s pure delight. Your eyes squeeze shut as you tilt your head back, focused on keeping up your pace and listening to the sweet sound of Matty’s grunts and moans.

“Mm, hey, need you to look at me, sweet girl,” Matty groans, reaching back to grab a handful of your ass to get your attention. 

Whining softly, you let your eyes open hazily, looking down at him with wet, parted lips as you pant for him. Your thighs are burning as you keep bouncing in his lap, doing your best to not let the pace falter. You don’t have to see his whole face to know he’s smiling right now, his eyes crinkling at the corners through the slit in the mask.

“Talk to me,” You say softly, a plea for him to make you throb and clench around him with just his words. 

“Yeah? Want me to make you cream all on my cock while I talk dirty to you? You fucking love that shit don’t you?” He rasps, pausing with a moan as you clench hard around him, roughly digging his fingers into the plushness of your ass. 

You watch in awe as his eyes roll back, pretty toffee-colored irises almost disappearing beyond his eyelids. Fuck, you don’t even have to see the rest of his features to know how good he’s feeling right now. 

“Fuuuucking hell,” He drawls, “Fucking clenching ‘round me like that, that’s my girl,”

Reaching around to your front, Matty places a firm slap on your cunt, the wet sound of it is honestly pornographic, especially followed by the loud yelp you make at the feeling. 

“Fuck! Matty-” You start, but you’re cut off by your own squeal as he lands a few more quick spanks to your sopping pussy. 

Your hips stutter as your velvety walls clamp around him hard, feeling so good that you almost forget that you’re supposed to be riding him. You regain your rhythm when he begins bucking up into you, aiding you in fucking yourself on him. Your nails dig into his shoulder as you continue, moaning wantonly as he stares up at you intensely, eyes dark with the shadow of the mask. He knows his girl well enough to know that now’s the time to help ease you over the edge into euphoria. 

“Beautiful girl… ohh, just look at you,” He admires, moving to slowly circle two of his fingers around your clit, “Taking my cock like a dream, aren’t you, love?”

You cry out as he starts toying with your clit, inching closer and closer to sweet release as that feeling inside you builds, tightening familiarly. His name falls from your lips like a mantra, your mind too far gone to think of anything else. Fuck, god bless cheap Star Wars costumes from Party City. 

“Matty- Matty, M’gonna cum-” You gasp, your back arching as your orgasm rears its head. 

At that, he speeds up his fingers, hips snapping up into you with a vengeance to get you there. He wants, no, he *needs* to see you fall apart on top of him. His eyes narrow with focus as his skillful fingers rub at your clit, bracing you with a hand at your lower back. 

“I know, I know baby, feels so good, huh?” He coos between heavy breaths, “Such a good girl for me sweetheart, fuck. Cum for me, angel,” And you do, oh, you do. A broken cry wracks through your body, shaking all over as he gets rougher with you, sending you hurdling into the abyss of deep pleasure. Any semblance of rhythm in your hips is gone now, bucking wildly in his lap as the building feeling snaps inside you. Matty watches you with wide eyes, cock throbbing inside you as he relishes in you making a mess of yourself for him. He’ll never get over how beautiful you look when you cum, your head tossed back in a silent cry, the sheen of sweat on your skin making you look like you’re glowing. He gently rubs at your lower back while working his fingers against you, easing you through your orgasm lovingly while fucking up into your tight cunt. You’re an angel to him. He spills inside you with a whine and a rushed warning to you, unable to hold back with how fucking amazing you look right now, shaking on top of him like that. You gasp hazily as you feel his cum paint your insides, warmth flooding you as he finishes with eager thrusts. 

“Fucking hell,” He groans, going limp against the headboard as his arms wrap around you, pulling you against his chest to hold you, deft fingers now carding through your damp hair. 

Your whimpers start to taper off now, just letting yourself rest against your beautiful boyfriend’s shoulder, legs quivering a bit as you feel him start to soften inside you. With a huff, he rips the mask off of his face and tosses it to the edge of the bed. Blinking your eyes open, you can’t help but breathily laugh at how his damp curls stick to his face, he wasn’t kidding about how hot it was under there. 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh at your boyfriend that melted his fucking face off for your sake,” He chuckles, digging his fingers into your sides as revenge. 

You yelp, hurriedly grabbing at his wrists to keep him from tickling you. He just laughs, tilting his head forward to rest it against your forehead now, his damp curls framing his face prettily. He leans down slightly to press a kiss to the tip of your nose. You’re both flushed and smell of sex, skin warm to the touch as you melt into the other's embrace.

“Thank youuu,” You sing, truly grateful that he was so open to trying this for you, “It was really, really hot,”

“Glad you had fun, love. And, y’know, when I’m on stage with this on, I’m only gonna be able to think of you riding my dick,” He grins, hands wandering to give your ass a teasing squeeze. 

Your cheeks burn a bit at his comment, a similar grin spreading across your lips. As fun as this was, you missed seeing that smile. 

“Lucky you,” You whisper, capturing his lips in a tender kiss. 

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[cameronspecial]

You Saved My Life

Pairing: Zach MacLaren x Reader

Warnings: Getting Hit By A Car

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.4K

Summary: After getting hit by a car, Zach only has one thing to say to Y/N.

Masterlist

Y/N has told her boyfriend multiple times to wear a helmet whenever he rides that stupid bicycle. She has heard so many horror stories about accidents, but her pleas are always met with a reminder that he knows how to ride a bike. Watching him slam into the car and flip over onto his back is the scariest moment of her life. She runs to his side and her first-aid training kicks in. She doesn’t find a pulse when she checks for one, so she immediately gets to work on chest compression. She orders the driver of the car to call 911. As the seconds tick by with no pulse, she panics more and more. Finally, he lets out gasps with a jerk forward and she takes him into her arms. “I thought I lost you,” she cries, kissing his cheeks. The sound of the ambulance approaches and before she knows it, a paramedic is pulling her away so that they can assess Zach. 

———

Connie and Matt were very grateful that Y/N was there with Zach during his accident. They, of course, invited her over for dinner not only because she is his girlfriend, but as a thank you as well. Y/N and Zach wait for dinner to be made on the couch. Instead of helping with the food like she normally would, she is making sure Zach is okay. Their relationship is new-ish. It is about three months old. He leans against the back of the couch, staring up at her with big eyes. She returns his gaze with a confused look. Something feels different about the way that she is looking at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she questions him. He shrugs, leaning in for a kiss, “I didn’t thank you for basically saving my life.” She giggles and meets his lips. When they pull away, he still has that goofy look on his face and she grows concerned because of his concussion.

“Are you okay? Why are you looking at me like that?” He scoots closer to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “You saved my life. And it made me realize that I never said I love you,” he whispers so his family can’t hear. She moves her face closer to his, “You don’t have to say it just because I saved your life.”

“It’s not because of that. I was just too scared of saying it before. However, I think I’d much rather get rejected by you than die knowing I never said this. I love Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N.”

“Well, I love you too, Zachary Adam MacLaren.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @victory-in-the-llama

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