Would you rather be hunted by dark vamp Peter or dark shifter Steve.
And what's your favorite thing you've written so far and why? And it doesn't have to be fanfiction related.
My favorite thing I've written as of late is Claimed as it was a comfort fic for me.
As for dark vamp Peter vs dark shifter Steve. Well...
Want
Pairing: Dark! Werepanther! Steve Rogers x Daycare Teacher Reader
Word count: 760
Warnings for: Dark fic (no smut)
Werepanther AU Masterlist //Main Masterlist //Library
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When Steve walks into the daycare to pick up his son, he immediately shudders, assaulted by your scent. It makes the panther inside him stir...how the place reeks of you. It also fills him with rage - white hot rage that makes his blood boil... He hates that so many get to smell that sweet aroma of yours.
Ripes peaches and coconut - the smell of your shampoo - paired with the bubbling nervousness and tiny spark of fear whenever he's around you. It's the fear he loves most. That quiver in your gaze whenever his own lingers on your curves, that hitch in your throat you pathetically attempt to conceal when he approaches, the shrinking into yourself whenever he casually brushes past you.
You make his heart race... and his cock thob.
He is hooked and must have you. Lest he be driven mad. He now understands what Bucky felt when he found his mate all those months ago. Because he feels it too when he looks at you. A longing he can't shake. An aching want that burns deep inside his chest. Roaring even louder when you're this close. Smiling up at him shyly.
Steve smiles back. Grant is by your side. His chubby hand is twined with yours. He's beaming up at you, cornflower eyes blooming with joy whenever they rest on you. A low purr rises in his throat, his panther unfurling at the sight. He can't help thinking how right this looks and feels, you with his son.
"Mr. Rogers, nice to see you," you greet. Steve is pleased with the way your gaze travels to the floor, struggling to meet his.
"I told you to call me Steve, sweetheart," he replies smoothly.
Your hesitation permeates the air around you. As you roll the plump flesh of your lips between your teeth with the most adorable frown, Steve's frustration grows. It takes every bit of self-control in him not to tackle you to the ground in front of a bunch of confused toddlers and shocked parents and have you keen your delicious submission beneath him. He bets you'd cry. And that your tears would taste so sweet.
You chuckle lightly. "I don't think it'd be very proper of me to do that, Mr. Rogers."
Steve almost mirrors you laugh with one of his own. If you knew the plethora of improper things involving you constantly playing in his head like an all too vivid daydream on a ceaseless loop. If you knew. But you don't.
Which is why you switch topics without a care.
"Oh... are you sure you're okay to help watch the children on their field trip? We all know how important your work is, Mr. Rogers..."
"Nonsense, doll. I wouldn't rob Grant of this opportunity to explore."
Just like Steve wouldn't rob himself of an opportunity to explore your body under the cover of darkness and distance from too many prying eyes.
At the mention of his name, Grant chirps happily and Steve bends down to pick him up.
"You'll really come this time, daddy?" The pintsize version of him inquires with a pout. Steve tousles the toddler's blonde locks.
"I wouldn't miss it for the world, buddy. Daddy plans to have lots of fun on this trip."
Fun. The word bounces in his brain, sending a rush of adrenaline through his veins as each of his thoughts converges towards you.
He's packed heavily for the trip. All the gear he brought took up more space than he planned. It's all carefully mapped out in his head. How he'll get you away from the rest, chase you as you inevitably try to run, and finally lay claim on what's his.
"It's really sweet, how good you are at taking care of him on your own," you say, fiddling with your hands.
The way your innocence clogs the air, washing over him like a balm, calling to him like a siren's song, damn near has Steve spill his release in his pants.
"I'd do anything for Grant."
"You're a good dad."
And you will be a perfect mother. You will be all that he needs. The certainty of it sizzles below his skin.
As you walk away after a stilted, polite goodbye, Steve has to quiet the panther in him as it paces in impatience, the craving tearing a hole through his chest. A hole in the shape of your smile, your tempting curves and your wide, terrified eyes.
Soon, he whispers to himself, to quell the beast in him.
For before the weekend ends, Steve will have claimed you.
