seen from Uzbekistan
seen from Switzerland
seen from France
seen from Mexico
seen from Mexico
seen from Mexico
seen from Mexico
seen from Mexico
seen from Mexico
seen from Mexico
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
ミ★ the walls come down ꜜ WARWICK!VANDER.
𖦹 masterlist. 𖦹 buy me a ko-fi!
「 summary,, requested by a lovely anon; could you write a smut fic where Warwick!Vander recognises reader?. 」
「 ꜜcontent,, smut ⋆ unprotected sex ⋆ monster fucking ⋆ belly bulging ⋆ creampie ⋆ overstimulation ⋆ kinda of sweet sex(?) ⋆ sappy and cut off aftercare. ꜜwc,, 0,5k. 」
© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐇𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐑. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!
you don't know how this spiralled the way it did — your back being harshly pressed against the crappy sleeping bag you had dragged into the greenhouse when Viktor let Vander sleep there — his impossibly fat cock filling you up in a way that makes you feel like you're suffocating.
low animalistic grunts and growls sound from him as he hammers his heavy hips into yours, his pace not once faltering. your eyes roll back each time you catch a glance of the clear bulge in your stomach, as your fingers press down against it occasionally Vander lets out a rough snarl. his pace only quickens at the feeling.
" Vander-! slow- " you gasp, your nails digging into his thick and hairy biceps. your finger tips occasionally reach the metal, flinching at the somehow cold metal. " oh fuck! " you cry out as the bullying of your insides causes you to tip over into what you think must be your fourth orgasm by now.
Vander growls at the feeling of your tight, hot and wet walls spasming around him once again. finally, it was enough to tip him over the edge as well — his heavy hips stilling with a brutal final thrust and what could only be described as a roar as he spills his load into you. he buries his head against your chest and you gasp at the feeling, his thick cum leaking out in obscene amounts. you could feel your belly swell with each spurt.
you lay there, occasionally spasming beneath him as you both come down from your intense highs. all you can do is look up at the glass roof, your hands still firmly holding his thick biceps as you feel him take deep and heavy breaths.
" Vander? " you quietly call out, dragging your hand to hold the back of his head.
he lets out a sound, low and rough, akin to what you could only assume to be 'five more minutes' as he nuzzles his face impossibly closer into your chest. you let out a breathy laugh, combing your fingers through the thick fur atop his head. your eyes watch the small twitches from his long ears each time your gently brush against them, mesmerised by this intensely calm version of him.
" okay, you can have five more minutes. " you quietly respond, a tired smile on your lips. Vander lets out a pleased sound and a long exhale. " you better not fall asleep on me big guy, cause i need to get us cleaned up in a minute or two. " Vander makes a displeased sound — typical Vander. even before he was changed he'd love nothing more than to stay buried inside you for as long as he possibly could.
your heart clenches at the thought, and Vander can feel the sudden change in emotion. he grumbles, slowly lifting his heavy head off your chest to look at your face. he tilts his head, a clear 'is everything okay?'. you smile, smoothing your hand down to his cheek. " i'll be okay, now that i have you back again. " you whisper.
Vander's eyes close, a low, sad sound leaving him as he leans down to press his forehead against yours. you close your eyes too, nudging your nose against his much, much larger one.
life was going to be difficult for him to adjust to again, but you think everything will be alright again now that he's here with you.
authors note y'all..... that turned out way sweeter than i intended. i wanted to go crazy with the feral fucking, but honestly i just wanna hold Warwick!Vander and tell him everything will be alright... 😭🫠 act 2 of s2 F U C K E D me U P and i'm gonna slowly heal by writing these Vander fics 😭❤️🩹
hey hey!!! im so happy that you write for ersatz, i've been clinically obsessed with it ever since it came out!
idk if you do multiple characters at the same time, but i'd like to request the main four(mophead, munroe, carrie and warwick) romantic headcanons with gender neutral reader.
thank yew so much and i hope you have a great rest of your day/evening. bye bye!
A/N:YESSS OFC I AM HAPPY TO PROVIDE! Again, this might be ooc but oh well. (Image credits to @/marshalllir)
Edit:This got fucked up for a second, hopefully it's back to normal now?
ERSATZ MOPHEAD, MUNROE, WARWICK, AND CARRIE ROMANTIC HEADCANONS
MOPHEAD
Double checks if you're okay with everything. Hugs, kisses, touches, nicknames, etc.
"Are...Are you sure I can do this" "Is it alright if I kiss you?" "You sure you- Do you want this? You can always say no-"
^ You will have to tell them that they don't need to ask for permission every single time. They may still ask anyway.
A little bit braver on the battlefield now that they have something to fight for.
Enjoys practicing shooting and hand-to-hand with you immensely. You might have to convince them to be more aggressive during said hand-to-hand though.
Not a fan of PDA mostly out of embarrassment, but they won't be mad at you if you engage it.
"What're you doing!?! I mean- I don't mind it- but-"
So so so so so clingy when you're alone together. You're the only bit of warmth they have in this hellhole, and the last thing they want is for you to be snuffed out.
Stays by your side when you're wounded in battle, and will give you their gas mask without a second thought.
"Please, I can't- You NEED to stay together. Please."
Their confidence does go up and their anxiety goes down thanks to you. Who knew one needed kindness to grow?
Says "I love you" as much as they can. They don't know when it's the last time.
"I love you so much, you know that?" "God, I love you." "I love you!"
Looks at you and anything you show them with such fascination. #1 active listener!
Shares everything with you. Rations, cigarettes, water, bullets, everything.
"Do you want this?" "Here, I don't need it." "Can you hold onto this for me?"
Kisses you like you'll shift away from them if they press any harder. They know you're not fragile, but they don't trust themself to not break you anyway.
Prefers cheek/temple kisses.
Lets you brush/braid their hair. They'll do the same to you if you have hair.
Asks you all the questions nobody else will answer.
"Where are we going?" "Do you know anybody on this list?" "We'll be okay, right?" "Are we ever going to get out of here?"
Mophead may have lost their memory, but at least they can live in yours
MUNROE
So so so SO in denial when he feels those butterflies in his chest. He's already lost Eriche, he can't lose you either.
Sticks to your side like glue. Wherever you go, he goes.
If you get hurt, he will quite literally seize up in shock and fear. This wasn't supposed to happen. It was supposed to be different this time.
Carves your name into his skin, just in case the Machine doesn't spare him.
Constantly looking for excuses to interact with you.
"(Insert name) knows how to work these, let me ask them." "You wanna play cards with me? No betting or anything, Don't worry-" "Do you want to practice shooting with me?" "Can I join you?" "Mind if I sit here?"
Doesn't outwardly say "I love you" that much, but the way he'll hold you after a nightmare or a long day is very telling. It's like you'll slip through his fingers if he doesn't hold you tightly, securely enough.
Kisses you quickly but with a starving want. You're going to be gone.
Prefers kissing your shoulder, hand, or wrist.
Would be so grateful if you helped brush his hair/help with upkeep. He was considering cutting it with how messy it was getting.
He'd never hurt you on purpose, though. Will get extremely upset if he grazes you with a weapon by accident.
"Ah, shit- I'm so sorry. It was an accident, I swear-"
Munroe has lost so much because of this godforsaken war. He hopes you won't be lost too.
WARWICK
Panics.
This is so unprofessional of him, whether you're a higher up, lower rank, or the same as him. He can't do this.
Makes you a good example to the others. You're his shining star, the perfect solider (to him, at least.)
"Excellent work out there, (Insert name)." "I'd recommend asking (Insert name), they'd know what to do."
Will not-so-subtlely ask you on "dates"
He's a romantic at heart when it calls. Whether it be sharing some coffee, simply talking, or playing a game of dice or cards, quality time with you may not be a forever. He treasures it the best he can.
"Why don't you join me this afternoon? If I remember, you didn't finish that story from last time."
So. WARM. His hugs are perfect for colder nights in the base.
Randomly gives you his hat or coat.
Scary dog privileges. Somebody scum a ration off of you? It's back thanks to him. Somebody being mean to you? They're shrinking away in cowardice.
Will light your cigarettes for you with his own if you smoke.
If you don't smoke, he'll make sure to do it away from you.
It's very hard to kiss him thanks to the gas mask being melded into his face, so he prefers nuzzling into you or giving you little licks.
Prefers "kissing" you on the chin/jaw, hand, neck, cheek, anywhere really.
Kiss the side of his face or his "snout" please, it would make him MELT.
Brick wall of a man. Lay on top of him, he's the perfect mattress.
Manhandler. Will pick you up if he thinks you're being annoying.
Will get so so bashful if you call him handsome or compliment him in any way.
"...ahem- Thank you...." "You really think I'm....goodness-"
Warwick has lost a lot thanks to the war. You're the reminder that he's still human.
CARRIE
Long game with this mf.
Such a tease. Poking you, calling you nicknames, he grabs you by the back of the neck to watch you squirm. You need an iron will to deal with him.
If you're not comfortable with any teasing though, he'll immediately stop. He's not a monster, even if he looks like one.
In so much denial. Romance is unnecessary, it's going to get him killed. Oh, but you. You're ruining him.
Finds any excuse to talk to you, be with you, he's an absolute dog.
"Fancy seeing you here, you following me or something?" "I'm going with you too, you're going to get yourself killed out there."
Slips you extra things. Trinkets, cigs, food.
"Don't mention it. You're hardly resourceful."
Scary dog privileges number 2. Instead of intimidating other soldiers into leaving you alone, he just picks fights. He's bitten so many people for you.
Randomly just. Flops down next to you. He may not even say anything, he just sits there.
If you're wounded on the field, it's hell on earth. He's half calling you an idiot, half panicking.
"You dumbass! How did you get shot? The bastard was barely aiming straight! Hold still-"
Stops throwing himself into dangerous situations. You give him a reason to live.
He never says "I love you" with words. He says it with standing next to you with a hand on your shoulder, defending you when you get in trouble, listening to you.
"You're not...so bad, to be honest." (It's the closest he's ever going to get.)
Uses you for body heat, little shithead.
Kissing is a uh, challenge with those chompers. He has to be very methodical about it, so he prefers shoulder, forehead, and arm kisses.
If you're fascinated with his teeth, he's going to get bashful.
"Oh what, these? Ugly things, aren't they? Annoying as shit, too- What? You think they're....you're fucking crazy."
Hugs you in private, and they're bone crushing. He'll bury your face into your body and mumble sweet nonsense. He'll favor your scent over blood and burning flesh any day.
Playful biting. Sometimes you wonder if he secretly wants to consume you so you never have to go away.
Carrie didn't think he had anything to lose besides his rations. But he's glad that he has you to hold onto.
A/N:So so so normal about these guys! If you have any requests, please submit them!
Slinks on over. Heard you write Ersatz. Maybe the main 4 with a reader who’s just, flat out, not supposed to be in the trenches? Like they’re from a nearby village, and they have a tendency to pop on by and say hi, and they’re real damn lucky too, not a single death, which is good because they couldn’t be brought back if they did die, they’re not enlisted, just curious.
A/n: *slides this back to you over the counter* enjoy anon, also there's some Lieutenant Kelly in this, on the house ;) and can be read as platonic or romantic!
The most Unexpected Visitor
(image credit goes to @marshalllir )
Mophead, Munroe, Carrie, Warwick, Kelly x Civilian!Reader
tags: reader has dead parents yay :D, reader has some cooking skills, injuries, 'Mophead is pretty' appreciation hours, body horror, attempt at forbidden friendship/romance, Carrie calls reader 'pipsqueak' like once, guns, violence, fluff, alcohol, gore, panic attacks, hurt/comfort.
Scenario beginning:
It began a few weeks ago when you first noticed your dog coming back sicker than usual whenever they'd run off into the wilderness. The vet in town said there wasn't anything that could be done to help, which scared you.
You didn't have much left since the war began, except your parents old house and belongings sat on the edge of the village and the wilderness. And the last thing you wanted to lose now was your dog, but it made you wonder about what your dog had been getting into out there.
You'd been warned not to wander too far into them, given the circumstances, not to mention the countless trucks you'd see drive by carrying Crown Army supplies or recruits.
To say curiosity won over when your dog came back with an odd gas mask stuck to their face was an understatement, as you checked them over, they weren't hurt or had anything nefarious happen to them, just different now.
And healthier, thankfully.
So you took the risk and kept up with your dog the next time they ran off, following as close as you could till you came to overlook the vast empty land with a military base smack right in the middle.
Surely a look wouldn't hurt, right? To get a peek inside the Crown Army's base and possibly meet a soldier who looked as strange as your dog.
Mophead
You tripped into one of the trenches by accident and landed right on top of them. It wasn't your fault they were hard to see with no barbed wire around both sides.
You yelped in pain, realizing you'd landed on a soldier and were fumbling apologies left and right as they got up, the impact having knocked their lotus mask off their face as they scrambled for their rifle, thinking you were an enemy as they pointed it at you.
You were stunned when you first saw them, even if they were pointing a rifle a few inches from your face with a shaky hand, this was what the soldiers looked like?
They looked far too beautiful to be soldier. All pale, long hair and big, wide eyes, you'd normally see someone like them modeling for the paper to promote war and enlistment, not being in it.
"A-are you an enemy?"
Mophead stuttered unsure of what to do in this situation being faced with a civilian, they didn't even know what any place outside of the trenches looked like thanks to their amnesia.
"Please don't be an enemy...I-I don't think you're an enemy, you don't really look the part...."
They say that before tightening the grip on their rifle, their voice takes on a harsh tone as they scowl.
"Unless that's what you want me to think. Who are you?"
It's a very confusing and mildly terrifying interaction for both of you tbh.
After confirming you are actually a civilian from the nearby town, they don't take the idea of you being out here well, even with your curious behavior.
Mophead was quite jealous of you in the beginning, not shackled down by a choice they didn't even make, watching you exert your free will and wander where you pleased, as free as a bird oddly irked them.
Even more annoying seeing you decided to come HERE of all places, so close to the fight, did you want to die?
"W-well go home, this place is off limits, wh-why would you even come here? It's not safe at all!"
Insists you stay nearby as they escort you to the entrance of the base, hoping nobody will notice as they try to shoo you off like some stray pet.
Mophead nearly jumps out of their skin when they see you climbing down the hill towards the base again, waving excitedly to catch their attention as if they hadn't pointed their rifle at your face.
You win them over quite quickly, talking about your morning like they were an old friend. It was a 180 to the way the soldiers treated them, you're a breath of fresh air compared to the harsh environment they were trapped in. Soon gaining the courage to tell you about their day and formally introduce themselves to you.
"It's nice to meet you, e-even under these weird circumstances....I'm just called Mophead, so...call me that."
Asks you about home when they get comfortable talking to you, assuring themselves you're safest here at the base, and it's not like you're bleak enough go wandering near the trenches again...they hope.
If you have any hobbies they'll try to take one up it it piques Mophead's interest, be it drawing, writing, sewing, flower pressing with what you find on your way to visit, scrapbooking, even just harmonizing with music on a little radio is worth trying at least once to them.
It helps them build their own identity and gain a new skill, and it gives them a chance to be close to you both in sharing a passion for something.
Mophead appreciates when you teach them how to braid or style their hair, keep it out of their eyes, and 'show off their pretty face' as you put it, not shying away from calling them attractive, much to their surprise.
They hadn't really thought about the appearance til you brought it up, but they take pride in the fact that you find them not only pretty but a safe person to be around.
Will nearly pass away if you bring them gifts from or any homemade food to share with them. They don't have any memories of eating good food, so no matter your cooking skills, it's all they want to eat.
Be it savory, sweet they'll take what you give them.
Enjoys talking with you in their bunk, even if it's a bit short to sit, talking about anything and everything as they press another bundle of flowers you brought them into a book along with the wrapper of the first candy they ever tried.
Document their days through the things you bring them, like a memory bank, writing some entries here and there to read to you when you come to visit again.
You give them a reason worth fighting for, not only from knowing you but in what you show them, photographs of your home and countryside, snippets of what the newspapers say, stories of your life make it all seem so beautiful and worth protecting.
They can't teach you to fight since they don't know how to do it themselves, but they'll give you their knife if you even run into trouble when traveling between your house and the base, making you promise not to travel in bad weather or if they're out on in the field, they'd feel horrible if they were the reason for getting hurt.
And if you get hurt in some way? All hell breaks loose.
If it's a scrape on your knee or landing wrong on your ankle when jumping down on your way to the base and taking a tumble in the dirt, you can ensure Mophead will personally escort you to the nurse themselves, your status as a civilian be damned.
It's one of the first times you see Mophead act genuinely scary if the nurse in the infirmary tries to brush you two off, like it isn't their job to help people? Especially civilians.
"Your job is to fix injuries, who cares if it's a civilian? A wound is a wound, now fix it! Or just give me the supplies, and I'll do it myself."
Please don't try to argue with them, it only makes them realize how different you two are. You belong to a world that makes every moment worth living and enjoying, they're stuck forever in a war to defend people like you.
To die and come back so you won't have to ever experience that kind of life.
"You're not like me! You're nothing like me, y-you should...you shouldn't have made a risk like that, especially in such harsh weather, what would have happened if you couldn't move or or-."
You only have one chance at living, and in a place like this, where anyone could hurt you with no thought for it, just how they were trained to kill the enemy scares them.
While Mophead has been sworn to slowly lose their human appearance into something they don't know yet, no doubt becoming a monster just like the rest of them. And even if they didn't look the part, they knew they could be just as cruel if they wanted to, they'd become a monster eventually, one way or another.
They try to push you away after their realization, but they find it just as hard to keep it like that. You're the only person they feel they have a connection with, someone they care about and trust.
They don't want to risk losing you being an average civilian, but they can't help but wait for the day you'll come back to visit again like a loyal pet, craving the comfort and peace you provide with just your existence and voice.
They don't realize how much you feel the same til there were reports of a bombing near your village reached them, sending Mophead into a panic. Just because you lived on the edge of it didn't mean you couldn't still be hurt or injured.
No doubt terrified, all alone in your house with nobody but your poor dog.
Mophead was halfway out the door with their gear on, about to go look for you, when they saw you running down the slope to the base with your dog in tow, sobbing as you didn't hesitate to run into their arms.
"There you are, I-I was so worried about you, I was gonna go look for you! Are you hurt anywhere? You're soaking wet, let's get you inside, it-it'll be ok (name), you were far braver than I am for running here."
They fumble, trying to check you for any injuries as they guide you inside to get you cleaned up and dry, tossing their uniform coat over your shoulders.
Mophead doesn't let you out of their sight or hold for the remainder of the night, wrapping you up in spare blankets along with some hand-me-down undershirt, giving up their cot for you all while holding your hand through it to give you some solace.
They aren't good at comforting, but feeling you shudder when another bomb impact echoes overhead had them rubbing circles into your back tenderly.
"It's ok, I'm a bit scared too, but it'll stop eventually, your safe here...I promise you're safe here (name)."
They'll try to go as far as they can from the base when you go home the next morning, already missing the warmth of your hand.
Gains the courage to give a quick parting hug whenever you have to go further than they can follow, a small good luck charm along with their knife in your pocket, as they whisper a:
"Be safe out there. I think I'll go mad without you." Before letting go reluctantly.
Hoping as they do every time you leave, you'll come back as you wave goodbye with a bright smile that lights up their chest with an unfamiliar feeling before disappearing into the morning mist.
You're like the feeling of warm sunshine through a window, you give them hope for the future that they'll make it out, and one day they can leave the base and see your home in person and be able to see the flowers you bring them actually blooming from the earth.
But until then, they'll wait for the next time you come to visit and remind them of what they're fighting for.
Munroe
Assumes you're a kid, or at least younger than him cause no adult in their right mind would willingly waltz into an army base simply out of curiosity. It's been years since he's been home, and he's never seen the village nearby, so how would he know what your life is like?
Keeps you at an arm's length, or better worded, 'tried', but simultaneously makes a point to keep you out of trouble, figuring out you weren't scared of the more contaminated soldiers, then he'd give up on the idea of trying to ward you off.
Only to immediately break that attitude when you started getting picked on, dragging you away from the more insidious soldiers yelling some backhanded comment about picking on someone with an actual fight in them.
After herding you to a more secluded hallway, Munroe takes a shot at trying to convince you to go home, looming over you with those pale eyes of his.
"Hey, this is no place for a kid, you should be at home right now. Your parents are no doubt worried sick about you being out here alone."
Tries to put it lightly, but he's anxious about the thought of you wandering deeper into the base to discover the gore or worse, coming even close to the machine.
Doesn't know how to respond when you say your parents aren't around. No matter how old you are, no person should live in a time of turmoil without their loved ones.
At least the two of you have that in common.
"Uuhhh well....fuck me that was rude of me to say, sorry for you're loss."
Figures you should stick with them if you're gonna make this a habit, becoming his strange shadow that happens to talk more than he does, so it's more the other way around, he's just stopping you from seeing things you shouldn't.
"Let's...go back to the mess hall, must be starving from trudging through all that mud to see me huh?"
If he's not out in the field or doing chores, you trail after him or stay in the bunks where you two play dice and cards while getting to know each other. He tries to go easy on you if your poker face is nonexistent.
"You're not foolin' me with that smile mate. Do yourself a favor and try covering that smile with your cards, maybe then you'll have a chance at winnin' my cigs."
He chuckles at your attempts to stay composed.
It's a nice change, seeing someone with actual life in their eyes, not involved but still choosing to come back to see him makes the trenches and gas not hurt as much, he's gotta stay alive long enough to see you again.
Yet the looming threat of death can never truly leave his shoulders when telling you about what happened to Eriche if you'll listen, biting back the words on how he's gotta keep you safe now too.
Can and WILL trauma dump on you, but encourages you to do the same to him if you feel like it. War weighs heavily on all those involved, even the people who have no part in it.
It's not the best method, but it's better than trying to keep them to yourself, and you two hold sympathy for the others problems and know the best comfort is just being able to listen & understand.
Telling him how you live alone pretty far from the village, Munroe comes to the conclusion your probably lonely besides being with your dog in your deceased parents home, hence why you wandered so far and found the base in the first place which just makes him sad.
It's hard enough to survive, let alone stay sane but at least he's got his squadmates and is starting to connect with Mophead despite what happened.
But you don't have any of that, just trying to live how you can at a time where the next person you connect with will be bombed to hell never to be saved if they weren't enlisted.
Becomes the biggest stray dog when you bring him food, not even having to bet anything for it, the idea you want to share with him because you enjoy being around him nearly has him in tears between bites.
"You're too good for me you know that? It's been far too long since I've had a meal with actual flavor in it."
Munroe doesn't mean to do it, but whenever you come to him with a problem you're facing back at the village, he's unintentionally encouraging you to fix it with illegal action. Not as extreme as flat-out murder or arson, but still something that would get you in a heap of trouble if you did it.
Blame it on him being in the war or how he himself handles problems, he's just out of his depth when it comes to normal problem-solving, with all the violence he's seen.
He forgot laws exist but can you blame him?
"And if they don't back off, I'd aim for the liver personally, make 'em drop to a knee if you can, would be a good advantage."
"Munroe, I can't beat up the elderly just cause they scolded the way I cleaned up their garden....I don't even know how to fight."
"Oh uh...right, I can teach you how to fight if you need?"
Routinely every second visit or so he reserves to teach you how to fight if he's not busy, it ensures him your safe and can beat someone's ass if he's not there on or off base to fight it for you.
Though he will absolutely be willing to see you deck a soldier over a bet after one got cocky and said a civilian can't take down a soldier, grinning like a moron watching you use your moves.
"Good job (name)! Never do that again, but I'm proud of ya."
He congratulates, patting your back staying true to his word and not letting you get into anymore fights even if he was proud.
If you get hurt, he'll patch you up himself, he knows and wants to keep you as preserved as he can. He's not sure he'd survive if he learned you left him like Eriche, he's gotta own up in terms of keeping even the tiniest of cuts bandaged for your sake.
On the days the world gets scary for you, a bomb dropping too close to your house or remnants of gas blowing through your town rattle you, Munroe finds you crying in his bunk, clinging to his blanket, terrified for your life but too scared to be alone.
He wants to say how dangerous it was for you to do that but can't get the words out when your eyes are so full of tears, looking to him for safety. He has no choice but to wrap you up in his arms, resting his head next to yours gently.
"Hey, hey, hey, hey, it's alright, it's ok your here, you're safe, it's ok kid. It's ok, nothing's gonna happen, it's just to scare you."
He shushes softly, rocking you back and forth while he holds you through each thunderous crash that makes it through the muffled walls of the base.
Everything was awful, and nothing could be done but deal the same sort of violence back on the enemy.
Meeting you makes Munroe oddly relieved for the the Machines existence, there won't be a need for more soldiers with it's ability to drag their sorry lives back into their mangled bodies.
He needs to stay alive and out of deaths grasp so he can see you and keep you safe and sound, to do a better job than he did with protecting Eriche.
Carrie
Oh boy, he's gonna try and traumatize you into leaving if he has to.
When he first noticed you around, he thought he was hallucinating, like that weird dog with a lotus mask on its face he'd sometimes see out of the corner of his single eye.
He's not happy when he finds you're not a weird hallucination, grabbing you by the arm and digging his claws in mildly to prevent you from running away as he interrogates you harshly.
"Well, look what got into what it shouldn't, you lost or just plain stupid? By the looks of ya I'd say the latter. Get out of here or else something far worse than me is gonna get ya."
Doesn't feel the greatest watching you scurry away in terror at the sight of him. He was already tired of the nervous looks others gave him, but it was needed.
He didn't take it well seeing you roaming around two days later.
Will threaten you endlessly like he did with Mophead only somehow scarier when he sees you around. Trying to use his scary looks to his advantage and all the horrible shit he'd done to end up looking like this.
This place is meant for soldiers who can't die and have sworn their lives away for a war, not some fragile, one life having civilian.
Let alone one who frolics around the base as they owned it (steering clear of Lieutenant Kelly of course he learned)
"Whaddya think you're doing back here, pipsqueak? Ya deaf as well as stupid, or is peaceful life getting boring for ya? Well guess what, at least you have it, so do your damn self a favor and go run home to your little village unless ya wanna die with no chance of coming back."
Of course, you didn't leave him alone, even with his multiple attempts to scare you off, even if he was a little scary, he was too interesting a person to leave alone, especially with those, as you put it, 'cool' teeth.
Which you asked about A LOT, much to his added annoyance and confusion with you.
He was supposed to be scaring you so you'd run on home to your cozy little village and never come back, not being the object of your attention that keeps you coming back to pester him if he can't get away from you with chores, wet work, and training.
"Do they hurt?"
"At the moment, no, my ears on the other hand are being grated by your yapping." He snaps his jaw with a glare, waiting for you to back off.
"...so did you always have such cool teeth?"
Fucking hell, someone shoot him and put him out of this misery.
"Nah, didn't always look this good, but gettin these ones now...that's a different story."
"What kind of story?"
"A story that's non of ya business so scram!"
You begin to grow on him over the course of your continuous visits, asking him to tell any stories about what he's experienced and seen (which he totally won't exaggerate because he enjoys the look of awe in your eyes) throwing in a few of the various ways he's died just to make you think twice about joining him in this hellhole.
He'd rather be the corpse that clogs the Machines pipes than be the reason you ever sign up for the Crown Army.
Your relationship only grows when you two start betting with things you bring from home in exchange for him teaching you how to play dice and cards.
He claims your bond is merely translational with your smuggled in contraband, but you both know between you as you've seen the way he keeps an eye out when your in the process of sneaking back home, pulling you back if crossing a certain soldier who'd rat you out before letting go.
He's cheating if you happen to have something from home he can't get in the bunker, candies you enjoyed when you were little, a flask of alcohol, or any little shiny trinkets like jewelry or a brooch, has him scrambling to win at any means necessary just to have a small slice of normalcy.
At some point after you beat his ass in a third round of cards, he finally caves in and teaches you how to shoot, it's the least he can teach you, and it's a helpful skill if anyone back in your home gives you trouble.
And partially so he'll know you've at least got a fighting chance if he's not there to fight off any threat or conman you could run into.
While not practicing with any ammo (of course) since he can't take you out into the field, he'll have your back to his chest, hands guiding you to practice holding the rifle and aiming.
"Then ya line it up like this ya see? Keep your grip nice n tight or it'll go slipping. Now keep your eyes on the target, then ya pull the trigger n shoot it down."
Moments like that, he forgets about his fate and yours, your his escape to peace from everything, not quite a soldier like him, but close enough in both being victims of this war, trying to make the most of it.
Trying to find what little rays of peace could be found in the aftermath of desecrated bodies and war-torn homes.
One night you come running into the base to hide from the sound of the bombs or an attack near your village, your in shambles when you crash into in the hall upon finding him.
Sobbing and soaking wet from running through the mud and rain as you hug him far too tightly, as before you can explain what happened, you duck your head to his chest in panic at another bomb going off miles from the base yet you still whimper in fear.
He's stuck in place, blinded by emotion he'd thought he left behind when he became a contam, but the sight of your terror and arms tightening around him has the soldier squeezing you back tightly.
He's filled with rage at the fact that you risked your safety running here to find him and has a need to keep you safe from the distress the enemy caused you.
Barks at you to stay in his bunk and begins dragging you there, he can't stand seeing you cry about something neither of you can control, but at least he can offer refuge and keep you in the safest place he knows.
"Hide under the bed if it'll make ya feel better, but you ain't leavin' this room til this blows over ya hear?"
He scolds, tossing you a ratty towel to dry yourself off from the rain, rubbing your arms to try and keep you warm before giving up and wrapping a full arm around you to keep you at his side.
"It's fine, I've got ya it's just fine, shush now it's all fine."
He tries to comfort you through your fear, seeing you so scared and vulnerable, reminds him of your fragile mortality and how real your fear was of death.
He couldn't brush it off like with new recruits who hadn't had the misfortune of dying yet, you were fragile in the most human way possible.
The nurses would probably help you if harm ever came to you, but if it was more dire...the thought of putting you into the Machine and never giving you back brought out a different kind of fear in him.
Maybe it would use parts of you to replace the lost limbs of soldiers, see you as just a bunch of spare parts, to chew into pieces for the benefit of others who enlisted in this torture.
With you shivering from either the cold or still crying as another thump of a bomb echoes overhead, yet far away, he wishes someone had done this for him back when he was new to the violence and war, as selfish as it was of him to want that now while you sobbed into his arms til you fell asleep from exhaustion.
You had no part in this, but war couldn't care less about what it did to people, innocent or involved. Even if you only lived nearby, it wasn't your fault you didn't have the money or resources to leave your home, you were stuck.
Just like him.
Caught in the crossfire between them and the enemy side, and yet still there was nothing to do but hold you through the devastation til it ended and you felt safe enough to go home.
Or until he let go of you, haunted by the idea the enemy would drop one more bomb if you stepped outside the base.
He'll keep you safe, with all he's got, you won't die on him, not if he can do anything about it.
Warwick
This man's stress levels go through the roof upon seeing you in the base, wandering around like your dog, only far more obvious to passing soldiers, but he's hesitant to approach you.
Warwick fears you'd scream and run away like he'd imagine his family would if they ever saw him again, though this is quickly proven wrong when he catches your gaze, only to be met by curiosity and wonder.
Finally giving him a chance to question why your here in the first place, and get a sense for why in your right mind you'd come here in the first place.
"Oi, you lost? Don't remember seein someone like you around, what's got you snoopin round a Crown Army base?"
You were intimidated more so by his height and fascinated by his features if anything so it took you a while to answer him but he took no offense.
And holding back a comment on how they wore the same mask as your dog, you figured I'd be rude to compare the two, as you notified him about your dog.
Even though he didn't help your dog or give the pup the lotus mask, it put him as ease knowing one of the soldier here still had theirs morals and helping out those in need.
He can forget kindness still exists even in harsh times like this, and from war-torn soldiers it's quite the trait to nurture as he took you in, somewhat scratched up from running through the woods, no doubt and more plain everyday clothes.
"I can fix up those scrapes, it's the least ya deserve after coming all this way huh?"
He offers to hold out his glove for you to take.
The process is a bit awkward, sitting in a random chair looking around at what few pieces of paper line the walls as the boar faced Corporal cleans up your wounds, but it's a welcome one when he bandages them up with a kind smile somehow recognizable despite his changed appearance.
"M' names Warwick, just a simple corporal tryin' his best, what's yours luv?"
Soon, you become a part of his everyday schedule, even preparing a cup of tea or coffee for you when you finally get down there, no doubt tired from the walk alone.
Never once failing to make him smile as your eyes light up upon seeing him, your dog at your heels barking happily.
Your smile always makes him feel as close to human as he can these days, looking at him like he's just another person.
"There ya are, start to wonder if you'd gotten bored of me." He smirks at your attempt to apologize for being late, as you were bringing something from home to show him.
He's most pleased when you bring him books from home, offering to read to him after learning his goggles make reading a pain for him to do with smaller texts.
This leads to him reserving the afternoon or evening if he doesn't have work to do to make some tea or beverage.
Turning into a more music-oriented radio station to block out any noise before sitting down either at the mess hall or in his room to read together.
"Another one today? You spoil me rotten you do, fraid you'll be runnin out of books on your shelves if ya keep bringing em to me."
He scolds with a smile as he puts on the kettle.
Enjoys your commentary when reading, gives him a peek into that interesting head of yours that even he still fails to understand some days, along with what genres you do enjoy.
Begins reserving a few things for you when you come to visit, obviously not a full room but an extra blanket here and there, along with a space to keep the things you sometimes leave behind.
Struggles to tell what you meant to leave for him or if you just forgot to take it with you, either way, you've got your own little corner of home whenever you visit.
Arguing it's so your things don't get mixed in with what little he owns himself while trying to keep his composure at you noticing the care he holds for you.
Gifts you one of the lotus masks seeing it's probably much better than any civilian bought gas mask, teaching you how to use and care for it and not to wear it for too long, and most of all signs to look for to indicate gas pollution and certain attacks.
Makes an effort not to treat you like a fellow soldier under his command, despite his ways of training you for what to look out for, staying on a fine line between keeping you prepared for the worst and keeping you safe.
Makes you promise to run and not fight if you ever see the signs of a fight or bomb, that's for the soliders who can be carried back to the Machine and resurrected if they die, not you.
He won't lose another good thing just because he was careless about wording. The goal is self-preservation of yourself and others, he can handle the rest.
After a particularly long reading session, Carrie heard word of a bomb attack near your village, shaking him to his core on how to break it to you.
How you couldn't go home or if you'd even have a home to go to in the morning, he was worried over how you'd take the news, not wanting to risk you trying to leave the safest place you could be, but having to sit through a whole night scared for tomorrow sounded awful.
"Hey...bear with me on this but uh, stay here tonight, please (name). I don't mean to hold you here but...it's not safe right now. You'll be better off here, I promise you that."
He feels horrible at every flinch of your body whenever the thunderous sound echoes above, making him hold you tighter, wracking his brain for any way to distract you from everything.
He ends up softly humming a song his mum taught him, the rumble of his voice being felt through your back as he rubbed your arm gently as he sang.
Your presence alone reminds him of home, even if your not from the same place as his family, you make him have hope for the future that even if he can't see his family, he can always see you in your little visits.
Kelly
Hearing rumors about some unregistered civilian roaming about, she brushes it off as mere stories of soldiers trying to stay entertained. They'd say what they could to get a rise out of her these days.
Or perhaps it was just a soldier's odd dream of their life before the war bleeding into their time stuck out here.
She isn't pleased to be proven wrong when she begins to see glimpses of a figure disappearing around corners or doors, not dressed in proper uniform.
Once she gets her hands on you she is pissed. How someone like you snuck into the base with a dog in tow no less isn't a good look for her.
She refused to call you by your name after you introduced yourself, simply dubbing you 'The Civilian.'
This quickly backfires as suddenly your called 'Kelly's Civilian' by the other soldiers, but it at least stops any pricks from trying to scam you out of your belongings.
Unless they wish to face the Lieutenant's wrath.
Sparking an odd relationship of her trying to keep you out and away from her & the other soldiers, while you weasel your way back into the base somehow, much to her disdain once you either find her or she finds you wandering about again.
"So...your back, still not enlisted, I see."
She growls down at you, earning only a sheepish smile in return while answering no.
She tries to keep an unchanged attitude with you, hoping you'll give up your curiosity and go home to your little village but every few days, when she thinks she's finally got you beat...there you are again.
You were especially interested in her much to her dismay, seeing you hadn't met many people like her let alone someone so strong and amazing.
Admiring her strength and looks is a confusing topic she tries not to dwell on, especially when bringing up her strength and height.
It's an odd feeling, but not an unwelcome one seeing your STILL not scared of her, and very little power dynamic considering you weren't one of her soldiers.
Didn't think someone would find her attractive since gaining so much muscle and size from the Machine, let alone see her as someone safe with a face like hers.
But clearly your not a normal person considering you willingly walk up to her and follow her around each day that's not occupied by missions or wet work.
Seeing the way you stick to her side when she's not in the field, following her around like a lost puppy, has something in her usual annoyed attitude grow soft.
Your simple curiosity had gotten you this far and all the way through you didn't judge her for what differences there were between you.
Making the hard boiled lieutenant realize you were quite an enigma yourself, thanks to her efforts trying to shut you out.
"What makes you keep coming back here? Hometown not as exhilarating as the threats of war?"
She asks one day out of the blue as she sits down in her personal room, which you hadn't noticed before.
Efforts to be kind yet still a bit nosy grow to amuse her, speculating if your some secret reporter trying to find some information through her about the Crown Army and its soldiers.
But seeing how you rarely asked about the war itself and more about her had that idea quickly brushed away.
Not to mention the fact that she'd see you stumble through the wilderness, nearly tripping on your muddy boots to reach the base had any thoughts of you being an enemy spy quickly evaporate.
Your honesty is much more akin to a little jester for her, if that defines your connection any more odd than it was before.
Please get her some good food, she deserves it after all the stress she goes through as a lieutenant, even if she deems your offerings 'contraband', you've always had the tin containers returned freshly clean and she lets a few compliments on your cooking slip if your not in public.
She has a reputation to uphold after all. Even if it’s hard to deny you make her smile.
But it's clear to see she has a soft spot for you, though only seems to show her care when you two are alone which you understand.
You remind her of simpler times before she was changed or was a lieutenant, the days before everything went to shit and she signed up to the Crown Army to serve their nation.
Refuses any thought crossing your mind about joining her, she'd much rather laugh at one of your jokes in public and break her tough facade than let you get dragged into this.
"You don't belong here, remember that, you will never belong here in our ranks, and that is a blessing you don't forfeit. Remember your place."
She growls if you ever mention it around her, not on her watch, you won't be enlisting in anything if she can help it.
From that, she refused to teach you how to shoot or fight.
How to camouflage and use the terrain to your advantage? Absolutely.
From climbing trees or hiding in plain sight, Kelly may not have the size to hide, but with the right tactics and methods you use, you'll always be safe from the enemy.
That's at least what she believed, til word is heard of an attack near your village, which was heard through the ranks, sending her blood to boil at the thought.
To this day, she still scolds herself for how emotional she acted in that moment, sending troops to handle the attack but keeping out of the village's main points to not cause any panic among the people living there.
Seeing the attack was far closer to your house then anticipated, Kelly looked around for you inside the old, rickety house full of various trinkets and books.
Surrounded by a normal life, trapped in the clutches of merciless war, Kelly looked around all the hiding spots til she found a cellar door beneath a rug.
"It's just me, it's me. There's no need to be afraid (name)."
They said through the wood, startling you wouldn't help your terrified state as the door opens.
They get you wrapped up in a blanket, noting the telltale signs of shock as they do what they can to ensure your safe and alive.
"It's alright now, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't to ensure your safety..."
They admit while rubbing your cheek tenderly in attempt to soothe you in the chaotic moment. Not much needs to be said in that quiet moment, just a mutual understanding and differences in one another, but cared for all the same.
They wait as long as they can before they have to leave to head back to help the rest of the troop.
Knowing that like clockwork, you'll come running back to bother her once more.
A/N: I need a cigarette after writing this, can you tell I was allergic to using the word 'fragile' lol. Also pls forgive me for not adding the Ascetic I needed to write something for Lieutenant Kelly!!!
PEACE | Vander/Warwick X Reader
CONTENT WARNINGS - Fluff • Threat • Injury • Mention of death • Brief mention of blood • Season 2 Spoilers! • Cuddling (BECAUSE THIS MAN DESERVES ONE!!)
PAIRING: Vander/Warwick X Fem Reader
SUMMARY: you were once Vander’s wife but believed he was dead after the cannery exploded. Now you’re staying at Viktor’s utopia hoping the machine herald can bring him back to you
WORD COUNT: 1.9K
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The commune had been like a fever dream. That something so peaceful could exist in Zaun. Where everyone pulled their weight and shared resources and supplies without ulterior motives. It seemed like a paradise. It seemed too good to be true.
It was almost too much.
In just a couple of days — or was it even hours — your world had been turned upside down.
When Vi and Pow-- Jinx found you, you were both thrilled and sceptical. To see your adopted daughters together again. It certainly confusing to see that they somehow came back together again and with a little girl in tow but they had some information that nearly made your heart stop.
Vander … was alive!
A rasped pained laugh had been your response. It wasn’t possible. You heard the tale: Vander, your husband, died saving Vi. That was it, end of story. It broke you. So much so that you went searching for his body but found nothing. No doubt Silco had it thrown in the Pilt out of spite.
But Jinx was adamant. She claimed she fought some “version” of him in Stillwater, a beast, but it was still him. There was still something inside that recognised her. It was ludicrous. You had half a mind to tell them to leave and let you wallow in your loneliness. But your motherly urge clenched your heart; there was no way you could let them attempt to track this beast alone. Especially with a young child.
So you followed them, deep into the mines with spear in hand. Vi claimed they’d be safe thanks to her gauntlets but it provided you comfort. It had always been your weapon of choice.
After Vi and Jinx had their rather childish fight, the young girl who you had learnt was called Isha, received a bloody nose thanks to Vi’s elbow. You had wiped it clean with your sleeve, offering her a sweet smile as she sniffed but you all continued further in. Until your heart sunk completely when the ground rumbled. A distant roar surged fear through all your hearts, Jinx pushing Isha behind herself and Vi took a firm stance. Your knuckles became white clutching your spear; breath becoming staggered and fearful.
That when you saw it. A glimmer of red in the darkness, growing closer and brighter with every second; the ground trembling from its pounding fists. Jinx attempted to talk to it but nothing stopped its pursuit.
The sound of Vi’s gauntlet grabbing the beasts body before it could reach you caused the bioluminescent plants to light up and that when you became face to face with it. It’s blood red eyes were raging, a clawed paw stretched out desperately reaching out for Isha. It felt as if your heart was breaking all over again. There was an unrecognisable fury. This thing wanted to kill you all. How stupid it was to believe that this was him.
Vi became bloodied and bruised as she fought the beast, Jinx shielding Isha behind her with her gun raised. In a desperate attempt to save your daughter, you joined her in the fight; slashing and stabbing at its body. Yet it did little to nothing to halter it’s anger. It’s body healed at lightening speed.
This wasn’t a fight you could win.
It reared is large paw back, attempting to smite Vi in one swipe. Until you shoved her out of the way towards Jinx and took the hit yourself. It’s large arm smacked you away, your body surging through the air to slam into the wall. A yell rattled past your lips at impact, body feeling like it had just been shattered. You struggled to raise up to your feet until you realised the beasts attention had turned to your daughters. A glob of bloody spit from your mouth regained it, its crimson eyes glaring at your in a furious wrath. As your grip tightened on your snapped spear, you wielded it like you would a knife. You were ready to die here if it meant your girls could take the opportunity to escape. But Jinx halted your determination. She pleaded — no — begged for you to believe her. That this thing in front of you was the man you loved. Your eyes had shut, breathing slow as it leapt; its teeth bared ready to tear you apart.
But when you were face to face with it, so close that you could feel its breath on your cheeks, a sudden glimmer of familiarity befell you. A flicker of hope. Either way, it wasn’t stopping. So you took that chance. You tossed the broken weapon to the side and screamed his name.
Before you knew it, you were wrapped in its large arms. Eyes wide and breath shuddering, your hands slowly crept up to rest on its chest still unsure. But it wasn’t tearing you apart. Wasn’t disembowelling you with its claws. One of its pawed hands rested almost gently to the back of your head, pulling you tight to its body like it would be the last time. You almost wanted to free yourself from its grip out of fear. Until a low grumble from his jaws uttered a single word; causing a wave of tears to flow from your eyes like a waterfall. Your name.
It was him. It was your Vander.
And here you were. In Viktor’s small utopia; praying that this “herald” could heal your husband. Or return his mind to him fully. You cautiously watched Viktor exited from the greenhouse Vander had been designated to; the mechanical man slowly walking away in exhaustion.
“How long do you think this is gonna take?” Vi asked, staring at him in suspicion.
A deep breath heaved from your nose at her question. “I don’t know. In all my years I’ve never dealt with a ‘herald’ before,” you sighed tiredly. “I’ve never dealt with someone coming back from death either”.
“There’s a lot of things we haven’t dealt with,” Vi replied sadly.
She was right about that. It had been a small comfort to you, knowing that if Vander was gone his soul was finally at peace. But now here he was, back from the dead and twisted in his own body for whatever sick maniacal reason. Your brows furrowed in anger as a certain person invaded your mind. “I’ll kill Singed if I ever see him,” you swore, teeth coming close to grinding at the mere thought of that so called ‘scientist’.
“You’ll have to get in line,” Vi quipped, her soft small smile falling as quickly as it formed. “I’m gonna head to bed. You coming?”.
“I’m … I’m actually gonna go visit him. See how he’s doing,” you informed, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. With a soft nod, Vi watched as you walked away towards the greenhouse.
There was still a wave of nervousness as you reached the door but it faded away when your gaze fell upon him. A few soft grunts huffed from his curled form, lying on the ground with a sorrowful look on face only for his head to perk up at the sight of you.
“Hey,” you greeted, shutting the door behind you. Vander rose up slightly, watching you with his new mismatched eyes as you sat down next to his hulking figure. You offered him a honeyed smile, stretching your legs out and leaning back against a pillar. “Any … any change today?”.
Vander snorted sadly in response and glanced down to his paws. Your hand quickly stretched up to cup his jaw, turning him back to look at you; your thumb gently stroking against his cheek to sooth him. “It’s ok. There’s always tomorrow,” you hushed, blinking back a set of tears as he nuzzled into your hand.
You couldn’t help but take in his features, from the sharp fangs to the large ears that twitched at the slightest sound. It made your heart clenched; that sometimes in a certain light or a quick glance you could just see a glimmer of the man you loved.
Almost as if he could sense your change in mood, Vander’s eyes opened; staring at you with a tilt of his head that must’ve said ‘what’s wrong?’.
“I’m ok,” you sniffed. “I’m just glad to have you back”.
He seemed to think to himself, contemplating something before shuffling closer to your body. You waited with bated breath, curiously watching as he fell to his side and laid his head to rest on your lap, his back to you and gaze directed to your boots.
Though it brought a smile to your face. Your heart fluttering at the recreation of a moment you and Vander would often share before things went to hell. Whenever Vander was stressed after a long day he would rest his head in your lap, sighing in relief as your fingers would cascade through his brown locks. The two of you would talk for hours, about your day or whatever your were worried about. It was a quiet intimate experience between you two.
“Heh, just like old times. Ey, Vander,” you teased, raising your hand to comb through the fur on his head. Vander groaned out softly, immediately relaxing against you. “Remember when we used to do this when we were younger? You denied it from hell to high water … then Benzo walked in and wouldn’t shut up about it”.
There was a chuff like laugh from Vander as his paw rested itself against your knee, his breath coming out steadier. The both of you fell silent as you thought of your fallen friend. Of all your fallen friends. Benzo. Connol. Felicia.
Silco.
You didn’t have a clue if Vander even knew his brother had passed. You hadn’t found it in you to ask or tell him either. There was so much going on already you didn’t want to bring him more heartbreak. No matter what had happened between them, Silco would always be his brother. He knew Vander long before you did. They played together as kids, worked together as teens, planned a revolution together as men. You knew in some way Vander would be devastated.
With a sigh, you continued massaging his scalp. No point in telling him now. One thing at a time.
“When we’re done here, how about we go away? Leave the Lanes, leave the Undercity. Find somewhere peaceful, somewhere safe,” you suggested. “Tell only the girls where we are so they can visit”.
Vander awkwardly glanced over his shoulder, staring at you in confusion.
“You didn’t think I was just gonna leave ya, did you?” You playfully quipped.
“However many tries, however long it takes; I am gonna stay right by you side,” you promised, leaning down to place a kiss against his brow, his eyes fluttering shut in content. “Like I’ve always said: it’s me and you till the end, big guy”.
When the sun rose in the morning, Vi had woken to discover you were missing. Both Jinx and Isha were still sleeping together in a pile of blankets whilst your bed appeared neat and unslept in. She rose to her feet and made her way over to the greenhouse, carefully opening the door as quietly as she could. Only for her shocked face to fall into a slight smile.
Somehow in the night the two of you had shifted. You were now laid out on your side, sleeping the most peacefully you had in years. Vander’s large arm had placed itself over your waist, keeping you trapped against his large body; his breath tussling your hair every time he exhaled. His massive paw was clutched in both your hands, pulled tightly to your chest. There wasn’t a care in the world to the two of you.
Just peace.
Vi smiled and decided to leave you be, allowing you both to enjoy your own personal paradise for a little longer.
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First time returning to Imagines/One Shots but what they did to this man broke my heart and I felt like writing something for the first time in ages. Riot, I’ll never forgive you for what you did to Vander!!!
hi! Could you write a Vander x male reader where Vander in his werewolf(?)/Warwick(?) form recognizes the reader, and reader also recognizes him, and is so so happy to meet his old lover again
Sorry any mistakes, English is not my first language!
𝐑𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐍 — (Vander/Warwick X Male Reader).
Note: Thank you for the request! No worries; English is not my first language either, and your request was very comprehensible. It turned out a bit short, but I hope it's to your liking.
Summary: The old memories of what could have been and what was haunt you, but after being called to the mines you once used to work on, you find that maybe your life won't have to be filled with regret and longing.
Warnings: Spoilers, don't read unless you've watched Arcane.
Key: (Y/n) — Your name. | (H/c) — Your hair colour. | (E/c) — Your eye colour.
Sickly green neon lights reflect on murky brown water, and a stomach-churning stench rises from the walls of the worn-down building; the grey impregnated itself in any surface it touched, like acrid sulfur. (Y/n) crouched in front of The Last Drop, (e/c) eyes squinting to make out any recognisable feature in what once was a haven to him.
He dusted off the dirt that had collected in the upper part of his pants and inhaled sharply, lungs long accustomed to the poisonous fog of his hometown. He pressed forward. The inside was empty—needless to check; he wouldn't find her inside. The paper felt like lead in his pocket, heavy and foreboding—a reminder of his failures and the grief that followed any Zaunite like a wailing shadow.
He hadn't gone to the mines in years, and he hadn't had to work there in such a long time that he wasn't sure what exactly they looked like after everything. The entrance was falling apart, and wood planks, detached and broken, littered the floor, and glass cracked underneath his shoes. He tightened his jaw and looked down, the pitch-black darkness of the cave illuminating with every step.
Thump, thump, thump. The impact of his boots against the floor echoed—the caves amplified each sound closer than it truly was—and the faint noises of water dripping reached his ears along with a low rumbling. She was deeper there, had to be. His fingers rubbed the paper note inside his pocket, hope simmering inside his chest.
Thundering footsteps started to come in his direction; something metallic scratched against the walls. He raised his guard, crouching and aiming his gun at the origin of the sound. The walls illuminated in a quick flash, and a dark shadow moved too fast for him to brace himself for it, the thing colliding into his chest and throwing him to the ground.
Mismatched eyes looked straight into his, and a gaping maw with sharp teeth stopped just short of tearing his face apart. Shivers went down his spine, and his lips quivered, tears welling in his eyes as he raised a trembling hand to the creature's face. A sharp set of footsteps entered the place, the light going up again and illuminating the monster's face further. Greyish dark fur coated a familiar face and warped it into something recognisable but not completely.
“Thought you'd want to see him.” Powder announced, her gun clanking against her belt.
Vi stepped closer, opening her mouth and closing it before finally settling on explaining it. “It's...”
“Vander.” He held the man's face in his hands, tears falling down his eyes, a thunderous storm inside his heart. The man he loved. The man he loves. He holds him tenderly but strongly, as if afraid that when he lets go, it will all dissolve and morph back into his bleak reality.
Vander softens, resting his head against the crook of the other man's neck. A content sigh leaves his nose and ruffles the hair on the (h/c)-haired man's head. “(Y/n).”
“Sheesh, even he recognised him way faster than you did.” The blue-haired woman jabbed at her sister, the corner of her mouth pulled up in a teasing smirk. Her facade breaks as she sees a hand outstretched in her direction.
(Y/n) reassuringly squeezes her hand, a wide smile on his lips as he unburies his head from Vander's fur and turns it towards his daughter. “Thank you.”
“You don't have to thank me. You love him as much as we do,” she laughs bitterly. Her hand, albeit hesitant, holds his tighter.
“I do. I don't know how you found him or what happened, but you brought me back to him. I haven't felt like this in so long.” His voice sounds choked, and he looks back at the pair of blue and yellow eyes, his hands caressing the rough skin. He feels Vander's strong arms curl around him, and the fur tickles his neck and arms, warm and comforting. “I love you,” he whispers in the man's ear, loud enough for only them to hear it.
“Love... you.” He answers back.
The airs gone cold.
Content warning ⚠️
Smut - monster fucking - werewolf!vander - knotting - rough fuck - size kink - breeding?? -slow burn - aftercare ❤️-pussy licking-
Ever since you've gotten news about Vander or Warwrick you've seen what he's become, a big hairy monster that smells blood more than a mile away. You haven't seen it in real life, just in the news you see everyday.
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As you're strolling through the under city keeping your guard up looking around seeing the last drop abandoned not knowing where else to go to get away from the people you break in.
As you get in you trip and fall,sighing.. you get yourself up and sit on a stool taking in the scent remembering the old times with Vander.. oh how you missed him you missed his touch, the smoke smell, his big arms.. oh how you missed him.. you lay your head on the bar closing your eyes...but you feel a drop on your leg,
You open your eyes and see that you have blood on your leg probably from when you tripped and fell and hit your face first..
You get up and wipe your nose with your sleeve from your ragged down hoodie you got from Vander it had some burns on it but that's all the damage it has.
.....
Then all of a sudden you hear footsteps.. you get up and go behind the bar and cover your nose from the dust so you don't sneeze.. then you hear growling and sniffing coming from the front door of the last drop.
It tries to open the door manually but it can't do it barges in making a loud bang. You try your best to not sneeze to uncover your blow. You sneak your head up from the bar and see.. it can't be.. it's WARRICK?....
You gasp and he turns his head around but you hide your head quickly before he can see you.. he growls softly and walks over to the bar where you can hear the footsteps from the beast. He sniffs and catches your blood scent, you pray to the gods that he doesn't do anything.. but it doesn't work no matter what he's caught on your scent. He growls and puts his arm over the bar and grabs your leg and yanks it from under the bar
Your met with Warwick's face his eyes land on your smeared blood from your nose bleed and licks it.
He growled softly and puts you over his shoulder and you felt the fur and muscles on him and he brings you to the back of the bar where the hound sleeps. He throws you on the bed and crawls on the bed like a lion stalking it's prey.. you cant help but like it ..?.
He catches a scent and puts his muzzle on your private part and smells the wetness on your pussy he growls softly and crawls the pants off and smells it even harder.. he spreads your legs and presses his snout on your pussy and his snout is warm.. you grind on it and he growls softly almost like he's telling you 'don't move..' he slowly lets his tongue out and licks your clit, you moan a bit and he makes purr sound and he keeps on sucking and licking on your clit putting his tongue in your vagina going in... And out.. in and out ... You can hear the slurping from him eating you out like his last meal... You grind yourself on it almost seeing stars..
But he brings his tongue out and takes off your hoodie and groping your breasts licking your nipples and you moan from his tongue but as your focused on him licking your breasts you hear the unzipping of pants and he stops licking your breasts letting his rod out in the open letting it rest on your pussy..
He looks at you for a yes and you nod.. he slowly pushes it in stretching you out holding your mouth so your don't scream from the pain and the good stretch.
He slowly pushes in and you can feel him in your stomach... He slowly takes it out and goes out and slowly goes in.. a few seconds later he's going rough.. "S-shit.. V.!...V-Vander!.." you moan out as he keeps fucking you rough like a man who's never had sex in his life..
You feel your high coming you arch your back clawing at his back "f-fuck!!.. I'm cuming...!" You moan out and cum on his dick..
But he's not slowing down.. he keeps on going and going making you moan loud.. you worry that people are gonna hear you, but Vander? He couldn't care less.. he leans in for a sloppy kiss feeling his teeth and yourself from when he was licking your pussy both of you moan in the kiss
You can feel him getting close cause of the signs like grunting and groaning making a couple of moans in the way.. he slams inside of you not quitting and he slams in you letting his cum not getting a single drip go to waste wanting to see you as a mother caring his pups....
He keeps on going slamming in and out while your feeling the cum run down your pussy getting sticky from the cum...
You can feel your second high coming you grip his muscles rolling your eyes to the back of your head and you feel like you're seeing stars.. cumming on his dick again.. you moan out a little 'shit...'
He keeps on fucking.. you can feel his second and last high coming getting sloppy and more slowly and he slowly pushes all his cum in you... Letting his cum fill you up.. you can feel the cum filling you up as you calm down and he knots inside you..
He gently lays down on the bed and lets you lay on his chest feeling his eyes slowly close as all that comes up to him making him and you feel exhausted.. you can feel some cum running down your thighs but you don't worry .. there's plenty of that in you..
You slowly drift off slowly falling asleep in warmth knowing you have your Vander back..
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Well I'm back from a break.. more things coming your way !! <3 it's been a long time I'm I'm HORNYY THEN EVER EHHEHEHEHEH 🫶🏻🫶🏻😝 I'm so glad to be back!! Love you guys !! Reposts and likes and comments are appreciated!!! (≧▽≦)🩷🩷
Chapter 19: Heart of Gold
Figured the Vander fandom could use a lil' treat right about now, so here's my gift to all of you! Fingers crossed for Act 3 tomorrow!
(Also yes, two updates in a single week. Points to me!)
THIS IS SMUT! 18+! MINORS DNI PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD
Masterlist
“You hungry at all? Think we’ve got some leftovers I can warm up for y’.” He asks once you step through the threshold, shutting the door behind you. The apartment feels eerily empty without the others, despite the mountains of stuff that litter the floor space and every perceivable surface. But the homey warmth is welcomed after your bitterly cold walk home. You feel your cheeks begin to warm, sense coming back into them. You’ve hidden your hands in the large sleeves of Vander’s jacket, but still curl your fingers as warm blood begins to flow back into them.
You shake your head. “Maybe some water, if you don’t mind? And find where we put the bandages?” You ask. You’ll have to put fresh plasters on your injuries after your shower.
“Of course!” Vander nods, and once the door lock clicks, he turns back to face you. He stands there for a moment, hands in his pockets and shuffling his weight from foot to foot, and looking down at you without saying anything. The air felt thick, charged, like something still hung between you, unresolved. So much so that it took you a solid moment to even realize you were doing much the same, just stupidly looking up at him. You found yourself wanting to say something, to bridge the space, but the words felt too small, too fragile. So, you just stood there. Time stretched, thick with everything that had been said, and everything that hadn’t. All that was left was the weight of your shared space, now too big for the both of you. The seconds slipped by, silent and heavy, until you weren’t sure if it was you or the room that was holding its breath.
Finally, it’s Vander that speaks first, pulling the world back into motion. “You’re sure you’re alright?” It should be a simple question, but it feels like a lifeline thrown across a gap.
You shift, unknowingly taking a small step towards him, and the tension in your chest that you hadn’t even realized was there begins to lessen. You feel his gaze on you soften, but your own gaze is still absent-mindedly locked on his feet.
“I’m fine now,” you breathe out. Your voice barely more than a whisper. “Promise.” There was a long pause after that—no rush to fill the silence with anything else. But then he takes a step towards you, closing the physical space, and a gentle knuckle moves your chin up to meet his gaze. Something in his eyes—something raw, desperate—mesmerizes you and you suddenly can’t move your eyes away, locked in on the storming gray.
Wordlessly, he extends his hand. You have to shove the sleeve of his jacket up your arm in order to meet his touch with your own, the large calloused hand easily enveloping yours. His thumb brushed over my knuckles once, twice, each touch like a promise, soft but knowing. Still silent, he lifts your hand to his lips. The warmth of his breath ghosts over your wrist before he pressed a soft kiss to the plaster, the touch lingering, gentle, reverent. Then, with gentle fingers, he opens your hand to press it against the warmth of his cheek. Despite your best attempts to keep your hands warm outside, the warmth of his cheek burns at the winter-bitten skin of your fingers, and his stubble brushes against the meat of your palm.
His eyes closed, just for a moment, and in the stillness, there was something…but you couldn’t put a name to the feeling that filled that entryway to your shared apartment. Meditation? Thoughtfulness? A prayer? An apology? Whatever it was, you stayed, refusing to pull away but fighting the urge to bury yourself in his chest and stay there for an eternity. Thankfully, you don’t have to fight the urge for too long as he eventually does lower your hand, giving it one last, soft, reassuring squeeze before lowering it back to your side.
“I’ll get that water for you, Love.” He says with a smile, snapping you out of your daze. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. Somewhere between sad and thankful. “Go and wash up.”
“Right.” You nod. Showering! Showering is good! In all your romantic kissy-faces to each other, you’d almost forgotten the reason you had been itching to return home so quickly. You quickly peel off his jacket, handing it back to him before bending down to unlace your boots. As you do, you’re quickly reminded of the coolness of your apartment as it hits your very exposed flesh all at once. Gods, you needed to get out of these fighting clothes. Would it be too dramatic to say you wanted to burn them? Maybe. But the thought still crossed your mind.
The steam that wrapped around you was almost like a blanket, the warmth of the water a slow, soothing balm against your aching bones. The hot spray cascading from the top of your head, and pouring down your neck and over the skin of your back. Lazily, you’d lifted an arm and watched as the water washed away the dirt and grime from the past few hours, leaving behind murky trails as the droplets rolled down your skin.
You shouldn’t be taking too long in the shower, you knew this. The boilers for your apartment building were old, and tended not to hold much hot water. But the minute you felt the heat seep into your muscles, you were hypnotized. Closing your eyes, you turned and let the water flow down your hair and into your face, the sound of rushing water drowning out any and all noise from the world outside. It hurts a little when the water hits your nose, shocking you out of your peace and making you step back away from the stream.
Right, you think to yourself, your injuries. Had to work around those…
You look down at your damaged wrists, the raw, angry skin still tender from the rough treatment, and a small annoyance flickers in your chest. How are you supposed to wash your hair when you can’t even get soap in the wounds? Your fingers hover near the shampoo bottle, but your mind veers off, lost in a different memory. The shackles. You can almost feel the cold, unforgiving metal around your wrists again, the way they had bitten into your skin, rubbing it raw with every movement, tethering you in a way that was both physical and psychological. The sensation of being bound, unable to escape, floods your thoughts, and the anxiety tightens in your chest.
You breathe deeply, pushing the memories away as best you can. Your gaze shifts to the temperature dial of the shower, and your fingers flex, tentative, before flicking your wrist just so. The heat of the water rises, just a touch more, and as it hits your skin, it’s like a switch flips. The tension in your hands begins to ease, the deep ache in your muscles loosening, like a rusted hinge moving for the first time in ages after being oiled.
There’s a knock at the door that snaps you out of your thoughts, and you call out an invitation to come in.
“Just wanted to check in,” Vander calls, “makin’ sure everything’s alright.”
You respond quickly, without even thinking. “Yup, I’m all good!” But another look at the shampoo bottle reminds you of your predicament. “...actually…could I ask a favour?” An uncomfortable feeling rises in your chest, the dread of having to depend on someone else for something so simple as washing your hair.
The door clicks as Vander steps inside. “Of course, whatever you need.”
“I-” you exhale a sigh of annoyance, “I think I need help washing my hair. My wrists…”
You don’t need to say any more before Vander starts stripping himself of his clothes, the sound of rustling fabric and his belt hitting the tile floor. The rushing water is almost enough to drown out the self-deprecating thoughts that trickle into your mind, and the sound of your heartbeat skipping in your ears as he climbs in behind you.
He doesn’t say anything at first, but you feel his hands on your body. His fingers swiping over the various discoloured bruises that now decorate your skin, some from Sevika, some from the Enforcers. You can feel the weight of their gaze, full of care, but also something else—concern, maybe even guilt. “I promise, I’m fine.” You say as you turn around to face him, and his eyes immediately shift to your nose. You didn’t realize he was so close to you, your chests basically pressed to one another once you’ve turned to face him. “You and I both know I’ve been through worse.” His eyebrows lift a little and he nods, muttering “fair enough,” as he detaches his hands and bends down to the shampoo he knows is yours.
“I’m sorry to ask so much of you.” You blurt as he pours out the bottled liquid. But he just gives you a knowing look.
“It’s you, Doll,” he smiles, and you realize it’s the first genuine smile you’ve seen from him all night. “You could never ask too much of me.”
Your heart skips all over again.
As he begins working the shampoo into your hair, you find yourself leaning into the feel of his fingers. They’re a little awkward, clearly not used to doing this for someone else, but his touch feels heavenly as they rub into your scalp. Your eyes shut, but your hands latch onto his hips to help keep you steady. It doesn’t take him long to work the solution into your short-cut hair, and he ever so gently tilts your head back into the shower’s stream to wash it away.
“That cut to your nose’ll scar nicely.” He remarks as his hands keep busy in your strands.
“Like it?” You tentatively open one of your eyes and smirk. “At least my muzzle’s not quite as mashed as yours.”
He chuckles lowly. “We’re still young, Minnie. Give it a few more years, and we’ll see who’s talking. Besides,” he tips your head back up, but his hands stay entangled in your hair, “even with all the broken cartilage in the world, and every scar imaginable, you’re still gorgeous compared to my ugly mug.”
A heat rises through your chest that has absolutely nothing to do with the steaming shower, and suddenly, your retort about how much you hate that stupid nickname has vanished from your mind. Instead, you force a roll of your eyes and gently swat at his side with a scoff.
“Oh fuck off, so not true.”
“I think it is.” He smiles, his eyes locked on yours as a small smile pulls at his lips. “Besides, can’t blame a man for trying to flatter his girl.”
Your eyebrows fly up into your hairline. “‘Yours’, huh?”
He hums in confirmation, his thumb brushing at the base of your skull. The touch sends a shiver down your spine, and your breath catches in your throat. He smirks as he confirms, “mine.” There’s no questioning tone or uncertainty, it’s matter-of-fact. Before you even have time to think of a proper response, he’s bending down to retrieve the soap.
He rathers the bar in his hands, his eyes flickering back and forth up to yours, searching yours, as if asking for permission. The tension in the air is palpable, the space between you thick with hesitation. You nod, just once, barely, but it’s enough. He moves with practiced care, gently moving one sudsy hand to your shoulder. You can feel the bubbles wiping away the remnants of the grime and sweat, but you don’t move your eyes away from Vander. His, on the other hand, scans over every inch of you as he continues to move his hand over your skin. The moment his hands reach for your wrists, you flinch, instinctively pulling back, but he stops—just for a beat, letting you adjust, giving you a moment. His touch is careful, soft as he moves away from the tender wounds.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “I should have done something to stop them, to help you.”
You don’t say anything at first, letting him continue to work the soap into your torso. You can feel his hands pause for just a moment around your chest, almost out of habit, before continuing to slide over your sides. Then you lift your hands to his shoulders, stilling him. You search his expression, guilt coming up to the surface and written all over his furrowed brow. You’re looking for something, anything to indicate the right thing to say to him. But then you're moving to your tip-toes, and your hands are sliding around him, pulling his lips down to meet yours.
Your lips are gentle. There’s no heat, no rush, to the kiss but he melts into it all the same. There’s a small, echoed, ‘thump’ as the soap falls to the floor of the shower and his hands encircle your waist. He’s gentle, careful, but pressed you into him. Not unsure or uncertain, just careful of the way your body moves with his touch.
Eventually, you pull away, but he refuses to let you go, and keeps the closeness between you even tighter as he gently presses his forehead to yours. You can feel his breath fanning over your face, and his strong grip keeping you firmly in place. The hot water from the shower streams down your back, and the combined heat from the steam and the shared warmth of his body radiating into both of you. When you do eventually separate, it’s only thanks to a firm hand on his chest that he lets you pull away.
“I think I can handle it from here.” You smile a little to yourself. “I’m 90% sure we’re about to run out of hot water, and I’d really rather that not happen while I’m in here. Is it okay if I meet you out there?”
There’s something like a low growl deep in his chest, and he pulls you in one more time, this time to press a gentle, tender kiss to your wet hair. One of your hands finds its way to his chest, the pads of your fingers tracing over the lines of his muscles appreciatively for a moment longer than strictly necessary before he takes a step back.
“Take all the time you need, Love.” He smiles, squeezing your hand one final time before stepping out. You let him take your hand with him, until the very last moment before he disappears behind the curtain.
As you predicted, it takes next to no time at all for you to finish washing up. You quickly dry off and dress in a much comfier set of clothes, but you’re still toweling off your hair as you step out of the bathroom and into the apartment at large. As you could have guessed, Vander’s sitting there, patiently, on the couch with a first aid kit on standby.
“You didn’t have to actually wait for me.” You explain. “And you really don’t have to help patch me back up.”
“Oh, please,” Vander scoffs and waves you off, “you’ve patched me up plenty, it’s only right if I return the favour every once in a while.”
You can’t help but roll your eyes, but take the spot next to him nonetheless, smiling as he grabs the antiseptic from the kit. His movements are calm, but a little unsure. Usually it’s him getting patched up, not the other way around. You watch him, the quiet comfort of their presence filling the space between you.
He focuses on your wrists first, his hands gentle as they begin cleaning and dressing your wounds. There’s no rush in the way he works, no sense of urgency, just the steady rhythm of their touch. The coolness of the ointment soothes your skin, and for a moment, you forget the discomfort, focusing instead on the simple act of being cared for. His fingers graze your arm as they adjust the bandage, warm and reassuring.
The silence between you isn’t heavy anymore. It’s easy, companionable, a shared moment of quiet that feels more like a pause than anything else. You lean back into the cushions, finally able to relax, the weight of the day starting to lift, if only for a little while. And in that space, with them beside you, you feel happily reassured, content even.
“You don’t have to apologize, you know.” You break the silence. His hands pause over the bandages for a moment, indicating he heard you, but his gaze doesn’t lift to meet yours. “You did help me. I’m assuming it wasn’t Silco’s idea to get my mom and Niya involved.”
He shrugs, wrapping the second bandage around your other wrist. “It was Silco who said that if we were seen anywhere topside, we’d get thrown in jail with you.” For such a large man, it was surprising when his voice was this small.
“He was probably right.” You nod, and lift your already-bandaged hand to cup his cheek. “But you still found a way to help me. What matters right now is that I’m safe, here with you, and everyone down here’s okay.”
He leans into your touch for a moment, shutting his eyes. He seems to be thinking to himself for a moment, then sighs, nods, and turns his attention back to bandaging you up. You drop your hand.
“Suppose you’re right.” He mumbles, practically a whisper, and he looks up to give you a thankful smile. One you’re more than happy to return.
“When am I not?”
To this, he can’t help but chuckle, and he gives you a knowing look, one that makes the air feel lighter, more peaceful. There’s something about his presence, the way he handles you with care, that feels grounding, even comforting. As he finishes with your wrist, he finally turns his attention to your nose. This one’s easy, shorter work, as he simply dabs on the last of the antiseptic and sticks a plaster to the bridge of your nose, just under your eye line.
As he finishes tending to you, his hands remain steady, not moving away, not yet. He looks up at you, eyes soft, searching for a sign—anything that might let him know you're ready for him to pull away. But you don’t want him to. Instead, you happily let him move closer to you, his body pressing against yours as he captures your lips in a tender, passionate kiss. His arms wrap around you, pulling you in tightly as his mouth moves over yours, a mix of tenderness and hunger in his touch. Time seems to slow down as his mouth moves over yours, the kiss slow and languid, as if he wants to savor every moment. His hands gently caress your face, fingers tracing the outline of your jaw as he kisses you tenderly.
He takes his time, exploring your mouth with a gentle but firm tongue, mapping out every contour. He moves from your lips to your ears, his breath hot on your skin as he whispers sweet nothings, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the length of your neck that make your toes curl. Your hands snake around to the back of his head, your fingers gripping into his hair and successfully drawing out a moan from him. This makes you smirk, but you’re surprised when he quickly pulls his face away from you.
“When do you have to be at work?” He asks, voice husky but concern written on his face.
You shake your head. “I don’t, I booked today off in case the fight went sideways. You?”
His concern melts away into a gleeful smile, his arms enveloping your torso as he lifts you up with absolutely no effort, sitting back to lean against the arm of the couch and pulling you into his lap, your thighs straddling his. “Not until tonight.”
Gods bless!
You dip your face back to meet his lips again, letting a moan ring out at the contact. The kiss is slow and somewhat tentative at first, and it’s clear he wants to be gentle with you. But more and more as your kiss continues to deepen, he quickly becomes more confident until he inevitably dips his head back down to the crook of your neck. But he still moves slowly, taking his time to taste and touch, his mouth finding the sensitive spots on your neck, the hollow of your collarbone, and the slope of your shoulder. His mouth sears a path of pleasure as his hands continue to wander over your body, exploring every dip and curve. His stubble scratches you in the most delectable way.
He worships you with his touch, as if he wants to memorize every inch of you, to commit the feel of your skin to his memory. It feels like every touch of his lips is your own personal heaven, your hand dropping to his shoulder and gripping, your chest heaving as your breath becomes more and more laboured. Damn this man, damn him and his memory of every little nerve ending in your body.
As his hands move under the fabric of your shirt, you give him a silent nod of approval, letting him slide the material up and off your torso and not carrying where into the depths of your home he throws it. He pulls away, just for a moment, as his hands slide up and cup your breasts, his eyes scanning over every inch of you. “Best fuckin’ tits either side of the bridge, I swear to the Gods…” This makes you giggle a little, which only makes his smile grow even wider.
“Shut up and kiss me again, idiot.” You laugh, using your magic to pull him in by the metal studs in his vest. He’s only too happy to follow orders, crashing his lips to yours once again.
Your hands run up his chest, helping him out of his vest and he thankfully takes the hint, pulling his shirt over his head. You take the moment to shimmy out of the pajama shorts you’d only just gotten dressed into as he begins to fiddle with his belt. It only takes a second for you to flick your finger, and the belt unloops itself and goes flying towards the bedroom. He gives you a knowing look.
“What?” You shrug as he resumes discarding his pants. “What’s the point of having these damn powers if I can’t use them, hm?”
“Lil’ trouble maker.” He tsk’s but very shortly pulls you right back to his lap.
His strong, muscular chest pressed up against your own, the feeling of skin against skin sending a wave of heat through both of you. He kisses you with a fervor and intensity that takes your breath away, his hands holding you tightly against him, as if he's scared to let you go. You feel as desired and wanted as you've ever been, every touch and kiss from him making you weak in the knees and stealing all rational thought from your mind. In all your years, you’ve never once felt quite as desired as you do with Vander. Similarly, it takes only a mere touch from him to make your knees weak and your mind go empty. Simply put, it’s just…him. And he’s the only one you want.
The thought, and the pure intimacy of it all, is enough to make your hips begin to grind down on their own accord. You can feel how he’s pressing into you, how hard and perfectly shaped he is against your body. His hand finds your hip, steadying you and catching your gaze in a questioning look.
“Sure you’re up for this tonight, Love?” He asks, thumb rubbing softly against your pelvis bone. But all you’ve got to do is smile and dip down to capture his lips as you tilt your hips and scoot closer, for him to let out a full-body shiver and grab your hips with both hands, and thrust fully into you. You moan out a slew of curses as your body writhes against his, everything else ceasing to exist as he fills you. Getting lost in his embrace, his face finds your neck again and begins to pepper kisses across the skin. You feel the desperate need for friction, a primal urge taking control, but you're already so sensitive and overwhelmed from the initial stretch that you know you need time to adjust. He groans, a deep, guttural thing, when you finally take all of him, and the sound drives through you, making your core tighten in response. Your own self-restraint crumbles, and your hips move on their own accord, silently pleading for him to finally give in and begin the movement you both crave. Thankfully, he seems unable to resist, his own hips moving to match your rhythm until you hit the pace you need, causing pleasure to crash into you.
His strength is absolutely an asset, his hands helping to guide your hips up and down as you begin to slowly ride him. Your mind was already practically spinning, moans and curses tumbling from your lips as he dragged in and out of your warmth. Your hands find his shoulders (fuck, he has nice shoulders), a desperate attempt to ground yourself and bite back the urge to dig your fingernails into his skin.
“So-fuck–” you whine, almost pathetically, “so fucking full.”
The sound sends a shockwave through Vander, all but ramming himself deeper into you in a way that feels like it breaks your brain. But you both feel it, the desperate hunger for more.
“That’s right. You take me so well, don’t you, Love?” He moans into your skin, pulling away from your neck to take in the sight of you on his lap. Somehow, seeing his eyes, seeing the way he looks at you; like water to a man parched, like your the greatest treasure you could hope to find. Mesmerized by the pleasure on your face and the way your tits bounce as you move against him. It feels wonderfully perfect, and all you can do is moan and nod, each time your hips snap down, sending a fresh wave of ecstasy through your body.
He’s relentless, his hips grinding against yours like he owns you, and there’s a sense of ownership in his actions, as if he’s claiming you as his own. He lets out a growl against your ear, and the sound of it sends a shiver down your spine. He’s wild and intense, and the pleasure he’s giving you is so much more than you ever thought possible. You cling to him, your fingers digging into his back as you hold on for dear life, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations.
At this point, any semblance of gentleness is long gone, replaced with the primarily urge, the exquisite electrical feeling that buzzes through both of you. You’re riding him with every intention of chasing both of your releases, every thrust down having him gripping your hips harder and harder to the point where you’re half-aware of the bruises you’re sure to have after. He dips back to the crook of your shoulder one last time, licking up the length of your neck with the flat of his tongue before suddenly, the piercing feeling of his teeth against your shoulder shocks through you. You shriek in the mix of pain in pleasure, letting your head roll back to allow him more access.
“Mine.” He growls into your ear. “Understood?”
“Fuck-yes!” You cry, feeling the coil in your lower stomach begin to tighten. “Yours. All of me, all that I am, yours.”
Fuck it. Right now, right here. All you needed was him.
He’s driving you crazy with a pleasure more intense than you could have imagined, his body moving against yours with a raw, primal force. With each deep, hard thrust, you feel him claiming you, leaving you completely at his mercy, and the sense of submission only adds to the pleasure coursing through you. It’s as if he knows your body better than you do, and he’s able to draw out every ounce of pleasure from you. Knowing you’re both on the brink, he reaches out, grabbing one of your hands and pressing a kiss to your palm, then your bandaged wrist, then your arm, then where he just marked his teeth into your skin, all the way back to claim your lips. It’s maddening and intoxicating all at once, it’s perfect, and you find yourself being flown over the edge.
“That’s-” he lets out his own string of curses as you tighten around him, “that’s it, that’s it! So fucking good!”
Your mind is so fried from your orgasm that you barely register him all but throwing you onto the couch, didn’t even register the feel of the fabric on your back. But you most definitely felt him suddenly thrusting back into you, hooking one of your legs over your shoulder to allow him full and complete access to you. He’s more than happy to press kisses to the inside of your thigh, which mixed with the fully lewd sounds of his quickened pace, is enough to get you fully sex drunk and delirious as he continues to plow into you.
“Gods, you look so-” he bites your thigh, and the same shriek escape your throat, combined with your drunken moans and whines, and it’s enough to make him groan deeply into the flesh he’s biting. “Fuck, I’m gonna-”
“Please!” You whine, voice cracking as your hands balling into fists as your mind struggles to comprehend the amount of pleasure flowing through you right now. “I need it, need to feel it! Vander, please!” That’s more than enough to ruin him, Vander dropping your leg so he could crash down and kiss you as he buried himself deep into you with one final thrust. You felt him groan against your lips and claw at your hips as he emptied himself into you, his chest rising and falling with each panted breath.
You remain wrapped up in each other's embrace as several minutes pass, your lips moving against one another’s in a satisfied and languid kiss until he finally pulls away to catch his breath. He gasps for air, his warm breath fanning across your collarbone and sending a shiver through you.
Eventually, he can finally speak again, and he releases a deep, satisfied moan, “Fuuuuuck, that was good.” He manages to lift himself up slightly, gazing down at you with eyes filled with an adoring love, as they reach for your hand, their fingers brushing over your knuckles with a tenderness that makes your heart warm. You smile back at him, feeling giddy and blissful. “You alright, Love?”
Taking a deep, calming breath yourself as your consciousness slowly returns to you, you slide your hands up around his neck. “Oh Gods, yeah.” You laugh, and the smile he cracks is so wide, you’re sure he’s going to hurt himself. His head bends down, peppering your face full of kisses until you’re giggling and pushing him away. “...We should probably maybe move off the couch, though…and maybe grab our clothes before the guys get back.”
He whines a little, but concedes. “Right, yeah, hang on…”
Bless him, he carefully maneuvers you into your room, masterfully managing to stay completely in you until you’re laying on your bed. Then, with one final kiss, you feel him pull out before wandering back to the living room to collect all your things as you begin to clean yourself. It takes mere moments, but it feels like ages until he’s back in the room with you, tucking the both of you into your blankets as you begin to seep into the cozy warmth of your shared bodies.
For a while, you just sit there, the two of you wrapped in warmth and quiet. Every now and then, he gently adjusts the blanket around you, their touch always light, always careful, like he’s trying to wrap you in comfort from every direction. You laugh softly when he tries to adjust your pillow for the third time, but it’s a light, easy sound, one that feels like things are returning to normal again.
You lean into him, your head resting on his shoulder, and he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. The room feels full of little moments like this—touches that reassure, smiles that say everything without needing to be said. You’re not sure how long you stay like that, but time feels slower, softer, in the best way. The world outside seems distant, like you’re tucked away in this small bubble of calm, where everything feels safe and cared for.
It’s simple, it’s quiet, but in that space, it’s everything.
Things that Bite at Night (Warwick)
Kinktober 2024 Day Twenty-Nine: Predator/Prey
𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩
𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?
𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?
You know better than to go out at night on most days.
But despite a lifetime of warnings, you couldn’t help but have a few moments where you just ignore them. Or forget. Or feel a little too brave- a little too invincible. And how could you blame yourself? You’re still young. You’re still naive enough when you try to acknowledge it. Who cares that you’ve been going to the bars long enough that nearly every bartender on this side of the river knows you by your face? Those same bartenders are twice your age and they go out at night. They make it back alive over and over and over again. So long as they don’t have any outstanding debts or look at someone the wrong way, of course.
But you keep your nose clean. You keep your head down. You don’t have any reason to worry about disappearing late into the night. You don’t have any reason to worry about things that go bump in the night. You don’t have any reason to worry about things that bite at night either. You’re a Zaunite- born and raised. You know how to handle yourself. You know how to handle business. So why…?
Why can’t you move…?
Every part of you that is still desperate to fight is screaming at you right now. Every part of you is still afraid more than anything of pain and dying and the thing in front of you is fighting desperately to get you to move an inch- a muscle- anything. But your body feels heavy. And your mind is still in a daze. All you remember is that you were running. All you remember is that you were running so very fast.
In fact, the memory is vaguely starting to come back to you. It’s hard to recall perfectly- you must have hit your head when you fell not too long ago. You must have hit your head when were tackled. But before that, you remember that you were running between dark, damp alleyways- trying to make it back to the main road. Back where there were people. Back where that thing couldn’t get to you. Not without others around to stop it.
But that didn’t come so easily to you. Because all you could focus on was making sure that your steps were quicker and faster than the sprint of that monster behind you. Your feet ached and ached with each step. Your legs burned every time you moved them. There was a dull throb in your shoulder from the sheer number of times you accidentally threw yourself into a brick wall trying to make a quick turn even quicker. And you can’t count just how many times you’ve almost tripped and slipped over uneven streets and sidewalks that were slick and wet with a concerning mix of booze, blood, and hopefully water.
But you still tried to run. You still tried to outrun the very thing that was chasing you. You still tried to make the heavy footsteps and deep, growling sound coming from behind you disappear with just your sheer speed and wit alone. You still shouted for help and tried to throw obstacles in its way. You tried ducking down both roads that you knew and roads that you had no idea existed. You tried to backtrack. You tried to go where you thought there might be people who could help you. You tried to go where you knew there would at least be people- kind-hearted or not.
But sometime later, you found yourself on the cold, hard, uneven floor. Sometime later, you found yourself dazed and confused and in pain all over. Sometime later, you found yourself staring down the muzzle of the beast you’ve heard be called Warwick.
Any hope or bravery you once had was ripped from you in a cold, dead instant the second you were met with the massive teeth of what you could only assume to be the real, live wolf monster that haunts the streets of Zaun. When you first caught sight of the thing, all you could tell was that it was a large, dark mass of fur and glowing green chemicals. As it chased you, you caught sight of metal glints here and there. Were they armor? Were they chains? You don’t know. You may never know.
But now as you lay here- whimpering pitifully with tears slowly leaking from your eyes, you realize that you’re not too surprised that you couldn’t escape. You’re not too surprised that this is what it has come to. Because the stories you’ve heard from others were brutal. A monster that stalks the back street and will tear the limbs off of anything it comes across. Most people have been lucky so far- Warwick had a funny habit of running into a few of the nastiest drug runners and kingpins you know. But that didn’t mean that there wasn’t the occasional, seemingly innocent enough civilian found in a pool of blood with a bite taken out of their jugular. A fate that you can only imagine is about to fall upon you in just a moment.
So the only thing that fills your aching mind in that moment is fear. Fear as it growls lowly in front of you, its large paws stamping at the ground as it lurks closer. Fear as it bares its fangs at you, showcasing the very wide mouth that you will can and will snap you up in just a second. Fear as it crawls over you- toying with you like you were never a person but just their latest hunt. Fear as the only thing you start to see is dark fur and the eyes of animals filled to the brim with bloodlust. Fear as it leans in closer and closer and closer and closer to your neck and-
Licks you.
It licks you.
The realization hits you slowly. In fact, by the time your mind has stopped spinning, you found that the thing crowding above you has already licked at your neck once more. The sensation was slimy and wet and overwhelming as its long, long tongue made a show of trailing upwards around your collarbone and It did so at an agonizingly slow pace- only further contributing to the feeling of being toyed with. Like it’s trying to rile you up. Like it’s trying to taste your sweat. Like it’s trying to see if you were worth the hunt. And if you’re worth hunting again.
But either way, you can’t move. You can’t move. You just can’t. You still can’t find a chance to escape. Because its large, large claws are keeping you pinned to the ground. Because it's heavy, heavy body is keeping you from being able to push it away. Because its wet, wet nose against your skin is keeping you awake and alive yet chock-full of fear.
Because where there’s a nose, there’s a mouth. And where’s there a mouth, there’s teeth. Teeth that you’ve stared down once before. Teeth that are currently starting to nibble at your skin. Teeth that you know are capable of doing more than just a little playbiting. Teeth that you know belong to something that isn’t just some dog but a monster fully capable of horrible, horrible things.
But that’s what you get. That’s what you get for going out at night. That’s what you get for taking that wrong turn and walking into its territory. That’s what you get for not being fast enough. That’s what you get for not being strong enough. That’s what you get for being brave. That’s what you get or being stupid. That’s what you get for being naive. That’s what you get for going out at night. A beast. A monster. A murderer. A hunter. A wolf. And you have no one to blame but yourself.
And the sharp pair of teeth near seconds away from sinking themselves into your mouth.
