thetrinketbox - Tumblr blog

thetrinketbox · 5 months

Note

I just found your blog and I am EXTREMELY IN LOVE with how you write Claude. Thank you so much 🙏🙏🙏

If you take request, I'd love to see a jealous Claude of some sort. Or Claude having a crush on you and he wants to be very tactical about it but fails because for once he also stumbles over his words.

~🌻🌻🌻

Hello Sunflower anon! I promise I hadn't forgotten your ask, I just didn't want to respond until I had something to show for it. Now, here it is! Hope you enjoy! :)

Also available on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52063906

Out of the corner of his eye, Claude found himself watching you.

The Leicester Alliance might not have been as...enthusiastic in their celebrations as the kind of feasts that went down in Almyra, but they still knew how to host a party when the situation called for it. The buffet table groaned with a banquet of food that would have been unthinkable just a year or so ago and everyone was dressed in their best outfits, determined to finally enjoy some splendour after fighting their way through some of the bleakest days in living memory.

You were working the room, the goldenrod gown you were wearing rustling across the polished marble floors. He wondered if you had picked out that colour for any particular reason – was it simply because it looked nice on you, or was it some kind of message? A code, if you will.

“A woman’s outfit isn’t just for practicalities, Claude!” He heard Hilda’s voice chiming in his head, something she’d told him once in the old days at the Academy, when he’d once asked why she bothered to wear perfume and earrings to a mock battle. “When you pick out your clothing, you’re making a statement about who you are! And not just the girls – look around you sometime if you don’t believe me!”

He’d been sceptical of this claim initially, but after that conversation, Claude had found himself paying closer attention to how his fellow Golden Deer and other students wore their uniforms and had been both surprised and intrigued to see that Hilda had been right. It was in the little things, like Hilda’s skirt being as short as she could possibly get away with without incurring the wrath of Seteth, while Marianne made sure her uniform covered as much as herself as possible, like she was using the fabric to hide in. Then you had Sylvain with his sleeves rolled up and his hair messy, like he’d just rolled out of bed and couldn’t be bothered to button up the cuffs or front of his jacket. Then you had Lorenz and that ridiculous rose he always wore pinned to his lapel…

Speaking of Lorenz and his questionable choice in accessories, Claude spied the man himself across the room…and there you were, laughing at something he was saying.

An unfamiliar knot of irritation tightened in Claude’s chest, which was ridiculous…Lorenz was your old classmate, after all, so why wouldn’t you be catching up with him? There was plenty to catch up on, after all, especially now that the wore was officially over and Fodlan could breath a sigh of relief…

Yet he still didn’t like the way Lorenz was staring at you, like he’d discovered a rare new species of flower or bird. No doubt you looked even more lovely close up, but Claude wondered if you remembered what Lorenz used to be like around female students at Garreg Mach, to the point that Teach herself had to step in. As the sun poured into the room, catching on the jewellery you were wearing around your neck and in your ears, Claude couldn’t help but wonder what you had been thinking when you chose them, if each item was a tool in your arsenal to be deployed at the key moment…

“Stare, much?”

Claude jolted and turned to see Hilda, who was unsurprisingly in a resplendent pink gown that was clinging lovingly to her curves – if she was trying to convey a message with her outfit, then “Look at me!” seemed to be the end result.

“Hilda!” Claude greeted her, shooting her an easygoing smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “I see that you’re already enjoying the festivities.”

“Oh, there’s plenty to enjoy around here,” Hilda said airily. “But I have to say, you’re not looking as happy as the hero of the hour should be. Are you wishing you’d stayed home in Almyra?”

It was still so strange to hear the other half of him spoken aloud so casually, when he’d been hiding it so painstakingly for five years. Yet it came with an undeniable surge of relief.

“My home is here and Almyra.” Claude replied diplomatically. “Anyway, you think I’d pass up an opportunity to see everyone all together again?”

“Hmm, that’s true.” Hilda nodded, sipping from her glass of champagne. “This is a prime time to start forging diplomatic relations, isn’t it? Looks like those two over there are already making inroads.”

Hilda tilted her head, pink hair slipping off her shoulder, an amused little smile playing about her lips, like she knew something Claude didn’t. She’d always been able to see through him, and vice versa.

So no doubt Hilda had noticed the way that, no matter who Claude was talking to, his eyes kept wandering back to you, tracking you all about the ballroom as though he was worried that the moment he wasn’t making sure you were still there, you might just disappear.

“I thought the war taught you that sometimes you can’t just stand back and watch before you make a move.” Hilda remarked.

“It did.” Claude replied evenly, his green eyes growing half-lidded as Lorenz put his hand on your waist.

“Then go and talk to her! It’s not cute to stand around pouting at your age, you know.”

“Ha! You’re one to talk – you’ll be pouting to get your way until you’re an old lady.” Claude said, imagining an eighty-year-old Hilda in pigtails. “And I know.”

“Good, because it’s so exhausting trying to play matchmaker.” Hilda said, with an affected hair toss, before she spotted someone across the room and gave them a dainty little wave, her fingers fluttering.

“Oh, there’s Caspar! I promised him a dance!” she lilted, before swanning away, the scent of her perfume wafting behind her – Claude caught a whiff of anemones.

“Bet that’s not all you promised.” He murmured under his breath.

Nevertheless, Claude heeded her advice, because as spacy as she might have liked to seem, Hilda was a startlingly perceptive woman under her ditzy attitude. He strode across the room, boots clicking on the polished floors, surging ahead before he could start doing what he always did. Running through various scenarios in his head like he was figuring out his next move in chess, making contingency plans, scheming. It was his fall-back from when he was a scrawny young boy, hiding in the shadows from those who sought to harm him that he couldn’t possibly retaliate against physically. Old habits died hard, despite everything.

“Lorenz! I see your fashion sense has improved since our school days! Well, somewhat.” Claude said in a cheery voice as he approached the two of you. “Remember how people used to ask if you’d tried to cut your hair with an axe?”

“May I remind you, Claude, that you wore the same uniform as me back then?” Lorenz sighed, but it lacked the genuine irritation it once did.

“I see you still like yellow, though.” You said to Claude, turning your head to smile at him, though that smile was teetering on being a smirk.

Claude’s mouth went dry.

“So do you.” He replied. He didn’t mean to say that; it just popped out before he could stop himself. It was unlike Claude to be so concise with his wording, he had always tended to err on the side of verbosity, yet…

Your smile widened and heat spread across your cheeks, and his own mouth curved in a smirk.

“Yes, well, we were just about to dance-“ Lorenz said haughtily, seeming not to notice your reaction to Claude’s comment, and the latter gave a wince of faux-sympathy.

“Ooh, sorry, Duke of Gloucester, but she already promised the next one to me. Did she not say? Ah, for shame, my lady!”

“Oh, right, yeah,” you said, before quickly turning your head to Lorenz. “Apologies, do excuse me. But you know, if you’re looking for a dance partner, why not ask Marianne? She’s been standing over there by herself a while, it would probably be nice for her to see a face she recognises.”

“Ah, yes, what a good idea!” Lorenz said, his face brightening at the suggestion, turning to look across the ballroom. “I had to speak with her about Margrave Edmund’s proposition…”

He wandered off, still muttering under his breath, though it was obvious neither you nor Claude cared whatsoever what he was talking about. Instead, Claude offered a hand with a slightly mocking edge to it, unable to resist bucking against convention.

“Shall we?”

You accepted his hand and he lead you into the middle of the room where several people were dancing, and he saw Hilda shoot him a grin as Caspar somewhat clumsily whirled her around in a blur of pink and blue. Claude rested one of his hands on the small of your back and though the contact was hardly anything risqué, it still sent a bolt of delight through you.

“So you really did mean to dance.” You remarked, falling into step with him almost without thinking about it. You’d been instructed how to dance for formal events like this by your parents when you were younger and as much of an irritating chore as they’d felt at the time, it was like second nature now.

“What else could I have meant?” Claude replied, lifting one hand to twirl you around. “I could have challenged you to a duel, I suppose, but neither of us seem dressed for the occasion.”

“Well, for a second there, I thought you were just going to start grunting and throw me over your shoulder.” You teased, as he pulled you in again. “That was quite the glare you were giving Lorenz Hellman Gloucester.”

“Do you want to be thrown over my shoulder?” Claude asked, tilting his head. “Or would that put a dampener on all your schmoozing?”

“Forging important political alliances, you mean.” You corrected Claude with a smirk. “Goodness, Claude. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

“And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were purposefully trying to induce a little jealousy.” Claude replied, eyes sliding down to your lips.

You tilted your chin up, defiantly.

“And if I was?”

There was a small silence, a verbal gauntlet thrown down, and Claude looked at you with an expression that made your insides twist. He reached his free hand out and twined a lock of your hair around his finger, his expression thoughtful.

“Then I’m afraid you’re just going to have to suffer the consequences.”

“Claude…Claude!”

You were sweating. Heated kisses and a warm, muscular body pressing you to the wall would do that to a person. Along with the fact that you were only on the other side of the room from the entire ballroom – if somebody left to get a little fresh air, for example, they might well stumble on the scene of the new Duke of House Riegan kissing you against the wall like a naughty schoolboy. You pulled back, feeling a little dazed.

“I know you like to make risky moves, Claude, but isn’t this a bit much?” you said, a touch breathlessly.

Claude laughed softly, breath tickling your cheek as he moved in closer, pressing his lips to your neck.

“I consider the pros to outweigh the cons in this specific scenario.” He replied in a murmur.

“Which are?” You giggled.

“Pros: I get to put my hands on you,” Claude replied, sucking hard on the skin of your throat, making you gasp. “Cons: Someone might see me put my hands on you.”

“Then why are you doing this in a place where the cons could become a real possibility?” You asked, though you knew the answer already – you just wanted to know if he’d admit to it.

“If you want a gamble to have the best possible payoff, then you have to make sure the risk is big enough.” Claude replied with a wry smile, his fingers squeezing your hips. “Anyway, I didn’t hear you doing much maidenly protesting. Though your mouth was quite occupied at the time…”

You laughed and pulled him down for another kiss, because he was quite right, of course – knowing that other people were there, mooning for someone else across the room but not daring to make a move, or chastely dancing together while secretly wishing they could do so much more, gave you an adrenaline rush you hadn’t felt since you were standing on a battlefield so many months ago. These thrills were less likely to come with the potential cost of your life, but they were exciting in an entirely new way.

“Claude…” you mumbled, leaning into him, resting your hands on his chest, feeling his heart pounding against your palms. It was true you’d wanted to get his attention today – he’d been away in Almyra for months and you’d missed him. Missed his laugh, the easy way he could banter with just about anyone, the sharp line of his jaw and the particular shade of green of his eyes…perhaps going around in a dress the same colour as that cape of his was a little on the nose, but it seemed to have worked.

“Mm?” he seemed preoccupied with your earrings, taking one and giving it a playful little tug, an emerald sparkling between his teeth.

“How long exactly is the hero of the Leicester Alliance expected to stay at the ball until he can flee into the sunset?” you asked, tilting your head.

"Flee? Is that how you see me? Some coward who's always running away at the drop of a hat?” Claude asked, holding a hand to his chest in a parody of shock. "I'm not Bernadetta!"

“I wouldn’t call you a coward,” you said, then paused. “But you do tend to rush from place to place without giving people a chance to say goodbye.”

Understanding dawned across his face, and he ran his fingers through your hair, his touch gentle.

“I had things to do. But I always intended to come back.” He said, simply. It wasn’t easy feeling torn between two things all the time, but he had hope that now, he could finally act as a whole for the first time in his life.

“Still, a word or two would have been nice…” You said, a little churlishly, unwilling to melt under his touch just yet, not wanting to give up your grievances so easily. You didn’t consider yourself the type to be pining over anyone, but Claude von Riegan wasn’t just anyone.

And here was something you loved about Claude, one of the many things – instead of getting exasperated or defensive at your stubbornness, your unwillingness to just sink into the moment, into him, a slow smile spreads across his face, honey-sweet.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He cooed, cupping your face. “Did you miss me that much?”

The sting of his teasing was mitigated by the way he kissed you next, soft and sensually, the scruff of his beard rubbing against your skin, but you didn’t care, you were too busy kissing him back, lips tingling, sighing against him as his hands squeezed your waist like he didn’t want to let go.

“You know, I think I might be able to make it up to you.” Claude said breathlessly, when you both finally paused for ear. Some of your lipstick was smudging his face and a perverse stab of pride poked you at the sight of it. “If you’re willing, that is.”

“That depends on what it is,” you replied, your lips tingling. You knew you were smiling despite your grumpy tone.

“Oh, you’ll like it. But we’d have to get on my wyvern to see it.” Claude replied, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip. “Think of it as an adventure.”

An adventure with Claude sounded…well, even a casual conversation with Claude could be exciting, he was the kind of person who could talk about any subject. But to be whisked away into the unknown made your stomach perform a swooping feeling, almost a pre-emptive recreation of what sitting atop a dragon was like.

“So am I being kidnapped now?” You said with an excited giggle, the possibilities opening up to you suddenly making this spacious corridor seem like a prison you’re about to break free from, and Claude laughed back. “Will you stop and write out a ransom first?”

“You know what us Almyrans alike. We just can’t resist something pretty to take for our own.” He teased, pulling your flush against him. “What do you say we have a real celebration?”

His eyes glinted with mischievous intent, reminding you sharply of the emerald earrings you’d carefully slotted into your ears as you were dressing for the ball. You leaned into his embrace, breathing in the scent of Claude, parchment and cloves and pine needles.

“That’s fine with me. I don’t mind being stolen.” You whispered back to him, and his answering kiss sealed the deal.

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thetrinketbox · 6 months

Text

Within a forest dark (Fae!Homelander x Reader)

Look, I finally wrote a Halloweenlander fic! Sorry it's a bit rushed sksksk.

“I fucking told you this is the wrong way!”

The forest is dark and chilly tonight. You can see your breath leaving you in a plume of vapour as you follow Jeffrey, who is striding through the bushes with the self-righteous anger of someone who is wrong, knows they are wrong, but won’t admit they were wrong.

“No, it’s not!” Jeffrey yelled over his shoulder, slurring. “Why don’t you quit fucking bitching? You don’t know where you’re going so unless you have any better ideas, we’re doing it my way!” You hate to admit it, but he’s got a point. You don’t remember much after leaving the party except carrying with you a vague sense of disappointment – you didn’t even get to kiss a hot guy in a mask. You follow Jeffrey despite your misgivings, and this turned out to be a mistake. A fatal one.

As you walk through the woods, wobbling a bit in your stupid heels, you stop to glance around. Are you seeing things, or does it somehow look mistier the deeper you go? It’s cold out but it’s fairly normal weather for October – you didn’t think it was that cold. And as that begins to nag at you, an insistent alarm from your brain to let you know that something isn’t quite right, you start noticing other things, like how the forest has gone eerily still and quiet. You don’t hear anything except for Jeffrey’s irritated breaths beside you – no owls hooting, no hissing of leaves being blown in the wind or animals making any sound.

A feeling settled in your guts.

Something was very wrong. Jeffrey didn’t appear to notice anything was amiss. He lit a cigarette instead, cupping his lighter so a burst of sparks temporarily lit up his face. He had one of those absurdly powerful lighters, so it was more like he had a tiny flamethrower. You’d laughed your ass off at him the first time he used it, and he burned off his own eyebrows.

“Jeff, I really don’t think we should be here.” You say urgently. “What if it’s private property?” “It’s a fucking forest.” Jeffrey scoffs at you, tapping the end of his cigarette, and some fragments of ash spiral towards the ground, burning a bright orange against the darkness until they’re snuffed out on the damp grass. “Who’s going to own this land? Do you think a farmer with a shotgun is gonna burst out from behind a tree or something?” “Not quite.” A voice cuts through the gloom.

Both of you whip around. A figure is suddenly standing between two trees. You blink. You must be drunker than you thought – you didn’t hear or see him approach, but there he is, smiling at you both in a way that an only be described as sinister. He's good-looking, that’s the first thing you notice. Tall with blonde hair slicked back, revealing a pair of dark, spiralling horns like a ram’s that arch backwards. He’s wearing a blue suit of some kind, you can’t see it very clearly from this distance, but the material has a glossy shine to it like it’s brand new. Wings are folded at his back like an eagle in repose.

It's a great costume. Very realistic. You’re not entirely sure what he’s supposed to be, but it’s a lot more impressive than Jeffrey’s wannabe Freddy Kreuger outfit, which is just a stripy jumper, dirty jeans and a machete he got from a costume shop. Sure, your outfit of Alice in Wonderland isn’t winning any originality prizes, but at least you committed! “Who are you?” Jeffrey asks, looking unnerved and frowning as though that hides it. The stranger chuckles and steps forwards, his boots barely making a sound despite the carpet of leaves decorating the forest floor. “You may call me…Homelander.” He says and there’s something soothing about his voice, a purring growl which makes you want to hear him speak more. “And you two are indeed dirty little trespassers.” His voice becomes a hiss, and you take an uneasy step backwards. Homelander’s eyes flick over to you and his gaze travels brazenly up and down your body. A smile tinged with amusement and lust tugs at his lips, and you have the peculiar urge to pull down your skirt, which just brushes the tops of your striped thigh-high socks. “We didn’t know you owned this place,” you say quickly, holding up your hands. “We’re just trying to get back to the road. We can leave if you- “ “Fuck that, we didn’t do anything wrong!” Jeffrey cuts across you harshly. “It’s just a fucking forest, jeez. There’s nothing even here! Why don’t you just- “ Homelander’s eyes flash.

It happens so fast; you would have missed it if you blinked. His hand flexes and suddenly huge, talon-like claws appear on the tips of his fingers. He swings his arm in a wide arc, claws extended. Jeff has no time to even yell in shock – and his throat is shredded open as easily as tearing wrapping paper. Blood gushes from his neck and you let out a scream as his body hits the floor like a sack, mouth agape in horror. You run.

Your shoes are of no use in the wet, slippery earth and you have no idea where you’re going on top of that, but you can’t ignore your instincts – you have to get the fuck out of here! Now you finally understand what it is you’ve stumbled into. This is fae territory and you’ve just managed to piss one off. A powerful one at that, judging by how easily he dispatched a full-grown man. All with a flick of his claws.

Will those be across your throat next?

Unfortunately for you, running away from a predator is the worst move you could have made. Homelander lifts his chin and breaths in, a deep inhale as he takes in your scent, perfume and alcohol mingling together in a sugary cocktail that makes his mouth water. “So you want to play?” Homelander asks the night air, a sadistic smirk curling his lips. “Let’s play then, sweetheart.” ~ The mists won’t let you go.

You’ve stopped running now – the stitch in your side was too painful for you to keep going at that pace “Please,” you blurt out. It’s not very dignified, but dignity doesn’t really come into it when dealing with a homicidal fae creature. “Look, I didn’t mean to piss you off, just don’t kill me- “ “Aww, are you begging for your life now?” he mocks you, tilting his head and you’re struck once more by how bird-like the gesture is. “You know, trespassing on a fae’s territory requires some kind of sacrifice for the affront. To restore balance, you see.” He licks his teeth.

“So, what’ll you give me to do that, hmm?” "But you just-" you say, pointing vaguely in the direction of where Jeffrey met his end. "That was his punishment for trespassing." replies Homelander, smirking. "I'm still deciding on yours." His eyes, such a bright blue that they burn in the darkness like candle flames. They track up and down your skimpy costume and goosebumps prickle across your flesh that have nothing to do with the chilly air. You lick your lips nervously - you must tread carefully. You've just seen what he can do if sufficiently angered, can see the blood dripping from his claws and smell it in the air.

You don't think about Jeffrey. You can't. "Mmm...no. I'm not gonna kill you," Homelander says in a slow, lilting voice. "You're too pretty to kill."

All of a sudden, he's in front of you and you can't help the startled little gasp that leaves your mouth - one minute he's a few feet away and the next second he's directly in front of you and he looks even bigger this close. Something in the pit of your stomach twinges at how big and broad his chest looks. Then his bloodied hand grips your jaw, and he forces your head up to look at him. His thumb digs into your cheek, and he seems to take visible pleasure in your discomfort. "Now, how would you pay me back?" Homelander purrs, lifting his hand a little so you're forced to stand up on tiptoe, wobbling precariously. "Hmm? How do you think you can make this up to me?" You already know what he means. And if he's willing to keep his word and let you go afterwards (aren't fae bound to their word?) then perhaps it won't be such an ordeal. What's spreading your legs compared to getting your throat torn open? He isn't bad looking, you can say that much. There's something in his frame, power surging through his body, that's undeniably enticing. What the fuck is wrong with you? a voice asks in your head, and you promptly tell it to shut up.

You lick your dry lips. “I can…” you trail off, but you look at him meaningfully. Homelander laughs, and the sound sends the hairs on the back of your neck standing up.

“You little cocktease.” He says.

You flinch at the harshness of his tone, but before you have time to try anything else, Homelander’s mouth covers yours. He does not kiss you gently – in fact you get the impression he’s doing his best not to just sink those prominent canines of his into the flesh of your bottom lip. You hiss in shock against him, but despite his roughness, the kiss is not unpleasant. His mouth is hot against yours, sending tingles surging across your skin. His teeth nip your lip, demanding you open up your mouth. You hesitate only a moment before doing so, and next thing you know, his tongue slips in past your teeth. His hands are not idle either, wandering up and down your body and one goes immediately beneath your dress, grabbing your ass cheek and giving it a hearty squeeze and then a slap that makes you jump, the noise loud in the darkness. “Mmph-!” you say, or try to, but Homelander isn’t much interest in letting up. “Look at you, walking around like this,” he growls against your neck. “It’s like you wanted to get fucked in the middle of the woods.” His hand moves around your hip and snaps your underwear against your hip. You feel like you’re being mauled by a badly-trained dog – not enough to break the skin or anything, but his affection is just a little overly rough, the mockery in it contrasting with how fervently he kisses. You gasp as his fingers nudge aside your underwear and teases at your slit. “Tsk.” Homelander mutters, when he finds you nowhere near as wet as he wants you to be. “I guess I’ll have to help a little…” He makes it sound like he’s doing you some great favour, when he’s the one demanding to get to fuck you in exchange for sparing your life. You should be angry, but your anger is a slippery thing, and even harder to hold onto when Homelander’s gloved hands suddenly rub against your clit in a way that makes you keen aloud. “Mmm…that’s better.” Homelander says approvingly, winking at you. He shamelessly tugs your panties down to your thighs to get them out of the way and your cheeks scorch with heat as the cool air ghosts over your most sensitive of areas. There’s something that feels extra naughty about being exposed like this but being fully clothed otherwise. Homelander nudges your thighs further apart and you end up having to plant your hands on his chest for balance as he fingerfucks you.

Except that makes it sound crude, unskilled, and he’s anything but the latter. His fingers are long, and they sink deep into your cunt, far deeper than you can normally achieve alone. You moan against him as they nudge up against a sweetspot inside you, your fingernails digging into the front of his suit, and Homelander laughs cruelly at you. “You should see your face,” he mocks, yet this taunting his tempered by how enthusiastically he picks up the pace – he wants to see you come unravelled. He likes seeing the shame and arousal at war on your face, knowing that in theory you shouldn’t be enjoying this but in practice, you’re loving every second of it. “Dirty girl. Getting a stranger to fuck you in the dark, dark woods. Maybe I should have just had you on your hands and knees from the second I saw you. Bet you would’ve liked that, huh? Liked someone else having you at their mercy?” “N-no…” you moan at his question. He curls his fingers inside you, and you cry out. “Oh god. Yes…” “No? Yes? Make up your mind, honey.” Homelander smirks. “Ah, it’s not your fault. You’re too busy being fucked stupid to answer hard questions, aren’t you?” He keeps up this mocking banter and you groan as you try to keep up with what he’s saying, even though the heat burning through your body is very distracting, a pulsing throb like a drumbeat building louder and louder inside you. Your thighs are trembling with the effort of standing upright and a stupid, perverse part of your brain is weirdly thankful you at least have Homelander to hang onto. What, what the fuck are you saying?! Demanding as he is, it doesn’t take long for Homelander to wring an orgasm out of you, his breath hot against your neck, one hand handling you steady while the other thrusts in and out of you, stretching you open and hitting deep within you. You muffle your moan against his chest, sagging against Homelander as he relents, finally pulling his fingers out of you. “Look what a mess you’ve made of my gloves.” He tuts, shaking his head in faux disapproval. “Dirty girl.” He clicks his fingers. “Turn around. Against that tree.” It's a command and you can do nothing but obey – not that you want to fight it. As much shame as it causes you to admit, even to yourself, this is possibly one of the most exciting things to ever happen to you. You turn and see a huge, sturdy out tree. Homelander pushes at you, bending you forwards, so you clumsily grip the trunk – you feel like you’re going to need something to hang onto. Homelander chuckles darkly as he grabs your hips and pulls them back until they meet his crotch. With another slap that makes you squeal, your dress is promptly flipped out of the way, and you’re exposed to his hungry, relentless gaze. “Spread your legs.” He orders you in a rasp and you do your best to comply without overbalancing, shuffling your legs apart. Homelander’s hands smooth across your thighs, the gesture seemingly intended to indicate approval, and you hear the hiss of a zipper – a distant part of your brain notes surprise that fae clothing even have those, but perhaps they’ve incorporated some of the more convenient parts of human fashion into their own wardrobes. He doesn’t bother to warn you. You feel something nudging up against your core, and then cry out as he pushes his way inside your soaked core. “Ahhh-!” you gasp – he’s so thick. He fills you up in a way that has you squirming with anticipation – he barely has to move and you can feel all of him up against you. “Fuck, you’re so tight…” Homelander hisses, and the way he says it makes it sound like a compliment. “Mm…good girl. Good fuckin’ girl…” He sinks into you, thrusting deep and your mouth falls open in a silent cry at the sensation. The throbbing that had momentarily paused when Homelander removed his hand from you resumes in full force, making you keen aloud as he starts to move. He’s rough, of course, one hand grabbing your hip for purchase, and he fucks you, yet another hand is smoothing over your back in a weirdly comforting gesture.

You hug the oak tree hard, body jolting forward with each hard, firm thrust, and you cry out, knowing that there’s nobody else around to hear you, nobody for miles. If you want him to let you out of this forest alive, might as well put on a show, right? Anyway, it feels so good, so fucking intense, that you can’t imagine keeping quiet while this is happening. Every rock of his hips sends another bolt of pleasure down your spine. Your hands are slippery with sweat and the bark of the tree digs into your arms as you hold onto it for dear life. “Oh god…Homelander…” you groan out loud, his fingers squeezing your flesh. “Yes, fuck yes…” “Thassit…ngh…” Homelander responds, and there’s an odd pinch of gratification in you at hearing that he's putting in some audible effort. “Gonna fuck you…til you can’t walk…” He sounds like he fully intends to make good on his threat and a whine builds in your throat – you’d prefer not to be found in the forest in a ruined Halloween costume and smelling of sex, but you’ll still take that over being found with your throat shredded open. With the vigorousness of how he fucks you, it doesn’t take long for you to come again, even more intensely than before, and you keen aloud with it, your forehead knocking against the tree as Homelander gives a few last, sloppy jerks to chase his own high, and he groans deeply, head back as he comes. You can feel him twitching inside you and it takes Homelander a couple of seconds before he pulls out of you, leaving you empty and shivering. Slowly, you release your friend the tree and stand back upright, tugging up your panties even though you know they’re probably going to be completely unsalvageable after this. Homelander turns you around and smirks, reaching out and plucking a leaf out of your hair – it must have fallen on you during. “You did very well, sweetheart.” He praises you. “I think we’re gonna have a good time together.” It takes you a moment to process what he just said and you jolt out of the glow his compliment gave you, staring at him in wide-eyed disbelief. “Wait…what did you say?” you ask. "You promised to give me your body in payment." Homelander reminds you in a husky voice, pulling you in and giving you a lusty squeeze. "You never stipulated you were only giving it to me for one night..." Your mouth falls open as you stare into Homelander's own hypnotic blue ones. A slow, predatorial smirk spreads across his face, fangs glinting in the moonlight.

"And I have a debt to collect."

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thetrinketbox · 6 months

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My Sin, My Siren (Homelander x OC)

Hello, Hello! So I'm finally getting around to something I've been wanting to do for a while - post a Homelander x OC fic! Bear with me as it's been a hot minute since I watched the show but I think this might be fun. Hope you enjoy! -

Quiet, melancholy music blared through tinny speakers, unseen by the figures onscreen.

The camera panned across a desolate landscape featuring a devastated Manhattan. As the camera swept across the once-busy street to really let you know how utterly fucked the situation was, a woman in a tastefully ruined outfit stumbled into view.

“Oh, god!” she cried, grabbing her hair. “What’s happened?!”

A man, not as artfully messy as the woman and instead just plain messy, joined her, and they clung to each other as they gazed out at the wreckage.

“It’s hopeless…” the man said, shaking his head. “They’re too strong. Who’s going to save us now?”

A set of booted feet walked into frame, the iconic American flag swaying. Instantly the fanfare switched up, into the iconic boom that viewers knew and loved, along with a familiar voice, sure and strong:

“Looks like you…need a hero.”

“So, what do you think?” Ashley Barrett said excitedly to the young woman beside her, hitting pause on the laptop, freezing the image of The Seven standing heroically against a post-apocalyptic background, the words Dawn of The Seven emblazoned across the screen in bold lettering.

Ashley may have worked with the shining stars of Vought on a regular basis and, thanks to the untimely demise of Madelyn Stilwell, she was climbing ever higher on the corporate career ladder. But she was still only human, and it wasn’t every day you had a face-to-face discussion with a freaking popstar! (Well, former popstar – her music taste had rather changed in recent years).

Cleo – no surname for her, at least not to the general public, she was simply Cleo - said nothing.

She just stared at Ashley, half of her elfin face obscured by sunglasses, which on the wrong person would have made her look like an insect, but through some magic of celebrities being above such things, they worked in her favour. It was a bright, sunny day, but Ashley suspected that she was actually wearing them to hide a hangover, considering her laconic she had been throughout this entire meeting. Perhaps it hadn’t been strictly necessary for her to visit the set to view the footage of the newest Seven movie, but Ashley had been unable to resist pushing the issue – it would be good if a paparazzi happened to get a snapshot of Cleo on-set, even in the unlikely event they went with someone else.

“This isn’t the final cut, of course, but it’s a general idea of what we’re going for for the seventh movie of the Seven franchise.” Ashely babbled on when Cleo didn’t offer her a response – perhaps she needed to sell it harder, although Cleo’s agent had sworn that she was indeed interested in Vought’s offer. “You know, it’s really going to tie in everything together nicely, we’re handling Translucent’s absence very tastefully and A-Train will-“

Slowly, as Ashley spoke, Cleo’s jaw flexed and a large, pink bubble slowly inflated from between her lips, the woman methodically making it larger and larger as Ashley babbled on, until she was forced to sputter to a stop when said bubble became so large that Ashley couldn’t actually see Cleo for it – for one bizarre moment it almost looked like the thing had consumed the entirety of her head, given that Cleo’s hair was only a shade or so darker than the gum.

Satisfied Ashley had stopped talking, Cleo popped the bubble with a quick, decisive chomp of her teeth, sucking the deflated gum back into her mouth and wedging it into her cheek. It was starting to lose its flavour since she’d been chewing it since she the hotel this morning, but she refused to spit it out until she could get her hands on a fresh pack of the stuff.

“Fine.” Cleo said, feeling like it had been an age since her actual input was required – this Audrey woman or whatever her name was had been continuing a one-woman monologue for what felt like forever. Cleo checked her phone as she spoke. “I can probably squeeze something in between, you know, my tour dates.”

Despite the lackluster response, Ashley rallied gamely – she was a professional, after all.

“Really? That’s great! Because you know, viewership is changing from the first The Seven movie and with your vocal talents it will really draw in the market on- “

Cleo raised her eyes, her irritation – which had been simmering before she’d even opened her eyes – finally became too much. She’d have to get hold of an aide and ask for some paracetamol or preferably something stronger. Much stronger.

“Ugh, spare me the corporate bullshit, won’t you?” Cleo snapped, finally looking away from the smartphone in her hands to shoot a glare at Ashley which managed to be palpable despite the sunglasses. “My agent’s already cleared it, so I’ll do it. Jeez. It’s not like writing a single for this schlockfest is gonna be hard, is it?”

“It’s not?” Ashley said, stupidly. Cleo inhaled slowly through her nose.

“It’s just like every anthem for the soundtrack of these damn movies. All about conquering the odds and uniting under the worst and diversity and God bless America, blah blah blah.” Cleo said, the disdain dripping off her voice making it pretty clear what she thought of said messages. “Is it too much to ask that you don’t have some D-lister doing a shitty pop remix of my song over the end credits, by the way? Like can I get some kind of clause in my contract specifying that?”

After all, if she was going to attach her voice to some stupid blockbuster movie, she might as well try to have as much control over the song as possible, right? Ashley sputtered but only for a moment, hurriedly tapping something into her phone.

“Well, yes, of course, I’m sure that wouldn’t be a problem.” She said, as she started typing up an email to Andy, ordering him not to call any said D-list musicians – they had a list of them pre-approved by Vought that had lined up, so she’d have to make sure nobody had jumped the gun and breathed a word of it early. She’d fucking kill them if they had and Cleo walked.

"You know," a voice rang out across the way, making Ashley nearly jump out of her skin. She heard that voice in her dreams sometimes – or perhaps nightmares would be a more accurate term. "Most people would consider it a lucrative business opportunity…hell, maybe even an honour - to be allowed to write a single for a movie about The Seven."

Both women turned.

Homelander himself stood there, clearly having overheard if not all then most of the conversation. He strode closer, like a big cat homing in on its selected prey, until he stopped just in front of Ashley and Cleo. Homelander clasped his hands behind his back and cocked his head, addressing the comment to the latter. The next sentence was spat out with a cheery venom that was a specialty of his, his blue eyes narrowing just a fraction.

"So what the fuck is your problem?"

Ashley looked horrified, but the newcomer looked at him without a hint of shame. Behind those ridiculously large sunglasses, Homelander saw her eyebrows quirk up as she looked him up and down - everybody in the country knew what Homelander looked like, of course, but people always tended to be surprised by how big he was up close.

She was attractive, he conceded, even if she had chosen to dye her hair that gaudy shade of pink, like a waterfall of candyfloss, sideways bangs just brushing the upper frame of the sunglasses. Her body was the result of strict diet and exercise typical of young, female musicians under a record label, though as his eyes slid down her body, Homelander noted that her breasts were definitely not the work of a surgeon - they looked pert and squeezable in that black Lycra tank top that was hugging them with vigour. And on the breeze, there was a strong tang of a sweet, tangy perfume…and…something else, something not quite -

She noted him blatantly sizing her up and scoffed.

"Oh, come on." She said, as if she already knew him, as if they were on equal enough terms that she was addressing him so casually. "Nobody likes to admit they're putting out a bad product, but this movie is pandering, derivative bullshit. I mean, ‘Girls Get It Done?’ Fucking really? How did they manage to stay that without wanting to fucking barf?"

Homelander's smile tightened and Ashley made this nervous shifting motion in his peripheral vision, like a little kid needing to use the bathroom but too timid to put up their hand for permission.

"Oh, really?" he said, through gritted teeth. Still smiling, though. Always still smiling. The girl shrugged, as if it was all one and the same to her.

"Look, it's not your fault. Nobody’s blaming you guys for acting in this thing. You guys didn't write this godawful script – you’re just in it for the paycheck, people respect that. But it's not like I'm the only one who's noticed the quality of these movies has gone down because Vought just wants to pump them out faster to sell more action figures and keep up with all the other movies franchises right now. That's why I'm here, isn't it?"

"Cleo's been selected to bring in the young millennial audience," Ashley jumped in, quickly, before Cleo could say anything else. Homelander probably didn’t know who she was – she was famous, of course, but they simply didn’t operate in the same sphere. "Of course, the decision isn't final yet, but-"

Cleo shot Ashley a look, and the sunglasses didn't hide her expression from Homelander. No doubt she thought the decision not yet being final was ridiculous, especially after she'd had to endure the unbearable burden of being escorted to a movie set and viewing footage of an upcoming blockbuster for a multi-million-dollar franchise before anyone else.

Before Homelander could wipe that supercilious smirk off the bitch’s face – Cleo, was it? – another woman with curly, dark hair and an equally dark suit approached them with a dazzling smile.

“So sorry about that, it was an urgent call.” she said, smoothly assimilating into the conversation like a pro. “Are we all good here? Oh, Homelander, what a pleasure!”

Homelander nodded curtly, slightly mollified at the genuine delight from the agent, though his sharp blue eyes cut right back to Cleo, who was fanning herself with one hand. Despite her poise, her face had a faint sheen of sweat.

“Jess, can we get the fuck out of this heat? I’ve seen everything I need to see, and I need to do some stuff before tonight.”

“Right, of course.” Jessica nodded, before turning to Homelander and Ashley. “Can’t wait to see the final product, you guys, you all are working so hard! We’ll let you know when a demo is ready and you can have a listen to it, see if it needs any tweaking or rewording or whatever before everything’s made official. “Ashley, you have my number. Ciao, ciao!”

With a wave, Jessica managed to chivvy Cleo ahead of her and depart from the conversation all in one smooth move, even with Cleo side-eyeing her at the notion that she would need to put in extra work into the single once she’d written it. Ashley glanced at Homelander to gauge his expression, but to her dismay it had settled into that eerie blankness he sometimes got – that look that meant you were never sure which way his mood was going to swing.

“Well, I’d better…” Ashley said, and shuffled away when it became clear Homelander was no longer paying any attention to her. No doubt he’d find her later when he wanted something else.

Homelander stood for a moment, surrounded by the chaos of a movie set and all the people who were supposed to make sure it ran smoothly.

“Oh, my god.” He heard Starlight say, and he turned his head to see her in her civilian clothing, her ponytail whipping around as she watched the two women leaving set. “Was that Cleo?”

There was a note of genuine pleasure and surprise in her voice, even if she tried to play it down, Homelander heard it loud and clear, especially given how Starlight had taken to walking and talking like a Vought-approved mannequin recently. No doubt it was her idea of being on her best behaviour after she was spreading her legs for some fuckwit who had helped bring down Translucent.

He forced himself to turn away from those thoughts – dwelling on how that had all gone down, the pieces slotting into place, every misfortune that had landed on him – landed on The Seven – finally making perfect sense, and then Maeve of all people convincing him otherwise…well, even if Homelander had understood the logic, had heart the rabbit-thumping of Starlight’s heart and was convinced she was telling the truth, it still annoyed him immensely, seeing Maeve leap to that doe-eyed little idiot’s defense when she barely looked at him, these days.

“Um, Homelander?”

A voice broke into his reverie and though the distraction was something of a necessary one, he still snapped a petulant;

“What?”

The aide flinched, clutching her tablet to her chest like a shield.

“Ashley asked me to say hair and makeup just wanted to quickly see you before we start shooting the bridge scene. Uh, in the meantime, is there anything you need?”

Homelander pressed his lips together a moment, before an idea suddenly burst in his brain like the flashbang of a grenade. With startling speed, he turned and clapped a friendly hand on the aide’s shoulder – her knees buckled a little, but she managed to stay standing, peering up into the toothy smile on Homelander’s face.

“Actually, there is.” Homelander said, his tone pleasant. “Need you to look something for me.”

The aide brightened a little, hopeful that she had been able to salvage his obviously bad mood a little, and she hurriedly lifted up her tablet, propping it on one hand and preparing to type.

“Of course! Just name it.”

Homelander smiled, a plan already forming in his mind.

“Here’s what I want…”

The crowd was alight with excitement.

People holding up placards or photographs, girls in flower crowns and boys in eyeliner. Total strangers looking at each other with excited smiles, young and old united in their fervour. All heads were turned towards the stage, or to the person next to them to mutter something. Somewhere in the distance was a scream of exhilaration or excitement, a rising cry like a firework.

At the front of the stage stood Cleo. Despite the black minidress she had on that looked more like a racy nightgown than actual clothes, she seemed perfectly at ease standing in front of a crowd of thousands with so much of her on display. She wore tough-looking boots to counteract the girlish lace on the bottom of the dress, and a disarming smirk spread across her lips, painted a dark plum. Dry ice plumed around her ankles as she approached the lip of the stage.

“Y’alright, New York?” she drawled into her microphone, and the audience screamed. Thunder rumbled overhead, the clouds above the stadium an ominous dark grey. Cleo laughed as she walked across the stage, the weather threatening rain seeming to energise her.

“Yeah!” cried the audience.

Cleo thrust a finger at the crowd, the dagger-like end of her nail jabbing into the night.

“I can’t fucking hear you!”

“YEAH!” the audience roared, swept up in their own excitement.

Cleo chuckled softly, adrenaline pulsing through her. They were staring up at her, waiting with bated breath. And she knew not to keep them waiting too long, so she sucked in a lungful of night air and began to sing, the microphone clutched in her hand.

The audience recognised the song – one of Cleo’s most popular tracks from her debut album, and nostalgic sighs and a few enthusiastic screams swept out over the crowd. She loved the song too, and knowing that they loved it nearly as much as she did strengthened her, like she’d taken a hit of something.

High, high above the crowd, standing atop one of the floodlights that ringed the stadium, a figure watched the proceedings like a hawk, hands behind his back, chin down. He wasn’t worried about being spotted – even if one of the cretins down below had vision that good, none of them would tear their eyes away from the girl onstage.

Cleo’s voice poured through the speakers, honey with a hint of a rasp in it. Homelander’s fine-tuned hearing meant that he was picky about what music he would tolerate – even moreso what he’d actively go out of his way to listen to. He didn’t understand a lot of the beeping and shrill electronic noises that seemed popular lately and had little patience for the autotuned screeching so many ‘musicians’ relied on either.

But this?

This was something else.

Despite himself, he could feel goosebumps rippling across the flesh concealed beneath his suit. From his vantage point he could see and hear everything perfectly, and he drank it in greedily, relishing that he alone had such a perfect view.

Who would have thought such an obnoxious brat would have a voice like that? Homelander’s eyes took on a half-lidded slant as he observed her. Cleo. She was in her element, playing up to an audience that loved her, couldn’t get enough of her and her singing. He could understand what she was feeling, the euphoria that comes from being adored by people you’d never even know the names of. And all you had to do was perform for them, give them exactly what they wanted, and they were yours.

Cleo didn’t know she had an extra audience member, of course. One who hadn’t paid, no less. But Homelander made no move to make himself known – he just let the melodious voice wash over him in a soothing tide, that voice infiltrating his ears and settling in his mind. He could have listened to her for hours. He’d never heard a thing like it. Like her.

Suddenly, he knew that the decision of who was writing the single for Dawn of the Seven wasn’t unclear it all. It was her, or no-one.

Homelander would make sure of it.

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thetrinketbox · 6 months

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In the light of the moon (Tommy Shelby x Reader)

(Written for Kinktober! Tommy and the Shelby's are werewolves. :D)

All you had to go by was the light of the moon.

The forest was dark and cold, your breath leaving you in plumes of vapour. Your clothes weren’t exactly practical for the season, a gauzy white dress that wasn’t doing a thing to help you hide. Somewhere in the distance an owl was hooting somewhere, the sound carrying across the still air.

But you couldn't stop and appreciate any of it.

You had to run.

You didn't know how far away he was - and he could see much better in the darkness than you could. Your only option was to keep putting distance between yourself and the beast hunting you, pushing your body to the limit. Your thighs were aching, and the bottom of your feet throbbed with pain as you ran further and further through the trees, stepping over leaves, twigs and even a fallen branch or two.

As you paused to catch your breath, a stitch stinging in your side, you pressed your hand against the sturdy trunk of a tree for balance, the bark digging into your palm. It was difficult to get your bearings of exactly where you were, the forest was wide and dark, but you were fairly certain that if you just kept heading west, you'd eventually get out through to the other side.

A noise made you jump, your breath catching in your throat. A howl in the distance cut through the quiet like a knife, the sound sending shivers exploding across your skin, raising goosebumps on your flesh.

You ran for it.

Branches snagged at your hair and clothes as you pushed your way through them, leaves crackling underfoot with every panicked footstep. No doubt the creature chasing you could clearly hear in what direction you were going, and probably precisely where you were, but at least you had changed direction a few times to throw him off balance. You grimaced as your foot sank into a shallow puddle of water, sending a shockwave of cold up your body.

When your legs began to tire, you were forced to slow to a halt at a spot where the trees had thinned at somewhat, almost like a bald patch in the middle of the forest. You could hear the trickle of a nearby stream, and it occurred to you that a cold drink was exactly what might help you right now. You staggered over to a stream on the outside of the meadow, kneeling down carefully to cup your hands in the water, which was so clear that you could see through it to the bottom. You yelped a little as your hands sank into it - you'd expected the water to be cold, but it still managed to shock you.

You gulped the water down, sitting back on your haunches and wiping your mouth with the back of your wrist. As you went to stand again, thighs already aching just in anticipation of more running, a voice rang out behind you and you froze, like a rabbit.

"Thoughtful of you to get down on your knees." a wry voice said. "Makes this easier."

You didn't even have time to look for where the voice came from before you were thrown from your kneeling position and landed hard on your back, knocking the wind from your lungs. A strangulated wheeze issued forth from your lips as you stared dazedly upwards, into a pale face that, under the moonlight, looked like it was carved from marble. Blue eyes took in your dishevelled state with languid amusement.

"Get off me," you hissed out, trying to sound commanding, but clearly Tommy wasn't fooled. He settled back on his haunches to observe you, head tilted a little.

"You're in no position to give orders, luv." he said, then smirked. "Literally."

He gave you no time to respond – though even if you did, no doubt he’d have a smart-arse response to any pithy comment you could come up with – and pressed his mouth over yours, hot and demanding. His hands pinned your wrists either side of your head as he loomed over you, weight pinning you to the earth. What Tommy wanted, he got, and you found yourself opening up your mouth for him before you could stop and think about it.

His fangs nipped your lip and he nuzzled against your neck, breathing in the distinctive scent of you, the exertion from earlier making it more deliciously potent. You cried out as he pierced the skin on your neck – hot blood smeared your skin and Tommy growled as he licked it. He had been careful not to bite down too hard, of course, but the smell of your own blood, sharp in the night air, made you begin struggling anew.

“Let me go- “you said, your voice coming out less strident now, a note of panic licking at your words. Tommy chuckled.

“I told you before,” he replied, mercilessly. “That if I won, then I victor the spoils of the hunt. I’ve only just gotten started, sweetheart.”

His mocking words were delivered in his gravelly voice, stinging all the more because he stated them quite matter-of-factly – his win was inevitable, and you were a fool to think for a moment you ever had an advantage over him. But he wasn’t going to let you off easily for your naivety – no, he intended to let you reap exactly what you’d sown.

He casually dragged a clawed hand down the front of your dress, and you shrieked with both indignation and horror as the fabric split apart as easily as paper, exposing your bare skin to the night air. Shifting your wrists into one hand, Tommy leaned down and nuzzled in between your breasts, his hot tongue laving over the sensitive flesh. He knew exactly how you liked to be pleased and set right to work. You shifted in the dirt as his tongue swirled over your nipple, fastening and sucking it. Despite the fear and discomfort from being all alone with a wolf in the woods, a keening noise rose from your chest and you weren’t able to swallow it back before it left your mouth.

Tommy growled in approval as he moved to your other breast, his free hand fondling its abandoned sister for a time – his claws gently skated over your skin, making you shudder, knowing full well what damage he could inflict with them, but the sharp point softly gliding over you was almost pleasant. Funny how something that’s primarily used as a weapon can be made enjoyable with the right pressure.

“Now,” Tommy drawled, hand sliding down your side, over the swell of your hip, before stopping between your legs. “Let’s see how wet you are, shall we?”

You gasped as his hand disappeared beneath your tattered skirt, his fingers nudging against your core, pushing aside your underwear. He smirked at you, pressing another heated kiss to your throat. You let out a soft moan as his thumb found your clit, massaging it in a leisurely way like he was rolling a pretty marble between his fingers. You writhed on the spot, heels digging into the ground. He pressed a kiss to your lips, softer than before, as he slipped two fingers inside you.

“Ooh!” you gasped.

“Hm. For all your running, you’re soaked.” He said, his voice amused and not a little smug. “Maybe you weren’t tryin’ all that hard to get away after all, eh?”

“Fuck you.” You said, petulantly.

He quirked an eyebrow.

“That’s the idea.”

He scissored his fingers apart, spreading you wide before sinking them further into your cunt. Your thighs clamped around his wrist and he tsked, shaking you off easily enough – you forgot how strong he was sometimes – and he worked his fingers in and out of you, beckoning with a practised crook that had your eyelids flickering, sinking into it, finally stopping your futile straining against his hold. It felt too good not to give yourself up to, his long fingers hitting deep inside you. The throbbing sensation stirred up your blood, and suddenly you weren’t so bothered about how cold it was outside anymore, not when Tommy had unconventional ways of heating you up.

But he was also a man who liked to toy with his prey when he had the time. And with you both out here, alone in the woods, he had all the time in the world. You gave an indignant pout, despite yourself, as he withdrew his hand from your cunt, tauntingly slow. Your gaze fixed on him as he inspected his fingers, shiny with your slick.

“Look what you’ve done.” Tommy said in a mock-chiding voice, as he licked them clean. “Dirty girl.”

Your cheeks flushed – how were you meant to react when he did things like that to you? He was shameless! But Tommy had more pressing matters to attend to, his cock stiff, pressing almost painfully against the seam of his trousers. He’d been able to follow your scent through the woods, smell your panic and arousal as keenly as if it was being waved right under his nose. Now he’d caught you, he fully intended to be rewarded for the chase.

He flipped you over with a strength that always left you reeling – the forest spun in your vision, and then your elbows and knees were pressing into the dirt, crushing autumn leaves beneath you as Tommy got behind you, pulling you up by the hips, claws digging into your dress. You tried to shuffle forwards, but he wouldn’t let you, holding you steady by your hips – you weren’t going anywhere.

“Scream as loud as you want.” Tommy said, half an order and half a challenge. “Nobody around to hear. Only me.”

He wasn’t always the most talkative of men, but fuck, he knew how to use his words when it counted. Desire shivered through you, and you looked back at him over your shoulder, your eyes no doubt dark with want.

“Let’s see if you can keep that promise.” You said, briefly wondering what an earth possessed you to tease him. Perhaps the wildness of the woods was infectious.

He raised his eyebrows, a slow smile toying at the corners of his lips.

“You’re going to regret that, sweetheart.”

He didn’t bother to warn you, or let you mentally brace yourself – he just plunged into you, the fat head of his cock nudging apart the now soaked (he was right) folds of your pussy. Your mouth fell open at the invasion, and your fists clenched uselessly in the ground, grasping at the earth, which is hard and cold, so all you can really do is sink your nails into the dirt.

“Fuck-!”

An answering snarl is all you got from Tommy as he began to fuck you roughly, like…well, like a wild animal. One hand on your back kept you pushed down as he fucked you, the blunt head of his cock drawing back and then sinking into you over and over again with abandon - you could hear a faint squelching noise over your jagged panting and his disjointed snarling, the rustle of leaves beneath you. Splayed across the forest floor like this, struggling not to collapse right onto your face with the pressure, ass thrust up behind you as he slammed into you – it was so degrading. Embarrassing. If anybody caught you like this, you’d die of shame.

So what was it about being held down like this, dominated so thoroughly and decisively, claimed, that made you so wet? The tease of chilly air on your vulnerable flesh, the smell of decaying leaves and earth in your nose, the way you could both be as loud as you pleased…it was intoxicating. Tommy knew that you needed a little pretence at resistance first, a show to protect your dignity, before you caved in to being thoroughly debauched. He knew you so well, knew exactly what made you tick and how to unlock even your innermost thoughts and desires. It would be utterly infuriating if it wasn’t so fucking hot.

“Tommy- “you choked out, as he hit that sweetspot deep inside you, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through you. Your toes curled inside your shoes and your back arched, body on autopilot from the stimulus. “Oh, fuck, Tommy-!”

He leaned over you and wrapped a hand around your neck, pulling your head back so he could growl into your ear.

“S’right.” He said, quietly, forcing you to strain to hear every word. “My name – because I’m the one who owns you. Understood?”

“Yes!” you cried out, because you would have said anything, anything at all, just for him to continue fucking you, to have you seeing stars and sending you delirious with it.

“Say it.” He commanded, his voice growing husky with the effort now, and he gave a particularly hard thrust to punctuate his statement, making you squeal. “Say it.”

“I-I’m yours!” you blurted out. Normally you’d fight him a little more on it – mostly because it’s no fun to just give in straight away, but you could tell that Tommy was in no mood for games. Not now. “Yours, Tommy! Only yours!”

That pleased him, you could tell by the way his hold on you tightened and an involuntary growl of pleasure rumbled through his chest. Even Tommy Shelby couldn’t fight those animal instincts of his, especially not when he was doing something like this, something so primal.

“Good girl.”

His thrusts were getting more erratic now, sloppier, but he’d be damned if you came before he did. He snaked a hand around you, satisfied now you weren’t going to try and give him the slip to make him chase you down again – and he began to play with your clit again, sending sparks of pleasure rippling through you from either side, the heat pooling in the pit of your belly growing almost unbearable in its intensity.

Almost.

“Tommy, Tommy-!” you said – no, you pleaded, growing utterly inarticulate with lust, nearly whimpering. “Oh god, please, just a little more…”

He rasped a low laugh at how wanton you sounded, so different from your earlier defiance, but how could he resist giving you what you were begging him for when you asked so nicely? When you looked so lovely like this, dishevelled and real and all fucking his?

Your walls were clenching around his cock and he knew you were close, knew that in a few moments you’d be insensible, all thoughts besides him and how fucking good he made you feel flooded out of your mind. And it was that that spurred him on, sinking into you as deep as he could go with a snarl, his hips slapping against you, and he gave your ass a sharp smack for emphasis – a little pain always enhanced the pleasure, in his opinion.

Tommy was rewarded for this when you squealed and your cunt clenched around him, and liquid heat engulfed him as you succumbed to your impending orgasm, collapsing beneath him like you simply couldn’t bear to hold yourself up anymore. Tommy followed suit with a couple of last thrusts, swearing softly but profusely under his breath, his own body slick with sweat.

For a few minutes, or perhaps longer, neither of you spoke. For your part, you were busy getting your breath back, and your bearings too, though they might prove to be a little more difficult to get in order. You rolled yourself onto your back with a great deal of effort and lay there, spread eagle, staring up at the moon and the black skies above you, dotted with sparkling stars. It looked like broken glass, or perhaps the glimmer of frost left behind on a chilly morning. As your pounding heart began to slow into a steadier rhythm, you breathed out, then in, and it was like the forest breathed with you.

“Oi.”

Tommy’s thumb and forefinger took your chin and turned your face to him. He didn’t ask you verbally if you were all right, but you knew the kiss he gave you was exactly that – it was tender, this time, the animal ferocity in him sated for now.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and he pulled you in, breathing in the smell of your hair. His heartbeat was comforting, a steady rhythm that was in time with your own.

“So that’s what it means when a Shelby goes hunting, is it?” you asked, and he smirked.

“Sometimes. Depends on what kind of hunt.” He replied, lazily tracing his fingertips up and down your spine.

You gave a breathless giggle of laughter and cuddled up to him, eager to continue sharing body heat with him. Tommy looked down at you and gave his head a little shake. He slid a hand beneath your legs, the other wrapped around your back, and he picked you up with little apparent effort on his half. You squealed at being abruptly hauled up into the air, clinging to him.

“Oof. Where are we going now?” you asked.

“Home. I’m not having you dying of pneumonia out here because you chose to go running off in that.” Tommy replied, nodding at the slips and tatters of your former dress.

“Can you find your way back that easily?” you asked – you knew what good trackers wolves were, but it still impressed you, just how little he needed to go on.

“Course. All wolves know how to travel at night.” Tommy replied, shifting you a little higher in his arms, enjoying how you cuddled closer to him for warmth.

All he had to go by was the light of the moon – but it, and you, were all that he really needed.

#fanfiction #smut #Tommy Shelby x Reader #Peaky Blinders x Reader #Kinktober #Werewolf au

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thetrinketbox · 7 months