A Heart for Valentine's Day, Kate/Peter, E
Author: raktajinos
Title: A Heart for Valentine's Day
Rating: Explicit
Pairing/s: Kate/Peter
Character/s: Kate Argent, Peter Hale
Summary: Kate sort of gets Peter a VDay gift.
Warnings: rough/hate sex, mild blood play, getting off on murder, knotting; swearing, AU - Canon Divergent, dark.
Submission Type: Fic
Word Count: 2430
Prompt: #57 Valentine's Day
Author's Notes: I planned this to be under 1000 words...but alas. I just can't stop writing Kate! Also, my first attempt at knotting, so be kind.
on ao3 now
The apartment was quiet when she snuck in the front door, years of practice allowing her to make no sound as she entered; she wanted to surprise him, knowing full well his preternatural hearing let him know she was here before she even stepped foot in the building. But sometimes, sometimes she'd been able to pull on over on him and genuinely catch him off guard. She loved that.
She slipped her boots off onto the mat by the door, taking the rest of the way in sock feet. It still managed to make her smile at the oddly human things he was so attached to doing; no dirty shoes in the house, making the bed every morning, washing the dishes, etc. Though maybe less of a human thing and more of a cleanliness obsession. He was obsessive about many other things, her included, so it wouldn't surprise her of that's what it really was instead of some human thing.
Obsessive fit her definition of him, she was comfortable with that behaviour, it fit neatly into her black/white world view. Human traits, human behaviours, they just complicated things.
Their relationship was one of convenience, a means to an end for the both of them; albeit an interesting means. She was under no illusions of romance or love or even like. Tolerance was about as friendly as she got towards him. She hated everything about him, everything he was, every perverted wrong abomination-against-nature thing that made up who he was. The fact that she was sleeping with him was besides the point.
Her brother joked that if a therapist ever got their hands on her family, they'd have a field day they were so messed up. He didn't know the half of it when it came to her. But she have herself the credit for at least knowing she was messed up. Sleeping with the thing you hate; women had done worse before her. She could hate his very being, but it didn't mean she didn't have eyes.
He was an abomination, but he was a hot one.
She crept around the corner into the kitchen, her eyes falling on the side profile of the man in question; sitting at the table, broad strong shoulders tensed for a fight as they always were. He was reading the paper and drinking a cup of coffee. Such a human thing to do in the morning she almost gagged, the desire to plunge her k-bar deep into his chest. She pushed the thought aside, opting for a rough "good morning," instead.
He lifted his head and smiled at her, his green eyes sparkling in the mid-morning light; she hated him for doing it, for making it seem like this was normal. She couldn't have normal. They weren't normal.
"Happy Valentine's Day," he said with a sneer, adding a "Darling," knowing how much it would piss her off.
It did. "Fuck you," she snapped back.
"Anytime," he said winking at her. She rolled her eyes, he was so corny and over-the-top sometimes she had a hard time not finding it charming.
She came up alongside the table and reached for his cup, taking a long sip.
"What's that?" he asked, head trying to see around her back.
It was her turn to grin. She might not be able to sneak up on him, but she knew a few tricks of the trade that helped trick werewolves in other ways.
"Oh, this?" She said, deliberately playing coy. She pulled out a box from behind her back. It was the size of a tissue box and wrapped in the tackiest shiny red foil she could find.
She placed the box in front of him on the table, watching his face in delight. She'd soaked the box in a fine dusting of wolfsbane so he wouldn't be able to smell what was inside. The look of disgust and frustration on his face told her he could smell only the wolfsbane.
"You? You got me a Valentine's gift?" He asked incredulously.
She shrugged. Sometimes she could be nice.
"Does this make me your boyfriend now?" He teased.
"Oh just open the fucking thing you dick,"
"Such language! You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"No, but I kiss you with it. You don't seem to have a problem with how dirty it is then," she bit back. He was a dick, but she gave as good as she got, their constant insults and innuendos their normal behaviour. She liked that he wasn't nice to her, or nice to anyone. He was selfish, arrogant, dominating, and violent. Much like herself.
"Mhmm," he replied, a devious smile on his face, his attention taken largely by the package.
With more care than she'd ever seen from him, he slit open the sides of the wrapping, slowing unfolding it from the box. He ran his hands gently down the side of the box before flipping the lid open with his thumbs.
She watched as the paper fell away and the lid opened, and along with it the protection from the wolfsbane. The moment the scent of what the box contained was set free and hit him. His eyes widened, his nostrils flared, his eyes glowing red.
A wolf smile of her own came across her face as he reached a hand inside the box, his hand coming back out, fingers gripped around the contents.
"Is this..?"
"Yes,"
"When?"
"This morning. Less than an hour ago."
It was like she had given him a shot of drugs, his control over his animal side slipping the longer he held it, the longer it's scent filled the air.
"It's still warm," he said with reverence, standing up, the gift, the heart held in his hand.
It was a perfect gift, the heart of the Alpha, hisAlpha, his own sister. She'd ripped it from her still beating chest just for him.
It was as if something snapped in him, the control needing to go somewhere, and he pushed her violently against the wall, pushing himself up against her. She grinned, it was the reaction she'd been hoping for. She loved it when he lost control, got primal and vicious; being with him in that state made her feel powerful, like she toed the line between life and death. Knowing that he could kill her if the mood struck, and trusting that he would if he wanted.
She felt his arousal pressing hard against her thigh and she moaned when he bucked his hips. She pushed one hand through his hair, fingers grabbing roughly at it, yanking his head to the side to expose his throat. He fought against the dominance, his mind and body at odds; the animal in him loved it, the primalness of it while his rational mind clung to the knowledge that he was one step closer to being Alpha.
Some men would be offended at what she'd done, interpreting the action as a slight against their capabilities as a man, that they had to have a woman do it for them. But Peter didn't care, he sought power using whatever tool was at his disposal; Kate was a tool, a "finely honed weapon with killer legs" he'd once called her and he got off on how dangerous she could be. He probably enjoyed the chances of her killing him in his sleep as much as she did. They'd entered into this relationship with the intent of making Peter the alpha; Talia was too strong for them to take down seperately and Peter would be easier for the Argent’s to manipulate once he was in power. Or they'd kill him, either way a win/win.
She'd taken out Talia as a gift, presenting the heart to him. He'd have to take care of Laura himself, the power more potent if taken by force instead of passed down. Laura was young, would be new in her role, she'd be easy prey.
She leaned forward and bit at his neck, using enough force to break the skin ever so slightly. Her other hand reaching down to unbuckle his pants, slipping in to grasp his hard cock.
He growled loudly, his eyes glowing an even darker red, head lolling to the side to grant her more access; the animal side winning out. He stepped away suddenly and she hated herself for missing the weight of him against her. He walked the short distance to the table and put the heart reverently back in it's box.
Returning to her, her grabbed her face with one hand, the blood smearing across her skin and lips. He leaned forward and kissed her roughly and she could taste the coppery tang of the blood. She pushed her hands back into his pants, scrapping her nails across the skin of his hips. The action earned her another growl and he moved his hands to her pants, snapping them open and pushing them down her hips.
Taking the cue, she stepped out of the pants, kicking them across the room. Hands gripped her hips, spreading blood across them as he lifted her up and pushed her further into the wall, thighs spreading around his body.
She moaned loudly when he entered her roughly, her hands threatening to rip out his hair her grip strong enough. She pushed her knees harder into his sides, wanting to cause him pain and spur him on.
It worked because soon he was pistoning in and out of her, hips snapping as he pounded her into the wall. And she loved it, she fucking loved it. She hated werewolves and swore her life to killing them all, but there were some things they were just better at then human men; and fucking her roughly just happened to be at the top of that list. She didn't make love, she didn't want tenderness, she wanted a rough, animalistic play for dominance and someone who could bruise her.
And Peter was by far the best at it. She'd miss him when she would have to kill him.
Using his shoulders as leverage, she set her own rhythm in tandem with his as he pumped into her. It was fucking glorious. He was glorious. His giant cock was glorious.
She felt the claws at her hips, pushing against the soft skin moving underneath them; she'd have scratch lines there for the next few days; long red lines marring her flesh. Normally Peter didn't scratch, not willing to risk turning her, but when he was this far gone into his animal side, that rule went out the window.
She didn't mind, it wasn't enough to turn her and she so rarely got to experience him in this state that she reveled in it. Full moons brought it out in him as apparently did the still beating heart of his enemy as a gift.
She was so close, she could feel it, her body humming with it. "Harder!" She demanded, nails digging into his shoulders.
He went harder. Stamina; another thing werewolves had going for them. Her head fell back against the wall, blissed out but still on the edge. She felt his cock begin to expand, the base of it catching a little bit against her entrance when he pulled out and plunged back in. She grinned, realizing what was happening.
They'd only knotted once before and it had been the best sex she'd ever had; both of them high off a kill on a full moon, Peter too overwhelmed by the moon to give a fuck. It had also been the most uncomfortable post-sex she'd ever had; them being locked together and forced to stay in each other's company for longer than they liked to be.
The knot kept swelling. "Kate?" He grunted out around the fangs. She was surprised at how the gesture touched her, that he would actually seek her permission.
"God yes," she said, pulling her knees in to encourage him.
He kept up the pace, pistoning in and out of her until the size of the knot prevented it and with one last push he locked himself inside her, hips shifting to a shallow movement. Kate rolled her hips, the adjustment being the perfect angle and she finally came, falling over that edge. Peter came a few seconds later, letting out a loud roar as he filled her insides with his hot cum.
They rested there for a few moments, his head leaning on her shoulder. Her legs were starting to fall asleep so she let her legs slide down around his body, feet touching the floor. The movement made the knot pull against her, making her moan, her overstimulated body not ready for more. Peter jutted his hips once more, shooting more cum into her body.
She remembered why she hated this. It was too intimate. They were standing in his kitchen pressed up against the wall, half naked (they ridiculously still had their shirts on), covered in blood, stuck together. Forced to be together. For actual couples this was probably really nice, romantic even. For her it was wrong. All sorts of wrong.
He lifted his head off her shoulder and looked at her briefly, his eyes back to their normal green shade. Too intimate. And it made her think things she didn't want to think; warm feelings, of wanting to want to be there...with him. She felt another flood of his cum shoot into her, adding to her already full feeling. Shit like this, like knotting; it's very existence to impregnate, to breed, was messed up....but part of her wondered if maybe it wasn't. She liked fucking werewolves, maybe being impregnated by one wouldn't be the worst thing. Unwelcome images of her surrounded by green-eyed children filled her mind, all learning how to fight, to be strong like their mother. She'd never let herself consider having children, she'd accepted her life's mission without a second thought. But weird shit like this, like having your supernatural not-boyfriend's weird cock stuck in you made her think these things.
She shook her head trying to rid herself of the images.
Peter's eyes met hers again and he leaned in to kiss her; a soft, gentle kiss that she returned in kind. They'd never done that before either.
"Thanks," he finally said, his eyes looking deeply into hers.
She wasn't sure what he was thanking her for; the heart, the sex, what ever. But it unnerved her and she broke the eye contact, her gaze falling to the floor. She was never very good at hidden meanings or feelings but a part of her wanted to know what he meant. But the bigger, louder part of her - the one that was slowly coming back from it's sex-induced repreive - knew she was royally fucked. In more than one way.
Title: A Heart for Valentine's Day
Rating: Explicit
Pairing/s: Kate/Peter
Character/s: Kate Argent, Peter Hale
Summary: Kate sort of gets Peter a VDay gift.
Warnings: rough/hate sex, mild blood play, getting off on murder, knotting; swearing, AU - Canon Divergent, dark.
Submission Type: Fic
Word Count: 2430
Prompt: #57 Valentine's Day
Author's Notes: I planned this to be under 1000 words...but alas. I just can't stop writing Kate! Also, my first attempt at knotting, so be kind.
on ao3 now
The apartment was quiet when she snuck in the front door, years of practice allowing her to make no sound as she entered; she wanted to surprise him, knowing full well his preternatural hearing let him know she was here before she even stepped foot in the building. But sometimes, sometimes she'd been able to pull on over on him and genuinely catch him off guard. She loved that.
She slipped her boots off onto the mat by the door, taking the rest of the way in sock feet. It still managed to make her smile at the oddly human things he was so attached to doing; no dirty shoes in the house, making the bed every morning, washing the dishes, etc. Though maybe less of a human thing and more of a cleanliness obsession. He was obsessive about many other things, her included, so it wouldn't surprise her of that's what it really was instead of some human thing.
Obsessive fit her definition of him, she was comfortable with that behaviour, it fit neatly into her black/white world view. Human traits, human behaviours, they just complicated things.
Their relationship was one of convenience, a means to an end for the both of them; albeit an interesting means. She was under no illusions of romance or love or even like. Tolerance was about as friendly as she got towards him. She hated everything about him, everything he was, every perverted wrong abomination-against-nature thing that made up who he was. The fact that she was sleeping with him was besides the point.
Her brother joked that if a therapist ever got their hands on her family, they'd have a field day they were so messed up. He didn't know the half of it when it came to her. But she have herself the credit for at least knowing she was messed up. Sleeping with the thing you hate; women had done worse before her. She could hate his very being, but it didn't mean she didn't have eyes.
He was an abomination, but he was a hot one.
She crept around the corner into the kitchen, her eyes falling on the side profile of the man in question; sitting at the table, broad strong shoulders tensed for a fight as they always were. He was reading the paper and drinking a cup of coffee. Such a human thing to do in the morning she almost gagged, the desire to plunge her k-bar deep into his chest. She pushed the thought aside, opting for a rough "good morning," instead.
He lifted his head and smiled at her, his green eyes sparkling in the mid-morning light; she hated him for doing it, for making it seem like this was normal. She couldn't have normal. They weren't normal.
"Happy Valentine's Day," he said with a sneer, adding a "Darling," knowing how much it would piss her off.
It did. "Fuck you," she snapped back.
"Anytime," he said winking at her. She rolled her eyes, he was so corny and over-the-top sometimes she had a hard time not finding it charming.
She came up alongside the table and reached for his cup, taking a long sip.
"What's that?" he asked, head trying to see around her back.
It was her turn to grin. She might not be able to sneak up on him, but she knew a few tricks of the trade that helped trick werewolves in other ways.
"Oh, this?" She said, deliberately playing coy. She pulled out a box from behind her back. It was the size of a tissue box and wrapped in the tackiest shiny red foil she could find.
She placed the box in front of him on the table, watching his face in delight. She'd soaked the box in a fine dusting of wolfsbane so he wouldn't be able to smell what was inside. The look of disgust and frustration on his face told her he could smell only the wolfsbane.
"You? You got me a Valentine's gift?" He asked incredulously.
She shrugged. Sometimes she could be nice.
"Does this make me your boyfriend now?" He teased.
"Oh just open the fucking thing you dick,"
"Such language! You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"No, but I kiss you with it. You don't seem to have a problem with how dirty it is then," she bit back. He was a dick, but she gave as good as she got, their constant insults and innuendos their normal behaviour. She liked that he wasn't nice to her, or nice to anyone. He was selfish, arrogant, dominating, and violent. Much like herself.
"Mhmm," he replied, a devious smile on his face, his attention taken largely by the package.
With more care than she'd ever seen from him, he slit open the sides of the wrapping, slowing unfolding it from the box. He ran his hands gently down the side of the box before flipping the lid open with his thumbs.
She watched as the paper fell away and the lid opened, and along with it the protection from the wolfsbane. The moment the scent of what the box contained was set free and hit him. His eyes widened, his nostrils flared, his eyes glowing red.
A wolf smile of her own came across her face as he reached a hand inside the box, his hand coming back out, fingers gripped around the contents.
"Is this..?"
"Yes,"
"When?"
"This morning. Less than an hour ago."
It was like she had given him a shot of drugs, his control over his animal side slipping the longer he held it, the longer it's scent filled the air.
"It's still warm," he said with reverence, standing up, the gift, the heart held in his hand.
It was a perfect gift, the heart of the Alpha, hisAlpha, his own sister. She'd ripped it from her still beating chest just for him.
It was as if something snapped in him, the control needing to go somewhere, and he pushed her violently against the wall, pushing himself up against her. She grinned, it was the reaction she'd been hoping for. She loved it when he lost control, got primal and vicious; being with him in that state made her feel powerful, like she toed the line between life and death. Knowing that he could kill her if the mood struck, and trusting that he would if he wanted.
She felt his arousal pressing hard against her thigh and she moaned when he bucked his hips. She pushed one hand through his hair, fingers grabbing roughly at it, yanking his head to the side to expose his throat. He fought against the dominance, his mind and body at odds; the animal in him loved it, the primalness of it while his rational mind clung to the knowledge that he was one step closer to being Alpha.
Some men would be offended at what she'd done, interpreting the action as a slight against their capabilities as a man, that they had to have a woman do it for them. But Peter didn't care, he sought power using whatever tool was at his disposal; Kate was a tool, a "finely honed weapon with killer legs" he'd once called her and he got off on how dangerous she could be. He probably enjoyed the chances of her killing him in his sleep as much as she did. They'd entered into this relationship with the intent of making Peter the alpha; Talia was too strong for them to take down seperately and Peter would be easier for the Argent’s to manipulate once he was in power. Or they'd kill him, either way a win/win.
She'd taken out Talia as a gift, presenting the heart to him. He'd have to take care of Laura himself, the power more potent if taken by force instead of passed down. Laura was young, would be new in her role, she'd be easy prey.
She leaned forward and bit at his neck, using enough force to break the skin ever so slightly. Her other hand reaching down to unbuckle his pants, slipping in to grasp his hard cock.
He growled loudly, his eyes glowing an even darker red, head lolling to the side to grant her more access; the animal side winning out. He stepped away suddenly and she hated herself for missing the weight of him against her. He walked the short distance to the table and put the heart reverently back in it's box.
Returning to her, her grabbed her face with one hand, the blood smearing across her skin and lips. He leaned forward and kissed her roughly and she could taste the coppery tang of the blood. She pushed her hands back into his pants, scrapping her nails across the skin of his hips. The action earned her another growl and he moved his hands to her pants, snapping them open and pushing them down her hips.
Taking the cue, she stepped out of the pants, kicking them across the room. Hands gripped her hips, spreading blood across them as he lifted her up and pushed her further into the wall, thighs spreading around his body.
She moaned loudly when he entered her roughly, her hands threatening to rip out his hair her grip strong enough. She pushed her knees harder into his sides, wanting to cause him pain and spur him on.
It worked because soon he was pistoning in and out of her, hips snapping as he pounded her into the wall. And she loved it, she fucking loved it. She hated werewolves and swore her life to killing them all, but there were some things they were just better at then human men; and fucking her roughly just happened to be at the top of that list. She didn't make love, she didn't want tenderness, she wanted a rough, animalistic play for dominance and someone who could bruise her.
And Peter was by far the best at it. She'd miss him when she would have to kill him.
Using his shoulders as leverage, she set her own rhythm in tandem with his as he pumped into her. It was fucking glorious. He was glorious. His giant cock was glorious.
She felt the claws at her hips, pushing against the soft skin moving underneath them; she'd have scratch lines there for the next few days; long red lines marring her flesh. Normally Peter didn't scratch, not willing to risk turning her, but when he was this far gone into his animal side, that rule went out the window.
She didn't mind, it wasn't enough to turn her and she so rarely got to experience him in this state that she reveled in it. Full moons brought it out in him as apparently did the still beating heart of his enemy as a gift.
She was so close, she could feel it, her body humming with it. "Harder!" She demanded, nails digging into his shoulders.
He went harder. Stamina; another thing werewolves had going for them. Her head fell back against the wall, blissed out but still on the edge. She felt his cock begin to expand, the base of it catching a little bit against her entrance when he pulled out and plunged back in. She grinned, realizing what was happening.
They'd only knotted once before and it had been the best sex she'd ever had; both of them high off a kill on a full moon, Peter too overwhelmed by the moon to give a fuck. It had also been the most uncomfortable post-sex she'd ever had; them being locked together and forced to stay in each other's company for longer than they liked to be.
The knot kept swelling. "Kate?" He grunted out around the fangs. She was surprised at how the gesture touched her, that he would actually seek her permission.
"God yes," she said, pulling her knees in to encourage him.
He kept up the pace, pistoning in and out of her until the size of the knot prevented it and with one last push he locked himself inside her, hips shifting to a shallow movement. Kate rolled her hips, the adjustment being the perfect angle and she finally came, falling over that edge. Peter came a few seconds later, letting out a loud roar as he filled her insides with his hot cum.
They rested there for a few moments, his head leaning on her shoulder. Her legs were starting to fall asleep so she let her legs slide down around his body, feet touching the floor. The movement made the knot pull against her, making her moan, her overstimulated body not ready for more. Peter jutted his hips once more, shooting more cum into her body.
She remembered why she hated this. It was too intimate. They were standing in his kitchen pressed up against the wall, half naked (they ridiculously still had their shirts on), covered in blood, stuck together. Forced to be together. For actual couples this was probably really nice, romantic even. For her it was wrong. All sorts of wrong.
He lifted his head off her shoulder and looked at her briefly, his eyes back to their normal green shade. Too intimate. And it made her think things she didn't want to think; warm feelings, of wanting to want to be there...with him. She felt another flood of his cum shoot into her, adding to her already full feeling. Shit like this, like knotting; it's very existence to impregnate, to breed, was messed up....but part of her wondered if maybe it wasn't. She liked fucking werewolves, maybe being impregnated by one wouldn't be the worst thing. Unwelcome images of her surrounded by green-eyed children filled her mind, all learning how to fight, to be strong like their mother. She'd never let herself consider having children, she'd accepted her life's mission without a second thought. But weird shit like this, like having your supernatural not-boyfriend's weird cock stuck in you made her think these things.
She shook her head trying to rid herself of the images.
Peter's eyes met hers again and he leaned in to kiss her; a soft, gentle kiss that she returned in kind. They'd never done that before either.
"Thanks," he finally said, his eyes looking deeply into hers.
She wasn't sure what he was thanking her for; the heart, the sex, what ever. But it unnerved her and she broke the eye contact, her gaze falling to the floor. She was never very good at hidden meanings or feelings but a part of her wanted to know what he meant. But the bigger, louder part of her - the one that was slowly coming back from it's sex-induced repreive - knew she was royally fucked. In more than one way.