#ah werewolf au

[shadeofazmeinya]

Will you ramble more about your werewolf au? I love the idea of it.

Absolutely I would! Thank you for the interest!!

First off, I love werewolf transformations that are full wolf. Where they transform into just giant wolves during the moon, or more often if they have control of that. That’s just my favorite haha. Think Twilight as example.

Next, in this world there are two ways to be a werewolf. One is to be bitten by an alpha or rouge wolf. And the other is to be born with it if both parents are Wolves. In my au, Jack, Gav, and Alfredo are all from wolf families. Jack came from a very close and strong family but left to make her own path in life due to disagreeing with how isolating her family feels they need to be. Her family isn’t exactly happy she left but there’s no bad blood between them.

Gavin’s family however were not great. And he was more or less exiled when his grandfather, the alpha of his family, forced him out. (I don’t have exact details planned but that’s the idea). Alfredo’s family meanwhile were almost entirely taken out by Hunters. Hunters are humans that want to kill all Wolves and are pretty dangerous in themselves. Alfredo luckily survived and fled, but was on his own for a while because of it.

Michael and Jeremy were both bitten. Michael was bitten young, when he was growing up on the streets. He was part of some rotten crew in Jersey and he left that once things got too dicey with the constant turnover of who is alpha. Jeremy was bitten by a rouge wolf and left to figure it out on his own until Jack finds him and takes him into their crew.

Matt, Ky, BK, and Joe I haven’t decided yet, but would love to hear what people think!! Also, Geoff and Trevor are both human. Geoff and Jack have been together the longest and most of the Wolves respect Geoff both as crew leader of the Fakes, but also as their Alpha’s (Jack’s) Mate. Geoff provides a lot of help during the full moon when sometimes having a human around is needed. Trevor and Alfredo were already a couple when they joined the crew and while the Wolves were a little weary of letting another human part of Pack, Trevor’s charm and smarts quickly won them over.

#ah pack au #ah werewolf au #werewolf au #ragehappy #these are all preliminary thoughts #and for those who can tell #yes many ideas are from teen w.olf #so sue me its got great werewolf lore

[andr0nap]

gung-ho-woo's

+ a very rough size chart

just for estimates, i cannot be bothered to do the height calculations

#trigun #trigun stampede #legato bluesummers #zazie the beast #nicholas d. wolfwood #livio the double fang #monev the gale #e.g. mine #gung ho guns #a part of them at least #werewolf au #andr0art #EUGH #thought about writing down some design notes but its almost 5 am and im tired as fuck #so just ask ab them or smth #i wonder what conrads thought process was in this au #like ah yes i will create a new breed of people #behold the superior human race (turns them into huge fucking dogs) #like ig it makes them more adaptable #idk lets not think too hard about this #im here to have FUN #ARE YOU HAVING FUN? #also yes that wolfwood is from the other post #i wanted to have him here with everyone too

[rigby7997]

Moreee..mORE VAMPS AND WOLVES

Jjjokes jokes

THOMAS

Sorry not sorry

Shipping-ish

GUH TYPO ON THE LAST ONE "I'll take my chances." 😭😭

Benskips stuff :] (explodes)

#vaw! regular show au #regular show #art #whiteboard fox #benson dunwoody #regular show skips #benson with a tail bcuz i can #regular show rigby #mordecai regular show #thomas regular show #vampire #werewolf #alternate universe #...MMMM BENSKIPP??.. ah what the heck it is #benskips #skipson #rigleen just because

[innytoes]

Ooo I got Werewolf AU + Grocery Store AU... Do with that what you will! <3

Okay so there's this one really good grocery store for werewolves in Los Feliz. Like it's not even on purpose, probably, some manager just accidentally ordered a lot of jerky and word got around and now five years later they have a lot of Fancy Meat Products and other things that are helpful to werewolves.

50/50 on whether the manager realised the customer base and started planning stock accordingly or is really oblivious and so happy when customers suggest stuff and they sell well at certain times so he just keeps doing that. Maybe it's a religious thing! Who knows!

So just imagine like, Sunset Curve Wolf Pack, they take turns doing the shopping. And right before the full moon, this means A Cart Full Of Meat (and some potatoes, Wolf!Luke is a weirdo and he likes to cart one around).

So it's Alex' turn and he spots this really cute guy in a crop top who has a cart that looks Very Similar to his. But he's too shy to talk to him, he's not Reggie, trying to hit on random people in the supermarket with a cheesy pun.

But then their carts smash together in the Beef Jerky aisle and the cute guy sees his cart and gasps and does the Spiderman Point and Alex on instinct does the same because he's surrounded by nerds and all of a sudden they are flirting and talking and what is happening and suddenly he has a number and a date for the week after the full moon.

Reggie has never been prouder.

#julie and the phantoms #willex #fanfic #not!fic #I wrote a thing #AUs are awesome #werewolf au #grocery store au #ah yes the Werewolf Grocery Store they have meats they have jerky they have a wall of dog toys they have the best painkillers #of course after a few months Willie is just Absorbed into the sunset curve wolfpack

[fisheito]

(zookeeper au) eiden: hey yakumo why do you always use the stall

rei: damn can't imagine asking someone why they pee the way they do. why do you show your dick to pee. imagine being so overconfident in your ability to piss you just stand and make a mess on the floor for a janitor to clean up (THIS DIVERSION WAS MADE BY 1/3 OF THE CLOACA CREW)

TSJFSFK THAT WAS MY INMMEDAITE THOUGHT -->defensive rei (bc i instinctively project my personal reaction as the first rxn)

if eiden's all "why are you shy yakumo? u can pee right next to me 🥰" *pats urinal next to him* i can imagine rei walking into the room with 1 of 3 reactions:

Fight Mode: "imagine asking someone what they do in the toilet. i could report u for sexual harassment" <- he would not, bc rei ain't a snitch, but i can imagine rei sassing eiden bc he feels like it

Apathy Mode: "i use the stall too. it's nbd. this is unimportant." (continues with his life, uncaring)

Generous Mode: "you're curious? come in here and i'll show u"

#eiden upon realising that his curiosity has dragged him into a social faux pas and he's all #AAHHHH SHIT I'M SORRY I DIDN'T ....... PPLEASE JUST LET THE EARTH SWALLOW ME that is ur business i am sorry goodbye #of course my immediate thought is put an AU on an AU. zookeeper au but eiden uses a STP and is like #AH I'M SORRY it's just that... well.... i use this and i dont want u to feel like u hav to hide but i get that everyone does things diff #ANYWAY I'M SORRY AGAIN FORGET I BROUGHT IT UP #infinite universes. infinite eidens. all of them apologetic and thoroughly confused. #imagine eiden's thinkin all my trans coworkers are trying to hide their transness from me #and i'm trying very hard to drop hints that i am in fact very cool with that but i'm actually coming across as an asshole #no eiden they're not trying to hide their genders. they're trying to hide their werewolf transformations #honestly this whole thing is becoming an allegory for identity suppression #and rei will not have it. #everybody else bein like “it's gonna be weird if the new hire finds out we're animals!! we gotta hide!!” #rei shrugging and saying that he ain't gonna go out of his way to withhold info and also that he's tired so hiding is annoying #actually quincy would fall into that camp as well. hiding stuff? troublesome. #no wonder eiden finds out super fast #asks #WHAT WAS I DOING BEFORE THIS #ah. i forgot. oh well #zookeeper au #yakumo #rei #eiden

[isatumbles]

Insanity in my mnind

When the neck is a tie idfk never wore one

Goofy fic by mæ

‼️Art at the end‼️

Hey uh this also contains undressing at the start but it is not for NSFW/Suggestive purposes, please understand this bc I dont want weirdos coming up to me about this 🥲 /vsrs

‼️Alt text available‼️

Mayor Shelbourne had a long, busy, full moon night. He stretched and yawned, wanting to sleep, but unable to. He still wanted to be ready for the morning though, so he began to undress. He untied his orange and purple striped tie. He had a habit of holding stuff in his mouth, so he did that with the tie. He then fiddled to unbutton his suit, his black claws often got in the way. He removed his blue suit and threw it on the bed. His revealed undershirt barely fit his larger size. It was fairly tight and his stomach was exposed. One thing he is glad he learnt from his son was to control the transformation somewhat. Now he was able to transform at a pace that didn't tear his clothing apart. Then, he unbuckled his belt and removed his pants and underwear. His bottom half was already covered in blond fur. He got his clothes and made his way to his large closet.

He was staring right at his open closet. Striped tie in mouth and clothes in hand. The only thing he kept on was his undershirt that he was going to remove.. if it werent for his closet looking so empty. "Hmh.." Shelbourne placed his hands on his hips as he looked at his empty closet. Usually, he handed his outfit to Gil to put in the laundry, but his clothes havent turned up in weeks. He decided to investigate, so he dropped the clothes onto his bed and went to his son's room. Before he opened the door, his ear flicked at the sound of his son growling and playing with something. "Right.." Shelbourne said with the tie still in his mouth. He remembered that his son is also a werewolf now. Of course his son would cause havoc in that form. He opened the door and expected the worst.

And expect the worst he did. He found his son tugging and playing with his outfits. All the ones meant to be washed. Gil, not wearing a shirt, looked at his dad with thin eyes. The two stared in shock for a bit. Suddenly, Gil lounged at his dad. He took interest in the striped tie that his dad held in his mouth. "HEY!!" Shelbourne briefly yelled before getting tugged by his son. He fell to the ground and was on his fours. The tie slightly slipped from his mouth, but he clenched his teeth harder and pulled back with his force. "STOP!!" Shelbourne yelled through his clenched teeth. Gil slightly cackled whilst holding the tie and lowered his body in response. His ginger tail wagged furiously in enjoyment. "Let. GO!" Shelbourne warned again. The tie stretched and pulled. The center of the tie began to rip. Gil lifted his head and swung around in a way that finally tore the tie into two pieces.

The two were thrown back when the tie snapped. Shelbourne kept his balance whilst Gil fell on his back. He munched away at the tie. Shelbourne walked to him on his fours and growled in frustration. Gil looked up and whined. Shelbourne stood up spat his half of the tie onto his hand. "So this is why I havent seen you do laundry all night.." Shelbourne sternly stated while lowering up the torn tie to his son's face. Gil knew what he did was wrong, but he couldnt help it. Shelbourne sighed and climbed onto Gil's bed. He looked at his damaged tie, holding it up with his index and thumb. Gil joined and continued to munch on his half of the tie. Shelbourne spotted his bitten and torn suits and pants on the floor of his son's room. He slightly growled and spoke, "I'm definitely spending your money for a new three-piece.."

Gil quickly snapped his head to his dad with a perturbed look. Finally, he spoke from his wolfishness. "What?!" Gil growled in shock. "You heard me!" Shelbourne growled back. "First thing in the morning, you're cleaning up this mess!" He faught for his other half of the tie via another tug-of-war, only this time Shelbourne used his hands to pry it off his mouth. "Fine.." Gil snarled. He ran up to one of his Poppa Piglet plushies and munched on it. Shelbourne rolled his eyes at his son's behavior, and went back to his room, fully aware he had nothing to do but be awake against his will.

#isatumblesart #cwacom #cloudy with a chance of meatballs #mayor shelbourne #gil shelbourne #werewolf #au #cwacom au #the cure #Goofy ah fic #Okya this one is uhh erm uahsh rusksbsia uhh

[goat-bones]

My Link baby!

#can you say pyro mania! #art #digital #digital art #ah ha ha #link loz #loz #loz fanart #loz au #link #twilight princess #werewolf link #au #the legend of zelda #timeline break

[bravevolunteer]

if i didn’t owe so many things i’d do an au verses starter call but i still. have almost 30 drafts and who knows how many asks

#me (did this to myself): how could this happen #might try and queue some things before work but ah.. it’s impossible to catch up on i know that JSKDHD #i do really want to put my verses out there though bc yea most of them were made with only one or two people in mind but they’re FUN #i need to do a brief for the monster au huh i NEVER did that… werewolf michael go brrr #this is ur sign to let me know which ones ur interested in bc who knows when i’d get to a call KDKDJF #im gonna try and manage my time but unfortunately that means i'll probably just be around for ooc brainrot

[shadeofazmeinya]

All three of my fav ships in a werewolf AU 🥺🥺🥺 Its too much Shade TOO MUCH can you imagine the biggest puppy pile of all the wolves and then there's just two little humans tucked in there by their partners. Also I bet the lads roughhousing can get a bit out of hand at times with all three of them being wolves, somethings bound to get broken.

Oh Pack cuddle piles are a must! I imagine that wolf packs have a lot less personal boundaries than normal friendships, so even if not everyone is together romantically, cuddle piles between any of them are common. There’s just a need to be physically close and the shift during the full moon’s often exaggerates this. It is very common for the morning after the Moon, all the wolves are curled around each other on the floor, sleeping peacefully entwined together. And of course their humans are entwined with them. Geoff will often rest his head on Jack and have two of the Lads head’s on his lap. Trevor will bury against Alfredo’s side, with at least one other wolf pressed against his back. The Wolves are all protective over their tiny humans and love having them close. Also because those human hands are perfect for pets 😆 While the piles are warm, the humans swear its the best sleep they ever get.

And roughhousing is only allowed outside after one too many furniture getting broken 😆 Poor Gavin will often be ganged up on by Michael and Jeremy, rolling around and wrestling together. But they always make it up with soft cuddles in the grass after.

#ah pack au #werewolf au #ah werewolf au #ragehappy #alfreyco #jackeoff #jeremavin

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

WORDCOUNT: 7.7k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, angst, mutilation, violence, death, being hunted, reference to unwanted attention from a man, 1890s period standards for men/women, religious references, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“Miriam?” Your voice carries over the open street, one of the two small steps leading into your nonexistent front yard firm under your feet. Across the way and one house to the left, your older neighbor, Miriam, readies her horse for you—kept behind the paddock door of her attached single-stall stable. Men and women shuffle past along the cobblestone, clopping hooves and tipping soft caps. Giggles and gloved fingers. 

The city is lively today, and you’ll be glad to be out of it for the better part of the morning.

You brush down the front of your shirtwaist, patting at the pleating along the front before folding your shawl across your shoulders; hiking it farther into your high-collared garment. 

“Miriam!” You call again, shuffling down that last step and trying to shove yourself farther into the crowd. Keeping your black skirt close to you, you sigh long and pray the pouch at your side will stay away from the hands of pickpockets—a tailor gets off well enough, but every penny was worth it. One setback could ruin you.

Which was the reason you were now making your way into the country on your neighbor's horse. 

Miriam glances up from where she fiddles with the bridle strap, her head mixed in with the masses. You smile, raising a hand far above the sea as men sneer down at you, hearing the tinkling bells of her laughter. 

You make it to her and Whistlejacket the Thoroughbred as you huff, rubbing your gloved hands together before the clicking sound of your heeled shoes can catch up to your ears.

“By the Lord, it’s chilly, Love,” Miriam utters, patting the horse as you softly rub the animal's neck. Black ears twitch to you, chestnut eyes soft and pliable. You smile before replying with a chuckle. 

“And the chill won’t stop Mrs. Ida from having my hide for that wool-lined cycling jacket, unfortunately.” 

“Ah,” Miriam scoffs, “Mrs. Ida. I’d tell that one to mind her manners to the fine lady who makes her husband's waistcoats.” 

“She always asks for them a size small,” you hum, rummaging through your satchel to make sure you have the money you need for the wool that’ll go inside the order. “One with more of a brain would say she was trying to say something.” 

Your eyes glimmer as you send your neighbor a glance. Miriam slides you a cheesy look.

“‘More of a brain’, the girl says,” she mutters as you laugh brightly. “A wonder you’ve not found a husband yet.”

You ignore the comment, sliding down Whistlejacket’s side to slip your foot into the stirrup, huffing at the beast’s size before shimmying up with all the grace of a young hooligan. Panting on the saddle, both legs over one side on account of your skirt, you take a breath and happen to glance at the dark house that borders Miriams.

“Miriam?” The words escape you in a moment of curiosity. “Pray tell…is Mr. Riley back from his trip to London yet?”

Mr. Riley—Simon as you know him to be called by only a whispered passing. It was apparent with your little…interest in him. It wasn’t a carnal interest, no, God forbid, it was a hesitant need to understand him. 

You’d never sown nor mended so many clothes than to his own collection. 

Frock coats, waistcoats, shirts, ties, and trousers all—ripped to shreds before being placed on your counter like it didn’t matter a smidge. And those deep brown eyes of his…endless; seemingly incapable of human emotion above the tight layer of silk that the man wears up to his nose. There was something strange going on with Mr. Riley, and you were determined to figure it out, but he was also quite alluring to you in a simpler sense. 

You liked how he spoke to you.

“London?” Miriam asks, putting a hand to her wrinkling chin. “My, was that where he was off to—how do you hear about these things, Girl?”

You clear your throat, putting back on your smile. “Oh, never mind that. I was just curious, see.”

Whistlejacket’s feet shuffle from under you, the tall beast’s strength seen through his broad neck and well-bred attitude. Miriam’s husband had been a carriage driver, and when he died, the widow had taken Whistlejacket into her care as the only living family she had. 

You rub at his neck again, and the horse nods his head up and down, knickering. 

“You’ll take care of the old fellow, then?” The question is layered, anyone going through the forest to the farmer’s fields knows that the shadows grow long. 

Knows what can hunt you. 

You glance at the woman, nodding firmly. “And bring you back your share for taking the lovely creature out.” 

With that you’re out, taking the reins in your hands before easing Whistlejacket into a walk and entering the flow of traffic; waving a hand behind you in goodbye. Miriam calls on the smoggy wind.

“D-don’t stray from the path, Love!” 

A path wouldn’t save you from the Ghost.

—

It is the year 1897, and beasts live here. 

They roam in the dark corners and the forgotten alleys of every city and street—silent, unseen. Waiting to strike with white fangs or sharp claws; a snarl or a whisper. Vampires, demons, specters lost to time…Werewolves. 

Nowhere was safe, and so, the world had to adapt. 

As Whistlejacket’s hooves meet the slowly depleting cobblestone of the outer city, the clink of the metal bit dances in your ears; your face roves back and forth through the fields, those far in between houses. In your bag, you have more than just money. 

Holy water, a crucifix, and, of course, a knife made of pure silver. When in doubt, silver was always the safest bet.

But the forest…the forest was unpredictable. 

You breathe slowly as it comes into view hours later, those creaking branches and the breeze that speaks to you—in your head, you hear the plea. Or the threat. 

Turn back. 

The both of you stop only a foot from the treeline. Whistlejacket knickers, feet shuffling. Your hand finds his hide, rubbing soothing circles as your lips thin. 

“Easy,” you whisper, but nothing could be farther from easy. Your fingers brush through the horse's hair as he moves his head, hooves taking a step back. “Easy.”

The blackness of this forest is unnatural—the others in the city and town go around it; a four-day trip. You didn’t have four days. Like a moth to a dark altar flame, the oblivion takes you in and the forest expands in your view the longer you stare into it, down that path of overgrown grass and gravel. Rocks and twigs. 

With one hand you grab at your shawl and pull it closer to your neck, holding the reins lightly as your fingers twitch around them with the other. 

“Easy,” you say for a third time, quickly looking away from the path and clearing your throat. 

Clicking your tongue, your boots tap Whistlejacket’s side and after a puff from his large nostrils, the animal ambles forward, far slower than he had before but still moving nonetheless. Your hesitance bleeds into him, and you know the horse's senses are far better than your own.

But you were stubborn—you’d come too far to go back now, and if you wanted to be home by supper you had to buy the wool you needed and leave as quickly as possible. Going through this forest would take up most of that time. 

The trees enshroud you, and in their brimstone grip, they reach with gnarled fingers like a leering phantom. You lean to the side to avoid one branch, feeling it pull at your shaul slightly; trying to grab at you, it seemed. This place would devour you whole, but you were less scared of the general aura and more of the fabled monster that patrols this place. 

The Ghost.

Whistlejacket is unsure of this, despite the journeys you’d both been on. It always worried you how such a large carriage animal could still get so nervous after years of desensitization—the horse didn’t flinch at the yells from the city; or the howl of mutts at midnight. But this brimstone forest made him shiver under you like a child in the cold.

As you speak to him lowly, your hand reaches into your satchel and grasps that tiny silver blade, attaching it to your cinched belt as your skirt sways in a dead breeze. A chilled puff of air falls from your lips, though there is no coldness in these standing sentinels—it is a dead-like atmosphere. Every pound of your heart can be heard. 

“You know, old fellow,” Whistlejacket’s ear twitches back to you, but his eyes do not leave the path. You spare a tense chuckle. “I’ve half the sense to tell Mrs. Ida to shove that wool lining right up her—”

Something sharp echoes far off into the trees and you pull on the reins with a tight breath. 

Whistlejacket squeals, trying to bolt, but you keep a strong hand on him—eyes flashing from one dark void to the next in between the trees as his hooves dance. Your head bobs with every jerk of his legs, yet you barely notice it. 

A twig? You ask, heart hammering. No, no that sounded like an entire tree getting snapped in half.

Eyes glancing over your shoulder, you look back down the road and find the tiny speck of light that signifies the exit of this place, the last glimmer of home. With a heavy look around, you close your eyes and shake your head. 

Mrs. Ida was…something else…but she was one of your best clients for all her abhorrent behaviors—money was tight as of currently, and the woman’s husband was incredibly rich due to his practice as a physician. This wool was needed not only for the jacket but for your shop upkeep and the price of fabrics, needles, and threads. This wool was an investment you couldn’t miss.

“Whistlejacket,” you click your tongue but the animal snorts and shakes his head, backing up. “Whistlejacket!” Your voice carries despite not even being above a hard whisper. 

“I promise you, when we get to the farm I’ll let you eat all of the sugar cubes you want—my treat.” Your hand finds the space between his ears and below his skull, the soft black mane twisting in your fingers. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

Your eyes are half-narrowed. 

That wasn’t a twig.

Monster Hunting was a booming profession—and many took to it out of glory or need for coin. Those hunters had been in and out of this forest for short generations, trying futilely to catch what was rumored to lurk here before they got ripped to shreds like their fathers had. 

The Ghost. 

Some say he stands over nine feet tall; and has fangs that are bigger than a man’s palm—claws like butcher knives. Blackened and dead is his brain, cruel and maniacal. 

The Werewolf’s heart is chained to hell, and his soul to Satan. He is cursed ever to walk like a beast and feast on human flesh while in his wolf-skin and out of it. 

A ghost.

The Ghost.

You close your eyes tightly, trying not to imagine the stench of blood or the injuries you’d seen those hunters bore—being dragged back into the city screaming and wailing in pain. Arms and legs ripped clean off, never to be found. Most never came back at all.

“Please, Whistlejacket,” you plead, bumping your forehead into his neck. Whispering into his skin, you take a deep breath. “We need to go on. Quickly. We can’t stop here.”

Stopping was making a bigger target on your back—letting your scent linger in the stale air. 

With one last whinny, his fast flinching feet, the horse pushes forward as you click your tongue again; faster and more uneasy. But you didn’t slow him, no, if Whistlejacket was going to speed up, you were completely fine with that.

Moving again, you loose a sigh from your lips. 

There were many dark stories living here, some too heavy to tell aloud, even—one specifically was the tale that you’d overheard in your shop while helping Mr. Riley fix a large hole in his waistcoat. 

Riding along the path, you guide your steed down a small indent, blinking at the images your mind conjures up. 

Mr. Riley had been far quieter that day than in the recent past, and you thought perhaps he was beginning to warm to you after a few long months of silence and clipped business talk. That day, though, you had your doubts. 

Mr. Moore and Mr. Hill were coming in to inquire about the state of their overalls, working-class both and eager to have their second pair of articles fixed. Mr. Riley had been there first, and thus, you’d been talking to him for the better part of ten minutes.

“Mr. Riley,” you’d explained, holding his black silk waistcoat in your hands while opening and closing your lips. “I…I really must begin by asking how exactly you manage to do this to your clothes. In good faith, I half-believe you have a habit of getting into bar fights with a knife-wielding fiend in your free time.”

Brown eyes had stared at you above that cloth of his, soft cap on his head protecting blond tendrils of hair. Scars peel at his skin, old and pale. 

You’d never been afraid of him, despite his large frame and his intimidating muscle—the gruff aggressiveness of his tone. It was strange, but you had a feeling he would never do anything nefarious…perhaps his morals shone through far better than his conversational abilities.

“Can you fix it or not?” He grunts in question, hands in his pockets. Eyelids blink at you slowly, long lashes caressing flesh. 

You roll your eyes. “What kind of question is that? Of course, I can.”

In that intermission of silence, you’d heard the words from the men behind Mr. Riley—missing the spark of amusement that had coated those brown orbs as they watched you. 

“Did you ‘ere, then, Mr. Hill?” A sharp, hurried whisper. Your eyes blink at the two as the man ahead of you slightly shifts his shoulders, tilting his head to the side to stare behind him. “There’s been killin' in the East district—they’re callin’ the ‘unters in, see.”

“Hunters?” Mr. Moore huffs. “They’ll not make a smidge of a difference now. I’ve heard about it—they say the Ghost slunk in from the Forest and ripped the man to pieces.”

“Aye! They found pieces of flesh hangin’ off the shop signs. Like he’d been put through a machine, I hear. Half a jaw was left in the street, an eye leading into the trees, and…and…”

“Gentleman,” you call, oblivious to how Mr. Riley is as tense as a rope, eyes small and tight on the two men. He barely breathes. 

The two look to you as if being caught by their mothers. You frown. “Time and place.”

“Sorry, Ma’am.”

“M’sorry, Miss, lost myself.” You smile through a sigh and turn back to Mr. Riley. 

“Well, now then, I…” He quickly walks to the door, boots heavy and knee-length frock coat swishing as he pushes open the barrier and slips through. You gape, confused for a moment. By the time you think about opening your mouth again, you can already see him entering his own house across the street and pulling the door closed firmly.

The curtains close. Black night leaking out around the illumination of the oiled street lamps. It was the news in the morning that called to the true horror that you’d overheard in your shop. 

Mr. Lambert was never your favorite patron, in fact, you’d call him a creep at best—insistent on marriage to you and a hazard, considering that your home was connected to your shop. He knew exactly where you lived and when to use your time in his less-than-pure favor. 

Mr. Riley had been a natural deterrent in recent months, but what really struck you was that the brown-eyed man had managed to show up exactly when you needed him regarding Mr. Lambert. The small silver bell above your door rang his arrival whenever the other was trying to lean over your counter, smiling sweetly at you as if you were a prize to him and his leering eyes. 

Mr. Lambert would instantly straighten, tense, and dart away with a metaphorical tail between his legs while shooting nasty glances. 

But you’d never imagined him to be dead.

You’d never imagined his body to be hung from the trees that border the forest like a trophy—the Ghost had dragged him out of his home, the door busted off its hinges, and the inside all but demolished by fighting bodies. Neighbors said they’d heard howls on the wind; yowling and wet snarls like a rabid dog. 

Mr. Lambert was mutilated. Unrecognizable mass of flesh and hair, bone seen through shredded skin and tongue lulling from a ripped-off jaw. One eye and a branch through his toro to hold him up.

Now halfway through the forest, in the densest bit of trees, you can’t help but imagine becoming just like him.

You hadn’t spoken besides to reassure Whistlejacket, yet the fact was that you couldn't even reassure yourself—like a child, you cling to the animal below you and try to ignore the murmurs. Your shawl had been pulled up and over your head, creating a sound barrier for you that truly did nothing to help. 

Looking slightly to the side at a large and moss-layered boulder beside the path, you shiver not from the cold. 

“Maybe I should have just waited the four days…” Your whisper leaked out, and it seemed a sin to break the silence that had been layered here. 

A shadow filters past the side of your eyes, a silent motion atop the boulder that you think perhaps is a crow. You pull at your shawl to show your face a bit more, turning your head upward. 

Atop the stone is not a bird—it is not an animal of natural birth or of sound mind. It is a beast of ancient rites and white-fanged dreams; left here among the living in a sick game of predator and prey. 

You don’t register that it’s really there, the Ghost, until its blackened form stands to its full height, great shaggy fur under the remains of clothes scraps, and muzzle curled to show off fangs and pink gums. There are his ears, atop that head; they point to the sky before flinching back to staple themselves to its elongated skull. Long hands that scrape the stone below it near the claws that dig into the rock until they make long scratches. 

Like a demon made flesh, this Werewolf was the epitome of nightmares. So strangely human and monster at the same time. 

Eyes like a burial mound. 

You stare in numb horror, gloved hands steadily tightening over the leather reigns until your knuckles pop. Whistlejacket does not yet know the beast is here, glaring into your soul and branding it; taking a large step closer to the edge of the boulder as the moss flakes under his egregious large paw-pads. 

A low rumble is all it takes, those pupils small and beady, from within the breast of the Ghost’s expansive chest. Whistlejacket’s nose sniffs the air, his head turning and already tense. 

The horse screams like a dying banshee, spine curling and legs kicking out. He bucks as the Werewolf snarls through a loud howl, all four limbs connected to the stone and roaring. Your back slams into the ground as you’re tossed off Whistlejacket, your mouth releasing a scream to join the rest of the noises that echo off the foliage. 

Crashing into the path, your neighbor's horse disappears with one last high-pitched squeal into the darkness as you feel your bones rattle at the connection to your spine. Tumbling down a slight hill, you quickly get your skirts in order before scrambling to your feet with pain brimming in your scraped skin. Looking back to the boulder, your pounding heart rampages. 

But the Ghost isn’t even there. 

“Oh, Lord Almighty,” you whisper, backing up multiple steps. “Oh, Lord.” 

The blade is missing from your belt—you don’t know where you’ve dropped it in the fall and that might just be the death of you. Mr. Lambert’s story infects you; the other hunters.

You frantically look at that mighty stone, up and down, while skittering backward. 

Where did it go? 

Panting, you only stop when you hit the firm frame behind you, a large tree trunk of fur, and a hard chest that you sink into. You freeze—eyes wide and unblinking. A thin squeak exits your mouth, and a reverberating call purrs over your vertebra, making you shiver with fear. 

Minutes draw before you gather the courage to delicately turn your head upward.

Those eyes meet yours again, small and coated over with rage; pale fangs so close to your forehead they’re like ivory with dripping saliva. One drop hits your flesh, but you fail to register it. 

Those eyes. 

Up close you’re completely stolen by them, sucked in and whisked away as a bride, this mixture of dark wood and earth. Brown so rich you’d never seen something like it…or…or had you?

Incredibly, in between your panic, something sparks you as being familiar in a way you can’t quite place in this state. 

The Ghost is gargantuanly large, so much so that he bends his spine to lean over your entire body and growl down at you, the sound starting in his gut and expanding up to his throat. The fur around his neck is so thick it’s like the mane of an exotic cat, ironically, as tufts of hair are on the tips of his ears. 

You stare and try to memorize the look in his eyes as clawed hands come up at your sides, horrifyingly human with long fingers; five-pointed except for the fact that the skin is blacked like hide. Sweating, you shake before your lips start talking for you, as they usually do. 

“I do hope I’m not intruding, Kind Ghost.”

The beast halts his slow entrapment, right ear twitching forward at your voice. He doesn’t blink, and his mouth does not close. 

“I…I only wished for safe passage.” Internally you wonder if you’d lost your mind—if it had broken in this moment of hysterics. Your voice is far more steady than it should be. “I must get to the other side of the forest, you see. Urgently. I have business that must be settled. Though,” you add quickly, tone cracking for a moment. “Though, I knew not how to contact you to ask.”

The Werewolf’s heart can be felt on your back, a deep thum of pulsing power and raw death. It watches, its mouth twitching a smidge more closed and lungs rising. Its feral heat leaks through your clothes into your flesh. 

A furred hand connects with your hip and you squawk as you’re shoved to the ground very suddenly, thrown to the side onto the grass with only your palms to catch you. You’re flipped over, those same claws slamming beside your head before you can push back up and try to run. But there could be no running. Like a moth to flame the Ghost would hunt you down until there was nothing left of you but bloodied carnage. 

You throw up your hands in front of your face, the great form splayed over you and a sniffing nose digging into your stomach. There is a low whine of a hungry maw as the shaggy head moves up and around. Like a human, the Werewolf’s hand grabs at your wrist, pinning it down to the ground as the other digs into the earth, dragging it up like a farmer’s plough. 

 “H-hey!” You shout, pushing with your free fingers at the muzzle—in sound mind, you’d never even think to do such a thing. “Get off of me!” 

You should have been terrified, and maybe you were, but you’d gone past the point of knowing it. This beast was leering over you like Mr. Lambert, but far more dangerous and…and…

“Are you smelling me?!” Your angry voice makes his dark eyes snap to yours, and in an instant, you’re staring up his muzzle, body splayed out below him. 

You shutter.

“Eh…Just don't…rip anything, would you?” You were talking to a Werewolf as if he was capable of higher understanding in this form—as if still human. Voice small, you thin your lips and feel sweat run your eyebrow ridge, heart pitter-pattering. 

Why were you still alive?

The snout resumes, running along your shoulder and finally stopping at your neck with a pass of the Ghost’s tongue over his lips. You close your eyes tight.

This was it, you think. Of course, you’d be the one to lose the only blade that could let you actually damage this monster, the silver glinting in your mind as you curse yourself violently. You feel the puff of his vile breath on your neck, his claws peeling at your shirt collar slowly back. 

Your breath hitches, fingers winding through the fur below your grip, but the confusion breeds with the horror. The sensation of his soft fur wasn’t unpleasant—in fact, it was perhaps the finest material you’d ever handled. While it wasn’t the time for this, your occupation was impossible to ignore…this texture was far better than any silk.

But he’s stopped moving entirely. Lids fluttering, you open your eyes slowly, afraid but addled at the inaction. 

Brown side-eyes you closely, fangs dripping next to the meat of your neck and parted to show a lulling tongue. The beast purrs as you stare, looming with enough mass to block the sun and moving that muzzle closer to your pulse. In an act of pure desperation and womanly instinct at the sight, you snap out your leg and, not hesitating a moment longer as the animal’s tongue meets your flesh, you send your shoe straight in between the monster's legs.

A sharp yowl makes your ears ring, but you slip out from under the Ghost as it banks back, snarling and yapping before it rights itself with a shake and rabid hunger. The look from before is gone—but you’re already through the trees by the time the enraged hunting cry makes your neck hairs rise. 

Guttural, savage, and devoid of humanity. 

On the path you find your blade, and you snatch it as you gather your skirt in the opposite hand and dash away. To where, you have to tell yourself, you do not know. But it’s human nature to run, to sprint until your throat tastes like blood and your stomach rolls with bile—all of that can be tolerated if for the simple promise of survival. 

So run you did. 

Faster and harder than you ever had in your life, you sprinted into the brimstone trees and the dead thorns, not looking over your shoulder at the noises of snarls and breaking tree trunks; claws through the earth, and the primal howl of a hunt. Your throat is raw and scraping, clothes thoroughly ruined as you crash through a thorn bush while cutting up your arms and legs in tiny streaks of crimson. 

Droplets make a path behind you, a path, and a scent to tell you by. But with how the Ghost had been smelling you too deeply, you doubted it would be long before he tracked you down to finish the job.

You lose a shoe in the mad dash, lungs heaving and whimpering from the sudden absence of sounds entirely—as if the beast had disappeared into thin air. Still, you don’t brave a glace behind as you take turns and bends in the earth at random, running deeper and deeper into the foliage. 

Bloodied and running out of strength as you hop a small stream, yelping when you slip and bash your wrist into the ground, you had never wished for Whistlejacket more. All you could hope was that the horse was making his way out the other side of this hellscape. 

You never should have come through here.

Tears stain your eyes, blurring the edges as you manage to run into a small clearing, head whipping back and forth from one area to another. Every turn was the same—every tree similar! 

But the house was different. 

No more than a hut, really, it was stone and had a thatched roof, nestled in a field of black flowers and wisps of dead grass. The door was opened, but the ground was torn up by claw marks—spanning up the sides and near a broken widow.

You rush to it without a blink, and just as you make it to the threshold, you grab the thick oak door with your torn gloves. Turning, you find him across the open glade. 

Air is shoved from your lungs as you wheeze, the black shadow in the tree line. Brown eyes burn past flesh and bone—beady. Twitching lips and high-pointed ankles with rising fur. It was like a statue. Not even moving; barely breathing as it…watches. 

What had happened to the snarling—the howling hunt?

Had…had he been behind you the entire time?

You whip the door closed and frantically slam the bolt in place, the blade brought to your side and shaking in your tight hold as you back up quickly. 

“Oh, Miriam, damn you, you’re always right.” You gasp, back hitting the edge of a table. “Curse me for never listening.” 

Your neighbor had expressed worries the day before your departure, but you’d been stubborn as always—wool, you said you needed. Just enough for a coat. It was nothing; nothing that should have led to this. 

You feel like passing out, bile rising into your throat before you swallow it back down and breathe in quick heaves. 

But the door didn’t cave in, and no great monster barreled through to eat you up and pin you into a tree branch. The house settled, the minutes dragged on…

…and nothing happened. 

Your heart slowly goes back to a hesitant normal, like a mouse after being chased by a hawk; a lamb by a wolf. Standing up straighter with blood saturating your clothes, the uneven strides of your shoe-less foot mean little to you as your form slinks to the broken window. You don’t feel the pain in your cuts—the sweat or dirt—before you bend down and hiss at the stretching flesh.

Knees knocking on the floor, you peek above the sill slowly, eyes wide open and tiny pupils quivering. 

“Why didn’t it come into the glade?” You ask yourself, seeing the large shadow in the far-off coverage of the dropping leaves. A steadily dying sun. You weren’t making it back home tonight. “Why is it staying away—it knows I’m in here.”

Surely it wouldn’t let you live? 

Your brows tighten, swearing there are eyes looking back at you through the kaleidoscope reflections of the glass. You duck down, vibrating as your vision runs across the strange hut.

One room, it only held a table, a tiny desk, a trunk, and a bed. A fireplace with no logs. Dust lived in the corners, and candles that were unlit were melted in plates and cups all around your view—score of them as if the dark was something the owner feared vehemently. 

This would be your sanctuary for the night. 

“Do Werewolves not come upon hallow ground?” Your voice bounces off the stone. “Was this a priest's hut?”

If there was a church nearby in this damned place, that would truly be the best scenario. Churches held hunters more often than not. 

Standing, you walk the space, feet aching as the adrenaline wears off and it all sets in. You place your blade into your belt, but your fingers never leave the pommel. First, you go to the desk, picking through letters and thin papers. 

Blinking, you pass them over in favor of the journal, the one next to the hastily thrown down quill—the spilled ink. 

Your hand touches the leather and flips it open, ears peeled for any noise from outside. The drawings come into focus quite quickly. 

Diagrams and intense study fill your brain, images of the Ghost sketched so lifelike that you flinch back and physically recoil until you gather your bearings. 

“I don’t suppose this would be of any help,” you utter with a frown. “Will it tell me how to make silver bullets? Give me a revolver?” 

Shaking your head, you close the journal before the faded name on the cover register—you walk away slowly before you halt. 

"Simon Riley."

Your heart tightens and those brown orbs come back to you. It’s like your mind expands in a millisecond.

Simon Riley and his frequent trips out of the city. Simon Riley and his shredded clothes exactly like the ones that the beast wears. Simon Riley and his silent, black, soul. His secrets.

“No,” you try to convince yourself, chuckling as your panic spikes. Every interaction whizzes past with surety. “No, that’s not possible. I couldn't have been that inept when he was right in front of me.” 

Anger pierces you, and all sense leaves. You know it to be true, know it to be the reality even if you'd just put the pieces together yourself. This was too perfect that God himself must have come down and laid it out for you to find.

In a moment of raw rage, you stomp to the door—hand snapping to the bolt and reaming it back. The outside chill makes you growl, but you exit the hut nonetheless. It was like a spit in your face.

“Simon Riley!” You scream into the air, hand in fists. “Get your arse out here and explain to me why I’ve been fixing your fucking clothes while you’ve been galivanting around the bloody forest!” 

Call you insane, but seeing your work constantly ruined made you more mad than being chased like an animal, especially if this animal had no intention of killing you. He'd had the option, but he hadn't.

That only serves to make you even more angry.

Your finger points into the tree line. “I spend my God-given time to make them perfect for you, and this is how you repay me?” A rustling from the bush to your left. You snarl and turn to find the upright form as it blinks at you, muzzle closed and ears forward. It steps out into the grass with one paw before you brandish your blade at it.

The Werewolf freezes, a low warning growl rumbling in his chest.

“I’m going to rip that damn fur from your body and teach you what it’s like to have your practice insulted, you twat.” Those eyes don’t stray, just like they never had in your shop. 

Yet there was a more primal tint to them—more wild, unrestrained. Aggressive. 

The monster stalks forward with slow and heavy steps, walking up to you until it can once more stare you down. You take down a shaky breath and press your knife into his abdomen as fur encompasses your field of view. 

Your confidence wavers.

“D-don’t you know it’s rude to chase down a lady in her travel shoes?” 

A snarl grinds itself out in cut intervals as if he were trying to speak to you, snapping fangs and tilting head. You have somewhat of an idea of what it means.

“I’m not apologizing for kicking you in the balls, Mr. Riley. You deserved it.” You lower the knife from his abdomen. 

A nose pushes itself into your neck again before you shove him off with a curse. He doesn’t even flinch before he tries once more.

“Would you quit it?!” You yell, scoffing. “What in the devil is wrong with you?” 

It was like he was trying to rub his head all over you—as if nothing but a dog scenting a bone.

Isn’t he? Your lips thinned. It wasn’t foreign to think he wasn’t in the right state like this. Of course, he wasn’t. Mr. Riley would never act like this, even with how often you saw each other.

Lord, you didn’t even know if he liked you that much, but judging by whatever this is, it happened to be quite a bit. You huff and push him back with a scene of finality, slithering backwards into the hut before slamming the door. 

There’s a low grumble from outside, the barrier shaking as a large paw presses on it with immense force. 

“No!” You order, pulse running. “No—you figure yourself out first! I’m not letting you in like that.” 

The sudden enraged roar is so loud the broken window shakes. It makes your veins quiver under your skin. But there's a heavy slam of leaving feet moments later, the sound of screeching trees as branches are bent back. 

You pause and stand straighter after a long minute. Your lungs inhale.

“It listens better than the man,” you breathe, feeling weak. Bravery was tiring. 

Yet, there was still the problem of the dead.

Simon Riley was the Ghost—a Werewolf. He’d killed people, many, many people in these trees. 

You grab at your neck softly, the scent of earth and blood stuck under your fingertips, infecting your very soul. 

“...So why didn’t he kill me?”

—

You helped yourself to the clothes in Mr. Riley’s trunk, taking what you could find and slipping into it for bed. It was nothing more than a large undershirt and pants, but you wouldn’t be the one complaining. Luck was back on your side, as you also found a small package of bandages and matches. 

Lighting the candles one by one, afterward, you did what you could for your wounds. You weren’t keen on traveling to find water to clean them out, so, for now, a wrapping would have to do. 

The beast patrolled the glade. 

You’d hear him occasionally bend by the door, shadowing along the crack before there was a tapping of claws on stone and a huff of hot breath. He’d always leave you unaccosted, a smacking of gums and licking of chops heard through the cracked window before the dog darts away. 

Where fear had been previously, curiosity starkly remained at the forefront. 

“Simon Riley,” you mutter, sitting on the edge of his bed after that same event that had happened not an hour earlier. And the same an hour before that. Clockwork. 

A wolf stalking his hunting grounds, making sure all is where it’s supposed to be.

He smells you in here. 

“It’s too damn late for this,” you huff, rubbing at your face. Ideally, you’d like a bath and a hot meal, but there was no supper here. No food at all, really. 

You plop down into the feather pillow, face nuzzling into the deep scent that you remember smelling from Mr. Riley as he came into your tailor’s shop. This was demented—unholy action. 

If this were a different woman in this bed, she might be praying to her God for some salvation, an angel to come down and whisk her away. But the thought is like a stake in your heart. 

If there were a different woman in this bed…would she even be breathing as you were?

You shiver and burrow deeper into the covers, pulling them up to your chin. For whatever reason, Simon Riley, the Ghost, had stayed his fangs from your supple flesh; now you weren’t even sure that when he was leaning over you he had any intention to hurt you at all. He had seemed like he was…waiting for something.

Simon Riley, your neighbor. 

Your neighbor the Werewolf. 

You groan and hold yourself in the candle-light, unsure. You’d heard the tales—the murders. Mr. Lambert. Those countless hunters mutilated. Like a child, you pull sparse memories that bring it all to light.

Mr. Riley was quite the gentleman when you happened to catch him. 

There was never a time when you had to carry in your own fabric shipments—he was always outside to grab them before you could get one hand on the carriage compartment; it all seemed like lifting a feather. You’d speak to him about his day and his trips to the bigger cities that he always frequented. 

He’d told you it was because of his business, and you’d refrained from asking what exactly it was that allowed him to purchase such exquisite clothes—or even how they always ended up ruined. 

As your eyes flutter in this bed full of long black hair, you sigh and listen to the howls from far off in the distance; shivering.

“Where do you need ‘em, then?” The accent was aggressive, yes, but the tone was casual. You smile over at Mr. Riley and see the large trunk in his hands as the carriage leaves outside. 

“I don’t know,” you tease, “But I think you look quite dashing being such a ready and willing neighbor, Sir.” 

“That it?” He raises an eyebrow, but no expression slashes his visible face. To even get that was something to celebrate. 

You raise a hand and wave him behind your counter, chuckling. 

“I jest, Mr. Riley. Right back here the same as always.” He wordlessly ambles forward, feet heavy upon your wooden floors. 

You smell the scent of fresh earth as he passes, and your fingers twitch at your sides. Clearing your throat, you ask easily as the man strangely flinches as he brushes your arm, eyes flicking just a smidge wider. 

“Any more travels this month, then? I am a bit curious to hear about where you’ll be off to this time.” 

“London,” is a swift answer. Brown eyes glance at you as the trunk is set down with a puff of breath in the space below the shelves. “Ever been?”

You shrug. 

“No, unfortunately.” Simon stands to his full height, hands finding the insides of his pockets. You should be hesitant of his stature—his great shoulders—but you find it suits him. He tilts his head at you, his cap off today to let his wisps of hair collect at his temple. “You?”

Mr. Riley grunts, feet shifting. 

“Quite a few.” He blinks slowly. “Not missin’ much. Bloody filthy.” 

You laugh and tilt your head down, staring at the floor for a moment as your cheeks heat up. “I’ll have to take your word for it.” 

Simon puffs a sound of amusement, looking you up and down. He stares at your waist before he hums. 

“That a new one?” You look down at your corset above your blouse, putting a hand above the embroidery and nodding earnestly, touched that he’d seen it. Mr. Riley was far more in tune with his surroundings than others. 

“Yes, had a horrible time with the designs—I’m not quite sure I like it yet.” 

“It’s nice.” The man seems just as surprised about his quick outburst as you do, wide eyes meeting each other to connect with bare emotion. 

It’s a long pause that leaves you stuttering, your heart skipping a beat as your flesh burns with brimming affection. Simon grunts tensely and darts his eyes away to stare hard at the counter behind you.

“Well, I…” you tilt your head, beaming through a soft chuckle. “Thank you, Mr. Riley. That’s high praise coming from you.” 

“It’s nothing.” He takes his leave, firmly moving past you and shifting his body to make sure he doesn’t accidentally run into you. “Wear whatever you want, won’t make a difference… You’ll still be lovely.” 

Before you can gape into the expanse of his back at the blunt compliment, he’s already out of the door with a whisper. You watch him cross the street from the window and see him climb his steps, sucking down a shaky breath. 

An embarrassing giggle meets air. 

The man far across the street pauses in front of his door, gloved hand outstretched. He stays there for a hint of a moment, and you swear he turns his head to space you a tiny glance over his shoulder. 

Suddenly feeling as if you’d gotten caught, though you don’t know why, you squeak and hurry away into the back room. 

You wake up to the sound of the door opening. 

Drowsy and fatigued, your ears twitch to the sound of low groans and clipped growls—thick curses that would make any mother go shy that slip in and out of your reality. 

You should be afraid.

Footsteps stumble in, the thick closing and bolting of the door eching. Candles flicker through your eyelids, and you make a low noise in your throat as your face scrunches. 

All sound ceases. 

So quiet that death himself would vacate the area, your brain catches the end of a set of surprised footsteps coming to the bed and a sudden low exclamation of, “Bloody fucking hell.”

It all fades in and out, glimmering and glinting. 

A swift cleaning of the objects in his possession, organization, and fixing—moving papers. Feet stop at every other minute, and eyes burn into your face from above the covers. 

His fingers pull back at fabric, seeing the clothes you wear, the ones that he needs as of currently. 

A deep chuckle encircles you; your sleep deepens. Those same fingers, like a plague of slumber, travel up your bandaged arms and twitch along your shoulder—moving up until they come to the pulse at your neck. They add pressure and a breathless grunt is expelled as you tilt your head farther up. 

That touch is moved to your chin, moving it back down to hide your flesh from that brown gaze before a heavy sigh brushes over you. The covers are all at once pulled farther up along your form. 

The shadow disappears, and with it, it takes the extra blanket from the end of the bed, harshly grunting as the fabric is shuffled around and wrapped. A tiny mutter.

“You have a fuckin’ horrible habit of complicating things.” 

You sleep on, and, if you were conscious enough to realize it, you would have felt the gaze on you for the remainder of the night from the table—watching, barely blinking above the heavy press of eyes. 

Silent, if only for the soft breaths taken and no sooner exhaled on long, even, airways. 

As if not but a dog that watches the moon under starlight; the gentle sight of snow falling outside of the den. 

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlized, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @l-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

#cod #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #cod mw22 #x female reader #call of duty x you #mw2 #mw2 2022 #ghost call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #mwii #mw x reader #cod x female reader #x fem!reader #female reader #cod simon ghost riley #simon ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #cod mw ghost #cod simon riley

[daddyfordaeddy]

Pairing: werewolf! Yunho x f! yn (you can imagine yn as any species, she's kept ambiguous)

Word Count: 1910

Warnings: cursing, smut warnings under cut

Genre: Fluff, smut, supernatural au, werewolf au, E for explicit

Summary: On the week of the solstice, Yunho's rut starts.

Written for @cultofdionysusnet’s winter solstice event <3 took me a bit to get it down lol, and a big thank you to @sanjoongie for beta'ing hehehehehe <3 love u bae

Smut Warnings: unprotected sex (DONT DO THIS unless you discuss safely outside of sex!), praise, degredation, cum play, breast play, lactation kink (guys ignore the science behind it), knotting, breeding kink, overstimulation, subspace (i think it falls under it), creampie, multiple rounds, pet names

I've never written a werewolf au before so i hope its good <3

-

You perk up at the sound of the door opening, hearing the tell-tale signs of your boyfriend jingling his house keys as he hangs up his coat. “Yunho, you’re home early,” you call out, finishing up washing your lunch plates and wiping your hands. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong, my love,” Yunho responds, his voice liting. You know the sound well—his pre-rut is starting and you’re sure he’s hard in his pants. “I just got sent home because I started my pre-rut early. Must be the solstice.”

Bingo. The week of the winter solstice is when the werewolves’ inner selves are their strongest, and schedules are thrown off every year. You’ve been quite excited for this year’s solstice rut—the last two Yunho wasn’t comfortable enough sharing that side with you and after long discussions, it will be the first time you spend it with him.

You take a deep breath in before coming around the corner to properly greet your boyfriend, unwilling to make him feel pressured by your eagerness. “Do you want something to eat?” you ask as you wrap your arms around him and tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek. “I can make you the beef we have in the freezer.”

Yunho shakes his head, letting it drop to your shoulder. He takes a deep breath in, enjoying the scent of your body wash. “No, not right now,” he sighs through his nose. “I need a moment. You– you smell good.”

You open your mouth to say something but your breath catches in your throat as you feel his growing hardness against your hip. You knew his dick was big, but…it feels…bigger. Subconsciously, you squeeze your thighs together.

“YN.”

Yunho’s voice breaks you out of your fantasies. “Ah– yes?”

“Are you ready?” His voice is strained and you cock your head, confused. His eyes are dark and he licks his lips, neck veins popping as he holds himself back. “Coming home didn’t help with my pre-rut. You smell too good. Too fertile. I need you and I need you to tell me yes or no now before I lose control.”

“Fertile?” Your eyes widen more and you only vaguely remember a conversation held a while ago when Yunho warned you that in his solstice-rut, his wild instincts take over more so than usual and he will be saying and doing some out-of-pocket things. And somehow, it only serves to make heat sear in your core.

“Answer me, YN.” Yunho’s voice dips and your arms tighten around his waist.

“Yes.”

-

Teeth sink into your neck and your hands scrabble to grip at Yunho’s back, scratching down the skin. You’re sure there will be marks when the morning comes, not that it would bother him at all.

“Shit– Yunho–” you moan, back arching as your boyfriend drives his thick, throbbing cock deep inside you. “Fuck–”

You can hardly get a word out without Yunho rearranging your guts with every thrust. You should’ve known this was bound to happen, with the winter’s solstice landing on a full moon, and in turn, the werewolf’s rut landing on the week of the solstice. Not that you’re complaining about how perfectly Yunho nails each thrust into you.

“Look at you, lying there so perfect for me,” Yunho groans into your neck where he has been littering bite marks all over your skin. You’re sure if anyone who didn’t know the both of you saw it, they’d be worried for your safety. But the deep purple marks only serve to make you proud of your boyfriend. “Letting me use your sloppy pussy to my heart's desire like the whore you are.”

Not a thought exists in your brain as Yunho bites down on the junction between your neck and shoulder, where the old scarring from his mating bite sits. You’re pretty sure you’re melting into the sheets as he grabs your waist and moves you up and down on his twitching member like a ragdoll.

Come spills out of you so easily but Yunho doesn’t stop, just fucking it back into you and letting it foam up around the base of his cock where his knot is slowly growing.

You can’t even count how many orgasms you’ve had at this point, every time you think you can’t, Yunho somehow manages to drag one after another out of your body. The only thing you can feel is Yunho’s cock pounding into you at an unforgiving pace, stretching you out so deliciously.

Your boyfriend has come a couple of times too, your thighs and pussy lips coated in the sticky white substance, but he still hasn’t popped his knot and you know this isn’t going to end until he does. With a groan, you try to shift up, but the bite he has on your skin increases and his hands grip your hips even tighter. “Ah–” you moan, sinking back onto the pillow. You can feel pleasure roll in your stomach and your cunt clench, and you know you’re on the brink of your nth orgasm of the night.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight,” Yunho whines in your ear, his thrusts erratic and you can feel the base of his cock swelling. “You’re going to look so pretty carrying my pups, all round and perfect for me. God, I’d fuck you over and over just for you to carry my babies. My little cumdump.”

You moan, his words pushing you over to your next orgasm and you throw your head back in a silent scream. You swear your vision goes white and you can hardly hear anything as your hips and cunt convulse. Through your high, you can vaguely feel Yunho still snapping his hips into you as he moans against your neck.

And just as you come down, you feel him push his thick knot inside you, stretching out your walls even further. As soon as it pops in, you can feel him shudder and his dick twitch as searing come fills you up so full. “Shit–” you groan, grinding down subconsciously at the feeling. “Your knot is so big inside of me, baby.”

Yunho groans, thrusting as much as he can, the slightest bit of cum leaking out around his hard cock. Your thighs are burning but you can hardly feel it, just another addition to the pleasure slowly building once again. You’re not quite sure how much more you can take, but you don’t mind finding out.

Before you can think too much more, Yunho’s mouth travels down until he reaches your chest, taking one of your nipples in his mouth and sucking gently on it. “Oh–” you gasp, squeezing your eyes shut at the sparks it sends straight to your core. The way he flicks his tongue around the bud makes you shiver and your hands come up to grasp at the soft strands of his hair.

“These tits are so perfect, God,” Yunho groans around the mound of flesh. “Taste so perfect for me. Look at you baby, I’m affecting you so much in my rut you’re making milk, huh.”

Your eyes widen and they trail down your body to see the milky liquid trickling out of your nipples. “Yun–”

“Hush and let me taste you some more,” Yunho groans, dipping his head to capture your breast in his mouth again.

His voice is deeper than the ocean, rough around the edges, and it sends vibrations through your body. The grip he has on your hips tightens even further and you’re sure you’ll have bruises blooming in no time. Without warning, he bites down on your sensitive nipples and you squeal, fingers pulling at his hair as your cunt grips down on his cock. Without mercy, his fingers immediately come up to play with your unattended nipple, rolling the bud between the digits. You can feel milk streaming out of it and you moan.

“Yunho, please,” you don’t know what you’re begging for, and Yunho chuckles.

“So needy for me again, slut,” he hums around your breast, sharp teeth scraping the skin gently.

You open your mouth to complain, but before any words can come out, you feel a great pressure on your pussy and with a pop Yunho pulls his knot out. “Fuck!” His hips have been slowly grinding into you, knot deflating bit by bit, but it was still big enough to sting when he pulled it out carelessly. But the pain is what you absolutely adore and your mouth drops open as he leaves the tip of his cock in your hole.

It’s still pumping come into you slowly, but with how loose you are after that fucking, you can feel his come pouring out of you. You try to squeeze your legs together to stop the flow and keep the full feeling, but your legs are too jelly to even curl your toes. Yunho just chuckles, bringing the hand down that was playing with your breast to lazily press his come back into you, as well as the milk clinging to his fingers.

“God, you don’t understand how much I want to taste you right now,” Yunho growls, his cock twitching again. “But keeping you nice and full and stuffed is my top priority. Fill you with my pups and keep your tits full.”

Before you can say or do anything again, he slowly pushes his dick back in your wet heat, his knot popping back inside you with ease. Your body is hardly able to react, soft moans and whines spilling out of your mouth.

As Yunho smirks down at you, he scoops up the leftover come on your walls and brings his fingers to his mouth, licking off the sticky remains. “Fuck, you taste just how I dreamed of,” he sighs, eyes fluttering shut as he flashes his sharp canines. “Really should keep you warm and pregnant for me—you’re so impossible, YN. I don’t know how the fuck you do this to me.”

You don’t think he even knows what he’s saying, too drunk on the winter solstice’s power to fully comprehend what he’s saying. You can’t get pregnant from him right now anyways, the birth control you use specifically for multi-species relationships. Plus, his come doesn’t have the right potency until the full moon and there’s no way in hell you’re letting that monstrous cock near you (although you dream about it).

Your thoughts are cast away as Yunho’s hands come up to fondle your breasts again, causing more milk to leak out and he immediately dips his head down to suck at your peaked nipples. “Yunho,” you breathe out, no energy to call out his name even louder, “please.”

The ache of your body is finally hitting you and you’re limp on the stained sheets. The haze in Yunho’s eyes clear up a little and he shifts, keeping his cock in you but slowing his grinding. “You’re so sweet for me, YN, letting me use you like this. You can sleep if you want, I need the knot to go down anyway.” His large hands leave your breasts to brush strands of hair away from your sweaty face. “I’ll wake you up for dinner,” he hums, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead.

Exhaustion takes over your body and you feel your eyes flutter shut as Yunho continues to stroke your hair. “I love you, puppy,” you mumble, halfway to sleep already.

“I love you too, my moon.”

#cultofdionysusnet #LongNight23 #pirateeznet #kvanity #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez yunho #yunho fanfiction #yunho fanfic #yunho smut #yunho x reader #smut

[haosweater]

midnight moon hotel [01/03]

content: seventeen + ateez x hotel owner! reader, fluff, angst, smut; fantasy au, monster au. more info to be updated in individual fics.

summary: as the owner and receptionist of a hotel, you’re very quickly thrown into a world of gossip, drama, magic, and monsters as you meet guest from all over the world. however, there are a few that you remember particularly well. here are their stories.

note: part one of a three part series [with both seventeen and ateez members] about owning some sort of a hotel in different universes :) hope you guys enjoy this one. do let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! i’ll be posting the other two parts later!

[part two: moonfog inn] [part three: tech pods]

werewolf! seungcheol x vampire! reader [fluff, smut]

seungcheol is the calmest werewolf you’ve ever met. he’s kind, a gentleman, and goes out of his way to help you. tonight, you notice he’s nowhere to be found, which was rather strange. ah, you remember why now. it’s mating season.

vampire! jeonghan x vampire! reader [smut]

jeonghan may be the snarkiest man you have ever met in your life. he’s always making the sassiest comments, boiling your blood in a way you’ve never been irked before. one day, he goes a step too far, so it’s time for you to show him your true form.

witch! jun x vampire! reader [fluff, angst, smut(?)]

jun is a traveling witch who had gotten lost and needed a place to stay for the night. you kindly offered him a room free of charge, but had this strange feeling that you recognised him from somewhere. you couldn’t put your finger on it, and neither could he.

poltergeist! yunho x vampire! reader [fluff, smut]

yunho was one of your oldest and closest friends. he was a regular at the hotel, and comes looking for you one night, drunk and in need of a place to stay. you welcome him with open arms, but end up getting more than what you bargained for.

incubus san / wooyoung x vampire! reader [smut]

you were no stranger to incubus, but twins? that was new. san and wooyoung had their eyes on you the moment they stepped into your hotel and had been trying to get you into their bed the entirety of their stay. on their last night there, you give in.

#ateez 🎱 #ateez #ateez fics #ateez x reader #seventeen #seventeen fics #seventeen imagines #ateez imagines #ateez smut #seventeen smut #seventeen 🫧 #choi seungcheol #yoon jeonghan #wen junhui #jeong yunho #choi san #jung wooyoung #woosan

[isatumbles]

Bro fr lost his wallet lmao

Fic by I

‼️Art at the end‼️

The mayor looked under his bed, under his sheets, around his vaults, yet nothing. He groaned in despair. "I can't find it!" Shelbourne yelled out. He stomped around his room trying to find his wallet. He was getting ready for bed, when he wanted to count his cash again, only to find that his wallet went missing. He was dressed in his monkey pajamas, his face red with frustration. "Gaah, where did that thing go?!" He groaned again. "I swore I left it in my suit pocket!" He grabbed his suit and looked inside, only to find nothing. As he searched and searched, he heared scratching at the door. "Uuugh.." He knew exactly who it was. "Dont do that Gil, these doors aint cheap, yknow??" He exclaimed.

He went and opened the door, and he was greeted by his werewolf son. He held one of his own Sardinee Babies plush in his mouth, panting in excitement. "Dad! I was wondering if you could-" Gil blabbered with the toy in his mouth. "Im not playing fetch with you again" He immediately uttered. Gil dropped the toy in sadness. "Ooh cmoon..! Just this once!" He begged. Shelbourne was about to scold him for being so childish, but he then remembered something. "Okay.. maybe Ill do it.." He slowly said. Gil sprung in happiness. He lowered his head and grabbed the toy again, chewing it to make it squeak. "On one condition.." Shelbourne raised his finger. Gil's tail beat the floor as it wagged, he tilted his head as he awaited his condition.

"Find my wallet for me" Shelbourne said. "Your wallet?" Gil asked. "Yes, its not in my suit.." Shelbourne pointed at the suit on the floor. Gil dropped his toy once again and pranced into the room. He immediately went for the suit. He dug his black nose into the suit's pockets, sniffing profusely into them. Shelbourne watched as Gil did his thing. Gil caught a small whiff of leather, which was what his dad's wallet was made of. He sniffed around the floor to find any smell of leather. "Not.. here.." He said inbetween his profuse sniffing. He then sniffed a single spot that had a strong odor. He huffed and raised his head at the bedroom door. He rushed out the room. "Wait Gil!!" Shelbourne ran behind him, desperate for his wallet.

Gil sniffed heavily for that leathery odor again, trying his best to hunt for the wallet. He was met with the bathroom door. Shelbourne caught up with his son, see as he sniffed around the bathroom. He smelled the bathtub, the toilet, and even the sink, but nothing. Then, he smelt the air. He turned his head onto the bathroom's laundry basket. Gil winced at the basket. "Whats the holdup??" Shelbourne questioned. "Laundry.." He said, holding his nose. "Well? Go get it!" Shelbourne pointed to the basket. Gil sighed and made his way to the basket. He covered his nose and dug through the basket with one hand. He then felt something flick past his claws. He gasped and dove his head into the basket, not caring about the foul smell.

He came back up with his dad's wallet, stuffed in his mouth. "Found it!" Gil yelped in happiness. "Ewgh Gil, not like that!" Shelbourne was grossed out by the saliva coating his precious wallet. "Oh, hehe.. whoops" He chuckled. He spat out the wallet and used his sleeve to rub away the saliva. "Here you go mayor-dad!" He handed the wallet to his dad. Shelbourne hugged it close to his chest, almost cherishing it more than his son. "I thought I lost you.." Shelbourne quietly said under his breath. Gil's ear flicked, having heard what he said. He frowned, but he remembered something. "Mayor-daaad.." Gil said in a sing-songy voice. "What?" Shelbourne said, mad about being disturbed from caressing his wallet. "The favor??" He said, leaning closer to his dad. Due to his size in werewolf form, he very slightly surpassed his dad's height. Shelbourne remembered that he made that promise. "Oouh.. Aaalright, just this once.. go get your Sardinee Baby" He sighed in regret. Gil yapped and ran on his fours to fetch the toy, ready for a whole night of back-and-fourth fetching.

‼️Alt text available‼️

#isatumblesart #cwacom #cloudy with a chance of meatballs #mayor shelbourne #gil shelbourne #werewolf #au #cwacom au #the cure #Goofy ah fic #Does this mfer even have a wallet?? #I bet bro just keeps that shit pocketted on every pocket #Like how he keeps an eNTIRE FISHBOWL IN HIS SUIT

[dearly-somber]

stand still (i’m sniffing you) | j.jk

-> pairing. wolf shifter!jungkook x human!reader (f)

-> genre. slow burn, f2l (friends-to-lovers), (not actually) unrequited love, pining, mutual pining, high school!au, werewolf/shifter!au, fluff, domestic fluff

-> w/c. 802

-> rating. 13+

-> a/n. Inspired by that one clip where Jungkook back-hugs Hoseok while they’re practicing 🥹🥹

-> collection. mini-series

-> warnings. None!!

-> started. Mon., Feb. 19th, 2024 @ 21:42

-> fin. Mon., Feb. 19th, 2024 @ 22:19

-> edited. Tues., Feb. 20th, 2024 @ 07:06

-> divider credit. @mmadeinheavenn

Jungkook has a stronger sense of smell than the rest of his pack. Partially because his wolf is simply better at it (much to the pack’s chagrin, because Jungkook never fails to bring it up during their biweekly pissing contests), but also because he’d been blessed with a good sense of smell even in his human form.

Something is burning a street down? Jungkook can smell it.

Someone took a shit in the backyard because they were too lazy to shift and do it inside where they could flush it? Jungkook can smell it (and he’s going to make it everyone else’s problem).

Y/N comes over without letting him know and—wait, what?

He sticks his head out of his room like an excited cartoon character. “Bunny?”

Jennie glowers at him as she’s walking down the stairs, shaking her head with a sigh. “She’s not even halfway up the pavement.”

Jungkook frowns, feeling a prickle of embarrassment race up the back of his neck. “A-and! You know she’s here!”

“Yeah, ‘cause I can hear her,” Jennie sasses, scoffing with a grin so shit-eating Jungkook thinks his eye twitches, “not because I’m so honed in on her scent that I know she’s coming from a mile away.”

“Okay it was not a mi—Y/N!”

She huffs as Jungkook barrels into her, stumbling back ever so slightly. Jungkook feels his wolf wagging his tail like the love-struck mutt he is, pulling back at Y/N’s signature okay, that’s enough pat-on-the-back she does whenever she deems a hug “over”.

“I didn’t know you were coming!” He can’t help but speak loudly, wondering if his eyes are sparkling—cliche, sure, but he remembers Yoongi mentioning it once, and it hasn’t left his mind ever since.

Y/N laughs (Jungkook’s heart soars in his chest), shaking hee head as she drops a duffel bag next to the coffee table, walking toward the kitchen with Jungkook hot on her heels.

“I wasn’t planning coming over but my mom dropped me off to go to the library and she isn’t picking me up until five, so I decided to come over and hang out.”

That explains it! Jungkook wondered why Y/N smelt more bookish than usual today. It’s always present under her daffodil-raisin combo, but it makes sense why it’s so much stronger today. He imagines her sitting in the library for hours on end, fully immersed in a book, and the thought makes him smile like a fool.

Jungkook is hit with the sudden, overwhelming urge to smell you. Fueled by his excitement at a surprise-visit and the whims of his wolf, he wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest and pressing his nose to the back of your neck. His nose scrunches happily as he inhales your scent, first in short, wolfish little huffs, and then in longer, more appreciative inhales which infiltrate all his senses.

He waddles into the kitchen clinging to Y/N’s back, vaguely aware of the conversation she’s started with Rosé, Seokjin and Jisoo (who are busy making dinner), too focused on keeping his nose scrunched to the back of her neck to hear (or truly care about) the specifics.

“Jungkook-ah,” Y/N says softly, reaching up to touch his hands.

“Stay still,” he huffs, feeling a tingle run up his arms when she shivers at his breath on her neck. “I’m sniffing you,” he mumbles, swaying her from side to side as they come to a standstill in the middle of the kitchen.

Y/N snorts, and he imagines she has a smile on her face.

“Yah!” Seokjin yells, maneuvering around them with a pot of rice held close to his chest. “I’m trying to cook!”

“Yeah!” Rosé frowns, roughly mixing what Jungkook now realizes is kimchi. “Get a room!”

“Kook,” Y/N starts.

The whine he lets out dies in the back of his throat when she reaches up over her shoulder to palm his hair, gently scrunching her fingers in the messy strands. “Lemme help cook dinner and then we can play some Mortal Combat before I leave, hm?”

Waiting until the heat in the tips of his ears cools a little, Jungkook gives a curt little nod of his head (blatantly ignoring his wolf’s request to nip your shoulder). He inhales long and hard before finally letting you go.

Y/N then very casually turns to help the trio in the kitchen as Jungkook plops onto the couch in between Lisa and Hoseok with a satisfied sigh, practically sitting on top of them.

He yelps, rubbing the back of his head when he feels Hoseok smack him over the head with a pointed look.

“What?” he says, high-pitched and pouting.

Lisa just laughs, shaking her head as she scrolls through her phone. “You’re hopeless, Kook.”

#jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts a/b/o #a/b/o dynamics #werewolf au #werewolf bts #werewolf jungkook #shifter au #wolf shifter #wolf shifter jungkook #ao3 #archive of our own #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop fic #bts smut #bts one shot #bts series #bts drabble #bts fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic

[diejager]

are there any aus from other creators u like? or ones u want to write about? or do u want suggestions to check some out? cus their are loads of cools ones

Oh, absolutely!

The first that comes to mind - for the AUs I’d want to write - is @sunshine-and-moonshine Alpha!141 x Delta!reader, it has so much potential and it’s really good despite it being short ideas.

There’s also @ohbo-ohno and @ceilidho’s works on Ghoap x reader, the whole puppy play and obsession is just so delicious! I, personally, don’t think I’d be able to write the same dynamic as well as them, but I love reading about it.

As you probably know, @konigsblog, or Orla, has salivating AUs and ideas that you should absolutely check if you haven’t, especially her König and Soap stuff, it’s so amazingly filthy. I am a slut for it.

You have @sweet-as-an-angel for the DARK CONTENT like Zombie!141 or Yandere fics (there’s a lot to read and you could spend your whole day on the blog) and @tacticalanklebiter3000 simply for how crazy and funny her stories are, I would definitely recommend her thoughts and quick drabbles about hybrid or werewolf AU.

@cobwebs-in-autumn has a lot of prompts that they haven’t expanded on - as in long ass stories - but are worth the read. I even got their permission to write on one of their prompt! (Stalker!reader x Soap is lingering on my mind and won’t leave)

@gremlingottoosilly has a lot of juicy stuff, especially her Monster!König or Your Ride Will be Here Shortly, it’s a poly!141 x fem!reader.

Ah, sweet, sweet @auspicioustidings has a lot of hidden works(check her AO3, that’s where you find her hidden treasures, I’m looking at you Mhairi👀) with Ghoap x reader or them separately.

@halcyone-of-the-sea writes long stories, but they’re worth the time, varying between 3k to 15k, she recently reached 8k followers so she has an event open that I’m excited to read! I, however, am in love with Ravishing Allure, a Nikto x fem!reader soulmate AU.

If you want some good Angst, I’d recommend @peachesofteal, especially Dead Disco, a beautiful piece of Angst with enough of Fluff to make sure your heart doesn’t shatter.

@ghouljams writes a lot of AUs, like, a lot, and they’re all increasingly written and explored. Some might be short and others medium length, but they are really good.

And on the topic of drabbles and short pieces, there’s @frogchiro and her AUs, her hybrids, God of War!Ghost, or her Colonel König.

@charliemwrites is someone I recently followed and she gave me some intense brain rot with her Woof woof Johnny, Charmed Slasher GHost, childhood friend Simon and Rabid reader.

Finally there’s @placeinthemiddleofnowhere’s Reign Down on Me, it’s a handler!Ghost x wolf hybrid!reader. You should go check her out on tumblr or AO3, I enjoyed reading it.

These are all that I have on the top of my mind at the moment, there are a lot more talented writers that I haven’t named or found, but here are my subjections! I’m open to other stuff, if you have other suggestions, the more the merrier in writing, no?