#Lawrence Talbot | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scuddisher · 1 year

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IMMINENT

Tales of a man nearly killing an entire village breaks through the papers, but the lacerations done are that of a beast. Whisking away to meet the man himself, Lawrence Talbot, you’re faced with the utmost assignment to help aid him through a full moon—which includes confrontation with the curse that once mended him.

RATING — MATURE & EXPLICIT (18+) PAIRING — lawrence talbot x gender-neutral! reader GENRE(S) — fic, werewolf! au, horror, thriller, slight gore, romance, angst, smut WORD COUNT — 7.2k WARNINGS — mature content, blood, cuts, killings, death, light mentions of suicidal thoughts, violence, use of a gun, mentions of losing a soul SMUT WARNINGS — biting/marking, borderline monster-fucking btw, power-bottom! lawrence, grinding, dirty talk, degradation, corrupt kink, big dick! lawrence, creampie RELEASE DATE — FEB 26TH 2023

AUTHOR’S NOTE — i wrote this fic so long ago and used it for something else, but now that i am (finally) writing for benicio, here it is in its entirety! this is probably going to be the longest fic i have for him for a while lmao. may contain some mistakes due a quick editing! dedicated to the sweet anon who requested to see this (already written) wip <3 ily

ONE.

The rickety buggy pulled you along, your hand clenched over the other in your lap. Nervousness boiling within every nerve of your body, the extension of your mission was that of the most frightening experience you knew you would encounter—if you were welcomed.

Blackmoor Manor was gloomy beneath the purple and orange rays of the dusk, nightfall counting down minute by minute as the carriage made a full stop at the steps of the main entrance. Your knees were weak as you stepped out of the cart, belt tight around your waist as you took in a sharp breath and pulled a single bag out with you—the only thing you could ever travel with. Payment to the driver and a spin on your heels, the transportation sat idle as you clamored up the steps to confront what was inside.

Your fist clenched, hand rising to pound your knuckles against one of the double doors. A crack behind the aperture startled you, the door pulling open at the mere sound of your breath.

Ecstatic, you feared this the most. The front paper had been displayed with only a myth—soon becoming the talk of the entire country. Mysterious deaths done by a serial killer of a nearby village close to Blackmoor, all signs pointed to those within the home. No one had come close to conceding the truth of the tale, the bite marks and slashes of the victims otherworldly, done by a beast. Not a single person could admit that the occupants of the manor were considerably reclusive; specifically a man who began to live in the large building alone after the death of his late father.

Lawrence Talbot had heard the crunching gravel up the long driveway much before you stepped onto the welcome mat of his home. His figure standing above your own in height, the dweller’s irises flashed in the falling sun as the door opened.

“S-Sir.” Your voice was hoarse, his brows immediately furrowed. A soft grunt from the man made a shiver run up your spine, his intense glare through the breach between the door and frame unsettling. “H-Hello. I have been sent on my own accord, sir.”

“Which is?” Dark horse of a man, his voice told you that he didn’t speak often. More graveled than his driveway and heightened in tone, his eyes gazed upon your shaking figure.

“I have a proposition.”

The door slammed shut. Your light whine went unheard by the driver within the carriage, but clear as day to the man on the other side of the wooden gate. You blinked slowly, turning your head to place your ear against the cold wood, the piece almost freshly painted. No sounds emitted from the other side, your eyes growing teary from the frigid temperature of the countryside and the situation at hand. This was your chance, your break—and you couldn’t allow him to let you leave in such a way.

“Plea-” Begging cut short, your head against the door jolted, a loud clack and screech of metal echoing from the opposing side.

Unlatching an unseen lock, Lawrence Talbot returned to your view as a full body. The door creaked open, your eyes taking in his form. Comforted by his casual attire, the aristocrat was still within his old ways—the thin button-up coated with a velvet blazer, soft slacks around his legs and loafers unshined.

He was said to be mysterious—a vexing man with a range of emotions that could snap at any moment—but here he was, only gentle.

His eyes mocked the bright sunset, glistening with the faint colors as he stepped out into the cold air. His hair thick on his skull and falling across his forehead, the strands blew with the breeze, his eyes blinking to keep from drying. Chiseled features wounded by the flat smile he wore, his sight grew even softer when he took notice of the bag’s handle in your grasp.

“Traveling lightly?” he questioned, the dimmest laugh at the end of the sentence causing a warm feeling to rush into your chest.

“Yes, sir.” you nodded.

He hissed, top row of his teeth grazing over his bottom lip as he stared past you. The man on the cart tapped his wrist, Lawrence’s hand rising into the air to give him a respectful leave. The carriage parted, the owner’s eyes trailing back to your form.

“It’s nearly dark. I suggest you come in and get warm.”

His bulky form stepped to the side, his hand falling flat and gesturing within the manor. Gravitating, you caught sight of the sky above one last time. The moon was layered with fluffed clouds, the cobalt texture littered with specks of gray as it floated before the moon. Costly, your breath sucked into your lungs. Filling your chest in a tight puff, the bright ball behind the veil presented itself—a full moon.

“You’re just in time for a meal.”

His voice broke your allured gaze around the large foyer, his cologne filling your nostrils along with the scent of dust. The tiles were laminated by dirt and leaves, the large home surely impossible to clean as just one person. Leaves crunched beneath your feet as you walked through the open room, a grand staircase leading to the second floor towering and barely curved ahead of you. Your mind attempted to count the stairs, attention recaptured by the man stepping into your perception.

“Are you alright?” he asked, a concerned look on his face bringing wrinkles to form on his forehead.

You nodded quickly, eyes shifting to the floor in embarrassment. “So many stairs.” you mumbled.

His hand made a similar motion to when you stood at the frame of the double doors, eyes soft and cold. He was like a match in a dark room when he walked, breathing steadied as if he had to remind himself to breathe naturally, state almost on edge at every motion you made as you walked along the space.

You halted at the sight of the candle-lit dinner. One of the wax candles had been melting for a long while, and a man stood at the middle of the obscenely long table. Bowing in respect, the lanky man darted around the diameter of the dining table, rushing to Lawrence’s side before clicking his heels together. He was on alert, the butler ready for any task the man told him—but Lawrence’s hand rose again in your direction.

“Please, allow me to take this.” The butler requested, your nod simple as your fingers released the handle of the suitcase.

The man spun on his heels, walking towards a bench to set the bag down and return to your side. Lawrence’s gesture had been for the butler to accommodate you, the man walking you to one of the ends of the long table. Pulling out the seat as you sat down, he gently glided the chair’s feet against the same flooring as the foyer. The screech against the floor made you wince, a light sigh coming from the butler before he stuttered an apology.

“Oh, it’s alright. Really, I have a busy home-life. That’s truly nothing compared to what I hear within the town.”

The butler’s teeth broke through his lips in a bright smile, his index finger rising and pointing at you with small words. “Good one you are, dear.”

“So-” Lawrence’s chin poked out as he bent over, taking his own seat at the opposite end of the table. Almost yelling to speak, his trailing voice caught in your ears. “I believe you mentioned a proposition for me, yes?”

“I u-uh, uhm.” It was a moment to break, your reasoning for the trip on the tip of your tongue.

“Dinner is served.” Called out the butler, opening the lid of a tray as he sat the main course of the meal in the middle of the table. Two plates stationed before him, he began splatting down the spoonful of side dishes. Lawrence’s attention was still on your lips, your state obviously nervous and overwhelmed by the stature of the butler forming the plates for you.

“It’s alright.” A moment of clarity, Lawrence’s voice didn’t reach a high volume in order to reach you. Tone supple, his two words calmed your senses, sitting back into the plump seat to catch a moment of rest.

“I’m aware of your reputation, Mr. Talbot.” you claimed, his brows rising in tandem with your tongue forming his name in such a proper way.

His lip was soothed over by his wet muscle, saliva coating the dry skin as he swallowed harshly and sat forward in his seat. Fingers lacing together, his attention was on you and you only.

The butler’s grasp on a golden spoon was lost within the bowl of food the moment you spoke, the loud ring of the two hardware clinging together boisterous in the man’s ears—but he didn’t move.

Not startled by the noise such as you, his elbow propped against the fabric of the tablecloth, placing his chin into his palm. He was watching you attentively as if you were a painting he couldn’t quite figure out. The butler’s light motions of placing his plate before him went completely ineffective towards his stern glare aside from the light "Thank you, sir." that slipped from his mouth out of respect for the man that made his meal.

“Is that right?” Quick witted just as his response, you could already tell the man would be a tough shell to configure. “About the killings, or may it be that you read the paper about the strange markings on those not too far from me?”

The man had you on leash before you could even speak, now stuck teetering between hot coals and thrashing lava as he soared holes into your face with his eyes. Lawrence’s tongue was now bitten by the teeth that had run along his lip, purposely giving you the juncture to speak. His eyes appear glassy, the pads of his fingers dipping into the skin as his narrow face protrudes around the digits.

“T-That’s accurate, yes. Sir, but—” You couldn’t hold it within yourself to keep eye contact with the silently deadening man across from you. His panning glare turned your skin into a rash just at the feeling of him staring. “I am a scientist.”

Ice breaker, the man’s stomach went flat as he sucked in a breath. It was another ounce he would sculpt on an occasion, listening to the words of professionals that knocked on his door. His mistake, allowing one in.

“But I have come for one reason only.”

He nodded, sight dulling from his heavy looking eyes. The window from behind him glared with the moonlight, enwrapping his silhouette with the yellowish tint. He was fighting the purpose for you being there, that you could easily tell from even a side glance.

“You’re nocturnal. You feed only at night, mainly when the moon is full. Am I ringing a bell, sir?”

His cackle was louder than his voice in the echoing tunnel of a room, watching his butler grab the last of the empty plates to take away. He was toying with new grounds, his jawline growing stiff as his eyes finally dropped to the table before you.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the taste for blood. The undead are too enticing to me. Context wise—I am rather a dog person.”

“A wolf?”

His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. Pink lips parting with a seductive chuckle, his eyes glanced to the side of you as his tongue pressed into the edge of his mouth. Watching the muscle push against the inside of his face, your pupils blew at the sight of a healing gash along his temple.

Squinting in the dim lighting of the candles, his fist clenched out of your sight. Riled, the side of Lawrence’s fist clamored against the long table just as his butler reemerged, rushing to his side and whispering within his ear. A warning—sometimes he had a temper.

“Unbelievable, I allowed another one of you doctors to spew your nonsense.”

You wanted to reject his statement, explain your reason is only to help aid him and learn—but he stood up too quickly. His chair screeched even louder than your own had as his legs straightened, expression fed up as he shook his head and pushed through the gap between his chair and the table. Your time of acquaintance had grown short, the tedious man taking his leave at the first bit of your proposal.

TWO.

A light knock at the door you had been sent into to stay for the night startled you once more, barreling towards the wood to press at it as you lifted your shirt over your head. “Just a moment!” The clearing of someone’s throat made you lift onto your toes, curiosity struck as you pulled the article down your front and twisted the handle of the door.

Lawrence’s form was pressed against the frame when you pulled the door open. Positions now swapped, the man’s anguished eyes beckoned an apology, his words delicate as he spoke.

“Please.” His bottom lip almost quivered, dark irises skinny as his pupils blew with you in his sight. “I am so sorry for how I acted at dinner.”

“Sir, if I must.” Your voice shattered his own, hand rising to open the door more and allow his frame to press into the room. “I’ve been rejected more than once in my line of business. This is all but a contestant’s perspective—I would never dispute with you until you grow uncomfortable. My work is sufficiently study-biased.”

“That is why I came.”

Your brows creased, his slight hiccup in an act to cover up his quick response diluting your senses.

“I mean—” He knew he came across in the wrong way. “—that and to apologize. Please, come have a drink with me?” His eyes were begging, attempting to unsheathe the cover over the blade and get to the grit he knew you held.

“I don’t drink.” Statement making the man visibly shudder, he was like a puppy in the way he nodded at your response.

“Tea, then?”

You shuffled out of your room, pulling your soft coat over your shoulders and trailing the man down the dark hallway. Each room’s door was cracked open, the windows uncovered as the moonlight creeped inside. Every doorway Lawrence passed, his eyes would glisten. Out of your sight, the knowledge was unattainable—but he knew what was occurring within himself.

“I must admit.” He welcomed you into another room, an office stationed with a large desk and smooth, leather chairs. Gesturing down at the seats, his butler seemed to appear out of thin air. The man was conscientious, placing a bare teacup onto its plate at the table next to the chair you sat in. He didn’t hiss in pain at the heat of the hot pot, tilting the container to release the steaming water inside down into the small cup. In one swift movement, he placed down a small glass for Lawrence and put a tea bag into your cup at the same time, shuffling his long body out of the room to allow peace and quiet.

The moment didn’t suffice, Lawrence’s irresolute actions dismissing your worry for dealing with the man being intoxicated. He sat down into the chair adjacent to you without tapping a fingerprint against the bottle of alcohol, the corners of his lips rising into a curved smile. Respectfully, he had taken back his own words and tasks.

“I really don’t have a knack for guests.” He admitted a second time, gaze weak and falling to your knees in embarrassment. “As you can see—” he lightly smiled, running the pad of his index finger over the thick coat of dust along the desk off to the side of his seat. “I don’t have a knack for getting around my own home much, either.”

“Sir, if I may—" you initiated what you set out to discuss, a second chance bringing a light gleam in your eyes. “You know why I am here, don’t you?”

“I believed you to be another pesky doctor attempting to breach my mind.” Lawrence managed to sum up his latest years in one sentence, his voice drawing back at the last word in realization of how hard he had it recently. Alone in the manor aside from his butler, anyone would go mad. “But I was misled.”

“And how did you come up with that conclusion?” Reteaching him how to converse was difficult, but he was playing with his dominant hand. Pressing into the leather chair harder as he separated his knees in different directions to show how comfortable he was getting—you knew you were on the right track.

“You didn’t follow me when I left the table. Any other doctor would have tailed me to hell to make a deal and bury their instruments within me, but you stayed sat and obedient.”

You swallowed hard at how attentive Lawrence was, watching his teeth grind and thighs clench when he spoke of how deferential you had been. The man’s eyes glazed over again, an absorbed appearance cascading over his face. The shadows of his cheekbones gloomy in odd placements, his eyes grew darker and body got tighter as he eyed you from across the room.

“My father.” Mentions of the late man drew him back instantly, blinking away the deep glare as he hissed at his own words. “He was the original.”

“The original?”

“Wolfman.” His eyes paired with yours as the word slipped off his tongue. The whites of your eyes—once rippled with red veins from exhaustion—melted into a full ivory color, your mind drilling a hole for the new information he gave out.

“He terrorized that town. I had only put the puzzle together at the last minute. The strange disappearances.” His eyes squinted in pain and memory, firm arms shaking as he spoke. “The full moons were when I was fatherless. Howls from outside my bedroom window. It all made sense then.”

“But it was too late.” You nodded towards him, following along.

“I was. He had ripped through that small town like a tornado, leaving me in his path.” he sighed. “I was his last victim. A solid bite to my shin, and a silver bullet blasted through his head killing him in an instant.”

He shook his head, sight now on the floor as his gaze shifted back up to you. He seemed clouded like the night sky when you ventured into his home, eyes glowing a white glaze just as before. Lawrence noticed your stares, blinking rapidly.

“I’ve never done any work on a patient that involved physical contact, Mr. Talbot.”

His name formed on your lips so easily, erupting from your tongue like a laugh. His ears perked up at his name like it was a blow of a dog whistle.

“I study, listen, and write. Please believe me.”

“I have no other reason to dismiss that what you say isn’t true.” He was back to stern, index finger creating a circle pattern on the padding of his thumb—stuck in thought. “I had to endure the first full moon alone.” Finally, after word and word, his voice broke. Emotion billowed through the sentence, the man allowing himself to shatter in your view like a breaking vase with the most beautiful flowers inside. “Almost killed the rest of that town, too.”

“You were in a blood-thirst. Tenure, even as the beast itself—you gained reasoning.”

“I didn’t want to be my father.” He gritted, clearly gaining agitation as he vibrated in the seat. “Wind up an old man locked away in his home to scour away during full moons and shred innocent people. Children, mothers, elders—he had no mercy for the innocent.”

“You’re not like that.” Your voice was now the most stern, his eyes colliding with yours to reassure your words were true. “You held yourself back.”

Lawrence no longer needed to speak to have spoken, the theory in your mind was all too accurate. Locking away the beast on a full moon would only increase its power, but come forth the man with a soul within the position of the creature—Lawrence anchored himself.

“I am in no position to tell you of yourself, Sir.”

Lawrence hissed at your continued formalities, raising his index finger into the air and demanding a new layer to the relationship. “Continue to call me Lawrence.”

“As I’ve stated, I am only here to study under your escort. The full moon is almost risen, and you’re bound to change, aren’t you?”

Lawrence was biting his tongue another time, rocking in the seat in a losing battle between his temptations, structure, and tendencies.

“I forbid that you use me as a pet rat.” Another grain-like sound, you didn’t wince this time. His rebuttal was sincere, but you couldn’t avoid the wall between emotions and science because of a skinny dispute.

“Why?” Your voice wasn’t a whine, opposite of the sound—a bite.

“It’s not just dangerous—” The man balanced his arguments with his heart on his sleeve, a heavy load in the sense of the beast. “It’s also outright stupid.”

His fingers poked into the armrest of the leather chair just as they had his face. A provoked expression on his face, his chin tilted towards his chest, and a rumble suddenly vibrating through him. That of a bear, the sound made you curl into the seat, blinking towards Lawrence. He took notice of his actions, claws outlining his human nails as his anger internally boiled over, ripping into the fabric of the armrest. The man stood, startled by his own power as his eyes delved into your own.

“I forbid it. I cannot put anyone else in harm’s way. If I do—then I am nothing more than a monster.”

THREE.

Pain rumbled in his body, feverish skin sweating drips down his limbs. You broke his request, following along far behind him as he stumbled through the manor. It hurt to watch him wince and squeal, the echo of the home causing his sounds to reverberate for so long that tears pricked your eyes.

His knees gave out at the staircase beside the shelves, disappearing into the darkness as he fumbled down the marble steps. A loud thud called from below, his whines pricking your ears as you heard his bones crack. Standing, the man lifted just in time to spin and fall back into the leather chair within the basement.

Your feet were silent, thin slippers pattering across the marble. You descended the staircase as far down as you could before getting caught, Lawrence’s mumbled words growing faint. He was growing weak as the power of the moon took over, the curse within him billowing his body to be in pain and turn.

His fingers worked at a leather restraint, nondominant hand fighting to proceed with the task. Once fitted, his eyes shut, head falling to the side as his wrist fought at the restraints. Pain in his loins and muscles clenching relentlessly, he didn’t have the extra hand he needed to tighten the other restraint to his wrist. Falling back into the seat in defeat, the main artery in his neck bulged out at the man releasing a cry that developed into a growl. Not even a howl of the beast could break through the manor, your form rising into the light of the never-ending candles.

You came into his view just as his head rutted into the back of the chair, the soft leather breaking what would be another painful blow to the man’s body.

“Don’t you listen?” He growled, whimpering as he tugged to reach past the gap between his hands.

Your hand reached out for him, his teeth barring at your form closing in on him. Stumped, you took a step back. His eyes were slowly becoming enveloped with cold, black irises. The sight made you shake, head moving side to side until you broke from the fear and moved forward. Another growl from Lawrence and your hand was clutching at his shirt. Balling the fabric into your fist, his teeth released the tight grip as his eyes recoiled to a natural look—you had pulled him back.

“Don’t do this to me.” Lawrence looked visibly confused, your pull at his shirt enough to rip the fabric. You let out an annoyed yelp, tossing the fabric off to the side as his eyes watched it float to the ground. “You don’t get to play feral dog if I can’t watch.”

You had come so far, studied lycanthropy for years to be led to this moment—whether or not you were in potential danger, Lawrence was locked into the chair for the time being, unable to drag you away from the case.

“You’re mine to study now.” You gritted your teeth, the beast within the man finding it a threat as a snarl ripped from him. Teeth protruding from between his lips, his jaw grew a few inches in size as the canines shifted and became elongated.

Your hand pressed into his cheek, his grunt weak as you straddled him. His free hand moved to your waist, clinging to the fabric of your coat. The edges of your fingers found the mark on his temple, Lawrence wincing at you touching the spot.

A mark from his becoming, the brisk touch of a silver bullet the night he went into the same village as his father—but only the animals were discarded. No human blood yet taken by the beast, your valuable form sprawled yourself above him with a gentle aura.

Lawrence’s eyes turned predatory, black irises barely moving with every little motion you emitted. A whine came from your lips when his hips rushed up into you, the hand on the side of his face falling to his shoulder for grip.

“La-Lawrence—” You moaned on accident, the man’s bloodlust turning into a different state. Aroused by his name falling from your mouth, he jerked up harder into your crotch as you fell over him. “Oh-fuck, wait.”

“What?” he growled, eyes shifting up to your tilted head. He hesitated licking at the skin of your neck, eyes trailing the drips of sweat cascading towards your collarbone until he couldn’t take it anymore. His cock throbbed in his thin pants as his tongue pushed past his lips, the tip of the wet muscle hardly making contact with the salty taste of your skin before he was a moaning mess below you.

Lapping at your neck as his sharp canines threatened to bite you, your hand pressed into his chest. Lawrence’s body turned into a ragdoll, falling back as his neck throbbed in tandem with his cock. Your hand traced the crevice of his tight chest, the ripples of his abs making you bite down into your bottom lip with another moan. He was entranced, elevated by the way your hands traced over him in wonder.

But he was still transforming, the battle of the enlarged cock between his muscular thighs extruding into your own aroused patch, the thickness of your juices leaking from your body enough to have the man panting. It was clear Lawrence was out of it, blown by lust. But as your name chanted from his mouth and he grinded up into you—neither of you could help yourselves.

He was stronger than a normal man, the restraint at his wrist tearing with every beat of his heart and thrust of his cock. In a moment’s time, you reached between your bodies to undo his pants, releasing his tense cock from the tight hold. Pumping at his length with your dry hand, his free hand took hold of your wrist. Turning your palm to his face, his extra wet tongue laced a clean stripe from your wrist to the tips of your fingers. Eyes onerous and focused, you swiveled your thumb around his tip, his jaw going slack when the saliva from his own mouth turned hot against his cock.

Your hand moved in the motion of his thrusts, whining as you pumped him. Jerking him as he fucked up into your touch was enthralling, his free hand lacing into your hair and yanking your head back. A sloppy kiss was pressed against your mouth, his tongue lingering over your own to allow you a gingered taste of him before he was pushing you off and forcing you to release his length.

His legs kicked at your own, spinning you until your back faced him. A game of cat and mouse, his fingers dipped into the waistband of your pants, shredding the fabric in one go. The waistband was too loose to fit around your body tight enough, the fabric falling down your legs and slipping past your ankles. He pulled you backwards, your soaked body lubed by his alluring glare alone.

You heard the smack of his tongue, three of his fingers burrowing between his plump lips and coated by his saliva. The pop made you thrust against the air, whining as if he were already inside of you when his fingers tapped at your lower body.

One finger sunk in all the way to the knuckle, your body leaning forward and giving him more space to rock you on his thighs. Once straddling his waist, he had moved you to a vulnerable position, balancing over him as a single push to your abdomen would bring you sinking down onto his length.

“You like that?” he asked, feeling you clench around his fingers. “Ever been fucked at one of these little experiments, hmm?”

You shook your head violently at him while well aware that it wouldn’t suffice, a broken word of 'no’ keeping his flattening palm from slapping at your arousal. Another finger joined into the fun, the squelching sound was enough to have him pulling his fingers out. Aligning his length with your entrance, he slipped you down, warmth filling your body as he brimmed you.

His head fell into the crook of your neck, growls and pants fabricated as he fought the real release. He throbbed inside of you as you clenched harder, a tell for him to move. Your eyes shut tight as he slammed into you, rocking you forward as your hands fell between your bent legs to hold onto his meaty thighs. Your life depended on his hold, risking any second of falling forward onto your head. A firm hold of his arm wrapped around your waist, thighs bouncing you like you weighed nothing.

He was fucking you senseless. The prodigy of your time, a werewolf connoisseur—it meant nothing with your hole filled with the man said to be the beast himself.

“Are you going to cum?” Rhetorical, he fiddled with you as he brushed deep inside. “Cum on my cock like I couldn’t rip you open any time I want. You know, doc—I think you’re a little unprofessional right now.” Every word was a thrust, your body clenching to whatever you could grab of Lawrence as your orgasm rushed through you. White light filling your vision, his hips sputtered up into you until you felt the warmth rejoice. His cum leaked from you as he hissed at his own release.

His hands guided you at your lower back until you were all the way off him. His length grew more inches as he fucked you, the sight of his cock made you lightheaded. Your hand reached out for the bone-chillingly cold wall, Lawrence’s pants and hoarse voice calling your name from behind you.

You spun slowly, watching as hair ripped through his skin. Bones cracked, things shifted, and his eyes were attempting to alter to a bright yellow. He was stuttering, trying to warn you of what was to come, but it was too late.

His hair grew longer, matting as his jaw curved deeper and a howl of pain erupted from the man. Lawrence was no longer himself, a pull at his pants up his legs to clothe his length as the leather restraint on his wrist gave way. The beast was alive, and you were in the line of fire.

He stood without stretching, skin turning darker as the thick fur continued to pry through his follicles. He was more than feral, turning to kick his leg through the restraining chair as his foot broke clean through. The furniture was mutilated, his eyes befallen.

“Please.” he winced. Lawrence’s voice was far inside the beast, escaping for only a moment. “Run!”

FOUR.

The beast had fully captured him, growls and grunts echoing up the staircase. Lawrence’s form hurled towards the marble steps, the white button-up along his torso shredding as the fur sundered the fabric. Your calves heaved you up the steps, a sharp pain diffusing from your achilles heel. His nails hardly grazed the socks on your feet, the tight hold on your ankle enough to lunge you down the last three steps you managed to pace up.

“Lawrence!” You cried—but the man was no longer there.

Gnashing at your leg, his jaw snapped as you kicked at his arm. One full blow to the bend above his elbow and the wolf barreled back, releasing you. You stumbled, wincing at the gash on the back of your heel as you climbed the remaining steps, finding yourself heated by the moon’s rays coursing through the large window of the foyer.

Eyes shut tight as the snarling not far behind you regained, your eyes found the long staircase leading to the second floor. A harsh journey with your ankle scraped, you leaped up step by step. Lawrence was so close, the beast still fighting to overtake him. Crashing down onto the marble steps once more, you could hear the commotion as you rounded the giant staircase, finding yourself back in the same hallway you had partnered with the man before.

Every door was now shut, your eyebrows knitting as you raced to one. The knob was unable to turn, the locked space continuing with every door you went to. Lawrence sounded as if he were closing in on you, the first two steps of the staircase to the second floor obtained and a third on the way.

You flung yourself to the middle door of the hallway, the knob a handle as your fingers clenched around the gold. Cold to the touch, the door didn’t make a sound as it opened, your frame whisking inside and shutting it. Your chest heaving, your palm covered your mouth when the rumbles of the beast made it close to the door. Tears falling from the corners of your eyes, your aghast state couldn’t save you.

The moonlight was even brighter, incandescent blinding behind you. Your eyes squinted, spinning to watch the same clouds as before cover the moon a second time. The dimness was your advantage, a single beam illuminating the nightstand beside the bed.

The same scent from the office filled your nostrils as you paced towards the square, wooden table. A sign of the times, your resolution glistened in the night.

A tray, a single silver bullet, and a pistol beside the plate. Your heart stopped beating for a moment, eyes shutting tight as silent sobs fell from your lips. The amount of nights Lawrence had sat in this room staring at the same table, the same objects—you wanted nothing more than to rid him of the curse.

Your head nodded, pulling the heavy bullet from the tray and stashing it into your pocket. You felt the coldness of the pistol delving into the waistband of your ripped bottoms to only be held up by your underwear, hissing at the metal at your lower back as you made your way back towards the door.

Don’t use it, find another way. He’s still in there, but so far in—how could you save him from this?

Grown used to danger lurking around every corner from your occupation, the silence that filled the mansion had you anxious. Beside yourself, terrified, your fingers pushed at the handle of the door. Dark hallway now pitched black, even the moon was hiding from you.

Steps somber, slow and tired, you found yourself at the top of the marble staircase once more. Descending the restless amount of steps until the cold wind sped past your form, the iced touch of the laminated flooring was on your toes. A second door was opened, your body turning around to find the back door creaking open from another gust.

The moon regained the night sky, lighting the path for you to exit the manor. Stood on the stone path, you weighed your options.

“Only a man.” you spoke. “Only a man.” you repeated.

It was just that, a curse. A man’s heart deep within the beast still pumps blood through every vein, feeling the kick in every nerve, adrenaline leering him forward with a crimson filter over his eyes.

Green garden pulling you within it, the layers of bushes crowded around you. Chanting, the mantra of the moon was loud to your senses, a hot rush of air past your body enough to have you spinning. Lawrence’s frame now towered over you, your eyes catching a glimpse of his long calves now coated with fur. You didn’t have to see the beast to know where he stood, teeth baring as blood filled his eyes and the moon wept above him.

A shadow created, his arm stuck out. Nails the length of match boxes, teeth sharper than razor blades—he was reaching for you. A final spin for the animal, your head tilted back as you peered up at him. Tears in your eyes, his hand enclosed on your shoulder, tight grip breaking the skin of your blade. With a loud cry, you attempted to retreat. The thick coated gaze of the man’s eyes under the face full of fur was frightening. Pulling to defend yourself, his grasp only got tighter. His palm went flat as he released you, your knees locked as you were entranced by his gaze. He saw within your soul—Lawrence so far deep in the beast.

His hand reeled back, one hard punch of his palm to your chest knocking you to the ground and removing the oxygen from your lungs. Unable to catch your breath, the beast hovered over you. Pacing around you, stalking his prey, his form overlapped your own as he fell above you. His hands on either side of your head, your own grasp slid between your back and the hard rocks below. You winced as the skin of the back of your hand scraped off onto the gritty rocks, pulling the pistol from your back in time for the silver bullet to fall out of your bottom’s pocket.

The beast too entranced with you, he didn’t watch what you were doing. Panting, mouth watering and drooling down onto your chest—he was out for blood, and you were the only obedient donor in range.

Saliva pooling into the fabric of your shirt over your chest, his eyes flashed white. The moon was at its peak, caverns of the object in the sky conveying the lust of the animal inside of Lawrence. His teeth shined, pearled as the man’s but yellow as the beast’s. He had lost all morals, his stern hips protruding into your abdomen to hold you down as his mouth opened and teeth became exposed. A dark position, the gun in your hold fell towards the ground, your index finger and thumb pushing the bullet into the chamber.

He was lost, fist clenching into your shirt to lift you from the ground and bounce you harshly down into the rocks. Everything emitted from the blow, the breath that had made its way into your chest escaping just in time to pull the silver weapon between your bodies.

“Don’t.” you whined. The beast had no care for your moral dilemma, nor the cold silver aimed at his chest. “Don’t—” you repeated. “He’s j-just a man.”

Jaw going slack and widening to its full capacity, the man shifted above you. Jawline protruding as his head tilted, the matted fur of his legs ran across your bare skin, a moment of warmth as his breath fanned down on your face. Hair on your skin blowing with the breath, your soft eyes matched with his own, his jaw moving on its own accord.

“Please.” Lawrence spoke so softly through the pace of the beast, your eyes shutting tightly as the ring of the gun sounded.

Breaking through his skin, breaking past the bones of his chest, the silver bullet found the pumping organ. Red blood flowing from within the grotto of his body, Lawrence winced—the beast howling a fretful cry. His strong arms clamored his body to the ground, the smoke of the gun filling your nostrils as you sobbed. Heavy form holding you captive against the path, the tears streaming down your face ran into your hairline, eyes cloudy with the full moon uncovered directly above you.

Jekyll and Hyde in one form, the moon’s rays combated you for the last time. Beaming down like a spotlight, the shifting light found the wolfman’s form over yours. The hollowed corpse belted you to the painful texture of the rocks, engulfing a deep breath as the fur began to recoil back into his pores. Eyes peeling open and only met with the sandstone and gray rocks underneath, his skin began to replenish.

Palms meeting the ground, his bare hands lifted his form from you. Captivated in the moment, your eyes had hardly caught the scene, a small fissure of your eyelids allowing you to watch the dark shadow rise. Warmth in your chest and butterflies in your stomach, your sight reopened to Lawrence’s delicate face hovering over yours.

“Do you have a permit for that weapon?” He questioned with a groan, a light chuckle rumbling from his pained chest. No marks fractured his body, only the mere pain of the beast dismissing within him.

A puff of dust left his opened mouth before turning into mist. His eyes moved down to find your gaze, head tilting just as he would go in for a bite. Your breath shuttered when no other touch came but the silk of his lips capturing your own.

A prevail; a tale told over time, but never told quite right. It is not that the silver bullet kills the werewolf, but the beast within—leaving the man to be a man. For his father, he was only a walking killer in the voice of the moon. Lawrence’s soul was too cordial. Even as the beast, he fought to reconcile the soul down under, rejoiced as he released the last breath of the wild animal’s existence, left only as himself with you in his arms.

© scuddisher — all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission. do not post my content on other sites, especially claiming them as your own! reblogs and feedback are seriously appreciated <3

#lawrence talbot #lawrence talbot smut #lawrence talbot imagines #lawrence talbot scenarios #benicio del toro smut #benicio del toro imagines #benicio del toro scenarios #benicio del toro fanfiction #lawrence talbot fanfiction #benicio del toro x reader #lawrence talbot x reader #benicio del toro

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dross-the-fish · 11 months

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They found the elusive Phantom of the Opera curled up on pages of strewn sheet music, weeping with such pitiful heartbreak that none in the party dared to approach. “Je Meurs…” the deformed man sobbed to himself, unaware or uncaring that he had an audience. Dr. Watson shifted uncomfortably, “Either of you lads speak French?” he whispered to Quincy and Lawrence. Both shook their heads in dismay and Watson gave a resigned sigh, “I guess we’ll have to hope he speaks English.”

Before the doctor could approach the crying figure Adam Frankenstein stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “I know French. Let me speak to him,” he said in a quiet rumble. Watson wrinkled his mustache. He was fond of The Creature and thought that after several months in his company he’d learned everything he needed to about him. Not the case, it seemed, for it had not even occurred to him that Adam could be a polyglot. Truthfully, Watson barely understood how a creation who had spent so much of his time in isolation knew English, much less French. Holmes would have had him figured out top to bottom by now, he thought to himself with a pang. “Fine, but please don’t scare him he seems…vulnerable,” he made a resigned gesture. The volume of the sobbing behind him intensified. “I’ll try but no promises, I daresay I am an even more frightful aberration than he,” the corner of Adam’s mouth quirked upward in a rueful smile, “Perhaps, from one living corpse to another, we may strike a kinship founded on our mutual ugliness” he mused. Watson’s frown deepened but before he could chide Adam he was cut off by a piteous cry: “Christine!” Quincey perked up, “I know that! That’s a girl’s name! You don’t think this is over a girl, do you, Larry?” Lawrence grimaced at him, “God, I hope not. After everything we went through to get down here our sentient zombie better not be dying of a broken heart.” Adam threw them both a look as if to say. Quiet! You’re distracting me. Once everyone had settled, he approached the Phantom and knelt beside him, addressing him in French. “Hello, are you hurt?” The Phantom started, as though he had been shaken from a dream. A bloodshot eye, as yellow as Adam’s own, peeked tearfully through the lattice of bony fingers covering a pallid, badly deformed, face. “What are you?” he asked, pausing his weeping long enough to be cognizant of the monstrous giant kneeling beside him. He turned away and groped behind him for a black mask that had been carelessly discarded on the floor, putting it back on while The Creature waited patiently. Adam did not answer him at first, after a thoughtful pause he offered: “Someone like you.” That seemed to be explanation enough for the wretched man for he resumed his crying “I am dying,” he said between sobs, “I am dying of love.” Adam nodded sympathetically, “Love, and the want of it, are indeed, powerful enough to die from. What happened?” “I kissed her! I kissed her alive! She let me-she let me! I have never…” he trailed off in a fresh wave of tears. Adam patted his back. “Where is she now? Has she forsaken you?” he asked. “Forsaken? No. Never! She would not…she is a good girl…she would have been my bride! My living bride! I could not keep her, not after she allowed me to kiss her. I have freed her!” the Phantom seemed to compose himself a little and he sat up, wiping his eyes on his sleeves. He seemed to notice, for the first time, Watson, Quincey and Lawrence hanging back watching him. “Who are you and why have you come here? I am in no condition to entertain guests. No guests have ever graced my lair save for the Daroga who shall, no doubt, be very cross with poor Erik, and there was Christine who has taken her little chap and fled forever…” The three Englishmen exchanged confused glances and Quincey offered an apologetic shrug. “He wants to know who you are,” Adam clarified, switching to English. Quincey nearly tripped over himself crossing the floor with his hand extended to introduce himself, “Quincey Harker, very nice to meet you! Sorry about your traps, we had to dismantle them to get down here. They were very impressive, by the way! Adam, will you tell him I’m impressed? I’ve never seen such feats of engineering before,” he babbled grasping and pumping Erik’s hand enthusiastically. Erik froze and replied, in slightly accented English, “Thank you…do not touch me,” as his mind finally began to clear he tensed, realization sinking in that there were four men, one of whom was larger than any man he’d ever seen, who had him effectively cornered and at a disadvantage. Quincey dropped Erik’s hand with a muttered apology and Watson nudged him aside, “I am Dr. John Watson. We’re supernatural investigators. You’ve noticed, surely, that the undead are rising at an alarming rate and we were hoping that, with you being the only other revenant we’ve discovered to be in full possession of his mental faculties,” he gestured at Adam, who grinned in response, “that you might be willing to come with us and lend us some aid. It is my belief that through researching cases like yourself and Mr. Frankenstein here we can derive a cure or at least a way to restore those inflicted to a sustainable quality of life.” The Phantom looked from man, to man, to creature and shook his head, “You are mistaken. Despite the rumors, for which I myself and largely responsible, I am no corpse. Although that shall undoubtedly change very soon. No, I am only Erik.” Adam’s face fell, “Are you saying that you are…alive?” he tried and failed to keep the disappointment from his voice. Erik gave a biting laugh, “I should not be! Nothing that looks like me should have been able to draw breath yet here I am, living as of yet,” he withdrew a little from Adam, who all at once seemed to him, to be much larger and more menacing than before, “Are you not?” he crept back, his long spindly legs bent at the knees in a half crouch as his hand subtly reached inside of his coat, “Are you in fact, one of the undead?” Black lips drew tight and white teeth bared as the creature’s face darkened, “I am! Whatever you’re about to try, don’t. I promise it will not work and the destruction will be your own.” Watson threw out an arm to keep Adam from advancing, “Steady there! No call for that! No one is here to harm or threaten anyone,” he threw Erik a pleading glance, “Please, we’re no danger to you! We’ve no interest in harming you or forcing you to come with us. I see we’ve made a mistake and we’ll leave you in peace. Right, Adam?” Adam looked from Watson to Erik and forced himself to relax, “Right,” he affirmed, though he did not take his eyes off of the thin, crouched man. Like a caged animal The Phantom regarded them before he followed their example and straightened, “I apologize, I am…unaccustomed to civil company, much less when it presents itself with… such a… creature,” he was blatantly staring in a way that made Adam’s hackles raise. “I hardly think that’s fair coming from you. Living or not, you’re not really much different from him, are you?” Lawrence interjected brusquely, “Let’s face facts here, you’re a monster in your own right even if you are only human.” “I suppose there is no denying that,” Erik sighed, “I suppose we should part ways. I cannot linger here and neither should you. No doubt, after they clean up the chandelier, there will be a mob gathering to come and tear this place apart and thanks to you I no longer have the protection of my traps.” “You could come with us,” Quincey offered, “Even if you are alive, we could definitely use someone with your knack for engineering back at our headquarters in London. We have rooms and we’ll give you free food and board.”

“I was going to wait for death to come and take me but perhaps it is not yet time to bring my story to a close,” Erik considered, taping his chin beneath his mask, “Could I bring a friend? If I am to leave Paris I should not like to go without a companion, though he may finally be through with me after how poorly I have treated him.”

“I don’t see why not,” replied Watson, “We have room and we need as much help as we can get.”

“It is agreed then. I know not what awaits me in London but perhaps it will be better than waiting to die here in this tomb. Allow me half an hour to collect my things and I will join you.”

#Phantom of the opera #Frankenstein #Sherlock Holmes #Lawrence Talbot #crossover au #HE'S IN #tbh I don't like the writing but it's as good as it will ever get so meh

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