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rotworld · 5 months

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The Oldest Dance

you knew a werewolf when you were younger. your lives went in different directions, but you find yourself suddenly reunited under the worst possible circumstances.

->explicit. contains kidnapping, drugging, power imbalance, mentions of noncon and conditioning, biting, feral behavior, mild gore.

You’ve never seen so many stars before.

The thought strikes you only after the sharp burn of adrenaline dies to a simmer. Fear curdles into exhaustion. Time gets fuzzy. Between the hairpin turns of the road and the lush sea of furs and bedding all around you, there’s no way to get your footing or your bearings. You test the rope around your wrists again and there’s no give, no weakness, just an unpleasant, stinging friction where they’ve been chafing your skin. You hear the rumble of the engine, the scrape of tires over dirt, branches dragging like nails across the windows. You can barely see a thing, and it’s not just your blurry, swimming vision, the exhaustion clinging stubbornly to your eyes. It’s dark here and dark outside, the whole world just a mass of merging shadows.

And the stars…you must not be in town anymore. Not even close to it.

There’s nowhere to go but you still fight to sit up, to get to your knees at least. It’s not a dip in the road or a sudden turn that throws you off balance this time. Someone grabs the back of your neck and shoves you down again. That large, callused hand could almost wrap all the way around your throat if it wanted, but it settles on your nape, squeezing with the gentle but firm chiding of an animal scruffing its young.

“First one’s awake,” you hear.

There’s a sharp, amused exhale from the front seats, driver’s side. “The one who barely touched their drink, I’m guessing. You got a grip on them?”

“Yeah. It’s fine, they’re still groggy.”

You run your hands through the blankets, hoping you look confused instead of searching, trying to make sense of your surroundings. Wool. Flannel. A zipper? Someone curled up on their side, breathing softly. Your elbow bumps into a warm body beside you, a bony shoulder exposed by a sagging, oversized sweater. They mutter in their sleep. The hand on the back of your neck eases when you settle and don’t try to get up again, but it stays, thumb gently stroking. It takes everything you have to keep your breathing calm and even.

Three of you back here, you count. Captives. The other two still out cold. And four of them. Two in the front and two in the back, keeping watch.

“Should only be a half hour or so for the rest, as long as you didn’t give them too much.” You recognize the voice from the passenger seat. He was at the club. Smaller guy, not huge like the one kneeling next to you. Dark hair. Dazzling smile. And touchy, always trying to get in your space, talking a little too close for comfort. It all starts coming back in a slow trickle. Right. The club. And that guy, Corbin, you’ve seen him a few times before, thought he was a little weird but he always seemed to know when to back off. So how…why…?

“Wish we could’ve taken the fourth one, too,” the guy holding you down says wistfully. His hand rubs up and down your back in a soothing, absentminded motion. “Such pretty eyes, and a sweet scent.”

There’s a grunt of agreement from the other guy in the back, a hulking figure sitting against the wall further from you. “Bigger hunts are always more fun,” he murmurs.

“Aww, I know,” Corbin coos. “But trust me, they weren’t a good match. These three, on the other hand? They’re perfect.” There’s a glimmer of light in the front seat—the glare of a cell phone illuminating part of Corbin’s jaw. It’s nearly blinding after your eyes have adjusted to the dark, and it suddenly occurs to you why you can’t see anything. Not the men, not much more than lumpy silhouettes, not any trees distinct from the moving shadows beyond the windows; nothing but stars.

They’re not using headlights. These are wolves.

You surge up in a panic, scrabbling blindly for the doors. It’s probably not a good idea—even if they’re miraculously unlocked, you won’t accomplish much more than tumbling out in the middle of fucking nowhere, maybe skin yourself on the road in the process—but your terror is louder than your rational thinking. You fight the hands that grab you, screaming, clawing, biting like an animal, thrashing with all your strength. It takes both of them to pin you back down and you savor that even through the humiliating briefness of your rebellion, wrestled onto your stomach with a hand shoving your head down into the blankets.

You don’t expect him to bite you and that drags a shrill but short noise out of you. You’re not ready for what it feels like, the weight of him across your back and the crunch of his teeth sinking in, a hot gush of blood dribbling past his snarling lips. It hurts like hell and it doesn’t stop. Every time you squirm, every panicked jerk and attempted wriggling movement, makes him growl against your skin. He holds your hands down with his much larger, much stronger ones, fingers pinning yours on either side of your head, and that’s when you finally give in. You aren’t punished for the last nervous shiver that travels down your spine, or the whimper that slips out when he loosens his jaw and pulls away, strings of saliva and sticky blood slicking your neck.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Good human. Stay down.” The gentleness of his fingers stroking your scalp makes a sob build in your throat.

“You got it?” the driver asks.

“Yeah, sorry, I got it. Tried to keep the bite light, but they wouldn’t submit. Might leave a mark.” He traces his thumb over the throbbing wound he left behind, ragged and still bleeding.

Corbin chuckles. “It’s fine, I’ll vouch for you if anyone asks.” You can’t see him clearly but you can tell he’s turned around, leaning slightly around his seat to peer into the back. You can feel his gaze burning into you. “I won’t tell you not to fight. I hope you do,” he says, lowering his voice slightly. Talking to you rather than about you, you realize. “I chose you because I knew you would. It’s a good thing. Good for the pack. Eventually, you’ll learn how to pick your battles.”

“Fuck you,” you say, embarrassed by how shaky and hoarse you sound.

You can’t see what kind of expression he has, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “You’ll thank me someday.”

It doesn’t take long for the other two to wake after all the commotion. One just stares in silent shock and disbelief. The other starts to cry. The other wolf in the back pulls them into his lap and nuzzles his face against their cheek and neck, as though they want anything to do with him. He grunts unhappily when they cry harder and shove him away. You can just make out a chorus of howls over the sound of the engine. The wolf who bit you starts stroking your back again, a melodic hum rumbling in his chest.

“The heartland joining us tonight?” the driver asks.

Corbin hums softly. “They’re abstaining. A few might come to watch.”

“Ah, that’s a shame. I hoped one of these might be a good fit.”

“Linden needs an absolutely perfect match. It’s my next project.”

You don’t catch what else they say because those quiet, miserable sobs turn to heartwrenching wailing. The other person in the back starts to plead for their life. The wolf closest to them strokes their cheek. “You’re not going to die,” he murmurs. “Hush. It’ll all make sense soon.”

The van slows, relief and terror warring in your heart. You can run—and go where? You don’t know where you are, don’t know the way back to town. Outrunning a werewolf is a tall order under the best circumstances. You’re on their turf, in the dark; you don’t stand a chance. Doesn’t matter. You have to try. The road gets rougher, the foliage thicker like grasping hands. The van rolls to a slow, grinding stop and the engine dies. You’re surprised nobody tries to restrain you before the locks disengage and the back doors are thrown open, but it doesn’t take long to see why.

You’re deep in the woods. The full moon drapes a thin, silver gleam over the silhouettes of shifting figures, animal eyes shining in the dark. There must be dozens of them—thirty, maybe forty wolves, all sniffing the air, growling and pacing impatiently. More are still coming, slipping through the trees in the shape of both humans and beasts. You’re completely surrounded. They form a wide circle around the van, all eyes trained on you and the other two petrified people huddled at your back. You can hear them talking to each other, their voices half-feral with barks and growls.

“Three? Just three?”

“Three’s a lot for the off-season.”

“All awake, too. Afraid and alert. Gonna be a good hunt.”

“And look at that one in front, bristling like that. Think they’ll bite back?”

Laughter. Your stomach churns. One of the wolves gets out of the van while the other leans in close at your side, the two of them gradually easing you out and onto your feet. A door slams. The wolf who was driving gets out, stretches his legs. You see him kick off his shoes and shed his shirt, tossing his clothes into the driver’s seat before he suddenly falls down on all fours and shifts into a wolf. The change is nearly instant, a chorus of unpleasant, bone-cracking sounds, his skin engulfed in dark fur. Corbin wanders into view, glancing at the three of you with an expression of infuriating tranquility.

Golden light flickers in the corner of your vision. The crowd parts and the man who steps forward makes the wolves you’ve seen so far seem small and delicate in comparison. Massive and towering over all the rest, his chest bare and broad, muscled shoulders adorned with tattoos, he comes forward with a lantern in his hand and a sharp grin on his face. The others all have that intimidating air about them but this one truly looks like a werewolf, overwhelming and wild. His sharp gaze flicks to each of you. Your heart leaps into your throat as, one by one, he looks you in the eyes and speaks your names.

“Welcome, chosen,” he says. “My name is Vanagandr, and this is Hoarfrost Falls. The pack is eager to meet you. Are you well?”

It takes you a moment to understand this is a serious, genuine question. He waits patiently for an answer, studying each of you in turn. “Are we well?” you repeat in disbelief. “Are you for real?”

To your dismay, he finds your anger harmless and amusing, a soft chuff of laughter escaping his lips. “Let me rephrase. Do you feel sick or hungover? Any injuries, particularly to the legs or feet? Be honest. We have a medic.”

The two cowering behind you don’t say a word, too afraid to even lift their gazes. One of them is shaking, clinging to your shoulder. Still, Vanagandr waits, and the uncomfortable silence stretches on. Eventually, one of them shakes their head. The other mutters a quiet, “I’m fine.” The wolves around you stare and point openly, muttering to one another about which one of you smells the best, which one looks the softest, the most defiant, the most fun to train.

“I was bitten,” you mutter.

He doesn’t wait for you to show him, grabbing you by the shoulder and turning you in place. His hand is large, his nails sharp like claws. He traces the teeth marks in your neck and growls softly. The wolf who bit you stiffens and turns his head. Baring his throat, you realize.

It’s then that you see Corbin slink closer, pressing himself against the enormous wolf’s side. “It wasn’t his fault,” he says in a soft, demure tone, his head bowed so he looks up at Vanagandr through his thick lashes. “He couldn’t let up because they wouldn’t submit. It took a little while.”

“I figured as much,” Vaganadr chuckles. He rubs his face against Corbin’s neck and jaw, a gesture that strikes you as odd, affectionate, and a touch possessive. “Go on. Your alpha’s looking for you.” At that, Corbin’s eyes light up and he slips away with one last lingering touch to Vanagandr’s shoulder, but he doesn’t rush to leave. He meanders through the crowd of wolves and the others greet him with the same eager affection, grabbing him, passing him amongst themselves like a toy to sniff and touch and grope shamelessly. The display unsettles you and in your haste to find somewhere else to look, you see something that makes your heart skip a beat.

A small group has just arrived. These wolves are younger, noticeably nervous and fidgeting. They’re led by a wolf who looks like he got stuck in the middle of shifting, limbs long and furred, hands and feet tipped with claws, a bushy tail swishing behind him. He’s talking to them in a low, gravelly voice, something about herding and not rushing, but that doesn’t matter. None of it matters except for one wolf who stands out from the rest. Not because he does anything unusual. Not because he’s particularly big or intimidating looking—he always was bigger than you but here, he’s average. Right at home.

You know that wolf. You recognize the scars slashed from his hairline to his jaw, long, jagged lines clawed across the left side of his face. You remember that nervous little twitch of the nose whenever he ran into something new, some situation that made him nervous. He’s grown his hair out longer, let it spill over his shoulders and down his back in thick, black waves, but you know it’s him. The fearful expression on his face transforms into full-blown panic when your eyes meet.

“Flint?” All you can manage is a strangled whisper but you know he hears you. An unhappy, dog-like whine rises in his throat. “Flint? What—why are you here?” You aren’t thinking when you push your way towards him. No one is stopping you but you barely notice, don’t even hesitate to wonder why. You shoulder through the crowd, ignoring the whispers, the uneasy glances, Vanagandr gone completely still and silent behind you.

Flint lowers his gaze, staring at the grass by your feet. You’re further from the lantern and the shadows are thick, his face half-hidden in flickering, lurching darkness, but you can hear him panting the way he always would when he felt overwhelmed. Your name comes out in a needy whine, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “No…no, no, no, not yet…” He has trouble getting the words out, and even more trouble trying to look you in the eye. His voice is exactly the way you remember, low and rough and painfully quiet, like he’s afraid to speak any louder than a rumbling whisper. “I’m not—I’m not ready, I can’t…”

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did they kidnap you, too?” you ask, your voice raising with anger the more you speak. You know next to nothing about wild wolves, but you know Flint is meek and easy to boss around, the kind of person who got picked on by other wolves when you were younger. The tall werewolf, the one who looks caught between human and animal, steps closer as though he means to separate you. “Don’t touch him!” you snap. He looks down at you, an expression of muted surprise smoothing into understanding.

“Corbin,” he says quietly. The smaller man rushes over, now carrying the lantern Vanagandr held earlier. “You two. Follow.” He doesn’t tell you where he’s taking you. He just starts walking. You’re startled that Flint obeys without question, keeping his head down. Corbin grabs your forearm and drags you along, frowning at your attempts to squirm free and pry his fingers off.

He leans in, lowering his voice. “Remember what I said before about picking your battles?” he asks. You’re suddenly aware of just how quiet the clearing has become, all eyes on you. Vanagandr watches you very carefully, his gaze hardened and threatening. You glance ahead where the tall werewolf has stopped moving, looking back over his shoulder.

Flint is hunched next to him, head down, whimpering. The wolf has a hand on his forearm, gripping hard enough to leave marks. You take a deep breath. Fine. You can play along for now. You’ll do anything for Flint’s sake.

Wolves have their own gods.

Flint knew that when he was little, of course, but it was a vague sort of awareness. Hearsay, rather than knowledge. Wolves, he was surely told at some point, have many faiths and traditions depending on where they live or where they come from. But these things are distant for city wolves, even shameful at times. Why stick out any more than you already, unavoidably do? His family had distanced themselves from any sort of archaic, wild customs long before even his parents were born. When he followed the family tree as far back as it went, tracing those ancient scribbles on the old, yellowed parchment kept hidden in his father’s lockbox, he found strange symbols and names he wasn’t sure how to pronounce. The word ulfhednar was written in thick, black ink.

When he repeated the word to his parents, they looked at him like he’d dragged a human corpse through the front door and dropped it at their feet. “It’s an old, awful thing that you shouldn’t tell anyone,” his mother warned. And that was that. For years, he went on thinking there was something wrong with him, some secret shame he’d unknowingly inherited. It isn’t until much later—until Hoarfrost Falls—that he finds out the truth. Ulfhednar is not a dirty word, but it is something city wolves don’t talk about.

That, and gods. They don’t talk about those either. Not the old ones like the Poised Fang, god of the perfect strike. Some have forgotten and some no longer understand. Sawyer taught him all about that. Sawyer, who leads the three of them now—him and the hrefn and you, he can hardly believe it, you where he least expects to see you, exactly the wrong place and exactly the wrong time. He hadn’t even planned on being there. He was still too new to take part in the claiming chase, still too uncomfortable with the realities of acquiring pack humans to even watch.

Sawyer had insisted. He was kind about it. He had waited until the evening lessons were over to pull Flint aside, dusk simmering like dying embers along the horizon. Flint’s peers had all come from loose, disorganized city packs. Like him, they had dulled senses and smothered instincts. Their shifts were slow and uncomfortable because they’d all learned to do it quietly, stifling the popping of their joints and the rearranging of their bones in a way that left them winded when it was over.

There was comfort and camaraderie in being new and terrible at everything together, but Flint knew he was falling behind. The others were just as clueless but twice as eager, embracing each new facet of wild pack life while Flint was still reeling. He didn’t think they were judging him for it—he desperately hoped not—but he wasn’t sure. He was used to being an outcast. His whole life, he’d been the obvious werewolf in a room full of humans. He was tall, strongly built, his limbs thick with muscle, his nails constantly needing to be filed down as they grew quicker and sharper than he could keep up with. He’d tried joining packs before. Things always started well and soured quickly. City wolves would look at him and assume he was something wild, and as soon as they realized he wasn’t, he’d start getting pushed around and singled out. He didn’t like making a fuss so he just did what he was told and kept his head down.

But you—you would fight for him. You always did. You’d find out, no matter how hard he tried to keep these things quiet, and you’d tell him you were going to his next pack meeting. You’d be the smallest one in the room between all those werewolves, and you’d still march right up to whatever loudmouth was calling themselves alpha and tear them a new one. You’d demand all of his stuff back if anything had been taken and placed in communal storage—family heirlooms, usually, fur-lined coats and old quilts. Sometimes you’d manage to get a few of his membership fees reimbursed by citing breaches of contract, listing all the ways his pack had failed to behave like his pack.

You’d gotten hurt doing that, just once. It was the last pack he’d tried joining, the last desperate attempt to find belonging. The alpha had claimed his car as a pack asset and taken his keys, and you’d marched in there and refused to leave until they were put in your hand. Yelling had turned to shoving and someone had bitten you. Flint is ashamed to admit that he can’t fully remember everything that happened, only that he woke up in wolfskin, lying on the tile floor of his shower. You were kneeling next to him beneath the spray of warm water and running your fingers through his fur, wet, partially shredded clothes hanging off your body. Blood swirled down the drain.

“Not mine,” you assured him. “Not all yours, either, but don’t move around too much.”

He thinks about that all the time. He dreams about it. Curled up with his head in your lap and your hands running up and down his body, your touch soothing and affectionate. That’s what he was thinking of earlier tonight when Sawyer stopped him as the others ran off to gossip excitedly with their elders about the new pack humans coming up the mountain. Sawyer led him down a trail that wandered away from the commune’s structures, deeper into the woods.

Flint smelled it before he saw it; perspiration. Excitement. Arousal. A human and a werewolf. The end of a chase. They were up ahead, tucked away in a grove of crooked, towering oak trees. The human was making soft, scared sounds as she was forced down to her knees and made to present herself in proper submission, but she smelled eager and Flint saw a smile before her head was shoved down into the leaves. The wolf growled playfully when he mounted her, nuzzling against the nape of her neck. He whispered something in Old Wolven Norse; a term of endearment, Flint guessed, from the tone.

It felt wrong to stand there and watch. They’d come here to be alone, hadn’t they? But Sawyer looked at him sharply when Flint glanced back the way they’d come. They were going to talk here? In earshot of another wolf and his human as they joined in bliss, rutting on the forest floor? Sawyer did nothing without a reason. There was something Flint was meant to see here, something he was supposed to learn.

“You don’t want to watch tonight’s claiming,” Sawyer said quietly. “I think you should.”

Flint said nothing. He couldn’t gather his thoughts. He was too focused on the human’s alluring scent, their needy whimpers and squirming as the wolf took them. Would…would you look like that, under him? Would you be so open, so sweet? So much had gone unsaid between the two of you before. You weren’t together. You’d never broached the subject, even though he could smell your interest in him. He hadn’t wanted to push, terrified of scaring you away.

“Flint.” Sawyer was studying his face in the subtle way wolves did, a sidelong glance whenever he let his guard down. “Something’s on your mind.”

Flint swallowed. He could feel himself reacting to the couple in front of him, the tender flesh at the base of his cock where his knot swells up pulsing gently, and he was ashamed. “I’m thinking about studying a different trade,” he admitted.

Sawyer said nothing. Flint found himself looking desperately at his face, searching for signs of anger or disappointment, and found him completely unreadable. Sawyer was stone-faced and taciturn most of the time. Flint had to take a deep breath, relax himself, and remember to look elsewhere for answers. Sawyer’s scent was…calm. His tail was still, slightly raised in curiosity but there was no evidence of aggression or displeasure in his posture. He tilted his head slightly and avoided direct eye contact, looking in Flint’s general direction rather than right at him, trying not to make him feel threatened.

Emboldened, Flint continued. “It’s not your fault, it’s all me. You’ve done so much for me since I got here. You’re always patient with me no matter what I screw up. I know I can tell you things and you’ll listen. It’s just…I don’t think I can do this. I wouldn’t be a good shepherd.”

Sawyer grunted. It was more of a wolf sound than a human one, a chiding growl and a resigned huff all in one. “You’re the only one who decides your path. But if you want my opinion, I disagree. You’d make an exceptional shepherd.”

Flint shook his head. “I could never hurt them. I can’t wrap my head around it. The whole claiming thing, the biting, the…”

“Fucking?” Sawyer said it so easily.

“We’re forcing them, aren’t we? They don’t want it.”

“They do. They just don’t know it yet.” Sawyer had barely taken his eyes off the wolf and the human since they’d arrived, something nostalgic and bittersweet in his gaze. He nodded to the two of them, the human writhing in mindless pleasure and the wolf pounding her breathless, groaning into the flesh of her shoulder. “They’re no different from us. Strip the wild out of them and they become caged, miserable animals. Here, they learn to heed their instincts again.”

Flint knew that. He’d been taught all of this before. Alpha Druian told him that most humans lived in societies of suffering, and Flint knew he was right because he’d seen it himself, had lived in it for most of his life. Taking pack humans, teaching them everything they’d forgotten after centuries of isolating themselves from wolves—it was all natural and beautiful. It was the steps in between that he had trouble rationalizing; the claiming and the training. The fear and the pain, how new humans shivered at the sight of him and whimpered when he came too close. He was told that this, too, was perfectly normal, a necessary and expected part of the process.

He heard a quiet chuckle. A smile tugged at the corner of Sawyer’s lips. “This is why you’d be so good at it,” he said. “I stopped shepherding a long time ago, but those instincts never go away. I know what to look for. All that thinking and worrying, that’s what we’re best at. The pack’s most tenderhearted are the ones who should be closest to our humans. Confidence is important. Being able to make difficult choices and administer discipline, that’s also important. But you have to care, more than anything. You have to want what’s best for them.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he hadn’t said anything. Sawyer had simply stood beside him as the shadows grew and the sky darkened, night draping across the mountain. They watched the wolf bring the human to climax once, twice, a third time shuddering and wailing as her toes curled, the wolf’s hands roaming her sensitive body. When he finally spilled inside her, he sank his teeth into her neck. The spot was already marked and the precise way he angled his head, tonguing at the indentations before biting down, told Flint that was his mark. His human. A bond, renewed and made even stronger. He thought of you again and realized he was fully hard.

And now—here you are. He’s not ready. He can’t meet your worried gaze. Sawyer leads the way to the guest house, a large cabin where friends and allies stay while visiting the territory. Neutral, scentless ground. You’re wary, probably because you can’t see very well. Corbin sets the lantern down on a table but the light is dim, unable to crawl into all the cozy nooks and crannies in the spacious common area. Flint is happy that you go to him, sticking close to his side, but he doesn’t like how stiff and standoffish you are. He risks inching closer, pressing himself against you—and he smells another wolf on you. Saliva. Blood. A bite? Without thinking, he tugs at the neckline of your shirt, nostrils flaring at the sight of the wound.

“I’m sorry, Flint. I had no idea,” Corbin says softly. “The bite happened on the way here. It was intended to force submission.” He reaches out, trying to offer comfort. You slap his hand away. Flint’s hand twitches at his side, instincts warring within him. He wants to soothe you. Wants to scold you. Wants to protect you. Wants to protect Corbin. Paralyzed by indecision, he does nothing. Corbin’s attention shifts from Flint to you, his expression thoughtful. Part of Flint lurches in fear at the thought of Corbin getting his hands on you. Training you, the way he helps Druian train all the new arrivals. He sees that eager look in Corbin’s eyes, the way his gaze roams. He’s sizing you up. Finding weaknesses. Memorizing all of your movements, conscious and unconscious, how you carry yourself, how long you can look him in the eye.

Another part of him, deeply buried, considers it with alarming calmness. Before Hoarfrost Falls, he’d blame those thoughts on his “inner wolf,” but Sawyer has cautioned him against that kind of mental partitioning. “Don’t cut yourself into pieces,” he’d say. He is a wolf and a man and the melding of those things, all together, all at once. He is the clear-headed human understanding that you have every right and reason to be terrified right now, and he is also the feverish need to wrap around you in wolfskin as though his closeness can take all of your worries away.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Corbin says. An absurd statement, intended to be disarming. You make a sound that’s not quite a laugh, sharp and guarded, not taking the bait. Flint is proud—excited—for reasons he is afraid to identify. “I’m serious. There’s been a big misunderstanding. I know how it looks from your perspective, but—”

“You slipped something in my drink,” you say, accusing. “You kidnapped me, and two other people.”

“‘Kidnapped’ is a really loaded word.”

“Sit.” Sawyer’s voice comes from the far end of the room, by the windows. He’s got the long, draping curtains pulled shut to hide your view of the woods, just in case the chase comes this way. Corbin drops where he’s standing, immediately settling onto the soft rug. Flint seats himself on the couch, dismayed when you don’t follow his lead. You’re still standing, looking Sawyer in the eye and glaring hatefully. Flint understands suddenly what’s happening here, why you’re not just uneasy but furious.

“It’s not like that,” he tries to tell you, tugging at your hand. “This pack, they’re not like the others.”

“That’s what you always say. And then they boss you around and take advantage of you,” you mutter. And that’s true. He would always say that everything’s fine. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of his problems, and he didn’t want you getting hurt trying to defend him. It was all backwards. He was supposed to protect you. The ulfhednar didn’t just have pack humans, they had human allies, human trade partners, human settlements within their territory they defended from harm.

And yet, here you are with another wolf’s bite on your neck. Here he is, failing you again.

“Sit down, human,” Sawyer repeats. “You want an explanation. I’ll give it to you.”

“Are you the alpha?” you ask.

“Beta. Sit, please.”

Flint lets out a shaky, relieved breath when you finally obey, sinking onto the cushion beside him. Sawyer makes his approach slow and indirect, pacing, pretending to fuss over the decor. He straightens out a blanket draped over the back of an armchair and returns a book left on the table to its proper shelf. It works. You don’t relax completely but you follow his movements with your eyes, curiosity rounding the edges of your annoyance. You try to hide it when Sawyer finishes his minor adjustments and comes to stand in front of you, towering over Corbin beside him, but your sweetening scent gives you away.

Flint knows he should let the pack beta speak, but the guilt is eating him alive. “This is my fault,” he blurts out. You look at him the same, soft way you always have.

“That’s not true,” Corbin insists. “It’s mine. I should’ve been more thorough—”

Sawyer growls quietly. “It’s nobody’s fault.” He mutters in Old Wolven Norse, “It’s fate. Keep your fangs poised.”

Flint’s heart skips a beat. He can’t. He can’t do this. He’s not ready. He feels a whine building in his throat and bites it back, embarrassed by how readily his feelings show. He’s always been bad at keeping growls and barks out of his speech, especially when he’s particularly nervous or excited, overwhelmed by emotion. Sawyer glances at him, holds eye contact for a meaningful moment, before he returns his attention to you.

“This is Hoarfrost Falls. We’re what you would call a ‘wild pack,’ although we welcome wolves of other backgrounds if they’re willing to make the lifestyle adjustment. My name is Sawyer. You’ve met Corbin, our hrefn—”

“Your what?” you say.

Sawyer visibly bristles at the interruption but doesn’t comment on it. He runs his hand through Corbin’s hair and Corbin melts under the attention, nuzzling his face into the dark, thick fur on Sawyer’s thigh. “It’s his rank,” Sawyer says, pausing to consider his word choice. “He’s a pack human with authority over our other pack humans.”

“Pack humans? That’s a real thing?” You sound horrified. You’re looking at Corbin like he’s something wounded on the side of the road.

“It’s real. It’s why you were brought here. Normally, you’d be enjoying your initiation right now, but I pulled you out for the pack’s safety.”

“The pack’s safety?” you echo, disbelieving. “How are you the ones in danger?”

Sawyer says nothing. He doesn’t have to. He just looks at Flint, and Flint looks anywhere else, and you know. You remember. He’s territorial. Obsessed, people used to say, as if they’d never yearned for a human before. City wolves like to pretend they don’t have instincts. He tried to pretend, too. But any little thing could happen—you could scrape your knee on the pavement, or someone could raise their voice a little too loud while talking to you—and he’d feel himself growling, bristling, ready to fight and die for you.

When he saw you earlier tonight, knowing what would happen, imagining you stumbling afraid through the woods with some other wolf lunging and pinning you and leaving marks, he felt that reckless urge rise up like an inferno beneath his skin. He’d nearly thrown himself at Alpha Vanagandr—would’ve, if Sawyer and the others hadn’t talked him down.

“It’s clear to me that you’re Flint’s. His…friend,” Sawyer amends, seeing your expression pinch in confusion. “I don’t know much about you. He doesn’t like talking about his old life and I don’t like to dredge it up more than necessary.”

Flint bows his head, feeling guilty again. “I left someone behind.” That’s all he could bring himself to say when the subject came up. It wasn’t entirely true; you’d both gone your separate ways. But he’d left first—decided to try his luck with distant family in another city, relatives his parents rarely spoke to. You’d tried to keep in touch but things had fizzled out. You were both busy with your own lives and your talks became less frequent. You left messages for each other on occasion; pictures from you, embarrassingly long and heartfelt texts that felt more like letters from him. He wanted you to know he was okay. He was strong and capable, and you didn’t have to worry.

“So can we go?” you ask.

The corner of Sawyer’s mouth twitches, the movement very quick and very slight but unmistakably a suppressed snarl. “We?” he repeats stiffly.

“I’m not leaving without Flint.”

Flint feels like he’s going to burst out of his own skin, terrified by your open defiance and how you won’t drop your gaze, even more afraid that he’ll lose control himself at any moment. He trusts his mentor but Sawyer has a reputation. He forgets to go easy on pack humans sometimes. He can be harsh, less forgiving of trespasses, dangerously aggressive in the heat of the moment. He’s not sure what he’ll do if Sawyer comes any closer. Flint knows there’s an old, awful story behind all his scars carving through the thick wolf fur he can’t fully retract. It’s not always easy to tell what’ll set him off.

It’s just as hard to predict what he’ll laugh off and deem unthreatening. Flint sags in relief when Sawyer lets out an amused huff, his posture loosening somewhat. Whatever he was looking for, whatever it is that reminds him of his scars, he doesn’t find it in you. If anything, he looks a little fond of you. “You’d better stay put,” Sawyer says. “The claiming hunt isn’t over. Won’t be for a little while. No one would purposefully antagonize Flint, but nobody is thinking clearly during a chase, either. Do you want something to eat or drink?” You glare at him. “Suit yourself. I have to speak with the alpha about this. Corbin, you’re dismissed. Let’s give them some space.”

Corbin never takes his eyes off you as he gets to his feet, returning your scowl with a sweet smile. “It was so nice to meet you,” he purrs.

Your frown deepens. “Feeling’s not mutual.”

“Mm. Give it time.” He winks before Sawyer herds him out the door with a playful growl.

Sawyer pauses on the porch, looking back at you with a sharp gaze. “Stay,” he rumbles. He smirks. You think he’s making fun of you, but his gaze shifts to Flint just briefly. Flint’s heart skips a beat.

Because Sawyer does nothing without a reason. All of that, every little thing, had a purpose. Getting you accustomed to hearing commands. Keeping his distance to put you at ease. Bringing Corbin along showed you that the pack keeps humans, that they’re fed, cared for, permitted some mischief from time to time. Giving you an order he knows you won’t follow wasn’t for you, though. That was for Flint. Because Flint is a shepherd, and when you disobey, it’s his responsibility to do something about it.

Your shoulders sag, a long sigh slipping out when the guest house door slams shut. The silence that follows is deafening. It’s just the two of you now. You and Flint. His hands shake. He tries to take deep breaths to calm himself but every inhale is full of your scent, the sharpness of your sweat and worry. He’s not ready. He’s petrified. What is he supposed to do now? What is he supposed to say? He wants to tell you so many things but the words won’t come. They never do. You’ve always understood what he tries to say, even when he can’t say it, but you don’t understand the situation you’re in now.

“Come on,” you say. “He’s probably bringing the alpha back with him. We have to hurry.” You rub your face on a few blankets and pillows—decoys. He recognizes this trick. You’ll take those with you when you run, toss them around to hide your trail. Then you rush to the kitchen and he follows nervously, reminded of a dozen other messes you’ve gotten him out of before. You turn on the sink and lather up the strongest-smelling soap you can find in the cupboards, scrubbing your face, your neck, your wrists, any exposed skin. Your natural scent isn’t gone but it’s smothered in earthy musk because all of the pack’s homemade soaps smell like the woods. Clever. Worryingly so.

“They didn’t…kidnap me,” he admits. “I chose to come here.”

You pause to look at him, your stony focus softening with sympathy. “Yeah? I bet it wasn’t what you thought it’d be,” you say.

You’re right. Just not the way you think you are. “This isn’t like before. They’re different. The alpha is good. I know it seems strange. They’re not like the packs we’re used to. But—”

“Flint.” You look up at him and his voice catches in his throat. “Come here. Your turn.”

He shouldn’t. Shouldn’t encourage this any further. He has to be honest with you, has to make you understand. “It’s not safe out there,” he says weakly. “Sawyer wasn’t lying about the chase. It gets…intense. If anybody catches your scent—”

“They won’t,” you insist. You take one of his hands in his and his resolve crumbles bit by bit, eroded by the tender smoothing motions of your fingers over his palm and knuckles and joints. He’s thinking about that shower you took together years ago. The warmth. The safety. The certainty that he was home at last, pack or no pack, that he had everything he wanted. Hoarfrost Falls is where he belongs, but something has been missing all this time, something important. He can’t help it. When you tug on his arm, he kneels, letting you smooth your hands over his face and neck, shutting his eyes and savoring your touch.

He’s not ready. But Sawyer told him he doesn’t have to be. Now and then, when the other lessons are done, they sit under the moon and talk about gods. “The Poised Fang is old. Very, very old,” Sawyer told him. “In his time, wolves had no names. Humans were prey. Smart, vicious prey, worthy of respect. The hunt is the oldest dance, and he is the best dancer. There are others who came after—gods of hearth-keeping and shepherding. But when you see a human—your human—you call on the Poised Fang first. That’s why we have that saying in Old Wolven. ‘Keep your fangs poised.’ It’s an invocation. Do you know the key to hunting humans?”

Flint hadn’t known. The topic made him squeamish. But Sawyer reassured him they meant it differently now. That the Poised Fang, timeless and eternal, was pleased that the hunt continued, even if its end had changed.

“The key is patience. It’s not strength. Not readiness. Patience. You’ll see this firsthand someday. You don’t have to be ready. You just have to wait. The moment will come.”

Flint opens his eyes and you’re staring at him, your palms framing his face. He nuzzles against your touch and you blink, startled, pulling away. It makes him want to growl but he holds it in. “We should get going,” you tell him. You’re embarrassed. He can smell it. You shouldn’t be. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. He wishes the two of you had talked about it before—all of it. Your feelings. His instincts. The desire to hold you close and leave you drenched in his scent. The throbbing need to sink his teeth into your neck.

“It’s a long way to the nearest town,” he tells you, his voice low but steady. “Hours. Too far on foot, for you.”

“Shit. They didn’t take your keys, did they? Guess we could steal theirs.” You laugh. Flint smiles. He’s not ready. He’s a storm inside, hope and fear and revulsion all crashing against one another. Some part of him has always known he would come back for you, but he wanted more time. More certainty. Then again, hasn’t he already had all the time he needs? Nobody knows you better. You peer through the front windows, then the back.

“Is there a river nearby?” you wonder aloud. “It rained the other day. Should be able to cover our scent with mud, if we have to.”

Flint inches closer. Afraid. Excited. He’s panting. He can’t help it. The truth is that he’s going to have to hurt you. Just a little. Just enough. You’re going to scream and cry and it’s going to feel like a knife in the heart, but he knows you’ll feel even worse. And that’s okay, he tells himself. That’s normal. Natural. Part of the process. Like when you were children, and he got a splinter stuck in his paw, and you sat him down with a pair of tweezers and scratched under his chin while he whined. He didn’t want you to touch it but you insisted. It had to come out. It would hurt just a tiny bit one last time, and then it wouldn’t hurt anymore. It’s just like that.

“Look!” you’d said, pointing up at a tree. “Squirrel!”

He knew, logically, that you were just trying to distract him. But he’d perked up anyway, took his eyes off of you, and then it was done. Over in a blink. It’s just like that, he tells himself. He whispers a prayer in Old Wolven Norse to the Poised Fang, begging to know if prey can ever forgive the predator for the sharpness of his teeth.

“I love you,” he says.

You freeze. Your palm hovers over the door handle. Looking up at him with wide eyes and mouth parted in shock, a question starts forming on your lips. And like the oldest of his gods stalking a primeval forest, Flint does not waste the moment.

#rotpeach writes #meanwolves #inspired by an ask i got a while ago about what happens if a new pack human recognizes a wolf as someone they knew before #im extra behind on asks gonna try and get to some of those tonight or tomorrow #this time of year is always pretty busy for me and this year is no exception #corbin #sawyer #flint

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jagawriterr · 1 year

Text

Alfa

Pairing: Peter Hale (werewolf form) x fem! reader Word count: 707 Warnings: unprotected sex, fur, blood, dirty sex, fear and Peter, who is the sexiest werewolf in the world. 18+ MDNI! A/N: I managed to mobilize and finish one of my fanfics. I'm proud of myself, and hope you like it. Masterlist

He was still there. He wandered through the trees like a ghost. It penetrated your skin like smoke that floated lightly in the air. You felt the shiver, the panic and the adrenaline pumping through you. How did you feel so different? Breathless, you ran as hard as you could, barefoot, in a nightgown and your hair flowing. You hid behind a tree, laying down on the wet ground to take at least a few calm breaths.

You could smell his scent in the air. You felt him gently step on the ground full of growing moss and scattered pine needles. The wind tore through your body so that you felt goosebumps. You were damn cold, but you lost your sweater somewhere along the way. You had absolutely no idea where you were. You hoped it would be over soon.

The panic slowly subsided. You were fine with your breath. The pulse calmed down.

You screamed in horror as you saw his body leaning out from behind the tree. He was huge, and his eyes had been fixed on you ever since he found you. He could smell you, taste your sweat, licking your cheek gently.

He brushed your hair out of your face with his paw and looked at you again. And you saw him. Peter's piercing gaze, as calm and caring as ever. Despite what he had become, he still knew who he was. You smiled at him, snuggling into his thick, gray fur.

Tears streamed down your cheeks again, and his paws wrapped around your frail, shivering body. You snuggled even more into his body.

The terror subsided as you felt his calm breath and heartbeat, calm as never before. You made him humble. The bare survival instinct was gone for good. Calmly, you laid down with him on the ground, ruffling his thick, gray fur on the back and neck. He rested his head on your shoulder, closing his blue eyes.

The intimacy of the situation made you feel aroused and wanting him to touch you before the fire passed. Before he was still in this form. You've never done it with him like this. He resisted it, but the desire for it clouded his rational thinking so much that he pounced on your frail body.

He flipped you onto your stomach, wanting to do it as quickly as possible. Instincts so primal awoke in him that he could no longer control them. Your nightgown fell down your back as he yanked your hips up. You felt him in your mind. His breathing quickened again, his skin numb from the cold, dirty with pine needles, leaves and brown earth.

He entered you quickly. You felt it shove all the way into you, penetrate you deep into your core, where all the tension, the essence of passion and desire, accumulated. His cock was moving inside you so fast you couldn't take your breath away. Your hands were on the ground, bruised and bloody and full of shreds of leaves. The scratches on your hands made you alternate between pleasure and pain as you rubbed your wounds against the dirty earth. Salty sweat poured from your bodies.

He rested his head on your back, taking the material of your pajamas into his mouth. You felt his hips moving faster and faster. Your moans turned him on even more. He wanted to be all inside you, his hands gripped your hips, deepening the hip thrusts as the walls of your pussy pressed hard against his cock, wanting to feel him even more inside of you. You felt yourself reluctantly reaching the edge of the abyss and slowly falling down with him. The twitching of his body, the spasms of his muscles, his hard cock inside you, it all made you unable to resist the temptation to cum with min. To feel his cum flooding you from the inside out. As it falls over your body, panting hot air against your sweaty back.

He licks the sweat down your spine. You turn onto your back to look at him, but he's already in a different form. You stare into those still-blue eyes, and you can't get enough of them. He is your Alpha. He is your everything.

#peter hale #teen wolf fanfiction #peter hale smut #peter hale x you #peter hale x reader #teen wolf smut #teen wolf fanfic #female rader

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celestialspecial · 5 months

Text

Such Sharp Teeth

I needed to write a werewolf fic again, so many other writers i follow have been putting out bomb content so i had to join in <3

Writers notes: It's not true abo dynamics- some elements are featured but it doesn't follow truly, it is reader insert but MC's name is Aurora-

also go read @becauseicantthinkwritings Objects in Motion, hooooly shittt

Warnings: 18+themes, graphic descriptions of body transformation, insinuated non con elements, reader digression advised :)

All you could feel was the cool air on your skin, blowing through your hair as the moon glowed overhead. You felt strong, powerful. It was exhilarating and freeing all at once. The beauty of the forest surrounding you as the sharp ribbons of silver moonlight cut in shards through the trees.

You could taste the air, smell bread being baked from miles away, hear people talking and animals scurrying away from you. The forest floor rose up time and again to meet your feet, every sensation heightened. It was a beautiful thing more often than not, but tonight was different. Tonight there was a sense of desperation inside of you.

A tinge of fear, footfalls echoing behind you, they were far but yet still so close. Too close for comfort. Howls rang out and you knew that you'd never escape keeping pace like this. Your breath grew ragged, no longer deep inhalations but tortured puffs.

You could see your breath in the air before you and then you felt the pain surging through your body. Bones breaking, tissue tearing, muscles unraveling only to be knit back together in another form. You wanted to cry out at the pain but it’d only alert them to your location and that was far too dangerous.

You could taste blood and feel tufts of fur spring up along your spine as it twisted and mangled its shape into something new. Your eyes blurred as you felt the bones in your face collapsing and extending, ears rising up and canines lengthening in your still too small mouth.

The next time your foot hit the ground it was no longer a foot, but a paw. The squelching sound of mud making contact with the pads of it. You had been running fast but now the speed was unparalleled. Heavy panting as you pushed yourself to the brink of exhaustion.

You still had miles to go but the howling was far off in the distance growing further away and that’s how you liked it. How it’d need to be for as long as it took you to figure out the next step.

The covers you woke up in were caked in mud, it crunched as you shifted in the bed, pattering to the floor surely creating a mess. You groaned stretching your arms overhead, human arms, the muscles sore and aching from how far you’d run last night.

Even the edges of your feet and tips of your ears felt taut with tension and soreness. Rubbing a hand over your face, coming away with more dirt.

“Shit.”

“Shit is right, look at the state of this room.” A friendly face poked her head in through the doorway. She was tall, elegant limbs covered in a chunky sweater and leggings. Dark brown hair pulled up into a messy bun, light hazel eyes filled with a touch of mischief.

“I’m sorry, Celeste. I promise I’ll clean everything up.” She moved over to the side of the bed, holding a mug of something that smelled heavenly. Gesturing for you to take it, the heat seeping into the palms of your tired hands.

“I’m not worried about it. Here, drink. You need something to warm your bones.” You nodded taking a long drawn out sip. The liquid was chocolatey with a medicinal hint that washed over your tongue and seemed to heat your insides up almost immediately.

“It should help with well…everything.” She gave a half hearted smile, shrugging one shoulder up, before adjusting the edge of her sweater. “You came a very long way.” You finished the drink, setting the mug into the side table next to you. The warmth began to leech into your bones finally and you felt immensely grateful for Celeste and her healing abilities.

“I couldn’t stay. I had to…I just-time was running out.” The reassuring smile gave way to an earnest look of sympathy.

“They can kill you for this.” You swallowed thickly, all too aware of the dangers you had put yourself in. The odds hadn't been in your favor but you had to take a chance, to get away from home. Home. It felt a sham to even call it that.

“I know. And I’m beyond grateful you letting me stay here the night but I promise I’ll be out of your hair soon.” Celeste made a waving gesture in the air, dismissing your words.

“Don’t be ridiculous, stay as long as you need.” The kindness created a fist in your throat, you’d been friends for years, writing letters back and forth since visiting often wasn’t allowed.

Rival pack members weren’t allowed to associate with one another more than their Alphas permitted.

You bit the inside of your cheek in an attempt to shove down the hatred and anger you felt for your pack. To call them such a thing felt like a crime in and of itself. They were horrible and controlling, to think of yourself free from them felt exciting and terrifying.

“You could get in trouble.” You nearly whispered, even though no one was around to hear. She brushed off the notion.

“We’ll figure out a place for you to stay in the meantime. Has it started?” You gave a brief nod, not wanting to talk about it. The temperature of your skin, the cramping, that undeniable ache that shook you to your core. Like your body was no longer your own. It was infuriating and deliciously tortuous.

“Then in a few days when it’s over we can figure out what to do from there.”

“Your brother is gonna kill you.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.”

“Speak for yourself.” Celeste only gave you a smirk before squeezing your shoulder in a comforting fashion.

“Alright up, I need to change these sheets. A dirty dog rolled all over in them.”

That night felt like hell, a worse cycle than you’d ever had before. The winges of pain and agony ached through your system. It felt like your body had been tossed into a blazing fire.

In fact that sounded much better than what you felt now. Heats were different for every pack member but you couldn’t recall a time when you wished you were unconscious instead of enduring it.

You had needed to get away from your town, your pack before this happened. Before you were tied to the worst man you’d ever had the displeasure of knowing.

You were his property in his mind and the idea of you turning him down, running away rather than accepting his forced mating had surely sent him into a rage.

Maybe your body knew what had been coming and was throwing a fit in rebellion even now that you were in safe territory or maybe the strain and stress of escaping and being on the run had done you in.

Either way no matter how many cold showers you took, how many naps your forced yourself into, how many times your own hands attempted to hit their mark, it wasn’t enough.

Celeste had left a hearty brew of tea for you that was supposed to help, you’d chugged the whole thing down to the shock of your friend and still nothing. Or maybe it had helped and this was the edge being taken off.

Being hit by a bus felt less excruciating than this.

You somehow managed to fall asleep and when you woke your mouth felt dry, the familiar ache between your legs remained unsatisfied.

You wanted to tear the pillows on the bed to pieces, watching the feathers explode and drift down around you as your screamed into the frigid air.

You couldn’t even keep the window open for fear of Celeste's male pack members smelling you and paying an uninvited visit. Tipping off her brother that you were here, potentially getting her in loads of trouble.

Your fingers itched to tear open the window and taste the cold November breeze. Your nails scratched gouges in the white paint on the window sill as you stared longingly out at the frost bitten garden.

A soft knock came at the door, seeing your friend slipping into the room with another pot of strong smelling tea. Celeste sat the tea down on the side table, noting your frustrating posture by the window.

“I’m sorry, I know exactly how you feel.”

“I hate it.” It sounded like a whine, maybe it was but at this point you didn’t care.

“I have to go out and run some errands in town but I promise it won’t be long. Drink the rest of this, I put something in it to help your frazzled nerves and maybe even get you to sleep.”

The thought of sleeping another 48 hours and waking up normal again sounded so enticing.

“Thank you.” You crawled into bed staring out the window imagining running freely through the forest, only this time not away from something but towards something better.

Something that felt intangible right now. Tossing back a long swig from the tea pot and letting your eyes shutter close for however long they’d allow.

The hours crawled by and you felt yourself somewhere in a slumber and waking titration. Eventually you could see the sun was lower in the sky, mid to late afternoon maybe?

Your body groaned in revolt as you got up from the bed, joints creaking and popping, clasping the now empty teapot in your hands.

You could feel the sweat dripping down your brow, swiping at it, rubbing at your eyes anything to avoid feeling how warm your whole body felt.

Celeste hadn’t come home yet and you managed to scrub the pot clean, place it in the drying rack and wash a dish or two more. Just to feel useful for once.

Wanting to be the least invasive houseguest as you could, moving over to where the washroom was and folding some of the sheets spilling out of the dryer. The small menial tasks actually helped contain the disjointed feeling your body was experiencing.

The sound of a key being inserted into the side door, unlocking and closing alerted your ears that Celeste was home. You felt too tired and pained to call out to her, instead waiting to see her face pop around the corner, but it didn’t.

Footsteps echoed across the wooden floor and sounds of bags being dropped onto the kitchen island, accompanied by the soft sound of items, perhaps fruit, falling out and rolling along the granite. Then you smelled it.

The most intoxicating scent that had ever graced your nose. It was pine trees and fresh crisp air, like looking up into the night sky on a winter evening. It had a bite at first that smoothed into a warm rich earthy quality. There was even a hint of spice, it overtook every one of your senses, like you’d been bathed in it.

This wasn’t Celeste.

Your ears strained to listen to anything this visitor was doing, whoever it was they had a key. Fuck. Celeste hadn’t told anyone you were here. Your muscles tensed, noticing all sounds from the kitchen had ceased.

Attempting to pad as quietly as you could out of the washroom, venturing a quick look into the kitchen. Sure enough there were grocery bags with oranges spilling out onto the island but no one around.

Silence.

If you could just sneak to the back door, you could see it from your point of view. One quick leap and you’d be gone and able to shift and disappear into the fast approaching night.

One step, then another. You were always known for being quiet in your pack, able to sneak up on any prey. This was no different.

Another few steps and you’d be home free. You felt the cool wooden floor kiss the tips of your toes before the strongest force you’d ever felt knocked you from your feet.

Your legs barely touched the ground before your back was slammed into the nearest wall, tauntingly so close to the back door. Large strong hands held you in place, your shoulders pinned against the drywall.

The scent you’d smelled before consumed you, your traitorous body arching against the wall towards the source.

“Who are you?” The voice was deep, a hint of gravel. Male. You felt your vision clearing from your head smacking against the hard surface to see sure enough a large man in front of you.

He was tall, towering over you, lean and athletic, muscles strained under his white shirt, corded along his forearms down to his hands that stilled you.

You felt the anxious pull to look down, to not meet his eyes. The undeniable mark of an alpha, it irked you to no end. Taking a steadying breath you fought your body, looking up into his face.

He was handsome, carved from rock and earth and dusted with something you couldn’t quite place.

Dark brown hair that fell across his forehead, the sides were closely cropped but the rest hung longer, down to eyes that were such a deep brown you could lose yourself in them easily.

You could only imagine how radiant they’d look, flecks of gold catching the light when he smiled, but right now they were cold, calculating. The air caught in your throat, a choking noise all you could muster.

Your arms flexed against the wall, knowing you couldn’t escape but dying to, begging to. His nostrils flared, you watched the pupils in his eyes dilate, consuming the already deep brown gazing back at you. His fingers gripped you tighter.

“I said…who are you? Why are you in my sisters house?”

“I…I.” Your brain couldn’t form words, not now. The scent of him, the feel of his touch against your heated skin, you could feel dampness spreading between your legs, the slow ache building inside your body clawing to get out.

Your inner wolf was barely continued under your skin, a popping sensation in your ears, the room felt like it was spinning.

It was like he could sense everything going on in your body, the way his eyes roamed ravenously over your flushed skin, his fingers flexing against your arms, the intensity of his gaze.

It was a split second but you could feel his face pressed into the crook of your shoulder, hear him inhale you deeply. Groaning as he exhaled, there would be bruises on your body where he gripped you so tightly.

You couldn’t hide the gasp that left your lips feeling his hips pressed against your own, his arousal evident. You felt your hands reaching for his back and his grip lessened enough to let you, your nails scraping against his muscled back through his shirt.

The noise he made rumbled in his chest, you could nearly feel it reverberating through your own body. The scratch of stubble scraping against the soft skin of your neck as he breathed deeply the scent of your heat and your legs yearned to be wrapped around his waist and carried to the nearest flat surface.

A bed, the couch, the floor-

“Hey, HEY!” You felt his hands fall from your arms as another voice rang through the room.

Celeste was wedging herself between the two of you, arms out protectively in front of you. “Billy! What the fuck are you doing here?!”

The man before you took a step back, his eyes were still pitch black, his chest heaving, fingers clenching and unclenching as if testing that they were truly not holding you anymore.

“Celeste. You know this woman?”

“I do! This is Aurora, she’s-she's my friend.” His eyes narrowed on you.

“I don’t recall ever being introduced to her before.”

Celeste glanced worriedly between the two of us, I nodded at her, the most encouragement I could offer at the moment.

“She’s…uh…. She left her pack.” His eyes widened a touch, lips parting, taking a solid deep breath before looking back at Celeste.

“Celeste….” His words were a warning, tinged with anger, frustration, concern…

“I know! But she needed to get out of there, they were gonna force her to mate with a homicidal maniac of an alpha!”

“An alpha?” His tone was harsh and abrupt, rubbing the bridge of his noise, lines forming on his brow. “Jesus Christ, Celeste. Do you know how dangerous this is? To us? To the pack?”

“Forced Mating, Billy! That’s barbaric!” He sighed, leaning back against the kitchen counter, running a hand through his already mussed hair.

“It is. I know that as much as you, but some packs…still participate in the old ways…” his words weren’t convincing anyone, you could see it in the strained expression on his face.

You drew a steady breath , hesitantly pushing away from the wall you had just been pinned to. You missed the feeling of heat from his body being so close to yours already.

“I…I can leave. No. I think I should, Celeste, he’s right. This is dangerous you guys can get in a lot of trouble hiding a rival pack member. If you were to get caught it could be…it could be bad.”

Billy and Celeste both were looking back at you, you could see the similarities between the two. The dark hair and long lean stature, Billy’s eyes were significantly darker, but they shared similar noses and mannerisms. How they stood, staring you down, intimidating and beautiful.

“Rory…where would you go?” Your friend sounded so incredibly sad, it broke your heart. “Plus it’s not safe…”

“Once my cycle is over, I’ll leave.” Billy watched you with the focus of a pack leader and in the way only a wolf could. At the mention of your heat you noticed how his nostrils flared, chest rising into a territorial puff. “I’ll find somewhere to go.”

Celeste walked over to you, grabbing your hand and pulling you into a hug. You held her tightly, the overwhelming feeling of fear and frustration from your body and emotions beginning to take a tighter hold of you.

“Wait.” A deep sigh came from where Billy stood. “We can figure…something out. Until you have a safe place to go.” His dark eyes were no longer black orbs but the brown had returned, a softness, and something else danced across them as he spoke to you.

“But-“ he raised a finger, the look of admonishment towards his younger sibling. “Do NOT let anyone else know she’s here until I say, and make sure she stays in the house until... well until it’s safe.”

You watched as he gathered his keys from the island, turning to walk across the kitchen, his heavy motorcycle boots louder than they had felt before, followed by the sound of the door closing behind him.

You knew what you had seen in his eyes, because you could feel it just as deeply. Longing. And something just below the surface, barely concealed but there nonetheless.

#billy russo #ben barnes #the punisher #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #billy russo fanfic #the punisher fanfiction #ben barnes character #the punisher au #Alpha!Billyrusso #Alpha!BillyRusso #werewolf #werewolf fanfic #a/b/o dynamics #punisher au

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softcitrus2345 · 6 months

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WE'VE GOT A BARLEYROSE DOUBLE FEATURE TODAY, LADS!! >:DDD

14. Painting - Ambrose is actually a writer, not a painter, but wanted to try a hand at some figure painting for no reason in particular.. ;3c Barley's a very handsome guy and he knows it, I loved drawing his smug little expression XP

15. Werewolf/Sweater Weather - I combined both prompts for this day since they fit into the drawing I had in mind! Barley and Ambrose sleeping under the falling leaves on a full moon Before he transforms, he lets Ambrose wear his sweater, which is just a bit oversized, to keep him warm through the night. Barley still kept his scarf, even if he didn't really need it with all his extra insulation and fur~

I wish I was Ambrose here, he's basically sleeping on a giant heated pillow and wrapped in his boyfriend's cozy sweater, if that isn't peak coziness and safety, I don't know what is 😭💖💖💖

These two prompts were just meant for them, I love these two dorks so MUCH

#feedist kinktober #softcitrus barley #honeyfangz ambrose #ssbhm #male weight gain #oc interaction #oc fluff #chubby werewolf #werewolf oc #G/t #m/m romance #fall vibes #comfort #yall have no idea how happy they make me

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jellyfishloveletterghosts · 6 months

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My Harringrove AU List A-M

Part 2 - N-Z

Afterlife

I Missed You - Steve dies and is reunited with Billy in the afterlife.

Android

Build-A-Man - Mrs. Harrington buys Steve an android to take care of him, he doesn't particularly like it but Billy isn't going anywhere.

Animal Hybrids

Bunny - Billy comes home to his bunny.

Collars - Catboy Steve has a collection of collars.

Nest Material - Billy has been stealing bits of hair and fur from Steve since he got to town. Today it comes to a head.

Night Time Rituals - Catboy Steve and Billy’s bedtime ritual.

Eggcellent - Steve is just trying to do his job and get his eggs delivered but finds himself waylaid by a determined wolf.

Seashells and Books on Tape - When Billy gets to Hawkins he finds his mate, the only problem is Billy can't get his mouth to work right around him so he has to find other ways to make his intentions known.

Bender (AtLA)

Fight Night - Steve and Billy are forced to fight. When Steve throws the match it pisses Billy off.

New Trick? - Steve likes to fuck with Billy when he’s angry.

Childhood Friends to Loves

Helping Hand - Steve has hang ups about touching his own dick preventing him from masturbating, Billy offers him a helping hand.

Kill For You - Steve accidently killed Neil when they were kids, Billy has been protecting him ever since and he'll never stop.

College/University

Bidder, Bidder Won’t You Take Me Home - Steve is up for auction for a charity event Carol's sorority is hosting, after seeing Billy he wants his bid. (Werewolf/Succubus)

Drink Me - Billy adds a little something special to Steve's coffee every morning. (Coffee Shop Au)

Insecurities of Drinking - Steve gets insecure when he is drinking and seeing some drunk girl kiss Billy doesn't help.

It’s A Date - Billy's advisor insists he needs to take a refresher course, Billy doesn't want to be there until Steve Harrington of all people walks in.

Worm - Billy takes issue with Steve's sweater.

Crime Boss

Trigger Happy - Steve doesn't like it when Billy shows up with injuries.

Curses

Care and Feeding - Billy comes to town and befriends Steve. Billy would like to pursue more than that but he is determined to wait until Steve gets over his recent heartbreak. (Werewolf/Fairy)

Deaged

The Babe With The Power (Series) - Steve ends up a much younger version of himself and Billy happens to be his favorite person.

Demigods

Death and Flowers - Steve ventures down into the underworld to retrieve Dustin’s soul, Billy offers him a deal in return for it.

Demons

Demon Steve/Mob boss Billy - Steve follows his nose to Billy and instead of getting a soul gets a date.

Disabilities

All In The Hands - Billy isn't sure how surviving Starcout leads to the kids deciding he's friend material but he'd be lying if he said he minded. Especially when they help him learn sign language and get a date.

As Many Times As You Want - Steve is a little drunk and he finally takes Billy up on an offer he has been making for months.

Helper Billy - Steve suffers from neurological issues and Billy is hired to help him in his day to day life.

Farmer

The Fairy In The Garden - Billy finds an unexpected visitor in his garden. (Werewolf/Fairy)

Fairy

How to Catch a Boyfriend - Billy wanders into the forest and meets a fairy. He's sure Steve and the fairy are one in the same and all he wants to do is keep them.

Christmas - Just some Hc’s for HtCaB during the holiday.

FemHarringrove

Best Behavior - Stevie needs to be on her best behavior and Billie makes sure she will be. (Royalty)

California - Stevie invites Billie out to California for her birthday.

The Hawkins Roller Rink - Billie Goes exploring when she gets to Hawkins and see the most beautiful girl on skates.

Melt - Billie fucks Stevie with a popsicle.

Straight From The Source - Billie takes the long path to get what she wants, luckily it works out.

Sweatpants - Billie just wants to see her girlfriend in some pants.

Tastes Like Sunshine - Billie has dinner waiting when Stevie gets home. (Werewolf/Vampire)

Flayed/Killer

Black in The Moonlight - The mind flayer thinks they need to get rid of Steve until they follow him.

Let Me Mu-Marry You - They take someone Steve wanted.

Flayed/Powers

The Grower and The Shower - Steve reveals his powers to save everyone at the last minute, Billy checks on him in the aftermath.

Furries

Come Sit On My Lap - Billy borrows his new work uniform. It definitely awakens some things even if Steve is not willing to admit he is into it too.

Furry Billy - Billy making his own suits

Genderfluid/Genderqueer

It’s Cold But Your Mouth It’s Burning - Billy likes wearing makeup he’s not expecting Steve to think it looks good on him.

Washed Pink - Steve gets his cheap little red heart shaped sunglasses after sleeping with Tammy, and they end up being friends. Steve really likes the way he looks in those sunglasses, the way the world looks, turns out Billy really liked them too.

Haunting (Real or Imagined)

Baby Steve and the Ghosts - this isn’t technically harringrove but honorable mention because if I ever actually add more it’s supposed to be harringrove. - Steve is born during a winter storm and the ghosts think of him as theirs.

Ghost Deterrent - Billy is bored and wants nachos, Steve is bathing in the dark and has nachos. Billy gets more than nachos.

You’re A Vision - Billy dies but he's not gone, he spends most of his time haunting Steve.

Headless Horseman

Pumpkin Head - Headless Horseman Billy and his witchy partner having some fun in the pumpkin patch.

Magic

A Different Kind of Love Spell - Steve leaves the castle on his tenth birthday looking to gain parental love. (Royalty)

Dandelion Wishes - Billy finds a dandelion as a child and makes a wish for someone that will love him forever.

It’s Your Birthday, We Can Cry If We Want To - Every year Steve makes a cake and every year he summons Billy Hargrove from beyond the grave.

Kitchen Witch - Steve has magic, he just doesn't know it. He doesn't believe Dustin no matter how many times he insists that Steve's food is magic, because that is preposterous. Slowly others start to recognize that Steve has magic too, and then Billy comes along with accusations of a love potion when Neil gets a hold of some cookies Steve made and starts acting nice.

Magic Touch – Werewolf Billy steals Steve’s sex sleeve and has no idea what he’s really gotten ahold of.

Magical Boy

Mantle of The Black Cat - Things are looking really bad at the junkyard so Steve makes a deal with a talking cat.

Mechanic

Perkin’s Repair Shop - Billy’s car breaks down, his car can’t be fixed today but his day can.

Minotaur

Minotaur Billy - Steve enters the labyrinth to help out Robin and there he meets Billy.

Modern

Dick Pic - Billy sends Steve a dick pic. The response he gets is better than he hoped for.

Making Friends - Steve hasn't made any friends in his fandom, Billy tries to help.

Pretty Boy - Billy starts texting Steve while he is out of town, when he gets home he comes for Steve.

Squish Me - Steve is a content creator who mostly posts about Squishmallows. Billy doesn't care about the mallows but he still watches all of Steve's videos.

Take a Dirty Picture for Me - Billy and Max have a deal she takes pictures of Steve for him and he leaves her friends and her alone. Steve find out and Billy makes a new deal, Steve takes the pictures Billy wants and he continues to leave them be. Billy wants more than candids though and things heat up.

Tickle - Steve has been playing the same song for hours, Billy is going to put a stop to it.

The View - Billy works at the Hot Topic in the mall and Steve works in the Sanrio store right next door.

Your Little Shit - Steve treats himself to some lingerie and Billy just happens to be around when his box full of pretty lacy things comes in. Billy insists Steve try them on so he can act as his second opinion.

Models

Model Behavior - Billy finally gets to do a shoot with Steve 'The Hair' Harrington and he could not be happier with the way it turns out.

MPreg

The Belly - Billy insists on taking pictures of Steve's stomach as soon as they get the positive test.

Musicians

Video Killed the Radio Star - Billy gets a lot of flack for defending a fan against a creeper. Billy finally meets the fan he defended.

Part 2 - N-Z

#Harringrove #Jellyghostfic #fanfiction #st fic #billy hargrove x steve harrington

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myriadparacosm · 4 months

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Sirius' Weird Taste

Sirius has very peculiar taste - which is good and thankfully he doesn't make that a big part of his personality but you can see it just with Remus, who at an early point of their relationship really considered if Sirius wasn't dating him because of his lycanthropy. After all he has a lot of scars and this affected his whole appearance since he got it very young. He isn't attractive by popular standards although he is tall but too lanky for it to look natural and his skin has some dents from the scars even when it heals back to his natural skin colour. He also has too much hair, be it facial or anywhere else, and whether it's natural or not too much wrinkles and eyebags for his age. It has happened that students took him as a new professor if he wasn't wearing his school's robes.

His point is that by all standards Remus would be considering ugly, something he has stopped saying at loud because every single one of his friends would bemoan or scold him and come up with senseless arguments. He will never know if he would have looked any different without the bite so he learnt to deal with it but it still leaves the question on how Sirius Black ever fell for him. Remus isn't stupid or oblivious like he might like to act time to time which is why he is fully aware that Sirius is smitten with him - despite everything; although Remus honestly can't judge him on that because if Sirius is down for him then Remus is so far down he might fall off the earth for Sirius.

Sirius has assured him many times that he doesn't like Remus for his lycantropy - which is a bit of rude question when we just snogged twice Moony - and that even without his fancy scars he would bend over for him. All his friends have helped him make peace with his werewolf counterpart, Sirius particularly, but only because they are the same person with just one side more moody - but you give Moony a fair opponent, Sirius said before kissing him.

Remus has learnt all Sirius' whims and his likes or dislikes - how he dresses up like a bloody deity before bringing the ugliest looking sweater ever as a gift because of how amazingly ugly it is which is why it's pretty? He also noticed how Sirius likes crups or hippogriff, always trying to pet them with compliments, but what really seems to really make him go is the weirdest things. The first time Sirius saw a platypus at the zoo, one of their dates, he couldn't stop laughing and yet didn't want to move on - Who cast a spell on it? What is it supposed to be? Why did you pick that nose and short legs you dimwit? You look silly. Let's get one!

Murtlap? Sirius insults them over their 'haircuts' and 'why are you still naked you twat' as he fed and pet them in their Care of Magical Creatures class. Which is surprisingly not him making fun of them but just his weird way of loving them, with silly insults and teasing.

Remus has realised it is exactly how Sirius and Regulus act with each other so the insults really must be just obscure petnames. So Remus supposes that sometimes that's how Sirius just show his love; it's not like they never insulted each other before and while kissing or cuddling.

So Remus is used to Sirius' surprising taste even if he can't always predict them. Like this weird-shaved cat that he proudly shows him. It looks like it came back from war but not in one piece with how odd its black dark grey fur looks to the touch and some spots almost completely naked. You could easily think that someone did it because the poor cat has no fur around his eyes and mouth.

"What is that supposed to be?"

"It's a werewolf cat."

"What?"

"It looks incredible, doesn't it? I know we are dog people but I love her and she is very sweet," Sirius explains as the cat rubs herself against his chin. "The muggles call them werewolf cats because of how rugged they look so I thought she fits perfectly for us. Also sometimes she will be butt-naked because she moults but we don't want a pervert prancing in our home so I'm going to make her clothes."

So they call her Garou - because we have a theme Moony - and she is very sweet with Remus, rubbing, slow-blinking and all at him - because you are related - even if he almost got a heart attack when he went to the loo in the middle of the night and she stood there like a dead animal ressurected. While Sirius and Garou spend their time badmouthing each other, or at least he supposes because Garou likes to meow whenever Sirius talks about her. What did I tell you about strutting around naked? Oh you don't speak to me like that you bald lady. If you didn't look already homeless I would throw you out.

Sirius tries to teach her to attack Regulus but somehow James becomes her prey. Sirius also goes out with her, walking or shopping, throwing dark looks at anyone who looks at them weirdy.

Remus finds no reason to complain and if anything he is more amazed and amused every time.

#hp marauders #marauders #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #marauders headcanon #remus loves sirius #sirius being sirius #I just love werewolf cats I'm sorry #remus x sirius #the marauders #myriadparacosm

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space-mermaid-writing · 19 days

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The Vamp and the Were [IronStrange]

Summary: Tony would mark the day he met a vampire that did not immediately jump at his throat. Just for once – that would be a nice change.

Relationship: Werewolf!Tony Stark / Vampire!Stephen Strange

Tags: hurt/comfort, idiots in love, angst, fluff

Chapter 9: Camping

“Hey, you wanna go camping?”

“Camping?” Surprised about the question, Stephen raised an eyebrow. His phone in one hand, he gestured with his other to Wong and stepped out of the room. “Why?”

“I just need to get out for a few days. It’s a Were thing. Usually helps with the nightmares, too.” Tony spun around on the chair in his lab, biting his lower lip. If anyone asked him why he asked Stephen to accompany him, he would say he didn’t know. But that would be a lie.

Truth was, he wanted Stephen to come along. Just the two of them in the middle of nowhere. Tony really liked to torture himself. “Normally I go to Mexico,” he explained on the phone. “But if you join I would look for somewhere less sunny.”

“And will you stay all furry during the trip?”

“Probably not the whole time.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, you’re joining?”

“Yes, Tony. I’m going camping with you.”

A smile cracked out on the engineer’s face. “Okay. Great.”

It wasn’t difficult to convince Wong to guard the Sanctum in his absence. In fact, Wong seemed to approve that Stephen took a few days off.

Stephen and Tony agreed to travel by portal since it was much less flashy than taking the jet. They met a few days later with their luggage, which really wasn’t a lot.

Tony showed the sorcerer a photo of a cabin and Stephen opened a gateway. He should have known that camping with Tony Stark didn’t mean small tents and sleeping bags. Instead they had a cozy cabin in the woods.

The air was noticeably cooler than in New York. And while in Greenwich, had the sun just been setting, there was the deepest night here. Besides that, it was quiet, except for the soft rustling of the wind in the tree.

“Where are we?” Stephen asked, not recognizing the area when he looked around.

“The Ural Mountains.”

Stephen paused. “Ural as in Ural, Russia?”

“Well, yes.” Tony shouldered his bag and walked to the front porch. “It’s perfect. Only 5.6% population per square kilometer, 5 hours sunlight a day at this time of the year and currently a very vampire friendly 41° Fahrenheit. That’s 5° in Celsius.”

"I know how to convert that." Stephen picked up his bag and followed him. “Is this yours?”

Tony shook his head. “I traded with a business partner for a year. He gets a house at the sea in Spain.”

The sorcerer had a strong suspicion that said business partner was also a Were. Well, he won’t complain.

The inside of the cabin was cozy but modern. With a full stocked kitchen – Stephen wouldn’t need anything from it anyway – and plenty of room for two.

“Do you need to store your juice boxes in the fridge?” Tony asked while checking out the kitchen.

“No, I can go without them for a few days.” And if he did need something, he would portal and grab it. He watched Tony as the engineer peered behind each kitchen cabinet door like a curious dog. “So, what do you normally do when you go on these ‘camping’ trips?”

“Mostly, I run,” the engineer admitted.

“Do you want to go on a run while I unpack?”

“Nah, it can wait until the sun is up. Let’s go check out the area. I was told there’s a lake nearby.”

They went on outside.

Stephen wore civilian clothes for a change. In fact, he wore just a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, although it was clearly too cold for that. But he seemed comfortable, even enjoying the biting wind. But then, he probably would enjoy a vacation in the Arctic.

Tony had thrown another jacket over his sweater. When he was out as a wolf, temperatures were less a problem with his thick fur.

Both had no trouble seeing in the dark with their heightened senses.

Less than half of the moon was visible in the night sky. A beautiful crest of cold, silvery light.

For some it might be a symbol of danger for it was the time when the shadows formed and predators came out to hunt. Those who did not wish to be seen could move about. Creatures of the night and the dark. Like vampires.

The moon itself didn’t shine. It just reflected the light of the sun, like an enchanted version of the source of so much life.

Still, it was the only kind of sunlight that did not burn Stephen and his kind. Yet, his undead condition was much more apparent as the bleak light danced across his pale skin.

The sight distracted Tony from the fact that he was feeling restless. He still was fidgeting, suppressing the urge to move faster. To stretch his legs and just run.

But he held back. Stephen was here with him and if there was one thing better than running, it was walking next to the sorcerer.

Finally the promised lake came into view. The surface shimmered invitingly in the moonlight, and Tony ran ahead. He kicked off his shoes, rolled up his pant legs, and waded into the shallow shore water, kicking it like a playful dog.

Stephen let him without commenting on it. He realized that it was important for the Were to get rid of the excess energy. He sat down in the grass on the shore and watched him patiently. There was something endearing about seeing the engineer this carefree.

After a while Tony came back and dropped down next to him. “We should go skinny dipping.”

“No.”

Tony pursed his lips. “You’re a killjoy.”

“And you will get hypothermia if you jump into the ice cold water.”

Which was true, but the Were did not admit that. He didn't say anything and that was almost the same as admitting it.

He shook the water off his feet and put his socks and shoes back on.

The small dots of stars shine brightly in the night sky.

“Do you miss sunlight?”

The question was simple yet complicated. It wasn’t merely the ability to go out in the sun that Stephen lost the day he was turned.

“I miss meeting people during the day,” the Vamp admitted. Humans after all weren’t creatures of the night. Not truly. And besides the people of Kamar-Taj, Christine was the only other person that knew when he had become.

And now of course Tony and Peter.

He had seen plenty of indirect sunlight in the Sanctum. Sometimes he stood at a window, simply watching people for hours. It was a perfect allegory of how life was for him now. He was no longer part of the human world. Only a bystander, forced to stand in the shadows.

The number of vampires among the sorcerers wasn’t exactly small. There were also other species beside humans.

Still, sometimes Stephen couldn’t help but mourn what he had lost.

Tony’s eyes met his and for a moment Stephen felt seen. It felt like the engineer looked behind his cold demeanor and saw that behind everything, Stephen was a lonely man.

It should be alarming, the sorcerer wasn’t normally one to share his deepest feelings and fears.

But he wasn’t able to look away from those warm, brown eyes. He didn’t know what it was about the Were that made Stephen trust him.

A creature sinfully inviting.

He should stay away.

Yet, Stephen found himself on this camping trip with the man.

If they weren’t a vampire and a werewolf, he would have read more into the invitation. But they were what they were. Both not human and almost on opposite ends of the humanoid spectrum. At least that's how it appeared to Stephen.

Tony was the epitome of sunshine. Chattily, outgoing and socially accepted.

Stephen hid what he was, for vampires were generally considered bloodthirsty monsters, driven by instincts that only told them to feed. To kill. Unfortunately, that was true in most cases.

His down-spiral thoughts were interrupted by Tony, who noticed the faint bright strip on the horizon. “We should head back.”

He stood up and held out his hand to Stephen to help him up. In the first second the sorcerer just blinked, his thoughts still trailing in that negative direction. But it was forgotten as soon as he took Tony’s hand and he let himself be pulled to his feet.

Contrary to his expectations, Tony did not let go of his hand afterwards. Even more, the Were’s finger intertwined with his when he pulled him along, walking the path back to the cabin.

If he was physically able to blush, Stephen was sure his face would be red. At least his cheeks felt hot. It was ridiculous, he shouldn’t be flustered by a simple gesture like this.

On the way back Tony was much calmer than before, more content.

Only when they arrived back at the cabin, Stephen withdrew his fingers from Tony’s, and he missed the warmth of his hand instantly. “I’m going to prepare for the day.”

The werewolf nodded. “Sleep well,” he said, although he knew that vampires did not really sleep. The undead did need to rest, but not like the living.

Stephen usually used the time to meditate. He stepped into the bedroom he had chosen before and closed the shutters from the outside and the curtains from the inside to block out the sun. And just to be on the safe side – and because he was in a foreign house – he cast a spell into him that helped him not to burn immediately if any sunlight should touch his skin.

He looked around the room. The furniture was made of heavy wood, probably oak and cherry. There was a bed, a drawer and next to it a bench with additional storage space.

Stephen chose to sit on the bed, his legs crossed with his back to the wall. He took a deep breath to calm down and get into the right state of his mind.

The temperature in his room remained comfortable for the vampire. He knew it would rise a little during the day, but he trusted Tony to keep an eye on him.

Then he closed his eyes.

Tony, meanwhile, treated himself to a snack and some water in the kitchen. He waited some time to see if Stephen would need anything and only when the first rays of the sun peeked over the horizon, he was sure that this was not the case and he left the cabin.

There was a shed on the backside of the cabin, and next to it, there was enough firewood stacked to get a small family through a winter. Tony and Stephen wouldn't need any though. While the Were liked a nice bonfire or the coziness of an indoor fireplace, fire was one of the few things that posed an absolutely deadly threat to vampires.

And Tony didn't want the sorcerer anywhere near such a danger.

He took off his clothes and stowed them next to the tools in the shed. The cold gave him goose bumps and he hurried to shift.

His bones changed, grew longer. Adjusted, stronger muscles stretched over them. Dark brown fur sprouted from his skin. His senses became sharper and the scents around him more present.

It was prominent now to him that the cabin belonged to another werewolf, but it felt friendly enough that it didn't bother him.

Then he started running.

Just straight forward. Moving fast over the barren, solid ground of this land.

It cleared his head. As a wolf, he acted more on instinct; following smells and noises. He stretched his limbs, his back, and enjoyed the opportunity to move in full speed for once.

He ran several miles until his lungs burned and only then slowed down. Finally coming to a stop, he threw himself on the ground to roll in the dust like a young dog. It was great.

Afterwards he felt more settled. There was no more itching that made him fidget.

He continued to move at a more leisurely pace and changed directions to make a semicircle so as not to stray too far from the cabin. He also paid more attention to his surroundings now.

He found a creek nearby and drank some clear water before he curiously explored the unfamiliar area, following a few tracks of local animals.

Although the area was deserted, there was much for the Were to discover.

A herd of wild boar had crossed this path a few hours ago. Most of the birds took flight before him and perched on branches a safe distance away, chirping at him from up there. He spotted a polecat, but it was too small to hunt. No challenge at all.

The sun rose higher, but the temperature barely exceeded 57°F. With his fur, he did not mind much.

A hare had the misfortune not to escape him fast enough and ended up as his lunch.

It was not until sunset that he made his way back to the cabin. If he were alone on this trip, he would also spend the night out in the wilderness, but now it felt like he was called back.

Stephen was already awake when he arrived. The sorcerer was reading a book as he sat on a swing on the front porch. Today he wore a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his marble carved-like forearms, which was very much appreciated by Tony.

Seeing the man made the rational and human part of the werewolf's brain come back online faster than it normally would.

The sorcerer looked up when he heard the paws approaching him and put his book aside with a smile. “Did you have a good run?”

Tony huffed in agreement, not shifting back yet.

Stephen reached out his hand to scratch the wolf’s ears. The Were climbed onto his lap with his front paws and rubbed his cheek on Stephen’s chest and shoulder, scenting the clothes. It just felt like the right thing to do.

The sorcerer pushed Tony's head away from him as his muzzle moved further up to his neck. “No dog drool in my face,” he scolded, but his voice betrayed him. Sure, Tony was in his wolf form, but he still smelled mostly like his human form. And that scent was very inviting.

His slender fingers brushed through the fur on his neck, where normally a vampire would bite. It was awfully close to the place where werewolves put their mating bites.

Tony stilled under his touch, looking at him with trust. Awaiting.

But Stephen didn’t do anything further. He removed his hand and the moment went over.

Tony trotted back into the house. He was tired and could use a short nap. After all, he hadn't slept since last night and all the running today had worn him out.

Stephen stayed outside. It was fully dark now, but that didn't stop him from reading. He had hung a small portable lamp above the swing and enjoyed the frosty temperature, and that he could stay outside without being noticed.

Camping wasn't so bad after all.

He heard it before he saw anything. Footsteps, creeping closer. A heartbeat. He waited and listened without outwardly giving the impression that he was doing anything other than being focused on reading.

Stephen waited until the footsteps came to a halt, about 30 feet away, before he put the book aside and turned his head straight in that direction.

There was a figure among the trees; humanoid. The Vamp was ready to attack if necessary.

The person hesitated, but realized that they had been discovered. They took another step closer and sniffed the air

A Were, Stephen realized. He stood up to signal the man to not move any closer. He wanted to know who stood before him.

The Were seemed confused by Stephen’s presence and also wary. The sorcerer could now clearly identify him as male. He wore a full beard and shaggy, shoulder-length hair that gave him a wild appearance. He looked way more the classic werewolf than Tony in his suits and perfectly styled hair.

The Were said something in a language Stephen didn't understand.

“Do you speak English? नेपाली? Deutsch?” he asked, offering various languages, in which he was at least partially fluent.

“Did you move here?” The Were had a thick accent and Stephen needed a second to actually understand him.

“No, we merely rented the house for some time.”

He could see the man thinking about who ‘we’ could be. He continued to eye Stephen. "You are not the Were I smell here all around, are you?"

He did not mention with a word whether he found it strange that the sorcerer seemed to have no smell at all.

“That would be my companion.”

“Can I talk to him?”

Stephen nodded. He stepped to the front door and opened it without ever turning his back to the stranger.

The cabin was in the outback, but apparently not far away enough from another pack to notice their visit.

“Tony,” he called inside, knowing the fine ears of the engineer would hear him. “We have a guest who wants to speak to you.”

The delayed answer came in a sleepy voice. But at least it confirmed that the engineer was back in human form. “Who is it?”

“For all I know it could be your long lost cousin or something like that.” It was a sneaky way to inform him that their visitor was a werewolf.

Genius that Tony was, he understood immediately.

“Fuck, wait… I’m coming.”

There was a series of noises, before Tony came rushing outside. Stephen stared at him. He was wearing only boxers and Stephen’s shirt from yesterday. Did the Were sleep in his bed?

His brain short-circled for a second there, too busy ogling the toned legs – lots of skin in general – to notice Tony came to a halt in front of him, shielding him from the foreign werewolf. His stand was wide, not quite threatening but definitely with authority.

“Yes?”

The other Were shifted his feet but didn’t back away. “Do you know Marvan?” he asked in that same accent as before.

“I do.” Tony eyed the man. And then he surprised Stephen again by switching into what sounded not quite like Russian.

They exchanged a few words while slowly approaching each other. Stephen watched the two Weres in case he had to intervene, but their tone was surprisingly calm. They seemed to trade some questions and answers.

Still, Stephen saw Tony’s tense shoulders and stance; It was the opposite of being relaxed. He wouldn’t be surprised if they shifted any moment to circle each other.

But after a few minutes, they seemed to come to an agreement. Because both men nodded, now with friendlier expressions, and shook hands. Then the stranger said goodbye and left.

Tony waited until he was out of sight before turning back to the sorcerer.

Stephen's eyes were still on the Were's mostly bare legs. Or maybe again. He found it hard to think and make those little distinctions at the moment. It took a while to realize that he was being watched and his gaze moved up to Tony's face.

Their eyes met.

Tony was still surrounded by a mixture of his own and Stephen's scent. Stephen's focus was zooming in on the engineer's neck where he perceived the beating of a pulse. He licked his lips.

Then Tony moved and before Stephen knew it, he was kissing him.

It took his mind a second to catch up, but then he reciprocated with equal vigor.

The Were was chasing his tongue, marking his territory.

His breath was hot on Stephen’s lips. “We’re invited to a barbecue tomorrow night. We don’t have to go but it would be rude to miss it.”

Before Stephen's brain was able to form a cohesive thought, his mouth was already occupied by another kiss.

“Is it a Were thing?” he still managed to ask.

Tony nodded. His fingers had snuck under Stephen's shirt and were resting on his hip. “I can go alone if you don’t want to.”

That made Stephen pause and stare at him with his intense blue eyes, his pupils slowly getting back into focus.

There were so many reasons why this suggestion was wrong on so many levels. First off, they were on a foreign continent.

Secondly, they didn’t know the other Weres.

Sure, they were neighbors of a friend and maybe it was a pack thing. But still, Stephen would never let Tony go to them alone.

“I’m accompanying you,” he therefore clarified.

“Fuck, you’re great,” Tony muttered. He didn’t kiss the Vamp yet again, but his hands were everywhere, on his arms, his shoulders, exploring while his mind screamed ‘mine!’.

He realized that he was getting handy and forced himself to keep a little distance – or at least to withdraw his fingers. He didn't want to overwhelm the vampire who normally was rather reserved with physical contact. He was pleased that earlier Stephen had not only not flinched from his kiss attack, but had even reproduced it.

He was pretty sure he was buzzing with pheromones and energy at the moment.

Tony had just taken a nap after being on his feet for a whole day and a night but he felt restless again. This time the unexpected visit from the other Were was the main reason.

The area didn't feel as vast and endless as it had a few hours earlier. Sure, those neighbors were several miles and thus a good distance away, but Tony couldn't help but feel like his territories had been invaded.

Even if the guy stayed polite, Tony felt the need to check the borders, to check if the other Were truly left.

Stephen studied him, silently watching his every twitch. “Do you want to go running again?”

Tony closed his eyes, tried to calm down. He knew if he got too restless, it would affect the Vamp and he didn’t want to bother Stephen even more when his emotions were already all over the place.

“Kinda, but it can wait until sunrise,” he sighed.

Also, he didn't want to leave Stephen alone. On the one hand, because he liked the company. For another, because his protective instinct kicked in. Rationally, he knew the vampire was strong enough to stand up on his own, but his wolf brain yelled: protect!

Shit, he really was in deep.

He needed to notch it down.

Well, Tony never did anything half-assed.

“We could go on a walk if that would help you,” Stephen offered.

Tony thought it would also help him do more kissing.

“Yeah, let’s do that,” he said instead.

_______________________________

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