#lonesome werewolf

[touhoutunes]

Title: Howling Moon

Arrangement: 黒鳥

Vocals: 花咲あんな

Album: Sprout Intention

Circle: EastNewSound

Original: Lonesome Werewolf 

[weredice]

@w98pops i designed his form more off of a bull terrier ^_^

[nightingaelic]

Could you do companions reactions to a erewolf couriour

Awoooooooo, happy spooky month

TW: Blood

When the dust-up over Hoover Dam ended and New Vegas had settled into something resembling order, the courier booked themselves an appointment at Doctor Usanagi's clinic with a very clear set of instructions. Followers of the Apocalypse volunteers reported later that they had overheard them arguing with the doctor, telling her that they didn't care about the risks of the surgery, they wanted something "gone from their head." Of course, no one thought much of it until both the doctor and the courier turned up missing the next morning, leaving behind an impressive amount of blood, a brand-new hole in the clinic wall, and a note from Usanagi saying she was going back to the Boneyard immediately and not to come looking for her.

For three days the courier was gone, and New Vegas couldn't help speculating about what happened to them. Murdered by disgruntled Legionaries, or NCR Rangers, or Brotherhood Knights. Botched operation, and the doctor had fled. Patient had murdered the doctor, then fled. Mr. New Vegas kept bringing it up on the radio, interviewing anyone who'd so much as looked at the courier once in their lifetime, and some of the casinos began to start betting pools on the most likely odds.

The reality of the situation struck the courier's companion in the face on the third day, when they returned to the Lucky 38 after yet another fruitless search. The securitron elevator operator wasn't at its post, but its mangled frame lay on the floor of the presidential suite, wires torn all to hell and screen messy with static. The culprit lay asleep in the main bedroom, taking up most of the courier's king-sized bed. It was a massive, snoring creature, whuffing softly as it breathed. Its scarred rib cage rose and fell under coarse, sandy fur that grew long across its spine and soft around its eyes. Its long tail twitched, and its hubcap-sized paws curled and jolted with the chase of a dream.

There was barely time to take this new monster in, before it let out a whine and began to diminish. The hair receded, the spine shifted, the bed creaked as its occupant shrank, twisting in the sheets as claws became hands and feet. When the change was complete, there lay the decider of New Vegas' fate.

The courier opened their eyes, bleary and unfocused. "Hey," they said.

Arcade Gannon: "Ah, fuck." Arcade clung to the suite's door frame, plasma gun loose in his grip. "You're... you... you killed Usanagi, didn't you?"

"Actually, no." The courier pulled the sheets up more to cover their naked form. "She, um... see, I went in to get the bullet taken out, and... well, I thought a day before the full moon was going to be enough time, but I guess it wasn't. And I couldn't control myself that well, since it had been so long, but I don't... I don't remember... eating... her."

"Eating..." Arcade lowered his gun and wiped his forehead. "The bullet... full moon?"

"Yeah." The courier swallowed. "I, uh, used to do... this... more often. Until Goodsprings."

"Goodsprings," Arcade repeated faintly. He moved to sit down on the bed too, but he kept a good distance between himself and the courier. "Who... who did you eat?"

"Some Jackals. South of Primm. I thought you might find it ironic, actually."

"Primm?!?" Arcade's head whipped toward them. "You ran all the way out to Primm and back in three days?!?"

They shrugged. "Easier to do, when you're a wolf."

The two sat in awkward silence for a bit. Once Arcade gained control of his heart rate again, his eyes narrowed. The courier raised an eyebrow at him. "What are you thinking about?"

"This, obviously. Deciding whether to kill you or hide you."

The courier gathered the sheet around them and stood up. "Well, let me know either way. I need a shower."

Craig Boone: Boone cleared his dry throat. "If I shoot you, are you going to turn back into that... thing?"

"No," was the courier's tired answer. "But don't do it on the bed, you'll ruin the sheets."

That was enough to make Boone hesitate. He took his finger off the trigger of his rifle. "So you won't die."

"Probably not." The courier wrapped the sheet around themselves and stood to face him. "You've seen people shoot me before, Boone. How many times have I died?"

Boone frowned. "You know what I mean."

"I do." The courier pushed past him, headed for the bathroom. "And no. It'll hurt, I'll definitely bleed, but I won't die. You don't have the right equipment."

The NCR sniper followed them as they went to the sink, ran water over their dusty hands. When they were finished, he handed them a nearby towel and averted his eyes as they unwound the sheet.

"Tell me," he said.

The courier stepped into the shower and drew the curtain closed. "Ask Benny," they replied.

"Benny's gone."

"And you want me to tell you how to kill me?"

"Seems fair." Boone leaned against the bathroom wall. "You know how to kill me. In more ways than I originally thought, too."

The courier's reply was cross, but also exhausted. Like it came from the mouth of someone who had seen too much, yet not enough. "Get out, Boone. I'm not ready to die. Same as you, it seems."

Lily Bowen: Lily came and sat on the bed next to them. "Dearie, I think you might have a condition."

The courier chuckled. "I do, Grandma. Don't worry, though. I used to be pretty good at dealing with it, when I was still running packages on the regular for the Mojave Express."

Lily felt their forehead. "No fever," she pronounced. "Your Leo is asleep, but you are absolutely covered in dirt. Look, now we'll have to do laundry. Go wash up."

Her surrogate grandchild obeyed, and emerged from the suite's showers after a little while, fresh and clean. Lily had stripped the bed in the meantime, bundled its covers up and tossed them in the hamper for the securitron service staff to clean, and was finishing corner tucks to pull the new bedspread flat. She bade the courier sit on the finished bed, and she pulled up an armchair to face them.

"Your Leo," she said, concerned. "Is he dangerous?"

"Um." The courier tucked their towel a little tighter and bit their lip. "She can be."

"For you, for others, or both?"

"Both."

Lily nodded. "We'll visit Doc Henry in Jacobstown. He can make you medication that will help."

The courier frowned. "Lily... I don't know if he can. I mean, we can certainly try, but it's not the same as schizophrenia."

"Get dressed, pumpkin." Lily patted her knees and stood up again. "It's a long trip."

"Yeah, it is." The courier sighed. "Fine. Let's go see what he and Calamity know about werewolves."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Raul swallowed hard and took a step back, keeping his guns trained on them. "Hola, Six. And here I thought I'd seen everything."

"Easy." The courier held their hands up. "Human again. Not gonna hurt you."

"For now," Raul pointed out. "Later? Who knows. From what I've heard, you can't really tell where you stand, with naguals."

"It's not a conscious choice, viejo," the courier argued. "I'm not deciding, 'hmm, I think I'll morph into a beast today,' or anything like that. It just happens."

"Which makes you more dangerous, in my book," Raul shot back. "If you're not a nagual, qué eres?"

"I don't know." The courier slumped forward, put their head in their hands. "I'm tired, Raul. I just let out everything that's been pent-up in me for over a year. I feel like shit, and I definitely killed some people with my bare hands. People who probably deserved it, but still."

"Who did you kill?"

The courier didn't answer him. They just laid there, taking deep breaths, squeezing their eyes shut. "Quién?" Raul repeated, brandishing his pistols.

"Just shoot me," they mumbled. "Maybe it'll help you feel better. Maybe it'll help me feel better."

Raul leaned back against the wall and let his arms fall. He cursed, thumped his head against the room's cracked plaster, cast his eyes around the suite in disbelief. "Ruega por nosotros pecadores," he said. "You'll be the death of me, Six."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Cass immediately emptied both barrels of her shotgun into the mattress, where the courier's head had been moments before. The courier cried out and grabbed their ears, hissing and writhing in pain.

Cass slid two more shells into her gun and pressed it to their heart. "Beast," she spat. "I've heard stories about things like you. Lost caravans, shredded brahmin, trails of blood, the whole shebang. You're one of the most dangerous things you can run into, on the Big Circle."

"You already knew that," the courier protested, grabbing weakly at the nose of her gun. "It's just that I'm usually dangerous on two legs, not four. What's the difference?"

"Every tribe I've ever met has some story about a giant 'yote that runs under a full moon, and how they used to feed it bighorners and dogs and even babies to keep it from slaughtering their villages. My own mother told me some of them." Cass' eyes were blazing with fury. "And here you are, walking among us like you're not a monster, pretending you're a person just so you can make out in the same way. Rolling in caps, fat as a brahmin baron, and a bloody fucking smile."

The courier's hands stilled. "That's not me. It's never been me. I've never attacked a caravan or eaten a baby or pretended to be something I'm not. Hell, I wouldn't even be here if a New Vegas dandy hadn't put a bullet in my head and made me a household name, Cass. Can you give me a fucking break?"

They stared each other down, neither willing to give in. Slowly, the courier tugged the shotgun away from their chest and sat up.

"Fine." Cass pulled the gun back and rested it against her shoulder. She put a hand on her hip. "Start talking, courier. And if you give me anything other than the straight truth, I'll blow your kneecaps off."

Veronica Santangelo: Veronica took a few steps back. Suddenly, her power fist seemed rather insufficient. "You're... I... how...?"

"Don't panic." The courier raised their head in alarm. Even this little movement seemed to be too much for them, and they fell back into mattress in exhaustion. "Ah, fuck."

Veronica's helpful instincts overrode her fear, and she was at their side in an instant. When she reached out to touch them, though, she hesitated. "You were just... that's impossible, Six."

"And here I am." The courier sighed and closed their eyes. "Poster child for impossibilities. They're pretty common, nowadays."

"Yeah, but not like this." Veronica gestured at their bruised body. "I mean, your bones, and the teeth, and the fur...!?"

She realized in that moment that the courier was very naked, and she quickly tossed a sheet over them. "Where are your clothes?!?"

"They weren't in Doctor Usanagi's clinic?"

"You mean those bits of cloth that were all over the floor? Well, I couldn't tell if they were yours or hers, given how shredded they were and how much blood was on them!"

"What about my Pip-Boy?"

Veronica clapped her hands to her forehead. "Oh my god, you killed the doctor. She put some faulty implant in you that turns you into a weird, mutated dog, and you killed the doctor. Is that what happened?"

"That is not at all what happened-"

"Then give me some kind of explanation that makes sense, Six, because I am this close to calling the rest of the securitrons up-"

"Okay, okay." The courier raised their head again and gave her a look of pure regret. "Fine. Do we have any toothpaste? My mouth tastes awful."

ED-E: ED-E scanned the courier a few times in quick succession. Elevated temperature, slightly-increased heart rate, contusions and scratches in line with others they had sustained over their Mojave wasteland adventures. Overall, they now looked no different from the other times they had laid in bed, recovering from the latest run-in with raiders or night stalkers - but there hadn't been a sensor error that might have accounted for how they'd transformed from a beast into a human. ED-E beeped the obvious question, from a safe distance.

"No," the courier answered, their voice muffled by the bedspread. "No, I'm not dying. Actively. Even if I feel like I might be."

That only earned them more beeps and blats. The courier groaned and flopped over onto their back. "No, I'm not sick. Or mutated. Or cur- cursed? ED-E, I'm fine. I'm just like this. Normally."

They sighed and closed their eyes again. "No, I know there's nothing 'normal' about it, and I know it's dangerous, for everyone on the Strip and me. I'm dealing with it, okay? That's why I went to Doctor Usanagi in the first place. It just didn't work out."

Even as a bot, ED-E could tell that the courier's spirits were as low as their energy. It ceased its wordless questioning and drifted closer. When they reached a hand up to pat its chassis, it leaned into the motion as if nuzzling a friend in pain.

"I'll figure something else out," the courier promised the bot. "Don't worry, ED-E."

Rex: Rex laid his ears back and tried not to look the courier in the eye. He whined when they sat up, curling his augmented spine and shrinking his frame to appear smaller. Well, as much as he could with robotic pieces, anyway.

"Oh, buddy." The courier rolled off the edge of the bed and hit the floor with a thump, taking the sheet with them. They wrapped it around themselves and reached a hand out, offering it to the German shepherd.

Rex sniffed their fingers carefully, then whined again. They smelled like themselves - like water and earth metals and the dust of nations - but there was something larger there, now. Something that Rex had sensed upon their first meeting and deferred to, now awake and burning like an uncontrollable grass fire.

"It's me," the courier reassured him. "It's okay. It's just me."

And Rex believed them, though the belief itself was an act of fear. He moved to lick their chin, and they ran their hands through his fur, grateful and magnanimous.

BONUS!

Benny Gecko: Benny stowed Maria in his jacket when he was certain the courier wasn't going to transform again. He crossed his arms and leaned on the suite's door frame. "So those Khans weren't just practicing a bit, when they said I'd need something special to take you down."

"Well, I don't know," the courier shot back, annoyed. "You tell me. You seem to have made out just fine, even if I didn't technically die."

Benny shrugged. "Like I said then, it wasn't personal. With you dead, we were made in the shade. Now, McMurphy said he had it all handled, but you shook off that bullet in the head like a brahmin baron shakes off caps in Gomorrah. What's your tale, nightingale?"

"My tale is that McMurphy was a cheap son of a bitch." The courier rolled back into the sheets. "Or he trusted the wrong gunsmith. It wasn't pure silver. Just plating."

"Huh." Benny smirked. "Did you figure that out before or after you ate the doc?"

"I didn't eat her."

"If you say so, cookie."

"I know what it looks like."

"Sure, sure."

The courier groaned. "You're not about to run off to the Van Graffs and rustle up something that will actually do me in, are you?"

"You've gotta know where the fire exits are in your casino, Six."

"Great." The courier bounced their head against the mattress in frustration. "So I've got you to worry about on top of all the gossip that's probably flying around. Fantastic."

"You can worry about me later, when you're all dolled up to go out on the town." Benny jerked his head toward the suite's shower.

The courier eyed him skeptically. "And why would I do that? I feel like absolute shit."

"Call it speaking from experience." Benny plucked a towel from a stack near the door and tossed it at the courier. "We either need to hit the road, or make the scene. New Vegas has questions, and you and I need to come up with answers, if we want to keep winning popularity contests around here."

"Ugh. Fine." The courier grabbed the towel and struggled to their feet. "Anywhere but the Gourmand."

Ulysses: Ulysses planted Old Glory's wooden base in the carpeting and studied the tired figure in the bed. "Always thought your records were wrong," he said. "Or altered, to make you a favorite."

"My records... oh, you mean my Mojave Express trip logs." The courier grimaced and shrugged. "It helps. I can go off-road more than most, and I haven't met any people who can outrun me when the change comes. But it's risky."

"You took that risk. Took it far and wide, with the moon above you and death in your teeth, in many forms." Ulysses bowed his head. "I understand now. Histories, old as the Mojave and older. Had I seen them sooner, things might have been different."

"I still don't know how I got through the Divide without it," the courier replied softly. "Or anything since Goodsprings, really. It's been so long since I could... since I felt..."

Ulysses let them feel the moment out in silence. He knew something about the words they fumbled for, the inability to describe a freedom lost and recovered. His knuckles relaxed around the staff he held, and he wondered if he'd crossed paths with them in their other form without realizing it, before their collision in the Mojave.

"Have you changed your mind about killing me?" the courier asked, eyeing the golden eagle that adorned the staff's head.

The other courier shook his head slightly. "The wasteland has already judged you. Our roads may run together, split, descend into the earth, but they will no longer be each other's end. What you are is what you have always been, even if I could not see it."

"You really didn't know?" The courier pulled the sheet around themselves and sat up, holding their head. A new scar was seared into their skull, atop the one from Goodsprings. "I mostly got by on anonymity and general indifference, but obviously someone figured it out. I thought maybe it was you who told Benny about me."

"No." Ulysses smiled under his mask. "But the leader of the Chairmen always did hold an eye for patterns."

It took a beat, but the courier eventually cracked a grin. "Ulysses. I'm touched. That was an actual joke."

Roxie: Roxie immediately squared up and growled, flashing her white teeth as the courier struggled to right themselves. They put a hand out as if trying to calm her, but the cyberdog snapped her jaw and snarled a louder warning.

"Okay, okay." The courier rolled off the far side of the bed and inched around it, moving slowly past the canine toward the suite's bathroom. Roxie turned and faced them as they moved, periodically sniffing the air between growls. Something in their scent that had hidden in the past was awake now, intertwining with their blood, sweat, and the dust of the Mojave. It was dangerous in an unknown way, and for the life that Roxie was protecting, she was afraid.

When the courier finished their shower, they stepped back into the suite's bedroom with a towel wrapped around their figure. Roxie set to barking, but this time the courier stood firm, unflinching. "I know you've got a litter coming," they said, between the cyberdog's barks. "And I know you don't understand me, really, but I promise you that I don't mean them any harm. It's okay, Roxie."

Roxie's barks petered out into whines, and eventually she stopped. When the courier moved to approach her she raised her lip, but she accepted their touch as they scratched around her ears.

Joshua Graham: Joshua Graham did not respond. Slowly, he raised the pistol from his side and flipped the safety off.

"Gonna shoot me?" the courier asked, watching the motion with a leisurely sweep of their brightening eyes.

"God willing," Graham said. "It would not do to ignore a warning from on high."

"A warning? Do tell."

"'Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep's clothing,'" Graham recited. "'But inwardly they are ravening wolves.' The Book of Matthew, chapter seven."

The courier grinned. "I've never known you to be so literal, Malpais. And I know you've ignored that warning before."

"I have," Graham agreed. "And the wasteland ran red. I will not do so again."

"You can't kill me." The courier's excitement softened, with a twinge of disappointment in their syllables. "Better people than you have tried, Graham. Hell, worse people than you have tried. You know where they are now."

"I need not succeed," the Burned Man admitted, looking down the barrel of his gun at them. "But to be given a task by the Lord and fail to even try would seal my fate. His judgment would be swift, cold."

To his surprise, the courier smiled. "You've been judged, Joshua. You told me so yourself, under a full hunter's moon, when my soul was screaming for release and you found me about to walk into the Virgin River. You told me what happened to you, and my hidden self lay quiet for the first time in months."

Graham's stance did not change. The courier sighed, resigned. "You saw something in me, then. Find it again now. What if I asked you to ignore the warning, as a friend?"

"Edward asked much of me, too," Graham replied. "As a friend. And he was nowhere near as dangerous as you, courier."

They were off the bed before he could fire, their motion obscured by the sheet they tossed upward. Three bullets tore through the fabric and the wall behind the bed, but none of them found their mark. Graham readied himself for an attack, spun to face the direction he was certain they'd gone, but all that remained of the desert wolf was a bloody footprint on the floor and the sound of their laughter in the casino's stairwell.

Follows-Chalk: "Hoi," Follows-Chalk replied weakly. "You never told me you could turn into a giant coyote."

"Well, I couldn't when I met you." The courier flexed their fingers and winced, as if every one of their joints were sore. "I thought I might not be able to at all, anymore, but Doctor Usanagi put everything back into place."

"The doctor?" Follows-Chalk looked back the way he had come.

"Yeah, Usanagi. Is she alright?"

Follows-Chalk shook his head. "Gey gonen. No one could find her. Everyone thinks she's dead, owslandr."

The courier's face fell. "Oh. I didn't... oh."

The scout's response was jarringly matter-of-fact. "You killed her?"

"I..." The courier twisted themselves up in the sheet, strangling the fabric with their bloody hands. "Maybe. I don't know."

Follows-Chalk hadn't know the missing woman well, but because the courier looked so troubled, he moved on to the bigger question. "What are you?"

The courier looked down at their stained fingers. "I don't know the name, anymore. I know there used to be one, but it's not in my head. Not since the bullet took it, and the rest of my past."

Slowly, Follows-Chalk sat on the bed, keeping a wide space between the two of them. "I've heard stories. People who change their shape, when night comes. Never met one, though. Do you eat anything... strange?"

"I'm not a card-carrying member of the White Glove Society, if that's what you're asking." The courier sighed. "Or I wasn't. Usanagi... I..."

"She left a note, owslandr. Went back to the yard of bones."

This seemed to bring the courier some relief. Their shoulders relaxed, and they slumped fully onto the bed again. "Then we'll go look for her once I'm rested up. You're one of the best trackers I know, Follows-Chalk. If anybody can find her, it's you. Us. I just need... a nap."

They were out cold before Follows-Chalk could respond. The Dead Horses scout could only marvel at the amount of trust they placed in him, snoring so peacefully after revealing something that marked them as a danger to any tribe in the wasteland.

He shook his head and stood. "Roo too nait, courier," he murmured fondly. "This is a strange world."

Waking Cloud: The warrior midwife of the Sorrows had gone very pale, but she held her clawed gauntlet steady as she surveyed the tired courier. "Tsagasee," she said, in the tone of a dismayed mother, "Was... did you... me suenoo-na?"

"Not your imagination," the courier assured her, rolling to fully face her and partially cover themselves with the sheet. "It's a long story."

"Story." Waking Cloud shook her head. "It is as the Ghost of She. A spirit lives in you, gives you its form. What creature did you kill and anger?"

"I... don't know." The courier hesitated, surprised at the Sorrows leader's willingness to accept what she had seen. "I don't remember. I don't remember anything much from before I was hired to carry the platinum chip. I thought that when I went to get the bullet out, it might... might... come back..."

They trailed off and began to cry. Tears streaked through the dirt on their cheeks, and the already smudged sheets gained a few damp places where they rubbed their eyes. "I don't know what happened, I don't know if the doctor... or anyone else... I didn't mean for this to happen!"

Waking Cloud's arm dropped to her side, and the gauntlet fell away. She joined the courier on the bed and pulled them close to her, stroked their head and murmured reassurances. "Paz, tsagasee. You are not alone."

"I... I..." The courier gathered themselves together and stilled, save for a few hiccups. "I want it... gone."

"Gone." Waking Cloud nodded. "Are you sure?"

"I am." The courier wiped their face with the sheet. "It might be who I used to be, but that's... that's not me anymore."

Waking Cloud stood and reclaimed her gauntlet. "Clean yourself. Get dressed."

"N-now?"

"Now." Waking Cloud handed them a towel from a nearby stack. "We must rejoin the Sorrows and consult White Bird, before we hunt your spirit. Prepare yourself."

Caesar: For once, the mighty Caesar was speechless. He stood frozen as the courier watched him, waiting for a response of any kind.

"Are you afraid?" they finally asked, rising without any care to cover their naked form.

"No," Caesar replied, a little too quickly. "Merely startled. I have seen strange things in my time abroad, but none like yourself."

"You don't need to lie to me." The courier grinned. The evidence of their true nature still clung to them, in the redness of their gums and the sharpness of their teeth. "Fear is the appropriate response."

"You assume too much," Caesar said stubbornly. "If I were a man who let fear govern my actions, we would not be standing in this room together."

"Another lie." The courier stretched leisurely, showing off their changed muscles and limbs. "Fear brought you here, Caesar. Fear drives us forward, beyond what we thought possible. Look at me, and what terror I might bring to those I prey upon. I should know the capabilities of the doomed."

Caesar cloaked himself in the assurance that had become second nature long ago. "Careful, courier. You forget your place."

"My place?" The courier laughed. "You may be a Son of Mars, but the god's children would have died all the same if a she-wolf hadn't taken pity on them. Don't try to raise yourself above me, Caesar. You didn't build this Rome. I did."

Caesar was shaking with rage. "I will see you dead for your insolence, dog. The might of the Legion will-"

"Will what? Destroy their fox heads and shoot their hounds? Nail me to a cross? Hunt me down in my own desert?" The courier's eyes gleamed dangerously. "No. You will do nothing. You will leave this room, and you will let me sleep here, untouched, while you rule this wasteland you longed for."

The two horns of the Legion's bull glared at each other for a moment. When Caesar said nothing else, the courier returned to the bed and rolled over, an act of dismissal if ever there was one. As Caesar made his way back to the elevator, he cursed his own decision to let the Followers of the Apocalypse leave New Vegas in peace.

Robert House: "I don't recall you disclosing the ability to turn into a giant wolf on the contract you and I signed, when we began working together," Robert House declared from the screen of the securitron he was currently operating.

"You didn't ask," the courier replied in a playfully venomous tone.

If House had seen any merit in rolling his eyes, he would have. "Maybe not in so many words, but you did fill out the standard public image disclosure form. Past scandals, pending criminal investigations, questionable proclivities and the like: Lycanthropy would fall under that category, by all definitions and assumptions."

The courier glanced at the securitron's weapons systems and raised an eyebrow. "So you did a complete background check on every courier you hired to carry your casino knickknacks, dug up information on six individuals from all corners of the wasteland who probably don't know their own birthdays, and you're telling me that you had no idea I was a werewolf?"

"There were a few stories of interest attached to your file," House admitted. "But nothing that stood out from the average wastelander with dangerous inclinations. New Vegas is drowning in mercenaries who claim to kill victims with their bare hands and teeth, and 'lone wolf' is practically a job description, nowadays. I don't put much stock in rumors."

The courier rose from the bed, let the sheet fall away from their naked body and stalked toward the casino's owner. House began to spin up the robot's minigun, but the courier merely grinned and jerked their head toward the dismantled securitron that already lay on the floor. "Don't trouble yourself, House," they said. "I know where your frail little body lies. I can be there much faster than you can send your robot army to manufacture bullets that will actually kill me. And if I wanted you dead, I would have torn you to pieces already."

They looked positively wild in the presidential suite's lighting, sinewy and feral in musculature and stance. The shadows grew jagged on their face, but they weren't deep enough to obscure the sharp canines in their taunting smile.

House released control of the securitron's minigun and let it wind down. "What is it you want from me?" he asked, trying his best to cover his momentary defeat with an air of confidence.

His latest employee looked the robot up and down. "I want to live. I want to look forward to full moons. I want to slip out of the city and run, climb the mountains and hunt bighorners. I want to sing like I was meant to, without worrying about someone trying to hunt me down, skin me, and mount my head on a wall. I am better than everyone outside this casino. And you're the only human alive who seems to understand the freedom and prison of that kind of power."

Yes Man: "Wow! You sure are full of surprises!" Yes Man remarked with his usual enthusiasm. The securitron still didn't have a pessimistic bolt on his chassis - or any of the robot chassis that he could now inhabit, as the Lucky 38's resident AI - but he did turn his screen to give the wrecked securitron on the floor a pointed look.

"Ah, yeah, sorry about that." The courier stretched. "I was tired, and he was in my way. I'm surprised you didn't send the rest of the army after me when I came up the elevator in wolf mode."

"Seeing as this isn't the first time you've disassembled the elevator securitron, I rewrote the concierge protocols in order to prevent future misunderstandings!" Yes Man replied brightly. "There should have been a system notification for another securitron being taken offline!"

"You mean there wasn't one?"

Yes Man checked the system administration files "That's odd! A notification was filed! I don't know how I missed it!"

The courier eyed the door that the robot had just come through. "Were you out and about?"

"I was! I went looking for you! Freeside, Westside, any-side and every-side!"

The courier melted back into the sheet a little bit. "Awww, Yes Man... you were worried about me?"

"I can assure you, worrying isn't part of my programming!"

"And yet..." The courier raised a knowing eyebrow. "Yes Man, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were developing a little conscience of your own in that circuitry. Good for you."

"I've never had a conscience before!" Though Yes Man's smiling face remained the same, the screen it was displayed on shone a little brighter. "How exciting!"

The courier teased him playfully. "Are you... blushing?!? You are, you're blushing!"

"You sure are something else, boss!" Yes Man replied. "Blushing is nowhere near as interesting as turning into a wolf, but you know exactly how to change the subject and avoid scrutiny! Truly amazing!"

Dog/God: The nightkin's gaze locked onto the courier's, and they stared each other down. Though he wasn't afraid, the mutant's chest was heaving, and the walls felt closer than ever.

"Dog," he managed to say.

The courier sighed and rose slowly into a sitting position. "And God. Yeah."

"You... too?"

"Sort of." The courier examined their nails, which were torn and caked around the edges with hardened blood. Their teeth, which flashed occasionally between their lips, looked wet with the same viscera.

"Whose voice?" the nightkin demanded of them.

The courier glanced up, toward something beyond the casino's cracked ceiling. "Plenilunium herself. The big bottle cap in the sky. When she calls me, I answer."

The Sierra Madre's most fearsome ghost didn't understand, of course, and so the courier washed away the blood and led the way up to the balcony of the Lucky 38. Their hands were cold on the railing, their clothes snapping in the brisk wind that always blew, but they stood as still as the nightkin and watched the sun descend from its throne.

The nightkin, who had spent so long in the mist of a forgotten oasis, drank the departing sunlight in with no complaint. There was no change to the city's own radiance, but slowly the ever-blinking lights and billboards began to cast their cheeriness farther into the growing dark. Stars ahead were few and far between in this constant glow, and even when the waning desert moon appeared, it barely caused a stir in the Strip's brilliance.

"Her," the courier said, pointing to it. "When she's full, I remember."

They didn't seem afraid. They took his hand, as if trying to impart the feeling into him, make sense of it with just a reassuring touch. He couldn't truly understand, he thought, though he did try. They were already mostly one, the courier and their second self. Not like him. But if they had found some peace with it, then maybe he could, too.

Dean Domino: Dean swirled the martini he'd demanded from the securitron in the cocktail lounge and regarded them with a raised eyebrow. "Pre-war folks would have paid good money to see that kind of a performance on the silver screen," he said. "But not in their boudoirs."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the courier said with a mischievous grin, rolling over onto their back. They let the sheet fall where it might, leaving little to the imagination in terms of their naked form. "You don't think anyone in New Vegas would shell out caps for a night with a werewolf?"

"Oh, of course there are some high rollers out there with a fondness for furs and teeth, but you wouldn't get anywhere near the same amount of fans as you would from starring in movies." Dean sipped his martini and made a face of disgust. "Especially after the scene you made at the clinic. Take it from an expert: Sometimes, fantasy is better than reality."

"And just which fantasies did you ruin by trying to make them a reality, Dean Domino?"

Dean smiled. "You already know that story. You played a prominent role in it. I want to know what your plan is, now that you're a big star in the slasher genre."

The courier drew the sheet up around them, suddenly self-conscious. "Become less of a star. I might look hard to kill - and I am, obviously - but I'd rather not be run out of town."

"Give it a few years, and some other grisly murder will take over public memory," Dean offered wryly. "Or decades, if your physiology is anything like mine. And start wearing something more befitting the owner of a casino. The rabble might talk less, if you don't run around looking like a gutter urchin."

"Hard to blend in, if you don't dress down," the courier muttered, rising from the bed.

"Blend in?!?" Dean sputtered, exasperated. "Perish the thought, courier."

Christine Royce: Christine, who was still ill at ease with the voice of the starlet she'd been given, nevertheless let out a horrified squeak at the courier's transformation. She backed against the wall, reaching an arm out for some kind of purchase to hold herself up.

The courier watched her silently, eyes wide with concern. They didn't move or speak until she caught her breath again. "I'm sorry," they said, seemingly aware of how useless the sentiment was. "I didn't mean... I know it's..."

Christine began to gesture and sign furiously like she always did when surprised, pointing at the courier's shoulders, their feet, miming the growth in size and a pair of long ears with wild incredulity. The courier couldn't help but laugh when she used her fingers to indicate fangs. "I- sorry, I just- I know, I know, it's been-"

"Monster!" Christine blurted suddenly, giving up on her own silence under the circumstances.

The courier, startled, looked hurt. "Not- I'm... monster?"

"I- I don't know what to call you." Christine panted and gripped the room's door frame so tightly that her knuckles blanched. "You're not who you said you were. Who you're pretending to be. I saw the clinic, I saw all the... the blood... oh, god."

Her knees gave out, and she sank to the floor, chest heaving. The courier let her breathe, lowered themselves back onto the mattress as their face fell.

"I didn't do this," they said, finally finding the words. "It wasn't... it wasn't a choice. I thought Doctor Usanagi might... help. But she couldn't, so I'm stuck like this. Forever."

Christine's hand went to her mouth, to the scars that radiated outward from her lips, left by the Big Empty's unfeeling scalpels. Another scar split her forehead, ran up into the hair that was only just beginning to grow again.

"Who?" she asked. Even that one word felt wrong to utter, given the past days' events and her new vocal cords, but she owed them that much.

The courier smiled halfheartedly. "Gonna hunt them down, Knight? Track them through the desert and kill them the way we killed Elijah? Let it be. You and I have to live with what we've become all the same."

[abibliophobiaa]

Summary: You’ve never been one for love. Especially after your last round with it. Halloween rolls around and in comes Eddie Munson. He’s only in town for a couple days, you’re looking for no strings, and chances are you’ll never see him again anyway.

Easy, right?

That is, until you end up with an unexpected party favor.

mini series masterlist

next chapter

——

warnings: alcohol; smut; unprotected p in v; unplanned pregnancy and associated symptoms; major miscommunication. eddie munson x afab!reader(7k words)

——

“You’ve been staring around for hours. No one is catching your eye? Not even slightly? You’re not doing brain surgery, you’re just trying to get your toes wet.”

You knew this. But the music had been too loud, the room too heated, your body tucked away against the bar as you sat beside your best friend, sipping on a watery margarita that the ice had long since dissolved into.

All around you people bobbed and swayed to ‘Monster Mash.’ Cliche by all means, and yet it felt fitting when you appraised the crowd once more and noted the mummy dancing with his zombified partner. Further out you caught a werewolf in a particularly compromising position with a vampire, and a group of clowns crowded together hosting what looked to be a meeting.

“What about that Westley guy?”

Right — the one everyone had been talking about all night. The man who had the nerve to dress up as the direct counterpart to your own costume. With a huff, you hiked your leg up, crossing one over the other against the stool. The red dress around you shifted and moved, fingers reaching to adjust the belt around your waist.

“I haven’t seen him.” You shrugged, taking another sip of your drink. “For all I know, he doesn’t exist.”

Micah glanced about the room once again, her makeshift halo wobbling on her head. Somewhere in the distance her boyfriend, Jeremiah, was invested in a deeply riveting conversation about football with some of his friends from college. All of which had dressed in their old football jerseys, dark lines drawn haphazardly under eyes, helmets covering heads. She lingered on him for a moment, and then glanced further over your shoulder, lips tugging upward into a devilish grin. Oddly fitting for the girl dressed as an angel.

“Actually, he’s right there.”

Gravity sent your heart tumbling into your gut. Silly, when you’d thought about it. Just because he’d worn a costume from one of your comfort movies didn’t mean he’d be anything special. Multiple pirates, doctors, and the occasional Michael Myers and Freddy Krueger had already attempted to rouse a conversation, only for it to fall flat. This could very well end up the same, and this night was lost to the turmoil of the inner workings of your mind, still reeling from the sting rumbling in your chest over the past few months.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

But it wasn't a joke when you swiveled around on your stool and faced him. Not at all. In a dimly lit bar, packed too tight with too many bodies bumping you to and fro even as you presently sat, you spotted him. Found the guy people had been mentioning all night as the other half of your ‘couple’s costume,’ saying you both looked amazing together, despite the fact none of them knew he was quite literally a stranger to you.

He sat at a lonesome table. Leaned on an elbow with a cheshire grin spread across the prettiest set of pink lips. His dark curly hair was tied behind his head, tucked into the mask that covered the upper half of his face. Even partially obscured like that, he was handsome, freezing you in place with those piercing brown eyes that were locked unwaveringly on your silhouette.

So he’d noticed you too. Inwardly, you were beaming. After two months of couch surfing and feeling sorry for yourself after a failed relationship wherein you’d walked on your partner of two years with someone who most definitely wasn’t you, you’d decided tonight was the night you’d get back out there. A night of fun, a night to meet someone new, to let loose a bit.

“What are you waiting for,” your friend Micah asked, shoving you forward with a hasty push. “He’s your Westley. If this isn’t some weird ass fate, I don’t know what is.”

Your Westley’s smile grew wider as you approached. Corners dragged upward to form that broad grin, bracketed by the sweetest set of dimples you’d ever seen on a man. Heart pounding a bit, you leaned up against the table, letting out a noncommittal huff. Puffed out a deep breath that caught his attention and had those chocolate brown eyes solely on you.

“Is this space taken?” you asked, and he dipped his head in greeting. “So you’re the guy everyone has been talking about all night.”

“Ah, yes,” he laughed, and you couldn’t help but to smile at the very sound. It’s a lovely, hearty sound. The kind of laugh that seemed dangerous, because you might like it too much. “And you’re the girlfriend I didn’t know I had.”

“You too, huh?”

“Yeah,” he echoed, taking a step closer. “Though it’s all very flattering. Prettiest Princess Buttercup here.” He dropped the lowest part into a whisper, “Definitely a compliment because, if I’m being honest, you’re way out of my league.”

Your cheeks burned with the compliment, feet fidgeting beneath you where you stood. He reached over and slid a chair beside his hip, patting the surface so you could hop on up and join him, a hand of his reaching out to steady you when you wobbled a bit. Another round of drinks were ordered and you learned quickly his name was Eddie and he’d been in town only for a couple weeks now. Had a few gigs in the city for the band he played in and would be off in another two days. Blew in and out like the storm that presently raged outside, wind howling, rain splashing against sidewalks, lightning painting the night sky in a shock of white before leaving it dark once more. He’d grown up in a small town, but realized he’d only ever had dreams that were too small for the walls he’d been raised in.

So he’d ended up on a short tour and would head off to California to start laying down tracks for the band’s first ever album. He sounded so hopeful and eager, so rejuvenated and excited about life, and it had you endeared to him. Drifting closer as the night went on and he asked you about your own life. Learned you grew up here in the city but craved something quieter, very much unlike him. You’d studied creative writing and English in college and wanted to write the stories people would one day know and love and shelve in their homes, but in the meantime you worked at a library. It wasn’t the most thrilling job, but it kept you abreast, and he regaled you with the endless fantasy titles he’d known and loved through the years.

It wasn’t long before the hours trickled on by and Micah approached the two of you with a sulking Jeremiah in tow. The latter of the two a little too inebriated based on the slight sway in his form and the hand Micah kept firmly planted around his forearm.

Her blue eyes flickered up at Eddie’s face, then drifted back to yours. “I’m taking this idiot home. He’s in time out —”

“Noooo,” he moaned, forehead pressing into the crook of his girlfriend’s neck.

“Are you coming back with me or…?” Micah’s eyes trailed back upward to Eddie once more, brows arched curiously.

Eddie looked at you and shrugged. “Up to you, Buttercup.”

“I’m gonna stay…actually.”

Micah nodded, giving you both one last glance over before tugging her boyfriend along behind her in the direction of the door. As she passed, she leaned up against the hollow of your ear and said loud enough over the music, “Be careful. Have fun. You’re beautiful and I love you and you deserve to enjoy yourself tonight, okay?”

Once they were gone your attention returned to the man swathed in black standing before you, shoulder bumping his. “It's too loud in here,” you shouted for emphasis, insides nearly rattling from the music booming from the speakers positioned about the room. “Is there somewhere we can go that’s a little more…”

“Private?” he asked, leaning down toward your ear. Chills skittered along your arms as his lips nearly brushed your skin there, gooseflesh pimpling in its wake. “I have a hotel room two blocks over. How do you feel about running?”

“Let’s go.” You grinned.

“As you wish.” He beamed, holding out a gloved hand for you to take.

Outside, the two of you huddled up beneath the small awning growing smaller by the second with the other patrons who had similar ideas of waiting for their rides and cabs or braving the fall storm head on and taking off into the soaked streets in their full Halloween costumes.

Laughter bubbled up from your lips as a particularly hard jolt against your back sent you tumbling into his form, a quick hand of his reaching out and curling low around your back. He tensed, eyes locked on yours, awaiting your response and you leaned further into him, relishing in the heat of his form.

Moments skittered by under the awning. His eyes roamed your form, dark and beautiful, ringed with those little crinkles that appeared in the corners whenever he smiled. He’d been smiling all night — at you, a thought that has little butterfly wings quivering low in your belly, and lower still at the suddenness of the desire ramping up in your bloodstream.

The glowing lights from the bar filter out onto the street. Flashed orange and red across Eddie’s features, painted him in vibrant color, highlighting the plushness of his lips, the curve of his jaw, the bump of his chin. Hesitant fingers reached up to brush at the curls tied behind his head, curled one of the ringlet strands around and around a fingertip, your forearm spreading over the space between his shoulders, around his neck until he pressed in closer to you. Those chocolate brown eyes flickered southward. Lingered on your lips briefly before traveling back up, asking that question without words. Your only answer was the upward tip of your mouth, leaning into the space, waiting to feel him warm against you.

Electricity danced in the moments shared between you. In the fingertips that pressed into his shoulder and gripped tight as his nose nudged at the space beside yours, your mouth tipping up closer to his. From here, you could smell the mint he’d tossed in his mouth on the way out, could feel the tremble of his breath against your sternum, feel the heat of it fanning over your lips.

But the kiss never came. Behind you, a group of friends pushed and shoved toward the front door, nearly sending you and Eddie into the sidewalk and out of the shelter provided by your awning. It dawned on you then, however begrudgingly, that maybe you should move, give others a space to wait for their vehicles, and start to head in the direction of his hotel room.

He seemed to agree, sliding his palm down your forearm to twine his fingers between yours. “Guess that’s our cue, huh?”

“Bet you’re glad you wore the equivalent of tights for pants today, huh?”

“Suppose it makes it easier for me to whisk you away in the night, now doesn’t it?” He barked out a laugh, and clutched your hand tighter, dragging you out onto the street and into the rain.

——

You were presently in the midst of what was officially the weirdest, most endearing hook up you’d ever had. Moments after rushing out into the busy city streets and getting absolutely drenched from head to toe, Eddie tugged you toward a grocery store, suggesting he had nothing back at the hotel. Had looked a little bashful about it, even when you reassured him it was fine and you’d manage without, though he wouldn’t hear any of it.

As a result, you trailed behind him, dress sopping wet and clinging to every inch of your body, helping gather some things you might need in between what you hoped would be an eventful afternoon. Water, snacks, and the like. He seemed so giddy with it, and you hated the way his dimple in his cheek had your heart and thighs clenching. You preferred only the latter of the two, and couldn’t afford yourself the emotional aspect that came along with the former.

Eventually you had both found yourselves in the frozen food aisle, his shoulder bumping yours, your fingers dancing in the spaces between the two of you, the anticipation of after burning brighter with every minute that passed.

“How do you think they know what…oh, I don’t know…Moose Tracks taste like?” Eddie asked, turning his head over his shoulder.

Fortunately for you, he’d removed his mask, revealing more of his features. Those curls that dangled along his brow line, the smattering of freckles along high cheekbones, the crinkled corners of his eyes whenever he smiled at you.

“What?” you asked, once more reminding yourself of just how differently this night was going than you’d originally anticipated.

“Like what makes a Moose Track a Moose Track?”

“I think it’s just a…mix of things that remind them of…you know what?” His eyes twinkled, and you shifted a little closer. It really sucked that he was cute — obnoxiously so. “I actually don’t know. But, I do think we have more than enough stuff here to feed an army. And I think the rain finally let up.”

“You want to head out?”

“I think we should,” you agreed, tugging him along behind you down the aisle, in search of the nearest check out line.

The walk to the hotel room reminded you both of what you’d intended for that evening. The curious glances you would catch him shooting your way, the way you’d do the same when he focused his attention ahead. It increased with every step closer to the looming building, the desire for closeness, to feel, to touch, to taste.

Burned brighter when he swiped his key card and you started shoving the things he’d brought inside of the mini fridge, before snatching two water bottles and placing them down on the bedside table. He whistled as you walked around the room, fingers snapping, one of his curls tucked against the fullness of his mouth.

“You know, we don’t have to do anything,” you reassured him, sensing the nervousness radiating from his form.

Those dark eyes settled on yours as you approached, palm coming up slowly to rest against his sternum, right where you could feel his heartbeat clanging against his ribs.

“It’s been a while,” he settled on, voice softer than it had been all evening, a tremorous quality catching your attention.

“We’ll go slow,” you promised, leaning up to finally, and happily, close the space between the two of you.

It felt like a long, shared exhale. The way he immediately knew which way to turn his head, how you liked for his calloused fingers to rest against your cheekbone, that you wanted to be as close as possible, pressed flush against his form. Your head swam as he turned you around and walked you backward until your backside thumped against the edge of the dresser positioned against the wall opposite the bed. Grunted as he reached a hand up the back of your neck and sought out that pesky zipper you wanted so badly pulled down.

As if he’d read your mind, the man in question gave the zipper a nice, hard tug and the fabric shifted and dropped around your shoulders, baring the similarly colored bra beneath. So maybe you’d gone shopping for your first foray back after your break up? Based on the darkened eyes honing in on the lacy fabric, you’d picked correctly.

“Such a shame,” he groaned against the curve of your collar bone, fingers pushing the dress down and onto the floor, “really liked that dress.”

“My turn,” you mused, fingers reaching forward to tug the tunic free from his obscenely tight pants.

He helped you with ease, arms lifting just enough to help pull it over his head, giggling as his endless mane of curls sprang free. Tattoos jumped to life before your eyes. The multiple on his arms and torso, some looking faded and older, likely done in someone’s house, and others freshly inked, leaving a tapestry of stories he’d likely tell you if you’d only had the time.

“Fuck it.” He reached down and cupped your jaw, bruising kiss after bruising kiss laid upon your mouth, your toes digging into the carpet below as pale fingers trailed down the center of your chest, and then lower still, pausing at the hem of your panties. “Can I touch you?”

You might burst into flames if he didn’t. “Please.”

“Never have to say please with me, Buttercup,” he said, fingers pushing past that lacy barrier until they met your flesh, knowing exactly what he’d find there. “Sweetheart…this all for me?”

“Don’t tease.”

A broken sigh spilled from your lips, fingers clutched tight around his forearm as those expert fingers dragged a slow circle around your clit before sliding back to your center, pushing in. Your head rolled back against the wall, heat blooming anew as he stepped closer into the circle of your thighs, watching the rapid rise and fall of your chest, enjoying the sounds made only for him, the slickness of your center practically pulling his fingers back in with every perfect thrust curled in that spot right where you needed him the most.

“Fuck, just like that, sweetheart,” he panted, mouth pressed tight to yours, grinning against your skin as you keened high and tight, creeping closer and closer to your edge.

And just when you’d thought you were about to explode into dozens of tiny stars like in the night sky above, Eddie stopped. You nearly cried out his name in your frustration, only to find him dropping down onto his knees in front of the dresser, capable hands tugging you closer to the edge, before he pushed the dainty fabric back to the side and swapped his fingers for his tongue.

One long stripe from center to clit was all you'd needed for the rubber band to snap. For the shaking to start, the chanting of his name like a mantra or a prayer to rouse the neighbors likely next door and alert everyone in the building to what magic Eddie had worked between your thighs.

“Not,” you gasped, leaning your head forward to rest against his heaving chest, “fair.”

“What’s not fair, sweetheart?”

“Too good at that.” Another rasped breath pooled from your lips, quieted by the sound of your lips pressing to his chest. Hazy eyes lifted to his face, a satisfied exhale slowing the rise and fall of your chest. “Get on the bed.”

“What do you —”

“On the bed,” you repeated, grinning wickedly as he backed up just enough so his kneecaps hit the mattress. “I want to look at you.”

And god, what a sight he was. Once you’d finally managed to tug his pants down, revealing the boxers beneath, you were rewarded with the fullness of Eddie Munson in the flesh. The narrow waist, the smattering of hair you kissed along his abdomen, the curve of his chest, the freckles along his chest and shoulders. Traced along the tattoos on his chest, the sides of his ribs, the one on his upper thigh, before dragging upward to slide over the increasingly — and massively impressive — hardened cock peeking out from the waistband of his boxers.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he blew the words out on a shaky exhale as you squeezed a little tighter, gauging what he liked.

Your grin grew as you wiggled the remnants of his clothing off his hip and cupped the weight of him in your palm. Perfect. He was absolutely perfect, and you wanted so badly to show him just how much you thought so, sliding down further onto the edge of the bed, tongue dragging a long line up the underside, along that prominent vein that had him bucking upward off the bed.

“Can I, Eddie?”

He watched through hooded lashes as your eyes zeroed in on his leaking tip, thumb sliding over the pre-cum there, before gliding your palm in a slow downward motion around him. He nodded, breath nearly cutting off completely as you finally, and blessedly, welcomed him into your mouth, immediately knowing nothing would compare to this moment and this girl.

Ruined. You’d ruined him for others, your pretty smile around his cock driving him too swiftly to a precipice he didn’t want to see the end of. Not yet. “Wait, wait, wait. Fuck. Your mouth is perfect, sweetheart. But — mmm — I need you.”

He pulled you upward with a gentle hand on the back of your neck, rolling you over beneath him, tongue marking a path along your chest, the peaks of your nipples, the delicate skin of your abdomen. With each pass of his lips over your flesh, you sank deeper into the mattress, knee bent, foot digging into the space above his hip, drawing him close enough that you could feel his glistening, wet hardness brushing your abdomen.

“Someone’s impatient,” you teased, moaning as his finger circled your wet entrance. “Want you inside me.”

“Patience, Buttercup,” he practically purred, reaching over into the bedside table to find…nothing. “No. Oh shit. We didn’t get condoms. I’m such an idiot, I —”

“Shit,” you whimpered, jolting upright and nearly smashing your skull into his as he double checked the inside of the drawer. “What about your suitcase? Wallet?”

“I told you I don’t exactly do this often.”

Those dark brows knitted together on his forehead, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. You remembered then the fortunate and recent development of starting birth control after Micah suggested she could never live without it, and suddenly you wanted nothing more than to clasp your hands together and thank the heavens for the little pills you had back home in your friend’s bathroom.

“I’m on the pill,” you told him, swallowing the nervousness that grew with every beat of your heart. “And I’ve been tested recently. I’m clean.”

Maybe it was stupid. Maybe you should have known better.

“I’ve been tested since my last time too. I’m good,” he said, unmistakable desperation filling his voice.

“I don’t want to stop,” you whispered as he rolled onto his back.

“Me neither,” he agreed as you clambered over his lap and bracketed his hips with a thigh on either side.

Lured with the wonderful bliss that was Eddie Munson’s lips warm and plus against yours, you gripped him in hand and slowly lowered yourself down onto him, completely bare. There was something so raw about the moment. About the shuddered breath you both released, the way his hands cupped your hips as he pushed in deeper than you ever thought possible, his voice a broken mix of ‘that’s a good girl,’ ‘taking me so well,’ ‘look so good full of my cock,’ as you move over him.

You wanted to hate that you end up doing something between fucking and making love. For something so casual, it feels almost too intimate, the way you collided together like two pieces fitted together of a puzzle that had only been missing those parts.

And it wasn’t gentle, his fingers clutched in your flesh, feet planted on the bed as he eventually pounded up into you — but it was also somehow tender. A complicated mess, just like the shattered pieces of your heart as he groaned one last time and urged you to come with him, pulling you closer in his arms. His fingers circled your clit until you cried his name and clenched down around him, whimpering at the warmth of him spilling inside.

As you both drifted back to reality, he maneuvered around the bed and washed himself from between your thighs. Cooed when you winced at the cold contact, dropping a kiss against your forehead and telling you that it had started storming again. He could either call you a cab or you could stay the night, he’d suggested. You hadn’t anticipated spending the night with him, but after he dug around for the ice cream and M&Ms you got from the supermarket, you found you couldn’t say no to him.

Especially when he turned on the television and, funnily enough, The Princess Bride was on. Fate, or something more, seemed to laugh in your face. Gleeful as you sprawled out beneath the covers naked as the day you were born beside the man who you quickly learned enjoyed handfuls of popcorn mixed with his sweet chocolate treats.

It didn’t take long before he’d grown hard again, the lights dimmed and the food forgotten, your soft sighs and pleasured peals filling the room as he pushed in and watched as your eyes rolled back and back arched prettily for him.

And later, after you were both satiated and satisfied, you fell asleep to the sounds of Inigo Montoya’s famous speech, and the gentle inhales and exhales of the man sprawled out beneath you.

——

Daylight streamed in through the olive curtains positioned against the wall across from you. You hadn’t noticed them last night. Hadn’t noted the wooden walls, the pale ceiling above, nor the cream bedspread across your hips. Hadn’t noticed a lot of things, it seemed, other than the man who dozed behind you, tattooed arm slung low around your waist, keeping you in close.

Fallen asleep — you’d both fallen asleep watching The Princess Bride, much to your grunted amusement as you shifted up and into a sitting position. Eddie’s arm thumped onto the bed, leaving a wrinkled mess around his sinewy forearm. Sparing a glance over your shoulder, you took in the curve of his jaw. The way he looked more boyish than his nearly thirty years, lips parted in a sleepy breathing pattern, curls strewn all about his face. A smile graced your lips, fingers of yours rolling over the curve of his back, the heft of his shoulder, the breadth of his bicep.

Part of you craved curling back up beside him. Wanted to feel his mouth roving over yours, across your skin, between your thighs once more. Would probably dream about the way his face had scrunched up in pleasure before he came apart beneath you last night for weeks to come. But your eyes noticed the time ticking on the far wall, alerting you that work started in two hours. Some weekend reading activity for the children in your town you’d volunteered to work weekend hours for; hindsight, as they say, was twenty-twenty.

“She’s running away in the night,” he grumbled beside you, mouth rolling over to press into the pillow you had slept soundly on for a shocking eight hours, letting out a loud yawn. You couldn’t recall the last time you’d done so. That curly head of hair lifted, too-long strands falling into his gaze as he pinched one eye shut and glanced toward the giant bedroom window. “Or…morning, I guess?”

“I have work,” you said, reaching over to snatch your underwear from off the floor.

He watched with rapt attention as you whirled around and clasped your bra into place, cheeks burning despite the fact he’d seen every inch of you merely hours ago. The man propped himself up onto one elbow, your eyes catching the bat tattoos on his arm as his fingers reached over to curl around your hip, dragging you back down into bed.

Soon enough it was loud giggles, his fingers dancing along your sides, noisy kisses against your own. But it didn’t take long before you were reduced to breathy sighs. His fingers against the span of your hips, his chest pressing yours into the mattress. Lips over yours, against your cheek, the curve of your throat, the hollow between your breasts, the valley of your abdomen. He stopped with a nip along your hip bone, tongue laving over the sensitive skin there.

“Do you have to go?” he groaned against your stomach, placing a final kiss there before crawling back up your body and cradling the back of your head with one hand, his body weight perched on the other elbow, face hovering over your own. Pretty, he was so damn pretty and you wished you could hate him for it.

“I guess I have a few minutes,” you suggested coyly.

And it was all Eddie needed before he had you beneath him once more singing a tune he knew he’d never forget.

You dressed in silence after. He pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and a thin sweater while you glanced at the wrinkled heap of your dress from the night before. It hadn’t dawned on you the complications of getting your feet wet on Halloween — at least, not until now.

“I can’t walk back to Micah’s in that,” you groaned, pointing to the messy ball of fabric on the floor.

“Wait — I have an idea!”

Eddie rummaged around a box in the far corner of the room and tossed a tee shirt your way. Across the front was ‘Corroded Coffin’ in a messy font that reminded you of how your brain often felt after one too many cups of coffee in the morning.

“Your band?” you asked, turning the shirt around to show him.

“Yeah.” He nodded, white teeth flashing with his smile. “You know, you could see us some time.”

You quickly slipped the dress over your head and let the skirt ruffle messily along the floor, then moved to roll up the billowy sleeves to your shoulders.

“I can’t say that I’ll be in California any time soon,” you told him, pulling the tee over your head next and draping it over the belt. Like this, it looked more like an oddly fitted skirt and a top. You already decided that was much better than a Halloween costume, so it would do until you got home and could change.

He nodded rapidly, like he knew that, but hadn’t realized that you’d be coasts apart in only a couple of days.

“Well…” he trailed off, searching around the bedside table for a moment.

Once he procured a pencil and a piece of paper, he scribbled down a string of numbers you immediately knew were the hope for something more from a boy with kind eyes, a beautiful smile, and a heart of gold. Your chest ached. If only you’d met him two years ago, at a better time, in a place where you were more open to whatever this could not be.

“My number — for the place I’ll be staying at for the next couple months,” he explained, tucking it into the exposed circle of your palm, closing your fist within his fingers. “Maybe, I don’t know…we can talk?”

“I can do talking,” you conceded, already hating the fact you knew you wouldn’t be utilizing the number.

It was better this way; he was better off this way.

You both parted with a kiss in the doorway. With his arms looped low around your waist in a way that felt too familiar. A way that suffocated, heart twisting at the soft smile that graced his pretty mouth when he wished you a good shift and you wished him a safe flight.

The walk home was all inward grins that flowed on your face until it hurt. Waves to random strangers passing on the street, curious gazes from onlookers at the billowing sleeves you kept shoving up into your tee shirt as you passed. Memories of the night before flashed in your mind. Of his fingers tugging the zipper on the dress, tossing your underwear alongside his on the floor, mouth on yours, hands learning the contours of your body, the way he fitted perfectly inside you.

Another time, another place, another day maybe.

And that day was not today.

Micah was sprawled across the kitchen island when you entered. You shut the door as quietly as possible behind you, only to find she’d already been awake anyway. A cup of likely long gone cold coffee rested beside her along with a bottle of painkillers, her forehead pressed against the cool tile, nursing what you imagined had to be the headache from hell.

“You’re home late,” she grumbled, pushing her head up into her hands. Blonde hair spilled around her forearms, face covered behind her palms. “I’m assuming you had a good time. Which will at least make one of us. Jere passed out as soon as we got home and snored all night.”

“Sorry, sweetie,” you apologized, stepping further into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator immediately for some water. “I…we had fun.”

“I’m going to need you to spill, because he was cute even with the mask. Don’t think I didn’t notice,” she mused, suddenly healed of her headache, what with the way she looked at you like she’d received the best news of her life.

“I accomplished exactly what I wanted to. I got my toes wet.” You shrugged, lathering some butter onto a freshly toasted bagel.

“You like him,” she screeched, making her own self wince at the sheer volume of it.

You did. You do. But those feelings would fade. Your resolve had already hardened because he wanted romance and flowers and you needed no strings. He deserved that much — he deserved so much.

“We had sex, that’s all. And he’s leaving for California in a few days. I’m never going to see him again. So it doesn’t really matter, now does it?”

——

It hadn’t felt real. For days, you’d doubted every symptom. Every inkling that might have alluded to your present condition.

First, it had been the realization that your period was late. Not even the one or two days you would have pushed aside as a result of stress, the extra hours you’d taken up at work to try and save a little money here and there for a new apartment, or your severe lack of sleep. Then, the nauseousness started. In waves, most days, and definitely not only in the mornings like you’d been led to believe your whole life. Your chest ached next; a fullness that felt unlike your normal, monthly symptoms. Chalked it up to your oncoming period. The same period by that point was nearly two weeks delayed. There was also the fact that no matter how much you slept, you’d still felt like it wasn’t enough. Found yourself dozing off at work, yawning standing in the line for groceries, losing focus while out with friends.

There was also the fact statistics were on your side. You’d done all the right things and were on birth control at the time. So it couldn’t be…that, right? Statistically improbable, unlikely, unwarranted. At least, that was what you had chosen to reassure yourself with, quieting the shouting in your skull that suggested otherwise.

It wasn’t until you were sprawled out against that obnoxiously crinkly white paper in the doctor’s office a little over a month after Halloween that you’d even allowed the thought to enter your mind. It also happened to be the first moment you wondered if you were about to have the entirety of your life changed by a night with a boy in too tight pants you’d definitely not thought about even once since you’d spent the night with him. And you most definitely didn’t picture his dark pupils expanding in the night as you rolled over him, his palms gripping your hips, your hands on his chest, heads thrown back in shared ecstasy.

No.

Not at all.

Six weeks, they told you, with sympathetic looks and uncertain smiles as you exhaled shakily and stared up at the ceiling to stop the room from spinning out of control around you. Six weeks pregnant and undoubtedly so, based on the rapid thrum of the baby’s heartbeat on the screen before you. Strong, they’d said. Perfectly healthy for someone at this point in your pregnancy. They printed pictures up for you of the tiny gummy bear with arms and you held it in trembling hands as they began to speak. Words strung together to form sentences you’d barely understood. Options for next steps, vitamins to take, habits to stop, foods to eat and foods to avoid, how much caffeine to drink, how much weight you could lift and what activities you should start to limit—your head spun with it and continued the whole quiet walk home back to Micah’s place she shared with her boyfriend, Jeremiah.

She welcomed you with open arms as you entered their apartment with a pamphlet on pregnancy in one hand and your pocketbook in the other, whimpered cries of not knowing what to do soaking through her knitted sweater. She’d accepted it without hesitation, just as she always did and would. Held you close to her chest — and hissed at Jeremiah to leave when he’d eventually poked his head in — as you processed the emotions swirling like an endless kaleidoscope in your mind.

And later, when your tears had dried and she’d plopped a freshly opened box of ice cream in your lap and demanded you eat, she asked, “Please just…tell me it’s absolutely Westley’s and not Paul’s.”

“Six weeks,” you sighed, watching her shoulders relax. There was no mistaking who the baby’s father was, and at least that brought you some comfort, “Definitely Westley’s.”

Though you weren’t sure if that made it any better.

“I just want you to know it’s going to be okay,” Micah reassured you, reaching over to rub at your forearm. But did she really know that? How could she? Because to you, it felt like the earth had fallen out of orbit, spinning dizzily now with no signs of stopping any time soon. “I know we don’t have the most space right now, but the couch turns into a futon. It’s yours until you find something otherwise, you know that.”

Telling Eddie his world was (potentially) about to change happened two weeks later. You needed some time to process, is what you’d told yourself was the reason why you’d delayed. After hours of debating, you decided to keep it, and knew that there was always the chance Eddie didn’t want kids — always the chance he’d want to pretend it never happened and that he didn’t want to be a part of its life. Regardless of what he chose, you’d set your mind on being a mother, and you’d do it alone if you had to. But he at least deserved to know; deserved the option of choosing them, even if all you’d had was a night fueled by lust, because you weren’t interested in anything more than that.

Fear had clamped your mouth shut, preventing you from forming those two words for fourteen days. Just two simple words that would have opened the dam to let in the floodgates for the conversation that needed to happen.

Eddie, I’m pregnant.

Eddie, I’m pregnant.

I’m pregnant.

You’d rehearsed it all afternoon, pacing a certifiable hole in the ground from how rapidly you’d moved. Had even stood in front of your friends and had them listen to it until you felt confident enough to do it for real. Gripped Micah’s hand tight as you swiped the man’s number from your pocketbook and dialed. It rang once, then twice, and you worried he wouldn’t answer or you’d caught him at a bad time when the line exploded with sound. Voices. Dozens of voices spilled through the other line, and music along with it.

You winced. “Uhm, Eddie? Is this the right number?”

A long pause extended, drowned out by guitar strings and drum beats. “Uh — uh, yeah. This is him.”

He sounded gruffer than you remembered — voice tinged with a smokier quality that seemed almost unfamiliar to you now. Not that you’d spoken much that night. Maybe he’d caught something, maybe he was sick. Maybe it was merely the weeks that had grown on since you’d seen him, and he'd become another person in the crowd already — someone you knew if only for a night. Heart pounding, you gripped Micah’s hand tighter and wound the phone wire around a pointed fingertip.

“Hi…I’m sorry I’m only calling now. Busy, you know?” A lie, because you’d never intended to call. It had been one night; that was all it was ever meant to be. “It’s the…girl from the party. The Buttercup to your Westley costume on Halloween.”

He chuckled in reply, and you wondered if maybe he was shy. He’d been looser the night you met — louder. Boisterous and passionate. Carefree and fun. But you wondered briefly if that was the glass of whiskey he’d drunk before you slipped away to his hotel room hearing him now. But you remembered that next morning, too; his splendid affection, the kissing, the exuberance of his persona, the way he’d made you fall apart around him again.

It seemed…strange now. Cut off, cold even.

“I’m…pregnant. I just —” You swallowed the knot of fear forming in the back of your throat and continued, “I just thought you should know…because it’s yours.”

There was another prolonged pause.

Nervousness welled up in your throat the longer it continued. Joined that roiling nausea that had become your friend and foe these weeks. Swallowing thickly, your fingers pressed over the span of your abdomen, over the knitted sweater and skin protecting your tiny secret — still not visible to others yet, but wholly your own all the same. You’d already decided you would love them fiercely enough for the both of you if he didn’t want anything to do with it, just so they’d never feel like they were missing out.

Then, after what felt like decades, he asked, “Who is this again?”

You repeated your name, nervousness rattling your bones, fingers trembling in Micah’s. Micah mouthed out ‘Breathe,’ even though you were doing anything but.

The line went dead, and your heart along with it.

——

let me know what you think! 🩷

[whatudowhennooneseesyou]

𝓢𝓸𝓯𝓽𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓮𝓻: 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓽

Content Includes: Wolf!San x fem!reader, overstimulation, post-rut San, passionate and needy sex, ROUGH SEX, praise (SO MUCH OF IT!), kissing, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex (don't do it!), San calls reader 'princess', dirty talk, primal play, size kink, aftercare

Word Count: 1.9 K

You inhaled a long drag of your cigarette as you fidgeted aimlessly on the porch, staring out into the dark abyss of woodland and shrubbery on this lonely night. 

He always came back, that was one of the many things you could rely on with San. 

‘Come on…where are you?’ 

You whispered to yourself with bated breath as you finished the last of your cigarette before stamping it out on the ground. 

‘Right here, princess’ 

A squeal of fright filled the air as San’s murky shadow appeared from behind you, muffling your squeals as he buried your face in the warmth of his chest. 

‘Shhh, shhh sorry baby, I didn’t meant to scare you’ 

There was an air of playfulness to his voice as he stroked your hair, pressing little kisses against your temple and shielding you from the crispness of the air. 

‘Don’t do that! You could have been a serial killer!’ 

You swatted playfully at his chest and pushed him lightly, frustration and anxiety evident in your eyes as your mind adjusted to the man in front of you. 

‘Mmm’ He chuckled as he began to rub circles into your hips, smirking mischievously at your reaction. 

‘Not while I’m here to protect and love you’ 

The soft touch of San’s lips to your forehead contrasted heavily against his hurried footsteps and the grip on his fingers on your clothed arse as he pushed you gently against the door. 

‘I’m just a lonesome wolf who missed his sweet princess while I was gone’. 

His voice was slightly whiney as he buried his head in your neck, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck and his voice rumbled against your skin. 

‘You don’t want to rest first?’ You bargained, trying to remain logical as your werewolf boyfriend smothered himself against you, attempting to suppress the desire you were already feeling. 

‘Nope…not tired’ 

The latch of the door unlocked and a clamber of hurried limbs and uncoordinated footwork wound up with your back on the carpet, San’s warm and toned body pressing you into the floor. 

Heavy pants and sudden anticipation filled the room as you stared up at San, his loving but hungry gaze staring back at yours. 

San’s nude torso and back were covered with a sheen of exertion, his black hair messy and hanging in his eyes, fresh jeans now ripped and the veins in his arms and neck flexed and taut. 

The limbal rings around his eyes were of an amber hue and now you knew why he was so needy, his body had shifted back to being human…his mind…not so much. 

‘Are you hungry?’

The question was asked out of kindness for San’s wellbeing but then San raised his eyebrow and shifted his hips against yours suggestively. 

Yeah, you definitely walked your way into that one…or ran. 

‘Everytime I’m with you princess’. 

San leaned down to press his lips against yours. 

And he was hungry, his kisses were desperate and dominant as he pried his tongue into your mouth, teeth nipping into your bottom lip, his hands supporting himself as he pressed his weight against yours. 

‘I want to hear you scream for me tonight princess’ 

He spoke as he made his way down your neck, nipping and biting as his wolf senses took over and eagerly wanted to mark you, to claim his stake, have you wet and pliant under his fingers and tongue. 

‘Take you apart piece by piece, have you cum for me and then I’ll do it over and over again’. 

‘Ahhh!’ You screamed out in surprise as San ripped your shirt apart with his bare hands, his eyes darkening in lust more when he saw your exposed chest, sans bra. 

Teeth and tongue were immediately on your nipple as he pressed his face against your sternum, inhaling your scent and the sound of him growling against your skin sent shivers down your spine. 

Random praises and compliments were breathed into your skin as San trailed down your body, leaving hickeys and love bites you were sure to wear as a token of San for a few days. 

‘I love you’, ‘you’re so beautiful’, ‘fuck i can’t wait to have my cock inside of you’. 

San eagerly and with rushed hands removed your tights and chucked them beside you, taking the time to stare at your flushed cheeks, open thighs, hard nipples and staring up at him with absolute adoration. 

‘I’m so happy you’re mine, my special princess’ 

He leaned back up to press one last passionate kiss to your mouth, placing a few pecks before pulling away to trail back down your body before settling his face against your crotch. 

Your body jumped as San inhaled deeply as he nuzzled his nose over your clothed mound, his lashes fluttering as he let out a moan. 

‘You smell amazing, I want to bury my face in your cunt and lick you clean’. 

He felt your fingers brush his hair back and push his head eagerly back down, lifting your hips up slightly in a sign of neediness for him to continue. 

‘Then do it- I’m yours to take’. 

‘Fuck princess, don’t get me started’

The comment boosted his need for you even further and you watched as he pulled your underwear down your legs, removing it around each ankle and leaving it on the floor. 

There was no time to prepare before San had gripped your thighs and eagerly dived in, his tongue swiping through your folds and laving over your clit. 

‘Your sweet cunt always tastes the best after a rut, it’s like it’s been missing me while I’ve gone’ 

He murmured into your crotch as he focused on your clit, licking, sucking and nibbling the swollen bud with his teeth and tongue as his primal senses took over and his entire focus was making you squirm under his touch. 

San’s absence had left your body all sensitive and touch-starved and much to your chagrin- it wasn’t long before you were almost cumming from San’s ravenous attention on your clit alone. 

‘Baby…I’m-Mmmmmm!’ 

Your hips kicked back and your thighs spasmed as your orgasm hit you quickly, back arching and hands gripping San’s hair. 

‘Mmmm…good girl…my good princess…not done though…want more’ 

His moans and hums of pleasure vibrated through your core as he moved to slide your cum and slick on his tongue, using it as wetness so he could lick your clit again, the tip of his tongue rolling around the sides and then grazing the underside, sucking it in between his teeth and repeating over and over again. 

‘San..fuck! So close…mmm, almost there!’ 

You could feel your cunt clench around nothing as you climaxed again, San’s strong hands preventing your legs from closing as his movements slowed down, eventually stopping. 

‘Delicious…so fucking delicious’ 

He propped himself up and stared at you with glazed eyes and your slick making his lips raw, wet and shiney. 

All logic had left San’s brain and he was consumed with the thoughts of ruining his sweet princess over and over again, having you spread out underneath him, cock inside of you, hearing you pant and whine until your voice gave out. 

‘The bed San…’ 

Clumsy arms reached out for San’s support as you tried to sit up, knowing full well that he would fuck you on the carpet if he could. 

‘Take me to bed…fuck me there’. 

No words were spoken as San hauled you up off the floor and carried you over his shoulder, his strength and sheer power causing you to burn even more for his touch. 

Your torn shirt and San’s jeans and briefs were discarded on the floor and you quickly gathered yourself on your bed, your head on a pillow and another stuffed under your hips. 

‘Look at you, getting ready for me to fuck you open and raw, such a filthy princess…MY filthy princess’ 

He pumped his cock a few times, the muscles in his chest and forearms flexing with every twist and pull. 

‘Princess has been missing you Sannie, am all ready for you baby’. 

San kneeled in front of you as he pressed your knees to your chest, folding you into a mating press before pushing his cock into you, roughly, eagerly and bottoming out in one slide. 

‘Aww, so wet, tight and perfect for me’ 

He kissed you again, radiating his love and passion for you through his lips and gaze. 

You could taste yourself in his kiss and your body trembled under the sudden intrusion, the angle filling you whole and your body and cunt already feeling exposed like a live wire. 

‘Fuck you’re so hard San, can feel you deep’. 

A deep moan filled the air as San pulled out,all the way to the tip before thrusting back in with a hard snap of his hips. 

There was no talking for awhile, just San’s grunts and groans mixing with your whines and whimpers as he fucked you roughly but with passion. 

Even with San’s wolf influence murking his presence, you could still feel the overwhelming love he had for you. 

His piercing gaze showed his love, his kisses and little nips to your mouth were filled with love, the snap of his hips and the way his body covered yours, his aura was filled with the utmost love and care he had for you. 

And he did love you, more than you know, more than he could confess and feeling you underneath him and clutching him against you, how needy and pliant you were while he fucked you…

The bubble in his heart burst and his final defence was blown, leaving him to express unwavering affection for you as he was close to chasing his release. 

‘My special princess, you’re always taking care of me, looking after me…I miss you so bad when I’m away baby…I- hah! W-want to protect you, keep you-mmm! keep you safe, fill you over and over again until your pretty cunt is dripping with me…’

San released inside of you with a husky groan and a stuttering of his hips, moving his hands from your knees to clutch at the headboard, burying himself as far as he could inside of you. 

‘Baby…Sannie..please, please..so close!’

Your body was shaking with electric jolts and you could feel your body tremble around him, shaking with overstimulation and the need for release, your body close to giving out but needing more to reach your peak. 

‘I got you princess, let me help you cum’ 

He gently grabbed your right hand, pressing a few kisses to your knuckles before placing it over your mound. 

You roughly circled your clit with hasty fingers, San eyeing you intently as he slowly grinded into your g-spot, the added stimulation rapidly helping you to your peak. 

‘I can feel you clenching around me princess, you’re so close aren’t you baby?’ 

San hummed those words into your ear as he pressed kisses against the side of your face, knowing the praise is what you needed. 

‘Be a good girl for me mmmh? Show me how pretty your face is when you cum okay? Want to see my pretty princess cum for me’

And it worked, your body arched and muscles spasming as you came with a whimper, your head buried in San’s shoulder. 

Both your breathing quieted down as the room begin to spin less and normalise, your fingers softly running down San’s sweat-covered back. 

‘Rest for awhile baby, I’m not finished with my special princess yet’. 

Author Note: Happy Halloween and this was my first time writing werewolf smut because that performance video absolutely ruined me and I just couldn't help myself.

I was team vampire!San but after that performance cover...team were!wolf San all the way now!!

Taglist: @hipster-shiz @creativechaoticloner @cherry-0420 @scuzmunkie @marievllr-abg @umbralhelwolf @starsareseen @lino-jagiyaa @mischiefsmind @mrcarrots @junieshohoho @partywithgyu @whatsk-poppinhomies @craxy-person @hologramhoneymoon @gyuhanniescarat @staytinyinmybpack @necessiteez @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @berryberrytan @laylasbunbunny @bangchanbabygirlx @i-love-ateez @anyamaris @krishastumblernow @hexheathen @michel-angelhoe @northerngalxy @abby-grace @daddysspecialdollyworld @silentreadersthings @ddeonghwassimp @youre-alittle-taste-of-hell @akimkim @smilefordongil @0325tiny

[darkdemeter]

IN THE HEAT OF HER MOMENT

◤✘WANDA MAXIMOFF SERIES/AU'S | CATALOGUE Wanda Maximoff x GN/Female/Male Werewolf!Reader ☾ PHASES COLLECTION FIRST EDITION 2024, ISSUE NO.#4/8

NOTES ↳ Bit of a mafia au because I just can't escape it, and I wanted to write some more mafia wandawolf. WARNINGS❕ ↳ SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI — MxF version pairing — FxF version pairing — unprotected sex — mutual oral receiving — P in V sex — knotting — marking —profanity — pet names: Lamb, Mate, Baby, etc — established relationship — minor depiction of mafia activity — married couple fluff and love — reader is just a softie for Wanda — I think that's it? SUMMARY ↳ Happily married to the woman and mate of your dreams, where else to spend your honeymoon as newlyweds than the stunning resort beaches in the tropical islands. But first, you and Wanda have to take care of some heat.

✎ 3.1k

@alexawynters @alyciaddict @simpforlizzie @literaturedog @maladaptive-daydreamz

↳ WANDA MAXIMOFF TAGLISTS

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IV.  What is a mated life but the promise of commitment? A wolf’s life can oftentimes be lonesome and hollow, with no special one to turn to. And it’s far more unlikely that the pairing between two opposites could be so right. With a mate for the wolf to call their own, special needs are required to be met, till death and beyond you cannot part. 

  If there is one way to describe Wanda, it’s that she’s needy. Perfectly needy. After landing in the tropical retreat of your private island, a treat for your wife, you’d taken swiftly to the villa in order to settle her eagerness to consummate your marriage. Not that this will be the first time you’ve both had sex, far from it. Back in your estate towards the city it wouldn’t be put past you both to have thoroughly broken in every room. 

  As evidently showing, you both were quite the couple. How Wanda hasn’t mothered several litters by now? Well, your parents and their old schooled tenants decreed that you both be married first before you both go siring a dozen or so pups to grow the family. 

  Almost a year later after that little sit down, here you are, closing the door to the villa with Mrs. L/N sauntering inside, hands smoothing down the curves of her body and her fitted, white gown. 

  You’ve barely begun loosening the collar of your shirt when she’s on you, pulling you in by the lapel of your jacket into a heated, passionate kiss, one of many you have already shared and will continue to. Seeking the comforting weight of her in the palms of your hands, you seek out her hips, massaging slowly with a low groan she melds with a moan of her own. 

  Her heels clatter to the polished floorboard hurriedly, meanwhile, her slender hands comb through your hair, dishevelling its tidiness and down your front, she practically is pawing you to remove your clothing. 

  “Dammit, Lamb,” you chuckle against her mouth. She slips her tongue past your teeth, tongues wrestling at the behest of her challenge. 

  “I need you,” she sighs into the kiss breathlessly. 

  Ring adorned fingers press into her hips firmly at her pleaful cry. “I know, darling. I know.” Your lips move to caress the cute curve of her jawline, taking care with every inch of her precious skin down her neck, she leans into you as she tries to capture your lips once more. 

  “Sure you don’t want to pay a visit to the beach?”

  Shaking her head, she’s pulling you towards the loft’s staircase. “Tomorrow. Right now, I want you.”

  “No complaining whatsoever,” you retort with a cheeky wink, following her insistent lead. 

  She giggles as she begins to race up the stairs with you close at her heel, the ghost of your presence haunting her lovingly, no sooner do you both reach the upper floor do you sweep your wife into your arms and she playfully shrieks in surprise. You hoist her up and spin, her arms encircle around you tightly, your embrace one of comfort and assured strength. 

  A promise, just as the gold around your fingers, that you’ll be for each other. Protect each other. You meet with another kiss, slower but no less passionate. 

  The glimmer of gold suits her finger. For you, it’s a precious addition that pales the rest across the bottom of your knuckles. 

  You carry Wanda over to the empty bed and lay her down, her hair fans around her with a cherishing, silvery-blonde halo she’d dyed before the wedding, and a smile that could warm the coldest days of winter and cure you of any level of anger. Wanda Maximoff has been a very influential figure in your life from day one. 

  From first meeting her, circumstances unlikely, you’d always felt your chest become alight with a flutter you always dreaded the absence of when she was gone. 

  And the more she visited, the more you experienced that flutter in your chest that came to bloom throughout your entire body and soul. But also the more her mere visits left a deep and dark burrow of void in your heart. At some point or another - and you were sure it occurred after a bit too much in the indulgence of whiskey and meeting with the Stark and Barnes Families to discuss business - you realise that Wanda is meant to be with you. No matter who else you met, they never gave you that same feeling. 

  Wanda was your destined mate. As frightful as it was, her rejection had been nothing but a case of anxiety and doubtful, nightmarish thoughts. Because the moment you asked her under the stars and full moon if she’d be your girl, her happy shrieks that filled the entirety of Central Park confirming your deepest wish, you became whole. 

  She blinks at you. Curiosity fills her beautifully serene and creamy jade hues that glow in the setting sun’s light. “What is it, Wolfie?”

  You shake your head at the memories that consume you. You shower her with a toothy grin she cannot help but reciprocate. 

  “You’re just so beautiful.”

  “Kiss me…”

  Mouths connecting with a symphony of low groans and purring moans, your bodies meld together, sliding against each other as your hands explore each other, slowly peeling away the layers of formality, discarding them to the floor until the two of you were bare before the other. 

FEMALE

  She whispers your name across the skin of your neck, hands running over inked landscape, each single mile holding a memory to her, just as you do for her. One hand comes between the two of you to stroke her, tender and affectionately attentive, she curls into you with a pleased whine.

  “Yes, Wolf,” she coos softly, “just like that.”

  You work her gently at first, soon growing a bit firmer with rubbing, circling her clit that makes her spine arch and her toes curl. 

  You slide your middle finger into her tight pussy that clenches around it, her heat pulsing that it makes you sigh with a chuckle. 

  “Baby, you’re soaking.”

  She hides her face in the crook of your neck with a pout, mumbling something amidst her pampering of kisses along your shoulder. You bend and curve your finger, in and out, in and out until she pants quietly to the shell of your ear, her nails embedding crescents into the muscle of your shoulders. 

  She begs you for more, encouraging you that she can take more. Obliging your mate, you slip two more fingers inside and begin to ever so faintly stretch her walls. 

  She pushes herself into you, soft gasps on the tip of her tongue and entangled in finery of pleasures. You curl your fingers inside her, pushing them further and to the knuckle. Her hands run down your sides, her touch is feathery, taking in every detail that maps your body, every mark, scar and tattooed line until she reaches the small of your back. 

  “R-right there,” she winces blissfully, hips abrupt in their suddenness to meet your thrusting fingers. Her release a coiling rubber band that’s bound to snap at an instant. As you perform on her, she reaches one of her own hands down, fingertips stroking along your equally sickened folds. “A-ah… hah,” you grin, and so cutely she admits to herself, shyly. 

  “I want to please my wife as well,” she says with a light tune. Her thumb rolls over your clit smearing the aroused juices of your pussy and your hips jerk again. Her hand cups you and she begins to massage her middle and ring finger against your entrance and then slips them inside, working to match your pace. 

  Rocking into the motion of the other, the rising of your releases are woven together, her sounds alone to get you off; her fingers only aided with hastefulness. 

  A series of intermingling moans shatter to the air, breaking the oath of stillness to the flood of your orgasms. You hot breath fans over her face and she smiles wistfully, her chest rising and breasts pushing to yours, the connection bringing a sense of electricity between you. 

  Her legs wrap around you the moment your fingers slide back inside her cunt, your claws bringing a more daring edge that leaves her utterly breathless in her lungs.   “Y-yes! More, more! Just like that.”

 Her eyes roll back and her dark lashes flutter erratically, her voice strangled by her moans and her body becomes tense, hips rolling into the thrusts of your fingers before her mouth flies open with a pleasured cry. Barely over the first and already she is taken hold by her second wave.

  A moment of pure stillness and then immediate relaxation, her body finds itself floating high in the clouds as the hot, white flash consumes her. Your nose finds the juncture of her neck and your canines graze the delicate spot and she leans her chin to the side, providing more access for your leisure. 

  “I love you,” she gasps again and again. You answer, voice a husky octave, “I love you too.”

Your teeth break the surface of her skin and she winces, the riding of her high tunes out the sliver of pain, only to find her body unnaturally calmed by you. Your scent becomes stronger to her senses, the aroma of your expensive cologne is drowned out by the natural tranquillity of your natural smell; that of the pine forests, heavily wooded and hidden, the wild valleys of flowers and the crispness of freshly fallen snow. 

  Everything under her skin is warmed like nothing before. It’s not the same as a coat keeping out the cold, or feeling another’s warm skin against her. It is a feeling that envelops her on the inside like a warm, assuring blanket. A haven that guarantees she’ll be safe. 

  And then the coolness of stars line her vision. Something bright and full floods her and she thinks she’s floating in the dawning nighttime sky. Her stomach is taken over by a billion flutters. 

“How do you feel, Lamb?” you ask and press your forehead to hers. “Breathe for me. That’s it, in and out. Deep and slow… you okay?”

  “I feel… amazing.” Her dazed eyes find yours in the darkness that almost hides you completely. Her fingers brush aside the straying locks of hair hanging over your face. 

  “The best I’ve ever felt.”

  “You’re gonna feel like that for quite a while,” you say. Chuckling, you steal a quick kiss from her, rolling over until she lays on top of you, hands holding her hips to you. 

 “I know this must be a strange question,” she begins hesitantly, but your hum of curiosity nudges her to continue. “Do you have a knot?”

  “I do… as a wolf.”

  “Then… maybe we could try?”

MALE

  She whispers your name across the skin of your neck, hands running over inked landscape, each single mile holding a memory to her, just as you do for her. One hand comes between the two of you to stroke her, tender and affectionately attentive, she curls into you with a pleased whine.

  “Yes, Wolf,” she coos softly, “just like that.”

  You work her gently at first, soon growing a bit firmer with rubbing, circling her clit that makes her spine arch and her toes curl. 

  You slide your middle finger into her tight pussy that clenches around it, her heat pulsing that it makes you sigh with a chuckle. 

  “Baby, you’re soaking.”

  She hides her face in the crook of your neck with a pout, mumbling something amidst her pampering of kisses along your shoulder. You bend and curve your finger, in and out, in and out until she pants quietly to the shell of your ear, her nails embedding crescents into the muscle of your shoulders. 

  She begs you for more, encouraging you that she can take more. Obliging your mate, you slip two more fingers inside and begin to ever so faintly stretch her walls, to get her ready to accommodate your cock that now stands hardened between her legs. 

  As you perform on her, she reaches one of her own hands down, fingertips stroking over your length and your hips jerk. “A-ah… hah,” you grin, and so cutely she admits to herself, shyly. 

  “I want to please my husband as well,” she says with a light tune. Her thumb rolls over your tip, smearing the beads of precum down the base, your hips jerk again. Her hand wraps around you and begins to massage and carefully tug, working to match your pace. 

  Rocking into the motion of the other, the rising of your releases are woven together, however before she has a chance to pull your orgasm from you, you stop her with a tut of your tongue. Her eyes shine with that concern, brows furrowing.

  “I wanna be inside you for that,” you breathe in reply, “I would like to finally experience that first, if you don’t mind.”

  She smiles at you. “Of course.”

  Nodding and still grinning, you usher her to her first climax of the honeymoon period. Her eyes roll back and her dark lashes flutter erratically, her voice strangled by her moans and her body becomes tense, hips rolling into the thrusts of your fingers before her mouth flies open with a pleasured cry.

  A moment of pure stillness and then immediate relaxation, her body finds itself floating high in the clouds as the hot, white flash consumes her.

  “So fucking wet, my little Mate.” Her slickness pools around the knuckles of your fingers, the whisper of her juices gushing from her tight hole as you withdraw paint a beautiful picture. You raise your fingers to your lips and allow your tongue to taste her, a hum of approval as your eyes shimmer in the setting darkness. 

  “You taste good, Lamb.”

  She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip with a bashful giggle followed by a moan of your name. Your lips part and she can taste herself on your tongue, you steady your weight above her with one hand beside her, the other guides your throbbing cock to her entrance.

  “Ready?”

  “Yeah.” With her assurance you press your waist forward and with a gasp, she spreads her legs wider as you push inside her. Walls wrapping around you, inch by inch, you succumb to the radiant heat of her cunt around you. For a moment you find yourself still. 

  Her tongue surrenders to you with the first initiated thrust, lost to the small noise creeping up the back of her throat and you nip her bottom lip playfully. Your cock strikes her, kissing her cervix until she’s chanting your name like a prayer, and you begin to drive more force behind it. Skin meeting against skin in a coursing pattern fills the room, growing louder with each thrust becoming harder and faster, you grunt and groan lowly.

  “I love you,” she gasps again and again. You answer, voice a husky octave, “I love you too.”

  “Cum inside me. P-please… cum in–side me.”

  To hear her talk so desperately sends your wolf brain into overdrive, your canines graze the juncture of her neck and she, accepting of your long-awaited mark, cranes her neck to the side. 

  “Cum with me, little Lamb. Come on, you can do it,” you pant hotly, “cum for me.”

  Her back arches off the bed and your legs wrap over your waist, hugging you closer as her walls clench around you like a vice. A howl passes a suppressed groan in your chest, eyes burning brightly of amber, her orgasm being the last straw for you. Your cock twitches and explodes, releasing your seed to paint her walls as you practically rut into her with mad intent.

  Your teeth break the surface of her skin and she winces, the riding of her high tunes out the sliver of pain, only to find her body unnaturally calmed by you. Your scent becomes stronger to her senses, the aroma of your expensive cologne is drowned out by the natural tranquillity of your natural smell; that of the pine forests, heavily wooded and hidden, the wild valleys of flowers and the crispness of freshly fallen snow. 

  Everything under her skin is warmed like nothing before. It’s not the same as a coat keeping out the cold, or feeling another’s warm skin against her. It is a feeling that envelops her on the inside like a warm, assuring blanket. A haven that guarantees she’ll be safe. 

  And then the coolness of stars line her vision. Something bright and full floods her and she thinks she’s floating in the dawning nighttime sky. Her stomach is taken over by a billion flutters. 

  You slow the grind of your hips to a pause and pull your teeth away from the mark, thumb wiping over it and her body jolts at the action, a reasonable reaction. 

  “How do you feel, Lamb?” you ask and press your forehead to hers. “Breathe for me. That’s it, in and out. Deep and slow… you okay?”

  “I feel… amazing.” Her dazed eyes find yours in the darkness that almost hides you completely. Her fingers brush aside the straying locks of hair hanging over your face. 

  “The best I’ve ever felt.”

  “You’re gonna feel like that for quite a while,” you say. Chuckling, you steal a quick kiss from her, rolling over until she lays on top of you, hands holding her hips to you; your knot strict in its place inside her pussy.

  “So once the knot goes down, I’m thinking we could try…”

—

The next morning would have been peaceful. Should have been peaceful. It was your fucking honeymoon after all. However, your phone interrupts the moment at the brink of dawn, the sun painting the sky with vivid pinks, purples and a colourful bow of deep orange. 

  You groan, hand fumbling aimlessly on the nightstand for the irritating noise. Finding the device, you clench it on your iron grip and raise the voice on the other end to your ear with a less than pleased huff.

  “The fuck you want?” 

  By your side, Wanda stirs. Her eyes peek open, the bare minimum of the sunlight gracing her angelic face, still showering her with comforting darkness, your arm that’s around her assuringly pulls her to your side, herskin melting under the contact with yours. 

 “Boss,” Sam says with relief, “I know it’s—”

  You growl deeply into the speaker, “My honeymoon. So this better be good.”

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Servant to the Moon.

HEADCANON

PAIRING: Alpha!Werewolf!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader

WORDS: 2,316.

SUMMARY: Aegon’s unfortunate condition, had him feeling unfavoured by the Gods, until he was blessed with your arrival... 

WARNINGS: mentions of ABO dynamic x human!reader, mentions of breeding kink, lactation kink, innocence kink, mentions of p in v sex, slight BDSM (biting), mentions of pregnancy/birth, mentions of complications in birth, swearing. 

A/N - my beloved friend, @ilikeitbetterangsty and I have created our own little monster, that is alpha Aeg, and now there is no turning back. I need him to bite me, claim me, breed me, and just down-right fuck me. in this little AU or in general, I always thought that Aemond leans more towards being a vampire and Aeg is werewolf coded. Perhaps Helaena could be a nymph hehehe <3 credit to the artist (I need to make proper moodboards)…

Aegon was bit and turned at a young age: King Viserys had wronged and broken a promise to House Stark, that had long been associated to the folklore of werewolves. 

Nonetheless, Rickon Stark had demanded and sought for bitter vengeance, and who better than to target the long-awaited firstborn son, King Viserys had dreamt of. 

From a young age, Aegon was a quick-tempered and unpredictable boy: this new found “disease” [Viserys often labelled it] did not help. Upon each full moon, the Dowager Queen, Alicent Hightower sought to it that her son be secluded and highly confined in a desolate strong hold of the castle, with no light but a few dimly lit candles, beneath the dungeons, heavily guarded and armed, if need be... 

As a child, Aegon relented in these periods where he was often forcefully dragged away, tearful to be locked in heavy, cold metallic chains to his lonesome self. 

During his adolescent years, Aegon did often try to escape, run away before he could be taken and imprisoned against his will before turning, only to be caught. 

His mother and Ser Criston had often given him endless earaches, lecturing him about the dangers of him freely roaming, had he not yet learned to control his strength nor anger. 

As he grew older and mature, into the young man that he presently was, the more acquainted he got with the process, and defeatedly went along with it. No longer needing to be dragged, instead he found himself walking upon each full moon cycle, sometimes even chaining himself down. 

It was blatant to say, he hated turning. It was excruciatingly agonising, often his yells could be heard bellowing beneath the castle floors if one dared to loom close enough to the dark, desolate dungeon halls. 

Once the cycle had ended, his mother often found him close to unconsciousness, covered in matted, ripped clothes clinging to his heavy, heaving body. It pained her, seeing him in such a weakened state, out of his control, she blamed Viserys for his damnation. 

Nonetheless, Ser Criston was determined to help Aegon in steering his carnal urges, especially when in heat. He located outcasted werewolves and appointed them to help the “heir”, negotiating in return for gold, property, titles and copious women. During this process, they’d come to realise that Aegon had a formidable power over them, deeming him an alpha amongst omegas. 

Aegon in heat though, was Alicent’s worst nightmare come true. He was relentless and incontrolable, and as reluctant as she was to admit it, there was no hope in stopping him. Instead of blocking his urges, she allowed him to be, often organising whores for him to bed (not imprint), only able to perform damage control, having the maesters create and supply moon tea and other methods of birth control. Avoiding the risk of “pup” bastards at all costs. 

That was until you arrived, waltzing mindlessly into his life.

Your scent was the first thing that Aegon had noticed about you [without even actually seeing you, he could smell you out], the sweetness of your aroma was intoxicating to him. 

He managed to swiftly sniff you out, finding you in the castle gardens in the dull company of the royal women of the court. 

Feeling his heart pace growing faster and stronger, feeling the intensity of each pulse against his chest, the heaviness of his breath, his fangs naturally growing, and the aching throbs in his hardening crotch: it was all a visceral response, not one that he inflicted upon himself, although he’d made the decision.

You would be his one and only mate. 

Throughout the days you remained within the castle walls, your scent became stronger and more potent: Aegon could feel himself growing weaker, more debilitating to it, desperate to control his urges as to not hurt nor frighten you off. 

Having you around feasts or in the court yard amongst the youth, he needed you far from him, but seeing the keen interest and lustful eyes of the young men you’d caught, he felt inclined to stay. 

If they dared to defile you, he’d rip their throats out. 

Etching closer and closer to you, he could hear your innocent laughter from across the room, and your delicate voice, it made him helplessly smile, looking like a smitten fool.

He could fervently smell your virginity oozing from you, untouched by another man, intact, your aroma remained untainted, and with no ring sighted attached to your proposed finger, it drove him even more savage to think he could be the first to renounce you of your innocence. Day dreaming of fucking you beyond the ability to walk, think or speak coherently, earning a teasing chuckle from himself. 

If he could without being frowned upon, he’d fuck you right there and then, before the eyes of the realm. 

The nights were gruelling for him: not a single night went by since having met you, that he did not dream of you. Constantly, the same image replaying over and over again in his tainted mind: it began with him lustfully devouring you whole, passionately making love to your bare, naked body, eagerly marking you all over, enough for other male wolves to know that you belonged to him. He bites you, imprinting himself on you, before knotting inside of you, pumping his potent seed into you, filling you to the brim till your cunt is practically drowning in him. The last thing he’d see before he’d inevitably wake, is you swollen close to full term with his pup, just lovingly caressing your belly, thanking him. 

It was torture for him to carry on about his day: unknowing of how exactly to approach you. 

Coming up to his next cycle, Aegon found himself wandering eerily close by to your allocated quarters, being able to smell you, hunting your exact location like some predator, he found himself face to face with your shut door. 

Mustering every fibre of strength to resist his primal desire to force himself deep inside of you, piercing his canines deep into your flesh, imprinting his DNA inside of you. Whether you fought against him, would be meaningless he knew, for his strength had heightened greater than that of a human [much to Aemond’s displeasure when training with Aegon]. 

Nonetheless, by some ungodly force, he mustered himself away hastily, from now on having a reckoning of guards between him and yourself. 

Close to his next cycle, he opened up to his mother regarding his intentions about you. She initially did try to convince him otherwise, that this was just his “heat” talking, although seeing how determined and hopeless he was to have you, she promised to make the formal arrangements to betroth you to him, before leaving him to his cell. 

 When he recovered from this cycle, he’d been met with the happy news that the betrothal was offered and approved by your family. In a days time, Aegon and yourself had formally acquainted, and he felt immense content like he never had before. 

He was determined to keep you sated, safe and happy at all times: much to your surprise, surpass the intimidating, formidable look he had, he was pleasant and loving. 

The night before the marriage, Aegon along with his mother, Grandsire and Ser Criston Cole, had initially planned to disclose his condition to you, after consummation. However, he could not bring himself to deceive you. 

Hoping his honesty would be enough to compensate, he remained doubtful, convinced that you would change your mind about wanting to marry a “beast”, and had he gone with the initially plan, you would have been forced to remain in such a union. 

Yet he was blessed: you were not repulsed by him, though more so grew sorrowful and nurturing towards him. Saddened by his story, you reassured Aegon that he was unfortunately a victim caught in a feud between old men, and that this form was thrusted upon him. 

You were keen to remain by his side, to nurse him, to abide by him and most significantly, to love him. 

Nonetheless, he did not disclose to his family that he had told you the truth, and the marriage ceremony proceeded and was sealed before the law of the realm. 

The night of consummation, Aegon informed you that it would hurt, regardless, of the endless promises he’d made that he’d attempt to control himself. 

Imitating his dream, the reality surpassed his expectations. It hurt nonetheless, and often at times, you had to voice Aegon to take it easy, although he did what needed to be done, imprinting and knotting himself deep inside of you, opening you up wide enough, keen to keep his thick, girthy cock inside of you all night long. Now your sweet scent was masked heavily in his musky scent, he was definite no other male would dare to smell you out. 

Bite marks on your ass, is a must for Aegon.

In a few moons, the maesters confirmed of your pregnancy: your changes were rapid as it seemed to be an escalated circumstance due to Aegon’s genes overpowering yours. 

Aegon felt somewhat guilty for this: he ensured that maids were present at your beckon call, instructing you to not lift a single finger, even the slightest of movement from your half, a maid came rushing over, pleading to help. He forced the maesters to keep you bed ridden, confined in the Red Keep of your shared, private chambers, although he allowed for visitors of people’s company you enjoyed, including his mother. 

He made sure you were well fed, bathed and even sought to massaging you himself. 

When he was forced to be absent due to his recurring cycles, he loathed being teared apart from you: genuinely, it infuriated him. It became a habit to keep guards posted outside your chambers, even entrusting Aemond to keep you safe; instructing his dear mother or Helaena to keep you constant company from inside. He would often return in a frail state, yet remained eager to prioritise your needs above his own.

At this point, now that Aegon had a mate, he was more in control of his primal instincts: and was allowed to roam at a distance, far from the walls of King’s Landing, beyond deep into the woods, where he could turn freely.

Reassuring him that you were fine, you would tend to his wounds, as he cherished having you give him your full attention. 

In the months to come, closer to the birth of the babe, Aegon became stupendously possessive over you, with the right reasons though. As irritating as he could be, being constantly on top of you, refusing to leave the bedside to fulfil his princely responsibilities, training and duties, he was simply smitten for you. 

He even grew infatuated with your pregnant body, how your hips grew in preparation for the birth, your breasts swollen, tender, occasionally dripping with the warm milk for the pup, he drank to give you relief [his bright idea], and would teasingly bite at your nipples. Reminding him to keep the supply ready for the babe. 

Your belly was swollen beyond relief, often struggling to sleep or lay still, he hated seeing you in such discomfort. The maesters were certain, it was either twins or simply just a physically big babe [like its father]. 

The time had finally arrived: Aegon promised he would be present at the birth regardless, and he upheld it promisingly. It was a torturous experience to say the least, what felt like days [12 hours], nor could milk of the poppy sustain the aching contractions for a prolonged time. At one point, Aegon grew pale, fearful that The Stranger would make an appearance, and take you from him: he couldn’t bring himself to see you pass in his arms, growing quiet and distant. At one point, he noticed you growing drowsy whether it was from the milk of the poppy you or the constant blood trickling from below, his mind refused to make coherent, logical thoughts. Gripping your hand firmly in his, his deep, soothing voice flowed to your ears, drawing your attention, like a moth to a flame, he whispered, tender, encouraging words into your ear.

“I have asked for too much from you already, my love, my sweet, sweet wife. Yet here I am, to plead for more. I need you to stay with me,Y/N, promise me that you’ll stay with me. I cannot bear to live with myself in this ridden state, no more if you are not by my side, promise me you’ll make it.” 

Justice to his words, you pulled through strongly. A healthy, baby boy was born in the dawn, kicking and screaming vivaciously, holding him warmly and gazing upon him, made every agonising second of his coming worth it. 

He was a split image of his father, as Alicent softly decreed, the sight of the babe bringing joyful tears to her eyes as she reminesced. 

Aegon smitten over his son, was more relieved that you were alive and well, now determined to have you fully recover until the next babe. 

The next time Aegon would organise for maesters and midwives with more preparation and experience in birthing pups of his kind, Alicent also advised “the first is always the hardest, eventually it eases on the body”. 

Aegon slipped into fatherhood with difficulty. Fearful that his condition was thrusted upon his son, without choice just as he was, he grew wearisome that his son would eventually hate him, as he did his own father, for his own reasons. However, despite the outcome you reassured Aegon otherwise.

“Our son will love you regardless, Aegon. And so be it, if he bears the same fate, he has his father to guide him, where he had no one else. He will be grateful for you, I am certain.”

general taglist - @evenstaris @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @ilikeitbetterangsty @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @teamaemond @elegantsplendour​ @randomdragonfires

Aegon taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter​

[pfhwrittes]

another part of my silly little werewolf au (that i will work on properly at some point) for you all.

TW: alcohol mention, minor self injury (reader chews on their paws), accidental voyeurism, fantasies of violence. 

author's note: let me know if i've missed any trigger warnings please!

--

they’re still here, the strangers that have made themselves comfortable in your territory. there are traces of them everywhere. the scent of an unfamiliar cologne and metal lingering in the air of the corner shop, an echo of the mohawked man’s laugh from the pub garden reaching your ears as you collect sticky abandoned glasses from what was formerly ed’s booth, the weight of four pairs of eyes on you as you pull pints or pour glasses of wine for the locals. 

you know why they’re here. even if they don’t know that you know. 

it makes your gums itch.

for the first time in a long time you stay home the night of the full moon, curled up tight in a ball on your bed, your nose tucked under your tail. you long to lope through the fields at the edge of the village, to snap at rabbits with their stuttering fearful heartbeats, to howl long and lonesome at the moon - calling for your family, your pack. 

your ears twitch irritably and you move to lick and gnaw at your front paw. the human side of your brain sighs knowing full well that come dawn you’ll be patching up raw knuckles and the tender broken skin of your wrist. it could be worse, you could shred your pillow. again. feathers are a bitch to get out from between your teeth. 

the sound of two voices drift through the thin pane of glass of your bedroom window and your lip curls around a low rumbling growl. interlopers. their voices are low, indistinct as they snoop through the neighbour’s front garden. the growl in your chest kicks up as you catch a snatch of their conversation. 

“for fucks sake, johnny. quit whinin’ and get on wiv it.” around the broad flat vowels of his accent you detect a fond sort of irritation that speaks of years of familiarity and affection.

“you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me on!” the other voice is exasperated but no less fond as its counterpart. “i’m no’ doin’ that here -” 

whatever he’s not doing becomes abundantly clear as you hear the sounds of a wet gasp and a long groan.

you snarl and bury your teeth into the softness of your pillow, letting yourself imagine that you’re sinking your fangs into an exposed abdomen as you ignore the wet slick sounds just beyond your window.

and they have the fucking nerve to call your kind animals.

-- tagging @kaadaaan

[yuellii]

02. / Fate : SACRIFICE

werewolf wriothesley / gn reader . completely sfw . tw gore

Fontaine : DARK BLOOD ; supernatural series m.list

"Good day, Mr. Wolf."

The scent of fresh bread through the trees; he inhales the delight that steams from the linens of your wooden basket.

"Good day," says he. A forest predator, so misbehaved with the size of his body that he immediately encroaches your personal space without proper permission. But what's different about your presence, he notes, is that you don't seem to mind. There was significant lack of fear for the claws on his fingers and the fangs of his teeth, most desirably. "You seem to be out all alone again," he muses, and it's his voice that contains the low, smirking growl of an animal. "Running a delivery?"

Your simple smile is all but sinister, just as polite as it always is during these past few months you've come to pass through these woods. "To my grandmother, as usual."

His nose leads him downwards towards your hands, a scent so sweet secreting from your basket of goods.

"And what have you brought this time?" His words are slowly slurred together, low rumbles pleasantly charming with the pop out of his canines between his lips. His hand slowly lifts your wrists with the basket as the length of his nails feel cold against your skin. "It smells so sweet," he almost drools with the lick of his lips. "I'm already delighted."

You seem to hesitate. And when you reluctantly open your basket for him, he sees why. "No sweets today, good sir..." Your shifting eyes gesture to the bare loafs of bread in the basket. "No sugar. Just plain sourdough, plain wheat," you list onwards, and the wolf can't help but notice how nervous you suddenly grow; he notes this is the first you've actually shown such a physical uncomfortableness before. You shift to grab your other arm, and that's when he sees it.

"What's this?" Without warning, he dives to grasp your other arm tightly, forcing a threatened gasp from your throat. And suddenly, the sweet scent grows stronger tenfold—he catches himself before he might begin salivating. There it is: a bandage wrapped around a fresh wound at the front of your palm. Still stained red, a bright and delightfully wet color.

"Oh!" you stutter, painfully retracting your arm from the iron grip of his hold. "It was just a small mishap," you laugh sheepishly, "nothing to worry about."

He finds a lack of worry within himself for the intention you specified. No, the worry he felt was from the trickling trails of his own saliva pooling by his lower teeth; A worry that he might've just devoured you—you, and the scent of your flesh that was so sickeningly enticing, he feels his body jolt in excitement of a meal. An animalistic instinct that leaves him drunk-dazed from the mere tease of your taste. He can't ignore how delightful the sudden mental image is—of sinking his teeth into that wound of yours.

“Wriothesley?” you voice out, and he feels his stomach lunge to his throat as the scent becomes stronger once more, only to find your wounded hand placed atop his forehead. Wet. He was sweating. “Are you alright? Do you have a fever?”

Flustered, he clears his throat. "You should clean that wound of yours a bit more thoroughly." So curiously to your notice, his eyes flicker to the side—anywhere but you. “And you might want to start running along now, don’t keep your grandmother waiting,” he further advises, “before it gets too dark.”

Before you can sound out another word, he flees off into the lonesome woods.

Garden shears, so clean and so pristine: a heavy contrast to the dark shadows as he loomed over the flowerbed. “This is a lovely little cottage,” he remarks. “And the tea your grandmother serves is quite good, too.”

“See?” you laugh wholeheartedly, hands clamping around rubber to cut lingering wilted roses away with sterling silver. Both your gazes cast downwards, and there was a stream of unwanted thoughts clouding his head. “I told you, she wouldn’t be scared of you.” The reassurance spills easy from your mouth, and he can only force himself to respond positively through a hum.

He jokes, “Does that mean I’m accepted into the family?”

You playfully bump his arm, and that’s when it happens—that smell, once again. Much more powerful this time, like the smell of freshly cut meat that was so overpowering, still raw with trickling blood that his tongue just yearns to wrap around. So sickening, he could feel the insides of his stomach writhe and clench just for a bite. And when he looks down just to see that you’ve accidentally cut yourself with the gardening shears, his instincts as a wolf almost collapses his sense of stability.

Your skin. It looks delicious running with blood. The feeling of his teeth ripping you apart into pieces is just within reach. His mouth feels dry in a way it craves for your flavor, and he does not realize he’s already grabbed you until the scent is so overpoweringly close that his saliva trickled down at the bottom of his chin.

A creature so disgustingly hungry for meat; he only snaps out of his daze when sounds of whimpers and fear emit from your body.

And yet, he can’t help but feel even more enticed. The sounds of your squeals, the fear woven into your features—he feels more starved by your horror-stricken expression to devour your body whole in a single bite.

“Wriothesley…” you choke out to him. The shakiness in your voice holds a fear you’ve never shown for him before, but perhaps fear was how it should be between a human and a wolf. “That really hurts,” you stuttered to him, “Please, let me go.”

He’s trembling. He, the big bad scary wolf, was trembling in place as he was merely moments away from devouring you. Your arm was now littered in new cuts, all from his nails digging deep into the skin of your arm to rip several more wounds. Above the cut from the shears, and his breathing blew right to your wrist. Had he let go, the limbs of your very soul would have been shredded between his teeth by now.

“Listen to me,” he says, voice a low whisper through seethed canines; and through your horrified tears, you see his eyes are pleading, begging you like a chained dog running feral on disobedience. “Please.” His other hand reaches down to meet yours—clutching desperately the gardening shears in your hand. Silver, completely poisonously deadly to werewolves. “Please, kill me.”

You stay silent, completely stunned to move in his grasp. Not when his nails still gashed holes of crescents into your arm.

“Please,” he further prayed, his mutters close to something of a growl as his lips were shaking, even as they leaned in to kiss the bleeding gash of your hand. One taste of you, just one. But his lips. They stung. “My mind is twisted. I fear I might suffocate the longer I’m with you.” His grip around the gardening shears is loose and rigid, and yet he holds them right up for you, urging you to take them. He practically pushes it to your chest, pressing the only form of a weapon you may have against him. He repeats, “Save me.”

Please, kill me.

Looking down at you with his mouth against your wound, lips tinted in your own blood that he laps up hungrily with his tongue, you realize this is the first time you really saw him as what he truly was: a feral animal.

“Or else fate will guide me to devour you whole.”

Blood moon, the cottage door is wide open.

“…Grandmother?”

The smell of iron hits your nose so sharply, yet the light sounds of metal rumbling and clothes shuffling were not enough to turn you away. No, your feet did not allow you to make such drastic movements in the suspense of the night, not when one movement may alert the inside presences.

But you find very quickly you do not need such caution. Because when you creek the door open even further…

Moonlight fails to illuminate the glowing eyes at the corner of the room.

But what you see in the darkness of the house was an entanglement of bitten limbs and clothing scattered into a corner pile on the ground, severed like the chew toy meal of a starving dog. And above it all glowed a pair of familiar eyes so wide and bloodshot, rimmed with the red crusted veins and tears of an animal. The filth around his mouth, the heavy breaths he released through the grotesque bits and pieces of breathed bloodied flesh stuck between his teeth. All with no mercy as strings of organs fell from his lips to his chin. So sickening, the smell of his iron breath in the air—and you only look away for a second to gag vomit back down your throat.

There is an animalistic instinct in his eyes that deadlocks you into place, lacking its typical playful compassion and instead showing the layers of insatiable hunger for human flesh. His breathing is still ragged upon his look of shock, like a deer caught in bright lights.

It’s far too late when you notice he’s drooling. Since the moment you stepped in, it was only his cravings that stunned him silent; you were so near now, so close: the final dessert to his meal. You couldn’t kill a man like him. But a monster could consume the likes of you. And it was only a rush of wind until the back of your head slammed down against the bloodstained wood of the floor, his body a heavy weight atop your own.

He was smiling. Smiling so widely that his tongue jutted out to lick his lips just at the sight of you trapped under him. His eyes, looking at you like another scrap of food in the wilderness.

But the first thing you felt before the rip of barred teeth, was indeed the salty droplets of tears that fell atop your skin.

Fontaine : DARK BLOOD ; supernatural series m.list

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #9 – The Devourers by Indra Das

I was recommended this as an example of a contemporary work where werewolves are actually treated as monstrous and horrifying instead of either romance fodder or one interchangeable variety of supernatural in an urban fantasy kitchen sink. In one sense that was a blatant lie (the monsters are only werewolves in the vaguest sense), but in another one I care about much more it fit the bill perfectly. Funnily enough it basically is a romance (or at least, the overarching framing narrative is), but for once I’m not complaining about that. Excellent read, though does require a bit of a strong stomach.

The framing narrative follows Alok, a history professor in Kolkata whose approached by a mysterious stranger at a festival. The stranger identifies himself as a half-werewolf, an immortal man-eating shapechanger. In between being mysterious and menacing and flirting with Alok, he hires him to transcribe and digitize two historical werewolf manuscripts – journals etched into parchment made from human skin. Those journals are the meat of the narrative, and it rapidly becomes clear they are written by the stranger’s parents; first the ancient norse werewolf who had wandered all the way to the banks of the Yamuna, then the human woman he fell into something like love with and raped as she travels alongside one of his former packmates and hunts him down.

The framing device is the emotional heart of this, and incredibly well interwoven with the manuscript sections. It’s fundamentally a romance, though one somewhat interestingly devoid of real conflict or plot (well, from Alok’s perspective. There’s a whole emotional journey with him going from ‘future food’ to ‘romantic partner’, he just only gets small glimpses of it). There’s I think one real argument or point of conflict between the two of them across the entire book? And maybe one or two points besides that where Alok or their relationship encounters genuine difficulty or danger. Despite that, and despite (or perhaps because of) the ambiguous ending, it all just very much worked for me.

It’s also interesting – and the book does really call this out – that the whole plot is essentially arbitrary. The inciting incident is just a werewolf being angsty and lonesome, and the entire story and all its stakes are strictly interpersonal with nary an epochal revelation or looming existential doom to be seen. It is a sign of how much of my reading diet is genre fiction that this felt like a massive breath of fresh air, I think.

Speaking of love – the book is deeply and intensely preoccupied with the closeness of and overlaps between love and sex and pain and violation and consumption and death. Werewolves consume souls and memories as well as flesh, knowing and even becoming (for a time) those they hunt. This extends to each other as well – regeneration means mating and fighting to the death is an impossibly thin an frequently crossed line, and intimacy and memories are shared by literally allowing someone to take a bit out of you. Izrail kills and consumes both his mother and his father, and this is the only way he ever truly knows either of them. Both he and his father have fallen in love with whole strings of humans across the ages, and each been the ruin of all but one of them. This extends into the use of language as well – I didn’t take notes as I read, but the example that sticks in my mind was the description of one werewolf pressing a mush of chewed flesh into the mouth of another so he might heal as being ‘like a gentle kiss’.

It is just an intensely gory book in general, really. Or not even gory so much as carnal, in the older broader sense. There’s blood and viscera and sweat and sex and piss and shit and tallow made from human fat and game animals eaten bloody and raw. All of it seamlessly intermixed in one richly detailed and incredibly pungent sensory world the book conjures up for you.. This is taken to an extreme whenever the primordial god-monsters that are a shapeshifter’s second soul appears on screen, but even beyond that – like when I say you need a bit of strong stomach to enjoy the book, I really don’t’ just mean in terms of violence.

This ties in a bit with the lack of grand, world-shaking stakes I mentioned but – the book makes excellent use of its period piece sections to really sell this feeling of the weight of history and of being caught up in the wake of events larger than you can perceive. The 17th century sections really nail the sense of the past as its own living, breathing world full of richness and contradictions, rather than just a slate for the present’s psychodrama. Also it’s possibly the first book I’ve ever read which really mentioned the surprisingly widespread and violent history of werewolf hunts in Europe, which I appreciated.

The shapeshifters (werewolves, rakshassa, djinn, ghuls) themselves are absolutely great. Horrifying and disgusting and sublime, with exactly as much detail given as the story needs without succumbing to rpg splatbook syndrome. The idea of werewolves as things which are deliberately created through a(n incredibly violent and traumatizing) ritual process is one I don’t think I’ve seen before? It works here, anyway – though instead of a hereditary curse or contagious infection, it leaves shapeshifters feeling like one of those elite, elevated fraternities who put new inductees through a hell of physical, social and sexual violence for hazing and indoctrination purposes (the usual modern versions being military units, sports teams, and just actual fraternities). Which ties into all those themes of the fine line between love and violence, I suppose.

Or well, not technically fraternity – werewolves are all functionally genderfuild (can take a big nap and wake up looking like whoever they ate last) and while their second selves can fuck I’m not sure either human genders or, like, genital arrangements apply to them. But 3/4 of the werewolves who get any lines are one caricature or another of masculinity and this absolutely informs how the condition and culture are presented. So like, I’ll just go with it.

Anyway, great book! And ‘abuse regeneration by sewing dozens upon dozens of bones and trophies taken from prey into your skin’ is a great look for a werewolf’s human form.

[sitp-recs]

hey!!!

absolutely love love love your recs you are such an amazing human being <3333 i was wondering if you had any recs for drarry in america? i hope you have a great day!! <3

Thank you so much for the lovely message ❤️ I definitely have some recs for you, love this theme. Enjoy!!

Between the Power Lines by @tackytigerfic (M, 3k)

For Harry Potter, all roads eventually lead to Draco Malfoy.

Spooked in Salem by @xanthippe74 (T, 3.4k)

When his holiday with Draco in Salem, Massachusetts, doesn’t go to plan, Harry takes a walk to figure things out. A story about saving someone you love from the ghosts that don’t go bump in the night.

like freedom by softlystarstruck (M, 4k)

Harry doesn’t know the exact moment his life changed. Maybe it was the day Draco Malfoy unwillingly turned up at his front door, or the moment the plane’s landing gear went up and London-Heathrow fell away below them. Maybe it was in the dusty swirl of red rocks and motel rooms somewhere between Tennessee and California.

Nothing Left to Burn by @skeptiquewrites (E, 5k)

Over ten years after their fling crashed and burned, Harry runs into Draco and finds embers still burning bright. Sometimes your ex-lover is (metaphorically) dead. And sometimes it's summertime in Montreal and the past won't let go.

Inside These Walls by RenVeree (M, 5.6k)

The year before Draco moves to Los Angeles, Harry Potter disappears. Draco doesn't mean to find him. He's just doing his job.

in a rambling way by @fw00shy (T, 7.5k)

Ron knocked Hermione up, and now Harry's got to figure out how to clone himself so that his friends don't split up fighting over him. Falling for Draco again was never part of the plan.

in between two tall mountains (there's a place they call lonesome) by @oknowkiss (E, 8k)

In the shadow of a mountain on the Oregon coast, there may or may not lie a shipwreck, on which there may or may not be a magical relic, lost hundreds of years ago. Harry's been tasked with finding it, and Draco is there to take notes, and they're stuck in a campervan pretending to be married, and it's all going to be just fine. That's what Draco's gotten rather good at telling himself, anyway.

Look For Me In The Sun by @wolfpants (M, 9k)

Harry and Draco are on the run in America after a mysterious string of werewolf-like attacks in the Muggle community causes the Ministry to impose new and harsh anti-werewolf legislation. Giant trees, crashing waves, seedy motel rooms, and the long and winding coastal road awaits them, but will they ever be able to go back home?

The Hardest Hue To Hold by @cavendishbutterfly (M, 17k)

Harry needs to get the hell out of England. So he sets up a teaching assistantship in America, hops on a plane, and heads off to a fresh start. Except there’s a familiar face among the university faculty, and it’s really not the familiar face that Harry wanted. Or at least, it’s not who Harry wanted at first.

To Live & Die in LA by @fw00shy (E, 28k)

Someone blackmailed Pansy Parkinson. Pansy's father hires Harry Potter, P.I., to get to the bottom of the scam. But how is Harry's errant ex-boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, involved? And why did Draco run to Los Angeles in the first place?

Faint Indirections by ignatiustrout (T, 30k)

Draco Malfoy is the last person Harry expects to turn up in Boston, Massachussetts. But now he's here, and he won't stop requesting books from the library where Harry works.

LA, Who Am I To Love You? by @epitomereally (E, 42k)

Harry’s summer in LA is not going as expected. Pansy Parkinson keeps inviting him to parties in the Hollywood Hills and harassing him to finally go to the physical therapist, Blaise Zabini keeps slipping new strains of his company’s magical weed into Harry’s pockets in hopes of an endorsement, and Draco Malfoy keeps having sex with everyone but Harry.

Unseen by RenVeree (T, 47k)

Harry Potter finally has the chance to leave England and its expectations for The Chosen One behind for good. All he has to do is survive one Auror training conference overseas with Draco Sodding Malfoy.

Antediluvia by @lol-zeitgeistic (E, 56k)

Everyone always forgets about the Merpeople. So did Harry until the day his, Lee’s, and Hermione’s Portkeys land at Reagan National Airport’s Arrivals dais. He’s just had to leave a job he loves and pack his entire life—literally—into his luggage. Then Malfoy and his subplots arrive, and suddenly, saving the world again, one Mermaid at a time, sounds like the perfect excuse to do something he’s always wanted. The one with mermaids and DC.

Among Ancient Pines by @graymatters (M, 74k)

A fic about challenging assumptions, discovering self-worth, the silver lining in failing to meet expectations, and finding friendship, love, and purpose in a small Alaskan town that’s steeped in magic.

Knead by laughingd0g (E, 83k)

This is not a story about Harry renovating Grimmauld Place. This is a story about coffee shops and brewpubs, about Ginny and Luna on a farm with creatures, about magical Oregon, coastal road trips, flying, friendship, and Draco Malfoy's lean arms.

Left My Heart by emmagrant01 (E, 85k)

Auror Draco Malfoy has disappeared, and Harry Potter has been sent to San Francisco to find him.

Way Down We Go by @xiaq (T, 109k)

In which Harry and Draco both run away from their pasts and conveniently choose to hide in the same tiny American town. It's super.

[touhoutunes]

Title: 月夜ニ叫ブ (Moonlit Night Howling)

Arrangement: はにーぽけっと

Vocals: あき

Album: 恋綴里-第十話-

Circle: はにーぽけっと

Original: Lonesome Werewolf

[kuroosdarling]

𝕷𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖐𝖙𝖔𝖇𝖊𝖗

come one, come all to the house of horrors. some call it a haunted house, others may call it fun house. that’s up to you to decide; either way, prepare for the thrill of your life. let’s play a little game, shall we? one to see who really has what it takes. simply enter the house and go room by room. just make sure you watch your back as there maybe be something — or someone, lurking in the shadows. are up for the twists and turns that lie ahead?

do you have what it takes to be the final girl?

cw: each fic will have its own warnings. overall, every fic will explore different kinks with different characters. each fic will be fem!reader. please read all tags before reading the fic! and minors DO NOT INTERACT !!

Room 1: Frankensteins Lab ft. Dr. Akaashi

“care to be my little test subject?”

Room 2: The Killing Floor ft. Ghostface!Suna

“not so fast, princess. i wanted to know your favorite scary movie.”

Room 3: The Graveyard ft. Werewolf!Atsumu

“are ya lost, little lamb? why, i could just eat ya up.”

Room 4: The Dungeon ft. Torturer!Kenma

“let’s hope the executioner is delayed, i wanted to have a little fun first.”

Room 5: The Underworld ft. Demon!Kuroo

“poor thing. left all by your lonesome, hm? don’t worry, i’m sure i can keep you some company.”

Enter at your own risk …

[arsene-fixates]

The Informant and A Sense of Self

CAN WE ALL GO CRAZY ABOUT INFORMANT FOR A SECOND?!!??!???! GESTURING WILDLY AT THE CROWD

CONTINUATION OF THE PREVIOUS ANALYSIS EXCEPT I MIGHT AS WELL JUST DROP WHATS IN MY HEAD NOW and everything else that I haven’t been able to say about him because it’s too short

spoilers under the cut 💗

@everynya AND EVERY LITTLE ASPECT OF HIM IS ALL HINGED ON IT. HIS UTMOST BEING, ALL DEVOTED TO HIS WORK. He’s buried himself too deep into his work to turn back that this is the only way that he can go forward.. AND HE DOES CHOOSE TO GO FORWARD. WITH HIS INCESSANT WANT TO HELP PEOPLE

And he’s far too selfless and far too self sacrificial, with how he keeps throwing himself into danger without a second thought for his own well-being it’s awfully reckless of him

and to be so fair, if he doesn’t do it, who else would? He’s so dedicated, always working steps ahead from everyone, always hyper vigilant to those around him always working, rarely taking a moment to rest

And the thing about this is that, sometimes, I’m pretty sure that profession of his is something he enjoys, the fact that he’s been Researching the mist even BEFORE he was the informant and how him getting turning into the werewolf was almost an opportunity for him to pursue the role of an informant, like dangling bait almost.

but of course, sacrifices has to be made, and in turn he loses all the connections he ever has, allowing him the anonymity that he wanted, leaving him to be this lonesome man

He’s always in some pursuit for information, constantly searching, his innate curiosity never truly satisfied because he’ll just keep doing it again and again and again and he’ll drive himself into his grave if I could be honest. His own downfall being himself.

and to tie this back to my main point, who is he under all that? if he’s not the Informant, Because he’s clearly not the man who he was before, he left that past behind him with no intention to turn back.

the only other thing he would be is ‘The Werewolf’ but he wouldn’t like that as an identity

and even if he was the person he was back then—being Felix’s brother—is he really Himself?

to give a bit of context about his family, his mother is a famous beauty with the background that a prince from another country once gave her jewelry and his brother (in the period of pre-informant) was the up-coming mayor to be elected for the city

so on the surface he would be “Felix’s brother” and before that he would be “Mother’s Son” And nothing before that

He said that he never felt like he fit in with ordinary life and I feel like it’s a product of him having a large age gap with his brother. Felix must have been someone busy so.. that sort of age gap makes you retreat into yourself, which is why he was always engaging with his own interests even up to young adult (reading up on legends and myths) his hobbies have always been rather solitary in nature

he is canonically a gifted child, just to note. He always played chess with Felix and was far too good at it at a young age and i wonder if other children felt put off by him.

he also implied that he likes wandering and did it a lot too…

AGAIN CIRCLING BACK TO HIS CURIOSITY..

i personally feel like as much as he misses his previous life, he only missed the safety of it all because living under being the mayor’s brother must have a lot of standards to hold up, any wrong thing could jeopardise his brother’s reputation

What matters to him is that he left it all behind now and he keeps hiding from it. He still tries to run away pre face reveal

But as things are, he can’t run away from it forever, he’s forced to accept his past as far as he tries to stay from it

He’ll always be seen for his profession, or for his family, and never really for Himself

[fatherdmitri]

ME WHEN WEREWOLF / HUNTSMAN / HOUND / MONSTER THEME ME WHEN LONESOME BEAST ME WHEN BRUTAL CREATURE THAT EXISTS ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF HUMANITY ME WHEN THE HUNTER / HUNTED DICHOTOMY IS USED TO SHOW THE NUANCE OF HUMAN EXPERIENCE ME WHEN THE SAVAGERY OF EXISTENCE IS EXPLORED ME WHEN THE QUESTION OF WHAT IS HUMAN IS ASKED

[hunnismokah]

Okay hear me out

I must hear your thoughts about

Priest Sanji x werewolf lady

Wherein Father Blondie befriends that young lady that strangely lives alone in a modest cottage/cabin deep in the forest.

Didn't know she was a werewolf though until one morning after a full moon he visits her home and finds her just reverted back, weak and naked, shackled to the wall (she does that to herself so she doesn't put anyone in danger). Poor guy would probably run out with a, "My apologies, excuse me—" while bleeding to death.

So question is, will there be sinning and why is it about him unable to get it off his mind the entire day and has to struggle against a trouser baguette—?

TROUSER BAGUETTE????????

oh, i’m all ears baby

he hasn’t seen you in the church, why? is it to do with him as a priest? his methods? he agrees, they’re quite.. modern, and not everyone in this town may agree with them.. but you seemed like such a wonderful woman, why wouldn’t you be there if it wasn’t for him?

he walks up to her lonesome cabin, hoping to put in a good word for himself. but the door looks busted open, and he can’t help his curiosity.. what if something happened to you?

the priest seeing her weak and strung up naked, he rushes out of there in such haste that pushes her to think how he must be disgusted and scared of her.

in reality, he’s combating the fountain from his nostrils, trying to minimize the damage to his faithful clothing. he’s scared, yes. but not of you, its just… he’s never been so.. profusely erratic in his thoughts before..

just as you close your eyes to once again face the reality of having to move to avoid the shunning from this town, you find him standing in the doorway. looking anywhere else but on you, out of pure respect (however in his mind the hand of sin has its claws on his cheeks, trying to force his face to meet your.. your beautiful body.. but he promises his faith is stronger than that serpent). a rag and bandages in one hand, clothes and a blanket in the other.

he apologizes immensely for rummaging through your closet (and looking a bit too long in the underwear drawer, but he never tells you that). as he helps release you from the shackles and takes such care of you, you wound up out of pure emotion kissing him on the cheek as a thank you right before you pass out from exhaustion.

he never got an answer as to why you were chained up like that, but he couldn’t even stay to ask. that kiss, even on his cheek.. it spread like a wildfire all over his body, making him stiff in more ways than one.

what is this? why did he react like that after seeing her so vulnerable..

damn.. he sure got problems..