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toournextadventure · 21 days

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when you love it pt.2

Summary: Learning to accept yourself again is a hard task. Thankfully, you've got two lovely Outcasts to help you

Word Count: 5.4k Warnings: swearing, talk of blood, typical vampire violence Pairing: Wenclair x Reader (part 1) A/N: Surprise, this is not the last part, there will be one more. So sorry but... it gets better

“Have you ever eaten somebody?”

Ah, there they were. The Little Bane of your existence, as you had come to endearingly call them over the last few months. A menace at best, the little wolf had, for some unknown reason, made it a point to attach themself to your hip. Even on the full moon, the pup would sniff you out and remain with you until they turned back into the headache they truly were.

Admirable.

“Why do you ask?” You asked without looking down to meet their eyes. The eyes of an Addams, you thought.

“Mother said people go insane after eating human flesh,” the child said. “I’m trying to collect evidence to prove her wrong.”

The question was pure Addams.

“I believe it’s only if they eat the brain matter of a human,” you said, finally looking down.

“So you have then?” They asked. “Eaten someone?”

“What do you think?” You asked.

Their head tilted just like Enid's as they thought of an answer. After all this time, you were still finding more and more similarities between them and their mothers. It was almost comical. The toothy grin, the troublesome look in their eyes. A perfect mix of two perfect women.

“No,” they finally said. “I don’t think you have.”

You smiled, showing your fangs. “Correct.”

You both looked back out toward the scenery in front of the cabin. Winter was always the most beautiful time, if anyone asked your opinion. The snow coated the trees in the finest powder, creating an almost constant appearance of fresh snowfall. To the back of the cabin was a lake that froze over so thoroughly, you could skate for hours and never fall through.

Though falling through was always an adventure of its own, you would admit.

Perhaps you could get Enid to skate with you again. Oh, wouldn’t that be grand? It had been ages since you had last danced together upon the shimmering ice. The amount of trust that came with such an act… would you be able to skate as before? Could she put her life in your hands once again?

You deflated; you wouldn’t blame her if she couldn’t.

“Have you ever had blood from someone you know?”

Each cell in your dead body froze.

Teeth ripping through flesh. You could hear the blood pumping from the wounds, pouring out over your hands as you tried desperately to stop the flow. Your own blood cascaded down your throat, erasing any satisfaction you had previously received.

You could still smell the blood. It made your mouth water.

You still wanted more.

“What do you think?” You asked, looking back down at them.

They didn’t look away in contemplation. No, they kept their eyes locked with yours. It was uncomfortable. They had Wednesday’s stunning brown eyes. Eyes you had stared into night after night before watching the light slowly fade from one mistake. Just one.

“Yes,” they said.

“Aunt Yoko’s here!” One of the other children yelled from the house.

You looked back out to the scenery before your Little Bane ran off to join the others.

“Correct,” you mumbled with a sigh.

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t forget the feel of her blood falling down your throat. The heat that pooled in your chest and had your dead heart wishing to beat. Each inch of scar tissue embedded in your skin ached at the memory. She’s just inside, your Instincts whispered. Just a sip.

Your lip caught on your fang as you snarled at the thought. An animalistic sound; pathetic. But the sound made you feel as if you could quiet the Instincts. You would not drink from her again. Had it learned nothing from the last time? There was blood in the fridge, you would survive just fine.

Heavy footsteps came up behind you.

“Aunt Yoko wants to speak with you,” your Little Bane said.

You exhaled slowly and nodded to yourself. Of course she would. She had never truly been your biggest fan. Vampires don’t trust other vampires, she had said, if you remembered correctly. Which you did. Her Instincts may have dulled over the generations, but her intelligence remained as sharp as ever.

“Lead the way,” you said.

Your Little Bane’s lip caught on their canine, so reminiscent of Enid you wanted to laugh. At times, the child was pure Addams. Every cell of their being practically screamed it. Yet, at moments like this, you were reminded that Enid was also an Addams in her own right. And that child, though outwardly appearing as Wednesday, was Enid’s little copy.

In the past, Yoko Tanaka had never intimidated you. After all, why would she? Her family had gone soft, adamantly refusing to drink from a source regardless of its humanity; or lack thereof. There had been a few instances during your college years where she had debated your own family beliefs, questioning the primality of it all. And it was, you wouldn’t deny it. Drinking from the source was what your ancestors had done, and the Instinct continued to flow through your veins whether you liked it or not.

You had silently agreed with her, though you would never let her know.

Now, however? After what Enid had jokingly titled The Beatdown - which neither you nor Wednesday found very humorous, but if that was how she coped then who were you to deny her such a trivial thing - Yoko terrified you. And given how she was looking at you as you walked closer…

She was aware of it.

“Tanaka,” you said with a polite nod and smile.

Her arms crossed tighter over her chest.

“In the car, pup,” she said in a tone that contradicted her body language.

“Aunt Div is in my spot,” they said without hesitation.

The immediate change in Yoko’s body was comical. She turned to look into the car where Divina - with whom you shared no ill will, though you knew it was no mutual feeling - was sitting in the front passenger seat. Her head was facing the back of the car where she was, supposedly, talking with the other Addams children.

Yoko rapped her knuckles against the window. “You’re being displaced, babe,” she called out.

Divina’s shoulders slumped, but she promptly unbuckled her sit and got out of the car. The look she gave you was anything but polite as she slid into the middle seat, pushing one of the children into the back. They were all laughing and smiling; truly Enid’s children.

“Good luck,” your Little Bane said to you.

“Thank you,” you mumbled back as they climbed into the car and shut the door, leaving you alone with Yoko.

How enjoyably torturous.

“Hello, Tanaka-”

“-Cut the bullshit,” she interrupted. Straight to the point as always. “No one wants you around them.” Her finger jabbed into your chest. “No one trusts you around them.”

“I understand,” you said.

“No, I don’t think you do.”

A wet gasp-

-snarling-

-relief-

-pain-

“I very much do,” you mumbled.

“I should rip your heart out now and eliminate any chance of the past repeating itself,” she said. Silence hung thick between you before she pulled her arms back to her body. “But I won’t, because Enid would cry and Wednesday would bury me six feet under.”

“This is my house, Tanaka,” you said. “I am more than prepared.”

“You’d better be,” she said as she started moving at a glacial pace toward the driver’s side of the car. “Because I’ll kill you and curse your entire line if you touch a hair on either of their heads.”

The threat was enough to have you shiver. Oh, if you failed and your family was cursed? They would never forgive you. They would start hunting you for sport, and it would be no less than you deserved.

Yoko stopped before opening her door.

“Not that I’ll need to,” she said. “You’re proof Enid can do it herself.”

Her words bounced around your skull as the car finally pulled away, taking all the Addams children with it. A part of you was almost… disappointed. You had grown to tolerate them over the past few months. They were rather enjoyable at times even, constantly inviting you for games. Or movies, once games had quickly become outlawed due to the… unruliness.

“I wish I had gotten another goodbye hug,” Enid said, appearing beside you seemingly out of nowhere.

You should have been able to smell her approach. Wolves were… not the most pleasant. Not horrific, simply not as appealing as humans. She had asked you to describe it once, what the difference was between her and Wednesday. Like a Christmas candle during the heat of summer, you had explained. So not like in Twilight? She had teased.

She’s my Christmas candle, you thought with a smile.

“It’s only for a weekend,” you told her. Her eyes sparkled. “Then you can have hello hugs instead.”

Her smile could have illuminated the world. “I do like hello hugs.”

“Come inside,” you said with a gesture toward the cabin, “I believe it’s going to snow.”

Enid’s joyful disposition had never waned over time. If anything, she almost seemed more joyous and carefree. Something lightened its load on your chest at the observation. You hadn’t ruined her outlook on life. She was, for all intents and purposes, outwardly okay.

A werewolf was across the room, hovering over Wednesday even as it transformed back into a person. Back into Enid. Her bare skin was shredded.

Wednesday was precisely where you had left her earlier; sitting in your small library, a book in hand and a cup of tea on the table. It was one of your more obscure books, having come from your long line of ancestors. In other words, from some murderous Frenchman’s basement. The pages were probably stained with blood.

“I had almost forgotten the joy of silence,” she said as Enid practically fell into her lap. With practised ease, she made way for her wolf without taking her eyes away from the book.

“It’s too quiet,” Enid said with a sigh.

You walked over to the record player you kept in the corner of the room as your married women talked silently amongst themselves. It was endearing to hear them talk of their young. To talk as if they truly loved them. What was that like, you wondered? To care for your young in such a deep, conditionless way?

Cold fingers ran against the thin spines of records in their cases, unsure of where to stop. Would they have ever had children if you had stayed with them? Younglings had never been in your future; you wouldn’t dare bring a child into your bloodline. But they seemed so very happy and content with their choices in life. Perhaps it was going to happen for them regardless.

Without looking, you picked a record out of its case and gently placed it on the player. Could you be trusted around their whelps? The children themselves seemed unconcerned, but what about Enid and Wednesday? Would they trust you? You weren’t even sure if you wanted them to trust you. Children were creatures you had yet to conquer.

You had attacked them. Both of them. The women you loved. They were bleeding out. Because of you.

The beautiful sounds of jazz fell from the record playing, encasing the room in a warmth that had previously been absent. Deep down you knew it wasn’t the music that made the house feel correct. But things were still new - again. You weren’t ready to make that admittance just yet.

“What are the plans for this weekend?” Enid asked when you sat in the second chair in the room. Only a small round end table was situated between you and your girls. Could… you still call them that?

“We should enjoy the silence while we can,” Wednesday said.

Enid huffed. “You know they aren’t that bad, Willa.”

They continued to bicker - lovingly, of course - while you just sat and watched. Unlike the soiree those few months ago, they were far more relaxed. Casual even, if you had to put a word on it. Enid was bundled in warm clothes - funny, considering she ran hot - and Wednesday was in a simple black sweater and leggings.

Everything about them in that moment reminded you of college. When you would all relax in the evenings. You were usually stuck with your nose in a book, terrified you wouldn’t manage to pass your classes, let alone the bar exam. But you could never properly focus because Enid and Wednesday were always around, bickering like an old married couple even from the very beginning.

Would you ever have that relationship with them again? Simply existing with them without fear of injury or betrayal. Whether it was just you or all of you, there was tension so thick in the air it was suffocating. You didn’t want to keep a tense, cordial relationship with them. Though, it did no good to dwell on the fact. You would respect their wishes until your dying breath.

Something warm grabbed your hand. Something with claws that pressed deep into the palm of your hand. There would be indentations left behind. If she didn’t ease up, perhaps a spot or two of blood. With you, she had never learned to manage her strength; there was no real need.

You never minded.

“What do you normally do?” Enid asked.

You exhaled slowly. “I sit here, listen to jazz, and work.”

“Both of you are so boring,” Enid groaned. “It’s our one full weekend without the kids,” she continued. “We can’t waste it by working.”

“I’m not working,” Wednesday said as she placed the book down on the table and looked at her wife with the softest of smiles. “I’m reading.”

The way they looked at each other was mesmerising. It was pure, unadulterated love. You hadn’t known either of them back when Wednesday was - as Enid so endearingly described - emotionally stunted. You two hadn’t been as outwardly romantic as Enid - she set the bar rather high - but you would’ve never considered her stunted. Especially now, watching the way she looked at her wife.

“We should do something,” Enid said. Her hand squeezed yours; her nails pricked your skin. “All of us.”

“All of us, you say?” You inquired. She glared at you.

“What a scandal,” Wednesday chimed in.

“I forgot how annoying you both are,” Enid mumbled to herself with no attempt to hide her little smile.

Her smile. The thing you had looked forward to seeing every morning before everything had crashed down around you. Even on the worst of days, you knew her smile would be enough to fix everything. Just the same as you hoped you could have fixed everything for her.

Until you couldn’t.

Outside, you could hear the snow starting to fall.

“What is there to do around the cabin?” Wednesday asked; her eyes never left Enid’s. “So our winter wolf doesn’t get too antsy?”

Another squeeze of your hand, digging the sharp, colourful nails deeper.

“Well,” you drew out the word as you thought. “There’s a frozen lake down the path.” Enid’s ears perked up slightly. “Or the town over usually has a winter market around this time.”

That was what did it. At the mention of a market, Enid practically jumped up from Wednesday’s lap. You kept your eyes on her even as you saw Wednesday smile out of your periphery. Her hands clasped together and she looked between the both of you with an excitement you hadn’t seen from her since before that night.

“Grab your winter coats, we’re going to the market!” She proclaimed excitedly.

You looked over at Wednesday with a raised brow but didn’t bother stopping your smile. She smiled back; anything for your wolf.

—---

It had only been a year or two since you had last attended the market and, as such, everyone still remembered you. As such, it was a little more complicated to get through everything than you had initially thought. With everyone stopping you to talk and catch up, you felt like you were holding Enid and Wednesday back as opposed to letting them have their fun.

The sweet older lady who ran the flower shop was still talking to you when you saw Enid walking off, leaving Wednesday to sidle up beside you. Had she done that on purpose? Clearly, she hadn’t just abandoned Wednesday, right? Not in your care, at least. None of you had trusted you two alone just yet.

Even though it hurt, it was a necessary precaution.

Finally, after what had probably been an hour of conversation with the sweet flower lady, you managed to separate with a polite goodbye and a promise to stop by next time you were in town. Whether she knew of your… infliction or not, you had no clue. It didn’t matter. At least she was kind.

“Where did our pup run off to?” You asked as Wednesday all but led you through the market.

“She saw some hot cider,” Wednesday said softly, stopping at one of the little booths. “She can never turn down a sweet treat.”

“Oh, I remember. We spent far too much money on her sweet treats,” you grumbled.

If you had kept track, you would have been horrified at how much both you and Wednesday spent on Enid. It hadn’t been with the intent to brag, or show off, you just wanted her to have everything she wished. Most of the time, that included drinks and sweet treats. And you were nothing if not eager to please.

“At least it’s not chocolate,” Wednesday said in a voice so soft, you wouldn’t have imagined it had actually come from her.

She was looking down at some of the trinkets at the table. They were brilliantly made, and you smiled politely at the woman in charge before standing behind Wednesday. Over her shoulder, you could see it wasn’t particularly anything interesting. Not to her.

Her body tensed up when you brushed against her. This close, you could hear the blood coursing through her veins. It was enticing. More than enticing. Your fingers twitched with the very thought of tasting something so delectable once again. Pain pricked at the inside of your lips as you re-positioned your fangs. It would be a simple thing.

The scars on her neck looked angry; they held shame not even thousands of years of instinct could fight. You had done that to her. You had nearly killed her. She was deathly still as you lifted a shaking hand to lift the collar of her coat, hiding the guilt you could never erase.

“You look cold,” you said softly, pulling your hands back to clasp them behind your back.

You both knew you were lying.

“I’m quite warm, actually,” she said. “I figured you could tell.”

You swallowed loudly. It didn’t ease the ache that was growing in the back of your throat. If anything, it made it worse. Each time she breathed, you could see the pulse in her veins. Enid wasn’t around. Surely you could handle it this time, you were far more mature this go around.

“I still believe I was correct,” she said.

Your head tilted to the side. Correct about what?

“Your fears of being a monster are unwarranted,” she said as she gripped the blade tighter. “You wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Right.

“We must remember that night very differently,” you said as you looked up; there was a mirror in front of you. She couldn’t see you, but you could very well see her. “I remember proving you wrong.”

You weren’t prepared for her to lean back into you. To be touching you after so long. She was cold; not from the snow starting to fall. And as ridiculous as it sounded, she felt like she trusted you. Did she? After you had very nearly killed her, could she trust you?

“You didn’t hurt me,” she said softly as she pulled your arms to wrap around her waist.

“My dear,” you whispered into her ear, “I very much did hurt you.”

“Yet I’m still here.”

You barely held back a laugh. “All that means is Enid kicked my ass.”

“And I would do it again.”

Part of you urged you to pull apart from Wednesday, like you had just been caught doing something you shouldn’t have. There was nothing wrong with holding her again; hell, your girls had practically encouraged it. But the last time Enid had seen you both together was… not pretty.

Wednesday was bleeding out from more than one bite mark.

“What are we talking about?” Enid asked after she practically squeezed herself directly in between you and Wednesday.

“Your sweet treats,” Wednesday said effortlessly. “Is it worth it?”

She wrapped her hands around the paper cup and shrugged her shoulders high. “Always.”

“I think there’s some chocolate covered strawberries a few booths away,” you said while Enid continued to shimmy her way into more warmth. “White and dark chocolate.” Both women’s eyes lit up. “My treat.”

Wednesday looked at you with soft eyes. A look she hadn’t given you since… it was nice. Without uttering a single word, you were left with a warmth in your chest that your dead heart could never replicate.

“Lead the way,” she said softly.

—---

For reasons unknown to you or Wednesday, Enid was still freezing hours after getting back to the cabin. Hot tea had been made. And remade. And remade again. Then you had finally given in and lit the fireplace, as well as setting up a pallet on the floor in front of it so she could curl up and try to warm her fur.

And she was still shivering.

“Cara mia, please.” Wednesday’s voice carried from the living room to the kitchen. “Will nothing ease your cold?”

Enid hummed. “I know something that could warm me up.”

Her quiet giggle was all you needed to hear to know what she was implying. Your darling pup was the most insatiable creature you had ever had the pleasure of knowing. Perhaps that was why she seemed to fit so well with two other partners; it would take at least two to keep her satisfied.

Outside, the front porch creaked. If you hadn’t already been accustomed to the sound, you would have brushed it off as wind. After all, it was still snowing steadily outside. But it wasn’t the sound of snow falling onto the porch. No, it was something else. Something that wasn’t supposed to be there.

In the living room, you could still hear the soft sounds of Enid and Wednesday enjoying their time together. As you passed, you could vaguely see them on the pallet in front of the fireplace. Every aspect of it reminded you of your times in university, each living your own lives, yet doing it together. Perhaps you could get back to that again. Surely their children wouldn’t mind another… parent? Hmm, that wasn’t quite right, you could figure it out-

“-Hello, bon ami.”

If you hadn’t been frozen in place, you would have slammed the door in his face. What the hell was he doing? In your home? No, he wasn’t supposed to be there. He was supposed to be back home, hunting humans for sport like everyone else. He knew better.

“You gonna let me in?” He asked in his thick accent that charmed some and repulsed others.

“Go home, Bas,” you said quietly.

“Why? You got company?” He inhaled deeply. “Oh, I’m a’comin’ in.”

He pushed his way past you into the cabin. If your mind hadn’t felt like mush, you would have had the good sense to stop him. Or at least to have warned Enid and Wednesday. But no, you were simply stuck wondering how he had even found you in the first place.

“I smell a rougarou.” His smile was sadistic and his fangs were sharp. Lethal. “What if Daddy found out, huh?”

“How about some tea?” You asked, gesturing to the kitchen.

He tilted his head to the side and looked at you. Just looked. Was that what Wednesday had seen in you that night? No, surely you had been more vicious. Nothing curious about you, that was for sure.

“Got some of that boudin left?” He asked.

You nodded once.

“Lead the way.”

He continued to look around as you did your best to lead him as far away from your girls as possible. If he wanted to make a pop-in visit, fine. But you weren’t going to let him torment everyone else in the cabin. He could have a cup of tea, some boudin, and be on his way back home.

“Make it the good way?” He asked as he practically fell into one of the chairs at the table. “I’d hate to have to help myself in this house of yours.”

Without waiting for him to finish, you tossed a bag of blood onto the table. It slid across the smooth wood until stopping directly in front of him. He didn’t even look down, just kept his cold eyes glued to yours.

“Keep your teeth to yourself,” you said.

He laughed while you turned back to the stove. The sooner you got the tea going and could get him fed, the sooner he would leave. That was all you really wanted. Things were going well, and Enid and Wednesday were in good moods. You didn’t need him to ruin it.

The stove lit with a single spark, and you gently placed the kettle on top. It would still take a minute to boil, and you had it all planned out. You would grab the blood and boudin from the fridge. Put the food in the oven, make the tea, and get him fed and out of your house.

But you should have known better.

“I smell meat,” Enid said as she practically skipped into the kitchen.

And stopped short when she saw someone at the table.

“Oh, couyon,” he said with a smile toward you once Wednesday walked in. “You naughty thing, you.”

You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest. Wednesday was looking at you with her “explain Or Else” look. Something you hadn’t minded before, but now? Now it made your skin crawl. Like spiderwebs caught on every inch of your body, and you couldn’t get them off.

The pan slid smoothly into the oven, and you started the timer.

“This is Bastien,” you said with a lazy gesture toward the parasite at the end of the table. “My brother.”

“Baby brother,” he corrected quickly. “And you two must be the delectable little snacks.”

“Told you to keep your teeth to yourself,” you said with a raised brow. You quickly looked at Enid with far softer eyes. “Food will just be a few more minutes.” Then to Wednesday. “I’m making tea.”

Carefully, slowly, both Enid and Wednesday sat down at the table. Across from each other, but not near Bastien. The whole time, he watched them like a predator. Biding his time, the way he had been taught. You met his eyes.

His gaze towards your girls turned softer.

“So,” Bastien said as you turned back to the stove and grabbed the kettle. “Which one of you gave my sweet sibling all those scars?”

You poured some blood into the bottom of two mugs.

“I did,” Enid said. “So don’t try anything or you’ll have some to match.”

Bastien howled; a deep, obnoxious belly laugh. It… was nice to hear. As much as you didn’t want him there, he was your brother. Baby brother, as he constantly reminded you. There was comfort in the sound of his laugh; there always had been.

“That’s good, I like that,” he said, still failing to keep his laughter in check. “So that means your witch was the blood bag.”

You practically slammed the mug onto the table in front of Bastien. He looked up at you again, tilting his head to the side. It reminded you of Enid. He reminded you too much of Enid. No, you weren’t going to be phased. You knew the vampire charm; you wouldn’t fall for it.

“Serve yourself,” you demanded.

“Come on, cher,” he said as you proceeded to pour tea into Wednesday’s and Enid’s mugs. “I’m just askin’ if that’s what you almost died for.” You set the teapot on the table and walked back to the oven. “Simple curiosity.”

“Almost died?” Enid asked.

You didn’t turn around.

“The scars didn’t give it away?” Bastien asked.

You grabbed the kitchen counter.

“How did you know?” Wednesday asked.

He started talking, but you couldn’t hear him. You didn’t have to. The entire night was engraved into every fold of your brain, etched into the walls of your skull. No amount of alcohol, or nicotine, or blood, or the occasional line would erase. It stayed there, taunting you. Teasing you.

Blood pumped in your ears. It was loud, but not loud enough to ease the growls and screams that were bouncing off your skull. The trees soared past you. Each step of your foot was jarring as it practically bounced off the hard ground.

Wednesday’s blood still coated your lips.

The pain in your throat was harsh; it wouldn’t heal fast enough to ease the ache. Miles and miles flew by without you ever noticing. The sun rose, then set, then rose, and finally set again. Each new day was a blur. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

You hoped Enid was okay.

And Wednesday was alive.

Oh. The thought of Wednesday, lying there with your teeth marks in her flesh. Blood pooling around her; her life pooling around her. All because of you. Because of you. You killed her. You killed one of the loves of your life.

Panting breaths came faster. You killed her. Everything slowly came to a stop. The bark was rough under your fingers as you leaned against a tree to stay upright. Around you, the bugs from the bayou were loud in your ears. Still not louder than the fight.

You killed her.

Possibly killed Enid as well.

You killed them both.

Something scratched against the soft tissue inside your throat. It grew and grew until you couldn’t tell where your exterior wounds ended and the interior ones began. Only when you inhaled deeply did you discover the cause.

“What you screamin’ for, cher?” Daddy said, appearing out of thin air. Or directly in front of you. You didn’t know. “Thought you were up at that fancy university of yours.”

“Looks like you brawled with a hunter, little monster,” Bastien said. “Did you at least get a snack out of it?”

A snack.

Wednesday.

You leaned over and expelled every bit of blood you had gotten into your body. It didn’t make you feel any better. If anything, it only exacerbated the sharp pain in your chest to see just how much you had taken from her. From your girl. Your Wednesday.

A chunk of the countertop broke off in your hand. The kitchen went silent. You blinked slowly before looking down. It wouldn’t be an easy fix. But you could do it, it would just take a weekend or two. Hopefully you wouldn’t have to replace the entire counter.

“Boudin’s burnin’, cher,” Bastien said softly from beside you. When had he gotten there? “Go sit down, I got it.”

Niceties would get him nowhere. And yet, you still went and sat at the table between Enid and Wednesday. They were looking at you, you could feel it. But you couldn’t take your eyes away from the scar on Wednesday’s hand.

The scars you had caused.

You killed her.

“I know I asked for dinner,” Bastien said, “but I think I should head out for the night.” His hand rested on your shoulder; it was cold and soft. “It was nice meeting you both.”

He leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek. His lips - much like you believed of your own - were cold. It wasn’t long before he pulled away. His footsteps were loud against the wooden floor, slowly getting softer and softer until the door opened and clicked shut.

Leaving you alone with your two girls.

Your two girls you nearly killed.

A monster.

#wenclair x reader #wednesday x reader #enid x reader #wednesday addams x reader #enid sinclair x reader

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 9 months

Text

PREY

PAIRING: Hunter!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Werewolf!Reader

SYNOPSIS: There’s blood on your hands again.

WORDCOUNT: 16.8k

WARNINGS: Intense gore, body horror, death, mutilation, weapons, firearms, knives, intended harm, violence, blood, descriptions of wounds, angst, fluff, protective!Simon, religious mentions, period time standards for men/women (1700s), etc.

A/N: The first of my reverse AUs is finally here! Enjoy!

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

The tale of the Werewolf extends back to around 2100 BC. It was written in The Epic of Gilgamesh, scored into a clay tablet by hands long buried—a corpse forever still in the earth so deep, the bones have yet to be found by greedy eyes. Perhaps the oldest surviving story in human history, and there is still a passage that bleeds into stories hundreds of thousands of years later.

In such, Gilgamesh, a man on the search for immortality, rejects a woman for the reason of turning her previous husband into a wolf.

“You have loved the shepherd of the flock; he made meal-cake for you day after day, he killed kids for your sake. You struck and turned him into a wolf, now his own herd-boys chase him away, his own hounds worry his flanks…”

And then, the tales spread, changed, through history and through spoken words of caution. Like water trickling from a well, down the shape of the wooden bucket delving deeper and deeper into a pit of age—of caution.

“The Beast of Gévaudan. Man-eater.” Through France

“He has a wolf-head, you know? Tall thing—short brown hair all over him.” Through Scotland

“Beware the man that changes shape under the full moon.” England.

Now, in the late seventeenth century, it all comes to a head. Even the people in 2100 BC knew that someone who changes into a wolf, or some bastard-like imitation of one, was very much real; it is very much an affliction that overtakes sense and reason. A curse.

Transferable down to the saliva of one entering your bloodstream.

You must never get within the beast’s sights.

—

There’s blood on your hands again.

Hunched over, your body quivers, and the bareness of your flesh in the moonlight is of little concern to you—trapped in a fetal position while the chilled wind howls.

Howls.

“Get out of my head.” Your fingers grasp at your scalp, pulling; ripping. A sob jaggedly slashes your throat open. “Please,” you rattle in a fast breath, the grass snapping as you writhe. “Get out of my head.”

It had happened once more, and you can’t remember any of it.

The forest is deathly still. No birds sing their songs—no breeze moves the long grass, patches trampled down around you as if a beast had staggered into the small clearing you’re lying in. Maybe it had. There are shadows that listen to your quiet panic, the low whines and gasping quivers of your throat; from behind the trees that speak in the way that only they could. The deep night creeps into you, and the moonlight bathing your flesh doesn’t push back the terror in your bloodstream.

Your body burns like you’ve broken every bone twice over, and judging by the blood stuck in between every line and dip of your skin, to anyone walking past, the analogy could be very real. Fingers flexing and bending, you try to force out the venom inside of your head with desperation befitting a dying dog, spine visible out of the skin of your back as you sob all the harder.

You tried to stop it—you had; you always do. But, just like every month when the full moon mocks you with its silver-hued face, it never works.

It never works.

Your eyes stare at nothing as you lay here, in this place of grass, blood, and bile, of corruption as deep as a vile sin of flesh. It came over you like a wave, fingers trapping your throat and bearing it to the caress of fangs. There were different names for it here, miles from your village and the terrified eyes that search the tree line; names coming from the hunters and their black deeds.

Shapeshifter.

Demon spawn.

Werewolf.

“I can’t take it anymore,” you shove the side of your head into the ground, pushing the torn earth away from the cuts of long claws. Tears flood the dirt until it’s wet and muddy, pushing the crimson stains on your skin away in long streaks. “It hurts, God, please, it hurts.”

The sound of your hysterics rises and falls in the stillness—the inactivity of fearful birds and beasts wondering if your fangs would rip from your gums and your claws would tear from your fingertips. Fur along your body the color of which leads to stories of their own spreading far and wide.

The White Wolf. The Specter of St. Francis’ Village. A hound from Hell.

More pale than snow, and sharper seen than a knife or blade through the black trees. Even if the memories of your shifts were fuzzy at best, there were flashes of those who’d seen your gargantuan form from the confines of their stone-cut homes. Those wide eyes. Yelling—screaming; sprays of blood as heads were separated from bodies—

“Stop!” You scream, your legs kicking out as your toes scrape the grass. “It’s not me! It’s not!”

There’s a call of alarm from deep within the woods, the flash of torches and bellow of hunting dogs. They’re running you down, you’d forgotten that in the depths of your breaking mind and body, and by the time your elongated limbs had set themselves back into a more human-like appearance, your spine cracking at every vertebrae, it had slipped your thoughts entirely. It always took you a long time to understand what had happened after…everything.

But even now, the shouts of the hunt are pointless to the visceral breaking of your consciousness, stuck between leaving bloodlust and knowledge of horror. There’s flesh in your teeth, and you wail before your fingers drag down your face, cupping over your ears. In the back of your skull, the panting of dogged breath echoes; running, blood, blood, blood. It’s a dance of fangs, of pale fur, staining every inch and flooding the back of your mouth. Drinking it down like water.

Flesh—lovely, disgusting, flesh rent and torn to the bone with smacking gums belonging to a square snout.

Who had you killed this time?

By the time the dogs had tracked your scent to your curled body, it was already too late.

“Here!” Male voices shift in and out on the backs of crows, hard and cruel. “It’s here!”

“Get the dogs on it!”

“It’s not me,” you mutter incessantly, not truly understanding what you’re saying as hounds burst through the bushes, all snapping teeth and slobbering tongues your eyes widen in an instant. Panting, your jaw clenches; long whines move your throat.

“What…?” Blinking quickly, the dogs surround you—having to be at least ten of them on their nimble legs and thin tails. Everything is distant to you; separated. A knife could be driven through your heart, and you wouldn’t even realize it until minutes later, bleeding out on the grass.

The hounds are afraid of you.

They dart forward and balk back, your scent driving them up a wall until rabid slobber drips from their maws. Torchlight pulls through the trees—quicker now, running. Fangs nick your shoulder and you yell, shoving up to your backside as the world swirls, shuffling away as the dogs snarl. Their eyes are red-huen. Drunk off fear and order.

Your head darts and shifts, blood dripping off your chin to travel down the flesh of your stomach and navel—so much crimson that the whites of your eyes are violent under the moon. Hands slipping over the wet grass, your face pulls and slackens in delirious confusion as you try to stand but fail. You cry out in sharp pain, and the dogs go wild in their kill circle, nearly attacking one another in anticipation.

You glance down and see the black crossbow bolt sticking out of your thigh.

The scent of wolfsbane in the air only then becomes clear to you, and the realization is slow. Wolfsbane—you’d been told about it by the village priest. It makes beasts of the night dumb and weak; minds unclear.

In a moment of clarity, the reason behind your incurable hysteria becomes clear.

Lungs heaving and eyes far-off, the hunting party bursts through to where you stay, and you look up in animalistic fear. Figures dip and slip into one another, faces becoming demons as the visages melt into twos and threes. You yell out, sniffling and sobbing, trying to back up until the hounds grapple onto your shoulder and rip a chuck out of your arm. Screaming, your hand moves back, shoving at its snout before hands staple themselves to your wrist.

“No!” You wail, injured leg dragging as you’re forced back into a heavy chest. Hot breath fans against your neck as multiple grips pull and touch you—shackling you down with rope and chains. Your throat screams itself raw, kicking and struggling futility. “Let go!”

You’re too weak—too drugged off wolfsbane and blood loss. Rotting teeth move across the canvas of a smeared painting, you can’t focus beyond the riot of your heart inside of your ribs.

Grubby hands snap under your chin, digging into your flesh as you cry, not able to move as the restraints are tightened. A silver muzzle is slapped over your jaw. Dark eyes shimmer as you rage—aggravating the bolt wound until fresh blood forms a puddle on the ground, which the dogs lick their lips at.

“Look at that,” a low, lust-filled voice eases out, and hands around your body tightening as you squirm, head spinning. Silver and wolfsbane. Your eyes snap to fight the sudden flood of fuzzy heaviness in your body. “Pretty little Hell-Beast, eh? Almost seems a bit strange to have the Spector be her. Think that hunter shot the right bitch?”

“Course,” another grunt, a hand grabs the top of your head, jerking it up as your head lulls along with the force. You can barely focus on the words being said. “He isn’t a fuckin’ twat. Killed a werewolf in the next village over, too. Heard he skinned the fucker and took its head for his mantlepiece—just like the vampire skull he wears.” A pause. The dogs are still barking—echoing out in the trees. You can’t feel your legs. “Isn’t that right, Hunter?!”

A shout is sent into trees as your panic breeds with the drug, eyelids drooping as your head is snapped and moved by your hair. Your buggy eyes don’t focus on the man until he steps into the torchlight, the crowd parting for him as the metal of your chains drags and clinks together.

It’s as if the very blackness of night takes human form.

The man, the Hunter, is tall—very tall. He looms like an aloof animal over most of the others here with his dark boots and his black hood, and yet, under the fabric, there is no whisper of his face.

Only the upper visage of a pure white skull, and two long, needle-pointed teeth where canines should be.

“Ghost,” one of the men laughs, groping at your bleeding thigh before you shriek, muffled from behind the muzzle, and weakly kicked out. “Good shot, Mate. Right in the meat of the thing. Gave a good trail for the hounds.”

Ghost blinks slowly, grunting under his breath as the large crossbow in his hands is shifted. He stays silent as your visible pulse hurries on as if you were a rabbit and not a wolf, watching from under the cover of his hood. The darkness of his clothes is blue in the moon—silver buttons down the length of a loose shirt and pants stuffed into boots. The hood is attached to a jacket, which itself extends down to his knees and sways lightly with every shift. The silent resting of weapons and tools is not lost to anyone.

Belt of filled vials and large knives; a firearm over his back, and two pistols hidden on either thigh. That crossbow was still in his hands.

Brown eyes openly dig into your soul, dead as a corpse, and your voice whines as your thigh is finally released with a laugh. Your vision blacks and comes back a moment later as you try to breathe from behind the muzzle, gasping. That skull on his face…you don’t like it. It scares you.

And the Hunter only continues to watch numbly as his wide shoulders stay stationary.

“Get the cage!” Someone roars, and you flinch, shrinking until a dog with short fur comes and nips at your ankles, the man holding you grinning sharply as you sob and shake.

“C’mon—expected more of a fight from you, Spector. Getting bullied by dogs, now? Ain’t that a twist of fate, then. Bet this devil’s whore can’t even walk with all that wolfsbane in ‘er, eh?”

A grumble of chuckles as the rattle of metal is in the distance. You grow more fearful, mind flashing to a burning stake and the trials you’d seen in village after village. No—no they can’t put you in a cage; they can’t put you on trial.

They’re going to make it hurt.

“Say we try it out.” A shadow comes closer and grabs you by the arm, ruthlessly shoving you to the ground. You cry out as your spine meets the earth, arms and legs kept under chains that tangle and screech in their metallic way. The rope that holds the muzzle pulls against your neck until you can’t breathe except in ragged wheezes.

“Go on,” they taunt, some holding back the rampaging dogs just to watch you flail and shimmy. Your face grows hot as you struggle to sit up—shaking so violently you can’t focus on anything but the quiver. “Put on a show for us, Beasty!”

Death would be better than this.

Tears hit the ground as the cage is finally brought into view, the men all groaning and annoyed that you hadn’t even attempted a forced shift or a desperate run into the trees.

Ghost’s fingers, you notice from the side of your blurring eye, tighten minutely around the body of his weapon. You do not doubt that he’s wondering if it would be easier to just put a bolt through your eye right now.

“Get it loaded up,” the Hunter’s voice is accented and gravel-like. As if rotting wood is being peeled back and scraped along gravel, he stares at you for a long moment and then glances at the dogs. “And get those fucking mutts under control.”

“Which one?” Is the low-blow joke, and the ruckus of loud amusement that follows makes you want to die.

It’s not your fault, how do you tell them that? It’s not your fault.

Your throat bobs in an attempt to speak, but you can’t move your jaw from behind the restraint of your face—held tight to you as the men come back over and grapple for you again. The priest was right, wolfsbane makes werewolves sluggish.

You can do nothing as you’re ruthlessly dropped into a silver cage, borrowed, no doubt, from the Vatican itself, and christened with holy water. But it was a funny thing, really, and the dark humor wasn’t lost to you even like this. There was nothing godly about this contraption.

Locked in, you shove yourself immediately into a corner and hunch over, grasping at your thigh as the bolt still leaks fluid in a long trail over the ground. The pain is so great in your head, that the physical agony is little—a bullet wound to a sliver.

Your temple slams into the metal, smacking into it as your eyes shove themselves closed.

Head hurts—hurts. I can’t think. Can’t think. It’s humming, my skull is breaking open.

Bile pools in the back of your throat, but the muzzle keeps it in, leaving you gagging as the cage is lifted with a grunt and carried by long poles; back to St. Francis' Village, no doubt, but you can’t…focus.

“Think you might ‘ave given her too much, then, Hunter,” one calls, slapping Ghost on the shoulder as the crowd follows after the panicking quarry. The large man only gives him a look from the side of his eye and the villager pulls away immediately, awkwardly chuckling before hurrying off after the others.

Brown eyes watch your bare body hunch and spasm, pupils wide as you’re carted off.

He’d been generous with the wolfsbane, truth be told. He’d expected you to be…Ghost’s dark brows pull in from behind his grim mask…he’d expected you to be different.

Humming under his breath, the Hunter watches the torches disappear into the trees and lets his gaze linger on you.

There was something…off.

Blinking, he turns, eyes studying the place where they’d found you with sharp attention that misses nothing—not even the birds that come back to settle into the trees again. Large boots shift through the grass, and as he’s re-settling the crossbow in his hands, his eyes find something glinting.

Watching, Ghost takes another step and brings his body to the item in the grass, hidden, before he kneels. Digging with large digits, the Hunter’s hands loop through the chain of a necklace, dragging it through the torn earth until he can gaze at it fully under the light of the moon.

Blinking in slight surprise, Ghost finds the body of a silver bullet hanging from the confines of a leather strap. Brown eyes shifting to look over his shoulder, the man listens to the cheers and merriment of the hunting party mutely. A simmering understanding brews in his gut. It’s only one that you could know from years of experience doing just as he had—hunting and being hunted in turn with a knowledge of all things dark and unholy.

It could never be easy, could it?

A low grunt later, the man sighs out a deep, “Fucking hell,” and moves to slowly stand, slinking back into the darkness.

—

They kept you in the cage and set it on display in the middle of town for days.

Shivering now from the cold more than the wolfsbane, you stay collapsed into yourself as people come past to poke and prod at you—even sticking knives into the slits of the cage and digging them into you like an animal until your flesh was marked and brutalized.

You don’t remember what it’s like to not be bloody.

The bolt wound was festering; infected. You dare not touch it, because the pain only makes you want to vomit, and if you do, you’ll most likely suffocate on your own bile before the trial ever happens.

Yet, on the fourth night of this, as your eyelids flutter and your body grows weaker, a shadow comes to visit.

“You weren’t born one.” It isn’t a question, but the sudden voice makes you startle.

Eyes locking onto Ghosts’, your mind flies with fear—thinking that perhaps there’s more abuse that you’ll be put through. But no…the man has no weapons on him tonight. Only a long knife at his belt. The mask stays.

You stare, unable to speak as your fingers twitch.

Grunting, Ghost’s head tilts, gaze moving up and down as you curl in tighter around yourself. A cold breeze rips through the square, and your eyes clench closed with breaking will. When you open them again, the Hunter is kneeling by the cage, and holding up something in his hand loosely.

“You going to behave if I take that muzzle off?” You nearly gasped at the hanging image of your necklace—a silver bullet on a leather strap; that dark and heavy thing usually kept around your neck. A reminder.

After a moment of wide-eyed staring, you nod quickly to his question, a desperate, pleading thing without the need to utter words. Please, you want to scream at him, take it off.

Ghost’s eyes are as dark as a mound of dirt, sharply intelligent and filled with an unflinching reality. He doesn’t care what you are, and he won’t until you speak to him and let him judge your character far before any courtroom can. The man knows what a lie is better than any priest.

“Good,” he says curtly, accent far more deep as he thinks, re-capturing the bullet in his palm and standing before he shuffles it into his pocket.

You can’t help the anxiety as Ghost moves forward, loping to the side of the cage with the side of his eyes on you incessantly. It’s obvious how his other hand lays limp on the hilt of his blade that, with only one wrong move, you’d feel the chill of the edge with no time at all.

But the temptation of getting this muzzle off was too good to ruin, and so, you stay as still as you’re able as crows call in the distance and the deadness of the town leaks into your blood.

Ghost moves his free hand and orders, blankly, “Closer.”

You hesitate, body tight before you drag your face closer to the bars, angling it parallel with the metal so the tight bind on the back can be taken up. The fear can be smelt the second your eyes have to break contact with his with the turn of your head—neither of you trusts the other.

Ghost hums under his breath at the sight of your broken body coming farther into the open light of the moon, the whites of your eyes all the more visible from under the slathering of blood and tears. He hadn’t been absent to witness the abuse you’d been put through, even if the coin from his successful hunt was feeding him at the inn, a small window allowed the tight view of your torment at the hands of the people you’d once lived around.

But the reality was that you’d killed people—scores of them—and yet the worst part of it was that he wasn’t sure if you even knew that.

It took four nights for him to break his only rule: never get involved after the job’s done.

But the hunch he had was too important to ignore.

Large fingers latch onto the knot at the base of your skull through the cage itself, Ghost grunting at the sight ahead of him. The rope had been gradually chafing over your flesh, peeling back hair and skin until only the bloody meat was left—Simon had to wonder if the people of this village even wanted you alive for the trial or not at this rate. You’d be dead by tomorrow if that infected bolt at your thigh wasn’t taken care of.

Despite himself, a part of his chest tightens at the sight of the thing sticking out of your leg, dripping a yellowish puss. It had been a good shot, and he had overcoated the bolt in wolfsbane.

Ghost hadn’t expected you to be so susceptible to it—most werewolves only got slower, but you…you seemed to have a stronger reaction. He files that fact away and tilts his masked face to the side.

Grasping at his blade, the sound of a knife being slipped out of a sheath makes you startle, jerking your head back and shoving away even as your muffed whine of pain falls out. Ghost momentarily readies himself for an attack, but the way you force your mangled body to the opposite corner has him grumbling out a hard, “Easy.”

The Hunter raises the blade, watching you with unblinking eyes. Your body shakes; panting. It was like calming a feral dog.

“You want the thing off or not? Have to cut it.” Once more, the man rises and walks over, boots almost silent over the small raised platform the cage had been set on like a trophy, you inside are comparable to the golden coins that greedy eyes touch and run their dirty hands over.

Your mind is a troubled thing as you watch this Hunter and his crude knife come closer, kneeling again, and motioning with two fingers to shift your head.

“Out ‘ere,” Ghost says, brown eyes not letting you guess anything about his true motives. “Don’t have time to fuck around. Guards’ll make a round soon and I’d rather not get caught wide-eyed.”

Your brows pull in, hands clenching and unclenching in your lap as goosebumps travel the length of every limb. You were tired—hungry and thirsty; there were open wounds that burned with infection and ones that were crusted over with dirt and grime. You can’t feel your toes, and the tips of your fingers have long since gone numb.

The thought of getting this muzzle off was like the promise of heaven being dangled in front of your nose. Your hesitation this time is far longer than the first, moonlight glinting off the visible blade in Ghost’s hand as he stares. That mask holds death.

The hood is gone from him—only that pale bone left and sewn into dark, dark, fabric. The sharpness of the teeth leaves your throat bobbing in a nervous swallow as your head carefully shifts to rest on the bars. Bending, you present the knot once more and try not to focus on the way Ghost’s attention is fully on your expanding lungs; the pulse that is seen through the meat of your neck.

But he says nothing before his fingers once more grasp the rope and the tip of the knife slips up. You don’t even feel it before the sudden slackening of the muzzle, and then the thing slips from your face before it slaps the bottom of the cage with a dull thump.

The first thing you do is vomit.

Spine pulling in, your body jerks as the bile that had been in the back of your throat rockets out, restrained hands slapping the ground as the acidic concoction leaks from between your torn lips. Face on fire, you choke and retch for what seems like minutes before you can finally breathe in the damp air—the innate shame and disgust rolling through as you cough raggedly.

It’s only after you’d forgotten the man kneeling outside that he seems to remind you of his presence with a grumble.

“Breathe. It’s no use if you can’t speak to me.”

A weak, quivering glare comes across your eyes, saliva dripping off your chin as your tongue moves to lick at your lips. But the brown gaze is as immovable as stone. Finding it pointless, your hands come up and delicately touch the base of your skull, only making you flinch when the fresh blood pools down and over your neck, licking at your shoulders. Tiny droplets fall to hit the metal one at a time.

Ghost’s fingers twitch as he puts the knife away.

“Who bit you?” You stare at him, hands falling before your wrists rub at the aggravated skin of your jaw. He shifts his head, voice slow but heavy. “Speak.”

“...I’m not a dog,” your voice is scratchy, hoarse. You send a small glance his way, mouth open and nostrils flaring in an attempt to bring in the oxygen you’d been lacking.

“Really?” A hidden eyebrow is slowly raised. “Hell, coulda fooled me.”

“Damn you,” you whisper, not meeting his gaze as you shuffle back. The crossbow bolt catches on one of the cage’s bars and you bite on your lip to stop the shrill yell that threatens to exit. Head moving, you lightly slam your skull into the wall in pain.

Breath hitched, you clench your trembling jaw tight.

“Speak or don’t,” Ghost grunts, and he makes a move to stand. “Your funeral.”

A spark of fear stabs you as he begins to shift, and you can’t explain why. Perhaps it was because it was the first conversation you can remember having lately that wasn’t one-sided or on the edge of a blade.

“W-wait,” you stutter, blinking through the blood. The Hunter doesn’t slow, and then he’s on his feet and fixing the gloves over his fingers, flexing his hands before his foot begins to pivot—

“Please, don’t go,” your voice is thin and pleading, echoing through the street. “I’ll answer your questions, any of them you want,” the sentence cracks through a dry throat, tears welling. “Please, don’t leave me here alone.”

Ghost had half of his body turned away before it went rigid; the side of his dead eyes flash to you, swirling with specs of moonlit silver. A hunter and a werewolf lock gazes, great beasts respectively brought together in seconds that seep into slow minutes of delicate need.

Knowledge and company. Understanding and a horrible fellowship.

The Hunter’s eyes twitch in their ever-narrow resting place, glancing away before he mutely moves back to where he was before.

He wastes no time.

“Who bloody bit you?”

You stifle a pathetic sigh of great relief, taking company with a man who had shot you not days before. Yet the ability to speak and be heard was a commodity that was dimming each and every day.

“It was already fully turned,” you speak quickly, tongue tripping. “A big wolf—a gray one with eyes like the sky.”

Ghost glares to the side. Gray? There were no contracts for gray werewolves with blue eyes in the area. Only you—only Specter. The next question is just as stiff.

“When?”

“Three years ago,” your lips move. “Only three years, I promise.” Brown eyes narrow slowly, fingers tapping the fabric of his pants once before he makes a noise in the back of his throat. Ghost’s jaw clenches, mind working through the hoops that need to be jumped.

To you, the questions might seem pointless, but to a hunter, they were important—very important. Werewolves who are born afflicted with this moon-drunkenness are different from those turned by a bite. Not only are shifts from turned werewolves more violent, more deadly, but they rarely know their own actions from that of the frenzy under their skin; those that are born as such are rarely out of control, unlike your faction.

The only question now was if Ghost could condemn you to death when it was obvious your human form was entirely different and you had no semblance of an idea of what was going on. Was it even his problem to care about? Even looking at you now, the man blinked away from cuts and inflicted injuries—the muzzle on the ground.

The blood and the bolt.

He’d known it had been a foolish play to bring all of those townsfolk with him on this hunt but he needed their knowledge of the terrain; he hadn’t passed through St. Francis’ before. At the time, Ghost hadn’t been averse to assistance as long as he got the job done in his own fashion: capture or kill, the contract had stated. Rarely was he known for capture.

Maybe, deep down, he’d known something was already wrong about this.

“Show me it,” the Hunter grunts, staring you down, a deep anticipation growing in his bones. He had to make sure you weren’t lying.

You lick your lips, face pulling with every twitch and sway of your form. The black at the edges of your vision was coming back, and you blinked quickly, chains dragging before you shifted your back with a quivering breath. The punctures were difficult to see through all of the gore, but Ghost made do as he grabbed at the waterskin at his waist and the rag hanging from his belt.

Flooding the fabric in the lukewarm water, he hums out a firm, “Don’t move. Cleanin’ it,” before you feel the press of the rag to your back.

Gasping lightly, you almost jerk away before the sensation becomes a nearly welcomed one—the drag and slight scrape of rough material. Your averted eyes dip lower, staring at nothing as your heart momentarily slows to a normal pace. Ghost cleans the areas where the swell of scar tissue is the most obvious, and, one by one, the violent groves spread out like a slash of paint over canvas. Along the left side of your waist, the blood gives way to a dented ‘v’ shape of healed punctures. Deep, dragging; a point to where your side was almost ripped away before it broke off swiftly.

Ghost’s dark eyes fight the need to widen, and that hidden blankness stays.

A great gray wolf with blue eyes…

His mask tilts, head shifting as his gaze moves slowly. Gloved fingers twitch to touch them, moving in an almost examining way that befits a surgeon and not a decapitator. Your breath is held in the back of your throat, but you sag nearly entirely into the bars of the cage, growing more unsteady by the second.

The scent of infection is so strong it makes your head burn, and you’re overtaken by it as Ghost’s presence suddenly disappears.

You don’t know if it’s minutes or hours before you understand that you’re alone again, but when your limp neck finally turns to wonder where your silent captor is, you are greeted with nothing but moonlight. Blinking through the sludge behind your eyes, the sinking in your gut was stark and sudden—like a knife dragging itself from gullet to navel.

But all you offer is a light whine as more blood moves to cover the places where Ghost’s rag had just cleaned. You were scared of him, no doubt. A hunter through and through down to the vampiric skull on his face and the shroud of death at every inch of his form.

He’d shot you and drugged you with wolfsbane. Found your necklace.

So why had he talked to you?

Your head is too muddled for this, too delicate. Like the crimson under your nails, it dries and flakes off of your brain as the lack of distraction breeds stored agony. There wasn’t anything left to focus on besides the upcoming trial, your death, and the pain that doesn’t let you sleep except for now, on the brink of not rest but unconsciousness.

And at the sound of a key being slotted into the silver of your cage’s door, only then does your body slump with the weight of doom.

You don’t even feel the hand that grasps at your ankle.

—

The sway of the horse makes your teeth clatter with every clop of hooves.

Your conscience mostly comes and goes, only staying in thin seconds where you feel the press of clean bandages on your afflicted flesh and the tipping of warm broth into your mouth. Grass under your head.

Blankets being shuffled over your clothed body when you shiver.

When you’re finally able to speak, when the horse is moving along and hands keep your back stuck to a strong chest, it’s a low, garbled, “Ow.”

Ghost barely blinks down to your head as it slumps to the gait of his horse, glancing before his attention returns to the thin forest trail ahead of him. You’d made noises in your sleep often enough—this was no different except for the fact he felt your shoulders flex.

Slowing the horse with a pull on the reins, the dappled mare settles to a walk.

“You up, then?” Ghost hums, his hand around your waist tightening as you groan under your breath. “Good. Thought I was dragging a corpse—would have wasted my bandages.”

Your eyes shudder as they open into the light, having to focus on moving them before the sting of the sun makes them water. But you do, and then the confusion outweighs the numb stinging of tended wounds.

Head shifting, you look behind you slowly with wide eyes as the horse under both of you snorts.

Brown eyes watch you before a dark brow twitches upward. “What is it?”

You just blink, mouth slightly open.

“Where…am I?”

“Forest.” Ghost states matter-of-factly.

If you had the energy to glare, you would have. Seeing that nothing will get the man into a proper conversation—he was a brick wall even now—you look down at yourself and land on the scarred forearm that keeps you secure on the saddle. Ghost’s gloves were still on, but the sleeve of his dark shirt had ridden back to his upper forearm, and in the wake of pale skin, you find the black ink of all manner of warfare.

Werewolf skulls; vampire fangs and fire. The slash of inkish chains with skeletons.

Your lips thin, your senses slowly becoming your friend again as you stare at the snarling face of a needle-hewn wolf. Eyes tightening as the horse moves to the left, your body follows the reactive action before Ghost’s pressure tightens once more, visibly veins behind the pale flesh. You move on, seeing the thin tunic and pants over your body—feeling under that, the bind of wrappings with the scents of mashed yarrow leaves in the fabric.

They’d been re-applied recently, too.

“Stay still unless you want to re-open them,” Ghost utters, eyes scanning the trees for unseen threats. It was midday by now, the sun high above the trees watching the both of you on your trek to seemingly nowhere. “We’re far enough away, but I want more distance before I take the time to close them fully.”

“The trial,” your arm moves up, fingers grazing the side of your nose before it falls back down. Ghost can feel the air heat with unease. “The…the cage?”

“Trial was two days ago,” he draws, thighs shifting over the saddle. “Give or take.”

The confession isn’t as shocking now that you have woken up here, but the lack of remembrance on your part of that time startles you. It’s a blank slate—just like the aftermath of your shifts. You don’t like not knowing.

The next question comes out with a haggard cough, sweat dripping off your nose. “Why?”

“You’re going to tell me ‘bout the werewolf that made you,” the Hunter grunts. “And you can’t speak if you’re lit up like a pig on a spit. Took you the night we met in the square.”

Through it all, Ghost barely looks at you—always his attention keeps to the trees and the shadows that linger; seeming to listen. He knows more than anyone that they do.

The horse continues on, your pain surfaces again, and with a shuddering breath, you fall into a fitful sleep once more. The arm around your body tightens, and the warmth it lends is accented when Ghost’s shifting gaze glances at the top of your head. He wears an expression he can’t name yet.

When the throws of fever pull their curtains back for the last time, it shows you the slats of the attic above your head, wood polished and clean as the heat of fire moves over your body. Pulling a large inhalation of air into your lungs, you blink softly as if clearing away cobwebs with a broom—willing sense to return in the few seconds it had flown away.

The furs are warm.

In the village, you weren’t anyone of standing. A simple woman—unwed, and, thus, unimportant due to the era the world sees itself in. It wasn’t all bad…namely, it hid your affliction far longer than you could have hoped it did. You had a small piece of family land passed down to you on the edge of the village, and that was where you stayed. Nothing fancy; a hearth, a large, single-room property with a garden and a well. You were known to keep sheep, a fact that had caused perhaps a few hysterical chuckling fits when, every full moon, one or two went missing, but it gave you the ability to accumulate money and, more importantly, an alibi.

Who would suspect a werewolf to own sheep?

But this home already had a more detached feel to it—something removed. The air was sterile, somehow. Groaning, your face tightens before you rise to the palms of your hands, muscles quivering to keep the strength your stubbornness gives to them. Half-vertical, you turn and study the area.

Square, the four walls are stone with mortar and clay to keep the rounded blobs together. You’re on the ground floor, a staircase to the far right while the bed is stuck into the left corner; a nightstand sitting void of all except a single chamber-wick holding an unused candle. A sturdy table with one wooden chair, a stone fireplace set into the same wall the headboard is level with, and a large oak door.

There are runes written on it.

You can’t make sense of what they mean, but when you see them, your tiny-pupiled eyes slip to the rest, all placed at windows or near some point of entry—unassuming things until you realize why they were red in color.

Your shoulders tighten, and whatever bit of magic moves through your skin lets your nose pull to the scent of human blood.

You clear your throat and look away, licking your lips with a dry tongue. Moving your toes under the two bear furs that rest at your abdomen, you notice the lack of earth-shattering pain that accompanies it, and, shifting a hesitant hand, you grab the edge and push it back a bit farther.

Bandages with perfect ties meet you, void of any crimson staining.

Truth be told, you expected more of a Hunter’s home—skulls; trophies. The town always spoke of burnt bodies strung up on crosses that mark the property of those in this profession, a ward and a sign of grim hope. Vampires mostly, wasting away in the brutal sun. Others as well. Werewolf fur and witch bones shoved in blessed boxes.

This place is almost normal, you think, thighs shifting over the dip of the bed as your finger runs the white wrappings where the bolt should be. Your mind dares not go to how he got the thing out of you, and at the stretch of sutures, you take your curious grip off of it entirely.

Looking around once more, your brows furrowed tightly.

Where was the man? The hunter responsible for your current predicament? Ghost. With his vampire skull mask and his black attire—a hellhound with dark ink and intentions. More importantly…

Why were you still alive?

Your memories come back slowly as you stand, bare feet moving to the floor as the tunic over your upper half falls to your knees at the verticality of your spine. They creak a bit, the bones, at the ability to stand fully upwards and not be impaired by bars of silver. A strength seeps through you slowly.

In the deafening silence, you clear your throat tinily and lightly itch at the clean flesh at the back of your neck where the muzzle sat; rubbed raw now scabbed and healing with the spread of natural oil balms. Taking in a slow breath, you step forward with a heavy limp and watch the door, glancing at locked trunks and cupboards, eyes blinking. Your muscles ached, but the sting only served as a way to remind you that you were still here—living. Few in your position were granted second chances.

You’re about to study the runes at the door when you’re called to with the creak of the stairs in your left ear.

“Wouldn’t recommend it.” Your head snaps over, blinking quickly.

Ghost carries the leather holders of his twin pistols in one hand, the bodies of the weapons in them hanging as he comes to ground level one step at a time. Brown eyes glance over through the confines of his skeletal face-covering as he walks to the table, placing down the items.

“Keeps the spirits out—smudge ‘em and the house gets haunted,” he grunts. “Rather not bleed myself again to get the runes copied.”

You stare in mild shock, sound sparking from the back of your throat. “...Right.”

Side-eyeing the markings, you shiver and step back from the door, silent as Ghost seems to focus on his task at hand—looking over his weapons.

Large hands running the metal and wood, the pistols in his grip shift as the drying light of the day streams in through the curtains of the windows. He touches them intimately, knowing every grove and dip until he tilts one and rubs away a slash of dirt from the barrel with his bare thumb.

You quickly turn awkward, looking down at yourself and the bareness of your lower legs. It wasn’t lost to you that the man was the reason you were in this situation in the first place.

“You shot me,” you grumble—not unlike someone who had a knife to their throat.

“Affirmative,” Ghost says nonchalantly. You get a slow, blank glance and nothing more.

“Have you drugged me?” You ask, heart speeding up. There wasn’t anywhere to go—not without an escape plan and with Ghost in front of you.

“Wolfsbane?” The Hunter shifts his thighs, boots moving over the hardwood. “Negative. Not yet.”

“Yet?” An attitude seeps in, lips thinning.

Ghost sighs under his breath, slipping the pistols back into their holsters. “Forgetting about how we met, Love?”

“No,” you huff. “Not really.”

“Perfect.” Eyelids pull down slightly. “Don’t.” Ghost nods his head to the table's chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sit.”

“I told you I’m not a—” A sharp, numb look makes your snappy reply stall itself, and you stand there for more than a minute before you find the pointlessness of this.

You limp forward and sit in the chair.

Looping your arms around your waist, you glare to the side as your skin crawls at the unblinking eyes that stare. Ghost rolls his shoulders, tilting his head.

“What do you know about the werewolf that bit you beyond appearance?”

“Nothing,” you chuckle hopelessly, moving a finger in confusion. “I…I don’t know why you’re asking me about it—it’s not like I had a conversation with him.”

The Hunter blinks at your sudden confidence, unable to separate your form now from the one in the cage; blubbering ceaselessly in a grassy clearing. But lesser pains always bring out someone's true colors. As long as you told him what he needed to know.

Ghost explains with a sheen of dull annoyance. “Every turned werewolf holds a connection to the one that bit them. It’s pack mentality.” At your blank look, his brows pull in, the mask shifting. “You telling me you’ve never come back into contact?”

“...No?” Your lips dip. “For three years I’ve been by myself with this.”

Brown digs into your face, a small sheen of confusion slipping in to tighten them, around his biceps, Ghost’s fingers twitch.

You lick your lips, speaking up in the impending silence. “I don’t remember anything after I turn. Is that normal?”

“For you?” He mutters, still not taking his eyes off of you. “Yes.”

“I’m not going to pretend like I know what’s going to happen,” you shrug. “But at the very least I want to try and understand why I’m like this.” You open and close your mouth for a moment. “Before you kill me, anyways.”

“If I wanted you dead,” Ghost grunts through a half-amused tilt of his head. He doesn’t beat around the bush. “...You would be.”

“‘Capture or kill,’” you huff. You’d seen the flyers; heard from word of mouth. “Right.” You sigh. “They’ll track you down, you know. They’re not going to just let you take me.”

“They won’t make it through the forest. Bastards would get lost on the trail.” The Hunter moves until he can grasp the waterskin from the counter, dragging it over with his hand. He tosses it to the main table in your direction after he comes back over, and you hesitantly reach forward and pull the top off. Ghost changes the subject back to his studies of your condition closely. Dark eyes slip down your front as your lips part to take up the liquid. “Before your shift, tell me what you see.”

Your throat bobs as you drink the water, thirsty as it soothes your dry mouth. You hum, but the inquiry makes your hair rise. Your arm wipes at your mouth as you lower the waterskin, a small thankfulness in your heart. “It’s less of what I see and more of what I hear and smell—blood; metal. River water. I…” Your chest tightens. “I feel my bones breaking and I hear howling mixing with whispers.”

“Whispers?” Ghost leans, eyes alighting with dim interest. “What’re they saying?”

“I try to block it out,” you whisper, not exactly answering. “Makes it go faster.”

A long nothingness ensues.

The impending night grows deeper, and then Ghost finally speaks again after you begin to shift with unease. He nods firmly, tilting his head as if it’s already been decided.

“Next full moon, you’re going to listen to them.”

Your horrified face snaps up. It’s a moment of stuttering before you force out a heavy, “What? No!”

He’s already turned, moving back over to the stairs and placing one foot on the steps.

“Ghost!” You yell, face devoid of blood.

He side-eyes you. “Go back to bed. You’re dead on your feet.”

And then the same man who shot you in the thigh with little remorse disappears into the attic.

—

The Hunter was a strange beast.

The days the two of you spent together were mostly silent—left with tight stares and tense shoulders. Clipped sentences.

Ghost, for what it was worth, gave you space in this small house; as much as you could get. He kept himself up above while you stayed on ground level keeping yourself occupied. You’d gotten spare trousers and socks, a jacket, and the bed was practically yours with how your scent rolled off of it now. Yet, you had never been permitted to go outside.

You’d seen the land from the windows—careful of the runes, of course, and it wasn’t anything… ghastly. A vegetable garden, a single-stall stable with a dappled mare, and a beaten-down trail out the front.

No livestock.

No bodies.

It was only when you had become ever more curious about your lupine curse that you braved the stairs to the attic—one week into the impromptu stay. It’s funny due to the fact that Ghost had never said that you couldn’t go up there sooner.

You stand now in the flat room with a sloping roof and find the man making bullets. It’s a long table, parallel to the walls in the center of the room; dark and covered in all manner of books and tomes. Grimoires tied up and locked. Racks of weapons with markings and blessings tied to sheets of ribbon…it was something you’d never seen before.

Studying it now, the contents were a dark fascination.

Ghost fiddles with his silver shell, mixing in gunpowder into the hollowness. He doesn’t speak until you do, but he knows you’re there.

“Tell me more about werewolves,” you speak through the air, and he waits before answering. “The ones who are born with it.”

“Rare,” Ghost comments, and you’re stuck by how willing he is to tell you about this. He puts down his bullet and picks up another. “Harder to find, even harder to kill. Unlike you, they know what goes on when they’re running ‘round. Fuckin’ nightmare to pick up the pieces—bloodbath.” You thin your lips. “Not all of ‘em are murderous, but they’re unpredictable. Can’t help but make packs.”

“Instinct,” you murmur, coming a bit closer. Ghost pauses, looking at you before huffing in the form of a gruff ‘yes.’ Your wondering continues. “But why am I alone then?”

“That’s the question,” the hunter says slowly. “Need to figure out why.” Brown eyes slowly move to you. “‘Fore more people end up dead. Or turned.”

“Can I,” you stop at the table, standing opposite the man. “Can I turn people, too?”

“No,” is all you’re given. Ghost’s eyes glint. “And I’d rather you didn’t bite on me to try.”

Your face heats.

Your attention focuses for a while on how he works—prepares for something unseen. He’d said he’d kept you alive to help him find the one who bit you, but he’d also cleaned your infected injuries, bandaged you, and fed you. Kept you warm. Safe. It was far more than could be said about your village.

However, it was strange how Ghost’s stark muteness was something that you found in the darker hours, a small comfort. When the moon was coming in from the windows, and you hid from its rays as if being stalked down, he once found you sleeping under the bed on the floor because of it.

He never said anything, just offered you a silent hand and helped you back out with a slow blink and a tilt of his head.

There was a distrust, obviously, but there was also an unspoken nearness. No one would make any sense of it—you couldn’t either. It was like a wolf and a raven; something built on hesitence but necessity. You didn’t like Ghost’s mask or his brutalist profession of shooting his wolfsbane-coated bolts, and he didn’t like that once a month you turned into a rampaging werewolf.

Comparable things, really.

But even here, in this workshop in his attic, you saw the need for this—for hunters. If you couldn’t stop yourself, there came a time when you had to be stopped. Truth be told, you expected it to be a quick and final end. Maybe that was just a foolish hope.

A silver bullet would have always been your final song, you believed. Perhaps the very one that had once swung from around your neck; the one you’d never taken off until now.

But then, perhaps that would have been your own brutalist profession.

“Thank you,” you nod. Ghost pauses, fingers stained with gunpowder. He blinks at the bullet in his hand as you continue. “I know you don’t care about anything beyond your work, but if you hadn’t gotten me out of that cage they would have burned me alive. Skinned me.” Your tongue pokes out of the side of your mouth. “I don’t know, but it wouldn’t have been kind. Job or not…thank you for getting me out of there.”

“I shot you,” he utters, voice gravel. Ghost seemed confused.

Your lips flick. “I never said I forgave you for that part.”

A smooth chuckle wafts out over the attic and your own softly mirrors. Your head tilts somewhat quizzically. “But, about that…did you mean to put so much wolfsbane on it?”

Ghost shakes his head, grumbling. A small sense of honesty leaks out. “...Expected you to be bigger.”

You blink, and then, a few seconds later, a loud snort echoes like a ringing bell.

The Hunter's unimpressed look only leads you to find him all the more enjoyable. “Shut it. Fuckin’ hell.”

A hand is waved from your party, dismissing the harsh snap. “Sorry, sorry.” You puff out amused air. “Spector not up to your expectations?”

Ghost nearly rolls his eyes, trying to focus on the task at hand. He didn’t mind your company, at the very least he knew he needed to keep an eye on you for any potentially forced shifts or hostile attitude. What he hadn’t expected was to find you so…different from your muzzled counterpart, your shared physical inhabitant.

He could almost call you endearing if he wasn’t so numb to the sight and scent of reality.

“Sightings were far between,” Ghost grunts. “Here-say. I took an educated guess—better to put something like you out of commission than drag my way out of a forest without legs.”

“No apology?” You try, tilting your head.

“None,” is the drawn response. “I don’t have regrets. You’re alive.”

Your fingers touch the outside of one of his journals, tracing the bumps and grooves of age and wear. You hum, but don’t reply. Most of your pains have been pushed back now, even if you still weren’t up to full strength. Food and rest helped, but the anxiety that perpetuated only lengthened the healing process.

When you can’t trust even yourself under the drunkenness of the moon, it only makes your fear of the sun worse. Everything made you afraid—most of all your mind; most of all, the future.

“Why do you want to find the werewolf that turned me?” You have to speak this, have to push. Your curiosity demands it.

Ghost puts the bullet down and grabs a rag from his belt, mask turning to look your way as he brushes off his hands. He pauses, looming with that gargantuan height—natural intimidation in the span of his chest and the trunk that makes up his front. You find yourself in his shadow as he rubs at his fingers with the rag, taking it away and slotting it back into his belt a moment later.

The man’s heat leaks into your body as he blinks over, glancing your form up and down in a single look; keeping a respectful distance but still making his attentions known.

He stares. “If it keeps biting people, there won’t be any villages left to take up contracts from.”

“Money?” You frown.

“Principle,” Ghost counters, chest rising and falling steadily. “There needs to be a middle ground. Too many feral werewolves, too few people. Cut off the head.”

“Ominous,” your form turns to his, itching at the back of your head again—the scabbing skin. “If what you said was true, how do you know the thing isn’t already dead? If it hasn’t tried to get to me, what was the point of making me?”

“Because you hadn’t left St. Francis’ by the time I put a bolt in you.” Ghost grumbles, rubbing a hand on his bicep, itching above the fabric of his tunic. He stretches with a grunt—and you see his shirt ride up and the pale skin underneath. You gawk for a moment at the length of scars and brutal muscle.

“Charming,” you dryly utter, stuttering in a brief second of pulling back your senses, but the Hunter continues on, ignoring you.

“That was where you were turned—your territory. You stayed because your leader is still close by waiting.” Legs shift, and all of a sudden, a body is over you, hands are on the base of your skull, pushing your own away as brown eyes dig into the injury you pick at.

Your breath hitches, tensing for a second as your spine straightens. You watch widely from the corner of your eye as Ghost runs a careful hand over the flesh. He puffs a breath, chest moving in a grunt that is both commonplace and expected, yet the brush of his chest to your shoulder is not.

You restrain a shiver, nostrils moving to the overwhelming swell of leather and gunpowder. Bone fragments; the tang of whiskey.

His skin as he runs a thumb over the edge of your wound.

“It’ll start cracking.” Ghost utters, and through his fabric, you feel the brush of speech. “Have to apply more balm. Stop messing with it unless you want stitches soon.”

It takes a moment more of his surgical study and a small clearing of your throat before you can speak. Your mind changes the subject for you.

“So…if my bite can’t turn anyone,” you breathe, nearly sagging as Ghost’s fingers catch in your hair, shifting it under his attention to get a better look. He listens, you know. He wasn’t good at talking, but he always listened. “Why did they muzzle me?”

For a brief instance, you think you feel the Hunter’s fingers jerk a tiny amount—some reactionary muscle twitch that leads your body to still.

Ghost can’t say why he did that, though perhaps it was the sudden flash of the injuries that he’d wrapped on the road back to his property that went over his eyelids. Or the cage—your pleading face aching for whatever small sliver of brutish company you can get.

The silver bullet that he still had in his pocket, attached to that leather cord. He knew the purpose; the intent. Just as he knew the scrape of scabbing under his fingertips.

“Control,” he grumbles, and it’s all he’ll say.

Your burning face is somewhat down-turned, letting him do as he must, study what he can. He hadn’t made any moves to endanger you, and besides the upcoming full moon, there was nothing here that screamed imminent danger. Danger as a general, yes, of course. You were a werewolf in a hunter’s home—it would always be…your eyes flutter when his fingertips drag over your scalp…it would always be danger….dangerous.

Ghost doesn’t think you notice it, but your eyes are drooping.

He watches after the slight shock wears off, a tiny smirk flickering the hidden skin of his lips after he realizes the reason. If you had a tail, he’d assume it would be moving in a soft arch by now.

The man was mildly amused at that, and before he moved away fully, he had to stop himself from uttering a sarcastic, ‘like that, then?’

He had to remind himself not to get attached to whatever…this was. He was using you as bait, as some key to his problem. Not a companion. The distance here had to be firm and heavy-handed.

“The balm is down in my packs,” he grunts, leaving just as his name implied before you had the chance to gather your bearings and the lack of caressing heat. You startle back to the attic room, eyes wide and face loose before Ghost’s retreating footsteps echo on the stairs. “Don’t bloody use it all, then.”

The front door opens and closes with a pull of weighted wood.

—

“I can’t do this,” you mutter, pacing alone in the middle of the night down in the living room

The full moon was tomorrow.

“I can’t do it,” you itch at the back of your head, peeling at the nearly healed flesh harshly. Your nails dig into the soft tissue, drilling like a knife. A bead of blood slips around your fingers, but it doesn't stop you.

It’s late—late enough to know that Ghost should be asleep by now. For days, the paranoia, just like always, builds until you are nearly as mute as your Hunter. No more curiously searching his attic; no more questions about his job or how he got into this business. Brown eyes had been lingering more as the days went by, this strange companionship growing. You knew, in his own way, he was…worried.

So silent, even he had been getting noticeably uneasy. Shifting legs and quick glances. Nights where you hid under the bed from the moon until lunch came around, Ghost speaking as easily as he could to try and coax you out to no avail. You, a feral dog with white-rimmed eyes.

At supper, only hours before this panicked pacing, you had told something to Ghost that made him double-take.

“If I can’t stop it…I need you to shoot me. In the head.”

He’d never answered, but his eyes seemed to get ever-sharper as the hours continued on. More tense. Ansty.

But…that was his job, wasn’t it?

“Can’t do it,” you murmur. Blood slips down your wrist. “It isn’t right—”

“Spector?” Ghost’s voice had become so familiar to you that the only thing that made your heart skyrocket was the sudden call of it. Your gasp is sharp from behind a panted breath, hand flinching away from the crater you were steadily digging in your skull. A long string of blood trails into the air as your fingers jerk away, and it’s only then that you notice the deep pangs of pain.

Your eyes shudder for a second as Ghost’s form makes it to ground level. He comes over slowly, attention staying on the way the moonlight makes the crimson stains glint from the dripping line seeping into the sleeve of your tunic. He blinks, and you both stand.

The man’s skeletal adornment was missing, though the fabric under remained. A loose sleep shirt and pants, stained by the rays of night.

“Let me see,” he sighs under his breath, a tiny rasp telling of the sleep he’d been awoken from.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you utter. He doesn’t seem to care, grabbing your wrist and pulling the limb away as his body takes up presence behind you.

“Was already awake,” Ghost grunts, eyes narrowing in hidden worry. You calm down a bit at that, one less problem to worry yourself about.

The Hunter, quietly, leaves for a second and grabs his pouch near the door. With a muffled command, he nods to the bed until you’re backing up and hitting the back of your knees off of it, sitting.

Ghost lights the candle on the nightstand and opens his belongings with stiff glances your way. He noticeably doesn’t ask why you’ve harmed yourself like this.

“I can’t,” you say it like a plea for help. “Ghost, I can’t do it again.”

Hands fiddle with clean bandages and take out his waterskin. The man douses a rag with the liquid and comes over, shifting onto the bed and lightly turning you so your back is to him—legs half hanging off.

The hard press of cold water makes your breath hitch, and you bite your lip.

“It hurts,” you push out. Ghost knows you’re not talking about the newly opened wound.

“Breathe,” he says to you, seeing the way your sides expand with heavy lungs. Brown eyes flutter from the push of his large hand to the warmth of your shaking flesh. “Tell me about your home, yeah? Heard you lived in your own place.”

The question makes you double-take.

He’s asking me that? Here? Now? Hours away from perhaps another catastrophe?

Yet, you can’t help the slippage of your tongue as Ghost’s fingers rub into your scalp. The rag is lessened, and, soon, the material is rubbed gently over the sore itch of weeping skin. You fight a whimper and reply with an addled mind.

“It…it’s quiet. Calm. I always keep the candles going because I don’t like the dark.” Ghost works quietly and quickly.

“There,” he grunts, glancing at the flickering light of the candle he lit. He’d have to remember that. “And?”

“I kept sheep.”

He pauses, and, without meaning to, a soft scoff bounces off the confines of his chest. It catches your attention far better than a bullet could. Ghost shifts a needle and thread out of his gathering of items, taking away his limbs only for the short while it takes him to loop the two together.

“How many?” The masked man asks, amusement gone just as quickly as it had come.

“Only a handful,” you whisper. Your mouth opens and closes, glancing over your shoulder as the candle-light spills out over the room; casting shadows over Ghost’s face, catching on his long eyelashes. Those browns of his glint like tree trunks covered in dew.

“Please,” your words are muffled. Eyes wide and fearful, there isn’t anything that can console you on this. “You need to kill me.”

There was a dichotomy to you—a violent thing. You didn’t want to die, no, you feared it heavily, more than the moon, but the truth was that you couldn’t keep going through this. The unknowing. The breaking bones, the blinding pain. The understanding that nothing that you do can stop it.

“It hurts, Ghost,” your breath stutters. “More than taking off a limb, more than slicing yourself open and ripping out your intestines—it burns more than the light of the moon.”

The Hunter listens through all of it. He sits, he stares, and he hides the brimming sense of concern behind his dead eyes.

With a pulling of his eyebrows, Ghost’s free hand moves upwards and grabs your chin. Freezing, you study this phenomenon from over your shoulder, face on fire with eyes wide to the pale skin visible to your view. You hadn’t realized until now, but this was the most you’d seen of the man’s face.

You could make out the point of his crooked nose—the strength of his jaw under the form-fitting fabric. Cheekbones and the heaviness of his brows. Wisps of hair. He had eyes like a cat, you had to admit; something sly about them despite the numbness that seemed to extend bone-deep.

But his hands had been kind to you.

Firmly, Ghost’s fingers run your flesh, and he blinks softly before a low sound echoes in his throat. He pushes carefully on your jaw and shifts your head back forward so he can help you. When he lets go, your heart quivers in your breast

“I’m ‘ere,” he mutters, and you feel the first stitch enter the thin flesh of your head. You take down deep breaths, focusing on the scrape of his fingertips and not the point of the needle. Ghost can understand the fear of it—of pain. It’s instinct. He tilts his head and pushes out, “I can only ask for one full moon from you, yeah? No more. I just need one.”

“And if I can’t find the werewolf?” Your voice vibrates with emotion, staring down at your hands as Ghost’s chest brushes your spine. The scent of him was addling your brain; the rub and slide of his hands.

The Hunter’s jaw clenches softly. “...Then I let you go.”

It wasn’t what you were expecting, but anything from the time you’d gotten a bolt through the thigh was unknown territory, and, like a dog without a leash, you’d run into it. Your brows furrow, blood oozing down your neck before Ghost’s grip shifts to place the rag back again, swiping away firmly.

“Go?” He nods, but you can’t see it. “But what about the hunt?”

“I can manage.” The stitching pauses. The air is broken up nearly a full minute later. “You’re not evil.” Before they start up again as if nothing was uttered aloud.

The confession makes the sting in the back of your eyes start up again—a strong thing of confusion and vulnerability. Ghost continues his task, pulling together your skin one suture at a time until the injury is fully closed; clean.

“Chin,” he lowly states, and you allow him to tap your jaw, shifting it up so the wrappings can loop above your ear and over your forehead—securing them.

Even far after the blood has seeped through, the two of you stay.

—

Come morning, you already feel wrong.

Your body stays in bed, shaking—sweating. A large pain flairs in your chest over and over like a pulsing well in the earth, skin twitching with the spread of blood. Ghost sits beside the bed all the while, having dragged over his chair. He leans back into it, one arm over the side, hanging with the thing ever so often moving to rub at the back of his neck.

You don’t think he’s moved since he brought it over last night; since he got another candle to stick into the holder—push back the dark. To watch, to study, or just to stave off your rising anxiety is another question.

It’s only after the fourth time you try to rip at the stitches at the base of your skull that he finally grabs your hand and holds it silently. Now, his thumb moves over your knuckles—his gloves back on.

At noon, he tries to suggest eating.

“Hungry?” Ghost asks.

“No,” you say instantly, sweat dripping over your temple, your body partially buried under blankets. “No, I’ll just throw it up.”

Brown eyes glint. “Just one bite?”

Your mouth is already salivating—thoughts of wet flesh and blood in the forefront until you whine and shove your face into the pillow; panting heavily.

Whispers dance in the shell of your ears.

I’m here.

“Go away,” you whisper quickly to them.

Ghost pauses, hesitating. After a moment, his thighs tense with the action of movement, thinking you’re speaking to him. Something swirls in his chest, but he starts to stand nonetheless.

Your eyes widen.

“No!” Both of your hands latch onto the Hunter’s wrist, fear a needle stuck in your gaze. “No, not you. Stay, please.”

A silver cage covered in blood slides across Ghost’s slightly shocked look, but he only licks at the corner of his mouth and slowly leans back once more.

“Not going anywhere,” he says, accent dipping. “Tell me what you’re hearing, yeah?”

His hand slips back into yours, and he presses into your pulse softly, counting. The sun continues across the sky.

“I don’t like how it sounds,” you say, shaking your head. “It’s wrong.”

“Focus,” Ghost breathes, looming closer. His grip squeezes once. “It can’t hurt you.”

You shiver, eyes tightly closed as tears burn the back of your nose. “It’s howling.”

A suddenly gloveless hand spreads up your cheek, resting there and pushing back the sweat that pools. It’s calloused—scarred. You whine, head spinning.

I’m waiting.

Find me.

“I don’t want to,” you utter under your breath, words an amalgamation of slurring gasps.

“Spector,” Ghost calls, head moving closer. “Eh.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” your hurried panic is similar to a mind overdosing on wolfsbane. “Gotta go away—gotta get out—”

“Spec!” The Hunter’s quick bark makes your eyes pop open, and you lock instantly with brown orbs.

They’re tight, unblinking just as always. They offer just a few moments of clarity.

Ghost holds your head still while the rest of you shivers with cold sweats, you can hear the blood inside of his veins; his heart pumping. The scent of his skin was addicting to the point of memorization on the airwaves. You watch, gulping down breaths as your throat bobs.

Eyes dart you up and down, fingers spreading out to offer what little comfort he can. The man wonders if he’s completely in over his head.

Ghost pulls his face-covering up to his nose, and your heart skips beats at the sight of ravaged skin and stubble, scars spreading out like your own. Long ones, short ones, burn marks, and hyperpigmentation. He wasn’t pretty, but he was real.

Oh, he was real.

His grip on you strengthens until all you can focus on is him.

Ghost blinks, and you see his lips move. The gravel of his voice was never more clear. “Fucking hell, keep that head on, okay? Nothing’s going to happen as long as I’m here. I’ve got you.” He sighs out a low breath, thumb running your undereye as the small dribbles of tears begin to sneak out. Ghost murmurs. “I’ve bloody got you, alright? Let it happen—we can figure it out.”

He’d grown fond of you over the course of a month. You were curious; not pushingly so. Honest. Good. You’d been dealt a bitter hand, and damn him if his stone heart wasn’t stretched thin at the raw fear on your face. This wasn’t your fault, but he needed to find who turned you and stop them before it got any more out of control than it already was. If more unstable werewolves went running through the woods, there wouldn’t be anyone left in the territory alive.

“When you turn,” Ghost says as clearly as he’s able. “Go. Don’t fight it. I’ll find you.”

“Promise?” You ask, a weak flicker coming to your lips—eyes vulnerable.

Ghost nods once, and it’s all you need. “I’ll find you,” he repeats. “Doubt me?”

“No,” you ease, clearing your throat. “But…one more thing?”

“Anything,” the Hunter instantly says.

“Just don’t shoot me in the thigh again.”

When the claws start protruding from your nailbeds hours later, you’re bolting to the door with only one last glance at the Hunter and his half-pulled-up mask. Booted feet hitting the wood as he stands, he lets you go even as his thighs tense in a need to run after you. Patience was his beast to tame, but it seemed to have left him in the form of a woman disappearing into the tree line.

There is companionship in broken things.

Your body slips into the forest just as the creak of your bones begins to shift and bend. You fall into a heap, hearing the gargling of marrow under your skin like a call to sea. An urge grows to infect you; a feral need to run and hide. Biting back a shrill scream, a hoarse yell escapes instead—flesh rippling as your mouth opens, fangs breaking the supple mushiness of your gums as blood floods like a river.

Find me.

“Ghost,” you whisper, hands snapping to your head. “Ghost, please.”

Your bullet, you want your silver bullet.

A rabid scream rips from your throat, and back in the house, Ghost’s hands tighten into fists as he glares at the open door. He growls under his breath, eyes tightening in a certain type of anger that brews in his gut. The nights your shuffling woke his light slumber were more common than when you hadn’t, and every utterance was clearly heard to his ears. It had become a curse to him—how you’d met.

A regret was seeping in, a care, and now, as he forces himself to back up and head into the attic, Ghost clenches his jaw tightly. So unaffected by the horror of monsters, he was now at a loss of sense for this growth of feelings.

He wasn’t dull, he knew that some of the contracts he took marked him as a tool and not a person of stable mind. He’d done things he wasn’t proud of, and he would continue to do them for no other reason than they were the orders he was given.

But you had broken a piece of that off of him, somehow, someway, your face had seared itself into his retinas—speared him at the brutality that your community had treated you with. The muzzle. It was cruel, and while Ghost was precisely that, there was a limit.

He did his job, and that was that. Anything after wasn’t his problem.

You became his job, and the one who turned you was an add-on. Maybe if he justified it to himself, he could understand his actions better.

But he was already sprinting to grab his gear when the first howl shattered the night.

—

A white beast prowls the forest.

It stands on two legs, but it isn’t human—isn’t natural. It’s taller than a grown man is; snout pulled back in a soundless snarl that puts dogs to shame with rows of teeth so sharp, they look like pale knives. Its feet—large, splayed—soundlessly skate the ground until clawed fingers slam to the earth.

A nose inhales the scent above the dirt, tongue lulling as a shaggy tail lays limp behind a curved spine. In between the erect ears, under the thick skull of the werewolf, the rolling bumps of a brain spark. A pull.

Find me.

Your eyes are tiny black dots—and they blink once before you rise once more. A great growl moves inside of your chest, the large collection of hair around your neck standing on end.

I’m waiting.

But there’s something that keeps you here—standing in the grass as the moon shines atop your head, your fur nearly glowing even with the stain of bloody injuries. The remains of clothes are about a meter away; only strips of what was.

Your gaze looks over your shoulder, and your gargantuan frame lumbers backward until you can stoop to them—nose once more sniffing with your arms reaching.

Your fingers twitch, blackened claws digging through the ground as a near purr echoes in your throat. The scythe-like additions card across the strips.

Gunpowder.

Leather.

Whiskey.

Something you can’t quite name, but feel drawn to despite the tightening noose at your throat. There was something there you can’t focus on…something that you need.

Your drooling jaws snap, saliva coating the fangs until they drip off one at a time to stain the grass. Body shifting, your head lowers until your wolf-ish visage rubs against the fabric, licking at the sides of your gums as delicate grumbles slip out of your mouth.

A far-off howl leaves your frame freezing.

Eyes slipping back into the feral-inhumanity of a wild animal, your body jolts up, gaze to the forest trees and the rustling of bushes. The swell of rain on the clouds is in the back of your nose, and the previous attraction to the ripped clothes is lost as simply as it had come.

You were being summoned.

Ears twitching, the entirety of your body refuses to move to the sound; tensed and ready to spring on anything that moves if only to let off the spike of anger at the lack of control. The pull grows stronger, and it feels like something is trying to drag you away into the wilds.

This was the sensation you were always trying to fight—the one that led to the aggression; the hunt. You knew that if you followed that howl, whatever was left of your human sense would be gone entirely before you could stop it.

Yet, this time, there’s a nagging need to find the owner, and you can’t remember why.

Your large head tilts, feet spaced as the curve of your spine grows more aggressive—hunching forward as you snarl at nothing, claws shaking as your fur is more bristly than sleek.

Like pure white spikes.

In the back of your head, a thin sliver of a memory slips in. Fingers on the back of your head, caressing calluses and dark, dark, eyes. Clean bandages and gentle touches.

I’ll find you.

If the side of your vision picked up the shadow shifting from far off into the trees, your curled lip never turned that way. If your nose twitched to the heavy weight of a man’s sweat, it never shifted to point as a mutt would to the rustling bush.

Your body bolts after the resounding echo of a wolf’s howl, and it’s no later that Ghost slips after your clawed prints to follow.

—

Crossbow in hand, the hunter’s mask gleams in the darkness, his pale eyes twinkling. Bending down, he glazes at the long pushing tracks of your form—seeing the spray of dirt to the side and the broken branches. Ghost blinks, shoulders tense before he swiftly stands and continues on. The firearms at his thighs lightly rattle, and the bolts in his crossbow are already laced with wolfsbane; silver tips smelt a week ago.

He passes a river with only a single glance at the tossed rocks from the bed, sloshing through the water as the bottoms of his pants get weighed down. Ghost’s mind is on one thing only: make sure this plan won’t get you killed.

The bolts aren’t for you—the silver bullets aren’t for you.

He grunts under his breath, the dark woods casting phantoms over the ground. The Hunter’s legs shift through tall grass, and he carries himself with the ingrained confidence a man of his station requires. If he were anything less than a monster himself, he would have died ages ago. Ghost shoots and lets others come up with the questions, but he could never be called dumb.

Seeing what fast glimpse he had of your shifted form after the last time, he was struck by how erratic it acted. Snapping head, twitching ears, and roving eyes. If he didn’t know any better, Ghost would have called it rabid.

Yet, your actions with his borrowed shirt were…body-stilling, to say the least about it. It had made his gut swirl.

“Give me a trail,” Ghost utters to himself, brown eyes still picking up the dash you’d taken. His agile feet splash through a puddle, the beginnings of raindrops hitting his head.

The man grabs at his hood and pulls it up stiffly, frowning under his mask.

Rain would wash away the tracks.

“C’mon, Love,” he grinds out, body hunched. “Leavin’ me to do the dirty work, eh?”

It’s too quiet—even a collection of minutes later of hard hiking, the trees barely move. There aren’t any birds; no animals beyond the black bodies of crows in the far-up branches, waiting, watching with obsidian eyes that don’t blink.

Ghost isn’t off-put, but the length of his strides gets far tinier, carefully stepping over twigs and rocks like a soldier at war. Then again, he was at war. And if he was caught unawares, there wouldn’t be a bullet to pull out of his side, but, instead, a chunk missing.

His ears were almost ringing from how hard he was focusing.

Brown eyes shift from one area to another, and then, suddenly as if a deer, he freezes.

Ghost’s body winds up, fingers twitching from the stark trigger discipline of his crossbow downward instantaneously. No one but him can explain what just happened, but he knows when he has to listen instead of act. Stuck in a clearing not unlike the place he’s first met you, his feet rest shoulder width apart and his eyes stare blankly into the trees ahead.

Your tracks end here.

From behind him, just as the large raindrops slap the side of his bone-ed visage, the small crack of a twig makes his ears twitch.

A low snarl sets his hair on end.

Looking over his shoulder, Ghost is met with the same color that he’d become so accustomed to in a full month completely blacked out. Void. Lifeless to anything besides rage and bloodlust.

Your white fur was infected with dirt, blood, and leaves—a mosaic of ferality ingrained into your body; pale fangs snapping. The beast slips through the treeline, slapping a veined hand into the soggy earth.

Ghost only watches, eyes a mystery.

His finger shifts over the trigger, and for the first time in his life, he hesitates.

The man looks into your glinting orbs, the dripping saliva on your lulling tongue as your esophagus pants for breath. One hesitation, he always knew, would mean death. One mess-up.

You’d asked him to end it, he shouldn’t feel remorse, guilt, perhaps—he was still human, despite his appearance, but remorse was deeper. It left wounds that were harder to lick clean again.

…So why isn’t he sending a bolt into your forehead?

Ghost remembers the times he’d found you under the bed, your shaking, and the way you hadn’t allowed him to change your bandages the first few weeks you’d stayed with him; didn’t want him to touch you. The nightmares and the small smile you’d gain when he’d spew his dark, sarcastic words as if this was a joke. How you’d always thank him under your breath for the food he’d give you, hunted by his own hand.

A silver cage. Crimson blood. The sight of your pleading eyes when you’d told him to shoot you.

Maybe the two of you were far more alike than he’d dare to admit. And he currently won’t, not even on his deathbed. Not even now.

Ghost watches, and he waits.

He can’t do it.

Your body slinks closer, stalking with the sound of anger, nearly rib-shaking in its volume. Ghost’s jaw clenches, and his body shifts to face yours head-on. At the sight of the crossbow, your snarl turns into an air-biting rage, saliva flying through the rain.

“Spector,” he keeps his voice low, even. The sight he’d seen as you smelled his clothes had to mean something. Ghost tilts his head, moving out a hand from the side of his weapon in an appeasement gesture. “I’m not going to shoot you. We have a job to complete…get those fangs away.”

He wonders if ordering you around will even work. You had told him before—you’re not a mutt. Ghost agrees. No mutt was the size of a fucking boulder.

The werewolf’s claws drag—goring the mud as if a pig to tear apart.

“Spector,” the Hunter tries again. But something’s different about his tone; he drops it, letting it pull on a softer string. “I’m here to end this. We’re here to end this.” He blinks and lowers the crossbow completely. “Breathe. The night can’t last forever.” A breeze whips the trees. “I made you a promise.”

There’s a second, he thinks, where he can see something shift in your gaze, pupils slightly widening above the deluge that wets down your fur into a sopping mess that hangs off muscle.

“That’s a girl,” Ghost grunts, taking a small step closer. “Never told you,” he utters, eyes locked with yours. He sees your nose twitch minutely. “But if we get this right, Spec, there’ll be no more painful shifts, hear me?”

Your dog-ish mouth is closed, hanging off every word as Ghost comes even closer.

“I kill this bastard,” the hunter breathes, gloved hand still outstretched, nearing closer to the near-silver of your form. “The moon’ll have no claim on you. She’ll let you off the leash, Little Wolf. You get to decide when it happens.”

He thinks he has you now, back to some state of recognition in the addled brain that tries to see him as prey; as competition. Ghost’s fingers are close enough to almost touch you, but just before he can brush his gloves over your wet fur, your mouth opens in a display of untamed challenge. Your growl is enough to make the man unconsciously reach for his pistol, and in the time it takes him to realize the fault of it, you’ve already rampaged forward with an unhinged jaw.

Ghost’s eyes widen, taking a quick step back.

Your legs push off, and you shove the hunter out of the way just before the fangs of an immense beast can clamp down on him, your own finding the shoulder of gray, thick fur.

Fighting as wolves do, Ghost only needs a moment to recover and get to his feet, though the sight in front of him can rival any that he’d seen before. His crossbow clatters a few feet away, sending the bolt off into the trees with a metallic ‘twang’.

The two werewolves roll around the pouring clearing, snapping teeth and rending claws drawing blood that’s deep enough to swim in to the green grass. White and gray meld together—blue eyes like a knife to Ghost’s chest when he takes it in from between the sound of tearing fur.

“Bloody fucking…” the man trails, staggering as his palms slap to the pistols at his side. He blinks, shouting in more of a bark than even a dog could imitate. “Spector!”

The wolves pull and rip the other to shreds, flesh torn and limbs grasping for purchase. Bodies are slammed to the ground before getting tossed to the side, fangs flashing in the moonlight. Ghost watches crimson stain your fur a pinkish-red.

He can’t get a good shot.

The werewolf that turned you sinks its claws into your sides, dragging them downwards as you yowl, eyes tiny with aggression before your jaws connect with its snout, biting down with more force than a horse’s hooves. The monster screams—a garbed thing of fangs and saliva.

Just as easily as it called you here to it, as it stalked your Hunter, it bashes your body back into the earth and takes you by the scruff of your neck. Eyes wide in that lupine way, you lock on Ghost’s profile before your body is lifted, and tossed away violently.

Spine slamming into a tree, you hear the cracking and bending of your bones in your ears just after you hear the sharp shout from the man in the clearing, body dropping to a heap into the grass and mud. Angled head flopping back and forth, black infests the edges of your vision, coughing up blood that seeps from between your gums and slips down the back of your esophagus. Fur and flesh are stuck at the base of your throat.

Whining, your limbs drag and pull futility, eyes flooded over with crimson and fogged by rain. A great roar worries the air, sending long shivers over your spine as you try to rise to your limbs, a five-fingered hand slamming you back down.

Just before the fangs can clamp your throat, two great booms burst through the forest.

The wolf atop you reels back, great bellow escaping its throat when you can finally drag your head to look over. This beast was clawing at its chest, shaking its large head in an arch to try and dispel the shock of having two silver bullets entering its back—the gray head snapped around to Ghost, who held his twin pistols aloft with eyes burning with anger from behind his mask. An avatar of vengeance; a bringer of death.

The orbs inside of your sockets widened, nose twitching wildly as you bleat a quick warning bark.

Blue-Eyes rises, body far larger than yours would ever grow to be—on two feet more powerful looking than a bricklayer many years into his craft; tall enough to reach to the sides of black-shingled homes and pull itself up. Ghost takes one look and growls under his breath, knowing there would be no time to reload the weapons in his hands.

So he drops them and pulls slowly at the cruel blade in his belt until the gleam winks in the low light like a curved smile. Setting it in his hands, the small flicker of a sharp smirk on his lips is lost to you.

Yet, there isn’t a chance for some brawl between two beasts—there’s only the flash of pale fur and the final crunch of a body hitting the ground.

You bury your fangs into the wolf’s neck; the one responsible for all of your pain and torment spanning years of isolation. You feel the body seize as it drops, the last remnants of a dying brain trying to fight the inevitable nothingness that ensues, and, you only hold on the harder, the bloodlust seeping back in with every drop of life pooling into your locked jaw.

Your throat releases tiny growls of pleasure, biting a bit to make sure there wasn’t a sliver of a chance that something living was walking away from this scene.

Ghost pauses, and in the back of his head, he knows he should stop you. Brown eyes see the animalistic sheen of enjoyment at a fresh kill, the way you pull at the flesh until chucks peel away from a gurgling wolf. Even when the thing is long dead and the rain still slaps the earth, you barely let go until you get a hold of the meat and tear with a backward jerk of your snout.

“Love,” the Hunter sheathes his knife, taking a step forward. The blood was pooling under your body. How many of those were treatable? He had to know. “Let me see what’s—”

The eyes that lock on him are not yours.

Up to your ears, the entirety of your face was awash with the stain of life, dripping off the whiskers at your cheeks; your chin.

Before he can utter another word, he finds himself on his back with a snapping snout right in front of his face, two dead eyes staring deeply into his own. Ghost sucks down a quick breath, hand snapping to the large wrist shoving down on his chest.

He pants out, gravel accent far more deep than it was before.

“Easy, Spector. Easy. Eh—focus on me.” Your tongue licks at your fangs, body shaking. Ghost pushes out, “That’s it, then. It’s over, yeah? You did it; let's pack it up and head back home.” He grunts. “Recon even dogs get cold in weather like this—the bed’s waiting. Get a nice fire going.”

Ghost sees your face move closer, and his hand minutely shifts to the vial of wolfsbane on his belt. It wouldn’t kill you, but it could put you out of commission until your body shifted back into its proper form. He could carry you back—that wouldn’t be a problem at all.

But he was worried about your injuries. Even now the droplets of blood roll off of you faster than the water can.

Too much.

Brown eyes crease, darting a look down.

“Fuck,” he growls, seeing the carnage and the open meat. “Sweetheart, we need to get you checked out—you need to listen to me. Can you do that?”

He can see the conflict; the internal fight.

Your mouth moves with fast pants, claws stuttering over his gear futilely. You blink rapidly, shaking your large head in fast increments with small snarls.

“C’mon,” Ghost says slowly, fingers looping the vial. “Keep listening. Know my voice is utter shite, but only you can tell me it.”

Your head drops to his chest just as the wolfsbane is popped open, and, for whatever reason, Ghost pauses. He waits.

You take a long inhale of his gear—of the leather and the gunpowder, and just before the Hunter can dump the vial over your skin, the long blackish claw on your finger loops the bottom portion of the fabric under his bone attachment.

The man’s breath hitches as you let it rest along his nose bridge…holding it there as you drag your head upwards as if it were an impossible chore. Your mouth dribbles out gore to his cheeks, but the Hunter stares upwards into your eyes as they soften in a lupine way.

Inexplicably, you let out a bone-rattling sigh and slump into oblivion.

—

Come morning, you sleep under the spread of large fur blankets—clean bandages over your bare frame as the man has tended to you for hours. He mutters for you to slip your arms into a spare shirt after he finds your eyes open, not uncomfortable by your nakedness, though he wants you yourself to be at ease.

His brown eyes are creased, and you can’t remember what you’ve done.

You comply with small grunts and moans; more sore and cut up than you can recall ever feeling as a large tunic is slipped over your head by scarred hands.

Gunpowder.

“What did I—?”

“You finished the job,” he says, sparing you a glance as he shifts back with his eyes averting themselves from your visible legs. The sun seeps in through the windows. “It’s morning.”

You blink slowly, and the man eases you back down into the furs.

“I’m tired,” your voice yawns out—weak and brittle like the hope you’d had that this plan of his would work. Eyes half-closed, they blink at the hunter with a soft kind of care that you can’t remember showing before. Whatever pain medicine he’d given you, it was working. The underlying itch was still as strong as ever, though.

“Tired is good,” Ghost nods slowly, standing still until he crosses his arms and sets his feet. He’s in a fresh shirt and pants. There’s blood under his fingernails; traces smeared over his flesh. “Means you accomplished something.”

“Don’t think that’s entirely true,” you breathe. A pause. “...Why is your mask like that?”

It was half pulled up—showing off his lower jaw and the stubble. The scars that you already have memorized. Ghost shrugs, blinking those dead eyes of his.

“Ah,” he grumbles. “Forgot. Here.”

He reaches up and slips the thing off in one motion. Your loose brain takes a moment to realize the entire face you’re staring into, but the second it does, the image is engraved into your mind forever. You make a noise in the back of your throat.

“Better, Little Wolf?”

“W—” Your lips stutter, new sutures pulling tight. “Why would you…?”

“Hungry?” Ghost asks, quickly changing the subject. “Know you like that venison that I caught.”

“No,” you breathe. “No, I’m not…I’m tired, Ghost. My head hurts.”

A hand sweeps over your forehead, staying as you sag into it with a hum and a fluttering of your eyes.

“Bloodloss,” the Hunter murmurs. “Normal. Go back to sleep; take however long you need. I’ll be here.”

The bond between the two of you has strengthened to that of a silver rope.

“Stay,” you plead under your breath, already slipping back into nothingness with no promise to wake up again soon. “Hold me, Ghost?”

“Simon,” he grunts to only himself, knowing that the words are lost to you. Perhaps that makes him all the more eager to share it with you when you’re better. “Stay still.”

It wasn’t like you could protest.

The broad man slips in, shifting the furs until you’re covered back up and your forehead is to his chest—keeping himself closest to the door where the runes still sit in their bloody glory. If he listened hard enough, he could even hear them humming him a tune.

No song was better to him than the one of your breath at this very moment. Alive. Moving. There were many times in the night that he thought...hm.

“Better, then?” The dry tease slips out.

A kiss to the side of his mouth is what he gets in answer, and he doesn't say a peep more until he knows you’re back in the clutches of a dream—a good one, he knows, because he watches your expressions like a loyal guard dog would.

Ghost, Simon, rests his lips on the top of your head, and in a delicate murmur, eases, “You did good, Love.”

There was much to do, but for now, all he had to do was hold you a little bit tighter and let his stone heart beat a little bit faster.

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littlefireball · 19 days

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ʏʜ|ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʀᴇᴅ ʀɪᴅɪɴɢ ʜᴏᴏᴅ (ᴀ/ᴍ)

ʟᴏɴᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇᴡᴏʟꜰ ʏᴜɴʜᴏ x ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʀᴇᴅ ʀɪᴅɪɴɢ ʜᴏᴏᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⚠️ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀ!! ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴜɴᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɪᴛ ⚠️

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.9ᴋ

“Blood…lungs…eyes…kidney” Yunho transformed into a wolf and sprinted through the dense forest. His strong body seemed to be infused with the power of the wild, and with each stride, he kicked up dust, creating a howling wind.

His fur was like shadows in the night, dancing in the wind as he raced. The corners of his mouth curled slightly, revealing bloodthirsty fangs, and his eyes sparkled with the fierce gaze of a wild wolf. His eyes were deep brown, filled with the essence of savagery and bloodshed.

Intense hunger consumed him, driving him into madness. His mouth repeated the same words over and over again, his mind filled with the tantalizing taste of human flesh. His thoughts were chaotic, alternating between confusion and clarity, running aimlessly through the forest, allowing his desires to replace reason.

"Hmm?" Suddenly, the aroma of food wafted through the air, a combination of roasted meat and creamy flavor. Yunho halted his rapid pace and followed the scent, leading him to a small cottage not far away.

"Find it..."

—-----

"Little red, go get the medicine for your grandma."

"Alright." Your grandmother caught a cold a few days ago, and because she has trouble moving around, you can only visit her and deliver medicine every week. She lives alone in a small cottage near the town. You have invited her to come and live with you, but she prefers the solitude of the forest, away from the hustle and bustle of the town.

"Don't be too late."

"Okay." You packed your things and put on your bright red hood, heading towards the forest. Everyone in town loves to call you Little Red Riding Hood, even your mother likes to call you little red. You also enjoy being called that. This hood is your special symbol, a coming-of-age gift from your grandmother.

—----

"This meat is not fresh at all." Yunho disappointedly spat out the minced meat in his mouth, disdainfully looking down at the bloody corpse on the floor. The body was contorted in a grotesque posture, a pained expression frozen on its face, forever capturing the moment of death. Its upper limbs had been violently ripped off, while its lower limbs hung haphazardly on the armrest of the sofa, oozing fresh red blood from irregular wounds. The walls of the cabin were stained with horrifying bloodstains, and the nauseating smell of blood hung heavy in the air, making one feel sick.

Yunho sat down and casually wiped away the foreign red blood from the corners of his mouth. The hunger had temporarily subsided, but he was not satisfied; animal meat no longer fulfilled his twisted desires—it was humans that he craved the most. Because of his "preference," which violated the rules set by the wolf clan and humans, Yunho was driven away by his own kind and condemned from ever setting foot in wolf territory again. This was the cruelest punishment for a wolf, as without the protection of the pack, it would be easy prey for hunters. However, this seemed to have little impact on Yunho, for his innate strength made him view hunters as no threat. Instead, being "exiled" was what he craved the most, as it finally freed him from the constraints of rules and regulations.

“Those idiots should kill me but not expel me. Tsk…but no matter what, I will kill that guy if he does anything that gets in my way.” His tone was arrogant and provocative, not taking the punishment seriously. "Okay, I'm well-rested~ Let me find my next prey." He said. At that moment, he noticed the calendar on the wall which read "Granddaughter's Visit" and today's date.

"Oh? Visiting day? Perfect~ Saves me some trouble." An evil thought crossed his mind. A cunning smile appeared on his face, accompanied by a cruel gleam in his eyes, instilling fear in anyone who saw it. He disposed of the dismembered body in a hidden ruin, cleaned up the bloodstains in the house, put on the clothes of the house owner, and lay down in bed, waiting patiently for his prey to arrive.

---

"Knock─Knock─Grandma, I'm here." You knocked on the wooden door as usual, waiting for your grandma to open it. However, there was no response from inside the house even after some time had passed.

"Is she asleep?" You cautiously opened the door, afraid to make any noise, but there was nothing unusual to be found.

As you entered the house, a sweet scent filled the air─an intoxicating fragrance that was both enticing and comforting. This scent made Yunho's murderous intent fade away, replaced by an inexplicable hunger─not the hunger caused by lack of food, but a Pandora's box-like desire.

"Grandma?" You approached the bed quietly, wanting to check if she was asleep. Just as you were about to pull back the covers, a massive hand suddenly reached out from underneath, grabbing your wrist tightly and pulling you towards the person. Caught off guard, you were pulled down onto the bed, screaming in fear.

In front of you was not your grandma but a man with a big frame. He supported himself with both hands on either side of your head, his eyes glowing with a terrifying red light, emanating a chilling aura as if he wanted to kill you. You covered your mouth with both hands, feeling as if an invisible barrier prevented you from screaming. Your whole body trembled uncontrollably, breathing became erratic, and the muscles seemed to be locked in chains, rendering you immobile and helpless, consumed by fear.

On the other hand, Yunho felt strange reactions in his body: his breathing became rapid and deep, heart pounded uncontrollably, skin burned like it was on fire, and he longed for the touch and caress of others, even his member's slight erection.

Could this be...the so-called mate? No, it couldn't be. He was a werewolf, and you were a human. How could it be possible?

Unbelievable, and yet impossible to deny. He, who always viewed humans as prey, how could he accept that a human was his soulmate? This might be the cruelest punishment from God.

"No...why you...no." Yunho's chaotic mind prevented him from forming coherent sentences. Despite his continuous denial of the reality before him, his body's response was the most honest─he wanted to fuck you so badly.

"Who are you...?" In your trembling voice, there was a hint of despair and fear. Instead of resisting or escaping, you found yourself asking for the name of the terrifying stranger in front of you. Unaware of your own thoughts, despite the fear, you subconsciously wanted to get closer to him, to touch him, and even felt a strange desire for him.

He snapped out of his daze, and the terrifying look in his eyes softened, revealing a trace of tenderness that didn't match his character, but the fierceness remained.

"Shouldn't you introduce yourself before asking for someone's name?" He remained as blunt and impolite as ever.

"Y/N..." It seemed like you were stunned, as you blurted out your own name directly.

"Yunho." Surprisingly, he told you his name, something he never did with anyone before.

Both of you were bewildered, not understanding the situation.

"Why are you in my grandma's house?"

"You guess?" His voice was filled with a seductive magnetism, carrying an irresistible charm that made you want to hear more.

"What...you..."

"I ate her." These words hit your heart like a hammer, filling you with sadness and fear. The emotions spread throughout your body, tearing at your nerves, oppressing your heart, making it hard to breathe, and causing your tears to flow uncontrollably.

"You are…!?"

"Wolf...or should I say, werewolf." Seeing your pitiful appearance, his desire burned even stronger, and he couldn't control it anymore.

"You smell so good, Y/N." His fingertip traced the trails of tears on your face, sliding down to your trembling chest, suddenly tightening around your arousal. You were startled, and your body trembled, unable to resist. You desperately closed your eyes, accepting your imminent fate of being killed.

"So sweet, so intoxicated." The desire in his heart finally overwhelmed his rationality, and he couldn't resist the temptation any longer. He pressed himself onto you, his hand naturally caressing your face. His lips brushed against the skin of your neck, occasionally licking and sucking, savoring the taste like a delicacy, greedily inhaling the sweet and intoxicating aroma. His kisses gradually moved higher, from your neck to your ear, his tongue gently caressing your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine.

"Ummm...Yunho..." You attempted to stop the man on top of you, unknowingly fueling his desire even more. "Be patient, my mate." At this moment, he let the desires take control of his body. His struggle before seemed like a mere act. He returned to your neck once again, burying himself in it, leaving a trail of kisses and red marks all over your body, making you feel waves of warmth throughout your body.

You didn't resist, but instead, became intoxicated in this kiss. You knew it was wrong, he killed your grandmother, and you should feel anger, disgust, hatred, and fear. Yet, your body obeyed his kisses and marks, not resisting at all. This contradiction made you feel helpless, with complex emotions swirling in your head, like being trapped in a whirlpool, struggling but sinking deeper.

"I hate you." All you could say at this moment was these three words in a final act of resistance, even though it was futile. Yunho stopped his movements, once again meeting your desperate eyes. He suddenly felt a pang of guilt, but considered it a mere illusion, disregarding it.

"Keep hating me, because no matter what, you can't kick me off, Y/N." When he said your name, a surge of emotions overwhelmed you─you wanted him, wanted him to call you, to kiss you, and to fuck you. However, regardless of your desires, you couldn't admit or give in to these sinful desires. The endless self-blame and guilt within you wouldn't allow you to follow your desires.

"Let me eat you." With ease, he tore apart your shirt, leaving only your bra to cover your breasts. He buried his head in your chest, sucking on your collarbone and moving down, leaving a trail of kisses. His long tongue glided over every inch of your skin, leaving red marks on your breasts as if savoring a delicacy. He pushed your bra up and used his big hands to knead your breasts, occasionally teasing your nipples with his thumb.

"Ahhhh..." The continuous stimulation made you arch your back, moaning softly. Your hands unconsciously gripped his broad shoulders, pulling him closer.

"Someone horny, huh?" His words made you blush, and he further teased the sexual desires you had been suppressing. Suddenly, you felt a tingling sensation in your lower body, as if something was brushing against your most sensitive area. His tail swayed left and right, lightly touching your clit like a gentle feather.

"Hmmm..." "You like it?" His face wore a satisfied smile as he continued his sucking. The room was filled with the shy sounds of sucking and your moans, brimming with endless desire.

While he licked your left breast, he didn't forget to caress your right breast. You could clearly feel every movement of his tongue, its undulating and flexible dance, circling around your nipple. The wet touch made you tremble involuntarily, and each time he sucked, it was as though an electric current coursed through your body. He moaned against your chest, emitting a sound only an animal could make. You took deep breaths, your body tense with anticipation and excitement.

"I can't get enough of you." Your lower body had already become wet, and you felt a cooling sensation due to your drenched panties. His massive cock and tail occasionally brushed against your clit, providing subtle but tantalizing touches that made you crave more. Too much stimulation has already eroded your rationality. You both wanted more, even though deep down, you were still struggling with your conflicting emotions.

"Yunho, I..." Just as you were about to speak, Yunho sensed the danger and immediately sat up, using his incredible jumping ability to leap far away in an instant. "Bang─" Almost as soon as his feet touched the ground, a gunshot rang out, and a bullet surged through the air, directly towards the spot where Yunho had been. It shattered the glass window beside the bed.

"Get off her!! You fucking wolf!!" A man broke in, holding a long gun and pointing it at Yunho who had transformed into a werewolf. Your sanity returned as the hunter shouted, and the burning heat in your body instantly cooled down. You immediately covered your exposed upper body with a blanket, watching the hunter step by step approaching Yunho, feeling an inexplicable worry.

"Tsk..." As the hunter fired again, Yunho, as if predicting his movements, easily dodged his attack. Taking advantage of the opening, Yunho broke through the wall and disappeared from sight at an incredible speed.

"Are you okay? Little red?" You snapped back to reality, looking at the hunter in confusion.

"I... I'm fine." You said this subconsciously even if you are not fine at all.

"Let's go back. Your mom is worried about you. She hasn't seen you come back, so she asked me to find you. But... let's not talk about it, let's go back quickly!"

You nodded, but your gaze kept lingering on the forest where Yunho disappeared, feeling an indescribable sense of attachment and worry - emotions that shouldn't exist.

Yet, deep in heart, you had a premonition that you would definitely meet again.

That night completely turned your once smooth-sailing life upside down. Yesterday was just an ordinary and peaceful day, but today has become a merciless nightmare. The care from your neighbors is no longer there, replaced by suspicion, exclusion, and alienation. No one dares to come near you, the "something brings disaster" and "traitor."

You have no idea where the rumors came from, but you know that everyone is filled with malice towards you. You have been falsely accused of being a selfish and heartless scum, willing to sacrifice your grandma for the werewolves. Or you are said to be a witch who will bring misfortune to the town, mercilessly killing everyone, and your grandmother is the first victim. Nobody cares whether you managed to escape from death, or how you feel. All you receive are harsh accusations and contempt.

At first, you tried to clarify the truth, repeatedly stating that you did not make a deal with the werewolf, but everyone ignored you and believed baseless rumors. Because those words seemed to be the most reasonable explanation for why you had so many hickies and why you could still be unscathed when you encounter a man-eating werewolf. Now, you hide in your home, avoiding contact with the townspeople, hoping that time will make forget everything. But it is clear that this is not an effective resistance.

"Hey!! Witch!!" Laughter and mockery from several children outside the house pull you out of your dreamland. You can't even count how many times this has happened, there has been no peace ever since that night.

'Bang! Bang!' Following the insults, several foul-smelling water balloons hit the window, exploding and splashing a mixture of water and feces all around, the nauseating stench making you feel sick to your stomach.

You can no longer bear it. The calm expression on your face suddenly becomes difficult to hide, and you pick up the broom in your house, wanting to drive away the brats outside. "I am not a witch!!" You fiercely open the door handle, roaring in anger, as if resisting all injustice.

"The witch is coming out! Run!" Not only are they not afraid, but they also make funny faces with a disgusting smile. The anger in your body gradually climbs up your forehead, your hands tightly gripping the stick, almost ready to bleed.

"You bastard!!─" You put all your strength into your arm, trying to drive away the children in front of you.

"Get off our children! You bitch!!" Your action is stopped by a shout, and neighbors come from afar.

"You wicked woman, don't you dare harm my children!"

"Just look at how you wanted to hit them!"

"Are you trying to take their lives?"

"The rumor is right! You are planning to beat them to death and feed them to werewolf!"

Word by word, like a tsunami, they swallow you, leaving you speechless. The malicious words pierce your heart like sharp knives, and all you can do is repetitively say "No, I'm not!" meaningless sentences, allowing injustice and pain to engulf your heart. Your anger from earlier completely disappears. You shouldn't have gone out, you shouldn't have resisted at all.

"I would never have guessed that a woman like you could be so promiscuous!"

"Hmph! Just look at the hickies on her body!" You quickly tighten your clothes, trying to cover the lingering passion marks, while your body keeps retreating.

"I didn't... I didn't... the werewolf forcefully kissed me..." You speak the truth, but your weak voice goes unheard by others.

"If it weren't for you getting involved with that werewolf, I would never believe that you could still be alive!"

"Why shouldn't the werewolf just eat you?"

"No... it's not like that!" No matter how many times you clarify, no one believes the truth in your words. Their ears and eyes have long been shielded by rumors. The gaze of the others becomes cold and disdainful, and you see those who used to smile at you now turning into cold strangers. Those outrageous rumors are like demons, completely distorting others' perception of you.

Feeling helpless, you want to retreat to the house, but you accidentally fall to the ground. Upon seeing this, the others intensify their insults. The hateful words hang over you like a dark cloud, unable to be dispelled. You desperately seek your mother's help, as she tries to figure out what's going on outside. However, the moment she meets your gaze, she silently retreats back into her room because of fear, leaving you to bear all the heartless attacks on your own.

"Mom...? Mom??" Your hoarse voice breaks hearts, revealing immense disappointment. She hides behind the door, not daring to step out. No matter how others hurt you, you can still endure it, but her avoidance deeply wounds your soul. You lower your head, trying to avoid the mocking and teasing gazes. Your heart trembles in sadness, and tears continue to flow from your eyes.

"Someone saves me..." You close your eyes tightly, and tears stream down your face as your body trembles uncontrollably. You silently pray, hoping that someone will rescue you from despair and illuminate the darkness within your soul.

"Yunho..." Your subconscious mind calls out the name of that man - the werewolf who led you to this situation. Is it your heart's desire or some mysterious force compelling you to call for him? Unable to understand your own mind, all you want now is for someone to save you.

"Hey! What are you doing?!" A man's voice suddenly comes from nearby, and its owner pushes through the crowd. A huge figure stands in front of you. Gradually coming to your senses, you look at the hero before you, filled with hope - the hunter who saved you that night. In that moment of confusion, you desperately wish that the person before you is Yunho.

"Get away from her." He waves his hand to disperse the crowd, and seeing this, the others gradually disperse. "Are you okay? Little red?" Showing the same concern as before. He helps you up, gently patting away the dirt from your body, and gazes at you with care, as if he is your safe haven. Not knowing if your mind is not functioning properly, you unconsciously mistook him for Yunho. Was it the desire that day that made you obsessed? Or do the hickeys on your body have extraordinary magic power, making you think of him all the time?

"No one will hurt you anymore, don't be afraid." He pats your back, soothing you gently. "Why? Don't you think I'm a curse?" "I was the one who saved you back then. I only believe what I see." His words are like a lifeline, saving you from despair. Even though he is not Yunho, whom you obsess over, you still project the image of Yunho onto him.

"I will protect you, don't worry." He tightly holds your hand, warmth and concern shining in his eyes. He gently wipes away the tears at the corner of your eyes and whispers comforting words. His strong arm wraps around your waist, giving you a sense of stability, as if he always appears when you need him, to shelter you from wind and rain.

Time passes, and when you regain your calm, it is already late at night, and the hunter has been by your side all along. You both sit in the park at the edge of the town, gazing at the beautiful moonlight.

You break the silence, slowly speaking, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He smiles shyly.

"Don't you mind how others think of you? They might also exclude you."

"I don't mind. I only follow my heart and do what I want, without being influenced by others."

"But..."

"Little red, I believe in you. I believe you're not the witch they speak of." Those four words shake your heart like a powerful injection, as if someone finally understands you.

"Thanks." You don't know how to respond, but you feel a hint of warmth finally reaching your wounded heart. Maybe because you have suffered too much, tears flow from your eyes without your control.

"It will be okay. As long as I am here, you'll be fine." You nod your head and lean it on his shoulder, enjoying this fake tranquility.

Soon, you will discover that this is all a trap.

And neither of you realizes that Yunho is sitting on a nearby tree, observing everything.

—--

In the days to come, he always appeared and comforted you when others bullied you. He was considerate, taking care of all your needs, as if his initial words were not empty promises, but true commitments. People are most vulnerable when they are weak, and inadvertently, you found yourself lost in his "tenderness."

On this day, you decided to secretly sneak into the tavern in the small town to give the hunter a surprise. "I wonder if he'll like it?" You looked at the basket in your hand, filled with the delicacies you made. Sneaking to the tavern near the forest, you hid beside an open window, secretly peeping inside and saw the hunter and his friends drinking.

You contemplated when would be the best time to give him the gift, but then the conversation you heard shattered everything you believed in.

"I told you, women are easy to deceive. As long as you appear by her side at her weakest moment, say a few sweet words, she will willingly fall into your embrace."

"You really have the skills, thinking about fabricating rumors that she is a witch. I almost believed it too."

"Of course~ Why else would she come to me? And thanks to those stupid townspeople."

"Then what is your next move?"

"Her virginity, I bet it hasn't been taken by anyone yet. Maybe…no I must be the first one to take it."

The evil laughter was piercing, and their despicable smiles made you feel nauseous. Your world completely collapsed, and your heart was filled with chaos, frustration, disappointment, and sadness, just like when you were bullied in the past. You thought you had finally found a guiding light, but instead, you caught the mastermind behind this chaos, and even unwittingly fell into his embrace.

You felt ashamed of your own foolishness and naivety, and your eyes were filled with endless disappointment. Your body felt bound by invisible gravity, your shoulders slumped, and the basket in your hand dropped to the ground, scattering the snacks.

"Who?!" The sound of the basket hitting the ground caught everyone's attention, and you woke up from disbelief, quickly running away.

"Little red?" "Fuck." You didn't think much, only relying on instinct and intuition to make a quick decision, running straight into the nearby forest. Your heartbeat accelerated, your breath became rapid, and you desperately crossed your legs, trying to distance yourself from the hunter chasing after you.

"Don't run away~ my baby~" Ah!! this phrase made you feel disgusted to the extreme, and your heart suddenly tightened, feeling a surge in your stomach. "I can see you~." As the chasing sound drew closer, you could only increase your speed, with possible escape routes and call out that name again Yunho, strange but familiar, constantly flashing in your mind.

"Yunho..." You grew anxious, focusing only on running, too afraid to stop. The sound of a gunshot piercing through the sky terrified you, your vision darkened, and your knees gave way, causing you to fall onto the leaf-covered ground.

"My little red~ See? I found you. You can't run away~" He approached step by step, his huge figure blocking the moonlight, casting a dark shadow over you, enveloping you in terror. He had an evil smile on his face, his depraved mind thinking about how to "taste" you. Even though the truth was revealed, he showed no signs of panic, but instead revealed his true nature.

"Why did you come to the tavern? Wouldn't it be better to stay at home obediently?" Unconsciously, you continued to retreat, but the trees behind you blocked your way. You struggled to stand up, but your legs were too weak to support your body due to fear.

"Get off me." Another useless resistance.

He kneeled beside you, holding a gun against your chin, while his other hand boldly slipped under your skirt, pushing up the hem and caressing your thigh.

You clenched your teeth, tightly held your fist, but had no strength to eliminate the oppressive feeling of fear. Faced with the threat of death, you dared not make a move, only closing your eyes, trying to escape from the reality in front of you. Your body trembled continuously, as if shrouded in an indelible shadow. Your cries sounded so pleasant in the hunter's ears, igniting his most perverted desires.

"Let me eat you out—ahhhh." The sudden scream made you widen your eyes, the oppressive feeling on your body disappeared, replaced by a shadow. A clear and terrifying bloodstain appeared on the hunter's neck, and fresh blood spurted out like a fountain. The screams of pain were choked by the gushing blood, unable to escape. He frantically covered his neck wound, but the blood flowed uncontrollably, like a prisoner breaking free from its cage.

"How dare you touch her?" The hunter lay on the ground making meaningless syllables, struggling with his legs and backing away in fear. "Such a poor thing! Aren't you the one who tried to kill me? What's wrong?" Yunho kicked the hunter's head swiftly and forcefully, blood spurting as he did so. Without much resistance, the hunter fell to the ground in response, the blood stopping flowing with his death.

"Tsk...scum." He kicks the hunter's head in dissatisfaction and crushes it. The sound of the blast makes you shiver in fear, the man in front of you is even more terrifying than the hunter. He turns around, his body stained with red blood, the blood spots on his face adding to his horrific beauty. The moment you meet his eyes, it's as if an electric current passes through your body, making your heart skip a beat.

"How stupid are you to throw yourself at him-" his words were cut short by your sudden embrace. You pressed yourself against his chest and wrapped your arms around his waist, not letting go of him as if you were afraid he would leave.

"I miss you, Yunho." Yunho couldn't help but freeze at the sound of your words, his eyes turning to surprise at your behaviour.

"Mind your words, Y/N. You better know what you are talking about." His low voice warned you, and at the same time roused your senses. You did follow your heart just now, not worrying about whether or not the man in front of you would kill you outright.

"I know what I am saying...I just miss you." your voice was choked with sobs, tears staining the shirt on his chest.

"I've been praying for you to show up... I don't know why, but I want you." You know all this emotion is undeserved; he killed your grandmother, caused you to be ostracised, and even though it was a hunter's plot, what Yunho did was undeserving of the infatuation you have for him.

Maybe he really did put a drug on you-the poison named soul mates.

"You want me? Huh? You know you're responsible for what you say?" He pushes you away slightly, bending down to maintain the same eye level as you, his eyes full of endless lust. As he keeps hearing you call out to him, the lust in his body can't hold back, and it burns like a flame in every part of his body, driving him to snatch you away from the crowd.

Whenever your call rings in his ears, he can only run wildly through the forest, trying to replace lust with exhaustion. Deep down he still struggles with the idea that humans are his prey, not his mate, but he can't help but peep at you. And this time, when your life is threatened, he can't stand it any longer.

Once again, his lust flares at your words, his cock hardening and pressing against your lower core. Hands on the back of your neck, he pulls you towards him, and breath sprays onto both of your skin, filling the space with a seductive ambience.

"Please, I want you-" and before you know it, he catches you off guard and kisses you on the lips. The two of you are attracted to each other. A brief moment of shock and tingling makes your hearts beat faster, and then your lips and tongues begin to explore the depths of each other.

The kisses you share are electric and fervent, as if you're both yearning to merge into one another completely. He pulls you in with fervor, teasing your lips with a mix of gentle caresses and fervent bites. Your tongues dance together, exploring and savoring every moment.

Your hands roam freely over each other's bodies, ignited by an insatiable desire to touch every part of each other's skin. You wrap your arms around Yunho's neck, tracing the contours of his backs, and at times, you press so close that you can feel the heat radiating between you.

"Let me fuck you hard." He leaves your lips, gasping for breath, and pins you against a tree trunk. He plunges into your skirt and removes all your lower clothing, his fingertips brushing against your clit, causing you to purr.

"Oh please." "So wet." He licks his fingertip that covers with your juice, pulls down his trousers and then lifts you straight up, his strong arms under your thighs, making your feet dangle. His huge cock goes straight into your cunt, filling you completely.

"Ahhhhh~~~Yunho~~" You've never had sex before and you're so sensitive that the mere moment of his thrusting makes your heart race like crazy and gives you goosebumps. His thrusts are like an infusion of wildness, urgent and ferocious, wanting to explore all of you. Your cunt sucks on his thick cock, giving him endless stimulation.

"You feel so good, oh gosh." The thrusts are rhythmic, each one going deeper and deeper, satisfying your emptiness and making you purr.

"Ahh~ah~~umm~" His lips glide over your neck, playfully nibbling and teasing your skin with tantalizing licks that send shivers down your spine. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your ear, a thrilling contrast that quickens your heartbeat. As his kisses grow more fervent, you instinctively arch your neck, craving deeper connection. His lips dance passionately across your delicate skin, as if he longs to claim every part of you.

Each kiss is a sweet torment, delving into the curve of your neck, igniting a slow, uncontrollable wave of desire within you. He gently sucks on your most sensitive spots, drawing soft whimpers from your lips as you instinctively tilt your head, inviting him to explore further. Seizing the moment, Yunho deepens his kisses, relishing every inch of your skin with an insatiable hunger.

"Sweet af, so prefect."

"Ha~fuck~"

Instead of easing up, his lower body movements are getting more and more exciting. His body becomes more buried in your arms, his cock seems to break through the limitations and pushes deeper. A thrilling rush courses through you, making each breath feel like a rare indulgence. You gasp, reveling in the relentless contact of his body against yours, allowing the heat within you to soar to its peak.

"Yuyu...I ahhh." Your affection for him drives him to the brink of madness as the pace intensifies. The whole forest vibrates with scandalous noises: your back pressed against the rough bark of trees, flesh meeting flesh, and sporadic gasps echoing through the air.

"I have a knot...in my stomach...yuyu."

"Cum, babe...Cumming mess on my cock." He grabs your arse and controls you to swing back and forth.

"Ah!Ah!Fuck!Alpha!"

The origin of that word escapes you, yet it burst forth from your lips in a moment of pure instinct. Yunho halted, his desire surging to an overwhelming crescendo at the sound of your voice. After a flurry of passionate movements, you both reached the peak of ecstasy together. His essence spilled forth, coating you and trickling down to the floor beneath.

As he gently lowers you back to the ground, he pulls away, leaving both of you breathless. Your faces glow with a rosy hue, smiles of fulfillment dancing on your lips, as if you had just returned from an extraordinary adventure.

"You are mine now, Y/N."

"Huh?"

"I knot you. You can't get away from me anymore."

"Knot me...?"

"That means you'll always be here for me. Never leav─"

"Over there!!!" A sudden fire lights up the dark sky, and a group of townspeople with weapons are running in your direction. Both of you take a closer look and notice that their figures are getting closer. You grab Yunho's arm in fear, panic raging through your body, images of past oppression flashing through your mind. You don't want to─don't want to be captured by them.

"Oh, there's a lot of customers, huh?"

"You bitch, you're having an affair with a werewolf!"

"I can't believe you killed Mr Hunter!!!" The crowd once again hurled insults at you and your body began to tremble as you felt seriously uncomfortable.

"Yunho...we..." you take his hand and try to pull him away to escape.

"Don't worry." He smiles softly, not panicking as he carries you in his arm, glancing provocatively at the crowd behind you.

"Dare to kill me?" His provocative words enrage the townspeople, who booed, and one of them even shot at you suddenly. Of course, Yunho easily dodges the bullets and leaps into a tree.

"She is mine now." A wicked grin spreads across his face. "And~ I will repay all the injuries she suffered ONE—BY—ONE, just wait." Without waiting for the others to react, he leaps in the other direction with you in his arms and disappears into the darkness of the forest.

Maybe the rumours weren't true after all - the werewolf eventually killed everyone who hurt you. The so-called "Little Red Riding Hood" fairy tale is just an adaptation of a later story, because no one knows the real ending.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez x female reader #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez imagines #ateez oneshot #ateez yunho #yunho smut #jeong yunho #yunho #yunho ateez #ateez reaction #ateez reactions #yunho x reader #yunho x you #yunho x y/n

339 notes · View notes

exhaslo · 4 months

Note

Okay but like...

How about a werewolf!Miguel and reader who like to do role play in bed.

Like he comes home and walks through the bed room door to find reader in like red lingerie and a red hood.

Miguel is using all his inner strength to keep his from showing excitement as he crawls ontop of her like a predator. But his tail wagging aggressively behind him was a dead give away.

I feel like I had an idea for a Werewold!Miguel a while ago, but I can't remember what it was...Hopefully I will remember!!

Warning: MINORS DNI, Smut, roleplay, overstimulation, slight breeding kink

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Earth-40382

A mythical world where humans coexist with those of what people in other worlds call, 'monsters'. From vampires, to mermaids to even leprechauns, nothing was out of the ordinary in this world.

Not even your Werewolf boyfriend, Miguel O'Hara.

In this world, you were the Spider-Woman who fought crime. Miguel was your loving boyfriend who supported you. Even when you got recruited to the Spider Society; however, there have been times where he would get jealous of another man's scent on you.

You didn't mind because you loved seeing Miguel jealous, that and the sex was over the moon!

Which was why, when you saw a movie from one of the Peter's world, you had a devilish idea. You have told your boyfriend about how other worlds differ from yours greatly. Plus, whenever you could, you would sneak some movies and shows from other worlds too.

Recently, you showed your boyfriend movies about Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf.

While taking offense to some of the topics in the movie, you couldn't notice how Miguel's tail wagged as the character with the red hood appeared.

This sparked an idea.

You had finished work early and had no missions or drama happening for the rest of the day. Well you hoped the later would still remain silent. On your way home, you stopped by the tailor, hoping that your new outfit was ready.

Thank god it was.

Unable to hide your glee, you took your new suit and hurried home. Miguel was still at work, so you had time to make the mood perfect. You were going to have fun tonight.

------

Everything was set. All you had to do was wait for Miguel to return home. You put on the cute red riding hood dress you bought, double checking to make sure it fit perfectly. This was something new and you hoped Miguel would like it.

"Mhm, what if he doesn't like it?" You muttered to yourself.

"(Y/N), I'm home." Miguel called out.

You jumped from hearing Miguel's voice, a little worried about the idea now. Taking deep breathes, you poked your head out from the bedroom door, spotting your boyfriend sniffing the dinner you made. His tail wagged and ears pointed upwards, which meant that he was in a good mood.

"Hm? (Y/N), why are you hiding?" Miguel asked with a chuckle as he caught your scent.

"I'm not hiding~ I'm waiting~" You cooed.

Miguel sensed your playful tone as he hurried over. You giggled to yourself as you crawled onto the bed, waiting for his reaction. Once Miguel opened the door, his eyes widen as you laid before him in the beautiful red hood.

"Welcome home, my big bad wolf~"

Miguel was at a loss for words as he drank you up with his eyes. His tail uncontrollably wagging as his pupils grew wide. Miguel slowly made his way over to you, climbing over your small frame compared to his.

"This is dangerous, (Y/N). I just wanna eat you up." Miguel said with a low groan, his head buried against your neck.

"I don't have work tomorrow, Miggy. Won't you be a good boy and play along?" You asked with a pout.

Miguel groaned once more before capturing your lips in a deep kiss. His hunger for you was strong as his tongue devoured your mouth with little time for you to fight back. His grip was heavy against you waist, his hands desperate to strip you nude.

As Miguel explored the cavern of your mouth, he broke free from the kiss to adore you. His fangs poking out while his pupils dilated. You had done your job and managed to get your boyfriend horny.

"(Y/N), I won't be able to hold back,"

"Then don't. You know I can handle it," You said, catching your breathe.

Miguel just chuckled as he started to lick and suck against your neck. His hands now massaging and groping your breasts while his bulge rubbed against your clothed cunt. You whimpered a moan as Miguel rutted roughly against you.

Honestly, despite your super powers from being Spider Woman, Miguel still dominated over you in bed. Your stamina was nothing compared to your werewolf boyfriend. You had learned the hard way whenever it was a full moon.

Your body had been sore for days.

Recalling the moon, your eyes widen as you tried to look over to the calendar beside the bed. You had forgotten to check when the full moon was! Gasping, you noticed that it was none other than today.

Of course.

"Mig-Ah~" You moaned as Miguel took your breast within his mouth.

You were starting to feel dazed as Miguel toyed with you with the dress. His fingers had already dipped down to your clit, rubbing harsh circles against your sensitive bud. His tongue roughly licking and sucking against your nipples, desperate to make you cum.

You tried to call out to your boyfriend, wanting to remind him of the moon, but you couldn't focus. Your core was burning up as you felt the urge to give into Miguel's movements. Your body arching from the pleasure.

"Ah~ Mhm~" You moaned as you cam.

"Haaaah, (Y/N), I can't hold back," Miguel groaned as he striped himself.

You wanted to marvel at his body which seemed to sparkle like a god. Your eyes focused downward towards his erect dick, already accepting your fate.

You weren't going to work for the next week.

"M-My, Miguel...what a big dick you have..." You giggled, trying to play along. Miguel just chuckled as he poked his dick against your entrance,

"All the more to breed you with."

And there it was. You gasped and moaned as Miguel thrusted his cock deep inside you. You hadn't even noticed when he ripped the panties off your dress. Tears formed against the corner of your eyes since the full moon affected Miguel differently.

"So tight. Just for me," Miguel whispered as he started to thrust into you, "Perfect for my babies."

"M-Miggy~"

You called out to your boyfriend, wanting to remind him to be a little gentle with you. Your walls were stretching with each thrust of his dick, bruising your cervix with every hit. You gasped and moaned with every slap of his hips, falling deeper into his lust filled attack.

"Little Red wants my babies, don't you? Such a naughty girl, my only girl." Miguel growled lowly as he pinned you into mating position.

You cried out as you felt Miguel reach deeper inside you. His words turning your mind into putty as you just agreed to his desires. Your body cumming and giving into his wishes, squeezing and begging for him to fill you.

"Miggy~ Ah~ R-Right there~" You cried out.

Miguel grunted as he slapped himself into you. Your cunt fluttering against his cock as your juices formed a white ring around his dick. All this causing Miguel to lose himself into you. His teeth marking your body as his thrusts became rougher.

"My mate. Mine." He growled, cumming inside you, "Not enough,"

"Hah, hah...M-Mig...F-Full...moo-ah~" You arched your back as Miguel kept thrusting into you.

Your legs were starting to grow weak and your mind was fading fast. Miguel tore your dress by your breasts, taking one with his mouth as he rutted into you.

"S-So....m-much~" You moaned, feeling his thick cock push his cum deeper inside you, "Ah~"

"Mine. Pretty red," Miguel grunted, capturing your lips in a kiss as he felt you cum once more, "Gonna have my babies, (Y/N). Don't waste a drop,"

You laid against the bed, a babbling mess as you let Miguel fuck you stupid. It was safe to say the dress worked...perhaps on a different night you would have enjoyed the roleplay a little more.

"Once more,"

Nights of the full moon were always restless nights if you couldn't give Miguel some sleeping pills. It had been a while since Miguel fucked you as rough as he did, but you never complained. You enjoyed being filled and loved.

"Aye, sorry (Y/N). I went overboard." Miguel apologized the next morning as he whimpered and showered you with kisses.

"It's okay....I should have paid attention," You whispered softly.

Miguel whimpered more as his ears and tail fell. He carried you to the shower to wash you up, wanting to take care of his precious mate. Rubbing his head against yours, Miguel gave you a sad puppy look,

"I didn't transform...did I?" He asked. You giggled softly, kissing his head,

"If you did, I'd be even more exhausted and full,"

"Sorry, (Y/N)," Miguel apologized once more. You pecked his lips as he washed you,

"You can apologize by getting me a new red dress."

"Of course!"

Another great thing about having a werewolf boyfriend....Miguel would always make-up to you after once of his restless nights.

Not that you complained.

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Hope you enjoyed!!!

#spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #miguel x you #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x fem!reader

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hazelfoureyes · 7 months

Note

What would be really cute is if a spell backfired temporarily turning alastor into the cursed cat alastor and the reader ends up fawning over him and taking care of him, not realizing its actually him. He's just loving all the attention from her 🤭

I love catlastor! Omg yes! Just a quick little piece while he’s so popular. That is so cute!!

It was, decidedly, not cute. A … raccoon? Mutant Fennec Fox? No, no it was more feline. But, hmm. Maybe hell had their own breeds of trash animals. Either way, you picked up the little creature. Red and black, stupid fucking smile, sharp teeth. It seemed to be shaking? No, vibrating? Quaking?? You struggled to keep it in your hands, but managed to tuck it under your arm like a football.

You had found it roaming the lobby, perhaps it was a resident’s … pet? It cocked it’s head, staring at you while you were staring at it from your bed.

“Psst Psst,” you offered it a piece of meat, but no response. Its eyes searched the room, seemingly not limited in their range of motion. With a screech it launched itself at the mounted deer head above the fireplace.

You pulled and tugged, its jaw locked onto the antlers. “Come on you little shit, come on,” You put your leg against the wall for leverage. Then your other leg. Soon you were hanging from the deer, too, by way of the tiny animal’s legs.

How was it so strong? Determination? Magic? Pure unbridled insanity? The ever dilated eyes seem to beg the latter.

Finally, it lost interest and you both dropped to the ground.

“Do… do you want scratches?”

It’s eyes blinked independently of eachother.

You reached out a trembling hand, focused entirely on the row of yellowed teeth grinning back at you.

With a well placed scratch behind it’s ear, the little creature softened and fell over onto it’s side like a horse about to die.

“Aww?” You wondered out loud, “You like that?” You scooped it up and got comfortable in the plush chair opposite the cold fireplace. “Only Lucifer would think a fireplace in hell made any sense,” you ran your hand down the length of the ball of fur and fangs, “He belongs on a travel size chess set, not designing hotels.”

Your hand jumped, “Are you purring? Wittle Gobwin hates Luci?” It’s tail wagged side to side, “Awww. Okay, yeah, you’re pretty cute.”

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you woke up gasping, struggling to expand your lungs fully. Looking down you found none other than the cannibal deer of the Pride Ring, Alastor, cuddled on your lap.

Too weak to move him, too scared to wake him, you wiggled yourself up enough to breath and pretended to be asleep. It was best, you thought correctly, that he could have the illusion of sneaking out undetected.

The next morning you passed him in the halls, unable to stop yourself from whispering “wittle gobwin.”

Luckily, you were a fast runner.

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult: @nonetheartist , fizzled-phoenix , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @fjorjestertealeaf , @pansexual-opera-house , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @roxxie-wolf , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @phobophobular , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @surusurusuru , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum , @ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

#cursed cat alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin alastor #catlastor

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patolemus · 2 months

Text

Sterek fic recs: ABO/Mpreg AU Edition

As per @oldefashioned's request, since this is for her, here you go. I tried to filter my bookmarks, so these are more about the plot than the smut. There's probably a lot of ABO without mpreg, but I hope some of these change your mind about it!!

1. Fire, Fury and Flame by IAmAVeronica

Stiles Stilinski was never going to be the omega who got knocked up right after high school, and then he's accidentally artificially inseminated with a stranger's sperm. Awesome. And the father of Stiles's baby just so happens to be Derek Hale. Half-feral, quite possibly a murderer, and pursued by a gleefully sadistic band of hunters who are only too eager to use Stiles and his baby to hit Derek right where it hurts. Joy.

Notes: this is Jane the Virgin if there were werewolves and abo. It’s absolutely phenomenal. That's it, I have nothing else to say, 10/10. It's completed!

2. I don't know why, but I guess it has something to do with you by LunaCanisLupus_22

“You smell like me,” the guy says, scowling as he crowds in and Stiles staggers back between the coats and finally hits the wall. “Why do you smell like me?” He barely lets out a garbled sound as the blood rushes to his cheeks. “No reason,” Stiles yelps, struggling to get his footing and grasping at a whirlwind of puffy fur. Or the one where Stiles goes thrift shopping and steals an alpha's shirt. And gets a lot more than he bargains for.

Notes: Stiles does something he's not supposed to. Derek is... confused. It ends up pretty okay. Also kind of an office au?? Anyways they're both dorks and I love them. It's completed, but you need to have an account to see this work.

3. Take Me Away From Here by Hedwig221b (also @hedwig221b here on tumblr!)

Derek Hale looked terrifying. With his broad frame and muscles, with his wild black hair and thick beard, with his eyes the color of blood and fangs of a killer. Despite his kindness and his apparent attraction to Stiles, he was still a stranger, a predator, a wolf. The thing is, Stiles would deal, but others might not. People found Lord Hale horrid, monstrous and unapproachable. If Stiles stood behind him, no one would touch him. He’d be safe with the wolf. If not from him, then definitely from everyone else. And that was enough.

Notes: of course I had to rec at least one Hedwig abo fic, they're the best! Don't you worry, there's a lot more in this list. This is a historical au... sort of. If history had werewolves and omegas. Don't worry, it works out fine. The whole world building in itself is interesting, because it treates omegas like a different species. Derek, my beloved, always and forever obsessed with Stiles! It gets dark for a little while, but don't fret, all is okay in the world. It's completed!

4. Scent Left Unsaid by bleep0bleep

In a society where werewolves are second class, Deucslist is an alternative werewolf network (similar to Craigslist) where humans and werewolves offer (mostly sexual) services. Derek is a long-term client of an anonymous human omega whose scent is just perfect. He never expects to meet him, until it happens. Derek has slept with that faded red hooded sweatshirt every night since he got it in the mail. It’s calming, that scent; it’s everything to him. So it’s strange now that Derek is smelling it wafting from the end of the subway car as it careens towards the L line, lights flickering on the passing platforms.

Notes: imagine meet cute, only Derek is too socially awkward to actually enact the necessary steps to make it a meet cute, and Stiles has to do it instead. Also using the good old trope of Stiles' scent being like cocaine to Derek. It's very wholesome, and it's completed.

5. Never a Hardship by Julibean19

“Derek, meet Stiles, your new bodyguard,” Talia says. Derek doesn’t get up. He’s frozen to his seat on the couch, staring at the man who will now be hounding his every step. “What’s a Stiles?” he asks dumbly, finally budging when his mother smacks him on the shoulder. “That’s Chief Stiles to you,” his mother says, scolding him. Derek huffs in annoyance, wondering how this could possibly get worse. “Senior Chief Stilinski is a Navy SEAL, Special Operations Forces, and has been handpicked by me, out of several hundred options. You will treat him with respect and do what he says.” “I’m a grown man, Madam President,” Derek says through clenched teeth. “You can’t expect me to listen to this guy. I don’t know anything about him."

Notes: I love First Family aus! And Omega First Son!Derek with Alpha Bodyguard!Stiles is just delightful. There's a lot of omega politics, and Stiles gets to be a total badass when he and Derek are not pining after each other. Also, Chris Argent, surprisingly, is the best. I don't know what else to say without spoiling everything, so just know this is amazing! It's completed.

6. A Sheep In Wolf's Clothing by dumpac

"What the fuck, Stiles, what the fuck?!" "No, no, you don't understand, Scotty, this is the best idea ever!" "Because you think registering as a fucking alpha to college when you're actually an omega is the best idea ever? It's not even a good idea!" Or : Being an omega, Stiles has few chances to be accepted in the college of his dreams. Registering as an alpha seems like a good idea... until his new roommate, hot-as-the-sun alpha Derek Hale, comes in the equation.

Notes: I know I say this a lot but this fic is SO GOOD!! Stiles pretends to be an alpha and IT WORKS because he's a badass, only things go a little bit sideways because he's not an alpha and Derek... well Derek has no idea. My poor man is confused. Also has a dash of good old discrimination against omegas and nepotism. One of my favorite abo AND college au fics. It's completed.

7. Untouchable by Hedwig221b

The day Stiles Stilinski entered the Berkeley campus was the day all the alphas went absolutely fucking nuts. See, omegas were rare, even more than redheads. Got to be extremely fucking lucky to even see one in a lifetime. They were supposed to be these ethereal creatures of beauty and elegance, irresistible and blinding. And Stiles Stilinski was exactly that.

Notes: another Hedwig fic hehe. This one makes me go feral EVERY TIME. Literally one of my favorite fics to ever exist, I think I've read it three times in the last month and a half alone. If you're looking for unhinged sterek with absolutely besotted Derek, and pretty omega Stiles who has only eyes for him, this is the fic for you. They are literally so great!! 10/10, please please please go read this. It's completed.

8. You Smell Like Mine by bleep0bleep, marguerite_26

People talk about the alpha instinct, an alpha's head being swayed by a nice-smelling omega, or the desire to drop everything and show off. Derek's never felt any of that. He's just not that kind of alpha. Then he meets Stiles.

Notes: I love Derek in this, he's trying SO HARD to remain nonchalant over Stiles, but he never stood a chance. One whiff of Stiles' scent and he was a goner, pathetically entranced. Good thing Stiles wants him back hehe. A sprinkle of Enemies to Lovers (and really, can we say it's sterek if it doesn't have enemies to lovers who are inexplicably drawn to each other despite their best efforts to appear indifferent?). It's completed.

9. His Only Defence by LunaCanisLupus_22

Stiles had just accidentally challenged an alpha. Oh God, and Scott had just stood by and let him do it. He was the worst best friend ever. Stiles was going to kill him. Except, oh right, the alpha was going to kill him first. Like beyond dead, ripped into tiny little pieces dead. So far dead that his dad would not be able to identify him, dead.

Notes: I honestly don't know how to explain this one. It's a modern au, only archaic abo rules exist and Stiles and Derek... well, Stiles is Stiles and Derek is Derek. They work it out. It's completed, but you need to have an account to read this work.

10. cheer up, babe by graveltotempo, SpringlockedSpectre

He was the basketball captain. And he was a cheerleader. Can I make it any more clear? OR: Derek Hale thought he had his crush on Stiles Stilinski under control. And then Stiles decided to show up to school in a skirt.

Notes: Derek is pining and makes a fool of himself all the time in front of Stiles. Stiles, thankfully for Derek, finds it charming. That's it, that's the fic. It's completed. I also recommend checking up graveltotempo's other works, they're great!

11. Love's Violent Delights by Dexterous_Sinistrous

Derek caught the way the man’s eyes looked over Stiles before lingering on his ass. He waited for the clerk to place the key on the counter before he reacted. Stiles startled at the loud noise, turning away from the pamphlets in the display box to see Derek pinning the clerk’s head against the counter. He drew in an even breath, looking between the struggling man and Derek. Derek briefly looked at Stiles, hesitating before he saw the gleam of excitement in Stiles’ eyes and the hint of lust in his scent. “Ever look at him, or any other Omega, like that again, and I’ll slice your eyes out with my claws.” He shoved the man back, not caring of the commotion that was made as he snatched up the key from the counter.

Notes: this makes me go feralllll it's so good. The Sheriff is imprisoned for what basically amounts to bullshit charges, and he and Derek share a cell. When Derek is freed, he looks for Stiles to make good on his promise to the Sheriff to take care of him. Somehow, they end up running from the law lol, my little criminal babies. Their relationship here is so uuuuuuughhhhh so wonderful! There's also critics to the system and talk about abo politics. It's completed.

12. Side Character by Hedwig221b

He should’ve kept his mouth shut. He should’ve smiled like always. Now everything was ruined, crushed, destroyed. Dust, shards, and the remnants of his pride. Love that no one needed. Derek’s gaze scalded the side of his face but Stiles refused to meet it. He had already revealed too much.

Notes: Hedwig, as always, writes such good stories! Seriously one of my favorite sterek writers! Stiles is oblivious and pining, Derek is also oblivious and pining, only in a completely different manner. They still end up together because they are meant to be in EVERY UNIVERSE. This doesn't have the traditional Alpha/Omega pairing, since Stiles is a Beta (really, the root of all this issue in the first place) He is very insecure in this one, but Derek is here for him. It's completed.

13. Made Your Mark on Me (A Golden Tattoo) by writteninthewolfstar

Beacon Hills High and Lycan Heights High are well-known enemies. Derek Hale, Lycan Heights' star quarter-back, is well-known for being aggressive and arrogant. Imagine Stiles surprise when he discovers that Derek Hale is actually his soul-mate.

Notes: this is a very sweet one. Pretty light hearted, especially compared to canon. The bullying does get a little intense at some points, though, so if that's triggering proceed with caution. Jock Derek, my beloved. Stiles is a loner, and also very insecure on this one! But Derek is an absolute sweetheart and a real champ, so love conquers all. Has some Bad Friend Scott, too, so if that's something you're interested in, this is your fic. It's completed.

14. We Gotta Hide What We're Doin' by CharWright5

As a Bodyguard within the Stilinski Rodzina, Derek's one and only job is to watch over the Omega son—and only child—of the Family's Head, Stiles, a task that is easier said than done some nights. It's just good that the Alpha knows the best way to punish the little troublemaker when his bratty behavior threatens to expose a secret that could get the Bodyguard killed.

Notes: this one has a lot of smut, and the premise is absolutely killer. I'm actually very sad it's not 200k words long, but what can you do? Stiles is the heir to a Mafia Empire, and Derek an enforcer and Stiles' personal bodyguard since he was young. Stiles is a spoiled brat here, but Derek likes that hehe. It's also a secret relationship. It's kiiiiind of dark, since this is a mafia au, but nothing too terrible. To be honest the most explicit part is the smut. It's completed.

15. Survival of the Species by Lissadiane

“I think I’m dying.” Nothing makes sense – and now Derek has left him. “No, Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton says grimly, rooting around in his special cupboard of herbs and remedies. “I’m afraid not. You’re merely suffering from a biological imperative to bear your alpha’s children and strengthen the pack.” Stiles considers that for a moment, as best he can with his mind a hazy mess, and then he says quietly, “I think that might be worse.” “So, so much worse,” Scott agrees. * In which Derek's pack is apparently stable enough to begin planning for the future, and somehow, the universe has decided Stiles is the perfect candidate to bear his alpha's children.

Notes: honestly?? One of the best fics I've read about mpreg, not just in the Teen Wolf, but in general. It keeps things real, everyone is the appropriate amount of freaked out, for a while no one is having a good time, and there's enough to hint at body horror that my angst thirst is satisfied. Don't worry though, everything's fine! And there's no actual body horror, Stiles just has a very wild imagination. There's also not actual mpreg either, it's just discussed. It's complete.

16. before the world catches up by negativelyme

Stiles is a beta, so he’s never been a part of the annual Winter Mating Rituals that take over his high school. Or so he thinks.

Notes: this one is so wholesome! Derek truly is trying his very best, you can do it, Derek! Stiles' I'm-a-Beta-no-one-wants-me issues are getting in the way of true love. All ends well. It's completed.

17. All You Ever Needed to Know About Knotting by orphan_account

Derek had started reading the column by accident. Really, reading strangers’ questions about knotting and heat had never really appealed to him. However, at that point in time, he was a little desperate. And he was right: most of the questions submitted by anonymous readers didn’t appeal to him. The answers, though, did. (Or: In which Stiles writes an advice column about knotting and Derek is smitten. Also they're neighbors.)

Notes: it's pretty much what it says in the summary. Overall very wholesome, made me laugh. Derek is absolutely precious here. It's completed.

18. You Want Me Back by graveltotempo

Stiles and the Hale pack come back to Beacon Hills for a High School reunion.

Notes: classic 10 year reunion fic (or maybe it's not classic in this fandom?? Tbh, most of the reunion fics I've read are from KHR), Stiles comes back to BH married and with a child. He, Jackson and Isaac are the best of bests, and Derek is, of course, wonderful. Peter is also pretty great, even if he appears for like 5 seconds. Canon Divergent from season 3b, bad friend Lydia, bad friend Scott. There's an epic smackdown and the Hales are basically top dogs. It's completed.

19. Over the Moon by likeshipsonthesea

Stiles and Derek spend a night together, and Derek, thinking he's protecting Stiles, tells him it was a mistake. Stiles leaves Beacon Hills. He also leaves behind 6 letters to say goodbye to the pack. From his letters, the pack thinks he's killed himself. Meanwhile, Stiles is in NYC, living with Jackson, going to Columbia, oh, and he's pregnant.

Notes: Derek is an idiot, but his heart is in the right place. Misscomunication ensues, basically, and it escalates way too much. Jackson and Stiles' broship is literally the best thing ever, I love them!!!! We should have more fics with them being the best duo ever.

20. the Jurisdiction series by elisera

John is a pretty level-headed guy. He wasn’t always, back during his own Sturm und Drang period, but he married a firecracker of a woman and got a kid with an affinity for trouble like he got payed for ending up in it, so someone had to level out or they would’ve ended up living in a treehouse or Lapland doing god knows what. Anyway, getting a hold of his temper is one of John’s better life achievements. It makes him a good sheriff and it kept him from blowing his lid too badly those last two years when Stiles started acting out in a way that John had never seen before. But the temper is still there. He’s reminded of it when he comes home on a random Saturday in March after spilling his milkshake all over his uniform shirt only to notice he didn’t have a spare in the station and finds Stiles bend over the kitchen sink with hunched shoulders.

Notes: the first part of the series gets, admittedly, pretty violent. Everything after that is very wholesome though. The Sheriff is an absolute gem in this one! Also, the mpreg is a very important factor after the first part of the series, but the first part is mostly just sterek pining and the aforementioned violent events. I'd mind the tags. It's completed.

21. What To Expect When You're Expecting (A Litter of Sourwolf Puppies) by Brego_Mellon_Nin

The Sheriff sighs and plops down in a chair opposite his son. “Stiles, I’m going crazy here. We need to get you to a doctor. You sleep like you’re trying to get into the Guinness Book of World Records, and your eating habits are bizarre! You vomit around the clock and for some reason only the tea your mother used when she was pregnant will get your stomach to settle down for any length of time. Is there something you aren’t telling me? Can werewolves get guys pregnant? I’ve noticed how you look at that Hale kid-” Stiles meeps and flails, sloshing tea down his front. Luckily it’s not scalding anymore, but still hot, so he jumps up and wrenches his shirt off. “God, dad, no! Guys can’t get pregnant, that’s ridiculous, it’s like...” “Like werewolves being real?” his dad questions, deadpan.

Notes: a wonderful accidental pregnancy fic. I love the Sheriff on this one, he's so supportive and actually has a hold of every single braincell because he is just THAT great. Stiles is also lovely, and while Derek is missing for like the first third of the fic he's great, too. This are pretty fluffy all around! It's completed.

22. I Don't Blame You for Being You (but you can't blame me for hating it) by LadySlytherin

Derek hits Stiles with his Camaro - 'Dammit, Stiles, it was an accident!'...'Why don't I believe you?' - and hilarity ensues.

Notes: do you know how there are fics that make you go 'I LOVE STEREK SO MUCH AAAAAAAAAAH'? Well, this is one of them. Derek hits Stiles with his car, Stiles ends with a broken leg, Derek gets to take care of him while he recovers as payment. Oh, and there's a fight about which pack Stiles actually belongs to, but that works itself out. It's pretty great. It's also completed.

23. Predators by Hedwig221b

He was born for this. Nature itself whispered into his ear where he should put his hands, how to twirl his tongue just right and when to bite. Stiles knew well enough that his saliva was currently working its magic on this unfortunate man, making him hungry, lustful, and insatiable. Soon, all his thoughts would be consumed by Stiles. And, just this once, Stiles would allow Derek to consume him.

Notes: to be honest, I thought I'd be putting this on another section, since this is a creature!Stiles fic (and it'll definitely go there when I make that fic rec list), but if it has mpreg then it has mpreg. This is actually one of my favorite fics ever!! I feel like I'm always saying this but it bears repeating, so: Hedwig always makes such great stories (as proven by the sheer amount of Hedwig fics I have in my rec lists lol). Stiles is so uuuuuugh in this one, I love him! And Derek! Oh lord, Derek makes me go feral here. Honestly, so good! It's completed, but do mind the tags because it gets... intense.

24. Disposition by Tulikettu

Stiles has an itch. A kinky, kinda dirty itch he needs to scratch. So why not go on the Internet and look for a complete stranger to scratch it? Derek needs a partner for his rut. What a coincidence.

Notes: alright so this last one really veers off track from the rest of this list. It's basically pure smut so if you're not into that, don't read it. It also doesn't actually have mpreg, it's just discussed (and barely as a subject, since in their current present it isn't possible). Also, the kinks are... well, they are. There are some pretty triggering stuff in here so please mind the tags before you read, because if it's in the tags, you will read it, in detail. Other than that, it's pretty great! Stiles and Derek are very obsessed with each other, as they should. It's completed!

And this is everything. I honestly surprised myself with the amount of fics that ended up here, I hadn't realized I'd read that many sterek fics with ABO and mpreg. I hope you like these, Shar! And of course, anyone else who bounds finding this, I hope you enjoy these too.

#for oldefashioned #fic rec list #fic recs #abo #abo dynamics #mpreg #sterek #eternal sterek #teen wolf fic rec #teen wolf #eternalsterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #ao3

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snowbreeze64 · 1 year

Text

[ID: A three panel comic of Ylfa and her grandmother from Dimension 20 Neverafter

Panel 1: Text: “But I did pick up fresh flowers along the way.” Drawing of flowers. Text: “Oh, that’s lovely. I hope you didn’t stray off the path to get them.” Drawing of Grandma’s side profile, showing sharp fangs. Text: “Oh! Okay, Grandma, I did. But it’s because I followed a caterpillar that was chasing a butterfly, which actually-” Drawing of Ylfa approaching a caterpillar and a butterfly on a branch while the silhouette of a wolf is visible in the trees behind her. Text: “Sorry, a caterpillar was chasing a butterfly?” Drawing of Ylfa’s grandmother as a little girl holding a bouquet of flowers, facing Ylfa, who is wearing the Wolf’s skin as a cloak and has the outline of a large wolf around her.

Panel 2: Text: “I guess, sort of, how?” Drawing of Ylfa’s grandmother as a young girl facing Ylfa with the outline of a wolf around her, with flower petals falling off the flower Ylfa’s grandmother is holding. Text: “I think they were friends, right?” Drawing of the wolf hugging Ylfa’s grandmother, Ylfa the little girl is no longer visible. Text: “And one had turned into a butterfly first, and the butterfly was not flapping.” Drawing of Ylfa’s grandmother as a little girl opening the door to her grandmother’s cottage, with only blackness inside. To the left, the wolf dressed in grandmother’s clothes leads the grandmother towards a dark forest.

Panel 3: Text: “Oh, so this is a tragedy. This is a full tragedy.” Drawing of Ylfa touching her hand against the wolf’s snout. The wolf has an axe buried in its head and is dripping blood out of the wound and crying. Ylfa, who is still a little girl before she gained wolf features, is also crying, and blood drips from her mouth. Below, there is a drawing of a butterfly flying away, out of reach of the caterpillar still on the branch.

#dimension 20 #neverafter #neverafter spoilers #ylfa snorgelsson #dimension 20 ylfa #dimension 20 neverafter #drawing #drawings #digital art #artists on tumblr #comic #my art #snowbreeze64 art

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ayasuki · 10 months

Text

6th Bakugou x Reader FANFIC RECS

some are short but they're good hehe (most of these are suggestive :P)

> • 𝑹𝒆𝒄 𝑳𝒊𝒔𝒕

" Dream Eater " by justatypicaltrash

dream eater!bakugou x reader

warning: slight angst

bakugo is an eternal living dream eater.

" I Like You, Okay?! " by kikyo-bnha-imagines

bakugou x fem!reader

summary: katsuki struggles to confess to his crush.

" Workshopped Romance " by itsmm4hiii

pro-hero!bakugou x fem!reader

summary: working for a hero costume designer has its perks like; meeting heroes, playing with cool technologies, getting you're name out- y/n didn't really expect her own boss will try and hook her up with a customer.

" Blood Moonlit, Must be Counterfeit " by irisintheafterglow

pro-hero!bakugou x reader

warning: swearing ofc cuz it's bakugo, mentions of drinking and alcohol, halloween party, first meeting, emotionally constipated katsuki and reader is kinda oblivious lol

summary: a guy at a party has a really good dynamight costume, and you two get to talking about your favorite heroes.

WARNING | beneath the cut are slightly suggestive to full on smut fics

" no title " by moominsuki

bakugou x fem!reader

warning: ch. 359-362 spoilers kinda. a little suggestive but fluff all around

summary: katsuki hates being off the job. but what he hates more is being treated like glass, especially by you.

" as the years go by " by quitesins

pro-hero!bakugou x fem!reader

warning: suggestive, slight nsfw, friends to lovers, unrequited love ig? virgin!reader, drabble

summary: being friends with bakugou since UA, watching each other change as the years go by, but still having room to learn more, so much more.

" no title " by izvmimi

warning: palace drama au, multiple wives, fem!reader, brief explicit sex.

" One More Time " by yanderenightmare

warning: derogatory dirty talk, spanking, angsty but with a fluffy ending

" no title " by dreamland03

bakugou x reader

warning: mention of sex like once, drinking, mention of trauma, bad self image

" Come Sit " by saturnorbits

bakugou x fem!reader

warning: cock-warming

summary: after a long day, all you need is bakugo.

" Feral " by smiley-babe

wolfhybrid!bakugou x fem!reader

warnings: aged up characters, lowkey monster fucking (hybrid bakugo has wolf ears, a tail, and fangs), knotting, HUGE breeding kink, no specific dynamics, biting, small blood kink (if you squint), marking/ bonding, heat/ rut behavior, panty sniffing, kind of rough sex, oral (f receiving), and fingering

summary: taking in a wolf hybrid already didn’t seem like a good idea, but when spring hits… all hell breaks loose.

" Personal Trainer!BKG " by bakubunny

personal trainer!bakugou x plus size!fem!reader

warning: oral sex (m receiving), rough sex.

" On To Better Things " by savnofilter

prohero!dilf!bakugou x fem!reader

warning: angst, strangers to lovers

sfw | toxic & abusive relationship, toxic baby daddy, mentions postpartum, mental health, arguing, mentions of legal proceedings, counseling, drama, cultural family expectations, love bombing, manipulation, a man being a hypocrite, reader low-key needs a new circle of people around them but that's neither here nor there, reader loves their daughter to pieces </3, reader's daughter is a hand full but we stan!, reader spaces out a lot, "our kids are best friends but we never met before and so happen to be single" trope.

nsfw | fingering, cunnilingus, groping, praise kink, reader has multiple orgasms (2, hinted 4), reader is a bit shy as it's been awhile and feels nervous, vocal queen reader, clothed sex, protected sex, comforting!bakugo, non-established relationship.

" Swipe Right " by ryukatters

bakugou x fem!reader

warning: dubcon, quirkless/college! au, jealousy, possessiveness, breeding, creampie, unprotected sex, cum eating, cunnilingus, overstimulation, praise, biting, bkg gets a little rough with you, and bkg's also a fucking simp

summary: your boyfriend decides to make a fake tinder profile for you just to see how many matches you get. he comes to a realization just how many other people want what’s already his.

" no title " by katbakubae

bakugou x fem!reader

warning: language, dom!bakugou, possessiveness, jealousy, (mild) stalking, name calling, spanking, rough oral.

summary: sick of your boyfriends lack of time with you because of his busy schedule, you decided to take some time for yourself. unfortunately, letting that happen was never an option for him.

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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 6 months

Note

Do you know any bestfriend peter and stiles fixes no steter just really good best friends I just feel like there so underrated <3

Yeah!

Accident by Chattalgi

(1/1 I 964 I Not Rated I Sterek)

Stiles hurts himself.

Derek is there to help.

I’ll Go Through a Million Tragedies Just to Be with You by Ghosted_Redacted

(1/? I 993 I Not Rated I Stackson)

Stiles is suffering after the nogitsune, but that doesn’t mean he has to suffer alone. Sure, no one in town other than an (ex) homicidal werewolf, but that’s…fine.

But then he gets a call from London.

And maybe people do care.

(In other words: everyone suffers. But everyone also finds someone to love)

Two of Swords by pixieblade

(1/1 I 7,484 I Teen I Sterek)

Denial, blocking off emotions, avoidance of and not seeing the truth, stalemate, impasse.

---

They gather to stare at the orb. It's cold, where it should be warm. There's death, where life should flourish. One reaches out a hand, takes the freezing orb and presses it deep against his chest, sharing warmth and life and love.

'Breathe, little spark,' he whispers softly. Finding gentleness when it was once so lost to him. 'Breathe,' he coaxes. 'We're here. You're not alone anymore. Never again.'

The orb shudders in his embrace. Tears, like a melodic tinkling, dance across it's surface as it gives in and sinks into the heat of the other.

Never again, it repeats, and prays the other is right.

Wild (Blue Neighborhood) by BeautyOnFyre

(1/1 I 11,029 I Teen I Sterek)

Peter's lethargic body was unresponsive as he sat in the wheelchair, endlessly staring out the window of his hospital room. His side twinged a bit from the rough scrubbing the nurse had given his mottled flesh earlier and he ached to move even a finger.

"Uncle Peter?" The small voice was behind him in the doorway. He remembered that voice. Contrary to the title bestowed from the small girl that rounded his chair into his line of sight, Stiles Stilinski was not related to Peter at all.

Or how Stiles and Peter became best friends for life and brought Stiles into the Pack.

A Wolf's Ribbon by Dexterous_Sinistrous

(6/6 I 36,091 I Explicit I Sterek)

Derek had been coached on how to approach the child heir apparent while hundreds of eyes watched him. He kept his eyes focused on the cradle, leaning over the edge as best he could to see the baby everyone had been talking about.

Stiles smiled when he saw Derek, kicking his legs out as he reached a hand up for him. He cooed at Derek, his fingers grabbing at the older boy in an attempt to touch him, all to no avail. He gurgled out a laugh when Derek reached a hand down into the cradle, snatching hold of his fingers as best he could.

Derek offered a small smile in response, allowing Stiles to playfully tug on his hand.

The two children made an adorable sight before the Court and their parents. That was the moment Queen Talia and King John decided to arrange their marriage. Every second was planned out without the voiced concern of the children.

It takes a village by pixieblade

(32/? I 78,312 I Mature I Sterek)

Stiles is tired. He's tired of always having to defend himself to his so-called best friend. He's tired of being ignored and he's tired of the Pack never having his back.

So this is his line. He'd draw it in the sand, but all he has is a glitter sharpie.

It'll have to do.

Baseball Bats and Sour Wolves by Erin1324

(68/? I 84,425 I Teen I Sterek)

Derek is cursed with some sort of spell, and for some reason only responds to Stiles as a result. He tries to attack everyone else, even his Alpha, he's also acting super overprotective of Stiles, hardly letting anyone get close to him.

Joining the Fang Gang by AClosedFicIsNeverRead

(21/? I 87,645 I Explicit I Sterek)

“Lydia? Lydia, look at me,” Derek urged, a slight tremor in his voice as he fought to be gentle with her despite his alarm. She blinked through tears and struggled to meet his gaze as he crouched in front of her. “What did you see?”

“Forest… It’s dark… His Dad is screaming for him…” Her lips trembled as she shook her head and gasped, “Oh, God… He’s dying, Derek. I can feel it… It hurts so much… Oh, poor Stiles…”

- OR -

The one where Stiles is turned into a vampire, hides it from the pack, and tries to manage his new 'condition' without them noticing.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #peter hale #stiles and peter #good!peter #anon

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lazyneonrabbitt · 5 months

Text

King and his Queen

Daryl Dixon x Reader | [Pt.1]

After Daryl's match he gets treated like royalty by his loving partner.

Italics are flashbacks. Mild smut-ish at the end

Like clockwork you were down the stairs of your platform and down in the hallway that led to the cage where Daryl slumped against the wall. Out of view from the crowd he didn't have to pretend to be okay after taking a bad hit to the leg. Now he could be hurt and tired, and have you help him across the hall into your livin quarters where you would care for him with the most delicate touches that were like day and night compared to the harsh beatings he got in front of the crowd.

He needed your support to make it all the way into the bathroom where you helped him sit at the edge of the tub where he shifted back into his human form while you reached behind him to run the water and turning back to the sink. You heard the loud clanking of his metal claw tips and fang caps hit the floor as his shape no longer held the form they were made to hold onto.

"Here you go." Your hands held a cup of saltwater solution to rinse his mouth with, the other a container with metal caps to cover his broken teeth.

You watched as he rinsed his mouth and spat the solution back into the cup, handing it back to you to dispose of as he went to click the dentures into place and ran his tongue over the stubby fangs they replicated.

Daryl had never been as hungry as he was now, with the woods rigged in traps that were constantly under surveillance. There was no game left.

A scream caught his attention and he rushed out to the sound, he was in no way or shape against eating humans to survive right now, especially if they're already trapped.

Except the woman wasn't, instead she was cornered by the undead. He couldn't eat infected flesh, he had to go grab her before they did.

Tearing through the small group was a simple task, and the woman was happily thanking him over and over again, nit realising his true intentions until he had her cornered as well. He snarled at her, baring his teeth but was met with a curious stare. "I like your stubby little fangs, they're cute."

He could only grunt in confusion and snap at her, his eyes and fangs now changed and showing he did mean harm. But the loud grumble of his stomach seemed to ruin his scary vibes, and your offer of sharing food had him easily convinced not to eat you just yet.

WIth the tub filling up and your fist aid kid splayed open on the side Daryl felt content. You fed him when he was starving then, and now still tend to his wounds after each match. "M'lucky ta have ya, love."

His eyes were on you where you sat jn front of him, disinfecting the deep cuts on his leg before they fully healed and trapped an infection.

"Still happy you didn't eat me back then?"

With his hand hanging in the soapy water behind him he rolled his eyes at you. "Can still do tha', ya live with a monster, remember?"

You only laughed at him and pat his leg, telling him to go lay in the tub.

The hot water was a blessing for his sore muscles, laying down and letting his skin soak up the warmth.

"Daryl, if you decided to eat me it'd be in bed, with my thighs around your head." An excited hum left the fighter, his brows raised in interest but you quickly shot him down. "Wash up first, then we can get dirty again later."

“Hmhmm, fine.” He slid down further into the tub, only being above the water from the nose up. You took the opportunity to soak his hair and give it a wash, making him sit back up to scrub at his healed over skin. The way he knew your routine by heart made his after match cleaning so much easier, and of course the fact that he trusted you enough to see him fully nude in the tub.

He felt like royalty with how you treated him, holding his ankle in your hand as you took a sturdy brush to his toe claws. The darkened skin of his toe pads and the ball of his foot were always so rough, a lingering wolf feature that became permanent over time.

“Hey, Dee.” Your voice pulled him from his work, skinning a rabbit in your shared tent. “Don’t hate me for suggesting it, but I think I know how we can get a chance at a better life..”

Your current lifestyle wasn’t it. While Daryl didn’t mind the woodsy life, you weren’t adapting well to it and it slowly took a toll on your mental health. But you were living with a werewolf, which brought a lot of good things like having a skilled hunter who brought meat home, and never being cold at night while you cuddled close to him.

“Wha’s the plan, bun? Ya gotta talk ‘fore I can judge.” He had stopped working to listen to your probably insane plan.

“So, I overheard some guys talking about monster fighting—“

“No.” The plan was shot down immediately, without even hearing more of it. “Ain’t gon’ let ya use me as a pet.”

That was, of course, until he was out on a full moon and almost got captured by the men you had mentioned before. He overheard them talking about sedating and selling him as he hid long enough for them to believe he ran off.

It was how he ended up in his shifted form for much longer than he preferred, having to pretend to be a feral beast instead of an intelligent creature.

Even being toweled dry was done gently, careful of any skin that was still red and irritated where healing wounds had just been. Especially his leg still looked angry, the previously bleeding tears now only tinted red streaks of skin, waiting to settle overnight.

You brushed Daryl’s hair after towel drying it, making sure it was detangled entirely before letting him leave the bathroom.

He could feel your lingering stares as he made his way to his stash for some underwear and a robe. Never really wearing many of his old clothes anymore and even having you make adjustments to his current ones.

He knew your eyes were on his lower back, at the end of his spine where his tailbone protruded and shaped an immobile stub that made each and every pair of trousers a hell to wear.

"Quit starin'." The remnants of his beast form barely bothered him anymore. He knew to watch out and not snag his pointed ears when he brushed his hair in the morning, and had given up on shoes and socks a long while ago, going everywhere barefoot now. He didn’t mind the extra fuzz that remained on his legs either. But this one was different. He found it gross and ugly, always hiding it away in loose boxer shorts or underneath a robe.

You on the other hand found it cute how he sported the little tail stub nowadays, always trying to lighten the mood around it by mentioning it could stay a full tail by the end of his next transformation.

Daryl threw on the soft robe and hid himself in it, sitting down on the edge of your shared bed and watched you go get the new supply delivery and put it away before disappearing into the kitchen.

The smell of fresh fruits being cut up filled his nose and had him up to find you in seconds.

His arms wrapped around your waist in a loving embrace as he stuck himself against your back. The scruff on his chin scratched your cheek as he nuzzled you and purred. “Yer bein’ eager with those.”

“Well, I was gonna share with you, but if you’re being a jackass about it I’ll keep it all for myself.” You stuck out your tongue at him and fed him a small piece of apple, which he accepted with a careful bite.

“Would my king like to be fed in bed?” You turned around in his grasp and kissed his chin, wrapping your arms around his neck to get better access. While one hand snaked around your waist once more, the other one went behind your back and grabbed another piece of fruit. “King, huh.” He spoke around the food and moved to squeeze your behind. “Come a long way from bein’ yer guard dog.”

“Name and species.” The grump at the building’s entrance spoke. You had gone through the same process to get into the surrounding part of town already where you were checked bag after bag, every single pocket on your outfit included.

“Dixon. Werewolf.” Your tone was clearly one of boredom, albeit fake, you had to get in there to fight in order to get some food and a sucky roof over your head. Pretending you weren’t desperate was the best plan for now. Daryl listened intently to the conversation being held between you and the man, taking in all the important info without reacting to any of it, having to pretend to have lost most of his human skills in order to be allowed to fight.

After a while of back and forth you were allowed in, on the condition of being escorted to a waiting room, and keeping ‘Dixon’ chained. It was clear from his angry look you were going to get scolded for letting random strangers put chains on him, but for now it all seemed to work.

"This is your temporary room. If you survive today and decide to stay and fight you'll get something permanent." The man who escorted you turned on his heels to move on with his day, but not before muttering some last words. "For as long as your beast lives of course."

Later that day Daryl was thrown into the fighting cage and you were escorted to your spot up high. "Command him from here. You're allowed to head down after the last bell rings."

Down on the floor you saw Daryl, now Dixon, look around at the crowd in confusion and being caugh off guard by the loud voice announcing his fighter name, "and another newcomer" as well. His head snapped back down at the sound of the second door unlocking and revealing his first oponent..

"Yeah, well." You took his hands off you and started towards the bed, taking the bowl of fruits with you. "You're still my guard dog. I can't defend myself for shit." With a wink back to where he stood you turned the corner and disappeared from his view. While your words didn't sound like a compliment, he took them like one and stood there a moment taking it in.

The scene when he rounded the corner was one he'd never get enough of. You had ditched your jeans and top and were now on the bed in sweats and a shirt that hung off one shoulder. The bowl of fruit sat betwden your legs and your back rested against the stupid amount of pillows you kept on the bed. You were on one half of the bed, always making sure there was enough space for Daryl to join you, and he did. He sat down and stretched out beside you, not wasting a second to nudge you and gesture he wanted some fruit.

"Oh, of course your majesty." With a soft giggle you fed him bit after bit, putting pieces between your teeth and feeding him some like that too. You just relaxed and snacked until the bowl was emptied.

The groan that came from beside you reminded gou of the fact you skipped on tending to your precious fighter's aching muscles after the fight.

Putting the bowl aside on the floor you sat up and pat Daryl on the hip. "Roll over, baby. Lemme give you a massage."

With a low rumble deep in his chest he rolled over onto his stomach, his face towards where you still sat beside him with your upper body hanging off the bed to find the bottle of lotion you kept around. He was having a hard time resisting the urge to slap your ass, but he knee better than to risk having you topple off the bed and have him sleep on the couch you barely ever used.

Daryl shivered as the cold ointment touched his skin but quickly relaxed into the matres when your ministrations began. Within the first minute you had him purring beneath you, letting out soft moans and grunts when you worked out tough knots.

"Yer too good fer me, princess." His words came out almost in a moan. You knew exactly how and where to touch him go get all the pretty noises out of him. His back was something you always loved. Before all of this when you could stare for hours as he gutted a deer, watching his muscles ripple under his skin. But nowadays even more with the large wings carved into them.

The words of Dixon claiming the title of King spread fast, and all of a sudden people were challenging him with their own werewolves, believing it was an easy way to win with one in your corner. But obviously it wasn't seeing he still took out each and every one of them.

More and more wolves came in, and with those a whole bunch that sported fur patterns similar to Daryl's, making it difficult to keep them apart as they were at each others' throats.

"We really need to find something to make you easy to identify with all those wolves coming in lately. I swear I almost screamed at the wrong dog earlier.." You huffed and fell on your bed, shooting up only a second later. "Oh! I got something." And then you slumped back down again. "But you'll probably hate it again.."

"Can ya please start tellin' me yer plans 'fore decidin' I'll hate 'em?" Daryl came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. "Remind ya how great this one turned out. Almost livin' the new world dream 'ere."

You had to agree with him. If you ignored the fights to the death every couple of days it was one hell of an upgrade. "Alright, so your wings that you always wore before. What if we get them on you?"

"On me how, exactly?" He turned to look at you, still hunched over the basket of clean clothes to find his comfortable pants.

"There's this guy in town. He does tattoos and scar stuff. I'm sure if we give him a silver tool he can put those wings on you. With sikver they'll scar for sure and you'll always be recognisable."

The huff as Daryl pulled up his pants was almost enough of an answer for you, already admitting defeat when he spoke up.

"Got no fights fer the next two days. We'll go see'em t'morrow. Ain't changin' back now, just took a damn shower."

With each rough shove of your knuckles over groups of sore muscles you got a groan in return. "Yeah, my King loved getting his back rubs."

The satisfied humm that left his lips was enough motivation to keep going, rubbing right above his hips and working at the sore spots. You took some extra ointment and slowly worked your hands over his spine, circling downward ever so carefully, reaching the base of his tail and continued on.

The first reaction you got was a growl, telling you to back off but seeing how he was clawing at the sheets told you a whole different story.

You decided to push your luck and continue down, pressing right where his tail started and earning a pillow muffled moan. You watched him with his face stuffed into a pillow, one claw tearing into it as well. "Fuck girl, why ya gotta do tha'?" He tried so hard to sound annoyed, but in reality he was barely hiding the need for more.

"But my King deserves only the best treatment. And it sounded almost like you were enjoying that." You had leaned down to softly whisper that last bit and give his ear a soft bite and a kiss before moving back up and continuing to rub at his tail. Each pass over his spine earned you a a moan, whine or humm until you found the perfect spot that had him rut into the matres.

The second Daryl noticed his involuntary response he mentally cursed himself. And of course you noticed, giving that one spot extra attention and massaging it exclusively.

"Hhah, stop pleease.." He was a writhing mess beneath you, knuckes white from the death grip he had on the bed and biting down on the pillow to muffle his pleasured sounds. His face colored the same shade of red as the freshly rubbed skin of his back. He could have easily snapped at you, grabbed you by the wrists and thrown you off him but none of that crossed his mind. He was so hard he was ready to cum within a couple more rubs.

His noises got louder and more intense with each movement of your skilled fingers, even if it got more difficult to be precise with the constant thrust of his hips.

"God I love your sweet sounds, so delicious.." It was so good to see another side of him, allowing himself to not be the strong beast for once.

"Shit, bun. M'gonna.." your fingers rubbed his spine just right and his coil snapped. With a long winded moan he finished in his pants, needing a minute to catch his breath before throwing you off him with a grunt. "Ya gon' clean tha' mess ya made now?"

With a soft laugh you agreed to do exactly that. "Anything for my King."

A/N: Man, this took me so long! Apologies for the wait~

#sometimes I write #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon smut #twd daryl #twd daryl dixon #twd #the walking dead #twd au #werewolves #werewolf

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tenderleavesbob · 3 months

Text

This was inspired by some lovely non-Hylian Wars fics, including warrior cat Warriors and swan Warriors. <3 Please check them out if you haven't already!

Princess Zelda introduced the new arrival as "Link." While Twilight had expected to meet a Link in this new era to continue their chain, he had expected someone less... fluffy.

Link stared back at the chain from his spot at Princess Zelda's feet. He was beautiful, Twilight admitted. He was happy to admit that the new Link was probably the most beautiful Link of the chain with a gorgeous white coat and a regal bearing. His tail was also so fluffy that Twilight felt his thoughts stuttering.

The new Link was a cat, and Twilight was dying to scoop him up and cuddle him. Unfortunately, the new Link with his furry little scowl, adorable cat-sized armor and blue scarf, and deliberately flexed claws looked like he would claw Twilight if he tried. Twilight still really wanted to try.

The new Link was also staring intently at Twilight. There were few things as intense as a cat staring unblinking at someone.

"I think he likes you," Princess Zelda said. She smiled at Twilight and clasped her hands in front of her. "He --"

Link stood up and stretched, and Twilight bit his tongue before he could coo about Link's big stretch! Link licked his mouth with his pink tongue and flashed tiny sharp fangs. His tail swished in the air behind him as he walked over to Twilight, rubbing against him once before trotting toward a door behind the throne. He paused and looked pointedly back at Twilight, tail flicking.

"He really likes you," Princess Zelda finished. "I think he wants to show you something."

"He seems very intelligent for a cat," Legend said. He sounded suspicious. He always sounded suspicious.

"He's quite intelligent," Princess Zelda agreed. "He might be in an... unusual form for a chosen of the Goddesses, but --"

Link had continued to walk away. Twilight hastily and clumsily bowed and excused himself to follow the cat. Link held his long, fluffy tail in the air as he walked in a dainty question mark behind him. All Twilight desired was to pet it and see if it was as soft as it looked.

The cat eventually stopped in a dark room. It had a single window which overlooked the stable. Link sat in the middle of the room and stared at Twilight, tail still twitching.

It was just the two of them. Twilight broke. He closed the door behind them and touched his crystal. The cat didn't flinch as Twilight transformed into his wolf form. Immediately, he crouched to the ground, his own tail wagging wildly behind him. "Hello," he greeted.

Link stood and offered a small, feline bow. "Hello. When you were introduced as the Hero of Twilight, I hoped you still had the ability to transform."

Twilight's tail slowly stilled. He sat down. "You... knew I could transform?"

"Yes. There are tales of the heroes of old, and Cia had a temple dedicated to those who held the spirit of the hero." Link's left ear twitched, and Link groomed it with one paw. Now that Twilight could see him better, he saw faint, old scars marring that ear. "One statue was of a wolf with strange markings."

This conversation wasn't going as Twilight expected, but cats had always proved strangely wise and clever when Twilight spoke to them in this form. "That sounds creepy. Who was Cia?"

"An insane sorceress." Link cocked his head and lowered his paw again. "One who trapped me in this form years ago when I refused to join her."

Twilight stilled. His ears pressed against his head. "Trapped in... Are you a Hylian?"

"I was years ago," Link said. "Before the war began, when I left my home to come to Castle Town. I met Cia on the way and she grew angry when I scorned her advances." Link's tail twitched behind him. "I've been trapped in this form ever since. I hoped the Master Sword would be able to free me, but no."

A whine rose in Twilight's throat. "Shit."

"Shit," Link agreed. "And since I've found at least one person who could understand me at last... I would like a saucer of cream, please."

#lu warriors #tl scribbles #lu twilight #kitty wars ftw

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ladymarvel27 · 4 months

Text

Dog or Corpse? | Carlando | (II)

werewolf!Carlos x reader / vampire!Lando x reader

Part 1

f1 masterlist

Warnings: Mentions of little blood, knives, cuts, fangs. Werewolf transformation?

"You're speaking metaphors, right?" She finally spoke, after a long silence. Carlos softly places his hand on his chest and sighs in relief. He sits down on the couch and takes a deep breath.

“So, are you going to tell me?” She asks.

“What?”

“Why do you hate my project partner?”

“Because he is a vampire. He is posing threat on you. And I have sworn to protect you from him. I am a werewolf and you're my mate. It’s my duty to protect you from him."

She rolls her eyes at him. “I think you have a disease, Carlos.”

“What disease?”

“Lycanthropy! Do you think you are some wolf? And-and we are mated? Gosh, Carlos! You need help!”

“Trust me, I am not lying! And that stupid friend of yours is a vampire!”

“I trust you but-” and she heard bones cracking. His clothes had started to rip and the way those bunch of hairs grew on his body; she had to look away.

A few moments later she heard a soft growling. Her skin had turned pale and her body started sweating, not the way he always made her do, but this time in fear. She slowly turned around. In his place stood a huge black wolf with the same big brown eyes she adores. He held out his paw in front of her. Her hand slowly reached for the jacket and her phone on the table. She immediately grabbed them and ran out of the apartment. Her action caught him off guard and his hand was left hanging there, waiting for her touch, his jaw hanging.

He had to follow her. It was dark outside and she must be in danger. He followed her smell and found her, lying in the middle of the forest, completely passed out, with a little scratch on her head. He must approach her in his human form, maybe she will accept him.

He slowly nudges her body. She blinks and opens her eyes. “What the hell are you, YOU MONSTER!” She immediately snaps at him. Tears blur his vision hearing these words and he takes a step back. “Hermosa please li-,”

“Stay away!” She snaps. He threw his hands in frustration.

“If I wanted to harm you, I already had done it, Mariposa!”

Her face softens as she realises.

“So do you trust me that i won't pose a threat on you?”

She tries to get up and sighs in frustration. “Yes, I trust you.”

“Let me take you home.” She nods and takes his hand to get up.

“I love you amor. I am- we are mated. And I pledge to protect you from any kind of harm.”

“Carlos,” she breathes out softly, “So are you like my guardian angel?”

“No mi amor, I am your boyfriend, your lover,” his face lit up with a smile, his cheeks blushing madly“, And I-I desire to spend the rest of my life with you, Hermosa.”

“And Lando?”

“He is a bloodsucking monster, who wants your blood. He isn’t mortal like us.”

Her eyes widened, “So he will never die?”

“He can die if we stack his heart with a silver dagger.” A dagger goes through a man’s heart even if he did nothing wrong? “NO!” She blurted out loudly.

“What?” He knitted his eyebrows in confusion with her sudden response.

“It’s wrong to kill him. We don’t have any reasons. And how you’re so sure he is a vampire?” She inquired. He shifts and takes a deep breath. “Do you want a real proof?” She nods.

Lando cheerfully greeted her as soon as she opened the door. She gracefully greeted him back and led him to their study place. He looked around, probably checking if that scary boyfriend of hers was here today.

She side-eyes his face as he settles down on one of the chairs. His skin looks paler than what is natural, Carlos had told her, like life had been drained out of him. Lando’s face looks greyish, not the natural skin colour. Seems like all his blood drained from his face. He might look like he is scared, but he isn’t, his tone conveys it. It’s just his natural colour.

After a while, she brought up snacks for them. “Whoa! These are so big,” he commented on the sandwiches. She had made them bigger intentionally. When he opens his mouth wide open to take a bite, she notices his canines. They might not look noticeably like fangs, he might have them filled up so they aren’t easily detectable, but they will be very sharp, like mine. He had told her that Vampires have longer canines which are fangs to suck the blood. Carlos did have sharp canines like a wolf, but not long like a vampire has.

“Oops! I only have one cupcake left,” she spoke looking into the contents of her refrigerator.

“It’s okay,” he smacks his hands in the air.

“No, we can share,” she brings the cupcake in a plate with a knife and place the plate on the table. “I will cut it in two halves, then we both can get it. How’s that?”

“Fine for me,” he shrugs.

She slowly brings the knife but accidentally cuts her finger as she shrieks lightly. “Oh gosh!” A small stream of blood spurs out from the tip of her finger, in the usual bright red colour.

“Are you fine?” He asks, his voice laced with concern but he has his face turned away. Finally, if he gets startled by the bleeding of natural blood and reacts unnaturally, he is for sure a vampire, Carlos' voice kept echoing in her mind.

“Hey! Look at me!” She shouts at him but he keeps looking at the floor. She lifts his chin with all her force and shouts, “LOOK AT ME!” He finally lifts his chin and growls at her, his eyes have turned darker, almost pitch black like he had been possessed, and his canines had elongated into fangs.

Taglist: @faithshouseofchaos @vivwritesfics

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hunnylagoon · 7 months

Text

Candy

PT1: Sober to Death

Ellie Williams x Reader

I’m home and here to stay like a ghost to haunt. You can’t shake me off your back for I linger in your head like carelessly uttered curse. Summer falls to ashes in my mouth and so I will spit them into your urn, just like that all of my devotion turns violent.

Premise: After a mental break you are being held together by nothing but glitter glue and craft yarn. You seek refuge with an old friend in a coastal town to live the life you thought you left behind.

Warnings: SENSITIVE THEMES / reader is a recovered addict / mentions of drug and alcohol abuse / angst / brief mentions of violence / possibly triggering discussions of drug addiction

Read at your own discretion

Inside me, something seethes. Inside me, some feral animal has been forced into a cage where it thrashes and screams. Perhaps I will turn into a snarling wolf and rip out the throats of each girl who made me go home crying in middle school. Maybe I will don the pelt of a sheep and surprise all of those who convinced me it was a good idea to try ketamine when I shed my cloak and reveal my long curled claws and fangs sharp as knives.

I'm heartless at worst and helpless at best.

I don't know how else to be. I was raised like a stick of dynamite lit from both ends and I can describe in detail how the earth warps beneath my feet or how I watch the sky bend until it snaps and collapses onto a body too tired to lift it back up.

Everything miles ahead of what I was, to them, I was only ever an addict. Cursed with the nickname 'popper' since tenth grade and everyone thought it to be nothing more than a joke they didn't know how I found serenity in the tablet of acid that rested on my tongue.

It started with pot and drinking on the weekends then flew into full-blown benders when I swallowed back synthetic sunshine like it was candy. None of my friends thought I would end up with my back plastered on my dorm floor, eyes wide with what once was a bottle of pills frothing out of my mouth.

It took me two overdoses to get here, had to put my white blood cells to work.

"I didn't think you'd be up this early," Joel smiled at me, he was nursing a mug of coffee, a plate in front of him with a half-eaten piece of toast and a golden yoke running onto the porcelain. That might've been my favourite thing about the farm, fresh eggs. Once you have them you can never go back to the sad pale grocery store eggs.

"That makes two of us," I pulled out a chair from the wooden dining table and sat down. Joel had put so much love into this home. These days I’m too nauseous to eat breakfast.

"Ellie doesn't even wake up this early," He took a slug of his black coffee, the scent was strong, filling up the entire house, I could smell it the second I woke up. "How's the room? Is everything to your liking?"

I had felt so guilty for free-loading off Joel whom I hadn't seen since I was twelve, it had been eight years. He sent me cards on my birthday every year but I never was able to grasp how close our parents had been. I'm pretty sure I was friends with Ellie when I was little, there were pictures of the two of us hugging each other and playing beneath sprinklers, my front teeth missing, Ellie covered head to toe in Spider-Man band-aids. I didn't have any recollection of us when we were close, as we got older we got more stiff around each other. When my family would visit, she would hang out with her friends and I would keep to myself. Of course, my parents moved us to the city where everything hit me too hard all at once. "It's perfect, thank you."

"It's pretty hard to peel yourself off that mattress, huh?" Joel smiled at me, showing me every ounce of warmth he had when I was a child.

I nod in response "So much more comfortable than those stiff dorm mattresses," It almost felt like I was making conversation with a ghost.

"Since you're up so early, care for a tour while I do some chores?" He asked. I had been here a few days already, though I just kept to myself I didn't want to impose on his pleasant life with his daughter who hadn't called him at three am sobbing because she had too many opioids. I had wandered briefly around the farm of course and I had remembered bits and pieces of it from my childhood but I felt so out of place that I mainly locked myself inside of my temporary room and lived through my friend's Instagram stories.

"I'd love to," I smile politely, unsure of what else to do.

"Do you think you're gonna go back to school?" Joel asked as he stood up with his plate and mug in hand and began to wash them in the stainless steel sink. "No pressure, there's life outside of a lecture hall."

This was a question I had been thinking about day in and day out. I was a year and then some into getting my degree when my 'fun habits' began spiralling uncontrollably. My parents had managed to snag me a two-year deferral so I could go to rehab and go back to school the following year but I was so full of shame that I shook with the thought of going back. For the first time in my life, I am afraid I have no real desires.

When I was dead inside a motel bathtub, I thought I needed to be somewhere different but now that I'm there, I need to be someone different too. "I'm not really sure right now, just please don't tell my parents I said that."

"Secrets safe with me," He opens a cabinet and pulls out a bag of cat food, shaking it until a scrawny calico cat appears out of thin air. Pepper happily devours the food Joel puts in her little bowl. I remembered Pepper, she was a kitten way back then and I would cut open socks to make clothes for her. "You should just know that it's never too late."

Very early in my life, it was too late. "Thanks, Joel," Not yet a corpse and still I rot like all of my ambitions turn to sludge at my tired feet.

He looks around, exhaling a deep breath, trying to scope out anything else he has to do in the kitchen. "You outta get geared up, I'm gonna wake up Ellie then me and you can get to work."

I nod in agreement even though I'm not sure what he means by 'gear up' so I figure that's just him saying to put on a hoodie and some rain boots. I stand awkwardly by the door, waiting for Joel. Absentmindedly I rock back and forth on my heels hands clasped together. I'm twenty years old but I feel like I'm twelve again, trying to find a place for myself in someone else's life.

I thought of the last time I was in this house. I was twelve, unaware of the future that awaited me, I had buried a time capsule with Ellie and her cousins somewhere on this property. Writing to my future self, talking about all of the things I should be. If only she saw the brain-rotten zombie that was her destiny.

My parents had told everyone back home I was backpacking across Australia and taking a break from academics to see the world. In the eyes of those who knew me well and were more than aware of what happened, it was a shame to them that I had wasted a sharp brain and a pretty face. It takes a whole lot of strength the endure myself.

It doesn't take long for Joel to walk back down the creaky stairs, Ellie trailing behind him, sleep in her eyes. She's in boxers and one of Joel's old t-shirts, hair still messy and unbrushed. Ellie yawns and gives me a little wave- it wasn't really a wave, just her raising a hand in my direction as an acknowledgment.

We hadn't spoken much since I got here, I had met her in the past but we didn't know each other. A lot can change in eight years. She wasn't unfriendly toward me, we indulged in small talk and laughed at each other's jokes but each conversation was so shallow I wanted to lay face down and drown in them.

Ellie goes straight for the fridge, unlike her dad, she pours milk into a sickly sweet cereal which seems cavity-inducing. She was back from college for the summer, taking advantage of her father's love and food. Joel walked over to where I was standing at the door, slipping into his mucking boots. "While you're both here," He says before looking at me "How much do you know about boats?"

I furrow my eyebrows "A good bit I guess?" I answer, figuring he was just trying to rekindle a spark between Ellie and me that had been put out eight years ago by rain, ocean spray, and vodka.

"Y'know, Els," He gestures towards me "This one used to work at her parent's marina, they tell me she's done a couple of repairs and I bet she could give you some pointers on how to fix up that boat." I'm confused by his words, this is the first I've heard about a boat. Joel can see the uncertainty on my face "Her uncle gave her a piece of shit boat last summer before she went back to school, over the year I guess some teenagers thought it was a good hideout and trashed it even more."

"Seriously?" Her head pokes up "It would be great if you could come down with me later, she just needs a little love," Ellie spoons some cereal into her mouth. I had always thought it weird how people spoke about their boats like they were women, I even caught myself doing it on occasion. "Only if you want to, of course."

"Sure," I agree, no idea how much repair this boat was in need of "I've got nothing better to do."

I could tell Joel counted this as a win. I knew he had been commuting with my parents and how desperately they wanted me to keep myself occupied for the summer. "Well, we've got some work to do, kiddo."

After a solid five hours of following Joel around like a duckling and re-learning all the names of the animals, I was walking with Ellie toward her pickup truck. "Wanna drive?" She asks as we walk to the long beaten driveway

"Oh, I can't." The coolness of the morning has ebbed away into a borderline unbearable heat, I wasn't sure how Ellie was absolutely unfazed in her Jeans, T-shirt, and trucker hat.

"You never got your licence?"

"No, it got taken away."

She cracks a grin "Jeez, what did you do? Hit a pedestrian?" Ellie teases.

"Something like that," Truthfully, my licence got revoked after I got a DUI and swerved my car off the highway, I was too high to realize the danger I was in and laughed the entire time warm blood pooled from a gash in my head that had to be stapled shut. Luckily my parents can throw money at anything and the problem will go away.

She hops in the truck, there are little bits and pieces of it that show how it's lived in. A rubber duck with sunglasses sits on the dashboard and I'm partially surprised it hasn't melted in the sweltering heat.

As beautiful and scenic as the drive down to the docks is, it's also extremely awkward, only on my end, Ellie seems completely unfazed. Travelling down the dirt roads until we finally hit the pavement.

The salty breeze of Andromeda Cove carries conversations of clubbing and tanning, mingling with the sweet scent of coconut sunscreen and sea salt. Colourful beach umbrellas dot the shoreline. Seagulls glide effortlessly overhead, their calls blending seamlessly with the distant laughter of beachgoers. Quaint shops and cafes line the bustling boardwalk, offering an array of surfboards, souvenirs, and freshly caught seafood delicacies.

The Cove was immune to those gross and bland modern buildings that looked like something I would've made in Minecraft as a kid. Everything down here was local and kept its charm even after all these years. "Do you ever miss it here?"

"I don't remember much of it to be honest."

"Really?" She asks, taking a turn down to the docks "It doesn't seem like it was that long ago."

"Yeah, my memory just isn't very good." My lungs are burnt and my brain is fried. You could tell me that I was in cheerleading for five years of my life and I would probably believe you.

"Alright."

I hadn't remembered her being this quiet but then again I don't remember much, I should probably write down everything I can before Alzheimer's sets in. There are lapses in my mind where memories should live, I recall my life through glimpses.

Ellie takes her keys out of the ignition and hops out of the truck, leading me down the docks. I keep guessing in my head which boat belongs to her and then the second I spot it, I know and how I dread. It's a sailboat or what's left of one, sharpie graffiti scribbled all around it. The word 'wanderlust' had once been titled along the side though the first half was scratched out by what I assume were those teenagers Joel mentioned so it just said 'lust'.

Ellie had no problem climbing aboard, I on the other hand had doubts that it could support the weight of two people, let alone itself. There were chips of white paint scraped off, Ellie motioned for me to get on deck "How long has this been abandoned?"

She waves me off "There's freedom that comes with abandonment."

I raise an eyebrow "Sinking in a boat that's docked is a very lame way to die."

"Nah," She says "We can haunt the marina."

She holds out her hand for me to take it and with hesitation, I do. Stepping over the gap between the dock and the boat, I haul myself over the rails. Even in the dark, I could make that climb, it was almost like muscle memory from working at my parents marina summer after summer. "She's a beauty, yeah? In her own special kind of way," Ellie pats the side of the companionway. "I actually made some progress on it last summer, if you can believe me."

"I don't know if I can," I look around, following her as we duck into the saloon.

She reaches for a notebook with a pink sharpie clipped onto it on the table of the saloon and turns to face me "Whoever was here must've been a real wordsmith, what I can't figure out is how the words got out of the notebook and onto my walls."

I crawl onto the cushioned V-berth to get a better look at all of the writing on the walls. Most of it had been poetry, not Edgar Allen Poe but the kind that only an angsty teenage girl on the verge of a mental break could've written.

The Statue of Juliette:

May I ask what you have done to women?

That your hands have only learned to harm one

Hand after filthy hand

Is dragged

Groped

Caressed

Prodded

Over my rusted skin

The things I have seen

The things I have endured

No water can clean me

No blanket can warm me

Take a hammer to my bronze flesh

And I will thank you for your kindness

As my body crumbles and clatters against cobblestone

I am eternally grateful

For this is the gentlest act I have ever faced

"I know," Ellie says, and I look back to meet her sharp gaze "A real Sylvia Plath.”

"Is this your candle?" I reach for it on the ground, it's halfway through its life. A vanilla bean bath and bodyworks candle.

She takes it from my hand and gives it a sniff "I was wondering why it smelled so good in here, I just thought that was you." She places the candle back onto the saloon table "So, Neptune's daughter, where should we start?"

I snatch the notebook from the table and flip it open to a page clean of any writing. It takes a little less than fifteen minutes to seek out all of the trouble spots. Ellie followed behind me and nodded to everything that I was saying.

The boat isn't in nearly as bad of condition as I expected. I suspected that the teenagers who occupied it while Ellie was away at college had all been girls, they took relatively good care of the boat aside from the graffiti, allegedly most of the damage had been there when Ellie got it from Tommy a year ago.

We now sat next to each other in the booth around the saloon table, the ocean rocked the boat beneath us ever so gently, the same way a mother would rock her child's cradle. I missed the sea when I was in college, on a bender I had driven three hours just to be back with it, it seemed the only safe place to let go and be reborn. I liked the sharpness of the air, the vastness of the horizon and the mystery beneath it. I thought I would rise from the seafoam a new woman the same way Aphrodite did but no, I threw up on the sandy shores and called my parents to make it go away.

I give the notebook over to Ellie, a new entry written in bright pink Sharpie amongst the poetry and anecdotes.

Wanderlust's issues:

Mainsail and jib seem sketchy; Unfold the hoist for a full assessment

Wiring issues are out of my hands but a probable concern-should probably call in an expert

Nav instruments are cracked

Leaks on starboard window, probs cracked moulding

Interior woodwork is original, mainly solid despite a bit of mildew

Graffiti and chipped paint, graffiti likely cleanable (May need a new coat of paint)

Possible rigging issues

Underside? That's a question for the experts

Final Verdict: Wanderlust is a seaworthy vessel in need of some love

Ellie lets out a low whistle "God, I love a girl who knows the difference between a mainsail and a jib." She cracks a mischievous grin.

"You're teetering very close between sexy and crass," I tease her in return.

She seems a little taken aback by my comment, like she hadn't anticipated a response but ignores it nonetheless "What would it take to make you my first mate?"

"I'm sorry?"

"For someone with a bad memory, you seem to know your boats, Joel said that you used to work on charters. You gotta know more about sailing than me. It'll be a fun summer project, get you out of the house a bit."

I furrow my eyebrows as I look at her "You want me to work on the boat with you?"

Ellie nodded. She didn't rush to fill the silence that stretched between us, she didn't bother to sweeten the deal or hunt for some reason I would like working with her. She just let it stand. I looked her in the eyes, trying to figure her out. She goes from being almost non-verbal with me and now she asks me to spend the summer on a boat with her. I wondered if she knew what she was doing at all and if I would be carrying her through this.

I had a feeling that Ellie would become my next bad habit. It's easy to get addicted when everything interests you and nothing satisfies you. "I'm in."

"You won't regret this," Ellie almost jumps up, I swear I could've seen her making calculations in her head "So, I'm thinking we get rid of all this junk and get a good look at it bare bones, make a list of supplies and give her the spa day shes in desperate need of."

On my second day as first mate, I had been scrubbing away inside of the saloon while Ellie did some work on the exterior, my Scrub Daddy was being put to work. By the time I even made a dent in all of the Sharpie poetry, it was nearly falling apart and begging to be killed.

When I emerged from the companionway to replace my filthy bucket of water I spotted Ellie chatting up a girl on a dock. She had long glossy black hair that cascaded down her back in strategic ringlets. "So you're gonna sail on this thing?"

"Rebuilding her first," Ellie tells her, leaning against the railing. The girl she's speaking to looks like she's freezing, denim shorts cropped high and a white tank top.

"Do you need help?" She smiles and even I'm seduced by it. She has tanned skin that she's clearly been working on and sunglasses pushing back the silky hair from her forehead. "I've been on boats, lots of times," Her arms are crossed over her chest. I can see goosebumps all over her legs from the chill brought to us by the gray sky above and the frigid air.

"That so?" Ellie asks, rising to her full height. A wrench in hand, it looks like the beginning of a really bad movie, not a family-friendly one. She saw me then, standing behind her. I watched her facade drop. Her smile changed as I approached, turning from flirt to friend in two seconds.

"Oh, hey," The black-haired girl regards me like I'm some kind of threat. "So do you need help or what?"

Ellie looks at me and then back to her "Thanks for the offer but we're all set."

"Do you maybe wanna grab lunch or something?" She completely ignores me.

Ellie shakes her head "We've got lots of work to do, but-" She takes a deliberate pause and I almost cringe "I'll probably be at the shipwreck later. Stop by if you're around."

"See ya'," She grins and takes the sunglasses off the top of her head, placing them on the nose bridge before walking back down the dock.

"Wow," I dump my bucket of water over the rail of the boat "Looks like super difficult work out here, you are so brave." Sarcasm drips from my tone "Without you, who will flirt with all of the hot girls at the marina?"

"No need to be jealous," She says "I'm spending every waking minute with you after all."

I gave her the evil eye but I truly wasn't jealous. I didn't chase the thrill of a fling or late nights with girls whom I would forget by morning. I had dropped that by college and replaced it with ketamine and opioids, I abused liquor like I was its two-faced love. Now the only thing I chased was calmness.

I wasn't jealous, just briefly reminiscing over how carefree I used to be.

The tide was rolling and the sky above us was gray and angry as if something was raging within it. "Shit," I mutter, waves shifting from a distant hiss to a closer hush. The air hung heavy, I hadn't even noticed the change in weather from what seemed like the century I spent scrubbing away in the saloon.

Ellie must've noticed what I was. "So, I'm thinking we should go?"

"You think?" I retort.

Moments later we're packed and rushing down the dock to find her truck. It doesn't take long for rain to begin to splatter on the ground beneath us, it isn't light and gentle, it's harsh. It sounds like pebbles being tossed onto a sheet of glass.

By the time we reach the truck, I'm soaked, hair sticking to my forehead and neck "You didn't want to poke your head into the saloon and say 'Hey, it's looking like there's gonna be a storm'?"

"I was a little preoccupied," Ellie isn't much better off than I am, she takes off the flannel she had on top of her tank top and tosses it into the backseat, her tattoo out on full display. The rain is so heavy that everything on the outside of her truck looks like a blur.

"Can you even drive in this?"

"No, can you?"

"No, I told you I have a DUI," The second the words leave my mouth I regret the slip-up. My eyes go wide and a hand slaps over my mouth, I'm acting like I just told her I was the one who took out JFK.

"You didn't tell me that."

"Well," I look forward, ignoring her piercing gaze, "I thought I did."

If not for the rain outside that pounded against the glass as if it wanted to be let in, we would've sat in complete silence while we drowned beneath all of the words going unsaid. My mind begins to wonder, first I think of the black-haired girl at the docks; I hope she didn't get stuck outside in the rain, especially with her lack of clothing. Then I think about what Ellie's thinking, did she know already? Had Joel told her? I'm humiliated all over again like I'd been when the paramedics dragged my half-naked body out of a bathtub.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" She asks. I don't say anything and she takes this as a hint "We don't have to talk about it."

I'm beginning to grow comfortable with the silence. I almost preferred it to the back-and-forth banter Joel and Ellie constantly had, which was more so father and daughter teasing each other.

Joel had probably known more about me than I did, my parents liked to keep him filled in after all. They just loved to keep tabs on me, if it was legal I'm sure they would put cameras behind my retinas and watch my every move. Eight months ago when I was in rehab, that was the most peace I've ever felt. As much as my parents wanted me clean, they held resentment since I ruined my life and was destroying theirs by association. Joel didn't seem like the type to gossip to his daughter but it nagged at me regardless. "Did Joel tell you anything?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just-like," I search through my brain to find the words "Like what I've been up to?"

She shrugged "He just said you are on a deferral and need a break from the city."

"Okay," I say, my voice so quiet it was almost smothered by the obnoxious rain.

"Are you hungry?"

We had thrown on two jackets Ellie had in the back seat of the cars. She offered me Joel's black raincoat while she humbly took the bright yellow rain poncho. It took everything in me not to laugh at her, she looked like Georgie.

Ellie slung one arm around me, we were both hunched over as we ran as fast as we could. She was shouting stuff at me but I couldn't hear her through the rain, I just nodded in agreement and hoped she hadn't said something awful.

She tugged me left, the deluge chasing us into Salty's for cover. It was nearly dead in there, two other tables, one was an elderly couple and the other was a group of girls, laughing like hyenas while one of them showed the others a picture on her phone.

Ellie wasted no time in taking off her poncho and I didn't blame her, no one wanted to be seen in that. The second we settled into a booth by the huge glass window which took up the entire storefront, an over-eager waiter came up. He was tall, had dark hair and had handsome features, he must've been bored with how slow it was in here. "Hey, Jesse," Ellie said "Can I have water and a big-buck burger?"

He nodded and swerved his body to look at me, "Alright and for you-" He looked up from his notepad and paused for a moment before a huge smile cracked on his face "I haven't seen you in so long!"

"Hi," I smiled, my mouth hanging openly awkwardly as I tried to recall him.

"Do you remember me?" He asked, his hand dropping to his side "Jesse," He reminded "We used to go to school together."

I had no idea who he was "Oh my god, yes!" I say "I remember."

His smile grows "God, you look so different."

"You too," I gesture at him "You're way more-" My mind falls flat "Grown."

He nods along to my words "Have you had a chance to look at the menu?"

Wanting this conversation as soon as possible I nod despite not even opening the menu “Yeah, I'll just get the, uh, big-buck and a club soda.” I repeated Ellie's order.

He jots it down onto his notepad "It'll be right up."

"Ellie, I don't know who that is," I say when I see him retreat to the server station to fill in the order. The entire restaurant is nautical-themed, the walls painted black, and there were nets with faux fish covering every square inch of the ceiling.

"Wow, I had no idea," She says, sarcastically "Damn, your memory really is fucked."

Trust me, I know or at least I think I do. I disregard her comment "Water? Don't you wanna get rootbeer or something? Joel said you drink so much soda that your blood is made of corn syrup."

She grins "Gotta keep up the tough guy act."

Across the restaurant one of the girls waves to Ellie, this one has curly brown hair and a sundress "Hi, Ellie!"

Her eyebrows furrow "Hey there-um...you," Ellie said "Good to see you again."

The girl smiles slyly at Ellie before turning back to her friends. "Looks like I'm not the only one forgetting people, what's your excuse?"

"There's a lot of girls in the world, I can't remember all of their names."

"You must've gone through every girl in the cove, power to ya'," I say "No idea you had such a reputation."

"You don't know a lot about me."

I shrug "You know even less about me."

"I bet I could guess."

"Be my guest."

She leans back like she's carefully considering her next words, choosing them very wisely before she finally settles "You picked a major like communications and got bored quickly, decided you needed to do some soul searching. Probably read 'Eat, Prey, Love,' then went on a backpacking trip, expenses paid by your parents. Alternatively, you lived in a van and pretended to be a broke hippie."

I shook my head "Very cliche and you were only right about one thing."

"What?"

"I got bored quickly," The rain outside was failing to cease. Across from me, it looked like Ellie was calculating my every move. Her auburn hair was still wet, and from her hairline, a droplet of water dribbled down onto her button nose to rest on her cupid bow.

"Can I have a hint then?"

"No."

I see a realisation hit her "You partied with frat guys?"

I shook my head "I've always been too cool for them." I wasn't too cool for them, I was too fucked up to even know they were throwing a party until someone verbally informed me, by that point all I've ever done at a frat party was break in through a window and steal a keg like the disgusting fiend I was. It was nothing to be proud of, my friends thought it was hilarious and posted it on their Snapchat stories, egging me on and feeding into this sickening behaviour. What wasn't funny was how I got caught and winded up with a busted lip and broken rib. With pupils the size of my iris, I couldn't feel the pain I was in.

"Okay, now you have to tell me."

"I can't, I lose my mysterious allure."

The bell above the door chimes signalling the arrival of another customer and said customer makes a b-line for our table. She takes a seat next to Ellie "Jesse texted me that you were here.”

"Dina, were you at work?" Ellie furrows her eyebrows.

"Yeah, it's not like anyone's buying souvenirs right now and Jesse told me you finally came back," She whips her head to look over at me.

I genuinely remembered her, unlike Jesse. She had buried the time capsule with Ellie, her family and I. I also recalled how her older sister used to give us hand-me-down clothes. "Dina, hi."

She has freckles scattered across her face the same way that Ellie does. Her smile was so comforting, I forgot that I was soaked to my bones and shivering. "Well we should all do something together tonight," Dina grins "You're doing Ellie a huge favour by helping her fix that rig, she better give you some good head for it."

I almost choke on my saliva while Ellie just groans with disappointment like she had anticipated Dina saying something along those lines "D, you can't say that stuff around every girl I'm with, this is essentially my sister for the summer."

Dina raises her hands in defence "Sorry, my bad, I was unaware since you failed to mention that you have my old friend living with you." Ellie looks like she's going to say something but Dina speaks up again before she has the chance to "Let me give you my number."

Wordlessly, I hand my phone over to Dina who fills out her contact information and then gives my phone right back to me. I study Dina's face and her mannerisms, hoping that something might bring me back to my childhood which has been wiped away by every upper and downer you could put a name to. Something about her seemed familiar, maybe we had been closer friends than I thought.

I nod along to whatever she and Ellie are saying, chiming in random bits of dialogue but my mind is stuck on the two of them side by side. They're what I could've been if my family never moved us away and I hadn't turned my brain into sludge.

The life I could've had.

Ellie smoked from what I knew, maybe Dina or Jesse were into something a little more hardcore. Hardcore? If hardcore qualifies as drowning in a concoction of cough syrup, Vicodin, codeine, and Gatorade to balance out the flavour of self-destruction. The bottles I swallowed to sleep, I showed up to almost every lecture high. Here I was handed what was nearly a good life and I tossed it away for something with a sweeter taste than a stable job and proper education.

The horrors I've committed. No good deed will ever outdo the bad that I have unleashed upon this godforsaken earth. From my clouded brain, paralyzing thoughts come to life to curse myself, the nightmare no mother would wish for her child to endure.

Relapse after relapse, I would fall sick with the thought of how many times I had to relapse until I was finally clean and that bitter flavour washed from my mouth.

"Are you okay?" Dina asks with a smile and furrowed brows "We kind of lost you there."

It's one in the morning and I want to drink wine then slip beneath the rapid waters that will gladly pull me under and claim me as theirs.

Instead, I opt for a class of water. As Dina had said earlier, she wanted to get a bunch of friends together but the second we got home, I showered and locked myself away. Echoes of laughter and chatter drifted through my window.

I slip down the steps that lead to the kitchen. Outside the rain has finally dissipated and Ellie, Dina, Jesse, along with a handful of people I don't know crowd around a bonfire. The kitchen is illuminated only by moonlight, the moon hung over me as I poured myself water from the tap, a dead thing over a dying thing.

I have seafoam in my veins and centuries-passed sunshine that induces my craving for some pills that will put me to sleep. Three months completely clean and yet that doesn't end the yearning for the drugs that comforted me more than any human ever had.

The door cracks open and in comes Ellie, she's laughing and from the uncontrollable giggles, drowsy gaze, and slightly disoriented walking I can tell that she's been smoking. "Hey," She smiles at me, reaching passed me to grab a mug with Garfield on the front and fill it with water but she doesn't take a sip, she just sits it down on the counter behind us and stares at me.

Our faces only inches apart, I contemplate her next move. This close I can smell the marijuana on her and I almost want to scuttle upstairs and light a candle. Ellie hugs me, wrapping her arms around my midriff and letting her head find its resting place in the crook of my neck "Are you okay?"

"Mhm" She hums "I'm just glad you're here, whatever the circumstances are, I'm happy that you're helping me with the boat," I'm carrying almost her full way, and she's slouched against me "I love you man, I know you don't remember a lot from when we were kids but we had a lot of fun together."

"Thanks, Ellie," I give her a little pat on the back "That's really nice of you."

She peels herself away from me, using the counter to lean against instead. She looks me up and down, having an intense staring contest with my pyjamas "Do you wanna come out and smoke with everyone?" She's shed her tank top and thrown over a gray hoodie to shroud her from the oncoming cold.

I shake my head, no "I don't mess with that stuff."

"That's smart," She says "Have fun in your room, stowaway, I'll see you tomorrow to work on our boat," With that Ellie leaves without grabbing the Garfield mug she came in here for.

A/N: Hey, y’all. I’m aware I have a million open docs, I assure you they are all getting some love but I needed to come back to my roots and write some angst. These are some issues I have struggled with and I feel that it’s important to bring attention to it so it’s not taboo.

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