ella

Oh, the instinct of comforting your shapeshifter husband when he thinks you're going to leave him.

You have been married to him for two years now. And you did know your husband very, very well. You knew his accent, his jokes, the way he walks. Everything a wife is supposed to know, you do. And he does believe that, too. 

Except, of course, that Joshua never believed you would figure out what he truly was.

When you first started dating, he was a perfect actor. He had a career, an apartment, and a handful of friends. He even ate normal food around you. Until you started noticing that he always disappeared for a few minutes after dinner or lunch, just to throw it all up. And whenever you asked if he was alright, Joshua pretended nothing had happened. There were also the nights when he waited for you to fall asleep before slipping away to hunt. You pretended to sleep, of course — but it didn’t take long for you to connect the dots. News about random people going missing always seemed to follow the nights he was gone.

You didn’t quite understand what he truly was, but you did know he was not a human being. He couldn’t eat regularly, couldn’t sleep as much as you did. And he was warm. Really, really warm. On certain days, his skin was so hot you were sure it was almost vaporizing. On those days, he took long, long cold showers, and he wouldn’t let you come near him or touch him.

“Baby, if you’d just let me take care of you…”, You tried, stepping closer.

“No need. I swear. I love you, have a lovely day.” he would say in a rush, going to “work”, not even stopping to kiss you goodbye.

But you weren't scared; not at all. You knew he would never hurt you, it didn’t matter what he was; Joshua was your husband, after all. And you would have lived your life pretending you didn't know a thing, if it weren’t for one particular night that he spent almost two hours in the shower. Worried, you decided to open the bathroom’s door, and everything was a mess.

He was inside the bathtub, completely submerged, the shower still running and making the tub overflow onto the floor. The bathroom looked more like a pool now. You rushed forward, almost panicking and pulled his body out of the water.

“Love, what are you-” Fucking burning. The water was freezing, but his body was so hot you couldn’t hold onto him. A pained, choked moan slipped from your mouth as you tried to understand how the hell his skin could be at that temperature.

How long had he been submerged like that? Was he dead?

With terrified eyes, as if he were still half-awake from a trance, he looks at you, then down at your hands. They’re red now, still stinging slightly from the shock of touching his skin.

He lifts his hands, instinctively trying to reach for you, but stops halfway through the motion, slowly processing what just happened.

“Was it me?” he asks. His pupils dilate, his voice rough, weak, almost gone. “Did I hurt you?”.

Still shaken, you can only manage a few broken murmurs, too worried to form real words.

“You were in there for so long… I thought you had- I thought…”

He understands what you were about to say and shakes his head immediately.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, I promise.”

He definitely wasn’t okay, even as he tried his best to calm you down. The freezing water hit his body and evaporated almost instantly. Inside the bathtub, the water began to bubble. The running shower echoed loudly, the bathroom growing more and more soaked by the second.

Joshua slowly gets to his feet, still dizzy, taking a deep breath. You almost reach out to steady him, but he lifts a hand and gives a soft warning “ah-ah,” motioning for you to stay back so you won’t get hurt again.

“I need you to leave. Go, get out of here. Please. Can you do that for me? M’love, here, pay attention to me.” He says, trying to pull your attention back to his face as he turns the shower off, away from the sight of his chest skin flushing red.

You shake your head. You’ve seen his skin turn that color before — and every time, he ran.

“I’m not leaving you,” you say, your voice still trembling, but firm.

“I can’t do this in front of you. I can’t. Please, sweetheart, I—”

His sentence breaks off halfway as his body falters, and he drops to his knees on the floor. One hand presses against his chest as he starts coughing, still trying to force words past his lips, but he’s far too weak for that now.

Moving quickly, you grab the bathrobe, the thick fabric of the towel giving you just enough protection to touch his back. Carefully, you drape it over his shoulders, holding his body as gently as you can.

“I’m not leaving. Stop holding back. Do whatever you have to do, don’t hide from me. Let me help you.”

At your final plea, he finally gives in to the pain. His skin begins to heat up again, even more than before, steam rising from his pores. You drop the robe immediately, watching the redness spread across him until the vapor darkens — thick, black, like smoke.

It doesn’t smell burned.

Sitting on the floor not too far from him, but not close enough to get hurt, you watch your husband, your partner of years, completely change his skin. A dark being, entirely black like the night, strong-bodied and hairless, takes his place.

His breathing slows. His body relaxes, as if he’s no longer fighting an unbearable strain. Finally at ease, nearly drained, he leans his back against the wall and lets his head rest against the tiles, fogged over by steam.

He lifts his gaze to you. His eyes are completely white, hollow, like a void. Nothing like the calm green you’re used to.

“It’s me,” he says, his voice very, very weak. “I swear it is. Please don’t be scared. I swear I’m-” he coughs softly, exhausted, his eyes fluttering, heavy with sleep.

“I know, my love. I know. It’s okay.” you move closer, slowly, crawling toward him until you’re close enough. “I’m going to take care of you. Let me take care of you, okay?”.

You reach out and touch his face, now warm again, brushing your thumb gently over his cheek before whispering once more: “I’ll take care of you. You can rest now.”

Almost immediately, his eyes fell shut. Joshua slips into a deep sleep, anesthetized by the pain he endured for so long.

Once he’s asleep, you try to lift him somehow, to get him off the wet floor — but he’s far too heavy. So you grab the bathrobe and spread it out on the ground, and with a lot of effort, you manage to lay his body down on it, dragging him out of the bathroom.

Knowing you won’t be able to carry him all the way to the bed, you improvise instead. You set up the camping mattress you used to take on trips, piling it with the softest blankets you can find, and then push yourself even harder just to roll him onto it.

When Joshua wakes up, he knows something is wrong.

He feels as though he’s recovered months’ worth of energy. His body doesn’t ache, doesn’t protest after spending so long in a form that isn’t his natural one. He also knows he’s not in bed, but he can smell you.

He looks around and finds you lying on a rug beside the camping mattress where he’s resting. You’re asleep, peaceful. And then he remembers.

The heat building in his body. Trying to drown it out with cold showers, hoping to suppress the pull back to his original form. Sometimes, he couldn’t go out to hunt without distracting you first. And so he stayed the same, in the shape of the man you fell in love with, for days.

When he pushed past his limit, his body gave up on holding it in and transformed on its own. There was no temperature cold enough to stop it.

Joshua knew he had gone too far this time.

He swallows hard, his throat aching. He hasn’t been asleep for long. You’re not wearing the same clothes either, and from what he can see of the en-suite bathroom, everything is dry and clean now.

But you’re here.

By his side.

While he’s in his original form.

A monster.

When he starts to stir, pushing at the sheets, already preparing to force himself back into his human shape, he feels a warm hand press firmly against his chest.

“You can stop right there,” you order, your voice still rough with sleep. “If you change forms again knowing it’s going to hurt you, I’ll kill you myself.”

“I don’t want to scare you.”

“I’m not scared, I’m pissed,” you snap. “Never hide anything from me again. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you.” He holds back a smile, already knowing you’re not going anywhere. “I hear you. I am so sorry, my dear. I am so sorry.”

He pulls you closer, his massive form, still larger than his human one, carefully settling you on top of him, one hand stroking your hair as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

Part 1 here!

It took you some time to process what was really happening, to understand what he actually was. On the first day, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. You were obviously panicking, because all you remembered was a massive wolf ready to devour you before you woke up in his bed — yes, his bed. You realized that when you saw his clothes in the wardrobe. Everything was just so strange and terrifying.

His human form was nothing short of magnificent. Black hair, as dark as night. Some marks on his face and shoulders, and a chest so perfect it could’ve been drawn. But there were scars everywhere. A large one over his left eye, and around six on his chest. You could count them because he barely wore shirts.

Cahir was in total internal numbness. This couldn’t be real. All of those things happening — why couldn’t he stop staring at you? He never lost control. It just didn’t make sense for him to lose it over an ordinary human. And a silent one, too. He tried to coax some words out of you, politely. You wouldn’t answer your name, age, or what you did. All you said was, "Please, let me go home," and damn it, couldn’t you feel anything? Really?

He felt a strange mix of possession, anger, and happiness. You were perfect, chained to his bed. He was about to explode. His instincts told him to take you, worship you, mark you as deeply as he could. Shit, he was fucking ready to breed you, and you couldn’t feel anything? It was a damn shame.

You had refused to eat — the dinner he himself hunted and cooked for you. How complicated could you be? The agony began to disturb him on the second day when you still hadn’t eaten. So he tried cooking again, something different.

Still, you refused to eat. You just wanted to go home. Apparently, patience wasn’t his strong suit. When he saw you wouldn’t eat on your own, Cahir gave you two options: accept that he would feed you, or he’d open your mouth and force the food down, spoonful by spoonful. You’d rather not find out what that second option felt like.

"Come on, baby, open your mouth. Yeah, there you go. Very good, love," Cahir whispered, proud of himself when you stopped fighting and just ate.

When you were done, he cleaned your mouth with a napkin, his eyes admiring your lips as he did. His warm skin brushed your cheek, and you had no idea how melted he felt inside.

Since you’d been here, he barely left the room. Maybe for twenty minutes, at most. Then he was back, watching you every second. Sometimes he smiled, sometimes he whispered something in his native tongue that you couldn’t understand. When you begged him to set you free, to at least take off the chains, he pretended not to hear you. It was like he was trying to figure out if you were real or not.

Two days locked up, and you were starting to panic. You needed to go home. What in the hell did this strange man want with you? Man or… whatever the hell he was.

Of course, he decided you needed a shower. But this time, he didn’t give you the same option he did with food. You either got in the shower, or you got in the shower. There was no choice — it was an obligation. Just like he was smelling something awful coming from you. And indeed, he was.

He was missing something — a little piece of himself in you. Yes, you’d been sleeping in his bed for two days, but it wasn’t enough anymore. He wanted you to smell like his soap, his shampoo, his clothes. His, completely.

He took the chains off you, sending chills down your skin with his warm hands on your arms. Your heart started beating faster. You didn’t understand why, but even though you were afraid of him, you couldn’t stop or fight. And not just because you knew you couldn’t run if he turned into that wolf again, but because, somewhere deep inside, you longed for it.

Hating yourself for it, you didn’t fight when he guided you to the bathroom, or when he slowly, carefully, took your clothes off, like he was savoring your company. Like he was trying to understand that strange feeling as much as you were.

“That’s so awkward,” you murmured, closing your eyes. You were so tired. “Please, please stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he teased.

“Like I mean something.”

He chuckled.

“What makes you think you don’t, love?”

“You…” You took a deep breath. “You looked like you wanted to kill me that night.”

“I kind of did,” he whispered, gently touching your chin. “But at the same time, I just want to deserve every minute of your presence.”

You looked into those dark eyes, at the horrendous scar.

“My family, they…”

“No, honey, no,” he whispered, kissing your bare shoulder softly.

You froze.

“Let’s wash your hair, love.”

Just like that, he cut off the conversation. Then, with all the devotion in the world, he washed your hair, your body, dressed you in some of his large, clean clothes, and laid you in bed, spoiling you like a child. That night, he forced you to sleep with his caresses. And the next night. And the night after that.

Every day, he cooked for you, untangled your hair, told you stories about his pack and the people who lived there. How they lived. It was like he was introducing you to a new life. And you felt that possession, that madness, that would never let you go.

Cahir hated that he never waited for you. That he never prepared himself to be a good mate for you. But don’t worry, love, he would be perfect. Everything a mate should be. He would do anything you needed, or anything he thought you needed. Except, of course, let you go home. You were home, after all.

Things started to change even more when you learned his name. Cahir. When you called him by it, his wolf did flips inside his chest, loving the sensation. He would kill someone just to hear you call his name again.

But you rarely did it. You protested as best as you could, sometimes even trying to fight. But it didn’t work. He still slept beside you, took care of you, and never once mentioned bringing you home or calling your family.

He didn’t want to kill you, but he also wouldn’t let you leave. What did that beast see in you? What did he want? You didn’t know. You just wanted him to leave.

Until one night, he left to take care of his pack, like usual, but didn’t come back to the room. One hour, two, three… and he still wasn’t back. You would never admit you were worried about your captor. Of course you weren’t. But being caressed to sleep for the past eleven nights had given you a comfort you’d never known. And that thing you’d been feeling, like your chest was calling for his, made you want to puke.

He came home around two in the morning. When he opened the door, you had to control yourself to not show relief.

“Where have you b—” you stopped, shocked.

But his appearance wasn’t great. He was hurt. An alarm went off in your head. Who the hell hurt him?

A claw mark was bleeding on his shoulder, and he seemed tired. He looked at you for a moment, then walked to the cabinet, grabbed a clean cloth, and pressed it against the wound.

“Please let me…” you started, and he could already finish your sentence in his mind: “Please let me go home,” you would’ve said.

“You should be asleep,” he whispered, almost inaudible.

“Cahir,” you called. He looked at you, feeling that stupid wolf claim inside his chest. “Let me help you.”

At first, he didn’t react, trying to process what you’d just said.

“Please, Cahir.”

You gently patted the mattress, signaling for him to sit next to you, since the chains didn’t allow you to walk over to him. “Please,” you repeated.

And so he did. His hands were sweaty as he sat where you’d asked and handed you the cloth, watching as you wet it and gently pressed it against the wound, cleaning the dried blood. But his skin, somehow, was almost healed already.

“What happened?” you asked, worry creeping into your voice.

“Sometimes, some stupid young ones think they can take care of the pack better than me. And I need to prove them wrong.”

“Did you prove it?”

He chuckled.

“Always.” His eyes didn’t leave your face. “Why didn’t you go to sleep?”

You didn’t answer. You just finished tending to his wound and lay back in bed, making space on the blanket for him to lie behind you. Your morals crumbling when you invited:“We should get some sleep now.”

Y'all 😭 thank you so much for all the love on the first part of this story! I wasn’t expecting so much of it. And I’m really sorry it took me so long to post the second part. I don’t know if it’s obvious, but English is not my first language, so it’s kind of hard to write in the most natural way. But I’ll keep trying! I hope you guys liked this one. I have some ideas for more monster OS and some of the COD guys as well. Let me know what you want and think, and I’ll work on it! Also, I'm trying to learn how to make the posts prettier to be read for you.

Honestly? I think we don’t talk enough about obsessive, stalker werewolves. Just imagine how intense every second would be. An alpha, completely possessive, who had never cared about finding a mate. Deep down, he hated the idea of having to care for anyone outside his pack. Until his wolf chose you, forcing him to swallow his pride.

When he found you, he was hunting with his pack in a forested area — the same one where you were camping with a group of friends. The moment Cahir caught your scent, he started searching for you. He sent the others away before they could pick up the same scent that he immediately knew was his. Only his. As he got closer, his thoughts spiraled. Who the hell were you? Why weren’t you looking for him too? Who dared to throw his entire world into chaos? He was going to tear you apart.

But when he finally found you, his senses unraveled. There you were, the source of all that turmoil. Sitting alone, wrapped in a blanket, staring up at the moon. Your friends were asleep in their tents, but you stayed there, admiring the same moon he worshipped.

Cahir crept closer with agonizing slowness, each step deliberate to avoid startling you. When you finally noticed the soft sound of leaves shifting, you tore your gaze away from the sky and glanced over your shoulder.

Jesus.

A massive wolf, its black fur gleaming under the moonlight, stood behind you. A grotesque scar slashed across its left eye, and it stared at you with an intensity that made your blood run cold. Its gaze carried something primal — part fury, part something else you couldn’t name. It barely seemed to breathe as it looked at you. Panic began to well up inside you, but your legs felt like lead, refusing to obey. Even your throat locked up, betraying you when you needed to scream.

Closing your eyes, you accepted your fate. There was no way you could outrun this creature, and the low growls reverberating so close to your face shattered any attempt to stay calm. When its hot breath brushed against your cheek, a solitary tear slid down. That was your last memory.

At least, until you woke up.

You didn’t open your eyes right away, but you were aware of the world around you. A soft, warm bed cradled your body, the kind of comfort that screamed you were still alive. But you weren’t at the campsite anymore. The fur blankets, the unfamiliar smell, the weight of the mattress beneath you... none of it was yours.

Sitting up abruptly, you scanned the room. Wooden furniture, paintings of forest landscapes, and the faint scent of rain. The place felt like a cozy cabin. As you pushed the blankets off to stand, you realized a steel chain cuffed your wrist to the bed. You were trapped.

— Beautiful...

The low, rough whisper came from the other side of the room. Turning to face it, you saw Cahir watching you. His eyes glowed with an animalistic intensity as his wolf stirred inside him, clawing to claim you. He needed to mark you, sink his teeth into you, ensure his scent was imprinted on your skin, your soul.

— Speak — he said, his voice almost desperate. — I need to hear you.

— Th-there was a wolf... I-I... — Your throat dried up, but the cruel smile tugging at the alpha’s lips silenced you.

— You’re going to be mine for the rest of your life.

— What? — You stared at him, panic coursing through your veins. — No! Never! I’ll... — you yanked at the chain, but it didn’t budge. — I’ll... let me go! — you shouted.

He laughed, the sound sharp and mocking.

— You chained yourself to me... — He stepped closer, his eyes raking over your body as if savoring the sight. — And now... — With a sudden tug of the chain, he pulled you toward him, leaving your face mere inches from his. — I’ve chained you to me.