#{werewolf!au}

tags: werewolf au, magic/fantasy!au, f!reader, werewolf!johnny, begrudgingly roommates with a werewolf (only you don't know he's a werewolf), this is supposed to be a fun series of events btw the reader and their wolf roommate, eventual 141xreader, smut

cw: perceived danger, not much else but will add more if warnings arise

an: there are five chapters of this written, with a handful of other ideas for these two. no real plot, maybe an appearance from a few other familiar faces. will reader learn he's a werewolf? who knows.

Updated AN: reader will most certainly be meeting the rest of the 141, John and Simon have already made appearances and Kyle is just around the corner.

Thinking about Werewolf!tf141, with the exception of Vampire!Ghost. It's rare for werewolf packs to tolerate a vampire in their midst, let alone accept one as one of their own, but the task force had always been odd.

Their liuetenant had warmed his way into their pack, and perhaps that's how they accepted you so quickly. A weak, small little fledgeling, young and freshly turned, with no sire to help you through the transition.

Its Soap who finds you, a feral little thing, in a room full of fallen soldiers. You had torn into them, unyielding to the steel of their bullets, bleeding each one dry in search of your sire's blood. Your body needed a fully-formed vampire's blood to quell the venom running in your veins.

He's shocked when he first enters the room, the sight of carnage, more akin to a crime scene then what was normally seen in a war zone. He's able to piece two and two together, however, when you pounce onto him.

Your weak body does little in your attempt to throw him off balance, but you succeed in bitingnyour fangs into his arm, wasting no time. He can tell you're far gone, your body close to running out of steam. You're behaving truly depraved and irrational, trying your absolute best to tear the flesh off of his arm.

Thankfully, as a werewolf his skin is much tougher than the other soldiers you have ripped apart at this point, so you do minimal damage. Soap can't help but look down at you fondly as you gnaw on his tough skin with frustration, growling lowly.

You're cute, like a wee pup still teething. He can't help but call his LT to his position on comms. It would be such a shame if a bonnie thing like you died in such a gruesome manner, covered in blood and fighting as the venom burned you from the inside out.

Soap holds you up proudly as Ghost nears on his position, Gaz trailing behind. Your teeth are still latched onto his arm, blood dribbling down your chin, but your held up like a prize.

Ghost caves quickly. Soap's puppy dog eyes and begging mixed with the cute way you claw and growl and kick in Soap's hold in hopes to get a taste of his blood has him caving, fast.

You end up cradled in Ghost's arms, gulping down his blood greedily from where your little fangs have pierced the skin of his wrist. Gaz pets your head gently, moving your blood-caked hair out of your face, cooing as your body trembles from the relief of your transition into a vampire being finalized. Soap stands off to the side, watching the team's six and updating Price over comms.

Once you've had your fill, body sufficiently nurtured, you're out like a light. You sleep peacefully, tucked against Ghost's chest as the team finishes their mission, and you rest peacefully all the way until it's time for evac.

As the team loads onto the chopper, you're shivering. Your frail body had been through a lot, and your undead body was unable to regulate its own temperature.

Its Price who takes you from Ghost's arms, gently holding you to his chest, having you sit tucked in his lap for the ride back to base. The older werewolf ran warm, and you couldn't help but instinctively cling to him in your slumber, a warm hand running over your shivering form gently.

You refuse to let go of him when the team gets back to base, whining as they peel you off of him to get you into the showers. They strip you of your clothes gently, the fabrics tattered and covered in blood. You remain asleep, whimpering as they gently scrub the blood and dirt off of you.

It takes another day for you to wake up, slowly coming to buried in a mountain of pillows and blankets, cozy in the teams nest. You feel hazy, like waking up from a decade long nightmare. Your memories are distant, and your body feels weird, drugged almost.

More than anything, you feel hungry, the hunger aching like you hadn't eaten in months. You whimper as you sit up, limbs sore and fuzzy. Everything feels fuzzy, your brain swimming as you try to take in your surroundings.

Gaz is at your side in an instant, helping you sit up gently with a hand pressed to your back. Your mind is swimming, startled by this handsome man coming your aid. You think you hear him speaking to you, something gentle and soft, but all you can hear is the way his heart beats in his chest.

Your mouth waters, and before you can think to be disgusted with yourself, he presses the skin of his wrist to your mouth. You don't hesitate to bite down, unable to think before his blood is already dribbling down your cheek.

Your feeding is messy, it feels like you're learning how to move again, like you were placed in a new body with slightly different controls. It take few moments of feeding, but slowly the haze breaks way, and it's as if you're finally waking up.

It doesn't take long before your sputtering out to blood, coughing and gagging as you fight against Gaz's hold, finally aware enough to be disgusted with what you're doing. He tries to keep you drinking, but drops his bloody wrist when he starts to see tears well up in your eyes.

Your body is shuddering from the force of your dry heaving. He tries to give you space, rubbing your back gently as he waits for you to calm down.

Eventually, the gagging subsides, left with the gross realization that his blood tastes good. Disastrously good. You lick your lips without thinking, trying to drink up every last drop.

"Still hungry, love?" Gaz asks, voice gentle and slow, as if knowing the way your mind was racing. It takes a minute for your eyes to focus on his face, head swimming, you feel lightheaded.

You shake your head, a small disgruntled sound leaving your lips, disagreeing even though you were definitely still hungry. Your thoughts feel too fast and your body feels too slow, so you can't find it in you to speak.

He doesn't seem to mind, simply nodding and petting your head gently, pushing your hair back and out of your face. Your eyes flutter closed, the touch is soothing, leaving you feeling fuzzy and warm.

You can distantly hear the door open, deep voices conversing, and then a warm washcloth gently cleaning the blood off of your chin. Everything feels distant, you're oh so tired, and all the attention feels really nice.

You hardly complain when someone wraps a soft blanket around your figure, or when you're lifted into warm arms, pressed against their chest.

Whoever it is smells good, and you can feel his steady pulse where your face is pressed up against his neck. It's disgusting, how badly you want to just tear into this nice stranger's neck, to gulp down his blood greedily. So you bite your lip instead, whimpering softly as your sharp fangs bite into your skin.

You don't even realize that the stranger has sat down, keeping you settled on his lap, until he grabs you by the nape of your neck, pushing you upright. You open your eyes slowly, taking in his features.

He's very attractive, with a beard and big muscles. Truly all you can think is "Mmm, big man". The way he chuckles makes you briefly wonder if he's able to read your thoughts. The eye contact he's giving you makes you giggle, unable to help the affect he was having on you.

Someone reaches from behind you, hand gripping your jaw roughly, forcing your mouth open and pressing the pad of their finger against one of your fangs. You whimper, suddenly realising how sore your mouth was, squirming as you paw at their hand, trying to push it away.

"Needs to feed more," the man behind you mutters, his voice much deeper than the other two men you'd met, "Lil' things teething". He finally lets up, dropping his hands from your face and gripping your shoulders instead, holding you in place.

The man who's lap your sitting in, Price, presses his forearm to your mouth before you can even register him introducing himself. You whimper and shake your head, grinding your teeth together as you fight not to bite into him.

It doesn't help that he's so muscular, anyone would want to bite his arms all over. The man behind you huffs, annoyed at your stubbornness.

"Won't hurt 'im runt, c'mon," he moves a hand up to your jaw, rubbing the tender muscles there to coax your mouth open. It only leads to work you up more, squirming and growling, the sounds you're making seem feral and foreign.

That thought only serves to freak you out, leading in your hands coming up to claw at the arms of the man behind you, wanting needing things to slow down. Price sighs, shaking his head in dissaproval.

"Play nice sweetheart, Ghost is only trying to help," he scolds, free hand coming up to pull your hands away from Ghost's.

You suddenly feel very guilty, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. Everything is too much, and you really don't want to dissapoint these strange men. You want them to continue to be sweet to you.

So, you slowly open your mouth, teeth pressing onto Price's forearm gently. You find that his skin is tough, harder to bite into than you distantly remember being used to, the memories of tearing into the limbs of soldiers resurfacing faintly.

You hum, the feeling of his tough skin against your aching teeth felt good, something satisfying about being able to bite without immediately feeding. Before your brain fully caught up, you found yourself gnawing on his arm gently, biting at different spots to test the give of his skin.

You can feel the two men surrounding you chuckle, and Ghost removes his hands to guide you instead. With one hand pressed to the back of your head and the other to your jaw, he forces you to bite down fully, fangs sinking in.

You let out a disgruntled sound, annoyed by the manhandling, all the biting felt good damnit. But then, his blood starts to pool in your mouth, and you're eyes flutter closed. Its warm as it goes down, you didn't realize just how cold you were, and you slump forward, the two men taking care to hold you upright.

"Ach, if that isnae a sight for sore eyes," you hear, along with another set of footsteps approaching. Your eyes slowly open, you recognized that voice. You could remember distinctly how you tried to tear into his flesh, clawing and scraping as you tried to maul the poor man.

You try to unlatch, to move your head to face him, but Ghost holds you steady, making sure that you don't stop fighting. You growl and whine, squirming but not trying to claw your way out (you've learned your lesson), but Ghost doesn't budge.

"Oh look at the poor lovie, show her your arm, Soap." Its the voice of the other man, the one who had fed you gently when you came to. He's somewhere behind you, must have been in the room the whole time.

You can hear the scottish one, Soap, approach the three of you, and soon after his arm is held in your field of view. It's scarred, little faint bite marks litter the spaces where you had mauled him the day prior, but oddly it's all healed up already.

You hum, a little confused. You wanted to ask about it, how someone could have healed in such a short amount of time. You had a lot of things you wanted to ask about, now that you thought about it. It seemed like you had finally woken up, suddenly things felt clearer.

"See, I heal up fast, not to worry Bonnie," Soap comforts, patting your head softly before flopping onto the couch next to you and Price.

You eye him, eyebrows furrowing as you're still stuck feeding. You keep trying to move your head back, wanting a break. Your body finally feels awake, and you want to move.

"Picked up a fussy one, aye?" The scott muses, chuckling at the growl you give in turn. You aren't a child, is what you want to bite back, but then Ghost's hand moves up from your nape to your scalp and pets your head gently and your thoughts go fuzzy.

"And who's fault is that, Johnny?" Ghost asks, easing you gently off of Price's arm where you were feeding. It's clear that you're more awake now, and well-fed for the moment, so he lets you stop.

You slump backwards, feeling a bit weightless and sleepy, although more aware now. Ghost steps forward, letting you sit back in Price's lap while keeping you upright against his front.

You lick the blood off of your lips, eyeing Price's arm hungrily as you watch the small wound heal up in seconds. He seems to find the way your eyes widen im shock amusing, his laughter vibrating through your body.

Price pats your head gently, all too smug in the way you push against his hand, like a cat looking for more pets. "Got a lot to explain to you, huh pup?" He muses, and you can't help how you wiggle in joy at the petname. Price can't help but think how cute you would've been as a werewolf pup, if only they had gotten to you first.

It takes a bit of manhandling, but you end up cozy in Gaz's lap, your back to his chest. He lets you gnaw on his arm to soothe your teething, free hand rubbing circles into your hip as you listen to the other men speak.

They explain to you who they are, their role in the military, that they're werewolves. They explain to you what they know about you, about how you turned, how Ghost had to help finish the transition.

The supernatural aren't anything new, but it was rare to run into them, especially outside of the military. You weren't sure how you felt about your turning, perhaps because you could hardly remember who you were before, it all blurring together. They told you it was likely because of how long it took for you to finish your transition.

You wondered if there was something truly wrong with you, because you found that you didn't really care about your life before or what your life had turned into. You couldn't remember much of before, after all. All you wanted was for these men to keep their attention on you, like it soothed an aching feeling in your body.

They seem to notice you're no longer listening, how you shift so that you're fully settled in Gaz's lap, who lets out an amused breathe as you pull his hand from your hip to the top of your head. He wastes no time in petting your hair, giving the attention you feel like you'll burn alive without.

Ghost shakes his head, able to recognize the state you were in. He steps up to where you and Gaz are sat, placing a hand to your forehead and pushing you off of Gaz's arm, making you pause in your biting and slobbering all over him.

"Nervous system is shot," he comments, shifting to hold onto your jaw, tilting your face around. He watches how you relax under the touch, not at all bother by the less than gentle way he manhandles you, eyes glazed over and smile showing off your cute little fangs. "Delayed transition turned you into a needy little thing, huh?"

.。o○☆○o。.

This is all I have fanfiction wise, because I think I've officially written as far as I can for this particular oneshot. But!!! Headcanons for this specific reader below as an extra treat (ФωФ)

I also want to specify, reader can be interpreted as any size. I describe them as small and frail because when they find them, reader is super malnourished and close to death, so I imagine them as such. When they are back to health, they can be thought of as any body shape or height, but to the 141 they'll always be smaller, as they are a very very weak vampire with a bunch of super strong supernaturals lol.

I like to imagine vampire reader stays somewhat feral. Their transition involved a couple of days where they were lessened to their base instincts, unable to do or think of anything but feeding in hopes of drinking their sire's blood so as to not die.

Reader gets to stay with the 141 despite not being a soldier, as there are laws protecting covens, keeping them from seperating Ghost and reader. Who knows, maybe they try to teach reader how to become a secretary, but that's unlikely because they really don't care about much other than getting attention.

Reader is aware, at least behind layers of fuzz or a feeling of being high, but they lost a lot of their humanity when becoming a vampire. Now, the fact that they are picked up by werewolf 141 is important.

The main concept is that as reader learns how to live again, with a new body and hazy memories, they pick up the mannerisms of the werewolves. It doesn't help that reader sets off the werewolve's instincts, they see them as a little fucked up pup they need to take care of.

I also.imagine reader is partially nonverbal for this reason, their human mind too slow to catch up to the speed of their undead body.

I don't know I just love the concept of little vampire reader play fighting with Soap and Gaz, and picking up their scenting behaviors. Reader has a shot nervous system from being abandoned mid transition, so they instinctually seek out affection.

So, when werewolf! 141 starts to scent reader, rubbing them up and down to cover them in their scent, making sure people know where their weird little pup belongs, reader is in heaven.

And it doesn't take long before reader starts to do it themselves. When the pack comes back from training, best believe reader is rubbing themselves all over them. They even do it to Ghost, who pretends he's annoyed (just like he does when the rest of his team decide to scent him) but in reality he finds it very cute.

I like to imagine Ghost gets really bad cuteness aggression, which he gets out by manhandling the rest of his team. It's the most fun with reader because they're just so pliant, they let him move them whichever way he feels like with little to no argument. They just give him that cute pout and glare in a sad attempt to be intimidating.

In general, reader cannot find a moment of peace. The whole team really likes to tease and mess with you, but its lowkey your enrichment. You feed off of any and all attention, and it really helps you deal with your instincts.

They like to let you try and hunt you. Especially Soap and Gaz. They like to make it a game, teasing you and making sure you have to work for it. They never let you get an easy meal, finding it all too fun to make you wrestle them.

If you're feeling lazy, the person to go to is Price. He's older, having outgrown the need to play fight or make you work for it. So, when you come to him hungry, often exhausted or annoyed from trying to get blood out of Soap or Gaz, he's quick to pull you up into his lap, bringing your face to his neck.

Although, you aren't totally safe from his teasing, either. His favorite thing to do is to interrupt you when your feeding, grabbing you by the nape of your neck and trying to pull you off of him. It's truly just to hear the way you growl at him, like a food-aggressive kitten.

It makes him maternal, and he loves to soothe you afterwards. The teasing is moreso and excuse for him to baby you in all honesty.

And the 141 just loves their weird little fledgeling.

☆ミ

Erm yeah. Idk how good any of this, this was my way of coping with the struggles of midterms and the evilness of men lol.

The bits where reader is teething and gnawing on people is inspired by this post by raw-me price because I'm a rommyholic I love his posts so much and this one dropped like right while I was in the middle of writing this like a sign from god.

Johnny's truck rumbled along the long winding dirt road that led towards base, their temporary pack territory. Price told them soon, once they were out they were going to be out for good. Get a big house, some farm land and be a true pack. The scent of home got stronger the closer they got, pine, damp earth and the familiar scents of their pack members. The rest of base knew them as the 141.

The road was dark, the shadows of the trees illuminated by the moon. It was nearly full and they could feel it, their senses sharper, the excitement growing as it got closer. Johnny loved it, the freedom, the wind through his fur; Simon, Price and Gaz flanking his side. Gave him a break from feeling all the emotions of the pack.

Johnny kept his hands on the wheel as he drove, his eyes flicking towards Gaz, sitting shotgun. He hummed along to the radio, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on his thigh to the soft music Johnny had playing. Totally different than the heavy metal he usually played. He'd been different lately, everyone noticed. That's why Price had Gaz take him out for the afternoon. Something had shifted.

All of a sudden he slammed on the brakes and Gaz slammed forward in his seat, the seatbelt doing its job and jerking him as the truck came to a halt. 

“Fucking hell Soap, a little warning.” 

Bright, too bright; like molten rubies reflecting firelight.

“You’re late,” you said, trying not to sound relieved.

Kalim grinned immediately. “I wanted to see if you’d leave.”

“And if I had?”

His smile tilted into something curious. “Who knows? You never do.”

The first time you’d met him, you thought he was some wandering spirit. Nobody could move the way he did — silent one moment, suddenly inches away the next. One blink and he would be standing several feet away beneath the trees; the next, his voice would drift right beside your ear, warm and amused enough to send a shiver down your spine.

It wasn’t only that he was quiet — it was wrong somehow, unnaturally graceful in the way predators moved before striking. Branches never snagged his clothes. Mud never stained his boots. Thorned vines shifted away from his hands like they feared touching him.

The wind stirred his hair as he took a step closer, gaze fixed entirely on you.

“You smell like rain,” he said absentmindedly.

You blinked. “That’s a weird thing to say to someone.”

“It’s true.” He leaned closer, inhaling lightly like he couldn’t help himself. “And cloves… and the flowers growing near the eastern hills.”

“You can tell all that just from smell?”

Kalim paused, like he’d almost forgotten normal people couldn’t.

A soft laugh escaped him. “Right. Humans can’t.”

His word should’ve unsettled you more than it did.

Instead, curiosity curled tighter in your chest each night you met him here. Because Kalim spoke about the world like he existed slightly outside it — as though he belonged to older things. Wilder things.

You crossed your arms. “You still haven’t answered my question from last night.”

Kalim’s grin flashed in the dark, quick and crooked. “The funny one?”

“The important one.”

You stepped closer. Close enough that the moonlight couldn’t fit between you anymore. “What are you?”

For once, he didn’t answer right away.

The river rushed beneath the old stone bridge below you, loud in the sudden silence. Somewhere deeper in the trees, an owl let out a low call and went quiet, as if it was waiting.

Kalim’s easy expression faltered. He looked at you — really looked — like he was weighing something heavy. His silver hair caught the moonlight, and for a second you saw something else in him so clearly it made your pulse jump.

“You actually want to know?” he asked, voice lower.

“Yes.”

“You might run.”

“I haven’t yet.”

That seemed to affect him more than expected; so much so that you could see his throat working as he swallowed.

His gaze lingered on your face with open fascination, like he was trying to solve something impossible. Humans feared the unnatural — everyone knew that. Yet every night, you still returned to the forest to meet someone with glowing eyes and secrets in his smile.

“You’re strange,” he murmured.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

Kalim laughed quietly, though it sounded softer now.

His grin returned at that, small and fleeting, but it disappeared just as quickly when you reached for his wrist. The moment your fingers brushed his skin, he went still. The kind of stillness that came right before something wild decided whether to bare its teeth or not.

Your breath caught as both sets of eyes looked down to where you touched him.

Up close, you could see it so clearly now: faint silver lines glowing under his skin, tracing along his veins like liquid moonlight. They pulsed once beneath your fingertips, dim and beautiful and deeply unnatural.

Kalim’s breathing changed, like he’d forgotten how to do it properly for a second. Then, he let out a slow exhale through his nose, almost like he was forcing himself back into control.

“You’re going to make this harder,” he said quietly.

“Make what harder?”

His jaw tightened slightly. For the first time, the easy charm he always wore wasn’t quite there to soften the edges of him. “Leaving you alone after this.”

That made the air shift.

You went still. “After what?”

Kalim finally looked up at you fully. The moonlight caught his eyes head-on and made them look almost wrong — too reflective, too aware, like something watching from behind a human face rather than through it.

Before you could react, his hand snapped up and caught your wrist. You had been holding his other arm, trying to keep some control of the distance, but he overpowered your grip with almost no effort. Warm fingers closed around your wrist like iron wrapped in velvet, and he spun you.

Your back hit the rough bark of the ancient oak behind you with a soft thud. Kalim pressed in immediately, caging you against the tree with his body. One hand pinned your wrist above your head, the other planted beside your shoulder. He wasn’t hurting you, but there was no give in his hold.

You could feel the tension running through him like a live wire, every muscle drawn tight beneath your hands as though he was restraining something much larger than himself. His breathing had gone uneven, sharper through his nose, and the silver lines under his skin spread farther up his throat now, glowing against the darkness.

“Kalim—”

“Don’t move,” he said hoarsely.

His head dipped suddenly toward your neck, stopping just short of touching you. You felt the warm rush of his breath against your skin as he inhaled once, deep enough to make his fingers flex around your wrist.

A low, rumbling sound rolled out of his chest — not quite a growl, not quite a whine. Something in between.

“Geez… you smell even stronger this close,” he whispered against your throat. His voice had changed, rougher, like gravel under moonlight. “It’s driving me crazy. I keep trying to ignore it during the day, but here…”

He pulled back just enough for you to see his face. His eyes were brighter now, almost luminous, with his pupils narrowed into sharp vertical slits. The silver markings pulsed hotter, racing down his arms. Then, his ears began to shift — lengthening, sharpening, tufts of silver fur appearing as they rose into clear, wolfish ears that flicked toward every small sound you made.

A werewolf. That’s what he was. The realization hit all at once as you stared up at him beneath the moonlight. The sharp ears flicking toward every tiny sound, the glow beneath his skin, the low rumble still vibrating in his chest like he couldn’t fully hold it back anymore.

The words died down from your throat, but the pounding of your heart distracted you enough from your hand involuntarily reaching out to touch the tufts of silver fur on his ears.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t, not really — not with your heart hammering so loudly it felt like it should’ve given you away. But your hand lifted anyway, almost instinctively, as if something in you had decided fear wasn’t the only thing allowed to exist here.

Your fingertips brushed the soft tufts of silver fur at his ear. Warm. Far softer than anything about him should’ve been. Kalim’s breath hitched so sharply it sounded like it broke.

“What are you—”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

The question cut through whatever he was about to say.

For a second, the forest felt too loud again — the river rushing beneath the bridge, leaves shifting, the distant call of something alive and unaware of what was happening here. His ears twitched under your fingers, but this time he didn’t lean into it. He forced himself still, like movement itself might be dangerous.

When he spoke, his voice was quieter and honest in a way that made it worse.

“…Yes,” he admitted, dropping his head against your shoulder once again.

Kalim’s jaw tightened immediately, like he regretted the word the moment it left him, but he didn’t take it back. Instead, his head pulled back but his gaze strayed away from yours, as if looking at you directly was making it harder to speak.

“Not like that!” he added quickly, panicking, though it didn’t fully fix anything. “Not the way you think!”

Kalim exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was trying to force the words into something coherent before they turned into something worse. His grip on the tree behind you tightened again, splintering it slightly under his fingers, then loosening like he caught himself.

“I don’t want to,” he said, voice lower now, strained in a way that made it sound like it cost him something to admit. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Then, quieter — honest in a way that stripped him bare:

“But my head is full of you.”

His eyes flicked up to yours for a second before dropping again, like he couldn’t handle the contact for long.

“I can’t think properly when you’re here. I can’t—” His breath caught, and you felt it in the way his body tensed, like something inside him was pressing harder against the edges of control. “Everything in me is loud. Too loud.”

“And when you’re this close…” he continued, voice roughening, slipping further from calm, “all my instincts do is scream at me to keep you here.”

His jaw tightened, fangs just barely visible when he spoke again.

“To not let you leave.”

A pause stretched between you, thick enough to feel physical.

Kalim finally looked at you again, and this time there was no attempt to soften it—no grin, no charm, just something raw and conflicted sitting behind wolf-bright eyes.

“I’m fighting it every second,” he admitted. “And with you touching me like that…” His ears twitched under your hand again despite himself, betraying him. “…it makes it difficult.”

“…So what,” you said quietly, voice steadier than you felt, “you’re just supposed to stay away from me forever?”

For a second, something almost pained flickered across his face.

“I should,” he said immediately.

But I don’t want to.

The words echoed in your head as if on cue. His hand, once braced against the tree beside your head, slowly dropped and then came up to cup your face.

Up close, you could feel everything about him at once: the heat in his palm that didn’t match the cold night air, the faint tremor running through his fingers like he was holding himself together by force alone, and the sharper edge beneath it all that reminded you he wasn’t ordinary. His claws brushed your skin as he settled his hand against you, not enough to hurt, but enough to make your breath catch anyway.

Kalim sucked in a sharp breath at the contact like even that small movement was something he had to endure. “…Sorry,”

“Do you want to?” Your voice cut through the thick tension. “To stay away forever, I mean.”

“O-Of course no—”

“Because I do not mistake you for death.” You stepped closer toward him, your hand wrapping around the one cupping your cheek. “Not even for an instant.”

Kalim’s breath caught so abruptly it almost sounded painful. His eyes widened slightly, the silver glow beneath his skin glimmering from the moonlight. For once, he looked completely unguarded; like nobody had ever said something like that to him before.

Your fingers tightened gently around his hand, grounding him there against the tree and moonlight and the wild thing trembling just beneath his skin.

“Well then,” he said at last.

A pause.

His smile came after it — different now. Less easy, less boyish. Sharper at the edges, but not unkind. Something that belonged more to the forest than the village lights far beyond it.

His fangs caught the moonlight as he exhaled a quiet laugh, eyes never leaving yours.