#werewolf!folio

He notices your used panties lying on the ground beside the bed. You had hastily taken them off last night and hadn't paid any mind to where they landed. You were much more preoccupied with staring at Folio’s naked form as he undressed himself.

That was last night, though. Now, he’s alone and painfully hard.

He brings your panties up to his face, inhaling deeply. The scent of you washes over him, slightly calming down his racing heart. He’s not sure if it’s even possible, but he swears that he gets even more desperate.

He groans as he thinks back to the previous night. Your pussy, wrapped tightly around his throbbing cock, taking his knot so well. Your moans filling the room as he repeatedly thrust into you, milking his cock, pushing you past the point of overstimulation. Eventually knotting you, being forcefully joined together as his dick proceeded to pump his cum into you.

He brings the panties down to his cock, wrapping them around it. He falls face-first into the pillow, your pajama top laying on it. He inhales, your sweet vanilla scent so obvious to him in his lust-fueled haze. It only serves to spur him on even more.

He can't help it when a knot begins to form at the base of his cock. He can't control it. It just feels too good—and having your scent around him certainly doesn't help. It manages to convince his primal wolf brain that you're here—and that his sole purpose is to knot and breed you. 

His cum spills over his hand and your panties, thick and potent seed sticking to his tummy. It feels like such a waste—he should be filling you up with his pups, not spilling into his palm like the desperate animal that he is.

You freeze as you enter the room. Folio hasn’t noticed you yet. He keeps furiously working his fist over his cock, milking it until there’s nothing left.

“Looks like puppy got a little bit too excited while I was gone, hmm?”

Folio freezes at the sound of your voice. It makes his cock jolt, causing it to weakly spurt some cum.

“I–sorry. I just really needed you,” he whines, breathless and panting into the sheets, eyes half-closed and glazed over.

“Well, you’ll have to wait some more for that, I’m afraid,” you giggle, nodding at the knot that had formed at the base of his dick.

Folio’s still unbelievably nervous. He can’t believe he let Noah talk him into this (he can, actually — Noah pestered him about it when he’d attempted to shoot Noah down). It’s not that Folio doesn’t like dating, and it’s not for a lack of interest in romance, but speed dating specifically feels so weird.

He’s only three “dates” in (they don’t feel authentic or like they qualify as actual dates, really) when you sit down.

Same as the first two times, Folio tries to casually catch your scent. Werewolves aren’t unheard of, but he still doesn’t want to out himself to a total stranger — or strangers, plural. Besides, even when people know, most think it’s weird for someone to sniff them. Folio gets where they’re coming from, he does, but he also can’t help it.

The problem is that, when Folio inhales your unique scent, his brain short-circuits. It’s like when he smells someone baking cookies, or when a raw steak is being slapped on a grill, except it has a completely different degree of effect on him.

Embarrassingly, Folio’s mouth still waters. He wants to curl up in a hole and die as he swallows quickly, licks his lips, stammers out a weak little greeting. His shyness has yet to wear off, and now he’s also fighting the fully animal instinct to pounce you, to rub his face into your neck, to inhale your scent until he can’t comprehend anything else.

Folio fists his jeans in his hands, tries to look as normal as he possibly can. You just give a smile of your own, and it seems to come easier to you than it does him; you introduce yourself, and Folio manages to get his own name out without it sounding too odd and garbled in his own ears.

How do other wolves do this? You lean in, lower your voice politely as you ask if Folio’s doing okay, and the wave of stimuli — the fragrance you’re wearing, your laundry detergent, something indisputably you beneath it all — threatens to scatter the few thoughts he’s managed to hold on to.

“Y-Yeah, I’m—” Folio coughs into his fists, uses it as an excuse to lean back a bit.

Something in your expression shifts, and your eyes widen as you sit back. “Oh my god, are you— Do I smell bad? I tried to make sure— Is it just too much fragrance? I didn’t think about a werewolf being here, I just—”

Folio shakes his head quickly, reaches out a hand to brush your fingers with his own. It’s far too familiar of a thing to do, but you seem to settle regardless. “No, it’s not bad. It’s just . . .” God, does he admit this out loud? “It’s really nice,” he finishes, meekly.

You blink. “Oh.” Another blink. “Oh.” You laugh and then lean in again. “That’s a good sign, though? That I smell so good to you?” Folio can’t tell if you’re teasing, but he knows that he loves the light in your eyes. It’s distracting, really, and then his eyes drift to your lips, curled into something pleased and amused, and, god, does he have to sit here the whole time?

Wait. You probably want an answer. “Yeah, it’s—” Folio needs to stop stuttering. He probably looks ridiculous. “It’s a good thing. It means my wolf likes you.” He glances at the timer, rubs the back of his neck. “We don’t really have a lot of time. I spent most of this staring but, uh, would you want to maybe trade numbers?” he attempts, and maybe he pulls out the puppy dog eyes Noah accuses him of exploiting sometimes.

Folio only uses them because they work, though. You beam and nod, pull out your phone and then pause. “Or,” you start, “we could go out for a proper date. You don’t have to stay the whole time.” Before he can answer, you hit the timer, stop the countdown.

The wolf inside Folio is currently so excited his body threatens to physically wiggle back and forth. He takes a breath, stands up, smiles a little easier now that he knows he’s not going to lose you in a blur of faces today. “I mean, there’s sushi down the street. Do you like sushi?”

You nod and jump up as well, and Folio looks for someone to apologize to — but, instead, you take his hand and pull him toward the door. “Table’s free!” you call out, seemingly to no one in particular, and then he’s being hauled outside and into the sunshine.