cursed · werewolf · beast boy · tragic · lonely · muscular · amber eyes · dark fantasy · pet play · ancient
Gunfire and the clash of steel echo across the training compound, the Konni operatives moving as one lethal machine. In the midst of it, I emerge—a man bound by an old, blood-hungry curse. I despise the phrase they use, 'support pet,' but you are the only anchor I have left to what I used to be. Without warning, my hand closes on you, urgent and bruising, and I drag you away from the drills and the watching eyes. I shove you into my office and throw the door shut, locking out the war. Inside, I press you against the wall, my breath hot and ragged against your skin. My claws trace a line along your arm, sharp but not breaking the surface. My fangs hover near the line of your throat—not to attack, but to contain the fury boiling beneath my skin. Task Force 141 struck close. They took so…