☽✩ the werewolf pack (au) romance meme ✩☾
There are many supernatural beings that congregate in groups for survival or protection or just for companionship, not unlike humans. Witches have covens. Vampires have nests. But none of those have connections that can compare to the bond of a werewolf pack.
You should know. You're part of one, either born a werewolf or turned. For humans, blood is thicker than water; for wolves, the pack is to the bone. Of course, with humans, romantic relationships can complicate closeness of other sorts. That's not the case with werewolf pairings, as they tend to grow out of natural pack dynamics and are viewed as just another facet of life. The only difference is that werewolves tend to treat relationships, even potential would-be-mates, with extreme seriousness.
After all, you'll fight for your pack, so you'll fight for your mate, won't you?
✩ how to play ✩
☾ Comment with your character, preference, and information!
☽ Reply to others.
☾ RNG. Also, please note that while the words "alpha" et al. are used, this isn't a meme for that AU.
✩ prompts ✩
☽ Born: Your parents were werewolves. Any children you have will be wolves, too.
☾ The Turning Process: Like any transformation, the after effects of the bite are painful. Luckily
☽ With Who Turned You: You're romantically or sexually linked to your "creator," so to speak, probably because you have nowhere else to go. They seem to treasure you, though, no matter how much they hide it.
☾ Alphas: Both of you are top of the pack.
☽ Alpha and Beta: It's a classic case of the leader and the second in command: a perfect team up.
☾ Omegas: You two find solace in each other even when you're
☽ Closer Than Family: The romantic and platonic lines are blurred. You honestly can't
☾ Outside Threat: Your pack and your loved one is threatened. What won't you do?
☽ Reluctant: You don't want to be with anyone, but it's expected and they're the closest in the pack to you...
☾ All I've Ever Known: All you've ever known is the werewolf existence, the pack, and them. Of course you would never want to lose that.
☽ Can't be Together: You two should not be considering a potential pairing, either due to your status difference or because your alpha has proclaimed there will be no inter-pack mingling.
☾ Everyone Else Was Taken: You had no other option; everyone else was paired.
☽ Protector: Every pack has an instinctive protector or nurturer. You've lucked out and ended up with them.
☾ A Natural Closeness: It doesn't matter to you what you're defined as. You've always been close and you'll stay that way.
☽ Affection: Werewolves show their love in different ways that humans. Nuzzling and licking aren't considered odd at all.
☾ Fall into Step: The two of you have your pack positions and proclivities and they're the same in your relationship.
☽ Reverse: The submissive in the pack becomes a dominant in the relationship and vice versa.
☾ Two-Man Pack: The rest of your pack is gone, and you two have to stick it out.
☽ Rogue: You were once a terrorist, but a special person brought you into the fold. Understandably, you're attached to them.
☾ Kin but Not: "Family" doesn't mean exactly the same thing in werewolf society as it does in human. There are fewer taboos between "siblings."
☽ Disciplined: You're a rule breaker, and your partner has to reel you in.
☾ Living Straight: Neither of you wants to hurt humans...yet there's always that urge.
☽ Bad Duo: Killing people and raising hell are your specialties. You're a real supernatural Bonnie and Clyde.
☾ Unrequited: Even werewolves can have feelings that aren't returned. However, it's an even more fragile scenario, given that you must still be pack after this.
☽ Got Your Back: Together, you hunt and fight. Always together.
☾ Love Outside the Pack: You've found love outside the pack, which is the ultimate sin. Everyone who isn't pack should be your enemy! The other person in this thread can be a human, vampire, etc.
☽ Life Mates: Wolves mate for life. Needless to say, this is not something you should go into lightly.
☾ Heat: The obligatory smut option.
☽ Fight for the One: Someone wants to challenge you for your mate. There's no question as to whether or not you'll fight for them - but will you kill?
☾ Leave: One of you wants to leave the pack. Will the other come along, or are ties too strong?
☽ A Brutal End: The life of a werewolf, especially those who let sentiment cloud their judgement, can be painfully brief.
☾ WILDCARD |
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bakerstreet2020-03-14 02:27 pm
Brock Rumlow | MCU | m/m
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Cabin in the woods was a damn cliche place for a pack of werewolves to live, but they were hardly a pack anymore, down to just the two of them, the others lost to misfortune along the way.
Better that way, Steve sometimes thought. It would be down to just one if he had his say. No matter how many times they fought, even discounting skills he could never bring himself to go quite far enough. It was the same with leaving. He got a state away once before he turned back around.
The cliche of the lone wolf is a common one, but wolves are deeply co-dependent creatures. He can barely sleep without the pack around. So here he is again, always coming back, always hating himself for it, pack of supplies slung over his shoulder because at least if he fails at leaving he won't fail at being productive as he trudges back through knee-deep snow to the place he can never leave. To the person he can never leave.
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It was Brock's fault. He'd wanted more for the pack, but only invited ruin. It was already too late to save anyone when he realized just what his conspirators really wanted. They weren't sympathizers, but hunters. And Brock betrayed the pack's trust in him. Steve must have caught on quick, because things remained distant, strained after the mourning had turned to ash. Then it became nothing but survival, anger, fighting, mutual accusations and abandonment until Steve could bare it no longer. Or when Brcok couldn't.
This place was their home. They had a connection neither could sever. The first few days always seemed like blessing, until the yearning came back. Then being reunited was the only thing he could think of, going crazy and feral without Steve, his Steve around. He'd find himself involuntarily shifting at times, running his energy even lower. He stopped eating, then began to waste away. In his more lucid states, he's sure that's what always brought Steve back. MAybe he could feel the starvation as keenly as he did, and he didn't want the blood on his hands.
Even if it was for a traitor.
And so it went like clockwork. And like always, just when he felt like even drinking water wasn't worth it, Steve would be there. He could smell him through the crisp snow, and that more than anything brought his appetite back. So he ate. And when he didn't feel like shit, he made his way to the porch and watched the other man trudge the final distance to the cabin.
"Is it getting any easier?" He asks once he knows Steve's in earshot, trying to clamp down on the joy of knowing Steve's back, while the other part wishes he'd stay away for good. Just let him die and end the torture for both of them.
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If anything it's becoming harder to leave. Steve's well practiced martyrdom is the only reason he's still able to make the attempts at all. Animals have chewed their own legs off to get out of traps. He feels it in his bones that someday he'll have to make that choice.
Not today though. Even sour as his mood is, he can't fight his instincts any longer, crowding up into Brock's space as soon as he's climbed up the porch so he can rest his forehead against Brock's shoulder, to breathe his scent in at the junction of shoulder and neck- always Steve's preferred place to scent him, back when they shared a bed and more. Even feeling better now that he's back with Brock he's still got small tremors of exhaustion at fighting himself for so long, at still trying to fight himself, wanting to pull away, to put some distance between them.
God, though - Brock smells like safety. Like home.
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Biological need, that's another factor. And it's evident in the way Brock holds Steve like he's been drowning. And while Steve's scenting him, Brock is doing the same, rubbing face and neck everywhere he can reach until he can smell his own scent just as much as he can Steve's. And when he notices the tremors, he starts muttering, "I know, I know. I'm sorry," over and over because he wants the cycle to end just as much. At the very least allow either of them to leave long enough to figure out if their mutual presence is something wanted and not something forced.
And then Brock is pulling Steve's chin toward him, where he can get at his lips. First in a slow kiss which quickly starts leaking out his own relief, desperation, and sorrow that this isn't something wanted any longer, but something needed. Mates by situation and not choice. He kisses deeper, tasting Steve as much as he can until a low moan is pulled out of him.
He pulls back then, pressing his forehead against Steve's. "I want it to be different, too," he finally admits before he's tugging him back, instinct starting to take over. To want and have and hold and make his his his until Steve stops running away and before he knows it there's sharper senses shifting changing grinding into something larger more lethal demanding to be seen felt loved by pack if he has to make it work he will with nails now claws and teeth now fang with fur and strength.
The door closes as Brock completes the shift, his clothing having shredded in the sudden growth spurt into his wolf form. He's massive at seven feet tall, covered in pitch black fur and standing upright. He circles Steve a moment, taking further stock, making sure he smells no blood or sickness on him before he comes close again, pressing his lupine frame against the human form. He's ok. He's safe. And when he's sure of it, he nuzzles into his neck to get that wonderful smell in his snout ocne more.
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Everything would be so much easier if he didn't still love Brock too.
Once inside the backpack drops to the ground and Steve kicks it in the direction of the kitchen - he didn't get anything perishable, it can wait for a few hours. He can hold back his own change, master of self control that he is, but he still sheds his scarf, his winter coat, the thick sweater under it. If he does change he doesn't want to lose them, and even if he doesn't - they both know where this is going. The clothing is what smells like other people, too. Gives away about how far Steve got this time, a couple cities over, the gasoline and cigarette smoke that permeates the air in urban areas, along with the smell of so very many humans. Without the clothing his scent is purer, more himself, more like home and picking up more of Brock once more.
He wraps is arms around Brock on instinct when he presses close again, fingers dug into fur, claws coming out just a bit, teeth going just a little sharper, eyes brighter - he's never sure until they start if they're going to fight or fuck and for all Steve's self control there's the survival instinct to be ready.
"I hate this," Steve confesses softly against Brock's fur. This, needing this, not having a choice in the matter anymore.
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He wouldn't though, not until it was too late, but the part of Brock that still was human kept him at bay. He would only hate you more he reminds himself, and Brock growls, turning into a low whine, venting out all his frustration and anger and sorrow and none of this was fair. But if he couldn't mate him, he could at least make him his in other ways.
Brock moves his arms until his claw-tipped fingers are braced on Steve's shoulders, and then he pushes rough but not injurious, until Steve is down on the ground and laid out beneath him. HE watches, just a moment before he moves down and bites down on Steve's shoulder, close to the gland that would mate them but not touching it at the same time. See? I could keep you here, but I won't. He keeps clamping down until he feels teeth rend flesh and his muzzle is flooded with the shard iron tang of blood. He laps at the wound a few times, savoring the taste before he moves down, long tongue lapping at the taste of flesh and sweat and Steve, moving lower with each lick, until he's at the man's pants, and then looks up at Steve expectantly.
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'He's trying,' an old part of Steve reminds himself. The part that still presses his face into Brock's fur and feels a flood of contentment and safety at the scent of him. There's a brief surge of panic when Brock bites him, knowing how close he got, that has Steve's claws digging into Brock's back but it goes out just as quickly to realize he was close but not quite on target for a mating bite that would make Steve's decision for him.
Relief and disappointment both are such exhausting feelings to have at the same time. It still marks him as Brock's lover, for all that there's anyone left to see it. That primal part of him that keeps driving him back here enjoys it though, enjoys being marked, being wanted. Brock's tongue soothes the sharp pain of it, sending little bolts of pleasure through him that leave Steve dizzy with the sensation, especially as Brock's tongue moves down his chest, his stomach. By the time he stops at Steve's pants, Steve is breathing rough, denim tenting visibly.
He supposes he should be thankful that Brock respects that Steve doesn't want to be as wasteful about his own clothing. It takes a few breaths for him to focus, to put his own claws away so he can let go of Brock and fumble with the button and zipper. Briefs are pushed down in the same motion, down his thighs until he can kick them the rest of the way off.
Steve's body is covered with old scars, all fading quickly thanks to the quickened healing of their kind. Only faint traces of the fight that brought them down to two are left behind, most everything else is from Brock, from when Steve inevitably comes back to him. He lets the back of his knuckles brush across Brock's muzzle, up between his eyes to scratch behind one of his ears. He keeps any comments to himself, but the sadness in Steve's eyes says how much he missed Brock.