Inner wolf barked with pleasure — a sort of hum of canine delight, and had the Hale been in wolf form, the pearly whites of incisors and canines would have shone with lips pulled back. Smiling. The pool of delight which warmed his animalistic belly, or was that primitive and crude home sapien sapien which drew such dark delights at the aroma of BLOOD. It wasn’t just the blood however, for passing by the butchery or walking down the meat isle of the local grocery store would have provided ample stimulus. . . It was the source of the blood.
Stiles Stilinski. There’s a growl from within his chest, not the least bit threatening nor angry — it was born from amusement. Head craned to favor the left, and his blue hues bore into the young human’s face almost as if he was etching that ironic smile into memory; it wasn’t often anything beside worry or disgust graced the boy’s face when around Peter.
❝ More times than your lips have cried out for little Scottie or your plaything Lydia. Rather, you’re her plaything. ❞ Tongue lapped across his bottom lip as though it was his lip which was gushing blood so readily. Eyes swiftly jerked away from Stiles’ face, and his entire demeanor changed. Broad shoulders relaxed and booted foot kicked over the fallen ( and very deceased ) vampire at their feet. Vile creatures. It made Peter wonder if the smell of blood set them on edge so easily, too. It must have.
❝ Here I thought you were getting stronger, faster. No point going against the supernatural if you’re going to end up with your ass on the ground every time. ❞ It was truly a wonder Stiles wasn’t DEAD even considering the number of werewolf angels on his shoulders. He lifted his right foot from the ground, pivoted his ankle purposefully, and crushed the vampire’s fangs with the toe of boot as easily as a human would crush an arthropod.
❝ Oh, sorry. Gonna tell me to shut my fucking hole again? ❞ Eyes returned to the human’s face as the faintest traces of amusement tugged on the edges of lips. Foot retreated from the loathsome creature, opting to step over the corpse to bump body lightly against that of Stiles’ shoulders.
❝ Your blood reeks. ❞
▸ 𝑯𝑶𝑾𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑨𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑶𝑶𝑵 . . . . . The taste of copper bled through his teeth, coating them in a red as the split in his lip pulled wider to favor an ironic smile. ❝ anyone ever tell you to shut your fucking hole? ❞ 𝙁𝙍𝙊𝙈 @avoidstiles
