How would Shifter interact with an S/O that is from nagatale?
interesting choice!
Shifter likes the fact that you're a naga! That means that you have such pretty scales, and honestly, they really like looking at your scales in the light.
There are a few things that they don't get with nagas, like how you need to be warm all the time, but they don't really care that much. They like being in the warm too and will most likely join you.
At times they'll shift their form to have a snake tail as well, just so they could see what you're going through! That's only if you know about the fact that they're not really a skeleton, though.
If you don't know, they won't out themselves... they would rather nobody know that they're not really, you know, a skeleton... they aren't 100% sure what they are anyway.
Pairing: Berold (Werebear/Bear Shifter) x Gender Neutral Reader
Warnings: Violence, Bodyhorror.
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“Disgusting vermin!”
“Thief!”
“Scoundrel!”
The words had hurt but the rocks hurt more as they were hurled at the back of your head. One had caught you at the base of your skull and you could still feel the burning pain down into your neck as you shivered in the snow. The storm was in full swing now, and the icy wind burned your face and fingertips as you waded through the snow drifts along the side of the mountain. It hurt. You felt your arms starting to go numb and you hadn’t been able to feel your feet or hands for a long time. The cloak wrapped around you was tattered and worn. It had been years since you had had a new one, and this one was thread bare. It was the only thing you could grab before the townspeople had driven you out with pitchforks and fire. Your home was still smouldering in the distance. They’d called you a witch. A witch for what, you had asked, before they set the torches to your cabin. Nothing.
“Damn that stupid baker’s boy.” You cursed through chattering teeth as spots began to swim in your vision.
The cold was blistering. You stopped again to try and tug your cloak tighter, cursing the wind, ice, snow and cold, and especially the Baker’s son. You had refused him one too many times. Proposal after proposal turned down. Now you were a witch to the entire town. The bell tolled below, signalling mass. It seemed ironic that they burned your home and almost killed you but were heading to mass like it was any other day. Suddenly, cursing anymore was exhausting, and you felt your legs finally go numb, the cold and trudging through the snow taking its toll. Suddenly your legs jittered, shaking violently before they sent you face first into the snow drift. The cold ached. You felt the burning in your joints and bones, deep into your core as you struggled with your hands deep in the snow drift. Your fingers wiggled in the snow but made no headway in getting you back upright. Snow pounded against your eyes, crystalising in your eyelashes as it melted and froze once again with the freezing wind. Agony. You were in agony. A sob wretched from your throat as the pain overwhelmed you and breathing became hard around your sobs and shivering.
“I’m… going to die here…” You sobbed brokenly as the snow started to cover your thighs, burying you in the snow drift slowly. Black was seeping into the corners of your vision again and the cold was slowly becoming a numb sensation against your face. That was, until, a snort and a guttural growl rumbled over the drift. It was winter. Animals were hibernating. The only thing that should be alive and moving on the mountain was the reindeer that lived along a long, icy migration route. You wobbled as you clawed at the snow, peering over the ridge with a strained cry of burning pain through your body. A bear. A great, black cave bear stood in the drift in front of you, its nose lowered to your face, sniffing and huffing at your hair. The hot breath blew over your face before the wet end of its nose was pressed firmly into your hair. Dangerous teeth snapped in front of your face as the bear pulled away, strings of spit dripping from its jowls. It drew back enough for you to see its black eyes blown wide, staring at you through the left one. The other eye was cloudy, white and scarred. The bear grumbled again, watching you with one giant eye as you reached towards its muzzle. Your freezing cold fingers brushed the gnarled fur around its mouth, dipping into the thick, heavier fur around the bear’s ears.
You collapsed into the snow. The burning cold met your face as you keeled over into the deep snow drift. Heavy breaths snuffled over your neck as blackness overtook you. A rumble sounded from the bear.
“Don’t…eat…me.”
Warmth. There was something warm against your body. You felt a heavy weight over your back, stomach and legs. That was warm too. It was very warm. Cozy almost. Suddenly, drifting back to sleep seemed like the best idea.
“Best not to go back to sleep.” Someone rumbled from next to you, “You’ve taken two days to come ‘round as it is. I suggest you open your eyes.” It was harsh, a deep voice that carried an immediate pang of authority.
Sleepily, you dared to open your eyes and were met with a goliath of a man. His eyes were so dark they were almost black, but one was clouded with blindness, and his hair matched that, but was ladened with grey, like a salt and pepper waterfall down his back. The hair almost blended into the beard on his face and the hair over his chest and down his stomach. He snorted and blew hair from his eyes as he loomed over you, bare chested and only clothed in a thin pair of linen bottoms.
“Aren’t you cold…” You shivered, mumbling the words as your fingers finally came back to life beneath the thick, stitched fur quilt. Inside you were tucked in with several layers of blankets.
The man snorted before leaning over you to place another log onto the roaring flames. The fire was quick to start consuming the wood and you realised then that’s why you were so warm.
“I’m not cold.” He grunted at you, “I have thick…” He looked at himself and then shrugged, “I don’t feel it like others.”
With a sleepy blink you looked from the flames to the man’s hardened face. He was older than you initially thought, but age did not make him any less large and well built, aside from the fat around his tummy, over the heavy set muscles of his form. He was infinitely tall, towering over you, standing at well over six and a half feet. A giant.
“You’re…a giant.” You cooed from the floor, eyelids drooping with tiredness.
“Something like that.” He tutted at your drooping eyelids, “Now. Eat. Drink. Then you can sleep.”
A cup was thrust at you before the man helped you sit up, his arm lifting you before he cupped your head and poured small sips of water into your mouth. You swallowed slowly, before realising how parched you were and drinking greater gulps.
“Slowly. You’ll be sick.” The man complained before he pulled the water away and started to feed you bits of gravy stewed meat. It was thick but delicious. Between your chewing he ate pieces of bread and stew before offering you more. Eventually you both cleaned out a bowl, and he went for seconds, slurping the mixture down before moving onto a great bunch of red, ripe winter berries, pushing the popping fruit between his lips by the handful.
Tiredness set into your bones and you looked at the man as he shovelled another mouthful of berries into his mouth and chewed slowly.
“What are you starting at, human?” He grunted.
“What happened to that bear?” You asked quietly as you closed your eyes.
The man was quiet for a few moments before he answered, “We are one in the same.” He fluffed the pillow gently before sitting you up, “Come. You need to relieve yourself or you’ll get another kind of issue.” He eased you to your feet and helped you to relieve yourself before quietly tucking you back into the heated furs, “Now sleep. I will wake you again.” He promised as he settled himself in a wooden rocking chair next to you. You fell asleep just as he finished his sentence.
Warmth woke you up again but this time you felt much more coherent. Drowsily you looked at the fire, still roaring in the hearth, and wondered what time it was as you pushed the blanket away from your legs and felt the urge to relieve yourself burn in your gut. With a huff you dared to stand on your own, wobbling back and forth before collapsing back into the furs with a grunt. The furs rumbled. With a gasp you squeezed the fur underneath your hands and were met with the thick, hot fat of a giant sleeping bear, curled around your mattress and blankets on the floor. It grumbled a deep, threatening growl before opening one black eye. Your hands were pushed against a thick, puckered scar in its fur and you recoiled with a soft gasp as it opened its mouth to yawn, revealing sharp teeth. The front right canine was cracked. With a fumble, you tried to crawl away over the furs. A giant paw slapped on top of your back, pinning you in place before the bear dragged you back towards its face. Its blind eye made you quiver but the nose that pressed to you made you squirm. It snuffled before tucking you under its arm and laying its giant head back down with a grunt before it dragged your furs closer again.
“Hey, hey…No. I need to pee.” You groaned under the weight of the bear’s paw, trapped in the warm, thick fur.
The bear snorted before releasing you and bedding itself back against the floor, laid on its side. It ignored you as you stood up and took a deep, long breath as it drifted back off to sleep.
“One in the same huh…” You whispered as the bear slept soundly by your bed, its head rested on one of your pillows. You made a quick exit towards the back of the cabin and thieved Berold’s boots and giant fur coat before you headed to the small shed to relieve yourself. Your legs shook as you got back into the warmth, locking the door with a clunk as you headed back towards the nest in front of the fire. The bear was still asleep and you looked at the fur and then the scar over the eye.
“Berold the bear shifter, huh.” You looked at the bear as you warmed your face and hands by the fire, throwing another log into the flames to keep it alight, “Hibernating are you.”
The bear opened his good eye before growling lowly.
“Listening too.” You hummed, tucking yourself in with a fur before you looked back at the animal you assumed to be your saviour, “Thank you, then. For everything. I wouldn’t be alive otherwise.”
The bear eyed you before loping to its feet and shouldering its way into the other room.
The sound of bones cracking and a man screaming sounded, and you rushed to your feet to see the last moment as Berold’s face cracked and snapped back into place, from muzzle to flat and human. You gasped as he heaved on the floor, catching his breath before he dared to stand up on his legs, wobbling back and forth before he looked at you through his one good eye and gestured to himself.
“The coat.” He grunted.
With a rush of embarrassment, you grabbed the fur coat and threw it to him before turning around. Berold covered himself quickly before tapping you when he was decent.
“You don’t have to thank me.” He said simply before he walked past you.
“Wait a minute!” You rushed after him, still shaking and weak from the brush with death, “Of course I do! You saved my life and…”
Berold held a finger to your lips, “Save your breath. Eat well, rest, and I will help you back to the village.”
The village. You’d almost forgotten about the villagers. You eased your hand up the back of your neck and touched the place you had been struck by a rock. It was a lump now, the skin raised and inflamed. You felt your head spin as you drew your hand away to see blood. Berold rushed to catch you as you fell forwards towards the floor.
“I did not know you were injured.” He grumbled as his fingers raised your hair and peered at the wound, which was dripping fresh blood, down the back of your neck, “Sit.” He directed you down to the armchair he was sat in before and left you to go and collect some things. Your eyes rolled with pain as you leaned back, trying to stop the ceiling from spinning. Berold’s hot fingers returned to your face and his old, grizzled looking face appeared in front of you. He said something, but the words rang in your deaf ears as white noise echoed in your eardrums. The bear-shifter shook his head and eased your head forwards, cupped in his palm as he plucked at the wound and tutted. What followed next, you couldn’t remember. All you could remember was Berold’s warm fingers as they cleaned and applied things to your head.
You woke up again wrapped in furs, your head rested on several pillows and wrapped in gauze. You groaned and opened your eyes to see an elf leaned over you. The elf was dark haired with skin of a purple tone, his red eyes covered by a pair of thick lensed glasses. He hummed before whispering something to Berold and then another person appeared. A fae of some kind with soft feathered wings of pure white and a beak to match. She ruffled her feathers before laying out a long looking mushroom and snapping her fingers. The mushroom wiggled before arms and legs popped from its stem.
“Come on, little one, we need that fruit.” She cooed softly with a trill.
The elf was quick to notice your eyes were open and hushed her with a finger to his lips, “You’re awake. Welcome back, but be still, human. We are not finished.” He pressed your head back and held you still as the little mushroom yawned and sat itself into a plant pot full of soil.
“Come, come, ‘ock you’re a lazy one.” The fae complained as she ushered the fungus along and touched her fingers to the pot from behind her great snowy wings. She was covered in soft downy feathers and you were entranced before looking at the elf too, his red eyes judgemental of the mushroom.
“Berold. Please hold them.” The elf asked.
Berold moved to your side, gruff and huffy as he held your head back and watched the elf move to tease the fruit from the little mushroom’s head, “Thought you could handle this one, Slidrah?” He grumbled.
“Sometimes even the most unassuming patients are the unruliest.” Slidrah complained as the mushroom sneezed out a sporous fruit. He plucked it carefully before placing the fruit into the mortar and beginning to grind it into the paste.
“Slidrah can ye be nice for just once?” The fae trilled.
“Oh of course, Morganna, I will be the kindest elf to the rudest bear I know.” Slidrah complained as he mixed the paste and placed it over a thick padded bandage.
“You wouldn’t make it through the winter without me.” Berold growled as he touched your forehead and stroked your skin softly.
“Sure, Berold.” Slidrah rolled his eyes before he took the bandage and eased your head up. He placed it against the wound before Morganna pulled out a feather from her wing and gently laid it over your stomach as the paste stung against your wound.
“Gently now, dearie.” Morganna cooed at Slidrah before he whispered a word you had never heard before. Your eyes drooped suddenly as your fingers clutched at the feather, stroking the softness between two fingers before you gasped and reached for Berold’s hand. He put a finger to his lips, appearing as double and then triple as your eyes rolled and closed.
“I know you’re awake.” Berold said as he eased your head up and carefully removed the bandages from around the back of your head, “Sit still.” He carefully peeled away the bandage before he took the paste and compress away, revealing a green mix with a very pungent smell.
“What happened?” You asked quietly, your throat dry and sore from being asleep.
Berold took a new compress to your head, the cloth smeared with a familiar looking paste, “Morganna put you to sleep to help you recover. The compress has helped. The wound is closed.” He eased your head back after he tied the bandage tight enough to hold the cloth and paste to your head, “You were lucky. Skilled healers are the only people who could have helped you. Had I been alone here, you would have died from the trauma.”
You were still tired but the weight of his words sat heavy in your stomach, “Thank you, then…For saving my life again.”
Berold snorted, “Slidrah and Morganna saved your life this time. They left this morning, but they will be back within the week no doubt, you can thank them then.” He stopped you from sitting up with a giant, warm hand pressed to your stomach. Even with one, blind cloudy eye, he still appeared viciously angry, “Stay still. Too much movement could open the wound again. Bed rest. Until Slidrah and Morganna come back.” He insisted with a growl before standing and heading out of the room.
You gazed around quietly before reaching for the water next to the bed. After a few careful sips, you tugged at the furs and ran your fingers through the thick beaver hair and the pelt of a shaggy goat, which lived up on the cracks in the mountain. They were incredibly warm and you eased back, thankful for the heat of the small bedroom. The cabins’ rooms were made of solid, heavy timber, smelling of fragrant pine, and the small window was covered in glass, something only a rich man could afford, even if it was tiny. You looked at the chimney breast and again wondered how on earth Berold lived in such luxury. Your head swam with even the effort of turning it to peer around at the little room and you closed your eyes as your gut lurched and bile rose in your mouth.
Berold returned with a small bowl in his hands, his black eyes softening as he watched you retch against the furs, “Did I not tell you to stay still?” He said scathingly before he placed the food aside and eased you back against a great pile of overstuffed pillows.
The sweet smell of honey and oats made you wish you didn’t feel so sick, “What did they do to my head.” You complained before Berold pulled your fingers away from your head.
“They healed it…With magic we don’t mention to anyone. What they did could get us all killed.” Berold seemed unconcerned despite the severity of what he was saying, “The villagers don’t come here. I want to keep it that way.” He brushed the greying streaks of hair from his face before he took hold of the bowl again.
“That smells like what Mrs Freist used to make us.” You murmured at the bear-shifter, “She had beehives.”
Berold held a spoonful of the mixture to your lips, “Its honeyed oat porridge. Eat. It will help you regain your strength.” He pressed the wooden spoon insistently to your lips and you opened your mouth to take the food inside, smiling like a child at the tooth rotting taste of too much honey.
“Have you eaten?” You asked quietly after a few mouthfuls.
Berold nodded, “Honey is a favourite of mine.” He confessed as he fed you another spoonful.
“Like a real bear.” You squeezed at the furs with a small laugh, “Its delicious.”
Dark eyes flashed with softness once again and you settled back against the cushions as Berold continued to feed you the bowl of food.
It continued in a pattern. Twice a day Berold would sit and feed you and around midday he would come to check on you and offer you a meal you often never wanted. Slowly, your strength returned, and Berold trusted you to relieve yourself without falling over and dress yourself so long as you didn’t move too quickly. It was a month before you could walk around and do things without your head spinning, and the snow never seemed to stop for longer than a few days. The mountainside thawed a little and Berold disappeared to gather food and wood before the snow started again and you were trapped once more. A month of snow and ice then lead to a calm week of thawing. Berold was at the windows, his nose raised as he tasted at the air, and opened the door to let the chilly breeze into the cabin. You looked at the massive man from the kitchen as you dried a large pan and placed it away in his rickety cupboards. You had both eaten a thick and heavy stew from the night before for breakfast but Berold had seemed very uninterested in the food in favour of looking out of the window longingly.
“It smells like spring.” He grumbled as he looked around outside at the slightly thawed snow, “Like…fresh grass.”
“I think the cabin fever has finally gotten to you old man.” You joked from the kitchen, “Maybe in the valleys, it tends to be thawed now with some grass, but the winter isn’t over just yet.” You placed away a spoon on the rack and turned back to see Berold’s good eye turned to watch you. His milky eye twitched at the ghosts of the shapes outside but he grinned, exposing white, sharp teeth at you.
“Old man?” He asked with a huffy chortle, “If I’m old then you’re a cub.”
“A cub?” You asked, “I’m old enough to have at least three little parasites to my name.” You gave a dry snort, “But that didn’t happen, thank the gods.”
“They make children have more children now?” Berold raised a dark eyebrow as he closed the door and headed towards the fire to look at the log pile along the side of the wall.
“Its worse elsewhere.” You insisted, “But thankfully no one wants the orphan with no dowery.”
“Dowery…You mean the money a father gives for a man to marry his child? I thought that practice ancient?” Berold looked at you in confusion again.
“Just how long have you been up here?” You asked, not believing what you were hearing, “Did a snowball hit you too hard in the head?” You joked as you placed away the last of the bowls.
Berold chewed on his words for a minute, “I slept…for a long time.” He confessed, “We are akin to dragons, but my hibernation took some years from me after the arenas. I was taken as a young teenager and forced to fight in the pits, tearing little knights to pieces for the entertainment of some elven king. A foul-smelling fucker. He gave me this.” He dragged a black nail over his eye, “I took his arm off for the trouble.” He snarled and pointed to the bone laid on the mantle, “But I slept after that up in this mountain from being…” He shrugged, “I was old, but I was not grey.” He confessed, “But we live for a long time…”
“Humans who wore bear skins were once Gods.” You whispered.
Berold’s teeth were exposed in another snarling smile, “We were once Gods of wisdom.” He tapped the wall with his nails, “But now we are dead and gone.”
“There are tales of shifters to the north, beyond here, why don’t you go there?” You asked.
“I have no need of a tribe, just as they had no need of me when they left me to die.” He shrugged and pulled his hair from his face, “Not one of them came to my aid when I screamed in the woodlands, impaled on spears and dragged to serve as a toy for a king of pointed eared fuckers. So, I will not go to them. They can rot in their woods with the nymphs.” Berold dismissed the questions with an annoyed flap of his hand.
“Where are you going?” You asked as he dragged his coat from the wall and pulled his boots on his feet.
“To bathe and ensure no one has decided this is now their territory.” Berold grunted as he opened the door again.
“There’s somewhere to bathe?” You asked with glee, “Can I…”
“You will freeze. It is a freezing lake beneath a waterfall.” He snapped at you before he closed the door, abruptly ending the conversation between the two of you. You felt anger churn in your gut but you rushed to grab one of his coats and some boots before tying everything closed and rushing after the shifter’s tracks in the snow.
The tracks lead up the mountain, through the thawing slush, before turning into those of the giant bear who’s claws dragged along in the snow as he lumbered along. You cursed the giant bear-shifter as you followed him up the mountain side and then towards the crags where the path dipped down into an odd-looking alcove. You followed the path down into the hidden side of the mountain face until you heard the crashing of water. A great pool of water was hidden in the alcove, with a small waterfall crashing over the top of the cliff faces into the water below which led into another small waterfall and so on down the side of the mountain. It was surrounded with wildlife and greenery which could not survive on the mountainside against the wind, rain and cold, but could in the sheltered alcove. Berold’s coat and clothes sat in a bundle under the shrubbery closest to you, hidden from the elements and animals.
You got to the base of the path and watched as Berold’s giant head exploded from under the water. The black bear shook his head and peered around, nose stuck in the air, and you made sure to duck low near his bundles of clothes, the coat and furs hopefully serving to disguise your scent on the wind. The bear huffed and growled before it swam to the edge of the pool and shook out its mass of shaggy fur before making its way to the tree, littered with claw marks and great gouges, before he began to rub his face and body over the bark, scratching and marking the area before the bear growled and fur began to disappear from its back. You watched as the bear howled, its head thrown up as the fur disappeared to reveal dark skin, which slowly melted into the scarred, pale skin of Berold. The muzzle snapped and flattened back towards the dark eyes, one cloudy and blind, and the other closed in agony as Berold began to take shape, his bones snapping and cracking back to reveal a tall, burly man, old and greying in many places. His chest was covered in a thick line of fur and his face was now beginning to grow a beard which was far too thick. He needed a clip, but the winter had left the both of you stuck inside, sleeping and eating most days. Berold seemed much more alert now as he sniffed the air again, naked, his muscles twitching with the cold, before he dove back into the water. He resurfaced a minute later with a snort of water and a grumble as he reached around the bank for his clothes.
His hand wrapped around your boot, and before you could even yelp, you were dragged from under the bushes, leaves and rotten twigs catching in your hair and coat before you came face to face with Berold’s face. His salt and pepper hair hung around his shoulders but stuck to his face as he snarled at you with sharp, long canines. Water streaked over the muscles of his neck and shoulders as he dragged himself over the edge of the pool, leaning out to keep his weight on you, and to keep you pinned in place.
“I told you not to come with me.” He growled as he pulled the hair from his face with his other hand, “What part of you would freeze did you not understand?”
You yelped as his wet hand slapped over your thigh, holding you in place in the mud, “I want to get clean as well and…well I wanted to see where you were going…” You confessed in a rush as the werebear snorted over you, his nose twitching as he scented you and then the air again.
“Fine then. Strip off.” Berold grunted.
You felt yourself go hot with embarrassment, “What do you mean strip?” You snarked at him, “Are you some kind of pervert?” You looked away from him as he stood in the pool, the waterline barely hiding his genitals from sight.
“You’re going to freeze either way, but at least your clothes will be dry if you strip them off.” Berold grumbled at you.
For a moment you considered throwing your clothes at him out of spite but with a huff you turned to strip away the coat, “Turn around…” You asked. With a small sigh, Berold turned and the water sloshed around his hips, “Thank you.” He only grunted in response. You carefully removed your clothes and folded the cloth and wool in a neat pile beside Berold’s under the bush.
“Its best if you just jump in.” Berold joked from the water, though his tone was as gruff and mean as usual.
“I don’t think I dare.” You confessed at the edge of the water, shivering before Berold whipped around, grabbing you by the thighs before he launched you up and into the water with a giant splash.
Water blurred your vision until you broke the surface, coughing and splurting, gasping until you realised you could stand in the waist high water quite easily. Berold laughed, long and raspy as he leaned back and splashed back into the water. It was then you realised the water wasn’t cold. It was pleasantly warm. The shock on your face made Berold heave a great laugh again from where he was floating around the pool, his hair cascading out from him in waves.
“It’s heated by lava I think.” Berold hummed as he floated towards you, his eyes closed, the scars on his face not turned with upset for once but bent upwards with the smile on his lips.
“So why did you lie about it being cold?” You asked as you ducked to cover your body in water.
Berold opened one dark eye and shrugged, tipping himself into the water before turning to look at you, hidden against the edge, “Sometimes I don’t want you following me everywhere I go.” He offered gruffly, “You’re barely recovered to add to that. I didn’t want to have to carry you back home.” He confessed softly as he pushed water over his arms and pointed to the bank, “There’s soap in my coat. I will let you go first, then you can be out of my way.”
“Sure…” You huffed as you took the soap from the furs and quickly set to work scrubbing your skin as good as you could manage. Once you had lathered up and washed yourself, you dunked your body low and turned to be met with one gleaming dark eye and one blind one, watching you, apparently that whole time.
“Pervert.” You hissed at the Werebear as you threw the soap at him.
Berold snatched the soap from the air, “Think what you want.” He growled as he turned to rub the soap against his shoulders, “Dress. I’ll lead us home.”
You pulled yourself from the small pool and wiped as much water as you could from your skin, grateful for the warm, dry clothes as you pulled them over your chilly skin. Turned away, you looked up the face of the mountain at the snow which was dripping water over the rocks. Berold sloshed in the water as he soaped his skin, and you listened to him move in the water, beating down the urge to turn around and see what the giant werebear looked like. There was a rush of snow from the side of the mountain which made you smile. It was followed by a bleating mountain goat which peered over the side with dark eyes, its shaggy white fur flopping over its eyes once again as it turned and carried on up the mountain, ignoring the two of you in the pool.
Berold caught your arm a moment later, dressed and still burning hot despite the coolness of the air. He peered upwards, his eyes following the mountain goat with a sniff, “They make for good eating.”
“I’m sure we don’t need anymore food just yet.” You replied as you smiled and watched the goat go.
Berold’s gaze turned to your face, “You don’t smile like that often. It suits you.” He complimented gruffly.
“What do you mean?” You asked as he started back up the path towards his home, expecting you to follow him.
He waited for you to catch up before offering an arm for you to take as you clambered over roots and boulders, “Ever since you woke up you had this far away look on your face, like you were looking for something and just could never find it.” Carefully, he lifted you over a particularly large boulder and followed with a grunt, “You looked sad, until recently.”
You considered his words, remembering spending the first days recovering after Slidrah’s treatment staring longingly out of the small window as the snow battered up the mountainside, “I…” The words seemed to stick in your throat, “I lost the place I called my home and the people who were once the only family I ever had in a single day.” You replied, “All because the stupid baker’s boy couldn’t take a hint.” You picked up a stone on the path and threw it back into the pool, the anger fading with the splash of the water as the stone hit its surface.
Berold watched the stone soar silently before he opened his mouth, “Then they weren’t your real family, were they?” He scoffed, “If a baker’s boy could call you a witch and Satan’s whore then they were hardly ever your family.”
You felt anger burn in your throat, “They were once. You don’t have to word it in a way that makes it seem like no one ever cared!”
Berold laughed at you as you snatched your arm from his, “The truth hurts, little cub, better get used to that before someone really hurts you.”
“I refuse to turn into a bitter, cruel man like you. Not everyone is out to hurt you!” You refused to let him see you cry as you stormed up the snowy banking, “And not everyone wants to become an emotionally stunted recluse like you either!”
The werebear grabbed you by the arm before you could carry on with your tantrum, “As much as your words hurt me.” He rolled his eyes, “I refuse to let you storm off, get lost and develop hypothermia, again.”
“Bite me.” You grumbled before Berold snarled and grappled you easily, hauling you over his shoulder as you struggled, pinning you in place before he started back to his cabin.
“You can have your childish, ignorant tantrum back where you won’t die.”
You didn’t see Berold for a few days after the argument. He left you in the cabin and went out to collect wood and forage while the weather was good, and he could avoid being stranded in the snow. The tension was made somehow worse by his temper and you spent all the time you could avoiding him, reading the same books over and over in your room before collecting a meal and disappearing back into your room once more. You opened the tale of the origin of Solgren once more that day and huffed at the first page and its ancient map of the region. It was a hot country, far to the south, where it is said a race of snake creatures and lizardfolk are worshipped as deities and gods. You heard a merchant once talk about a Naga of fertility that birthed a thousand snakes into a ravine to produce a venomous pit into which no one could enter.
A heavy knock sounded on your door.
“Yes?” You asked with less of the usual venom, “What is it, Berold?”
The werebear opened the door and looked at you, his good eye roving over you tucked in the furs reading. You had even snuck into his honey stash again out of the top of the cupboard, “I see I need to find somewhere new to hide the honey.” He offered lamely as he entered, “I have come to apologise.” He stated, watching your eyes widen, “I was cruel and brash. I did not intend to upset you, but I did not think… But I am sorry.”
You met his intense gaze and nodded, “Apology accepted, and…I’m sorry too.” You closed your book, “I was foul as well. I know you’ve been through a lot, just like me, and I don’t have the right to take that out on you.”
Berold seemed satisfied by that statement, “It seems we both need to learn how to not upset one another…” He tugged over a stool and sat by the edge of your bed, “And I need to learn that opening up to people is not the end of the world.” With a gruff noise he reached and pulled his loose cotton shirt over his head, revealing the thick, puckered scars from over his shoulders. He twisted on the stool and you were graced with the full extent of the injuries. His back was covered in long, thick scars, pale and tough from where they had healed, now filled with collagen toughened tissue.
“Is this what they did to you?” You asked.
“When I did not perform, they used steel tipped whips. I could only ever endure about five, but it was five every time I couldn’t stand for almost thirty years of my life.” He offered, “A woman would come and cover them with a mint paste when she could. She was in charge of the animals… They still hurt.” He reached to touch the ones on his shoulders before flinching as his tough fingers met your own, “They are an ugly reminder of that place, but an even better reminder of what I did to all of them.”
Burning fire flashed behind your eyes, a memory of your own tragedy, “Did you kill them all?” You asked quietly as you traced a thick scar down the centre of his spine.
Berold’s burning, black gaze turned to look at you, holding your gaze he nodded, “Every last one of them.” He curled his fist as his other hand took hold of your own, “It felt good, when I pulled that fucker’s arm off, but…It was hollow after that. I left him bleeding on his throne and made for the mountains. Walked for…I don’t know. Its hazy, the memories of my other side. I ate fish for days and slept in a cave before waking up with grey in my hair. Revenge made me old.” He finished with a sour joke as he turned back to face you head on and pulled his shirt back on over his head.
“I’m sorry people did that to you.” You wanted to cry but you tried to smile, “It seems we both have a little tragedy, huh?”
“It seems so.” Berold hummed before he offered you his hand, “But…There’s no reason we can’t build something a bit better.” He squeezed your hand gently.
“Are you asking me to marry you?” You joked.
He tugged your hand closer to his fangs, “Hardly…But some company up here wouldn’t go amiss.”
“Then I accept your proposal.” You squeezed his hand before offering him a look at the book cover, “Have you read this one?” You asked.
Berold shook his head of shaggy hair, “No. Read it to me?” He asked quietly, “I’ll make more honey tea.”
Reading slowly became a routine. After dinner, the two of you would sit by the fire, and you would open a book to read to the werebear. Often, he ended up with his head in your lap and your hand in his hair, snoozing in the heat as you quietly read the story. It had started with him, shifted, curled on the floor by the fire, but as the days went on, Berold seemed to grow more comfortable and laid out his form over the cushions and furs and yourself. It was nice. His heat was soothing and his frame wrapped snuggly around your own. When he did finally drift off, you read for a while longer before easing his head onto a pillow and slipping away to bed. He never said anything the next day. This night was much the same, and you propped the book up in front of you as you stroked through his grey and black hair, winding the strands together aimlessly as you read the tale or Narbren and Senoot, two fae of the oaks who had once saved the fae realm. He was uninvested, but happily closed his eyes as you stroked through his hair.
“Senoot took the flames of the world tree in hand and cried, her tears dripping into the wood ashes with despair as she watched the leaves and bark burn before her eyes. Narben thrust his sword at the spirits, his own tears of fury soaking the ground. Together they mourned the tree in the burning fire…” You paused as there came a knock on the door, removing your fingers from Berold’s hair, “At this hour?” You asked breathily before Berold’s eyes turned angry. He pulled himself from the cushions and stood, his shoulders squared as he turned the lock with a clunk and opened the wood door inwards.
The chilly breeze blew into the room and you tucked the furs around your legs as Berold filled the doorway, his giant, almost seven-foot-tall frame blocking much of his home from view. You peered around him to catch a glimpse of the guards stood at the door.
“Good evening, sir.” One guard tipped his helmet forwards, “I’m sorry to knock so late but we have a favour to ask of you.”
“Good evening…I’m not much in the way of favours.” Berold grunted, “I can’t spare you room to stay if that is what you are going to ask.”
“No, sir. We are after a witch.” The guard scowled before he pointed into the cabin, “We have a warrant to search every home until we find them.”
“How does that warrant affect me? This mountain is the border territory.” Berold snapped, “I will not have you come in here and ravage my home.”
“It is law. We will do it by force if necessary.” The guard threatened, “And we wish to speak with your…”
Fear laced through you as Berold grunted, “That is my partner. We are to be married in the spring.” He grumbled at the guard, “Touch and I will rip you open.” But he moved to the side to allow the group inside. Their cloaks caught on the doorframe and you nodded to them as they entered the room, praying no one had given them a detailed description of your face.
The rest of the party moved into the house, leaving one with Berold and you, “You are to be married but why is your spouse with you?”
“They have no family.” Berold picked at his teeth with a dark nail, “Every winter we spend time here, but the weather has been too bad to return home.”
The guard gave a disbelieving look, “And visitors?” He asked.
“None. I trade with a few people over the mountain but as I said, the weather has been too bad.” Berold answered. You could see his temper wearing thin as the guards dropped something in the kitchen, but he stood by the door, as calmly as he could manage.
“You.” The guard pointed to you, “Where are you from?” He asked.
You swallowed and smiled as best as you could, “The village Berold mentioned, sir, just over the mountain. I worked with a man named Slidrah, he’s the apothecary owner.”
“What’s the name of the place.” He pressed.
“Ignot.” You replied, praying you had heard Slidrah right on his last visit to the cabin. The guard eyed you for a moment more with his pinprick gaze before he seemed satisfied and moved back to questioning Berold about his comings and goings. You sat by the fire and pretended to read as they continued to look through the house and assess every nook and cranny of the building. Berold watched with furious eyes until they were ready to depart. The guards were curt with their depart and you watched them from the window, wrapped in a heavy blanket. Berold growled by the door, snorting and grumbling as he stretched and paced by the door.
“Berold?” You asked as he reached for the door, his brows thickening and darkening as his sharp teeth protruded from out underneath his top lip.
“Stay inside.” He demanded, “They know. They’ll bring more.” He reached for the door handle and opened the wooden door again, letting the cold air in once again as he snarled and snorted, “No one comes in. You don’t let anyone in unless they knock four times.”
“Why four times?” You asked as you took hold of his shirt, “They’ll know if you kill them…”
“I’m doing this…This one thing to protect someone I care about, for once.” Berold confessed with another growl before he stormed out of the door, his face cracking with a shift, “Keep it locked until those knocks!” He shouted through his teeth and you slammed the door locked and removed the key with a deep breath as you listened to Berold stumble and howl in the snow, hobbling down the mountain on the tracks the guards had left behind.
He didn’t return that night and you spent it huddled by the fire, sipping honey sweetened tea as you watched the fire and kept it hot, hoping Berold would return later.
Four knocks woke you in the morning. They came slow and were lethargic, as though the person was exhausted.
“Its me.” Berold growled from outside, “Let me in.”
You rushed from the pillows and blankets in the chair and took the key to open the door. It swung open to reveal Berold, tired and drawn, but otherwise clean and uninjured.
“Are you okay?” You helped him inside and watched as he set himself down in the armchair, exhausted.
“I’m fine.” He grumbled, “But they’re not…I took them into the village and told them a bear attacked. The villagers seemed to buy it. They won’t be able to deliver their message.” He yawned against the furs before opening his eyes and tucking his hair behind his ears. He scrubbed at his beard before sighing, “I did it to protect you. I…” He took a long breath, “I think I have grown to love something but myself.” He uttered as his eyes slid closed a little, “You sit right here.” He pointed to his heart, “And I think I would…be sad if you were to leave me.” Berold reached for your face, tracing a gentle circle over your cheek before he smiled tiredly, “What this old bear is trying to say, is that I love you.”
The words rang in your ears for a moment. Your face lit up with a smile.
“You’re a thick-headed idiot, you know that right?” You tucked a fur over his lap before Berold dragged you to him.
“Is that you saying you feel this way too?” He grumbled next to your neck as his hair tickled at your skin.
You pulled his head up and smiled before laying one kiss on his cheek, “Yes. I love you too.”
Berold dragged you closer and pressed your lips together, his teeth poking against your bottom lip as he turned his head and rubbed his hands along your sides. It was intense and you felt like you were drowning, smothered in the entirety of Berold for a moment before he pulled away and stroked at your neck and face, his face buried in your hair.
“Thank you.” He whispered.
“Don’t thank me.” You replied as you tucked his hair back, “But promise that’ll you’ll keep talking and letting me in.”
“I promise, dearest.” Berold whispered against your cheek as he dragged the furs over the two of you.
commissioned by a fantastic and lovely anon ❤️
male shifter x gender/body neutral reader
2000 words
lime | kissing, making out, mild smut
Everything within Sketch, every cell, every wisp of thought, is screaming that you know exactly what he is.
He’s always kind of dreamed about it - finding someone to tell, to share his secret with, he just thought- Well. Sketch thought he would be telling his secret, not finding someone already in the know.
Thoughts of telling anyone, most especially you, have always been rather frightening though, and he’s felt justified in keeping the secret close to his chest. There’s a thousand ways it could go, and truth be told, he doesn’t see many of them going well. Or he hadn’t even considered it going well, not really, not with anyone else. He thinks he may just have a chance with you, that you won’t turn tail, eyes full of fear when you see.
Maybe he shouldn’t show you everything, he decides. Not at first. Small steps are the key. Still. The way you look at him sometimes, the way your fingertips have traced the arch of his eyebrow or the scar on his hand that he’d decided to give himself on a whim- you’ve noticed. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised, but no one he’s ever dated before has realized.
...Or, it might be that he’s never dated anyone long enough for them to have the chance.
For the shortest period of time, when he was flirting with you day after day, he wondered if you were like him. Perhaps that was why he was so drawn to you, perhaps that’s why he felt the need to return, despite changing his face and risking himself. But you’re human, through and through. A marvelous one, to be sure, but you aren’t a shifter.
Sketch decides this is better anyway. He’s far too fond of how your looks are part of you. It’s something he’s never quite understood before now.
“Do you know?” He blurts, more than asks, one night after you get off work. The petulant look you turn his way has him laughing. Sketch can’t say that he always has the best timing. Words fall out before he thinks, when he’s around you, attention caught by each minute change to your expression.
“About that places menu? No, I thought that was why we were heading over to check it out?” You smile and shake your head - and your eyes dart down to his shoes and then back to the crown of his head and Sketch realizes: He’s taller than he was yesterday.
He’d just given himself a small boost in height to peruse some high bookshelves over at a store on 5th street and- and he’d forgotten to shrink back down a bit. He nearly chokes on his tongue and has to suffer through a coughing fit and your panicked face before he decides now is the time to pursue the actual topic. If he waits any longer he’s going to burst with the information, and he doesn’t want to drop it on you over the phone. Especially if you don’t know. He lets you pull him to a stop under a window awning, his coughing easing, and then stopping altogether.
“Are you going to survive?” You demand, hand still stroking soothing circles over his back. He sighs, tongue flicking out to wet his lower lip, more nervous than he would ever want to admit, and your hand comes to a stop on his shoulder. “Sketch?” You prompt.
“Yes. About, uh, surviving. And yes to looking at the restaurant menu. The- do you know, though… That was. I mean… Meant, do you know about me?” He finally asks, and watches with a sinking heart as your expression turns from confused and concerned, to mildly guilty. “My secret,” he clarifies, and your hand on his bicep twitches and your gaze focuses on the cracks in the sidewalk. Any moment now, he thinks, barely able to breathe, this will all be over. I’ll be alone, again. His bones ache with the force of being still. His nerves say he should shift, should hide. Should run, and save his heart.
“That you.. Change?” You ask, hesitant, and for all of three seconds, it feels like his world has ended. You know. You’ve known. “I mean, kind of? Yes. I’ve realized, more like? Honestly, I’m sorry-” and Sketch feels sick, but your hand slides down his arm until your fingers are lacing with his. You’re still looking at him and… You don’t look disgusted. You’re not looking through or past him, you just look… Mildly embarrassed. “I felt like I was just being super forgetful about your eye color, or the- the tint of your hair, but-”
Sketch is startled into a laugh, due to relief, or wonder, or maybe just happiness that you aren’t rejecting him. Before you can continue, Sketch is seizing you around the middle and leaning in close as he spins you about in a circle. He hears your shoes brush against the wall and forces himself to slow, to let your feet find purchase on the ground before he accidentally slams either of you into the brick.
“Are you- should we,” you say in a whisper, eyes glancing to either side of him, “should we be talking about this in public?” Despite, or perhaps because of the dizziness you’re experiencing, you’ve clenched harder to the sleeves of his coat, leaning against his warmth.
“Probably not,” he confesses, breathless and smiling - he kisses you. He surprises himself with it, honestly, because it’s then that he realizes you’re kissing him back, and this is his first kiss with you and he can’t breathe. He tilts his head back, silently cursing himself for breaking the kiss. There’s still such a wide smile on his face that his cheeks are aching with the force of it. He tries to tamp it down when you pull him back, hand on the back of his neck, mouth soft and insistent on his-
He doesn’t succeed, but neither of you seem to care.
The rest of the evening passes by in a blur. The restaurant is nice, as is the food, he supposes, but what he truly remembers is the way you’d watched as faint scales rippled into being across his knuckles. You’d asked, and then your fingertips had stroked over the iridescence, lips parted in astonishment at the difference in temperature and texture- and then you’d jerked his hand underneath the table to hide it from the waitress.
The both of you had kept it together until she’d left, and then you’d burst into laughter again, embarrassed by the thought that she might have assumed you were doing something crude. Not enough to stop though. You’d asked to see it again, to see the scales, or a dimple appearing where before he’d had none. You hadn’t been frightened by any of it, by him.
Sketch isn’t sure that he’s truly taking in anything but the joy you’re both exuding, despite the fact that neither of you have been drinking. It’s not even that he’s tired, either, as it’s still fairly early, but- He can’t seem to focus on anything until you’re stumbling back into your place, pulling him close for a string of kisses that spans from his mouth to his collarbone. You whisper his name against his skin, hands stroking down his back-
The sensation of it, warm breath rippling over his pulse, his heart racing in his chest- It makes him lose control for a moment, makes him ache. His teeth grow sharp to relieve the pressure, clacking together as he clenches his jaw, but you don’t seem to notice until your mouth is back against his, tongue just barely brushing over the delicate points.
You pull away to see, eyes heavy lidded and unfocused and a wry smile grows on your face at the sight.
“Shifting,” he mutters. Sketch can’t say he’s not mildly embarrassed, but he’s willing to let you witness the change because - you know. You know, and you’re still here, still wrapped in the circle of his arms, tilting your head back for another lingering kiss. It’s a slower kiss than the one he’d surprised you with, both of you far too aware of the sharp edges of his teeth. He tilts your head, careful with his tongue and the angle, and wants to shake when your moan is muffled against his mouth. He could keep going, keep happily listening to the sounds you make- Sketch breaks the kiss, licking his lips and tries not to look too pleased with himself when you lean back in for more.
“Enjoying yourself?” He asks, voice gone rough from disuse, and desire.
“How’d you guess?” You shoot back, eyes falling closed when his lips brush over your cheekbone. “Yeah, I’m happy. Also happy to know I’m not crazy,” you murmur, shivering when he leans in to nip gently at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. As soon as his teeth press down, just enough to feel the sharpness, they even out - human, and then he’s sucking at your skin. The swiftness of it still has you reeling, half convinced you’ve imagined it, but you’re not sure you have the brain cells left to think too hard about it all. It isn’t until he pulls back with a soft pop, likely leaving a love-bite behind, that you realize you’re still in the front room.
“What is it?” He asks, and you’d swear that his pupils have shifted, leaving almost nothing of his iris behind.The sight is only startling for a half second, and then you’re aching, and the look on your face must clue him in because Sketch’s fingers are pressing into you and his lips are parting.
“We’re in the front room,” you murmur, but you’re not entirely sure Sketch hears you. His eyes fall closed, eyelashes fanned across his cheeks, and then it feels like his fingernails have gone slightly sharp. He breathes out through his nose, and the sharpness vanishes.
A rough laugh escapes him and then he presses his forehead to yours. When his eyes open again, they still have those too-wide pupils and one dark lock of hair is brushing against your eyelashes.
“I can’t help but wonder if I’m dreaming,” he confesses, switching his focus between both of your eyes. “I never thought I would get to-”
This is only a beginning, he realizes. Surely there are more trials to navigating a relationship when someone has a secret like his, it’s why he’s kept people at arms length for so long-
“You’re not asleep,” you say slyly, before pinching his hip. Sketch jumps, and then laughs again, happily letting you tow him to the couch and draw him back into kisses that leave him nearly delirious with pleasure. Every touch, every caress, has him trembling, and the way you lean into him, eager for more-
“Uh, bed?” He asks, unsure, and unwilling to push. His fears seem to be continually unfounded. There’s only happiness in your eyes, and warmth in the way you curl your hands around his wrists, leading him - trusting him - as you take him further into your home. He’s crashed on the couch before, he’s been in your room, but-
Honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised about this any longer. He shouldn’t be surprised by every shred of kindness you show him, not when you’re falling onto the bed and taking him with you. Not when you both end up rolling around in the sheets and laughing between kisses and making each other fall to pieces, whispering each others names in the dark. You say his name like he matters, every part of him, and roll your hips against his when he loses pace, trying to keep his shifting in check.
It’s not something he’s going to get over easily - how fascinated you are by what he can do, how at ease you are with it. He wants to keep this, and for the first time, he believes he might be allowed to.
I think Shifter with the yandere prompt “Mine.” would be interesting!
You're right!
Shifter knew that they loved Y/n.
How could they not?!
Y/n was just sweet, kind, adorable, and so much more. Shifter could go on and on about why they were so great.
They were the best thing that Shifter has ever found.
You see, as you may know, Shifter goes AU to AU to find things that they enjoy. Soft blankets, good food, sweets!
Things that makes them feel happy.
Shifter wasn't a skeleton for real, just that was the form that they decided to take on, and they're quite happy about it.
Being... Whatever Shifter is, they didn't quite have their own AU. That is one reason on why they are so protective of the things that they've found over the many many years.
They would give every single thing up for Y/n though. They loved that person so much, and they had no idea why. Or at least, they couldn't explain why they liked Y/n so much.
Shifter was very protective over Y/n.
It wasn't that they didn't trust the human, it's more that they didn't trust any of the others. Y/n belonged to Shifter, now and forever! Everyone else should know better than to try to take them away but... Some didn't.
That's why Shifter was now sitting and watching this guy.
He said that he was a friend of Y/n, but Shifter didn't believe that. No. Not at all.
This guy had a crush on THEIR datemate. As if he'd be able to take them away but Shifter still didn't like it. Not at all. They wondered if they should do anything.
They could do a lot of stuff. They could easily tear this guy apart, rip out his bones but... Y/n wouldn't like that.
Shifter has killed a few people for their datemate. They weren't sad about it, not at all! Why should they care? Those people were being annoying, and a danger to their datemate! Those people should be happy that Shifter didn't turn into them and kill everyone else!
While Shifter was thinking, they saw the guy put his hand on Y/n's hip. That's what pushed them over the edge. They walk over, brushing the hand away, then hugs onto Y/n around their waist, glaring a little at the guy, "mine"
Y/n blinks, then smiles, patting the top of Shifter's head "hey, Shift, it's okay. We all know I'm yours" they kiss the top of their head, causing them to shut their eyes, then opens them again.
The guy was glaring at Shifter, who quickly drops it when Y/n looked back at him. Just as they expected! They knew that the guy had a crush on their datemate!
While Y/n wasn't looking at Shifter, they let their skull slowly split open, showing off rows of sharp teeth.
"Holy shit!" The guy says, pointing at them "what the hell are you?!"
Shifter quickly shuts their skull again, and frowns "I'm a skeleton?"
"You are not! You freak"
They hide their face, looking hurt, and tighten their grip around Y/n, who frowns "hey, come on, why are you being mean?"
"Y/n, I'm telling you that thing is not a skeleton"
They kept talking until they got into an argument, and Y/n grabs Shifter's hand, pulling them away "Come on Shift, if he's going to be mean, I'd rather find someone else to hang out with"
Shifter purrs happily, following after then looks back at the guy, sticking out their tongue. They win again it seems.
!!!! Congrats on 100! Any way, could I be selfish and ask for a he/him shapeshifter sort of creature (idk the terminology!). Citrusy mayhaps? “Malleable” or something similar. Either way, you are amazing and I LOVE YOU!
male shifter x gender/body neutral reader500 wordscitrus | kissing, making out
“It wouldn’t ever work for you,” Sketch murmurs, touch soft as he trails his calloused thumb from your parted lips down to your throat. He tilts your head until you’re resting fully against his shoulder, back to his chest. His lips and breath brushing against the shell of your ear are enough to tickle when he whispers, like a secret: “And I’m selfish enough to admit that I’m happy about that.”
“Sketch,” you sigh, mildly exasperated with the conversation. “You sound like-”
He laughs, lips gentle against your skin. The dark hair that he’s currently sporting catches on your eyelashes as he moves, kiss sweet as it brushes against your pulse. “Is it really so bad that I prefer you how you are? You’ve accepted me for me. You don’t mind the fact that I’m… malleable. You’ve always seen through it, seen me.” Sketch’s teeth are sharp points when he presses them into your neck, but as soon as he nips, they’re blunt. Normal. Just human teeth. His swift changes always leave you shuddering, as if there’s some kind of residual energy permeating the air, just shy of tangible.
“You’ve always made it easy,” you explain, but another nip has your eyelids falling closed, distracted by his touch. It's hard to want to think about the conversation when you'd happily let Sketch turn you into a kiss-happy mess. Especially when he's halfway to doing just that already.
"I've made seeing me easy?" He asks incredulously, nails sharp when he begins to drag them down your biceps. They dull the harder he presses, still worried about frightening you off, about his shifting being too much.
You sigh, leaning into the pressure of his hands on your stomach and hips. "Your appearance might change, Sketch," you murmur, turning in his arms until you're face to face. Sketch's lips are parted, and his eyes are hyper focused on your mouth, following your every word. "But you? And your ridiculous taste in jewelry?" His eyes flutter closed, eyebrows drawn together, but he reciprocates when you kiss him, even when a laugh escapes you.
"The first three times I met you, you were wearing those spiral tapers. Your face changed, your height- but your clothing preferences? How you flirted with me?"
Sketch grumbles, hand cradling the back of your neck to keep you kissing him. "Maybe I made it kind of easy," he breathes against your lips, nails and teeth gone sharp again as he carefully pulls you onto his lap. "Still, my malleability won't spread, no matter how much I touch you. No matter how much-" his arms tremble as you nip his jaw, his fingernails reflexively pricking into your skin. He forgets to dull them, too focused on the sensations you bring, in your mouth against his throat- his shifting is a ripple under your lips, jawline smooth, and stubbly, and then smooth again.
"You can touch me all you want then, can't you?" You ask softly, against the shell of his ear.
