Male werewolf x male human (nsfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

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Folks, this one is a 16,339 word behemoth that took on a life of its own. It stemmed from a fleeting idea I had while I was at work, and these two boys just took over my entire brain. Alfie’s speech disfluency is based on my own stutter, which is far less significant than his is, and on my step-dad’s, which is pretty severe, especially if he’s tired or stressed.

Content: found family elements, larger/chubby male werewolf character has a severe stutter, 3rd person narrative, bisexual character, gay character, shifted oral sex, shifted penetrative sex, knotting, consensual slightly dominant and submissive behaviour during sex, and a toothrotting amount of fluff.

Wordcount: 16,339

“Uncle Alfie, Uncle Alfie, Uncle Alfie, look!”

At the sound of the wildly excited voice approaching over the open, grassy space, Mason glanced up from where he had been sitting — and growing steadily colder — for the past hour, awkwardly perched and hunched over on one of log benches that were arranged in a semi-circle outside the historic reconstruction roundhouse.

He had chalk dust all up his skinny arms, undoubtedly several green and white smudges on his face, and flakes and chips of natural chalk sat around his boots in a halo of mess, though that was nothing compared to the grubby group of children all chipping away at their own attempts at Neolithic chalk carvings.

The kid who had shouted ground to a halt at the entrance of the semi-circle of rustic benches and stared at Mason with wide, dark, imploring eyes and a slightly slack-jawed expression before a grin with the wattage of the sun split across her face and she trundled the last few steps into the ring of seats and came to a halt directly in front of him. Her raincoat was a violent pink, her pullover underneath a blackberry purple, and her jeans were lime green with large white flowers on, tucked into orange wellington boots.

Her dark brown, densely-curled pigtails were held in place high on her head with neon pink bows, and they bounced like mouse-ears when she bobbed on the balls of her feet. “What are you doing?” she asked, eyeing the lump of chalk in Mason’s hand. “Can I have a go?”