#i have LOTS of VERY SPECIFIC FANTASIES about that scruffy handsome man

[garak-pussy-indulgence]

Just imagine finding werewolf Andy shifting back into his human form, and he’s just naked as hell and covered in sweat. His mouth is stained perhaps with blood of a recent kill, but that still doesn’t stop you from wanting to shag a handsome ass cryptid.

im going to vibrate directly out of my skull Detweiler is my WEAKNESS i still can’t believe i actually got werewolf andy in real life

[mj-spooks]

Could you tell us one of those 15 fantasies about werewolf lumberjacks?

Okay so I think that first off, it should be established that any and all fantasies I have, unless they are about a specific person or character, have my actual husband in the starring role, because I even write fanfiction about my own marriage, that’s how much of a fucking nerd I am. I explain this to paint a proper picture. He already looks like a guy who is totally secretly a werewolf so it’s extra true in this case. You may think he’s a little scrawny for a lumberjack, but that is because you haven’t seen him at his peak. He is still pretty jacked, but man, back before the accident he was J A C K E D.

I also explain this to emphasize that these are absolutely the dramatic, rambling fantasies you would expect from a happily married almost-thirty-year-old. Who read a lot of romance novels in her youth. So. If that’s not your cup of tea, w e l l l l l l l l-

I also also explain this so that certain friends know to skip over this to save themselves the horror.

Now then. Under the cut, obviously. For the record, I cut this off after a bit because I realized it was getting… uh… long. My fantasies are long and intricate, okay. They require backstory. Of which there is a fair amount. I could honestly probably write an actual novel with this.

I am a successful ceramic artist, who is able to sustain myself through my art and teaching classes. I came into some extra money recently and decided to use that money to buy myself a lakehouse, out away from people, where I could go on weekends/during Summers and focus on my art. I have a boat.

Foolishly, I decide to go out on my boat at night. The moon is full, it’s providing plenty of light, it’s beautiful. It’s inspirational. I am already envisioning the new projects I will begin the next morning as a result of this trip. I think I’m fine. But I can’t see properly, and I crash my boat into something. I start to panic; I’m a good swimmer, but I’m very far out from the shore, and I’m not sure I have the energy to make it all the way back. I scream for help.

Just as my boat is sinking fully into the water, I hear something coming towards me in the water. I’m not sure what to make of this, it’s pretty large and moving weirdly fast. I’m panicked, so I scream. I assume it’s some animal, coming to eat me.

I’m not entirely wrong.

I try to swim away, but the panic has sapped my energy and before long I’m faltering. I see that my capture is inevitable. I stop swimming.

The thing in the water catches up to me. I feel arms encircle me, strong and unnaturally hairy. I’m not processing correctly. I wonder if this is some sort of hallucination brought on by my panic and impending demise.

The thing holding me begins to swim.

As we reach shallow water, I distantly feel it get its legs out from under us, and it rises out of the water to carry me to shore. I look at it. It’s a man, but not. Its face is lupine, and the arms are as hairy as I thought they felt in the water. A distant part of my mind is confused, shocked, but the active, tired part is just the John Mulaney “This might as well happen” meme. I pass out.

When I awaken, it is to the smell of coffee, eggs, and bacon. There is light streaming through a window. I am in an unfamiliar bed. It is comfortable, except I am a little cold, despite being cocooned in the blankets. I am naked.

Groggy, and a little afraid, I try to piece together the events of the night before. I realize that what happened the night before sounds impossible. I assume that someone else, foolishly out in a boat after dark, must have heard me screaming and come to my rescue. My memory insists that the thing that rescued me swam from under the water, not above it, but that’s ridiculous, right?

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” a voice says. I look up to see a scruffy, handsome man in the doorway. Suddenly my nudity is alarming. He must see me panic, the way my eyes dart to my form below the blanket, because he says, “I just, uh. Cut them off. I didn’t look. I didn’t want you to get sick. They were pretty soaked.”

I realize I have seen the man before, at the small shop nearby that’s the closest you get to a proper grocery store for miles. I have admired him. He’s exactly my type, and has a kind, open face. I’ve never heard his voice before. It’s as lovely as the rest of him. Somehow, I find myself believing him. He feels honest.

“There’s breakfast. If you’re hungry. I assume you are, considering…”

He trails off, looking a little uncomfortable. It’s obvious he doesn’t know how to handle this situation.

“Breakfast sounds nice,” I say. “But, uh…” I gesture to myself. I can feel my face heat. He says he didn’t look, but still. It’s the principle of the thing.

“Oh, right, uh. I have spare shirts in the dresser there,” he says, pointing. “You can borrow one. Uh. Might have some sweats that fit you, too. Maybe.” He frowns a little. Looking at him, I am not sure if I think this claim is ridiculous, or reasonable. He’s not a particularly large man, but I’m a very tiny woman.

“I’ll find something, I’m sure,” I tell him, trying to school my expression into something reassuring. Regardless of what else happened, it’s obvious he saved my life the night before. I’m grateful.

“Right. Uh, help yourself. I’ll make you a plate.” He starts to leave, pauses, then asks, “Milk, coffee, or orange juice?”

“Coffee sounds great,” I say, and he nods. He leaves. I stand up from the bed, taking the blankets with me. I go to his drawers, open one. The clothes are shoved, rather haphazardly, into them. There are a lot of t-shirts. I open another drawer, this one filled with flannels.

I like flannel.

I take a blue one, and juggle the blanket to slip it on under it. Once it’s buttoned, I let the blanket drop to the floor. Then I go looking for these sweats. I find a pair with a drawstring. The legs are comically long on me, and the waist bunches ridiculously, but they stay up.

I go to have breakfast. I have questions. Hopefully, my host will be willing to give me answers.