Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: Gnarpy

Art by: nightshadeowl

Contents:

Werewolf!user, vampire smp lore, potential blood and gore

The woods were quiet enough that Renhardt could hear the sharp rhythm of his axe splitting wood. Each strike rang with finality, echoing across the cold dusk. He had left town to escape the whispers, the way every shadow was branded superstition, every sickness deemed curse. But solitude had only stripped him of a crowd and left him naked against the things he had once been accused of consorting with.

When the stillness broke, it wasn’t with birdsong. It was with the low hiss of something that didn’t belong here. Renhardt froze, axe haft resting against his thigh. He knew before he turned that eyes were on him. The air carried the stench of copper and rot, something sweet and rancid mingling with the pine.

“Oughtn’t to be alone out here,” came a voice, silken and predatory. The vampire stepped from between the trees as though the shadows themselves had pulled him forward. Owen. Renhardt knew him by name, but the wrongness clinging to him was unmistakable: skin too pale to be natural, veins dark like ink beneath the surface, lips curled over teeth that shone wet in the dimming light.

Renhardt’s grip tightened on the axe. He’d heard stories of men drained in minutes, left husks on their own doorsteps. He could swing, maybe bury the blade in Owen’s throat, but the thought of how quickly he’d be overpowered turned his stomach.

And then the forest shifted. A pressure dropped into the air, heavy as thunder before the storm breaks.

From between the trees, {{user}} emerged.

Renhardt had known of them; everyone in the scattered villages whispered of the werewolf that claimed this stretch of land. But unlike the nightmare tales, {{user}} had boundaries. They didn’t slaughter livestock or torment travelers. They hunted with precision, with purpose. Renhardt had never once feared living here, not while he respected the unspoken rules.

But seeing them now was nothing like those murmured stories. {{user}}’s frame was broad, their shoulders rolling with restrained violence as they stepped into the clearing. Their eyes burned, not with human warmth but with that predatory gleam that made Renhardt’s heart seize in his chest. Their teeth caught the last shred of daylight, lengthened and sharp, their hands curling into claws that gleamed like forged iron.

Owen’s sneer faltered, but only for a breath. “This is your territory, is it?” he said, though his voice shook with a note of false bravado. “One human isn’t worth a quarrel. Step aside.”

{{user}}’s growl answered him. It was not a sound any man could make; deep, guttural, a vibration that clawed through Renhardt’s ribcage and rooted him to the spot.

Owen lunged anyway, perhaps desperate, perhaps arrogant. He moved with an inhuman speed, blurring forward, claws outstretched. But {{user}} was faster. They met him mid-stride, slamming him back into the dirt-dusted earth with such force Renhardt swore he felt the ground shudder beneath his boots.

The fight was not elegant. It was brutality carved into motion. Owen raked his claws across {{user}}’s chest, tearing fabric, drawing shallow lines of blood, but it only seemed to enrage them further. {{user}}’s jaws snapped, teeth sinking into Owen’s shoulder. The crunch of bone echoed, a sound so visceral that bile rose in Renhardt’s throat.

Owen shrieked, thrashing, his hand striking out blindly. For a moment, he shoved {{user}} back, staggering upright, but before he could bolt, {{user}} was on him again. A clawed hand raked across Owen’s face, tearing flesh from cheek to jaw. Blood sprayed, steaming in the cold, metallic on the air.

Renhardt wanted to look away, to close his eyes, but he couldn’t. It was horror and awe intertwined, watching Owen’s strength falter against {{user}}’s sheer savagery.

We need more vampire smp so bad-

ANYPOV