The Work of Wolves || Yandere!Werewolf X F!Reader

Home Invasion

What followed was a week --seven days-- of blissful alone time. Just you, all comfy-cozy in your grandmother's house, working the days and sleeping the nights away.

Well... Some moments were more blissful than others.

You'd never been to therapy, but you got pulled out of classes to see a school counselor for a few sessions during elementary school. That was when your mother was at her worst... She couldn't take care of herself, much less you. The dirty clothes and lack of lunch money must have tipped someone off.

Nevermind all that, though.

Something the counselor said that stuck with you to this day was how a common trap with depression was social isolation. She advised strongly against it, claiming, "Social withdrawal amplifies the brain's stress response. Social contact helps put the brakes on it. Try reaching out to your friends and family when you're having a hard time."

The problem was you never thought you were in a bad enough mental state to require reaching out. Like, it was never an option that crossed your mind. It was only after you got yourself out of a bad spot --like breaking out of a week-long anxiety spiral-- that you looked back and figured you probably should have asked for help.

You were doing so well, though! Sure, you were iso-lat-ed, but that didn't mean you were iso-lat-ing. Checkmate.

You didn't need Lanius. You didn't need anyone.

Until you did. Desperately.

It started out as an evening like any other. You were laying in bed, reading a book since your phone and computer were basically reduced to paperweights. Just winding down for the night.

Then there was a sudden bang outside strong enough to rattle the whole house. You quickly sat up from your reclined position, wondering what in the world could have made such a racket.

Maybe it was a gunshot from somewhere in the forest? Lanius warned you to stay out of the woods, that a hunter --or, worse, a predator-- might mistake you for quarry.

Or perhaps it was just an icy boulder of snow that rolled off the roof and onto the porch. That would be quite the inconvenience. You just shoveled the porch and front steps the other day.

No such luck. Another bang.

You climbed out of your warm bed and tip-toed out into the den. By the time the third bang rang out, you realized where it was coming from.

Someone --or something-- was banging on your front door. Not knocking. Banging.

You were suddenly very grateful that you'd been locking the door at night, despite not thinking you'd ever need to.

You ran around turning on all the lights in the house, in the hopes that the knowledge that the house wasn't abandoned would scare the intruder away. But that didn't stop that steady, repetitive banging on the front door.

What were they doing? What was the purpose of all that banging? To intimidate the hell out of you? Because, if so, it was working!

You peeked through the curtains of the window closest to the entrance. Right outside the door was a mountain of a man. He was huge, the size of Leatherface or Michael Myers or some other horror movie villain. Unhelpful information, brain.

The point was that he wasn't a punk kid. There was no way you could take him in a fight or easily scare him away by threatening to call the cops.

You thought at first he was just banging on the door with his fist... But no. He was swinging something at it. You squinted at its silhouette for a while before the moonlight glistening off the head gave it away.