Spideypool Bingo || 2019

♔ The Hea(r)t Leads Home ♔

Peter has been smelling it all day; whatever it is. When he'd left the office earlier today, he thought his sense of smell was on the fritz, because usually he could block out the worst of New York's somewhat interesting fragrance. Then he realizes that it's the full moon. He groans into his hand before calling Aunt May to see if she's going to come running with him or if she's going to just lock herself up in her place. After a week of double shifts, she chooses the latter and he lets her rest.

He checks his watch, hoping he can fit in an hour of patrol time before his transformations start. Peter would like to think that after years of balancing being Spider-Man and being a werewolf, he would have everything figured out when it comes to those aspects of his life, but he knows it isn't true. He drops his wrist when he finally does the math to see that even with his super speed and endurance, he'd be pushing it, before he starts the trek towards the forests so he can have space to roam free trying to help newer wolves. It's better than caging up in his apartment waiting it all out and scratching marks into his floor with his claws.

The wind blows through his fur as he runs through the woods in a way it just can't when he's in his suit swinging through Manhattan. It's a nice break from the usual monotony (if he can call being a superhero monotonous). His hind legs are pumping full force as he races through to the scent so strong and so pervasive but so his.

The scent is rancid. It smells like chemicals and blood and gunpowder and cookies. Peter wants to run the other way, but something about it is familiar and comfortable and home. It's pulling him closer. Even his wolf instincts are crying for him to help which is the oddest thing considering that the moon is full and at its peak and all he should be thinking about is what to do in the morning when his rut hits.

It's one thing to understand biology and know that full body transformations can trigger his wolf's mating cycle, it's another thing entirely to feel the leftover adrenaline and wild canine instincts that he knows will be clawing at his insides for the next week.

The lycanthropy epidemic was part of the original Hydra's plan and now it was a necessary evil. People were injected with it when they hit puberty to stop the rest of the population from ripping them to shreds like food. At least now they were partially controlled. They have medicines to help keep people in some semblance of their usual mental state, if a bit warped.

Peter tries not to think about how he could never move this fast on two legs or on a web without getting tired much sooner, as he pushes himself to run harder. Faster. Stumbling into a clearing with a beaten, bruised and scarred wolf is not what he'd thought he'd find at the end of this rainbow, but they're there nonetheless. He slows to a stop and takes a whiff of the air. He's closer now and the toxic smell is stronger but it's the least of his worries, because the poor wolf in front of him is in heat.

Peter would like to think it's come in early, but he's just noticed that he's been running all night, that the moon is sinking slowly behind the mountains and he can feel the burning rush of his rut just beneath his fur. He thinks that maybe he should just drag the other wolf home with him. His instincts screaming protect, protect, protect, mine. Just as he makes to grab at the other's scraggly and partially missing fur the omega growls low in his chest and turns to look at Peter. His eyes are foggy as if he can barely see, so he sniffs the air roughly instead.

Peter whines when the fairly large omega stops sniffing and presents to him. He can feel his instincts thundering like his heart in his chest, the sheer need of claiming the larger wolf, but this isn't the time or place. Not when he doesn't know the poor guy whose instincts are forcing him to obey any alpha that could have come sniffing. The brief thought sends his instincts into a frenzy of Protect. Mine. Protect. Mine. Protect. Mine. Prote... that makes him growl low in his throat, his tail raised in a warning to anyone who comes near, even if they can't smell the overwhelming scent of his pheromones, that he's an alpha.