Hairy Ever After

A big surprise on their honeymoon

Title: Hairy Ever After


Brianna sat gingerly on the edge of the plush, heart-shaped bed, her white stilettos finally abandoned after a long day of smiling, posing, and trying not to sweat through satin. The honeymoon suite looked like it had been decorated by Cupid on steroids—rose petals everywhere, swan-shaped towels kissing on the dresser, and a hot tub so large it could comfortably fit a family of six, or at least three awkward honeymooners.

She scanned the room with a small, approving nod. Her new husband had done well.

“You okay?” Jim asked, appearing from the bathroom in a fluffy robe at least two sizes too big, the hotel logo stitched across the chest in gold cursive. He looked like a marshmallow with legs.

“I’m fine,” Brianna lied, adjusting the sleeves of her gown down past her wrists, tugging the neckline up until it nearly choked her. “It’s just… a lot.”

Jim sat beside her, the mattress creaking under the weight of two people and a year’s worth of emotional baggage. He looked at her tenderly, the way a man might look at a rescued kitten or a microwave that miraculously started working again.

“You seem nervous,” he said gently. “What’s up?”

Brianna sighed and turned to face him, dramatically. She had been preparing this speech in the mirror for months. “Jim… I told you from the beginning—I have a condition. A skin condition.”

He blinked. “You mean eczema?”

“No, not eczema.”

“Psoriasis?”

“Not that either.”

“Scaly elbows?”

“Jim. No.”

He paused, thoughtful. “Fungal rash? Because that’s not a deal breaker.”

“Jim!” she yelped. “Focus!”

“Right, right.” He composed himself like a student summoned to the principal’s office. “Go on.”

“I’m just scared that when you see me… you know… naked, you’ll run screaming into the night. Or worse—you’ll make that face.”

“What face?”

“The Ew-but-I’m-trying-to-hide-it-to-be-polite face.”

“I don’t have that face!”

“You made it when you tried my quinoa brownies.”

He looked pained. “Those were offensive to both quinoa and brownies.”

Brianna shot him a look. “See? That’s the face. I’m just saying… I’ve hidden this condition for a long time. I wear long sleeves year-round. Even to the beach. I told people I was allergic to Vitamin D.”

Jim reached for her hand. “Bri, listen. This… whatever it is, we’ll get through it together. Our love is bigger than whatever skin issue you’re hiding under that designer turtleneck gown. If it takes all night, I’ll wait. I’ll sit right here in this bathrobe that’s absorbing sweat by the gallon, and I will wait.”

Brianna looked at him, eyes misty. He meant it. He really did. The poor fool.

Taking a deep breath, she stood and turned her back to him. With trembling fingers, she slowly unzipped the back of her wedding gown. It took longer than expected. The zipper got stuck halfway. There was some grunting. At one point, Jim offered to help, but she hissed at him like an angry possum.

Finally, with a whisper of silk and the quiet despair of someone about to bare their soul—and a lot of fur—Brianna stepped out of the gown.

Jim’s eyes widened.

Her entire body, from chin to toe, was covered in soft, uniform one-inch-long hair. Not just peach fuzz. Not “haven’t shaved in a week” stubble. This was a sweater. A high-quality, Italian alpaca-type situation.

Jim stared.

Then he snorted.

Then he burst out laughing.

Brianna’s eyes filled with horror. “Oh my god, you’re laughing at me?!”

“I’m sorry,” Jim gasped, trying to control himself. “It’s just… I know this condition.”

“You… do?” she whispered, arms crossed over her chest in what she hoped was a modest but still emotionally powerful stance.

“You’re a werewolf, aren’t you?”

She flinched. “I… I prefer the term ‘lycanthropically gifted.’”

He blinked. “You are a werewolf.”

“Yes.”

There was a pause.

“Full moon or emotional stress?” he asked casually.

“Full moon,” she replied. “Though I do get extra fluffy during Mercury retrograde.”

Jim stood, grinning from ear to ear. “This is amazing. I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve always wanted to date a werewolf.”

Her jaw dropped. “You have?!”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Are you kidding? I’ve watched Teen Wolf like thirty times. Not the sexy reboot—the original, with Michael J. Fox. Pure cinema.”

Brianna felt a strange rush of relief… until she noticed something odd. Jim’s robe was moving. More specifically, something beneath it was moving.

“Wait,” she said. “Why are you squirming like that?”

He gave her a sheepish smile. “Okay, don’t freak out.”

“Why would I freak out?”

“Because…” He turned around and reached behind his neck. A moment later, Brianna heard the unmistakable zipppppppppppppppp of a very large zipper being undone.

Jim peeled off what appeared to be… an entire human body suit.

Beneath it?

Hair.

Glorious, golden-brown, thick, curly hair. All over. Head to toe. Like a golden retriever in human form. Only mildly better groomed.

Brianna gasped. “YOU’RE a werewolf too?!”

“Shifter, technically. My mom’s a werewolf. My dad’s a tax accountant.”

She doubled over laughing. “You’ve been wearing a man suit this whole time?!”

“I got it on Etsy. It’s a custom fit. Breathable. A bit itchy around the navel, but worth it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Same reason you didn’t. I thought you’d be the one who’d run screaming. Or make the quinoa face.”

“Fair.”

They stood there, two completely naked, completely hairy individuals, beaming at each other under the flickering honeymoon lights. Somewhere in the suite, the swan towels had begun to unravel.

“So,” Brianna said, arms still crossed but now mostly out of habit. “Now what?”

Jim stepped forward, took her hands in his. “Now we make hairy, passionate love. In the dark. Or with mood lighting, if that’s better. Or with a fog machine. Whatever works.”

She grinned. “Can we use the hot tub first? I feel like we might clog the jets, but it’s worth a shot.”

“You read my mind.”

⸻

Nine months later, the maternity ward of Monroe County General Hospital buzzed with confusion.

“Ma’am,” said the nurse, trying not to stare. “Your babies appear to be… uh… covered in hair.”

Brianna cradled the twins lovingly, both wrapped in matching wolf-print blankets and already growling in harmony. “Yes,” she said proudly. “It runs in the family.”

The nurse looked from Brianna’s full coat to Jim’s golden curls to the babies’ tiny furry ears.

“Did you marry into a dog show?”

Jim patted the nurse on the shoulder. “Let’s just say it’s a howling success.”

Brianna groaned. “No more puns while I’m recovering from childbirth.”

But she laughed anyway.

⸻

Years later, when their twins won the national junior werewolf agility competition (an underground but very competitive sport), Brianna and Jim stood at the edge of the podium, holding hands, still a little hairy, still deeply in love.

Because if there’s one thing they both learned, it’s that real love doesn’t care what you look like on the outside.

Even if what’s on the outside is enough fur to make a coat for a small village.