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decaffeinatedpumpkin · 4 months ago

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Good Boy - Hybrid!Wolfwood x Reader (NSFW)

Authors Note: Welcome to Wolfwood Wednesday 2: The Wolfoning (also known as Zero started a drabble thinking he could finish by yesterday and then he didn’t) Anyways this is what happens when I read too much of @demxnscous post and I’m crediting you even though you said you didn’t need it because I got lot of inspiration from your post. (Also I hope you’re doing better :( sending good vibes ur way)

You aren’t sure how you got in this situation or- no that was a lie you knew how you got here it was just hard to believe it was actually happening. It started the day your bleeding heart took in a stray. A mutt that looked more wolf than dog who was surprisingly eager to listen to you and what the hell, who doesn’t want scary dog privileges? That was until two months later you had came home from work to find a full grown man laying in your bed rather than your beloved pet. You had screamed until he jumped up startled, when you noticed a familiar set of pointed black ears and fluffy tail. It had been an adjustment to be sure to find they were one in the same and when he had hung his head low, ears drooping you couldn’t kick him out, you couldn’t because…he was still your Nico, right?

Then things got complicated. Nico still had a lot of his animal habits, whether that was normal for hybrids or based on the fact he had stayed in dog form so long you didn’t know but he was always there. At your heels, hovering, sitting by your feet trying to make himself look small, laying his head in your lap, nosing along your throat, along your belly. Half the time you were sure he didn’t know what he was doing to you always being this close. It didn’t help he was attractive, the kind of man you were sure wouldn’t give you the time of day had circumstances been any different and yet he was always trailing you desperate to be good.

Maybe that was your real undoing, that look he gave you when you could tell he was trying so hard to obey, to listen, to please you no matter what, to behave. Maybe you were the real animal because it made something in your brain light up, made your knees weak and your tongue feel to big in your mouth.

Then…there was today. Today when you came home from work early to find Nico nude on your bed, used panties in his hand as he inhaled your scent, pillow tucked between his legs as he humped with abandon, chasing after his high with your name on his lips. You should have closed the door, left and pretended you never saw him but you couldn’t deny the rush of heat that blossomed between your legs at the sight.

When he had seen you he had been startled, instantly ashamed, ears flatting and a whine in his tone as he apologized, waiting for you to scold him or finally kick him to the curb. What he hadn’t expected was you climbing into his lap, gently kissing at the corner of his mouth.

“It’s okay… is my poor Nico in rut?” you mummer, it’s a little embarrassing hearing those words come out your mouth but the way Nico’s eyes glaze over with lust and his breath stutters you’re sure you won’t regret it.

He whines and nods, those big brown eyes watching you with something like admiration? No…reverence maybe. Like a righteous man standing at gods feet, but you weren’t god and if your Nico was so eager to worship, who were you to deny? Yet he waits. He’s good like that, he always is.

“Please Nico” you breath out by his ear, pressing a kiss along his jaw for reassurance.

He’s on you in an instant, not rough just eager to please. His calloused hands slide off your clothes with ease, Nico nips along your throat oh so carful not to bite minding his teeth but greedy enough to let himself mark your pretty skin. Because despite the thick black leather collar currently around his neck (the one thing he left on) he needs to know, needs to know he’s yours, that your his, that you don’t need anyone besides him.

He lays down and before you can ask what he’s doing Nico claws at the fat of your thighs, dragging you up up up to his waiting mouth. You yelp at the action trying to balance yourself on your knees but he doesn’t give you much time to adjust, bullying his head between your thighs, stubble scratching at your skin as he dives in. He gives quick licks against your already wet sex. It’s sloppy at first, the excitement of Nico finally getting what he wants making his thoughts hazy but when you whimper and try to grind down on his face he gets the message pretty quickly.

He grabs at your thighs and brings you down, movements more precise as he laps like a man dying of thirst making you mewl and writhe in pleasure. He makes a pleased hum at the noises he manages to pull from you and the added vibrations only add to the warmth building in your gut. You won’t last like this, you can’t, not when Nico’s doing everything he can to make you fall apart. You feel his soft ears flicker against your thighs and then two of his thick fingers press in curling against your sweet spot. You finish embarrassingly fast, the sensations too much for you to keep up with. You moan trying to move away from Nico’s tongue which keeps moving, overstimulating you pass your release but he doesn’t relent, he’s finally gotten his treat and he isn’t passing up the opportunity.

When he does finally pull his head from out between your thighs you dumbly think that it’s over when he flips the two of you, letting a firm hand press gently against your back moving you so that you’re face down against the mattress. Doggy style, how original. If you weren’t just as desperate as Nico you might’ve even made a snide comment. That pillow he was humping is placed under your hips now giving you something to grind against while giving Nico the added benefit of your body being angled up, presenting yourself to the man behind you. At this point you’re starting to wonder if he really is in rut.

Nico presses himself against your back, his warmth and weight both grounding and mind numbing at the same time. He reaches down to swipe his cock along you once, twice, then presses in only barely just the tip and for a second you wonder if he’s trying to tease you until he whines.

“So pretty…so good, let me make you feel good baby? Please? I’m hurtin for you, didn’t even get to cum earlier want to put it in you so bad, I’m so hard for you” Despite the pure filth pouring from his mouth…it makes your own mouth water. You’ve never been more sure that you’ve needed someone the way you do now, the way he’s begging, strong arms keeping his body weight on top of you. Because of course he was asking first, he was your good boy and even though you can tell it’s taking all his self control not to just take you he has to prove it, has to prove how well he can obey.

“Nico~ be a good boy and fuck me” you breathe

The control that he was hanging onto snaps.

“fuck- ah, shit so good baby, feels so good” Nico pants in your ear. You want to focus on what he’s saying, really you do, but it’s hard when his warmth is draped over your back, his strong arm around your waist is the only thing currently keeping your shaking legs up as he sinks into you to the hilt.

The stretch is there but your eyes are rolling back in your head at the feeling of being so full. It doesn’t help Nico’s leaking precum like a fountain, making a mess out of both your thighs, was he really this riled up over you?

“Been wantin to do this for so long- shit, s’good sweetheart taking me so good.” he nips at the shell of your ear and yeah you’re going to hell but if you can get Nicholas to fuck you like this a few more times it’ll have been worth it.

His hips set an unrelenting pace right off the bat, yet even now as he mouths along your neck, presses in deep enough to ruin you for anyone else, heavy balls slapping against you with each thrust, he never hurts you. Why would he? He’s good, he’s obedient and he’s yours. He want’s to show you, needs to show you how good he can be, how good he can make you feel.

Noises that sound like a mixture of a growl and and moan spill from his mouth, the metal of his dog tag feels cool against your neck. One arm wraps around your waist, pushing and pulling you along with his motions dragging you down on his cock over and over again. The other glides up your chest then stops once it reaches your chin, holding your head up as he pants in your ear. His hair is getting long, you can feel the ends of his shaggy curls tickling the back of your neck, that and his hot breath fanning against your back.

You can’t think straight like this, each thrust spilling out more of both your slick. The walls echoing back the perverse sounds of both your moans, sloppy noises of skin meeting sweat slicked skin. Nico’s tail is wagging slightly and you’d think it was cute if he wasn’t fucking you stupid right now. A familiar heat is beginning to curl in your stomach, you roll your eyes back and feel a bit of drool begin to spill down your lips.

You’re close, god you’re so close and you can tell Nico is too, actually you think he’s been close for awhile now but he’s not going to be satisfied until you are.

“N-Nico please” you don’t know what you’re begging for but luckily he does, suppose that just goes to show how devoted he is, he knows you better than you know yourself.

He reaches between your thighs and- fuck your dripping, you weren’t sure how you didn’t notice it, maybe you were so distracted with the mess Nico was making you didn’t stop to consider your own. Either way you’d have to change the sheets later.

His fingers press against that sensitive spot that aches and you swear the breath is knocked out of you. “Nico Nico Nico-” his name falls from your lips like a prayer and he whimpers, thrust getting more frantic more desperate as he tries to pull you to the edge.

“Please angel please, cum on me wanna feel it need you to feel good” this is so far from the cagey stray you brought in but then again…Nico always was so much more gentle with you. He sits at your heels, he nuzzles against your stomach he-

“Fuck Nico I’m gonna cum” you whine

“Cum fuck- cum please baby need it” Nico pants fingers dipping again to work an orgasm out of you.

And it does. Your orgasm comes crashing into you like a train, a broken sound that you think is a half hearted “Nico” choked off by your own moans. Your legs tremble and Nico’s hand flies down to rip at the sheets as he makes his own desperate noise. It’s animalistic, a deep throaty moan that tampers off into something like a howl.

He doesn’t stop, thrusting into you as his cock twitches spilling hot cum into until you swear you can taste it. It doesn’t help your body is eagerly reacting to it, walls twitching trying to milk him for all he’s worth, earning you a few more lazy thrust as his release begins to spill out of you from the sheer amount of cum he’s just filled you with.

You both pant trying to recover, your body is limp under Nico and you aren’t sure you’ll have the strength to leave the bed for the next week with out fucked out you feel.

Nico leans down to nuzzle against your neck and face giving you an apprehensive lick against your cheek.

“Good?” He ask flashing those puppy dog eyes at you. You know what he really means, “Was I good?” “Did I please you?” “Did it make you feel good?”

You reach up to lazily scratch against his mop of black hair and around those fluffy ears. You’re rewarded with the feeling of Nico’s tail wagging keenly.

“Yeah…you’re my good boy Nico” you hum tracing along his collar, he shivers and you can feel his dick twitch in interest.

“Insatiable” you huff pushing his face away, he flashes you a smile with those sharp canines and nudges your hand out of the way to nose against your temple.

“You have no idea”

It seems neither of you are going to be leaving the bed anytime soon.

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decaffeinatedpumpkin · 4 months ago

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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — WOLFWOOD x FEM READER

You thought you'd be the one taking care of the stray you picked up off the streets, not the other way around.

wc — 3.6k

tags — fluff, dog boy/werewolf/shapeshifter au I guess, whatever you want to call it, “you become responsible forever for what you have tamed” but it goes both ways, animal abuse mention (non graphic and not from reader), shoujo manga vibes, title from runaway by Aurora

There’s a mangy old stray on your block. You’ve seen the kids chase him off with sticks too many times not to want to do something about it, no matter how your mother used to scold you for your bleeding heart.

“It’ll get you hurt someday,” echoes now in your ears as the cashier rings up your dog food, both wet and dry. You’re not sure which he’d - it seems like a he - would prefer.

$12.97 is your total. Not a bad price to pay for a life.

Only a gentle kind of revolt, more teasing than genuinely angry, remains in your mind as the first drops of rain land on your face. It was a light mist, barely enough to dampen the sweet smelling air. The wet haze pulled blurry rainbows across the clear summer sky, enough to put a hop in your step as you hurried back to your apartment.

There are no children today, and the neighborhood is quiet. A half dug hole by the adjacent apartment’s peonies tells you that your target is either nearby or at least recently in town. You unpack your bag, setting out a trap in the form of a can of wet food.

Something skulks in the periphery of your vision. Trying not to startle him, you peek at the shadow out of the corner of your eye. You didn’t know dogs grew to be this big.

When you really look at him, your stray seems more wolf than dog. He’d be nearly as large as as a human if he stood up on his back paws. Hiding beneath the trees where he thinks you can’t see him, he’s tense and untrusting.

It’s strange for you to think of yourself as capable of making anyone nervous, much less someone as big as he is. You take a step back.

He edges forward, then flees into the shadows again. He’s hesitant. His paws skitter across the grass, beating a fast and unsteady tempo that reveals how nervous he is. It’s obvious that he won’t come out to eat as long as you’re here. That’s fine.

Trust can be earned.

From your apartment’s windows, you watch him gulp down the food. He’s so clearly famished that he doesn’t even pause to breathe between bites, leaving you almost afraid that he’ll choke. When he’s finished, he lies down by his bowl, his eyes glittering.

He’s not asleep - he’s too wary a creature for that, but it’s relieving to see him relaxed and sated. He dozes like that for a minute or two before he lifts himself back up on weary paws to trot back into the woods.

You’ve tried to make it a routine to feed him after work, stopping by the pet store to pick up different flavors you think he’d like to try. Neon stickers pop out at you from various tags on the shelves, promising to boost muscle growth or improve bone strength.

In the end, you get them all. When all you do is work, you don’t worry about blowing your money on things like this. You have nothing else to spend it on - might as well spoil him. It’s nice to be able to take care of someone else.

It might be all in your head, but you think he’s starting to warm up to you. He still waits until you’re gone to eat, but it’s easier to keep tabs on him now. You don’t think it’s an accident.

Sneaking a glance out of the corner of your eye, you can spot the telltale signs that he was waiting. Sometimes you even find him waiting for your car to pull in.

Today, you find him at the end of your driveway, his tail thumping against the pavement. He’s in a good mood, it seems. When you park, he even gives a short howl.

He still retreats when you climb out of the driver’s side, only inching forward when you rustle your plastic bag of groceries at him. You crack the lid and set it down slightly in front of you to wait it out.

You’ve been trying to get him used to your presence so you can take him to the vet. It’s a slow process - some days he’s more amenable to your presence than others.

It takes a minute or two for him to consider if it’s worth it, if you’ll hurt him. Eventually, he slinks forward, his body low to the ground.

You smile at him encouragingly as you wait, crouched down to be on the same level as him. He’s a big dog, probably almost the same height as you sitting down. He pauses in front of the food and sniffs cautiously. Then, he passes it.

Your heart drops. Maybe he didn’t like it. Had you picked wrong? He’s eaten everything you gave him before - you didn’t think he was picky.

He comes right up to you, his hot breath gusting over your hand. Suddenly you realize that this is a predator. He might be feral or have rabies. After everything, you realize you don’t really know him.

Animals aren’t like humans. You’ve assigned a wild beast your own moral complications and assumptions. Perhaps it’s hungry enough to want to eat you.

He’s close enough that you can feel the warm weight of his body against your shins. Something fuzzy bumps into your hand insistently until you lift it. You realize that he’s asking to be pet and with trembling fingers, you do.

Your fingers stroke over his head and ears, growing surer with the way he’s pushing back against you. It tickles just a little, enough to make you giggle until he shoves his snout right into your palm. His nose is cold and wet.

“Go on,” you encourage, trying to nudge him towards the bowl. No matter how nice his fur feels, there’s something heartbreaking about watching him choose love over food.

“You need to eat,” you scold. He sneezes in a way that makes him shake all over. If he wasn’t a dog, you’d think he was smiling at you. He only takes a mouthful when you reach out to resume petting him. He seems to like it when you scratch right behind his ears.

You almost feel like you’ve formed a bond until he stops right at the boundary of your home and refuses to walk any further. You had thought you were getting along so well, too.

“Come on,” you coax. “Here, boy. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

He skitters back anyways, circling your property with a low, mournful howl before he trots back towards the perimeter.

Progress is progress, you try to remind yourself, however disappointed you are.

Sometimes, it feels like you’re not making any at all. There are days where you can’t even watch him eat, not knowing if he’s alright until the next time you find an empty bowl. Your fears are only alleviated by the moments where he lets you pet him or waits for you, a reminder that you are earning his trust.

It may be a slow process, but he is becoming more comfortable with you, little by little.

Now it worries you when you can’t find him sitting in his usual spot, wary but excited. He doesn’t come even when you peel back the lid of the can noisily, the metal crumpling easily in your hand. You can’t help your anxieties from multiplying, though logically you know that he’s probably just off doing whatever dogs do in their free time.

You’re already halfway up the walkway to your house when you turn back. You can’t go inside without knowing he’s safe. A quick lap around the neighborhood reveals nothing. You’re checking behind bushes and cars when you hear the first faint whimper.

Frantically, you push the leaves aside until you find him huddling in the center of a rose bush. He’s curled up on himself, as small as he could possibly be. His tail is tucked under his nose.

Your hands are pricked with thousands of little needles as you keep digging for him. You can’t imagine how much worse it would be for him. This could only have been his last resort. Something worse had chased him here.

He wags his tail when he sees you, barely able to lift his head. Seeing him struggle, you can’t help yourself. You push the branches aside to help him drag himself out, his body battered. Those kids again.

“Come on, baby,” you coo, stroking his matted fur as you pick him up in your arms. He’s not as heavy as he should be, starved as he is. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll take care of you.”

It was settled before you could decide it for yourself. He’s your responsibility now. There was never a choice in it.

Dr. Rem’s assistant comes out to fetch you less than five minutes into the check up. “I think you should stay,” he says, his tone just cool enough to sound a touch annoyed.

Your overgrown puppy won’t submit to her ministrations unless you’re in the room with him, stroking his ears and promising that everything will be alright. He must’ve been a pet at some point, to know what needles are and have such a reaction to them. To know that despite the initial pinch, it’s okay as long as you’re being pet.

When it’s finally over, both of you are exhausted, but Dr. Rem is as professional as ever as she walks you through the care routine for his treatments. “Honestly,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t understand how some people can be so cruel.”

You don’t either, but it doesn’t matter. He’s yours now, and you’ll never let anything touch him again.

“Does he have a name?” Dr. Rem’s incredibly blonde assistant asks as he’s filling out your release forms.

“I’ve just been calling him dog,” you admit bashfully.

He doesn’t need to speak. His expression says it all. Unbelievable.

You take a look at the creature you’ve decided to bring home. He does look more like a wolf than a dog. You’ve always thought so. “Wolfwood?”

“What a weird - ahem, interesting - name for a dog,” Nai, from his name tag, says.

By your feet, Wolfwood wags his tail in agreement.

“Wolfie?”

His tail wags harder. He pauses. It wags again. He turns around and nips at it, like he’s trying to hide the fact that he might like the nickname.

When you try to carry him from the car into your home, he clambers stiffly to his feet like an old man. You have to hide your laugh behind a couch. For some reason, he seems more human than animal. You’ve caught him noticing things no normal dog would, and you’re sure his pride would be injured.

The sound his nails clicking across the floor is strangely comforting, like ASMR. You’ve heard that dogs are naturally helpful to lower cortisol and reduce stress, but you’ve never thought you’d experience those effects. You lean down to stroke a hand over his furry coat, carefully avoiding the spots where he’s still hurt.

When it’s bedtime, you’ve resolved to give him the comfort of your bed and take the couch, but he’s not having any of that. His jaw snaps around the hem of your shirt, teeth digging into the fabric to prevent you from leaving. Immediately, you stop moving, afraid to hurt him worse.

“Calm down,” you say gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He barks in discontent. He really does seem human, as if he understood you.

Out of options, you resign yourself to curling up on the bed next to him, hoping you won’t accidentally roll over him in your sleep. Maybe you should invest in one of those bed dividers they use for small children. It’s the last thought in your head before you drift off.

A deep, reverberating sound wakes you up. You roll over with the pillow shoved on top of your head to try to get some peace, but it continues. Fed up, you finally rise out of your comfortable sheets, ready to give whichever neighbor that’s decided sunrise was a great time to mow their lawn a piece of your mind.

Instead, you’re greeted with a strange man in your bed. Your scream is cut short by his hand clapping over your mouth as soon as you start.

“Oops.” He says. “My bad.”

Your eyes grow wider in terror.

“Hey, hey,” he says soothingly, like that’s going to help when there’s a random man in your bed. “None of that. I’m a friend.”

You scream louder. In a spark of inspiration, you try to bite him. He winces. That’s when you start noticing the ears and the tail. The faint resemblances to someone else you know. The bandages wrapped around his torso.

“That’s right,” he says, noticing you look. “Recognize me now? Would this help?”

The tail flicks back and forth in a familiar motion. Someone else used to do that to show his happiness.

“Wolfie?”

“That’s a stupid name,” he laughs.

“I think I’m going to pass out.”

“Don’t do that,” he says, but it’s too late. You’re going back to bed.

You’re not sure why you’re not more surprised that the stray you picked up is actually a human, but after your initial reaction, you find yourself remarkably open to the idea. Part of you feels privately that you’ve always expected Wolfie to be special. He seemed so smart.

You’re in too deep to kick him out now, human or not, but that also might be an excuse. Having him around is nice, you have to admit. Whether he’s a human or a dog, having someone to come home to has changed your life.

You hadn’t realized how lonely you were until you came home to Wolfwood preparing dinner, the apron you bought for him wrapped around his waist. It reads ‘kiss the chef’ in bright pink letters.

Although you’re the one who took him in, you feel like you’re the one being taken care of.

It’s not just you. Even your coworkers have commented on the way you rush home now instead of staying up until the very last minute. You can’t keep up with your bad habits anymore. There’s someone waiting for you now.

When you open the door, the delicious fragrance of something savory drifts to your nose, spiced and warm. “I’m home,” you call.

There’s no need. He’s already waiting at the door. It’s a comical sight. He tries to make it casual, leaning against the wall with an oh-so-nonchalant air, but he’s there every single time you walk through the entrance without fail.

It’s too easy to get used to his presence.

Having someone to come home to makes you quicker to turn down overtime requests and more hesitant to take on additional duties. You thought this would hurt your work report, and you were willing to take the hit. Some things are worth it.

Instead, your productivity spikes. Even your manager notices, doling out rare and surprised praise on one of your last projects. The change in you is palpable.

“Did you get a boyfriend?” Meryl asks. “You seem happier lately.”

Everyone notices the way you seem brighter, more easygoing. You’ve started bringing homemade lunch boxes instead of eating out. Your good mood has translated into a better work product than any amount of indifferent hours you put in before.

It’s still a surprise when you receive your promotion at the end of the quarter. Something you’ve been working towards for months drops right in your lap. Lately, it feels like everything has been falling into place.

Good things arrive on the heels of even better things, all because you’ve felt more personally fulfilled than you have in years. You though taking Wolfwood in would slow you down, but it’s done the opposite.

You have more time now that you have someone looking after you. It also motivates you to have someone of your own to care for.

When you present the news to him, you can’t stop yourself from crying out of happiness, though it’s embarrassing. Wolfwood licks at the small tears rolling down your cheeks.

“What are you doing?” You laugh, trying to push his face away with no real effort behind it.

“Kisses,” he replies. “For doing a good job.”

Not like that, you try to remind yourself. He doesn’t mean it like that.

“Why is your heart beating faster?”

Stupid dog senses.

There are other ways in which his dog nature comes in handy. He’s more sensitive to nature than you are. You’ve come to rely on him instead of the forecast as he sends you off every morning, his nose scenting the ozone and petrichor in the air.

“Don’t forget to take an umbrella!”

“I’m already running late, bye!”

You should’ve listened. Now you’re forced to trudge through the damp muck, soaked to the bone. Your sneeze is so strong it rattles through your bones, making you feel achey and weak as you sniffle through the last leg of your journey. By the time you finally reach the front door, you feel as pathetic as you must look, like a half drowned rat.

Wolfwood is waiting for you again, but you barely register it. You nearly stumble over a cabinet leg as you try to make your way to the couch through the dizziness, collapsing on it. Wolfwood pads over to you, making a low grumbling noise of concern.

“Shh,” you murmur as you feel his cold nose shove into your palm. “Not right now, Wolfie. I’m tired.”

He puts his head across your thigh and whines discontentedly. Your breathing is coming a little hard. Still, you try to reassure him. “I’m okay. Just had a long day.”

There’s human hands against your forehead now, nice and cool. You turn your head so you can nuzzle into it, the gentle pressure relieving your headache just a little.

Someone’s holding you now, arms around your back and sides. “Come on, sweetheart, you gotta sit up. Eat something.”

Almost like a dog yourself, you whine and pout, turning your face away. The idea of food is turning your stomach right now. Everything seems too rich for your weak stomach.

“This is why I told you to take that umbrella this morning.” Wolfwood’s voice is stern, but his hands are kind as he props you up.

“One sip, alright? For me.”

Weakly, you part your lips so he can slide the spoon between your teeth. It’s a mild broth, barely any flavor to it, but it’s the only thing you can bear at the moment. The hot soup feels incredible, warming you from the inside out.

“There we go,” he says. “Good job, sweetheart.”

With his help, you finish the whole bowl. He wraps the blanket tighter around you before he takes the dirty dishes. Even when he leaves your side, you can hear him bustling around the room, so you’re not worried. This is nice. Even feverish, you feel pleasant.

When Wolfwood returns to the couch, his dog ears are peeking out of his hair. He kneels by you to check your temperature. Spotting your chance, you scratch at the base of his ears, listening for the satisfying thump of his tail hitting his thigh when you get the spot he really likes.

“What a good boy,” you coo, forgetting yourself.

He laughs at you, watching you fluster. “Did you forget I’m not a real dog?”

Your face is hot, but not from the fever.

A few months into the strange miracle of having someone else to care for, and someone to care for you, Wolfwood asks you for an unusual favor.

“Can you get me a collar?”

Your gaze sweeps over him, considering. “I don’t know how I’d feel about that now that I know you’re a man.”

“Honest, aren’t you?” When he smiles, you can see his fangs. It’s strangely charming, the wink of white bone in the corner of his mouth.

“Why do you even want one?”

“I dunno, instinct? It just feels nice.” He braces his hand against his throat, testing the way it’d feel. “Yeah. It feels like something’s missing.”

“That’s strange. I thought you’d prefer to be free.”

He stretches out, lifting his arms. You can see the muscle lining his back beneath his thin, nearly transparent white tee. “Freedom is relative. Everyone is tied to something, you know. No use in pretending otherwise.”

You tap his nose playfully. With a mischievous look in his eyes, he lunges forward and snaps his teeth over your finger.

“You can be wise for a puppy,” you say teasingly.

“Like I keep telling you, I’m a man,” he says, roughly pulling you towards him so he can punish you by messing with your hair. You shriek in protest, trying to push him off, but the request sticks inside your head.

On the weekend, you take a few leashes from the right section and sneak into a quieter corridor in the pet store. Even though you’ve agreed to this for Wolfwood’s sake, it’s still embarrassing. You have your pride, and it’d be hard to explain to anyone what your actual situation is.

Perhaps understanding your plight, Wolfwood doesn’t mess with you as he usually does. Or maybe he’s just pliant at the thought of getting what he wants as you clip the leather around his neck.

It looks good on him, you have to admit. He looks almost like a punk rock star, transforming it from dog collar to statement necklace.

You flick the tag on his neck, watching the silver circle twinkle with your name and number. It’s meant for him to wear when he chooses to go on walks himself as a dog. “Now it’ll be okay even if you do get lost,” you tell him, satisfied.

“I’d be fine either way,” he says. “I know the way home.”

For some reason, that makes you feel as owned as he looks, even though you’re not the one with a collar around your neck.

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