#Pet Dog Bed Cushion

[lalalanayo]

[LANA]Salty Set

Basic information

number: 22 CC

swatch: 4-13

size: 73.2MB

game version：1.109

DLC needed: the pet bed needs 【Cats & Dogs】 DLC

You can find them easily by searching LANA/Salty in the game.

Pay attention

The cushions are in [sofa]/[armchair] category.

The bedding, bed frame and pillows are in [bed] category.

The bed is not animated.

You can put something on the bed frame since it has some slots.

download: patreon

The leisure set is now public♥

[comatosebunny09]

nuisance | sylus

summary: sylus doesn't get drunk...does he? warning(s): mentions of alcohol, pet names, cunnilingus, somno, language, oocness, blue balls of the female kind music inspo: i wanna know - joe notes: @muvaginger i'm sorry.

Sleep won’t find you tonight.

So you’re not at all upset when you’re shaken out of bed by the ruckus in the hallway. And as you pad closer to the front door, you hear what reminds you of a hit dog hollering.

Or someone trying to sing.

The beginnings of a migraine throb in your temples. You throw your door open, and isn’t he just a sight for sore eyes?

There’s a familiar shock of white hair. Drooping, sunset eyes fixed on you, and he’s singing his heart out—or so he thinks.

“I want to know what turns you on,” Sylus croons, a hand on his chest and a finger pointed at you. “So I can be all that and mooore.”

You sigh at his impromptu dance routine. It’s cute. Really, it is. But he sounds like a metal pipe being dragged across the sidewalk. Regardless, you don’t discourage him. Just cross your arms with a quiet smile, leaning against your doorframe to take in the show.

His voice crescendos after the second ‘I’d like to know,’ and you wince, waving your hands frantically to get your boyfriend to keep it down. The last time he pulled a stunt like this, you received a discrepancy letter for the noise from the front office. One more incident, and you’re sure you’ll wake up to an eviction notice.

A sweat-drop beading on your temple, you grab Sylus’s arm and snatch him inside, all the while hissing for him to shut the hell up. He laughs like the inebriated, lovesick idiot he is, and you lock the door behind him.

“Hey, sugar,” Sylus slurs, propped up against your entrance. He tugs on your wrists, luring you in for a sloppy kiss just shy of your lips.

The door thumps when you shove him back against it. Wanna run your fingers through his tousled hair, stroke his reddened cheeks, and unfasten the last few buttons of his shirt. Instead, you raise a curious brow, hands on hips, foot tapping.

“Sugar?” Of all the pet names, you’ve never heard that one come out of his mouth. Either he’s spent some time down south, or someone’s replaced your Sylus with a doppelganger. “Oh, you’re drunk drunk.”

No, you didn’t stutter.

“Honey,” he drawls, all silk and satin. There he goes again, talking like your mama. He folds his arms over his chest, mirroring your haughtiness. “I don’t get drunk.”

On cue, his knees buckle, and the oaky scent of whisky on his breath fills your nostrils. He nearly crumbles to the ground, catching himself at the last moment. Your hands perch on his hips, helping steady him.

“Drunk. You’re drunk, Sy,” you chastise, your voice strained, and brows knit with the effort of helping his heavy ass stumble to your couch.

He falls unceremoniously onto the cushions, wearing a stupid, smug grin. You’re breathing hard and trying to quell your heart when he makes grabby hands at you. And, of course, you fall for them, snatched down to his level until his breath fans over your lashes. And you’re slowly wondering who, exactly, is drunk at this moment.

Sylus studies your hands propped on his quads for leverage before peering into your eyes, straight into your damn soul.

“Bet this drunken fool could still make you feel good.” His voice bleeds sex as he runs a languid knuckle down your neck towards the divot between your clavicles, driving his point home.

You shiver. Won’t deny how your stomach hiccups from the thought of it. From the prospect of his voice all muffled between your legs, and the lewd sounds of him eating you out staining the air.

You swallow down your fantasy, hauling yourself back to reality. Swat his hand away, fixing your nightgown.  

“Sylus, baby, need I remind you you’re drunk off your ass? I don’t get down like that.”

He leans back in an easygoing slouch. Gives you a look that borders predatory, blinking slowly with furled lashes like the cat who caught the canary. You feel the low gravel of his voice pooling between your legs, and you hate yourself for growing all hot like this.

“What,” he purrs, tone coy as he disrobes you with his eyes. “We’re two perfectly consenting adults, right? Nothing wrong with having a little fun.”

You heave a sigh. Reluctantly back away from him, ignoring how the frown on his lips makes your chest pinch. You tear through the thick haze of desire that inhabits the air to pinch your nose.

“We can be two perfectly consenting adults in the morning when you’ve slept this shit off, Sy.”

Tonight is one of those rare nights you’ve seen him visibly pout.

“Boring,” your boyfriend whines, hugging one of your decorative pillows to his chest, and collapsing onto his side amongst your couch cushions in the fetal position. You contemplate fighting him for not taking his shoes off.

Instead, you roll your eyes, fishing a throw blanket from your lift-top coffee table. Toss it over his curled-up body, and he kicks it down to his feet like a haughty child.

You bend down to kiss his forehead, to which he flinches away like he’s been burned by cinders. Can’t act like that didn’t hurt a bit, but—

“You’ll love me again in the morning,” you say over your shoulder on your way to your room. Shut the door behind you, slipping beneath your sheets.

You feel a pang of regret for leaving him out there by himself. Despite your body thrumming and your head spinning, you did the right thing. You’d kick yourself if you took advantage of him like that, whether he thought he wanted it or not.

On your back, you scrutinize the textured ceiling through the dusk of your bedroom. He probably won’t even remember this, you muse, turning onto your side to watch the door.

You’ve never moved quicker when a sudden spark hits you, and you comically wrestle out of the sheets to dart towards your bedroom door.

It clicks soundly when you lock it, and you’re unsure if it’s Sylus you don’t trust or yourself.

—

Of course, why the hell did you expect a locked door to stop him?

A gasp is torn from betwixt your lips, sticky in the haze of your room as dawn breaks over the horizon. Your back arches involuntarily, and you scramble for purchase of your sheets, mouth curved around a whimper.

There’s a hot pressure between your legs. Flat, textured, and wet, easing up the span of your pussy, pushing your lips apart in search of the pulsating treasure between.

You bite back a sound, drawing the sheets back to meet a set of carmine eyes glowing in the dimness. You thread your fingers in his hair, unconsciously pulling him closer, and he chuckles huskily, nuzzling against the fat of your inner thigh.

“Mmmm, told you I could make you feel good.”

Your lips work around a response, but he swoops in between your thighs again to lick you good, silencing any objections, and making your body convulse.

TBC on AO3.

international | masterlist | off the grid

[verstappen-cult]

GWEN’S RADIO MESSAGE. I saw the notification and ran to Instagram only to find these photos. And when I tell you that I couldn’t stop looking at them for at least five minutes. . . so, you know I had to write a silly little drabble.

You come home after your early pilates class to find Charles snuggling with a puppy on the carpet in the living room, cushions perfectly scattered around to simulate a comfortable bed. When Charles sees you standing there with a puzzled look on your face, he just pouts, hugging the little dog tightly against his chest, and looks at you from beneath his eyelashes.

“What is that?” You ask, eyebrows raised. You know what is is, you simply don’t know what is a dog doing in your apartment when you don’t have any pets.

Charles cheeks are colored a light pink when he says, “Remember that time you said how much you wanted a puppy?”

“That was ages ago!”

“But look at him!” Charles grabs the puppy with both hands and shows him to you just like that scene in The Lion King with Simba being presented to all the animals in the kingdom. “Look at those eyes! We can’t send him back to the shelter.”

The dog isn’t even looking at you, too busy licking your boyfriend’s hand.

But Charles is right.

You can’t send him back to the shelter when you can give him a better life. And is not like you are actually mad that he decided to adopt a dog without your consent, it’s more about the surprise to see him lying on the carpet in his $2,000 white designer sweater with a dog, when in the past he’s gotten angry when you haven’t hung it up how it is supposed to hung.

You drop your bag and take off your shoes to join him on the floor. The little guy jumps from his hand and walks over to you, sniffing your hands and giving you side eyes until he feels safe enough to climb in your lap and let you hold him.

“Aren’t you cute,” You say, giving his little head a kiss. “I guess we need to give him a name, no?”

“About that,” Charles plays with a dog toy to avoid looking at you. “I already named him.”

You huff, “Of course you did.” You can’t be mad, not when Charles looks so shy and happy with the cute puppy walking around and exploring his new home. “What is his name?”

“Leo Leclerc.” He says it so proud, the corners of his mouth curling up that you can’t help but smile too.

“It suits him.” You agree, leaning closer to Charles. He immediately opens his arms for you and you rest your head on his chest, looking at Leo trying to climb on the sofa. “You’re a dog dad now, Charlie.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t asked you before adopting him,” He turns his head to get a better look at you. “and I’m sorry I used you wanting a puppy as an excuse when in reality I feel in love with him the second I saw him through the window.” Leo walks back to you and finds comfort between Charles legs. “I don’t want him to be just mine. I want him to be ours.”

You sit up, eyes looking between Charles and, what is now, your puppy. Your boyfriend looks expectantly, waiting for an answer that comes in the form of a squeak and a kiss.

“I can’t believe you went to get groceries and ended up adopting a dog.”

“About that,” Charles scratches the back of his neck nervously and you know what he’s about to say. “I saw him and forgot about everything else! But I can go to the grocery store this afternoon. He needs more toys, after all.”

“Oh, he’s gonna be so spoiled!”

[simmerkate]

Pet Stuff 🐾

Upgrade your Sims’ pet spaces with this adorable and functional Pet Stuff set! Perfect for any pet lover, this CC pack is designed to add cozy and stylish elements to your furry friends' lives.

Features:

🐾 Cozy Pet Bed: A plush pet bed for your Sims’ cats or dogs to nap in style.

🐾 Wire Pet Crate: A sleek, black metal pet crate with an open door, complete with a soft interior cushion.

🐾 Toy Storage Bin: Keep your Sims’ pets organized with this chic gray toy basket labeled "Toys."

🐾 Slip Mat: A cute bone-shaped mat with "eat, play, love" printed on it, perfect for preventing food and water spills.

🐾 Wall Sign: A charming hanging sign that reads "No Muddy Paws Please," adding personality to your pet-friendly homes. Please be careful using high poly cc on low end pcs Public Release - 8th Of January Follow me on insta @SimmerKatex Patreon (xx) ad-free

[toxicanonymity]

the air cools

2.5k words, raider Joel x f!reader

SUMMARY: A few loosely connected vignettes taking place throughout fall and winter, ending with a raider family Christmas. 🖤⛓️ 🌸🫛🐶👱‍♂️. My gift to those of you who love these characters. I love y'all so much. This is an 18+ blog.

-------

“What do you guys give each other for Christmas,” you asked Joel in early fall, secretly digging for a lead on what to get him for his birthday. It was bedtime and your head was on his bare chest.

“What makes ya think we celebrate Christmas?"

“Yeah I know, it’s a godless world," you conceded, "but it's an excuse to celebrate each other.”

Joel took a breath as though getting ready to speak, but you cut him off, “Don't say it”

“What?” He asked.

“something like,” (you lowered your voice slightly) "no one should celebrate me."

“Wasn't gonna,” Joel claimed.

“Then what were you gonna say?” You challenged him.

“I was gonna say…” he rolled you over and glanced down at your bare breasts before bringing his mouth to your neck. He murmured into your skin, “celebrate each other all the time.” He hiked up your leg, and dragged his lips from your neck to your ear to whisper, “celebrate each other all night if ya want.”

You giggled, then a rush of desire drowned out your amusement as his arousal swelled against you.

—--

\\\\\\

—--

Joel would never let the dog onto the bed. That's where he drew the line. The bed was Joel's domain. It was for you and him, period. He didn't even want the dog in the bedroom, because that was one step closer to the bed.

But one time, it was storming, and Bullet was scratching at the bedroom door. You slithered out of Joel's tight embrace and got out of bed. Joel kept snoring. You were going to take Bullet back to the living room and calm him down, but as soon as the bedroom door cracked open, the dog bolted over to a pile of laundry in the corner of the bedroom and started making a nest in it. You watched him circling and nosing the fabric for a few seconds until he settled in. He lowered his head to rest on his paws, and looked up hopefully.

You petted him, “Shhhh.” His tail was down, but he wagged it a little in what felt like a promise.

You left the door cracked open as if the dog had opened it himself. He was a very good boy all night. Even with loud claps of thunder, his whine stayed very quiet, and neither you nor Joel woke up. Bullet even went back to the living room unprompted once the storm quieted. You quietly washed the laundry the next day.

-

This happened a few more times, and Joel never found out, as far as you knew. Except for one time when he woke up before you and saw the tell-tale dent in the laundry, and, upon further inspection, some light orange hairs. Joel's nostrils flared only slightly, and he shook his head to himself. But he just shook out the clothes and never said anything.

Then, one day, Joel was in the trailer park down the hill, looking for supplies and assessing how dangerous the area was getting. In a trailer that wasn't burned too badly, he saw a sofa cushion with a little dent in it that reminded him of that dent in the laundry. He put the cushion under his elbow and later stashed it in a closet with some colder weather clothes he’d picked up for you throughout the year.

—---

\\\\\\

—---

“I hope he likes this,” You whispered to Joel, hoping Carter wouldn't hear you over the noise of whatever DIY project he was working on outside. You were sitting on the floor, holding a thick, weathered paperback in your hand.

“Lemme see,” Joel said, and you handed it to him.

He chuckled at the cover–a pirate embracing a lady from behind, both their hair windswept. Then he thumbed through the wrinkled pages, stopped at one, and his eyebrows shot up. “engorged member,” he mouthed and his face wrinkled.

“Hard cock,” you translated.

“heaving bosom…” he read.

“That's boobs,” you explained.

Joel closed the book as much as it would close, given the warped pages, and he handed it back to you. “M’sure he’ll like it,” Joel tried not to laugh.

“What?” You asked. “Don't you ever feel bad that he's alone?”

“It's a sweet thought, baby.”

“You didn't want me to write one myself, remember….”

“sure as hell didn't,” he agreed. “don't need to be writin’ about anyone else's engorged anything,” Joel said.

“wasnt gonna do anything graphic. I just thought it might be nice if the main character was a man, and the pirates are girls and guys.”

He couldn't help but wonder, was this the kind of filth you were thinking about when you went to bed early? He had trouble believing it. You knew you were his. But he still asked. “What else ya got? Any more books?”

Joel cocked his eyebrow and warned you, “Leave it.”

Your face heated up and your eyes shifted around. “Nothing like that,” you promised.

Joel studied your face and said, “yeah?”

Your eyes flitted to the floor and his jaw clenched. You cursed yourself for the dead giveaway.

He looked under the bed and pulled out a single, tattered paperback book. “What's this?” He asked before inspecting it.

“Nothing,” you said, with your whole upper body on fire. “Just something I was–”

Joel studied the front cover. It was a battle scene with a man posing valiantly with his shirt wrapped open. A piece of paper was haphazardly fastened to the cover with some kind of glue. The paper covered the man's face but his flowing hair still emerged from the left and bottom edges. The paper was beginning to curling off on that side, and the pencil was fading. Joel swallowed as he took in the drawing. A man from the neck up, complete with a bulging neck vein. Dark hair, dark eyes, a mustache, some scruff, and an unmistakable scowl.

Joel raised his eyebrows and rubbed his lips together.

“It's stupid,” you said and reached for it.

“This what ya read?” he asked as he opened the cover.

“No, I just–when you were gone for a night, I thought it could be-”

The title page, The General and the Girl, had “the general” crossed out and something scribbled above it. He squinted and braced for what he assumed would read "raider," but it didn't. “Killer,” it read. And he wasn't sure if that was better or worse.

“Hm,” Joel observed, then noticed “the” was crossed out too. The Killer and *his* Girl. He thumbed through a few more pages and you had crossed out inaccurate descriptions of both of you and then after the first chapter or so the annotations stopped.

Joel ran his thumb over the scrawled text, and you offered, “He only kills bad guys …”

He closed the book and handed it back to you without further discussion.

A sawing noise vibrated through the wall, followed by something crinkling.

Joel changed the subject back to Christmas. “You know what I think Carter could use?”

“What?”

“Somewhere nice to sleep.”

“He doesn't have one?” you never really thought about it, because Carter always made a point of bragging that he could sleep anywhere.

“How'd ya feel about him movin’ into the trailer?”’

“Really?” You asked.

“Safer for us, nicer for him…”

You smiled and he muttered, “c'mere. You're a good girl, sweet pea.”

You were relieved he didn't find your sketchbook.

—--

\\\\\\

—--

Christmas Eve

It was only afternoon, and you already felt like you wouldn't be able to sleep that night. You and Joel had made up a bed for Carter in the living room, which you barely used anyway. You made sure it was away from the leak. There was a quilt and a pillow. You even nailed a sheet between the kitchen from the living room to serve as a privacy curtain since there was no door. You slid the pirate book onto the shelf among the other books.

“We should do it all tonight,” you suggested.

Joel silently laughed at you, then shook his head no.“C’mon. Let's go for a walk,” he said. He didn't really care about the timing, except that he got a kick out of your enthusiasm. It was better than any gift he could've asked for.

-

After the sun set, Carter came up the hill. “Alright, I know Christmas is tomorrow, but I gotta give ya my present tonight.”

“Me too!” You agreed.

“Sweet pea,” Joel shook his head with a chuckle.

“Aw shoot,” Carter said unconvincingly. “I left the bird behind.” Joel had also shot two birds for the other men, and Carter brought them all down to the house to pluck. He sent both you and Joel down there to get the one you would share. Bullet trailed behind.

Joel poked around the storage area trying to buy Carter some time, then he grabbed the goose and when he came back outside bullet did a happy circle.

When you got back to the trailer, a flickering orange glow was visible in the window. Carter had set up a freestanding fireplace hearth in the corner of the kitchen. Joel didn't seem surprised. After all, Carter wouldn't do something like that without permission. But apparently he had hauled the heavy unit on his own, cleaned it out, and fitted the exhaust pipe to a hole he sawed in the wall. The job looked professional.

You had a cozy dinner in the kitchen and lingered around the table enjoying the warmth together while the men drank a spiced wine you made. When the fire died down, Carter announced he better head off to bed.

You and Joel looked at each other and Joel gave you the go-ahead nod toward Carter's new quarters. Joel's eyes sparkled as your face lit up.

With Carter almost out the front door, you said, “where are you going?” He turned around, and you pointed toward the end of the trailer. “Your bed’s in there.”

Carter looked at Joel, and Joel nodded. You grabbed him by the elbow and led him through the kitchen and held the sheet aside for him.

Carter took in the view, then looked back at Joel in case you had gone rogue. Joel nodded. “Might as well crash here, whenever ya want I mean.” Joel shrugged.

Carter tried to refuse, because he was committed to keeping an eye on things down at the house and keeping things under control. “Ain't no troublemakers down at the house these days,” Joel reasoned. “Rather ya keep an eye on this one,” he nodded toward you and pinched your chin.

“You got it, boss.” Carter didn't know what else to say. He and Joel shook hands and the look they shared told you it might as well have been a hug.

Carter went to bed in the newly improved space. Bullet went to sleep on the kitchen floor, right in front of the hearth, enjoying the heat that still radiated from the metal.

-

After enjoying a leisurely Christmas eve romp in which you tried not to be too loud, you and Joel settled in for bed. As you predicted, you weren't tired enough to sleep.

“Do you know the night before Christmas?” You asked Joel, snuggled into the crook of his arm.

He looked at the ceiling and thought. “Somethin’ ‘bout ma and pa wearin’ hats,” and you nodded encouraging him. He tried to continue, “And, uh…. mouse that can't hear nothin’?”

You giggled and buried your face in his arm, again trying not to be too loud. “What?” he asked.

“not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse,” you recited.

“You're gonna stir all night, ain't ya?” Joel asked. “‘less I tucker ya out,” he mused. He turned over, letting part of his weight onto you. He pressed soft kisses onto your neck, then chest, then slid his mouth to your breast and the pull of his lips made you whine. Soon, he became a shape under the sheets, a silhouette stirring between your legs.

He knew how to put you to sleep.

—--

Christmas Day

In the morning, you woke up to the smell of coffee. You dragged a paper bag out from under the bed. You'd drawn stars and trees on it in pencil and labeled it “J. Miller” Joel and Carter were already in the kitchen and there were presents wrapped in old newspaper and string.

You asked Joel to open his first but he refused, wanting to drag out your eagerness as long as possible.

Joel gave you an assortment of sweaters, just in time for the cold weather. Different colors and textures. Cozy and perfect. The last package he handed you wasn't as fluffy.

You carefully untied it and saw corduroy. You ran your hand over the ribs and the fabric was still smooth, however many years after it was made. You held up the garment and it was pants. He willingly gave you pants.

After a moment of silence, Joel mumbled “might not be *that* cold just yet, but–” Carter laughed at him.

You went and sat in Joel's lap and handed him his gift bag. He opened it and pulled out a thermal Henley, a cable knit sweater in decent condition aside from a few snagged threads. You suspected it might be a little tight on his arms, but he never seemed to mind.

The last thing in the bag was a spiral-bound notebook. Your sketchbook. He opened it and his face went serious as his eyes poured over every detail–sketches of him. Joel wiping his sweat with a rag, holding a wrench. Joel sleeping. Joel holding a figure that could only be you. His face softened and his jaw twitched as he studied that one. When he finally moved on to the next page, his face turned pink. He quickly closed the book and cleared his throat. “Sweet pea,” he laughed in faux admonishment. You could've given him that one in private, but you didn't want to tear anything out of the book.

“I drew what I like,” you shrugged, and kissed him on his burning cheek.

“You’re talented, baby,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas,” you wished him, and he kissed you on the forehead. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“I'll make breakfast,” Carter offered.

“Oh. One more thing,” Joel said. “Can't forget the big guy.” Joel eased you off of his lap and stretched before going to the supply closet and retrieving the cushion with the little dip in it.

He plopped it into the floor and bullet came over and sniffed around it, then scratched at the fabric before settling into it.

“And,” Joel interrupted himself with a weak sigh. “As long as he don't get on the bed, when it’s rainin’ ya can bring it..” he nodded toward the bedroom.

You wrapped your arms tight around Joel and he cradled your head. “Alright,” he said. “I'm gettin’ hungry.”

------

Thank you for reading 🖤🖤🖤

[dustbunnyforsims]

Flower & Paw Cushions (Gift)

Paw Cushion Pet Bed

5 Swatches

Functional Pet Bed

Located in Pets

Requires Cats & Dogs Expansion Pack

Flower Cushion Pet Bed

5 Swatches

Functional Pet Bed

Located in Pets

Requires Cats & Dogs Expansion Pack

You can find all our content in Build & Buy Mode by searching "Dust Bunny"

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Conversion // Do not recolor or convert // Do not re-upload

DOWNLOAD (FREE)

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[jacky93sims]

Avocado Seat, Cat House and Urbanist Coffee Table Pet Bed for The Sims 2

These are 4to2 conversions from PixelVibes, I reduced the polycount (now it's low). Avocado Seat is an armchair, the coffee table can be found in low tables section of buy mode and is for small pets (not big dogs), plus the cushion is slaved to the original game one (so it will take all the recolors too). The cat house is in the pet section and it's just for cats.

DOWNLOAD HERE

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[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Obedience Training.

Pairing: Yandere!Illumi x Reader (HxH).

Commissioned by the very lovely @h2o2-and-baking-soda.

Word Count: 1.6k.

TW: Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment, Physical/Psychological Abuse, Pet Play, Dehumanization, and Controlling Behavior.

The ring was beyond repair.

It was the ugly kind of damage, too – the gold chipped and dented, some parts entirely flattened while others had scratched and tarnished to the point of virtual unrecognizability. The jewel itself (a diamond the color of the sky just before sunrise and the size of the nail on your pointer finger) had been pried out of its casing and polished with the blunt side of the hammer you’d pilfered from collection of one of the more forgetful servants. Any fragments that might’ve been worth salvaging were then washed down the sink of your en suite, and the near-microscopic remnants glistened against the table’s dark mahogany – twinkling whenever they caught the ample sunlight.

It'd been his mother’s ring; albeit, one of countless. Breaking it in such an obviously deliberate way had been a stupid thing to do, and a part of you must’ve known that while you were doing it. A part of you must’ve basked in the idiotic rage of it all, must’ve been dying to see what Illumi would be like when he couldn’t hide behind those big, blank eyes and that unreadable expression. As hazy as it seemed, you could remember being excited to see how Illumi would react, what he thought he could do to you that he hadn’t already put you through.

Now, though, standing next to him as he evaluated the damage, watching as those dark, glossy eyes skirted from the splintered wood to the decimated ring to the sparkling residue…

You weren’t excited, anymore.

Several seconds passed in silent paralysis. Images of braided rope and rusted chains and broken legs flashed through your subconscious, but he managed to draw you out of your spiraling thoughts with a low hum, a startling click of his tongue. Finally, he turned toward you and raised a hand, and you braced yourself for the feeling his fist around your neck, two fingers piercing the fragile bone of your skull, his pointed nails clawing out your eyes and leaving you to ble—

His palm came to rest on top of your head, petting over your hair gently. “Sweetheart,” he muttered with a tone as warm and as affectionate as a corpse in a snowstorm. “Would you come with me?”

You opened your mouth, but closed it again just as quickly. You nodded, the gesture stilted and jerky, and Illumi offered an approving smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, letting his hand fall to your wrist. He pressed a lingering kiss into the top of your head before tugging you gently towards the door.

Neither of you spoke as he guided you through the halls of his mansion. Usually, you could count on running into one of the sociopaths that made up his family or a member of their bloodthirsty staff whenever you left your room, but today, his sprawling home seemed to be vacant, lifeless, as empty as the killers who dwelled inside of it. Steadily, you moved downward, the marble walls turning to rough stone, the filtered sunlight soon traded out for the artificial glow of dim gas lamps. He didn’t drag his feet or try to prolong your walk to the gallows, but he didn’t rush, either, didn’t seem to be in any rush to carry out your inevitably punishment. Eventually, he came to a stop in front of a simple wooden door – unremarkable in every aspect save for the deep well of dread it managed to dredge up inside of you.

With little ceremony, the door was pushed open and you were ushered inside of ahead of him. Your attention quickly fell onto the object most immediately in front of you: a dog crate.

It was almost shockingly mundane; not overly massive, but big enough for a large pitbull or golden retriever, the bars thin but close together and the bottom cushioned by a small bed with pink and white paw prints splattered across it. A handful of miscellaneous items had been laid on top of it. Your attention caught on the collar, first, the cutesy type with a bell and fake (or, knowing Illumi, very real) gemstones studded into the leather and a matching leash, and then headband with what couldn’t be—

Illumi moved past you, approaching the crate and taking up the undeniably, indisputably dog-eared headband. He turned it over in his hands once, then twice, before speaking. “Strip.”

It sounded like gibberish; partially muffled by the static buzzing over your conscious mind and made even more difficult to process by your own unwillingness to do so. “What?”

“Strip,” he repeated. “Or I’ll break every bone in your right hand.”

It was the specificity of the threat (paired with the implication that your left wouldn’t be long to follow) that had your shaking hands reaching for the hem of your shirt and hauling it over your head. You looked towards him for approval after every shed article, but he only seemed to notice your obedience at all when you stood bare and vulnerable in front of him, completely unprotected from both his prying gaze and the chill of the damp dungeon air. You started to move towards him, but he stopped you with a quick shake of his head, a new softness to his expression. “Kneel.”

With a shallow breath, you complied, lowering yourself onto your knees. Now, now, he took his time, his terrible eyes raking over your trembling form as he came to stand in front of you. The collar was fastened around your neck deftly, the leash allowed to hang loose and pool in your lap. He was more careful with the headband – meticulously lining it up with your ears, your face before sliding it into place with a satisfied hum. In a very distant, very muted way, you found that you were surprised less that your hitman-turned-kidnapper would have a pet play lair hidden away in some dark corner of his basement, and more that the aforementioned kidnapper would use that pet play lair to dress you up as a dog, rather than a cat. Illumi was as cat-like as a man could be – silent and skulking, prone to digging his claws into what he loved most – but the more you thought about it, the more sense it made. Cats were smart and sly and perfectly capable of surviving on their own, whereas dogs were stupid and clumsy and almost painfully reliant on their owners. People get cats because they want something that can choose to love them back. People get dogs because they want something that doesn’t have another choice.

“I--Illumi,” you managed, his name still awkward and bitter on your tongue. “I… I’m really sorry, and I’ve learned my lesson, and—”

One second, you were staring at his feet, and the next, your head was snapped to the side, a searing pain stitched deeply into your cheek. His open palm slipped downward, cupping your chin and tilting your head back, forcing you to face him properly. “Good pets don’t talk.” His tone was shockingly sweet, coercive, as if he was trying to explain something very simple to a very stupid child. “Good pets only follow commands. Can you do that for me, puppy?”

Tears were starting to gather in the corners of your eyes, a tight knot lodging itself at the base of your throat, but you did your best to keep both at bay. You started to nod, then thought better of it, straightening your back and squaring your shoulders, trying to communicate the only thing you could seem to think – please don’t hurt me please don’t hurt me please don’t hurt me – without giving him a reason to land another blow. In the end, he rewarded you with the ghost of a smile, his free hand held in front of your mouth. “Good puppy. Now lick.”

You hesitated, but the steady ache pounding in your cheek was enough to make you swallow your pride. Your tongue darted out from between trembling lips, and with no small amount of trepidation, you lapped over the back of his closed fist. He let you begin to pull away before moving – before forcing two fingers into your open mouth and pressing the pads of his digits into the back of your throat. You gagged, your body instinctually recoiling, but he didn’t relent, his thumb digging into your jaw as he held you in place. Your hands shot to his thighs, the tears you’d forced back resurfacing and flooding down your cheeks, but he didn’t budge, didn’t pull away until you were gasping and breathless and utterly humiliated. Finally, he drew back, wiping his spit-soaked digits on your shoulder as his eyes moved from your open mouth to your hands, still balled around the fabric of his pants. “I have something upstairs for those,” he said, voice dripping with all the warmth and affection he usually denied you. “I’ll forgive you this time, puppy, but good pets shouldn’t be able to grab.”

He reached down, taking you by the leash. You were too detached to resist as he half-led, half-dragged you towards the crate. This time, you couldn’t stop yourself from shaking your head, from stammering out little ‘no, no, no’s as his fist curled around your collar and forced you past the metal gate and into the confined space, suddenly so much smaller than it’d seemed from the outside. You had just enough time to scramble for the door before Illumi slammed it shut, letting the clasp fall into place and leaving you withering inside the makeshift cage. You couldn’t stop yourself – hands curling around the bars as you looked toward him with your most pleading expression, but Illumi only shook his head. “You don’t have to sulk. Maybe, with some time, we’ll be able to move your bed somewhere warmer.”

He paused, his grin widening into the first real smile you’d ever earned from him.

“After you’ve proved you can be a good dog, of course.”

[fawnsflowerbed]

♡ Puppy-lovin' ♡

A/N: Oh my goodness this took me FAR TOO LONG!!!! Commission of headcanons for my lovely sunshine anon, THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE MY DARLING!!!

Even more headcanons of puppy hybrid and Leon shenanigans!!!

Warnings/content: 2nd person (you/yours), fem pup hybrid reader, grumpy ol' man Vendetta Leon, Leon is referred to as daddy! lots and lots and LOTS of fluff!!! Headcanons!!!

Word count: 3,250 approx.

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What is his biggest pet peeve that she does? (Ik he's obsessed with her HAHA but he  i s  still a grump at times, after all)

TEETHING. That sweet fluffy baby chews on ANYTHING she can get her little canines on. Food and water bowls, toys, chair legs, trashcans, clothes, towels, shoes. Leon has to sit you down and explain that yes you do have very pretty chompers and yes the hybrid vet said they were very healthy and you were a good girl for brushing them on your own but that doesn’t mean you have to PROVE A POINT WITH SAID TEETH!!!! SAVE IT FOR THE SQUEAKY TOYS!!!!! HIS COMBAT BOOTS DID NOT DESERVE THAT GNAWING!!!!!!

I also feel like her whimpering might sometimes get to him?? Depending on his mood. Like making dinner? Whimper. He’s in the bathroom? Whimper. Reading files? Whimper. Tv without her? Whimper. Broken record. His puppy just wants to be around him any time she can because that’s her daddy obviously, and he loves her to bits, but sometimes the man just wants to take a piss alone! We’re talking he gets a few fingers gently bapping at the gap between the floor and the door out of curiosity with mixed whines, or sometimes he has to keep it open a crack so you can hold his hand as he goes. You’re so damn lucky he loves you and that thumping tail of yours.

“Listen, listen, a man has the right to pee in peace. My puppy says otherwise, okay?” -Likely said by Leon as he’s laughing to one of his coworkers about your behaviour. 

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What's something that'll make him go "Who did this, hm?" And she's like- anxiously wags,,,, like when dogs know they're guilty n stuff 😭

ONCE MORE THE CHEWING!!!! I also feel like she can’t be trusted with porcelain or glass for obvious reasons (cough cough Picture Perfect fic cough) so if he does let her eat with him at a table or anything it’s gotta be plastic. One time she’s wanting to be helpful and get him a glass of water as they’re winding down for the night, he came home from a long tedious day of work, and on her way to the faucet she’s still so excited about him being back that she completely forgets she is in fact holding a glass. When it hits the floorboards it’s instant chaos, babygirl’s sitting there staring at the shards like ‘uh oh uh oh uhohuhoh-’ and not knowing what else to do she puts a pillow over it. Because yeah honey, he’s totally gonna think that's perfectly normal.

So obviously when Leon finds it, seeing the pieces collected in a neat little pile under a cushion, he’s giving a call. 

“Sunshine. C’mere a second, baby.”

And you toddle your way in with that tail slightly tucked, not making eye contact. Oh he already knows what’s going on, you’ve never been very good at lying.

“Y’know, it’s funny sweetheart. I come home from a long day of work, have an amazing dinner with my favourite girl in the world, take a nice hot shower and start getting ready for bed. But right as I’m turning the lights off, I find this.” He gestures rather pointedly to the cushion atop the glass shards. 

“And I’m thinkin’, hm, that’s odd. So I pick it up, and look at what’s hiding under it.” Picking it up by a corner of the casing, he makes sure to add an over dramatic gasp. “Broken glass! Isn’t that the strangest thing, puppy? I mean, what are the odds?” His broad shoulders shrug as if he himself can’t believe this ‘totally random’ sequence of events leading to a pile of glass ‘randomly’ appearing under a pillow. “You wouldn’t happen to know who did this, now would you honey?”

You’ve got your cute butt planted on the floor by now, looking up at him rather pitifully. Staring from beneath your lashes, tail slowly wagging back and forth across the hardwood, ears pressed back. 

When you do finally speak, it’s a mumble of “I was getting you water n’ I forgot…”

He cocks an eyebrow at you. “You.. forgot? You forgot what, sweetpea?”

“...Forgot I was holding the glass..”

Oh his heart just melts. You’re an angel, a bit of a dummy at times, but such an angel. Leon can only shake his head with a chuckle, placing a kiss to the crown of your head. “My sweet, silly girl. Let’s get this cleaned up then, alright?”

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Do you think Leon will have his days where he needs space from her from a difficult mission/assignment?

It’s a 50/50 depending on how hard the mission was. If we’re talking like freshly Vendetta Leon then definitely. He’s just so mentally drained, sometimes he just needs to have a minute to fall face first into bed, lay there for a couple of hours. He’ll leave to go to the bathroom and hear your paws padding after him but he just doesn’t have the energy to do anything more then pet you as he goes to grab another drink from the fridge. Sometimes alcohol, sometimes soda. It depends on how shitty he’s feeling, how much he wants to torture himself.

Sometimes you sit at the door with a meek whimper and swishing tail, at first confused as to why he’s so down. Pawing at the wood grain like the poor dumb girl you are, missing your favourite person and just wanting to be there with him. From time to time you crawl up into bed next to him, slipping under his arm to lay your face in the crook of his bicep, often to receive a gentle pet. “I just need a second, puppy. You’re my good girl, though.”

A few times you’ve asked him why he gets like that, why he seems to sink back into himself, and he just sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Y’know how you get upset after the vet, cause they prod at your teeth with the nasty tasting gloves and you have to get your shots?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well sometimes Daddy gets like that after a really really hard day at work.”

“..If I put a Hello Kitty bandaid on it and..” You scrunch your little nose in thought, “..buy you a stuffie for being brave will you feel better?”

And he just chuckles fondly, giving your hair a gentle ruffle. God, you’re too sweet. “Maybe baby, maybe.”

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Do you think he'll get better with the drinking with her around, or do you think he still drinks? I imagine that she's not a fan, if he still does!

He definitely tries his best to at least cut down on the drinking, but I doubt he’s entirely sober since - well, it’s Leon - but he really doesn’t feel the need to sometimes. Usually when something shitty goes down he instantly goes for the bottle, but now? Now it takes a lot more to drive him into that spiral. 

Most of the time when his depression hits it’s like you sense it, call it that puppy instinct, and you’re toddling your way over to lay your head on his knee and whimper. He tries not to get too drunk, he knows you hate it. How he sways and scruffs at your hair sometimes a little too hard. But he’s trying. Tries to substitute the shitty burning taste of whiskey with spicy foods as an alternative, or punish himself through tonic water only to look like an angry cat once the glass is finished. Anything other than alcohol if he can stomach it.

Because he doesn’t want you to remember him as someone who drank all the time, he wants you to remember how on the bad days he opened his arms to you and let you lay atop his chest as his own personal weighted blanket. How despite how he used to snap and draw away from everyone, how he’d shoot whiskey like it was water, you coming into his life made it all feel so much easier.

He wants you to remember that you made it easier. You made it better.

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When she gets in trouble, what is it for? And is there any form of "punishment" or "grounding"? 

Timeout is HUGE, I don’t think he’d have the heart to actually ground her. One bat of those big babydoll eyes and he has to remind himself NOT to cave. The only thing he can’t do is take her toys away, that would eat the big guy up inside AND out, he knows how much you adore your stuffies and squeakies. 

Usually it’s just lockup time in her pen to sit and think about what she did, doing his best to ignore the pitiful sound of your whines of guilt. He knows you hate timeout, but he doesn’t really know how else to punish you! That or taking away your weekly movie night until you behave, which means no 2 or so hours of uninterrupted cuddle time on daddy’s lap, which is worse than a jail sentence in your opinion. 

The cone of shame has yet to be used, same for muzzles. You’ve cut it pretty close a few times with any of the ladies who stick around and talk to him too long though! He had no clue his sweet sunshine baby had a knack for nipping at ankles.

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Does she beg for food, and if so, how does Leon go about dealing with it?

BIG puppy dog eyes at the table, sitting at his feet. Sometimes he caves, because duh, you’re his baby. But Chris keeps saying he needs to be more stern so he tries and tries and TRIES. But you have those HUGE glossy blinkers on blinky mode up at him, and your tail is swish swish swishing happily against the wooden grain and you just look so ready to get a little bite of whatever he’s got and who is he to deny you? You who wakes him up with kisses and cuddles, who trots along behind him everywhere he goes. You sit at the window and wait for him to get home from work for god’s sake, surely a little piece of food is nothing, right?

He’ll do it cause he loves you, other times cause he wants to see how you’ll react. One time you gave him the puppy stare for a lick of the hot sauce he got to go with his wings, which was a moment of instant regret on your end. Leon had to bite back the biggest smile with an “Is it good, baby?” Watching you smack your lips and tongue with a scrunched up face and furrowed eyebrows. Shaking your head around and yapping as if the taste was a personal attack on you.

Sometimes you even get fancy with it, padding from leg to leg at his feet, doing little spins out of excitement for whatever tasty morsel he’s about to drop into your mouth. I mean c’mon, how is he supposed to resist it?

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How does he interact with her in his depressive states, and how does she comfort him?

You 100% believe he needs a stuffie. So you’re dropping your toys in his lap with big wet eyes and a slow swaying tail. It has to make him feel better, right?

Leon has two main moods when he’s in his depressions. ‘I’ve ruined everything, no one come near me.’ And ‘I’ve ruined everything, please don’t leave me alone.’ Swinging between these moods like an unstable seesaw, but he just can’t bring himself to pull you down with it. Who is he to look you in the eye and tell you to go away, when all you want to do is help? You’re not a bad girl, not a bad dog, so why should he lecture you on behaviour that comes as natural to you as breathing? Your kindness and need to ensure he’s as happy as you are, it’s practically built into your little puppy brain. Because he’s your daddy, and you love him. 

So he tries his hardest. He lays on the couch for his usual hour of slumping but keeps an eye out for a swishing tail, an ear out for any little whimpers. You’re climbing into his lap, crawling all over him to put your weight on him, cuddling up like a plush toy. 

And he wraps his arms around you silently, letting you be his anchor.

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When she asks to come with him to work, how does he respond? (Bc obvi she can't come fight bioweapons with him,,)

Sometimes he’ll take her when he has desk duty and Hunnigan just MELTS she LOVES your sweet little tailed self. But other times either he has to call Becca and Claire over to babysit you, cause there’s no way that he can leave his poor sweet girl at home alone! And you whimper and whine the whole time but it’s either that or coax you to go to the DSO before Claire comes to pick you up after the work day is finished.

Like how is he supposed to look at you and go ‘no baby you can’t go with daddy to work because daddy shoots bugs and-’ 

BUGS? YOU LOVE BUGS!!!! BUGS DESPISE YOU SO YOU’LL BE SO GOOD ON BUG DUTY!!!!

“I know puppy, I know. But daddy’s going in a biiiiiiig metal bird, and I know you love to chase birds so I can’t take you with me. Cause what if you bite the bird too hard, huh? Then daddy can’t buy you new toys! Can’t have that happening, sunshine. So, how about this. You can sit at daddy’s desk next to miss Hunnigan and when I talk to her over the little ear phone she can pass it over to you and you can have a chat with me. Is that okay? Yeah?”

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How does he react when she catches things for him, like bugs or something? (he def didn't ask her to LOL) I feel like she'd be eyeing a moth or something and be like omg a present for daddy :33 (she has good intentions fs)

That man honestly gets a leaf bug or moth at his feet once a month. A little half chewed, he saw you spitting out tufts of wing a few minutes ago so he can guess that’s why. You’ve always been a jumper, pouncing and bouncing around the yard or when he takes you for walks. So it’s no wonder you started up this habit.

“Yes- yes baby, I know you got it just for me and- mhm. Mhm I do love it honey but I just think- And I’m so proud of you for hunting it all on your own but sweetpea how about instead you bring me.. I don’t know, fuck- wait don’t say that word. Hm. I don’t know leaves you find interesting.”

Stupid man. Dumb dumb idiot man. Next thing he knows there’s a small collection of leaves lined up at the back door. He’s gotta figure out an alternative and fast, boy. 

Has he ever had to bandage her up bc she did something dumb that he warned her not to do? 😭

That girl’s mortal enemy is anything that like, rears up at her. Praying mantises, spiders, grasshoppers, wasps and bees. If it moves, and it moves in a way that she perceives as a threat, it will be bapped with her hand.

“Hey- hey woah woah woah woah woah- easy there, tiger.” He’s scooping you up off the grass as you’re growling and yapping at whatever insect has made the mistake of buzzing too close to his sweet girl. “That’s a praying mantis, baby. If one of those big claws gets you, it’s gonna scare the sh- ahem, it’s probably gonna spook you.”

Five minutes later when he sets you back down he hears a startled yelp followed by you scampering around the backyard waving your face back and forth. Yeah he should’ve expected that. Watching as you finally flick the bug away with a huff of disapproval, which is followed by a very overdramatic whimper in Leon’s direction. Obviously need of love and affection after such a traumatic experience. Nothing a bit of antiseptic and plenty of well placed kisses won’t fix.

SO many scrapes. Bee stings, ant bites, mosquito bites, scratches and bruises from bouncing around the yard and house. He had to buy the Sanrio bandaids to patch you up or you refused to sit still. Thankfully your new favourite thing is barking at the other hybrids on the tv, an activity that WON’T result in several bruises. Maybe an earache or two, perhaps a sore throat, but hey, that’s better than box upon box of bandaids. 

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

When he wants her inside, and she does that one excited play pose (you know the one HAHA), does he entertain it, or does he know better to just go inside because she'll follow? LMAO

You’re padding your way around through the grass of the backyard, tail high and wagging proudly. You’d been very successful in your burying of a bone, planting your own little territory outside the house, and because of that success a buzz ran through your body. Being the jitterbug you were with a case of the zoomies coming on, you gave your ears a shake out when Leon’s whistle was heard.

“Puppy? C’mon, babygirl. It’s getting dark.”

But you were just getting started! Maybe you could convince him, after all if puppies had to listen to their daddies, surely daddies had to listen to their puppies right? That’s, like, the law. And you still have so much energy!

So, ever the bouncy pup you are, you crouch down into ‘the pose’. Everyone knows which one. The one you pull when you’re telling another hybrid you wanna play, the half bow with you eyes locked on him and a fast wagging tail.

“Baby- no. Oh, don’t give me that face..” Leon runs a hand over his face with a long sigh, biting back a smile with all the teeth he can manage.  

But you’re giggling with that big grin on your face, hands braced like paws against the grass and ears perked up expectantly.

“Honey..no. Now-

As soon as he takes a step towards you, no matter how small it is, you’re jumping in a little circle with happy yaps. Next thing he knows you’ve got the zoomies, and you’re bounding your way through the freshly-clipped lawn. All he can really do is lean against the outside wall and wait for you to run out of energy, arms crossed with a grin on his face. IIt doesn’t last too long thankfully, a few bounces, a couple of spins and you’re trotting over to him panting. He watched the whole thing, your tail wagging a gazillion miles an hour each time you hopped, skipped, and jumped. You always found endless ways to entertain yourself outside, Leon really didn’t know how you did it. 

 And yeah, it was getting dark out, but it was only a few minutes more of watching his sweet girl bound around happily, he’d only really try to rouse on you if it was for your safety. But right now? As your big eyes watch fireflies fill the backyard’s air, pawing weakly up at them between giggles, he knows it’s worth it. 

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

Like my work? Consider buying me boba!

[velarisdusk]

Strings of Devotion

Day 21: Pet play | Eris x Reader word count: 1.3k author's note: be warned there is a dog crate, idc, if youre gonna be eris’s pet you’re gonna go all the way, be glad i didn't write in food and water bowls like i originally planned ✦ . Kinktober Masterlist . ✦

The air in the Forest House was thick with warmth, the fire in the hearth crackling and casting flickering shadows across Eris Vanserra’s private chamber. The Heir of Autumn lounged in his chair, legs spread in a posture that was both relaxed and commanding. His auburn hair, typically bound in a tight knot, was loose tonight, falling over his shoulders like molten copper. He watched you with those sharp amber eyes, a slow, knowing  smirk tugging at his lips.

You knelt before him on the thick, fur-lined rug, its plushness cushioning your bare skin. The weight of the leather collar around your neck was a reminder of your role tonight — a role you embraced fully, a game that stirred something primal and thrilling within you both. Eris held the chain leash in his hand, twisting it idly between his fingers, the metal links glinting in the firelight as if they were enchanted, testing your patience. 

“Look at you," he murmured, voice like molten honey. "So obedient, so eager to please. My pretty little pet." He gave the leash a light tug, not to move you, but as a reminder of who held your reigns. "Tell me — does it make you feel good, wearing my collar?”

You nodded, pulse quickening at his words. But when you opened your mouth to respond, Eris’s raised brow stopped you short. Instead, a soft whine escaped your throat, the sound filled with longing and desire. Words weren’t necessary — puppies didn’t speak, after all.

“That’s right,” he purred, his smile widening as he watched you. “Good puppies know how to listen. They don’t need words to show how much they want to be good.”

Heat spread through your body, arousal mixing with the thrill of submission as you sat back on your heels, waiting. Eris leaned forward, his fingers tracing the line of the collar before brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. His touch was light, teasing, but it made you shiver with need.

“Show me how well you’ve learned," Eris said, his voice soft but brimming with authority. He tugged on the leash again, pulling you closer to him. "Get on the bed.”

You rose to your feet, the thick rug muffling your steps as you moved to the bed, heart pounding with anticipation. The way Eris controlled every breath, every move you made, left you aching for more. You climbed onto the bed, the cool sheets brushing against your heated skin, positioning yourself on your knees at the edge, your eyes fixed on him, waiting for the next command.

Eris stood, his movement as fluid as the fire that seemed to dance for him. He approached the bed, leash still held tightly in his hand, and you felt his gaze on you as if it were a caress. He stopped beside you, his hand cupping your jaw, tilting your head just enough to meet his eyes.

"Look at me," he ordered, voice soft but heavy with power. You obeyed immediately, your breath catching as his thumb brushed across your bottom lip, a promise of pleasure yet to come. "So pretty, so well-behaved.”

His fingers traced the edge of the collar, the heat of his touch contrasting with the coolness of the leather. "Do you feel it?" he whispered, leaning down until his lips hovered just above yours. "How this binds you to me? How it reminds you who you belong to?”

A needy whimper left your lips, your body leaning toward him, seeking more of his touch. But you held back, knowing better than to take what hadn’t been offered.

“Good girl," he praised, and your heart raced at the words. He straightened and tugged gently on the leash, guiding you to turn and position yourself on all fours. Your back arched, your body on display the way he liked best, offered for his pleasure.

“Such a pretty little pup,” he murmured, his fingers trailing down your spine, his touch deliberate, possessive. His other hand tightened slightly on the leash, keeping the tension held just so, enough to remind you of the power he held over you. 

“So eager," he continued, voice dark and edged with amusement. "Do you know how beautiful you look right now? On display like this, waiting so patiently for me to take you?”

A soft whimper was all you could manage, your body trembling beneath his touch as his fingers drifted lower, teasing but now giving you what you craved. The ache between your thighs grew sharper, the anticipation building as Eris kept you on the edge, refusing to give in too easily. He loved making you wait, loved the way your body responded to his control. 

Eris chuckled, the sound rich and indulgent. "Patience," he said, his fingers brushing close, so close, but still denying you what you longed for. "Good pets know how to wait for their master’s pleasure, don’t they?”

Another whine escaped you, your hips shifting as you tried — and failed — to press closer to his hand. He pulled the leash, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, a soft growl escaping his throat.

“Shh," he murmured, leaning down, his lips grazing your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You’ll get what you need when I decide you’ve earned it.”

He paused, his eyes flicking to a large, ornate crate that sat in the corner of the room, its door slightly ajar. “I think my little pup needs a reminder of her place,” he mused, a dark glint in his gaze. He tugged on the leash, guiding you off the bed. “Go on, go to your crate.”

Your heart pounded as you obeyed, head bowed low as you crawled across the thick rug toward the crate, the weight of his gaze on you making every movement feel sensual. When you reached it, you glanced back at him, waiting for his command.

“In,” Eris ordered, his voice soft but unyielding as he removed the leash from your collar. 

You shuffled inside, the confinement enveloping you, the bars cold against your skin. Eris knelt down, his fingers brushing over your cheek, a smile playing at his lips. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Puppies need a proper place to think about what they’ve done, don’t they?”

He closed the crate door, the click of the latch echoing through the room, a reminder of just how completely you belonged to him. He stood, the leash still in his hands. “Now, stay there until I call for you.”

You whimpered softly, the mix of arousal and submission almost overwhelming as you settled into the crate, your eyes never leaving him. Eris watched you for a moment longer, his smile widening as he turned away, the firelight casting his shadow across the room.

“You’ll get what you need soon enough, pup,” he said, his voice filled with promise. “But only if you’re very, very good.”

You swallowed hard, the tension in your body almost unbearable now, every muscle tight with need. When Eris finally returned to you, his hand moved between your legs through the bars of the crate, fingers sliding over the wetness there, and a sharp gasp tore from your lips at the overwhelming sensation.

“There," Eris whispered, his voice low and pleased as his fingers moved with slow precision. "That’s what you wanted, isn’t it, pup? My touch, my control?”

A soft bark escaped your lips, a wordless plea, and Eris rewarded you with a dark, satisfied chuckle. "Good girl.”

And then, finally, he gave you exactly what you needed. 

You felt the shift in him, the leash pulled taut, and the weight of his dominance settled over you like a comforting shroud. Every inch of your being was his to command, every breath, every whimper, every shiver of pleasure. You were his pet, his to pleasure, his to control — and it was perfect.

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[shankss-magnificent-ass]

How OP men would comfort you after losing a pet || Shanks and Crocodile

I have to put my dog of eleven years down on the 31st (it's 7/30 when I'm writing this). Unfortunately, he has an inoperable cancerous mass on his perineum that is giving him incontinence issues.

Warning: use of (y/n), angst, pet/animal death mentioned.

Shanks would be there for you and give you anything you ask for, even if it hurts him.

Lucky Roux barged into Shanks's office, going as far as to kick in the door, and yelled, "Boss, I swear to god, you need to go check on (y/n)."

Shanks stopped conversing with Hongo, looked up, and blinked incredulously at his cook's extreme, unusual reaction. "Why's that?" he asked, instantly worried you had crossed some line, you always did have issues identifying people's unspoken boundaries, even though you did try your best.

Lucky Roux vented, "They haven't been coming to meals for several days. They haven't been coming out of their room, except for necessities, and we're all worried about them."

"I see," Shanks muttered in dismay as he averted his eyes.

The large, round man ground his teeth together in frustration before he boomed, "Is that all you have to say! There's something wrong with someone you care about, and you sit there and do nothing!"

Hongo stood up, lifted his hands towards Lucky Roux, and tried to ease him down, "Whoa, whoa."

Shanks declared, "It's alright, Hongo, he has every right to be upset." When the blonde sat back in his seat, Shanks sighed, "They're sad because their cat had gotten into that field of lilies on the last island."

"So? Their cat frolicked in a field of flowers." Roux snapped.

Shanks fixed his friend with a stern gaze, and growled, "Lilies are poisonous to cats. It developed fatal kidney failure a few hours later, and we had to put it down before it started to suffer."

Lucky Roux visibly deflated as Shanks continued, "I know better than any of you how much they're hurting right now. I sleep in the same bed as them, I've woken up to them crying next to me during the night every night since it happened. They asked for some space to process their grief, so the only thing we can do, until they're ready to reach out, is make sure they're comfortable and taken care of."

Lucky Roux unclenched his fists, as a tense silence briefly filled the room. All three men grimaced, dissatisfied with the anguish, from feeling like they couldn't do anything to help, gnawing at their hearts. Shanks broke the silence, "They've been eating, they're just taking them in their room."

Lucky Roux huffed, "Why wasn't I informed? It's usually my job to take people their food when they're under the weather."

"They asked me to not make a fuss, they didn't want to worry anyone." Shanks groaned, "Fat lot of good that did."

Hongo piped in, "He came to me to discuss healthy strategies to help them get out of this grief-funk they've sunk into."

Lucky Roux hummed thoughtfully for a moment, before snapping his fingers, "Why don't we have a crew meeting about this?"

"That's a wonderful idea because I've been feeling lost on what to do." Shanks thundered, slapping his knee as he leaned back into his chair.

Sir Crocodile would empathize with you in silence, while he gives you physical comfort and considerable amounts of leniency.

Crocodile walked into his office to see you sitting on his couch, silent and seemingly dazed, clutching a tissue box as tears ran down your face. He eyed you, noting that you weren't moving, and showed no knowledge of his presence. The large man shook his head in disbelief, pulling his lighter and a cigar. He took off his coat, threw it over the couch on the other side of the coffee table, and plopped down next to you on the couch. Crocodile took his sweet time to light up, to give you a chance to say anything before he leaned back into the couch cushions, and asked "What's the matter with you, Kid?"

Unsatisfied with your lack of response, Crocodile put his arm over the couch behind you and used his hook to tap your shoulder farthest from him. When jerked away in surprise, he blew out a large plume of smoke. As you coughed and tried to fan away the smoke, Crocodile cocked his head and enunciated, "What is the matter?"

When you stopped coughing, you rasped, "Why would you think that something is the matter?"

Crocodile rolled his eyes, and grumbled, "Cut the crap, you are visibly a wreck."

"My dog died." You admitted.

Now feeling like an ass, Crocodile muttered, "Fuck, the one in the picture on your desk?" When you nodded, he silently allowed his hand to rest on your shoulder and offered his cigar to you. As he watched you take the cigar from him, Crocodile asked, "How did it happen, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Cancer," You sniffled and took a long pull off his cigar. "It was inoperable, and the tumor grew rapidly over six-ish months. I decided that given all his health issues, age, quality of life, and the number of tumors he had, it was best to put him to sleep before he really started to suffer."

Crocodile nodded, slightly relieved that it wasn't anything violent. "Knowing you, he had a good life, and at least he wasn't in pain." Crocodile offered.

The tall man started to panic as tears filled your eyes once more and your face twisted in grief. "I felt I should have done more for him, I could have done more for him." Crocodile, using his free hand, guided the cigar to your lips and shushed you, "Take a hit, dear, it'll help."

You took a shaky hit and leaned against his shoulder.

"Oh! And that's silk you are getting your snot on," Crocodile grumbled but made no move to push you away, before he tisked, "I guess it's fine." In resignation to the fate of his waistcoat, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, lifted the cigar in your hand to his lips, and took a hit. He'd sit there for as long as you needed him to.

List of Up-and-coming works || Master list || Twitter| Kofi || Patreon

[livefastwritetrash]

I see a lot of speculation that the “Infamous Puppy Debacle of ‘94” was a matter of Edwin getting jealous over Charles’s attention.

Consider instead.

Edwin follows that line up with “the living are MESSY.” So I put it to you.

An alternate perspective on the Infamous Puppy Debacle of ‘94:

-

Be Charles Rowland, circa 1994. It’s been 5 years since you’ve had to think about eating or drinking or sleeping or using the restroom or any sort of bodily function really. Your latest client moved on but he left his sweet little golden retriever behind with no one to care for her.

You could care for her.

You always wanted a dog. Dad never had to say no because you had never asked. You never wanted to bring one around knowing they might get hurt. There’s no one to hurt them now.

She comes back to the office. You drag an old sofa in there to give her a bed fit for a queen. You gather up any ball-shaped objects around you aren’t particularly attached to. She’s partial to the tiny black and white football that’s enchanted to always roll back to you. A proper Manchester United fan.

Edwin isn’t happy of course. But then again he rarely is. The dog will be as good for him as she is for you, surely. He could do with someone to care for him with even half of the kindness he shows others. Even if it’s usually through that layer of ice you’ve slowly been chipping away at for want of the friend inside.

Edwin’s budged up nice and cozy with the dog on the couch by that very evening, and you’re feeling quite proud of yourself for your excellent judgement.

An urgent case arises before the sun is up, bothering no one because it’s not like either of you were asleep. If anything it saved you from another devastating loss at the hands of Colonel Mustard in the study with the lead pipe. You tell your new football fan to be a good girl while you’re gone and dip out through the mirror.

It takes longer than expected. Evening is falling again when you and Edwin finally catch your breath in a local park, safe for the moment and free to return to home base. In the whirlwind of the day, you can’t help but feel you've forgotten something…

A jogger runs by with a dog on a leash. Oh.

Another person with a dog pulls up short. They produce a plastic baggy and stoop to collect their pet's leavings. Oh no.

On a bench across the way, a dog owner consoles their bullpup that dinner will be forthcoming as soon as they get home. The stout little monster ignores them, intent on rendering the log in its mouth into a million strips of fiber.

You share a look with Edwin and book it to the nearest mirror.

Being a ghost has its perks. For one, you’ve never been happier to be free of any olfactory senses as you enter the office. There are puddles and plops and any number of messes you try not to look too close at. Edwin’s meticulous case files are in shreds, boxes toppled, tops riddled with tooth marks and slobber.

Your modest but valuable collection of artifacts and other magical ephemera has become a jumbled mass of chew toys on every surface in the room, some being very nearly ingested before rejected.

Perhaps the only edible item in there had been a bag of magic jelly babies, and there were a few piles looking suspiciously sparkly and wet that spoke to where that ended up.

And then there’s your girl, actively tearing into a couch cushion in search of more food as you take in the carnage. She raises her head to greet you, tongue lolling, tail wagging, and she makes an excited dash across the room. Straight for Edwin.

Before you can so much as reach for him, he’s on his back with a wet squelch. She’s ruining his perfect hair and perfect clothes and perfect face with clumsy paws and a drooling a tongue, until he finally remembers he doesn’t have to endure this. He sinks into the floor and out of sight, catching your eye as he does so in a look that could freeze a lesser man’s heart but mostly just makes you feel a little guilty.

In the minutes that follow, you calm her down and dig out a magic can of steak and kidney pudding that had always refilled itself since the days of the Blitz. Not that food was much use to ghosts, but Edwin had been in the midst of a world war fixation ever since he learned there was a second one.

The dog looks so happy as you pour it out on the floor, and you fluff her ears hoping to make her as cute as possible as Edwin’s footsteps echo in the hall.

He enters through the front door this time, still dripping in drool with a rip in the shoulder of his fine jacket and one knee sock scrunched low on his ankle with a few deep runs in the yarn. You think the tousled hair suits him at least, though he doesn’t look in the mood to receive a compliment, so you wisely refrain from making that particular quip.

Instead you kneel down and turn on the charm, tugging those puppy jowls up in a grin to match your own, going for the sympathy plea. But it seems 50-year-old magical steak and kidney pudding didn’t exactly sit well, and she immediately makes the most horrid wrenching noises you’ve ever heard before spewing all over the hardwood. She takes a couple interested sniffs and then goes in for seconds, and honestly yeah, maybe you were a little hasty in thinking you could be a dog guy.

It doesn’t take long to find the client’s adult daughter and anonymously drop off the dog she’s been seeking since it disappeared from her father’s flat overnight. Maybe you’d got a bit ahead of yourself on that count too.

It takes ages to get the office back in shape, and Edwin makes you do most of the scrubbing because it’s “good practice” for interacting with physical objects, but mostly it just makes your hands itch. The case files get severely simplified and moved to a vertical filing system, and you feel a bit bad for it but at least that’s less paperwork for you.

Overall you don’t regret your brief foray into pet ownership, but it’s a relief to know there’s no one relying on you for their every need at all hours of the day. Edwin is attempting to retrieve something from under the couch and holds out a hand, so you cross the room to move a billiards stick about a foot nearer to his reach.

He scoops up whatever it is before you can see, but that probably means it’s none of your business anyway. If he seems a little colder in the days following the dog debacle, you assume it’s lingering annoyance for all the trouble she caused. Fortunately an interesting case sweeps through soon enough, and all is forgiven in the wake of a good mystery.

Edwin has always been the observant one. So it’s no surprise it takes you a few weeks to notice that a new object has taken up a place of honor on his desk. How about that. You look over to where he’s resting on the couch, nose in a book, cushion tucked to his chest with several prominent stitches marring the upholstery. He resolutely does not look back.

You smile to yourself and turn back to the new desk ornament, a familiar articulated wooden hand collected from one case or another awhile back. Only now it’s holding a tiny checkered football marred with punctures by canine teeth.

Huh. Five years in, and you think you know a chap. Maybe that layer of ice didn’t have far to go after all.

—

And THAT was the infamous puppy debacle of ‘94.

🐾

[upside-garden-of-dreams]

Sunshine Boy, Golden Love [Hybrid!Jake x Reader]

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none at all~

General info: Reader is kept pretty gender neutral, Jake is a golden retriever puppy/dog boy, please excuse the typos

[More puppy Jake]

There's something about this boy and his cuteness that made my brain flare up with these couple hybrid ideas! I craved some more petting Jake's ears, so this came into existence Do take a read and enjoy this little story ~! 🐶💛

Silky golden locks danced around your fingers as you and Jake laid facing each other in bed.

Floppy ears twitched with every delicate movement of your hands atop his head.

Your adorable puppy boyfriend hummed in enjoyment, tail wagging and thumping on the cushioned matress.

But then, the most wonderful duo of words escaped your mouth:

"Good boy~"

Jake's heart leaped and fluttered inside his chest, cheeks dusted a pretty pink. Brown eyes looked at you shyly.

On the outside, it seemed your lover wanted to stop you from continuing your train of thought, but his excited tail betrayed his bashful act.

"Such a good boy, the cutest puppy ever," you mushed his cheeks to make him pout slightly, "Adorable doggy, yes you are!"

One peck.

Two pecks.

Three pecks.

And then, a multitude of kisses were peppered along his heated cheeks and puckered lips.

"My cutie boy!"

"Jakey, you're too adorable!"

"The Goodest Boy to Walk on Earth~"

"Good pup! Aaaah, I wanna kiss you so much!"

With every new compliment, a rainfall of sweet and playful kisses landed all over his handsome face.

The dog boy became overwhelmed. Internal vibrations of joy and adoration sparked his entire being until...

A high pitched whine of "More~!" tore through his throat before he grabbed your waist and threw himself back into the fluffy blanket under him, bringing you in tow towards him, making you stradle him as you seeked to continue your ministrations.

Such was his excitement that this embarrassing instinct manifested.

Tongue out, short pants of excitement, and the swishing of a tail going a mile a minute gave him away.

You lost no time in peppering even more kisses all over his cute face while massaging the base of his ears with more enthusiasm.

Seriously, he'll give you a heart attack with the amount of cute aggression he's making you feel right now!

"My Bestest Boy Ever, Jakey! I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you!" On and on you repeatedly professed your affection.

With every proclamation of love, a new kiss was placed on his lips, leaving the poor dog boy drunk and dazed from such indulgence.

The dummy look on his face as his brown eyes looked at you made it seem like hearts were floating all over his head.

All cute laying there, tip of his tongue peeking from between his lips, hair and ears a mess from all the petting, golden tail ever revealing his emotions....

It's impossible for someone to be this adorable!

With a soft smile, your lips landed on his one more time. Adoration and love making the gesture last longer than before.

Once separated, Jake could not control his animal side, that ever embarrassing pull taking control of his mind before he could stop it.

A long swipe of his tongue crossed over your lips towards your cheek.

Jake licked your face in a trance before reality downed on him a second after. It felt like lightning stroke his spine from how he flinched and froze in place, tongue still out with the lingering taste of you taunting his senses.

Mortified, his wide eyes examined your next move. The mirage he was in broke like a mirror with no hopes of being repaired.

However, it's you he just licked, it's you who witnessed his slip into the more mindless side of his self.

With you, there's nothing to be insecure about

Sure enough, your lips turned into the brightest smile ever, hugging him close to your chest as you giggled.

Jake immediately returned to his dreamland of love while squeezing you back in happiness. Tiny laughs of his own escaped to create a beautiful melody alongside your giggles.

Gentle hands pushed back the hair on his face to look into his eyes, "You're so adorable, Jake~ Perfect as you are~" You said with a smile.

Your boyfriend couldn't help but fall in love all over again as your confession shot an arrow straight to his heart.

With the way his smile relaxed into a peaceful one and his thumbs rubbed circles on your skin, it was evident your comment touched him.

" Wouldn't change anything for the world. "

What option did you give him, other than to seal your pomise with a tender kiss?

[ END ]

GOLDEN RETRIEVER!JAKE IS JUST TOO ADORABLE, I HAAAD TO 🥺💛 may more hybrid thoughts come to mind 🙏🏻 Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to like, reblog, and comment~

[lokisgoodgirl]

Mischievous Creatures [Brodinsons]

Part of the Brother Collection A link to my regular Masterlist is HERE Summary: A grumpy Loki is forced to pet-sit by Thor, and an unexpected friendship blossoms. (w/c 1.8k) Warnings: Fluffy bro-stuff. Generic dog description, runs on the small side. Mild peril.

Loki grimaced, gritting his teeth. His eyes squeezed shut while a hand flew up against the assault of intrusive sunlight. “Brother,” he hissed, groaning against the pillow. “Must you continually be such a harbinger of accursed agitation upon my-”

“-Ahhhhh!”

Thor released an infuriatingly cheerful sigh. His arms were spread, holding the curtains wide. “Tis’ a joyus day in this realm, brother. Can you smell it?”

Loki frowned, squinting towards the silhouette. “The window is closed, you cretin.”

Thor chuckled. “One does not require an open window to smell joy, brother. Indeed, it is all around.” He turned, the aura of confidence in that garish smile making Loki’s blood run cold. “Some may say...in this very apartment.”

Loki’s frown deepened. It was always concerning when his brother attempted to be coy. “What?!” he barked, suddenly aware of how dry his throat was. Truly, had the monstrosity of muscle woken him before nine? “We have a guest,” Thor cheered, “and I require my brother’s aid.” He paced several strides to the bed, swinging crotch coming alarmingly close to Loki’s face. Two meaty hands rested on his hips, fingers drumming lightly against thick sweats. He swayed back and forth expectantly. This was not a sight Loki wished to see before breakfast.

He pulled the duvet over his head, muttering curses before the sheet was ripped from his grasp. He stiffened, an unexpected chill making his body clench while his brother’s laugh ripped through the air. “Come, they’re waiting,” was all he managed to say, before there was a loud yelp from the living room.

“So this is a dog?”

Loki observed the creature with suspicion as it snuffled against the hardwood floor.

It had been going about its business for around twenty seconds now, paying no reverence or respect to the legendary beings in its presence. Loki’s scepticism grew. He was suddenly glad he’d worn his leathers. “Yes! And I broke up some biscuits your lady gave me on the floor for it to seek while I roused you. Charming, isn’t it?” Thor spoke quickly, and with an undeniable awe. The dog looked up expectantly, tail quivering. “I have no lady,” Loki griped, casting his gaze around the living room. A cushion from the immaculately arranged sofa had been rudely upended to the floor. Loki's eyes narrowed as Thor made his way obliviously to the breakfast bar. “Be that as it may,” the blonde said brightly, “this is the companion she speaks so often of.” Loki watched as the small creature trotted to Thor’s feet, looking up at him. Its tail was doing that thing again. “This is the rival for my affections which takes up so much of her time? I’m insulted,” he muttered. The dog’s paws tippy-tapped from side to side, impatient for whatever was in the bag Thor had begun rustling. Against his better judgement, Loki felt the side of his mouth twitch. He cleared his throat. “So. Why is it here, and what are we supposed to do with it?”

Thor scoffed, shaking his head with a smile.

Loki didn’t like this. He didn’t like this at all.

“Your lady- apologies, not your lady; has been called on an unexpected mission, shouldn’t take long – usual sort of thing." Thor glanced to his brother, glee in his eyes before bending forward with his hands on his knees. "I volunteered to ensure the safety of this treasure of the realm in her absence. Yes I did! Didn’t I?! Yes I did!” The pitch of Thor’s voice traced higher with every syllable. Loki was horrified. It descended into mumbling saccharine inanities at the excitable being shuffling below him, which let out a small a-woo. “‘Treasure of the realm’, please...” Loki scathed as he sidled over to the sofa. He had been sure to give the unfamiliar being a wide berth. Who knew what it’s intentions were. It was, after all, a stranger.

His breath hitched as it suddenly looked in his direction, the flash of a tiny pink tongue taking him by surprise.

He had the sudden urge to call to it, to feel the rest of it’s delicate triangular face in his hands. Perhaps, even, to stroke it. He thought it might feel soothing.

With unnecessary gravitas, Thor produced a beleaguered looking plush animal from a small bag resting on the counter. It was pink and mint and blue; splotches dotted on a crusted physique. Loki thought it had seen a few battles of its own.

“Oh for heavens sake, what is that?” he groused as Thor began to shake it aimlessly in the air. The dog leapt up on it’s back legs, dancing excitedly. “Tis a llama, brother,” Thor chided with authority, “obviously.” “A llama?” Loki frowned. Thor shrugged. “I know not. But that is how your lady referred to it. The little thing is rather attached to it, apparently. I thought it best not to question further.”

Both brothers nodded in silent understanding while the creature began to chirp, bouncing in comical circles. Its front paws waved in the air, the soft underbelly looking undeniably tender and scritchable. “Well... throw it then,” Loki huffed with feigned impatience. He rested his chin on his palm. He would admit, reluctantly, that he was beginning to mildly enjoy this. In a ridiculous sort of way. Thor’s eyebrows rose. “Excellent idea, brother” he said, before lobbing the llama forth at full force across the room. Loki’s eyes widened. “Brother, no-” The dog followed its lightening fast arc, legs sliding out behind it on the floor in haste. Loki braced against the arm of the sofa as the plasterboard-covered wall exploded with an almighty crack. The stuffed toy may as well have been a cannonball. A huge mist of dust immediately flooded the living room, chunks falling from the wall.

“Protect the small thing,” Thor bellowed.

Without hesitation, Loki sprung from the sofa, caging the little dog in mid-pursuit beneath his torso. Debris hit him like a wave, white mass covering dark curls falling around his face. There was a frightened whimper beneath him, something solid smacking against his thighs with a heavy thump. His heart was thundering as the carnage settled. She will never forgive me, Loki thought with horror. He peered between his forearms to the dark cave his body had created.

There was silence.

“Does it live, brother?” Thor rasped, his choking voice panicked. Loki registered pacing footsteps hovering around him in a cloud of dust, regretful muttering and coughing peppering the air. His stomach dropped.

He could barely bring himself to look. So fragile, these mortals. Their familiars even more so, surely. Suddenly, something moist and round surfaced from the darkness and poked him straight in the eye.

“Gargh!” Loki spluttered, before the breath was stolen from him. He fell forward, forehead hitting the floor while an agile tongue delved deep into one exposed nostril. An assassin, after all. Loki rolled to the side, freeing the wild creature. “It lives!” Thor whooped ecstatically. But the moment was lost on Loki.

The ball of fur and limbs and squiggling was upon him, crawling like a demon of Muspelheim across his person. The thing was liquid. It placed its front legs on his chest, perfecting a position of strength while a deceptively long tongue continued the assault of his face. “Desist!” he spluttered, searching for purchase on its lithe, fluff-laden frame. And yet, the incorrigible creature could not be swayed.

The softness of the bacon-like protrusion tickled violently, but somehow...Loki found himself unable to catch his breath from the laughter shaking his chest. It ravaged his cheeks, his mouth, his nostrils - all in whirling succession with no obvious tactical rhythm. “Brother, make it stop-” Loki gasped unconvincingly, hooking his thumbs beneath the dog’s little underarms. His laughter, Loki surmised, acted only to encourage the creature. And yet, he could not collect himself. “Alas, brother I must attempt to retrieve the valiant llama from the rubble,” Thor chuckled, biting his lip at his sibling strewn across the floor. With a resolute grunt, Loki hoisted the creature in the air above him. It squirmed, wriggling all four legs erratically. Its rotund bottom was positively vibrating with excitement. “Look, brother...it flies,” Loki grinned. The dog’s mouth was open in a smile, aimless tongue licking the air. Still in search of his skin no doubt. The god sat up, drawing the squiggling bundle to his chest. It settled, the cup of his hand under its rear and the other snug to its barrelled chest seeming to calm it. Loki smoothed its whiskers, brushing a crumb of plasterboard from the tufts of its snout. He searched its eyes, deep brown pools bubbling and sparkling with life. And with mischief, he thought. Loki smiled. Without knowing why, he placed a tentative kiss on its upturned nose. It was fresh, and cool. The richest black. And somehow, Loki knew those were good things.

The dog’s tongue flicked out once more; a soft, solitary lick to the tip of his own nose reciprocating the sentiment. He felt unfamiliar warmth blossom in his belly, drawing the precious bundle closer to his chest. “I am glad you are well, friend” he murmured. “I can only apologise for my oaf of a-” “-brother! Success!” Thor cheered, holding the resurrected llama aloft like a battle trophy. If it looked beleaguered before, now it was tragic. The plushie was completely white, stuffing protruding from its head like a fatal war wound. He paced victoriously across the floor, holding it out to the dog nestled in his brother’s arms. Loki could swear the creature rolled its eyes.

“Do not presume to return its prize possession in such a vile state, brother,” Loki hissed. He dropped his gaze to the bright eyes gazing lovingly into his own. “Never fear small thing, Uncle Loki shall amend this abomination.” he cooed. Circling a finger, Loki enjoyed the perk of the dog's ears as the llama glowed green. In moments, its garish pastel glory was restored. “The crusted biological coating is gone too, brother…” Thor mumbled sceptically, inspecting it. “Was that important?” Loki jiggled the squishy package in his arms. Its front paws bounced. “Methinks that was enthusiasm from historical play; perhaps we should begin to restore it,” he chuckled, as the dog began to squirm with excitement once again. Loki tickled its belly. Thor frowned. “Do not get too attached, brother” he warned, “remember that this one is claimed. And by whom.” Loki rolled his eyes. “I am aware of that, brother” he snarked, before bending to carefully lower all four paws to the ground. He straightened. “But clearly the creature and I have an affinity. It cannot be denied.” Thor folded his arms, and Loki did the same. They watched in silence as the fluffy tornado fell upon the llama, beginning to prance in a parading circle around them. It dotted easily between the chunks of plasterboard, the plushie snug within tiny jaws.

Thor cleared his throat. “It is my belief” he began knowledgeably, “that the creatures have developed ways to trick mortals in favouring them. They are provided shelter, comfort, snacks and the like in return for being…” he gestured open handed to the floor, “thus.” Two sets of eyes assessed the inexplicable sight before them, rolling on its back with four wriggling paws flapping at strange angles. “Is that so…” Loki mused, smile widening as he lowered to his haunches. The dog flipped to stand, nails scratching against the floor in a race to meet him. That little bottom shifted side to side, overcome with indescribable joy at their friend’s return to the lower level. The llama bonked against Loki's knee, a helicopter-esque tail making his heart soar.

He gripped the llama’s sides, tugging gently before pulling it flush against his chest. The cheeky growl in the dog’s throat made him chuckle as he pressed a soft kiss to its forehead. “How mischievous,” he whispered, smiling conspiratorially against the tousled fur.

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