#don't worry about the boy he's doing just fine

[zara-renata]

Good Boy | masterlist | ao3

@wearysparrows and i were talking this morning about dogs and work was really slow, so i just... wrote dog!sylus all day today. @leaderincrows is bursting with ideas for dog!sylus, but I only managed to fit some of them in this time (i'm so sorry, i hope you like anyway!). Maybe there needs to be more dog!sylus, i don't know. So voilà, I present you my very stupid take on the trope -> After a stray dog gets injured helping you in a fight against Wanderers, you take it home with you. Then one day, you wake up and find a man in your bed instead of your beloved dog. sylus x gn reader, sylus x mc. sylus acts like a real dog for 2/3ds of the fic. nsfw, there's penetrative sex, not with dog!sylus but with human!sylus (sylus penetrating), oral for both you and sylus, as a treat. Minor doggy injury, but he's fine. fluff, banter, teasing.

The snow is falling. Fat flakes, thick. The world is still, all sounds muffled under the blanket of snow covering the ground. 

The blood is bright on the snow, against the white. 

Your chest heaves as you stare down at the huge, beautiful dog. Wolf? You’re not sure. You’ve never been able to have a pet, never spent much time with animals. Wolf hybrids are outlawed within Linkon City limits, so you think it’s most likely that the injured animal before you is some kind of large shepherd dog. An albino, going by its red eyes, its long, silky looking thick coat of white fur, blending in with the snow.

Except for the blood.

Your Hunter’s watch alerted you to metaflux fluctuations while you were out with friends, in a park near the restaurant where you were having dinner. They stared, wide-eyed, as you stood up right as the main course arrived. 

“Duty calls,” you said.

Tara looked worried. “Why don’t you call for backup?”

You shook your head. “It’s not that big of a fluctuation. Xav’s sleeping, I’m not gonna wake him up for this.”

She glanced around at the group, gaze lingering on the guy whom she was trying to set you up with. “Okay…” she said, grimacing.

You knew you were going to get an earful for interrupting the blind date that Tara had arranged but you didn’t know you were attending when you arrived, in order to fight Wanderers. It was your night off too, after all. 

The guy seemed nice. Handsome. You just… felt nothing when you looked at him, when you listened to his small talk. You’d rather be out in the snow, risking your life.

Yeah, Tara might be right. There might be something wrong with you.

You were just bored, otherwise.

Without the adrenaline. The rush. The sense of accomplishment.

Most men you met just didn’t get it.

None of the men you met ever made your heart race, the way doing your job made it race.

Now, here you are. In the hushed, falling snow, staring down at the dog that just saved your ass from a surprise second Wanderer, while you were busy putting down the first.

The dog received a nasty swipe to its belly as a reward for its efforts.

It’s lying in the snow, curled in on itself, licking, licking.

You tuck your Deepspace Hunter standard issue firearms into your holsters, barrels still smoking in the cold. Crouch down into the snow, your boots crunching.

“Hey, buddy,” you say softly. One of the dog’s pretty, huge, pointy ears flicks in your direction, but it remains focused on tending its wound, its long tongue pink, its breath puffing in the frigid air.

You inch closer, waiting for a sign of defensive aggression, but the dog seems content to let you approach.

Finally, you’re crouched next to it. You lift your hand, and it lifts its head. It stares at you with its strange, bright red eyes. Bright, like the blood on the snow.

It sniffs your hand, nostrils flaring, and then lowers its head. As if deigning to allow you to pet it.

You stroke your fingers along its long snout, along its cheek. It huffs, closes its eyes.

“Can I see your tummy?” you ask, running your hand from its snout, down its shoulder, to rest on its side.

It lets you. Watches your hand, and then licks it.

You lean further, letting your hand rest on its leg. “I’m going to lift your leg now, take a look at your belly,” you inform it. It doesn’t move, so you take a chance, and do as you promised. 

The dog lets you.

Lifting the dog’s leg, you see it’s a boy, unneutered. You’re surprised. Most pets, unless they’re registered for breeding or are show animals, are required to be neutered or spayed in Linkon City. You wonder if he’s a stray. 

But your attention is caught by the long, shallow gash along his lower belly, where his thick, luxurious fur is the most thin. It’s not deep, but it’s bleeding quite a bit.

“You need to see a vet, buddy,” you tell the dog.

He growls, low in his throat. You still your hand, thinking maybe he changed his mind about you touching him. You lift your hand, but then he nudges it, butting it with his nose, as if demanding that you continue caressing him.

You laugh. “Okay. Okay.” You resume petting him. 

He’s not wearing a collar. There’s no way for you to know if he’s a stray, or has an owner to call, who can help come and collect him, to care for him. Based on how beautiful and healthy he looks, you doubt he’s a stray. But you can’t just leave him here.

You stroke his fur, while slowly reaching into your coat pocket for your phone.

You make a call. The answer is swift. A bit exasperated. You can imagine the man on the other end pinching his nose, nudging his glasses aside as he does so, long-suffering from yet another strange request from you.

“You do realize that I’m a cardiac surgeon, and not a veterinarian.”

You humor him. “Yes, yes. I will make it up to you, I promise.”

There is silence on the line. Then his soft, soothing voice. “There is a new bakery that recently opened. They specialize in macha desserts.”

He knows you hate macha. This is his way of punishing you.

You smile. “I’ll treat you. Come quickly.”

“I will.”

The dog’s eyes never leave yours, the whole time you’re on the phone.

Zayne is as good as his word.

He arrives quickly, striding through the thick snowfall, at home in the frigid cold, seemingly unbothered with his handsome wool coat only partially buttoned, his scarf hanging loosely around his neck.

The dog watches him, with his strange, strange eyes, but doesn’t act defensive. As if he knows that this man is here to help.

Zayne couches down next to you. Sighs.

“What happened?”

“Wanderer claws. No poison, or venom. Just the nasty gash there.” You gesture at the bleeding wound, the white fur crimson now, matted.

“Has he shown any signs of aggression?” 

You shake your head.

“All right, but that’s no guarantee he won’t react when I start working. I’ll sedate him.”

The dog growls, narrows his eyes. You have the funny feeling again that he can understand everything that’s happening to him, what you’re saying.

“I’ll hold his snout,” you blurt. 

Zayne frowns, slightly. “He could bite you. He could have an infectious disease. Absolutely not.”

You turn to the dog. “Focus on me, okay buddy? Dr. Zayne is gonna fix you right up. It might hurt, but you can handle it, right? You’re such a good boy.” You speak low, soft, soothingly. The dog’s ears swivel, flick. He whines when you say Good boy. He inches forward, painfully, in the snow to get closer to you. You rest your hands on either side of his big jaws, stare into his eyes. “Do it,” you tell Zayne. “Please.

All you hear is his frosty silence, before a resigned sigh.

The dog whimpers, but doesn’t snap, or otherwise react, as Zayne cleans his wound, stitches him up. As he wraps the clean bandages around the wound, covering the bloody, matted fur. The dog just looks into your eyes, panting, shows no sign of reacting poorly to the pain.

When it’s over, the dog closes his eyes. You run your hands from his muzzle down his neck, back through his thick fur.

“Good boy,” you say, again, softly. His long, fuzzy tail thumps weakly in the snow in response.

“He’ll need antibiotics. You’ll need to arrange for an actual vet for that.”

You nod. “Thanks.” Then pause. Grimace. “I need one more favor.”

Zayne stares at you, lovely hazel eyes flashing behind his glasses. “Do I even want to know?”

“I came here on my motorcycle, and I want to take him home. Make sure he recovers okay. Find his owner, hopefully.”

Zayne immediately understands what you’re asking and frowns again, more deeply. “No.”

“Pretty, pretty please?” You’re not above begging, wheedling like when you were children.

“The upholstery in my car cannot handle all that—” he waves a scarred hand at the lustrous, incredibly thick fur of the dog, and his long, sharp looking nails.

“I’ll pay for any detailing or damage your car might need, along with the macha bakery!” you offer, desperate. You don’t think any cab in the city will accept your not-wolf as a passenger.

Zayne stares down at the dog. His shoulders sag a bit.

“On one condition.”

You perk up. “Anything.”

“Take my scarf. You’re not even wearing a proper winter coat,” he scolds, sounding infinitely exhausted with your inability to properly take care of yourself. He turns to you, lifting the scarf from his neck and wrapping it gently around yours. It’s warm around your neck, and smells good. “How you think you’ll care for a pet, as well as yourself, is beyond me,” he grumbles. He looks down at the dog. “Come.”

The dog just stares at him. Leans further back in the snow.

“Come, now,” Zayne tries again. Cold, imperious.

“I don’t know if he can walk,” you begin, but Zayne shakes his head.

“His side is injured, not his legs. He can walk.” 

You glance uncertainly at the dog, whose ears are now flattened back against his head. He’s panting heavily, where before he wasn’t. He looks miserable.

You steel your spine. “Okay, I’ll carry him to your car.”

Zayne pinches his nose again, knocking his glasses a little. “No, I’ll carry him.”

He kneels, lifts the dog with a grunt.

You swear the dog looks smug as he rests his head on Zayne’s shoulder, ears pricked up and swiveling again. He watches you as you trail behind them both in the snow to Zayne’s fancy car.

You’re going to have to add Zayne’s drycleaning to the bill of what you owe him.

You thank Zayne, return to the restaurant.

You offer your excuses to your disappointed-looking blind date. You don’t have the heart to refuse to give him your number.

Finally, you make your escape. Break the speed limit to get home before Zayne and your… not wolf.

Zayne carries the dog into your place, sets him down on your living room rug.

He looks down at his fur-covered coat when he’s done, expression unimpressed.

“Bill me,” you say, trying to sound cheerful, as if you’re not already deducting the accumulated costs from your bank account and wincing internally. 

Expensive fucking dog, and you’ve only had him for an hour.

“Do you want to stay? Have something to drink?” you ask, the least you can offer after your doctor’s excessive generosity tonight, even if you now owe him.

He shakes his head. “I have to return to the hospital. But thank you.” He stares down at the dog, who is now sitting on his haunches just fine, breathing normally. His ears are straight up, swiveling, swiveling. “Are you going to be okay?” he asks, absently.

You tilt your head. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He keeps staring at the dog. “There’s something…” his voice trails off. He shakes his head, seems to shake off his thoughts. “Nevermind. Call me, if you need anything.”

“Thank you, again. Let me know when you’re free soon, I’ll clear my schedule for macha,” you say, cheerfully, despite the fact that you hate it terribly. He nods, makes his way to your front door.

“Oh, do you want your scarf?” you ask, suddenly remembering that he insisted you wear it. You begin unwrapping it from your neck. 

He pauses at the door. “No. Keep it, for now. You can return it when we meet again,” he says, strangely. As if he’s actually saying something else. Like it’s insurance to see you again, when he’s your doctor. Of course you'll see him again.

You thank him quietly, and then he’s gone. You hang the scarf carefully on one of the pegs in the wall of your hallway.

You return to the living room and stare at your new friend, who still sits on his haunches, watching you attentively.

“Hey, Buddy. I don’t have anything for a dog. No food, no leash. I’m going to have to go to the supermarket and pick up some stuff for you.”

The dog just listens, watches. You frown. “Okay. I’m going to go now. Don’t eat my shoes.”

You turn, walk to the door. You put your boots back on, and as you do so, you feel a cold nose nudging the back of your bent neck. You shiver.

“Hey,” you say, turning. The dog has followed you to your hallway. You hate thinking of him as ‘the dog.’ 

“Do you have a name?” you wonder out loud.

The dog whines, a little, tilting his head. “I bet you have some regal name. You seem like a very expensive dog, with a rich owner.”

The dog just huffs.

“Maximus,” you say. Trying it out. He lowers his head, bumps your shoulder with his snout. You laugh. “Okay, not Maximus. Uum.” You think. “Charles?”

The dog growls. 

“Okay, okay.” You try again.“Sherman.” 

The dog actually takes a step back, growls more deeply. You laugh even louder. “I should call you Sherman as punishment for being so picky.” He looks unimpressed, bored. But his ears are pressed back against his head. His tail is thumping the floor in agitation.

You can’t bear to see him so put out, so you decide against calling him Sherman even as a joke.

You stare at him thoughtfully. He’s so beautiful, with his soft, long fur. It almost has a pearl sheen, in the subtle lighting of your hallway.

Finally, a name comes to you. You don’t know why, but you say, “Sylus.” A name that you’ve never known anyone to have before. Not anyone you’ve ever met, anywhere, anyway.

His ears flick forward. He approaches you again. Rests his head on your shoulder.

“Oh, we like Sylus?” you tease him, and he lets his tongue loll out, leaves a wet swipe on your ear. You laugh, pushing his head away. “Sylus it is.”

He watches as you finish tying your boots.

As you shrug back into your coat. As you walk out the door. 

He’s there when you return. Sitting patiently, in the same position. As if he was waiting for you to come home the entire time. His tail wags eagerly.

You dump all the shit you bought for him on the hallway floor.

“You’re already the most expensive thing I’ve acquired in a long, long time,” you grouse at him.

You unlace, kick off your boots. Hang up your coat.

You don’t notice that Zayne’s scarf is no longer hanging on the peg in the hall.

You take the huge bag of dog food to the kitchen. He follows you, head low, watching every move you make. You hum, taking a bowl from your cupboard, scoop out some of his food, set it and another bowl filled with water next to your kitchen island.

When you turn, you find him staring at you, ears swiveled toward you.

You stop humming.

He takes a step forward, nudges your thigh. He’s so big, he comes up to your waist. “What do you need, baby?” You run your hands through his fur. You don’t know where the term of endearment came from. It’s just, despite his size, the fact that he looks like an alpha predator, something about him screams ‘big baby’ to you. In the same way you knew that he wouldn’t bite you as Zayne tended to his wound.

You just know. 

Like you know his name should be Sylus.

This dog is making you insane.

He whines softly. Lets out a little ‘awooo.’

You stare at him. He does it again. A sad little, awooo. Then he nudges your hip with his nose.

You suddenly understand that he wants you to keep humming.

You start humming again, and he looks incredibly satisfied. He sits back on his butt, tail thumping on your floor.

From that day on, you hum, every time you’re home. You decide that the next time you have to leave him, you’ll leave music on for him to listen to you while you’re gone.

You have no idea what you’re going to do with such a big dog if you can’t figure out who owns him, but you’re going to keep him if no one else will. Already, the thought of parting from him hurts your heart in a way that shocks you.

Even as he turns his nose up at the dry food you bought him.

Even as he only eats meat leftovers from takeout from the night before.

Even as he lets you bathe him, docilely sitting in your small shower, but then once he’s out of the cabin, he stares you directly in the eyes even as you say No!!!! and he shakes his body, his soaking wet fur, so hard that the entire room and everything in it, including you, is soaked.

You stand, shellshocked, dripping onto your little, soaked bathroom rug.

“Sylus,” you say. Glaring at him. He sits back on his butt. He doesn’t avoid your gaze, like other dogs. He stares right back at you.

You strip out of your clothes, leave them in a sad little pile on the floor. Naked, you kneel down, take a towel and gently rub him down. He licks your arm, your hand. As if to say he’s sorry. You don’t believe it for a second.

When he’s towel dry, you take out your blow dryer.

His eyes close halfway in hypnotized pleasure as you slowly, diligently brush him with the new doggy brush you bought and dry him with the dryer set to low.

When you’re done, he’s so fluffy, his coat so shiny. You want to bury your face in him. You check his stitches. They look fine, even after the shower.

But you’re still naked, and soaked. You shoo him from the bathroom, step into the shower. Wait for the water to warm up again.

You wash your hair, let the water beat down on your sore shoulders. With your job, something is always sore.

However, after a few minutes, you notice that the water isn’t draining. You look down and see a massive amount of white fur blocking the drain.

You hang your head, exhausted at the prospect of cleaning the drain before you can be done for the evening. 

This fucking dog.

Finally, the shower is clean. You’re clean.

You step out of the bathroom, walk naked to your bedroom.

Sylus is lying on your bed. As if he owns the place. His big head rests on his big paws, and he watches you, his ears swiveling, flicking, as you stop and put your hands on your hips.

“Off.” You are not letting this monstrous, furry thing sleep on your bed. You’re already nuts about him, but this is a step too far. “I got you a dog bed. You can sleep on your doggy bed.”

You go to your closet, and you feel his glowing ruby eyes follow every movement you make. As you slip on underwear. Soft pyjama pants. A tank top.

You turn. He hasn’t moved. “Be a good boy, and get off the bed.”

He pretends not to hear you. Just looks away, as if fascinated by the view outside your bedroom window. He huffs, as if bored, tail swishing slowly.

“I spent way too much money on a glorified pillow of a dog bed for you to sleep on, Sylus. You can sleep on your doggy bed,” you insist, trying to infuse your voice with authority.

One ear twitches toward you, but otherwise he doesn’t move.

“I’m not afraid to shove you off, even if you are injured,” you threaten, lying. There’s no way you could do that to him.

He can obviously smell your lie. He just looks back at you. Thumps his tail.

You’re tired. You’ve got a long day again tomorrow, starting with a five in the morning run. You give up.

“Fine. Just for tonight,” you concede, crawling onto the bed. “But you stay on the end of the bed,” you grumble, snuggling under the covers. You switch off the light, and hear a satisfied sigh from your new companion.

You come awake slowly, not from your alarm, but from the warmth. You’re sweating. It’s a bit hard to breathe.

You blink open your eyes, slowly, to find a giant, soft, space heater of a dog curled up against your stomach and chest where you’re lying on your side, his big head resting on the pillow next to yours. He’s snoring softly. Every now and then, his legs move restlessly, as if he’s dreaming about running.

You roll over, peer at your clock on your nightstand. Ten minutes before you need to be up for your run. You groan. Every minute of sleep is precious, and your new dog deprived you of ten whole minutes. 

Well. You’re awake now. You sit up, and the culprit who woke you up early startles, jumps to his feet. You stare at him. He’s a little taller than eye-level with you, as you sit on the edge of the bed.

“Good morning, naughty boy,” you say, dryly. His ears flatten against the back of his head. He takes a step forward, nuzzles into your neck with his wet nose, sniffing. You laugh, pet him. He seems mollified after being jerked awake. As if he has any room to be upset about being woken up early.

You stand, stretch. He jumps off the bed, follows you to the closet. You strip out of your pyjamas, pull on your running things. He tries to follow you in the bathroom when you go to pee, but you shoo him away, shut the door in his face.

When you emerge, he follows you to the kitchen. You shovel down a piece of toast, a sip of water. You dump the last of the leftover meat in his bowl, which he greedily eats. You make a note to get him wet food the next time you go to the store, since apparently your new (probably temporary) dog is a fancy boy.

“I”m going for a run. You stay here and be a good boy, okay?”

You walk to the hallway, and he follows. “No, you’re injured. I’ll take you out to pee and poopoo when I’m done with my run.”

His ears flatten on his head again. He squeezes past you, blocking the door with his bulk.

“Sylus,” you sigh. “You’re hurt. You can’t come on a run with me yet.”

He huffs. Shakes himself, like he shook himself last night in your bathroom. Then, like a king deigning to kneel for a peasant, he lies down and bares his belly to you.

You gasp. The stitches. The angry wound from yesterday. 

Gone. As if they were never there. Just the soft, unmarred skin of his tummy where his fur thins.

You check your Hunter’s watch. No metaflux. You don’t sense any, either. He’s not a Wanderer. He’s just a miracle. You remember Zayne’s strange expression, staring at him yesterday.

You wonder if he’s some escaped medical experiment. 

You resolve to take him to the vet, see if he’s chipped, with his owners on record. If he’s not, you’ll put up posters where you found him.

You don’t want to.

You want to keep him.

But you should do the right thing, and at least make a reasonable effort to find his true owner before allowing yourself to hope that you can keep him. This giant dog, whom you do not have time or space for, to keep properly.

But your heart hurts, when you think about taking him to a shelter. Saying goodbye to him.

“Okay. Okay,” you say. He rolls over, sits up. “I still have to go for my run. I’ll be back to take you out, after.”

He huffs, moves forward, nudges your hip with his nose. He then lopes to the bag of things you got him the day before, and he brings you his collar and leash, clutched in his big jaws, still with the tags on.

You laugh.

“Okay. Okay, you win. Again.” You roll your eyes, surrendering. You kneel, and he lowers his big head, pretty, glowing eyes never leaving yours, as you thread the black and scarlet, gem-studded leather collar around his neck with the empty tag shaped like a heart, clasp it tight. You clip the leash on the collar.

He does a little dance at the door, as if excited, tail wagging. 

He runs with you through the gray, quiet, early morning. The snow hushes your footsteps. He doesn’t falter once, the entire run. 

At the end of your run, as you’re walking to cool down, about to head back to your place, he suddenly dashes forward, jerks the leash out of your hand.

“Sylus!” you cry, trying to run after him. He disappears into an area full of shrubbery and dense vegetation, heavy with snow along the bare branches, the pine needles. You have no idea what got into him. Just as you’re about to get on your knees and try to crawl in after him, he re-emerges. He brings you his leash in his teeth.

“What the fuck, Sylus?” You stare at him.

He huffs. Runs a circle around you, kicking up snow. As if to say, Take the leash, take the leash.

You think back over the run. About how he didn’t stop, once. To sniff. Or to pee.

“Did you need to peepee? Or poopoo?” He just growls, bobs his head with his leash in his mouth. “Oooh, baby’s shy!” You laugh. “You better remember this, when you try to follow me into the bathroom again.” You take his leash from between his sharp, sharp teeth.

He leads the way back to your apartment building. You admire his big paw prints in the snow.

Before you leave him to go to work, you snap a photo of him, staring at you solemnly. As if he’s posing. You leave him with music playing and the curtains open, the door to your indoor balcony open for a view.

At work, you make a vet’s appointment. You print off a bunch of “Found” posters for Sylus for if he’s not chipped, with his cute picture front and center. You do paperwork, patrol the city, laugh and joke with Xavier and Tara.

She gives you the earful you expected, about ditching your blind date. She’s only slightly mollified when you show her the picture of Sylus, who looks like such a big handsome boy in the photo.

You’d rather hang out with your dog, than see that guy again.

But you don’t say that out loud.

This dog is making you insane.

You stop by the store on your way home, pick up an absurd amount of meat to cook, as a backup, you tell yourself. For if Sylus refuses to eat the wet food you’re also buying. Not because you have the bizarre urge to feed him food meant for a king. Meant for a king, and not your stray dog who is the least obedient creature you’ve ever encountered.

You let yourself into your apartment, and are a bit surprised, maybe a little disappointed that your new friend isn’t there to greet you already. You know it’s absurd, to wish he had missed you as much as you found yourself missing him throughout your day.

You kick your boots off, carry your groceries to the kitchen island. You glance around. No Sylus.

You peek on the balcony. No Sylus.

So that leaves the bedroom.

You pad quietly through the living room, and then pause in the doorway to your bedroom, shocked at the chaos before you.

Your dirty laundry basket, knocked over.

All of your laundry spread in a little nest, surrounding your dog.

Your big, beautiful, regal dog, who is lying on his belly the floor in the midst of your dirty clothes, like a sphinx, diligently licking a pair of your underwear meant for the wash that he has trapped between his paws. He’s so absorbed in his current activity that he doesn’t seem to notice you at all.

“Sylus!” you yell. Bellow. Air raid siren level of volume.

The noise seems to rip him out of his meditative licking. He blinks, looks up, pauses. Then he stares you right in the eye and takes another lick.

“No! Naughty! Naughty boy!” You stride forward, intending to yank your underwear from his mouth, but he just… chomps down on the slip of fabric, pulling it into his mouth with his tongue and teeth. Then he tries to swallow. “SYLUS!” 

You drop to your knees next to him and grab his snout. You place one hand on his snout and the other under his lower jaw, and then you try to pry his jaws apart, as he continues to clamp down. “Drop! It!” you order, through clenched teeth. He ignores you, resisting your efforts, but not growling, not snapping at you. Simply...ignoring your insistence.  “Drop it!!!”

He swallows, instead. 

You stare at him, huffing from the effort, as you realize that he has just successfully eaten a pair of your underwear.

You’re really, really glad you made that vet appointment already.

It’s only after he has retreated to your bed, completely unashamed, unapologetic, and you’ve started putting your laundry back in the basket, that you notice Zayne’s scarf amidst the pile of clothes. It’s now completely covered in fluffy, white fur, and it stinks like dog.

You hang your head in defeat.

This dog is making you insane.

You take him to the vet. He’s not chipped. 

“If you’re going to keep him, you’ll have to neuter him.”

Sylus’s ears twitch, and he growls menacingly, deep in his throat. The vet stares at him, a strange look on his face. You say something vague, about making an appointment once you’ve exhausted your options in finding his true owner.

The vet has no idea what breed he is. Suspects he might indeed be part wolf. But without a genetic test, he can’t say for sure. He looks at your dog in contemplation. “A fine animal. It would be a shame if he’s a hybrid, and you couldn't keep him.” His eyes flick to yours. “You’re a Hunter, right?”

You nod, wondering why he’s asking.

“One of your lot saved my daughter from a Wanderer attack, a few years ago. Handsome guy. Bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

You stare at him. “Was his name Xavier, by any chance?” you tentatively ask.

The vet nods. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

You look down at Sylus, who is leaning against your leg, eyes closed. “He’s my partner,” you say quietly.

“Hmm,” the vet says. He puts his tablet down. Seems to come to a decision. “Well, it looks like we’ve already got the genetic test results back about your dog. He’s just a mutt. Mainly shepherd, husky.”

You jerk your head up, stare wide eyed at him.

“Agreed?” he asks.

You could cry. 

“Are you sure?” you ask, not believing that you’re one step closer to keeping your incredibly disobedient, lovely good boy.

The vet shrugs. “Test results are test results. Just take him to obedience training. Make sure he gets plenty of exercise. This type of dog needs a firm hand, and an outlet for excess energy. They can be really destructive if they get bored. Like a bomb going off in your house.”

You snort. Think about your laundry. Your poor underwear, which the vet says was small enough not to present a problem for your giant dog. He’ll just shit it out, later.

“Thank you,” you say, quietly, sincerely. You’re breaking so many regulations—ethics rules, accepting gifts for your work as a Hunter, violating city ordinances, because your dog is clearly not just a dog. But you’re realizing you’d do a lot of shady shit, if it means keeping your good boy.

“No, thank you,” he responds, shooing you and your good boy out the door.

You take Sylus home. He curls up on the couch with you, rests his head in your lap, as you watch tv. 

And so it goes.

Morning runs.

Taking him for walks.

To keep him from going after your underwear again, you take big doggy toys that frankly look like butt plugs and fill them with peanut butter. You freeze them. It keeps Sylus busy all day, licking the peanut butter out of the toy.

You try to take him to a dog park, to interact with other dogs. He ignores them, looking bored out of his doggy mind.

You try to throw a ball for him, play fetch. He refuses to chase it. He just runs around you in circles, nips at your heels. Herds you into running with him. Then he’ll refuse to go faster than a walk, once you get tired. As if he knows.

You try to throw a frisbee for him. That, he likes. He catches it in the air, almost as if he’s showing off. Then he’ll bring it back, but refuses to release it from his jaws. You learn that you have to kiss him on his pretty white head in order for him to give it up. His tail wags furiously, every time you do.

This dog is making you insane.

When you come home, exhausted from a particularly tough battle, or an even more grueling day of paperwork, he waits for you at the door, his beautiful, blood-bright eyes big and excited to see you, his tail wagging so furiously the whole lower half of his body shakes.

You suddenly don’t feel so tired, as you kneel down, press your face into the scruff of his neck. His soft fur smells so good to you, even though he’s just a dog. You no longer feel lonely, or dread coming home to your empty, quiet apartment.

After a while, you resign yourself to hanging up the posters once you get home from work. The last hurdle, before you dare hope that you can keep him.

When you arrive at your place after work, you find Sylus on the balcony. Somehow, the window is open, just wide enough for two crows to perch there. They chatter at your dog. He just huffs in response, but makes no effort to bark at them, or chase them away. 

The entire floor of the balcony is covered with the torn-apart paper strips of what used to be the posters advertising the dog you found, with your phone number on it in case someone is missing their beloved pet.

Your beloved pet.

You wonder if it’s so terrible, to just… accept that you’ll never know who had him before. And that he’s yours now. They should have chipped him, collared him, branded him as theirs if they care about him. You decide to get his tag engraved. 

You put the hanging of posters on the backburner in your mind.

You eat with him. You, sitting at your kitchen island. Him, out of his bowl next to your stool. You snuggle with him while watching movies, TV. You take him for walks, for runs. He’s your constant companion, when you’re not at work.

When Xavier comes over to hang out, to cook and read, Sylus basically crawls into your lap despite your protests and his size, and won’t move unless you promise to make him meat along with the ramen you make for yourself and Xav. Once you’re done and back to reading, he’s back, impersonating a chihuahua instead of the wolf he probably is as he wiggles into your lap.

One evening, you’re dumping more meat into your picky-as-fuck dog’s bowl when you receive a call from an unknown number.

You answer.

“Hey. Um. Hi.” A tentative voice.

You wait. The other end is quiet. “May I ask who is calling?” you prompt, hoping you can just hang up. You hate talking on the phone. It’s never good, when someone is calling you out of the blue. Warn a person with a text, damn!

You’re about to hang up when the other person says. “Hi, yeah, sorry. I’m your blind date. The one from when you had to leave to fight Wanderers?”

You shake your head, shocked. You had completely forgotten that you had given this guy your number. “Oh, hey. What’s up?” you ask, dreading his answer.

“Yeah, hi.” He chuckles nervously. “Thanks for picking up. I was, uh, actually calling to see if you’d like a… if you’d like a re-do. With just the two of us?”

You blink. Try to think of an excuse. 

You think of Tara, her badgering you to live for more than just work. To build new relationships. How much effort she puts into trying to introduce you to people she thinks you might like.

Even though you don’t like anyone. 

Except your friends.

You glance at Sylus, who has lifted his head from his paws, his ears pointed at you, like he’s listening intently.

Except your dog.

Your mind is blank. “Uh, okay,” you blurt, wincing. “When is a good time for you?”

He rattles off some dates. You check your Hunter’s watch, settle on a date, a time, a place to meet.

He sounds excited, like he can’t quite believe you agreed to go out with him again, before you end the call.

You shake your head. How bad can it be? It’s just dinner. You get to eat, and then you’ll let him down gently. Or maybe, who knows? You might feel a spark, a spark that’s been missing for you, for so long. You try to be positive. Maybe this guy will be the one to make your heart race, when no one else has been able to.

You get ready for bed.

Sylus is already curled up next to your pillow, no longer even pretending to initially sleep at the end of the bed like the first night you ordered him to do.

You crawl into bed, lift the duvet for him to slide under, and he curls up against your chest and stomach. You fall asleep easily, as you’ve been able to do, ever since he came home with you.

You come awake slowly. 

Like the first morning you brought Sylus home, something wakes you, but it’s not your alarm.

You’re warm. Really warm.

But instead of the soft fur that you’ve come to expect, waking up every morning with your dog taking up more than his fair share of the bed, you feel smooth, warm… skin?

You turn your head. Look over your shoulder, to the source of the warmth at your back.

You think you might be dreaming.

You must be dreaming.

What else could explain the gorgeous, very human, white-haired, red-eyed man looking back at you from your own pillow, where your dog used to be?

This dog is making you insane.

Are you so desperate for companionship that you can stand, that will make your heart race, that you’re dreaming that your beloved dog is the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life?

What the fuck would a therapist have to say about this dream?

You’re so, so glad that you don’t have a therapist, and will never, ever have to tell anyone about this fucking dream.

You slowly turn your head again. Close your eyes. Your alarm hasn’t gone off, after all. Maybe you can just go to sleep in your dream, wake up, and pretend this never happened.

You hear a low laugh rumbling behind you, rumbling through you. 

A muscular arm snakes over your side, pulls you back against a warm, pillowy chest. “Is this how you greet your good boy?” A deep voice, rough with sleep but still soaked in amusement, murmurs in your ear.

“My good boy is a big fluffy dog,” you bite out, squeezing your eyes shut harder against the warmth, the muscles, the voice. “I don’t know what the fuck you are, other than a really weird dream.”

A big hand—alarmingly big—lifts from your stomach, where it was holding you tight, and tenderly brushes your hair away from your neck, your ear. The … dream behind you noses into the back of your neck, inhales. “I have fluffy hair. And I think you can feel what I am, without even needing to look.” The dream adjusts his hips. Your eyes open, despite your best efforts, widen as you feel a big—alarmingly big—dick against your ass.

“I am not having a sex dream about my dog,” you declare.

The dream laughs, low, a rich fucker’s laugh. “No, you’re not having a sex dream about your dog,” he says. “Unless you’re into that. And then I can oblige, but it’s still my mind inside your dog, I’m afraid.”

Okay, that’s enough. You whip around in the dream’s arms, stare into familiar ruby-glow eyes, so close to you, sharing the same pillow. “Who the fuck are you?”

One corner of his full mouth lifts. He’s so beautiful, it hurts. Your heart is racing.

“You should know,” he says, eyes drifting from your eyes, to your mouth. He lifts a hand again, runs it along your hair, so, so gently. “You named me, after all.”

You don’t dare hope. Just as you haven’t dared hope that you could keep him, from the moment you saw him launch himself at the Wanderer slinking up behind you, preparing to attack you. As you saw him rip out its throat, and watched, heart in your throat, as he was flung into the soft snow as a consequence.

You’re afraid to say it. To name your insane hope.

This dog is making you insane.

“Why so quiet? You couldn’t stop talking to me, telling me about your day, about your dreams, your fears—telling me what a wonderful boy I am, when I was your dog. Does this form not please you?” he asks, letting his hand fall from your hair. He takes your hand instead, places it on his own hair.

It’s so, so soft. Even softer than his fur. You can’t help yourself. You pet him, brushing your fingers through its shimmering strands.

You finally manage to speak. You don’t want him to ever think that you don’t delight in him. “I didn’t say it doesn’t please me.”

“Then say that it pleases you.”

You think of all the moments you’ve shared with him. All of the things you’ve said to him, as he’s lived at your side, in your house. You wince. Then you think of how he made Zayne carry him to his car.

“You could walk, that first day. Zayne didn’t have to carry you.”

He looks pleased, smug. It’s jarring, seeing the expression on his human face that you felt like you saw on his doggy face. “I was injured,” he sniffs. “Any doctor with an ounce of compassion would have offered to carry your injured pet.”

You scowl at him, ignoring his jab at Zayne. “You intentionally soaked me, in the bathroom, that first night.”

He smiles wider, just a little, a canine tooth peeking out between his lips. “But I didn’t make you strip off all your clothes and groom me while gloriously nude. That was all you, sweetheart.”

You lean forward, bury your face in his warm, strong neck. “You ate my fucking underwear.”

He coughs, the first time sounding a little abashed. “When I’m shapeshifted, certain urges… are amplified. Keep that in mind, if you want me to fuck you as a—”

You jerk back, cover his mouth with your hands. “I do not want to fuck you as a dog, Sylus.”

“Excellent, I’ll fuck you as a human then,” he says, voice muffled from behind your hand, but his subtle smile loud and clear under your palms. 

“Sylus!”

“Yes, owner?” he asks, eyes wide, falsely innocent.

You drop your hands. “Don’t call me owner,” you whisper. “You’re my companion, not my possession. You have been from the day you came home with me.”

“Then say that this form pleases you,” he says, sounding uncertain for the first time.

“How can it not?” you ask. “You’re beautiful.”

He shrugs. “Not everyone sees what you see.”

“You’re beautiful. But you’re a naughty boy,” you say, slipping your fingers under the collar he’s still wearing. It’s loose on his human neck. You pull, gently. He whimpers.

“A very naughty boy,” he agrees, breathless. “How will you punish me?”

“First, by making you wash Zayne’s scarf. It wasn’t nice what you did to it.” You punctuate each word, by pulling his collar a little for emphasis. He grumbles, but looks slightly drunk. Eyes half lidded in pleasure. You continue. “And by interrogating you. Who are you, really?” You have so many questions, even as you feel him, hard and warm, against your stomach. 

He huffs. “Would you believe me if I said that I’m the head of the largest criminal organization on the planet, and I’m the most wanted criminal on not one, but two planets?”

You stare at him. Laugh a little. “You were my dog, and now you’re the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my bed. I’d believe you if you said you’ve loved me for lifetimes, and have been waiting for me to be reincarnated in order to make me fall in love with you all over again.”

“How convenient,” he says. “Because that’s the other answer to your question.”

You laugh, loudly. 

This dog is making you insane.

“Wanted criminal, soulmate. Irrelevant. You ate my fucking underwear, Sylus.”

He leans forward, nudges your nose with his long, regal snout. He presses a soft kiss to your lips, and your heart races, races. “Is it a crime to want to savor something so delicious?”

“It’s a crime in some jurisdictions to pilfer underwear, yes,” you say, laughing, breathless in turn. You return his kiss. His lips are so, so soft. He makes a little sound of pleasure in his throat.

“Then arrest your naughty boy,” he murmurs. “And teach him what the real thing tastes like, instead of the leftovers.”

“You like leftovers,” you tease, thinking of all the takeout meat you’ve been setting out in his doggy bowl in between the fresh stuff.

“With you, I’ll take what I can get,” he admits. “But maybe if you tell me how to be a good boy for you, you can reward me with a fresh taste.”

Your heart is going berserk in your chest, as you look into his earnest, big, wet, crimson puppy eyes. It doesn’t matter, that he has been lying to you this whole time. That he’s tricked you into revealing so many of your secrets to him, as he wagged his tail for you, kept you warm in bed, as he ran by your side, kilometer after kilometer. Your heart is racing, and you think it recognized him, the moment you looked into his beautiful eyes in the snow.

You tell him how he can be a good boy. He uses his mouth, his big pink tongue, to soften you, make you wet. He licks you, like he licked your underwear. With single-minded, hypnotized focus. You tell him to mind his teeth, when he gets bitey, gently flick his ear to get his attention. His eyes drift between being closed as he savors your taste, and open, eagerly watching your face as he pleasures you, as your body begins to shake, as you gush into his mouth.

You lie there panting for a few minutes, watching him as he licks his lips, his fingers, his palms. Like a dog, licking its paws after making a mess in its bowl.

You suddenly desperately need to return the favor. You roll to your side, sit up. “I want to taste you, too.” He looks surprised, but pleased. He gets up on his knees, takes the back of your head tenderly in his big palm, petting your hair with his other hand. You open your mouth, and he guides his big cock to your lips, smears his own wetness across your lower lip, before gently feeding you his dick.

You have to open your mouth all the way, to allow him in. He moves his hips, little jerks, watching your reaction before sliding deeper, silken along your tongue, ember-eyes glowing under half-lidded lashes. You can’t take all of him, he’s just too big. You suck, use your tongue. Offer your hand, wet and sloppy for your dripping mouth, for him to tunnel through. He helps you adjust your grip. He grunts, with each little thrust. Helpless noises in his big, big throat. He smells so, so good. Skin, and sweat. A bitter tang from his leaking dick.

Finally, he loses patience. “I don’t want to come in your mouth. I want to come between your legs.” He’s panting, hair messy, sweeping over his forehead. “I want you to feel good too. May I? Please? I’ll make it so good for you.” His deep voice has a whiny edge.

You nod, looking up at him, mouth still stuffed with him. 

He slowly pulls out of your mouth, uses his hand on the back of your head to urge you up to meet him, so that you’re kneeling on the bed too. He wraps his big arms around you, hugs you, tightly. Kisses your cheek, the corner of your eye. “Are you sure? How do you want me?”

You lift your hands to his cheeks, kiss him too. His cheek. The corner of his eye. His lips. “You’ve been such a good boy, making me feel good with your mouth. You can have me however you’d like me.”

He doesn’t have a tail to wag right now, but if he did, you think he’d wag himself off the bed. He kisses you, hard, tongue licking into your mouth. He eagerly urges you down, onto your back. He lifts your legs over his shoulders, and you’re grateful for all the mobility, the stretching you do as part of your job, as he splits you wide open, holds you by your ankles, and fucks into you slowly, so slowly at first, before leaning down, bending you in half, filling you hard and fast, over and over again. Sounds come out of you that you’ve never heard before, because you’ve never felt so good, so full before. He fucks into you at an angle that makes you moan loudly, surprised, and he ruts into you there again, and again. “Am I your good boy?” he pants, desperate, in your ear.

“You’re such a good boy, Sylus,” you assure him, turning your head, biting down on his earlobe. “My good boy.” He suddenly comes, hips jerking messily, with a loud whine, a deep grunt. 

After, when your sheets are filthy and you’re both sweaty, cum drenched messes, you rest your head on his big chest, let your fingers circle one pink nipple, sift through the human fur swirling around it.

“Why didn’t you just introduce yourself like a normal person, ask me on a date?”

He snorts. “Oh, hello, my name is Sylus Qin, I’m the leader of Onychinus and your employer’s public enemy number one. May I buy you a drink? Perhaps, fuck you stupid afterwards? Love you for the rest of our lives?” His voice is wry.

You laugh, delight ballooning in your chest at his sense of humor. “Okay, maybe that would have been a little much, and I would have been suspicious. But infiltrating my life as a dog?”

He touches his finger to his lip, tilts his head. “I thought about kidnapping you. Violently trying to jog your memory by re-enacting our contentious first meeting.”

You swat his chest with your hand. “That’s a terrible fucking idea.”

“In retrospect, you are correct. Fortunately for me, the twins talked me out of it. They convinced me that being a cute, cuddly dog would be more… effective.”

You look up at him, curious. “The twins?”

He hums, low in his throat. “You’ve met them. Crows on the balcony.”

You think back, remembering the mysteriously opened window. The “Found” posters, ripped to confetti on your balcony. “The ones who destroyed my posters.”

Sylus nods, strokes his knuckles down your cheek, your neck. “The unnecessary posters containing your personal information, like your phone number, for any random fool to use to call and bother you.”

You sigh. Drift for a while, wondering how you’re going to explain your new dog and your new man in your life to your friends. To your family. “Caleb is going to hate you.”

He smirks. “I’m not worried about your brother.”

You look at him curiously. “You know who he is?”

He leans down, inhales your sweaty hair. Makes a happy noise. “I like to stay informed when I’m interested in a new acquisition. And you’re the most valuable thing I’ll ever acquire.”

You roll your eyes. “Why are you not worried about him? He’s been so weird, since he’s been back. Possessive.”

Sylus gestures at his arm, as if to indicate Caleb’s new augmentation. “I’m good with weapons. I’ll tinker in his arm, give him a little upgrade. Maybe give him sensation back. He’ll love me.”

You stare at him. No one else is supposed to know about Caleb’s arm. It’s like, a state secret. “How do you know so much about upgrading weapons?” you ask, instead of asking how he knows about Caleb.

“Do you really want to know?” He lifts a lovely silver eyebrow. “It has to do with my business. I’ll tell you, but you have to keep it a secret.”

You rest your cheek back on his chest. “Another time, maybe. I’m too tired to process all the shady shit you must do in order to be on the Association’s most wanted list. You definitely fucked me stupid.”

You feel him preen underneath you at your compliment. His invisible tail wags, wags. “Not just on the list, sweetheart. At the top of the list,” he says, smug. “And shady shit… You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, beloved? Like accepting the equivalent of a retroactive bribe from your vet, and breaking all sorts of Linkon City laws to keep your ‘dog?’”

You groan. “I can’t believe you witnessed that.”

“I feel privileged to have witnessed your fall from grace, and all because of me,” he teases you, hugging you tightly.

You just shake your head, close your eyes. Fret about your brother again. “You think you can handle him?”

He scoffs again. “Once he sees how sincere I am, he’ll have no choice but to accept me as your other half.”

You hold your breath. Ask him what you’re dying to know, what you haven’t dared hope, even as you gave in to your racing heart, your affection for him, and loved him with your body, as well as your heart. “So you’re sincere?”

He gently flicks your forehead. “You’re the only person, in any lifetime, that I’d eat out of a bowl on the ground for, beloved.”

You laugh, kiss his chest, right over where his strong, big heart is beating.

In the end, you get to keep him. You let your blind date down gently, but decisively.

You come home one day, and he is eagerly waiting for you, in his human form. You had promised him a treat, after all.

“You’ll have to bend down a little,” you say.

Without hesitation, Sylus drops to his knees, and then places his hands on the floor.

You stare down at him, as he looks up at you, soft white hair, soft red eyes, gleaming in the light.

Your heart is racing again, just from his eyes on you, his scent filling your apartment.

You bend down, thread a new, subtle leather collar around his neck. It will hang on the wall, when he’s using his doggy collar, in his big wolf form. But when he’s a man, out in the world, away from you on business, getting up to no good and causing trouble—as he still occasionally does in your bedroom as he manages to tear the stuffing out of the plushies you’ve caught with other people when you’re away for too long—he’ll wear this one for you.

The one that says good boy on the heart-shaped tag on one side, and your name on the other.

You never do make that neutering appointment with the vet.

[cowboyheyxu]

when you were little, you remember trying to stay up late while waiting for caleb.

he would always be doing something with his friends while you were at home. he'd invite you occasionally, but you turned him down most of the time. all of his friends scared you—frankly, it was due to age, but also they would probably ignore you in favor of caleb. so, you opted to stay home.

caleb would promise to watch a movie with you, lose track of time, and then come home at 11pm. caleb would tell you that he'd come home early to play that new game with you, and you fell asleep ages before he came home. he said he'd help you with your homework, but when he got home, he found you sleeping on the dinner table.

he would always feel bad for it. you could tell by the way he stopped teasing you as much, practically sucking up to you when he came home later than promised. no matter how many times you assured him that it was fine, he never took it.

but sometimes, he'd tease you. once, he caught you staying up late for him (you had not fallen asleep yet), and asked if you missed him. he playfully stroked your cheek while you said, "of course not," while you rolled your eyes. caleb could never know that you did. terribly.

you think that it's good karma that he waits for you now.

recently, caleb took a temporary leave from the DAA. his coworkers were shocked, to say the least. he was dedicated to his job—he is a colonel in the farspace fleet, after all. caleb never revealed the reason of his departure, wanting to keep you a secret.

when asked about it, he said, "i'm not ashamed of you or anything, if that's what you're worried about. that's never it. ever," he pulls you in an embrace for reassurance. you melt into his big, broad body. you feel him let out an exhale above your head.

"i just... don't wanna share you," he mumbled into your ear.

you smile to yourself at the memory, opening the door to your apartment and taking your boots off. there's no light from the kitchen or living room, so you assume that caleb's gone off to bed early.

your footsteps pad through the quiet apartment to your dark bedroom. caleb is perched upright on your bed, resting his head on the headboard. he's tilted a little bit to the side, neck craned upwards.

you try not to run over to him. you bite the inside of your lip to stop the urge from overcoming you. when you get to caleb's side, you brush your hand over his hair, smoothing it out. your fingers trace his forehead, the slope of his nose, and his jawline. you're obsessed with him, you think, an unhealthy amount of obsessed.

"there's no way this can be comfortable," you quietly laugh, gently rubbing caleb's cheek. when you begin to shift his position, a hand reaches out and grabs your wrist.

caleb's hand swallows your wrist, and he keeps you in place. he turns his head over to you, only slightly peering his eyes open, "hey, pipsqueak. you're back."

"hi, sweet boy," you smile at him, "i'm here."

even in the dark, you notice the tips of his ears turning red. he smiles at the endearment and raises your hand to his lips, pressing a quick peck to it. then, he yanks you down onto the bed with him, pulling you into his arms.

you're in a jumbled position on top of him: your body is draped over his hips, your legs are near-dangling off of the bed, and your head is against his bare chest. the skin-to-skin contact is electrifying, and you have to look up to talk to him. the way caleb stares down at you causes you to heat up. you gulp.

"long day today? you came back later than usual," he says pulling you up higher so your legs aren't dangling.

"there were so many wanderers," you reply. you rest your head on his shoulder while you adjust yourself to a sitting position. you move to his side, and caleb lets out of a small groan. "i'm sorry i was late."

"it's fine," caleb shakes his head and rests his head on your shoulder. you continue brushing through his hair and he lets out a content sigh.

"how long have you been awake?" you rub up and down his arms, soothing him.

"not long," he finds satisfaction in the crook of your neck, placing small kisses in the crevice. he feels your hands tighten around his biceps, and you can feel him smirk against your neck. he pauses to ask, "are you tired?"

"exhausted," you shake your head. "i can't wait to go to bed."

caleb mhms into your neck, still pressing his lips around it. your heart begins to race, and if you stay in this position, you know you're never going to leave. you can hear him let out quiet moans of pleasure while he continues to kiss you.

"alright, caleb," you try to pull away, but he only tugs you closer to him, not wanting to detach his lips from you, "i haven't even showered yet, c'mon."

he stops, and cradles your face his both of his hands. he strokes your cheekbones back and forth, then he presses his forehead onto yours. you place your hands on top of his, rubbing his knuckles in silence. the only sound is your synchronized breathing.

"just for five minutes?"

you laugh again, and you watch as it tickles caleb's face. he scrunches it momentarily and you take this time to pull back. caleb intertwines his hand in yours when you stand up.

"i've been waiting all night, y'know?" he looks up at you with big, pouty eyes. you try your best not to cave. or giggle, for that matter. if that happens, then he'll know that he has you, and you won't be able to escape from that.

"liar! you said you haven't been awake for long!" you playfully swat at him. "and, do you remember when you'd keep me waiting as kids?" you reminisce, tapping your finger against your chin as if you were in deep thought. "think of this as karma," you smile.

caleb pouts as he swings your arms back and forth, keeping you still. "i said i was sorryyy," he drags out, "sooo many times."

he tugs you back one last time, but with less force than before. you stumble back into bed, and he hugs you tighty.

"i always thought of you," he whispers up at you, "so mentally, i was with you."

you snort, "i'm pretty sure that's not how it works."

"it is," he cheekily says. you hear a lilt in his voice.

"no, i remember being super tired and waiting for you to help me out with my science work. only for you to show up at like, what? was it 10 or 11?" you tease him, poking at his chest.

caleb shakes his head, burying himself deeper into you, "okay, valid. but, in my defense, i sped back home to you. i think i made a ten minute run into five that day."

you want to call him out again, but you can vividly recall his face when he came back to you. he was red—much redder than usual—and panting like a dog. your homework was quickly forgotten when you shot up and asked him if he was okay or not. his breathing was erratic, and there was so much sweat dripping down on him. but the only thing he asked about was if you still needed help on your homework.

"yeah," you say softly, "i remember that."

you kiss the top of his head and caleb releases a long exhale into your chest. "okay. i'll be quick, alright? just like you were. you won't be waiting for long," another kiss, "just let me shower, m'kay?"

at this, caleb opens an eye, a grin showing up on his face, "can i come with?"

you groan loudly, releasing yourself from caleb's grasp as you stand back up. he leans back and sits on his arms, laughing when you get up. his laughter is contagious—it's boisterous and bounces around the while room—and you find yourself giggling along with him.

you shake your head fondly as you lean down and kiss him on his lips. how could you have gone so many years without this? caleb was always right there—right in front of you—and you could've had him this whole time.

you kiss him with everything that's in you, even through your exhaustion. he slides his hand over to cup your cheek, and he presses his lips deeper into yours. you let out quiet whimpers as he continues, and caleb reciprocates.

it takes about five minutes for the two of you to come back up for air. you're breathless, and you're eyes are set on the rise and fall of caleb's chest. it reminds you of the homework night, and you chuckle before pecking him one more time.

"i'll be quick, remember?" you tuck some of his hair behind his ear. he leans into your hand, desperately. "don't miss me too much, okay? i love you," you smile.

you set off into the bathroom, replaying moments of your childhood throughout your head as you shower. has caleb always run back to you? was he always thinking about you? warmth rushes through your body, and it's not because of the hot water.

you're not surprised when caleb comes in as soon as he hears the water turn off. he stretches, flexing his abs and biceps. you're not sure if that was done on purpose.

and when he's there to help you change, blow-dry your hair, and do your skincare with him, and brush your teeth, you don't complain.

he's just making up for lost time anyway.

caleb craze is real (please let it be the 22nd NOW PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE)

i love love love love angst but because i have work tomorrow (it's going to be so busy at the clinic please pray for me) i needed this.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Priorities

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Illness/comfort

Summary: When Quinn gets a text from you 2 hours before his game, he shows where his priorities lie when he drops it all for you.

Series: Teacher Reader series

Notes: I am not very well atm and I had to drive home dizzy from work the other day, the idea of Quinn being there to help has been stuck in my head so have some self indulgence from me.

A kind of sequel to In Sickness and in Health but you don't need to read that to read this.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

He's already at the rink getting ready for the game in the locker room when his phone goes off. You don't actually ring him, clearly doing that thing you always do where you're trying to not bother him on a game day, instead you send a quick text message. He expects the usual:

'Good luck on the game today, baby!'

Instead, the text he gets has him picking his phone up and calling you back in an instant, worry clouding his judgement and making his hands shake slightly.

'Hey, so guess who's being sent home because she's dizzy and can't breathe? I had my head between my legs for 20 minutes, definitely can't stand and teach. Have a good game x'.

You drop the good luck at the end like he's not supposed to be worried, like you've just casually told him about the weather and not that you we're struggling to breathe.

It doesn't really matter that Tocc is giving him the look, the one he reserves for when he's annoyed at the boys, or that half the locker room have stopped their own pre-game, pre-warm up routines to watch their captain frantically call you. He's pacing back and forth, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waits for you to pick up the phone.

"Quinn?" You sound so incredibly breathless its like listening to an asthmatic 80 year old who's smoked for half their life. Except you don't smoke and you're not asthmatic or 80 which makes the whole situation about 10 times worse because you shouldn't be struggling to breathe. You should be doing better today.

You've been ill, he knows this, a chest infection he forced you to get meds for on the weekend. Meds which should have started working by now, a heavy dose of antibiotics and steroids which were supposed to have helped. You'd felt well enough this morning to go in and give work another go, but he regrets letting you do that now. Clearly trying to stand up in front of teenagers and talk was not something you should have been doing, not when the school day had only started half an hour ago and you were already being sent home.

"Baby, are okay?" You're sitting on the front steps of the school with all your things when you answer the phone to Quinn's worried voice. You keep telling yourself you just need a minute, just a minute and then you won't feel so dizzy, won't feel so breathless. Just a minute and the tingles in your fingers will go and your hands will stop shaking so much. Just a minute and then you can drive home and get into bed.

"Y-yeah, I'm...I'm just breathless. I'll be okay...they're...they're covering my...my lessons and..." You stop for a minute, taking big deep breathes, you sound so laboured on the phone that Quinn can't help but clench his phone tighter in his hand, "and I'm going home now." Your breaths are wheezy, just like Saturday, in fact he's certain you sound worse.

"How are you getting home?" He knows the answer before you say it and he hates it before he even hears it. You're dizzy and breathless and there is no way you should be driving home at all, but he knows you. Self-reliant to a fault, a martyr, always pushing yourself past the point of no return because you think you're fine, because you convince yourself you're fine. Because you don't want to inconvenience anyone or cause more problems. You ask to little of people around you, expecting barely anything despite all you give.

"I'm...I'm going to...to drive."

"No. You're not. I'm going to come get you." You want to protest a lot more than you do if you're being honest. But, you're so tired and it's so hard to breathe and students wandering in late to school are staring at you like you're having a break down. So your protests are relatively lacklustre by your usual standard. That actually worries him more.

"It's...there's like 2 hours before the game...you've...you've got warm ups soon." You hate the idea of him missing warm ups or god forbid the game, all because you were too stupid to realise you shouldn't have gone into work in the first place.

"So, I'll get you, take you home and come back to the rink and play. I'll walk to the school tomorrow and collect your car so you don't have to worry about it. But, you aren't driving, baby. If you even try to get in that car I will being fucking pissed. I love you, you do not get in that car." You know he's serious in that moment, not just because he's very rarely angry at you or anyone but himself, outside of the rink, but because he's got that clipped tone he only uses when he's serious. This isn't a request, it's a direct order and you have no intention of disobeying it, not when you know he's right...not when it makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside that he's so insistent about your wellbeing.

"But, what...what if you miss warm ups?" He loves how much you support him and his hockey, he always will, but he hates that your first thought is that hockey should come first. His girlfriend can barely breathe right now and he quite honestly doesn't give a flying fuck if he misses warm ups. The team had to pull themselves together at some point and you came first. Always. If they couldn't manage warm ups without him then what was the point of paying them so much money?

"Warm ups aren't my priority, baby. You are. Do not get in the car. Do not drive. Do not move. I'm leaving right now, okay? Just sit on the steps of the school and take deep breaths." He's already grabbing his keys, not even bothering to change out of his gear other than putting some proper shoes on so that he can actually drive. He knows it'll spark some speculation and rumours, Captain of the Canucks storming out of the arena 2 hours before puck drop in full gear except his skates, but he doesn't fucking care about that right now.

"...Okay...thank you, Quinny. I love you." You say it because in that moment you have never felt so loved, to have someone drop everything, something so important, to come get you...Maybe its the meds, maybe its the breathlessness, the infection, but you feel like crying a little because of how sweet he is even when he's bossing you about.

"I'll see you soon, baby. I love you too."

He doesn't waste time once he hangs up, just turns straight to Tocc and tells him, "I'll be back."

The look he gets is a mixture of disbelief, frustration and confusion and he really can't blame Tocc for it. Not when Quinn is the captain, the player that seems to make a massive difference on the ice, and he's about to run out the doors 2 hours before the game? Yeah, he knows Tocc doesn't want to hear it.

"Quinn, where you going? We have a game in 2 hours?!" He knows he's going to be cutting it fine with Vancouver traffic and getting to your school, the apartment and back to the arena, but he's not letting you drive. He could live with missing a game, losing a game, but he couldn't live with himself if he let you drive home and something happened. His job was to look after you, if he failed at that? What was the fucking point?

"Tocc, I'll be back. I promise. But, right now my girlfriend is unable to breathe and dizzy and I'm not letting her drive home, okay? Sooner I leave, sooner I come back."

Maybe it's the insistence on Quinn's face, the reality that if he was forced to stay he wouldn't play well anyway. Maybe it's that you and Tocc get along and he can see a hint of concern in the other man's eyes or maybe Tocc just trusts him that much. But, he actually agrees to let him go. Not that Quinn could really be forced to stay. They'd have to tie him to the bench.

"Okay, I'm trusting you."

"Thanks."

Quinn ignores every single person he storms past, every employee, every fan outside, every person with a camera that starts asking him where he's going as he starts his car with one destination in mind. Maybe he seems rude, maybe he seems standoffish, but he doesn't really care because right now you are sat on the steps of a school struggling to breathe and he just wants to see you and get you home and into bed.

He doesn't even care that he knows Tocc is going to be questioned about his absence or that he can already hear his phone pinging with notifications from social media, most likely people asking where he was going and speculating.

'Just saw Quinn Hughes storm out of Rogers Arena in full gear, finally got fed up of his team?'

'Um, is anyone else panicking that Hughes just left the arena like 2 hours before puck drop?'

'Captain Lexapro has officially lost it with this team, just stormed out of the arena!!'

He tries his best not to break any traffic laws getting to you, despite the fact he has a lead foot that wants to press harder on the accelerator. But, he knows you'd hate it and you'd worry more about him getting a ticket, so he just grips the steering wheel tighter until he's turning into the school car park.

He doesn't try to park in a proper space, just pulls up as close to you as possible before hopping out. Your head is between your legs, shoulders rising and falling in laboured breaths and he feels like he's been punched in the stomach at how bad you sound.

"Oh, baby..." He's kneeling on the dirty ground within seconds and you try, through broken gasps to tell him he'll get his hockey socks dirty, but he doesn't listen to you, just reaches to pull you into a hug.

"Let's get you home, okay? Tomorrow we're going back to the doctors, okay?" You're leaning your head into his shoulder so heavily that he's worried you might actually pass out. It's like the moment his arms wrap around you, you just give up on holding yourself up. In truth, that's kind of what happens. You just want to lean into him, soak up the comfort of your boyfriend lighting petting your hair and whispering into your ear.

"Don't y-you have...practice?"

"I think I can fit the doctors in around practice, baby..." He doesn't tell you, but he'd forgo practice for you. He doesn't care about anything but how you're doing and you're not okay. Quinn can see that better than anyone.

"Alright, up you get..." He stands first, hands reaching for yours to help pull you to your feet. You sway before him like you're on a 16th century galleon in a thunderstorm, forehead plonking on his chest heavily, "Atta, girl. There we go." He just strokes your hair and back while you wait for the dizziness to pass, he knows each second will make him later to the arena but he's not going to rush you when you're struggling just to stand without fainting.

"Alright, let me get your stuff and then we'll take it one step at a time, baby, okay?"

"O..okay...one step...at a time." He tries his best not to let go of you completely as he bundles your work bag onto his shoulder. Quinn is as quick as he can be with it, before pulling you under his arm and helping you inch step by step towards the car.

It's slow going, every few steps you get a little dizzy and he waits for you to nod before he pushes you forward again. You're drained, dark circles under your eyes and skin losing some of its usual colour by the time you reach the car.

Quinn had purposefully pulled up the car with the passenger side facing you and you're thankful not to have to walk around the car as you brace yourself against the door for a moment. Quinn helps ease you into the seat, reaching over to put your seatbelt on for you and adjust the headrest so you can lean back. It eases some of the weight in your chest.

"Nearly home, okay, baby?"

You just nod, exhausted as his hands cup your cheeks tenderly, spreading a soft sort of affection through your already aching chest. He's so gentle as he looks down at you, fingers rubbing circles in your cheeks, but he looks so worried and you feel so guilty because he shouldn't have to be that worried.

"You've been so brave, baby, you're so brave...soon you'll be in bed and you can watch the game and sleep, okay?" He knows you'll want to watch the game if you're sat at home, mostly because you watch every game he plays even if its on catch up, but also because he knows it'll reassure you that he made it back in time.

You nod again, blinking up at him so tired that he can't help but frown.

"Atta, girl. My brave girl." The kiss Quinn presses to your forehead is short and sweet, not lingering but filling you with warmth and lightness even as he closes the door on you and gets into the driver's side.

You miss his comforting touch and as if he knows this, his hand reaches for your thigh at any given opportunity when it isn't in use to drive. The stability of it, the comfort of just having him there is so welcome and helps you to relax back into the seat as he drives.

It's just as hard work getting you into the apartment, thankful as ever that the elevator actually works, but once you're in, Quinn feels ten times lighter.

"Right, lets get you comfy, baby...you want one of my jerseys or a hoodie?"

"Jersey...the....the black one, please."

"Okay, sit down, there ya go, good girl.." He watches you the entire time from the corner of his eye, scared you'll lean too far forward from how you're hunched over on the edge of the bed. He tries to make the entire thing quick, reaching for his black jersey, the extra big one that he bought home because you liked how it dwarfed you and even dwarfed him.

"Arms up, baby..." He helps you out of your work blouse and your bra, slipping the jersey over the top quickly to avoid the shivers you start shaking with.

The worst part is getting you to your feet to get your bottoms off. Quinn helps you rise to your feet before kneeling in front of you, dragging your hands to his shoulders for support as he helps you inch out of the remainder of your work clothes. Your fingers grip his shoulders so tight that he's certain you might leave bruises but he doesn't really care, just happy to get you comfy and help you into bed.

You're bundled under as many blankets as he can find, plus the heated blanket you got at Christmas. A big jug of water beside the bed, snacks piled high because he is not having you try to go all the way to kitchen without supervision right now.

"You want the game set to go on?"

"Y...yes, please...wanna watch you play." He turns the television on, setting it to the NHL game set to go live in less than an hour now and he knows he's going to miss warm ups at this point. Tocc's probably blowing up his phone and he knows he's cutting it fine...but you look so small bundled up in bed and he actually hates the idea of leaving you alone. He hates not having his family near all the time as a general rule, but in that moment he hates it so much more. If his mum or dad had been near he could have asked Ellen or Jim to check in on you, instead you were going to be all alone and he hated it.

"I'll score for you, yeah? You can watch me score and maybe we'll win and then I'll come and make us dinner. That sound good, baby?"

"Perfect..." Quinn smooths your hair back from your face, tucking a strand behind your ear even as he uses it as an excuse to feel your temperature. Not unreasonably warm which reassures him a little that you're at least not feverish.

He just keeps sitting there next to you, stroking your hair and caressing your cheek to the point that as much as you're loathe to get him to stop and to leave, you have to remind him he can't stay here. He has a game he's already running late to.

"You...you have to go, Quinn...I'll be okay..."

"If you're not, you'll phone 911, right?" He smooths your hair back again, in truth he really doesn't want to leave you there like that. Even as you seem to be breathing a little better now you're lying down. He considers just not going, if they lose they lose...but he knows he can't. He's captain, he promised he'd be back...and you'd be unhappy with him. He might be your boyfriend but the Canucks were your team and you'd likely make him sleep on the couch for a week.

"I promise...just go win for me?"

"Okay, sweet girl." He presses a last lingering kiss to your forehead, before getting up to leave. But, he still lingers in the doorway for a moment until you push him to go.

Once he's out of the apartment he's rushing. Barely any time and honestly when he finally gets back to the arena and gets his skates on he's surprised he's just in time to go out on the ice for the anthem...cold, not warmed up in the slightest, not ready at all to play a game, but willing to.

Tocc stops him as he's passing the bench to get to the ice, "Cutting it fine, Hughes!" despite the gruff tone, Quinn can tell that Tocc is just relieved that Quinn's back in time. As are the guys who all look at him with varying shades of relief as if they'd been freaking out the entire time. Which they probably had.

"Told you I'd be back." Quinn says it with such confidence, even though inside he knows he nearly missed the entire game. To be honest if you hadn't forced him out the apartment then he'd probably have been late at best.

"How is she?" Tocc's voice is soft, concerned and Quinn appreciates it. He appreciates that as a coach Tocc doesn't just care about how much they cost or how well they play, he cares about them and their families too...and you're included in that, ring or not.

"Not good...but safe at home."

"You need practice off tomorrow?"

"Please, I need to get her to the doctors..."

"Done. Now go help us win the game." Tocc gives him a clap on the shoulder before pushing him out onto the ice and just like that Quinn slips into captain mode.

Locked in like he always is even if his legs don't feel as loose and his stick feels a little less familiar in his hands. Knowing you're home safe helps, he can put the thought of you to the back of his mind, knowing you're safe in the apartment, comfortable and surrounded by everything you need.

You find it hard to focus on the game, but force yourself to, determined to watch Quinn play and to see the goal he intends to score for you. Maybe it's silly, there's no guarantee he'll actually score, but you can tell from the moment he's on the ice that it's one of the few things on his mind. Shot after shot after shot, a determined series of attempts that remind you how important you are to him even as you lie wheezing in bed, eating as much chocolate as Quinn put out for you.

It's part way through the first period with one goal already to Vancouver thanks to Petey that the issue of Quinn's disappearance pre-game is raised.

"Quinn Hughes was nearly late to the game today, the captain missed warm ups but that's certainly not stopping him now!" Shortie's voice rings through the room, a familiar cadence that makes you feel comforted.

"No, it's not, Shortie, do we know why Hughes was late?" Dave responds and for a moment you can't quite comprehend that you've managed to cause this much of a ruckus.

"It hasn't been confirmed and you know I'm not much of a gossip..." You have a little giggle a Shortie even as you are the topic of conversation because it's not really much in the way of gossip and it's so silly.

"But?"

"Apparently he had a family emergency, his girlfriend is very unwell and he dropped everything to go get her."

"Well, that's just.."

"Romantic? Sweet?"

"I was going to say so unlike the Quinn Hughes we used to know, the one who only thought about hockey." You think back to Quinn when you first met, how everything had been hockey, hockey, hockey. You hadn't minded, your own love of the sport meant that you could handle it. But, it's true...Quinn had been rethinking his priorities ever since you started dating, where he might have prioritised hockey once, he'd started to prioritise you. You're not entirely sure at what point you became that important in his life, but it made you feel warm and fuzzy all over.

"I think it's a good thing, that's a sign of growth, just like Hughes' shot!" Shortie cuts himself off as you watch the camera pan to Quinn, following his agile movements across the ice as he skips past the other team's players as if it's as easy as breathing, "He's in past the defence, he lines up the shot and an unassisted goal for Quinn Hughes! Vancouver goal!"

You smile wide as you watch Quinn grin, celebrating with his team in a series of hugs before he finds a camera. There's a moment where you know he's grinning at you, for you, a cheeky little wink sent through the screen as if to say 'told you I'd score for you'.

"I suspect that one was for the girlfriend, Shortie."

You watch the entire game, trying not to nod off to sleep between periods. While you can't cheer and you certainly don't have the energy to celebrate too hard, every Canuck goal makes you feel lighter and brings a smile to your face.

The end result of a 5-2 win to the Canucks makes it easy for you to drift off as the game ends and the waiting for Quinn begins.

He's running off a high when the game ends, even more so when Boeser offers to take over press duties so Quinn can get back to you quickly.

The apartment is quiet when he comes in, "Baby?" not a sound comes back in response and he's careful to move quietly through the apartment to the bedroom doorway.

You're fast asleep, breathing heavy but nowhere near as bad as earlier in the day, you're surrounded by chocolate wrappers and he's quiet as he picks them all up and puts them in a bin, replacing them with the puck he scored with on your bedside table.

He tiptoes back to the kitchen quietly pottering around to make some dinner for you while you're still asleep, nothing fancy but protein, carbs and veg. The sort of thing that's definitely boring but also definitely what your body needs right now.

"Baby, time to wake up...I've made you dinner." He's gentle when he wakes you, soft fingers down your cheek as you stir awake, blinking up at him bleary eyed. Quinn helps you sit upright, the tray of food settling neatly in your lap.

"Where's...where's yours?"

"On the table, you want me to eat in here with you, sweetheart?"

He's moving before you finish nodding, grabbing another tray and his plate before joining you on the bed. He spends most of his dinner watching you eat, making sure you're not leaving large amounts and that you're okay.

He's happy about the win, happy about the score, but he's mostly just happy to be back with you and knowing that you're eating and you're okay, if not well.

Quinn's quick to tidy up your trays and even quicker to get back to you and get into a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, sliding under the covers with you and pulling you into his arms.

Your cheek rests against his chest, the steady thump of his heart a soothing sound that helps some of the anxiety about being off work ease off. Quinn's fingers caress circles and weird shapes across your arm and shoulder as he tucks you tight against him, legs twined together. Every so often he presses a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, the top of your hair, as if reassuring himself that you're okay and he's got you.

"You scored..." You mumble into his t-shirt, a small smile working it's way to your lips as his hand moves up to run through your hair, stopping at your scalp every now and then to scratch lightly until you feel like purring even if that purr is more of a wheezy rumble.

"Mmm, for you, baby." Quinn smiles down at you, another kiss pressed to your cheek.

"T...the wink?" His smile weakens slightly at your still stumbling breathlessness and the wheeze and crackle that accompany it.

"Just for you, sweet girl."

"I'm...I'm proud of you, y'know?" You smile up at him so sweetly that he can't help but feel certain in his choices today. Yeah, nearly missing a game was rough, and maybe the press are going to be dicks about it and maybe he would have felt guilty if he'd missed the game or they'd lost...but he knows he'd skip a million games if it meant you were being looked after, were safe.

"I know...and tomorrow you're going to show me how proud you are by letting me take you to the doctors again."

"Ugh..." You groan, hiding your face into his chest like that will stop him from dragging you to the doctors. Your stubbornness normally cute but in this moment less so.

Quinn cups the back of your head until your looking up at him, green eyes meeting yours with a pleading stare that makes your resolve tremble and shudder. "Please? I'm worried about you, baby...I was really scared when I got that text from you."

"Yeah?" You hate that you worried him...it's that worry that makes you concede that maybe you need to go back to the doctors and maybe as much as you hate it, you'll do it, for Quinn.

"Yeah. I can replace hockey, I can play another game if I miss one. But, I can't replace you. Let me take you to the doctors."

There's a beat of silence as he pleads with you, eyes soft, worried, gentle, thumb stroking soothingly across the base of your neck and you can't really deny him this. Not when you know you'd feel exactly the same if the roles were reversed, not when he nearly missed a game for you today and went in completely cold turkey to win it.

"Okay...as...as long as you keep cuddling me."

"I think I can do that, baby." You curl back into his arms like the spot was carved just for you and in that moment Quinn Hughes knows that you have fully hit the top of his priority list, no ands, ifs, buts or maybes. You could ask him to quit hockey tomorrow and he'd do it. He'd do anything for you and that should be terrifying, but it's not because he knows you'd never ask too much of him. If anything you ask too little.

[woozinhos]

You mentioned drunk sex and I reaaaaaally want you to write that for every idol you write lol it’s my fave

So maybe we could start with yunho?😇

Thank you so much for your works, I love every letter of them😍

Notes: stop anon I’ll be counting on you to send them ahaha enjoy guys I love this one :D

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*

Yunho is already tipsy, laughing and stumbling as he tries to open the door to your shared apartment.

"Babe, I'm home," he calls out, finally managing to get inside.

You hear his voice and quickly run over to him, a big smile on your face.

"Yunho!" you exclaim, throwing your arms around him. "You're drunk."

He stumbles a bit but catches himself, hugging you back tightly.

"Maybe I am," he says, his words slurring slightly. "But I missed you too much to care."

He leans down and kisses you passionately, his hands roaming your body.

"You smell so good," he murmurs against your lips, inhaling deeply. "And you look so damn sexy."

"You're not so bad yourself, handsome," you say, a smirk on your face. "Especially when you're drunk and horny." He grins, pulling you closer and biting your neck.

"I'm not just horny," he says, his breath hot against your skin. "I'm needy." You let out a gasp as he bites down harder, leaving a mark.

"Need me, huh?" you tease, running your fingers through his hair.

His eyes darken with desire, his gaze fixated on you.

"Please, I need you to take care of me," he begs, his voice filled with desperation. "I need your touch, your body, everything."

“Maybe not tonight Yuyu you’re too drunk,” You say smiling at him in his state.

He pouts, his bottom lip jutting out in a childish manner.

"But I've been good," he whines, his grip on you tightening. "Why not tonight?"

You laugh at his behavior, ruffling his hair.

"Because you're too drunk to handle it," you say, trying to reason with him. "You'll regret it in the morning if we do anything."

He groans, clearly frustrated.

"But I don't care about tomorrow," he whines again, burying his face in your neck. "I just want you now."

"You're acting like a spoiled child," you tease, stroking his back. "Stop being so impatient."

He looks up at you with puppy dog eyes, giving you his best attempt at a cute expression.

"Please, let's go to bed," he says, his voice soft and sweet. "I promise I'll be a good boy and listen to you."

You can't help but find him adorable like this, your heart melting at his words.

"Fine," you say, sighing in defeat. "Let's go to bed."

His face lights up with excitement, a huge smile spreading across it.

"Yes!" he exclaims, lifting you up in his arms bridal style. "I knew you'd give in."

He carries you to the bedroom, his movements still slightly clumsy due to his drunken state.

"Don't worry, I got this," he reassures you, even though he's clearly struggling to walk in a straight line. He almost trips multiple times, but manages to reach the bed and gently lay you down on it.

"See, I'm still capable," he says, trying to sound confident but still giggling.

He crawls onto the bed after you, hovering over you with a smirk.

"Now that I have you all to myself, I'm going to make sure you don't regret this." He boops your nose giggling.

You can't help but laugh along with him, finding his drunk boop cute.

"You're so adorable when you giggle like that," you say, booping his nose back.

He blushes, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

"Only for you," he says, nuzzling his face into your neck. "You're the only one who gets to see me like this."

He struggles to take off his shirt, his fingers fumbling with the buttons.

"Ugh, why won't these damn buttons cooperate?" he groans, growing more frustrated by the second.

You sit up, watching him struggle with a mixture of amusement and fondness.

"Need some help there, love?" you ask, trying to hide your laughter.

He huffs, giving up on his shirt and looking at you with a pout.

"Yes, please help me," he admits, crossing his arms over his chest like a child throwing a tantrum.

You smile at his attitude, reaching out to unbutton his shirt for him.

"You're such a baby when you drink," you tease, finally managing to undo all the buttons.

He leans into your touch as you finish undressing him, his body now fully exposed.

"I know, but I can't help it," he mumbles, his eyes locked on yours with a mix of lust and love.

He starts to leave sloppy kisses along your neck, trailing down to your collarbone.

"Mmm, you taste so good," he moans against your skin, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

"Please, ride me, ride me hard," he begs again, his voice filled with desperation and need. "I want to feel you on top of me, bouncing on my cock."

His words make you shiver with excitement, your body already responding to his pleas.

"You want me to control the pace, don't you?" you say, your voice low and sultry.

He nods vigorously, his eyes darkening with desire.

"I need you to take control and use me," he says, his breath hitching as he anticipates what's to come.

You slowly strip him completely, taking your time to admire his body. He watches you with heavy lidded eyes, biting his lip as you tease him. His cock is already hard and throbbing, standing at attention for you.

"Look at what you do to me," he groans, unable to keep his eyes off of your body as you strip in front of him.

His hair is messy from running his hands through it, and his eyes are glazed over from the alcohol and arousal. He looks completely debauched and needy, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. He knows he's hot, and he knows you know it too. He smirks at your expression, loving the way you look at him with hunger.

"Like what you see, sweetheart?" he teases, his voice dripping with confidence.

"More than anything," you say, straddling his hips. He lets out a low growl as you settle on top of him, his hands instantly gripping your thighs.

He squeezes your thighs tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh as he tries to keep himself from bucking up against you.

"Fuck, I can't wait to be inside you," he says through gritted teeth, his cock twitching underneath you.

As you slowly sink down onto his cock, he throws his head back and lets out a loud moan, his eyes rolling back in pleasure.

"Oh god, you're so tight," he gasps, his grip on your thighs tightening even more as you take him deeper.

He's practically a mess beneath you, whimpering and moaning shamelessly as you start to move up and down.

"Please, harder, faster," he begs again, his voice breaking with each plea.

He's a whining mess of pleasure, completely lost in the feeling of your body riding him. His neck is exposed, veins visible as he continues to moan and whine your name.

"You're driving me insane," he pants, his eyes squeezed shut.

He looks up at you with those big, pleading doe eyes, his hair a complete disheveled mess from being pulled and tossed around. His cheeks are flushed, and his lips are parted, letting out little needy sounds every time you roll your hips. He can't take it anymore, he's so close to losing control. He tries to buck his hips up into you, but you pin him down, keeping him still.

"Please, I need to cum, please let me cum," he cries out, desperation evident in his voice.

"Beg for it more," you say with a smirk, your movements becoming slower and more teasing.

It's hard to resist when he looks and sounds like that, but you have to keep yourself in check. He lets out a frustrated groan, his body trembling with need.

"Please, I'll do anything," he says, his voice cracking. "I'll be your good boy, just let me cum, I need your permission."

His words make you shiver once again, and you can feel your own arousal growing from the sight of him being so submissive.

"Good boys get rewards," you say, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "And I think you deserve a reward for being so obedient."

His eyes light up at the promise of a reward, his hips bucking up again in excitement.

"I'll be the best good boy for you," he says, his breathing heavy as he tries to maintain his composure. "Just please, please let me have my reward."

You smile at his eagerness and decide to finally give him what he wants. You begin to ride him faster and harder, angling your hips just right to hit his sweet spot.

"That's it, you're doing so good," you praise, feeling his cock twitch inside you.

He's panting and gasping for air, his eyes rolling back again as you hit his sweet spot repeatedly.

"Oh god, right there, right there!" he cries out, his nails digging into your skin as he clings to you.

You keep up the pace, riding him mercilessly, his moans growing louder and louder.

"I'm so close," he says through clenched teeth, his body starting to tense up. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna fill you up so good."

He continues to babble and slur his words as he gets closer to his release, his sentences becoming incoherent.

"So beautiful, so perfect, mine," he says between moans, his eyes glazed over with lust and love.

He cums with a loud, guttural moan, his body arching off the bed as he spills inside you. His orgasm is intense, and he continues to spill for what feels like an eternity, filling you up completely. You ride him through his orgasm, milking every last drop out of him. He collapses back onto the bed, completely spent and breathing heavily.

"That was... incredible," he manages to say, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries to catch his breath.

You get off of him and he lets out a small whine at the loss of contact. He watches you with tired eyes as you walk away to grab the cloth, still trying to come down from his high. You turn on the faucet in the bathroom, letting the cool water run over the cloth. You wring it out slightly before returning to the bedroom, where he is now laying there with his eyes closed, a satisfied smile on his face.

You chuckle softly as you notice him passed out, a small puddle of drool forming on the pillow next to him. You gently clean him up, being careful not to wake him up. You admire his sleeping form, feeling a mix of affection and amusement at how easily he fell asleep.

[joeyspuckbunny]

୨୧ ‧₊˚ mine. - j. woll ˚₊‧ ୨୧

pairing: j. woll x fem!reader summary: Joe and Y/N go to the Annual Tavares' Christmas party, where Y/N meets a majority of the team for the first time. She hits it off with the young forward, Matthew Knies. Seeing Y/N so content with a younger guy, Joe gets worried about his age difference with her and the problems that may arise from it. request: hey love hope you're doing well, could you write a fic with Joseph Woll where the reader meets Matt Knies for the first time since joe and her have been dating for a while, and joe gets jealous. hope that makes sense if not ignore! ❤️ word count: 1403 warning(s): jealous joe, age gap (reader is 20 and joe is 26), insecure joe because i can't make knies actually flirt with his best friends gf, not proof read notes: this might be horrible im so sorry !! i don't see joe as the jealous type so this was a little hard but i'm trying to build my writing skills so i like the challenge. i had to add a few more tropes to make it flow better if that's ok. i hope you enjoy !!! xoxo

"Joeyyyyyy !!" you whine, sitting with the car door open, "Will you carry me? My heels are open toed and...there's snow".

It's the Annual Toronto Maple Leafs christmas party at John Tavares' home in Oakville. Joe insisted you come meet the team a bit more formally now that you two had officially been dating 6 months. You knew all their wives and girlfriends well, bonding over the joys and hardships of having a partner in pro-hockey. This was your first time meeting the actual players, though. And, boy, were you nervous.

"Sweetheart, its like 30 steps," Joe stands by your open door, in the falling snow. You pout and say "You hate me".

"I don't hate you. Actually, it's the opposite. I love you. Now, come. You know how Aryne feels when people are late".

You huff and grab your purse, jumping out of Joe's blue porsche and into the snow covering JT's driveway. Joe grabs your hand and you wander up to the front door together before you stop, suddenly. "Ok, remind me, who am I meeting tonight?". Joe sighs. You have been through this at least 5 times today.

"Y/N, you're gonna be fine. No reason to be nervous," he smiles with kind eyes. "I'm not nervous. I just want to remember who everyone is". Joe nods again and starts, "You know JT and Mitchy. Remember from the gala we went to a few weeks ago?". You nod and he continues, "You'll meet Autson, Willy, Domi, McCabe, Reavo, Mo, Lorentz, Stolie and Kniesy. They will love you, baby. Trust me."

You nod again and smile. With that, Joe rings the doorbell. JT answers the door, "Hey, guys, how are you doing? Come on in". You step into the beautifully decorated foyer of the Tavares home and hear chatter coming from the other room. JT takes your coat and you see his wife, Aryne, beckon you over into the kitchen.

You and Joe walk into the other room, soon realizing you were the last to arrive. Everyone is there. Holding drinks, talking and laughing together. It feels nice to be part of something like this. Dating Joe has been an adjustment but when you see all your new friends and the community you have built, it makes it all worth it. The girls come over and hug you, complimenting your dress or hair, while the guys exclaim at Joe's arrival, teasing him about his lateness. Domi even makes a comment on how he "cleans up real nice" and winks.

Joe makes eye contact with your from across the room and makes a motion for you to come closer. You excuse yourself from your group of friends, who have changed the subject from your outfit to what Aryne should get her mom for Christmas.

"Hi," you wave at all the new people staring at you. "I'm Y/N-". "Oh we know who you are, love, don't worry," McCabe cuts you off and smiles. Stolarz laughs and continues, "Yeah, Woller doesn't shut up about you". You smile and look over at Joe. He's blushing like crazy. "It's nice to finally meet you, Y/N," Domi give you a toothless grin. Auston shakes you hand, "Welcome to the team".

Time has gone by and you decide staying sober was not fun whilst everyone else is drunk. You get yourself a "christmas martini" (something Reavo's wife, Alanna, brought) and sat down in the living room. Joe was outside talking to Willy and Mo. He looked content from what you could see, smiling and laughing with beer in hand.

"Mind if I sit?"

You hear someone ask, snapping you back to reality. You look up and see the one and only Matthew Knies. He smiles down at you and you nod, "Of course". He nods and takes a seat beside you. "I have been meaning to talk to you. You're Y/N right?" he looks over, as if to make sure. You nod and smile, "That's me!".

"Great. I can't believe it took this long for us to meet. Joe never stops talking about you, you know. Always going on and on about how lucky he is to have you and what not. But I wanted to get to know you. From you. Tell me about yourself, Y/N. I wanna know why Joe loves you so much."

The way he speaks comes for a place of genuine interest. Joe talks about Knies a lot at home. They are close and you can tell how much they care about each other from what you see in games and what Joe tells you. You both fall into easy conversation and... let's just say, Joe takes notice.

The back wall of JT's home is lined with big glass sliding doors leading to the backyard. The guys standing outside have perfect view of everything going on inside, like it's one massive movie.

Joe looks over his shoulder. You're normally okay in social situations but with the amount of new people here, he wanted to make sure you were still having a good time. He finds you sitting over by the fireplace and at first, doesn't even notice Kniesy sitting there beside you. He is just taking in how beautiful you are. The way your smile lights up the room. The way your eyes sparkle. Everything about you reminds him why he fell in love with you in the first place. You are truly an angel on earth.

Suddenly, he looks to the left of you and sees Knies. Now, Joe isn't a possessive man by nature. The oldest of three children meant a lot of sharing as a child. But you sitting there with Knies makes him nervous. And for good reason. Knies is an attractive man who is much closer in age to you than he himself is. The age difference between the two of you never really bothered him before but it did now. Not that he was insecure about anything. He was just... worried. That's allowed, right?

"Hey, Knies, enjoying my girlfriend's company?" he says as he walks up to you. It's not a confrontational comment but he wants it to take him aback a little bit. You look up a little confused and Knies nods, "Yeah, she's amazing, man. Can't believe you bagged her". He nods and takes a seat next to you. "Isn't she?" he responds, putting his arm around you and kissing your cheek. "Joey, stop that. I'm trying to talk to Kniesy," you giggle as his stubble tickles your face. Joe nods and smiles, "Just reminding him you're mine". He the turns to his best friend, saying, "Don't get any ideas, kid," before getting up and walking away. It's a subtle act but he knows he got his message across. Even if he had nothing to worry about before, he definitely has nothing to worry about now.

You notice no animosity between Joe and Knies through the night and by the time you're ready to head out, they are giggling like school girls over stat they looked up on Joe's phone. You walk over and lean down to whisper, "Time to go, Joey,".

The process of leaving is easy. Everyone says good bye, you hug everyone and you all exchange the customary "we have to hang out more" before heading to the car. Joe hands you the keys because he's too drunk to drive and you get settled into the driver's seat.

Before you leave the driveway, you ask, "Joe, what was all that about with Knies earlier?". He looks over at you briefly and then down at his hands, like an ashamed child.

"I'm sorry, baby. I just felt... weird. It's no mystery there's a bit of a gap between our ages and Knies is so much closer in age to you than I am. I got nervous you'd realize how old I really am and leave me for... a younger model like him," he looks back up at you towards the end of his explanation.

You sigh and reply, "Joe, you're not old. 26 is not old at all. And even if our age difference bothered me, which it doesn't, I wouldn't leave you for Knies. Trust me, if we don't last forever, I won't date another hockey player ever. I love you, Joe. Don't worry. I'm yours."

He smiles and kisses your hand, "That's right, baby girl, you're mine".

[icarusredwings]

Obedient demons, devlish Angels.

Wade is so bad at his job he almost starves to death. And Logan is so bad at his, that he makes sure He dosn't.

Tw: depiction of rejection sensitivity, vauge sex, open/closed relationship dynamics, sick/ill demons, "eating" problems, what the title says.

@nuggetpool-hi

No one:

Wade, rubbing up against Logan like a cat: Plllleeeeaaasseee?? Pretty please? I'm staaarrvvinngg Loagie!

Logan, sitting in a chair reviewing the bible: You just ate yesterday; Wade. You aren't starving...

Wade: Yes, I am! You left me here to go spend the night with kurt so Im hungry! Honest! Please?? I'll be quick! You won't even know im down there-

Logan: Enough! I'm tired of this. Stop. Every time I come back, all you wanna do is have sex and I know you kinda have too but I dont want to! Do you ever think about that? Do you ever stop and wonder if I even want to?!

Wade, backing away, tail tucked: ......i-.. I do all the time...

Logan: Apprently not because I already said no! And you just keep-.....

Wade: *anxiously picking at his nails, head down and clearly ashamed to just exist* ....sorry...

Logan: No... Wait- Wade no... I didnt-

Wade, already crying, streaks of red coming down his neck and cheeks: n-no.. Its okay.. i-I wont ask anymore..

Logan: *sighs* I didn't mean it like that... Im just.. frustrated...

Wade, hurt, tears falling: I-its fine.. really. I Just..y-youre so nice to me when-.. when we do it and..and..

Logan, getting up: *reaches out a hand* No, Wade, I didn't mean to- You dont have to find someone else. Ill do it, Just.. just gimme a second okay?

Wade, shaking his head, backing up: No.. I-i wont ask anymore. It's fine.. dont worry about it..

Logan, watching Wade lay down and curl up on his side of the bed, now feeling terrible: ...so... y-you aren't hungry anymore..? Or.. cause we can! I dont mind Its just... *another sigh* Look. Wade.. I don't want you to be hungry..

Wade, whispering: I'll be okay...

Logan then puts his stuff away, trying to pull Wade close. He's squirming, trying to shy away but Logan forces him to stay in his chest, kissing his forehead and softly apologizing. Wade's bloody face heightens Logans primal angelic insticts, fighting the adrenaline rush of battle to keep his touches gentle, rubbing his back with slit yellow eyes. Being a warrior of the lord was difficult when demon bloods scent alone activated the strong desire to overcome evil, esspecially when the one in your arms isn't evil at all, just forever hungry.

*The next day*

Logan: Waade. Im back! Let me eat real quick and ill feed ya.

Wade: *streatches and yawns* Mmh Nah.

Logan: Nah? But yesterday you were whining about how hungry you were.

Wade: Im not hungry anymore. Got some pathetic sap in the chapel.

Logan:...... you..got someone else?;

Wade, non sarcastically, if anything simply explaining: Yeah. Thought you were getting tired of feeding me so.. you know. Besides. Gotta keep the sinners coming back right? Heh heh."

Logan: .....Yeah.... yeah.. thats fine.. thats.... who was it?

Wade: i...I dont know? Just some guy. Fuck, Angel, If I didnt know any better Id say you're acting.... jealous~"

Logan, biting his tounge: No! I just dont-...nevermind..

Wade: You don't like what?

Logan, thinking, his chest tight: I... I don't like you feeding on others.

Wade, gasping: Really!?

Logan: B-but its not like that!! I-i just mean- what kind of an angel would I be if i let a demon feed on the innocent?

Wade, now giggling: Ohh yeaahh suuuree

Logan, finally coming to lay down: Im serious!! You might accidently drain them too much and then what would that make me? A terrible protector. Thats what.

Wade, now pulling his face close, holding his cheeks lovingly: D'aaaaaww~ Loagie baby dosn't want me sleeping around on him? My big brave strong angel boy wants this demon ass all to himself? Hm??

Logan, blushing: No!! I didn't say that! Im just doing my duty as an angel to protect citizens and-

Wade is smirking: Oh yes, your civil duty of fucking a succubus every day, right? Liks you Sooo dont love my tight ass? Hm? And when I nip your balls or when-

Logan, completly red: ENOUGH! ..S-shut up..

This bickering and banter goes on for a while longer before they end up cuddling and falling asleep in each others arms. Wade feels loved in an emotional sense, it feels much better then the other 'love' he got ealier.

*the next x 7 days*

Logan: Hey Wade. Service ended early today and Kurt has a meeting. So im all yours. What do you w-.... Wade? Are you alright?

Wade, weak, curled up inside of the blanket: ....

Logan: Wade?? Come on, don't trick me. Whats wrong? *puts his hand on his forehead. He has a fever but he's shaking. Or was he just hot cause hes a demon? Either way, hes too warm for Logan's liking.* Do demons get sick?

Wade, clinging to his hand with his own, desperate for attention and affection: .. Please..

Logan: Please what? What do you need?

Wade, whos clamy, breathing uneven, and who is now whimpering: N-nothin... i-im fine.

Logan: Wade... tell me whats wrong.

Wade, shaking his head: N-no...I-i dont want to ask anymore..

Logan, finally getting it, realizing that this last week has been all cuddles. He hasn't fed Wade in an entire week: Come on. Get up, Ill-

Wade, whining as if it hurts to talk: I can't..

Logan, now worrying: Y-you cant get up? Oohh.... fuck wade!! Why didn't you say anything!? When I said I didn't want too at that moment I didn't mean starve yourself to death!! Shit!.. okay.. uhm..

Wade, tearing up, silent and holding his hand, logan is squeezing it: ...Im sorry... i-i didnt want to make you upset...

Logan, panicking: Why didn't you just-?!

Its now Logan remembers telling Wade he isn't allowed to feed on the church goers or clergy anymore. He feels terrible.

Logan: You... you listened.. you obeyed an angel?

Wade, eyes closed, trying to ignore his pain: Only my angel...

Logan, smiling, feeling himself tear up. One drops onto Wade.

Wade, whining because angel tears are holy water: OWCH!! W-whhhy??

Logan: Sorry! Sorry I just.. *wipes eyes* Im going to fix this. I promise. Can I fix it? Please?

Wade: If youre asking consent to fuck me then Yes.

And so Logan does. Connecting their foreheads, their tears softly mixing into a slight diluted sting each time they touched one another, kissing like it was the end of the world, the passion and adjustments Logan had is slow. Tender. And passionate. The kind you only really gave to a loyal lover who you've just returned to. A farmilar feeling of home and satisfaction feeding Wade back to health. They must have fucked at least three times that night because in the morning Wade was springy as ever, like a spring chicken being put into a new pasture, the old tired cock trailing behind just happy that the hen was healthy again.

[beef-brisket]

Lucifer nods: I do- but only to talk, no... messing around with my mind-.

Adam: What?! Babe, you can't be serious! After what she did-?!

Just as Adam turns towards Hela getting ready to charge at her, Lucifer grabs his arm: Adam. Trust me.

Hela laughed and dropped herself down onto Lucifer's throne: Well done, Lucifer. You've trained your dog well~.

Adam: You fucking-!

Lucifer tightened his grip on Adam, he growled as he felt himself get dragged a few steps: Adam! Enough!

Hela: Hmm, not trained well enough, it seems~.

Lucifer: Hela! Stop. You're here to speak with me.

Hela: Well, I WAS here to talk to both of you, but that's off to a good start! So, if your mutt has calmed down, I have a few questions.

Lucifer: He's calm. Right, Adam?

After a few moments of silence, Lucifer looked up at Adam, who was glaring at Hela.

Hela: Don't make me put you down.

Adam: ...Fine. Ask your fucking questions.

Hela: Oh, I will! I don't need your permission. Anyway, Lucifer~. My favourite person~. I have many people looking for me- for different reasons. Why are you different from the rest?

Lucifer: ...You've shown yourself to me, surely you have the answer to that.

Hela: Hm. Fair enough. I find you interesting to answer your question.

Lucifer: I didn't ask one-.

Hela tapped the side of her head with her long nail, smiling at Lucifer: Oh, yes, you did~. Not only were you a human with an archangel soul, but now you're the king of Hell- not that that means anything to me, but even I know when someone's impressive~. Now, speaking of impressive, what to you intend to do with me~?

Lucifer: We- I want to end the war and keep Heaven out. Permanently.

Hela: Oh, how interesting~.

Lucifer: They've been hanging around. There's a rumour going around that they want to destroy Hell altogether. And I'm sure you don't want that to happen.

Hela: Hm... you're not wrong. That wouldn't be in my best interest. Too bad for you, that I have other plans.

Hela jumps up from the throne and dusts herself off.

Adam: The fuck does that mean?

Hela sighed: Ooh, I really wish you wouldn't talk to me, dog. But, if it'll stop you from talking, I'll answer your question~. Being back in Hell has opened my eyes to just how... revolting, the place is. So, I'm going to aim for higher amd better things~.

Lucifer: ...Heaven?

Hela: Smart boy! Heaven will be my new playground. It's about time those rats learned their place-.

Lucifer: Hela- you can't! You start a war between Heaven and Hell- and we have enough war! Just- please, just help us!

Hela: Oh, but I am helping you, pet! Once Heaven is mine, you'll be able to travel between the two! Aren't you lucky~.

As Hela started to walk off, Lucifer ran over to her: Please- Hela! Just-.

Hela smiled downa t Lucifer amd pinched cheek: Don't worry, sweetie~. Once I'm ruling all of the realms, I'll take you away from this glorified ape you call a husband, and give you a throne that's worthy of you~!

In shock, Lucifer let Hela walk off. What was he even meant to do? He stood no chance against her.

Adam: You'll get yourself killed.

Hela: No, mutt. You'll get yourself killed.

Suddenly, Hela was in Adam's face, and her claws started to dig into his ribs.

Hela: Remember, you have something of mine. Don't make me take it back. You won't like it~.

Adam: L-Lucifer helped me-.

Hela: I don't know why, I would have let you rot if I was him. But no, he had to do something, didn't he? Not that it matters. You had my blood in you for over a week, I'm everywhere now~.

Moving away, Hela smiled at Lucifer: If you want to remain king- and alive, I highly recommend staying out of my way.

In a blink of an eye, the life came back to the throne room, and the air became lighter. She was gone. Leaving Adam and Lucifer in silence.

Adam: ...Fuck sakes...

Lucifer: You can say that again.

I miss our God!Adam Au

Sequel 👀

In Canada Eh! Lmao

CANADA FOREVER

Yes plsss! I miss our stupid, power-hungry boy 😫😫

[rarepairdumpster]

Pirate AU

Pairing: Viktor/Silco (Arcane) Rating: M C/W: Pirate King Silco, Noble Viktor, Trans Viktor, Virgin Viktor, Mildly Dub Con, Silco is actually big on consent but he likes to kidnap people, it's complicated

Pirate AU where Silco captures Viktor on his wedding day a la POTC.

Silco views it as having rescued the whelp from a life of misery with that poncey nobleman.

Silco being unfailingly restrained in how he deals with the boy, even as Viktor kicks at him or tries to punch him or spit at him.

He wants to throw the boy down and fuck him until he screams.

But he wants the boy to want it.

And so, Viktor spends most of his time with manacles on.

Silco doesn't raise his voice. And he doesn't hit him.

But his hand is always firm and tight when he grips Viktor's face.

Viktor stays stubborn, definitely ignoring his body's reaction to how Silco handles him.

Silco taunts him about it.

"You just have to say the word, pet," Silco purrs, pushing his sheathed cutlass between Viktor's legs.

Viktor starts to cuss, but it morphs into a moan as the sheathed cutlass slides up through his drenched folds.

Silco steps closer, the sword sliding against Viktor, the pressure lightly increasing as he goes.

"One word," Silco smirks. "I'll even tell them you fought me tooth and nail, if you wish."

"I don't want you," Viktor pants, sweat breaking out on his face. His whole body is trembling. "I want my betrothed."

Silco laughs, sharp and mocking. "Oh, you're going to have to do much better than that," he sharply turns Viktor's face to the side and leans in close. "How long are we going to do this dance? Hmm?"

"You're delusional," Viktor spits.

Silco slides the sheathed cutlass away, almost rapidly, and Viktor whine at the friction.

Silco let's out another mocking laugh.

"So stubborn, and for what?" Silco huffs. "Can't you see you were no more than a commodity to that man? You're loyalty to him is pointless because I promise he has none to you."

"He's likely already married someone else," Silco shrugs.

And Viktor tears up angrily, because he knows it's been 6 months. He knows how handsome and popular Jayce is.

Silco's eyes soften for a moment. "You know, you don't have to love me. I honestly don't even expect you to like me for a good while." Silco reaches up to wipe a tear, but Viktor jerks his face away.

Silco sighs and let's him go, shoves him down onto the bed and steps away.

He moves to the door and stops. 

"Noblemen don't know how to love, boy. You'd have figured that out eventually."

Then the ship hits a storm.

And Viktor is terrified when Silco hauls him above deck, thinking the pirate might just let the waves take him after all.

But instead, Silco loops a harness of rope around him and secures the other end to the mast.

"Whatever happens, you'll be fine," Silco shouts in his face, through the wind and rain. "I promise!" 

And then a wave hits the ship, and both of them are knocked off their feet.

Viktor is kept secure by the rope.

But Silco almost goes overboard.

The realization that he does care about Silco hits Viktor like a ton of bricks. 

Once the storm has subsided, and Silco has checked all the vital ropes, he makes his way over to Viktor. 

"Congratulations, pet," Silco teases. "You've survived your first storm."

Viktor is trembling, both because of the realisation and because he's soaked to the skin and cold. 

Silco is startled when Viktor voluntarily reaches for him, curling his fingers into his soaked brocade jacket. Thinks the storm must have spooked him more than he thought.

"Don't worry," Silco assures, face softening. He pets Viktor's chilly cheek. "We're going below decks to dry up now."

"Wait," Viktor tugs on Silco's jacket as he tries to move them. "I-I'm sorry."

Silco wipes a few droplets from his own face, feeling them tickle towards his eye.

"What for, pet?" 

"For saying you were delusional," Viktor croaks, eyes stinging and throat beginning to ache

"Ah, admitting I'm right?" Silco smirks. 

"Don't ruin it," Viktor whispers as surges forward to kiss Silco.

Silco welcomes him easily, one hand rising to cup the back of his head and the other falling to clutch at the small of his back.

Within moments, Silco has scooped Viktor into his arms.

"Now take me to bed before I change my mind," Viktor teases, tightening his arms around Silco's neck

And God, Silco does.

Silco is as powerful and confident as ever, crawling over Viktor like a dangerous feline.

Viktor moans and squirms under Silco, his arms being held above him with one strong hand as the other quickly divests him of clothing.

The sheathed cutlass was the first time Viktor was touched sexually, and now, with Silco's hand between his legs, Viktor feels like he's on fire.

Viktor is embarrassed that a few simple touches are enough to send him careening over the edge. 

"I'm sorry I--"

"No, no," Silco kisses Viktor's neck, and up his jaw. "Don't apologize for pleasure, pet. Not once."

Viktor covers his eyes with his hand. He feels like he just fell apart. Like he'll fall apart again if Silco looks at him. Very embarrassingly, he tears up again.

"I've never done this before. I've never--" 

Silco smiles against his ear and chuckles into his skin. 

"Oh, I know, pet. I knew from the first moment I saw you."

"And you don't mind?"

Silco raises himself above Viktor and pulls Viktor's hand off of his eyes. "On the contrary. I find it quite exhilarating."

Viktor licks his lips as he's forced to look at Silco.

Silco let's his fingers skim over sensitive skin.

Viktor shivers. Already, he can feel himself aching, wanting more.

"There is a certain power," Silco purrs, "in being the first to touch someone, to hear their noises and know no one else has heard them."

Viktor gasps and looks up at Silco through lidded eyes. "I make you feel powerful, Captain?"

Silco almost curses. Fuck, this boy is a temptation.

"Incredibly." 

Silco makes his way down Viktor's body, spreading his legs and taking a moment to lick his lips before diving between Viktor's drenched folds.

Viktor let's out a startled yelp, hands shooting down automatically. He doesn't know whether he wants to push Silco's face away or pull him closer.

Silco moans at Viktor's sweet taste and uses one hand to hold his hips down while the other slips two fingers easily inside him.

Viktor feels the moan fucking vibrate through his groin, and he tries to buck against the hand holding him down.

The fingers are calloused and wicked, dragging against his walls with a relentlessness that makes Viktor whine.

Viktor tightens his hand in Silco's hair, bringing his other fist to his mouth as he feels his climax starting to come again. 

Silco's fingers go deep, curving inside of Viktor and he can feel himself clench down on them as Viktor's orgasm rips through him once again, somehow better than the first.

Silco pulls his fingers out with care and smirks; the blanket is soaked from the gush of Viktor's orgasm.

It takes Viktor a min to realize the blanket is wet under him.

Viktor is panting hard as Silco returns to kiss his forehead, cheek, then lips, letting Viktor taste himself on his lips.

Viktor can feel the solid heat of Silco between his legs, sliding against his wet and oversensitive folds as Silco rocks against him and kisses him.

Part of Viktor, the part of him that was raised to be a good "girl", knows he should push Silco away.

That he shouldn't let him slip it in.

The other, larger part of Viktor wants Silco with every fibre of his being.

Viktor only takes a moment to decide that girl has been gone long ago and wraps his legs around Silco. As Silco pushes in, Viktor moans from the feeling of being so full.

Silco calling him my darling  my pet, my sweet boy when he bottoms out and takes a moment to relish that squeezing heat around his cock.

And then he begins to rock, slow and shallow at first, but harder and deeper as Viktor relaxes around his girth (Not easy, Silco knows; he's been told his cock is a monster more than once) 

"Mine," Silco gasps as Viktor claws at his back. "Mine"

Arch + Woods

[arkthesilliestandroid]

Idk if anyone has done it yet but

help

[blue-jacket-blues]

as much as i enjoy the post-explosion hux design i can't lie i like his pre-immolation body a lot. i think hes cute especially in the shots from the cutscene where he just looks like the standing emoji

[sysig]

By the skin of your teeth (Patreon)

[lesenbyan]

Good news to everyone about a worry I told no one: it only took an evening of forcing myself back into my head voice to get my singing back up there.

Bad news: no longer soprano :c

[ruairy]

.

[joyfulwinnerdonut]

George Pickens on his take with Greg Newsome, "I don't even know who that is."

Date: December 6, 2024 The Steelers take on the Cleveland Browns are playing this Sunday, and there is already trash talk going around as this rivalry is heating up. On Friday, Steelers wide receiver George Pickins responded to reporters about Greg Newsome, "I don't even know who that is," Pickins responded to the reporters, Pickens and Newsome fighting in the endzone after the Hail Mary attempt during their Week 12 matchup against the Cleveland Browns; Pittsburgh lost 24-19 "I don’t really think the Cleveland Browns are a good team at all.” the Steelers wide receiver told reporters after their loss to Clevland. Pittsburgh is 9-3 and stands in the first place of the AFC North, searching for a playoff spot, while the Browns are 3-9, looking to either win as many games as possible or play for draft picks. Both teams play this Sunday, and the Browns have an opportunity to sweep the Steelers for the first time since 1988...(Read More)

[luminni]

Most desperate things the 141 boys have done for sex because I can't stop thinking about it <3

(sorry for this being a 3rd repost, I had an account called Lumi_bunsblog but that one got deleted for some reason so this is the new one now ig lol)

John's begged for it. I mean on his hands and knees begging for a taste. I know this man is an avid pussy pronoun user too. He has been on his knees in front of you as you sit pretty on his couch, trailing kisses up your soft belly to your tits and then back down to your thighs.

"C'mon sweet girl lemme' 'ave a taste of 'er yeah? Know she fuckin' needs me hm? Just look at tha'" as he runs a thumb of the wetness that's seeped through you thin panties, just waiting for you to say the words and let him tear them off.

He knows if anybody else in the 141 or if any of his fellow soldiers could see him now, the Captain Price practically drooling over you and sweet talking your cunt like it could hear him they would have a fit. But he couldn't care less because you looked so fucking good right now so "just let 'er 'ave what she wants alright sweet thing?"

I just know Kyle has spent 70% of his last month's pay check on hotel room because the 5 star pent house suite was the only hotel room in your area left available during the holidays. He played it cool with an arm around your waist assuring you it was fine, acting like this was the room he wanted to get, not the one he was forced to have. But if he was being forced to do anything thank god it was spoiling you.

"Don't worry 'bout it love. Just make 'urself comfortable" He'll say in a sultry sweet tone, planting kisses up the side of your neck before excusing himself to the lavish bathroom to check his bank account. He had to make sure he still had enough to buy you a nice breakfast in the morning.

And you're already layed out so pretty for him on the bed so he's not complaining about anything. Especially not the mirror situated on the ceiling right above the bed. Oh and don't you dare suggest splitting the cost, "just split your legs for me hun, 's all ya need to do"

Johnny is eager, like so so eager. When a passionate make out session on your couch got even more heated than either of you had previously expected and he now had his fingers playing with the waistband of your skirt, letting his cold finger tips splay themselves just below. When he got to the hem of your panties and began to hook a finger into the lace you had to stop him,

"Johnny"

"Yea?" He was breathless, chasing your lips when you pulled away to talk. You almost felt bad for separating but if he was going to touch you, there was one request you needed to make. You had felt his nails drag across your thighs moments earlier, it felt wonderful but they were...a little long.

"Do ya nae want this hen?" He'd ask, looking at you like you were a piece of art. Pleading with his eyes, shining like they'd spill tears if you said yes.

"No, no I want this, I want you so so much. It's just..." you trailed off

"Tell me what's wrong bonnie and I'll fix it, yeah?" his hands kept you grounded to his lap either a soft grip on you ass.

"It's just- you're nails, they're a little long" your request was nothing more than whisper.

'Oh' Johnny knew he probably should have just asked for clippers, but you felt so damn good on his lap. He could feel your warm cunt through the zipper of his jeans and with your tits brushing against his chest he couldn't bring himself to move.

You watched in shock as he just began to just tear his nails off with his teeth. Without a second thought his pointer and middle finger nails were bit off to the skin. He paused and looked at his right hand before ripping off the index finger as well.

"Johnny what's gotten into you-?"

But he's already got his hands back down your skirt. Soft finger tips slipping between your folds. "Feel better now eh?" And when you just nuzzled your nose into his neck and let out a little whimper he chuckled "I'll take tha' as a yes"

Simon swallows his pride for the first time in his life for a chance at hitting it raw. You tell him it's okay to not use protection, that you're on birth control. But you needed to make sure that he didn't have any stds seeing as they're even more of a pain when you're on birth control. Not that you don't trust him you just want to make sure and it's not a problem for him seeing as he has to get tested every other week being in the military.

He doesn't, however, have his records on him at the moment and with a girl already lying in his bed telling him he can cum inside. Plus a raging hard on, he doesn't exactly feel like running back to base to get the paper work. So...next best thing.

"Price-"

"Rare for ya to call on leave Simon, whatchya need?" Price responds, his voice cracking through the face time call, a cigar dangling from his lips.

"Sir I need..." he looks back at you, your eyes expectant and shining. You wanted him and he wasn't going to fuck this up. "Can you send me a picture of my last med check results?" He rushes out the last part, elbow on his knee and hand dragging over his face.

Price quirks one eyebrow but doesn't look like he's going to ask any questions. Unlucky for Simon though, Johnny was also in the room. His voice distantly coming through the phone,

"The feck ya need those for l.t.?" He questioned

Simon just groaned, soap's addition to this call just made it even more frustrating. But he snapped out of his frustration at the sound of price opening his file cabinet. "What part?" Price asked, dismissing Johnny with a wave of his hand.

"The-" Simon began, this was fucking embarrassing but when he looked back to you, now perched on your hands and knees, the plush of you hips resting on your ankles, he'd do anything at this point. "STD results." He responded plainly.

"Aye! No fuckin' way mate!" The sound of a chair scraping the floor could be heard as Johnny began to clammer over to his captain who pulled the sheet from his files.

"Ya didn't tell me he was in the room" Simon growled

"Ya didn't ask" Price droned

Johnny's head popped into frame "show me what she looks like ey l.t?"

"Not happening" Simon deadpanned

"Aw c'monnnn" The sergeant whined "just proud of you for finally getting some action!"

"Enough." Simon could see you biting your lip to stifle a laugh out of the corner of his eyes, a curious look in your eyes at his reddened face.

"Sent a picture to ya Simon" Price huffed, letting Johnny give him one last "good luck!" Before hanging up the phone.

You were a mess of giggles as he just shook his head and shoved the phone results in your face for you to look at. "See. Clean."

"Okay okay" you giggled, finally letting his form eclipse you back onto the pillows

"Went through a hell of a lot of trouble for ya, sweet girl" he whispered, nipping at the shell of your ear.

"I'll make it worth it" you said, kissing the corner of his lip and tangling your fingers in the back of his hair

"Christ woman" he groaned, feeling his cock twitch at your promise, "gunna' be the death a' me"

[gibbearish]

Congrats on sending that application!

THANK UUUUUU