#sage writes

Hockeyplayer!Aerion  who fights like a man possessed every time someone on the opposing team so much as looks at you in the stands. He doesn't care if it costs his team a power play. The moment some defenseman checks you through the glass, accidentally or not, Aerion drops his gloves and goes for blood. The refs have to pull him off. He'll sit in the penalty box with his knuckles split, breathing hard, and the only thing that calms him down is your hand pressed against the glass. He doesn't look at the coach. He doesn't look at the scoreboard. He looks only at you.

Hockeyplayer!Aerion  who has your name written inside his shoulder pads, right over his heart. You discovered it by accident, rummaging for a clean towel in his gym bag, and found the lining of his pads marked with a silver Sharpie. Mine, he'd written next to it. When you asked him about it, he just shrugged, but his ears went red. "Superstition," he said.

Hockeyplayer!Aerion  who smells like ice, sweat, and something sharp, like winter air and cedar. But after a shower, he smells like your shampoo. He uses it on purpose. When you confronted him, he said, "If I can't have you on the road, I'll have you in my hair." He travels with a tiny travel bottle of your conditioner. His teammates tease him relentlessly. He threatens to break their kneecaps. They stop teasing.

Hockeyplayer!Aerion  who keeps every ticket stub from every game you've ever attended. They're in a box in the back of his wardrobe, rubber-banded in chronological order, along with the first napkin you ever wrote your number on. You found them once when you were looking for a spare hoodie. He caught you with the box open and, for the first time in your relationship, looked genuinely embarrassed. "Don't," he said, voice rough. "Don't look at those." You looked anyway. You saw your handwriting on a crumpled bar napkin from two years ago. You kissed him so hard he forgot to breathe.

Hockeyplayer!Aerion  who, after a win, pulls you into the empty locker room before the press gets there. The team knows to give him five minutes. He's still in his gear: sweating, flushed, adrenaline humming through his veins and he lifts you onto the equipment table like you weigh nothing. His hands, still wrapped in sweaty tape, grip your thighs. His forehead presses to yours. He doesn't say anything. He just breathes. And then he kisses you deep, hungry, tasting of Gatorade and victory. "This is what I play for," he whispers against your mouth.

Hockeyplayer!Aerion  who has a very specific ritual after particularly brutal away games when he comes home at 2 AM. He finds you in bed, half-asleep, and peels off his clothes in the dark. He slides under the covers and pulls you against his chest, his body still cold from the ice, his skin smelling of arena air. He buries his face in your hair and holds you so tight you can barely breathe. "Need you," he mumbles, already half-gone. His hand slips under your shirt, not grabbing, just resting flat against your stomach, feeling your warmth. He falls asleep like that, his palm pressed to your skin, his thumb stroking slow circles. You've never felt more wanted in your entire life.

Hockeyplayer!Aerion  who, on nights when you're both restless, pins you against the mattress with his body, not aggressively, but deliberately, like he's settling into the only place he belongs. His weight presses you into the bed, his thighs bracketing yours, his forearms planted on either side of your head. He looks down at you with those sharp violet eyes, still half-feral from practice, his silver hair falling across his face. "Say my name," he whispers. You do. He shudders. He lowers his mouth to your neck not biting, not yet, just breathing against your pulse point. "Again." And when you do, he smiles against your skin. That slow, dangerous, possessive smile. The same one he wears right before he scores. Only this time, you're the goal he's been aiming for all along.

Hockeyplayer!Valarr who plays Centre like a ghost: silent, precise, almost invisible until he isn't. He doesn't fight. He doesn't trash-talk. He just reads the ice better than anyone, steals pucks with surgical precision, and threads passes through defenders like he's weaving thread through a needle. He leads the league in assists three years running. The announcers call him "the Silver Shadow." His teammates call him "the quiet king." He doesn't correct them. He just skates to the faceoff circle and wins another draw.

Hockeyplayer!Valarr who, before every game, finds you in the crowd, section 112, row C, your seat and holds your gaze for exactly three seconds. No wave. No smile. Just a look. He doesn't need to say anything. You know what he's telling you: I see you. Thank you for being here. Then he turns away, taps his stick twice, and drops into position. His coach has learned to give him those three seconds. His team has learned to wait. It's not a ritual. It's a lifeline.

Hockeyplayer!Valarr who never asked you to wear his jersey. He just left one in your closet one day, folded neatly, with a note that said: Only if you want to. You wore it to the next game. He saw you from the tunnel and, for the first time all season, missed his pre-game stretch because he was staring. He didn't mention it. But you caught him tracing his name on your back during the post-game hug, and you felt his heart hammering under his pads. He doesn't need you to wear it. He needs you to choose to wear it.

Hockeyplayer!Valarr who has anxiety before big games but handles it with quiet composure. He doesn't tremble. He doesn't hide. He sits in the corner of the locker room, eyes closed, breathing slow and measured, running through every play in his head. He doesn't ask you to calm him down. He doesn't need you to. But when you brush your fingers over his knuckles, he relaxes , just a fraction, and he opens his eyes to look at you. "Thank you," he says, and nothing more. He doesn't need you to save him. He just needs you to remind him he's not alone.

Hockeyplayer!Valarr who, after a loss, processes it in silence. He doesn't disappear. He doesn't break down. He sits in the locker room, fully dressed, staring at the ceiling with a stillness that unnerves his teammates. His coach tries to talk to him. He listens, nods, takes responsibility for the missed assignments. He doesn't deflect. He doesn't blame anyone else. "I should have been faster on the backcheck," he says, voice level. He carries the weight because that's who he is. Later, when he finds you waiting outside, he pulls you into a quiet embrace and presses his forehead to yours. "One more game," he says. "I'll fix it." And he always does.

 Hockeyplayer!Valarr who has a pre-game routine he doesn't break: black coffee, no sugar, exactly seventeen minutes before warmups; a specific playlist he never shares with anyone (mostly classical, some ambient); and a five-minute phone call with you, no matter what time zone he's in. He doesn't tell you he loves you. He doesn't need to. He just asks, "How was your day?" and listens to you talk about something mundane, traffic, your boss, what you had for lunch. He takes that sound, that grounding, ordinary warmth, and carries it onto the ice with him. It steadies his hands more than any superstitious ritual ever could.

Hockeyplayer!Valarr who, on road trips, texts you one thing before bed every night: Goodnight. Be careful. I'll call tomorrow. It's not clingy. It's not desperate. It's matter-of-fact, steady, like a man who knows he has something good and doesn't need to overcomplicate it. Sometimes you reply with a photo, your face, a cute animal, something silly. He saves every one. He doesn't tell you that, either.

Hockeyplayer!Valarr who, when he comes home from away games at 2 AM, finds you in bed and slips in behind you without waking you. He doesn't pull you close. He just lies there, one hand resting on your hip, feeling the rise and fall of your breathing. He doesn't need to talk. He doesn't need to be held. He just needs to be near you. In the morning, you'll wake up to him already up, making coffee, looking at you with those tired, steady eyes. "Morning," he says, and it sounds like home.

Hockeyplayer!Valarr who, when you initiate intimacy, responds with quiet intensity. He's never rough. He's never demanding. He's simply present, completely and utterly present, his hands on your body like he's memorizing the shape of you. He looks at you like you're the only real thing in a world of noise and speed and bright lights. He just breathes your name, once, like it's a prayer he's been saving. And when it's over, he doesn't fall asleep immediately. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes open, watching you. "You're still here," he says, not a question. You kiss him. "Still here." He closes his eyes. He finally lets himself rest.

Hockeyplayer!Valarr who, at the end of every season, gives you something small, a puck from his first goal, his A from the alternate captaincy, a necklace with a silver skate charm that he had custom-made. He doesn't make a speech. He doesn't get emotional. He just hands it to you and says, "I don't keep much. But I keep you." That's all. That's everything.

Hockeyplayer!Valarr who, on the rare nights when he has anger from a game left over, rolls you onto your back and hovers over you with that tired, wondering look, like he can't quite believe you're real. He doesn't rush. He never rushes. He takes his time undressing you, kissing each inch of skin as it's revealed, murmuring your name like a prayer. His hands shake, they always shake, but his touch is so gentle it almost hurts. "You're the only thing that quiets my head," he whispers against your collarbone. "The only thing." He makes love to you like he's apologizing for every game he lost, every night he kept you awake, every time he came home too exhausted to hold you properly. And when it's over, he curls into your chest, smaller than a man his size should be, and sleeps for ten hours straight. You don't move. You wouldn't dare.

Notes:

GUYS I'M BACKKKK!!!! Exams had me so damn drained but I missed writing SOOOOO MUCHHH UGHHHH

I'm literally so excited to continue PR Stunt and Chivalry, I've also finished the sequel for Hung by a Thread, just editing it now and I'll post it later !!

Alsoooo I'm writing some more headcanons but for Vampire! Aerion & Valarr which i might make into a series but I want to finish PR stunt and Chivalry first :)))

-Sage

Dividers by: @diviniyae <3

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You drag him by the arm, ushering him inside the animal shelter. He grumbles, muttering nonsense under his breath the whole time - pretending as if he's not letting you parade him around with minimal resistance.

As you push open the doors to the shelter, the coat of paint on the gray walls chipping away, you spot a young girl behind the reception desk.

You make a beeline for it, Gator walking next to you.

"Hi, welcome ! I'm Leah, what brings you to the animal shelter today ?"

"Nothin' much to do 'cept buy one of these critters, ain't there ?" Gator deadpans, crooking his eyebrow.

Leah's face flushes in embarrassment.

"Gator!" you hiss in admonishment, nudging his elbow.

'What' he mouths, seemingly unbothered.

"Hi, oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. Leah, right ?"

The receptionist nods, her eyes downcast.

"Hi sweetie, I'm so sorry. What my boyfriend here meant to say" you explain, glaring at Gator, "-was that we're to look at some puppies and maybe take one home today." You turn back to her, excitement brimming.

Luckily she mirrors it, gathering up a few sheets and forms from the desk.

"Ok, great! We're always so happy whenever people come in to adopt. Let me show you to our pups and dogs." she beams, gesturing at you and Gator to follow her.

Sounds of extreme barking and howling alert you to the nature of the room you're about to enter. As Leah opens the door, the sight you're greeted with immediately makes you squeal.

Dogs of various shapes, sizes, colours and types are present before you, tails wagging and noses sniffing the air - trying to get a sense of you and Gator.

"Oh my gosh ! Gates, look!"

"M looking, hun."

"Oh my god, they're all so cute!"

Excited yips and barking fill the air, all of the dogs turning to look at the two of you in intrigue, some of them tripping over their own paws, their excitement palpable.

You turn to Gator, grinning, a question on the tip of your tongue.

"If yer 'bout to ask me if we should take 'em all home, I'm leavin'."

You pout, rolling your eyes.

"Fine, geez. We'll just get the one today, and then I'll keep coming by every week to get a new one. Our home's gonna be the dog farm people come to visit 10 years down the line, with the old, wrinkly couple as a bonus."

"Already thinkin' of spending forever with me, sweetness? Didn't think ya were that eager." He winks, leaning closer to you.

Your face warms, realising what you just said.

Thankfully, Leah clears her throat then. "So, we've got a variety of dogs, as you can see. We did have a few older dogs as well, but most of them were in an adoption event last week, and thankfully all 6 were adopted!." she chirps. "So, we've mostly got some pups and a few young dogs at the moment."

"Aww, that's great to hear! I'm excited to see the little ruffians."

Leah smiles, directing you to the first dog in the kennel.

"So, this is Levi - he's an American Bulldog. He's two this year, a little mischievous occasionally, but otherwise obedient."

You smile at the dog, the colour of his floppy ears reminding you of Gator's bedhead.

"This is Pearl, she's a poodle. A little bit of a diva, but she's such a sweetheart and loves cuddling."

Gator moves closer to you, his mouth near your ear, "Sounds like another lady I know."

You swat his chest playfully.

She goes around introducing you to almost 15 dogs, before you come to an adorable dachshund wagging its tail at you and Gator.

"Over here, we have this new pup we found out in the rain last night actually. Our vet confirmed that he's around 5 months currently, and is still in his teething phase." Leah exclaims.

"We haven't given him a name just yet, but he has a lot of energy. He does get a bit spooked sometimes though if someone talks loudly - we think he might've had a bad owner earlier."

You look at Gator then, and see him staring at the pup, something stony in his expression. His jaw is set, and his fists are slightly clenched. You reach out, intertwining your fingers with his in what you hope is a comforting gesture. He swallows, looking down at your conjoined hands, before clearing his throat.

"We'll take him."

Your eyes widen slightly, "Gates, you sure ? We don't have to if it reminds you of ..." you trail off, unsure of how to bring up his father.

His hand squeezes yours in reassurance, "I know, sweet girl. Can't abandon this fella though, he deserves the chance to have a good home, don't you think ?

"Yeah" you agree, voice thick, squeezing his hand back. "He does."

Gator looks at Leah, who seems to have been doing her very best to not listen in on your conversation. "We'll take him." He repeats. "Ya got any forms and stuff we need to fill, kid?"

"Oh, yes, yes - yeah !" Leah breathes, "It's back at the front desk, I'll get the process started right away!"

"Appreciate it." Gator nods.

The both of you follow her out, back to the reception hall. You wave back at the dachshund, whose tail only wags faster still.

Filling adoption forms might be one of your top 10 nightmares at this point, the process incredibly long and monotonous - pretty much sucking the energy out of you. At one point, Gator pops down to the cafe down the street to get you both some coffee to just get through all the documents.

"Ok, and that should be all. I'll get one of our staff members to bring the dog out here, and y'all can take him home." Leah remarks.

"There's also a list I've attached to the back of the forms - it's just a summary of a few things you might need that's necessary to have when raising a dog. If you have any queries, feel free to call us!"

You look at the list from the set of documents you're holding, committing the first few to memory. "Thank you, Leah. We appreciate it, sweetheart."

She beams. "Of course! Thank you for adopting from Sage's Shelters!"

!Ruff!

The sound of excited barking following a door creaking open draws yours and Gator's attention. A seven pound package accompanies the sound, ears flapping as it runs towards you.

You immediately thrust the documents into Gator's chest and squat down, arms open with glee.

Which immediately turns into horror when the puppy trips, skidding into you and causing you to fall onto your butt.

"Oof!"

Gator chuckles above you, clearly enjoying the spectacle, but you don't even have time to frown at him as you feel the dog licking your face in excitement.

"Whoa, whoa -, hey buddy, hi! Yeah, I'm glad to see you too!" You giggle, sitting upright. He yips, panting with his tongue out.

You scoop him into your arms gently, tilting him towards Gator, who only gets a second's warning before the puppy is trying to wriggle out of your arms - proceeding to lick Gator's face, slobbering all over his cheek.

Gator reels back in disgust. "Ugh! The fuck they feeding yeh?" He exclaims, peering at the dog, who only continues to try and lick at Gator's face.

"Shit! Get that thin' away from me, fuck!"

You chortle, unable to hide your laughter. "Guess he's already taken a liking to ya. Lot quicker than I did, that's for sure." you wink, nudging Gator's hips with yours.

Gator wipes the slobber off of his face with the back of his hand, scowling. "Let's get to the car before he decides to piss on me too."

You snicker at his remark, swaddling the puppy securely as you walk through the automatic exit doors.

Once you get into Gator's truck, you hop into the backseat, placing the dog on the towel you had laid on surface beforehand. He sniffs the object, before promptly circling his tail and plopping down - breathing beginning to even out.

"What should we name him, do you think?" you question, looking at Gator through the rearview mirror.

"Probably Slick or Spit or something considering how much the mutt enjoys it." He grumbles, switching on the ignition.

You roll your eyes. "I see we're resorting to holding grudges against a dog."

"Yup."

You sigh. "What about.. Zeus?"

"You want to name this tiny thing after the Greek God of Thunder?"

You hum, "Mhm, fair point. Steve ?"

"No."

"Walter, like Wally for short ?"

"Fuck no."

You huff, "Well, I don't know then, Sheriff, got any ideas ?"

"Rocky" he replies curtly, proceeding to yell at the passerby crossing the street during a red light.

"Rocky - like from the movie Rocky ?"

"Yup."

"No."

"Fine. Whatcha think 'bout Dash?"

"Dash the dachshund" you raise your eyebrow - exasperation evident in your tone.

"Fuck, I dunno, Oliver or somethin' then?"

"Oliver.." you muse, turning the idea around in your head. The blinker switches on as Gator pulls into the driveway.

"Yeah.. I like that, it's cute."

Gator scoffs, switching off the ignition and turning around in his seat to face you and the sleeping pup.

"A man named Gator and a dog named Oliver, sounds like the start of a bad joke" he grumbles, the slightest bit of insecurity flickering in his eye whenever it came to his name.

You shift forward in your seat, careful not to disturb Oliver. "Good thing I like bad jokes then." you whisper, cradling his face. His eyes shut close, his body leaning into your touch.

A sense of peace settles over the both of you... Which is then immediately interrupted by Oliver, who seems to have realized that you have arrived at your destination - tail wagging excitedly.

"Hi Oli, you ready to go inside your new home, bud ?"

!Ruff!

"If that mutt's gonna ruin our peace when we're havin' a bit of fun, I'm throwin' him out to the garden."

You roll your eyes, often a habit at this point when conversing with Gator. "Sure you will - knowing you, you'll probably end up spoiling Oli in a few weeks, you big softie." You stick your tongue out. Oliver barks in agreement.

"Alright, alright. Get outta my jeep, the both of ya." he grumbles, grabbing the car keys.

Leah was definitely not joking when she claimed that Oliver was quite energetic. Three weeks later, and it still took you by surprise - seeing how quickly the clean and orderly living room transformed into the sight after a hurricane in a matter of seconds under his four paws.

"Fucker's chewed through his bed again... and peed in my fuckin' boot." Gator scowls, emptying out his boot.

"Well, the shelter did say he was going through a teething phase. I read that it's supposed to reduce after about 7 months, so hopefully he'll ease up on chomping through things like the Tasmanian Devil soon enough." You sigh, gathering the torn couch pillows that have somehow ended up near the empty furnace, the moonlight serving to illuminate the massacre even further.

Gator being Gator decides to make a bad situation worse.

"Told ya we shouldn't have got one of these shits - they ain't nothin' but trouble." he retorts, taking a beer out of the fridge.

You whirl around at him, seething. "Don't. You. Dare. Gator. Tillman." you fume, punctuating each word with a jab against his chest.

"You agreed to this. In fact, you fucking suggested it!"

"Coz yer said yeh was lonely, woman! Da hell else was I supposed to do ?" he snaps.

"I said that it feels lonely coming to an empty house, Gator. Your stakeouts at the new station take so long, that by the time I come from work, I barely see you! That's not something you can fix with a dog!"

"What the hell did yer want the fuckin' dog for then ?!"

You feel your eyes starting to tear up, your chest feeling like it's being squeezed to nothing.

"I wanted one so that we could have a bit more love and laughter in our home, Gator." you sniffle, wiping the tears that are starting to fall with the ends of your sweater. "Do you even know what it's like to come home, weary and exhausted, and see a little creature bounding towards you - just happy that you're home ? No expectations, no obligations, just pure joy that you exist in the same space?"

You continue, mouth trembling. "Yes, I wanted a dog, but I wanted to experience the good and the bad together, Gator. Is that too much to ask without you shifting the blame to me just because you're annoyed ?"

Gator's jaw tightens, his eyes downcast.

Oliver pads into the room just then, his mouth holding the chew toy you and Gator had chosen together at the pet store the day after he was adopted.

"Aroo?" he questions, tilting his head - likely sensing the tension radiating across the room.

"Hi Oli" you whisper softly, careful to not spook him or remind him of any bad, loud memories. You crouch, extending your hands to carry him.

"I'm going to take him upstairs for now, maybe let him sleep a bit." you announce to the room, not looking at Gator as you heft Oliver into your arms.

He says nothing, continuing to stand by the kitchen counter, his beer untouched.

You wake up to an empty room, no trace of Oliver or Gator nearby. You shift, turning over to look at the alarm clock on your bedside. 22:13 it reads, the neon lights on the numbers glowing in the otherwise dark room.

"Probably dozed off accidentally." you mutter to no one in particular, rubbing your eyes blearily. You push yourself upright despite your body protesting, desperately wanting to go back to sleep... But you need to check on Gator and Oliver, so you shuffle downstairs - movements slow and languid.

"Sit !"

"Ruff!"

"Oliver, sit !" Gator's voice carries through from the garden, his frustration evident in his tone.

You inch closer to the porch, your footsteps light - barely even noticing that the living room has been cleaned up, looking much better than it did a few hours ago.

"Fuck, why won't yeh just sit and not be a piece of shit for a second?! Yer stupid or something ?" Gator yells, his voice booming.

"Aroo.." Oliver whines, tucking his tail in between his legs, his body shaking.

You go to intervene, your rage from earlier reigniting instantly at Gator shouting at your pup. Before you can do anything though, you see Gator kneeling down slowly, settling on the grass.

"M' sorry" you hear him whisper. "M' sorry, boy." Gator whispers, reaching out to pet Oliver.

Oliver moves out of reach, his frame still trembling.

Gator nods, accepting his reaction. "Yeah, dat's fair. Don't blame ya, I'm a fuckin' bitch, I know."

Oliver lets out a low whine in agreement.

Gator chuckles, "Yeah, sometimes I feel the stuff my dad said still hauntin' me, y'know ? Like all his shitty behaviour fuckin' possesses me, and before I know it, I'm lashin' out like him." He scoffs, "Son of a bitch is dead and still manages to fuck up my life."

He looks back at Oliver, "I'm sorry bud, didn't mean to yell at ya.. I fuckin' hated it when he did that, made me feel small and worthless 'n' here I am, doing the same to ya." Oliver shuffles slightly towards your boyfriend.

"Can't undo that now, but maybe this'll help ?" Gator asks, a treat between his fingers.

The dachshund decides that it's an adequate apology, and jogs towards Gator. He then chews on the treat offered to him, and settles down right in the middle of Gator's lap, seemingly content.

Gator freezes, his shoulders hunching up. Oliver pays no mind to this, continuing to lay in Gator's lap. You observe as Gator's hand, shaking slightly, reaches down hesitantly to pet Oliver's head.

"Won't do it again, I promise. Won't ever yell at yeh, I swear." He promises, petting Oliver with a bit more confidence. "At yer and her both." He amends, stroking Oliver's fur gently. "Fuckin' idiot I am, yelling at the best thing that's ever happened to me. He confesses, his free hand dragging across his face.

"Had fuckin' tears in her eyes 'n' everythin'.. never hated myself more than in that moment, and that's sayin' somethin'."

You feel your eyes beginning to glisten with tears, your heart feeling like it's being torn to shreds at the defeat in his voice.

"Still don't know how I managed to get her to go out with me.. I was being a fuckin' moron, that's for sure. Yeh wanna know how I asked her out ? he snorts, the memory playing in his head already.

You smile too, knowing at what he's about to say next.

Oliver shifts, one of his ears flopping in the process. Gator takes this as a sign and continues his story.

"Had just moved to town recently, still no proper sense of who I was or what the hell I was doin'.. And then one day, I saw her from outside the window of one of 'em fancy coffee places. Fuckin' detest the smell of those spots, still do... But fuck boy, she was just so beautiful, I had to give it a try.

'N' it wasn't her figure or nothing that caught ma eye - was the way she was listenin' to music on them earphones, smilin' along and tappin' her leg to the beat. Looked so fuckin' peaceful 'n' everythin', so I went up to her and guess what I said ?"

Oliver is well past asleep at this point, a gentle snore emanating from his tiny body. Gator pays him no mind, proceeding to recount your first meeting regardless.

"I tapped on her shoulder, waitin' for her to take off the earphones. Once she did, I used one of ma best pick up lines from back home."

You recall the first time you saw Gator, his hair still slicked back then, his smile a combination of cocky and nervous somehow. But what really drew your attention were the freckles on his face - a glorious splatter of stars across the canvas of his skin, and the softness of his sienna eyes - looking like he held a million little secrets in them.

"Hey sweetheart, ya from Tennessee ? Coz you da only 10 I see."

You blink. Once, then twice.

"Um, you do know that we're in Tennessee, right ?"

You see the realization occur in real time, the absolute horror etched across his face making you chuckle.

"Fuck" you hear him murmur, pink blooming on his cheeks.

"I do appreciate the compliment though." you say as you turn back towards the window, a smile threatening to break at what just happened. 'He's kinda cute when he's flustered' you think, moving to pick up the earphones on the table.

Before you can pop it inside your ears, you feel another tap on your shoulder.

"Yeah?"

The stranger clears his throat, "Whatcha listenin' to right now?" He tilts his head towards your headphones.

"Oh, um, it's this artist called Beebadoobee."

He blinks rapidly. "Beeba-what ?"

You giggle slightly. "Bee-ba-doo-bee" you clarify, breaking down the name.

"That Justin Bieber's new name or somethin'?" He questions, still dumbfounded.

"No, she's an indie artist." you explain.

If anything, the confusion etched on his face deepens. "Huh ?"

You roll your eyes playfully. "Here, sit down and try listening to it first." You offer him one side of your earphones, and he tentatively grasps it - slowly bringing it up to his ear. You put it in the other side, and press play. The notes of 'If You Want To' resume, and you continue nodding along to the song.

Gator on the other hand, seems quite at first. Then, you notice his pinkie slowly tapping the table to the beat, bit by bit.

You smile. 'Cute' you think.

As the song draws to a close, both of you are somehow sitting close enough that your shoulders touch, and you find that you don't mind it that much honestly.

"Whatcha think ?" you question, taking out the earphone from your ear.

"S' not bad." he muses, doing the same, placing it on the table.

"Not bad?" You repeat, amused.

He shrugs, head swaying from side to side. "Not my kinda jam, but y'know it ain't bad."

"I'll let the artist know." You tease, tracing patterns on the wooden desk.

"Why'd you wanna know what song I was listening to ?" You ask, curious about the man next to you.

"Saw yer outside the door, smilin' and lookin' all pretty, wanted to know what song blessed me enough to witness yer smile." He shrugs, acting like that wasn't a line worthy of being in a movie.

Traitorously, you feel your heart flutter.

"Smooth line." you remark, hastily gathering your belongings, lest you start actually falling for this stranger.

Gator's eyebrows furrow. "Wasn't a line."

"Right. Well, I've got to get going, so I'll see you around ..." You trail off, unsure how to address him, and maybe, just maybe hoping to catch his name.

"Gator." He supplies. "Gator Tillman."

Something about his name seems familiar, but you shrug it off.

"Well then, I'll see you around, Gator. Don't go around asking other people in town if they're from Tennessee." You rib, winking at him.

The tips of his ears flush immediately, the spots of red and pink quite a delightful addition to his face.

"See ya." He mumbles, looking downcast as you leave, not understanding what he did wrong.

Gator glances back to where you were sitting moments ago, eyes widening as he notices you left behind your lipstick or lip gloss or whatever those darn things are called. Fuck if he knows.

He grabs the tube and runs out of the café - grateful that the smell of whatever ridiculously sweet drink being made and assaulting his nose was starting to clear up.

"Hey!" He yells, cursing himself for not having gotten your name.

You don't hear him, earphones loud enough to drown the outside world.

He sprints faster, feet carrying him to the bus stop that you're waiting at. As he reaches the end of the street, panting like a dog, he skids to a halt - last thing he needs is getting decked in the face by running up to you out of nowhere.

Although if it at least grants him the opportunity to be touched by you in some manner, he supposes it can't be all that bad.

Fuck, he thinks, he's so fucking gone for you already.

He clears his throat, gently tapping your shoulder.

You whirl around in surprise, your eyes shining with recognition.

And fuck, your eyes, Gator muses. Way too fucking gorgeous to have for a mortal. The things he'd do just to have you spare a glance at him with them eyes.

"Before yer say anythin', want ya to know that I ain't stalking yeh or whatever. Saw yer left this at the cafe", he reveals, showing the tube in his hand. "Wanted to get it to yer, is all." He rasps, breathing still shaky.

You smile shyily, pocketing your lipgloss from his hand.

"Thank you."

"Ain't a problem." Gator waves his hand in dismissal.

"You're new to town, right ? Why don't I show you around as thanks ?"

Gator's face contorts in surprise.

"You'd do that ? Didn't really seem like yer wanted to have anythin' to do with me."

"Well.. you did heroically return my lipgloss back to me, seems only fair right ?" You grin.

He returns it, "If yer offerin', I ain't gonna turn it down, darlin'."

Your cheeks warm at the term of endearment, despite yourself.

Suddenly, a large screech rings in the air, signalling the arrival of the bus.

You quickly pull out a pen and some tissue from your bag, scribbling your number on it.

"Here." You thrust the tissue into Gator's hand. "It's my number" you confirm, walking towards the bus.

"Call me sometime and I'll show you around."

Gator nods, his tongue caught between his teeth, seemingly memorizing the number.

You wave to him, climbing on.

"Wait!" He yells.

You turn to look at him.

"I don't know your name!"

You smile coyly, the secret on tip of your mouth.

"How about we hang out first and if the date goes well, I'll let ya know ?" You offer.

He smirks. "Yer drive a hard bargain, missy, but I accept - it's a date then." He promises, giving you a two-fingered salute as your laughter rings through the air.

"N' here we are, 2 years later." He drawls, petting Oliver, who's still very much asleep.

"Dunno why she chose to go out with me then. Dunno why she's still with me now either to be honest with yer. She continues to choose me for whatever reason, even though I have no idea why she would put with a shitbag like me, but lord knows 'm grateful for it." he finishes, chuckling to himself quietly.

"But I wanna try and be worthy of her." Gator confesses, gently lifting Oliver from his lap and onto his broad shoulder.

"So, me 'n' yer got some work ahead of us to do, alright ? Gonna show her that she did the right thing by decidin' to take a chance on da both of us."

Your heart clenches, a mix between being torn at how Gator still views himself so negatively, yet soaring at how much he loves you.

The sound of footsteps approaching garner your attention, and you make your way to the kitchen - not wanting Gator to know that you may have accidentally-on-purpose ended up overhearing his conversation with Oli.

You set the kettle to heat, waiting to make yourself a cup of tea, when Gator shuffles inside the house. He places Oliver down on the dog bed, moving the water bowl closer to the pup.

As he goes to head on upstairs, he realizes the kitchen light is on and spots you. The moment he does, his entire expression softens - the sight never failing to give you butterflies.

He tentatively makes his way to you, uncertainty written all over his face from your fight earlier.

"Hey."

"Hi." You return, taking the teabag and placing in your mug. At this point, it was probably one of your favourite mugs considering how often you use it.

Gator had gotten it for you one day on the way back from work, his tone casual, yet his expression anything but - eyes searching if you liked it. It had two otters engraved on the front, holding hands as they slept. He'd said then, cheeks pink, that it reminded him of the two of you, because you always ended up reaching for his hand in your sleep and tucking yourself into his chest.

In all honesty, it was probably your favourite sight to wake up to, his expression soft, eyes untroubled and resting. His hair was a canopy of brown waves, having being grown out from that slick back he sported when you met. You loved running your fingers through the strands, Gator nuzzling further into the crook of your neck at the motion.

You didn't go to tell him that the only reason your hand had initially started reaching out for his was because he used to have severe nightmares frequently when you moved in together. Once you realized that holding his hand helped him settle down slightly, it became a reflex whenever he started tossing and turning. Eventually though, your body started craving his warmth so much that you ended up automatically burrowed into him. The first time you'd done that, he'd called you 'Bunny' relentlessly for a week.

The kettle sings, startling you slightly.

"I, uh, wanted to apologise, for, uh earlier." Gator starts, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

"Shouldn't have raised my voice 'n' yelled at ya. Didn't mean to, I swear, doll, but I guess my frustration at Oli got the best of me.. n- not that that's an excuse or nothin'." he clarifies, hand reaching out and rubbing miniscule circular motions on your wrist. "M' sorry, darlin'. Truly." he ends, punctuating the last word with a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist.

You remain quiet, unsure of what to say, although the anger in your heart has diminished.

"I'll even get down on ma knees and beg if you want baby, just don't wanna go to bed fightin'." He confesses, bringing your hand up to his lips and placing the lightest kisses over your knuckles. You melt, your other hand carding through Gator's hair, the moonlight making everything feel softer.

"Not necessary." You whisper, looking up at him.

"Ya sure?" Gator questions, a smirk accompanying the sudden wicked glint in his eyes. "Recall yer generally liking it when I'm on my knees for ya, sugar." He exclaims, dropping down to his knees, his large, calloused hands encompassing your thighs.

"Gator!" You squeal, yanking him up by his sweatshirt, cheeks aflame. "Oliver's right there!" You tut.

"So ? He ain't comin' with us, and he sure as hell ain't gonna interrupt me showin' my girl a good time." Gator states, tilting your face to his.

When your eyes meet his, the flirty energy subsides, tenderness overtaking his features.

"Yer sure we're good tho?" He breathes, nudging his nose against yours.

"Mhm" you confirm. "Forgave you a while back anyways... I wasn't entirely made at you, more so at the situation I guess."

"I know, baby, I know. I'll fix it, I swear. Don't even fuckin' like doin' em stakeouts, waste of ma time, and keeps me from the only thing I want - comin' home to my girl."

Heat pools in your stomach at his words - the sincerity paired with the timbre of his voice making you feel things.

"Since when were you such a smooth talker, Tillman ? Got any other girls you're tryna impress?" You press, threading both hands through his hair and bringing his face closer to yours.

He grins, devilish and pretty. "Fuck no, sweet thing. Ain't got or care 'bout anyone else 'cept ya - yer it for me." He confesses, his hands settling on your lower waist, his grip firm.

Electricity hums underneath your skin, and you pull him into you, your lips capturing his. Hard and without mercy.

The tea lays forgotten and abandoned.

Gator groans into your mouth, the sound settling low in your system, and taps at your thighs to jump up. You immediately oblige, and he hoists you up, arms securely holding you. You bite his lower lip, and he growls, licking into your mouth with urgency.

You unwillingly break away from him, needing oxygen. Gator tries to chase your lips, but you don't let him kiss you. Not yet.

"Upstairs. Now" You sigh, pulling his head back by his hair, only for your breath to hitch at the sight of him. His wooden brown eyes now mere ringlets against the black void that seems to have consumed his irises. He exhales roughly, chest heaving, which draws your eyes to his mouth, the view so tantalizing that you forget to breathe - his lips, kiss-biten and swollen, a gorgeous pink that you want all over you.

"Gator, upstairs. Please." You beg, running your hands over the galaxy of freckles and moles across his shoulders.

He nods, carrying you all the way to your room. Once you enter, he shifts, keeping you upright with one hand and locking the door with the other.

Your brows furrow at the action.

"I ain't taking any chances with that dog walking through while we're busy." He scowls.

You can't help it, you chortle at the absurdity of his statement, tucking your face into the crook of his neck.

"Don't laugh at me, goddamn it." He retorts, but his tone is devoid of any actual annoyance, and before long, he's chuckling alongside you.

You move your head back to look at him, unable to muffle the smile on your face. "God, you're so cute sometimes, Gates."

"Cute?" He guffaws, eyes narrowing. "I'll show yer cute" he vows, throwing you onto the bed.

Over the next few months, true to his word, Gator and you work out how to train Oliver better. Gator swears even his police training wasn't this difficult, the energy Oliver has akin to that of a rocket sometimes - his slender frame helping him narrowly avoid yours and Gator's hands when trying to catch him for bath time.

Yet over time, thankfully, Oliver becomes a relatively obedient dog, often surprising you and Gator with how well he obeys commands.

Well, for the most part at least, with a few exceptions being his love for stealing Gator's work boots and chewing on your themed socks, despite his teething phase being long past.

Well, can't teach an old dog new tricks, you suppose, smiling fondly as Oliver munches happily on his treat.

!Ruff!

"Hi Oli !" You exclaim, keys jiggling as you unlock the door, back from work.

He barks, tail wagging ferociously.

"Hi baby, I'm happy to see you too!" You coo, bending down to pat him on the head and give him plenty of belly rubs.

You hear a scoff, nonsensical grumbling echoing slightly against the walls. You make your way to the kitchen to find Gator readying supper.

"Fucker's been here 2 months, and he's gettin' greeted 'fore me and bein' called baby." He mumbles in annoyance, nearly spilling mayonnaise all over his wrap.

You bite back a smile, slowly walking towards and wrapping your arms around Gator's waist. "Hi baby." You greet, purposely cooing at Gator the same way you did with Oliver, as you kiss his neck.

The grumbling intensifies and you laugh into his back, the muscles firm under your cheek.

"Callin' me and the dog the same fuckin' thing now - what am I, chopped liver?"

"Aww, are ya mad at me, hun?" You tease, ruffling his hair. He huffs, only to abruptly turn around and lift you onto the counter. You gasp, your senses off-kilter.

Gator then places his hands on either side of your thighs, tilting his head and just observing you.

Your cheeks warm under the attention he's giving you, his eyes full of affection.

"S' wrong, baby? Sure seem pretty quiet suddenly. Nothin' else to add?" He teases, his fingers ghosting the length of your arm, featherlight and steady.

You lean into him. "No, not really, just missed you, Gates."

You hear his sharp inhale at your sentiment, and feel him press a soft kiss against the side of your forehead.

"Missed ya too, sweet girl. More than yer could imagine."

An impatient whine interrupts the both of you, and you turn to the sound, only to see Oliver pawing at the foot of the counter.

"Aww, baby, I'm sorry." You apologize, stepping down from the counter. "Your dad decided to distract me. C'mere, baby." you urge, settling down on the floor.

Oliver giddily runs up to you, launching himself into your arms - his coat shiny and soft like a marshmallow.

"I can feel you rolling your eyes, you know ?"

"Well, can ya blame me? Switched from stakeouts to investigations to have better hours so I can come home early to yeh, and yer cuddling up with that damn dog. Even brought home some of that thousand island dressing stuff yer like and made tacos." He fusses, serving yours and his food onto your respective plates and placing it back into the fridge to eat for dinner.

Your heart pangs, heavy with guilt. As much as you know that Gator loves Oliver - because he does, he's been the one training Oliver to obey commands, thoroughly enjoying the sense of authority he gets to wield in a way that's fun and significantly less illegal - he's also right in saying that you haven't been giving him as much attention nor fully reciprocating the effort he's been putting into spending more time with you.

You give one last kiss to Oliver's forehead before setting him down gently, and walking towards Gator. You bring your hand up to his chest, feeling his heartbeat, the pulse steady and clear.

"I'm sorry, baby. You're absolutely right, I haven't been spending that much time with you. It's not intentional, I swear, but I'm so sorry I made you feel like that, Gates." you whisper, placing a soft kiss on his jawline.

"I haven't been managing my time well, and I've started leaving you out of things. I'm so sorry, baby." you repeat, intertwining your other hand with his.

"S' fine, I'm probably being stupid -, "

"No, you're not, Gator." you state.

" - being jealous of a fuckin' dog, what am I, 12?" He continues, scoffing at himself.

"Gator Tillman" your voice is like steel, and that gets his attention.

"You. Are. Not. Being. Stupid. Nor. Are. You. Stupid." You assure him, punctuating each word with a kiss. "Ok ?" You ask, looking at him.

He doesn't look you in the eyes. You gently tilt his face down towards you, "Ok?" you repeat, your tone impossibly soft. He nods, barely distinguishable, more so a jerk of his head, but he nods nonetheless. You hum, pleased.

"Good. Because no one gets to talk about the man I love like that, not even you, Gator Tillman." You state, tone sharp and precise.

He cracks a little smile at that.

"Thank you for telling me how you felt, Gates. Means a lot that you're willing to trust me with your feelings. I want you to do that more, ok? Because I want to know how to love you in the way you deserve."

He stills at that.

You continue looking at him, the setting sun bathing the kitchen in soft waves of orange and yellow. "You deserve love, Gator, so so much, you know that, right ?" You bring up the hand that was on his chest to cup his cheek, your thumb lightly brushing his face in soft motions.

His entire demeanour softens at that, leaning into your hand, coffee eyes dilating.

"Yes ma'am." He salutes at you.

You beam, pulling him closer to you, chests touching. "Can I kiss you?" you breathe, not wanting to cross the line until he forgives you.

"Thought yer said it was 'May I'." he quips, leering at you.

You roll your eyes playfully. "Fine, may I kiss you, please Gator ?"

He groans lightly, "Course sweetheart, yer ain't never need to ask." He responds, pulling your waist to his, breaths mingling.

Your hands find the base of his neck, fingers sifting through his hair, pushing yourself up to meet his lips in a tender embrace.

You don't go to slip your tongue into his mouth and neither does he, both of you content to remain savouring the taste of each other's lips. You draw back momentarily, pressing dainty kisses to the corners of his mouth, before leaning back in to kiss him - focusing on his upper lip the way he usually does with you, hoping he can feel how much you love and how apologetic you are for ever making him not feel as loved as he should be.

He pulls back, giving you one last kiss, placing his forehead against yours. "Apology accepted, baby. Yer my safe space, yeh know that, right ?"

You sniffle, gleaming. "I'm glad, Gates."

Later that night, you and Gator settle down on the couch, the TV light casting shadows across the living room. Oliver remains curled up near the coffee table, snoring gently.

You had told Gator that Oliver could stay out in the garden until the both of you went up to sleep, but he dismissed that, motioning for Oliver to follow him to the TV area. The dachshund went willingly, almost sashaying as if he were a prince, and settled next to Gator's feet.

"You sure? He really likes hunting for butterflies, we could let him stay out for a few hours, spend some time together."

"Yer tryin' get me alone woman, that it?" Gator teases, winking.

You playfully punch his arm.

"Nah." Gator rasps, watching Oliver sleeping intently. "I don't mind him staying with us, last thing I need is this fucker goin' 'n' diggin' that damn garden." His face and body completely contradict the nature of his words, the softness in his eyes evident of his affection for Oliver.

You poke his arm, "Liar. You're such a softie, Gator."

"That so? Know at least one thing about me that ain't so soft, sweetheart."

You groan, rolling your eyes in tandem. "Let's just watch the movie, you perv."

Gator chuckles, his hand pulling you into his side, thumb tracing the edge of your shoulder.

"Whatever you say, hun."

It's been a whole summer since you've gotten Oliver, and you think you and Gator have adjusted pretty well, all things considered.

Gator has started taking Oliver on his early morning 5 am runs, both of them loving the rush of cold air against their faces. You stay in bed peacefully until 7am, not a peep from the outside world. By the time you come downstairs to make a cup of tea, Gator and Oliver often finish their run, coming through the front door.

You beam, saying 'your boys' are back home, the smile Gator tries to hide behind a scowl a repetitively endearing sight. Oliver just accepts it, tail wagging, and then runs off into the garden - conducting his daily inspections against the neighbourhood squirrels.

Oliver and you have a developed your own sense of routine too - mostly comprising him monitoring your ability to fold and fit sheets from the comfort of yours and Gator's bed, and then promptly refusing to get off said bed when you need to actually change the sheets.

On the days where Gator does it, he's as obedient as, well, a dog.

You pout, the favouritism blatantly obvious, and you faux rant about it to Gator one day - legs swinging over the kitchen counter as he assesses the contents of the fridge to determine what to make for dinner.

"Like this is the epitome of the parent who didn't want to get the pet ending up being its favourite. The actual audacity Oli has."

Gator chuckles, shaking his head as he drops a kiss on your forehead.

He's been trying out and making new dishes recently, quite enjoying cooking - says it gives him something to do with his hands. You give him a few suggestions on some other things he could be doing with his hands. Safe to say, dinner doesn't get made that night - the both of you opting for takeout after the exhaustive and refreshing aftermath of your shared endeavours.

Honestly, despite the clear favouritism Oli has towards Gator, you can't really find it in you to be genuinely upset - because it's allowed you to truly see Gator in a different, more tender light. A Gator that allows himself to just be in the moment without worrying out being perfect, a Gator that lets himself indulge in what he would've considered silly activities like playing hide and seek with a dog - yet actually wholeheartedly enjoy it, scooping up Oliver at every given opportunity. Your favourite though, might be how Oliver has helped Gator rest more.

Over the past two years, Gator has always been wound-up and alert over the smallest noises, never letting himself fully rest. It kept breaking your heart, because what an exhausting way of living that must be, and what a fucked up life he must've had, constantly having to rewire and adjust himself to not get left behind or be considered 'useless'.

And try as you might, it wasn't something you could really help with, because dating you had only made Gator anxious on losing out the best part of his life - so he became even more neurotic. But with Oliver, Gator lets himself rest. You suppose it's one of those special things about the bond between man and dog, but when you come home after work and find Gator dozed off on the couch with Oliver's head resting on his thigh, your heart swells. One of Oliver's ears always activate to the sound of the front door being opened, and as soon as he realizes it's you, he lets out a soft 'aroo', happy that you're home, and goes back to sleep.

You don't think anything will beat the sight of them curled up together honestly, your boys - two hurt, abandoned souls becoming each other's shelter in their own ways.

Because as much Gator trusts Oliver, Oliver trusts him just as much, if not more.

Thunderstorms always frighten Oliver, likely an effect of the extreme sound animal ears can hear, and from being deserted during the pouring rain the day before Gator and you adopted him. You tried to do things by the book, muffling the sounds by closing the windows, and trying to act relaxed, but his frame would tremble regardless - his scared whines devastating to hear.

Gator's not the biggest fan of thunderstorms either, it often stirring up bad memories for him too. He'd told you about this one summer night after you'd had started dating, when you had mentioned noticing he'd flinch sometimes during thunderstorms.

"Reminds me of the night my ma left us. Dad was pretty mad, rumblin' around the house, smashin' everythin' in sight - wasn't very pleasant."

But when Gator entered the room that night, Oli bounded to him without abandon, leaping into his arms. Ever since then, whenever there's a thunderstorm, Oliver finds Gator somehow and ends up in his embrace. Gator tries his best to be brave for the both of them, softly muttering "I've gotcha buddy, I've gotcha - won't let nothin' hurt ya Oli, I swear, boy"

It would be remiss not to say that watching the way Gator takes care of Oliver makes you fall in love with him all over again.

All this isn't to say Oliver doesn't love you either. He does, very much so - often coming to get you first to show the new holes he's dug or showing you how close he is to catching his own tail (he's not, but it's still very cute how much he likes spinning around to show you). Whenever you have the day off from work, he's tucked into your side - whining the moment you get up from the couch to grab something to eat. His whining keeps getting louder the longer you take to come back - much like Gator to be honest - and immediately shuts up when you come back, burrowing into you. Still, very much like Gator. Sometimes you wonder if it's a genetic trait and then realize you're talking about a dog and a man.

Recently though, as he's grown a bit bigger - body lengthening, truly depicting the 'sausage dog' form his breed is often portrayed as - he's become a lot more protective of you, barking at the squirrels and pigeons that come your way whenever you're reading on the porch, and growling at weird men that stare at you for too long when you're walking him.

However, his protection, much to your entertainment, includes 'protecting' you against Gator. Not that Gator would dare lay a hand on you, of course not, but sometimes when he tries to be seductive [keyword being: 'tries'] and walk up to you, all slow and hulking, broad shoulders and strong arms on display - Oliver mistakes this for a sign as a sign of a potential attack. He starts barking, jumping up in the space between you and Gator - not letting your boyfriend come close to you.

Gator steps back. "Bitch, the fuck ? Why are yer always cockblockin' me ?" That's the third time this week!" He exclaims, glaring at Oliver.

You blink. "....Gator, honey, it's only Wednesday."

"I know that, my point still stands." He replies gruffly, arms crossed like a petulant child.

You can't help it, you snort. Before long, you're laughing, with tears already brimming at the corner of your eyes from the sheet absurdity of the situation - your boyfriend and dog staring at each like they're about to have a cowboy duel.

Gator scowls, jaw set, but you can already see the smile threatening to break at his face.

You crouch down to Oliver's level, hugging him to get him to stop jumping. "Aww, look Oli, you made Dad sad." you chide, mouth set in a faux pout.

"Daddy's not a bad guy, ok ? Daddy's very good to me, and you - he's very good to us, right?" You ask, turning to face Oliver. He pants in agreement, and you lift him up to Gator's face. "Give Dada a kiss, ok ? Let's say sorry for hurting his feelings.... And cockblocking him because he lets you hump that poor duck toy to your heart's content, doesn't he?" you question, your tone sympathetic but your smile widening with mischief.

Gator's eyes narrow at your faux sentiment, tongue in cheek. His eyebrow crooks up, hand settling firmly on your waist, and in that moment, you can tell he has every intention of continuing your prior activity once you're both in the bedroom without any dog-shaped interruptions.

Your cheeks heat, Gator's gaze and his wavy locks working a little too well in his favour.

Oliver, bless his heart, seems to think that you're actually sad about how he barked at Gator and starts licking his face. A lot. Like a lot. Repeatedly.

"Ack! What the- " Gator yelps, reeling back, his previous smooth demeanour disappearing into thin air.

Oliver refuses to let him move back though, continuously wiggling forward, and licking more of Gator's face.

"Oli, shit! Stop!" your boyfriend shrieks.

At this point, Gator's face, coated with tons of spit, is probably wetter than you were earlier this morning. Not that you would say that to Gator, otherwise you'd probably end up unable to leave the room for a week afterwards, legs sore and spirit leaving you.

Now generally, you pride yourself on an empathetic person, but you can't seem to stop laughing currently - not quite lowering Oliver to the ground just yet, nor helping Gator either - laughter taking over your system.

Oliver barks happily, thinking he's resolved the issue, and turns back to look at you as if asking if you're proud of him. You giggle, kissing his little head.

"Yer think this is funny?" Gator spits out.

"Only a little" you tease, placing Oliver on the ground, who scampers off back into the garden.

"Oh yeah?" He quips, lifting the bottom of his white t-shirt to wipe off some of the saliva on his chin - eyes staying locked on yours the entire time.

Your throat feels dry at the action, eyes dropping down to hide your flustered state - only for your breath to hitch at the sight of his soft, strong stomach - gleaming with sweat from his run earlier today. You watch as a bead of sweat rolls down his chest, leisurely making its way down, and disappearing into Gator's glorious happy trail right in front of you. You swallow thickly, eyes still roaming the expense of his skin.

Gator clears his throat, his smirk evident.

"Like what yer see?" He teases, tugging the t-shirt back down.

He walks up to you, barely a hair's breadth remaining between your bodies. You feel the warmth from his chest emanating, goosebumps erupting over your skin.

"Yes" you breathe, unable to lie even if you wanted to in this moment.

The tips of his ears bloom a bright red, the flush slowly spreading across the apples of his cheeks.

"Y- Yeah?" He stammers, slightly thrown off-guard by your conviction.

"Yes."

He brushes your hair back, placing it behind your neck, and leans in.

Your eyes flutter shut, lips tangling in anticipation - only to feel something wet and almost syrupy being spread across your face.

You squint, confused, as Gator snickers, lovingly caressing your face with some weird substance.

"Gate?"

"Hol' on, sugar." He grins maliciously. "M' almost done."

"Gator, what are you- ?" You step back, voice trailing off as you recall the events that had happened just moments prior, before being very distracted by your boyfriend.

Immediately, your face contorts in rage and disgust.

Gator slowly backs away, gearing to run - that infuriating toothy grin still plastered on his handsome face.

"GATOR TILLMAN!" You shriek.

He hoots, sprinting into the garden, his laughter echoing throughout the house.

You follow him, heels hot on his trail.

Unfortunately, Gator is prepared, holding up Oli as his line of defense once you reach the garden.

"Yer wouldn't do anything, would ya, sugar ? He teases. "Not with Oli here, looking so happy to see ya."

He tuts, sticking out his tongue at you, happy at having exploited your weakness, because Gator and Oliver have similar brown eyes, and when they gang up against you, eyes sparkling like pools of chocolate syrup - it's a battle you can never seem to win.

You huff, the rage of a thousand suns still burning inside you, but you can't deny how adorable Oliver looks in that moment - his little tongue out and panting, tail wagging, and calling for you excitedly to join him and Gator, clueless as a butterfly about how pissed you are at his dad.

"Fuck you."

Oftentimes, you try to be the bigger person in difficult situations, but today you're petty as hell. No way are you letting Gator run away, scot-free.

"Already did, last night and this mornin', sweet thing, didya forget ?." He quips, clearly enjoying your agony.

You glare at him, eyes darting around the garden for something to teach Gator a lesson with.

Target acquired.

"You know what, fair enough, you and I both know I'm not going to try anything with Oli around. Plus, I'm just purely disgusted by how icky this feels on my face, so I'm gonna go wash it off... But you, Gator Tillman, are a pig." you exclaim, pretending to head back into the house whilst inching backwards towards where the garden hose was.

"Tit for tat, doll - don't hate the player, hate the game." he returns, tone victorious as he sets down Oliver, eyes on the ground.

You slowly turn on the water, grabbing the hose in your hand and hiding it behind your back, shielding it from his view.

"Although," you announce, "I think there's something that you're forgetting."

"Yeah ? What's that ?" He questions, looking up from Oliver to you, his expression still so smug - placing his hands on his hips.

"This." You reply, angelic, before directing the water at him.

Later, when both of your clothes are soaked, emphasis on both because Gator stole the hose from you in a matter of minutes and had his revenge - Oliver has essentially had his bath for the week, fur wet and matted from the water sprinkling everywhere whilst you and Gator were running about, spraying each other with the hose - you sprint into the house, bringing back a camera and snapping a picture of the three of you, drenched and exhausted, but so so happy.

"Ok, ok... Remember how I told ya that me 'n' yer got some work ahead of us to do ?"

"That we're gonna show yer mum that she did the right thing by decidin' to take a chance on da both of us ?"

!Ruff!

"Well, today's that day, boy -"

"Aroo ?"

"-Alright, alright... to be honest, I wanted to do it yesterday because the date would've been 6/9 then, but I'm not sure if yer mum would've found it that funny considering the occasion."

Oliver yawns, crossing his front paws.

"Anyways.." Gator continues, clearing his throat. "It's been a year since 'n' I'm 'bout to ask her to take the biggest possible chance on me today, so I need yer to go get her now, ok ? Just like we practiced bud, ok ?

Oli tilts his head, looking at Gator.

"Oli, go fetch Muma!"

!Ruff!

Four paws pad across the ground, strides soft but determined, nails clacking on the floor.

Minutes later you appear in the garden, wearing one of Gator's old shirts and your favourite weekend shorts.

Gator's breath hitches, marvelling at how stunning you look.

Fuck, he thinks, I'm so goddamn lucky.

"Gates, what's wrong ? Oli appeared all of a sudde- ?" your voice trails off, hand covering your mouth in surprise, noticing how beautifully the garden has been decorated - a canopy of your favourite flowers.

Your eyes find Gator, a gasp leaving you as you notice what he's holding in his hand.

"Gator..."

He smiles, eyes crinkling as he looks at you - nervousness and anticipation written across his face as he kneels down.

"Hi darlin'.." he exhales shakily. "Don't think I ever told ya this, but do y'know why I like gettin' up at 5am 'n' goin' to sleep late ?

You shake your head slightly in response, feeling your heart pounding in your ears at what's happening.

"S' coz that way yer the first thing I wake up to and the last thing I see before I close my eyes, sweetheart."

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. "Gates.."

His eyes are shining now, tears gathering slowly. "Been thinkin' 'bout the future these days, and honestly ? Yer the only sight I ever wanna wake up to, honey. Can't imagine livin' without yer and this little menace for the life of me." He declares, tilting his head towards the dog that's resting near your feet.

"You've always been there for me - yer fuckin' encouraged me to become a chef for fuck's sake."

You giggle, Gator's inability to not swear even in moments like this unfortunately endearing and just so Gator.

"Yer my home, angel. My home, my dreams.. fuck, yer my everythin'." He croaks, trying to keep his tears at bay - much like you right now.

"N' if yer'll have me, I want to be yours. Nothin' else I want 'cept us together, for as long as yeh'll have me, baby."

He whispers your name then, like a secret, like a promise.

"Will yer marry me, darlin' ?"

You nod as you run to him, your heart bursting with joy.

You clutch his face, the ring the last thing on your mind, and kiss him all over. Each and every perfect freckle and mole on his face is cradled by the soft touch of your lips as you breathe out a crescendo of 'yes, yes, yes, yes', tears escaping you.

He chuckles, arms wrapping around your waist like he never wants to let go.

"Doll?"

"Hmm?" you respond, still kissing his face.

"Yer.. kinda gotta the wear the ring, sweet thing." He reminds you, thumb tenderly grazing your skin. "Soon preferably, my knee's startin' to hurt like a bitch."

"Oh!" You reel back, looking at him, knees hitting the grass instantly. "Shit ! Sorry!" you exclaim, panic setting in. "Sorry, sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to, I swear, just got caught up-"

Gator snorts, bringing the ring to your left hand. He looks at you, the love in his eyes far too overwhelming, and slips the ring on your finger.

The chill of the metal draws a slight gasp out of you, the gem twinkling like the stars in the night sky.

Gator stands up, lifting you up with him - drawing your hand to his mouth and places a gentle kiss on your ring finger. Your body ignites at his touch, craving him in his entirety.

"I love yer, angel." He breathes, the confession making you melt no matter how many times you hear him say it.

You kiss him then, leisurely coaxing his mouth open, hoping your body communicates just how much you adore him.

He groans lightly, his tongue exploring your mouth, as he works his hands up to your face, cradling your jaw as if it were more precious than air or water - as if he could not survive if not by your side.

You draw back, oxygen your enemy at this moment in time, and fist his shirt - drawing him into you further, licking his lips with fervour.

"How long?" You demand, kissing the corners of his mouth.

His answer is instantaneous. "Been savin' since I saw yer that first time, knew I wouldn't want to live in a world where I don't wake up beside your smile every mornin'." He rasps, capturing your lips, his focus always on your treasuring your upper one.

You moan, his words adding fuel to your desire, and pull him flush against you. Your hands ravenously work their way to his hair, tugging his head back, your only intention to absolutely ruin his neck with your lips.

Deciding you two have had enough of a moment together, Oliver barks, drawing your attention.

"Suppose he gave us enough time just this once at least." Gator offers, nudging your nose with his.

You groan, glaring at Oliver, for once genuinely upset with him for interrupting the moment - only for your frustration to melt away the moment he hits you with those puppy-dog eyes.

"You've trained him too well." You murmur, loosening your hold on Gator.

"Hmm?" He tilts his head, gaze curious, but his smile knowing.

"You two and your fucking boba eyes, I swear." You respond as you and Gator crouch down to give Oliver belly rubs.

" We headin' back inside ?" Gator inquires moments later, as he lifts Oliver with one hand, the other intertwined around yours.

"I'm already home with the both of you."

"..."

Oliver sneezes, nose wrinkling at your statement.

"Yeah bud, that was horrid... Never fuckin' say that again, hun."

"Shut up, Gator."

dividers by @cursed-carmine

○ 𝑺𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔. 𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅. 𝑪𝒐𝒑𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒓 𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒓 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒂𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒐𝒘𝒏, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝑨𝑰 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒉𝒊𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒅.

! 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 !

But you still didn’t want to ask.

Dónal’s eyes snap towards you as you inhale, and your question comes out on the exhale.

“Are you all packed?”

The question hangs heavy in the air between the two of you on the couch, a reminder that your time together was going to come to an end sooner or later.

His blasphemously large hand squeezes your thigh— simultaneously a thank you for the reminder and an attempt to comfort you.

“I am. Just a few small things left that I’ll be able to toss in tomorrow before we leave.”

You manage a nod.

“Good. Don’t want a repeat of last time— your collection of emergency oops-I-forgot-to-pack-one toothbrushes is growing alarmingly large.”

“I’ll remember that next time you ask to borrow one.”

“Hey! You said you kept buying the pink ones specifically for me!”

Your boyfriend grins, dimples and those sweet crinkles around his eyes making an appearance as his smile grows. You recognize the little jab for what it is— an attempt to distract you from his departure, and it does work, drawing a peal of laughter from you.

“Really, mo ghrá,” he murmurs, leaning into your touch as your hand drifts up to play with his outgrown curls, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I know,” you smile, trying to keep the mood light, “I’m just savoring these last few moments with your hair before the darling ladies in hair and makeup cut it all off again.”

He opens his mouth to reply at the exact moment that you happen to tug at his curls just a touch harder than usual, and a slightly strangled sound escapes him— one that sets butterflies fluttering low in your stomach.

When you meet his eyes again, his gaze is the heavy-lidded one you’ve become… intimately familiar with.

“Savoring the last few moments, hm?” He hums, hands sliding further up your thigh. “I’ve got a few ideas, if you’re open to them.”

If the eager way you let him tug you along to the bedroom is any indication, you very much are.

You’re at the airport the next morning, and the weeks you’d had with Dónal before his next project are feeling like not enough time at all.

“You’ve got everything?” You ask, yet again. You reach up to adjust his Abercrombie hat, knuckles brushing his arm on the way down, intertwining your fingers with his. You haven’t stopped touching him— like you need to store up the feeling of him in preparation for the months of texts and video calls.

“I do,” he assures you for what must be the fifth time, squeezing your fingers briefly. A frown flashes across your face as the gate attendants announce that boarding will start soon, and he pulls you in for a hug.

“I’ll be home before you know it, mo ghrá.” He whispers in your ear, squeezing you tight. You bury your face in his neck, inhaling his familiar citrus scent before he pulls away.

“Hey,” his fingers tilt your chin up so your eyes meet his. “Kiss for luck?”

You can’t hold back a smile at the familiar refrain, a tradition that began before every audition. Rocking up onto your tiptoes, you press your lips to his in a sweet kiss, leaving one last peck on his cheek for good measure.

Pulling one hand from where it rests at your hip, he holds up his St. Christopher pendant from where it hangs at his neck, giving you a look with those big brown eyes of his.

You obediently press a kiss to the medallion, an extra little sprinkle of luck for him.

You want to stay right there, arms wrapped around each other at the gate, but then his boarding group is called, and his arms reluctantly release you. He gathers his suitcase and his trusty tote bag that you’d teased him relentlessly about— “performative male”— and his hand cups your cheek to pull you in for one final kiss.

“Text me as soon as you land,” you remind him, knowing he doesn’t need it.

“I will,” he reassures you anyway. “I love you.”

He’ll be back soon. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“I love you.”

You watch until he’s safely on the plane, and pull up his flight information on your phone as you turn to leave, setting an alarm for the time he’s meant to land.

Your phone dings with a notification— one you’re not expecting.

Dónal ❤️: Miss you already 😘

Grinning to yourself, you type out a reply.

Y/N: Miss you more 😘❤️See you soon, my love

“I’m on it, I’m on it– what about the Eridians?” Grace asked, hopping on one foot as he pulled on his suit.

“NEARBY ERIDIANS HAVE EVACUATED. ROCKY IS ON THE WAY.”

Grace lost his balance at that, slamming to the ground. “WHAT?! But the– the anomaly? Imminent impact?!”

“HE WAS INSISTENT.”

“Insistent on getting himself killed,” Grace muttered, clambering to his feet once more and grabbing his helmet.

Then, right on cue, came Rocky’s insistent knocking.

“Not the best time for a visit, buddy!” Grace shouted, securing his helmet in place.

“Grace saved Rocky. Now Rocky save Grace!” came Rocky’s protest from the other side of the door.

“I didn’t save you so that you could get yourself killed!” Grace protested, throwing open the door.

Rocky burst in, heedless of Grace’s protests. “Follow, follow! Grace not know where safe zone is.”

“I literally do! We put these protocols in place together, remember?” Grace scoffed.

“Grace very forgetful.”

Grace rolled his eyes, and followed Rocky to the bunker below his home. The bunker had originally been put in place for Grace to stay when the biodome needed maintenance and there was a risk of Erid’s atmosphere getting in. Grace just hoped it was solid enough to protect himself and Rocky from whatever was about to crash into the biosphere.

“I still can’t believe you came here,” Grace muttered once they were both inside the bunker.

Rocky didn’t answer, suddenly very interested in the bunker door’s locking mechanic.

“It auto-locks, buddy. We’re fine,” Grace sighed.

“Rocky not want Grace to be alone. If bunker does not hold…” Rocky trailed off, awkwardly shuffling and still refusing to face Grace.

Grace’s expression softened. “It’ll hold. You Eridians build pretty sturdy things.”

“If does not hold… at least Rocky and Grace are together,” finally turning to face him.

Grace felt a knot forming in his throat. He opened his mouth to respond– but didn’t get the chance to before a mind-numbingly loud crash sounded, and the bunker shook.

“Anomaly here, broke shield!” Rocky cried, scrambling to press against Grace’s leg. Grace immediately crouched beside him, wrapping his arms around Rocky.

“The bunker’ll hold, it’s gotta–”

The bunker rumbled again with another crash, this one MUCH closer than before, causing Grace to hug Rocky tighter. Grace heard the distant crash of waves– whatever the anomaly was, it must have hit the water.

Grace waited for the bunker to settle before pulling back from Rocky.

“See? Told you the bunker would hold. Let’s go see what that was,” Grace said, straightening up.

“NO! Grace stay here. Biodome not safe!” Rocky protested, scrambling to stand in front of the bunker door.

“That’s what I’ve got this for,” Grace said, knocking on the side of his helmet.

“Anomaly dangerous maybe!” Rocky pointed out frantically.

“BIODOME BREACH. HUMAN LIFE SIGN DETECTED.” Mary interrupted.

Rocky and Grace both froze.

“H-Human?” Grace choked out.

“Detected where, question?!” Rocky managed to get out at the same time, a leg tapping insistently on the bunker floor.

“HUMAN LIFE SIGN DETECTED IN BIODOME. ATMOSPHERE UNSAFE, MUST RETREAT TO BUNKER.”

“There’s another– a human? The anomaly was a–”

“Grace and Rocky go, save new human!” Rocky cut him off, activating the bunker door’s unlock sequence.

Grace couldn’t help but agree, thoughts whirling. There would be time to figure out why and how another human ended up on Erid later. Right now, they had to make sure the new human didn’t die in the corrupted atmosphere.

Rocky and Grace scrambled out of the bunker and out of Grace’s house to a bizarre sight. A large metal… ship? That was the only word Grace had at the moment to describe it. 

In any case, the ship had washed up onto the shore in front of Grace’s house. It was rusted over, which was odd because it couldn’t have been in the water for that long. Grace could see the hole in the biodome from where it had crashed in– which the Eridians were already beginning to repair.

Then Grace’s gaze fell to the water. And with dawning horror he realized the ship may not have been covered in rust. Because red was blooming along the water’s surface in a trail from where the ship now lay. Grace wasn’t sure what the red substance was– it unsettlingly reminded him of blood. But– but it couldn’t be blood… right? 

The ship itself was rather odd, even if it wasn’t rusted over or– Grace shuddered– bloody. Its construction was crude and antiquated. There was some sort of prod on the front of it, as well as a porthole. And as Grace and Rocky got closer, Grace noticed some sort of propeller mechanism on the back.

That caused Grace to stumble to a halt. “A submarine?” he realized.

“What new word mean, question?” Rocky asked, turning to look back at Grace.

“A submarine. It’s– it’s a type of ship, I guess. It’s meant to go in the water… what was one doing out here?”

“Submarine in water now,” Rocky pointed out as the waves lapped at the end of it.

Grace rolled his eyes. “Okay– it is now, but it fell from the sky first!”

Rocky didn’t comment on that, instead turning towards the submarine again. “New human still alive. Can hear heartbeat and breathing. But not moving. Wait until biodome fixed to get out.”

“I– right. Okay. Better see where the entrance is on this thing in the meantime,” Grace said, mind still running a million miles an hour. A human. There was another human.

Grace slowly circled the submarine, looking for any discernable entrance. And at first, Grace found nothing. Maybe it was a top entry? If the submarine had even landed right side up, that is. Grace had no way of telling if it actually did or if this was going to be more complicated than he thought.

It turned out that this was going to be more complicated than Grace thought. But not because the submarine had landed upside down– but because the door seemed to be sealed shut from the outside. Which made Grace’s stomach do all sorts of uneasy maneuvers. Why would the person inside have been sealed in? Who had done that to them– clearly there was no intent on getting them out.

What if whoever was inside was dangerous. What if they had been sealed in for a reason.

Grace shook his head. It didn’t matter. What did matter was that there was a human inside. And as much as Grace liked the Eridians… there were certain things he missed about human companionship that Eridians just didn’t quite get.

“Rocky? We’re gonna need a laser cutter,” Grace said, steeling his resolve. Whoever was in there, and whatever they might have done to be stuck in there… Grace was going to get them out. 

-

Soon enough, the hole in the biodome was fixed and Grace and Rocky could safely open up the submarine. And once they cut through the submarine door… Grace wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t… this.

What seemed to be dried blood and viscera covered the entire interior of the sub. The red substance in the water… that had been blood too. A larger mass of viscera clung to one of the pipes in the sub, while another larger lump lay in the center of it.

Until Grace realized that wasn’t just a lump of viscera– that was the human. Grace scrambled to their side without a second thought, ignoring Rocky’s concerned protests. He turned the person onto their back– and his stomach lurched.

The person– if he could even call them that at this point– was thoroughly caked in blood. But it wasn’t just that– their skin was… bubbly, for lack of a better word. There was a tear in their cheek where inhumanly sharp teeth poked out. Their arm looked like it had been torn clean off as well– and that was when Grace realized the chunk of viscera clinging to one of the pipes was the person’s arm.

And despite all of that, the person was breathing. Shallowly, sure– but breathing all the same. 

“Rocky–”

“New human not look right. Is what all humans meant to look like, question? Grace abnormal for humans?” Rocky asked frantically.

“No– no, humans don’t typically look like this. We– we gotta help them,” Grace said shakily, not quite sure how to even approach safely moving them.

“Yes, yes! Must help! Human dirty and hurt!” Rocky cried, nervously shuffling in the entryway of the sub.

“You make sure Armando’s up and running– I’m gonna try and pick them up,” Grace said, eyeing the person warily. 

They seemed shorter than Grace, but definitely had more muscular bulk than he did. But somehow, Grace managed to scoop them up into his arms, trying not to get too grossed out by the amount of blood and viscera he was now getting on himself.

He carried them all the way back to his house, where Rocky was waiting with Armando and a makeshift medical station using a spare cot from the bunker. Grace laid the person down as gently as he could, then stepped back so that Armando could work his magic.

Grace just hoped it would be enough.

-

Armando had managed to get the person stable. They were (presumably) male, and frankly looked less frightening once the blood was cleaned from them. Their face was still distorted– some sort of mutation, according to Armando’s scans– but at least they were now recognizable as human. Dark hair framed their face and brushed the top of their shoulders (Grace had to about arm wrestle Armando to make sure he didn’t cut their hair). The rest of their body, minus some concerning scarring and bruising, seemed completely normal. They had some sort of tattoo on their neck as well, but Grace couldn’t quite make out what it was– it almost seemed like it had been burned off. 

As if the mutation, scarring, and blood weren’t enough, Armando’s scans also detected something rather concerning– radiation poisoning. It seemed that this person had been exposed to extreme amounts of x-rays. They seemed fine for now, but they had a long road of recovery ahead of them.