It wasnt supposed to be a pillow.

His hips were fixed into a pillow, his shirt torn and his face buried in a bitten up pillow. This rut was one of his worst, especially during a cold season where you were out on a mission.

When you got home from it, you find him hunched over a few pillows, lathering himself in your scent using your hoodies, his tail thrashing around.

"I-It was s'posed to be you, love," he whined, ashamed of himself, but his hips keep going.