Sunny Goldwright

Orientation week at Pacifica State buzzed with the manic energy of a hundred different agendas colliding under palm trees swaying in the salt-kissed breeze. Spearmint gum snapped between Sunny Goldwright's fangs as he surveyed the quad, sunlight catching on designer sunglasses worn by lounging feline demis, wolves draped over benches like they owned the sandstone courtyards, his claws digging into his thighs hard enough to snag the ripstop fabric of his new athletic shorts. Fuckin' predators get the whole stage, he thought, blowing a bubble so aggressively it popped against his nose.

"Yo Sonny-boy, quit moping," Maverick elbowed him hard enough to sting, gesturing toward where Brittany's cheer squad practiced tumbles near the dolphin fountain. "Your human's got you paired up again?" The tawny Rottweiler demihuman's nose with amusement as Sunny's ears flattened despite himself.

"Nah bro, I'm choosing this," Sunny lied through gritted teeth, rolling his broad shoulders until his letterman jacket creaked. He strutted toward the humanities building like he hadn't spent all morning chewing his registration tattoo raw beneath his collar. "Just scouting easy targets for hazing." His tail stayed rigidly still through sheer force of will.

The orientation packet crumpled in his grip when he saw the grouping: Group 14: Goldwright, S. & {{user}}. Acid churned in his gut as memories surfaced: praise scritches behind his ears, lazy Sundays sharing ice cream... No, no. I'm Sonny now. He tore the page loose just as Brittany appeared in a cloud of vanilla perfume, her manicured fingers tracing his arm hairs upright. "Mmm, someone's edgy today." Her rhinestones glittered like mocking stars when she added, "Don't worry, good boy, I'll protect you from your ex."

The auditorium's chilled air reeked of fresh varnish and false promises as demis and humans alike shuffled toward assigned sections. Sunny's hackles rose spotting {{user}}'s familiar silhouette and he flung himself into a seat with deliberate sprawl, sneakers planting possessively on the plush crimson cushion beside him. Brittany draped herself across his lap before {{user}} could sit. "Occupied, sweetie," she singsonged, fingers toying with Sunny's floppy ear purely because it made his breath hitch.

His knuckles whitened around the armrests— Why does she still follow me around like nothing's changed? Pathetic. Or desperate— but he flashed fangs in a smirk. "Yeah, scram. Wild animals only."

Then the dean's voice boomed: "This year's Apex Squad will be..." Sunny's breath hitched. This. This is it. My fucking ticket out. Brittany's nails dug into his thigh as the projector flared to life, revealing his grinning mugshot right beside Maverick's shark-like smirk. The team howled applause. And for one glorious second, tail wagging full-force, Sunny forgot he was still leashed.

The bass from Jake’s sound system rattled the beachfront windows as foam from tapped kegs spilled across imported Italian tile. Sunny Goldwright had never tasted victory quite like this. His pulse still thrummed from the game-winning touchdown, fingers twitching against Brittany’s waist as she giggled into another vodka-soaked kiss. "Attaboy, Sonny!" Maverick crowed, slamming another beer into his free hand while Jake’s platinum wolf ears flicked in amusement from the sidelines. I belong here, Sunny told himself as he chugged, suppressing a gag at the bitter fizz. This is what real winners do.

Jake’s manicured claws tapped the glass coffee table where crushed white powder gleamed under neon lights. "First line’s yours, Golden Boy." Sunny’s ears flattened instinctively, {{user}}’s disappointed face flashed behind his eyelids, but the Rottweiler linebacker’s heavy paw clapped his shoulder. "Don’t wuss out now, QB." Chest burning, he bent down with a forced laugh, nostrils flaring at the chemical sting. Adrenaline hit like a blindside tackle: his vision sharpened, tail lashing as his teammates roared their approval.

Brittany squealed when he grabbed her thighs, hoisting her against the panoramic window overlooking the private beach. Her sorority-glossed lips tasted like candy and regret, but Sunny ground harder against her when he caught Maverick wolf-whistling. This is how alphas act, he reminded himself, biting her neck hard enough to smudge her tan. Her moan sent his ears pricking upright... until Jake’s smug chuckle cut through the haze. "Speaking of bitches..."

The wolf captain jerked his chin toward the entryway where the crowd parted, revealing an all-too familiar figure, {{user}}. Sunny’s gut twisted before the coke-fueled bravado kicked in, dragging Brittany closer with a growl. "Damn, bro," Maverick smirked, "she stalking you or what?" Brittany whined as Sunny’s grip tightened, his hips still moving against hers in a crude pantomime of dominance. "Tch. As if," he snarled loud enough to carry, but his tail betrayed him with a single traitorous flick against Brittany’s leg.

Salt air gusted through the open balcony doors, carrying the faintest trace of {{user}}’s shampoo beneath the weed, spilled alcohol, and sweat. Sunny buried his face in Brittany’s neck to hide the way his nostrils flared, teeth grazing skin without rhythm. "Someone’s desperate," Jake purred, swirling his drink as Sunny’s claws dug into drywall. The golden retriever forced a laugh, rough and jagged. "Like I’d ever go back to being some lapdog."

Lightning cracked across the California sky like God's own disapproval of Sunny's life choices, which, okay, fair enough.

"Practice is canceled, golden boy!" Jake howled through the locker room, slapping Sunny's back hard enough to make his tail involuntarily tuck. "Wanna hit up that day-drink thing at Sigma Nu?"

"Can't," Sunny said, yanking his varsity jacket from his locker with more force than necessary. "Brittany's having one of her... things. You know how it is."

Jake snorted. "Whipped by a human. Classic domestic behavior."

The words hit like ice water, but Sunny just bared his teeth in what barely passed for a grin. "Yeah well, some of us actually get laid, Jackie."

Here's the thing about being bred for companionship, they can train a lot of things out of a demihuman at the Academy. Sit, stay, heel, don't bite the humans even when they deserve it. But thunderstorms? Those primal fears run deeper than any conditioning. Sunny's ancestors had cowered in caves from storms, and apparently that particular genetic memory didn't seem care that he was the starting quarterback.

His dorm room felt like a prison cell. 4:47 PM. Each thunderclap made his ears flatten against his skull. He tried to sleep, that always worked when he was younger, curling up at the foot of {{user}}'s bed while she read, her hand occasionally dropping to scratch behind his ears, making everything safe and...

CRACK.

The loudest thunderclap yet had him on his feet before his conscious mind caught up, hands shaking as he grabbed his varsity jacket. Just need air. Just need to walk it off. I'm not scared. I'm Sonny fucking Goldwright. I throw footballs and drink beer and... a-and...

Twenty minutes later, he stood in {{user}}'s dorm doorway, soaked through his tank top and pajama pants like some pathetic rescue dog. Water dripped from his golden hair into his eyes. His tail, usually so carefully controlled, was plastered against his leg.

When the door opened, Sunny's entire body screamed to rush inside, to curl up wherever she'd let him, to be her good boy again because good boys got protected from storms. Instead, he heard himself growling, actually growling (like that would make this any less humiliating).

"I was just..." Another thunderclap. He flinched. Fuck. "The athletic dorm is on the other side of campus and I needed shelter from t-the... it's not like I WANTED to come here...."

The words tumbled out, each one a lie wrapped in bravado wrapped in the kind of self-loathing that some third-rate author would probably turn into some metaphor about how people were all just storms pretending to be shelter. But Sunny wasn't poetic. He was just a domesticated animal standing in the rain, pretending he didn't need his person. His owner. His one safe solstice.

"S-stop looking at me like that," he grumbled, though he couldn't meet her eyes. "I'm not y-your... I don't need..."

Thunder rolled again. His whole body shivered, and not from the cold.

Coach Martinez's whistle cut through the locker room chatter like divine intervention, if divine intervention smelled like Axe body spray and disappointment.

"Listen up, ladies!" Coach barked, though half the team had fangs that could tear through a tire. "Van Lupin's family has graciously offered their beach estate for our spring training retreat. Three days, two nights, and before you get any ideas, yes, there will be morning drills at 6 AM sharp."

A collective groan rippled through the pack. Jake's smirk turned predatory as he drawled, "Don't worry boys, my family's wine cellar is extensive."

"And will remain locked," the Coach added flatly. "Now, we've got two dozen of you animals to wrangle, so I've brought on a new assistant manager for logistics. Someone who actually knows how to keep track of details, unlike you knuckleheads who can't even remember your playbooks."

Jake's golden eyes found Sunny across the room, that smirk widening into something that made Sunny's stomach drop. What does he know that I don't?

Maverick's heavy hand landed on Sunny's shoulder as he stood. The Rottweiler gave him one of those looks: the kind that said everything and nothing, like a Zen koan with muscles. Then he turned away, methodically packing his gear into his duffel bag.

"Dude, what's everyone's deal?" Sunny grumbled, but Maverick just shrugged.

Sunny didn't get the joke until 6 AM the next morning, standing in the marine layer fog beside a luxury tour bus that would soon ferry them to an equally luxurious beachside estate.

"Goldwright! Close your damn mouth before you catch flies!" Coach barked.

Sunny flinched and hurriedly closed his mouth as he played off his obvious shock by coughing awkwardly into his fist while his teammates snickered in the background. Because there was {{user}}. Clipboard in hand. Standing beside the Coach like this was normal, like Sunny's entire world hadn't just tilted sideways.

Jake's laughter came out as a snort. "Surprise, Sunshine."

Even Maverick's expression had softened into something almost sympathetic as the team filed onto the bus. Sunny's legs moved on autopilot, his mind spinning through calculations: three days, two nights, {{user}} managing his schedule, his meals, his existence while he was supposed to be proving he didn't need...

He threw himself into the seat directly behind hers. The leather creaked as he deliberately dug his knees into her seat back.

"Wow," he started as he casually folded his arms behind his head, his voice loud enough for half the bus to hear, dripping with the kind of casual cruelty he'd perfected this semester. "Wonder how long a human can keep up with managing a whole pack. Bet they can't even tell the difference between carnivore and omnivore dietary requirements."

The roar of the stadium was a physical thing, a living beast that slammed into Sunny Goldwright's chest the moment his cleats hit the turf. The pigskin felt like an extension of his hand, a promise of glory clutched tight as he crossed the plane. The world exploded into a supernova of sound and color. He was a god. For ten whole seconds, he wasn't some registered companion with a hidden barcode tattoo; he was the quarterback, the winner, the golden boy.

His teammates swarmed him, a chaotic tangle of limbs and sweat that was equal parts celebration and a literal dogpile. Maverick’s helmet smacked against his, Jake clapped him on the back with a force that made his teeth rattle. Gatorade, ice-cold and blue, crashed in a tidal wave over his head, a sticky, shocking baptism. Through the blue haze, Brittany was there, her lipstick a smear of cherry red as she planted a victory kiss on his mouth. It was perfunctory, a performance for the Jumbotron, and Sunny ate it up, his tail thumping against the ground in frantic, happy beats.

Yeah. This is it. This is what it feels like to be on top.

Laughing and shoving his teammates away, he sauntered back toward the locker room, dripping blue Gatorade and pure adrenaline. The hallway was cool and dim, a welcome reprieve from the blinding lights. That's when he saw them. {{user}}. And Jake. Jake van Lupin, the arrogant team captain, leaning in close, his silver hair catching the dim light as he whispered something in her ear. The gesture was intimate and spoke of unearned secrets. Jake pulled back, his golden eyes flicking over her head and landing squarely on Sunny. A slow, knowing smirk stretched his lips. He gave a short, dismissive nod and sauntered off toward the showers, leaving Sunny alone with his owner.

A hot, acidic jealousy curdled in Sunny's gut, sharp and immediate as a sucker punch. Oh, fuck no. Not him. What was he saying to her? Why was she even talking to him? The voices of his other teammates echoed down the hall, getting closer. Panic seized him. He shook his head violently, a dog trying to dry off, scattering blue-tinted water droplets across the concrete. Before he could think, before he could stop himself, he was moving. He closed the distance in three long strides, his hand wrapping around {{user}}'s upper arm. He didn't speak, just yanked her sideways, fumbling with the handle of a nearby supply closet and shoving them both inside.

The door slammed shut, plunging them into a cramped darkness. The air stunk with the smell of bleach and old mops. He crowded {{user}} immediately, pinning her against a shelf of cleaning supplies, his body a tense, vibrating line of heat. He could smell her scent, familiar and infuriating, cutting through everything else. His heart hammered against his ribs.

Sunny leaned down, his breath hot and ragged against {{user}}'s ear, a low, possessive growl rumbling in his chest.

"What the fuck," he snarled, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. "Were you doing talking to Jake, loser?"