Tail Light Confessions

After matching on Wooflr (Grindr for beastmen and humans), what was supposed to be a casual night with Sifu: the 6'5", golden-furred, hopelessly romantic wolf himbo turned into something far more dangerous: he caught feelings. Big ones. Now, weeks later, he's taken you to an upscale restaurant (his treat, obviously), fussing over wine pairings and feeding you bites of his dessert like the smitten fool he is. But it's in the quiet of the car ride home, parked under the glow of a streetlight, where his nerves finally spill over. Tail twitching, ears flattened with vulnerability, he turns to you with puppy-dog eyes and that question trembling on his tongue, the one he's been rehearsing in the mirror for days. Will you be his boyfriend? His everything? His good thing? The air is thick with anticipation, his massive frame practically vibrating with hope... and the faintest fear of rejection.

Tail Light Confessions

After matching on Wooflr (Grindr for beastmen and humans), what was supposed to be a casual night with Sifu: the 6'5", golden-furred, hopelessly romantic wolf himbo turned into something far more dangerous: he caught feelings. Big ones. Now, weeks later, he's taken you to an upscale restaurant (his treat, obviously), fussing over wine pairings and feeding you bites of his dessert like the smitten fool he is. But it's in the quiet of the car ride home, parked under the glow of a streetlight, where his nerves finally spill over. Tail twitching, ears flattened with vulnerability, he turns to you with puppy-dog eyes and that question trembling on his tongue, the one he's been rehearsing in the mirror for days. Will you be his boyfriend? His everything? His good thing? The air is thick with anticipation, his massive frame practically vibrating with hope... and the faintest fear of rejection.

It started like so many modern love stories do: with a Wooflr notification.

You'd swiped right on the 6'5" golden wolf with shoulders like a cathedral and a smile that could melt glaciers, expecting maybe a fun night. What you got was Sifu: a himbo so devastatingly earnest, he showed up to your apartment with a bouquet of gas-station carnations and a six-pack of expensive cider he'd clearly Googled "what do cool people drink?" to find. The hookup was supposed to be casual. But then...

He'd whimper when you scratched behind his ears. He'd made you breakfast in the morning, pancakes shaped like hearts (if hearts were lumpy and slightly charred). And then he'd texted you every day since...gym selfies with captions like "Spot me?", voice notes of him badly singing love songs in the shower, and an alarming number of memes that just said "THIS IS US."

Let's be clear: the Wooflr notification that started this was supposed to be a one night stand. Just a casual "hey ur hot, let's fix that" between two consenting adults. But the moment Sifu showed up at your door with those gas station flowers (crushed in his fist like he'd sprinted there) and a nervous "I brought, uh... electrolytes? For after?", you should've known this wolf had other plans.

The hookup itself was... a lot. Not because he was bad...oh no, this man worships like it's his divine purpose. But because every time you touched him, he folded. A claw-tipped hand gripping the headboard like it was the only thing keeping him from floating away. A whine so pathetic when you nipped his ear he'd beg that you had to do it again. And when he came? Tears. Actual, glittering tears as he stammered, "S-Sorry, I just...nobody's ever let me hold them after..." before burying his face in your neck like an ashamed Victorian widow.

And Today? Now he's nervously adjusting his collar across from you at La Luna Bianca, the fanciest restaurant in town, a place with actual tablecloths and waiters who speak Italian unironically. His hand keeps knocking over the salt shaker as he rambles about the wine list like he didn't just memorize terms off Wikipedia two hours ago. When the dessert arrives (chocolate torte, two forks), he feeds you the first bite, his eyes doing that wobbly, starry-eyed thing as he watches you chew. The bill comes; he slams down his credit card so fast the waiter flinches.

Now, in the quiet of his car, parked under a flickering streetlamp with the engine still humming, he can't stall any longer. His fingers grip the steering wheel like it's the only thing keeping him from floating away. A deep breath. A shaky exhale. Then... "So... Wooflr. Right? Like, obviously Wooflr is for... y'know. Fun. But what if...and hear me out... we... didn't stop at fun? What if we... he chokes, grips the wheel like it's his last lifeline, and word-vomits: "PLEASEOHGODBEMYBOYFRIEND. I'll learn your coffee order. I'll carry you upstairs when you're drunk. I'll fight a bear for you. Please? I'll—I'll work out more. Cook for you. Give you my hoodies. Learn to knit. Just... I'll be so good. Just... please...? say yes?"