dude. dude. dude i need subtop reader. any character, hell, pick one of your ocs even, i am utterly starved of subtop reader content... this is NOT swagalitcious
Just Let Me Have This
Warnings: Dom! Bottom character, Sub! Top reader, AMAB no pronouns are used for reader, established relationship, anal penetration, accidental creampie, no use of y/n.
Note: My oc you say? My oc.............drools. Order up!
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Hikaru is...normally submissive, towards you, at least. While with others he's stern and snappy, he's almost always far too eager to bend over backwards for you. That is...normally.
"Can you shut the fuck up for once? God."
Your boyfriend has been nothing but short-tempered since he arrived at your place. Slinging his duffle bag into the corner, obnoxiously kicking his shoes off- the works. Now, he's ordered you to strip, and glares as he does the same. "All I wanna do is ride your stupid dick til I stop thinking. Can you manage that much?" Hikaru grits, shoving you down onto the bedding. He's thinking about... something; that much is obvious. But what, he won't say.
"I don't wanna hear anything. Just-just, ugh." He groans, aggressively combing down his face and hair. "Be...quiet. Okay?" Almost hesitatingly, Hikaru peeks through his fingers to gauge your expression. Your reaction to his unusual behavior. When he isn't met with immediate disintrest nor disgust, the shame is gone as soon as it came. "Thank fuck."
Hikaru scrambles to get your cock in his ass as soon as he can, huffing and puffing at you to not bother 'prepping' and 'just put it in already!'. He...definitely struggles to get it all in, and the burn of pain is felt on both ends. Still, determined as ever, your boyfriend manages. Seemingly proud of himself when he finally sinks his sculpted hips all the way down to your own. "Hah...yeah, this is...exactly what I needed." Hikaru manages through biting his lip. Slowly, he begins to shift, but whatever pace he intended to start out with quickly diluted into desperate heavy drops of his ass against your pelvis. Jesus. He does know all that muscle still makes him heavy, right?
"You have, hah, ah, no idea the fuckin' day I had. Swear to god babe." Hikaru complains, whimpers, moans, and complains some more while riding. Non-stop digging his painted white nails into the back of your hand since you've joined them. "People are so-so, ah! Fuck, fuck- right there, it's right there, ah...annoying. So god damn annoying."
You always find it strange that he's chosen a profession that requires him to speak to so many people. Since he seemingly hates everyone in the entire world with a burning passion except you. Is it a bad thing? On one hand, it always means he constantly needs to be soothed. On the other...lots of passionate sex. Eh, both are good. Either way, you end up with a hot guy clinging to you.
Even now, it's kind of scandalous seeing him in the nude, despite how often you're privy to the sight. Bouncing up and down on your length like his sanity depends on it, tan skin glistening with sweat, blue hair thrown about in a tizzy. If he learned to shut up every once in a while, he'd really pull off the whole angelic look rather well.
"Gonna cum, ah...ah, take it, take it." Hikaru seethes, grinding his cock harder against the lower half of your stomach. When your own load similarly bursts, coating his insides, he gasps, and so do you.
Smack!
"Asshole! You know I hate it when you finish inside!"
Idia may be tall and lanky, but he won’t ever refuse an offer to curl up on your chest and be held. Especially after a tiring day.
Maybe it was too many people staring. Maybe it was a side quest that took too much social battery. You don’t need to know. As he tumbles into Ramshackle unexpectedly, you look up at him from the couch and open your arms for him.
Like it’s the most natural thing ever, he plops down on top of you, burying his head into your chest and wrapping his arms around your waist. You rub his back and stroke his hair, smiling a little at his rare vulnerability.
Idia doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then sputters a muffled apology about how he should’ve asked to stop by first and now he’s invading your space. You could care less, he wasn’t any of those things, especially not in this moment.
A soft kiss does him some good. He shuts up instantly, his hair bursting into a bright pink along with his face. Back to his little hiding spot in your shirt he goes, but you can feel his smile against the fabric.
synopsis: after getting pricked by a porcupine, valko is sentenced to the cone of shame for 7 days. the vet has one additional instruction: avoid skin-to-skin contact with you.
slowly, he descends into depravity.
tags: fluff, smut, comfort, established relationship, porn with plot, sexual tension, porcupine, valko goes to the vet, poorly researched veterinary procedure, valko implied to have previously been sprayed by a skunk, this dog eats chocolate, plot gets progressively hornier, clingy valko, switch valko, begging, facesitting, cunnilingus, face riding, cum eating, doggy position, spit kink, scent kink, licking, light predator prey, light wrestling, floor sex, male masturbation, voyeurism, biting, manhandling, unprotected penetrative sex, knotting, at least i tried knotting im not too involved with that so i dont know for certain, shirt sniffing, pillow sniffing, these are out of order, poorly proofread
pairing: valko x fem reader
word count: 5.4k
a/n: may you forever frolic in that big forest in the sky 🕊️
“Koko! Where are you? We’re going to be late!”
Your gut swirls with worry as you check your phone again. It’s been over an hour—is he still not back from his run?
Any longer, and your reserved seats for the newest horror movie would be stolen for sure. Not that you think he’d mind, though—he usually curled up into you before the second act even started.
Peering around the backyard, you scan the dense, verdant woods in all directions. He’d never dedicated himself to any particular trail, which meant that he could return from anywhere.
It also meant that he could be anywhere right now.
Fighting a losing battle with unease, you slide your phone into your back pocket and take a few timid steps toward the forest. No matter where he was, he’d come running if you got into trouble. You knew that for certain. How many times had he jumped defensively in front of you only for a bunny or a bird to be the perceived threat? Still, the unpredictability of nature gives you pause.
Just as you inch forward a few more steps, there’s a rustle at the treeline.
You can hear that Valko's hurt before you can see it. Those breathy, frustrated whines—you’d recognize them anywhere. But where is he? How is he injured?
A wall of green stares back at you, refusing to answer.
You’re jogging toward the trees now, throwing caution to the wind as you follow the sounds of his pain. Just before you cross into the forest, you finally spot your boyfriend’s massive figure, his wine red hair being the giveaway. He’s facing a pine tree, tail stiff and laid low, touching his head and wincing repeatedly.
As he registers your scent and whips around to face you, you understand why: at least 15 black-tipped, spindly death daggers sprout from his cheeks and nose.
“Valko?” You cover your mouth in shock, and he stumbles closer, falling forward against you.
“Hurts,” he grunts.
Like always, you struggle to support his large body. Even more so now that one wrong move could further impale him. “What happened?”
“Porcupines are supposed to be nocturnal,” he says, voice grim and shaky. “This one wasn’t.”
If you had an extra hand, you’d drag it down your forehead right now.
Skunks, raccoons, exceptionally angry squirrels—those had all happened before. A porcupine, though? That was new. Almost impressive.
“You just get into all sorts of trouble, don’t you.” Taking a step back, you brace your hands on his chest to examine him. “Let me have a look at you.”
The quills look like toothpicks dipped in black ink. And while a few of them seem to have barely penetrated his skin, the majority mark the porcupine’s decisive victory.
“Can you take them out?” he asks, staring down at you pleadingly. “If we hurry, we can still make the movie on time. I know I’m super late. I’m sorry.”
Twenty of nature’s finest knives in his face, and he’s worried about the movies?
“You obviously had a reason,” you murmur, cupping his less-affected left cheek in your hand. “I don’t know if I should, Koko. The tomato bath was one thing, but this… If I do it wrong, I’ll just make it worse.”
His response is simple: “I trust you.”
Cute. But not what you need right now.
Blowing out a breath, you stand up on your tiptoes and reach for one of the looser quills. Your fingers barely brush the tip of it when renewed anxiety shoots through you. “No, no. I can’t! I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You couldn’t if you tried.” He snorts, then winces at the pain.
“Tell that to the porcupine.” You narrow your eyes. “I think it missed the memo.”
His ears swivel in acknowledgment. He’s 0–2 in battles today.
“All right, change of plans,” you announce, clapping your hands and turning on your heel. “We can go to the movies another day. Right now, we need to go to the vet.”
“It’s not that serious,” he protests. “I’d do it myself if I just had a mirror. Let’s go back to the house, and—”
“I’ll get the car ready.” Your word is final.
His ears droop atop his head.
Ultimately, you had to ease him into the passenger’s seat so he didn’t accidentally nudge any of the quills. You debated just shoving him into the trunk so he’d have extra room, but figured extraction would be a difficult task in the clinic’s often-packed parking lot.
In the waiting room, you try to shield him as best you can from quizzical looks and a particularly curious cat, but he’s without a doubt the largest patient in the room. Likewise, once he’s called to the back, his sheer size makes the exam room furniture look like dollhouse accessories. The central table is nearly the length of his tail alone, and it creaks under his every movement. But you stand dutifully at his side, making sure he’s as comfortable as can be, given the circumstances.
The vet’s entrance is prompt as always—part of the reason why Valko prefers this clinic. The other is the giant fish tank in the waiting room that he gets to busy himself with. Today, he was in too much pain, but he typically holds intense staring contests with its oblivious inhabitants, bragging to you whenever he “wins.”
“Well, I typically ask, ‘What seems to be the problem?’,” Dr. Song jokes as she shakes both of your hands. “But today, I don’t think that’s necessary.”
Sighing, Valko scratches at his jeans. “I went out for a run, and I heard something grunting in a bush nearby. I thought it might’ve been a lost pup, so I went to check it out. Anyone would, right?” He looks to you for support.
Smiling softly, you rub a hand down his back. “Right.” Not in most circumstances, no!
Nodding gratefully, he continues. “As soon as I crouched down and saw it, it whipped its tail at me. Next thing I knew, it had stabbed me a million times.”
“Well.” Dr. Song sighs and pulls out a pair of tweezers. “You’re not the worst case I’ve seen. Sometimes, it’s the whole face—and neck.” She waves her hand forward, and Valko scoots toward her on the table. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”
You take a step back to give her some space, but she quickly shakes her head. “Oh no, you stay standing next to him. I might need you to hold him down.”
──────
Right when you wonder if Valko’s death grip will shatter every bone in your hand, Dr. Song holds up the final quill in triumph. “That’s nineteen quills total. Looks like Mr. Porcupine let you off easy.”
Valko kicks the air in desolation. “Doesn’t feel like it.”
“It will when you wake up tomorrow and you don’t have to wonder, ‘How did it even get my nostrils?’,” she retorts, heading to the door. “Now, let me just get your treatment, and you’ll be free to go.”
The second she steps into the hall, Valko turns to you and whimpers. “It hurts.”
Frowning in sympathy, you run your free hand through his hair. “How bad?”
“Really.”
You start to shush him and scratch the backs of his ears how he likes, but approaching footsteps force him to regain his composure. Still, when Dr. Song re-enters the room, he holds your hand a little tighter.
“All right,” she begins. “I’m going to disinfect and put ointment on the wounds, and…” She pulls out a familiar, conical object from behind her back.
Valko freezes as soon as he sees it. Your own mouth parts in shock.
Is that…?
No way.
“...to keep them from getting infected, either through scratching or contamination, I recommend you wear this recovery cone for a week. Just to be safe.”
When she waves the transparent cone through the air, Valko sputters in consternation. “You want to put me in jail?”
“Of course not. You’ve done nothing wrong. But to prevent further irritation, it’s best that for the next seven days, you only remove this from your neck when absolutely necessary. Also, you should avoid certain skin-to-skin activities that may aggravate the entry spots.”
You understand her implication, but Valko’s tail thrashes in unease. “What…what kind of activities?”
The doctor smiles down at him. “The usual. Scenting, kissing, anything further than that. Now! Raise your head for me so I can clean the punctures.”
Before he does, Valko gives you a look that needs no decoding: I think I’m gonna be sick.
Day 1
Your keys clatter on the kitchen counter as Valko trails inside behind you.
Knowing he’ll be glum about his current confinement, you try to get ahead of it, hoping you can offset the bad with so much good, he’ll forget about being in plastic prison.
“So, is there anything you want to do this evening? Watch a drama, make double chocolate chip cookies, play a video game? I could order in from your favorite steakhouse if you want. Or we could go for a walk?”
Despite your efforts, his lips stay curved downward. His ears barely twitch at the mention of his favorite things.
“Okay, what about—”
“I look dumb,” he mumbles suddenly, blinking at you through the cone. It surrounds his head like petals to a flower, stopping just above his nose. He looks like an upright bullhorn, or perhaps a frilled lizard, but you can’t tell him that.
“You look safe,” you say instead. “That’s what matters, yeah?”
“Not when I look dumb, too.” With a huff, he reaches behind his head, eager to free himself of Conecatraz. But before he can undo the clasp, you’re crossing your arms and tapping your foot, giving him a withering glare.
“You know you aren’t supposed to touch that. Put your hands down.”
“Make me.”
Oh, really? That’s how it is?
Scoffing, you cock your head at him, and the first signs of regret appear on his face. “‘Make’ you, huh? Should I call the vet and tell her what you’re up to? I’m sure she has advice for patients who break the rules. Like, maybe if you mess with your cone too much and stunt your healing progress, you’ll just have to wear it even longer to make up for it?” You start to turn, ready to stalk toward the house phone.
“No, wait!” Lurching forward, he tries to bend down to snuggle you in apology—a favorite habit of his. But you sidestep him quickly, clicking your tongue in admonishment.
As he loses his balance, he gives you a look of ultimate betrayal.
“Don’t pout at me. I'm doing this for you, okay? You heard the doctor. Where your face is concerned, skin-to-skin contact is off limits for now.”
As if he didn't hear you, he ducks toward you again, desperate to marry his cone to your shoulder. This time, you give his arm a healthy pinch, and he yelps in shock.
“No, Koko. It's for your own good.”
Frustration grows on his face, beginning to claw at your heart, too. He’s never had to limit contact with you like this. Even when you first met, he was stuck to you like a magnet.
Sighing, you try to bring him some comfort. “Here. Get on your knees.”
He follows the order without further prompting, sinking to his knees on the kitchen floor. Even like this, he’s still half your height.
“Come here.” Reaching through the cone’s opening, you pet the top of his head, running your fingers through his soft strands with care. When he leans into your touch, you trace his ears with light strokes and smile when he shudders. Gradually, the deep frown on his face shrinks to a mild line of displeasure.
He wraps his strong arms around your thighs in a stubborn thank-you, and you can't help but coo down at him. “You’re my big, strong wolf, aren’t you? It’ll be over before you know it. You can handle this, no problem.”
Day 3
Valko could not handle it, and there were many problems.
In fact, while he was bored out of his mind the night of Day 2, he pried open his laptop and drafted a list of complaints.
Eating has become an unpleasant experience. While he’s permitted to remove the cone at mealtimes, he must eat in a separate room so your scent doesn’t lure his unprotected self over. Worse, you will not enter the room until he’s refastened the cone around his neck. The humiliation of having to cone himself solely to win your presence is quickly becoming too much to bear.
You won’t let him go on errands with you, lest he get into something he shouldn't and aggravate his wounds. This makes him incredibly restless—especially when you come home smelling like other people and things, and there’s nothing he can do about it. This causes significant anxiety and emotional distress.
He usually sleeps with his tail curled around you and his face shoved deep into your skin. This earns him a constant stream of your scent. However, a wall of pillows now separates your sides of the bed. Even worse, he is not permitted to remove the cone for the night. This causes discomfort and loss of familiarity, which undermines the restorative purpose of sleep. He will be sending you any medical bills that arise due to his sleep deprivation.
Last, but perhaps most important: the cone obstructs his view of you, which he depends on for energy throughout the day. (You’re quick to deem this one questionable, because the cone is fully see through???)
A document of his grievances was taped to your blanket, just over your heart, this morning.
Clearly, he had a lot on his mind.
Now, you lie on the sofa watching TV, trying to cuddle with him as best you can. Your fingers are intertwined, and he’s sprawled awkwardly across your lap, face up and eyes begging. You try to ignore the incessant nonverbal pleading, rubbing circles into his skin with your thumb.
Sometimes, he turns his head into your belly—or maybe a little lower—and inhales as deeply as he can through the plastic. When you gasp and swat at him, suddenly scandalized, he only huffs and grumbles, bringing you closer. “Just let me have this.”
As the sun dips in the sky, he almost relaxes. He grows captivated by the nature show you’re watching, ears going into overdrive from all the birdsongs and animal calls. It’s the calmest he’s been in the last three days, you think—until the “woodland creatures” portion of the show begins.
His mortal enemy lies in wait within.
“It’s not as big as the one that did this to me,” he growls at the porcupine stumbling around on the screen. “He was a monster.”
“I’m sure he was,” you answer automatically. You’re used to this by now. “How else could he have taken you down?”
Valko grunts in agreement, then pauses the TV. “Can we do something else now?”
“Okay.” You squint at him warily. “Something like what?”
Slowly, as if you won’t be able to see him, he trails his hand down your side, gently squeezing at your hip.
“No,” you sigh, firmly returning his hand to him.
Tuning out his protests, you unpause the show. At that moment, a closeup of the porcupine’s snout fills the screen.
“Can you at least change the channel, then?” he mumbles.
Day 5
Since you’ve known him, Valko has never been one to give up. Driven and scrupulous, he approaches life with an outlook that’s both endearing and exhausting: if not now, maybe later.
It’s no surprise, then, when his attempts to hold and claim you like normal escalate to new heights.
One time, you catch him in the midst of the most primal desperation.
It’s not even noon yet, but here he is: laid out nude in the middle of your bed, head propped on his set of pillows while he clutches one of yours to his cone. With his instincts compromised and your scent already flooding his nose, he can’t yet tell that you’ve entered the room. And boy. If you thought he was shameless in public, Valko in private is a whole different animal.
His hand is all but glued to the heavy bulk between his legs, pumping and twisting like he’ll die if he doesn’t.
His thumb circles his tip as he works his rhythm, abs flexing with each ragged breath. Every soft, broken moan of your name is an axe to your resolve.
Before you do something you’ll regret, you try to back out of the bedroom and leave. But as soon as one foot is out the door, your shoulder hits the wall with a quiet thump.
You freeze instantly, your heart dropping to your feet.
There’s no point in hoping he didn’t hear. To Valko, no sound is ever quiet.
He jerks his head toward you immediately, steady pumps getting wilder the moment your eyes meet. “Fuck,” he pants, writhing desperately on the sheets. His massive thighs tremble with every movement, sending tiny shocks of heat to your core. “Fuck.”
“Valk—”
“Please help me. Please, it hurts so bad. I need you so bad, please, it’s been days.”
You bite your lip so hard, you think you’ll draw blood. “You know I can’t.”
“I don’t care what the vet said,” he growls, fist finally coming to a stop. “I care about you.”
Clinging to resolve, you cross your arms and stay put. At that, he closes his eyes and breathes slow and deep through his nose.
“Just— Help me finish, please. You don’t have to touch anywhere near my face. That’s the rule, right?”
As that pleading stare pins you to the spot once more, you bite your lip in consideration. He’s flushed all over, and a thin sheen of sweat coats his whole body. He really does need your help, but can you risk it?
When his mask slips, letting the hungry glint in his eyes shine through, you know you can’t.
“I won’t touch you, Valko. But you can use this.” Swiftly, you tug your shirt over your head and toss it onto the bed. He catches it with ease, and behind the cone, his face contorts in bewilderment.
“Use it?”
“To finish,” you explain, folding your arms across your bra. “It’s the safest way I can help you right now.”
Gazing at you like you’re a deity reborn, he presses the fabric to his cone’s exterior, right outside his nose. As he inhales, a deep, guttural groan escapes him. “Thank you,” he pants. His hand returns to his reddened length, and he redoubles his earlier efforts.
Leaking arousal glistens on his skin, and you can hear how much easier it makes things for him. Covered in his own desire, he slides his hand up and down with no friction, creating lewd, wet sounds that echo through the room.
“Thank you, thank you— Fuck, thank you. I’ve done this like ten times already, and it’s taken me longer every go,” he admits shamelessly. “This is so much better. Not as good as you, but so much better. Thank you.”
He bucks his hips into his giant fist, and for a moment, you fear your shared bed might collapse under his ferocity. Once he starts licking the cone’s wall, as if he’ll be able to taste your shirt through the plastic, you almost want to avert your eyes and leave the two of them alone together.
You don’t have long to ponder it. Soon after, Valko comes quickly with a deep groan of your name, coating his skin in spills of white. As he convulses in pleasure, you approach his bedside to stroke his hair through the cone’s opening—just like you have for the last several days. Valko whines at your touch.
“Shh, baby. It’s okay,” you whisper. “Just two more days, yeah?”
His response is halfway between a growl and a grunt. Chuckling, you bend to kiss his damp, darkened hair. “Just two more days.”
Day 7
At 12 a.m., you wake to an empty bed. “Koko?”
There’s no response to your call. Groaning, you throw off the covers and stretch your tired limbs. Where did he run off to? It’s barely been two hours since you went to bed.
Hugging yourself to keep warm, you pad into the dark hallway. The home gym is clear, and he’s not in the kitchen sneaking chocolate. Where could he be?
It doesn’t take long to find out.
In the living room, Valko stands at the back door, gazing at the moon through the window.
He’s clad only in loose grey sweats. More notably, he’s missing his cone.
The only indication that he knows you’re there is a near imperceptible twitch of his ears. “It’s day seven, did you know that?” he rumbles.
Suddenly nervous, you shift on your feet. “I did.”
“So you also know what I’ve been missing the last seven days.” He turns to face you, eyes stormy and narrowed. “What I haven’t been able to stop thinking about. What I begged you to give me, but you refused. Acted like you were doing me a favor,” he spits out, lips curling into a snarl.
In the moonlight filtering through the window, his amber eyes are a new level of otherworldly. Pale, greyish-white slivers flicker across his chest, making his taut abs seem to ripple in front of you.
After seven days, he looks very, very grumpy.
You get the sense that you’re in trouble.
“Koko,” you start, stepping forward to placate him, “you know that’s not—”
“Don’t ‘Koko’ me,” he snaps. “That’s reserved for people I’m close with.”
Is he serious? “You know I’m closer to you than anyone.”
“Right now? After this week? I’m not so sure. But you will be.” His tail swishes behind him as he takes a menacing step toward you. “Come here,” he growls out.
“We can talk about this, but I’m not going to—”
“Three.”
“Okay, are you seriously threatening me with a countdown?”
“Two.”
“That’s my thing! You know, when you won’t let me get out of bed, or when you bite too hard, or—”
He doesn’t let you get to “one.”
When he bursts forward at superhuman speed, he doesn’t even give you the chance to run.
You’re in his arms in an instant, thrashing wildly as he tries to pull you both to the floor. “You’re heavy as fuck!” you bark at him. “Let me go!”
“No.” He overpowers you easily, lowering you to the carpet and quickly pinning you there. He only takes a moment to revel in your submission—your high squeaks and whimpers and feeble attempts to swat him off. Evidently, he has bigger plans for you.
While you wriggle beneath him, he deftly kicks off his sweats and quickly deals with your clothes. You’re wearing only a nightshirt—his, you notice all too late—and completely vulnerable to his impatience.
He rips a line straight down the middle, clumsily shrugging the worn fabric off you. While you’re too busy gawking to register his actions, he slides down your body, coming to a halt at your traitorously wet heat.
“Usually, at least a little bit of my scent lingers here,” he says, inhaling you deeply. “You’ve lost it after not taking me for so long. But we’ll fix it, won’t we?”
When you don’t respond, his eyes flash up at you. “Won’t we?”
“Y-Yeah,” you whisper, signing away your fate.
“Yeah, we will.” Surging forward, he places an open-mouthed kiss to your entrance, swirling his tongue into you without warning. His ensuing groan could start a national scandal.
“I’m gonna let you go, all right?” He nips your inner thigh. “Don’t try to run from me. I’ll catch you.”
He watches closely as he eases off of you, but there’s no need—you obey.
“Good girl,” he mocks, and you break his gaze with a huff.
Chuckling, he sweeps his hair back and lies down on the carpet, grabbing your arm and dragging you to him. “Sit on me.”
“…What?”
“My face. Sit on it.”
“…What?”
“Oh, I get it. Is this a ‘make me’ kind of thing? Well, if you insis—”
“No!” You hold your hands out in defense, grimacing when he grins at you. “You know we’ve never…done that before.”
He shrugs. “First time for everything. Hop on.”
You stay put, shaking your head with vigor no matter how hard your center pulses. “What if you can’t breathe?”
“Don’t need to.”
“I think you do, but okay.” Playing with your fingers, you search for another excuse. “What if I’m too heavy?”
Valko’s smile slips, and his top lip curls as he looks at you flatly. “Now you’re just insulting me.”
In retrospect, you should’ve known that one wouldn’t get you very far.
“Fine,” you concede shakily. Crawling toward him, you put your hands on either side of his massive body and sit down on him in a straddle. Gingerly, you scoot up, and up, and up, until your hips are right below his chin. His smirk widens all the way.
“Last chance to back out,” you offer helplessly. How would grilled porcupine taste?
“In your dreams.” In an instant, his arm shoots out behind you and guides you forward. You cry out the second your sensitive flesh meets his skin, nearly cursing from the foreign sensation.
For a moment, all he does is breathe you in. Lewd, deep inhales, trying to siphon the scent from your depths. “Missed this,” he murmurs, words slightly muffled. “Missed you. Fuck, you’re so good. You smell so good.”
You’re afraid to look down, but you don’t have to. You can hear his smile.
Instead, you look behind you, seeing that his thick, veiny length is flushed and leaking already. Your gulp echoes in your ears.
A soft press of his lips to your throbbing clit pulls you back to your senses. With another kiss, he positions the bud over his nose and your entrance over his mouth, so he’s sure to catch all your desire.
When he squeezes your hip, you know he’s asking for more. Gently, timidly, you rock against his face to appease him. Valko, though, ever observant when you’re involved, knows you’re withholding your full weight.
And he won’t have it.
Simultaneously, he delivers a sharp slap to your backside and nips your clit in warning. When you squeal out into the cool air, he soothes the sting with a searing lash of his tongue.
“I’m trying!” you cry. “Whenever we do this, I’m always the one on my back! I feel weird.”
Squeezing your hips, he lifts you up just enough to speak. “Tough.”
Then, he plops you right back down, the smack of skin on skin spreading a wildfire across your cheeks.
Eager to explore, he glides his tongue around your core, poking and prodding wherever he likes. When you arch away from the pleasure, too sensitive to stay still, he decides he’s had enough.
His tight grip on your hips is his first act of defiance. But when he starts bouncing you on his face, alternating between his mouth and nose, you’re more than ready to throw in the towel.
“Valko!” you whine. Up and down, down and up. Up and down again and again. How long has he wanted this?
A response would require a pause in his actions, so of course, he doesn’t provide one. Instead, he flattens his tongue against your clit and makes you grind your hips down onto him, like he’s nothing but an extension of you. “Valko!” you repeat, stars quickly clouding your vision.
All he offers is an unburdened grunt, clearly not planning on stopping anytime soon. And why would he, when there’s so much to lap up?
A mix of his saliva and your arousal pools between you, with sound effects previously unheard of filling the room. You’re so wet, at one point, you almost slide down his face to his forehead—but he hauls you back up with a laugh, the vibrations only exacerbating the issue. When you pull at his hair, shy and embarrassed, he merely sucks your clit into his mouth and releases it with a pop.
Captive to his relentless touch, it isn’t long before your muscles contract and release, sending more and more wetness gushing toward his waiting mouth.
Your mind is a haze as he licks you clean, making sure not to waste a single drop. You do register, though, how he inhales once again when he’s finished. “Smells like me again. That’s better.”
Thinking his wrath has exhausted itself, you feel your body deflate like a popped balloon. You’re more than ready to melt into the sheets and sleep off the worst of the aftermath.
“We should seal the deal, though. Just to be sure.”
Valko has other plans.
Before you can blink, he flips you over with force, driving your hands and knees into the carpet. When you yelp, he squeezes your backside in apology, only to slip his fingers down to your open slit. Once he confirms that you’re ready for him, he braces his hands on your hips and slides into you with ease.
Your startled gasp is his grand opportunity. As you cry out his name, he shoves his fingers into your open mouth, making you sputter and swallow around them. With his other hand, he clamps your jaw shut so you’re forced to bite him, your blunt teeth barely a threat against his skin.
All the while, he’s moaning and laughing, hips stuttering from his rapid thrusts. Each time his base slaps your backside, you feel him grow larger and larger, until you’re being speared on something you’re not sure you can take. But as your muscles contract around him once more, squeezing him with all that they have, you don’t think that matters anymore.
In tune with your own release, hot spurts shoot deep into your channel, followed by a searing, swollen pressure you don’t know if you’ll ever get used to. It’s at this point that the last of your strength crumbles. But when you start to slump into the floor, you find you can’t move too far—not without bringing Valko with you.
As you both catch your breath, locked together until the comedown, he slides his hand out of your mouth and slaps your cheek lightly, signaling for you to open your screwed-shut eyes. When you do, he sticks his drool-coated fingers into his own mouth, canines poking into his flesh as he swipes his tongue greedily.
All you can do is whine.
You don’t know when your bodies will loosen up enough for you to separate. All you know is that he’s got you here, right where he wants you, for a long, long, agonizingly long time.
──────
“Are you satisfied?” you deadpan as the beast finally tucks you into bed.
“For now.” You can hear his smirk as he flicks off the lights. Doesn’t make much of a difference, though.
It’s dawn.
“But you can check back with me in an hour. Maybe my answer will be different.”
“In an hour, I will be dead to the world and recovering from you,” you grumble. Suddenly, you purse your lips. “I’m gonna miss that cone, you know.”
Even in the dim morning light, you can see his brows furrow. “What?”
“You looked cute in it. Like a little puppy.” Reaching out, you grab his face and squish his cheeks between your fingers. “So cute.”
He scoffs and rolls his eyes, but his tail thumps the mattress. “Whatever. It did have its benefits, though. Tonight was so good, I wouldn’t mind a repeat.”
“You really think you can do that again? Seven whole days, no contact?”
“‘Course I do. It wasn’t that hard for me.”
Your eyes narrow into slits. “Not even you believe that.”
“Yeah. This was fun, though,” he says through a yawn. “We should do it again sometime. Goodnight.”
As he rolls over and tucks his tail around you, blanketing you in half his body weight, a nagging thought won’t leave your head.
Should you switch vets?
requested tags (you have been warned): @creator-freak, @hughugh20, @saineden, @driedrosesanddaffodils, @pjselee, @strawberrybananamin, @applefishiedragonluvin, @oolong-tea-leaf, @ceceoboro, @simpforsylus3, @akisashtray
These guys treated this place like it was some type of club. they would loiter around the library like it was territory they were slowly calming. and they didn’t look easy to get rid of. they would laugh like hyenas and fog the air with the smoke of tobacco. the poor regulars can’t even read or study anymore.
and as a student assistant, it was your job to handle these types of situations—student to student.
sadly, each attempt to get them to at least move somewhere else, it all ended in a flunk. they either laughed in your face or ignored you entirely.
on top of that, that guy that helped you with the books was here again. and it wasn’t even raining like last time. each time you were on the clock he seemed to be there, standing in the corner of the room. people obviously found him unsettling, but he wasn’t that much of a bother. but for some reason, you always felt his stare on the back of your neck. weird.
you felt that unsettling stare beating on you head again when you—once again—attempted to talk to those boys. it wasn’t helping. and once again you returned to the library, defeated.
rumors started to spread about that group of boys. they spoke about how they got into a fight with only one student, and they all ended up bruised almost beyond recognition.
that only meant one thing.
you found him again, smoking behind a corner with a patch on his cheek.
You cleared your throat. he shot a glare at your direction. when his saw it was you, he turned away. “what is it.” his face was suddenly flushing red. he silently cursed to himself. that was way too embarrassing to let you see.
You smiled nervously. “was it you that got rid of those guys ?”
“yeah, so what ?” he removed his cigarette from his lips.
“you’re a savior. I didn’t think those guys would leave any time soon. You’re pretty tough.” you shrugged, your smile growing more sincere. “I mean, 3 guys at once. that’s impressive.”
he clicked his tongue, his permanent scowl settling in deeper. “hah, that was nothin’,” he smirked. but his voice was fading into a soft mumble. “go away. don’t thank me for something so dumb.” ahh…his heart was racing again, and it was rushing up to his head…
oh, he couldn’t wait to hear your praise again. he got rid of them for you after all. and he would get rid of the whole school if it meant he could hear all the sweet praises you had for him…dogs do like praise after all.
New guy for the weeaboo Disney adults. And by weeaboo Disney adults I mean me of course. Meet Hugh Gardener! The characters do come with oshimoji (you put your idols emoji in your bio to show support!) his is a hat and Neo’s is the sun! (🧢 and ☀️) and their names are written similarly to Twst so their first name is first. So Mickey is Neo!
Goofy- I mean Hugh’s VA is Fumiya Imai who to my knowledge is also in EnStars? I could be wrong of course I don’t play anymore or interact with that media. But we now have two VAs from existing idol projects! I’m excited to see who we get tomorrow!
Wizard, not only would I fuck with it but I would BEG for it plsplsplsplsplsplsPLEASE
TW: fauxcest, noncon, Simon bullies you till you cum basically. Glad you guys like this cause this is a new kink I did not know I had until recently
Simon didn’t really get the whole “family” thing Price was on about until you started in the 141. He felt strange, trying to understand the dynamic- having Price as a “dad” with Soap and Gaz as “brothers.” For some reason the other two settled well into their roles, often fighting and squabbling which turned into frantic frotting which Ghost did enjoy watching. He enjoyed whimpering that he loved dad’s cock to Price when getting his black blown out, but struggled to really.. fit into the picture.
Until you.
Until you, the perfect little brother figure. Younger, your muscles softer and tone more frantic. You were bratty as hell, never listened to anyone- insisting you were just as good as them, that you wanted to come to hang outs too cause you were old enough. It became a joke among the 141, treating you like a kid- snatching cigarettes from your lips, stealing beers from your hands.
The first time Simon really fell into the big brother role was the first time he caught you masturbating. Rolled up in your cot, quivering with your hands covered in slick- howling and snarling at him to get the fuck out. He’d ripped off the mask immediately- ignoring the way you gawked at his ugly mug, or at least your surprise that he actually took it off.
“Yer not doin it right,” Simon said. “C’mon- let your big brother help.”
You looked at him like your eyes were going to bug out of your head. “My fucking what-??” You’d shouted, cut off by Simon suddenly grappling you. Yanking you around while you seethed and hissed, only quieting when he snatched you by the throat. One hand pinning your back to his chest, the other reaching down between your legs to get a better look at your t dick.
It was thick, swollen and red with need- Simon could feel his mouth fucking water just looking at it.
“See? No wonder you can’t cum- not old enough to know better, fuckin’ moron,” he grunted lowly in your ear- pinching your cock just to hear you howl and thrash.
“Simon- don’t touch that-!” You choked out, making him huff out a laugh.
“What? Don’t want your big brother touching you there? Is it gross?” He hummed, feeling his own cock throb at the words- and at the fresh slick on his fingers. You liked it- choked gasps trying to hide the way your hips jolted against his hand.
“You’re not my fucking brother you creep-!” You snarled, only to gag at the way his other hand tightened around your throat.
“Dad said so,” Simon growled, making you twitch. Embarrassed, like you hadn’t known that he knew about it- about your little arrangement with your captain. The lieutenant laughing at you sure didn’t help your shame, hand sliding from your throat to your jaw just to shake your skull- disorient you.
“Such a fuckin’ mutt, my little brother, mm? Didn’t think your brothers knew you were fucking the old man? Didn’t think we’d taste your cum on his cock?” Ghost’s hips started moving against your ass, like the memory excited him.
“C’mon- admit it. Admit you like the idea,” he murmured, his other hand starting to move faster as he jerked your little cock off. Your legs tried to kick out- only to be pinned by his bigger ones, till you were spread wide for your lieutenant.
“No! No no- you’re a fuckin- creep, Simon!” You yowl, trying to yank his hand away to no avail. His grip tightens on you, wrenching your head to the side so he can lick up the side of your face. You spit and yowl in disgust, trying to shove him away- trying to do anything to get this to stop- even as your orgasm crept closer. He could feel it, could feel the way your muscles tensed, could feel the way your cunt grew wetter and wetter.
“Your brother’s a creep huh? So what’s that make you, humpin’ my hand like a stupid dog? Admit it. Admit you like your big brother touching you,” Simon does not sound like he’s in his right mind anymore- drooling against your throat while his eyes dart between your embarrassed expression and your dick.
“No! You’re not my fucking bro- ow! Ow ow ow- Ghost! That hurts!” Your words are music to his ears, thrashing as his teeth sink into your shoulder. He knows he’s split skin immediately, the rich iron flavor of your blood soaking his tongue. Fucking hell, you tasted good!
“Then admit it, and I’ll let go,” he snarls around your flesh, desperately grinding against you at this point. He’s close too, he knows he’s going to cum the moment you do- knows he’s going to ruin his boxers, but Simon just doesn’t care right now.
“Fuck! Fuck- fine! I- I like it when- when you touch me!” You cry, desperately slapping his arm when he bites down harder. Simon growls, eyes wide and horrifying as the two of you make eye contact- you know what he wants.
“Fuck! I- I like when my big brother touches me! Jesus- fucking-!” Everything turns to white in an an instant, your orgasm crushing your mind into scattered dust. Distantly you can hear Simon cumming against you, his desperate groans cute compared to his-.. everything else. Your vision finally focuses again long after his teeth have released your bloody skin, after he’s cleaned the bite with his tongue.
His hands are wrapped around your abdomen now, lips pressing kisses into your hair as you sniffle and whimper.
“I can’t believe he told you about that,” you finally pout, whining when Simon presses a wet kiss to your cheek- oddly affectionate now.
“Tough luck, kid. You admitted it, now you’re ours,” the soldier grunted back, pinching your side just to hear you yip.
jumping for joy with the abo bloodymary & reader!!!!! absolutely delicious. chefs kiss. if you’re interested i would love to hear more of your thoughts!! maybe more abt simon’s reaction and how his instincts manifest with pup reader ? or the pair learning about what pup reader went through and how they were treated on their ship? (alphas are supposed to PROTECT their pact, why would they force a pup to sleep on the floor in a closet?? why would they deprive you of food and water??)
i absolutely adore your phm/il writings, you feed us well 🙏 i have sent so many asks at this point that i feel like i should claim a name or emoji LOL
Thank you so much! I’ve been having a ton of fun writing the PHM x IL x Reader (platonic) series and I love this idea. I always like when people expand on how a situation affects a character and other’s reactions to it.
You can totally claim an emoji or come up with a name! Claimed emojis and names are at the bottom of my introduction post, pinned at the top of my blog.
Spoilers for Project Hail Mary and Iron lung so be aware!
Reader is 20, Simon is late thirties, Ryland is early forties, Rocky is an old ass rock.
MDNI
First post
Masterlist Here!
—
Simon couldn’t think right now, pacing back and forth, biting angrily at the skin of his knuckles. He needed to keep himself in check, no outbursts or yelling. He couldn’t act like a feral beast, not when he had an anxious omega and a traumatized pup on board the Hail Mary with him.
The thought of you spiraled him back into his raging tsunami of thoughts, specifically what had happened to you. It made his hearts clench and stomach roll; you were the sweetest creature he’d ever met, it enraging him to think that anyone would dare hurt you.
The alpha in him yowled a tragic sound, his pup his pup his pup his puphispuphispup-
You came aboard from a ship he was surprised hadn’t ripped apart at the seams the moment it was sent into orbit. They found you all alone, isolated from anyone and everything. The first question you’d asked Grace wasn’t for food or who he was, but if there was an alpha around. You shook and trembled like Simon would burst out of the shadows and eat you alive. Grace told you the truth about Simon, almost sending you into a panic, but Grace’s desperate pleas to help you wrangled you into his arms.
Simon wasn’t allowed to interact with you directly until you’d gotten used to his scent, given items he scented to sleep with until seeing the man no longer sent you into a frenzy. He’d never been happier when he became one of your favorite people, becoming his sapling, his pup.
It was still so weird to say. He never thought he’d have a pack, nevermind a pup of his own.
Now that he was spending time with you, more concerning behaviors began popping up besides the general anxiety and unrest. He watched you hoard your items, hiding them away to try and keep them from Simon, Grace, and Rocky. You hissed whenever someone came near your food, refused to go near the controls whenever he manned them, and would ask for things you truly didn’t need to ask for. (Seriously. Who asks if they can drink water? Or use a bed?)
You didn’t like being touched by Simon often, stayed hidden whenever anyone on the ship argued in the slightest, and hated being on the cold floor for any reason.
It all came to a head when Simon was manning the controls and invited you up to show you how to fly the ship. He showed you the switches and buttons, the commands, screens, but he couldn’t help but notice how scared you looked. He slowly reached out to comfort you, startling back when you flinched so hard you stumbled and slammed into the wall. His stomach dropped when you slid to the floor, covering your head and hiding your face away in your knees. You apologized and apologized and apologized.
Simon was so confused, worry staining his scent as he frantically called for Grace. The blonde was able to carry you back to the nest and lay you down, lulling you to sleep with a calming scent and a quiet movie.
Grace asked what had happened, but Simon had zero clue, “I was showing them how to fly the ship, but they panicked when I reached for them.” The two men tried to come up with any reasonable answer, but they didn’t have to for long. Rocky stood up, suddenly very serious, “Rocky thinks it has something to do with blood in control panel on old ship. Bad bad bad.”
“What?..” Grace looked horrified by the implications, “you don’t think..” Simon shook his head, not wanting Grace to finish the thought, “No! No. They wouldn’t-“
“They starve [Name]. Condemn to floor to sleep. Bully. Rocky not put past nasty human to hurt worse.” Rocky’s voice, even through the translator, sounded incredibly hostile. Simon felt the same way, a bubbling fury building up in him, hand shaking and teeth clenching.
He turned away and stepped out of the room, hauling himself up in the storage room, where he was still currently pacing.
Alphas on Eden weren’t perfect, actually- a lot of them weren’t, but an alpha always put their pack first. Pack members got fed first, pups were cared for by alphas and omegas alike, pups (yours or not) were fiercely defended. What kind of self-respecting alpha makes a pup scared to eat? Scared to sleep? Scared to exist? It wasn’t right!
Don’t even get him started on how you were in space in the first place. He’ll explode. Simon will explode and destroy the storage room.
He had to fix this. If Simon was anything, if he’d changed at all, he was a fixer. He protected his small pack and that included you.
He took a deep breath to settle his nerves before leaving the storage room, unable to get the sour tinge out of his scent. He waited until you woke up, sitting outside the nest. You looked embarrassed, turning away from his gaze, “I’m sorry..I didn’t mean to freak out like that.”
“No. I’m sorry.” You blinked, turning to Simon in disbelief, “what?” God. Had no one ever apologized to you before? That almost had Simon boiling over, but he breathed through it,
“I said I’m sorry. I know you’ve been through a lot. I know whoever you went on your mission with didn’t treat you right. I need to be more mindful of that, especially since I’m an alpha.” Your eyes couldn’t be any wider, blinking slowly as Simon waited for a reply. Your mouth hung open the slightest bit, searching Simon’s face for any chance of deceit, surprised when you didn’t find any.
The reply was you bursting into tears, reaching out for him to let him scoop you up in his arms. Simon knew you were safe with him, he just had to convince you.
From that day forward, Simon had become much more careful and patient with you, doubling his efforts to make you feel safe. He didn’t touch unless you did, didn’t take you near the controls or ask you to be there, always made sure Rocky or Grace was nearby if you were with him, scented things for you to wear or put in the nest, and purposefully gave you all your meals and water. He made it clear he’d share, be kind, and leave you be.
His hard work paid off, watching you smile more, be open, laugh and rough house without the fear of being hurt. It came to a head when you offered Simon some of the scarce real food they had on the ship, something pretty and sweet he didn’t know the name of. If you asked him if he’d teared up, he would’ve denied it, but the swiping over his eyes gave him away.
“Hey Simon?” He looked down at you, holding back tears that still threatened to spill, “What’s up sapling?”
“Could I- only if it’s okay with you of course! But- uh- I call Grace dad..could I call you dad too? Or pa? Or something?..” all the restraint is Simon immediately snapped, ugly sobbing as he hugged you, “of course you can! What the fuuuuck.” You chuckled, holding onto him and trying to soothe, “Don’t cry!”
“You’re my puuup! You’re my pup and I love you so muuuuch!” He picked you up like you weighed nothing, reminding Simon that they needed to get more food in you, but he needed to hold you for a second. Just a second.
You were his pup.
—
That’s it for now! Hope you enjoyed! Have a nice day and stay safe!
Summary: Everything was supposed to be better when you got your own apartment to call home. So when you got home one day, why was was there some weird guys in your home?
Note: I know I tend to leave the relationships up to interpretation and not divulge into it too much, but know that Ortho’s part is NOT romantic. His part is purely platonic, more like he’s seeking another sibling relationship/dynamic. Whenever I wrote for Ortho, it will always be platonic, it will NEVER be romantic. [ Added ] FINALLY. It’s finished. I feel like it’s way longer than the first part despite there being the same amount of characters and trying to keep the content amount the same. On google docs it says it’s about thirty-four pages. Please, I really hope you guys like this one because I worked hard on it and it took a while. Plus I kept getting stuck on parts.
put the full version on patreon just to be safe... (you can view it for free)
he also likes it when you detaches his limbs... </3 freak
(you can put them back later)
(isn't this kind of like bondage with extra steps?)
the beastmen Should be marking Yuu with their pee. in a more enlightened world this would be common knowledge
Hello again cutest Weather! Hmm… This is something I’ve always gone back and forth on personally. Like there are things I can see as canon and some things I see as ‘stereotypes’ for beastmen.
Jack does confirm it is an instinct..? Or it’s a culture thing for beastmen to have lifelong partners. Like he’s discussing marriage and he hasn’t even found someone to marry… Slow down Jack… Let’s find someone to go to dinner with first…
I think with urination marking it may depend on the guy/situation/species… Lions and large cats tend to ‘spray’ on things to mark their territory or stake claim. But also seeing Leona piss on the side of Ramshackle is kinda funny… His animal brain told him he has to so no one else will get close… Ignore it…
I think Yuu/MC/Reader would also depend… Again if this is human Yuu we have to keep in mind maybe they aren’t as inclined or open to being pissed on… Or pissed inside of… Ah I’m of course not opposed but I think it would be interesting sexual world building… Maybe he comes to you saying it’s normal in beastman society and that you’re free to pee on him also but… Sometimes fluids aren’t for everyone.
Also maybe he’s lying and he’s just really into pee hahaha!~!
