୨୧ ― Caleb has spent his entire adolescence and young adulthood rejecting every admirer who threw themselves at him- returning their homemade lunches, turning down their confessions, never once letting anyone get close enough to touch him like that.
He was too focused. Too loyal. Too busy dreaming about the girl who'd grown up beside him, the one whose birthday made up half of his passwords.
His girl.
And now, finally, after all this time, he has you exactly where he's dreamed of you for almost a decade- beneath him, looking up at him with those wide, trusting eyes.
God, she's really here. She's really letting me-
His internal thought cuts off when he hears your sweet voice.
"C-Caleb-," you whine pitifully, fat tears beginning to bead along your lower lashes as you squirm beneath him in his apartment you've slowly been turning into a home... "I- I don't think-"
"What's wrong?" He sounds almost boyish in his confusion, purple eyes soft with concern as he brushes sweaty hair from your forehead, "Did I do something-"
"S'too big."
He blinks, tilting his head like the adorable idiot he is, "I'm... no, I'm sure I'm average? I mean, I haven't really compared, but…" his words trail off…
Caleb can do nothing but stare...
How your poor little cunt is struggling, quivering, lips stretched obscenely trying to swallow the first few inches of him...
His length is ridiculous- he realizes that now with sudden, dawning clarity, watching nearly half of his shaft still jutting out from where your bodies meet.
Despite how wet he's gotten you with his fingers and tongue and desperate grinding- despite the slick mess coating your inner thighs, the way you'd gushed around two of his knuckles, the way you'd soaked his chin when he'd eaten you out… you're still barely able to take him.
He'd always assumed those whispered comments from classmates back in high school were idle gossip. Locker room flattery he was too humble to believe -even now during showers on the fleet-. Girls giggling behind cupped hands, guys clapping his shoulder with that knowing look...
But now-
Fuck.
Now he understands as he watches you try to adjust.
Watching how your belly flutters with each shallow breath, watching your thighs tremble where they're spread wide around his hips. Watching the visible bulge of himself pressing up against the soft give of your lower stomach when he sinks another inch deeper and you let out this broken little whimper that makes his balls tighten.
He's ruining you. Reshaping you. Your tight little hole wasn't built for this, wasn't made for a cock this fat, this long, this mean- and he can't decide if the thought makes him want to pull out and apologize or grab your hips and bury himself to the hilt just to watch you fall apart.
"Shh, shh, hey." His voice has dropped low, rougher than you've ever heard it, and there's something dark flickering in those usually playful eyes. That possessive edge he's hidden for years, now surfacing as he stares down at where his thick cockhead is trying desperately to sink into your fluttering hole, "I've waited so long for this, Pips... For you. We're going to make it fit, okay? I'll take care of you, just like i always have."
His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away the tears that threatened to spill. So gentle. So caring. So him.
And then his other hand pins your hip to the mattress as he snaps forward, burying every fat inch inside you in one brutal thrust.
"AHHH- CALEB!!" Your scream tears through his quiet apartment, back arching clean off the sheets as your cunt is forced to stretch around him, walls clenching and spasming helplessly against the intrusion.
It's too much -he's too much-, splitting you open on a cock that has no business being attached to a man who watches you like that. All soft, starving devotion. A loyal pup at the feet of its goddess, even while he wrecks you.
"Pips- oh, fuck, there we go," Caleb groans, and his voice is absolutely wrecked, those pretty eyes rolling back slightly as he bottoms out. His pelvis grinds against yours, the root of him stuffed so deep you can feel him in your goddamn stomach. "You're so tight- shit, is it always like this? Is this-"
"Y-you're my f-first too, you idiot," you sob, and something breaks in his expression.
First. I'm her first. She waited for me too.
"Oh, Pipsqueak," he breathes, and now both hands are cradling your face while his hips stay perfectly still to let you adjust. His cock twitches inside you, and you keen. "My sweet girl. I didn't know. I didn't-" He drops his forehead to yours, breath ragged, "I thought- I would've been gentler, I would've-"
"N'just-" You gulp for air, body quaking, "just stay still. M'need to -hah- adjust"
He nods, pressing apologetic kisses all over your tear stained face while his massive length pulses inside your stretched out cunt. But even as he soothes you, that darker part of his mind is calculating.
If I keep her on my cock long enough... if I fuck her through it over and over... her body will learn. She'll mold to me. Only me. She won't be able to take anyone else after this...
Good.
And when your walls finally relax enough for him to move, rolling his hips in a slow, devastating grind that makes your eyes roll back... Caleb learns something else about himself that night...
You had just entered Valko’s research lab, hoping to possibly catch him for a little lunch break together.
As the door slid shut behind you, you paused to look around. Your eyes were pulled by the various beeping and blinking of the advanced tech surrounding you, but there was no sign of the redhead anywhere.
“Valko?!” You called out, to no response. Stepping deeper into the facility, you reminded yourself that he had granted you unrestricted access to his equipment, space, and personnel; You figured he certainly wouldn't mind you making yourself at home while you waited.
Then, a gleam in the corner of your eye drew your attention. You turned to look at it, only to find Valko’s nightprowl suit, all pristine and shiny, displayed in a sleek glass case. A devious idea popped into your head. I meannn, he did say you could use anything you wanted.
So there you were, drowning in the enormous jacket. You had initially intended to try on the whole suit, but the boots alone proved to be absurdly heavy, tiring your feet after just a few steps. Realizing the rest of the gear would be just as exhausting, you settled for just the overcoat, the one that spanned Valko's entire length, complete with the hood and ear slots.
You had to admit, though, that it was insanely comfy. The hem of it, which almost hit Valko's feet when he wore it, was now pooling at the floor, acting as a makeshift mop as you walked around the lab. The hood, meanwhile, completely covered your head, and in fact half your face too, the ear pockets flopping around without the usual support Valko’s ears provided.
You told yourself you'd put it back before he came, but the plush warmth draping over your shoulders made it too easy to delay, until the man himself finally came back into his office.
Uh oh. You sheepishly turned around to the sound of a door clicking shut, finding Valko standing there with his head tilted and a brow cocked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in amusement. Yet, when he caught the full view of you when you turned around, his breath hitched and his eyes darkened imperceptibly. He noticed how small and vulnerable you looked enveloped in his gear, your face caught in a guilty expression with those droopy, puppy-like ears adorning your head.
Obviously, Valko was a werewolf. And he was well aware that this came with certain... wolfish instincts. Yet right now, how intensely territorial he felt towards you surprised even himself, and it took him all his will to not immediately pin your small body up against a wall and shove his dick in you all the way till you were filled with him.
“Valko– I need a break- hic,” you whimpered breathily, your voice utterly tired from the hours he’d spent dutifully worshipping you and your practically abused hole.
“I know love, just a little bit longer. You’ll hold out for me, won't you?” he cooed. But contrasting with his gentle voice, his pace didn't seem to falter in the slightest. His pupils were blown out to the point where no iris was shown, looking at you draped over one of his desks, entirely naked, the heavy jacket long since discarded on the floor.
You twitched under his tight grip, stupidly big hands enough to wrap around your waist entirely. You initially already had a hard time adjusting to his cock, taking a long time of him just eating you out before you could even begin to handle it. But what made it worse later on was his goddamn knot.
Every ounce of restraint vanished from him, making you endure round after round of him filling you with his seed, his knot keeping everything inside you. Yet, after a point, even that didn't stop his cum from leaking out. The deranged man almost lost his mind when he saw that, shoving everything back with his dick and fingers, hellbent on breeding you till your womb practically inflated from all that was pumped into you.
And oh did he love to see it, “ngh- Just so adorable for me aren't you pup,” he said, more to himself than you, shoving his thumb in your mouth, moaning as you immediately sucked on it. “Such a good girl. You’ll let me cum in you again yeah?”
“W-wait, no more,” you barely managed out. All the pressure inside your cunt was making you dizzy, and you would be kidding yourself if you said you could take any more, but Valko obviously had other plans.
He moved his hands to let one rub on your clit, while the other, cruelly nonetheless, pushed onto where your belly bulged out. The pressure of it all made you explode yet again, an orgasm crashing through you intensely, your mind blanking out till all you could think of was him and his massive fucking cock.
Valko smirked, his canines showing through as he took a little advantage of your clouded state. “Please? You want my babies dont you, want me to breed you full till we have a damn litter.”
He leaned forward to kiss your fucked-out self, the two of you moaning into each other's mouths as you completely lost yourself to the pleasure.
♡ Bunny's Note: Sorry gng, not even Bunny is immune to writing the wolf with a breeding kink. I know it’s cliché but I couldn't help it, the idea sounded way too hot in my head😣 ₍ ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎
He’s “just stretching” when he reaches over and pulls you into his lap while you’re trying to fold laundry. He’s “just making sure you’re warm” when he wraps his big arms around you and tucks you against his chest. He’s “just checking” when he leans down to nuzzle the top of your head for the fifth time in ten minutes.
You’re not even mad. How could you be?
Especially when his tail is wagging so hard behind him it’s practically creating a breeze, and his ears keep twitching happily every time you relax into him.
“You’re clingy today,” you tease, tilting your head back to look up at him.
“Am not,” he mumbles, but the way he immediately tightens his hold around your waist says otherwise. He buries his face in your neck, breathing you in like he needs it to survive. “Just like having you close. That’s all.”
You giggle and reach up to scratch behind one of his ears. The second you do, a low, happy rumble vibrates in his chest and his tail starts thumping even faster against the couch.
“Uh huh. Sure, big guy.”
He pretends to huff but ends up pressing a bunch of soft kisses along your shoulder instead, tail still going crazy. You’re both smiling like idiots.
Eventually he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes soft and warm.
“…Can we stay like this a little longer?” he asks, suddenly shy.
You melt instantly, cupping his face and pulling him down for a proper kiss.
“Of course, baby. As long as you want.”
Valko’s tail does a full happy spin behind him as he tucks you closer again, perfectly content being your personal radiator.
oh no! today just happens to be peak ovulation day...
STARRING: caleb, sylus, zayne, xavier, & rafayel [separate] x f!reader
CW: needy bsf!caleb, dry humping | husband!sylus, breeding | lots of reader solo play (sorry snow girlies i failed us w this one), mirror sex | light somno?, eating out | teasing, orgasm denial
happy late valentines day <3 i hope i proofread good enough lol
✮⋆˙— caleb
The soft glow of the tv is the only light in the room, flickering blues and golds across the walls. Rain taps gently against the windows in a soothing beat, an excuse you happily use to curl a little close to Caleb on the couch. Best-friend movie nights were a ritual. You never missed them. Caleb never missed them. One night a month where the world didn't exist and it was just the two of you, uninterrupted.
And tonight just happened to be the night for your body to betray you.
You’d been squirming for the last five minutes, trying to find a position that doesn’t make you hyper-aware of the stickiness that won't stop gushing into your panties. First you’re to hot, then you’re too cold. Every brush of the blanket feels like too much.
You huff and pull back from Caleb, slumping into the cushions and pretending to watch a scene you haven’t followed for the last twenty minutes.
He glances sidelong. “You alright?”
You nod too fast, cheeks heating as you tug the blanket higher, squishing your thighs together, praying the movement looks causal.
“Are you sure? You’ve been… I dunno… weird tonight.”
“Weird?” you squeak. “What do you mean?”
Caleb turns fully toward you, and you stubbornly keep your gaze locked on the screen. Something shifts in the air under his attention, the room warming and suddenly shrinking two sizes too small.
“Hey,” his voice is gentle. “Look at me.”
You swallow hard, finding your will, and turn your head.
Caleb’s eyes are wide, but not with concern alone. They drift over the blanket wrapped around your body, then back to your face, soft but intent.
“You don’t have to lie,” he murmurs. “I can tell you’re uncomfortable.”
“I’m not!” you defend quickly. “I could never be uncomfortable with you. I’m just… having one of those days…”
“Yeah?” His voice drops then, like he already knows. He shifts just an inch closer and it makes everything worse. “Y’know you don’t have to lie to me, pips.”
You close your eyes, exhaling. He’s not going to let it go.
“It’s just… that day during my cycle,” you mutter, fingers twisting in the blanket. “It… makes me all flustered and…” you trail off, never more embarrassed.
“Can I help?”
Your eyes snap open. “W-What?”
“Can I help?” he repeats, already moving closer to crowd your space. Large arms brace on either side of your hips. His gaze goes hazy, hungry in a way you’ve never let yourself notice before. “Please?”
You choke on a gasp, the sound breaking into a needy whine. Your mind pulls in two opposite directions–your pussy throbbing helplessly at the offer while your heart twists at how much could change if you give in.
The decision is made for you. Caleb sees the hesitation, but the desire in your eyes win. His lips crash onto yours.
You melt instantly. Of course you do. Your fingers tangle in his hair, dragging him close while you pant into his mouth like you’ve been craving this for far longer than just tonight.
Your heart pounds in time with the pulse between your thighs, completely soaking you through the dainty fabric.
No more words. Caleb's hands do the talking, rough and impatient as they yank your shorts down your legs. His gaze immediately darts to your panties and he groans low in his throat.
“Oh my… fuck…” he breaths, already shoving his sweats down. “Why didn’t you let me help you earlier?”
“I–I was embarrassed.” You admit, failing against the cushions.
“You never have to be embarrassed, baby…” the pet name curls around you, warm and possessive. “Never for this.”
He settles over you, sweats pushed low but boxers still on. His cock is painfully hard, straining against the fabric, but he doesn’t touch himself—just presses the thick length right against your soaked, cotton covered core.
You gasp, the contact is electric, exactly what your pussy’s been begging for. Caleb dips down and captures your lips, the kiss turning messy almost instantly. You cling to each other, exhaling loud out of your noses to not separate. His hips drag, pulling sweet little whines from your throat.
Caleb’s lip part as a raw moan slips free, his lips still dragging wet kisses across yours. He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes half-lidded and completely fixated, like he can’t believe this is real. The hard line in his boxers grinds against the thin cotton covering your heat again.
Best friends definitely weren’t supposed to be doing this. But the forbidden edge tastes so sweet, and the simple, devastating fact that it’s him, only makes it more addictive.
You lift your hips aggressively, chasing friction when the head of his cock brushes your swollen clit through the layers. Your panties are drenched now, letting him slide easily, every drag spending sparks up your spine. The wrongness of it, the rightness of him, is intoxicating.
Your sweet, protective best friend, reduced to nothing but a man desperate for any form of contact from you.
“Pips…” he groans, pressing harder. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
A wicked smirk curves your lips before you pull him back into a messy, open-mouthed kiss that's full of a hunger neither of you wishes to hide. Your teeth sink into his bottom lip, then your tongue soothes the sting.
His large hands roam up from your hips to squeeze your breasts through the thin fabric of his t-shirt you’d stolen tonight. You–all bare legs, skimpy panties, and his shirt–has him twitching in his boxers.
“Fuck…” he pants, pulling back from the kiss, but never stilling his shallow thrusts. Conflict suddenly flashes in his eyes. “We…we shouldn’t be—ah!—doing this.”
You manage a sweet, dangerously innocent voice, slowly rocking your hips—just once, over his throbbing need. “W-Why not, Caleb? You’re just helping me. We’re…mmph…not doing anything wrong.”
He groans at the obvious lie, bracing himself on his forearms to suspend his weight over you. His muscles are wound tight, straining against his restraint, which crumbles with his next sentence.
“I need to… see you,” he grunts. “See what I’m doing to you, pretty girl.”
Before you can think, his trembling hand hooks your panties aside. The choked sound he makes at the sight of your glistening, swollen pussy, goes straight to your core, then he’s slamming his still-clothed cock right over your directly exposed wetness.
His hips lose rhythm, jerking wildly in a desperate, uncoordinated rut. His cock throbs violently in his boxers, chasing a release he can’t hold back. The friction is filthy, intoxicating, your whimpers mixing with his wrecked moans.
“So beautiful…” he murmurs, eyes fluttering shut. “God, you’re so beautiful, honey.”
The most captivating sounds spill from Caleb’s lungs, a mix of whimpers and guttural moans as a sudden warmth blooms and soaks the material of his boxers, seeping out onto your puffy core. He collapses forward, breathing ragged against your ear.
“Did you just–”
“Mhmm…” he hums, voice shaky but completely unashamed. “All in my boxers. I couldn’t help it.”
You huff a gentle laugh, still trembling with want, thighs slick and aching. “Wanna do it inside me now?”
✮⋆˙— sylus
Your bare feet pad into your shared bedroom, steam spilling out behind you and curling along the ceiling like a lingering sigh. Droplets cling to your skin, sliding down the curve of your throat and between your breasts before disappearing beneath the collar of your robe. You tug the fabric tighter, shifting your hips as the restless heat returns low in your belly.
The bath had meant to ease the tension that haunted you all day, yet all it’s done is make you more aware of it.
To your surprise, Sylus sits propped up against the headboard in nothing but a pair of black pajama pants, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, a book open in his hand. He must have returned home while you were submerged.
The second you step into the room, his gaze lifts slowly and pins you in place. The pupils in his eyes widen, something soft but hungry in his gaze.
He knows exactly what today is.
“Come here,” he says sweetly, patting the mattress beside him.
You oblige without hesitation, climbing onto the bed and crawling up the sheets before flopping onto your stomach with a muffled groan. The cool fabric against your flushed skin makes you shiver.
“You didn’t enjoy your bath?” he hums, palm gliding over your robe-clad back in slow, soothing passes that only only makes the ache worse.
“No, I did,” you mumble into the pillow. “I’m just…” your voice trails off, embarrassment tangling your tongue. The words feel too exposed, even to your husband.
“I know.” His tone drops, husky and threaded with quiet amusement. “You’re so warm.”
The mattress dips as he shifts to settle behind you. Strong fingers slip to your front to find the tie of your robe and loosen it, peeling the damp silk from your shoulders. His lips follow the path of exposed skin, pressing hot, lingering kisses along your shoulder blades.
“You even smell sweet today,” he murmurs against your skin.
Heat floods all over again, a slick gush seeping from your sweet hole and onto the mattress. A quiet whimper slips free as you lift your hips, brushing your ass back against the firmness straining beneath his pajama bottoms.
“Sylus…” you breathe.
“Yes, kitten?” his hands slide down to your hips, thumbs kneading the soft skin. “Use your words.”
He rolls his hips forward in a slow grind, letting you feel the heavy weight of him exactly where you’re aching most.
“I need you…” you whimper, voice small.
Sylus smirks, peppering kisses just beneath your ear. “And why do you need me?”
You're grateful your face is buried in the mattress because your cheeks burn instantly. His teasing is gentle, but relentless–he wants to hear it.
“Because…” you swallow. “you know… ‘m ovulating.”
Sylus groans as he presses his cock deeper against you. Your robe is peeled down your arms, the silk whispering against your skin as it gives way before it’s tossed aside. Cool air kisses your heated skin, replaced quickly by the warmth of his body hovering over yours.
“Is that so, kitten?” his hands trails down your bare back, fingers tracing every dip of your spine. “Do you want me to take care of that for you?”
“Please.”
A kiss is pressed to your head before he lifts himself long enough to push his pajamas down. You feel him a second later, the gentle tap of his cock once against your ass, a bead of precum smearing onto your skin. The sensation makes you shudder, hips instinctively pressing back for more.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with admiration as his hands spread over your lower back, keeping you still. “You’re so wet for me.”
His cock drags slowly between your slick folds, the glide torturously slow. You can feel every vein, every pulse, your pussy clenching around nothing as he coats himself in your arousal. Praise falls from his lips in soft murmurs—good girl… so sweet… so ready for me—each word sending another wave of heat through you.
When he finally lines himself up and begins to push inside, it's agonizingly slow. Sylus wants you to feel every stretch until you’re gasping into the sheets, fingers curling into the favor. His hand rubs soothing circles into your hip while his forehead presses between your shoulder blades.
At first, it’s gentle. Deep, steady thrusts rock your body forward, the headboard tapping the wall in rhythm. But your soft, broken mewls and the way you push back against him, smearing your slick heat across his abdomen, wears down that compose.
Fingers dig into your hips, tightening until you’re certain the marks will linger. The pace quickens, each thrust landing harder than the last, the quiet room filling with the wet sounds of skin meeting skin and the desperate hitch of your cries. He has you exactly where he wants you.
Well, almost.
His arm snakes around your waist while his other hand splays possessively across the top of your spine. The weight of him forces your body into a deep, supplicating arch that maximizes the depth.
There.
He grunts a low, satisfied sound as your walls flutter around him in reply to the new angle. “You like that, sweetheart?”
A round of sharp, breathless inhales answers his question. “Y-yes–hicc–y-yes!”
His hips surge forward violently at the sweet sound, losing any remaining gentleness.
“I’m so deep like this, kitten,” he gasps, each word punctuated by the heavy slam of his cock driving into you again and again. “Could stuff you so full right now…”
A needy whine spills from you, drool dampening the pillow as pleasure muddles coherent thoughts. “C-Could you n-now?” The question tumbles out with a desperate sincerity between gasps.
Sylus leans forward, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. “I could. And you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
A shudder runs down your spine as he pulls you upright against him, your back flushed to his chest. Your head falls onto his shoulder, baring your throat. He takes immediate advantage, slowing his frantic rhythm to deep, punishing thrusts that make your toes curl while his lips work at the sensitive skin of your neck, sucking dark love bites onto the supple skin.
“You’re already so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice thick with affection as he drags himself out to the tip before slamming back in, forcing a sob from your lips. “Imagine how beautiful you’d be swollen with me right—”
His hand slides from your waist to your stomach, palm spreading wide as his fingers splay possessively over the skin there.
“—here.”
Your eyes flutter shut as the image floods your mind—round and full of him. The thought alone makes your pussy clench, slickness leaking down his length in a fresh rush.
“Oh, you’d let me, wouldn’t you, kitten?” His hand glides upward, fingers curling around your jaw, firm but tender as he tilts your face back towards his. He needs to see you, need to see the honesty in your eyes. “You’d let me fuck a baby into you?”
The words ignite something molten in your core, spewing a string of moans from your lips. Your gaze locks with his, and the seriousness in his expression steals what little breath you have left.
His grip on your jaw tightens just enough to keep your focus as his thrusts pick up again. “Words. Use them.”
“Y-Yes,” you sputter.
“Yes what, sweetheart?”
“Yes I’d l-let you—hah!—fuck a b-baby into me, Sy!”
A strangled growl tears from his throat. Your answer unlocks something feral in him. His pace turns ruthless, ramming his cock into you with one intention.
“Gonna fuck you so full, sweetie,” he promises hoarsely. “I’ll make sure it—nngh—takes.”
He’s already throbbing inside you, completely captivated by the sheer thought of getting you pregnant. His lips crash against yours in a heated, desperate kiss, swallowing your moans as his movements grow sloppy with need. With a groan that rumbles through both of you, his tip slams against your soft cervix, releasing hot pulses of his seed. He doesn’t stop, rolling his hips in slow thrusts to ensure it took.
When he finally stills, he rests his sweaty forehead against yours, a dazed smile tugging at his lips.
“We have to ensure it takes, kitten,” in a smooth motion he flips you both, letting you sit atop him. “Show me how badly you want it.”
✮⋆˙— zayne
You watch the clock tick past, the small hand resting on the hour, officially signaling that Zayne is off shift.
Unfortunately, he still won’t be home for at least another hour. Judging by his lack of reply to your texts, there’s probably mountains of paperwork, last-minute calls, and traffic standing between him and this house. You’ll be lucky if you see him before nightfall.
You groan, slumping against the edge of the bed, tilting your head back to stare at the ceiling. The one day you really need Zayne, and he’s nowhere in sight.
Your body aches with need, each pulse a reminder that ovulation has turned you feral. Heat blooms in your lower belly, soaking your panties, and you can't stop pressing your thighs together to try and relieve it.
Your gaze flicks to the mirror. Your reflection stares back with flushed cheeks. You bite your lip and glance at the clock again. There is a solution.
Zayne will probably be exhausted when he gets home. If you take care of yourself now, you can tend to him later.
Fuck it.
With zero ceremony, you kick off your shorts, the fabric of your soaked panties clinging to your pussy. Your cheeks burn an even deeper crimson as you push them down, peeling away the damp material and leaving your lower half exposed to the reflective glass.
Desperation makes your movements sloppy. Your fingers dip inside your dripping cunt, index and middle finger instantly slick with your need. You twitch as they withdraw, then drag up to twirl them in gentle circles over your swollen clit, shivering at the surge of pleasure.
A tiny moan escapes your lips, high and breathless. It's been a while since you’ve touched yourself solo—because you usually have Zayne. But tonight, he’s just an image in your head, and that thought alone is enough to make you squirm.
You mimic his touch, spreading your folds and teasing your swollen bud just like he would. Stop. Start. Your hips lift instinctively, chasing the delicious burning building in your core.
“Z-Zaynie…” you whimper to the air, eyes flicking to your reflection, watching your pussy flutter around what would be his cock if he were here. Your thighs threaten to slam together, but you force them apart.
You lose yourself in the sensation of your fingers' newfound rhythm. Pressure builds, threatening to boil over the edge. Your breath catches, lips parting in moans that are muffled but urgent.
And then—
Your eyes snap open and they aren’t just seeing you in the mirror. Zayne is in the doorway, tie loosened from work. His expression is unreadable, but dangerously hungry. His arms are crossed, like he’s trying to seem annoyed—but you know that look. He’s definitely turned on and fully amused by your shame.
“Shit—mmgh—Zayne—!” you squeak, yanking your hand back and slamming your thighs together as if that could hide the evidence of your crime.
He steps in slowly, never breaking eye contact as he sets his glasses on the nightstand.
“It’s not—” you start, then stop, as you realize it is. “I’m sorry, I just… ugh.” You bury your face in your hands, cheeks burning hotter than ever.
“There’s no need to be ashamed,” he says evenly, taking a single step in the room. “Continue.”
You glance at him, confused. “But Zayne—“
“Did I misspeak?” His voice is unnervingly calm.
“N-No,” you stammer. “B-But I don’t understand. I only did it because you weren’t here, and now that you are—”
“That doesn’t change anything.” He interrupts, voice low and commanding. “You were doing it when I wasn’t here. You couldn’t wait. So go ahead. Finish without my help, just like you intended all along.”
A shiver runs through you. His words are cold, but utterly thrilling. You stare at him, searching for a crack in his expression that isn’t there.
Swallowing your embarrassment, you part your thighs again and place your hand back between your legs. The time you look at him—not at the mirror—as your fingers slide inside yourself. Your slick folds glisten under the bedroom light, fully displayed for him, yet he doesn’t even look. Zayne moves around the room, loosening his cuffs, rolling his shoulders, and going about his normal post-shift like you’re not bare and dripping a few feet away.
The normalcy of it makes your stomach twist. He’s doing it on purpose, and every second he doesn’t look is a silent command to keep going.
So, you continue. The pressure builds, unbearable now, and you bite your cheek to hold back a moan. “Zayne…” you pant, eyes fluttering shut as you buck helplessly into your own hand.
Before you can register it, he’s crouched beside you. His presence is sudden, the faint scent of soap and hospital antiseptic clinging to his skin. When his voice comes, it’s soft, but firm. “Are you going to come?”
You nod, breath hitching, unable to answer. His hand darts out, cradling your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek as he tilts your face towards the mirror.
“Watch.”
You whimper, locking onto your reflection in the glass. Your fingers move of their own accord, gliding across your puffy clit as you push yourself over the edge. Your body trembles and tips sideways, instinctively leaning against him as the waves roll through you.
But he isn’t done with you.
You can’t even fully recover, because suddenly he’s pushing off his pants, his cock springing free before he’s settling in right behind you. One hand tugs greedily at your shirt, dragging the fabric up and off so your tits spring free, nipples tightening instantly in the cool air at the heat of his stare in the mirror.
“C’mon,” he orders quietly, fingers digging into your hips as he guides you back. “Ride me.”
You flush as you move to hover over him, still sensitive from your release. The reddened tip of his cock nudges against your entrance, smearing the sticky precum as you line him up with shaky hands.
“You get so needy when you’re ovulating,” he murmurs, amusement threading through the lust as he fixates where you will be joined. His hips raise once to poke your entrance in impatience.
“H-How do you–”
He chuckles under his breath, nipping your shoulder. One hand slides up your side to pinch your perked nipple, then swipe the bud of his thumb over it to soothe the sting. “You think I don't know my sweet girl?”
You whine and shake your head before you sink slowly onto his length, a lewd moan spilling free as the stretch makes your thighs tremble all over again.
But the pace is too slow for Zayne. His fingers flex, then grip your hips and pull you down until you're seated flush against him, his swollen tip nudging your cervix.
“Is it better than your fingers, love?” he asks, lips brushing the curve of your spine as his hand smooths up your back, pressing lazy kisses against the overheated skin.
“Mmm, y-yes. F-Fuck, yes,” you whimper, rolling your hips while your eyes stay glued to the mirror. Your breasts bounce with every motion, your juices slicking his pelvis. The obscene intimacy of watching yourself take him making your stomach flutter.
A breathy, almost strained groan slips from him. Zayne’s grip tightens, just shy of rough, as his thumbs dig into the soft flesh of your lower back.
“That’s it… look at you,” he mutters, voice dipping darker, a little mocking. His cock twitches inside you as he leans in, lips grazing your ear. “I love how you feel like this. When your body’s begging for me.”
You clench at the words and ride him harder, chasing the friction. The mirror shows everything—your flushed face, his hungry eyes, the way he watches you fall apart for him.
“Next time,” he groans, lifting his hips to meet your thrusts, never once breaking eye contact with your reflection. “You’ll wait for me.” His hand slides up to your throat, not squeezing, just holding. “Or at least send me a picture. Understood?”
Your pussy throbs in time with your heart, moans punching out from each snap of your hips colliding. “Y-Yes! I understand—!”
“Good. Now come for me again.”
✮⋆˙— xavier
Your eyelids flutter to the barely-there presses of his lips.
It starts on your cheek, then trails to your jaw. You keep your eyes closed as he buries his nose into your neck, inhaling your scent before peppering a few more kisses along the sensitive line beneath your ear. His breath is warm and uneven as he savors you before you fully wake.
Your body reacts subconsciously, shifting closer to him and giving a tiny shiver at the affection so early in the morning. If you had to guess, the sun hasn’t even risen. The world feels dim and soft, wrapped in the stillness.
You’re aware you lie on your side. Of the weight of the comforter. Of the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your back.
You’re also aware of his stiffness pressing against you—but it floats through your mind like a distant thought, something you register without fully grasping.
“Good morning, angel.” Xavier’s voice is a hoarse rasp near your ear, signaling that he too just woke. His hips subtly shift, pressing him more firmly against you before he exhales. “You can go back to sleep, lovely.”
You hum in reply, still drifting. His hand glides down the curve of your waist, slow and absentminded at first, like he’s memorizing the shape of your curves. The touch keeps you suspended in the blissful space between dreaming and reality—where every sensation feels warmer, heavier, and sweeter.
You almost sink back under. Until his kisses don't stop.
They linger longer now, and his fingers toy with the hem of your waistband as if testing whether you’ll stir. You inhale softly, something incoherent slipping from your lips when his warm hand slips beneath the fabric, his palm settling on your abdomen. His thumb traces patterns that send quiet sparks up your spine, each pass making your thighs tighten just a fraction more.
You should wake. You should turn and face him, acknowledge the warmth that you are suddenly very aware is pooling in your panties—and fast. But you're so comfortable, so pliant against him, letting his touch wander while your thoughts drift like mist.
“Do you know what today is?” Xavier murmurs, breaking through the haze.
Your blink your eyes open slowly, the dim room slowly taking shape in blurred outlines. You search your memory, but nothing important surfaces. Only the steady rhythm of his breathing and the way his hand stills, waiting.
But your body seems to know before your mind does. There's a heightened sensitivity humming under your skin, every brush of his fingers sending a ripple through you that feels unfairly intense for how half-asleep you still are.
Oh.
“It’s a good thing,” he continues softly, his words threaded with a gentle hunger. He finds the hem of your panties, gently rubbing the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re extra sweet today… softer. Smell so good…”
Heat creeps into your cheeks even in your drowsiness, and your legs part slightly without conscious thought. The small movement draws a low breath from him, a quiet surrender to how much he wants you. His forehead rests against your shoulder as his hand dips beneath your panties.
He finds you wet and murmurs out grateful praises into your skin, kissing you again and again like he can't help himself. His fingers instantly begin a gentle dance against your clit, making you arch back into him with a soft, sleepy moan.
“I saw the calendar… that cute little app,” he pinches your bud softly, soothing the action with slow passes of his fingertip. “So you’re super sensitive for me. Especially in the morning.”
You whimper, clutching your pillow as you let breathless sounds slip free, your body melting into the pleasure despite how foggy your mind still feels. Even though his touch only abandons you for a second, a needy whine escapes your throat. He pushes your pants and panties down just enough, the material pooling at your ankles.
“Just stay where you are, star,” he says softly as the warmth of his body leaves yours.
Xavier trails a path of wet kiss along the back of your thighs, unhurried and worshipful. You shudder but stay curled like he asked, fingers tightening in the sheets. When he reaches your pussy, finding it dripping and open, he lets his warm breath ghost over you first, making your hips twitch.
He inhales deeply, his hips shifting mindlessly against the mattress at your sweet scent. He doesn’t wait another second before his mouth finds you.
You grasp a handful of blonde hair, whining as his tongue licks a stripe from your entrance upwards, then settles to circle your clit. He continues to lap at your heat, devouring how syrupy you are today, sucking you into his mouth and burying his face deep between your thighs like he never wants to come up for air.
“Feels s-so good, Xavi…” you moan, trembling.
Your orgasm is already hovering. He groans against you, one hand gripping your ass, kneading the skin encouragingly. Each swipe of his tongue is a silent plea.
Come for me. Let me taste you. Let me make you feel good.
You break seconds after, squirming against the sheets as pleasure takes over you in warm waves. Pants leave your lips as he doesn't let up, his mouth relentlessly working you through the euphoric waves, and long after they pass. His face is sticky with your cum, dripping down his chin, making him look as if he’s the one who just finished.
“B-Babe–” you cry out, trying weakly to push his head back. “Honey… ‘s too much…”
He presses one last lingering kiss to your puffy pussy before finally lifting his head. His cheeks are flushed, blue eyes dark and thoroughly satisfied. “Sorry,” he breathes, brushing his thumb along your thigh. “I couldn’t help myself.”
His hands are gentle as they turn you from your side onto your back. Your gaze drifts downward, catching the darkened patch of precum blooming against the front of his tented sweatpants. The sight sends a fresh pulse of heat through your still-sensitive body.
He follows your gaze before palming himself through the fabric.
“Think you can handle a bit more for me?”
✮⋆˙— rafayel
The car ride was silent.
You knew you’d pushed Rafayel’s buttons a little too far at his gala tonight. But honestly… could he even blame you?
He’d shown up dressed like sin in one of his sharpest suits, hair styled to perfection, eyes gleaming the entire duration of the exhibit. And all of it—all of it—on the exact day you were ovulating.
Of course you were going to touch him.
Of course you were going to kiss him.
Of course you were going to corner him beside a marble sculpture and slide your hand a little too low.
“Raaffff,” you drawl into the thick quiet of the car, leaning over the console with a pout that’s half apology, half provocation. “C’mon. Please don’t be mad. I said I’m sorry!”
Rafayel’s brows turn downwards, but there's a sparkle behind the annoyance. “Sorry for kissing my neck while I was speaking to that artist,” he replies coolly, “or sorry for grabbing my dick before I had to greet the commissioner?”
You smirk, entirely unrepentant. “Both. And you liked it! You were hard when I touched you.”
He scoffs, but the sound melts into a quiet laugh under his breath. He isn’t mad, he never really is, and when you poke his side to confirm, he squirms just enough to betray himself. The twitch at the corner of his lips is your victory flag.
You think you’ve won.
That is, until you get home.
The moment the door clicks shut behind you, he moves. There's no warning. One second you’re toeing off your heels, the next his arms are around you, sweeping you up bridal-style. A startled laugh leaves you as he carries you down the hall, his hold possessive and unhurried.
His lips find yours before you reach the bed, and they are soft but insistent, pulling quiet gasps from your chest. The heat that’s been simmering in your belly all day flares hotter, burning brighter.
You land against the mattress with a muted thud, sheets cool beneath your back. “Undress,” he tells you, already slipping open the button of his shirt with graceful fingers.
You obey immediately, giggling as you shimmy out of your dress, fabric clinging to your hips before you kick it away. Anticipation hums under your skin like static.
Rafayel, meanwhile, is still mostly dressed. His shirt hangs open just enough to reveal his toned skin, a teasing glimpse of chest that makes your fingers itch for a touch. You reach for him instinctively, only for his hand to close around your wrist mid-air and guide it back to the mattress, pinning you there.
“Raf–”
“Do you really think I’m going to let you have your way after tonight?” His voice is playful, smug, and dripping with amusement. The smirk he gives you is pure trouble. “You’re so cute.”
You squirm, a fresh gush of warmth gathering between your thighs. “But… I said ‘m sorry.”
“Oh, I know you did, cutie,” he hums, leaning down to brush a single kiss against your cheek. Then your jaw. The column of your throat. Each one is soft and savoring.
“So then…” you mumble, tilting your neck to give him more space. “Why are you still dressed?”
His lips curve against your skin as he trails lower, the gentle presses of his lips turning wetter, slower. Goosebumps rise across your body when his hands find your thighs, and ease them open for him.
He pauses, eyes settling on the soaked material clinging to you. His thumb presses against it, just once. You squeak, and arch into his hand, sensitivity dialed painfully high today. He chuckles, rubbing your pussy through the panties in lazy strokes, up and down, just enough to make you ache.
“I’m going to take care of you,” he coos, but his eyes are dark. “But you teased me all night… so I’m getting my revenge.”
You gasp when his thumb circles firm over your swollen clit through the fabric. The friction is electric and not enough all at once.
“Raf… please, this isn’t fair,” you whine.
“Not fair?” he juts his lip in a mock pout. “I didn’t think it was very fair when you were handsy in public.”
Before you can argue, he hooks a finger under your panties and slides them aside, revealing your dripping cunt. He huffs in amusement, admiring the slick evidence of your arousal like its art he curated himself. (He did)
His finger drags through your folds, collecting the sticky mess. He spreads you open, glides over your clit, circles your entrance, but never lingers enough to satisfy.
Your thighs twitch. Your hips lift. Your fingers clutch the comforter.
It’s torture. Sweet, earned, torture.
And just as a complaint forms on your lips, his fingertip settles over your clit and begins slow, gentle circles. Pleasure sparks outward, instantly bowing your back and spewing moans from your lips. Every sensation feels amplified.
“R-Raf… Raf, fuck—baby,” you cry, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure builds, winding tighter and tighter.
Rafayel laughs softly, continuing to play with your pussy, admiring how much more wetness gathers at his touch. “You close, cutie? Gonna come?”
You nod in rapid succession. “Y-Yes…yeah ‘m gonna—“
His fingers stop.
The sudden absence makes you gasp, blinking your eyes open “W-Why did you stop?”
He lifts his gaze to yours, expression all polished mischief and arrogance. His thumb is still resting maddeningly close to where you’re throbbing. “Did you really think I was going to let you come?”
Your frustrated whine only makes his smile widen. He leans down, brushing his lips against yours in a slow, taunting kiss.
“After the way you behaved tonight?” he murmurs against your mouth. “You’re going to beg for it.”
His fingers return before you can even form a reply, and they're faster this time. The slick sounds of how wet you are fills the room. What started as gentle coaxing turns into purposeful rubbing that makes you fist the sheets and sob out. When your legs try to close, he simply prises them back open.
“You want it so bad, don’t you?” he whispers. “All worked up and needy… yet you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.” His thumb presses just right, drawing a broken sound from your throat.
“I do… f-fuck I really do…” you whimper, hips chasing him without shame. The pressure builds once again, and just as the waves begin to crest, he stops.
The absence is devastating. His words following are cruel.
“Poor thing,” he murmurs, brushing his slick finger against your thigh. His cock strains against his pants, a visible twitch he pointedly ignores as he keeps his attention on you. “You’re soaking our sheets.”
You lie there in the heat of it, trying to gather yourself. When your heartbeat finally slows enough to think, he starts over. Fingers dragging through your warmth, starting slow, then faster. Each time he brings you near the edge, letting desperate cries and whimpers that you’re close spill from your lips, he stops again.
By the fourth time, tears sting the corners of your eyes. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, pleas dissolving into half-formed syllables that barely resemble words.
“R-Raf… p-plea–suh–ahh–” his fingers slide into your gummy walls.
“Think you’ve been good enough?”
“Y-Yea–mmgh–yes–!”
He exhales through his nose, finally satisfied. His fingers curl to your sweet spot, and this this they don’t pull away.
been seeing those "climbing my boyfriend to see if he'll notice" videos and valko would 1000% let you climb him like a jungle gym while not batting an eye. he doesn't even notice you setting up your phone and pressing record because he's so locked into his work. you would start climbing up onto the back on his chair and fully swinging your legs over his shoulders to the front of his chest. and the only thing he thinks to do is to hold your legs and stabilize you and as you continue your ascent to fully sit on his shoulders.
his eyebrows are still furrowed but softer now that you're in his presence. you tug on his hair like ratatouille and he's so surprised by the force that he yelps and actually goes with you. of course, he catches you and steers you back to center. the giggles are off the charts as valko has been accustomed with your silly ways. you comb his hair back and scratch his scalp as he taps away on his keyboard.
you try and ask questions to see if you can rile him up but he is genuinely so happy with answering them.
"whatcha doin?"
i'm just finishing these reports honey bunches of oats, i'll be done in 10 minutes max.
"what does that mean?"
it's just an identifier we use for the different types of metals we have.
"what should we have for dinner?"
mmm, maybe that yummy chicken you made last week. i thought about it this morning.
"who's my pretty boy?" you reach under his chin and give him the lightest scratch. his eyes sparkle as he looks up at you, giving you that love sick puppy smile that shows his canines.
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
