hello! i’m koku <3 she/they 23 y/o and i’m rafcaleb main 🐠🪷
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i don’t take requests for now but i would love to hear your thoughts about l&ds lores/hcs! and if you read my fics, i’d love to know how you feel about them! (this includes stuff that i post only on my ao3 btw because i write a lot of stuff from other fandoms than l&ds too!)
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⤷ ゛ m.list ˎˊ˗
minors dni and my blog might have dead dove content (i might write or interact with!)
this is gonna sound weird but sylus lovers listen to me on this one i have an idea for the tired/overworked girlies but this might not resonate its a bit freeky
cw nsfw for dragon sylus, dom leaning sylus sub leaning reader.. COULD be taken as dubcon but like idk idk idk
here are some like... caretakerish/protectiveish dragon sylus hcs i have... i can elaborate..
dragon sylus after he scoops you away from your stressful life.. hm..
dragon sylus who gives you a some ancient draconic mark that ties you to him.. allows him to read your mind and understand what you are thinking.. hm...
dragon sylus who's mark makes you quite soft and pliant for him... you let him feed you warm meals and desserts that you neglected yourself from enjoying before.. and expensive meals you never even heard of...
dragon sylus who's pheromones smell so so so SOOO relaxing to you... presses you right against him and puts your face softly into his neck and 5 minutes later its all honk shoo mimimis from you in his soft cool bedding with nothing but the sound of forest and the fireplace and his soft rumbly voice against your ear.. when he wants you to really sleep he'll talk of ancient stories..
sometimes though... he'll say other things to fluster you... see if he can get your little thighs to rub against eachother so that he have an excuse to start...hm... hm..
dragon sylus.. whos cum is so virile that when its settled deep into your womb the first time he takes you, it almost nurses your body into safety, telling it thats it safe... making you crave more food... less anxious...
NO I SHOULD STOP THEY'LL TAKE ME AWAY
(Doing laundry & dishes with Xavier; Sylus picking you up after work and doing your skincare routine; grocery shopping with Caleb and cooking together; gardening with Rafayel; Zayne leaving sticky notes around his house for you when he's out, and carrying you to bed when you fall asleep on the couch.)
xavier, sylus, caleb, rafayel, zayne ♡ gn!reader
warnings: established relationship, not proofread, petnames ("sweetie" from sylus, "pips" from caleb), reader is mc but gender neutral, nonsexual intimacy (kissing, sleeping in the same bed)
notes: IM ON A GENERATIONAL WRITING RUN RN!!! Also sorry if there are tons of grammatical errors i wrote this maniacally with nothing but a keyboard and a dream
Doing laundry together, washing dishes—and it wouldn't be Xavier if there weren't a good nap thrown in the mix, of course!
"Xavier," you mumble, drowsy. "Xavier, I can't get up."
With his entire body splayed on top of yours, Xavier is, pun intended, out like a light. His mouth hangs slightly agape, the side of his face pressed against your collarbone.
"Xavier," you say again, trying to nudge him. "Xavier."
His eyes flutter open, half-lidded, as he stares at you with those soft-blue eyes of his, the glossiness of sleep layering his irises like glass. Through the panes, you can make out the tenderness of his pupils, dilating ever-so slightly, your figure carving a spot into its refracting light.
He closes his eyes again. You sigh.
"Xavier."
Nothing.
"Xavier."
Nothing.
"Jeremiah."
He's up.
Xavier's brows furrow, the ends of his lips curled downwards as he stares at you from above, eyes blown wide, arms encaging your figure beneath his, head tilted slightly to the side as he blinks once, twice, thrice.
"Why do you know that name?" he asks, bottom lip slowly jutting out the longer you take to respond.
"We met him at Philo."
"Do you know the names of all the men you meet?"
You laugh. Xavier's expression remains unmoved, his question entirely serious.
"That'd be impossible."
"... So, you've met a lot of other men."
"Yeah," you reply, "that's usually how it goes."
He slumps against your figure, relapsing, as his face digs into the curve of your neck and shoulder, head tilted to the side while trailing kisses around your skin, immovable when you laugh from the ticklish feeling.
"Xavier," you manage to say in between giggly breaths, "Xavier, I was joking."
From his spot, just a little below you, by the base of your neck, he looks up, head tilting, blinking owlishly in that feigned-ignorance-and-pathetic way of his.
"Were you?"
"Of course I was!"
He doesn't budge from his spot as your weighted blanket. Face returning to the crook of your shoulder once more, he just wraps his arms around your torso, pulling you even closer to him, limbs a messy tangle.
"Xavier,"—you prod him, but to no avail—"Xavier, we have to get up. Today is laundry day, remember?"
"Five more minutes," he mumbles, pressing you so close he might as well coalesce into you, "just five..."
He did not, in fact, take "just five minutes."
It was three hours.
But Xavier wastes no time when it comes to taking naps together—upon gathering all of your clothes, he's quick to suggest using the machine's washing time as an opportunity to get more sleep. You dismiss his idea, stating that you have dishes from last night's dinner to wash.
He gives you that look of his—soggy and all—before suggesting, again, to use the time after washing dishes, while the machine is working, to get some more sleep in. You agree. He beams.
Xavier's wardrobe has a running theme of pale colors. Sorting them is relatively easy, with most of his clothes in one pile, your occasional shirt sprinkled in, while the darker colors remain significantly smaller in number.
"What scent should we do this time?" Xavier asks, hand on his chin, surveying your detergent options with the meticulousness of a laundry master. You laugh, and tell him that they all smell good in the end. He nods, but he chooses the scent you've mentioned liking on mutliple occasions, knowing it's your favorite.
(Xavier also likes this scent—he's gotten multiple compliments for it, and once, while out shopping with you, an older woman noted how the two of you had the same fragrance to your clothes. Xavier nodded fervently at the observation, pleased.)
While the laundry is running, the two of you return to last night's dishes. After Xavier scrubs at the plates, you place them into the dishwasher, which, in reality, is just a glorified drying rack.
In between the clatter of glassware and the running of water is your voice, existing with Xavier for longer than it does in the air, your words excited as you recall an incident that happened recently at work.
When you smile, the rhythmic motion comes to a halt, and Xavier's attention parts from the plates to look at you, your figure etched into his pupils, tracing through to his soul, imprinted, fitting the silhouette from centuries ago.
"Is something wrong, Xavier?" you ask, noticing his gaze. He shakes his head.
He just blinks, once, twice, thrice; you really don't know, it seems. The light swept over your face, setting your skin ablaze, its brilliance irrevocable—How beautiful, is all he thinks. How beautiful and lovely and sublime.
(For a moment, he half-considered envying the light, its warmth kissing your skin so simply. Xavier has too many enemies, it seems. Lumiere, sunlight, Jeremiah...)
Later, your dryer sings its cycle completion with a jolly tune. While fetching your clothes, you notice a striking abundance of fluff stuffed throughout the creases of your clothes, your nose wrinkling with confusion as you furrow your brows.
"What's all this?" you mutter, piling all your things into the laundry basket, bundles of cotton falling forth from the dryer.
"Oh," Xavier remarks, hovering beside your shoulder, staring down at the mess. "Bunbun exploded."
"What?!"
Just as he predicted, Bunbun's remains fall from the dryer, its stitching undone as half of its cotton stuffing has been scattered throughout your clothes. Xavier reaches for its floppy face, stretching the malnourished plushie, satisfied.
"Well," you say, picking up the bits of fluff. "Let's feed it."
The two of you hunch over the laundry basket, sifting through your clothes to find each individual piece of fluff, stuffing it back into Bunbun. Now fully nourished, Bunbun stands proud (and round), its unstitched back held shut by Xavier's hand and a dream.
"I don't remember ever putting Bunbun in the laundry," you mutter, folding your clothes. "I thought its washing instructions said not to put it in the dryer..."
"Is that what it said?" Xavier remarks. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, noticing that his gaze is directed towards Bunbun's figure, menacing.
"Did you just try to sabatoge Bunbun, Xavier?"
He turns to you, blinking, his bottom lip jutted out slightly as he tilts his head.
"... No."
"You rejoiced when it exploded!"
"What if," he starts, the slightest hints of a smile tugging at the ends of his lips, his innocent expression shifting to reveal the hints of mischief, "what if I said it was a joke?"
"Are you still hung up on what I said this morning?" you reply, disbelieving.
His eyes don't meet yours.
Sylus picking you up after a long day of work, doing your skincare routine, removing your jewelry before going to sleep.
Rain is a cruel mistress; it seems that it only chooses to appear whenever you're working overtime.
Bracing yourself to weather the storm, you raise one measly hand up to cover the top of your head, the other shielding your bag under the fabric of your coat as you step outside the office, wincing slightly, a bright light reflecting the droplets of rain.
It's a car. A familiar one, at that. Squinting, you can make out the shape, its color, black, and a figure sitting in the driver's seat, the door swinging open, approaching you with such leisure, you half-wonder if it's only raining over you.
You look at Sylus, whose gaze has long-acquainted itself with yours. He tilts his head to the side, a smile—which more resembles a smirk—tugging at his lips, while he unravels the umbrella in his hand.
"You didn't think to use it for yourself?" you ask, the rain no longer meeting your skin, your figure now completely dry whilst Sylus's pearly hair drips with rainwater.
"Not at all," he replies, bemused.
"How'd you know I just finished my work?" you then query, Sylus's free hand reaching to open the passenger door, his head lowering slightly as he leans over your figure, putting your seatbelt on, rain still pelting at his skin and clothes.
"And if I told you it was my intuition?" he says, leaving no room for your response as he closes your door, finding his spot in the driver's seat soon after.
"I wouldn't believe it," you remark.
"Then, you can assume it was something else."
You deadpan. "Isn't that how it works?"
He spares you a smile, one hand on the top of the steering wheel, index finger tapping at the material while eyeing you from across the distance of a center console, its actuality minimal despite the way it feels as though a universe separates you from him.
Amidst the rain, the aux plays a slow, melodic tune.
"Well, it was intuition," he says, other hand reaching at your thigh, thumbing at your skin, his palm warm. "And, in part, a little birdie."
"And my location," you add.
"And your location," he reaffirms, smiling still, its shape less like a smirk and more akin to the look only a man so devotedly in love could ever wear, his eyes crinkling slightly, his expression content, malleable under your gaze.
The two of you return to the N109 Zone, the rain stopping at the edges of the city.
Sylus leaves the car first, circling it to open your door, hand outstretched as he takes your bag.
"I have to do it all over again tomorrow," you mumble, referring to your work, "this endless cycle of abuse..."
Sylus chuckles, free hand reaching for yours, fingers entwined, curling slightly as he squeezes your hand.
"How about you work for me? Luke and Kieran could use a court jester."
"Me?! A court jester?"
He laughs again, thumb now smoothing over the back of your hand, so familiar with its shape.
"Perhaps another role can be negotiated."
"It'd be better if there were no role at all!"
After eating dinner, you half-consider just retiring to bed without removing your sunscreen or jewelry—but Sylus, reading your mind, rests his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to the bathroom without consideration for protest.
"I'm so tired," you say, voice already marred with the beginnings of sleep, your eyes struggling to stay awake. "Let me sleep while greasy..."
"No can do, sweetie," Sylus replies, sitting you down in front of the mirror, washing his hands with soap before removing your sunscreen with some toning pads. "Just bear it for a little, then you can sleep all you want."
His words are succeeded by a quick kiss to your temple.
You've taught him that products should be applied, and removed, to or from the face via circular motions. Sylus, the ever-excellent student, applies what he's learned meticulously, toning pads featherlight against your skin.
The hilt of a gun is so familiar to his callused hands, and the stains of blood which he's grown so used to washing off—but, even better than a comfortable weapon, or the curl of a fist cushioned within a boxing glove, is the feeling of your face within the palm of his hands, the residue of sunscreen staining his fingers, the ease of your brows as he washes away your long-winded day.
Then, his hand reaches for the back of your neck, unclasping your necklace with ease. Another kiss. He leans forward, removing the locks of your earrings, taking the hook gently through the piercing, tucking it neatly into your vanity's—which occupies nearly half of his bathroom—compartment
A third kiss to your well-loved face. He must sneak these in before he applies your skincare, as you've completely banned him from touching your face once your it's on.
"Wash your hands before each step," you mumble, words slurring together as your head lulls forward slightly. Though you can't see it, Sylus's expression shifts to reveal fondness, irrevocable, with the melting of his vermilion eyes, pupils smoldering, heart ablaze.
Leaning forward once more, Sylus presses yet another kiss onto the bone of your cheek.
"My, so demanding."
More words leave your mouth, all incoherent and jumbled, your eyes fluttering shut midsentence. Sylus, quite the opportunist, takes this moment to seal your lips with his, unable to contain the smile which sweeps over his face, its shape attributed to the gentleness of his touch, the softness of the kiss as he settles the skincare score here.
"Anything else?" he asks, beginning the first step of your skincare (not without washing his hands first, of course!), rubbing the product in circular motions. You don't say anything; Sylus continues forward, ever-the-excellent student.
And, when all is done, your head leans against his chest, your breaths slowing as you succumb to slumber. Ever-the-excellent student, Sylus picks you up, hands supporting your legs and back, carrying you to the bed with the stillness of a statue with a mission: not to wake you up.
Grocery shopping with Caleb, taste testing meals, eating together.
"Really?" Caleb asks, disbelieving tone not matching the smile which tugs at his lips. "More instant ramen, Pips?"
Without a morsel of hesitation, you toss the nuclear-4x-spicy-volcano-eruption package into the cart, pleased with yourself as Caleb continues forward, his exasperation half-committed.
"Your stomach's going to hurt if you eat this alone," he remarks, hand outstretched to ruffle your head, the other resting on the shopping cart's handle as to keep it on course. "Get something cool while we're here."
"That's impossible," you reply, marching forward. "I'm invincible!"
While you disappear into the snack aisle, Caleb makes a stop by the freezer section, grabbing you a bundle of ice cream, the flavors your favorite.
You'll thank me later, is all he thinks. Or maybe not. Actually, probably not. You'll chalk the ice cream's presence up to pure luck, downing it after suffering from spice without a single thought as to where it comes from. That's fine too. What matters is that you don't get hurt.
Per your request, Caleb drafted a list of ingredients to buy in order to make your favorite dish—yet, despite not being a necessary component, he finds himself crossing off the words "ice cream" and "instant noodles" from his notes, pocketing his phone soon thereafter.
Watching you sift through the various snacks, Caleb prepares himself to cross off "soda," too. It's routine to him: the order of which you go through the aisles, the items your gaze lingers on versus which ones you haphazardly sweep over, the way you compare your favorite flavors, brows furrowed, lips pursed as you rack your brain.
"They both look good," you mutter, comparing a strawberry soda to a grape one. "I don't know which to choose, though..."
Noticing the way your gaze adorns the pinkish packaging, Caleb thinks today is a strawberry day.
"I guess I'll have to go with strawberry, then!" you exclaim, shelving grape.
"And these," you start, now holding two different bags of chips. "This is a really difficult one..."
Noticing the way your bottom lip presses against your upper one, the way your nose wrinkles from thought, the way your eyes narrow, reading the packaging of both your options—Caleb thinks there really is no need to choose only one.
"Let's get both, then," he suggests, taking both bags from your hands. "Why choose?"
Your expression brightens instantly. "You're a genius, Caleb!"
He laughs. You continue forward, and, with the shopping cart separating your figure from his, Caleb stares. The slight hop to your steps, the way your head tilts whenever you notice cute packaging, the occasional glance over your shoulder, eyes crinkling when you call his name, pointing at some collaboration between your favorite characters and a candy brand.
Your very existence reduces his heart to a trembling thing, twisting his ribs, curling them inwards—and to think you don't even realize that you hold it within your hands.
All your favorite snacks—as well as the ingredients to your favorite dish—secured, the two of you return to Caleb's home, his arms filled with bags while you drink your soda, satisfied.
"Strawberry was the right pick!" you exclaim, holding the drink up to Caleb's lips, tilting it for him to drink. Sugar on his tongue, he hums, watching you race ahead to the door, unlocking it with your key.
The sweetness travels from his mouth to his eyes, circulating throughout his limbs, melting into his chest, your figure submerged within sunset irises, carving out his pupils, vested safely within the chambers of his heart, satiated.
While Caleb toils away at the meal, you offer him moral support in the form of handing him utensils, arm brushing against his as you observe the status of your dish, boiling in the pot.
He puts a spoon up to your lips, head tilting slightly as he asks, "Taste test?"
"It's good!" you say, giving him a thumbs-up for added effect. Caleb just grins, spoon now placed back in the pot, palm pressed against the counter as he leans in, eyes trailing from your eyes to your lips.
"Taste test?" he asks, again, grinning still, eyes fluttering shut when you press your lips against his.
"Also good," you reply, his hand parting from the counter to cup the side of your face, sunset eyes meeting yours.
"One more?"
You laugh. "I'll allow it."
"Thanks for your kindness," he says. Another kiss. The pot bubbles, and Caleb, though reluctant, turns his attention towards it, stirring it slowly.
Caleb examines the quality of his cooking through the expressions which enrapture your face, the way you nod approvingly upon the first bite, the way you save all of the best parts for last. Caleb examines the quality of his cooking through the dishes you leave, how clean the plates are, which sides you ask for more of.
"So?" he says, face leaning against the palm of his hand, his food growing cold while he watches you eat, the sight alone is enough to quell the rumble of his stomach. "What d'ya think, Pips?"
"You outdid yourself this time!" you exclaim in between bites. Caleb, though flattered, hands you a napkin, brows furrowed slightly as he's reminded of a time from your childhood when you choked on your food midsentence.
His lips part to remind you of that time—and to warn you not to eat so quickly—but the glimmer of your eyes, and the way you shift happily in your seat, stomps out all ideas of saying anything at all.
"Aren't you going to eat?" you ask, eyeing his side dish. He slides it over to you, feigning exasperation, reaching over to flick your forehead.
"How greedy," Caleb responds, laughing.
(But your existence drowns in his eyes, and your figure melts into his bones, and the squeeze of your hands are what allow his heart to contract, and oh, your smile, it crinkles your irises, and it scrunches your nose, just a little, and the expression exists with him for longer than it does on your face—and he wants more, and he wants you, and to covet you is the greediest thing any man could ever do.)
"I'm just helping you out," you say while scarfing down your food, "'cause, you know, this isn't thaaat good..."
Caleb laughs again. The clink of dishware, the sound of voices, the existence of two, melding together, pores sinking into pores, love melting into bones—This is it, Caleb thinks.
Everything; right here.
Gardening with Rafayel, pulling out weeds, taking a nap under a tree.
"I'm going to wage war on the weeds," Rafayel declares, sitting flat on the floor, clothes stained with dirt. "They're going to regret natural selection, the fact they evolved, the ancestors they came from, the—"
"Land versus sea," you remark, holding up two weeds, their roots entangled with clumps of dirt. "I think land would win."
"Excuse me?!"
"It's only been an hour," you say, ignoring his look of utter betrayal and disbelief. "Why are you sweating so much?"
"An hour!" Rafayel repeats, arm raised to his forehead, falling back into the dirt with a harsh thud! as his chest heaves dramatically, damn near gasping for air as his free hand reaches for his chest, palming at the skin above his chest's cavity.
"A whole hour! Oh, the agony! I might shrivel up and die at this rate!" Then, he sits up, pointing at you accusingly. "Is that what you want? Huh, huh?!"
"Just go inside," you say, dismissing him with the flick of your hand. "I'll do it myself."
Rafayel gasps, brows furrowed, bridge of his nose wrinkling while his lips part, hanging agape, head darting to and fro as if to say, "Are you hearing this right now?!" But there's nobody around to share his disbelief. So, Rafayel does what he does best: he feigns nonchalance.
"Fine then!" he responds, standing up, dusting the dirt off his clothes before crossing his arms. "You can fight these weeds yourself. Don't come crying to me when they win!"
He walks away, making no effort to hide the glances he spares in your direction, wondering if you're going to grovel for him to come back (if you did, he'd half-consider continuing to toil away at these weeds with you)—but you don't, because you're heartless (how ironic!) and cruel. And sick in the head. And you really, really don't have an eye for the things that really matter in this world (read: him! He's the thing that matters! Over here! Him!)
Ten steps and twenty glances later, Rafayel realizes that you really aren't looking back. Fine. Whatever. Not like he cares, anyway!
And so, Rafayel returns to his air-conditioned studio, bottom lip jutted out as he sits down at his couch, feeling ill from how sweaty he is, the ache of weed-pulling beginning to sweep through his arms. Leaning back, he stares up at the ceiling, sulking.
He turns to look at you again, your figure now separated from his by a thin layer of glass, hunched over as you continue pulling away at those vile plants.
There you go again, he thinks. Uncaring, unabashed, unafraid. You do things without much regard for anyone else; Rafayel hates that about you. He hates that he can't seem to leave you alone, he hates that his gaze seems to root itself in your existence, unable to be torn away, unable to stare at anything else other than the slight part of your lips as you dig into the dirt, your brows furrowed, arm raised to wipe at your sweat.
You look tired.
A couple minutes later, Rafayel returns to your side with a hat, dropping it clumsily onto your head while he hands you a drink. Crouching down, he meets your gaze with the haughty tilt of his head, pouting, while he drinks in your expression with the insatiability of a couple centuries.
"Are you really going to spend the whole day doing this?" he asks, thumbing at a bead of sweat which trickles down the side of your face, eyes trickling—for the most minute of seconds—to your lips as you drink. His gaze meets yours again.
"Yeah," you reply. "We have to get your garden in order before spring arrives."
He huffs. "What's so good about a garden?"
"Didn't you ask me to help you plant things?"
Rafayel invited you over to his place with the attention of gardening for twenty minutes, and lounging for the rest of the day. He did not intend for you to work away at these damned weeds as if your life depended on it.
Still, it doesn't look like you have the wherewithal to even fathom the enormity of his thoughts—considering, well, you have no memory of anything at all!—so, with a defeated look, Rafayel tugs you away from the weeds, ushering you under a tree where he's so coincidentally set up a blanket.
"Sleep," he mutters, fingers brushing over your eyes, the coolness of his touch contrasting the warmth of your skin. "You're always causing trouble for me, you know?"
You snort. "Me? Have you seen yourself?"
Though you can't see his face, you can make out the offense in his voice, as if he's shocked by your audacity. Before he can even respond, Rafayel notices the shift in your breathing, the relax of your muscles, brows easing over as you drift into sleep.
"Ugh," he mutters, sitting back, staring at your comfortable form as you've come over to his house, freeloaded off of his kindness, and now are sleeping, despite being the guest! There's really something wrong with your standards!
"You're lucky, you know," he says, voice barely above a whisper, wiping away at the sweat which forms across your skin. "Using me like this."
After a couple hours, you wake up, your head propped up against Rafayel's lap as he sketches in a handheld book, his expression incredulous as you turn towards the garden, mouth hanging agape once you realize it was completely weeded.
"What?!" you exclaim. "Where'd all the weeds go?"
Rafayel scoffs. "They all just decided to get up and leave once you fell asleep."
You turn towards him, his hand parting from the sketchbook to thumb at your face, pinching your cheek.
"Is that what you thought I'd say? No! I did everything! While you slept, I was out there, working like a dog, day and night, living off of—"
You laugh. Rafayel's words falter before his complaint can continue on, eyes growing wide as you grin, returning his gesture by cupping his face in between your hands, adoring.
"Thanks, Raf."
He looks away, lips jutted out, brows furrowing. "Hmph. Is that all?"
"I love you."
His gaze returns to you, eyes blown wide, mouth hanging slightly agape as he stares at you, figure drowned in his pupils, expression ablaze as if he had just witnessed the sublime.
"Ugh... Do you think words are enough? Am I an easy fish to you!?"
"I love you and appreciate you very much," you say.
"Blub blub blub."
You lean forward, the shadow of the tree reaching everywhere but your lips. When you part, Rafayel hums, chasing after you again, hand pressed against the back of your head as he presses you towards him.
"I don't work for free, you know!"
Expecting your arrival, Zayne leaves sticky notes around his house for you when he works late shifts, carrying you from the couch to his bed when he does return home.
There are times where you're forced to acquaint yourself with the silence.
Zayne's home feels larger than life when he's not here—locking the door behind you, entering the place with your bags—but, there are hints of his presence everywhere, warmth seeping in through the crevices, the cold beginning to shy away.
As if expecting your arrival (despite you not telling him you'd go to his place after work), there are sticky notes around the walls, on the fridge, on the countertops.
His handwriting, while quick and oftentimes merged, reveals hints of love, etched into the way he writes your name, clearer than other words—or the way he rewrites parts he thinks may be illegible, ensuring he's conveyed everything he needs to.
"Heat up the container with the red lid," the sticky note on the refrigerator door says. "It's your favorite soup. Side dishes are the containers on the top."
On the countertop: "Don't stay up too late. Don't wait for me to come home. Sleep first."
On the television remote: "Take breaks while watching. Don't stare at the screen for too long. Get up and look around."
On the cabinets filled with sweets: "Don't eat them all." You half-wonder if it's because he's planning to go through them all in your stead.
And, on the door to his room, its hinge parting to reveal his bed, neatly made: "Sleep here. Don't sleep on the couch."
When you reach for the container, pulling the side dishes away, there's another sticky note on the lid. The writing, smaller than the rest, clearer and more carefully enscribed, reads, "I love you. I'll be home soon. Eat well."
You pocket this sticky note, smiling uncontrollably, running your fingers over the words as you can feel the indent of the pen, the pressure of his adoration, the tenderness of his words, etched hours ago. Warm, you eat the food he prepared for you, sitting at the couch with a show put on the television, wrapped up in a spare blanket.
Despite Zayne telling you not to wait for him, you find yourself lingering on the couch for much longer than intended, gaze staring at the screen, dazed, as you peer at your phone, noticing the time. Midnight, you think, unable to bite back a yawn, your eyes glossy.
You don't know when you fell asleep after that.
Zayne arrives home, bag in hand, his scrubs folded neatly within as he changes into his slippers at the door, noticing an extra pair in the rack.
You're home, he thinks. The realization makes his heart stutter a little, organ swelling, feeling fuller and wholler and brighter. The buzz of the television resounds throughout the home, accompanied by the scent of food, your presence existing everywhere—in his home, in his chest, in his mind, lingering. He steps forward, noticing your figure on the couch, wrapped up in front of the bright light. He sighs.
"I thought I told you not to sleep here..." he mutters, approaching you from a distance, noticing your eyes, fluttered shut, mouth hanging slightly agape as you sleep without a single care in the world.
Zayne showers quickly, not wanting to keep you there for much longer, but not wanting to touch you before having cleaned himself from today's shift. Afterwards, he's quick to find your figure, lifting you up, still encased in the blanket as he brings you to his room, laying you down in his bed, replacing the spare with his own comforter.
"Zayne...?" you mumble, wiping at your eyes. Zayne's hand raises to your wrist, stopping the movement, lips parting to lecture you about how it's bad for your eyes—but then he catches a glimpse of your expression under the light, hazy, marred with sleep, yet adoration seeping through your gaze, and suddenly, he can't bring himself to say anything at all. He swallows thickly.
You've made such a lover of him, your existence pervading throughout his own, his lips unable to utter any word that is not your name.
"I didn't mean to wake you," he says, quiet. "Sleep."
You lean towards him, burying your face in the fabric of his shirt, breathing in, warmth coalescing. Zayne rubs circles into your back, fingers tracing over the skin, feeling the tenseness of your muscles which he'll address later. For now, all that matters if that he's home, that you're here, and that, most wonderfully, the two of you are together.
❥ rafayel pops a boner every time he paints you. just picturing you in his head and tracing your shape on the canvas gets the blood rushing straight to his cock.
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
lmfao they cancelled releasing valko… personally i think they’re just using valko as a scapegoat because they’re still not addressing all the issues we’re complaining about some of which:
1. reliable way to farm dias
2. lighting issues for darker skin toned mcs/players
3. pacing of main story
4. limited banner duration
5. caleb and sylus missing contents
these are just some issues that i’m listing off the top of my head and i’m sure there are more.
i do agree with their decision of not releasing valko— not that whether they released him or not makes much difference to me— because i think valko was a rushed li.
some of my opinions about valko:
1. just looking at him reminds me of caleb and sylus. his personality reminds me of rafayel. feels like they cherry picked what people liked and put them all in a character to package a “perfect man”
2. his name is literally “wolf” in bulgarian. did they just search up “wolf in foreign languages” and picked a slavic origin word? was he planned well or not?
3. why is it so easy to make the decision to take him out of the game? does his presence not give any significant impact to the main story? if he is significant, why suddenly listen to players complaints about him when countless of times before, players complained about other things that they simply ignored? (example: many players complained about rafayel being bridal carried by mc for his summer card last year was too feminine for their liking, but infold still kept that scene in.)
4. barely any mentions— if any at all— of the name valko in the main story. with caleb and sylus, we were introduced to them quite blatantly rather than scraps of “unidentified beast moving at high speed” and eoncore tech mentions. i’m not saying you can’t introduce a character this way, but if he is supposed to be a love interest, shouldn’t he be given a more obvious/blatant introduction/allusion in the main story chapters like sylus and caleb were?
5. if eoncore tech is heavily involved with EVER, i’m not sure how i feel that we’re romancing someone who at the very least supports EVER financially. the same EVER that has experimented on mc, actively killing lemurians to create aesthetics and trying to achieve immortality, inventing toring chip to create perfect soldiers, etc… i was willing to wait for the main story, maybe they’ll reveal how valko is on mc’s side, but now i guess we’ll never know.
i read their statement and i’m not sure if my english comprehension have deteriorated, but i can’t make out whether they’re never gonna release a new love interest ever or they might, after everything has died down.
if valko isn’t scrapped fully, i hope he can come back in the game when he is fully thought out, and more integrated into the main plot.
i also don’t like that global players calling cn players “bitches” and many other degrading terms, accusing them of being parasocial, and overall being very sinophobic. i’m sure there are players that are complaining about valko— calling him ugly and whatnot, and i am also against this kind of hate, but from my observation, cn players’ outrage is because of how infold/ppg is managing their game (the issues i have mentioned at the start of this post and more) and also some of the incel-ish phrases they used in valko’s cn trailer/promotions:
1. “invite the wolf into your house” — ‘and the girl will open the door eventually’ — don’t quote me on this, but from what i have read, this was more or less of the phrase that’s often used to victim blame victims of SA in china. the global equivalent that i personally think of this phrase is “what was she wearing?”
2. “don’t walk in the kitchen at night” — “don’t take a bath in the pot” — used in the kitchen update trailer. seemed to be referencing a femicide in 2024, a woman was killed by her husband by drowning her in a pot of noodle soup.
i also heard here and there that they are in trouble with the government from world underneath; a human experimentation unit A-0731, which is a VERY sensitive topic because during the japanese imperialism, they literally had a secret research facility in harbin, china unit 731 where they did human experimentation on chinese people for biological and chemical warfare so… maybe they cancelled valko’s release to take the people’s attention away from this.
anyway, i think infold is just trying to pit players against each other instead of letting players focus on the company’s fuck ups. after all this, they’re still not listening to us and try to shift blame. giving us lame ass “rewards” to keep us playing.
pre-relationship, post explosion. fluff & hurt/comfort. gn, mc reader
wc: 680
You sit up in bed, frustrated and disheveled from tossing and turning. It's been over an hour, and you still feel just as awake as you did when you first laid down. You don't even want to know what ungodly time of the morning it is.
Despite your sheets smelling of Caleb, bringing back a feeling of comfort you had been chasing for over a year now, nothing seemed to work. Falling asleep in a new place never gets easier, even though Caleb was kind enough to lend you the only lived-in bedroom in his apartment.
Caleb… Surely the exclusive privileges he granted you as children were still valid? And if so, he wouldn't mind if you used them again now, right?
Slipping out from underneath the covers, you pad out of your bedroom on bare feet, shivering a little at the feeling of the tile floor against your soles. You quietly sneak down the hallway, stopping once you reach Caleb's room. You take a shaky breath, gathering your courage for a few seconds, before quietly knocking.
You don't get a response, but you're not surprised. You often wouldn't get one when you were a kid, either, unless he was up late studying. You turn the door handle; it's unlocked, and you close the door behind you before quietly making your way inside the dark room.
He's sprawled out beneath his comforter, chest steadily rising and falling in slumber. You hesitate again, but tell yourself you've already come far enough, and it'd be a waste to throw in the towel now. You swallow, before gently shaking Caleb's broad shoulder, your voice soft and timid.
"Caleb? Caleb, wake up,"
His eyes crack open as he looks up at you, still half asleep. He props himself up on his elbow as he looks up at you. His voice is gravelly and slurred with sleep, and he rubs his eye as he talks.
"Pips? Whatsup…?"
"I can't fall asleep," you admit sheepishly, your cheeks heating up with embarrassment and eyes darting away from his. You're a grown adult… maybe this was a bad idea. "M'really sorry for waking you up, I've just been trying for a long time, and-"
"No, no, s'okay," he mumbles, sitting up a bit more to tug back the covers for you. "Should've come sooner, pips. C'mere,"
You climb into bed beside him. Unsure of how to lie, you hover a bit nervously until Caleb pats the bed next to him.
"I said c'mere, pips. I've got you, yeah? Like when we were kids."
You comply, lying beside him, giving him a cautious amount of distance with your head on the opposite end of his pillow. He chuckles softly, his breath brushing your nose, and shakes his head.
"Silly. You know what I meant, pipsqueak. Here,"
He pulls you forwards with his Evol, coaxing you to bury your face in his chest as he wraps his arms around you and tangles his legs with your own.
"Better?" He asks, and when you nod, you feel the vibration of his voice beneath your cheek as he lets out a soft hum of satisfaction. Your body relaxes as you breathe him in, your eyes drooping shut as you let yourself start to drift. It just feels right, being close to him like this; two halves of a whole, finally reunited after so long.
"I really missed you," you confess, your voice wobbling the slightest bit as you feel stubborn tears start to well up in your eyes. He threads a hand into your hair, gently scratching at your scalp, the way you used to beg him to when you were children.
"I know," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your head, reverent. "I know. I'm not goin' anywhere, alright? Not ever again. I'm with you for good."
You nod, already feeling yourself start to drift off, enveloped in his large, solid body and surrounded by his familiar scent.
"Rest," he murmurs, kissing your temple. "I'll be right here when you wake up. Never leaving you alone again."
im gonna be honest, im mad asf. im mad asf at infold. the “apology” and then that livestream and the updates were all bullshit. bullshit a bunch of bullshit shit shit ass poop shit coming out of their mouths. it’s not like i don’t like valko, it’s not about him, but it’s the fact that they really do not listen to us at all.
putting aside how valko’s personality is sooo adjacent to rafayel’s (i’m not saying you can’t have two playful lis, but i’m more mad that rafayel mains have been complaining about rafayel’s kindleds and interactions and poses and valko gets EVERYTHING we have been complaining about), and how valko is promoted with “purest love” im sorry is that not one of the most notable thing sylus has ever said from razor’s dance (iirc)? and valko’s genetics, biology primordial soup that feels like a broader mention of caleb’s “we are from the same source” and the twin lotus thing— i know about this primordial soup theory and the miller-urey experiment okay, but it fucks me up because his trailer mentions “genetically locked” like am i crazy? am i hallucinating? did i hallucinate caleb’s whole sin about them being siblings?
like whatever, let’s put aside valko rn, but as a long term player that has finished abyssal chaos, kahli, and trials like where the fuck do i get dias outside the every 2 weeks senior hunter contest (and they only give 600 dias. that’s not even 5 pulls)? every time it’s a new update it’s “pay for this outfit” “pay for this accessory” “PAY FOR THIS CARD!” “no, the outfit doesn’t come with the card!” “PAY PAY PAY PAY!” and then they give us that bullshit ass 10 limited wishes and 10 standard wishes, i buy MORE than 10 wishes every time it’s a multibanner or rafayel banner because there is actually NO WAY for me to farm dias that will be enough for the multibanners or solo banners with the duration of one to two weeks. and this is coming from a person who buys the monthly aurum pass and the anniversary pass. it is actually not enough. stop telling us to skip banners so that we can save for the next next next banner like I WANT THE RESOURCES TO BE ENOUGH FOR AT LEAST ONE BANNER DURATION. genshin and hsr gives more every time they release a new character. this is the MOST bullshit gacha i have ever played.
“you’re served shit and poop from the shit and poop restaurant and you keep buying from shit and poop restaurant for shit and poop” WELL THEY WEREN’T SHIT AND POOP RESTAURANT WHEN I WAS HERE FROM LAUNCH. i don’t want rafayel to be shit and poop because i do love his character and find comfort in him. i’m allowed to want good things and quality for things that i paid for.
pre-relationship Valko x fem!reader w/ established Caleb x fem!reader
CWs: pseudo-incest but otherwise SFW!
───────
"And this is my boyfriend, Caleb." You say, stepping back slightly as you introduce him to Valko.
Valko's nose twitches, subtly sniffing the air.
"Why does he smell like you?" He asks through squinted eyes.
"Uh, w-well..." You stammer, unsure of how to respond.
"I'm with her all the time." Caleb interjects casually. "Of course I'm gonna smell like her."
Valko eyes the the two of you suspiciously.
"Naaah," he drawls, strutting closer to you both. "This is different."
He leans his head down to your neck, taking a deep inhale through his nose, before running it down the length of your arm and straight over to Caleb. He does the same as he did to you but in reverse - nose trailing up his arm until he reaches his neck.
Valko pulls back and looks between the two of you for a second before turning to you with an all-knowing smirk.
"Are you fucking your brother?"
I fear I am lost to Valko and it's only a matter of time before I write Zayne having to deal with these three menaces
Have any ideas you'd like me to write? Send me an ask and I just might!
already hating on valko is crazy to me… he’s a werewolf and a ceo why would you say he is out of place… we have a mafia sugarddy dragon… colonel cyborg gege… immortal prince… mermaid god… i’d include zayne but i’m actually clueless about his lore because he’s not my type so i don’t know his content much other than the main story😭but yeah. i think a lot of people will switch up once he’s finally released🤷♀️ valko’s visual isn’t my type either, and neither is his trope being a werewolf so i’m not curious about him as of now but to say i hate him.. too early to say anything tbh… like bffr guys…
ok watched the trailer. so i guess im a liar. i forgot that werewolves are basically omegaverse. and omegaverse is soooooooooo i love omegaverse so bad. Fuck. and he’s also playful type kinda? and thats so my type. his build isnt but im also the kind of person thats really easily won over by personality😭😭😭if i really like him then he might become my number 2 instead of caleb😭😭😭😭
pairings: RAFAYEL QI x reader x CALEB XIA
synopsis: your period is coming soon, hooray! your chest is sore and is practically begging for a massage-good thing you have two pairs of hands of perfectly capable hot guys to help you with that!
cw: minors dni | comfort/fluff, explicit sexual content, raf and caleb basically just take care of you, titty sucking, shy/insecure reader, self indulgent, not proofread-i wrote this in one go (power of the horny vested in me idk)
wc: 1.5k
a/n: this is so self indulgent i am in so much pain, i really need these two right NEOW- and yes stalker-caleb-tumblr-fic is currently still in the oven hehe <3 I wrote this for my own comfort-I HOPE U ENJOY!!! <33
You let out a groan, shifting uncomfortably in your bed as you tried to ignore the aching in your body-especially the soreness in your chest. You knew this day was coming, a reminder on your phone chiming a couple of days ago as a warning, but nothing could prepare you from the whiplash that was from a completely normal day to one where your stomach was hurting and your body felt like it has coiled up tightly.
The scorching weather only added to how uncomfortable you felt, your covers kicked off as the fan overhead and the one next to you was on it's highest setting, the blasting wind becoming a temporary distraction to your pain. You had already wrestled your pajama pants off and was about to take your undershirt off when you heard footsteps near your door.
You peeked underneath your arm to see the bottom portion of your boyfriend, Caleb, who entered quietly under the pretense that you were sleeping. You heard the crinkle of a plastic bag and the rustle of fabric as the bed dipped down from his weight.
"Hurry up," You heard Caleb say impatiently, though his tone was quiet to not disturb you. You heard a huff of irritation as another set of feet joined Caleb's, the annoyance in his voice only directed at the brunette.
"I'm here, I'm here-could you have been any louder?" Rafayel hissed, your eyes latching onto a steaming mug of tea in his hand. The calming aroma of the tea made you shift slightly, the two men freezing at the movement.
Caleb slowly approached you, gently caressing the exposed side of your face before murmuring something to Rafayel. The purple haired man padded to your side, kneeling on the carpet as you heard him blowing your tea.
"Pips, are you awake?" Caleb whispered, delicately combing a hand through your hair. You slowly lifted up your arm, blinking away the bleariness and adjusting to the lamp's light. His face instantly broke into a smile, his eyes shining with relief and joy to see you.
Rafayel caught your attention by setting down the mug and putting his hands behind your back to readjust you into a sitting position. You yawned, patting his shoulder to acknowledge him.
"Hey guys," You said, smiling at them.
"How are you feeling, cutie?" Rafayel murmured, bringing one of your hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. You glanced between the two of them, an overwhelming sense of gratefulness washing over you. Your boyfriends were so attentive to your cycle-always so caring and understanding and kind-it was the kind of care that made you feel loved and appreciated.
"I'm okay, just a little sore," You confessed sheepishly, gesturing to your chest and neck. "They...uh, hurt." You looked away shyly when their gazes fell to the swell of your breasts.
They've offered to massage you before, but you were too shy-though the offer sounded heavenly right now.
"Aw, were you hurting like this since this mornin'?" Caleb questioned, his hand starting to gently massage the back of your neck. You nodded, remembering waking up and feeling like you had just ran five miles. The annoying cramping you felt in your lower abdomen was also a sign.
"Yeah," You admitted, avoiding his gaze. At your confession, Rafayel brought the cup of tea to your lips.
"Here, drink some," He cooed. You nodded, taking a sip, the warmth of the liquid feeling nice despite how sweaty you felt. Rafayel wiped the edge of your mouth with a napkin before Caleb continued to speak.
"Y'know...we want to make sure you feel as comfortable as possible...so whatever you need, tell us, okay?"
"Okay," You muttered, glancing down to your chest. A beat of silence passed before you spoke up again. "You...you guys offered to do it before-but..."
"You want us to massage you?" Rafayel suggested, tilting his head at you. You nodded, unable to meet his gaze.
"Yes please," Your voice was barely above a whisper. "I feel horrible right now."
Caleb's frown mirrored Rafayel's, the two giving each other a nod before Rafayel climbed onto the bed with you. He made you scoot forward so that you were snug in his lap, his arms wrapping around you like a warm cocoon. He pressed his hands to your exposed tummy, the fire evol-powered palms of his hands warming you up.
You sighed with relaxation, leaning against Rafayel's back as you muttered 'thank you's underneath your breath.
It didn't take long for Caleb to suggest you take off your shirt to which you complied. He pulled off your undershirt with no hassle and neatly folded it before he kneeled in front of you.
You felt a little embarrassed being on display like this, the shame obviously showing on your face with how you avoided Caleb's eyes and squirmed uncomfortably in Rafayel's embrace. The vulnerability of it made you feel exposed and soft-but Caleb was quick to remind you that this was a safe place.
"Hey, hey, it's just me and Raf...you're safe here. Gonna make you feel better, okay?" Caleb said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. You hesitated, almost looking away when Caleb smiled at you. It instantly made you feel at home-at peace-and a sliver of that embarrassment faded away.
"Is this okay?" You heard Rafayel whisper, his locks tickling your ear. You looked down to see one of his large hands cup one of your breasts, the sight making your face heat up as he began to gently massage them. You winced from the soreness, panic flickering through Caleb's eyes before you nodded.
"Yeah...that's fine. It's good." You breathed, Caleb letting out a sigh of relief alongside you.
"Mm, alright, just tell me if I'm doing it too hard, yeah?" Rafayel murmured.
"Okay," Your breath hitched when you noticed how close Caleb was now to your chest, his nose practically between them. He looked up at you with those wide, purple eyes-eyes that were asking for permission.
"Pips," He said, his breath tickling your skin. "Is it okay..?"
You swallowed thickly, nodding your head before you felt the warmth of Caleb's mouth envelope one of your nipples, the contact making your toes curl. You swore you heard Rafayel chuckle, but you were too focused on the feeling of Caleb's hot tongue swirling around your tit.
"Caleb..." You struggled not to let out a moan-and it didn't help that Rafayel was basically teasing you with the way he was kneading your other breast. Had you walked right into their trap? No matter where you looked, it was one or the other-Raf behind and Caleb in the front-not that you minded at all with how the soreness you felt earlier was completely overshadowed by the immense pleasure they made you feel. "R-Raf..."
"Hm? What was that cutie?" Rafayel purred, letting one of his fingers circle your hardened nipple eliciting a whimper from you. Your back arched at the touch making Caleb groan into you, his tongue working even faster.
"Ugh, your so unfair and evil and-" Your words were cut off when Rafayel's free hand snaked it's way to your panties, his fingers rubbing slow circles on your clit. You gasped, back arching off Rafayel's chest as you tried to squirm away from him.
"Shhh," Rafayel whispered, a low chuckle vibrating in your ears. You moaned, unable what to do, your brain a jumbled mess.
You felt Caleb's hands hold you in place while he continued to suck your nipple, the brown haired man truly lost in his pleasure as he continued to greedily lap at you.
"F-fuck-" You whined, cut off as Rafayel caught your lips with his, his mouth moving roughly against yours as he continued to bully your clit and aching chest.
This wasn't the deal! Ugh, these two are so sneaky!
Your boyfriends continued to pleasure you until you were begging for them to stop, Caleb being the first to let your tits go with a lewd little pop! and Rafayel slowing his assault on your poor pussy before just laying you lie there on his chest, a panting, moaning little mess.
"Feel better?" Rafayel teased, pinching your cheek with his finger. You rolled your eyes, still trying to catch your breath. You were about to answer when Caleb plopped himself on your tummy, resting on you like a pillow. He wrapped his hands around your waist and anchored you to the bed, his brown strands brushing against your skin.
"Y-yeah. Thanks." You breathed, still catching your breath. Rafayel hummed with approval while Caleb sighed against you.
The three of you lay there together in a bundle of warmth, exhaustion and shared pleasure, your earlier doomed thoughts of despair and dread completely washed away with whatever these two did to you.
Seriously, did they plan this or something?
You took a deep breath, making yourself comfortable while you started to make conversation with them, considering that you didn't know what they were up to while you were curled up at home.
Eventually the conversation fizzled out to a peaceful silence, Rafayel being the first to peacefully doze off while Caleb followed, a big yawn leaving his lips before he was passed out on your tummy.
You lay there with a smile, your hand stroking Caleb's hair while your other hand was laced with Rafayel's, your heart swelling with how much you were loved and taken care of by your two favorite people in the world.
a/n: the amazing digital footprint JKJKJK man i need these two right now its not even funny anymore im gonna cry...if only men were real...ANYWAYS LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED <33 And also drop your thoughts in the comments or whatever, I like interacting with yall! Ok cya!
LI: Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, & Caleb
Synopsis: The lads men lose their minds when they catch you wearing their clothes.
Warnings/Tropes: Explicit, MDNI. Established Relationship, Size Difference, Dubious Consent (Dubcon), Somnophilia (Xavier), Oviposition/Egg Insertion (Rafayel), Spitting (Zayne), Fingering, Degradation, Praise Kink, Overstimulation, & Rough Sex. (holy kink list-)
WC: Roughly 800 words per LI.
♡ Bunny's Note: Since you guys loved the Sylus version so much, here is the rest of the boys! ₍ ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎
Xavier Ი𐑼₊⊹
Xavier had just finished up with a mission, eager to head back to his sweet girl and sleep the exhaustion away. He walked into your apartment, the door clicking shut softly behind him as his eyes immediately landed on your figure. You were curled up on the sofa, looking like you had fallen asleep right in the middle of a show. The TV was still on, its changing lights illuminating the soft contours of your face and body.
He stepped closer, intending to wake you up gently, when he realized what you were wearing. Clad in nothing but his white hoodie, there you were adorably snuggled up, the fabric big enough on your frame to act as a makeshift blanket. His heart melted at the sight, but a sudden, hot wave of possession curled low in his stomach right alongside it.
He hadn't realized until this exact moment just how much he loved seeing you in his clothes.
Crouching down to your level, he slowly slid his arms under you and lifted you up, carrying you bridal style. The sudden shift in position caused the hoodie to ride up your thigh just a little, exposing the lace of your underwear. Xavier’s eyes visibly dilated at the sight.
He gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing tightly as he tried his absolute best to ignore the throb in his pants. Forcing himself to focus, he carried you down the short hallway into the bedroom so you could continue your rest comfortably. You shifted slightly in his hold as he carefully lowered you onto the mattress, but you didn't wake up. Xavier climbed in right next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him until your back was pressed perfectly against his chest.
But the thick ache in his trousers wasn't getting any easier to ignore, and the temptation right in front of him was too much. Giving in, he let his hand roam. The hem of the hoodie was completely bunched up at your waist now, leaving your lower half bare. His palm slipped beneath the fabric, tracing the warm curve of your waist before moving upward until it rested over your breasts, which were rising and falling in perfect time with your breathing. He let himself gently caress you, his fingers squeezing the soft mounds and playfully flicking your nipples, remaining careful and quiet so he wouldn't disrupt your sleep.
Eventually, though, his hand traveled lower, his fingertips ghosting over the flimsy lace right where your sweet cunt was hidden. He shouldn't.
You were sleeping so blissfully, completely unaware of the fact that you looked oh so fuckable in in his clothes. But as his fingers grazed over the fabric, they brushed against a wet spot.
Fuuuck He was going to anyway.
He pulled the flimsy cloth to the side, exposing your bare, flush folds to the cool air as he lightly rubbed you. Using two fingers to spread you open, he felt a fresh wave of your syrup leak over his knuckles. You wouldn't mind, would you?
He dipped his digits entirely inside you, the sudden, slick stretch causing you to let out a soft, subconscious whimper in your sleep.
“You take me so well even in your sleep, my star,” he whispered as he curled his fingers just right, intentionally hooking against that sensitive upper wall, earning a tight, involuntary squeeze from your walls.
“Aw, looks like she's answering for you instead.” He fingered you languidly for a while, content with the quiet, sleepy moans slipping past your lips and how incredibly receptive your pussy was for him even in your dreams.
Eventually, the friction and the sound of your slick walls coating his fingers had him hard enough to be painful. Juust the tip, he told himself, as he lined up to your entrance and prodded his way inside. But your poor hole, despite all the lubrication, had a hard time accommodating to all his girth. The way your body clenched hard around him– almost pushing his cock right back out– made Xavier throw every last shred of his rationality right out the window.
So the man gripped your hip tightly and slammed his hips forward, shoving his entire length all the way in.
And this was where you finally woke up. “HAH– Xavier??!”
“I'm sorry– ngh– I just couldn't help myself,” he gasped out, his eyes dark and totally blown out as he immediately started an unforgiving pace, holding you in place by your hips as he fucked you deep.
“Wait– t-too big!” you cried out, your hands blindly reaching back to find purchase on his arms.
But he was far, far gone. He leaned over you, biting and sucking hungrily on your shoulder, leaving dark marks and bruises where his hands were pinning you to the mattress.
“You can't complain now, starlight,” he groaned against your skin, his thrusts hitting your sweet spot with a relentless rhythm. “It's almost like you did this on purpose. Wearing that... your pretty little pussy was practically begging to be filled.”
Zayne ❄︎⛄︎
Stepping out of the shower, you wrapped yourself in a towel, water droplets still trickling down your hair and shoulders. You made your way into the closet, intending to get dressed, when something caught your eye. There it was, Zayne’s favorite black shirt, neatly folded in one of the laundry baskets. Something about it was.. tempting. Zayne wore it practically all the time; you even suspected he owned multiple identical pairs. You wondered why he was so attached to it, so you figured you’d steal it for the day.
The moment you slipped it on, all your questions were answered. The fabric was incredibly comfortable. When zayne wore it, it looked like an exact fit, perhaps even tight around his broad shoulders. On you, however, unbuttoning just the top two buttons caused the collar to droop completely past your frame, revealing an expanse of skin and one bare shoulder, while the hem practically reached down to your knees.
Content with how it smelled like him, you padded over to the kitchen to fix a snack for the two of you. You assumed he was still working in his study and planned to pull him away for a break, showing off your new outfit while you were at it. But it seemed he beat you to the punch.
Zayne had just wandered into the living room, seeking a much-needed break from his desk. It just so happened that when he walked into the kitchen, he found you in a rather… interesting state.
You were tiptoeing to reach something on the top shelf, causing the hem of his shirt to ride up and expose the curve of your ass. A faint blush dusted the tips of Zayne's ears at the sight. Seeing you drowning in his shirt made him feel things he was unprepared for. Like he wanted to protect you from the world, yet devour you all the same. The rush of it all went straight down, a very obvious bulge now straining his pants.
He closed the distance silently. He planted one hand firmly on your hip while his other hand came down to give your rear a firm, sudden squeeze. You squeaked at the contact.
“I see a little thief is on the loose”
You were propped up securely on Zayne’s lap, your legs straddling his hips as you gripped his shoulders to keep your balance. The black shirt, now unbuttoned almost entirely down to your navel, bunched around your elbows, leaving your chest completely bare and your nipples peaking against the cool air of the room.
His large hands anchored your hips, effortlessly lifting your weight up before pulling you right back down onto his fat cock.
“zaynie..,” you whimpered, your walls clamping tight around the massive stretch of him, while the man in front of you looked utterly concentrated, his gaze fixed on the way you took him in.
It seemed to just now click in his head that you were, in fact, much smaller than he is. Suddenly, all those initial times of intimacy, where you struggled and sobbed over his dick, made much more sense. Back then, he had just chalked it up to your inexperience, and also obviously that he wasn’t exactly a petite man. Yet for some odd reason, he hadn't realized the true extent of it. Until now, that is.
He drew your hips up again, just to snap them right back down.
“Such a good girl for me, working so hard to take my dick.”
He leaned over to grip your face, his other hand curling at the base of your skull. “You deserve a reward, don't you?” Your eyes had completely glazed over, and you nodded your head frantically. “Stick your tongue out, darling,” he prompted, his thumb rubbing your bottom lip. You obeyed without missing a beat.
And he spat right in your mouth. “Swallow.”
The contact made you tip over the edge instantly, his taste making your pussy spasm uncontrollably, yet you tried to focus and do as he said. You swallowed dutifully with an audible gulp, showing him the evidence by sticking your tongue out once more.
Zayne smiled, thoroughly satisfied by your obedience, and he caught you in a wet kiss, sucking on your exposed tongue, his own soon joining in.
He loved the way you molded to him and his cock.
Rafayel ｡˚○ ⚓︎
It was three days to Ebb Day, and this came with the severe consequence of you being utterly tied to your lover, rafayel.
He had wanted to hide away at first, just like he did every single year, terrified that he would be too rough, too intense, and simply too much for you to handle. But after a whole shitload of convincing and a few heated preliminary rounds in the initial days leading up to it, Rafayel had finally agreed to let you stay with him through this.
You had just finished yet another grueling session with him in the shower. Knowing he wanted to enjoy the coolness of the water for a while longer, you stepped out early, craving some much-needed rest and a brief moment of alone time before your needy boyfriend came back begging to fill you up yet again.
After getting dressed, a violent shiver ran through your body. The flimsy material of your t-shirt and shorts did absolutely nothing to spare you from the freezing temperatures Rafayel had set his home to, a desperate counter-measure for how much he was constantly burning up. In hindsight, you really should have brought warmer clothes.
Not thinking twice, you reached over and stole Rafayel's cardigan, which was draped haphazardly over a nearby chair. The material was thick enough and big enough on your frame for you to completely wrap yourself up in it, a little consolation against the biting chill. Wrapped tightly in his scent, you relaxed onto his sofa, playing some random TV show as you zoned out.
After an hour or so, Rafayel finally walked out of the bathroom with nothing but a low-hanging towel draped around his lean waist, immediately seeking out your whereabouts. When he did eventually find you, lazing over in the living room, all his instincts flared up into overdrive the second he saw what you were wearing.
Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. All fucking mine.
He closed the distance instantly. Noticing his sudden presence, you looked up and chirped, “oh hey! How was your showe—” He didn't even let you finish your sentence. Rafayel pinned you flat against the cushions of the sofa as he hovered on top of you.
“I must say, very brave of you to wear that in my current condition, Miss bodyguard.”
Rafayel was rutting into you at an intense pace, already at it for hours since he stepped out of the shower, his stamina seeming to be completely bottomless. He had you pinned helplessly beneath him in an obscene mating press, your lower half spread out completely as he relentlessly used your already spent, aching hole.
“You humans... so fragile, so small,” he hissed out almost wondrously, his voice a breathless purr as he watched the friction of his movements. “Yet you can still keep up with me, cutie.”
You weren't even sure what he was talking about, because in your own head, you could barely keep up at all. All you could do was lay limp and twitching while his hands moved you into whatever positions he wanted you to be in.
But this time, rafayel had other plans with you, mind filling with all sorts of filthy thoughts, especially those involving how your little body would bulge out with all the eggs he was going to put inside you.
Without a single word of warning, he pinned your thighs deeper into your own chest, forcing your knees up on either side of your face before he suddenly stilled. Pulled out of your dazed state by the abrupt pause, you looked up at him confusedly, opening your mouth to speak before the words dissolved into a half scream, half moan.
“AHH– raf why is it– ack!” you were unable to move under his tight hold, “why is it growing??!!!”
“Shh– it's okay, cutie. c’mon... I know you can take it,” he cooed softly. He reached up, stroking your flushed cheek with a gentleness that felt entirely contrasting to how harshly his thick dick was stretching you out, practically breaking you.
Right as you thought you couldn't take any more, he stretched out fully, his tip slipping into place against your sensitive cervix as a singular egg intruded its way deep inside you. The round, distinct outline became instantly visible through your skin, your lower belly visibly bulging outward to accommodate everything being stuffed into your womb.
“Raf- hah-” your nails dug harshly into his shoulders, not realising you were drawing blood. Yet the dazed lemurian was too lost in his own greed, warm hand sliding down to caress over where the egg perfectly slotted inside you.
His eyes darted back to your face, pupils blown out to the point where he looked insane.
“Can I do that again? Pretty please?”
Caleb ૮･ﻌ･ა ⌯⌲
You just reached back home after dropping a book off at your friend’s house, walking through the front door and slipping off your shoes. Passing by the living room, you saw Josephine still watching TV, exactly as you’d left her. You quickly ran up the stairs, eager to finally snuggle back into your blankets.
But walking into your room, you were instead met with Caleb sitting on the edge of your bed. His hands were folded, a deep scowl etched onto his face— yet it flickered into something different for a fraction of a second when he looked up at you. .
Earlier that day, he had just gotten done after hours of brutal studying, so naturally he went looking for you. But when he asked Josephine, he was met with the fact that you had gone over to a friend’s house to drop something off. Specifically, the one guy Caleb already had a faint idea was interested in you.
Caleb was seething about it too, planning all sorts of endings for the guy, and more importantly, all the ways he was gonna thoroughly discipline you before you ever thought about going to another man’s house again.
Yet when you walked in, seeing what you were wearing, his anger seemed to melt off just a little. You were wearing your usual jean shorts and a t-shirt, but those were unimportant. What really caught his eye was the fact that you were wearing his D.A.A. jacket.
“Oh caleb! Wat’cha doin’ here”, you asked, flashing him a confused smile.
Caleb tilted his head, his frustrated expression melting into a slow, cocky smirk. Perhaps it wasn't as bad as he thought. Sure, you had stolen his clothes before, and Caleb absolutely loved it when you did– doting on how cute and small you looked in them, sometimes even not-so-subtly encouraging you to wear them despite all your own clothes being clean and ready in your closet.
Oh but this time, it was something about owning you, he thought. Something about his claim on you being visible in front of everyone, especially the men who thought they actually stood a chance with you.
He definitely wasn't mad anymore, but the painful wedge in his pants wasn't gonna let him drop what he had planned.
Your back was pressed hard against his chest, your thighs spread completely apart to the cold air of the room, entirely naked except for his jacket slipping off your shoulders.
Your vision was blurring, heavy tears forming from his deft fingers working at your sex. His two middle fingers were pumping relentlessly in and out of you, drawing out slick, soaking sounds and ragged whimpers from your mouth, which were muffled by his other hand tightly clamped over your lips.
“Shh, don't be loud now, pipsqueak. Don’t want grammy to hear us, do we?” He murmured, accompanying the words by curling his middle finger against that one spongy spot, pressing and rubbing it until you drooled helplessly against his palm and curled your toes hard against the sheets.
You could practically hear the smirk framing his face right now, mocking you as he intentionally did everything that was going against you being able to be quiet.
Your hand, which had been weakly gripping his wrist over your face, tapped against his skin, prompting him to take it off so you could finally speak.
“aah– Caleb, I can't anymore! I want your–”
“My cock?” He chuckled softly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his fingers shifted inside you to hit that exact spot again. “Nah. You don't just get to run off to another man's house and come back expecting a reward. You’ll get it when I say you’ll get it.”
You squirmed desperately against his tight grip. “It's not– it's not like that.” You could barely keep your thoughts straight; Caleb sounded entirely too casual for a man who was currently knuckles deep inside you.
“Plus, I doubt you can handle more. Look at you, struggling already.” He used his free hand to tilt your head down, forcing you to look at the filthy scene of your own hole stretching around just two of his thick fingers, your slick release dripping down onto the mattress.
You clamped down hard on his hand at the sight, yet you were completely insatiable, eager to feel him inside you instead.
“But noo– ” Caleb immediately pulled his fingers out of your cunt, a loud, wet squelch following the action before he stuffed them straight into your mouth instead, forcing you to taste yourself.
“Tch. You talk too much,” he purred, his thumb brushing against your cheek as you instinctively sucked on his wet digits. “Shut up and behave, and I might consider indulging you.”
