occasionally subtle
noise dept.
#extradirty
Sweet Seals For You, Always
pixel skylines
Game Changer & Make Some Noise
🪼
Love Begins
ojovivo
EXPECTATIONS
Andulka
Sade Olutola
blake kathryn
tumblr dot com
bliss lane
Cosimo Galluzzi
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
No title available
No title available
Jules of Nature
seen from Morocco
seen from Israel
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Thailand
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Switzerland
seen from Greece
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from Egypt
seen from United States
@worshipthecrow
⠀⠀ APHSY. ❤︎ ˎˊ˗
⠀⠀ ❝ Do you know how peaceful you look ? I could spend an eternity under these sheets, our hearts and our bodies tangled together. ❞
⠀ ⠀It is warm.
⠀ ⠀Warm, soft, and comfortable. To Sylus, his bed is now a veritable paradise— and all because of the little cat that is snuggled against him, claiming his bicep as her pillow.
valko's tail and ears are quite sensitive. you remember the first time he transformed, half a beast form, you were fascinated. his ears and tail look so... fluffy. you couldn't help but reach out to touch his tail out of curiosity.
what you didn't expect was that he suddenly whimpered. "mmhmph-!"
his cheeks flushed pink, mouth parted slightly, as he looked at you with betrayal. how dare you do that to him?
"pups... don't do that! i'm sensitive there." it almost feels like he's whining rather than talking to you. you just giggled, fond of the new information you just gained from touching your sensitive wolf boyfriend.
"but it seems like you like it.... no?" being the menace you are, you scooted closer to him, patting his head and caressing his hair. he leaned in close, nuzzling into your comforting and soft touch but he should've known what you were up to. you suddenly touched his ears, making him jolted and whined. he was too embarrassed, now his girlfriend know his weak spots and saw how he reacted. he's supposed to be your big bad wolf boyfriend!
he looked up to look at you, who was smirking like the meanie you are. valko whined, his eyes glistening, he looks like a kicked puppy.
"oh, im so sorry, ko. didn't mean to be mean to you." of course you can't win over those eyes. he already looks pathetic and reacting like one, being meaner will just make him cry.
you sighed softly as you pulled him into your embrace, while patting and caressing his hair. valko inhaled your scent, nuzzling your chest and caressing your body. he feels so safe in your arms.
you chuckled seeing how clingy he is. god, he is such a puppy.
god i miss this guy sm :<
⋆˚꩜｡❤︎ the morning after
sum. texts with the lads men the next morning after having s3x.
notes. this smau is suggestive/smutty. soo MDNI. Also just to clarify the relationship with each Li here:
Zayne- established relationship.
Rafayel- one night stand/friends.
Caleb- first time/established relationship.
Sylus- one night stand/"enemies".
Valko- first time with rut.
Xavier- helping each other after accidentally consuming aphrodisiacs.
didnt change their contact name for convenience. i am planning to write their encounters bcs it sounds fun, no promises thooo. Enjoy nonetheless.
if you stroll into work with one more shiny new accessory on your skin, tara thinks she’s going to lose it.
“ooh, i like your bracelet!” she commented out of the goodness of her heart one day.
“thanks! valko made it.”
she’d never heard the brand name before, so she let it slip her mind.
except it didn’t stop there.
“nice ring! where’d you get i—”
“oh, valko made it.”
“wow, your necklace is gorgeous!”
“valko made it!”
valko made it. valko made it. valko made it.
you know you don’t have to rub it in, right? at this point, adorned in all of her budget baubles, she’ll be the first to literally turn green with envy.
the next time she sees you at work, she thinks she’s in the clear. you’re not wearing any jewelry, so there’ll be no fallout in your friendship today.
until you brandish a tiny clutch bag, pull out two shimmering earrings, and stuff them in your ears without a second thought.
⋆˚꩜｡❤︎ you up?
Sum. Asking the lads men the classic "you up?"
notes. this smau contains smutty talks obv soooo MDNI. i had fun with this one, also changed zaynes nickname so its funny like the others :p
Locked and loaded
l word count: 3.7k l smut, piv, knotting, biting, scent kink l read on ao3 l
Started writing this the night before all hell broke loose and couldn’t even look at it for several days after. Here, have some hopefully cute and spicy wolf smut in these trying times.
"Valko, what are you doing here?"
You'd heard a thud from your balcony. The quiet night had carried the sound through the open door and snapped you out of your barely awake state on the couch. Valko had somehow made a seemingly graceful landing, perched on top of the railing, dressed in all black with bright golden eyes searching for you.
"Checking to see if you've still got your guard up, which you clearly don't," he states, landing with both feet firmly on the tiled floor as he folds his fingers into the shape of a gun and pointing it at your head. "Kaboom."
You push his hand away, annoyed, and ready yourself to ask more questions when he strolls right past you headed into your apartment. "Aren't you at least going to knock first?"
Valko immediately turns on his heel and taps his fist on your forhead, twice, making a point of bowing down to your height.
"Hmm," he smirks, tilting his head," I don't think anyone's home. What a shame, since I came all this way."
"Put your paws on my face one more time and I swear I'll bite."
"Haha, how adorable," he chuckles, sarcastically. Not even a second passes before he has both his hands on your cheeks, squishing them together and pressing your lips into a forced pout. "Careful, huntress, only one of us has actual fangs."
holy shit bro imagine taking a nibble on those beefy arms while he's balls deep inside of you ohhhmy fuckinggodskdnkfkf
he has you on your back in an open missionary position just plap, plap, plapping. your chin is turned away and he's panting down your neck like an animal when you notice the thick bicep bulge, with green and blue veins popping out deliciously.
valko's too busy staring downward at his creamy cock going in and out contentiously to realize your eyes are mesmerized. he's absentmindedly babbling as if he's utterly pussy drunk, so closely. you can hear the vibrations of his voice on your slick skin, all praise and reverence for his divine woman (you.)
you must taste it. just one bite.
nom.
you receive his attention immediately, not totally catching him off guard but his right eyebrow raises quickly. then, a smirk appears on his lips. valko's amusement causes a temporary standstill for the deep, mind-numbing thrusts.
he chuckles sweetly.
"ya like my muscles baby?"
to whoever reported my account and locked me behind the mature-content prison:
may your pillow always be warm. may your socks slide down inside your shoes. may your charger only work at one very specific angle. may your feet always smell, no matter how much you wash them. may every queue you join be the slow one. may your phone battery die at 2%. may your sleeves get wet every time you wash your hands. may your toast always land butter-side down.
respectfully, i hope your coffee is lukewarm forever. just fucking block me and move on.
also, imagine reporting li x li content in 2026. i genuinely cannot wrap my head around it. honestly, this fandom is a fucking prison.
They Find Your Sex Toys!
Masterlist
Zayne | Xavier | Rafayel | Sylus | Caleb
Tags: 18+, Female!Reader, Mc!Reader, Explicit Sexual Humour, Mentions of Old Days!CalebMc, possibly ooc, kinda short soz x
The boys texting you after they find your sex toys!
Ragebaiting LaDs Men
AN: These gifs were the ultimate source of inspiration. May he return one day 🕊️
Pairing: LaDs x GN Reader
My fav: Caleb takes the cake for this one
Xavier:
Not buying poor bunny's cuteness facade.
He'll act all cute and snuggly to get you closer for his nefarious desires. But there's a surefire way to trigger this man. Just don't buy the cuteness.
valko headcanons
sfw
۶ৎ he'll offer you his credit card and be content allowing you to purchase everything you want when you're on dates together, even if you end up spending most of it.
۶ৎ valko is that type of boyfriend who feels incomplete if he's not touching you in some way. he'll intertwine his fingers with yours while he's focused on driving, hold you closely when you're together visiting a crowded place, sit beside you in a restaurant booth just so that he can rest his hand on your squishy thigh.
۶ৎ the simplest way to relax him is to play with his fuzzy hair, rub his ears, or caress his cheeks. his tense jaw will unclench, flexed muscles will un tighten. his giant body will melt into you entirely when you pet his head and lightly fondle his soft face. it makes him feel sooo good.
nsfw
۶ৎ valko is a serious pussy eater. you're sweaty and haven't showered yet? doesn't matter. on your period? he's still devouring you carelessly if you desire it. feeling lazy and in the mood to be a receiving princess? he'll pleasure your clit without any expectations.
۶ৎ has a little happy trail down there and rarely shaves his pubic hair. valko doesn't care whether you decide to shave yourself or not, but he hugely prefers your natural body.
۶ৎ valko actually enjoys foreplay more than you do. watching the cute fucked out expressions you make, making your legs shake after you orgasmed from just his lengthy fingers, the way you squirm and whimper his name repeatedly like a mantra. all of it has him completely whipped.
۶ৎ whether you're being the dominant partner or not, valko is obsessed with body worship during sex. he just loves the idea of either of you treating the other person's figure like a temple.
Until death, all defeat is psychological.
Draft
Seven months ago, you married Sylus Qin — not out of affection, or the slow, mutual ease that sometimes grows between two people who choose each other, but because the world around you had been rearranged into a bargain. You had become, in the blunt accounting of men who traded lives like currency, a price paid to keep a predator from finishing what he had started. The memory of that evening still lived in your chest like a bruise, impossible to ignore.
The deal was struck in a room that smelled faintly of expensive tobacco and concealed fear. Your father sat across from Sylus, his fingers trembling just enough to betray him, though his voice never wavered. He spoke of shares and land deeds, of businesses sprawled across the N109 zone, of percentages and transfers as if he were discussing inventory rather than offering his daughter as collateral.
“Seventy percent,” your father said, forcing a smile that never reached his eyes. “And my daughter.”
You stood behind him, silent.
Sylus had been prepared to kill him that night. You learned that much later. The weapon had already been chosen, the exit routes planned, the consequences weighed and dismissed. Your father knew it too. That knowledge sat heavy in the room, unspoken but understood.
Marriage was not a proposal.
It was a plea.
You did not scream. You did not cry. You only felt something inside you go still, like an animal realizing escape was no longer possible. You had been taught that acquiescence was safer than defiance. Still, the way he offered you like an asset, without hesitation or remorse, made your stomach turn.
Your father presided over the proceedings as if he were conducting the transfer of land deeds rather than the joining of two lives.
You had never heard Sylus’s name before that moment. Never crossed paths with Onychinus. Never knew what kind of man could make your father beg so shamelessly. Yet here you were, being traded for survival as though you were an object that had always belonged to him.
But perhaps the cruelty should not have surprised you.
Your father had always found comfort in control. Watching you shrink had pleased him more than watching you succeed ever could. Any spark of independence was corrected swiftly — sometimes with words, sometimes with hands, sometimes by turning your own mother into the instrument of punishment.
Your mother was quiet. Always quiet.
She moved through the house like a mannequin posed in different rooms, her expressions carefully neutral, her voice obedient. When your father ordered her to discipline you, she did so without hesitation. When he insulted you, she stood beside him. When you cried, she looked away.
Love had never lived in that house. Only structure. Only silence.
You had tried to leave.
God, how many times had you tried?
You ran once in the early hours of dawn, barefoot and desperate, heart pounding with the thrill of almost-freedom. You were caught before the city limits, dragged back by men who smelled of sweat and loyalty, your wrists bruised where they held you too tightly. Another time, you planned to run away with the money you hid for months, folded carefully into books and drawers, only for it to be discovered and confiscated by your father with a quiet, mocking laugh.
Each attempt ended the same way.
Each time, your world grew smaller.
By the time the wedding date was announced, resistance felt like a luxury you could no longer afford. Survival demanded compliance. And so, with your voice steady and your soul hollowed out, you agreed.
The wedding took place in a hall far too grand for the emotion it held. White flowers lined the aisle in excessive abundance, their fragrance cloying rather than comforting. Crystal chandeliers cast light that glittered off polished floors and gold accents, all of it carefully curated to look like a celebration of a politician’s daughter getting married.
It felt more like an execution.
Your father walked you down the aisle, his hand firm around your arm, his grip a reminder rather than support. Your dress fit like armor — white lace with geometric embroidery that matched the symmetry of your life now, perfect on the surface, empty beneath. A veil obscured the world into softness until it lifted, and you found yourself walking toward a man you had never seen, toward a future that had been negotiated across a table where you were not even supposed to be present.
Guests murmured softly as you passed, their eyes lingering with curiosity rather than joy. They did not know you. They only knew the power this union represented.
Halfway down the aisle, you dared to look up.
That was the first time you saw Sylus.
He stood at the altar with his hands folded behind his back, tall and immovable, dressed in a phantom black that seemed to swallow all the light around him, hair falling silver against his collar. His expression was unreadable, carved from something harder than indifference. When his gaze met yours, it did not soften.
Crimson eyes assessed you with the precision of a man evaluating risk.
You swallowed and looked away, heart racing for reasons you couldn’t yet name.
Why did the gods make this devil of a man handsome?
When you reached him, your father placed your hand into Sylus’s without ceremony. There was no warmth in the gesture, no blessing whispered, only relief. Relief that the man standing beside you would live another day.
The priest’s voice petered out into a background murmur, the quartet’s bowing now the only thing that connected you to the present. The vows passed in a blur, words about partnership and devotion ringing hollow in your ears. When Sylus slipped the ring onto your finger, his touch was firm, impersonal. When it was your turn, your hands trembled just slightly as you did the same.
Silver closed around your finger.
A bond sealed not by love, but by desperation.
As the officiant declared you married, applause filled the hall. Your father smiled then — wide and triumphant. Beside him, your mother’s expression was a carefully neutral one, trained for occasions where sentiment could be misconstrued as weakness.
You looked at them both and felt a strange, fragile thing take root in your chest.
Hope.
Just the faint belief that perhaps this new life, however uncertain, might hurt less than the one you were leaving behind.
Perhaps a man who had nearly killed your father might be kinder than the parents who never protected you.
You did not know yet how wrong that hope would prove to be.
In the earliest days of your marriage, Sylus was rarely there.
Not at night. Not in the mornings. Not even on the day that was supposed to mark the beginning of something — your wedding night. You had been led to a room vast enough to echo, dressed in silk that felt unfamiliar against your skin, only to realize hours later that you were alone.
Strangely enough, you did not mourn that absence. If anything, it felt like mercy. You had spent your entire life shrinking under someone else’s gaze — your father’s watchful cruelty, your mother’s hollow compliance — and the thought of another man entering your space, measuring you, claiming you, was unbearable. Solitude, at least, did not demand anything from you.
Onychinus was enormous.
It unfolded around you in polished corridors and high ceilings, in rooms that seemed to exist solely to display wealth rather than serve any real purpose. Marble floors gleamed beneath your feet, glass panels reflected your image back at you from angles you weren’t used to seeing. Artifacts rested in alcoves behind reinforced glass, objects you had only ever read about in forbidden books or heard whispered among the elite. Some things did not even look purchasable, as though they had been taken rather than bought.
It felt less like a home and more like a monument.
In the beginning, you were careful.
You watched where you sat, unsure which chairs were ornamental and which were meant to be used. You listened to the sound of your own footsteps, worried they might be too loud. Even eating felt like an act that required permission, your posture stiff, your movements restrained, as though someone might appear suddenly to correct you.
But no one did.
Sylus remained a shadow at best. When he was present at all, he was locked away in his study or gone before you ever knew he had returned.
With the passing days, your shoulders loosened. You stopped flinching at every distant sound. You wandered further into the base, discovering balconies, quiet sitting rooms, and corners where time seemed to slow. Privacy, something you had never known, settled around you like a fragile blanket.
You embroidered in silence, your fingers moving on instinct as thread bloomed into patterns beneath your hands. For a while, peace felt possible.
Then, inevitably, the quiet grew teeth.
Loneliness crept in when you least expected it, slipping between the hours like a persistent ache. There were days when you did not hear another human voice at all. Meals arrived without comment. Doors opened and closed without acknowledgment. The silence no longer felt protective, it felt hollow. It echoed.
The first presence you truly met was not another person.
It was a crow.
At first, you thought he was a pet — an unusual one, perhaps, but Onychinus was filled with things that defied expectation. He watched you with glowing eyes that followed your movements too precisely, head tilting with uncanny awareness. It wasn’t until later that you realized he was mechanical, every movement governed by something far more complex than instinct.
“Hello,” you had said softly, crouching a careful distance away. “Well, aren’t you a strange little thing?”
He had cawed in response, the sound oddly expressive.
You learned of his name when Sylus had once called for the crow while he thought you were sleeping. Mephisto, Sylus’ little creation.
You began to spend time together. You embroidered quietly in the afternoons, sitting by the windows where wind blew gently, threading designs onto whatever fabric you could find. Flowers at first. Then patterns you remembered from childhood, imperfect but earnest.
You spoke to him as if he were alive, because in your solitude, the distinction hardly mattered. You told him about the designs you stitched, about the way the silence here felt different from the silence back home. Gradually, without realizing it, your words grew heavier.
You told him about your father.
About how he locked you inside when you cried too loudly, when you disobeyed, when he simply felt like reminding you of your place. You admitted your fear of the dark, how it pressed against your chest until you could not breathe.
You spoke of your mother standing outside those doors, keys clenched in her hand, never once opening them to check if you were alive. Love, you said softly one evening, was a word that never belonged to you.
Mephisto listened.
Sometimes he answered only with low, mechanical caws. Sometimes he hopped closer, pecking your fingers when tears blurred your vision, grounding you in the sting of something real. On worse days, he settled against your chest, cool metal a strange but steady comfort.
You laughed weakly at yourself for finding solace in a crow, but you were grateful all the same. A friend was a friend, no matter how unlikely.
“I’ve made a friend,” you told him once, smiling faintly. “That’s new for me.”
You didn’t know then that every word you spoke was being recorded, catalogued for a certain someone to listen to later.
You only knew that you felt heard.
Sylus, when you did see him, was a fleeting specter. Sometimes he came home stained with blood or grime, his presence sharp and fleeting as he strode towards his own room. You never asked where he had been. You didn’t want to know. The answers felt heavy, dangerous, and unnecessary.
There were others too — two young men you occasionally caught watching you from corners or doorways. They vanished the moment you noticed them, quick as ghosts. One afternoon, you finally cornered them near the training area.
They froze.
They wore crow-themed uniforms, masks obscuring their faces, posture stiff with uncertainty. After a moment of awkward silence, they introduced themselves.
“Luke,” one introduced quickly.
“Kieran,” the other added, nodding.
They explained they worked for Sylus, words tumbling over each other as if afraid they might offend you. Then, just as suddenly, they disappeared again, leaving you staring after them in mild disbelief.
It took time — and persistence — for them to stop avoiding you. You learned they were twins, inseparable, bound by loyalty and curiosity in equal measure. They were shy around you, not out of disdain but reverence, unsure how to act around their boss’s wife. Once you broke the ice, joking lightly and offering them tea, their guardedness melted.
Luke was expressive, dramatic, always talking with his hands. Kieran was quieter, steadier, offering dry commentary when least expected but always laughable. They became familiar presences, offering company, conversation, and a listening ear when the house felt too empty.
You didn’t tell them everything.
Some wounds felt too raw to expose, and some fears too deeply ingrained. Still, you joked with them, teased Sylus’s perpetual absence, rolled your eyes dramatically at his nonexistent husbandly duties. One night, emboldened by wine and misplaced courage, you even complained loudly about how he had not spoken a single word to you since the wedding.
“You know,” you slurred one night after too much wine, “I’m fairly certain I married a ghost.”
They laughed nervously, exchanging glances.
You never noticed the way Mephisto watched from above.
You never expected Sylus to hear any of it.
So when you walked into the main hall one bright morning and saw him seated there — relaxed, unguarded, undeniably present — you thought you were imagining things.
You blinked, rubbing your eyes.
He was still there.
Sylus looked up at you then, crimson gaze meeting yours. And for the first time since you’d known him, the corner of his lips curved upward — not into something sharp or dismissive, but into a smile.
It was small. Genuine.
And because it was directed at you, it sent your heart racing in a way that startled you with its intensity.
You did not know yet how complicated, how painful, how consuming your life with Sylus would become. You only knew that the air felt different, charged with possibility.
Standing there in the glow of the morning light, with his eyes on you at last, you had the foolish, fragile thought that perhaps — just perhaps — this was the beginning of something beautiful.
olfactory
anon's ask : Just having a thought of Valko using his beloved's puss like some sort of inhaler after dealing with "bad scents" during the day. Not even sexualy. I looove your Valko and would love even more to read something like this (just ignore it if thats too much, I'm already sorry) cw : wolfish/shifter themes, 18+ themes, scenting/scent headcanons, slight somno if you squint, fluff, suggestive, crack, not proof read a/n : hello anon !! thank you for the request. i actually love this so dw ♡ i've been really sick this last week so i promise im seeing everyones asks im getting there slowly (╥‸╥)♡
even without the ears and tail, there are just some habits valko has that reminds you of his werewolf heritage.
there's the shedding. right after the shower, he loves sitting on the floor with you behind him on the couch, brushing through his ears and tail. no matter how much of his fur ends up on the comb or floor, he still has so much. it does make his tail a great pillow and heat source when you cuddle though.
he's sensitive to sounds. even when he's in his full human form, his regular ears have a higher sensitivity to low frequency noises. it could be the second floor bathroom sink dripping water, a bird chirping in the yard. more often then not you end up playing the game of figuring out what "low buzzing sound" he's hearing, and having to shut it off before his migraine grows. (7/10 times its the fridge)
valko doesn't realize it, but he always lets out small doggy like sounds. it could be due to anything. you kiss his forehead? a breathy satisfied sigh. accidentally step on his tail? a sharp yelp from his part. (although... he ends up being the one to apologize to you? "im so sorry baby my tail shouldn't have been there!" 'koko im the one who stepped on you im sorry')
one of the more obvious ones is his scenting behaviors. scents and smells overall is another sense of his that is just sensitive. overly artificial perfumes, the extremely antiseptic scent of cleaners, rust and iron. your poor werewolf often comes home with a head heavy dealing with the constant assault to his olfactory system.
on the very early days on dating, valko mentioned that you had a very specific scent. not the one from any fragrances you wear, but "your natural scent. it's something that just stands out to me. I can find you in a crowd with it". it's almost a routine once he comes home for him to pull you into his arms, drag you into the couch, and bury his nose into your neck where he's said that scent of yours he loves is the strongest.
speaking off- he has favorite parts of you to breath in. you neck, the juncture between your neck and collar specifically being the most common area he breaths in. it's ideal when cuddling or sleeping together. in more public spaces, he'll opt for your wrists and hands. holding them, bringing them to his nose and face. or the most recently place you've learned brings him comfort for some reason that you can only attribute to him being a werewolf...
"val."
purrrrr
"valko."
mhnnn
your hands are tangled in his hair, alternating between scratching his fluffy ears. he's been buried between your thighs since you've woken up. and while other times he's there for other reasons that you both enjoy, this time he's genuinely just there, cheek pressed against your inner thigh, breathing in like he has nothing to worry about.
"y'smell really good. makes my head all quite." he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. you make a weak attempt to swat his head away.
"you're being weird," you mutter, with no real heat to it.
"yeah," he kisses the skin of your thighs, open and gentle, "but your scent.. it makes all the noise go away."
it's hard to push him off bed when he whispers sweet words like that in the morning. but he's just the right amount of endearing and adorable that you just have to tease him.
"...so, is this specifically a scent kink thing or a me thing?"
you have to hold back the giggle from your chest when you literally feel his breath hitch. he perks up from his spot between your legs, face and tips of his ears already blushing.
"that's not- it's not- I don't have-"
his wolf ears flatten against his skull, akin to a puppy who has been denied treats.
"it's not a kink... just a wolf think. you smell safe. like home."
you finally break- reaching down and scratching his head while cooing lightly. he leans into your touch, eyes warm and so full of love that it makes your heart swell a bit more.
sure, valko might have some odd habits, and while it's partly due to his biology, he will always stand by that it's simply because of how much he loves you first.
i'm alive again hello loves. (i stopped being sick just to start my period immediately. yipe fuckin yay)
hii darling can i get a B - begging for valkos thirsty weekend 👀 tyyy🩷🩷
Ohhh good lawd, I'd beg shamelssly for him to things to me.
--------
"Deep enough?" Valko growls sensually into your ear as his hips rock against your rounded ass. You whine, fingers curling into the bedsheets as he bottoms out, your cunt wet and dripping as he thrusts.
"Val...please..." you whimper, your breath coming in fractured bursts as he angles himself to that the spongy tip of his cock brushes just right against your g spot. Your walls clamp around him in hot need, but he merely continues his lazy movements, tugging your hair to ensure your back stays arched.
"Please what? Use your words, mouse."
"Please...wanna...mhm need your...oh." You lose track of your words as his fingers find your clit, circling it as his cock continues to rub into that sensitive patch along your inner walls.
Valko chuckles. "Poor little mouse. Wanna be knotted so bad huh?"
"Yeah..." You admit breathily, growing needier by the second as he teases your clit into a frenzy.
"You beg so sweetly. Now why don't you try again, and maybe I'll oblige?" He licks your ear and you nearly break from the growing heat and tension coiling inside your body.
"Please...knot me...need to feel you in me..."
"More."
"Wanna...be so full...stretched on your cock..."
"Better."
"Want you to...fill me and knock me up with your pups..."
A feral growl escapes his lips, his movements growing frenzied as he pounds into you.
"That's my girl," he whispers, the slap of skin on skin echoing the room. "Begging so nicely for my knot and my pups..." He groans as your walls tighten around him.
"Gonna milk me dry here, mouse." A snarl emanates from his chest as Valko climaxes, and you gasp as he swells, his cock stretching you to capacity as warm jets of his seed spill into your slick channel.
Thirsty Weekends -> Send an ask!
peak of intimacy development
"Can I just..."
Zayne cuts you off with a click of his tongue, disappointed in your inability to stay silent. Sylus huffs a laugh, and embarrassment burns in your stomach.
It was bad enough to be punished. But Sylus watching it happen? Even worse.
The head of Zayne's leaking cock smacks against your lips to grab your attention, smearing a single drop of precum that you greedily lick off, nearly moaning at the taste. He pulls away too soon, not letting you take him in his mouth. He pumps his cock once more, intense green eyes meeting your pleading stare.
"Sit still." Is all he says, making it clear he did in fact notice you pulling at the robes that keep you on your knees in front of him, hands firmly behind your back.
He starts going faster, the wet sounds of him jacking off to the sight of you tied up making your pussy throb with need. Your mouth is watering so much you're surprised you aren't drooling.
"Fuck!" He curses as he cums, most of it landing on your face, the rest dripping down your chest. You squeeze your legs together in attempt to soothe the ache, about to plead your case in an attempt to get to cu-
"Wait." Sylus's voice makes you both stop. Zayne is holding a towel, but he too watches Sylus walks over slowly, stopping in front of you and grasping your chin.
You glare at him despite his smirk, mentally cursing him. He can sense it, you're sure. Then, he leans down, and licks a long stripe up your face, moaning at the taste of Zayne's cum. Your eyes flutter shut, and then his lips press to yours. It's your turn to moan, Sylus's sweet saliva mixing with the salty taste of Zayne's cum.
"Satisfied?" He murmurs, already grasping the ropes to untie you.
"...I think I need another kiss to be sure."
shoutout @mwphisto for this btw, hope you enjoy <33
