don’t get him wrong—he absolutely hates seeing you in pain, and he would do anything to make it go away. it’s just, when you send him to the grocery store for supplies, it’s the one time a month he can buy mountains of chocolate without you scolding him.
as he strolls through the supermarket, wheeling a cart heaped to the brim, concerned looks from fellow shoppers bounce off him like blunt darts. when he’s this giddy, no one can burst his bubble.
now, valko’s a strong guy. the strongest, you reassure him endlessly. but even he has trouble carrying all his bags of assorted goodies inside to you. chocolate candies, ice cream, cookies, cakes…you didn’t specify what to get, so he just bought it all! boyfriend of the year, if he says so himself.
once you’re done marveling at his haul, you both sit on the couch, put on a movie, and devour everything at an alarming rate. without fail, he always passes out after, laying his head on your lap like your own personal heating pad.
just before you drift off yourself, you whisper into his fluffy ears. they twitch slightly, like he’s living the first scenes of a happy dream.
“you and chocolate? that’s better than any medicine.”
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Josephine had seen a lot in all her years. But never a birthday party so empty.
It was a celebration fit for child royalty, complete with a bounce house, wave slide, and water balloon station. The whole setup could have easily put any theme park to shame; the only problem was, there was almost no one to take advantage of it.
Mrs. Li groans and runs a hand down her face, looking back toward her young son. “This didn’t go as expected. We sent out invites to everyone in his class, but they're all so much older. That's what all the fanfare was for.” She gestures to the various activities with a hollow chuckle. “We thought it’d help convince the kids to come over—we know that Zayne doesn’t care for it much. But you can see where all of that planning got us,” she quips dryly, sweeping her dark hair back in distress.
Josephine frowns in sympathy. “Well, I just can’t believe it. The whole ride over here, the only thing I heard was, ‘I’m so excited to see Zayne today!’ ‘Are we at Zayne’s house yet?’ ‘Zayne is my best friend. He’s so nice and smart!’” She gives her best go at imitating your voice, but nothing can compare to the original. “I’m sorry the other kids don’t seem to see it.”
A sad smile spreads across Mrs. Li’s face, and her worried gaze finds her son again. “I’m so grateful you're both here. I just hope it's not too awkward, being the only ones.”
Josephine looks toward the middle of the backyard, where you and Zayne are resting in-between activities. The heat is getting to you already: you’re fanning yourself with urgency, breaths coming out in little pants. Noting your condition, Zayne takes a timid step forward. Slowly, bluish-white ice crystals coalesce on his hand. When he’s certain they’re finished forming, he holds it out to you.
You take it gladly, beaming as bright as the sun.
A matching smile lights on Josephine's face.
She lays a comforting hand on Mrs. Li’s shoulder. “I think they’ll be just fine.”
──────
For the next two hours, you and Zayne bond.
In the bounce house, you leap around like a caffeinated kangaroo, jumping forcefully enough to knock Zayne off his feet more than once. The first time, Mrs. Li started to run over in concern—but stopped when she heard her son’s light, increasingly rare laughter.
On the wave slide, you take turns climbing up and pushing yourselves down. While one of you slides, the other remains on the ground, critiquing each attempt and advising on how it could be more “awesome.” Zayne seems to lose interest after his fourth time easing himself down, but he climbs up again anyway each time you call for him.
The water balloons are the main event. Josephine gasps as you fling one at Zayne without hesitation; it bursts against his black shorts with your elated shrieks in the background.
Grimacing at the water dripping onto his shoes, he shoves his glasses up his nose in concentration and hurls a bulging balloon back at you. He looks proud of himself when it hits you square in the chest—his mom says he isn’t the best at sports yet—but when you turn your back to him and stomp your foot with a wail, pride quickly turns to panic. He apologizes as profusely as a child his age can, hovering a hand over your shoulder, unsure if it’s okay to touch you or not.
You seem so distraught, even Josephine is surprised when you whip around with a cheeky grin, stand up on your tiptoes, and crack a balloon you’d hidden somehow right over Zayne’s head. As water drips down his hair, his mouth parts in shock, and you call out a triumphant “Gotcha!”
Mrs. Li rushes forward, worried her son will be upset. But Zayne only shakes the droplets off his hair and extends his hand in a solemn truce. When you take it, Josephine notices, a soft pink color spreads across his cheeks.
Finally, when it's time for cake, you reach up to anoint Zayne with a penguin-patterned birthday hat, cheering so loud that he flinches. When he recovers, he cuts a huge square slice of the blue-frosted sheet cake. He looks remarkably set on inhaling it.
Mrs. Li watches in exasperation, seemingly seconds from asking, “Hey, why don’t we start with a piece half that size, Zaynie?” But to her surprise, her sweet-toothed son doesn’t scarf his treat down in one go. Instead, he plates it like a junior chef and offers it to you.
“Today was my best birthday,” he mumbles with a shy smile. “Thank you.”
“you've conquered the business trip a million times before, mr. chairman. why hate it now?”
“before, i didn’t have you.”
“oh?” smiling gently, you reach out to cup valko's cheek. he lies across from you on the mattress, trusting you’ll share the burden of his distress.
“in the first month after mating, wolves have a hard time being away from the one they’re fated to.” he gives a halfhearted chuckle. “i guess you could say i’m a little attached.”
“i’m a little attached to you, too.” you pinch his nose, and his eyes cross slightly when they focus on your fingers. he tries to lick them, but you dodge just in time. “nothing wrong with that.”
“except i lied just now,” he blurts nervously. if he expects a reaction from you, he doesn’t get it. you knew that already. “it’s more than a little. it’s a lot—a whole lot. and now, it feels like i’ll never see you again.” his voice is hoarse, strained, like this has been weighing on him for some time.
humming softly, you sit up on the bed, crossing one leg over the other. as you reach out to stroke his hair, gold eyes glisten up at you.
“i know this is new for us, and i know that it’s scary. but i like to think of it…as a way for the world to show us how close we really are.
“whenever we’re apart, look up at the sky. look at the stars and any clouds left behind. then, look at the moon. look at its peaks and its craters, and every beam it shines down on us. and know that whatever you see, i see it, too.”
as your words become images, flashing and fading in his mind, valko struggles to keep his eyes open. this is the last time he’ll see you like this for two weeks, after all, and he wants the memory etched there forever. but your voice has lulled him to sleep before, and he won't start resisting you now.
“think of how much you'll have to tell me when you get home,” you whisper. “‘when,’ not ‘if,’ valko. focus on that. let when drive you forward. let when bring you back to me.”
──────
it’s been six days since your eyes last met.
now, on the top floor of a hotel in a city whose name is buried below thoughts of you, valko looks at the moon.
he breathes one, two, three, four, just like you taught him before he boarded.
then, he closes his eyes.
he hears the low hum of the refrigerator, feels the friction of his suit jacket too tight against his skin. he smells the foreign air, crisp and clean, though missing something sedative.
when he next opens his eyes, the moon looks a little different. a little more like home.
in it, valko sees you.
your strength, your brilliance, your persistence and perseverance. your miraculous existence, like you're too good to be true.
if the moon is your essence, it’s your appearance, too. little by little, it reflects your face back to him: how it shines like your smile; how it has its own scars, like the ones fading on your skin. how it’s steady and calm, like your favorite expressions to show him.
all its facets combine to paint a picture of you in the sky—one he now knows he can take with him anywhere.
before, you'd told him that you see the same moon. but when you look up at the sky at night, who do you see? does your moon look like him, too?
do you see him in the stars, like he sees you?
the mere thought brings a welcome feeling to his chest, one he thought he'd be missing for a few days longer.
it’s warm, it’s weightless.
comfort.
valko never thought he’d feel comfort while being apart from you.
but for the first time since he arrived, he turns his back to the moon. he feels safe doing it, knowing you’re there to watch over him with that soft, encouraging smile.
and you, he hopes, see his face shining down at you, soothing you to a restful sleep.
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
thank you @a-canceled-stamp and @crows-murder for tagging me <3<3<3
this is from the same dept q wip that i shared in last week's wip wednesday (and have been blabbing to like most of you about every time we sprint lmao), which went from being potentially a 3+1 to a 5+1 to now just. idk. no one knows when or how this is going to end ;~;
"I was heading home and saw you through the window," Jasper nodded his head to the glass, "and figured I might as well say hello."
Akram offered him a small smile. "Hello," he said.
Jasper felt himself warming up from head to toe. "Hello," he repeated, and then cursed himself for how stupid that must sound. He tried to recover. "You, uh, working on something?"
Akram hesitated. "The current case," he said. "Though I can't say I'm 'working on it'—all I've done has been just… stare at the file."
"Stop looking at it, then," Jasper said with a shrug. "It's what I do when I can't figure something out. Come on a walk with me."
It was an impulsive invitation. Jasper hadn't known it was coming out of his mouth until he heard himself say it. He held his breath, and waited to see whether Akram would accept.
Akram glanced at his watch, and then at the papers. "Mina's class ends in fifteen minutes," he said to Jasper.
Jasper pressed on. "Doesn't have to be long," he said. "End of the street and back. Plenty of time before she finishes up."
tagging @sassydefendorflower, @sunflowersandink @gettingbyi and anyone else who wants to share!!
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water splatters across the bathroom you’d just cleaned two days ago as valko shakes soapy droplets off his hair. once satisfied, he scoops up another handful, dunks it over his head, and repeats the process. he flinches when some gets in his eyes, the movement intense enough for a sizable wave to slosh out of the bathtub.
trying not to break character, you breathe slowly through your nostrils. it’s okay that he's getting water everywhere! it'll only make the experience more immersive.
peering at him from behind the door, you run your hands down your front, checking your outfit one last time. tonight, you were experimenting with the one-piece bathing suit you’d dropped half of your last paycheck on. and what better way to test it out than on the man who thinks you look good in everything? (and nothing, as he’s told you repeatedly.)
putting on a seductive smile, you saunter into the room, swaying your hips with every step. immediately, his amber eyes trail down your figure, widening and narrowing in the way that you know by now: he likes what he sees.
when you reach him, you prop your foot on the edge of the tub, making sure to show off your legs. it’s no coincidence they’re slathered in the cocoa-scented body lotion you’d bought as insurance.
as soon as he catches the scent, the motor hidden in his nose kicks on. his tongue darts across lips. “hi.”
“hi. you having fun in there?” you ask, voice carrying a sultry flair.
“i guess.” his canines are poking out. “the bubbles were a good suggestion. i like them.”
mhm. lucky for him, they cover his skin from his midriff to his ankles. otherwise, you might have already pounced on him by now—roleplay plans be damned.
“that’s great, baby. but when you go out for a swim like this, you should be sure to take the right precautions.” you puff your chest out, gesturing to your swimsuit. “maybe i can come in and give you some safety tips?”
his tail wags at the idea of you joining him. coughing, he reaches a hand back to capture it. “are you sure, though? your hair’s done all pretty. do you really want to get it wet?”
“it’s okay. i don’t mind getting real wet when i’m with you.” you lean forward to poke his still-twitching nose and shoot him a wink. “i’ll do anything to keep you safe out here. this beach isn't all sunshine, all the time. the waves can get dangerous, you know.”
at that, his tail lashes out of his grip, breaking the water’s surface with a powerful ripple.
delicious heat spreads through your lower belly. is he that worked up already?
noting your widening smirk, valko chews his bottom lip. “are you okay?”
huh? “what do you mean?”
“it’s just…usually i like when we play games, but i don’t know which one you’re playing right now. you keep talking like you’re a lifeguard or something, but…i’m not at the beach,” he says, tilting his head to the right in confusion. “this is a bathtub.”
in that instant, the bathwater reclaims its title as the wettest thing in this room.
your foot slips off the porcelain edge, and your sultry facade fades. as your shoulders sag, you can only look at him in dismay. “dude.”
“what?”
spinning on your heel, you pass the sink, then the towel cabinet. the door swings shut behind you.
“wait!” he calls. sloshing noises promise nothing good. “come back!”
your swimsuit is already sailing through the air, landing in the hamper as you flop into bed.
“you’re so— you’re so tight. i’m not going to fit, pipsqueak. it’s okay. we can try again another—”
in one ear, out the other. paying caleb's pleading voice no mind, you sink down on him inch by inch, relishing the stretch but quickly growing impatient. beneath you, he throws his head back into the pillows, overwhelmed by the sheer warmth of you.
“please. please. you’re squeezin’ the life outta me.” as if to prove his point, he starts to slur his words. “i dunno if i can take it.”
“you can.” you dig your nails into his hip bones. “you will. how much time did we waste, dancing around our instincts? we’ve both wanted this for so long—it’s only right that we take everything the other has to give.”
“then…can we take a break, at least? what if you hurt yourself? it can’t— it can’t be easy.” his mouth falls open, a whimper escaping as you swivel your hips trying to work your way to his base. “you’re so small. too damn small.”
“maybe you're too big. i like it, though. and once i fit you all the way in, i’ll love it.”
the rapid swell of his length isn’t making this any easier. every time you make progress trying to take him, he only grows even larger inside you.
“you’re the one who begged for this earlier. i want it, too. but you have to help me—i can’t do it on my own, caleb. you've always helped me, haven't you? always been there to look out for me. can’t you do it again?”
swallowing thickly, he admires you through half-lidded eyes. when you push your lips into a pout, he nods slowly. giving in like he always does.
nerves alight, he wills his hips to drive three feeble thrusts into your heat. it’s a rare show of weakness from him, but even his lacking efforts make you slide farther down.
of course, your mixed arousal dribbling down his length does most of the heavy lifting.
“more,” you urge. “more. we’re almost there.”
“i can’t.” he’s almost delirious now. “so, so tight. feel like i can’t breathe.”
“do it. you don’t want to disappoint me, do you? if you do, you might not get the chance to make it up to me.”
“no…no.” ardent as it is, his refusal is soft. he’s crashing quickly, devoting his waning energy to blinking the tears out of his eyes rather than projecting his voice. “never.” tensing for a moment, he gathers all his strength and rolls his hips, slow and deep, into your center. you accept him greedily, hissing through the dull sting until the rest of your weight falls on his throbbing length. once you’re fully seated, the scandalous slap of skin on skin echoes through the room. his desperate moans and a string of curses follow.
finally, finally, you feel so incredibly whole.
you moan, lewd and lascivious, and lean down to kiss the center of his chest.
“was i good?” he asks, rapid pants fanning the crown of your head. “you feel so good. is this good?”
when you raise your head, he sits up on his elbows, eager to kiss your lips in grateful reciprocity.
it doesn’t take much to dodge him. grinning, you splay your hand across his now flushed chest and push him back down, earning a whiny, defeated groan. sinking impossibly deeper, you give his nose a conciliatory peck.
“shhh. just stay like this. you don’t have to do anything,” you murmur into his skin. “that break you wanted earlier? we can take it now. i want to get used to this feeling. don’t you?”
over the soothing sounds of ocean waves, a deep voice penetrates your bubble. you blink one eye open and scan the room for its owner.
oh. it’s just sylus.
shifting slightly on the yoga mat, you try to ease back into your pose. distractions always messed up your form.
once the tension in your muscles is just right, you close your eyes and attempt to return to your happy place. “i’m trying to focus.”
“really?” by the sound of his footsteps, he’s getting closer. “you’re stretching on the floor. what about that requires focus?”
with a huff, you release your pose and rise to your feet. the remote to your sound machine lies on the coffee table, and you click it off in mild annoyance. “if it seems so easy, you try it, then. come on.”
snapping your fingers, you gesture toward the turquoise mat below. with a raised brow and a slight smirk, sylus steps onto the foam pad, his dark clothing clashing with its beachy design.
you clear your throat, trying to emulate your online instructor. “now get on your knees, move one leg behind you, and reach your arm behind your head. if you’re flexible enough, your fingers should touch your toes.”
“all right,” he says without a worry in the world. “on my knees, move my leg, and reach my…”
he had been following your instructions, but as he trails off, his movements slow. his eyes flit from the mat to his body in confusion—then back again.
“what’s wrong, sy? bit off more than you can chew?”
he chuckles. “never. i’m just figuring out the logistics of this position. my limbs are much longer than yours, you know.” grunting quietly, he tries to reach his arm back again. he almost has it—until a sickening crack echoes through the room.
sylus freezes.
humming, you rest your hands on your hips. “you good?”
his voice is no more than a growl. “help me.”
“why?” in feigned confusion, you pitch your voice up. “what’s wrong? i thought you had it.”
“if you don’t help me before my pelvis shatters, sweetie, we won’t be able to have anything for the foreseeable future.”
now, you’re the one who freezes.
no sex?
you shudder. what a frightening thought.
rushing to his side, you support him as he slowly flails out of the position. once his limbs are straight again, he lies face down on the mat.
“i see that i underestimated you,” he breathes. outside of his hearty laughter, you’ve never heard him wheeze quite like this. “i guess it’s best if i stick to firearms.”
