୨୧ ― Caleb has spent his entire adolescence and young adulthood rejecting every admirer who threw themselves at him- returning their homemade lunches, turning down their confessions, never once letting anyone get close enough to touch him like that.
He was too focused. Too loyal. Too busy dreaming about the girl who'd grown up beside him, the one whose birthday made up half of his passwords.
His girl.
And now, finally, after all this time, he has you exactly where he's dreamed of you for almost a decade- beneath him, looking up at him with those wide, trusting eyes.
God, she's really here. She's really letting me-
His internal thought cuts off when he hears your sweet voice.
"C-Caleb-," you whine pitifully, fat tears beginning to bead along your lower lashes as you squirm beneath him in his apartment you've slowly been turning into a home... "I- I don't think-"
"What's wrong?" He sounds almost boyish in his confusion, purple eyes soft with concern as he brushes sweaty hair from your forehead, "Did I do something-"
"S'too big."
He blinks, tilting his head like the adorable idiot he is, "I'm... no, I'm sure I'm average? I mean, I haven't really compared, but…" his words trail off…
Caleb can do nothing but stare...
How your poor little cunt is struggling, quivering, lips stretched obscenely trying to swallow the first few inches of him...
His length is ridiculous- he realizes that now with sudden, dawning clarity, watching nearly half of his shaft still jutting out from where your bodies meet.
Despite how wet he's gotten you with his fingers and tongue and desperate grinding- despite the slick mess coating your inner thighs, the way you'd gushed around two of his knuckles, the way you'd soaked his chin when he'd eaten you out… you're still barely able to take him.
He'd always assumed those whispered comments from classmates back in high school were idle gossip. Locker room flattery he was too humble to believe -even now during showers on the fleet-. Girls giggling behind cupped hands, guys clapping his shoulder with that knowing look...
But now-
Fuck.
Now he understands as he watches you try to adjust.
Watching how your belly flutters with each shallow breath, watching your thighs tremble where they're spread wide around his hips. Watching the visible bulge of himself pressing up against the soft give of your lower stomach when he sinks another inch deeper and you let out this broken little whimper that makes his balls tighten.
He's ruining you. Reshaping you. Your tight little hole wasn't built for this, wasn't made for a cock this fat, this long, this mean- and he can't decide if the thought makes him want to pull out and apologize or grab your hips and bury himself to the hilt just to watch you fall apart.
"Shh, shh, hey." His voice has dropped low, rougher than you've ever heard it, and there's something dark flickering in those usually playful eyes. That possessive edge he's hidden for years, now surfacing as he stares down at where his thick cockhead is trying desperately to sink into your fluttering hole, "I've waited so long for this, Pips... For you. We're going to make it fit, okay? I'll take care of you, just like i always have."
His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away the tears that threatened to spill. So gentle. So caring. So him.
And then his other hand pins your hip to the mattress as he snaps forward, burying every fat inch inside you in one brutal thrust.
"AHHH- CALEB!!" Your scream tears through his quiet apartment, back arching clean off the sheets as your cunt is forced to stretch around him, walls clenching and spasming helplessly against the intrusion.
It's too much -he's too much-, splitting you open on a cock that has no business being attached to a man who watches you like that. All soft, starving devotion. A loyal pup at the feet of its goddess, even while he wrecks you.
"Pips- oh, fuck, there we go," Caleb groans, and his voice is absolutely wrecked, those pretty eyes rolling back slightly as he bottoms out. His pelvis grinds against yours, the root of him stuffed so deep you can feel him in your goddamn stomach. "You're so tight- shit, is it always like this? Is this-"
"Y-you're my f-first too, you idiot," you sob, and something breaks in his expression.
First. I'm her first. She waited for me too.
"Oh, Pipsqueak," he breathes, and now both hands are cradling your face while his hips stay perfectly still to let you adjust. His cock twitches inside you, and you keen. "My sweet girl. I didn't know. I didn't-" He drops his forehead to yours, breath ragged, "I thought- I would've been gentler, I would've-"
"N'just-" You gulp for air, body quaking, "just stay still. M'need to -hah- adjust"
He nods, pressing apologetic kisses all over your tear stained face while his massive length pulses inside your stretched out cunt. But even as he soothes you, that darker part of his mind is calculating.
If I keep her on my cock long enough... if I fuck her through it over and over... her body will learn. She'll mold to me. Only me. She won't be able to take anyone else after this...
Good.
And when your walls finally relax enough for him to move, rolling his hips in a slow, devastating grind that makes your eyes roll back... Caleb learns something else about himself that night...
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
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
୨୧ — Valko was sprawled on his stomach, one arm dangling off the edge of the bed, hair an absolute disaster, ears twitching occasionally at sounds only he could hear. His tail had escaped the covers sometime in the night and lay flopped over your legs like a furry anchor.
It wagged once. Twice. Even in sleep, some part of him always knew you were there.
You'd been awake for an hour already- crept out at an ungodly time to execute your master plan, then slipped back in to wait. The apartment smelled like vanilla and sugar and slightly burnt frosting (you'd scraped off the evidence), and the living room was housing a mountain of wrapped presents you'd been secretly hoarding for weeks.
His nose twitched.
There it is.
You watched his brow furrow, still mostly asleep, processing the unusual scent data. His tail started wagging faster. Then his ears perked up- one, then the other, swiveling toward the bedroom door like little radar dishes.
“Mmrph” A grumble. His arm reached out blindly, patting the mattress until he found your thigh and latched on, “Why's it smell like... cake?”
“Good morning to you too.”
One golden eye cracked open. Then the other. He squinted at you suspiciously, clearly not trusting his own senses this early, “‘S not my birthday.”
“It literally is.”
He buried his face back into the pillow, “Birthdays are for people who age. I refuse. I'm eternal.”
You snorted and scratched behind one ear. His whole body went boneless, a low rumble building in his chest.
Cheater, he thought hazily. Using the ears against me.
“Made you a cake,” you said in the sweetest fucking voice.
His head lifted. Both ears now at full attention, pointed directly at you with laser focus.
“…What kind?”
“Chocolate. Three layers. Homemade buttercream… There may also be irresponsible amounts of presents. That leather jacket you've been staring at for six months? Those limited edition headphones that sold out in three minutes?" You grinned. "Oh, and I contacted that artist you like for a custom commission- it won't be ready for weeks so you're getting an IOU with a badly drawn wolf on it. Don't judge my art skills."
His tail was going insane now- hard enough to shake the bed. But his face was doing that thing where he tried to look cool and unaffected and was failing spectacularly.
She remembered, he thought, something warm and overwhelming expanding in his chest. Every stupid little thing I mentioned once. She was listening. She planned this. For me.
You didn't get to finish the sentence.
Valko moved fast and suddenly you were pinned beneath him, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his face inches from yours.
“You,” he said roughly, “are so annoying.”
“Rude. I made you cake-“
“The most annoying person I've ever met.” He kissed your forehead. “Insufferable even.” Your nose. “Absolutely unbearable.” The corner of your mouth.
You cupped his face in both hands.
“Happy birthday, my little wolfie.”
He made a small, undignified sound. His tail drooped. His ears flattened.
And then he buried his face in your neck, arms wrapping around you tight enough to squeeze the air from your lungs, and just... stayed there. Breathing you in.
You held him tighter, scratching at the base of his ears as his whole body melted against yours.
His tail started wagging again- slower, softer.
Best day, he thought. Best person. Gonna marry her.
“So,” you finally said, breaking the silence, “wanna see your presents? Orrrr is it still too early?”
He bit your shoulder. Not hard. Just enough to make you yelp.
“Five more minutes.” He lifted his head, flashing that sharp grin- still slightly watery but getting cockier, “Then presents. Then cake. Then I'm gonna show you exactly how grateful I am. Repeatedly.”
“...It's eight AM.”
“And? I've got all day. You gave me three layers. That's at least three rounds.”
“That math doesn't-“
He dropped back down, pressing a kiss to your pulse point, “My birthday. My math.”
sylus was a heavy sleeper when he knew you were safe, but he was an even heavier anchor when he didn’t want you to leave the bed.
the afternoon sun was entirely blocked out by the blackout curtains, plunging he bedroomn into a quiet twilight. you had climbed into bed just to keep him company while he took a much needed nap, but after an hour of lying still, your limbs were getting restless. you shifted slightly, trying to slide out from under the heavy arm around your waist.
you were barely halfway to freedom when the srm tightened like a metal trap. with one effortlessly yank, sylus dragged you right back across the sheets, pulling you flush against his chest.
tsk. so close.
“going somewhere, sweetie?”
his voice is a deep, gravelly murmur that vibrates against your back. he didn’t even open his eyes, his silver hair messy and untamed against the dark pillows.
“i want water,” you whisper, a breathless laugh escaping you as you pat his forearm. “and you’re holding me hostage."
“then stay captured,” he mumbles, his face burying directly into the crook of your neck. his warm breath tickled your skin for a second before his lips press a lazy kiss to your pulse point.
you let out a quiet gasp, wriggling in his grip. “sylus, stop! it tickles!”
“no,” he murmurs against your skin, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest. his hands slide down to your hips, his fingers pinching your waist to make you squirm even more.
“you are absolutely impossible when you’re sleepy,” you giggle, twisting in his arms until you are facing him. you reach up and deliberately ruffle his already messy hair, shaking the strands until they fall over his closed eyes. “look at you. completely lost your edge now.”
sylus finally cracks an eye open. his crimson eyes are hooded snd thick with affectionate warmth. a slow amused smile pulls at his lips.
“lost my edge, have i?” he echoes softly.
in one fluid motion, he flips his body over, pulling you along with him until you were sitting squarely on his lap, legs automatically straddling his hips. your hands fly to his broad, bare shoulders for balance as you let out a gasp of laughter.
“if you think so, sweetie, you’re welcome to try and break out of this,” he says, hands gently resting on your waist, but his grip tight. he looks up at you, his gaze warm and amused.
“you cheat,” you tease, heart doing a sudden happy flip as you lean down, face just inches from his. “using your size against me."
“i use what works,” he whispers, his thumb capturing your lower lip and pressing down until your mouth parts.
sylus dosen’t give you another second to argue. he tilts his head up and catches your mouth in a lingering, sweet, soft kiss.
the playful bickering melts away into total warmth. it isn’t a demanding, but a lazy, lingering embrace of your lips that leaves you grinning against his mouth.
he nuzzles the tip of his nose against yours, stealing little, breathless kisses between light chuckles, his large hands rubbing comforting, rhythmic circles over your hips. you lean into him completely, your fingers combing gently through his hsair fully untangling the strands you just ruined.
when he finally pulls back a fraction of an inch, his breathing is soft, his lips brushing an affectionate kiss against your cheek.
“water can wait,” he murmurs, his voice a low, cozy rumble. “stay right here, sweetie.”
you wrap your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder with a content sigh. “fine. but only because you’re warm.”
sylus chuckles softly, pulling the duvet up over both of you and holding you close against his chest. “whatever helps you sleep, kitten.”
Everything is feeling a little heavy, but that's alright because Valko is heavier.
ABOUT | 2500 words. fluff. pre-relationship. first kiss. UST. self indulgent. emotional hurt/comfort.
"Whatcha watching?"
Your body jerks in surprise, sending your phone tumbling to the floor as your hands come up to muffle the high-pitched yelp startled out of you.
The sound of the cat compilation video echoing through the living room undermines the fierceness of your glare when you turn to face your intruder. That teasing rumble all too close – and all too familiar – to belong to anyone else but-
"Valko," you chide, wishing you could blame the jumpscare when your stomach dips at the sight of his windblown hair and innocent expression so close to yours.
Though letting himself into your apartment like this was nothing new, had become a part of your routine for months at this point, if you're honest, there was something that had been feeling different about Valko's visits to you lately. Less vexing and more… comforting.
An increased awareness of him, maybe? The sound of his voice. His size. The way his laugh and personality managed to fill the room more than his bulky body. Of the way he always tripped over your living room rug or tried to sneak a rub of his scent into every pillow. Of the way he stood so close when he spoke to you, capturing you in the sweet honey of his eyes.
It was something warm that pulsed in your chest, something intimate that had started to hook your gaze to his mouth and magnetize your palms to his skin even today, when you're at your lowest.
His right ear twitches at the sound of his name as he grabs your phone from the floor, a crease of distaste scrunching his nose when he clicks on the screen to stop the noise and tsks, "Looks like my 'dogs are better than cats' speech needs some work."
"Maybe I'll be more in the mood to hear you out–" you take your phone back and set it on the table with a huff, "–when my 'please use the damn front door' speech finally penetrates that thick skull of yours."
A crooked grin scrawls over his face. The pointed tips of his incisors reflecting the dim light of the small lamp you'd flicked on purely to save you from feeling like a complete gremlin while you moped this evening.
"Gonna tell you the same thing I tell Ma every time she says that." He unfurls from the crouching position he'd been in and drops his weight beside you, making your normally sizeable loveseat suddenly feel cramped. "Processing info is for the ears, not the skull."
Resting your cheek in your palm, you narrow your eyes at him with a considering hum.
"What?" Your uninvited houseguest turns to face you, eliciting a concerning creak from the loveseat as his knee comes up to rest on the cushion and his arm drapes over the back. An oversized paw just shy of brushing your shoulder. "What d'you mean, 'hm?'"
"Trespasser, jumpscaring people, terrible manners, and a smart ass to your mother?" You note each transgression by holding up a finger. "No wonder you're always prowling around Linkon alone."
"Hey, hey! Woah, woah, hold on." His hand darts forward, covering yours like it'll hide the evidence. "No– I mean– sure I may be some of those things, but trust me," he puts one of your fingers down and leans forward, another sad groan coming from below the cushion as he rests his elbow on his knee. "I wouldn't be sitting here, or hanging out with you – or breathing – if I were a smart ass to my mother."
Despite yourself, you feel the corner of your lip twitch, the closest you’ve come to a smile all day.
It surprises you how naturally it comes, how much lighter you feel, as you take in his easy grin, his warm palms, his artless gaze. Makes you worry that you're becoming used to this feeling, to something you might be misreading.
"Why?"
"Well, she has this really brutal way of grabbing you by the ear and–"
"No–" the word dissolves on a giggle that has both his ears twitching and an expression you can't quite interpret crossing his face. "I mean, why are you sitting here? Hanging out with me?"
"Oh. I kind of–" He stops, a hint of pink creeping onto his cheeks as he looks down at your still-linked hands. "I mean, I sorta felt like something was… off. With you." You're suddenly glad for the loss of his gaze as he starts to fiddle with your fingers, pressing the pads of his fingers to the tops of your nails as if to test their sharpness. "It's like a.. tug?"
Your mind races with panic as you realize just how much your attraction to him has been tugging at you over his last few visits. "Are you saying that with this– this bond or whatever, you can feel my emotions?"
"Nah, it's not like that." You hope he can't see the stark relief in your gaze when his eyes meet yours again, letting go of your hand to press a palm to the center of his chest. "It's not emotions that call me, it's, well… you. Calling me, that is. Needing me. Or, pulling at me, more like."
Your brows arc upward. "Like a leash?"
His head shoots back dramatically, paired with a groan that sounds almost as distressed as the loveseat still suffering under his weight. "Mercy, little hellion. Let a man keep at least a little dignity." He shakes his head with a bark of self-deprecating laughter. "But yeah. You've got me leashed up good. Happy?"
His question is gentle but pointed, hopeful. His frame still leaning over you, an umbrella shielding you from the sadness and negativity that have been pelting you all day.
Your chest warms at the sight, making it all the harder to respond with a sad smile and the shake of your head as the all the reasons you're not happy come flooding back.
"Alright," he says easily, unphased and unrelenting. A considering look enters his eyes. "Just means I've gotta take more drastic measures here."
In a blur of movements you barely have time to process, he turns his back to you, kicks off his boots – an oddly polite gesture that has you reconsidering just how serious he was about that leash comment – and flops backward. The broad span of his shoulders forces your bent knees down to accommodate the weight of his head as it nestles into your thighs.
"V-Valko! What are you doing?" you stutter, heartbeat galloping as the scent of amber and pine and him wash over you. His ear twitches as he takes your awkwardly hovering hands, placing one behind the wolf ear on his right and the other behind the human ear on his left.
"There," he says with a wiggle of his shoulders, like your thighs are a pillow he's nestling into.
When he notices your hands haven't budged, he gives you an expectant look, nudging the sides of his head into your palms until your lips twitch and your fingers start to move.
"This is your drastic measure?"
He hums in response, eyelashes fluttering as your nails scrape gently over a rose-coloured mix of silky hair and plush fur.
"And this is supposed to…" The question trails off but your hands continue.
He shrugs, the heat of his shoulders anchoring your thighs as one of his arms sneaks around your waist.
"I dunno, distract you? Annoy you, comfort you, take your pick." His eyes lock onto yours, sincere, earnest. "Whatever you need."
The combination of his touch and his words act like a stick of dynamite, blasting through the boulder of tension and worry that's been sitting on your chest all day.
You take a deep breath as he sighs in what you instinctually know is relief. And for the first time since he's mentioned this "bond" of yours, you think, maybe this thing goes both ways.
The thought that you might be starting to figure him out as well as he always seems to understand you brings a small smile to your face.
His lips mirror yours. "That's what I like to see," he says, voice low.
You roll your eyes and flick his ear to disguise the way your stomach flips when the praise rumbles through your thighs, flexing them to jostle him and joke, "What? Me being suffocated?"
His finger comes up to tap the end of your nose with a self-assured grin. "Stop pretending you dont like it, I saw that weighted blanket on your bed." You're not sure if it's you or the loveseat that squeaks when he tugs you into his face and nuzzles into your stomach. "Wanna tell me what's got you down?"
There's something about Valko's bluntness, about his willingness to tackle everything head-on, that catches you more off-guard than his casual and abundant displays of affection ever do. It's straightforward, without artifice. And though there's no hesitation in his request, there's somehow no pressure in it either. As if no response you give him could ever result in offense or resentment or awkwardness, making it feel like the most natural thing in the world to tell the unvarnished truth.
So you do.
"It's just… everything? I don't know, it's all piling up. Like, there's work, lack of sleep, friends I'm not keeping up with, not to mention the general state of the world."
You pause, finding his attentive gaze already on you when you look down to see if you're making any sense. He nods encouragingly, the ears on his head twitching in unison like an attentive audience.
"So I guess I've just been thinking about it all and it feels a little overwhelming. Right here." You press a hand to your chest. "And… heavy, I guess. Like–" You raise a pointed brow. "Like getting crushed by a giant mutt on my own sofa."
His jaw drops in dramatic affront. “You– did you just-” He snaps into a sitting position, your loveseat groaning in despair before he points a finger at himself, as if there could be anyone else you were talking about. “Mutt?! Oh you just crossed a line, you hellion.”
Any response you might’ve had morphs into a high-pitched squeal as you’re scooped up by a muscular arm and thrown over his shoulder.
“Valko! What are you doing? Put me down,” you manage through giggles and laughter as he hauls you to the bedroom with what sounds like a muttered 'I’ll show you a giant mutt.'
You land on the mattress with a breathless oomph, the stray laughs bubbling from your throat feeling foreign but welcome as Valko descends over your figure in an army crawl, finally stopping when you're nose to nose.
Your chests meet on each breath as he reaches up to brush hair from your face. His eyes seem more yellow than amber in the dim light, like marigolds, and you can't think of anything more fitting for the resilient, protective man above you.
"Hi," you breathe, grinning wide.
"Hello, gorgeous," he murmurs, darting a glance at your lips that has your heartbeat pounding against your ribs.
The shadow of his tail swishes behind him as he lowers his weight onto you, fitting his body over yours in a way that anchors and comforts you rather than stifles you.
"Better?" He mumbles into your neck, the heat of his breath awakening gooseflesh over your collarbones. "You know, now that you've made my pedigree your punching bag?"
"Yeah, actually," you realize with a giggle, fingers brushing over the soft bristles of his undercut. "I do."
You haven't laughed this much in a while. In fact, despite being pinned under the heaviest man you know, you haven't felt this light for a few weeks now, you think, which was… the last time he visited you. You close your eyes briefly, mourning the loss of your sanity at the realization that he was right earlier. You had needed him.
"Then listen to me real quick." Your hand slips to his jaw when he raises his head, his smile smaller, his eyes intent. "Next time you feel overwhelmed, or if it's all feeling like too much, you don't have to isolate yourself, or doomscroll, or muscle through it alone. I know I look like I'm all brains but I can help carry things. So just call me, yeah?"
You smile, agreeing with a small nod, pausing before you joke, "With the leash?"
"Okay, who's the smart ass now?" he mutters with a shake of his head, crooked grin back in place. "I meant with a phone. But the leash works too, I guess."
"What's it like?" you ask, curious for the first time since you've learned of it.
"The bond?" His eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips, a knuckle tracing your cheek. "It's like one of those less traveled paths in the woods. Barely visible to the naked eye, but once you find it and start walking on it, everything starts to feel… right."
"Your chest gets really warm and you have this zappy feeling in your gut." His lips tip up in a faraway smile as his eyes follow the path his knuckle makes over your ear, your neck, your collarbones. "Everything feels possible when it's there. Lighter. And when it's gone? Anything you do feels wrong. Empty."
"But…" You swallow past the heartbeat in your throat. "I thought you couldn't feel my emotions," you protest weakly.
A spark ignites in his eyes, electric enough to charge the air between you as his expression morphs into what you can only identify as a primal satisfaction. He inhales deeply, as if he's trying to memorize the scent of this moment, holding your gaze as his eyelids lower.
"I can't," he breathes, so close his nose brushes against yours when he shakes his head. "Those were all mine."
Your lips part, tongue hovering in wait between your teeth as his palm comes up under your chin, fingers settling on both sides of your jaw to draw you in. Your eyes shut as his lips descend over yours, and despite the warmth of his palm, the first brush of his tongue feel like being doused in flame. You wrap your arms around his neck on a moan, humming when he tilts your head to lick into your mouth again and again.
"Valko." The soft, fuzzy sensation of his buzzed hair grazes your knuckles and he sighs into your mouth, as if you're breathing life back into him with the sound of his name.
You take the chance to nip at his lip, holding it hostage between yours until he answers in kind. The sharpness of his teeth like bee stings on your mouth, soothed only by the sweet honey of a tongue that's licking, tasting, consuming the flushed skin between your lips and your throat.
His body sinks into yours, each of his muscles and contours taking shape around yours like heated metal, a weapon being forged for its master, its weight the heaviest thing you'll ever have to carry again.
➻➻ MORE VALKO
NOTE: They can take my undomesticated wolf man from me in the game but he will live on as a terrible house guest in my delusions forever xoxo
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
xavier loves when you get longer nails so you can scratch his head when he rests it in your lap, and if you stop for even a second he'll whine and peak open his eyes up at you like a disappointed cat until you keep going
sylus runs warm, and most of the time you end up not even covered by his plush duvet, but by him. His arms snug around your waist and his head on your chest the perfect blanket as you fall asleep.
zayne has this cute way of teasing you by stealing your candy on occasion. He'll kiss your cheek then your lips, lulling you into a false sense of affection then will slip the candy right out of your mouth with that slight smile on his face.
caleb puts you an air jail when you're being petty and giving him the silent treatment, and only lets you down if you agree to give him a kiss and tell him why "his pipsqueek is being so moody."
rafayel insists on applying your lipgloss/lipstick for you. He always steals your lip gloss before you can put it on yourself, insisting that his artist's eye can do it better. He'll gently tilt your chin up with two fingers, carefully applying it while studying your face with far more concentration than the task requires. Once he's finished, he'll lean back with a satisfied smile and hum, "Perfect."
♡ princessxmin please do not alter, copy or translate my work !
caleb is an undefeated champ at the “seeing if my boyfriend knows me” challenge. he sees two chips and knows exactly which one you’d pick. he knows which spoon you would choose to eat your ice cream with, which french fry you’d eat— he’s even got it down to which pieces of lettuce you would eat in your salad, all with accurate reasons for his choices.
“this chip because it has a fold and you like the crunch”
“this spoon to eat your ice cream because it’ll pick up just the right amount, but if you were having a sherbet you’d pick the other one because it’s better for scraping”
“this french fry because it’s longer, crunchier and has more salt”
he’d even go so far as having you close your eyes and choosing for you, then having you look and choose one for yourself (and shocker, caleb gets it right every time)
Sylus isn’t the guy who waits for your birthday to drop something huge on you.
He’ll just… do it. Random Tuesday in March, you wake up to him already dressed, leaning in the bedroom doorway with that lazy half-smirk, tossing a set of keys onto the bed like it’s nothing.
“Get up. Yours now.”
You stare at the key; matte black, sleek logo you recognize instantly. Your brain short-circuits for a solid five seconds.
“…Sylus, what the fuck is this?”
He shrugs. “Your new car, sweetie. Parked downstairs. Figured the matte red would look good with your new gear.”
You’re still blinking at the keys. “You bought me a sports car. On a random day. Because…?”
“Because I saw it and thought you’d look hot driving it.” He says it like that’s the only explanation required. No card, no ribbon, no celebratory card. Just him, already walking toward the kitchen like he didn’t just change your entire driveway situation.
Birthdays and holidays are different with him.
Those are quieter. More private.
On your actual birthday he doesn’t do grand gestures or flashy jewelry. He waits until the apartment is dark, everyone else long gone, and then he sits you down on the couch with nothing but a small velvet box in his palm.
Inside is something small and personal. A tiny silver heart shaped locket with a picture of the two of you in it. It’s the kind where you aren’t posing, not deliberately trying to look good for the camera. It’s a small intimate moment shared between the two of you and even in the picture, his full attention is on you. He’s had it cleaned, strung on a thin chain he picked himself.
No speech. Just him fastening it around your neck with careful fingers, lips brushing the nape before he pulls back to look at you.
“Been carrying that around for a while,” he mutters. “Figured it was time you had it.”
You’re crying before you even realize it. He doesn’t make a big deal, just pulls you into his lap, lets you hide your face in his neck while he strokes your hair like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Valentine’s, Christmas, anniversaries, he keeps it the same. Thoughtful, quiet, stupidly intimate things that mean something only to the two of you: a leather-bound sketchbook filled with his own rough drawings of places you’ve been together, a single pressed flower from the field where you first kissed, a custom knife engraved with the date he decided you were never getting away from him.
No billboards. No parades. No “world’s best girlfriend” mugs.
Just him, quietly proving every day that you’re the only thing he’s ever really wanted to keep.
And then on some random Thursday in July he’ll walk in, drop a set of matte-black keys on the counter while you’re eating cereal, and go “bought you a bike. It’s downstairs. Don’t scratch it.”
You stare at him over the bowl.
He just kisses the top of your head and steals a spoonful of your cereal like he didn’t just casually drop five figures on a whim.
That’s Sylus.
Big gifts whenever the hell he feels like it.
The ones that actually hurt to give, those are saved for the days that matter.
