Enough clarity finds you to accept his apology, “I-It’s okay,” And the fog in your vision dissipates just enough to focus on his slightly worried portrait, golden eyes striking through the dim, early morning light like two burning coals.

It’s after confirming your wellbeing that he laughs again and hugs you closer, gathering your whole weight in his arms with all the same ease of picking up a leaf, pulling you directly under him this time. No chance you’ll slip from his grasp. No way.

The whole cuddle-fucking position is nice- reeeeal nice, babe, honestly- and now that he knows you’re cool with him waking you up like this, he doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon, but good ol’ missionary’s never failed him, either.

“There. That’s better,” he smirks, the image of mischief.

Draped over you like this, six foot something and so big and strong it makes you lose your train of thought, your boyfriend is your veritable shield against the world— and you quietly suppose, sometimes, he’s your shield against common sense, too.

Because when he leans in to suckle your neck, fangs brushing over your pulse point before he peppers an endearingly soft kiss there, any remainder of it leaves in a gust.

“Valko-“

One second, he’s zealously lining his swollen cockhead up to your hole, rubbing it against your wet folds either to tease or prepare you for round three (probably a mix of both), and then the next, he’s slamming back home again- without the intent of sending you flying, this time, even if it was only accidental to begin with.

The squeak you let out is obscene enough to belong in a porno. And now, it belongs in the pocket of your boyfriend, forever available during silly arguments whenever he urgently needs something to lord over you.

Oxygen evades you for a moment. Feeling him press deep inside and then even deeper still.

What’s the superlative of full?

There is no place inside you he does not reach and stuff to the brim.

He adores the broken little moans he coaxes from your lips; they’re a serious competitor to the nails that dig into his back, marking him as your territory. With all the hickies spanning your collarbone, the finger-shaped bruises on your thighs and ass, shallow scratches in the fat of your hips— clumsily-left proof of his enthusiasm— it’s only fair you get your get-back, too.

“You’re really cute, you know…?” He murmurs absently, a delicate shade of pink scattering along his prominent cheekbones.

Red ears twitch atop his head, a fluffy tail curling around your ankle, instinctively seeking out your warmth as he ruts into you.

You don’t know what to do with your limbs, you honestly don’t need them at this point because your boyfriend is putting in all the work. But you think he appreciates it anyway when you dumbly reach up to scratch at his fuzzy ear, because the full-bodied groan that tears from his chest, then, his claws momentarily elongating, belongs to an animal, something that lives in a den and not a cute girl’s apartment.

He hisses. “Fuck, pancake,” that god-awful nickname just makes you wetter, and the toothy grin he buries underneath your jaw tells you everything you need to know about how pleased he is to get away with using it scot free. “Better hold onto me tighter. You’ll roll away again.”

“That was your fault!” You don’t know if the sound you make is a giggle or a wail, but combined with the lewd squelches ringing out with every hard thrust, it makes your eyes glaze over with embarrassment.

“Wasn’t…” he mumbles, enjoying every moment of your bickering, although he’s already forgetting what about.

“You… mmh, got too carried away again,” you reaffirm, and he huffs at the shell of your ear, nipping it once just to spite you because he knows you’re too hare-brained to properly retaliate right now.

“Carried away?” A dry huff. “Me? Nuh-uh.”

For all his adamance that he’s cool calm and collected, his tail oddly resembles a wind mill behind him, forgetting its place at your side when you massage his ear again- if only to solidify your point. It’s automatic: the uncontrollable, almost pitiable wobble of his lower lip, screwing his eyes shut as he briefly squeezes your waist a little too tight for comfort.

When he recovers from the touch, resting his sharp nose between your breast, he flashes you a hungry look, lashes dewy from want.

You’re swiftly reminded that your boyfriend is equal parts man and equal parts wolf.

“So we’re taking cheap shots now, are we?” A large hand shifts lower, the callous pad of his index finding your puffy clit and immediately giving it no reprieve. You react accordingly- crying out, squirming, arching up into him like bucking cattle, but Valko just delivers a crooked, faltering smile, relishing in the way your warm walls clamp down on him, milking him for all he’s worth.

His rugged voice lilts, “Let me do the same, then.”

Regret, wicked excitement- whatever it is- something stirs in the pit of your belly when you hazily register the rapid swelling at the base of his cock, fattening just outside your wet seam where he rams repeatedly and then—

All those times you went camping together, lied on a blanket underneath a twinkling swath of stars, yet none of it quite compares to the ones you see when his knot pops in for the first time.

Enough clarity finds you to accept his apology, “I-It’s okay,” And the fog in your vision dissipates just enough to focus on his slightly worried portrait, golden eyes striking through the dim, early morning light like two burning coals.

It’s after confirming your wellbeing that he laughs again and hugs you closer, gathering your whole weight in his arms with all the same ease of picking up a leaf, pulling you directly under him this time. No chance you’ll slip from his grasp. No way.

The whole cuddle-fucking position is nice- reeeeal nice, babe, honestly- and now that he knows you’re cool with him waking you up like this, he doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon, but good ol’ missionary’s never failed him, either.

“There. That’s better,” he smirks, the image of mischief.

Draped over you like this, six foot something and so big and strong it makes you lose your train of thought, your boyfriend is your veritable shield against the world— and you quietly suppose, sometimes, he’s your shield against common sense, too.

Because when he leans in to suckle your neck, fangs brushing over your pulse point before he peppers an endearingly soft kiss there, any remainder of it leaves in a gust.

“Valko-“

One second, he’s zealously lining his swollen cockhead up to your hole, rubbing it against your wet folds either to tease or prepare you for round three (probably a mix of both), and then the next, he’s slamming back home again- without the intent of sending you flying, this time, even if it was only accidental to begin with.

The squeak you let out is obscene enough to belong in a porno. And now, it belongs in the pocket of your boyfriend, forever available during silly arguments whenever he urgently needs something to lord over you.

Oxygen evades you for a moment. Feeling him press deep inside and then even deeper still.

What’s the superlative of full?

There is no place inside you he does not reach and stuff to the brim.

He adores the broken little moans he coaxes from your lips; they’re a serious competitor to the nails that dig into his back, marking him as your territory. With all the hickies spanning your collarbone, the finger-shaped bruises on your thighs and ass, shallow scratches in the fat of your hips— clumsily-left proof of his enthusiasm— it’s only fair you get your get-back, too.

“You’re really cute, you know…?” He murmurs absently, a delicate shade of pink scattering along his prominent cheekbones.

Red ears twitch atop his head, a fluffy tail curling around your ankle, instinctively seeking out your warmth as he ruts into you.

You don’t know what to do with your limbs, you honestly don’t need them at this point because your boyfriend is putting in all the work. But you think he appreciates it anyway when you dumbly reach up to scratch at his fuzzy ear, because the full-bodied groan that tears from his chest, then, his claws momentarily elongating, belongs to an animal, something that lives in a den and not a cute girl’s apartment.

He hisses. “Fuck, pancake,” that god-awful nickname just makes you wetter, and the toothy grin he buries underneath your jaw tells you everything you need to know about how pleased he is to get away with using it scot free. “Better hold onto me tighter. You’ll roll away again.”

“That was your fault!” You don’t know if the sound you make is a giggle or a wail, but combined with the lewd squelches ringing out with every hard thrust, it makes your eyes glaze over with embarrassment.

“Wasn’t…” he mumbles, enjoying every moment of your bickering, although he’s already forgetting what about.

“You… mmh, got too carried away again,” you reaffirm, and he huffs at the shell of your ear, nipping it once just to spite you because he knows you’re too hare-brained to properly retaliate right now.

“Carried away?” A dry huff. “Me? Nuh-uh.”

For all his adamance that he’s cool calm and collected, his tail oddly resembles a wind mill behind him, forgetting its place at your side when you massage his ear again- if only to solidify your point. It’s automatic: the uncontrollable, almost pitiable wobble of his lower lip, screwing his eyes shut as he briefly squeezes your waist a little too tight for comfort.

When he recovers from the touch, resting his sharp nose between your breast, he flashes you a hungry look, lashes dewy from want.

You’re swiftly reminded that your boyfriend is equal parts man and equal parts wolf.

“So we’re taking cheap shots now, are we?” A large hand shifts lower, the callous pad of his index finding your puffy clit and immediately giving it no reprieve. You react accordingly- crying out, squirming, arching up into him like bucking cattle, but Valko just delivers a crooked, faltering smile, relishing in the way your warm walls clamp down on him, milking him for all he’s worth.

His rugged voice lilts, “Let me do the same, then.”

Regret, wicked excitement- whatever it is- something stirs in the pit of your belly when you hazily register the rapid swelling at the base of his cock, fattening just outside your wet seam where he rams repeatedly and then—

All those times you went camping together, lied on a blanket underneath a twinkling swath of stars, yet none of it quite compares to the ones you see when his knot pops in for the first time.