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Jul 28

short leash

explicit 🔞 | valko/reader | 5.5k (chp 1) summary: the reality of being valko's mate is driving you crazy. what does it mean to be made to want one another beyond your control? tags: angst with a happy ending, dom/sub dynamics, submissive brat valko, dom mc, knot denial, mates/friends with benefits to lovers, miscommunication, face slapping, choking, cunnilingus, come eating author's note: this is the first chapter of a 2-part fic. once completed, the second chapter will only be available on ao3!

It's not real.

So you ground yourself in what is: you feel the sheets crumple under your closed fist as you tear them off of you. You feel the cool air that brings your exposed form to shiver as you stand. You feel the cotton of your clothes against your skin as you slide them on as quietly as you're able to. All undeniable sensations. These, you know, are real.

Just as real as the hand that wraps around your wrist, large fingers engulfing you, a slight tug threatening to pull you back down into the bed.

"You're leaving already?" comes Valko's voice, rough with half-sleep before he clears his throat. The sound of him is real. So too is his body, messily draped in those same sheets, just as nude as you were moments ago. His broad physique is proudly on display—all rippling muscles and bulging biceps; firm pecs that rise and fall with steady breaths. Tantalizing as always.

For a second, you nearly indulge once again. Then, you remember: it's not real.

"I have work tomorrow," you say.

"You always have work." If his wolf ears were out, you just know they'd droop. Such a kicked puppy when he whines.

You roll your eyes. "Yes, like all responsible adults."

"Doesn't mean you can't stay a little longer." Never one to sit still for long, he springs from the bed to drape himself over you, hands dragging down your sides, groping over your clothes as his nose nuzzles into your neck. He tries his best to sniff quietly, but you hear the whistle of air as he does. Then there's that little moan of satisfaction when he takes in your scent, his cock quickly hardening where it's pressed into the small of your back.

Predictable, as all things manufactured tend to be. If this was real, you think, it wouldn't be so easy for him to rile himself up like this. But he can't help it. Genetics dictate as much.

"Don't you have a company to run?" It's a good thing you have more self-control than he does, or else the two of you would never be able to escape from your world of make-believe. Still, you indulge just a little, allowing yourself to melt into his touch one last time before you leave.

"Not at this hour," he murmurs into your skin. "The moon's still out."

Ah, yes. The moon. Just one more esoteric power lording over him. Over whatever this is. You sigh, and tear his hands away from you. "Get some sleep. I'm going home, Valko."

He sits back on the edge of the bed, that big body slumped over as he pouts so pathetically that it nearly succeeds in convincing you to stay. "So bossy."

So clingy, you almost retort, but hold your tongue. If you get into it now, you're not going to stop until he's pinned beneath you. Instead, you make for the door. "Goodnight."

"Call me?" he asks, and you know he's just stalling.

It works, and you pause with one hand twisting the knob. "I'm busy."

He gives that little laugh he always does when he gets one over on you. "Right. You say that…"

"I mean it."

"Sure you do," he teases, forcing you to turn around and glare. Ugh. What you wouldn't give to wrestle that stupid, boastful look right off his face. "I'll talk to you later."

You swing open the door, finally making good on your exit. "Don't count on it."

"I will."

It's a slow day in the office. Agonizingly so. You pray to whatever God might be listening that there is some sort of Metaflux catastrophe or else you may die of boredom. Being good at your job is a detriment in times like these, when you finish all your paperwork so quickly that your only options are to clock-watch or talk to your coworkers, and Xavier is once again asleep at his desk.

You could wake him, but you could also stare at your hunter's watch as if somehow you can summon a wanderer attack through your will alone. The latter is easier, and you scroll through the holographic map that illuminates in front of you. There are little blips here and there of high-readings of Metaflux—delectable potential for mischief—but there's nothing that other hunters aren't already stationed to observe.

Before you even notice, you've already centred the map over EonCore Tech.

There's a little yellow node over it, the kind that denotes a variable hotspot for Metaflux. You're not aware if it's ever been properly investigated, but if it has, you're sure Valko found some way to wave away the Hunter's Association. Easy enough to excuse the energy readings under the guise of Protocore research, with fingers firmly pointed away from the werewolf hiding in plain sight.

You could always be the one to investigate it. With nothing else on your plate, it'd be a simple task to convince Jenna that it's worth your time to go there now. No one would be expecting any specific results anyway, so you could waste time however you see fit. It's a good excuse as any to—

God, what are you even doing?

None of this is real. Not your connection. Not your chemistry. Not his feelings. Not yours. Valko's made that clear, hasn't he? It's a genetic predisposition. Instincts. Some fucked-up werewolf bullshit that you don't understand has forced him to claim you as a mate, and now, you will forever be burdened by this fact while he follows you around like some lost puppy.

Would he even want you like this, if not for the chemicals buzzing through his system at the mere intake of your scent? You've seen it firsthand countless times—his pupils dilating, ears and tail going rigid as he breathes you in, as his body tells him exactly what to feel and his autonomy is ripped from him in an instant. There's no fighting it. If there was, the two of you wouldn't have fallen into bed together as many times as you have.

But that's the part you don't yet understand. If you're a human, why do you feel it too? That same wretched, animal pull you can never seem to resist. The second you're near him, you can't help yourself. You want him, too.

You want him even now, when he's nothing but a pulsing yellow dot on your map.

Instead of reaching for your phone, you cradle your head in your hands and groan. It's just not fair. Why does your body get to decide this for you? Where is your say in your own goddamn emotions?

Even worse—what if it is your choice after all, and you're the only one feeling this way like the pitiful human that you are? And all of this is honest, vulnerable desire for a man that is sorely forced to reciprocate. It's a thought so pathetic that you can never bring yourself to dwell on it for more than a single second.

For him, it will always be beyond his control. There is no Valko that wants you. There is only a wolf and his mate.

It's not real, and it's killing you.

There's a knock on your balcony door, and you've endured enough moonlit visits to where now, you barely even startle at the sound.

Valko is pressed against the glass, hand splayed next to his squished nose as he peers inside with a mischievous smile, wolf ears twitching on the top of his head. You've yelled at him countless times to get off of your property, and he's ignored your insistence enough for you to accept that shooing him away is futile. That, or maybe you've just given up fighting that thrum of excitement you feel at his arrival.

"You're getting fingerprints all over the glass. I just cleaned that yesterday." With a huff, you slide open the doors and watch as his long, fluffy tail wags in delight.

Valko just grins, canines bared, ignoring your chastising as he walks in like he owns the place. Already, he's opening your fridge and grabbing himself a drink. Before you can yell at him for his lack of manners, he's levelling his own interrogation. "You didn't call me."

"I told you I wouldn't," you say, rolling your eyes.

He leans against the counter, eyebrow raised. "Did you think about it?"

"No."

"That's a quick answer…"

Insufferable, this man. Your eye twitches with irritation. "I had a lot of work to do. Wanderers to fight. That means no time to spare for stupid mutts."

"Really?" Valko pushes himself off of the counter, setting down his drink to move into your personal space. He leans in, and you take a step back. His nostrils flare as he takes a long sniff with his eyes closed, clearly making a show of it to piss you off. Then he smirks, like he's won the argument already. "Because I don't smell even a bead of sweat on you."

"You're repulsive." You step back even further, pushing fruitlessly at his chest in an effort to get him to stop moving with you. Of course, he has no concept of boundaries, and crowds you against the wall instead.

"What?" he asks in faux-scandal, then leans in close to your ear, cheek nuzzling into your hair. "I like it when you're all sweaty."

What is wrong with this man? "Stop it. I'm going to be sick."

"You don't look sick." Valko's hand moves to your waist, a thumb hooking into the waistband of your slacks. A kiss to your neck has your breath stuttering, your fingers curling around the open collar of his shirt.

"Don't tell me what I feel," you growl, just as you tilt your neck to give him better access. Then your hands are sliding down his chest, undoing every button of his shirt as you go, as the hard planes of his body undulate under you.

"So then what does it mean when you act like you hate me but you won't stop touching me?"

You know I can't help it, you think, but dare not speak aloud for fear of any sort of confirmation. Instead, you replace talking with kissing—grabbing him by the jaw to bring his lips to yours, and obediently, he licks into you without reservation.

Even as feverishly as he kisses you, something about it sets you at ease, like a live current finally looping a closed circuit. That's how you know it must be genetics, after all—how else could you be made to feel so complete by an act as simple as this? You have no choice but to melt into his touch, to give in to the unreality of your relationship. It's all part of the facade when he grabs your ass with both hands, dragging your body flush with his and beckoning you to moan into his mouth. You're only playing your part when you shuck off his shirt just to drag your nails down his spine, forcing him to release his lips from yours with a sharp gasp, his hard cock rutting against you in a sudden jolt.

You take advantage of the breathing room to pull your own shirt over your head, tossing it blindingly who-knows-where. The second it's gone, Valko is on you again, but not before you catch his eyes and see pupils blown out so wide as to nearly eclipse his amber irises entirely. Instinct takes him over, and he begins sniffing wildly. Little sharp puffs of air blow against you following every rapid inhale as his nose drags through your hair, your neck, then buries in your chest while his hands grope all along your thighs. All the while he punctuates his sniffing with nips and licks to your skin, like he can't decide what's better: smelling you or tasting you. Sharp teeth soon sting your flesh hard enough to bruise, and that's when you twist your fingers in his hair and wretch him away from your breasts.

"Bad dog," you snap.

His reaction is immediate—Valko shudders, whines, and his hips kick up against you. "Sorry, sorry. It's just— you're so—"

"Behave or we stop." It's an empty threat, but enough to keep him in line, you hope.

"Yes, yes, I know. I will. Sorry. Can I touch you now?" he begs as though his hands haven't been creeping up your sides the entire time, slowly inching their way to the clasp on your bra. Does he somehow think you haven't noticed? Or is he just playing dumb? He undoes it before you can interrogate him, dragging the straps off your shoulders as he gives you the biggest puppy-dog eyes you've ever seen. So yes, he is playing dumb. But, fuck, you hate that it's working.

"Bedroom first." Your grip loosens in his hair, hands falling to his chest to nudge him in the right direction.

"Okay." Valko grins, then in a movement so quick as to give you no time to react, he's scooping you up and over his shoulder, one arm bracing your legs as you dangle helplessly.

"Fuck off. Put me down."

"You said bedroom first, and you're way too slow on your own." To prove his point, he speeds into your room, tail swooshing and giving you a heart attack when it lingers far too close to a vase. He tosses you onto the bed and you land with a thump, but even as he makes quick work of your belt, you linger on your offense.

"I am not slow. You're the one with no patience." Need you remind him that you easily outrun all of your colleagues in training.

"I'm just bringing you up to my pace." Undeterred by your arguing, Valko slides off your slacks before rushing to remove his own.

The second he's naked, you seize the chance to hook a leg around his hips, rolling him over so he's finally beneath you. You straddle his muscled thighs, taking in the wonderful sight of a beast at your mercy. If only this was the true extent of your relationship—just the raging hormones and that perfect sexual chemistry—then you would have nothing to agonize over, and you could simply revel in delicious, meaningless sex with a beautiful man. Instead, said beautiful man had to be a goddamn werewolf, and now everything feels so far from meaningless. "Maybe your pace is the problem."

Valko pouts, wolf ears drooping. "But I like it this way."

"Don't act cute with me." You squeeze his cheeks between your fingers, feeling the firm bones of his jaw.

"You think I'm cute?" he mutters, lips forced to a purse, lashes fluttering.

"I think you should shut up."

His hands grip your hips, dragging you up to settle over his cock. "Make me."

Before he can say one more word, your hand cracks against his cheek in an open-palmed slap.

Valko gasps, then whines, then growls deep from the back of his throat. All the while his hips rut up against your clothed cunt, cock sliding against your shamefully soaked panties. God, he's sexy like this—cheek red with the imprint of your hand, ears twitching atop his head as he stares at you with those wired eyes of his. You can't help grinding down despite the desire to maintain your aloofness, your body involuntarily shuddering at the tease of his thick cock against you.

Ever the opportunist, Valko slides a hand from your hips down to your cunt, drawing the fabric of your panties to the side to expose your entrance. Once, twice, he humps through your folds, cock rubbing your clit and drawing an embarrassing moan out of you. If it were any other man, you would wrestle him away from you for the gall of getting so ahead of himself, but you want Valko so badly that you can't think of anything except fucking yourself on his cock. Helplessly, you allow it—the raising of your hips, the stretch as he enters you, as you're brought down on him without so much as a single say in the matter.

How dare he make you desperate enough to betray your own control? So unfair. So fucking unfair. No man should make you feel this way, not as easily as this.

You've had many suitors throughout your life—of course you have, being as beautiful as you are. What man wouldn't want you? But you've never wanted them, not in the same way. Men have been a convenience. It's nice to lead someone on, to have a boytoy spun around your finger, eager to impress and to please. Never have you returned even a fraction of their devotion. Not until Valko.

At first, he was just like the rest—another lost puppy desperate to fall into your command. You were naive to just how different being his mate was from all the other men who have been infatuated with you. Yes, you knew there was a primitive veneer to his draw, but you let it happen anyway. It felt too good. Too familiar. Then, something strange came to be—an eagerness towards his presence. A comfort in his touch. A yearning when he wasn't by your side.

It didn't make sense, not until you finally came to the truth of the matter: that this isn't real. None of it is. How could it be, if you're feeling this way?

If it's genetics that commands you, it's genetics that commands him. But that's the problem, isn't it? Your ego can't take him only desiring you out of obligation. Worse, however, is imagining your own desire as anything but obligation. Being made a fool is the one thing you can't accept.

A sudden thrust beneath you has you snapping back into the moment, a startled moan escaping you before you can catch it.

"What are you thinking about?" Valko's fingers dig into your hips, and you look down to see brows knit tense with desperation as he breathes heavily. It's hard to feel particularly bad for accidentally cockwarming him when you're certain he's enjoyed the torture.

"Nothing," you reply, finally raising your hips and rocking down on his cock.

"It has to be—fuck—something."

Your hand falls to his throat. "I thought I told you to shut up."

"I thought I told you to make me."

Another slap cracks against his cheek, his face forced to the side with the follow-through. This time, your palm burns with the force of it. You think, for a moment, that maybe you were too harsh—but Valko doesn't seem to mind, not when he whines so sweetly and rocks his hips to meet you. You slap him again, and again, until his face is hot to the touch. Each time, his cock throbs inside of you, and each time, you clench in response.

Soon enough, you can't tell whether you're riding him or he's fucking you, both of you moving with so much vigor that you need to stabilize yourself with one hand on the mattress. Your other hand returns to his throat, lightly squeezing, drawing a delicious short-breathed whimper from him. He's so beautiful like this that you can no longer bare it, your eyes squeezing shut to avoid the sight before you're falling over with your face hung over his shoulder. Valko seizes the chance to lick into your ear, and you're too far gone to protest the act. It'd be a lie to say that it doesn't turn you on even more; that animalistic way he tongues you, sending shivers up your spine with every rabid growl from low in his throat. Filthy.

It doesn't take much more to send you over the edge, not with this barrage of sensation—Valko's tongue, his cock and his wandering hands overwhelming you into an unstoppable orgasm. You shudder on his cock, moaning loud enough that your cheeks blaze with shame.

Valko takes no cue to stop, fucking into you faster and faster even with your overstimulation. "I'm going to—"

"Absolutely not." You sit up abruptly, using all your strength to lock his hips down, tearing his hands off of you and pinning them to the mattress.

"Please," Valko whines, trying desperately to return to his previous pace to no avail. Already, you start to feel a slight stretch at your entrance, right at the base of his cock. You know exactly what that means, and you refuse to participate. To his dismay, you pull yourself off of him, sitting back on his thighs.

"It's disgusting." You flick his cock, pointedly avoiding the soon-to-be swelling bulge. A peculiarity of werewolf anatomy. His knot.

You've never let him finish inside of you for that reason. It's too strange. Too inhuman. Though sometimes, when you stare at it like this, you can't help your curiosity. How would it feel, to have his knot inflate inside of you? His cock is already large enough that you're unsure if it's even possible for your human body to take. Would it hurt, to have your cunt stretched beyond it's limits? Or would it feel good to have your insides filled with him so wholly that you're forced to remain locked together until his biology deems you free?

Valko humps the air fruitlessly, and you take pity on him enough to wrap one hand around his shaft and the other around his knot. Your pity isn't without a catch, however. "Do you want to come, puppy?"

"Yes," he moans, hips stuttering as he thrusts into your hold.

"Only good dogs get to finish."

"I'm—ah—so good."

You squeeze both hands tight, halting him. "Really? Because I seem to recall that showed up unannounced, hauled me around like a madman, and then nearly came inside me without permission."

"Fuck," Valko whimpers, biting his lip. The tip of his tail twitches frantically where its pinned underneath him. "Sorry."

Both of your hands release his cock. "You can apologize better than that."

He growls, hands frantically searching for yours to return them to his aching cock. You pin his wrists down, watching as his back bows in frustration, abs quivering with need. It takes him a moment, eyes screwed shut, chest heaving, before he can even speak. Once he does, the words spill out in a flood: "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'll be better, I promise. Sorry, sorry. Please just like me come. I really want to come."

"Good boy. So pretty when you beg." You reward him with your hands returning to his cock, one tight around his knot just how he likes it, the other pumping his shaft. This time, you allow him to hump your fist, enjoying just how pathetically he whines as he does. It doesn't take long with how much he's already leaking, with how rabidly he thrusts, and soon come is shooting from his throbbing cock with wolfish howl.

You feel your grip forced to widen as his knot expands under your hand, bulging the base of his cock. As obscene and alien as it appears, there is a certain magic to watching it happen—to feeling it pulse under your touch. When you catch yourself clench at thought of it happening inside of you, you resign it to a consequence of your genetics.

Streaks of come fall over his abs, but the bulk of lands splatters against your own stomach, clinging to your skin. Valko heaves through the aftermath of his orgasm, but when he looks to you, he pouts, knowing exactly what your about to chastise him over. "Sorry."

"You made a mess, Valko." You draw two fingers through said mess, and bring it to his lips. "Clean it up."

Eagerly, Valko laps at his own come, suckling your fingers with a dazed look in his eyes. Even through hooded lids, his pupils are still dilated, overcome with instinct so much so that he doesn't gag at taste, only wincing slightly. After licking you clean, he releases you from his mouth, and just as you're about to pull your hand away, he grabs you by the wrist. With your guard down, he easily flips you underneath him in an echo of your earlier maneuver. You yelp, squirm, but his strength overpowers you and you're helplessly pinned to the mattress.

"Let me go."

"I'm just doing what you asked." Valko's tag wags behind him as he buries his face in your breasts, licking and sucking at your nipples before continuing down, tongue dragging until he reaches your stomach. His hands leave your wrists to grab at your waist, and you immediately twine your fingers into his hair, arching into his mouth as he laps his come off of your stomach, tonguing into your belly button in a way that's so filthy and wrong that it has your toes curling. He leaves a wet trail of slobber as he continues down, down, down until he's nestled at your entrance.

There's no need to issue a command—Valko is too eager to dive into your cunt the moment he's level with it. He licks first over the fabric of your panties, teasing you only as long as he can stand it before he's tearing them off of you. As soon as you're bared to him, he's licking through your folds, lapping at your wetness, fucking into you with his tongue. Hands hook under your thighs, bending them to your stomach so he can get deeper into you, nose digging into your clit just right and forcing a groan out of you that devolves into embarrassing whimpers of pleasure.

"Valko," you moan, meaning to say more before the words are lost in the haze of your impending orgasm. Then he suckles your clit between his teeth, and it's no longer impending but throttling you in full force, your thighs spasming as you grind against his face.

Valko doesn't let up, even as you're writhing to get away from his mouth, and you're forced to shove him away at the shoulder before the pleasure treads too far into pain. He whines, but relents.

"Disgusting. Now I'm covered in drool," you say just as soon as you've come down from the high.

A testament to how many times the two of you have ended up in this position, Valko knows exactly where to find a cloth to clean his slobber off of your stomach, then wipes the mess between your thighs. Once you're suitably dry but still in desperate need of a proper shower, he's tossing the cloth to the floor despite the laundry basket being only a metre away. "Anything else, Your Majesty?"

You know he's being sarcastic, but you don't entirely mind the title. "Yes. Leave."

He pointedly ignores you, throwing himself down on the bed and curving his body along your side. "Mm, in a minute. My knot—"

"How is that my problem?"

"You're my mate. It comes with the territory," Valko says far too nonchalant for how intensely the words strike you. Then he's curling an arm around your waist, drawing you close, and even as it tightens so far from your lungs, it suffocates you.

What have you done? Again, you've proven to yourself just how powerless you are to this charade. Even now, as you lay exhausted, you feel the urge to turn over in his embrace and kiss him until you can no longer think about what a mess you've made of your emotions. How desperate must you be? How weak? You can't bear feeling so pathetic. Here you are, rendered insatiable for a construct.

Then there's that horrible little voice in the back of your mind, the one that gets louder and louder in quiet moments such as these, spurred by the steady rhythm of Valko's chest rising and falling against your back. The one that whispers what if?

What would it look like between you, should you have any choice in being together? Is there a world where Valko wants you not as a wolf, but as a man?

But that's the crux of your dilemma: real is not what you desire. You've never been the type to settle down, never one to choose the man who has already chosen you. Men are supposed to chase, and you're supposed to run, cradling their fragile heart in your hands only until it no longer serves you. You don't love, you don't yearn. You use and you destroy.

Maybe it's the insult of it all that's driving you mad. How many men have craved you just as Valko does, and given you the power to break them? If only you could do the same to him, then, finally, you'd know.

The epiphany strikes with a cruel twist to Cupid's arrow.

You have to end things.

If he refuses to leave, if he stands back up even when you've kicked him down, then there's no question of his autonomy. No one has ever come back once you've hurt them enough. Only a fool governed by instinct could. And if he doesn't return, then he falls in line with all the rest. Another broken heart added to your collection, just a little more real than you thought it was. Is it really such a loss? Maybe once you've stopped, your own instincts will fade, and biology will correct it's course to free you from whatever spell you're under. And if it's really not instincts after all—

You're not sure what it will mean for you. But at the very least, it'll be over, and you'll no longer bear the burden of it.

Valko kisses the crown of your head, breathing you in, and your decision is made.

"I think we should stop."

There's a moment when Valko's breath catches and he freezes in place. The moment draws out, your heart racing in your chest with every quiet second. Say something, you beg silently, but it takes far too long for him to follow your telepathic command.

"What do you mean?" he says at last, voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't play dumb." This is anything but uncharted territory. Many times, you've broken up with similar men in a similar vain, cheating the afterglow of sex with curt finality. Strange, that now you feel so anxious.

Except instead of letting you go, Valko brings you in tighter. "I don't want to stop."

"Well I do." You pull out of his hold with some difficulty—whether it be from his insistence or your reluctance, you can't tell. He stutters on a protest of some sort, but the words catch in his throat and turn to an unintelligible mumble. It'd be so much easier to convey your conviction if you stared him down and told him exactly what needs to be said, but you just can't. If you see those puppy-dog eyes, you know you'll take it all back, so you sit on the edge of the bed and stare at your fidgeting hands instead.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asks, reaching for your shoulder just for you to shrug it off. "C'mon, let's talk about it. No need for hasty decisions, right?"

But a hasty decision is exactly what you need. "This is not the fun kind of begging, Valko."

"It's just— I—" Valko cuts himself short to groan into his hands, and a beat passes before he finally speaks again, softer. "You're my mate. It's not so easy for me to stop."

There it is. You're his mate, so you have to play into this fucking charade. That's what you are to him. That's what all of this amounts to—goddamn biology. "Oh, so I just don't get a say in the matter?"

"That's not what I mean."

"It's what it sounds like."

Valko sighs, exasperated, and you feel the shift in the mattress as he stands from the bed. "You really want to end this?"

Desperately, the urge to turn around races through you, but you still can't. "Yes. I do."

"Alright. Fine," he says, and at last, sweet complicity. You hear him rummage around for his clothes, belt clinking before he finally leaves the room. Right when you're about to let out your painfully held breath, however, the bastard has the nerve to pop back in once more. He leans down, and you watch as he picks up your discarded panties. "I'm keeping these."

"You are seriously disgusting." This, of all things, brings you to finally look at him, if only to glare—a mistake you instantly regret. As if they were too expressive to display, Valko has hidden his ears and tail, but that alone isn't enough to hide his emotions. His eyes are no longer dilated with want, but now red and veiny with held tears. You see them prickle at his waterline, desperate to escape, and something more than pity stings in your chest.

Despite everything, he smiles a stupidly cheeky grin—those cute little canines sparkling in the dim light of your room. "Miss you already."

"Leave, Valko." This time, he listens, and the distant sound of the screen door closing lets you know that you've finally been left alone.

There is no relief in the silence, but that's fine. You can find a way to ignore the sadness that's begun creeping in your heart. This regret, this desire—it doesn't belong to you.

It's not real, after all.

this is the first chapter of a 2-part fic. the completed fic will only be available on ao3!

#love and deepspace #lads #lads fanfic #valko #lads valko #lnds valko #valkomc #valko x reader #rivo fic #rivo longfic

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