I'm working on a love and Deepspace fic. And I was wondering if anyone would like to read it and give me some pointers on what to change or improve before I post it.
🐦⬛ Thoughts about Sylus with a shy, timid, anxious mc
hurt/comfort, gn mc reader
wc: 870
I'm used to sneaking around my home quite a bit, always nervous about running into someone. I tense when I hear the wood floor creaking outside my bedroom or I see a shadow pass by my door. When I'm in public, I often avoid making eye contact with strangers.
So I was thinking about an mc like this staying with Sylus for the first time. He's been abrasive and rough, terrifying you in your first few interactions and leaving a horrific first impression. Even if he's started treating you a bit more nicely, staying with him in his home would be an unnerving experience. And I feel like the easiest way for someone like me to cope with that would be to learn his patterns and use them to avoid him like the plague. To know when and where he is during certain times of night and avoid those areas of the house.
Of course, Sylus can be a little emotionally constipated and would have no idea how to approach a situation like this. He'd notice for sure, though. Your quiet watchfulness, the way you startle when he walks into a room you're in, the way you walk through his halls as quietly as possible. How you'll approach the kitchen for a snack or some water, only to see him there, causing you to freeze in place and slowly slink away if you think he hasn't noticed you. I imagine this would hurt, seeing you so afraid of him. It would reinforce his view of himself as a monster, I think.
He wouldn't push. He's not one to push, especially not with something like this. He'd make sure to treat you gently, offering you little rewards for spending time with him. Maybe the chef starts preparing your favorites, or you wake up to a little gift box with a necklace inside on your nightstand. He'd be so proud and happy to see you walking around his home wearing it on the daily. A little sign of his ownership, as well as proof that he knows your taste and chose well.
I think things would change once you have to spend more time with him and eventually realize he's really not all that scary. Maybe you go to an auction with him and hold his hand the whole time, feeling safest while hiding behind him rather than conversing with the other people there.
You get caught alone with a shady man who's a bit too pushy while Sylus is doing some negotiating on his own, but he notices quickly and drops everything to come to your aid right away. He easily scares the man off and takes you aside to make sure you're alright.
Overwhelmed and overstimulated, you start to cry a little, and instead of freezing up awkwardly or telling you to calm down, he coaxes you into his arms, rubbing your back and soothing you gently. When you try to insist you're okay to continue with the auction, he sees through your lie, taking you back home even while you protest, not letting you apologize for 'ruining his night'.
This is a turning point in your relationship. Having direct experience with him, learning that he's not going to hurt you or lash out, and also that he's actually quite fun to hang out with! You hesitate a bit out of habit for a little while, but you no longer shy away from the spaces he occupies. Instead of tensing when he enters a room you're in, you start to perk up, hoping that he'll talk to you.
The first time you actively seek out his company would be incredibly meaningful to Sylus. He does his best to act nonchalant to avoid spooking you and scaring you away, but he can't hide how his eyes widen in surprise when you approach him. He teases you a little to keep the mood light, but he treats you so incredibly kindly, engaging with what you show him and making sure you feel at ease.
Eventually, you begin to bloom, unveiling new parts of yourself and truly being happy much more often. Gone is the nervous little kitty hiding in the shadows and jumping at every little noise; now you're playful and upbeat and not afraid to make noise or take up space in his home. You've befriended the twins and Mephisto as well, and have even gained the courage to play pranks on him alongside them.
Idk, as someone who's never really had a place that feels like 'home', having somewhere that I can fully relax and let go and spend time with those I'm closest with would mean so so much to me.
Sylus would be so proud to be the person who changes your life's tone to be one of happiness and comfort. He consistently treats you with patience, kindness, and warmth, helping you learn that you no longer need to be afraid. He watches you thrive both mentally and physically, surrounded by a support system that you've never had before. Always being there to catch you when you stumble or fall.
Who would have guessed that the big bad leader of Onychinus is such an expert in caring for stray cats?
You’ve always known Sylus likes to spoil you. It’s a surprise to literally no one. It, however, doesn’t change the fact that you are used to fending for yourself.
Sylus has basically accepted that you will insist on paying for yourself as much as you can, much to his displeasure. He takes what he can get when you occasionally forget your wallet (he didn’t hide it you can’t prove it) or actually let him pay (he pouts until you give in).
You always say you don’t want him to feel like you are just using him. And no amount of assurance that he’s more than okay with that, in fact he wants that, will change your mind.
Until one day you are out shopping. Maybe you are out with Tara or out by yourself. But you once again mysteriously are missing your wallet, except for his card that has been suspiciously tucked in the pocket of your bag.
In that moment you decided to give in. But mostly out of spite. He could deny every other time but there was no doubt he’d taken your wallet and switched it with his card.
So you decide to make a point. You buy anything. You even text the twins to come help you with the bags because you can no longer carry everything.
You don’t look at how much you spend. You know it’s a lot though.
You get back to the base and expect the smug smirk. Which he probably did have. A few hours ago anyway.
But the second you walk in he is jumping you like a man starved. He’d hoped you’d use the card sure, but a full spree? He felt nearly delirious watching the charges stack further and further.
Anyway you don’t get much sleep that night.
You also use his card more often. He reacts the same way every time.
Summary: You’ve been feeling off for a while, and every morning makes the cause seem more apparent. You want to ignore it, but Sylus isn’t easily fooled.
Word Count: 2.3k
TW: Pregnancy. Descriptions of vomiting. Fluff, H/C, tiny bit of angst.
You couldn’t tell what was annoying you more this morning. The churning in your stomach, the smell of fried breakfast foods, or the sound of Luke and Kieran’s obnoxious chewing across the table.
Seriously, how many times does one piece of bacon need to be chewed with their mouths open?
Pure, inexplicable rage has been flowing through your veins quite regularly this past week, and taming your ugly mood at every minor inconvenience has become a major challenge.
You push your scrambled egg around the scarcely touched plate in front of you, swallowing the watery saliva that keeps filling up your mouth to warn you of impending doom. This sickly feeling has been niggling away in your body since you begrudgingly woke up an hour ago, and it was only getting progressively worse.
As was your anger.
“Could you two chew with your mouths closed?” you carefully scold, trying not to sound like an ass. “You both sound like the inside of a washer-dryer.”
They both smirk at you, finding themselves particularly amusing. “Yes, mom,” they respond in unison.
You click your tongue, biting back a bitter retort. Usually, you’d bounce off of them, and the three of you would be getting on Sylus’s nerves instead, a task that requires a tonne of skill since he has more patience than most. You could do with a bit of his steely composure this morning.
He was sitting beside you, scarlet eyes scanning the newspaper through his thin glasses that were perfectly perched at the end of his nose. His silvery hair was mussed and in disarray, and his robe was open just enough at the lapels that you caught a nip-slip.
That morning look never fails to make you ravenous, no matter how many times you’ve willingly fallen victim to it, and it often led to a trip back to bed together for several more hours.
This morning, though, the smell of his coffee was overwhelming you, the heat from his body beside yours was making you feel feverish, and his hand on your thigh beneath the table felt like a lead weight pinning you to your seat, overstimulating you in the worst of ways. You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold yourself together.
What the hell is wrong with you?
Luke and Kieran greedily wolf down the rest of their fried feasts, both gathering their plates and cutlery to take back to the kitchen so they can get ready to head out into the city to terrorise today’s rivals of Onychinus. Once they’re gone and you’re alone with the human embodiment of a hot water bottle, Sylus sets down his paper and closes the dining room door with a mere flick of his wrist.
“Something the matter?” he asks, already seeing it in your demeanour.
You don’t want to lie to him, and you know he would see straight through it anyway. “Honestly? I don’t know,” you mutter truthfully. “I just feel like I’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”
He stares for a moment, studying you like he’s trying to read your body. “You look a little flushed,” he finally assesses, touching your clammy cheek with the backs of his fingers.
You shrug. “It’s probably nothing,” you brush off, taking a sip of your water and pushing away your full plate of food. “I might just go lie down for a bit.”
A week had passed since that morning, and you were truly starting to freak out now.
Every morning without fail, you were bringing your breakfast back up, hiding away in the most neglected bathroom in the property.
Your hips were housing a consistent ache, and there was a small panging feeling that kept happening in the lowest part of your abdomen that was noticeable enough to make you flinch a few times. It wasn’t painful, but it was hard to ignore when every other part of your body felt like it was morphing into something foreign. It’s like you’re becoming someone else.
At first, you were expecting your period to appear and kick you in the ass, putting the unusual symptoms down to a change in hormones. That was four days ago, and there has been zero sign of Mother Nature and her attack on your reproductive organs.
In the back of your mind, you knew. It was like a little voice locked away somewhere, trying to reason with you that the answer to this issue was clear as day.
The problem was, you didn’t want to listen to it.
You refused.
Dragging yourself off of the tiled floor for the third time this morning, you rinse out your mouth under the tap, your hands shaking on either side of the basin as you do. Physically, you feel rough. Mentally, you feel terrified.
You take several deep, steadying breaths before leaving the bathroom, taking the lengthy trek through the dark halls to get back to the bedroom you share with Sylus. You have all intentions of slipping back into bed and sleeping this morning’s vomit session off.
When you open the door, though, your plan is immediately out the window as you walk in on Sylus perched on the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other. He has one hand splayed out on the mattress behind him, holding up his slightly reclined body so that he has a full view of you, and the other hand is holding out a small paper bag.
“For you,” he states.
You frown, not moving to take it. “Am I forgetting an anniversary or something?”
“Or something,” he drawls cryptically.
Hesitantly, you take the small bag from him, peering inside. You only catch a glimpse, but you don’t want to look any longer than a fraction of a second.
Sylus stands up from the bed, looking down at you expectantly. “I think you’re forgetting to tell me something, kitten,” he says quietly.
Thrusting the bag against his chest in a blind panic, you storm around the bed to put some space between yourself and the abundance of pregnancy tests now nestled in his hands again. “I am not pregnant.”
In this case, ignorance was the only bliss you could get, and you were happy to keep ignoring the very possible chance that a problem was growing in your womb.
Sylus turns to face you, a hand on his hip. “And you’re sure about this?”
“Very,” you bite back, not looking at him. You swing open the door to the walk-in wardrobe, tearing off your t-shirt that smells faintly of the breakfast you’ve been throwing up for the past thirty minutes. You’re unsure if Sylus caught the little gag that happened automatically, but if he did, he feigns ignorance.
“So you’ve already taken a test?” he asks, following you and leaning against the doorframe. He watches you change unashamedly, a glint of desire in his eyes even at the sight of you in mismatched underwear.
“I don’t need to,” you respond simply. “I’m not pregnant.”
You slip on one of your short, silk nightgowns, despite it being the middle of winter. An uncomfortable heat had been bubbling inside you for days, and too much clothing touching your skin made you want to peel the skin from your bones.
The fabric is clean, smelling sweetly of florals. It’s how you loved your clean laundry to smell.
Emphasis on the word loved.
The second the smell wafted into your nose and attacked your heightened senses, you were gagging again, quickly pulling the nightgown off and slipping past your boyfriend to get to the en-suite. Your knees thudded hard against the marbled floor as you heaved up the last scraps of your stomach contents.
In the midst of your violent gagging, you felt two large hands graze your clammy neck as Sylus gathered up your hair, holding it in one hand and rubbing your back with the other. He doesn’t say anything, his presence enough of a comfort in a moment like this.
When you finally sit back on the heels of your feet, you start to cry. Well, sob is a more accurate description. You know that this isn’t right, and you know that a pregnancy test is going to bring you a result you’re not feeling very prepared for.
Sylus used some tissue to wipe just under your chin, tossing it into the toilet and pulling the flush to discard of your regurgitated breakfast.
“Here,” he murmurs, sitting beside you and carefully pulling you onto his lap. He presses a feather light kiss to your damp forehead. “I’ve got you.”
He did have you. He’s always had you, there was no doubt in your mind about that. But would he have you heavy and round with pregnancy? Would he have you hormonal and unable to control your emotions? Would he have you screaming and sweating through labour?
You’ve always assumed that his domesticity only extended to you, Luke and Kieran—despite his refusal to admit to the latter two. He’s lead a dangerous, thrilling life thus far, one that a baby just wouldn’t fit into.
And if you are pregnant, you won’t fit into it, either.
“I’ve always had a knack for knowing what you’re thinking,” Sylus says quietly, cutting through your thoughts. “You think this would be a bad thing, right?”
You groan in frustration, pushing your face into the side of his neck. “It would be.”
He hums, lips resting against your messy hair. “How have you arrived at that conclusion?”
Rearing your head back, you frown at him like the grouchy ball of hormones you are. “Maybe because we live in the base of your organisation that’s in the sights of every violent crime ring in this damn city. Maybe because the N109 Zone has to be the worst place on earth to raise a child, and maybe I don’t want our child to become the target that you and I have been for so many years. Maybe because I’m already scared for it, and I don’t even know if it’s even in there yet.”
Sylus doesn’t blink at your rant, saying nothing until he knows you’re finished. There isn’t a hint of worry or stress in his eyes, and it brings you the same amount of comfort as it does irritation.
Doesn’t he think the same?
“What else?” he asks calmly, tucking your hair behind your ear.
“That’s it,” you pout, making him chuckle softly.
“No it isn’t,” he presses. “What else, sweetie?”
The irritation soon turns to tears again, the flood of conflicting emotions making you feel crazy. If this is what pregnancy is going to be like, he’s surely going to grow tired of you.
His gentle fingers, the same ones that have pulled many strings and triggers in this city, continue the same motion of smoothing your unruly hair behind your ear. It’s grounding enough to push the whispered words from your trembling lips.
“I’m going to be a nightmare.”
Sylus still doesn’t react, as if he already knew exactly what you were going to say. He’s quiet for a moment, pulling you against him again so that your temple is rested against his collarbone.
“First of all, I love you. I love you happy. I love you angry. I love every version of you, and that’s not going to change,” he murmurs, looking down at you. “Understand?”
You nod, sniffing softly. Despite your insecurities, you’ve never doubted his love. He’s never let a day pass without expressing it.
“Secondly, we are not tied to this place. We are not tied to anything but each other.” He uses his thumb to wipe at your tears. “I will never let a soul come within a mile radius of you or our future family if they have even a passing thought of ill intention. I can guarantee you of that without any doubt. But if you want to get away from here, I could have this whole place packed up and a jet on standby before lunch. You say the word, and we go. Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”
The tears keep falling, but he catches every one of them.
“And thirdly, you haven’t done a test yet. At this moment in time, this is all hypothetical.”
“I can’t do it,” you mumble pathetically.
Sylus chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “There’s no I in this. It’s you and me, no matter what. I’ve got you in this. Every part.”
You fiddle with the fabric of his T-shirt in a futile attempt to distract yourself, but a nerve wracking question won’t stop bouncing around your mind.
“What if it’s positive? Is this even something you want?” you whisper.
He curls his finger beneath your chin, tilting your face up to lock eyes with you. “I told you that I love every version of you. That includes a mini one, too. I couldn’t think of anything that would put me off of an extension of you and me.” He pauses a moment, swallowing noticeably as his eyes flicker between yours. “Would you trust me as a father?”
The sudden vulnerability in his quiet tone knocks every remaining ounce of doubt out of you. You frown at him. “Are you joking? I trust that you would keep a dust mite safe, warm and fed if I asked you to.”
Sylus snorts, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. He stands up from the floor with you in one arm, retrieving the bag of tests from the bedroom before returning to sit you on the vanity in the en-suite. Pulling one of the boxes out of the bag, he reads through the instructions thoroughly. “Ready?” he asks.
You take a deep breath, expelling any last remnants of fear and uncertainty. “Ready.”
gn reader, hurt/comfort/angst?, happy ending
wc: 934
vent fic, tw for negative self image and gory imagery (none of it actually happens, just thoughts)
"Caleb, it's bad," you confess, crawling up to where he sat in bed and resting your head on his thigh, too exhausted to properly cuddle up with him. Caleb hums as he runs a hand through your hair, gently scratching at your scalp.
He should feel disgusted by you. You're disgusting. If you were normal, maybe the two of you would be out having a good time. Whatever regular people do for fun at night. Instead you're bedridden, not doing any of the work that had built up from doing exactly this for weeks in a row. Maybe months. And you're holding Caleb back with you.
Your head throbs with pain due to a headache you hadn't bothered to take medication for. You're too tired to cry. Your chest feels hollow. You want to rip at it with your bare hands until you can touch your ribcage. Slot your fingers in between the bones and grasp your sternum with your hand. Pull until you feel the bones crack. Watch your blood flow from the hole you always knew was there and pool on the floor beneath you. Maybe that would make this stop.
"I know," Caleb sighed, gently pulling you closer to him and lying down beside you. How did he always know what you longed for without needing you to ask? "C'mere, baby. I've got you." You whine softly, letting him pull you close, your chest pressing flush to his. He's so warm compared to you. Your hands and feet are always freezing, and yet his are always able to press against your chilled skin to help you feel warm again.
It would be better to feel Caleb's hand in your chest, you think. Would you feel whole if you had a part of Caleb so deep inside the hole of your chest cavity? Or would he finally realize how rotten you truly are on the inside and leave you all alone?
Your thoughts still for a moment as you feel him reach beneath your shirt and gently scratch your back. Why does he stay? Why does he think you're worth it? He cups your cheek with his free hand, coaxing you to meet his eyes. You do, because that's what he deserves. It's the least you can do after making him waste so much time on taking care of a lost cause.
"It's really bad today, huh?" he murmurs, gazing into your eyes with sympathy, and an endless wealth of kindness and devoted love exclusively reserved for you. You wish you could properly appreciate it, appreciate him. He deserves so much more than what you can offer.
"Hey. None of that. Look at me, pips."
Your eyes focus at his command, and he offers you a small smile as a reward, tenderly smoothing his thumb across your cheekbone. "Thaaat's it. We need to get you out of your head, yeah? Is that it?" You nod, mustering the energy to grip onto his sweater tightly.
"It hurts so bad I feel like I could die," you mumble, somewhat dramatically, but Caleb doesn't shame you for it. Instead he nods, maneuvering his hand that was on your cheek to your front instead, pressing to that spot on your chest.
"Here?" he asks softly, and you nod again, pressing your face into the crook of his neck.
"Caleb," you whimper, your voice cracking pathetically. "I love you," You love him so much it hurts.
"I know," he whispers in response. "I need you to stop thinkin' so hard for me, okay, pips? Just focus on me." He begins to softly massage the part of your chest that aches, his hand moving in slow, steady circles. He smells like apples and gentle detergent. His shoulder is warm against your cheek, and your legs are tangled with his as if the two of you were made to fit together like this. He's holding you tightly to him, his arm warm and solid across your back, like he wants the two of you to meld together and never be apart. He kisses up and down your neck, gently, in just the way you like; sending tingles down your spine with each warm press of his lips on your skin, causing your cheeks to flush.
"There you are," Caleb coos, smiling down at you fondly. He's like the sun, to you. You orbit his warmth and light, and he gladly lets you. You would do anything for him, and he's the same way. He's happy to let you follow him around like an abandoned puppy. Wherever you go, your compass always points back towards him.
"I have a surpriiise," His smile turns into a grin, and you feel a bit of hope return to your stomach. If he's this happy, surely you will be too. "I ordered us some bubble tea and it just arrived," He shows you his phone screen with the notification excitedly. His hand is moving a little too much for you to be able to read it, but you don't mind.
"How about we have some caffeine and snacks and decide what to do from there, yeah?" he offers, and presses happy kisses all over your face when you agree with a nod. You can't help but giggle at his overwhelming affection, and he looks incredibly proud of himself for making you smile.
"C'mon, pips," he slowly pulls you up into a seating position with him, steadying you when sitting up makes you wobble. "It's alright, we can take this slow, one step at a time. The boba will still be there when we're ready."
soo im going through some stuff in my closet and that includes my rock collection from when i was a kid! its so cool realizing i remember every single one of them and my reasons for keeping it, even though there's probably around 50 of them there and a lot of them seem a bit mundane.
showing a collection like this to caleb and seeing his eyes light up as he remembers the little trinkets alongside you!! he has little anecdotes and stories that you completely forgot, and was maybe even there with you when you found or were given the rocks. your favorites are some of the ones he found for you; you remember keeping them close whenever he wasn't able to be by your side.
there's a happy sparkle in his eyes that often comes when he remembers your happy childhood moments together, along with something else you can't quite identify. you ask him why he's looking at you strangely, and he shakes his head and plays it off.
but internally, he's been comparing your expressions and mannerisms to when you explained to him your reasoning for keeping each rock when you were children. the way you show him how each one shines differently under the light, and how your points towards the value of every stone match up to the ones you chattered about back then.
his expression becomes increasingly fond as the conversation continues. he loves seeing that you still have traces of that innocent happiness brought by something so small, your sweet nature unchanged even more than a decade later.
he eventually gives in to his desires and folds you into a tight hug, pressing a long kiss to your temple. you don't pull away, melting into him trustingly and letting your eyes droop closed. he wants to keep you happy like this forever.
"I love you so much, pips. So, so much. Only show me this side of you, okay? Promise me."
thinking about having a panic attack or emotional breakdown and waiting until you can barely take it any more to call sylus. he's in the middle of something incredibly important, you know that, but he did tell you to call him when you feel this way. so, you do. he arrives in a panic, believing that you're in danger from the way you could barely choke out your words over the phone.
you collapse into his arms, hiccupping and sobbing and grasping onto him desperately, apologizing profusely for dragging him away from his work. but he'd be patient and soft, slowing everything down and making sure you feel safe again before asking any questions.
he'd pick you up and carry you to your bedroom, turning off the lights and curling up with you under the sheets, staying there for however long it takes for you to settle again.
it just means a lot to me that he wouldn't accept any apologies for needing his help. he'd value your mental health just as much as your physical health, and you'd never need to prove yourself to him. if you're in distress, he's there.
maybe he learns about it belatedly from mephisto or the twins or figures it out on his own, but he'd be Furious. he's using your name, no nicknames, no fluffy bullshit. his eye is definitely glowing without him realizing it too. he might even pull out a rare expletive.
"never put yourself in harm's way to try to 'earn' my care again. do you understand me?"
he'd hold eye contact with you, making sure you nod, making sure you get it through your thick skull that this is completely unacceptable. that if you found yourself even considering this in the future, that you were to call him immediately. he'd never forgive himself if you were seriously injured because you felt your suffering wasn't worth his time unless you were bleeding.
and once you promise him and he knows you're being sincere, he'll soften up, making sure you're okay and treating you to a warm drink, as well as a nice long bath if you're feeling up to it. he'd be a bit more protective and worried for a little while afterwards, checking in with you regularly using video calls to keep you from lying.
and if this happened during work or involved a wanderer whatsoever, you're taking at least a month off, no matter how much you protest. if you don't call out on sick leave yourself, he's calling up captain jenna for you and telling her you need time away from the job for your mental health.
summary: in which the lads boys text you after having surgery (and are a little loopy) (and miss you).
ft. xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus & caleb
notes: suggestive content so MDNI / NSFW, xavier is kinda pathetic, zayne needs reassurance, rafayel is annoying (and wants to kill himself again), sylus is Into you Bad, caleb is double pathetic (zayne cameo too helloooo). this one’s a bit au-ish given the fact that it’s less than likely most of them would need regular ass anesthesia and surgery but…walk with me maybe…fem reader mentions in some of them (!!!), mentions of sexual acts briefly lol, allusions to violence (kinda??? rafayel’s into it??? and you don’t rlly do anything???), and obvi mentions of injury/surgery but no graphic depictions, that’s it (i think)
p.s. this was kinda fun to make but i also was very into making it so if it makes no sense…that’s not my business idk man
a/n: this was a silly idea i had a few days ago and i felt very inclined to do it sooooo i hope it’s okay…ty for reading (- -)(_ _)
summary. You adore Caleb’s freckles. He doesn’t.
note. Yes, me realizing Caleb Xia has freckles.
Caleb runs a hand over his face as he stares at his mirror. His frown deepens the longer he looks at himself. The marks that dot his face are the subject of his gaze. He isn't fond of them. Not really, not after he got multiple hurtful remarks over it as he grew up.
He does his best to not bring attention to it the older he gets. It became a habit to cover his face often, when he laughs, when he smiles, when people tend to stare at him a bit too much.
But you were vocal about how much you liked his freckles.
When you were younger, you raved about them, wishing you had your own. He didn’t see the appeal, but he liked it when you stuck your face close to his and admired the dots.
He loved it when you ran your hands over his face, brows furrowed as you murmured about how cute it was. If that made him flush 50 shades of red, then you didn’t notice.
You’re still obsessed with them, years later.
Even when he doesn’t understand why, staring at the mirror in the early morning or late night, trying to make sense of what made the small dots on his face endearing to you when to him it was just an insecurity. Brows furrowed, lips turned down as he judged his own appearance.
He hears your footsteps before he sees you. The soft, familiar manner of your feet on the floor– something he could recognize anywhere. You were looking for something in the bedroom, with the way you were opening and closing drawers like you were on a mission.
When you open the door to the bathroom, your voice echoing against the tiles, he didn’t move from his place in front of the mirror. “Caleb, have you seen my eyeliner? The new one that I just got this week?”
Your reflection appears behind him, searching around the bathroom, still in his hoodie and when your gaze lands on him, you see the small flicker in his gaze.
You frown. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” He mumbled, a bit too quickly than he hoped.
Your eyes narrow immediately.
Caleb looks away first.
The silence stretches for a moment. It's the silence that exists between two people that know each other too well, and in the way you stare at him through the mirror, Caleb knew you always clocked him.
Your arms cross over your chest, and he avoids your gaze, fixing it on anywhere but your reflection. The sink, the faucet– and the eyeliner you were looking for hidden behind the toothbrush cup.
That alone tells you enough about what he was doing in front of the mirror, and you sigh. Quietly. “Caleb.”
“Mhm?”
“What were you doing?”
“Nothing.”
Your frown deepens. His gaze moves to you for only a split second, before you catch him looking at his own reflection. It’s a short moment, but you could see the way he looked at the freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose. Then it clicks, and your expressions soften. “Oh.”
His jaw tightens, and he avoids your soft gaze again.
The silence that follows is heavier than the last one. It’s not heavy, nor uncomfortable. But vulnerable in a way that Caleb doesn’t let himself be around you too often.
Because he is supposed to be the strong one. The protector.
And to him, it’s stupid that this measly negative thought on his own features is making him this way.
"They're still there." His voice comes out quieter than expected.
You blink. "What?"
"The freckles."
For a second, you simply stare at him. Then you almost laugh.
Not because it's funny. But because of course that's what had him standing in front of the mirror at six in the morning looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "They've been there your entire life, baby."
"I know."
"So why are you surprised?"
"I'm not surprised."
"You seem surprised."
He shoots you a look that makes you smile. He groans, just as you laugh. “There you are.”
“What?” Caleb frowns.
“You’re finally looking at me.”
He pauses, and the soft look in your eyes makes his ears turn pink. Your smile only widens as you step towards him. Your arms wrap around his waist, and you peer through the side to the mirror, humming. Caleb relaxes against you, moving you until you’re standing next to him in the mirror. Your eyes meet his through the mirror, then it drifts downwards to his freckles.
There are more than most people notice. Tiny constellations scattered over warm skin.
Some are darker than others. Some are barely visible unless sunlight hits them just right.
You have every single one memorized. A fact Caleb would never recover from if you told him.
Unfortunately for him, you decide honesty is important in relationships: "I think I know at least twenty-seven of them."
His eyes widen. “What?”
“Twenty-seven.” You tilt your head up at him to look more closely at his face. His eyes are widened slightly, brows furrowed, voice pitched slightly higher in disbelief. “You counted?”
“Maybe.” You shrug.
“You counted.”
“Maybe.”
“You;re insane.”
You grin, and lean up to peck his cheeks. “I know.”
Caleb lets out a mix of a laugh and a huff. His ears are completely red now, the flush spreading to his cheeks as he shuts his eyes at the absurdity of you counting his freckles.
When he opens them again, he catches you staring. Again.
It’s not like you hide it, at this point.
His voice drops into a mutter. “I don’t get it.”
“Hm?” You meet his gaze.
“I don’t get why you like them so much.”
You tilt your head and watch him carefully. You watch the uncertainty hiding beneath his expression, the remnants of old words. Old comments. Old wounds. Things said carelessly by people who probably forgot them the moment they spoke, but they were things that Caleb had quietly carried for years.
You reach up, and your fingers brush against his cheek. Gentle. Careful.
As though touching something precious.
Because to you, he is.
Your thumb glides over the bridge of his nose. Over the freckles resting there.
Caleb's breath catches, and you smile softly.
"Because they're yours."
His eyes flicker.
You continue before he can interrupt. "I don't like them because they're perfect." His gaze remains fixed on yours as you continue, your fingers still on his skin, tracing lines between his freckles. "I like them because when I think of you, I think of them. When I picture your face, I picture your freckles." You laugh quietly, "You know, when I was younger, I used to think they looked like stars."
His expression falters.
And you know you've won the moment he looks away. Because Caleb only looks away when he's overwhelmed.
"I still do."
His throat moves and Caleb looks back at you. Your other hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him a bit closer so you could trace more of the freckles. "They make you look like you."
You cup his face. His hands immediately find your waist, like its instinct to him. And really, it is.
"There isn't a version of Caleb in my head without them."
Your smile softens.
"And honestly? You'd be less cute without them."
"Don't."
"You would."
He grumbles your name.
"You absolutely would."
"Stop."
"I think I'd cry."
"You would not cry."
"I'd mourn."
Caleb drops his forehead against your shoulder with a groan. A genuine one this time, one not out of frustration. Just hopeless, because just by your hands on his face, and your sweet, embarrassing words, he has been completely and utterly defeated by you.
You laugh, wrapping your arms around him, and his arms tighten around you immediately.
The bathroom falls quiet again. But this silence feels different.
Comfortable– Warm.
After a while, you feel him nudge his face against your neck, followed by his muffled voice."Twenty-seven?"
You burst out laughing.
"I knew you were still thinking about that."
"Twenty-seven?"
"Actually, it might be thirty."
Caleb makes a sound that suggests he's reconsidering every life choice that led him here.
You only smile wider and gently move his face up so you could press a kiss against his temple. Then to his cheeks – like you were kissing every single dot on his face.
Until his face is burning red enough to rival the sunrise peeking through the bathroom window.
The funny thing is, Caleb never truly learns to love his freckles.
Not the way you do. Not the way you look at them, like they're something worth admiring.
He can't rival the way you love it.
But over the years, he slowly stops hiding them. Stops treating it like something wrong on his face.
Because whenever he catches himself doing it, he remembers the way you look at him.
Like every freckle is something precious.
Like every single one belongs exactly where it should.
And Caleb stops frowning at the sight of them in the mirror.
long time, no see (i waited for you to come back to me) || texts between lads men x f!reader
summary: you finally text them after disappearing for months
warnings: xavier being the Best (and also making me sad). raf being dramatic (what's new). #calebcrashingout2k26
a/n: sorry for the unintentional hiatus :( take this as an apology while i work on the non!mc-verse
edit: AI was NOT used to make this content! the app that I use to make these messages allows users to make their own AI agents so the disclaimer is part of the app's UI now. i will crop it out in the future!
masterlist taglist sign-up
notes: it is father's day. i have heard this game is great for those with daddy issues, so what better to celebrate than a LADS post. also do not fear. i am working on non-mc!verse soon. please let me know if you have any requests bc i fear i am Brain Dead rn
🐦⬛ am i the only one who doesn't want the "you're their first time" headcanon to be true for sylus?
a bit of a ramble, but i haven't seen this discussed much and i was wondering if other people have opinions on it!! (it makes sense for zayne, since he tends to isolate :(. caleb i'm a little torn on, because who's to say he didn't get frustrated and desperate during the time he didn't see you frequently enough in college?)
but sylus.... idk, you can't tell me that the head of a huge seedy criminal organization is still a virgin at 28. the way he is now to me kinda speaks to his patience and restraint being learned. you can't live in a place like the n109 zone for so many years and come out untouched and 'pure'.
maybe in his early 20s he went through a phase where he gave in to every desire of his that he could fulfill, destroyed whatever he pleased in his rage, and used every bit of his power whenever he wanted to. i think giving into carnal desires (aka sex) would be part of this as well. maybe he got drunk and impulsive, or became overwhelmed with longing when he saw someone who looks just like you did.
maybe all of his suffering overwhelmed him, and he lashed out in whatever ways he could. maybe he became fixated on a hopeless realization that he really would never see you again.
i'm definitely not saying he hurt anyone or did anything non consensually!!! i'm thinking late nights slumped over a bar, or galas with the elite that give out free shots. tempted by a pretty stranger, having a night of empty pleasure before sneaking out with a hangover. one night stands with no commitment because no one could ever measure up to the person who holds the other half of his soul.
and he learned through experience that it won't help whatsoever. no matter what he does to try and vent his anger through violence, or sex, or pure indulgence, it won't staunch the fire that burns hot in his chest.
i feel like expecting him to come out of his childhood and upbringing perfectly patient and a master of restraint right away is a little unrealistic, and removes a lot of potential depth from his character!!!
also, it means he's experienced, knows what he likes, and is able to walk you through everything with ease. he can read your expressions, mannerisms, and body, both through his memories of a 'you' from so long ago, but also from prior experiences he never truly enjoyed.
and i think it means a lot more if his first night with you is the first time he revels in the pleasure. the first time he actually feels intimacy rather than just going through the motions as a fruitless attempt to sate his desires. the first time he slows down in the aftermath to take care of his partner. the first time he stays through the night and into the morning. the first time he wakes up beside the one he loves.
Can I request a smau for all LIs reacting to female reader accidentally messaging him instead of her friend that she likes HIM but she's scared of rejection please?
WRONG CHAT
in which you accidentally confess to the LADS men!
Thank you anon for the idea! Hope you enjoyed it!!
Of course, we don't really know Valko that well yet, so sorry if this ends up feeling a bit OOC later on lol
As always, reblogs are appreciated if you liked it 🤍
pairing: bf!Valko x gn!reader
synopsis: you wake up from a nightmare where valko disappeared, leaving you alone. thankfully, he's lying by your side when you wake up...
cw: fluff, hurt/comfort ig, petnames, established relationship
wc: 1.5k
a/n: yes this is my way of coping
Valko masterlist (wip!)
Valko was gone.
He had disappeared, seemingly without a trace.
You woke up to an unusually empty and cold bed. So you got up, searching the bathroom instead, calling out to him by the nickname you knew he secretly loved despite acting against it. But he was nowhere to be seen.
You tried calling him or sending him a text, but you couldn’t find his contact in your phone anymore.
So you tried social media, but you couldn't even find his account. Even after looking his username up.
The pit in your stomach only grew deeper and heavier as you rushed out of your bathroom, making your way to your entrance, throwing on the first pair of shoes you could find, grabbing your keys, and leaving. You noted the fact that his boots weren’t at your entrance anymore.
Arriving at his place, you walked up the luxurious modern driveway and pulled out the spare set of keys to his place he’d made for you. But the door didn’t open, or budge. The key didn’t even fit into the lock.
But in your panicked state of denial, you continue forcing the key into the hole, until the door opens from the other side.
You look up, expecting to be met with your 6’2 hunk of a boyfriend. Maybe in loungewear, with his glasses resting low on his nose, a book in hand.
Instead, an older woman looked at you with fear, disgust, and confusion all at once.
“Can I help you?” she asks condescendingly.
You stutter, still shocked.
“If you’re just going to stand there, then get off my property. I won’t hesitate to call the police.” she huffs.
Her property? What the hell was she talking about?
“Go on then.” she shoos you away, closing the heavy wooden door right in your face.
You remain standing there, baffled, before slowly turning around and looking at the cars in the driveway. Three sleek Mercedes’. And Valko’s jeep was nowhere in sight.
Your hands start trembling as you slowly make your way back to your own car. Shutting the door behind you once you sit in the driver’s seat, you pull out your phone again.
You decide to call his aunt. Surely she’d know where he was.
You sigh in relief once she picks up, and immediately ask her about Valko’s whereabouts, without even bothering to greet her properly.
She’s quiet on the other side of the line before speaking. “... Who?”
Your mouth falls agape ever so slightly, and your eyebrows knit together in a frown. “Valko. Do you know where he is? I’ve been trying to reach him all morning.”
She’s quiet again, but this time breaks her silence with a chuckle. “Sweetheart, did you hit your head? Who’s Valko?”
The hand holding your phone up to your ear falls in your lap, as tears start to well in your bottom eyelids.
Although you’re not on speaker, you can still faintly hear the sound of her voice.
“Y/N? Are you still there?” she questions, before laughing again. “I swear if this is another one of your pranks―”
You hang up before she can finish her sentence.
You stare down at your phone, and click on your camera roll.
There are no photos of him. There are no videos of him. Your album of him is gone.
Valko is gone.
Lost on what to do, you break down. The tears instantly stream down your face, hot and heavy. Your heartbroken sobs echo through your car. You fold in on yourself, leaning forward until your forehead rests against the steering wheel. The cries that rip out of your throat only get louder as you close your eyes, blinking the tears away.
The next thing you know, you’re in bed again. The sheets cling to your body due to the sweat rolling down your back. It’s humid, and sticky, and you feel as though you’re suffocating.
You immediately sit up and tear the covers off of you to catch your breath.
That’s when you realize… Valko. Where is he?
Your gaze drops down to your right.
There he is. Lying down with an arm propped behind his head, the other resting on his chest.
You nearly pounce on him, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders and shaking him awake.
“Valko! Come on, wake up, please―” you mutter, your voice raspy and broken as you start tearing up again.
But he doesn’t budge. You pray it’s just him being his usual heavy sleeper self, and continue trying to wake him up.
Eventually, he starts to stir, eyelashes fluttering open.
You stop your motion and stare down at him with wide eyes, and tear streaks adorning your cheeks.
Once his vision focuses and he takes in your appearance, he immediately sits up.
“What’s goin’ on?” he asks, large hands already moving to cup your face.
But the second you feel his warm touch again, the dam breaks and you sob even more. Your hands move to rest against his own, as you lean into his palms. “I―” you start but choke on your words.
His golden eyes dart back and forth between yours. “Hey, it’s okay, take your time. Use your words.”
You sniffle repeatedly, catching your breath. He continues wiping your tears away with the pads of his thumbs, remaining silent.
Once you feel more calm, you speak up. “You were gone… you left–you left me.”
Now it’s his turn to frown, but he still says nothing.
“You left. Like you never even existed.” your breath hitches. “I tried calling you but I couldn’t find your contact on my phone—and there was an old rude lady living at your house, and I called auntie to ask about you and she was acting like she didn’t even know you.” you ramble, your words occasionally getting cut off with your sobs and voice cracks.
He lets out the breath he was holding before pulling you in. You immediately bury your face into his chest.
“I’m here, baby.” He whispered against your ear. “You hear my heartbeat? Smell me?” he presses kisses to your head. “I’m right here. Not goin’ anywhere.”
Pressing your ear to the spot right over his heart, you listen to it beat against his ribcage, focusing on the familiar and comforting rhythm. Your crying eventually ceases, and you’re left hiccuping and letting out deep breaths.
His hands continue caressing up and down your back until he feels you’ve really calmed down.
You’re the first to pull away, and you wipe your tears while staring down at your lap.
He notices how distant you look and cups your jaw with one hand to make you look up at him.
“Feelin’ better?” he asks, eyes unusually soft.
You slowly look up to meet his eyes and shrug.
“It was just a bad dream, ‘kay? I’m not leaving you.” He leans down, nuzzling his nose against yours. “Ever.”
Your eyes flutter shut as you lean up so your foreheads touch, and you breathe him in. You immediately bask in his warm, inviting scent that you swore could wake you up from a coma. “... Promise?”
“I promise.” he whispers against your skin, letting his words sink in.
You look up at him through your wet lashes. He stares down at you in silence, his eyes half-lidded, before slowly and carefully leaning down. You try to meet him halfway and lean into him as well, closing your eyes.
But instead of pressing his lips against your own, he swipes his tongue against the corner of your left eye, licking your tears away.
Your eyes snap back open and you stare at him in shock. “Valko.” you reprimand, yet your voice is soft and still exhausted.
He pulls back, and looks as though he’s deep in thought. “Salty.” he finally comments, the corners of his lips tilting into a smirk.
You continue to stare at him with parted lips. “... You’re gross.” you scoff.
But he’s quick to lean in and lick the tears from your other eye. You yelp, moving away and trying to push him off, giggling in the process.
His hands move to grab your waist, pushing you back against the mattress as he climbs on top of you.
You shield your face from him, arms coming up to hide it.
His fingers slip under your shirt to tickle your skin, making your defenses drop. He takes the opportunity to lean in again and lick an annoyingly long stripe up the side of your face, tracing the tear tracks on it.
Your laughter echoes through the bedroom as your legs start kicking up in all directions. “Valko, enough!”
He continues for a good two minutes before finally stopping. You’re caged between his biceps, staring up at him, while you try to catch your breath. He’s slightly winded too, and some of his hair has fallen on his forehead.
“... I love you.” he mutters.
Your heart squeezes painfully, and you cup his face with both hands, caressing his jawline. “I love you too.” you respond.
He leans down, lips finally pressing against your own.
Reminding you that he was real, present, and that nothing would ever change that.
pairing: bf!Valko x gn!reader
synopsis: you wake up from a nightmare where valko disappeared, leaving you alone. thankfully, he's lying by your side when you wake up...
cw: fluff, hurt/comfort ig, petnames, established relationship
wc: 1.5k
a/n: yes this is my way of coping
Valko masterlist (wip!)
Valko was gone.
He had disappeared, seemingly without a trace.
You woke up to an unusually empty and cold bed. So you got up, searching the bathroom instead, calling out to him by the nickname you knew he secretly loved despite acting against it. But he was nowhere to be seen.
You tried calling him or sending him a text, but you couldn’t find his contact in your phone anymore.
So you tried social media, but you couldn't even find his account. Even after looking his username up.
The pit in your stomach only grew deeper and heavier as you rushed out of your bathroom, making your way to your entrance, throwing on the first pair of shoes you could find, grabbing your keys, and leaving. You noted the fact that his boots weren’t at your entrance anymore.
Arriving at his place, you walked up the luxurious modern driveway and pulled out the spare set of keys to his place he’d made for you. But the door didn’t open, or budge. The key didn’t even fit into the lock.
But in your panicked state of denial, you continue forcing the key into the hole, until the door opens from the other side.
You look up, expecting to be met with your 6’2 hunk of a boyfriend. Maybe in loungewear, with his glasses resting low on his nose, a book in hand.
Instead, an older woman looked at you with fear, disgust, and confusion all at once.
“Can I help you?” she asks condescendingly.
You stutter, still shocked.
“If you’re just going to stand there, then get off my property. I won’t hesitate to call the police.” she huffs.
Her property? What the hell was she talking about?
“Go on then.” she shoos you away, closing the heavy wooden door right in your face.
You remain standing there, baffled, before slowly turning around and looking at the cars in the driveway. Three sleek Mercedes’. And Valko’s jeep was nowhere in sight.
Your hands start trembling as you slowly make your way back to your own car. Shutting the door behind you once you sit in the driver’s seat, you pull out your phone again.
You decide to call his aunt. Surely she’d know where he was.
You sigh in relief once she picks up, and immediately ask her about Valko’s whereabouts, without even bothering to greet her properly.
She’s quiet on the other side of the line before speaking. “... Who?”
Your mouth falls agape ever so slightly, and your eyebrows knit together in a frown. “Valko. Do you know where he is? I’ve been trying to reach him all morning.”
She’s quiet again, but this time breaks her silence with a chuckle. “Sweetheart, did you hit your head? Who’s Valko?”
The hand holding your phone up to your ear falls in your lap, as tears start to well in your bottom eyelids.
Although you’re not on speaker, you can still faintly hear the sound of her voice.
“Y/N? Are you still there?” she questions, before laughing again. “I swear if this is another one of your pranks―”
You hang up before she can finish her sentence.
You stare down at your phone, and click on your camera roll.
There are no photos of him. There are no videos of him. Your album of him is gone.
Valko is gone.
Lost on what to do, you break down. The tears instantly stream down your face, hot and heavy. Your heartbroken sobs echo through your car. You fold in on yourself, leaning forward until your forehead rests against the steering wheel. The cries that rip out of your throat only get louder as you close your eyes, blinking the tears away.
The next thing you know, you’re in bed again. The sheets cling to your body due to the sweat rolling down your back. It’s humid, and sticky, and you feel as though you’re suffocating.
You immediately sit up and tear the covers off of you to catch your breath.
That’s when you realize… Valko. Where is he?
Your gaze drops down to your right.
There he is. Lying down with an arm propped behind his head, the other resting on his chest.
You nearly pounce on him, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders and shaking him awake.
“Valko! Come on, wake up, please―” you mutter, your voice raspy and broken as you start tearing up again.
But he doesn’t budge. You pray it’s just him being his usual heavy sleeper self, and continue trying to wake him up.
Eventually, he starts to stir, eyelashes fluttering open.
You stop your motion and stare down at him with wide eyes, and tear streaks adorning your cheeks.
Once his vision focuses and he takes in your appearance, he immediately sits up.
“What’s goin’ on?” he asks, large hands already moving to cup your face.
But the second you feel his warm touch again, the dam breaks and you sob even more. Your hands move to rest against his own, as you lean into his palms. “I―” you start but choke on your words.
His golden eyes dart back and forth between yours. “Hey, it’s okay, take your time. Use your words.”
You sniffle repeatedly, catching your breath. He continues wiping your tears away with the pads of his thumbs, remaining silent.
Once you feel more calm, you speak up. “You were gone… you left–you left me.”
Now it’s his turn to frown, but he still says nothing.
“You left. Like you never even existed.” your breath hitches. “I tried calling you but I couldn’t find your contact on my phone—and there was an old rude lady living at your house, and I called auntie to ask about you and she was acting like she didn’t even know you.” you ramble, your words occasionally getting cut off with your sobs and voice cracks.
He lets out the breath he was holding before pulling you in. You immediately bury your face into his chest.
“I’m here, baby.” He whispered against your ear. “You hear my heartbeat? Smell me?” he presses kisses to your head. “I’m right here. Not goin’ anywhere.”
Pressing your ear to the spot right over his heart, you listen to it beat against his ribcage, focusing on the familiar and comforting rhythm. Your crying eventually ceases, and you’re left hiccuping and letting out deep breaths.
His hands continue caressing up and down your back until he feels you’ve really calmed down.
You’re the first to pull away, and you wipe your tears while staring down at your lap.
He notices how distant you look and cups your jaw with one hand to make you look up at him.
“Feelin’ better?” he asks, eyes unusually soft.
You slowly look up to meet his eyes and shrug.
“It was just a bad dream, ‘kay? I’m not leaving you.” He leans down, nuzzling his nose against yours. “Ever.”
Your eyes flutter shut as you lean up so your foreheads touch, and you breathe him in. You immediately bask in his warm, inviting scent that you swore could wake you up from a coma. “... Promise?”
“I promise.” he whispers against your skin, letting his words sink in.
You look up at him through your wet lashes. He stares down at you in silence, his eyes half-lidded, before slowly and carefully leaning down. You try to meet him halfway and lean into him as well, closing your eyes.
But instead of pressing his lips against your own, he swipes his tongue against the corner of your left eye, licking your tears away.
Your eyes snap back open and you stare at him in shock. “Valko.” you reprimand, yet your voice is soft and still exhausted.
He pulls back, and looks as though he’s deep in thought. “Salty.” he finally comments, the corners of his lips tilting into a smirk.
You continue to stare at him with parted lips. “... You’re gross.” you scoff.
But he’s quick to lean in and lick the tears from your other eye. You yelp, moving away and trying to push him off, giggling in the process.
His hands move to grab your waist, pushing you back against the mattress as he climbs on top of you.
You shield your face from him, arms coming up to hide it.
His fingers slip under your shirt to tickle your skin, making your defenses drop. He takes the opportunity to lean in again and lick an annoyingly long stripe up the side of your face, tracing the tear tracks on it.
Your laughter echoes through the bedroom as your legs start kicking up in all directions. “Valko, enough!”
He continues for a good two minutes before finally stopping. You’re caged between his biceps, staring up at him, while you try to catch your breath. He’s slightly winded too, and some of his hair has fallen on his forehead.
“... I love you.” he mutters.
Your heart squeezes painfully, and you cup his face with both hands, caressing his jawline. “I love you too.” you respond.
He leans down, lips finally pressing against your own.
Reminding you that he was real, present, and that nothing would ever change that.
For the Valko requests, I would love to see some cute family fluff between MC, Valko, his cousins, grandma, and his sister (I think he had a sister in his lore, correct me if I am wrong), because I want to see how MC would get along with Valko's family. 🐺
𝐀 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄
synopsis: when valko brings you home for the first time, he warns you about everything: his grandmother’s food, his sister’s stare, his cousin’s stories, the family jokes that always cut too close. he forgets to warn you that love in his house is not gentle or quiet, but loud, practical, mercilessly observant, and served warm at the kitchen table.
cw/tw: valko x reader. very soft domestic fluff. light family teasing.
read here: ao3 ⋅ tumblr
Valko lost his nerve three steps from the door.
It was a small death, but you saw it happen; the brave lift of his chin, the twitch in his jaw, the small, tragic collapse of his entire face when a crash came from inside the house.
His hand tightened around yours.
“Dobro,” he said.
Another crash.
From inside, and older woman called, “If that's my good plate, I will put someone in the ground before supper.”
Valko closed his eyes. You turned toward him.
He opened one eyes. “She loves plates.”
“More than people?”
“Depends on the people.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself, and relief moved through him all at once, softening his shoulders, loosening the frightened line of his mouth. He'd been nervous all morning. Badly nervous. Valko, who could grin with blood on his teeth and make danger look like a door he'd simply forgotten to knock on, had spent the whole walk here giving you warnings no sane person could have prepared for.
Do not let Mika read your palm. He makes things up and then believes them.
Do not compliment Baba's curtains unless you want curtains.
Do not say you're full.
And, most importantly, if anyone mentions the soup incident, Valko had said, grave as a condemned man, they're lying.
You had asked what the soup incident was.
He had started to walk faster.
Now he stood before the old wooden door with your fingers caught in his, trying to look calm and producing, somehow, the exact expression of a wolf about to be bathed.
“Valko,” you said softly.
“Yes?”
“You're shaking.”
“I'm not shaking.”
“You are.”
“I’m containing myself.”
“From what?”
“Hereditary embarrassment.”
The door flew open.
A girl about his age stood on the other side, dark-eyed and grinning, with flour on her cheek and murder in her posture. She took one look at Valko’s hand around yours, then lifted her gaze to his face with the slow delight of someone finding a knife exactly where she had hoped one would be.
A slow smile cut across her face.
“Oh,” she smirked. “So this is why you changed your shirt twice.”
Valko made a sound. Small, wounded, entirely unlike a wolf.
“I changed once.”
“You changed twice. The first shirt was the blue one. The second was the one that made you look like you were going to court. This...This is the third.”
His ears went red.
The woman held out her hand to you. “Milena. His sister.”
“Unfortunately,” Valko added.
“Fortunately. Without me, you'd still think soap is optional in winter.”
“It isn't optional.”
“Because of me.”
You took Milena's hand. Her grip was warm, firm, and full of judgement she hadn't yet decided to use.
Behind her, the house breathed out heat. Bread, onions, some in old wood, something sweet cooling on a counter. There were voices everywhere, layered and crossing. One person laughing while another complained, a child humming under a table, chairs scraping, a kettle whistling like a bird losing patience.
Milena stepped aside. “Come in before Baba starts saying we were raised by wolves.”
Valko muttered, “We were.”
She looked at him. “And still, some of us learned manners.”
You crossed the threshold. The house was smaller than the noise made it seem, or maybe the noise had simply learned to fill every corner. Framed photographs climbed the walls in crooked rows. Herbs hung drying above the kitchen window. Nothing matched, and yet everything looked touched, mended, argued over... kept.
Valko leaned close as he helped you out of your coat.
“Last chance,” he whispered. “We can run.”
You looked past him to where an old woman stood near the stove, hands folded over her apron, watching you with bright, wolfish eyes.
“Too late,” you whispered back. “I think she heard you.”
“I hear everything,” the old woman said.
Valko went still.
Milena smiled into her shoulder.
The old woman crossed the kitchen with the slow authority of someone who had ruled this house before any of them had teeth. She was small, broad in the shoulders, silver-haired, with flour on her wrist and no softness wasted in her face. The softness, you realised, was elsewhere. In the bread covered by a towel, in the chair pulled out before you reached it, in the way Valko lowered his head without being asked when she came close.
“Baba,” he said, and for the first time that day, his voice lost its jokes.
She, of course, ignored him.
Instead, she took your face between both hands.
Her palms smelled of rosemary, yeast, and soap. Her thumbs rested beneath your cheekbones, and for one strange second the whole house seemed to lean closer. The cousins, the kettle, the old boards, even Valko, holding his breath beside you.
“So,” Baba Vesna said. “You are the reason he forgets to eat.”
“I eat,” Valko protested.
Teta Marika appeared by the stove, wooden spoon in hand. “You came here last week, opened the pantry, stared at a sack of potatoes for six minutes, then said, ‘I wonder what she’s doing.’”
“That was taken out of context.”
“What was the context?” you asked, because love had made you brave and terrible.
Valko looked betrayed. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
A boy leaning backwards on his chair nearly lost balance from laughing, another cousin caught the chair by its back without looking up from peeling an apple.
Baba Vesna patted your cheek once and released you. “Sit, dušo. Eat something before my family embarrass me properly.”
Valko gave a strangled laugh. “Before?”
No one listened to him.
You were placed at the long wooden table as if the decision had been made before you arrived. A bowl appeared, then bread, then butter, then a small plate of pickled vegetables. Teta Marika, Valko's aunt, kissed the air beside your cheeks and took the small gift you had brought. Mika announced that he already knew your favourite colour from Valko’s face. Luka told him that was the stupidest sentence ever spoken in the kitchen, which Mika accepted as praise. The little one beneath the table emerged, solemn and bread-dusted, and introduced himself as Niko.
“Are you going to marry him?” Niko asked.
Valko walked directly into the side of a chair.
The whole kitchen paused. You pressed your lips together.
Milena leaned against the doorway, radiant with cruelty. “Careful, Niko. Val only has two knees.”
“Niko,” Teta Marika turned from the stove, wooden spoon in hand. “We ask guests if they want juice first.”
Niko nodded, absorbing this etiquette with grave importance. “Do you want juice before you marry him?”
Valko covered his face with both hands. You bit down on your smile so hard it almost hurt. This wasn't what you had expected.
Some foolish, frightened part of you had imagined a den in the old sense. Teeth, watchful eyes, a family arranged around blood and law, waiting to decide whether your bones could be allowed near theirs. Valko had never spoken of them casually. Whenever he said home, something tender and embarrassed moved through him, as though the word itself had fingers and knew exactly where to touch.
Now you sat beneath a crooked lamp while his grandmother tore bread with her hands and put the first piece on your plate.
“Eat,” Baba Vesna said.
You obeyed.
The bread was warm enough to steam between your fingers. The crust cracked softly, butter melted into it in golden lines. Across the table, Valko watched you take the first bite as if your mouth held judgment from heaven.
You chewed. Swallowed.
“It’s delicious.”
Baba Vesna clicked her tongue. “Of course it is wonderful. I made it.”
Mika leaned towards you. “He talked about you after the market yesterday.”
Valko’s hand hit the table. “No.”
“Yes, you did” Luka said sticking his tongue out.
“No.”
“You said, and I quote, 'she chooses fruit with such care'.”
The table went quiet for half a breath, your hand stilled around the bread. Valko looked at Luka as if betrayal had entered the room wearing his cousin’s face.
“That was private.”
“You said it in the kitchen.”
“That makes it private.”
Milena sat across from you and rested her chin in her hand. “He also said you have kind hands.”
Valko’s mouth opened, nothing came out. Your heart did something foolish inside your chest.
The teasing had worked him bright and flustered, but beneath it, something softer trembled. He was embarrassed, yes. Horribly, so. Beautifully, so. Yet the thing underneath was more dangerous than shame. This was exposure. A curtain pulled open in a room he had spent so long keeping dim.
He had spoken of you here.
At this table. In this warm, loud house. To these people who teased him because they knew what he looked like with no armour on. He had brought you home long before he ever brought your body through the door.
Baba Vesna filled your bowl with soup.
“He was always like this,” she said.
“Baba, please.”
“He was a strange child,” she said.
Valko groaned. “Please.”
“A sweet child,” Teta Marika corrected.
“A dramatic child,” Luka said.
“A biting child,” Milena added.
Valko pointed at her. “You bit first.”
“You looked biteable.”
“You see what I mean?” Valko turned to you with helpless outrage. “This is what I survived.”
There was love in it, the kind that had been cooked too long and reduced into something strong enough to stain. They spoke to him as if they had known every version of him and chosen, again and again, to keep putting food in front of whichever one came home.
You looked at him while he argued with Mika about whether a stolen spoon counted as a childhood trauma.
He caught you looking. For a moment, the noise thinned.
There he was.
Valko with his hair refusing every law of decency. Valko trying so hard to survive his own family and failing beautifully. His eyes met yours with a nervous brightness that made you want to reach across the table and be cruel to every fear that had ever found him.
Then Niko pointed his spoon at you.
“Are you keeping him?”
The kitchen stopped.
Valko made a tiny sound into his bowl.
Milena closed her eyes as if praying for patience and finding none. “Niko.”
“What? Mika said maybe she is keeping him.”
His gaze dropped to the table, to the bread by his hand, to the small old cuts in the wood. The blush still clung to him, but it had changed into something quieter now. Hope, perhaps. Or terror wearing hope’s coat.
You could have laughed. Everyone would have let you. It would have been easy to throw the question back into the room like a toy and watch them tear it apart.
Instead, beneath the table, you found Valko’s hand.
His fingers closed around yours at once.
“I’d like to,” you said.
The house held itself still for half a breath.
Then Baba Vesna nodded, once, as if some old contract had been signed in soup and honey.
“Good,” she said. “He is difficult, but warm.”
Valko bowed his head.
His shoulders shook.
At first you thought he was upset. Then you realised he was laughing, quietly, helplessly, with one hand over his mouth and the other holding yours under the table like he meant to keep it there until winter.
Mika groaned. “Ah, look at him. Finished. Completely finished.”
Milena reached for the pickles. “Good. He needed finishing.”
Teta Marika smiled into her tea. “Eat more, zlato. You will need strength.”
“For Valko?” you asked.
“For all of us.”
Dinner became less a meal than a storm with chairs.
Bowls moved, hands reached, stories climbed over one another and died unfinished because someone remembered a better accusation. Luka asked you practical questions in a calm voice: where you liked to walk, whether Valko had shown you the old river path, whether he still pretended not to like sweet things. Mika tried to read your palm and declared that you were fated to own a troublesome dog.
“That's just Valko,” Milena said.
“I am not a dog.”
“True,” Luka said. “Dogs listen.”
Valko began quietly placing the best pieces of food on your plate.
A soft carrot, the inside of the bread, a dumpling he pretended to move away from himself and somehow abandoned beside your spoon. He was not subtle. He had never been subtle. He was a wolf trying to hide a whole deer behind a napkin.
You noticed on the fourth offering.
His family noticed on the first.
Baba Vesna said nothing until Valko tried to give you the last honey cake. Then she leaned back in her chair and looked at him over her tea.
“Ah,” she said.
Valko froze.
It was one syllable. It landed like a bell.
“What?” he said.
“No, no.” She waved him off. “Continue. Starve for romance. Very noble.”
Mika threw his head back.
You picked up the honey cake before Valko could die at the table and broke it in two, placing half on his plate. “There,” you said. “No starving.”
He looked at the cake.
Then he looked at you.
His expression opened in a way that made the room, somehow, feel too small for your heart. It opened with that unguarded, bewildered softness he sometimes gave you when kindness arrived before he had prepared himself to receive it.
Milena saw it.
Her teasing quieted.
For a moment, she only watched him with something old and protective in her face.
Then she stood. “Come help me with plates.”
Valko blinked. “Me?”
“Her.” Milena pointed at you.
Valko frowned. “Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“That's not a reason.”
“It has worked on you for years.”
You rose before he could protest again. Milena took two plates from the table and handed you none of them, which told you at once that this had nothing to do with helping.
She led you down a narrow hallway lined with photographs.
Behind you, Valko’s voice rose. “Do not interrogate her.”
The hallway smelled faintly of beeswax and dried herbs. The noise of the kitchen softened behind you, still there, still golden, but now wrapped in walls. Milena stopped by a window overlooking the yard and leaned her hip against the sill.
For the first time all evening, she let the smile leave her face.
“He likes you,” she said.
You smiled gently. “I got that impression.”
“No.” Her eyes flicked towards the kitchen. “He likes people easily. He likes old men who tell bad stories, stray cats that scratch him, children who throw rocks at windows because they want attention. Valko is built stupid that way.”
A laugh escaped you.
Milena folded her arms.
“He brings things home,” she continued. “Broken things, angry things. Things he thinks no one else will be gentle with.” Her gaze moved towards the kitchen, where Valko’s voice lifted in protest. “He does not bring people home.”
Your throat tightened.
From the kitchen, Valko shouted, “It wasn't soup. It was stew.”
Mika shouted back, “Stew cannot make a grown man cry.”
“I was overwhelmed by flavour.”
Milena closed her eyes for one second. “Bože, give me strength.”
You laughed softly.
She looked at you again, sharper now.
“He was nervous all week,” she said. “Changed his shirt three times. Asked me if the house smelled too much like onions. Asked Luka if his laugh was strange. Asked Baba if she could please not tell the story about the goat.”
“The goat?”
“Later.” A faint smile touched her mouth. “Maybe never.”
You glanced back towards the kitchen.
He had asked if his laugh was strange.
Something in you ached with such tenderness that it almost felt like anger.
You looked down.
“He didn’t need to worry,”
“He is clumsy with precious things,” she said. “Because he thinks his hands are only good for breaking them, even when he is careful. Especially then.”
“So be kind,” she said. “Or be cruel quickly. He will survive either, but I prefer to know which one I’m dealing with.”
There it was.
The knife under the table. The love with its teeth intact. You didn't resent her for it, you thought, strangely, that you liked her more for it.
“I’m not here to hurt him,”
“Most people aren’t, at first.”
“Milena.”
Milena’s gaze narrowed.
“I don’t know what I’m doing with him,” you admitted.
“With any of this,” you continued. “He makes everything feel…” You searched for the word and hated every pretty one that came. Fated. Wild. Tender. All too polished for the mess he made of your heart. “He makes everything feel like I’ve been walking past a door my whole life, and he is the idiot who opened it with his shoulder.”
Milena stared at you.
Then she laughed once, sharp and startled.
“Oh,” she said. “You’re gone too.”
You looked down, caught.
She seemed satisfied. “Good.”
“Is that approval?”
“That is me deciding not to be difficult.”
“You were being difficult?”
“Dušo,” she said, and now her smile had teeth in it, “I was being polite.”
When you returned to the kitchen, Valko was waiting near the doorway as if he had tried to remain seated and failed.
His eyes moved from you to Milena. “What did you say to her?”
Milena walked past him. “That you were adopted.”
“I’m not.”
“Emotionally, you're a wet dog we found in the rain.”
He watched her go, wounded on principle, then turned to you with genuine concern. “What did she actually say?”
You reached up and brushed flour from his sleeve. “That you’re warm.”
“That was Baba.”
“Family consensus.”
His mouth twitched. “You are enjoying this.”
“I am.”
“You were supposed to be intimidated.”
“By Mika?”
“By the bloodline. The history. The general atmosphere of teeth.”
“Mika told me my palm says I’ll own a dog.”
Valko sighed.
You reached up and plucked the dish towel from his shoulder. “You have flour on your sleeve.”
He looked down, surprised, as if his own body had been making decisions without him. Then he looked back at you, and the kitchen noise faded once more, though this time it was only the two of you making the world small.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
The question was casual enough for anyone else to miss the tremor underneath. You heard it. The naked, waiting part. You thought of his hand shaking outside the door. Baba Vesna taking your face between her palms, of bread steaming in your fingers, of honey cake divided in two, of Milena saying he doesn't bring people home.
“I’m all right,” you said. “Are you?”
Valko smiled too quickly. “I’m alive.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
His smile softened.
For once, he did not joke immediately. It cost him something. You could see it in the way his fingers flexed at his side, reaching for mischief and finding courage instead.
“I wanted them to like you,” he said. “I wanted you to like them.”
“I do”
“I wanted…” He stopped, then laughed under his breath. “I don’t know. Something stupid.”
He looked towards the kitchen, where his family had resumed their noise without mercy. Mika was accusing Luka of stealing the larger piece of cake. Baba Vesna had taken down a tin from the highest shelf, probably containing either biscuits or secrets.
“Valko, stop hiding her. I have photographs.”
Horror returned to his face with magnificent speed.
“No.”
“Yes,”
“No photographs.”
“Naked baby photos,” Mika added.
Valko went pale. “You do not have those.”
Teta Marika’s voice drifted after him, serene and deadly. “We have everything.”
He grabbed your hand. “We’re leaving.”
You let him pull you three steps before Baba Vesna appeared in the doorway holding a small album to her chest.
“Sit,” she said.
Valko sat.
It was remarkable how quickly a wolf could become a grandson.
For the next hour, they showed you the evidence of his life.
Valko missing two front teeth and glaring at the camera as though betrayed by dentistry. Valko asleep under the table with one hand buried in a dog’s fur. Valko at thirteen, all elbows and outrage, holding a fish half his size while crying because he had to put it back.
There was Valko covered in mud, Valko wearing a paper crown, Valko with Milena’s arm hooked around his neck while he pretended to hate her and leaned into her anyway. Valko standing beside Baba Vesna in the garden, holding a basket of tomatoes like he had been entrusted with the fate of nations.
Each photograph was another small door.
You had known him in pieces: the grin, the hunger, the awkward tenderness, the jokes he threw like branches over deep water. Here was the rest of him. Here was the child who had survived becoming himself because these hands had fed him, scolded him, dragged him upright, and remembered his softness when he tried to outgrow it.
At some point, while everyone argued over whether the goat incident happened before or after the soup incident, Valko bent close to you.
“You don’t have to keep looking,” he murmured.
You turned a page.
A tiny Valko stared up from the album, holding a wooden spoon like a sword.
“Yes,” you said. “I do.”
He stared at you.
Then, very briefly, he rested his forehead against your shoulder.
It lasted only a second. A shy, exhausted surrender. No one commented on it, though you knew every person in the room saw. That seemed to be another house rule. They would mock the wound, yes, but they protected the pulse.
Later, when the cups were cleared and the album returned to its shelf of holy embarrassments, you stepped outside for air.
The yard was cold, dark and soft around the edges. Herbs grew beneath the window, yhe old trees leaned towards the house as if listening. Behind you, the kitchen glowed gold, laughter pressing against the glass.
Valko followed after a moment, closing the door carefully behind him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
You looked at him. “For what?”'
“The interrogation. The photographs. Mika. The marriage question. The soup litigation.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Milena.”
“I like Milena.”
“That means she behaved.”
“She said she was being polite.”
He winced. “Then she liked you.”
You leaned back against the porch railing, and he stood in front of you with his hands in his pockets, rocking once on his heels like he wanted to come closer and had forgotten the law of his own body.
Through the window, you could see Baba Vesna pretending to wipe the table while watching you both with shameless interest. You lifted a hand and waved.
She waved back.
Valko turned, saw her, and groaned. “For the love of...Baba.”
“She loves you.”
“That's her usual excuse for crimes.”
“It’s a good one.”
He looked back at you, and the teasing left him slowly, piece by piece. Out here, with the house at his back, he seemed caught between the wild thing and the loved thing. The wolf and the boy in the paper crown. The man who had brought you to the threshold with shaking hands and still tried to joke like fear could be made harmless if he gave it a funny name.
“Did you mean it?” he asked.
“Which part?”
“When Niko asked if you were keeping me.”
The question came lightly, too lightly. A feather laid over a blade.
You reached for him.
This time, Valko did not hesitate. He came into your space at once, as if pulled by a string tied somewhere behind his ribs. His hands settled at your waist, careful at first, then warmer when you didn't move away.
“I meant it,”
His eyes searched yours.
“For tonight?”
“For longer than that.”
He didn't kiss you immediately. Somehow, that made it worse. He stood there and let the answer enter him, slowly, like someone opening the door to a room he had been told was empty and finding it lit.
Inside, Mika yelled, “Are they kissing?”
Valko dropped his forehead to your shoulder.
“Leave them. He is finally being normal.”
You laughed.
He looked at you then, and the last of his embarrassment broke open into something bright, something almost boyish
“Welcome home,” he said, very softly.
You touched his cheek.
Behind him, the old house breathed and creaked and held its golden noise. Inside, his family waited with tea, teeth, stories, and a place at the table already made yours.
I've been drowning in these sheets, feeling lonely, wishing you were here with me...
You're drowning in your own thoughts, but he's never seen you like this before...
Featuring: Valko, gn!reader
Contents: Mentally ill!reader, reader has abandonment issues, new but established relationship, hurt/comfort, lots of wolf cuddles
Wordcount: 1,417
You have a headache.
It's not the most pressing thing on your mind, nor the loudest, but it's the only one you can hold onto with any semblance of stability.
It's the type that aches just behind your eyes—you can't hide it forever, he'll find out eventually—and makes you just want to bury your face in a pillow. Which you've already done, but you—you really think he'll be any different? No one really loves you once they see—shift around and press it deeper anyways, trying to relieve more of the pressure.
It helps, sorta. It lessened the physical pain, if only slightly, but that made room for far worse things to slip into the forefront of your mind.
He loves you now, but it's conditional. It's always conditional. You really think he'll stay after he sees the real you?
You barely even register the whine you let out as you grab a separate pillow and wrap it around your ears; but the barrier can't do anything against the voices inside your head.
You don't believe them. Don't want to believe them.
Your relationship with Valko is new, sure, and yeah, it started out a little rocky. But once you two found your path? He was always stuck to you like glue, whenever possible. It makes your heart swell and ache and do flips all at once. In this moment, you kinda hate it.
Your phone is on the bed, right next to you. You could text him. Should text him, maybe. But you just can't bring yourself too.
He's never seen you like this. Hurting, emotions out of control, brain fighting itself to keep you alive. It wasn't pretty to live, so you can't imagine what it's like to look at. To be around.
You don't want to imagine the look on his face when you tell him you feel unloved, or ignored, or any other thimgs you know aren't rational, how—just like everyone else—he'd take the blame. How it'd be too much for him, and he'd leave.
You were imagining it. You were imagining it and the idea brought you to tears, and it shouldn't. It hadn't happened. You wanted to believe it would never happen.
But do you know that?
And that was the kicker, wasn't it? You didn't know. And that would always be a wrench in whatever minimal comfort you could dredge up in yourself.
You should put on a movie. Play a game. Anything to get this—to get him—out of your head.
Right when one of your hands connects with the sleek plastic of your phone case, you freeze. The balcony door creeeeeks open, and heavy footsteps make their way to the living room.
"Sweetheart? You home today?" Fuck.
You burrow deeper into your pair of pillows. Maybe if you're quiet enough, he'll think you're at work.
You hate that the idea makes tears well up in your eyes.
Somewhere else in the house—the living room, maybe—boots hit the wall with a distinctive thunk. Then the footsteps resume, drifting around to each room and calling out your name. You try your best to pretend you're not there.
He stops in front of your bedroom door. You curl up further into yourself.
"…honey, I can smell you in there." Fuck. Stupid wolf senses. "You…you don't have to let me in, but can you at least say somethin'? Just so I know you're all good?"
You aren't all good. That's the problem. You're in a horrible headspace and he's never really seen how bad it can get, how bad you can get, and you don't want him to. No matter how desperate you are for his arms around you.
There's some shuffling outside the room. A whine that you're praying you imagined. Then the knob turns.
You hadn't bothered to lock it. Maybe you'd been hoping he'd find you.
"…babydoll?" His voice was clearer through the crack, concerned and adoring and dejected all at once. The sound of it crumbles any and all resolve you have left.
"Valko…" his name slips out of your lips in a whimper, and for a moment you're scared he won't hear you.
You shouldn't have been. Those 'stupid wolf senses' come in handy sometimes, too. Within seconds, broad hands connect with your body—roaming, searching, investigating. Checking for injuries.
A laugh bubbles up in your chest, escaping as merely a weak giggle, but you cling to it. To that little bit of warmth and light in the storm around you.
Your body aches as you force it to roll over, reaching up to grab at and pet his ears. "'M not hurt, puppy. Not like that."
Sharp yellow eyes whip around to meet yours, a deep frown lining those handsome features. You don't like the look of that, so you give a good scratch to the point behind his right ear—right where he likes it.
As always, he melts, tilting into your hand as his tail starts to thump on the mattress.
But he fights it off. You watch him do it, watch the way his gaze seems to refocus completely on you. It damn near takes your breath away.
"If you're not hurt…" Suddenly, warm skin presses against your wrist; nuzzling, scenting. "Then what's wrong? 'Cus if you try to tell me you're fine or some shit I will bite you."
Another sound that might've been a laugh escapes your lips as you bring your left hand down to cradle his face. "I…my brain's just really loud." You look down at his hands, still resting on your body even after you'd moved. "And mean. I don't…I don't want the stuff in my head to hurt you." You pull your lip between your teeth. "Or…or scare you."
There's silence for a moment, and then—a scoff. He honest to god scoffs. You feel like you've been dunked in ice water.
It must show, because almost immediately afterwards hands cup your face and turns you to face him—golden eyes wide, anxious. "'M sorry, doll—I wasn't laughing at you. I mean it." Lips press against your forehead. "It's just…the idea that I could ever be scared by you…it's so unimaginable to me. But I shouldn'a scoffed like that." His nose presses into your hair, and you feel the deep inhale he takes. "Forgive me?"
'The idea that I could ever be scared by you…it's unimaginable.'
You press your face into his neck, taking a deep breath of your own to fill your nose with the new-yet-familiar scent of pine and musk and petrichor and home.
"Yeah, I can forgive you." You raise your arms to wrap them around him, pressing as close as you can from your angle. He quickly lays down to accommodate. "I…I don't think it's a good idea to tell you what they're saying, though."
He makes what sounds like a cross between a hum and a chuff, shifting to hold you against his chest. "You mean the bad thoughts?" You nod. "Are they yappin' away right now?" A pause. You let yourself sit in the silence for a moment. Then, you shake your head. "That's all that matters, then. I don't needa know exactly what they're yappin' about, just if they're doing it."
Soft fur tickles your leg as his tail wraps around it, and you can't help the quiet giggle it draws out. Valko makes a satisfied huffing noise in return.
"If they're being quiet now, let 'em be quiet. Enjoy it." You feel his every breath on your scalp, warming you from the top down. "We can cross the bridge of discussing what they're saying when we get there. For now, just tell me if they get loud again, yeah?"
You take a few deep breaths, trying to fight through tears you hadn't even realized were flowing.
"…yeah." The word is quiet, barely above a whisper, but of course; he hears it.
Bulky arms tighten around you, lips pressing against your scalp with firm determination. "Good. Wanna hear a story about my cousins?"
After pretending to think it over for a moment, you give a shy nod. You feel the rise and fall of his chest as he takes a dramatically long breath, starting on his tale with reckless abandon.
You just curl further into him, enjoying the way his tail thumps against your leg as it wags.
﹙♡﹚yeah, no. valko won't become lost media under my watch. infold gave me enough information to make myself a general idea regarding his personality, so you best believe he's going to be considered the sixth and official li in this blog. love him so much 𐙚˙⋆.˚
it had been raining horribly for days, and going outside was a questionable choice.
you were focused on your screen, watching a silly drama series while clutching a cushion, your eyebrows furrowed.
you truly needed the entertainment, or else you'd bore yourself after thirty-six hours of confinement.
“how dumb, why doesn't he just confess…?” you whispered to yourself, taking a sip of your sweet, warm tea without looking away from the unnecessarily heartbreaking scenes.
just then, you heard a knock on your door.
it was five past eleven, no one in their right mind would go out so late, let alone when it was raining like crazy.
you paused the series and went to your door with soft, hesitant steps, your eyes narrowing.
“...who is it?” you asked, not daring to open the door just yet.
a soft whining noise caught your attention, most likely a puppy's.
did someone abandon a pup on your doorstep?
oh gosh, who'd do such a thing?
you opened it immediately, and when you looked down, expecting to see a wet box with a poor little creature inside, you found a pair of polished yet soaked shoes instead.
“gotcha,” a voice echoed, making you jump and look up.
ah, of course.
valko, with a stupid grin on his face.
“you… what are you—?” the words died in your mouth as he stepped inside, drenched, water droplets falling onto your clean floor.
he discarded his coat and shook his entire body like a dog, not only making a mess, but getting you just as wet.
“valko!” you squeaked, covering your face in a pathetic attempt to protect yourself from the flying water.
he looked around briefly before sniffing the air, his nostrils flaring softly. he left muddy footprints all the way to the kitchen, his large frame looking out of place inside your cozy apartment.
you grunted under your breath, picking up his wet coat with the tips of your fingers, trying to avoid the small puddles he left carelessly behind.
he checked your pantry, then your fridge, his eyes slowly travelling around.
he only turned around when he sensed your presence behind him.
“you can't just come in and make a mess, valko!” you whined, crossing your arms over your chest. “what is this? why are you here so late? and… step away from the fridge, you're wet and you'll catch a cold!”
he straightened up and looked down at you.
“you don't have much protein,” he said, pointing back at the fridge before closing the door. “you need meat.”
you parted your lips to speak, then frowned.
what was this?
an inspection?
he kept walking around, and you followed despite yourself.
now, valko and you had… a thing.
you'd say it was casual, occasional.
you liked him, and he liked you, but you felt it'd be too rushed to invite him over to your sacred place, even though it'd been going on for months.
so, having him here, invading every inch as if he owned the place, was not in your plans.
he entered every room, analysing the furniture and your unmistakable scent.
he sat down on your bed, his large hands dragging one of your plushies over and holding it hostage against his chest.
that's when he finally addressed you.
“it's nice,” he nodded, leaning against the headboard. “it's big enough to have four or five pups running around.”
you immediately felt your skin turn hot, your eyes wide.
your heart almost gave out with how fast it was beating.
“v-valko?”
“okay, what about three?” he arched an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. “and then three more when we move to my place. it's bigger.”
you finally had enough.
you stomped closer and yanked the plushie away, holding it close.
this man—
“you can't— you… first of all, you're getting my bed all wet! second of all, you…” you took a sharp inhale, closing your eyes briefly. “you can't just casually mention… c-children, valko.”
he looked down at the damp mattress before meeting your gaze again.
his fluffy ears emerged, and you hated when they did.
it was a vile tactic, a dirty move, especially when… when he made them go all droopy, and his golden eyes looked so sad…
oh, that sweet face…
no!
“stop, valko!” you turned around and closed your eyes. “bad boy, bad!”
seconds later, a pair of strong arms coiled around your waist, easily lifting you off the ground.
he nuzzled the back of your head and inhaled your scent, his tail swishing softly behind him.
“why didn't you tell me to come over sooner?” he asked, his breath brushing the shell of your ear.
you planned to squirm away and get out of his grasp, yet instead, you found yourself freezing in place.
you didn't expect him to ask that.
“why did i have to invite myself in?” he continued, his tone dropping even lower. “you didn't want me here, in your space?”
“valkie… isn't it too soon?” you whispered. “it's only been a couple of months…”
“soon?” he echoed, his fingers digging ever so slightly into your soft tummy. “it's been one hundred and fifty-seven days. that's five full moons, little bunny.”
your eyes fluttered, finally opening after a while. all you could see were your legs suspended in the air.
“we should be married by now. you, marked. me, claimed,” he nuzzled your jawline from behind, lingering there a little longer. “how much longer am i supposed to wait?”
“valko…”
“you keep saying my name. if you like it that much, use it to beg for me to make you mine.”
you gasped, his words making you feel a strange warmth in your chest, and a dizziness you couldn't explain.
he sat down all of a sudden, pulling you onto his lap. your back was against his chest, and he hid his face in your neck, as if it were his refuge.
you thought he'd grow uncontrollable, that you'd have to throw a cushion his way and make him calm down, that he'd mark you right then and there, taking what he saw as rightfully his.
but the seconds went by, slowly, and instead of the situation escalating, you heard a small whine, muffled and low.
his arms tightened around your body, refusing to let go.
“...please,” he whispered. “how much longer, bunny?”
your heart melted.
you didn't know if you were ready.
hell, you didn't even know if he was being serious about the six kids, and if he was, then you had lots of things to think about beforehand.
but the idea of being his, of being marked and claiming him as yours in return, wasn't strange.
you'd had a taste of what valko would be like as a partner for… a lot of days, as he so explicitly recalled, and you didn't regret a single moment spent with him.
“i… i'm not sure yet, valko,” you whispered, not daring to move an inch. “i can't give you a date.”
he sighed, and while you weren't looking at him, you knew his tail had dropped when you could no longer hear it thump against your bed anymore.
“but…” you continued.
one of his ears perked up with interest, his golden eyes now bright.
“but you… could stay the night. get to know where i live, and… explore my space.”
that's all it took for valko to stand up again, turn you around with ease, and pull you against his chest in a tight hug.
his tail wagged like a propeller, and he buried his nose in your hair, shamelessly taking deep breaths to carry your scent with him for longer.
“two more full moons at most,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “no more.”
“valko, i just said—”
“i'll go clean up,” he kissed your lips, tilting your chin up with his index finger just to keep you in place. your eyes shut, and you instinctively returned the kiss, though it took you a few seconds to react.
when he pulled back, he brushed your lower lip with his thumb, noticing how it glistened with his saliva under the soft light of your lamp.
marked.
his.
“don't go anywhere,” he whispered, and that crooked, stupid grin came back to his face.
you were left speechless as he left your bedroom, his chest puffed out, and his fangs showing as he smirked.
you knew he'd take this as an opportunity to snoop around and mark his territory however he could, but instead of irritating you even more, you found it… somewhat adorable.
the rain kept falling outside, and your laptop had long since run out of battery, but you didn't mind.
the wet puppy now invading your space, checking whether you had enough food, whether your windows were secure enough, or whether your plushies were fluffier than him, was far more interesting than anything else.~
blakekathryn
janainaart
tangentwithtanner
germansingergirl
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