fated mates with barista!valko, who knows the moment he first lays eyes on you that you are who he’s been looking for all his life. it could be the fairytale romance he always dreamt of, except that you absolutely fucking despise him.
valko has grown up dreaming about a fated mate ever since he was a kid. from bedtime stories about soulmates read to him by his older cousins, to the real-life examples he looked up to within his own extended family, this was always what he wanted for himself.
he’d be embarrassed to admit his ignorance now, but he spent most of his adolescence clinging on to romanticised ideals of what a relationship looks like. it didn’t help that he joined his older female cousins in their obsession with highly popular supernatural romance media, which led to him growing up with a warped idea of what girls want.
the ugly awakening came at some point. and valko realised that he, as the stereotype of masculine strength, has to approach romantic relationships with caution.
then he meets you.
maybe you’re a bit jaded, and you’re definitely justified in your distrust. you think he’s just some alpha fuckboy, like the countless assholes you’ve spent all your life avoiding like the plague.
you’re burnt out from your job, clinging on to unhealthy coping mechanisms and frequent the coffeeshop he just started working at. you’re almost out the door again as soon as you notice who has replaced the sweet auntie that used to serve you your caffeinated caramel abomination.
but you don’t run. the need for coffee wins out.
he’s polite and you’re standoffish, keeping interactions to a minimum, and you don’t even notice that he’s barely keeping it together. if you paid attention, you’d notice the way his fluffy wolf ears twitch to attention every time you speak, the way his golden eyes widen whenever you step inside.
you don’t trust his winning smile, glimpsing his sharp incisors often enough to know that there is a predator lurking underneath his playful exterior (you do not think about those teeth biting into your neck.)
and you definitely don’t trust the way he purposefully makes himself smaller whenever you’re around. he looks ridiculous with his ears flattened to his hair, his shoulders slightly hunched, his fingers fiddling with the edge of the pastel pink apron he wears over skin-tight muscle shirts. (you do not think about his toned biceps. you do not think about how easily he could lift you up.)
the first time you get off to the thought of valko, post-nut clarity hits you so hard that you banish your vibrator to the confines of your nightstand for two full weeks. this can't be happening.
surely, you are better than this.
your self-imposed abstinence is only making things worse. while you certainly hadn’t been immune to valko’s good looks and fresh petrichor scent before, now you're so pent up that you catch yourself staring at him while you’re sitting in your favourite booth in the back corner of the coffeeshop, cupping a mug of coffee in your hands.
you watch as he serves other customers, chatting away with an old lady who runs the vegetable shop around the corner. he seems sweet, and a lot more playful than he allows himself to be with you. he smiles broadly. (your gaze is drawn to the sharp line of his jaw and you wonder what sounds he would make if you dared to suck a hickey into the tan skin of his neck.)
his eyes snap to yours before you manage to look away. you're caught, like a deer in headlights, and to your absolute horror, his cheeks flush a pretty pink. his nostrils flare, as if he’s scenting the air.
you're absolutely mortified by what you know he must be scenting.
you almost expect a cocky comment, bracing yourself to fire back with something scathing. but with a swish of his tail, valko quickly disappears into the backroom.
velcro boyfriend valko is permanently attached to you, his warm hands slipping under your shirt because he needs to feel your skin.
he’s so committed to sticking to you like a barnacle. waking up from a nap and you want to get out of bed? good luck trying to untangle yourself because this man has his arms wrapped around you tightly, tugging your back into his chest, snuggling you in his sleep. his face is pressed into your hair, and he makes soft sleepy little noises when he finally wakes up.
you’re still not getting up though. maybe you squirm a little too much, or maybe there’s a subtle shift in your scent he’s picking up on.
valko makes you cum at least twice on his tongue, his hard cock twitching every time your fingers grip his hair and happen to caress his fluffy ears. by the time you’re tugging him back up, impatient in your desire to feel him inside you, it’s over for whatever plans you had for the day.
valko is clinging on to you even when he’s fucking you, barely pulling his cock out an inch or two, cuddling you as he grinds into you deeply.
cute aggression with valko goes both ways, and it always escalates.
even before you officially start going out, valko often goes out of his way to give you an extra-long squeeze whenever you initiate a hug. all you wanted was a nice warm goodbye hug when he walks you back to your apartment. what you’re getting is a face full of his warm chest, his arms wrapped so tightly around you that it draws an undignified squawk from your chest.
by the time you’re officially dating, you’re his squeaky toy.
you try to rage bait him by booping his nose, or squishing his cheeks, and he’s biting at your fingers in return. he’s careful with his sharp teeth, for now, but as soon as you’re on top of him, licking into his mouth to trace the sharp edge of his incisors with your tongue, he’s feral.
his fingers are tangled in your hair, tugging you even closer. with his free hand, he grasps your hip, holding you down on top of him.
before you know it, you’re grinding down on him, not even embarrassed by your increasingly desperate gasps as you grind on his dick. the friction is enough to make you feel stars, and you know you can cum like this.
valko’s watching you closely as you break away from his kisses long enough to take a desperate, shaky breath. his cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, his flush only deepening when he realises how close you are already.
“fuck, really?” he lets out a disbelieving chuckle and lifts his hips up to help you, grinding up against you so the thick head of his cock presses right against your clit.
fated mates with barista!valko, who knows the moment he first lays eyes on you that you are who he’s been looking for all his life. it could be the fairytale romance he always dreamt of, except that you absolutely fucking despise him.
valko has grown up dreaming about a fated mate ever since he was a kid. from bedtime stories about soulmates read to him by his older cousins, to the real-life examples he looked up to within his own extended family, this was always what he wanted for himself.
he’d be embarrassed to admit his ignorance now, but he spent most of his adolescence clinging on to romanticised ideals of what a relationship looks like. it didn’t help that he joined his older female cousins in their obsession with highly popular supernatural romance media, which led to him growing up with a warped idea of what girls want.
the ugly awakening came at some point. and valko realised that he, as the stereotype of masculine strength, has to approach romantic relationships with caution.
then he meets you.
maybe you’re a bit jaded, and you’re definitely justified in your distrust. you think he’s just some alpha fuckboy, like the countless assholes you’ve spent all your life avoiding like the plague.
you’re burnt out from your job, clinging on to unhealthy coping mechanisms and frequent the coffeeshop he just started working at. you’re almost out the door again as soon as you notice who has replaced the sweet auntie that used to serve you your caffeinated caramel abomination.
but you don’t run. the need for coffee wins out.
he’s polite and you’re standoffish, keeping interactions to a minimum, and you don’t even notice that he’s barely keeping it together. if you paid attention, you’d notice the way his fluffy wolf ears twitch to attention every time you speak, the way his golden eyes widen whenever you step inside.
you don’t trust his winning smile, glimpsing his sharp incisors often enough to know that there is a predator lurking underneath his playful exterior (you do not think about those teeth biting into your neck.)
and you definitely don’t trust the way he purposefully makes himself smaller whenever you’re around. he looks ridiculous with his ears flattened to his hair, his shoulders slightly hunched, his fingers fiddling with the edge of the pastel pink apron he wears over skin-tight muscle shirts. (you do not think about his toned biceps. you do not think about how easily he could lift you up.)
the first time you get off to the thought of valko, post-nut clarity hits you so hard that you banish your vibrator to the confines of your nightstand for two full weeks. this can't be happening.
surely, you are better than this.
your self-imposed abstinence is only making things worse. while you certainly hadn’t been immune to valko’s good looks and fresh petrichor scent before, now you're so pent up that you catch yourself staring at him while you’re sitting in your favourite booth in the back corner of the coffeeshop, cupping a mug of coffee in your hands.
you watch as he serves other customers, chatting away with an old lady who runs the vegetable shop around the corner. he seems sweet, and a lot more playful than he allows himself to be with you. he smiles broadly. (your gaze is drawn to the sharp line of his jaw and you wonder what sounds he would make if you dared to suck a hickey into the tan skin of his neck.)
his eyes snap to yours before you manage to look away. you're caught, like a deer in headlights, and to your absolute horror, his cheeks flush a pretty pink. his nostrils flare, as if he’s scenting the air.
you're absolutely mortified by what you know he must be scenting.
you almost expect a cocky comment, bracing yourself to fire back with something scathing. but with a swish of his tail, valko quickly disappears into the backroom.
He’s “just stretching” when he reaches over and pulls you into his lap while you’re trying to fold laundry. He’s “just making sure you’re warm” when he wraps his big arms around you and tucks you against his chest. He’s “just checking” when he leans down to nuzzle the top of your head for the fifth time in ten minutes.
You’re not even mad. How could you be?
Especially when his tail is wagging so hard behind him it’s practically creating a breeze, and his ears keep twitching happily every time you relax into him.
“You’re clingy today,” you tease, tilting your head back to look up at him.
“Am not,” he mumbles, but the way he immediately tightens his hold around your waist says otherwise. He buries his face in your neck, breathing you in like he needs it to survive. “Just like having you close. That’s all.”
You giggle and reach up to scratch behind one of his ears. The second you do, a low, happy rumble vibrates in his chest and his tail starts thumping even faster against the couch.
“Uh huh. Sure, big guy.”
He pretends to huff but ends up pressing a bunch of soft kisses along your shoulder instead, tail still going crazy. You’re both smiling like idiots.
Eventually he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes soft and warm.
“…Can we stay like this a little longer?” he asks, suddenly shy.
You melt instantly, cupping his face and pulling him down for a proper kiss.
“Of course, baby. As long as you want.”
Valko’s tail does a full happy spin behind him as he tucks you closer again, perfectly content being your personal radiator.
Part 1 with the other 5 and the art that inspired this.
🔞CW: Dry humping. Dirty talk. Self love. Smut.🔞
Infold, give us our wolf back! Please!
A special thanks to @stardustsirens, I love your beautiful brain 😚
Twenty minutes. You'd been gone twenty minutes before you turned around, halfway to work, because your work folder was still sitting on the kitchen counter.
Valko had stayed the night, though not the way anyone would assume. You'd cooked too late, ended up on the couch watching movies until midnight and the idea of him driving home just to come back in a few hours was ridiculous. So he'd stayed. Folded that huge body of his onto your couch—which was built for exactly one normal sized human—insisting he was fine even though you both knew his neck would hate him for it in the morning. He hadn't so much as brought up sharing your bed. That line was still there between you, respected without either of you having to say so out loud.
Your living room was empty now. The throw blanket sat balled up at one end of the couch, still warm, still carrying that earthy scent that clung to him. You figured he'd finally given up trying to get comfortable and left for home.
Things had been tight between you two for weeks — not bad tight, just like the kind that builds when you're close to someone in every way but one. Curling up next to him on that couch last night, close enough to feel him breathing, had taken more out of you than you wanted to admit. You'd gone to your own bed after and tossed for hours, finally giving up and finishing yourself off against your pillow just to get some sleep.
You grabbed the folder off the counter, shoved it in your bag, turned toward the door already dreading the way back to work.
Your foot stopped.
Through the crack in your bedroom door came a sound — low, cut off at the edges like it hadn't meant to get out. A hitch of breath, rough with something needy.
You don't move. For a few long seconds you just stand there, blood rushing in your ears, telling yourself you imagined it. Then it comes again—louder, unmistakable. A deep, broken whine bleeding through the door, underneath it the slow, rhythmic creak of your mattress.
Something hot drops straight to your navel.
Your feet move before you decide to let them, carrying you to the gap where the door hinges open. You don't need to push it. You can see everything
Valko is on your bed, completely stripped of the restraint he usually carries around you.
On all fours, every muscle in his back straining with each roll of his hips. Both your pillows are underneath him. One is pinned between his thick, heavy thighs. The other is crushed against his chest like he's holding onto it for dear life.
The fat tip of his cock is already leaking clear precum, smearing wetly against the fabric with every thrust. The muscles of his ass bunch and flex rhythmically, his tail swishing low and frantic from side to side, brushing against his calves like he can't control it.
His nose is buried deep into one specific corner of the pillow, taking big lunges of air—sniffing the hell out of it. Strands of saliva string from his parted lips, his eyes are squeezed shut so tight his eyelashes tremble. He looks like he's desperately trying to engrave that scent into the deepest part of his memory.
The heat that floods your face is scorching and mortifying.
That's where you'd been last night. Grinding against that exact spot, face buried in your own sheets with his name stuck in your throat, thinking thoughts you'd never planned on anyone knowing about. He has his nose pressed right there. Breathing you in like it's the first clean air he's found in days.
The hallway feels like it's closing in. You can't move. The folder is shaking in your hand and you can't make yourself look away.
Valko moves his hips down again and the groan that tears out of him is nothing like his usual voice. It's scraped raw, stripped of every careful thing he usually puts between himself and the world.
"Fuck—" The word drags out of him slow and broken. His face presses deeper into the pillow, lips parting against the fabric, inhaling so hard it pulls into his mouth. "Smells so good. So fucking sweet"
Your stomach drops.
When he pulls back to thrust again you get an unobstructed view of him, and your mouth goes dry. He's huge, veins mapping his cock in thick ridges, the head flushed a deep red and slick with everything he's been leaking onto your pillow.
"There you go," he breathes, eyes still squeezed shut, hips rolling down in a slow, grinding push. He's talking to the pillow. He's talking to you—or the idea of you, the ghost of you he's got his hands on. "Take it just like that. Let me get all the way inside that pretty cunt, puppy."
He makes that sound again—a high, needy whine that has no business coming out of something so big—and his ears flatten tight against his skull. His rhythm stutters, slow grinds breaking into something harder and more desperate, the whole bed frame groaning with it.
"Such a good pup," he mutters, tail thrashing wild against the mattress, fingers curling into your pillow. His voice is getting rougher, darker, words spilling out like he can't stop them. "Gonna stretch you out so nice. Fill you up with everything I've been—" A sharp, punched out groan. "You'd take it, wouldn't you? Every single bit of it."
His thighs grip the pillow tightly, his whole body going rigid as he grinds down and holds it there. His knuckles are stark white, fingers curled past the point of grip, something closer to desperation made physical. You can see the effort it's taking him to hold back. Every thick vein along the back of his hands stands out in rigid relief, branching up his wrists, mapping the strain all the way to where his forearms flex with each movement.
With every snap of his hips the tension climbs higher. Up his biceps and across his broad shoulders, the whole architecture of him pulled tight. He is holding the pillow like letting go for even a second would mean losing the last thread of you he has access to.
Like if his grip slips, your scent goes with it.
His hands have never looked like this. You've seen them steady holding a weapon, calm giving an order, certain in every situation that called for certainty. Right now they're shaking slightly. Not from weakness.
But from the effort of not having the real thing.
The ache between your thighs is unbearable and the urge hits you like something physical, pressing into your sternum until your body stops listening to your brain entirely. You want to tell him yes. You want to walk into that room and pull those pillows out from under him and put yourself there instead.
Your foot moves forward one step.
That's all it takes. The tiny shift in air carries your scent right through the gap in the door—laced now with the edge of your arousal—and delivers it straight to him.
Valko goes completely still.
His ears snap upright, swiveling toward the door, and his head follows a half second later. Through the narrow crack his eyes find yours instantly, pupils blown so wide the gold of his irises is almost gone. The room sits heavy with the smell of sex and the sound of both of you breathing.
He doesn't cover himself and your eyes drop without your permission.
The sight of you watching him—your scent hitting him fresh and full—is what does it. You watch it happen. His cock swells further, skin pulled tight, a low growl tearing out of his chest and his hips give one last involuntary roll forward.
He cums with his eyes locked on yours the entire time.
He stares straight through the gap in the door, unblinking, holding your gaze with an intensity that makes your legs feel unreliable, as the first thick streak of white paints your pillow. Another spasm rolls through him, another rope of cum landing heavy over the exact spot your scent had soaked into the fabric last night. Over and over until the last bead clings to the tip and stretches thin before finally dropping.
His chest heaves and his tongue drags slowly across his lower lip and then his canines like he's tasting the air. His tail gives one long, heavy thump against the mattress.
He's still staring a hole right through you.
You are completely fucked.
And while we're here @ekay-i .... PLEASE🙏🏻. Valko deserves a spot in the pillow humpers art. i am begging on my knees 🧎🏻♀️🫣
cute aggression with valko goes both ways, and it always escalates.
even before you officially start going out, valko often goes out of his way to give you an extra-long squeeze whenever you initiate a hug. all you wanted was a nice warm goodbye hug when he walks you back to your apartment. what you’re getting is a face full of his warm chest, his arms wrapped so tightly around you that it draws an undignified squawk from your chest.
by the time you’re officially dating, you’re his squeaky toy.
you try to rage bait him by booping his nose, or squishing his cheeks, and he’s biting at your fingers in return. he’s careful with his sharp teeth, for now, but as soon as you’re on top of him, licking into his mouth to trace the sharp edge of his incisors with your tongue, he’s feral.
his fingers are tangled in your hair, tugging you even closer. with his free hand, he grasps your hip, holding you down on top of him.
before you know it, you’re grinding down on him, not even embarrassed by your increasingly desperate gasps as you grind on his dick. the friction is enough to make you feel stars, and you know you can cum like this.
valko’s watching you closely as you break away from his kisses long enough to take a desperate, shaky breath. his cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, his flush only deepening when he realises how close you are already.
“fuck, really?” he lets out a disbelieving chuckle and lifts his hips up to help you, grinding up against you so the thick head of his cock presses right against your clit.
velcro boyfriend valko is permanently attached to you, his warm hands slipping under your shirt because he needs to feel your skin.
he’s so committed to sticking to you like a barnacle. waking up from a nap and you want to get out of bed? good luck trying to untangle yourself because this man has his arms wrapped around you tightly, tugging your back into his chest, snuggling you in his sleep. his face is pressed into your hair, and he makes soft sleepy little noises when he finally wakes up.
you’re still not getting up though. maybe you squirm a little too much, or maybe there’s a subtle shift in your scent he’s picking up on.
valko makes you cum at least twice on his tongue, his hard cock twitching every time your fingers grip his hair and happen to caress his fluffy ears. by the time you’re tugging him back up, impatient in your desire to feel him inside you, it’s over for whatever plans you had for the day.
valko is clinging on to you even when he’s fucking you, barely pulling his cock out an inch or two, cuddling you as he grinds into you deeply.
snowghoul
andulkaphoto
baratheonpilled
jacobvanloon
germansingergirl
