that's just the thing that happens when my—

WHEN MY BABY GOES AWAY!

[loversmantra]

WHAT CAN I DO?

this blog may contain NSFW + DARK CONTENT. minors, blank or ageless are not allowed on the property! this blog is firmly ANTI-CENSORSHIP! proceed with caution and read at your own risk.

house rules! ☆ latest work!

the name is NOE (no-ee)! they/them, twenty-three now!!, cancer/infp, lesbotron 6000. consumed by gojo satoru, jjk, the hunger games, billie eilish, olivia rodrigo. wannabe writer. dividers credit!

request status: open!

BUT THINK OF YOU?

[scheidungsgrund]

from twitter user deejaygeejaygee

[galecstatic]

it just gets better

and better

[goingonanadventuremaybe]

[funnyfroge]

[daosies]

when you get stood up by your date

xavier, sylus, rafayel ♡ gn!reader

warnings: not proofread, pre-established relationship, petnames ("sweetie" from sylus, "cutie" from rafayel), reader is the protagonist but gender neutral, reader gets stood up by some random dude

notes: THE WAY THIS IDEA HAS BEEN MARINATING IN MY MIND YET I NVR ACTED UNTIL THIS ONE MANIC SITTING WHER EI WORTE EVERYTHING 💔😭

You’re going on a date. 

(“Okay,” Xavier had responded, ignoring the curl of his fingers, the grating sear of his chest, his heart spasming within the confines of his ribs. You smiled. Sweetly. He wondered if whoever you were going to see would bear witness to this smile; the thought made his heart sour further, shriveling, greying like mold. Xavier shoved the thought away and he turned around.) 

His key struggles to find the lock, his hands clumsier than usual. You’re going on a date. You smiled, sweetly. Xavier wonders if you’re going to keep smiling like that, teeth and all, eyes crinkling and irrevocable. Again, his heart sours. 

Will you smile like that? (Xavier finally twists the key, turning the door open.) Will you smile like that at someone else? (Xavier wonders what it’d be like if you weren’t going on a date, if you would, for just a moment—or two, or three—consider him. Your partner. Your one-floor-above neighbor.) Will someone else make you happy? 

(Xavier wonders what it’d be like if it could be him; if you smiled, teeth and all, eyes crinkling and irrevocable, not because of anything in particular—like the flowers you adore so lovingly, or the sunsets you always stop to take photos of—but because of him.) 

Enough of this. Xavier is going to go to sleep. It’s late, after all. 

(You’re going on a date with someone at this hour? It’s dangerous to walk home alone. He should have offered to pick you up—so he could take a good look at this damned bastard (wait, that’s not right)—so he could ensure your safety, and he could ask you how it went, and—)

Enough of this. Xavier is going to go to sleep. He’s tired, and he needs to recuperate after a long day of doing hunter-like things since he’s a hunter (just like you! Really, the two of you have just so many things in common, the bastard you’re going on a date with probably can’t even compare). 

Xavier curls into bed, the fabric familiar, the silence palpable. It weighs on his figure like a heavy burden, the unfathomable peering over him like some fantastical creature. What if it were him? What if it were him? (Why couldn’t it be him?) 

He closes his eyes. Usually sleep finds him by now, its presence accompanied by the darkness, its existence defying the light which emanates from his being. But he stirs. 

Xavier wonders what it’d be like, if it could be not just him, but, most presumptuously, him and you, together. Together. 

And you’d smile, (teeth and all!) and you’d tilt your head (and your eyes would crinkle!) and you’d laugh and you’d lean in and you’d tell him, most wonderfully—

His phone rings. Xavier isn’t a light sleeper; he’d sleep through an earthquake, a hurricane, and a flood if it came down to it. But one buzz is enough for him to reach for the device, unfazed as light fills the dim room, the silence weighing on him like a heavy burden as he notices the caller’s name. 

You. 

Thump-thump. 

He picks up immediately, his heart lurching forward, desperate to split the cavities of his chest and to reach through the phone. You. Thump-thump. You. 

“Hello?” he says, his voice remaining steady. “Did you need something?” 

Silence. It’s palpable, like a heavy burden, the unfathomable peering over him like some fantastical creature. What if it were him? Silence. Then, most terribly, a sniffle. Xavier jolts up, clutching the phone closer to his ear as if it could bring him closer to you. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, his tone clipped, devoid of the gentle timbre which always presents itself to you. “What happened?” 

“I—uh, sorry…” you trail off, the sound becoming distant as you hiccup. Xavier stirs from the sheets, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, phone never once parting from his ear. 

“Tell me,” he says. “Tell me where you are.” 

“I’m at,”—a sniffle, a hiccup—“the restaurant.” 

Still? Xavier thinks, lowering the phone from his head, materializing behind your hunched figure, noticing the darkness which seeps in from the flickering lamplights. 

(“We’re going to meet at this restaurant!” you exclaimed, pointing at some measly diner that your date had chosen. “And after, we’re going to walk around the park. I’ll let you know how it goes, Xavier!”)

You didn’t even make it to the park. Xavier steps in front of you, crouching down to meet your shrunken form, expression knitted as his brows furrow violently, bottom lip caught in between his teeth. His eyes widen upon taking in the sight of your face, eyes glossed over, skin dried with tears. 

“Xavier,” you say, oblivious to the way the sound from your lips is enough to satiate the organ, the name reborn from your voice. “Xavier, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t,”—you cover your face, wiping your eyes with the back of your arm—“I didn’t know who to call. I’m sorry.” 

“No,” Xavier states simply, hands reaching up to pry your arms away, thumbs drawing circles into the bone of your cheek as he gently swipes away your tears, his touch featherlight, his frown only worsening. 

“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you called me. We’re partners, right?” 

Partners. Xavier is your partner. He’d like to be your partner in more ways than one, though. He’d like to be your partner when it comes to dining at restaurants, and going for walks around the park, and responding to calls whenever you find yourself in a pinch. 

Xavier is your partner. He’d be your partner forever if you’d let him. 

“Yeah,” you say, barely managing a smile—teeth and all, but your eyes don’t crinkle—before coughing out a hoarse laugh. “Thanks, Xavier.” 

And you’re so beautiful, he thinks, your clothes more formal than what he’s used to seeing, your eyes particularly pretty under the light (which, with his presence, no longer flickers). 

And you’re so beautiful, he thinks, heart spilling from his tightening ribs, the arteries constricting—That bastard, is all he can muster. He bites back his words with the gnaw of his bottom lip. That bastard made you wait, that bastard left you here, that bastard—

“Xavier,” you suddenly say, glancing down. “I’m sorry.” 

“Why?” he asks, genuinely confused. “That bastard—I mean, that guy should be sorry.” 

“Yeah,” you respond, laughing slightly, taking note of the way Xavier’s expression is utterly serious upon announcing his verdict. “Yeah, that guy should be sorry. I, I waited for an hour! Like, I could’ve done so many things during that time, and—”

“An hour?” Xavier mutters, his gaze devoid of light, his lips drawn into a thin line. “You waited here for an hour?” 

“Ugh,” you say, burying your face into your hands. “Stupid, right?” 

What’s an hour in the face of two-hundred years? What’s an hour in the face of an entire universe, an alternate galaxy, an estranged planet? 

To Xavier, it’s not much. But Xavier is used to waiting, and he would much rather be the one who waits than the one who is waited for. His hand finds yours and, firmly, his fingers interlace into the gaps of your own, the space perfect, the puzzle piece complete. Whole. 

You’ll never wait. An hour is too much. You should never wait. 

“Let’s go,” Xavier says, helping you up, one hand resting on the small of your back while the other remains intertwined with yours, threaded. 

“What? Where?” you ask, stringing after him still. 

(What if it were him?) 

“Hotpot,” he says. “And afterwards, let’s go walk around the park. It’s a date.” 

You laugh. Xavier looks back—two-hundred springs, thousands of Protocores, an alternate, estranged planet; it was all worth it—and you’re smiling, teeth and all, eyes crinkling. Xavier mirrors your look, your image long etched into his pupils, shifting in accordance to the incarnation. You. Thump-thump. You. 

The most wondrous, fantastical being of all. The home of a star, the center of its plasma, the reason for its glow. You. 

“Okay,” you say, “let’s go!” 

(It will be him.) 

(“Don’t bother me,” you told Sylus, wagging your finger in front of him as if he were some pet. “I’m going on a date this Friday. Don’t text me, don’t message me, and, most importantly, don’t reserve the entire restaurant so it’s unbookable!”) 

(“Alright then, Sweetie,” Sylus had said simply, his smirk remaining traced onto his lips, head tilted slightly to the side as he rested his face on his fisted hand, legs crossed. “Have fun on your date.”)

It’s Friday. 

(“Boss man!” Luke had called, lounging leisurely on one of the wooden tables of the estate, legs swinging restlessly off the side. “Boss man, just say the word, and Kieran and I will have dealt with [Name]’s date, and—”)

(“Lay off, boys,” Sylus responded, waving his hand dismissively. “There’s no need. And besides,”—his head cranes slightly towards the side, the projection of Mephisto’s gaze etched onto the wall, his crimson eyes made to perceive you—“who am I to bother them, when they asked me so kindly not to?”) 

It’s Friday. The day of your date. Sylus’s schedule has been clear from the moment your date began, a sort of coincidence that, really, falls too easily in his favor. Thirty minutes, he thinks, eyeing the clock on his wall, leaning back on the chair of his office, desk scattered with information regarding your date. Mephisto’s projection continues to relay your movements. 

Thirty minutes, he thinks, eyes finding the projection and never leaving your form, your figure slowly shrinking as you wander aimlessly outside, head craning to and fro. 

Eventually, you sit down on the curb, an action which Sylus is sure you chose out of a lack of options; You’d never ruin your clothes like that, he thinks, index finger coming to tap methodically against the side of his tilted face. Never.

Sylus is not a person who’s willing to wait. Two more minutes pass and he’s done, no longer entertained by Mephisto’s projection, the crimson rubies clearly relaying the downcast expression which sweeps over your face—Didn’t I tell you? he thinks, swinging his coat over his shoulders. You don’t deserve to frown—before Luke and Kieran materialize behind him instantly, awaiting his command. 

“Prepare their favorites,” Sylus says, reaching for the helmet of his motorcycle, his pace quick as he swings a leg over the seat. “Don’t forget the CD player, so they can play their little heartbreak songs.” 

“Yes, boss!” both Luke and Kieran exclaim, splitting off into their respective roles. Kieran gathers the chefs, your favorite dishes long memorized by them. Luke arranges your favorite breakup albums; you always listen to the same ones whenever you’re mildly inconvenienced. 

Sylus knows you. 

He knows you’re going to continue sitting on that curb, thinking that your date may have forgotten, or that something bad happened—Sometimes, Sylus thinks, speeding through the unmarked streets, crossing the barrier between the N109 Zone and Linkon, I wish you’d be a little crueler—and you’d wait until the wind would force you away. 

Your clothes are too thin for this weather, Sylus thinks, too beautiful and too much for someone as unworthy as your date. He’ll send the twins a message later, telling them to turn on the heat in his estate.

Sylus rounds the final corner, the address of your arranged date long burned into his memory, accompanying the meadows of flowers and the hills which rolled endlessly. He lifts his helmet up, taking in your sorry state with his bare eyes, his smirk remaining with him still. 

“Did you have fun on your date, Sweetie?” Sylus asks, parting from his bike to shrug his coat off his shoulders, laying it over yours. 

“I thought I told you not to bother me,” you mumble, unable to contain the sniffle which follows thereafter, the way you instinctively huddle into the remnants of his warmth. 

Sylus notices this—how could he not?—and, despite the satisfaction which swells from his heart, he cannot help but feel the familiar fury, the unbridled rage which brews beneath his skin. Sylus is a creature of vengeance, of bindings and of vows. 

To think someone would dare to stand you up is audacious. 

But—Sylus crouches down towards you, meeting your figure on the curb—that is not what’s important right now. You’re right here. He reaches his hand out, your face tangible, his thumb pressing into the skin below your eyes, wiping away the faintest hints of tears as his smirk falters ever so slightly. 

You’re right here. Tangible. The most important person in the world. 

“You told me not to bother you during your date,” Sylus states simply, continuing to brush away at your face, his voice impossibly tender. “But, it seems to me as if your date is over. Or would you like to keep waiting, Sweetie?” 

“No way,” you mutter. “I’m done.” 

He chuckles, parting from you for but a moment, handing you a helmet which he only ever carries for one purpose. The most important person in the world. 

“Good,” he says. His hand is outstretched, his palm facing up, the outlines of calluses allowed to be perceived by only one purpose. The most important person in the world. 

You reach for his hand and Sylus pulls you up, unable to contain the smirk which stretches across his face once you bump into his figure, cursing at the magnitude of his strength. 

“You did that on purpose!” you mutter into his button-up (terribly formal, considering his schedule has been completely clear), feigning ignorance to the way he rubs circles into your back, pressing you closer towards him as if you could sink in. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sweetie.”

The most important person in the world. Sylus will tell Luke and Kieran to deal with the most important thing in the world later—the asshole who stood you up. 

For now, however, this is enough. Your arms wrap around Sylus’s waist, your head digging into the fabric which covers his back, your grip tight as you lean in towards him, safe. Tangible. 

Sylus starts the engine and the two of you take off, roaring down the unmarked streets, chasing a home which is no longer his, but rather, is yours. 

The heartbreak music (Sylus has come to realize that the tune is so catchy, he instinctively hums it while working), and your favorite dishes (the chefs have long memorized your order; so has Sylus, who finds himself craving it more often than you do). Home. 

You lean into his back and Sylus thinks that this is it. This is enough. Home. 

Rafayel is about to come out with his magnum opus. 

It’ll be titled: Uh, Abandoned Again! And he’ll credit you as the inspiration, the ruthless, careless Hunter who always tears through each of his lives with the same determined, sickening resolve. 

Are you happy now? Are you glad that you’re leaving such a beautiful man to rot in exchange for going on a date with some good-for-nothing dude who looks like he snuck onto Earth? Are you feeling rejuvenated? Joyous, even?!

Well, whatever it is you feel, Rafayel certainly does not care. As a matter of fact, he couldn’t care less! His painting is turning out wonderfully (after all, the more emotionally charged an artist is, the better the art emerges), and, well, he couldn’t care less about what you’re doing with that stupid fucking idiot! He is Rafayel, after all! The enigmatic artist, the literal Sea God, the—

His phone buzzes. Rafayel nearly falls from his stool, scrambling towards the device like some starved creature. A message flashes across the screen. It’s from you. You’re the only one who can bypass Rafayel’s eternal Do Not Disturb mode, after all. 

“So,” the message reads. “I think I was stood up.” 

Rafayel responds, “Puh-lease! That’s what you get. Do you think I’m going to feel bad for you? Well, I don’t!” 

Immediately after sending that text, Rafayel stomps begrudgingly (well, that’s what he’d like to believe—really, he was a little too eager to leave) out of his studio, muttering some mindless little nothings as he gets into his car. 

He arrives at your location five minutes later. He broke a few laws in the process. So it goes. 

“Hey, cutie,” Rafayel says, rolling the window down, having the gall to rest his arm nonchalantly on top of the door, sparing you a smirk as if he’s your savior. “Get in.” 

“Rafayel?” you mutter, flabbergasted. Rafayel’s sunset eyes drink in your sorry state. Your clothes are wrinkled, your expression is noticeably downcast, your bottom lip wobbling as you’re unable to meet his gaze. 

Pathetic. Rafayel steps out of his car and he grabs your hand, dragging you to the passenger seat, opening the door and ushering you in. 

“Next time,” Rafayel states, getting into the car, slamming the door with a little more force than necessary, “you should just stay at home. Or, at the very least, come to my studio.” 

You sniffle. Rafayel’s head whips around. 

“Cutie?” he calls again, leaning over to your seat, eyes wide as he traces his gaze over your features, long acquainted with the lines—the bridge of your nose, the curl of your lips—yet, devouring them as if it were the first time. 

This frown doesn’t suit you, he thinks. You look much better when you’re arguing with him about what flavor of ice cream is the best, or when you’re cursing him out for missing another one of his exhibits. 

“Cutie,” he says again, his finger reaching for your chin, turning you towards him as you shy away from his gaze. You’re crying. You’re crying because of that good-for-nothing-stupid-fucking idiot. You’re crying. Rafayel furrows his brows and cups your face in between his hands, thumbs tracing over the sides, lips jutted into a pout.

“Oh, no, no,” he says, resisting the urge to just kiss you right now. “Cutie, don’t cry. Not for some scumbag like him.” 

You hiccup. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize, either. Why don’t we go get some food, hm? You can pick. We can even get a sweet treat afterwards.” 

In between your tears and sniffles, you muster out the faintest of laughs, the sound staying with Rafayel long after it’s gone. “Is this to make me feel better, or you, Raf?” 

He just huffs. “Who do you think I am, huh?!” 

You. 

Rafayel thumbs at your tears and he blows a faint wind lightly onto your eyes, cooling down the skin as it burns, drinking in your features like a starved creature, a Lemurian who has only ever known love. His heart pulsates, the warmth unfathomable. You. 

It has always been for you. 

“That scumbag didn’t deserve you,” Rafayel mutters, reacquainting himself with the glimmer of your eyes, the flutter of your lashes as he cools your skin with the faint wind of his breath, retracing over the ridge of your brows with his thumbs, felt with the intention of capturing onto a canvas later. “Why don’t we just run away together, cutie? You and me?” 

“Run away and go where?” you respond, entertaining the idea, not realizing the truth which is laced into his words, the idea of an escape sounding so sweet on his lips. One hand lowers from your face in search of your hands, his deft fingers massaging at yours, the pattern meticulous, tender. 

“Anywhere you want. How does the beach sound?” 

You laugh again. The sound is like a wild tune, a faint call from the land to the sea, beckoning him from the surface, the air clinging at his soaked skin. 

“Are you saying this just ‘cause you want to go to the beach, Raf?” 

“Ugh! Again, who do you take me for?!”

You. His hands trace over yours, finding your ring finger, the skin terribly empty. Once, long ago, this hand was his, and his yours. And once, long ago, his heart—pulsating now, swelling and glowing and mad—was yours. You. 

(Still, it is yours. Still, it has always been for you.)

[bakubrattt]

Boyfriend!Valko Headcanons

A/n: I just wanted to make some cute and sexy headcanons for our beefy werewolf and oh my God, I made him so puppy-coded ahh I just wanted some of these to be unique ;~; comments, reblogs, and likes deeply appreciated! NSFW ones are under a warning divider.

💚 Valko Masterlist 💚

Valko was late-diagnosed with ADHD around the time the two of you first started dating. He gave medication an honest try, but it only lasted about a month. Neither of you liked how much of his sparkle seemed to disappear when he was on it. These days, you’d both rather put up with his forgetfulness, restless energy, and tendency to get distracted halfway through a sentence than lose the vibrant personality you fell in love with.

Valko absolutely loves taking you off-roading in his Ford Bronco Sport. The rougher the trail, the bigger his grin gets. He’ll deliberately aim for muddy hills, rocky creek crossings, and winding forest paths just to hear you laugh when the whole SUV bounces beneath you. By the time you get home, the Bronco is filthy, you’re both covered in dust, and he’s already asking where you should explore next weekend.

Every hike turns into a treasure hunt because Valko can’t stop collecting little things for you. He’ll tuck tiny wildflowers behind your ear, and add another bloom to the growing bouquet in your hand. He’s a walking encyclopedia of plants. If he finds a fallen branch that’s big enough, though, all bets are off. He’ll light up like an excited kid, sprint over to grab it, and proudly use it as a walking stick for the rest of the hike. More than once you’ve had to yell at him not to start lifting entire fallen tree trunks just because he wants to test his strength. He claims he’s “just curious.” You secretly think it’s kind of hot.

Camping is one of his favorite ways to spend time with you. After a day hike, he’ll happily build the campfire while you set up the tent. Once the sun goes down, the two of you end up lying on a blanket with chocolate s’mores crumbed around your lips and his, watching the stars. He always claims he knows the constellations, but at least half of them are names he made up on the spot.

Valko has an incredible amount of restless energy and struggles to sit still for very long. You finally got tired of watching him reach for his phone every ten minutes during movie nights, so you started buying him fidget toys instead. To your surprise, they actually worked. Now he’ll happily click, spin, squeeze, or fiddle with whatever little gadget you’ve handed him while the two of you watch a movie, his attention staying on the screen instead of drifting somewhere else.

He absolutely hates fireworks. His hearing is far too sensitive for them, so every Fourth of July he quietly disappears with a pair of earplugs before the first boom even goes off. You’ll usually find him hiding in bed, shoulders tensing every time another explosion rattles the windows. He tries to laugh it off, but if you join him under the blanket and cuddle up beside him, he’ll relax almost immediately.

Valko uses dog shampoo on his tail. You only found out the first time you showered together at his place, when you noticed a bottle sitting next to his regular shampoo and gave him a very confused look. After he explained that it kept the fur cleaner, softer, and healthier, it suddenly made perfect sense. Now he lets you wash and brush his tail for him because he knows how much you enjoy fussing over it.

Taking Valko grocery shopping is dangerous because he’ll wander off for “just a minute” and inevitably come back with an armful of snacks nobody asked for. Somehow the cart always ends up containing kids’ chocolate milk, three kinds of beef jerky, and whatever new flavor of protein bars caught his eye. He’ll proudly present his haul like he accomplished the mission, only for both of you to realize he forgot the one thing you actually went to the store for.

His hands are rough with calluses because he constantly forgets to wear lifting gloves. You’ve bought him hand lotion more than once, but every bottle somehow ends up untouched in the bathroom cabinet. The only way he’ll actually use it is if you take his hands into yours and rub it in for him. He insists it’s because you “do it better,” but you suspect he just likes the excuse to sit there while you hold his hands.

Valko usually prefers floor time over the couch. You’ll be curled up comfortably watching a movie while he sprawls across the floor with his back resting against your legs, occasionally glancing up at you whenever he hears you laugh. If your fingers wander into his hair or behind his wolf ears, he’ll quietly lean back harder against you until he’s practically using your knees as a pillow.

He was surprisingly resistant to joining your little face mask nights at first, insisting they “weren’t really his thing.” It took exactly one evening of you convincing him to try a cooling mask fresh out of the shower. Now it’s become one of his favorite little rituals. The two of you climb onto the couch with a glass of wine, matching face masks on, a movie playing in the background while he cuddles up beside you, pizza rolls heating in the oven.

Valko unconsciously nudges you with his shoulder or forehead when he wants your attention. If you’re reading, he’ll gently bump your arm. If you’re working, he’ll rest his forehead against yours until you finally look up. It’s the werewolf equivalent of saying, “pet me.”

He loves when you play with his hair or scratch behind his wolf ears. He’ll deny it every single time, insisting he doesn’t need it, but within thirty seconds he’s leaning into your hand with his eyes half closed. If you stop too soon, he’ll casually lower his head back under your fingers as if to remind you that you weren’t finished.

Playfighting is practically one of his love languages. He’ll wrestle with you over the TV remote, steal your phone just to make you chase him, and scoop you off the floor the second you try to tackle him. Once he’s caught you, you’re getting tossed over his shoulder or effortlessly lifted into the air like you’re his favorite chew toy, all while he’s laughing too hard to defend himself from your playful punches.

His nose is both a blessing and a curse. He can tell when you’re ovulating long before you mention it, and he can smell the moment your period starts too. It’s endlessly embarrassing because you’ll occasionally catch him pausing mid-conversation to sniff the air around you with genuine curiosity, completely fascinated by every natural change your body goes through. To him it’s just information. To you, it’s mortifying.

He has a not-so-secret obsession with the way you naturally smell. Perfume is nice, but nothing compares to the scent of your skin after a workout. Whenever you exercise together, he’ll inevitably find himself lingering a little too close, completely distracted by the smell of your sweat. He insists your deodorant ruins it and has jokingly complained more than once that it covers up his favorite scent.

He’s almost embarrassingly obsessed with the smell of your lady bits. One evening, you stepped out of the shower only to return to the bedroom and find him completely passed out on the bed with your used panties draped over his face. When you woke him up to ask what on earth he was doing, he looked at you like it was the most natural thing in the world before sleepily mumbling, “you smell delicious.”

He has a ridiculous soft spot for your little socks. The moment you drape your legs across his lap while you’re lounging on the couch, he’ll start rubbing your feet, kneading away any soreness while the two of you watch TV. Every now and then, though, he’ll absentmindedly lift your feet closer to his face and take a long, appreciative sniff before you can stop him. It’s easily one of the most mortifying habits he has. He insists he doesn’t have a foot fetish. You remain highly unconvinced.

Valko absolutely melts when you scratch the sensitive skin along his inner thighs and around his groin, especially after a long day. The moment your fingers find the right spot, he’ll shamelessly spread his legs wider without a second thought, resting back with the most content expression you’ve ever seen. He has absolutely no pride about it. If you’re willing to spoil him, he’s more than happy to sit there and soak up every second of the attention.

For someone so shameless in almost every other aspect of life, Valko is unbelievably private about using the bathroom. The door is always locked, and he refuses to let you anywhere near him while he pees. When you jokingly asked why, he thought about it for a second before answering, completely serious, “maybe I’ll let you hold it when we get married.”

Valko absolutely loves going down on you. He’s a messy eater in every sense of the word, throwing himself into it with shameless enthusiasm until he’s panting from the heat of it. The deeper he gets into pleasing you, the more his restraint disappears. He growls against you without realizing it and ends up drooling all over your pussy while happily lapping at you like he could spend hours there without ever getting his fill. His favorite position is to have you sit on his face if he’s not lifting you upside down by your thighs.

Despite his intimidating size, Valko is naturally more submissive than dominant once the bedroom door closes. It took time for him to fully trust you with that side of himself, but once he did, he flourished. These days he’s an eager, obedient good boy who melts under confident hands, happily letting you take control. He loves being praised, teased, and pushed around a little, and nothing makes him happier than hearing you tell him how well he’s doing.

Pet play comes almost embarrassingly naturally to him. He loves the comforting weight of a leather collar around his neck and owns several different ones, always bringing them over and letting you decide which one you want him to wear that day. He’ll happily chew on a ball gag while looking up at you with those golden eyes, and the moment you clip a leash onto his collar, he’s already following wherever you lead him without the slightest complaint.

His favorite position is, unsurprisingly, doggy style. He loves the feeling of looming over you, wrapping his body around yours while rutting into you with relentless enthusiasm. Half the time he’s completely mesmerized by the sight of your ass bouncing beneath him; the other half he’s watching both of you in the mirror, completely captivated while your praise spurs him on even more.

In the beginning, Valko was incredibly self-conscious about his knot. He always made sure to pull out before finishing, choosing your stomach or back instead, then disappearing into the bathroom almost immediately before you could see what happened afterward. He was embarrassed of himself, convinced his biology would only make things awkward.

That embarrassment didn’t survive for very long. Once he realized you loved every part of him, knot included, he stopped hiding. Now he’s shameless about it, often ending up breathlessly begging to knot you instead. When he’s especially worked up, he’ll press himself close behind you and growl promises into your ear about filling you until your tummy swells with his seed.

He also has an undeniable breeding kink, though admitting it took far longer than admitting almost anything else. It stayed tucked away in the back of his mind until one day he finally confessed it, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Once it was out in the open, roleplay quickly became one of his favorite indulgences, especially whenever the fantasy revolved around you begging for his pups.

Valko has an oddly intense fascination with your breasts, especially your nipples. If chocolate syrup happens to be involved, all the better. He’ll happily lick every drop away with shameless dedication before getting distracted by sucking on your nipples until they’re swollen, completely losing track of time while he quietly enjoys himself.

Full moons bring out a side of Valko that’s almost unrecognizable in bed. The playful teasing fades into something far more primal, leaving him meaner, rougher, and much more commanding than usual. He always feels so guilty afterward, worried he might have been too much, while you’re left reassuring him that seeing that untamed side of him only reminds you that it’s still him underneath it all…And that you think his dominance is just as sexy as his submission.

[humanjarvis]

the trainers at the service dog academy have no clue why one customer comes to pick up his pet from class so early. 

he’s handsome, though, so they're not complaining.

he has wine red hair and golden eyes, and he always follows the latter half of their sessions intently, as if he’s memorizing all their accessibility tips and tricks for himself. 

when class ends and his pet scurries over to him in excitement, he always gives the nearest trainer an earnest, heart-fluttering thank-you, as if his gratitude goes deeper than all the other owners’. 

week after week, they have no idea that he’s learning, too—that he has someone at home who might need him one day.

your beloved shared pet is your first line of defense, but if all else fails, valko needs to be there to ground you when you're spiraling, to hold you when you panic, to call for help when you need it. 

and, well, what better chance to learn?

[loversmantra]

all of you go read the priory of the orange tree right now and report back.

[loversmantra]

yesterday was my birthday. i spent the day with my best friend, just the two of us, hungover and wanting to die, doing nothing but reading and playing board games. to be loved is to be known or whatever they say.

[justsomecrows]

Can't stop thinking about Kalyba. No one's doing it like her. She's an ancient legendary witch. She can appear to you in dreams and take the form of your greatest desires. She has absolutely no game. The woman is so un-insightful that she fumbles every attempt at seduction She's ever made. She's trying SO HARD to get some. Can't score Ead, can't score Tunuva, got betrayed by the saddest, wettest dog of a man BECAUSE she took the form of the love of his life. Galian destroyed every image of her in the country and then himself when he realized he'd been with her. She has EVERY tool at her disposal to be a legendary seductress and still cannot overcome her complete lack of game. I can't wait to see my favorite problematic immortal failwoman get rejected in even more time periods.

[jtsonlyone]

Alright listen up.

Yes, we can't force anyone to boycott. Everyone makes their own decision.

But i'm allowed to comment on both the two faced people in the fandom and those who claim they can't not log in.

Papergames is a business. We can trend hashtags and donate to charities as much as we want but the biggest thing that they'll look at is their revenue.

If their game isnt doing well, they'll take action. If people are logging in and playing the game like normal, they won't care about anything else.

I can't stop you from playing. But logging in and claiming you want Valko back will do nothing for his return.

Make their pockets hurt. And once he returns, we can play as much as we want

[hunterrami]

Cute aggression

[is-dannn]

I can't really remember how my mc looked like but I don't want to download this game again until they bring valko back (cuz he's the only reason I want to return to lads)

[loversmantra]

Would you consider writing more for curse!reader? I absolutely loved it, poor Satoru, he needs some cursed love.

I don’t have many ideas to give for feeding your creativity but I would love to see more interactions between the students and reader, especially Megumi because as far as I’m concerned him and Tsumiki are Satoru’s children (Reader’s in a way too?)

dead beat part ii is UP and has some of those interactions you were hoping for!! hope it doesn't disappoint i really like this one

[loversmantra]

dead man walking.

synopsis. you know satoru would be devastated if you left him. so you refuse to go. what's that saying again? happy wife, happy life?

content. gojo satoru x male!reader. angst. smut. minors do not interact. canon-typical violence, gore and horror elements. major character death. established relationship. bottom gojo + top reader. monsterfucker satoru. oral (gojo receiving). rimming. sex with prep. unprotected sex. anal. swearing. size difference. curse!reader.

wc. 8.1k

message from noe. when i was planning on disappearing for another six months but then queen olivia rodrigo genuinely drops Codependecy: The Album 😌 anyway shoutout reader man he's a zombie in his body he's a train off of the tracks.

part two to dead beat.

2016.

“It’ll be easy. One and done. I’ll be home before dinner.”

Satoru’s lips twist into a pout against your cheek. He rears his head back to look at you. Glare, actually. Glare at you.

It’s a reaction you expected, but your stomach still twists itself into knots. The unconvinced hum he gives you is a downplay of his very real feelings, and he’s playing the part of an angry kitten for your sake. He’s genuinely upset, and he’s trying to keep you from the inevitable guilt that’ll swallow you whole. Protecting you from yourself. The worst part? It’s kinda working. You hate it. Hate it.

He buries his face in your shoulder and you nose at his temple apologetically. You don’t want to go any more than he wants you to. Before you can soothe him with a kiss, he rolls away and turns his back to you, arms crossed petulantly. He’s still playing, but you recognize this gesture for what it is: his irritation is slowly chipping away at the façade.

You follow and press yourself against his back instinctively, reaching up and around his shoulders to poke his cheek. A pitiful attempt at lightening the atmosphere, but it works.

“C’mon, babydoll, don’t be mad.” You brush your nose against the shell of his ear affectionately, breathing in. He smells nice. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Another unconvinced hum.

You chuckle and squeeze his cheeks. His lips twist into a pout. He looks adorable like that; you want to kiss him all over. You want to eat him up. You want to stay.

“Swear,” you press on. He’s close to relenting, you can tell. He never could stay mad for very long, not with you around. “You won’t even realize I’m gone.”

You both know more than anyone how unlikely that is. It’s always the same thing with curse users: you think there’s only one, and before you know you’re neck deep in blood and mud, fighting off two dozen because the entire organization wants a piece of you.

Satoru rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he huffs. He pushes your hand off his face a little too roughly, and you deflate. Clearly, he won’t be so easily soothed today.

He’s silent for a moment, and you think he’s given up. You move to wrap your arms around him again, but he speaks before you can.

“I just think it’s funny how you’re needed for a sudden emergency on our first day together in, like, two months.”

You chew on your cheek, sighing softly through your nose. Well, he’s got a point. You doubt the higher-ups care about your little love story, but... well, the timing feels a little too inconvenient to not be intentional. They could’ve had anyone on-duty report in Kyoto. Instead they asked you.

It’s not the first time the brass does this. You’ve never been too shy to be openly critical of them. Critical of how they treat the students, how they treat your coworkers. How they treat Satoru. Sawai Yumeko’s death shook you more than you’d like to admit. She was a good kid.

Petty retaliation. They want to exhaust you, hope it keeps you quiet.

Except you don’t intend to keep quiet. You never have. You never will. You thought by now, they would’ve learned their lesson: the only way to keep you quiet is to put you six feet under.

“Yeah, I know,” you say lowly, kissing his nape.

But Satoru’s not done with you, apparently.

“For each one you see, there’s ten that you don’t. You know, like cockroaches.” You exhale sharply through your nose. Can’t he give it a rest? Complaining about it’s not gonna cancel the mission. Irritation prickles at your veins. He continues, “It starts with one and ends up with you gone three weeks trying to take down the whole shtick.”

“I know, Satoru.”

You didn’t mean to snap at him, but he’s only frustrating you both right now. You know all this. You know all this. And the last thing you need is to go into an assignment irritated and distracted.

Because he’s right. It’s like he read your mind. You have a bad feeling about this one.

He turns to brace himself over his forearms, eyes narrowed into slit. Not quite a glare, but almost. A genuine one, this time. You shouldn’t have snapped.

“What, ‘m I not allowed to be pissed?”

“You’re allowed to be pissed.” You run a hand down your face with a sigh. You don’t want to fight. There’s no reason to fight right now, not when it’s out of your hands. Not when your frustration’s not directed at each other. “Just... please.”

His face softens. He chews on his lip for a second — you can almost see the gears turning in his head. You wrap an arm around his shoulder when he settles against you, head on your shoulder and hand near your heart.

You close your eyes to soak in the feeling of him, warm and solid against you, where he belongs. Maybe the mission will go as planned. Maybe it really will be just the one curse user. Maybe you’ll be home for dinner.

He falls asleep just after asking you out. He looks so young, under the gentle morning sun. Untroubled. What do you need to do to keep him like that?

Eventually duty calls. You maneuver him off you as gently as you can and lean down to kiss his cheek when he makes a small sound of protest.

“Love you,” you whisper.

𖦹

The mission didn’t go as planned. In fact, it couldn’t have gone worse.

It wasn’t just the one curse user, of course it wasn’t, but you’d been expecting that. You hadn’t expected the shikigami, though.

A shikigami so dangerous it was on par with Megumi’s technique. Clearly a last resort, because it took down three of its allies before even taking an interest in you. Not like you would’ve been able to fight back, what with the gunfire being rained down on you.

It cornered you in an alley before you could react. Bit your hand off, bit a chunk from your side until eventually its summoner succumbed to his wounds and it disappeared. And left you, bloodied and panting, collapsed against the alley wall.

Just a little bit longer. Your phone. If you can find your phone, you can call Satoru, and he’ll send Shoko in no time.

“You can’t...”

Huh?

“You won’t... get away...”

Oh, it’s one of them. You’re surprised he can even talk.

No matter. No need to waste energy you don’t have on replying. All you need to do is find your phone, call Satoru, and then just hold on. Hold on until someone comes to get you.

Blood drips on the concrete. Drip. Drip. Drip. So quiet now that calm has returned. Now that you’re all dying.

Drip.

The moon is out. She’s beautiful tonight. Bright and indifferent. Cold. You’re cold. Is it getting cold? Where’s your phone? If only... if only you could find it, you’d...

“No one... no one is coming to save you, sorcerer...!”

A gunshot—

Then pain. Darkness.

Drip. Drip.

You expected to die right away. But your cursed energy thrashes, claws at your skin, burns through your limbs to keep you alive, alive, alive—

No one is coming to save you.

You should give up. You should let go. What can you do? Those things happen. You became a sorcerer anyway. You knew. You just...

Satoru.

There’s still things you wish you could’ve done. Like cursing the old geezers out one last time.

Satoru, I...

Or going for that ramen you know Satoru loves.

Satoru. Satoru.

Ah... Satoru, he’ll... he’ll be so sad when he finds out. Alone in that apartment. In that bed you shared.

Love you.

What’s he supposed to do alone? How could you be so heartless?

I love you. I love you. Satoru, I love you.

You were supposed to go out for ramen together.

Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Get up. Just get up.

Satoru. Satoru, Satoru, Satoru...

I love you. I love you. Please get up.

Satoru, Satoru, Satoru, Satoru, Satoru…

Don’t leave me. You’re all I have.

Satoru—

Cursed energy bubbles, boils until it spills. It hurts. Hurts, hurts, hurts. It doesn’t stop.

And suddenly you have arms again. There’s someone with you. You’re not sure where you are, and you’re not sure who you are, but him you know by heart.

“Satoru... Satoru, don’t go...”

He’s backing away. Why? He’s all you have. What are you supposed to do alone?

“Don’t go. Satoru, don’t go. Satoru, I love you...”

But he vanishes before you can react. You were sure you’d grabbed him, but he... he just vanished. He’s gone.

Why’d he go? Why’d he leave you?

“Satoru...”

Satoru, why?

The boiling again. A torso. A leg.

“Satoru...!”

A head. A mouth.

“SATORU!”

Then the world explodes and goes dark.

𖦹

Time passes, or so Satoru says. You can’t really tell. Most of the time, you feel like you’re floating. Not here, not there. You only know when you’re with Satoru, and when you’re not. When you’re home, and when you’re not.

You’re not completely unaware, though. Some things are burned in your skull. Like when you meet the boy Satoru called Megumi for the first time.

Satoru said you knew him, knew him well. Said you were close to him, before. You still don’t know what he means by before — before what? To you, there is no before. There is with Satoru, and without.

Satoru always looks sad, when you tell him that. You wish you could fix it, but nothing you say ever makes him feel better. He just smiles and brushes your jaw. Kisses you and says it’s fine. You don’t need to worry about it. It’s fine.

He told you beforehand that he wanted you to meet someone, and that means you have to be on your best behavior. So when he calls, you come without a fuss, pulling yourself out of your domain.

As always, it takes you a couple of seconds to take in your surroundings. You’re at Satoru’s heel, of course, but there’s someone else. You flatten yourself to the ground, muscles bunching, but Satoru stops you.

“Hey, hey, eeaasy now.” He grabs the back of your head and pushes you further into the ground, and that’s when you see him. “It’s okay, Megumi, he’s not gonna hurt you.”

The boy’s on the ground, collapsed against a wall. There’s a small stool at his feet, knocked over. Did he trip over it trying to retreat?

He’s panting, watching you, eyes wide and jaw clenched. He looks... familiar. In a way that hurts to look at.

Black hair. Green eyes. And that face, you know it. You know him, you’re sure of it.

“Th-that’s Y/N?” He grits out, eyes flickering between you and Satoru.

Satoru chuckles darkly. You nuzzle into his palm. “What, you don’t recognize him?”

He pats your head fondly. It’s a soothing gesture; he always does this when he needs you calm, soft. You relax your muscles, and Satoru pinches your cheek with a coo.

“This is Megumi,” he tells you, tilting his head towards the boy. “Remember, Y/N?”

You remember, and you don’t. You know you knew him. Before. But before what? It’s always that same question with you. Before what?

You look at Megumi. He looks back.

“Hi, Megumi,” you greet, gentling your voice as much as you can. It’s hard. You have a lot of teeth in your mouth.

Maybe you weren’t too successful, because Megumi looks down. Away. Clenches his fists and bites at his lip when it starts to tremble. Did you scare him? You hope not. Satoru said Megumi mattered a lot to him. The last thing you want is to make enemies with the people he loves.

Satoru sighs. He gives you an affectionate pat on the back and turns to you. “How about you come back later, baby?”

You give a little nod and retreat back into your domain. The last thing you hear before you’re cut off from Satoru’s world is Megumi’s voice. He’s shouting.

“What did you do to him?!”

𖦹

Megumi becomes a part of your routine after that. You see him more often, always with Satoru. You try to talk to him, but he’s not too responsive.

“Tell me about school!”

“...It’s fine.”

“You’re working hard?”

“Mhm.”

“You’ve got a lot of friends?”

“Mh.”

Quiet and withdrawn. You can’t tell if he’s simply like that or if it’s because of you. He barely ever looks at you. And he always looks so sad, when he does. Nothing you can say could ever make him feel better.

Time passes, or so Satoru says. You feel yourself change, mind, body. You feel less like an animal, more aware of yourself and your surroundings. Your body shifts as your awareness grows, less like a beast, more like Satoru. Only bigger. Taller. You like towering above him. You can tell he likes it, too. Really likes it.

Your sense of time sharpens as well. You stop relying on Satoru. You stop letting yourself drift aimlessly. You change.

You begin to remember the before that Satoru sometimes talks about.

The alley is first. The smell of blood. The shikigami. The gunshot. The moon. Unpleasant things you were fine having forgotten, but hey, can’t have everything, right? Then other things. Satoru, mostly. Your mother. Megumi. The school. Shoko. Suguru. Bits and pieces of happiness resurfacing without warning. Coming up for air after drowning in your memory.

You change.

The first time you see Megumi alone, without Satoru, is a turning point.

You’re bored. Bored out of your skull, restlessness tingling down your limbs. It’s unbearable. Usually Satoru lets you blow off some steam on missions, but it’s been a while since he called on you. So you slip out of your domain, careful to keep your cursed energy suppressed.

It’s the middle of the night. Satoru’s sleeping soundly, for once — maybe the first time in months you’ve seen him in bed before three in the morning. You stop to admire him for a moment. He looks young. Untroubled. What do you need to do to keep him like that?

Nothing you say ever makes him feel better.

Blissfully, his bedroom window’s already open, so you slip outside, quiet as a shadow, to explore.

You never get to see much of the Jujutsu Tech campus — the council may tolerate your presence thanks to Satoru, but he still doesn’t like to have you out in the open for long periods of time. He likes you best tucked away, or close to him. You get the feeling. One day a sorcerer might try their luck and jump you. Not like you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself, but you don’t want to hurt anyone. At least anyone who didn’t deserve it.

It’s a nice place. Traditional buildings, nestled in the forest. Hidden, private, peaceful. You like it. You liked it just as much before you died.

Died. Such a strange thought. You died and you came back.

Just like Satoru. Now you match.

You go farther. Past the barriers. Past the forest. Down the mountain. Maybe you’re pushing your luck, but it’s so nice, being out in the open. The cool wind on your skin. The bristle of the leaves. The moon is out. She’s beautiful.

You feel strangely alive, strangely more than that.

You sense Megumi long before you can see his building. The place he lives in with his sister is in Shibuya, tucked between an abandoned building and a cemetery. You remember him exorcising a curse there, under Satoru’s supervision. Was that before or after? You can’t remember.

He’s awake. Out on the balcony, and he saw you coming.

You land heavily beside him with a huff, stretching out your neck. He’s tense. On edge. Because of you? Probably. You crouch and raise your hands placatingly.

“Easy there, Megumi. You’re okay.”

Megumi gulps, dropping his hands from the sign he formed. Ready to fight, then. And confident in his ability to defeat you? Or maybe just a defensive reflex. Either way, not bad, kid.

“Y/N-san. What are you doing here?”

“Just stretching my legs. It was getting claustrophobic.”

He doesn’t answer. Right. Quiet type. You could never get him to talk before, and you doubt you’re going to start now. Teenagers...

It’s quiet for a while. Megumi sits in a plastic chair, elbows on his knees, staring down at his hands. You close your eyes for a moment, basking in the peaceful silence. The pleasant breeze. Cursed energy simmering in the air.

And the swarm of curses scuttling in every nook and cranny of the city. Maybe you should exorcize a few while you’re here.

Megumi, first.

“Couldn’t sleep?” You try again.

“Mh.”

“...Something bothering you?”

He takes a second. “Just... thinking about school.”

School. Right, he’ll enroll in Jujutsu Tech soon enough. Daunting stuff.

“I’m sure you’ll do great,” you say softly.

His shoulders sag. Tremble, slightly. He squeezes his hands. Swallows again.

“...I miss you, aniki.”

...Oh. Well, that’s... something, at least? Something you don’t get.

You tilt your head. “What do you mean? I’m right here.”

He presses his lips together. Turns his face away.

Okay then. Conversation over.

Satoru is awake when you return. You find out immediately — because as soon as you land in the apartment, you’re pinned to the wall by the crushing strength of Infinity.

It burns. The wooden walls splinters and tears at your back, his cursed energy’s crushing you, hissing violently, and you can’t help but wonder: what’s gonna give first, the wall or you?

You might die. For real, this time. Satoru doesn’t fuck around.

But the physical pain is nothing, nothing compared to the sight of his face. Eyes dark and accusing and so fucking hungry. Bloodthirsty in a way you never thought you’d see directed at you.

And sad. Like you’ve wronged him. Betrayed him. It pulls at your chest, tugs as if you still had heartstrings there beneath your ribs, hidden away. You need to fix it. You need to fix it.

He’s smiling. That smile he’s always giving to everyone else, and now you’re the one who feels betrayed because how dare he? How dare he slap on that mask like you’re a stranger? An insect he’s about to crush under his heel? How dare he?

You fight back against the crushing weight of Infinity, snarling. “Satoru—”

“Where were you?” His voice is soft, airy. Nothing out of the ordinary for him — if you didn’t know him better than he knows himself.

“Out,” you bite, keeping your chin held high to sneer down at him. He should know better than to try and intimidate you. He should know he can’t use the tricks that work on anyone else.

He drops his technique and lets you fall to your knees, but before you can straighten he grabs the back of your neck and shoves your head down. Robs you of the sight of him, forcing you to stare down at the hardwood. You drop a hand to the floor to keep him from flattening you down entirely, the smallest act of defiance you can muster against him.

“Without me?” He quips. You can hear the way his smile widens in his voice. His arm is trembling, his grip almost unsteady. “That’s so mean, baby.”

“I came back, didn’t I?”

He bristles, like you’ve hit a nerve. Like he’d genuinely entertained the possibility that you wouldn’t. “That’s so not the point.” He pushes your head further down, and you strain against him. “What makes you think you can just disappear on me like that, hm?”

“I’m not your pet, Satoru.”

You push at his elbow to make his arm buckle and shove him away. He lands on the bed with a huff, and then he shoots you a look. You don’t recognize it. So resentful, so cold. And you end up feeling like a misbehaving puppy anyway.

You grit your teeth and steel yourself. “What, scared I’ll go on a rampage and start eating people or something?”

It’s a taunt, nothing more, but his mouth twists and you wonder if there’s some actual truth to it. If he insists you stay by his side not because he wants you, not because he can’t bear to be away from you, but because he wants to keep an eye on you.

Or maybe you’re misinterpreting entirely. He feels so far away, all of a sudden.

You rise and he does the same. You’re towering over him, by a head at least.

He’s still smiling. Stiff and sharp. Showing way too much teeth.

“Don’t go anywhere without me ever again,” he lets out, “or I’ll kill you.”

“You think you could?” You scoff.

“You think I can’t?” He retorts immediately.

He has the means to, at least. You’re strong, but he’s stronger, probably. And you have no intention of testing that theory, none whatsoever. It’s the last thing you want, to fight to the death against Satoru. Yes, you’re sure Satoru would be strong enough to exorcize you. But it’s not about strength, is it? Not with you. Not with him.

“Hey, you’re the one who brought me back,” you taunt again. “So if anything—”

“It’d be my fault if you kill anyone, that what you’re saying?” He steps around you, shrugging carelessly. “I’m a big boy, I clean up my messes. And besides...”

He puts a hand on your chest and pushes. You let him. You fall heavily on his bed and Satoru climbs on your lap, staring down at you. The cold you saw in his eyes earlier is thawing. Placated by your simple presence. Something tingles in your gut, pulls you to him. You want to bite him. Put your mouth on him. Melt away the cold until it disappears forever, until you’re sure he’ll never look at you like that ever again.

You reach up to grab his thighs as he leans over you, hands planted on each side of your head.

“All this,” he continues, looking you up and down, “was a joint effort, you know that, baby.”

He reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. You know what he means.

Live together. Die together. That was the unspoken promise that tied you to him. That tied him to you.

“We did this just like we do everything,” he finishes. “Together, just you and me.”

He leans his head down and you meet him halfway, nuzzling against his cheek. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth to slide against his jaw. He shivers.

“Don’t go anywhere without me again,” he whispers.

You see it for what it is, now, the restlessness in his energy, the trembling in his limbs. He doesn’t keep you under his thumb to keep an eye on you. He does it because he can’t bear to be away from you. Because he wants you. Because he loves you.

𖦹

2017.

Satoru warned you about Rika. He told you that she’s abnormally strong, that she more than deserves her title of Queen of Curses. He also told you she manifests randomly, just like you used to before you fully regained awareness of yourself. Which is why there wasn’t a drop of suspicion in your body when you climbed out of your domain to see what all the fuss with that Okkotsu kid was about.

Regret is bitter on your tongue. Or maybe that’s just the wood dust from the wall you were thrown into.

You cough, trying to get your bearings and extract yourself from the wall.

“Baby, you okay?” Satoru calls out from the middle of the track field.

You thrust out your arm, thumb up, and Satoru returns the gesture. Beside him, Okkotsu’s freaking out, torn between stuttering out apologies and trying ― key word, trying ― to control Rika. She’s not listening to him one bit; instead she’s snarling at you, like she actually has a chance of intimidating you, of making you back down.

“Stay away from my Yuta!”

As if.

You don’t care about her Yuta. You don’t give a damn, not even an inkling of one ― but now she’s riled you up and you want nothing more than to pound her head into the dirt.

Finally, you pull yourself out of the wall.

“Alright, Queen of Curses, you wanna go?”

Okkotsu squeaks. “S-sensei, are they going to―”

“’Fraid so! My Y/N’s not one to let others walk all over him, see!”

You’re up in her face in one strong leap. If this kid wants to play, you’ll play.

Rika screeches and you narrowly avoid the swipe of her talons. Cursed energy blooms in your palm and you throw a punch, and this time she’s the one sent flying away. She  plants her talons in the dirt to slow herself down with a wail.

“That hurts!”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s supposed to!”

She jumps back into the fray and throws blow after blow, each one you avoid by a hair. She’s definitely strong. Wild and feral like an animal, unpredictable and vicious. But there’s no thought, no strategy behind it. No control over her cursed energy. You dodge every swipe, but she can’t do the same for yours.

You’re so much better than her. In every sense.

The thrill of the fight takes over you, cursed energy crackling between you like fireworks. You could exorcize her right here, right now, be done with this mess. Okkotsu would go back to living his normal life and you’d go back to your Satoru and―

“Okay, that’s enough!”

Satoru’s command freezes you in place, and you leap away from Rika and back to his side. You lower yourself to a crouch and he pats the back of your head affectionately. Okkotsu’s stood behind him, protected, but he’s still shaking like a leaf. Poor kid.

You keep your eyes on Rika wearily. She hasn’t had enough. She’s barreling towards the three of you at full speed.

“Yuta, look. He’s to me what Rika is to you,” Satoru starts explaining. Always looking for an educational opportunity in the wildest things. “Remember what I told you about channeling her cursed energy?”

Rika screeches again. She’s ten meters away. You’re all easily in her range.

“Sensei, shouldn’t we―”

“The more energy you can control, the stronger you’ll get,” Satoru keeps talking, completely ignoring the teen. “And eventually you’ll be able to control her fully. It’ll look something like this.”

He tugs at your cursed energy, mingling it with his own. Rika screams and prepares to strike.

The air buzzes around Satoru. He lifts two fingers, and the cursed energy around them turns pink―

CRASH!

The blast’s so bright and powerful it darkens the surroundings completely and almost blows Okkotsu away. When the smoke clears, there’s a large trench left in the dirt. Rika’s gone.

“Huh,” you let out. “She fled in her domain to escape.”

“Mhm!” Satoru sounds way too proud of himself. “She figured it was her only chance to avoid it.”

“Was it?”

“Obviously.”

Okkotsu’s quiet beside you. His eyes are wide, jaw slack. He’s impressed, but…

But he looks scared, too.

“I don’t… I don’t think I’ll be able to do that, Sensei…”

Satoru pats his head, smiling reassuringly. “Like I said. Eventually. It’s gonna take hard work!”

The teen hums, clearly unconvinced. He looks down at his hand.

You feel for him. He seems so sad. So lonely.

Satoru lets out an eep!, looking down at his watch. “Yikes, gotta run. Yaga’s gonna be pissed at me.”

You let out a sigh, standing to your full height. “Late again?”

“It’s fiiiiine, he’ll get over it,” Satoru drawls, waving a dismissive hand. “Yuta, work on that cardio while I’m gone, ‘kay? You need to. Like, really.”

Okkotsu deflates and nods.

“Satoru,” you scold.

“What?” You give him a look, and he shrugs. “I’m a teacher, aren’t I?”

You shake your head disapprovingly. You swear, sometimes he doesn’t care how things sound coming out of his mouth.

Still, you nuzzle the top of his head before he goes.

You stay with Okkotsu after Satoru’s left. At first, you lay under the shade of a tree while he runs laps, attention locked on Satoru’s cursed energy. Time slips away from you, and before you know Okkotsu drops heavily beside you and downs half his water bottle in one go.

“Workin’ hard or hardly workin’?” You can’t help but tease.

He startles, like he’d forgotten you were there. Or that you can talk.

“Uh ― working hard. Definitely,” he mumbles, looking down.

He’s pathetic in a way that makes you feel oddly paternal. Like a wet kitten, scared of the world but being very brave about it. You can tell why Satoru likes him.

“She’s a handful, isn’t she?” Rika.

“Yes, that’s… that’s an understatement.” He looks up, sneaking a glance at you every now and then. He wants to say something.

“Spit it out,” you say, not unkindly.

He hesitates. A second, two. Then, “Sensei said you’re to him what Rika is to me… So, he… controls you?”

“Not really, no. He asks to borrow my cursed energy and I give it to him.”

“Then how would I…”

“I was a sorcerer, Okkotsu,” you explain gently. “I’m not like Rika. When sorcerers die, they’re liable to become curses. That’s why they always need to be killed with cursed energy.”

His face falls at your words, and he looks down again. Maybe you shouldn’t have spoken so callously; the thought that you’re a dead man walking is a grim enough one to yourself, so to a fifteen-year-old…

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s― it’s okay, I… It’s okay,” he mumbles. “So, you… cursed him?”

“He cursed me, actually. Although in my case―” you yawn and stretch your neck, “―it was more of a duo project.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What?”

“I thought…” He shakes his head, curling a hand around the ring he wears on a chain. “I thought you’d be the one cursing him. You’re the cursed spirit.”

“Exactly. I’m the cursed spirit. I’m the one who’s cursed.”

He doesn’t answer. Seems to contemplate something. Or realize something. About his own situation, maybe? Did he think Rika was the one cursing him this entire time?

He looks so sad, all of a sudden. You’ve seen this face before, on someone else. You hate it. But nothing you could tell him would make him feel better.

𖦹

Satoru doesn’t return until sundown.

You’re laid on the hardwood floor of his campus apartment when he bursts through the door excitedly.

“Jeez, I’m glad today’s over.”

He drops his jacket on a side table and stretches his arms above his head. His shirt rides up. Drool pools on your tongue at the hint of his soft, tender skin.

“Long day?”

“You can say that again,” he huffs. He stretches out his neck next, and you greedily drink in the sight of his exposed throat. “What are you doing down there?” He asks when he sees you sprawled on the floor.

“It’s comfortable.”

“There’s a king size in the bedroom though?”

“And?”

He rolls his head, removing his blindfold to better stare at you. His eyes glint in the dying light, bottomless pools enchanting you effortlessly. He’s so beautiful. You want to eat him.

He moves to walk past you.

Unacceptable. He made you wait all afternoon, all alone, and he won’t even give you a kiss? You won’t let that stand.

You grab his ankle and pull, and he falls to his knees with a heavy thud.

“Hey!” Indignantly, he glares at you from between his legs. “What was that for, you dick?”

You drag him towards you and wrap your arms around his waist, trying to pull him down to you, but he strains against you. “Let me hold you.”

“Nope, no way. Get off.”

“Satoru…” You drag out the last syllable of his name, emulating the bratty drawl he’s never afraid to use on you. “Come on. Let me hold you. I waited for you all day.”

“Should’ve thought about earlier,” he scoffs, pushing at your head, “before you tripped me like a jerk.”

“You’re saying that like it hurt.”

“It did!”

“Stop lying, I know you still have Infinity on.”

“Hmph.”

He grumbles under his breath, but at least he also stops fighting against your grip and lets himself fall half on top of you. Grateful for the opportunity, you push his shirt up and nuzzle into his stomach, inhaling the scent of his skin.

“Didn’t you miss me?” you breathe against him.

“I wanna shower.”

“Satoru.”

He kicks his leg petulantly. “Let me shower.”

“Not until you admit you missed me.”

“Alright, you big baby.” He rolls to his back, braced on his forearms to look down at you. “I missed you. Can I go shower now.”

“Mm. What’s the point?” You twist and crawl between his legs, nuzzling against his inner thigh. He’s wearing way too many clothes right now. “You’ll need another one when I’m done with you.”

“Can’t give me a second? I just got here and you already wanna fuck me.”

You can’t deny that you’re riled up like crazy. The fight from the afternoon is still in the back of your mind. You haven’t had enough, and you need to blow away that steam somehow.

“Your fault for being so enchanting.”

Satoru snorts. “Charming, really.”

You crawl your way up to his face, nosing and tonguing at his jaw, his neck, his lips. Like this, you’re covering him completely. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this, how different you look from before. How big you are. How small he seems, compared to you. It makes your head spin.

Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulders, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Seriously. You’re pretty wired. What’s up?” When you don’t reply, his smile turns sly. “Rika got under your skin?”

“I don’t wanna talk about her.”

“Oooh, did I hit a nerve?”

You lace your fingers between his to pin his hand above his head. “…You should’ve let me exorcize her.”

“Don’t think you could’ve, to be honest.”

“Are you saying I can’t?” You let out, pulling back to narrow your eyes at him.

He holds up his free hand placatingly. “Easy, big guy. I’m not doubting you, she’s just, you know. A special case.”

He’s got a point. You’ve never encountered a curse like her in your lifetime; maybe Okkotsu’s the only one who can exorcize her. Undo the curse fully.

You let a huff, nipping at the soft skin beneath his jaw.

“C’mon, it’s not a big deal,” Satoru soothes. “You’ll get over it, won’t you?”

You don’t dignify him with a reply; instead you push his lips open with your mouth and kiss him, slow and deep, sliding your tongue against his. He melts into you, wrapping his legs around your waist.

It’s too easy to get lost in him. He pants against your mouth and you swallow every breath eagerly, pushing your tongue a little further down his throat until he makes a startled noise that does something violent to your composure.

You pull away to mouth at his neck again, heat flashing down in your gut. Teasingly, he rocks his hips against yours, already half-hard in his pants.

Abruptly, he pushes your head away again, ignoring the growl of discontent you can’t help but let out.

“You’re not fucking me on the floor, you dog,” he pants, ornery as always. “Take me to bed.”

“Too far,” you grunt. Your free hand lifts his leg over your shoulder so you can rut into him, dragging your hard cock against his. Too many layers between you. You need them gone. Now.

Satoru hisses at the pressure, head falling back and jaw slacking in pleasure. Fuck, he’s so beautiful like this. You need more, immediately.

“It’s like…” He bites back a moan at a harsher thrust, rocking back against you instinctively. “Like, three steps away.”

“Your point?”

“Babyyy,” he whines, and you feel yourself crumble. “My back hurts.”

“Hold on.”

He barely has time to comply before you’re lifting him off the floor with one arm, your other hand undoing his belt. Surely enough, the apartment’s small enough for you to cross the living room in three strides and step into the bedroom. You’re so busy lapping up the drool dripping from the corner of his lips that you almost hit him against a wall.

He lets out a huff when you drop him heavily on the bed, but you don’t waste time. You drag his pants down his thighs just enough to expose the bulge in his boxers and lave your tongue over it greedily. He’s all wet and sticky with pre, hardening so quickly you almost want to tease him for it. But that’d be a waste of breath, a waste of time that could be used to make him unravel under you instead, so you reign in the urges in favor of taking his clothed bulge into your mouth.

He whines in frustration, pushing his hips against your face harshly.

“Do it properly or don’t do it at all,” he lets out through clenched teeth. He’s reprimanding you, but his hand is fisting the sheets all the same, and he can’t bite back his high, breathy moans.

But you heard him loud and clear. You pull back and drag his pants down his legs fully, taking his boxers with them.

“I thought I was the dog here?” You tease. “Is my Satoru all worked up after all?”

“Ugh, shut up and get to work already!”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

“Yes sir,” you breathe.

You lean in and lap at his puckered hole, slobbering all over his shaft, his balls and thighs. You don’t even need to lube him up ― you’re drooling so much that he’ll be drench by the time you take him.

You swipe your tongue over his puffy hole and he keens, his back arching to push his ass harder against your mouth.

“Yeah, yeah, come on,” he pants, “keep going, nh.”

Dutifully, you obey, laving over his hole, circling it. His thighs tremble around your head, shaft leaking and twitching pitifully. You dip your tongue in him and get smothered by his thighs. It only encourages you to push further into him, licking at places he can never reach by himself.

You push your head harder into him, stroking his wall with your firm tongue, breathing in the smell of him, sweat and slick precome. It makes your head spin, makes you want to sink your teeth into him until you can taste something else.

“Fuck,” Satoru whimpers, blindly reaching down to grab your head, “anh, that’s good, baby, c’mon..!”

You rut into the mattress, doubling your efforts to pull more out of him. The friction makes you moan into him, the sound vibrates against his walls and he echoes it, like you pushed it straight into his throat.

Harder. Harder. More. Your tongue brushes against the soft, sensitive spot in him. He cries out and jerks his hips up, to get more or to run from you, you aren’t sure. You pin him down and bully his prostate, drinking in his staccato moans and rubbing yourself against the mattress.

He’s getting close. His thighs twitch around your head, pushing his hips against your face in tiny thrusts, in time with your tongue, his moans are high and breathy―

You pull away from him entirely, pull your tongue out of him with one last lick.

He throws his head back with a whined-out growl, frustrated beyond belief.

“Nooo, no, no, why’d you do that?” He slaps your shoulder, annoyed, and gulps in large breaths like you knocked the wind out of him. Which you kind of did.

“That’s for leaving me alone all day,” you retort, licking your lips to taste the mix of your spit and his pre.

You look down, vaguely aware that’s he’s above you calling you an asshole, but you’re more entranced by the sight below, if you’re honest. His taint is slick and puffed up with your ministrations, ready for the taking. His cock twitches, slick and shiny, and you can’t help but give the mushroom tip one last lick. For the road, you tell yourself.

There’s something even better waiting for you, though. Your own cock is just as slick as his, painfully hard and wanting.

You crawl up his body, licking up his sweat. You push his shirt up as you go, kiss his navel, his chest. You nip at a sensitive nipple, earning yourself a whimper.

Finally, you tug his shirt up and off him, throwing it somewhere to join his pants. For a second, you can’t help but pause to admire him, his skin flushed all the way down to his chest, pupils blown wide, lips red and swollen from his teeth. Eyes dark and hungry, mirroring your own.

He looks so good. Good enough to eat.

He grasps your jaw and shakes you out of your reverie. Still panting, he says, “C’mon, big guy, snap out of it. You gonna fuck me or what?”

And he doesn’t have to tell you twice.

You always feel more beast than man, when you’re with him like this. Your new nature takes over from the old one you try hard to maintain, like a fog descending on your mind.

You wrap an arm around his waist and flip him over with a grunt, sucking at the smooth expanse of his shoulder blades. His spin curves sinfully under your touch, and you drag your tongue up the length of it, pressing your hips against his back.

Your tip catches his hole and he presses back against you, eager to swallow you up.

The first time you fucked, you’d been half out of your mind and barely there. It wasn’t tender or loving, nothing but animal hunger that only he could’ve brought out of you. You’d been scared to hurt him. You’d been scared you were too big for him.

He’d proven you wrong by begging for it like a bitch in heat, the size of your cock only making him more eager.

You’re less scared now, but still. He’s not exactly built for this, so you take your time.

The moan he lets out when you sink your tip into him almost makes you lose it entirely.

“Mnh, fuck, come on, put it in already…!”

“Easy, Satoru,” you pant against his shoulder. You’re barely in, and he’s already squeezing you like he’s trying to strangle you.

“’M tired of taking it easy.” He pushes his ass against you until you’re bottomed out, throwing his head back against your shoulder. “Fuuuck, yeah, that’s it… ah, that’s so good, s-so big…”

You look down at his taint― big mistake. The sight of him, stretched beyond his limits around you, hole fluttering and slick with spit, makes your gut clench painfully. You pull out and slam back into him, tearing a cry from his throat.

The rhythm you settling is harsh and punishing, hips slapping his ass raw. The bed shakes with every thrust, smacking against the wall.

Satoru buries his face into the pillow, half-smothering his high, keening moans. You lean down to suck at the back of his neck, sneaking in a little nip here and there just to feel him jump and flinch.

With every hard thrust, your meaty cock crushes against his sweet spot and beyond. A given, considering how fucking big it is. You bully him open with every stroke, it’s like you forcefully make his eyes roll back in his skull, like you rip every moan and whine out of his throat yourself.

He doesn’t have the energy or the wherewithal to keep his mouth shut ― poor thing’s too focused on how good it feels to be speared open and fucked into the mattress ― so you seize the opportunity when you see it and slip a clawed finger in his mouth.

Miraculously, he finds the strength to close his lips around it and suck greedily, his moans vibrating around your finger. You stroke his tongue in time with your harsh thrusts, making sure to keep him nice and stuffed from both ends.

His taint twitches and flutters around you, and he curls into the mattress to rock his hips back harder.

You reach around his waist to press against his belly. Your cock is bulging through his skin, like you’re moving his organs out of the way to make room for yourself. You can’t help but press a hand there, hard, to feel yourself go in and out of him, feel the tremor in his navel at the pressure.

“Oh, anh sh-shit, that’s― that’s so good, baby, that’s so fucking good!”

“Getting close, sweetie?” You pant against him. You follow his movement and drop your forehead to the mattress to curl above him and look him in the eye, completely covering him with your body. The stink of sweat and sex fills your nostrils and only makes you pound into him harder. The wet slap of your thighs on his own, covered in spit and sweat and pre, bounces on the walls.

It’s like you’re in your own little bubble, just you and him and no one else in the world. His taste on your tongue, his scent in your lungs, his voice so sweet and desperate in your ears, his puffy, pink hole swallowing you up ― you never want to leave.

The change in angle is small, but even that’s too much for him. His prostate’s swollen, abused beyond his limits, each stroke sends a sharp tingle down the length of his body until even his toes are curling in delight.

“Fuck, f-fuck― coming, coming, I’m…!”

He bites around your finger with a sharp cry when he comes, spilling all over the mattress, his abs, his soft, creamy thighs. Your slow your pace the slightest bit to fuck him through it, pushing your tongue past his lips to drink in his high, pitchy moans.

His hole tightens like a vice around you and your orgasm follows his suit. You push your hips flush against his to bury yourself as far as he’ll allow, press hard on the shape of your cock and bite his pillow with all the strength of your jaw. It tears under your teeth, and the soft feather filling spills out like your spend spills out of him, white creamy tendrils dripping down his ass and thighs, back to the front to his twitching cock.

Your strength dissipates and your arms give out from under you. You let yourself fall heavily on top of him.

If he were in his right mind, he’d protest immediately, but you’ve fucked him dumb enough that you’ve got peace and quiet for a good minute, so you simply lay there and soak in his body heat.

Tenderly, you rub his soft thighs, caressing the indents your teeth left behind, the bruises you’ve sucked into his skin. The marks you’ve left on him, the proof that he belongs to you. It soothes the animal part of your brain that demands you keep him tucked into your side, away from view, away from anyone.

It takes a second for him to come back to himself.

“You’re heavy,” he whines from under you, voice muffled by the bedsheets.

“You’re comfortable, though.”

“Y/N, move!”

“Mm. No.”

He lets out a long-suffering sigh, to make sure you know he’s really not okay with this, but he still gives up and melts under you.

It’s quiet for another moment, the silence only broken by his panting breaths as he slowly returns to his body.

“…You okay?” You murmur. You run your tongue over his shoulder, leaving tender nips in your wake.

“Yeah, yeah. Fine,” he breathes. You move to pull out of him but he startles and tenses. “No, no, wait. Stay a little bit more.”

“You’re sure?” You ask skeptically.

“Sure.” He wiggles his hips teasingly. “Wanna feel you in me a little more.”

Well, how could you say no to that?

You settle back down against him and nuzzle his temple affectionately. He’s warm, slick with sweat, flushed a lovely pink all the way to his chest. He’s so beautiful. You want to eat him.

At some point, he starts telling you about his day. You close your eyes, lace your fingers with his and let his voice soothe you.

His voice in your ear. His scent in your nose. His taste on your tongue. His warmth against your skin. You feel like you’re in a bubble. Just you and him, alone.

Just you and him, together.

to everyone who commented "we could've had a smut scene???" on dead beat this one's for you

requests are open!

[loversmantra]

dead beat part 2 coming soon

[always-just-red]

Took Floof to the vet and there were so many people in there with doggos suffering because of the heat. Thought of Valko. Dragged Raf and Sy in because I like to keep them on their toes 💕 This is super silly but I hope it brings some joy!

Hot Dog

Rafayel, Sylus, Valko x Reader

Summary: Some people are well-adapted to survive heatwaves! But probably not the guy with the thick, fluffy tail.

| Genre: Humour | Word count: 1.7k | Masterlist | Taglist |

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, platonic(ish-- Sy's a flirt), ACs don't exist in Linkon because I'm British and I wanted my faves to suffer with me. What are Infold gonna do? Reach out and contradict me? Ahahahahahahaha

“Valko’s DEAD!” Rafayel exclaims, barrelling into the room so quickly he almost knocks over a side table, where a decorative box of daturas now wobble.

Splayed on your couch, Sylus warily lifts a cucumber slice from one eye.

“Valko’s not dead, Raf,” you yawn, starfish-shaped on the floor you’re convinced is a modicum cooler than the other surfaces in your house. “It’s too hot for your nonsense. Shush.”

“I don’t know, sweetie…” That cucumber slice has been flopped back down. “Sounds like a time-sensitive issue. You should go. Check on your friend.” 

“Shut the fuck up! You just want me to leave so you can steal my fan.”

The fan in question whirs across from you, fixed resolutely in your direction, not his. There’s a rotate setting no amount of schmoozing or seduction was able to convince you to use.

“Language, kitten,” he tuts.

“Oh, bite me, Sylus.”

He chuckles— the same, rumbling cadence of the fan. “Later. Promise.”

“You two are sick.” A few feet away, Rafayel is shaking his head. “A man is dead, and you’re flirting. The body’s not even cold, and you’re—”

“Okay, Raf.” You peel yourself off the floor, and your skin is sticky. Your head hurts.

You’re not up for even thirty seconds before a tendril of Sylus’s Evol wraps around your fan, repositioning it until the fluff of his hair bounces, fluttering, played with by an artificial breeze.

You sink your hand into that hair as you pass by the couch, your touch far less of a caress. “Get up. Or I’m telling Luke and Kieran you’re taking them on a beach day.”

Sylus groans, and behind the moisturiser and cucumber slices, his face is scrunching as he stretches. He’s always preferred a more tangible knife at his throat.

…

Rafayel dabbles in hyperbole as often as he dodges a phone call from Thomas, but this? Might be an exception. You tilt your head, observing the way Valko’s curled on the floor by your patio doors, like he didn’t quite make it out to the garden.

Curled is the wrong word. It’s a half-curl: he’s on his side, limbs stretched out, tail flat.  

“He’s breathing,” Rafayel confers quietly.

You squint. He is breathing. That’s good.

“Fate comes for all of us eventually,” Sylus hums, nodding as though delivering a morbid prognosis. “It’s relentless. Inevitable.” Then he crushes your body to his. “Don’t look at it, kitten.”

His shirt is half-unbuttoned, his chest tacky against your face. He smells of sweat and gunpowder, and you squeak in protest, only to be hushed like a feral, naïve little thing. Sylus shushes you, stroking the back of your head as you wriggle.

“Raf…” you eke out, whispering warm against Sylus’s pecs, “help!”

“I’ve got you, cutie.”

Rafayel hugs you from behind, only squishing you further. They’re both hot and sticky and you’re going to kill them, just as soon as you can… as soon as you can get… ugh! “Get off, Raf!”

“I know he meant, like, a lot to you,” Rafayel sighs mournfully, resting his chin on your shoulder. “But you’re not alone. We’re here for you. You don’t ever have to be strong with us.”

You stamp on Rafayel’s foot, and kick Sylus in the shin. One yelps. The other draws in a sharp, enamoured breath, but they do release you, thank god. “I’ve had it up to here with you two,” you hiss, marking the air above you with a decisive slice of your hand.

They blink down at the motion, unfazed. Rafayel is mid-hop. Sylus is still.

“Up to there with you!” you try again, pointing higher at the ceiling.

They look up.

“… That’s a lot,” Rafayel says after a moment.

Sylus nods in agreement, taking the new estimate into very careful consideration.

That should keep them occupied for a while. You wander over to where Valko is slumped on the floor, soaking in sunlight. In a black t-shirt and dark jeans, it’s a wonder he’s not a puddle already. Although… from the looks of it, he is headed in vaguely a puddle-ish direction.

“Psst… Valko?”

Nothing.

“Vaaalko…? Can you hear me? You still with us? Valko?”

You’d stooped to talk softly with him, but you’re getting impatient— he’s being so stubborn— so you stand with your hands on your hips instead; the sun’s not the only thing glaring. Carefully, you nudge Valko’s tail with your toe. That earns you an ear twitch, but nothing more. You sigh.

“Guys, can you come and get him into the shade? Gently, please. I’m gonna call Zayne.”

…

“Mmhmm. Yeah? Okay, got it. Thanks so much, Zayne. You’re a life-saver. I know that’s the job description, but…”

When you re-enter the room, a quiet chuckle— rich with fondness and empathy— can be heard through your phone.

“Yeah, Zayne,” you answer after a bit. “Take care of yourself, okay? Ugh, what am I saying? You’re fine, Mr Walking-Talking Snow Globe. But whatever, yeah, still make sure you’re—” you gasp— “ah, Rafayel, no!”

Rafayel is crouched over Valko, slowly trickling water into his mouth from a bottle. None of it is getting consumed— it’s all dribbling over the seam of sealed lips and pooling straight onto the floor.

“He’s gotta stay hydrated!” Rafayel huffs, and the water bottle remains tipped, spilling.

You storm over and snatch it out of his hand. “Not like that!” Your phone lifts to your ear. “Zayne, I gotta go, sorry. Talk soon. Love you lots.” Then you end the call. “Really, Raf?”

The artist is sat on the floor now, and his face is unrepentant. Smug, even.

“Why would you do that?” you grumble, taking a seat by Valko yourself. Softly, you sweep away the excess water from his lips with your thumb.

Rafayel just smiles, lazy and warm. He leans back on his elbows so he can catch the breeze wafting over from the patio doors. “You sounded stressed on the phone, cutie. Before you came in. Valko’ll be okay. Don’t worry, yeah? I’m sure our dear doctor had some good advice, but you really should have more faith in your trusty sidekicks.”

“Is that right, hm?”

“Yup. Sylus is onto something right now, in fact. I’m watching our friend here in the meantime.”

“By drowning him?”

“Hydrating him. How nefarious do you think I am, cutie? I know water. Besides, I’ve got a website.” He wiggles his phone with a grin.

You roll your eyes, shuffling closer to Valko so you can move his head to your lap. As much as Rafayel teases, you know he and Sylus would part oceans for you— move mountains, too. They can act like finding a space for Valko in their hearts is just as biblical, as Herculean, but it’s easy, really. You managed, didn’t you?

“Fine. What else does your website say?” you ask with a hum, fingers threading through Valko’s hair. You like to scratch at the shorter parts.

“Number one, hydration,” Rafayel reads, “check! Number two… ‘walk them at cooler times of the day.’ Says a gentle walk through a shaded woodlands is safer than playing ball at the par—”

Water smacks him in the face.

He gawps, dripping.

The water bottle is in your free hand, fresh from being flicked at him. You flick it again, sending forth another slosh. “Just you wait until you get sick, Rafayel! Gonna stock up on aquarium guides. When I’m pouring fishie medicine down your throat, who’s gonna be laughing then, huh? Huh?!”

Rafayel laughs, trying to dodge the water; you’re thankfully limited by the heat-stricken man on your lap. “Don’t! We need—” he coughs as you land a splash in his mouth as he speaks— “ack! We need that for… pfffftt… hydration!”

You’re laughing too— trying to swing the bottle harder without turning Valko into collateral damage. “Stay still!”

You pull the bottle back, preparing an even bigger splash, but something stops you. Not mercy or conscience, no, but… something sweet tickling the periphery of your senses. Weird.

The room smells like chocolate.

Turning around, you see Sylus coming over with a baking tray in hand. It must be fresh out of the oven; he’s still sporting oven mitts. Though some of his hair has been tied back haphazardly in bunches (with colourful hair ties), some is plastered, damp on his forehead.

You sit up as much as you can, neck stretched like a meerkat. “That smells amazing, Sylus. What is that? What’ve you been up to?”

“Problem-solving, sweetie.” He tilts the tray juuuust enough so you can see what’s inside.

It’s brownies— or one, giant brownie, since he hasn’t sliced it yet— still hot, and undoubtedly gooey in the middle. The sight makes your mouth water. The ‘problem’ shifts on your lap.

A wrinkle at first: Valko’s nose scrunches, giving a shallow sniff. Then a deeper one; you can hear the chocolate-thick air drawn in once, twice. His tail starts wagging, soft against the floor.

He sits bolt upright, so quickly it startles you. “Is that brownies? Nice!”

“Wha—? Val, are you okay? Take it easy, you were just—”

“Bring ‘em over here! They’re fresh, right?”

Sylus trundles over like a butler who might just poison his master’s next meal. A quiet thwip of his Evol scores a line through the brownies, and it’s hard not to think about how that Evol can grip, asphyxiate, and break. Dark alacrity— you feel as though you’re watching a murder weapon slide through a birthday cake.

Valko grabs a brownie as soon as it’s offered. “Oh, mmm…” he groans, fangs sinking in, eyes rolling back. With his cheeks stuffed as they are, he’s more chipmunk than wolf. “That’s the stuff.”

“Val,” you frown, “you’re okay?”

“Mmhmm!”

“You didn’t… pass out, or anything?”

“What? No. Course not.” The brownie is polished off, and Valko is chewing, still, as he stretches out over the floor. He laps chocolate from his thumb. “Mmh, this is the life, huh?” And rolls out of the shade, into the sunlight. “Thanks, Skyler. You’re pretty cool, you know that?”

You blink in bewilderment. Rafayel grins ear-to-ear.

Oven-gloved and exhausted, Skyler is moments away from making the news.

Divider by: @/saradika-graphics Taglist: @midiplier @queen-serena88 @sayoko-ou @leighsartworks216 @ditsynddotsy @sylusfluffymeow @carmelves @m00nchildwrites @aglommynight @fiyori @sylus-crow @sprout341 @mentaltrouble2201 @yuhuahuaaa @animegamerfox @sylus-hunter @obeythebutler @aenishas @kingraspberry12-blog @cordidy @gardenialily @luminaryorbit @hachisenshi

[sunsets-and-crows]

It Will Come Back

Chapter 1

Content warnings ⚠️

Reader Insert (No use of Y/N). I guess werewolf elements. Fated mates (Kind of...) Romantic Comedy (read cringe). Fluff and humour. Out of Character Valko (we don't know his canon personality yet, so don't come for me, come for Infold). Sniffing. Spilt coffee and chaos. Scientific reasoning (denial). Idiots in love with no resolution. Second Person POV (You/Your). Assumed AFAB Reader. Valko gaining consciousness? Not beta read. If you feel there’s any other warnings I need to add then please reach out and let me know!

Anna's note: I don't know what to tell y'all, this was meant to be a single chapter drabble and it is now at least a 4 chapter monster :D Enjoy, and BRING BACK VALKO INFOLD YOU UTTER KNOB JOCKEYS.

And as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are deeply appreciated (I bet you cant make me cry 😏)

Words: 3,374

Dividers by @pixopix

Valko paced the wide expanse of his office windows, overlooking the glass and steel of the city below. Frustration boiled inside him, his wolf practically frothing at the mouth at its own incompleteness.

It was the same every time the full moon approached. His skin felt tighter, his teeth sharper, his wolf whining and scraping against his common sense. It demanded he begin a hunt.

It made his brow furrow and his teeth clench, the inevitable ache in his jaw enough to have him pushed even closer to the edge. 

He wasn’t stupid. Valko was one of the best scientific minds in the entirety of Linkon, he had been for his whole life, so it was no surprise to him that the full moon had him lashing out and baring his teeth. He just wished it didn’t interrupt his work schedule the way it did. 

Valko shook his head and let out a sigh as he turned back to his desk and the mountain of work that sat on top of it. It was never-ending, like a leash that kept him firmly under the control of the company he had created. 

Vanilla. 

The single word invaded his mind. 

Valko pulled the glasses off his head and pinched the bridge of his nose before paging through to his assistant. 

“Lena, I’m stepping out for a coffee. I’ll pick you up an Americano?” he asked, already gathering his jacket and putting his glasses back on and heading for the door. 

“Thank you, sir,” Lena replied. “Your next appointment is at 2:30. Would you like your lunch delivered to your office or will you be taking it out as well?”

Vanilla. 

He pushed through his office door, ducking his head automatically beneath the doorframe, and smiled down at Lena. She’d worked for him for nearly as long as he’d had EonCore Tech. She was the perfect assistant, smart, reliable, and always looking out for him.

She was especially great because her scent had long since become background noise.  Perhaps it was growing up in the same pack that made him immune to it, or perhaps it was the fact that she was a fully mated wolf, either way, she made his life a whole lot easier.

“You’re quite right, Lena. I think I’ll stay out and grab something from that little cafe around the corner. Did the kids pack your lunch again today?” he asked with a chuckle. “What is it this time? Cheese and jam sandwiches or ham and chocolate?”

Lena laughed, “Actually, they had their father’s help this time, so the pups packed me a delightful pasta salad with tuna and cheese. I believe my husband had to pick out the grapes they insisted on adding when his back was turned.”

Valko barked out a laugh, the sound rumbling through the office. Lena didn't even flinch, having long since grown used to colleagues poking their heads out whenever they heard him laugh, convinced something had fallen over. 

He was big by nature. A strong wolf, who was ramping up his standing in the world and with it, his standing in his pack, too, it was only natural that his physical side should reflect that, so he’d honed himself. Late nights after work spent on weights, cardio, and weighted cardio, it all had an effect.

Now his voice boomed, his laugh reverberated, and his wolf was still there, bigger than ever, pawing at him to take a break from the work and begin the hunt.

Vanilla. 

Why it was fixated on vanilla, Valko wished he knew. 

Vanilla. Vanilla. Vanilla.

It was infuriating, but he was a man of science, after all. He reckoned his wolf had simply fixated on the particularly delicious vanilla latte he'd picked up from the café last week. Hopefully, another dose of its favourite flavour would be enough to placate the stubborn creature, and he could finally get some work done. 

“I’ll be back at 2 pm, sharp!” Valko called over his shoulder as he walked towards the elevator. He flashed a grin to Lena as he pushed the button for the ground floor, the tip of a sharp canine slipping out just enough to remind her of her own pups before the doors slid shut. 

Vanilla.

“Yeah, yeah. I get it wolfie, let’s get you that latte.”

The streets were always quieter in the summer months. The spring sunshine had turned to blazing heat that cooked the pavements and scorched through even the lightest of clothing. It chased even the most dedicated sun-worshippers into the respite of air-conditioned cafes and malls, and Valko was no lover of the oppressive temperature. In fact, he couldn't fathom why anyone willingly spent time outdoors in weather like this. 

The short walk from EonCore to the café was usually one of his favourite parts of the day. Tree-lined streets and lighter traffic on the outskirts of Linkon offered a rare chance to think without interruption. Summer, however, stole even that small comfort. 

His shirt clung to his back from the accumulated sweat, while beads of perspiration gathered at his brow beneath a sun that offered absolutely no respite. It was unbearable. 

The little red door came into view, and despite himself, his pace quickened. He blamed the promise of air conditioning and an iced Americano. 

Vanilla.

"...An iced vanilla latte, sorry," he muttered under his breath, correcting himself with an irritated sigh. 

Finally, he pushed open the door and was greeted by the cold wall of air from their blasting air conditioning. 

Vanilla. Vanilla. Vanilla. Vanil-

Valko sighed and shook his head slightly, half in relief and half in irritation. 

The sweat on his back and brow had cooled completely by the artificial chill, but his wolf was still relentless, its internal compass spinning wildly and locking onto coordinates his conscious mind couldn't see. It was driving him forward with pure, single-minded instinct. 

Except, clearly, his wolf's instincts were a little off. Towering over the rest of the patrons, Valko looked straight over the head of the stranger who had just stepped away from the counter, carefully balancing a freshly poured drink on her tray. 

He didn't see her until it was too late.

It almost happened in slow motion. He collided heavily with her side, the impact sending the tray tilting violently. The full cup flipped, sending a massive wave of liquid flying through the air a split second before the plastic hit the floor. 

Vanilla. 

Now was not the time, wolfie. 

The tray and cup hit the floor with a deafening clatter, ice and liquid splashing across the tiles. Every head in the usually quiet café turned toward the commotion. 

Vanilla.

"Ahhh, I’m sorry," Valko said, his deep voice cutting through the sudden silence of the cafe. He instinctively reached down, his large hand reaching for the forearm of the stranger he had sent careening to the floor. 

Vanilla. 

He looked down, eyes finally taking in the stranger he had sent sprawling.

You.

Time seemed to glitch, a crackle of electricity whipping through the entire cafe, before everything narrowed back into focus. His palm was suddenly clammy again, something he only became conscious of when your fingers wrapped around his. The contrast was staggering. Your hand felt so small against his large, calloused palm, yet as you used him to pull yourself upright, his body instinctively provided a perfectly unyielding counterweight. 

The scent of vanilla washed over him.

Vanilla.

You must have ordered the very same infamous vanilla latte that had brought him to this cafe. And now he’d gone and thrown the whole thing all over you. What a twist of fate. 

“My apologies,” Valko started again, his voice dropping an octave as he tried to regain his composure. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you alright?”

You blinked up at him, shifting your weight as you brushed a stray clump of foam from your sleeve. You tilted your head from side to side, rolling your neck, a practical assessment for any injuries. When you found none, your eyes lifted, locking directly onto his.

Then, you smiled. It was a small, polite thing, but it hit him like a physical blow.

Beautiful. Vanilla.

The sincerity in your expression practically blinded him, eyes sparkling with warmth and compassion. It felt entirely unfair that the woman he had just slide-tackled ended up possessing a presence that completely wiped his vocabulary clean. Inside his chest, his wolf was panting, its phantom tail thumping a seismic tremor into the floorboards. 

He knew he should say something, but the words were deadlocked behind his ribs, his brilliant scientific mind reduced to absolute, buzzing static beneath your gaze. 

Vanilla. Vanilla. Vanilla. Vanill-

“-fine, really," your voice cut through the fog, a sharp dose of reality that knocked some sense back into his brain. "Just a bit damp. It was my own fault, I wasn't looking where I was going." 

You began patting down your clothes, using a flimsy paper napkin to dab away the worst of the spilt coffee. Valko’s eyes subconsciously tracked the movement, his predatory instincts entirely hyper-focused. As you moved, the heat of your skin sent a fresh, concentrated wave of vanilla and rain straight into the air. 

Without thinking, and with the wolf inside him yearning for more of that delicious vanilla, Valko leaned in a fraction of an inch and took a deep, quiet inhale.

Your eyes instantly snapped up, catching him in the act. You looked straight through him, tracing his features with a sudden, sharp intensity. 

The realisation that he’d been caught acting like a literal hound shattered his dignity. Embarrassment flooded his system, a hot flush of red dusting the tips of his ears. His golden eyes widened in a flash of panic, his towering, imposing frame suddenly radiating the frantic, apologetic energy of a kicked puppy. 

“No, really, it was my fault,” he stammered, pulling himself together by sheer force of will as he dropped to one knee to gather the scattered tray and pieces of broken cup. “Please. Let me pay for your dry cleaning and refresh your drink. It’s the least I can do.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to do that,” you said, taking a cautious step back. 

He followed your movement without thinking, his large boots shifting forward instantly before he caught himself, planting his feet firmly so they couldn’t even try to drift in your direction. He wanted to shake himself, force himself to calm down and stop crowding your space.

His wolf needed a damn muzzle with how it was acting right now. 

Drawing in a steadying breath, Valko rose back to his full height and retrieved his leather wallet from his jacket pocket. He flipped it open to reveal his gold card, his posture shifting seamlessly back into that of a man used to commanding boardroom meetings. 

“Ahh, but I truly must insist,” Valko replied, offering a warm, deliberate smile. He made sure his sharp fangs were safely tucked behind his lips, hoping his charm was enough to convince you not to flee just yet. “What kind of man throws coffee all over a lady and doesn’t even foot the clean-up bill? Hmmm?”

You looked around the café as though searching for a way out, and his heart dropped like lead in his chest. His wolf whined, a low, pathetic sound hidden behind his ribs. 

“There’s no need to drink it with me, of course,” he added quickly, his voice softening as he fought not to overwhelm you. “But at least let me replace your drink and...” He rummaged through the leather slots, pulling out a crisp business card embossed with heavy silver lettering. He held it out to you between two large fingers. “...here. Take this. You can charge your dry cleaning bills directly to my company.” 

You released a breath, your shoulders visibly relaxing as the tension eased down the length of your spine. When your smile grew warm again, Valko felt a distinct, heavy thump against his ribs. He’d done that. He had managed to diffuse the alarm in your frame. He’d made you smile at him.

“That’s very kind of you,” you said, stepping into stride beside him as he carried the sticky, ruined tray back up to the counter. 

The young barista behind the till levelled Valko with an unimpressed, heavily judgmental look. Anyone else in Linkon City would have shrunk under the gaze of the EonCore Chairman, but café staff handling a lunch rush possessed a terrifying lack of fear. 

Valko offered the teenager a smooth, apologetic tilt of his head, retrieving his gold card. “Sorry, add the mess to my tab, please,” he said, his deep baritone perfectly calm, though a faint, sheepish warmth prickled at the very tips of his ears.

Your laugh bubbled up from behind his shoulder.

Valko turned his head, his golden eyes immediately tracking the sound to find you with your head tipped back, your expression filled with sheer, unbridled mirth. You looked devastatingly beautiful like that, he decided on the spot, with your eyes bright and entirely unbothered by the damp coffee stains on your clothing, smiling directly at him. 

Inside his chest, the wolf’s frantic panting stopped, replaced by the heavy, rhythmic swish of a satisfied tail. 

You stepped up to the counter beside him, still dabbing at your sleeve.

“I’ll have an iced-” 

“Iced vanilla latte, right?” Valko interjected smoothly, looking down at you with a confident knowing tilt of his head. His sharp wolf senses had been analysing that delicious, sweet aroma the entire time he’d been in the cafe, so he was certain his data lined up. “Make it two, please.”

You blinked up at him, a look of pure amusement flashing across your features. “Ummm, no, actually. It was an iced caramel latte. But good guess!” 

You punctuated the correction with a pair of cheerful finger guns.

Valko froze. Caramel?

“Right, of course,” he murmured aloud, his face entirely blank as his brain short-circuited. Internally, he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. Caramel? “One iced caramel latte, and one iced vanilla latte, please.”

Caramel? Valko thought, utterly bewildered. 

Vanilla. 

No, do not start, he grumbled back at the beast, pinning it down with sheer force of will. I’m literally buying the drink now. Quiet. 

He quickly tapped his gold card against the reader to pay for your replacement drink and his own ordered latte, using the transaction to hide his sudden, profound confusion. 

While the barista prepared the drinks, the tension eased into easy small talk. You introduced yourself as a hunter working as part of the Hunter’s Association’s famed Unicorns unit. He was deeply impressed and despite his internal system failure, Valko managed to avoid any further unwanted fumbles. 

He quietly repeated your name under his breath, letting the syllables roll over his tongue to commit them to memory. It was a basic data-logging exercise, he told himself. 

Your names were called all too quickly, and you took the cup with a grateful smile. “Thank you again, Mr Ao.”

“Please, call me Valko, unless you plan on visiting me for business, in which case I should refer to you as, what? Miss Hunter?” Valko laughed, enjoying the easy conversation and desperately trying to delay the inevitable goodbye.

“Ah, gosh, no, that reminds me too much of… ah, never mind,” you stammered. “I’ll be sure to send the dry-cleaning bill straight to EonCore, Valko,” you said, holding up his silver-embossed business card. 

“Please do,” he replied, his deep voice softening. 

His wolf whined, the sound heavy and longing.

“Then… I guess…” You started again, checking the time on your Hunter’s Watch.

Neither of you made a move toward the exit. You shifted your weight, holding your fresh coffee, while Valko stood like a massive, unyielding statue, completely reluctant to break the perimeter of your space. 

“I guess you're right,” he offered, desperately searching for a logical reason to prolong the encounter. 

“Then… See you around?” 

Vanilla.

“Yeah, see you around,” Valko said, the warmth of your smile melting the last of his executive restraint.  “It was nice to mate you, I, uh, I mean, meet you. Nice to meet you.” 

His ears were fluorescent from how hard he was blushing. God, he was an absolute idiot.

He stood by the pickup counter and watched you walk away, the little wave you gave him shut off by the click of the little red door. The cheerful chime of the cafe bell like his very own elegy. 

Valko felt an odd, hollow sensation settle beneath his ribs as he watched you disappear into the summer heat. 

Hopefully, your walk home wouldn’t be too uncomfortable. Maybe he should have offered to call his driver for you?

He grabbed his iced vanilla latte, trying to ignore the pang of regret that hit him, and stepped back out onto the scorching pavement. The summer heat hit him instantly, the heavy humidity pressing against his skin once again, but at least this time he had a cold beverage to anchor him. 

Valko took a long, deep sip through the straw and frowned.

It tasted like milk, sugar, and cheap vanilla syrup. It tasted like coffee.

There was no spark or hum of electricity like there had been the first time he had it. The deep, heavy ache in his jaw didn't subside, and the desperate yearning in his chest didn't quiet down. Even worse, the silence inside his mind was suddenly absolute. 

His wolf was entirely silent. 

Wolfie? he thought, probing the bond. 

There was an answering whine, a slight grumble and then nothing. It had curled itself into a tight, heavy ball at the base of his chest and completely turned its back on him, giving him the coldest of silent treatments.

Oh, you’ve got to be joking. 

Valko stared down at the plastic cup in total disbelief. He had given the stubborn creature its damn latte, and it was still throwing a tantrum?

He walked back toward EonCore, the blazing sun beating down on his neck. He adjusted his glasses, his analytical mind turning the anomaly over and over, trying to find a logical explanation for his malfunctioning senses. 

First, the fact that he’d been so utterly convinced that the stranger smelled like vanilla when she had ordered caramel. And now, this? Unless they’d changed the recipe for their lattes, Valko could find only one plausible rationale.

A cold. It had to be, he finally decided, nodding to himself. That must be it.

His immune system must be flagging from the stress of the upcoming full moon and his brutal work schedule. It was the only scientific explanation for why his nose was playing such bizarre tricks on him. 

He pulled out his phone and called Lena.

She picked up after the second ring.

“Yes, sir?”

“Lena, please book me a general check-up at Akso Hospital for tomorrow morning. I think I’m coming down with something. My sense of smell is all over the place,” Valko explained.

“Of course, I hope you’re also thinking of taking a bit of a break too? Maybe we can leave on time tonight as well? Hmmm?”

Valko laughed, rolling his shoulders to try and release the ache that was building back up in his muscles. “Perhaps you're right. Let’s take the pack out for an early dinner, I’m feeling famished.”

Lena’s chuckle rang out through the phone’s speaker, lasting far too long and sounding far too mocking for someone who was meant to be his employee. “Hey, what’s that laugh for?” Valko asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Did you forget that you were supposed to get your lunch while you were out?” She huffed through a laugh.

The smile fell from Valko’s face as he thought back to his cafe trip. In all of the confusion and his wolf’s insane behaviour, he had forgotten to get himself lunch.

“Ahh, right again, Lena.”

“I’ll have something delivered to the office for you, along with an Americano for myself that I’m going to assume you forgot about as well.”

Valko huffed, half-laughed and half a sigh of disappointment. “That would be great, Lena. Thank you.”

Hahahahaha I'm actually not even sorry!

[avananabread]

Step Count

Coping with the waiting by writing another fic starring wolfie 🥹

Valko wants the shortest path to you, even if he has to climb a balcony.

Valko fluff, Valko x reader, established relationship, wc 680

Birds chirped outside the bedroom window, still busy despite the darkening evening. Cool breezes drift in from your open balcony, weaving through the sheer curtains and playing with the small windchime you’d hung up with Valko just a few weeks ago when you both moved into this new house.

Setting aside the book you’ve been reading on the bedside, you refluff the pillows behind you and recline back on the headboard. You checked the time, estimating his arrival soon from his last message to you that he’s finally on his way home.

Home.

The word feels different now from when you’re been living by yourself. Though you’ve always enjoyed the comfort of your own space before, sharing one now with Valko feels… warmer, and fuller, the rooms now always filled with joy. You suspect he had made it his daily mission to get you to laugh.

The sound of tires come from outside the house, a car door opening and closing, bringing you out of your musings. But, you don’t hear the jingle of keys nor the swing of the front doors. Instead, quick footsteps crunch on gravel and grass. The rustle of a tree’s branch, the flapping wings of startled birds. A soft grunt, then boots hitting the balcony floor.

“Does our front door mean nothing to you?” You tease, turning your head to see Valko toeing off his shoes by the door. He gave you a big happy grin as he hurtled straight towards you.

“Incoming!” is all the warning you got before he slumped over you, forearms scooping under your waist in a hug, his head slotting into the crook of your neck, lips immediately finding your skin.

“Valko!” The reprimand is softened by your laugh as you welcome his weight in your arms. A few pats on his head and his wolf ears pop out, a sign that he’s starting to ease away from the stresses of the day.

“But I wanted the shortest way to you.” He says, voice a little muffled. Sharp inhales are felt at your neck, your scent a balm to his tired body. “Mmn. I missed you.” His back rises with every deep breath, and you run your hand up and down his spine. His tail appears next, softly swishing around.

“I missed you too.” You kiss the side of his head. “But don’t deflect. Last I checked, the path from the front door to here is pretty short.”

“But it’s seven steps more than the balcony route!” He whines, lifting his head so you can see his pout.

“Did you actually count?” Giggling, you poke his nose. He crosses his eyes to upgrade that giggle into a laugh, smiling when he’s successful. Then he steals a kiss from your lips.

“I refuse to take itty bitty steps up the staircase when I could do two leaps up into the balcony. Now shh… let me recharge.” He nuzzles his cheek on your chest.

You hum through your smile, running your fingers through his hair, scratching behind his wolf ears, and feeling him relax as the minutes pass quietly. He sighs in appreciation. You could tell he’s had a long day, and you’re glad to be his place of rest.

“I’ll reheat your dinner, it’s just downstairs.” You blame it on the bond for how you always feel the need to feed him.

The wolf ears perk up. “Did you cook it?” He sniffs the air.

“Yeah, and I also made ch—”

The tail swishes faster. “Choccy cake!” He squeezes your waist and nuzzles some more. “You’re the best.”

To his confusion, you pretend an evil cackle before teasing, “Now you just have to take itty bitty steps down the stairs to get there.”

He groans, but pushes himself to stand up with a huff. “Not if I can just jump down the stairs.” He challenges with a grin.

Your eyes widen. “Val— no, no, wait! Hey!”

Too late.

A woohoo echoes outside the door as you scramble to catch up.

Why did you both decide on a house with stairs again??

Looks like his recharge is a fast charge, he’s just a bundle of energy! Come home, wolfie, there’s choco cake for you!

Let’s all manifest his return!!! ✨ Awoooo!!! 🐺

Divider by @diviniyae

Ava’s masterlist ♥️