I'm sorry for doing this over text. I know it's cruel. I know I should be saying this to your face, but... if I see you right now, I don't think I'll be able to leave.
My company's servers were completely wiped by an unknown source. I know it was them. Right now I can't retaliate. Not yet.
I managed to recover a handful of files before everything went dark. I'm sending them to you. Keep them safe for me, alright? They're encrypted, and I've covered my tracks. No one will be able to trace them back to you.
Please don't panic.
And wipe your tears.
Yeah, I know you're crying. Don't bother denying it, I know you too well.
This isn't goodbye.
I'm coming back.
I just need to retreat for a while. Regroup. Rebuild. Figure out exactly why they thought provoking an entire werewolf pack was a smart idea. You know me. I've already got three plans, two backup plans, and one absolutely terrible idea that I'm trying very hard not to like.
For now, I'm heading back to the forest. The whole pack is gathering.
Think of it as one giant family reunion. With a lot of growling. We'll figure this out. I promise.
It might also be time to put a few centuries-old grudges aside. I've heard the leader of N109 has a lot of experience when it comes to dealing with them.
Iâm not particularly keen on asking for help from his kind. Blegh. The thought alone makes my fur want to fall out.
But those people brought this on themselves.
I donât care how much I dislike the idea. If working with him gets me to you faster, then Iâll swallow my pride and deal with it.
Listen to me carefully.
Wolves only find one mate.
Just one.
You're mine.
No one is keeping me away from you. Iâll do anything to get back to you, even if that means allying with him. Still blegh, by the way. I want that noted.
Stay safe. Eat properly. Sleep more than four hours. And for the love of all thatâs holy, get out of your apartment once in a while.
And don't spend every waking moment worrying about me.
There's something I've wanted to tell you for a long time now. Something important. But I refuse to say it through a screen.
You deserve to hear it while I'm looking into your eyes.
A special thanks to @stardustsirens, I love your beautiful brain đ
Twenty minutes. You'd been gone twenty minutes before you turned around, halfway to work, because your work folder was still sitting on the kitchen counter.
Valko had stayed the night, though not the way anyone would assume. You'd cooked too late, ended up on the couch watching movies until midnight and the idea of him driving home just to come back in a few hours was ridiculous. So he'd stayed. Folded that huge body of his onto your couchâwhich was built for exactly one normal sized humanâinsisting he was fine even though you both knew his neck would hate him for it in the morning. He hadn't so much as brought up sharing your bed. That line was still there between you, respected without either of you having to say so out loud.
Your living room was empty now. The throw blanket sat balled up at one end of the couch, still warm, still carrying that earthy scent that clung to him. You figured he'd finally given up trying to get comfortable and left for home.
Things had been tight between you two for weeks â not bad tight, just like the kind that builds when you're close to someone in every way but one. Curling up next to him on that couch last night, close enough to feel him breathing, had taken more out of you than you wanted to admit. You'd gone to your own bed after and tossed for hours, finally giving up and finishing yourself off against your pillow just to get some sleep.
You grabbed the folder off the counter, shoved it in your bag, turned toward the door already dreading the way back to work.
Your foot stopped.
Through the crack in your bedroom door came a sound â low, cut off at the edges like it hadn't meant to get out. A hitch of breath, rough with something needy.
You don't move. For a few long seconds you just stand there, blood rushing in your ears, telling yourself you imagined it. Then it comes againâlouder, unmistakable. A deep, broken whine bleeding through the door, underneath it the slow, rhythmic creak of your mattress.
Something hot drops straight to your navel.
Your feet move before you decide to let them, carrying you to the gap where the door hinges open. You don't need to push it. You can see everything
Valko is on your bed, completely stripped of the restraint he usually carries around you.
On all fours, every muscle in his back straining with each roll of his hips. Both your pillows are underneath him. One is pinned between his thick, heavy thighs. The other is crushed against his chest like he's holding onto it for dear life.
The fat tip of his cock is already leaking clear precum, smearing wetly against the fabric with every thrust. The muscles of his ass bunch and flex rhythmically, his tail swishing low and frantic from side to side, brushing against his calves like he can't control it.
His nose is buried deep into one specific corner of the pillow, taking big lunges of airâsniffing the hell out of it. Strands of saliva string from his parted lips, his eyes are squeezed shut so tight his eyelashes tremble. He looks like he's desperately trying to engrave that scent into the deepest part of his memory.
The heat that floods your face is scorching and mortifying.
That's where you'd been last night. Grinding against that exact spot, face buried in your own sheets with his name stuck in your throat, thinking thoughts you'd never planned on anyone knowing about. He has his nose pressed right there. Breathing you in like it's the first clean air he's found in days.
The hallway feels like it's closing in. You can't move. The folder is shaking in your hand and you can't make yourself look away.
Valko moves his hips down again and the groan that tears out of him is nothing like his usual voice. It's scraped raw, stripped of every careful thing he usually puts between himself and the world.
"Fuckâ" The word drags out of him slow and broken. His face presses deeper into the pillow, lips parting against the fabric, inhaling so hard it pulls into his mouth. "Smells so good. So fucking sweet"
Your stomach drops.
When he pulls back to thrust again you get an unobstructed view of him, and your mouth goes dry. He's huge, veins mapping his cock in thick ridges, the head flushed a deep red and slick with everything he's been leaking onto your pillow.
"There you go," he breathes, eyes still squeezed shut, hips rolling down in a slow, grinding push. He's talking to the pillow. He's talking to youâor the idea of you, the ghost of you he's got his hands on. "Take it just like that. Let me get all the way inside that pretty cunt, puppy."
He makes that sound againâa high, needy whine that has no business coming out of something so bigâand his ears flatten tight against his skull. His rhythm stutters, slow grinds breaking into something harder and more desperate, the whole bed frame groaning with it.
"Such a good pup," he mutters, tail thrashing wild against the mattress, fingers curling into your pillow. His voice is getting rougher, darker, words spilling out like he can't stop them. "Gonna stretch you out so nice. Fill you up with everything I've beenâ" A sharp, punched out groan. "You'd take it, wouldn't you? Every single bit of it."
His thighs grip the pillow tightly, his whole body going rigid as he grinds down and holds it there. His knuckles are stark white, fingers curled past the point of grip, something closer to desperation made physical. You can see the effort it's taking him to hold back. Every thick vein along the back of his hands stands out in rigid relief, branching up his wrists, mapping the strain all the way to where his forearms flex with each movement.
With every snap of his hips the tension climbs higher. Up his biceps and across his broad shoulders, the whole architecture of him pulled tight. He is holding the pillow like letting go for even a second would mean losing the last thread of you he has access to.
Like if his grip slips, your scent goes with it.
His hands have never looked like this. You've seen them steady holding a weapon, calm giving an order, certain in every situation that called for certainty. Right now they're shaking slightly. Not from weakness.
But from the effort of not having the real thing.
The ache between your thighs is unbearable and the urge hits you like something physical, pressing into your sternum until your body stops listening to your brain entirely. You want to tell him yes. You want to walk into that room and pull those pillows out from under him and put yourself there instead.
Your foot moves forward one step.
That's all it takes. The tiny shift in air carries your scent right through the gap in the doorâlaced now with the edge of your arousalâand delivers it straight to him.
Valko goes completely still.
His ears snap upright, swiveling toward the door, and his head follows a half second later. Through the narrow crack his eyes find yours instantly, pupils blown so wide the gold of his irises is almost gone. The room sits heavy with the smell of sex and the sound of both of you breathing.
He doesn't cover himself and your eyes drop without your permission.
The sight of you watching himâyour scent hitting him fresh and fullâis what does it. You watch it happen. His cock swells further, skin pulled tight, a low growl tearing out of his chest and his hips give one last involuntary roll forward.
He cums with his eyes locked on yours the entire time.
He stares straight through the gap in the door, unblinking, holding your gaze with an intensity that makes your legs feel unreliable, as the first thick streak of white paints your pillow. Another spasm rolls through him, another rope of cum landing heavy over the exact spot your scent had soaked into the fabric last night. Over and over until the last bead clings to the tip and stretches thin before finally dropping.
His chest heaves and his tongue drags slowly across his lower lip and then his canines like he's tasting the air. His tail gives one long, heavy thump against the mattress.
He's still staring a hole right through you.
âYou are completely fucked.
And while we're here @ekay-i .... PLEASEđđ». Valko deserves a spot in the pillow humpers art. i am begging on my knees đ§đ»ââïžđ«Ł
Thinking about... watching a scary movie alone, and then regretting that choice later when you're up late, navigating through your space in the dark, and seeing figures in the shadows that aren't really there. As much as you're embarrassed by this, reacting like a child to a fictional movie, the feeling is still distressing, and you'd rather be without it.
So, you get on your bike and head over to the house of the scariest person you know: the leader of Onychinus. Even if he teases you a little, you can get through that bit quickly enough and just feel safer in his presence. He always seems happy to see you, and repeatedly told you that you're always welcome, so showing up unannounced like this is probably fine.
You're jumping at shadows on the whole ride over, heading down the deserted road to the N109 zone as quickly as you can. By the time you park your bike in Sylus's garage, you're nearly trembling. Eyes watering, and feeling a bit stupid, you push through the doorway and toe off your shoes, your arms wrapped around your middle as you check the doorways of dark rooms for Sylus's presence.
The feeling of relief when you spot him in his study is so palpable that a tear escapes your eye, and you almost trip over your own feet in your desperation to be near him. He looks up with concern in his gaze as he stands up to meet you, abandoning his work in favor of rushing to meet you halfway. Before he can start checking you over for wounds, you wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest.
"Sweetie, what's got you so spooked? What's the matter?"
You stubbornly shake your head no, but when he cups your cheeks to guide your head back, you go pliantly. It's difficult to see his expression through the blur of tears in your eyes, but you can tell he's worried by the way he traces his thumb over your cheekbone in an attempt to soothe you. Not wanting him to be so troubled over nothing, you confess, despite feeling a bit silly.
"S'stupid. I just watched a scary movie earlier n' I feel really paranoid." You lean your face into his hand and look at the floor, a slight attempt to hide as another wave of tears wells up in your eyes. "I jus' feel safest with you."
It takes Sylus a second to respond, his eyes widening just a touch at your words, his thumb stilling for a couple of moments before resuming its movements. "It's not stupid." he murmurs, pressing his lips to your temple. "I'm honored to have earned so much of your trust." When you whimper at his words, he coos at you softly, tilting your head to coax your gaze back upwards, meeting his.
"Was it a good movie, at least?" His eyes are full of affection as you nod, and he chuckles softly. "Would you like to tell me about it?" You nod again, and his smile widens just slightly. He begins to pull you to the couch behind him. "Let's cuddle up first. I missed you."
You smile back up at him and eagerly follow, climbing on top of him as he reclines sideways against a pillow. Once you're nestled against his chest, he pulls a blanket on top of you, spreading warmth through whatever chill was left in your bones.
Soon enough, whatever fear you originally felt is long gone. Sylus listens intently as you recount your favorite parts of the movie, his fingers gently tracing up and down your spine beneath your shirt. He always asks the right questions, and even asks if you'd like to watch it again with him sometime. Not needing to hesitate, you readily agree.
After all, there's nothing that could possibly hurt you, not with your dragon by your side.
It started, innocently enough, within the glow of tealight candles.
âThink Iâll have the steak,â Valko said, peeking over the top of his raised-up menu.
You bit back a smile behind yours. âNo shit.â
He lifted an eyebrow, and you chuckled remorselessly. It was your first date; you already had in-jokes. You quipped that the man would never suffer from an iron deficiency. He insisted you canât teach an old dog new tricks. Or, well⊠get it to dabble in vegetarian options.
âWhatâre you thinking?â he eventually asked.
âI donât knowâŠâ You squinted at your choices, all typed out in a font trying too hard to be calligraphy. âThis place is kinda pricey, Val.â
Not a complaintâ just an offhand remark from a Deepspace Hunter more familiar with small numbers than big ones. Valko blinked. Then he tore away a strip of his menu: a sharp shhhick of splitting card, and the prices fluttered down to the floor beside your table, to your bewilderment. The revised menu was passed over with a grin.
It was unexpected, to say the least. Chivalrous. Snobby, but cute.
And a waiter had noticed.
For two minutes afterwards, you stifled sniggers as Valko apologised profusely. He wouldnât do it again! It was, uh⊠it was supposed to be a grand gesture! He was trying to be romantic, and no, he would not, under any circumstances, try to be romantic again.
By the time the waiter walked away, only mildly appeased, Valkoâs face was the same reddish hue of his hair.
âStill thinking about the steak, big spender?â you cooed, doing absolutely nothing to save his complexion.
âFuck,â he muttered, mortified, âyou must think Iâm such a snob.â
âWell, you littered in my apartment the other night. And you just said âfuckâ in a fancy restaurant, so⊠juryâs still out.â Your menu was flopped down so you could look at him. Your eyes sparkled. âYouâre very complex, you know.â
âIâm an idiot.â
âYouâre⊠multifaceted.â
Valko sank his face into his hands, slipping down in his chair until most of him was hidden under the table (and he isnât small; it was quite the feat). The waiter spotted him from across the room. He sat up straight, jolting the table in his haste, and you bit back another smile as your cutlery clattered, and your drink sloshed.
In the end, he ordered a salad.
âŠ
Itâs eleven oâclock, the same night, and youâve traded tealights for your stove.
A steak sizzles in a frying pan as you ladle melted butter on with a teaspoon. Your kitchen is warm, thick with the rich scent of roasting meat, and Valko is trying not to look overeager, but his nose is twitching. The soft of his tail flicks behind him. He wets his lips with a dart of his tongue.
âYou donât have toââ he starts to protest, just like he protested in the aisles of the supermarket, and at the till, and throughout the walk home.
âI want to,â you interrupt, even though he hasnât found that argument particularly compelling so far. Twentieth timeâs the charm, you hope. You reach to pinch at his cheek. âYouâre looking a little anaemic, yâknow. Iâm worried.â
He rolls his eyes, but the blush he picked up at the restaurant never did entirely fade away. His ears are folded back, flat against his hair, and when you beckon for the salt, he hands it over in silence. He must regret that silence when, a moment later, his stomach grumbles. The pink of his face deepens.
âSorry,â he voices quietly, since heâs given up on dignity. Itâs in a grave, and not a shallow one, so heâs forced to move on without it. âIâm so embarrassed. Shouldnât have tried to show off.â
You chuckle fondly, thinking back to the restaurant. The scene is on loop in the theatre of your minds, except heâs cringing in horror whilst you munch down on popcorn; itâs your new favourite movie. âDonât be sorry. I loved it, Valko. It was sweet. Really sweet.â
The steak has caramelised in the pool of butter and herbs, so you turn the stove down, leaving it to cook through. Valkoâs still trying to keep his nose from twitching too much. You cup his face with your hands.
âKinda a sheep in wolfâs clothing, huh?â
He mumbles: âDonât know if I like that.â
But his cheeks are so, so warm under your fingers, and heâs dodging your gaze again, making you giggle. âYou committed vandalism for me.â
âIt was a menu.â
âWeâll⊠make it something cooler when we tell people the story.â
(You wonât. You still have the torn menu, and one day, youâll bring it out for guests at every given opportunity.)
âI had a really nice time tonight, Val.â You ease him towards you, gently, so you can press a kiss to his cheek. âPromise.â
That tail has picked up its pace. His ears are lifting. âMm,â he grumbles, âyou sure?â
âMmhmm.â You kiss the tip of his nose. Then his cheek again. Then the line of his jaw.
He relaxes, and your awkward evening tips into the night where, for the first time, he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. Kisses you there, slow and grateful, and pulls you close enough that he can hear your breath catch.
With a click, the stove is turned off behind you. Huh? âWhatâre youâ?â
âForget the food.â When Valko pulls back, the gold of his eyes is hot. He smirks, emboldened at last by your reaction, and a merciful lack of nearby waiters. âGot something else I wanna eat...â
You gasp.
His ears go flat. âNo, I didnât meanâ!â He scrambles. âWell, I did, but not⊠not quite as literally as⊠not that I wouldnât want to, uh⊠fuck. Not fuck! Not saying we should fuck, I justââ
Yeah, heâs only digging himself deeper. You should kiss him again.
Heâs âjust stretchingâ when he reaches over and pulls you into his lap while youâre trying to fold laundry. Heâs âjust making sure youâre warmâ when he wraps his big arms around you and tucks you against his chest. Heâs âjust checkingâ when he leans down to nuzzle the top of your head for the fifth time in ten minutes.
Youâre not even mad. How could you be?
Especially when his tail is wagging so hard behind him itâs practically creating a breeze, and his ears keep twitching happily every time you relax into him.
âYouâre clingy today,â you tease, tilting your head back to look up at him.
âAm not,â he mumbles, but the way he immediately tightens his hold around your waist says otherwise. He buries his face in your neck, breathing you in like he needs it to survive. âJust like having you close. Thatâs all.â
You giggle and reach up to scratch behind one of his ears. The second you do, a low, happy rumble vibrates in his chest and his tail starts thumping even faster against the couch.
âUh huh. Sure, big guy.â
He pretends to huff but ends up pressing a bunch of soft kisses along your shoulder instead, tail still going crazy. Youâre both smiling like idiots.
Eventually he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes soft and warm.
ââŠCan we stay like this a little longer?â he asks, suddenly shy.
You melt instantly, cupping his face and pulling him down for a proper kiss.
âOf course, baby. As long as you want.â
Valkoâs tail does a full happy spin behind him as he tucks you closer again, perfectly content being your personal radiator.
If it's alright to ask, i wanted to see how you think the boys help a reader/mc who has benign tremors.
It's exactly what it sounds like, my body/hands shake, and i can't control it. While I haven't been diagnosed, my ma has and I've inherited it from her. My hands/body shakes even if I'm not particularly afraid or anxious (and I am an anxious person)
It does make life a little hard. Sometimes I just cannot get my hands to be still enough to really do anything. Getting water? Someone else better hold the cup, typing is always difficult.
Though when I get sick or im anxious or tired, then I be shaking like some wet and cold chihuahua, seems very dramatic.
Hopefully this isn't too specific, I've not seen anyone write about it before..least j dont think so.
Either way, thanks for taking the time tk read this
Hello! Thank you for the request! I can't imagine what it's like to have benign tremors and the difficulty it must bring to what feel like they should be simple tasks, but I know the lads men would take great care of you.
This also hits a little close to home because my family has a history of Parkinson's and it makes me afraid of the future sometimes.
At first, it was little things. A cup rattling in your hands. Struggling to fasten a button. Taking longer than usual to type out reports.
Then it started affecting your missions.
Some days, you could barely keep your firearm steady.
You hadn't told anyone, especially not Xavier. You didn't want to say it out loud because then it would become real. The thought had been eating away at you for weeks.
What kind of Hunter can't even hold their weapon steady?
The two of you were in the middle of a mission when it happened again. A Wanderer appeared from the shadows, and instinctively, you raised your gun.
Your hands shook.
Not enough to drop it, but enough. Enough that the sight wouldn't stay still and your finger froze on the trigger.
Xavier looked over, concerned. He didn't say anything at first. Then, quietly he asked, "It's not a good day?"
The words struck something deep inside you, and your shoulders immediately tensed, and you shook your head in denial.
"I'm fine."
"You don't seem fine."
"I said I'm okay." You shouted, louder than intended.
Xavier looked at you for a long moment before nodding once.
The Wanderer moved again. You raised your gun. Your hands trembled harder. You couldn't do it. You couldn't pull the trigger.
"No, no no nono." you muttered quietly to yourself panic flooding your chest.
The Wanderer lunged.
A burst of light flashed beside you. Then another. A few seconds later, the area fell silent.
Xavier had taken care of it.
You couldn't breathe. Your hands were shaking worse now, and the gun suddenly felt like it weighed 100lbs.
Then your hands gave out entirely. It slipped from your grasp and hit the ground.
The sound echoed loudly in the silence.
You stared at it, then at your hands. And suddenly, you couldn't stop the tears.
"What if this is it?" you whispered.
Xavier's looked at you gently, raising his eyebrow slightly, a silent ask for you to elaborate.
"What if I can't do this anymore?" Your voice cracked. "What if I can't be a Hunter?"
He stepped toward you slowly.
"You don't know that."
"But what if I can't even hold my weapon anymore?"
The tears came faster, the shaking spreading throughout your whole body.
"I've worked for this my whole life. I've never known another dream."
Xavier was quiet for a moment, as though he was trying to chose the write words. Instead, he gently took your trembling hands in his.
"They're shaking."
You let out a bark of a laugh.
"Really? I hadn't noticed."
A small smile tugged at his lips before it faded again.
"But they're still your hands."
You looked up at him.
"You know there are Hunters who don't use firearms." He started gently. "There are different weapons. Different specialties. Different positions within the agency."
"But..." You interrupted, but he raised his hand to quiet your protests.
"You aren't at the end of your story. You don't have to decide your future today."
His thoughtfulness surprised you and more tears streaked down your cheeks. "What if everything changes?"
Xavier's thumbs brushed your cheeks softly, wiping away the tears, a reassuring smile on his face."Then we'll figure out what comes next."
You looked at him."We?"
"Of course."His answer came so easily that it made your chest ache.
"So what if your hands shake?" he said softly. "You're still strong. You're still capable."
Another tear fell.
"And you're still the person I love." He whispered, pulling you close. "A little shaking doesn't change any of that."
You had tried to ignore it. Every time your hands shook a little more than usual, every time you struggled to button your shirt or spilled your coffee, you told yourself it was just because you were tired. But then it started happening on missions, and then it started getting worse.
You knew benign tremors ran in your family. You also knew that benign didn't always make something easy to live with.
When Zayne noticed your hands trembling while you were trying to sign a report, he didn't say anything. Not then. Instead, a week later, he quietly asked, "Will you come to the hospital with me tomorrow?"
You looked at him. "Why?"
"I'd like to run a few tests."
You sighed. "I knew this was coming."
He reached over, gently taking your hand before it could disappear into your lap. "I don't want to frighten you."
"You already have."
His thumb brushed absently over your knuckles. "I want answers."
You did, too, so you went.
Bloodwork. Neurological exams. Questions that seemed endless. By the time the last appointment was over, you were exhausted.
Zayne sat beside you in his office, reviewing the results one final time before setting the file down. He looked up. "It's nothing. It's benign."
You let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. "So..."
"So," he repeated softly, "everything points to benign tremors."
You searched his face. "You're sure?"
"I'm as sure as I can be."
There was a quiet moment, while you registered the news.
"But they're getting worse."
"They may."
Your heart sank, and he immediately reached for your hand. "They may also stabilize. Symptoms can fluctuate, especially with stress, fatigue, illness, or caffeine."
You looked down at your intertwined hands. "So... I just have to live with it?"
"For now."
The words stung more than you expected. "I hate it."
"I know."
"I can't even hold a cup some days."
His grip tightened slightly, careful not to hurt you. "I know."
Tears clouded your eyesight. "What if it keeps getting worse?"
Zayne was quiet for a moment. "I can't promise you it won't change."
The honesty hurt, but somehow, it was comforting too.
"What I can promise," he continued, "is that if it does, we'll adapt. We'll find ways to make everyday tasks easier. We'll adjust your treatment if new options become available. If you ever need another opinion, I'll find the best specialist."
His expression softened. "And if one day this becomes more than benign..." He gently lifted your hand, pressing a kiss against your trembling fingers. "I'll be beside you every step of the way."
The tears finally spilled over. "I don't want to become a burden."
Zayne frowned at the thought. "You won't."
He held your gaze with the same quiet certainty he always carried. "Your hands may shake." His thumb brushed gently across your knuckles. "But they still hold mine."
A small, laugh escaped you as you squeezed his hand tighter. "And I have no intention of letting go."
You had been watching Rafayel paint for nearly an hour. His brush danced effortlessly across the canvas, each stroke deliberate and confident, as though he'd already seen the finished piece long before the paint ever touched it.
It was beautiful.
He was beautiful.
Everything he created had this elegance you couldn't describe.
Without thinking, you looked down at your own hands. They were trembling again, so you curled them into your lap. "You know," you said quietly, "if your hands shook like mine do...you wouldn't be able to do this."
Rafayel hummed distractedly, still painting, until your words fully registered in his head. His brush went still, and the room fell silent. Slowly, he set it aside and turned to look at you. "Is that what's been bothering you?" he asked.
You laughed quietly. "I mean...look at you." You gestured toward the canvas. "Your hands are your livelihood. If they shook like mine..." Your voice faltered. "You'd lose everything."
Rafayel simply stared at you with a look you didn't know how to describe. Then he smiled so gentle. "Cutie." He stood and crossed the room until he was kneeling in front of you. "You've misunderstood me."
You frowned. "If my hands started shaking tomorrow..." He looked down at them, turning them over thoughtfully. "...I'd probably have to paint differently. I might paint bigger canvases, or switch to sculpting. Maybe I'd use charcoal. Maybe I'd learn something completely new." He shrugged. "I'd still create. My hands don't make me an artist. I do."
The words settled over you and his gaze found yours. "So why," he asked softly, "have you decided that your hands get to decide who you are?"
His question caught you off guard as you pondered your response. "I..." you started, but he shook his head gently.
"You are so much more than the way your body moves." His hands found yours, his thumbs brushing lightly over your trembling fingers. "You think I look at these hands and see something broken? I see the hands that reach for mine. The hands that make tea when I'm working too late." He gave your fingers a gentle squeeze. "The hands that hold my face."
Tears welled in your eyes. "I don't even notice that they're shaking." He admitted.
"You don't?"
"No." He leaned forward, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. "I only notice that they're yours."
The tears came then, and he smiled as he wiped one away with his thumb. "And if one day they shake a little more..." His forehead rested lightly against yours. "...I'll still think they're the most beautiful hands I've ever held."
It wasn't the first thing that had gone wrong that day.
Your hands had been shaking since you woke up. You'd struggled to button your shirt, nearly dropped your toothbrush, and by the time you got home that evening, your nerves were frayed from pretending none of it bothered you.
Still, you told yourself you were fine.
Until the bottle.
You stood in the kitchen, twisting at the cap with both hands. Nothing. You adjusted your grip and tried again. Nothing. A third time. Then a fourth.
Your hands trembled harder with every failed attempt, and frustration built in your chest. With a sharp breath, you slammed the bottle onto the counter.
"Fuck."
The word came out harsher than you intended, and before you knew it, tears were spilling down your cheeks.
It wasn't about the bottle. It was never about the bottle. It was every cup you'd spilled, every button you'd struggled with, every mission where your hands shook just a little too much, and every quiet fear that one day, your body would stop cooperating altogether.
The front door clicked open.
Sylus stepped inside and immediately stopped when he saw you standing in the kitchen. His eyes flicked to your face, then to the unopened bottle. Without a word, he walked over, picked it up, twisted the cap free with one hand, and set it back on the counter before sitting beside you.
You stared at the bottle and he stared at you, taking in the flush on your face, the tears in your eyes.
Finally, he spoke. "That wasn't just about the bottle."
The tears came harder. You laughed through them, shaking your head. "No."
You buried your face in your hands. "I'm so tired."
His hand came to rest on your knee. "I know."
"What if it keeps getting worse?" you whispered. "What if one day I can't do anything by myself anymore?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached over and gently took one of your trembling hands in his.
"If tomorrow your hands shook twice as much..." His thumb brushed slowly across your knuckles. "...I'd open twice as many bottles."
You looked up at him. His expression was calm, unwavering.
"If they shook so much you couldn't tie your shoes..." A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "I'd tie them."
"If holding a cup became difficult...I'd hold it."
Your lip trembled. "I don't want to need help."
His gaze softened. "You won't need help."
You frowned, a puzzled look flashed across your eyes.
"You'll have me. You've convinced yourself that accepting help means you've lost something." He intertwined his fingers with yours. "I don't see it that way."
You stared at your joined hands.
"I see someone I love."
His grip tightened. "Your hands don't carry this relationship."
Your eyes met his crimson ones.
"We do." Sylus leaned over and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "When that day comes, if it ever comes, we'll face it together."
Then, with the smallest smile, he nudged the now-open bottle toward you. "Drink your water, sweetie."
Despite the tears still clinging to your lashes, despite your still trembling hands, you laughed, feeling a peace you didn't know you were capable of.
Caleb couldn't remember a time your hands didn't shake.
When you were little, he'd hold your juice box while you pushed the straw through the foil. Your hands never seemed to stay still long enough to do it yourself.
As you got older, he learned the signs.
If you were sick, they got worse. If you were tired, he'd carry your tray in the cafeteria before you even asked. If you were anxious, he'd quietly take your drink without making a fuss, then hand it back once you'd both sat down.
He had never thought it was a burden, because it was just you.
So when you showed up at his apartment one evening and were unusually quiet, he knew something was wrong.
"Pips?" he asked gently.
You smiled, but it didn't quite reach your eyes.
"I'm okay."
He didn't believe you for a second.
You disappeared into the kitchen while he finished putting away groceries. A moment later, he heard something clatter against the counter.
By the time he rounded the corner, you were staring at a mug lying on its side, tea pooling across the countertop.
Your hands trembled violently.
"I've got it," you whispered, reaching for a towel.
Caleb caught your wrist before you could.
"I've got it."
He grabbed the towel and wiped up the spill.
"I'm sorry," you said immediately, voice higher than normal.
"For what?"
"I keep making you do everything."
He looked up, genuinely confused.
"What are you talking about?"
"Cleaning up just now, carrying drinks, opening things...The list goes on forever" Your voice cracked. "You've been helping me my whole life."
"Yeah."
"You shouldn't have to."
He frowned.
"Says who?"
"I hate that you always have to take care of me."
Caleb set the towel down and walked over to you. Carefully, he took both of your trembling hands in his.
"Pipsqueak." His voice was so soft and gentle it made your chest ache.
"I've seen you at your best." His thumbs brushed over your knuckles. "I've seen you at your worst."
You looked down.
"I've seen you shake so hard you couldn't hold a spoon when you had the flu."
The smallest smile graced your lips at the memory.
"And I've seen you take down Wanderers that would've sent other Hunters running."
You slowly lifted your head to meet his gaze.
"So don't stand here and tell me your hands are all I should see."
You shook your head, thinking about the future, what was yet to come. "What if they get worse?" You wondered aloud.
He smiled softly.
"Then I'll open more jars."
You laughed.
"I'll carry more drinks."
Another laugh.
"I'll button your jacket when your fingers don't want to cooperate."
His smile grew warmer.
"I'll do whatever you need me to do."
You searched his face.
"Doesn't that scare you? Having me be completely dependent on you."
"Not even a little." He answered quickly, without hesitation.
"Because no matter what your hands decide to do," He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. "I'll still get to love my Pips."
He wrapped his arms around you without another word.
"You've spent your whole life worrying that your tremors would make people leave," he murmured.
The way you felt in my arms, the chemistry was sacred, oh, I fell for your charm, I was so infatuated...
Moonlight's Valko masterlist!
Smausđș
Tbc...
Fanficsđș
I've been drowning in these sheets, feeling lonely, wishing you were here with me... (hurt/comfort)
Tbc...
A/N: If you look up the song I took the lyric from for this one it's actually pretty sad btw. I did that on purpose because I am sad. So his masterlist must be too.
I've been drowning in these sheets, feeling lonely, wishing you were here with me...
You're drowning in your own thoughts, but he's never seen you like this before...
Featuring: Valko, gn!reader
Contents: Mentally ill!reader, reader has abandonment issues, new but established relationship, hurt/comfort, lots of wolf cuddles
Wordcount: 1,417
You have a headache.
It's not the most pressing thing on your mind, nor the loudest, but it's the only one you can hold onto with any semblance of stability.
It's the type that aches just behind your eyesâyou can't hide it forever, he'll find out eventuallyâand makes you just want to bury your face in a pillow. Which you've already done, but youâyou really think he'll be any different? No one really loves you once they seeâshift around and press it deeper anyways, trying to relieve more of the pressure.
It helps, sorta. It lessened the physical pain, if only slightly, but that made room for far worse things to slip into the forefront of your mind.
He loves you now, but it's conditional. It's always conditional. You really think he'll stay after he sees the real you?
You barely even register the whine you let out as you grab a separate pillow and wrap it around your ears; but the barrier can't do anything against the voices inside your head.
You don't believe them. Don't want to believe them.
Your relationship with Valko is new, sure, and yeah, it started out a little rocky. But once you two found your path? He was always stuck to you like glue, whenever possible. It makes your heart swell and ache and do flips all at once. In this moment, you kinda hate it.
Your phone is on the bed, right next to you. You could text him. Should text him, maybe. But you just can't bring yourself too.
He's never seen you like this. Hurting, emotions out of control, brain fighting itself to keep you alive. It wasn't pretty to live, so you can't imagine what it's like to look at. To be around.
You don't want to imagine the look on his face when you tell him you feel unloved, or ignored, or any other thimgs you know aren't rational, howâjust like everyone elseâhe'd take the blame. How it'd be too much for him, and he'd leave.
You were imagining it. You were imagining it and the idea brought you to tears, and it shouldn't. It hadn't happened. You wanted to believe it would never happen.
But do you know that?
And that was the kicker, wasn't it? You didn't know. And that would always be a wrench in whatever minimal comfort you could dredge up in yourself.
You should put on a movie. Play a game. Anything to get thisâto get himâout of your head.
Right when one of your hands connects with the sleek plastic of your phone case, you freeze. The balcony door creeeeeks open, and heavy footsteps make their way to the living room.
"Sweetheart? You home today?" Fuck.
You burrow deeper into your pair of pillows. Maybe if you're quiet enough, he'll think you're at work.
You hate that the idea makes tears well up in your eyes.
Somewhere else in the houseâthe living room, maybeâboots hit the wall with a distinctive thunk. Then the footsteps resume, drifting around to each room and calling out your name. You try your best to pretend you're not there.
He stops in front of your bedroom door. You curl up further into yourself.
"âŠhoney, I can smell you in there." Fuck. Stupid wolf senses. "YouâŠyou don't have to let me in, but can you at least say somethin'? Just so I know you're all good?"
You aren't all good. That's the problem. You're in a horrible headspace and he's never really seen how bad it can get, how bad you can get, and you don't want him to. No matter how desperate you are for his arms around you.
There's some shuffling outside the room. A whine that you're praying you imagined. Then the knob turns.
You hadn't bothered to lock it. Maybe you'd been hoping he'd find you.
"âŠbabydoll?" His voice was clearer through the crack, concerned and adoring and dejected all at once. The sound of it crumbles any and all resolve you have left.
"ValkoâŠ" his name slips out of your lips in a whimper, and for a moment you're scared he won't hear you.
You shouldn't have been. Those 'stupid wolf senses' come in handy sometimes, too. Within seconds, broad hands connect with your bodyâroaming, searching, investigating. Checking for injuries.
A laugh bubbles up in your chest, escaping as merely a weak giggle, but you cling to it. To that little bit of warmth and light in the storm around you.
Your body aches as you force it to roll over, reaching up to grab at and pet his ears. "'M not hurt, puppy. Not like that."
Sharp yellow eyes whip around to meet yours, a deep frown lining those handsome features. You don't like the look of that, so you give a good scratch to the point behind his right earâright where he likes it.
As always, he melts, tilting into your hand as his tail starts to thump on the mattress.
But he fights it off. You watch him do it, watch the way his gaze seems to refocus completely on you. It damn near takes your breath away.
"If you're not hurtâŠ" Suddenly, warm skin presses against your wrist; nuzzling, scenting. "Then what's wrong? 'Cus if you try to tell me you're fine or some shit I will bite you."
Another sound that might've been a laugh escapes your lips as you bring your left hand down to cradle his face. "IâŠmy brain's just really loud." You look down at his hands, still resting on your body even after you'd moved. "And mean. I don'tâŠI don't want the stuff in my head to hurt you." You pull your lip between your teeth. "OrâŠor scare you."
There's silence for a moment, and thenâa scoff. He honest to god scoffs. You feel like you've been dunked in ice water.
It must show, because almost immediately afterwards hands cup your face and turns you to face himâgolden eyes wide, anxious. "'M sorry, dollâI wasn't laughing at you. I mean it." Lips press against your forehead. "It's justâŠthe idea that I could ever be scared by youâŠit's so unimaginable to me. But I shouldn'a scoffed like that." His nose presses into your hair, and you feel the deep inhale he takes. "Forgive me?"
'The idea that I could ever be scared by youâŠit's unimaginable.'
You press your face into his neck, taking a deep breath of your own to fill your nose with the new-yet-familiar scent of pine and musk and petrichor and home.
"Yeah, I can forgive you." You raise your arms to wrap them around him, pressing as close as you can from your angle. He quickly lays down to accommodate. "IâŠI don't think it's a good idea to tell you what they're saying, though."
He makes what sounds like a cross between a hum and a chuff, shifting to hold you against his chest. "You mean the bad thoughts?" You nod. "Are they yappin' away right now?" A pause. You let yourself sit in the silence for a moment. Then, you shake your head. "That's all that matters, then. I don't needa know exactly what they're yappin' about, just if they're doing it."
Soft fur tickles your leg as his tail wraps around it, and you can't help the quiet giggle it draws out. Valko makes a satisfied huffing noise in return.
"If they're being quiet now, let 'em be quiet. Enjoy it." You feel his every breath on your scalp, warming you from the top down. "We can cross the bridge of discussing what they're saying when we get there. For now, just tell me if they get loud again, yeah?"
You take a few deep breaths, trying to fight through tears you hadn't even realized were flowing.
"âŠyeah." The word is quiet, barely above a whisper, but of course; he hears it.
Bulky arms tighten around you, lips pressing against your scalp with firm determination. "Good. Wanna hear a story about my cousins?"
After pretending to think it over for a moment, you give a shy nod. You feel the rise and fall of his chest as he takes a dramatically long breath, starting on his tale with reckless abandon.
You just curl further into him, enjoying the way his tail thumps against your leg as it wags.
I got very bored and, as a mostly-homebound disabled person, have way too much time on my handsâso I made way too many dividers from the LaDS plushies
These are pretty heavily inspired by @pixopix's dividers from this post, so if you like these ones please check hers out too!
Okay on with it!
General
Xavier
Zayne
Rafayel
Sylus
Caleb
Valko
Now updated for Valko!! I'm not letting him gođ€
Aaannnddd that's all so far. Reblog and like if you intend to use any of these please, and a tag would be appreciated less because I care about credit and more because I want to see whatever everyone creates!
My askbox is on(no anons though sorry, not stable enough for that lmao) but honestly simple ones like this really aren't hard to make! Just look up some tutorials for your program of choice and go wild with the LaDS claw machine wiki!
A few new dividers!! The No. 1 Wolfie+Sleepless Hootie one I made from promotional material as well as a version of the dog plushie that I plan to use solely for Valko on my own pageđ„°
For the Valko requests, I would love to see some cute family fluff between MC, Valko, his cousins, grandma, and his sister (I think he had a sister in his lore, correct me if I am wrong), because I want to see how MC would get along with Valko's family. đș
synopsis: when valko brings you home for the first time, he warns you about everything: his grandmotherâs food, his sisterâs stare, his cousinâs stories, the family jokes that always cut too close. he forgets to warn you that love in his house is not gentle or quiet, but loud, practical, mercilessly observant, and served warm at the kitchen table.
cw/tw: valko x reader. very soft domestic fluff. light family teasing.
read here: ao3 â tumblr
Valko lost his nerve three steps from the door.
It was a small death, but you saw it happen; the brave lift of his chin, the twitch in his jaw, the small, tragic collapse of his entire face when a crash came from inside the house.
His hand tightened around yours.
âDobro,â he said.
Another crash.
From inside, and older woman called, âIf that's my good plate, I will put someone in the ground before supper.â
Valko closed his eyes. You turned toward him.
He opened one eyes. âShe loves plates.â
âMore than people?â
âDepends on the people.â
You laughed before you could stop yourself, and relief moved through him all at once, softening his shoulders, loosening the frightened line of his mouth. He'd been nervous all morning. Badly nervous. Valko, who could grin with blood on his teeth and make danger look like a door he'd simply forgotten to knock on, had spent the whole walk here giving you warnings no sane person could have prepared for.
Do not let Mika read your palm. He makes things up and then believes them.
Do not compliment Baba's curtains unless you want curtains.
Do not say you're full.
And, most importantly, if anyone mentions the soup incident, Valko had said, grave as a condemned man, they're lying.
You had asked what the soup incident was.
He had started to walk faster.
Now he stood before the old wooden door with your fingers caught in his, trying to look calm and producing, somehow, the exact expression of a wolf about to be bathed.
âValko,â you said softly.
âYes?â
âYou're shaking.â
âI'm not shaking.â
âYou are.â
âIâm containing myself.â
âFrom what?â
âHereditary embarrassment.â
The door flew open.
A girl about his age stood on the other side, dark-eyed and grinning, with flour on her cheek and murder in her posture. She took one look at Valkoâs hand around yours, then lifted her gaze to his face with the slow delight of someone finding a knife exactly where she had hoped one would be.
A slow smile cut across her face.
âOh,â she smirked. âSo this is why you changed your shirt twice.â
Valko made a sound. Small, wounded, entirely unlike a wolf.
âI changed once.â
âYou changed twice. The first shirt was the blue one. The second was the one that made you look like you were going to court. This...This is the third.â
His ears went red.
The woman held out her hand to you. âMilena. His sister.â
âUnfortunately,â Valko added.
âFortunately. Without me, you'd still think soap is optional in winter.â
âIt isn't optional.â
âBecause of me.â
You took Milena's hand. Her grip was warm, firm, and full of judgement she hadn't yet decided to use.
Behind her, the house breathed out heat. Bread, onions, some in old wood, something sweet cooling on a counter. There were voices everywhere, layered and crossing. One person laughing while another complained, a child humming under a table, chairs scraping, a kettle whistling like a bird losing patience.
Milena stepped aside. âCome in before Baba starts saying we were raised by wolves.â
Valko muttered, âWe were.â
She looked at him. âAnd still, some of us learned manners.â
You crossed the threshold. The house was smaller than the noise made it seem, or maybe the noise had simply learned to fill every corner. Framed photographs climbed the walls in crooked rows. Herbs hung drying above the kitchen window. Nothing matched, and yet everything looked touched, mended, argued over... kept.
Valko leaned close as he helped you out of your coat.
âLast chance,â he whispered. âWe can run.â
You looked past him to where an old woman stood near the stove, hands folded over her apron, watching you with bright, wolfish eyes.
âToo late,â you whispered back. âI think she heard you.â
âI hear everything,â the old woman said.
Valko went still.
Milena smiled into her shoulder.
The old woman crossed the kitchen with the slow authority of someone who had ruled this house before any of them had teeth. She was small, broad in the shoulders, silver-haired, with flour on her wrist and no softness wasted in her face. The softness, you realised, was elsewhere. In the bread covered by a towel, in the chair pulled out before you reached it, in the way Valko lowered his head without being asked when she came close.
âBaba,â he said, and for the first time that day, his voice lost its jokes.
She, of course, ignored him.
Instead, she took your face between both hands.
Her palms smelled of rosemary, yeast, and soap. Her thumbs rested beneath your cheekbones, and for one strange second the whole house seemed to lean closer. The cousins, the kettle, the old boards, even Valko, holding his breath beside you.
âSo,â Baba Vesna said. âYou are the reason he forgets to eat.â
âI eat,â Valko protested.
Teta Marika appeared by the stove, wooden spoon in hand. âYou came here last week, opened the pantry, stared at a sack of potatoes for six minutes, then said, âI wonder what sheâs doing.ââ
âThat was taken out of context.â
âWhat was the context?â you asked, because love had made you brave and terrible.
Valko looked betrayed. âYouâre supposed to be on my side.â
A boy leaning backwards on his chair nearly lost balance from laughing, another cousin caught the chair by its back without looking up from peeling an apple.
Baba Vesna patted your cheek once and released you. âSit, duĆĄo. Eat something before my family embarrass me properly.â
Valko gave a strangled laugh. âBefore?â
No one listened to him.
You were placed at the long wooden table as if the decision had been made before you arrived. A bowl appeared, then bread, then butter, then a small plate of pickled vegetables. Teta Marika, Valko's aunt, kissed the air beside your cheeks and took the small gift you had brought. Mika announced that he already knew your favourite colour from Valkoâs face. Luka told him that was the stupidest sentence ever spoken in the kitchen, which Mika accepted as praise. The little one beneath the table emerged, solemn and bread-dusted, and introduced himself as Niko.
âAre you going to marry him?â Niko asked.
Valko walked directly into the side of a chair.
The whole kitchen paused. You pressed your lips together.
Milena leaned against the doorway, radiant with cruelty. âCareful, Niko. Val only has two knees.â
âNiko,â Teta Marika turned from the stove, wooden spoon in hand. âWe ask guests if they want juice first.â
Niko nodded, absorbing this etiquette with grave importance. âDo you want juice before you marry him?â
Valko covered his face with both hands. You bit down on your smile so hard it almost hurt. This wasn't what you had expected.
Some foolish, frightened part of you had imagined a den in the old sense. Teeth, watchful eyes, a family arranged around blood and law, waiting to decide whether your bones could be allowed near theirs. Valko had never spoken of them casually. Whenever he said home, something tender and embarrassed moved through him, as though the word itself had fingers and knew exactly where to touch.
Now you sat beneath a crooked lamp while his grandmother tore bread with her hands and put the first piece on your plate.
âEat,â Baba Vesna said.
You obeyed.
The bread was warm enough to steam between your fingers. The crust cracked softly, butter melted into it in golden lines. Across the table, Valko watched you take the first bite as if your mouth held judgment from heaven.
You chewed. Swallowed.
âItâs delicious.â
Baba Vesna clicked her tongue. âOf course it is wonderful. I made it.â
Mika leaned towards you. âHe talked about you after the market yesterday.â
Valkoâs hand hit the table. âNo.â
âYes, you didâ Luka said sticking his tongue out.
âNo.â
âYou said, and I quote, 'she chooses fruit with such care'.â
The table went quiet for half a breath, your hand stilled around the bread. Valko looked at Luka as if betrayal had entered the room wearing his cousinâs face.
âThat was private.â
âYou said it in the kitchen.â
âThat makes it private.â
Milena sat across from you and rested her chin in her hand. âHe also said you have kind hands.â
Valkoâs mouth opened, nothing came out. Your heart did something foolish inside your chest.
The teasing had worked him bright and flustered, but beneath it, something softer trembled. He was embarrassed, yes. Horribly, so. Beautifully, so. Yet the thing underneath was more dangerous than shame. This was exposure. A curtain pulled open in a room he had spent so long keeping dim.
He had spoken of you here.
At this table. In this warm, loud house. To these people who teased him because they knew what he looked like with no armour on. He had brought you home long before he ever brought your body through the door.
Baba Vesna filled your bowl with soup.
âHe was always like this,â she said.
âBaba, please.â
âHe was a strange child,â she said.
Valko groaned. âPlease.â
âA sweet child,â Teta Marika corrected.
âA dramatic child,â Luka said.
âA biting child,â Milena added.
Valko pointed at her. âYou bit first.â
âYou looked biteable.â
âYou see what I mean?â Valko turned to you with helpless outrage. âThis is what I survived.â
There was love in it, the kind that had been cooked too long and reduced into something strong enough to stain. They spoke to him as if they had known every version of him and chosen, again and again, to keep putting food in front of whichever one came home.
You looked at him while he argued with Mika about whether a stolen spoon counted as a childhood trauma.
He caught you looking. For a moment, the noise thinned.
There he was.
Valko with his hair refusing every law of decency. Valko trying so hard to survive his own family and failing beautifully. His eyes met yours with a nervous brightness that made you want to reach across the table and be cruel to every fear that had ever found him.
Then Niko pointed his spoon at you.
âAre you keeping him?â
The kitchen stopped.
Valko made a tiny sound into his bowl.
Milena closed her eyes as if praying for patience and finding none. âNiko.â
âWhat? Mika said maybe she is keeping him.â
His gaze dropped to the table, to the bread by his hand, to the small old cuts in the wood. The blush still clung to him, but it had changed into something quieter now. Hope, perhaps. Or terror wearing hopeâs coat.
You could have laughed. Everyone would have let you. It would have been easy to throw the question back into the room like a toy and watch them tear it apart.
Instead, beneath the table, you found Valkoâs hand.
His fingers closed around yours at once.
âIâd like to,â you said.
The house held itself still for half a breath.
Then Baba Vesna nodded, once, as if some old contract had been signed in soup and honey.
âGood,â she said. âHe is difficult, but warm.â
Valko bowed his head.
His shoulders shook.
At first you thought he was upset. Then you realised he was laughing, quietly, helplessly, with one hand over his mouth and the other holding yours under the table like he meant to keep it there until winter.
Mika groaned. âAh, look at him. Finished. Completely finished.â
Milena reached for the pickles. âGood. He needed finishing.â
Teta Marika smiled into her tea. âEat more, zlato. You will need strength.â
âFor Valko?â you asked.
âFor all of us.â
Dinner became less a meal than a storm with chairs.
Bowls moved, hands reached, stories climbed over one another and died unfinished because someone remembered a better accusation. Luka asked you practical questions in a calm voice: where you liked to walk, whether Valko had shown you the old river path, whether he still pretended not to like sweet things. Mika tried to read your palm and declared that you were fated to own a troublesome dog.
âThat's just Valko,â Milena said.
âI am not a dog.â
âTrue,â Luka said. âDogs listen.â
Valko began quietly placing the best pieces of food on your plate.
A soft carrot, the inside of the bread, a dumpling he pretended to move away from himself and somehow abandoned beside your spoon. He was not subtle. He had never been subtle. He was a wolf trying to hide a whole deer behind a napkin.
You noticed on the fourth offering.
His family noticed on the first.
Baba Vesna said nothing until Valko tried to give you the last honey cake. Then she leaned back in her chair and looked at him over her tea.
âAh,â she said.
Valko froze.
It was one syllable. It landed like a bell.
âWhat?â he said.
âNo, no.â She waved him off. âContinue. Starve for romance. Very noble.â
Mika threw his head back.
You picked up the honey cake before Valko could die at the table and broke it in two, placing half on his plate. âThere,â you said. âNo starving.â
He looked at the cake.
Then he looked at you.
His expression opened in a way that made the room, somehow, feel too small for your heart. It opened with that unguarded, bewildered softness he sometimes gave you when kindness arrived before he had prepared himself to receive it.
Milena saw it.
Her teasing quieted.
For a moment, she only watched him with something old and protective in her face.
Then she stood. âCome help me with plates.â
Valko blinked. âMe?â
âHer.â Milena pointed at you.
Valko frowned. âWhy?â
âBecause I said so.â
âThat's not a reason.â
âIt has worked on you for years.â
You rose before he could protest again. Milena took two plates from the table and handed you none of them, which told you at once that this had nothing to do with helping.
She led you down a narrow hallway lined with photographs.
Behind you, Valkoâs voice rose. âDo not interrogate her.â
The hallway smelled faintly of beeswax and dried herbs. The noise of the kitchen softened behind you, still there, still golden, but now wrapped in walls. Milena stopped by a window overlooking the yard and leaned her hip against the sill.
For the first time all evening, she let the smile leave her face.
âHe likes you,â she said.
You smiled gently. âI got that impression.â
âNo.â Her eyes flicked towards the kitchen. âHe likes people easily. He likes old men who tell bad stories, stray cats that scratch him, children who throw rocks at windows because they want attention. Valko is built stupid that way.â
A laugh escaped you.
Milena folded her arms.
âHe brings things home,â she continued. âBroken things, angry things. Things he thinks no one else will be gentle with.â Her gaze moved towards the kitchen, where Valkoâs voice lifted in protest. âHe does not bring people home.â
Your throat tightened.
From the kitchen, Valko shouted, âIt wasn't soup. It was stew.â
Mika shouted back, âStew cannot make a grown man cry.â
âI was overwhelmed by flavour.â
Milena closed her eyes for one second. âBoĆŸe, give me strength.â
You laughed softly.
She looked at you again, sharper now.
âHe was nervous all week,â she said. âChanged his shirt three times. Asked me if the house smelled too much like onions. Asked Luka if his laugh was strange. Asked Baba if she could please not tell the story about the goat.â
âThe goat?â
âLater.â A faint smile touched her mouth. âMaybe never.â
You glanced back towards the kitchen.
He had asked if his laugh was strange.
Something in you ached with such tenderness that it almost felt like anger.
You looked down.
âHe didnât need to worry,â
âHe is clumsy with precious things,â she said. âBecause he thinks his hands are only good for breaking them, even when he is careful. Especially then.â
âSo be kind,â she said. âOr be cruel quickly. He will survive either, but I prefer to know which one Iâm dealing with.â
There it was.
The knife under the table. The love with its teeth intact. You didn't resent her for it, you thought, strangely, that you liked her more for it.
âIâm not here to hurt him,â
âMost people arenât, at first.â
âMilena.â
Milenaâs gaze narrowed.
âI donât know what Iâm doing with him,â you admitted.
âWith any of this,â you continued. âHe makes everything feelâŠâ You searched for the word and hated every pretty one that came. Fated. Wild. Tender. All too polished for the mess he made of your heart. âHe makes everything feel like Iâve been walking past a door my whole life, and he is the idiot who opened it with his shoulder.â
Milena stared at you.
Then she laughed once, sharp and startled.
âOh,â she said. âYouâre gone too.â
You looked down, caught.
She seemed satisfied. âGood.â
âIs that approval?â
âThat is me deciding not to be difficult.â
âYou were being difficult?â
âDuĆĄo,â she said, and now her smile had teeth in it, âI was being polite.â
When you returned to the kitchen, Valko was waiting near the doorway as if he had tried to remain seated and failed.
His eyes moved from you to Milena. âWhat did you say to her?â
Milena walked past him. âThat you were adopted.â
âIâm not.â
âEmotionally, you're a wet dog we found in the rain.â
He watched her go, wounded on principle, then turned to you with genuine concern. âWhat did she actually say?â
You reached up and brushed flour from his sleeve. âThat youâre warm.â
âThat was Baba.â
âFamily consensus.â
His mouth twitched. âYou are enjoying this.â
âI am.â
âYou were supposed to be intimidated.â
âBy Mika?â
âBy the bloodline. The history. The general atmosphere of teeth.â
âMika told me my palm says Iâll own a dog.â
Valko sighed.
You reached up and plucked the dish towel from his shoulder. âYou have flour on your sleeve.â
He looked down, surprised, as if his own body had been making decisions without him. Then he looked back at you, and the kitchen noise faded once more, though this time it was only the two of you making the world small.
âAre you all right?â he asked.
The question was casual enough for anyone else to miss the tremor underneath. You heard it. The naked, waiting part. You thought of his hand shaking outside the door. Baba Vesna taking your face between her palms, of bread steaming in your fingers, of honey cake divided in two, of Milena saying he doesn't bring people home.
âIâm all right,â you said. âAre you?â
Valko smiled too quickly. âIâm alive.â
âThat wasnât the question.â
His smile softened.
For once, he did not joke immediately. It cost him something. You could see it in the way his fingers flexed at his side, reaching for mischief and finding courage instead.
âI wanted them to like you,â he said. âI wanted you to like them.â
âI doâ
âI wantedâŠâ He stopped, then laughed under his breath. âI donât know. Something stupid.â
He looked towards the kitchen, where his family had resumed their noise without mercy. Mika was accusing Luka of stealing the larger piece of cake. Baba Vesna had taken down a tin from the highest shelf, probably containing either biscuits or secrets.
âValko, stop hiding her. I have photographs.â
Horror returned to his face with magnificent speed.
âNo.â
âYes,â
âNo photographs.â
âNaked baby photos,â Mika added.
Valko went pale. âYou do not have those.â
Teta Marikaâs voice drifted after him, serene and deadly. âWe have everything.â
He grabbed your hand. âWeâre leaving.â
You let him pull you three steps before Baba Vesna appeared in the doorway holding a small album to her chest.
âSit,â she said.
Valko sat.
It was remarkable how quickly a wolf could become a grandson.
For the next hour, they showed you the evidence of his life.
Valko missing two front teeth and glaring at the camera as though betrayed by dentistry. Valko asleep under the table with one hand buried in a dogâs fur. Valko at thirteen, all elbows and outrage, holding a fish half his size while crying because he had to put it back.
There was Valko covered in mud, Valko wearing a paper crown, Valko with Milenaâs arm hooked around his neck while he pretended to hate her and leaned into her anyway. Valko standing beside Baba Vesna in the garden, holding a basket of tomatoes like he had been entrusted with the fate of nations.
Each photograph was another small door.
You had known him in pieces: the grin, the hunger, the awkward tenderness, the jokes he threw like branches over deep water. Here was the rest of him. Here was the child who had survived becoming himself because these hands had fed him, scolded him, dragged him upright, and remembered his softness when he tried to outgrow it.
At some point, while everyone argued over whether the goat incident happened before or after the soup incident, Valko bent close to you.
âYou donât have to keep looking,â he murmured.
You turned a page.
A tiny Valko stared up from the album, holding a wooden spoon like a sword.
âYes,â you said. âI do.â
He stared at you.
Then, very briefly, he rested his forehead against your shoulder.
It lasted only a second. A shy, exhausted surrender. No one commented on it, though you knew every person in the room saw. That seemed to be another house rule. They would mock the wound, yes, but they protected the pulse.
Later, when the cups were cleared and the album returned to its shelf of holy embarrassments, you stepped outside for air.
The yard was cold, dark and soft around the edges. Herbs grew beneath the window, yhe old trees leaned towards the house as if listening. Behind you, the kitchen glowed gold, laughter pressing against the glass.
Valko followed after a moment, closing the door carefully behind him.
âIâm sorry,â he said.
You looked at him. âFor what?â'
âThe interrogation. The photographs. Mika. The marriage question. The soup litigation.â He rubbed the back of his neck. âMilena.â
âI like Milena.â
âThat means she behaved.â
âShe said she was being polite.â
He winced. âThen she liked you.â
You leaned back against the porch railing, and he stood in front of you with his hands in his pockets, rocking once on his heels like he wanted to come closer and had forgotten the law of his own body.
Through the window, you could see Baba Vesna pretending to wipe the table while watching you both with shameless interest. You lifted a hand and waved.
She waved back.
Valko turned, saw her, and groaned. âFor the love of...Baba.â
âShe loves you.â
âThat's her usual excuse for crimes.â
âItâs a good one.â
He looked back at you, and the teasing left him slowly, piece by piece. Out here, with the house at his back, he seemed caught between the wild thing and the loved thing. The wolf and the boy in the paper crown. The man who had brought you to the threshold with shaking hands and still tried to joke like fear could be made harmless if he gave it a funny name.
âDid you mean it?â he asked.
âWhich part?â
âWhen Niko asked if you were keeping me.â
The question came lightly, too lightly. A feather laid over a blade.
You reached for him.
This time, Valko did not hesitate. He came into your space at once, as if pulled by a string tied somewhere behind his ribs. His hands settled at your waist, careful at first, then warmer when you didn't move away.
âI meant it,â
His eyes searched yours.
âFor tonight?â
âFor longer than that.â
He didn't kiss you immediately. Somehow, that made it worse. He stood there and let the answer enter him, slowly, like someone opening the door to a room he had been told was empty and finding it lit.
Inside, Mika yelled, âAre they kissing?â
Valko dropped his forehead to your shoulder.
âLeave them. He is finally being normal.â
You laughed.
He looked at you then, and the last of his embarrassment broke open into something bright, something almost boyish
âWelcome home,â he said, very softly.
You touched his cheek.
Behind him, the old house breathed and creaked and held its golden noise. Inside, his family waited with tea, teeth, stories, and a place at the table already made yours.
pairing: bf!Valko x gn!reader
synopsis: you wake up from a nightmare where valko disappeared, leaving you alone. thankfully, he's lying by your side when you wake up...
cw: fluff, hurt/comfort ig, petnames, established relationship
wc: 1.5k
a/n: yes this is my way of coping
Valko masterlist (wip!)
Valko was gone.
He had disappeared, seemingly without a trace.
You woke up to an unusually empty and cold bed. So you got up, searching the bathroom instead, calling out to him by the nickname you knew he secretly loved despite acting against it. But he was nowhere to be seen.
You tried calling him or sending him a text, but you couldnât find his contact in your phone anymore.Â
So you tried social media, but you couldn't even find his account. Even after looking his username up.
The pit in your stomach only grew deeper and heavier as you rushed out of your bathroom, making your way to your entrance, throwing on the first pair of shoes you could find, grabbing your keys, and leaving. You noted the fact that his boots werenât at your entrance anymore.
Arriving at his place, you walked up the luxurious modern driveway and pulled out the spare set of keys to his place heâd made for you. But the door didnât open, or budge. The key didnât even fit into the lock.Â
But in your panicked state of denial, you continue forcing the key into the hole, until the door opens from the other side.
You look up, expecting to be met with your 6â2 hunk of a boyfriend. Maybe in loungewear, with his glasses resting low on his nose, a book in hand.Â
Instead, an older woman looked at you with fear, disgust, and confusion all at once.
âCan I help you?â she asks condescendingly.
You stutter, still shocked.Â
âIf youâre just going to stand there, then get off my property. I wonât hesitate to call the police.â she huffs.
Her property? What the hell was she talking about?Â
âGo on then.â she shoos you away, closing the heavy wooden door right in your face.
You remain standing there, baffled, before slowly turning around and looking at the cars in the driveway. Three sleek Mercedesâ. And Valkoâs jeep was nowhere in sight.
Your hands start trembling as you slowly make your way back to your own car. Shutting the door behind you once you sit in the driverâs seat, you pull out your phone again.
You decide to call his aunt. Surely sheâd know where he was.Â
You sigh in relief once she picks up, and immediately ask her about Valkoâs whereabouts, without even bothering to greet her properly.
Sheâs quiet on the other side of the line before speaking. â... Who?â
Your mouth falls agape ever so slightly, and your eyebrows knit together in a frown. âValko. Do you know where he is? Iâve been trying to reach him all morning.â
Sheâs quiet again, but this time breaks her silence with a chuckle. âSweetheart, did you hit your head? Whoâs Valko?â
The hand holding your phone up to your ear falls in your lap, as tears start to well in your bottom eyelids.
Although youâre not on speaker, you can still faintly hear the sound of her voice.Â
âY/N? Are you still there?â she questions, before laughing again. âI swear if this is another one of your pranksââ
You hang up before she can finish her sentence.Â
You stare down at your phone, and click on your camera roll.
There are no photos of him. There are no videos of him. Your album of him is gone.Â
Valko is gone.
Lost on what to do, you break down. The tears instantly stream down your face, hot and heavy. Your heartbroken sobs echo through your car. You fold in on yourself, leaning forward until your forehead rests against the steering wheel. The cries that rip out of your throat only get louder as you close your eyes, blinking the tears away.
The next thing you know, youâre in bed again. The sheets cling to your body due to the sweat rolling down your back. Itâs humid, and sticky, and you feel as though youâre suffocating.Â
You immediately sit up and tear the covers off of you to catch your breath.Â
Thatâs when you realize⊠Valko. Where is he?
Your gaze drops down to your right.Â
There he is. Lying down with an arm propped behind his head, the other resting on his chest.
You nearly pounce on him, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders and shaking him awake.Â
âValko! Come on, wake up, pleaseââ you mutter, your voice raspy and broken as you start tearing up again.
But he doesnât budge. You pray itâs just him being his usual heavy sleeper self, and continue trying to wake him up.Â
Eventually, he starts to stir, eyelashes fluttering open.
You stop your motion and stare down at him with wide eyes, and tear streaks adorning your cheeks.
Once his vision focuses and he takes in your appearance, he immediately sits up.
âWhatâs goinâ on?â he asks, large hands already moving to cup your face.
But the second you feel his warm touch again, the dam breaks and you sob even more. Your hands move to rest against his own, as you lean into his palms. âIââ you start but choke on your words.Â
His golden eyes dart back and forth between yours. âHey, itâs okay, take your time. Use your words.â
You sniffle repeatedly, catching your breath. He continues wiping your tears away with the pads of his thumbs, remaining silent.
Once you feel more calm, you speak up. âYou were gone⊠you leftâyou left me.â
Now itâs his turn to frown, but he still says nothing.
âYou left. Like you never even existed.â your breath hitches. âI tried calling you but I couldnât find your contact on my phoneâand there was an old rude lady living at your house, and I called auntie to ask about you and she was acting like she didnât even know you.â you ramble, your words occasionally getting cut off with your sobs and voice cracks.
He lets out the breath he was holding before pulling you in. You immediately bury your face into his chest.
âIâm here, baby.â He whispered against your ear. âYou hear my heartbeat? Smell me?â he presses kisses to your head. âIâm right here. Not goinâ anywhere.â
Pressing your ear to the spot right over his heart, you listen to it beat against his ribcage, focusing on the familiar and comforting rhythm. Your crying eventually ceases, and youâre left hiccuping and letting out deep breaths.Â
His hands continue caressing up and down your back until he feels youâve really calmed down.
Youâre the first to pull away, and you wipe your tears while staring down at your lap.Â
He notices how distant you look and cups your jaw with one hand to make you look up at him.Â
âFeelinâ better?â he asks, eyes unusually soft.Â
You slowly look up to meet his eyes and shrug.
âIt was just a bad dream, âkay? Iâm not leaving you.â He leans down, nuzzling his nose against yours. âEver.â
Your eyes flutter shut as you lean up so your foreheads touch, and you breathe him in. You immediately bask in his warm, inviting scent that you swore could wake you up from a coma. â... Promise?â
âI promise.â he whispers against your skin, letting his words sink in.
You look up at him through your wet lashes. He stares down at you in silence, his eyes half-lidded, before slowly and carefully leaning down. You try to meet him halfway and lean into him as well, closing your eyes.Â
But instead of pressing his lips against your own, he swipes his tongue against the corner of your left eye, licking your tears away.Â
Your eyes snap back open and you stare at him in shock. âValko.â you reprimand, yet your voice is soft and still exhausted.
He pulls back, and looks as though heâs deep in thought. âSalty.â he finally comments, the corners of his lips tilting into a smirk.
You continue to stare at him with parted lips. â... Youâre gross.â you scoff.
But heâs quick to lean in and lick the tears from your other eye. You yelp, moving away and trying to push him off, giggling in the process.
His hands move to grab your waist, pushing you back against the mattress as he climbs on top of you.
You shield your face from him, arms coming up to hide it.
His fingers slip under your shirt to tickle your skin, making your defenses drop. He takes the opportunity to lean in again and lick an annoyingly long stripe up the side of your face, tracing the tear tracks on it.Â
Your laughter echoes through the bedroom as your legs start kicking up in all directions. âValko, enough!â
He continues for a good two minutes before finally stopping. Youâre caged between his biceps, staring up at him, while you try to catch your breath. Heâs slightly winded too, and some of his hair has fallen on his forehead.Â
â... I love you.â he mutters.
Your heart squeezes painfully, and you cup his face with both hands, caressing his jawline. âI love you too.â you respond.
He leans down, lips finally pressing against your own.Â
Reminding you that he was real, present, and that nothing would ever change that.
pairing: bf!Valko x gn!reader
synopsis: you wake up from a nightmare where valko disappeared, leaving you alone. thankfully, he's lying by your side when you wake up...
cw: fluff, hurt/comfort ig, petnames, established relationship
wc: 1.5k
a/n: yes this is my way of coping
Valko masterlist (wip!)
Valko was gone.
He had disappeared, seemingly without a trace.
You woke up to an unusually empty and cold bed. So you got up, searching the bathroom instead, calling out to him by the nickname you knew he secretly loved despite acting against it. But he was nowhere to be seen.
You tried calling him or sending him a text, but you couldnât find his contact in your phone anymore.Â
So you tried social media, but you couldn't even find his account. Even after looking his username up.
The pit in your stomach only grew deeper and heavier as you rushed out of your bathroom, making your way to your entrance, throwing on the first pair of shoes you could find, grabbing your keys, and leaving. You noted the fact that his boots werenât at your entrance anymore.
Arriving at his place, you walked up the luxurious modern driveway and pulled out the spare set of keys to his place heâd made for you. But the door didnât open, or budge. The key didnât even fit into the lock.Â
But in your panicked state of denial, you continue forcing the key into the hole, until the door opens from the other side.
You look up, expecting to be met with your 6â2 hunk of a boyfriend. Maybe in loungewear, with his glasses resting low on his nose, a book in hand.Â
Instead, an older woman looked at you with fear, disgust, and confusion all at once.
âCan I help you?â she asks condescendingly.
You stutter, still shocked.Â
âIf youâre just going to stand there, then get off my property. I wonât hesitate to call the police.â she huffs.
Her property? What the hell was she talking about?Â
âGo on then.â she shoos you away, closing the heavy wooden door right in your face.
You remain standing there, baffled, before slowly turning around and looking at the cars in the driveway. Three sleek Mercedesâ. And Valkoâs jeep was nowhere in sight.
Your hands start trembling as you slowly make your way back to your own car. Shutting the door behind you once you sit in the driverâs seat, you pull out your phone again.
You decide to call his aunt. Surely sheâd know where he was.Â
You sigh in relief once she picks up, and immediately ask her about Valkoâs whereabouts, without even bothering to greet her properly.
Sheâs quiet on the other side of the line before speaking. â... Who?â
Your mouth falls agape ever so slightly, and your eyebrows knit together in a frown. âValko. Do you know where he is? Iâve been trying to reach him all morning.â
Sheâs quiet again, but this time breaks her silence with a chuckle. âSweetheart, did you hit your head? Whoâs Valko?â
The hand holding your phone up to your ear falls in your lap, as tears start to well in your bottom eyelids.
Although youâre not on speaker, you can still faintly hear the sound of her voice.Â
âY/N? Are you still there?â she questions, before laughing again. âI swear if this is another one of your pranksââ
You hang up before she can finish her sentence.Â
You stare down at your phone, and click on your camera roll.
There are no photos of him. There are no videos of him. Your album of him is gone.Â
Valko is gone.
Lost on what to do, you break down. The tears instantly stream down your face, hot and heavy. Your heartbroken sobs echo through your car. You fold in on yourself, leaning forward until your forehead rests against the steering wheel. The cries that rip out of your throat only get louder as you close your eyes, blinking the tears away.
The next thing you know, youâre in bed again. The sheets cling to your body due to the sweat rolling down your back. Itâs humid, and sticky, and you feel as though youâre suffocating.Â
You immediately sit up and tear the covers off of you to catch your breath.Â
Thatâs when you realize⊠Valko. Where is he?
Your gaze drops down to your right.Â
There he is. Lying down with an arm propped behind his head, the other resting on his chest.
You nearly pounce on him, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders and shaking him awake.Â
âValko! Come on, wake up, pleaseââ you mutter, your voice raspy and broken as you start tearing up again.
But he doesnât budge. You pray itâs just him being his usual heavy sleeper self, and continue trying to wake him up.Â
Eventually, he starts to stir, eyelashes fluttering open.
You stop your motion and stare down at him with wide eyes, and tear streaks adorning your cheeks.
Once his vision focuses and he takes in your appearance, he immediately sits up.
âWhatâs goinâ on?â he asks, large hands already moving to cup your face.
But the second you feel his warm touch again, the dam breaks and you sob even more. Your hands move to rest against his own, as you lean into his palms. âIââ you start but choke on your words.Â
His golden eyes dart back and forth between yours. âHey, itâs okay, take your time. Use your words.â
You sniffle repeatedly, catching your breath. He continues wiping your tears away with the pads of his thumbs, remaining silent.
Once you feel more calm, you speak up. âYou were gone⊠you leftâyou left me.â
Now itâs his turn to frown, but he still says nothing.
âYou left. Like you never even existed.â your breath hitches. âI tried calling you but I couldnât find your contact on my phoneâand there was an old rude lady living at your house, and I called auntie to ask about you and she was acting like she didnât even know you.â you ramble, your words occasionally getting cut off with your sobs and voice cracks.
He lets out the breath he was holding before pulling you in. You immediately bury your face into his chest.
âIâm here, baby.â He whispered against your ear. âYou hear my heartbeat? Smell me?â he presses kisses to your head. âIâm right here. Not goinâ anywhere.â
Pressing your ear to the spot right over his heart, you listen to it beat against his ribcage, focusing on the familiar and comforting rhythm. Your crying eventually ceases, and youâre left hiccuping and letting out deep breaths.Â
His hands continue caressing up and down your back until he feels youâve really calmed down.
Youâre the first to pull away, and you wipe your tears while staring down at your lap.Â
He notices how distant you look and cups your jaw with one hand to make you look up at him.Â
âFeelinâ better?â he asks, eyes unusually soft.Â
You slowly look up to meet his eyes and shrug.
âIt was just a bad dream, âkay? Iâm not leaving you.â He leans down, nuzzling his nose against yours. âEver.â
Your eyes flutter shut as you lean up so your foreheads touch, and you breathe him in. You immediately bask in his warm, inviting scent that you swore could wake you up from a coma. â... Promise?â
âI promise.â he whispers against your skin, letting his words sink in.
You look up at him through your wet lashes. He stares down at you in silence, his eyes half-lidded, before slowly and carefully leaning down. You try to meet him halfway and lean into him as well, closing your eyes.Â
But instead of pressing his lips against your own, he swipes his tongue against the corner of your left eye, licking your tears away.Â
Your eyes snap back open and you stare at him in shock. âValko.â you reprimand, yet your voice is soft and still exhausted.
He pulls back, and looks as though heâs deep in thought. âSalty.â he finally comments, the corners of his lips tilting into a smirk.
You continue to stare at him with parted lips. â... Youâre gross.â you scoff.
But heâs quick to lean in and lick the tears from your other eye. You yelp, moving away and trying to push him off, giggling in the process.
His hands move to grab your waist, pushing you back against the mattress as he climbs on top of you.
You shield your face from him, arms coming up to hide it.
His fingers slip under your shirt to tickle your skin, making your defenses drop. He takes the opportunity to lean in again and lick an annoyingly long stripe up the side of your face, tracing the tear tracks on it.Â
Your laughter echoes through the bedroom as your legs start kicking up in all directions. âValko, enough!â
He continues for a good two minutes before finally stopping. Youâre caged between his biceps, staring up at him, while you try to catch your breath. Heâs slightly winded too, and some of his hair has fallen on his forehead.Â
â... I love you.â he mutters.
Your heart squeezes painfully, and you cup his face with both hands, caressing his jawline. âI love you too.â you respond.
He leans down, lips finally pressing against your own.Â
Reminding you that he was real, present, and that nothing would ever change that.
Everything is feeling a little heavy, but that's alright because Valko is heavier.
ABOUT | 2500 words. fluff. pre-relationship. first kiss. UST. self indulgent. emotional hurt/comfort.
"Whatcha watching?"
Your body jerks in surprise, sending your phone tumbling to the floor as your hands come up to muffle the high-pitched yelp startled out of you.
The sound of the cat compilation video echoing through the living room undermines the fierceness of your glare when you turn to face your intruder. That teasing rumble all too close â and all too familiar â to belong to anyone else but-
"Valko," you chide, wishing you could blame the jumpscare when your stomach dips at the sight of his windblown hair and innocent expression so close to yours.
Though letting himself into your apartment like this was nothing new, had become a part of your routine for months at this point, if you're honest, there was something that had been feeling different about Valko's visits to you lately. Less vexing and more⊠comforting.
An increased awareness of him, maybe? The sound of his voice. His size. The way his laugh and personality managed to fill the room more than his bulky body. Of the way he always tripped over your living room rug or tried to sneak a rub of his scent into every pillow. Of the way he stood so close when he spoke to you, capturing you in the sweet honey of his eyes.
It was something warm that pulsed in your chest, something intimate that had started to hook your gaze to his mouth and magnetize your palms to his skin even today, when you're at your lowest.
His right ear twitches at the sound of his name as he grabs your phone from the floor, a crease of distaste scrunching his nose when he clicks on the screen to stop the noise and tsks, "Looks like my 'dogs are better than cats' speech needs some work."
"Maybe I'll be more in the mood to hear you outâ" you take your phone back and set it on the table with a huff, "âwhen my 'please use the damn front door' speech finally penetrates that thick skull of yours."
A crooked grin scrawls over his face. The pointed tips of his incisors reflecting the dim light of the small lamp you'd flicked on purely to save you from feeling like a complete gremlin while you moped this evening.
"Gonna tell you the same thing I tell Ma every time she says that." He unfurls from the crouching position he'd been in and drops his weight beside you, making your normally sizeable loveseat suddenly feel cramped. "Processing info is for the ears, not the skull."
Resting your cheek in your palm, you narrow your eyes at him with a considering hum.
"What?" Your uninvited houseguest turns to face you, eliciting a concerning creak from the loveseat as his knee comes up to rest on the cushion and his arm drapes over the back. An oversized paw just shy of brushing your shoulder. "What d'you mean, 'hm?'"
"Trespasser, jumpscaring people, terrible manners, and a smart ass to your mother?" You note each transgression by holding up a finger. "No wonder you're always prowling around Linkon alone."
"Hey, hey! Woah, woah, hold on." His hand darts forward, covering yours like it'll hide the evidence. "Noâ I meanâ sure I may be some of those things, but trust me," he puts one of your fingers down and leans forward, another sad groan coming from below the cushion as he rests his elbow on his knee. "I wouldn't be sitting here, or hanging out with you â or breathing â if I were a smart ass to my mother."
Despite yourself, you feel the corner of your lip twitch, the closest youâve come to a smile all day.
It surprises you how naturally it comes, how much lighter you feel, as you take in his easy grin, his warm palms, his artless gaze. Makes you worry that you're becoming used to this feeling, to something you might be misreading.
"Why?"
"Well, she has this really brutal way of grabbing you by the ear andâ"
"Noâ" the word dissolves on a giggle that has both his ears twitching and an expression you can't quite interpret crossing his face. "I mean, why are you sitting here? Hanging out with me?"
"Oh. I kind ofâ" He stops, a hint of pink creeping onto his cheeks as he looks down at your still-linked hands. "I mean, I sorta felt like something was⊠off. With you." You're suddenly glad for the loss of his gaze as he starts to fiddle with your fingers, pressing the pads of his fingers to the tops of your nails as if to test their sharpness. "It's like a.. tug?"
Your mind races with panic as you realize just how much your attraction to him has been tugging at you over his last few visits. "Are you saying that with thisâ this bond or whatever, you can feel my emotions?"
"Nah, it's not like that." You hope he can't see the stark relief in your gaze when his eyes meet yours again, letting go of your hand to press a palm to the center of his chest. "It's not emotions that call me, it's, well⊠you. Calling me, that is. Needing me. Or, pulling at me, more like."
Your brows arc upward. "Like a leash?"
His head shoots back dramatically, paired with a groan that sounds almost as distressed as the loveseat still suffering under his weight. "Mercy, little hellion. Let a man keep at least a little dignity." He shakes his head with a bark of self-deprecating laughter. "But yeah. You've got me leashed up good. Happy?"
His question is gentle but pointed, hopeful. His frame still leaning over you, an umbrella shielding you from the sadness and negativity that have been pelting you all day.
Your chest warms at the sight, making it all the harder to respond with a sad smile and the shake of your head as the all the reasons you're not happy come flooding back.
"Alright," he says easily, unphased and unrelenting. A considering look enters his eyes. "Just means I've gotta take more drastic measures here."
In a blur of movements you barely have time to process, he turns his back to you, kicks off his boots â an oddly polite gesture that has you reconsidering just how serious he was about that leash comment â and flops backward. The broad span of his shoulders forces your bent knees down to accommodate the weight of his head as it nestles into your thighs.
"V-Valko! What are you doing?" you stutter, heartbeat galloping as the scent of amber and pine and him wash over you. His ear twitches as he takes your awkwardly hovering hands, placing one behind the wolf ear on his right and the other behind the human ear on his left.
"There," he says with a wiggle of his shoulders, like your thighs are a pillow he's nestling into.
When he notices your hands haven't budged, he gives you an expectant look, nudging the sides of his head into your palms until your lips twitch and your fingers start to move.
"This is your drastic measure?"
He hums in response, eyelashes fluttering as your nails scrape gently over a rose-coloured mix of silky hair and plush fur.
"And this is supposed toâŠ" The question trails off but your hands continue.
He shrugs, the heat of his shoulders anchoring your thighs as one of his arms sneaks around your waist.
"I dunno, distract you? Annoy you, comfort you, take your pick." His eyes lock onto yours, sincere, earnest. "Whatever you need."
The combination of his touch and his words act like a stick of dynamite, blasting through the boulder of tension and worry that's been sitting on your chest all day.
You take a deep breath as he sighs in what you instinctually know is relief. And for the first time since he's mentioned this "bond" of yours, you think, maybe this thing goes both ways.
The thought that you might be starting to figure him out as well as he always seems to understand you brings a small smile to your face.
His lips mirror yours. "That's what I like to see," he says, voice low.
You roll your eyes and flick his ear to disguise the way your stomach flips when the praise rumbles through your thighs, flexing them to jostle him and joke, "What? Me being suffocated?"
His finger comes up to tap the end of your nose with a self-assured grin. "Stop pretending you dont like it, I saw that weighted blanket on your bed." You're not sure if it's you or the loveseat that squeaks when he tugs you into his face and nuzzles into your stomach. "Wanna tell me what's got you down?"
There's something about Valko's bluntness, about his willingness to tackle everything head-on, that catches you more off-guard than his casual and abundant displays of affection ever do. It's straightforward, without artifice. And though there's no hesitation in his request, there's somehow no pressure in it either. As if no response you give him could ever result in offense or resentment or awkwardness, making it feel like the most natural thing in the world to tell the unvarnished truth.
So you do.
"It's just⊠everything? I don't know, it's all piling up. Like, there's work, lack of sleep, friends I'm not keeping up with, not to mention the general state of the world."
You pause, finding his attentive gaze already on you when you look down to see if you're making any sense. He nods encouragingly, the ears on his head twitching in unison like an attentive audience.
"So I guess I've just been thinking about it all and it feels a little overwhelming. Right here." You press a hand to your chest. "And⊠heavy, I guess. Likeâ" You raise a pointed brow. "Like getting crushed by a giant mutt on my own sofa."
His jaw drops in dramatic affront. âYouâ did you just-â He snaps into a sitting position, your loveseat groaning in despair before he points a finger at himself, as if there could be anyone else you were talking about. âMutt?! Oh you just crossed a line, you hellion.â
Any response you mightâve had morphs into a high-pitched squeal as youâre scooped up by a muscular arm and thrown over his shoulder.
âValko! What are you doing? Put me down,â you manage through giggles and laughter as he hauls you to the bedroom with what sounds like a muttered 'Iâll show you a giant mutt.'
You land on the mattress with a breathless oomph, the stray laughs bubbling from your throat feeling foreign but welcome as Valko descends over your figure in an army crawl, finally stopping when you're nose to nose.
Your chests meet on each breath as he reaches up to brush hair from your face. His eyes seem more yellow than amber in the dim light, like marigolds, and you can't think of anything more fitting for the resilient, protective man above you.
"Hi," you breathe, grinning wide.
"Hello, gorgeous," he murmurs, darting a glance at your lips that has your heartbeat pounding against your ribs.
The shadow of his tail swishes behind him as he lowers his weight onto you, fitting his body over yours in a way that anchors and comforts you rather than stifles you.
"Better?" He mumbles into your neck, the heat of his breath awakening gooseflesh over your collarbones. "You know, now that you've made my pedigree your punching bag?"
"Yeah, actually," you realize with a giggle, fingers brushing over the soft bristles of his undercut. "I do."
You haven't laughed this much in a while. In fact, despite being pinned under the heaviest man you know, you haven't felt this light for a few weeks now, you think, which was⊠the last time he visited you. You close your eyes briefly, mourning the loss of your sanity at the realization that he was right earlier. You had needed him.
"Then listen to me real quick." Your hand slips to his jaw when he raises his head, his smile smaller, his eyes intent. "Next time you feel overwhelmed, or if it's all feeling like too much, you don't have to isolate yourself, or doomscroll, or muscle through it alone. I know I look like I'm all brains but I can help carry things. So just call me, yeah?"
You smile, agreeing with a small nod, pausing before you joke, "With the leash?"
"Okay, who's the smart ass now?" he mutters with a shake of his head, crooked grin back in place. "I meant with a phone. But the leash works too, I guess."
"What's it like?" you ask, curious for the first time since you've learned of it.
"The bond?" His eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips, a knuckle tracing your cheek. "It's like one of those less traveled paths in the woods. Barely visible to the naked eye, but once you find it and start walking on it, everything starts to feel⊠right."
"Your chest gets really warm and you have this zappy feeling in your gut." His lips tip up in a faraway smile as his eyes follow the path his knuckle makes over your ear, your neck, your collarbones. "Everything feels possible when it's there. Lighter. And when it's gone? Anything you do feels wrong. Empty."
"ButâŠ" You swallow past the heartbeat in your throat. "I thought you couldn't feel my emotions," you protest weakly.
A spark ignites in his eyes, electric enough to charge the air between you as his expression morphs into what you can only identify as a primal satisfaction. He inhales deeply, as if he's trying to memorize the scent of this moment, holding your gaze as his eyelids lower.
"I can't," he breathes, so close his nose brushes against yours when he shakes his head. "Those were all mine."
Your lips part, tongue hovering in wait between your teeth as his palm comes up under your chin, fingers settling on both sides of your jaw to draw you in. Your eyes shut as his lips descend over yours, and despite the warmth of his palm, the first brush of his tongue feel like being doused in flame. You wrap your arms around his neck on a moan, humming when he tilts your head to lick into your mouth again and again.
"Valko." The soft, fuzzy sensation of his buzzed hair grazes your knuckles and he sighs into your mouth, as if you're breathing life back into him with the sound of his name.
You take the chance to nip at his lip, holding it hostage between yours until he answers in kind. The sharpness of his teeth like bee stings on your mouth, soothed only by the sweet honey of a tongue that's licking, tasting, consuming the flushed skin between your lips and your throat.
His body sinks into yours, each of his muscles and contours taking shape around yours like heated metal, a weapon being forged for its master, its weight the heaviest thing you'll ever have to carry again.
â»â» MASTERLIST
NOTE: They can take my undomesticated wolf man from me in the game but he will live on as a terrible house guest in my delusions forever xoxo
you jolted awake, breathing raggedly. the vision of valko running ahead and his back getting smaller while you werenât able to catch up no matter how fast you were chasing him was still as clear as day, replaying like a short clip in your mind.
âvalko?â you muttered, hand frantically reaching out to pat the spot beside youâthe spot where the man had lied down the night before while holding you close, finding him still asleep and sound. you let out the quietest but somehow still biggest sigh of relief, your heartbeat adjusting to reality after coming down from the horror you were just seeing in your dream.Â
heâs here. everythingâs fine.
âhey, why are you up? nightmares?â you heard a familiar rasp as valko got up, enveloping you in a big hug from behind, his hand around your stomach as he gently pulled you in so you were leaning on his chest. shouldâve known your charade wonât get past his sharp hearing.Â
âyour heart is racing, i couldâve heard it from miles away,â he claimed softly, bringing a hand to your cheek, gently nudging your face to his way. his yellow orbs gleamed subtly in the dark as they scanned you, his eyes narrowed slightly when he saw tears at the corner of your eyes.Â
âyou see, i like when your heart does that when youâre near me. but this time? not so much.â he planted his lips to both corners of your eyes, washing the tear away. he kissed your cheeks as well, wanting to erase the trail of wetness away, but above all he just wanted to chase away the sadness youâre currently feeling.Â
âjust had a dream where you left me,â you said, voice barely above a whisper. âthat stupid wolf.â he didnât miss a beat when he said it, like heâs more angry in your place more than you had been. you let out a small laugh, valkoâs eyes softened at the sight, like he just won something so valuable.
âyouâre talking about yourself, you know,â you replied, leaning closer to the man hugging his arm closer like itâs your lifeline.Â
âi donât claim him, must be a random man pretending to be me. you know iâll never leave you. iâm not going anywhere, youâre stuck with me,â he grinned, showing his canine teeth you had grown to adore, a smile that you could see even a hundred times but still wonât be satisfied. hearing that, you would usually retort with a joke of your own, leading to a light hearted banter. yet now all you could do is stare, as he stared back at you, nuzzling closer as his hair tickled your neck; trying to draw a laugh out of you.Â
âpromise?â you asked, chuckling softly but at the same time still tearing up at the thought of your nightmare coming true once more.
valko used his thumb to brush your tears before it they could reach your cheek, his stomach churning at the sight of you being so sad. if only he could take your distress away with the power he had, but he never felt so hopeless when the only thing he could offer at the time was consolation when the only thing he wanted to do was give you everything. so instead he said.
Can I request a smau for all LIs reacting to female reader accidentally messaging him instead of her friend that she likes HIM but she's scared of rejection please?
WRONG CHAT
in which you accidentally confess to the LADS men!
Thank you anon for the idea! Hope you enjoyed it!!
Of course, we don't really know Valko that well yet, so sorry if this ends up feeling a bit OOC later on lol
As always, reblogs are appreciated if you liked it đ€
@ir-the-cat Tearing my heart out still bloody and bleeding cuz I still miss him and I'm still angry
Sixth Love and Deepspace Masterlist
Valko is a fully grown man.
You know this.
The werewolf aspects of himself are only minor aspects physically. (Physiologically is a whole 'nother story.)
You know this.
And yet, when you get a new brush from the pet store, you're immediately whistling for him like he's a dog as you eagerly settle on the bed.
And like he also didn't get the memo that he is, once again, a full grown man, he comes rushing in only a second later. "Yeah?" he asks, breathless not from running, but from excitement.
You beam as you hold up the new brush. "Grooming time!"
"Oh my god, yes," he groans. He crawls onto the bed, curling his body around your back. His tail and his ears, which popped out the second you whistled, are both easily accessible like this. His arms curl around your stomach and your leg awkwardly, but he couldn't care less as he presses his nose to your pants and breathes you in.
You giggle just watching him. He loves being pampered like some lady's purse dog. And you love pampering him. So it all works out.
You scratch behind his ears affectionately and he hums his pleasure. His head naturally leans into the touch, guiding your attention where he craves the scratches the most. When you pull away, he whines.
It's a challenge trying to grab his tail as it wags solidly back and forth. With its size, it has a lot of powerful muscle manipulating it, and smacking against you. Every time it plops against the bed, it thuds. Every time it smacks against you, it thwaps. It continues to shift slightly even as you grab hold of it.
"Stay still, wolfie," you chide playfully.
"Can't help it," he argues, clearly not even trying to work with you.
Doing your best to hold it somewhat steady, you start brushing at the end.
He nuzzles against you with the first sound of fur through bristles. The satisfying detangling sound, as you make his fur all nice and soft. He shivers against you, curling even tighter around.
You're gentle as you brush out knots that have formed. Careful not to be put in a position where you need to cut any of his fur away. (He pouted and whined last time it happened.) It's very peaceful. The relaxing, repetitive motion putting you at complete ease as you work further and further up the tail. It's so soft in your hands. You could sit here for hours just petting his pretty puppy features.
After some time, you finally finish. Feeling along the tail, you appreciate your good work. But once Valko catches on that you're done, his tail starts wagging with mor vigor.
"Okay," he says, pushing himself over the blankets so he can prop his chin up on your knee with a smile of mischievous sweetness, "now do the rest."
