Hi, I have no clue what I’m doing. Love and Deepspace got me here. Big Sylus fan. Enby-Ace, in my 20’s. Apparently now also sharing my anti art block silly drawings :)
🐦⬛ OUT OF BOUNDS — you get isekai-d into the n109 zone [series masterlist]
synopsis — the monotony of your university days is interrupted by a stroke of misfortune, one which lands you in the world of love and deepspace, the game you had been casually playing for the previous months. with no way to return home, sylus offers you the job of being his personal secretary. — a continuation of the one-shot “out of bounds”
pairing — sylus x non-mc! reader
tags — reader is not mc, isekai/transmigration, fluff, angst, mutual pining, slice of life, boss/employee relationship, slow burn
word count — 37.3k [ongoing]
a/n — turning this story into a multi-chap for sylus’s 2025 bday! to those who asked to be tagged under the one-shot, i’ve already included you in the taglist here ❤️ just lmk if you’d like to be added/removed!
ao3 | masterlist | playlist
CHAPTER ONE — DESCENT
after finding yourself in an unfortunate accident, you wake up in the world of love and deepspace. you go from burned out college student to secretary at your wit's end. wc: 4k
CHAPTER TWO — PENDULUM
spring blooms even in the barren cityscape of the n109 zone, and before you know it, you’ve carved yourself a place in sylus’s life. but like a pendulum stuck in perpetual motion, the two of you swing back and forth— growing closer and retreating with every movement. wc: 6.8k
CHAPTER THREE — COUNTDOWN
the night softens people in ways that can only be done in the haze of darkness, revealing a vulnerability too fragile for the harsh rays of the sun. you know this could be more, you know this could be everything. but the clock ticks down to what you know is inevitable. wc: 7.9k
CHAPTER FOUR — INEVITABLE
it’s hard to shine when you’re standing between the sun and the moon. wc: 18.6k
— main taglist is closed! for everyone else who asked to be tagged, i’ll try my best to @ everyone in a reblog 💕
note: if you requested to be tagged before it closed but your @ isn’t here, i’ve unfortunately removed it as your mention settings may be limited to certain people 💔
Okay I’m honestly trying really hard to resist the hopium, but…Cosplayers unarchiving Valko cosplays from 06/26 on Douyin and Rednote? Um…WHAT??? Supposedly, a couple of them are collaborators with Infold, although I don’t know how true that is. Take that with a grain of salt. All we know is that the unarchived videos are indeed from a month ago and viewable. That’s all.
If my cringe edgelord goofy himbo nerd husband comes back, I will legit drop my pants sob. I will cry. I will throw a Valko party IDGAF.
But again, this has all been so very painful that I’m trying not to have hope because anything can happen and I don’t want to get heartbroken all over again. I’m worried about the game itself. I’m worried about the main story and how the fuck that’s supposed to go if we’re missing such a huge part of it. I’m worried about everything, not just my awoo boy.
As a Sylus main, Valko's entire situation really pains me because this is exactly what Sylus went through. Unloved and hated because he was seen as a monster by the people of Philos... and this is what's happening to Valko irl with the very outspoken minority (because let's be real SO MANY people want him back don't deny it) hate him because he doesn't look the way they want him to look and made so many nasty rumours of him???
I don't like to pull this card nowadays but wow Sylus would be deeply disappointed in these people, especially if some of them are Sylus mains because what do you mean you guys are doing the exact same thing as the people who chased him out of the human village in his dragon myth???
This is why I'm a firm truther of Sylus Valko solidarity. Like Sylus would protect the hell out of Valko I stand by what I said.
If you have the habit of picking at your skin, Valko won't have it. He'll give you a couple warnings once he notices the behavior, his ear twitching whenever he hears the slight sound of you tugging at your skin.
Valko stalks over to where you're seated at your desk, taking your hand in his and prying it away from your skin. "Aht. Hey. Stop that, alright? You gotta let it heal."
If he spots it once, he'll be on the lookout, so good luck hiding anything from him. And if he catches the scent of blood, he'll be on your case immediately.
His solution? He steals one of your hands. Good luck picking your skin as a fidget with only one hand to handle your primary task! He doesn't mind intertwining your fingers with his own for hours at a time, and there's no escaping his ironclad grip.
Mindlessly, your hand finds a scab on your neck, and you start to peel it out of habit. You startle as you suddenly hear footsteps approaching your office, and a few seconds later, there he is. He approaches you like a wolf on the prowl, raising an eyebrow when you meet his gaze. "Alright, pup. I gave you enough chances. Now, it's time for consequences."
Your chest feels tight. Is he frustrated with you for not trying hard enough? "I-I wasn't thinking, Val, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I-"
"Hey." He cups your cheeks, staring deep into your eyes and making sure you're listening. "I'm not mad, okay? No apologizing. I didn't mean to spook you." He flashes you a grin, then takes one of your hands in his, waving it in the air. "I'm just taking this hostage for a while."
Eventually, he'll start idly stroking your hand, his big thumb running back and forth across the veins on the back. He'll also hold your hand in both of his, playing with your smaller fingers, or gently trail his fingernails up and down your forearm to make you shiver, holding your wrist in place with his other hand.
And if that still doesn't work, and you have the gall to start doing it again while he's right there? Well, clearly you need to learn your lesson! He wraps his arms around both of yours and cuddles up beside you, keeping you immobilized in his embrace and refusing to let go. If you won't use your hands responsibly, then you don't deserve to use them at all!
(He knows you're more likely to indulge in the habit while stressed, so he decides to extract you from the stressful situation altogether. If there's one thing he's good at, it's bringing up your mood!)
"Valko-"
Your protest is cut off as he wraps his huge arms around you and squeezes you tight, rolling over to trap you on top of his chest. You squirm, trying to free your arms, but it's as if you're trying to move a brick wall. He kisses up your neck, and you giggle, feeling his smile press against your skin.
"You're staying here until I decide you've learned your lesson. You're trapped." He nips your neck playfully, and you try to wriggle free again, just for fun.
"But-"
He turns on his side, nestling you between his chest and the back of the couch, allowing you to turn and face him. You're enveloped in his warmth, and you let yourself relax, no longer caring so much about your trapped arms as you look up at him.
His breath grazes your forehead as he speaks, his voice soft. "No buts. I said I'd help you stop, and a wolf keeps his word." He kisses once, twice, three times to your temple, and a fourth to the tip of your nose. He chuckles when you smile up at him, and guides your head into the crook of his neck.
"And this wolf is feeling preeetty tired. I think it's time for a nap."
No matter how much you kick or whine, he won't budge. With a huff, you go limp, letting yourself give in to his warmth, and your eyes slowly droop closed. You think you hear a quiet rumble of satisfaction from his chest, but when you open an eye to check, it seems he's fast asleep. Must have been your imagination.
He can be a heavy sleeper when he wants to be, so there's no chance of getting him to let you go if he decides to take a nap. I bet he snores just a little bit, too....
This came up on my feed and the whole plot for this struck me so suddenly I can only attribute it to Valko himself possessing me from beyond the grave. Going back to resurrection rituals now!!🕯️🕯️🕯️
Homeward Bound
Valko x Reader(gn!)
Summary: Valko may or may not have a soft spot for strays.
The rain pitter-patters on Valko’s umbrella, dripping from its edges and spattering down onto your combat boots.
“So,” you narrate, flicking water from the cuffs of your uniform as you walk, “there this guy was, tryna get an exclusive while the Wanderer played frisbee with half the road. Lampposts flying all over the place. Cars flung left and right. ‘Hey, can I get a statement?’ How’s this for a statement? Get the fuck out of the way!”
Valko grins, his canines peeking out from his lips. “Guy was asking for trouble. Shoulda let it find him.”
Your pace slows. “Actually, Val, he… he, um…”
Valko’s ears are lowering, like they always do when he thinks he’s misjudged something.
“Nah, I’m just messing with you. C’mon, Valko, he was fine. I’m a professional, remember?”
Relief escapes him. His ears perk back up.
“Anyway, where was I? Ah, yeah, so he was badgering me. The Wanderer had a shield up, and Xavier was off evacuating people, so Resonance was a no-go. I was firing away, and—”
It’s only when a large drop of rain hits your forehead that you realise you’ve left Valko behind. You’re suddenly escort-less. Umbrella-less. Your thumb swipes over your brow as you turn back.
“Uh… Val?”
Valko stands a little way down the pavement, his gaze cast off into an alley. An imposing figure— dark-suited, spared the glare of streetlights by the shade of his umbrella. The silence is soft, though. Late-night loneliness, tickled by rainfall. Nothing’s making your skin prickle, or your Hunter’s Watch cry out.
With a fond smile, you sidle over to him again. Lean in and enthuse: “You see something, boy?”
“Ha, ha.” His eyes roll. The dog jokes never get old. Or… wolf jokes? “It’s nothing. Just…”
You follow his gaze— pre-eyeroll, that is— to some cardboard boxes, going damp in the alley. You don’t see it at first, but then you do:
A little wolfie plush, abandoned. Upside-down in a puddle.
You look at Valko. Then the plushie. Then Valko again; he’s transfixed. It must be an existential crisis. Is he a man who stops for plushies? More pressingly— is he ready to be perceived as a man who stops for plushies? He gives you a sideways glance.
“Wanna check it out?” you coax in amusement.
He hesitates. “Sure. Whatever. Yeah.”
Taking the lead, you stray into the alley with Valko in tow— for the sake of appearances, a tagalong. He holds the umbrella over your head as you crouch by the plushie, wrinkling your nose. “Poor little thing. It’s kinda disgusting though, no?”
“I don’t think—”
“Germs galore. Yuck.”
Valko has crossed his arms, but he’s fidgeting on his feet behind you: trying so hard to be nonchalant. “Let me guess,” he huffs out, “you wanna take him home.”
“He’s a he?” You squint up at him suspiciously.
A tiny flash of panic, because yeah, that was a slip-up, wasn’t it? He clears his throat. Sneers again, like that’ll somehow save the situation. “You bleeding-heart types are into that, right? Picking up strays?”
Begrudgingly, your focus trudges back to the wolf. It’s caked with mud. One ear is torn, and an eye is missing— yellow thread hanging down, like a dangling optic nerve. It even smells. “Uh…”
“Leave it. It’s fine,” Valko sniffs, dismissive.
But the wolf has a backstory already. Something tragic and relatable, you can tell. Withholding a sigh, you pinch its good ear and lift it out of the puddle; sludge is sloughing off like a second skin. Ew. Ew, ew, ew…
Valko is watching intently, pupils wide and invested. Fuck.
…
The brush of Valko’s tail sways behind him at the kitchen sink. It’s been several rounds of washbasins, suds, and furious scrubbing, but you are making progress. He lifts Wolfie out of the bubbles. Smiles and sinks him under again. “He cleans up nice, huh? Told you he would.”
“Mm. Didn’t see the vision at first, but… he’s growing on me.”
That smile’s now a smirk. “Yeah? Don’t go getting all attached.”
You watch rubber-gloved hands wrestle with ruddy fur in the water. Poor Wolfie. “Why not?”
“Because he’s loved, idiot. He’s got somewhere to be, or someone to be with. Everyone does.”
In a world where Wanderers tear through city centres, you don’t know how Valko has managed to stay an optimist. Not everyone has a somewhere or a someone. People are left behind every day. Chance, cruelty, and circumstance. “You… really think someone’s looking for him?”
“Of course.” Valko pulls a sopping Wolfie out of the sink. “I mean, look at him. How lovable he is.”
He holds up the plush so they’re cheek-to-cheek: big, grinning wolf, and small, suffering one.
A little place aches, sharp and cynical in your chest. “Yeah, Val. He’s pretty lovable.”
Don’t think about how often ‘lovable’ winds up alone in puddles. You boop Wolfie’s nose, then tousle Valko’s hair.
…
“You think I’m crazy.”
“I think… passion takes on very different— all equally valid—forms.”
Surrounded by stacks of posters, Valko narrows his eyes at you like he can’t technically fault your answer, but he knows, deep down, you just called him crazy to his face. Behind him, the photocopier is whirring and spitting out more.
It bleeps when it runs out of paper. A desperate plea for mercy.
This is definitely a misuse of company property. Valko pushes his glasses up his nose before unloading the latest pile of posters, setting them aside with the others. As craziness goes, it’s immaculate. The stacks are in lines. Very neat, very organised.
You drop a poster on the floor so you can enjoy the way Valko bends over to get it.
“Klutz,” he murmurs cluelessly when he passes it back to you.
You’re smoothing it out so you can read it. “Guilty as charged.”
Wolfie stuns in an image at the centre of the page, haunted by descriptions of what you imagine would be his insecurities, if he were sentient: ‘Missing eye— right.’ ‘Permanent marker on the tail.’ Valko’s number is listed in bold. ‘Found: lost plushie! Call!’
“Think I printed too many?” Valko asks, an inkling of self-awareness creeping in.
“Nah, it’s perfect.” You slip up onto the table, legs swinging beneath you. Just as he starts to relax, you add: “Didn’t realise the search for Wolfie’s owner had gone international.”
He groans in exasperation, dragging a hand over his face; yeah, you think he’s crazy.
You laugh softly as you tug him over by the edge of a rolled-up sleeve. “I know why you’re doing this, Val. Why you’re really doing this.”
“… You do?”
“Mmhmm. It’s PR, right?” He’s relaxing again— at your fingertips this time. You’re straightening out his tie, and his story too, while you’re at it. “‘EonCore Chairman Spares No Expense To Reunite Plushie And Child!’ It’s a pretty good headline.”
Valko lets himself smile, chest ever-so-slightly puffed. It is a good headline. He shrugs. “That’s right.”
Wolfie is perched nearby on a filing cabinet, and between all the stacks of posters are a few copies of something Valko doesn’t know you’ve noticed, yet:
Four stubby wolf feet, scanned in a photocopier, just for fun.
…
It’s been three weeks since the posters went up across the city, but you’re glad no-one’s called. Valko is curled up on your couch, face squished uncomfortably against the armrest, and his ears twitch as he dreams. Wolfie’s bundled up under his chin, a bandage wrapped around his head in place of his missing eye.
“Did you take that from my first-aid kit?” you’d asked on the night of the rescue.
Valko had held the plushie defensively close and said, unconvincingly: “… No.”
You guess your silly optimist of a werewolf was right in the end— Wolfie did have a somewhere and someone to get to. It looks like it was worth the wait.
A phone rings on the coffee table— Valko’s— and you snatch it up before it can wake him. An unknown number? The audacity. You answer:
“Hello?”
“Hi!” The voice on the other end is ecstatic. “I’m calling on behalf of my daughter! We saw your poster. That’s Mr Biscuit! We’ve been looking all over… we can’t believe you found—”
You hang up the phone in a panic. Block the number. Erase the call history. For a Deepspace Hunter, crime and its clean-up come surprisingly easy to you; you must’ve spent too much time with Sylus. Furtively glancing over at Valko, you do feel like a crime boss, sparing the innocence of a trophy wife.
Wolfie is watching from the crook of Valko’s arm: one half-moon eye silently passing judgement. You narrow yours at him, then put your finger goes to your lips. Draw a threatening line across your throat. This stays between the two of us. Valko doesn’t find out, okay?
For the first time since he was a rowdy pup learning how to shift, Valko is unsure of his wolf.
ABOUT | 2300 words. wolf!valko x fem!reader. suggestive. pre-relationship. first meetings. humour. fluff. slight crack/crack adjacent.
Ferns and conifers swallow his silhouette as Valko's wolf lopes through the forest, the underbrush embracing them in its shelter as they move.
The sounds are easier to distinguish here and his ears flicker to identify them. The sliding doors of two vans, boots crunching over fallen leaves, the metallic clatter of weapons being loaded and equipped, the low hum of a dozen voices.
Hundreds of scents swirl through the clearing ahead, a complex brew that his wolf sifts through instinctively, notes of loam, protocores, pine sap, gunpowder, and animal hunting trails picked up and discarded until the distinct aroma of his quarry is uncovered.
He halts behind a yew sapling, ears perking up when he catches it. Hind leg scraping into the forest floor, as if readying himself to lunge. Internally, Valko snaps in warning; you know better.
His wolf obeys but pushes a sigh through his nose, sick of the way Valko's been getting between him and his target every time he takes their body.
They lie in wait as the group of humans congregate and idle, his wolf's sensitive ears painting the scene on their eyes' behalf. Conversation quieting, the metallic rattle of a chain-link gate, rusty hinges protesting as it clangs open and shut, their collective disturbance slowly swallowed into the seclusion of the No Hunt Zone until it's silent.
His wolf holds their body still for a heartbeat, two. His eyes narrow into a sniper-like scope when his target appears next to the van, figure outlined by moonlight.
Without any obstructions, the scent swells, strengthens. Growing teeth that sink deep into his coat, standing the fur on his body straight up until his hackles raise and his muscles tighten.
Piercing yellow eyes never veer from the lone figure as Valko's wolf skulks toward them. He pads soundlessly across the forest floor until his body is flush with the van. The human, none the wiser, now merely feet away, fixated on the device on their wrist.
This close, the scent's become overwhelming. It thrums through the air like a magnetic field, tuning everything out except for bone-deep, primal chant of mine, mine, mine that even Valko isn't immune to anymore.
His wolf takes one step closer, another, then another, and all-too-late Valko realizes that maybe this isn't the best way to–
"Stop."
The command bombards him with a swarm of realizations, ricocheting between man and wolf like agitated molecules in a heated chamber: how did you know that they'd been– scent; you were totally spying, sneaky little hellion– mine; buddy, there's a gun pointed at our– mate, mate, mate.
That last word is expressed aloud through a deep growl of frustration. Frustration over the distance between you, over Valko holding him back, and over everything else that's standing in front of this wolf and his newly found mate – including the gun in your hands.
You startle at the sound, but your arm never wavers. "Don't. Move."
That's it, sweetheart, Valko thinks. Don't let this big lug push you around.
But for the first time since he was a rowdy pup learning how to shift, Valko is unsure of his wolf.
Not that he'd hurt you, never that, no wolf would ever hurt their mate. But you're a human and he's still a wolf. An onyx-coloured beast with mahogany markings, as large as the vehicle parked next to him. Who's being kept away from his mate. Who might not be mindful of your boundaries, or his strength, when it comes to having you to himself.
Before Valko can react, find a way to forcibly take back their body, his wolf sits, tilts his head – and whines. A 200-pound apex predator who cowers to no one, feared by humans and creatures alike, whining.
Nothing about your stance changes, but a curious, considering light slightly softens your gaze as you continue to stare at Valko's wolf. He stares back and slowly rises. Places a paw forward. Another when you don't react, as if he's trying to act casual.
Your brow furrows and your head tilts to your right, a hesitant glimmer of recognition flitting over your face. His wolf halts, snout just a handful of inches away from you, calm and attentive on the outside. On the inside, he's impatient as hell. Visions of him rubbing his nose into your skin and leaving his scent all over you project as a constant loop in Valko's mind and all he can think is: please don't embarrass us.
Completely ignoring him, his wolf sends a low rumble through his chest, a sound used to soothe newborn pups. And though the fear doesn't smell as acrid and acute as it did just a few moments ago, neither Valko nor his wolf like that it's still present.
Cautious about closing anymore distance, he lowers himself to his haunches until he's below your eye level, noting the size of your pupils as you take his features in, the loosening grip on your gun, the dawning realization.
"Valko?" You ask, incredulous, accusing. And yeah, maybe a little more annoyed than he'd been hoping for. "Oh god, tell me you didn't–"
At the sound of their name, Valko's wolf lunges forward without warning, headbutting the gun out of your hand and burying his nose in it, snuffling and licking and nuzzling.
You yelp and your fear skyrockets just as fast as it retreats, smothered by a relieved, hysterical laugh that has his wolf smug for all of five seconds before you snatch your hand away.
"I can't believe you– When I said 'you' shouldn't have anything to do with this mission, I meant every version of you." The biting tone does nothing to wipe the charmed smile from your face as you wipe your hand on the back of your jeans. "Ugh gross, your nose is all wet."
He takes that as an invitation, pressing forward again, nudging into your hip, chasing the hand you're keeping from him behind your back.
Valko would like to roll his eyes at his wolf, at this lovestruck, downright pathetic behaviour he'd quite frankly never seen him display – at least, not since he was a yearling still being carted around by his mother. But with one small whiff of your delicious, intoxicating scent, he instantly gets it.
"I told you I'd find a way to bring whatever we find to your research facility," you say, voice clipped and low. "Do you not trust me?"
His wolf butts his snout into your stomach when you cast a quick glance at the gate behind you, affronted at your divided attention. Finally, you peer into Valko's eyes and sigh. "Can you even understand me?"
Hunter and wolf stare at each other for a moment, the rapid whoosh of a tail the only sound in the clearing. When too much time passes he whines again, to Valko's chagrin. Like a damn puppy.
"I'll take that as a no." you giggle.
You tentatively offer him your palm and he finally dives in, rubbing and licking as he circles you. Covering you in his scent. Covering himself in yours. Valko and his wolf love your taste, like flaky salt and pine sap. Like warm sunrises and crisp leaves. Like sweet and warm and home.
Valko raises a brow as his wolf chuffs and noses and yips like the attention-whore he is.
"Shh, you have to be quiet," you command, finally giving in and scraping your nails across the fur behind his ear.
His body melts beneath your touch until he's a puddle of fur at your feet, belly flashing, tongue lolling.
Dude, Valko projects in mortification, where's your dignity?
Unfortunately for them both, that's the last thing on his wolf's mind when your nails move to scrape beneath his chin.
Mate. He thinks back, in a tone equivalent to "duh."
Valko's wolf growls playfully when you glance at gate behind you again, mouthing at the rubber sole of your boots, wanting all your attention. An indulgent grin curls your lips, and you lower to a crouch to reach him better.
"You certainly act like him," you note with a murmur. His wolf shuffles forward with his hind legs, draping himself across your lap in a way that has you chuckling. "Exactly like him, actually."
"Big puppy eyes. All up in my business. Hyperactive as hell." He paws at your stomach a few times and you snort as you grab it and move it away. Valko's wolf chuffs in indignation, sticking his whole snout under your arm in a wordless demand. "Bossy."
You sigh, sinking your fingers into his pelt, scratching a spot along his flank that sends his tail thudding happily into the ground. "As if dealing with one of you wasn't enough."
Your hand travels lower, the softness of your breasts pressing into him when you reach deeper into his undercoat. His wolf's muzzle noses into the crotch of your jeans, resting at the apex of your thighs so he can breathe in your pussy, where your scent is the strongest.
"You're so big," you murmur, staring down at the way his head covers both of your thighs, the way they strain to hold up his weight. Your other hand nestles into the space between his ears. "And soft."
Valko and his wolf both snort. There's nothing soft about him right now. As it is, his wolf can barely contain himself from rutting into your thigh. And if he had their body, his cock would probably be leaking from how painfully hard he'd be.
Still, Valko warns him: behave.
And yet underneath the instinctual urge to breed his mate, even Valko can see there's an unfamiliar sensation of levity, of joy that his wolf is feeling. Valko's never really gotten this from him before. Aggression, irritation, sure. But, never this carefree sort of happiness.
"Look at these mitts of yours," you tease, pressing the softness of your palm to the rough pads of his paw with a wide smile.
And maybe Valko would too if he was an outsider looking in. Stumbling upon a massive beast on its back, snuggling a human a fraction of its size on the outskirts of one of the most dangerous areas of Linkon would be a sight.
Usually when Valko's wolf has their body, his mind isn't really present. He processes and documents everything that happens, but it's like his consciousness is disconnected. In the passenger seat, along for the ride.
He's anything but disconnected right now. And he's completely in awe of how differently his wolf is behaving. Wanting your attention, but not pushing. Horny, but deferring the urge.
Is this what meeting your mate does to you?
His wolf huffs in an absentminded reply as he plasters himself to your lower abdomen, your womb – my mate will grow our young – and Valko would be damned if that response wasn't as condescending as hell.
"Hey, what're you doing?" He's moving around now, getting more playful, and probably not watching his strength as much as he should as he rests his paws on your chest to lap at your cheek, judging by the way your arm darts behind you to brace your weight. His tongue darts out again, over your lips this time.
Valko freezes when you squeal and thump the side of his muzzle. "Stop."
But Valko's wolf doesnt even snarl. Instead, he settles back onto his paws, resting his head between them, glancing up with a remorseful whine in his throat.
When you roll your eyes and reach back out to pet him, he lurches forward and laps at your cheek again, making you giggle softly. "You're like a giant puppy."
A rustle stirs one of the bushes nearby, snapping both your heads toward the sound.
His ears flick once before he turns back to you, smelling nothing more than a squirrel darting around. But your attention stays fixed on the shadows, moving from the forest to the chain-link fence.
"It's probably not much longer 'til my team comes back," you murmur. You turn to face Valko and smooth your hands over his sides once more. "You have to get out of here, big guy."
He gusts out another whine deep in his throat, this one smaller, more pitiful. The bastard's begging.
"Go on," you urge in a low voice when he doesn't move, waving your arm toward the forest. "You can't be here when they come back."
He tries another tactic. Lowers his head to catch the leather of your belt in his teeth, gives his head a little shake in defiance.
You thump your hand over his snout with a stern, "No."
His ears flatten, and he answers with an indignant huff.
If Valko could pinch the bridge of his nose he would. C'mon man, pull yourself together.
"Sit." His wolf hesitates for only a moment before lowering his behind to the ground.
Unfortunately, even when he's sitting, his head remains above your eye-level, leaving you to rise to your toes in order to place your palms on either side of his snout.
"It was nice to meet you, big guy," you murmur. "Tell Valko I'll come and find him after this, okay?"
His ears flick at the sound of his name, but the only answer he gives you is a low, mournful whine.
"And..." Your fingers curl gently into his fur. "Deliver this for me."
You tug his snout down just enough to meet him halfway, pressing your lips to the soft velvet of the peach fuzz between his eyes and nose.
Valko and his wolf still, their heartbeats escalating as one in response to open affection from their mate.
Then, as if deciding he needs the final word, his wolf takes one last lick beneath your chin. Smug when the soft sound of your laughter becomes the last thing he hears as he finally, reluctantly, trots away.
Valko is more grateful than he wants to admit that his wolf finally listens. He's going to need every second he can get before he sees you again. To regain his control before he meets you back at the facility. To pretend his harebrained scheme to have his wolf meet his mate, feel your touch, hear your laughter, and taste your skin, hasn't completely unraveled him.
Because if your scent had been intoxicating, the taste of you is downright dangerous.
➻➻ MASTERLIST
NOTE: Just an excuse to write about Valko in his wolf form and use one direction lyrics as a fic name xoxo
problematic summer romance with your best friend’s younger cousin valko, who you’ve last seen when he was nineteen and just starting off his tech degree.
you stayed at their family home for a summer, during which valko hit on you relentlessly, convinced that you are his fated mate. back then, you brushed him off, four years older than him, and not at all interested in some dude who was still in college, cute as he may be.
seven years later, your bestie is getting married at one of those over-the-top destination weddings, and valko is picking you up from the airport, broader than you’ve ever seen him, giving you a sharp-toothed smile as he loads your stuff in his car.
valko opens the door for you and you know you’re fucked when he leans down, his voice warm and low in your ear.
“you’re just as pretty as i remember. i love your hair. looks even nicer in person than in your selfies.”
his body is radiating heat and you feel the eager swish of his fluffy tail brush against the back of your leg.
you feel your cheeks flush, despite your best efforts, biting down hard on the inside of your cheeks. valko’s watching you closely, his amber irises almost entirely by swallowed by dilated pupils.
you swat him away, attempting to wrap your head around how much he’s changed. you know he’s done well for himself. he’s ceo of some tech company now. the last time you’d seen him, he’d tried to impress you with obscure facts about nature. it had been easy to brush him off then.
now, you find yourself struggling to keep your composure as he sits down in the driver’s seat, and you pointedly scowl at the gorgeous landscape flying by your window to avoid staring at him.
Inspired by this post by @mwphisto Behold the sillies
Sixth Love and Deepspace Masterlist
It was thrown out there one night. As you were both cuddled in bed, winding down, he was laying sprawled overtop you with his head on your chest. You'd taken to running your fingers through his hair, gently scratching at his scalp. Under the blankets, you could see the disturbance of his tail wagging.
"I wanna dye my hair," you'd said. A simple declaration, not outside of your usual claims. You'd really been wanting to dye it for a while - it's been too long at its natural color and you desperately need a change.
Valko had hummed with interest. "What color?" he'd asked, trying to picture you in all arrays of the rainbows.
You watched the way his wine red hair sifted through your fingers. Caught in the barest light, shimmering like a swath of satin fabric. You twirled a small strand. Then scratched along his undercut up into the bulk of his hair, eliciting a pleased groan from him. "I dunno."
That was a damn lie. Because at last, after a week of searching for the perfect dye, you finally have your brand new hair.
You went to a well-renowned salon, used his money to pay for a cut and color, and sneakily hid your hair under a beanie as soon as you got back home. You were vibrating all day long. Bouncing with excitement for his reaction. Spending way longer in the bathroom just to look at it again in the mirror and appreciate how perfect it was.
When the door opens, you all but leapt from the couch to greet him, too excited to even pretend to act casual.
He beams seeing you so eager to greet him, visibly perking up to catch you in a hug. "Woah, didja miss me or something?"
"Or something," you tease, squeezing him in your hug.
"What's with the hat?" he asks, curious and confused, tugging the brim over your eyes. "Fashion statement?"
You scoff. You pull away and slide the hat back into place. "It's a surprise."
His eyes light up, flicking over the knit weave of the beanie. "Can I see?"
"Mhm!" Smiling coyly, you clasp your hands behind your back and tilt your head forward, giving him permission to remove it.
He's careful not to grab your hair as he lifts the edge and pulls it off. And oh my god is his reaction priceless.
The hat falls to the floor. His mouth opens in awe. Hands cradle your jaw, tilting you this way and that to see every angle. His ears and tail appear in his excitement, the latter knocking repeatedly into the coat rack and door, though he hasn't noticed yet.
Because right in front of him is his mate with their hair dyed to match his.
He's speechless. He's got hearts in his eyes. He has to remember how to breathe again as he gasps softly and crowds in closer.
"Do you like it?" you ask, but you already know the answer.
Suddenly coming back to himself, his head ducks, and his teeth nibble at your cheek with an overwhelming sense of cuteness aggression. "You look perfect, babydoll!" He peppers in some kisses, rising to your temple and getting caught up in the color of your hair again. "Oh my god, look at you!! Can I touch it?"
You barely nod before his hands rise to feel it. That makes him even giddier; seeing the color is one thing but touching it, moving it around, knowing it's fully attached and not just an illusion - he's attacking you with kisses again. "Agh, I love you, I love you, I love you! You're so pretty!!!"
You're a mess of giggles and laughs as kisses get planted all over your face, squishing your cheeks and tickling you. He suddenly leans down, wraps his arms around your knees, and hauls you over his shoulder. You scream, scratching at his back to try holding on. "What are you doing?!"
"I gotta appreciate this fully!" he answers. He moves with swift determination to the couch, manhandling you to sit on his lap as he drops onto the cushions. Immediately, he buries his face in your hair, breathing in all the salon smells and rubbing his face in the strands to try covering them up. "God, I love you so much."
You tangle your fingers in his hair, scratching at his beautiful hair. You manage to disturb his intense adoration just long enough to kiss his forehead. "I love you, too, Wolfie."
