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[peter-pumpkin-eater]

Hey gaymers.

This blog is here for me to reblog fics I enjoy separate from my main blog. I'll also be posting my own fics. Please forgive me, for I only started writing again after over 15 years of not doing it.

[humanjarvis]

S.O.S.

“so, you got any plans this weekend?” your coworker baits you with mischief in his eyes. bound by the shackles of office etiquette, you force yourself to fall for it. 

“nothing much, unless sleeping and restarting the same show for the tenth time count.” you hardly look up from your 25 open tabs. 

he forces a laugh, and you hold in a sigh. “well, as exciting as that sounds, how ‘bout i raise you something better? i’ve got two tickets to that metal show on saturday, and i was hoping we could—”

heavy footsteps and an eerie hush.

your only warning of what’s to come.

the blonde to your right has seemingly forgotten your existence. right now, he’s focused on much bigger things. “h-hey, chairman ao!” he stutters. “how are you today?” 

bristling, you turn around slowly. there’s no way this is happening again. 

narrowed amber eyes. a flat, indifferent facade that you see right through. 

it’s happening again. 

staring right at you, valko taps the wall of your cubicle, checking his watch in feigned urgency. “i need to see you in my office. bring the fiscal reports we were looking at last time.”

muscle memory works your lips into a courteous smile. “yes, sir.” 

he nods and retreats to his office—the kind of lair only a chairman could have—as you grab your pre-prepared stack of papers and smooth down your pencil skirt. before you follow your boss, you call over your shoulder to your stricken colleague: “hold that thought, david. Sorry!”

──────

the biggest room at eoncore tech is no less ostentatious than the first time. 

valko sits on his sleek wooden desk, wearing a troubled yet expectant look. as soon as the door closes, you fold your arms in front of him. 

“don’t look at me like that,” he grumbles.

“like what?” you ask dryly. as you toss your stack of papers onto his desk, they scatter to reveal the contents: some spare handouts from six months ago, a few sheets that house all your doodles, and literally, some blank sheets of printer paper. 

not a report to be found.

you work in the design department, for god’s sake. 

“he was all over you, right in front of me! i mean, what kinda guy does that?” valko huffs.

“my team works on the opposite side of this floor, koko. it’s not his fault you have super-hearing.”

he scoffs and folds his arms over his chest. “whose fault is it that he kept bothering my girlfriend?”

“a secret relationship doesn’t work if one party has no interest in keeping it a secret.” 

he’s exasperated, like the distance is killing him. “why don't you just become my assistant? that way, you could move into this office with me. it’s roomy in here.” 

“that’s a great idea!” you gasp. “or, i could become chairwoman, and you could be my assistant.”

his eyes light up, glittering gold. “that works, too. i can ask around and see what it’d take to get you the jo—”

“i was kidding.”

within a millisecond, his tan ears match the shade of his hair. “uh, yeah. i knew that.”

a long sigh escapes you as you shake your head and smile at him. “look, you’re not entirely wrong. it is annoying being hit on while i’m just trying to do my job, and it is nice having you to come rescue me. it’s just a little too obvious sometimes, and that makes me nervous. how about we come up with some kind of signal you can use to pull me away when you need to?”

he doesn’t even blink. “when someone gets too close to you, i pull the fire alarm.”

“no.”

“when someone gets too close to you, i distract them with a question.”

“better. let’s roll with that one for now.” finally, you uncross your arms and clear your throat. “am i excused, sir?”

slowly, he looks you up and down, eyes zeroing in on your exposed neck. “keep calling me that, and you won’t be.” 

“i’m taking that as a yes,” you drawl, rolling your eyes as you turn to leave. “and valko?” you rest your hand on the door handle. “if you ever think about remodeling, you should invest in your privacy. with all these glass windows, i can’t kiss you when you’re pouting.”

[xxfrozenpearlsxx]

🌶️🐺 MDNI

Valko really loves just how big he is compared to you. A thrill of excitement runs through him every time that difference is made clear, turning him into a puppy around his favorite treat.

He notices it just as much as you do. And he knows you love it just as much, if your heartbeat is anything to go by.

He can hear it thundering in your chest every time he towers over you, which is very often because he just can't fight the urge to stay away.

Your frame is so small next to him, and it's not even about him protecting you. He knows you need none of that.

However, he just loves to come behind you when you cook something for the two of you, big hands circling your small waist. He loves it even more when you gasp softly at the feeling.

It's addictive, catching you off guard like that. Loves how your body fits so nicely against his much larger frame.

So delicate as he lifts you ridiculously easy onto the counter just to steal a kiss. Grinning wolfishly when your legs would wrap around his waist to close the distance enough to kiss him more.

Or when you'd get ready to go out, standing in front of the mirror with him behind you, watching you do your finishing touches as he continues placing soft kisses to your neck and shoulder.

He'd be insatiable in the gentlest way. Those soft pecks would eventually turn into slow, wet kisses over your tingling skin while his hands would sneak possessively over your hips.

If he feels especially playful, he loves to tease you by pressing his hips against your ass, chuckling against your neck when your instincts would kick in and just rub your ass against his bulge.

He also has a habit of scooping you up whenever you fight, manhandling you in the most affectionate ways he knows. (of course you could easily overpower him if you really didn't like it).

Carrying you to the couch until you're seated in his lap, with his thighs spread beneath you and his muscled chest against your back, teasing you with featherlight touches, a dizzying contrast to the thick bulge you're currently sitting on & that keeps growing against your ass.

Some nights he'd pin your wrists gently above your head with one hand while the other would tease your inner thigh and keep you just like that until you'd be all but a pleading mess under him.

He'd bite and lick at your neck as he keeps you in that position, until you call him a tease with a pout on your face, which only fuels him further.

He'd get especially handsy when you come home from long missions and he misses you a lot. Very easily backing you against the nearest wall and having your legs already locked around him.

Messy kisses, followed by mutual bites and licks on every available inch of skin, both groaning and moaning as you'd rub against each other.

Even in public he finds ways to fluster you & also remind you just how big he really is. Broad palm on your lower back as he guides you through crowds, hand settling on your thigh under the table...

You're already blushing when he leans down with his puppy-like, innocent expression just to whisper something filthy in your ear before flashing you a charming smile.

He adores when you're bold enough to climb in his lap unprompted, letting you straddle him, hands finding your hips easily. Golden eyes flashing with hunger as he takes in your blushy cheeks when you roll your hips over his groin.

He lets you play for a while, praising how good you feel before flashing a playful smirk and flipping you onto the cushions with one mission on his mind. Showing you how much bigger and stronger he really is.

© zaynessbeloved 2025. please don’t copy, repost or translate my works. thank you!

.ᐟ✧ translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites ARE NOT permitted. please do not ask. do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own. thank you!

[leighsartworks216]

Puppy Love

Valko x gn!Reader

Inspired by me forcing myself to take a shower cuz I knew I'd feel loads better afterward. And also inspired by a video I saw ages ago where this person's partner was brushing their teeth for them when they were too depressed to

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, depression, scents & smells, scenting, established relationship, showering together, pet names, teeth, teeth brushing, silly, biting, teasing, banter, crying, swearing

Word Count: 1,641

Main Masterlist

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AO3

Updated Tag List Form (This is a new form than before! If you filled out the old one, please fill out this one too, esp if you wanna be tagged in Valko fics <333)

"Mmm, you smell good right now, baby," Valko says, voice almost gravely. He rolls some of his weight off of you to nose at your neck, collarbones, shoulder...

"If you sniff my pits, I'll take you to the pound," you grumble.

He chuckles, but his nose travels up once more.

The bed is a mess, because you're a mess. For the last few days, everything has felt awful. Even being forced to drag yourself out to the bathroom is a curse, let alone getting food or water or sunlight. You've cocooned yourself here, your own warm little haven of solitude. Your phone your only companion in these troubled times, showing you endless videos that keep your mind just barely entertained enough to forget everything else.

Unfortunately, Valko hates being forgotten. He hates being ignored. He hates that you've been cooped up all alone in here for so long, rotting away, not telling anyone a word of your dark thoughts and feelings.

Fortunately for him, he knows how to climb to your balcony and let himself in.

He noses at your cheek, trying to coax you to open your eyes and look at him. You hope by pretending to try to sleep, you might deter him. But it won't work, of course.

"When's the last time you had a shower, babydoll?" he asks, but instead of the gravel of intrigue or the light teasing lilt from earlier, this is serious. Soft. Gently prodding at the walls you've built up, looking for the smallest crack.

You grimace. At yourself, at the question, at how pathetic you feel. You turn your face away, further into your pillow. "Hnn, like... three days ago..." you mutter.

He makes a sound. Not judging or disgusted. Just acknowledging. He nuzzles himself into your hair, despite your whines of protest. "You wanna take a shower with me?"

You mull it over for a long while. You know it would make you feel better. Know that he wouldn't shy away from your untamed body hair. And clearly he's not screaming running from the stench...

But the thought of getting out of bed, getting into the water, having to clean yourself off, dry off, get dressed again... God, your body feels so heavy. You curl tighter into yourself.

Though, it seems, in that same stretch of time, Valko came to the decision for you.

He presses a kiss behind your ear. "I'll go get the water running," he says, before crawling out of bed.

You peek your eyes open to watch him move around. He goes into the bathroom and starts the water, giving it time to heat up. He goes into the closet to grab two clean towels, mismatched, because you haven't bothered with laundry. He hangs them both up, tests the water, adjusts it, leaves it alone again.

He goes into your dresser next. You whine your complaints as he sifts through your underwear to find the softest pair. He shoots you a wink as he drapes them over his shoulder. He grabs some of your comfiest lazy-day clothes, too. It takes a moment of searching and rummaging before he finds one of his hoodies. He gives it a sniff and huffs, disappointed that his smell has worn off. But, he adds it to the pile anyway.

"What're you gonna wear?" you ask him. You don't have enough of his clothes here (yet) to build an outfit for him.

He shoots you another cocky look as he steps out of the room, one leg coming up as he leans out of the door, before coming back to the ground as he lifts up a duffle bag. "I came prepared."

You blink at him. "You... Why did you bring your stuff?"

"Isn't that obvious?" He drops it onto the foot of the bed, unzips it, and pulls out a mess of unfolded clothes. He pauses to think for a moment, humming thoughtfully, before he pulls out a sweater, grabs the sweatshirt he left with your clothes, and replaces it. With a satisfied nod, he stuffs the sweatshirt back into the duffle. "My puppy needed me, so I came prepared."

You scoff, hiding half of your face under the edge of the blanket. "I don't need you."

He smacks your foot over the blankets, frowning at you. "Yes, you do. Now," he comes around to your side, reaching under the blankets and hoisting you up, "bath time!"

"Ah! Val- Valko!" The blankets cling to you, wrapped around you from your cocoon. You wriggle, pulling them partway off your bed before you manage to escape from their clutches. Valko just laughs, unwavering, as he carries you to the bathroom.

-

"Show me those fangs," he orders playfully, muffled around the toothbrush hanging from his mouth. His hands are busy loading up your own brush with toothpaste.

You scowl. "I'm not gonna let you brush my teeth."

He sets down the tube and runs a little bit of water over the paste to soften it. Then he turns to you fully and nudges your chin with his finger. "Show me 'em!"

When you continue to refuse, he tries prying your lips apart with his fingers. You bite at them, catching them between your teeth. He laughs, playfully shaking your head back and forth like you're a dog with a toy.

With a sigh and a roll of your eyes, you relent.

"Good puppy," he praises, still muffled. With one hand holding your chin, he gets to work brushing your teeth for you. It's stupid. It's weird. It's cute seeing the way he focuses on the task, brows pinched and green foam starting to drool down his chin. He brushes thoroughly, ensuring he gets around your gum line, the back molars, and the other side of your teeth, too.

He's so pretty, you think as you watch him. His hair is flat from the water, cheek pushed out from his toothbrush, skin dewy from stealing some of your lotion... And he came over, broke in, brought his own clothes, just so he could take care of you. Even when you don't want him to. Even when you need to do these things. He doesn't bat an eye at how stupid it all is; how stupid you are for wanting to rot and feel worse.

His golden eyes suddenly flick up to yours. They widen slightly. You understand why when his hand releases your chin to brush away tears from under your eyes. "Wha's wron?" he asks around too much foam.

You shake your head, grabbing hold of his wrist to remove the brush from your mouth. He watches, caught a bit off kilter, as you spit and rinse. When you rise, he's still standing there, looking a bit dumb with your toothbrush in one hand and his still hanging out of his mouth. You can't help but laugh. He looks even more confused when you do, until he glances in the mirror and seems to remember he hasn't brushed his teeth yet. The green foam has gathered at the corners of his mouth, forming a steady line down his chin.

He makes a sound, quickly rinses your brush off and drops it into the cup, and leans over the sink as he rapidly brushes his teeth. You laugh even harder, amused by how intense he looks as he brushes at his fangs. "Shaddap," he gripes, but there's not an ounce of real annoyance or venom in it.

He spits, rinses, and wipes the foam off his face, double checking in the mirror that he got it all. Then he rinses his brush and drops it into the cup beside yours.

You're still a little giggly as he turns back to you, grabbing you in a squeezing hug as he aggressively rubs his cheeks against your head. "You think that's funny, huh?"

"Yes," you admit, hugging him around the waist to squeeze him in return.

He huffs, but he doesn't argue. Just holds you, rocking idly back and forth, as you settle into his arms. After a moment, he settles, too, resting his head against yours without trying to scent you some more. "What were you crying about?" he asks quietly.

You nuzzle into his neck. He's so warm. He smells like his bodywash and shampoo, and a little like your lotion and mint toothpaste. All wrapped up in him like this, you hate the idea of hiding in bed again, surrounded by your cold blankets and own smell. "I was crying cuz... I love you."

"Loving me makes you cry?"

You huff. "No, I mean, like... You came all this way for me. And you didn't leave, even though I was trying to push you away. And I just- I love you."

"Oh." He kisses your head multiple times. "I love you, too. And I'm not done takin' care of you yet. I can hear your stomach growling, puppy. Anythin' you wanna eat, you got it."

After all he's done, food doesn't sound like so much of a burden. You just think of all the amazing food you're craving now. All the things you can have, that you'll let yourself want, because you know he'd do anything to make sure you got it. Anything to make sure his mate is happy again.

He nudges your face away from his neck, pressing his forehead to yours so you have to keep your eyes on him. "Next time you feel like shit, tell me, okay? I'm always gonna be here for you, even if you don't think you deserve it. I like taking care of you."

You're a little misty-eyed as you nod. "I'll try."

"Good." He pulls away to kiss your nose, then under your eye. "Good puppy. Now give me your food order. I'm startin' to think you swallowed a wolf with all that growling."

---

Tag List:

@thechaoticarchivist @always-just-red @astheskycries (I love y'all so much <333)

[snoozer-crow]

every time you get a haircut, your hair always dries to be very fluffy. you use this to your advantage. you plod into sylus's office, all tired from being out. You don't even need to exchange words as you plop down on the couch beside him, laying down and placing your head in his lap, closing your eyes. you don't even need to exchange words for him to understand what you desire.

"the new hairstyle suits you, sweetie. i like it." he praises, before slowly beginning to run his fingers through the strands, watching the tension ebb from your body at his touch. over time, he finds himself mindlessly playing with your hair as he works, twirling sections around his fingertips, the soft texture pleasant. sometimes he scratches your scalp in a way that makes your brain go completely empty, tingles traveling through your head, and you have to be careful not to drool on his nice slacks.

by the time he's finished what he was working on, you're fast asleep. he gazes down at you fondly for a little while, admiring your features relaxed in sleep. he carefully lies beside you, lifting you up and resting you back down on his chest. wrapping his arms around you, he indulges in your warmth against him for a long while, eventually falling asleep himself.

[feastofdesires]

Valko had no idea what to expect getting tangled up with you.

That you were in bed with Onychinus literally and firguratively was hard to wrap his head round at first. Especially when you had only good things to say. About how much a criminal organization felt like a family.

It was absurd.

But his pack wasn’t so different, really. His blood binds him to his aunties and cousins. To the oldest and the youngest. He could see how it was similar, belonging, even if it wasn’t by blood. Maybe that’s what made it even more special: the existence of choice.

Meeting Sylus… also wasn’t what he expected. Maybe it’s all the rumors surrounding the enigmatic king of the N109 Zone, but Valko hadn’t expected him to be so…

Calm. Calculating. Firm, but not wholly unkind. He didn’t use violence for the sake of it (Valko still got carried away in the bloodlust sometimes). What got him was the unflinching loyalty. When he listened to how the twins found themselves as loyal henchmen (their own proclamation), he was still shocked that Sylus would let anyone that tried to kill him live. Then again… they’d only been kids. And the way they followed after Sylus was just like his younger cousin with himself.

And then there was you. You, who would rush into a wanderer firefight without a second thought because to you protecting innocent people was just your natural instinct. You, who packed as much ferocity into your tiny (to him) body as much as you cared kindness and compassion. You, who did not show fear or shame at your uglier emotions.

And the way Sylus looked at you… he had no idea someone like that could look so soft. You affected Sylus the same way you affected himself. You inexplicably soothe this beast inside him that he can’t help but wonder if Sylus hid a similar beast within.

Valko didn’t anticipate being drawn into either of your orbits. He figured he wasn’t the type. Neither you or Sylus ever pushed.

“I’m willing to accept many things for a fussy kitten.” Is all Sylus had said on the matter, but Valko had never scented anything antagonist regardless. And then Onychinus went and provided resources to him and his company with vague suggestion of it just being a smart investment.

Now…here he was.

Valko hadn’t meant to find himself in the bed of Sylus, but when he carried you in after falling asleep on the couch, you stubbornly tugged at his arm, asking him to not leave and he just… how was he supposed to deny you? You were deeply asleep now and he’d been resting his eyes for a while now. He was… comfortable. Content. You were snoring slightly and clinging to a little crow plushie “Grump Crow” you had announced.

Your scent was perfectly intwined with Sylus’s in this space. He saw part of you left all over the place where you’ve inserted yourself. Would you do that with him too? Irrevocably mark your existence in his life?

While sleep was hardly pulling at him, Valko had nearly fully settled into something like a deep meditation (something he’s taken up to help temper the wild beast inside him). That was until the near silent open and closing of a door, mechanical fluttering, and a harsh scent of gunpowder and blood hit him.

He nearly sat straight up before remembering you were still haphazardly thrown over him. That’s when he had to carefully escape your grasp. He took a moment to slip off his sweatshirt at least so you could keep his scent. After that, he slipped out of the room and followed his nose to the source.

In the hallway he saw a trailing bloodstain lead into the bathroom and his ears pinned slightly. The blood was starting to overpower all other scents now, but the natural musk of Sylus was beneath it all.

Without thinking, he pushed the cracked bathroom door open fully.

“What happen-“

Valko’s voice trailed off when he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun and Sylus the one holding it, shirtless and bleeding, with a first aid kit strewn about the counter.

The two men stared at each other quietly, Valko with his ears pinned and an instinctual snarl pulling as his lips and Sylus with a cold passivity. Finally, Sylus flicked the safety on and set the gun aside, grunting softly from the movement. Several bullet wounds ripped through the muscle on that half of the body’s ribs.

“Is she asleep…?”

Valko’s ears perked when Sylus had spoken. Quietly. Calm. Always calm.

“Uh… yeah. She was falling asleep during that weird show of hers. The one with all those people on an island trying to figure out who should be their mate- anyways- I tried to move her to your bed then she just kinda dragged me down with her…”

Sylus huffed softly, unable to help the small smile already pulling at his lips.

“She sinks her little claws in deep.”

Valko shifted slightly. Normally you were the buffer between the two of them.

“The bullets’ still in there?”

Sylus gave him a sidelong glance, as if trying to take Valko apart piece by piece to figure out what made him tick.

“That is why I’m in here, yes.”

“Let me help.”

Sylus grimaced at the suggestion.

“Sure. Go back to bed before a little kitten figures out she’s alone.”

Valko snorted before carving out space for himself next to Sylus. To his credit, Sylus was only slightly glaring holes into Valko’s face.

“Don’t be stupid. My evol can get them out quicker than painfully digging for them can and the sooner you’re cleaned up is the sooner you can go lay down and be all wrapped up in a sleepy kitty-cat.”

Valko didn’t outright touch Sylus, but the wolf made it stubbornly clear that he wasn’t just going to take no for an answer with the way his tail had slightly wagging and a cheeky grin grew.

“You’re enjoying this.” Sylus drawled before sighing and turning his injured half towards Valko. Valko wasn’t offended when Sylus kept the gun in easy reach.

“Only a little. I like helping- in general.” Valko placed a careful hand a few inches off of the main wound area, unable to help himself from noticing the way Sylus took in a breath, making the torn muscles flex against his hand. “And while you might not be my pack- family- it’s still important to help other members…”

Sylus watched in poised silence as Valko used his evol to draw the metal bullet casings from ruined skin. The pain was manageable, the evol control was exceptional.

“Holy fuck. Your lung should be Swiss cheese. Those fuckers were deep.” Valko looked at Sylus with wide eyes, holding the bloodied bullets in his palm.

“But they aren’t. I’ll heal the rest later.”

The two stared at each other a while longer.

“You need to eat.”

“I’ll eat later.”

“No, you should eat now. Your evol is really energy intensive.”

“I manipulate it.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that your body had to use a lot of it to do so.”

A metaphorical spark danced between their two glaring eyes. Then Valko’s tail started wagging again.

“She won’t be happy if she finds out you put off eating.”

A beat. Then a sigh.

“Well played.” Sylus drawled before tossing a roll of bandages at Valko. His tail wagged faster as he stepped closer to help bandage the wounds.

It was by the next hour that Valko has Sylus patched up and getting comfortable on the couch with a nice plate of food. He remembered you mentioning Sylus liked texture over flavor, so he fried up a veggie medley with some shredded chicken. Nice and healthy. Valko plopped down right next to him when Sylus put on the show you started falling asleep to earlier.

“It’s important to know if the male focus this episode makes the right choice.” Was all Sylus had divulged with a shrug.

Several hours later when you shuffled out to the living room, you were absolutely tickled to see Valko quietly curled up with his head in Sylus’s lap and Sylus running lazy fingers through the clipped strands.

You snapped a silent picture, but when you looked you noticed Sylus had still caught you, but a quirk in his brow and a tug on the corner of his lips made you grin just as much as you giggled. You moved quickly to join the cuddles when Valko’s ears pivoted around to follow your noises.

Everything really was perfect.

[deepspacenova]

Heavy

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 – and all too familiar – 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 out–" you take your phone back and set it on the table with a huff, "–when 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. "No– I mean– 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 – or breathing – if I were a smart ass to my mother."

Despite yourself, you feel the corner of your lip twitch, the closest you’ve 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 and–"

"No–" 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 of–" He stops, catching a hint of pink creeping onto his cheeks as he looks down at 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 this– 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 – an oddly polite gesture that has you reconsidering just how serious he was about that leash comment – 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 to…" 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. Like–" You raise a pointed brow. "Like getting crushed by a giant mutt on my own sofa."

His jaw drops in dramatic affront. “You– did you just-” 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. “Mutt?! Oh you just crossed a line, you hellion.”

Any response you might’ve had morphs into a high-pitched squeal as you’re scooped up by a muscular arm and thrown over his shoulder.

“Valko! What are you doing? Put me down,” you manage through giggles and laughter as he hauls you to the bedroom with what sounds like a muttered 'I’ll 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."

"But…" 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.

➻➻ 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

➻➻ TAG LIST | @starmocha @mythblossoms @heartyluv @asiatic-apple @grlyeetswrld @unknown-ends @bbnosylus @ka-zes-blog @kingraspberry12-blog @thatweirdomidas @leighsartworks216 @maimaily @silviex @calebspips @irandial @smeetywerben @mrsqins @raendarkfaerie @colonelkaboom @remnantsofgildedcages @yeona-doll @sickleddreamer @violasepals [ADD ME]

[souliloqui]

"Would you call yourself an alpha?" You ask Valko curiously, perched on the couch while he sits on the floor between your legs. The TV blares a superhero movie that neither of you have watched and aren't really paying any attention to.

Valko tilts his head back to look up at you, eyes gleaming behind his glasses. "Why do you ask?" He replies and you shrug, running a hand through his thick locks.

"Wolf dynamics." You shrug then smile. "Also fanfiction."

Valko smiles mischievously. "Is this your roundabout way of asking if I have a knot?"

You blink, surprised. "How did you get that from me mentioning fanfiction?"

"You fall asleep with your phone unlocked sometimes," Valko confesses, his trailing fingers leaving sparks across your right leg. "And while I don't snoop—"

"Liar."

"—I do have good eyesight and I happen to know what A/B/O dynamics mean."

Silence is the only response he gets for a moment and Valko looks far too smug at the warring emotions dancing across your face. You look both impressed and mortified.

"But to answer your question, I guess I could be seen as an alpha." Valko turns his sights back to the TV. "So roll around in that for a bit."

He isn't shocked when the TV suddenly turns off and you're standing up.

"Valko."

He's already grinning, wolfish.

"Hmm?"

"Get in the bedroom."

He's scrambling to his feet in a rush of excitement.

"Yes, ma'am."

[totallynotashieldagent]

Valko's Mate

Valko had grown up being told that when he'd meet his mate, he'd know. He would stay up so many nights, asking his mom to tell the story of how she met his dad, how she knew that his dad was the one. No matter how many times he'd hear the story, he'd never get tired.

Maybe that was why he believed in love stories. Because how could he not? His parents' was the love story for the ages.

However, seeing how old he was now, he was starting to lose hope.

He had travelled the world, met countless people, and never once had he ever met someone that made him pause. That stole his breath, that made his wolf go wild, that pulled him as if they were meant for him.

Sure, there had been relationships, good fucks- some were genuinely nice women. One relationship had even lasted two years because it was so comfortable. But that was all it was. Comfortable. No one ever captured his heart. No one ever made his soul burn. No one ever made his wolf yearn for them.

Not the way his mother had always told that she did for his father.

So he told himself that love could wait. It would have to wait. He just focused more and more on the company. On his career. On everything other than what he wanted to seek out.

Even now, he was sitting at his desk, overseeing some papers when his assistant knocked.

"Sir?" He popped his head in the office. "We have a bit of a situation downstairs."

"What now, Simon?" Valko sighed and looked up.

"Uh.. there's a woman downstairs. In the lobby. Won't leave until she sees you." Simon explained.

"So? Call security or whatever-" Valko waved him away.

"That's the problem part." Simon swallowed. "She's not doing anything. She's just sitting there. Says that she needs 5 minutes only. Says that she'll wait."

"Wait?" Valko's brows furrowed and Simon nodded. He inhaled deeply and paused. "I'll handle it." Valko said slowly and then took another deep breath.

There were the usual smells. Office cedar, air fresheners, stale coffee, and something new. Different. Sweeter.

Valko closed his laptop and took out his nasal blockers. He usually wore them so his sense of smell wouldn't constantly be assaulting and distracting him. He took another deep breath and suddenly felt his wolf pawing at the back of his throat.

That was new. His wolf never did that. Had never done that.

He walked out of his office and the smell grew stronger. He followed it all the way down to the lobby and there you were. His heart stuttered, his wolf practically tried to claw out of his chest. He had to put his nasal blocker back in so to not lose control and show the whole building his tail.

"I heard you were looking for me." He said smoothly with a smile, offering his hand.

"Mr Ao! Hello!" You smiled brightly and his knees almost buckled. "I'm so sorry for showing up like this but I called and no appointments were available until next month and-"

He wasn't listening. He couldn't. You were shaking his hand and that's all that mattered. All this time he'd spent looking- Somehow you'd come to him. Just shown up out of thin air.

"But anyway- I found a backdoor vulnerability in your new healthcare app-" You pulled away from his hand and he almost reached out to grab you again. You didn't notice that. You were too busy opening your laptop to show him what you'd found. "I have a small cyber security start up." You explained. "And I thought that if I'd emailed you about this, it might look like a scam or something -"

You were still talking but all Valko was doing was looking at you. Your hair, your eyes, your smile, the way your mouth moved as you spoke, your hands as they glided over the keys on your laptop. Whereas his wolf was purring because he was just near you. A soft chant churning in his head. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate.

"See?" You smiled, showing him your laptop screen. "That could lead to potential data leaks." Valko nodded. He had heard absolutely nothing you'd said. "Whoever built the authentication layer probably forgot to tie up the loose ends- It's nothing catastrophic. Yet." You turned to him and he was just... There. Without a single working braincell.

"Right... Can you show me the code again please?" He tried to piece together what you'd said.

You nodded and put your laptop on the receptionist's desk. Valko moved closer to look at your laptop over your shoulder and definitely not to smell you.

The nasal blocker was there but this close, he could still smell you. Like pine after rain. Like a warm beach day. Like midnight after a thick snow. Everything was so crisp and you were showing him a code that looked like hieroglyphics at the moment.

"Mr Ao?" You asked, unsure if he was even listening.

"I'm sorry." He gave an easy smile to cover up the torment inside him. "I'm a little distracted. Work and all-" He lied. Oh god I just lied to my mate what would mother say? He cleared his throat. "If you could give me your number, perhaps we can arrange a proper sit down and discuss this?" And then afterwards I'll throw you over my shoulder and we'll disappear for at least a month.

You smiled again and his wolf preened. You were smiling at him. For him.

"Of course." You handed him your business card.

"I'll take very good care of this." And you. Oh god I'll take such good care of you. He slipped the business card into his pocket.

You nodded, "Well.. um- I should go- I'm sorry for causing a scene and-"

Cause as many scenes as you want. Anything you want. His brain was burning up. This was everything and more than what his mother had told him would feel like.

"Thank you." He breathed out as you put your laptop on your bag. "For finding this." And me. Thank you for finding me. "We would have landed in a lot of trouble and lawsuits if you hadn't."

"It's really no problem. You're doing good work. I didn't want it to stop just because someone made a mistake." You assured him. "Thank you again for your time, Mr Ao."

"Valko. Please, call me Valko." He said softly. You'll be saying it for the rest of life, soon enough.

"Valko." You repeated and his wolf purred in his chest.

He shook your hand again, his other hand coming to cover yours completely. "I hope to see you again soon." And then never let you go.

.

.

.

Drabble Masterlist

[mwphisto]

“Remember what I told you, dog.” 18+

The sight above you is quite… unbelievable. Though, you’re a little too lost in pleasure to really admire how they look. The black leather of Zayne’s belt stands out boldly in contrast to Valko’s warm skin.

The make shift collar should be restricting, suffocating even. But Valko only seems fueled by the feeling of being under the doctor’s strict control. “Remind me…?”

It wasn’t smart, it was genuine. You could see by the look in his golden eyes. Your fingers dig into your palms, aching to hold his face, but his hands are pinning your wrists down to the mattress.

A sharp click of Zayne’s tongue sends a whole new wave of heat through your body, whimpering as Valko’s hips stutter in their pace.

The very pace that Zayne so thoroughly instructed him on, slow yet steady. Not slow enough to hurt, given his girth, the stretch was enough to have your teeth clenching if he thrusted too leisurely.

“No marking her, dog. Your teeth stay here.” You watch Zayne’s free hand come around to grab Valko’s chin, one finger hooking in his cheek and pulling. Revealing the sharp canines that are all too eager to bestow you with the fated bond mark.

To make you his mate, to drive Zayne absolutely wild and make you Valko’s one and only.

“Got it this time?” Zayne releases his cheek with a slick pop, his other hand still gripping the makeshift belt-collar with a white knuckle grip.

“Y-yeah, doc.”

“Good dog.”

The pleasure between your thighs is steadily building, every sinful drag of Valko’s cock as your head reeling. “You still with us, princess?” He’s panting, pupils blown wide and nose visibly twitching as he inhales every bit of your intoxicating scent.

“You’re being such a good girl for us, my love.” Zayne adds behind him, peering over the broad expanse of Valko’s frame to smile down at you. The rosy hues covering his cheekbones as you clenching.

“Oh shit…!” Valko shudders, head falling forward but getting restricted by Zayne’s grip. The sound is a choked gasp, nearly a gurgle as his cock pulses between your fluttering walls. “D-don’t… you can’t look at her like th-that it makes her all tight…”

“Keep moving, dog. Don’t let her lose her orgasm.”

Zayne’s knee comes up, pressing into the muscles of Valko’s ass and forcing him to bottom out into you. The guttural sounds that escape both of you has his cock standing at attention, twitching and leaking precum as Valko audibly pants and tugs at the collar.

Without clear instruction, Valko begins taking the reins with slight hesitation. “Val, please…” you manage to gasp out, eyes watering as you struggle against the death grip on your wrists.

That alone seems to be enough, though you’d wager that Zayne’s silence is all the confirmation the wolf needs before truly pouncing.

Valko’s hips drive into you with new vigor, still mildly held back by Zayne’s grip, but still. Your breasts bounce embarrassingly hard, your eyes screwing shut as you’re unable to swallow any of the noises slipping past your slackening jaw. “Atta boy, fuck her good.”

Zayne’s words send you over the edge, back arching off the mattress as your orgasm unexpectedly slams into you. Stars explode through your vision, so lost in the moment that you barely register the painful swelling between your spread thighs.

By the time Zayne processes what is happening, it’s already too late. He yanks the collar, whipping Valko’s head back until it hits his shoulder. “What are you doing?” There is an icy edge to his tone, one that mildly sobers you up. Valko, however, looks blissed out.

“You said no marking, but you didn’t say I couldn’t knot her, doc.”

I hope this doesn’t suck… I hope I actually cooked… I’ll tag everyone who wanted to be tagged in the comments :3 - Soul

[leighsartworks216]

Smth smth dating/being married to DILF Sylus and someone is accusing you of gold digging, waiting for him to sign all his assets in your name so you can wait him out or kill him to profit. And Sylus is like, mmm when are you going to kill me 😏😏😏

But also like, you could just ask him for the money or material wealth you could ever desire and he'd be like okay bet. It's honestly annoying these people think they have to attack you because they think you're taking advantage of him like, nope he is exactly where he wants to be thank you now stop bothering my partner

[leighsartworks216]

Wait I just had a thought about this (it's almost 2 am help)

"I can see right through you! You're only with him so you can steal all his wealth!"

You blink boredly at the man in front of you. He's puffed up with accusatory anger. He must be lashing out just because you declined him. How droll.

You look around into the crowd to find Sylus. He looks so dashing in his suit, hair pushed back, his age showing so handsomely it makes you bite your lip. You catch his eye. With a slight crook of your finger, he grins, excusing himself from his conversation without hesitation to heed your beckoning call. His hand immediately finds your waist, eyes flicking down to your lips briefly. "What do you need, kitten?"

You smile sweetly up at him. "Can I have a couple million dollars?" you ask, point blank.

The man you were talking to balks at your straight forward request.

Sylus isn't stunned at all. No, he just chuckles and shrugs a shoulder. "Sure." He slips his phone from his pocket, clicks around it smoothly, and pockets it again. Your own phone dings faintly. "There. 50 million."

Oh, his eagerness to always exceed your requests is coming in handy right now. You smile wider, playing with his tie as you keep going. "Can I have your car?"

Another amused chuckle. "It's yours."

"How about real estate?"

"Name anywhere in the world and it's yours."

"The villa in Italy."

"Is that it?"

"No. I want the mansion in Argentina and, hm, everywhere you own in Japan."

"It's all yours."

"No strings attached?"

He smirks, head tilting. "For you, sweetheart... I'll give you everything your heart desires for a kiss."

"Deal."

You tilt your head back to meet him as he leans down. He kisses you shamelessly - deep and savoring, uncaring for the watching eyes all around you, licking into your mouth and pulling away with a nibble to your lip.

You turn your attention back to the stunned man in front of you. His jaw is slack. Eyes flickering between you and Sylus, trying to find any words to say. "He thought I'd have to kill you for your money."

Sylus hums, turning a sharp look onto the man. It's a dangerous look. A silent threat. Like the glimmer of an animal's eyes in the darkness of night. "Oh, did he now?"

"W-Well, I- I mean, I-"

"You're welcome to try, sweetie." He presses his lips to your temple. You can feel the curve of his smirk. His eyes still honed in on that man. "I love how you look with a gun aimed at my heart."

[love-in-deepspace]

Decided to try a little something with the new wolf boy, because brain wanna go brr. I'm not re-reading this, not proof read, Leap go Yeet!

Warnings: Very very slight suggestiveness, I suppose? Play biting. Let me know if I missed anything!

~

Hunters have to be constantly alert, prepared for any eventuality and always aware of their surroundings.

"What time izzit...?"

Despite the familiar voice, in the safety of your own home, you still found yourself jumping and turning towards the source. A very sleepy werewolf padding your way, rubbing the sleep from his eyes but still finding you with enough ease that it's as though he's been doing it all his life. Valko's arms wrap around you, still warm from being in bed, and ever careful to not trap your arms or hinder your movements.

Melting into him on instinct more than anything else, letting him help keep you upright while you turn your attention back to the stove, you let out a short laugh at the question. "Too early," you answer with amused ease, well aware neither of you particularly enjoy being awake at this hour.

The answer earned a groan that was both amused and disgruntled, followed by him leaning down more to nuzzle against your shoulder and the side of your neck. Innocent and affectionate, but ensuring that you can't squirm away from it, either. Even as you were forced to fight down laughter at how his ears tickled against your neck.

"Valkooo...," you fussed, a playful 'warning' with no genuine heat or threat behind it.

He let out an inquisitive hum in response, but you could still feel the way his lips curled into an amused grin against your skin, his fluffy ears twitching against your cheek in a rhythm that you know without a shadow of a doubt is on purpose. He just loves to torture you, after all. "What's wrong~?"

You rolled your eyes dramatically at his antics, turning your attention back to the stove. Maybe if you ignore him, he'll behave.

You really... Really should have known better.

It didn't take long for him to realize what you were doing, his self-satisfied grin slowly falling into a pout the longer you went without acknowledging his teasing. However it took even less time for his grin to return in full force.

Pressing his face into your neck again, he let out another hum. "'m hungry," he pouted.

"I'm working on fixing that," you reassured, if a bit hesitantly.

Valko sighed dramatically, resting his chin against your shoulder. "That's going to take too long...," he whined, "sooo I'm just going to eat you instead~."

Without giving you the chance to process it, he took to nibbling at every bit of exposed skin he could get his fangs on. Ears, shoulders, cheeks, anything and everything was fair game. Your startled squeal just made him laugh lowly into your hair, nipping at the top of your ear again.

"Two can play at this game!" You countered, turning your head quickly to try and nip at his ears in turn. You knew you wouldn't manage to do any damage, but you still tried to be careful all the same.

That finally made him back off, nuzzling the back of your shoulder one more time before he let you go. "Okay, okay, message received, loud and clear," he laughed, gathering some dishes to set the table with, and resisting the urge to start using his tail to tickle you.

He really is hungry after all, and he'd rather not end up in the doghouse before breakfast.

[xxfrozenpearlsxx]

oh, you're a disaster, aren't you?

⋆. — headcanons for how the LADS the boys react to a clumsy, flustered mc. (based on this request) ⋆. — content: soft, wholesome, a little embarrassing (for you). tooth-rotting fluff. ⋆. — word count: max 600 each ♡

Rafayel - The Paint on Your Cheek

You’ve been at his studio for an hour and you’ve already knocked something over.

A jar of brushes, this time. They go everywhere—under the table, under the couch, one heroic survivor rolls all the way to Rafayel’s bare foot and stops there like it’s surrendering. He looks down at it. He looks up at you. You’re frozen with both hands clapped over your mouth, eyes huge, already mid-apology.

“Oh no,” he says, deadpan. “My brushes. My livelihood. How will I ever paint again.”

“Rafayel, I’m so sorry, I’ll pick them—”

“Cutie.” He tips his head, and a piece of his hair falls into his eyes in that ridiculous way it always does, because it always makes him look pretty. “Breathe. They’re brushes. They roll. That’s their whole personality, don’t even stress your head, okay?”

He’s been watching you the whole time, which is half the problem.

You always get clumsier when he watches you. He knows this. He absolutely uses it. He’ll lounge on the couch with one knee up and his chin in his hand, just looking, and you’ll lose the ability to operate a doorknob. Today he’s been sketching you in the corner of his page—not the painting he’s supposed to be working on, the commission one, the important one—and you caught him at it earlier and went so red he had to put the pencil down because his own face was getting warm.

He crouches down with you to gather the brushes.

You’re both on the floor now, knees almost touching. He hands you one, and his fingers brush yours, and you flinch like he’s electric.

“Y’know,” he says, conversationally, lining a brush up on the tile, “for someone who’s been kissed by me a frankly impressive number of times, you still go pink like it’s our first date.”

“I— I don’t—”

“You do. It’s my favorite thing.” He grins, eyes crinkling. “Don’t ever stop.”

There’s paint on your cheek and he refuses to tell you.

You only realize it when you catch your reflection in the window—a streak of pink swept right across your cheekbone, from when you’d rubbed your face earlier. You whirl on him. He’s already laughing, that bright, unbothered laugh of his, head thrown back against the couch cushions.

“Rafayel!”

“What? It suits you, cutie. It’s my color. You’re branded now.”

“You let me walk around like this—”

“For at least forty minutes, yes.” He gets up finally, and crosses to you with that lazy, unhurried gait. His thumb comes up to brush at the paint gently, careful in a way his voice never is in moments like this. The teasing slides off his face for half a breath. “There. Almost gone. Mostly.”

He kisses the spot anyway. Light. Quick. Like he’s signing it the way he signs his canvases, which you might as well be, at this point.

“There,” he murmurs, and he’s smiling, but his ears have gone faintly pink and he won’t quite meet your eyes. “Now it’s mine.”

You hide your face in his shirt. He lets you, one hand settled at the back of your head, and pretends, for your sake, that his heart isn’t doing anything embarrassing at all.

Zayne - When You Drop the Mug Again

He hears it before he sees it hit the floor.

The clatter of ceramic against the kitchen tile carries down the hallway, followed by the small, mortified sound you always make when you’ve done something you wish nobody had witnessed. Zayne is in the doorway within seconds, still holding the medical journal he was reading, one finger tucked between the pages to mark his place. He takes in the chipped mug on the floor, the puddle of tea blooming around your slippered feet, and your wide eyes—and his expression doesn’t change at all, except for the faint lift at the corner of his mouth that you’ve learned, over time, is his version of trying not to smile.

“Don’t move,” he says.

He goes for the dustpan, not for you.

It’s a thing he does on purpose. He told you once, late at night with your face pressed into his shoulder, that he doesn’t want fussing over you to feel like a verdict. So he sweeps up the shards in that quiet, methodical way he has—same hands that handle patient charts, same hands that tie his scarf for him in the mirror every morning—and only when the floor is dry and safe does he straighten up and look at you properly.

“Feet,” he says, and crouches.

“Zayne, I’m fine, it didn’t even—”

“Feet,” he repeats, in the same tone he uses on patients who try to lie about whether they’ve been taking their medication.

He checks for tiny cuts even though there are none.

You sit on the edge of the counter because he’s lifted you there, his palm warm at the back of your knee, and you can feel your ears going hot in that traitorous way they do whenever he’s this close and this serious. He turns each of your feet over in his hand like he’s reading them. Nothing. Of course there’s nothing. He knew there’d be nothing.

“Was it hot?” he asks.

“Lukewarm. I let it sit too long again.”

“Mm.” That single syllable contains an entire diagnosis. You forgot it on the counter because you got distracted reading. You always do.

He kisses your knee before he lets you down. It’s quick. Almost businesslike. If you weren’t paying attention you’d miss the way his ears go a shade darker under his hair, the way he turns toward the cabinet for a clean mug a beat too fast.

“I’ll make you another,” he says, with his back to you. “Sit. Don’t help.”

“I can hel—”

“Sit.”

Later, you find the chipped mug glued back together on the windowsill.

He doesn’t mention it. He never does. But that night, when you apologize again into the dark of the bedroom—I’m sorry I’m such a mess, I’m sorry, I—he sighs, pulls you closer by the waist, and murmurs into your hair, “Stop apologizing for being someone I want to take care of.”

And you don’t know what to do with that, so you just hide your face in his chest, and he lets you.

Xavier - The Counter Is Too High Again

He’s half-asleep on the couch when he hears the stool wobble.

Xavier sleeps the way cats sleep—anywhere, instantly, with one ear still on the world. So even though his eyes are closed and his hair is a soft pale mess against the cushion, he’s already sitting up by the time the legs of the kitchen stool screech against the floor. You’re up on your toes, reaching for the jar of honey on the top shelf, the one he keeps meaning to move down and never does because you keep insisting you can get it yourself.

You can’t get it yourself. Both of you know this.

“Wait,” he says, voice still rough from sleep.

You don’t wait. The jar tips. You make a tiny, panicked noise.

He’s across the room before the honey hits the counter.

It’s the speed that always startles you—that quiet, easy way he moves, like distance is a suggestion he chooses not to take seriously. One of his hands closes around the jar mid-fall. The other settles, warm and steady, at your waist, anchoring you on the stool so you don’t pitch forward after it.

“Got it,” he murmurs.

“I almost—”

“I know.”

He says it without any of the I-told-you-so other people would lace into it. Xavier doesn’t scold. He just notes things, the way someone might note the weather, and then he handles them. You look down at him from your slight height advantage on the stool—a rare angle—and his hair is soft and rumpled and his eyes are the color of a sky you’ve been trying to remember.

You go pink. Of course you go pink.

He tilts his head a fraction. There’s a slow, drowsy smile spreading across his face, the kind he only ever wears for you, the kind that makes him look about seventeen years old and very far from anything dangerous.

“What?” you whisper.

“Nothing.” He hands you the honey jar like it’s a small, ceremonious gift. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“Xavier.”

“That’s my name.”

He doesn’t let you climb down by yourself.

You try. He doesn’t allow it. His hands come up under your arms and he lifts you down off the stool like you weigh nothing—because to him you do—and sets you on your feet so gently your slippers barely make a sound on the tile. His thumb brushes once, absently, over your hip before he lets go.

“You could’ve just woken me up,” he says.

“You were sleeping so well.”

“I’m always sleeping well. You’re more important than sleeping well.”

He says things like that all the time. Quiet, true, unadorned. Like it’s nothing. Like he isn’t slowly dismantling you sentence by sentence. You hide your face in your hands. He laughs softly, low and very fond, and pulls your wrists gently down.

“None of that,” he says. “I want to see you.”

He makes the tea himself after that.

He moves you to the counter—not the stool, he gives the stool a small, suspicious look, like it’s personally offended him—and stands between your knees while the kettle heats. You play with the hem of his sleeve. He lets you.

“Honey?” he asks.

“Yes, please.”

“Mm.” He reaches past you without looking, gets the jar, sets it down. Kisses your forehead on the way back. “See. Easy.”

You don’t trust yourself to answer. He doesn’t seem to need you to. He finds you adorable anyway.

Caleb - The Loose Step on the Porch

He warned you about that step three times this week.

The third one from the top. The wood’s gone soft from winter and he keeps meaning to fix it on his next leave, but his next leave is this leave, and he hasn’t gotten to it yet because you keep finding more interesting things for him to do with his afternoons. So when he hears the small, surprised yelp from the porch—followed by the unmistakable thud of someone going down hard—he’s out of the kitchen before the screen door has stopped swinging.

You’re sitting on the floorboards with one hand bracing behind you and the other clutching a paper bag of groceries that, miraculously, you’ve kept upright. An orange has escaped and is rolling, with great purpose, toward the steps.

He stops in the doorway. He takes one look at the scene. His mouth does that thing where it tries very hard not to smile and fails completely.

“Honey,” he says, holding back a laugh..

“Don’t.” you hiss.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.” you huff.

“I was going to ask if you’re okay.” He crouches down in front of you, elbows on his knees, head tipped to one side. His hair falls into his eyes—that soft, sandy brown he never bothers to push back unless you do it for him. “Which step?”

“…the one you told me about.”

“Which one did I tell you about?”

“Caleb.”

He’s laughing now. Quietly. Mostly to himself.

He takes the grocery bag out of your lap and sets it aside with care. Then he takes both your hands and turns them palm-up, checking for scrapes. Methodical, unhurried, all of his focus settled on you. There’s a small graze along the heel of your left hand. He frowns at it like it has personally offended him.

“Stings?”

“A little.”

“Anywhere else?”

“My pride.”

“Well.” His thumb brushes very lightly over the graze. “That one I can’t kiss better. The hand I can do something about.”

He does. Just a press of his mouth, warm and quick, against the inside of your wrist. You feel it everywhere. You always do. He glances up at you through his lashes and catches the color rising in your cheeks, and his smile goes a little crooked, a little pleased with itself.

“There it is,” he murmurs.

“There what is.”

“That face you make every single time. The one where you pretend you’re not embarrassed and you go pink anyway.” He sits down beside you on the porch floor, knees drawn up, shoulder bumping gently against yours.

He retrieves the orange before he retrieves you.

It’s almost at the bottom of the top step by the time he ambles over and scoops it up, tossing it once in the air and catching it without looking. He’s wearing the soft grey t-shirt you stole twice last month, and he looks so much like home in the late afternoon light that you have to look away for a second just to remember how to breathe normally.

He notices that too. He notices everything. It’s a problem.

“You’re doin’ it again, pip.” he says, settling back down beside you with the orange in his hand.

“Doing what?”

“Looking at me like I just walked through the door after six months.” His voice has dropped, lost the teasing lilt. “I’ve been home a week, sweetheart.”

“I know.”

“I know you know.” He turns the orange in his palm, smiling. “I just like that you still do it.”

He helps you up like you’re made of something breakable.

His hand is broad and warm at your lower back, and he lifts you mostly with that one point of contact, the other hand finding yours and not letting go even once you’re standing. You shift your weight tentatively. Your ankle’s fine. Your knee’s fine. Everything’s fine. The only thing that’s not fine is the way your face refuses to cool down, because he’s still looking at you with that quiet, careful attention, like checking you over is something he gets to do now, like he gets to be the one who does it.

“Verdict?” he asks.

“I’ll live.”

“Great.” He bends, picks up the grocery bag, tucks it against his hip. The other hand stays in yours. “Cause I’m fixing that step tomorrow. First thing.”

“You said that last week.”

“I mean it this week.”

“You said that last week too.”

“Pips.” He pulls you in by the hand until you’re tucked under his arm, and presses a kiss into your hair, and you can feel him smiling against the top of your head. “Are you tryin’ to start a fight with the man who’s about to make you dinner?”

He does fix the step. Not tomorrow. That evening, after dinner, with the porch light on.

You watch him from the doorway in his soft grey t-shirt, sleeves shoved up, a pencil tucked behind his ear that he doesn’t appear to be using. He whistles while he works. He glances up every minute or so, just to check that you’re still there, and every time he catches you watching him he grins like he’s won something.

You think, watching him, that he’s been home a week and the house already doesn’t know how to be a house without him in it.

You don’t say it out loud for him to hear. When he comes back inside, dusty and pleased with himself, he takes one look at your face and says, very softly, “I know, baby. Me too.”

And that’s the whole conversation.

Sylus - You Spilled Wine on His Shirt

The shirt is black. The wine is red. The math is, frankly, in your favor.

You realize this approximately half a second after the glass tips, which is approximately half a second too late. The stem slipped—your fingers were nervous because he was looking at you the way he looks at you, like you’re the only interesting thing in a room full of people he’s been politely tolerating all evening—and now there’s a dark patch of wine spreading across the front of Sylus’ very expensive, very tailored shirt.

You stop breathing.

He looks down. He looks at you. He raises one brow.

“Sweetie,” he says, in that low, gravel-and-honey voice of his, “you missed.”

He is, somehow, smiling.

It’s the smallest version of his smile—the one that lives mostly in the corner of his mouth and the slight narrowing of his red eyes—but it is, undeniably, a smile. You can feel your whole face going hot.

“I’m so sorry, I’ll— let me—” You grab a napkin. You grab three napkins. You start dabbing at his chest with a bit too much panic, even for your embarrassed state. “It just slipped, I don’t know why, my hand just—”

“Mm.” He doesn’t move from his spot. He lets you fuss. His hand finds your wrist gently, and stills it. “You’re making it worse.”

“I’m sorry—"

“Stop apologizing.”

He says it the way he says most things—like an order dressed up as a suggestion.

You go still. The napkin sits crumpled in your hand. He’s still holding your wrist, his thumb tracing one slow, idle circle against your pulse point, and his eyes are doing that thing where they soften only at the edges, where you’d miss it if you didn’t know him.

“It’s a shirt,” he says.

“It’s an expensive shirt.”

“They’re all expensive shirts, kitten.” His mouth tilts. “That’s the point of having too much money. You get to be casual about ruining things.”

He plucks the wine glass out of your other hand and sets it well out of reach. A precaution. You catch the small, amused tilt of his mouth as he does it, and you go even pinker, if such a thing is physically possible.

“You did that on purpose,” you accuse, weakly.

“I did.” His voice is unrepentant. “You’re quite clumsy with stemware. I’m protecting my furniture.”

“Sylus—”

“And my floors. And my staff. And—” he leans in, voice dropping low, just for you “—my sanity, which you ruin nightly, by the way. In case you were keeping score.”

You make a small, strangled sound. He looks delighted.

He takes the shirt off right there.

Casually. Like it’s nothing. Buttons undone with that easy, practiced flick of his fingers, and then it’s draped over the back of a chair and forgotten, and he’s standing there in a plain black undershirt that does absolutely nothing to help your current condition.

He notices you checking him out. His smile sharpens.

“Eyes up here, sweetie.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Oh, but you were.”

He hooks one finger under your chin and tips your face up. His expression has gone almost gentle—the version of gentle that only exists in private, the version most of the world will never see and would never believe in if they were told.

“Breathe,” he says quietly. “It’s a shirt. You’re allowed to drop things in your own home.”

Your own home. That’s what undoes you. He always says it like that, like the question of whose home it is was settled a long time ago, and you simply haven’t caught up yet.

Later, he absolutely tells Mephisto the story.

You hear him from the next room, low and amused, and you hear Mephisto’s offended kraa, and you bury your face in a cushion and you think, with a kind of helpless, baffled warmth, that you have never, in all your life, been this loved by anyone half this dangerous.

© zaynessbeloved 2026. please don’t copy, repost or translate my works. thank you!

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[feastofdesires]

Sylus likes a challenge

So trying to get your attention when you’re unbelievably oblivious is his favorite, most frustrating pastime.

It’s even worse that you’re such a hopeless romantic. You read stories and play games involving the delights of romance that make you blush, bite your lip, and squirm in barely self-contained delight. Yet, when Sylus presents you with flowers or takes you on a one-on-one outing watching the sunset drift into starlight, your adorably oblivious self sees it as nothing more than kind gestures of a friend.

A bestie.

Sylus regularly gets into his own room after such outings, frustrated in a way that has his ears red and an incredulous laugh squeezing its way out of him. He has to take cold showers regularly after seeing you.

You touch him without so much as a thought, but shy away when he wants to also engage in such casual closeness. You were far more an expert of playing hot and cold with him, and you weren’t even trying.

It all changes when you suggest a silly little drinking game while you show him yet another one of your favorite shows. It’s not enough that you were both knocking back constant shots, but it was enough that Sylus stared at you more than usual.

And when you finally ask why he was staring?

He’s grabbing your jaw, rubbing a thumb on your bottom lip.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for weeks.” He murmurs low. “Yet you still somehow don’t get it.”

He’s crowding your space now. The heat on your face isn’t just the alcohol. You know you could push him away and he’d listen, but-

“I want you.” He breathes against your lips, nose brushing yours. “I need you.”

Your lungs only fuel the faintest whimper when his hips naturally settle between your thighs. You didn’t even realize you were gripping him closer with clawed fingers in his upper arms.

“Tell me… tell me you want me too.” He’s growling against your lips until you finally close that last little bit of space between you.

[zaynezone]

Zayne is no stranger to seeing you injured.

Of course, it's a sight he always hopes to never see again. Still, every time he's inevitably forced to confront it, he's able to push his feelings aside.

This time is a little different.

"Are you alright?" Zayne is already out the door of the Onychinus base as Sylus gingerly lifts your frame from the car. Who his question is directed at is slightly unclear, so Sylus answers.

"She's bleeding. Nothing broken though." Your eyes open with clear effort, and Zayne can tell how exhausted you are. Still, your smile eases a small part of him.

"Hi Doc." You murmur, reaching for his hand. He takes it, the sight of the dirt and blood on your skin making his stomach twist once more.

Sylus carries you inside, over to the sofa in the living room where Zayne has already set up his tools.

"You should really buy me dinner first." You mumble as Zayne begins to pull away your tattered, bloody shirt from your skin. He sighs at your joke, while Sylus huffs a laugh. He procures a glass of whiskey, bringing it to your lips.

"She shouldn't be drinking." Zayne chides, studying the depth of the gash on your side.

"If you're gonna stitch me up, I'd like to be drunk." You note, leaning into Sylus's calming touch.

Later, when you’ve been thoroughly stitched and cleaned and tucked into bed, and the blood has been scrubbed from Zayne’s hands, he asks the question.

“Did you take care of it?”

“I did.”

“...Good.”

[zaynezone]

You almost felt sorry for them.

The taste in your mouth is coppery, and the bruises littering your body ache unbearably. Still, you're not worried. It was only a matter of time.

The explosion outside the building rattles the ground. It makes you grin despite your bloody teeth, already feeling that familiar pull of the other half of your soul closing in.

"Told you."

The words have barely left your mouth when the room is lit with the crackling of energy, red tendrils restraining each unfortunate soul who'd marred your skin.

"You've looked better, kitten." He drawls, though his eyes carry an intensity he's unable to hide. Your shackles are easily snapped, and one of the twins emerges from the shadows to help you stand.

"Well, I've been better." You shrug, unable to stop the flicker of pain from showing on your face. Sylus's face hardens in an instant, focusing his attention back on the men he'd been holding still, each more terrified then the last.

Their screams echo through the halls as Luke and Keiran help you out of the abandoned building. They're quieter than usual, which you're a little grateful for. Still, they let out subdued cheers when the building explodes into a pile of rubble behind Sylus's approaching figure.

The cries of pain haven't ceased with the explosion. Clearly, there was no mercy shown.

"Are you alright?" The ruthless leader of Onychinus kneels in the dirt next to you, carefully checking you over with a featherlight touch. You hum, running a hand through his pristine silver hair just like you'd spent the last few days dreaming about.

"I'm fine, Sylus. I knew you'd come." You smile despite the pain, relaxing into his strong arms as he picks you up carefully, red eyes soft with worry.

"There's no place in this galaxy I wouldn't go to find you."

[snoozer-crow]

You open LaDS to a completely silent game. No loading screen, no UI, just Sylus in Destiny Cafe. He stares directly at you for a few seconds, and right when you're about to restart your game to fix the bug, he walks closer and leans down. His right eye is glowing brighter than you've ever seen it before, with the bloom from its glow nearly obscuring your view of the eye itself.

"Take my hand."

He extends his hand, a circle on screen prompting you to tap it.

Something makes you hesitate. You feel your heartbeat pounding in your throat. You haven't seen anything about this mentioned online. Is it a new event? But if it was, then why did nothing have to download beforehand? Are you dreaming?

"Don't be shy, sweetie. It's rude to keep people waiting."

Something feels incredibly wrong here. You try to rationalize your instinctual unease, reasoning that it must be because you're worried something hacked your phone. You're starting to feel a bit dizzy.

Surely you'll find other LaDS fans freaking out on social media, right? You turn to check your computer, when you realize the screen has gone completely black, despite being plugged in. You hold down the power button, but no dice. A lightbulb in the hallway outside flickers and pops, shattering.

You startle and attempt to turn off your device, but nothing happens. Sylus raises an eyebrow.

"I don't mind a challenge. I'll stay here for as long as you like. Take my hand."

You hesitate for a few moments. Surely this is just a dream, none of this makes any sense. And if this isn't real, there's nothing wrong with taking the risk, right? You hold your finger over the screen, deliberating. Sylus's smirk widens.

You tap his hand. Everything goes dark.