"If what I write in the book of travellers can, when read by others at some future date, also entertain them on their journey, then fine. If they don't read it, or are not entertained, that's fine too." -- Fernando Pessoa
| IMPORTANT: Not accepting NSFW requests for now, sorry! But *looks wistfully into the distance* maybe one day...
📰❗ Latest Fics:
Homeward Bound (1.5k) Fluff. Valko may or may not have a soft spot for strays.
A Hopeless Romantic (1k) Humour. Valko tries to impress you at dinner, and you are never, ever, going to let him live it down.
Balcony Invasion (800 words) Humour. It was bold of Valko to assume your balcony is private!! It's not 💕
About me:
Hiiii! I'm Rach (she/her), 26, INTJ, aspiring writer with too much time on her hands and no Big Idea™️ yet, so here I am, playing with fictional men like puppets, mwa ha ha
I'm big into gaming, anime, history, and classic lit, so I like to draw inspiration from all over! You will be finding dashes of existential angst in even my soft and silly fics, sorry 🥀🥀🥀
Currently writing for: Love and Deepspace!
NOTE: This blog is anti-AI. I do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI or chatbots, or to be reposted. If any of my moots encounter issues with AI/ plagiarism, pls let me know so I can signal boost!
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Hiiiiiii!!!!!! Congrats on 4.5k, that's amazing!! 🥹 Wishing you lots and lots of creative inspiration for the sleepover tehe, can't wait to see everything you come up with!
If you need any more prompts, would love your take on the 'you look like you want to kiss me' one for either Sylus or Caleb-- whatever inspires you more! No pressure of course and eep yeah just congrats again, sending you lots of love! 💕💕💕💕
planets collide, collide, collide.
caleb xia x gn!reader
summary: 0.5k
or the one where caleb would rather look at you than the meteor shower above him.
masterlist
Caleb always knew what was going on in the sky more than you did. He’d always been that way. When you were kids, he knew when all of the astrological events were set to take place and where exactly in Linkon the two of you needed to be in order to see it at the perfect angle. As you grew up, and as your schedules became ever more complicated and conflicting, you began missing things. Shooting stars, supermoons, solar and lunar eclipses.
But that didn’t mean that Caleb stopped keeping track. No, he still kept his little calendar of events in his phone, and he’d still text you with updates on days he knew there was going to be something spectacular you were going to miss. Now, he just also knew when he could get away with dragging you to go watch them with him, too.
“You’re not even watching,” you say as you turn your head to look at him. He’d taken the two of you out to a secluded park you hadn’t been to in Skyhaven, yet. He’d pulled out all the stops. He’d brought a quilt for you to lay on, a make-shift picnic shoved into a backpack, an extra hoodie in case you got cold. And it seems that he was going to miss the whole thing, because he wouldn’t stop staring at you.
“I’m watching,” he says, but he doesn’t even pretend to look up at the sky. He keeps his gaze locked on you, eyes scanning over your features. He knocks his knee against yours, like that’s proof enough that he was, in fact, watching the meteor shower.
“What’s that look?” you ask him, face scrunched up as if to shake his stare away.
“What look?” he asks.
“That one,” you laugh as you poke the space between his eyebrows. In an instant you’ve gone from marveling up at the sky, to crawling over the last few paces between you and into his lap. “You look like you want to kiss me.”
“Is that right?” he asks. “You think I have a specific look when I want to kiss you, pips?”
“I know you do,” you hum before gently tapping your forehead against his. His knees spread to accommodate your presence.
“Then you’ve gotta know that’s how I always look at you,” he whispers, eyes glinting and lips curled into an easy grin.
You hum in pretend thought before muttering, “Guess you should do something about that, then.”
“Oh, I should?” he laughs, and in an instant you’re flipped onto your back with Caleb hovering above you. He leans down until his lips are just barely brushing yours. “You’re trouble, you know that, pips?”
“You’re gonna miss it,” you murmur when Caleb’s head tilts to finally kiss you. He pauses, but he doesn’t pull back.
“There’ll be another one,” he says. “There’ll be a thousand more for us to watch together.”
When he’s sure you’re not going to interrupt him again, he closes the distance and presses his lips to yours.
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Okay people, I've made a bingo template for tomorrow. Since we are so traumatized with all this whole situation, we could try to laugh about it. Feel free to use and change it. Share it with friends.
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?
Snatching Wolfie out of Valko's hands as we speak since everyone's sooooooooooo worried about doing the right thing 😒 like the poor man hasn't BEEN THROUGH ENOUGH ALREADY!!!!!
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?
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Should have another Valko fic ready for later today, or tmrw at latest-- I'm excited about this one!! Thank you to everyone who left comments and love on the last ones, I rly appreciate it! 🥰💕 there'll be no Valko drought on my watch istg!!
the shower is incredibly hot and full of steam. the water makes a loud, steady drumming sound against the glass walls, hiding the two of you from the rest of the world.
sylus is sitting back against the marble bench under the spray, looking totally relaxed. you are standing right between his knees, your hands completely full of thick white foam as you work the shampoo into his hair. you’d insisted that you do it for him, and sylus who lets you do anything to him, even if he teases and plays around first, agreed. you take this chance to boop some foam on his nose and poke at his adam’s apple.
“are you actually washing my hair, or are you looking for an excuse to touch me?” sylus purrs, his voice deep and relaxed but has that familiaer teasing note to it, sending a rumblr down your spine.
“keep talking, sy, and i’ll, oh, i don’t know, accidentally get shampoo in your eyes,” you rey smoothly, digging your fingers a little harder into his scalp.
sylus lets out a low, satisfied chuckle. his gleaming red eyes close and his heavy shoulders drop. he loves when you touch him. under the rushing water, his large hands rest loosely on your bare waist, holding you steady like an anchor.
once his silver hair is full of stiff, thick suds, you get a playful idea.
instead of rinsing it out, you use both hands to pull all of his hair straight up. you shape the white foam together until you’ve big, perfectly sharp shark fin right on top of his head.
“there,” you giggle, leaning back just a little to look at him. “the real apex predator.”
sylus slowly open his eyes and looks at you through his wet lashes, realizing what you’ve shaped up on top of him. a slow, wicked smile spreads across his handsome face. his ruby eyes glimmer with the heavy amusement you know so well.
“a shark, sweetie? again?” sylus murmurs, because yes, this was certainly not the first, and probably not the last time.
“i think you look absolutely ridiculous. again,” you tease with a big grin, laughing as you lightly tap the fin.
sylus lets out a breathy laugh, his grip on your waist tightening instantly under the water. before you can even try to step away, he easily hauls you forward, pulling your front flush against his solid, wet chest. he doesn’t care about the shampoo at all as he buries his face directly into the warm crook of your neck, his messy hair tickling your skin.
“sylus, stopppp, your hair is going to get ruined!” you laugh, your hands grabbing his shoulders for balance.
“let it,” he mutters against your skin, pressing a warm, heavy kiss right against your pulse point that completely steals your breath away. his powerful arms lock securely around your middle, trapping you in his heavy heat. “you wanted to play, kitten. now you stay right here.”
"you're hurt," you sigh, rubbing your thumb over the cuts on the top of his hand. a frown forms as your eyes flicker to his for a brief moment. "what happened this time?"
"nothing you should worry your pretty little head about," he replies as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, leaving a trail of small kisses on the base of your throat.
there he goes again, avoiding telling you what happened because he knew how much it would upset you. and so he plays the cute card—overloading you with kisses and cuddles in hopes that you will drop it for tonight.
"valko," you warn trying to pull his head away but all he does is whine.
"later," he hums, his warms hands slipping under the hem of your oversized t-shirt. "need you."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The baby just wanted chocolates 😭 give him back! I will fill our drawers and shelves with chocolates! Will even try his chocolate scrambled eggs! 😵💫
I was just trying to give him some chocolatey goodness when the fic ran on its own... Different story from my other fic. Hope you enjoy ♥️
Valko fluff, Valko x baker!nonmc, a little crack, wc 1.1k
Exiting the lab with a frown, Valko walks towards his private office with heavy steps and a weary exhale. Thinking about recent issues and delays in his projects made his head hurt and his patience close to snapping.
Sinking into his office chair, he grabs his phone and scrolls through a delivery app to look for the one thing that sounds like a great idea right about now. His mini fridge full of Awoo Milk isn’t gonna work today.
He’s craving chocolate cake. The glossy, heavy, gooey kind. The happiness exploding in your mouth and sticks to your teeth kind. The overloaded with even more chocolate toppings kind.
He can’t believe his eyes when he stops on one photo of a mini cake in particular, because it looks to be made exactly just for him. It even seems to be calling out his name, he swears he can hear it whisper into his ear. Oh this is it, he thinks. Quickly placing an order wait maybe make that two, he is relieved to see it will only take a few minutes to wait.
Perking up when it arrives already thoughtfully arranged on a plate by his secretary, Valko immediately shuffles aside the documents on the table while thanking him and asking to not be disturbed for the next fifteen minutes.
When the door closes, he lets out a gleeful chuckle as he rubs his hands together, swiveling a bit on his chair side to side, his eyes sparkling as he appreciates the mini cake.
The smell is divine, his mouth already watering, and he already knows it’s gonna be good. He smiles at the way it’s decorated with bits and pieces of chocolate barks, shavings, and sprinkles. The chaos actually looks playful and fun.
He picks up the fork to dig in, whistling when he sees the inner layers and the gooey center. He took a bite, and his eyes went wide.
“Mmmm!” A moan involuntarily comes out from his lips. He slaps a palm on the table, loud enough for his secretary to hear outside, who pauses in concern as he looks at the door.
Mother. of. all. chocolate. cakes.
Pure bliss sweeps through him, instantly washing away the stresses of the day. Valko lifts a hand to his mouth as he chews, eyes fluttering shut as he moans again, softer this time. He swears he feels sparks run through his veins and stars appear in his vision. His wolf ears and tail appear and swish around happily, a rare slip of control over food.
What sorcery is this? Bite after bite, he practically inhales the mini cake, only slowing down at the last forkful.
He side-eyes the other cake on the table, still safe in its transparent takeout box with a pretty little ribbon. He decides to save it for dinner later.
(It doesn’t survive past the hour.)
“Their cake has healed me. Just one bite and I have achieved inner peace, outer peace, and world peace. As a seasoned chocotist, this cake...”
He types a lengthy and glowing 5-star review for the cafe he ordered from, committing the name and address to memory, pleasantly surprised that it's nearby.
He becomes a loyal customer, ordering two every day (never just one), and every day he experiences the same feeling of joy and contentment. Oddly anchoring him like a sense of home.
Until one day, it doesn’t.
He takes a bite, and… nothing. He tilts his head and scowls as if personally offended, taking another bite… but still nothing. It’s delicious, yes, but the magic is missing. Scratch that, everything feels wrong about it.
Unacceptable.
The secretary is startled when Valko abruptly opens the doors and zooms past. Usually he could hear his boss moaning over the cakes at this time (oh the secrets a secretary has to keep), but today his boss seems disgruntled.
Swiftly reaching the cafe, Valko pauses outside the door when he catches a distinct scent, his heart suddenly hammering wildly in his chest.
It’s the scent of the wind that had played by a stream and rushed through open mountains, of a peaceful evening as the full moon slowly rises, of steaming mugs of hot chocolate near the crackling logs on a fireplace. Such a smell…
The door opens with a soft chime, and he steps into the cozy interior. His gaze sweeps past the few empty tables and seats as he follows the scent towards the counter, ignoring the display case full of colorful cakes and pastries. He is drawn by a soft humming, the sound tugging him to lean over the counter to come even closer.
He was leaning halfway over when the person behind the counter turned around.
You.
Beautiful, he thinks, already lost in adoring you. Warm, and sweet, and just… perfect.
“Oh!” Surprised at his presence, you almost drop your clipboard before collecting yourself and greeting a handsome guy who has a big sunny grin on his face. Quite charming, though you briefly wonder how such a tall and well-built guy was able to move so quietly.
“Um, hello, welcome to my cafe! What can I help you with?” You smile up at him, following the sudden urge to step nearer, stopping only when your hip bumped the counter.
You can help me by being my wife—
Lightly shaking his head to focus, he runs a hand through his hair as he answers. “Hi, I’m Valko, and I—”
Your expression brightened in recognition of your most frequent customer, his unique name being printed on the delivery receipts never failing to make you smile. Not to mention his funny reviews. “Valko?”
Well, damn. His name on your lips is doing numbers to his chest.
You cheerfully thank him for his daily orders, your hand reaching out to lightly touch his arm.
He tries very hard not to melt at the small contact.
Suddenly, he couldn’t bring himself to ask about today’s cake. Instead, he inquires whether he could place a bulk order for a company event.
An event that doesn’t exist… yet. Orrr I could just eat them all in secret, right?
Your face blooms even more, happy to accept. Something about him makes you feel safe to open up, so you excitedly chatter about how he’s just in time, how you could probably work in a bulk order now that you had an assistant who would be able to help you out, especially since she was able to successfully make the batch of cakes this morning.
Valko listens attentively with soft eyes and a gentle smile, with the peace of a man who has found home. He realized that the magic he felt wasn’t in the chocolate cake, it was in the hands that made them.
