malevolent shrine

to this day, it didn’t matter if he had important phone calls, intricate things to study up on, or confidential documents to overlook and analyze. one thing for certain was that he would always do any and all of it wherever you were if he could.

ten minutes go by before he’s finally sitting up and removing the earbuds from his ears and the whole headset from around his neck. whatever work he had been click-clacking away at for the last two hours after taking a shower and having dinner was disregarded when he shuts the screen of his laptop and turned to look up at you holding the cute wolf plushie he’d won for you a couple months back.

“everything okay?” you ask him softly as he faces you completely, reaching out to gently rake your fingernails through the soft and now fully dried hair right behind his ear.

getting to watch that handsome face of his fall completely relaxed and content was truly a sacred experience. his immediate submission is something you frequently tease him for when compared to his cocky demeanor, but you both knew you’d never hear the end of it should you stop for any reason.

“yeah, it’s all good. random brunch for the third time this month over the weekend. you up for it? by all means, say no if you prefer to just chill with the love of your life or whatever.”

“you and your family are just too cute. once again, i’m reminded where you get all that audacity from.”

valko grins at the giggle you can’t contain, continuing to explore the softness of your skin as you both doted on the other silently. settling between your legs while he sits on the floor was on the top of his list of his preferred kind of intimacy. “but you know i’m down if you are. i go where you go. i mean duhhh, that’s how we always move. like a pack, right?”

he leans deeper into your touch, eyes nearly falling shut completely from the euphoria he gets out of the way you love on him with one of the things he classifies as a guilty pleasure. truthfully, he wasn’t secretive about such an obsession at all, but what was known didn’t always need to be said out loud. unless used against him, of course.

“didn’t even give you any info on it yet and you’re already so eager to follow me like a good little pup, huh?”

“oh, i’m the eager one?” the protest ready to fall from his lips is first expressed in the pinch of his brows when your hand slips away from the stimulation being given to one of his favorite spots. his expressions had the tendency to give away any thoughts before he could say a word. it’s why he always says you read him better than any book he’s ever laid his eyes on.

“what the fuc—”

“watch it,” you warn playfully. whatever was to be said is swallowed down when the pads of your fingertips begin tracing the defined outline of his jawline before resting on the underside of his chin. “so quick to start with me. aren’t you supposed to be my good boy?”

valko takes your lighthearted taunting as a challenge, grasping you by the wrist and bringing it up to his nose to inhale your addictive scent and the faint aroma of your perfume.

“aren’t i always?”

“you have your moments. i’ve gotta say though, obedience looks super sexy on you.”

“hm. i bet it does.” his grin brings out the subtle dimples in his cheeks. “is it my turn to make a move now?”

he’s pulling you off the couch and on top of him before you’re capable of offering a response to his vague request. the two of you are caught in a laughing fit all the way down until his back hits the plush rug and you’re settled in his lap.

the chuckles are interrupted when you feel his not-so-little friend prodding at you for some kind of attention.

“oh, you perv.”

“perv? that’s not a nice thing to say to the man of your dreams, now is it?” he’s slipping his hands beneath your shorts as his palms slide up the outside of your thighs. “i just consider this instinctual. others would say natural. can’t blame me for what i can’t control.”

the heaviness of his hardening cock pressing into you from below had a steadily increasing heartbeat thumping in your panties. from the soft look he sports with his glasses, the oversized red sweater you got him last christmas, and the dark gray sweats doing nothing to conceal what you were quickly becoming unashamedly desperate for, no way were you getting off of him without some kind of relief.

valko watches you closely as you raise said sweater to sit below his chin, revealing the big, strong, and sculpted body that you’ve fallen helplessly head over heels for. he was hard where you were soft, and it was opposites like that that made you fit so well.

“would you look at that. and i’m the one being labeled a pervert. baby, i think we’re mixing things up.”

“can’t i admire my boyfriend? isn’t this natural?”

it’s almost like his eyes shine when you use his own words against him.

“‘course you can. in fact, you better. but…” he sniffs up at the air four times, a smug grin taking over his lips. “i’m sensing that admiration isn’t the only thing you’ve got planned in that big head of head of yours.”

“fuck off,” you laugh, pinching his nose. “and don’t act so tough.”

with one slow upward motion of your hips, the thickness pulsing against you seems to swell even bigger than before. his teeth tuck his bottom lip into his mouth from the sensation and his hold on your hips deepens, nails biting deliciously at your flesh. “admiration isn’t enough for you anyways.”

your lips fall to his quickly, tongues battling for a dominance you know he’d fight tooth and nail to be the one to conquer. but he throughly enjoys a biting prey and it’s why he loves you.

his hands are sliding out the fabric of your sleepwear to find purchase on other parts of your body the more heated your sensual exchange becomes. as he licks at the roof of your mouth and tries his hardest to devour you whole, you’re embraced by his large hands grabbing at you like the greedy beast he’s proud to be.

it’s when he makes his way back to your hips that you both know this wouldn’t last long. and when he starts to frantically guide you to grind against him faster, holding you down to feel him through the few layers of clothes that’s causing separation, instinctively you knew that it was in your best interest to prepare yourself for the more he was going to give soon after this.

“you’re not… hah—wearing underwear…” you breathe against his mouth glistening with your shared saliva. you’re quick to take off his glasses from the growing frustration of them getting in your way of being closer, discarding them towards the plush cushions with fingers crossed for a safe landing.

“aren’t you smart.” the teasing inflection in his tone and the deepness of his voice has the your cunt throbbing to the point of growing uncomfortable.

your clit continues to ache the more you move with him, nipples grazing underneath your top and begging to be sucked into his mouth.

“sit up,” he says breathlessly with another sloppy kiss to your partially swollen lips.

he keeps you moving on his cock as you rise, lustful gaze focused on the way your shorts ride up your thighs and cling to your pussy from how taut he’s got them pulled to increase the friction. the outline of his dick moving against it back and forth, trying its best to nestle in between—the visual alone has him bucking up and trying to make that a reality.

valko’s hands slide up the sides of your torso and his thumbs delicately play with your peaked nipples beneath your t-shirt.

“val,” you whine, resting your hand on his chest to keep you steady as you try your hardest to not lose your shit from the sensitivity taking over everywhere. “w-want it inside. want it so bad…”

“you open that pretty mouth for everything else.” he flicks them this time to make you tense and for tears to damn near overfill both your waterlines. “should’ve just said how much you wanted to be fucked way sooner, pup. saves us so much time.”

but you can’t wait for that now, not when you’re so close. the lone idea of stopping was aggravating enough.

your head falls back from the insatiable manner in which you chase your high, using his body to the highest degree to help get you there.

“you smell so sweet,” he coos through a husky moan. “mm. you’ll let me taste it later? it’s not good to be stingy.”

“right t-there,” you mewl, pressing your lips together before your vision practically blurs and and has you seeing dots. your orgasm is cataclysmic, and valko keeps your momentum going despite the clear overstimulation you’re experiencing. hearing you sing for him like this and watching you fall apart was worth your little hits of retaliation later.

he’s not far behind you either, thick spurts of sticky cum making a complete mess in his pants soon after you cave and quickly seeps through the material to add to the wet spot in between your legs.

both of you sit breathless with the sound of your forgotten movie still playing and being the only thing to fill the silence.

“you can taste it if i can taste you, too.”

“a deal?” he raises an eyebrow as if he’s open to negations. “other than the obvious, what’s really in it for me?”

of course he never misses an opportunity to play coy.

“keep making me feel good…” your thumb swipes along his bottom lip. “and maybe you’ll find out. or are you too scared?”

you sure were bold to offer up another challenge like this. and he could show you better than he could promise that this time, he wouldn’t go easy.

a/n: ofc i haaaddd to write about that picture. i’m so obsessed with it. like i was genuinely imagining this…. i almost felt it—AND, i know we can’t really tell if he’s ooc or not but if you think he’s ooc… DON’T TELL ME!!!!!!! valko baby, you’re ALIVE over here. they can’t take you from me. i hope you enjoyed, my cuties. MWAH MWAH!!!

MY IVY BAEEEE!!!!

i switched it up around here real fast, feels like i just got a new apartment lmaooooo

oh god…. OH HE LOVES GIVING AND RECEIVINGGGG!!!! he likes finding those perfect spots omgosh.. he’ll spend forever leaving little kisses and gentle bites to see how much you react. he’s loves the idea of owning you, of it being known that no matter where u are or what ur doing, you belong to him. that he’s ur REASON!!!! i feel like he loves to study you, being so nerdy and all. being able to learn you is his favorite thing, so it’s like a eureka moment when he finds the places that literallyyyy make you purr. he’s gotta study to get better, right? so marking up your most responsive spots that give him those pretty sounds? HE’S DOING IT!!! besides being able to breathe in your scent more than ever in those spots, he likes seeing parts of himself in and on you in any way

now when you give it to him… he tries to be goofy about it but feeling your soft lips and teeth claiming his flesh makes his body HOT!!! “saving some for later off the table?” YEAH HE’S TRYING TO BE FUNNY UNTIL YOU PUSH THE RIGHT BUTTONS!!!! groaning and whimpering till his head spins, i tell u…

he likes when the kisses are wet, too. since his hearing is so excellent, it makes his ears tickle and he really likes that i think. hearing you breathing heavier and ur heartbeat thumping.. he’ll let you devour him if you want to. “i like a woman who know how to eat”

OH FUUUCK!!!!!!! and pls mark him. he’ll literally have a hissy fit if you don’t. he wants to look in the mirror the next morning and figure out how to make sure you refresh them later

zayne

flinches when you get hit. apologizes, either verbally or mentally, each time

vows to protect you the first time you die in-game

chronic overhealer 

has a shielder and healer on his team in boss fights. just in case. 

his damage suffers as a result. he either wins with seconds to spare or has to do multiple attempts

he’s actually underestimating his skills. if he weren’t so cautious trying to keep you safe, he’d clear all content with ease

does not care too much for outfits or skins—no, his weakness is animals. has to own any cute pet or animal companion the game offers. is not above the occasional credit card swipe 

sylus

whales on you

he gets you and your weapon maxed out. keeps pulling for you even after that to show off

has millions of the rarest currency in the game that nobody else ever has because of this

obliterates everything because he’s spent so much money. never loses 

half of the game’s community has him blocked because they’re tired of seeing him win

keeps posting his highlight reels anyway

if there’s a housing feature, you have a mansion

he’s actually really invested in the game’s lore and likes to experience the story you

rafayel

whales on your outfits/skins

doesn’t care too much about damage, fights based on aesthetics. what weapon looks best on you, what team members look best with you, etc. yes his main team is 4 single-target dpses

only really tries when you have a new upgrade coming out and he has to speedrun all the content he hasn’t cleared

sometimes logs on just to teleport you to pretty locations and take in-game pictures

uses the pictures he takes as references for paintings

defends your design with his life. doesn’t care how detailed the newest character is, they have nothing on you. you hear him? nothing. 

always logs out near the water and greets you there each day

caleb

self-destructive play style

torn between his love for you and his thrill-seeking nature 

will forego a healer or shielder if it gives him an edge in combat

you’re on 1 hp more times than he can count. he makes it up to you by farming endlessly for the best gear

you are the only character he has everything maxed out for. everybody else has a mid build

addicted to seeing the damage numbers pop up and doing all the little gear calculations and comparisons (“ohoho, if i use this instead, i’ll get a two percent damage boost”)

yes it’s that serious. 

valko

Almost immediately, the tension in the air dissipates. A quiet sigh of relief slips from the executive’s mouth as the biggest adversary he’s faced since college plagiarism checkers steps into the hall. 

Several paces from the closed oak door, Yvonne turns to face Zayne, wringing her hands out with nerves. “I’m sorry to pull you away, but there’s been an emergency,” she whispers. 

Zayne squints slightly, dark eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Dr. Greyson should be available right now. Is there a reason wh—” 

“Your partner, Dr. Li.” It’s a rare interruption. “She was just in an accident.” 

The stairs are a blur as he rushes down them two at a time. Still, it isn't fast enough. 

“What’s happened?” Zayne demands. “Tell me everything.”

Yvonne follows closely behind him, her clogs hitting the floor on the offbeats of his heavy steps. “It was a collision with another vehicle. The other driver had only minor injuries, but hers are more serious.”

“How serious?” Careening around the corner, he nearly plows through a gaggle of interns heading toward the fifth floor. 

Typically, the sight of calm, collected Dr. Li is enough to make the younger staff gape in wonder. But frantic, distressed Dr. Li? That’s a new concept entirely.

However, as Zayne flattens his body to pass by them without hindrance, their gawking goes even less noticed than usual.

“They can’t tell the extent of the damage,” Yvonne explains. “We tried to evaluate upon arrival, but she won’t accept treatment until she sees you. When I left the ER, she was thrashing around and calling out for you.” 

“She’s afraid of hospitals,” he responds robotically.

Just a few steps farther.

The searing burn in his legs reminds him of the hike he’d gone on with you just a few days earlier. The way he tripped on a well-camouflaged branch, and you caught him with an ill-concealed snicker. The way you paused under a maple tree to catch your breath after, oblivious to the bustling beehive ten feet above you. 

“EEEEEEgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoff!”

As you permanently damage the hearing of the bee on your tank top, a retaliatory snicker escapes Zayne’s lips.

“You think this is funny?” you screech, holding deathly still lest you provoke the beast on your shoulder. “I’ve never been stung before! What if I'm allergic?”

“All right, all right.” He cautiously waves the insect off with his hand, and it flies onto a nearby flower. “See? You’re safe now.” 

While you catch your breath, a dramatic hand plastered to your chest, he curls an arm around your lower back and guides you away from danger. 

At the base of the mountain, you’d stopped at an ice cream truck, gifting each other compensatory snow cones for your troubles.

That memory of you, smiling in the sun with sweat-slicked skin and blue-stained lips, won’t leave his mind. What kind of state were you in right now? Would you be able to go out like that, to laugh like that again? Would you want to?

A chill creeps through the sterile air as he finally reaches the bottom of the stairwell. With an anxious breath, he bursts through the ER doors, eyes scanning with urgency unknown.

Zayne is used to seeing people bloodied and bruised—too used to it, if you and his parents had anything to say about it. After years of stitching the broken back up again, he's grown desensitized to the most off-putting aspects of the human body. When he sees blood, he can’t afford to panic. He's got a job to do.

Now, at perhaps the one moment he can afford it the least, there's a delay in his actions. It’s immoral for him to think this way, and he'd never say it out loud, but it's not a patient who's hurt. It's not just anyone. It’s you.

You, who demoted lonely from a frequent feeling to a foreign one. You, who showed him, for the first time, how to love and be loved.

So when he sees you frenzied and bleeding, swatting at several nurses’ hands like a cornered stray making its last stand, he freezes. And in that moment, your eyes meet.

Your tired, broken whimper is what finally springs him into action. 

He rushes to your side, forcing the metallic tang of your blood a step down from salience. The nurses clear a path for him immediately. 

He tries to examine the extent of your injuries, but your attempts to cling to him make it difficult. More than once, he has to beg you to stay still. 

“It hurts,” you mewl, weakly clutching his left arm.

“I know. I know. But I need you to stay still for me, all right? Just while we figure out what's wrong.” So much blood. “Here, give me your hand.”

Your palms meet with identical iron grips. You squeeze him in pain and fear, he squeezes you in simmering panic—as well as to keep you still.

Needing to be heard but not wanting to startle you, he calls out his observations with the steadiest voice he can. “I see abrasions on the right temple and significant bruising on the upper body. The arm and shoulder lacerations will likely need staples.” 

Slowly, he lifts your lolling head to examine your unfocused eyes. “What’s your full name, and where are we right now?” 

“We’re in…” Through slurred words, you blink slowly, pausing to take in your surroundings. It’s like you’re seeing it all for the first time—the somber staff, the sobbing families, the lifeless bodies on the beds—and your face is the picture of panic. “Why…why are we here? I don’t want to be here. I want to go home.”

Zayne grimaces, shushing you and smoothing your hair down. “She may have a concussion as well.”

Your swollen face contorts in panic. “I have what?” 

“Shh. I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable,” he whispers. Gathering you in his arms, he rises to full height and nods swiftly to the surrounding staff. “I’m going to set her down slowly. Ensure the gurney is stable.”

Your sense of smell is the first to return to you. 

At home, you keep diffusers scattered throughout the space; it brightens your day when your favorite fragrance fills the room. 

Here—wherever here is—a piercing sterile scent burns the inside of your nose. 

Bleach and artificial lemon.

Something is wrong.

In your ears, the high-pitched hum of equipment.

On your tongue, the aftertaste of iron.

When you finally manage to crack your eyes open, blinding light forces them shut. You try again a moment later, gradually processing the thin blue gown hanging loosely on your sore frame.

It all comes flooding back. 

A sickening crash. A crushing impact. Flashing lights, loud voices.

Screeching sirens. Fragments of motion sickness.  An abrupt stop. 

A big, bright Akso sign. Shining like a beacon.

Not here. Not here. Not all alone.

Your own voice, crying out for Zayne. 

Zayne.

Where is he now?

The hospital bed groans under your thrashing body. It hurts, but it won’t be for long. He’s here somewhere, and if you can just get to him, he’ll make it better like he always does. 

Zayne. Zayne. Zayne. 

As soon as you manage to plant one foot on the ground, the door to your room swings open. 

When Zayne steps through, face weary and teal scrubs more ruffled than he’d usually allow, your body melts in relief. 

His dim hazel eyes lighten a bit when he sees that you're awake. Then, they zero in on your injured form hanging precariously off the bed. 

“Going somewhere?” His voice is flat, unamused. He crosses the room in four long strides, gently lifts your errant leg, and repositions you properly on the mattress. All the while, he expertly dodges your weakened attempts to pull him down with you. “You need to stay here. Movement can exacerbate your injuries.”

“Okay.” You swallow thickly, eyes brimming with unshed tears. This time, when you reach for him, he wraps you into his warm embrace. 

Zayne shifts to hold you as best he can, avoiding the wounds and gauze on your head, arms, and shoulders. In the silence, your breaths and heartbeats slowly start to sync.

Clutching his shirt in your fingers, you speak softly into his skin. “You weren’t here when I woke up.” It’s not an accusation, but more a lamentation.

“I’d planned to stay with you, but a patient needed an emergency operation not long after they brought you here. I was in surgery for the last five hours. I came as soon as I could.”

You start to nod into his shoulder, but he stills your head to limit your movement. Instead, you give him something between a hum and a grunt. 

“What happened?” he asks after a moment.

“I tried to take the interstate on my way to work. The one we used to practice since I was so scared of all the traffic here. But when I went to merge…I barely even saw the other car. I just remember the crash, and the ambulance, and I knew they were taking me here—I saw the sign—and I panicked. I haven’t been in the hospital since I was a kid. Every time they’d let me out of bed to walk around, there was a new family crying in the halls. I didn’t ever want to go back.” Your voice is hoarse by the time you finish—barely more than a whisper. Pulling back slightly, Zayne cracks open the bottle of water on the bedside table and holds it to your lips. You drink gratefully, wrapping both hands around his wrist.

Once you’re done, he leans in close and presses a kiss to your hair. “You’re very brave for trying that by yourself. But should something like this happen again, you can't delay getting treatment because of me. Let them help you.” 

“You know I don’t—I’ve never felt comfortable in places like this. There’s so much pain and grief here. I don’t know how you handle it.” Your throat constricts, and his hold on you tightens as wetness seeps into his shirt. “I was so scared.”

“I know. But I was, too. Not knowing what I was walking into, what kind of state you’d be in when I arrived…I was terrified.”

You bite your lip, discovering an undetected cut at the top. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Of course you didn’t. Just promise me that you'll always make your wellbeing a priority, whether or not I’m within reach.”

“I want to. But it’s hard,” you mumble. “You’re really responsible, you know. And kind. And nice. And smart. And—”

You’re ready to prattle on, but you cut the praise short once you spot his pink-tinged cheeks. “You’re a lot of good things,” you pivot. “Most of all, you make me feel safe. But…”

“But?” he echoes, threading a hand through your hair.

“I get anxious without you,” you admit. “When I’m with you, I feel like everything will be alright, but when I'm not…it feels like the world is ending sometimes. And I'm there in the thick of it, lost and alone.” Your self-deprecating laugh worsens the ache in your chest. “I just feel like I depend on you a lot. Maybe too much.” 

He’s quiet for a few beats, constructing his response with the utmost care. “You should be able to depend on me,” he begins softly. “That's my job as your partner. But you lived many years before we met. Your agency isn’t reliant upon my physical presence, though you may feel it is.” He clears his throat. “I’d never be opposed to spending every second by your side. But when I can’t, I hope you’ll still feel me right there with you. Cheering you on, supporting you. That’s when I feel most at home.

“I could never stray too far from the one I love. So, although I may not always be present, I’m in your heart, as well as your thoughts. Even if you have to ask yourself, ‘What would Zayne do?’ to find your way forward, I trust you can come to the right answer. He would do whatever he could to keep you safe and healthy.” 

If you weren’t certain he’d scold you for moving, you’d duck your head under your blanket in embarrassment. Instead, you simply whine and avert your gaze, heart fluttering at his words. 

“You understand, don’t you?” he coaxes. “Can you take care of yourself for me?”

You purse your lips, still clutching his scrubs tight despite his ask. When you answer, your voice wavers in uncertainty. 

“I’ll try.” 

For the first part of the afternoon, Zayne keeps you company. He reads to you from Yvonne’s romance novel, supervises while you switch between games on his phone, and opens the blinds so you can people-watch from the comfort of the seventh-floor window.

When boredom strikes, you put on a game show on the midsize TV, guessing most answers wrong while he gets them right. 

When a staff member brings you a snack, you urge Zayne onto the too-small bed with you and share a tapioca pudding cup, tactfully ignoring the healthy serving of carrots on the side.

Soothed by his warmth and steady heartbeat, you feel your eyelids grow heavy after a while. In his arms, the room’s oppressive white and whirring machinery become no more than a quelled threat. But when the shrill beep of his pager cuts through the quiet, your body goes rigid with fear forgotten.  

“There’s another operation soon. I'll have to leave in a moment.”

“A-Are you sure?” Your eyes widen in dismay. “Can’t Greyson—” 

Recalling your promise from earlier, you reel yourself in and take your bottom lip between your teeth. As you lower your head and prepare to apologize, Zayne cups your warming face in his hands. You nuzzle into him greedily. 

“Greyson has already done all he can. His selflessness this afternoon is the reason I’ve been able to stay with you for this long. I suppose I owe him a coffee for that.” He curves his lips upward slightly, hoping your frowning ones will follow. “On the bright side, it’s the last surgery of the day. I'll be back here to see you once it’s over.” 

“Okay,” you whisper. You know he hears your voice break. Even if he doesn’t, you can't blink fast enough to stop the first few drops from falling.

Regret quickly takes the place of his smile. His face contorts into a grimace as he racks his brain for a solution, eventually nodding to himself resolutely. “Wait just a moment, all right? I’ll be right back. There’s something I need to do.” He kisses your hair once more, then waits for you to nod your agreement. Then, he walks briskly out of the room. 

The temperature seems to plummet. 

You curl in on yourself as best you can, the last round of painkillers wearing off fast. But Zayne brings you a warmth that’s unreachable alone.

You try to wait for him, you really do. But maybe it’s a miracle that sleep tugs at you in a place like this. 

When you pry your heavy eyelids open, the sun is just beginning to set. You’re certain you were out cold whenever Zayne returned to your room earlier, and you can’t help but groan. From the looks of it, he’s still in surgery—no telling when he’ll be back to help you spend the night in your least favorite place. 

Desperate to pass the time, you start to reach for the TV remote, only to nudge something soft tucked into your side. Upon further inspection, you recognize the hospital’s gift shop logo stitched onto a black paw pad. 

Beside you is a grinning polar bear plush, a pair of lensless spectacles sitting on its short snout. On its blue bib sits a get well soon message; between its outstretched paws is a brief note. That paradoxically legible handwriting…you’d know it anywhere. 

I’m here with you always. Take care of yourself.