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valko isn't a dog, but he definitely sounds like one. you'll wake up in the mornings, his arm heavy around your waist. you always think he's asleep, but as soon as you try to leave the bed, he'll whine. a soft, high-pitched sound that escapes from his throat as he pulls you flush against him.
it doesn't end there. sometimes, the two of you will be enjoying a movie. you're on the couch, and he's sat on the floor, back between your legs. your hand will unconsciously drift towards his head until you're scratching behind his ears. valko does his best to keep his cool. he really does. but when your hands are so gently massaging the crook where his head meets his ears? oh, he's gone. valko will moan before you even register what you're doing, and all of a sudden, he'll have you on your back as his broad frame engulfs you from above and the movie becomes background noise.
valko will be extra careful about these kinds of things in public. but when you wander off at a company party, and he finds you by the bar with another man attempting to flirt by standing severely too close to you, he can't help it. valko approaches like a predator. he places his arm on your lower back, almost too low, and greets the man with a growl. the message is clear.
his possessiveness doesn't fool you though. at the end of the day, he'll come home saying he missed you. no, he needed you. and when he leans in to steal a kiss from your lips, you'll tug him back by his hair. his ears will twitch in desperation, and his tail will flail helplessly. valko whimpers when you make him ask for it. and you drink it up when your lips meet his.
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ author's note: this came to me in a vision.
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ want to be notified for new deliveries? join a taglist!
┈┈⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ content: semi-canon compliant, some discussion around wounds but no explicit gore, no use of Y/N, cross-cultural clash (lycan x human lul), unresolved romantic tension (eventual smut maybe...), fated mates, himbo-coded Valko but really its just emotional transparency, MC is suspicious as hell of it all though, references to and loosely based off trailers
┈┈⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ A/N: decided to change the title to the romanized version of родная (in russian, an endearment I believe the meaning is closer to "my own" which comes from the root for "family" ahhh) aaand here is part 2 (earlier than I said I would post it heh the next one wont be early yall)! part 1 can be found here
The third time it’s mentioned, surprisingly, you’re the one to bring it up.
“Fuck!”
“Yeah I know.” Valko takes in your grimace with a look of his own, stern golden eyes peering over his glasses. “Hang in there, alright?”
The sharp pinch of his powers probing in your leg is growing unbearable— an excruciating ache that has your fingers digging into his back, breath hissing through clenched teeth.
“Just a little longer,” he encourages. “Almost got ‘em.”
The ache builds until it suddenly sears white-hot, something shifting deep inside the wound. Cold sweat drips down your temple as you struggle to breathe through the sensation. His muscles underneath your grip tense. The pressure inside the wound tightens, eases, and then shifts again in painstaking increments, his careful adjustments making it clear that whatever he’s caught is resisting every attempt to draw it free.
Each minute tug seems to multiply the pain a thousandfold, cresting into a wave of agony that vibrates up your leg, your hips, your spine, your clenched hands. Then he pulls again— slower, deeper— you smother a scream into his shoulder, teeth sinking in as tears gush hot down your cheek, mingling with the cold sweat soaking the fabric of his shirt.
“Yeah, that’s it— take it out on me.” The clink of metal against glass barely registers. “Good, you’re doing so good.”
You must have lost consciousness somewhere along the way because the next thing you know, you’re blinking beneath the lab’s muted lights. There’s the steady rush of water from the sink, the gentle clatter of instruments being set down one by one, the faint sticky rustle of damp gauze being peeled away. The dull throb in your leg and the tight pull of fresh bandages, followed by the softness of a blanket tucked close under your chin. The blanket’s warmth quickly becomes overwhelming, trapping heat against your still feverish skin. You shift, bracing a hand against the table, beginning to push yourself upright.
“Hey.” Valko is already at your side, a supportive hand under yours as you sit up with a wince. “Take it easy, you’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“Did you—” Your question dissolves into a rasp, though whether it’s from how dry your mouth feels or how thin your voice sounds, you can’t be sure.
“Here.”
He presses a cup of water into your hands. You manage a grateful nod before tipping it back, draining it too quickly, too thirsty to care when water spills down your chin.
“Did you take a look yet?” At his blank look, you clarify impatiently, wiping your chin. “At what was in my leg?”
He hesitates, then nods decisively with a small frown. “Even from a quick look, I can tell these ain’t ordinary weapons. They’re advanced— some sort of microtech. It’s why they were such a pain in the ass to extract. The little fuckers kept moving, almost like they had minds of their own.”
The muscles in his jaw work and release.
“And I had to immobilize them without tearing your leg up any worse than it already was. That kind of precision with my Evol...” He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I’ve never had to do anything like that before.”
His eyes settle back on you, gold crystallizing to flinty yellow.
“And something that sophisticated ending up inside you? Ain’t no way that’s a coincidence.”
You sit with the sobering information, letting it settle. “... You’re saying that explosion was intentional?”
Valko huffs, dipping his head to your eye-level. “I’m saying that someone has their eyes on you and I’m not happy about it. In fact...”
His face is so close, the tip of his nose almost touches yours. Awareness prickles across your skin, every nerve abruptly attuned to the narrowing space between you and the heat of his body. And for a moment, it looks like he means to close the distance. But Valko catches himself at the last second, one hand settling at the edge of the table beside your leg.
“You did quite a number on my heart today.”
Maybe it’s the fever still simmering underneath your skin; maybe it’s the bone-deep exhaustion blurring the edges of your thoughts. Or maybe it’s the dark half moons under his eyes, the stiffness in his shoulders, the vivid crescent of your teeth imprinted in his upper arm— either way, you find yourself asking the question in the back of your mind ever since he spoke it into existence.
“Do you really think I’m your mate?”
He blinks slowly. “Why’d you ask?”
“How do you know...?” You let the question fade, a strange sense of self-consciousness throttling the words in your throat.
“How do I know what?” he prods gently.
A thousand different racing thoughts but after a long silence, all that you can muster is: “I just... I don’t know if I believe that kind of thing.”
You can’t bring yourself to look anywhere but the floor. Valko makes that soft huffing noise again from somewhere above you. “What do you know about lycans?”
“Not much,” you admit.
A succession of faint pops breaks the silence. You glance up to find him tilting his head from side to side, eyes closed as his fingers knead the back of his neck.
“Wolves mate for life,” he says slowly, as though weighing each word. “For lycans, it’s the same. And s’not so much knowing, as it just is.” He shrugs, eyes still closed. “But obviously, that doesn’t mean you’re obligated to return my feelings.”
“So,” you ask, feeling a bit on edge without knowing why, “if I don’t agree to it, what— you’re just single forever?”
He shrugs again. “More or less.”
“That sounds awful.”
He snorts, eyes snapping open to reach over and rap your nose with a knuckle.
“S’not like I’m gunna die alone, ya goof.” He pulls over a nearby chair, looking thoughtful as he settles back into it. “Of course, rejection ain’t ideal, but s’not the end of the world. I have my clan too. Cousins, aunties, uncles—”
Valko yawns, an impressive display of his canines before shooting you a teasing grin.”Have I mentioned the sixteen puppers? You’ve got some pretty stiff competition.” His smile grows fond, warm with unseen memories.
“But...” The question prickles at the tip of your tongue, pushing past the uneasy twist in your stomach. “You’re not resentful?”
He tilts his head, one ear tipping forward while the other flicks back in confusion. “Resentful of what?”
“Having your partner chosen for you? Forced into some predestined bullshit?”
You nearly jump out of your skin when Valko throws back his head and laughs, a booming, full-bodied sound that reverberates from deep in his chest, the glass vials in the room faintly rattling with every rolling chuckle. It carries long enough for your annoyance to flare up, but he gathers himself before you have a chance to retort.
“That’s a... new way to think about it,” he says with a wry tilt at the corner of his mouth. “But no. I find myself lucky.”
“Lucky?” You can’t even fathom how he arrived at that conclusion. “Why?”
“Predestined or not,” his gaze finds yours, steady and true, “I’m lucky to have met you.”
Immediately, you jerk your gaze away, a dreaded blush crawling up your neck. “And what if all you’re feeling is just a biological imperative?”
“A biological... imperative?” he echoes, as if he can’t quite follow.
“I mean,” you say, mind racing, words tumbling out before you can process them, barely knowing what you’re trying to say. “Based on what I’ve seen, scent seems to be a really important part of your bond with me. Makes sense right? After all, you’re able to sense so much with your nose, of course you’d be able to sniff out genetic markers or complimentary immune systems—”
You’re in the air, weightless, and for a second you don’t understand— not until Valko deposits you right onto his lap. And technically, you’ve already spent half the night there— sitting across his thighs, your face buried against his shoulder as he worked to remove the debris from your leg. But stripped of medical necessity, the position feels entirely different. Now... Well, now, heat flushes your entire body as every point of contact becomes suddenly, mortifyingly apparent.
“You’re stubborn, so it’s gunna take a while for this to sink in.” He sighs, his nose softly brushing against yours. “But even if my nose stopped working tomorrow—hell, even if it got cut off this very second— I’d still feel lucky to have met you.
“Your scent may have kickstarted this whole thing, sure. But after spending time with you, fighting beside you...”
The gold of his gaze is warm, rich as amber reflecting firelight.
“I’m interested in you. Not in how you smell, not your damn genetic markers. You. Your tendency to question every little damn thing, your bull-headed tenacity, that terrible, terrible habit of neglecting your own needs— not a favorite, for the record— and…” He nuzzles your temple. “And that beautifully atrocious temper of yours.”
You’re stunned silent.
“Yasno?” he asks, looking incredibly self-satisfied as he draws back. “Got it? Got it.”
The self satisfaction grates so thoroughly on your already frayed nerves, your hands fly out to grab his cheeks. Viciously scrubbing your palms back and forth all over his face, you smother his eyes and nose while he sputters in startled protest. Once you’re satisfied with your work, you give his face one last shove.
“Don’t get so cocky,” you shoot over your shoulder as you limp off his lap, “you big oaf.”
┈┈⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ content: semi-canon compliant, scent marking/scenting, no use of Y/N, cross-cultural clash (lycan x human lul), unresolved romantic tension (eventual smut maybe...), fated mates, himbo-coded Valko but really its just emotional transparency, MC is suspicious as hell of it all though, references to and loosely based off trailers
┈┈⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ A/N: what can I say... I've been bitten by the werewolf LOL gunna be a multi-part series | pt 2 here
The first time he says it, you’re not sure you hear him right.
“I’m your what?”
Clearly your reaction isn’t quite the one he expected; his golden eyes go wide with consternation.
“Uh…” The man raises his hands in a show of surrender. “Could we at least put the gun away—?”
You rack your gun, the distinctive metallic click-clack echoing in the night.
“Take that as a no—” He takes a step closer and you aim directly at his heart, the red laser burning a bright crimson point against his metal armor. “Easy there, easy.” His tail has gone from wagging furiously to a slower sweep, lower to the floor. “I swear, I’m not your enemy—”
“Then who the hell are you?” Keeping your aim steady, you glance at your chirping Hunter’s watch. Shit, a horde of incoming Wanderers.
“Valko,” he offers hopefully, gaze darting across your face. “A friend.”
You take him in, from the russet furry ears pinned back on his head, to the hulking claymore across his back. “That’s not what you said earlier.”
To your surprise, he laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Gotta admit I got ahead of myself there—”
An inhuman shriek from your far left makes you tense, your body itching to turn to assess the new threat.
“Look.” Valko is stealthier than his hulking frame has any right to be; he’s already another three steps closer, ignoring the clink of your weapon against his chest. “We both hear ‘em coming. Let me help. Two people, half the work— a win-win for everyone.”
You don’t trust him, not by a long shot. But if your watch’s sensors are correct, the incoming swarm could be more trouble than you accounted for.
“Fine.” You swing your rifle up on your shoulder, easing the barrel away. His tail starts wagging faster despite his carefully blank expression. “Stay where I can see you.”
Valko breaks into a wicked grin, fangs and golden eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Always.”
The second time it comes up, you watch him stutter around the idea in a panic.
“What the hell?”
Valko waves cheerily from the balcony railing, looking a bit too at home perched on its edge. Sliding open your glass door with more force than necessary, you scan the neighboring windows and balconies, relieved to find no one gawking at the bizarre scene. “How’d you even find me?”
He taps his nose. “Followed your scent,” he says matter-of-fact, as if it were obvious. “You texted about wanting to meet—”
“I didn’t mean—” A neighbor’s window lights up, and you hunch down. “Just— get down, will you? Hurry up and get inside!”
The pointed ears on his head perk up. “I can come in?”
Your eyes narrow. “Wha—”
Any effort to follow this wolf-man’s logic was manifesting into nothing but an impending headache. Before you can snap at him again, the rattle of a window spurs you into latching onto his arm in a panic, tugging him inside. When you finally close the door and turn back to face him, his eyes are closed, a small furrow between his brows, chest expanding as if he’s in the middle of breathing deep. You’re taken aback... for all but half a second. At this point, not knowing what he’s about to do next is about the most predictable thing about him.
“Valko?”
His eyes slit open. “I uh... Your place—” His voice cracks, and you stare up at him, bemused. He clears his throat. “Is nice. Smells like you.”
“Right.” If he can track you down with his nose alone, is it possible being in your apartment was a bit overwhelming for him? Zeroing in on the precarious tower of takeout boxes accumulated from the last week to the haphazardly thrown socks on the floor, you grow hot with mortification. What if he’s smelling all of that—?
“Hold— uh, hold on.” You rush past him, swiping the socks before he can turn around. “Sit tight on the sofa for a second, okay?”
Dumping your assortment of notebooks, pens, and sticky note covered laptop in a drawer, throwing your dirty clothes into the wash, gathering your scattered hair ties and sheets of salonpas, sweeping the dining table clear of your half finished milk tea cups and crinkled protein bar wrappers— a frantic five minutes of erratic surface-level cleaning finds you back in the living room, eyebrow raised.
“What’re you doing?”
Valko jumps, tail puffed up and ramrod straight. Pulling himself abruptly up and out from planting face first in your pile of plushies, he immediately turns to you, his eyes glued to the floor, an uncharacteristic blush raging across his cheeks.
“I... I can explain?”
But before you can say a word, he’s already speeding ahead, his words stumbling over each other. “I swear, s’not— s’not what you think it is. Lycans, we— we have this heightened sense of smell and it tells us everything, and I mean, everything. And being here, especially with you as my ma— my uh—” He skitters around the word, clearly remembering your last reaction. “You— you know— and you love these and I— I couldn’t help it— oh, not— not that I can’t control myself— I have total control over myself! Please don’t worry— I’m not— I won’t— I’m not a pervert—”
He stops his own tirade with a groan, smacking his forehead with an open palm. “... Is exactly what a pervert would say,” he mutters, before he hangs his head in his hands.
“Fuck.” His sigh is so dejected, he visibly wilts. “Sorry, this is not... yeah, fuck. Sorry. I can let myself out...”
Should you laugh? Your lips are fighting to stay a neutral line. When he heads toward the balcony (again?! Is this man allergic to using the front door?), you raise the report that made you text him in the first place.
“You had new findings on this protocore?”
He freezes, the only indication that he’s heard you are his ears straining in your direction. “You... still wanna know?”
You cross your arms with a huff. “You are already here. Unless you have somewhere to be?”
The speed at which he swerves back around is straight up comical. “I’m free.” He sits back gingerly on the sofa. “I am free.”
“Good.” You set the report on your coffee table across from him. “Tell me what you know.”
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.
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girl whose type is strictly caretakers but refuses to let herself be taken care of on the principles of being independent and trust issues so she runs away from it for a while before the caretakers coax her into it bit by bit until she's sooo soft and pliant and spoiled from it...
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
┈┈⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ content: semi-canon compliant, some discussion around wounds but no explicit gore, no use of Y/N, cross-cultural clash (lycan x human lul), unresolved romantic tension (eventual smut maybe...), fated mates, himbo-coded Valko but really its just emotional transparency, MC is suspicious as hell of it all though, references to and loosely based off trailers
┈┈⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ A/N: decided to change the title to the romanized version of родная (in russian, an endearment I believe the meaning is closer to "my own" which comes from the root for "family" ahhh) aaand here is part 2 (earlier than I said I would post it heh the next one wont be early yall)! part 1 can be found here
The third time it’s mentioned, surprisingly, you’re the one to bring it up.
“Fuck!”
“Yeah I know.” Valko takes in your grimace with a look of his own, stern golden eyes peering over his glasses. “Hang in there, alright?”
The sharp pinch of his powers probing in your leg is growing unbearable— an excruciating ache that has your fingers digging into his back, breath hissing through clenched teeth.
“Just a little longer,” he encourages. “Almost got ‘em.”
The ache builds until it suddenly sears white-hot, something shifting deep inside the wound. Cold sweat drips down your temple as you struggle to breathe through the sensation. His muscles underneath your grip tense. The pressure inside the wound tightens, eases, and then shifts again in painstaking increments, his careful adjustments making it clear that whatever he’s caught is resisting every attempt to draw it free.
Each minute tug seems to multiply the pain a thousandfold, cresting into a wave of agony that vibrates up your leg, your hips, your spine, your clenched hands. Then he pulls again— slower, deeper— you smother a scream into his shoulder, teeth sinking in as tears gush hot down your cheek, mingling with the cold sweat soaking the fabric of his shirt.
“Yeah, that’s it— take it out on me.” The clink of metal against glass barely registers. “Good, you’re doing so good.”
You must have lost consciousness somewhere along the way because the next thing you know, you’re blinking beneath the lab’s muted lights. There’s the steady rush of water from the sink, the gentle clatter of instruments being set down one by one, the faint sticky rustle of damp gauze being peeled away. The dull throb in your leg and the tight pull of fresh bandages, followed by the softness of a blanket tucked close under your chin. The blanket’s warmth quickly becomes overwhelming, trapping heat against your still feverish skin. You shift, bracing a hand against the table, beginning to push yourself upright.
“Hey.” Valko is already at your side, a supportive hand under yours as you sit up with a wince. “Take it easy, you’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“Did you—” Your question dissolves into a rasp, though whether it’s from how dry your mouth feels or how thin your voice sounds, you can’t be sure.
“Here.”
He presses a cup of water into your hands. You manage a grateful nod before tipping it back, draining it too quickly, too thirsty to care when water spills down your chin.
“Did you take a look yet?” At his blank look, you clarify impatiently, wiping your chin. “At what was in my leg?”
He hesitates, then nods decisively with a small frown. “Even from a quick look, I can tell these ain’t ordinary weapons. They’re advanced— some sort of microtech. It’s why they were such a pain in the ass to extract. The little fuckers kept moving, almost like they had minds of their own.”
The muscles in his jaw work and release.
“And I had to immobilize them without tearing your leg up any worse than it already was. That kind of precision with my Evol...” He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I’ve never had to do anything like that before.”
His eyes settle back on you, gold crystallizing to flinty yellow.
“And something that sophisticated ending up inside you? Ain’t no way that’s a coincidence.”
You sit with the sobering information, letting it settle. “... You’re saying that explosion was intentional?”
Valko huffs, dipping his head to your eye-level. “I’m saying that someone has their eyes on you and I’m not happy about it. In fact...”
His face is so close, the tip of his nose almost touches yours. Awareness prickles across your skin, every nerve abruptly attuned to the narrowing space between you and the heat of his body. And for a moment, it looks like he means to close the distance. But Valko catches himself at the last second, one hand settling at the edge of the table beside your leg.
“You did quite a number on my heart today.”
Maybe it’s the fever still simmering underneath your skin; maybe it’s the bone-deep exhaustion blurring the edges of your thoughts. Or maybe it’s the dark half moons under his eyes, the stiffness in his shoulders, the vivid crescent of your teeth imprinted in his upper arm— either way, you find yourself asking the question in the back of your mind ever since he spoke it into existence.
“Do you really think I’m your mate?”
He blinks slowly. “Why’d you ask?”
“How do you know...?” You let the question fade, a strange sense of self-consciousness throttling the words in your throat.
“How do I know what?” he prods gently.
A thousand different racing thoughts but after a long silence, all that you can muster is: “I just... I don’t know if I believe that kind of thing.”
You can’t bring yourself to look anywhere but the floor. Valko makes that soft huffing noise again from somewhere above you. “What do you know about lycans?”
“Not much,” you admit.
A succession of faint pops breaks the silence. You glance up to find him tilting his head from side to side, eyes closed as his fingers knead the back of his neck.
“Wolves mate for life,” he says slowly, as though weighing each word. “For lycans, it’s the same. And s’not so much knowing, as it just is.” He shrugs, eyes still closed. “But obviously, that doesn’t mean you’re obligated to return my feelings.”
“So,” you ask, feeling a bit on edge without knowing why, “if I don’t agree to it, what— you’re just single forever?”
He shrugs again. “More or less.”
“That sounds awful.”
He snorts, eyes snapping open to reach over and rap your nose with a knuckle.
“S’not like I’m gunna die alone, ya goof.” He pulls over a nearby chair, looking thoughtful as he settles back into it. “Of course, rejection ain’t ideal, but s’not the end of the world. I have my clan too. Cousins, aunties, uncles—”
Valko yawns, an impressive display of his canines before shooting you a teasing grin.”Have I mentioned the sixteen puppers? You’ve got some pretty stiff competition.” His smile grows fond, warm with unseen memories.
“But...” The question prickles at the tip of your tongue, pushing past the uneasy twist in your stomach. “You’re not resentful?”
He tilts his head, one ear tipping forward while the other flicks back in confusion. “Resentful of what?”
“Having your partner chosen for you? Forced into some predestined bullshit?”
You nearly jump out of your skin when Valko throws back his head and laughs, a booming, full-bodied sound that reverberates from deep in his chest, the glass vials in the room faintly rattling with every rolling chuckle. It carries long enough for your annoyance to flare up, but he gathers himself before you have a chance to retort.
“That’s a... new way to think about it,” he says with a wry tilt at the corner of his mouth. “But no. I find myself lucky.”
“Lucky?” You can’t even fathom how he arrived at that conclusion. “Why?”
“Predestined or not,” his gaze finds yours, steady and true, “I’m lucky to have met you.”
Immediately, you jerk your gaze away, a dreaded blush crawling up your neck. “And what if all you’re feeling is just a biological imperative?”
“A biological... imperative?” he echoes, as if he can’t quite follow.
“I mean,” you say, mind racing, words tumbling out before you can process them, barely knowing what you’re trying to say. “Based on what I’ve seen, scent seems to be a really important part of your bond with me. Makes sense right? After all, you’re able to sense so much with your nose, of course you’d be able to sniff out genetic markers or complimentary immune systems—”
You’re in the air, weightless, and for a second you don’t understand— not until Valko deposits you right onto his lap. And technically, you’ve already spent half the night there— sitting across his thighs, your face buried against his shoulder as he worked to remove the debris from your leg. But stripped of medical necessity, the position feels entirely different. Now... Well, now, heat flushes your entire body as every point of contact becomes suddenly, mortifyingly apparent.
“You’re stubborn, so it’s gunna take a while for this to sink in.” He sighs, his nose softly brushing against yours. “But even if my nose stopped working tomorrow—hell, even if it got cut off this very second— I’d still feel lucky to have met you.
“Your scent may have kickstarted this whole thing, sure. But after spending time with you, fighting beside you...”
The gold of his gaze is warm, rich as amber reflecting firelight.
“I’m interested in you. Not in how you smell, not your damn genetic markers. You. Your tendency to question every little damn thing, your bull-headed tenacity, that terrible, terrible habit of neglecting your own needs— not a favorite, for the record— and…” He nuzzles your temple. “And that beautifully atrocious temper of yours.”
You’re stunned silent.
“Yasno?” he asks, looking incredibly self-satisfied as he draws back. “Got it? Got it.”
The self satisfaction grates so thoroughly on your already frayed nerves, your hands fly out to grab his cheeks. Viciously scrubbing your palms back and forth all over his face, you smother his eyes and nose while he sputters in startled protest. Once you’re satisfied with your work, you give his face one last shove.
“Don’t get so cocky,” you shoot over your shoulder as you limp off his lap, “you big oaf.”
We know that Zayne is 27, Valko is 26, and Caleb is 25. Considering Zayne prolly stayed away from Linkon from Primary to,,, maybe Uni? Caleb also moved away to study, and Valko... Well, we don't know but indulge me on this.
WHAT IF THEY ATTENDED THE SAME UNIVERSITY?
Like it was on accident, since the 3 of them are rlly smart n talented, they were able to attend the top university of the world or something.
They're all in different fields but it's still in STEM, and they probably share the same location, if not the same building (probably not tho).
Zayne first arrived and he's amazing, top student in Science, etc. In his 2nd year, he made friends (maybe thru competition or whatever) with a Technology student, Valko. Two years after that, he finds a familiar name on top of the Engineering leaderboard, specifically in Aerospace and Aviation: Caleb, who was on his 2nd year by then.
Zayne is on his 4th year but since he's medical field,,, 8 years to graduate, I think? Valko's on his 3rd year.
Before Caleb, Zayne and Valko would just pass by each other, say hi, maybe nod at each other, but never really hang out. Until Caleb.
Apparently Valko has been chatting up both upper and lowerclassmens, making friends everywhere, and Caleb fits his vibe so they quickly became friends. After Zayne and Caleb rekindled, Caleb invites both seniors out to drink. One night, Zayne ended up super drunk and the three stumble their way to Zayne's dorm room. Making sure he doesn't die, the other two slept over, and that bonding experience has changed the status of their friendship ever since.
I imagine midterms and finals week are the most fun, because it's 3 super smart geniuses trying to not die from over-studying, and it actually helps because being with each other helps with their nerves. They go to Zayne's room, bc it's clean.
It's also cute because there's no competition. No one's beating anyone. They can be the top students of their respective fields, so there's no friendship-breaking pressure to win against one another.
Just a silly little drabble since I'm not gonna have time for a proper fic this week! Also the banner for this is taking me out lmao SYLUS 😭😭😭
Bad Hair Day
(or, 'literally the best day ever!!' ~ Luke and Kieran)
Sylus x gn!Reader, 650 words.
“Did it hurt, Sylus?”
“When I fell from heaven?”
“When you got struck by lightning.”
Sylus frowns. You snap a picture as he looks up from a data pad, mid-peruse of the news. He’s only mildly perturbed, mind you, not outright confused; the distinction has always been sacred. Confusion implies he’s in the dark, and—morning affairs in digital fine-print before him— Sylus is never, ever, in the dark about anything.
“Lightning, sweetie?” he fishes idly. “I’ll bite. You… felt a spark when you looked at me, hm? There’s electricity in the air?”
You rest your chin in your hand. “Why’re you so convinced I’m making a pass at you?”
“Every word from your mouth is a pass at me, kitten. I’ve learned to live with it.”
“He says, in a whorish silk robe.”
He tuts as he sips at his coffee. “It’s sophisticated.”
Is it sophisticated? “It’s halfway down your shoulder, Sylus.”
With a flicker of a sideways glance, he regards the wine-red silk bunched precariously at the top of his arm. Silk that slips another few centimetres when he shrugs. “Oops.”
Your lips are a thin line as you raise your own mug up to them, making Sylus chuckle. It’s a rich, self-indulgent sound— so hedonistic, so pleased with itself. Silently, you press a few quick buttons on your phone, then thrust it towards him:
The picture you’d taken.
Sylus’s chuckle cuts out like someone has gripped his throat and squeezed.
In the image and in life, his hair is a mess: points jutting out every imaginable angle. It looks deliberate— fixed with gel, spray, or perhaps a spontaneous desire to be a talking point at breakfast— but his eyes are sharp with curiosity as he pats at his head. Is his hair really—? Yes, he can feel it under his hand.
Now that’s confusion, soft-bellied and exposed. You don’t know when you’ll have this chance again, so you take the shots you can, rapid-fire, no mercy:
“You look like you fell asleep in a washing machine. Like you were practicing alchemy, and it blew up in your face. Ooh, ooh! You look like a toilet brush that’s been used to scrub seven million toilets.”
Sylus hums as he pokes a hair tuft. “How… colourful.”
“Seriously, Sy. I know you’re a deep sleeper, but you’d think something was nesting in there, the way that—”
You gasp.
A little preoccupied, Sylus misses the ember. By the time he gazes up, sensing warmth and danger, it’s too late to stamp on it. He tries, anyway. “No. No. Kitten? No.”
…
“Hold still, Sylus!”
Mephisto wobbles on Sylus’s head, hunkering down for stability with a chirp.
“Take your time, sweetie,” Sylus grimaces, claws in his scalp as you take so many more pictures than necessary.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m almost done… try, uh… try to look really grumpy, yeah? Like you wanna kill me. Can you do that, Sy?”
He can’t, actually. He might be bleeding, ridiculed, but there’s light in his eyes as he watches you laugh and fuss over the composition of his downfall. When you say something about the rule of thirds, you catch his lip quirking; he’s trying not to smile.
You lower your phone, grinning. “Okay. I’ve got it.”
Sylus lifts Mephisto from his head— plonking him down on the kitchen counter, then finally, finally, tending to his hair. He mumbles as he smooths it back down, guiding silver-white curls with his fingers: “The things I do for you, kitten. Just make sure the twins don’t see it, hm? I couldn’t care less what they think, but the headaches, oh, they’d never let me hear the end of—”
Across Onychinus’s base, someone shrieks with laughter. Sylus flinches.
You glance up from your phone, where your group chat with Luke and Kieran is open. “Hmm? Say that again, Sy, sorry, I missed it.”
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