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For the Valko requests, I would love to see some cute family fluff between MC, Valko, his cousins, grandma, and his sister (I think he had a sister in his lore, correct me if I am wrong), because I want to see how MC would get along with Valko's family. 🐺
𝐀 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄
synopsis: when valko brings you home for the first time, he warns you about everything: his grandmother’s food, his sister’s stare, his cousin’s stories, the family jokes that always cut too close. he forgets to warn you that love in his house is not gentle or quiet, but loud, practical, mercilessly observant, and served warm at the kitchen table.
cw/tw: valko x reader. very soft domestic fluff. light family teasing.
read here: ao3 ⋅ tumblr
Valko lost his nerve three steps from the door.
It was a small death, but you saw it happen; the brave lift of his chin, the twitch in his jaw, the small, tragic collapse of his entire face when a crash came from inside the house.
His hand tightened around yours.
“Dobro,” he said.
Another crash.
From inside, and older woman called, “If that's my good plate, I will put someone in the ground before supper.”
Valko closed his eyes. You turned toward him.
He opened one eyes. “She loves plates.”
“More than people?”
“Depends on the people.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself, and relief moved through him all at once, softening his shoulders, loosening the frightened line of his mouth. He'd been nervous all morning. Badly nervous. Valko, who could grin with blood on his teeth and make danger look like a door he'd simply forgotten to knock on, had spent the whole walk here giving you warnings no sane person could have prepared for.
Do not let Mika read your palm. He makes things up and then believes them.
Do not compliment Baba's curtains unless you want curtains.
Do not say you're full.
And, most importantly, if anyone mentions the soup incident, Valko had said, grave as a condemned man, they're lying.
You had asked what the soup incident was.
He had started to walk faster.
Now he stood before the old wooden door with your fingers caught in his, trying to look calm and producing, somehow, the exact expression of a wolf about to be bathed.
“Valko,” you said softly.
“Yes?”
“You're shaking.”
“I'm not shaking.”
“You are.”
“I’m containing myself.”
“From what?”
“Hereditary embarrassment.”
The door flew open.
A girl about his age stood on the other side, dark-eyed and grinning, with flour on her cheek and murder in her posture. She took one look at Valko’s hand around yours, then lifted her gaze to his face with the slow delight of someone finding a knife exactly where she had hoped one would be.
A slow smile cut across her face.
“Oh,” she smirked. “So this is why you changed your shirt twice.”
Valko made a sound. Small, wounded, entirely unlike a wolf.
“I changed once.”
“You changed twice. The first shirt was the blue one. The second was the one that made you look like you were going to court. This...This is the third.”
His ears went red.
The woman held out her hand to you. “Milena. His sister.”
“Unfortunately,” Valko added.
“Fortunately. Without me, you'd still think soap is optional in winter.”
“It isn't optional.”
“Because of me.”
You took Milena's hand. Her grip was warm, firm, and full of judgement she hadn't yet decided to use.
Behind her, the house breathed out heat. Bread, onions, some in old wood, something sweet cooling on a counter. There were voices everywhere, layered and crossing. One person laughing while another complained, a child humming under a table, chairs scraping, a kettle whistling like a bird losing patience.
Milena stepped aside. “Come in before Baba starts saying we were raised by wolves.”
Valko muttered, “We were.”
She looked at him. “And still, some of us learned manners.”
You crossed the threshold. The house was smaller than the noise made it seem, or maybe the noise had simply learned to fill every corner. Framed photographs climbed the walls in crooked rows. Herbs hung drying above the kitchen window. Nothing matched, and yet everything looked touched, mended, argued over... kept.
Valko leaned close as he helped you out of your coat.
“Last chance,” he whispered. “We can run.”
You looked past him to where an old woman stood near the stove, hands folded over her apron, watching you with bright, wolfish eyes.
“Too late,” you whispered back. “I think she heard you.”
“I hear everything,” the old woman said.
Valko went still.
Milena smiled into her shoulder.
The old woman crossed the kitchen with the slow authority of someone who had ruled this house before any of them had teeth. She was small, broad in the shoulders, silver-haired, with flour on her wrist and no softness wasted in her face. The softness, you realised, was elsewhere. In the bread covered by a towel, in the chair pulled out before you reached it, in the way Valko lowered his head without being asked when she came close.
“Baba,” he said, and for the first time that day, his voice lost its jokes.
She, of course, ignored him.
Instead, she took your face between both hands.
Her palms smelled of rosemary, yeast, and soap. Her thumbs rested beneath your cheekbones, and for one strange second the whole house seemed to lean closer. The cousins, the kettle, the old boards, even Valko, holding his breath beside you.
“So,” Baba Vesna said. “You are the reason he forgets to eat.”
“I eat,” Valko protested.
Teta Marika appeared by the stove, wooden spoon in hand. “You came here last week, opened the pantry, stared at a sack of potatoes for six minutes, then said, ‘I wonder what she’s doing.’”
“That was taken out of context.”
“What was the context?” you asked, because love had made you brave and terrible.
Valko looked betrayed. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
A boy leaning backwards on his chair nearly lost balance from laughing, another cousin caught the chair by its back without looking up from peeling an apple.
Baba Vesna patted your cheek once and released you. “Sit, dušo. Eat something before my family embarrass me properly.”
Valko gave a strangled laugh. “Before?”
No one listened to him.
You were placed at the long wooden table as if the decision had been made before you arrived. A bowl appeared, then bread, then butter, then a small plate of pickled vegetables. Teta Marika, Valko's aunt, kissed the air beside your cheeks and took the small gift you had brought. Mika announced that he already knew your favourite colour from Valko’s face. Luka told him that was the stupidest sentence ever spoken in the kitchen, which Mika accepted as praise. The little one beneath the table emerged, solemn and bread-dusted, and introduced himself as Niko.
“Are you going to marry him?” Niko asked.
Valko walked directly into the side of a chair.
The whole kitchen paused. You pressed your lips together.
Milena leaned against the doorway, radiant with cruelty. “Careful, Niko. Val only has two knees.”
“Niko,” Teta Marika turned from the stove, wooden spoon in hand. “We ask guests if they want juice first.”
Niko nodded, absorbing this etiquette with grave importance. “Do you want juice before you marry him?”
Valko covered his face with both hands. You bit down on your smile so hard it almost hurt. This wasn't what you had expected.
Some foolish, frightened part of you had imagined a den in the old sense. Teeth, watchful eyes, a family arranged around blood and law, waiting to decide whether your bones could be allowed near theirs. Valko had never spoken of them casually. Whenever he said home, something tender and embarrassed moved through him, as though the word itself had fingers and knew exactly where to touch.
Now you sat beneath a crooked lamp while his grandmother tore bread with her hands and put the first piece on your plate.
“Eat,” Baba Vesna said.
You obeyed.
The bread was warm enough to steam between your fingers. The crust cracked softly, butter melted into it in golden lines. Across the table, Valko watched you take the first bite as if your mouth held judgment from heaven.
You chewed. Swallowed.
“It’s delicious.”
Baba Vesna clicked her tongue. “Of course it is wonderful. I made it.”
Mika leaned towards you. “He talked about you after the market yesterday.”
Valko’s hand hit the table. “No.”
“Yes, you did” Luka said sticking his tongue out.
“No.”
“You said, and I quote, 'she chooses fruit with such care'.”
The table went quiet for half a breath, your hand stilled around the bread. Valko looked at Luka as if betrayal had entered the room wearing his cousin’s face.
“That was private.”
“You said it in the kitchen.”
“That makes it private.”
Milena sat across from you and rested her chin in her hand. “He also said you have kind hands.”
Valko’s mouth opened, nothing came out. Your heart did something foolish inside your chest.
The teasing had worked him bright and flustered, but beneath it, something softer trembled. He was embarrassed, yes. Horribly, so. Beautifully, so. Yet the thing underneath was more dangerous than shame. This was exposure. A curtain pulled open in a room he had spent so long keeping dim.
He had spoken of you here.
At this table. In this warm, loud house. To these people who teased him because they knew what he looked like with no armour on. He had brought you home long before he ever brought your body through the door.
Baba Vesna filled your bowl with soup.
“He was always like this,” she said.
“Baba, please.”
“He was a strange child,” she said.
Valko groaned. “Please.”
“A sweet child,” Teta Marika corrected.
“A dramatic child,” Luka said.
“A biting child,” Milena added.
Valko pointed at her. “You bit first.”
“You looked biteable.”
“You see what I mean?” Valko turned to you with helpless outrage. “This is what I survived.”
There was love in it, the kind that had been cooked too long and reduced into something strong enough to stain. They spoke to him as if they had known every version of him and chosen, again and again, to keep putting food in front of whichever one came home.
You looked at him while he argued with Mika about whether a stolen spoon counted as a childhood trauma.
He caught you looking. For a moment, the noise thinned.
There he was.
Valko with his hair refusing every law of decency. Valko trying so hard to survive his own family and failing beautifully. His eyes met yours with a nervous brightness that made you want to reach across the table and be cruel to every fear that had ever found him.
Then Niko pointed his spoon at you.
“Are you keeping him?”
The kitchen stopped.
Valko made a tiny sound into his bowl.
Milena closed her eyes as if praying for patience and finding none. “Niko.”
“What? Mika said maybe she is keeping him.”
His gaze dropped to the table, to the bread by his hand, to the small old cuts in the wood. The blush still clung to him, but it had changed into something quieter now. Hope, perhaps. Or terror wearing hope’s coat.
You could have laughed. Everyone would have let you. It would have been easy to throw the question back into the room like a toy and watch them tear it apart.
Instead, beneath the table, you found Valko’s hand.
His fingers closed around yours at once.
“I’d like to,” you said.
The house held itself still for half a breath.
Then Baba Vesna nodded, once, as if some old contract had been signed in soup and honey.
“Good,” she said. “He is difficult, but warm.”
Valko bowed his head.
His shoulders shook.
At first you thought he was upset. Then you realised he was laughing, quietly, helplessly, with one hand over his mouth and the other holding yours under the table like he meant to keep it there until winter.
Mika groaned. “Ah, look at him. Finished. Completely finished.”
Milena reached for the pickles. “Good. He needed finishing.”
Teta Marika smiled into her tea. “Eat more, zlato. You will need strength.”
“For Valko?” you asked.
“For all of us.”
Dinner became less a meal than a storm with chairs.
Bowls moved, hands reached, stories climbed over one another and died unfinished because someone remembered a better accusation. Luka asked you practical questions in a calm voice: where you liked to walk, whether Valko had shown you the old river path, whether he still pretended not to like sweet things. Mika tried to read your palm and declared that you were fated to own a troublesome dog.
“That's just Valko,” Milena said.
“I am not a dog.”
“True,” Luka said. “Dogs listen.”
Valko began quietly placing the best pieces of food on your plate.
A soft carrot, the inside of the bread, a dumpling he pretended to move away from himself and somehow abandoned beside your spoon. He was not subtle. He had never been subtle. He was a wolf trying to hide a whole deer behind a napkin.
You noticed on the fourth offering.
His family noticed on the first.
Baba Vesna said nothing until Valko tried to give you the last honey cake. Then she leaned back in her chair and looked at him over her tea.
“Ah,” she said.
Valko froze.
It was one syllable. It landed like a bell.
“What?” he said.
“No, no.” She waved him off. “Continue. Starve for romance. Very noble.”
Mika threw his head back.
You picked up the honey cake before Valko could die at the table and broke it in two, placing half on his plate. “There,” you said. “No starving.”
He looked at the cake.
Then he looked at you.
His expression opened in a way that made the room, somehow, feel too small for your heart. It opened with that unguarded, bewildered softness he sometimes gave you when kindness arrived before he had prepared himself to receive it.
Milena saw it.
Her teasing quieted.
For a moment, she only watched him with something old and protective in her face.
Then she stood. “Come help me with plates.”
Valko blinked. “Me?”
“Her.” Milena pointed at you.
Valko frowned. “Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“That's not a reason.”
“It has worked on you for years.”
You rose before he could protest again. Milena took two plates from the table and handed you none of them, which told you at once that this had nothing to do with helping.
She led you down a narrow hallway lined with photographs.
Behind you, Valko’s voice rose. “Do not interrogate her.”
The hallway smelled faintly of beeswax and dried herbs. The noise of the kitchen softened behind you, still there, still golden, but now wrapped in walls. Milena stopped by a window overlooking the yard and leaned her hip against the sill.
For the first time all evening, she let the smile leave her face.
“He likes you,” she said.
You smiled gently. “I got that impression.”
“No.” Her eyes flicked towards the kitchen. “He likes people easily. He likes old men who tell bad stories, stray cats that scratch him, children who throw rocks at windows because they want attention. Valko is built stupid that way.”
A laugh escaped you.
Milena folded her arms.
“He brings things home,” she continued. “Broken things, angry things. Things he thinks no one else will be gentle with.” Her gaze moved towards the kitchen, where Valko’s voice lifted in protest. “He does not bring people home.”
Your throat tightened.
From the kitchen, Valko shouted, “It wasn't soup. It was stew.”
Mika shouted back, “Stew cannot make a grown man cry.”
“I was overwhelmed by flavour.”
Milena closed her eyes for one second. “Bože, give me strength.”
You laughed softly.
She looked at you again, sharper now.
“He was nervous all week,” she said. “Changed his shirt three times. Asked me if the house smelled too much like onions. Asked Luka if his laugh was strange. Asked Baba if she could please not tell the story about the goat.”
“The goat?”
“Later.” A faint smile touched her mouth. “Maybe never.”
You glanced back towards the kitchen.
He had asked if his laugh was strange.
Something in you ached with such tenderness that it almost felt like anger.
You looked down.
“He didn’t need to worry,”
“He is clumsy with precious things,” she said. “Because he thinks his hands are only good for breaking them, even when he is careful. Especially then.”
“So be kind,” she said. “Or be cruel quickly. He will survive either, but I prefer to know which one I’m dealing with.”
There it was.
The knife under the table. The love with its teeth intact. You didn't resent her for it, you thought, strangely, that you liked her more for it.
“I’m not here to hurt him,”
“Most people aren’t, at first.”
“Milena.”
Milena’s gaze narrowed.
“I don’t know what I’m doing with him,” you admitted.
“With any of this,” you continued. “He makes everything feel…” You searched for the word and hated every pretty one that came. Fated. Wild. Tender. All too polished for the mess he made of your heart. “He makes everything feel like I’ve been walking past a door my whole life, and he is the idiot who opened it with his shoulder.”
Milena stared at you.
Then she laughed once, sharp and startled.
“Oh,” she said. “You’re gone too.”
You looked down, caught.
She seemed satisfied. “Good.”
“Is that approval?”
“That is me deciding not to be difficult.”
“You were being difficult?”
“Dušo,” she said, and now her smile had teeth in it, “I was being polite.”
When you returned to the kitchen, Valko was waiting near the doorway as if he had tried to remain seated and failed.
His eyes moved from you to Milena. “What did you say to her?”
Milena walked past him. “That you were adopted.”
“I’m not.”
“Emotionally, you're a wet dog we found in the rain.”
He watched her go, wounded on principle, then turned to you with genuine concern. “What did she actually say?”
You reached up and brushed flour from his sleeve. “That you’re warm.”
“That was Baba.”
“Family consensus.”
His mouth twitched. “You are enjoying this.”
“I am.”
“You were supposed to be intimidated.”
“By Mika?”
“By the bloodline. The history. The general atmosphere of teeth.”
“Mika told me my palm says I’ll own a dog.”
Valko sighed.
You reached up and plucked the dish towel from his shoulder. “You have flour on your sleeve.”
He looked down, surprised, as if his own body had been making decisions without him. Then he looked back at you, and the kitchen noise faded once more, though this time it was only the two of you making the world small.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
The question was casual enough for anyone else to miss the tremor underneath. You heard it. The naked, waiting part. You thought of his hand shaking outside the door. Baba Vesna taking your face between her palms, of bread steaming in your fingers, of honey cake divided in two, of Milena saying he doesn't bring people home.
“I’m all right,” you said. “Are you?”
Valko smiled too quickly. “I’m alive.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
His smile softened.
For once, he did not joke immediately. It cost him something. You could see it in the way his fingers flexed at his side, reaching for mischief and finding courage instead.
“I wanted them to like you,” he said. “I wanted you to like them.”
“I do”
“I wanted…” He stopped, then laughed under his breath. “I don’t know. Something stupid.”
He looked towards the kitchen, where his family had resumed their noise without mercy. Mika was accusing Luka of stealing the larger piece of cake. Baba Vesna had taken down a tin from the highest shelf, probably containing either biscuits or secrets.
“Valko, stop hiding her. I have photographs.”
Horror returned to his face with magnificent speed.
“No.”
“Yes,”
“No photographs.”
“Naked baby photos,” Mika added.
Valko went pale. “You do not have those.”
Teta Marika’s voice drifted after him, serene and deadly. “We have everything.”
He grabbed your hand. “We’re leaving.”
You let him pull you three steps before Baba Vesna appeared in the doorway holding a small album to her chest.
“Sit,” she said.
Valko sat.
It was remarkable how quickly a wolf could become a grandson.
For the next hour, they showed you the evidence of his life.
Valko missing two front teeth and glaring at the camera as though betrayed by dentistry. Valko asleep under the table with one hand buried in a dog’s fur. Valko at thirteen, all elbows and outrage, holding a fish half his size while crying because he had to put it back.
There was Valko covered in mud, Valko wearing a paper crown, Valko with Milena’s arm hooked around his neck while he pretended to hate her and leaned into her anyway. Valko standing beside Baba Vesna in the garden, holding a basket of tomatoes like he had been entrusted with the fate of nations.
Each photograph was another small door.
You had known him in pieces: the grin, the hunger, the awkward tenderness, the jokes he threw like branches over deep water. Here was the rest of him. Here was the child who had survived becoming himself because these hands had fed him, scolded him, dragged him upright, and remembered his softness when he tried to outgrow it.
At some point, while everyone argued over whether the goat incident happened before or after the soup incident, Valko bent close to you.
“You don’t have to keep looking,” he murmured.
You turned a page.
A tiny Valko stared up from the album, holding a wooden spoon like a sword.
“Yes,” you said. “I do.”
He stared at you.
Then, very briefly, he rested his forehead against your shoulder.
It lasted only a second. A shy, exhausted surrender. No one commented on it, though you knew every person in the room saw. That seemed to be another house rule. They would mock the wound, yes, but they protected the pulse.
Later, when the cups were cleared and the album returned to its shelf of holy embarrassments, you stepped outside for air.
The yard was cold, dark and soft around the edges. Herbs grew beneath the window, yhe old trees leaned towards the house as if listening. Behind you, the kitchen glowed gold, laughter pressing against the glass.
Valko followed after a moment, closing the door carefully behind him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
You looked at him. “For what?”'
“The interrogation. The photographs. Mika. The marriage question. The soup litigation.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Milena.”
“I like Milena.”
“That means she behaved.”
“She said she was being polite.”
He winced. “Then she liked you.”
You leaned back against the porch railing, and he stood in front of you with his hands in his pockets, rocking once on his heels like he wanted to come closer and had forgotten the law of his own body.
Through the window, you could see Baba Vesna pretending to wipe the table while watching you both with shameless interest. You lifted a hand and waved.
She waved back.
Valko turned, saw her, and groaned. “For the love of...Baba.”
“She loves you.”
“That's her usual excuse for crimes.”
“It’s a good one.”
He looked back at you, and the teasing left him slowly, piece by piece. Out here, with the house at his back, he seemed caught between the wild thing and the loved thing. The wolf and the boy in the paper crown. The man who had brought you to the threshold with shaking hands and still tried to joke like fear could be made harmless if he gave it a funny name.
“Did you mean it?” he asked.
“Which part?”
“When Niko asked if you were keeping me.”
The question came lightly, too lightly. A feather laid over a blade.
You reached for him.
This time, Valko did not hesitate. He came into your space at once, as if pulled by a string tied somewhere behind his ribs. His hands settled at your waist, careful at first, then warmer when you didn't move away.
“I meant it,”
His eyes searched yours.
“For tonight?”
“For longer than that.”
He didn't kiss you immediately. Somehow, that made it worse. He stood there and let the answer enter him, slowly, like someone opening the door to a room he had been told was empty and finding it lit.
Inside, Mika yelled, “Are they kissing?”
Valko dropped his forehead to your shoulder.
“Leave them. He is finally being normal.”
You laughed.
He looked at you then, and the last of his embarrassment broke open into something bright, something almost boyish
“Welcome home,” he said, very softly.
You touched his cheek.
Behind him, the old house breathed and creaked and held its golden noise. Inside, his family waited with tea, teeth, stories, and a place at the table already made yours.
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
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
There has always been something unspoken between the two of you.
Nothing harsh, just a soft, glowing boundary you both respected. Valko was careful with you in a way that made your chest ache. He would walk you home after every late night meet up, one big hand hovering near the small of your back but never quite touching. He’d bring you coffee exactly how you liked it, remember the little details you mentioned once in passing, and look at you like you hung every star in the sky. But he never crossed that final line.
And you… you were terrified of ruining the best thing that had ever happened to you.
Whatever you two had was undeniable. Everyone saw it. The way your eyes found each other across crowded rooms. The way his (sometimes) imaginary tail would start wagging the second you walked into a space. The way you’d unconsciously lean into his warmth when the nights got cold during hangouts. But neither of you had said it out loud. Neither of you had dared.
Until tonight.
It was one of those rare quiet evenings in Linkon. The city lights glittered below the rooftop garden where you’d both escaped after a long day. Valko had “happened” to bring a blanket (he always came prepared when it came to you) and two cups of hot chocolate. You were sitting side by side on the wide stone ledge, shoulders brushing, the city humming far below.
“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he said softly. His voice was low like he didn’t want to disturb the quiet, a gentle rumble that always made your stomach flutter. His ears were slightly lowered, a telltale sign he was nervous even if his face stayed calm.
You glanced over at him. The moonlight caught on the sharp lines of his jaw, the soft fur of his ears, the way his tail curled loosely around the leg of the bench like it was trying to anchor itself. He looked beautiful. He looked strong. And most importantly safe.
“I’ve just been thinking,” you admitted.
“About?”
You swallowed. The words felt too big for the quiet night, but they’d been building for months.
“About us.”
Valko went still. Even his tail stopped moving. He turned toward you fully, golden eyes soft and searching. “Us?”
The air between you felt charged. You could smell his familiar scent; pine, warm musk, and something uniquely him. It made you brave.
“Yeah. Us.” You looked down at your hands. “The way you look at me. The way I look at you. The way we’ve been… dancing around this for so long. I keep waiting for you to cross that line, but you never do. And I’m scared that if I do it first, I’ll mess everything up.”
There it was. The truth laid bare under the stars.
Valko let out a shaky breath. For a long moment he didn’t speak. Then, carefully, he reached out and took your hand in his much larger one. His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles.
“I’ve wanted to,” he confessed, voice rough with emotion. “God, I’ve wanted to kiss you so many times. After every mission when you smile at me like I’m your hero. When you fall asleep on my shoulder during late drives. When you laugh at my stupid jokes.” He gave a small, self deprecating chuckle. “I’m not good at this. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I was terrified of rushing you. Of making you uncomfortable. Of losing what we already have.”
Your heart squeezed so hard it hurt.
“Valko…”
He lifted your hand and pressed a reverent kiss to your palm. His ears were fully perked now, tail starting to wag in a hopeful way.
“I respect you too much to ever push,” he continued softly. “But if you want this… if you want me… I’m yours. I’ve been yours for a long time.”
The yearning you’d both been carrying finally snapped.
You didn’t know who moved first. Maybe both of you at the same time. One moment you were looking into his eyes, the next his large, warm hand was cupping your cheek and your fingers were tangled in the front of his shirt, pulling him down.
The first touch of his lips was impossibly gentle.
It was soft and hesitant. Like he was afraid this moment might disappear. His mouth moved against yours with such tenderness it made your eyes sting. He tasted like hot chocolate and safety and home. You sighed into the kiss and he responded instantly, tilting his head to deepen it just a little, still so careful, so loving.
His free arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer until you were practically in his lap. The size difference made you feel delicate and protected all at once. His tail wrapped around your back like he couldn’t bear even an inch of distance between you.
When you finally parted for air, foreheads resting together, both of you were breathing a little harder. Valko’s eyes were half lidded, glowing with emotion.
“Was that… okay?” he whispered, voice hoarse.
You laughed softly, a little watery, and kissed him again, quicker this time, just because you could.
“It was perfect.”
He smiled against your lips, that big, bright, heart melting smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You cupped his face with both hands, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. “I’ve wanted that for so long, Valko. You have no idea.”
“I think I do,” he murmured. “Because I’ve been losing my mind over you sincr we met.”
You stayed like that for a long time trading soft kisses, quiet confessions, and gentle laughter under the stars. His hands never wandered too far. He was still so respectful, so wonderfully him, even now that the line had finally been crossed.
At one point he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours again, eyes closed like he was savoring every second.
“I’m going to do this right,” he promised. “Take you on real dates. Hold your hand in public. Be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. Because you deserve everything. And I want to give it to you.”
Your heart felt too full. You kissed the tip of his nose, then his forehead, then his lips once more.
“You already are, dummy.”
His tail thumped happily against the stone ledge. The sound made you both laugh bright, relieved, joyful that echoed softly into the night.
And for the first time, the space between you was filled with something new and wonderful.
For the first time since he was a rowdy pup learning how to shift, Valko is unsure of his wolf.
ABOUT | 2300 words. wolf!valko x fem!reader. suggestive. pre-relationship. first meetings. humour. fluff. slight crack/crack adjacent.
Ferns and conifers swallow his silhouette as Valko's wolf lopes through the forest, the underbrush embracing them in its shelter as they move.
The sounds are easier to distinguish here and his ears flicker to identify them. The sliding doors of two vans, boots crunching over fallen leaves, the metallic clatter of weapons being loaded and equipped, the low hum of a dozen voices.
Hundreds of scents swirl through the clearing ahead, a complex brew that his wolf sifts through instinctively, notes of loam, protocores, pine sap, gunpowder, and animal hunting trails picked up and discarded until the distinct aroma of his quarry is uncovered.
He halts behind a yew sapling, ears perking up when he catches it. Hind leg scraping into the forest floor, as if readying himself to lunge. Internally, Valko snaps in warning; you know better.
His wolf obeys but pushes a sigh through his nose, sick of the way Valko's been getting between him and his target every time he takes their body.
They lie in wait as the group of humans congregate and idle, his wolf's sensitive ears painting the scene on their eyes' behalf. Conversation quieting, the metallic rattle of a chain-link gate, rusty hinges protesting as it clangs open and shut, their collective disturbance slowly swallowed into the seclusion of the No Hunt Zone until it's silent.
His wolf holds their body still for a heartbeat, two. His eyes narrow into a sniper-like scope when his target appears next to the van, figure outlined by moonlight.
Without any obstructions, the scent swells, strengthens. Growing teeth that sink deep into his coat, standing the fur on his body straight up until his hackles raise and his muscles tighten.
Piercing yellow eyes never veer from the lone figure as Valko's wolf skulks toward them. He pads soundlessly across the forest floor until his body is flush with the van. The human, none the wiser, now merely feet away, fixated on the device on their wrist.
This close, the scent's become overwhelming. It thrums through the air like a magnetic field, tuning everything out except for bone-deep, primal chant of mine, mine, mine that even Valko isn't immune to anymore.
His wolf takes one step closer, another, then another, and all-too-late Valko realizes that maybe this isn't the best way to–
"Stop."
The command bombards him with a swarm of realizations, ricocheting between man and wolf like agitated molecules in a heated chamber: how did you know that they'd been– scent; you were totally spying, sneaky little hellion– mine; buddy, there's a gun pointed at our– mate, mate, mate.
That last word is expressed aloud through a deep growl of frustration. Frustration over the distance between you, over Valko holding him back, and over everything else that's standing in front of this wolf and his newly found mate – including the gun in your hands.
You startle at the sound, but your arm never wavers. "Don't. Move."
That's it, sweetheart, Valko thinks. Don't let this big lug push you around.
But for the first time since he was a rowdy pup learning how to shift, Valko is unsure of his wolf.
Not that he'd hurt you, never that, no wolf would ever hurt their mate. But you're a human and he's still a wolf. An onyx-coloured beast with mahogany markings, as large as the vehicle parked next to him. Who's being kept away from his mate. Who might not be mindful of your boundaries, or his strength, when it comes to having you to himself.
Before Valko can react, find a way to forcibly take back their body, his wolf sits, tilts his head – and whines. A 200-pound apex predator who cowers to no one, feared by humans and creatures alike, whining.
Nothing about your stance changes, but a curious, considering light slightly softens your gaze as you continue to stare at Valko's wolf. He stares back and slowly rises. Places a paw forward. Another when you don't react, as if he's trying to act casual.
Your brow furrows and your head tilts to your right, a hesitant glimmer of recognition flitting over your face. His wolf halts, snout just a handful of inches away from you, calm and attentive on the outside. On the inside, he's impatient as hell. Visions of him rubbing his nose into your skin and leaving his scent all over you project as a constant loop in Valko's mind and all he can think is: please don't embarrass us.
Completely ignoring him, his wolf sends a low rumble through his chest, a sound used to soothe newborn pups. And though the fear doesn't smell as acrid and acute as it did just a few moments ago, neither Valko nor his wolf like that it's still present.
Cautious about closing anymore distance, he lowers himself to his haunches until he's below your eye level, noting the size of your pupils as you take his features in, the loosening grip on your gun, the dawning realization.
"Valko?" You ask, incredulous, accusing. And yeah, maybe a little more annoyed than he'd been hoping for. "Oh god, tell me you didn't–"
At the sound of their name, Valko's wolf lunges forward without warning, headbutting the gun out of your hand and burying his nose in it, snuffling and licking and nuzzling.
You yelp and your fear skyrockets just as fast as it retreats, smothered by a relieved, hysterical laugh that has his wolf smug for all of five seconds before you snatch your hand away.
"I can't believe you– When I said 'you' shouldn't have anything to do with this mission, I meant every version of you." The biting tone does nothing to wipe the charmed smile from your face as you wipe your hand on the back of your jeans. "Ugh gross, your nose is all wet."
He takes that as an invitation, pressing forward again, nudging into your hip, chasing the hand you're keeping from him behind your back.
Valko would like to roll his eyes at his wolf, at this lovestruck, downright pathetic behaviour he'd quite frankly never seen him display – at least, not since he was a yearling still being carted around by his mother. But with one small whiff of your delicious, intoxicating scent, he instantly gets it.
"I told you I'd find a way to bring whatever we find to your research facility," you say, voice clipped and low. "Do you not trust me?"
His wolf butts his snout into your stomach when you cast a quick glance at the gate behind you, affronted at your divided attention. Finally, you peer into Valko's eyes and sigh. "Can you even understand me?"
Hunter and wolf stare at each other for a moment, the rapid whoosh of a tail the only sound in the clearing. When too much time passes he whines again, to Valko's chagrin. Like a damn puppy.
"I'll take that as a no." you giggle.
You tentatively offer him your palm and he finally dives in, rubbing and licking as he circles you. Covering you in his scent. Covering himself in yours. Valko and his wolf love your taste, like flaky salt and pine sap. Like warm sunrises and crisp leaves. Like sweet and warm and home.
Valko raises a brow as his wolf chuffs and noses and yips like the attention-whore he is.
"Shh, you have to be quiet," you command, finally giving in and scraping your nails across the fur behind his ear.
His body melts beneath your touch until he's a puddle of fur at your feet, belly flashing, tongue lolling.
Dude, Valko projects in mortification, where's your dignity?
Unfortunately for them both, that's the last thing on his wolf's mind when your nails move to scrape beneath his chin.
Mate. He thinks back, in a tone equivalent to "duh."
Valko's wolf growls playfully when you glance at gate behind you again, mouthing at the rubber sole of your boots, wanting all your attention. An indulgent grin curls your lips, and you lower to a crouch to reach him better.
"You certainly act like him," you note with a murmur. His wolf shuffles forward with his hind legs, draping himself across your lap in a way that has you chuckling. "Exactly like him, actually."
"Big puppy eyes. All up in my business. Hyperactive as hell." He paws at your stomach a few times and you snort as you grab it and move it away. Valko's wolf chuffs in indignation, sticking his whole snout under your arm in a wordless demand. "Bossy."
You sigh, sinking your fingers into his pelt, scratching a spot along his flank that sends his tail thudding happily into the ground. "As if dealing with one of you wasn't enough."
Your hand travels lower, the softness of your breasts pressing into him when you reach deeper into his undercoat. His wolf's muzzle noses into the crotch of your jeans, resting at the apex of your thighs so he can breathe in your pussy, where your scent is the strongest.
"You're so big," you murmur, staring down at the way his head covers both of your thighs, the way they strain to hold up his weight. Your other hand nestles into the space between his ears. "And soft."
Valko and his wolf both snort. There's nothing soft about him right now. As it is, his wolf can barely contain himself from rutting into your thigh. And if he had their body, his cock would probably be leaking from how painfully hard he'd be.
Still, Valko warns him: behave.
And yet underneath the instinctual urge to breed his mate, even Valko can see there's an unfamiliar sensation of levity, of joy that his wolf is feeling. Valko's never really gotten this from him before. Aggression, irritation, sure. But, never this carefree sort of happiness.
"Look at these mitts of yours," you tease, pressing the softness of your palm to the rough pads of his paw with a wide smile.
And maybe Valko would too if he was an outsider looking in. Stumbling upon a massive beast on its back, snuggling a human a fraction of its size on the outskirts of one of the most dangerous areas of Linkon would be a sight.
Usually when Valko's wolf has their body, his mind isn't really present. He processes and documents everything that happens, but it's like his consciousness is disconnected. In the passenger seat, along for the ride.
He's anything but disconnected right now. And he's completely in awe of how differently his wolf is behaving. Wanting your attention, but not pushing. Horny, but deferring the urge.
Is this what meeting your mate does to you?
His wolf huffs in an absentminded reply as he plasters himself to your lower abdomen, your womb – my mate will grow our young – and Valko would be damned if that response wasn't as condescending as hell.
"Hey, what're you doing?" He's moving around now, getting more playful, and probably not watching his strength as much as he should as he rests his paws on your chest to lap at your cheek, judging by the way your arm darts behind you to brace your weight. His tongue darts out again, over your lips this time.
Valko freezes when you squeal and thump the side of his muzzle. "Stop."
But Valko's wolf doesnt even snarl. Instead, he settles back onto his paws, resting his head between them, glancing up with a remorseful whine in his throat.
When you roll your eyes and reach back out to pet him, he lurches forward and laps at your cheek again, making you giggle softly. "You're like a giant puppy."
A rustle stirs one of the bushes nearby, snapping both your heads toward the sound.
His ears flick once before he turns back to you, smelling nothing more than a squirrel darting around. But your attention stays fixed on the shadows, moving from the forest to the chain-link fence.
"It's probably not much longer 'til my team comes back," you murmur. You turn to face Valko and smooth your hands over his sides once more. "You have to get out of here, big guy."
He gusts out another whine deep in his throat, this one smaller, more pitiful. The bastard's begging.
"Go on," you urge in a low voice when he doesn't move, waving your arm toward the forest. "You can't be here when they come back."
He tries another tactic. Lowers his head to catch the leather of your belt in his teeth, gives his head a little shake in defiance.
You thump your hand over his snout with a stern, "No."
His ears flatten, and he answers with an indignant huff.
If Valko could pinch the bridge of his nose he would. C'mon man, pull yourself together.
"Sit." His wolf hesitates for only a moment before lowering his behind to the ground.
Unfortunately, even when he's sitting, his head remains above your eye-level, leaving you to rise to your toes in order to place your palms on either side of his snout.
"It was nice to meet you, big guy," you murmur. "Tell Valko I'll come and find him after this, okay?"
His ears flick at the sound of his name, but the only answer he gives you is a low, mournful whine.
"And..." Your fingers curl gently into his fur. "Deliver this for me."
You tug his snout down just enough to meet him halfway, pressing your lips to the soft velvet of the peach fuzz between his eyes and nose.
Valko and his wolf still, their heartbeats escalating as one in response to open affection from their mate.
Then, as if deciding he needs the final word, his wolf takes one last lick beneath your chin. Smug when the soft sound of your laughter becomes the last thing he hears as he finally, reluctantly, trots away.
Valko is more grateful than he wants to admit that his wolf finally listens. He's going to need every second he can get before he sees you again. To regain his control before he meets you back at the facility. To pretend his harebrained scheme to have his wolf meet his mate, feel your touch, hear your laughter, and taste your skin, hasn't completely unraveled him.
Because if your scent had been intoxicating, the taste of you is downright dangerous.
➻➻ MASTERLIST
NOTE: Just an excuse to write about Valko in his wolf form and use one direction lyrics as a fic name xoxo
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