archive of longings

Sally Rooney, from an interview with Rosa Lyster, as featured in Hazlitt Magazine (transcription below cut)

Everything that could go wrong did, and by the time you drag yourself through the door you’re exhausted, drained, and on the verge of tears. You don’t even get to kick your shoes off before two strong arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you back against a warm, solid chest.

Valko doesn’t say anything at first. He just holds you, chin resting on top of your head, tail curling gently around your leg like he’s trying to wrap you up completely.

“Bad day?” he finally murmurs, voice soft.

You nod, leaning into him. He doesn’t need more than that.

Without another word he scoops you up like you weigh nothing (which to him, you don’t) and carries you straight to the couch. He settles down with you curled in his lap, your face tucked into his neck while one big hand rubs slow, soothing circles on your back. His other hand gently scratches the back of your head if you’re feeling extra sensitive, or just strokes through your hair.

“You did so good today,” he whispers against your temple, pressing a soft kiss there. “I’m really proud of you, sweetheart.”

His tail thumps steadily against the cushion, slow and comforting. He keeps you wrapped up in him, warm and safe, occasionally nuzzling the top of your head or giving you little squeezes like he can physically push the sadness out of you.

When you finally relax against him with a tired sigh, he smiles and tucks you closer.

“I’ve got you,” he says simply. “You can rest now. I’m right here.”

You fall asleep like that wrapped up in your giant boyfriend, his steady heartbeat under your ear and his tail curled protectively around you. The worst day doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.

Everything that could go wrong did, and by the time you drag yourself through the door you’re exhausted, drained, and on the verge of tears. You don’t even get to kick your shoes off before two strong arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you back against a warm, solid chest.

Valko doesn’t say anything at first. He just holds you, chin resting on top of your head, tail curling gently around your leg like he’s trying to wrap you up completely.

“Bad day?” he finally murmurs, voice soft.

You nod, leaning into him. He doesn’t need more than that.

Without another word he scoops you up like you weigh nothing (which to him, you don’t) and carries you straight to the couch. He settles down with you curled in his lap, your face tucked into his neck while one big hand rubs slow, soothing circles on your back. His other hand gently scratches the back of your head if you’re feeling extra sensitive, or just strokes through your hair.

“You did so good today,” he whispers against your temple, pressing a soft kiss there. “I’m really proud of you, sweetheart.”

His tail thumps steadily against the cushion, slow and comforting. He keeps you wrapped up in him, warm and safe, occasionally nuzzling the top of your head or giving you little squeezes like he can physically push the sadness out of you.

When you finally relax against him with a tired sigh, he smiles and tucks you closer.

“I’ve got you,” he says simply. “You can rest now. I’m right here.”

You fall asleep like that wrapped up in your giant boyfriend, his steady heartbeat under your ear and his tail curled protectively around you. The worst day doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.

It’s been days. No texts, no stupid voice notes of him rambling about his day, no random “you eat yet?” messages as soon as you got off work like clockwork. This isn’t Valko. Your puppy is glued to his phone when it comes to you. So after one too many hours of anxious pacing, you grab the spare key he gave you months ago (“just in case, sweetheart”) and storm over to his place.

Your heart is hammering the whole way. Worst case scenarios flash through your head, him passed out, bleeding, hurt over something he didn’t tell you about. You’d take that.

But the second you push the door open, the air hits you like whiplash.

Stuffy. Thick. Heavy with something musky, sweet, and feral that makes your stomach flip. That’s when you hear it, muffled, desperate panting, broken groans, the faint creak of a bedframe.

Your brain short circuits. You don’t think. Before you have time to mentally catch up, you just move, storming straight to his massive bedroom and shoving the door open.

And holy fuck.

Valko is sprawled across his bed, completely naked, skin glistening with sweat. His ears are fully out, twitching wildly. His tail thumps hard against the sheets. He’s fisting his cock with frantic, sloppy strokes, that’s when you notice; it’s huge, thick, flushed dark and leaking all over his abs. His chiseled chest heaves, abs flexing with every desperate roll of his hips. Those thick thighs are trembling. And when your eyes finally drag up to his face… his eyes are glazed over, cheeks flushed crimson, and there are actual tears clinging to his lashes.

He looks wrecked

You’re frozen in the doorway, mouth hanging open unable to look away from the obscene sight. The way his big hand struggles to even wrap fully around himself. The way his hips keep bucking up like he can’t stop. The wet, filthy sounds filling the room.

Before you can even process it, his movements stutter to a halt.

Wide, frantic golden eyes snap to yours. His ears shoot straight up. For a second he just stares at you, chest still heaving, cock twitching hard in his grip like it has a mind of its own.

Then something clicks behind that hazy gaze.

“…You’re here,” he rasps, voice wrecked and deeper than you’ve ever heard it. A broken groan slips out as something seems to overwhelm him, making his hips jerk involuntarily into his fist again. “Fuck- you… you shouldn’t see me like this-“

He looks equal parts mortified and starving.

Ah

You realise.

The silver winged fiend 🤍

Fish interrogation

to be scarier. Less whimpering—more pyromaniac

urges, more flirting with kerosene.

MANSFIELD PARK (1999)