the situation surrounding love and deepspace and valko has reached the state/governmental level in china.
here is what is happening right now:
1. the decision to delete calko was a panic-driven, spontaneous move.
just 3 days ago, infold was planning to keep him. however, haters flooded government regulatory bodies with complaints and even brought manure and funeral wreaths to the office. in a state of pure panic, the studio decided to "sacrifice" the character to save the entire project.
2. the issue has reached beijing.
the game has received an official warning. however, the shanghai municipal government (where the developers are based) is currently desperately defending the studio before beijing. this is because love and deepspace pays massive taxes into the city’s budget (in 2025 alone, the game generated nearly $380,000,000!). shanghai does not want to lose such a cash cow over internet trolls. everything will be decided in the coming days.
3. the chinese fandom has started a rebellion.
right now, cip players (who have collectively spent over 4 million RMB on the game) are coordinating a late-night siege of weibo's trending topics. tomorrow, they plan to hold a PROTEST with fresh flowers in front of the infold office to prove to the authorities that reasonable, paying players vastly outnumber the haters!
4. infold is in a panic, holding emergency meetings.
summer events are already being canceled or postponed on the japanese account — everything is falling apart because they had no plan b. the official account is losing thousands of followers every minute.
u can also read a chinese player's thoughts on this matter here
if you have even the slightest desire to help, you can do so by following these steps ‼️
HOW CAN WE HELP RIGHT NOW?
we need to support both the chinese fandom. we must flood official chinese media outlets and customer support with emails stating that the game does NOT violate any laws, that valko is clean, and that his cancellation is purely the result of a harassment campaign by haters
I am writing to express my deep concern over the targeted cyber-harassment campaign against the game "Love and Deepspace" and its character, Valko. As global players, we want to emphasize that "Love and Deepspace" strictly adheres to international standards and corporate compliance. The game does not violate any laws. The recent wave of negative rumors was entirely fabricated by a radical group of anti-fans who used cyber-bullying tactics to force a scandal. By abruptly canceling Valko due to this malicious pressure, the developers have harmed millions of legitimate global consumers who have heavily invested in the game. We respectfully urge the regulatory authorities to recognize that the game is a compliant, legally sound cultural product. We request that the malicious rumors be dismissed, and the character Valko be safely restored to the servers.
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
Yandere!Valarr Targaryen x wife!reader—in which, he's jealous of their newborn son until he realizes that two eyes are better in one for protecting you.
Sequel to: To Love You as You Should be Loved. Another Yandere Valarr story is up—You Are Not Allowed to Leave Me
Requested by @fandomtrela. Hope this lived up to what you wanted!
TW: Possessive and obsessive behaviour. Sex. Creepy behaviour, it's dark but it's sweet at the same time (I hope).
You were the light of Valarr’s life, everything he’d ever wanted or needed or would ever want or need and you were his. You were his in a way that no one ever had been before, you were his wife, the one he could run to when the weight of the world was too heavy. You were the cave in which he could shelter. He could hide inside of you, disappear from the world for a bit, losing connection to reality in the feel of your touch.
In the memories of you with him, laughing, head tossed back and in total abandon because you feel safe with him. In the memories of you, he can lose reality, in the memory of the way you feel around him, the way your soft perfumed skin tastes and the way you writhe around him.
In the memories of you with him he can lose touch with reality and lose touch with reality he does often, his mind on you always. Always and forever because you are his. You are his, his, his, his. He will never get tired of that, of knowing that you belong to him, really and truly belong to him, your body only ever touched by his, smile dedicated to him and him alone.
Because you are his forever.
His eternity.
“My flower!” he calls now, sitting up straight in his chair, muscles tightening as you walk towards him, lips curving up into a smile as you approach, cheeks covered in just the hint of a blush. “What are you doing here, my heart?” he asks you, his hands reaching for your hips, pulling you onto his lap, his chin finding its rightful place in the crook of your neck, the scent of roses, of you intoxicating to him. He presses his lips to the side of your neck, pulling the skin just slightly with his teeth, licking the skin and sucking, knowing that a mark will be left behind. A mark that marks you hiseven more than his ring on your finger and the crown on your head.
“Behave, my husband,” you whisper and he removes his lips from your skin, from the intoxicating taste to look at you with pupil blown eyes.
“Why should I?” he asks you, leaning forwards, dragging his tongue along the side of your neck, swirling it at your jaw, delighting in the shiver of your body, his body reacting instinctively. “You’re mine after all, my flower. Why shouldn’t I show all these people exactly how much you belong to me?”
“Because it’s indecent,” you answer and he smiles at you, a lazy lustful smile, his hands holding your hips tightly, preventing you from getting off of him.
“I don’t care,” he says and you roll your eyes at him, slapping him softly on the shoulder, shaking your head, your lips still curving up in that smile, the one that is only his.
“Wouldn’t you rather know why I’ve sought you out, Valarr?” you ask him and he sighs, the feeling of tightness and hardness and desire warring with his need to be a good husband, a listener and a tender place, a place for you to hide, to delight in as he does in you.
“You didn’t seek me out just to tell me how you love me and hate to parted from me?” he asks, his tone lilting hopefully, his eyebrows rising and you sigh, shaking your head, affection tinting the movement.
“No,” you answer and he groans, his head sinking into you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, his lips pressing a kiss to your back before. “I have news.”
“News regarding what, my wife?” he asks, still delighting in those two words, that form of possession over you.
“I’m with child,” you whisper, your voice rising excitedly, eyes wide with wonder and Valarr feels the words like a physical blow, the words punching to his heart, causing it to speed up, to become rapid. The image of you swelling with his child, this marking of you as his was more powerful than love bite or public kiss. This would be the outward manifestation of his love for you, a way to protect you from the men who wished to find weakness where weakness did not exist.
He wanted to see it now, the swelling, the marking, the showing that you were his in a way that could never be disputed. No, because you were with his child and that made you his more than any wedding night bedding or Septa vows. Everyone would look at you and know that you were Prince Valarr’s.
And that was he loved the most—not the child.
“Are you pleased, my husband?” you ask him, drawing him back to this moment, to now, away from the image of you swelling and marked as his forevermore.
“More than you will ever know, my wife,” he whispers, leaning forwards and capturing your lips with his, his tongue claiming ownership of your mouth, his one hand coming from your hip to cup your face, thumb caressing your cheekbone. “More than you will ever know.”
***
“Valarr!” He hears you cry for him, the sound high-pitched and panicked. Pained. He hears you and he’s up in a heartbeat, pulled from the land of dream in which he dreamt of you and your love and growing old with you, the eternity he has been granted by the gods.
But when he jolts awake, he fears the gods mean to take you from him, taunting him with the beautiful dream. “My flower! My flower, what is it?!” He blinks the sleep from his eyes, his body becoming aware of a peculiar wetness clinging to his legs, the sheets and he looks at you, at the nine moons swelling of your stomach and the contortion of your face, the way your hands (your delicate, beautiful hands adorned with his ring and all the others he has gotten for you to mark you, protect you) fist the sheets and the way you buck forwards.
“The—ah!—babe… is comi—AH!” you cry, bucking forwards, contractions racking your body and Valarr springs from the bed, tossing the covers from his body, hands scrabbling for his doublet, his chest bare and skin prickling in the cold. He pulls a blue doublet on, uncaring if his breeches are not befitting someone of his rank, the only thing on his mind getting the midwife so she can deliver the child in a way so that you survive.
He cares not about the child, only you. If you die, he will burn the world down and let himself burn with it, the child that takes your life the first to die. By his hand, preferably, rather than the kiss of flames.
“My wife! My wife is in labour!” he cries, the midwife springing up from her perch, gathering the supplies she needs from around her and running past Valarr, past him to you. To you, his life and light and wife.
His everything.
He will not survive if you die. Kingdom be damned, he will find a way to join you because you are his. You are his not the realm’s. You were no political alliance, you were chosen out of love, obsession. Possession. You are his and he will not be separated from you for anything or anyone.
No, you will survive because he needs you too. He needs you.
“I love you; I love you; I love you,” he whispers over and over, your hand squeezing his, his free hand brushing hair off your forehead, wiping the sweat away as you scream and curse him, cry and beg and plead with the gods to just get the child out. And Valarr can feel his heart break over and over, sympathy pain flaring within him, tears slipping down his cheeks at the sight and sound of you in pain. He did this to you, his relentless need to have you, to fill you, to mark you has put you in pain.
In this position, this near-death battle.
It’s the first time he’s ever felt shamed for his obsession of you. His possession.
He holds you as you let out a final cry, the midwife exclaiming of a beautiful boy, a precious son for the heir of the heir and he exhales in relief, tension evaporating from his body as he looks at you, at the healthy gleam of your skin. Your vitality.
His protection did not destroy. It made you stronger.
And that is why he takes the babe from the midwife’s outstretched hands, the small child inside the blanket you carefully wove opening eyes so perfect, so beautiful because they are your eyes not his, but the babe’s hair is just like his. He’s so impossibly small yet Valarr can sense a hidden strength within him, one like the blood of the dragon in his veins and the sun of House Ashford in his skin. A strength made of you and him—of your love.
“Give me our son, Valarr,” you whisper, your voice raw from screaming, arms reaching, hands outstretched for the child which he carefully places in your arms, watching as your face blossoms into that of a mother, tender and sure. “Shh, my boy. Mama has you, she will not let you go, darling.”
And then you smile at him. You smile his smile, the one that only he has seen, that only he should ever see and his lip curls in a sneer as he sends the midwife away, cleaning you up slowly and carefully, a vile taste forming in his mouth, lining it as he watches you nurse his son, cooing at him in a sweet high voice, your face covered in the smile that should only be his.
He swore to kill whoever you directed that smile at, but he doesn’t think he can do it to his son. Not out of love for him, but for you.
He’ll just have to ensure that you love him far more than his son.
***
Valarr is angry.
Not at you, never at you for you are his light and his life and you don’t mean to hurt him, you just don’t quite know what you do to him. What you caring for your son has done to him. You see only innocence in the babe, but he sees the truth. He sees the child that will take you from him, that wants you for his own, that seeks to destroy the father that created him.
Little bastard, he thinks, watching you rock your son, humming a sweet lullaby to him, face crinkled in a newsmile, one that you don’t give him, only the babe with your eyes and Valarr’s hair.
And anything that child has should be his.
He just needs to show you that he’s worth more than that child will ever be. After all, he can give you a dozen more if you want, preferably daughters, and you’d never even notice the loss of the boy. He can send him away once he’s weaned, send him to another noble house, have him fostered in Dorne, far from you and still have him raised as an heir.
And you can raise a dozen bright-eyed daughters that all resemble you—perfect daughters that will not take you away from him like son, will not demand your presence or special attention like this bastard of a son currently resting in your arms. Currently nursing on your breast—something which belongs to him.
“My flower,” he calls out to you, watching you turn to him, expression growing into one of fondness and love, but no undercurrent of heat or passion or fire. Nothing which you should be looking at him with. “Put the boy down and come here.”
It is the first time he has ever commanded anything of you—most of the time, he doesn’t need to. You willingly go to him, asking him for what he wants to give you but now that stupid son of his has taken you from him. Valarr delights in watched you put the babe down in his crib and walk to him, eyes bright but tired, breasts heavy and swollen with milk for the boy—no. Not for the boy.
Anything of you is Valarr’s. He can just as soon send the boy to a wet nurse, send him away away away. But for now, he’ll settle for taking you.
“My love,” you breathe, stepping towards him, falling into the warm circle of his arms, his embrace of love and faith and protection. That’s all this is, he’s protecting you from the child which wishes to tear you apart. And he will not let him.
It’s why he holds you by your waist, claiming your mouth with his, teeth nipping your bottom lip, aggressive in a way he rarely starts out with. He forces his tongue in your mouth, stroking and sucking on your tongue, hands tearing your gown away, tearing the slip and forcing you back onto the bed, your body falling down, the sight of you bare before enough to have him groaning, losing control and falling to his knees before you, pressing kisses to your inner thighs, love bites left behind just in case you try to forget whom you belong to.
He moves to your heat, the warmth in-between your legs, his mouth worshipping and savouring slow and gentle but yet aggressive and possessive at the same time. You buck and writhe against him as he licks your entrance, tongue slowly torturing you, your cries the shape of his name, spurring him on and he worships with renewed fervour, rewarded with the flavour of your release, the sign that you respond to him alone.
That you always will. That your taste is only his.
It’s that moment that the child cries out and you let out a groan, pushing up on your hands, looking down at Valarr with pity and despair, pupil blown and half-lidded eyes.
“Don’t move,” he whispers, tone dark and commanding. He comes to stand, adjusting his breeches which are far too tight now, his body needing yours, needing to be inside yours, but he refuses to lose your attentions to a boy who cannot yet even speak and so he pushes you back against the bed, pressing a kiss to your lips, one tainted with your flavour, the taste which he dreams of at night and then he walks away through the arch to the crib.
He looks down at the screaming infant and knows with certainty that if he truly wished to, he could end him right here and no one would know. Infants do just die sometimes.
And he would do it if he didn’t need an heir.
“She is mine, little bastard,” he hisses at the babe, the child quieting down at his voice. He thinks it must be scared, must hear the threat in his words (he doesn’t understand that it recognizes him as his father. Yet). “And I am going to go remind her that she’s mine and you’re going to shut the fuck up.” And then he walks away, back to you, where you still lay on the bed, eyes closed, drifting off to sleep and that just won’t do.
He climbs onto his knees on the bed, lining himself up with your entrance and he slides inside, groaning at the feeling of you all around him walls clenching and readjusting to the feeling of him and he’s delighted when he sees your eyes open, pupil blown, your lips shaping his name.
He moves in and out of you with an aggression he hasn’t before, slamming into you every time. And every time he sheathes inside you, he leans forward, hovering just above you, promising a kiss each time, but instead whispering, mine.
And that’s how it goes each of the many times he shows you that you belong to him. You are his.
Only his.
***
Valarr can feel his hands tighten into fists as he watches you accept flowers from the boy, him toddling forwards and presenting you with flowers, rewarded with your laugh. It should be him who gets you to laugh, but he cannot deny that he loves seeing you as a mother, happy and nurturing.
He’ll give you a daughter next. A daughter won’t be trouble. And trouble is exactly what he senses, his cousin Aerion approaching you, lip curled in a sneer, something crude no doubt about to leave his lips so Valarr steps forwards, preparing to protect you from his cousin, but he finds he does not need to, his son positioning himself between you and Aerion, hands on his hips, yelling “stay. Away. From. My mama!”
He can see Aerion laugh, his lip curling and for once since his son was born, Valarr feels affection for the boy and steps in, sending Aerion off to lick his wounds, to beat his wife. Whatever the bastard does.
And Valarr now understands how useful his young son can be. To protect you, of course. And so he turns and joins you on the grass, playing with the boy, play-fighting and lifting him so that he can “fly”.
And for the first time in months, Valarr is rewarded with your happiness. Your smile. All for him as it should be.
And he can breathe normally again.
***
“Now, son,” Valarr says, peering into Daemon’s eyes. “I have a task for you.”
“What?” he asks, voice still high and childish but eyes wide with adoration as he looks at his father, prepared to whatever he asks, whatever it will take to earn his love.
“I need you to protect your mother. Report to me every night with what she’s done each day. Watch over her and tell me all about it, alright?”
“Okay.”
***
And that’s exactly what Daemon does, reports every miniscule thing back to Valarr, every interaction. It’s why many a knight have found themselves threatened and cornered by his sword. It’s why many a lord have had the threat of the Crown upon their lands. All because they looked at you or spoke to you or spoke of you.
Two eyes are always better than one. And it was what fueled Valarr to give you many many children—seven to be exact. Four sons and three daughters.
And every son was set the same task—Protect your mother and report back to Valarr.
And every son did.
You never questioned why the castle was so polite, so pleasant suddenly, eyes downturned rather than envious or creeping.
And that’s exactly how Valarr wanted for his heart was yours and his life too. And he protects that which is his.
And you are, for eternity, his.
And he always makes sure you know it. Every night.
***
“My heart is yours,” he whispers one night, the two of you older, calmer, children grown and kingdom ruled fair and wise. “My life is too.”
“My heart and life are yours as well, Valarr,” you reply, voice thickening with sleep. “Did you ever doubt it?”
“Once,” he answers, pressing a soft, love-filled kiss to your lips. “A long time ago. When Daemon was young.”
“I’m sorry, my heart,” you whisper. “I’m sorry that you ever questioned it.”
Bro so apparently Valko is being Cancelled. Like, in game Cancelled.
I'm so done with this game. I will be updating Caleb's Fiance 3 tonight and Sylus Parent trap, Caleb zombie 2 in the following days. And maybe a few more on my drafts
I've been busy with my birthday which is tomorrow btw, and my grad the following day after after. And this is such a fucking goner news for me. I literally cried upon reading the announcement.
I'll probably take a break from the game and fandom itself. I'm uninstalling the game later, i swear. Idk when I'll be back be it in game or ff content after I upload my drafts. But this is literally my letter in advance that I'll be in hiatus on LADS content.
This is literally just a no go for me infold.
The other li has nothing to do with this, but if they do that to Valko when what are the odds that they won't do it for the other li.
Ps. I will be uploading VALKO X NON MC READER SIGNIFICANT OTHER because I already made one and would probably my first (2nd) and last ff for him. I originally plan to release the 2nd and 3rd part after i got a good look on him upon his release. But guess what?! He's cancelled. Fuck 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
To be Valko's right hand isn't just a job, it's a commitment. it's a lifestyle. Sure he pays well. Sure he's the longest friend you ever had, but sometimes , you just wished he respected your sleep schedule.
Your head whips so fast it made you dizzy. He waves at you, phone still in hand as he is perched on the rails of your window. You almost scream if not for you falling of the bed. His tail wags in amusement from your mishap and you have no choice but to open the window.
"Awww! See I know you love me."
He engulfs you with his rain soaked arms and nuzzles his chin on top your head. This would've been sweet if not for a fact that his skin is sticky from the grime of outside. You scream (a very normal reaction if you ask him) and he has no choice but to muffle you with his chest. You stare daggers at him.
"I told you! No outside clothes in my bedroom. Dang it, you have your own house! You have a fucking pent house with a hot tub! Why must you always terrorize the poor? " You practically rap, as you push him away.
"But your place is nearer." He says as he makes himself at home, shaking off his boots and taking his bath towel hanging from the back of your bedroom door. It's been too many times and you know better.
"You. Are. A. Bad. Dog." You whisper as you pick up the discarded shoe with your foot and place it nearly beside the door.
The audible gasp from him almost makes you jump out of your skin.
for july, i’m opening the cage and only taking valko requests.
send me your wolfboy thoughts. i don’t mind if they’re dark, sweet, unhinged, tender, horny, tragic, or something that should probably be whispered into the woods and never spoken of again.
i’ll try to write a few of them throughout the month.
if infold won’t let the wolfboy live, then i’m putting him in situations myself.
Actionable Ideas for Challenging Infold Over Valko's Release (Updated!)
A lot of LADS fans are really upset over Infold's decision to shelve Valko. This is my attempt at creating action items for fans wanting to do something but are unsure where to start.
Here are some methods for giving Infold feedback:
Sign this petition and this petition
Reply to their posts on X (Twitter)
Comment on their Instagram posts and unfollow them
Comment on their Facebook posts and unfollow them
Comment on their YouTube videos and unfollow them
Comment on their XHS/RedNote posts and unfollow them
Join their official Discord Server and voice your dissatisfaction
Leave a 1-star review on the Apple App Store or the Google Play Store
Complete the survey in the Love and Deepspace app by selecting the box/pencil icon in the top right corner of the home screen
"Suggest" Valko's release in the Love and Deepspace app by going to Settings > More > Support, then select "Suggestion"
(If you want to be slightly passive-aggressive) On 9 July, go to Settings > More > Support, then select "Bug Report" and fill out the report stating that the promised Valko content is missing
Uninstall the LADS app after sending feedback, unless you want to continue using Support as another place to give repeated feedback
Remember: if we want Infold to listen to us, we MUST remain persistent, civil, and demonstrate our affection for the game. I highly doubt they will be intimidated by non-CN players, which means we are held to a different standard. What is effective for them will not be effective for us.
With that said, remember these do's and dont's:
Do vary your written feedback. Making each piece of feedback you give at least slightly different, particularly in emails, will ensure your thoughts are not filtered out.
Do repeatedly submit/post/send your feedback over the next few weeks. Email them today, in a few days, on 9 July, and in the weeks after. Post on their social media every day. Overwhelm them and show them this isn't going to go away over a few free Wishes.
Do prepare to CONTINUE submitting/posting/sending your feedback over the next few months. Infold needs to see that we won't let this issue go. Schedule emails to be sent to them over the next 3 months. Draft X posts today and copy and paste them to post in a few months time. Draft your long-form in-app feedback in preperation for the update and the upcoming banners. Create reminders to check and comment on their posts weekly. Don't let them get comfortable. Be a dog with a bone (lol).
Do maintain a polite tone in your feedback (even when you are issuing a threat like leaving the game).
Do specify your current disappointments, long-term criticisms, and expectations for the future of the game should you continue to play. For example, don't just say you want more Main Story updates; specify that you want them every three months.
Do clearly isolate your long-term issues with the game from the current issue of Valko's release. Make it clear that those issues are not resolved by delaying or permanently canceling Valko's debut.
Do talk positively about whatever you can (ie. enjoying other LIs, enjoying the content of the Main Story itself, appreciating the worldbuilding, etc). This may feel difficult, but it demonstrates that you are a passionate player. Infold can assume that a player so invested in the game would need something drastic to push them to leave.
Don't use profanity.
Don't reference CN players.
Don't bring up Infold's past mistakes. We need to stay focused on the current issues.
Don't criticize anything about Valko's teased content. This one may be unpopular, I know. If Infold is pulling back Valko's release, I don't think it's likely that they will be willing to invest any more time and money into his development. If they continue to get more and more criticisms about him and don't care to change anything about him, they will never release him. I'm not minimizing any fan's concerns; I'm suggesting we choose a priority.
If you are unsure where to start, here are some talking points:
Express your excitement over Valko (bonus points if you give reasons why). Did you come back from a long hiatus for him?
Express your disappointment over not having Valko in the game. How will it impact your enjoyment of the game?
Describe how you prepared for his anticipated arrival.
• In-game (farm for dias, bought packs, etc)
• On your devices (created storage space, bought a new device, etc)
• Financially (budgeted for buying packs upon his release, etc)
Describe how you engaged in fandom around Valko. Did you create fanart, fanfiction, or other fanworks? How much were you consuming fanworks showcasing him? Demonstrating how beloved he was before any real content of his being released indicates a warm reception if/when he is released.
What are the current issues you experience with the game? Be specific. Describe exactly how they impact your gameplay. Suggest a concrete way those issues could be resolved. Assert that Valko's release being postponed or canceled will not resolve these issues.
Express concern for the changes to their planned story arc his absence would create. Question if those changes would be as enjoyable as their original plan.
(If you're feeling up to it) Acknowledge the amount of time, effort, and money that must have gone into creating Valko. Let them know it would disappoint you to see it go to waste.
Infold made a terrible decision. We need to take action and let Infold know that a large portion of the LADS fanbase wants Valko to be released at some point. Let's try to remain positive where we can, engage in positive fandom, and do our best to make our voices heard by Infold.
Thanks to @shivasdarknight, @adehsroyal, and @alyxzenia for their contributions!
The bedroom was painfully quiet. Not because there wasn't any sound. There was, The soft zip of a duffel bag. The rustle of neatly folded clothes. The faint clink of metal as chargers, keys, and other necessities disappeared one by one into carefully packed luggages. But because the silence between the two of you was deafening.
You sat quietly on the edge of the bed, your hands folded tightly in your lap. Your eyes never left Valko. His back faced you as he moved around the room. His bright red hair caught the afternoon light pouring through the curtains, glowing almost warmly despite how cold everything felt. Every now and then, he'd hum under his breath, a habit of his whenever he was concentrating. It was the same absentminded tune he'd hum while cooking, while working, while clinging to you from behind because he decided personal space was a nonexistent. And normally, it would've made you smile.
But today only made your chest ache as you watched him fold another shirt, then another. Every item he packed felt like another reminder that he was leaving.
Your vision blurred and you blinked rapidly. No. Don't cry. Not yet. He still hadn't turned around. So you bit your lip so hard it almost hurt. A tear slipped down anyway. Then another. You hurriedly wiped them away with the sleeve of your sweater before more could follow, lowering your head so he wouldn't notice.
He kept packing. Completely unaware. "...Love?" His voice was gentle. "So sorry, could you hand me the things on the counter?" You inhaled sharply. "Okay." Your voice came out embarrassingly small. You stood up anyway, quickly dragging the heels of your palms beneath your eyes before walking toward the counter. His watch. Wallet. His glasses. You gathered everything carefully. Another shaky breath. Don't cry. Please don't cry.
You walked back over, stopping just behind him. He still hadn't turned around. "...Here." You held the items out. He reached back without looking then his fingers brushed yours. And instead of taking the things. His hand wrapped around your wrist. Your breath caught and before you could react, he tugged. A soft yelp escaped you as your body stumbled forward. Straight into him. The items nearly slipped from your hands. His arms were already around you, strong, warm, secure.
He buried his face against your shoulder, holding you so tightly it almost hurt. "...I know." Two words. That was all it took and something inside you shattered. A broken sob ripped from your throat before you could stop it. Your hands flew to the front of his shirt, fists clutching the fabric desperately as tears poured freely down your cheeks.
"No." Another sob. "No..." You hit his chest, not hard but just enough to vent the overwhelming ache threatening to suffocate you. "I don't want you to go!" Another punch. "I don't want you to leave!" Your fists kept landing weakly against him. Again, and again and again. "I hate this!" Thump. "You're leaving me!" Thump. "I don't want you to go..." Your voice cracked so badly the words dissolved into sobs. "You promised to stay forever!" You buried your face against him, clutching his shirt so tightly your knuckles turned white. "Please..." Another broken sob. "Please don't go..."
Valko didn't move away. Didn't stop you. Didn't let go. He simply held you tighter. One hand slid up to cradle the back of your head while the other rubbed slow circles against your trembling back. "I'm sorry..." His own voice sounded quieter now. "I'm so, so sorry." He pressed his forehead against your hair. "I know." A kiss landed gently on top of your head. "I know, sweetheart." Another trembling apology. "I'm sorry."
Your fists had weakened into desperate grips, fingers twisting helplessly into the front of his shirt. "You don't have to go..." You could barely get the words out between sobs. "You don't..." His embrace tightened. "If I could stay..." He swallowed. "I would." You shook your head violently. Then his voice cracked just enough for you to hear it. "But I can't." You cried harder. He whispered it against your hair. "I love you." Another kiss. "I love you so much." Your fingers only clenched tighter. "I'm sorry."
His hand continued stroking your back, slow and comforting despite the way your body shook uncontrollably against him. "I'm sorry I have to leave." Another broken sob escaped you. "I don't want to let go..." "You don't have to." He answered immediately. "So don't." His chin rested gently atop your head. "We'll stay like this for a little longer." He closed his eyes, holding you as though committing the feeling to memory. "I've got you." Another soft kiss. "I'm sorry."
And all you could do was cry into the arms of the man you loved, wishing that if you held him tightly enough. Maybe the world would stop asking him to leave.
[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2026°
: i made this and uploaded this before caleb fiance 3 (its almost done but i couldn't stop crying and crashing out so i couldn't just focus on it and need to lock in aka. Vent out my feelings) I AM SO FUCKIBG SAD AHHHHH
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
Omggg yandere Valarr is something I didnt know I needed.
What if his wife went missing? Either she is wandering or kidnapped, his reaction would scare his own father lmao
I LOVE THIS!!!! It was so much fun to write and I know right, the idea of Yandere Valarr is like...OMG! (And here are the links to the other Yandere Valarr stories—My Heart is Yours, My Life is Too; To Love You as You Should Be Loved)
Anyways here you go:
You Are Not Allowed to Leave Me
Yandere!Valarr x wife!reader—in which he loses it when she leaves
TW: 18+ MDNI public sex, possessive behaviour and violence
You were everything to Valarr, his sanctuary and septa. His wife and love and life, the one whom he would could return to always, to find warmth and comfort. Safety and sanctuary. You were the light of his life and had been since the two of you were young, since he heard the sound of your laughter echoing through the halls.
Since he heard your voice, your words and had to make you his. He needed just one thing in his life that was his, whole and complete and he wanted that to be you. And he got what he wanted. He got you and your love, your touch. He got to know what you felt like underneath him, what it felt to hold you in the morning, to kiss you and mark you and show everyone that you were his.
Because you were. He had chosen you and marked you and he had you. No one else did. No one else ever would. He would burn the world for you if it hurt you. He would burn the world down to keep you.
And he would burn the world down to get you back if you were ever mistaken enough to leave.
Because you are not allowed to leave him. Ever.
***
Valarr’s mind is on you, not the council meeting before him, not the way the lords speak of money and taxes and road maintenance. Not the discussions of his grandsire or his father. Not the importance of charity or dealing with citizen unrest. No, his mind is on you.
His mind is on you and the way you laugh, head tipped back with abandon, throat exposed. His mind is on you and the way you hold him, like he’s a precious thing, a rare thing—as if he’s as special to you as you are to him. His mind is on you and the way you fall asleep at night, the way your eyelids close, your body pressed to his, no space between you two, his arms anchoring you, tethering you. Possessing you.
His mind is on you. On the way you look when he kisses you, kisses his way down your body, leaving marks in his wake, claiming you. Showing everyone whom you belong to. His mind is on you and the way you feel around him, clenching and releasing and the way you sound when he brings you to your peak. His mind is on the way you look beneath him, the way your body looks like a masterpiece, covered in his signature—love bites on the surface of your skin, reminders that you are his.
His mind is on you and he wants to go to now, but he must still play the role of dutiful prince, loyal heir. The perfect son. His mind is on you, but his body is here in the throne, beside his father, pretending to focus on council issues when really his body feels too tight and his sight is filled with you not the papers before him.
It’s a delicate balance, focusing on you over his duty but to him, you are his duty, he took vows to cherish you, to protect you, to love you and that is what he should be doing.
Let the kingdom fall to ruin so long as he has you, his wife, in his arms.
The only peace he has is the thought of you, waiting for him, in your chambers. The chambers that the two of you reside him, him having forgone the idea that you would have separate rooms. He needs you with him always, by his side, in his bed. He needs you where he can watch you.
Protect you.
That’s what he does. He protects you. You are far too innocent and perfect; kind and trusting to be left alone. Having you in your own rooms, away from him, would just invite disaster. It would be courting death for someone could hurt you and then he’d have to end them and tell you your mistake.
Make you see the error of your ways.
It’s not that he would be angry at you. No. Never angry, you know not what you do. It’s why he must protect you.
Always.
“I do believe that concludes this meeting, my lords,” his father says, voice deep and booming, resonant and powerful, mismatched wolf’s eyes turning on Valarr, narrowed with curiosity and irritation. Valarr knows his father was aware of his misdirected attentions but he does not have it in him to feel ashamed or to care. He simply wants you.
He always wants you.
“Am I needed elsewhere, Father or am I free?” he asks, eyes narrowing on his father, one hand behind his back, clenching and unclenching in a fist, rage at the distance and separation from you taking a physical toll upon him. If he had his way, he would never be parted from you, would always be with you, have you fused to him so that everyone could see that you were his and he was yours.
How strong the two of you were, how strong your love.
“You are free, my boy,” Baelor says, a small smile growing on his face as he shakes his head. “You are much in love with your wife. That’s good. Makes for a strong king.” Valarr has nothing to respond with, nothing to say in answer. He simply nods and takes off, out of the meeting room, through the halls and up the stairs to your chambers.
Where you wait for him. Where he will be able to take you—preferably on every surface in the room. Where he will be able to show you how much he missed you, how much he wants you, will always want you. Where he will be able to fill you, to leave marks upon you to remind people whom you are. Whom you belong to.
Where he will be able to taste you, to feel you. To remember just exactly that feeling of ecstasy when you clench around him, when you unleash that breathy moan, that exhalation of his name. Where he will be able to tell you he loves you.
Over and over and over.
He doesn’t knock upon the door, doesn’t need to with the room being his as well and so he simply walks in, closing the door behind him and sliding the iron latch into place, hands already peeling his doublet off, finger going to the laces of his breeches as he wanders through the room, through the combined touches of your possessions and his.
Although, you’re truly the only possession he cares about in the room.
“My flower? My flower, where are you?” he calls, his voice teasing and lilting and that of a man starved, waiting and tensing. A hunter searching for his prey. “My flower?” When there is no answer to either question, no answer to his call, no giggle or tired reply, he tenses for a new reason.
“My flower?!” he yells, tone rising and turning angry. He hopes your just bathing, teasing, baiting. Anything but you being gone. “Darling? If you can hear him, talk to me!”
Nothing.
And that’s when he loses it, red tinting his vision as he searches every room of the chambers, each one devoid of your presence, of your rosebud scent and skin that glows like sun. Every room is empty. You are missing.
Missing…
He screams, the noise of an angry broken man, his voice cracking as he rages, knocking decorations down, shattering glasses, rendering tapestries, kicking and attacking inanimate objects as if the things you carried from your birth home have taken you. As if they are responsible for letting you go.
“My prince? We heard the screams, is all alright?” one of the Kingsguard asks, his hand holding the key, the one which opens the door. The one which the guards must have in event of an evacuation.
“WHERE IS MY WIFE?!” Valarr cries, turning around, one hand closed around the blown-glass dragon you insisted on buying for him during your honeymoon trip around the Seven Kingdoms. (He remembered the way you giggled as you purchased it, handing it to him, your giggle becoming a full laugh at the look on his face. The exact reason he treasures it so.) He hurls the dragon at the guard, the glass object shattering against the flesh of his face, the guard crying out in pain.
The others take a step back in fright as Valarr charges forth, steps no longer that of a caged predator, but of a monster set free. “WHERE IS SHE?!” He grasps the front of one’s uniform, pulling him to him, whispering the question again in a much more dangerous tone.
“We don’t, Your Grace,” the knight whispers, terror lacing his voice as Valarr punches him, once, twice, thrice. Over and over, until he quite loses count, only stopping when he realises the other guards still stand around him.
“What are you idiots waiting for?! GO FIND HER! She does not get to leave me and NO ONE takes her from me! FIND HER!” And the guards run, footsteps the sound of metal against stone, echoing throughout the keep, the smell of fear wafting after them as he straightens himself, wiping his bloodied hands upon his doublet, walking calmly from the chambers, jaw set so tightly together that he fears it may never open again.
He examines every inch of the Keep, every room, searching. He accosts Aerion, questioning him about your whereabouts, slapping him open-palmed when he speaks crudely of you. He questions all those who come into contact with you. Only to receive the answer of nothing and no idea.
He goes to the library, your favourite room in the Keep and finds it empty of you. And that is when the panic sets in, when he imagines you taken, kidnapped, stolen out of the window. Taken and killed or taken and paraded somewhere as someone’s prize.
And that’s when he runs from the library to the Great Hall, to the room where the guards assemble. It’s when he yells and orders them to find you just find you goddamn it. But they do not move, frozen in place by the sight of the young prince in total loss of control.
The way he demands and attacks, tears tapestries from walls, threatens to burn them all alive if they do not bring you back to him.
It is this that Baelor walks in on, the sight of his son so angry that every line of his face is set with terror and anger. He watches his son hit the guards, destroy the decorations of the family, the signs of status and lineage. He watches as his son threatens to build piers strong enough to burn every single Kingsguard alive if they fail to bring him his wife.
And it terrifies Baelor, the sight of this obsession, this possession, this love gone completely mad. Completely wrong.
Especially when Baelor just left you in the field of sunflowers, Valarr planted for you as a wedding gift. Something to remind you of your garden at home.
“What is the meaning of this?” Baelor demands, not needing to raise his voice, the words carrying, his son pausing and turning to look at him, mismatched eyes for the first time that of a stranger’s.
“My wife. Is missing. And these. Fools. Cannot seem. To find. Her,” Valarr’s every word is heavy and angry and fear-filled. It’s that which Baelor understands.
“She’s in her garden reading. She asked me to find you for it had taken you a long time to get to her after the meeting. Especially since you had made plans for a picnic,” he tells his son, watching not as shame fills his son’s face, but victory and desire and relief.
You are still here. You are waiting for him.
“Thank you, Father,” he says, running past him, all smiles now, a wolf-sharp smile as he pats his father on the shoulder, running past him, running from the destruction behind him. Running to you.
***
He finds you exactly where his father said you would be, sitting inside the field of sunflowers, a book in hand, laying on your side upon a deep red blanket limned in gold, hair half-braided. You look at peace, but Valarr knows the lines of your body better than you and he can read the stress and fear upon you in the tension of your spine and the way you sigh before turning the page.
“My flower!” he cries, falling beside you, hands playing with the laces of your dress, teasing them open, slipping his hand to rest between your shoulder blades, to touch your skin and feel your warmth.
“I thought you’d forgotten me, my husband,” you whisper, your voice thick with sadness, tears and it sings through Valarr’s heart as he retracts his hand, pulling on your arm until you lay flat on your back, a single tear slipping down your cheek. He leans down, licking it away and reveling in the sweet taste of your skin. The taste that is, the fact that you are still here and that you waited for him.
“I would never forget you, my heart,” he whispers, moving his body until his legs are on either side of your hips, his body braced above yours as he leans forwards, pressing kisses against your neck, his tongue flicking against your pulse point. “I forgot we were meeting here. I went to our rooms to find you and found you missing. I found you missing and I destroyed most of the castle and threatened to burn the useless Kingsguard alive for failing to bring you to me.”
“Did you. Really?” you ask him, your breath hitching as his mouth hits the peak of your breasts, tongue tracing the shape of them, mismatched eyes pupil-blown and locked on you.
“Yes,” he answers, his hands pinning your hands above your heads, his lips coming up to press against yours, his tongue invading and stroking against yours, sucking it into his mouth, his teeth nipping at it, the touch causing desire to well inside of him, his hands raising your skirts, freeing himself from his breeches.
He continues to kiss you, while pushing inside of you, groaning into your mouth at the feel of you, trailing his lips down your skin, sucking and biting on your neck, each thrust punctuated with a growl of mine.
He takes you in the field of sunflowers, planted to remind you of home, of Reach. He takes you in the field where anyone could see and delights in it. The idea that they could see just how much you belong to him.
And when it’s done, when he’s filled you with his seed, your neck already darkening with the force of his love, marks in the shape of his mouth, a sign of you belong to me.
“Why did. You tear the. Castle apart?” you ask him, still breathless with desire, turning into his body, still pressed against you, his legs twined with yours, his hands holding you possessively.
“Because I thought you had left me,” he whispers, the idea of you leaving him feeling with that same helpless fright and desire and he pulls you closer, already hard again and forcing himself inside of you again, delighting in the way you moan his name.
“You.” Thrust in.
“Are.” Out.
“Not.” In.
“Allowed.” Out
“To.” In
“Leave.” Out
“Me.” In.
And you come apart around him as he comes apart inside you, falling against you spent for the second time. And then he whispers the words into your skin,
“You are not allowed to leave me.” And you sigh in response, nestling against him, the sun beating down on the two of you. “Not ever.”
And then he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.
“You are not allowed to leave me because you are mine.”
⟡ — in public, he is the picture of old-money restraint. hand on the small of your back at galas, a quiet, proud presence at your side. he'll pull out your chair, help you with your coat, and his compliments are always whispered, for your ears only. in private? he’s a cuddler. a true, unabashed, cuddler. he loves having you in his lap while he’s reading a book, nuzzling his face into your neck while you watch a film, his long limbs tangling with yours in sleep. it’s like he needs constant, quiet physical confirmation that you’re there.
⟡ — yes, he likes to know where you are. the location sharing is non-negotiable. but you’ll find he shares his with you just as readily. it’s not about control from his side; it’s about connection. he finds a strange comfort in knowing you can see he’s still at the office, or stuck in traffic, or at his father’s house. it’s his way of saying, my life is open to you.
⟡ — he won’t just buy you the most expensive bag. he’ll notice you admiring a specific artist at a gallery and then, three weeks later, a small piece from that artist will be waiting on your vanity. he remembers you mentioned a book you loved as a child and tracks down a first edition. his gifts are staggeringly generous, but it’s the frighteningly attentive observation behind them that makes them meaningful.
⟡ — dating valarr means being absorbed into his family orbit. baelor will call you for advice on jena’s birthday gift. matarys will text you memes and ask you to pick him up from parties he doesn’t want his parents knowing about. even brooding uncle maekar will grudgingly pour you a drink and ask your opinion on current events, actually listening to your answer. you’re not just his girlfriend; you’re a new piece of their dynasty.
⟡ — he is your ultimate soft place to land. had a terrible day? he won’t necessarily offer solutions. he’ll run you a bath, pour you a drink, order your favorite takeaway, and just let you vent, his calm presence a balm. he finds immense purpose in being your shelter.
nsfw
⟡ — sex with valarr is where the calm fully shatters. it’s intensely, overwhelmingly possessive, but it comes from a place of near-reverence. he’ll murmur “mine” against your skin like a prayer, his hands mapping your body as if memorizing a sacred text. the obsession isn't just about owning you; it's about being the only one who gets to see you like this, who gets to make you feel this way.
⟡ — he loves when you’re a little bratty. a teasing remark, a defiant smirk, wearing his favorite shirt out to a girls' lunch just to get a rise out of him. it lights a fire in those mismatched eyes. he’ll take great pleasure in "correcting" that behavior, a firm hand on your thigh under the table, a whispered promise of what’s to come later. but the punishment always, always ends in overwhelming, praise-laden reward. “you’re so good for me,” breathed into your skin as you come apart is his ultimate kink.
⟡ — the man who loses control is meticulous about putting you back together. once the storm passes, he is tender to the point of being fussy. warm cloths, water held to your lips, lotion massaged into any sore spots, endless soft kisses. he’ll wrap you in his softest cashmere and hold you for as long as you need, his earlier intensity replaced by a drowsy, satiated devotion. this part is as crucial to him as the sex itself.
⟡ — he’s dominant in bed, but it’s underscored by a shocking vulnerability he shows only to you. he needs to hear you say you’re his. he needs the verbal affirmation as much as the physical. the moment of his climax is often when this cracks open—a raw, guttural “i love you” or a desperate, clinging hold that reveals the depth of his need beneath all that control.
⟡ — he will spend insane amounts of money to guarantee absolute privacy. a private villa, a secluded beach, a restaurant booked entirely for the night. knowing you are completely alone, that no one can see or hear, allows him to fully shed the "prince valarr" persona and be just a man consumed by his woman. more secure the environment, more unhinged and freely he loves you.
he loves seeing you all dolled up looking like a literal princess. he'll be the perfect gentleman all night, holding your hand, kissing your knuckles, but his eyes are promising filth. the second you're home, he's on his knees, lifting your skirt to press his face to your silk-covered cunt, breathing you in like he's starving. he could spend hours between your thighs, just looking at you, his fingers tracing your folds, his tongue flicking out to taste you.
he hates it when other men look at you. he'll wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you close, his smile charming but his eyes cold. later, he'll be extra gentle, almost apologetic, as he fucks you slow and deep, his hands gripping your hips, his murmured praises a desperate attempt to remind himself that you're his. "you're mine, aren't you, baby?" he'll whisper, his voice thick with emotion. "all mine."
he loves to watch you. he loves the way you squirm, the way you beg, the way you fall apart for him. he's not just fucking you; he's worshiping you, and he needs to see every second of it. he'll hold your hand while you come, his thumb stroking your knuckles, his eyes locked on yours, a silent, intimate communion that's more possessive than any rough handling could ever be.
he's a doting control freak. he buys you anything you want, but it's always what he thinks you should have. he'll have your appointments scheduled, your life planned out to the last detail. he loves anticipating your needs. it makes him feel indispensable. before you can say you’re cold, there’s a shawl around your shoulders. before you can admit you’re tired, he’s canceling plans on your behalf. before you can decide you’re unhappy, he’s explaining why you’re not.
he hates surprises unless he planned them. he tracks your moods like weather patterns. if you’re quieter than usual, he notices immediately. if someone looks at you too long, he remembers their face. he adores you. he memorizes how you take your tea. he knows which side you sleep on. he keeps the first note you ever wrote him tucked in his wallet.
if you push back, he doesn’t explode. his voice stays soft. his hands stay gentle. but his jaw locks, and he starts using words like sensible and best for you. he’ll listen to you argue, truly listen, and then calmly dismantle every point until you’re the unreasonable one. "i’m not controlling you," he’ll murmur. "i’m taking care of you. there’s a difference."
You are the Moon, he is the Earth, she is the Sun, and yet he chose you.
✶ Pairing(s): Caleb x fem! non-mc reader; Caleb x Angela (MC)
✶ Content: cheating; reference to modern witchcraft; no EVOl/Modern AU; no use of y/n; reffered as "moon"; explicit sex scene depicted.
✶AN: I would like to say that I am not a witch, I'm personally familiar with lithotherapy, but this has always interested me, and I felt like Love and Deepspace and magic/wicthcraft could mix well! Thank you for reading and sticking around even though I haven't given you anything in months! 𖹭 Also, this is the first time I have written an explicit scene in years (6 to be exact), so it might be a bit weird. Still, I hope you guys will enjoy it! 𖹭 (There might be some errors then and there, I will correct them later)
✶AN 2: Happy Birthday Caleb!!!
✶Word count: 4,9K
People often forget how the moon is as important as the sun to the Earth. They always focus on the warmth, the light; they forget that the moon, just like the sun, is always there, controlling the oceans, the waves, showing the wonders of the cosmos to those who are deserving—luminous spectacles that leave people breathless with admiration at the sight, cradling life in gentle hands.
The moon is a quiet constant, showing herself when needed, when desired, basking Earth in gentle light and gifting it the stars and aurora borealis, loving quietly yet loudly at the same time—a grand display of affection.
☆°.•
You remember the day you met Caleb and Angela as clear as the night sky free from light pollution. Vacations were over; the days you were able to sleep in and play with your toys all day were gone, replaced by the annoying activities you knew you'd have to go through in school. While you hadn't thrown a fit about it, your scrunched-up little nose and pouty lips showed your annoyance. Then, your teacher appeared at the door with someone new, someone you'd never seen before: a boy around your age with amethyst for eyes, bright yet dark at the same time. The way he looked at the class was reserved, as if it was the first time he'd entered a place like this in his life. You remember smiling and putting your hand up the moment the teacher asked who would be willing to have him sit with. He had looked shy but sat with you nonetheless.
You talked to him during the whole hour, offering your crayons. You drew together, and by the end of class, he was happily grinning, taking your hand in his to drag you behind him.
You then met her, Angela, the girl you'd soon understand was his sun.
That day, you understood who you were meant to be and what your relationship with them would truly be. Caleb was the earth, the glue that held you together. Angela was the sun, bright, loving, and energetic. You were the moon of the relationship, calm, comforting, the one they came to after a fight, when distressed, in need of sweet attention.
You love it when they rely on you, on your words, on your touch. You love it when they want you. You love it when Caleb wants you, you soon realize as he wraps his arms around your waist and presses you against his chest, sobbing about his insecurities and another fight that happened with Angela.
That didn't change when you grew, when they started dating, sometimes you wouldn't hear about them for days before they came to you in need of advices or comfort after a stupid fight they had. When you are the moon of the relationship, you get to know everyone's most vulnerable side, you are healing the deepest wounds with your touch and with your words. They linger longer than before, an hour becomes two, then three, then a day, then a weekend, and then-
And you hate when he is sad, when Angela makes him doubt or feel like he isn't a good enough boyfriend. To you, Caleb is perfect no matter what.
You hate it when Caleb is sad, and you love it when he is because that means he'll stay with you and give you his attention, his affection. Hugs, kisses on the cheek, preparing you food, and helping you with whatever problems you might have—it makes you greedy for more.
Caleb is so open with you, more open than with Angela, you soon learn as she complains to you about his secrecy when it comes to his job or even his feelings. You only caress her back as you go along with the cliché, "That's how men are; they hide because they feel they need to hold everything together themselves," but that's not true, or at least it doesn't apply to Caleb, because Caleb is open with you. He tells you everything he can; he cries and rants, and he does it all while holding you on his lap and resting his chin on your shoulder.
So you keep the truth about him to yourself like you promised him you would, and you hold her tighter and comb your fingers through her hair for her to calm down.
When she does, she kisses your cheek and leaves your apartment with a skip in her step, mood uplifted, gratitude in her eyes as she tells you how "you are the best friend anyone could have." It makes you laugh, because really, you aren't.
°.☆•
Your shameful secret started in a small shop downtown. You were wandering around, trying to find new spots to bring them, when the storefront of that shop caught your eyes. Moons, stars, suns, iridescent light, and wind chimes—you just had to enter it.
Quiet music playing, an incense stick burning slowly leaving a sweet scent in the air, you looked around amazed by everything surrounding you. Bracelets with crystals you knew had effects on the mind and body, pendulums reflecting the sunlight, and people talking in the back of the shop.
That's where you met your new friends, colorful, elegant, playful, and extremely caring. One immediately knew what was weighing on your heart, so you poured it out.
I think I love him. I think I'm in love with my best friend. But he's already dating my other best friend. We're a trio. She's like the sun, he's the Earth, and I'm the moon...
When you walked out of the shop, your hands were filled with bags. They had given you advice, told you what to do, you listened, you bought, and when you got home, you second-guessed yourself and put everything in a closet hoping to forget about it.
But of course, because Caleb and Angela cannot stay happy and in love for more than a week, the man you've come to fall in love with calls you, asking you if you believe he's either a good or a bad person. You tell him that he's crazy if he believes you think that he's anything but perfect in your heart. Her opinion of him matters so much, but it shouldn't, especially when it's doing everything but help him and make him happy. If Angela can't love him the way he is, you're happy to step in and change things, guilty conscience be dammed.
Caleb is in your apartment twenty minutes later, his head lying on your lap while you comb your fingers through his soft hair. "Know this, Caleb. No matter what you do, I'll never think any less of you than what you are. I'll stand with you 'til the end of the universe." His eyes shine, a smile slowly appearing on his lips, and you know that what you will do will be worth it. Whether it works or not, you don't really care; you'll show him just how much you love him.
Gently, Caleb grabs one of you hand and kisses your knuckles. "I'm just so scared of fucking everything up... Scared that I'm changing too much, that I'm no longer the man she loves, the man you care about. But... When I'm with you, it feels like everything will be alright." You squeeze his hand and brings it to your lips, returning the gesture.
"Because it will. I told you, until the end of the universe."
When he feels better, Caleb helps you cook. It's lighthearted. You laugh, you joke, and you eat while talking about everything and nothing, critiquing a useless bonus episode of a beloved series you used to watch together, the final of that one web series coming to theaters, and so on. During all of that time, both your phones ping with notifications and calls, but you ignore it all, focusing on each other.
When Caleb finally checks his, all he does is sigh and slump against you. "Can I stay over?" Again, your hand ends up on his head, fingers mindlessly playing with his hair. "Why do you ask, dummy? You don't have to ask."
You end up falling asleep on the couch, TV forgotten now a white noise.
In the morning, you are woken up with a kiss on your forehead, loving amethyst eyes looking at you. "I have to go, thank you for... everything. I'll see you next weekend, for the movie?" You sleepily nod and kiss his cheek. "Take the spare key by the door; it's yours now." You hear him laugh softly before his lips find the corner of yours. "I'm going to take advantage of that." That's what you want anyway. "You better..."
A few hours later, you wake up to the sound of knocking. "Coming... Give me a sec, Angel," True to your expectations, she's at your door, looking sad and tired. "I... Don't know what to do."
She sits at the table while you cook breakfast. She's talking, saying how she doesn't recognize him, that sometimes he's too intense. You roll your eyes, biting your tongue not to make a snarky comment about her not being able to handle it and to stop the relationship if she hates it so much.
She complains and complains, "Caleb this, Caleb that, too much, not enough." "I love him so much, that's why I hate it when we fight..." You cover your snort with a fake sneeze and turn around to look at her. "Do you feel like it's his fault?" Angela sighs again and nods. "Like I said, too much... He's always in the extreme."
You know that already. He asked you about it, said that she was not willing to meet him halfway—her way or nothing. You simply hum, comfort her, then create an excuse to have her leave your apartment.
The moment she's out, you start creating the altar. Pink and white candles, Aphrodite in the middle, pink quartz, trinkets and gifts he got for you, and pictures of the two of you together. What you struggle with is finding the perfect exchange you had. So many of his texts are loving: "I'm glad you're in my life," "You're so cute," "You look so beautiful in this outfit," "My sweet moon," "Until the end of the universe, we'll be together," and so on. You print them all and put them on the altar.
☆.°•
It's not a date, you remind yourself as you dress for the movie theater. It's not a date. There's a knock on your bedroom door, your heart beats faster. "Yeah?" Caleb enters and stops in his tracks, eyes widening before the smile on his lips stretches into a dopey grin. "Wow... Now I feel bad for not dressing better." You quietly laugh and undo one of your buttons. "Let me change then." He steps closer. "Let me help." You blush, look away, and your hands drop by your side. "You don't have to..." Caleb's hands are gentle, gently undoing the buttons of your shirt, revealing yourself to him. It should feel wrong, but it doesn't.
"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" He asks, tone teasing, eyes into yours, mesmerizing. You quietly laugh and nod. "But I love it when you say it." He laughs too and pulls you in for a hug, tight, comforting, loving. You melt against him, nose nuzzling his neck, apple and wood, you feel like you're getting drunk of it.
"And I love it when you're like this." His lips meets the crown of your hair, then trail down to your cheek. "Never change..." he whispers, kissing your cheek once more before pulling away, stroking your cheek oh so lovingly.
Again, it should feel wrong, you should feel bad, so does he. You're supposed to push him away, but instead, you give in, want more, let him undress and dress you up, let him kiss your face and hug you. If Angela knew, she'd hate you, but you can't find yourself to care, you're happy, you make Caleb happy, and that's all that matters.
•☆.°
"So... How's Angela?" Caleb tenses and looks away from Gideon, taking a swing of his beer instead of answering his friend. "... You two fought again, didn't you?" Silence answers once more, and Gideon sighs. "And... How's your 'moon' doing?" That makes Caleb smile. "Great, she gave me the spare to her place and we went to the movie theater last weekend." He goes on and on, how you laughed at a funny part of the movie, how you looked disgusted at that very same part, how much you talked after the screening, stars in your eyes, happiness in your tone, and how you finished the night on the couch, talking about everything while a random movie was playing in the background.
"You really love her, huh..." Caleb's face softens, a chuckle escapes his lips. "Yeah... She's... Well, she's always there for me, she always makes me feel like I'm good enough, and she looks at me as if I hung the stars in the sky. It feels good, you know? I can be myself by her side. No judgment, just... Affection." That makes Gideon raise an eyebrow. "Sounds an awful lot like love."
Silence installs itself between them, heavy, barely broken by the bar's ambiance. "You mean platonic love, right?" Gideon shakes his head and finishes his glass, putting it gently back down. "I love her. A lot. She's... basically what keeps me..." Silence settles once more until Gideon breaks it, "Sane? Happy?"
"But she doesn't like me that way. I'm her best friend, I'm just her best friend," adds Caleb, a way for him to convince Gideon, but also himself. There's just no way you feel something romantic for him, especially not after all the fights he got into with Angela. He knows his girlfriend also comes to you; he knows what she might be saying to you. But just because you don't hate him doesn't mean you love him.
"But do you love her?" Silence answers, yet again. Caleb looks away, thinks. Does he love you that way? "Our relationship isn't like the one I have with Angela," he simply says. It's easier that way, not an admission, not denying. "Of course it isn't. You and Angela fight constantly, and when you're not, you're on the verge of fighting." Gideon laughs; it's forced, dry, not amusing one bit.
That night, Caleb dreams of you. It's not something that never happens, especially these last few months. You are all he dreams about, good or bad. You are the only thing that matters to him now. He doesn't remember the last time he dreamed of Angela, but this one is unlike any he had before.
One kiss, a sigh, your hands grips his tightly, he groans. Another, you moan, arches your back and presses your chest against his, and he wants more.
It starts slow, sweet, something he's familiar with, you two. Visiting downtown, taking pictures and trying out food stalls, teasing and playing with each other. You used to do that all of the time before, nothing special, nothing new. But then things changes, a kiss on the cheeks that lasts longer than it should between friends, his hands lingering on your skin and trailing down, following your sweet curves, and finally, a kiss on the lips under the swaying weeping tree leaves.
The scene shifts, you're in your underwear, on top of him, your hips moving against his, your lips meets again and again and again, heavy breathing and the bed creaking filling the bedroom. He whispers your name over and over again, kisses you like his life depends on it, touches you like you deserved to be worshipped. "My moon..." he moans, he sobs, he kisses you again. "I love you, Caleb."
He jolts awake, breathing heavily, soaked with sweat and embarrassingly, cum.
"Fuck."
•.°☆
The dreams doesn't stop. If anything, they grow hotter, more detailed, longer, they feel like an eternity, an eternity where Caleb makes love to you and lives a life where you are together, where he loves you freely. And when he wakes up, it's Angela's whose beside him, and he's drenched with pleasure she didn't give him.
The dreams remains in his mind, so does your sighs and moans, your touch and the feeling of the marks your dream self left on him. But they are not there, and he's disappointed when his neck is bare, when his back doesn't hurt.
It's bad, so bad, he shouldn't be feeling this way towards you, you're just a friend, you don't love him that way, and he's not supposed to love you, and yet, whenever you ask his opinion about an outfit and send him a picture, he saves it on his phone in a special folder he'll later use for his pleasure, then, if you're nearby, he'll join you and help you, innocently referring you to outfits he'd love seeing you in.
.•☆°
"You really didn't have to pay it for me, you know?" You say with a chuckle, eyes shining with happiness as your pinky is hooked with his. Caleb just smiles, and your heart skips a beat. "You looked really good in it, I had to." Gently, you tug him down to kiss his cheek, then wink at him as his cheeks turns red.
"You're the one who recommended me these outfits. Should I change again for you once we're home?" At that, Caleb's smile turns fond, and he nods quickly. "Please."
The moment the door closes behind you, Caleb pulls you in for a hug, nose rubbing against your neck, hands dangerously close to your breasts, you shiver and melt against him.
"You drive me crazy..." you sigh, and his hold on you tightens, pressing you even more against him. "Unfair of you to say... You have no idea what you do to me." You chuckle and turn around to face him. His nose touches yours, his eyes dark, a shade you've never seen before, mesmerizing. You can't do anything but lean closer. "Help me?"
He groans, and yet his hands trails down to grab you from the back of your thighs, hoisting you up. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" You nod, absolutely shameless about it. You just don't care anymore. Anything Caleb offers, you take, and if he doesn't refuse you, then you just enjoy it.
The walk to your room is quiet, your fingers plays with his hair slowly, his creates circles on your skin. Even as he puts you down, his hands remains on your body, and like before, he helps you undress. Everything is quiet, though you're sure he can hear your heart beating like crazy in your chest.
"I'll wait for you in the living room, okay? Be sure to give me a show." You laugh; he winks and exits your room.
The first thing you notice when you join him in the living room is the lack of necklace around his neck, the second is how his eyes seemed to have turned darker than before, the third is the obvious bulge in his pants. You take your time to step towards him, giving him a show just like he had requested, turn around, slightly showing him your curves as you bend over and look at him from the corner of your eyes.
"Next one." You obey, loving how this is going. When you come back in the other outfit he picked, you resume your show, but before you can leave to put another one on, Caleb's hand gently wraps around your wrist and pulls you toward him. You end up on his lap, looking down at him as his nose rubs against your neck.
"You really are beautiful, my moon..." you shiver, lean more against him. You feel him shift under you, his hand gently grabs your thigh and moves it so that you're straddling his lap. He shifts again, you can feel his bulge rub against your warmest place. You both gasp, look at each other, breathing in and out rapidly.
The moment is broken by the phone ringing, Angela's contact appearing on the screen. With a reluctant sigh, Caleb picks up. "Hey Angela... Yes, yes, I'm still with her. No, I just decided to check if there was something else in her apartment that needed fixing... Let me just finish my coffee and I'll be there in twenty, okay? ... Okay, do whatever you want." He quickly ends the call, and you look at each other before sighing. "Should we continue another day?" All he does is kiss your cheek before moving you off him. "Or you can send me a picture... Whatever you want."
"Thank you for today, I really enjoyed myself." Caleb pulls you in another hug. "Me too. I really loved the show you gave me." His lips meets the corner of yours and with that, he walks away, leaving you with your racing heart and soaked underwear.
°.•☆
Enough is enough. It's the fourth time this week since he discovered the altar that Caleb has woken up soaked, sheet soiled with his cum and sweat. It's wrong. So wrong. So fucking wrong. He shouldn't be dreaming of this, of you, especially not when his girlfriend is asleep next to him. It's too much, the images lingers, your imaginary moans resonates in his mind, his girlfriend's touch transformed in his mind into yours, sinful temptation that he can no longer evade no matter how much he tries.
It's four in the morning, she's still asleep, mumbling about work and food and things that are unintelligible. What he's about to do is cruel, but she deserves the truth. The first thing he does is get up and change into a clean pair of boxers; the second is to talk to her, gently shaking her to wake her up.
She mumbles, groans, and tries to pull him back into bed, but Caleb knows he can't let himself be swayed by her and not do what needs to be done. "We need to talk."
Fifteen minutes later, after sobs and screams coming from her, his bag is packed with his clothes. The look on his face is full of regret, but it's better this way—for him, for her, and maybe for you.
The streets are empty; only early birds are out with their dogs, in their cars, jogging, or riding their bikes. The sun is still shy, and the moon is still high up in the sky.
He doesn't take his time; he rushes toward your apartment complex, needing to see you now. Soon enough, he's at the building's gate, inputting the code you told him many months ago. He takes the stairs, skipping a step or two; it almost makes him tumble, but he doesn't care.
Finally, he's before your door. His heart's pounding in his chest, he knocks, he's being loud but he doesn't care. For a moment, he's afraid you won't open the door, but it quickly disappears as you open the door, looking like sin incarnate even though you're clearly still half asleep. "Ca-" his bag falls off his shoulder, his knees buckles under his weight and makes him drop at your feet, strong arms wrapped around your waist and hips as his nose finds your navel. He's so pathetic like this, nuzzling your tummy, mumbling your name over and over again as it is the only that's keeping him alive.
You sigh, your hand finds his hair and gently combs it. You've never seen him like this before; he's never behaved this way with you, but you don't care, because this is what you always wished for.
"Get up," you quietly order, fingers under his chin, his desperate eyes making you sigh with delight.
Gently pushing you inside your apartment again, Caleb doesn't let go of you, better yet, he hooks his arms around your thighs and hoist you up, his lips finding your neck and kissing over and over again.
Your scent is intoxicating, your soft skin is his salvation, and he needs more. "Fuck my moon... Need- Need more." He pants looking up at you with desire, eyes so dark with lust they look like blackholes and you want to lose yourself in it.
Finally, your lips finds his. Soft against chapped, you love this sensation, so does he. The kiss, while loving, is everything but slow. Teeth biting and tugging lower lips, tongues dancing, whenever you pull away there's this strand of saliva linking your mouth together, and you two refuse to let it break, so your lips finds each other again, over and over.
Caleb settles you on the table and stands between your parted legs, taking the sight of you in. He can see everything, your stiff nipples underneath your tank top, to the dark patch on your shorts. The sight of you, clearly desiring him too makes him throb in his pants, and the way you look at him, eyes trailing down to the bulge, the way you bite your lower lip, he's a goner.
His lips finds yours again, his hips presses against yours, making you moan as you feel his desire against yours. His hands roams across your body, massaging, feeling you. Gentle hands massages your breasts, mischievous fingers teases your nipples before trailing down to your clothed pearl.
You gasp, back arching sinfully, nails dragging on his back, it should hurt, but instead it fuels him, his fingers are coated with your desire for him, and so, slowly, he learns how to make you sing, his fingers pushes away your panties, they tease your pearl, moves further down to enter you. "Caleb-" a kiss on your cheek. "I know- I know, I got you... I promise I will make you feel good." It's not perfect, but his eagerness makes up for his lack of experience with you.
Caleb's a fast learner, and soon enough, you let go of his wrist to grip something else and tug as he makes you come.
But it's not enough, not for you, not for him. Not nearly enough. Desperate hands tugs at the clothes you both wear, they're thrown on the ground without a care before Caleb grabs you by the hips and walks you to your bedroom.
You lips never parts more than a minute, you are addicted to them, to his touch, to his sighs and groans, the way he grips your hips and presses you against his desire. Caleb looks so beautiful like this on top of you. "We should- Do you have condoms?" You shake your head, "I'm on the pill." He shudders and smiles, kissing your forehead tenderly.
Slowly, not to hurt you, Caleb pushes his desire inside. You claw at his back once more, presse your chest against his. "Ca- mmmmh- please, keep going-" he doesn't stop, thrusts in slowly, in, out, in out, he slips out, you whine, beg for him to get back inside.
You're desperate, your moves are driven by desire, by love. "I can't- I can't stop... I can't stop my moon- I just- fuuck, you feel so good." His forehead rests against yours, his eyes, now tear filled, are drowning into yours. His expression is heavenly, so beautifully desperate, almost pathetic.
"-leb, I-I'm about to-" you warn, fingers moving to his hair and pulling almost desperately. He observes you, takes in the sight of the girl who loves him so much she created an altar for being pleased by him. "So pretty- mine. All mine, yeah-?" He asks, sentence broken with each hard thrusts.
With a sob, you come, white ring around the base of his excitement, dripping onto the sheets under you two. This is what drives him over the edge, making him finish in a pathetic whimper.
He stays like this for a while, looking at you, still buried inside, your shared pleasure staining the sheets. "Yours..."
For a moment, only your heavy breathing fills the room, you stare at each other with wide eyes before you break it with a happy giggle. "Do you have any idea just how much I dreamed about this?" He laughs with you, then kisses your lips tenderly as he pulls out.
"Got an idea when I saw what you created in your closet." Your smile falls and you stare at him with bewilderment. "You... Oh my stars, no... You were not... I mean—" His lips cut you off, his hands tenderly stroking your cheeks as he pulls away.
"I love you too, my moon." His smile is the most beautiful smile you've ever seen in your life, at that moment, it's as if he was the sun itself. "You... Really don't mind?" Caleb slowly sits against the wall and pulls you on his lap, massaging your hips tenderly to ease the pain he inflicted while he was making love to you.
"Your love for me is stronger than gravity, stronger than anything I could have wished for... That's what I always wanted... You love me even though you've seen the worst of me, even though I'm too much, too intense. I've been crazy about you for years I think, always in the back of my mind, and you... We were made to be with each other." You kiss him again, and again, and again, and when he lies down and settles you on top of him, you just laugh and start making love to him all over again.
•.☆°
The moon witnesses your love for each other, she blesses it, make it shine as bright as the stars in the night sky.
The moon and the earth loves each other, they complement each other, Caleb is the Earth, you are the Moon, and your love will exist until the end of the universe.
A caleb x older reader, like wayyyy older enough to be his mother (laughing my ass off because apparently, he was born on 2022? Same age as my little cousin who I'm basically XX ys older)
And was genuinely crying his broken heart off when he heard you were getting married and years after was still into you and is deadass mentally celebrating when he heard you got divorced and is willing to be the step dad of your children?!?! 🤣🤣
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
Okay so I just saw this tiktok vid that basically says: Top then cruelest thing you could say to me "I used to like you back then." And then the LADS boys came into mind and I was like, that's cliché, classic. But I'm down for it, then I imagine the boys saying that to you and I stare at nothing for a moment and was like. Hell nah, what about the opposite?
Anyways the scene goes into something like this because I'm too lazy to make a full fic out of this buttt.
Your main spend the most of his life chasing MC that you eventually give up, but did stay close to him. And now years later, you and your mutual friends get together and you were lowkey drunk, chatting together as you happily ramble about nonsense. And one of your friends just started teasing you at him, stating how bad your crush was on him back in the days and you just started laughing, looks at him and told him, nevermind them, that was a very, very long time ago. And kind of get this weird feeling on his stomach about it but since you weren’t making a big deal of it, he brushed it off.
But then you turned to him, look at him so seriously it made him nervously chuckle and was like, what's wrong? And you stare at him for a couple more of seconds and was like, you know what? Fuck it. Its been years and I think I deserve to get it off my chest one way of another. He stares at you quietly and you stare back at him he was almost mesmerised by your eyes. Then you smile, genuinely, without holding back and say, I used to like you back then. Then you laugh, and he stops, he just stopped. But you continued anyway saying, you might as well crush that, because you were pretty sure you were head over heels for him. And how him, being all over MC just lowkey breaks you so you distance yourself away from him. And the thing is, you dont look hurt when you said that. You were just story telling. And then you look up from your drink and look at him again saying how all of that was all in past now and stopped taking halfway before laughing, asking him why he's making that face. Then stood up, tapped him by the shoulder and jokingly said that there was no need to make a big deal out of it because that was all in the past, that you're over him before excusing yourself, leaving him all alone by the bar.
But the thing is, he was over MC years ago. One thing he realize after you started distancing yourself at him. (While you were still a constant presence in his life, it's not as consistent as it was before.) Is that he was busy looking at someone else to realize who was there by his side all along, and by the time he realised it. The distance between the two of you was something he could no longer reach out for. But then again, you never stopped talking to him, still replied to him. He probably never realised he was actually into you, until you said that.
Because what you mean by that? Because as soon as those words came out of your mouth, if felt like everything make sense, the way MC stares at him whenever you walked by and greet them. MC would stare at him, then at you, then back at him again and he would stare back into her eyes asking her what's wrong and she would just shake her head.
Anyways, long story short, he likes you. He had probably loved you all along. And have been throwing all sorts of party, reunions, gathering just to catch a glimpse of you these past few years. And let's just saying having you throw those words right at his face, really did something inside of him.
But the thing is, you had already moved on. Already married to someone else, could be a side character, or just your second ml. Could be anyone. Because as he stares at you by the bar. He saw a glimpse of light reflected by the ring on your finger.
: Yeah, something like that. I'm too lazy to continue. So what do you think. I'm definitely not thinking. Also, this is like an example of by drafts, this is usually how they look on my notes before I have to fix them with proper narrative and dialogue. So yeah XP X(
: Also, a random update, I'm almost done with Caleb's Fiance 3, and I'll me uploading Sylus' Parent trap teaser :D
But imagine you got isekaid and met Valko before you were aware he was a love intrest for MC.
The angst of thinking he's yours.
You finally have someone who is yours, who focuses on you solely, no longer sidelined by the npcs or the main boys.
Getting deeply attached thinking your now out of the main plot and you are your own character making your own story.
Only to find out later he's another love interest and he's stuck between his soul mate bs with mc and his love for you.The angst gets better if you look like the non game version of mc.
You and mc look alike, but you have the acne scars, the un symmetrical face, and a chipped tooth. you look flawed, unlike how perfect all the game characters
