rage

The forest is surprisingly comfortable.

You didn't expect it, given how your own experiences with the wilderness have been limited to missions and wanderer-hunting, with very little time to appreciate the beauty of nature when you're fighting for your life.

But it is… Beautiful.

Deep, viridian-covered branches tangle together high above your head and form a dense canopy, letting through only a smattering of sunlight, much like stars dotting a night sky. Somewhere off to your right, a family of birds sink to each other. You can't help but wonder what they're saying as you breathe in deep lungfuls of air so clean you could cry. And beneath your back, the floor is soft. Not mattress-soft or brushed-cotton-soft. But spongey and forgiving, a bed of leaves cushioning your spine like one would cradle a babe.

You wonder if Valko picked this spot on purpose. If he knows every square inch of this forest and decided to fuck you here. Where the earth feels kind. Where your noises tangle together until they become part of the forest's symphony, indistinguishable from the crying animal you can hear in the distance, or the gentle thrush of dancing branches. Valko called the forest "his" when he found you. Not his home, not his territory... Just his. As though everything from the dirt in the cracks of your shoes to the skyward-reaching boughs were drawn forth from his very being.

You wonder, too, if any part of the forest could be yours. If you ask, would he let you own a part of him? A tree to name as though a person, a free-flying bird to clutch in your palm, a patch of bright flowers to doze in.

A fool's dream.

Because, while only a matter of days has passed since your first meeting, you've been reliving the memory of it in horror, when caught on the brink of wakefulness and sleep. The feeling of his large body giving way to you and hitting the dusty ground, supine. You—triumphant in every way, straddled atop him like an animal.

Then, worse.

Much worse.

Valko's face beside yours. The agonisingly pleasant drag of his nose behind your ear. A deep inhale—guttered like a candle flame, followed by a disbelieving, "Your scent..."—entirely impossible to forget. The whole interaction set your head spinning. So wrongly intimate in the middle of a battlefield, his every touch melting down into reverence where he held you against him. And each time you recall the memory, your reaction is different.

One time, you push him away as soon as his hold tightens, scrambling to your feet, features marred with disgust.

Another, you grab the burgundy hair at his nape and smash your mouth into his.

Only this morning, did you press the barrel of your pistol against his temple and threaten to pull the trigger.

In reality, however, you didn't fight back. You didn't reciprocate, either. You merely just let him touch you, smell you, hold you like a lover and not an enemy he'd met all of ten minutes prior.

Shame rushes to meet you as though the dam of your resistance has finally crumbled. Because here you are—beneath Valko. Drawn in by his claims of "fated mates" and big, puppy dog eyes. On another mission entirely, yet you were hunted down within minutes of your arrival in his territory.

You tried to resist.

Sort of.

But deep inside you, there was a pull. A string tied around your heart. Pulled just enough to make you take a step forward towards him. Another. And another. Until you were grabbing desperately at his stupid, big shoulders and kissing him with a ferocity that surprised even you—as though you hadn't taken a breath since you left him, and the meeting of your lips was akin to surfacing from deep water. Valko handled you easily, didn't bat an eyelid at the familiar way you fell into him, and used all that irritating strength of his to swoop you up and bring you here.

Though where here is exactly, you wouldn't be able to say.

"You're such a big brute," you pant, a palm thumping at his shoulder blade like your anxious, horny energy has no other outlet but violence.

Sweat drips onto your cheek in lieu of a comeback. You flinch, grimacing, and then flinch again when you feel the sudden rush of arousal accompanying it. There's nothing sexy about an idiot who can't decide whether he wants to be a man or a wolf, and definitely nothing about the aforementioned idiot sweating all over you.

Valko drags his nose up. Sniffs behind your ear. Groans and thrusts into you deeper. "You smell so good, pup."

You groan, too, decidedly more annoyed than Valko. "Don't call me that! You're not even listening!"

"I am," he says, clearly distracted by the way you clench around him a second later. "Fuck... What are you doing to me?"

"I'm not doing—" You toss your head back onto the soft ground when he tilts his hips, hitting your g-spot with frightening accuracy. "—haaah-anything! You stupid dog!"

Valk's mouth dips immediately down into the cavern of your throat, tongue licking wet and hot up the rungs of your trachea. Your stomach swoops when you feel a faint scratch—almost like those canines of his are teasing your skin, sharp and gleaming, and able to tear your throat out in an instant.

"Wolf," he growls lowly.

"Whatever." Venom seeps back into your voice. You feel humiliated to have given in as easily as you did. Even more so at how capable Valko is of fucking any sane thought from your brain. "I don't think wolves are supposed to fuck humans."

Valko lets out a sharp rumble from deep in his chest. You can feel it reverberate straight through you, plastered to him as vines crawling up a dawn redwood would be.

"Pretty sure it's a— ngh! Violation of some animal welfare law."

"Werewolf," Valko corrects a heartbeat later, the point of an ear flicking against your chin.

You brace yourself when you feel another brush of pointy teeth, ready for them to sink into your flesh like a meal, overdue and mouthwatering. There would be no fight. None that you would win, anyhow.

Dragging a large, overheated palm down your flank, Valko slips it beneath your lower back. You have barely a second to guess at what he's attempting before you're unceremoniously lifted, hips inches from the ground, suspended there while he ruts into you. You gasp at the new angle, at the humiliating stretch of his thick cock pounding into your dripping cunt. A boot-covered foot lands on the back of his thigh. You can't help but hold on for dear life, even as your head swims with mortification.

You never do this—fuck someone you barely know.

A gasp. Eyelids fluttering as he strokes deep inside you. A big, shaggy tail thumping your shin rhythmically.

Is it always this good?

"You were looking for me," Valko murmurs into your sweaty neck.

Startled, you grab his shoulders and push. Valko lifts his head obediently. But, and here's the real kicker, he's fucking huge. Broad shoulders that cover half your vision when you tip your head down to stare at him incredulously. Thick, wide torso pinning you to the ground. You almost lose your nerve. But then he's panting in your face, breath hitting hot against your lips, and you have to say something, anything, or you'll end up kissing him again.

"No, I wasn't! I'm supposed to be—" a strangled moan "—on a mission. Finding a wanderer! Not..."

The end of your sentence eludes your fuzzy brain, as does any thought besides how Valko's stroke game might actually kill you.

Valko shakes his head, veering closer. You go cross-eyed. He bumps his forehead into yours, and the new point of contact is another fraying thread of your sanity, one more layering of molten arousal settling over your body like a suffocating fire blanket. You half-wonder if Valko has some special werewolf vision when he stares at you intently enough to frighten—if his vision isn't blurred like yours. If you look as stupidly fucked out as you feel right now, also.

Slowing his hips into a deep, torturous roll, he knocks his nose into yours playfully.

"Not you," he emphasises, and you feel his lips brush yours. A feather's kiss. Then, another hand—the one not hiking your hips incrementally higher by the second—slips beneath your nape, big fingers cupping the back of your head, a thumb stroking over the corner of your jaw. You almost moan, still baffled at his size. At the easy way he's moving you, and the sheer span of his hands, his shoulders, his hips. You swallow the incriminating noise instead. "Your soul. I could feel it, pup. Howling at me. Haah— Asking me to find you."

You exhale shakily. "You're crazy."

"Not crazy," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours firmer. He repeats himself, hushed yet solemn, "Not crazy."

You swallow the stone trapped in your throat. Feel it sink into your stomach with a final, echoing thump.

"I felt you. Different from how I feel you now."

Your lips part around a question before your brain has a chance to catch up. "What did you feel?"

"Hunger," comes Valko's immediate reply, as though he doesn't even have to think about it. As though he's telling the truth. "Loneliness. Hope. Confusion. Everything." Valko's voice drops into a raw note, like he's being flayed further open by each word he chooses to share, but he couldn't bear to keep them to himself despite it. "All of it."

You gasp, back arching up into the wall of his chest. Valko's fingertips dig into your lower back, and he pulls you up into him further, like it won't be enough until you climb inside his skin.

"Your soul was the deepest silence and the most beautiful song I've heard in my life."

Tears prick at your eyes, and your vitriol vanishes with enough pace to leave you breathless. The string tied around your heart pulls taut, lurching up into your throat. Valko knows. He must do. Because the corner of his eyes softens, solid gold melting into liquid, and he regards you so fondly that you feel pinned under the weight of his veneration, despite Valko knowing only your nasty words and the unfaltering pressure of your limbs.

"There is a forest inside you," Valko says, awed, big ears turning towards your expression as though able to hear its idiosyncrasies.

Arousal and some unidentified emotion—heavy and foundational and undeniably trusting—fight for control, welling up inside your chest until they crush your every heaving breath. Valko slows his hips until he's only grinding deep inside you, pubis pressing against your clit in a way that sends a frisson of heat dancing up your spine.

"Valko," you whimper, voice breaking from his words or the intimate grind of his cock, you have no idea.

Palm sliding from your nape to the side of your neck, Valko's thumb drags adoringly along your jaw until it finds its home— right below the softness of your bottom lip. He pulls it down slightly, and your mouth parts without thought.

Valko pours his words into its cavernous reaches, "I can hear it now."

Every inch of you is matted with sweat. Valko runs hot. So hot you're losing your mind, wrapped in his balmy embrace, being fucked by his big cock, spoken to in a tone so sweet and so low your heart fractures and remakes itself into newness.

"Your soul stretched out and sank its claws deep into my flesh from the very first moment we met, little hunter. I didn't have a choice. I had to find you again." His eyes flutter closed, pained. "I had to."

You whimper again—an open, vulnerable noise crawling up from the base of your throat entirely unfamiliar to you. You've never made a noise like this before. But now you can't stop. More follow. Tiny, wounded things that only make Valko clutch you tighter, roll his hips deeper. In turn, only deepening your delirium—until you're more animal than human. Until your nails are sinking deep into his shoulders and your mouth is finding his once more, darkness engulfing you.

Hissing at the prick of pain, Valko reciprocates without hesitation, and within seconds, it dissolves into a contented, humming moan. Valko tilts his head and licks into your mouth like he's tasting what you ate for breakfast, tongue flicking along the flat rows of your teeth. His mouth opens further, coaxing yours to mirror him, and he releases this breathy sound of astonishment into you.

"Sw't," he says, muffled against your lips—backing away barely enough for the syllables to be heard before he's meeting you again, like two souls clashing in an open field. You keen, loud, and your hips jerk in place when he nips at you, light and teasing and familiar. You're rewarded with a laugh. This time, he does part from you, but not before pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Sweet, sweet thing."

"Shut up," you mumble quietly, all the fight drained out of you.

"You're trouble, though. I can tell." The corner of Valko's eyes crinkles. "Seen plenty of it before."

You try to grumble, but his big hand hikes your hips higher, and he's everywhere—outside you, inside you—and you can do nothing but take what he's giving you with the faint notion that you're not going to be able to live without this—him—once it's over. That he's changing your fundamentals, cock driving deep inside you and rearranging what you once were.

"'m not trouble-nghhh!" you retort, gasping around the word 'trouble' when he pulls his hips back and slams into you, punishingly hard despite the tender hold he has on you, as though you could be blown over by a gust of wind and shattered in the middle of this forest.

"I got you, little hunter, I got you."

"Valko, ohmygod, there!"

"Here?" he asks, hammering into the spot that's making you see stars, or maybe that's just the canopy light flashing in your wet vision.

"Yesyesyes," you chant, chest heaving.

"So pretty."

You barely hear it. Blood roaring in your ears, brain a soupy mess. There's not much of anything left but the feeling of his thick cock carving a home for himself into your cunt, wet noises echoing above the din of the forest.

"My mate."

Your whole body shudders. No way. Not this again. You can't be. You're many, many things: wrong and volatile and above all—human.

"Ma-ah! Mate?"

Valko nods, coming to nose under your jaw.

"No! No, Valko, I'm not— I'm…"

"Mine."

"Human!"

"Mine."

"Valko, please," you whine, tears filling your eyes. "I'm not who you're looking for. I'm not! You don't know me. You don't want me. Not past today—not for the rest of your life."

A mean thrust. The tears spill.

"This is just instincts," you argue weakly. "Your stupid werewolf wires crossing and—"

"We are all just instincts," Valko cuts in, not unkindly. Not condescendingly. Just stating it like the simple, breathless fact it supposedly is before dipping down to kiss you again. You clench around Valko so hard his tail thwacks the thigh you have hooked around his waist.

Traitorously, your brain whispers: What were you driven by when you first kissed Valko, if not your instincts?

"V'lk'," you speak, muffled against his mouth.

You're ignored. But you have bigger issues, namely, how the heat is eating you alive. So imposing it's a physical weight, melting you into Valko's hold—and it all seems to be emanating out from where you're joined. An orgasm creeping up on your heels, molten fire right behind it—waiting to engulf you for good. You can barely move your hips to meet his quick thrusts, settling for half-heartedly twitching as he pounds into you. Held up by nothing but his strength alone, what feels like it could be miles from the soft forest bed.

Licking into your mouth, Valko doesn't hear you. Not until you slide a hand to the front of his shoulder and push once more. He doesn't budge an inch, but you get his attention. He leans back to peer at you—all big, round eyes and flushed face, sweat beading along his temple—and yet somehow, he looks more composed than you feel. At once, self-consciousness rises like a tide.

"You're confused," you blurt anyway, forcing the emotion away.

Valko smiles, a gentle curve utterly undoing. "I've never been more sure about anything in my life."

And that…

It unmakes you. Strips back those petal-shaped layers you've been clutching as though they were impenetrable armour. Bares you to the forest, to him, to yourself. Effortlessly. So unassuming that you didn't notice, not until you're lying there—an open, gaping wound.

Sinking lower, Valko's voice is a smooth stone drifting from the mouth of a river into open ocean. "My mate."

"Yours," you breathe quietly, as though a tone too loud will wash away its meaning. As though it's a secret to be guarded between you, Valko, and the forest.

Valko's expression flies through a myriad of colours in an instant. Then, your pussy flutters around his cock and his face lands on hunger. Bending down, he brushes his nose on your temple again, slides his chest against yours—rubbing skin in a way that, to you, seems to have no aim but contact. He presses his nose into your hair and breathes in deeply.

"You smell like me."

Valko's thick cock splits you open, and your hips are held so high your legs kick in the air.

You suck in a heaving breath, see-sawing between the syrupy mess of your thoughts and the heat consuming you. "W-what?"

Brushing his temple against yours, he laughs. Though the sound is thin and strained. "Nothing."

You want to chase it up, to push him, truly you do. But then, he's anchoring a forearm on the ground by your head and using it as leverage to fuck into you even harder, each snap of his hips sending pleasure skittering up your spine. Your toes curl against his thighs, and the heat becomes a roaring inferno.

"Valko," you whimper again.

The man drags his nose back across your cheek, brushes it against yours. Leans back to catch your lidded gaze. You stare up at him blearily, at the way he's your entire field of vision. Blown-out pupils drink you in as he asks, "What is it, pup?"

You seize up at the nickname this time—muscles locking and breath stalling in your chest like the moment existing before a vacuum consumes everything the next—and cum. Silent for the briefest of moments before your voice crawls up your throat, ruined. A string of keening gasps, underlined with these scratchy moans from deep in your chest. Your fingernails dig into Valko's shoulders, desperate for a moor.

Yet, he doesn't stop.

Fucks you through it with a surprising ferocity, even as his hips begin to stutter.

"So sweet," he moans, staring down at you, face the same colour as his hair. His ears twitch madly atop his head, like he can't decide which sounds of yours to focus on—your tiny, gasping whimpers or the wet shtick of his cock pounding your pussy. "All for me."

Your orgasm feels as though it's dragging you down into its depths, your pleasure turning high and painful, though no less mind-numbing. You cry out when Valko's cock brushes against your G-spot so soon, and then cry again when Valko decides to repeat the action.

You slide a hand up his nape, panicked, nails dragging harsh lines. "Valko, ah— wait—"

Valko's hips snap into you reflexively.

"Ohmygod," he whines. Whines. Like he's not the big bad leader of the werewolf clan. As though he's not the one fucking you to tears.

You freeze at the sound.

"Please," he gasps out. "Again."

Then, you watch from a body that's not your own as you obey, orgasm still lapping at your core. Your other hand drags sharp lines along his muscled shoulder and up into his nape, through the soft, cropped mess of his hair. Pain-pleasure frisks your skin. Valko buries his head in the hollow of your throat, and you can feel him panting there, open-mouthed.

"Again."

You want to tease. To find your words and call him bossy, demanding and stupid. All traits that should never be endearing and yet here you are, unequivocally endeared. Instead, you splay your finger tips wide across the back of his skull—thumbs tucked behind his human ears—and drag your nails along his scalp, up to his crown.

Valko shudders as though abruptly caught in a winter breeze.

"Haah—"

Your fingertip strokes up the back of a wolf-ear, the fur silky soft beneath your touch. You can feel it twitching in response. A thumb rises to join it, pressing up the warm, fleshy inside.

"Pup, I'm-nghhh—"

Meanwhile, your free hand moves curiously around the base of his other wolf ear, gauging where the human ends and the werewolf begins. You press a finger firmly to the divide, and pet it back and forth.

Both ears flick as though to brush away your fingers, before pinning back against his head right as he pants out, "Closeclose—"

Valko hunches over you, sharp teeth nipping at your neck. You jump. Instinctively ducking your head to protect your neck. Whining again, Valko makes a wounded sound as though denied—though denied what, you don't have the brain capacity to work out. You tip your head further back on instinct. Valko groans, half-fearful, and he stops fucking you abruptly.

You take the chance to catch your breath.

"Don't—" Valko, panic-stricken.

A graze of teeth.

In your gut, you know you shouldn't fight him—so you don't. You surrender yourself, forcefully relaxing your body. Both hands tangled in his soft hair and around his spasming ears like they're sacred. You let out a low whine from the base of your throat, and Valko punches out a wounded whine of his own, perfectly dizzying.

"Valko, please," you gasp, not even sure what you're begging for at this point.

"I can't— ohfuck—"

You're immediately distracted by a weird sensation. Fullness. A pleasant stretch edging into slightly painful.

"Valko, what is—"

His hips start into a shallow grind, keeping his entire cock inside you. You glance up to see his ears flick back again, flat to his skull.

"'m sorry, 'm sorry–"

Your pussy is forced wider around Valko's cock. Something swelling—inflating—inside you, a sensation so jarring you scrabble at his hair as pure alarm lances your heart. You try to draw your hips back, but the hand beneath your lower back keeps you where you are, despite the apologies he continues to murmur against your neck.

"Sorry, pup, 'm sorry, 'm sor—"

"Ow, ow— Valko— it hurts," you protest, staring up into the canopy. Then, you angle your head down uselessly to try to catch his gaze.

"I didn't mean to, you just smell so… and you're acting like… like that. And you don't even know what it's doing to me," he replies, tight and panicked.

"Valko!" You thump at his back, nervous in equal measure at his tone.

"You have to—" he grunts when you clench around him, "—relax."

Your voice climbs higher. "Relax?!"

"Jesus, pup, please. Stop squeezing me."

"I can't," you cry, tears welling up again as Valko's dick keeps inflating. You're going to be split open, sharp heat will slice you in two. Your back arches up into him. "Ahhh— fuck, Valko!"

Valko lets out a devastated gasp. His head tips to the side until his cheek rests on your shoulder, hot breath panting across the front of your throat.

"What is happening?!"

Your hunter's watch didn't say anything about stupid werewolf dick having the ability to enlarge at will.

"'s my-haah— my knot."

Valko slides his hips forward, forcing your pussy to stretch wider around him. You make a hysterical sound.

"What does that even mean?!"

"I can't… can't think."

Your voice runs ragged. "Not helpful!"

"I mnnn-know!"

You kick the back of his thigh and whimper as the movement causes him to shift deeper. His tail falls still, a strip of warmth across your leg.

"Stop-ah— moving."

"Pull out!"

Valko grunts.

"Valko, pull out!"

"Pup, I can't," he argues, strained.

"What do you mean you can't, bastard? Pull! Out!"

Valko lets out a low, disgruntled sound. Before holding you carefully and drawing his hips back, so slowly you swear he's actively trying to piss you off further. Then, you feel it. A sore stretch returns, until it dips into sheer, mind-numbing pain so fast you yelp, sucking in a wet breath and attempting to draw your legs towards your body, despite the hulking man spreading you open. Valko stills immediately, slipping back into your heat with a moan of pure relief. You echo it as the pain subsides and the size of Valko becomes more manageable again.

"See?" he asks lowly.

You nod dazedly, still catching your breath. You're starting to adjust, but the stretch still burns something fiery, even as pleasure begins to lick at the wound.

"What the fuck…" you mumble to yourself.

You clench around him, testing, and Valko groans. You do, too, when the pain flares again, a sweeping wave of arousal following close behind.

Then, a strike of clarity: "You still haven't cum."

You feel unsettled at the notion, deeply so.

"Working on it," Valko huffs, voice rough.

"Don't sound too excited."

"Are you always this mouthy?" A beat of silence, then an agitated twitch of a wolf ear. "Actually, don't answer that. I don't want to know."

You roll your eyes but soften your voice.

"There's no one to tell you about," you admit.

Valko stills. "Pup…"

"What?" you snap, immediately falling back on the defensive.

Valko moans again, for no discernible reason. Sighing irritably, you thump your head back onto the ground, only for Valko to make another heated noise into your neck. You bristle at not understanding what's even setting him off.

"Seriously! What's wrong with you?"

Valko sighs. Shifts his hips. Exhales at the hitch in your breath. "I like a bit of a fight in my prey."

"Fuck off," you respond.

"Yeah," he laughs, undeniably fond, which is objectively crazy. You've known this man for a matter of days. An hour, if you count the time you've actually spent in his company. You grip his hair tighter and listen to his laughter peter out. "There you are."

Valko rocks his hips once, testing, and when you do no more than punch out a tiny exhale, he does it again. And again. Rocking into your tight heat just enough to drive you insane. Just enough to drive him insane if his noises are anything to go by, too. These pained, throaty whines, tangled in gasps, serve only to set your nerves alight. For someone so big and imposing, the muted desperation in his voice is enough to have your hips twitching again.

"God, you feel so—"

You clench around him and he rewards you for it, a drawn-out whine echoing in the quiet of the forest.

"Pup— 'm gonna—"

Valko fucks inside you once, twice, bares his teeth to the softness of your neck. You drag your nails down his scalp and wrap your fingers around his nape, thumbs brushing the corner of his jaw.

"—closecloseclose—"

You lift his face and press your lips together. All it takes is a comforting whine, a melding of the words you cannot find into baseless sound, and Valko is cumming. Pouring his heat into your mouth, your cunt, warm spurts of cum filling you up.

There's no wrongness to be found.

No gut feeling to swoop your high away. Only a deep-seated satisfaction that you're safe, cared for. That right now, nothing could matter more than the man trapped inside you. You part your lips wider and lick into his mouth, happily swallowing his flustered sounds as he rides out his orgasm—hips twitching abortedly into your heat.

Peaceful, you would call it, despite how laughable the notion is—being split open on a werewolf's cock and finding the peace you've been searching for your entire life.

Then, he slumps atop you, deadweight. Head dropping into the ground above your shoulder as he lowers your body, none-too-gently, back down to the forest floor.

"Oof— Valko, I can't— breathe," you wheeze when the weight of him settles over you like an anvil, palms slapping his back uselessly.

He grunts, an ear-flick indicating that he hears you. But he doesn't move.

"Valko!"

A sigh—long-suffering, which you don't quite understand when he's only had to suffer through your presence all of a whopping hour since you met him.

Tucking a hand above your ass to keep his cock lodged inside you, Valko rolls onto his back with little fanfare. You make a startled noise and prop yourself up before you can crush him, wincing at the burn of arousal making itself known. You would let him fuck you again if he wanted. You refuse to say as much, though.

Valko whines in discontent, and a big arm wraps around your waist to coax you downwards. You settle without a fuss, pressing a cheek into the hollow of his throat.

"Good," he mumbles quietly, a big hand petting down the length of your spine.

Shivers break out across your skin at the sensation, and you melt into a languid mess atop his chest between one heartbeat and the next. You don't know why. There's no reasonable explanation for the serenity being housed in your ribs, but it is there all the same.

You shift slightly before finding your voice.

"I don't think my landlord allows wolves," you say quietly, a fingertip tracing inane patterns on his chest.

Valko laughs, the slow rise and fall of his chest becoming an earthquake beneath your touch.

"I promise they won't even know I'm there," he eventually says, with only the lingering traces of amusement to be found in his voice. A palm squeezes your nape.

You scoff, disbelieving. While the forest was convenient for his little werewolf fuckfest, you're not confident your apartment is insulated for such endeavours. Valko crowds you tighter, like he senses your thoughts and is offended by them.

A heartbeat later: "How long are we stuck like this for?"

Valko hums, thinking. Gives a small shrug. Leans forward to inhale a deep lungful of you behind your ear before replying, "About thirty minutes."

You try to sit up. "Thirty minutes?!"

Pressing you back down easily, Valko doesn't even bother opening his eyes. "Gotta wait for it to take."

In all fairness, you don't put up much of a fight.

"For it to…?" you mouth silently, eyebrows furrowed.

Then, a lightbulb.

Oh.

Oh.

Arousal rushes to meet you with all the force of a brick wall going g-force, and you wrinkle your nose, feigning nonchalance despite the waver which threatens your credibility. Werewolves can't smell emotions, right? "You're disgusting."

Valko laughs, and you shake with it. "Whatever you say, pup."

Lying back on his chest, you bite the inside of your cheek and let your mind drift.

Do humans feel it too? you wonder. Their fated mate?

But the answer is painfully clear—past those layers, stripped back by Valko with all the ease of a scythe slicing through reeds, and past the unfettering drum of your pulse.

Your heart belongs to Valko.

And maybe it always has. Long, long before the world decided it was time for the two of you to meet. So, you bury your head deeper underneath Valko's chin, slotting into him like a missing puzzle piece, and exist within the forest's song.

Together, at last.

‹‹ MASTERLIST

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You put on the new combo with little hesitation. Tenya’s always getting nice things for you— little gifts here and there. A bag or two. Shoes, dresses, skirts. But makeup is always in passing. 

The assistant who sits in the desk across from yours, a middle aged woman named Saeko with some sort of bubble quirk, types away on her computer. 

She doesn’t comment on your tardiness. She doesn’t wear labels. 

“Iida needs you to accompany him on his lunch,” she says, looking away from the computer and over her glasses. “You’re going to Yoko with Uravity and Deku.” 

“Oh!” Your eyes light up. “I didn’t know Yoko did lunch. When did that start?” 

“A few weeks ago. He’s also asked that you pick out a birthday present for his grandfather.” 

“Oh! How sweet, Genshiro is so nice,” you hum, and open your laptop. It never comes home with you. “Where is he now?” 

“He’s talking to some sidekicks in the Action Room.” 

“Genshiro’s turning 88 this year, isn’t he?” You wonder out loud, opening up the internet browser. 

“That’s your job to keep up with.” 

“I think he is, because he was born in the year of the Snake,” you continue. “Hm, what would an 88 year old man want…” 

“Your job to figure out,” Saeko reminds you. 

Today, Tenya Iida is in a custom made suit in his preferred shade of navy blue. His tie is striped, fun for today, alluding to his good workout that morning. He comes up to his office and nods at you and Saeko, before turning to you. 

“Let’s get to lunch early,” he suggests. 

“Oh!” You close your computer, from where you’d been knee deep in Rolex’s website, with no hesitation. “Sounds good!” 

You open your bottom drawer and procure another, smaller bag. She’s Coach, with a little cherry charm on her. As you transfer your essentials from your larger work bag, Saeko takes Tenya’s ear. 

“I left files for you of some prospective work study students…” she drones on. How boring. 

The minute you stand, Tenya’s eyes are back on you. “Thank you, Saeko,” he’s saying. 

“Is this a business lunch?” You ask as you step into the elevator with him. 

“No,” Tenya says, pressing for the ground floor and then hitting the door close button repeatedly. The second they close, Tenya wraps an arm around your waist and places a chaste kiss against your oiled lips. He pulls away as quickly as it happened, lest someone else come in. “I just wanted to get lunch with you and my friends.” 

“Are we not friends?” You pout. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Tenya replies. “Do you like the lip products?” 

“They’re very trendy,” you say. “How did you pick them out?”

“The sales associate,” Tenya says. “I thought the color would look pretty on you.” 

“And? Were you right?” 

Tenya smiles softly. “I was.” 

You grin widely. The two of you step out of the building, heading towards the restaurant. Yoko is in the area, does simple, homemade meals that taste good with a beer. 

The two of you do not hold hands on the street. As you pass a jewelry store, you linger in the window. Tenya pauses alongside you.

“Those diamonds are gorgeous,” you say, pointing at a pair of earrings. “It looks like they have peridot with them.” 

“Duly noted,” Tenya says. 

You smile up at him. “You’re so sweet to me.” 

Tenya hums. “I’ll fire you soon.” 

Giddy, you turn back to the showcase. “Will you do it before summer? So we can go to Fiji? I don’t know if you saw— I sent you the excel sheet of that trip I planned.” 

“I saw it,” Tenya says, ushering you along with a hand on your lower back that lingers for only a moment. “It looks like a relaxing time, but you know I can’t take off work like that.” 

“That’s no way to live,” you frown. “When we go back to the office, I’m going to book you something to do.” 

Tenya leans down to whisper in your ear as you enter the restaurant. “Just make sure you book for yourself too.” He rises, addressing the hostess. “Iida, for four. We’re a bit early.”

Once you’re seated, you launch into telling him about how you found these nice lacquered wood chopsticks that would be perfect for his grandfather.

“That sounds great,” Tenya says, looking over the menu. “Just get whatever you think he’d like.” 

“I’ll make sure he has a nice note, too. I’ll write it and then you can put it in your handwriting.” 

“He won’t notice if it’s in your handwriting.” 

“It’s the thought that counts!” You insist. “Would you want your grandchild to handwrite you a card?” 

That brings pause to Tenya. He looks up from the menu, then looks over your body. He opens his mouth to say something, reconsiders, and chooses: “I suppose I would.” 

Ochako arrives in tandem with Izuku. When she sees you sitting at the table, she lights up. 

“Oh! I didn’t know we were bringing our partners! I would have brought Miko.”

“[First] isn’t my partner, she’s my assistant,” Tenya says. 

Izuku shares a look with Ochako, who rolls her eyes. She reaches her hand over to place it atop of yours. 

“Don’t listen to him, he doesn’t mean it,” she says with determination. 

Tenya looks at Ochako tiredly. She ignores him. 

“So, how is the painting going?” She asks you, remembering your hobby from last time. Ochako and her girlfriend, Miko, both like you. Like you. They make it known every time they see you. 

“It’s going really well!” You say excitedly. “Tenya got me in an exhibit! It opens on Thursday. At Palais.”

“Miko and I will be there! Will you send me the ticket information?”

“Oh you don’t have to pay,” you say. “I’ll let you in for free.” 

“Don’t be silly! Just text it to me!” 

You do, just as Izuku strikes up conversation about the latest development to his hero suit with his old friends. It’s hard to jump into the middle of, but you’re saved when the server comes over to take your order, causing an abrupt end to the conversation. 

Of course, Tenya orders for you. A nice little salmon dish with… you’re not sure. You never looked at the menu. 

After the meal, you and Tenya head back to the office. It’s rather warm out, so he gets you a taxi. Once you’re seated back at your desk, placing your small purse back in its spot and putting your belongings back in your work bag, Tenya speaks. 

“Place the order for the chopsticks, and then go home. Use my card.” He gets his wallet out and hands over the mirrored card, which you accept gladly. 

“Can I buy wrapping for it as well, and a card? Maybe Genshiro needs some teacups to go along with it? Maybe a tea pet?” 

“Whatever you want,” Tenya says. 

“Whatever I want?” You press the card against the fat of your cheek. 

Tenya takes his eyes over you. “Just bring it to me when you’re done and then go home.” 

“Okay!” You chirp. He turns to head back into his office. 

You order all the bits and bobs you need for Genshiro’s gift, sending them to the office. When they arrive, you can wrap them for Tenya. Drumming your nails on the Amex, you wonder what you’re going to get. 

fleurdumal .com. The babydoll you buy is a sheer light blue with embroidered hydrangeas on the bust. You send it to your apartment. 

Then, you stand and head to Tenya’s office, not bothering to knock. He looks up from his work. 

“I have your card,” you say, holding it out. 

Tenya looks at the card, then looks at your nails. Heating up from embarrassment at how grown out they are, you set the card on his desk. He picks it up and hands it back to you. 

“Go get your nails done, and then meet me at Yallah at eight.” 

You blink at him. “But we’ve already had a meal together today.” 

He blinks back. “Can we not have two?” 

“I— I suppose we can…” you trail off. Then, you blurt out: “I just spent a lot of money on your card.” 

Tenya stands up, and your breath hitches as he does, as you have to tilt your head back to look up at him. He reaches for your hand, taking it in his, palm up. He places the card back in your hand closes your fingers around it. 

“Go get your nails done, and then meet me at Yallah at eight.” 

You squeak a little bit at the moment, but then nod quickly. He’s so tall. You turn on your little heel and clop out of the office, the back of your mule lightly tapping against your pantyhose-clothed foot with every step. 

“Oh, [First]?” Tenya calls, your hand on the door. 

You turn. “Yes, sir?” 

For one awful, horrible moment he’s back in your father’s office, closing a business deal. Your father has one of those offices with dark oak and cognac leather, shelves lined with books he’s probably never read and a stash of bourbon. 

And you’re there in a pretty little sundress to as your daddy— you were grown— some mundane question. In turn, he had turned you away and then stopped you— prompting the yes, sir?— and asked for you to get them some ice. 

And in that awful, horrible moment that he remembers the past, he likes the way those two words make him feel. 

Tenya flicks the edge of the folder he’s looking over. 

“Get them done French.”