25 yo obsessed with a fictional bratty fishie, childhood bff turn winter soldier yandere, and sweetheart dragon || satosugu till my grave and from the rooftops
The fight wasn't even that bad, really. You'd been in a mood that day, and all he'd done was try to cuddle with you when you had snapped back at him. He tried to tease you, to calm you down like he usually did, but his emotionally unaware ass had clearly not noticed the difference between pissed and extremely angry.
Now, you were out on a shopping spree.
The shopping spree wasn't the problem. In fact, if it was up to Sylus, he was trailing behind you every day and watching you buy out mall after mall happily, making Luke and Kieran carry all the bags for him while the only thing he held was your waist. He'd sit for hours in dressing rooms watching you spin for him, giving you his undivided attention.
No, the problem wasn't the shopping spree at all. It was the fact that you were using your card.
It was the first time in ages that Sylus actually felt an emotion that was close to... was that distress? He'd given you card after card after card to use whenever he wasn't there, which was NEVER, because he was always there. Always.
So when he saw the bags in your room from the various luxury brands he spoiled you with, he'd just assumed you'd gone to a mall without him to cheer you up. Sure, he'd been a little sulky that he didn't get to come with you, but as long as you felt better and came back to sleep with him in the same bed, he didn't complain.
Yet, when he'd logged onto his financial records to deposit some more money into his card for you, a furrow formed between his eyebrows, realizing that nothing had been withdrawn at all. And Sylus may have been emotionally unaware at some points in his life, but he definitely wasn't stupid.
You knew that you had millions of dollars to spend with just a flick of his black card whenever you wanted to; it was just pocket change to him. He could buy out this whole fucking continent for you and still have enough to stay happy till the day he died, yet you still insisted on acting like a stubborn mule and using your own money, because you knew it pissed him the fuck off.
"Why aren't you using my card, sweetie?" A low voice hit your ears the moment you stepped into the house, dragging along with you a trolley's worth of bags, stumbling under the weight. Whoever said that money couldn't buy happiness clearly didn't live with the boss of Onychinus.
"I don't know what you're talking about," you huffed, watching him take four bags from you with ease, the other hand taking three more to lighten your load.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about," he said pointedly, looking down at you. His voice was still quiet and calm, but the look in his eyes told you he was definitely not happy with it at all. You didn't reply, hauling the rest of whatever you'd bought to your room before Sylus put the bags down and spun you around, hands on your hips.
"Princess," he murmured, thumbs stroking against your hips. "You know I can just deposit all my money into your card too, right?" This was false- he had already deposited money into your card, just not as much as he would have liked to, in case you noticed too soon. You just didn't realise, giddily swiping your card when you saw there was still money inside. God, you needed to be more financially aware.
"As if," you scoffed, and Sylus bit back a smile. You were so oblivious sometimes it was cute. How did you think he got to such a high position without the basic knowledge of bank account infiltration? "And who told you you had permission to hold me again?"
"The six pairs of lingerie you just bought," he purred, leaning in closer. "And the seven more you probably would have bought if you used my card."
"I don't need your card to buy everything," you huffed angrily, poking at his chest and earning an amused eye raise. It was so unfair that he was still so antagonizingly hot even when you were mad at him. It just made you madder.
“Do you remember the first time we had sex?” [Crack/Smut]
It was nearing two in the morning, you simply couldn't sleep. Sylus knew that, of course, so he was up beside you. Lamp still on, book in hand, wire rim glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose. “Is the sky blue, sweetie?” He didn’t bother looking away from his page, but the question certainly earned a quirk of his too pretty lips.
“No, I mean like… do you remember all the details?” You roll onto your side, dropping your phone and propping yourself on your closed fist. You weren’t even sure why your first time with Sylus had entered your mind, but now you simply couldn’t rest if you didn’t know the answer. This time, he dropped the book to his lap, head turning to peer down at you with one brow perfectly raised. “I mean, of course?”
“Like?” You blink at him, waiting for some sort of example and Sylus can’t stop the bewildered laugh that rattled his chest. “Like? You want me to describe our first time from memory?” His book is completely forgotten now, you have his full undivided attention. “Yeah, I wanna compare notes, see if we remember it the same way.”
Your grin is wicked despite your eyes shining with innocence, he can’t help but feel as if he’s fallen into your trap… oh well. Too late now, right?
“You came on to me first, after I carried you up to the bedroom. You pushed me down onto the couch and then straddled my lap. You initiated our first kiss.” You felt heat sink low, a vivid memory of Sylus’ flushed cheeks and surprised expression when his back had hit the couch flashing in your mind.
“I remember you waiting so patiently for me to initiate that kiss, even struggling to keep your hands from moving up to grab my ass.” You tease fondly, smiling a little wider when Sylus snickers at the thought. “You know your comfort is always my priority, I wasn’t going to push my luck before I knew it was what you truly wanted.”
“But you could see my desires, couldn't you?” A beat of silence as he observes you, smiling softly before speaking. “Seeing them isn’t the same as hearing them. I needed you to act upon them at the very least before I could allow myself to move.”
“What a gentleman.” And you meant it, truly. Even as he laughed, you could tell he knew you were being genuinely honest with him at that moment. “I remember kissing you and never wanting to stop.” He carries on, arms folding over his broad expanse of chest as he watches you inhale. “I remember your tongue trying to jump down my throat.”
“You loved it.” You had… you even moaned. “That’s when you grabbed my ass, pulled me closer, but you wouldn’t let me grind on you…” You pout at him, as if still upset. Like he hadn’t fucked you stupid in front of that god damn fireplace that night. “I would have cum in my pants then and there had I let you touch me.” Oh. That was news to you.
You pushed up on your hands and knees. “What?!” A genuine whispered shriek of shock, eyes wide and mouth agape as you blink at your lover of two years. The event you’re both recalling having happened a year and a half ago. “It’s the truth, kitten. I was excited.”
It was gonna be longer but I really gotta get back to that Xavier smut I was working on... - Soul
⇢ he might be in the middle of a meeting and he suddenly feels a tiny thorn lodging itself into his chest. he pauses whatever he was saying, pressing a large palm flat to his chest.
⇢ " … meeting ajourned. something important just came up. keep working diligently while i'm gone. good work today, team." he's already halfway out the door as his sentences trail off.
⇢ he takes longs strides through the building, his sights focused straight ahead. he doesn't hear any of his employees call after him with follow up questions, or bidding him a curious good-bye. they watch as he makes a beeline for the exit
⇢ the fastest way to you is straight through the forest. his feet pound the dirt as he speeds like a bat out of hell through the brush and understorey. twigs snap and small critters scurry out of the way. his heart beats wildly against his chest
⇢ "i'm comin', pancake. hold tight"
⇢ your scent grows stronger as he swiftly approaches your home. the sting of the wind scratches at his throat and eyes but he only pumps his arms and legs harder. sweat cascades down his bulking muscles and chest, and his tanned skin glistens as the setting sun shines upon it
⇢ he blinks away the sweat that clings to his eyelashes as he looks up at your balcony
⇢ there you are. his tail flicks and swishes happily behind him at the mere sight of you — though from where he stands you are only a small dot
⇢ not for long. he bounds up with his powerful legs, catching onto fire escapes and climbing up whatever might be sticking out or hanging down until he can hop over the short wall and land next to you
⇢ " … hi," he says, his tongue slightly poking out as he pants like a dog
⇢ you straighten up from leaning on the banister, eyes puffy and wet. you sniffle, bringing a knuckle up to wipe away at a plump tear that was threatening to fall. "hi," you respond, offering a weak smile
⇢ "i felt it. i felt you were sad. so i came running"
⇢ you frown for a half second. "weren't you at work?" you ask, hugging your arms around yourself
⇢ he laughs, waving off the sentiment. "yeah yeah but … i mean … they got it," he scoffs cheekily, licking a stripe over a fang.
⇢ he saunters towards you with arms outstretched. without a second thought you rush into him as hard as you can, thinking it would make him at least stumble back a little on impact. of course it doesn't. he thinks you're cute for trying though
⇢ he embraces you with a big sweeping gesture, wrapping you up tight in his giant arms. he's so warm … and really sweaty. you can feel his heartbeat erratically thrashing even under his jacket
⇢ "did … did you run here???" you say, muffled against his chest
⇢ his laugh reverberates against your face before he shoves his nose onto the top of your head, nuzzling, inhaling and planting kisses.
he's writhing under your touch. his ears, those reactive, fluffy ears of his, twitch as your hands continue to tease. Your fingers start at the base, gently, finding that one spots that just makes him melt.
you didn't realize what you were doing at first- your hands just wanting to fidget with something as you focused on the show playing, your hands moved with a mind of its own. you were just on the couch, watching other mindless show when he plopped himself down like he owns the space.
it wasn't like valko didn't enjoy the touch- he's always touching you somehow. but right now his glasses are somewhere on the floor, the book in his hands dropped in his lap, his cheek pressing against your thigh. you're still locked onto the action on tv, when you hear a breathless groan under you
"f-fuck.."
he lets out, his voice strained and face flushed. it's borderline pornographic- the little gasps he lets out. valko has had his head in your lap. the noise brings you back to reality, and you see the mess of a man in your lap.
"oh shit- sorry val, I didn't-", your hand moves on instinct, and his eyes fly open. he moves faster than your eyes can process, and suddenly your on your back, with a very flushed, very needy valko hovering above you.
his eyes are wide, pupils dilated so much that you can barely see his iris. his breath is labored, and he looks like he wants to bite you. spoiler : he does.
"valko-"
"did i tell you to stop?", he breaths out, grabbing your hand and bringing it to his head. when you don't immediately move he looks at you and grrr.
"did you just snarl at me?"
he doesn't even bother being embarrassed, and pouts at you instead. a small giggle comes out, and you scratch the base of his ears again. valko melts, his head finding and nuzzling against your chest.
"good boy", you murmur, and valko holds you tighter. the movie you have on is forgotten. anytime you stop, or pretend to leave, valko looks up at you with those big, glassy puppy eyes.
so you just let yourself be held, and hold onto the werewolf whose just as obsessed with you as you are with him.
valko cured by 4 month author block holy shit i need him so bad
Tags: sylus x fem!reader, unprotected sex, creampie, morning sex, biting, injury, a bit of blood, teasing, fingering, nicknames like good girl, kitten, my love, grinding, humping, overstim, breeding
Summary: You have to get up soon for a team meeting at your job but Sylus shows you all the reasons you should stay in bed with him instead :3
His warm breath danced across your ear as he left gentle kisses, sending shivers down your spine as he whispered, "Just let me make you cum again." His words were a gentle persuasion, a soft coaxing that seemed to seep into your very being.
"You don't really want me to stop, do you?"
AN: Man, it feels SO good to be back writing again. I hope you guys enjoy this little fic I wrote up over the weekend! Another fic idea crossed of the list! Enjoy!
The room is still, wrapped in the muted hush of early morning in Linkon City. The faint glow of dawn filters through the blinds, casting soft, golden lines across the walls. Outside, the city stirs, but in here, time moves slower. The only sounds are the rhythmic ticking of the clock and the steady, even breaths of the man beside you.
Warmth cocoons you—thick blankets tangled around your legs, the lingering scent of laundry detergent on the sheets, and the solid, unmistakable presence of Sylus pressed against you. He’s a furnace, radiating heat even in sleep, his arm heavy across your waist, fingers curled loosely around the skin of your arm as if, even unconsciously, he refuses to let you go. His face is buried somewhere near your shoulder, breath warm and slow against your skin.
Right. He stayed over last night.
The memory unfolds in fragments, soft and hazy around the edges. He’d brought a bottle of wine, a gift for you, though you’d insisted—pleaded—that he share it with you. It had taken a bit of coaxing, some playful pouting on your part, but eventually, with a quiet sigh and a small, indulgent smile, he had obliged.
And then…
Your face heats up.
The night plays back in your mind, moments flickering like warm candlelight—his quiet laughter, the way his eyes softened as he listened to you talk about any and everything, the casual brush of fingers against skin that grew less accidental as the night went on. The pinkness of his face as he poured you both another glass. The slow unraveling of space between you. Then suddenly you both weren't wearing clothes.
Though he hadn't even bothered to remove your underwear, electing instead to just move the fabric aside for quicker access. The moans, the sweat, the pleasurable ache of him pushing inside you, filling you completely until you felt like you couldn't breathe...
You shift slightly in his grasp, your pulse quickening for reasons that have nothing to do with the morning chill.
But something tugs at the edge of your awareness, a vague, creeping sense that you’re forgetting something. A loose thread in your mind, pulling tighter with each second you lie there.
Your hand fumbles across the nightstand, fingers clumsy with sleep as they search for your phone. The cool surface meets your palm, and you bring it close, squinting against the harsh glare of the screen. The sudden brightness stings your tired eyes, and you blink rapidly, trying to focus. The numbers staring back at you make your stomach drop.
Shit.
A team meeting. In an hour.
For a few seconds, you just stare at the screen, mind sluggish, like a machine still booting up. Right. You need to move. Shower, throw on something presentable, maybe down an entire pot of coffee before suffering through whatever motivational spiel Captain Jenna has planned this morning.
You exhale through your nose, slowly, carefully, and begin the delicate process of slipping out of your bed.
The sheets rustle as you peel them away, inch by inch. You shift just enough to lift Sylus’s arm, careful not to wake him, careful not to disturb the heavy warmth of sleep still clinging to him. The air beyond the blankets is cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the body beside you. You manage to slide his arm just far enough—his fingers loosen their hold, giving you the sliver of space you need.
And then, just as you begin to rise—
His grip tightens.
A soft, barely-audible noise escapes him—a quiet sigh, laced with something almost petulant, as his fingers curl tighter against your stomach. Before you can react, he shifts, using that lazy, effortless strength of his to pull you flush against him, caging you in with an arm that’s now locked like steel around your waist again. His face buries deeper against the crook of your neck, breath warm, slow, and completely undisturbed.
You freeze.
For a moment, you don’t move, barely daring to breathe. Maybe, just maybe, if you wait, he’ll shift again, loosen his hold, let you slip away without incident.
But no. His grip remains firm, steady, an unspoken claim that keeps you anchored in place.
You sigh, staring at the phone still clutched in your hand.
Well. So much for an easy escape.
You squirm against him, frustration creeping in as you attempt to loosen his grip. His arm is a dead weight around your waist, unmoving, solid, like he’s anchored you to the bed on purpose. The warmth of his body radiates into yours, making it all the more difficult to convince yourself to leave the comfort of the blankets. Still, you have a meeting. You have to get up.
“Sylus,” you whisper, testing the waters, voice hushed in the stillness of the room.
No response.
You shift again, pressing your back against his chest, hoping that if you disturb his sleep enough, he’ll finally wake up. But he remains perfectly still, save for the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing. You know he’s usually a light sleeper so something about the way he’s too still makes you suspicious.
You try again, this time a little louder. “Sylus.”
Nothing.
The stubborn warmth of him seeps into your skin, lulling, dangerous, tempting you to sink back into sleep. But you refuse to fall for it.
Fine. If he’s going to be difficult, you’ll make him wake up.
You shift your elbow into position, drawing in a breath before—
Thud.
Your elbow connects with his chest, firm but not enough to actually hurt him. The effect is immediate.
A low grunt leaves him, but it’s short-lived—quickly swallowed by a laugh that shakes through him, low and unreasonably warm. The sound vibrates against your back, spreading through your chest before you can stop it. It’s deep, rich, full of amusement, and completely unbothered by your attack.
You glare at him over your shoulder, but he’s already grinning—lazy, smug, red eyes half-lidded with sleep but entirely too awake for someone who was just pretending to be unconscious.
“I figured,” he drawls, voice thick with lingering sleep, “if I just held still, you’d eventually give up and fall asleep again.” He pauses, another chuckle slipping past his lips, muffled as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, leaving soft kisses into your skin. The heat of his breath tickles your skin, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. “My bad for underestimating your stubbornness once again, kitten.”
Your stomach twists, an annoying mixture of warmth and irritation bubbling in your chest.
“You’re an ass,” you mutter, shoving weakly at his arm, though there’s no real force behind it.
He hums, unconcerned, tightening his hold around you with zero intention of letting go. “So you say. Just five more minutes.”
The weight of him presses against you, steady and familiar, and despite yourself, you stop struggling. You could fight it. You should fight it. But the way his body fits against yours, the way his warmth seeps into every inch of you—it’s too easy to melt into it, to let your body settle even as your mind screams at you about responsibilities.
His breathing evens out again, and just for a second, you let yourself sink into the warmth, into the comfort of him.
Five minutes.
Just five.
No, wait. You have to get up.
The thought pushes through the haze of warmth and sleep, clawing its way to the forefront of your mind, insistent and unyielding. You have a meeting. You have things to do. You can’t just stay here, no matter how comfortable, no matter how tempting the weight of Sylus’s body is against yours.
Still, the bed is so warm, the heat of him wrapping around you like a cocoon, the soft rhythm of his breath lulling, dangerous. He smells like remnants of cologne, a hint of last night’s wine still lingering on his skin, and something purely him, something familiar and grounding that makes it incredibly difficult to want to leave.
But you have to.
Sighing, you shift against him again, gathering just enough resolve to push at his arm, attempting to free yourself. His grip doesn’t loosen—if anything, his fingers curl tighter against you, securing you in place like an unyielding anchor.
"I can't stay in bed all morning, Sy" you murmur, voice slightly hoarse from sleep. You push again, trying to inch away, but it’s like trying to move a stone wall. "I have a team meeting soon." You pause, bracing yourself for the inevitable resistance. "I'm sure you have things to do as well."
There’s a beat of silence. Then, a low hum rumbles from deep in his chest, the kind that makes the hairs on your arms stand on end.
And before you can react, he moves.
Not to release you. Not to let you go.
No, instead, Sylus shifts forward, pressing impossibly closer, his bare chest firm against your back, his lips suddenly hovering at your ear. His voice drops into something dangerously smooth, velvety in its teasing amusement as he whispers,
"Mm…but didn’t a certain kitten beg me last night never to leave her side?"
Your entire body locks up.
Heat floods your face so quickly it’s almost dizzying, embarrassment crashing through you in waves as your mind scrambles to process his words. His breath, warm and deliberate, ghosts over your ear, and every single nerve in your body reacts all at once. A shiver works its way down your spine, traitorous and impossible to suppress.
He remembers.
Of course, he does.
The memory of last night unfurls in your mind like a film reel, every single moment flashing in humiliatingly vivid detail.
You’d been tired out by multiple orgasms, softened by wine and warmth, curled against him in the very same bed, murmuring words you hadn’t really been thinking through.
"Stay, don’t go, just a little longer. Never leave me, please?"
Of course he had assured you that he hadn't been planning on leaving in the first place. How silly of you to even beg him for something like that in the first place.
The pleas had slipped from your lips too easily, too naturally, and at the time, it had felt like nothing. But now? Now he was using it against you, and from the smugness dripping from his voice, he was enjoying it far too much.
Him and his constant teasing.
Your face burns hotter, the warmth of him unbearably close, suffocating, intoxicating. In a fit of sheer embarrassment, you thrash against him, twisting, wriggling, desperate to escape. "Oh, don't act like you didn't eat up every word I said! Let me go!"
But Sylus?
Sylus doesn’t listen.
He never listens.
Instead of loosening his hold, instead of giving in even an inch, he does the exact opposite.
He moves again, his hand gliding down the length of your body—slow, deliberate, maddening. His fingertips ghost over your side first, tracing a path too gentle to be ignored, before slipping lower, skimming along your waist, then back up in a slow, torturous caress. His touch isn’t demanding, isn’t forceful—it’s light, teasing, patient. The kind of touch that coaxes a reaction before you can stop it.
You shiver—visibly, undeniably.
And he feels it.
You don’t even have to look at him to know the smirk that’s surely curling at his lips. His fingers continue their featherlight path, unhurried, infuriating, utterly controlled. It’s like he’s memorized every spot that makes you react, testing, playing, pushing just enough to remind you that he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Then, in that same, low, velvety tone, he murmurs,
"Shh…don’t strain yourself."
The words are a command, soft but firm, and before you can even process them, he adds, "Just call out."
Your breath catches.
You know what he’s doing.
He’s making you choose.
Stay or fight. Surrender or resist.
And worse?
He already knows which one you want.
"I can't just call out," you groan, frustration thick in your voice as you shift again, squirming against the warmth wrapped around you. "I've already called out four times in two weeks! Unless I have a good excuse this time, I'll get punished with desk duty..."
The thought alone is miserable. Trapped in the office, drowning in stacks of paperwork, stuck behind a desk instead of being out in the field actually doing something meaningful? No, thank you. You’d rather suffer through whatever mind-numbing speech Captain Jenna had planned this morning than subject yourself to that.
But the unshakable weight of Sylus’s arm draped across your bare skin tells you he has other plans.
For a moment, there's silence. A pause long enough that you think maybe—just maybe—he's drifting off again, and if you time it right, you can slip free. But before you even begin to try, he lets out a low chuckle, the kind that vibrates against your back, a lazy sound of acknowledgment that makes your stomach twist with anticipation.
His voice is slow, unhurried, still thick with sleep. "Punished with desk duty, huh? Yeah…that does sound rough…"
For a brief, foolish second, you almost think he's sympathizing with you. That he’ll finally loosen his grip, let you go, maybe even roll over and let you salvage what little time you have left before your meeting.
But then—he leans in again.
His lips hover just beside your ear, his breath warm as it fans over your skin. A barely-there whisper of heat, enough to send a shiver curling down your spine before you can stop it. His grip around you doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens—just slightly, just enough to remind you that he’s still in control here.
"I mean…" his voice dips lower, conspiratorial, teasing, smirking without even having to show it. "I could forge a doctor’s note if you really need it."
You blink, caught completely off guard.
"What?"
Sylus shifts, settling himself more comfortably against you, like this is just another lazy morning where neither of you have anywhere to be. His fingers begin to move again—absentmindedly tracing slow, meandering patterns across your stomach. Light, feather-soft strokes that aren't urgent, but they are distracting.
"Yeah," he murmurs, dragging his fingers idly up your ribs before dipping back down, his touch effortless, as if he's not even thinking about it. "I’m pretty good at it, you know. Could make it look real official—some tragic, unavoidable emergency."
You snort. "Oh yeah? Like what?"
He hums again, like he’s actually considering it. "Food poisoning? Appendicitis? Oh, I know." He presses in closer, lips brushing so lightly against your ear that you almost don’t register the words before he says them. "You were in a car crash."
A genuine laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it. It startles even you, bright and amused, shaking your body just slightly against his. "A car crash? Really?"
"Of course," he replies smoothly, as if this is the most logical solution in the world. "A controlled one. Just enough damage to make it convincing. Maybe even get you some sympathy points—hell, you might even score a few extra days off to lay in bed with me."
You shake your head, still giggling, pressing your face briefly into the pillow before turning slightly to glare at him over your shoulder. "You are ridiculous."
But your amusement vanishes in an instant the moment his fingers graze lower.
The movement is so subtle—a mere shift of his hand, like he's still idly tracing those lazy shapes against your skin—but it lands over a sensitive spot just below your exposed breasts. The reaction is instant.
Your breath hitches.
Your body betrays you, tensing instinctively, muscles twitching beneath his touch. Your fingers reflexively shoot up to grip his hand, holding on like that might somehow stop him from noticing.
But he notices.
Of course he does.
His fingers pause for just a second, like he’s taking mental notes, cataloging the reaction, committing it to memory. Then, in a way that feels entirely too intentional, he moves again—this time even slower, more deliberate.
A soft, barely-there stroke, skimming over the tip of your nipple.
Your stomach twitches.
A sharp exhale catches in your throat.
You hate how easily your body reacts to him, how he barely has to do anything, yet your skin is already burning. You can feel the smirk on his lips even though you’re not even looking at him.
His voice is quiet, teasing. "Seems you haven't had enough of last night, kitten."
Your entire body goes rigid. Oh, no. No, no, no.
This isn’t good.
You stay still, hoping, praying, that maybe—just maybe—he’ll leave it alone. That he’ll stop before this becomes something you’ll never live down.
But of course, he doesn’t.
His fingers continued their deliberate dance across your skin, each stroke igniting a fire that spread from the bare expanse of your stomach to the very core of your being. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the heat of his body pressing closer, the unmistakable hardness of his cock brushing against your panties, sending electric shocks through your body.
Your breath hitched, an involuntary reaction that betrayed your desire to remain composed. Sylus, ever attentive, noticed your body's response, the way you tensed and shivered under his touch, your nipples hardening further, your breath coming in short gasps.
“Are you sure…” he murmured, drawing out the words like honey, “you don’t want to stay in bed?” His breath was warm against your skin, a tantalizing whisper that sent shivers racing down your spine.
As he spoke, his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, slowly, deliberately pulling them down, exposing your bare skin to his hungry gaze. The cool air on your exposed skin sent shivers down your spine, a contrast to the heat of his touch.
Your body betrayed you, the wetness pooling between your legs a clear testament to your desire. Each brush of his fingers sent waves of heat coursing through you, an insatiable yearning clawing at your insides. You wanted him—needed him—yet the game he was playing was as intoxicating as it was maddening.
His fingers danced lower, their path a tantalizing tease, tracing the edges of your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You shifted, your back arching, your hips moving involuntarily, your body instinctively craving more of his touch, drawn to the heat and pleasure he offered.
Your heart raced, a wild drumbeat that echoed in your ears as you felt the heat of his gaze on you, his fingers poised tantalizingly close to the edge of your desire. You swallowed hard, the words stuck in your throat, a delicious mix of defiance and longing swirling within you.
“I…” you began, but the breathy whisper faltered, caught between shyness and the primal urge coursing through your veins. The way he leaned in closer, his warm breath ghosting over your skin, made it impossible to think straight.
"Sylus stop...I need to..."
"Hm?" he pressed, his voice a sultry murmur that coaxed the truth from your lips as his fingers moved lower. With a deliberate slowness, he dipped the tip of his finger inside you, the sensation igniting a spark that shot straight to your core. You gasped, your body instinctively tightening around him, the warmth of your walls welcoming his intrusion.
"Mghn!"
The way he toyed with you was maddening; it was as if he could sense the storm brewing within, each twitch of his fingers a spark igniting the kindling of your desire. You could feel his cock twitching behind you, hard and insistent against your thigh, and it sent a jolt of need straight to your core.
His warm breath danced across your ear as he left gentle kisses, sending shivers down your spine as he whispered, "Just let me make you cum again." His words were a gentle persuasion, a soft coaxing that seemed to seep into your very being. The warmth of his lips against your ear sent a flutter through your chest, making your heart skip a beat.
He knew exactly what to say to unravel your defenses, to make you surrender to the sensations coursing through your body. His voice was a low, husky whisper, a sensual temptation that seemed to wrap itself around your resolve, weakening your resistance. "You don't really want me to stop, do you?" he murmured, his words a provocative challenge, a dare to admit the truth - that you were helpless against the pleasure he was unleashing upon you.
The way he spoke, the words he chose, it was all so deliberately crafted to break down your barriers, to make you succumb to the desire that threatened to consume you. And yet, despite the warning bells ringing in your mind about your meeting, you couldn't help but feel yourself being drawn back in, helpless against the tide of pleasure that he was so expertly manipulating.
Dammit, he knew exactly how to play you, and you were powerless to resist.
“M-make it quick...” you finally breathed, the words spilling forth with a desperate honesty that hung heavy in the air between you.
His eyes darkened, a glimmer of satisfaction sparking within them as he shifted, pressing his hardness against you more firmly, the friction sending waves of heat cascading through your body. “Good girl,” he crooned, his finger finally dipping deeper into your slick folds with a teasing gentleness that made your breath hitch once more.
You gasped, your body arching instinctively into his touch, craving more, needing him to explore you fully. “Fuck…” you begged, the desperation in your voice a heady cocktail of need and surrender that only fueled the fire between you.
The room seemed to pulse with the intensity of the moment, the morning lighting casting long sun rays that seemed to merge with the heat of the encounter. The scent of anticipation lingered in the air, intertwined with the musky aroma of arousal. Every sense was heightened, every touch magnified, as if the world had narrowed to this single, electrifying moment.
You were drowning in a sea of sensations, the rhythm of his movements synced with the pounding of your heart. The emotional undercurrents were as intense as the physical ones, a primal dance of dominance and submission that left you breathless and yearning for more.
As his finger moved with deliberate precision, you became more acutely aware of the symphony of sensations enveloping you. The aching pressure already building in your lower stomach, the heat, the teasing gentleness, it was too much and yet not enough all at the same time. The dialogue between you was minimal, yet every word, every moan, seemed to speak volumes.
You tried to keep your focus on the upcoming meeting, the fear of being late and the prospect of desk duty looming in your mind. But as Sylus continued to orchestrate pleasure within your soft walls, the rising heat between your legs became all-consuming, your thoughts dissolving into a haze of pleasure.
But when he added the second finger, you didn't have the strength to make him stop any longer.
Your grip on his arm tightening, your nails digging into his skin as you arched into his touch, your body moving in rhythm with his fingers, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The sound of your own moans filled the air, a testament to the pleasure he was delivering, your mind unable to focus on anything but the sensations he was evoking.
"That's it, my love," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Nice and loud, you sound beautiful". He sounded close to unraveling himself, cock now straining impossibly hard against the roundness of your ass.
As Sylus's words washed over you, your body responded instinctively, your muscles clenching around his fingers, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps, each exhale a warning to the building pleasure. Your climax approached like a rising tide, your body trembling, your voice reduced to a series of gasps and moans, your nails digging into his arm as you surrendered to the sensations he evoked.
"S-sylus! Im-!".
"I know, I know" he whispered, panting and grinding into your backside. He deftly curved his fingers, hitting that spongy part inside. Your body responded to his movements, your muscles clenching and releasing around his fingers, your breath coming in shorter, sharper gasps, your climax building to a crescendo, until you cried out, your voice hoarse, your body trembling, your release a powerful wave that left you breathless and sated, the fear of work and its consequences now a distant memory, replaced by the all-consuming pleasure Sylus had delivered.
As you lay there, still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, Sylus took advantage of your heightened sensitivity, pushing his cock fully inside you in one smooth motion. Your body, still slick with arousal, offered little resistance, and he filled you with a solid thrust, his girth stretching you, his length filling you completely.
You cried out, overwhelmed by the sensations—the overstimulation of your orgasm blending into the pleasure of his intrusion, which quickly morphed into a slight pain as he began to thrust inside your tightening hole. "So fucking tight," he growled, his voice a low, primal sound.
His grip on your body tightened, almost possessive, as if trying to keep you from moving, from escaping the pleasure he was delivering. You struggled to breathe, your body shaking, your senses overloaded. "Sylus...too much!" you cried out, your voice hoarse, your body practically shaking with the intensity of the sensations.
"You're okay, kitten," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Bite down on my hand."
He offered his hand, his fingers curling around yours, urging you to bite down, to ground yourself as he continued to thrust, his pace relentless, his body a cage of pleasure and pain, his grip on you a reminder that you had no choice but to surrender and take every thrust he was giving you.
You bit down on his hand, your teeth sinking into his skin, grounding yourself in the physical sensation as his thrusts continued, relentless and powerful. The pain and pleasure mingled, creating a heady mix of sensations that overwhelmed your senses. Your body shook, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps, your nails digging into his arm as you clung to him, your body moving in rhythm with his.
Despite the pain, he didn't flinch, didn't try to pull his hand away. Instead, he seemed to lean into it, his movements becoming more insistent, his body moving in perfect sync with yours. The friction between you was almost palpable, a living, breathing thing that pulsed with every thrust.
Sylus's movements suddenly became slow and sensual, his thrusts a a new gentle rhythm that built pleasure anew. Your bodies, slick with sweat, moved in sync, your moans filling the air, a symphony of pleasure and desire that seemed to echo off the walls.
As he moved, his cock rubbed against your G-spot, sending shivers through your body, making your toes curl and your fingers dig harder into his skin. His pubic bone pressed against your clit, adding an extra layer of sensation, making your body tremble with anticipation. Your moans grew louder, more insistent, as he continued to thrust into you sensually, lovingly
"Y'know..." he whispered, his voice hoarse and strained, his words barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing. "I could give you a really good excuse to miss work for nine months" His breath was hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine, making your body arch into his touch.
Your entire body locks up.
The weight of his words crashes down on you like a lightning strike, your mind screeching to a halt as it fully processes what he just said. Nine months. Nine. Months?
Oh. Oh.
Your breath stutters, your heart hammering so loudly you can hear it in your ears. A fresh, unbearable wave of heat floods through you, burning up from the inside out. You can’t even think properly, your thoughts spiraling into what ifs and impossible images that make your stomach flip so violently you almost feel lightheaded.
Your lips part—you want to say something, anything, but your brain is completely fried, every coherent thought erased by the sheer weight of what he’s implying. Instead, a strangled, breathless noise escapes you, somewhere between a choked gasp and a disbelieving scoff.
Your breath came in short, sharp gasps, your body trembling on the edge of release. His thrusts became more insistent again, his pace quickening, his body moving in rhythm with yours, his voice a low, primal growl that seemed to vibrate through every cell in your body. You felt yourself getting closer and closer, your body coiling tighter and tighter, until you were a spring ready to snap.
You find yourself biting even harder on his hand, moaning and choking curse words into his skin.
Sylus still didn't flinch, thrusts didn't even falter, even as your teeth dug deeper into his skin. "That's it, kitten, let go," he urged, his breath hot against your ear, his words spoken with raw desire. "Cum for me". His voice was like a spark to dry tinder, igniting a fire that had been building for what felt like hours.
You surrendered to the building pleasure, your body convulsing around his length, your release a powerful wave that left you trembling and breathless. As you came, your body milked his cock, squeezing and releasing in a rhythmic pattern that seemed to draw him in, pulling him closer and closer to his own release. Sylus followed, his own climax a hot flood within you, his body shuddering as he filled you with his cum, his breath ragged against your neck. You felt his cock pulsing inside you, releasing wave after wave of heat, making your body tremble with aftershocks.
Even as you came down from the peak of your orgasm, you still bit down on his hand, the pain a reminder that you were still alive, still present in your body. Tears streamed down your face, your eyes closed as you struggled to process the intensity of the feelings that had just torn through you. Sylus didn't seem to mind, didn't try to pull his hand away, instead wrapping his other arm around you, holding you close as you rode out the aftershocks of your climax.
The air between you is thick, heavy with the aftermath of what just happened. Your body still hums with sensitivity, the lingering warmth of his touch ghosting over your skin even in the places where he’s no longer touching you. Your breath comes fast and uneven, mingling with his in the limited space between you. It takes a few sluggish seconds for your mind to catch up, for reality to seep through the haze of warmth, exhaustion, and the overwhelming presence of him.
You shift slightly, the movement sluggish and lazy, tangled in sheets that are now an absolute mess beneath you. But something catches your eye, a faint streak of red between his index and thumb—small, but unmistakable. Your gaze sharpens, the fog in your mind clearing just enough to process what it is. His hand. The mark you left there.
Your stomach twists.
Turning fully toward him, you reach for his hand without thinking, grasping it between your own as you bring it closer to examine. The skin is broken, a faint indent of your teeth still visible, a thin smear of blood welling up along the fresh bite wound. You swallow hard, something warm—guilt, embarrassment, maybe a little bit of both—curling low in your chest.
"Sylus," you murmur, tracing the edge of the wound with gentle, careful fingers, your touch barely a ghost against his skin. "You're bleeding. I'm so so sorry."
The reaction you expect—a wince, a sigh of annoyance, maybe even a scolding remark about being too rough—doesn’t come.
Instead, he chuckles.
A deep, amused sound that rumbles through his chest, utterly unbothered. His free hand moves almost lazily, fingers threading into your hair as he pulls you in just slightly. Before you can protest, he presses a warm, lingering kiss to your lips. Then another. And another. Each one deliberate, soft, like he’s trying to reassure you that he’s perfectly fine. That, despite the evidence on his skin, he doesn’t mind.
"You're so cute when you get all worked up and worried about me," he muses, voice drenched in amusement, his lips never straying far from you. "You've seen me bleed before. I healed just fine, this is no different."
You let out a breath, one you hadn’t realized you were holding, but you don’t let go of his hand. Your fingers tighten around his slightly, still feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your own. It doesn’t matter if you’ve seen him injured before—this is different. The mark is from you. You did this. The thought makes something in your chest twist, a tangled mix of emotions you don’t have the energy to sort through right now.
Sylus, on the other hand, doesn’t seem the least bit concerned.
He tilts his head slightly, brushing another lazy kiss against your temple before murmuring, "Since you’re so worried, and since you’re already late for your meeting…you can help me bandage up."
You blink.
The words take a full second to register in your mind.
Then, suddenly—panic slams into you like a freight train.
You jerk upright so fast that the blankets tangle around your legs, the soreness in your muscles protesting immediately. But you ignore it, lunging for your phone as a pit of dread sinks deep into your stomach.
No.
No way.
This can’t be happening.
Your fingers fumble against the screen, tapping it awake, and the moment your eyes land on the time, your heart stops.
You stare.
The numbers blink mockingly back at you, taunting you with undeniable proof that your absolute worst-case scenario is now reality.
You were supposed to be in that meeting fifteen minutes ago.
Fifteen. Minutes. Ago.
For a moment, your brain completely short-circuits.
Your breathing is still uneven, your body still warm and exhausted, and yet—somehow, all of that disappears beneath the sheer force of realization slamming into you. Your stomach drops into oblivion, a rising sense of dread climbing up your spine as your pulse kicks into overdrive.
Slowly—mechanically, like you’re in some kind of fever dream—you turn your head, your wide eyes locking onto Sylus.
He’s watching you, still completely relaxed, utterly unbothered. One arm is lazily draped behind his head, the other still in your grasp, and there’s a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips that tells you he knows exactly what’s happening in your brain right now.
You open your mouth, ready to say something, anything, but all that comes out is a strangled, breathless, "No way."
His smirk grows. "Oh?"
You snap your gaze back to your phone, as if staring at the numbers harder might somehow make them change. But they don’t. The reality is unavoidable.
You lunge back toward him, shoving his shoulder as the weight of the realization crashes over you. "No way. No way! There’s absolutely no way our—" You flail your arms wildly in emphasis, words momentarily failing you. "Activities lasted an hour!"
Sylus lets out a low, knowing chuckle, one that does absolutely nothing to ease your growing panic.
"You sure about that?" he muses, arching a brow.
You open your mouth to argue, to deny, to insist that there’s no way you just completely lost track of time like that—but then you stop.
Because, unfortunately, the evidence is right there.
The sluggish ache in your limbs, the dull soreness still lingering in your muscles, the aftershocks still thrumming beneath your skin—all of it is proof.
Your jaw clenches shut.
Your entire body slumps forward, collapsing back onto the bed, an absolutely defeated groan ripping from your throat. You drag a hand over your face, squeezing your eyes shut, as if that might somehow undo reality. "I'm so screwed."
Sylus’s laughter vibrates through the mattress, deep and thoroughly entertained. You don’t need to look at him to know he’s loving this.
A moment later, his good hand finds your waist again, fingers tracing lazy, absentminded patterns against your still-sensitive skin. His touch is warm, soothing, completely unrepentant.
"Relax, kitten," he murmurs, his voice a slow, indulgent drawl.
You hear the smirk in his tone before he even says it.
"The offer for that car crash is still on the table y'know..."
LNDS MASTERLIST — here is where you can find all of the lnds content I’ve written. Each work will be labeled with the appropriate content warning. The majority of them are NSFW. Anything marked with a 𖤐 is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18. Minors do not interact. If something on this list doesn't have a link, that means I've finished writing it and haven't found the confidence to post it yet. I will eventually! I write for all the LIs.
If you’re having a hard time with any of these links, you can always find my writing through my tag system!
safe for work - ☁︎ not safe for work - 𖤐
taglist application here!
+ links (all porn)
caleb, lovedeep
rafayel, you're my angel
+ drabbles
all, dating a chubby reader [𖤐]
sylus, being needy [𖤐]
rafayel, seething flames [𖤐]
caleb, first kiss [☁︎]
caleb, boyfriend hcs [𖤐]
caleb, boyfriend hcs 2 [𖤐]
caleb, virgin thoughts [𖤐]
caleb, with a pregnant gf [𖤐]
caleb, somno [𖤐]
caleb, heating pad [𖤐]
caleb, sunbathing with him [𖤐]
caleb, don't go in a cave pls [☁︎]
caleb, morning after [𖤐]
caleb, older brother [𖤐]
caleb, boyfriend hcs 3 [𖤐]
caleb, jealous brother [𖤐☁︎]
caleb, knight [𖤐]
caleb, summer heat [𖤐]
caleb, sneaking around [𖤐]
+ fics
Intertidal Zone ; Rafayel [𖤐] — You and Rafayel travel together to visit Aridum, and hopefully rekindle his artistic inspiration, but he comes down with a mysterious fever that affects you as well. Available on ao3.
Doll Me Up, Baby ; Rafayel [𖤐] — You know that you've got a pretty boyfriend. You just want to be sure that he knows it too. Available on ao3.
do what i wanna ; Rafayel [𖤐] — your cat-hybrid doesn't stop bugging you until he gets what he wants. Available on ao3.
Friends with Privileges ; Caleb [𖤐] — you and your best friend finally address lifelong feelings that you've had for each other before it's too late. Available on ao3.
brutal ; Rafayel [𖤐] — your kitty will gladly take your punishments, if it's what will make you happy. Available on ao3.
coup d'etat ; Rafayel [𖤐] — Rafayel visits his love as often as he can, between jobs, but only if he's able to sneak in through the window of your palace from which you're not permitted to leave and too afraid to escape from. Available on ao3.
Seaflower ; Caleb [𖤐] — A day at the beach with your favorite person. Available on ao3.
Caleb is a brat maker and no one can change my mind
caleb is the biggest brat maker there is. ever since you were taken from the shelter & he introduced himself — “i’m caleb, i’ll always be by your side.” he’s meant it. if anyone could be the epitome of fulfilling promises to you, it’s always caleb.
when your hazy memories needed some anchor, caleb was there. hugging you and holding you. even though he is only a few years older than you, his sense of responsibility is at par with how you’d imagine put-together adults are like. he learns how to cook just because he wants to wipe off that pout from your face, face slacking when you are doing laundry? he’s ready with his laundry skills. his chest is the perfect body pillow. his hand is the perfect hand to hold when you need to just stim through life or if you’re feeling anything…. any overwhelming emotion at all.
at school… caleb was your senior; hovering over you. helping you through your homework. safe to say — caleb is the one who truly raised you.
so now, years later when he’s stuck to your pussy, suckling at your clit like his life depends on it, kneading at your pelvis to guard the ache from cramping through the pleasure. why would you suddenly become… this submissive, docile thing? you scoff when he hums, “ask me before cumming, baby.” as if.
“no? you’re my caleb? i don’t ask you for things?” you get up in disbelief, brows furrowed.
caleb… loves feeling needed and wanted. and when you say with such astounding confidence. all he can hear is chants and rings of “you’re my caleb” in his head. “alrighty~ alrighty~ you little brat.” he chuckles to himself, so proud of making you one. :3c
You are so kind for doing this celebration! Congrats on 1k again, and I hope your trip was a lot of fun 💕
From the jealousy kiss prompts, can I ask for caleb with –> the kind of kiss that starts in fury but ends in breathless “I need you.”
If you can do it with colonel caleb specifically, that would be great. But don't force it if it doesn't work! I'm giving you full creative freedom on it bc I know whatever you cook up will be amazing 😌 Thanks again!
HI IVYYYYY!!!! I'm so glad you requested this because it made me realize I've never really written Colonel Caleb like this? like that is the love of my life and it had to be fixed immediately. this one also ended up longer than I anticipated because I am as ever a slut for exposition, SOOO I hope you like it!! ILYSM <333
schemes
pairing: caleb x reader
wc: 1.6k
prompt: the kind of kiss that starts in fury but ends in breathless “I need you.”
content: some toxic vibes for this one, manipulative!reader, jealous!caleb, possessive behavior, gets very suggestive but cuts off before smut, reader gets naked and puts on caleb's colonel's jacket though. also this is if all the cards through no return night have happened but with no kissing, no realization or resolution, but keep the will they won't they and all the tension.
Caleb's anger is a rare sight.
It has never been directed towards you. Exasperation may occasionally turn into irritation when you're being stubborn, especially if you're putting yourself in "precarious" situations (his words, not yours), but he's never angry with you.
But around you?
You've seen his eyes flash since you were younger, whenever the odd comment from a bully was directed out of the side of their mouth at you. Too afraid to be direct so as to catch Caleb's slow brewing fury, but little did they know that even the off-hand remark would quickly gain his ire.
It was a silent thing, a dangerous hum in the air. You hardly ever saw the direct result of what he did, but you felt the lingering consequences afterwards, in how you were never bothered again.
You'd learned how to stand up for yourself as you got older. And the things that would get Caleb riled up…shifted.
One time, he came down from Skyhaven to join you for a party on your college campus. He hovered over you as he usually did, keeping an eye on your drink, watching the people around you.
But that look in his eyes when an upperclassman sauntered up, unwittingly gambling with their life just by asking for your number…
That same flash in his gaze was as dangerous as the sharp smile he directed towards them, as firm as the arm that wrapped around your waist to pull you into his side.
You'd taught yourself not to take it to heart whenever his hand would slip from your side, and he transitioned back to his regular, carelessly charming Caleb once the "threat" was gone.
It was pure instinct for him, to keep you close to himself, to not have to share your time with others. There was no ulterior motive, no hidden desire in his possession.
There couldn't be. It wasn't jealousy, you couldn't let yourself believe, hope that it was.
It was just…Caleb. Ineffable, ever elusive Caleb. Always yours and never quite.
But things had changed again once he came back from the dead.
His irritation bloomed quicker, darker than before. Emotion sank from his face in an instant, eyes a blank void at every moment you pushed him away, his hand curled around your wrist to pull you back to him each time you said you didn't need him.
Again, you told yourself it was just Caleb. He'd gone through things he wouldn't tell you about, things that haunted him in his sleep. And with that chip fighting for control, with that relentless role he had to slip into along with the pristine, intimidating uniform every day, it was harder for him to shake off that instinct to keep you all for himself.
It shouldn't send such a thrill through you, to see him losing all that control.
You shouldn't have been excited when you felt that dark, heavy weight of his focus trained on you from across the room when an unsuspecting fleet officer approached you at the gala that he'd invited you to.
The gala he'd watched you dress up for, hovering outside the bedroom that had been repurposed from his own to yours just because you'd claimed it. Unable to tear his gaze away from the door you'd cracked open, just so the both of you knew he was watching.
You shouldn't have said yes to the dance, knowing he was tied up with Colonel duties, socializing with scum off his boots as you spun around the room.
His eyes didn't leave you once.
His hand didn't leave you either once he was able to return to your side, gloved fingers tightening their hold on the small of your back, creasing your fancy clothes as he greeted the officer still flirting with you in a tone so cold that you could see both their career and their life flash before their eyes.
The tension didn't leave for the entire flight home, his grip tight on your waist as he ushered you from the event early. His fingers curled around your thigh as he piloted his personal aircraft through the dark skies, tightening with each minute you got closer, your heartbeat pulsing in your ears.
It's been like this since he came back. A carefully maintained normalcy that was a mockery of how things used to be, crossing an invisible line that had existed all your lives only to hastily redraw it when you came so close just to dance apart again.
And tonight, under your careful manipulation, that thin thread of control finally snaps.
His hands are on your waist the moment you step through his front door, the familiar hum of his Evol in the air as the front door closes and locks behind him.
Caleb's breath is hot against your neck, nosing along the nape as he hisses between gritted teeth, "You did that on purpose." There's the barest brush of his teeth against your earlobe, and your back arches, a full-body shiver rattling your coiled tension, making your spine jolt. "Didn't you?"
You try and keep your calm as you turn around in his grip. Nevermind that he's never looked at you quite like this, that he's never touched you like this, his hands gliding up your back to keep you pressed to him; pelvises flush, foreheads grazing.
"What's wrong, Caleb?" you ask, lips tilting up in a smirk you can't hide now, one that his keen focus hones in on. Noses bumping, lips hovering. "Jealous?"
In all the years you'd dreamed of kissing Caleb for the first time, you had never expected to taste fury when his lips met yours.
Each kiss is short, consuming you for a mere few seconds before pulling away, only to be drawn back in again. Gravity keeps you tied together, his jealous anger leaving a searing heat on your lips, a bottomless hunger for more of him, every sinful thought and dark emotion that possesses him.
"I told you before, didn't I?" Caleb whispers between hot and heavy kisses, licking into your mouth until he pulls back, a thin string of saliva connecting your lips to his. "I'm always like that."
His hand curls around your waist, anchoring you to him as he kisses you with a desperation only born from years of waiting, of lying to yourselves of the extent of the other's affection. It's realization tainted by your machinations, darkened by him trying to outrun the time he has left while his mind is still his.
"They don't know you like I do," he pants against your lips. His large hands grab at your thighs, long fingers spread out, digging into the soft, sensitive skin hidden under the rich material covering them. "They can't touch you like I do."
His possession has you hot all over, your obsession running as deep as his own, aching to claim him for yourself. You stroke his cheek, pulling back a few inches to run your thumb under his eye.
"And they'll never have you like I do," you whisper, and witness the breathtaking beauty of his new mask begin to crack when you pour your affection onto his lips, your devotion onto his tongue. "My Caleb."
His heavy breaths dissolve into soft gasps, mewling pressed into your mouth, his tongue gliding along it to explore and map out every part of you. The strong, ever in control Colonel slowly breaks apart under the stroke of your hands along his neck, down his back, pulling him into you.
Caleb kisses you again and again, licking along your bottom lip and tugging it into his mouth. He suckles on it with a desperate moan that sends sparks down your spine, kindling into heat in your lower belly.
Your fingers tangle into his hair, knocking his hat to the ground, and he steps forward, leading you back until you stumble into the kitchen, pressed to the spotless counter with him looming over you.
"I need you," he whispers, and your eyes open, widening when you see his gaze already locked on you.
With every hungry kiss his eyes have been half-lidded, glazed over as they flicker over your features while they contort in that same dazed, love drunk way he looked now. There's only a ring of purple swallowed by his pupils, a flicker of orange around the rim if you tilt your head to the side just right.
Caleb follows the direction of your head, lips pressed to the corner of your lips, down your jaw, teeth scraping along the expanse of your neck. He sucks bruises into your skin, claiming you even as he begs you for more. His tongue laves along the sensitive love bites, swirling over where your pulse hammers under your skin.
"Please," he breathes out, the leather of his gloves crinkling when his palms slide up your thighs, brushing against the front of the fabric that keeps him separated from you. The next time he says it is a whimper, that dark side of him losing to his awestruck yearning. "Please?"
Your eyes lock with his, and you begin to push the expensive fabric off your shoulders and waist, letting it pool at your feet. Stepping out of it, you tug at his Colonel's jacket, clinging to the fabric once he removes it and tries to throw it aside.
He watches, wide-eyed and drooling, as you slowly pull the long, heavy coat over yourself, letting it settle against your bare skin for his hungry gaze.
Caleb's on his knees in an instant, without you even having to tell him. He presses kisses to your calves, up your knees, sucking love bites into your thighs that have your back arching, panting for his mouth to meet where you throb for him.
When he presses a gentle kiss there, you nearly cry out for him.
"At your orders, Colonel," he murmurs, low and full of promise of a long night ahead.
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There was fondness found underneath Rafayel's touch, the type of fondness only he can convey through the gentleness of his fingers brushing past your face.
He settled beside you, eyes tracing your sleeping form underneath a blanket you refused to let go of. For the past week, he had settled for a simple routine; wake up earlier than you, fix himself a cup of coffee, and admire you from a distance as if he was memorizing your face, afraid a fog will block out the image of you in his mind.
Rafayel followed his routine, although earlier than usual.
The moon hasn't bid its farewell yet. But he is awake–sober and energized enough to get his day started despite the lack of light across the sky.
If anyone took a peak at his face, they would deduce the same thing: lack of sleep. Rafayel's dreams have been plagued with memories he had no recollection of collecting.
His head would hit the pillows, his arms would wrap around your waist, and his nose would brush against your neck, soothing him with your familiar scent, but it does not help. Instead of dreams of a life reflecting a future he swore to build with you, he's on a stage.
He saw himself–a god devoted to his follower, shamelessly begging her to lie awake, to open her eyes in the middle of the cold ocean, clinging to a body he can no longer feel the heat off, until she vanishes with the wind, forcing her away from him as bells ring–not for celebration, not the bells typically heard in ceremonies where hearts cling to one another in sickness and in health–no. It was a lifetime he had the opportunity to have you as a bride without ever being his wife.
It ends in a tragedy so painful that Rafayel wakes up, heart pacing like he had escaped death over and over again. Beads of pearls hit the bed. His eyes rimmed crimson.
It was only a nightmare, but it didn't soothe his worries.
Reluctantly, he slowly looked over his shoulder, afraid he won't find you next to him. But he did. You were asleep–he hoped in a dream more comforting than his–a dream where you hear bells ringing inside a cathedral he vowed to take you in, alive and well. And for him that was enough. But he could not forget the image of an older version of him–sorrow incarnate.
Rafayel felt pity.
What must have been it like to not own reminders of you in your absence? An absence that would fill holes, heartache, a shred in a tapestry he couldn't remake to look the same. What would it be like without seeing your face? Would he forget? What if he forgot? What if one day when his vision finally fails him? What then?
"Rafayel?"
"(name)" He whispered.
Not "cutie." Not "love." Not the nicknames he usually would say. Just your name.
You cupped his face, wiping away the tears on his face as beads of pearls hit the bed, "What's wrong, my love?"
He loved hearing that name. My love. "My," you had said, because he was yours as much as you were his.
Rafayel did not like many things.
Attending his own art exhibitions, cats, human interactions, heights, the list goes on.
But he loved you.
He loved the roll of your eyes when he forbids you from playing in the claw machine. He loved the way you brought back intricate seashells from your trip to the beach. He loved your concentrated expression when you play kitty cards with him.
Every page of his sketchbook is filled with you. Every blank canvas in his studio has found a way to implement reminders of you. His sculptures have found a way to worship you. Every corner of his life has been invaded by you and he loved it.
He woke up, solely to see you.
And he was terrified.
That one day his eyes would betray him.
"You," He hesitated, voice trembling softly, "have laid a foundation in my life that I can't move. After years of waiting, what if I spent more of it wishing I could see you when you're already in front of me? What if, by fate's cruelty, I forget every expression of your face? The dip of your smile, the curve of your brows, or the pout of your lips? What should I do, then?"
You smiled at him before squeezing his hands, "You'll do what you do best—hold my hand, nuzzle it against your cheek—feel me—because I will always be here, with you. Whether It'd be in front of you, behind you, and most importantly, next to you."
"Promise?"
"For as long as I live."
He just stared at you, at a loss for words. His eyes focused on yours, filled with nothing but fondness. He moved his hand to yours face, his thumb gently touching your lips. Unsure and unsteady. But you were here. That made him stable. He crashed his lips on yours. Gentle was gone. Unrestrained. He moved on top of you, trailing wet kisses on your neck as he traced his hands all over your back, chest, and waist. He needed to feel you. Know that you were real.
"Rafayel." You panted, pulling his hair to get his attention.
He looked at you, half-dazed, and thinking of anything but stopping, "Let me worship you."
— 💌. first post. idk man. maybe i’ll add a title later. anyway, i miss rafayel guys. divider by @/honeyluvsw
A/n: I just wanted to make some cute and sexy headcanons for our beefy werewolf and oh my God, I made him so puppy-coded ahh I just wanted some of these to be unique ;~; comments, reblogs, and likes deeply appreciated! NSFW ones are under a warning divider.
💚 Valko Masterlist 💚
Valko was late-diagnosed with ADHD around the time the two of you first started dating. He gave medication an honest try, but it only lasted about a month. Neither of you liked how much of his sparkle seemed to disappear when he was on it. These days, you’d both rather put up with his forgetfulness, restless energy, and tendency to get distracted halfway through a sentence than lose the vibrant personality you fell in love with.
Valko absolutely loves taking you off-roading in his Ford Bronco Sport. The rougher the trail, the bigger his grin gets. He’ll deliberately aim for muddy hills, rocky creek crossings, and winding forest paths just to hear you laugh when the whole SUV bounces beneath you. By the time you get home, the Bronco is filthy, you’re both covered in dust, and he’s already asking where you should explore next weekend.
Every hike turns into a treasure hunt because Valko can’t stop collecting little things for you. He’ll tuck tiny wildflowers behind your ear, and add another bloom to the growing bouquet in your hand. He’s a walking encyclopedia of plants. If he finds a fallen branch that’s big enough, though, all bets are off. He’ll light up like an excited kid, sprint over to grab it, and proudly use it as a walking stick for the rest of the hike. More than once you’ve had to yell at him not to start lifting entire fallen tree trunks just because he wants to test his strength. He claims he’s “just curious.” You secretly think it’s kind of hot.
Camping is one of his favorite ways to spend time with you. After a day hike, he’ll happily build the campfire while you set up the tent. Once the sun goes down, the two of you end up lying on a blanket with chocolate s’mores crumbed around your lips and his, watching the stars. He always claims he knows the constellations, but at least half of them are names he made up on the spot.
Valko has an incredible amount of restless energy and struggles to sit still for very long. You finally got tired of watching him reach for his phone every ten minutes during movie nights, so you started buying him fidget toys instead. To your surprise, they actually worked. Now he’ll happily click, spin, squeeze, or fiddle with whatever little gadget you’ve handed him while the two of you watch a movie, his attention staying on the screen instead of drifting somewhere else.
He absolutely hates fireworks. His hearing is far too sensitive for them, so every Fourth of July he quietly disappears with a pair of earplugs before the first boom even goes off. You’ll usually find him hiding in bed, shoulders tensing every time another explosion rattles the windows. He tries to laugh it off, but if you join him under the blanket and cuddle up beside him, he’ll relax almost immediately.
Valko uses dog shampoo on his tail. You only found out the first time you showered together at his place, when you noticed a bottle sitting next to his regular shampoo and gave him a very confused look. After he explained that it kept the fur cleaner, softer, and healthier, it suddenly made perfect sense. Now he lets you wash and brush his tail for him because he knows how much you enjoy fussing over it.
Taking Valko grocery shopping is dangerous because he’ll wander off for “just a minute” and inevitably come back with an armful of snacks nobody asked for. Somehow the cart always ends up containing kids’ chocolate milk, three kinds of beef jerky, and whatever new flavor of protein bars caught his eye. He’ll proudly present his haul like he accomplished the mission, only for both of you to realize he forgot the one thing you actually went to the store for.
His hands are rough with calluses because he constantly forgets to wear lifting gloves. You’ve bought him hand lotion more than once, but every bottle somehow ends up untouched in the bathroom cabinet. The only way he’ll actually use it is if you take his hands into yours and rub it in for him. He insists it’s because you “do it better,” but you suspect he just likes the excuse to sit there while you hold his hands.
Valko usually prefers floor time over the couch. You’ll be curled up comfortably watching a movie while he sprawls across the floor with his back resting against your legs, occasionally glancing up at you whenever he hears you laugh. If your fingers wander into his hair or behind his wolf ears, he’ll quietly lean back harder against you until he’s practically using your knees as a pillow.
He was surprisingly resistant to joining your little face mask nights at first, insisting they “weren’t really his thing.” It took exactly one evening of you convincing him to try a cooling mask fresh out of the shower. Now it’s become one of his favorite little rituals. The two of you climb onto the couch with a glass of wine, matching face masks on, a movie playing in the background while he cuddles up beside you, pizza rolls heating in the oven.
Valko unconsciously nudges you with his shoulder or forehead when he wants your attention. If you’re reading, he’ll gently bump your arm. If you’re working, he’ll rest his forehead against yours until you finally look up. It’s the werewolf equivalent of saying, “pet me.”
He loves when you play with his hair or scratch behind his wolf ears. He’ll deny it every single time, insisting he doesn’t need it, but within thirty seconds he’s leaning into your hand with his eyes half closed. If you stop too soon, he’ll casually lower his head back under your fingers as if to remind you that you weren’t finished.
Playfighting is practically one of his love languages. He’ll wrestle with you over the TV remote, steal your phone just to make you chase him, and scoop you off the floor the second you try to tackle him. Once he’s caught you, you’re getting tossed over his shoulder or effortlessly lifted into the air like you’re his favorite chew toy, all while he’s laughing too hard to defend himself from your playful punches.
His nose is both a blessing and a curse. He can tell when you’re ovulating long before you mention it, and he can smell the moment your period starts too. It’s endlessly embarrassing because you’ll occasionally catch him pausing mid-conversation to sniff the air around you with genuine curiosity, completely fascinated by every natural change your body goes through. To him it’s just information. To you, it’s mortifying.
He has a not-so-secret obsession with the way you naturally smell. Perfume is nice, but nothing compares to the scent of your skin after a workout. Whenever you exercise together, he’ll inevitably find himself lingering a little too close, completely distracted by the smell of your sweat. He insists your deodorant ruins it and has jokingly complained more than once that it covers up his favorite scent.
He’s almost embarrassingly obsessed with the smell of your lady bits. One evening, you stepped out of the shower only to return to the bedroom and find him completely passed out on the bed with your used panties draped over his face. When you woke him up to ask what on earth he was doing, he looked at you like it was the most natural thing in the world before sleepily mumbling, “you smell delicious.”
He has a ridiculous soft spot for your little socks. The moment you drape your legs across his lap while you’re lounging on the couch, he’ll start rubbing your feet, kneading away any soreness while the two of you watch TV. Every now and then, though, he’ll absentmindedly lift your feet closer to his face and take a long, appreciative sniff before you can stop him. It’s easily one of the most mortifying habits he has. He insists he doesn’t have a foot fetish. You remain highly unconvinced.
Valko absolutely melts when you scratch the sensitive skin along his inner thighs and around his groin, especially after a long day. The moment your fingers find the right spot, he’ll shamelessly spread his legs wider without a second thought, resting back with the most content expression you’ve ever seen. He has absolutely no pride about it. If you’re willing to spoil him, he’s more than happy to sit there and soak up every second of the attention.
For someone so shameless in almost every other aspect of life, Valko is unbelievably private about using the bathroom. The door is always locked, and he refuses to let you anywhere near him while he pees. When you jokingly asked why, he thought about it for a second before answering, completely serious, “maybe I’ll let you hold it when we get married.”
Valko absolutely loves going down on you. He’s a messy eater in every sense of the word, throwing himself into it with shameless enthusiasm until he’s panting from the heat of it. The deeper he gets into pleasing you, the more his restraint disappears. He growls against you without realizing it and ends up drooling all over your pussy while happily lapping at you like he could spend hours there without ever getting his fill. His favorite position is to have you sit on his face if he’s not lifting you upside down by your thighs.
Despite his intimidating size, Valko is naturally more submissive than dominant once the bedroom door closes. It took time for him to fully trust you with that side of himself, but once he did, he flourished. These days he’s an eager, obedient good boy who melts under confident hands, happily letting you take control. He loves being praised, teased, and pushed around a little, and nothing makes him happier than hearing you tell him how well he’s doing.
Pet play comes almost embarrassingly naturally to him. He loves the comforting weight of a leather collar around his neck and owns several different ones, always bringing them over and letting you decide which one you want him to wear that day. He’ll happily chew on a ball gag while looking up at you with those golden eyes, and the moment you clip a leash onto his collar, he’s already following wherever you lead him without the slightest complaint.
His favorite position is, unsurprisingly, doggy style. He loves the feeling of looming over you, wrapping his body around yours while rutting into you with relentless enthusiasm. Half the time he’s completely mesmerized by the sight of your ass bouncing beneath him; the other half he’s watching both of you in the mirror, completely captivated while your praise spurs him on even more.
In the beginning, Valko was incredibly self-conscious about his knot. He always made sure to pull out before finishing, choosing your stomach or back instead, then disappearing into the bathroom almost immediately before you could see what happened afterward. He was embarrassed of himself, convinced his biology would only make things awkward.
That embarrassment didn’t survive for very long. Once he realized you loved every part of him, knot included, he stopped hiding. Now he’s shameless about it, often ending up breathlessly begging to knot you instead. When he’s especially worked up, he’ll press himself close behind you and growl promises into your ear about filling you until your tummy swells with his seed.
He also has an undeniable breeding kink, though admitting it took far longer than admitting almost anything else. It stayed tucked away in the back of his mind until one day he finally confessed it, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Once it was out in the open, roleplay quickly became one of his favorite indulgences, especially whenever the fantasy revolved around you begging for his pups.
Valko has an oddly intense fascination with your breasts, especially your nipples. If chocolate syrup happens to be involved, all the better. He’ll happily lick every drop away with shameless dedication before getting distracted by sucking on your nipples until they’re swollen, completely losing track of time while he quietly enjoys himself.
Full moons bring out a side of Valko that’s almost unrecognizable in bed. The playful teasing fades into something far more primal, leaving him meaner, rougher, and much more commanding than usual. He always feels so guilty afterward, worried he might have been too much, while you’re left reassuring him that seeing that untamed side of him only reminds you that it’s still him underneath it all…And that you think his dominance is just as sexy as his submission.
pairing: professor!rafayel x college student!reader
wc. 1.4k
cw: MDNI p in v
a/n: he's so yumm. this is inspo from his anecdotes!
warning: explicit and sexual content below. this is intended for mature audiences. both are consenting adults and this fic does not condone sexual relations with your teachers in real life. this is all purely fiction.
any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!
⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆
you dreaded the idea of taking your last class for college. it was your final semester before transfering over to the Hunter’s academy and your last required class just had to be an art class.
you appreciate the arts but seriously? were you going to paint the wanderers before finishing them off? you later changed your mind about this class until your professor was painting your insides white.
-
rafayel was mesmerized as he watched your tight little cunt swallow his cock whole. the position where he has you bent over has him hitting your spot each time he pushes forward. with each hard thrust you knew you weren’t going to last long, again.
he holds onto your shoulder as he keeps one of his hands on the top of your ass, letting you rock back and forth in his shallow thrusts. the stretch makes you tremble, slick with want. you find your old nail scratches etched into his desk, now adding new ones in this position he’s placed you in.
“so cute,” he praises, his mouth slightly parted and his eyes half lidded. “how can my cutie have such filthy thoughts about me?”
you don’t know how long you’ll last. with the way he was praising you, calling you his, and him rubbing your clit again to make you reach an earth shattering high. you were so close and he can tell. your walls were so desperate to milk dry. all you can feel is how he stretches you to perfection, your mouth drooling from the absolute pleasure he was giving you.
your orgasm slams into you and your vision whitens, clenching around him as he fucks you through it.
“so good to me,” he pants, “my favorite and best student.” he sighs against your neck, sending goosebumps to your skin. he gently takes ahold of you by the neck, angling you for a tender but for a slightly messy kiss while his hands rub the side of your ass.
he helps you clean the mess between your thighs with his handkerchief as you fix the top of your shirt. he gently helps you slide on your panties, guiding your leg over the entrance, then the other, before placing a tender kiss on the inner part of your thigh.
“try and focus today cutie, don’t wanna go rough on you tonight.” he tilts his head and winks, patting your thigh that you’re good to go before any students see.
-
you were known as the model student in this class. always the first to arrive and always looking the best. many of your peers don’t know how you do it and why but truly your motivation was him.
your art could no where compete with his so you always found yourself reaching his help, hoping for his attention- not that you cared much for the projects. it was him you wanted, his touch, his gaze, the thrill of being near him was almost electrifying.
his presence was impossible to ignore. his hand covers yours as he helps guide your brush. his chest pressed gently against your back and his steady breath on the back of your neck made your heart race.
thankfully the canvas you had was large enough to cover both of you. no one could see the way his lips brushed against your ear as he murmured small praises and the way his fingertips lingered on your skin longer than necessary. they couldn’t see the way his hand slipped off your waist as he left you to do your work.
“class is almost over. make sure to clean up your stations and you’re free to go.” he says in a deeper tone, one that he never used much to you whenever you two were alone.
the hum of class chatter, the shuffle of footsteps as students packed up and cleaned their stations, filled the room. one by one, they all trickled out, only a few remained.
as you gathered your things, your eyes found his across the room. his gaze locked with yours and a subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
neither of you looked away. his nebula eyes followed you and you could feel the weight of his stare as you made your way to the door. you let your gaze linger for a moment before you stepped out of the room, knowing he was still watching until your figure completely disappeared from his sight.
-
a trail of your clothes and his litter in his room to his bed.
“fuuuuck, cutie, - hah. fuck you’re so fucking wet for me,” he lets out a moan that comes from deep in his chest. he takes a couple more breaths, clenching his eyes close and finds solitude in the crook of your neck. his palms could basically leave his handprints on your ass where he’s squeezing so tight.
he thrusts into you deeply, matching your rhythm while you clamp down on his cock. your body seizes as your orgasm washes over your body and continues fucking you through it, trying to find his own.
you hear him whine and continue to let him have your way with you while you grab onto him. he can’t control the sounds that come out of him as he lets out such soft and pretty sounds in your ears. you know he’s getting closer and closer until you feel his cum flooding inside of you.
he continues thrusting inside of you, taking advantage of your hot walls squeezing down on him. he catches his breath with his head still down and you can feel his breath on your chest as you stroke the back of his head.
“raf?” you asked soflty, your hands intertwining with his soft locks. “are you alright?”
he lifts his head away from your neck, his eyes refocusing on you again. a mischievous smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, his hands find your back and draw you down with him, the plush of his mattress catching you both. the unexpected movement earns a surprised yelp from you.
“i love you, my little conch,” he mutters under his breath, unsure if you heard it. both of you were still hazy from what just happened a couple seconds ago.
your fingers trail absentmindedly over the locket around his neck, fiddling with the cool metal. his hands cover yours, gently guiding it away from the chain and refocusing your attention back to him.
“i love you too,” you murmur, “but...why won’t you tell me who’s in this locket?” you tilt your head innocently as you rest your head against his chest cutely.
he chuckles quietly, “i’ll tell you soon, kay?”
you pout and you struggle to hide the frustration on your face. the relationship between you two had always been there but it had to be kept a secret from the public. you both knew the stakes and if anybody found out, you we’re both in deep trouble.
you know he’s not married but the curiosity gnaws at you that he never discusses much of his life and his past with you.
he could tell this was bothering you so he pulled you closer, his lips brushing the top of your head. “don’t worryy about it too much, cutie. you’re the only person on my mind.” he reassures and he figures you were okay once you nuzzle deeper into his warmth.
his arms tighten around you, pulling you close and he knows how exhausted you are. you slowly drift away and your body melts into his as sleep finally claims you. he holds you tight, feeling your body relax against his and finally he allows himself to simply be here with you. no one else to worry about, just you and him alone in your own world.
as you sleep, he stays awake. his fingers play with the chain of the locket as his thoughts wander. this relationship was never supposed to happen. he never intended for it to go this far but the moment he saw you on the first day, he couldn’t resist.
with a quiet sigh, he opens the locket and there it is. a picture of you from your past life that he cherishes so deeply. he doesn't know how to tell you about it and he doesn’t know if he’ll even tell you about it. he can’t bear losing you again, not when he has you this close. he closes the locket, holding you closer. but right now he has you in his arms again and that’s all that truly matters. his beloved bride.
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