Oh wow I rarely opens tumblr these days but I sure didn’t expect people still reading and even giving time for some asks! Thank you ppl I’m so happy 🥹🙏🧡
Hello not to be rude or demanding but where is the continuation of both Rafayel and fanfic writer and the secret gallery?
Omg hi! It’s okay to ask, anon 💜 First of all, I’m sorry for replying this late! I’m currently busy with life and so I haven’t got time to read or write. I need to build them better first then I’ll post it here as soon as it’s ready, ok. Thanks for reading and taking interest in my fics 😁🙏
i need sylus to make rain in my barren land😤i want him to flood it
“What got you so angry, kitten?”
“Don’t touch me,” you hiss, swatting his hand away as he reaches for your waist. You’re curled up on the couch, aggressively clinging to a heating pad. "My hormones are in freefall and my patience’s at ZERO. I'm in my luteal phase—which means my body’s a barren wasteland right now—so take your smug smirk and go bother the twins instead."
Sylus just narrows his red eyes, an amused glint washing over his features as he steps closer anyway.
"Is that a fact?" he murmurs, his voice dropping into that low, challenging register that makes your skin prickle.
"I am warning you, Sylus—"
"Relax, sweetie," he cuts you off, caging you against the cushions with a slow, confident grin. "Tell me—did you drink enough water today?"
“What’s with that ques—”
He doesn't give you time to finish. He catches your ankles, pulling you down flat on your back and strippjng your pants away with practiced precision. Parting your thighs wide, his head drops lower, his tongue immediately working a slow, punishing rhythm against you.
“S-Sy…!” You squirm, trying to twist away, but his heavy hands lock onto your hips, holding you firmly in place.
A heavy, unbearable pressure begins to build deep inside you, and the moment he feels your body goes stiff, he shifts. He swaps his mouth for his hand, sliding two thick fingers deep inside your slick walls. He curls his digits upward with relentless pressure—striking that agonizingly sensitive spot on your front wall over and over until you lose all ability to think.
Your eyes roll back, your mouth open wide singing beautiful moans to his ears, your walls clenching hard around his hand as your entire body goes taut. The intense friction goes straight through your spine, transforming into a desperate, uncontrollable surge that demands release.
“Don’t fight it, kitten. Let go.”
With a sharp curl of his fingers, the dam finally breaks. A flood bursts straight from your clit, soaking his hand and splattering across his wrist in a hot wave that leaves you gasping for air, completely boneless against the cushions.
“It's raining, see?” Sylus murmurs, a low laugh rumbling in his chest as he pulls his hand back, watching the wet mess drip from his fingers with satisfaction. “Apparently you’re not barren at all.”
It’s times like these that Sylus loves to win from you.
I got serious dejavu writing this. Did I already type this in alternate universe? Uh I want him so bad… how about we share since I know he got enough stamina for two? 🫦
Maybe, just maybe… have her suspended in the air with belt from ceiling or something and have rafayel… you know you can do whatever next I guess it can be interesting too if I got a surprise from you XD
This is really good idea, srsly. I'll put them in my wip list💜 can't promise it would be fpr rafayel but still 🫶
Dark!Rafayel as your lover, and his secret gallery of you (pt. 2)
Blurb, yandere, dark themes, suggestive (this chapter only)
Part 1 here
Animals. The smaller they are, the sharper their survival instincts. Maybe that’s why, staring into the pitch-black mouth of the hidden room, a cold prickle forms at the base of your neck, running down to your spine. A quiet, persistent voice telling you to step back.
Standing on the threshold, the air hitting your face is heavy and stagnant, thick with the scent of things left to accumulate dust in the dark. It’s a big contrast to the rest of his studio, which always smells of fresh lemon and sea salt—along with the heavy smell of turpentine and linseed oil whenever he paints. You haven't moved an inch. You haven’t even reached for a light switch. There’s a strange, heavy intuition warning you that once the lights go on, you can't undo whatever comes next.
But undo what, exactly? Your mind has to be exaggerating. The man you’ve spent the last year with is sweet, wonderfully dramatic, and entirely devoted to you. You know him. It feels ridiculous to let a single unlit hidden room make you doubt him.
And yet, your feet remain glued to the floorboards, flatly refusing to move.
“What’s wrong, cutie?”
The sudden voice behind you makes you gasp, your head snapping around. He’s standing right there.
“Oh! Raf… since when were you behind me?”
“Since you turned into a statue a minute ago.” Rafayel’s voice carries its usual playful lilt, but the tone is just.. off. He tilts his head, crossing his arms as a teasing smirk pulls at his lips. “Not going in? Don't tell me you're scared of the dark?”
Do you trust your instinct? Yes. It saved you from many, many occasion since before you even understand what the word meant.
So why does it flares like a warning siren in your head, right now, at his words?
“Uh… I just think you should air this place out more often,” you say, keeping your eyes locked onto his. In the dim lighting, with the glow of the room behind him, his expression is unreadable, cast in deep shadow. You plant one hand firmly against the doorframe, while your other hand blindly gropes along the dark wall, trying to find the edge of the door to pull it shut without looking away from him.
Instead, your fingers are met with a sharp and distinct click that echoes through the quiet space.
Fluorescent light floods the room. Your eyes instinctively follow the brightness. It isn't a normal room at all, but a narrow, steep staircase leading down into a basement. The walls are lined with heavy, framed canvases, but before you can even get a good look at them, a faint sound catches your attention.
Rafayel is humming. It’s a soft, melodic sound, vibrating with an eerie sense of anticipation—like a child who knows exactly what’s waiting under the Christmas tree and can barely contain the thrill of opening it.
“Well?”
Rafayel steps closer, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of damp hair away from your forehead, tucking it behind your ear. You hadn't even realized you were sweating until his cool skin made contact with yours. Leaning down until his lips are practically brushing your ear, he whispers, “Do you want to see?”
The proximity jolts your nerves. It was innocently tucked behind, trained to be relaxed around him, but the last whisper activates every nerve that tells you to.. run.
“I don’t want to.” You answer abruptly.
“Why?” He shifts, his gaze boring into yours. “Are you afraid of my art?”
“No, never.” You almost stammer, but you hold your ground. You force your feet to turn back and look him in the eye. From this close, he looks taller than he should, his head looking down in a sharp angle to meet yours. You have to fight so your eyelids don’t flutter, an instinct of a prey that should prove itself in front of its predator. But you don’t know that, everything in your mind just crammed into one word—instinct.
And right now it tells you not to look away no matter how much you want to.
“You took a lot of effort to hide this room,” you manage to say, keeping your voice steady. “I don’t think I should pry.”
“Did you catch a glimpse of one?”
“… No.”
“Aren’t you even a little curious?” This is the devil, smiling and talking, his melodic tone luring you to take another step.
He takes a slow step backward, his eyes never leaving yours. Lowering his head slightly to meet your eyes, his fingers slide from the crook of your jaw to the tip of your chin, tilting your face up. When he presses his forehead gently against yours, his skin is remarkably cold to the touch.
“It’s just me and my paintings, cutie. I didn’t mean to hide them from you.”
“What’s down there?”
“My desires,” he breathes out, the words warm against your skin. “Every single one of them. Of you.”
The sheer intensity of his confession warms your heart, disarming the alarm in your head. Almost.
“Rafayel…” You reach up, pressing your palm to his cheek. He closes his eyes, leaning into the touch, nuzzling against your hand like a cat seeking affection. It’s impossible not to be captivated by him—the long, dark sweep of his lashes, the flawless curve of his features, perhaps designed to lure you.
“You know me,” he murmurs, his eyes opening slowly as he looks directly at you. In the dim light of the stairwell, his pupils are wide, a faint, deep shimmer in the ring of his eyes. “I would never hurt you.”
You can’t catch which one is a lie—you know him, or he won’t hurt you—when he looks you directly in the eye. The dulled instinct made you doubt yourself. They're just paintings. Why are you letting yourself get so worked up over canvas and paint?
Rafayel catches the exact moment your shoulders drop, the faint softening of your expression, and the corners of his mouth twitch upward—you’re wavering. “I can hold your hand, you know. If you’re really that scared.”
There it is. That familiar, bratty, teasing tone. The heavy atmosphere dissipates in an instant, and a breathless laugh escapes you, the lingering tension finally leaving your body.
“I’m being serious, cutie,” he adds, his voice dropping slightly as his gaze drops to the stairs. You don't notice his pants have been straining, or the way his breath catches, aching with anticipation. “You might need more than just a hand to hold once you get down there.”
“Right, of course. I’ll need you to protect me from your scary masterpieces,” you reply sarcastically, relieved to see the smile blooming in his face.
“Come on, let’s just get this over with.” You reach down, wrapping your fingers securely around his hand, and gently pull him forward. “We got dinner reservations.”
Rafayel’s smile widens, knowing full well you won’t be making it to dinner as you take your first step down into the dark.
To be continued…
It’s been too long…!! 🙈
Also, next part or two will be smut. I’m continuing this for fun, put your comments in this post as to suggest what hot scene will be put in the next part 💜
You know I’m leaning to dark smuts. It’s up to you to comment or put in anon ask. If there’s none I’d put something but I’d like to interact this time heheh ;)
Dark!Rafayel as your lover, and his secret gallery of you.
NSFW, MDNI, suggestive, yandere, dark themes
You know he keeps sketches of you in his private room. You’ve seen them before. The medium ranges from graphite, capturing your victory smile after winning kitty cards, to watercolor, rendering your awed face against a sunset, to oil, preserving the moments you wear his favorite nightgown.
You caught some naughty sketches too. You thought it was cute that he tried to hide them.
But no, he made sure you only thought he ‘tried’ to hide them.
If you look carefully behind the massive portrait of the two of you, you will spot a concealed door. It doesn’t have a knob, but a slight nudge will open it. He never truly needed to hide it, and he would be fine if you ever found it, but he didn’t tell you on purpose.
Because he wasn’t sure you would tolerate it. He constantly brood over the question. Would you accept him and his desires? The dark fantasies he channeled into art instead of inflicting them upon your flesh?
The vivid depiction of you bound in leather? The ropes? The toys and chains he already bought but never used? Or perhaps the one he paints of you and him, joined until the line blurs where he ends and you begin, in his true form, with not just one, but two cocks? Will you take it? Would you accept him?
Even if you refuse, he will ensure you take him anyway once the secrets are open. For now, he savors the thrill every time you enter the room, innocently inspecting the fresh drafts of your form.
"Hmm? What's this?" Your nails scratch along the seam of the hidden door.
You press against the panel. The mechanism clicks, releasing the lock, and the door swings to reveal his true gallery. From the shadows behind you, Rafayel steps closer, his gaze locked on you as a dark smile spreads across his face.
“Are you sure you wanna go in?”
To be continued…
Rafayel masterlist is open! Hope you enjoy them cuties ☺️🙏💜
What is with this MC?! If this was me I’d crawl in front of him.. and have what he gives me, his massive schl— *beeeep* and have him *beeeeep* until *beeeeeeep*
I wish they’d invite these cosplayers too they’re biblically accurate from their hair down to their height and shoulder width 🙈 @calebsfavoriteusedthong 🥹
AND AGAIN—THAT THRONE OF EROS OUTFIT—R1 ONES! WHITE! ME AS THE UNIFORM WORSHIPPER GAHHH
Author note: Credit to Roella 🩷 (will move the credit down soon I’m so bad at formatting omg I read for the 12th time and it makes me even more confused I hope I didn’t make the words misleading again…)
This is the masterlist btw. Will edit soon..
INTERSTELLAR COALITION FOR GENETIC PRESERVATION (ICGP)
DIRECTIVE 88-Ω: OMEGA PROTECTION LAWS
Status: Absolute Law / Sector-Wide Enforcement
Applicability: All Space Stations, Fleet Ships, and Outer Sectors
SECTION I: THE CITADEL HOUSING PROTOCOLS
Because the Omega population has reached near-extinction levels, all verified Omegas are classified as Assets owned by the state.
1.1 Early Designation: If an individual is identified as an Omega during youth, they are immediately relocated to The Citadel, a high-security sanctuary, to be raised in a controlled environment with optimized medical care and life-support systems.
1.2 Adult Classification (Temporary Quarantine): In an extremely rare event when an adult Omega is identified in public, they will be placed in The Citadel under temporary quarantine. They will remain in isolation until the government system identifies their eligible Alpha candidates.
1.3 Travel Restrictions: Omegas are strictly prohibited from deepspace transport, mining vessels, or active military service.
1.4 Pheromone Suppression: Within public sectors of The Citadel, all Omegas must wear a suppression collar to block their scent, preventing behavioral disruption among the Alpha population.
SECTION II: ILLEGAL INHIBITORS AND PENALTIES
Hiding a secondary designation is a severe offense against species survival.
2.1 Unlawful Suppression: Any Omega who deliberately poes as a Beta by using illegal, black-market inhibitors to mask their pheromones will be taken immediately.
2.2 Punishment Guidelines: Penalties will be determined according to the severity of the situation:
Quiet Evasion: If the Omega hid quietly to maintain a normal life, their illegal medication will be destroyed, and they will be enrolled directly into the Mandatory Pairing Program.
Public Endangerment: If the Omega's actions cause a public crisis (such as a sudden heat breakout at a high-profile gathering), they will be detained. Any accomplice who provided the illegal inhibitors or helped conceal the Omega will be charged with High Treason and exiled for life.
SECTION III: MATCHMAKING AND GENETIC SELECTION
Traditional courtship is suspended. Reproduction is strictly governed by the ICGP Compatibility Matrix.
3.1 The Sorting Matrix: All Alphas must submit biometric and genetic data. When an Omega enters an active heat cycle, the central system scans the database to find the Alphas with the highest genetic compatibility scores.
3.2 Vocal Dampening: To prevent Alphas from using "The Voice" to force submission, any Alpha entering the Omega's quarters must wear a vocal inhibitor device. This ensures the Omega's biological autonomy is protected during the interaction window.
3.3 The Final Choice: To maintain psychological stability and increase pregnancy success rates, the Omega will be presented with the profiles of the top compatible Alphas. The Omega may select their partner from this elite pool. However, if the Omega rejects all available options, the state will issue a mandatory pairing order.
3.4…………..
Omega Preservation Project
Tags: Alternate Universe, Omegaverse, A/B/O, Dubcon (use of pheromones), Dystopia themes, may lead to Polyamory and tend to be OOC *Read carefully*
Premise: Reader & 6 LIs (and most supportive characters) are a graduate from Skyhaven University. Hiding your 2nd attribute your whole life from government, you have to attend a reunion after 10 years that will change your life forever…
Chapter 1 - The Red Counterfeit
Chapter 2 - The Invitation
Chapter 3 - Three Pills
Chapter 4 - The Grand Hall
Chapter 5 - The Citadel
I have to put them into shorts as not to burden my head and enjoy writing every piece of it. (I do wish I could type as fast as my brain tho.. as I type those details are missing from my brain)
Hi! Everyone has a writing style that is different. It does not make it bad. If we can still understand what is happening in the scene, it's the most important part.
Everyone already said it, if they don't like it, they can just walk away and go on with their day.
Fanfiction isn't meant to write about the characters canonicaly, that the point of fiction. It's not real.
I love your work, I'm not someone that comments a lot but seeing how some people are fucked up just because they don't like what you do (and you're not doing serial killer shit so fuck them) make me sad and angry.
You are worthy of all the love you get from your followers, don't forget that 💖
Thank you, thank you so much! This just drives me to write better 💖💖💖
heyyyy! hope you're doing great!
i wanna ask one thing: do you allow to translate your work into another language with all credits/links leading to your acc, ofc
thank you in advance! 🥺💓
Hello, anon! Well, which work is this and to what language and platform? I don’t think that any of my work is that worthy but this just surprises me so much btw 😳
Will you talk to me through chat first before you do? Thank you for taking interest in translating my fic 🥰🙏💖
I’ve always felt this way. Some writers have a way of writing so beautifully that it feels like a love letter to their main characters. Their descriptions of beautiful scenery are so vivid that you can almost picture yourself there. One of my friends writes as if I’m the one receiving the love.
I seriously need to reflect and learn. I’ve been picturing them in my mind like a scene in TV. 🙈
NERD!ZAYNE TEACHING THE GUYS HOW TO MAKE YOU CUM, SQUIRT AND OTHER TRICKS. Part 3.
Guess who's free from the mature label? 🥳🙌🏻
Part 1 Part 2
The walk back to your apartment felt surreal, it felt like stepping out of a fever dream into something cold and sad. Zayne's dorm room had been suffocating before you left. Caleb, Rafayel, Xavier, even Sylus fought over who'd take you home. Zayne stayed by the window, quiet, but his eyes followed every move you made. You turned them all down. Heart hammering, you scrambled out the door before anyone could stop you, desperate for air, for space, for anything that wasn't his room.
How were you supposed to look at them now?
The images wouldn't stop. You had seen them hard and visibly leaking through their clothes just from watching you. The memory of Xavier’s dark eyes right before he buried his face between your thighs made your stomach flip. And Zayne—God, his voice. That calm cracking into something that ordered you to let go. It wouldn't leave you alone.
Now, sitting in the university library three days later, you couldn't focus on a single line of text in front of you. You were supposed to be studying, but the quiet just made the noise in your head louder. Close your eyes for even a second and you felt it again, four fingers buried inside you, stretching you past what you thought you could take, your pussy clenching around them in little aftershocks. The warmth of Zayne’s cum soaking through his trousers against your bare ass.
The library's silence felt exactly like the silence after you'd come.
Dread settled low in your chest. Was this it? Had you wrecked the only thing that ever felt safe? You hadn't seen any of them in days—dodging texts, taking the long way to class, hiding in corners of campus you didn't even know existed. Two years of friendship and you'd thrown it all away because a little bit of alcohol got you horny. Fuck!
You didn't hear the sneaker scuff against carpet a few rows over. Didn't notice the eyes tracking the nervous way your finger kept dragging across your bottom lip.
Rafayel stood half hidden by art history, knuckles white against the shelf, watching you with the same burning focus he'd had three nights ago.
Forty eight hours after you fled Zayne's dorm, the deadbolt on his door slid shut again. Everyone—except you— was back again.
Caleb leaned against the wall spinning a basketball on his finger until it dropped, thudding against the floor. He'd mutter something under his breath, scoop it up, start over. Rafayel paced the strip of carpet between the twin beds, flipping through a stack of index cards he wasn't reading—snap, snap, snap. Sylus stood by the window with his back to the room, fingers tapping some restless rhythm against the glass. Xavier was the only one still, flat on his stomach on Zayne's bed, chin in his hands, staring blankly at a stray bobby pin left behind on the floor. Zayne sat at his desk pretending to study an anatomy chart. He'd adjusted the lamp three times. Tried to ignore the testosterone fogging up his room. But between the ball, the pacing, and the tapping, focus was a lost cause.
He slammed his textbook shut, took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Caleb dropped the ball.
"Stop pretending," he said, voice dropping into flat calm. "You didn't come here to study. Just say what you actually want to say so I can kick you all out."
Silence. Quick, guilty glances passed between them—nobody wanting to be the one to crack first, to admit they'd all been picturing the same thing. You, two nights ago, coming apart under their hands.
Rafayel cleared his throat first, tossing his index cards onto the bed "Fiiiiine. Hypothetically. Say a guy's already inside a girl. All the way in. How do you hit that spot? Is there a specific angle?"
A muscle jumped in Zayne's jaw. "The angle doesn't change just because your dick is inside her, Rafayel. Shallow thrusts, angled up. Not just slamming into her. Though I doubt you have the stability to hold that for long."
"I have great stability!" Rafayel hissed, ears burning pink, thumb rubbing against his middle finger as the memory of you made his pulse spike.
"He once held a paintbrush at the exact same angle for an hour straight," Xavier offered, not lifting his chin from his hands.
"See? Stability."
"That's your wrist, Rafayel. Different muscle group entirely," Caleb said.
From the bed, Xavier's voice cut through again, quiet and lazy. "What about when she's on top? Or on the edge of a desk. How do you go down on her so she can grind as hard as she wants? For when she needs to control the movements herself."
Caleb snorted "A desk? Real smooth, Xavi."
"Better than what you're about to ask."
"You don't even know what I'm about to ask."
"I've known you for two years. I know exactly what you're about to ask.”
Caleb's ears went red, but he plowed ahead anyway. "Okay. Hypothetically, say a guy's bigger than average. How's he supposed to use her mouth without hurting her throat?”
"Bigger than average?" Rafayel repeated.
"I am."
"Compared to what?”
"Compared to the general population."
"You've never seen the general population's dick. You've seen yours and you've seen ours and apparently that's all the data you needed?."
Caleb opened his mouth, found nothing, and closed it again.
Sylus finally stopped tapping the glass and a low laugh rumbled out of him "If a guy's significantly bigger than average…”
“Not you too…” Rafayel groaned
“How does he make sure he actually fits, without hurting her? If she's tight. Really tight. Where's the point her body just gives up and takes it?”
Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose again. "I cannot believe I'm hearing grown men compare dick sizes in my dorm room while pretending it's for science."
"It is for science," Caleb said.
"It is not for science, Caleb."
"Reproductive science."
"Get out of my room."
Nobody moved. Zayne let out a long breath through his nose, the kind that meant he was three seconds from actually losing it.
The silence came back, heavier.
Zayne put his glasses back on slowly, fingers locking onto the edge of his desk until his knuckles went white, whatever calm he usually wore was completely gone.
“Every single one of you needs patience and a lot less idiocy than you're currently showing," Zayne said "I'll answer each question once. Once. And then you're all getting the hell out of my dorm. Am I clear?”
Their faces stayed blank. None of them realized they were all in the same boat.
Rafayel thought he was the only one picturing your breasts. Caleb thought his face fucking question was a private fantasy about your mouth, Xavier was silently planning how to put his tongue to use on you again and Sylus was quietly calculating exactly how to stretch you open and how slow he'd have to go. They were entirely oblivious to the fact that not a single one of them was thinking about an imaginary girl. Every single question in that room had your name underneath it.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The shadow over your book solidified into something real. Rafayel had stepped out from behind the art history shelves, and walked straight over, pulled out the chair across from you, and dropped into it like he owned the table.
He propped his chin in his palm and smiled at you. Easy. Unbothered. Like three nights ago he hadn't had your leg pinned wide open over Zayne's leg, staring at you with eyes blown wide and wild.
"You've been reading the same page for ten minutes," he said, voice smooth, carrying that familiar teasing lilt like nothing in the world had changed. "Is it the most boring book ever written or are you hiding in here?"
Your mouth had gone dry. You closed the book slowly, hoping he wouldn't notice your hands weren't steady. "Just studying, Raf. Got a lot going on."
"Clearly," he said, dragging one finger in a slow circle against the table, eyes never leaving yours.
He didn't take the hint to go. He pulled a sketchbook out of his bag instead and started doodling something on the margins while you tried, and failed, to read the same sentence for the fourth time. Every few minutes he'd glance up, catch you watching, and smirk like he'd won something. You'd duck back to your notes. He'd go back to sketching. The cycle repeated itself until you couldn't tell if you were studying or being studied.
"You're doing it again," he murmured eventually, not looking up from his sketchbook.
"What?"
"Biting your lip…” He flipped the sketchbook closed before you could see what he'd drawn. "It's distracting."
"You're the one distracting me."
"I'm just sitting here, very quietly, minding my own business."
"You sat down across from me, uninvited."
"I go to this school. I'm allowed in the library." He grinned, and it was the same easy, infuriating grin he always wore.
When you finally packed up, he packed up too, slinging his bag over one shoulder and falling into step beside you without asking if that was okay. You walked across campus together. He talked sbout a canvas he was prepping, about a professor who kept docking him points for too much emotion in his color theory, about some gallery downtown that wanted his portfolio. Normal things. Easy things. He never once brought up the dorm. Never said Xavier's name, or Zayne's, or anything about orgasms or the sounds you'd made that day.
But it was there anyway. In every silence. In the half second too long his eyes dropped to your mouth mid sentence before flicking back up like nothing happened. In the way his shoulder kept finding yours on the narrow sidewalk, brief and electric, like he was doing it on purpose and daring you to call him out. You grabbed coffee. He ordered for you without asking, remembering exactly how you took it, and didn't comment when your fingers brushed his over the cup and you both pretended not to notice.
The whole afternoon felt like holding your breath.
By the time you made it back to your building Rafayel was still beside you. Still talking. Still walking like he had every right to be there. You didn't stop him at the stairs. You didn't stop him in the hallway. And when your key finally turned in the lock and the door swung open, whatever fragile, careful normalcy you'd both been playing at for the last three hours fell apart completely.
You barely had time to kick the door shut.
Rafayel's palms hit the wood on either side of your head, and then his mouth was on yours and there was no easing into it, no polite preamble, just him, kissing you like he'd been thinking about nothing else for three days. He tasted like dark coffee and barely leashed desperation. Your hands found his chest on instinct, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.
He'd been your first crush out of all of them. The beautiful, dramatic, slightly impossible artist who always seemed to exist outside of your reach. And now he had you pinned against your own door.
"Three days," he breathed against your mouth "Three days of you hiding and leaving my texts on read."
"Raf—"
"I counted the hours." His forehead dropped to yours "I had to stop because… it was embarrassing."
His hands moved before you could say something else—down your neck, across your shoulders, fingers curling into the hem of your shirt and pulling it up and over your head. He dropped it somewhere. Didn't look where it landed. He was too busy looking at you.
He'd been replaying it for three nights straight, stroking his cock raw. The light catching your skin. Zayne's hands on you. The sounds you'd made. The image had lodged itself somewhere behind his eyes and refused to leave.
His fingers found the clasp of your bra, knuckles brushing the curve of your spine, and you shivered so hard it traveled through his hands. He undid it carefully—not slowly, he wasn't capable of slow right now—and slid the straps off your shoulders, tossing it aside.
"I kept thinking about this," he said, half to himself. "Zayne had his hands on you and I was sitting three feet away going completely insane." He had been dying to see your breasts again since he had seen your nipples turn tight under Zayne's fingers.
He cupped you gently, and the slight roughness of his palms against your skin pulled a sound out of you immediately. He felt it more than heard it.
"Yeah, just like that" he murmured.
His hands were trembling slightly, he noticed and hated it but couldn't stop it. His hands never trembled. But this was you, and you were looking up at him with those eyes, and his hands were shaking like he was an eighteen year old that had never touched anyone before in his life.
His thumbs dragged over your nipples as he watched your face, not your chest, the way your lips parted, the way your head tipped back an inch. Cataloguing. Filing it away. Learning the shape of you the way he learned everything—through touch, through attention, through taking his time even when every instinct was screaming at him not to..
"You have no clue," he said quietly, thumbs circling again, "what it was like to watch you and not be able to—" He stopped. Pressed his lips together. His jaw worked like he was deciding how honest to be. "I kept thinking about what sounds you'd make if it was just me. If I got to take my time."
His hands lifted your breasts slightly, testing the weight with the same attention he gave to everything he cared about. His eyes tracked the movement.
"I want to draw you like this someday," he said, almost offhand, like the thought had just surfaced. Then his gaze flicked up to yours. "Can I?.”
Your back arched off the door and he took that as the invitation it was, mouth closing over your right breast with a hungry sound that vibrated against your skin. His tongue worked tight circles around your nipple before he pulled it deep, sucking hard enough to make your knees buckle, hands moving to grip your waist to keep you upright. When he finally pulled off, he dragged his mouth across to the other side, slower this time, lips brushing the soft underside before he bit down carefully and then sucked until a mark bloomed red against your skin, exactly where he wanted it.
He pulled back just far enough to look at it. Something satisfied moved across his face.
"There," he said quietly before he pressed his face back into your skin and groaned like you were killing him.
You didn't fully register the part where you moved from the door to your bed. Clothes came off in pieces—his shirt somewhere by the desk, your jeans a problem that took both of you longer than it should have, both of you half laughing for about three seconds before his mouth found your throat and the laughing stopped. The sheets felt cold against your back when you finally went down. Rafayel was all heat, hovering over you, weight braced on one arm, looking down at you with the same burning eyes that had been watching you from across that library for the better part of an hour.
He'd shed his pants and underwear at some point. He was fully hard, thick and leaking, a bead of moisture gathered at the tip that made your stomach flip because you remembered what he'd looked like three nights ago, damp fabric, clenched jaw and eyes that couldn't look away from you.
He parted your thighs and settled between them. He'd painted you in his head a hundred times in the last three days. He kept going back to the image of you spread open and wanting, the way you'd looked when you were right at the edge. He'd tried to work through it. Picked up a brush, stared at a blank canvas, put the brush down. Made coffee. Stared at his phone. Almost texted you seventeen times.
He guided himself to your entrance, and Zayne's voice chose that exact moment to surface in his memory. "Shallow thrusts, angled up. You have to use your hips to angle the pressure up against the anterior wall with every thrust. And internal targeting alone isn't always enough. You'll need to add direct stimulation to her clitoris at the same time if you actually want her to cum."
He almost laughed. Instead he shifted his weight and looked at you with an expression that was equal parts focused and insufferable.
"I did some research..." he said.
"Raf..."
"For artistic purposes." He pressed forward, just barely, just enough to feel the heat of your pussy against the tip of his cock, and watched your face.
He let out a slow, shaking breath and pushed inside you.
The sound he made wasn't dignified. It was pulled out of him by the way you gripped him—tight and hot—your body drawing him in like it had been waiting specifically for him. He sank all the way to the hilt, pelvis pressed flush against yours, and stayed there for a moment with his forehead dropped to your shoulder and his jaw locked so hard it ached.
He needed a second. Just one second.
You were clawing at his shoulders, nails dragging, and the sting of it helped him focus.
Pull back. Shallow. Angle up. Zayne's voice was sitting in the back of his skull like an annotation in the margin of a textbook. He wanted to be annoyed about it, but not right now, he was going to be annoyed about it later. Right now he pulled back slowly, almost all the way out, felt you clench around the tip of his dick like you were trying to keep him inside, and thrusted back in with his hips tilted up.
The sound you made rattled something loose in his chest.
He felt it, the moment the angle caught, the way your whole body seized around him, legs snapping tight around his waist and heels digging into the small of his back trying to pull him deeper. He'd hit it exactly. The spot Xavier had worked open with his fingers three nights ago, and the memory of watching that—watching you cum for Xavier—made something possessive and dark curl through him.
It was his turn now.
He reached down between your bodies, fingers sliding through the slick until his thumb found your clit, swollen and twitching, and pressed down.
"Is that—" His voice broke halfway through the question. He cleared his throat, face burning. "Is that it?"
You answered by moaning his name, which he was choosing to take as a yes.
He kept the same rhythm, thumb working circles around your clit. Your walls fluttering around him in little pulses was making it extremely difficult to think. He had to remind himself several times that he was an artist. He had the patience. He was going to make you cum and squirt just like Xavier did.
His hands were shaking again.
"I've got you," he pressed his mouth to your temple, your cheek, wherever he could reach. "I've got you, I've got you, cutie"
He picked up the pace slowly, maintaining the angle through sheer stubbornness. The sounds filling the room were obscene—wet and unavoidable—and Rafayel didn't care about any of it because you were falling apart underneath him and he couldn't look away from your face.
He'd painted a lot of things. Spent years chasing the right light, the right color, the right moment that made something ordinary look like it meant something. He'd never painted anything that looked like you did right now and he was already furious at himself because he knew he would never be able to.
He drove into you harder, felt the headboard knock once against the wall, and decided he didn't care.
"You're so tight," he choked out, the words barely making it past his teeth, pressed into the wet skin of your neck. His lips dragged down to your collarbone, teeth grazing, and his thumb kept its pressure on your clit without mercy. "You keep...fuck...every time I hit it you...It feels so good"
The pressure was building fast, coiling low in your abdomen, that same terrifying weight you'd felt under Xavier's fingers—except this was different, this was Rafayel, his chest against yours and his mouth on your throat and you couldn't think about anything else.
You bore down without thinking, muscles releasing the way Zayne had told you to, pushing back against him, and Rafayel made a sound against your neck that was almost pained.
"Raf...please, I'm gonna..."
"Don't hold it, cutie. Give it to me" he whispered right against your ear.
A rush of heat soaked the sheets beneath you as you cried his name into the quiet room. Not a whisper. Not a gasp. His name, loud and completely undone.
Rafayel groaned like something in him gave way.
Whatever control he'd been holding onto—the careful rhythm, the patience, the angle, all of it, shattered the second he felt you cum around him. He buried himself as deep as he could go and followed you over the edge, shaking, both hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he poured into you in long spurts.
He collapsed onto your chest.
His heart was slamming against your ribs, your fingers were tangled in his hair from some point you couldn't remember. The room was quiet except for both of you trying to remember how lungs worked.
His lips moved against your collarbone
"I sketched you. In the library today. While you weren't looking." His fingers traced something slow and shapeless against your ribs. "You looked like you were carrying something heavy." A breath. "I wanted to take it from you.”
If you asked to be tagged and I didn't it's because I couldn't find your username. If you are not on the list and want to be tagged on the next part let me know.
The Association have been on alert—an extremely high heat detected on the outskirts of Linkon since the sun sets. The news has been raving about a monster approaching. You have to chase the monster away from the citizen!
NSFW, MDNI, Valko x reader, primal play (or not), dubcon, thriller
Been a long time since I can finish my stories here. Let’s gooo!
“Stop running!!”
You’re not sure he can hear you—the sounds of siren wailing is deafening enough in the dark night. The cars screech to halt in front of the woods.
“What should we do, senior?” One of your junior trainees watch the eerie woods in panic—they’re not yet trained for this.
You exhale, “It’s okay, just wait here. Have them check the perimeter in case he comes back.”
“Yes, senior!” The relief painted in your juniors’ eyes makes you instantly regret you rejected Xavier’s extending hand. An anomaly like this needs more than one experienced hunter.
So you chased him back into the woods, alone. You think you’re confident enough to catch him. But when you enter the deep forest, it’s his territory.
Every step you take cracks something below your boots, and the constant shift of animal in the dark just raised your adrenaline.
“It’s just an animal. Tsk.” You shift your attention to the tracks of bare footprints in the dirt.
Little do you know it’s not an animal. A pair of amber eyes glint in the shadows. He’s been lurking around you, away from your eyes. He knows the second you enter the woods, hiding like predator.
The moon is bigger than usual—twisting his personality to somewhat wild and feral. The monster within comes out on the shadows.
“Woman.” The sound raspy, heavy.
You gasp, body turning toward the source of sound, hands already wielding your hunter gun, pointing at… nothing. Only the dark trees shifting in the wind.
“You! Stop hiding and come out!” You scream, and it echoes.
“Are you sure you can take me?” He whispers, almost growling in your ear this time.
Your reflex wants to shoot him but you can’t—he’s gone again.
“Don’t play around with me!”
“Hahahaha…” The laughter sounds like going further away.
“Damn it, when I get you…!” You run and chase the sound leading to a stump in the middle of a clearing. The moonlight shines on the stump. You got heavy breathing, pissed off at your target’s antics.
You remember the mission given to you earlier today at the headquarters. A high-priority alert had flashed in your screen, warning that a dangerous monster has entered Linkon outskirts. The association ordered you to catch the anomaly before it threatens the peace of Linkon. The picture they sent depicts a blurry portrait of a man with red hair, but what’s distinct was the tail and two wolf ears. You had thought it would be an easy capture, but you completely underestimated him.
“Shit…” you pulled your wet hair back, sitting cause you’re dead tired, chasing him for 5 whole hours. Your chest heaving in the quiet, eerie night.
And he pounce, sending the gun far into the darkness in the process. The air leaves your lungs. You don’t have a second to respond and he pins you on the large stump.
“You!!” You growled in anger.
“You keep calling me ‘you’. I have a name, you know.” He grins. “Valko.”
His wolf ears and nose twitching, pupils widen until the gold rings almost disappear. “Wait.. what is this scent—“
“Let go of me!” You squirm, but clearly he overpowers you.
“You…” he growls, putting his nose against your neck. He inhales deeply, and the sound transitions to something rough and low it doesn’t belong to human throat, “you smells so nice.”
He rips your uniform in a heartbeat—the claws and speed of a monster. The cold air hits your skin, but you fight back. Reaching blindly to your boot, your fingers lock around a hidden silver dagger. With an angry cry, you drive the blade upward, slashing a thin line along his jaw. Valko hisses in pain, his head snapping back as dark blood falls from the cut. The sudden shift gives you the momentum, you plant your boot firmly to his stomach and push, successfully rolling out from under him.
You scramble to your feet, breathing raggedly while covering your chest. But Valko doesn't look angry, his eyes wide, then he grins wildly. Before you can even lift your weapon again, he moves like a blur in the dark. A heavy blow strikes your wrist, sending the dagger flying to the bushes. He pins you back down on the large stump, locking both of your hands with one palm high above your head.
“Gh…! Let me go!!” You try to use your power but not only you’ve been exhausted from the earlier chase, but he’s stronger, crushing your energy before it can form.
Then he lunges and bites your neck, sinking his teeth on your skin—marking you. The bite burns like liquid fire but not enough to tear your skin.
“Aah…!” You can’t move, you’re afraid his canine will tear your pulse. “Get off me!”
“No.” He growls, his eyes locked on you now, like in a trance, then moving to your breasts and down there where you defensively close with your thighs.
He grins, eyes wide. “mine.”
He pulls apart your knees with his big palm and his knees, slipping through your thighs. You thrashed beneath him, your legs flailing hitting his hard back, but he doesn’t even flinch. His thick wolf tail wraps around your ankle, anchoring you completely to the wood.
“Yeah.. I don’t like my woman weak.” He chuckles, “You’ll be a great fit.”
He leans down, teeth biting your hardened nipple after exposed to cool air, making you cry out with the sudden pressure of his teeth. He never breaks eye contact as his rough tongue licks your swollen peak, flooding your senses and your insides.
“You!!”
“You again. ‘Valko’.”
He continues to tease you without mercy. His palm sliding down to your thigh, calloused fingers finding your clit then rub and pinch roughly, pairing the friction with his warm tongue lapping at your neck wound. The sensory overload and his heavy pheromones completely break your control.
“Uhmm…!”
You never give up to try to get away, but when his long fingers enter your cunt he smirks—he knows he hit the spot when you roll your hips chasing his fingers. Your angry words turn into broken hitches until you’re sobbing wet and crying out for release.
“Patience, I got you.”
He releases your hands and unbuckles his pants, his cock springs out. Fat and long, mapped with veins and big on the tip, the whole length bigger than you’ve ever seen.
“No, no, it won’t fit—“
“They will.”
He holds your waist, his grip bruising as he drives his massive cock inside, opening your folds apart, stretching it to the absolute limit. Your eyes fly wide, your spine arching completely off the tree stump as the breath catches hard in your throat.
“Oh, fffucckk…!!”
In this position, you notice the stark difference in your height, how he could easily envelop you and devour you should he ever want to. Somehow that makes your insides clenching harder.
“You like it.” He grins, eyes wide, “I knew it. My mate.”
Your eyes shot at him, “No, I’m not! Mmm…!!”
“You are. Can’t you see how mine fits you like this?” He slams harder, a punishing rhythm, making your whole body shakes, breasts dancing up and down as his cock rearranges your insides. The rough bark of the stump scrapes against your back with every thrust. You wince.
His nose twitch, “Blood. Tch. You gotta tell me if this position hurts you.”
What the hell? You twisted—
He lifts your body without breaking contact. You coil your arms around his neck, legs locked around his hips. The gravity makes each thrust deeper, the feeling of fullness you never experienced before, sending your head back as you cry out in pleasure.
“Tell me,” he grips hard, pounds even harder. Once he learns the right angle to your sensitive spot by looking at the changes in your expression, he hits the spot harder. “Who’s fucking you right now? Whose dick is inside your tight, sobbing pussy?”
“You… Valko… nngh, fuckk!” Your eyes roll back, turning white.
“Yes. Woman, you’re mine from now on!”
With a final possessive growl, he moves frantic. At the peak, the base of his shaft swells rapidly, the knot locking him firmly and deeply inside your body, filling your womb with his release. You’re completely full and trapped, and the overwhelming feeling sends a violent tremor through you, making you release with a loud cry.
For a few minutes, the clearing is quiet, filled only with heavy breathing. Your eyes locked on his, you notice how the pupils strarts to shrink over time. He press his forehead pressed to yours, savoring your scent mixed with his, letting out a breath of relief.
When the knot recedes, Valko pulls out with a wet slide. He leans down, pressing a quick, firm kiss on your bruised lips. He takes off his top, throwing it to your body.
“You’ll need it,” he whispers. He pauses at the edge of the clearing, his amber eyes glowing softly as he looks back over his shoulder. “Rest well, woman. I'm coming back for you."
Before you can even pull the warm shirt over your shoulders, he vanishes the deep forest, his trace disappearing completely under the fading light of the Supermoon.
I’m so late to this.. ugh but still—BRINGBACKVALKO!
