Wolfie

Rafayel/Sylus drabble

A/N: make way, make way, desk imma be banged on coming through!!!!

(smut warning)

Rafayel

Your body tenses up, your cunt clenching rythemicly around his cocks.

You are on your back, legs locking around his waist, digging into his lower back, pulling him deeper inside your cunt, as if it was possible.

His cocks kiss your cervix with each thrust, stretching you impossibly wide.

Eyes roll back, back arching. His goans fill your ears, face buried in your breasts as he does. Hands exploring your body.

His fingers toy with your clit and you cry out, “Oh God!”

He chuckles, biting your neck playfully.

“Yes, my beautiful devotee, cry for me.”

Sylus

Face pressed into soft dirt you let out painful sound of pleasure

Pathetic little “Ah- ah- ah-” mixed with his grunting.

You can’t breathe, at the force he takes you with, his cocks fill you completely, feeling them rub together on the muscles that separated your entrances.

His claws dig into your hips, leaving bloody trails as he drags them down your thighs.

A mewl leaves your lips at the feeling, “Oh God!”

A chuckle, then a claw grips your throat tight, voice a rough growl. Animalistic.

Sylus drabble

a/n: I remember how much this desk chair made people cry 👉👈

The N109 zone wasn’t for flowers. No matter how hard Sylus tried, he couldn’t make them grow.

All he wanted was to remind you of your life when you were with him, and he knew how much you still loved your flowers. He wanted to give you the world.

But the flowers wouldn’t grow. No matter how hard he tried, they never bloomed.

“They just don’t bloom at this time.”

But the time never came.

You found his secret garden before it was ready, before it could ever be ready.

Baren lands don’t bear flowers. They don’t bear hope. You’d heard him whisper.

When he found you there, the look in his eyes might haunt you forever—the sadness in them, fear, embarrassment—that he couldn’t bear you flowers.

The next day, you show up at the base with your hands behind your back and a gentle smile on your face.

When you are alone, you bring your hands forward. And Sylus laughs, he tilts his head back and laughs, rich, joyous, deep, tears lining those crimson eyes of his from the roar.

Paper origami flowers. Fucking paper.

You approach him, “Would you like some flowers?” You ask in a soft whisper, sitting on the sofa beside him, legs thrown over his.

His breath hitches when you pin a red flower above his left ear, smiling.

A Sylus drabble

A/N: Don't mind me just moving the furniture into my new house >.<

His hands always smell like soap when you see him, your favourite kind.

You love his hands, pressing your nose into him to inhale his smell, mixed with the soap.

They touch you so gently, that you would never guess how brutally they handled a deal right before you said you were coming over.

The Onychinus base was a blood bath but you’d never know that.

He holds you close, his rough hands soft in your hair as you sit together on his bed, you tell him about the gift vouchers you won at a random event at a mall. How you can go win bigger plushies in return, how you two should totally go together. While cuddling a crow plushie to your body, one he only brought out for you.

His hands are all over you, from your hair to your cheeks to neck, over your arms, waist, hips, down to your thighs and gripping your calves. He just enjoys touching you.

His hands hold you like you are his world—because you are—his most precious treasure. Something he needs to protect from how he is when you’re not there.

His hands smell like soap to drown out the coppery tang of blood. His hands smell like soap to drown out the monster he is, the one that’s needed to survive in the N109 zone.

His hands are clean when you are near, and so is his soul. You are all he needs, there is no guilt or pain as long as you look up at him, smiling, with those eyes of yours meeting his, chatting animated about anything and everything.

You can’t sit still, that’s his only complaint, but his bed is big enough for you to be rolling about as you talk. Though when he’s had enough, red and black mists shoot out, making you sit in his lap so he can bury his face in your chest, feeling the racing of your heart at the closeness.

He loves how you react to him, how you lean into him—makes him feel like you need him just as much as he needs you.

Everything else is just a building, walls, bricks, cement. You are home, you are his heart. The only one who gets to see his eyes soften.

You tell him you love how pretty his eyes are, they soften further, because he knows they’re only pretty for you. All for you. All of him is yours.

All his lives, every single one of them. You came to him, naturally drawn, your spirits kindred. You were meant to be. Your wrists hum and lock against each other by your own bodies, how they sense you belong together.

How perfect you are that he would risk everything, his own life included, for you. To see your smile, to see the way your eyes light up.

This place is yours. As you bury yourself in his chest, feeling his own heart race for you. His body covers yours fully.

To protect you, to keep you safe.

HI HIIIII

>.<