#nova writing

Though letting himself into your apartment like this was nothing new, had become a part of your routine for months at this point, if you're honest, there was something that had been feeling different about Valko's visits to you lately. Less vexing and more… comforting.

An increased awareness of him, maybe? The sound of his voice. His size. The way his laugh and personality managed to fill the room more than his bulky body. Of the way he always tripped over your living room rug or tried to sneak a rub of his scent into every pillow. Of the way he stood so close when he spoke to you, capturing you in the sweet honey of his eyes.

It was something warm that pulsed in your chest, something intimate that had started to hook your gaze to his mouth and magnetize your palms to his skin even today, when you're at your lowest.

His right ear twitches at the sound of his name as he grabs your phone from the floor, a crease of distaste scrunching his nose when he clicks on the screen to stop the noise and tsks, "Looks like my 'dogs are better than cats' speech needs some work."

"Maybe I'll be more in the mood to hear you out–" you take your phone back and set it on the table with a huff, "–when my 'please use the damn front door' speech finally penetrates that thick skull of yours."

A crooked grin scrawls over his face. The pointed tips of his incisors reflecting the dim light of the small lamp you'd flicked on purely to save you from feeling like a complete gremlin while you moped this evening.

"Gonna tell you the same thing I tell Ma every time she says that." He unfurls from the crouching position he'd been in and drops his weight beside you, making your normally sizeable loveseat suddenly feel cramped. "Processing info is for the ears, not the skull."

Resting your cheek in your palm, you narrow your eyes at him with a considering hum.

"What?" Your uninvited houseguest turns to face you, eliciting a concerning creak from the loveseat as his knee comes up to rest on the cushion and his arm drapes over the back. An oversized paw just shy of brushing your shoulder. "What d'you mean, 'hm?'"

"Trespasser, jumpscaring people, terrible manners, and a smart ass to your mother?" You note each transgression by holding up a finger. "No wonder you're always prowling around Linkon alone."

"Hey, hey! Woah, woah, hold on." His hand darts forward, covering yours like it'll hide the evidence. "No– I mean– sure I may be some of those things, but trust me," he puts one of your fingers down and leans forward, another sad groan coming from below the cushion as he rests his elbow on his knee. "I wouldn't be sitting here, or hanging out with you – or breathing – if I were a smart ass to my mother."

Despite yourself, you feel the corner of your lip twitch, the closest you’ve come to a smile all day.

It surprises you how naturally it comes, how much lighter you feel, as you take in his easy grin, his warm palms, his artless gaze. Makes you worry that you're becoming used to this feeling, to something you might be misreading.

"Why?"

"Well, she has this really brutal way of grabbing you by the ear and–"

"No–" the word dissolves on a giggle that has both his ears twitching and an expression you can't quite interpret crossing his face. "I mean, why are you sitting here? Hanging out with me?"

"Oh. I kind of–" He stops, a hint of pink creeping onto his cheeks as he looks down at your still-linked hands. "I mean, I sorta felt like something was… off. With you." You're suddenly glad for the loss of his gaze as he starts to fiddle with your fingers, pressing the pads of his fingers to the tops of your nails as if to test their sharpness. "It's like a.. tug?"

Your mind races with panic as you realize just how much your attraction to him has been tugging at you over his last few visits. "Are you saying that with this– this bond or whatever, you can feel my emotions?"

"Nah, it's not like that." You hope he can't see the stark relief in your gaze when his eyes meet yours again, letting go of your hand to press a palm to the center of his chest. "It's not emotions that call me, it's, well… you. Calling me, that is. Needing me. Or, pulling at me, more like."

Your brows arc upward. "Like a leash?"

His head shoots back dramatically, paired with a groan that sounds almost as distressed as the loveseat still suffering under his weight. "Mercy, little hellion. Let a man keep at least a little dignity." He shakes his head with a bark of self-deprecating laughter. "But yeah. You've got me leashed up good. Happy?"

His question is gentle but pointed, hopeful. His frame still leaning over you, an umbrella shielding you from the sadness and negativity that have been pelting you all day.

Your chest warms at the sight, making it all the harder to respond with a sad smile and the shake of your head as the all the reasons you're not happy come flooding back.

"Alright," he says easily, unphased and unrelenting. A considering look enters his eyes. "Just means I've gotta take more drastic measures here."

In a blur of movements you barely have time to process, he turns his back to you, kicks off his boots – an oddly polite gesture that has you reconsidering just how serious he was about that leash comment – and flops backward. The broad span of his shoulders forces your bent knees down to accommodate the weight of his head as it nestles into your thighs.

"V-Valko! What are you doing?" you stutter, heartbeat galloping as the scent of amber and pine and him wash over you. His ear twitches as he takes your awkwardly hovering hands, placing one behind the wolf ear on his right and the other behind the human ear on his left.

"There," he says with a wiggle of his shoulders, like your thighs are a pillow he's nestling into.

When he notices your hands haven't budged, he gives you an expectant look, nudging the sides of his head into your palms until your lips twitch and your fingers start to move.

"This is your drastic measure?"

He hums in response, eyelashes fluttering as your nails scrape gently over a rose-coloured mix of silky hair and plush fur.

"And this is supposed to…" The question trails off but your hands continue.

He shrugs, the heat of his shoulders anchoring your thighs as one of his arms sneaks around your waist.

"I dunno, distract you? Annoy you, comfort you, take your pick." His eyes lock onto yours, sincere, earnest. "Whatever you need."

The combination of his touch and his words act like a stick of dynamite, blasting through the boulder of tension and worry that's been sitting on your chest all day.

You take a deep breath as he sighs in what you instinctually know is relief. And for the first time since he's mentioned this "bond" of yours, you think, maybe this thing goes both ways.

The thought that you might be starting to figure him out as well as he always seems to understand you brings a small smile to your face.

His lips mirror yours. "That's what I like to see," he says, voice low.

You roll your eyes and flick his ear to disguise the way your stomach flips when the praise rumbles through your thighs, flexing them to jostle him and joke, "What? Me being suffocated?"

His finger comes up to tap the end of your nose with a self-assured grin. "Stop pretending you dont like it, I saw that weighted blanket on your bed." You're not sure if it's you or the loveseat that squeaks when he tugs you into his face and nuzzles into your stomach. "Wanna tell me what's got you down?"

There's something about Valko's bluntness, about his willingness to tackle everything head-on, that catches you more off-guard than his casual and abundant displays of affection ever do. It's straightforward, without artifice. And though there's no hesitation in his request, there's somehow no pressure in it either. As if no response you give him could ever result in offense or resentment or awkwardness, making it feel like the most natural thing in the world to tell the unvarnished truth.

So you do.

"It's just… everything? I don't know, it's all piling up. Like, there's work, lack of sleep, friends I'm not keeping up with, not to mention the general state of the world."

You pause, finding his attentive gaze already on you when you look down to see if you're making any sense. He nods encouragingly, the ears on his head twitching in unison like an attentive audience.

"So I guess I've just been thinking about it all and it feels a little overwhelming. Right here." You press a hand to your chest. "And… heavy, I guess. Like–" You raise a pointed brow. "Like getting crushed by a giant mutt on my own sofa."

His jaw drops in dramatic affront. “You– did you just-” He snaps into a sitting position, your loveseat groaning in despair before he points a finger at himself, as if there could be anyone else you were talking about. “Mutt?! Oh you just crossed a line, you hellion.”

Any response you might’ve had morphs into a high-pitched squeal as you’re scooped up by a muscular arm and thrown over his shoulder.

“Valko! What are you doing? Put me down,” you manage through giggles and laughter as he hauls you to the bedroom with what sounds like a muttered 'I’ll show you a giant mutt.'

You land on the mattress with a breathless oomph, the stray laughs bubbling from your throat feeling foreign but welcome as Valko descends over your figure in an army crawl, finally stopping when you're nose to nose.

Your chests meet on each breath as he reaches up to brush hair from your face. His eyes seem more yellow than amber in the dim light, like marigolds, and you can't think of anything more fitting for the resilient, protective man above you.

"Hi," you breathe, grinning wide.

"Hello, gorgeous," he murmurs, darting a glance at your lips that has your heartbeat pounding against your ribs.

The shadow of his tail swishes behind him as he lowers his weight onto you, fitting his body over yours in a way that anchors and comforts you rather than stifles you.

"Better?" He mumbles into your neck, the heat of his breath awakening gooseflesh over your collarbones. "You know, now that you've made my pedigree your punching bag?"

"Yeah, actually," you realize with a giggle, fingers brushing over the soft bristles of his undercut. "I do."

You haven't laughed this much in a while. In fact, despite being pinned under the heaviest man you know, you haven't felt this light for a few weeks now, you think, which was… the last time he visited you. You close your eyes briefly, mourning the loss of your sanity at the realization that he was right earlier. You had needed him.

"Then listen to me real quick." Your hand slips to his jaw when he raises his head, his smile smaller, his eyes intent. "Next time you feel overwhelmed, or if it's all feeling like too much, you don't have to isolate yourself, or doomscroll, or muscle through it alone. I know I look like I'm all brains but I can help carry things. So just call me, yeah?"

You smile, agreeing with a small nod, pausing before you joke, "With the leash?"

"Okay, who's the smart ass now?" he mutters with a shake of his head, crooked grin back in place. "I meant with a phone. But the leash works too, I guess."

"What's it like?" you ask, curious for the first time since you've learned of it.

"The bond?" His eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips, a knuckle tracing your cheek. "It's like one of those less traveled paths in the woods. Barely visible to the naked eye, but once you find it and start walking on it, everything starts to feel… right."

"Your chest gets really warm and you have this zappy feeling in your gut." His lips tip up in a faraway smile as his eyes follow the path his knuckle makes over your ear, your neck, your collarbones. "Everything feels possible when it's there. Lighter. And when it's gone? Anything you do feels wrong. Empty."

"But…" You swallow past the heartbeat in your throat. "I thought you couldn't feel my emotions," you protest weakly.

A spark ignites in his eyes, electric enough to charge the air between you as his expression morphs into what you can only identify as a primal satisfaction. He inhales deeply, as if he's trying to memorize the scent of this moment, holding your gaze as his eyelids lower.

"I can't," he breathes, so close his nose brushes against yours when he shakes his head. "Those were all mine."

Your lips part, tongue hovering in wait between your teeth as his palm comes up under your chin, fingers settling on both sides of your jaw to draw you in. Your eyes shut as his lips descend over yours, and despite the warmth of his palm, the first brush of his tongue feel like being doused in flame. You wrap your arms around his neck on a moan, humming when he tilts your head to lick into your mouth again and again.

"Valko." The soft, fuzzy sensation of his buzzed hair grazes your knuckles and he sighs into your mouth, as if you're breathing life back into him with the sound of his name.

You take the chance to nip at his lip, holding it hostage between yours until he answers in kind. The sharpness of his teeth like bee stings on your mouth, soothed only by the sweet honey of a tongue that's licking, tasting, consuming the flushed skin between your lips and your throat.

His body sinks into yours, each of his muscles and contours taking shape around yours like heated metal, a weapon being forged for its master, its weight the heaviest thing you'll ever have to carry again.

➻➻ MORE VALKO

NOTE: They can take my undomesticated wolf man from me in the game but he will live on as a terrible house guest in my delusions forever xoxo

Even through the aches, you feel the sacred weight of the place pressing down, and for a blessed few seconds, your world is reduced to the hush of this temple's inner sanctum and the sounds of your breathing.

The temple is colder tonight, the silence pressing close to your lungs. You’ve walked these halls before, sometimes with nothing but bruises, sometimes with shallow cuts and scrapes. And yet it has always welcomed you, if not with his company then with his silent, omniscient presence.

This time, you sense him before you fully see him: a shape unfolding from a shadow by the altar, a silhouette that seems to reflect the firelight rather than absorb it. He's outlined against white marble. Someone who looks like a man, but has the power of a god. One that has been summoned by many but understood by none.

He watches you with patient composure, eyes like the depths of a lush forest in the night. Your injuries are more brazen on your skin than usual, and for a beat, he studies them with an intense, almost wrathful expression.

He's clothed in silks the color of polished garnet and cream ivory. Gold drapes his musculature and contours as if he were an offering himself rather than the receiver of them. Delicate chains pour down his arms, heavy strands resting across the sides of his bared chest, dipping under the cut of his pectorals. His arms, encased in skeletal-shaped gold, gleam with a divine elegance, the design covering his forearms and hands as though metallic bone has grown over flesh.

“Back so soon,” he observes before his eyes deliberately scan your person. "But this-" he continues, his voice echoing in an empty room, accusatory but also strangely… tender. "-this is worse than the other times."

You continuously come to this temple to be unmade and remade. As aggressor and injured, as blasphemer and supplicant, as somebody who knows the ledger of debts owed to gods and also knows how to tally the offerings. You usually offer him the necessary things: the melodious hymn from the back of your throat, out-of-season herbs and blooms, incense and animal bones, valuables that you've pilfered from your quarry. In exchange, he's offered you and your injuries time and sanctuary from a world out to get you.

“I had nowhere else.” You force yourself nearer, seeking the familiarity of these walls, the safety of his healing, divine presence, even as your bruises ache and your pulse flutters like a candle flame.

He steps closer as well, and where he moves, shapes dance across marble walls until you watch his shadow become one with your own. He places his hand over an abrasion on your chin, and the touch is paradoxically calming and electrifying. His power shimmers over your exposed skin, and the ache of the scrape is wiped away.

Something like curiosity flickers across his face. “There are gods who mend. Why do you not seek them? Why choose a god on the path of destruction?”

"Because you've never turned anyone away." You answer with the simple truth. "Because you've never turned me away.

"You romanticize the power I wield." He shakes his head, insistent fingers moving to soothe another cut on your arm. "Nothing any god offers is without a price."

"And yet." You close your eyes only long enough to savour the warmth of his hand. "You’re the only one I’d be willing to pay that price to."

He studies you for a long moment, the candlelight illuminating the swipe of red darkening his cheeks.

“You know the cost.” His hand hovers near the deepest wound on your clavicle, the one painting your hand the colour of his sash. “Destruction cannot be undone without an offering."

“I know, I've thought of that. I have nothing of worth to give.” Your voice is quiet but steady. “But I can offer you myself.”

His features harden, and his words resound with divine command even as the words themselves are downright petulant when he says, “No. I will not allow any more of your blood to be spilled.”

“Yes. You don't need my blood. My body is just as valuable. I am worthy in my own right,” you counter, your voice rising with a resolve that surprises even you. “I've decided that I will bind myself to you. I will learn your rites, keep your altar. I will nurture worshippers of you, and I will be the protector of this temple. I will become the priestess of the God of Annihilation.”

His gaze intensifies again, green flickering in the torchlight as something possessive flashes across his gaze. “You speak with the certainty of one who understands the shape of devotion. Show me your determination to bind yourself to me,” he challenges.

His eyes follow you as you move with confidence, with certainty and purpose for the first time since you were cast away, and you feel the weight of his expectation. His regard. His... reverence.

The torchlight refracts off the rippling surface of the water in the center of the temple, where a circular blossom-speckled pool shimmers in muted torchlight. At the base of it sits a wheel of fate, its spokes etched with symbols that seem to shift when you glance at them, a reminder that every destiny is fluid in this place.

You wade through the lukewarm pool, reach the stone wheel, and place your hands upon it, feeling a molten heat surge through you. The exact moment you gasp at the sensation, the water around you ripples, and his presence envelops you. A mirror image of your shadows on the wall. It's so quick that it makes your chest flutter. And you wonder if he is as eager as you to bind you to him. If this is his quiet way of making sure you don’t change your mind.

A combination of hot skin and cold metal descends your shoulder blades and back to the base of your spine. The warm water laps gently against your thighs, heating the sensitive space between them.

"Do you understand the covenant you are about to make?" His hands hover around yours, tracing the rim of the wheel, lighting the runes there. “That your body, your soul, will be offered to this altar. And to me?”

"I do." You exhale slowly, letting the heat of the water and the pull of him ground you in this act of transcendence. “Carve my fate into yours." A demand and an offering all at once.

Turning toward him, you try to add the words that would seal it, a litany, a rite of passage for anyone giving themselves to a god’s service. But before they can leave your lips, his mouth is on yours, claiming it with a hunger that is almost devout in its gentleness. A strong arm presses you closer and, careful to avoid the injury on your jaw, he tilts your head, deepening the kiss so that every gasp, every heartbeat, becomes part of this consecration.

Your hands grasp at the cloth and chains over his heart, and his hands push through the soaked sashes pooling at your hips. The warmth hits you at the same time his palm squeezes your inner thigh, causing you to shiver.

Heat and want are already pooling in your stomach, and even if you had any protests, they would've shattered around the moan you release when two of his fingers slowly slide through your slick with ease and hook perfectly up into your spot. Knees buckling at the combination of his thick fingers and the ridged skeletal jewelry penetrating you, you break your kiss to steady yourself against the wheel and pant uneven breaths over your hands, which press into the glowing runes in the stone.

He doesn't stop, though, continuing to leave his mark on you while drawing his gilded fingers in and out. Branding his lips and teeth and mouth into the space beneath your ear, the skin stretched over your thudding pulse, across the small scrape on your shoulder, down your shoulder blade, sucking your skin into his mouth with deliberate, claiming pressure. Every score of his teeth, every hot tremble of his breath leaves you shaking as your inner walls tighten around him.

Unexpectedly, he stops, eliciting a pleading whine from your throat. Removing his fingers to turn you around, he cradles you in his arms in the water, his height arching your back over the shimmering light of the runes behind you. One of his hands supports your neck and head, while the other presses into your collarbone, tracing over the healed, un-bloodied skin, where your deepest injury had marred you only a few minutes ago.

“These waters are not intended to cleanse you.” He rasps, stroking his fingers against your skin and gazing deep into your eyes. “These waters will stain you. They will mark you as mine.”

You nod, words falling apart with each inhale and exhale.

"Not in the name of your worship." His hand disappears below the water and starts to move, and you only realize what's happening when you feel a silky hardness ten times hotter than the water around you align with your center. "But in the name of our fate."

He thrusts forward in one fluid motion, every contour and ridge filling you entirely. The stretch is so overwhelming, it knocks the breath right out of your lungs as you close your eyes and let yourself ascend. Let yourself become one with a god.

"Not in the name of the holy," he groans as he drives himself in once and slowly drags himself back out, making choppy waves ripple in the pool over and over and over again until you hear a keening whimper slither its way out of your throat, the sound only muffling when his lips find their way back to yours. "But in the name of our desires."

"Not in the name of the gods," he whispers into your throat, biting the skin above your jewelry and then sucking it to soothe it. "But in the name of me."

He completes the last word on another hard, deliberate thrust, tearing your body and your shout open in the most devastatingly exquisite way that has you bearing even more of your throat to his searing mouth.

Every drag of him inside you is a stretch that has your body burning and pleading for more, even as it starts to shiver from the sheer force of the sensation. Pleasure curls low in your belly, so tight and sharp it feels like it could consume you whole.

This is the culmination of every one of your meetings in the shadows of this temple. The nights you stumbled here, bruised and desperate. The way he'd always whisper your name, like all the prayers he'd heard for his own. The nights when you swore you saw hunger burning in his eyes before he turned away. All of those fragments and stolen moments now converge here, carved into you with each slow roll of his hips, with each kiss that leaves your lips raw and sanctified.

But as his slow, worshipful pace continues to drag on, your patience, in turn, continues to break. Every part of your body, every crevice, every vein, every pore has become a chalice overflowing with electrifying pressure until your hands are forced to ease it. With a frustrated moan, you rip your nails from the skin of his back, forcefully grab his hips, and start trying to push them into you at the pace you need.

You’re thwarted and punished for your impudence almost instantly, one of his hands snapping around your wrists and pinning them hard to the stone as his weight bears down on you, the contours of his biceps swelling with restrained force. The glowing runes flare and cast their light into his eyes, turning his gaze molten gold as it fixes on you, unyielding.

He leans in, voice a sharp blade against your lips. “Impatient,” he admonishes, and you realize his punishment is far from over when the movement of his cock inside you stops.

He presses himself closer until the shape of the jewels on his chest presses cool indents into the fiery heat of your exposed skin. “I will take care of you from now on.”

Air leaves you in ragged bursts; sobs tear out of you between gasps, raw and hungry as you nod obediently.

"Say it," he whispers, strands of his hair falling like sheets of silk around you, closing you in with him like a confessional.

"You will take care of me," you pant, more plea than agreement.

“That’s such an innocent way to say it,” he says, voice softening with a new, almost playful edge. “But you’re far from innocent, aren’t you?” The fingers of one hand tighten around your wrists, a reminder of consequences and claim, as his other thumb drags across the pulse under your jaw. “Tell me you want me to own you.”

You do everything in your power not to move your hips yourself, not to give in to the friction your body craves. Every nerve is tingling, every breath ragged and desperate, and oxygen stumbles in your throat. “I want you to own me,” you finally manage.

For a moment, he simply holds you, his chest rising, the wet heat of his skin against your cheek, then a small, almost tender sound leaves him. “Yes,” he breathes, as if confirming something he’s been waiting to hear.

Then, finally, his hips start moving again. You whimper in veneration as his cock slips in and out of you in hard, fast, relentless thrusts that create the exact rhythm your body had been begging for.

Relief and need coil together in your stomach as tightly as he coils himself around you, letting go of your wrists to shield your back from being scraped on the stone with one forearm while driving your hips back and forth along his length with the other.

You shiver against him, tearing off gold chains one by one as you claw your way to his skin, offering yourself fully. Each mark and scrape of your nails is a prayer etched into the body of the divine.

Fiery heat begins to gather in your belly again, spreading throughout your body. You feel the heat of your wetness cut through the lukewarm water, your own arousal trickling into the sacred pool that your bodies are submerged in.

“I waited for you,” you whisper against his mouth, as you took everything he had to give. 

Claim me. Make me yours. Bind me to you forever. 

“Of course you did," he coos. "You could never take care of yourself as well as a god can.”

He angles your hips further, and suddenly, he's brushing against a little gathering of sensitive nerves, and you are screaming into the softness of his throat as your orgasm rips through you without warning, evidence of your ecstasy spilling from all sides of you.

You babble incoherently, unsure if you're even conscious, or if you've slipped into a permanent state of bliss. Crying, sobbing. Clawing his robes. Trembling uncontrollably, like a leaf enduring hurricane winds. 

He holds you through the tremors, both of you slick and shining, bodies pressed together as the heat and devotion settle. And there, in the deepest part of you, he spills his seed. It fills you to the brim, and you welcome it.

It's otherworldly. Supernatural. Transcendental. 

Slowly, you feel the results of your ritual, the mixture of your arousal and his seed, spill from within you into the sacred pool, all baptized together into the altar, a living testament of the covenant you had just forged.

You leave yourself, exit your body, ascend until you find yourself observing the moment from above. The way you tremble beneath Zayne, the God of Annihilation, the one you've given your mind, body, and soul to. The one you will belong to for all eternity. 

And you smile.

Which means that any of the arguments or protests that you attempt to make to ease his burden and return home are met with raised brows, shushes, "don't even think about it, pip-squeak,"s and, on one of his more persuasive occasions, a Shut Up Kiss.

So, to make Caleb happy in his endeavor to make you happy, you stay.

It's why you’re fine waking the next morning to a bed Caleb never slept in. Why you’re fine making yourself only one portion from all the meal provisions he'd bought for you both to have. Why you’re fine texting him throughout the day and calling him when he’s finally having dinner far too late into the night.

But everything about the situation becomes decidedly not fine the next morning when you awake to Caleb sliding into bed with messy hair and weary eyes. Pressing a kiss into your shoulder and giving you an exhausted smile that unravels as he forms the words, "Goin’ to need to leave again later today." He nuzzles into the skin of your neck and breathes you in. "Just wanted t’see you.”

No, there's nothing fine about this at all, you conclude as you reassure him with a kiss to the jaw and settle back into the pillows, your mind humming with ideas of how you might be able to get your week with Caleb back on track.

Because unfortunately for Caleb, there’s only one thing that you take seriously.

And that’s his happiness.

By the time you’re at the station with him, waiting for the Coelum Express to take him away from you, you’ve plotted and schemed at least a dozen ideas – ranging from calling Jenna to get yourself added to the mission to kidnapping Liam (not your finest work) – discarding them all after realizing none of them would lead to another Fleet officer taking over Caleb’s mission.

When the train pulls in, you’ve all but given up, left with the only thing still in your arsenal: negotiation.

As the platform buzzes with movement and Caleb lets go of your hand to join the fray, you move in behind him, slip your hands into his front pockets, and press the words "take me with you" into his shoulder blades.

His chuckle ripples through your body. “As much as I want you to follow me everywhere I go, pips, I don't think I can make it work this time."

You glance down at the bag in his other hand and huff, "What do you mean, I could totally fit into your bag. Or! Maybe I can be your adjutant again."

Shaking his head, his free hand slides into his pocket behind yours, giving it a squeeze. "Yeah, because that worked so well for us last time." He steps out of your arms and turns around, taking back the hand he let go. "You hate it when I tell you what to do. Besides, you already track my location. That should be more than enough to assure you I'm doin' just fine."

You gust out a put-upon sigh. "I guess I'll spend my night playing that new game you bought for us. And watching your little location bubble fly around Linkon."

"See? You'll have a great night. And if I play my cards right, I might be able to make it home in time to cook us dinner tomorrow." He tugs your hand up, a silent signal for you rise up onto your toes and give him a kiss, and takes a few steps back across the now-empty platform. "Just don't forget to eat tonight. You always forget when you're gaming."

And it isn't until he's 30 feet away from you, about to be the last person on the platform to step onto the train, turning around with a tired but cheeky grin and calling out a "Be good! Don't set anything on fire" – that inspiration finally strikes.

You sigh happily when the buzz of your phone awakens you to the notifications of Caleb's onslaught of texts and calls.

You giggle at the bowl you're whisking eggs in when your phone beeps with a location notification, indicating Caleb's is back in Skyhaven.

You bite your lip when you hear the entryway keypad, garnishing two plates of breakfast with spring onions.

You smile out the window when you feel the floor vibrate with the force of the slamming door, his growled, "pips, you have some serious explaining to-" stopping itself on the other side of the kitchen right as he does.

You inhale a shaky breath when the weight of Caleb's gaze strokes over your mostly bared skin, moving and arranging dirty dishes nonsensically as a strangled, whimpering sound bounces down each vertebrae of your naked spine and ends at the apron's knot resting on your tailbone.

You blush furiously when you turn to face him, steeling your spine and your nerves to casually pop a hip out and ask innocently, "What do you need me to explain?"

"You, uh… you," he runs a hand through his disheveled hair, giving you a second to take in his wrinkled tee and jeans, no uniform in sight.

Muttering a quiet fuck, he clenches his jaw, stalks toward you, and sets you on the counter by your hips, ignoring the hiss you let out as the cold marble prickles along your bare bottom to accuse, "You set off my fire alarms."

You nod, unable to help the smug, seductive smile that pulls at your lips when you realize this is the first time he's looked you in the eye since he entered the kitchen. It grows when you realize he still hasn't removed his grip from your bare hips, the fabric of your apron's ties bisecting his palms.

"Then," he continued, "when the app told me it was a false alarm, and I started textin' and calling you a minimum of 100 times, all you sent back was 'I didn't set anything on fire.' Fire emoji."

Unable to find any falsehoods in his words, you settle your hands along the indents of his clavicles and start to trace your thumbs along his adams apple, admitting, "I did."

"Yes, you did! You-" Caleb's protest withers in his throat, "Just to be clear, you aren't denying you did it on purpose?"

"No." Your hands make their way up, until your thumbs reach the delicate undercarriage of his jaw. "You gave me the idea, actually."

"I gave you…" Your hands move with his throat when he swallows, tracks his gaze over what the gaping fabric of the loose apron reveals only to shoot them back up to the ceiling to groan out, "Why? How?"

Suddenly, this close, you see how exhausted Caleb looks. The faint bruising beneath his eyes standing out, the tight set of his mouth slackening. The weight in his shoulders no amount of his will and stubbornness can fully disguise. In fact, he probably hasn’t even slept since his nap yesterday morning, moving back and forth between Skyhaven and Linkon for this stupid mission.

And whatever hesitation you had over your actions, whatever guilt you might've felt for giving him a brief scare vanishes as you bring his face close and kiss the bridge of his nose. "It's okay, Caleb." You pull him into an embrace, watching your hands as they trace the musculature of his shoulders, shivering as you feel his hands venture their way up your bare sides. "You're home with me now. I just had to pull some strings, is all."

The rough pads of his thumbs drag over the sides of your breasts, scattering goosebumps over your torso as your gasp blends with his snort. "Yeah, a home all of my men think is on fire."

"Mhm, their poor colonel," you murmur. He continues gliding his fingers over you, purposefully using the calloused parts to add more of your gasps to the tally. "First, he gets put in charge of an urgent mission." Your own fingers start their own journey, moving from shoulders to biceps to the hair at the nape of his neck. "Then he has to come home to the love of his life too exhausted to do anything." You pinch the skin of his throat between your teeth, his low growl vibrating into your mouth. "And not even a few days later, he has an emergency in his home." You pull back and give an exaggerated pout. "What's going to happen to him now?"

Understanding sharpens his gaze and an amused, disbelieving smile appears. "My evil little pip-squeak." He reaches down and you squeal when he pinches both sides of your bare bottom. "Who taught you to be such a menace?"

You raise a brow.

"Ohhh, I see how it is." His palms open to cup your ass and slide you closer to him, nestle the bare, dampened center of you against the bulge in his jeans. "Well, can't be such a bad thing if Caleb is the one who set the example."

"Exactly, my Caleb is the best teacher." One of your hands trails over his chest, down his abdomen and covers the outline of his hardness, dragging up, then down, then up again until he's groaning and squeezing the softness of your ass in his hands. "You know what else he taught me?"

He looks down, brows pinching in agony as his gaze devours your wide eyes, pursed lips, and tilted head in the lousiest display of innocence. "What's that?" he breathes, pressing his cock into your palm.

"How to cook!" You straighten up and wave at the two plates you'd prepare with your most beguiling smile. "Breakfast?"

His low laugh is more of a rumble when he scoops you from the counter and starts heading for the bedroom. "Definitely ready to eat."

"Wait! Caleb!" Your giggles into his throat turn into a loud oof when your back hits the bed. "Shouldn't you update your team?"

"No need." His shirt is off and his jeans are already being unbuttoned by the time you prop yourself up on your elbows and look his way. "I was supposed to leave this morning anyway."

"Wait…" His words are like butterflies in your brain, impossible to catch when his jeans come off and the shape of his cock is pressing through the fabric. "Really? They reassigned it?"

"Mhm. Called in a favour, so-" He crawls his way to you, every military-etched muscle expanding and contracting to paint the portrait of a leopard stalking its prey, until his lips find your ear and his hand finds the knot of your apron. "-I also pulled some strings."

One tug is all it takes for your only garment to unravel, giving Caleb the freedom to yank the neckline over your head and cast aside everything that had been blocking his view of you.

He doesn't even give his eyes a chance to drink you in before he's doing exactly what he said and devouring you like a meal. A nibble on your throat, a nip on your collarbone, an open-mouthed swallow of your breast, and, finally, sipping at your folds and clit, all reducing you to a heap of unintelligible pleas, whimpers, and moans.

"Still can't believe you did all that schemin' just to get me out of work," he murmurs into your soaked slit.

"I know." Your laugh stretches into a moan when he laps more circles around you, making your hands clench around strands of his hair. "You should thank me."

He raises his head and licks his lips, the tip of his nose and the whole of his chin coated in your slick. "And how does 'the love of my life' want to be thanked?"

Raising your hips from the bed you clench them around Caleb's shoulders and twist them to the side to pin him onto his back. You drag your sensitive nipples over his dampened bangs, his searching mouth, and his thumping chest until you're eye-to-eye.

"Hm, I want you to thank me…" Your hand wraps around the heat of his cock, slides him into place against your slit, and you back yourself slowly over every ridge of him until he's gasping and groaning. "Like this."

He sighs in contentment and as he begins to rock into you, you realize you aren't going to be the powerful and in-control one this go around when your elbows struggle to hold you over him and pleasure zaps its way through your abdomen like lightning.

"Like this?" he questions, sliding in and out with a harsher, quicker pace, throwing his head back on a moan. "Did I get that right, pips?"

"Yes, yes, yes," you chant, sucking skin and scoring bites all over his exposed neck as he grips your hips and pounds into you. Your elbows give out and you melt over him as you succumb to your lust-addled haze, allowing it to envelope your mind entirely.

"Love bein' home with you," he whimpers when your teeth sink into his chest, sneaking a hand to your clit and circling it with calloused fingers as payback. "This is what we should've been doing all week."

“Caleb,” you whine into his bicep, pulling the tight skin stretched over flexing muscle into your mouth as each inch of you is overwhelmed with sensation.

"This," a rough, slapping thrust "is where I should be all week." A tweak of your clit. "All month. All year- fuck." He curses as you clench around him, causing a hiccup in his movement. "Gonna give you everything you deserve, pips.”

He curves up into just the right spot and you whimper into his ear, the sound encouraging him to slow down, to savor every moment after reaching your sweet spot by tapping your clit at the end of each thrust.

Overstimulated, you deliver your Shut Up Kiss and start licking into his mouth until he groans and picks up the pace again.

Until the anticipating heat pools and overflows and explodes in your lower stomach. Until you shake and clench around him, releasing a melody of moans into his mouth.

The onslaught of your release makes him come undone, his spend filling you with a warmth that makes you feel whole as he shudders and nips and growls and bites, the hungry leopard feasting on its limp kill.

You let your weight collapse onto Caleb, your gasps stirring his sweat-slicked hair as his feather over your heated cheeks.

Bringing your hand up to his cheek, you soothe him, inking invisible characters into his skin. He takes hold of the hand and brings it to his lips, kissing each knuckle while his half-lidded gaze roves over you.

"So…" Your smile is equal parts cheeky and impish. "Breakfast?"

Caleb laughs through uneven breaths, eyes lit with love and mirth.

You've understood since you told him the news why he needs to do this, why he needs something to take charge of. It's why you promised him you'd be extra careful in combat, why you promised you'd let him take the measures he needs to ensure your safety.

But as you spot the movement of your targets through the chain link fence that marks the barrier of the no-hunt zone, you can't help but start tapping your palm against your thigh in impatience when he takes his time looking over your other gun, checking your weapons for a second time that night.

At first, it was fun having him join you on your missions again. It's been a long time since you've had the chance to work together, and you almost forgot how much you enjoyed hearing his dry commentary in your comms channel, feeling his steady presence behind you during confrontations, seeing the way he moves and supports you during combat.

Now, though? You aren't sure you can take five more months of reminders, warnings, weapon checks, and Mephisto tailing you to work.

A work you might not even have much longer if you keep completing your missions late. Last week, it was delayed because Sylus wanted to double-check your (perfectly reliable) intel with his "sources." The week before that, you had to take sick leave because he wouldn't let you get out of bed after your first battle with morning sickness.

"Sylus," you bite out, watching the wanderers edge closer to vanishing out of your sight. "They're getting away."

He scoffs, unconcerned. "As if we can't catch them."

"We won't have to go catch them if we hurry up!" You snatch the weapon from his hand and reholster it yourself before stepping around him, only to run into an outstretched arm that sweeps you in front of him once again.

This time, you do sigh. Loudly. Sylus' mouth quirks as his hands start to examine your Hunter's uniform.

"Everything is fine, Sylus," you add softly, tone sincere. "You need to have at least some faith here."

"I do have faith," he drawls, tugging at the ties of your utility belt, tightening the straps along your sides, lingering over the plate covering your abdomen. He locks eyes with you, the seriousness of his gaze contrasting with the crooked grin digging into his cheek. "In myself."

You gather a breath, opening your mouth to tell him that isn't what you meant, when a distant roar rolls through the field, stealing your attention and springing you back into action, urgency coursing back through you.

"Let's go." You grab his hand and tug, raising a brow at the man who can practically teleport, moving like molasses behind you until he brings you both to a standstill at the entrance. "Sylus. They're getting away, what now?" you groan to the sky.

"Sweetie, did you check the-"

"Yes, I'm sure I did."

"Well, what about the-"

"Yes. I'm sure you did."

"I'm being serious, sweetie, what if your-"

Another roar echoes around you, further this time, and your patience finally snaps.

Ripping your hand out of his, you rise to your toes, take the edges of his tense jaw between your hands, and blurt out, "Sweetie, I'll be fine."

Both of you pause as you realize what you said. For half a second, panic flares in your chest as his jaw slackens in your palms, afraid he's thinking you're mocking him, that you're trivializing his concerns, ignoring his fears.

But then the dim light of the street lamps catches the shades of pink blooming along his cheekbones. The way his eyelids lower, flickering to your mouth and back up again. One of his hands coming up to cup yours against his cheek.

Oh.

You do as your husband taught you and press your advantage against your opponent, capturing his lips with yours in a slow, reassuring kiss. You pull back slowly to place his palm over your abdomen and murmur, "We'll be fine. Okay?"

Not wanting to give your overbearing guardian any more time to recover or delay you, you break away and start jogging toward the distant roar of wanderers, calling out jokingly, "I thought you said we can catch them!"

"Hm." He shakes his head with a fond smile. "Guess who else I can catch?"

And with one step forward Sylus vanishes, a haze of black-red mist the only trace of the man ready to protect the two most important things in his world.

➻➻ MORE SYLUS FICS

➻➻ MASTERLIST/TAGLIST

He's instantly indignant. "Oh no you don't," he grouses in a whisper, banding an arm around your waist. Hauling your back into his chest, he puts his lips to your ear. "I'm a soldier, pip-squeak. This is literally what we do. Let me go in there first."

"And I'm a Hunter, Caleb," you scoff, throwing an amused glance over your shoulder. "Or is that not qualified enough for home security these days?"

“You know what I mean.” He takes his place in front of you again, feeling your steady presence at his back. “I can protect you.”

Usually this does nothing but escalate your efforts to prove your strength to him but, oddly enough, you just sound more amused. “Alright, Caleb. Go protect me from whatever's in the kitchen.”

Thrown off by your casual humour, Caleb's brows furrow as he silently steps into the kitchen, holding his evol at bay within his palms when the scratching sound grows louder from the other side of the fridge.

Sneaking around the appliance, Caleb bursts from behind it, crouching into an offensive stance with his arms out. “Stop right there!"

It works. The sound stops.

But only because sitting in a crate, in the corner of the kitchen nook, is a small chocolate-coloured retriever staring up at him, wide-eyed, tongue lolling, tail whipping.

"I-" he chokes out. “Wha-?"

Finished with its brief astonishment, the puppy starts to jump and yip in excitement at the sound of Caleb’s voice, the metallic clang of the crate rattling through the kitchen.

“I thought…” He turns to look at you, your soft eyes and fond smile lighting up your face as you make your way toward him. Toward them. “You little-! I thought there was an intruder."

“There was!” you defend, throwing your arms up. You smile into his chest, infusing his heartbeat with your giggles when he throws his arms around you and squeezes in retaliation, gratitude, and a fair amount of relief.

You rise up to your toes, cupping his jaw to kiss him fiercely until a loud yip from behind you steals his attention.

"See, look at him," you mumble against Caleb's cheek. "Already a pro at intruding on my kisses."

Stealing one last kiss, you rush over to open the crate, waving him over to meet his eager new companion.

And all Caleb can do is smile.

A lazy smile rouses your cheeks when a pair of stubbled lips gently scrape their way into the space behind your ear, but your brows pull together when the breaths that warm your skin come quicker than usual.

"Caleb?" you hum, pressing back into his warm body. His warm, bare body, you realize, when the hot, silky head of his cock slips its way between your thighs.

"Angel." He kisses the letters into your skin, lips and tongue mapping the side of your neck as a bicep snakes its way below your head, and a palm burrows into the crease of your hip and thigh.

Confusion finally awakens, the feather brushing more insistently as you process the lack of morning light, along with no memory of coming to bed last night. Though it's not enough to stop him from lifting your thigh and slipping his cock between the fabric of your underwear and the liquid pooling at your center.

"Where were you?" Your breath hitches on the last word, drawing it out on a whimper when you feel a nip at your earlobe.

His rasped chuckle coaxes goosebumps from your skin as his cock coats itself in your slick once more. "Right here. With you." You barely hear his words over your moan as he easily pushes his way into your pussy, bottoming out in a single, lazy thrust. "Inside. Home." One more thrust, two more moans. "Never leavin' again."

Caleb rests your inner thigh on his hip, opening you up to him as his palm slides under your sleep shirt and up your waist. You arch your back when he kneads at your breast, each drop of blood from your head to your core simmering with a pleasure that's as instinctual and mindless as it is familiar and all-consuming.

"Promise?" you mumble, rolling your neck over his bicep to look up at the face you've grown to hold so dear in such a little amount of time. Unlike yours, his eyes are alert, aware, already drinking you in with that possessive stare that always makes you want to keep baring more of yourself just so he'd never stop.

He groans when your eyes lock, pale moonlight illuminating the silver streaking through his temples, but when he still doesn't respond to your question, you clench around him. Hard. "Promise?" you repeat.

"'Course, angel." Caleb hisses out a laugh, his hips giving an involuntary jolt in response. You whine when his fingers pinch your clit in retaliation as he rasps out, "We don't ever have to leave this bed if you don't want to."

You gasp out a giggle as he punctuates his sentence with another roll of his hips. Satisfied, you thread your fingers into Caleb's hair and pull his lips to yours, kissing and nipping as you start to meet his thrusts. Sucking the sweetness from his lips, inhaling his tart, apple scent mixed with the bite of musk and sweat and smoke.

Something about it makes your eyes open, makes your lips part, but the gold in Caleb's eyes mesmerizes you. Lights up the room, refracts your lust, your longing, your love into a solar flare of emotion and bliss that wells up between you, sending you blazing toward your release.

He notices immediately, catching your gaze, breathing in your broken moan. "You want that, don't you? You'd like that. To stay here, in our own little world. Just you an' me." Each word, each truth, melts over you like the gold in his eyes, over your forehead, your temples, your cheeks. "Yeah? That what you want, angel? You kn- fuck- you know I'll give you anything you want, don't you?"

And he has. He's been so attentive, so perfect as you've done your best to turn this empty house into a home. Everything about him, from his broad stature to his assuring words, has steadied you in a way you'd never experienced as a young adult.

Which is why it all sounds so beautiful, so right in his voice. And you know this house, this universe you've created together agrees when everything around you gets lighter, brighter. So bright it's illuminating your room as you nod and shudder from the force of it, like gasoline's been poured onto the inferno between you.

"I will. Anything you want. Anything," he growls when you sink your nails into the nape of his neck. "I'll do it. Leave it all behind. Burn it all down. No one can do it for you like I can."

"Yes, oh please." The contrast of his fingers' gentle, rhythmic attention on your clit and the rough, claiming thrusts of his cock leave your mouth gasping through a series of moans as his words continue painting the world gold, "Caleb!"

"Yes. Look at us, I'm so good at givin' you what you want." His words start slurring together as pressure tightens your cunt, every nerve ending in your body igniting when you detonate. "No one can take care of you like I can. Every- shit- everything is yours. Everything- fuck yes, angel, just like that, take everything…"

His words taper off as he drowns in your moans, fingers digging into your hips as his once again find that hard, fast rhythm until his orgasm burns through his muscles, until the heat of his release pours into you.

You're both a convulsing mess of whimpers and cries, of kisses and sweat, of flames and smoke as you come down from your release. Each shudder of pleasure ricocheting between you as your eyes close and your hands intertwine.

As your breathing evens, the frantic energy gives way to something slower, deeper. You stay like that for a few quiet minutes, pressed skin to skin as your vision clears and your mind begins to settle. His thumb traces idle patterns along your collarbones.

Your lips brush his shoulder, then his jaw, then his mouth, slow and lingering. "Are you staying the night again?" you murmur against his mouth.

He huffs a soft laugh, nuzzling his curved lips and his stubbled cheeks into yours. "D'you already forget everything we just talked about?"

“Talked about?” you echo, offended amusement creeping into your tone. “That didn’t feel like a conversation. It felt more like a-”

Your sentence whithers on your lips when you open your eyes and see the warm, orange glow stretched across Caleb's face, flickering faintly like a candle. Like a flame.

The haze of sleep and orgasms and him clear the smoke from your mind all too quickly when you breathe in and realize you're smelling actual smoke, and your heart stutters.

“Caleb?” you ask, voice small, hopeful, like reality might change to match his answer if you asked him quietly.

But you're already moving despite the question, shoving yourself out of the bed, ignoring the sting of cold air against your overheated skin as you rush to the window and yank the curtain aside to see the very thing you feared you'd see.

Next door, the neighbour's house, Caleb's house, is engulfed in flames.

"I still can't believe we were-"

"Shh, it'll be fine."

"While your house was burning down, Caleb!"

"I know, darlin' it's alright. I promise."

The grin pressed into your neck, the amusement lining the edges of his words, is too complicated for you to process right now as you try to take in the charred remains of a house you'd never spent much time in, and yet is the very thing that had given you Caleb. The very reason he's currently wrapped around you, his strong, bare chest holding you upright at the threshold that divides your properties as everything else around him crumbles apart.

And you were too busy being selfish, accepting his support as your due, to pay attention to your surroundings enough to protect him back. To see that-

"My god," you breathe, dazed eyes studying police officers and firefighters scattered around you, the last of the smoke blurring them in a haze of grey. "I didn't even notice that your…"

Maybe that was the problem, you think, the fact that Caleb's spent so much time trying to hold you together, he hadn't had time for himself. For his home. The thought slithers deeper into your gut. Maybe you're the problem. After all, you're the reason your fiancé had been angry all the time, the reason everything went wrong with your previous-

"Angel." There's a nip at your neck and forearms tightening around your waist in warning. Choking out the snake in your abdomen before it slithers further, as if he knows exactly where your mind started to trail off to. "Quit worryin', okay? None of this is your fault. We're both safe. That's all I care about, you know that right?"

It always has been. You’re surprised he hasn’t tried to send you back inside for that very reason. A stray ember, falling debris, the smoke in the air – all things Caleb would normally try to shield you from or deal with himself. Then again, the two of you had dressed and rushed out in such a hurry that it was probably the last thing on his mind when he dialed the fire department. You hadn't even had the presence of mind to bring your phone like he did.

Prepared and level-headed, his tone had been steady when he recited his address, as calm as the arm he used to pull you behind him as the flames heated the air around you.

"I know. Thank god you were spending the night but it's just- it's your home."

"Hey, hey, look at me." A hand turns your chin to face him, and though the ghost of past smiles line the corners of his eyes, there's something intense and insistent smoldering within them when he says his next words. "It was just a house, yeah? A building. A place to waste the night away until I could see you again in the daylight."

"But all your hard work on it, you-"

"Nothing in there mattered. Nothing. Nothing matters like you do," he rumbles, voice darkening, deepening. "Understand?"

You nod dimly, more startled by your body's reaction to the possessive tone he usually reserves for the bedroom than his casual dismissal of the house he'd lived in for years before you moved in next door.

"Besides, the work I’ve been doing at your place’s been a lot more… rewarding," he continues in the same rumble, smirking when your eyes dip to his lips. "Don't you agree? We're both waaay more satisfied when I'm workin' on-"

"Excuse me, Colonel?"

A small tightening along his jaw is the only sign of Caleb’s irritation at the interruption, though it's replaced by a friendly grin so quickly you almost wonder if you've imagined it as he shifts to stand by your side. An officer and firefighter come to a stop in front of you.

“Sorry to interrupt, glad to see you're both alright,” the officer says. “Can we have a word, sir?”

They give you a brief, assessing glance before looking back to Caleb in silent question. The firefighter steps back, clearly intending to pull him aside to speak in private, but Caleb's fingers press into your ribs and bring you to his side.

“You can say whatever it is you have to say,” he says, not unkind but in a way that evokes an order, a command that neither of the men miss.

The officer nods. “Preliminary assessment suggests the fire was deliberately set.”

Your gut tightens and you glance over in shock when Caleb stiffens beside you before his shoulders square. His hand tightens just slightly at your waist before relaxing again. “Are you sure?” he asks, a sharp edge underscoring his voice.

“Not one hundred percent yet,” the firefighter replies slowly, “but the ignition site and the spread pattern are highly suspicious. Multiple entry points for this fire.”

"Why would anyone do that?" Your stomach swirls with a new surge of fear and worry as Caleb voices the same question on your mind, though more calmly and eloquently than you could manage.

The officer glances between you and Caleb and tips his head. “That’s what we’re trying to determine," he says, brows raised in inquiry.

Caleb doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze locked not on his crumbling house but yours, eyes aglow with your cozy lamplight, something unreadable settling behind his expression.

"Well, I'm not in the habit of pissing anyone off, if that's what you're asking," Caleb jokes with a warm chuckle, and though your lips tip up automatically at the sound, there's something more stilted than usual about it, like he's carefully slotting a chess pawn between two opposing pieces.

But his words penetrate before you can fully figure out why, the argument with your ex from the other week slithering back into your stomach. "Actually, my-"

Caleb's fingers dig subtly into your waist, drawing your gaze to his and for the first time this entire confusing night, you finally have the presence of mind to notice.. something in behind his eyes, something assessing, something calculating, as he gives you a barely perceptible shake of his head.

Suddenly there's a crackle and crash of yet another support beam at Caleb's place, drawing all of your attention to the crumbling structure for a split moment. And all you can think about is how Caleb's standing in his front yard, watching the home he built burn down, and his first instinct is still to protect you from your own mistakes.

You're sick of letting the people around you steer your life though. Determined not to let your relationship with Caleb turn into another version of what you lived through with your ex. Where you become the one constantly taking, expecting your problems to be solved by Caleb, like your ex did with you. You don’t want Caleb thinking he has to shoulder everything for you. You're an adult, maybe not as experienced as him, but you can solve your own problems.

Tightening your resolve as well as your jaw, you clear your throat to recapture the men's attention. "My ex-fiancé has been causing some trouble lately,” you say. “He’s never been violent and I don’t even know if he’s capable of something like this, but he also hasn’t been…"

"Stable," Caleb adds with a squeeze of your waist. You nod in agreement, though your brows raise slightly at his word choice, "friendly" was more the word you were looking for.

“Listen, all I care about is her safety,” he adds, his tone adopting that authoritative rasp of his as the men take their notes. “Do whatever you need to do and investigate whoever you need to investigate to make sure of that.”

The firefighter nods after you give him the name. “Understood. We’ll follow up with an investigator. Let us know if you need any documentation for insurance purposes in the meantime,” he adds, handing Caleb his card and tipping his hat slightly. "I'll follow up with more in the morning, but for now, try and get some sleep tonight, Colenel. Ma'am."

As the officer and firefighter move off to continue their work, Caleb gently guides you toward your front walkway, his arm still firmly around you as the two of you begin heading back toward your place. The night air feels colder now that you’re moving away from the fire’s heat, but the smell of smoke still clings to everything.

“Do you really think it was him?” you ask quietly, a new wave of tension and anxiety nipping at the back of your neck at the thought of your ex stooping this low in his jealously. Stalking, trespassing, committing arson.

Caleb is quiet for a few steps, hand flexing against your side when you mention your ex before it resettles into its usual possessive hold. “Either way, I’m not takin’ any chances,” he says finally. Before you can point out he hasn’t actually answered your question, he adds, “I’m gonna be adding some more security around your place."

You groan in exasperation, “Caleb, I told you-”

A strategic pinch at the ticklish spot above your ribs has has you cutting yourself off with a giggle.

“Alarm system. Floodlights. Motion sensors,” he rattles off, a small grin dimpling his cheek. “Don’t want anyone being able to get near you without me knowin' about it."

You slow a little on the steps up your porch, brows pulling together as the thought of him having to install all these things around your house go against everything you’d just told yourself about fighting your own battles and handling your own problems.

"I know you're used to being on a military base, but I'm not," you say lightly. "I don't want my house feeling like one."

By the time you reach the front door he’s already stepping ahead of you to open it, but instead of immediately ushering you inside, Caleb pauses in the doorway to lock eyes with you as you pass him.

And there it is. Those warm, steady eyes. Crinkled at the corners, just a little tired around the edges, impossible to ignore when he fixes them on you like that and pairs it with a pleading, rasped, "Angel."

He steps in after you and pulls the door shut behind him, ensconcing you both in your own world again, but when you turn back to him, he’s still watching you with that same look.

“It’d give me some peace of mind,” he adds, softer now. “Especially while I’m stayin’ at a rental the next couple months.”

All thoughts of melting into his puppy eyes halt. "Rental?"

Something dances around in his eyes again at the disappointment in your tone, assessing and gauging, the shuffle of a pawn on the chessboard as he grins and pokes your nose with teasing affection. "'Course, angel. Don't think a charred bed'll be very comfortable."

You catch his hand before he can pull it away and press it flat against the front door behind him, stepping forward until you’re chest to chest. Until you see the heat in his eyes, the match that you light when you demand, "And you’re not staying here because…?”

“D’you know how long it’s gonna take to get that house rebuilt, darlin’?” His laugh is light, but it does nothing to dim the golden flames in his irises. “I’d basically be movin’ in here. I can’t do that to you.”

Something in you settles with the realization that this is your chance. For months now Caleb has been your shelter while you moved to a new place, struggled to make it feel like home, ended your relationship with your ex-fiance. You aren’t going to let the chance to shelter him in return pass you by.

“You can’t?” You rise onto your toes, both hands pressing against his chest until his back meets the door with a soft thud. “What if I insist, Caleb? What if I…” Your lashes lower, then lift again as you widen your eyes just slightly, an innocent little look that always paints his stubbled cheeks pink. "What if I make it worth your while to move in with me?"

Something that looks a lot like victory flashes through the flames in his eyes as he flushes from chest to cheeks, tipping his head back against the door. "Worth my while, huh?" he murmurs.

The ground falls away beneath you before you can respond and suddenly you're the one pressed against the door. Caleb's palms beneath your thighs. The wiry trail of hair along his stomach tickling yours. His lips whispering against yours when he growls, "What do you have in mind?"

You smile as you lean in to kiss him, slow, deep. Teeth tugging lightly at his lower lip, then his upper lip. He presses his hardening cock into your core until you part on a gasp, both of you breathing a little harder.

You tilt your head, flashing your baby doll eyes again as you grind your hips into him. "Have I convinced you?" you breathe out.

The most satisfied, triumphant laugh rumbles from his chest into yours, his smoldering gaze turning unmistakably cocky, like he’s just set the final piece on the board and called checkmate.

"Never gettin' rid of me now, angel."

You don't even know how many times he's caught you sitting under the shade of his apple tree in the summer, reading a book. Then again, instead of politely waving you off like he does with others, he always offers you a glass of his freshly made soda with a flourish and a, "Would my lil trespasser care for a refreshment?"

You also start timing your departure for work to match the exact moment he leaves for his morning run, just so you can watch him greet you in his thigh-hugging running shorts and admire his backside when he opens the door to your car for you with a, "Knock 'em dead today, angel."

Your reaction to 'angel' must give you away because that's all he calls you now — "Mornin' angel." "Angel, you alright?" "Let me help with that, angel." — voice lower and rougher around the syllables in a way that makes your knees melt into liquid each time.

And you're not entirely sure, but you think he might have his own version of this, which is 'keepin' your mail safe for ya' while you're out, just so he can knock on your door before you go to bed with nothing but bare chest, grey sweats, a few envelopes, and a crooked grin.

The day you knock on his door with fresh lemon bars from the lemons on your tree, though? When you answer his questioning stare with a stammered explanation that you'd noticed he preferred sour treats? That's the day the playful glint in his eyes deepens into something affectionate, something more intent, something darker and more... possessive.

From then on, all he does is work on projects around your house (around both of your houses, really) on the weekend.

You've come home from both days and nights out to find everything from a new sprinkler system and an upgraded porch swing to cobblestone pathways that lead from your back door to his, and even a newly planted apple seedling in your backyard.

That's only the improvements on the exterior of your house. You've lost count of all the things Caleb's helped you with on the inside (that you aren't even sure you've mentioned to him).

At least twice a week, you open your door to Caleb in ripped jeans, a muscle tank, and a toolbelt, ready to fix your garbage disposal, change out your alarm system, update your smoke detectors, or start on some other project that ends with you talking the day away until dinner.

Though you usually spend dinner together, the meal itself is always a playful argument between you and Caleb. Mainly, who's cooking for whom since you insist on repaying him for all his help, and he insists on you sitting comfortably and sharing your day with him while he helps you out.

Regardless of who cooks, though, Caleb even makes it a point to take care of your kitchen, helping you change the hardware, update the light fixtures, and even bringing his knife sharpener with him every few months, "so you're not losin' any of those pretty fingers of yours."

You haven't really asked about his previous jobs, but you know it must've involved engineering, since he's really good with machinery. So good, actually, that you haven't needed a new mower, furnace, or oil change for your car in months.

When you don't feel satisfied that you've shown him enough gratitude for all he does to help you, you make sure you send him home on Sunday night with a full week of meal prep so he has a filling lunch at work. You also bring over pillows and curtains and throws to help make his bare living room more lively.

Everything and yet nothing at all seems to change the night he spots you pulling into your driveway past 1am, though. When you don't question why he's waited up for you as he opens your car door and his irises go from sparkling to concerned to deadly when he catches your red-rimmed eyes. When you explain the way you were stood up on your date.

Because that's when he calmly locks your car, takes your bag, and leads you to his living room, marked with your signature in every corner, to settle you with warm tea and open arms and a murmured, "c'mere, angel."

Because that's when you press against his chest, settle into his heartbeat, and let him take care of your mind and your body as securely and attentively as he's cared for each inch of your house for years.

Because that's the first of many times he watches your short trek home from his front porch in the middle of the night, arms crossed, sharp, affectionate possession carved into his face, refusing to go inside until he sees you through your living room window.

Because that's the first of many times you leave your mysterious, handsome, attentive, and much older neighbour's home with some undiscovered crack in your heart filled with molten gold the colour of his eyes, and you realize: you're so fucked.

"That a demand?" he drawls with a squeeze of your hand and a raised a brow. Unfortunately for him, it's not as intimidating when it's paired with half-lidded eyes, flushed cheeks, and a sweaty brow.

"Yes. In," you demand.

"Alright," he sighs, snatching the duvet from your hand and settling onto his side.

You stay to watch his eyes close and his chills stop. But the ball of worry that's been pressing against your heart doesn't ease until he grumbles out, "But only because I like it when you're bossy."

He wakes to cool fingertips tracing patterns along his damp hairline, over his scalp, above the base of his neck. The sensation startles him, sending a warning shiver through every tense and fatigued muscle.

"Shh it's just me."

The sound of your warm voice soothes over his body like a balm. "Sweetie?"

He hears your responding hum as well as a beeping noise. "Just taking your temperature," you say quietly, and it's only when you shift to put the thermometer away that Sylus realizes it's your thigh and not his pillow beneath his heated cheek.

"Mm." He nods, already knowing the answer as a chill climbs up his spine. "Cold."

The corner of his lip nudges into your thigh when you giggle. "Try 'way warmer than usual.'"

Well if you're not cold then why are you still laying here?

Unable to argue with that logic, Sylus finally opens his eyes to his dimly lit bedroom and shakily rises up onto an elbow. "I need to get up."

"Oh no you don't," you mutter. Sylus is so impressed you're able to push him back to the mattress, he forgets to protest. "You're staying in bed until your fever breaks, mister."

Fever. Why was that inconvenient again?

"I have a-" he attempts to clear the gravel from his throat "-a protocore deal to get to."

"Already taken care of," you say, the hint of pride in your voice wrapping around him as warmly as your arms. You'd come up higher on the bed than usual, leaving your arm under his head and your breasts under his chin.

He's too worried about the implications of that sentence to appreciate his new favourite cuddle position. "Luke and Kieran rescheduled?"

"Oh, no, Sylus still made the deal," you assure, soft lips brushing against his forehead. "It's just that 'Sylus' was… me."

As he presses the widest, shit-eating grin he can muster into your chest, for the first time in his life, Sylus is conflicted about kissing you. Because all he wishes right now is to be healthy enough to listen to the story of how you made a protocore deal in the slums of the N109 Zone disguised as him.

"Was Mephisto there?" he asks.

"He better have been." His arms attempt to bring your body closer as your hands start to knead at his aching shoulders. "I bribed him with three of my favourite hairpins to hover around."

"Good," he rumbles with a squeeze of his arms. "I want t'see that footage."

Your huff of laughter feathers through the top of his hair. "You can watch me being 'boss-man' when you're better. Now, rest."

He doesn't remember how long he dozes off after that but he does remember regaining a moment of lucidity to ask one important question.

"Kitten?"

"Yes?"

"Does this mean you're joining Onychinus?"