#caleb origin

[goblingardens]

My new hobby is intensely staring at every. single. panel of Caleb’s origin comic 👁️👁️

… so I found a few things!

Vex and Percy dancing in Rexxentrum!

Trinket in Caleb’s childhood home🥹

I SWEAR this is the Captain Tusktooth tattoo, you can’t convince me otherwise.

So let’s ponder the lore and what it means that Caleb’s family either knew of Trinket or just owns a random armoured bear.

Why would Vex and Percy be there at this time? Is this pre or during the relationship? Is all of Vox Machina in Rexxentrum?

And what unholy connection is there between the kid drawing tusktooth in their notes and Jester Lavorre?

Enjoy🤓

[sugarladytum]

[bakedbeanchan]

trial and error and error and error and error and error and error and error and error and

[soranatus]

THE MIGHTY NEIN: Alone & Together

For @kermit-coded Happy Birthday!!!

[87000beesinapersonsuit]

Dume

[allianettemie5]

Reminder to myself that

Helix and Bones of 212th are fanon characters

Dooku is canonically not a Yan

Grandmaster and grandpadawan are not real terms when it comes to lineages

Padme and Anakin's marriage is not an open secret

Clones don't speak Mando'a

Cal Kestis and Caleb Dume weren't best friends before Order 66

Kote is not Cody's name

However, I will be ignoring these facts just because I can and no one can do anything to stop me

[ariadne-mouse]

In c2e115, Liam describes Caleb's room as having nondescript furniture and no stained glass, proclaimed by Jester as "boring", a striking contrast from the thoughtfully designed rooms of the rest of the Mighty Nein. Caleb waves it off at the time as having spent a lot of time on the other rooms, so there was no time left for his. But zooming out, as I recall plenty of meta at the time did, the tower is an expression of Caleb's love for his friends, and the lack of attention on his own room suggestive of him not extending love towards himself. Knowing from Liam that Essek shares his room now, I like to think he has learned to invest in his own space - even if using the bridge of catering to Essek's needs there at first - and landed on a design that is Caleb Widogast's too.

[mihanisms]

unraveled.

— caleb is a wolf, wild and angry and needing to devour everything in his path, but for you? he folds his ears back and cages his teeth behind bitten lips.

— puppy play, use of "ma'am / mistress" as a title, edging, mindbreak, footjob, dry humping, body worship. mean-ish femdom tease reader / manipulative forced sub caleb kinda but you are both #CRAZY so it does not matter. this is very different from what i usually write about i triiiieeeeed 💔

Never could you have imagined your childhood best friend—your Caleb—reduced to this. Bent low, rutting against your foot, eyes glistening with unshed tears as he clings to you like a man drowning. His breath hitches, every exhale a shaky plea and every syllable strung tight with desperation.

"Ma’am, please," he whines, voice frayed at the edges. "Mercy, just a little- I’m-"

He’s been begging for so long now, left to suffer under the slow, unbearable grind of your foot against his cock. The flimsy grey shorts he wears do nothing to hide the outline of his length and how it throbs beneath your touch. There’s a dark, wet patch on the fabric where his precum is seeping through, proof of just how far you’ve pushed him.

He swallows hard, throat working against the sob lodged inside. "I’ll be good," he tries. "The best puppy there is. Just-" A shudder rolls through him, knocking the breath from his lungs. "Please?"

Shame burns high on Caleb’s cheeks, but his body betrays him. His thighs are quivering, his hips twitching—helpless, needy and grinding forward like he has no control over himself. He’s trembling, panting through parted lips, desperate sounds spilling free before he can even think to swallow them down.

"Anything," he chokes out. "I’ll give anything, take anything—just, please."

Oh, you know that. You know how much he’ll endure, how much he’ll let you bend him before he breaks. He would lose himself for you. He would trade his dignity, his sanity, just for the promise of more. If only you’d let him. If only you’d be generous. If only-

But you wait.

You watch.

Every second stretches, thick and unbearable, and you see him fraying at the seams. His breath hitches and his fingers twitch, clawing at nothing. His muscles are locked up, fighting the desperate urge to reach, to take, to claim. But he wouldn’t. Not without your approval.

Caleb’s body moves before his mind catches up, swaying forward, drawn to you like a moth to a flame, aching for the warmth he knows only you can grant him. But just before he crosses that line—just before he dares, you move first.

Your reach for him, your fingers delicately tracing the outline of his jaw. He goes rigid, a sharp gasp caught in his lungs. And then, like instinct, like worship—he nuzzles into your touch, breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

"You’re shaking," you murmur, thumbing over his flushed cheek. A slow, amused smile tugs at your lips. "Are you really this desperate, Caleb?"

His head jerks in a frantic nod, a strangled noise rising from his throat. His pupils are blown wide and his breath comes in short, uneven bursts. "I am, yes, I am-”

Your fingers drift lower, ghosting down his throat, his adam’s apple bobbing beneath your touch. His pulse is hammering under his skin and his body burning up, melting into every bit of contact like he’d fall apart without it. And he would fall apart without it.

But then—

You pull away.

His reaction is instant. He jerks forward before he can stop himself, a strangled whimper escaping before he can bite it back. But he stops himself right before he touches you, instinct warring with obedience. He knows better than to take without being given.

And that control—his restraint, more than anything, is what keeps you entertained. The sight of the Colonel, wrecked and on the verge of breaking, sends a thrill curling through your body. Yet you only hum, sighing as if you were bored, as if his suffering wasn’t the most intoxicating sight you’ve ever witnessed.

The heat simmering in you darkens, twisting into something deeper, something dangerous for the both of you. A morbid curiosity forms: just how far could you push him before he snaps?

"So…" you muse, tilting your head, feigning thoughtfulness. "You’ll take whatever I give you?"

"Anything, ma’am," he replies without hesitation.

Amused, you chuckle softly, tilting your head as if considering it. Here he is, hanging off your every word, completely at your mercy, willing to do anything for just a sliver of your attention. And just when his breath catches, just when he’s right on the edge of breaking-

You lean in.

Leaning closer, you drink in the sight of him—the unraveling need, the way his chest rises and falls in shallow bursts. You draw a gasp from his throat as your breath ghosts over his skin, his lashes fluttering, lips parting on instinct.

"Reward?" your voice is velvet and steel, soothing and binding him all at once. "And what, exactly, does my good boy think he deserves?"

He stills. You see the moment the question sinks in, the way his mind races to find the right answer, the answer that will please you most. His whole body locks up, his hips stopping, his movements going rigid with obedience. "I want- Please let me- Please let me get off to you, Ma’am- Please, please, I- I've been so good, haven’t I?"

To punctuate the plea, he shifts closer, tilting his head slightly to bare his throat, showing you the claim you left on his shoulder earlier. On his skin is a deep red hickey, an unspoken declaration of ownership. A mark of your control. Of what he lets you, and only you do to him. 

Your breath catches, your grip on his chin tightening. Your playful edge dulls into something sharper, something darker—something that twists in your gut, matching the raw, helpless hunger gripping his body.

"And how," you murmur, thumb tracing his lower lip, "does my puppy want to get off?"

His breath stutters.

He knows you know what he wants, knows you’re forcing him to say it. Knows you won’t make this easy for him.

Frustration flashes in his eyes, but he swallows it down, schooling his features into something softer, something needier. Something he knows you won’t be able to resist. A few more pathetic gasps spill past his lips, each one measured to push you closer to giving him what he’s been begging for. His voice trembles, perfectly frayed at the edges, knowing that this will be the undoing for you both.

"Please, I want- I want to rub myself against my mistress’s panties…?"

The hesitation in his words is deliberate, the breathy edge to his voice sharpened just enough to slice through your restraint. He tilts his head just a tad more, the mark on his neck like an offering, his lashes fluttering to give off the look of being lost in submission. 

He’s waiting. Waiting for you to give in.

Yet it’s only thick, unbearable silence that stretches between you once more, suffocating his patience.

His cock twitches at the suspension, a sharp pulse of need that sends heat curling down his spine. Every second you make him wait is agony, his body screaming at him to move. His instincts beg him to take, to claim, to fucking have you.

But he doesn’t.

He kneels. He obeys. He waits.

And fuck, if he weren’t so well-trained, he would’ve already had you under him. Would’ve already-

But he doesn’t. He stays still. He bows his head, pressing his forehead to your knee like a supplicant at an altar, forcing himself into the shape you’ve carved him into.

He chooses to be good.

And that is the thrill of it all.

Entertained, your fingers drift along his jaw, barely there. He exhales sharply, his whole body shuddering under your touch. “Hm… is that really what you want, puppy?”

"Yes," he whines—too fast, too eager, and too fucking wrecked to care.

You drag it out, humming, letting the tension coil tighter. “Or, is that what you think I want to hear?”

He stills. And for the briefest second, you see it—the flicker of a dangerous, untamed wolf.

And then just as quickly, he swallows it down. Shoves it away. Forces himself to be what you’ve trained him to be. To what he’s trained himself to be.

But you see it.

And you want it.

So you smile—slow, sharp—and lean in again. Close enough that he freezes. Close enough that your breath grazes his lips, close enough that his whole body locks in anticipation-

And then, you pull away.

The sound he makes is devastating. A raw, half-snarl, half-plea, his fingers digging into his thighs, fighting not to just break.

You coo at his display, your voice syrupy-sweet. “Such a good boy,” you purr, watching him shiver from the praise and restraint. “Holding yourself back so well.”

He clenches his jaw, his shoulders wound as tight as a bowstring. He knows you’re toying with him. Knows you want him to snap.

And god, he wants to. If only he were to tear through the last fraying threads of control. To devour you whole.

But before he can spiral further, you give him relief. He chokes on a gasp as your foot presses down harder against his cock, the pressure forcing his back to arch, his body keeling over and his chin dropping onto your knee. Any words he tries to form dissolve into moans, ragged and broken, as you slip your foot beneath his waistband, rubbing him through his boxers.

His fingers dig harshly into his thighs, blunt nails leaving half-moon crescents in his skin. But it’s the only thing keeping him from losing himself completely. His breath is shallow and unsteady, his whole body trembling, every fiber of him clenched, drawn so tight you can almost hear the tension hum.

You press again, and a strangled sob is torn from his throat as he lurches forward, too overwhelmed to keep himself upright. His forehead presses into your thigh, letting out short, desperate gasps against your skin. The scent of his need clings to the air, thick and intoxicating, and you inhale slowly, savoring the way he crumbles beneath you.

“Oh, look at you,” you murmur, amusement laced with control. “Just falling apart.”

“Poor puppy.” You shift your foot, just enough to make him jolt, to draw out a broken whimper. His thighs clench, his hips jerking helplessly into the teasing press of your sole. You watch his face contort, his jaw tightening, failing to hold onto the last scraps of his composure. As if he isn’t already beyond salvation.

“You’re drooling, Caleb.” Your voice is almost pitying, as if you don’t revel in the way his resolve is splintering.

It’s unbearable. You’re unbearable.

And you know it.

He lets out an unintelligible sound, and your foot presses down harder, sending him keening. His body jerks and ruts into the pressure, his boxers damp and clinging to his cock.

He’s panting, his whole body trembling, and yet still—still, he waits for you to let him fall.

“Please, Ma’am,” he chokes out, voice cracked and thin. His fists clench, the last of his restraint hanging by a thread. “I can’t- I need-”

You tilt his head back with a slow tug of his hair, drinking in the sight of him—his glassy, ruined eyes, the flush burning up his throat, the raw, hopeless hunger etched into his face.

And then you sigh. Soft. Dismissive.

Caleb flinches.

“Hm. And here I thought you were my good boy.” Your nails scrape lightly against his scalp, a ghost of affection before your grip tightens, forcing his head still. “But look at you. Making such a mess. Being so sloppy.”

Panic quickly overtakes his dazed expression. “No, no, I-” His throat bobs as he swallows, hard. “I am good, I swear, I-”

“Are you?” Your voice is measured, cool, watching the way he twists in the silence, watching how his desperation coils tighter at the lingering disappointment in your tone.

He hates this.

Hates when you doubt him.

Hates being anything less than perfect for you

His lips part, searching, pleading. “Please,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “Please let me prove it.”

And that’s what you were waiting for. That’s why you let him dangle, why you let him crack without letting him shatter.

Because now, he’s exactly where you want him.

Desperate. Submissive. Willing to do anything.

And that—that is what you wanted.

Your fingers ease, smoothing over his cheek, and the sheer relief in his expression sends a thrill to your core. You tilt your head, letting a slow, satisfied smile spread across your lips as you revel in the moment. His desperate need is palpable, and you want to draw it out, savor it.

“If you want to prove it,” you hum, dragging your foot away, “then show me.”

Caleb's eyes widen, a flash of excitement breaking through his haze of desperation. You lean back slightly, letting your foot slip off his cock, and that’s the only cue he needs—he scrambles off the floor, caging you between your arms as he shifts closer, pressing his body against yours.

You’re trapped beneath his figure, his weight pressing you into the mattress, yet the desire in his eyes doesn’t phase you. No, not one bit. Not when your hunger matches his, pulse for pulse, breath for breath.

A shudder rips through him as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, breath hot and uneven, tinged with reverence. His body is flush against yours, muscles trembling as he fights to pace himself, to stray from losing control the second he finally has you beneath him.

"Thank you," he whimpers, a prayer against your skin. His lips brush over your pulse, lingering just enough to make you shiver. "Thank you, Ma’am."

His shorts and boxers are discarded to a far corner of the room, leaving him bare against you, his cock pressed flush to the cool silk of your lingerie. Precum smears across the fabric, darkening it with every shallow grind of his hips. The friction is light, teasing—but even that has him shaking. His fingers fist the sheets, muscles locking as he bars himself from losing himself too quickly.

You feel his restraint in every shuddering breath, every stifled moan, the way he fights to take only what he’s given. His forehead rests against yours, your breaths mingling, desire spilling from his parted lips as he moves again, pressing himself against you.

"I-" His voice is wrecked, thick with pleasure and gratitude. His hips roll again, slow, deliberate, rubbing himself against the soft lace stretched over your cunt. He chases your heat like it’s the only thing keeping him sane, savoring every inch of contact. "Feels so good-"

Your fingers trace a slow path down his side, and he whimpers. Even with his body caging yours, it feels like you’re the one pulling the leash wrapped tight around his neck.

"Puppy…you like this, don’t you?" The question is smooth. Knowing.

His whole body jolts, rhythm faltering as another wave of pleasure wracks through him. The words spill from him instantly, raw and full of desire. "Yes, fuck- I do, Ma’am-" His grip on the sheets tighten, his knuckles turning white from the sheer effort of holding himself together, to not fuck into you, to not rip off your panties and sink into your tight heat.

A hot rush of tears gathers in his eyes, his mind spinning further into need. His body moves on its own, grinding deeper, chasing anything that will push him over the edge. His fingers dig into your waist, pulling you closer, as if that will save him.

His pupils are blown wide, the wildness in his gaze unmistakable. He’s right there, teetering, ready to break.

But you don’t move. You let him unravel, let him drown. Every shudder, every desperate twitch, every broken sound is for you. And he knows it.

"Ma’am," he whines, his voice cracking as his rhythm stutters. “I want to- I want to- Please let me-”

Your body responds, heat coiling tight as his breath hitches against you. "Good boy," you murmur, and the way he shudders at the praise sends a sharp pulse of desire straight to your core. “Hm…is my puppy gonna cum so fast?”

“I am,” he cries, a fervent mantra that spills from his lips, hips rocking in that shaky rhythm as he feels you overtake his senses. “Can- May I?”

You hum, dragging your nails down his back, feeling the way his muscles jerk beneath your touch. His breath hitches, a broken moan slipping free, his entire body locked tight with need.

"You may," you purr, your voice dripping with satisfaction. "If you can do it like a good boy—without making a mess."

A sob catches in his throat, his hips stuttering mid-grind as his mind scrambles to process the command. "I- I can, I will- fuck-" His fingers dig harder into your waist, his whole body trembling as he desperately chases his release without breaking the rules you've set.

Every motion is torturous, pleasure crackling through his nerves like a live wire. His cock throbs, aching as he ruts against the silk, the damp fabric dragging against his sensitive length in a way that has him pleading through the choked-off moans spilling past his lips.

"Ma’am, please, please-" His voice is thin, broken apart by desperate little hiccups of pleasure. "I‘m so close, fuck, so close, please-"

His entire face presses against yours, his damp lashes fluttering, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. His grip on the sheets is nearly murderous, his body thrumming with the promise of release.

And then—he breaks.

A strangled sob rips from his throat as his hips jerk forward, his cock pulsing against the silk, the sheer force of his orgasm wracking through him. His whole body tenses then trembles as he spills, soaking through the fabric, painting your lingerie with thick, hot spurts of cum. 

You decide to place a hand on the head of his cock, and he shatters all over again as you squeeze, hot tears flowing down his face as he’s sent careening into cloud 9. More cum shoots out of his cock, this time reaching your stomach and tits, your skin stained with his fluids.

His moans turn into soft whines, body twitching with aftershocks as he clings to you, burying his face against your neck, panting raggedly.

You let him catch his breath and settle for just a moment. Then—your fingers fist in his hair, yanking his head back to meet his bleary, wrecked gaze. He fucking yelps, his cheeks streaked with tears as he blubbers over his words.

“M-Miss, I- I-It’s hngh-! too- too good, I-I-” His voice is high, cracking between sobs as he trembles under your grasp. His body is still shuddering from the aftershocks, his cock still hard and throbbing against the soaked silk separating you.

You click your tongue, tilting your head as you drink in the flushed, ruined sight of him, struggling to piece himself together when you both know he's already fallen apart.

"Too good?" you echo, mock sympathy curling around the words. Your grip tightens, nails digging into his scalp just enough to make him wince. "You made such a mess. And here I was, thinking you could be good for me."

Caleb lets out a soft, broken whimper, the humiliation sparking something deeper in his dazed, pleasure-drunk mind. “I- I’m sorry, I…I can be good, I promise-  I-I’ll be better the next time-"

"Next time?" you repeat, your voice low and dangerous as you squeeze his cock again, enough to make him jolt, his body writhing from the overload of sensations. "Who says I'll let you have a next time?"

The words hang heavy between you, and Caleb’s eyes widen, a sob escaping him as he scrambles for your forgiveness. He shakes his head, pressing himself closer to you as if he can beg with his body as much as with his words. "No, no Miss- Please, I’m sorry! I’ll do better- I’ll be better, I can prove it to you-!"

Dread floods his already wrecked expression, his hands scrambling to grip at you—your wrists, your waist, anything he can reach as if holding onto you might keep you from slipping away. His words crumble into another sob as he buries his face against your neck, pressing frantic kisses to your skin between shaky pleas. "Please, Miss, I need you, I need to prove it to you, please don’t take it away from me-”

You tilt your head, watching him squirm beneath the weight of your words. Then, just as he opens his mouth to plead again, you drag your nails down his chest, slow and deliberate, making him shudder.

"Anything, huh?"

"Yes- Yes, Miss, anything," he gasps, nodding frantically. "Anything, anything- I’ll be your good boy, your good puppy. I’ll hold myself back, I will, I will-"

A slow, satisfied smirk tugs at your lips. Your grip in his hair tightens once more, pulling his head back further until his throat is bared to you, shaking and vulnerable.

"Then prove it, puppy," you purr, your breath ghosting over his skin. "Right now."

[reddcato-66]

How cute..! Not suspicious at all

[mtwutang]

[c-kiddo]

repost because i got scared the first time and deleted it, but i like them and want u to see. portraits from a few months ago. tmn but when they were all still scrappy little weirdo 15 yr olds

[patopq]

caleb is canonically a fidgeter. you're welcome

[satellites444]

thinking about caleb the ~virgin~.

cw for unprotected sex

he knew it would happen eventually. he's obviously had girlfriends here and there but nothing serious, and the most he’s done is fumble through trying to finger them, though he's fairly certain they faked their orgasms. not to mention, he’s had a crush on you forever, and he's not saying he was waiting for you but……

when you and him become serious, he realizes he maybe should have gotten some practice in. realizing he has no idea what to do now that you're in his lap, grinding down against his raging boner.

it feels so good he thinks he could cum in his pants, but he’s silently begging himself not to. he manages to hold out, but he knows he's a goner when you start kissing down his neck, “can i taste you?”

he hopes you can't hear the spike in his heart rate. hopes you can't tell that he just leaked precum in the front of his boxers. he nods eagerly, trying to calm his breathing down as you slip down onto your knees in front of where he's sat on the couch.

you, who have been wanting to get your mouth on him for a while now, waste no time at all once his pants are pushed down and his hard prick is standing at attention for you.

“haah…” his stomach tenses as you take him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around him. caleb doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he grips your hair, accidentally pushing your head down into him. his tip hits the back of your throat and you let out an involuntary gag before pulling off with a ‘pop’.

“didn't picture you as a head-pusher,” you say, stroking him up and down. caleb is mortified, turning bright red.

“m’not, i just- i’m sorry i didn't know what to do with my hands…”

your head tilts to the side in confusion, you continue to stroke him. “what do you usually do with them?”

did he get more red? he had to have. “um…i don't…i haven't-”

he can tell the moment you connect the dots. he wants to say something, give some reason or something but he isn't sure what to say.

“you’ve had girlfriends before though,” you say, still stroking him, though much slower now. you're not saying this in a mean way, more so in a state of genuine confusion. you take you time working up to the head of cock, circling it gently before stroking back down. his brain is about to short circuit.

“haven't…ngh- have-haven't done anything though.” he says, his hips shuffling around a bit, a pearl of precum leaks from the tip and you quickly lick at it, he hissed out a breath.

“it’s shame,” you say, swirling your tongue around his tip, “you taste amazing,” to emphasize this, you take him back into your mouth, moving slower with him not that you know this is his first blowjob.

“i- i do?” he says, his jaw going slack when you hum a ‘mhmm’ around the fullness of his cock in your mouth. maybe it's the praise, or maybe it's the fact that the noise you made sent delicious vibrations down his shaft but within a few minutes he's warning you that he's close.

you let him cum in your mouth, and you make a show of swallowing just to watch him turn red again. he, of course, wants to return the favor but you let him know you're content to just get him off for now…

but!! then a week or so later, he’s got his head between your legs. he was enthusiastic, immediately licking and sucking and absolutely devouring you, but you had to tap him on the shoulder and tell him to slow down and take his time.

you coax him through what to do from there, letting him know exactly what it is you like. first it’s just his mouth, alternating between light licks to your clit and full-on french kissing your wet pussy. he goes from your clit to your entrance and back, you can tell he’s just trying everything.

then he decides to add two fingers into the mix and your entire back arches off the bed. he starts off slow, pumping them in and out at an agonizing pace, and it feels good, so so good but you want to encourage him to make it feel even better.

“curl your fingers,” he adjusts his position and does as he's told, earning a moan from you, “that's it, ohhh just like that, caleb.”

you run your fingers through his hair, tugging gently to test the waters, and he groans into you. you make a mental note that he's a fan of hair pulling.

he’s good at taking directions. he doesn't seem to mind being down there for the fifteen minutes it takes for your orgasm to build. any other guy you've been with old have given up and either asked for a blowjob or just went straight to fucking you by now but not caleb. he’s moaning just as much as you are.

he sense of pride he gets when your legs clamp around his head and he feels you pulse around his fingers in unreal. he keeps licking to clean you up and you have to push his head away from overstimulation. when you catch your breath you try to return the favor only to be met with a wet spot on the front of his boxers and a bashful caleb.

he came when he put his fingers in for the first time.

but!! when he fucks you for the first time??

he whimpers when he puts it in for the first time. a whiny little noise before he huffs out a breath. he has to pause with his tip in because he thinks he might blow his load right there.

he doesn't, and when he calms down he presses all the way in. “god you feel good, feel so full,” you say, your walls stretching to accommodate his impressive size.

you let him do what feels good. your goal is for him to have fun. he finds a good pace quickly, and you both can't fight the noises that bubble out as he slowly fucks you into the mattress. you reach between your bodies to circle your own clit, but you know you're not going to cum from this, it's not the point.

"i’m- i think i’m-” you can tell he's trying to tell you he’s close, but he doesn't need to. you can feel him throbbing, you can tell his rhythm is started to stutter.

“go ahead, baby,” you say, gripping onto his hair and kissing at his neck, “want you to cum for me,” and that's kind of the only confirmation he needed.

“o-oh,” he moans, “cumming…i’m cumming,” he grits out less than a second before releases inside of you. you let him lay on top of you with all of his body weight, partially because it feels nice and partially because he completely collapsed as soon as he came.

he definitely takes his time cleaning you up afterwards too, still with a slight blush on his cheeks, which you lightly tease him about because “you're blushing after you just came inside of me?” which, of course, only makes him blush even more.

[bravenot]

a gem from caduceus’ origins comic. they’re holding on to each other’s clothes. oh this is too much.

[syluses]

BREADWINNER┃sylus

cw. smut, boxer! sylus, literally purely nsfw, sylus is down bad but just a teensy bit mean here, below 1k words, fem reader, 18+ characters

this isn’t the best idea, he knows.

fucking you, he means. it’s not wise, it’s certainly not conducive to his upcoming match’s success (set to commence in the next half hour)— hell, it’s not even sanitary, not really. there’s something distinctly filthy about this all when sylus crams you against the shower wall, the rather grimy one his dressing room has to offer, and hoists you up to rut into you deeper as you cry.

you don’t want anyone to hear. his team, or more notably his coach- waiting outside the door and pacing as he readies his number one fighter’s gloves and gear.

sylus does.

there’s a whole stadium full of people waiting with barely-contained excitement just down the hall where the back area opens up to the seemingly boundless ring. he knows it’s all for naught but fuck he hopes they hear as he pounds into your poor cunt senselessly and makes a vow in your ear, saying, i’ll win it for you.

you’d admire his dedication if you were a little more lucid, but right now, the better part of your rationale has faded.

he feels good. so good. you can’t even be mad at him for going against his coach’s advice, being warned off intimacy before a match because it’ll sap him of his strength- his physical vigor- completely. there’s no room for frustration when you’re damn near certain his cockhead is rearranging your guts as you hold onto him for dear life, when he bites into your neck- not to a painful degree, but just to leave a pretty mark, proof you’re his- and moans.

he tuts when you whimper. bastard. but to his credit, and sometimes to your displeasure, his cocksure attitude is grounded: he wins all his battles. he has every right to brag, but that doesn’t mean that sometimes you won’t get fed up with his bravado and try to knock him down a peg… you think it’s good for him; you’re like his tether to planet earth as he makes a small empire off the boxing industry.

(albeit, he seems less interested in that and more so in impressing you with its wages.)

“nawh. what’s wrong, sweetie?” he asks, honey-sweet, tone deceptively cloying for the wicked, self-satisfied glint in his eye. and you make a silent swear right then and there that you’ll get him back for this later. (but not now. he feels delicious inside you and you can hardly swat his hands away as they grasp your hips to anchor you as he bullies his way in.)

“if i’m not mistaken, you were telling me just moments ago how we shouldn’t do this, how bad of an idea it is that i… touch you.” he breathes, playful.

maybe he’s being a little meaner now, okay, he’ll grant that much, but he hopes you know that adrenaline’s already coursing through him, that he can’t help the testosterone that spikes in his veins preceding a fight. it’s hard to not act on it. coach’s words be damned- sylus feels more hyped up, thrilled, than anything when he’s fucking you within an inch of your life in his temporary room’s bathroom. certainly not tired, or drained, or any other thing he sagely warned him about, painting sex before a match like it was anathema in itself, a ticket to a sure loss.

oh, okay, that’s great and all, but sylus doesn’t lose.

you manage a pout between gasping, delighted breaths. “you-! i- i hope you lose!”

pearly teeth flash at you, spotting your lie easily. his broad, muscled chest rumbles with a deep chuckle, the bass of it making your legs all the more weak where they wrap around his hips. “ouch, kitten, you’re hurting my feelings now. if i don’t have your support during the match,… then what’s the point in it?” he quips back, lighthearted, though you can tell he means what he’s saying.

that bold grin of his falters when he hits particularly deep and you clench around him, nails digging into his traps. he slants into you more, if that’s possible, bowing his head in the sweaty juncture of your neck and collar.

“y-you’re lucky i even go to your stupid matches,” you mewl back, brows furrowed with all the indignity you can possibly muster.

he gives a low hum, voice strained, words meaningful beneath all the layers of want and hunger. “i am lucky,” he pants. “and you’ll watch me again tonight, hm?” he plants a doting kiss to your clavicle, oddly tender for the moment, peering up at you with ruby eyes aflame.

“when i bring that belt home for you?”

[occidentalavian]

New comic: The Mighty Nein Origins: Acquired Taste, for Free Comic Book Day 2025!

Beau and Caleb get a tip that an individual they are searching for will be at a meeting at the Taste of Tal'Dorei in Bassuras. When they arrive, the pair are surprised to be treated to some dinner theater and decor themed around a legendary band of adventurers from the area. They get entranced by the story, even experiencing it themselves, only to be interrupted by some interesting new faces entering the restaurant...

Releasing on Free Comic Book Day: May 2, 2025!