Cleo ✨

m o o n g i r l c l e o

#moongirlcleo for all my writing

Most fics are posted to AO3 so check it out -> link

I haven't caught up so ya girl doesn't know BUUTTTTt. I can see what I can cook up ty anon

A Game of Love

❤︎  tags and content: foot play, oral, emotional sex, f!reader, video games ❤︎  author note: check out all my fics by searching #moongirlcleo or on AO3

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @/cafekitsune  Fic: @moongirlcleo  

A video game night with Caleb is always the remedy for a rough week. But after sixteen straight losses, you need to come up with another plan.

And when he finally loses— he doesn’t take it well

Masterpiece - a drabble

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @/cafekitsune Fic: @moongirlcleo  

The sea murmured against the glass of his ocean-view studio, moonlight filtered through salt-slick windows and spilled across the floor like liquid silver. The candles had long since burned low, their flickering glow throwing long shadows over scattered canvases and jars of pigment. Somewhere between his need to paint and his need for you, Rafayel had made a decision—one that involved neither brushes nor restraint.

You were sprawled across a long chaise draped in linen, bare save for the delicate slip of his discarded shirt falling off one shoulder. His eyes devoured you—not with the hungry gaze of a man, but the fervent obsession of a creator studying his magnum opus. He stood in front of you, shirtless, hands slick with something that shimmered faintly in the candlelight—red coral paint, soaked with memory, sacred to Lemuria.

"You don’t know what you do to me," he murmured, stepping closer. His voice was velvet, but frayed at the edges, undone. "Every time I look at you… I want to ruin you the way I ruin canvas—over and over until there’s nothing left but color and sensation."

You opened your mouth, but he was already sinking to his knees between your legs, warm fingers ghosting up the curve of your thigh. The paint left faint trails behind, glowing faintly against your skin.

“Stay still,” he whispered, breath fanning against the inside of your knee. “Let me study you. Mark you.”

You shivered as he dragged the pad of his thumb upward, the coral pigment mixing with the heat of your skin. His touch wasn’t gentle—it was reverent, consuming, like he was trying to learn the shape of you with his hands alone.

Then his tongue followed, slow and deliberate, tasting the inside of your thigh as if testing the flavor of the divine.

“Color theory,” he murmured, lips brushing higher. “Your skin goes pink when I breathe here… red when I do this—”

His teeth grazed your inner thigh, and you gasped, fingers clenching the edge of the chaise.

He looked up at you through his lashes, eyes twin galaxies of cerulean and rose. “I want to see how many shades I can bring out of you.”

His mouth was fire and worship and destruction all at once. He parted you with his thumbs, kissed the slick heat of you like it was something sacred, and moaned—deep, guttural, possessive—as if your taste confirmed something he’d long suspected.

“Sweet,” he rasped against you. “Of course you are.”

You arched, a breathless cry escaping as he licked a slow stripe up your center, tongue curling just right—just perfectly—until your vision blurred and your hips bucked helplessly against his mouth.

He didn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. He pinned you with one arm thrown across your stomach, the other hand gripping your thigh as his tongue worked you over like a man possessed. Each flick, each slow, deliberate circle of pressure, sent sparks through your nerves. When your moans turned ragged and breathless, when your thighs trembled and your fingers tangled in his hair, then—only then—did he pull back.

His lips were wet, flushed, shining.

“You’re already shaking,” he murmured, voice thick. “Haven’t even put my cock in you yet.”

Your name left his mouth like a prayer as he rose, capturing your lips in a kiss that tasted like salt and heat and the ocean’s fury. You tasted yourself on him. You didn’t care. His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face just so, and he kissed you again—deeper, hungrier.

Then he pulled back, just enough to whisper:

“Get on your hands and knees.”

You obeyed. He stood behind you, palms ghosting over your hips, thumbs pressing bruises into your skin. You heard the sound of his pants hitting the floor, the low groan as he fisted himself behind you, lining up with your soaked entrance.

“Tell me you want this,” he said, voice barely a growl. “Tell me whose you are.”

You looked over your shoulder, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy.

“Yours,” you whispered. “Only yours.”

That was all it took. He buried himself to the hilt in one smooth, brutal thrust, and the sound that tore from your throat was obscene. The stretch was perfect—too much and not enough all at once. Rafayel grunted, holding himself still inside you, one hand tangled in your hair.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “You feel like you were made for me.”

Then he moved. Each thrust was art—vicious, gorgeous, devastating. He fucked you like a man who didn’t just want you—he needed you, like the sea needed the moon, like pigment needed canvas. The sound of skin slapping echoed through the studio, mixing with your cries and his ragged groans.

"Look at you," he snarled, dragging you back onto him. "Dripping, desperate. You like when I treat you like this? Like something to be framed and ruined?"

You sobbed out something between a yes and a plea.

He reached around, fingers finding your clit with cruel precision, rubbing tight, fast circles. The pleasure hit like a tidal wave—your body spasmed, clenched, came apart all around him.

You screamed his name.

Rafayel followed with a guttural moan, hips jerking as he spilled inside you, hot and endless.

For a moment, all you could hear was the sea and the ragged cadence of your breathing.

Then he collapsed against your back, pressing kisses to your spine, your shoulder, your nape.

“Still not finished,” he whispered, pulling out slow, watching you shudder.

“I haven’t signed my masterpiece yet.”

Benediction -a drabble

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @/cafekitsune Fic: @moongirlcleo  

The alley was narrow, carved between two flickering holo-ad boards and draped in the perpetual dusk of N109’s underbelly. Neon spilled like spilled ink across the puddles at your feet, reflections rippling with every breath you took—each one more shallow than the last. You weren’t sure how you ended up here, only that Xavier had found you first.

Not Xavier, not now. Lumiere.

His mask gleamed faintly under the weak light, a curve of silver and glass that obscured half his face but did nothing to dim the intensity of his presence. He stood too close, his gloved hand braced against the wall near your head, caging you in with nothing but heat and proximity. Your back pressed into the cold concrete, chest heaving, every nerve singing in anticipation.

“Someone could see,” you whispered, the words caught somewhere between protest and plea.

Xavier tilted his head, the visor casting soft light across your flushed skin. “Then don’t be loud.”

You swallowed, throat dry.

His other hand found your waist, slow and deliberate, fingers trailing the curve of your side like he had all the time in the world. Beneath the leather, his grip was commanding—not rough, but possessive in a way that made your knees ache to bend. You hated how easy it was to melt under his touch. No, not hate. Craved.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, voice low and unreadable.

“You’re… really close,” you managed, eyes darting to the mouth barely visible beneath his mask.

“You asked me to come,” he reminded you, and there was no cruelty in it—just the truth, heavy and quiet.

And you had. An encrypted message, a traceable risk. You’d said you needed to see him. You hadn’t said why, only that it couldn’t wait. And now, here he was, with the patience of a ghost and the intent of a man unraveling.

His hand slipped under your coat, dragging up the hem of your shirt, fingertips ghosting over bare skin. “You’re warm here,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Xavier…”

“Say it again.”

His voice wasn’t harsh. It was reverent. Like the syllables of your name in his mouth were prayer and profane all at once.

“Xavier,” you gasped as his hand dipped lower, beneath the waistband of your pants, the drag of leather exchanged for the glide of skin.

His mouth hovered over your ear. “You’re soaked.”

Mortified, you tried to shift, to press your thighs together, but he had you pinned and pliant with only one hand. Your face burned, and Xavier didn’t miss it.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he asked, his lips brushing your cheek, your jaw, your throat.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “Tell me.”

He groaned, the sound guttural and grounding, then he found you with his fingers—slow and certain. You moaned, soft and broken, head tilting back against the wall.

“That,” he said. “Right there.”

Your hips bucked into his hand, the friction perfect and terrible. Your breath hitched, your nails scrabbling at the fabric of his coat, desperate to anchor yourself to something as his fingers worked you open with devastating patience.

“Xavier—”

“You’ll take me here,” he said, voice iron beneath silk. “Say yes.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

His breath caught, and for a heartbeat, he stilled—then his hand was gone, and you almost cried at the loss.

But then he was freeing himself, and your thighs spread to accommodate the press of his body against yours, his heat, his weight, the impossible stretch as he sheathed himself inside you in one, controlled thrust. You bit your lip hard enough to bruise, eyes wide, back arching off the wall.

“Shh,” he murmured, though he didn’t sound calm anymore. “You have to be quiet.”

He started to move, a pace slow and deep, deliberate, grinding his hips just right—making sure you felt every inch, every drag and pull. He watched your face with open fascination, even behind the mask. You knew his eyes were on you, memorizing every gasp, every flutter of your lashes.

Your head fell forward, forehead pressing against his shoulder. He was still in his coat, you realized distantly. Still half-armored like a soldier in the middle of war. And still, he held you like you were something precious, ruined and holy all at once.

“Please,” you whispered, though you didn’t know what for.

“I know,” he said, and then he shifted the angle, lifting one of your legs to wrap around his waist, and you broke.

The orgasm hit like starlight, like falling into gravity and being caught, your body shaking, breath escaping in silent sobs as he drove into you with a low, reverent groan.

He followed seconds later, with your name on his lips like benediction.

You stayed there, bodies pressed close, the alley quiet save for your ragged breaths.

Then Xavier slowly withdrew, fixing your clothes with gentle hands, fingers lingering like he didn’t want to let go. He tugged your coat closed, brushing your cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“Still warm here,” he murmured.

You nodded, dazed. “Thanks to you.”

His mouth curled faintly.

Then, just before he disappeared into the shadows again, he whispered, “Call me next time. I’ll come faster.”

Between Silence and Stillness

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @/cafekitsune Fic: @moongirlcleo  

You’ve always held your own in the field, even in the aftermath of a devastating Wanderer attack. But when Zayne finds you bleeding in the rubble, something inside him finally fractures. He brings you back to Akso under the guise of medical care—but the tension that’s been simmering between you for months refuses to be buried any longer. In the quiet of his office, Zayne lets go of his restraint and touches you like a man starved—carefully, reverently, worshipfully.

And in the stillness after, he finally tells you everything he’s never been brave enough to say.

awww thank you so much anon <3 this really makes my day! (I too am a loyal Caleb girly so I get you ahah)

ahhhh tysm !! <3

Yeah I usually change those to *** but forgot to before I posted bc it was formatted for ao3 😅 ty for letting me know though I appreciate you !

Folded Hands

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @/cafekitsune  Fic: @moongirlcleo  

It starts with a bottle of wine and an innocent game of poker—just a quiet night on Skyhaven, something light to pass the time between missions and memories. But when the clothes begin to come off, the stakes rise higher than either of you planned.

For Caleb, restraint has always been second nature: in battle, in command, even in love. But when he sees you again—sitting before him, laughter on your lips and old longing in your eyes—he learns what it means to fold.

I'd Give Up the Stars - a drabble

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @/cafekitsune  Fic: @moongirlcleo  

It’s quiet in Skyhaven tonight—too quiet, Caleb thinks, given the way his heart still slams against the inside of his ribs like he’s flying through turbulence, not lying in bed with the only thing that’s ever made him feel safe. The walls of his quarters are dimly lit by the dull blue of the city’s pulse outside, the soft light cutting across your bare shoulder as you curl against him, sweat-damp skin sticking to his as though even your body knows not to drift too far. His arm—that arm—rests by his side, still humming faintly with the aftershock of contact, the metal cooling but the rest of him burning.

You smell like him now. Like skin and heat and the faint metallic tang of the sheets beneath you, like something claimed, and the possessive ache that’s carved itself hollow inside his chest softens only when he watches you breathe—slow, steady, here.

He traces the curve of your back with calloused fingertips, the human ones, dragging slowly like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you with touch alone. You hum, sleepy and spent, and he wants to believe this is enough. That this—this—could be the thing that finally anchors him after years of floating untethered in the dark.

"I’d give up the stars,” he murmurs, voice low and ragged, mouth grazing your temple, “if it meant keeping you here.” A pause, one breath, two. “In my bed. In my arms. Always.”

You shift to face him, eyes still heavy-lidded but searching, and your hand comes to rest over his chest like you’re trying to quiet the storm beneath his ribs. “You don’t have to give anything up,” you whisper, brushing your lips over his collarbone. “I’m already yours.”

Caleb makes a sound—half broken, half reverent—and pulls you on top of him again, because words aren’t enough, and neither is this, but he’ll keep chasing the shape of you with his hands, his mouth, his body until he believes it’s real. Until the last of the cold metal in him remembers what it means to feel.

You’re still warm, your body molded to his, but there’s a different kind of heat building now—low and slow, simmering between your hips as you shift against him. He groans, low and rough in his throat, the sound vibrating against your chest as you slide your thigh over his waist, deliberately brushing against the hardness already growing between you.

“Already?” you murmur, your voice a sleepy tease, but your breath stutters when his hands grip your hips, strong and possessive.

“You’ve been lying here,” he rasps, voice tight, “soft, perfect, mine—what did you think would happen?”

You reach between you and guide him in with a practiced ease, and his reaction is instant—his head falls back against the pillow, jaw clenched, a curse bitten off through his teeth as you sink down slow. He fills you like he always does: deep, thick, like he was meant to be there. One hand fists in the sheets, the other comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip as he looks up at you like you’re the only thing left in the galaxy that matters.

“Fuck,” he breathes, thrusting up once, slow and hard, “you’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

And when you roll your hips and moan his name, he doesn’t just hold you—he anchors you, like letting go might mean losing you all over again.

Fractured

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @/cafekitsune Fic: @moongirlcleo  

You never meant to be stuck with a difficult choice.

But when Sylus corners you with that velvet voice and arrogant smirk, and Xavier watches with that impossible restraint burning in his silence, the tension fractures into something sharp. Something intimate. Something neither of them are willing to walk away from.

You didn’t want to choose.

So they make you feel what it’s like to be taken apart by both.