"daddy noo!!!" this week has been a total disaster for both kashiel and rafayel.
one. kashiel just discovered he can trade his short legs for a pretty, chubby tail.
two. he now loveees to bathe and soak in the tub for HOURS in that tail. every "10 minutes, daddy" is the biggest lie this boy ever came up with. because the promised 10 minutes will drag to 2 or 3 hours.
three. rafayel questions his ancestors if this child is truly just a confused lemurian. kashiel apparently loves water, except he screeches when daddy proposes to take him swimming in the vast ocean instead. his son likes tap water in the confined porcelain bathtub and hates the concept of ocean? make it make sense!
"raf! what are you doing?" your jaw falls seeing your husband holding your baby upside down by kashiel's end of tail, droplets of water from your son's mop of hair drenching the polished and dry floor.
"MUMMY! daddy wan'to throw me in water!" rafayel rolls his eyes at the exaggeration.
"what water?"
kashiel urgently flails in struggle to point at the glistening ocean outside their house. "that water! big scary water."
"the ocean?"
you try to not show how confused you are.. your half lemurian baby who possesses a fully functioning tail.. is scared of the ocean? his supposed nature and home, one he can breathe and lives in?
"if you love your tail so much, you might as well put it to practice and use it to explore the ocean, baby. the ocean is much cooler than that little bathtub." rafayel interrupts. and the boy immediately writhes in disagreement and whines about how he's sure it's not that fun.
"daddy will swim with you. 's not like i'm going to dunk you in the ocean by yourself and leave." right, definitely not the best example to come up with because kashiel screams in distraught, imagining the opposite of daddy's words. he has lost every littlest bits of trust for daddy.
you inch closer and your husband holds kashiel upright again, handing the little bundle towards your open arms. "mummy.."
"oh, baby. how long did you bath?"
"10 min–"
"don't lie. he did 2 hours." right on cue as fiery little merboy glares at daddy.
"hm, don't you think it's better if we spend 3 hours learning how to swim in the ocean, baby? do you know how to swim, kash?"
kashiel pouts, as he flaps his wet tail nervously. little fingers fiddling with the shells and pearls crusted necklace on your neck. one that he and rafayel made together and gifted you some weeks ago during their last failed attempt swimming underwater. "but mummy.. i know to swim."
"oh you do?" you ask suspiciously.
"sure he does if sinking to the seabed and wailing like a whale calling for another whale count as swimming."
"eeee i no wail like whale!"
you see, your husband's critical issue with pissing off your son is one thing, but the priority here is to finally convince kashiel to be brave and embrace his nature. it's obvious he's terrified for another attempt under the salty water because of the funny and embarrassing little accident he had during his first time with daddy few weeks ago.
which is, sinking to the seabed, exactly like rafayel claims. kashiel had come back home, face blotchy and wet with tears because a school of shrimps laughed at him when he fell face first in the ocean depth.
"daddy's pretty sure the conch sealed your scream last week. maybe we can go and find it–"
"rafayel, enough."
"yes, ma'am."
hiking kashiel higher in your arms, you pat the chub of his glistening tail. "give it a try, please? won't you, baby? mummy promises to wait for you and daddy."
lips jutted in conflict as he leans his little head against your chest. "wait on that white thingy," he states firmly.
"the yacht, yes."
"pinkie, mummy?"
"promise."
his tail flaps in relief as your pinkie links with his. now looking at the waiting daddy. "daddy pinkie too! no leave me with mr. whale."
"yeah, yeah. i promise." he stalks closer to replicate the same little gesture to seal his promise.
"a brave boy with the prettiest scales like you should show off his tail to his ocean friends." your words of assurance elicits a brilliant smile from the sweet boy who's now back in daddy's arms.
"i give you my scale, mummy!" he reaches down to pluck one of his sclaes but both of you beat him to it.
your husband yanks those fast hands away, telling kashiel a stern no as the boy pouts. he understands the prohibition but his scales are so pretty! he just wanna give everyone a piece of it! (well, kashiel already gave you few. it's more than enough for your own lovely collection.)
and when your two favorite lemurians finally return to the surface of the sea when the sun is slowly setting, kashiel squeals in delight because he can finally use his tail. showing off how he propels those fins to swim underneath. how his ocean friends sung praises to the lemurian child. babbling every little part of his adventure with daddy while rafayel shifts back to his pair of legs, sailing all of you back to the shore.
zombie apocalypse sex with protective caleb after a near-death experience
cw: mention of potential sa and just generally feeling like prey during the near-death experience portion of this. typical apocalyptic violence outside of that.
It's easy to forget his strength when his touch is always so gentle. When you're safe, he lets you forget everything he's capable of; the reason you've both made it this long.
Safety lets you forget.
And then—when it inevitably all it all goes to shit again—you remember.
"Get in!" he calls through the wall of bodies separating you. He keeps the attention of most of them, but there's a few stumbling in your direction—too many for you to handle alone. "Now!" he shouts as he takes another moaning monster down.
It goes against every instinct you have—to leave him to fight this alone. But this was his domain. This was when you did whatever the fuck he told you to do. It was how you survived.
You drag the door of the huge shipping container open, grunting as the heavy metal fights back. It's a makeshift prison cell, one that was supposed to be filled with live bait for the monsters. It would be if it weren't for Caleb. He was almost single-handedly dismantling whatever fucked up enterprise you'd both stumbled upon.
One of them reaches you before you'd manage to push the gate open enough to slip through.
One is fine. You can handle one.
Turning around to deal with it gives you a split second to check in on your brother. He's making a dent in the mass of bodies, but it's not enough. Not with the shouts of the living making their way closer.
You kick the monster you've knifed back into the mass of bodies approaching, giving you just enough time to slip through the crack you've made in the sliding door and slam it closed behind you.
Locking it is another story.
You have no hope of accomplishing that.
Still, it's enough for now. It's enough to let Caleb keep his focus where it needs to be as you deal with as many as you can through the bars.
Then one gets shot down. Caleb helping you from a distance is your first thought. But then two are shot down at once. And then the voices reach your ears. Voices are bad. Mindless moaning monsters you can handle. The living was another story. Nothing stoked the fear constantly simmers in your gut like the voices of the living.
They shout over each other, calling directions as they pick off the mass with a spray of bullets. You can't see Caleb anymore. He's either dead or hiding.
Hiding. Hiding. Hiding.
You shift back into one of the dark corners of the container as the shouts draw nearer.
“What the fuck happened?! Don't shoot them you dumb fucks! Get any you can back into holding!”
Any second now... any second they'd find the only person you loved and your world would end. The living were different. The living were monsters of a different kind.
"They're bunched up around this one!" someone shouts.
You hold your breath.
"Well, check it out then!" another commands.
Oh, fuck. You grip your pistol. Your aim was decent. You could take one out, maybe two. But there's a whole group... and they were coming for you.
You scramble to the other far corner as the last of the moaning dead are cleared from the entrance, hoping to take advantage of the darkest shadows. Caleb would be watching... waiting. A predator in the shadows. Any extra moment you could give him could be vital.
"You better come out now," a man calls from outside. He's just out of sight, using the edge of the container as a shield, prepared for you to be armed and ready to fight. You'd hoped to have the element of surprise. "I ain't asking," he adds.
You know what'll happened when they find you. It's a predictable evil. You're prey to people like them—something to hunt and occupy their time with in a world without the threat of consequence.
Your silence buys you less than a minute before the first of them are dragging the metal gate open. If you shoot, they'll shoot back. It's not something you'll survive cornered like this. So you bet on them being the same as the rest. You let them know you're prey.
"Please," you call, as meek and afraid as you can manage. It's not hard to pull off considering the genuine fear wracking your body. It helps your performance. Make them drop their guard. Small. Afraid. Unthreatening. Alone. "I'm—I'm unarmed."
They hesitate. The barrels on their guns start to lower.
Then a bright light blinds you.
"What the fuck?" one of them exclaims.
Then, "Where'd the fuck this little thing come from?"
There it was: little thing. You were nothing. You're not a threat. You'd bought Caleb more time.
"Come on out, girl. Come on." They call you like you're a dog, something less than human. That's how they see you. Something to use.
You take a small step forward, still blinded by their flashlights. Caleb was alive. He was alive and hiding and he was waiting for something. You repeat it to yourself like a prayer.
You just had to stay alive.
"What do you... want with me?" you ask, still taking tiny steps towards the light. Weak. Vulnerable. No threat.
You get muffled laughter in response.
Their guards are down. They're distracted.
"What do we want? We want a little fun, honey. That's all. Just a bit of fun."
Their flashlights drop as you approach the entrance. They've pulled the gate all the way across.
Five. You count five. If you kill two...
"Why is she alone?" one of them questions. He's younger—probably still a child—a little less distracted.
The rest ignore him.
Then one of them has you by the arm, dragging you the rest of the way out of the makeshift cell. Their hands send a wave of repulsion through you as they grab at you, pulling you around and shoving you in front of them. They may as well be the undead the way their slimy touch feels against your skin.
The young one doesn't move out of the way when you reach him. Instead he stares into you, suspicious and angry. "Who are you with?" he asks. Even then, his gun is lowered. Even to him you aren't a threat.
"Get the fuck out of the way," the man gripping your arm growls, impatient.
"But—"
"Now."
His eyes narrow, but then he steps aside—his back pressed to the wall to let the rest of the men past. It's now that you get a look down into the pit of monsters, the one's they've managed to recapture rather than take out. They reach up towards you, hands grabbing for you.
Then, only a few steps later—you're pulled to a halt. The man with his hand wrapped around your elbow leans over your shoulder, his rancid breath invading your nostrils as he speaks. "You alone?" he asks. "You tell me right now."
You blink away the burn of sudden emotion threatening to pool tears in your eyes. Were you alone? If you were...
The man's grip tightens, the only warning you get before you're forced to your knees and staring down into the pit of hungry undead. "Speak," he demands, nails carving into your skin. "I'd hate to waste you like this."
There's two other men behind you. Three surrounding you in total. You could take one out for sure. They hadn't even searched you for weapons. They expected nothing out of you at all.
But then there'd be two, only counting the ones in reaching distance. How long would it take the other two further away to aim their guns in your direction?
You were dying tonight if Caleb was dead, that was certain. Your only hope was that he was waiting and watching... but what would he be waiting for...
Your pistol sits at your hip, a comfortable weight.
You take a deep breath. You could wait to die. Or fight now and hope that's the moment he's waiting for... if he's waiting at all. A heavy weight sits in your chest, reaching it's hands out towards you, like the monsters in the pit: doubt.
The man holding you drops to one knee behind you. He leans over to speak in your ear. You wouldn't need to rely on your aim for the first kill, only any that followed. It was a headstart you weren't likely to get again. You reach for your pistol, and before the man can open his lips and taint your senses with his rot once more, you shoot him through the underside of his jaw.
Your ears ring as his body drops. But you were ready. The men behind you aren't.
You were nothing. Prey.
The few seconds that affords you are priceless. You manage to shoot one more through the forehead before he can get hands on his own weapon.
The third is another story. His gun is pointed at you for what must be milliseconds. They drag though. Those moments with an enemy weapon pointed directly at you always do.
But then Caleb is there, strangling the man from behind with the body of a rifle and shoving his body into the ground with a force that reverberates through the metal. It's only when he snaps the man's neck that you spot the bodies behind him: eliminated during your own attack.
He'd been waiting for you. If he attacked before you were ready, they'd use you against him. So he'd waited until the exact moment you'd shot the first one under the chin.
You watch him stand, hair hanging in his eyes and his chest rising and falling with his deep breaths.
Then his purple eyes are on you.
Then his hands.
Those hands... the same ones he'd used seconds earlier to break a man's neck. His fingers are feathers across your skin as he brushes the hair back off your face. "Okay?" he asks, soft and a little shaky. His fingers struggle to secure your hair back behind your ear, trembling.
You nod.
"You did so good," he soothes, that familiar comforting voice easing you back into your own body. "You were perfect." His hand makes a trail down to your neck, gentle and slow over your pulse point before it rests at your clavicle. "We need to leave," he says, finally steadying his own breathing. "Stay close to me."
—————
The first time after is always the same—after you're forced to remember how close death is. It adds something to the way his gentle hands feel as he reaches over your hips to dip between your legs—to the way his body feels pressed up behind yours.
His long, thick fingers slip between your slick folds as he holds you tight against his chest. Heat. It's an overwhelming heat. He crowds you, practically curled around you. A protective warmth.
"You like that, sweetheart?" His lips graze your ears and his long hair tickles your skin. It falls down around his neck at the back, a messy wolf-cut that you hack at with a knife when it gets long enough to bother him. "You're so soft for me... dripping all over me... welcoming me in. You did so good today... so perfect..."
You offer a small whine in response, squirming a little.
He sighs, finger prodding over and over at your swollen entrance—a teasing little hint of what's to come. He dips in slightly, his calloused fingertip pressing into your twitchy entrance just enough to have you whimpering his name.
"It's alright," he soothes. "You need me here? Inside?"
"Mm," you whine with a desperate nod. "Empty."
His grip around your ribs tightens for a moment before he's pressing you into the ground—cushioned by the few blankets you carry. He's rolled you onto your belly as he covers you completely with his huge body, a living blanket shielding you from all the world's dangers.
"I'm sorry they put their hands on you." His breath warms your skin, and he sounds pained.
"I'm not hurt," you remind him, again.
"Shouldn't have let them touch you."
You'd been through this before. More times than you could count. He would torture himself in the days after this. Perfection was all he ever accepted from himself, and arguing would get you nowhere.
So you reach blindly to find his wrist and grip it firmly. "Hold me tight," you whisper into his ear.
His weight is heavy over you as he drops his lips to your neck, a silent acknowledgement of your pleas. Another apology.
Then he's scooping you up, lifting you and rearranging you exactly the way you want him to. Because he always knows.
He has you pressed to his chest with your tits against his skin as he lays back into the makeshift bed you've created for the night. His arms wrap around you, one across your shoulder blades and the other around your waist—secure and firm. His fingers press sporadically into your skin a little more than needed, like he's testing his grip on you—like he's testing he has you in his arms good and tight.
Then he hooks one leg under yours, a gentle guide to part your legs just the way he needs.
"Won't let anyone touch you again," he breathes against your temple as one of his hands leaves you. "Never."
The loss of his hand on you is temporary, you remind yourself. He'd be wrapping you up securely as soon as he buried himself deep—as soon as his cock was guided safely inside your dripping cunt.
You nip at his neck in response, chasing with a delicate lick at his salty skin. "Please," you ask softly.
Then he's adjusting you against him a little, ensuring you're exactly where he needs you to be. "I've got you," he says as his leaking tip prods at your entrance. "Got you," he repeats.
He mumbles it over and over as he teases—plays. This was what he did: pushed you to the brink as he guides his tip over your twitchy hole and through your lips over and over.... and over... until you forget everything but the feeling of him against you and all the desperate need building up inside.
Then, eventually, he presses inside. Just the tip... and not far. Just enough so that he can wrap his arms around you again. Just enough that he can have you whimpering his name as he prevents you grinding down to take him deep inside.
This is when he gives you a little taste of his actual strength. The strength he used to keep you safe every single day. It's easy to keep you from your goal, his thick arms pressing you into his torso a little harder each time you attempt to resist.
He keeps you there, just with a teasing sample of that fullness—of having him as close as it was possible to be. "Kiss," he orders, simple and a little croaky.
You obey, pressing your desperation between his lips. It's wet and messy and interrupted by moments where you simply need to breathe, heavily.
His lips chase yours as you attempt to catch your breath. One kiss to your swollen lower lip as you pant. Then he licks at the drool glistening across your chin.
His grip around you tightens a little as you drop your face to his neck with a whimper.
And then, without warning, he pulls you down to meet his leaking cock—to fuck himself deep. It's sudden, and it's all forceful strength, exactly like you need it—exactly the way he knows you want it. You bite into his shoulder as he keeps you there, stuffed full—the thick throbbing length of him stretching you out so completely.
Then, "Like that?" he asks, that sweetness back in his voice—like he's offering you a gentle back massage instead of holding you down on his cock.
You nod weakly in response.
His fingers press into your skin a little more, a silent warning moments before he's moving—fucking himself with your cunt as he pulls you down to meet his powerful thrusts. You're completely pliant like this, all control relinquished.
He's got you.
He attempts to grunt broken sentences into your ear as you jostle against him. "Sucking me in... sucking at my cock with your messy little cunt... it's okay... you're okay..."
One of his hands moves to your hair occasionally, a temporary and seemingly subconscious attempt to get a better grip—or just to hold you closer. His fingers tangle in the strands, never tugging hard—never hurting.
"My pretty girl." He holds you down against him, buried to the hilt, and grinds up into you with a roll of his hips. "My pretty little baby... fu-fuck... keep you safe."
It's only when he's nearing his end that he flips you onto your back and you get a real display. He grips your hips, lifts them up, and tugs you onto him—each thrust a vulgar slapping of skin that punches a helpless sound from your lungs.
Strength.
You watch the muscles in his arms move as he uses you, moving you against him like you weigh nothing at all. His calloused fingers dig almost painfully into your hips. He's all power and murderous protection, and you feel it all as he drives himself through your walls again and again.
He falls over you when he finally floods you, his cock twitching and pumping you full. But even then, even as he loses himself, he catches his fall—thick, sweaty arms landing either side of your head to cage you in. "Got you," he gasps out between desperate lungfuls of air. "I've got you."
Synopsis: It's six days before Sylus's birthday, but you can't plan anything because of the interference of a birthday boy himself.
Characters: Sylus x Non-MC!reader
Warnings: fluff
A/N: this was supposed to be a part two of another fic, buuuut Sylus had other ideas haha.
It was six days before Sylus’s birthday, and you really needed to lock in and plan the actual day.
You had been so busy tending to that tiny garden all year that it had completely slipped your mind to make plans for the birthday itself. But now, when it actually mattered, you couldn’t get a single thing done.
Because the birthday boy (who had been suspiciously well-behaved all year) had apparently decided that good behavior was overrated.
Ever since you showed him the fruits of your labor, he just couldn’t leave you alone. He followed you around like a shadow, seizing every possible opportunity to be close to you.
Yesterday night?
He had practically forced his way into the shower with you. (Not that you were really against it.)
But to your surprise, nothing happened. Well… nothing you had expected.
Instead, he had gently tilted your head back, carefully working shampoo through your hair, fingers slow and deliberate as he massaged your scalp. You had almost melted right there under his touch. And even while rinsing your hair, he had stayed impossibly close, chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapped around your waist like he was afraid you might slip away.
When you had tried to step out first, he had simply clicked his tongue and pulled you back under the water for five more minutes.
Afterward, he had dried your hair with surprising patience, occasionally pausing just to run his fingers through it again, like he couldn’t help himself.
Then he had tucked you into bed. Actually tucked you in. And only slipped away to deal with his work once you had already fallen asleep.
And now?
Now it was morning. Your time to start the day, his time to go to bed. And you found yourself completely trapped in his arms.
“Sylus,” you murmured softly. “I really need to get up.”
His response was immediate. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer against his chest. You could’ve sworn one of your ribs protested under the pressure.
“No, you don’t,” he mumbled into your neck, voice rough with sleep. “You’ve worked hard all year. Now you rest.”
You huffed, though there was no real annoyance behind it.
“I’ve slept the whole night. I don’t need more rest…”
He pulled back just enough to look at you. And then he gave you the most devastating pair of sad puppy eyes you had ever seen.
“Well, I do,” he said, voice quieter now.
Before you could react, he threw one leg over your hip, effectively pinning you in place.
You stared at him, unimpressed.
“Sleep then,” you said. “I’m busy.”
You tried to shift out of his hold.
Big mistake.
His leg pressed down harder, anchoring you. A low, warning sound rumbled in his chest. Not quite a growl, but also not quite anything human.
“I need to plan your birthday,” you insisted. “It’s in six days.”
“It’s six days away,” he countered lazily.
“It’s only six days away!” you shot back. “That’s not a lot of time!”
“Sweetie,” he exhaled, nuzzling into your neck again, voice muffled, “with my money, you could throw a grand celebration in under an hour.”
You opened your mouth to argue and then suddenly the world shifted.
He rolled onto his back in one smooth motion, dragging you with him, positioning you on top of his chest. Before you could even process it, his form shifted.
Scales appeared on his face, his wings unfurled just enough to wrap around you, cocooning you in a dark, warm shelter. His tail slid around your waist, tightening just enough to keep you firmly in place.
“Got you.”
You stared down at him, caught somewhere between exasperation and fondness.
“I cannot decide if I want to slap you or kiss you,” you muttered.
“Both are acceptable,” he replied immediately.
You sighed, giving up for the moment. Arguing clearly wasn’t going to get you anywhere. So instead, you shifted slightly, settling more comfortably on top of him. His tail flicked once in response, tightening just a little more. You raised a hand and scratched lightly under his chin.
“What, big bad boss missed me so much that he…”
The words died in your throat.
A low, deep sound filled the air.
You froze.
It took you a second to realize what you were hearing.
Purring.
You slowly looked down at him.
His eyes were half-lidded now, pupils blown wide, lips slightly parted. A faint flush had spread across his face, and his grip on you had softened.
You stared.
“…Sylus.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, his fingers curled against your back.
Pressed.
Released.
Pressed again.
Slow. Rhythmic.
Your eyes widened.
“Are you… kneading me?”
The purring cut off instantly. His eyes snapped open, sharp and narrowed.
“No.”
You raised a brow.
“Absolutely not.”
You hummed thoughtfully and very deliberately dragged your fingers along the underside of his jaw again, scratching lightly along the sensitive line of scales.
The reaction was immediate. The purring came back, louder this time, vibrating through his chest and into your body. His fingers resumed their movement, pressing into your back more insistently now, like he couldn’t stop himself.
“Oh my god,” you whispered, delighted. “You are kneading me.”
“No, I’m not…”
Another scratch.
His eyes fluttered shut. The kneading got stronger.
“…I’m not,” he repeated weakly.
You bit your lip, trying not to laugh.
“Oh, this is priceless.”
His tail flicked sharply, then wrapped tighter around your waist in retaliation.
“Careful,” he muttered, though his voice lacked any real threat. “I can stop.”
“You won’t,” you said sweetly, scratching just behind his ear this time.
He inhaled sharply. The purring deepened.
“Are you sure you’re a dragon?” you teased. “Not a very large, very spoiled kitten?”
His eyes cracked open, narrowing at you. But instead of snapping back, he did something worse. He leaned into your touch. Slowly. Deliberately. Then, very pointedly, he bumped his head against your hand.
Once.
Twice.
You froze.
“…Did you just nudge me?”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t.”
You laughed softly, unable to stop yourself, and this time ran your fingers more confidently through his hair, scratching along his scalp.
His entire body relaxed beneath you.
His wings shifted, curling tighter around you. His tail swayed lazily now, no longer restraining. Just there.
He blinked at you slowly.
Once.
Twice.
You tilted your head.
“…Did you just slow blink at me?”
Silence.
He did it again.
Your heart melted.
“Oh, you’re impossible,” you murmured, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his lips.
He hummed softly against you, clearly pleased, one hand sliding up your back to pull you closer.
“Stay,” he said quietly this time.
Not demanding. Not teasing. Just… soft.
You hesitated. Then sighed, giving in, resting your head against his chest.
“…Fine. Five minutes.”
His tail flicked in satisfaction.
“An hour.”
“Ten minutes.”
“Two.”
You lifted your head to glare at him. He smirked. And then, without warning, he buried his face in your neck again, purring louder, kneading resuming like he had decided negotiations were over.
when you prefer the simpler and traditional things in life, how will sylus adjust to your tastes?
when it came to everything about you, sylus prided himself in being the most knowledgeable. he knew your favorite food, favorite shows, how your laugh sounded from miles away..
if there was one thing that he knew but still threw him off though, it was your love for simpler gifts. handmade, authentic, you name it, it was immensely clear that was what you preferred over any of the shiny things he often got you.
he couldn't help the slight ache in his heart when he saw how happy you were at the simple trinkets he brought back from his trips. even if he knew it was what you preferred, the draconic instinct in him insisted you deserved better, that you deserved all the gold in the world.
but you were happy with simple, so he would do his damn best to make sure you got simple. even if it was hard, he would get it.
everything he ever did was for you, after all.
when sylus started going on more trips than usual, you couldn't help but feel curious. while you were incredibly happy with the gifts he brought you, you missed having him home.
so when he came home with a bag full of trinkets from some other city, you tried not to let your excitement get to you.
"they're beautiful," you started, before glancing up at him, "but is there a reason you've been traveling so much? it feels like i barely see you anymore."
he froze, and in that silence, you knew he wasn't telling you something. "things have just been busy, sweetie." he avoided your gaze, clearing his throat, "i've had a lot of things to attend to.."
"out of the city? you barely left the n109 zone two months ago, and now you're traveling everywhere?" your eyes narrowed, "i don't buy it."
"i don't control where business takes me," he shrugged, smiling at you carefully, "besides, haven't you enjoyed all the trinkets? i made sure to get ones i thought you would like."
you sighed, glancing down at the bag in your hands. "they're nice.. but they don't compare to having you here with me."
a silence filled the room, before he moved to wrap you in his arms, pressing his lips into your hair.
"of course," he breathed, "i'm sorry, sweetie. i'll try to.. take less deals out of town."
he stuck true to his word, and while it was wonderful to have him back at home, you were still curious.
"if you could've stayed home all this time, why didn't you?" you asked him a couple weeks later, eyes narrowing at the way he froze.
"i.." he stared down at the salad he was making, biting his lip, "was just.."
"sylus." and with a simple glare from you, he broke.
"i didn't have to go out of town." he admitted, stiff and awkward as he avoided your gaze, "i.. i just wanted to get you gifts you'd like.."
you were quiet, before you started laughing, shaking your head.
"silly sy," you hummed at the incredulous look on his face, quick to tug him into a hug, "you don't need to spoil me. all i want is you."
and sure, he could argue. sure, he could insist you deserved whatever made you happy.
but having you melt into him felt like more than enough to prove you were happy with him and what he provided.
daddy!rafayel and his crippling worries for his 3 years old son with comical sweet tooth
fluff. the son is named. this is like some sort of writing warm up after so long..
between you and rafayel as parents, people would think your husband is more lenient with your child than you are. but the truth is, oftentimes your three years old son displays how much more terrifying daddy is than mummy.
both of you equally spoil your baby but somewhere along the year, kashiel qi develops a veryyy sweet tooth. you especially have been indulging in his even sweeter pleas to devour every fluffy, sugary treat in sight.
how can you not when each time he goes all big sparkly eyes, lovely 'thank you, mummy!' whenever you relent to buy one scoop of cookies and cream, another of lemon cheesecake ice creams from the parlor down the beach. despite rafayel's nagging voice from previous week, lecturing on how you should consider kashiel's sugar intake.
it becomes a problem when kashiel begins to refuse lunch because he had a donut, few donuts earlier. then, he's unable to sleep at night too. his little body runs high on saccharine. turning what's supposed to be a cozy movie night between you and rafayel into an extended mission to tire out your son.
that's how your husband has enough and sets strict limits and rules. each stern refusal from daddy during a car ride to stop at a bakery and buy the goods, kashiel now knows to turn away and pout at your direction instead. surely his angel of a mummy will say–
"no can do, baby. daddy already says no donuts before lunch."
your heart is made of steel! rafayel is right in wanting to control your son's diet during this crucial development phase for kids.
"but mummy.." you can hear the sullen, sunken expression on his face. you hum encouragingly to have your baby accept his denied request. "okay no donuts. but tomorrow? donuts tomorrow, mummy? please!"
glancing at your silent husband who's driving and purposely ignoring the tension over donuts. you kind of hoping his big heart will say yes to your dearest son.
"you hear the baby. how about tomorrow, daddy? can we get the donuts with strawberry icing?"
mummy, no! kash frowns, his little heart twisting in betrayal when you spin the question back at daddy who will 90% reject his precious donuts tomorrow :(
through the rearview mirror rafayel can see the downturn of kashiel's lips. as if accepting his forbidden fate with donuts now.
"only if you promise to eat your lunch and dinner and sleep early."
"I PROMISH!"
that was last week's donuts chronicle. and kashiel is off sweet treats again until yesterday. because yesterday uncle thomas brought a bag of cookies varieties for the qi's from an acquaintance that had just opened a new bakery.
rafayel can't exactly ignore the triple choc chip cookie with a fluffy patch of marshmallow on the coffee table. staring at his toddler, promising gooeyness that'd last an impression for days in kash's sweetest dreams.
his baby has gotten bored halfway when the adults talk with words he barely understands. he's stuck with daddy since mummy's working too.
now the only thing that tackles his interest again is the cookie. kashiel really really wants that triple choc chip cookie. when he peers up to look at daddy, daddy's already looking at him with amusement.
i see you.
hmph!
daddy's warm lips brushing kash's temple as the toddler blinks with unconcealed hunger for the cookie.
"you want the cookie?"
an eager nod.
"promise you'll eat lunch later with daddy?"
"promish! i want haaalf cookie daddy! i no full, so i eat lunch with you." kash beams proudly, feeling like a responsible toddler who succeeds in negotiating with his daddy without tears and hiccups.
chuckling in adoration, rafayel leans forward, caging his son in place as he takes the plastic wrapped cookie. breaking it in half per kash request and holds it out in his palm like a makeshift plate.
that should be kashiel's fill of treats for few days to come. except their visitors have a knack for celebrating whatever unknown reason it is in their house that compels its guests to bring desserts every time they come over!
talia pays a visit right after she landed in linkon after her last tour stop, claiming to miss you and her precious grandson. it's only been hours since kash had his last triple choc chip cookie and now rafayel's aunt is walking past the door with a bright colourful pastel box, 12 special donuts exclusively for one small boy.
"kash! look what i bring for you, dear!"
"donuts?!"
purple hair zooms past rafayel who's scowling, hands on his hips as he watches his mini me tiptoeing to look inside the big box on the table.
kashiel is already in his whale printed pajamas, and had even promised to be daddy's company in the kitchen later to cook his favourite shrimp fried rice together. only for their father-son bonding time to be interrupted so unexpectedly.
look, rafayel is not angry at all, he's just internally questioning why, why his most welcomed guests always arrive with ridiculous sugar hazards that will send his kid into crazy glucose spike overnight.
maybe he should consider banning these sweet treats altogether, he thought with a frown as he sits on the sofa. glaring at the innocent open box and his even more innocent child while talia has gone off to somewhere with you.
kashiel tried asking you before you were gone if he can have the donut but you recall the boys plan to cook dinner together. so really, it's up to rafayel.
"fine. you can have one donut. just one," daddy speaks with a sigh. slumping in his seat as he switches on the tv. though irritated, he's not really in the mood to upset his baby tonight.
yeah of course he can do four story times before bed with 10 different voice impressions later.
kashiel should already be making an important decision for his choice of donut for the night.. but he remembers his promise to make daddy's seafood fried rice together..
tearing away his gaze from the 12 tempting donuts, kash looks up at daddy.
"daddy?"
...
"..daddy."
all the boy receives is a slow, unimpressed hum. daddy's eyes fixed on the screen.
suddenly, the three-year-old is in front of rafayel, tugging his daddy's sleeve at the wrists resting on his thighs. no reaction. and that's all kashiel needs to know that daddy is sulking!
uh oh.
"daddyyy!" he's slumping against daddy's legs now. almost kneeling on the plush carpet beneath him, small palms cupping rafayel's knees as the daddy looks so focused on the boring tv. "i wanna eat seafood rice."
at that, rafayel raises his brow and spares his pouty son a look. "you will not eat your seafood fried rice when you eat your donut, baby. daddy knows you like the back of my hand."
rafayel gently taps kash's button nose. his little face immediately scrunches up cutely as he tilts his head. kashiel knows daddy makes perfect sense. he knows he's always full after eating donuts. and he already ate one cookie instead of half during the day too.
"i not know."
"don't know what?"
"seafood fry rice or donut. what to pick." kashiel mumbles quietly, resting his chin comfortably on daddy's lap. "this so harddd, daddy!"
it's like seeing a toddler going through a midlife crisis over what to eat for dinner. ruffling his son's hair affectionately, rafayel finally breaks into a soft grin. "well. daddy did let you eat donut, didn't i?"
"but you promish seafood rice," kashiel mutters, eyes fluttering as daddy plays with his hair.
"that's how life is, baby," rafayel chuckles before lightly pinching kashiel's cheeks. his irritation easily melts away.
the baby thinks so wisely. while donut is his favorite, shrimp fried rice is his favorite too. his gluttony would say both but daddy will definitely say no to have both. he steals another look at the colourful, sprinkly donuts.. also reliving the memory of eating daddy's special and delicious shrimp fried rice..
finally making up his mind, kashiel leans back, squeezing daddy's hand to have daddy's attention. "okay, okay.. if i no eat donut tonight, daddy cook shrimp fry rice?"
"as much shrimp as my baby wants." he promises, tucking kashiel's messy lavender hair behind the ears.
kashiel instantly brightens up as he leans his weight forward. "really?? promish?"
"pinkie." rafayel thrusts his pinky finger up to seal the promise. his toddler excitedly links his own smaller pinky with daddy's too.
"okie dokie i eat fry rice."
a rather very satisfied rafayel grabs the boy under the arms, pulling him high into his chest as he stands now to proceed with their masterchef plan. picking along the box of donuts to store in the fridge. with lingering gaze towards the box, kash chatters off which four donuts he'll eat first tomorrow.
that if he's so lucky with getting daddy to say yes to four donuts.
"put maaany shrimps, daddy." little legs dangling back and forth on the kitchen counter as kashiel watches his tall daddy expertly taking out all the ingredients needed.
"maaany shrimps it is, mister." rafayel pops a sliced mango in kashiel's mouth before handing the bowl full of them into kashiel's trusty hands to keep him occupied while daddy cooks.
You’ve become such a spoiled little kitten, swiping his black card without a second thought in every high-end boutique you step into. Designer bags, glittering jewelry, ridiculously overpriced heels—anything that catches your eye ends up in your arms. Every few minutes you glance back at him, waiting for that “enough, sweetie,” but it never comes. Instead, he just stands there, tall and imposing in his tailored coat, that signature smug smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Crimson eyes gleam with quiet amusement, encouraging you to keep going, like he’s testing just how far his pretty girl will push it.
You wink at him playfully before turning back to the rack, fingers already reaching for the sheerest, most expensive Victoria’s Secret lingerie sets—tiny scraps of lace that barely qualify as clothing. His low chuckle follows you through the store, warm and approving.
Back at his penthouse, the favor gets returned in full.
The delicate lingerie lies discarded on the floor like expensive confetti. You’re folded in half on his massive bed like a cheap fucktoy, knees smashed to your tits, ankles locked behind his neck as he rails you mercilessly. His massive, veiny cock slams balls-deep into your sloppy cunt with every brutal thrust, the fat leaking tip battering your cervix like he’s trying to knock you up. You stare down with a completely fucked-stupid expression, mouth hanging open, eyes crossed as you watch the obscene bulge punching up in your belly every single time he bottoms out—his thick dick stretching your gummy walls wide open, dragging along every sensitive ridge inside you with wet, filthy squelching sounds.
“Oh fuck, sweetie,” Sylus chuckles low and nasty, sweat dripping down his chest as he snaps his hips forward viciously, grinding his heavy balls against your soaked ass. “You like that, huh? Feeling Daddy’s fat cock rearranging your insides? That greedy little pussy is creaming so fucking much for me.”
You moan like a whore, loud and broken, head thrown back, tongue lolling out shamelessly as thick strings of drool spill down your chin. Your brain is completely melted, pussy clenching and gushing around his pistoning cock, juices squirting messily every time he punches against your cervix.
“So pretty and dumb on my cock,” he growls, one big hand pressing down hard on the bulging outline in your stomach so you can feel exactly how deep he’s splitting you open. “Just a spoiled little cumdump kitten. All that shopping and now you’re getting your cunt fucked raw and stupid. Look at you—tongue out, eyes rolling, leaking all over Daddy’s sheets like a nasty bitch in heat.”
A/N : omw to marry my third husband.
@ CHERRYSCRIPT 2026— don't copy translate feed my work to ai.
❥ sex with rafayel always gets sticky and messy. not only he has hyperspermia — thus cumming much more than a human, but also semen hyperviscosity — his loads being thicker and creamier.
overfilling you is not an issue though! his tongue is very ready to clean you up.
imagine being in those fragile first few weeks with sylus where everything still feels brand new and terrifyingly delicate.
you’ve only just crossed that line; sex started careful, reverent almost, his hands careful like he’s handling something priceless, kisses passionate but never bruising, thrusts measured and deep enough to make you see stars but never rough enough to leave marks that last past morning.
he always checks in, voice low and soft in your ear asking if it’s too much, if you’re okay, if you want more, and every time you nod yes because it feels good, god it feels incredible, but lately there’s this itch under your skin you can’t scratch.
you want it nasty. you want backbreaking. you want it questionable to your self respect.
you want him to pin you down so hard the headboard rattles, want his fingers digging into your hips leaving fingerprints for days, want him to fuck you like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else, like the leash he keeps on himself finally snaps.
but he’s so careful. so goddamn respectful. the way he cradles your face when he comes, the way he murmurs praise against your throat like you’re fragile glass, the way he pulls out slow and gentle afterward to clean you up himself, it all makes your chest ache in the best way, but it also makes you squirm because you’re dying for the other side of him. the one you’ve glimpsed in flashes: the dark glint in his eyes when you push back against him a little too hard, the low growl when your nails rake down his back, the way his grip tightens just a fraction when you whisper “harder” like it’s a dare.
you don’t know how to ask for it. every time you try the words stick in your throat. you’ve thought about straddling him on the couch and grinding down filthy, thought about bending over the kitchen counter in nothing but his shirt and waiting for him to snap, thought about texting him something shameless but then you picture his face, those crimson eyes going soft with concern instead of heat and you chicken out.
what if he thinks you’re not satisfied with what you’ve had so far? what if he pulls back even more, thinking he’s hurt you somehow? he’s already told you once, mid kiss, that he never wants to push you past what you’re ready for, that he’s waited too long for this to rush it now.
so you’re stuck simmering. every time he fucks you slow and sweet you arch harder, moan louder, claw at his shoulders like you’re begging without words. you bite his lip a little too sharp one night, grind back against him until he hisses, and for a second, god, for a glorious second, his control slips. his hand fists in your hair, yanks your head back just enough to expose your throat, and he thrusts once, hard and punishing, deep enough that your vision whites out and a broken sound rips from your chest.
then he freezes. lets go like he’s been burned. “im sorry, kitten. too much?” he’s already easing out, turning you over gently, checking your face with those worried eyes.
you want to scream. instead you grab his wrist, pull his hand back to your hip, and whisper, voice shaking with want, “no. do it again.”
he stares at you for a long beat, pupils blown wide, something hungry and dangerous flickering behind the concern. “you sure?”
you nod, frantic. “please. i want it. just- fuck me like you mean it.”
the air shifts. his smile is wicked, predatory, the one that makes your stomach flip. he leans down, mouth brushing your ear, voice a low rumble that vibrates through you.
“careful what you wish for, sweetie. once i stop holding back, i might not stop until you’re begging me to.”
then he flips you onto your stomach, one massive hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you pinned, the other yanking your hips up exactly how he wants them. the slick sound of him sliding back in, thick and unrelenting, and the first brutal snap of his hips that punches every thought out of your head.
[cowboy!Sylus x sheep hybrid!reader] Sylus feeds you strawberries. | fluff, unedited
A familiar head of white hair, carrying a sweet scent, steps into the barn.
"Sy!"
"Hi, sweetie," he drawls once his eyes land on you lounging against one of the resting horses. He raises a wicker basket covered with a checkered cloth. "Guess what I have for you."
You scramble up to meet him halfway, already salivating, and grab at the basket. He raises it above his head before you can snatch it.
"Ah, patience," he says, poking your forehead back. "I know you're excited."
"I'm hungry," you huff, crossing your arms.
He strides over to a hay bale and pats the spot beside him. "Caleb didn't give you breakfast?"
You think of the full spread Caleb had laid out for you this morning, like always, and almost start drooling. But one peek at the bright red strawberries tucked away in his basket, your stomach starts to growl again.
You shrug, pawing at his shoulder. "I want more."
Sylus flips the cloth off the basket to reveal fresh strawberries. You peek around him at the barn enterance for any sign of Caleb. He hates when Sylus gives you treats. Not because he doesn't want you having any, but because he wants to be the only person who gives you treats.
You don't think that's fair. Everyone should give you treats.
"Alright, open up for me."
Sylus lifts a strawberry to your lips, and you part them to bite into the tangy fruit. Juice smears against your lips and trickles down your chin. He wipes it away with his thumb, tracing up your chin to your lower lip.
He eyes the way your lips, soft and plush, glisten. "Good?"
You nod, opening your mouth again, eager for more. He hand feeds you a couple more until the basket is nearly empty and he has edged closer to you, thigh touching, shoulders pressed against each other. You bite off another piece, cheeks happy and round, completely oblivious to how close you've got to him.
Someone clears their throat from the entrance. Caleb leans against the open barn door, arms crossed, with a cold glower. "Am I interrupting?"
Sylus is unphased by his sudden appearance, but you yelp, huddling behind Sylus's back.
"No, we were just finishing."
"Great!" Caleb's voice drips with sarcasm. "I think the pig pen could use a clean. Do you mind?"
Sylus licks off the lingering juices left on his fingers and leans in close. You almost think he's going to kiss you until he stops just short of your fluffy ears. "This was fun. I'll see you later."
You whisper your own goodbye with a giggle and watch him leave with the basket, sparing one last glance over his shoulder before he disappears around the door. No doubt you'll see him later, maybe with blueberries!
A/N — if you’re reading this, you’re my strawbaby! let me know if you’d like to see more hybrid stuff <333 divider: @/strangergraphics
★ CW — making amateur 'home movies', Xavier; cunnilingus, fingering, squirting, Zayne; unprotected sex, backshots, cumshot, Rafayel; oviposition, breeding kink, mating press, belly bulge, Sylus; blow jobs, pet name (kitten), edging, begging? Caleb; camgirl, masturbation, video sex
★ NOTES — I saw a ff16 Clive edit to p*rnstar by nessa barrett and the thirst inspired me somehow oops
XAVIER
Making a sex tape never really crossed Xavier's mind. Mainly because he doesn't see the need for it. He's already between your legs at every opportunity he gets, and he has every part of you memorized.
He only agrees because you want it for when he disappears on long missions.
It's hard to keep your phone steady when Xavier is ravenous between your thighs, sucking your sensitive pearl between his glistening pink lips.
He kisses your clit one last time before looking up between your thighs at the camera. "Get a good angle?"
You wish your phone could pick up on the pink flush across his cheeks, but the view otherwise is downright sinful. The lower half of his face is coated in your juices as he takes in your wrecked state with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
"Mm, not really," you muse, zooming in a bit to fill the screen with his pretty face. You're sure half the video is either pitch black or just shots of the top of his head. It's hard to focus on keeping anything in frame when he's slotting his tongue in your cunt.
"I can hold it. You just focus on feeling good," he suggests, already prying your phone away.
You're about to argue that he can't do all the work when his fingers sink into your pussy, sliding past your slick folds without any resistance to the knuckle. A weak gasp is your only response as you sink against the pillows, instantly forgetting whatever argument that was on the tip of your tongue.
Your mind too muddled in pleasure to resist as he fingers you, curling his fingers and adding one more to stretch you open. Once his mouth joins, sucking and grinding his tongue on your clit, your body jolts in response.
"Ah, Xavier!" Your free hands pull at his silvery locks as he hums against your pussy. You rock your hips against his mouth, chasing your peak, feeling it rise—hot and fast. Almost too fast.
He strokes your walls expertly with his long fingers, having memorized every inch of you already, knowing exactly what spots make your toes curl and your back arch.
But this time, what he's doing is something else, something too intense.
"Wait, wait I- I think-" You attempt to scramble away to but he keeps two hands firmly on your hips, gripping you so tight you have no choice but to take it.
You come hard and fast, back arching against the sheets, crying his name. He doesn't take his mouth off you, licking up every drop that gushes on his tongue. By the time he comes up, the lower half of his face is glistening with your juices.
You try to steady your breathing, head spinning and legs still shaking in the aftermath.
"Did I just-" You trail off when your cheeks start to burn. The sheets below you are wet against your skin.
"Yeah," he says, an almost dreamy sigh comes after as he licks his lips clean, wiping off the cum streaked across his cheek with his hand.
You notice his other hand still gripping your hip. "Xavier? Where's the camera?"
You look off to the side where your phone is laying face down. Who knows how long it's been there? You shoot him a glare. He has the audacity to look innocent with his eyes going round.
"Oops, my hand slipped," he pouts, cupping your sensitive pussy. "Take two? I can make you squirt again for the camera."
ZAYNE
He has a secret (not so secret to you) collection of all your nudes and videos in a private folder on his phone. He thumbs through them whenever he misses you.
He LOVES adding to his collection. His favorites are the close up shots of your body preferably with his cum splashed on your back or leaking from your cunt. Welcome to my pervert Zayne agenda…
"I think she's ready." Zayne parts your folds with two fingers, bringing the camera up to record the way your cunt drools down your thighs. He collects the slick on his fingers, smearing it back over your swollen lips.
You bury your face into the pillows, feeling completely exposed to not only Zayne's eyes but the cold lens of the camera. Your thighs are aching from how long you've been propped, ass up for him as he gets his perfect shot.
He pulls the camera away before sucking the mess off his fingers.
"Please," you moan, rocking your hips back to press against his obvious bulge. All the teasing he's done to you while holding himself back has only gotten him even more worked up. You peel your face from the pillow to look back at him. Your pouty lips and watery eyes only earn you a low groan.
"You're beautiful," he says, moving the camera to snap a photo of your expression. "Stay like that."
You bite your lip. He looks about to burst right then. The camera clicks rapidly a few more times as he adjusts the angle. It's a huge ego boost knowing how easily you can turn Zayne on and how obsessed he is with you and your body, how easily it gets him hard just thinking about all your curves and your pretty face on the edge of ecstasy.
"I know pictures last longer, but I can't," you murmur, pressing harder against his cock.
"Sorry, I can't help myself when it comes to you," he confesses, sliding his hand down the expanse of your back, massaging a handful of your ass. He undresses himself with one hand, the other never leaving your skin.
You watch his dexterous fingers move down the buttons of his shirt, popping off each one by one to expose more and more pale skin. You almost wish you had your phone to record too.
Zayne slips his shirt off and undoes his pants. His cock, neglected by his desire to focus on getting the perfect photo of you, springs against his belly once freed, already weeping and red.
You spread your legs wider as he aligns his tip with your slick, tight cunt. He eases in slow, hissing at the way you squeeze him, hands gripping your waist to pull you onto him.
Your lashes flutter as he pushes in until he bottoms out. It's so good to finally have something filling you other than his fingers. "F-Fuck, feels like 'm gonna come already," you moan, as he rubs at your swollen clit.
"Don't hold back then." Zayne takes all of his pent up energy out on your poor, sensitive cunt. You squeal into the pillows, grasping for stability as his thrusts punch into you rhythmically.
The peek of your orgasm approaches fast and so does his as his thrusts growing more and more unrestrained.
He pulls out, using his hand to get himself the rest of the way, before coming in a hot stream over your back.
"Hold still," he orders, still catching his breath. The camera clicks again. "Perfect."
RAFAYEL
The two of you have a secret porn account. No faces, just fucking. The face you make when you come around his cock is just for him.
The account blew up because of one thing—the ovipostion. People are fascinated, glued to the screen watching as he breeds you with his eggs. The comments are always feral and begging to see just how much you can take before you break.
"I'm stretching you out good, huh?" Rafayel all but purrs as he folds your thighs to your chest. "Getting you nice and ready for my eggs."
His presses down on your abdomen where his cock is spearing your walls with each hard thrust. You squeal and squirm against his unrelenting pressure but don't get anywhere.
"S-So full," you slur, grabbing onto his hand and blinking away the tears gathering in your waterline.
"You're so cute like this. Are you gonna cry?" He thrusts his hips once, hitting that spongy sensitive spot, making you clench around him. You've already come twice now in preparation for his eggs, so every little movement is making you writhe.
"Ah! Ngh, R-Raf!" You yelp, the tears in your eyes spilling over, hand clawing at his hips.
He dutifully wipes them away for you. "What, my beloved?"
"I-"
"Can't speak?" He takes the camera that was set up on a tripod, pointed at your entwined bodies, and brings it to where you connect. "We can let this do the talking then."
The slick sounds of his intense thrusts mixing with your desperate pants are no doubt getting picked up by the mic.
"Hah, f-fuck—ready, beautiful?" He pants.
You nod, mouth and tongue failing you when you feel the swell of his cock. It stretches you until you're trembling around him, cunt throbbing as your body tries adjusting to the new size.
No matter how many times you've done this, you still tense up in the beginning.
But you guess that's what people like. Listening to you whimper, watching you squirm.
"Breathe," he reminds you, low enough that the phone won't hear. A comfort for only you. His own breathing is drawn, close to a whimper as the first egg passes from him to you.
When it begins to slide in, kissing your cervix, you claw at Rafayel's chest, trying your best not to jostle him for the camera.
The tears flow down your temples, breath growing quicker. Whimpers and sobs falling from your lips as the egg, no bigger than your fist, breaches your womb. It sits snug inside you, jostling with each thrust, but there's still more to come.
Your thoughts drift as another egg is deposited into you, knocking against the other one seated in your womb. The bump of your stomach growing more and more visible and the fullness in your womb makes you shift. "Mmph-"
Rafayel grabs your hips to keep you still. "Ah, no moving. Gotta show the audience how good you take it."
You try your best to breathe through it, laying as still as possible as another slips into you, eyes nearly rolling back. Three round eggs sit nicely inside you, heavy and filling.
He pulls out of you slow, careful not to jostle you too much, and turns the camera off before tossing it onto the bed. Editing can wait. First, he needs to tend to you. He laughs at your dazed expression. "Still alive?"
You mumble something, tongue still tied, resting a hand on the bump of your abdomen.
Rafayel lowers himself to kiss the swell. "You did so well."
(NOW IMAGINE IF HE HAD TWO CO- *blows up*)
SYLUS
Don't get mad, but Sylus is fairly vanilla. I SAID DON'T GET MAD!
He's not making some crazy, raunchy sex tape where you fuck ten ways to Sunday. And if he does make a sex tape, it's meant for your eyes only, and it's intimate. Low light, up close shots, just the sounds of your lips around his cock and his low breathy moans.
"Take it in your mouth, kitten," he instructs, a gentle hand guiding your chin toward his stiff cock.
He leans against the couch cushions, phone in hand with your pretty face on screen, looking up at him with round eyes. Your lips part, tongue peeking out to give his already weeping head a lick.
He's salty on your tongue. Your hand wraps around the part of his shaft you can't take into your mouth. You start slow with your mouth bobbing off the head of his cock, running your tongue over his slit.
He groans, head falling back against the seat. His hand is tight around the phone, gripping it as steady as he can to keep your pretty face in focus.
"Good," he praises. "You can take more though."
You take him deeper, wrapping your hand around the half you can't fit. Your head bobs around his cock as you tease him slow with your mouth.
You want to work him up—have him beg for you on camera, if that's even possible. That's your real mission.
You kiss his tip, batting your lashes up at him as your hand works his cock slowly.
He raises a brow, a silent question.
"Say please," you purr.
The ever impossible man laughs—in your face. The flush across his cheeks and the heavy rise and fall of his chest are a hopeful sign. "Is that what you want from me?"
You nod, trailing your tongue up from his base and along his shaft, eagerly listening to his shuddering breaths.
"You'll—ah—have to give me a reason to beg."
It's a challenging smirk versus your icy glare. You look into the camera that's still focused on you. "I'll have you begging in minutes."
"I invite you to try."
You don't back down from his invitation and go back down to tease his shaft with slow, strokes.
The teasing goes on until you know he's about to come. The way he slumps against the cushions, eyes shut with his head back, Adams apple bobbing, heavy breaths escaping—all the signs you've learned to pick up on.
You bring him to the height of pleasure only to pull away at the last second—over and over. His hand reluctantly lets you pull away. "Ready to beg?"
"You'll have to try harder than that, sweetie." He lets out a dry chuckle that makes you huff. You take his cock in your hand again, holding him tight as you thumb over his leaking tip.
He hisses, hips jerking into your grip, and you smirk.
"One little please won't kill you, Sy." You grab his hand and bring the phone closer to his lips. All he sees in its vision are your glossy, swollen lips. Sweet eyes batting up at him as you ask him to beg for you. "Just once."
Maybe it'll take a little more to break him. One more push closer. Maybe you'll have to climb onto his lap. Or maybe-
"Please."
You're almost left in a state of shock as the word leaves his mouth. Part of you never thought you'd get here, and the other only feels the ache between you legs with the desire to hear it again.
CALEB
You're a fairly unknown camgirl. At most, you'll have three people watching your streams at a time, and you better believe Caleb is there 100% of the time.
He's your top donor. When your streams are quieet and it's just him, you even address him by his username and ask what he'd like to see.
Got carried away with Caleb's part, read the whole fic on my old blog here! Please read my A/N before you click away tho! <33
A/N — thinking of potentially turning Rafayel's part into a full length fic. let me know if you're interested in reading more! do you want more oviposition (ik I do... pls tag me in the fics) anyway, thanks for reading! comments and reblogs always appreciated (◠‿・)—☆
caleb checks if he'd fit inside
size difference, size kink, excessive use of gege
He was kind, and gentle, and patient. That was how you knew him. Even when tension radiated off his body after a long absence with the fleet. Even when you pestered him, pushed him, secretly hoping he might snap and finally, finally let you make it better.
It's no different now, as he sits there across from you, helping you finish a model plane you'd been working on for weeks.
You crawl across the carpet to him, frustrated with the fiddly parts. "I can't make them fit," you pout, holding out two pieces for inspection.
"Hm?" he hums, placing his own little piece of the project down beside him. "Let me see."
You watch him work on slotting the two parts together, his large, vascular hands manipulating the delicate plastic with a gentleness that reminded you of yourself––of the restraint he showed when holding you.
He was bigger, after all. So much bigger. All of him.
"There," he says, holding out the expertly joined pieces for you to take. "They fit."
"You forced them."
He looks at the pieces, then to you. "Nah, they fit perfectly. See?" He gestures for you to take them––to see for yourself.
You refuse, unmoving.
He tilts his head. "What's wrong?"
"You're stronger than me."
His lips twitch a little in one corner. "Only a little."
You shake your head, frowning.
"Alright," he says, "Much stronger. Happy?" He asks, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
"And bigger."
His eyes drop, analysing, like he hasn't noticed before. Then, a little smile. "Only a little."
You crawl a little closer. Settling on your knees in front of him. "Much bigger."
"Is that right?" he questions, amused.
"Look," you say, holding your palm up for him to meet with his own. His eyes make a slight flick away from your face to your joined hands—to the way his fingers curl over yours comfortably.
"Maybe I just have very… very, large hands," he says as his fingers make a path down your palm to wrap around your wrist. His eyes flick across your face. Then, "Should we check the rest of me, too? Check how much bigger I am?"
He was teasing. Playing. Testing. You could turn around and return to your model, and he'd continue on just as he had before: a calm, warm presence.
Instead, you untuck your legs from beneath you, and keeping your eyes on his, you lower yourself onto your back––hair splayed out across the carpet. He’s pulled a little towards you as he refuses to release your wrist, angling down over you.
A pause.
"Alright," he says finally, much like he had when you'd passed him your two difficult plane parts. "Let gege see."
He lifts himself to his knees and shuffles even closer. Then he lifts your legs and arranges them around his waist and hips, slotting himself up against you.
"Hm," he hums, looming over you, blocking out the sun through the window behind him. "You do look very small like this." His hand snakes up your thigh. A smile pulls at his lips. "You'll stay still for me while I check, won't you? You can be good for gege and stay nice and still.”
Despite your nod––a silent promise to obey, to be good––he keeps his grip on your ankle as he works to undo the button at his waistband. Control. You didn’t mind it at all. Control was safe.
And when he shoves his pants down just below his ass, he closes the gap between you again, pressing himself between your thighs.
His movements are slow, precise, like they’d been as he manipulated the tiny little plastic pieces. A hand snaking its way up your calf. His warm palm wrapping around your thigh as his heavy cock, confined in dark briefs, rests against your white cotton underwear.
“See?” you squeak as he rocks his hips once against you. “All of you is bigger. We wouldn’t fit.”
“Wouldn’t fit?” he questions, mocking.
Then, without warning, he hooks his thumb into the waistband of his briefs and tugs them down to free himself. Hard, and a little pink at the tip, it adds to his looming presence over you.
Using one hand to hold your hips slightly off the ground, up against him nice and close, he uses the other to press his cock down against your belly.
His head tilts a little.
“I could make it fit,” he announces, sounding a little distracted, eyes fixed where he measures himself against you. “Would stretch your pretty little hole open,” he says. “Might hurt a little… But you could bite my hand, yeah? You can take it out on gege.”
You shift a little, starting to squirm.
“Might just take the tip…” he continues as his hand works a little over himself. “But if you were really good for me… so, so good… you could hold on to me tight and let me sink all the way inside… would fill your belly up nice and deep… but we’d fit. Gege promises.”
Sylus getting hit with an aphrodisiac and fucking himself to tears. Like overstimulating himself until he's sobbing into your neck, buried in your cunt, gasping for air but his hips won't stop thrusting :(
Your neck is wet from his euphoric daze, his choked little sobs making you clamp down around him which only results in him whimpering as the pleasure nearly blings him :(
His cute little noises as his cock rams between your gummy walls, moans and whines and whimpers at a pitch you didn't think he was possible of making. Your name a pretty little prayer on his bitten lips because fuck his hips won't stop meeting yours :(
His groin and thighs being all slick and wet, a mix of his cum and yours leaking out of your abused cunt. All warm and full of his constant releases, the aphrodisiac making his body work overtime :(
You're just under him, crushed by his weight and mind melting into pleasure as he hits those sweet spots over and over again. You hadn't even been affected by the aphrodisiac itself but his ferocity had you nearly drooling, jaw forever slack as he fucks into you.
He's so hot, sweat slicking his skin, his scent enveloping you. Your fingers tremble as you cling to him, nails raking dully at his shoulder blades. He's too heavy for you to thrust your hips up to meet him, getting pounded right into the mattress by both his weight and force.
This would heal me in several ways tbh </3 Sylus how dare you not be real.
🔞 - overstimulation, dirty talk, begging, slight usage of religious terms (?) in sexual acts
It was ironic, truly. Calling to a God while certain God fucked you so good you saw literal stars.
But you couldn't help yourself. Oh, you couldn't...not when your pussy clenched and squeezed to accommodate Rafayel's cock, the wet and filthy sounds of his balls slapping your ass echoing in the entirety of his bedroom.
It was too damn good to help yourself, too good to even realize what came out of your mouth. Between the various moans and whimpers of "Too good, Rafayel..." and "There! There, please, 'm close.", you were too far gone to realize you were moaning an entirely different and new thing, something he never heard nor expected to hear you moan in bed.
Calling to a God—to him—because you were too fucked out to manage anything else.
Rafayel found it amusing, how you were gripping his cock too tight, spasming around him with your eyes rolled back in utter pleasure and your pretty mouth beginning a God so sweetly.
How could he not bully you a little, really? You were too cute, pussy fluttering around him, tits bouncing up and down as he railed you so deep into the mattress you forgot even your own name. But never his.
You whimper again, the words “Oh my god” slipping out without thinking, your voice breaking as pleasure crashes over you. Your body shakes from it, every nerve lit up.
Rafayel slows down his thrusts, just enough to pull a frustrated whine from your sore throat. You feel his hips roll slow and easy, in and out of your needy cunt, making sure you notice every bit of him moving inside you.
He leans in close, his mouth right by your ear, his warm breath hitting your skin. “Oh my god?” he repeats, his voice full of that teasing lilt he has whenever he bullies you, the kind that’s all cocky and light. You hear him chuckle low, feel it rumble through his chest into yours. “Which God are you calling to, exactly?”
You open your mouth to say something, but it turns into a gasp when his hand sneaks down between you both, a ghost of a touch following it. You feel his slender fingers find your clit, pinching it light but firm, and it sends sharp sparks right up your back.
Your pussy tightens around his cock without you meaning to, so wet from all the orgasms he pulled out of you tonight. So wet, in fact, that each slide makes a slick, messy sound. You can see the white ring of your cum and his precum mixed together at the base of his shaft when you glance down, a clear sign of how many times he’s made you finish—this is the third time, and your thighs burn, shaking from too much already.
He doesn’t stop. You feel his other hand hold your hip steadily, keeping you right where he wants as he pushes in deep again, slow on purpose. It makes you shift, trying to get more from him.
“Cuz you sure as hell aren’t calling the one who’s making you see stars right now, are you, cutie?” he giggles, that playful sound that gets under your skin every time, and you see his amethyst eyes get darker, fixed on your face like he’s loving every second of this.
You arch your back to get closer, feeling your tits press into his chest. He lowers his head, and you feel his mouth close over one nipple, sucking hard before his teeth scrape it gentle. It pulls a cry from you, “Oh my god, Rafayel…”
Your fingers twist into the sheets, your skin sticky with sweat, and words just spill out in a jumble. “Please… deeper…”
He lets go of your nipple with a soft pop, and you feel his smirk on your skin as he kisses up your neck, leaving a small bite that stings in such a good way. “Oh? So you’re really calling out to me… yeah? Tell me gorgeous, what can I do for you, hm?”
His thrusts speed up a bit, going deeper like you asked, his cock hitting that perfect spot a few times, the one that makes your eyes roll back and your vision blur. You see his flushed face above you, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, cheeks red. You also hear his breaths come quicker now, but he’s still grinning, clearly having fun seeing you like this.
“Hit deeper? Make you scream louder?” he says, teasing fingers starting to circle your clit, matching the rhythm of his hips. You feel it all so much—the stretch from his cock, the wetness letting him move smoothly in and out of your gummy walls. “Make you soak this God’s cock? Is that what you’re praying for?”
You can’t make real words anymore, just fast nods and broken moans, “Yes… God, yes…please please...”
He chuckles again, and you feel him thrust extra deep, like he’s proving a point. When you lean up for a kiss, he pulls back a little, making you follow his lips. You see that smug grin through your lidded eyes before he finally kisses you, messy and full, his tongue mixing with yours in an intoxicatingly sweet kiss.
He pulls away just enough to say whisper tauntingly against your lips, “Calling God as if you don’t already have one inside you, awe.”
You hear him giggle once more, and then his fingers pinch your clit in such a way that your entire body seizes. It pushes you right over, your body clenching tight as you cum again, feeling the release soak everything even more. Your thighs, his thighs, the rumpled sheets already drenched in your sweat. You see stars behind your eyes, your legs trembling hard, and hear him groan from how you tight you must squeeze him.
Even now, he doesn’t stop. You feel him keep thrusting through it, much slower now to drag it out, his hands roaming your sides, thumbs brushing your ribs. Your breath is too erratic, body too sensitive, but you can’t pull away.
He kisses your shoulder, light and quick, then nips at your collarbone, marking another spot. You feel his cock twitch inside you, still hard, and it makes you gasp right into his ear.
“See? That’s what happens when you keep calling for me,” he murmurs, voice breathy but still cocky. His fingers trace down your thigh, lifting it higher around his waist so he can go deeper again.
You feel the sweat on his skin mix with yours, his chest pressing close as he speeds up a little. Your hands move to his back, nails digging in without thinking, and you hear him hiss in what you assume is a good way. He captures your mouth again, kissing deeper this time, ravishing your tender lips.
You feel it all too much, already falling into overstimulation, your pussy fluttering around him as you whimper into the kiss, “Rafayel… too much…”
He breaks the kiss, eyes locked on yours, amused but heated. “Too much? But you’re still clenching like you want more, cutie.”
You feel him shift, one hand sliding under your ass to tilt you up, letting him hit even better. Each thrust sends jolts of electricity through you. Your muscles scream the extortion, but the pleasure overrides it, making you chase the high anyway.
He leans down to suck on your other nipple now, tongue swirling so very slowly, making you feel it deep into your core. His free hand pinches the other one, rolling it gently until your back arches off the mattress again.
“O-oh my god,” you moan out, voice cracking in the middle, and he lifts his head with a laugh.
“There it is again,” he chuckles, thrusting hard once to make his point. You feel him fill you completely, the pressure building too quickly. He’s breathing heavier now, face closer to yours, and you see the flush spread down his neck. His thumb finds your clit once more, rubbing light circles that have you shaking.
You try to speak, but it’s just gasps and his name, over and over. He smirks, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Praying to me some more? Alright, I’ll answer.”
He pulls out slowly, and you whine at the emptiness, but then you feel him flip you over gently, onto your stomach. Your face presses into the pillow, and you feel his hands grip your hips, lifting them up so you’re on your knees a bit.
“Let’s try this way,” he whispers against your sweaty back, voice low and teasing. “See if it makes you call out louder.”
You feel him slide back in from behind, deeper in this position, and it hits different spots that make your toes curl. His hands run up your back, then one slides around to your front, fingers finding your clit again while he thrusts steady. You bury your face in the sheets, moaning, “Oh my God… Raf, please…”
Your can't even feel your limbs anymore, and each touch feels like too much but just right.
He leans over you, chest against your back, and you feel his breath on your neck. “Still calling God, huh? You know it’s me you’re begging.”
His fingers pinch your clit lightly, and you jolt, pushing back against him without thinking. He chuckles, the sound vibrating through you. “That’s it, cutie. Take it like that.”
You feel him speed up, his cock bullying into you, hitting that spot over and over. Your eyes start to cross from the intensity, and you try to look back at him, but the pleasure makes them roll.
He notices how hard you're trying and you feel his hand grip your jaw gentle yet firm, turning your head so you have to face him over your shoulder. “Look at me, gorgeous...” he says, voice husky now. “Want to see those pretty eyes when you moan it again.”
You try to focus, but another one of his thrusts makes your vision blur, so you only manage to whimper, “O-oh fuck, my god…”
He grins, thrusting deeper, his grip keeping you in place. “Yeah, just like that. Who’s making you feel this good?” his other hand slides up to your breast, pinching the nipple as he rolls his hips slow, drawing out the dual sensation.
“You… Rafayel, you are...” you manage to gasp, voice shaky. Your entire body aches, muscles tight from holding your hips into the position, but you don’t want him to stop. He kisses your shoulder, then bites lightly, marking yet another spot.
“That's riiiight, good girl,” he chuckles, releasing your jaw to trail his fingers down your spine.
You feel him pull out once more, and this time he turns you onto your side, lifting one leg over his shoulder. The new angle lets him go even deeper, and you feel every inch as he slides back in. His hand grips your thigh, holding it steady, while his thumb rubs circles on your inner thigh, teasing close to where you’re joined but not quite touching.
“Oh my god, 's too deep,” you moan brokenly, hands clutching at his arms. He laughs softly, leaning down capture your lips, his tongue exploring while he rolls his hips in a slow rhythm,
“Too deep? But you’re soaking me so much, cutie. You love it, yeah?”
He pulls back from the kiss, eyes dark as he watches your face. His free hand moves to your jaw, thumb pressing down on your swollen lower lip as he whispers, “Say it again. Call for your God.”
You can’t hold back, moaning “Oh my god… please, wanna cum...it's t-to much…” over and over, like a broken record.
He groans, flushed and breathing hard, but still so amused at how wrecked you are. His thrusts get rougher, bullying your sensitive spots until you're pretty sure you're close to blacking out from the intense pleasure he's bringing you.
“Keep praying like that, and next time I’ll put you on your knees, cutie.” he teases, voice low and cocky as he thrusts extra deep one last time. “Seeing as you love calling out to God so much, might as well be a good devotee and worship him properly.”
