cw : (18+) noncon (zayne), babytrapping? (zayne), non-consensual breeding (zayne), mutilation (brief mention, no graphic details) (sylus), calebmc is also as crazy as caleb, blood (brief mention) (sylus), consensual stalking? (sylus), murder (sylus, grey mention in caleb), tracker (caleb), caleb’s og trope (mentioned of ‘big brother’), chained up (rafayel), face slapping (rafayel), manipulation (xavier), xavier beats up someone, they’re all pretty crazy, kinda ooc for everyone except for caleb and rafayel.
it’s hard to write sylus and zayne especially zayne since his yandere traits is very minimal in canon. sorry if there is any mischaracterisation! would love some appreciation!
xavier!
one would never expect xavier to be crazy. his calm demeanour and the way he cares for you make you think he’s safe. he would never restrict you from going out on your own, dressing up the way you like or pursuing the career that you want. you love how free you feel when you’re with him. so freeing that you don’t even realise how he’s shaping your surroundings.
xavier could never restrict you from making your own decisions. but one thing he couldn’t bear is letting you choose your circle. look, xavier doesn’t mind you having friends. he doesn’t want to be controlling and possessive to the point you can’t choose who you befriend. but sometimes it feels too much for him. why would you smile and be a sweetheart to the new neighbour? why would you want to hang out and have a girls’ night with your colleagues when he’s right there? why would you help and be all friendly with the new intern who obviously just wants your attention instead of actually learning?
even though he obviously doesn’t like it, he didn’t tell you directly to stop. no, he wouldn’t. wouldn’t it be better if he made those people stop talking to you instead?
you would notice how your new neighbour stopped offering you fresh bread every morning. when you saw him while taking out trash and were about to greet him, he would look you in disdain. “you could’ve just said it to me instead of trash talking about my pastries on your account.” looking at you with hatred, leaving you all confused.
similar thing happened with your colleagues. they stopped inviting you to their sleepovers and refused to have lunch with you. when you confronted them, they would look at you with disappointed faces. “don’t act like you don’t know anything.” once again, leaving you confused.
even the new intern didn’t ask you for help anymore. every time you found him needing help, he would dismiss you and leave. you did notice how scared he looks, and was that a bruise on his cheek?
one day, you couldn’t take it anymore and find xavier for comfort. “i didn’t know what i did wrong. they all just avoided me. im so confused, xavier.” you cried into his shoulder, gripping his arm in desperation. “i’m so sorry that happened to you, my star. they’re all awful and they don’t deserve you. it’s okay, you have me.” he pulled you into his embrace, caressing your back carefully. he pulled your face close, as his lips landed on yours for a gentle kiss. “Now they won’t bother you again,” he whispered, voice as soft as velvet.
you froze, before pulling away from him as a confused expression was plastered on your face. “…what? what do you mean, xavier?” even as he noticed your sudden confusion, he just smiled at you. “they’re gone from your life and now you have me, isn’t that good, my star?” you didn’t even have the chance to reply before he shut you down by kissing you. you tried to protest but he pinned you down to the couch, crushing you with his heavy weight. he felt a tear running down your cheek and he pulled away. “seems like your brain already put the pieces together,” he whispered. “xavier…” he gently wiped down your tears and smiled. “it’s okay, starlight. i would never hurt you.”
zayne!
zayne is normal. did you really think he would show or have any crazy traits? you’re crazy for even thinking about that.
the doctor did live a life that was not like any average human. he went to college at the age of fourteen and graduated with his phd at early twenties. well, that’s one of the things that isn’t normal about him.
he is normal about you too. when he had days off from the busy hospital, he would spend his days with you. taking you to dates, going to cafe he had always wanted to go, trying their sweet pastries and drinks together with him. oh, he likes the cafe’s chocolate cake the most. the sweetness is just at the right amount.
after going to cafe, he would take a walk in the park together with you. especially at dawn, where the sun was about to set, the sky giving a gradient colour of orange and blue calmed him down. it’s a bonus if the park is full of small animals like squirrels, bunnies or kittens. he is fond of them.
his eyes shine brighter when he sees couples with babies or toddlers with them. he is imagining a life where he he woke up to you by his side, smiling and getting ready to entertain your child. his and your child. your belly would be swollen when you’re entertaining your child just because he know he would knock you up again. he wants to see his house full of mini him and you running around the house.
the only problem is, you don’t like having sex with him unprotected. “we can’t risk it, zayne. and i’m not ready yet.” he would listen to you all the time, even though his dream is literally the opposite. he wants to knock you up, full of his child. he wants you to bear his kids, belly all swollen, a proof that his seed was planted inside you.
zayne is normal. but is he really normal for this? he suggested no condom for today’s session. you refused at first, saying it was risky but he promised you, sweetly, that he would pull out. he just wanna feel you skin to skin, is it too much to ask? you sighed, giving in into his desire. after all, you trust him.
you feel it, both of you are close to reaching the climax. his groans are getting louder and his thrust is getting faster. “z-zayne…! pull out…!” but he keeps his pace, not bothering to pull out. you whined, your hands weakly pushed his chest but the effort was useless. “zayne…! w-what are you doing…? p-pull- ahh-! pull out…!”
he took your hands and pinned it to the bed. you saw how your usual sweet boyfriend shifted to cold and distant. “take it… bear my kids. i want to see you all glowing from bearing my child… f-fuck..! i-i’m close…!”
your eyes are full with tears, sobbing as you laid there taking him. he groaned as his voice cracked as he finally came, his warm seed flooding your fertile womb. you whined as he slowly pulled out, his cum leaking out from your used hole. “you’re wasting my seed. we can’t let that happen. seems like i have to pump more in you then….”
rafayel!
it’s easy to forget how rafayel isn’t a human. the lemurian doesn’t have and share the same moral values as humans. his mind is twisted and fucked by the human’s logic. but to him, it was just his way of being devoted to you and keeping you safe from the sick world. the only thing that is saving him is his innocent and pretty face. and well maybe his bratty personality.
but don’t let that fool you. most of the time, that was an act rafayel put on to deceive you. if you truly believe rafayel is all just whiny, cute and pretty face, then he has succeeded in manipulating you.
of course you would never suspect a thing about your lemurian boyfriend. sure, the way he shows his love is quite different from the average human but you didn’t mind it. but it’s normal to him. of course wanting your partner to be with you all the time and joking to cage her up is fine, who wouldn’t do that? if you truly love someone, wouldn’t you want to keep them forever with you? that’s how rafayel genuinely feels.
but, as days passed, you feel something eerie when you’re with him. at first it was small, those jokes he made ‘i’m gonna lock you up, cutie.’ seemed unserious. you would laugh it off but he just stared at you, his eyes weirdly glow. it feels predatory. every time you wanna go out even to the grocery stores, he would insist on going with you. when you rejected him, he would pout at you. but you noticed the unsettling look he gave for a few seconds before putting on that pout. are you going insane? how could you feel this way towards your lover when all he did was being sweet and nice to you. you really tried hard to brush off the feelings.
well, maybe you shouldn’t. you didn’t know what you did to finally push him to this point. you were greeted with rafayel’s soft smile when you woke up that morning. you were about to move when you feel your legs are chained to the bed. “…what? rafayel…? what is this…?” you looked at him, confused. “hm? it’s nothing. you were going out too much these days without me. i figured i would keep you here.” he hummed, before his hand reaching out to caress your cheek.
“rafayel, don’t joke with me like this. open this shit up. i don’t have time for this-“ you were cut off with a slap on your face. you turned your head back to look at him, breath quivering. “don’t look at me like that, cutie. you brought this to yourself. you underestimate me too much. even now that i’ve got you all chained up. i really don’t like that.” he let out a sigh, his hand once again caressing your reddened cheek. “i don’t want to hurt you like this, but you make it so hard. you always trying to act like you’re sooo independent. but you didn’t realise how that messed me up.” his hand went down to caress your neckline, digging his nails into your skin suddenly which makes you whimpers in pain. “cute. so, i figured out to actually chained you down. i would feel better seeing you every second of the day on my bed. i wouldn’t have to worry about you leaving me either. and you get to spend every second with me. isn’t that fun, cutie?”
you still decided to protest, pulling your legs in hopes somehow the chain would come off. tears left your eyes as fear filled your mind. is this really your rafayel? seeing your helpless state, rafayel just chuckled softly, as if it was something amusing. “you’re so cute. it’s okay, cutie. you will get used to it. you have to, anyway.”
sylus!
it’s easy to judge the onychinus leader from the outside. sylus is all intimidating and possess a big threat in him. but deep down, he is just the biggest sweetheart when it comes to you. it’s like a switch has flipped, and were met with soft sylus. he’s always soft with you, to the point you feel, when is he ever not soft when it comes to you.
you noticed how his fierce crimson eyes would soften the moment he laid his eyes on you. he’s a just a big gentleman under that menacing leader of an illegal organisation. you don’t really think sylus is sick in the head. he never showed a moment where you would change your opinion about that.
well, maybe once when he got mephisto to follow you around. sylus couldn’t help but to install camera and microphone on mephisto so he could get to see and hear you every time. he’s obsessed with his wife, don’t blame him.
you called him out when you found out about it. but it didn’t bother you much since you know sylus is just being obsessed and you like to know about that.
you have a believe that sylus depends on you as his moral compass. he wouldn’t do something you don’t like if you asked him to. but sometimes, sylus truly has to take matters into his own hands.
he noticed how you looked unhappy than usual. when asked, you would brushed him off and give me a forced smile. so you wouldn’t tell him, huh. it’s okay, he has mephisto. he rewinded the recording from the start of your day today. an interaction between you and your colleagues caught his eye. ah, so that was it. your colleague had the audacity to comment on your appearance. his heart shattered when he saw how you were clearly holding your sadness, body shrinking as if to hide away from the world.
he is aware how you aren’t exactly secure with yourself. he hated how this happened to you. he is mad at you sometimes at how blind you are. how can you not see your own beauty. but that is something he will deal later. he will deal with that colleague first.
you were awakened from your sleep by the door shutting down. sylus entered the room, about to head to the bathroom. you noticed how his hands are covered in blood. “…sylus? where did you go? are you hurt?”
he stopped in his tracks and turned his head around. “it’s nothing to worry about, sweetie. it is not my blood, for your information.” he didn’t explain any further as he head toward the bathroom to wash off. he returned to you, fresh and clean. he slipped onto the bed, hugging your figure close to his.
“you killed people who were in your way again?” you turned to look at him, taking his face into your hands. “hm, sort of. they were indirectly making me unhappy.” sylus took the opportunity to kiss your palm. “nothing your pretty head has to worry about.” you just hummed and hugged him, truly believing he was dealing with people who was messing with him.
the next morning, your group chat with your colleagues was flooded with news. one of your colleagues was murdered last night. it was the same colleague who made fun of you yesterday. blood drained from your face as you see the photos that was sent, the victim lost body parts, the same body parts they mocked you for.
caleb!
caleb is your safe place. there is no other person you would rely on other than him. growing up with him has taught you to always have your trust in him. you both only have each other, it is only natural for you to choose him every time.
it is obvious caleb feels the same way. the same way you feel he is safe place, caleb feels that you’re his only safe place. he doesn’t have anyone else. you only have him too. it’s only natural that caleb grew to be a little protective.
there was one time in high school where you were bullied. you came home that day crying to caleb about it. caleb, being the big brother he is, reassured you. “it’s okay, pips. don’t cry. i will handle it for you.” you didn’t understand what he meant by that. but you know the bullying stopped after. it was weird how the bullies all went missing one by one. you always thought it was a coincidence. no way your big brother would do something bad to them? but somehow your little heart is glad it stopped. maybe a little grateful that they all finally disappeared.
caleb’s weird protectiveness somehow was imprinted into you too. seeing him again in skyhaven after his fake death was truly a moment of joy for you. you missed him, your older brother. how could he just fake his death and leave you mourning him? he was cruel for that, and you want to make sure he never leave again. so you did what you’ve always wanted, embedded a tracker in his necklace.
caleb knew about the it, of course. he is a colonel who did dirty work from time to time, it isn’t hard for him to know eventually that he was being tracked. caleb finds it cute that you can be a little protective over him. it’s only fair if he did the same, no?
unfortunately, you didn’t like it much after finding out. you hated that it took you a while to find out there was a tracker in your beaded bracelet he gave you. “what is this, caleb? mind explaining this to me?” you look irritated as you let out a sigh. “didn’t you do the same to me? what is this hypocrisy, pips?” he calmly took your hand and smiled. “wha- since when did you find out- nevertheless, i don’t like it when you do it to me. i only did it to you because i don’t want you leaving ever again.”
you huffed in annoyance as you try to pull your hand from him, but he gripped it even harder. his gaze darkened as he turned his head slightly. “so you can do that but i can’t? i’m not allowed to be scared of you leaving me? i’m not allowed to feel scared of dangers coming at you everyday?”
“you know that’s not what i meant-!” you hissed as his grip on you got even tighter. “then what did you mean? tell me, pips.” he pulled you close, the distance between you is small, you could feel his hot breath against your skin. you went silent, as you just stared back at his eyes. he let out a dry chuckle at your silence, caressing your cheek softly. “we’re really two sides of the same coin, aren’t we, pips?”
𑣲⋆｡˚ please do not copy my work, repost or feed it into ai!
Caleb shuts the apartment door, only to stop dead in his tracks. Right across from the entrance, Sylus sits on the sofa. You are draped right over him, facing away from him, your thighs spread wide as you take every inch of his massive cock. From where Caleb stands, the view is completely unobstructed. He can see exactly where your body melts into Sylus’s.
“Damn. What a view,” Caleb mutters, his voice dropping low.
“W-welcome home, Caleb-ah!”
At your voice, Sylus deliberately lets your weight drop flat against him. Your belly stretches, completely filled out as you bottom out on his length.
Sylus lets out a low chuckle, acting completely unfazed by the tight grip of your walls, though a sharp tick in his jaw gives him away. “Go take a shower, Caleb. She’s been waiting for you.”
“What’s the matter? Can’t handle her hunger by yourself?” Caleb counters, stepping closer.
Sylus flashes a smug, dangerous grin. “I can go all night without you, if that’s what you want.”
To prove his point, Sylus hooks a hand under your thigh, lifting it high until his slick length pops completely out of you. A heavy mix of your arousal and his cream spills out instantly, dripping like a glistening honey. Caleb freezes, staring at the endless flow.
“Fuck… look at all that…” Caleb breaths out, his own pants straining hard.
“Tell him, kitten,” Sylus purrs, his voice dark and demanding. “How many times have I filled you up tonight?”
“D-don’t remember… nngh…” Your mind is completely fried.
Caleb’s breath hitches. He tears his eyes away and practically bolts toward the bathroom.
As the door shuts, you look back over your shoulder, your eyes wet with tears. “S-Sy… put it back in, please…”
Sylus grips your hip hard enough to bruise, his smile turning sharp and wicked. “Relax, kitten. I’ll keep you warm until he’s clean. Then we’ll see how much you can really take.”
thoughts on being passed between and shared by dad!sylus and papa!leb?
hi anon!! assuming you mean dad!sylus from the drabbles and papa!caleb from meet the xias, it's a bit hard to imagine them sharing because papa!caleb is obsessive. like he thinks his pips is all his. and dad!sylus, while more kinky and into corruption, is not as much? i don't know how to explain but they're both depraved and so am i so enjoy this short piece with incest but no specifics because they're both your biological dads in the harlotistic cinematic universe. imply mpreg if you will LOL. enjoy and ty for the ask :)
daddies' home (?)
cw: incest, nsfw, smut, dead dove, dubcon, clit bullying, spitroasting, creampies, oral, overstimulation, squirting, toy use, mild breath play, sylus and caleb kiss, petnames overload, dilfs galore, tba
everything was blurry. the colours of your bedroom, the posters on the wall, the soft silver peppered white hair between your legs, and the muscled expanse against your bare back. your ears felt like it was stuffed full with cotton, muffling the sharp grunts against your ear.
"you're hng- tapping- hngh- out on us, pips?"
the raspy groans against your ear was followed by a sharp sensation of teeth sinking into your earlobe. you let out a weak tired whine which earned a deep vibrating laugh against your raw devoured pussy.
"now now, mr xia...kittens need time to be trained properly. she can't even handle her bathroom needs right now."
he murmured, red eyes fixed on the panting older face behind his beloved kitten. he sucked your swollen throbbing clit between his lips. hard. you let out a cry, legs clamping instinctively as weak splurts of release shot out of you and onto his bare chest. he laughed, tapping your twitching numb clit with the pad of his finger. the ache seemed to extend and spiral into a cramp-like pain as the large slippery girth continued to saw in and out of your wrecked cunt.
"dad...i can't...anymore...please..."
you barely managed to say as sylus leaned down and began making an exaggerated point to lick the creamy white base that had begun to form from the amount of times papa had filled you up.
"ngh- you have to learn endurance, pips. i-it's a tough world out there- hah- for pretty things hngh- like you."
when he finally pulled out, your vision had begun to spot. dad licked the drool of your chin before kissing you. the taste of all three of you mixing in your mouth as you tried to catch your breath. taking away your oxygen and filling your senses with nothing but the moment itself. when he pulled away, papa was stroking your hair as dad kissed him. dad was a good kisser. so good that it made papa all hard again as he thrusted shallowly into you.
papa lifted you up with ease, the soft of your flesh squishing against his veiny forearms as he placed you on all fours. his dick was still buried up to your cervix. dad handed him a vibrator and papa pressed it against your clit with one hand while the other gripped your hips hard enough for you to wince. the buzzing against your sore numb clit and soaked folds made your jaw drop open as a choked gasp leaves your throat.
"your manners are coming out perfectly, sweetheart. look at you, mouth already wide open for your dad..."
he says, tapping his curved swollen tip against your tongue. he rubbed it against your drool before pushing it into your mouth. his fingers curled in your hair as he grinded your nose against his wiry white and silver happy trail. the smell of his sweat and cologne and skin made your eyes roll. or maybe it was the way he was bumping his cock against your tonsils. his head falls back, teeth clenched as he rutted against your mouth.
the lewd gagging and the way his balls were teasing your already stretched lips was a sight to behold. you could feel the sharp twitch in your throat before dad pulled out and stroked himself a few times before cumming on your nose and cheeks with a loud moan. behind you, papa grunted as he thrusted a few more times against your sloppy pussy before he came inside. he pulled out and increased the intensity of the vibration, scooping up your boneless body by the throat in the crook of his arm.
the momentary breath restriction made your face flush and your hands instinctively reach towards your throat before he kissed you to silence your mindless loud pleasure. dad was smiling as he stroked your hair and held papa's hand to press the vibrator against you. loving the way streams of sticky white cum splurted and dripped out of your worn pussy.
"such a good daughter for us, pips...the perfect daughter-wife to your two fathers."
thoughts on being passed between and shared by dad!sylus and papa!leb?
hi anon!! assuming you mean dad!sylus from the drabbles and papa!caleb from meet the xias, it's a bit hard to imagine them sharing because papa!caleb is obsessive. like he thinks his pips is all his. and dad!sylus, while more kinky and into corruption, is not as much? i don't know how to explain but they're both depraved and so am i so enjoy this short piece with incest but no specifics because they're both your biological dads in the harlotistic cinematic universe. imply mpreg if you will LOL. enjoy and ty for the ask :)
daddies' home (?)
cw: incest, nsfw, smut, dead dove, dubcon, clit bullying, spitroasting, creampies, oral, overstimulation, squirting, toy use, mild breath play, sylus and caleb kiss, petnames overload, dilfs galore, tba
everything was blurry. the colours of your bedroom, the posters on the wall, the soft silver peppered white hair between your legs, and the muscled expanse against your bare back. your ears felt like it was stuffed full with cotton, muffling the sharp grunts against your ear.
"you're hng- tapping- hngh- out on us, pips?"
the raspy groans against your ear was followed by a sharp sensation of teeth sinking into your earlobe. you let out a weak tired whine which earned a deep vibrating laugh against your raw devoured pussy.
"now now, mr xia...kittens need time to be trained properly. she can't even handle her bathroom needs right now."
he murmured, red eyes fixed on the panting older face behind his beloved kitten. he sucked your swollen throbbing clit between his lips. hard. you let out a cry, legs clamping instinctively as weak splurts of release shot out of you and onto his bare chest. he laughed, tapping your twitching numb clit with the pad of his finger. the ache seemed to extend and spiral into a cramp-like pain as the large slippery girth continued to saw in and out of your wrecked cunt.
"dad...i can't...anymore...please..."
you barely managed to say as sylus leaned down and began making an exaggerated point to lick the creamy white base that had begun to form from the amount of times papa had filled you up.
"ngh- you have to learn endurance, pips. i-it's a tough world out there- hah- for pretty things hngh- like you."
when he finally pulled out, your vision had begun to spot. dad licked the drool of your chin before kissing you. the taste of all three of you mixing in your mouth as you tried to catch your breath. taking away your oxygen and filling your senses with nothing but the moment itself. when he pulled away, papa was stroking your hair as dad kissed him. dad was a good kisser. so good that it made papa all hard again as he thrusted shallowly into you.
papa lifted you up with ease, the soft of your flesh squishing against his veiny forearms as he placed you on all fours. his dick was still buried up to your cervix. dad handed him a vibrator and papa pressed it against your clit with one hand while the other gripped your hips hard enough for you to wince. the buzzing against your sore numb clit and soaked folds made your jaw drop open as a choked gasp leaves your throat.
"your manners are coming out perfectly, sweetheart. look at you, mouth already wide open for your dad..."
he says, tapping his curved swollen tip against your tongue. he rubbed it against your drool before pushing it into your mouth. his fingers curled in your hair as he grinded your nose against his wiry white and silver happy trail. the smell of his sweat and cologne and skin made your eyes roll. or maybe it was the way he was bumping his cock against your tonsils. his head falls back, teeth clenched as he rutted against your mouth.
the lewd gagging and the way his balls were teasing your already stretched lips was a sight to behold. you could feel the sharp twitch in your throat before dad pulled out and stroked himself a few times before cumming on your nose and cheeks with a loud moan. behind you, papa grunted as he thrusted a few more times against your sloppy pussy before he came inside. he pulled out and increased the intensity of the vibration, scooping up your boneless body by the throat in the crook of his arm.
the momentary breath restriction made your face flush and your hands instinctively reach towards your throat before he kissed you to silence your mindless loud pleasure. dad was smiling as he stroked your hair and held papa's hand to press the vibrator against you. loving the way streams of sticky white cum splurted and dripped out of your worn pussy.
"such a good daughter for us, pips...the perfect daughter-wife to your two fathers."
CW: omorashi, piss, dom/sub, pet play, humiliation
Caleb coming out from work all worn out, Sylus immediately knows what he wants just from how Caleb clings to him and whispers "please"
Sylus sits on his desk and next to him sitting on his knees is Caleb, he's completely bare except for the collar that's secure around his neck. Sylus rubs his head as he continues to work meanwhile Caleb feels his mind grow heavy in a good way, his body relaxes letting himself slip down into a peaceful state. That is until he feels a pressure on his abdomen then a tingle that shoots down to his hardened length. He squirms a little to relieve the sensation but it only gets worse as more time passes. He tries to hold it, face flushed and skin warming. He fidgets and hopes Sylus will let him go soon but a glance up to the man tells him he's too busy.
Caleb tries to keep holding it then eventually when he can no longer hold it he asks Sylus for permission to go to the bathroom. I imagine him all whimpery and voice cracking🤤 oo def teary eyed too. Sylus tells him he cant go smth about being a good puppy and being patient while his master finishes work and then he'll take him out to go.
Anyways it leads to Caleb actually peeing himself on the floor, he looks so embarrassed and hes sniffling and looking at Sylus 🤤 mmm idk what after that I was js thinking about him peeing himself 🤤 OOO DEF DUMBIFICATION ts so fire i have so many ideas like this 🤤
Man I miss writing about this ship 😢 they kinda my fave LixLi ship
the concept of caleb jerking himself off over her naked cunny and then cumming all over it as she spreads it open with her two fingers, egging him on while chanting ‘needitsobadcaleb, pleasepleaseplease’. he’s smacking his tip against her sticky, swollen folds and hyperventilating as he orgasms sooo hard. then he begins to nudge just the tip inside, scooping up his load, saying some dumb shit like “big brother needs to be careful. can’t fuck you yet, n-not all the way. let me play with it a little longer, yeah? can’t have my baby knocked up. m’too greedy. just wanna see my cum all over that pretty pussy. suits you so well, pips.”
pairing. delinquent! rafayel qi x reader x delinquent! sylus qin
content/mdni. DUBCON. COERCION. fem!reader, implied uni!au, goodie-two-shoes!reader, delinquent!rafayel, dom!rafayel, bully!rafayel, mean!rafayel, manipulative!rafayel, possessive!rafayel, needy!reader, ashamed!reader, delinquent!sylus, dom!sylus, tatted!sylus, piercer!sylus, TONGUE PIERCING, MANIPULATION, groping, TIT PLAY, teasing, slight praise, slight degradation, pet names (princess, kitten), self-muzzling, mentions of MARKING, TW: bad bruises, TW: objectification, i think raf has troilism.
word count. 1.7k
a/n. i had to do one with sy… not really proud of this one butttt! please tell me your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!
“so let me get this straight–” sylus cleared his throat, eyebrows knitted together in a familiar frown — one he usually wears when rafayel is around… like right now. “you want your tits pierced?”
“that’s what my princess said, didn’t sh–”
“you or rafayel?”
his tone was rugged, almost accusatory, cutting rafayel’s saccharin words with a straightforwardness you weren’t familiar with. his bleached head emerged from beneath your raised blouse, abandoning the staring contest he had with your bare boobs for a chance to gaze into your eyes.
the intense crimson shade of his orbs made you squirm, and your arms threatened to fall to your sides, to block the nakedness of your upper body from sylus.
all because of his sharp look.
“mhmm, a mix of both?” rafayel answered his question once more, intentionally blocking any chance for you to speak up. not because you were against it — he made sure to convince you to agree, sweetly manipulating you just the right amount — but because he is the one that dictates the condition of his toys.
and if rafayel wants your beautiful tits to be accessorized by two metal bars, that’s what will happen.
“she reaaaaally wants to get them, don’t you, princess?” and with that, rafayel leaned into you from behind, hands taking shelter on your shoulders, chin resting on the top of your head. flashing a wide grin towards sylus’ seated frame.
taking physical dominance over your body while putting on a cheeky expression for his favourite senior delinquent.
“tsk.” is all sylus did, rolling his eyes at the palpable coercion and strange attachment that connected the two of you. alas, that was none of his business — so he dipped his head back down, silently instructing you to pinch the blouse higher so he could have better access to your chest.
and assess the situation before him.
“well, i hate to break it to you, kitten, but i can’t work with… this.” tatted hand shot away from his knees, hovering in the air right before your boobs, drawing a circle to indicate the problem area — which was your entire chest.
“you sure love to mark your territory, huh?”
the last few words weren’t addressed to you — finally, but to the purple-haired man behind you. you could hear the soft hum that vibrated in his throat, travelling down your spine and detonating an array of goosebumps across your skin.
it prickled the area under sylus’ gaze too, skin hardening with tiny dips… nipples hardening into two attention-seeking peaks. they were like two shiny pebbles, gleaming beautifully and begging to be admired, to be worshipped, to be caressed.
and, apparently, sylus wasn’t the only one that thought that. your tits, the valley between them, the patches of flesh beneath your collarbones — they were all marked, tainted by arduous kissing, licking, and biting.
it did not take a genius to determine the culprit of such a massacre.
rafayel chuckled darkly at sylus’ expression, taking in the growing pupil that threatened to swallow whole the reddish color of his eyes. he bit his lips, trying to mask the satisfaction on his face as he visibly fed on the humiliation and excitement that washed over you.
you were slowly turning into a depraved woman, following in his footsteps, taking delight in strange sexual escapees.
“pff, i couldn’t resist. she begged so prettily for me to play with her!”
coy and playful, rafayel put the blame on you, mentioning loud and clear the nasty behavior you put on when it’s just the two of you. it was, of course, a lie — after convincing you to attend a consultation for a possible piercing with his friend sylus, he brought into discussion how he would have to refrain from touching your chest during the healing process.
how he would be neglected by you.
… you couldn't not fulfill rafayel’s wish; it would have been too cruel of you.
“did she really?”
sylus’ tatted fingers finally made contact then — the pad of his thumb pressing against your left areola, right where the skin had turned an angry, blotchy red. you gasped, hips jerking forward, and the motion made rafayel’s hands tighten on your shoulders.
ah, his plan was working perfectly once more.
“look at this.” sylus spat out, and there was something almost like disgust in his voice. he pinched gently, rolling the hardened peak between his thumb and forefinger, and a bolt of lightning shot straight to your cunt.
“swollen. hot to the touch. bruising already forming here, and here–” he traced the outline of a dark mark, a perfect imprint of rafayel’s teeth. “–he bit you. hard enough to break capillaries.”
you tried to muffle the whimper that prepared to escape your throat, his tweakings of your nipple proving too much; as a last resort, you shoved the fabric of your blouse between your lips, biting down onto it for silence.
“he didn’t just suck them, did he?” sylus continued, relentless, hypothesizing about what rafayel did to you before this so-called appointment. he tugged — just slightly — and your back arched involuntarily, pushing your chest further into his hand. “latched on like a goddamn leech. probably spent an hour with his mouth on you, mhm?”
“heard that, princess?” rafayel muttered into your hair, his breath growing heavy from watching sylus touch you. “i told you he was an expert.”
sylus ignored him, more interested in your boobs.
his other hand, also adorned by inked scribbles, came up, cradling your right breast now; he repeated the inspection — pinch, roll, tug. all while you bit down harder on your blouse, muffling the disgusting pleasure that was generated in you by being at the hands of an unknown man.
a rebellious moan tried to claw its way out of your throat, desperate and humiliating, and it... successfully broke through the cotton. and you knew both of them heard it by the way rafayel snickered and sylus’ jaw tightened.
you were making it so hard for him to stay composed.
“you can’t pierce these.” sylus repeated once more, moving his fingers away from your nipples, only to fully cup your chest — the aggravated skin of yours looked stunning in his larger, shaded hands. “but you already knew that, didn't you, raf?”
“ah–” the sigh came out stifled around the fabric in your mouth, a dash of pleasure ripping through you as sylus moved his hands around, forcing your tits up and smushing them together.
shit, you were so hot.
“you just wanted to show off your toy, parade it in front of me.”
not an ounce of shame flashed across his face as the truth surfaced. caught red-handed, rafayel just… confessed. “of course i did.”
you blinked up at sylus, a bit disoriented by the entire ordeal, and saw something flicker across his face — something dark and amused and almost… sympathetic.
it was different from caleb’s reaction.
“he wanted me to see you, kitten.” sylus explained, though you hadn’t asked, sensing the confusion in your mind. “wanted me to touch you. wanted you to break as you stood here with your tits out and your legs shaking.” he leaned forward, further into your chest, keeping his firm grasp onto your body.
as if he was taking you as leverage.
“didn’t you, rafayel?”
a beat of silence.
then, rafayel laughed — low and utterly unapologetic. “you know me so well, sy.”
your face burned. your chest ached. between your thighs, something else was aching too, something you refused to acknowledge even as rafayel’s hips pressed just slightly tighter against your back.
“you should also know me; i am not caleb. i will not–”
sylus began his ministration, standing his ground against rafayel, kneading and groping with none of the clinical detachment from before. he was feeling you up, mapping the swell of your breasts with his palms, thumbs dragging across your nipples in rough circles that made you squeak in pain and pleasure.
as if he was taunting rafayel, rubbing it in his face that he won't submit.
“i ain’t no dog.”
“ugh– ngh– sy–lus.”
and you were unintentionally helping him, whining and moaning his name like a mantra, almost confirming that he had the upper hand in this interaction.
“sy, sy, sy. you are a guest! i know better than to do that.”
“good.” the word was quickly murmured, more like a warning than a confirmation, before sylus lowered his head.
and licked.
the flat of his tongue dragged across your right nipple, hot and wet, and you jerked so violently that rafayel had to lock his arms to keep you in place. sylus did it again, slower this time, savoring the way the swollen peak pebbled further under his attention. then he closed his lips around it and sucked — gentle, so much gentler than rafayel had been.
but the bruises intensified the feeling, making his somewhat gentleness feel like a restless attack.
“kitten…”
sylus pulled off with a wet pop, examining the glistening skin with hooded eyes. “look down at me, kitten.” he instructed, taking a commanding tone similar to rafayel’s. “this is how it would look like when you–”
but he did not finish his sentence, intentionally leaving it incomplete to demonstrate, rather than tell, what he wanted to achieve.
and here he was, trusting his tongue out between his wet lips, showing off the shiny metalball that was pierced into the muscle.
“oh, fuck.”
you cursed out loud as he approached your left nipple, pressing the tongue right on it and creating an illusion with his own piercing. making it seem like you were the one accessorized.
“oh fuck indeed, princess. look how gorgeous that looks on you!” rafayel whistled from behind, leaning over the two of you to admire sylus’ work. the shiny metal looked stunning on your marked skin, gleaming together with the purplish bruises and the teeth marks he left behind.
sylus only hummed, disregarding rafayel, now engulfing the nipple fully with his lips and blocking his view. he worshipped the bruised areola with the tip of his tongue, dragging the piercing across the sensitive skin.
and you sobbed — actually sobbed — into the fabric of your blouse.
the sensation was too much, too sharp, too good. every nerve in your chest felt like it was on fire, and sylus was pouring more gasoline.
tags: @yuunileb, @txtworlddom, @xyzsbaobei, @loreleis-world, @demonicangelll, @dreamydaredevil, @glitterykingdomangel, @damianalily, @weirdothatwrites, @cherrytokkiz, @brailsthesmolgurl, @maplewood-valley, @happyshark2222, @velomira, @darkchococwoissant, @remnantsofgildedcages, @starswillseeus, @ninalove323, @lumichella, @angelbeat994, @yumeko331, @starrylilah, @loreleissong, @amanehyuga, @txtworlddom, @milumier, @someonestopsoren. if you see this and want to be added to the main taglist, please let me know!
Pre-relationship, where your stalker decides to pour… well, a heart into a letter. The twist? It ain’t necessary theirs.
Xavier
The parcel’s somewhat clumsily wrapped with translucent, coloured paper. The kind you’ll usually use for wrapping bouquets. It’s all tied together with a ribbon the colour of the night sky, filled with stars.
It looks rather cute, but when you do unwrap it, you’ll see dark splatters of… something all over, a heavy, metallic stench wafting off the box in waves. The sort of smell that made you sick right in the stomach, its contents churning uncomfortably.
When you finally steel yourself to rip the parcel open, you’ll find a human heart, complete with blood vessels still dangling from it. Rough, jagged ends, as if it was ripped out of a chest. It’s accompanied with rather cute notepaper, with a note.
“My Starlight.
I hope this offering is to your taste. Humans are rather fond of using Heart motifs to express their feelings, no? A real heart should mean much more than paper or cloth. A mere fraction of the burning love I feel for you, a super nova alight within my chest.
I hope for you to accept me… eventually. I will truly do anything for you. Everything is for you.
I love you. X.”
Zayne
The parcel is white, sterile. A rather eerie smell of a sanitised hospital seems to have sunk deep within it. It’s only adorned with the postage label, addressing it to you. No other unnecessary effects are placed on the box.
When you do open it, a glass specimen jar greets you. Within? A heart… that looked suspiciously fresh. A human’s heart encased within shimmering ice. Still red and rosy, as if it could start beating at any moment. It’s accompanied by a box of macaroons, deftly wrapped out cream-coloured paper. Y’know, in case you were feeling peckish after admiring AN ACTUAL HUMAN HEART.
Was this even ethically sourced…? As you were wondering to yourself, a snow white piece of paper slipped out of the box, loopy handwriting inked into it.
“My Jasmine.
Forgive me for being rather abrupt with this gift for you. You seemed rather stressed lately, your body fading away under the strain. I took care of the cause for you, do not fret. Your boss’ heart will be the proof of that. All you need to do is to gradually recover from the fatigue. I will be with you every step of the way.
Summary: Your boss’ overprotectiveness could qualify as a workplace hazard.
Word Count: 4.4k
Tags: slight dubcon(?), slight humiliation kink, brat-taming ig, nasty, gratuitous SMUT, minimal plot i just want spanky spanks, Sylus is not The Gentle Dom™ he’s known for here sorryyyy, oh and a healthy amount of daddy kink (sorry 2x)
A/N: HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY LMAO. Idk what else to say but that the spanking scene from the latest banner cognitively altered something cortex-deep and I fear it permanently liberated me from shame. Short, ultra-filthy oneshot ahead.
Also, nobody jump me over Sylus being OOC here, okay. This was borne entirely out of pure fucking horny and what the olden people would probably call a practice in self-gratification, so trust me, I know.
This was written with a non-MC in mind, so that way Sylus is the only one who’s OOC here (but not in my heart and the deep recesses of this c/u/n/t <3) because I genuinely cannot picture canon MC in this situation and I refuse to try, as usual.
“Walk me through what you’ve done wrong.”
You’d already suspected you were in deep shit somewhere between the deafeningly silent drive back from the job that had gone sideways so fast and him leaving you behind the second you returned to base, disappearing without so much as a glance in your direction to cool his head elsewhere.
Still, you knew you’d truly fucked up when you entered his office after, finally, being summoned... only to freeze at the sight of him, and the severity of his glare.
Sylus sits silent, forearms braced against the polished oakwood, hands steepled before his mouth as he fixed you with a sharp, unwavering stare. The dim light from the lone lamp in the corner caught against the rings on his fingers, cold against colder eyes.
“I–”
“Come. Closer.”
The command is final, resolute. You bristle instinctively.
One sharp arch of his brow catches the beginning of that defiance immediately, and that small reaction alone makes you falter.
Still, you force yourself to keep your chin high as you hesitantly approach the terrifying figure situated a mere few feet away. But before you can stop in front of the large desk, he tilts his head, signalling for you to round the corner.
Closer, until you’re standing directly in front of him. Your hackles rise, tempted to stand your ground where you are—but Sylus clicks his tongue, and you loathe to admit you react no differently from a chastised pup when you obey.
So there you stand, barely a hair’s breadth away from sharing the same air, caught between his knees as his hand clamps firmly around your wrist. To pull you precisely where he wants you.
You try to step back, twisting against his grip, but Sylus doesn’t budge. Red eyes pin you in place instead, burning with a cold, terrifying fury.
“Good. You seem capable of being obedient for once.”
“Shut up,” you hiss, stung by the condescension oozing from his voice.
Sylus bares his teeth in a semblance of not-quite a smile. Something more morbidly amused than anything else, tainted with warning. Careful, it says.
Swallowing the remaining hesitation lodged in your throat, you retort, “Stop treating me like a kid. I know what I did, and yeah, maybe I could’ve been smarter about it, but—”
Sylus lets out a short laugh devoid of any real humor. “So you are aware that what you’ve done was utterly foolish?”
“Do you even hear yourse–” You cut yourself off with a frustrated sound, already irritated beyond belief by the sharp dismissal in his tone. “I can’t just stay hidden while they—”
“When I tell you I hold your wellbeing above all else, do you think I say it as mere inflection?”
“No, but what was I supposed to do?” you demand. “Leave you there to fend for yourself?”
His eyes burn a scorching fire as he enunciates slowly, “Yes. That is precisely what you should have done.”
“I’m sorry, but you’re asking for something impossible,” you growl, still struggling to wrench your wrist free from his hold. “I can’t do that. You know I can’t.”
“Your safety is not up for debate,” he snaps, and the brittle facade of your bravado does, too.
“Gah–!” Your frustration comes out halfway between a yell and something more wounded, your vision already stinging with angry tears. “Fuck, okay, I get it! I know I’m not like your hunter friend, or any of your more competent lackeys, but you don’t have to treat me like I’m fucking useless!”
Sylus opens his mouth, no doubt ready to launch into what would no doubt become another exhausting argument about your incompetence and your complete lack of self-preservation—but something seems to make him reconsider.
The fire in his eyes shifts. From furious, to contemplative.
Then stone-cold.
An oppressive heaviness stifles the air around you. The man before you, your boss by every definition of the word, seems to have decided he’s done arguing.
...The next thing you know, you’re face-down across his lap, staring at the floor as he yanks both your wrists behind your back in a punishing grip.
You shout in indignation, kicking your legs uselessly in an attempt to escape the prison of his hold, but to no avail. Sylus, apparently, is in no mood to grant you even the dignity of false leniency this time.
Without warning, he flips your skirt up—a damning decision to wear one on a heist, though never in the way you imagined would come back to bite you—and bunches the fabric high against your hips, leaving your thin underwear embarrassingly exposed.
Heat rushes violently to your face. Shame follows just as quickly: sharp and prickling across your scalp, before sinking nauseatingly deep in your gut.
“...Are you actually sorry?” he intones softly, something deceptive in the way he says it.
“W-what?”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, you feel the palm of his free hand glide slowly from your thigh, trailing upward along the curve of your lower back.
You’re not. Not even an iota. But with your not-quite lover’s current temperament, you feel almost compelled to oblige anyway.
Sylus rarely loses his temper like this. In fact, it only seems to happen when your safety is involved—when you’ve placed yourself directly in harm’s way, or when circumstances leave him too far away to reach you before something goes wrong.
You remember the first time he’d thrown you across his lap. It happened after a supposedly separate mission went catastrophically awry, when some idiotic urge to impress him had driven you to go completely off-brief. You came back bloodied, barely responsive over comms, leaving him without eyes on you for nearly half an hour.
Half an hour that very nearly drove him out of his mind.
So when you finally stumbled back to him in one battered piece, the last threads of Sylus’ restraint snapped entirely. And as a result, he’d doled it out on—
“I’m– ah!” You lurch at the unexpected smack he delivers viciously on your ass.
“Tell me properly, then,” he croons mockingly, a cruel, near-manic light in his eyes. “Like you mean it. Say, Sylus, I’m sorry for being a brat. Come now.”
You gripe stubbornly, refusing to yield so easily. You sink your teeth into your lower lip hard enough to taste rust.
“Words,” Sylus orders. “Or have you lost your tongue along with your wit?”
“No!”
Another harsh swat. This time, the rings adorning his fingers dig cruelly into softened flesh, sending a sharp, stinging ache radiating through you.
An involuntary sob tears free from your throat.
“I’ll count up to—hm, how many rounds did you fire after I told you to stop?”
The question is rhetorical, of course. Asked as if you have any real say in this at all. He already knows the number; the sound of each bullet probably still rings around inside his skull.
“Nine? No, ten. You managed to put down two out of that.”
You blink angrily at his derision, right on the verge of mouthing off—
—then you stop cold, dread curling in your stomach as you remember what comes next.
“Ah, though you did swap mags midway through.” Sylus feigns sudden realization, like the memory has only just occurred to him. “Which brings the total to…” He hums thoughtfully. “Care to hazard a guess?”
Your heart thuds violently in your chest with a growing sense of foreboding, the reality that Sylus is dead serious despite the jeering mockery in his tone becoming painfully clear to you now. The telltale beginnings of trepidation quake through you at the perceived danger you’re in… and the promised pain soon to follow.
You answer a second too late, for him. “Test me one more time,” Sylus warns lowly, “and you’ll spend the rest of the night staring at the floor from across my lap.”
The last traces of mocking amusement vanish from his voice entirely. And just like that, you know you’ve lost.
“T-twenty,” you mutter in defeat.
“Twenty-three,” he corrects. “But let’s round that up to twenty-five, shall we?”
The sudden strike tears a yelp from you, though you quickly stumble through: “Three…!”
Sylus scoffs. “From the beginning,” he says coldly. “And this time, show a little gratitude after each one.”
Spank. “O-one! Thank you–”
Spank. “Two! T-thank–” Spank. “You!”
“Three!” You breathe out through your nose, blinking harshly. “Thank you...”
Spank.
And so it goes. The humiliation burns viciously.
Because your actions had come from instinct. The instinct to protect—something you should be allowed to do as part of Onychinus.
So why does he insist on treating you like this?
As if you can’t handle yourself. As if you aren’t capable of giving as hard as you get.
As if you’ll always remain something weaker than him.
You wail through the pain as he rains his frustration down onto your backside, reduced to pathetic little sniffles through each damned number, even when he delivers the final blow.
“T-t-twenty-five… th-thank you…”
Your throat burns from all the screaming. Everything hurts. But what hurts most is your shattered ego, lying broken in pieces at his feet as your head hangs low like a scolded dog’s. Your breath comes out in short, ragged gasps from the exertion, and you keep your gaze trained downward while tears roll helplessly down your face.
You’ve paid his price, and your ass still throbs painfully from it, but it’s done. It’s over—
until Sylus hooks his fingers into the wet fabric sticking from the pool between your thighs, and the rough slide of cotton against your abused cheeks stings something almost unbearable.
Mortification floods your face instantly.
With it comes the true humiliation; the most shameful proof of all, bared in full view before him: your drooling pussy, mortifyingly soaked throughout the entire ordeal, exposed before him despite all your struggling, all your resistance, all the pride you’d tried so desperately to cling to.
And judging by the dark satisfaction flickering across Sylus’ face, he knows it too. You can’t hide anything from him.
Sylus clenches his jaw, a hiss slipping between his teeth at the vulgar sight of your quivering cunt, drenched in want. Vexation, guilt, and lust rage viciously inside him, and he doesn’t know whether to delight in the fact that you’ve managed to derive pleasure from the punishment—or make it worse for you still, so you might finally understand the helplessness you’ve burdened him with. The helplessness you’ve made him feel ever since.
It would only make sense that you, the source of it all, should pay penance by taking the full brunt of his ire. Shouldn’t you?
His palm settles heavily against your left buttock, a thumb forcing you wide open beneath his gaze, greedy to see more of your lewd insides you’d tried—and failed—to conceal from him. You fuss, though there’s little you can actually do against the unrelenting restraint holding you in place.
Both of you are painfully aware of this. The imbalance between you, the difference in power. How frighteningly easy it would be for him to bend you into submission whenever he pleased.
He’s utterly entranced by the stringy essence drenching his finger—and inadvertently, the worsted wool of his trousers where he’s propped you onto. A rivulet of your desire drips down like viscid honey, splattering on the tip of his shoe, and the obscenity of it all draws a tortured groan from deep in his throat.
“Filthy,” the word comes out scathing, but your body reacts as if it’s been praised. You whimper, shivering at the languid ministrations against your sensitive flesh. “Do you like making me mad?”
Your mind begins to drift further from reality, the pain almost exalting in the way it strips everything else away until all that remains are his words and him, him.
No, you don’t like making him mad. You don’t like the disappointed look in his eyes, as if you’re incapable. You don’t like it when he treats you less an equal, and more like a delicate doll in need of protection from every possible harm.
But you like it when he chastises you, the residual shame washed through with pleasure. You like the sting of punishment when it’s dealt by the same hands that would soothe it all better afterwards.
You like it when he forces your mind empty until nothing else matters except this.
And him.
Only him.
“What do you need?” he prods quietly, stroking the expanse of your wet cunt in a slow, hypnotic caress; upwards, downwards, in slow, circular motions. Pushing a finger in just enough to coax you open around the teasing digit until it reaches the sensitive pearl hidden beneath.
You mewl, involuntarily trapping his hand between your thighs. He stops.
The sudden loss of attention is almost debilitating. “N-no—” Your pitiful pleas dissolve into nonsensical garble, and your cruel tormentor scoffs at your pathetic supplication.
“No?” he repeats boredly. “I’m beginning to grow rather tired of hearing that word from you. Should I stop?”
"N-no—m-more…" you whimper. The man stays still. "Please, please–?"
"You can beg better than that, pet. Have I not trained you well enough?"
You squeeze your eyes shut, the wetness gathered along your waterline spilling down your reddened cheeks for the nth time. The stinging humiliation, the utter ignominy of being rendered helpless and strewn across his lap to receive punishment no differently from a misbehaving child…
The lingering shame prevents you from speaking, but the fear of disappointing Him forces your mouth open anyway, soundless. You shake your head in mounting resentment with yourself, your breathing beginning to stutter as the walls slowly close in around you.
You want, you want— but you can’t have— You can’t do what he asks—
Stupid, stupid—
A palm reaches down to encircle your neck in a firm, but gentle grip. To ground you.
“Sweetie.” Tenderness bleeds through the earlier authority in his tone, and despite yourself, you shiver. “Come back to me.”
Your pupils retract sluggishly, bleary as your vision slowly adjusts when you lift your head, dizzy. You twist slightly in his hold and catch sight of carmine irises melting into a deeper amaranth in the yellow light.
Sylus removes his hands from where they’d been holding you moments earlier, helping to prop you upright before shifting you bodily and arranging your limbs like folded wings, gathering you securely into the nest of his arms.
He tucks your head beneath his chin, breathing you in like he’s taking comfort in the simple fact that you’re here in his arms. Safe.
And like a stranger peering through a peephole, your fuzzy brain slowly pieces together that the worst is finally over.
“Should we leave it at that for tonight?” Sylus murmurs, genuinely checking for the telltale signs that you’ve reached your limit. “It seems we’ve had enough excitement for one evening—”
You let out a small whine against his throat.
The worst is over, but—
No. No.
You don’t want him to stop.
“I wanna be good. I can be good for you.” Mustering the last semblance of courage left in you, you plead earnest; watery eyes stare up at the pair of reds trained on your face.
The name of endearment hits Sylus like a blow to the back of the head. And whatever lingering fury remained from the earlier fiasco dissolves almost instantly at the sound of it leaving your mouth so earnest and broken. So sincere.
And clearly indicative of the subdrop that you’ve fallen deep into, that it nearly makes his gums ache.
His grip tightens around you reflexively as he finally takes in the full extent of your state: the dazed look clouding your eyes, the way your body folds pliantly into his without resistance, openly vulnerable and trusting him entirely to take the reins now that your mind has begun withdrawing into itself.
Christ, how was he supposed to resist?
He slams you down onto the desk hard enough to send papers scattering wildly askew, the force of it knocking the breath clean from your lungs and leaving your head spinning.
Zipping down the front of his pants, Sylus pulls out his rock-hard cock from the confines of his boxers. With one hand wrapped around himself, he rubs the leaking head against your slit in maddening circles, deliberately bumping against your engorged clit with every pass. Yet a few teasing rounds are all he could manage before he tires of prolonging your suffering, and his.
Inch by paralyzing inch, he feeds it to you—the thick length of him, splitting you open deliciously. The way your slit weeps, greedy as it swallows the mushroom tip despite the overwhelming stretch, enraptures him.
You whine weakly, attempting to squirm away, to hide, as though it’s any match against the unrelenting hands keeping you spread wide open beneath him. He huffs at the remaining traces of your resistance, amused by how futile it is when neither of you are under any illusion that you’ll be leaving your place beneath him for hours into the night.
“Let me see my pretty baby.”
Sylus easily pries your hand away from your face, ignoring the fruitless endeavour and the way you try to hide the evidence of what he’s done to you. Traces of the ruinous pleasure he’s left you with.
Your lashes stick together as you blink up at him, mascara smudged beneath red-rimmed eyes.
“There she is,” he coos softly, wiping away the stray tears with his thumb. “Hi, baby.”
You take a second too long to answer, grasping at figurative straws. Sylus, evidently, has little patience left for it.
The sharp thrust makes you cry out immediately, leaving no doubt as to what he thinks of your lack of response. You scramble weakly, nails scratching against the forearms holding you down. They don’t yield as he continues to slowly spear his cock in and out of your tight cunt.
Your thin voice wobbles as you finally acquiesce to the demands of your relentless (not-quite..?) lover, struggling to keep yourself from crying out under the perverse disparity between your small, fluttering hole and his monstrous size. "H-hi, daddy."
“Shhh,” he soothes, sweet in stark contrast to the rough rhythm he has on you. “You’re breaking my heart, sweetheart. Dad’s being too rough?”
You shake your head.
“No? You can take more, then?”
You shake your head again, more frantic this time. The low chuckle he lets out sends reverberations down to where the two of you are connected, and you clench helplessly in response.
"This pussy's telling me something else, sweetie. Do I listen to her or to you, my love?"
Don’t know if I can. It’s too sore, daddy. Sore in the way your body wraps around him, fluttering in time with the frantic hammering of your heart, unable to distinguish whether it comes from the repeated intrusion or the carnal desire for more. You don’t know if you want to plead for a smidge of mercy, or beg him not to stop. You can’t utter anything coherent beyond a long-strung moan.
Humming lowly, he makes the decision for you.
“I’ll take that as both, then.”
Sylus rips through the leather bodice of your top with his evol, disintegrating the material instantly. The sparks left dancing across your skin sting in a way you know is entirely deliberate. Addictive, too.
The next thing you know, he captures your breast in his hungry mouth—ravenous as he sucks, and sucks. It aches, and you whimper at the relentless onslaught.
His right eye blazes as he peers up at you, intent on drinking in every minute reaction you give him. Every furrow of your brow from the torment. Every trembling breath born from the impossible collision of discomfort and agonizing pleasure that only he can drag from you.
It makes Sylus feel almost godlike. In control.
Especially after spending the last several hours feeling as though he’d lost it entirely.
That fear slowly drifts further and further from his mind the longer he keeps you like this, overwhelmed and trapped deep within the throes of corruptive gratification.
Your mind is nowhere on Earth, the only thing tying you to reality tethered to the rough push and pull of his cock pulverizing your insides.
“Ungh–unh—” You mewl brokenly, rivers streaming down your face. Pain and pleasure become an ouroboros of destruction, ravaging you steadily to ruin by the hand pressing down against your stomach, forcing you to feel how he drills and carves a place for himself, deep into your core.
“Look at you,” he exhales as he releases the reddened nub from his mouth, visibly enamoured by the sight before him. “Taking me so well. Do you think I treat you just as well, baby?”
“Y-yes… thank you,” you manage to breathe out. He’s praising you. He loves you. You can’t think of anything else to do but to show how grateful you are.
Sylus laughs softly. “Thanking me now? Quite the contrast from all that earlier grit, I think.” Even as he teases, he makes no move to push you further, fully aware you’re already more than halfway out of it.
With excruciating languor, he pulls out his slick-covered shaft, only to slam fully back into you in one brutal thrust. Over and over, he fucks you like an animal—battering your cervix, hitting every secret spot within, as if staking its claim over the ruined wasteland of your desire.
It's so good. It's so good. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you…” you blabber wetly, unable to stop the endless stream of gratitude spilling from your lips.
Thanking him only fuels the destructive fire raging inside him, and Sylus breathes raggedly as he rests his forehead against yours, watching the roll of your eyes intently. Obsessively. “That’s it—fuck, you’re daddy’s good girl, aren’t you?”
“Yes, yes!” you relent, squirming and arching helplessly against him. One of his large hands slides to your lower back, pushing you upward in support while the other maintains a possessive hold over your belly, leaving you trapped securely between both of them.
There’s a building pressure coiling just below your abdomen; pulsing, clawing its way through the overwhelming haze in your mind, and you feel…
“D-daddy,” you stammer out, a sense of alarm cutting through the thick fog. “I-I think… I have to–”
“Mmh? Are you gonna cum for me, sweetheart?”
“Nnooo,” you whimper in distress, trying desperately to hold it back. Your eyes squeeze shut, and a few more tears escape. “N-not it, no, no…”
Sylus practically coos at the panicked response, all while relishing in your contracting walls, clearly recognizing what’s happening long before you can properly voice it yourself.
“Yes. Yes, shit– let go, my love. Give me everything,” he rasps, sounding almost desperate himself, eyes ablaze with the thirst and anticipation for the full culmination of your passion. Your ardor to wet his cock, and to whet his appetite.
He lowers his head until his mouth finds your throat, teeth latching down against your skin as the demand is punctuated by an overpowering bite meant to take. Everything. All of it. All of you—
The order in his voice commands you to submit, and you’re helpless against the absolute control it exerts over your body.
Almost instantaneously, you clench down. Hard. Your orgasm rocks you to your core, and he fucks you through it as it comes out in sporadic, uncontrollable spurts. It crashes violently over your head in giant waves, dragging you beneath the undertow until you’re utterly lost within the current. Blinded by the paralyzing ecstasy of it all.
Sylus swears to himself, his tempo faltering from the sheer rapture that is your cunt, milking him through spasms. He releases his hold around your midsection only for one hand to slam against the console hard enough for it to crack beneath his grip.
Not long after, he finally follows after you, a rough, possessive growl spilling against your neck as he loses himself in the same blinding wave of euphoria.
_
It might have been seconds, or minutes, or years until your vision finally returns and you regain some semblance of consciousness.
You’re swaddled in a familiar charcoal suit jacket, vaguely aware of being carried across the hallway and toward Sylus’ room no doubt, and the man quietly shushes you back to rest the moment you stir awake in his arms.
So you surrender one more time.
Just as you always do.
-
-
-
“Does it still hurt?” Sylus murmurs gently once the two of you are finally laid together in bed, after he’d cleaned you up and tended to you with almost painstaking care in the bath.
He’s referring to the bruising you sustained from the earlier disaster of a mission gone wrong and not—
“I think it all went to my ass,” you complain mulishly, scrunching your face as he pulls you tighter into his embrace like some oversized python. Or an overgrown koala. “And my vagina. No thanks to you.”
He chuckles, landing a soft kiss atop your head. “Poor thing. Did we learn anything from this?”
“No.”
You feel more than see the smirk forming on his face from where he’s buried against your hair. “Mm. Then I suppose I can’t be blamed for reacting exactly the same way the next time a reckless little mouse decides to throw herself headfirst into danger for me.”
The teasing remark is met with a scoff, but deep down, both of you know neither of you really minds this arrangement.
End A/N: WHAT WAS THAT— must have been the wind. Anyway.
Actually, without spoiling too much but perhaps giving a tiny glimpse of what’s to come, this is somewhat similar to one of the chapters I had in mind for Sundown Purgatory lol. So to the few people who might understand the bs I’m spouting, just know I definitely had SP!OC in mind while writing this :))
Daddy Qin Che | 6.2k words
dilf qin che takes you in off the street, and he resists his desire for so long that when he finally gives in, he's feral
cw: daddy kink (seriously, he's a father figure), age gap (no age mentioned but mc is 20s and he's 40s in my head), size difference, belly bulge, pussy inspections, guilty dilf, sloppy and messy and deranged
You'd been alone as long as you could remember. You owned nothing but whatever you could fit in a small worn backpack you found in a park years earlier, and no one had ever loved you. Every day was a fight. That’s how he’d found you: in an alley on the n109 zone, gripping one of the shoulder straps of the bag carrying all your worldy posessions, and screaming at the top of your lungs. Every single day was a fight.
He watched you thrash and scream, anchoring yourself down, using your entire body weight to resist. Your attacker drags you along behind him for a few metres, like your desperate fight was nothing but a mild nuisance, and then, when he’s had enough , he turns and raises a knife to end your fight once and for all. A red mist scoops him off his feet and into the air, and your scream is abruptly cut off as you fall back hard into the pavement, gripping your backpack in your arms.
When your rescuer leaves the shadows and approaches, you scramble backwards, clutching that little battered bag like it contained riches. He crouches down. “I won’t touch your treasure, sweetheart. I’ve got more than enough of my own.”
Months pass, and then years, and it becomes less and less clear why the silver-haired man—who could kill without lifting a finger and had the reputation to match—deigned not only spare you from certain death, but to drag you back to his cave and give you a home. And a home was what it was. You'd have been happy if he did truly like in a dark dank cave, as long as it was safe and secure, but you'd very quickly learned that was not what was on offer.
He was decades your senior and struck fear in anyone who was unfortunate enough to find themselves before him. He was also wealthy enough to obtain anything his heart desired, and you—a nobody, with nothing to offer him at all—found yourself living under his roof, under his care, and slowly realising you might be the one thing in the world he treasured above all else.
"Isn't it pretty?" you ask, twirling your flowing skirts for him again.
"Mm," he hums, leaning back in his lounge chair. "Very pretty."
"It's almost too pretty to wear..." You smooth your hands down over the delicate bodice, a pretty pale shade of pink. "What if I spill something on it?"
"I'll buy another," comes his lazy reply. He takes a swig from his glass, and you catch the broken skin across his knuckles.
You take a few small steps and fold yourself onto the carpet at his feet carefully, being sure not the tear the pretty skirt. "Why?" you ask, looking up at him.
His brows twitch. "Why not?"
"What if i ruined that one too?"
"You think I can't afford to buy a thousand more?"
You fiddle a little with the delicate lace. "But you buy me so many pretty things."
He looks down at you, a silver lock falling over one of his dark red eyes. "You've noticed," he says, amused.
You lift yourself up onto your knees and shuffle forward slightly, enough to rest your hands on his knees. His fingers tighten on the glass and then relax. He lowers it to the small table beside him. "What do you want? You know I like when you just ask."
You shake your head. "I don't want anything."
He cracks, his lips curving into a small smile. "Oh?" His head tilts a little.
You shuffle your knees along the carpet a little more, forcing his knees apart to make space for you between them. "Nothing you can buy," you clarify.
When you look up at him, his eyes are fixed on one of your hands, resting on his thigh.
"What happened to your hands, daddy?"
His eyes snap to yours. You'd used the word for the first time only a few months earlier. You'd been nagging about something, trying to get your way. It'd slipped out without thought, and you'd both frozen in place in the seconds afterwards. Then he'd relented to your demand and made no mention of it. So again, and again, you'd hung off his arm and 'please, daddy?' had slipped past your lips, and you found yourself entirely unable to stop. It felt right. And it seemed to work in your favour, too.
You reach for his hand so you can inspect his knuckles. "Why haven't you healed them?" you ask.
"They're a reminder."
You tilt your head in question, a habit you'd picked up from him without notice.
"Someone said something today that I really didn't like, and I want to remember how much I hurt them.” He takes his hand from yours and tucks some loose hair behind your ear. "So I don't go back and kill them. I need them alive for now."
"Is that why you kept me? You need me alive for something too?"
He laughs. It jostles you a little against his legs. Then his muscles relax, and it's clear that's all the response he'll be offering.
You stare at a precariously loose button at his navel, frustrated in your years' long failure to understand why someone like him would take in, and spoil, someone as entirely useless and insignificant as you.
"Tell me what you want that I can't buy," he asks after a moment of your silent brooding. "You're pouting."
"Tell me why you saved me."
He looks immediately amused, which makes your mood worse. "I only helped a little."
You close the final gap between your body and the edge of the lounge. You’re now well and truly wedged between his legs. "Answer me properly or I won't talk to you for a week."
His head tilts. "A whole week?" He smooths down your hair. It feels a lot like being soothed with a pet on the head, as if you were a needy dog desperate for their owner’s approval.
Your mood worsens. "A month."
His lips twitch, a clear attempt to hold back a smile. "Now it's getting serious." He pats the armrest. "Come here."
When you hesitate—stubborn resistance he was all too familiar with—that same red mist that had killed your attacker all those years ago gently scoops you up and drops you exactly where he'd instructed you to sit. He gathers your legs and tucks your feet between his thighs, keeping you securely balanced on your perch beside him.
You expect him to take his hands off you and let the way your feet wedge under one of his thighs be your security. He hardly ever touched you unless absolutely necessary. It was such a rarity that you’d long since concluded that he didn't like to be touched in general. But one of his hands stays wrapped around your bare calf now as he starts to speak. You indulge in the rare treat.
"I was passing by, and I heard your screams. It was clearly an unfair fight. Didn't I do what anyone would? I'm not a monster, am I, sweetheart?"
You frown. "No, you didn't do what anyone would. You took me home and put me in the biggest room here and bought me anything I asked for."
His lips curve and his fingers tighten a little around your calf. "Aren't you happy here?" His thumb moves against your skin under your skirts, caressing. "With me," he adds.
"You've helped other people... in unfair fights."
"Mm."
"But you didn't bring them home."
"No."
"So why me?"
His hand moves up enough to brush against your underskirts, just below your knee. "Sometimes... I come across things––things that catch my eye––and I decide I want to bring them home... and keep them… and make them mine. You know I collect shiny things."
You lift your feet from between his thighs, and before he can intervene, you fall into his lap. His hands hover awkwardly in the air for a moment, like he'd been about to catch you and either failed to get their fast enough or stopped himself. You know him so well, that you know his next move will be forcibly removing you. And so, just as his muscles twitch—
"Am I a shiny thing then, daddy?"
Success.
He's still.
You reach toward his face. His hand snaps up to grip your wrist.
“Your hair is in your face,” you grumble.
His wrist loosens, freeing you, and when you gently move aside the hair that falls over one of his eyes a little, it reveals the glow forming—the same glow you'd seen the first time that word slipped past your lips and every time since.
"Yes, little one. You're shiny. Hop off now."
His voice distracts you from the allure of that red glow. You tilt your head. "Why?"
"You'll damage your dress."
"You can buy me another."
He doesn’t respond, and that loose shirt button catches your eye again. You focus your attention on it, rolling it between your fingers. It's so loose it causes the fabric of his black dress shirt to part a little, giving you a peak of his belly underneath. You’d seen him shirtless more times than you could count. He had a habit of strutting around the place with a towel around his waste. You could imagine how he must’ve looked when he was closer to your age. You imagine all that muscle that sits on him like a bulk and brute strength now might’ve been a little leaner. He would’ve always been tall, but maybe not quite so… big.
"I am happy here... with you." Your shyness isn’t disguised in your voice at all, so you decide you should be brave and look at him, to make sure he understands you mean it. But when you do… your fingers slip, snapping the thread and tugging that little button completely free. You gasp. A tiny little breath of air. An involuntary response to the blazing glow looking back at you—brighter than you’d ever seen it before.
"I won't hurt you, baby," he says, clearly interpreting your surprise as fear.
"Your eye."
"Mm, I know. You should get off now."
"Why does it do that?"
His brows twitch, then his lip, and then his hand resting beside you—like a shock travelling through his all his nerves. "Please, get off," he says finally.
You're transfixed: by his eye, by the tension in the thighs you rest on, by the uncharacteristic plea that escapes his lips when you know very well he has the power to lift you from him, both using his muscles or his evol.
Adjusting in his lap a little, you lean closer, like getting a better look might reveal the secret to his glowing eye. It draws you in, tempting you with its secrets. "It happens when I call you daddy," you mutter, problem-solving aloud. "Is it like a mood ring? Are you happy or angry?"
His chest rises and falls more rapidly than usual, and you're almost ready to jump off, thinking maybe he was in pain. But then, "...Happy," he confesses.
You can't help the grin that lights up your face. You fall into him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He's tense, and his arms don't wrap around you in return, but after a moment, he relaxes. "You never said," you mumble into his neck. "I thought you were embarrassed... or that you hated it..." Nuzzling into his neck, you find yourself quickly rambling. “Doesn’t it feel so right? It felt like I was yours all along. I never knew it was possible to feel this safe, and loved, and… happy.”
He's quiet, and your chests rise and fall together, and the dress you were in love with minutes earlier now feels like a big mess of fabric serving no purpose but to cordon you off from him. You want to be closer.
You nuzzle into his neck some more, inhaling his scent—his warmth and protection and safety and love... love... "I love you, daddy," you mumble.
He's still... and quiet... and then he turns, and with his lips against your temple, he inhales deeply.
You sit up so you can see his face again, trying to stick as close to him as you can. "Do you love me too?"
"Mm, more than anything."
A spark of heat shoots through your body: pure joy. You rock a little in his lap, keeping your arms around his neck, securely latched on. His expression doesn't match yours at all. He still looks a little pained, and it makes even less sense now than it did before.
"What's wrong?"
"Go get ready for bed, I'll come say goodnight."
You frown, and your fingers play with the hair at the back of his neck, much like you had with the lace on your dress and the button on his shirt. "Are you sick?"
"No."
Your fingers still. "You don't like me touching you?"
He doesn't answer.
You arms drop from his neck. "Are you... You just said... You don't love me?"
His hair falls back over his eye. "I love you."
"But I love you and... I want to be close to you... and touch you. So... you don't love me the same?" You fiddle with the edges of his shirt where the button should’ve been holding it together. His bare skin peaks at you, and you slip one little finger past the gap. The moment your finger meets his warmth, his hips jump so violently you're forced to grip onto his shoulders for support.
"Daddy loves you," he breathes as his chest rises and falls heavily. He almost sounds… afraid? It's such a foreign tone for him that you're stunned into silence. "I want to touch you and be close to you, too. So much. So, so much. It's not right. I can't touch you, mm? And you shouldn't touch me."
"Why?"
His hands grip the armrests. "That man I still need alive—the one that said something I really didn't like—he’s only alive because I have self-control. Lots, and lots, and lots of self-control. He said something about the thing most precious to me in this world and he's very, very lucky that I’ve spent so many years building all that control. As are you."
Your brows pull together, and you blink rapidly, processing.
He leans forward a little, arms still pinned beside you. "Daddy wants to do bad things. Bad things to men that mention your name..." His nose brushes your neck. "...and bad things to you." He falls back. "So I can't touch you, and I need to leave my knuckles bloody. Those are the rules."
Your heart flutters rapidly with the revelation he feels the same way. You're so fixated on that, that you entirely skip over the part where he says he can’t. Can't isn't the same as want. And all you care about is the want.
"Touching me isn't a bad thing,” you mutter, doing your best not to pout.
His hand balls into a fist, then it relaxes. "I'm too old for you, you know that.”
"But I love you."
"Those are the rules,” he says again, final.
"So only someone younger can touch me? I should just go find someone my age without your stupid rules?"
He leans forward. He’s large enough that you have to look up at him, even as you sit perched on his thighs. "No," he says simply, calm, final. "Daddy can't touch you, and neither can anyone else."
"That's not fair."
He moves to touch your lips, pausing just before he makes contact. Control. "Don't pout."
You grasp his wrist before he can lower it again. "What about me touching you? That isn't in your rules. Besides, you can't tell me what to do."
"Go to bed."
"No."
"I can make you."
"But you haven't." You wiggle in his lap. "You keep telling me to get off, but you haven't even tried to make me. Why haven't you made me get off, daddy?"
You bridge the small space between his hand and your lips, placing a delicate kiss to his broken knuckles. "It would be easy. I’m so much smaller than you. You could make me get off you, and you could make me stop touching you, and you could lock me in my room and never look at me so you never think about doing bad—"
"Go to bed."
His hand is relaxed in your grasp, a passive limpness that lets you select the finger you want and guide it to your mouth. It brushes your lower lip. "It's okay, daddy. I understand. It's not bad if you don't do anything, right? You don't have to touch me." His finger rests between your lips as you speak.
He watches as you part them a little and touch it with your tongue.
One little kitten lick: a test. Then another. And then, slowly, you guide his finger into your warm mouth. It rests on your tongue for a moment, and then it twitches, a slight press down into your wet warmth. Approval. Your lips seal around him, and you suck, and twirl your tongue around him and gently guide him in and out.
He watches, transfixed. Having his attention entirely on you was enough to have you giddy any other day, but right now... it's enough for you to squirm... to make a little sound with his thick finger filling your mouth. His fingers are so long that you can’t manage the whole thing. At one point, you try, and when you gag a little, he tries to pull away. It’s more a reflexive flinch than any real attempt to stop you. You know you could never fight any actual attempt to take back control.
He lets you catch his hand. “Sorry, daddy. It’s too big. I just wanted to try.”
As you resume your mission, his chest rises and falls in heavy uneven breaths. Any second he could stop you. You keep reminding yourself that he could stop you without so much as a twitch of a muscle. Still, he says and does nothing. Even as you begin to roll your lips in his lap, still suckling on his finger, making small sounds that vibrate through his hand. He says nothing. He basks in your wet warmth, a captive audience and a passive participant.
When you're done with one finger, you start on the next, and in a patient game of wills, you suckle and whine and rolls your hips… until finally, he speaks.
"You're wrinkling your dress."
You pull his thumb from your mouth with a pop. Did he want you to stop? You knew he didn't care about the dress. You’d thought it was in the way when you climbed onto him. It was a barrier between you. Surely he didn't mean...
"Should I... take it off?"
"To look after it."
You nod, joining his game of pretend. Ignoring that he'd just told you he could buy you a thousand more. Hesitation halts you just as you start to climb off him. Was this a trick? Would he stand and hurry away and never give you this chance again?
That unruly lock of hair still flops down over his face to cover his eye. He doesn't grab you when you reach to move it this time. And when you do, his eye is impossibly bright. A silent reassurance, you keep your focus on that glow as you climb backwards off him and reach for the small hook and zip at the side of your bodice.
You gain confidence the longer he sits there, unmoving. There's no sign this is a trick. So by the time you manoeuvre out of the dress and leave a pile of pale pink fabric at your feet, you're practically trembling with anticipation.
Standing before the man that rescued you, far older and wiser and stronger, you've never felt more vulnerable. Even on the night he rescued you, your adrenaline kept you protected from this feeling: like you might be prey.
Your hair tickles your bare nipples as it falls over your shoulder, and you are grateful you at least left your underwear on when you rushed to try on your pretty new dress.
He sits there, knees parted, eyes tracking up and down your body like he's studying, inspecting. His hand drops to his thigh, flat. He doesn't lift it again. It’s not an inviting pat. That would leave no plausible deniability. But you know what he's asking anyway.
This time, when you crawl onto him and settle onto his warm thighs, there's no barrier of tulle and puffy skirts. You can settle right up against him. And he's warm. So, so warm. That's what he's always been: warmth and home and protection. So you wrap yourself around him, pressing yourself as close as you can, and you bask in him.
Just for a little while.
You can't even bare to move away when you speak, letting your lips brush against his skin where you rest in the crook of his neck. "No one's ever cared for me before. I only ever remember being alone. You're more than I ever even dreamed of." You nuzzle into him, humming with contentment. "You're so good to me, daddy."
"You would be in bed right now if I was good to you, sound asleep, not… naked in my lap."
"But I like it. It's what I want." You kiss his skin gently, a brush of your lips more than anything. "Don't you like it? Aren't I pretty?"
His shoulder jostles you a little, enough to tell you he's lifted his arm and then placed it back down again. Control. You sit up so you can see his face, attempting to prompt an answer from him.
He has that pained look again.
You brush your hair over your shoulder, preventing it from covering you at all. Then, keeping your eyes on his face, you cup your breasts in your hands. "They aren't pretty?” You pout. “Is there something wrong with me?”
His eyes are stuck on yours. He hasn't let them drop. They flutter and he blinks rapidly a few times, like he might have dust or an eyelash in them.
"Daddy? Won’t you check my titties for me? Pretty please?"
He sucks in a deep breath, holds it, and his eyes drop.
You let your thumb flick over your nipple, then your remove your hands and lift yourself up on your knees, bringing your chest up closer to his face.
They're so close, his warm breath tickles you.
He’s still. You bask in the feeling of his breath against you as you wait patiently.
Then, "Let daddy check..."
His hand lifts from it's position on the armrest, and you're sure he'll hesitate and move away again. He cups your breast with the tiniest pillow of air between his skin and yours, like he's imagining the weight of it in his palm.
His lips part, and his brows furrow. Pain.
"It's okay if it's me that touches..." you mutter, and without giving him a chance to move or process your intentions, you fall slightly forward, meeting him. His hand hardly so much as twitches as your breast rests in his warm palm. His fingers press a little firmer with each breath you take, lifting your chest, filling the spaces between his fingers.
Then, in a little moment of impatience, you grab his hand and press it against you properly, squeezing. "It's me touching," you breathe as you guide his hand over you. He lets you, and it makes your head spin. "You're just checking for me. Just making sure I'm all healthy. You’re the best daddy in the world."
He makes a sound. It might be a word. You miss it, distracted by his thumb. It moves. He swipes it across your nipple.
"...Need to check."
You hear him this time. It's a mumble, almost slurred, and then he's tugged you closer and his wet lips are wrapped around you. You're dizzy, incapable of processing the reality of his hot warm mouth suckling at your tits like he's hungry. He's gripping you now, firm hands holding you close and squeezing and groping at your tits as he alternates between each one.
"My sweet girl," he slurs. "Letting daddy taste your pretty tits... so, so sweet..." he hardly gives himself time to breathe. His tongue laps at you in apology each time he sucks a little hard––each time his teeth make small indents into your skin when a growl builds in his throat and culminates in a desperate bite.
You squeeze your eyes shut as he devours you, attacking your tits with his mouth in a carnal brutish frenzy. You shiver and tremble as the cool air hits where his spit glazes your soft skin. You hold his head against you, fingers tangling in his hair. Words pass your lips in broken thank yous and pathetic little pleas.
He's so relentless that when he eventually detaches, he's entirely breathless, resting his head against you as he recovers. "I shouldn't..." he mutters. "I can’t..."
You lower yourself back into his lap and cup his cheeks in your palms. "Can I have a kiss?"
He shakes his head, half-hearted. "Can't..."
His glowing eye pulses, beckoning. "I want your tongue in my mouth, daddy. I want all your warmth." You lick at his lower lip, just with the tip of your tongue. "You always give me what I want..." Another lick. "You're so good to me."
The next lick comes with a surprise. His own tongue darts out, meeting yours, slippery and wet. You lick at him again, and he meets you. And then you rest there for a second, your tongue resting against each other, breaths mingling.
It's because it starts this way, that when your lips finally meet, it's all tongue and spit and mess. You lap at each other, and you imagine he might be convincing himself that this is too far departed from the textbook example of a kiss to be defined as such. He's not kissing you. He's playing with your tongue and your lips brushing together is simply an accidental consequence of this other unnamed activity. It alternates between this messy depraved licking and slurping, and a firm desperate invasion, accompanied with his hands holding your head firmly in position. You whimper as he fills your mouth, and a low sound rumbles from his throat in reply.
His hand wraps around your hip at some point, and he pushes you down against him as he invades your mouth. It seems he somehow gets bigger as it goes on. Like he grows into his full size as he loses his inhibition. You very quickly feel like your control over the situation is slipping away, and you find your muscles relaxing as a consequence. This was how it should be.
When he grips you at both hips, you're entirely pliable, and you let him roll you against himself with no resistance at all. The cold buckle of his belt reminds you how entirely clothed he is compared to your nakedness. "Can you feel daddy?" he breathes into your mouth. "There..." he grinds you against him, fingers digging into your skin hard. "Feel it..."
It must hurt. He strains up underneath you, confined by his dress pants. You nod.
"That's yours," he slurs against your lips. "Belongs to you, little one."
"Just for me?"
"Mm... Always gets like that for you..."
"Always?"
"Daddy has been so good, baby. For so long."
He pushes you back, down his thighs a little and you watch as he expertly undoes his fly and releases himself through it—belt still fastened.
He's leaking. You resist the urge to reach out and touch the drippy tip. He doesn't touch it either. It sits up against his still buttoned black shirt and twitches.
That's all the time you have to process seeing him for the first time before he's tugging you back up against him, cock trapped between you.
"Do you wanna know what daddy thinks about?" He kisses your forehead, and when you nod, he cups your cheeks and gently strokes his thumb against your warm skin. "When you wear your pretty dresses, and you're all happy and bouncy, you thank me so sweetly, I think about following you back to your bedroom and helping you take them off… and letting you thank me in ways you shouldn't..." He tugs you closer, letting his leaky tip smear a little wetness on your belly. "...You’d lie back and spread your legs and invite daddy inside your sweet little hole..."
“That sounds nice,” you purr.
He sighs, caressing your cheek. “You’d like that?”
You nod, eager. “Can we go to my bedroom now?”
A flicker of that same pained look, and then he’s scooping you up and carrying you through to where you slept: the only other room in the long hallway that led to his own. You couldn’t get to your room without walking past his own door. You’d always liked it. It felt safe, secure. Something you never had before he found you.
You’re jostled up his chest as he walks, and when you’re lowered back down a little, a firm warmth rests up against your ass. He pauses just outside your door. “Could just do it here,” he says against your temple. His voice is low, but it’s not quite a whisper. “Could hold you up against me and drop you down onto me. Maybe I’d carry you around like that, hm?”
You squeeze him harder, attempting to wiggle impossibly closer.
“I’ve thought about it,” he continues as he turns the doorknob, holding you against him with one arm. “So, so many bad things.” With a few strides into the room, he’s at your bed. “Let go.” You refuse, digging your heels into his back as you cling. “Don’t you want daddy to check your pussy? Be a good girl for me, hm?”
Slowly, you release, and he lowers you onto the bed and flips you onto your belly. The bed dips as he sits down at the edge, and then you’re being partially tugged over him. You rest on your belly with your elbows against the mattress, blind to the way he has your ass in his lap and his arm around your waist so he can position you exactly where he wants.
His big, warm hands move over your ass a few times—circular movements like he’s trying to warm your skin—and then they dig into you, groping and kneading. “Oh, baby. We should stop. I’m really too old for you. I’ve been so good for so long. I’m like your—”
“Dad?”
His hands pause, one finger resting on the strip of fabric covering your cunt. “Don’t say that.”
You push your hips back, seeking him out. “It’s okay, daddy. I belong to you. You have to inspect me like you do all your shiny things.”
His finger taps against your hole over the fabric.
“You took me home because you knew I belonged to you,” you continue as he silently prods at you. “I’m yours, daddy. Me and my pussy. Won’t you have a look?”
He continues stroking over the fabric. “Shouldn’t take them off,” he mutters. Then his finger slips beneath the fabric. “If we leave them on it’s okay.” He may as well be talking to himself. You’re too busy squirming and grasping at your blankets. He strokes and prods at you under your damp underwear, a blind investigation of your already slick and throbbing cunt.
He’s grabbing at your cheeks, pulling them apart. He’s muttering something. And then he’s tugging at the fabric until it bunches up and presses between your lips. He messes with it so much you may as well be entirely bare. It’s an illusion of safety. He plays with you until your hips are jumping in his lap and you’re begging for something. By the time he’s experimenting with the tip of his finger in your clenching hole, the underwear is entirely tugged to the side. “Sweet girl…” he sighs. “It’s trying to suck me in… it’s so naughty…”
You whine, “Hungry, daddy.”
“Mm,” he hums. “Hungry.”
He settles himself at the side of the bed, kneeling, and tugs you closer. You’re still on your belly. “Fine if these stay on,” he mutters just before his tongue dips into you. That’s the only warning you get before he’s lapping and sucking and kissing your pussy like he had your mouth before. It’s starvation confronted. Desperate and ravenous. And the sloppy, shameful slurping sounds have you gripping the sheets and biting into your arm.
“This is what daddy needed.” His nose digs into you as he laps at you, and he grips your ass like he’s worried you might squirm away. “Don’t move.”
You obey. You’re jelly. You have no desire to move at all.
The soft clinking of metal and fabric hitting the floor joins the sounds of your shared heavy breathing. And then, without warning, a large, comforting warmth surrounds you. He lowers just enough of his weight onto you to prevent you moving at all. His breath tickles your neck when he speaks. “Gonna feed you now, baby. Just tell me what you want.”
You whine.
“Tell me,” he commands, a little rumble attaching to the last syllable. “You know I like when you tell me.”
You suck in a shaky breath. “I’m empty…”
“Poor baby,” he coos, kissing your cheek.
“Want… want you to fill me up, daddy.”
His finger prods at your twitchy entrance. “Here?”
You wiggle under him.
“Daddy always gives you what you want.” His tip pushes at you. He guides it around your mess, a slick mix of you and him. “Don’t I?”
You nod and grab at his arm. A little push against your throbbing hole. A groan. “You’re sucking at me, pretty baby. I feel you. Trying to pull me inside. Greedy little thing wants her daddy’s cock deep in her belly?” He sucks on your neck, rolling his hips just enough to play with his tip just inside you, teasing. “Your underwear is still on, don’t worry. It’s okay. This is okay.”
He bites into you as he finally presses inside, filling and filling and shoving your walls apart to make room. “Tell me it’s okay,” he gasps into your neck when he finally stills, smothering you inside and out.
“You’re inside me.”
He breathes heavily into your ear for a moment, completely still. Then he uses his arm around your shoulders and chest to pull you back up against him as he sits back on his heels. “Fuck... That’s right. I’m deep inside. It’s okay. It’s okay.”
You look down at the small lump in your stomach, evidence of his hot, thick presence inside you. “Love you.” It leaves you like a sob.
“Daddy loves you too, sweetheart. So, so much. Feel it. Feel how much he loves you, yeah? Can you feel it?” He drags you off him a little, lifting you like you’re weightless, and he sinks back in. Over and over again. You’re slack, pulsing around him as he moves you. “I can feel your love. Sucking at me and hugging me tight. Can feel how much you love me. Tightening up when I try and leave, hm? Daddy can stay inside you. I can bury my drippy cock deep inside you when I say goodnight, hm? You can fall asleep on daddy’s cock from now on, baby. I’ll look after you. I’ll warm you up inside too. Keep you nice and warm and cozy so you can sleep.”
He presses you back down into the mattress, and the way he grinds into you has you entirely non-verbal. Breathing is your priority. Catching your breath between sobs and whimpers and kisses as he turns your head and invades your mouth. Panting, broken, grumbled words make their way into your ears occasionally. He calls you his good girl. He tells you you’re warm and sweet and perfectly shaped for him. And you are.
Somehow.
He’s so big that you can’t imagine how he fills you so perfectly. But it’s the most perfect satiating fullness. He drives through your walls like he’d carved them out himself and was finally coming home. It settles it for you: he took you home because he knew you were his. Made just for him. You’d never question it again.
And when he’s on his back and bouncing you on top of him, he watches where you join and his eye glows through the damp silver hair that falls across his face. “Tell me what you want,” he groans out as he holds you down to his base and rolls your hips back and forth against him with an almost bruising force.
“Daddy’s cum,” you mewl.
His jaw clenches, and then he pulls you down against his chest and ruts up into you with an animalistic feral intensity. The sounds of your skin slapping together tells you just how impossibly wet and messy you are now. But it’s okay. He’ll fill you up with his warmth, and he’ll hold you to his chest and tell you he loves you, and then he’ll take care of you better than anyone else ever could, like he always had.
I finally finished another fic <3 this time I was craving gross pervert rapelus, but somehow i always end up making the reader too into it hehe.
no ai or morals of any kind have been used in the process of writing this, i wrote this filth with my pussy and it could def be considered dark so proceed only if that's what you want to read.
tags/warnings: gentle noncon into dubcon, unprotected p in v, power imbalance, age gap, loss of virginity, pet names, ooc sylus
reader's appearance is described as having small boobs, age is not specified, but is implied to be 18 (and sylus is being a creep about it)
wordcount: 2.8k
You've known him forever. But at the same time, you don’t actually know Sylus Qin all that well. Just that, growing up, your dad used to work odd jobs for him here and there, leaving you at the Qin mansion to play with his sons, Luke and Kieran, while him and Mister Sylus conducted whatever business needed doing at the time.
You have never spoken to the boss himself beyond the mandatory pleasantries and showing of good manners. Not about the boys, not him and especially not his work. And you prefer it that way.
The truth is, you’ve never liked how the man looks at you, then and now. How he rests his hands on your shoulders even when your dad’s face scrunches up, how his knuckles seem to wear permanent bruises, or how he talks as if he’s older than the world itself.
Now that you’ve grown, and your dad doesn’t speak of his former employer, you don’t see Luke and Kieran as often anymore. Just the occasional hangout in the N109 zone, which usually ends with one of the two driving you home.
After tonight though, they’re both out cold, and you are short of a ride home. Which isn’t out of the ordinary for a girl your age, with no car of your own.
So if the back of Mister Sylus’ limousine presents itself as your only choice, you take it. Even if your outfit is entirely too short and too tight for comfort. And even if the man himself shares the space with you.
Mister Sylus doesn’t say anything though. Just sits there, wide-legged, raking his eyes across your body, like it’s appropriate when his leg brushes against yours.
“You alright, sweetie?”
Now he’s looping one arm around your shoulder. You suppress a squirm and give him a shy smile and affirmative hum instead.
This is a kindness, you remind yourself. He’s ordered his driver to give you a ride home, saving you a fortune that you would’ve been forced to spend on a taxi otherwise. You are grateful. You can bear his fingers dancing on the seam of your shirt, inching closer to your breasts.
You owe him that much, right?
He is older, mid or late forties, but he is handsome, tall, calm. Composed in a way that makes you feel small.
You try to even your breath. It’s not your fault that your body reacts to his attentions. That your nipples grow hard when his fingers dip below the fabric covering your chest.
“It’s okay,” he coos and smiles lazily when he notices you tensing up, “I’m not gonna do anything bad.”
You can’t think of anything to say to that. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, your fingers tremble in your lap.
You try to find your words. “This is-… maybe we shouldn’t do this,” you say.
He lets out a slow, raspy laugh as if you said something funny. “There’s no need to be scared. I’ll go slow for you.”
He says it like it’s already decided. Your cheeks heat.
Now his fingers draw slow and lazy circles on your tummy. “Have you ever done this before?”
Your stomach twists. You can feel his eyes on your cleavage. You shake your head.
He lifts his hand back to your chest and traces the line where your breasts meet your chest.
“Mh, no bra,“ he comments. He then grabs and lifts one of them.
You freeze. Heat crawls up the nape of your neck with dizzying speed.
“Have you ever let anyone see these?” he prods, the lines around his mouth deepening as he smiles at you.
“No…” your voice is small now. You can only watch and gasp as his big hands fully cup and squeeze your tits.
“Is that right?” he murmurs, “Never?”
Your voice cracks with a whimper. “Why are you doing this? They’re so…”
“…Small?” He tuts at that. “They’re perfect, baby. Look how pretty they are. They’re so soft.”
You whimper and squirm in your leather seat. His warm breath hits your neck as his voice drops low, dangerous. “Mh, and you are making the cutest little sounds for me when I touch them.”
It’s depraved and sleazy, and yet, it does something to you. Your ribs hurt with how hard you’re breathing as he keeps massaging your tits. Silky, unmistakable heat spreads between your legs. You squeeze them together.
He leans back, loosens his black tie and nods at your chest. “It’s ok, baby, go ahead. Take all that off.”
Your head is spinning. But you feel like you have to do as he says. You shuffle, arch your back, and obey, leaving nothing but your panties on.
“There you go,” he murmurs as he leans down over you and cradles your chest between his big, warm hands. “Mh. Look at that. Such adorable little tits.”
He shows no effort or exertion from handling you, but you find yourself on your back regardless. His knee is wedged between your bare legs like it belongs there, forcing them apart and making the leather seats squeak with friction.
Somehow, while his thumbs are stroking the soft skin right underneath your breasts, and his silver hair is tickling your neck, you register that the car isn’t moving anymore. The lights are dim, the driver long gone, everything quiet. Except for you and Sylus.
Maybe that’s how he had planned it from the start. With you owing him, nobody there to interfere, and no way to deny him.
His head goes low and then you feel it. Heat, liquid, movement, pressure. He’s probing, licking, wetting your nipples with his tongue.
You yelp. Your heartbeat is too loud in your ears to think.
“Wait, Mister Sylus-“
You don’t dare to watch what’s happening. All you know is that it’s too much, too sudden, too good.
He sucks on your nipples, circles them with his tongue, then presses them flat. Then does it all over again. The suction tingles gently underneath your skin.
“Look at those cute little nipples,” he coos with faux sympathy before going back in to lick at them. “They don’t look like they can wait. So hard and achy, poor baby.”
You try to wiggle out of his grip on your torso. Your breath catches when it doesn’t work. Nothing moves, even when you throw your entire weight against his hands.
“No, please, wait,” you whine. “I don’t know what-… I don’t know how-“
He lets go and sits back up on his knees. But not because of your little struggle or your pleas.
There’s a metallic clicking sound.
You see it then. The tent underneath the now loose buckle of his belt.
Huge, bulging, unmistakable.
You swallow. Even from here, you can tell that you’re not built for this. Maybe someone with experience, a seasoned size queen. But not you.
He seems to sense your apprehension, as his fingers ghost over your cheek and cup your face while his other hand pulls off his belt and tosses it somewhere behind him. “It’s alright, sweetie. It won't hurt if you just keep breathing.”
You suck in a sharp breath when he pulls down his boxers and gives himself a slow, tight stroke. Fully bare and erect, he looks smooth to the touch and even bigger than you thought. It should scare you, but you are transfixed by the way his cock is pulsing and bobbing in his fist. It’s a deep, creamy shade of red, already glistening with a pearl of liquid dripping from the tip.
Reality hits you and you shake your head with a polite, nervous laugh. “I- I really don’t know about this, Mister Sylus.”
He laughs when he sees the look on your face. “I know it’s scary, kitten. Taking cock from someone bigger and older than you. But I know you can do it. You’ve always been so sweet, even back then. So well behaved. You can do that now too, can’t you, baby?”
Some part of you screams at you to get away, go home. Need fresh air. Need to be safe.
But the better part of you is shivering and sweating. It’s like there’s a second heartbeat between your legs.
His hands are back on your body, lifting your pelvis and your body seems to move on his own then, tilting your hips to meet him in kind and presenting your still clothed sex to him like a gift.
“Like this?” you huff out between shallow breaths.
He smiles and rewards you with the press of his cock against your sheer panties.
“Hah. Yea. Like that. Good girl,” he pants and rolls his hips against you.
His praise makes something inside you flutter. You bite your lip. The friction is so hot, sweet, sticky, and you can’t help thinking that maybe, just maybe, it’s ok to stay spread underneath him just a little longer. Just to see what else he will do, how it will feel when he touches you more.
After a few more slow thrusts your panties cling to your body.
And you don’t move anymore.
You just let it happen.
Sylus’ hand moves from your hip to your middle, stroking then pressing his thumb against a little bump of flesh that pokes out from underneath the soaked fabric. Your body jerks and you stare at him in shock, but he is not looking at you.
His smug gaze is fixed on your pussy.
“Cute little clit. So so cute. Is she sensitive, baby? You need me to touch her, hm?”
He says it like you’re a scared, dumb animal. Pathetic, embarrassing, head empty. Your eyes burn with shameful tears you don’t want to cry.
“No,” you whisper, blinking them away.
He pauses. Then pulls at your panties anyway.
He’s careful with you though, slow, almost sweet. Just like he promised.
You should tell him to stop. To fuck off and leave you alone. You should try to open the door of the car and run away.
But you do none of that.
You keep basking in his warmth, his gentle attention, his hands lifting your hips and the filthy glow in his eyes when your panties are finally off.
“See, isn’t that better, sweetie?”
His erection rests against your bare pussy now, while your legs are braced around his waist.
He leans down to kiss your neck. He’s too massive to settle his weight on you, but you can feel him pressing up against your bare body regardless.
“Just stay like this, baby. This will feel good,” he purrs.
You whimper, but you don’t try to stop him when he goes back to rocking against you. Not that you could.
With every grind of his hips, his cock strokes your puffy clit. Your thighs tremble and your hole pulses and clenches around him against your will.
“Fuck,” he groans, “that’s it, right there.”
He thrusts and drags his cock through your slick pussy lips, again and again.
Slow and gentle, just like he said. His breath is right next to your ear as his body moves against yours.
“So wet for me. So soft. Bet she can take me now.”
Your stomach drops when he says that.
Not because it’s scary, but because it feels like it’s true.
His thrusts become meaner then, heavier and deeper. His arm slips between your bodies and you can feel him grabbing himself, stroking and aligning until his tip sits snug against your pussy hole.
“Relax. You can handle it.”
He caresses your jaw, then your trembling lips and lets out an amused hum when you stay quiet. You can only stare at him and mewl when his hips push forward, driving his cockhead into you.
It stings. Bad. You squeeze your eyes shut.
Your muscles react to the pain and squeeze around him, but Sylus pushes in harder until your pussy is forced to swallow his entire tip.
He stills there and gives you time to breathe. Kisses your face, mumbles how hard you make him, how warm your pussy feels, but you can’t stop shaking.
How could this happen? You were out partying, having fun, then on your way home like always, and now your friends’ dad is inside you.
You can’t help but whimper again, and he gently shushes you and coos at you.
“You’re ok, sweetie. Remember to breathe, like I told you, hm?”
His hands are back on your hips. Stroking and soothing, but also keeping you fixed in place.
He withdraws from you with a wet, popping sound. The sting is gone, but your cunt feels all tingly and hot and empty now. And somehow, that’s even worse.
“Wait,” you gasp. “Don’t.”
You don’t know what you’re saying anymore. You just want relief from that tingling emptiness inside you.
“Please stay,” you whine, “please do something.”
He chuckles and kisses your face.
“Someone’s barely had a taste and now she’s already getting impatient for more?”
He surges forward again, this time well past the tip.
A soft sound comes out of your mouth that only seems to spur him on. His hands slips down from your waist to your thigh, palming your ass, squeezing it, then giving it a swat.
“Always wanted to fuck you like this.”
He moans and rolls his hips, his cock gliding back inside you, skin flush against skin.
“Always had my eye on you.”
He reaches to grab your jaw and slips his thumb between your lips until he pushes down on your tongue, forcing your mouth open. His hand stays there, warm, heavy, firm. Guiding you to stick out your tongue for him, until your spit pools underneath his thumb and drips onto your chin.
His breath hits yours, but he just keeps staring, rocking into you at a steady pace.
“Pretty little girl,” he groans as he removes his finger. “So good for me.”
Then he leans in. Licks against your tongue, presses it flat, and wraps around it until every part of you is invaded by him.
It has nothing to do with kissing. He’s overwhelming you. Claiming your body like it’s something to be owned.
You squirm and whimper into his mouth, but there’s no real fight in you. His cock is stretching you so good, satisfying that awful tingly feeling so perfectly, you spread your legs a little wider and grind your hips against him.
When he pauses for a moment, his voice is low. “So sweet too. Should’ve done this long ago.”
Your breath hitches.
Your open your mouth to speak. Nothing comes out.
He keeps going. Grabs your thighs, so your legs dangle over his elbows. He’s so tall, even your hips hang in the air like this.
He doesn’t thrust anymore. Rather, he’s holding you in place as he’s pressing himself inside you, much deeper than before.
“Mh, keep breathing,” he groans softly. “There you go, there you fucking go.”
You can only watch as your body offers no resistance until his tip meets your very core. He’s all the way inside.
And somehow, it feels final.
It feels like defeat.
You sob.
He rolls his hips, just as slow and deep as before. Though the next roll comes faster and a lot harder, and your body bounces a little from the force he puts into it. You yelp and hold onto the edge of the seat.
“Knew you could do it,” he murmurs as his cock drags through you, and you stifle another whiny sound.
Wet, squelching noises of skin meeting skin fill the car.
Pressure builds up inside you. Terrible, filthy pressure you wish you could run from.
You try to think of something else, your family, your friends, anything. How very alone you are underneath this man, how hot your body runs, how raw and sensitive your pussy starts to feel, and how you wish it didn’t.
But it makes no difference. Your whines turn into moans anyway, and your body twitches and pulses around the intrusion like it’s welcome.
“Stay,” you mewl after a particularly strong pulse. “Stay inside please, Mister Sylus.”
He laughs softly and indulges you. Nestles his fat, swollen cock inside you and lets you ride out your orgasm on him.
And in that brief moment, it feels perfect.
Filled. Whole.
After a few more twitches of your core, he picks up the pace again.
It doesn’t take long before you can feel him swell inside you, throbbing and moving and stretching your most private place apart even further than he already has, until he stills and you feel his breath hitch against your neck.
“Shit,” he grunts.
A gush of warmth spreads inside you.
Something sticky runs down the crack of your ass.
Something wet down your face.
He kisses it away.
Tells you how well you did, how you can rest now.
“Uh huh,” you mumble, your head lolling to the side.
You don’t recall much of what happens after, just the feeling of being picked up and something warm draped over your naked skin as you are carried inside.
