Kirsh x reader, you know the deal. Explicit content! Smut! Sex pollen! 18+
Alien Flora
Everything happened so quickly, as do most laboratory emergencies. It was not typical of you to be unprepared in the lab, especially when you were tasked with walking Isaac through a specimen study in Kirsh's absence. The alien organism, surmised to be plant adjacent, appeared completely innocuous. You didn't even have it set up in the fume hood. There was no mask or respirator to keep you from inhaling the cloud of pollen that spit out of the flowering body when you leaned over to inspect it. You coughed and choked on the fine powder, trying to rid your body of the alien substance that made your throat and the delicate lining of your nose burn. It felt like trying to breathe under water, lungs fighting against the discomfort to suck in air. The room was starting to blur in a slow spin, your hearing was reduced to a faint ringing, and you were painfully aware of how little oxygen you were sucking into your lungs. Isaac assisted you to the ground when you lost consciousness, frantically yelling to Kirsh over his communication device.
Cologne and male sweat and antiseptic flooded your nostrils. You pulled in lung fulls of oxygen and along with it, the scent of the doctor leaning over you to listen to your lungs. Your vision and hearing trickled back in equal measure. You leaned in to press your nose to the doctor's shirt, a sigh slipping through your lips while you savored the masculine smell. An intense ache bloomed in your belly and lit up your blood like molten iron. You squeezed your thighs together for any taste of friction, squirming in the bed in search of relief. You felt feverish, as if you suddenly came down with the flu. You felt a voracious need overwhelm your entire body, from your toes to your fingers. It was difficult to pinpoint exactly what you needed. Your brain was nearly absent of thoughts, but your body screamed out for attention. The touch of the doctor's gloved hands felt electric, and you leaned into the contact while he examined you, writhing under any amount of pressure from his fingers. A flash of embarrassment struck you when you realized in a brief moment of self awareness that the whining voice in the room was your own, moaning and calling out for Kirsh in a wanton display of arousal.
Dame Sylvia grasped the now blushing doctor by the shoulders and ushered him away from your bed. “I can't examine her like this. She needs to be sedated,” he warned. Sylvia shook her head, leading the doctor to the door and shooing him out. “She is hysterical, and I want to speak with her before you pump her full of drugs. We don't know what she needs.” She returned to your side and grasped your hand, slick with your own sweat. “What is the matter, darling? How do you feel?” She questioned gently, attempting to calm you as well as ascertain your mental state. You could hardly gather enough words to form a sentence, crushing your bottom lip between your teeth to avoid crying out when another wave of heat rolled through your body. The touch of her hand soothed you enough to permit a fleeting moment of effective communication. “It hurts,” you bit out, tears spilling out over your cheeks. “Please get Kirsh. Don't let the doctor touch me again, please,” you begged. “I need Kirsh.”
You got your wish when Kirsh entered the exam room as if he heard your plea, shutting the door behind him. “Differential diagnosis?” He asked Dame, and her reply was drowned out by the pounding of your pulse in your ears. Your eyes were glued to him while he spoke with Dame, the vague need corrupting your body turning into an urgent hunger. You felt like he was touching you already, and you couldn't help the moan that filled the small room. You saw Dame blush and nod in understanding before she dipped out of the room. Your breath caught in your throat when Kirsh turned the deadbolt on the door, locking it from the inside.
“You were careless in the lab today,” he rasped, eyes glaring when the sound of his voice pulled another whine from you. “Please,” you ground out, vocabulary almost reduced entirely to begging. “You were also lucky,” Kirsh added, rolling up the sleeves of his jacket before grasping the white sheet concealing your lower half. “Because it appears that you discovered a non-deadly toxin that acts as an aphrodisiac,” he continued, yanking the sheet away to reveal your bare legs and the thin cotton hospital gown that preserved whatever modesty you had left. “Rather than a neurotoxin or hepatotoxin or any manner of alternatives that could've killed you.” Kirsh crawled up onto the bed on his knees and your legs opened for him immediately, causing the gown to ride up to the tops of your thighs.
You sat up on your elbows, lips parted in a pant. “I'm sorry, Kirsh,” you sobbed, hips bucking in search of friction of their own accord. He situated himself on his knees between your legs, rucking your gown up around your waist. Your arousal was sticky on the insides of your thighs and the cool air made you whimper. “It hurts, Kirsh. Please help me. Make it stop,” you begged, legs shaking where they squeezed around his hips. Kirsh brought his hand to your sex, deftly sliding two long digits into your wet heat and curling them up to press into your anterior wall. You groaned, rolling your hips into the contact. His other hand came to rest low on your belly, thumb rubbing efficient circles over your clit. “Oh, fuck,” you groaned, falling back into the bed. “I don't think you deserve this,” he taunted, thrusting his fingers slowly in and out of your pussy. “You could've been hurt. You could've died. I didn't know you could be this incompetent.” His admonition and patronizing tone sent you over the edge, and a powerful orgasm pulled a shout of his name out of your throat.
One orgasm was not nearly enough to quiet the need holding your body hostage. You felt like a live wire, and your body was so primed and desperate to receive any sensation he would give you. Kirsh continued circling your clit and withdrew his fingers to add a third, stretching you out with firm pressure on your g-spot. “Breathe. Give me one more. It'll make you feel better,” he ordered, a hint of a smirk finally softening the anger displayed on his face when you gushed around his fingers and cried out into the empty exam room, the sound echoing in the small space. Your second orgasm came as easily as the first, and your hips continued in a needy grind against his hand. “Please fuck me, Kirsh. It's not enough, I need more,” you pleaded, babbling and on the verge of crying. His attention had done little to soothe the painful ache that burned in your belly or lift the fog that clouded your mind.
Kirsh studied you with a tilt of his head, wet fingers now moving to undo his pants and free his erection. “It's possible that penetrative sexual intercourse is necessary to reduce the acute arousal response caused by the toxin,” he said aloud to himself, voice clinical as if he were in his lab. He leaned down to press into the soaked junction of your thighs and slowly bury his cock to the hilt. He braced a forearm beside your head and used his other hand to cover your mouth, interrupting a loud, open mouthed moan. He rolled his hips into yours, grinding his cock deep and slow along your walls and against your cervix while you gripped fistfuls of his gray jacket.
“You're lucky I was on the island,” he rasped, so close that your lips were separated only by his hand. “You would take anything I chose to give you right now, wouldn't you?” He asked, snapping his hips into yours and smiling to himself when your eyes rolled back. “Listen to how wet you are. Do you think they can hear you in the lobby?” You groaned, and he felt you squeeze around him. He had Dame clear everyone from the lobby, but he knew the taunting would help you cum quickly and find relief from the effects of the pollen. “You're close again,” he stated, feeling you pulse and squeeze around his cock. “I don't even need to touch you, you're so desperate,” he cooed, grinning against the back of his hand when your legs shook around his waist and a groan vibrated his palm.
He fucked you through your third orgasm, eyes boring into yours. “Do you need more?” He asked sweetly, humming when you responded in a frantic nod. “Maybe I should leave you like this for a while. Would that help you remember to follow the safety protocols I prepare for you?” You squeezed your eyes shut, whining something incoherent into his palm with a a weak shake of your head. He removed his hand to allow you to speak against his lips, voice shaken by thrusts that jolted your body. “I'm sorry, Kirsh. I'm so sorry. I'll be careful, I'll be good-” He cut your babbling off with a kiss, licking into your mouth and caressing your tongue with his own.
Your hands gripped at his shoulders and hair while he fucked you into the hospital bed, cradling your face in his free hand. Your moans were muffled by his lips, and the taste of his saliva was enough to shove you over the edge of your fourth orgasm. He pulled away to watch your face contort in pleasure, to take in your expressions while your eyes were squeezed shut. He was relieved to be able to admonish you instead of attending your funeral after such a miscalculated error. The grip of your pulsing walls around his cock and the euphoria painted on your face caused his hips to stutter. His rhythm fell apart while he fucked you until you came down from your high, and the release of your legs from around his waist granted him permission to pull out and cum on your belly with a quiet groan.
You nearly sobbed with joy when you were met with clarity and a noticeable reduction in the indescribable ache that tormented you for the last hour. “Is that sufficient?” Kirsh inquired, bracing himself above you. “I feel much better. Thank you,” you muttered, voice hoarse and overused. Kirsh stole another kiss from you before he extracted himself from between your legs and climbed off the bed. He cleaned his mess off of your belly with a towel from the supply cabinet before tending to himself and adjusting his clothing to appear relatively normal. “The doctor will want to hold you overnight for observation and quarantine,” he said, removing your communication device from his pocket and presenting it to you. “But you will call me if you require more assistance.”
You nodded, reaching to accept the device. “When you return to work, you will prepare a presentation on lab safety to present to the kids,” he chided, lips turning up in a smirk despite his patronizing tone. “And you will apologize to Isaac,” He added, holding out a hand to assist you out of bed to use the restroom. You nodded in agreement, and he quirked a disapproving eyebrow, leading you to correct yourself before he did. He abhorred vague gestures in place of precise language “Okay, Kirsh. I will.” You smiled sheepishly, eyes wandering to his ass when he turned and exited your room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
The lobby doors opened to reveal a hall of onlookers. The Sylvias, Atom, Kavalier, a nosey janitor lingering on the outskirts, all painted with various expressions of disbelief and amusement or simply blushing up to their ears at his appearance. They all stared slack jawed at his disheveled hair and wrinkled coat, having heard enough and gathered enough context clues to know what had transpired in the room. Kavalier tossed his hands up impatiently. “Well?” He asked, a goofy grin across his face. “Is our good doctor cured?”
Kirsh stared back at him with barely concealed hatred, eyes flicking over to the rest of the small audience when he spoke. “Humans are no longer permitted to handle alien flora unless under my direct supervision,” he stated simply, and sauntered down the hall to leave them all gawking at his back.
your centaur husband spends his days charging into burning buildings, tossing people over his big, sturdy back to save them from the flames. he’s always tired afterwards, but that only makes him more eager to have you.
he’s built you a swing, you see, that hangs from the rafters, with stirrups for your feet and another set for his front hooves. he always places you in it gently, buckling you in, making sure you’re spread out wide for him before his body settles over yours. he takes you slowly at first, and it’s always a bit of a tight fit—but soon the exquisite feel of you goes to his head, and his heavy haunches are pounding into you for everything you have while the ceiling squeaks overhead. you wonder if he might bring the roof down on top of you.
he moans your name, and after stuffing you full with his seed, his four legs settle down on the floor with you in his arms, just the way he likes to sleep.
You exist somewhere in between being older than most living things but young in comparison to the ancient forest you reside in. You laze all day on lush moss and wander through thick meadows in the evening.
You spend most of your time with your fellow nymphs and the Satyrs, who also inhabit the forest. You join the satyrs in their festive orgies, their never ending debauchery and stamina is always entertaining. The satyrs are very close with the nymphs, both being able to keep up with the others insatiable apatites. They often invite you to praise their god in the only way they know how; sex, parties, wine and more sex. No matter what season, weather or time of day the forest is always filled with the pleasured sounds of your shared revelry.
You have your fun luring Human adventurers away from their parties, giving them little glances of your body behind thick trees. Humans also like it when you pretend to not notice them when they "accidentally stumble" across you sitting in your meadow. Either way when you have them to yourself it's always a fun arrangement. They always seem enraptured by you, all you have to do is bat your eyelashes and they come to you like they're locked in a trance. Always so hesitant at first like their dirty mortal hands shouldn't touch something as divine as your skin, you dispel those thoughts very quickly.
Sometimes the nomadic Centaurs travel through the forest, the nymphs and satyrs are always more than happy to welcome them into their home. The centaurs are proud creatures so you have to flirt a little harder than you do with humans or satyrs but traveling for months with no relief is so burdensome and why deny the cute nymph offering exactly the relief you need? When the huge man-beast eventually grumbles some admission of interest you waste no time bending over, hands on the lush forest floor, presenting your ass for the centaur to completely ruin on his massive horse cock.
The occasional traveling Orc camp will pop up now and then, that's always exciting. Orcs are very simple creatures and require little to no coaxing. You can usually just skip into the orc camp and plop yourself down on the nearest burly green hunk. They may be confused at first but a sultry look and a well placed hand will have them grinning from ear to ear, already half chubbed. It's a good idea to try and find the chief or clan leader as they might announce to the whole camp that they've found a useful fuck toy for the night. You might spend the day getting pounded by orc after orc until the late hours of the night. The only trace you'll leave behind for them when they wake is a trail of flowers and a few puddles of cum.
Goblins are similar to orcs but even more insatiable. Walking into a goblin camp in all your beautiful naked nymph glory will get you jumped and fucked within seconds. The small creatures don't care much at all for civility or decorum, they see a pretty thing like you walk into their camp and they're already scrambling and fighting each other for a hole. Not that they have any problems with sharing, during these particular nights there's always multiple goblin cocks being stuffed into all your holes, fitting in as many as they possibly can. They fuck till they drop, literally thrusting into your cum soaked holes till they pass out on the grassy floor.
Elves however, are another story. Elves never lose their composure, always so regal. When they travel through the forest they let the nymphs trail along with them, if only because this is your home they're walking through. You've only fucked elves very few times. The first being a noblewoman who weaved flowers in your soft hair while stealing glances at your naked body. You pleasured her in her tent one night, lapping at her pretty pussy as she gave you quiet but generous praises while gently stroking your hair. There was also the respected guard captain who you caught pleasuring himself by the river, he seemed very grateful for your assistance, fucking you ragged like he hadn't touched another person in centuries.
If you're lucky you may stumble upon the Minotaur that lives in the forest. You and the other nymphs like to play this game where you tease and taunt the Minotaur until he chases one of you down and fucks you into the dirt. It's not clear if getting caught means you win or lose but the other nymphs will sit around you, pet the minatour and coo at you as you get ferociously fucked by the beast until it fills your belly with it's seed. You're almost unconscious when the minatour is done but that won't stop the other nymphs from licking up the monsters cum from your abused hole while trying to coax the minatour into another round.
You want a sinning prompt, ill give you a sinning prompt *cough*Ascendedform!usingyoutomakBloodofRaphaeltieflings*cough*
A/n: /checks the time Ok. It’s sin o’clock. I'm hiding everything under the cut. Because it's...well. You know.
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Ascended!Raphael x Reader 18+: Well, well, well, if it isn’t the consequences of your actions.
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"Look at you," Haarlep breathes the words against your ear, nose tweaked against your cheek. There's a scrape of teeth, and you shiver, screwing your eyes shut against the sensation. Sensitive, so sensitive. Every nerve in your body feels alive. They lick across to the corner of your mouth, turning your head to kiss you deeply. The incubus' tail curls around your thigh, urging your legs to fall apart for him. Fingers circle your clit, a lazy series of strokes meant to build you higher but never break. He chuckles, a mimicry of affection, as he kisses you again. "Such a pretty mess you make. Even Raphael couldn't fault my work."
You gasp, head lolling back against their shoulder. His right arm is a vice holding you back against his chest. The warmth of them helps. Haarlep smells like summer fires and vetiver, fresh and burning; it suits them. You're burning.
Their fingers dip lower, pressing into you and scissoring. You whimper, and Haarlep swallows the sound, pushes their tongue into your mouth, and makes you taste, drink, and welcome him. The fever is almost unbearable. The incubus has stretched and stretched you. All you feel is empty.
"Good girl," they coo. Haarlep wipes your slick on your thigh. They smile against your skin. "So good for us. So ready. Say it, sweetling. Say you're ready."
"Please."
"Ah, ah, that," they nip the tip of your nose, "was not what I asked: are you ready, pet?"
"I'm ready. Gods, please!"
"Oh, darling," he shifts, dragging fingers down your sternum, your belly, down to the apex of your thighs. "After tonight, not one of your gods will have you. All ours. Always." Haarlep hums, leaning their head against yours. "Isn't that right, Raphael?"
Raphael waits, kneeling. The ascended fiend tilts its head to the side, tongue lolling from the center mouth. Its eyes burn with animal intelligence; part of it is weighing Haarlep's words, tasting them. Its wings fan out to the side, brushing the tile, braced for stability. The clawed hands rest on either side of the pair of you.
The beast noses your chest. Scents you. And purrs. You groan, shifting back against Haarlep, lifting your hips.
How lovely you'll look, he'd said, as conversational as he might have been over brunch, full of my seed. That's what you want, yes? To be good for me? Serve me?
You wanted it more than your next breath. The fiend tastes you first, its growl vibrating through your body. The heat makes you shift, panting, glancing over your shoulder for help. The flat of its tongue covers the whole of your cunt with flat pressure, warm and wet; Haarlep leads you in a lazy rock, cock still pressed against your ass. You clench at his thighs, searching for purchase, anything, as the fiend works itself up. The more it laps at you, the wetter you get. The better you taste. The more it wants. Up, and up, and up, and there has to be a breaking point, there has to be a ceiling, there has to, has to, has to…
Your back bows, thrusting into the creature's touch. There is enough of Raphael in there to delight in this naked affectation, and it howls its pleasure, tongue pressing inside your clenching hole. It's being filled with heat, stretched, and you can't help but fuck yourself onto it, welcoming more. You want him. You wish you could put into words how badly you want him.
You're lucky, you know, he'd breathed the words against your lips, skirt rucked up around your hips. His hand over your mouth to keep you quiet as he thrusts into you. I've chosen you, little mouse. My treasure…what pretty spawn you'll give me.
And, oh, it's too much. Too much, the head of its cock pressed to your soppy cunt. Haarlep spreads your legs wider, angles you, purring filth in your ear until you're grinding down, desperate. They want to see you speared on him, want to listen to you babble, want to watch you come and come. Raphael pushes, and you jolt, feeling your body finally relent.
You could never take all of him, but you take enough. It lowers its head, licks your cheek, and howls. It fucks without grace or concern, pulling you where it wants, its head thrown back, taking. In the back of your mind, you're vaguely aware of Haarlep laughing, lifting your hips just enough to let the fiend slide deeper. Air is an afterthought. You're screaming, and it's sharp, everything: the heat, the pain, the pleasure. Sweat tracks down your body in lazy rivulets. You're coming apart, but your body won't stop. It's rocking with him, hungry. One of the fiend's hands snakes around your waist, jerking you away from the incubus and into it.
You belong to Raphael, his, his, and you shake, one hand tangling in your hair, one reaching out for Haarlep. He leans over you and kisses you just long enough to leave a fresh swell of intoxicating pleasure rocketing through your system. And then leaves you to the fiend.
You lose track. You're exhausted. It flips you onto your front, up on your knees, filling you again. You ache, but it's good. Its folded over you, panting, screaming, and you break again, clutching at its cock. And when Raphael finally comes, you want to sob; forehead pillowed on your arms—filled with him, full of him. Its spend drips down your thighs.
Fingers, oddly gently, card over your lower back and thighs. Raphael, your Raphael, leans over you, pressing a kiss to the small of your back. He gathers his seed with a chuckle, pushing it back into your cunt. You moan.
"Look at you," he mumbles. "So beautiful. Eternally mine."
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