What was that pipsqueak

love reposting y’alls amazing works ^^

[abyssyby]

fever dreamt echoes

— Sylus's instincts flare when you are ill, needing to nurse you back to health, whatever it takes... he fails to notice that his boys have his instincts too.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: a sickie fic that took my left shoe and ran away fr me. what was supposed to be the fam nursing mama to health becomes a deepdive into Sylus's oversights as a father. phew. enjoys! ❀-urs

important heads up for context of this story: lucian and kyros are (my headcanon) sylus's twin boys. 2 turning 3 years in this one! ᡣ𐭩

sylus & his family | sylus x reader | fluff, mild angst, comfort. sick!reader, husband!sylus, dragon babies just wanna see mama tw: imagery of illness/migraine symptoms, vomiting, (past) emotional trauma

Sylus’s hackles rise at the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut at noon. 

Lucian and Kyros, positioned on their bellies on the carpet by his feet, pause their coloring with a curious glance. Turning their heads to the sound, they rise to go see who it is. But before they could rush off, Sylus holds them steady with his evol and strides ahead of them. 

The big twins were out of town on a mission he’d expected to take a week longer. 

You are supposed to be at work. You’d left early that morning. In a panic, having risen a few hours too close to the time you’re expected at the Association. Kicking him by accident when you wrestled against the comfort of your warm duvet. 

He had no fight against you wriggling out of his persistent hold, no matter how much he whined at your absence, and was forced to accept the hasty kiss you plant on his lips before rushing out of the bedroom. You promised to be home by dinner.

He had half a mind to go after you and pull you back for his own selfish reasons, but his boys waddled into the bedroom to take your space and curl up against him. Cementing him in a warm pile of baby fat and the scent of blueberries. 

Anyway, you’d said dinner.

So it was a surprise to him to see you at the door just before lunch. Toeing your shoes off, your coat half off your shoulder and your workbag dangling in your loose grip. You meet his gaze from the wall you lean against for extra support, and offer him a smile that lacks it usual depth. 

He clocks it immediately. Zooming in on the details of your features like a machine built to know you. The sheen of sweat on your brow, the heavy droop of your eyelids, the paleness of your lips. It was as if something inside you had made itself at home where it was not welcome. 

Black and red tendrils dissipate from pudgy bellies when his sons start to complain at not being able to reach you. 

He confirms your condition in the way you squeeze your eyes shut briefly at the excited squealing and tittering of your children. The usual melodies feeling like a clap of thunder in your skull.

Sylus is able to move only an inch towards you. And you are already shaking your head and mouthing his least favorite words. “I’m fine.”

Your arms are cooked pasta around Lucian’s waist. Your knees trembling rocks holding back a landslide as you lift him to your height. You are reluctant to reduce the support and give Kyros your other hand as he guides you in the living room. 

All the while Sylus stands at the ready to lighten the load he worries you refuse to lend him. 

The smell of your living room is a balm to your aching sinuses, clean linen and fresh citrus blossoms. The warmth of the filtered sun through the windows is a live wire through your shivering bones. And the heat of your husband’s body as he slots himself between you and the corner of the couch is exactly what your numb skin has longed for the entire morning. 

“Go upstairs.” he whispers in your ear. Unkempt hair in your eyes, features taut and tired— he suffers at the look of you. Lends you his strength to tidy you up with featherlike touches.

Your neck twinges when you shake your head. 

“Boys.” you reason, pressing the weight of Lucian closer to your chest as he talks about his new doctor’s tool kit toy. 

Kyros’s hand had made its way beneath your sweater and onto the skin of your belly, rubbing circles gently. For his own sensory need, unknowing how helpful it is for you too. 

Sylus understands, but frowns in disapproval anyway. “Beloved…” 

“Mama, hot.” Kyros murmurs, continuing his gentle ministrations. “Otch! Hot.” 

“Oh no.” Lucian adds too, unintentionally slapping his hands on either sides of your face a touch too hard, making you wince. Sylus doesn’t mean to scowl, but he does. “Mama, tick?” 

“Gentle, please.” their father almost begs, peeling the tiny hands that squish your skin off. You sigh gratefully at him, your skin beginning to feel uncomfortably tender. 

“No—no tick, pease.” says Kyros, climbing up the cushions to get up close to your face. Sylus is quick to intercept his hand, mold his against the little one silently, to guide gentle combs through tendrils of your hair. “Mama, well.” 

“Just a little dizzy, baby.” you reassure him— but the hypo-nasality of your voice and the light pop! from the top of your spine does little to your case. 

Your family’s face remain unchanged—frowning in worry, staring in concern. 

You swallow. The back of your throat feels dry no matter how many times you do so. Only Sylus can see the strain on your face and he’s digging his nails into his palms to keep himself from overreacting. 

Instinct tells him to switch on survival mode. As if you’d come home with a bullet wound or a broken leg. His muscles itch to take you away, hoard you, encase you in a bubble of safety until you feel better once more. Claiming it his single-handed responsibility to nurse you back to health. 

He’d done it before. Confident to a fault, he’ll do it again.

Lucian protests when Sylus lifts him out of your arms, while Kyros frowns at him in confusion. To placate their watery eyes and erupting sobs, he quickly says, “Go show mama your drawings.” 

Their mind shifts. Papa is suddenly correct, and they rush off to collect the loose leaves of doodle-pressed papers scattered around the room. Lucian also hops off to retrieve his doctor set. 

Buying Sylus the time and space to draw you near his orbit and cage you in his embrace. 

“I’m fine, really.” is what you say and it drives him mad. He’d puff a cloud of smoke through his nostrils in another life with the way he scoffs. 

He is calmed by the way you curl against him anyway; your clammy back to his middle, your heated forehead against the curve of his neck. You are driftwood in a raging stream with the tightness at which hangs on to you.

“I don’t appreciate it when you lie to me,” he says slowly. Not understanding why you insist on still acting tough. “Even if you mean well.” 

Sylus sighs, “Haven’t we agreed? You can lean on me.” 

His sentiment contests your fever as it melts your heart twice as fast. You run your fingers along the blunt stubble on his chin. “I know. I am.” 

But you aren’t in the mood to get scolded. Not when every breath is like shards of glass through your mouth, your nostrils are vestigial and your brain pounds behind your heated eyes. 

You sigh, your gaze trailing after your scampering children. “Don’t scare them.” 

Hardened by experience, the rational side of Sylus’s brain knows you are fine in the grand scheme of things. With a paracetamol, a good sleep and hydration, you’ll be back on your feet at a normal temperature in no time.

But the side of him that feels— the one you bring out with little to no effort— it aches at the sight of you still fighting against your already protesting body. It makes him calloused to anything else that doesn’t involve benefitting you.

So, intentions far from ill but single-minded, he grumbles. “They should know.”

And ever patient you, with a heart so big and generous, push back. “But they don’t. Not yet.” 

You take his hand. He frowns at your searing touch. A kiss is pressed onto his knuckles and he is ice beneath it at your request. “Gentle.” 

One breath through his nose is sighed out his mouth and he nods. Gentle. 

He doesn’t let you go when the boys return. Subtly keeping them from climbing back onto you as they present their scribbles with calculated stretches of his limbs coming in between you and them. 

The boys are none the wiser.

They flit around you like humming birds wearing white coats. Lucian has the plastic heart-shaped stethoscope plugged to his ears. Kyros holds a baby-blue otoscope he insists is a hammer.

They ping-pong from being art curators and doctors. One talks about his drawing, while the other assesses your condition with a plastic medical tool. 

“Dis ‘Pisto with hat.” Says Kyros, as Lucian bends over Sylus’s arm barrier to stick his stethoscope on your chest. 

When Kyros is knocking your knee with the otoscope-hammer, Lucian narrates, “Dis mama, dis papa, dis Wookie and Kee-wan. And ‘Pisto have shoes. And Kee-wo and me—Woosian have cotton candy.” 

The little ones show you their interpretations of the world through whorls and zigzags of color. When you try to listen closely and your mind doesn’t drift off, you catch that Kyros has drawn a field of flowers he sees in his dreams, and Lucian’s new fascination on distant planets. And that your temperature is “three-six” on the plastic thermometer, and you get a shot of “coffee” on your shoulder. 

But you can only do so much. Powerless, thanks to Sylus’s weight on your arms and his lulling scent in your nose; beckoning like home, like rest. 

Soon, your eyes droop and your head bobs back onto Sylus’s shoulder. Just as Lucian is telling you of the beach and Kyros is explaining how m’s can look like birds. 

Sylus seizes their attempts at waking you back to attention with a look, which they take positively. With understanding nods, mouths rounded in quiet “oh…”s, they step away from poking you back awake.

Little fingers are raised to little lips and they murmur shushes and lovely things in your silence. And later, they tail after their father like minnows in a stream when he lifts you down the hallway and carries you to bed. 

-

Kyros knows what papa is saying is important. He knows also, that whatever papa is saying, that papa is right. 

And that he should listen to papa.

But the door to your bedroom is open.

“Make very little noise, because mama’s head…”

And he hasn’t seen you in an hour (which feels like a million years if he knew how to count past five). 

“… go play on your own for a while…”

And he wants to know if—

“Papa.” He blurts right in the middle of Sylus’s very important reminders. Sylus turns to him patiently, taking his hand in his and massaging his palm in acknowledgement. “Roro eep with mama.” 

Sylus frowns. “No, angel. You can’t.” 

“Ah-huh. Can.” He nods, disagreeing with Sylus and tugging his arm back. Sylus steadies him, catching his shoulder and maneuvering him away from the door.

“Kyros.” papa says, voice deep and strong. Kyros is startled by the tone. “Mama is going to be okay.”

“But… tick.” He frowns. His eyes water, catalyzed by the sternness that has befallen this exchange. “Feel better. Need—need huggies.” 

Sylus swallows nails as he stares back at his son. “Mama needs quiet right now. To rest.” 

“I quiet.” He insists, pushing fruitlessly against Sylus’s embrace. “P’omise.”

Lucian, placing his own foot in the mix, chimes in. “Please, papa?”

But the decision is made. Sylus nudges Kyros to his brother, who welcomes him in a consoling hug. They stare helplessly at papa who stands and turns away. “Maybe later, hm?” 

He shuts the door. 

And with a heavy heart, they listen to papa. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

The first time you stir from your fevered haze, you notice that you are out of your work clothes and are wearing one of Sylus’s shirts. His scent refreshing and comforting, engulfs you in a phantom hug. 

The glass of warm water on your dresser is almost knocked over in the dark, but you successfully drink it along with the pills in a small dish just to its left. 

Then you lie back down, drape an arm over your eyes, and drift off. 

Or at least try.

It wasn’t quite a sleep— you could hear your heartbeat in your ears, too conscious of the distorted sound of your breathing, and the persistent pulse in the back of your left eye feels like how pebbles do beneath your boots.

Not to mention it was too cold, but you were sweating and shivering all the same. 

Frustration holds hands with sickness; you feel your insides gang up on you to attack. When the nausea hits, you sit up blindly and scramble out of bed into the bathroom to hurl out your already empty stomach. 

Sylus, the shadow you married, is already holding your hair back as soon as your knees touch the ground. “Easy.” 

The headache is maxed to a hundred on its own richter with each seize and each gag. Your one hand waves Sylus away, asking him to go, to save whatever dignity you had left in his eyes. 

But he refuses. A statement he makes as he stays. 

When it passes, you lean back on your calves and try to get a grip of the spinning world around you. Sylus is already getting something damp and cool to press to your face. 

Disgusting, you think as you brush your teeth and wash your face. But the act leaves you feeling better than you started off, paradoxically. 

“Sy—“ you rasp as he guides you back to bed after you’ve cleaned up. 

“Not a chance.” is all he says, lifting your shirt and slipping on a fresh one. His again.

“You’ll catch it.” you murmur. 

He shakes his head, a ghost of a chuckle in his words. “It’s not that bad.” 

He finds it a wonder how you’re akin to a soggy piece of lettuce right now, and still have the wits to tease him. “You’re a doctor now?” 

The chuckle materializes as he tucks you back beneath the covers. “Yes. Family medicine.” 

“Ooh, well look at you—AH!” you yelp, blocking his kiss with your palm as he targets your forehead. “No!”

“What do you mean ‘no’?” he gasps, swooping in for another with a impudent grin. You duck out of the way with a chiming giggle. “Doctor’s orders.” 

“Stop it! I’m gross.” 

He pauses at the declaration and shoots you a dangerous look. “I’ll warn you not to speak of my wife that way.”

You sniffle in disbelief. “Sylus!” 

He dodges your hands expertly and successfully lands a peck on top of your head before bouncing back up to his feet with a victorious grin. You harrumph, tossing a pillow square at his face. He lets it land and laughs. 

“You’ve broken your fever,” he says lightly, bending to brush sickly sweaty hair out of your now glowing face. Taking a moment to caress the plump of your cheek with the pad of his thumb. 

Great. At least that was out of the way. But your mouth still tasted weird, and there’s a little creature knocking albeit politely at the back of your eyeball. 

You groan. “The last time I was this bad was—“

“—The twins.” he smiles fondly, recalling the earlier days of your pregnancy. “You’ve done well keeping yourself healthy for three years then.” 

“Maybe I’m pregnant again.” you joke. 

He freezes. His world tilts. Are you? You couldn’t be— could you? Had he been so busy, miscalculated—

Your hand squeezes his tightly. His face is a picture you wish you could paint, one that makes your heart flutter. “I’m not.” 

The thickened air thins and he releases the breath he hadn’t noticed he’s held in. His brows knit together as he breathes. “Don’t… don’t do that.” 

You search his expression for anything negative, but find only a plucked sense of excitement and wonder in his shining eyes. “Too many kids?” 

He almost laughs at your assumption. “No, not at all.”

“Then—“

“Not enough.” 

The grin he flashes you lingers with mischief and allure, sharp lower fangs almost twinkling at you seductively. Heat crawls up your face and you’re sure this isn’t the fever. You shove any part of him you can reach with all your might in hopes to relieve the tension. 

“Go. Watch the kids. You’re a headache.” you say. Turning on your side to dismiss him… or, really, to hide the flush on your face. 

He leans in, the weight of his hand on your hip. Takes the opportunity to kiss you again. Your head, your cheek, your shoulder—before leaving you to drift off.

This time— you sleep. And sleep is smooth, quiet and deep. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Sylus can’t figure why his boys are extra rambunctious now, when he specifically asked them not to be. 

Usually self-sustaining, Lucian and Kyros are perfectly trained to entertain themselves when the adults are too busy. But today, it’s as if all training has flown out the window, and Sylus is suddenly caring for three people and not just you. 

While striding in and out of your shared bedroom, the chances that he’d have an encounter with a silver haired little boy was a hundred percent doubled. 

He’d caught Lucian by the scruff of his shirt and turned him around. Two giant stuffies in his arms, far larger than his on height along with him. 

Kyros had dragged books and your favorite couch blanket to your door. Sylus had to physically dig through the row of indoor plants to find him and his stash and send him away. 

And at some point, Lucian snaps first. Crying when Sylus carries him off to the kitchen on his way to refill your bottle of water. 

“Wanna to see mama!” He performs a full-blown tantrum in the space of his father’s one armed embrace. Pushing and shoving the unmovable force that holds him captive. “Let me go! Let me go!” 

And Sylus only grumbles. A hair away from losing his own composure. “Lucian, mama is sick.” 

“I doctor mama better!” He shouts now. Fueled by the expression on Sylus’s face giving absolutely nothing away. Just sheer indifference. Done with the conversation before its even started. “Let me go!” 

“Lucian!” Sylus seethes. Done. Firm. Final. 

Lucian freezes. Shock flooding sobering his nerves. 

And then helplessly, he sobs, leaning into Sylus’s chest. Earlier shouts and shoves now faltering in the face of his father’s anger. And that hurts him more than being denied. 

“I sorry.” He murmurs. No flourish, no drama. Just sorrow and regret. Sylus’s shirt is clutched in his small fists, a lifeline to keep his father tethered to him. 

And Sylus is thawed in a flash. His shoulders hunch at every sniffle, his arms curl closer at each hiccup. 

Then Sylus crumbles too. Bending at the waist and burying his face in his son’s hair. “Just… wait, okay?” 

Lucian nods, smearing snot and salt onto Sylus’s sweater. “Love? Love Lucian, papa?” 

Sylus has to clench his jaw to keep himself together. For now he finally realizes how his actions are being received by his children. And though he means well, the struggle between what he thinks is best for you and indulging in his children is like finding a shadow in a fog.

And he bears the back-breaking weight of it as he looks into glassy red irises. “Yes, of course I do.” He nuzzles his nose, wipes tears away with the swipe of his thumb. “I love you. I love Kyros. But mama is sick right now. And I just… she needs rest. So, wait, okay?” 

Lucian doesn’t fully understand. But he listens still. 

Sylus finds Kyros sitting by your locked door, wrapped in your blanket from the couch. 

He can’t find it in himself to feel anything but endearment at the look of him. Not after the spat with Lucian still a stone in the pit of his stomach. 

“Kyros.” He sighs. 

“Mama need blanket?” Kyros asks, rising from his seat. 

“No, angel she has enough.” He says, setting the tray of medicine and snacks to the side and picking Kyros up. 

“One more!” 

“No, Kyros.” 

“Pease?” 

Sylus shakes his head. The look in Kyros’s eyes is pitiful, but Sylus’s resolve is stronger today. Running on fumes from the stress and worry of it all, fluttering lashes and big puppy eyes just won’t make him budge. 

So when Kyros’s face changes from pleading to anger, Sylus is take a back. “What are you doing?” 

“Hmph!” the little boy takes a breath, mouth posturing into cry but no sound comes out. In fact, no air comes out. 

Sylus turns rigid.

“Kyros,” he keeps his calm, rubbing his back with one hand and blowing steady streams of air on his face. But his heart races just beneath the surface. “Breathe, come on now.” 

Kyros heaves again, taking in more air but not exhaling it out. Sylus blows again. “Please, angel. Come on.” 

And with another puff of air, Kyros breaks out of the spell and cries. A loud wail that sinks into silent, frustrated hiccups. Sylus has half a mind to join him. 

“Wanna go the inside!” 

“Only sick people in the bedroom.” He states again, standing firm while gently rocking him side to side. Fumbling with clumsy fingers as he tries to reassure the hearts he keeps breaking. 

“Wait for mama to feel better, okay?” He asks of him, pleads, holding his crying child to his chest. Drowning in the sorrow of causing both of them such pain in a day.

When he’s settled, he takes Kyros to Lucian in their bedroom. Sitting with them for a while to jumpstart a play sequence before slipping out to check up on you.

And in his act of righteousness, he fails to see the pile of your favorite things gathered by the doorway of the twins’ bedroom. Awaiting patiently to be transported to your side. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

You vomit again. Sylus sticks with you until the waves of nausea calm and you tread the waters of dreams once more. 

Once your breathing is even and your pupils no longer shift beneath your lids, he goes to check on your boys.

He thought they’d given up after that with the silence that followed after a while. But he clearly didn’t understand how persistent your children actually are. 

“Papa.” Lucian frowns up at Sylus, large eyes twinkling with unshed tears at the wetness of his shirt. He’d tilted his sippy cup a little too much and spilled all the sticky fruit juice on his tummy. He intercepts Sylus just as he exits your bedroom. 

Sylus exhales through his nose, assures him it’s okay, and gives him a change of clothes. 

“My tummy cold.” Lucian tells him, guiding his father’s heavy hand to his middle. Then he heaves, “Blegh. Eugh.” 

Sylus’s voice rumbles with amusement. He rubs his belly in soothing circles until he’s a little warmer and kisses his forehead. 

“Better?” He asks. But Lucian doesn’t seem too happy when he nods and asks to be put down. 

But just as soon as he places him down, Kyros waddles up to him with a tissue up his one nostril. “Pa.” 

What is going on? 

Sylus picks him up slowly. Seeing no urgency or panic in the little one’s eyes, so he’d rather not introduce the emotion to him. “You okay, angel?” 

“A-choo.” He says. Says, like a script he’d planned and produced. Like someone behind Sylus had cued him with an action!  The rolled up tissue flies out of his nose unceremoniously, dry as a feather. 

And then it clicks. 

“Oh.” He nods, understanding fully what his two clever little copies were trying to do. “I see.” 

Lucian, who hadn’t gone too far away, who was idling “subtly” in the corner of their bedroom pushing a wooden car back and forth, looks at Sylus just as Kyros does. 

“Are you two… sick?” 

Kyros bobs his head vigorously, and Lucian is giving thumbs ups from where he sits. 

“Poor angels. Sick too when mama is sick?” Sylus pouts, playing along, smothering the wheezing laughter clawing its way up his chest.

“A-huh. And—and tick babies go in— the inside room.” Kyros supplies, leaning his head on Sylus’s arm, really selling his story all too well. He points towards the direction of your bedroom and squeezes his eyes. “Achoo. Achoo! Pease.” 

“Uh! Me too.” Lucian grunts, rushing over to drape himself dramatically over Sylus’s legs. Squeezing his eyes shut, hands over his very-much-okay-belly and moaning in pain. “Ow! Tummy achy!” 

The laughter is far too strong to suppress now, and he gathers his boys to his chest in an adoring embrace. His caring children, he wonders where they get it from. He makes a show of a loud, defeated sigh as he brings them down with him, backwards onto the bed where they chorus his giggles in return. 

“Miss mama so soon?” He asks, tilting his head forward. He brushes their bangs out of their faces to look into their eyes. 

Too little to be filled with so much worry. 

But understandably so— they’d never seen you sick before. Don’t know how to process seeing you act differently from their usual, put together mother figure. 

And the way he carries himself doesn’t help to reassure them either. Briskly trudging around with a dip in his brow, quick and urgent. A sudden obstacle between them and their mother; equally as worried, equally as distressed. It wasn’t until the fever finally broke and he heard you joke with him once more that his lungs had regained its full capacity.

His boys haven’t had that closure yet. Their last image of you was your fluttering lashes and loosening grip on their crayon-scribbled sketchbooks. To them, it was a cartoon-swoon into an endless slumber— sudden, unexplained, too odd to feel alright with. 

And here Sylus was, keeping them from seeing you. Barely providing them with an explanation outside of “mama is sick”. Underestimating how much they understand and how much they actually care. 

Guilt gnaws at his heels. Faced with failing to calculate balance between caring for you and helping your sons. 

Gentle, you asked him. And instead he dismisses them outright. Preferring them out of the way instead of letting them offer their helping hands to usher you to health. 

He combs his fingers through their hair, marveling at how much they exude you while looking so much like him. 

A wish he’d made when they were born—grant your prayer for them have his features, but let the world be kind and bless them with your heart. 

“I’m sorry,” the words are brittle glass beneath a roaring flame. Broken. Fragile. The talons of his mistake dig deeper into his chest as they continue to wear their innocent hearts on their sleeves. Hearts he’s been taking for granted.

How could he have been so excited at the prospect of having another one with you earlier, while all day he kept pushing his first loves away?

“I’m sorry for hiding mama from you.” He says, cradling soft cheeks in the hard edges of his palms. “I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Your heart, your beautiful heart— resonates in twin chests. So easy to love. So quick to forgive.

Kyros is the first to touch his face, mirroring his own movements and brushing his own silver hair out of his eyes. “It okay. It okay, papa.”

Lucian follows suit, cradling Sylus’s cheek with his palm. 

His jaw trembles. He bites his lip to steady it. He’d found tears closer to the surface since having sons. Thinks it’s still one of the strangest feelings to have evoked so easily. But he’d also learned to stop being so surprised by the wonders his little ones do for him. 

“Can go the inside room?” Kyros whispers when he finally sits them all up. Unaware of the mountains Sylus has conquered in his mind in that little moment they shared. 

It was a battle he was never meant to win. 

He shakes his head in defeat. He eyes the pile of yours and their favorite things by the door. “One thing before we go.” 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

The next time you wake is after hours of a soul-deep slumber. 

Gone is the stiffness in your neck, and the dryness of your throat. Thanks to the heat-pack cradles your skull. On the bedside, a humidifier fizzes out your favorite scent. 

This time, you do not wake to a pounding skull or nausea.  

This time, you wake to the sound of the whispers that sent you to sleep the first time. Shushes. Lovely things. 

Something hard rests beneath your fingers, it crackles and crunches when you flex. It takes a while for your blurry vision to make sense of it—and the nest of things around your bed—but when the picture comes to clarity, you cant help but smile.

Whorls of spirals in a shape of a flower in an obscure vase. A little queen made of circles and boxes and sticks wears a crown and lies in a heart-shaped bed. 

And in spiraling, elegant handwritten script it is says: Feel better soon, Queen Mama. 

“Took an hour to do that.” Sylus’s weight dips the mattress as he draws near to you. He moves various stuffies and plushies aside just to make space. 

He catches the moisture from your eyes with his finger and finds no resistance this time when he leans in to kiss your forehead. “Boys were debating what color flowers you’d like.” 

“For an hour?” Your mouth tugs downwards despite your joyful disposition. Sylus nods, curling around you like a beast and guiding your head to his chest. 

He gestures to the red whorls overpowering the rest of the colors. “Lucian was very persuasive.”  

You finally crack a smile. “How were they?” 

“They take after you.” Is all he says, nodding towards the other edge of the bed where two curious heads with two pairs of careful eyes wait. Little crocodiles in the water.

Waiting, testing whether to approach or retreat. 

Now, when have they ever held themselves back like this? 

Your heart aches when you realize Sylus’s small movements— his one finger held up and cueing them to hold, his brows raised to prompt them to ask. 

“How’a you, mama?” Lucian asks softly, his voice unused to speaking at such a volume. One hand comes up with the end of his plastic stethoscope, hovering, waiting to be used.

Kyros rasps, “All better?” 

“Mhm.” You coo, and with one gesture from you to come nearer, they’re already overriding protocol and clawing at the beddings, climbing over the edge. Sylus uses his evol to nudge them up the incline. And they close the space between you. 

You sit up against Sylus and watch each twin assume a position. Lucian balances himself on the bed and backs up bum first to sit on your lap and Kyros squeezes himself in the nonexistent space between you and Sylus. 

Just before you’d fallen asleep, you remember their little voices telling you about their drawings. The presentation you so rudely dismissed with your slumber. 

You have every intention to apologize, but Kyros is already starting a new story. In hushed tones and a practiced volume you can only guess is their papa’s doing. 

“Papa make mama better— ‘ike, ‘ike eepy beauty.” Kyros says, pointing to the little queen on your ‘get well soon’ card. 

You shoot Sylus a look and he promptly avoids your gaze. “Is that how the story goes?” 

“Ah-huh! And—and papa too be da dragon that,” Lucian curls his fingers into claws and swipes them around to fill the space words cannot reach. “Roar! Roar! Go ‘way, little twinnies!” 

You gasp, pressing a hand to your chest in melodrama. Not at all surprised that Sylus had barricaded the bedroom to give you space. And though you don’t think you’d have minded the little ones, you appreciating his thoughtfulness nonetheless. You didn’t think it was possible for your heart to swell more than it already has.  “Oh no! How did you get through?”  

“Hat twicks!” Lucian grins proudly. He taps his finger on to his temple, while his twin nods in affirmation, echoing, “Mm. Twicks.” 

When you tilt your head in confusion, Sylus clarifies. “Mind tricks.” 

“Mama sickie and—and go in the inside room.” Kyros says, playing with the fabric of your sleeve as he explains. Partly in fascination with the fabric, and partly to make sure you don’t drift away again. “So—so Kee-ro and Woosian sickie too!” 

“Sickies!” Lucian cheers, tapping Kyros’s foot with his hand. Kyros’s delayed tap back to the back of his head tells you it was supposed to be a high-five. 

You hum in understanding, letting each emotion on your face be clear as day. Corners of your mouth lifting at how adorable it must have all been to witness. 

“And papa cry.” 

What?

You gasp—wish it was an overreaction for the littles, but it wasn’t— and your head snaps to Sylus. His palm cradles your nape instantly, steadying you before the headache could return. 

His eyes are blown wide, pupils shaking as he begs his son—don’t with just a look. But Lucian wasn’t briefed for this before he came into the sick room. 

So he misses it, and blurts anyways, “He say—say sowee.” He reaches out to pat your face like he did Sylus’s earlier. Soft, syrupy-warm fingers tapping to soothe against your skin. “Sowee be hide mama.” 

“Oh.” you swoon, nuzzling your nose against the column of your husband’s neck. While he drops his head in defeat, shoulders hunched as if he’s bracing for judgment. One that never comes. 

Instead, you say, “Papa’s a good castle dragon, no?” 

Both of them nod, heads bobbing with effort from the waist enthusiastically to drive the point home. 

Fingers once drumming against the skin of your arm, Sylus reaches out to tap each child’s forehead. Activating them like sleeper agents with his command. “What else wakes the sleeping beauty?” 

Their postures straighten, eyes alight and in a blink of an eye they are climbing up the blanket, over your limbs, exclaiming. “Kissies!” 

Your shrieks are pleasant and warm as you receive a sloppy wet kiss on both your cheeks from each of your children. A sweet barrage of happy “mwa! mmmwa!”s are reimbursed back to them by your own kisses pressing onto the marshmallowy round corners of their face. 

You overdose in their giggles and screeches as they roll around the sheets, finding home once more in your presence. 

Sylus watches with the intensity of a hawk, but softened features of a father nursing his own wounded pride. Holding himself back from joining the fray, swimming in his spiralling thoughts— 

For how could he have missed this? Deprive you of the most effective cure of all? 

Soft lips press hard on his cheek, and he snaps out of it. Blinks to ground himself back in the moment to find you in focus. And offers you a halfhearted smile. 

One you don’t buy. 

“Doctor…” you says slowly, testing the waters for you know they run deep. You try again when he only scoffs in mild amusement. Evoking more from him with a softened, “My love.” 

And as parched earth does touched after a drought, he crumbles.

“They begged to see you all day.” He confesses, watching distantly as Kyros and Lucian finally do what he’d been wanting them to do. Just play. Entertain themselves. 

“They snuck into the plants. Lucian cried. Kyros even did the breath holding thing—“ he breathes through his nose. A wince in disguise. “I told them no, not now. Wait—until you’re better. Wait until I’m not busy. Wait… because I thought I would be all you needed.” 

He winces now for real. The reality of his words said out loud like nails on a chalkboard; crashing cymbals on a porcelain floor. A humorless scoff, filled with disdain and disbelief chokes him. “How cruel.” 

You consider him. The man who’d spent the whole day at your beck and call, catching you before you even fall, nursing you from sickness to health, all the while keeping your children entertained no matter how ridiculous it had gotten—still, still finding impurities in his actions. 

And while he could be right. While he could have hurt them in the process of figuring it out—you can’t help but think it inevitable. “Sylus, you’re figuring it out.” 

He grumbles, “I should have known.”

Damns himself with his voice of venom, “But I dismissed them. Forced them to understand without helping them understand.” 

Acting exactly like the ones he despised, the ones who cast him out when he knew nothing else but to live. 

“You asked me to be gentle with them.” He breathes.

Yet despite it all, gently, you take his trembling chin in your fingers and turn his face to his sons. Grounding him, reminding him where he is. Where he stands. Who he is. “You are.” 

“I didn’t…” he holds his breath. Swallows the confession, but it rises up anyway. Needing to be said. Needing to be witnessed, to be heard. “I didn’t know what to do.” 

That’s what he hates the most. 

All the power, the strength and certainty in every area he chooses to stride; for all he has conquered— here he is. Helpless, scrambling, grasping at straws to make decisions where it matters most. With you. With his family. 

“Oh, Sylus.” his hands are bound together by yours, fingers burrowing in each space. You guide his forehead down to press against yours, letting him feel you here with him. 

“Now you do.” you whisper kindly. So kind, terribly sickly kind to him so monstrous. 

For the first time, faced with greed he now feels shame holding. 

He squeezes your hands tight as if asking for penance.

Flipping it on him—you say, “They didn’t understand. But now they do… because of you.” 

He glances back at his children at your command. Play fighting across the expanse of the bed, gasping giggles and lifting little fingers to little lips when their volume gets too high, pulling each other away from you when they stumble too close. 

Lucian pauses when Kyros clutches his eye, catching his brother and quietly apologizing. Planting kisses on his hair, squeezing him tight in an embrace. 

Echos of his own words. Mimics of his own actions. Lessons they’ve learned from him. 

“No one wants you to know everything. Not with us.” You assure him, combing disheveled bangs back to reveal his tired eyes. “We just want you.”

He stares at you. Reverently, wistfully— takes your fingers to his lips and presses hard, worshiping you for breathing. Thanking you for being. 

“Gentle edges and all.” You say, the last nail to his coffin. For he has died again and again in your arms, but you bring him back to life each time. 

He nods. Scars tender and seen. Swallows the lesson, digests the truth. You are well, and so are his boys. And whatever mistakes he makes on the way of keeping you this way, he will spend the rest of his life making it up to you. No matter how hard the storms wreak havoc, he swears to emerge victorious.  

Until his wings are clipped. Until his soul is dragged thin. He will keep figuring it out and making things right.

His children offer the levity he needs when they stumble over each other to catch him off guard. They squeeze themselves between him and you, and heal him with kisses as well. The little ones settle themselves within the nest of huggable tokens and memorable trinkets they gathered under Sylus’s command. 

For they hoard his words; they treasure his verses.

They do not tally his sins. Only his love. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Later, when the headache drags you under once more, Sylus does not fight it. 

With a finger to his lips, he slips out of bed to make you dinner. Kyros follows, Lucian stays. 

Kyros is slow in his movements when he plucks an egg from the fridge. When he squeezes the lemon into the soup. When he arranges the spoon and chopsticks on the wooden tray. 

Lucian lays silently beside you, caressing your hair gently until he too slips on his dreams.

And when you wake the last time, Sylus is there, waiting for you. 

And so are your children, with their own breakfast trays and silicone bowls with the octopus grippers to hold them in place. With their spill proof bibs and messy cheeks, already elbow deep into the soup that is served. 

Clumsy hands overshoot spoons into their mouths, trying their hardest to do it on their own. Making space for Sylus to feed you instead. 

“I can eat by myself, you know.” you inform him, but open your mouth for another spoonful anyway. 

He smiles, shy and boyish, caught in his own indulgence. “I doctor you better, sweetie.” 

You snort. “I wouldn’t mind being sick if it means this.” 

He nods, watching Kyros tilt his bowl into his open mouth and Lucian’s fingers dive to retrieve his sunken spoon. A captured beauty in making their mess, with no hurry to be put away. 

Your laughter, despite your exhaustion, melts something in him—peeling back the old ache layer by layer, until he can finally let go. 

“Now, I know.” 

✧˚ ⋆｡ read more with the little twins here || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

thank you so much for reading! ( っ´ `)っ

[dollgxtz]

When Mephie Sleeps

✿ Word Count: 5k

✿ Tags: girldad!Sylus, fluff, funny, toddler tantrums + shenanigans, poor mephisto has to get tucked into bed :p

✿ Summary: When Sylus leaves for “business,” you’re left to wrangle an overtired toddler who refuses to sleep, because if Mephisto doesn't have to go to sleep, neither will she...

✿ AN: I was feeling very maternal and decided to post some girl dad sylus fluff to soothe my baby fever. And before my His Watchful Eye readers say anything...yes I used the name Sylvia on purpose. It’s like a headcanon of mine that Sylvia would be a fav name for Sylus to name his first daughter (Sylvie for short). Is this fic directly related to HWE? No...but you may pretend if you'd like :3

If you were tagged it means you selelcted to be tagged in any future fics I write!

@leiaglamela @shia247 @Lazylightmusic @hyphensei @beaconsxd @adzir @zoezhive @mmeerraa @webmvie @mysterios-hoe @sylvieisoffline @riamir @blcknebula @wooasecret @chososlvrr @deathlycrow @mcdepressed290 @sylusqt @becky-chan @shawnberry @abrielletargaryen @Itsme3rin @2004crows @kokoqian @lioria @hon3yydew @laudyadee @yiddyyaddayami-blog @chaemaire @mylifedoesntexist @moonlitreveri3 @dvwnstar @ellie662 @your-l0cal-puppy @miserysscompany

All was well in the steel and password-protected walls of Onychinus, a fortress of blinking lights and quiet hums. But none of that mattered tonight, not when a particularly restless little girl was screaming in your ear.

"Sylvie, it's bedtime. You want Mr. Coco?" you say, your voice teetering between patience and pleading as you offered the sagging, much-loved stuffed rabbit.

"No! No!" she screamed, her voice cracking into a shriek as she flung herself dramatically onto the floor like a marionette with its strings cut. Her tiny fists pounded the ground, and her heels drummed a rhythm of pure protest against the bedroom floor.

You sighed, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your hand, the fatigue settling deeper into your bones. It had been a long day—chasing crumbs of productivity while juggling snack demands, wiped noses, and toddler meltdowns—but the real challenge always came when bedtime loomed.

Normally, Sylvia needed a little coaxing. A lullaby, a bath, a warm bottle. But tonight she was operating on a whole different level. Mr. Coco, her usual go-to comfort, was cast aside like a discarded offering. The soft lights meant to soothe her were ignored. The gentle story you read—twice—was met with increasing frustration.

You dropped to your knees beside her, trying to catch her eye. "Hey. Sylvie, sweetheart. What's wrong? Can you tell me?"

She let out another high-pitched whine, squirming away as tears welled in her eyes. Her face was flushed, nose running, bottom lip quivering like she'd just suffered a betrayal of mythic proportions.

You didn’t exactly blame her. It was hard on all of you when Sylus had to leave. His business trips were always sudden, and required his immediate attention. You hated it. Sylvia didn’t have the words to say she hated it too—but she didn’t need them.

Still, something about tonight felt different. Her grief wasn't just the usual missing-dad sadness. There was something more, something eating at her in a way you couldn’t quite name. You sat back on your heels, watching her sniffle and hiccup, and tried to put the pieces together.

You just couldn't figure it out.

"Okayyyy, do you want a snack? We can eat num nums before bed today," you say, pulling her gently into your lap so she didn’t hurt herself flailing around. You tucked her legs against you, steadying her weight as she squirmed. Maybe she was hungry? That wouldn’t be surprising. She was a growing girl, after all. And hunger tantrums were not unheard of in this house.

Surely her favorite crackers would do the trick—the little star-shaped ones she’d promptly nicknamed "num nums" because she couldn’t quite say "yummy" yet. You always kept a stash in the dresser just in case bedtime went sideways. Like tonight.

Her reaction was swift and explosive.

"NO! No num num!" she screamed, arching her back and kicking her feet, wrestling against your hold like a wild animal. Her tiny body radiated frustration, her face getting puffy in a matter of seconds. Her fists clenched the fabric of your shirt as she cried harder, tears spilling freely over her cheeks.

You tightened your grip, gently but firmly, and tried to keep her from smacking her head against your collarbone. This wasn’t like her. The sharp edge of her cries had that breathless, panicked quality to them that made your stomach twist.

You could feel your patience fraying at the edges, but the way her face crumpled—it got you every time. Her red eyes, rimmed and raw, were glassy and swollen. Her bottom lip trembled, and she looked so unbearably small in your arms, like nothing in the world made sense to her right now.

"Dada..."

Your heart ached. You adjusted your grip on her and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. Rocking slightly, you murmured, "You miss daddy? He'll come back, I promise. Mommy misses him too."

Her sobbing slowed for a moment, just long enough for her to hear you. You felt her little chest hiccup against yours, breath catching on the edge of another cry. Then, with a sharp, adamant shake of her head, she rejected the idea outright. Not quite the answer you expected. No? Didn't she just call out for him?

She sucked in a shaky breath, then another, and let out a heart-wrenching cry. Her voice, hoarse from all the yelling, came out thin and desperate.

"Mephie...Mephie..."

You blinked. This was quite unexpected. She normally didn't mention him when he was gone. "Mephie?"

She nodded hard, burying her face into your shirt again. Her words were muffled, but there was no mistaking them this time.

"Mephie go. Mephie no here."

Your eyes drifted automatically to the corner of the room. To the empty perch, dark and silent. Of course. That was it. The last piece clicked into place, almost embarrassingly late.

Mephisto wasn’t here. Usually, by this time of night, he'd be docked, quietly blinking from his perch like some kind of spooky nightlight. But not tonight. Sylus had taken him to do some firewall hacking or surveillance on his enemies—some covert operation involving encrypted networks, surveillance feeds, and backdoor access routes no one without clearance even knew were there. Neither Sylus nor Mephisto would be back anytime soon.

You sighed, your mind scrambling for a solution, something that would make sense to a toddler with a very strong attitude. She needed comfort, and logic wasn’t going to cut it. Still, you gave it a shot.

"Mephie will come back too, baby. He's probably sleeping right now," you said gently, brushing her hair back from her damp forehead. "You should go to sleep just like Mephie."

You added a hopeful smile for effect. Surely that would work. She loved copying things—especially Mephisto. She watched that bird like it was a magical creature from her picture books—probably because in her world, he was. Mephisto didn’t just perch and blink; he played tag with her around the kitchen, let her stack blocks on his back like cargo, and cawed in playful tones whenever she clapped. She and Sylus had even turned bedtime into a routine where Mephisto would "kiss" her goodnight with a soft peck to the forehead. If she thought Mephisto was asleep, maybe she’d finally let go of the tantrum and rest.

But no. That idea went down in flames.

"Mephie no sleep!" she shouted, yanking herself back from your chest, her tiny hands pushing at you for space. Her cheeks puffed out, her brow furrowed in outrage. She glared up at you with all the fury a toddler could possibly muster—which was quite a bit.

She wasn’t just upset anymore. She was offended.

"He no sleep! He with Dada! He 'wake!" she insisted, her words spilling out with hot tears. "No bed!"

You closed your eyes for a second, dragging in a breath through your nose. Stubborn, perceptive, and completely unwilling to accept anything less than the truth—yeah, she was definitely Sylus’s kiddo. Even at almost two years old, she had that same unyielding glare, the same refusal to be pacified with half-answers or distractions. It was like staring into a miniature version of him...one that actually cried that is.

God help you, you were going to have to argue bedtime logic with an almost two year old over a robot crow.

“Sylvia” you try again, voice soft but fraying at the edges, “Mephie needs his sleep. Just like you do.”

Sylvia sniffs, still red-eyed, her small body trembling in your lap like she’s barely holding herself together. Her fists grip the fabric of your shirt, the tension in her muscles refusing to ease even as you gently rock her back and forth. You stroke her back slowly, tracing slow circles in a familiar rhythm you’ve used since she was barely able to hold her head up. “Don’t you wanna be like Mephie?” you coax, your voice hopeful, even if your nerves are wearing thin.

For a moment—barely a breath—her face softens. Her brows unfurl slightly, and her bottom lip stops quivering just long enough for the beginning of a smile to tease the corners of her mouth. Her eyes, swollen and glassy, lift to meet yours. There’s a flicker there. Hesitation. Maybe even curiosity.

Hope blooms quietly in your chest.

But then it dies just as fast.

She pulls back from you like you’ve said something offensive. Her brow knits together into an unmistakable scowl. Her back straightens. Her tiny body tenses, fists curling tight again like she's ready for round two.

“Mephie no sleep,” she says with sharp certainty. Her voice is small but fierce. Then louder: “Ever, ever never!”

You blink. “He does sleep,” you say, reaching for calm. “He needs to recharge, just like us.”

Maybe it was too matter-of-fact. Too logical. Because the moment those words leave your mouth, her expression changes.

“No! No! No! No Mephie sleep! I no sleep!” she howls, her voice climbing into something raw and frantic.

And just like that, she explodes again.

Her arms flail, fists pounding against your collarbone and chest in rhythm with the shriek of her sobs. She kicks with surprising strength for someone so small, and her whole body feels like a live wire in your lap. Her tears return with full force, hot and heavy, soaking the front of your shirt. It’s like she’s been personally betrayed by the suggestion.

You grit your teeth, not out of anger but exhaustion. You keep holding her, keep murmuring nonsense under your breath in a vain attempt to soothe her, but nothing helps. She’s inconsolable.

You glance at the time. Way too late. And bedtime, as a concept, feels like a joke now. You've read three stories. Sang lullabies. Offered snacks. Mr. Coco was rejected, the nightlight ignored. And now you're in a full-blown standoff over the sleep schedule of a mechanical crow.

You try everything again. Every trick you know. You pull out books—new ones, old ones, her favorite one with the cat and the moon that she used to fall asleep to like clockwork. You read it with exaggerated voices, soft whispers, calming tones. She stares through it, unmoved, barely tracking the words, wriggling and whimpering in your lap.

You dim the lights lower. You put on the soft music playlist Sylus made last time he was home—wind chimes layered with lo-fi lullabies and a subtle bed of white noise. It plays softly through the room, meant to feel like safety, like quiet. It does nothing.

She kicks the blanket off again, flails when you try to guide her to lay down. She’s flushed, sweaty, over it. You’re running out of options. In desperation, you try being stern. Which you never usually have to do. It feels wrong immediately, like putting on clothes that don’t fit.

"Sylvia. That’s enough. It’s bedtime."

Your voice is firmer than it’s ever been with her—sharper, more clipped. You barely recognize yourself. She freezes, her eyes going wide in shock. There’s a beat of silence where you think maybe it worked. Then she crumples. Her mouth opens in a soundless wail for a second before the crying starts again, loud and broken. She covers her ears with her hands like she can’t stand to hear it, her whole body curling in on itself. You feel the guilt hit like a punch to the chest.

You scoop her up immediately, your arms wrapping tight around her, protective and desperate. "No, no, I’m sorry. Shhh. It’s okay. Mommy didn’t mean it like that," you whisper, pressing your cheek against her damp curls. "It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s not mad".

You feel her hiccup against your collarbone, tiny fingers grabbing at your shirt like she’s trying to anchor herself. And you feel awful. Like you just kicked a puppy. You try to laugh it off, mostly to keep yourself from spiraling.

"This is your father’s fault," you mutter under your breath, pacing slowly across the room now as you hold her. You rock gently, even though she’s still squirming. "He can’t say no to you either. You’ve got him wrapped around your little finger, you know that?"

She doesn’t answer, but the crying softens into sniffling again. Her head rests against your shoulder, heavy and hot. She’s exhausted. Beyond it. You glance toward the screen of your phone on the nightstand. The soft, sterile glow of it is the only thing in the room still full of energy. Unlike you, who feels like you’ve been drained dry.

Nothing is working. None of it. Not stories, not lullabies, not cuddles, not snacks, not your voice, not your arms. She’s glassy-eyed, and she’s teetering right on the edge of overtired—too wound up to sleep, too exhausted to calm down. Her body’s fighting itself, and you can’t reach her anymore.

You’ve hit the end of your rope. There are no more tricks in your arsenal. You bounce her lightly, rhythmically, more for you than her at this point. You kiss her temple. You breathe through your nose like it’ll reset something. You stall, maybe another thirty seconds. Maybe a minute.

But there’s no other way.

You have no choice. You have to bother Sylus.

He answers faster than you expected, his voice warm and easy, like he’s in a good mood. Negotiations must’ve gone well—his tone has that loose, relaxed confidence he only gets when things have gone precisely the way he wanted.

"I was just about to call you, sweetie," Sylus says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. It makes you feel like you're back in the kitchen with him on a normal night, not separated by continents and encrypted comms. "How’s my two favorite girls?"

Sylvia, who had been half-asleep and whimpering against your chest, perks up immediately at the sound of her father's voice. Her head lifts slowly, like it weighs more than she can carry, and her tear-streaked face lights up with recognition. She lets out another ragged sob, but this time it’s laced with something closer to relief.

"Dada… Dada…"

You shift the phone, adjusting your grip so she can hear him more clearly. Her arms wrap tighter around your middle, like hearing him just reminded her how much she missed him. You exhale heavily into the receiver, rubbing your eyes as you try to find words that won’t sound as worn down as you feel.

"Well," you mutter, glancing down at Sylvia’s flushed, blotchy face, "one of us wants to go to bed. And the other one absolutely refuses to."

Sylus chuckles softly, a low, affectionate sound. It’s not mocking—it’s the kind of laugh someone makes when they love you and can picture exactly how bad your night’s been.

"Sylvia," he says, his voice shifting slightly as he speaks to Sylvia now, softening into that high-pitched dad tone he always uses with her. "Why don’t you want to go to sleep? Only bad little girls don’t sleep. Listen to your mommy, sweetie."

Sylvia gasps—not from surprise, but outrage. Her spine straightens in your lap. She pulls back from your shirt and glares at the phone screen with renewed fire in her eyes, as if Sylus had personally insulted her soul. Then comes the dramatic whimper—louder now, pitiful and wounded. Her bottom lip trembles, and her nose scrunches up.

"Nooooo," she groans, drawing out the vowel like she’s being wrongfully accused. Her little hands smack at the air in front of the phone, as if that’ll get her point across better. "Mephie no sleep! Caw! Caw!"

Another chuckle rumbles through the speaker, low and warm, and you can almost see the way his mouth quirks at the corner when he’s trying not to laugh too hard. There’s a teasing softness in it that only shows up when he’s with you—or talking about your daughter.

"I see," Sylus says, voice soft and sweet, casual in the way only someone continents away from a toddler tantrum could be. "You miss Mephisto, sweetie? My poor little girl."

You glance down at Sylvia, still sniffling, her small form curled into your lap like a tired, angry cat. Her cheeks are sticky with dried tears, her lower lip pushed out in stubborn protest. Her expression hasn’t changed much since the meltdown started, but her grip on your shirt tightens just a bit at the sound of her father’s voice.

You shake your head, half-laughing in defeat. "Clearly. She’s decided that if Mephisto doesn’t go to bed, then she’s not going either. Full-blown solidarity."

This time, Sylus lets out a full, hearty laugh. It fills your ear and, for a brief second, fills the room, stretching across the miles between you. You can imagine the way his eyes crinkle, the way he leans back when he laughs like that.

"I think she gets her attitude from you," he says between chuckles, breathless with amusement. "It’s cute."

You groan, more theatrical than serious, slumping back into the pillows behind you. "Don’t laugh. Please. Send help. I’m dying here."

You glance back down at Sylvia, whose eyes are half-lidded now. The fight in her is still there, but it’s quieter—less rage, more stubborn fatigue. Her hands twitch where they rest against your arm.

"Help, huh?" Sylus says, and you can hear the smile still lingering in his voice. But there’s something else there now too—a shift in tone. A flicker of focus. Problem-solving mode.

"Alright, alright," he continues, voice softening again. "I have an idea. I’ll call you back in a bit, kitten."

You raise an eyebrow, even though you know he can’t see it. "You better not be abandoning me."

"I would never. Talk to you soon." he promises, and this time the word lands like a vow. Then the line clicks off before you can ask what exactly he’s planning.

You stare at the phone screen for a second, still glowing in your hand, then glance down at Sylvia. Her breathing has slowed, but her eyes are still open, watching.

Whatever he's planning, you hope it works.

Miles away, in a sleek penthouse suite bathed in quiet luxury and the hum of automated climate control, Sylus moved with deliberate ease. The room was immaculate—dark marble floors, soft ambient lighting, and panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows offering a glittering view of the city’s skyline. But Sylus wasn’t paying attention to any of that. He was too focused on his latest mission: tucking in a mechanical bird for a video call.

He grabbed the black silk eye cover he always kept in his travel bag—an indulgence for mornings when the sun was just a tad too aggressive—and tossed it onto the pristine bed. Then he began rearranging the hotel pillows into something resembling a nest: layered, cushioned, deliberately theatrical.

He turned to Mephisto, who was perched silently on the edge of the minibar. The bird’s luminous eyes followed his every move with sharp precision.

"Come here," Sylus said, voice low but with that clipped command tone that always seemed to work on both machines and people.

Mephisto let out a soft caw in acknowledgment and immediately obeyed, fluttering down with a controlled rustle of metallic wings. His talons clicked neatly against the polished floor as he strode to the bed without hesitation, perching calmly where Sylus had indicated.

Sylus reached out and gently caught the crow-bot mid-step, maneuvering him onto the pillow nest. He carefully arranged his wings and legs so that Mephisto was sitting down—well, as close to 'sitting' as the bird could manage.

"Stay," he instructed.

Mephisto let out a sharp, indignant shriek—"Caw?!"—and bristled, feathers twitching with offense. His wings flapped hard in protest, mechanical joints clicking as he launched himself back into the air with a few furious beats. He hovered there, glaring down at Sylus like he’d been asked to lie in a puddle rather than a pile of designer pillows.

Sylus sighed and ran a hand down his face, then chuckled under his breath. "I know, I know. Though, this isn't the time to be difficult y'know."

Mephisto tilted his head, gears clicking as he processed the statement. "Tell you what," Sylus said, crouching to the bird’s level, his voice dropping into that smooth negotiating tone he usually saved for boardrooms and interrogation rooms. "When we get back, I’ll let you pick a gem from the vault. Any one you want."

That did the trick.

There was a long pause as Mephisto mulled it over—both figuratively and literally, the gears inside his frame visibly rotating, eyes dimming slightly in processing mode. The bird’s head cocked again, then slowly dipped forward in what looked like defeat.

He gave a reluctant flutter, then flew back down to the pillows. With exaggerated slowness, he folded his wings and settled into the bed. A soft mechanical whir echoed from within as he tucked his head under one wing.

"Caw…" he mumbled, resigned.

Sylus smirked.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought."

He stepped forward and gently tucked one of the smaller pillows around Mephisto’s side, pressing it snugly into the crook of his tucked wing as if cushioning a real creature. He then covered the birds body with the blanket. Then, with quiet precision, he picked up the soft silk eye mask and draped it delicately over the bird’s optical sensors. It was absurd—laughable, really—but Sylus didn’t hesitate for a second. He even smoothed the strap gently along the back of Mephisto’s head, adjusting it so it lay straight, not too tight, not too loose. Just right. As if Mephisto could feel it. As if it mattered. But it did—at least to the little girl waiting on the other end of the call.

He stepped back to admire his work. The crow lay still, wings folded, eye mask in place. Perfect. His lips twitched in the faintest smile—not bad for bedtime theater.

Then he picked up his phone, thumb hovering over the video call button for only a moment before he tapped it.

The screen lit up, casting a cool glow over Sylus’s face as it rang—once, twice—before finally connecting. The image on the other end crackled for a second before stabilizing into a grainy but clear view of your face. You looked tired. Worn around the edges. The nursery lights behind you were low and warm, casting soft shadows across the room.

Sylvia was curled tightly in your arms, nestled under your chin like a heat-seeking missile. Her hair was a halo of messy curls, her cheeks still blotchy from crying. She wasn’t making noise anymore, just breathing heavily and watching the screen with half-lidded suspicion.

"Hey," Sylus said gently, voice dipping low like a whisper through the screen. "You still up, little dove?"

Sylvia blinked slowly at him. Her gaze sharpened with recognition. Her lip trembled—but not with sadness this time. Her eyes widened, catching a flicker of hope.

Sylus smiled, shifting the phone slightly as he angled the camera.

"Look who’s in bed, sweetie."

The image on the screen panned to reveal Mephisto—tucked beneath a blanket, head tucked under his wing, eye mask securely in place. The nest of pillows looked absurdly cozy, especially for a mechanical bird.

Sylvia gasped, louder than expected. Her little hand smacked your chest as she leaned forward, fully engaged for the first time in over an hour.

"Mephie…sleep…" she whispered, awe-struck.

You felt her entire body relax just a bit more. Back on the screen, Sylus grinned. It was soft and tired and proud.

"All tucked in. Now it’s your turn, sweetheart."

"Mephie sleep. Me sleep?" she cooed, her voice small and sweet, the sound muffled as she rubbed one tiny fist against her eyes. Her eyelids drooped, weighed down with exhaustion, and she let out a long yawn that pulled her whole body into a sleepy stretch before she sagged again against your chest, warm and boneless.

You couldn’t help the small snort that slipped out, amusement breaking through your fatigue as your eyes flicked back to the screen. There, in all his mechanical glory, was Mephisto—tucked into an absurdly luxurious nest of pillows, his obsidian-plated head covered by an actual silk sleep mask. The sight was pure comedy. The once-proud surveillance crow turned bedtime prop, looking more like a pampered pet than a stealth operative.

Apparently, Mephisto’s sensors were still engaged, because from the other end of the call came a sharp, unmistakably disgruntled "Caw…"—quiet, offended, and just dramatic enough to make you laugh harder. The mechanical equivalent of a long-suffering eye roll.

Sylus, ever unfazed, didn’t miss a beat. "Yes, baby," he said softly, his voice soft, clearly elated that this seemed to be working. "Your turn to sleep now. Daddy will buy you more dolls when he gets back, for listening to mommy."

That did it.

Her tiny body shifted in your arms. Sylvia blinked up at you slowly, as if taking a moment to process what he’d said. Then, with the solemnity only toddlers could muster, she gave one last look at the screen. Her eyes locked onto the image of Mephisto, perfectly still beneath his pillow cocoon and sleep mask.

She let out a quiet sigh of her own. “Mephie sleep…” she whispered again, softer this time. Her hands relaxed, unclenching where they’d been gripping your shirt. A moment passed, then another.

And then she pointed toward the crib.

You didn’t hesitate—not even a second.

You stood carefully, phone in hand, gently shifting her weight so her head stayed resting against your shoulder. Each step toward the crib felt like a cautious victory lap. You lowered her slowly onto the mattress, her favorite blanket already pulled halfway down in preparation. You covered her up, tucking the soft fabric around her small frame, your hand lingering for a moment over her chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath.

Her eyes fluttered open once, catching yours.

"Night-night, Mephie," she murmured drowsily.

"Night-night, baby," you replied softly, brushing your knuckles against her cheek.

And then—finally—she stilled.

Her breathing evened out. Her limbs relaxed. Her fists unclenched. The tiny furrow in her brow, that stubborn little crease that had dominated the entire evening, melted away.

One breath. Then another. Then silence.

You stood there for a long moment, just watching. Making absolutely sure. Then you took a single step back. Then another. You moved like someone in a heist movie trying not to trigger a laser grid. Finally, you reached the doorframe, easing it closed with the gentlest pull of your fingertips.

Outside the room, you slumped back against the wall and let out a sigh. It was long, quiet, and full of relief.

You pull your phone back out just in time to catch the end of the performance—Mephisto, fully over the theatrics, shaking off the silk eye mask with a sharp flick of his head and a disgruntled rustle of feathers. The mask flopped dramatically off the edge of the pillow and landed somewhere near Sylus’s knee.

You laughed, a real one this time—light and exhausted, but genuine. "Aww, you should’ve taken a picture. I could’ve blackmailed him into revealing where he stashed my necklace."

Sylus smirked, shifting the phone to give you a better view of Mephisto, who was now preening indignantly on the edge of the bed, clearly offended by the entire situation. "You assume he hasn’t already stashed it in a random birds nest". Or hidden it in the ventilation shafts again."

You snorted, making your way through the quiet apartment toward the bedroom, your steps slow and soft now that Sylvia was finally asleep. The warm dim light guided you like a familiar memory.

"If that bird has buried one more of my things in a subfloor panel, I swear to god..."

"I’ll have him debriefed," Sylus said with faux seriousness. "Interrogated. Waterboarded. With oil."

You laughed again, shaking your head as you sank onto the edge of the bed. The quiet that followed wasn’t awkward—just heavy. Comfortable. Your eyes met his on the screen, and the corners of your smile softened.

"Thanks," you said quietly. "I really needed you tonight. You always seem to know exactly what to do."

Sylus leaned back slightly in his chair, phone steady in his hand. The glow of the city lit half his face, the other side cast in shadow. But his eyes were warm, locked on yours like they were the only thing in his world right then.

A slow smirk tugged at his mouth. “Compared to a table full of men plotting my death, calming down a toddler was far easier.”

“She really does treat Mephie like he’s her sibling,” you murmured, rubbing a hand across your face. “I don’t know whether to be concerned or just accept it at this point.”

Sylus’s mouth curved into that slow, knowing smile of his. “Well, maybe that’s on us,” he said. His tone was light, but there was a glint in his eyes you recognized instantly. “Maybe we should give her a sibling so she’s not lonely.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t even start.”

He chuckles knowingly, letting out a smooth and dramatic sigh in defeat. Although you both know he’d attempt to convince you later…

"Are you alright?" he asked, softer now. The warmth in his voice was still there, but threaded through it was concern. Then, with a flicker of a smirk, he added, "Handling a toddler-sized version of yourself with your exact attitude can't be easy."

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. This bastard and his jokes. You nodded after a moment, but your smile was a little smaller. "Funny you say that. I was just comparing her to you earlier." Then with a sigh. "Im just…tired. It's hard without you. She feels it too."

His expression didn’t shift much, but you saw his jaw flex, just slightly. You could tell he wished he could be there. Like it physically pained him not to.

"You always have me," he said, voice low and firm. "Doesn’t matter where I am."

Your throat tightened. You nodded again, more sure this time, and let out a breath. "I know. I just miss you."

His voice came back low and sincere, the teasing completely gone. "I miss you too. So much. I'll see you both very soon, don't worry." There was a beat where neither of you spoke, but it wasn’t empty. The quiet between you felt full—shared and heavy, but in a way that made you feel less alone. "Now, it’s your turn to sleep."

You suppose he's right. You can barely keep your eyes open now. "Goodnight, Sy," you said softly, your eyes lingering on his face.

"Goodnight, kitten," he replied, and just before the screen went black, you caught a glimpse of his smile—tired, but real. Just for you.

You set the phone down and sank into the pillows, your whole body unwinding slowly like a tightly coiled spring finally let loose. The weight of the day peeled off your shoulders, layer by layer.

That night, you dream of a tea party shared with Sylus, your daughter, and crows wearing little eye masks.

[sylxst]

doggy with caleb but his hips are so damn powerful and mean you can’t keep yourself up. no matter how many times you prop yourself on your hands and knees, it pitifully ends up being a prone bone situation. he’s laughing as he knocks you back on your stomach, “aww pipsqueak am I being too wough?” while pinning your head down so you don’t bother trying to get up again. he likes you like that: with no choice but to take his cock. completely under his mercy.

[deepspacenova]

…I need to know how many times Valko has tried to scent out MC only to find Caleb instead

[lvl1l1]

Valko is convinced he’s being subtle.

He’s “just stretching” when he reaches over and pulls you into his lap while you’re trying to fold laundry. He’s “just making sure you’re warm” when he wraps his big arms around you and tucks you against his chest. He’s “just checking” when he leans down to nuzzle the top of your head for the fifth time in ten minutes.

You’re not even mad. How could you be?

Especially when his tail is wagging so hard behind him it’s practically creating a breeze, and his ears keep twitching happily every time you relax into him.

“You’re clingy today,” you tease, tilting your head back to look up at him.

“Am not,” he mumbles, but the way he immediately tightens his hold around your waist says otherwise. He buries his face in your neck, breathing you in like he needs it to survive. “Just like having you close. That’s all.”

You giggle and reach up to scratch behind one of his ears. The second you do, a low, happy rumble vibrates in his chest and his tail starts thumping even faster against the couch.

“Uh huh. Sure, big guy.”

He pretends to huff but ends up pressing a bunch of soft kisses along your shoulder instead, tail still going crazy. You’re both smiling like idiots.

Eventually he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes soft and warm.

“…Can we stay like this a little longer?” he asks, suddenly shy.

You melt instantly, cupping his face and pulling him down for a proper kiss.

“Of course, baby. As long as you want.”

Valko’s tail does a full happy spin behind him as he tucks you closer again, perfectly content being your personal radiator.

[lettushie]

🥹🥹🥹augh omygod🥹🥹starts sniffling omygyatt this wa sso good

[tmnt3654]

Im not playing lads till valko comes back I was really excited for him! He honestly seemed to be very cute and goofy. I honestly didn't get no bad vibes from him so I hope infolds grow some senses and bring him back

[erenlav]

husband!satoru when you keep kissing his face when he’s talking

satoru loved hearing himself talk. which was unfortunate for you. because once he started talking, he never seemed to stop.

today’s topic happened to be something about a movie he had watched yesterday. you had stopped paying attention five minutes ago.

“and then the guy looks at him and actually-“ 

you leaned over and kissed his cheek. satoru paused. “…anyway,” he continued. “then he was like-”

another kiss. this time a little closer to the corner of his mouth. he blinked. “are you listening?”

you nodded. “mhm.”

“good.” he continued. “so then-“

kiss.

his sentence died immediately. you tried not to smile. “what was that for?” he asks, pouty.

you shrugged. “wanted to.”

satoru stared at you for a second before continuing. “right. as i was saying-“

kiss.

“hey.”

kiss.

“seriously.”

kiss.

you could see him fighting back a smile.

“you know,” he says, trying to sound annoyed, “most wives let their husbands finish speaking.”

you hummed. “i’m not most wives.” 

he rolled his eyes. “obviously.”

satoru tried one last time. “so the movie ends and-“

you grabbed his face and kissed the tip of his nose. silence. he stared at you. you stared back.

“…forgot what i was talking about.”

you smiled. “finally.”

“don’t sound so happy.”

he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his lap. “you did that on purpose.”

“did what?”

“made me forget.”

you smiled innocently. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

satoru narrowed his eyes. then immediately kissed your cheek.

once. twice. three times.

until you were laughing and trying to push him away. “okay, okay!”

“no,” he said, grinning against your skin. “i wasn’t finished talking.”

“you literally forgot.”

“details.”

he kissed your forehead. then your cheek. then the corner of your mouth.

“will you ever let me talk?” he asks.

you kiss him to shut him up, wrapping your hands around his neck. his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in closer. 

“okay i would actually rather kiss you than talk.” he smiles and pecks your lips.

you grin and smush his cheeks. “cuteness aggression….”

[cumchiato]

୨୧ — You were drooling, eyes rolling back as you dug your nails into his shoulders trying to slow Valko down. Useless. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as he drove into you, his name falling from your lips like a prayer between desperate pants.

“V-Val- hhahh- Val-ko- s'too- m'gonna- too m-much-“

Words? What were those? Your brain had turned to mush about three orgasms ago.

A whimper caught in your throat. Tears pricked at your lashes at the stretch, at being so fucking full, like he'd shoved your organs aside to make room.

“Hah-“ His voice broke, and you could feel every muscle in his body trembling, fighting something feral as his tail lashed wildly behind him. “Tryna be gentle but you-“

He fucked you like a beast anyway. Forehead pressed to yours, ears flat against his head, panting into your mouth. Your slick made the filthiest sounds every time he thrust home and when his teeth found your neck hard enough to break skin, the noise you made had his rhythm stuttering.

“Sorry- ngh- didn't mean-“ But he didn't stop. Couldn't.

His hand slid under your back, arching you up into him. The other pinned your wrist to the mattress. Blood smeared across your throat from his lips.

“That's it, that’s my good girl-“ Completely gone. Ruined.

You came screaming and do you think that made him slow down? Fuck no. He didn't slow down even a little.

“Again.” Barely a whisper. Begging. Pleading for just one more scream from those pretty lips…

“Valko- can't- no more-“

His ears drooped, this wounded little sound in his chest, “I know babe, m'sorry-“ His hips snapped forward anyway, “what’s a pup supposed to do? You just feel so good- cant- shit- can’t stop-“

Your cunt was a sloppy, ruined mess at this point- syrupy strings of your cum and arousal coating his cock, smearing creamy across your inner thighs. You could feel yourself dripping between your ass, making a puddle beneath you.

Then something big started pressing at your entrance.

You felt it before your sex stupid brain could process it- this thick, swelling pressure at your already stuffed hole. Stretching you wider. Wider. Too wide-

His knot.

It shoved inside with a wet POP and you shrieked, back bowing clean off the mattress, nails carving bleeding trenches down his spine. The sudden fullness -that fat bulge locking him in, plugging you up, pressing against every sensitive nerve- had your vision whiting out again. Your cunt spasmed around him, another orgasm cresting before the last one even finished, milking his knot in desperate fluttering clenches.

“Huh? What happened?” Total confusion. His ears shot up, head tilting, “You alright babe? Did I do something?”

“Your- your fucking knot- fuckfuckfuck-“ you choked out.

“What?” He blinked down at you, all golden puppy eyes while his monster sized knot split you in half, “What's wrong with it?”

“Ser -seriously? Sh’too- It's s’too big-“

“It is?” As he smirks he shifts his weight and you damn near passed out, “seems fine to me?”

You laughed -or sobbed, hard to tell- and it broke into a moan when he rolled his hips experimentally. You grabbed his hand and shoved it down between your bodies, pressing it against the bulge in your lower belly. Obscene. Fucking obscene.

“Valko.”

He looked down. Blinked. His tail started wagging. Actually wagging!

“Oh wow.” Like he'd found something mildly interesting, “That's pretty crazy.”

“YEAH.”

“Does it actually hurt?” He pressed against the bulge with genuine curiosity and your eyes nearly rolled back into your skull. Tail still going.

“Do you- hahh- do you seriously not know- how huge-“

“Dunno, never measured?” He dropped a casual kiss on your forehead, sweet as anything, while his fat fucking knot throbbed like it was trying to reshape your insides. “Always been like this. Annnnd those noises don’t really convince me you’re in pain.”

You were gonna fucking murder him. Right after you finished losing your mind on his cock.

He ground down into you and you came so hard you forgot your own name, pussy clenching around him like a goddamn vice.

“Oh- shit- shit-“ Finally cracking, his voice going high and whiney, “Squeezing me so tight, you’re gonna make me-“

He buried his face in your neck and came with a broken whine, and you felt it- pulse after pulse of hot cum pumping into you, filling you up til your belly rounded out even more. His arms caged you in, tail thumping against the mattress as he bred you full.

“S'good,” he slurred against your throat…

“Valko,” you whimpered, brain leaking out your ears., “M'so full-“

“Mm?” He sounded so pleased with himself.

Still absolutely clueless.

Way later -who even knows how long- he was still on top of you, weight braced on his elbows so he didn't crush you. His knot pulsed lazy and another warm gush filled you up.

“Hey,” he mumbled into your hair, and you could hear the grin in his voice.

“Mm.”

“So...” His fingers walked playfully up your side, making you squirm- which only made you clench around his knot and whimper, “You think my knot's big, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“Nah but like-“ He propped himself up to look at you, smirking, tail swishing, “You were really loud about it. Pretty sure the neighbors know now.”

“I hate you.”

“Mmhm.” He rolled his hips just slightly -enough to make you gasp- and his grin widened. “That why you're still milking my cock right now?”

Your face burned, “I- I can't- it's involuntary-“

“Sure it is.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, nuzzling, “S'okay baby. I think it's cute how much you love my huge knot.”

“I never said-“

“‘S'so fucking big Valko,'”he mimicked in a breathy voice, and you smacked his chest while he snickered. “'Your knot Valko, oh my god-“

“I do NOT sound like that.”

“You kinda do.” Another lazy grind. Another gush of cum. His eyes glittered. “Wanna hear what else you said? Got real creative toward the end there.”

You shoved at his shoulder uselessly. He didn't budge, just laughed and buried his face in your neck, pressing smiling kisses to your skin.

“M'just teasing, babe” His tail curled around your thigh, “youre cute when you're embarrassed.” He nuzzled the tippy top of your head.

“I'm gonna kill you when your knot finally goes down.”

“Mm, that's fair.” He snuggled closer, entirely unbothered, “Gives me like twenty more minutes to annoy you though.”

His hips shifted again, lazy and deliberate, and the noise you made was mortifying.

His tail wagged harder.

[madamechrissy]

Ebb and Flow

Pairing - Rafayel (LADS) x F! reader

Summary- Rafayel is being a BRAT, as usual, and asks you to just leave after a day out together. But then you realize he just doesn't feel good - turns out, Raf is actually in heat, whoopsie! - (This is from the ebb and flow memory of course, I just started falling for Raf HARD and here I am, making him fuck you during heat) 3.5k wc

Warnings - needy, desperate Rafayel, he has a breed kink like a mf, fingering, oral sex (f receiving) he really really needs to drink you all up, creampie, mating press, rougher sex, pleasure dom raf, but he's lowkey a switch hehe, pwp w/feelingsss

This is my first time writing him hehe, I have brainrot from Ebb and Flow :')

Rafayel is moody, pouty and just outright rude today. After all his antics, you're honestly not even mad he is asking you to just leave him alone. "Just go, ugh," he pouts as he crosses his arms, slouching down on his couch, the breeze of the warm air blowing his hair just so.

"You invited me out you know, I had shit to do today. What's up with you?" You cross your arms right back at him and he glares over at you.

"Well now I don't want to do anything, that place was boring, and it's so hot, ugh!" He collapses back on the couch, glaring over at you some more. "Why are you still here?"

"You're such a brat I swear, why do I put up with you?" You tug at the purse he's laying on now, and he doesn't move, just clicking his tongue and smacking your hand.

"Stop touching me!"

"I'm not you idiot, I need my bag." He pouts again, sighing and sitting up, letting you yank it out from under him. "You know what next time you come over I'm kicking you out."

"As if I want to hang out it your tiny fishbowl of an apartment."

"Rude! We can't all be millionaires." You scoff and sling your bag over your shoulder, shaking your head at the pretty, bratty man you are currently dealing with. He is usually fun and cute in his needy nature, it's off for him to push you away, but he seems to just be so done with everything today and whining about the heat.

"Are you still here?" He says then, shutting his eyes, you roll your own and shake your head.

"Bye then, my god," you turn to leave when he snatches you by your wrist, dragging you onto his lap and burying his face against your neck, making you feel just how hot he is. "Raf you're like a freaking space heater, what's going on?"

"Don't go," he whispers now, you get whiplash from him, sighing and putting down your purse, turning in his lap to look at him. "Stay with me."

"You're the most frustrating man, you know that?" He pouts again, and you instantly feel sorry for him, especially when you see sweat breaking out on his brow. "Are you feeling sick?"

"I'm fine... I'm just cold. I need you." He's got you tugged against him so tightly you're wincing at it, he's so warm you're sweating.

"You're not cold, you're burning. I need the thermometer- let me go, would you?" He's shaking his head now, pressing his lips on your skin, shocking you as he sucks it into his mouth, you feel your nipples tighten, gasping at the sensation.

"Mmm, just stay here, would you? Don't leave me, ever."

"You just kicked me out you know - mnh." He's got his big hands taking over your body, slipping down your waist, as he looks up at you, his eyes all glazed over, lips parted and glossy. You swallow nervously. "Can I get you a towel or something, you're all sweaty."

"Don't leave," he says again, confusing the shit out of you and nuzzling you right over your breasts now, burning your skin, thumbs now slipping right over your ass, and you feel your body react to his touch, his nearness. "You can't leave me again."

"I've never left you kicked me out, remember bratty boy?" You keep the tone teasing, biting your lip and gripping his broad shoulders while his lips decorate your collar bone with feverish kisses.

"I'm cold, need your hands everywhere," he takes one and puts it on his chest, you feel his heart racing.

"R-rafayel? What's going on?" He moans and whines out, rubbing his face all over your neck as you feel his head, burning up, his breath tickling on your neck, fingers brushing down your breasts softly. "You're sick, we need to take care of you."

"Mmm, you're so warm." He whispers, nuzzling against your neck, plump lips brushing your skin as you tremble, thighs pressing together while you touch his forehead with your lips.

"You need something for this fever, let me go get some water or something- ah! Raf!" You try to get up, but he pouts at you, yanking you by your wrist until you're sprawled on top of him, right between his spread thighs, his eyes are a dark violet, narrowed into a glare. "Let me get some!"

"Need you all over me," he's tugging you impossibly closer, wrapping strong arms around you, when you feel just how hot and hard he is under his dark slacks, making your cunt heat up and earning his moan. "Thirsty."

"Then let me get water! Raf what... ah!" He's pressing hungry kisses all along your chest, the two of you have gotten closer but you haven't stepped over that barrier just yet, your body responds to the hot fingers slipping up your skirt, his kisses hungrier as he finds your cunt over your panties. "Mnh!"

"Your heat, need to bury myself in it," his voice is drugged, his elegant fingers slipping under your panties to find your slit, already embarassingly wet. He looks under long lashes, sighing. "So thirsty."

"R-Rafayel, we need to cool you down and get you a drink. Is now the time for- mnh!" He's slipped two fingers deep in your cunt, stretching you and making you gasp, head falling back for more of his messy kisses. "Fuck..."

"Found the perfect source of heat, and so wet f'me, hmm?" you barely register as he flips you on your back, face flushed red from how over heated he is on his cheeks, your thighs are trembling on either side of him as his lips hover over yours. "Aren't you, cutie? gonna admit it? how much you want this?"

"I... you... you're delusional," you press on his chest and he smirks just a bit, lips even closer, pressing his cock against your soaked cunt, you feel how hard he already is, making your cunt throb around nothing. "I'm... you're..."

He kisses you then, while his hands are firm on your wrists, pinning them down and making you whine with just how much you're craving him, hips rolling up for more without even thinking. His tongue slips right into your mouth, possessing it, as your thighs press on either side of narrow hips.

"You're already soaking me," he whispers, the window is blowing in more of that warm, sticky air, the water gently brushing the sandy bank in soft waves as he kisses lower and lower, tugging on your top to reveal a pretty breast. "Look at this art."

"Ah!" You're at a loss as his mouth sucks in a peak, his eyes so dilated they're black as he sucks hard, one hand pinning a wrist while the other brushes down your body, up a thigh. "You really don't feel good, shouldn't we wait-"

"I'm tired of waiting," he huffs, usually so goofy and silly, there's none of that right now, only pure thirst, kissing further as he tugs at your top. "Take it off, now."

You don't expect the commanding tone, you lean up just a bit, but it's him who damn near rips your top off, freeing your breasts that sway just a bit for his gaze. He's slipping your skirt up your hips, licking a trail down the center of your skin, whining out as he gets closer to your heat.

"You're so warm here," he kisses your waist, nipping along your ribcage, finally getting his burning hot lips on your inner thigh, making you moan, the sound just making him harder. He's rutting his thick, leaky cock against the couch now, dying to paint your body in pretty patterns of white.

He can't stand how pretty you are like this, the sweat dripping from your body, leaving you in a pretty sheen, your skin just glistening for him as he eyes your cunt in those panties. You're so wet they're literally pressed up and sucked against you firmly, so he can see the soaking wet outline of your lips.

"Look, so much for me to drink already," he laps at your panties, your hands go into his dark violet locks before you can even think about it, the sensation torturous. "Mmm, you're wet for me, just me, aren't you cutie?"

"Who else you - Raf oh my -" He's yanked your panties to the side, baring your cunt for his eyes to feast on, watching the arousal gush from your hole now. "You're..."

"Thirsty." He repeats, brows low over his eyes as he watches you right as he licks a stripe up your slit, making you scream out, hips jerking up. He pins them down with his big hands, pressing a hungry kiss on your hood, tip of his tongue lapping more of the juices flowing, making your eyes roll back.

"Sensitive there- mmm!" He's honing in on it, lifting your hood with those artist's fingers, exhaling as he spots your little clit, licking in a slow, torturous circle as he watches you wriggle and squirm, your hands yanking his hair even tighter. "Ah!"

Rafayel slips two fingers back in, you feel the callouses pressing right on your spot as he curls them up, lashes casting shadows on flushed cheeks as he laps you up while he's slotting them inside you. You're screaming out now, uncaring as it echoes and carries outside to the private beach, earning his mouth getting even hungrier as he feels how hot your cunt is inside.

"Raf-ngh! There, please, fuck..." You're past caring, yanking on his hair and lifting your hips up for more, earning his groan as his cock starts leaking pre against silky boxers, sticking as your arousal drowns his mouth. "M-gonna- ah!"

"Cum then, let me drink all of it," he leans his cheek on your thigh for a moment, staring right at you longingly, still curling the fingers that your cunt drools on. "It'll make me feel better, cutie."

"You're crazy, I swear," he pulls out his fingers right before you cum, leaving you shaking, breathless and on edge. "Back in, back in, please."

"Now you're so sweet, hmm, fuck you're so warm," he's buried his tongue inside you instead, and you're lifting your hips up for more, as his hands press into your hip bones, lifting you like it's nothing towards his face. "Use me, that's it just do whatever you want to me, I'll let you."

He's too much.

You're done now, his straight nose bumping your little clit as the lavender highlights of his hair brush against your sensitive inner thigh. You're lost in the sensations, in his slurping like he is in a desert drinking you as if you're the only source of water, tongue so long inside your walls when he drags you even closer, letting you tug his head closer.

"Suffocate me, that's it," he's whispering, muffled on your cunt as you feel the pressure built in your tummy, his hot mouth and fingers bringing you even further, until you shatter all over him. You scream out as you gush all over Rafayel's pretty face, but he's drinking it all up so hungrily, slurping and moaning sounds obscene. "Ngh..." you hear him whining right with you, sipping every bit of your juices up in his mouth.

"Oh my god I- ah!" You're shaking as the orgasm washes over you, and he leans up then, face coated in your slick, kissing you with your sweetness on his plush lips, you taste yourself, hands slipping down his hard body hungrily, finding his cock and watching his eyes flutter shut. "Let me make you feel good too-"

"Need to be inside you, now," he huffs, swatting away your hands when you try to touch him, leaning back so big over you, his white dress shirt hanging so you see all of the muscles of his chest. "Need to breed you."

"Need to what now?" You're so disoriented, you barely get a chance to process his naked body, his hot and heavy cock slapping against his flat belly button when he stands, you go to touch him again and he smacks at your hand, making you giggle for a moment.

His glare just gets you more excited, gasping as he picks you up with one arm like it's nothing, carrying you over to the bed now, he throws you down on it, drenched in sweat now, chest heaving up and down as he tugs off your skirt, leaving you bare to him.

"Part of me wants to cum all over every inch of your body," you go to touch his chest but he pins your wrists down again, hands burning your delicate wrists as your breaths come in quick pants, so ready to have him inside you. Though looking at his long, pretty cock you're not even sure how it'll fit. "The other part needs to fill you, now."

"What is going on with you today!? Are you sure you're okay for any of - ah!" He's let your wrists go just to press your thighs up, smushing them against your breasts and looking at you with hungry, dark eyes.

"Fill you up, have to," he's like in some insane trance - a heat - you gasp when he presses his tip in, moaning as you grip it, the pretty pink of him stuffed inside your slutty, eager hole, looking down at you and sighing. "Beautiful."

"Raf you're really big and- oh fuck," you're whining as he gives you inch by inch, so slowly, your hands gripping his fancy, expensive sheets, soft as you crumple them, eyes rolled back in your skill. "So big I..."

"You can take it, all of it for me, hmm? All my cum, have my babies," he's shoved his cock fully in, tip slamming your cervix, you struggle to maintain any sense as it fills you so full, so hot and pulsing as it fills you. He leans on your thighs now, looking down at you folded for him. "Look at me, now."

"Mmm..." you try to open your eyes, so full of him, his hair falling over his brow as he moves then, pumping you so full of his cock, hitting spots in your walls you don't even know exist.

"That's it, fill you up, can you take me, all of me?" His words are hungry and desperate, whines from the back of his throat while he moves, harder and harder, thrusting so deep and losing himself more and more in you, that sweat from his burning hot body dripping onto your skin as his hands press your thighs down. "Can you?"

You manage a little nod as he exhales, fucking into you harder, whining out as his leaky tip presses your cervix, bottoming out inside you. "Rafayel! It's too much, mnh!"

"You can take all of me, can't you?" He lets your legs fall to the side, leaning low over you, the heels of your feet settle into the muscles of his lower back, his hands gripping your face. "I need you," you nod weakly, cunt gushing as she tries to stretch to accommodate, he slows the pace, kissing you again, and your hands slip up his biceps, nails pressing in, making him hiss. "You have claws, hmm?"

"Maybe," you whisper, eyes locking, and he loses it at just how pretty you are, kissing you again as he lifts a thigh, steadily fucking into your cunt deeper and deeper, rolling his hips just so and making you cum all around him.

"All that wetness, all that heat, I need it," his voice is so deep now, husky as he feels your aftershocks, watching your face so fucked out, mouth wide open, eyes rolled back. "Need you to look at me."

"F-fuck..." you hear it, the neediness, cunt pulsing around his cock still, opening them just a bit and slipping a hand up to his face, he takes it with his own, so big compared to yours, sighing.

"You're so beautiful, I wanna put so many babies inside you," you barely register what the fuck he's on about, it all feels too fucking good. He's starting to thicken, leaning up and bracing himself with one arm, the other finding your clit again. "Cum again, need all of you."

You're blinded when you make a mess of him, of his fancy sheets, cunt gushing so much wetness it's ridiculous, all for his eager eyes that are so dilated you no longer see the purple of them. He smiles as he looks at it, pulling that thumb and sucking your juices off it, before slipping up to his knees, grabbing your hips.

"Ready to take it all?" He whispers, you manage a weak nod as he cries out then, his head falling forward as he thrusts so deep inside you, cock pushing ropes and ropes of white filling you.

"Oh my- mmmh!" You're trembling as he fills you, he leans over and rests his head on yours, crying out hoarsely.

"Perfect, so warm, so wet, god I'm never leaving," he's in some fucking insane trance again, but you can't complain, not when he's lapping that cum out of you in just a few moments, not when he's murmuring - "again"

"Again!?" you whisper, he flips you over, nodding as he's fully hard and ready once more, pumping you so full you feel him everywhere, you're gasping as he presses you down into that bed, prone over you.

"Need more," he keeps whispering, lost inside you, feeling you trembling underneath his artist's fingers, painting you with little bruises as his mouth leaves love bites. After that he's got you cleaning up in a bath, but he can't stop himself from having you ride him, cunt so sore you're whining.

"Raf, what is going on... is this normal!?" You whisper after he's hard again inside you, he's cum at least four times and he's twitching inside you gummy, slick walls as he pulls you closer, water splashing all over your bodies and softly undulating as he bucks his hips up. "Ah! Raf..."

"Need you again." He whispers, you're lost in every sensation, curious just what has happened to him.

In the morning however, he's bright eyed and grinning, he's bought every donut known to man, they all like stupidly fancy, and he's got you your favorite boba.

"What... was that last night?" You wince as you stand up with his help, dressed in just one of his fancy silk dress shirts. He brushes fingers across all the marks he left, wondering if you're still dripping his cum. You touch his forehead, finding it cool again. "So weird, you were burning."

"You fixed me right up." He's smirking all adorable and charming, pulling you close. "Ready to eat, cutie? I got your faves."

Rafayel is bratty and silly as usual, pouting when you steal his favorite flavor of donut and leave him none of it, but when you go to leave later he gets really pouty. "I've got to work you know."

"No, don't go, please." He tugs you against him when you try to walk out the door. "I'll pay you way more to hang out with me today."

"Rafayel..."

"You can use me again," he whispers in your ear, smiling when you turn around and glare. "However you want, just don't go."

"You don't have a fever anymore you're fine now," You look back and he slips his fingers down your body, you tremble as all the memories of the night hit you slowly, making you heat up. "Oh fine."

"Yay!" He's all cute until you're right back under him, and he's painting your pretty body with those white ropes of cum, murmuring - Mine - over and over.

okayyy I just started rly getting into Raf so I hope you all enjoyyy <3

perm tags- @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoblue-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent @shokosbunny

[madamechrissy]

proximity

You teased your attending physician and boss Doctor Zayne too much, now he's gotta show his star intern a lesson.

pairings- Dr Zayne x intern reader

warnings: PWP, just him being fine ASF, sexual tension, reader being a tease, masturbation (m), p in v sex, oral (f!receiving) dom Zayne - 2.5k

Doctor Zayne is the chief surgeon at his hospital at just the age of thirty, so much younger than everyone else who's ever been in that position. Part of that?

Drive, determination.

The other part? Pure talent, really, his fingers were made to tie precise sutures, to make that perfect cut with a scalpel. There was a bit of a thrill he wouldn't fully admit, of executing the perfect surgery, to have saved a life.

He's always been perfectly behaved, professional and courteous, no one has one bad thing to say about him - in fact, everyone just sings his praises left and right.

Zayne is altogether a 'perfect' doctor, and the interns have clamored left and right to get a chance to learn from him. He's a perfect teacher, kind and patient, humorous even at times, easy to ask questions, and ever present to give opportunities.

There's just one problem, and that happens to be the pretty little intern that keeps looking at him with those eyes of hers, the one that when she's too close to him it makes him ache not to touch her. The one that has him throbbing underneath his boxers when she bends over just a bit in front of him.

You.

He's in his office - professional Dr. Zayne, his dark hair sticking just a bit to his brow, with a thin coat of perspiration, stroking his thick cock at the thoughts of you. They're filthy thoughts, ones he should be ashamed of, thoughts of bending you right over this desk, while he's stroking faster.

He spits down with a messy trail, the saliva dripping on his reddened tip, crying out and shutting his eyes, imagining your mouth there instead, stroking faster, his dark lashes fluttering shut. He's stroking that girthy length faster and faster, noises filling the room of his quiet office.

He's murmuring your name - Oh, love you can take me, can't you? - when the door knocks, right when he is busting spurts of milky cum in his hand.

What sort of behavior is this!?

He can get women, he's handsome, he's not some inexperienced kid, but you're ruining him with every smile, every look. With every brush against him and sway of your hips, the way you eye him. He curses when he hears your soft voice, making him leak even more cum.

"Dr. Zayne, are you busy?"

He hastily puts up his cock after cleaning it with a wince, sensitive after busting.

His cock is so lengthy he can just slip it up into the waist band of his business slacks, clearing his throat. He rushes to the door, opening it, you take him in slowly, just a little disheveled. You've never seen him anything but put together. You smile a bit, at just how gorgeous he looks with messy hair.

"Did I interrupt anything?"

"No!?" You blink a bit, smiling curiously. "I mean... No, of course not. How can I help?" It's that quiet, calm voice of his, the one that single-handedly makes you somehow sleepy and wet.

There's just one problem being the star intern for Doctor Zayne, and that's the fact that you want to have him inside you.

How couldn't you, when every flick of his practiced wrist excites you, when being near him makes you throb with need. You touch yourself picturing those hands that save lives wrapped around your throat, watching the perfectly put together man lose it over you.

"You seem stressed, super tense, is everything all right?" He shuts the door behind you, putting your face against his chest, you inhale his clean, fresh scent, sighing.

"Did you just sniff me, intern?" He asks, playfully, his pretty lips twitching. You gasp.

"What!? No!"

"You did," you didn't expect him to tease, don't expect it when be brushes a strand that's escaped your ponytail back. "Do I smell nice?"

"You always do."

"So you did sniff me."

"No!" You're glaring as he chuckles playfully. "Doctor Zayne, you're teasing me."

"Just a little, I'm sorry," he pulls back, clearing his throat now. "How can I help you?"

"I really am nervous about the exam, I think I'm gonna fail. I'm better with my hands than words." He nods, when you hand him your practice test. "Could you just go over a few of them with me?"

"Of course I can," he slides one of the spin chairs next to him, slipping off that white lab coat, and rolling up the sleeves of that white dress shirt he's wearing. "Come sit."

Sit.

You want to sit on his face right now.

Damn his veiny forearms!

"Come on," he pats the chair, lips twitching again in humor, you sigh and do just that, when he's too close to you, you may or may not inhale him again. "Would you like my cologne brand? Perhaps the store I buy it from?"

"Hush, Doctor. You're being pretentious, and here I thought you so humble." He's just chuckling, the sound soft and lilting. You never thought Zayne was cocky - and he wasn't about his work, just sure. But he clearly knew that you may or may not be obsessed with how good his scent hits.

"Let's start," he murmurs, elegant fingers pointing on a question as you nervously tap your pen. "A patient presents himself with pain here..."

Zayne takes the pen, marking a little X with the back of it on your inner wrist, watching it tremble in his hold. "Carpal tunnel, tendonitis, or possibly a sprain."

"It certainly could be, and what would we do if said case presented itself?" You lean forward, eyes lidded and dilated at just his mere touch, taking his fingers and slipping them up your inner arm.

"Check it, of course... make sure everything is..." His thumbs circle over your skin, your tummy clenches with need when you sit just a little closer. "I-intact. Nothing broken."

"Indeed," he lifts your wrist to his lips almost, breath sweeping across your skin as he makes the motions to check with cool fingers. "Metatarsals in perfect condition, nothing amiss. No bruises, no abrasions, rather perfect skin one would say."

"Maybe said patient played with herself too much," Zayne's eyes narrow as you giggle. "Can't that happen?"

"Does this intern need to touch herself so much she got strain from it?" Zayne toys with the edge of your scrub top, while your heart races in your chest.

"Maybe she needs help from you, Doctor Zayne." He leans close, lips quirked up, frustrated little smile from your teasing, when you're too close to that mouth you've been aching to kiss. "Aren't you the best at that?"

"Help studying human anatomy?" he whispers, right when your beepers go off. "We'll continue this at another time."

He gets up before you can even process what just happened, shifting in the seat and sighing before you jump up to join him.

*****

Zayne's back to business after that little afternoon, avoiding his pretty intern at all costs, aside from professionally of course. You wonder if you've just imagined all of it, every bit of that encounter, his eyes hard to read from behind his glasses, a kind but standard smile on his handsome features.

"Doctor Zayne, that surgery was amazing," you murmur later that week, a little before your shift is over. He leans back in his seat, eyeing you carefully. "You're so good with your hands."

"Shut the door, intern," he orders gently, you bite down at your lip, stepping inside. "Turn around, and put your hands on it."

You shut it with a quiet click, hearing steps behind you, dress shoes on the floor in sure strides, fingers trailing down either side of the body that's been driving him insane. Every time you bend down, every time you look at him, pushing him until he couldn't take it any longer.

Doctor Zayne, the attending physician that runs your internship, slips down your scrubs by the waist band, murmuring your name in your ear. You whine out at the sensations, his lips kissing down the side of your neck. "Mnh!"

"Why do you have to drive me so insane, hmm?" He's huffing, breath tickling your skin, long fingers slipping down underneath your panties, sticky and wet from your teasing. "Do it on purpose, don't you?"

"N-no..." he laughs, breathy and dark, fingers dragging through your slick.

"Hmm, no, you're not trying to? You don't constantly look at me like that?"

"I just want you," he moans softly, cupping your face with one hand, green eyes lit up with desire.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he finds your clit so quickly, long dark lashes lowering as he pictures fucking into your pretty cunt. "You're soaking wet, already? Watching me perform surgery, really?"

"Can't help it, you're so - ah - good with your fingers..." He laughs softly, cock leaking against his boxers, black slacks hiding nothing as it presses against the small of your back.

"You've been teasing me since you got here," he kisses you, lips moving over yours, plump and coated in your gloss, rolling little circles on your twitchy clit, making you whine out. "Stay quiet, can you do that?"

You eagerly nod, Zayne slips two fingers inside your cunt, curling them up and pressing on your spot, making you blinded. You bite your lip, head falling against his hard chest, moving for more of his touch. "Want you in me."

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "You want to drive me crazy."

"Let me- mnh!" Zayne's slipped his cum soaked fingers into your mouth, dark hair falling just so over a brow, moaning softly as you suck yourself off them.

"We will not do this here, have some decorum, intern," you pout as he pulls them out with a pop, but then he slips your scrubs down over your ass, cool air hitting overheated skin when you look back. "Look at you, made to push me over the edge."

He's on his knees before you process that he is, slipping your panties down next, spreading your ass wide and watching juices drip down it. "Doctor Zayne..."

"Arch, intern."

You rest your forehead on the cool wood of his door, the one with his name right on it, letting him tug you by your hips, fingers pressing into your hip bones. You push your ass out, damn near cumming from his words. "Like this?"

"You can do better, can't you? Show me," he murmurs those words against your slick cunt, you do just that, thighs shaking, cunt dripping down onto an eager tongue held out, still not touching. "You taste so sweet, so addictive."

"Please... can you..." He chuckles then, just pressing a teasing kiss, spreading you wide so he can watch slick pool from your hole.

"You're messy already, you know I like to keep things clean," he laps at your open hole, tongue slipping inside you, you almost shatter with one flick, earning a firm smack on your ass. "Keep quiet if you want to cum, intern."

"Y-yes, sorry..." You never expected all your teasing and flirtations with the tall, handsome doctor who's the most prestigious there was, the chief of surgery.

Even if you thought you could get him, you didn't expect put together Doctor Zayne to be filthy with you, but that's exactly what he is. "Do you like this, me on my knees for you?"

You nod weakly, gasping out while his fingers part your folds, and he drowns in the wetness that pours down his mouth. He eagerly laps at it, sucking every bit of you that leaks across his plump lips. You're struggling to keep quiet, getting dragged back on his face, moans soft and vibrating against you.

Your walls quiver around his tongue while he palms his cock, this wasn't how Zayne wanted to take you first - he wanted it in his bed, making love to you. Holding your hands and kissing your lips, lazy lovemaking in the morning.

"You're so slutty," he huffs, filthy words from his mouth that just make you whine out, gushing more. "You need my cock, don't you?"

"Please," he flicks his tongue on your clit once more, already having released his thick length, pressing it against your opening, between your soppy folds. "Oh f-fuck..."

Zayne turns you to face him, letting you lick his lips clean of your arousal, holding his cock at the base to tease you. "You're so tight, but you're so wet for me, needy little hole is ready, isn't she?"

You nod eagerly, lost in his kisses as he bends down, lifting you up with an arm wrapped around you, before dragging you down his cock. He's using you like it's nothing, fucking into you like his little toy, while your cunt struggles to adjust, to meld to his shape, clinging to him for some sense of stability.

"You want me to use you?" He sets you down on your tiptoes, turning you to face him, he slips off the rest of your pants, lifting you now, so that your thighs grip his narrow waist, the white jacket covering your skin softly as he still wears it. "Answer me."

"Yes, please use me, Doctor Zayne," you cling to his shoulders when he fucks you against that door, strokes meaner and deeper my the moment, the more you can take of him. "Mnh!"

"Shh, you'll have us caught with your loud little mouth," he shoves a hand on your mouth, the other hand gripping your ass, fucking you harder and harder. "That's it, keep quiet since you can't wait for my cock."

"Mnh," you lose it with him, quivering and tightening around him with every stroke, every movement, pushing you over the edge while his tip drags on that soft spot in your tacky walls. "There, please!"

"You're so sweet like this," he teases, dropping his hand so both grip your bare ass. "Should I keep you needy, intern?"

"N-no, lemme cum please," he can't say no to your pretty face - fuck you're so good he's not sure he'd tell you no about anything. "Doctor Zayne..."

"You are waiting for my permission?" He struggles to keep his composure while you're just milking him, nodding in jerky movements. He leans close, hips thrusting so his cock bottoms out inside you, watching you fall apart for him. "Then come."

One press of his cock, dark hair grinding on your clit while his tip presses into your cervix, you're barely able to bite back the scream that spills from your throat. He drinks in the noises hungrily, close to the edge of spilling his seed deep inside his intern that's clamping down on him, gushing and dripping.

His eyes look up at you, so dilated they're almost black, you're so dizzy you have to blink him into focus, clinging to him. "Where do you want all this, since you caused it?"

"Inside me."

"Inside you? Do you need an anatomy lesson of how that's - hah - problematic? You're problematic."

You nibble on his earlobe teasingly, cunt milking him for all he's worth. "Come inside my problematic pussy then."

Zayne glares at his very annoying intern, the one that soon has him busting loads inside of her little hole, one after the other, constantly making his impeccable control slip.

hehe just some dr zayne filth <3

Kofi link if you wanna buy me a glass of wine <3

lads fics here

[madamechrissy]

Mdni - ❥ Valko and his scent kink

"So... who ya texting?"

Valko asks it all casually, clacking away at his laptop as you sit on the couch, one of your legs right next to his shoulder, brushing it a bit.

He tries his best not to sink his teeth into the plush of your thighs, eyeing it as his cock starts throbbing. He tries so hard not to snatch your phone up and throw it, demand your damn attention, sniff you.

It's especially hard not to sniff you when you smell so fucking sweet, ruining him every time he is alone with you - which is often, given the assignment you two were on together. That and you have become friends, which he doesn't wanna fuck up with the wolfish way he wants to claim you.

Bite you, mark you, make you his.

Breed you-

"It's just Caleb," his eyes narrow behind his glasses now, looking right at you. "What? He is in town."

"Uh huh... Caleb," he repeats- he knows his ass is obsessed with you. Who could blame him, really? But you should be paying attention to him right now.

Not Caleb!?

"Well, what's he saying?"

"He was asking to come to dinner and... ah! Did you just bite me!?" He growls before he can stop himself, his teeth sunk into your thigh. You suck in a breath, smacking at him. "You bratty dog!"

"I am not a dog," he grumbles, smirking at the glittery teeth marks on your skin. "Tell him you are busy."

You blush when he sets down the laptop, spreading your thighs and kneeling, his ears twitching as he looks up at you - your heart hammers in your chest.

"Oh. Should I?" You tease, breathless when he slides his hands up. Sharp nails press against your delicate skin.

Leaning forward, he is far too close, inhaling your skin, breath against your inner thigh, making your pussy drenched.

"Valko..."

"Tell him. Now, sweetheart," he murmurs, done with pretending.

He needs you.

He can smell your juices, see the darkening of your panties when his pretty eyes flicker to your cunt. Pushing your thighs further, you drop the phone.

"Ah-ah," he bites your other thigh. Your hands come to tug on his fluffy ears, making his tail twitch side to side. Cock leaking. "Tell him you're busy."

"Fuck, okay," your shaky hand picks up the phone, your eyes getting lidded when his nose brushes your pretty pussy over those panties, you suck in a breath at it, fingers faltering. "mngh..."

"Tell him," he says in a soft little hum, inhaling you again, palming his cock to adjust it, feeling it swelling with how badly he wants to devour you. "If you wanna cum, you will."

"Fuck you're a brat," you mumble as he tugs you closer, shoving your knee up over his shoulder, nose inhaling your cunt again. "Are you gonna just sniff me !?"

"Till you answer," he sighs. "I could do this and cum."

"Freaky wolf, ah!" He bites your inner thigh, your juices just slippin' down further, in rivulets against his face, his glasses fogged up with his breaths. "F-fine."

Sorry Caleb - I'm busy tonight.

You show him the screen, and he smirks, a curve of his lips.

"Good girl."

Fuck.

Valko tugs your panties aside, looking at the mess your cunt is and moaning at the sight, tongue hot as it laps you from your ass to your clit, then back down, not just tasting - he's fucking lavishing you, spit soaked tongue dragging through your folds. "V-Valko I..."

"Good, good, good... good girl you're s-so... good," he's gripping you bruisingly now, slurping your messy, needy hole, the juices just pouring - his adam's apple bobs as he gulps you down, his glasses just slightly askew from the way he's drinking you. "Taste s'good... fuck..."

He could almost cum from the taste alone, greedily dragging his tongue from your slutty, quivering hole to that twitchy clit, all while you're gripping his hair with one hand, the other rubbing his ears. It feels so good as he lets you coat his taste buds, watching your eyes roll back in your skull.

You shatter so fast, but he's not even trying to make you cum - he just needs your taste, he needs your scent, biting your clit before he can stop himself, the action having you squirt right down him, all over his sweater and his collar. He laughs softly as you whine out, arching your hips, thighs quivering.

"Please... in me, mngh..." You see his slick face and blush, the dark mess you made on his sweater apparent as he takes it off, standing, his cock leaking through his sweats.

You go to touch him but you don't get a moment, he's got you turned and bent over the living room table, that sweater of yours gripped in his huge hands, claws ruining the material without him meaning to. He spits right on your cunt just to make it even messier, it's so wet she doesn't even need it, laughing as you arch, thighs shaking.

The phone goes off.

Valko hums a bit, looking at the message.

"Aww... he misses his 'pips'. Cute," Valko laughs, lost now - he's not the goofy little jerk you're used to, not when he's lining his reddened tip with your hole - no, he's feral. "Should we show him how you're doin'? Hmm, sweetheart?"

"N-no, psycho," you're wetter at the idea, and he notices, rubbing his tip up and down your slit, torturing you as you arch, begging for more. "In me, in me... in - ah!"

Valko slides his veiny, thick cock deep, his tail wrapping around his body and tickling you as he groans, head falling forward, that heavy weight pressing you down. He's as big there as he is everywhere, his grin against your skin felt before he bites your neck, shoving in fully.

"S'deep... you're..."

You're a babbling mess when he pins you there, twitching inside you, cock dragging your sweet spot and kissing it over and over again. You're a drooling mess the more he moves, the more his cock rocks in and out, thickening and swelling impossibly.

"Should call him, huh baby? Let him hear your cunt he wants s'fuckin' bad," Valko can't stand it then, thinking of anyone with the girl that should be all his, every instinct on fire. "All mine, yeah baby? Breed your messy cunt till you're all mine, can't even talk, can you?"

"Mhm," you're shattering when he fucks you faster, meaner, a hand on the table bracing himself as he bites your neck till blood drips, lapping it up so his lips are crimson, moaning against your skin. "Valko... please..."

"I'll give it all to you," he's sinking his teeth again - marking you his, ones he hopes last and last, as his cock is soaked, and your tacky walls are milking him. "Fill you so full, won't be able to see anyone, will you?"

You shatter with one more drag of his fat tip, and that's when it pushes him over the edge, his knot swelling as his cum fills you to the brim, coating your walls in white. He's biting your shoulder, your neck, your arm, everywhere he can, as that fat knot stretches you, hurting so bad you're in tears - but fuck it feels good.

"So much... s'much, V-valko..." you whimper as he moves that knot, kissing all the places he's marked you, moaning softly. His tail twitches as it tickles your skin, his ears curving down.

"Perfect, f-fuck you're so... oh baby I don't think it'll go down I..." He's never had this happen, not being able to calm it down, locked and knotted so thick in your tiny cunt. He keeps kissing you, moving back a bit, hearing your little sharp breath. "Want me to keep this cum plugged inside you? Hmm, breed you, baby?"

"Yes, yes," you're drooling, looking at him with dilated eyes, all covered in his marks. "K-keep it all.. in ... your knot it's so..."

"Mhm, I know baby," he's soothing you even as he rocks it in just an inch - back and forth, until he's pressing all his cum right against your puffy lil cervix.

You're cummin' again and again, but what you don't realize is...

Valko left Caleb all of that on a voice message </3

****

hehe sry Caleb

[lunarify]

a special request: werewolf!Caleb loses control during his first heat with you. | CW: biting, breeding kink, knots, possessive behavior, feral hairy Caleb

There's something desperate and wild in his movements. A whimper here and a whine there. Caleb can't help himself—can't fully control himself—when he grinds against your underwear, desperate to feel your wet, hot cunt wrapped around his throbbing knot.

It's his first rut with you—or at least, with you as his girlfriend. Before the two of you got together, he had to lock himself away for a week. One hand furiously stroking his cock while the other scrolled through pictures of you until he came all over himself, knot pathetically squeezed between his fist while he wished it was buried in you.

Now that he has you in his arms, inhaling your sweet scent stirs his cock against his pants painfully.

"Please, please," he begs, rubbing his face against your cheek in a pathetic attempt to cover you in his scent. "Wanna mark you. Make you—ngh—make you mine."

You grimace as his stubble, you swore he shaved off earlier, scratches your skin. The hair on his body grows a little out of control during his ruts. His hair has grown a couple of inches, falling over his eyes and curling against the nape of his neck. Not to mention the patch of hair on his chest, and the thicker happy trail leading down his abdomen.

"Please," he whines, trailing his nose down your neck. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, mumbling unintelligible words. All the while, he grinds his erection against your clothed pussy.

Maybe his pheromones are rubbing off on you too because your panties are soaked through. All his pleading and his thick cock pressing against you has your body weak and pliant beneath him.

"You sure?" You card your fingers through his hair and he whimpers.

"Yes, I'll be careful."

Your heart almost cracks hearing him reassure you despite him being the one in heat.

"Just wanna…" He drags his hand down your stomach, cupping your pussy. "…breed you. Give you pups."

Despite your body arching into his touch, you laugh, "you know that's not happening."

He groans, hooking his finger around your panties and pulling them off. A string of arousal clings to them. He takes a deep breath, trying to resist the urge to lick you clean. "I know, I know. Just entertain me."

"Fine." You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer, lips brushing his ear. "Breed me then."

—

Caleb ruts into you with a frenzy and desperation you've never experienced before. His stamina never falters. No matter how many times you come around his cock, his thrusts never stutter, just stuck chasing his own relief.

You lie prone beneath him, taking all that he gives, drooling and thoughtless and a dripping mess on the sheets.

"'m sorry, sorry, s-sorry," he slurs as he molds himself against you, trapping you against the bed. One hand gropes your breast, and the other claws at your belly. "I can't- I gotta-"

Then you feel it—his teeth. The sharpened canines graze your neck, not quite sinking in yet.

"I need to make you mine. No one—mphm—no one's ever gonna take you away from me," he growls against your skin.

"I'm already y-yours," you moan, tilting your head to give him fuller access to your neck.

He kisses your neck, nibbling a bit of skin, as his thrusts grow sloppy. His grip on you tightens, unwilling to let you squirm as his cock hits your gummy walls.

The words 'mine' and 'need to' are slurred over and over against your skin, and you feel the wetness of his saliva dripping down your neck.

Your body only shudders in response to his cock bullying your sensitive cunt and his finger finding your swollen clit instead of focusing on how his teeth steadily sink into your skin.

Each wild thrust pushes you into the mattress. Your trembling hand reaches up to find the longer strands of his hair and tug to anchor yourself.

Wrong move.

You squeal his name, tears dotting your lashes, when he growls and his teeth finally clamp down on your flesh, breaking skin and drawing blood. Your body locks beneath him, shocked by the pain and spilling over into pleasure as you come around him.

His cock swells, stretching you further than you've ever been before. Hot cum floods you, drenching your walls and filling you. It's uncomfortable at first with the way he still tries to fuck himself into you despite the knot refusing to let him, but he gradually relaxes as he pulls his teeth from you, licking your wound clean.

The two of you are stuck, a mess of cum and sweat staining you both, connected by his bulbous knot sitting nicely in your cunt.

"You're mine," he murmurs, nosing the fresh claim on your neck.

Your eyes begin to flutter as the world fades. You sink into the bed as he rubs soothing circles with his thumb against your stomach where his knot is swollen beneath. "All yours."

A/N — @kisses-then-more and I were thirsting so hard over werewolf!Caleb and going back and forth w headcanons so I stuffed some of them into this drabble >:) if anyone else has werewolf!Caleb headcanons I am allllll ears

as always, let me know what you thought and reblogs appreciated! thanks for reading! ʕ⁠っ⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠ʔ⁠っ

TAGS — @lowkeylaufeysons

[l1lacm1st]

Infold employees if you're reading this (which j KNOW you are bc of that last Zayne card) we need werewolf caleb

[myntrose]

post-knot pillow talk

a/n : some valko smutty/sugestive fluff to help distract from the emotions. take a break, drink some water, and enjoy. inbox open for anyone who needs it 💚

"angel- please, if you keep moving like that...," valko hisses out. he's still extremely sensitive, with the way his knot is keeping you locked in place.

"not my fault! I didn't realize a knot meant... you know...," you mutter. valko raises his brow, in a way thats both exasperated and endearing.

he's got you on top of him, your chest against his, one arm firmly around your waist with the other drawing lines up and down your spine. right after you came, he made sure to adjust you both, whispering to get comfortable, since you'd be stuck like this for a while.

just an hour or so earlier, you'd asked him if him being a werewolf came with the, well, perks, of being a werewolf. you've seen the way he acts- the way he bites to nip and bite you with those fangs of his, how he's utterly obsessed with your scent, and while he'll forever deny it, you've heard the little yips he makes when you brush out his tail.

and well, it's safe to say that valko is more bite than bark (though... you experienced a lot of both with the way he was pumping you full and making you see stars).

"you didn't think I was serious when you asked me if I had a knot?" he's saying it a bit to smug for your liking, so you retort with shifting just a bit- clenching just enough for him to groan out, both hands finding your hips and gripping.

"so,"

"so."

you both stare at each other, before letting out a small laugh. the kind of giggle that comes from that post-sex bliss. valko's tail curls from underneath him, lazily grazing the back of your thighs. it's a content state of being- close in a way that you literally couldn't be closer in.

"hey val? how long does your... last anyways?" you ask, your own hand reaching out to softly scratch the base of his wolf ears. valko hums softly, head moving to the side to lean into your touch. his nose rubs against your wrist, a spot that he's once said is really strong with your scent.

"the swelling can go down from anywhere between 15 minutes to... an hour I think?" your hand stops in his ears, eyes going wide at the revelation. sure, you might've read about it, seen it in books you've read, but the daunting reality of it all?

valko smirks at your flustered reaction, his hand reaching up to yours and bringing it back to pet his ears.

"give or take, by the way," he says casually.

your head plops back down, right in the crook of his neck. valko's laugh- deep and breathy and so him rumbles from under you. he wraps his arms around you once more, getting rid of the already nonexistent space between you two.

in his arms, you both talk about everything and nothing. you give him small updates from your life, books you've read, that new show you're watching. he listens- really listens- and tells you stories about his family, how he needs to get his glasses adjusted, about the new tech piece he's working on.

it's sometime it the depth of night when his knot starts to slowly soften up. he kisses you, gently and soft in ways that go deeper than i love you, though he means that just as much.

his knot slips free eventually, but neither of you make haste to move. he'll prep a bath, the sheets will be remade. but right now, all that exists is the wolf and his dearest love.

"meadow, i thought you said you were taking a break-" im coping. im sad and emotional and just want meet my wolf and see my dragon again. take care of yourselves, everyone.

[rei1vxls]

this helped so much from all the valko situation rn ☹️

[valkoayin]

04/05/26; 12:00pm

{ 18+ drabbles / headcanons }

[ when they crave for you ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel, and caleb

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

sylus… will spend the entire night devouring your aching sex.

he has your compliant form pressed against the top of his sheets, your clothes long forgotten as he settles himself between your legs. like he was experiencing his own personal homecoming, sylus would nudge at the silky feel of your thighs with the tip of his nose-

breathing in the sweet scent of your arousal as he allows the tip of his tongue to trace at your outer lips.

the onychinus leader would then proceed to press kisses against your aching entrance-

kisses that were no heavier than dew as you let out a soft whine in response.

and that was all the urging sylus needed to surge forward.

he has the entirety of your needy cunt within his hot mouth, tongue traveling through your tight channel as he greedily drank up everything you had to offer. your hands would automatically delve into his silvery locks of hair, back arched against the bed as you were subjected to his every ministration.

he drinks up every last drop of your arousal, not stopping even when he has you crying out to him. you feel your legs instinctively clenching around his head as he slowly brought you to heaven over and over again.

each pinch from his fingertip and thrusts from his tongue were deliberate as sylus played you like an instrument. he draws out your sweet moans, mapping out your body with a familiarity that only he could have the pleasure of knowing.

zayne… will keep you against the front of his chest as he presses kisses down the side of your neck-

all while his hands makes a steady descent toward the most intimate spot between your legs.

you felt as though you were melting against the bed, feeling drunk off of zayne’s needy kisses when his large hand manages to cup at your clothed cunt. your breathing hitches in response to such a sinful touch, yet you did nothing to pull away from him.

while feeling his hot mouth sucking a bruise against your skin, you felt the way his hand manages to get into the waistband of your shorts and panties-

managing to slot his middle finger within your slick heat.

the sudden friction felt against your swollen clit leaves you gasping, yet zayne wouldn’t relent. he keeps rubbing that sensitive spot repeatedly all while sliding in a thick finger in and out of your heat.

the onslaught of such friction was enough to make you arch your back in response. you didn’t even feel the way zayne had gently bit down on the side of your neck when he began to quicken his pace against your cunt. you felt him sliding another finger inside, making scissoring motions that has you keening against him as your release hits you with an intensity that takes your very breath away.

xavier… would be shameless enough to slot his cock between the silky feel of your thighs each morning.

of course he would feel aroused each time he wakes up, especially when he has you in his arms. the lingering scent of your shampoo and just the soft feel of your body close to his was enough to drive xavier wild.

knowing that he was always unable to resist you, the philos prince would press soft kisses down your cheek. only when you would respond with a soft whisper of his name and your usual good morning would he begin whispering hedonistic phrases in your ear.

you would remain weak to his words, nodding almost eagerly when he slowly pulls down your sweatpants, allowing it to pool against your ankles as he shoves down his boxers-

revealing his aching cock as he slots his erection below the damp gusset of your panties-

pressing your thighs together before stroking himself against your clothed heat. such a heated sensation was enough to have you gasping with need for him-

feeling each pulse of his shaft as he kept stroking himself against the underside of your pussy. and when it all came to a boiling point where you’re left aching for him-

xavier will slide off your drenched panties, choosing instead to slide his cock against your naked cunt, further intensifying your pleasure as you were left begging for more.

rafayel… would latch on to your nipples with his mouth and play with them.

your gasps quickly morphs into moans when the lemurian keeps you against his bed. his gaze darkens, seeing the outline of your body from beneath the gossamer nightgown as he begins to cup at your breasts.

he coos at you, telling you how beautiful you were over and over again before settling himself above you. he slides off your nightgown, tossing it over the side of his bed while taking a moment to admire you in all of your glory.

radiant. beautiful. and utterly mine.

not even wasting another second, rafayel quickly descends upon you, his hot mouth taking in one of your perky nipples as he begins to lightly suck on them-

all while giving its twin some attention with his soft hands. each pinch of his hand was coupled along with the slight curl of his tongue, which made you cry out to him as you feel a familiar ache settle between your legs.

yet you knew that the night was far from being over as your beloved artist kept kissing every inch of your skin before ultimately caving in to his desires.

caleb…would make you sit on his face.

you had barely taken off your clothes when your colonel pulls you into the bed with him. your knees would clash together, but his large hands would make you spread them apart.

he would slowly guide you toward him, casually laying back against your shared bed while holding on to your hips. he could feel the hesitation wafting off of you, but refused to let you back out-

so when caleb finally manages to pulls you down directly over his face-

he knew he had you exactly where he wanted you.

his tongue immediately traces at your pussy lips, allowing your sweet arousal to coat them while letting out a groan of your name. he feels the way your thighs tighten around his head, causing him to growl in satisfaction as he continues his onslaught against your body.

and when the farspace colonel feels the way your juices practically drenches at his mouth, he knew that you were getting close.

wanting nothing more than to fully taste you, he places both hands on your hips before guiding you up and down his face, continuing to use his tongue to invade your channel until you satisfied him by releasing yourself completely over his awaiting mouth-

allowing him to drink up everything you had to offer.

end notes: hahaha writing this on easter sunday is such a bad move on my part, but i couldn’t help it. 🙂‍↕️ i got thirsty.

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[fushihearts]

૮(◞ ‸ ◟ )ა ;; your husband, satoru gojo, who can’t help but pout at the fact that his newborn baby girl sobs whenever she’s placed into his arms! ── ✦⋆🍼.˚

it’s been weeks of this — weeks of satoru tenderly trying to lift your frail newborn daughter from your arms, his tall frame hunched over her and his touch agonisingly gentle, only for her to burst out into tears. he just can’t comprehend it!

“it isn’t fair,” he mumbles, slumped over on the couch after yet another failed attempt at picking her up. “i mean, she has my eyes! in fact, she has all my genes, yet she won’t let me pick her up!”

his tone is scandalised, a hint of betrayal seeping into it; but beyond the usual dramatics, there’s a subtle sense of vulnerability in it too. it’s barely there, hidden behind the light-heartedness of his voice so that you almost miss it.

that’s the kind of skill that satoru has mastered by now: being able to feign confidence in the form of borderline obnoxious mock-arrogance. or rather, being able to divert any concerns you may have with a kind of ease and fluidity that’s got to be at least a little bit concerning.

but you don’t miss it this time. not with the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he stares at the floor, lost in thought. not when he looks so worn down, eroded of his usual playful demeanour, an unfamiliar tiredness written all over his body.

you can see the way his shoulders are lowered a fraction in exhaustion from the situation, and even despite his joking demeanour, you both seem to have noticed the way his voice lacked its usual charm earlier.

“hey, toru..” you murmur, sliding onto the couch next to him. your daughter is still clinging to your shirt, having only just been lulled to sleep by you. she’s finally finished bawling her eyes out at the sight of her own father. “don’t be like that…it’s nothing. she’ll grow out of it.”

“no, you don’t get it sweets! she must know something…” he grumbles, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “i mean, whenever she looks at me with those huge blue eyes, it’s like she’s staring right through me. she must know something i don’t!” with that, he drops his head into his hands with a groan.

you’d laugh at the irony of his words if it weren’t for the defeated look on his face. of all things, you’d never expected to hear satoru gojo complaining about the unsettling nature of the piercing-blue eyes that she’d inherited from him. nonetheless, you gently move your free hand to stroke his back, your voice soft as you rub soothing circles.

“hey, no…she’ll come around soon enough.”

“but what if she doesn’t?” he looks up, pouting once more. “what if i’ve done something wrong? maybe i messed up my first impression or something!”

“…toru, don’t be silly, i don’t think newborns care about first impressions.”

he sits up slowly, assessing your words as his eyes fall once more upon the baby in your arms. her snowy eyelashes flutter slightly as she snoozes, tiny hands curled up against her body. one of her chubby cheeks rests against you as she snores, her tiny chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale she takes. tentatively, satoru brings a hand to run over her small leg, fingers running over the soft fabric of the fluffy bear socks on her feet courtesy of his impulse buying.

he snorts sadly at that, remembering the way he had been so excited to spoil her. he’d ran around, desperate to find only the very best for his sweet daughter: bags of baby toys, soft socks, cute baby outfits and pacifiers. he’d spent hours researching the quality of each, scrolling through reviews, diligently ensuring that his daughter would receive only the best — only for her to sob at the mere sight of his face.

it’s a kind of irony satoru can’t bear. because ultimately, in the eyes of the newborn in your arms, he’s no longer satoru gojo. he’s simply…nothing. stripped of being the strongest, stripped of his usual defence mechanism of feigned-confidence, stripped of his ability to win her over with expensive toys and clothes. he’s left vulnerable, stuck with the discomfort of it all. maybe he isn’t cut out for this. maybe he isn’t cut out for fatherhood.

you study his face, frowning at the way his brows are pinched and his features have melted into something much more vulnerable, tired. he looks deep in thought, barely registering the fact that one of his legs is tapping anxiously. he just stays sat there, eyes absentmindedly resting upon your daughter, zoned out.

your heart aches a little. it’s a strange sight, to see your usually-bold husband reduced to this unfamiliar state, hands tensed in his lap like he’s not sure what to do with himself.

so, you decide to take action yourself.

tenderly, you lift your daughter and quietly place her into satoru’s arms, silently willing her not to wake just yet. you’re not quite sure how you or your poor husband will cope if she does — and the idea of having to lull her back to sleep whilst simultaneously looking into satoru’s face of pure disappointment is one you’re not particularly fond of.

the second the baby is in his arms, satoru tenses up, thrown off-guard for a moment at the sudden action. however he then slowly begins to pull her closer to his chest, arms cradling her more securely now. it’s a bit awkward at first, because for once your poor husband hasn’t had a chance to prepare himself to hold her: no half an hour pep talk in the mirror as usual, no rubbing vanilla baby lotion into his hands before attempting to hold her — after all, apparently the scent of vanilla is soothing to young babies. hours of extensive research and a couple of youtube tutorials on how not to make your newborn daughter cry have taught him that much, at least.

much to his surprise, though, despite his total lack of preparation this time around, she seems to warm up to his touch immediately. despite being fast asleep, she nuzzles her tiny cheek against his chest a little, angling her head just a fraction inwards towards his warmth.

sure, maybe they’re just baby steps, if you can even call them that. but for the first time since his sweet daughter was born, satoru has actually been able to hold her without being subjected to sobs and screams. he tries to fight a tiny smile, and your heart flutters at the sight.

he stays stood there in silence, eyes crinkled in fondness as he peers down at the sleeping girl in his arms, cradling her like she’s precious. and after a few minutes of standing like that, a single, tiny tear begins to form in the corner of his eye, not quite falling yet. it stays there for a few seconds, clinging to soft dove-white lashes before the salty water finally rolls down his face, just barely brushing over the edge of his cheek.

with a tiny sniff, gojo quickly manages to recover his composure, letting his typical confident grin return back onto his features and simultaneously trying to pretend that his eyes aren’t currently going blurry with the threat of fresh, brand-new tears.

“ah— i knew it, so you do like me..!” he chokes out a weak laugh as he addresses the sleeping newborn, his voice half-subdued in a poor attempt at being quiet so as not to wake her. he dramatically crooks his head downwards, his ear right up next to your daughter’s face as though trying to ensure he can hear her better before he speaks up again. “…soo, this means that i’m the favourite parent, right??”

the nerve of him!

a/n: filler post sorry if the writing quality is poor i just wanted to post something💔 the idea came to me thanks to a dad sukuna fic i saw so creds to them!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) taglist: @nonchalantfiend @mochiakun @rielovesphel @yujismissingfingers @megumigooner @vanillaascented @megumisrighttoe @catgvrl @hearts2vivi @mariisagb @renrenrenren17 @bowiesprettieststar2 @733164 @palanggaaa @megssleepygirl @rengoatku @hangenism @yujisdreamgirl @nonamedreams @ivankinnieclatter @sugerfilled @silverstar111 @dreamyreadinglover @v4mp1r3b4tzz @dev1lw4arsprada @megantheestallionswife @magicalpeenpoo @qrxswan @silverwfern @luvhza @rozzaa0scentzz1 @azizxxxah @eyayur @strawberrychansora @qrxswan + join!

divider creds @/dividers-are-us and @/cursed-carmine!

[zaynezone]

Sylus was mad at you. And he was showing it in a very Sylus-like manner.

“Please-please I can’t!” His evol holds you to the bed, your hands pinned to the headboard and legs spread open.

“I wasn’t asking if you can.” Sylus murmurs, licking some of your slick off his chin. You’d lost track of how long you’d been here, and how many times he’d made you cum.

“Sylus I-I said I was sorry! Please…” Tears stream down your face as you beg. He’s never quite punished you like this before, preferring instead to pamper you. This was a drastic change in pace.

“I don’t believe you’re sorry. I told you to tell me when you do something dangerous, did I not?” A thick finger presses into you, making your back arch off the bed.

“Y-you did! You did I-I know but I just…” You bite your lip, trying not to scream as you get closer.

“Just what? What’s your excuse this time?” He moves up to be face to face with you, but you can’t look at him. The guilt for worrying him settles heavy in your stomach, quickly outweighing the pleasure.

“N-no excuse. I’m sorry. Pl-please…” Your whole body feels like it’s on fire, every muscle aching. The energy surrounding you releases, and then you’re pulled into a tight hug.

“I was worried you were dead. Call next time, alright?” He presses a gentle kiss to your temple, squeezing you carefully. You mumble your agreement, kissing his cheek before letting your hand slowly trace the plane of his abs.

"So...isn't it your turn now?" Your suggestion makes Sylus raise a brow, slightly intrigued.

"You're not too tired?"

"For you? No way."

[aceofheartsssss]

Wow, I’m genuinely so fucking pissed off and just… kinda just really sad at the same time.

I was really waiting for Valko, I was so excited and they just basically kill him off before he even existed. The trailers were getting me so hyped. It’s like I’m grieving him in a way.

I hate racists, I hate people that support them. I hate this shit. Fuck everyone. 🖕