saturnquartz

[saturnquartz]

Dragon sylus eating you out.

His tongue is thick, long, rough. You've never felt anything like it before but it's so uniquely him. His fingers are thick, clawed. He is gentle with them, aware of how easily he could hurt you. But God they feel good, streching you out as he licks at you. You can feel his hunger for you. The way he growls slightly and his it sends vibrations through your body. Your body clenches, your legs stiffen and he takes his free hand, opening you up more.

Your hands fly to his horns, gripping. Pulling him closer. Deeper. The next few moments are a blur as you find yourself crying out, voice cracking as pleasure claws through your body.

He pulls back after he cleans you with his tongue. His chin, his lips glistening with your essence. And then, he lowers himself again, kissing your inner thighs as he makes his way back to his meal.

Greedy as always

Especially for you.

[saturnquartz]

Caleb, 12 years old: Now that I've explained the math for the third time, do you understand?

MC, 10/11 years old: Y- yes.

Caleb: Are you lying?

MC, on the verge of tears: ..Yes.

[saturnquartz]

sum: sylus responds to an online ad for a roommate. you suddenly have this tall, well-spoken, handsome man living in the attic, playing classical music, tinkering with things he built, and humming off-key while he makes you pancakes in the morning before disappearing for weeks at a time. cw: modern au, roommate au, slice of life, slow burn, mild language, brief mentions of violence & torture, evols exists here, mutual pining, romantic tension, brief jealousy, alcohol, 3k wc track list: le carrousel - james quinn fig. 1 | fig. 2 | fig. 3 | fig. 4

The air reeks of mildew, dust, sweat, and disinfectant. 

A lone lightbulb winks tawny overhead, casting ominous shadows along the concrete floor and walls, highlighting the savagery taking place within.

Four men occupy the room. 

Sylus is the only one seated on a chair like a throne, legs crossed—the paradigm of poised, twirling a folding knife between his fingers while a henchman stands in good form at his back. 

The muffled screams have now dulled to wet whimpers. A grown man crying has never been a pretty sound. But Sylus has grown accustomed to it, sometimes dragging the fragmented remains of a man out himself. 

He’s a good foot from the show, watching with all the interest of someone used to brutality. Lowered lids cloak vacant eyes. He sighs for the umpteenth time, leaning back, clearly bored with this game.

Lackey number two rucks up slicked sleeves, swiping the sweat from his brow before getting back to work. 

The victim—a self-proclaimed freelancer discharged from a rival faction, boasting about having antimatter weapons to sell—snivels as Sylus’ henchman drags him across the floor. On his knees, ankles and wrists bound, breath shaky behind the bite of a makeshift gag, the man levels Sylus with a pleading look. 

It’s fruitless. The kingpin is in no mood for mercy. He waggles his fingers, signaling for his henchman to begin another round of mind-warping torture. 

Blood and viscera aren’t Sylus’ thing. 

If he can help it, he prefers more neat, conventional methods for extracting information. Which is why he doesn’t flinch when the goon’s cries rise again as if he’s being electrocuted. 

The lightbulb glints once more, and a moth beating its wings as it orbits it, casts a foreboding shadow below.

Sylus toys with the knife again, mind slowly detaching itself, when his phone lightly buzzes in his coat. 

He catches the blade’s handle in his palm, fishes his cell from his inner pocket, and scrutinizes the screen. Arching a brow, his lips twitch, threatening to curl upward. 

It’s a message from you, your name accented with a lone heart emoji. 

When he draws up the text, your voice invades his mind. He envisions you all frazzled, dramatic as ever, and his heart swells from the imagery.

(You): help me!

It reads half-cryptic. He’s sitting up now, the knife returning to its home with a sharp shlink!

When he starts to feel an inkling of concern creeping in, thumb hovering over the keyboard, prepared to key in a response, another message comes through. It’s a picture of a menu, sharp print against cardstock, the restaurant's name scrawled in cursive at the top. 

(You): don’t know how to read this. i’m hungry as hell and about to have a whole attitude.  (You): heeeeellllp 🚨🚨🚨 (You): and don’t say escargot. i will literally fight you.

This time, he does allow his lips to pull in that Cheshire Cat sort of way. It’s endearing how you need him. How you rely on him to translate what you call “rich bastard speak.” Even if it’s for something minor, he’s grateful to be of use to you. You give him purpose in a world that bleeds grey. The shine of a lighthouse amid a tumultuous storm. 

He’s been there before, the eatery you’re fretting over. They have good liquor and decent grilled scallops. He’s about to send back a personal rec, but then it strikes him—the gleam of silver in the photo’s corner, half-hidden by the menu, but glaringly obvious. 

An expensive watch wrapped around a wrist that’s inherently masculine catches his eye. Bigger than yours, veins and sinew spilling from the links down to manicured nails. 

Sylus’ jaw ticks. 

He knows you’re on your lunch break. Has your schedule down to a science, pocketing it in case he has to do something irreversible to clear his tracks. He’s aware that you primarily work with women—you sometimes vent about the things they do and don’t, using him as a confidant whenever your day is too heavy to shoulder. 

And maybe he’s done background checks on all of them, ensuring they wouldn’t pose a problem later. To you and him.

But you’ve never spoken of a man working in your small, hodgepodge department. A man too close for Sylus’ comfort. Casual familiarity that makes his eyes narrow.

He’s already chased off one deranged ex. He’d rather not come back to you missing while he’s in another city conducting business.

(Sylus): whos that sweetie? (You): ??? (Sylus): the tudor watch. (Sylus): in the corner. friend of yours?  (You): oh! intern. he’s cool peeps. i’m like 6 years older than him and he keeps reminding me. 🙄🙄🙄

Sylus certainly does not release the quietest, most relieved breath. And the rigid set of his shoulders doesn’t slacken upon discovering that you’re not secretly courting someone without his knowledge.

It’s not stalking. It’s ensuring his assets are secured. 

(You): anyway, can you help me? you know i don’t understand this fancy shit. (Sylus): avoid the rack of lamb. its a bit overseasoned. (You): lol (You): you forget who you’re talking to. i sprinkle seasonings on my food until my ancestors whisper, “enough, child.”

He chuckles something throaty, something endeared. And he doesn’t realize he’s let his guard down until his henchman shifts behind him, clearing his throat. Sylus cuts his eyes over his shoulder, daring the man to utter a word. He doesn’t, straightening his tie and returning his attention to the scene ahead.

(Sylus): it might be a bit overpowering even for you sweetie. (Sylus): go for the duck confit or the grilled halibut. those are more your tastes. (You): thank youuuuu! 🙏🙏🙏 (Sylus): pair it with a glass of pinot gris. (You): gesundheit. (Sylus): and be sure to introduce me to your new intern friend before he whisks you out on a date next time. (You): 😛😛😛 (You): jealous?

Sylus doesn’t do jealous. It’s never been a word in his repertoire. Possessive, maybe. A little overprotective, sure. But jealousy suggests uncertainty—belly-baring surrender. Weakness—and Sylus is everything but weak.

He keys in a response that he knows will have you tipping out of your chair.

(Sylus): jealousy would imply that youre not already mine sweetie.

He can virtually hear the cogs turning in your mind when you take a few beats to respond. The resulting surprised dog meme you send makes him stifle that rich man’s laugh behind his hand. 

You’re cute. Do you know that?

Leaving you with something to think about, he concludes your playful exchange.

(Sylus): have fun.

Peeling himself from the chair, he shoves his hands into his pockets, the arms of his coat dramatically fluttering behind him when he turns to exit the warehouse. 

He pays no mind to the cries of agony behind him. Just clips over his shoulder to a stationary henchman by the entrance, “Finish up quickly.”

The sooner he cuts out the middlemen, the quicker the suppliers will start sniffing around themselves.

—

It’s a little past 6 pm when the front door’s lock jiggles. 

Good. Perfect timing.

“You’re home early,” you call from the fridge when that messy thatch of white appears in the doorway. 

He stiffens, taking a little time to appraise you like he didn’t expect you to be home. You snort, kicking the fridge door shut, a handful of grapes clutched in your hand.

You pop one into your mouth, leaning on the countertop. Syus approaches after toeing off his loafers and dropping his coat on the rack. The particles in the air seemingly bend and shift to accommodate him. 

You try not to get hung up on what he said earlier—you know, when he insisted you were his.

Maybe he’d been drinking himself. You had a little Pinot at his behest to combat your flaring nerves. To knock a little sense into yourself.

“Why do you look like someone hacked Mephisto?” you jibe, trying to lighten the mood. 

Sylus’ expression morphs into something easier. Something more like him as his lips pull into that familiar smirk. Without warning, he swipes a grape from your palm, and his eyes shine with a challenge as he deposits it in his mouth. 

“Why do you look like you’re up to no good?” he returns in that deep gravel, tone threaded with a tenderness you’ve never heard expressed elsewhere.

Your jaw shifts. He’s lucky he’s cute. The pinnacle of manliness. Handsome as all hell. You’ve never known someone to make something as simple as eating look hot.

Clearing your throat, you swipe some invisible dust off the counter after finishing off the last of your grapes. “Not up to anything bad. But since you’re home, you can watch a movie with me.”

The silence hangs for a moment. You glance up to see your roomie eyeing you with an intrigued brow. He reaches over the counter to flick your forehead. He’s trying to scramble your brain matter, you just know it.

“Do I have a say in the matter, or are you just going to manipulate me with those dangerous eyes of yours?”

Your heart was already rabbiting in your chest. It works double time now, and your stomach drops to your feet. You’re stricken with something cold. Something halfway pleasant. 

Oh. Oh, he was flirting, wasn’t he?

Opting for coy, you tug at some frayed threads at the end of your sweatshirt, caught between a laugh and a scoff. 

“Unless you’ve got some mysterious phone calls to take, you’re mine for the night. You owe me for babysitting Mephie. You know he secretly wants to murder me.” And for leaving me all by my lonesome again, you inwardly add. 

If at all possible, his smirk deepens until a dimple craters his cheek. You have pins and needles in your legs. What the fuck even is breathing?

“Doubt that. He’s programmed to…appreciate pretty things.” The way his eyes slide to you as pretty things leaps off his tongue—

You typically keep the AC low for the summer. Pretty comfortable for you both. But it feels it’s reached boiling point in your quaint kitchen as your skin grows embarrassingly hot.  

After a deep breath to get your head together, you move to the pantry to fish out some popcorn. Your movements are noticeably stiff as you tear through the plastic, not daring to turn around, lest he get a look at that crooked smile on your face. 

“Batman it is,” you say, loud enough for him to hear above the beep of the microwave when you set the timer.

You feel him between your shoulder blades. Drilling down to the marrow with those brilliant, scarlet eyes before he huffs a laugh, tapping the counter. You peer over your shoulder as he pulls away, disappearing across the house, probably towards his room to change.

He comes back down while you powder the popcorn with seasonings. He’s over your shoulder, static growing between your bodies. And you get a whiff of his worn cologne, of the clean cotton laundry detergent woven into the fibers of his shirt.

You move to the fridge, rifling through it to give your hands purpose. Something to occupy them, to keep them from shaking as you sort through your wine stash.  

“What goes best with popcorn? I’ve got red, white, pink—oh, something I bought ‘cause the label looked cute.”

Propped against the counter’s edge beside you, arms crossed over that unfairly solid chest, Sylus shakes his head. “How about a glass of Michter’s 25? Bourbon pairs best with popcorn.”

“Uh, sure?”

You’re not entirely sure how the two mix. Probably something about the dolce colliding with the saltiness. Whatever. You like surprises. Your roomie’s always had pretty good taste.

He shoulders past you to reach for something at the top of the pantry. Amber gleams in an intricately designed bottle clutched in his hand. You give him a look, haughtily throwing some popcorn into your mouth.

“Has that been up there the whole time?”

You track him with your eyes as he draws two lowball whiskey glasses from the cupboard, then fetches some ice from the freezer. His expression’s amused while he pours. He plucks the glasses from the counter, signaling you to follow him to the living room. 

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to find it, seeing that you’re the height of a gopher. I’d say I found a pretty good hiding spot for it.”

He laughs that bewitching, throaty sound, effortlessly avoiding your foot aimed at his ankle to trip him up. 

—

The TV swaddles you in its sporadic lighting as each scene unfolds.

You turned down all the lights, save for the one above the stove, to add to the ambience. The sounds of scuffling and explosions fill your living room, with occasional quips from your roomie about the exaggerated action and how unrealistic the mobsters are. 

There’s familiarity in the way you sit on the couch. In how Sylus idly smooths his thumb over your ankle, propped in his lap, beneath a throw blanket. He put up with you shoving your cold feet under his thighs to pilfer his warmth until he tickled your feet and allowed you to use him as a footrest. 

One of his arms is draped along the backrest, clutching his half-drunk glass. He paces himself. You’re already on your third.

He turns to you with a twitch of a smile whenever he feels you staring at something other than the screen. Squeezes reassurance into your ankle before pretending like he’s consumed by the movie. 

That Michter, whatever-the-hell it was called? It’s smooth. Dangerous. It crept into your bloodstream when your guard was down, and your head’s a little fuzzy. Skin warm and tingly, inhibitions slowly sloughing off.

You’re on your sixth round of Sylus-watching when the doorbell chimes. Both your gazes snap to its source.

“I’ll get it,” says Sylus, tapping your foot for you to let him up, and setting his glass onto the coffee table with a soft clack.

You shake your head, feeling like you’re swimming through molasses, eyes all low, smile goofy. “Nah. I got it.”

It’s a feat. Almost losing a fight with the blanket, you make it to the door. Sylus snorts behind you. The delivery driver is kind as he hands you your pizza and receipt.

Somehow, you make it back to the living area. You’re a mess of giggles and sluggish limbs as you fall back onto the sofa beside Sylus after dropping the pizza box onto the coffee table. So close, you could conquer the distance with an exhale.

His thigh’s warm beside yours. Devastating. You contemplate grabbing it, letting your fingers test the rigidness of his quad under the pretense of being tipsy.

He closes the distance for you as if parsing through your nebulous thoughts.

There’s no preamble. No remarkable setup when his arm slips from the backrest to snake around your shoulders. It’s a loose hang. Not tight, giving you room to wiggle free if you’re uncomfortable. You peer up into his face, and his eyes crease with something you mistake for affection beneath the glinting light of a chase scene.

The movie’s no longer interesting. It hasn’t been for a while. You’re warm inside, unsure if it’s a consequence of the alcohol or his proximity. Regardless, you toy with his fingers near your shoulder, smooth over his knuckles, testing the waters.

He makes no move to deter you, instead sinking deeper into the couch, legs spreading a little wider, hold on you a little more confident. He tugs you into his side without really thinking, fingers burning through the layers of skin on your arm.

Your hands drop to his ribcage to ground yourself through the slurry haze of inebriation and infatuation. His heart is steady in his chest, whereas yours bangs like a war call. You’re close enough to bury your face into the hollow of his shoulder. That warm scent he carries is enough to soften your knees, your jaw.

Moving on autopilot—or maybe you’re fully aware of what you’re up to—you pitch yourself closer. So close, you’re halfway across his lap, watching his Adam’s apple bob beneath the blue wash of light. Your eyes flit to those full lips, slightly parted, quivering. Those pretty lashes sweeping his cheeks, those scarlet eyes jumping like cinders in a hearth fire beneath.

Your head tilts up. He meets you halfway. Draws you closer, and you roost your hands on his chest as your lids droop. As his lips pan in.

But the union never comes.

He hesitates for a beat. Hovers, a breath left between your mouths. Shaky, ragged, hot. He drops his forehead to yours, his grip on your arm tight, and he forces out an anguished sigh.

“You’ve been drinking, sweetie,” he says, hoarse, barely restrained, almost like he’s reminding himself instead of you.

You giggle, trying to tamp down your nerves. The disappointment flaring like plasma ejections across the sun’s surface beneath your skin. “So have you.”

He huffs through his nose, lips pulling into a tired smile. “Yes. But I’m also better at holding my liquor.”

“Says who?”

His gaze consumes you. Like liquid spilled over smoldering coals. He gathers your cheek into his palm, so tender as he thumbs over your chin, your bottom lip. He watches it when he tugs down, how it snaps back into place, how full it is, and you can sense the edges of his resolve fraying like a rock face worn down by the surf.

“You’re warm. You can barely keep your eyes open.” His voice drags pleasantly along with his fingers along the skirt of your jaw. “You can hardly sit upright, sweetheart. If I do this now, I won’t be able to stop.”

Quivering fingers close around his wrist. You adjust on the couch until your knees meet the side of his thigh, nuzzling your molten cheek into his palm, head reeling. “Who says you have to?” you counter, voice crackling. Pleading.

He presses your foreheads together again. Your eyes slip shut as he slides his fingers into the space between yours, guiding your hand to his mouth instead for a kiss. He’s warring with himself. Berating himself for even letting things get this far.

He draws back slothfully, like it stings, like he’s leaving a bit of himself with you. And maybe he is, his defenses halfway buried beneath the floor. The moment hangs between you, stretched like the fragile spindles of a spider’s web. He doesn’t want to break the spell. You don’t want him to, either.

“Not yet,” he rasps, settling against the cushions once more and drawing you back into his side. “Not like this. You’ll thank me in the morning, sweetheart.”

Somehow, you have a hard time believing that, a wobbly pout taking hold of your lips.

It annoys you to no end.

Sylus is a man who doesn’t take what he isn’t given freely. Coherently. He’s such a fucking gentleman, you want to punch him sometimes. This emotional warfare is maddening.

Still, you curl into his side, burying your face into the nook of his neck to chase that heady scent. His pulse quickens, a sharp intake of breath when your lips graze his carotid, before he rests his chin on the crown of your head. He smooths over the goosebumps flaring over your arm as the credits roll, offering a quiet apology.

Another almost. Another could-have-been. Another bout of shitty timing.

[saturnquartz]

[saturnquartz]

you hadn’t meant to start a fight, not really. but rafayel had this uncanny talent for pushing all the right buttons with that silver tongue and pouty mouth. a careless comment here, a teasing grin there until suddenly the mood snapped, and you walked away instead of feeding into the bickering.

he texted that night.

still mad at me, little star?

you know i didn’t mean it.

fine. be like that.

you didn’t respond. you turned your face into the pillow, groaning softly. you were still mad. angry enough to stay quiet, but not angry enough to stop rereading his messages.

don’t leave me on fucking read.

your mouth fell open at this message. it was bold, even for him. maybe also a little hot.

your phone buzzed again, almost vibrating off the nightstand.

answer me.

another buzz.

i’m outside.

your heart stopped. you rushed to the window and pulled back the curtain and there he was. in the middle of the night, arms crossed over his chest, expression dark, hair tousled, that velvet shirt clinging to him like sin incarnate.

his violet eyes lifted and locked on you. you froze and then your phone lit up again.

if you don’t open the door, i’m climbing through your window like a movie villain. don’t test me.

you opened the door and he was on you in seconds. mouth crashing into yours with a hunger that bordered on desperation. his hands gripped your waist, then your face, like he didn’t know which part of you to hold first, like he’d spent all day aching for you and didn’t care how mad you were as long as he could taste your mouth.

“i hate you,” you whispered against his lips.

“you left me on read,” he pouted—pouted, even now—walking you backward, hands sliding under your shirt. “i went insane.”

“you deserved it.”

“i don’t care.”

his fingers curled in your hair as he kissed you deeper, tongue pushing past your lips, claiming every last inch of your mouth with possessive heat. he backed you into the bedroom with that smooth, predatory grace he always had, soft and sharp at the same time, velvet and danger. he pulled your shirt over your head, breathing hard.

“i kept seeing you walking away,” he murmured, trailing his lips down your neck. “i hated it. i hated how i let it happen.”

“then don’t let it happen again,” you whispered.

“i won’t.” his voice dropped. “you’re not going anywhere.”

he made sure of it. he laid you down like you were the only thing that had ever mattered, kissed you like he was still fighting the memory of losing you. his hands going straight to your thighs, parting them as he sank to his knees at the edge of the bed.

“i was an asshole,” he said, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “i know i was.”

he didn’t wait for permission. he just kissed your inner thigh, slow and soft, and then higher. higher and higher, until his lips met your heat through the thin fabric of your panties and you exhaled a soft, broken sound.

“i can say i’m sorry a hundred times,” he murmured against you, the warmth of his breath making your hips twitch, “but it won’t mean anything unless you feel it.”

and oh, did he make you feel it. he dragged your panties down your legs with reverence and pressed his mouth to your core like a man starved. his tongue moved slow, deliberate, needy. one hand gripped your thigh, the other snaked up to hold your stomach down when you started squirming.

every flick of his tongue, every suck against your clit, was an apology. every moan he coaxed from you was a confession. he looked up at you as he did it. deep, violet eyes locked to yours, drinking in your pleasure like it was his penance.

you came with your hand tangled in his hair and his name a shattered moan on your lips. but he wasn’t done. he climbed over you, mouth glistening with your warm arousal, pupils blown wide.

“still mad?” he rasped. you could barely breathe, let alone answer. “good.”

because then he kissed you, deep, filthy, still tasting like you, and slid into you with one smooth, punishing thrust. your back arched. his name escaped your throat again. he fucked you slow and unrelenting at first. like he needed you to feel how sorry he was from the inside out. his forehead pressed to yours, hand laced with yours against the pillow, the other gripping your hip so tight you’d wear the bruise tomorrow.

“i love you,” he whispered against your mouth. “say you forgive me.”

you didn’t, but you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him deeper. his eyes fluttered shut before they opened again. he never looked away, not once.

even as you fell apart beneath him a second time, and a third. even when his voice broke as he spilled into you, burying his face in your neck with a choked, “mine. mine. mine.”

even after, when you were both trembling and tangled and silent in the dark, he held your face in his hands, lips ghosting over your cheeks like prayer. “i’ll never fight with you like that again,” he said.

you smiled, dizzy and dazed. “good. because next time, you might not get to apologize with your mouth.”

“there won’t be a next time.”

you both knew there would be.

“so, i better make tonight count.”

and he did. over and over again, until you forget why you were fighting in the first place.

[saturnquartz]

i’m playing mario kart and a whole bunch of filth just flooded my brain….

okay, walk with me:

so, i’m mid race and one of my fav songs—bigger in texas—from megan thee stallion comes on and she has a line in it where she says “i’m getting head while i’m playing my switch”

now, imagine caleb climbing on top of you while you play, right…you’re laying on the couch and trying to focus while he’s kissing all on you, but he starts getting lower and lower. next thing you know, your panties are being pulled down in his descent and gets thrown somewhere in the room before he lays flat on his stomach and puts his hot mouth on your pussy. that delicious man would start sucking on that clit like it’s nobody’s business, omfg….

legs over his shoulders, his cock rubbing against his sweats and his hips rutting into the couch to give himself some pleasure, too.

and he’d get real cocky…

“keep playing, pips. win first place for me.”

“you put it down, i stop”

“you can’t play with your fingers in my hair, pretty. c’mon…be good.”

AND IT’S MESSY. GOOD GOD, HE’S SPITTING ON IT, TONGUE IS LICKING LIKE YOU’RE FUCKING ICE CREAM, NOSE BURIED IN BETWEEN YOUR LIPS!!!!!

i will go back to my game now….LOLLLLL

[saturnquartz]

—Click Here— for Camboy!Caleb Masterlist!

Note: Alright, this may be my favorite thing on the planet. As you read, each month is a really short story that highlights different moments during the progression of the pregnancy. This took me some timeeee. I just kept trying to make sure it was cohesive, sweet, sexy—ALL THAT. That’s how well I wanted it to be done for you, luvlys. But forgive me for any mistakes….please. I hope you like!!!

Warning: This is mainly fluffy and has occasional suggestiveness BUT, there will be a smut scene inspired by my bae @asiatic-apple! It takes place in month 7 & 8. I just merged them together because this was getting superrr long LOLLL!! But I guess the sex they had can be a highlight in the span of those two months for them 😉.

Word Count: 5.2K (don’t be intimidated LOLLL)

Summary: YOU’RE PREGNANT! And this is the reason

Camboy!Caleb/Pregnant!Reader

Month One

You were impatient with unbridled nerves and your leg refused to stop shaking. Sitting in the bathroom, you were staring at the four pregnancy tests you’ve just taken as your propped up phone remained focus on your nerve-wracked features.

Your husband went to hang out with a few friends and you utilized this perfect opportunity to see if your suspicions for the past two weeks were correct.

From the nausea to the morning sickness, you were the classic example of someone who more than likely has a baby growing inside their stomach.

And you knew exactly how it happened.

That day you came back from that trip, your man had you in the shower and several ways in the bedroom before your bodies physically couldn’t go another round. Between you ovulating and him coming inside of you so many times, it made absolute sense that his seed embedded itself in your womb and successfully took root.

Being so busy with preparations and the actual trip itself, you never noticed how you hadn’t been taking your birth control. When you finally did realize, that same day, you ran out to the store while Caleb was busy streaming and bought several tests without him knowing.

You’ve kept them hidden since and now that you had the house to yourself to panic in peace, you truly didn’t know what you were hoping for.

When the timer on your phone finally went off, you shot up off the toilet seat. As you inched closer to the white and pale pink capped tests sitting on your sink, it felt like the soundtrack of dread was thrumming in your mind. Your breath shuddered when you closed your eyes, giving yourself a moment before your fate was determined.

“Fuck…” you breathed, covering your mouth once your lids lifted to see every single stick had clear double lines, indicating that you in fact were pregnant with Caleb’s baby. You lifted two at a time with shaky hands to show the camera, trying to gauge your own emotions.

You wanted to feel excited, but you couldn’t be until you told your husband. You’ve talked about having children all the time, how you always wanted them, but you were still on birth control for a reason. You weren’t sure if now was the time, if he was ready, if you were ready, if he even wanted—

“Baby!” Caleb’s voice called to you and your heart fell to your ass. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He just left almost thirty-five minutes ago. How—

“I realized halfway on the drive that I forgot my wallet,” he chuckled. But when you didn’t come out to greet him, his tone shifted to slight panic. “Babe?”

You couldn’t move, you didn’t want to. His feet padded against the floor in his search until he stopped right in front of the bathroom. He didn’t even knock, opening the door to get some answers. His entire body relaxed after seeing you okay and unharmed.

“Why didn’t you answer me, pretty?” he asked with pure concern. But when you didn’t answer or look at him, keeping your gaze on what your future was, his followed to see what had you so unresponsive.

He looked between you, your recording phone, and the tests before he got close enough to see if his eyes were deceiving him. You were filled with so much anxiety and fear the longer he went without a reaction.

“We’re fucking pregnant!?” he exclaimed, making you jump. The way he acknowledges your situation in unity eases your thoughts for a moment. He turned to look at you with the brightest smile you think you’ve ever seen on this man.

“My baby is having my baby.” His tone softened as he grinned even wider before kissing your face all over. Immediately, tears flowed down your cheeks like a running faucet the second he held you and your arms wrapped around him tightly.

“I’m pregnant…” you mumble through your sobs, accepting that you are and can comfortably be as happy as he is, despite your tears.

“I’m not going anywhere today,” he kisses your temple. “I’m staying right here and we’re celebrating. Our family is growing and my wife is giving me that gift. What more could a man want?”

Month Two

Caleb has been so excited about you being pregnant that ever since you found out, you’ve spent almost every night together in bed on different websites. It’s been a mission trying to determine where to get the best toys for enrichment as well as baby clothes for comfort and cuteness.

Since you didn’t have the gender of the baby yet, he’s been weirdly obsessed with trying to find onesies and bibs with the loudest patterns. He’s added so many things to different online carts that you were sure it was a collective of over at least two grand.

And he was still adding as he laid his head on your lap, occasionally showing you his screen for input.

“Caleb, I am not putting our baby in a neon yellow geometric t-shirt,” you laugh.

He laughs with you, making the image larger so you could clearly see what had him so hooked on the ridiculous top.

“Pretty, look at it closely! It’s a whole bunch of little flowers. That’s stylish as hell.”

“You want our kid to look like walking wallpaper!” He can’t stop chortling, his face turning slightly red as he rolls over to face your stomach and presses a kiss to it. You grab your phone to film him, both of you still giggling when he rests his forehead against your warm skin.

“I’m warning you right now little babe, your dad is sick in the head.” A moment passes before Caleb looks up at the camera with faux offense. Your fingers in his scalp nearly distracted him from your comment.

“When it comes to my babies, I’ll be anything.”

“Except rational,” you roll your eyes, putting his phone screen into frame so it can see the ridiculousness he’s been entertaining. “I’d never put you in this. He’s trying to embarrass you before you’re even here.”

“First of all,” he gently takes his phone from you, going to the cart that has a mix of more preposterous apparel and regular ones. “I don’t think anyone should be like everybody else. That’s boringggg. So yes, our baby will be styling and profiling. I’ll even get us stuff to match.”

You smack his bare pec, making him cover his chest. “Your mother is a hater and aggressive! I’m telling you that right now, little babe!”

“I’ll really show you aggressive if you keep playing.”

Caleb looks up at you, his whole demeanor changing as he bites his lip. “Promise? Because I got a whole lot of things I can play about, then.”

“Caleb!” you scold, your cheeks getting hot. “Now we have to cut this part out because of your freaky ass!”

“We didn’t get here because we’re not not freaky,” he raises is hands in defense.

Quickly, he’s getting up to smother you in his love before you can retort and he ends the video mid kiss so that he can make sweet love to you properly.

Month Three

You’ve been up for the last hour, craving the combination that you dreamed about not too long ago. To anyone else, it may seem like something that would be absolutely horrid, but for you? It was a necessity to try.

You did your best to ignore it and attempted to fall asleep again, pulling the blankets up to your chin in an effort to get comfortable, but to no avail. The thought of and need for it became the reason why your eyes fluttered back open at one in the morning.

It wasn’t in you to wait anymore, so with Caleb sleeping like a log behind you, carefully you slipped out from under his arm and off the bed. In the dark and quiet space, you aimlessly grabbed some sneakers, a sweater, and your car keys. You then took those things and your wallet out of the bedroom to get ready somewhere you wouldn’t disturb your husband.

“Do I want ice cream or cream cheese?” you question yourself and slip on your shoes. “Maybe both? What do you think, little babe?”

You breathe out a laugh through your nose as you slip on your sweater. Your small bean is the reason you’re up like this and ready to go in the first place, so it made sense to ask.

Just as you get ready to stand, Caleb is stumbling down the hallway and into the living room where you sit on the couch.

“You scared the shit out of me. ‘Didn’t feel you in bed,” he mumbles through his sleepiness. His eyes blinked as he took in your attire.

“What happened? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” His questions were coming out like lightning rounds.

You press your lips together, feeling absolutely horrible because his chest and cheeks are tinged red with worry. “We’re fine, love. I promise. I’m sorry for scaring you,” you sigh as you get up. “I wanted…I was just craving something and I figured that I could go get it. I didn’t want to bother you.”

He shakes his head, walking up to you and cupping your face in his hands before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You and our baby are my priority, alright? I don’t care what time it is or what I’m doing. You need something—anything—you come to me.”

You nod as he continues. “Don’t go anywhere this late without me, please, pretty baby. Whatever you need, I got you.”

“Okay,” you whisper, feeling your eyes burn with grateful tears.

“What did you want?”

He sees you trying to hide a smirk. “It’s weird isn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

“Tell me.”

“Don’t even think about laughing at me,” you pout.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Fine,” you huff. “I had a dream about pomegranate seeds with ice cream…topped with lemon juice. And chocolate. And tortilla strips.”

“You dreamt that?”

“I did.”

“Babe…” Caleb looks into your eyes, his thumb caressing your cheek. “That sounds like a sensory nightmare.”

“You promised!”

“I’m not judging!” he laughs. “Just…that’s interesting. But anything you want, we’re doing it. Let me get dressed and we’ll go wherever. I’ll even try it with you.”

Your eyes beam. “Really?”

“Really.” He kisses your lips briefly. “Give me five.”

From that point on, every single craving you have, Caleb indulges in your creations and tries them with you. Whenever he remembers, he records both your reactions for safe keeping and even during the times where he doesn’t like it, he’ll never show or tell you that.

Making sure you stay happy, healthy, and confident in any and all things is all that matters to him.

Month Four

Caleb has been doing sufficient research in everything pertaining to his health as well as yours and the baby’s. It’s why he’s up early every morning preparing vitamins, supplements, and freshly juiced vegetable drinks for you and him to consume on a daily basis.

When he learned how a man’s health can negatively or positively impact his woman’s pregnancy, he has ensured that he takes every single proper precaution to stay in tip-top shape. He has always been a very active and decently healthy person, but ever since little babe has been growing into fruition, the efforts have increased tenfold.

You wake up one morning, rubbing the sleepiness out of your eyes before you use the bathroom. Your bump is slowly starting to protrude out now and it’s made you so warm inside to visibly see what you were creating.

After that, the first thing you do is go and look for your husband. You’re happy to see him in the kitchen, sorting your pills in their respective compartments for the week as he softly mumbles to himself.

“Morning,” you say sweetly as you approach him.

“Good morning, mama,” he smiles, kissing you when you get close enough. He rubs his hand down your stomach. “How are we feeling?”

“We’re okay. I’m a little nauseous, though.”

“Mm,” he hums. “Prenatals and your supplements. Take ‘em.”

He dumps today’s bunch into your hand and grabs some water for you. “Drink the whole thing, okay? Then we’ll drink the smoothie I made before I cook you breakfast.

“You mean the cup of grass?”

“Don’t fight me on this, pretty. I know you hate the taste and smell, but the doctor and all the things I’ve read told me how good this is for you. For us.”

You take the cup he hands you after you follow his first set of instructions. “And I’m going to look into the best things that’ll help with energy and milk production, too.”

Your frown as you look down into the cup, but it’s not because of the contents that puts that look on your face. Knowing you so well, Caleb catches it.

“Uh oh,” he takes hold of your chin to have you look up at him. Your lip begins to quiver as he rubs his thumb over it. “What’s wrong?”

Reassuring you with his patience, he adds, “C’mon. What do we do?”

“We talk…” you whimper through a sniffle. Your hormones have made you infinitely more emotional and while it’s been getting on your nerves, Caleb’s taken that reality and has learned how to approach those feelings with care.

“I just feel like I haven’t been doing enough. You’ve been learning and doing so much for me and around the house. And I’m just…not. I just feel useless, sometimes.”

“Mama, I need you to understand…You are doing the most work, no matter what you see me do. Even when your pretty eyes are closed, your body is working to keep you and our baby safe, cared for, and healthy. All I’m doing is making that process as easy as I can, because it’s my job.”

He takes the cups and places them on the counter before bringing you in for a hug, resting his chin on your head. “Don’t ever insult or undermine yourself like that again, you hear me? I’ve told you before, I don’t like when people talk badly about my wife.”

“You’re such a cornball,” you chuckle, the tears on your cheek wetting his white gym tank top.

With a kiss to your hair, he pulls back. “I always will be. Now, drink up and after you eat, you’re sitting in the garage with me while I work out. I want to channel that energy to you.”

You snort, watching how he downs the deep green liquid. “Babe, I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Even if it doesn’t, you’re gonna be there anyways. Besides, I got you a comfy chair and some snacks.”

You wink with a finger gun. “Consider me convinced.”

Month Five

“What do you think the baby will be?” You look over at Caleb as he sets the cake down on the extra large beach towel after helping you sit.

“That’s what we’re here to find out, pretty girl,” he smiles before plopping down next to you.

Today was the day you and your husband were going to find out if your little babe was going to be Sloane or Milo. After the doctor folded up the reveal and handed it to you last week, you and Caleb immediately went to your favorite bakery and handed it to the owner that you’ve gotten to know pretty well. You’ve frequented the family owned business a lot—even more so with the pregnancy—so it only felt right for them to assist you in this process.

Since you’re—ironically—pretty private people, you two decided to keep this little event to yourselves for now. Once decided on the perfect day that the weather permitted, you made your way to the beach soon after the owner called to tell you that your surprise was ready.

After you finished eating your messy but undeniably delicious dinner of burgers and fries in the car as you watched the sun begin its descent, you knew you had to be quick before you missed your chance to record the reveal beneath the golden glow.

You press record on your phone and prop it up against the box the cake was originally in, taking a deep breath as the warm and salty air fans against your skin and through your flowery dress.

“Excited?” Caleb asks, the wind blowing his hair back.

“Mhm. And nervous.”

He brushes a lock behind your ear, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “No need to be. Let’s do this.”

You both grab the two wine cups you brought, looking into each other eyes with love. The video catches your other hands that are holding yourselves up, resting on top of each other comfortably in between you two.

Turning away so that you can’t see the heart shaped cake with boy or girl? written on top, you two dig your cups into the soft dessert. You make sure to go deep enough to gather as much as you can inside the glass.

Caleb raises his eyebrows and bites his lip in anticipation. “Alright, ready?”

“I am.”

“Okay. One…two…three…”

You turn to look swiftly once you pull the cups out of the treat and immediate warmth fills your heart to see the light pink frosting in between your favorite flavor of red velvet cake.

Caleb stands and starts running laps around you, cheering and screaming, “I KNEW IT!! MY BABYGIRL SLOANE!!” with sand flying behind his feet after each step.

You can’t help but to giggle and cry a little at the same time, using your knuckles to brush away the joyful tears. Out of breath, he returns back to you and gets on his stomach to start kissing your now larger belly.

“Daddy can’t wait to meet you, pretty little babe. You’re gonna look just like mama, I know it.”

“And she might act just like you,” you retort playfully as he rubs you over your dress.

“We’re in for it, aren’t we?”

“A mini me with your behavior? Yeah, we’re definitely in for it.”

“In for one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, for sure.” He lifts his head to kiss you tender and slow.

You look at your phone, smiling as Caleb starts mumbling cute little things to Sloane like; “Be kind to mama, yeah?” and “You’re gonna like your geometric shirts. I’ll get you some pink dresses to match, too.”

The video ends up lasting for nearly an hour the longer you two sit talking and planning. There’s so many dreams and even more excitement surrounding the things you’re looking forward to doing.

And it all begins with baby Sloane Xia.

Month Six

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it chat?” Caleb greeted the fans as they started pouring into the stream by the thousands. Ever since you got pregnant, you two made the decision to keep it a secret from them until you were comfortable enough to share. Now that you’re showing so much and have ceased most sexual content until you’re ready again, you felt that it wouldn’t hurt to give them the truth as to why.

You and Caleb were able to get away with making videos and fulfilling requests freely up until you were nearly five months. After that, he had given the excuse that you’ve been super busy with something that you’d reveal when you were ready, but at the time, said you were also stepping away.

It’s been awhile since you’ve been on any livestream as of late, whereas Caleb still remained consistent. He would always assure them that that you were okay whenever they spoke of missing you a little more than usual.

Now that you sat beside him, watching the comments fly, everyone was not only eager to see you, but equally as excited to know what you’ve been up to.

g0oner4ever: SHE’S BACK OMGGG

calebst0pspenda: pls tell me we’re getting new content. i can only rewatch so many videos

iluv2cum: GIRL I’VE MISSED YOU WTF

pu$$yfairy: you can’t leave again. it’s not the same when you’re not hereee

this1smyw0rld: i wonder what she’s been working on 👀

“Hey, guys,” you smiled as you leaned in closer to Caleb. “I’ve missed you all, too!”

You looked up at your husband and he gave you his classic reassuring wink and grin, nodding before you continued.

“I’ve been MIA for a minute.” You blow out a breath. “There’s no reason to be all suspenseful and make you wait or guess, so let’s just show you what’s been…cooking.”

You roll back in your pink gaming chair and stand up. When you turn to the side, Caleb helps to lift your sweater to reveal your beautiful baby bump. He leans in to kiss your belly button as you brush his hair from his forehead.

“We’re pregnant!” you beam at the camera, resting the hand with your wedding ring on top of your husband’s who has his placed on your stomach protectively.

iluv2cum: HOLY SHIT HOLY SHITTT

iwantaburrito: SHE REALLY HAS BEEN COOKING

g00n3rcr3w: you see caleb? he wishes yall would say something rude LMFAOOO

havinagudtim3: SHE’S GLOWINGGGG OMG

daydreaminggalldatime: BOY OR GIRL??!!?!

cumminroundthamountain: we’re officially aunts and uncles guys

pu$$yfairy: EXCUSE ME?!? WE NEED FAMILY VLOGS, HELLO!!!!

“We’ve been thinking about posting some baby preparation content,” Caleb adds. “There’s already so much we’ve filmed, too. Plus, a lot of stuff is supposed to be delivered soon. Maybe I can go live when we start fixing up the nursery?”

Everyone is ecstatic, excitedly telling you both that they’d love to be a part of the rest of your journey. You’re filled with so much gratitude when you sit back down and start having a mini Q&A, spending nearly two hours with your husband and your fan base as the excitement for your pregnancy makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“Should we tell them how it happened?” Caleb whispers playfully.

“If you want to be up here getting yelled at because we didn’t record it, go ahead,” you chuckle.

“I’m a pretty good story teller,” he kisses your lips and turns back to the camera. “They can use their imagination.”

Month Seven & Month Eight

“Okay, what do you think about this one?” You twirl around to face Caleb, smoothing down the sheer ruby red nightgown you were trying on. It’s a beautiful piece, stopping mid thigh with a deeper red lace trim and it cups your breasts perfectly.

Shopping for clothes as a bigger woman already had its moments of being a hassle, but add being pregnant and you were lucky if you found something you considered even remotely sexy.

That’s why when your husband found this rare gem of a maternity lingerie boutique, you just had to see it in person. Its atmosphere was perfect—with dim lighting and private rooms so people could look at clothes together in peace for as long as they needed to. With the way you’ve noticed your husband’s growing erection and how he can’t keep his hands off of you, not only is this trip a success, but this just might be the most confident you’ve personally felt in a long time.

Caleb clenches his jaw and shifts his hips as he sits on the small comfortable cushioned chair, his eyes scanning down your heavy tits and round stomach. Him knowing that he was the one who got you like this, that he’s the one who fucked you so good that he put a baby in you, has had him on cloud nine the moment he read those positive tests.

Watching you grow more and more satisfied with every article of clothing you put on has only made him grow hungry for you.

He licks his bottom lip as he pulls you in gently by the back of your thighs and he presses a kiss to your stomach.

“You’re perfect, mama,” he says truthfully, his hands rubbing up and down your smooth skin before going up to hold your ass firmly in his grasp.

“Yeah?” you smirk, running your thumb along his lip to cause his eyes to flutter from your touch.

“Don’t do that.” Caleb looks up at you and the lust that decorates his eyes makes your pussy tingle.

“Do what?”

“Talk to me with that tone like you want me to fuck you in this dressing room. It’s either that or I walk out of here and everyone sees how desperate you make me.”

You tilt your head the way he does, making your lips pout. “And what if I did?”

“You gonna let me take care of us?” His fingers are already in the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your plush thighs.

“I’d let you do anything…”

The moment they become a pool at your feet, he stands and is kissing you like he’ll never get the chance again. He’s careful of your bump, not pressing against you too hard when your fingers dig pull on his soft hair.

“Bend over the chair for me, pretty,” he says through each wet kiss against your lips, biting on it gently to make you whimper. He watches how you cutely waddle behind the seat.

You go to pull off the gown, but he stops you. “Keep it on for me. We’ll buy it when we’re done.”

“You’re so dirty,” you smile, obeying and bending over like he asked you. The cool air against your sensitive cunt only makes you increasingly eager.

The sound of him undoing his belt causes your pussy to clench the longer it waits for him to fill her. Your sensitive nipples graze against the soft material of the gown as well, only adding to your stimulation.

“You’re wet for me, aren’t you?” he coos when he stands behind you, lifting the dress to get a perfect view of your pretty pussy.

“I’ve been wet since the first outfit.”

“Fuck…” he breathes, pulling his cock that’s been just as hard as you’ve been soaked. “I’ll fuck you properly when we get home.”

He takes hold of your waist. “‘Gonna make this quick, but you tell me the moment you feel any pain or discomfort, okay?”

“I will,” you promise. “Just…please, put it in.” You’re looking at him through the mirror in front of you, silently begging him to give you what you need.

He keeps his heady eyes on you as he begins to slide every thick inch into your soaked heat. You nearly cry out, but immediately cover your mouth because you’re not supposed to be doing this and you don’t want to be banned or worse—locked up. But you can’t help but to revel in the naughtiness of what you’re doing.

And Caleb couldn’t give a damn, not when he aims to make you come on his cock.

“We always find ourselves in front of one of these, don’t we?” he teases through a groan when you squeeze him. You ring gleams beneath the gentle fluorescents when your fingers flex to grip the couch with every thrust you take, and it makes him throb even more inside you.

“Caleb…baby, that’s so f-fucking good…” you mewl. Your skin makes quiet contact with him over and over as he tries to keep the noise down, but if he had it his way, his name would’ve been known around the entire block.

“You’re doing so well for me, mama.” He looks down to see how you cream around his length. “Letting me fuck you like this.”

His hand slides up your back to find purchase in your hair to make your skin prickle with goosebumps. Each time he glides within your tightness, it makes your head spin the closer your orgasm gets.

“I’m—gonna…Caleb, ‘m c-coming,” you blubber, nearly incoherent.

“Me too, pretty baby.” The pace picks up a little more to help both of you reach that pinnacle. “I’m gonna get you pregnant again one day, you know that? Keep you full of my cum until you tell me no more.”

“Yes…yes, I want it…” You feel like you could cry with how well he’s working your body. His hips push into you a few more times before you shut your eyes tight and bury your face in the cushion when you start to jolt from the pleasure ripping through you.

At the same time that you try to milk his cock, he pulls out to shoot his heavy load all over your curls and onto your trembling pussy lips.

“So pretty…” he praises through bated breath, holding the dress up over your hips to watch his seed drip like he always does. He uses his flushed tip to spread it around before kissing your back.

“I think we need to buy this in every color,” he half-jokes, helping you sit up after tucking himself back in his jeans.

“Maybe two of each,” you entertain, humming as he kisses down the side of throat. “You’re surely bound to ruin it the first time around.”

He nips at your neck. “My wife knows me so well.”

Month Nine - Baby’s Coming!

The game Caleb plays and his commentary while you two sit on stream starts to become background noise. That sharp pain you felt at first twenty minutes ago? You’ve been feeling it consistently every three minutes now.

Successfully, you reassured your husband that you were okay the first time—because of course he noticed—and have been trying to see if what you think is about to happen, is happening. You didn’t want to ring the alarm when it didn’t need to be. Not until you were sure.

He’s been so engrossed in the game and you’ve been doing your best to stay silent, so he doesn’t even know you’ve been having what is in fact, consistent contractions. You breathe in and out quietly, your eyebrows furrowing as the pain hits you hard again.

iluv2cum: caleb, for the love of god, pls look at your wife

pillowhumpingenthusiast: is she okay????

cUml0rd: IS SHE GOING INTO LABOR?!?!

Soon after the concerns started rolling in, a donation came on screen for $20 with an automated voice message attached that said, “Your wife is having contractions.”

He doesn’t even pause the game, doesn’t look at the chat or waste a moment more when he drops everything to put his eyes on you.

“Fuck…Fuck, babe, why didn’t you say anything!?” he exclaims with concern. He sees how your cheeks have gotten slightly pink from all the heavy breathing and pain.

“I wasn’t…I wasn’t sure…” you press your lips together as you feel another contraction come and make your body tense. “I thinks it’s happening, Caleb…”

“We’re a go?” his eyes dance across your features, pressing a hand on your stomach.

“We’re a go,” you confirm, nodding when he kisses your lips.

“The hospital bag is already in the car. Do you need me to help you get dressed? You want to get cleaned up? Tell me what you need, mama. I’m here,” he urges.

gaminandcummin: MAMA?!?! OH MY HEART

itselectricboogiewoogie: don’t forget about ussss omg!!! and stay safe!!

“You,” you nearly weep. “I just need you…”

“You have me.” He helps you stand, shutting everything off and guides you so you can make your way to the hospital.

“She’s coming, Caleb,” you chuckle through another contraction.

“She is.” He’s nearly on the verge of tears himself. “Let’s bring her home.”

A/N: This was A LOT!!! But I had so much fun. I felt like I could see it all, like they were flashbacks or something. Know that this is NOT the end of them!!! I can definitely create more stories (if you guys want) but yes, Camboy!Caleb and his wife are officially PARENTSSSS!!! SLOANE XIA!!?? AHHHHH!!! Let me know if you liked this! Honestly, I got to month four and felt like I was way in over my head, but I refused to let up.

Creds to @/strangergraphics for the dividers!

Tags 🏷️: @innergardentoadpony @teacupwaifu @mcdepressed290 @calebapplepie @xcelfer @honeymoonfleur @obeythebutler @ajyoursgirl @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @honeycrispangels @dummiebunny @sucre-princesse @brailsthesmolgurl @klossnite @grlyeetswrld @beesin03 @dramaticalsachan @moonchildjae00 @asiatic-apple @callads7 @caien @stargirlygirl @multisstuff @littledarlingsthings @purpleamethyst25 @lazygelpen @floatinginaer @meadowinthesky @floatinginaer @grackerzzz @nod4mnm3rcyy @loveinorion @ur-l0cal-crypt1d @inutrasha94 @cowaungabungabby @gravity-pilot @nyanahogini @rosiesluv @goochfiddler99 @torturedbabyapple @kiyadeleine @carcelswaifu @blushofeve @whattnanii @asiaticapple @ashirelle @sylvieisoffline

[saturnquartz]

Caleb twt links 🔞 — ! acc must be logged in !

⌗ CALEB

. . . he's definitely the type of guy to fuck you deep and hard, making sure that you feel all inches of his dick inside of you

. . . as much as he hates being away from you, he just can't help but love how clingy and needy you get for him when he returns

. . . you just won't tell him what he wants to hear so he has no choice but to break you:( making use of military grade cuffs he just so happened to have laying around

. . . you're just so greedy! you already have the real thing but still keep the fake one with you... since you can't seem to be satisfied, why not fill both holes?

. . . why not make good use of your toys by stretching you good and open before he actually fucks you with his dick? just have to stand there and take it

. . . you put so much effort for his birthday that he can't help but just take you on the couch! too horny and rilled up from all the waiting he'd done

. . . one of the gifts caleb specifically requested from you was to make a compilation of you fucking so he can have something to jerk off to will he's away! the website just isn't doing it anymore for him after he's had you

. . . he sounds so pretty and lovely <3 all tied up and helpless, at the mercy of your mere hands just as always, letting you have your way knowing he can just break free whenever he wants to

. . . something about seeing you all shaky underneath him as he continues to fuck you slowly knowing damn well how overstimulated you are

. . . sometimes all he needs is a good riding to calm his mind from all the stress he gets, being a colonel isn't easy after all

. . . his favourite food above anything and everything, he needs your weight above him while he indulges your yummy pussy

. . . it's not too bad if it doesn't go in right? maybe if he just takes his dick out.. and maybe if you just put your panties to the side..

. . . all leaky and creamy on him, oh you're like a broken sink, too horny to even fully take your panties off that he just rips it in half

. . . oh he loooovesssss taking you from behind, pinning your waist down so you can take him as deep as possible!

. . . kissing his cheek on his graduation in front of hundreds of people? and getting away with it? absolutely not

[ A/N : feel free to imagine as the other lads boys ;) ]

[saturnquartz]

The dragon and his siren ⊹₊⟡⋆

Sylus and Rafayel from Love and Deepspace

[saturnquartz]

i’m so whipped for this man…

[saturnquartz]

This was also inspired by that one call we got from Sylus.

Your feelings are valid ❤️

PS: Had to censor some words cause of this app. 😮‍💨

[saturnquartz]

Post-marathon sex with Sylus and he’s still insatiable.

You’re wearing one of his button downs, barely buttoned and lounging on his couch while he’s shirtless in the kitchen making you both something to eat.

You’re peeking at him, admiring the red nail marks you left on the plains of his back and waist. The low hanging sweatpants doing nothing to help your running thoughts.

Especially since you know he has nothing on underneath.

You settle back, eyes fluttering shut as you try and calm yourself. You both woke up four hours ago and just managed to untangle from each other in the last twenty minutes. Still, your mind replayed everything he did to you over and over and over again. How could you relax?

“Kitten.” You still, eyes snapping open to see your lover towering over you. “I thought you were…” but Sylus only hums, cutting you off as he grabs one of your legs and moves it out of his way. “I’m hungry for something else.”

Had he heard you? Sensed all your filthy thoughts with that cursed eye of his? Whatever had been cooking on the stove now laid forgot in a pan with the burner off.

“Here?” Yet, you’re lifting your other leg, letting your behemoth of a lover push your thighs up to your chest and reveal your bare cunt. “This is our house, kitten.” And he’s settling between your thighs, the couch somehow accommodating his size as his mouth hovers.

“I sent the twins away for a while, if you’re truly that concerned about getting caught. But we are adults, y’know. And this is our house. Free to use however…”

And you’re relaxing, squished up into the side of the couch as he bares your pussy for his hungry mouth. “Leaving the bed with nothing but my shirt, you really thought I’d be able to resist such temptations?” He kisses your swollen lips, still sensitive from the rounds of sex.

“Think i’d be able see you laying here and not want to ravish you again?” Another kiss, this time he sucks on your cunt before releasing it. “Could have this pussy a million times and still crave you like I’ve never had it.”

His tongue splits your slit, poking your clit and you’re whimpering. Your feet fall onto his shoulders, his hands still keeping your thighs squished and immobile. You’re fully at his mercy, no escaping even if you begged.

“Tell me to stop.” Drool is pooling on Sylus’ tongue, dripping onto your needy cunt as he pants. “Tell me to stop and we’ll stop.” Now, it’s your turn to pant.

“Sy, I don’t wanna stop.”

Like a switch, you can see the temptation consume him. Carmine eyes swallowed by the black of his pupils

“Perfect, because I really can’t hold back anymore.” His mouth encompasses you, nose settling on your pubic bone as his mouth tears you apart. His eyes are shut, a sigh of pure contentment vibrating your cunt as you cry his name.

Did I ever mention I yearn for this man like he’s real

[saturnquartz]

sylus can sense you as soon as he steps into the base. he knows you’re not far, knows you’re just a few steps away. but he doesn’t know why.

today is a wednesday. no breaks or holidays upcoming on your schedule (which he familiarized himself with). so… maybe an off-day? a sick leave? his stomach curls at the thought of you being ill. but simultaneously melts at the thought of you coming to him to recover.

he finds you curled up on his softest couch in the living area. caressed by an eerie warm light. wrapped in a blanket, eyes far away despite the book in your hand. he starts to worry when you barely notice him come closer. he waves a palm before you to draw your attention to him.

you blink, tired eyes finding the concerned gaze of your beloved. each line on his face asking, begging you to tell him what’s wrong.

“hi.” you murmur as he tilts you forward. he slides his leg between you and the backrest, his other plants itself on the ground, his arms drape over your shoulders, he leans against the armrest and he pulls you with him back into his chest. urging you to sink into him, let him carry the weight that makes your shoulders slump and your eyes lose their light.

his lips trail over the crown of your head, the shell of your ear, the plump of your cheek and finally the gasp from your lips. his timbre low and thoughtful, “how was your day?”

there is a clog in your throat that makes you swallow. a burning between and behind your eyes. a set in your jaw at his question that tells him more than words can convey.

“bad.” he concludes in a murmur, pulling back to cradle the softness of your face and turn it towards his. crystalline eyes confirm his suspicions.

“tell me?” he tries, thumb gliding back and forth over your warm skin. heated cheeks beneath his ministrations are doused with droplets of saltwater.

and so you cry, you hiccup and sob, you try your best to speak, to tell him— but how do you put it in words? how fed up you are? how much you feel you’re stuck in a loop? how far behind you feel? how no matter how hard you run, which route you take, you feel like you will end up nowhere?

how do you tell him you want to win when you have no idea how to play? that you want to breathe but your lungs are filled with smoke? that you are tired. so, so incredibly tired that nothing means anything anymore?

it’s a mess out your lips. stuttered syllables and tumbling words. and yet he nods like you are speaking clearly. he squeezes your hands like he understands.

he presses his forehead to your cheek as if he bears the pain with you too— and he does, not entirely, but the ache in your chest resonates into his own like an awful symphony.

and he will take it time and time again if it made even the slightest difference to you. if it made you feel less alone.

and you will never be alone. not while he breathes.

he does not speak when you ramble. his eyes may wander to check on your body for any injury or pain, but his attention is solely on you. he is taking notes in his mind on what made you snap, who made you upset, at which point was it all too much— while nuzzling his face into your neck.

and when you falter, your voice ceases to a whisper and then nothing at the thought that he might not be listening. that he might not want to listen to you drone on and on about your miserable week; be a weeping victim of your own circumstances, he hums something patient into your shoulder. “keep going.”

“i’m saying too much.” you sigh. your nails run over his scalp, your attention abruptly shifting to his needs and not your own. “how was your day?”

“good.” he simply says, reveling at the trickling needles down his spine at your touch. “keep going.”

you do, you trail your nails over his head, down the nape of his neck, and under his chin. and when you don’t say anything, he kisses your palm, whispering. “keep talking, beloved.”

taken aback at his request, you frown. “it’s really just… you don’t want to hear it.”

gentle. so achingly gentle, he breathes. “but i do.”

“it’s not important.”

“no.” he rasps, coming up again to peer down at you. to make sure you know, you understand— that everything you say is important to him. everything you are is important. your everything— your thoughts, your stories, your opinions, your experiences— is everything to him.

“no,” he says again, slow and raw and genuine. he brushes strands of hair away from your scarlet rimmed eyes and brushes his lips over each one. “it’s you.”

and you will always be important.

his arms are a solace to the world that feels endless. his presence is salvation to your rupturing soul. and he feels like an end worth running towards.

your awful day ends. tomorrow, the world will ask you to try again. and you will. but for now you are here, and so is he, and you rest knowing he always will be.

[saturnquartz]

[saturnquartz]

Sylus has been becoming a comfort character for me surprisingly and I have been yearning for more soft Sylus.

Not proof read at all so pls excuse any mistakes rip

Word count: 268

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Soft!Sylus holding you when you don't feel like doing anything

It was one of those days. The days where nothing felt worthwhile and the lack of desire to do much of anything.

Sylus immediately noticed the dip in your energy. Normally, you would be playful, mischievous. Right now, you were almost subdued. Raising a brow, Sylus tightened his arms around you. Pulling you closer to his chest, he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“What's on your mind, sweetie?” Sylus’ voice rumbled. His thumb rubbing a comforting circle on your shoulder as he moved his other arm around your waist.

“Normally, you would be up and about.” Sylus mused, his eyes closing as he pressed himself closer to your side. Nuzzling his nose into your cheek, he let out a soft sigh as he pressed a kiss to your jawline.

“May I?” He breathlessly asked. When you nod, a small smile on your lips, you couldn't help but feel a warmth bubbling in your chest.

“You may.” And with your consent, Sylus pressed gentle kisses down along your neck. With a soft sigh, you tilt your head to give him more access as your hands play with his much larger one.

“Just… I don't feel like moving much today.” With another sigh leaving your lips, Sylus let's out a soft hum. “It's just one of those days, you know?”

“I understand, kitten.” Sylus says, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. “We all have those days.” He says, adjusting you to have your back to his chest as he tightened his grip around you.

“Let's just take today easy.” He suggests with a smile. “Just you, and me.”

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[saturnquartz]

He needs attention like, right now.

Honestly I planned a birthday render, but ofc I'm late as with everything...so here is a needy Caleb for you ❤️

[saturnquartz]

caleb has lots of stamina. but sometimes, it goes unused. 

sometimes, when you’re cuddled up beside him on his oversized couch, he likes to stay still with you. to hold you close and whisper in your ear, filling your head with all his darkest daydreams. 

“i want to taste you so badly. haven’t in a while,” he says lowly. “want to press you down on my face ‘til you’re my only oxygen. i’ll take everything you have—kiss your little clit until you’re begging me to stop, cryin’ that you can’t sit up straight anymore.”

“and then,” he murmurs, his voice a tantalizing snare, “i’ll lay you down and start all over.” 

he keeps going. on and on, telling you what he wants to do but not doing it. he’s doomed you both to unfulfilled desire, trapping you in his hold while you sit idly in each other’s warmth—you getting wetter, him getting harder. 

even when you squirm and whine about how gross and filthy he is, he only rubs his nose against your cheek and inhales deeply before whispering again: “but i haven’t finished talkin’ to you yet, baby. what’ll you think of me when i’m done?”