#light trapped in stone

[shisasan]

Cerussite crystal, Touissit, Morocco

[acourtofquestions]

They drifted into the blackness for another day, then two. Still the sea did not appear.

Aelin was sleeping, a dreamless, heavy slumber, when a strong hand clasped her shoulder. "Look," Rowan whispered, his breath brushing her ear.

She opened her eyes to pale light. Not the ocean, she realized as she sat up, the others rousing, undoubtedly at Rowan's word.

Overhead, clinging to the cavern ceiling as if they were stars trapped beneath the rock, small blue lights glowed.

Glowworms, like those in the lantern Thousands of them, made infinite by the reflection in the black water. Stars above and below.

From the corner of her eye, Aelin glimpsed Elide press a hand to her chest. A sea of stars—that's what the cave had become.

Beauty. There was still beauty in this world.

Stars could still glow, still burn bright, even buried under the earth.

Aelin breathed in the cool cave air, the blue light. Let it flow through her.

Rattle the stars. She'd promised to do that.

The emerald on her marriage band glistened with its own fire.

Beauty remained—and she would fight for it. Needed to fight.

It was a constant thrum in her blood, her bones. Right alongside the power that she shoved down deep and dismissed with each breath. Fight—one last time.

She'd escaped so she might do it. Would think of all those still defying Morath, defying Maeve, while she trained. She wouldn't hesitate. Didn't dare to pause. She'd make this time count. In every way possible.

Aelin could have sworn the living stars overhead sang, a celestial choir that floated through the caves.

A star-song carried along the river current, running beside them, for the last miles to the sea.

[phagodyke]

udgdjfnfkusjdbdvcnxdhdhhgh

[rafesangelita]

i feel like rafe has a major housewife kink

warnings: mentions of traditional stuff (just for the sake of the kink, please don’t stone me ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১), rafe is kinda misogynistic, fingering, slight dacryphilia, unprotected sex, rough sex, headlock, reader is too fucked out to think about anything else, degradation, slapping, dirty talk, hair pulling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, baby tapping threats

“i can’t— oh my, god. rafe!” your eyes fluttered shut for what felt like the hundredth time already, your thighs trembling as both pleasure and pain wracked through your body. rafe had no regard, nor did he care about this being your fourth orgasm as he rubbed your clit into overstimulation like his life depended on it. “yes, you fucking can,” he grunted, forcing your thighs open as they threatened to shut around his hand, “m’gonna keep you cumming until i see tears running down those cheeks.” you cried out at his words, your back arching into his chest at the overwhelming sensation.

rafe hadn’t even fucked you yet, and you were already on the verge of tapping out. flipping you over, rafe snaked an arm underneath your tummy before pulling you up, wasting no time in pressing your face into his pillows. stroking the small of your back, rafe groaned at the sight. he could see the body glitter on your skin, the little specs glinting underneath the dim lighting of his room. “fuck, i wish you would just let me have you already.. i’d make sure to slut you out every single day.” you whimpered when he delivered a harsh smack to the globe of your ass. “you just don’t know,” his aching tip prodded at your entrance, “i’d make sure you’d never have to lift a finger ever again.”

wrapping your hair around his fist, rafe slid into you without warning, drawing a shriek to leave your lips. “you shouldn’t be working in that fucking club,” he said through gritted teeth, “you should be here with me, letting me take care of you. i’ll come home and you’ll be waiting for me with a hot plate,” leaning down, rafe yanked your head back so his mouth was next to your ear, “you’ll keep this place spotless and i’ll buy you whatever the fuck you want,” just then, he wrapped a bicep around your neck, your chin tucked between the crease of his elbow and his forearm, “fuck you however you want.”

rafe’s words were punctuated by his thrusts, your acrylics scratching at his skin as you held onto him for dear life. “just picture that; me using you for all that you’re good for.” maybe it was because everyone who knew you, especially your girlfriends at the club, knew you wouldn’t be settling down anytime soon, or at all for that matter, but the idea of locking you away in tanneyhill and never going anywhere without you hanging off of his arm, making you fully reliant on him, financially and emotionally, it turned him on beyond words could describe. “you don’t even know what i’m saying,” he laughed, “you’re too cock drunk to understand.”

you whimpered pathetically, tears running down your face as he planted a slap to your cheek. “gonna fill up this cunt and trap you, maybe then you’ll understand what i’m saying when i put my baby inside of you.”

[cowgiri]

ᝰ 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐈𝐍 .ᐟ

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. he is a man of the cloth. a man of devotion, of restraint—or at least, he tries to be. but you, with your sweet mouth and sinful words and scandalous clothes, have driven him to the edge of madness.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. priest!zayne, temptress!reader, blasphemy, corruption, loss of virginity, mastrubation, oral sex (f! and m! receiving), fingering, clit stim, slight voyeurism, sex in public place, sexual intercourse, no protection, cervix kissing, panty sniffing, creampie, overstimulation, slight breeding kink, lots of nasty talk in confessionals, pussy whipped zayne

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 6.5k

the church was a furnace, the air thick and heavy with the heat of a relentless summer day. sunlight softly spilled through the stained-glass of the church, casting hues of red, gold, and blue across the worn wooden pews and the stone floors. the air was scented with aged hymnals and beeswax from candles that flickered at the altar. the heady aroma of incense created a nearly intoxicating atmosphere.

you sat beside your grandmother, who silently recited prayers under her breath with rosary beads in hand. your mind, however, was very far from divine and holy thoughts. you had been coming to the church for a month now—don't get me wrong, you were the furthest thing from religious. matter of fact, a month ago you wouldn't have been caught dead in a church unless it was a funeral and you were the one in the casket. but for the sake of your grandmother, you decided to try and make an effort, even if that was just showing up for sunday mass.

your eyes wandered to the front of the church, where father zayne stood. his deep voice echoed through the sanctuary as he delivered the sermon, each word hanging in the air. he stood at the pulpit, his tall, commanding figure bathed in the warm, golden light streaming through the stained-glass windows.

the high white collar at his neck was pristine, but it did nothing to hide the faint sheen of sweat that glistened on his skin, catching the light as he moved. the tight black cassock he wore was perfectly tailored to his lean frame. the fabric clung to his broad shoulders and emphasized the definition of his chest. the heat had caused the fabric to stick to him in all the right places, and every shift of his body revealed just enough to make your imagination run wild.

his almost always perfect hair was slightly damp and tousled, the strands falling across his forehead in a way that was effortlessly disheveled. his skin glistened with a thin layer of sweat. a bead of sweat trailed down the side of his neck, disappearing beneath the white collar, and the sight was enough to make even the most devout parishioner's thoughts stray into dangerous territory.

when his gaze landed on you, your breath felt trapped in your lungs. it was as if he could see the sinful thoughts swirling in your mind, the way your heart raced every time he spoke, the way your skin prickled with heat that had nothing to do with the summer sun.

after the service, you lingered in the church, pretending to light a candle while your grandmother chatted with some of the other parishioners. you found yourself seated at one of the pews as your eyes followed zayne moving about the sanctuary.

even as he conversed with the other churchgoers, you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, probably due to your "inappropriate" attire for church. it was like he could tell with each visit you made that your skirts were growing shorter and your shirts were getting tighter. you noticed father zayne to be an extremely observant man.

he was a man of god, and you were the complete opposite.

he approached you, his shadow falling over your own. "you've become a regular here at saint mary's," he remarked, clearing his throat.

"my grandmother drags me here every sunday. she says that i've 'lost' my faith," you replied. he was playing right into your hands by speaking to you first. you had been plotting on him and little did he know what was to come.

"lost it?" he asked, his brows furrowing slightly. anyone could tell by the way that you were dressed in a church that you had long lost your faith. but who knew maybe he was one that didn't like to judge a book by it's cover.

"well, never really had it in the first place, i think," you shrugged indifferently.

"interesting." he nodded, taking a seat at the bench beside you. his eyes settled on the candle you'd lit, then back to you. "but you come every sunday, nonetheless. why is that?"

"i like listening to you talk, you have a nice voice," you replied shamelessly. "and you are quite easy on the eyes, father."

"i'm flattered," he laughed as his lips quirked into a slight smile. "you seem to enjoy the sermons, but you never take communion. you never participate in the service."

"that's... true," you agreed. "it's not something that i believe in."

his eyes seemed to take in the sight of you. he glanced at your breasts, which strained against the tight white fabric of your shirt. you saw the way his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. man of the cloth or not, at the end of the day, he was still a man.

"well," he began, his voice lower than before, "do you believe in god?" he asked, his gaze flicking to the hem of your skirt. you fought the urge to fidget beneath his stare.

the way his eyes raked over your body was not that of a man of faith, but a man of flesh.

"no, i don't," you replied honestly, feeling goosebumps spread across your skin. "i think that maybe people just use the church as a crutch, a way to justify their own wrongdoings. i think that religion has the power to tear people apart."

"that's a dangerous way to think. i could have you excommunicated for such thoughts," he warned, a dark undertone creeping into his voice. it was as if he knew your words had been a way to bait him, to draw him in and tempt him to sin.

"but i'm not one of your congregation," you countered with a smile. "so i'd rather not be punished for my beliefs," you added. the sound of your voice seemed to draw his eyes to your mouth, and he stared at you with an intense hunger in his gaze.

he finally looked away, clearing his throat. "well, i should be on my way. enjoy your sunday," he murmured before turning to walk toward the back of the church.

"you as well, father," you called after him, smiling to yourself. you knew you'd see him again. maybe it was the thrill of the forbidden that challenged you, but something in you craved his attention. you wanted to know what happened to men of the cloth when they finally broke their vow of celibacy.

and you knew exactly what to do to get that reaction from him.

a month went by and your visits to the church became more frequent. you'd sit in the sanctuary praying or at least pretending to pray. zayne would sit at the front of the sanctuary, doing what priests did, sometimes occasionally checking in. but his focus seemed to waver whenever you were near. every now and then, his eyes would flicker up, catching yours with a look that was hard to decipher. it wasn't just disdain, though that was certainly part of it. there was something else simmering beneath the surface.

you could feel his gaze like a physical touch, lingering on you longer than it should. it was as if he was trying to figure you out, to understand why you kept coming back when you so openly rejected everything the church stood for.

his jaw would tighten, his fingers gripping the rosary beads in his hand a little tighter. the way he looked at you was almost accusatory, as though you were deliberately testing his patience, his resolve. almost like a devil lying in wait for a moment of weakness.

you would watch him as his eyes darkened with something that looked almost like...lust. you craved that look on him. you craved the way his breathing slowed, the way the beads in his hand clicked faster when you were near. you craved it all, every bit of reaction you could pull from him.

and so you began to make a show for him, slowly bending over in your short skirts, or adjusting your tits in front of him. your actions had gotten bolder over the weeks.

there were times when you swore you caught a glimpse of something, just a flash of something perverted and more sinful in his eyes. you wondered if he even knew he was revealing himself, showing his true nature. but it wasn't enough, he was a tougher nut to crack than you thought.

it was time to try something different.

the following sunday, you returned to the church before mass, this time alone. you slipped into the confessional and waited for him to join you. the confessional was small, cloaked in shadow, the air thick with the scent of aged wood and faint incense. you could hear the soft rustle of fabric as he shifted on the other side of the screen, his presence palpable even through the thin screen that separated you. his voice, deep and velvety, broke the silence.

"speak, my child," he said, his tone calm and soothing.

"bless me, father, for i have sinned," you began, "this is my first time in a confessional."

"what kind of sins have you committed?" the sound of his voice is huskier than you've ever heard before.

"well, father...i'm not quite sure how to put this delicately," you murmured as you fidget, your thighs pressing together. your cunt was already fluttering and all it took was hearing that voice of his. you heard the soft rustle of his cassock as he shifted, awaiting your confession.

"but there's this man," you began, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart in your ears. "and he's very devout. i'm sure he's very pure too," you said as your palm slid over your bare thigh. your clit was throbbing against the fabric of your panties, the ache growing with every passing second.

he remained silent but the sound of his breathing grew heavier, the click of his rosary beads against each other grew faster.

"well," you continued, your thumb slipping beneath the hem of your skirt as you trailed it higher and higher, "this man...he's very handsome. and so holy." your eyes fluttered closed as your fingers slipped between your thigh, teasing your needy clit over the cloth of you panties.

"sometimes i imagine him touching me," you whispered as you slipped your fingers into your panties and brushed your finger over your swollen pearl. your nerve endings sparked to life, his presence alone had your arousal more heighten than usual. you imagined the look on his face as he pictured it in his mind, you sitting there in the confessional touching yourself.

"what do you do, father? when a man of cloth such as yourself finds himself devoured by lust, " you whispered, the sound barely audible between your ragged breaths. you teased your finger against your entrance.

oh, the amount of money you would pay to see the look on his face right now. was his jaw clenched the way it did when you teasingly bent over in your short skirts? were his knuckles white from gripping his rosary beads the way he did when he trailed his eyes over your skimpy shirt? or even better was he leaning closer to the screen, listening to the slick sounds of your cunt.

you slipped your finger into your heat—a low whimper slipping past your lips. the sound seemed to echo through the confessional.

"do you confess them, father? do you beg forgiveness?" you taunted as you began to tease yourself, the faint sounds of your finger moving in and out of your cunt, the squelching and lewd noise filling the space between you two.

"i beg for strength," his voice was strained, and the words sounded like they had been torn from his throat against his will. you smiled to yourself as you continued to chase your orgasm, your moans growing louder.

the feeling of his gaze through the screen, the knowledge that he could hear you and knew exactly what you were doing, was enough to send your senses into overdrive.

"i don't think we should continue this conversation," his voice came out thick and heavy. you heard a slight click in his voice that betrayed his arousal. you were finally able to hear that thickening of his voice, it made you want to push him further and further, it was like music to your ears.

"why father? it's just between us."

his breathing came out harsher, almost labored. "because you're a temptress," he gritted out, the words leaving a thick, heavy tone lingering in the air.

"oh? so you don't touch yourself?" you asked. you leaned your head against the screen, your hand moving quicker against your cunt. the screen was thin and you knew he could smell your arousal, the sweet, heady scent of it.

"i don't believe that's an appropriate question to ask," he responded almost too quickly. but you noticed the way his voice cracked with his answer. just the thought of you being the first to touch him, to milk his neglected and heavy cock drove you closer to the edge.

you were so close. the air was thick in the room and you knew that he could practically taste your orgasm.

"i want to touch myself for you," you whispered. "the way you look at me...it's like you want to taste me, father. and i want you to."

your words were cut off by a sharp gasp as you tipped over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you like waves, your body shuddering beneath the pleasure. you kept your eyes shut until your breathing had returned to normal.

when you opened them again, father zayne was gone.

as you stepped out of the confessional, you glanced back to see him standing at the altar, his back to you, his head bowed as if in prayer. but you knew better. you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched at his sides. he was fighting it—fighting you—and that only made the game more thrilling.

you walked out of the church, the summer heat wrapping around you like a warm embrace. this was far from over, and you knew it. zayne might have ended the session, but the look in his eyes, the tremor in his voice—it told you everything you needed to know. he was tempted.

and you were just getting started.

"father, if i didn't know any better, i'd say that you are avoiding me," you purred into his ear. your body brushed against his back as you snuck up on him. he had been avoiding you since you'd made your confession a week before. it had been long enough that you'd grown restless.

he stiffened in place, his spine straightening as he gazed straight ahead. but his voice, when he spoke, was tight with tension. "perhaps i am."

the church was empty except for the two of you. mass had ended and the sun was setting. the shadows were growing longer, stretching over the church floor, darkening everything. you had snuck in while the other parishioners had filtered out, intent on confronting the priest who had been avoiding you all week.

you wouldn't let him get away that easily, not yet.

"why?" you whispered, your lips brushing the curve of his ear. the air in the church was thick with heat and with anticipation, a heavy tension settling between the two of you.

the muscles of his throat convulsed as he swallowed. "because...i'm afraid i don't trust myself around you."

that was progress. that was an admission that meant a lot more than he probably realized. you stepped closer, your breasts pressing against his back, your thigh slipping against his. his breathing quickened as he fought against whatever temptation you'd stirred within him. you watched the muscles of his jaw clench, his hands curling into fists. he looked like a man fighting for the last bits of control that he possessed.

"you may think me a temptress, father, and you may not agree with my ways but i am not a liar. i think a man such as yourself deserves to experience love and desire and everything between," you whispered in his ear and before he could respond, you slipped around to his front.

you pushed onto your toes and your lips brushed against his, softly.

"allow me to make one more confession to you, father. if you don't change your mind, i will leave you be and not return,"  you murmured. there was no way you were letting him go that easily. you'd already gotten this far, why stop now.

his eyes narrowed as he searched your face, and you could practically see the war happening within him. he knew that you were tempting him, that he was walking into a trap.

the confessional booth was dark and warm, the scent of aged wood filling the small space.

"proceed," he bit out, his voice sharp with restraint. you didn't wait any longer, diving into your confession.

"father, i have done many things i am not proud of, but my greatest sin is lust. a lust for pleasure. a lust for you," your words were barely above a whisper as you continued, the sound of the rosary beads clicking against each other the only sound between you and him. his breathing had already quickened, the beads clicking faster against each other.

"and when i think of you, father, i think of how i would touch you," you murmured, the sound of your breaths heavy in the small space between the two of you, "i imagine my hands sliding over your hard stomach. i imagine pushing up your cassock and wrapping my hand around your cock," your words left you both breathless. you could here the shuffling of his cassock over the silent buzz of the fan. 

"what i truly desire is a taste of your cock, to hear the sounds of your moans and to see the sight of you coming undone, your seed dripping down my chin. to feel the heavy weight of your body on top of mine. i desire to take your virginity, your innocence, your purity."

"are you okay, father?" you asked, "you're breathing awfully hard," you teased.

you didn't dare imagine the expression on his face. you didn't have to. you could feel his eyes on you, boring into the screen. you could practically hear his heart racing, the blood rushing to his cock. the thought of him hard for you had your clit pulsing, your cunt clenching.

you squirmed beneath the fabric of your skirt, your nipples hardening against the fabric of your bra.

"yes, i am fine," he answered, his voice gruff with restraint. the sound of cloth shifting against cloth echoed through the space between you two, his breathing was suspiciously shallow.

you rose to your feet and exited your side of the confessional. you pulled back the curtain of the confessional on his side. the faint light streaming from the sanctuary illuminated him enough for you to see the look of arousal on his face. his cheeks were flushed, his eyes heavy with lust, his lips parted with shallow breaths.

the restraint of father zayne had simmered down to the faint shade of pink on his cheeks that spread to the tips of his ears. he looked like a man on the edge of madness, his eyes wild with something unspoken. you smiled to yourself, enjoying the effect you'd had on him. for once, it was good to know that you weren't the only one being driven to madness.

the air in the confessional seemed to grow hotter, the heat emanating from him enough to set your pulse racing. your heart pounded in your ears as your eyes traveled his body. he'd removed his cassock, sitting before you in a thin white shirt that was soaked with sweat. the cotton clung to him, revealing the definition of his hard body.

the fabric was nearly translucent, revealing the hard lines of his chest and the faint outline of his abdomen. his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the corded muscles of his forearms, and his face was flushed. you could tell it wasn't from the heat of the blazing summer—it was from arousal.

he sat on the bench, his thighs spread wide, his cock already hard and heavy, straining against the fabric of his trousers. the sight of him in such a state was enough to leave you breathless. he said nothing, merely gazing at you with a hunger in his eyes.

you didn't hesitate, stepping forward and dropping to your knees before him. he reached out to grip your wrist, pulling you closer until you were wedged between his knees. his hand cupped the back of your neck, drawing your head closer until your mouth was nearly flush with his, breathing softly against your lips. the heat radiating from him was enough to make your skin tingle with awareness. the thick scent of arousal surrounded you both, making your senses go into overdrive.

he traced the curve of your jaw, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. he seemed to be savoring every inch of you, committing your features to memory. he licked his lips before leaning in, and the first brush of his mouth against yours left you both groaning.

his hands slid beneath your shirt, sliding over the bare skin of your back as he pulled you closer. he didn't waste any time, his tongue dipping into the warmth of your mouth. the kiss was deep and hungry, filled with all the desire he'd been fighting for weeks. you clutched at the front of his shirt, twisting it in your fingers as you melted against him.

his hands roamed your body, his palms sliding over the curve of your hips, dipping lower until they were beneath your skirt. he gripped your ass, his fingers kneading the flesh as he deepened the kiss. you were panting against his lips when he finally released you. your fingers slid through his hair, keeping his head tilted up so you could press another kiss against his mouth. but then his hands moved, sliding around to the front of your thighs. his fingers trailed over your pussy, the thin fabric of your panties the only barrier between you.

he groaned into your mouth, his hips jerking forward at the contact. his cock strained against the fabric, eager to be freed. you didn't make him wait, your hands reaching for the hem of his slacks as you pushed them down, revealing his straining cock.

it was long and thick, the head swollen with arousal. you couldn't help yourself, your hand reaching out to wrap around the base of his cock. his eyes fluttered closed as you stroked him, his head tipping back. a low groan spilled from his lips as you teased the tip of his cock, smearing the fluid that had gathered over his slit.

you took your time, enjoying the sight of his pleasure. your lips trailed over his chest, sucking at his nipples until they were red and swollen. your tongue trailed lower until you were licking a path over the length of his cock. he gripped your hair, tugging your head back as he gazed at you with a wild look in his eyes.

"please," he whined as you settled between his knees, his cock at the entrance of your lips. never in his thirty years of life has he ever been this desperate. he wanted those plump lips of your to be the first and last to milk his virgin cock.

you opened your mouth and his cock slid inside, the head resting against the roof of your mouth as your lips wrapped around him. your tongue swirled over the head of his cock, your throat fluttering with a moan as he began to thrust his hips.

his hand tightened in your hair as he thrust into your mouth, a string of curses falling from his lips. he muttered a litany of curses under his breath, his hips working into a frenzy as he fucked your mouth.

you pressed a palm to his thigh, holding yourself in place as he thrust deeper into your mouth. your eyes watered but you didn't let that stop you. the sounds of his moans, the feeling of him losing control with each passing second. it was music to your ears, and it made your pussy wetter.

you hollowed your cheeks as he began to fuck your throat, the tip of his cock bumping against the back of your throat. the pressure built in his balls as he neared his release, his movements becoming erratic and wild. you moaned around his cock as he pressed deeper into your throat, your fingers digging into his thighs. the sound of you choking on his cock seemed to push him over the edge.

he moaned loudly, his cock spurting against the roof of your mouth. you swallowed down his cum, greedily drinking it all. you sucked him through his orgasm until he was spent, his cock slipping from your lips with a wet sound.

he collapsed back against the confessional, his breathing ragged and loud. you rested your head in his lap for a moment before looking up at him.

"lord, forgive me," he panted, his breathing slow but returning to normal. but the look on his face was far from asking for forgiveness, he wanted more. his hand gently cupped your cheek, his thumb trailing over your bottom lip.

"perhaps this is your first sin, father," you teased as you shifted to your feet. you stood up and removed your panties. he watched you, his gaze raking over the curves of your body.

"what do you want me to do to you?" he asked as you tossed your soaked panties on his spent cock before turning towards the exit of the confessional.

you glanced back at him, your smile devious. the sight was one to behold, his eyes were drowning with desire, his cheeks blazing with lust. his cock adorned with your lace panties and still twitching from his release. 

"oh, father, i've already gotten what i wanted from you. the rest...well, that's for another time," you winked at him before stepping out of the confessional. the darkness enveloped him once more and you slipped away, disappearing into the sanctuary. you knew that this was only just the beginning. 

the thrill of temptation had turned into the thrill of something more. you'd finally managed to tempt him into sinning. the next step would be much harder. he'd have to break his vow of celibacy with you.

the following week, you didn't return to the church. you didn't show up to mass on sunday's. you didn't come to confessionals in the early mornings. you left him alone to dwindle with his thoughts.

soon zayne found that the memory of your lips wrapped around his cock was only thing in his head. his body ached for more. the taste of your cherry lipgloss, the feel of your soft skin beneath his fingers. 

he knew it was wrong, it was unholy to think of such things. but he couldn't help himself. the memory of you had consumed him whole. he could swear that he could still smell the scent of your arousal mixed with your floral perfume. as if it was engraved in his soul and etched into his skin.

it had been too long, much too long without your touch. he needed it to breath. your absence was like a knife stabbed straight into his heart. he couldn't even look at the confessional booth without having flashbacks of you fingering yourself and sucking his cock. 

everywhere he looked, there was a lingering reminder of you. when he looked amongst the churchgoers in the pews, he would think of the way you'd inch your skirt up higher whenever his gaze landed on you. 

he couldn't sleep, and when he did sleep it was your lips he saw haunting him. his cock throbbed at the thought of you and you only. he would have to give in to you, but he would never admit it to your face. 

he'd spend his sleepless nights fisting his cock to memories of you. when that wasn't enough he drown himself in the scent of your panties and imagine that it was your hands rubbing his cock instead of his. he would remember how your cunt smelled, sweet and heady and more potent than anything he'd ever experienced.

you had won.

the temptation was no longer just a sin, but something more. a need. you had unleashed a monster on the loose, and he would not stop until you had given him everything he wanted. and he wanted all of you. he wanted your cunt, your ass, your mouth. he wanted it all, and he'd have it if it was the last thing he did.

and so he waited for your return, his body restless for the touch he'd grown accustomed to.

his eyes would be scanning the sanctuary each sunday, watching as the other people filtered in. he waited for your smile, your voice, your eyes. he would wait forever if he had to.

you were a temptation, a demon he couldn't resist. and soon he'd give in. the devil had him on a leash and you were holding the other end. and at your first command he'd kneel.

the summer days had begun to dwindle, the autumn winds rolling in over the hills. the leaves had just begun to fall from the trees, blanketing the ground in a warm shade of red, gold, and orange.

you'd returned to the church one evening and patiently laid in wait in zayne's study. you'd known that his resolve had grown weak, that his body yearned for yours.

his study was small and dim, the walls lined with bookshelves and the room lit by the flickering flame of a single candle. the heavy scent of aged books and leather clung to the air, filling your lungs as you inhaled. the shadows that danced across the walls gave the room a romantic atmosphere, but you'd never been one for romance.

the door clicked open, and father zayne stepped in, his movements quiet as he glanced around the room. he seemed to take in his surroundings before his gaze found you.

"father," you greeted, sauntering toward him. he stood, frozen in place, watching you with a look that was almost predatory. you stepped closer until you were toe to toe, and the feeling of his breath against your face made your cunt pulse.

"i've been waiting for you," he admitted, his voice a deep rasp. his hand reached out, cupping the curve of your ass. you shivered beneath his touch, the feeling of his palm against your skin enough to light a fire in you. he pulled you against him, his hips cradling yours. his cock was hard and straining against the front of his cassock.

"have you now, father?" you teased, your hands sliding over his chest. you'd missed the feel of his body against yours, had missed the heat of his skin beneath your fingertips. you pushed his cassock open, your hands sliding down his stomach until you felt the head of his cock. he groaned, his breath hot against your neck as you began to stroke his cock through his pants.

"yes," he admitted, the word barely above a whisper. his lips pressed against your neck, his mouth trailing over your skin until he was sucking at the curve of your throat. you tipped your head back, his teeth nipping at your skin and sending a jolt of arousal through you.

the way his mouth felt against your skin was like magic. you wanted that mouth on other parts of your body, parts that you'd been craving his touch against.he pulled you back by the hair, his eyes dark and hungry.

"i want to taste you," he groaned, the sound rough with arousal.you stood on shaky legs and began to undress, removing your clothing until you stood in nothing but your panties. he watched you hungrily, his hand reaching out to brush against your breasts. you smiled as you slipped your panties down your thighs, kicking them to the side. his eyes were trained on your naked body, and you could practically see the hunger growing in him.

you stepped closer, and his hands went to your hips. he plopped you down on his desk, settling your thighs on his shoulders.  you watched as he dropped to his knees, his face hovering just inches from your pussy.

the first touch of his tongue against your clit sent a jolt of electricity through your body. you arched your back, your breath catching in your throat.the thought of a man so devout being brought to his knees by your cunt was enough to send you spiraling over the edge.

he laved at your puffy clit, his tongue swirling around the small bud with hungry strokes. he seemed fascinated by it, exploring every inch until he was sure he had it memorized. the first stroke of his tongue against the slit of your cunt made your toes curl. he licked you like a man who had never tasted heaven before, but now had his chance and wouldn't let it slip away.

he pressed a palm against you, spreading you wider for his tongue. he dove in, licking you with long, hard strokes. his tongue was magic, the way he ate at your cunt like a man starved. you writhed against his tongue, your eyes fluttering closed as he worked you toward an orgasm.

your cunt clenched around the feeling of emptiness, your body searching for something to fill you. his fingers brushed against your entrance and you almost wept with relief. you wanted them inside you, wanted to feel the thick length of him.

you leaned back against his desk, watching him as he fucked you with his fingers. he began to eat at your pussy with a hunger that would leave you breathless, his tongue sliding in and out of your pussy with hard, wet strokes. your clit throbbed against his tongue and you tipped your head back and screamed as the pleasure rolled through you.

he didn't stop, he didn't even pause as he fucked you through your orgasm. the feeling of his tongue and fingers moving in and out of you sent you into overdrive. your pussy clenched around his fingers as he continued to eat at you. it was like he was in a trance, only focusing on bringing you pleasure.

you gripped at his hair, pulling him up from between your legs. his face was red and flushed, his eyes glazed over with arousal. he was breathless as he gazed up at you, his lips and chin wet from your arousal.

he rose to his feet, his cock straining against his pants. you reached down to unzip him and freed his cock, the thick head springing free. you pumped it slowly with your hand, his cock growing even harder in your hand as he watched.

"i want to be inside you," he whispered, his hands cupping your breasts. he squeezed at the flesh and you gasped, the feeling of his cock against your thigh enough to make your cunt clench. he'd been a man of god for so long, but the touch of you had brought him back to life. he was a man again, with a man's desires and needs. you had been the catalyst for his descent into sin and he had no intention of stopping.

"then take me," you answered, your lips pressing against his. he moaned into your mouth as you guided his cock toward your entrance. he paused for a moment before pushing in, the head of his cock stretching you open. you gasped, your pussy clenching around him. his face pressed against your throat, his breathing coming out in shallow, ragged breaths.

"oh god," he gasped as he pushed deeper inside you. you had never been with a virgin before and the thought that you were his first sent a thrill through your body. he stretched you wider as he pushed inside until he was seated at the hilt.

"move," you gasped as he paused. he began to move, his strokes slow and deep yet inexperienced. his hips worked against yours in slow movements. his breathing quickened as he began to move faster, the sound of your cunt sucking him in filling the room.

you clutched at him, wrapping your legs around his hips as he began to pump into you. his breathing grew quick, his thrusts becoming erratic. you gripped at him, holding onto him as he fucked into you. the sound of your breathing mingled with that of his, echoing off the walls of the study.

his fingers reached down and gently strummed your overstimulated clit. your orgasm was immediate and intense, your cunt squeezing around him as you came.

his cock felt like magic, the feeling of it rubbing against your walls making you shiver. the friction was enough to bring you back to the edge and you knew you wouldn't last much longer. his breaths came in pants as he fucked you harder, his grip on your hips tightening as he began to lose control.

"you feel so good," he groaned against your throat. his words sent shivers down your spine. "gonna fuck my cum into your pretty cunt."

he began to rut into you, his breathing coming in pants as his thrusts turned wild and erratic. the thick tip of his cock bruising your cervix at a brutal pace that hurt so deliciously. you clutched at his back, holding on as he began to come inside you.

his release set you off and your orgasm crashed over you. your pussy clenched around him, milking every drop of his cum from his cock. you rode the wave of your orgasm, your cunt pulsing with pleasure. he collapsed against you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder.

you held him in place, running your fingers through the thickness of his hair as his breathing began to return to normal. his cock slipped out of you with a lewd squelch—his eyes transfixed on the mixture of his cum and your cream that painted your cunt and his cock.

"i can't resist you," he whispered against your skin. you ran your fingers through his hair.

"who said you had to?" you murmured back, running your fingers over the curve of his jaw.

you tilted his chin up until he was gazing up at you.  the look in his eyes was one of pure adoration, and that was what had sealed your fate. you had never thought to want to keep him, but there it was, a new feeling stirring to life inside you.

he was the one man you could never resist and you had a feeling that he would always be so. you'd have to keep him, keep him locked away for yourself. because the truth of the matter was, you could never let him go. he was yours and yours alone. and you would make sure of that.

he would be your little secret.

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune - The World Revolving

1 | 2

Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

While exploring the ruins of Card Castle, Kris stumbles across a bound god of chaos hiding just under the surface...a foe way more formidable than any they've faced yet!

PHEW I swear, it feels like I've been working on this particular scene forever! Been distracted by many things...other comics, continued wrist troubles, winter break, etc... but finally, it's done and here! This one is probably the most gnarly one yet in terms of body horror, so heed the warning tags!

The latter half will be out tomorrow!

Alt text for these pages is under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - A wide shot as Kris, Ralsei, and Susie make their way through the card kingdom castle…a wrecked ruin, with half-broken towers and ripped banners fluttering in the open air. Lancer sits happily on top of Susie’s head. “Are we there yet?” asks Susie. Lancer replies with a simple “No.”

Panel 2 - Closer on Kris as they look downwards. Something has caught their attention. In the background, Susie and Lancer repeat the exchange: “Are we there yet?” / “No.”

Panel 3 - Kris notices what looks like a trail of parchment torn into different shapes, leading down into a lower level of the ruins. 

Panel 4 - Kris begins to follow the scrap paper trail across large stones, straying off of the pain path through the castle ruins.

Panel 5 - Ralsei notices that Kris has wandered away from them. Susie and Lancer also look on in the background. “Kris? Where are you going?” asks Ralsei.

Panel 6 - Kris points at the scrap trail leading down into the rocks, still focused on it. “The old shopkeep, Seam…they mentioned something about a path cut from pages…”

Page 2

Panel 1 - Side view of Ralsei as he watches Kris descend down, and cautiously holds up a hand in warning. “It’s not wise to wander too far off-course, Kris!” he says. 

Panel 2 - Kris doesn’t seem to pay attention to the warning. In a wide shot, we see them following the trail down a series of large stone steps that seem to be shaped into a spiral. At the bottom of the spiral is another stone with unknown markings on it. “They said there could be something useful to us at the end of it…” Kris says.

Panel 3 - Wider shot of Kris now at the bottom of the spiral. Ralsei, Susie and Lancer watch warily from above, back on the main path.

Panel 4 - Kris approaches the stone at the center of the spiral. It seems to be covered in moss, but something else catches their attention first–

Panel 5 - Closer on the stone, it shows that it has markings on it: a cross, divided up into the four card suits. Kris leans in closer to observe and brush the dirt from the stone. “There’s something here…” they say.

Panel 6 - From high above, Ralsei sees Kris focusing on the stone in the spiral. “Kris? Hang on just a second…” he says, holding out a hand in warning.

Panel 7 - Closeup on Kris’s hand as they brush against the marked stone. Their thumb touches a trigger hidden on the side of the stone, which gives a sharp ‘CLICK’.

Page 3

Panel 1 - Kris lets out a surprised yell as very suddenly, they plummet down beneath the stone–

Panel 2 - Their yell continues as they vanish into what is revealed to be a sudden trap door, opened right below where they were standing. 

Panel 3 - The remaining Fun Gang look on with shock and surprise, and call out as Kris vanishes. Susie gives a shocked “Woah!” and Ralsei cries out “KRIS!”

Panel 4 - A vertical panel as Kris plummets down into open darkness, their limbs flailing. Light from above shines on them as they fall.

Panel 5 - With a grunt of pain, Kris lands on what appears to be a sandy hill–

Panel 6 - And continues to tumble down the hill, sand trailing behind them–

Panel 7 - Very wide shot as Kris’s fall continues, showing that they are sliding down an enormous sand hill, like the inside of an enormous hourglass. Only a single shaft of light shines from where they fell. Otherwise the area is empty darkness.

Page 4

Panel 1 - Kris’s finally slides to a stop somewhere in the sand. They grit their teeth, and try to get back onto their feet. 

Panel 2 - Kris suddenly springs back up, eyes wide in shock, as a strange, bellowing laughter booms around them: “UUH HEE HEE HEE…”

Panel 3 - Kris looks ahead of them…at the very bottom of the sand pit, like an antlion at the bottom of a pit trap, sits what appears to be a bulb, or a closed circus tent. 

Panel 4 - Wider shot as Kris gets to their feet, very wary. “Who’s there?”

Panel 5/6/7 - Multiple panels as the enormous circus tent moves, and begins to unfurl itself…showing massive hands made of bone and stretched tent material, like sinewy skin. Each bony finger is tipped with an enormous scythe. The creature lifts itself up enough to show the a jester’s head, hanging upside down from the bottom of the tent. The jester’s face sports slit eyes, multiple hoop earrings on its pointed ears, and a smile of jagged teeth. 

Panel 8 - Wide shot as Kris stands tiny before the enormous form of Jevil - a creature of bones and tent skin and scythes, balanced precariously upside-down over what appears to be a bottomless pit. Jevil looks at Kris and declares, “WELCOME, WELCOME, LITTLE LOST HUMAN! YOUR FREEDOM IS WITHIN REACH!”

Page 5

Panel 1 - Kris looks up in fear and confusion at the giant creature, and tries to step back. “What are you?!” they ask.

Panel 2 - Focus on Jevil’s upside down face as he grins back at Kris, and says, “A GOD, LOST HUMAN! A GOD OF CHAOS, CHAOS!”

Panel 3 - Kris stands small against the chaos god as he continues to grin down them. “COME CLOSER, AND WE SHALL ENGAGE IN SUCH MERRIMENT!”

Panel 4 - Kris eyes the enormous scythes at the end of the fingers, and continues to step back, extremely cautious. “A god, is it? I think I’d prefer the rest of my party be here for any ‘merriment’,” they reply.

Panel 5 - Jevil twists his head to the side with curiosity and glee, and replies. “I INSIST! I SEE YOUR SOUL DESIRES CHAOS! WHAT EXCITEMENT, WE ARE KINDRED SPIRITS!”

Panel 6 - Focus on Jevil’s scythe fingers as they begin to move through the sand, creaking with the effort. He is beginning to spin.

Panel 7 - Shot from above on Jevil as he spins faster and faster, the tent body and splayed scythe fingers blurring into a hypnotic spiral. The wind howls around him with the spinning.

Panel 8 - Kris jolts forward as the winds pick up around them. The spinning is creating a gyre, drawing them in closer.

Page 6

Panel 1 - Kris tries to slow their slide as Jevil continues to spin and spin, drawing them in closer. The winds and movement are hard to resist. “LET US PLAY, PLAY!” Jevil cries in delight. “TRUE FREEDOM AWAITS YOU!”

Panel 2 - Kris looks up at the revolving god, unable to stop their slide through the sand. The winds whip their hair and cowl around them. However…

Panel 3 - “If I can get past those blades and make the jump…” Kris thinks to themself, as the scene shows Jevil’s smiling face through the whirlwinds.

Panel 4 - Closeup on Kris. They grimace to themself as the wind continues to buffet them and pull them in, and finish the thought: “...One good swing should sever the head and end this!”

Panel 5 - Kris pulls out their sword as they continue to slide closer to the edge of the gyre. Jevil looks on as they say aloud, “I don’t know that I trust a bound god’s concept of freedom.”

Panel 6 - Jevil tilts his head down at them, still smiling as always, and replies, “BOO HOO  HOOEE HEE! AND DOES YOUR SOUL KNOW IT?”

Page 7

Panel 1/2/3 - Multiple panels as Kris slides down the sand, holding their sword at the ready. They ready their sword in another panel, back to the camera, facing down a laughing Jevil. The final panel includes a closeup of their hand gripping the sword, although their hand is shaking. Across all panels, Jevil continues to taunt them: “IN THE BELLY OF A ROAMING BEAST, IN THE OWNERSHIP OF A DEMON PRINCE, IN THE RIGID RULES OF YOUR LIGHT WORLD? IS IT THERE?”

Panel 4 -  The scythe fingers swing by in a blur as Kris slides into the gyre, and pulls their arm back, ready to strike with their sword–

Panel 5 - A black and white abstract panel - something sharp slices through the darkness, and strikes home.

Panel 6 - Closeup on Kris’s face as they look shocked into silence–

Panel 7 - And the camera pulls out to reveal that their sword arm is gone, sliced off completely at the shoulder. They can only look down at the stump where their arm once was in horror.

Panel 8 - Kris screams as they’re thrown helplessly into the center of the whirling gyre, blood streaming behind them from their severed arm. Jevil faces them with glee and declares, “NO, NO! YOUR FREEDOM IS HERE!”

Page 8

Panel 1 - The panels are jagged now, coming apart along with the world itself. Kris is trapped in the searing whirlwind, orbiting around Jevil’s spinning head. The world is a blurred tornado. Jevil cries, “A SIMPLE CHAOS IS ALL YOU NEED! UNRAVEL MIND, BODY AND SOUL!”

Panel 2 - Kris is subjected to the god’s command. They scream into the void as their body is unraveled in the gyre, starting at the stump and spreading out to the rest of them in strips of cloth, flesh and bone. 

Panel 3 - A massive panel as Kris is completely torn apart at the seams. Their glowing soul is revealed as their body is peeled away in stips from them, leaving only a few bones and muscles trying to stay together. 

As Kris is pulled apart, Jevil’s voice rings out: “SEE, SEE HOW ALL THE RULES AND ORDERS HAVE TRAPPED YOU? HURT YOU AND KILLED YOU?” In the strips of Kris’s body pulled apart are scenes that seem to confirm Jevil’s worldview: Empire guards chasing down Kris as a young child. Toriel kindly shooing Kris away from a pie they were interested in. Asgore keeping Kris from plants he knows are dangerous. Kris on the altar as they are sacrificed to the demon. Kris giving up their soul to Ralei. Kris being devoured by Susie. Kris trapped at a door by Mr. Society and Mr. Elegance, keeping them from advancing with rules. Kris being revived, again and again, by Ralsei’s control over their soul. “BUT HE HAS SHOWN ME, IT ALL MEANS NOTHING, NOTHING!”

Page 9

Panel 1 - The panels continue to be jagged and harsh as the rest of Kris’s body is completely obliterated in the whirlwind, leaving only their soul spiraling in the gyre. Jevil’s voice continues: “NO RULES, NO HURT, NO PRISONS FOR YOU! SHARE YOUR JOY WITH ME!”

Panel 2 - Kris’s soul begins to break under the strain of Jevil’s version of joy: a swirling mess of eyes, teeth, claws, screaming faces, beasts and sinew and armor. They all close in on their lost soul in a mess of chaos and madness.

Panel 3 - As the winds turn to pure darkness, Kris’s soul begins to dissolve in the gyre as well, broken in the relentless chaos. Jevil’s voice rings out once more: “SHARE YOUR SOUL WITH ME, A TRUE CHAOS, CHAOS!”

Panel 4 - As Kris’s soul is nearly dissolved and lost in complete blackness, another voice cries out: “KRIS!” From the darkness, Ralsei’s glowing eyes and fiery claws reach out to grab Kris’s soul before it’s lost. 

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Sky fall"

ok yall I did get a little inspired! Lmk how it is! I know its not what some of yall wanted but this is how I wrote it! Everything is coming together now! Sorry if its confusing <3

Tiffany’s footsteps echoed through the abandoned warehouse, each one measured, confident, as she strode deeper into the dimly lit space. The walls, once intimidating in their desolation, now felt like a stage set for her triumph. She was certain of herself, this was it. She had manipulated them all, pulled the strings, and now, with the Batfamily’s most sensitive intel in hand, she was untouchable. They would never see it coming. She had convinced herself that the web she had carefully spun was impenetrable.

But tonight, Tiffany was walking straight into a trap.

She paused at the center of the room, eyes scanning the surroundings with a practiced ease. The flicker of lights overhead seemed almost theatrical, as if signaling the grand performance she was about to claim as her own. Her fingers tightened around the sleek metallic briefcase she held—inside it, the false intel she believed would seal her victory. She had rehearsed every step, anticipated every move. But there was one thing she hadn't accounted for: the Batfamily’s silence.

They were everywhere, but they weren't moving. Not yet. They were waiting.

From his position in the shadows, Tim watched through the Batcave’s live feeds, his eyes cold and calculating as he traced Tiffany’s every move. The family had worked tirelessly to set this up—baiting her with fake intel, feeding her just the right amount of information to guarantee she'd take the bait. She had, without fail, walked right into their hands.

Tim’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. Every signal, every encrypted line of data, it had all led to this moment. His chest tightened with the weight of his resolve. This ends now.

He didn't need to say it aloud. They all knew what was at stake. This wasn’t just about protecting Gotham, or the family’s secrets. It was about you. It was about taking back what Tiffany had stolen from you. Your life. Your identity. Your place in this family. Every single person in that room understood that this wasn’t just about a spy. This was personal.

“Now we finish this,” Tim’s voice rang through the comms, calm but with the sharp edge of finality.

The tension in the air was palpable, thick as smoke. Bruce, standing silently with his arms crossed, stared intently at the screen, his jaw set like stone. Dick, ever the optimist, now had no room for jokes. His usual playful nature was gone, replaced by a grim focus. Jason, less patient, was practically vibrating with anger, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His gaze flickered between the screens and the door, his body coiled like a spring, ready to explode.

Damian was the quietest of them all, his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched with fierce intent. His mind was only focused on one thing: her.

The trap was set, and now it was time for the family to act.

Suddenly, from the corner of the room, a figure emerged, cloaked in darkness, stepping forward as silently as a shadow. It was Dick, moving with fluid precision as he approached Tiffany from behind. His voice came out low, dangerous. “Thought you had us all fooled, didn’t you, Tiffybear?”

Tiffany froze, her body tensing as she spun toward the sound of the voice. The briefcase slipped from her grip, clattering against the concrete floor as her eyes met Dick’s.

"Dick! Hey! What are you doing here? I thought I said I wanted to be alone." Tiffany asked, her tone clipped and annoyed.

Dick’s voice was almost mocking, a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. “You never had a chance. You just didn’t know it yet.”

From all sides, the rest of the Batfamily moved into position, emerging from the shadows, closing in.

Tim’s voice cut through the silence again. “You thought you could replace her, Tiffany. Thought you could take what was hers and make it your own. But you were wrong.”

Tiffany’s eyes darted between them, confusion creeping in as the weight of the situation began to sink in. Her lips curled into a sneer. “What is this? You can’t—”

“We already know,” Jason interrupted, stepping forward, his presence like a storm rolling in. “You’ve been feeding information to our enemies. Stealing. Lying to us. Pretending to be someone you're not. And all for what? To replace her? To become her?” His voice trembled with rage, each word fueled by the months of anger, the betrayal, and the crushing realization that someone he had trusted had been working against him all along.

Tiffany’s composure faltered, her eyes flashing with defiance. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve always been here, helping, supporting—”

“You’re a liar,” Tim spat, stepping forward. His gaze was unwavering, every ounce of anger and frustration channeled into his words. “You stole everything from her. Her identity, her life, her place in this family. And now, you're trying to replace her. No more games.”

Bruce’s voice, low and steady, cut through the tension. “We gave you a chance. We treated you like family. And this is how you repay us?”

Tiffany’s eyes widened as the gravity of the situation hit her all at once. She took a step back, her breathing growing erratic. For the first time since she’d entered the room, doubt crept into her expression. The confidence, the arrogance that had once defined her shattered before their very eyes.

“This ends now,” Bruce said again, his words as cold as steel. He motioned to Dick, who moved to secure Tiffany’s exit, blocking her every attempt to escape.

Damian’s voice, soft but filled with a dangerous edge, broke through the noise. “You think you can erase her? You think you can take her place? You think you can get away with this? Jail will be the least of your problems soon” He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing with intense focus.

Tiffany recoiled, as if he had struck her, her eyes flickering between the Batfamily members who had surrounded her. This wasn’t the victory she had imagined. This wasn’t the moment where she was crowned the perfect replacement. This was the moment where her lies crumbled, and she realized how deeply she had miscalculated.

Her hand shot out to grab the briefcase, but before she could move, Jason was already there. His grip was iron-tight as he snatched the case from her. “I think you’ve lost your audience, sweetheart.”

With the briefcase secured, and no escape left, Tiffany turned to face them all, her mask of composure slipping as panic began to seep in. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” she spat, her voice trembling. “I’ve been working with people who can destroy you all. You’ll regret this. You’ll never get away with it.”

“We already have,” Dick said softly. “You’re done.”

The family, united, stood in the silence that followed, their collective presence so overwhelming that Tiffany felt smaller than she ever had. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The Batfamily has finally seen through her. The game was over.

And in that moment, Tiffany realized that she was never in control.

She had never been in control.

They were.

As the family closed in, ready to bring her to justice for the harm she had done, Tim’s fingers hovered over the keyboard one last time. The Batcave’s monitors flashed again, but this time, it wasn’t encrypted files or hidden surveillance. It was a signal, one that would send Tiffany straight to the authorities, where she would finally face the consequences of her actions.

This was the end of Tiffany’s game.

And the beginning of the Batfamily reclaiming what was rightfully theirs.

Tiffany had underestimated them. She had underestimated the family.

Now, it was time to make her pay.

The jet’s wheels hit the tarmac with a soft hum, the quiet after the hum of engines almost disorienting. You stretched in your seat, flexing your fingers, aware of the long flight that had left your body restless, but you could already feel the change in the air. The tension. The suffocating weight of everything happening around you.

You had promised yourself you wouldn’t get attached again, that you wouldn’t let your walls down. But there was something about Alfred’s letters that made it impossible to resist, something about the quiet, steady affection in his words that still clung to your memories of the Manor. You’d gone through all the motions, pretending like you weren’t angry, pretending like you didn’t resent the family for abandoning you, for believing the lies.

Yet here you were. Looking for closure and chasing love.

As the cabin doors opened a gust of cool Gotham air rushed in. It wasn't refreshing, it was as if the air held something dark and heavy that clung to you. The world outside was still dark, the city a blur of towering lights and shadows stretching across the skyline.

The car ride to the manor was a blur, it was as if your body was on autopilot the whole way. Alfred had sent a car to get you, thankfully the driver didn't insist on small talk.

Your stomach was filled with dread and you thought of asking the driver to take you back to the airport, Ariel and her family wouldn't mind if you came two days earlier than expected. You knew that, but your feet wouldn’t let you. The pull of the manor, even after everything, was undeniable.

The long drive up the winding gravel path to the front gates felt like an eternity. It always had, but this time it felt different. Almost like time was pushing you forward, faster than you were ready to go.

When the doors of the manor finally loomed in front of you, all lit up like a beacon in the night, a deep breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t the same. Not anymore.

The family wasn’t here, at least, not all of them. It was strange, like stepping into a house full of ghosts and memories. You couldn't shake the feeling that things had shifted in ways you couldn’t yet see. But you were about to find out, weren't you?

Alfred was the first to greet you, of course. His warm smile, the familiar twinkle in his eyes, felt like home. He wasn’t perfect, he had his flaws and he also brushed you off for the imposter, but there was no one else who had ever been as constant, as unshakeable in your life.

“It's wonderful to see you. I trust your ride was pleasant?” Alfred asked gently, as he took your luggage from you and wrapped you into a gentle and warm hug. His voice, though calm, held something you couldn’t quite place. It was the way he always spoke when there was trouble brewing underneath the surface.

You bit back the rush of emotion threatening to spill out. The hurt you felt after he just allowed Bruce to exile you. You could feel the eyes of the manor on you, too many memories to process, too many ghosts to acknowledge. "It’s good to see you, Alfred," you said, and even though the words were kind, your stomach twisted with an unfamiliar unease.

Alfred never made you feel this way before, what changed?

He nodded, glancing briefly at the front door. "Master Bruce has been expecting you," he said, and though it sounded almost casual, there was something in the way he said it, something cautious, like a warning wrapped in politeness. "If you'd like, I’ll have your things brought up to your room."

Your heart dropped, Bruce was expecting you? Since when did he stay up late to wait for your arrival? Did Tiffany say something? Did he find you finsta? Your tik tok??

You shook your head, masking your unease and licking your suddenly dry lips. "No, it’s fine. I’ll head straight to the study, it must be important and it won't take long hopefully." You said almost reassuring yourself.

Alfred raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. It was clear he knew better than to ask more. He simply offered a silent nod, stepping aside to let you enter the familiar grand hall.

Every step echoed as you walked through the long corridor, your shoes clicking on the polished checkered marble floors. The place looked untouched, the same lavish decor, nothing changed so why did it feel different? It felt like a time capsule, but you felt distorted, twisted in ways you didn’t quite understand yet.

And then, when you reached the study, the door was open an invitation, though not warm. Your heart picked up pace as you crossed the threshold.

Bruce sat at the large desk, his posture tense, the shadows of the room stretching long against his features. His eyes lifted from the documents in front of him when you entered, but there was no immediate anger in his eyes or anything hostile; so what did he want if not to scold you?

“You’ve made it. I hope your trip was pleasant.” There was a bite to his words, something you couldn’t place, but his eyes never wavered from yours. You realized then that something had shifted in him too. Something had changed.

"It was good. How've you been? Busy? Your phone fixed yet?" you asked coolly, crossing your arms, eyes narrowing slightly. A jab at him for never answering your calls and texts.

Alfred had mentioned that Bruce was expecting you, but he hadn’t said why.

“You could say that," Bruce responded, leaning back in his chair, his steely gaze never leaving yours. "But now that you’re here, I think we need to have a conversation."

Your false confidence was shaking and you were reduced to a scared child standing in front of her all-powerful father. You couldn't handle being blamed for anything or pushed aside for Tiffany anymore.

You faltered, the tension between you both palpable. "About what exactly? I haven't done anything wrong."

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for the large monitor beside him, flicking a few buttons. The screen lit up with files, encrypted footage, and images you didn’t recognize at first glance.

You could already feel your pulse racing. This was about to get interesting.

"About Tiffany," Bruce said, and the very mention of her name made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t explain. His eyes never left you as he clicked the first file open. “I think it’s time you knew the truth.”

You felt a sick satisfaction knowing you were right all along, that you figured out what The Batman couldn't.

As you watched the first videos, you couldn't stop yourself from scoffing, this wasn't anything new. You knew Tiffany was a spy, but as the videos continued, your skin began to crawl.

Tiffany walking into your room at night and coming out with arms full of things you thought you lost.

Tiffany following you into the library and reading all the books you read. Imitating everything you did.

What really made bile rise to your throat was the last video, there Tiffany was, in the laundry room sniffing and wearing your dirty clothes.

You stood in front of Bruce, frozen and naesous, waiting for him to speak.

" You knew Tiffany was a spy, you told me of how she treated you, and I brushed you off and called you a liar; for that you have my never ending apology and regret. However, there are things about her that even you didn't know." Said Bruce standing and walking toward you, his eyes were different from how they usually looked. Usually cold and unforgiving, they now held remorse and regret, and if you didn't know better, love.

He gently grabbed your hands and turned you toward him, "I'm sorry. For everything. I am the world's biggest fool for how i've treated you these years."

That was all you wanted to hear for years, those sentences healed the cracks in your heart but your eyes burned with tears and you quickly took a step back; snatching your hands from his calloused ones, "Sorry changes nothing." You bit back, suddenly feeling a rush of anger and hurt that gave you confidence.

Your father sighed and took a step back, "I know." He said looking at you with longing.

You turned your head, acrylics burning and digging into your crossed arms. You couldn't bare to look at him, he looked pathetic when he pulled that face. He looked like you. He looked at you in the same way you looked at him all these years, longing and desperate for love.

"Is that all you wanted to say?" you asked faking nonchalance when in reality you couldn't wait to get in your bed and cry.

Bruce sighed again, "No. I need to explain why we all reacted that way to her and we need to talk about your own special.....abilities."

For the next hour, you sat with Bruce in his study, closer than you've ever been, as he explained who Tiffany truly was and why she was able to fool everyone. Your mind was running a million miles per minute as he spoke, it all made sense now.

Why Tiffany had that effect of the family, why she was so popular at school, why she was there that fateful night when you were bit.

Tiffany was working with an unknown organization, PATIENCE. She was planted into your school years ago to observe you and figure out how to infiltrate the Family. She was able to deceive everyone because she was also bitten by the snake but her body couldn't take the full transformation so her abilities were weaker than yours and mutated. She was able to release pheremones that intoxicated the mind, you weren't affected because you were immune.

She was there that night because she was also on a mission, a mission to kill the snake but it ended up escaping and biting you.

PATIENCE was working with the Joker on a one time partnership, they would give the Joker intel on Batman's plans in exchange for him allowing them to bring drugs through Gothams ports.

The situation was handled now, of course, but it was a miracle you survived the bite.

By the end of the conversation you were exhausted, but had never felt that relieved. Everything made sense now. You looked at Bruce only to find her already staring at you and your eyes watered once again. He had a reason for the Tiffany situation, but what about all those other years?

As you both got up, you to go to your room and sleep, and him to go to the Batcave, Bruce gently pulled you back.

In the middle of the hallway, he brought you into tight hug. He towered over you and buried his face into your hair, muttering apologies almost deleriously; and as you felt hot tears fall onto you, you wrapped your arms around his waist and began to sob into his chest.

"I hate you." you said your voice muffled and cracked,

"I know." He replied, voice soft and tears still falling yet refusing to let you see him cry.

"I don't forgive you. This can't change the past." You said sobbing even more yet leaning into his hard, toned chest.

" I know." He replied again somberly and more composed now.

As you parted ways, you could feel his eyes on you, willing you to look back.

You didn't.

That night you slept like the dead, your chest felt lighter than it had in years. When you woke the next morning, you felt hope for the first time in years. Maybe Bruce could redeem himself, not anytime soon, but someday. He had to work for it first. Prove he changed, buy you a birkin in every color and a house in every country and then you would think about letting go of the past.

As you walked down for breakfast in your linen pants and your ex-boyfriends NYU sweatshirt, all hope you had faded. You were so caught up in Bruce's apology that you forgot about the rest of them. And there at the table in the grand dining room sat Bruce at the head of the table with everyone of your siblings surrounding him, all chatting in hushed whispers and immediately going quiet as you walked into the room and sat in the only unoccupied seat right in the middle.

Bitterness filled your heart as you realized they were probably talking about you.

You were seated next to Damian and Tim with Duke and Jason across from you. As soon as you sat Alfred brought out the food, Cinnamon roll pancakes, your favorite along with all your favorite sides. All the tension left your body as you beamed and dug into the food, eyes rolling back as you tasted heaven.

No one spoke, but Jason smirked fondly, Damian rolled his eyes and Dick beamed, Bruce looked interested and Tim just stared creepily from next to you.

You blushed as you noticed everyones eyes on you, and suddenly your mood was ruined again as Duke caught your eye and chuckled "Some things never change huh? You loved these, remember that time-"

You pushed your plate away from you, grabbing a piece of french and cut him off coldly "No, no I don't." Your feelings were still hurt from his betrayal and he thought you could go back to normal? To before Tiffany?

His face fell and he opened his mouth closed it, simply looking away sadly.

"He hasn't even said anything! Why don't you let him tell the story, we all want to know!" Said Stephanie enthusiaticaly from next to Jason.

Who does she think she is? Why does she assume she's entitled to your happy memories? After everything she's said and done? After everything they all said and did?

Blood rushed to your head, your teeth burned and sharpened and and you couldn't stop the scoff escaping you. "Literally who was talking to you? Mind your own fucking business, I really don't give a shit about what you want. Or any of you really." You say standing up angrily and almost throwing the plate in her face.

The hall went silent as everyone stared at your standing, hostile form. Jason looked entertained, Cassandra was shocked for once, Dick looked frantic and concerned, Barbra's mouth was opening and closing in a fish like manner, Steph looked like you stabbed her, even Tim looked taken aback, and Bruce simply stared at you.

It was Damian that really set you off, he pulled your elbow attempting to sit you back down, "There's no fighting or cursing allowed at the table. Stop whining and sit down and finish your pancakes. This display is pathetic." He said arrogantly rolling his eyes at you in his fancy pajamas and messy hair.

You hadn't help that anger in years. HE was lecturing you about whining and fighting? him? That's rich. You don't know what came over you but you don't regret a thing.

You harshly pulled your elbow out his grip and decked him.

Straight.

In.

The.

Face.

You'd show him what fighting at the table really was. Your punch knocked him out of his chair and you heard something crack and heard everyone gasp, rushing out their chairs while you hissed and grabbed your favorite pancakes and shoved them in his stupid, similar looking, arrogant face. You punched him again for good measure and for fun. You were reaching for the syrup to pour on him when Tim tried to pull you away so you decked his scrawny ass too.

Honestly, the moments after were a blur but somehow you ended up in your room with Jason standing in your doorway hours later with chicken nuggets and a smirk.

taglist:

[whytheylosttheirminds]

haunted - r.c.

house arrest!Rafe Cameron x mysterious neighbor!reader one-shot (5.4k words)

content: angst, smut, references to dark pasts, mentions of obsession (mild), oral (f), unprotected p-in-v, 18+ minors do not interact

﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒𓆩 𓆪﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒

That first night, the summer air was so thick you could drown in it. You could taste the salty sea on your tongue as you took a deep breath, bracing your hands on the high lip of the brick wall. You’d only get one shot at the jump, too much noise would draw the neighbors’ attention. You checked your phone once again, 9:09 pm, late enough to cover you in darkness, but not late enough to ensure the neighborhood was asleep. Stealth was your only option. Squaring your shoulders, you stuffed your phone back in your bag and launched it over the wall, listening for the soft thud in the grass that meant there was truly no backing down now.

Little spurs of pain pinched your ankles when you landed on the other side, but you’d made it, unscathed aside from the torn skin on your palms from the wall’s unforgiving stone. The hard part was over, now you froze with uncertainty, you hadn’t planned to make it this far.

The house stood mighty under the bright light of the moon. This was the first time you saw it in its grand entirety, the view from your window across the street revealing only the white siding and a few shuttered windows. You’d watched for a few days - no cars came or went, the small windows you could see from your own were never opened, no lights turned on and off beyond their panes. 

The few neighbors you’d talked to since your mysterious sudden arrival got cagey when the topic came up, a seemingly unspoken rule that this was the one house off limits for their ever turning rumor mill. Though the shifty glances and wrung hands at the mention of it hinted at something sinister lying behind this ancient brick wall, something dangerous. The risk was too alluring, and you were too bored, trapped in your cookie cutter McMansion with your father, a man who never understood you, and a twisted past you were running from even when you were standing still.

Now, on the other side of the alluring border, was the first time in months you didn’t feel trapped. Your heart raced as you looked around the massive yard, no lights in the windows confirming your theory that the house was abandoned. A chill shot through you despite the record high July temperatures, something so haunting about this storied land, and so forbidden. I should not be here, you thought as your feet carried you further into the trespassed property. This was the most alive you’d felt since you arrived on this island a few weeks ago, your sordid past nipping at your heels. For the first time since the incident, your mind wasn’t consumed with it, with the horrible memories, the regrets, the what-ifs. Here inside the gates of Tannyhill you were an outlaw, so far from what you have done and even farther from what you should be doing. 

Euphoria swept over you, the most heady high. An almost manic laugh slipped from your lips before you could stop it. You reveled in the electric feeling as you padded through the grass back to the wall. You’d only made it a few steps toward the house, but you knew you’d be back, finally finding something to make your heart race, something to come back to, something to live for. 

After that night, the empty house became your obsession. All day, every day you thought about the sprawling property, the grand pillars and white walls that housed a thousand mysteries. While the sun was up, you dreamt of what you might find when you finally found a way inside, and as soon as it set, you were creeping back over that wall, making it a few steps further each time. 

Finally, after two weeks of dreaming, trapped inside the house across the street that would never be your home, fighting with the father that would never be your family, you knew it was time. Tonight, you’d go farther than you ever had, touch the walls of that ancient house, the promise of the thrill almost as heady and dizzying as the moment itself.

Climbing over that wall was muscle memory at this point, the calluses on your hands proof you’d formed an addiction you were nowhere near kicking. After the trek through the tall, unkempt grass you’d walked fifteen times now, you made it to the stone walkway you’d yet to touch. Without stopping to think, to second guess, you sprinted over the stones, rounding the corner of the house for the first time, stopping in your tracks at the beauty the backyard held.

The moon reflected off the water, rippling from the slight breeze, calling to you. Perfect. You’d go for a swim in the pool that wasn’t yours, maybe even find a little rock and break a window, sneak into this haunted house, anything to keep feeling the rush that had brought your body back to life the second you stepped foot on this forbidden land.

﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒𓆩 𓆪﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒

Rafe saw you the very first night. For six months now, he’d spent every waking minute pacing these empty halls, wishing for a hit of something, anything, to make the silence less deafening. The only noises keeping him company on these endless nights were the sound of his own erratic voice and the occasional beep of the monitor strapped tight around left ankle. 

They’d gotten him for the drugs, but he knew what they were really trying to uncover, the secrets he kept buried so deep even he forgot about them sometimes. His sentence was two years house arrest, every movement monitored, all substances strictly forbidden. 

It only took a few days for the loneliness to become crippling. Over and over, he imagined turning the corner and seeing someone standing in the hall, someone he knew, someone he didn’t, anyone, to talk to, to make him feel like he wasn’t going completely insane. 

Then a soft thud in the distance, followed closely by another, the second slightly louder. Any noise out of place immediately perked his ears, far too familiar with the creaks and groans of this old mansion to miss even the quietest of disturbances. Maybe the thuds could have been something innocuous, a branch breaking or wind whipping against the walls. What came after, however, was unmistakable. 

The soft, sweet melody of a woman’s laugh floated across the night air and in through an open window. The sound was so welcome and warm as it washed over Rafe, the purity of it washing him clean, illuminating the world around him. Suddenly, in the midst of his darkest hour, a bright light had appeared before him, calling him home.

His days quickly became consumed by thoughts of you. He spent his hours watching the sun journey across the sky, east to west, willing it to set faster and bring you to him. All he knew of you was your moonlit silhouette, coming to him every night like the sweetest dream. Each time the sun set and you appeared, you got closer and closer to him. The hesitancy in your steps was maddening, but he couldn’t go to you, the risk of scaring you off was far too great, your nightly visits the only thing keeping him earthside. 

And then, on the fifteenth night, when he thought for sure you’d never come to him, never cross the rest of the distance that kept you apart, you broke into a run, disappearing around the side of the house and out of view. He ran from window to window, looking down from the second floor trying to find you. His panting breaths and pounding heartbeat were the only things he could hear, until, so miraculously he wondered if he imagined it, a splash and that same angelic laugh, so beautiful and melodic that his whole world shook. Risks be damned, there was no holding himself back, feet moving of their own accord as he ran down the spiral staircase, toward you.

﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒𓆩 𓆪﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒

You stripped your clothes under the cover of darkness, toeing the edge of the water as a test, gasping at the sharp chill. Despite the hot summer day, the water was ice cold, only adding to its alluring mysticism. There would be no easing in, your stomach twisting in anticipation as you stood in only your bra and underwear at the edge, a deep breath, a bend in your knees and - SPLASH.

Your heart nearly stopped as the water engulfed you, your hair whipping around you as you shot back up to the surface. Every cell in your body was buzzing with excitement, and just like that first night you couldn’t hold back the wild laugh that spilled from your lips. You could not believe what you were doing, so reckless and wrong, and yet so right.

Each stroke tearing through the water's surface, you swam with abandon, feet kicking up big splashes and the sound of ragged, desperate breaths filling the night air every time you craned your neck for a gulp of air. The more you swam, the more you forgot. Forgot that you were breaking the law, forgot that you were not supposed to be here, forgot about the events that led you to this island, that tore the life you knew from you in one fell swoop. You didn’t know what you’d do next, how you’d sneak into your house without water dripping everywhere, how you’d ever move on from this incredible feeling, but you didn’t care, you just kept swimming. 

Arm swinging through the air, you took what must’ve been your hundredth stroke, twisting your head to the side to grab a breath, eyes just barely catching the dark, towering silhouette of a figure at the edge of the pool.

You shot up so fast the splash of water threatened to fill your lungs and pull you back under. Your shoulders shivered as you stood in the chilly water, blinking fast to clear your vision as your brain tried to catch up to what your eyes were seeing.

You hadn’t imagined it. He stood tall and stoic at the edge of the pool, hands in his pockets, shoulders broad enough to partially block the glow of the moon. 

Something in you knew that he was dangerous, goosebumps dancing across your dripping skin, warning you “go, flee, run now.” But you didn’t move, frozen in the water as he looked down at you with the slightest tilt of his head. Darkness covered his features, only the light of the stars  reflecting off his sharp jawline and high cheekbones.

He was a total stranger, his presence a threat that should be terrifying you, and yet in the same way that you knew after the first time you’d jumped the wall that you’d keep coming back to this place, you knew that you couldn’t run from him, that you didn’t want to. Drawn to him in a way that stole your breath, you moved forward, the slightest imperceptible step, and yet you knew he could feel it too, the magnetic pull between souls that made escaping him impossible. Maybe it was a dream, or maybe you had drowned and fallen into some dark, twisted underworld, this man your own personal devil. But if he was your damnation, you wanted to fall right to the seventh circle.

For what felt like hours, neither one of you spoke. Only the gentle lap of the water against the tile edge of the pool filled the air between you - the Caught and the Capturer sizing each other up in the darkness. 

Then, with no urgency, no threat or accusation against the trespasser standing half naked in his pool, the man turned on his heel and headed toward the house, pausing at the threshold of the grand sliding glass door to mutter over his shoulder, “come in,” and after a moment’s pause and some internal battle, “please.”

﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒𓆩 𓆪﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒

Rafe turned when he sensed you hesitating outside the sliding door, his anxiety over finally seeing you up close frustrating him as he flicked on the lights in the house. When he turned, seeing you illuminated by light for the first time, everything softened, the sight of you dripping and shivering on the stone patio making his heart ache.

He looked around desperately for something to offer you, no towels or blankets available in the grand dining room he was standing in. He tore the jacket from around his shoulders, handing it to you with shaky hands. It wasn’t enough, but he needed to stop your lips from turning purple, needed, in some terrifying, primal way, to protect you.

“Th-thank you,” you stammered, eyes wide and hand trembling as you took the jacket from him hesitantly.

The realization hit him like a bullet to the chest: you were scared of him. Then a second shot, right to the gut: you were right to be.

The hands that held out this peace offering weren’t clean. Maybe you’d heard the stories about him, maybe you weren’t as enchanted by him as he was by you. He prayed you didn't know who he was, the rumors that came with the mention of his name. But then, why did you keep coming back? He needed to know, the question leaving his lips before he could stop it.

“Why are you here?”

His voice was rough from lack of use, harsher than he wanted it to be, causing you to take a hesitant step back.

“I shouldn’t be.”

You backed away slowly, making panic rise in his chest, a terrible sense that his salvation was slipping through his fingers. He stepped towards you, the movement too fast and frightening, unable to control himself, as always. 

“I’m sorry,” he tried to say, but it was too late, you were already gone, flying across the grass from the pool’s edge.

All that remained to prove you were ever even there was the puddle where you’d stood outside the door. By morning, it’d be dry, and he’d be wondering if he hallucinated the whole thing.

﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒𓆩 𓆪﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒

Waking in a cold sweat, you grabbed at his sweatshirt like you were trying to ensure it was still wrapped around you, for what reason you weren’t sure. It was the third night you’d slept in it, not crossing the wall again since the night you’d met him. Your body shook with chills, a dull ache everywhere as though you were in withdrawal. 

You tried to tell yourself it was done, you’d been caught and your little excursions over the wall had to stop. The house wasn’t empty as you’d assumed, and it would be insane to get near him again. He couldn’t possibly be trustworthy, his voice deep and menacing, a wildfire in his eyes that clearly held a history. His hair was long and unkempt like the grass outside his house, unruly and overgrown in a way that did not match the grandeur and luxury of the home he never seemed to leave. Something about it, about him, wasn’t right, and you knew if you got too close to the flame, you’d get burned.

Still, your thoughts always found their way back to him. And in your sleep, he appeared in every dream, those same ocean blue eyes tearing through you like he could see to your soul.

Rising from your sweat soaked sheets, you padded the worn path from your bed to the window, the creaks in the floor familiar as you spent so many hours perched in that spot watching his house. This time, for the first time since you'd started surveying the house weeks ago, the lights in the windows were on. Your heart caught in your throat when you saw a shadowy figure walk past, then again, the man from the pool pacing back and forth.

You wondered if his thoughts were as consumed with you as yours were of him. Then, as if he could hear your thoughts, he looked up, eyes meeting yours across the distance.

You knew which spots on the stairs squeaked, avoiding them as you snuck out, past your father asleep on the couch, across the street towards the house that haunted you, toward him. 

﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒𓆩 𓆪﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒

The splash was loud on purpose, intended to catch his attention. You waited in the water with baited breath until, gloriously, he appeared through the sliding doors, standing in the same spot he had been a few nights ago, looking down at you with the same curious glare.

Slowly, your eyes ever trained on him, you swam to the edge, climbing out of the water so you could stand in front of him, chest to chest. Finally seeing him up close, your heart fluttered at his striking features, jaw locked tight as he stared down at you.

You shouldn’t reach up and touch his face, but you did. You shouldn’t whisper quietly, “what’s your name?” but you did. You shouldn’t follow him as he turned and walked back into the grand dining room, but you did.

Not answering your question, not saying anything, he turned toward you once you were standing inside, eyes darting around the luxurious space, taking in it’s beauty before landing back on him. You didn’t know his name, you didn’t really need to. There was only one thing you needed to know, the thing that had kept you up at night, the thing that both kept you away and pulled you helplessly toward him.

“Are you dangerous?”

His eyes answered you before his words could, a flash of recognition and regret behind his blue irises preceding his nod and broken-throated, “yes.”

“You could hurt me, then?”

“Yes,” less hesitancy this time, an edge of warning in his tone, as he stepped closer to you, his large, intimidating frame invading your space and making your breath catch in your throat. 

You didn’t back away, skin igniting, a rush of need and pure lust overtaking your body as he crept closer. The certainty in his voice left no doubt, if he wanted to, he could hurt you right here and now and there’s nothing you could do to protect yourself. And yet his touch was light when it ghosted over your lips, pads of his fingers rough against the soft skin as he traced the shape of your mouth.

“Are you going to?” 

Sparks flew between you as his touch became firmer, hand cradling your head. His answer like gasoline to the flickering flame, a fire neither of you would walk away from unburnt flared to life with one word.

“Never.”

Before you could think, you shot up on your toes, fingers digging into his shoulders as your lips crashed into his, an involuntary groan ripped from his chest and transferred into yours through the connection of your open mouths.

He grabbed your waist, his grip bruising, flex of his muscles animalistic as he lifted you off your feet, planting you firmly on the edge of the dining room table. 

Still kissing him, your teeth and tongues devouring each other, your hands dropped to his waist, fingers pulling at the leather of his belt. He was quick to stop you, fingers easily wrapping around your wrists, a reminder that physically, you were completely at his mercy, nothing stopping him from overpowering you. And yet, his touch was gentle as he pulled your hands away from him, dragging your arms up and guiding you onto your back, hands pinned above your head. 

Leaning over you, his eyes roamed your face and body, spread out on the cold oak table like his last supper. Your bra and underwear still wet from the pool soaked through his shirt as you arched your back, unable to resist the urge to press up into him, to feel his warm, strong body fully against yours. 

Rafe’s eyes closed tight, nostrils flailing as he willed himself not to take you the way you were inviting him to. You didn’t understand his hesitation, mistaking it for rejection, cowering underneath him.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” you whispered, almost to yourself.

His eyes flew open, searching yours with panic, terrified by the thought of finally having you so close only to lose you. The thought was too painful, he was in far too deep to let you go now.

“Please, stay. Let me- I, I can take care of you,” his lips attached to your neck, sucking down like he was trying to make you understand how desperate he was. “Let me make you feel good.”

You gasped when his eyes suddenly shot back up to yours. They seemed darker somehow, pupils blown wide, the crease in his forehead a pleading request. Unable to stop yourself, just as frenzied as he seemed to be, you nodded rapidly, all at once agreeing, demanding, and begging.

His lips were back on you immediately, dragging down the skin of your neck to your chest, which was rising and falling with pants as your heart threatened to pound right through it. He paused every so often to nip, painting over every bite mark with a drag of his tongue. When his searching lips reached the valley between your breasts, you pulled the straps of your thin bra down your shoulders, brushing the material down to reveal yourself to him.

“God,” he moaned out, breathing warmly against you as he steeled himself, dragging his tongue over one of your breasts to your hardened nippled, closing his lips around it and sucking once before pulling back to whisper, “so beautiful, my angel.’

His words were confusingly intimate for a man you were meeting for the second time, and yet his apparent adoration of you was intoxicating, your hands flying to his hair, tugging at the roots to express what words couldn’t.

“From the second I saw you climb over my wall, I knew I needed to have you,” he confessed against your goosebump-ridden skin.

Your eyes shot open, lifting your head off the table as much as his controlling stance would allow you. 

“You saw me? The first time?”

Rafe nodded, shifting to pull your other nipple in his mouth, pulling a whimper from your lips. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

He paused his work on your skin to lift his gaze to yours, a sheepish look in his eye as he confessed, “I didn’t want to scare you away.”

You traced your fingers along his jaw, eyes tender as you promised him, “you couldn’t.”

The assurance in your voice emboldened him, his eyes flaring once more before he shifted himself down, his tongue running a wet line along your stomach as he lowered himself. You writhed helplessly underneath him, lifting your hips once he got to the waistband of your panties to grant him access, which he took happily, dragging the lacy material down to reveal you to him fully.

Glistening for him under the sparkling chandelier’s light, you opened your legs wider, mesmerized by the hunger in his eyes as he took you in.

Rafe placed an exploratory kiss on your inner thigh, his lips featherlight. He couldn’t suppress the upward twitch of his lips when he observed the way you flinched in anticipation, thighs pulling together slightly, already over sensitive from the build up. 

“Don’t run from me now,” he growled, another kiss closer to your heat as his hands pulled your legs back apart, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your flesh to reassure you.

“Don’t make me wait,” you demanded, an edge to your voice he hadn’t heard yet, making you even more alluring to him, a feat he didn’t think possible.

Obediently, his thumbs slid closer to your wetness, opening you fully to him, after months of forced sobriety, he felt drunk on you. No further delay, he licked a gentle, testing stripe between your folds, pausing just before reaching your clit, his cheek resting on the inside of your thigh as he steadied himself, trying to keep from losing himself completely.

“So fucking perfect,” he hummed against you, diving in again once he’d gotten his bearings. 

When the tip of his tongue finally swept over your throbbing clit, you cried out, body rising from the tabletop helplessly.

“God, yes, I needed this, I needed you so badly,” you babbled mindlessly, hands flying back to his hair, pulling harder than before and causing him to groan against you, thrilled that he’d found the right spot to make you crazy.

“I know, I know, me too,” he cooed against you, words muffled by his frenzied consumption of you.

Unleashed by the sounds of your moans, the tension in his muscles melted away as Rafe ate you out in the way he really wanted to. Messy, teeth and tongue working in tandem, curled fingers stretching you open and exploring you with reverence. The was no self-control left in your body as you wriggled and writhed on the hard table, nerve endings on fire, mind fogged over with the most addictive pleasure.

The light from the dusty chandelier above you was low, but the white behind your closed eyelids was blinding, like some heavenly glow was burning through you from the inside out. For a moment, you forgot where you were, everything that led you here and the consequences that were sure to come. All you knew was him as he unlocked something within you that you didn’t know existed.

Soon you were close, the coil in your stomach wound so tight you were almost frightened of what would happen when it inevitably snapped. You needed him, closer, deeper, with you, in you.

“Wait wait wait,” you pleaded, pushing on his shoulders to guide his mouth off of you as you sat up on the table. 

Brows furrowed, he pulled back but kept his eyes trained to you, his mouth, soaked with you, hung open as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Wh-” he began to question, but your hands shot the hem of his shirt, bunching it up to pull it over his shoulders. 

He helped you undress him, arms flexing as he tore the fabric up and over his head. You eyes danced over his bare torso once he was shirtless before you.

“Holy fuck,” you meant to just think it, but you might’ve accidentally said it outloud. 

Either way, Rafe was too focused to notice, needing to be back on you, but stopped by your outstretched arms as you reached between your bodies again, fingers aiming for his belt again. He stepped back before you could unbuckle him, his left leg swinging back further than his right, like you’d hurt it somehow. 

He avoided your searching gaze, wiping his face with the back of his hand before running his fingers through his hair in frustration, eyeing your legs dangling off the end of the table, your vulnerable position in front of him cracking his defense, your next words the nail in the coffin to his dwindling restraint.

“Please, I…I need you,” you whispered.

“You don’t even know me,” he retorted.

Eyes finally meeting yours, you shared a look more meaningful than any words you could exchange. There was a connection between you so far beyond knowing the details of each other’s lives, and a shared need that couldn’t be ignored any longer.

Rafe’s hands landed on either side of your face, inadvertently squeezing too hard as he crashed his lips back to yours. This time, he let your hands wander down and undo the button of his slacks. Once he was free of the fabric between you, pulling his pants and boxers down just far enough to free himself, he brought his throbbing cock to your entrance. 

Pulling back just an inch from your lips, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, flushed with your need for him, and tucked it behind your ear.

“Are you sure, angel?”

You would never be able to explain it, but you were more sure of this than anything in your life.

“Please.”

Sinking deep with one stroke, you cried broken moans into each other’s open mouths as he finally gave you what you needed. One arm behind you for support, one slung tight around his shoulders, you met each of his thrusts with a cry of pleasure. 

Forehead pressed to yours, he looked so deeply into your eyes as he fucked you, mouth agape in awe as he watched you take him so perfectly.

Emboldened by your vulnerable state, you decided to push the issue, “please, I need to know your name.”

Either he was too distracted to care or you’d gained his trust, because he didn’t pause for a second before answering, “it's Rafe.”

Your lips turned in slow smile at the sound of his name, quietly echoing his confession with your own name, a sound that made him close his eyes and smile before leaning in and moaning your name into your ear. Over and over he whispered your name like a chant you knew you’d play over and over in your mind until it was cemented there permanently.

He knew you loved the sound by the way you clenched around him helplessly when he said it. His hands clutched your hips hard, leaving bruises behind as he picked up his movements. Your head fell back as your legs began to shake, fingernails leaving marks in his shoulders. He took advantage of your exposed neck to find the same spot he’d attached to earlier, sucking between whispers as he brought you closer and closer to the release you were chasing.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me? You’re all I think about, all I can focus on. You’re driving me insane.”

His words brought tears to your eyes. By the sound of it, he’d been as haunted by you as you were by him. You didn’t understand this madness, the almost cosmic connection between you. It was like some dark magic pulling you together, this meeting of your bodies and souls inevitable, despite being total strangers. The power of the connection, the feeling of him filling you so completely, the low growl of his voice, the strength of his shoulders beneath your grasp, it was all too much.

“Rafe, I’m - oh fuck! Rafe!”

You came with a shriek, tears slipping free and falling down your face as you pulsed around him, a euphoric feeling you’d never experienced in your life washing over you, all at once terrifying and perfect. He felt it too, you could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice as he lost himself and spilled inside you, his whole body shuddering against you, forcing you to lay back on the table under the weight of him.

The panic set in immediately. He whispered your name as he peppered exhausted kissed against your chest, and your eyes flew open, the aftershocks of your high wearing off like you’d just woken up from a long slumber.

You didn’t know this man, who was again chanting your name like a prayer, you didn't know why he was stuck in this house alone, you didn’t even know his last name. How could you be so reckless? He told you he was dangerous and you’d begged him to take you. It was the behavior of someone who’d completely lost their mind. 

When he stood, you slipped from the table quickly, gathering your clothes and pulling them on haphazardly without words. Rafe just watched you as he pulled his own clothes back on, worry in his eyes at the way you were avoiding him, keeping your body shielding from his as you quickly covered up.

“Are you o-”

“I have to go,” you didn’t even spare him a glance as you fled back across the threshold and ran out into the darkness.

﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒𓆩 𓆪﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒

This time, he did what he wished he had done the last time, chasing after you as you ran. You were faster than he expected, expertly navigating the overgrown jungle that had become his yard. He reached the wall, stopping himself with a painful clash of his hands against the stone before he ran straight into it. Tall enough to watch you land on the other side and sprint across the road, his eyes went wide when he realized where you were going.

All this time, while he sat inside and dreamt of you, imagining all of the places you could be during the agonizingly long days without you, you were just across the street. 

Your house couldn’t have been more than a few yards from his own property line. And yet, as the monitor on his ankle reminded him with a series of warning beeps, you were unreachable. White knuckles clutched the wall as his greatest fear swept over him: that he may never be able to reach you again.

﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒𓆩 𓆪﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒

a/n: I'm so deeply rusty but this really helped me get the wheels turning, sorry if it's not my best! I missed dark, brooding rafeypoo! thanks for reading!

reminder, writers live off reblogs, don't forget to feed your faves! <3

[lalunanymph]

WHERE THE DATURAS BLOOM

syp. they sent her to tarus to die as a mockery to him, the fiend—offering a fragile, pitiful thing who can barely stand on her own two feet, as if her weakness would be his downfall. yet, they never knew the strength she found, nor the love that bloomed in her heart where the daturas dared to grow, once she opened her arms and heart to the fearsome dragon.

tags. sacrificial bride!reader, injuries, blood, heavy angst, fluff, healing, explicit smut, tail sucking, nipple play, mentions of lactation, oral sex, light restraints using a dragon tail, virginity loss, biting, marking, pet names (sweetness, kitten, little one), monsterfucking, two dicks!Sylus, breeding, mild cumflation, cockwarming, double peneration, mentions of anal, nesting, dragon senses, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of drugging, kidnapping, torture, mentions of miscarriage, near death experience, severe injuries, visual impairment, mind control, gore, language, tension, fluff, romance, soft!sylus, flashbacks, spoilers for beyond cloudfall myth, happy ending, 20k+ word count

Those who stare at the abyss will find the abyss staring back. 

The old adage rings in your head as the rocky walls close in on you, blood seeping from your open wounds and dripping onto the floor.

Thunder rips through the night sky and rain splashes on your face. The sounds of shouts and jeers fill the air as the men who threw you over the ledge abandoned you to a fate worse than death. Your screams for mercy are ignored, their backs turned on the sacrificial bride to the Fiend. The ceremonial garbs they clad you in were little more than skimpy adornments, and you gasp, hearing a terrifying rattle in the air.

A voice fills your mind, invasive and grating, and you feel cold drafts swirling around you, beckoning you to step forward into a cave with no end in sight.

You shiver, head ringing, as the voice urges you forward—low and seductive. It echoes with the smugness of a predator finally trapping its prey.

Step closer… let me take a look at you. 

As if you’re a marionette on strings, your feet pull you forward, right to a rocky alcove where the sound of chains rattle and the glint of ruby red eyes stare at you. The air becomes suffocating, as if there’s a darkness devouring all the remaining light.

Something primal in you stirs, and you feel the first flickers of light forming in your hand, right where your pulse is jumping erratically.

I like your face. 

The dark, hollow voice seems to come from nowhere and yet everywhere at the same time. You catch the glimmer of chains, the weak light illuminating the hilt of a broadsword stuck in a muscular, powerful chest.

Take it out… free me…

The unknown voice compels you, and in a fit of panic, you grab the hilt and yank with all of your might. Once the sword is free, it transforms into hot light, and you feel a jolt go through your heart, like lightning striking through a stormy, night sky. 

The sword disappears and a terrifying roar fills the chamber, rocking the walls and throwing you off your feet. You barely have time to stand when a sudden force sweeps you to the ground, and you’re left reeling. 

Staring up into a pair of crimson, insidious eyes, your heart sinks down into your stomach like a stone capsizing into the middle of a murky lake. Before you, the abyss stares back.

“You… you…”

The realization that you’ve been fooled renders you faint, and your breathing stutters, heart pounding almost painfully in your chest.

You’ve done the unthinkable: you have released the Fiend of the Abyss, and now… 

Now, you are his prey. 

Fear claws at your throat as the hulking figure takes a massive step towards you, dark red energy rolling like mist behind him, trickling from his right eye.

You’re shaking, vision going blurry. The Fiend opens his mouth, revealing rows of what looks like sharp teeth.

Terror engulfs you, sticky and thick, stiffening your joints and with a sharp inhale, you crumple to the ground, the world and your impending death fading out into black. 

—

The scent of fresh blood is in the air.

He sits silently on his throne of gold and lies, scaly ears flickering for the first signs of the sacrifice approaching. His leathery wings quiver in anticipation, the tip of his draconian tail twitching as he sniffs the air, the unmistakable tang of liquid rust filling his nose. The Fiend stretches and his nostrils flare, the sinews of his back and legs quivering. It’s been centuries since he’s last had a chance to extend his limbs. After all, chains and a sword lodged in your chest hardly provide mercy for much motion. 

The scent grows closer, and he can hear the rattling breaths this poor creature takes. He’s been watching her for hours now, waiting for her to wake. He could attack and devour her soul in that moment, but where would the fun be?

Besides, her soul is as stale as day-old bread. Nothing of a sort which would entice him. 

The dragon waits for one beat—two—and he languidly steps off his throne. His back to the weak, sniffling creature, his instincts suddenly flare and he swiftly darts to the right when a mass of flesh lunges right at him. He parries the weak grip on a blade, his tail whipping out to grab this human by the ankles, containing the ambush. 

“Please!” 

Her voice rings past the rocky walls, bouncing off the mountains of gold and precious jewels. 

His anger flares, but not at her. He takes in the shallow cuts on her cheeks, the welts on her arms. She’s clad in a thin leather garment, her knuckles pronounced and face gaunt. 

“Who are you?” His voice is a deep rumble, one that could destroy mountains in a single roar. Her eyes are wide, the whites of them shining in the dim half-light. When she comes to the understanding that he speaks, they roll back into her skull; her body going limp in his arms.

“Wh—!”

A grunt. She bleats like an animal scared to death. 

The dragon manages to catch her before she falls. 

.

.

.

That night, the girl marked for a fate worse than death dreams about the dragon for the first time, arrow tips exploding from her flesh and a sword piercing her chest searing through her subconsciousness with pure agony. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You wrinkle your nose, turning your face away from the persistent drop of water falling right on your cheek. Shifting, your eyes fly wide open when your body meets the open air and you scream, falling to the floor in a mess of limbs. Ridges of unidentifiable hard edges jab into your body, and you groan, forcing your eyes to adjust to the lack of light. 

There, right in the heart of the cave, a pair of blood red eyes appraise you.

Your scream dies in the back of your throat when a flurry of wings slice through the stagnant air of the cave, a bulky, huge being rushing towards you and knocking you off your feet. A mass of flesh and scales envelopes you in his warmth, glints of gold flying in the air and falling like clinking rain where your bodies meet on the dirt-packed floor.

His eyes, red as blood, glisten like rubies when he scans them over your face. He parts his mouth, and the sharp edge of his canine tooth sends a shiver down your spine. The great Fiend, feared by all in Philos, the one prophesied to bring the destruction of universes from the moment he was born… is staring at you in disdain. 

“I suppose those oafs did not anticipate their idiotic sacrifice would free the Fiend of Philos.”

You are barely spared a chance to be indignant, not when his tail sweeps you up by the waist, dragging you in mid-air where you scream and flail. 

He chuckles, a low, almost human-like sound. His wings reverberate, the leathery tips of them quivering from the slight breeze his tail whips up. 

“I see fear has gripped your tongue, little one. Do not mistaken me—I despise the taste of human flesh. But, your soul…” His tongue darts out to lick at your jaw, tasting sweat and dirt. “... is what I am more interested in.” 

You shake, struggling to find something—anything—to say.

“Release me,” you stammer, and he scoffs, eyes dancing with mirth. His spiralled horns are huge on his head. Despite the sharpness of his features and the redness of those eyes, there’s a glint of mirth behind those irises, one you would never expect to find. 

Many told you before sacrificing you into the pit: The Fiend is not merciful. 

He will rip you apart limb from limb.

Those who visit his lair will never return.

You are cursed—born a blight. You shall be wed to the Fiend on the month of the blood red eclipse and you will be thankful, child. 

Their sneers tautening over teeth that look like daggers, their jeers which grate your ears like nails on a metal platform. The bite of pain in your arm as a needle slides past skin, muscle, fat and flesh—depositing liquid fatigue straight into your bloodstream. As your world went black, you woke up to more darkness, finding yourself amidst bones and rubble, right at the lip of Tarus. 

There was nothing else you could do but plant one foot right in front of the other—walking straight to your imminent death.

The dragon growls, low and dangerous, as he cocks his head to one side. 

“Who are you? And why are you in my prison?”

He waits. You struggle to move your leaden tongue.

“My name is… Y/N. I am… was… sent here as a sacrifice… a bride…”

The Fiend pauses, his eyes raking over your face. When he sees you are completely serious, he tosses his head back, a vile laugh reverberating across the walls. 

“Is that so?” He continues to chortle. “My… what delusions you humans hold.” Without warning, he sends you flying across the room with a flick of his tail, your back hitting the hard rock. You choke on a wail of pain, your teeth cutting into your tongue. Blood fills your mouth and spit out a thick, red wad onto the rocky floor.  

He is barely sorry, rising to his full height, teeth bared and chest heaving with the exertion it takes to not snap your neck and end your pathetic life.

Every step he takes rocks the ground, the power and danger he holds dripping from his half-naked body, the defined muscles coiling in tension. Ready to snap.

You think—this is it. This is what your pathetic life has amounted to. Perhaps dying would be swift. Maybe you will see your parents again; feel the warmth of their embrace, one you’ve been without for far too long, living this half-life of pain and fear. It would be nice to feel love and belonging again; you’ve gone so long without it. 

If he was expecting his prey to scream and fight, he would be sorely wrong.

You close your eyes, and tilt your head up, exposing your bare neck for him to do as he pleases.

Waiting on a merciful death to befall you. 

The dragon stops right in his tracks.

Curiously, he assesses you. Though the scent of fear is in the air, the look on your face is nothing short of resignation. 

A far cry from any living being with a defense mechanism. 

The sight of you is almost pathetic, tugging at his heartstrings: your eyes twitching, breathing jagged. He gets close enough to scent your pheromones in the air, and he recoils in disgust. 

She stinks, he thinks, narrowing his blood-red eyes. Is this really the best sacrifice they could offer him? Surely they know that even locked away for an eternity, a dragon still has standards. 

The closer he gets to you, the more he sees how young and afraid you are. From your trembling hands to your rapidly rising and falling chest, there is not a bone in your body that wishes to survive.

How terribly dull, he thinks. And also how incredibly sad.

What beatings did you endure to drive you to this state? What words did they spit at you to break your soul? He takes in the color of your hair, your eyes. How different and perturbing you are to other humans. A sign of the damned. 

Poor, pathetic little creature… he shakes his head. The myths were wrong. He doesn’t have the stomach for human blood—never did—and if you weren’t meant as fodder for food, surely those bastards above thought you would be the perfect mate for him.

The damned and the broken.

A love story as old as time.

He snorts inwardly and gets onto one knee, gently running the edge of his talon down your cheek, using the sharp edge to tilt your face upward. 

“Look at me, little one,” he rumbles.

You immediately comply, eyes flying wide open. The dragon takes a moment to gaze at you, drinking you in. He sees the effects of malnourishment hanging from the exhaustion in your eyes—knows you haven’t eaten for days, surviving purely on adrenaline and fear.

His tail snakes closer, grazing the small of your back. It would be so easy to kill you—a bit more pressure of his tail piercing past your flesh, and the scaly, sharp tip could rip your heart from the inside out. 

He takes in your shallow breathing, how your wide eyes never leave him. Even confronted by death, you still face it head-on.

What a brave, little fool.

He opens his mouth, about to offer you something to eat or drink, when your hands move to your thigh strap, a flurry of motion he almost doesn’t catch until the blade is right at his throat. The Fiend grits his teeth, and with a swift flick of his tail, knocks the pathetic knife from your hand.

Swiftly, he grabs your wrists, rolling you to the ground and pinning them over your head, breathing hard in your face. 

“You really do know how to put on a good show, little one,” he growls. “Did you think that blade would stand a chance against me?” 

“I—”

He silences you with another low, warning growl. “You have committed the most foul move… hmm.” Pretending to ponder, he runs the sharp tip of his talon over your chin, watching your eyes widen with fear as a drop of blood trickles down your neck. “What can I do with an errant human? Let me see…”

“Please,” you’re shaking, tears in your eyes. 

The dragon fights back the urge to roll his eyes. A part of him wants to see how long it would take to break you down and get you begging for your life, but the other part of him simply finds your pleas to be a grating distraction in the silence of his lair.

He lets you go and you gasp shakily. 

“Thank you—”

“Spare me any pleasantries.” 

His powerful tail pushes you far from him, though he noticeably doesn’t throw you against walls anymore. 

“Keep your distance from me. Do not step in front of me and for the love of all things holy in Philos—” he glances at your torn up wedding garb, noting the scratches on your bare thighs and how matted the skimpy leather is. “Take a bath. You reek.” 

Parting words which leave you gaping in indignation. He spreads his wings and takes off to the highest alcove of the cave, where you have no doubt of his eyes following your every move. 

Quietly, you stand and retreat into the coldest part of the cave, hugging your knees to your chest.

This is all an unholy nightmare. Nothing about this—about him—is real… this shall all pass… you try to soothe yourself, taking in steadying breaths. 

This, too, shall pass.

Except, this nightmare is not one you can ever wake from. 

When you open your eyes to the bleak morning rays bouncing off the cave walls, your heart drops right to your stomach. Scrambling to sit up, you glance around, trying to find a sign of the dragon who had nearly taken your life yesterday. But, you only notice mountains of gold as far as the eye can see. A lair full of treasures rich from kingdoms far beyond your reach. You marvel at goblets with inscriptions in languages you have never seen before, run your fingers over delicate edges of gold coins, and pick one ruby up to the light, watching the morning rays bounce off the rich red facets.

From above, you hear a rustling, and the edge of his dragon’s tail dangles from an alcove. The strange beast who resides here appears to be fast asleep. Since you cannot leave this pit without alerting the rest of the villagers of your escape, the only thing you can do is fend for yourself. You arm your body with swords that boast jewel-encrusted hilts, take a ruby blade in your hand and tighten a thick silk cloak around your neck. 

You were going to escape from this hellhole one way or another. 

You would never give up your life this easily.

Plotting your next move meticulously, you slice through the silk rope and glance up at the opening of the mountain, calculating that it must be around a few feet high. While you didn’t have wings like a dragon, you had a mortal’s will to live.

Days passed with you stringing the cut ends of the cloak together, and when that wasn’t enough, you tore down the dragon’s gold curtains, attaching the shorn slivers to make a single, long rope. 

Through it all, the dragon keeps his eyes firmly on you, a reminder of how you used to watch a tiny kitten trying to clear a 10 foot wall back in the Sanctuary. The young cat never surrendered, never backed down, and you remember watching as it tumbled back to the ground again and again, always springing back to its feet for another round.

Bruises and scrapes litter your knees and palms with every failed attempt. But, you persist. 

Once you manage to scale the first few feet, the act of putting one foot in front of the other gets easier. You’re weak and hungry, but the hollow ache is no match for the fire in your soul needing to be set free. You will take the riches you acquired from this dragon’s lair and run away from this cursed land as far as your feet can take you—the Ivory City will be a memory left behind in your shadows.

But, what you never notice is how the dragon has moved from studying you to shadowing you. The lair is vast, full of gold, and yet, he is bored out of his wits. You barely sense his restlessness, and only when you manage to breach the top circle of the rocky cliff face, do you feel a brush of air whipping past your entire body, your hair flying right into your face. 

The surge of wind propels you up the last few feet of the rocky lip and you tumble onto the ground, coughing up dust. Brushing gravel and pebbles from your palms and knees, you shakily stand on your own feet. 

Before you, Tarus City stretches out like an ebony beast. Revelry and smoke rises to the sky, dim, greasy lights sparing the backdrop some semblance of humanity within this realm of evil and sin. 

Yet, through the film of darkness and despair, the city feels alive under the soles of your feet.

A soft flap of wings stir the air, and you turn to find the dragon staring at you, his gem ruby eyes twinkling in the darkness. 

“You made it,” his voice is a low rumble, and he shakes his head with a small laugh. “You humans and your paltry stubbornness.” Despite his harsh words, his eyes soften with something akin to respect. 

You’re cautious, but civil, glancing at the sprawling city before you. 

“Did you expect me to stay put here? Where I don’t belong?” 

There’s a tug deep inside of you, starting from your chest to your throat, like an invisible hand is inside your skin, roaming under your nerves, trying to extract something vital from your body. This strange force compels you to stumble closer to him, and your mind flashes in bursts of white light.

Devour him… End him…

The voice grows loud in your ears, and you feel the inexplicable urge to sink something into his chest. It flows hotly in you, a sword made of light that yearns to slay the dragon before you. Red mists flood your vision and your chest feels heavy, like someone is standing on your airways. You stumble to your knees, and the dragon moves closer, his pulsing right red eye nearly swallowing you whole—an eclipse of hatred tainting your soul. 

End him! Kill him!

The voices shriek like souls of the dead in your head, and you don’t think, grabbing the pummel of the knife strapped to your thigh and aiming it right for his eye.

His eye… the source of all your misery…

And you want it.

But, his reflexes are faster, silver hair almost black under the moonless night as he grabs your wrist and pushes you down to the rocky ground, the jagged edges cutting into your skin.

The dragon rumbles a low, eerie laugh that chills you to the core, yet your blood sings hotter for revenge.

“Ah. I see. So, your soul does want something. I knew you had an edge to you. I was waiting to see it… you have yet to become a disappointment.” 

You struggle against his grip, gnashing your teeth. He simply stares at you like you’re a feisty kitten, a smirk tugging the corners of his lips. As quickly as the murderous need appears, it dissipates, and you’re left reeling, blinking back the red hot urge to devour him.

“Let me go,” you stutter. 

He scoffs in disdain, but releases his grip on you. Scrutinizing you like how a predator would size up his prey, the dragon stalks closer, bearing down upon you with his indomitable presence. 

He corners you against the rocky cliff face, and this close, you can smell his breath—strong and heady like vengeful liquor fanning across your face.

“What is it that you want the most?” He rumbles and you stumble back, scraping the back of your foot against the rocks. He follows, the sight of his formidable broad shoulders striking a primal fear in your heart.

“What do you think I need?” 

You bare your teeth, yet he knows you dare not attack him. He sees it in the faltering resolve, the scent of your fear in the air. You are nothing but a weakling waiting to be crushed under his heel, your blood ready to coat his teeth. 

But, there is no use in ending your life now. Dragons are renowned for playing with their prey before they devour them, and a docile meal is not one delicious tasting enough to enjoy. He wants to see you struggle and squirm—only then will the conquest be far sweeter. 

“I want to make you a deal,” you speak, and your voice trembles; the effort it takes for you to remain calm is overwhelming. 

The dragon pauses in his approach, and a glint of curiosity takes over his countenance.

“Oh?” He sounds almost gleeful, those ruby eyes reflecting the erratic, dancing lights of Tarus City. “Well. About time. Speak. What is it you can offer me?” 

Your years of listening to hearsays and myths about the dreaded Fiend sealed off in the Abyss lends you knowledge to what it is a dragon truly desires: the sweetness of greed—the desire to devour a gluttonous soul. 

It is a risk to tell him what you want. But, since you are already a woman marked for dead, there is nothing else you have to lose.

“I want your help… to make me greedier.” 

The Fiend pauses, and you can see the look of curiosity flashing across his face. Closer now, you notice how elegant his features are, yet they carry a sharp coldness which betrays the disdain he feels for anyone beneath him—you included.

He rubs his chin with his flesh-shredding claws. The keenness in his gaze matches the sharp edges of his teeth which suddenly flash white in the darkness, weak moonlight reflecting off an unsettling grin.

“Greedier, hmm?” 

Circling around you, the Fiend flickers his gaze up and down your shaking figure. To him, you must look like the picture of patheticness, still in your old garbs and gaunt from the lack of nutrition. One single flick of his tail, and your life will end right where you stand.

Yet… he considers and weighs your proposal. “And what do I get in return?” 

Gulping, you hope dragons can’t scent a lie, and you struggle to make up one on the spot. “I can bring you more riches! I can help you get more revenge on the people who wronged you. I can amass you wealth and accolades like you’ve never seen before.”

The Fiend raises a brow. “Those are lofty promises, human. And what exactly would you want from me in return?” He is far more astute than you give him credit for. 

You don’t flinch when you mutter: “Revenge.” 

Now, you’ve got him intrigued. Cocking his head to one side, the handsome Fiend stares at you without saying a word. He’s seen your thoughts, felt your despair. The one thing you truly desire is the annihilation of those who brought death upon your village. The blood curdling screams of your people, the fires that ravaged the wild sky—you thirst for the deaths of those who unjustly stole your family and childhood from you. 

The look in his blood red eyes is indifferent, though the slight upturn of his lips indicate his interest.

“I see.” His wings stretch out, almost menacingly, though your quick eyes notice how they tremble… almost like he’s just learned to close them. 

But, the Fiend doesn’t give you time to wallow in your thoughts. He steps forward, tall and imposing. Taking your chin in his clawed hand, he tilts your face up, forcing you to look at him. In a flash, the red gleam of his eye dominates your vision. “There is more. Do not lie. I know you want my eye. You feel it, too, don’t you? This strange, magnetic pull.”

Without thinking it through, and you nod, your attention on his sudden proximity.

You wait for him to explain, but he never does. His touch leaves a trail of heat on your skin, and it intensifies when he presses his lips to your neck, sharp teeth leaving behind a searing bite.

“Ow—!” 

“This is a mark which bonds us, Y/N.” It’s the first time he’s ever said your name. You stare at him, breathing coming out jagged. The bite burns, almost as if it’s responding to the heat of his desires. “Before it fades, I will give you three attempts to take my eye. If you do not succeed… your soul is mine to devour.”

You put on a brave front, despite how fast your heart is hammering in your chest. A part of you thinks he can hear the thundering fear.

“Deal. And you, dragon, will help me with my revenge.”

He shrugs and takes to the sky, leaving you alone on this rocky crag where the wind is picking up. 

“Deal.” 

The dragon and you take to your revenge like straw to flame.

He enables you to soar high in the skies, plundering and stealing from corrupt nobles. He burns the Sanctuary down with you, relishing in the cries of these so-called ordained Oracles from a higher order who abuse their position and power to ruin the lives of those lower than them. 

The dragon and you make a formidable duo. The infamy of your reputation spreads across the lands, like the shadows his wings cast over Philos, marking the end of days. 

His bride and partner. Your very name brings disdain and fear across the faces of the men who had once damned you to this fate. Unbeknownst to you, the Sacred Judicator will not be overthrown. He is a man of pride and greed; a man such as that will never stand for a simple, cursed human girl to be his downfall. 

They plot and plan, finding pitfalls to ensnare you away from the dragon. 

While they scheme, the dragon and you live in the clouds, above Tarus City. With nowhere to go, your hometown long destroyed, and half of Philos demanding for your blood, there is nothing much you can do but to learn more about your companion. 

Drenched in the shadows of dusk, you sit next to the dragon, marking your next plunder on a starmap. He gazes over your shoulder, and his proximity reminds you of the mark seared into the skin of your throat. Sometimes you feel it pulsing, reminding you of the deal you made. His breath brushes your shoulder, and you blurt out the first thing in your mind. 

“Do you have a name?” 

The air between you two turns chilly.

“Why would it matter?” He asks coldly and you laugh.

“Well… I can’t keep calling you Dragon all the time, can I?” Mirth swims in your eyes, and the red vortex of his right eye flares, as if preparing to swallow you whole. But, you’re not afraid of the abyss. He can’t kill you because he still needs to devour your soul—and a dead human has no soul. “Besides, if we are in battle, the second I say Dragon, they would know who I am referring to.” 

The Fiend pauses, contemplates. After a moment, he rumbles what sounds like “Stay-rus” under his breath.

“Stay-rus?” You tilt your head to one side. “Are you asking me to stay clear? Or, is that really your name?” 

A flicker of a smile lights up the corners of his mouth at your impudence. 

“It is an ancient Philosan name.” 

“Ah.” You glance at him, and with no fear, touch his horns. He bristles, but does not reject your affection. “What if I call you something that sounds similar? Is Sylus alright with you?” 

The dragon shrugs. “Call me whatever you want. But, do not expect me to respond.” 

He stands and his wings rustle the air. 

“Where are you going, Sylus?” 

Despite his prickly warning at this new given name, he responds: “To rest.” 

But, you still want to speak to him, to get to know him.

“Please,” your voice takes on a softer quality. “Sit with me for a bit.” In this light of the flame, he looks younger. More human. You have never seen a dragon with this much emotion in his eyes.

Eventually, he sighs and sits back down next to you, casting his gaze far and wide to the city below. 

“Humans are strange creatures, are they not?” Sylus mumbles, taking a bite of the blood orange. You pick up a pomegranate and pluck a seed, chewing on it thoughtfully.

The Fiend rarely gets into an introspective mood, his thoughts and feelings hidden behind his indifferent stare. So, when he begins to ramble, you hear him. 

“Why do you say that?” 

A storm is brewing over Tarus City and the moon is hidden tonight. The secrecy and solemness of the entire surroundings mirror the distant look in his eyes. 

“Because through all the destruction and fear, they still have one thing in them unwilling to bend or break.”

Hope, you think. 

“Stubbornness,” he says, and tosses the peel to the ground where it lands with a dull thud. 

You chuckle and shake your head. “Not every human is terrible the same way not every dragon is evil. Duality exists and kindness can be seen in this world.” 

He looks at you like you’re a monster who has sprouted two heads. “They burnt your home to the ground. They took you away from your family and yet, you harbor no ill-intent for them.”

Your expression darkens, and in the sliver of moonlight, the dragon catches the same untamed fury reflected in his gaze. 

“Regardless of what they have done, innocents still roam Ivory City. To destroy all of them—”

“You are weak,” he spits out. Something in you snaps, and you stand, shaking from head to toe.

Instead of feeling intimidated, Sylus laughs, the sound coming out like a deep rumble, and shakes his head. “Sit back down. I am merely joking.”

Despite the flare of anger, you tame it, turning your indignant gaze to the embers of the fire smoldering before you.

“Why do you say such hurtful things to me? Am I not your partner through everything?” 

If you expected him to soften from your show of vulnerability, you are mistaken. The dragon narrows his eyes.  

“Do you think you can weaken me with your human love? Whatever bonding or mating attempts you humans partake in will not work on me, cursed one,” he rumbles, the tip of his tail flicking the top of my head. “If you truly want my love and attention, be stronger.”

His words rub you the wrong way, especially when you’ve proven time and time again of your heart’s discontent. The greed oozes out of you, demanding for more, something which you would’ve never dared tried as a young orphan under the Sanctuary’s care.

“Do not assume I am weak, Sylus,” you leap back to your feet again, glaring at him, and the effect strikes as much fear in his heart as a little kitten hissing at a python. You were no match for him, and the both of you knew that. However, he commends your bravery, even if it verges into the territory of stupidity. “I am plenty strong. You just have no idea how strong I can be.” 

He huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “If you think puffing out your chest and making threats will deter me, you are sorely mistaken, kitten—”

His words die in the back of his throat when you lunge right at him, dagger straight to his eye. He parries, and his tail grabs your waist, throwing you into a wall. You sneer, and the sight of your bared teeth reminds him of a young dragon who’s horns have just grown—reckless and itching for a fight. 

With every kill and steal, Sylus will always ask you the same question: What else do you desire? 

Now wrapped in the tenderness of an approaching new night and an empty moon, he senses a new, burning desire simmering between you two. A dance as old as time.

Primal instincts in him awaken when you stab your dagger into his tail, earning a hiss. His injury makes it hard for him to hold you up and he relents, dropping you to the ground where you roll away and parry, toppling over him. Red-black mists swirl around you, the light in your soul burning to devour the darkness in his red eyes. From the corner of your eye, you notice the stab wound you made in his tail healing over.

However, your instinct to kill, kill, kill doesn’t abate, and his need to drive his teeth into your soul threatens to overcome him.

End him… Kill him…

The words echo in your head, and you try hard to fight them off.

No… I can’t… I can’t… he is… he is my…

The shackles binding you to logic restraints the deathly need, and you drop the knife in your hand. Sylus laughs throatily, and without a second thought, he leans in to kiss you.

Soon, the desire to kill fades, and another pressing need emerges, this one intending to devour, but not in the way you expect.

A stirring heat fills your belly, drawing you ever closer to his light. You fall right into the vortex of his parted mouth, tasting the sweet breath of his tongue dancing with yours. Sylus shifts under you, growling when you accidentally nip on his bottom lip. 

“Careful, little one,” he groans, and the sound travels straight to your core.

“Mhm,” you moan, tasting his lips once more. He reminds you of liquor and elderberries, sweet and heady. 

Every nerve in your body is on fire, and you can’t help but to tilt your hips, pressing them closer to his, feeling the tight seam of his leather pants rub against your naked core. The friction leaves you gasping. Sylus lets out a low, guttural sound at the sudden spark of heat, his ruby red eyes darkening.

“Little one… you have no idea what that feels like…”

You gasp when his tail wraps around your waist gently, possessively.

You have never been with a man, much less a dragon before, and the idea of what could potentially come next leaves you reeling. 

“Wait…”

Sylus hears the note of hesitation in your tone and halts all his movement. The sharp, stinger-like tip of his tail is gentle when it caresses your cheek. 

“I will not hurt you, little one,” he promises. The air trembles with a murmur of vulnerability. You feel his claws slide up your waist, caressing the leathery garment you still wore from the time you dropped right into his lap as a frightened, wide-eyed little thing.

Sylus’s touches are feathered with curiosity, and those eyes hide a world of secrets behind them. Secrets you wish to uncover. You brush a lock of silver hair from his face, and to your pleasant surprise, he leans into your touch.

“Dragons cannot feel love,” he murmurs, almost as if reading your silent desires. Perhaps, he tastes your growing need in the air. “Not in the way humans do.” His kiss falls like a dew drop on your eyelashes. 

You struggle to keep your wits to yourself, not wanting to succumb to his charm. “How do they differ?”

He smiles, truly smiles for the first time, as if your question is something a child would ask. “Dragons have mating frenzies. A cycle of sorts. During that time, we are inundated by our constant need to mate and breed…”

You gently caress the side of his face, running your touch down the sharp ridges of where his scales meet his chest, above his heart.

“Can a human and a dragon ever mate?”

The question hangs in the air like an awkward note delivered wrongly in the middle of an orchestra chamber.

You swallow, about to backtrack, when he tightens his grip on you. Pain flashes in his eyes, as if he’s remembering a past you aren’t privy to.

“Yes,” he says softly, the word heavy with a thousand burdens. “They can. And, they have.” 

Taking in his almost human countenance, your eyes widen. “You… you’re talking about yourself, are you? About who you are?”

He growls in warning, and you clamp your mouth shut—not wanting to ruin this moment. Sylus is a puzzle you can’t quite figure out. But, even if you don’t have all the pieces, you cherish them whenever they drop onto your lap, doing everything you can to try and create a bigger picture of him.

“I dreamt of a boy once… a long time ago,” you gently run your thumb across his horn, not noticing how he shudders. “He was young and scrawny. With a stumpy dragon tail and cut off horns oozed blood…”

Sylus doesn’t speak, his expression like the dark side of the moon—hiding everything. 

You shrug, and lean in closer, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. “I never understood that dream. Maybe it’s a premonition.”

“Or, perhaps, a memory.” 

You lift your eyes, but he’s already pulling you closer, claiming your lips as his own. You shiver at the heat of his mouth, the all-encompassing need he pours into the kiss. Your mind spins, the room becoming hotter, as the stirring heat between you and the dragon kindles into something deeper. 

Needier.

Sylus moves his mouth to the tender juncture where your neck and shoulder meet, worrying his teeth into your delicate flesh. He bites and gnaws like a predator to its prey, the stinging pain morphing into an undeniable need slicking hotly between your thighs.

He groans when you inadvertently shunt your hips, eyes widening at the bulge behind his pants. Sylus gazes right at your lips, bringing them close to his once again, kissing you breathlessly. His tongue slips past to demand entrance to your mouth, and you part your lips, letting him delve right in. Greed infuses his kisses, and he takes and takes, swirling his tongue and tasting you, his grip on your hips tightening.

“Sylus…”

His name on your lips almost makes him feverish with need. Sylus growls and rolls you onto your back, his tail coiling around your waist, snaking up your neck. He stands and tugs you up with ease, his serpentine tail wrapped tightly around you. Your back meets the soft surface of his chaise, and he gently parts your legs, running the tips of his claws over your fleshy inner thighs.

The mark on your neck burns, and this desire is even stronger than the one calling you to kill him. It’s like your souls are fused together—whatever he feels, you do, too. Whatever he wants, you want. 

And right now, there is no shadow of doubt that Sylus wants you. 

He licks his lips, and the fire in his crimson eyes burns through you. You gasp when he lifts the hem of your leather, wedding dress up over your thighs, exposing your need to the chilly air of his lair.

Sylus groans, deep and gravelly in his chest, at the sight of how wet you already are for him. 

“Impatient, aren’t we?” He rumbles, and gently trails the back of his index talon down your slit. He gathers the wetness and, keeping eye contact with you, runs his tongue down the sharp curve.

You gasp, cheeks heating up. “Sylus—”

“Kitten,” he growls, kneeling before your spread thighs. The sight of you, all spread out before him, is one that pumps more heat into his bloodstream than any loot ever could. 

He smells how excited you are, your arousal like warm honey and vanilla, beckoning him to taste you. 

You gasp when his rough tongue licks a strip from your inner thigh to your bare pelvis, leaving a trace of heat behind. 

“Oh!” your voice echoes in his chambers. “Oh… Sylus…”

He growls, loving the name you’ve given him on your tongue.

The sight of his claws on your skin should’ve scared you, but all you feel is a deep curious need for more. You tilt your hips up in an invitation, one which the dragon raises his brow to.

But, he gets onto his knees, like you’re a sacred piece of art he has to worship. More than the riches and the gold, Sylus thinks nothing in his lair shines as brightly as you. Your soft skin under his lips, the velvety grip of your folds on his tongue… he may not be familiar with this type of desire, but it is slowly unravelling itself like an old, familiar blanket. 

Sylus nuzzles his nose right into the heart of your cunt, and you gasp, sighing his name.

He lets you grip his hair, play with his horns. His tail wraps tightly around your waist, the tip grazing your cheek. To his surprise as he’s pleasuring you, you turn your face and envelope the sharp, tapered curve with your soft, warm mouth, sucking on it lightly.

Bolts of pleasure shoot through his body like lightning. Sylus growls and lifts his head, ruby eyes entranced at the sight of your flushed cheeks and swollen lips tasting the tip of his tail. You lift your lust-drowsy eyes to catch his gaze, and smile.

“You… taste good…” Licking your lips, you’re unaware of the alluring picture you paint. 

This human, this mite in the face of a mighty dragon may not be able to slay the foul beast, but she sure knew how to bring him to his knees.

Sylus groans, doubling down his effort to please you.

It’s instinct how he moves his tongue, sampling your flavor. Your breathing hitches, gasps growing heavier, and from the twitch of your hips to the sight of more nectar spilling from between your legs, Sylus can hazard a guess that you might be on the verge of a climax.

A low, gravelly growl spills from his slickened lips, and his claws shred the front of your dress, splitting the skimpy material into half with the ease of tearing through sugar paper. 

Your bare chest unfurls like vast plains of flesh, warm to the touch, soft as silk underneath his claws. He sees your milk glands (or, as humans might call them: breasts), luscious and heavy enough to sustain his young. The primal lust roars louder in his veins.

“I want to see them full with milk,” he licks his lips and plays with your pebbled nipples. “Feeding my progenies… you will make a splendid mother, indeed.”

His words don’t scare you—you’ve already given this bond a thought, during dark nights when sleep couldn’t find you. If the dragon wants to mate, you shall welcome his advances. This new desire, hot and insistent within you, sparks like the first flame of love. 

“Ahhh…” your dulcet moan grazes his ears like a supple kiss. “Sylus…” 

His tail restraints your arms from flailing, though he gives you enough grace to sink your hands in his hair. Sylus’s warm tongue continues to tease your sensitive spots, his nose grazing your clit. Lapping at the warm musk you produce like it’s honey from a fount, the dragon greedily drinks you up. 

Timidly, you reciprocate, pressing kisses to the end of his tail. As your pleasure spikes, the need to ground yourself comes in the form of suckling on the narrow tip, your moans lost in mouthfuls of his stinger. He growls, eyes flashing and lifts his head from between your thighs. 

“How does one mortal know exactly where to pleasure a dragon?” 

You detach your lips from the leathery skin of his pointed tip, breathily replying: “I read an ancient book once… Dragons are symbols of fertility and their tails…” you trail off, as if almost embarrassed to know this fact, “... are sensitive.”

Sylus shivers when your tongue runs across the stinger again, making his tail twitch and flick uncontrollably. He resists the urge to flip you onto your knees and breach your tight heat in this instance, exercising patience. The last thing he wants is to accidentally injure you. 

“So, this is what they feed the dragon brides up in that sanctimonious Sanctuary of yours?” He mocks, “Ways on how to pleasure a dragon? How… whorish.” 

Your indignation flares and you narrow your eyes. “No,” you splutter. “It was a piece of information I found by accident,” you struggle against the tight coil of his tail around you, “And, do not call me such terms!” 

Sylus chortles, amused by your vitriol. “I see. My innocent human bride is not as innocent as I thought.” 

He grins and using his thumb, circles the throbbing bud between your legs. “Don’t move. My claws are sharp,” he warns, and gently, blows cool air on the little bundle of nerves already blushing. “Mhm… your body is… supple…” Cool, slightly chapped lips press a reverent kiss to your clit. 

You gasp, and struggling to quip back, ask, “And how does a dragon know how to pleasure a human woman?” 

His answer throws you off. Sylus grins, revealing rows of perfect, straight white teeth as he replies succinctly: 

“Instinct.”

His tongue delves right back into your heat and you scream, thighs twitching. The tapered stinger gently caresses your cheek, and you take it as an invitation to suck on the tip. Wet noises and muffled moans resound around the cave walls. 

Sylus’s tail releases you, and he kneels up, fumbling with his pants. You eagerly help him tug them down, not sure what you would find hidden underneath the dark fabric. 

But, a very much human cock greets your sight, though larger than the wax appendage in the science labs back at the Sanctuary. You bite your lip, gently stroking it from base to tip.

Sylus hiss, tilting his head back. “Gods,” he whispers blasphemy while in the throes of his pleasure. “Do not stop…”

You hum, warm palms running up and down the slick flesh. His tail wraps around your midsection again, and the light catches on a split at the base of the large, serpentine mass. Curious, you tilt your head to one side.

“Sylus… what is that?” 

He sees what you have spotted and laughs hollowly. “Didn’t your naughty books tell you, my bride? That… is a hemipenis.” The tip of his tail slides between your legs, caressing your folds and you gasp, squirming. Before your eyes, twin sacs pop from underneath the scales, and you see two curling branches feeling the air.

“Are those…?”

You trail off and Sylus huffs a hoarse laugh. “Yes. Supposed to go in you. One or the other. I am not picky.” 

Gaping, you stop stroking his human cock and pay attention to his dragon one. Roughly the same size as his human appendages, his dragon ones are a fleshy pink, with bulbous sacs hanging at the base.

“So… you have three organs…”

You marvel at the biology of him, not paying attention to the pink dusting on the high points of his cheeks. 

“Yes… so to speak.”

Sylus’s voice drops an octave, and you feel his claws gently caressing your bare thighs.

“I have… never made love with a dragon before,” you admit, and he finds it strangely endearing.

Sylus lets out a low chuckle and shakes his head. “If you ever did, I would not think to even have you in this position.” Grinning, he leans closer, as if to let you in on a secret. “I would have scented another male on you and snapped your neck clean off for daring to intrude in my lair… or, did you not know dragons only mate for life?” 

His words leave your head spinning. You gasp, and he grabs your chin, holding it firmly in his clawed hand.

Your wide eyes, your flush cheeks. You look divine, and Sylus aches for a taste.

He leans in, lips pressing to yours. There’s less heat this time, passion simmering to a tender touch—hesitation replaced by a growing intimacy that is undeniable. His hands roam your body, feeling the lush and warm skin of your hips, thighs and stomach. 

“You taste like sin incarnate,” the dragon whispers against your lips.

Curiosity simmers in you, needing to be fulfilled and you speak past his lips meeting yours in hurried kisses.

“What—do you mean—mhm… mating for life?” You manage to gasp. Sylus growls, loving how breathy you sound. 

Sylus lets out a rumble that sounds almost like a purr, his nose gliding from your jaw to your pulse point, inhaling you. 

“The mating frenzy happens once every few years. During such a… ritual… the dragons will choose one to be their mate—to carry their offspring and be their one true partner. Your books do not teach this because to humans, such a notion of love is barbaric and unheard of…” 

Naturally, the next question rolls off your tongue. “And… you have chosen me? As your mate?” 

The word suddenly holds a heavy connotation, and you swallow. 

His tail strokes your chin, and you nuzzle your cheek against it. Infuriating as ever, Sylus never gives you a straight answer. “Perhaps.” 

The idea of someone as simple as you being the Fiend’s mate is laughable. And, yet…

You lick your lips, running your gaze over his muscular and broad build. The prominence of his spine and scaly shoulders, the black-tipped serpentine tail with streaks of red scales. 

“Tell me more about these… mating frenzies.”

A guttural low growl forms at the depths of his chest, making you shiver.

“Better yet—I can show you.” 

In a flash, he’s on top of you, and his tail slithers right to your spread thighs. You feel the heat of his split dragon cock gently grazing your hip, and you hold your breath. “What does this mean? For both of us?” 

Sylus’s head is traveling to your sternum, his tongue sticking out to taste your skin. He stops at the swell of your right breast and sighs.

“You ask too many questions.”

Whatever is left of your coherence is lost in the feel of his velvet tongue teasing your straining nipples. He licks at them, bringing the fleshy nubs into the heat of his mouth and rolling them between his teeth. You gasp, completely helpless under his larger build, your arms bound to your sides by the strength of his tail wrapped around your chest. 

“Ngh—Sylus!” You cry out and he chuckles, low and smoky, enjoying how your body is squirming from the stimulation. 

Sylus’s eyes close when he feels your hand stroking his thigh and tail, the innocent touch sending waves of pleasure through his body. He is completely enthralled by you—this tiny, insignificant human… and you don’t even know the extent of his desire. 

Despite his rugged exterior, he nuzzles your cheek, inhaling the sweet scent of your soul ablaze with a new desire.

It’s heady and sublime, like a whiff of manna from a holier source than what’s between his ribcage. His heart palpitates, a staccato rhythm just for you. 

Sylus bends his head lower, eyelashes almost tickling your cheek.

“Is there something you wish to ask me, little one?” 

You struggle to speak, overwhelmed by the sensations he’s eliciting in your body. “I… want you.”

The confession rolls off your tongue, making his blood sing. Sylus grins, and his body primes with the need to claim you; to stake his seed deep in your body. The sight of his two cocks, each pulsing with pleasure and anticipation, makes your mouth water.

It’s a good thing those barbarians threw you down into his lair in such delectable garments… or, a lack thereof. Your bare body beckons him in like a moth to a flame; he shamelessly drinks in the sight of your splayed thighs hungrily—the fragile swathes of leather barely concealing your form. 

Sylus coils his tail closer to his pelvis, and you don’t hesitate to sit on the large, scaly mass. Your heat is maddeningly close to his lengths. The dragon desires stirring to claim you rises like a storm, and his nostrils flare. Sylus grabs your hips, positioning you over his right cock, letting the other one graze your pelvis. He hisses when you willingly take him, the innocent love on your face almost too much for him to bear.

(How can you look at him like this—like he’s something holy and worth loving?) 

The great Fiend melts right into your embrace, his head pressed to your shoulder, your bare breasts grazing the scales forming his chestplate. 

Sylus growls, going light-headed at the feel of your velvet walls melting around him. He gazes deeply into your eyes, finding not a shred of fear or repulsion in them. Your body molds around him like a well-fitted glove, your edges melting with his, the perfect contrast to his build.

As you lean in closer, he catches a whiff of honeyed wildflowers, and he deeply regrets commenting on your odor before, knowing it was because of the warped perception he had of you. 

You press your lips to his jaw, the bond between you thrumming like a live heartbeat.

He leans in to taste your mouth, the tenderness of this moment transcending any pain and bitterness he’s ever endured in his tragic life. Maybe one day he will tell you about the scars, the prejudice, the family he’s lost. But tonight, he wants you to belong to him as much as he already belongs to you.

“Does it hurt?” He checks when you take the last few inches of his beastly cock, your expression betraying a wince of pain.

“No…” you murmur, and he senses the truth in your shiny eyes. “It is simply… I am not accustomed to it.” 

Sylus bites down on a groan when you shift your hips, the sensation of him moving deep inside you both foreign and enticing. 

“O my bride,” he murmurs, nosing your hair. “You have no idea how delectable you look right now—astride me like this. Completely in my grasp. Completely mine.”

You shiver at the note of possessiveness in his tone. They said dragons horde what they find valuable. In his arms, you don’t feel broken or despised—you shine like the most priceless jewel. Despite his countenance and the infamy behind his reputation, you’re at ease in his arms, rubbing your nose with his.

“The bride of the dragon… his temptress of the night… one could get used to such a name,” you tease. His clawed hands tighten on your hips, and he guides your movements. Nose to nose, chest to chest, the dragon and you breathe as one.

The sensation of him inside you is one you have never felt in your short life. It’s both aching and pleasurable—makes you feel like a harlot and an enchantress all at once. Sylus does not hesitate to breach the last vestige of your innocence, the mark on your neck burning from his claim. 

Your ripeness and purity stains his thighs in streaks of red, and he growls low. 

“You are… untouched?” 

You nod, not trusting your voice. Your eyes water and your throat bubbles with a sob, but not from pain. You want nothing more than to make this moment of agonizing ecstasy last forever.

Sylus drops his head back to your shoulder, lips seeking your neck blindly. The mark he leaves calls upon his name, and his lips seek it effortlessly, biting and licking—reopening the wound only to seal it back with his healing capabilities.

It’s delirium and distress all in one. Your body feels like a flame in the open air, dancing violently to the blows of his desires. You move above him, bracing your smaller hands on his shoulders, leveraging on his muscular build to chase your high.

Sylus scents your soul in the air—hot liquor topped with boiling salt—simmering with the irresistible pull of your desires. The look in your eyes is wanton and needy. He can almost taste your desperation in the back of your throat.

“My bride,” he growls, gripping your hips to make you move faster. “My beloved, beautiful, greedy bride.”

His low snarl makes your insides squeeze, the need for him burning brighter and hotter.

“Sylus—” you choke.

That’s it, my sweetness… give yourself to me.

A feral, almost inhuman timber laces his voice, compelling you to surrender to the dark desires stirring beneath your skin. 

You crave for Sylus—need him like you need air.

The wet sound of skin meeting skin, his husky snarls and whispered praises bring you closer to the edge. Sylus moves under you, a dark wave with piercing ruby eyes following your every move. He fixates on your face, unable to look away. 

Those clawed hands, born to shred through flesh, tenderly cradle the plush of your hips. His mouth, a delicate curve, finds refuge in the valleys of your breasts, nipping and sucking on them like a sugar addict sampling the finest sweets in all the land. His ardent affection sends shivers of pleasure down your spine, your glassy eyes drowning in his intense, crimson gaze. The fire flickers and catches on the sheen of his dragon hide, inky smooth under the softness of your touch. 

Flesh and scales. Dragon and wife. Both blend into one as the night wears on.

Sylus feels your walls trembling, sucking him deeper. He nuzzles the mark on your neck, grazing his teeth on your pulse point.

“Let go for me,” he speaks in that same raspy, deep voice. Compelling you to listen to him. “Let go and release your worries… I am here to catch you, beloved.”

Beloved… beloved…

You are the dragon’s beloved.

Your heart soars above the clouds, far from your body. The waves of ecstasy crash around you, dragging you under. Right in the heart of the mountain, your scream of his name echoes down the valleys and boughs, the pleasure searing through your veins.

In response, Sylus roars, a great bellowing sound. He protects your fragile, human hearing with a palm pressed right to your ear, your cheek and ear against his chest; his claim resounds like a boom of thunder, shaking the trees. 

You’re dizzy, blood rushing to your ears. Sylus holds you in his embrace, pressing your body to his broad chest, close enough it feels like you could fuse your skin with his.

Your breaths mingle, heady liquor dripping into each other’s mouths, and you drink deeply from his kiss.

Sylus lays you down on the chaise, curling up next to you. Like a dragon guarding his horde of treasure, he keeps you close, tail curled under your head. Occasionally, he would caress your belly, feeling the generous swell of his release lodged right in your womb. His beastly cock remains warm in you, the hard ridges drawing sparks of pleasure chasing up your spine with every movement. 

His large wing unfurls, draping over you. With his head on your chest, your arms around him, and his dragon cock softening inside you, Sylus holds you tightly. Possessively. The tip of his tail nuzzles your chin, his human cheek rubbing against your head. 

Wrapped snugly in his embrace on all fronts, you fall into the deepest sleep of your life.

The dragon and you grow closer day by day.

As your need for revenge abates, your greed is satisfied in a different way—through a more carnal and intimate fulfillment. For a creature who loves to hoard, Sylus is generous with his pleasure, sharing the riches of his love and knowledge.

He flies you around Tarus City in his arms, his wings cutting through the valleys and casting a terrifying yet breathtaking shadow over the mostly barren rockspace. But, the city is not without its charms.

Laying in a field of daturas, the sun shines warmly on your skin. 

With a lack of human clothes nearby, you had to get creative and stitch some leather hide together with scraps of chiffon he plundered from a clothing merchant in Ivory City. The result is a dress which shows off the strength and agility of your body, light enough for your quick movements, yet warm to withstand the cool Tarus City nights.  

You munch on a blood orange while Sylus plays with a pearl necklace, lopping it around the tip of his tail, unwinding it only to gently place it on your lap. You glance at him, finding a soft smile lifting the perfect curves of his lips. 

“Put it on,’ he rumbles, and you raise a brow. 

“Why?” 

Sylus chuckles, shaking his head, finding your stubbornness endearing. You find you quite like the sound of his laughter. The warm sun bounces off his hair, turning it almost a blinding white. The hue of his locks matches with the pearly beads, its sheen catching your eye. Without a second thought, you put the necklace on. 

Turning to him, you grin. “Is this to your liking?”

But, his eyes darken, the sudden look of lust flashing in his crimson eyes catching you off guard.

Before you can open your mouth to speak, he grabs you by the waist, pinning you down to the grassy carpet. The cloying scent of crushed daturas fill your nose, making your head spin. You cradle his face in your hands, admiring the jut of his sharp features. 

Sylus nuzzles into your touch, like a needy cat. He growls when you touch his horns. 

“You know what caressing them does to me.”

You pretend to look innocent. “Oh? I suppose I don’t. Care to remind me again?” 

Your dragon lover grins, baring his teeth. Sylus never smiles unless he catches the scent of treasure. Trapped underneath his bigger build, you glance at his right eye, and the mark on your neck starts to tingle again. Every time you think you have an upper hand on the situation, the bond you share with him brings a crushing sense of helplessness and desire—making you repeat the pattern of giving into him all over again. 

His lips press to yours and you inhale the sweet taste of blood oranges on his touch. He nibbles on your lower lip, and you shiver.

“O bride,” he whispers, dragging the tips of his talons up your side. “You smell… delectable.” 

His mouth seeks refuge in the crook of your neck, biting, nipping and sucking. The sharp sting of his teeth and tongue turn into ripples of pleasure coursing through your bloodstream, warming you from the core. 

You thread your fingers through his silver hair and he hums in approval. 

Sylus moves his mouth from your neck to your pulse point, going over the marks he left the night before. The frenzy of his claiming sears through your memories, and you shudder again, powerless against the desires that consume you.

He nips and licks along your jaw, across your collarbones. The bite of his teeth drives you closer to ecstasy, and you tilt your head back, whimpering.

“Sylus…”

He smiles against your skin. “I love the sounds you make… these sweet, little eager mewls,” he rasps in a dark, low tone, his body pressing down on you. You gasp as he leans in, lips a  breath from your ear. “It makes me want to devour you.” 

A cacophony of lust and longing swirls inside you. The mark on your neck grows hotter. You crane your neck closer to him, noses almost touching and like a plea for succor, you murmur, “Then, devour me.” 

The glint in his eye grows darker and he leans in closer. “You have no idea what you are asking for, little one.”

There’s an edge of warning in his tone, one you choose not to hear. 

“All I want is you… and I must have you, my dragon.”

A shiver runs up his spine, the sound of your possessive words both delighting and frustrating him. 

He cages you to the ground with his arms, looming over you like a dark shadow. The muscles in his body tenses, coiled tight like a spring about to break. 

You pry your wrists from his grasp and he gives your freedom back with no hesitation. Your hands roam the broad expanse of his back and chest, feeling the warmth of his human skin mingling with the cool hide of his dragon scales. You concentrate on the spikes erupting from his shoulders, running your hands down his pronounced spine, where you gently press a hand to the base of his tailbone.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, and the sunlight speckles his shadows over your face. You pluck a flower and gently tuck it under a ridge of scales closest to his heart. “Has anyone ever told you that, Sylus?” The red bloom contrasts vividly with his dark scales, and the look on his face reminds you of a setting sun—tender and warm.

His eyes soften, the beastly need shadowing them tempered by a touch of adoration. 

He takes your hand in his clawed grip and gingerly runs a talon over your knuckles, careful not to break skin.

“No one has ever said that to me before,” his voice is rough, laced with an unfathomable emotion. Sadness? Grief? Anger? 

You couldn't decipher it. But, the unconditional affection you feel for him does not waver. 

Sylus slots his larger build in between your thighs, bearing down on you. Even with his proximity, you don’t feel afraid, gazing into his jewel-tone eyes, admiring how they shine like rubies in the gentle sun.

“Sylus… have you ever been in love before?” 

He turns his head to press kisses onto your fingertips. Slowly, he shakes his head. 

“Dragons do not feel love the same way humans do.”

Curious, you card your fingers through his hair. “And how do they feel love?”

The ruby embedded in his chest pulses almost as if it’s alive. You gently run your fingers over the sharp edges of the jewel, surprised to find it warm There’s something about it that echoes him—rough and unyielding on the surface, yet concealing a depth of hidden truth beneath its intricate facets.

Sylus grasps your wandering hand in his, bringing it to his lips. His lips touch the thrumming pulse of your wrist with a dearest reverence.

“Imagine you’re at a feast and the host has arranged a full table filled with only your favorite food,” he explains, rubbing the tip of his nose into your palm. “There’s a centrepiece and you wish to have it, but the host tells you it’s for decoration only. Yet, you cannot remove your eyes from it. You scheme and pine, wondering how to grab it when the bastard’s back is turned. Then, frustrated and no longer able to wait, you end the host where he stands for daring to keep such a treasure from you.” His voice grows softer, fringed with despair. “You pick up the centrepiece and sink your teeth into it. It’s made out of plastic and the feast ends because of you. The table is toppled over and you haven’t even touched your meal yet. This is what it feels like to love as a dragon.”

Your eyes soften, sensing his anguish. “I see.” Instead of being disgusted by his greed, you feel for his plight—to be cursed to love and long for something or someone that will never satiate the true ache in your  soul. “But, I suppose that’s where the magic lies, right? In the meal and not true desires? What’s in front of you instead?” 

Gently, you caress his horns again, marveling at how strong and perfectly curved they are. 

Sylus bends his head closer, letting you touch them. “Only you humans think such a paltry keep is worth pursuing.”

You laugh and shake your head. “Love is not about what you can take but what you give back.” 

As you stroke the indentations at the base of his horns where he’s taken a knife to it one too many times in the past, Sylus flinches from your touch. You still, and he bristles, growling under his breath as he urges you to continue caressing him by nudging his horns against your palm.

You grin. “Hmm… you know what you remind me of?” Not waiting for him to reply, you continue, “A huge kitten. An angry, horn-fiended kitten.” 

Sylus scowls, baring his teeth slightly, but when you scratch the base of his horns, tickling his scalp, he fights back a moan.

“Mhm… feels good,” he rumbles, and you giggle, happy to have found his spot. You scratch at it for a few moments, enjoying the warm press of his body on yours. His wings quiver in the light breeze, and the day shines on, the field of daturas all forgotten for the softness in his eyes. 

When night comes, cool and blanketing the world in peaceful darkness, you hum, stoking the fire in the centre of his lair. Sylus hears the cadence of your breath, the rhythm, and he wanders over to you, nuzzling his face into the crook of his neck.

“What is that… sound?” 

“Oh. It is an old lullaby… one my mother used to sing to me.” 

His clawed hand grazes your belly, gently trailing up to cup your cheek. You lean into his touch, enjoying the warmth of his broad body cocooning around you. 

“Can you sing it to me again?” 

In the deep vastness of Tarus City, a lone, beautiful voice reverbs, her song lifting from the peaks of the dragon’s lair, up into the cloudless night. The dragon listens to her, besotted, his ruby eyes never lifting from her face.

She finishes the song, and he lifts his head from the comfort of your lap. “That was beautiful.” 

Surrounded by all the riches of the world, the dragon wants to reward you. 

“Since you so kindly gifted me something I do not have in any collection, you are free to take anything you want here.”

Your eyes land on a tapestry, depicting a dragon being surrounded by a horde of angry men and their weapons. “What is that?”

Sylus lifts a brow, chuckling to himself. “A depiction of all the 108 ways men have tried to kill a dragon.” 

You glance at him, trying to dig deeper past his words. “I take it they all failed?”

He stretches and languishes back on your lap, his chest rumbling with a deep chuckle. “Of course. A dragon is not an easy creature to kill.”

A part of you wants to know more about Sylus’s past, but something holds you back from asking him. You distract yourself instead by caressing the skin around his eye, feeling the need to take it—claim it as yours. “Anything I want?” 

As if reading your mind, Sylus grabs your wrist with a smirk. “Anything except for my eye.”

You pretend to pout. “You’re not fun…” But, you don’t want to overstep on the dragon’s generosity. Your eyes land on a ruby pendant, and you finger the string of pearls he had placed around your neck earlier today. “What’s that pendant?” 

He follows your gaze, and smirks. “Ah. You have good taste, little one. That is an old ruby worn by the first Empress of Philos. Thought to be lost after the Battle of the Brothers. I found it at the bottom of a volcano.” 

You shiver, glancing at the impenetrable ruby.

“And it did not melt? Wondrous…”

Sylus hears the awe in your voice and shifts from your lap, his tail reaching to grab the necklace, depositing it into your waiting hands. “Put it on,” his tone takes on a huskier note, and you feel a spark of heat running down your spine. Obedient and eager, you slip the necklace on, feeling the heavy weight of the pendant settling around your throat. 

The sight of the shining crimson jewel right at the centre of your chest mirrors the jewel embedded in between his pecs. “Look. We match.”

Sylus runs the tip of his claw over the cool metal of the ruby hanging around your neck and chuckles. “Indeed… though yours looks much more ravishing.”

His eyes slide down your cleavage, drinking in the sight of the pendant nestling snugly right between the valley of your breasts. A familiar hunger gnaws in his loins, and he shifts closer to you, breath warm on your neck.

His lips find the shape of your mark, retracing it with his lips. Sylus growls softly when he feels the ghost of your moan caressing his cheek. Your hands make their way back to thread his silver locks, holding him in place. 

There is no hesitation when he pushes you onto your back, the sight of his bulging cloaca catching your eye. His twin cocks emerge from the safe haven of his scales, and you gulp at the sight of them, waiting to sink into you—fill you up with his seed.

Sylus tries to remove your dress, but his claws are much too sharp, and he accidentally nicks you.

“Ow—” you curse and lean back, lifting the dress over your head, letting it fall in a heap of leather and chiffon on the stony floor. Sylus feels his breath catching in his throat.

Completely bare for him, your skin shines, catching the heat of the open fire. The reflection of your body through the mountains of gold melts under the press of his, your legs perched wide and open to receive his cock. Sylus grunts, moving onto his knees. The feel of him breaching past the tight ring of heat is delirious, and your hips cant, begging him for more.

“So greedy,” he breathes, tongue flicking out to tease your quivering bottom lip. “I have barely even started and you’re already whining. Your body is very sensitive today, precious.”

You whine, the weight of the necklaces pressing hotly into your skin when his body sinks into yours. Sylus marvels at how easily you take him, your breathing coming out in short huffs. He fingers the necklaces dangling from your throat and decides you need more. Precious jewels of ambrette, emeralds and sapphires fall upon your body, the dragon dressing you in his horde. 

He piles on more necklaces until you can barely see your breasts peeking past the fall of gems and chains. Sylus growls, his cock throbbing in you with every adornment, until he’s satisfied. He bends his head forward, licking and lapping at your tight nipples, puffy and stimulated from the cool metal rubbing against them. 

The sensation of his warm tongue contrasting the cool gems caressing your sensitive flesh is too much. You cry out, tipping your head back, giving yourself fully to him. Sylus does not take such submission lightly. He holds you tenderly in his arms, gliding his nose over the arch of your throat, inhaling the scent of your honey liquor soul.

She calls out to him, a sweet chime though the terrain of his own lost spirit, drawing him back to the warmth of your body and love.

“I cannot live without you,” he murmurs into the safety of your neck, as he settles right to the hilt. The faint sensation of his dragon cock hitting your cervix makes you wince, and Sylus is immediately attentive, raising his hips and keeping his thrusts shallow.

Your grip around his neck tightens, and you giggle when he tickles your shoulder with his relentless nips. “Sy-lus—” 

“Say my name like that, precious,” he grins, tongue snaking out to lap at your pulse point. “I love hearing my name on your lips.”

You groan. Sylus… Sylus… take me, Sylus…

He shivers as you chant his name, the sound of it on your lips driving him deeper into a frenzied state. Sylus picks up his pace, his grip on your hips tightening.

Ecstasy shoots through your veins, sparking from where you’re connected with him. The rocky ground is hard underneath your back, but your full attention is on his movement inside you. 

Licking his lips, Sylus grins when he hears you gasp at the feel of his spare cock caressing your rear entrance, the tip pushing past the tighter ring of muscle.

“Sylus—”

“Let me play with you, my precious,” he whispers. Your eyes widen; it’s like his cock has a life of its own. 

Sylus enjoys the way your hips twitch and undulate, your cheeks and chest flushing warmly from his ministrations. Your eyes close shut when the tip of him breaches past the tightness of your rear, cool fluid lubricating the arduous task of impaling you with his two cocks.

“Sylus, wh-what is that?” You moan, digging your nails into the thickness of his biceps. 

“That,” the dragon grins proudly, “Is my claim on you. You belong to me now, my precious. Forever and always.” 

The other half of your soul surges his hips forward, capturing you in a bliss of fullness you have never felt before in your life. Your cry rebounds across the cave walls, and he smothers your whimpers with his zealous kiss.

Sylus’s two cocks move inside you like a symphony of lust, drawing out your baser instincts, your moans for more, more, more. 

He gives everything he has to you, thrusting deeply, needing to reach into the heart of your love and lust.

You’re completely incoherent, whining and writhing. The necklaces around your throat clink and shake with every thrust of your dragon’s forceful cocks inside your tight heats.

Sylus growls at the sight of your body and hair fanning out before him. You look like a dream, an oasis he has once got  a glimpse of but never had the chance to drink from. 

He’s dreamed of you once, when he was locked in the loneliness of the abyss: your valiant sneer, the sword of light plunging through his chest. A part of him always knew you would be his undoing. Yet, he never imagined his destruction would be so damn intoxicating.

Your thighs tighten around his waist, holding him close. 

It takes every shred of his self-control not to lean in and draw blood from your neck. Sylus wants to mark you, needs to see his claim on your body.

It drives him to the point of snapping his teeth and growling, little more than an animal in heat. But, you don’t shrink or flinch away from him.

You take his dominance with a gleam of desire in your eyes, your sweet, supple body begging for more. 

And Sylus wants to give it all to you. 

He feels you tightening around his two cocks, the squeeze of your muscles heady enough to make his eyes roll back into his skull. The base of him is utterly ruined with a combination of his slick and your juices, streaks of white painting the inside of your thighs and dribbling onto the stony ground.

This dance between you two is unfettered and animalistic. Groans, growls, moans and hitched cries.

All of it blends into a cacophony of one. Sylus feels his blood heating, his mind reeling.

His thoughts are darkened with the need to breed and conquer—your womb his ultimate conquest. The dragon desire and instinct urges him to dominate, to plant his seed right in the heart of your fertile body. Sylus grabs your waist, changing the angle of his penetration. Your cries grow shriller, your breathing heavier.

He can sense the end of your tether, your body holding onto the last vestiges of your sanity. 

Sylus growls, “Come for me, precious one. Come.” 

A marionette to her master. Your body listens. Your heels dig into his waist, earning a hiss from him. He moans loudly when you squeeze tighter, nearly taking his breath away as you arch your back and—

“Sylus!” 

Magnificent. He can’t take his eyes off the pleasure playing out on your face. The scrunch of your brow. Your desperate cries grow hoarser. Your body coaxes him to the edge and takes him under. 

He spills inside of you with a low groan, talons scraping the rocky floor, his teeth digging into your shoulder. Possessive and intense, he keeps you pinned to the ground, letting his seed seep inside of you and take root—hoping his gift would someday grow wings.

You nuzzle his cheek, pressing your lips to his jaw and throat. 

Sylus pulls you to drape over his chest, his cocks softening inside the embrace of your body. The silence mellows like a greeting between two friends, the afterglow keeping you safe and warm in his hold. There’s no sound beyond the whistle of wind in trees and the firewood crackling.

“You said dragons mate for life,” you whisper through the inky darkness of the lair, the warmth of his embrace lowering your defences; something romantic about the night giving way to your deepest curiosities. “Does this mean I am your mate for life?” 

You’re so small and sweet in his arms. Sylus thinks he can hold you forever. 

He pretends to close his eyes, though a smirk plays in the corners of his lips.

“Is that what you envision?” 

“Is answering in riddles the only way you communicate?” He hears the frustration, the bite of sarcasm in your tone, and chuckles.

“Adorable even when you’re feisty.”

“An ass when you don’t give me a straight reply.”

Word for word. Parry for parry. Sylus chuckles, sensing he can get used to your presence for the rest of his life.

“Oh, hush,” he pulls you closer, pressing his face into your hair, “Do not ruin this moment.” 

Tarus City is full of surprises.

You would have thought such a place like this would bear no mark of civilization, but Sylus surprises you with a visit to the morning market. The stretch of streets sell everything from love potions to stuffed dung beetles, and you wish you had six pairs of eyes and ears to take in all the sights and sounds.

Sylus walks beside you, his broad build hidden under a cloak, and you’re in a similar fashioned one. 

He watches as you peruse an ornate box, before your eyes widen at something over his shoulder. “Sylus… is that a canvas made of dragon hide?” 

His eyes travel to where you’re pointing and he smirks. “Tarus City is unlike Ivory City in the sense that anything you want, you can get here.”

You walk alongside him, hastening your steps to keep up with his long strides. “Can I find a potion that will turn me invisible?” Sylus shakes his head at your nonsense question and flicks your nose with his hidden talon. 

“Your mind truly is a fascinating space, little one.” 

You laugh at his words, missing how his eyes soften when you turn to point at a tavern. “I’m starving. Do you want something to eat?”

The dragon can’t say ‘no’ to your human requirements, and he follows your lead. You sit together in a booth right at the back, hidden away from the  prying eyes of the other patrons. Sylus orders two ginger ciders, and pays with a pile of coins. The innkeeper’s eyes nearly burst out from his sockets, and before you can stop him, he sweeps the cash, promising the two of you a feast to remember. Barely even a few minutes later, the food arrives, tables laden with meat, fresh fruit and casseroles. 

Your stomach grumbles and your eyes take in the wondrous spread. Sylus chuckles when you dive right into a roast pigeon casserole, your cheeks all puffy and full. He pokes them and smirks. “Slow down, precious. The food is going nowhere.”

“Safe for you to say,” you murmur past quick chews, and swallow heartily. “I’ve noticed that you don’t eat much… you barely need any sustenance…” Another quick bite, and you tilt your head to the side. “Why is that?” 

His chin perched in his palm, Sylus gazes at you from across the booth, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. 

“Ah. So, you noticed.”

You frown and sip on the ginger cider. “I did. You look like you barely enjoy food.”

Sylus shrugs and picks up a wildberry, popping it between his teeth. He chews on it and swallows, contemplating how best to answer you. 

But, you continue: “I notice these days… you don’t see the beauty of music, can’t judge patterns, and flavors of food just don’t register for you, don’t they?” 

He clears his throat awkwardly. “Dragons don’t need any of these to survive.” 

“But, they’re part of the beauty of life,” you argue and he chuckles. 

“And you would know everything about beauty and life, right?” 

You huff, glaring at him. “I do know that life isn’t about treasures and kills… it’s about the wonders of memories created together,” you pause for a moment, feeling the words in your mouth. “It’s about love.” 

A dark emotion crosses his expression, but it’s gone before you can dive deeper. 

“Love? I told you before, it does not exist for dragons.”

You smile, catching him off guard. “Maybe that's why it’s so precious—because it doesn’t exist.”

Sylus looks away, like he can’t bear your eager expression any longer. “Starry-eyed optimism will get you nowhere in this world. You should know the fate that befalls a dragon’s lover.”

As if on cue, the stage lights dim and the roar of a dragon fills the dingy inn. An actor prances on stage in dragon wings. He sings for a long time, weaving a tale of a lonely dragon flying through the valleys. He doesn't change his cadence, and yet, you watch, enthralled. Sylus studies your reactions instead of the play, his ruby eyes sliding from the elaborate scales and fake blood to take in your entranced expression. 

He can’t resist coiling his tail around your waist, and you smile, leaning closer to his warmth. He shifts to sit beside you, letting you rest your head on his broad shoulder. The play drones on, but you’re invested in it. 

Then, the final act happens, and a woman with a red dress appears on stage, singing about her love for the fabled fiend. 

Sylus watches you closely, taking in your reactions. Your eyes widen when the dragon kisses his lover, and you gasp when he stabs her with his claws, sanguine liquid pooling on the stage. 

After the performance and dinner, you let him carry you down the streets in his arms, safe in his warmth and more than sleepy from the big meal. “Sylus… why did you bring me here?” 

Always perceptive. He can never hide the truth from his bride. 

“No reason.”

“But, I want to know why… and why the dragon had to kill his beloved even when she loved him so much.” Pouting, you try to appeal to his softer side, trying to sway him with your love. “Can you please tell me? Or else, I’ll have nightmares for the rest of the night.” 

He sighs and you gaze at him with wide, pleading eyes. There's something more he’s not telling you—your soul can guess as much. 

It’s clear he feels the same pull of curiosity and glances down at you. Slowly, he begins to fill in the gaps. 

He tells you a story of a young boy, born with dragons but with a human appearance. How the boy grew up thin and scraggly, an easy bone to pick amongst the rest of the horned fiends. Sylus’s eyes waver with a rippling loss when he mentions the eradication of the kin, how that boy became the last of his kind. 

“As the boy grew older, he began to develop horns. Afraid, he took a blade to them and his tail, but the scales would just grow back, soaked with blood…” Sylus continues and you’re mesmerized. “After centuries of anguish, he finally came to terms with his truth as a monster. Then, the love of his life appeared.” 

The world slows down, chatter and noises fading in the background. Only his soft ruby eyes anchor you to this moment.

“She removed the sword from his chest, and yet, she was the one destined to kill him. He knew she would be his archnemesis disguised as his bride, but somewhere along the line, he stopped wanting to consume her soul…” His voice grows softer, sour with a palpable loss. “Slowly, he became consumed with the idea of being human, and forgot the true monster underneath his skin. Maybe it was when he saw her preserving despite the odds, or when her desires echoed his own and reminded him of his foolish, youthful self… whatever it was, he began to see life in a new light. And yet, a dragon can never be a human.” 

He guides you down a narrow path. The night’s chill and his forlorn words make you shiver, and Sylus reaches out to tighten your cloak. 

“Dragons have a tendency to toy with human desire, however they often become ensnared by it, and ultimately are enslaved by such needs and become true monsters…” He stops, turning to look at you. “In the end, he killed his beloved. That is the dragon’s curse.”

All is silent for a few moments. Sylus gauges your emotions. 

But, for all the warning he gives you, he doesn’t expect you to reach out and encircle your arms around him.

“Take me home,” you whisper into his shoulder, hiding your face in the crook of his body. Seeking him out as your salvation and not your ruination. 

Sylus’s heart squeezes. “How can you not hate dragons?” 

You tighten your arms around him. 

“Because I’ve seen real monsters, and you, Sylus, aren’t one.”

Your words imbue in him a desire so strong to take you up to the clouds and make you forget the sadness his words stirred in your soul. 

Sylus swallows hard and carries you in his arms, lifting off into the skies. The wind whips in your face, yet you’re warm and safe in your dragon’s arms. 

So, he thinks as his wings slice through the clouds. 

This is why she stays by a dragon’s side.

Unbeknownst to either dragon or his bride, a hidden figure in a dark cloak watches their every movement. 

He notes their closeness, the fact that the sacrificial brat is still alive. Oh, he thinks, grinning to himself, the Sacred Judicator would love this. 

The news of the Fiend’s release may have shook the entire nation, but they now have a way to make sure he’s locked up in the Abyss for good. 

In the shadows, the man dreams of the accolades he would receive for trapping the dragon, how his name would reverb from the annals of history for centuries to come. The Sacred Judicator himself would bestow his sword onto him for his mighty achievement. 

And it will all be thanks to his wonderful bride. 

Sylus wakes up one morning to you in his arms. The birds are chirping, the wind is whistling and the faint shadows of dawn illuminate the cave walls. 

He embraces you, sensing nothing out of the ordinary until he presses his face closer to your chest.

Instantly, a sweet, warm scent floods his nose to coat the back of his throat. It smells like the innocence of the first snowfall, or the comfort one gets from sitting by the fire after a long day. 

Pure, sinless… milky.

He drags his nose from your neck to your belly, inhaling the sweet fragrance, tasting the faint tremors of a tinier heartbeat rippling underneath your skin and flesh. His own heart skips a beat. 

“Precious?” 

He feels you stir in his arms, your mesmerizing warmth drawing him deeper into the cocoon of your embrace. You grumble, rubbing your eyes, the action making his chest squeeze. 

You yawn and stretch your limbs, your body unfurling like the spine of a well-worn book. “G’morning,” you slur, still half-asleep, shooting him a dopey smile. 

Sylus doesn’t know the first thing about a human female’s anatomy, or the possibility of procreation between a dragon and a woman. But, what he does know is this is no ordinary occurrence. His instincts are telling him something is different about you.

The sheen of your hair is glossier, your cheeks are fuller, and your body… he tightens his grips on your hips, still naked from the night before. Your body feels even more luscious under his touch. He smooths his claws down your sides in awe, feeling the sinew and stretch of your muscles expanding under his scaly palms. You giggle and shrink away, mumbling sleepily. “What’re you doing, Sylus?”

He drives his nose further down your body, inhaling more of the sweet, milky, innocent scent. His heart can’t deny what his instincts already know: you’re with child.

His child. 

“Do you feel… different, precious one?” He rumbles, not missing the way you snuggle closer to his chest, your cheek squished against the ruby in his chest. 

You close your eyes, gliding your hands over his broad back and chest. “Tired… hungry… a bit achy. Why?” 

He huffs, mentally taking notes of your condition. “Do you feel… particularly achy?” Gently, he cups your belly, and you frown, your eyes fluttering open. The morning sun highlights the glow of your cheeks, taking his breath away.

You’re positively radiant.

“A little… my back hurts and my breasts feel a little sore…”

Sylus’s eyes spark with delight. “Is that so?” 

You give him a look. “Sylus? What is going on? What’s with all these questions?” 

He stretches his arm around you, holding you tightly to his chest. You feel him kissing the top of your head and wonder why he’s being extra clingy today.

“Do you know what you smell like now?” Without waiting for you to reply, he presses on. “You smell like a mix of warm cotton and milk—pure innocence… completely tempting…”

You crinkle your brow, wondering what is he on. 

Sylus continues. “Precious, you don’t understand do you?” He gently tilts your head up with two talons under your chin. “Dragons are creatures of desire and symbols of reproduction… and my senses don’t lie to me, sweet one…” His next words make your heart drop right into your stomach.

“You are with child. My child.” 

You swallow and glance up at him through your lashes, your lips slightly parted.

“But, how—” you stop, remembering the nights of unrestrained passion you both had indulged in for weeks. “... Oh.”

As if reading your mind and remembering the intensity which led you here, Sylus grins. “Yes. It seems our careless actions have resulted in something… wonderful.” 

He presses a clawed hand to your belly, kissing you on the forehead. “Speak, precious. What is on your mind?”

You feel your heart expanding with both awe and fear. Awe for the life you now hold deep in your body, and fear of such repercussions of this magnitude. To carry a dragon’s seed, to be with the Fiend’s child—

“I… cannot go back to Ivory City anymore,” you whisper. 

Sylus frowns, not expecting your concerns to lie with something so trivial in his eyes. 

“Is that what you wish? To return back to that wretched place?”

Your eyes clear, as if you’re seeing him for the first time. “No. I do not wish that.”

Sylus tightens his grip around you. “Then, stay.” Here with me, is what he wants to add, but the words are stuck in the back of his throat.

He watches as you caress your belly, like you can sense the life you’re nurturing deep inside you. 

Slowly, the cloudiness of your uncertainty fades, and the warm reassurance of your willingness to stay soothes Sylus’s soul. The dragon would not admit it, but he has no idea what he will do if you decide to leave him. 

“Of course,” you murmur, and bury yourself deeper into his warmth. Sylus stretches his wing over you, shielding you closer to the coziness of his body. 

“I’ll stay here with you—where I belong.”

It’s not long before Tarus City is overrun with the rumors of the Fiend meeting his Archnemesis once again. Gossipers flood the market, telling of the old sacred text coming to life, musing about how and when this spectacle will occur. 

They say the Fiend will be slain where he stands. Others ruminate on his gradual downfall. 

But, up in the clouds, you and Sylus aren’t tarnished by such rumors. 

Within these walls, you slowly start to build your home with him. A nest of soft blankets, a sheath he made for your sword. Sylus spends a few hours a day cleaning out his lair, though cleaning is hardly the word when he’s haphazardly tossing out old treasures to make room for you and your growing belly to rest. 

The two of you still hunt in the forest, though he’s mindful of your current lack of stamina. On days when neither of you feel like foraging, you don your disguises and head to the market, exploring stalls with various knick-knacks and collectives, bickering and haggling for goods like an old couple. 

At night, Sylus watches as you brush your hair, humming a soft lullaby to the little life growing inside of you. It’s during these peaceful moments when you teach him how to dance, guiding his hands to your waist, singing a soft dirge your mother taught you before her untimely passing. When he first attempts it, his movements are clunky and mistimed. However, you never give up on teaching him, and soon, the dragon and his human bride navigate the stony floor with a rhythmic ease, his steps sure and grip on you never faltering.

As these moments occur, it hits him when he realizes how much you’re changing him on a fundamental level. 

Dragons weren’t exactly known as patient creatures. 

They plunder, loot, steal and burn down anything that stands in the way of their greed.

But, with his child growing in you, day by day, Sylus is coming to understand the sweetness of anticipation. He’s never seen a youngling before, having been sealed in the Abyss when he was a child himself. A part of him wonders how your baby will look like—tiny horns? A petite tail? His silverish hued hair?

The more he ruminates, the more he feels protective over this treasure you’re nurturing in your body. 

Your dragon lover knows nothing about parenthood—his own mother having died in childbirth and his father slain by Legion soldiers after his homeland was invaded. Yet, despite this painful lack of experience, he’s unwavering in his devotion, showing up for you in any way he can. 

Sylus is careful whenever he presses his claws to your belly, and makes sure his sharp scales don’t cut you when you’re asleep beside him. Wherever you went, he was always a step behind, shadowing you and keeping a close eye. 

“You’re like a puppy now,” you tease him once, in the wide fields where daturas scatter, waving their red petals like the tops of a sentry’s hat. 

He smirks at your teasing, watching you weave a collection of wildflowers together into a round, circular shape. 

“I can’t help it—you’re whelping. It’s in my nature to watch over my bride and now, the mother of my youngling,” he places his clawed talons on your belly, eagerly trying to sense for any movement. 

Your smile widens, touched by his concern. Sylus feels you slip the flower crown on top of his head and he chuckles. 

“Come here.”

He pulls you into his arms, letting you press your cheek to his chest. The two of you lay like this for hours, feeling the breeze caress your skin and tug on your clothes and hair. Sylus picks up a datura bloom, and repaying the favor, tucks it into your hair, his smile soft and eyes tender.

Only you and this flower can touch me here, he whispers into the skin of your neck, setting your soul ablaze with pure love for him. 

“Sylus, have you given any thought to the baby’s name?” 

The dragon gently runs his talon over the slight swell of your belly, pursing his lips.

“I do… quite like the name Atlas for a boy… or, Serenity for a girl.”

“And if it’s both?” you tease. Sylus’s eyes widened.

“You suppose you’re carrying twins?” 

His eager expression warms your heart, and you gently stroke his cheek. “I suspect it since my stomach is a bit bigger than we anticipated and I’m only a few weeks along.”

Your dragon lover presses his ear to your belly, trying to hear the sound of two heartbeats over your own thrumming one. 

“I hear one—in sync,” he pauses and listens closer. Faintly, a third heartbeat lags after the second one, and Sylus gasps in surprise. “You are right, precious.” His words make your heart flutter. “I hear two.”

You gasp, eyes brightening with delight. “Sylus… could it be…?” 

Twins. You can hardly believe it. He laughs, pure and unaffected as he embraces you fast to his chest.

The sun shines down on two lovers free from the constraints of burdens or prejudices, lost in each other’s embrace, celebrating a new start after years of unimaginable strife.

Sylus had left you alone in the market with two simple instructions: wait for him to return and don’t cause any trouble. 

But, as always, trouble has a way of finding you even when you don’t go looking for it. 

The square is a lively patchwork of activity—stalls piled high with ceramic pottery, earthenwares, textiles you barely know the name of, and curious trinkets from far fetched lands. You’re drifting among the crowds, drawn in by the oddities and novelties of the vendor’s wares, lost in the rhythm of the market. 

That was when the shout came—shrill and unmistakable. “Thief!” 

The cry cuts through the din like a knife, snapping you out of your daze. Your gaze shoots upward, locking onto a figure in the crowd. A man, clutching something wrapped in cloth, stumbles backward through the marketplace. His face is smudge with dirt, and there’s no mistaking the terror in his expression as he pushes past the onlookers, desperate to escape. 

Before you can process what’s happening, the first group of soldiers burst onto the scene, their heavy armor clinking with every step as they flood into the square. Their gleaming swords catch the sunlight as they move swiftly, surrounding the area and cordoning it off. Your confusion doubles at the sight of the thief escaping through the metal gates right under the soldiers’ noses. But, they don’t react at all, barely concerned with him, their sharp eyes scanning the crowd, looking for something else—or, someone else, entirely.

It hits you then—they’re not here for some petty thief. This is an operation—a precise, organized one. 

Sylus. 

You pick up the pace, removing your sword from your scabbard, when someone pushes you to the ground. Falling hard, you cry out in pain and cradle your belly, looking up to find a Legion soldier leering at you. 

His face comes to mind, filling you with dread. 

Throw her down to the Abyss, he sneers in your memory, those cold blue eyes burning into your soul. And see how long the Fiend will take to swallow her whole. 

He grabs your arm, yelling, “Got her!” as the other soldiers swarm around you, blocking your exit. Arrows rain down from the sky, swords shing as they clang and strike a giant mass in the middle of the square. To your horror, a black dragon raises his head, his scales streaked with blood, arrows lodged into his wings. 

“Sylus!” You scream, but he can’t hear you through the commotion and his Fiend instincts. Those red eyes scan the crowd, finding you, and you fight back from the Legion’s hold. “Sylus! I’m here—!”

He roars, shaking the roof and the ground. You cringe back, crying out when you feel someone drag you into chains. “Sylus—help me!” 

The dragon takes one step towards you when a huge spear is thrust right into his chest. You scream, and the disruption sends many into a frenzy. Citizens disperse, mothers rushing to shield their children, store owners rushing off with as many of their wares they can carry in sacks. 

“Sylus!” Tears spill down your cheeks, and something hot and desperate pulses in your chest. 

Take him… End him…

The urge to devour the dragon rises in you, imbuing you with strength to fight out of the chains. Determination fuels your movements and you slash at your captors, struggling from their grasp. You manage about a step when a soldier tackles you to the ground. A loud cry, like that of a wounded animal, bellows from the centre of the square. Shackles and chains appear, the dragon’s injuries repressing him from his escape.

He isn’t healing. Your frantic eyes scan Sylus up and down. His injuries are not healing!

“Sy—” A sharp pain stabs into your arm, and you look down to find a needle sticking from your skin. Immediately, the world before you shimmers and shakes, your head feeling woozy. You gasp, trying to fight off the vertigo and rush to your lover’s side. 

A soldier aims for an arrow right to Sylus’s heart, and the feverish daze lifts for a moment—enough for you to kick the soldier right in his loins. The man grunts, his hold on you loosening, and you dart forward, putting yourself right in front of the dragon and the arrow.

Sylus roars behind you, and you taste his fear in the air. But, the second you turn to him, the sword of light forming right in your hand, you feel a burst of pain rupturing through your chest.

As if in slow motion, you look down at the arrow sticking out from your ribcage. 

ROARRRRR!!

The ground shakes with the force of the dragon’s agonized bellow. Soldiers scream, and ropes seem to materialize from thin air—holding the force of his anger down. 

You choke up a wad of blood, feeling the end of his tail coiling around your legs before he’s snatched away. The pain in your chest mirrors the one in his own, both your souls screaming and clamoring for each other.  

Sylus… You reach for him, fingertips grazing his outstretched talon—

But, you’re yanked away, and Sylus is taken in by the Legion, their yells to contain him loud throughout the entire square. 

Another thunderous bellow. 

An arrow flies through the air, directed at you, but the dragon intervenes. He pushes you to the ground with his snout, shielding you with his face—

The arrow sinks squarely into his right eye.

You scream, clutching your face, your chest. Blood oozes out, his mixing with yours. The dragon staggers back, standing on his hind legs, half-blind and hellbent on destroying everything around him. 

His roar could shatter your eardrums, and you sink to your knees, gasping in pain. 

Blood swims everywhere, a sea of it in front of you. 

You wipe your face, and crumple to your side, clutching the swell of your belly that’s bleeding down your thighs, your babies absorbed back into the earth below you. 

My children… my dragon…

The world fades into a ringing, dark pit of pain. And, unlike before, you hope you never wake up again. 

–

The Abyss is quiet and cold without the love of his life and her light.

Sylus steeps in the bitter depths of his own misery, trapped once more in the silence and darkness of a prison he desperately loathes. The blood from his right eye has long dried, but the lack of light makes it hard for him to discern the extent of his blindness. 

He buries his snout under his claws, huffing in pain. 

In his chest, his beloved rebels and screams, her soul equally in torment. He feels the agony ripping through her when they pull the arrow out from her ribcage, the empty ache of her womb now desolate of the children they created with love. Hot tears flow down the dragon’s leathery snout, and he brays in pain. 

My love… my light… my precious…

The chains the Sacred Judicator wrapped him in are fortified with magic, leaving him helpless to fight against them. His soul is beaten and broken, the light of his life taken from him with such casual cruelty. 

A dragon can never love a human and a human… will only encounter pain and strife when loving a dragon.

Why hadn’t he stopped you from falling in love with him? 

All of this could’ve been avoided if he hadn’t saved you—hadn’t given you a piece of his soul. 

Sylus trembles, the dragon instincts warring in him to break free while what’s left of his human tenderness shrivels up at the loss he feels radiating throughout his entire body.

My love… I am so very, desperately sorry. 

The days pass, and he sees you in his mind’s eye, restrained in chains as well. 

The humans who swore to uphold justice judge you by his mark on your shoulder. They beat you. Starve you. Sylus is helpless to aid you, forced to feel your pain and scorching agony.

A part of his soul drifts away, in limbo between life and death, hovering in a horizon where the sky kisses a field of flowers.

He finds you there, whole and healthy. 

“Sylus…” your sweet voice whispers, your head on his chest. “Is it truly you here?” 

He nods, unable to speak, holding you tightly against his body, as if you will disappear if he opens his eyes.

“Yes, my precious,” he murmurs into your hair, “It is I.”

The stillness of your belly tears through him like the agony of having his scales ripped from his body one by one. He falls to his knees, pressing his cheek against your stomach, sorrow seeping down his face.

“My precious, I am so sorry—I couldn’t—I wasn’t strong enough—”

You shush him, falling to your knees as well. You take his face in your hands, tear tracks glinting on your cheeks. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

He tries to argue. “I failed you—”

“You saved me… can’t you see?” You bring his clawed hand to your chest, and gently caress his injured eye. “Feel this—there is nothing compelling us to destroy each other anymore.” 

For a split second, he gazes at you in wonder.

The desire to kill and maim each other has been transcended by this act of pure sacrifice. 

But, then, he shakes his head, words clogged in the back of his throat. He wants to tell you that you’re wrong—that he is not your salvation, but the one who brought you ruin. It’s his fault—can’t you see? It’s because of him you’ve lost everything you hold dear and holy.

Yet, despite the guilt clawing at him, he can’t tame the hunger inside. The dragon is greedy, harboring a dark craving that grows fiercer with each moment. He wants you—more of you—and leans into your touch as if it can quell the storm inside of him. 

The scene is haunting, yet tender in its contrast. The dragon, monstrous and deformed, with his single, glaring eye, embodies the isolation and grotesque fate that befalls all monsters. Yet, his bride, in her ethereal grace, approaches him with a love that transcends appearance. In this cruel, faithless world where the honorable and different are unjustly punished, love is the one constant; it endures the most terrible of circumstances. 

Your touch is soft, not recoiling from the ruin of his eye, but offering solace. The kiss you give, placed on the source of the dragon’s anguish, becomes an act of healing, a reaffirmation of your shared bond that exists beyond the physical. The bride, once a symbol of purity, becomes the monster’s redeemer through a single, powerful act of love and acceptance.

What was once grotesque is made sacred by a touch that mirrors his own. 

The beast and his bride, reunited at last, after a lifetime of suffering.

Time blurs into a standstill. 

Days and nights pass, yet Sylus cannot count them for he is buried underneath the ground like an abandoned corpse, hidden from the sun and stars.

One day, as he tends to his wounds, he hears footsteps above ground. The scent of men stings his nose with their sweat. The dragon stands up, growling in warning, but the figure who approaches him is not afraid.

In his lofty robes, the Sacred Judicator grins at him, a mockery of the broadsword strapped to his chest. He says nothing, stepping aside for his minions to dump a bundle in front of him. 

The familiar sharp tang of blood and broken skin—once precious and warm—reaches his nostrils and Sylus bellows. 

Before he can lunge at them despite his limited range of motion, the Legion disappears, leaving him trapped once more beneath the rock—this time with the lifeless body of his bride. 

Pain rips through his chest like a spear staking through flesh, and it’s from this sheer agony that his dragon spirit breaks, the snout and scales disappearing, leaving behind the shell of a man sobbing in his magical chains. 

“No… no…” his voice is a strained whimper, echoing past the shallow walls. 

Sylus’s strong arms, meant for destruction and death, wrap tenderly around your broken body. He lifts one claw to brush your cheek gently, his single carmine eye flitting over the bruises and cuts on your face, your arms. There’s a huge gash over your belly, where the Legion doubled down—making sure to leave no trace of his children behind. 

Your legs appear broken, though your chest is rising and falling rapidly. 

“No… no…”

A mighty roar tears through his lungs, echoing across the lair—shaking the base of this mountain they had kept him trapped under. 

“NOOOO!!!!!”

All his life he’s been told he would cause nothing but pain and suffering, death and destruction. He had let them tie his wings down, banish him underneath the hard-packed earth where light could never breach. He had endured their endless taunts, their prods, their mutterings of him being nothing more than a beast—a mindless monster destined to bring Philos to its knees. 

And now, he finally has reason to destroy them all.

Sylus staggers to his feet, his beloved in his arms, as he takes one step forward, and the next. Fat tears pool and trickle down his gaunt cheeks, falling right onto your unresponsive face. The chains clank and barely afford any give, but in his desperation, he lets the metal tear through his skin and scales—needing to fight back with every fiber of his being. 

“I will avenge you,” he whispers in a low, strained tone, trying not to think how much torture and pain you had to endure at their hands. “They will ruin the day they dared to touch you, my beloved.” 

The sacrificial bride, once delivered to him like a grim punchline, is the sole reason he’s taking control of his beastly narrative. 

Sylus will make them pay through blood and fire—flesh and bone. For every laceration on your precious skin, he will destroy a thousand more people, burn cities down with a single flick of his claws. His great wings stretch and he releases another bellowing roar, breaking through the magic chains from the force of his own sheer will. 

He takes to the skies. Faster and higher, he gains altitude, careful to hold you fast to his chest, shielding your face from the whipping wind. 

Word spreads of his escape, men panicking and screaming. The Legion, having barely escaped the mountains, find themselves in the eye of his wrath. Sylus bellows, charging straight at them, his single ruby-red eye glittering with pure, seething rage. 

They fire arrows at him, but he manoeuvres past the rainfall of quivers and gleaming, silver tips. He howls at them, a wounded beast on the last leg of his survival. The ferocious tug in his soul becomes a full-on desire to see the empire of Philos crumble.

Sylus expands his control, breaching the minds of these simple-minded fools. He forces them to jump off the cliffs, or bash their heads into the rocks till the bones of their bloody skulls gleam under the scorching sun.

No one can touch him now. High in the sky, he cradles the broken body of his beloved to his chest, feeling the soft caress of her cheek against his tough hide and skin. 

I shall destroy them for you, my darling, he solemnly promises and shoots forward, intent on keeping his oath. 

Ivory City appears on the horizon, then the gleaming domes of the hypocritical half-built Sanctuary.

Everywhere the shadow of his wings falls, the people lose their minds. They shoot and strangle each other, spreading fear and dissent across the entire land. Walls collapse and monuments dedicated to the Emperor and his Sacred Judicator crumbles under the force of an inferno raging through the city. 

Their screams reach his ears like a cacophony of vindication. Sylus feels no sorrow for these greedy, selfish humans who have taken away the one true thing in his life he cherishes.

They broke her bones, mangled her limbs, snubbed out the sweet souls growing in her womb—all to destroy him.

And, they will pay. 

He hovers in the air, a terrifying shadow over the destruction of Philos.

Blood and tears trail from his wounded eye, mingling on his cheeks like the devastation spreading across this corrupted nation. 

Sylus watches them fall and burn to the ground, his expression unreadable.

When the cries and screams begin to wear him down, he turns and flies back to a field of daturas and the lair where your salves await. 

Home is in the distance, untouched by the horrors of all that he’s witnessed. He lands gently onto the rocky crevice, closing his injured wings around you. Sylus sets you down on a soft pelt of fur while he lights a fire, stoking the flames to warm you.

The rapid beating of your heart pulses in his ears, and he prepares the salves just as you taught him—one for your wounds and the other for you to drink. 

“My love,” he whispers in a soft voice fringed with pain. Tenderly, Sylus lifts your head, bringing the cup to your lips. He watches you imbibe the drink, coaxing you with gentle encouragement to drink it all. 

When he notices some color returning to your cheeks, Sylus begins to rub the healing salve over your injuries. For your broken bones, he fashions tourniquets out of cotton and woven tree fibers. 

“I’m so sorry, my love.” He kisses your hair, gritting his teeth as he sets your bones right, your screams of anguish breaking his heart. “I know, I know,” Sylus whispers, wrapping the makeshift gauze over your broken limbs and fragile legs till you look like a swaddled doll. 

He tends to you, day and night, until your strength returns and you open your eyes. 

The first time your gaze focuses on him, Sylus thought he would have cried. You wince, but still lift your hand to his face, caressing the swelling of his injured eye. 

He shrinks from your touch, murmuring I meant to fix a patch over it. Your answering smile is tender, and carefully, you caress his afflicted eye again.

“It doesn’t scare me,” you whisper hoarsely, licking your parched lips. “You’re still my Sylus.” 

Your simple words, meant to soothe, makes him hitch a sob. “My love—”

“Shh…” You use what remains of your strength to lean up and embrace him. Sylus lets himself drown in your arms, putty in your affections. He knows he doesn’t deserve your grace or forgiveness for not being stronger and protecting you better, but he’s a selfish creature that desires for your love no matter the cost. 

You feel the strength in his tight grip waning, and he collapses in your embrace. The adrenaline from days of tending to you begins to fade as his injuries and fatigue catches up to him. You notice again that his wounds aren’t fully healed, and struggle to sit up. 

“Sylus—”

He shakes his head. “I’m… fine. Just let me close my eyes.”

Panic infuses through you and you shake your head fiercely, tears welling in your eyes. “No! Don’t you dare close your eyes—don’t you dare!” 

You clamber off the pelt and cradle his head in your arms, placing it onto your lap. Sylus opens his one good eye, looking at you with love in his gaze. 

“I am fine—”

You swallow your tears and shake your head. “I will not let you perish, not if it’s the last thing I do.”

Sacred texts prophesied that the dragon’s Archnemesis would be the one to end his life. But, his sacrifice has rendered the light broadsword in your soul void, and your own selflessness resulted in the destruction of his right eye, where a part of his tormented soul calls out for you to destroy him. 

You will not hurt him any longer. You will save the dragon just as he had once saved you. 

Light spills forth from the remaining half of your soul that is still yours to own, pooling in his chest where you bind your fate and heart to him. 

Sylus grips your hand, as if begging you to reconsider.

“Is this what you want?” His hoarse voice is filled with trepidation. “Once we hold hands with each other, we are forever bonded through life and death,” he asks you again, knowing how monumental of a decision this is: 

“To share your life and soul with a Fiend is a tremendous punishment—will you not truly regret it?” 

You’re too far gone, desperate to keep him alive that you’d do anything to have him by your side.

“If following our hearts is a sin, then you and I must be the last of our kind in this world.”

With those words, you gift him your healing. As the wounds close, Sylus brings your wrist to his mouth and kisses the delicate skin with all the devotion his broken body can muster.

“In that case,” he murmurs hoarsely, eyes closing as his skin and muscles regenerate back together, “Stay close to me forever.”

The cave walls glow with a warm, golden light. The dragon stretches his wings around you, holding you fast to his chest. 

As the last of your healing flows into his blood and soul, Sylus presses a kiss to your forehead.

The rays of a setting sun touch the intertwined figures of a dragon and his beloved bride as they drift into a deep, healing slumber—the hardships they once bore are carried away by the tides of forgiveness, their pain forgotten in the embrace of a second chance. 

The silence of the datura meadow near the destroyed chapel fills you with an unadulterated sense of peace. 

A slight breeze picks up, brushing past the tiny dragon horns and tail which grew in place after you gave your heart and soul to Sylus. You welcome the change—once the dragon and you became one, your heart has never known such felicity and joy. 

You gaze at him as he plays with his children in the field, teaching his babies how to growl and roll over, never mind that your twins are just shy of a year old. Despite the lingering pain of losing your first pair of babies, fate was kind enough to bless you again with their souls in the form of their younger brother and sister. 

A pair of snowy white heads shine under the gentle sun, while their father brings them to his chest, his clawed hands gently enveloping them closer to the warmth of his skin.

Sylus’s ruby eyes find yours, and a gentle smile plays on the corners of his lips.

“Beloved, are you alright? Is the baby giving you any discomfort?” 

You wipe your eyes and place a hand on the tender swell of your belly, feeling the new life inside squirming at your touch. Sylus stands and cradles his precious boy and girl, sinking down in the grass beside you. His tail comes to wrap around your waist, and you press your face into his shoulder. 

“Just caught in a reflective mood, that’s all,” you reassure him as Serenity coos, reaching out to graze her chubby hand on the curve of your stomach—as if she can feel the life burgeoning in you. 

Sylus hums and places a tender kiss on your forehead. 

“Whatever mood you are in, I want to be there for it, my love.”

You smile, the devotion in his voice filling you with an unshakeable sense of protection and love. 

“I know, and I love you, my dragon… my Sylus.”

My dragon is here, your heart soars at the thought. 

His jewel-tone eyes glow obsidian in the soft morning light, the affection of his touch reminding you that he’s here—that he will never leave you alone, not if he can help it. 

“I love you, too, my bride… the mother of my children and keeper of my soul.” 

The both of you stand, him carrying Serenity and you cradling Atlas in your arms. 

The last dragon family walks into a valley that embraces them, together till the end, hand-in-hand as they step into their new beginning.

— aaaannndd that's their happy ending :') i wrote this as a way to cope with sylus's myth and how it obliterated my feels (kid you not, i was sobbing uncontrollably for an hour and felt so empty so of course i HAD to give them the happy ending they deserve)

+ sylus + his dragon fam inspired by @/napanewt art on twt.

since writing this destroyed a fragment of my soul, reblogs, feedback and nice words will be so appreciated ❤️

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, claim my story as your own, or feed my works into AI.

[teaboot]

question i suspect you may know the answer to. I'm in Quebec right now, it's well below freezing and I'm having to stay in an uninsulated attic without a sleeping bag or warm enough blankets. I can't sleep because of the cold. Any tips on not freezing to death? I can't feel my face anymore.

-sleep on top of something. Cardboard, Styrofoam, balled-up paper, a mattress, a blanket, dry towels, whatever. If you're stuck with just the floor or ground then it will suck the heat out of you.

-keep the top of your head covered. You lose an insane amount of hear through your head.

-Wrar all of the clothes that you have. All of them. Only remove layers if you start sweating.

-drink warm or lukewarm water.

-mittens are warmer than gloves. If you have neither, put socks on your hands.

-change your socks before going to bed. Do NOT wear socks you've worn all day, even if they still feel dry.

-Cover yourself in blankets, clothes, towels, WHATEVER, but DO NOT COVER YOUR MOUTH AND NOSE. Condensation will get stuck under there with you and make you damp and cold.

-Stick your hands under your armpits or between your legs near your groin. These are the warmest parts of your body.

-if you wake up freezing, pace in circles to warm up. Don't exercise to the point of sweating, just to warm up a bit.

-air is the best insulator. The more air something has in it, the better it is at trapping your body heat. I was serious about crumpling up newspaper

-Stay as far from the windows as you can, and as close to the centre of the house as possible. Ideally away from any stone fixtures.

-If there is a fireplace, light it ONLY IF YOU ARE CERTAIN THE CHIMNEY IS CLEAR. Carbon dioxide poisoning is a risk. If it is clear, use paper and small slivers of wood to get it started, then larger burnables. Fire needs to grow before it can eat bigger foods. If you have no matches, but the electricity is on try a stove burner, or a hot light bulb.

-If you break a light bulb and turn the lamp on, you will get a flame for a few seconds, but only if you have no other options because this is dangerous.

-if you are with people or a pet, this is a great opportunity to cuddle.

-STAY DRY.

-EAT. Making and msintaining body heat burns energy.

-If you suddenly feel like you're boiling, KEEP YOUR CLOTHES ON. Paradoxical undressing is a symptom of hypothermia. You ARE NOT HOT, your body is lying

-Suddenly not shivering when you've done nothing differently is an early hypothermia warning sign. CALL SOMEONE.

Leaving this open cause this is all I have off the top of my head. Good luck out there

[gtgbabie0]

Bi Han x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: {Bi-Han did not have many weaknesses— but you?… you could make him completely fall apart}

For my other works my Masterlist is here <3

!!-18//MDNI-!! Enjoy my lovelies 💕

It was a rare moment to see your husband so at peace, his brows unfurled and his shoulders relaxed, the sight was welcoming— you daren’t even speak not wanting to break the silence that had blanketed itself around the steamy atmosphere.

The hot springs were always a nice way to end a stressful week, the warmth of the water chased away that chill that nipped the air not to mention how good he looked— his hair pulled back into a bun with a few stubborn strands that fell to frame his face, the way the water glistened across his chest and his toned arms that were resting upon the smooth rocks… you were lucky indeed.

Although such silence spoke more to Bi-Han than words did, he could sense your tender gaze upon him and knew exactly what was going through your mind— perhaps that’s why the corners of his lips twitch up into a small smile, he knew you far too well.

“Will you join me anytime soon or will you just keep staring?” He asks, his voice deep and almost commanding beneath the softness that seems to overtake him in your presence. He opens his eyes to look up at you standing there with a silk robe wrapped around your body tightly.

A small scoff falls from your lips as you roll your eyes, averting your gaze in an attempt to be respectful— and to save yourself from further embarrassment.

“I am not staring… just admiring, there’s a difference.” You mutter the response softly, fiddling with your fingers.

“Well your admiring is almost too polite, come here.” His tone carries a certain twinge of playfulness, something you don’t hear a lot from him save for in private— where he can let that mask of his slip and open his heart to you.

With that you let your robe drop, the silk rippling against the curves of your body to pool at your feet leaving you bare for him and he shamelessly drinks in the sight, his gaze dragging along the slope of your shoulders down towards your chest and over your hips and thighs— he was absolutely enraptured by you, every single inch.

Bi-Han’s gaze follows you closely as you step down the stone stairs and into the hot waters, wading closer to him. It was almost a shame to call you mortal because it was clear to him that the gods were your creators, sculpted beneath their fingertips.

Especially right now, with the pale light of the moon kissing your skin and casting an otherworldly glow around your body— you are the girl that all the poets write about.

“You’ve been neglecting me as of late.” You state so matter of factly, sticking your chin out in a playful confidence. The statement breaks him out of the trance you seem to have trapped him in.

At your words he sighs, yes he’d been neglecting you, but it wasn’t on purpose. In fact, he’d gone to bed many nights swamped by guilt for how little time he has had for you recently, but on the other hand, this distance was for you— to build a life where you would be protected.

“I’ve had much to do in preparation, forgive me.” He says, voice gruff yet gentle… always so gentle with you.

You hum in understanding, padding your way closer to him through the steamy water and as soon as you’re close enough his hands immediately find purchase on your bare hips, tugging you near his body, he couldn't help himself, he ought to have more self-control he thinks to himself yet you seem to call to him like a siren does to a sailor.

“Well… am I to remain with this burning between my legs?— or will my husband make up for his negligence?” You respond playfully, brushing your fingers through the water and watching it ripple in small waves, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

The bluntness of your words catches him slightly off guard, making him chuckle through his nose as he drags the roughness of his fingertips along your waist and up your spine then back down again.

“Come here then, I’ll see what I can do about this burning of yours, hmm?” And with that he’s cupping the back of your thigh, pulling you to straddle his lap as the water sloshes up against your bodies and the rocks.

Your hands instinctively reach out to rest against his broad shoulders, stabilising yourself as he cups your chin to tilt your head in his direction— his thumb brushes along your bottom lip with an almost reverent look in his dark eyes.

Being so intimately pressed up against one another sends your mind into a hopeless flurry of emotions and thoughts and Bi-Han reveals in the way squirm against him, the small noises that you make and how your pupils dilate.

“Yes, please—” you breathe almost pleading, meeting him halfway in a slow kiss that borders on desperation. His lips slotting perfectly against your own and he swears you were made for him, every curve and dip of your body.

Your fingers pull on the tie that keeps his hair up, dropping it into the water before running your hands through his dark tresses as he deepens the kiss— his tongue pushing past your parted lips to brush against your own, trying to tug you impossibly closer.

He can’t help but smirk at the feeling of your hips grinding against him in search of that friction you so heedlessly need. “Mm, I’ve got you, my love.” He whispers in between lazy kisses that taper off into small pecks, his lips trailing along your jaw— a hot mixture of teeth and tongue pave the way down your neck and over your collarbones, focusing on the spots that make you whimper and arch into his toned body.

Your whole body flushes with a tingling sensation as he dips his hand between your legs, his fingers dragging along the coarse hairs on your mound before pushing between your slick folds— a sharp gasp escapes your lips and your hand grasps a little tighter in his hair which causes him to groan in return, a sound that makes a familiar heat pool in your abdomen.

It was all so dizzying and the heat from the hot springs certainly didn’t help either, but you couldn’t say you minded not when his calloused fingertips rub slow circles over your clit-- the sudden feeling makes your hips buck against his hand, the warm water lapping up at your back and against the smooth rocks.

“Mhm— more, I need you.” You’re already in a daze of pleasure and lust, it didn’t take that much for him to render you into a blabbering mess and he basked in it every single time.

His hand tightens around your jaw ever so slightly, his thumb pressing into the corner of your mouth and he stares up at you in pure wonderment, enjoying every small little twitch in your face as he continues to circle at your clit.

“Shh my sweet, patience you know I’ll give you everything you want… always,” he seals the promise with a kiss, smiling against your lips as you moan so carelessly into his mouth at the feeling of his middle finger dipping into your wet hole, followed by his ring finger.

The slickness of your walls clenching around his digits only serves to turn him on, his cock hardening in between your thighs as he pumps his fingers in and out of your greedy cunt— curling them deeply in a way that makes you arch and whimper, grinding yourself against the heel of his palm.

His fingers stretch you open slowly, the water splashing up against your body, water droplets trickling down your jaw and rolling along your shoulders.

“I need you… inside me, please.” The words fall from your lips so carelessly, heady in a sense— completely drunk on the pleasure he was giving to you.

He gives in to your wants, as always, he could never find it in himself to make you wait especially when you make such pretty noises— and partly because of how hard he is.

The loss of his thick fingers is soon replaced by his cock, his hands now grasping at the fat on your hips as he slowly guides you down onto him whilst you pant and moan into the crook of his neck— whining about how big he is which only elicits a deep chuckle from him. The sound rumbling through his chest, you could feel it against your own.

“Shh, you can take it… take me so well,” Bi-Han groans, tipping his head backwards slightly as you take all of him deep inside you, practically sucking him in and he breathes some comment about how ‘tight’ you are and how much he 'missed you'.

It’s all such a haze in your mind, your eyes bleary with lust as he helps you move against him— your knees pressing either side of his thighs, your nails biting into his broad shoulders— it drove him insane and he can’t help the way he grunts at the feeling, his hands squeezing at the curve of your ass.

The tip of his cock hits your cervix with every bounce, each one more intense than the other— the drag of his cock along your walls brings you closer and closer to the edge. It was a little embarrassing how quickly your body starts to tremble, the familiar tingle that flickers down your spine leaving a searing heat.

“I can’t— I can’t,” you’re a blabbering mess, letting him take control as he guides your hips up and down along his thick cock— thrusting up into your wet cunt as you practically melt into his strong body.

“You can, my girl… let go.” He whispers through slightly gritted teeth, smirking against the dewy skin of your shoulder as you loop your arms tightly around his neck— “I’m right there with you,” he grunts, turning his head to brush his lips along the curve of your jaw,

Through whiny moans your orgasm washes over you, fingers buried in his hair as your warm heat clamps down around him until he’s spilling deep inside your womb— the pair of you immediately finding each other's lips in a slow and needy kiss, his nose brushing against your own.

“I’ve got you, always,” Bi-Han whispers hoarsely, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close to him as your body goes all boneless against him, all you can do is whimper in response. The heat from both your bodies and the water provided a sense of comfort, along with the way his calloused hand rubs your back soothingly… he’d never make you wait so long again.

[eu-nicola]

best secret

summary: while the Pogues are searching for the gold, you're left behind, trapped with your abusive father. when Rafe discovers what's going on, he steps in to save you. when the Pogues return and discover your relationship with Rafe, tensions boil over

warnings: violence, confrontation

word counter: 4384

author's note: english is not my first language

this is a request from @tracymbcm

The lights of Tannyhill shone brightly in the distance, like a beacon illuminating everything perfectly.

You were in the backyard of Tannyhill, sitting on a stone table that probably cost more than your entire house. The night was warm, but you still felt a slight chill running through your skin. It could be from the air or from the presence of Rafe Cameron, leaning against a column, looking at you with that smile that made your chest tighten in ways you didn’t want to admit.

“If JJ knew about this, he would kill me.” Your voice broke the silence, a mix of nerves and sincerity in your words.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his smile widening, but his eyes never left yours.

“If JJ knew about this, he would have been dead for months.” His tone was light, as if he said it in jest, but you knew that look. He wasn’t joking.

You should have laughed, maybe even responded with a scathing comment, but the truth was that the idea of ​​JJ finding out what you were doing terrified you. How could you explain to him that after years of swearing that you hated Rafe Cameron as much as he did, you had ended up here, seeing him in secret?

“Why are you doing this, Rafe?” you asked, abruptly changing the subject. You had thought about that question many times, but you had never dared say it out loud.

Rafe stopped smiling, slowly pushing himself off the column as he made his way towards you. Each step he took seemed to charge the air around you. When he reached your side, he leaned in slightly, just enough for his intense, direct blue eyes to catch yours.

“Because with you I don’t have to pretend.”

The words hit something deep inside you, leaving a crack in your carefully constructed defenses. You looked at him, searching for any trace of lying or manipulation, but all you found was honesty, raw and unvarnished.

“That doesn’t make it any less complicated.” You tried to make your voice sound firm, but there was a slight tremor that betrayed everything.

He tilted his head, his expression softening a little.

“And that’s why you’re still here? Despite everything.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Because the truth was, no matter how hard you tried to get away, you always ended up coming back. Something about Rafe dragged you along, like a current you couldn’t avoid.

He moved closer, his hand finding your waist with an ease that made you catch your breath.

“Look at me.” His voice was low, almost a whisper, but charged with intensity.

You obeyed, even though every part of you screamed not to. His eyes seemed to pierce through you, seeing parts of you no one else had noticed.

“Do you know what happens to me when you’re not around?” he asked, his tone so serious that you felt a lump forming in your throat. “It’s like everything is… empty again. You make it all make sense.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and suddenly the space between you felt nonexistent.

“Rafe…” you started, but he cut you off, shaking his head as his forehead brushed yours.

“Don’t say you don’t feel it too.”

And you didn’t. You couldn’t. Because you did. You had felt it from the first moment his lips touched yours weeks ago, from the instant he looked at you as if you were more than just a Pogue.

This time, you were the one who closed the distance. The kiss started slow, as if you were both afraid of breaking something fragile, but soon it became more urgent, more desperate. Your hands found his neck as he pulled you closer, as if he feared you might disappear at any moment.

In that instant, everything disappeared: the Pogues, JJ, the Kooks, the consequences you knew would fall upon you. Nothing else mattered. Just Rafe and you.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing heavily. Rafe leaned against your forehead, his hands still firm on your waist.

“Regretful?” he asked with that lopsided smile that always disarmed you.

“Not yet.” Your voice was more confident than you expected, though deep down you knew that answer could change.

Rafe let out a soft laugh, running a finger through a loose strand of your hair.

“You’re braver than you think, Pogue.”

“And you’re more of an idiot than you let on.”

Rafe was still so close that you could feel the heat of his body as he pulled away slightly, his fingers still absentmindedly playing with a strand of your hair. His smile grew softer, less teasing, and for a moment it seemed like there was something else on his mind.

“I have an idea,” he said suddenly, his voice low, as if he was afraid to break the moment.

“What kind of idea?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Rafe stepped back, crossing his arms as he looked at you with a mix of expectation and excitement.

Rafe stepped back, crossing his arms as he looked at you with a mix of anticipation and excitement.

“Tomorrow. You and me. A real date.”

That took you by surprise. Even though you’d been seeing each other on the sly for weeks, the thought of something as formal as a date hadn’t crossed your mind. Was it even possible? Your lips curved into a small smile.

“And how do you propose we do that without JJ or the guys deciding to kill you?”

Rafe shrugged, his expression confident as ever.

“You’re running away. You’ve done it before.”

“Rafe…” you started, even though you already knew you’d end up agreeing.

“Trust me. It’ll be perfect.” His eyes were shining, as if he was already imagining what it would be like. He took another step towards you and placed his hands on your hips, leaning in just enough so that his lips were just a few inches from yours. “Just you and me. No one else.”

You sighed, as if you were considering your options, but in reality your decision was made from the moment you looked into his eyes.

“Okay,” you finally relented, your voice laced with a mix of excitement and resignation.

Rafe’s smile widened.

“Meet me at Figure Eight Harbor, just before sunset. Bring something comfortable.”

“Any other directions, Mr. Cameron?” you asked, arching an eyebrow in a sarcastic tone.

Rafe leaned in and gave you a quick kiss, barely a brush, before pulling away.

“Just don’t be late.”

You watched him walk away toward the house, his steps confident and relaxed. When he turned around for the last time, he gave you a look and a smile that made your stomach turn.

That night, as you made your way back to your house, you couldn’t help but imagine what the date would be like. With Rafe, nothing was ever easy, but there was something about the way he looked at you, how he seemed to want to show you a different world, that made it worth the risk.

The next morning the morning sun streamed through the windows of your room, bathing the walls in a warmth that would normally have comforted you. But this time, you were too excited to pay attention to the small details. Today was the day. A date with Rafe Cameron.

You had woken up early, your heart racing and a smile that seemed impossible to erase. The pogues were away, completely absorbed in their quest for gold. With them gone, sneaking off to meet up with Rafe seemed easier than ever. Without JJ hovering like a hawk and Sarah suspecting a thing, you could finally relax and enjoy some alone time with him without the constant fear of being discovered.

You spent the day getting everything ready. You picked out comfortable clothes, like Rafe had suggested, but also something you knew he would appreciate: a light, simple dress that fell softly over your legs and sandals that would allow you to move around without any problems. You had tied your hair up in a carefree way, leaving a few strands loose to frame your face. You didn’t want to look overdressed, but you also couldn’t help but want to impress him. 

By the time it was time to leave, the plan seemed perfect. You just had to avoid your father, something you usually managed with ease when he was deep in his own problems. With the guys gone and his attention divided between the television and the empty beers piling up on the table, there was no reason for this time to be any different. 

Or so you thought. 

As you walked down the stairs, holding a small bag in your hand, Luke’s raspy voice echoed from the living room. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” “I’m just going for a walk,” he asked, his bloodshot eyes fixed on you.

You froze on the spot, your fingers clenching your bag tightly. You knew you couldn’t tell him the truth, but you hadn’t prepared an excuse either.

“I’m just going for a walk,” you said, trying to sound casual as you avoided his gaze.

Luke stood up from the couch with a jerk, his body swaying slightly, and you realized immediately that he was drunk. Again.

“Going for a walk?” he repeated, his tone full of mockery. “You’re not as smart as you think, kid. Do you really think you can get away without me knowing?”

Your heart began to beat faster. You tried to stay calm, but you knew how these things ended.

“It’s no big deal, Dad. I’m just going for a walk, that’s all.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid.” His voice rose a pitch, and the thud of a bottle falling to the floor made you take a step back. His eyes narrowed as he looked you up and down. “Why are you all dressed up? Huh? Who are you going to see?”

“No one,” you lied quickly, but your voice shook, and that only seemed to make him angrier.

Luke took a step towards you, and the air in the room became heavy, suffocating.

“You’ve always been a liar, just like your mother.” His words were venom, and the contempt in his voice made you clench your fists at your sides. “What? You think you can just walk away and leave me here like I don’t exist?”

Fear began to creep its way into your chest, but you didn’t let it show on your face. You had learned to hide it well, to survive moments like this.

“I’m not leaving anyone, Dad. I just want to get out for a bit.”

“DON’T MOVE!” he suddenly shouted, slamming the table so hard that the noise echoed throughout the house.

Your body tensed, your feet rooted to the ground. You stared at the door for a moment, calculating if you could escape, but you knew he would reach you before you could even turn the knob.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he growled as he approached, his steps firm and heavy. “Always doing whatever you want, always thinking you’re better than me.”

Every word out of his mouth was like a blow, but the real blows began soon after. He threw a glass against the wall, just inches from where you stood, and the sound of glass breaking made you instinctively step back.

“Dad, stop.” Your voice was low, but firm, even though inside you were shaking.

“STOP?” He laughed bitterly. “Don’t tell me what to do. You’re nobody to give me orders!”

You felt a lump in your throat, helplessness mixing with the pain of knowing there was no way to reason with him in this state. All you wanted was to get out of that house, get to the port, and be with Rafe, away from all of this. But with every passing second, it seemed more impossible.

Finally, you took advantage of a moment when he was distracted looking for another bottle to try and move towards the door. But when Luke noticed, his face twisted into a mix of fury and contempt.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he growled as he blocked your way.

You were trapped. And as time continued to tick, you felt the chance to see Rafe slip through your fingers.

Away from you, as time passed, and there was no sign of you. Rafe first thought maybe you were late, but as the sun began to set completely, worry began to settle in his chest.

“Where are you?” he murmured, looking at his phone. He had texted twenty minutes ago, but you hadn’t responded. You hadn’t read the text either. 

Rafe knew something was wrong. Even though your relationship was a secret, you had never missed a date without notice, and the thought of something stopping you made him more uneasy than he was willing to admit. His jaw tightened as he climbed into his truck. No matter what the reason was, he was going to find you. 

He drove straight to your house, or as he silently called it, “Pougeland.” The Maybank home wasn’t in the best condition, and Rafe hated every second you spent there, especially because of Luke. He had heard enough about the man to know he wasn’t someone to be trusted, and the thought of you being alone with him infuriated him. 

As he approached the entrance, the sound of shouting from inside the house made his heart skip a beat. He didn’t need to confirm who they were; He recognized your voice, full of fear, and Luke's, in an angry and aggressive tone. He quickened his pace towards the door, and just as he was about to enter, he heard the sound of something breaking.

“Dad, stop!” Your voice came through clearly, desperate and scared.

That was enough for Rafe to act. He pushed the door open, the frame creaking from the force, and what he saw filled him with anger. Luke was on top of you, holding your arm as you tried to free yourself. Your face was marked, with the trace of a recent blow, and your eyes reflected both pain and terror.

“Let go of my girlfriend right now, motherfucker!” Rafe roared as he launched himself at Luke without a second thought.

Rafe’s presence startled Luke enough for him to loosen his grip for a moment, and you managed to stagger back to the side. Rafe didn’t give you time to react. He landed a punch straight to the jaw that sent him tumbling backwards, but Luke quickly recovered, attempting to strike back. 

“What the hell are you doing here, brat? It’s none of your business!” Luke shouted, furious as he tried to grab Rafe. 

“It is when you’re hurting her!” Rafe shoved him hard against the wall, his rage igniting like an uncontrollable fire. 

The two men grappled, but Rafe had the upper hand. Though Luke tried to punch him, he was too drunk to be effective. Rafe eventually tackled him to the ground, pinning him down with one knee as he gasped for air. 

“If you touch her again, I’ll kill you,” Rafe snapped in a cold, deadly voice. 

Luke let out a bitter laugh, but didn’t get a chance to respond. Rafe dropped him on the ground, unconscious from one last blow, and turned to you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice much softer now, though his eyes still glittered with fury.

You were shaking, leaning against the wall, tears rolling down your cheeks. You nodded weakly, but Rafe saw clearly that you weren’t okay. Without another word, he picked you up, ignoring your weak protests, and carried you to his truck.

“Rafe, you don’t have to do this…” you murmured, but your voice cracked.

“Yes, I do have to,” he replied, his jaw set as he carefully placed you in the passenger seat.

He drove straight to the hospital, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white. When they arrived, Rafe insisted that you be checked out, and while the doctors made sure you had no serious injuries, Sheriff Shoupe arrived to take a report.

At first, you were reluctant to speak, but Rafe stayed by your side, holding your hand as you recounted what had happened. It was difficult, but every time you hesitated, Rafe looked at you with that mix of determination and tenderness that made you feel stronger.

Finally, Shoupe nodded, closing his notebook.

“We’ll do whatever it takes to keep Luke from bothering you again. I’ll send a team to arrest him right now.”

Rafe let out a sigh of relief, though he still seemed tense. He helped you out of the hospital, and when you finally climbed back into his truck, the silence between you was charged but comforting.

“Thanks, Rafe,” you murmured, barely audibly.

He turned his head toward you, his expression softening for the first time all night.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

The days following the incident at your house were a whirlwind. After Rafe’s intervention, you’d spent more time with him than ever before. Though you’d tried to reach out to the guys, you knew they were too busy with their obsession with gold to really pay attention. On the one hand, you felt guilty for keeping secrets from them, but on the other, it hurt that they weren’t there when you needed them most.

Rafe, on the other hand, wouldn’t leave your side. After what had happened with Luke, he’d insisted that you stay at one of the Cameron properties, a place where he knew you’d be safe. Though it was strange to depend on him, you also felt more protected than ever.

When the Pogues finally returned, they were quick to notice your absence. JJ was the first to raise his voice.

“Where’s my sister?” “He asked, his tone tense as he walked down the dock.

Sarah, who had spent the last few weeks feeling guilty for leaving you behind, tried to calm him down.

“Maybe she’s at home, JJ. We can’t assume the worst.”

“Oh no? What if something happened to her while we were away looking for useless treasure?” he snapped, pointing at her.

“Easy there, buddy,” John B chimed in. “Let’s go find her and see what’s going on.”

Without wasting any more time, the Pogues hopped in the Twinkie and headed straight to your house. But when they arrived, they found the front door taped shut and the place completely empty. The sight stunned them.

“What the hell happened here?” Kiara muttered, crossing her arms as she looked at the mess.

JJ, furious, started pounding on the door with his fist.

“This doesn’t make sense!”

Sarah was the first to notice that something was out of place. From her perspective, something about the mess and the police tapes seemed familiar.

“I think this has to do with Luke,” she said quietly, looking around.

“My father?” JJ turned to her. “If that bastard did anything to him, I’ll kill him with my own hands!”

John B tried to calm him down, but it was clear that everyone was just as worried. They didn’t know where you were, and uncertainty was eating away at them.

Hours later, it was Sarah who finally found you. You were with Rafe, on a remote beach, leaning against his chest as he held you protectively. The rest of the guys arrived shortly after, stopping dead in their tracks at the sight.

“What…?” JJ was the first to react, his shocked expression giving way to uncontrollable fury. “What the hell are you doing with him?”

You pulled away from Rafe quickly, but he stayed by your side, his gaze fixed on JJ with a mix of defiance and warning.

“JJ, I can explain,” you said, but your voice was shaking.

“Explain it?” Kiara interjected, her face a mix of disbelief and disappointment. “We’re looking for you everywhere and you just happen to be here, cuddling with him!”

“How could you betray us like that?” JJ snapped, taking a step towards you. “He’s a fucking bully, a psychopath!”

“Stop it!” Rafe raised his voice, and everyone glared at him with hatred. His jaw was set, his eyes shining with suppressed fury. “While you guys were too busy on your fucking treasure hunt, I was here saving your sister from your fucking father!”

The silence that followed was deafening. The Pogues stared at him as if they couldn’t believe what they were hearing.

“What?” JJ asked, his tone lower, but still filled with distrust.

“Luke,” you finally said, your voice cracking as you tried to find the words. Luke… he attacked me.

“If I hadn’t gotten there in time,” Rafe continued, his voice sharp. “If I hadn’t been there, your father would have killed her.”

JJ’s expression changed drastically. It went from anger to fear, and then to pain as he processed what Rafe had just said.

“That can’t be true,” he muttered.

“It’s true, JJ,” you said, your voice barely audible. “Rafe saved me.”

The rest of the Pogues fell silent, processing the truth. Kiara looked down, while John B placed a hand on JJ’s shoulder. Sarah, who already suspected as much, simply nodded regretfully.

Rafe looked at you for a moment before turning his attention back to them.

“I don’t care what they think of me,” he said firmly. “But I’m not going to apologize for protecting her.”

The air between you was thick with tension, but this time, it wasn’t hatred that filled the silence. The Pogues didn’t say anything else, but the glances they exchanged confirmed that, as much as they hated to admit it, Rafe was right.

In the days that followed, although no one said anything directly, you could feel their gazes shifting away whenever Rafe accompanied you or when they mentioned something that might have to do with you. There were no more accusations or confrontations, but there was no open acceptance either. It was as if they had decided to ignore the subject entirely, something you were grateful for even though it hurt a little.

Rafe, for his part, remained unwavering. Despite the judgment he knew he was receiving, he never let it push him away from you. If anything, he seemed more determined than ever to prove to you that you could fully trust him.

One afternoon, as you sat on the porch of the house where you were now staying, Rafe drove up in his truck. He got out with a paper bag in his hand and that crooked smile you knew all too well.

“What do you have there?” “You asked, putting aside the book you had been pretending to read.

“Surprise,” he replied, walking over to you with an air of mystery.

Rafe sat down next to you and pulled out two wrapped burgers and a box of fries from the bag.

“I thought you might want something other than canned food,” he joked as he handed you one of the burgers.

You couldn’t help but laugh. It was a small gesture, but after everything that had happened, it meant a lot.

“You’re a hero,” you said with a smile before taking a bite of the burger.

You spent the rest of the afternoon talking about anything but the Pogues or Luke. Rafe seemed determined to keep you away from any topic that might make you uncomfortable, and you appreciated that more than you could put into words.

A few days later, as you walked with Rafe along the beach, you unexpectedly ran into Sarah. She was alone, sitting on the sand with her gaze lost in the horizon. Seeing you, she raised her hand in a shy greeting.

“Hey,” he said, his tone surprisingly soft.

Rafe braced himself beside you, clearly prepared for an argument, but Sarah didn’t seem interested in fighting.

“I just wanted to tell you that…” he paused, looking first at you and then at his brother. “Thank you. For being there for her.”

Rafe looked taken aback for a moment, but then nodded.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied in a neutral tone.

Sarah looked at you, and for the first time in days, you thought there was some warmth in her eyes.

“We… the guys and I… shouldn’t have judged you. It’s just that…” she sighed, rubbing her temples. “We didn’t expect something like this to be happening while we were gone.”

“I understand,” you said, though there was still a small wound in your chest from how you had been treated at first.

“But if you’re happy with him… then it’s okay,” Sarah continued, looking at Rafe with a mix of wariness and resignation. “Just… take care of her, okay?”

Rafe smirked. “I plan to do that.”

After that encounter, things began to change. The Pogues didn’t mention your relationship with Rafe anymore, and while not everyone was completely comfortable with the situation, they realized it wasn’t something they could control.

JJ was still the most distant, though he avoided any sarcastic comments when you were with Rafe. John B and Kiara seemed more neutral, and Sarah, though torn, slowly began to accept that Rafe was an important part of your life now.

Even though you knew there were still tensions with the Pogues and that life on the Outer Banks would always be complicated, at that moment, you felt like everything was where it needed to be. With Rafe by your side, you knew you could face whatever came next.

[slutforvoldy]

“ DID YOU LIKE HER IN THE MORNING? ” ( lando norris ! )

SUMMARY: the reader is consumed by jealousy and doubt about her relationship with lando after she finds a box of things from his ex before her.

word count: 1k

warnings: angst, retroactive jealousy, communication issues, no use of y/n

pairing: lando norris x female!reader

THE SUNLIGHT SHONE through the windows, the wind rustled the curtains by the balcony, and birds chirped outside. Despite the peaceful morning, she remained restless, having had no sleep throughout the night. Her heart remained heavy, weighed down by the discovery she had made just a few days ago—a box filled with things Lando’s ex had hidden in the back of their closet.

She sat up in bed, rubbing her tired eyes. Her gaze drifted to Lando, who lay beside her, sleeping peacefully, completely unaware of the storm inside her mind. She couldn't help but feel distant lately. With a quiet sigh, she stood from the bed and walked towards the balcony, hoping the crisp morning air would help clear her mind. But it only brought more questions.

Did you love her more than me?

Were you happier with her?

Did you like her in the morning?

She vividly remembered the moment she found the box. Her hands had trembled as she sifted through its contents—photographs, handwritten letters, and small mementos of a love that once was. Each passing second felt heavier, each memory a stone added to the weight pressing down on her chest. She knew she shouldn’t be doing this. She knew that some pasts were better left untouched, but she couldn’t stop herself.

Every letter, every scribbled note whispered secrets she was never meant to hear. The way he had smiled in those pictures, the tenderness in his words—each revelation felt like a knife, piercing deeper, twisting ruthlessly inside her. The ache in her chest grew unbearable, and still, she kept going, as if searching for something—proof that she was the one who mattered most.

It wasn’t until the sound of the front door clicking shut echoed through the apartment that she finally froze. Lando was home. Her breath caught, her pulse hammering in her ears. In a panic, she shoved everything back into the box, sealed the lid, and tucked it away in its hidden place. She suddenly felt a warm body press against her back, strong arms wrapping around her waist, and the familiar weight of a face nestled in the curve of her neck. His breath was warm against her skin as he murmured a soft, "Good morning, love," but her mind was still elsewhere.

Breakfast was set on the table, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. Lando was buzzing with excitement, his eyes alight as he spoke about his races—their progress, the new upgrades to his car, the growing hope of securing a world championship.

Her plate remained untouched, the coffee in her cup growing colder with each passing second. She traced the rim of the cup absentmindedly, her thoughts far from the conversation. The words from the letters, the images frozen in time, still clung to her mind.

"You okay? You've been quiet this morning," Lando asked, his voice laced with curiosity and concern.

She blinked, forcing herself to look up at him. "Mhm," she murmured, her response cold and distant.

His brows knitted together slightly as he reached for her hand, his fingers warm against hers. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" he said gently, his gaze searching hers.

She stared at his hands, couldn't help but think where they'd been, but the words she wanted to say remained trapped in her throat. "Yeah," she muttered, forcing a small nod.

Lando sighed softly before picking up his coffee and taking a sip—only to immediately grimace. "Ugh, this coffee is cold!" he exclaimed, laughing as he set the cup back down. She only managed to smile.

A sudden ringing cut through the moment, breaking the silence between them. Both of their gazes flickered toward Lando’s phone, the screen lighting up with a familiar name—Zak. Their team principal. It had to be important.

"I have to take this. It’s probably about the car’s progress," Lando said, already standing up. She simply nodded, her expression unreadable.

With a quick squeeze of her hand, he picked up the call and walked toward the balcony, his voice already shifting into the professional tone.

And just like that, she was alone again, left at the table with nothing but her thoughts and a cup of coffee that had long gone cold.

Did you laugh over cold cups of coffee?

Does it feel heavy seeing me in your sweater instead of her?

Did you like her in the morning?

Night had fallen, filling the room in darkness. The only light came from the faint glow of the city outside, casting soft shadows across the walls. She and Lando lay in bed, backs turned to each other, a quiet distance stretching between them.

She kept telling herself that he had moved on. That the past was just that: the past. But no matter how hard she tried to silence the thoughts, they clung to her, refusing to let go. She was the one who couldn’t move forward. Not after what she had seen.

A familiar warmth pressed against her back, an arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her close. Lando’s breath was soft against her neck as he murmured, “You’ve been awfully quiet these days. Care to tell me what’s on your mind?”

She hesitated, swallowing the lump in her throat. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired,” she whispered.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice laced with concern.

“Yeah,” she lied.

"Okay," he said, then kissed her temple.

A few minutes later, his breathing evened out, his hold around her loosening slightly as sleep took him. But she remained awake, staring into the darkness. Then, just like the night before, she felt the sting of tears trailing down her cheeks, silent and unseen.

Did you like her touch at nighttime?

Did you also kiss her goodnight?

And most importantly,

Did you like her in the morning?

She would rather bottle up all the thoughts that have been on her mind than know the answer to all her questions. It would be easier if she wouldn't ask. But it would also be easier if Lando's ex wasn't his last before her.

[pellucid-constellations]

Fable - Acquiesce

You were falling, falling, without wings or fate to catch you. And Azriel—all Azriel could do was watch.

Warnings: Angst, injury, mentions of death (this will have more parts dw)

Masterlist

If the world ended, in that moment, in several moments, you weren’t sure you would notice. 

It could all go up in flames, decimating everything the light touched, and there wouldn’t be a flicker in your eye. 

Your gaze was locked with Azriel’s, trapped there with nothing that could sever that tie. If there were a bond, you were sure it would be screaming—for you to do something, to move. But there was no bond and you had abandoned any hope that one would form a while ago. 

Not with Elain. Not with the devotion he held for Mor for so many years. 

No bond, nothing screaming. 

Only, something was screaming. The sound met your ears as a muted hum, but you could pick out the pieces that framed its essence so easily. Because Azriel never screamed like that; he hardly ever raised his voice. 

The cliff continued to crumble, leaving you falling between bits of rubble and dust. If you’d had your wings—if they hadn’t been torn from your body so recently—you would have been fine. And maybe that was why you didn’t take action, your body too accustomed to the feeling of the ground giving beneath you, your wings always there to catch you as you fell. 

Azriel would have been the one to catch you, but he couldn’t. He thrashed and growled against the six Illyrian men it took to hold him down, the iron shackles at his arms rendering his shadows useless, and could only watch as you fell down and down and down. 

He had been the one to find you all those months ago, the amass of blood and the carnage of your wings still so fresh in his mind. 

He had pleaded with Rhys not to send you here so soon after the incident, but in the end, it was you who insisted on coming—on being the one to put an end to the brutal nature of this side of Illyria.

There had been an opening, and you would not take no for an answer. 

So Azriel watched as you fell. He watched as you corrected your balance and tried to find your footing on uneven ground, something he was still helping you with now that your wings were gone. He watched your shirt collar hang wrong as your wide eyes met his, the new wardrobe you had had to adopt still unnatural. He watched the pain on your face as you went. 

“Enough!” Azriel roared. “Stop! Release me and you will be spared.”

The Illyrians at his back only cackled and forced him back as the last inch of your body was lost beneath the edge of the cliff. 

Unrelenting terror found Azriel, twisting something so deep in his gut that he was sure it would never be repaired. And let it break him; there was nothing beyond you. 

He whispered your name as the sounds of rocks and trees and dirt toppled from the breakage. You didn’t scream. He tried to scream again, but he had already screamed himself hoarse and his throat was raw. 

He couldn’t reach Rhysand. 

Something stung along his arms and Azriel knew it was faebane—the same faebane that stopped you from fighting back. 

“She got what was coming to her,” one of the men sneered at Azriel’s ear. “She should have stayed away after we took her wings. Bitch couldn’t leave well enough alone, as with all women.” 

Azriel felt the rage building. Each breath felt like a burst, a stone on top of the pool of panic that sweltered in his stomach. He kept his gaze on the cliff as if you would somehow reappear there, just as you had done when they were children.

But you had had wings then, and you only ever messed around like that when Azriel was struggling. 

Always trying to make him smile, always trying to make things better. 

“Where’s your high lord now, huh, Shadowsinger? Where are his policies? The ones that’re supposed to keep women like that safe? Seems like without them, maybe she would have lived. One of his own. Dead. Because of him.” 

Dead. 

Azriel didn’t think you were dead. 

You weren’t dead, right? 

He couldn’t imagine that world. 

When your wings were taken, he feared that outcome for you several times. You had been so closed off and fearful, so empty without that piece of you. It had taken weeks to get you to speak and even longer to get you out of bed. 

All of that work, all of that healing—you couldn’t be dead. You were part of his life. You were part of him. 

“Take your hands off of me.” Azriel spoke with such an icy hatred the shadows beneath him quivered. 

The men laughed. 

Weak men always laughed. 

Azriel did not have access to the power that rolled beneath the azure glow of his siphons, but he didn’t need it. You were hurt, again, and he couldn’t reach you like this. Somewhere, somehow, Azriel realized that there was nothing more important than you. You with wings, you without them—that meant nothing. To you, it meant everything, and that was the entire reason you had come here. For revenge, for peace—Azriel would get that for you. 

And he would save you again. 

He had to. 

He had to. 

Azriel shot his head back, his crown meeting the nose of one of the attackers. Rhysand had said to save one for questioning, but Azriel wasn’t thinking about questions. Azriel wasn’t thinking about anything, his mind buzzing with hazy rage that watched you fall over and over and over again.

He brought his hands up when surprise rendered the Illryrians weak, smashing into the side of one of their heads. Azriel couldn’t remember the rest, but when the shackles fell from his arms, his chest heaving and blood staining his fingers, his shadows moved first. They collected and hurled themselves over the side of the cliff only seconds before Azriel followed. 

That had to mean something, Azriel thought. 

It had to mean something.

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 21st. tom — gun play / dubcon / masochism.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: tom can’t hurt you, but you love seeing him try.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, i truly mean it minors stay back from this one. this is as fantasy as it comes. do not do this at home. or anywhere, ever. empty unloaded gun, gunplay, hardcore gun kink, masochist reader, sadist tom, very ooc tom riddle imo, lots of history between these two, angst and tension and emotion.

It doesn't matter how you got here—trapped in a room with Tom Riddle circling you, hands clasped behind him, his brother standing guard like a fucking solider just outside the door—it doesn't matter that your wrists are bound behind your back, rope cutting into your skin, or that you were caught somewhere deep within the manor, searching for information for the Order. It doesn't matter that you grew up with Tom and Mattheo, all those years in the orphanage, loved them both more than you ever loved yourself.

It doesn't fucking matter.

Nothing does—nothing except the man standing in front of you—nothing except the moment his hand reaches behind him, pulling a gun from where it had rested at his waist.

Yeah, uh, yeah—that might matter. Just a little.

"I never took you for someone who'd resort to Muggle weapons," you manage, but your voice is thin, a strained sound under the pulse thundering at your throat. "How refined."

Tom's eyes trace over you, stalling on the rhythm at your neck as though it's tangible before dragging back up to meet your own. He hasn't spoken in minutes, just watching, letting the silence swell, the tension grow with each passing second.

He's building it slowly, deliberately. It's always been a game to him—one he knows you'll lose.

"There's a certain appeal to them." His thumb grazes the trigger, almost absentmindedly. "So much power at the flick of a finger. No skill, no magic. Just finality."

Heat rises up your neck, settling in your cheeks, and all you can do is stare at him. He knows he doesn't need to touch you to break you—he's never had to. Tom's greatest weapon, when it comes to you, has always been his words.

He steps closer, fingers still ghosting over the gun as if he isn't holding all of your fate in his hands. He slows when his shins brush against your knees, and you hate how your pulse jumps, how you feel so small beneath him.

"You're tense," he murmurs, amusement playing at the corner of his lips. "Is it the weapon? Or something else?"

You lift your gaze because there's nowhere else to look—dark stone walls close in around you and he occupies every free inch of space between. It's laughable, really, the way your heart aches when you meet his eyes. You know he has to make an example of you, to prove something to the Death Eaters lurking beyond these walls, but despite the fire in his gaze, you can see it—the way he's holding back, just like he's done time and time again, for years.

No matter what he's become, there's still something of the boy you once knew buried beneath the surface. The boy who used to curl into you for warmth, for survival.

Your eyes flicker down to the gun again. You force the words past grit teeth. "Do you need that to feel powerful, Tom?"

There's something chilling in how natural the gun looks in his hand, the way he wields it with the same ease he uses to twist a wand. You’re certain Tom could find ease in anything, especially empty handed.

He's silent for a long moment, until he isn't. "I don't need anything to feel powerful."

The barrel catches the light as he raises it, and your skin tightens in anticipation. You close your eyes briefly as he drags it lazily up your arm, tracing a line of cold fire over your collarbone. Your heart is gone, soaring far away from this room, and a shiver rolls through you—not from fear, but from something you can't name. Something that's always belonged to him—

When the gun reaches your throat, your eyes flutter open, drawn to the sight of metal pressed against your skin.

He tilts his head, studying you. "You think this makes me dangerous?"

He tilts the gun beneath your chin, nudging your head back until your gaze meets his again. You gasp, and your thighs tense involuntarily. His eyes flicker down—he notices.

It's not the gun. It's him. Christ, it's always been him.

"No," you force out against the threat at your throat. "I think you make you dangerous."

Something shifts in Tom's eyes—just for a moment, before it vanishes beneath something more potent—determination.

He moves behind you in a slow circle, fingers brushing through your hair as if in contemplation. It's only a moment before his other hand brings the gun back, cold metal kissing the edge of your shoulder. You tense, feeling the weight of him behind you, his breath ghosting over your neck—and he inhales against your skin as he slides the gun lower, tracing the dip between your breasts, dragging like a threat down to your lap until the barrel presses against your thigh.

At this point, your heart pounds so loud you're certain Mattheo can hear it from outside the door—all you can do is stare at where his hand lingers, your mind racing ahead to the edge of terror and something far more dangerous.

"You seem...unbothered all of a sudden," Tom muses, teasing the gun up your thigh, dragging your skirts along with it. "One might expect the opposite reaction, given where this gun happens to be."

You know it's a game. Of course it's a game—his way of toying with you, forcing a reaction, demanding fear where there's none left. Except instead of fear, there's an unbearable heat curling inside you, your thighs wanting to close around the gun, to push against it, to feel it.

God, you hate that he does this to you.

"You won't hurt me," you manage, though your voice cracks. Your hips shift, just slightly, but enough to feel the cold metal slide higher. "If you wanted to, you would have."

That's the truth of it, isn't it? In the darkest moments, when you face him like this, you know with every beat of your heart that he'd never hurt you. You trust him in the way you shouldn't, in the way no one else in the world could. He could kill anyone else without a second thought, but not you.

That trust is what keeps pulling you back here, again and again, even though you've sworn yourself to the Order, even though you've promised to fight against everything he stands for.

"You always did have a death wish." He says, spitting the syllables at you, the disgust in his tone making your stomach lurch. His grip tightens in your hair. "Is that all it takes to make you pliable? My hands on you, a weapon in the room, and suddenly you're eager? Suddenly you trust me again?"

"You've never been able to kill me." You whisper, trying to sound cocky, sarcastic, but it comes out wrong—too breathless, too raw. "And you never will."

"I've never needed to." He murmurs as the gun moves again, pressing firmly against the apex of your thighs, nudging toward your clothed cunt. "You destroy yourself just fine."

You can't think, can't breathe, can't be when his voice wraps around you like this, when he presses the gun against you like it's a fucking present. Every nerve in your body is screaming, every instinct warring against itself. You want to grind against the barrel, to push it deeper between your legs. You want to trap it there, feel it pressed so tightly that you can't move. You want to drag his face to yours, taste his breath, break him.

Yet, you want to pull away and strike him across the face all the same—and that is Tom's power over you.

It's always been this way with him. You hate him—he's horrible and corrupt and so goddamn bad for you but he knows exactly what to say—exactly what to do to make you want to hurt him, to make you want to worship him in the same breath. The intensity of it steals the air from your lungs, makes a groan slip from your lips before you can stop it.

"Tell me, Tom," you grit out, forcing yourself still despite every inch of you wanting to move, wanting to react. "Would your fucking gun be on me like this if I was terrified of it? Would you be pressing it against me like this if it was loaded?"

The insinuation doesn't escape him. Not for a second. You have him pinned and it pisses him off because you fucked up by sneaking in here but there’s not a damn thing he can do to punish you for it that wouldn’t be punishment towards himself as well.

His grip in your hair tightens as the gun drags slowly over your clit, and you keen at the contact, your hips pushing into it.

"Fucking vixen," he pulls your head back roughly, his breath hot against your ear. His voice—the rawness— sends a goddamn thrill through you, makes your whole body jerk. "I have you tied to a chair, a gun at your cunt, and you still have the power to make me doubt myself.”

"That's me, Tom." You laugh, breathless. "Always ruining your fun."

His eyes flash with something—something devastating but it doesn't scare you because you've been here so many fucking times before. It only makes you arch your back, grinding against the gun harder, a soft moan escaping your lips just to spite him.

He watches you—eyes lidded, and something in the way he stares makes you ache.

"Why do you keep coming back here?" A question hissed through a tight jaw, words crawling down your spine, burrowing beneath your skin. "You keep testing me...fighting me...just to end up like this...”

You gasp. "I have to stop you—I—“

He cuts you off by yanking your head toward his until his forehead presses against yours—

"I didn't ask why you came," his nose brushes yours as he speaks. "I asked why you keep coming back. Why do you keep coming back to be...this for me?"

His voice is raw, something you've never heard in a long long time—unguarded—so fucking human. It makes the heat in your belly coil tighter, and your eyes flutter shut against the weight of it. You don't have an answer, not one that makes sense, not one that fits the way he's looking at you now.

"I-I don't know," is all you can offer.

Tom makes a noise in the back of his throat—low, frustrated, a sound that hums between you.

"Yes, you do," he hisses. "Don't get shy on me now."

He shifts the gun again, sliding beneath your panties, the cold metal making contact with your slick slit and you fucking gasp—a sound so loud you're sure Mattheo heard it—along with the rest of the goddamn house, too.

"This isn't about stopping me," Tom says, a whisper of words. "This isn't about taking away my control—not really."

He's right, and the truth of it stings. This isn't about stopping him, not entirely. You hate him for his choices but gods, you fucking crave this—him, his power over you. Every time you've come here, sneaking past the Order's notice, pretending to gather evidence, pretending you're smart enough to catch him in something—you know this is what you wanted. You know it's always been about him. The boy you survived with, the boy you loved—it's about how you've always belonged to him, even though you hate him for it.

It's always been him. Only him.

"Fuck," you gasp again as you feel the gun shifting, pressing harder against your cunt, and your mind is spinning because you can't believe he might—he wouldn't really— "…are you about to—Jesus, Tom..."

He's listening, you know he is. He's waiting for any hint of something that tells him to stop—a flinch, a breath that isn't right, the smallest sound that says you don't want this. But all he hears is you. You, the girl he's known since all you had was eachother, the one who loved him but left, who keeps coming back to him, no matter how much you claim to hate him.

He hears you submit, and it fuels him.

"You are..." he jerks your head again, roughly, forcing you to meet his eyes as the gun nudges against your soaked entrance, "...so unbelievably frustrating."

Oh, the irony. "I'm...not the only—oh gods—"

Your words crumble into nothing, dissolving in your throat as he presses the gun inside you. Cold metal pushing deep, rough ridges working you wide, the pressure burning with something almost unbearable in its fucking intensity.

Your mind hazes with it, and a groan that isn’t yours fills the room as you fight to adjust to the stretch.

"I hate this," he spits, his voice like gravel, raw and jagged with frustration, trembling with restraint. His eyes, wide and wild, stay locked on yours as though he can't tear himself away. "I hate how easy it is with you—I hate how quickly you give in, how you let me do this to you because you know I’d stop if you asked—I hate how I can never look at you without remembering what it feels like to be inside you. I hate how badly I still want that, after all these years, even though you left me. I hate you for making me want this."

Oh god—fucking hell—there's no room in your head for coherence now, no space left to argue, to resist—Tom Riddle has been so many things to you over the years, but openly, unabashedly vulnerable has never truly been one of them. Not until now. You feel it—beneath the brutality, the power—something fragile.

His forehead presses against your temple, the intimacy of it dizzying, disarming. You clench around the cold metal and he pushes it deeper.

He continues. “Admittedly, I hate myself most for wanting you to want this back.”

Your voice cracks around a sob—he’s pumping the gun in and out of you now—lewd sounds filling the room and your head tips back against his shoulder. His free hand slips from your hair and cups your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, a gesture that almost feels tender though you know better. His version of tenderness is as dangerous as anything else he offers.

You whinge. “T-Tom—oh fuck—I’m always going to let you win. I trust you—“

"Don't," he cuts you off in a groan against your cheek. Pumping the barrel into you, making your back arch off the chair. “You have no reason to. You know better."

You hear the unspoken words in his voice, the ones he can't bring himself to say aloud—I don't deserve it—and it makes your chest ache, makes your throat tighten—makes you want to shake him, wake him up from this nightmare—

"Of course I know better," you whisper through a gasp as he mutters a spell, something swirling over your clit that makes your eyes roll. “Gods—but you’ve never wanted me rational anyways.”

"You're right," he hisses and you hear the pain in it, a man who has everything still simultaneously has nothing and it makes him frustrated—all because of you. "I never wanted you to be rational. I never wanted you to be safe. I never wanted you to be anything other than mine."

You keen as the sensation on your clit intensifies and he pumps the gun quicker, you look down to watch his hand, the way his knuckles tense with the movement and you can almost see the restraint under his skin telling you just how bad he wishes he was pumping into you instead. You can hear your arousal—you feel the shame in it and you should be disgusted by it, by everything this is, but instead, it only makes your heart race faster.

You know there's more he's not saying—that he can't say.

He wants you to be his, but he will never let you be his.

"I hate you. What you've become." The words scrape from your lips between moans, your climax charging fast. "It shouldn't be this...this hard."

"This is why I call you frustrating. How can you hate me and still let me do this to you?" His voice is raw, burning with something you don't fully understand, but you can feel it— he's pushing deeper, grinding the gun against you with every bit of anger he has left. You're on fire, your mind spinning out of control, and the ropes digging into your skin only ground you to the pain, to the pleasure. "I'm defiling you...and yet, you keep coming back.”

"God," you grunt, sweat slicking over your skin because you’re so goddamn close and his words only drag you that much closer. "Jesus f—Tom, please—“

"Please what?" His hand slips back through your hair, eyes jerked to meet his. "You need to be more specific, sweetheart."

There's a bite in the pet name, but you don't care. All you can think of is him, of more, of everything he's doing to you, and it's not enough. It’ll never be fucking enough—

“Please!” Words fail you. “Tom—I—“

He shudders at the sound of your voice, at how helpless you are, at all the power you've given him.

"Words," he snarls, pumping quicker. "I'll give you what you want, but you’ll need to use. your. words."

“Please! I need to cum!” You blurt out. “Tom—Tom! I need to—“

With that, he kisses you to cut you off, teeth sinking into your lower lip with fervour that borders on irrational. Which, of course it is. All of this is beyond fucking irrational. It's not careful or soft or gentle, his lips searing against yours as if he's trying to claim every breath you've ever taken, every inch of space between you. And you—god, you kiss him back just as fiercely while hating yourself for the way you want it, need it, how you crave the bruises his mouth is leaving behind.

Tom groans against your lips and it's the sound of something breaking, something starved for way too long, something desperate to pour out of his blood. His tongue slides over yours, wet and warm, and you feel the ropes biting into your wrists, feel the ache where your arms strain to break free. You realize, with a pulse of helpless longing, that if you weren't tied, you'd be clawing at him—dragging him closer, letting him consume every part of you until there was nothing left.

"Feel that shame?" He whispers as he pulls back, just as you’re about to tip over. "That's your punishment.”

And then—you break, shatter, explode and the sound that escapes you is so fucking raw you don’t even recognize it. Something filled with the shame of wanting someone so goddamn bad you let them fuck you with a weapon—the shame of wanting someone so terrible you’d never be able to explain yourself to anyone with a rational pulse. The sounds come without reason, without thought—just a release of emotion that you had held in for far, far too long.

“That’s it. Let it burn.” He coos, hungrily watching you break. “You will always be mine."

A jagged sound escapes you as you twitch in aftershocks and he finally, however torturously slowly, pulls the gun free. You realize just how empty you feel without it now, how Tom made it feel so fucking intimate even though, in reality, it was the furthest from. He didn’t even touch you.

“You’re just weak. For me.” He says, as though he heard your thoughts. Part of you knows he did. He brings the gun up to your lips, urging you to part them. “Clean your mess. This is Mattheo’s gun.”

You grimace but take it into your mouth anyways, tasting the result of your need—the shame that comes along with it, the self disgust—the list goes on. Tom watches you tease your tongue around it, his throat working in a terribly dry swallow as you hollow your cheeks and suck it clean as he pulls it free.

He shudders, and for a moment his control wavers. But then he shakes his head, and exhales.

"I was meant to be alone, I understand that." He whispers, something abhorrently vulnerable, tucking the gun away before working at undoing the ropes around your wrists. “But you...you were never meant to change me. And I need you, to understand that.”

A lump forms in your throat. You taste the tears wanting to well but you force them away and instead, you nod.

“I know.”

He straightens up again and presses a kiss to your forehead, soft and almost tender—so different from the way he treated you merely moments ago. It's a goodbye—you can feel it in the way his lips linger, reluctant.

“Good girl.” He steps back. "Don't come back here."

[meganegatari]

Bro I literally eat up ur writing every time😭can u do ellie using a vibe on u?

before you read.

☆: KILLING 3 BIRDS W ONE STONE HEHE. i feel these all go well, so why not. sorry for the insane wait, and the wildly lazy writing...me putting this off forever only to bang out a crappy blurb in like 2 mins...also can't stick to a single aesthetic WHATEVA.

◇: vibrator use, fingering, porn w/out plot (sawry), dom-ish ellie (but she's still kinda silly), overstimulation, squirting, aftercare at the end (all r! recieving).

"you can take it, doin' so good." she murmurs under her breath, her face contorted in concentration.

you squeal when ellie presses the vibrator hard against your poor, overworked clit, the sensations almost too much to bear. but no matter how overwhelming it may be, it's still so mind numbingly good. the device has been set on a mode midway for the past...however long, and you've completely lost count of how many times she's made you cum thus far. for all you knew, it could have been well into the double digits, and she didn't seem to be stopping any time soon.

ellie’s eyes were dark, low with blown out pupils. they remain trained on you, flickering between observing your facial expressions, your squirming body, covered in a shiny layer of sweat, and what's going on under her hands. "...ellie, hold on...wait." you gasp out, struggling to catch your breath.

she detaches the device from you, her tattooed hand traveling up your body, settling on the side of your face to cup your cheek, and wipe away a stray tear that had escaped from your eye. "need a break, babe?" she says, her gaze softening. that honey voice she puts on, featuring a light domineering timbre, it immediately makes you wet all over again and you whimper quietly, bucking your hips up in pursuit of more stimulation. she notices—of course she does, observant as a fox—and her lips stretch into a sneer, "yeah that's what i thought, still need more." she chuckles, before thrusting the tip of the toy back onto your swollen clit, biting her lip when she watches you arch backward, mantras of her name and pleas falling from your lips.

her free hand, which was previously resting on your knee, flies down the inside of your parted thighs, grazing the heated skin, and she teases your hole with two digits, eagerly observing the reactions. she quickly stuffs her middle two fingers inside with ease, slick and pearly cum leaking down her slender knuckles. curling upwards to massage your g-spot, the pleasure is causing explosions of colors to appear in your vision, your eyes are filling with tears once again.

"just gimme one more, okay?" ellie orders gently, clicking buttons to increase the intensity of the vibrator even more, and you nearly shriek. out of instinct your legs fight to close around her hands, but she's quick to push your knee to the side again, tutting. "nuh-uh, don't do that. just one more. say the safeword if you really want me to stop, alright?" you open one eye and nod meekly at her, and she resumes. within no time at all you feel the brink of orgasm swell in your lower abdomen once more, your legs trembling at every purr of the toy. and she can tell as well by the way you're whining and panting, all with a fucked out, lazy smile playing on your face.

silent moans trapped in your throat, you feel the blinding ecstasy overtake your body, blacking out your senses for a moment. she has lessened the setting to work you through it effectively, all while muttering sweet praises throughout.

"god, look at that." she whispers in awe once it's over, discarding the device on the floor and rubbing her hands across your legs to ease the tension in your thighs, making sure you're okay. she hovers over you to press a tender kiss to your forehead, then over your entire face, grinning when she hears you laugh.

her goofy tone returns, "fuckin' squirted all over me, baby. we'll clean up just gimme a sec." she cuddles up to you, nuzzling her face in the crook of your neck, sighing and softly stroking the top of your head. "next time we'll do a couple more, make a new personal best, whaddaya think?"

tags (idk why some didn’t work): @andersonfilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @r3starttt @littlefallenangel111 @srooch @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ine @anniee333 @flowrmoth @liddysflyer @fortune777 @claude999 @brunaedn @lanabaezzzz