#she remains unknown for now!

[ljsbugblog]

had the pleasure of watching two Potter wasp ladies collecting dirt side-by-side. both are members of the subfamily Eumeninae, a cosmopolitan group of wasps containing over 3000 species across 198 recognised genera (over 300 species found here in Australia).

the photo below is a familiar face for the blog, the same species of Potter wasp that I photographed drinking from the pond last Summer, some of my favourite photos I've taken so far.

her dirt-collecting companion has also appeared on the blog before, and is the Yellow-and-black Potter Wasp (Delta campaniforme). this individual was seen taking her dirt-ball right into the arm of one of our lawn chairs to build her nursery :')

(middle) Unknown Potter Wasp, female (subfamily Eumeninae), April '24.

(bottom) Yellow-and-black Potter Wasp, female (Delta campaniforme), April '24.

[amelikos]

Spinel and Agate key frame.

[imperiuswrecked]

I'm never forgetting the Palestinian babies that were left to starve to death then rot in their beds by the IOF.

I'm never forgetting the Palestinian doctors surrounded by bodies of dead children begging the world to stop the slaughter.

I'm never forgetting the Palestinian children who held a press conference in English to beg the world to stop murdering them because they want to live.

I'm never forgetting the Palestinian Priest who said "We will not accept your apology after the genocide" to the world.

I'm never forgetting the Palestinian Imam who used the speakers of the Mosque, not to call people to prayer but to call out to God while the world around them was burning from American supplied Israeli bombs.

I'm never forgetting the grandfather who held his dead grandchild in his arms. Or the father carrying the remains of his two children in plastic shopping bags. Or the mother holding her dead child in a shroud. Or the father sitting among the rubble after he lost his whole family. Or the girl trapped under a broken building begging for people to save her family first. Or the boy who cried when he saw his brother alive. Or the girl who asked if she was still alive after being pulled from the rubble. Or the boy who carried the remains of his brother in his backpack. Or the old man the IOF used for a photoshoot before they shot him dead after getting pictures. Or the little boy wearing plastic gloves to pick up the remains of his family. Or the graves desecrated. Or the body of that small baby girl left alone in a tent because no one knew who she was or if her family was alive, small and alone and not one person who knew her name to bury her. Or the young boy who was shot in the street while his sister watched from the window. Or the men and boys who were stripped naked in winter. Or those tortured. Or those made to stand in open graves. Or the people who were raped by IOF soldiers. Or Palestinian workers kidnapped by the IOF and then labeled with wristbands, each one reduced to a number, then made to walk back to Gaza to be killed in the world's largest open air concentration camp. Or the people of Gaza starving because Israeli Zionists are blocking aid trucks. Or the Israelis dancing and celebrating the death of Palestinians. Or the lies spread by Zionists and their supporters. Or the people profiting off the oppression and deaths of Palestinians. Or the people of the West Bank being killed or kidnapped by the IOF. Or old woman who was older than the creation of the terror state of "Israel" who was shot by snipers for saying that. Or the Israelis dressed up as Palestinians to enter a hospital and kill three Palestinians in their beds. Or every single Palestinian currently kept in an Israeli prison. Or the journalists, doctors, poets, men, women, children, and the unborn all massacred. Or the fact that WCNSF exists now. Or the woman who refused to wash the blood from her hands. Or the dead, unburied and unmourned.

I'm never forgetting those who chose silence in the face of a genocide.

I may not know all their names but I will not forget the over 30,000 Palestinians dead. Or the over 60, 000 people hurt. Or the unknown number of people missing, still lost under the rubble. Or the 12,000 children slaughtered. An entire generation crippled or murdered.

I will never forget these things when Palestine is free.

[wearenotjustnumbers2]

Remember the 6 year old girl who was surrounded by Israeli tanks and the red crescent couldn't reach her? Her name is Hind Hamadeh. Here you can hear the phone call her 15 year old sister, Layan Hamadeh, made with the medics. She was killed exactly a moment later including all people in the car, except for 6 year old Hind who was stuck in the car with the dead bodies of her family, Israeli tanks and IDF surrounding her, shooting, preventing anybody to reach her.

That was last night (29.1.24). Today, still nothing. The fate of Hind remains unknown.

palestine red crescent ambulance team went to rescue her yesterday evening, but they have not returned as of now. We lost contact with them about 18 hours ago, and we still remain unaware of their fate and whether they succeeded in evacuating her or not.

Please, share Hind's story as much as you can on any platform. We need to know what happened to her. Put yourself in her place, how terrified she must be. Don't scroll past this.

This is Hind.

[alienzil]

Nanny Danny

“That is a whole ass baby,” was the only thought running through Lex Luthor’s head when the scientist proudly showed him the tube containing Project KR. It was not remotely the sort of thing he would normally think and most definitely not what he had expected to be thinking the first time he saw the clone.

He’d been pleased when he’d read the reports indicating the success of KR after years of failures. Lex had poured millions of dollars and literally his own blood into ensuring a clone of the alien could be made, one that would be under his total control instead of the unknown aspirations of Superman.  He’d wanted to see the fruits of his labors personally but this…

It. No, not an it. He scrunched his tiny face and smacked his lips and…did he smirk? Was that HIS SMIRK on that baby’s face?! No. No. Babies this small didn’t smile or smirk. They passed gas and their sleep deprived and addled parents mistook it for an intelligent response. He’d heard enough inane conversations in the Lexcorp office about the various progeny of his employees to pick up on that but still. This child had Kryptonian DNA, not to mention his own contribution. Surely, he was far more advanced than the dribbling potato shaped lump of an infant whose pictures he’d been forced to smile and nod over when Mark from accounting had rudely shoved them in his face at the last quarterly budget meeting. Yes, that was definitely a smirk. His, that was his smirk.

“So as you can see its growth is well within expected parameters and we’re planning to start phase one of accelerating the maturation process tomorrow once the testing is do-”

“Take him out.”

“Sir? The testing can all be accomplished while it remains in the tube. There’s no need to-”

“I said, take him out. The project is cancelled.”

“What?! Mr. Luthor you can’t!”

“I think you’ll find I can. Now get me my son.”

*****

Two years later

“Call them again”

“Sir, I’ve called them seven times. They won’t answer.”

“Then call another agency!”

“There isn’t another agency, Sir”

Lex glared at his assistant who stared back at him impassively. Mercy stood by the door staring off into the distance and pretending she didn’t notice him being bested by his own secretary.

He stopped himself from shouting again and took a deep breath before asking, “Then what, exactly, do you propose I do Mrs. Anderson? Adjust my entire schedule around naptimes? Find a toddler size lab coat and safety goggles and bring my son with me to tour the new clean energy project on Thursday? Perhaps buy a tiny business suit while I’m at it for the next board meeting?”

“I’m not suggesting anything of the sort, Mr. Luthor. I’m telling you that no childcare agency in Metropolis will return my calls anymore. Most won’t even answer.  You’ve gone through 27 nannies in the last 3 months. You need someone better suited to your son’s…special needs.”

Lex snorted. “Special needs might be a bit of understatement. He can lift a car over his head and his favorite word right now is No.”

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Thank you for…clarifying the situation, Marjorie. If there’s nothing else, you can leave.”

His secretary didn’t move. She looked at him like she was waiting for something and now that he was paying attention, he saw she was holding a file.  “Did you have a suggestion?”

Looking pleased with herself she responded, “Actually, yes, I did.”

“Well?”

She set the file on his desk and flipped it open. He looked down at the first page and raised an eyebrow, “What am I looking at here?”

“This,” she responded pulling out the top set of papers and spreading them out, “is the employee file and background check for Daniel J. Fenton, an intern that started in our engineering department about 4 months ago. He has one sibling, two parents and several close friends he regularly meets with. His current supervisor has nothing but good things to say about him and reports he gets along well with all his coworkers.”

She set out the next set of papers, neatly arranging them on the desk to be easily seen. “These are newspaper articles and screenshots of social media posts regarding a small town vigilante locally known as Phantom. The same small town, Mr. Fenton is from coincidentally. Also coincidentally, Phantom made his first appearance only a few weeks after Mr. Fenton was involved in a minor accident in his parent’s home laboratory when he was 14, the medical records for the incident are included.”

“Hmm,” Lex said observing several photos of Phantom and a younger Fenton arranged in order of similar poses and facial expressions and printed out side by side.

“Finally,” she said handing him the last set of papers directly, “this would be a report from the lab Mr. Fenton works in from an incident that happened yesterday. A test with a new protype went wrong and started a fire. Everyone evacuated per protocol when the alarms went off but one of the other interns was working on a programming issue off to the side of the lab while wearing headphones and didn’t hear the alarm or notice the fire. Mr. Fenton noticed his absence and returned to the lab to get him out.” She stopped talking and let him look at the last several pages in the file, a series of photographs of the lab.

“Is this ice?”

“Yes, it is. It’s several inches thick and covers half of the lab. It completely put out the fire leaving minimal damage.”

“This machine was moved?”

“It was. It was very close to the flames and would have required replacement if exposed to extreme heat or cold. That particular piece of equipment also weighs several thousand pounds and was bolted to the floor.”

Lex read through everything in detail then clasped his hands under his chin and stared at the photo of Daniel Fenton for several moments before turning back to his waiting secretary.

“Have HR send Mr. Fenton up. I’d like to offer him a promotion.”

[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.

[zenmom]

Created this… wished I had more willpower than I currently have to create this comic about Eennie-Oog. This is what I’ll imagine when she goes into the Friday Night Funkin universe where she rap battles against her friends who were going through different things - problems they’re dealing with whilst trying to figure out who the mysterious girl is.

[beloveds-embrace]

Emotional Support Omega getting scented by an unknown alpha?

Using this also as an oppertunity to just write the part three in too 🙂‍↕️

Part One | Part Two

The barracks were busy, a hum of conversation and the smell of warm, albeit unappealing, food filling the space. You had just returned from a supply run with Soap and Gaz, the three of you still dusted with the frost of the outside world, the winter season felt acutely in this weather.

Though missions continued as they were, you still weren’t a part of them. Not really.

But you were part of the base now.

The rookies adored you, the medical staff always had a cup of tea ready when you wandered into the infirmary, and even the grizzled veterans had started seeking you out when the weight of war grew too heavy on their shoulders.

You weren’t unwanted.

Just… unwanted by them- even if now, they lingered in your space, hanging to your pesence yet unwilling to bring you into theirs. It was a strange balance, and one you desperately wanted them to break.

But maybe… they didn’t want to?

At least, that’s what you had come to believe- until the moment a stranger dared to touch you.

A hand, large and firm, settled suddenly on your wrist as you made your way to the mess hall. The scent that curled toward you was strong, pungent in a way that sent an immediate alarm through your mind- thick with musk, uninvited and cloying. New to the base, though you couldn’t be too sure.

An Alpha.

But not one of yours- not that you had Alphas.

But this wasn’t right.

“You smell too neutral, Omega,” he rumbled, his grip firm but not bruising- yet. He leaned in, voice dropping into something that was likely meant to be coaxing, but it came across as just sleazy. “Scenting you would help. You should-“

“No.”

It was firm, immediate. You tried to pull back, but he didn’t let go, and a flash of irritation sparked in his eyes.

You had spent months on this base without anyone pushing your boundaries like this. Sure, there had been some flirtations, a few playful, harmless offers from Betas and Omegas looking for warmth- but nothing like this. Nothing so entitled.

The Alpha frowned, his grip tightening just slightly. “Come on, now, there’s no need to be difficult. It’s unnatural, the way you smell-”

He didn’t get to finish, and you didn’t get the chance to knee him like you’d been intending.

Because the moment he pulled at your wrist again, another hand caught his and twisted it away from you.

A deep, warning growl filled the space, thick with rage- Ghost.

And he was furious.

The room stilled, the air heavy with the presence of three more Alphas who had materialized so quickly, so silently, that it felt like the whole world had stopped breathing.

John was at your side in an instant, broad frame half between you and the offending Alpha, while Soap and Gaz flanked you like silent shadows, eyes dark with something unrecognizably vicious.

“You don’t touch who’s ours.” Ghost’s voice was quiet- so quiet that it sent a chill down your spine. His grip on the Alpha’s wrist was vice-like, and from the way the man winced, you knew it was taking everything in Ghost not to break bone.

The Alpha scoffed, though he was clearly unnerved. “Didn’t realize she was yours. She doesn’t-“

“She is.” It was Price this time, voice low, commanding, absolute. He took a slow, measured step closer, shoulders squared and stance firm. “Let go and walk away.”

A tense beat.

Then the Alpha, wisely, did as he was told. He stepped back, rubbing his wrist, eyes darting between the four l who had suddenly made it very clear where they stood.

Where you stood.

“I didn’t mean any offense.” The Alpha muttered at last, but he didn’t wait for a response before retreating. You knew that come tomorrow, he would not remain in the military any longer.

Silence stretched in his wake.

Your wrist still tingled where he had grabbed you, but you weren’t focused on that. You were focused on them.

On what they’d said.

Ghost’s hand was still hovering near yours, gloved fingers twitching slightly as if resisting the urge to pull you close- and then he simply gave up and held your hand tenderly. Price’s jaw was tight, eyes scanning you as if checking for any sign of harm. Soap and Gaz weren’t touching you, but their presence was solid, grounding.

And then, the weight of their words settled in.

“She is.”

Not she might be.

Not she could be.

She is.

Your breath hitched slightly. “I…” You swallowed, unsure how to process what had just happened.

Soap was the first to break the silence. “Took us too damn long to figure it out,” he admitted, his voice softer than usual, but still thick with something unyielding. He ran a hand through his mohawl, exhaling sharply, and giving you a weak smile. “Should’ve done this ages ago. Sorry, lass. This is our fault.”

Gaz nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line before he sighed and nudged your shoulder lightly. “You alright?”

You blinked at him, at all of them, before nodding. “Yeah,” you murmured, voice a little breathless. “Just… confused.”

“We were idiots, ‘mega,” Price said, his gaze holding yours firmly- it reminded you of that snowy mission once more, when they gave in and accepted your offered warmth. “We kept you at arm’s length when we shouldn’t have. We didn’t want to admit what was obvious.”

Ghost finally moved then, his fingers tightening around your wrist in silent apology, silent claim, still so gentle. “You’re ours.” The words were raw, gruff, like they had been carved out of him. But he didn’t take them back.

Ours. Yours.

The warmth that bloomed in your chest was overwhelming.

It had taken months. It had taken nearly losing the chance entirely.

But finally- finally-

You were theirs.

cod omegaverse masterlist

[iwassupremacy]

A lady’s pleasure

Jacaerys Valeryon x fem!reader

Summary: For Jace Sex was always just duty. Get naked, be careful but quick and produce an heir. But when Aegon once again provokes him by saying his nephew was unable to please his wife it bothered him. Perhaps his uncle was right? It never occurred to him to please you or himself for that matter. Now he’s determined to learn.

Warnings: husband!jace x wife!reader, nipple play, hair pulling, oral (f receiving), fingering

Please let me know if I missed anything

“You must certainly know how to make your lovely wife feel good. After all you are the crown prince, Jacaerys Valeryon. You must have her quivering and singing underneath you.”

“Aegon, stop it at once!” Alicent Hightower urged her oldest son with a firm voice.

“With what reason? Should he feel as if I am mocking him then it could only be because I am false. Am I false, nephew?”

Jace could only stare and listen to his uncle making cruel jokes right in his face. His hands were angrily balled into fists but he remained silence.

Denying Aegon the pleasure of starting a fight about his performance in the bedroom in front of their family and worse you.

You stayed just as quiet and unreadable as he himself did and for an unknown reason it made Jace feel insecure. Did he know how to make his wife feel good? How to please her needs? Or even his own?

For him the act of it was only ever a way of making a family and producing heirs. Participating in its activity purely out of desire never occurred to him for many reasons.

For once he was terribly afraid of fathering any bastard children since he very much knew how it could feel like.

Besides he saw in Aegon how the needless pleasures and suspensions of its houses could turn a man into a beast.

But he was also an unwanted participant of a conversation between his mother and ser Harwin Strong when he was a child and realised how incredibly unfair it was for women to be the only gender having to save themselves.

For those reasons and others he kept to himself. Besides he rarely felt the need to anyway.

“Jacaerys, my apologies. I sincerely hope, you are not taking any of his unfounded claims to heart. You must be aware of how he can get” she looked away from him and at her son instead “when he is drowning in his cups.” she now angrily frowned.

Jace only sighed. “Do not worry. You might remember that I grew up around his nagging. Therefore I am quite used to this behaviour of his.”

-

Later when the young prince and his family arrived back at Dragonstone he accompanied you to your chambers.

“See me tonight, my prince? I am in no mood to sleep alone these days.” You whispered, putting your hands on his face in a comforting manner.

It was rather obvious that you felt quite compassionate towards him after such an exhausting feast.

Jace smiled lightly and nodded. He felt grateful for having you. And if you were honest you were very grateful for having him as well.

“Let me quickly inform my mother and the guards about my presence in your chambers for the night and once it’s done and I am ready for bed time I will be with you, my lady.”

You bit your lower lip at the tingling feeling in your stomach. He had a way of making you feel like this.

“And stop addressing me as your prince, please. I am not saying I do not enjoy it or that it is not true, I am only reminding you that you are not obligated to refer to me in such formalities. Call me your husband or by my birth name.”

You girlishly giggled. “But you are addressing me as your lady as well, my prince.” No matter how many times he reminded you of this you simply liked teasing him.

“These two are not the same at all to me. But I shall refer to you differently if you wish it.” He smiled.

“Yes please, I wish it. And I will wait for you tonight, husband.”

-

Jace took a deep breath as he entered the throne room and found who he was looking for. His mother’s husband and his great uncle.

“Daemon.” He called across the room.

“Jacaerys. What brings you here at this late hour?”

The young man came to a halt his face turning a bright red giving his intent right away. Daemon still awaited for Rhaenyras son to voice it.

“I am here about the matters I was so” he swallowed thickly “rudely tormented about this afternoon.”

“Boy, do not let it get to your head. You are more a man than Alicents son could ever be. Both of then in fact.“ Daemon was quick to push Jaces pride.

“I appreciate the compliment. But I have to admit that I fear my uncle might have had a point. Though I do not desire to be anything like him I have to admit I don’t know much about“ he paused “a womans body.”

“So you came to me to ask for advice on these affairs?”

“I am afraid so.”

-

You were comfortably sitting in your bed waiting for your husband in the light of your many candles while reading a book about Aegon the conqueror and his sisters.

He was taking suspiciously long for simply informing his guards about his stay at your chambers but you let him be since even a gentleman like your husband was were allowed to have a wounded pride.

You carefully manoeuvred your body out of the huge bed which was nice and warm but felt a little lonely by yourself.

Your night gown was of a light blue and thin which was not an unconscious decision. You liked to be a little cold at night so you had a reason to ask for your husband’s embrace.

You carefully approached the big door of your room. You only wanted to peak. Maybe you could spot him coming for you down the hallway.

And just as you reached for the handle of your wooden door it opened and you were met with the dark brown eyes of your husband.

“Jacaerys~” you let out.

“My love” he whispered “I am terribly sorry to had you waiting for me too long. There were some urgent issues I had to discuss with Prince Daemon.”

This new nickname send shivers down your spine and for a second you could only stare at him before regaining confidence.

“It is quite alright. Come on in. I have warmed the bed for us.”

You took his hand in yours and lead him to the bed. Once you were there both of you stood on opposite sides of it. You couldn’t help but notice his staring. Especially of your upper region.

“Are you tired yet, my love?” He sheepishly asked.

“Not quite. Is there something you want to discuss with me, husband?” You innocently wondered resting your body with your hands on the bed and stretching your face in his direction, subconsciously biting your lips.

“First lesson, boy. Get her excited for it first.”

He only chuckled at that which made your stomach tingle again. “The way you’re asking me is almost tempting, my love.”

He did the same as you pushing his face and upper body in your direction until you could feel his warm breath fan over your face.

For several minutes the two of you just looked at each other from opposite sides of your bed and even though you didn’t say or do anything and he didn’t either your breath heaved.

The silence got interrupted by his chuckling again and then he touched your cheek with his right hand.

“Have I ever told you how incredibly beautiful you are?” he whispered to your lips. And then, only lightly and almost unnoticeable, he bit it. Barely scraping your lower lip with his teeth.

Your breath hitched. “You- you have. On our wedding night.”

“I remember. Almost two moons ago. I should have told you every single day since then and I shall tell you every single day from now on.” He pecked your cheek. “Come, my love. Lay down.”

You did as he asked you, crawling into the middle of the bed and lying down on your back. His stares burning in your skin.

This was so different from what you knew. So far you only ever got into bed, shared a kiss and did what had to be done.

Of course he was gentle and looked after your well being but it was still always quick and a little uncomfortable.

But this? This was exciting. This made you feel things. New things.

Once you were comfortable Jace climbed on top of you, settling between your legs.

He smiled at you brushing the strands of hair out of your face. “Are you alright?“

You brushed through his wild curls as well and muttered “of course.“

He leaned down to you his breath fanning your face once again. “Good. Tell me if anything changes.”

He leaned down to you and kissed you tenderly, his plush lips pressing against yours. Carefully you returned his gesture but he didn’t stop there as usual.

Suddenly you could feel his tongue brushing over your lips which made you tremble and remove yourself from him. “What-“

He didn’t let you finish. “Do you trust me, my love?” You quickly nodded your head.

“I shall lead you then. I have waisted far too many weeks keeping you dissatisfied. I plan on making up for my mistakes tonight.” He whispered to your ear.

“You don’t have to, dear husband. I am happy as is.” You whispered back.

“I most certainly have to. Let me do this please. I no longer desire to be mocked by my uncle and feel he is right. I shall have you quivering and singing underneath me.”

You couldn’t help but whimper at that.

“Second lesson. Worship her body. I mean kiss her, touch her, feel her up. Not only down under but everywhere. Even her tits. Especially her tits.“

“Jacaerys~”

“Call me Jace, my love. Everybody does so.” He breathed down your throat and kissed the lobe of your ear.

He started to scatter kisses all over your shoulder and the bending of your neck as well, going lower and lower.

Driven by the desperate need to hold onto something your hands went up into his hair and slightly pulled at his unkempt curls.

Your body was now acting on its own needs and without realising you threw your head back and pushed your hips up against him.

As a reaction to the friction he received from your movement Jace unwillingly bit into the softness of your cleavage.

You let out a surprised hiss and pulled on his hair even harder.

You lightly pulled his head back until he was looking at you through lewd eyes. Your pupils were slightly dilated and your eyes blown wide with wanton which only made him grin boyishly.

“Fuck. My apologies, my love. Seems like you will have to wear dresses with a rather high neckline for some time. I left quite the mark there.“ he chuckled.

Your walls clamped, your slick gushing out. You had never before seen him like this let alone heard him swear so freely.

Without a second thought you pulled him down again and kissed his lips. Once again he was licking your lower lip but this time you didn’t pull away,

Instead you opened your mouth granting him entry.

His tongue found yours quickly, circling and sucking it. It practically had you rolling your hips and this time Jace pushed back, accommodating his rhythm to yours until the two of you were mindlessly grinding against each other while your tongues were almost doing the same.

One of his hands was resting next to your head, holding your face while he held his weight up on his arm. The other hand was brushing your sensitive skin with his fingertips, sometimes tickling a little.

Until this hand finally had a purpose when it wandered straight to your breast. Your mounds were hardened, peaking through the thin layer of clothing

Jace tested the waters by only gingerly pinching one of them. When you broke the kiss to push your head back into the pillow and softly moan he immediately twisted and pinched a little harder which resulted in your eyes squinting and your hips stuttering.

Jace bit his swollen lip and groaned at the sight before him. How could he have possibly missed out on this up to now?

He let go of your breast and stopped his movements all together. Your eyes opened and when you saw him grinning down at you with a raised brow, you blushed and tried to look away.

But he didn’t let you and instead used his now free hand to grab your chin and make you look at him.

His stare was stern and intense and you were struggling with holding it but you didn’t look away this time.

“I would like to undress you now if that is okay with you.“ he said while caressing your skin and hair.

You nodded. You always liked your husband, even back when he was only one of many suitors you long preferred him over anybody else but this night might just make you fall in love with him.

“Yes, Jacaerys, it is more than okay for me.“

His hands let go of you as he sat up on his knees to balance himself and they now grabbed the inside of your thighs which made you gasp and close them.

You looked at him through apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry, my prince.”

He raised his brows. “Do not apologise or call me your prince. What is the matter, my love? It is not as if I have never touched or seen what hides between your thighs before.“

You blushed and looked away. “I know you have. But this- this is so… different-“ you stuttered quietly.

“How so?“ he wondered and you just knew he was being ignorant. He knew, he only wanted you to tell him.

You whined, pouting a little and looking back at him through innocent eyes but when he did not budge you sighed.

“Because this is more intense. More intimate.“ your face was burning up so much you had no desire to know how you looked like right now.

For Jace on the other hand you looked really adorable right now. He chuckled, freeing you from your suffering. “I see. Shall I undress first then?“

You only nodded and looked him up and down which made you realise something you payed no attention to so far. He was still wearing what he wore to the feast.

“You’re not wearing anything fitting for the bed.“ you noticed, brushing over his tunic.

“I was not planning on wearing anything when I sleep over at your chambers tonight, my love.“

Your breath instantly hitched. He was panning for this?

Carefully you tucked at his tunic. “Take it off. Jace~ please.”

He only slowly started to unbuckle the belt around his waist, unbuttoning his tunic even slower.

You whined. “Stop being a tease~ please.”

He smirked and got out of bed and up entirely brushing his tunic off his shoulders.

You sat up and stared at him through blown eyes. It was not as if you had never seen his body before but you had never mustered him so extensively.

His skin was tanned and his shoulders broad. His chest was beautifully shaped and there was a little line of hair going down to where his sex was.

Your eyes wandered up to his meeting his intense stare once again and it made a shiver run down your spine.

Jaces big hands went to his trousers and just as before he removed them tauntingly slow.

You whined again, this time louder. “I told you not to be a tease!”

Without another word he let his trousers fall to the ground and your eyes automatically shot down again. He was simply perfect.

It was standing up, touching Jace’s stomach. Tip colored in a dark red color and leaking and it made you feel almost proud.

Naked and as the gods formed him Jace stood before your bed still staring down at your small frame.

Your legs were angled up, your knees touching your chest while you rested all of your weight on your palms.

“You cannot tell me what to do or not do, dear wife. I am your husband after all.” He reminded you, getting your attention again and though you knew he didn’t mean it, you frowned, feeling sorry.

Without another word he nakedly climbed on the bed, crawling towards you.

Once he was face to face with you smiled again as he did too.

“So I” he kissed your forehead “can only tell you what to do.”

Your eyes closed at the touch of his lips with your head. “What shall I do, my love?” you whispered, your hand touching his chest, caressing his defined muscles.

Jace groaned at you using this nickname as well and your touch and harshly pressed his lips against yours.

Again your hand went in his hair straight away, brushing it out of his face, clinging to it.

He moaned to your lips. “I love it when you do that. Keep your hands in my hair, love. Do not remove them, no matter what.”

“Third lesson. Use your tongue on her, boy. Eat her cunt like a man starved. Women do love that.“

Finally he took your night gown in his hands and pulled it over your head in a swift movement.

Without shame he starred at you, his hands squeezing your breast which made you whimper and lay back down.

“I should have appreciated your body much sooner. Only ever doing what was necessary. My poor, poor lady wife. Must have felt so frustrated and unsatisfied.”

He openly mocked you and all you could get out was a pathetic whimper.

“All of it will end tonight.” he whispered in your ear, biting the lope.

Without realizing your thighs spread wider at his action and you pulled his hair. “Jace~”

Jacaerys looked down at your legs, biting his lips and smirking at your subconscious reaction. “You are the most perfect woman I have ever laid eyes upon. I dare even say the most perfect human.”

“Jacaerys, please.” You pleadingly looked at him through blown eyes. “T-touch me.”

Your face became of a deep red color but you still held his intense stare. You couldn’t quite believe what you had just asked of him. No woman of your class should ever beg for such lewd doings.

Or even desire them at all.

Jace could do nothing but chuckle at your embarrassed face and take it in his hand “Where do you desire my touch the most, my love?”

“Perhaps” he whispered “here?” His thumb lightly brushed over your bottom lip.

“Or maybe” his fingertips tickled your neck and down your shoulder to your hand “here?”

Softly he took your hand in his.

And then suddenly not so soft anymore he pinned it over your head, down onto the mattress which made you yelp in shock.

“Perhaps you don’t even want me to touch you with my hands at all? Would you rather I use my mouth, my love?”

Your eyebrows knitted and right when you wanted to ask him about the meaning behind his questions his mouth went straight down to your breast.

Your back arched when you gasped and tried to pull his head away with your hand that had remained in his hair.

“Oh~” you sighed, having no other choice than finally relaxing at his touch when he didn’t move away.

He licked and bit your mound, sometimes even sucking as if he were a babe.

Oddly enough it felt amazing and you couldn’t stop arching into him and letting out shallow breaths.

“Fuck~ so sensitive here, my love. Perhaps someday I could make you cum just by paying attention to your tits.”

You gasped at his vulgarity, it made you shiver and pull his head up to look at him. “Fuck~ never stop pushing and pulling my hair.”

You giggled girlishly and brushed through his wild curls. “I would never.”

Quickly he got back to his work but this time switched sides, paying attention to your other mound until your loud breathing turned into whining from all the soreness.

Once again he switched sides, teasing and testing you and never touching down were you needed him most.

Not even when you started to push your hips up, desperately trying to get some friction. “Jace~ enough, please. ‘m s-so sore.”

He detached himself and stared for a few seconds as if in awe, lightly biting it one last time, making you whimper.

Without another word he spread your legs as far as he could to comfortably settling between them and kissed his way from your stomach down.

Every once in a while he bit your skin which had you squirming in anticipation. He certainly knew how to take his time.

When he finally was eye level with your core, he didn’t came to a halt and instead started to kiss down your inner thighs as well.

“Jace~ my love, please. Please do not do this to me. You are being mean. I- I need your touch. Please.”

You panted, trying to pull him up by his hair, not caring about any decency anymore.

“So impatient. Do you not want me to enjoy this as well as you?” He said, his hot breath hitting your wetness while talking, making you gasp.

You quickly nodded “Yes, of course I want you to enjoy yourself.”

“Very well.” He mumbled, distracted by the sight in front of his eyes. “But I won’t make you wait any longer.”

He sticked out his tongue, flattening it and then took a long lick up your cunt, now having eye contact with you.

“Oh~ Gods~“ you moaned, arching your back. “What-“

“I need you to relax, my love. I promise you will like it.” he murmured against your core. His hot breath making you shudder.

“I- I already liked it. It was only much of an sur- OH” he experimentally sucked on your little bundle of nerves he so far had barely touched before, rudely interrupting you and making you yelp.

Your hand that was still im his hair gripped it tightly, making him groan in the process. The vibration of it got you to clench your thighs around his head.

“Respectfully. You talk too much.” he murmured once again. “Simply enjoy.”

You pathetically whimpered, not mustering any more than a nod. He could only smile at that.

He licked with his tongue again, circling your clitoris with it. Your breath fastened, free hand desperately searching for something to hold onto as well.

Silently Jace took it in his, squeezing lightly. He didn’t part from your core though, still feasting on you as if you were his most favorite meal.

You imagined your slick to be smeared across his chin and lips by now and it made you embarrassed and excited all the same.

Suddenly grabbed your thighs, putting your legs on his shoulders, your feet touching his back. His hands now holding your hips.

Your again free hand went up, fisting the cover of the cushion. His tongue was now flicking your bud in a fast motion.

You couldn’t help but stretch your lower half in the air, putting it right in his face. “Jace~”

His name left your lips like a prayer. Whispered, moaned, whined and whimpered. Your eyes wandered down, meeting his intense stare.

And then one of his hands left your hip, brushing the inside of your thigh. While he was still sucking at you, two of his fingers were now prodding at your entrance.

You gasped “Jacaerys- what-“ but he again interrupted you this time by pushing his fingers in, your walls welcoming them.

“So wet and warm. Tell me how you are feeling, my love.” He now parted from you, messily cleaning his face with the back of his other hand.

All the while his fingers were moving slowly in and out of you, making it hard to answer properly. “Good~ oh I~ I feel good.”

His previous cleaning was to no use when he simply chuckled and dived right back in getting back to work immediately.

It was as if he could not get enough of it.

“Fourth lesson, the most important one, you cannot and will not enter her before she isn’t as slick as a snail. Best if you have her finish at least once before you even attempt to your own pleasure.”

His fingers were moving at a rapid pace now, keeping a steady rhythm with his tongue, making you wonder if it wasn’t tiring for his muscles.

But you couldn’t really worry about that, your head being to full of Jace. His scent, his body against yours, his hair tingling your thighs.

Out of reflex you brushed it out of his face, his wild curls stickig to his forehead and neck.

Suddenly your entire body tightened when he hit a special spot inside of you. You moaned loudly “Jace~ stop it.”

But he didn’t. Instead he looked at you through thick lashes, fingers curling and massage said spot, mouth sucking.

“Jacaerys. Please~ hah” you were now trying to crawl away from him, his hand moving across your stomach, pinning your hip down as good as he could.

“I feel weird. Let us take a break OH GODS” your legs practically suffocated him, squeezing his head. Again he did not stop, still looking at you.

You were wondering if perhaps he was searching for any actual discomfort on your part, because even though you were begging him to stop you also felt you might cry if he actually did.

A strange sensation was building up inside you, stomach tingling, muscles tightening and most importantly your core was almost itching.

It felt as if you needed to get rid of this itch, grinding up on him to soothe the feeling.

“Your cunt is clenching so much, I have trouble believing you want me to stop.” Jace whispered against your core.

You couldn’t even answer, only violently shaking your head and welcoming the relieving feeling that washed over you.

You were whining so loud, you wondered if everyone could hear but you did not care. The only thing you cared about was him. Between your legs. Making you feel things you had never felt before.

And then it was all over. Your back arched one last time, thighs squeezing your husband incredibly tight. A wave of pleasure washing from your head down through your body to your tows.

Pretty much immediately it was all too much. His touch was now burning and you were practically pushing his head away.

“S’ too much.” You slurred. Your eyes were heavy, as was your breathing. Your legs now felt sore and weak.

Carefully Jace took them in his hands, removing them from his shoulders. He gently put them down on the mattress, coming up to you.

When he was eye level with you, he took in your figure. You seemed quite overwhelmed, one hand still very loose in his hair, which he also carefully removed, holding it in his hands.

Your other arm was hanging over your forehead and closed eyes. Your face was flushed and Jace couldn’t help but grin.

“How are you feeling, my love?” he whispered, pecking your lips. Weakly you returned his favor.

“Quite well I think.” you laughed breathlessly. “Tank you.”

Jace could only chuckle at you for thanking him. “Feels good, does it not? Have I never had you do that before?” he asked, a frown adorning his face.

Your face was flushed, cheeks red and breath still heavy. “Do what?”

He shaked his head the tiniest bit almost unnoticeable. “Finish. Have I never had you finish before?”

“I- I am unsure of it. So far I was not told a woman could even do that, my love.” you admitted lowering your arm and looking at him “Is that offensive to you?”

“No! Gods no. It should be to you. I have been ignoring your needs.”

“I was not aware I had those needs, Jace. Do not beat you up on it. I beg you.” You lifted your head up, looking in his saddened eyes.

“Which was my fault. I should have introduced you to all the good sides of a marriage. I failed. My uncle-“

“Your uncle is a drunken fool.” You interrupted his doubting “I doubt he has ever done to any Lady what you have done for me tonight. He has a loud mouth, I believe most of his talk is untrue.”

One of your hands brushed through his hair, stroking his cheek while the other held your weight up.

“Besides I decide whether or not you are a good husband and I decide that you are. I am content, I am happy, Jacaerys, I am pleased.”

Slowly you got fully up, pushing him down by his chest, swinging a leg over him and putting your weight on his thighs.

“What exactly are you doing?” your husband wondered, his hands automatically grabbing your hips.

Without answering you took his sex in your hand and slowly stroked it. “Ohh~ oh gods. What-“

“I am returning the favor, my love.”

[nerdlvr]

just perfect.

you bit the inside of your cheek as you watched jisung's stupid smile spread across his face, his body leaning towards the mystery girls ear, his words mute against the music of the room.

"need a drink?"

even more perfect.

you felt your body tense as a soft breath grazed your neck, "yuta-"

his hand slipped around your waist, pulling you gently against his chest, "you can tell who i am just from my voice? such a sweet girl- i knew you'd never forget me."

his grip was firm as you tried to release yourself from his grasp, hands tugging at his, "let go-"

"look-" he placed his chin on your shoulder, chuckling softly, "little jisungie seems to have gotten tired of waiting around- first time you let him out of the house and he's-"

"stop that-" you turned around shoving his chest harshly, "stop messing with my head- you have no idea what's going on between me and jisung-"

"i don't?" you gulped as a smirk spread on his lips, body moving closer to you, "i don't know about your fake little relationship- how he just wanted to test out what it's be like to have a girlfriend? he just wants to fuck something, y/n- don't forget your place- you think he'll hang around after he gets his piece?"

you felt your chest tighten, words getting jumbled in your throat, "whatever jisung does has nothing to do with me-"

"oh but it does- it completely does sweetheart, because you thought he might actually be different, you thought he was so so sweet to you because he cared. and now you look desperate searching for him in a party."

you slapped his hand away as he reached for your face, "you know nothing about jisung."

you tugged your skirt down as pushed through the crowd, yuta's mocking laugh making your cheeks burn uncomfortably.

in all honesty- you also knew nothing about jisung.

age? 20. major? unknown. siblings? no even a clue.

you downed the first shot that was in your sight as you entered the kitchen, a shiver running down your spine as you gagged.

.

just perfect.

jisung's eyes scanned the room- where the hell were you?

first you tell him that you're not coming to the party, and then you're posted up on twitter showing off the sluttiest little cheerleader outfit he's ever seen- well maybe not the sluttiest.

the girl that had been annoying him for the past half hour had to take the prize for sluttiest outfit. she was barely clothed, tits on full display as she leaned in closer to him.

"park jisung- look at me!" she reached for his face desperately, manicured nails cold against his face.

he sunk deeper into the couch as he inched away from her grasp, "uh- just- just jisung is fine- no need for all the formalities." he laughed nervously as he sat up straight again, grabbing her hands to place them on her lap.

"have you by any chance caught a girl walking in? green cheerleader outfit, about- hm about this tall- curly hair- really really nice-"

"jisungie i have a green cheerleader outfit-" she played with the hem of her basically nonexistent skirt, a dumb grin on her face.

"uh-huh- i bet you do-" he sat up a little taller, eyes slightly squinting as he searched the room again.

"jisung-" she giggled as he jolted in his seat, her hands sneaking across his lap, "jiiisungiee-"

his smile spread as he gripped her hands, slowly dragging them away from his lap. she bit her lip as she waited for his next move, cheeks heating up at his touch.

he moved in closer, breath fanning against her ear, "you touched me- and my dick remained completely soft- now if you have the slightest bit of shame, you'd ask a guy if he has a girlfriend before throwing yourself at him."

she pulled her hands out of his grasp, moving away on the couch as he straightened her outfit- clearly embarrassed.

but jisung didn't even give her a second glance, his eyes now trained on the familiar figure in the crowd.

even more perfect.

his eye twitched as he watched your ex boyfriend reach towards your face. the hosts never show up so what was he doing here trying to make moves on you?

he got up from his seat, fingers nervously picking at the skin of his lips. after everything- would you drop it all for a moment of relief with your slimy ex?

the short answer was no. he grinned as he watched you push him away, you body moving through the crowd as you distanced yourself from him.

he didn't hesitant as he strode after you- not missing the opportunity to bump past yuta on his way.

.

"park jisu-" you gagged softly, the shot of patron already not sitting right in your stomach.

"hey- hey pretty girl- you okay?" he was quick to move close to you, hands moving up to cup your face, "how many have you had?"

you pushed him away, a grimace on your face, "stop acting like that."

he stood back to watch you, your fingers playing with the rim of your shot glass, "like what?"

"i'm not your girlfriend park jisung- barely friends- so stop acting all lovey dovey." you nodded towards the stranger that appeared behind you, his steady hands filling your glass again.

he scoffed at you, hands moving to rest on his hips, "i recommend you watch that pretty mouth of yours- i don't like my girls drunk."

"why not? isn't it easier to sleep with me if i'm drunk? that's what you want anyways right? why you're doing all this?" you lifted the glass to your lips, hands clenching as the liquid burned your throat.

you whined as you felt him tug the glass away from you, "what's wrong with you right now? i've been waiting almost 2 hours for you and now you're here giving me attitude?"

"waiting? i'm sure it was a long wait as you macked on some random girl." you took a step back, cheeks heating up at the realization of your words- what were you even saying?

"oh so you think you have the right to be jealous while you went looking for yuta first instead of coming to see me?" he leaned in closer to you, face only inches away now.

"i didn't come here for you park jisung- what don't you get?"

your breath hitched as he leaned in closer, chapped lips grazing yours.

"you came here for me- i know you did- just say it."

your breath hitched as you felt his arms wrap around your waist, his lips still dangerously close to yours, "we are nothing park jisung."

his lips spread against yours, mouth turning into a wide grin, "i love that the idea of us being nothing upsets you."

you looked into his soft eyes, his gaze burning your skin, "w-what-"

"look at you baby- you're melting in my hands-" his grip on your waist tightened, your breath now caught in your throat, "i-i'm drunk- park jisung-"

"no you're not- you're horny-" he chuckled against your lips, your eyes fluttering shut as they dragged across yours softly.

you felt his arm wrap farther around you, hand snaking down past your ass to press against your aching core, "it's hot down here isn't it baby? so hot you want me to fix it for you?"

you gripped his jersey, lips parted in a moan as you nodded softly.

"go home." his arms detangled from your body, pushing you away with his hands so he could look at you.

you were flushed all over, skin slightly sticky with sweat as your chest rose and fell with each pant- his balls were going to explode.

"text me when you're home- i- actually- wait here for a sec, i'll call you an uber."

you watched him dumbly as he reached for his phone, tapping at the screen, "jisung-"

"car's right around the corner- get home safe- remember text me." he pushed you softly towards the door, patting your ass to urge you out.

he watched as you shuffled away, hands bunched at the sides of your hips as you hung your head low.

"dude did you just send her home- what are you- her dad?"

his head snapped up as his friend entered the kitchen, his arm lazily wrapped around his girlfriend's waist.

"he just pulled a me! remember when i made out with you during that halloween party and then left you with blue balls! he totally just pulled a me!" he watched mark's girlfriend happily jump in place, soft giggles leaving her lips at the realization.

"sungie- she'll be all over you in no time- trust me-" she threw her thumb towards mark, "it works like a charm."

mark reached towards jisung's shoulder, squeezing softly, "dude- you're in some deep shit now."

wait- why didn't he just sleep with you?

ᡣ𐭩 ｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅rent-a-girlfriend.com ~ 21. BOMBOCLATT

previous ~ masterlist ~ next

notes : you'll be banging on my chest, bang-bang, gorilla. idk where the angst went so i will try to start an emo fight next chapter cause how am i going to miss to opportunity for horny party scene COME ON NEOWWWW- ok but yeah next chapter we're mixing it and twisting it haha

taglist : @bunniin , @neverbeurs , @fakeuwus , @natokkiz , @222brainrot , @mystverse , @sk8mrk , @ksywoo , @snowyseungs , @nislost , @nosungluv , @jae-n0 , @peterm4rker , @livingdoll-hara , @doejaejung , @tommina , @413ktz , @aerivrs , @cyjzzl , @dolleyedgirl , @nneteyamss , @mrkleelvr , @4chensungs , @nctrawberries , @multifandomania , @catpjimin , @dudekiss3r , @yuujiswrld , @slayhaechan , @catdonut657 , @kodasity , @ohwowzersthatscool , @byeonwooseokabs , @hyucksunset , @rksbae , @hyucktion , @lionzyon , @baobeii55 , @jakesbubu , @axo-l0tl , @sunghoonsgfreal , @strawberrysavi , @hyunjungjae , @kookssecret , @babrieeee , @defzcl , @sikuthealien

[andavs]

The Cars of 911

All of this talk of Buck’s jeep and whether or not he now has a truck got me curious about how consistent any of the vehicles are in this show. And as of 8x08, here are my results.

ATHENA They don't show her personal vehicle in season one, but from the second season onward, Athena’s driven a red GMC Acadia Denali. It was presumably destroyed in the house fire in 7x10. She hasn't been shown driving a personal vehicle in season eight so far.

(2x13, 2x18)

(4x12, 6x06)

BOBBY Chronologically, Bobby's first car is this pickup in St. Paul. It’s older and more beat up, a little boxier.

(1x05)

When he moves to LA, he drives a dark blue Ford F-150, initially with Minnesota plates.

(2x16)

In season six, he has a dark blue Chevy Silverado.

(6x09)

And then in season seven when he goes after Amir, he has a different dark blue Chevy Silverado, this time a High Country. I assume he got it back from the middle of the desert, but then their house burned down, so it was probably destroyed with Athena’s SUV. He hasn't been shown driving a personal vehicle in season eight so far.

(7x08)

BUCK Chronologically, the first car we see Buck drive is the blue Jeep Wrangler that Maddie gives him in 2012. He drives it around the country and still has it on his first day at the 118 in 2017. 

(4x05)

But in the first season, which takes place in late 2017/early 2018, he has this gray/gray-green Jeep Wrangler Rubicon. This is the only season where he has this car. (It’s not Abby’s as in 1x09, she drives a silver Chevy Volt.)

(1x05, 1x10)

In season two he has a dark gray Rubicon, and seems to keep this car until it dies on the road in 6x07. It very well could’ve been different years that all look very similar; I don’t know enough about cars to spot minor differences from year to year.

(2x08, 3x16)

(4x11, 6x05)

In season seven, he has a new silver Rubicon, though it's only shown in 7x04.

(7x04)

CHIMNEY In 1x03, Chimney’s driving a blue Subaru Impreza when he gets in the rebar accident, and that’s the first and last time we see that car.

(1x03)

In 4x12 he’s driving a silver Subaru hatchback. It looks like it might be the same one Maddie was driving in season three.

(4x12)

Throughout season five, he’s driving a dark blue-gray Jeep Grand Cherokee.

(5x04)

I think he’s still driving the same Jeep in season seven when it gets stolen in 7x06. Its fate remains unknown.

(7x06)

EDDIE The first car we see of Eddie’s is an older gray Toyota Tundra from the early 2000s. It's also visible in 3x15 in El Paso.

(2x04, 2x17)

In 3x08 he buys a black GMC Sierra Denali and seems to still be driving it.

(3x08, 7x04)

HEN In seasons one and two, Hen drives a blue Toyota RAV4. Apparently only at night.

(1x07, 2x05)

After that, she's seen driving a dark gray Volvo that seems to be the same car Karen was driving in 1x10. It looked like Hen was driving it in 6x06 in flashbacks to their first date.

(1x10, 6x02)

MADDIE Chronologically, Maddie’s first car we see is the blue Jeep Wrangler. She had it in 2004 and gave it to Buck in 2012.

(4x05)

If she has a car in season two, it isn't shown, but in season three she’s driving a silver Subaru Crosstrek. It looks like it could be the same Subaru Chimney’s driving in 4x12, so they seem to have started sharing it.

(3x06, 3x09)

In conclusion, some characters are really consistent when it comes to their cars, while others are not. Bobby and Buck have changed their cars the most.

But whether it is or isn't Buck's, the truck from the cemetery in 8x05 and in the bts video looks like a Nissan Frontier.

(8x05, bts)

Disclaimer: I don't know shit about cars. Everything identified here was either done with Google Lens or through IMCDB.

[mide404]

One day, we were growing and maturing, dreaming and aspiring. We lived moments of joy and endured pain. We chased our desires and ventured into the fields of work. But now… our dreams have stopped, our aspirations have faded. Our world, once vast and open, has shrunk to a small, narrow space. From boundless skies to an unknown realm… This is what happened to my family after the devastating war uprooted their dreams, buried their ambitions, and obliterated their memories.

Today, my family endures the harsh experience of displacement, living in a tent for months on end. My younger sister describes the struggles of life in the tent: how it burns like an oven under the sun, suffocating and airless, with no means of cooling. The tent feels like a greenhouse during the day, leaving its residents to suffer from the extreme heat of summer without protection, and offering no shelter from the bitter cold of winter.

She mentions that our family’s tent is set up on a small plot of farmland, forcing us to live amid reptiles, rodents, insects, and venomous snakes, with no basic standards of cleanliness. She adds that life in the tent is especially harsh for women. It’s a place where even in the sweltering heat, they must stay fully dressed in outdoor clothes, with no freedom of movement. Everything happens inside the tent: lighting fires, cooking food, washing dishes, storing large containers of drinking water, and keeping water for bathing and daily cleaning. In essence, the tent means the loss of privacy—speaking in whispers inside your tent, only to hear a response from your neighbor in the next one.

She goes on to say, “Every time I moved with my family, I lost a thread of the privacy I hold dear as a woman. Displacement and homelessness became defining features of my life.”

I am Mahmoud Saleh, a young man appealing to you to look upon my torn and displaced family with mercy. Please grant them the chance to rebuild their lives in peace. I stand before your compassionate hearts, full of hope that you can help what remains of my family to secure a better life and to live in safety and security.

[gghostwriter]

Hi!! I saw your requests are open for fluff and I love your writing and have an idea currently plaguing my mind if you are interested (but no worries if not!) 🩵

There’s this girl on tiktok who does rejection therapy where she makes little requests to strangers with the expectation of being denied, but sometimes the outcome is super sweet. I think it would be cute for a kinda shy reader to be doing rejection therapy and ask Spencer (or any of the BAU) to like play rock paper scissors or hold their badge or something with the expectation of being rejected, only to be pleasantly surprised when she isn’t rejected

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader Trope: Fluff! Just fluff w.c: 1.33k A/N: Slowly defrosting my request box purely for fluff. I do feel a bit rusty in writing again, it's a muscle I've forgotten to exercise on the daily. I am no chess player so I honestly don't know how to write a game. Anon, I hope this still lives up to your imagination! Main masterlist

Intermezzo. // Spencer Reid

Hushed adult chatter and boisterous children’s laughter filled the greening park, once cold and barren from the winter past. The sun, as if still shy to take center stage, peeked behind a cloud of white curtains. Vibrant hues of picnic blankets scattered all over the green grass, books and wicker baskets keeping them from going with the windy breeze. 

Over the past few weeks, you’ve gotten comfortable in the new city you now call home. Bringing the tumbler of coffee against your moistened lips, the corners of your mouth lifted to form a soft smile, marveling from how far you’ve come. This city now contained your coffee shop down the block, your bookstore tucked between alleyways, and your park nestled in the middle of the bustling city. 

Your therapist was excited for this new chapter of your life, coaxing you to take baby steps away from your cocoon and enjoy what it had to offer. Filled with slight trepidation a few weeks ago, you sat on the exact same bench, back rod straight and hands wringing from the unknown when a group of men, ages of all varying degrees, had caught your eye. They were gathered under the shade from two great trees, seated and hunched over, playing various states of chess.

Fascinating.

They kept to themselves, something you could relate to. As Saturdays and Sundays passed on, you found yourself wondering why there seemed to be no women or any newcomers, to be exact, that join in the fray. Do people not feel the draw? Is it only you who found them intriguing?

Movement caught the corner of your eye.

A new face walking towards the gaggle of men—or to be exact, hobbling towards with crutches under his armpits, to an unoccupied chess table. His eyes scanning along the throng of players before briefly looking down and tapping his uninjured foot to an inconspicuous beat.

You observed him with fascination and anticipation, wanting to see if any of the usual faces would join in on his table, allowing him to be absorbed into the otherwise impenetrable group.

Five minutes.

Then ten, the seat in front of him remained empty. 

You briefly wondered if you could do it—you weren’t after all bad at chess, being a past player in high school. Not that you won more than three competitions, joining the team was purely an excuse for extra credits and to get out of physical education. 

Could you do it?

Could you walk up to a complete male stranger and ask for a game?

Could you take the rejection that may come with it?

Gnawing on your lip, you found yourself moving closer and closer, steps quiet and hesitant but each shuffle ringing in your ear. His eyes, feeling the change in the wind and your upcoming presence, met yours—both wide-eyed and unsure.

He seemed to be just like you, a doe-eyed deer stepping out of their hiding for predators lying in the wait. A gust of breath escaped your lips, a measly amount of strength returning to your tightly strung body.

“H-hi,” you whispered. 

He blinked before clearing his throat. “Hi, how can I—” his gaze tracking the path of your gaze, the opposite black pieces on the chess board. “Do you, do you want to play?”

You timidly smiled. “If you’d have me, yes.” 

“Yes,” a smile forming on his face, hands fighting to push the wayward curls behind his pinking ears. “Of course, please.” 

Gingerly seating on the marbled seat, you muttered a ‘thank you’ under your breath, one you were sure he didn’t hear.

No words were exchanged further as he moved his white pieces with grace. It was a complete contrast to yours, rusty and unsure even to that moment as to what you were actually doing seating in front of a chess genius. That was who he was, you realized, as he ate another of your pawn. Perhaps this was why no one dared to occupy the seat. He was no outsider or meek prey, he was the king (or prince) and the predators of all chess enthusiasts in the group.

You could feel the heat from the gazes of the spectators, other tables long abandoned to view and scrutinize the eventual downfall of the challenger. Whispers of strategies under their breaths and shakes of their head as they predict the next thirty-seventh move. 

Briefly you wondered if you should just call it quits, wanting to hide from the pressure. But isn’t this a prime opportunity to take further steps away from your comfort zone? Isn’t that was your therapist would have wanted? Perhaps, you were expecting rejection in the beginning and now that you were in the thick of it, you wished that it had come instead. The sweet ‘no’ from his handsome stranger’s lips rather than feeling your nerves fray from the trap laid in front of you—a pawn in perfect position to take his queen on c1. 

“Would you like to take a break?” he asked, expecting his voice to be filled with mockery and superiority, but rather was coated with the sweet, worrying tone you’d expect from a doting grandmother. 

Shaking your head no, moving your king away from endangerment—g8 to h7. 

Your opponent smiled before quickly taking his turn with a pawn. 

The game continued on in such manner, give and take, between two strangers turned opponents. You could feel the end coming as his moves further stalled, now requiring the handsome stranger to assess the remaining pieces on the board to his gain. In turn, you studied him. 

The ends of his hair brushing against the middle of his long neck. Its’ roots sticking to his forehead, shiny from perspiration. Sleeves of his button down haphazardly folded to expose his forearm and one subtle vein that disappears and appears as he moves. You doubted he was any older but the underlying confidence brimming underneath his humility made you think he’d been exposed to the underbelly of the world, long before you did. 

Seven moves later, he flashed you another smile—bigger and more joyous than you’ve seen. “Draw.”

The spectators stilled into silence. A rarity, one of the older gentlemen whispered under their breath before everyone brought into an applause. 

It happened in a flash causing breath to be caught in your throat. You’ve done it. The game was over. You’ve gone above and beyond from what your therapist had asked you to do—her “rejection therapy” leading you to an unknown you couldn’t wait to explain.

“Good game,” he breathed out.

You nodded, watching as his right hand reached out in between, casting a shadow on his knocked over king. “Oh—” lifting your hands in front of you to act as a barrier. “I’m not much of a—the number of pathogens passed during a handshake—”

“Is staggering. It’s actually safer to kiss,” he continued on before chuckling to himself, hand still extended out regardless of the trivia being shared between you two. “Not that I’m saying we should but yeah, I’m not much of a ‘handshake-r’ myself.” 

Giggling, you slowly reached for his awaiting hand, giving him a way out before both palms met and fingers locked around it. 

It was warm, like the sun that was no longer hiding behind the curtain of clouds, like a tumbler of freshly brewed coffee made by your favorite barista. 

“I’m Spencer. Spencer Reid.”

Your cheeks heated. “Nice to meet you, Spencer Reid. I’m Y/N.”

Hands still firmly connected across the chess game long forgotten, both of you seemingly unwilling to let go of the physical connection.

He cleared his throat. “Would you like to play again sometime?”

“If you’d have me again, yes.” Briefly biting your lip before taking another brave step, creating another ‘rejection therapy’ moment. “Or we could have coffee or tea sometime?”

You waited with bated breath. 

The corners of his eyes crinkled and another breathtaking smile painted his face.

“I’d like that. I’d really like that.” 

Comments & reblogs are highly appreciated!

[brynn-lear]

The Abduction of King (Y/n) [Yandere Mydei x Reader]

A/n: Here I go, an asexual trying to learn how to write smut, so bear with me as I start this journey. Also, note that this story presumably happens after the entire Amphoreus Quests, so I’m running under assumptions on how the story ends. I enjoyed writing this reader. It’s always refreshing to write nice people turned feral.

Unreliable Synopsis: The new Stellaron Hunter, King (Y/n), is always welcome to visit the Express. Life has a way of changing a person… And Mydei couldn't accept his beloved’s new “whatever will be, will be” attitude.

CW/Tags: female reader (“King” is your title), slight hurt/comfort, yandere!mydei, toxic relationship, heavily implied one-sided sunday/reader, mild violence, and dubcon elements 

To smell and taste pomegranate juice— such were your aspirations before living the life you have now. 

You are simultaneously at the lowest and highest point of your life.

Being falsely accused of "matricide" was an unpredictable way to achieve that wish, yet you are nonetheless grateful for the hand you dealt with. You'd dare say it's a blessing in disguise. Despite your retainer’s blatant “betrayal”, you were thankful he had ground your knees against gravel and harsh pebbles. If anything, he wrote you a lovely story.

(Y/n) was exposed to have “murdered” her mother, the King, in the Charmony Festival.

Former King (Y/n) originally fled her mysterious unknown planet.

Former King (Y/n) joined the Stellaron Hunters soon after.

Exciting, is it not? Crimes you hadn't committed weighed intolerably upon you. Your planet, Amphoreus, wouldn't dare open its mouth for a choir. No tears shall be collected in jars should you perish, instead, your funeral will be basked with laughter. Daidalos is not a forgiving nation. The Daidalosan Cathedrals would sooner strike a beloved saint’s statue down than a chord from your songs. 

You still vividly recall Kafka’s opaque stare through her tinted glasses. The playful yet empathetic smirk on her face served to entice you to her. She needn't use a whisper. Fate just had its way with you.

The Nameless get to shelter a wounded bird, while the Hunters take on a new apprentice.

As poetic as that sounds, your resolve isn't cruel and unfeeling. If it were, you doubt the Express would take kindly to your serene shenanigans.

You giggled. Truth be told, you were aware as to why March left in a hurry. 

You may hold yourself with sheer elegance and an astute gaze befitting of the crown, but behind it lies a mischievous streak that remains undetected. What can you say? Perhaps this sneakiness is an act of love. You do miss their company.

Several months ago, the Nameless went on a dangerous mission to Amphoreus. 

The unknown planet the galaxy you hailed from that the rest of the galaxy does not know?

That was Amphoreus.

 The very same planet you escaped from was the place Dan Heng and Stelle landed blindly.

Aside from Elio, only a single soul knows this one other dangerous fact: you cannot taste or smell anything— and fall victim to catatonic moods more capriciously than others. Your ailment does not terrify you more than Kafka’s lack of fear (ironically), Yingxing’s mara— and especially not more than Firefly’s syndrome. Just a scratch to your patchwork of problems. You had support. Your people once wholeheartedly gave you your flowers for the good you've done. And it pains you immensely how you cannot express genuine gratitude for it.

You may have been a great King, but Kephale never favored you. Unfortunately, you cannot resign to THEIR uneven-handedness much longer.

You are not a Chrysos Heir.

You are just an Amphoreus Tragedy.

It's no small wonder that you offered your life to Elio, hoping he'd one day pull out a feast that would satisfy your tastebuds. That day won't happen any time soon. Not that you mind.

Cause you'll get to see Stelle, Dan Heng, March, and Sunday suffer while drinking your horrendous drinks— if you're lucky, Himeko’s as well.

Ah, your seemingly earnest and just demeanor is truly a gift that keeps on giving. Your “friends” are gone. You stand on new ground, one that allows you to take the smallest things to heart.

Your mother’s “murder” is when you started noticing what matters in life.

Now, you enjoy the silence.

Listen deeply. The child in you that wasn’t allowed to. Let it heal.  

It’s what Kafka ordered you to do, and it was the best command a King could ever receive.

“Going somewhere?” 

You stopped walking and looked up from your phone. A familiar young boy standing by the doorway. He had a small smile on his face, despite barring the exit.

“Lord Elio?”

“Indeed,” he nodded. “This is your first time seeing me in this form. And I assure you, this won't be the last.”

Given his clairvoyant abilities, you figured that to be true.

“My apologies for not recognizing you, Lord Elio,” you frowned. “I'm afraid I have grown more accustomed to your feline form.”

“No need for apologies.”

He handed you a machete.

Machetes are your weapon of choice, and quite frankly, no other steel fits like a glove. The lances of Daidalos do not compare to the satisfying momentum brandishing a machete elicits. Unpolished. Unkingly. Unsightly.

Personally? 

… You thought they were cute.

They remind you of someone.

They say never bring a weapon to a fistfight, but that little prince never minded.

You cleared your throat but stopped yourself when Elio raised his hand, disinterested in how you would inevitably pay him back in credits or an equivalent.

"I-I am most grateful, yet I must inquire— what purpose does this serve?" You inclined your head slightly, your gaze steady. "Is there an urgent expedition that demands my attention?"

“If there was an emergency, there would have been a contingency plan beforehand.” The boy giggled, fixing his bow tie with a smug smile. “But no, I just urge you to take this on your way to the Express. Just in case a small miracle triggers. Which, I doubt.”

Hmm, there must be a threat later then. Shame. 

Elio cautioned you. “You might also regret wearing that.”

“Wearing what?”

“Red.”

You assessed your appearance. At first, you thought nothing wrong about your flinty rings and maroon pantsuit. “Does it not look good on me?”

“One might say it’s too good on you,” Elio muttered. “Let’s hope it doesn’t reach that point.”

“Understood.” You bowed.

“Lastly, King (Y/n)?” Elio shook his head. 

“Yes, my Lord?”

“Do not bow for me,” he exhaled, mildly exasperated by your antics. “You are one of us. You are a Stellaron Hunter, do you understand?”

“Yes, of course, my Lo—”

“None of that either!”

“Yes… Elio.”

“Better,” the young boy opened the exit.

Then, he opened his eyes. It's those piercing blue shades that make you both uncomfortably seen and relievedly accepted.  

“Next time you come back, we'll have a giant feast for your return. No pomegranates. It's a feast that may just be more memorable than your previous birthday celebrations.” Elio’s grin widened. “Truth is, once our prodigal King returns, she shall become a Stellaron Hunter.”

No pomegranates? Become a Stellaron Hunter? What an odd choice of words— and aren't you already a hunter?

Does it even matter?

You can’t taste anything.

You laughed. Elio loves your laugh for it was always a whole, hearty, and joyous sound. A laugh befitting a king. 

“Much like my favorite bard, I do not understand a word out of you. However, do not worry—” You stepped out the door. 

“I am looking forward to it!”

“I'm ashamed I can't show you a better sight when you've been enthused to visit. What a pity. I cannot stand to present to you such weaklings.”

“Weaklings, you say.” You muttered. “Little prince, their rib cages are stretched open with limbs bleeding out. This torture you call training outmatches the way we Daidalosans treat prisoners.”

You picked up the tortured gladiator’s weapon.

It was a machete.

“Was it necessary to torture them…?”

“Δασκάλα μου (My teacher), they have insulted you and Daidalos. I cannot allow such slander to the former.”

You saw the intense sincerity in his eyes and turned away.

No matter how many times you have rejected his heart, he continues to court you in ways that disturb many.

“You care too much about me. I hope you would spare such care for your gladiators instead.”

“And you care too little about yourself. This is precisely why your nation fears our military might, King (Y/n). Make no mistake, everyone suffers in their imagination more often than in reality.” He scoffed. “Even these soldiers.”

█████ laughed. To him, this is one of many days where no one remembered the fallen except for spectators such as yourself. █████ watched as your eyes batted over the strewn rubble where your grandfather’s soldiers once fought for the realm’s peace. He saw conflict in those (e/c) eyes. A dead silent remorse for faces you have never truly seen.

Even so, you smiled sadly. 

That smile was out of place in Prince █████'s Spoliarium.

“███, that may be your opinion, but our mind IS our reality. It may seem overdramatic and unreasonable to you, but the pain is not any less real.”

“We seriously need to master how to make coffee before (Y/n) gets here….”

“Don't worry so much, Dan Heng, we at least persuaded Himeko to visit Herta so that's one big bomb deactivated!”

“... should you be adding that much Halovian sugar? I believe that unhealthy proportions are against many culinary rules.”

“Rules? What rules, Sunday? Nah. These are guidelines.” 

“What— Stelle, NO!!!”

You snorted a sound that does not sound elegant in the slightest. Both Dan Heng and March 7th apprehended their callous friend. Sunday’s wings perked up upon hearing you, and a smile formed on his face before he even knew it. Meanwhile, the three only took notice of you when they successfully extracted the sugar from her hands.

You placed a hand on your mouth, hiding any impolite laughter.

“I've just arrived, and it sounds like an interesting conversation. Shame, I should've arrived moments prior.”

“(Y/n)! Nonsense, you came at a perfect time.” Sunday sauntered joyfully, standing up to usher you toward Shush’s counter. “There's a seat beside me, please come here.”

“Look at him, already making the moves,” March whispered to Stelle, snickering.

Stelle, a master of the stoic expression, only nodded. “Let him cook.”

Dan Heng rolled his eyes, ignoring the two.

“King (Y-”

“Just (Y/n), please.” You pouted. “You are all an equal to me.”

“... (Y/n).” Dan Heng scratched his neck. “About the brewing session…”

Your questions were lost in Dan Heng’s recitals of Himeko leaving for Herta’s Space Station, Stelle’s failed attempts at brewing her cup (it somehow turns into alcohol-like beverages), and the crew’s insistence that the next batch should follow online recipes. This made you laugh more than you thought you would. So, you decided to drop the idea altogether, to everyone’s relief.

“Instead, we can talk about our last journey instead, how about it?” Stelle offered.

Your smile stiffened.

“Ah, yes, I believe that was in…”

“Amphoreus!” March grinned. “The pictures Dan Heng and Stelle took were so nice. Here, let me get it—”

“There is no need for that.”

You spoke a little too quickly.

More perceptive than you thought, the crew noticed your sudden change.

“(Y/n)?” Sunday spoke, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Is something wrong?”

“I know why.” Stelle pushed away from the table, upsetting her chair before theatrically balancing herself back. She then went on carelessly:

“It’s because she’s from Amphoreus.”

March’s eyes widened. “WHAT?!”

You looked away, sighing. “Shush, do you have a bottle of Retsina wine?”

“Wait, w-where did you get this information, Stelle?” Dan Heng shook her slightly. “I don’t recall hearing that—”

“She’s the former King of Daidalos, which is far away from Okhema. Honestly, I just saw it around stone tablets. Daidalos is a long-fallen land of artisans. People thought she died by execution because no one believed she did reach beyond the sky. They also say she’s the mentor and childhood crush of crown prince M—”

“You know a lot and you never thought to tell us about ANY this?!” March gawked. “What the heck Stelle!?!”

“I just thought it wasn’t that important.”

“Yes, yes it is!!!”

While the three argued over details, Sunday took the bottle from Shush and poured you a glass. There’s a look of understanding in his eyes, and he won’t ask unless you want him to. You gave him a small smile, acknowledging his empathy.

“You look rather pale, have those Hunters done something to you?” Sunday inquired, his unease blatant. “Is it your mission? Have they been asking the impossible?”

“What? No. My workload is infinitely a lot less weighty than the crown.” You grinned, teasing. “It's all light work.”

He figured he had nothing else of value to add. Still, his eyes were skewed. Sunday won't be dropping the issue any time soon.

“Then why do you look kinda miserable?” Stelle asked.

“Steeeeelle! C’mon, watch your mouth. How do you always sound so offensive?” March whined.

You placed a hand on your head. “Hmm, I shall not lie, nightmares have been mostly a root cause for my unsightly and dim appearance as of late. Pathetic, I am aware—”

“Nightmares?” Dan Heng shifted his body forward, closer to you. “Like what?”

“I dream of an old… friend a lot more frequently.” You paused. Should you be saying this? “And more often than not, I'm being… chased… by him.”

Both Stelle and March looked at Dan Heng. He bit his bottom lip, thinking. 

“... Where is your new mission?”

“Elio has given me no command,” You sighed deeply. “He declared that the plans are already set in motion, and it falls upon me to rise to the occasion, whatever challenge it may be that calls upon me.”

“Oof. Good luck.” Stelle said, but the air of those words seems a little more knowing.

March chuckled nervously. “Yikes…”

Sunday had no comment. Instead, he also poured himself a drink.

“I'd be wary if I were you.” Dan Heng’s gaze was astutely focused on yours. “I've been through something similar. Nightmares, that is.”

"Is that so?" You murmured, swirling the coffee in your cup with an air of detached curiosity. "And what transpired thereafter?"

“...”

March 7th laughed, uneasy.

“Well, uh, it kinda came true?” March’s eyebrow furrowed, wearing a strained smile. “It's good though, Blade didn't actually kill him so…?”

“March.”

“I'm sorry, it was just too silent, I couldn't stand it!”

“... What were the dreams like? Can you elaborate?”

You paused at Sunday’s questions.

█████ towered over your chained form, clenching an open letter in his strong hands. His knuckles were white from the sheer anger he held them.

“Entertaining a love letter, are we?”

He sneered.

“How dare you consider suitors other than myself?”

█████ knelt down and harshly grabbed your chin.

“Shall I pluck his feathers out for you?”

“Cold.” 

You muttered. “Lacks warmth.”

Sunday has never been this tempted to get into someone’s mind.

Dan Heng placed a hand on his chin. 

“Anything else? Like vivid smells or tastes?”

You laughed. “Are those things important?”

“Sorta?” March quipped.

“Is that so…” You wouldn’t know. Both senses eluded you.

…

…

Suddenly, you had willed your words into existence.

“!!!”

Someone uninvited has entered the Express.

An immediate tension gripped everyone’s lungs, and each heart in the vicinity quickened. A subtle shift, imperceptible yet undeniable, stirred them all. A silent warning. Eyes darted nervously, glances exchanged with no words. The Nameless knew that something was about to emerge. The weight of the unknown pressed heavily upon their shoulders, and though none dared speak it aloud, they could feel it— whatever was coming was drawing near.

The lights flickered and died out.

“LOOK OUT!!!”

Enshrouded by a ghost who trailed behind, you grabbed Sunday and jumped away. The sound of metal rang. None of you could see the other. Pompom’s screams, asking for what was happening, droned on inside the other car. 

You must’ve barely dodged that attack. Swiftly, you brandished your machete. Instincts that infiltrated each inch of your veins screamed that the intruder you faced was a familiar soul. Your body warmth congealed a hand’s breadth below the blade’s sharp rim. It’s been a while since you felt this threatened.

This excited.

You sported a boyish grin. Been a long long while since you had felt true risk— a real divergence from your tolerable comfort zone.

“Come and face me in the light, coward.”

The figure drew their already built frame taller to stiffen their pride.  You spun to the side, narrowly avoiding a crushing blow that tore through the air. Your instincts were sharp.

With a final joining of force and momentum, you swung your machete with half of your strength.

It met the shadow’s fists, causing an ear-bleeding stalemate of metal against metal.

Seconds passed, and it was clear that an impasse had been reached.

You both pulled away— and the figure ignited a fire within his palms.

As if your eyes were spiked with visions of red and yellow— you squinted at the strange man. His bare skin and intense eyes are enough to make the common man buckle his knees and tremble. 

But you know that face.

It's the one soul who knows your secrets.

You paled.

“... Dei?”

That face, though aged, belonged to the young boy you taught patiently. The same stubborn boy who wanted peace for his people even though the chances were slim. The only person who would vouch for your innocence. The kid who you secretly envied for his cursed immortality— for his status as a Chrysos Heir.

The little prince who wanted you beside HIS throne.

It was Dei himself. 

Crown Prince Mydeimos of Kremnos— the land of Daidalos’ “worst enemy”.

“Dei” grinned. He languidly raised his head, his gaze towering above you. A shadow clouded his face and settled in his eye.

You, who had reduced his name to one syllable on the day you met, was the first woman he had come to admire ardently.

Riotous pomegranate wines that hedonistically spill in white table cloths that adjoin themselves like countries on a map— saintly garbs donned by faces achieving a carnal state of euphoria— those were the images that describe Daidalos to the crown prince. Holy, but unrighteous. 

Yet, when the sky brightly illuminated your face at the outdoor picnic you extended the invite to, the Prince was royally smitten. Humbly, you were dressed only in a simple sundress. No accessories or cloaks to elevate yourself. In the seeded topsoils of the plains, you were the most natural beauty to behold.

Mydeimos had grown obsessed with the consistent air of absentminded integrity you carry as King. It was not an aura he had the privilege of carrying. But he will live that life vicariously through you.

“Δασκάλα μου. (My teacher.) Kαρδιά μου. (My heart.)” The prince scoffed an airy smirk. Not a word can describe his smug satisfaction. “Found you, at long last.”

Chrome, gold, and pomegranate red.

Those had always been his colors.

And that included the color of…

“You adorn yourself in every color but red, is there a reason why?”

“Red is more of your color, little prince.” You humored him. “And a King wearing red is an omen for war. The same is said for our flag.”

“I see.”

… blood and war. A color entirely suited for his calling.

You froze without breathing, struck dumb.

How did he leave Amphoreus?!

You greeted with a frown.

“... Hello, little prince.”

You can’t believe this.

Leaving took you centuries to perfect!

How did he do it?!

Mydei instantly detected within you an erosion of self-assurance.

Just talking to him felt no different from downing some of Kafka’s fancy wines. While you consider yourself above petty theft, this situation compels you to understand her deeply. You, too, would pocket Dreamjolt Hostelry’s alcohol to an amount you felt was just after talking to this prince.

He recklessly held your blade. The Chrysos Heir thrust your weapon’s handle against your palm whilst his own bled profusely.

It had always been difficult to challenge an opponent with no self-preservation.

“Has joining these intergalactic bandits stripped you of every bit of decorum, King (Y/n)?” He shook his head. Taking advantage of your paralyzed state, the prince yanked the machete away, allowing it to pelt to the floor with a harsh thud. 

The prince leaned down to kiss your hand, but the sudden pause shocked both you and him.

“Where is it?” He spoke gravely with murderous rage.

You pursed your lips. “Where is what, Prince Mydeimos?”

“Your ring.” Mydei spoke. “The Daidalos King’s ring.”

A laugh escapes your lips. One without any semblance of humor.

“It is a ring that adorns only the hand of a King, does it not? Yet I, alas, no longer bear such a title. You may put those facts together to form your conclusion.” You answered, nose turned up snobbishly. 

He glared.

The prince threw what was assumed to be a warp device that formed a distortion that connected the Express to Amphorous. Your eyes widened and you snapped back to make eye contact with Stelle. 

You only had a second to think.

“CALL KAFKA!!!—”

“(Y/n)!!!”

But before they could reach and save you, you and the intruder disappeared.

Just as there was no consensus if the Nameless should involve themselves in this matter or not, no trailblazer had the same opinion of following suit aligned with their beliefs. Sunday desperately tried to have everyone on his side, whereas the wiser of the crowd had more sway with their stable voices. The three only had to watch and wait for Kafka to arrive. 

Until then, the express was silent.

Crown Prince Mydeimos, son of Gorgo, may not be the sharpest of men— but he lived a proud life.

“That Prince again, how many more of our King’s time shall he exhaust?!”

“I do not know myself, Aitherios, but he certainly does not mean well.”

“And we are to let that man linger in our castle?”

“I suppose so.”

“But Luminia!—”

He had never hid his true self. There, Mydei would stand, taking no more notice of them than they are of him. Though usually unrestrained, he would hold himself back for those who spat venom were your people. People you had loved and cherished for centuries longer than you’ve known him. 

And he is no one but a person you’d go to picnic with on a sunny day.

Despite his raging mind, he kept his mouth shut about your unpleasant servants. He’d bear the pain of every word. He’d even accept lashes and whips if it meant he could sit beside you in your favorite picnic spot another day.

He stays rooted in a field where he does not belong.

That was how much Mydei loves you.

"Alas, it is a sorrow that your visit is swift. Had it been under better circumstances, I would have bid you stay and witness an Epic with me thereafter." You sighed, placing the teacup under your lips. "The young lad, who once struggled to wield a greatsword, now holds the power to lay waste to my very castle at his will. How swiftly the years slip away..."

Mydei’s gaze softened. 

On his frequent idle days, he systematically fit visiting Daidalos in his schedule. This is all in hopes that someday, you’d see him beyond what nostalgia portrays.

Why can’t you see that he obsesses over you the way a man would to his woman?

Frustrating how YOUR visits became less warm and less frequent. Was it custom only that bound the two of you? That cannot be so. You refer to him beyond his station, as he does to you as well. 

Surely, you feel the same beating as he does?

There is no other possibility, is there?

The only thing that stands between you two and the altar must be the crowns you both will and have been carrying. If your people only loved him—- if both your people only cared for one another instead of a constant rivalry for Nikador’s gaze.

"It must be so. As it stands, the folk of Daidalos and Kremnos are far from sharing the civil discourse you and I enjoy." Mydei gently set his cup upon the blanket spread across the verdant earth. "In the quietest recesses of my heart, I wish for a day when my people might share a picnic with yours."

“Do you wish me to crayon a series of plans?” You teased.

“Do not mock me, King (Y/n).”

“The offer for a treaty stands.” You shrugged, your face turned solemn. “That is unless the brutal culture of Kremnos has a better idea of peace?” 

Mydei chuckled.

“How about an abduction?”

“H-Hah—”

His lips claim yours in a fierce, desperate kiss. It's as if a dam has broken, all of his pent-up desire and longing pouring out at once. His calloused hands tighten around its grip, holding you close as he deepens the kiss— his tongue tastes you with the desperation he's not articulate enough to voice. You'll just have to take him as he is. Rogue and animalistic.

You punched his chest. As expected, he didn't falter. Instead, his gaze was tender and his breathing was more… pleased.

“Y-You look ravishing in red.” He smirked. "And to think that bird thought he could please you the way I do."

A husky, ragged moan sneaked out of his lips as he seemingly devoured and shared his heat with yours in unison. No escape. This was far from comfortable. Your back was pinned on the cold Spoliarium walls. You gasped as you felt the subtle and slow motion of his hips grind against your smaller frame. Mydei tilted your head to the side slightly to deepen the kiss.

The worst part? Both your eyes were open, for two reasons on the opposite side of the same spectrum.

He wants to watch his cornered prey, and you're his frozen fawn.

A few years ago, you had shown him mercy in hopes he’d do the same. His eyes were a murderer’s eyes, his hands were a murderer’s arms. But he is without sin. Mydei did not choose to have a murderer’s eyes and hands. And you had refused that he will be treated as such.

You should have.

Just when you felt your eyes fluttering shut at the immediate danger of passing out— the prince graciously pulled away. You saw a sliver of saliva disconnect between both your lips. Almost insane how this had your legs threatening to lay on the floor. The fact that you can barely stand from his intensity boosted a pride greater than a long spar in him. 

Then, the prince hoisted your thighs up and forced them to wrap around him. Your back hasn't had a single moment wherein it hasn't had contact with the wall. Your body hasn't had a single moment wherein you haven't had contact with his warm skin. Your gaze was pathetically unfocused.

“N-Not…” You couldn't help but jest, like old times. “H-How I expected to have my first kiss.”

You felt your spine shiver but had the strength to not make that undirected fear known. Nothing feels right about that place. His Spoliarium was too cold, too dusty, yet his hands were too hot like a forever sun in his palm.

Slowly, he cupped your cheek. Even that loving gesture was rough and intrusive.

Mydei scarcely had a definition for what romance is.

“The fault is your own for expecting gentleness from me.” Mydei brought his lips to your ear. You shivered as he leaned down and nibbled your neck.

Divine. 

You tasted divine. If only you could taste him too, then maybe you'd be more enthused for a “rougher” expression of intimacy. If he could take you now—

You shrank back, terrified. Mydei has been difficult to read on occasion, but tonight his thoughts are blatant and disturbing. You hope your instinct was wrong.

“T-Truth be told, I expect no intimacy from you. I-Is this a—” you panted, weakly gripping his muscular arm. No matter how much willpower you had, you couldn't stand upright. “—form of punishment? I-I wasn't aware Aglaea has e-employed you to guarantee my c-capture.”

“I came of my own volition.” Unbeknownst to you, Mydei’s glare was chilling. “How dare you assume I'd betray you.”

“How dare I, indeed…” You winced. “Why did you come here—”

Unfortunately, the prince was quick to forestall further questions. You helped from the sudden jolt of both pain and pleasure as he bit your neck harshly while he slowly rubbed his hips against you. Mydei was leaving too many marks in his wake. The heat was becoming unbearable.

You gripped a fistful of his hair, hoping to yank him off. “M-Mydei— in Kephale’s name, I command you to—”

“You wanted this.”

He pulled away, and you cursed yourself for feeling almost needy as he created a reasonable distance between you two.

“King— no, MY (Y/n).” Mydei took strands of your hair, kissing it innocently but his eyes were anything but. “I have desired you for too long as well.”

His hand slid under your shirt. You jolted as he squeezed your waist. 

There are times his replies slip so easily that it makes you question their sincerity. This was not one of them.

“I presume with that visage that you’re regularly, at the very least, 3 hours of obliterating sleep.” He pulled your shirt up. “May I know the names of the men who’d find themselves in my Spoliarium soon?”

You almost mentioned Elio in defense of the Hunters, but kept your mouth shut.

“Curse you, Mydeimos.”

He clicked his tongue, snaking his fingers around your neck.

“What dishonorable struggle. I never thought you would have cold feet.” Mydei lightly tightened his grip on your throat. “I offered an abduction, and you agreed.”

“W-What? What abduction?”

Cold feet?

"Reflect further. You possess wisdom far greater than mine."

Your eyebrows furrowed, remembering the conversation. “I only replied because I thought it was said in jest!”

“I am not a man who would jest about entering such a solemn union.” He growled. "You know well that I speak with the full gravity of truth in every word I say."

You paused.

…

Cold feet. Abduction…

Wait…

“Abductions, are they a ritual of sorts…?”

Mydei closed his eyes, huffing in mild amusement.

“...You did not understand that custom, did you?”

“N-No…”

He leaned his face closer, his breath touching your skin.

“Marriage.” His gaze softened. “It is a marriage custom in Kremnos. You have verbally agreed to marry me. And I shall reap what promise is owed to me.”

You felt your energy drain away. A sickening chill.  

Most of your life— it was spent on becoming a perfect ruler. You were chalk honed and clawed with lessons upon lessons upon lessons of strength and wit. Your family did not care if you were even made of a fragile core. But chalk is brittle. Chalk cannot withstand any more of this madness. This lack of human regard. This inhumane treatment. 

You do not love Dei.

You can never bring yourself to love the prince you thought of as a little brother.

“B-But I… I do not…”

“You do not love me. I have heard that lie from you several times.” He kissed your hand. “You have stabbed and buried me several times, yet I will continue to crawl back in your arms.”

Mydei chuckled.

“And tomorrow, we shall have our wedding despite it all.”

He saw how the despair dawned on you. You were shaking. Your breath was shallow and uneven, and he noticed the twitch in your hands, far too unlikely the steadiness of the former warrior King of Daidalos.

No one truly listens to the King.

You are more puppet than king, and everyone revered you for it. You only do what is required of you. What was needed of you. What was desired of you. 

No one truly hears what you wish for yourself. No one cared enough to know you were hungry for the true sensations of what tastes and smells truly are. No one asked you questions as to why you were obsessed with observing nature in the first place. Each person just approaches your throne in hopes they’ll take what they want. No one listens, except for…

This was the part he had anticipated— the fear, the panic, the realization that you were trapped. But instead, you did something... unexpected.

“... Hah… Haha!”

And then, slowly, something twisted inside. The edges of your lips curled upward— at first, just a flicker. You clutched at her chest as though trying to hold yourself together. Your laugh broke free, starting in a soft, broken sound that grew louder, more manic until it was a full-throated, deranged cackle.

Marriage? 

Right.

“Going somewhere?” 

“Lord Elio?”

“Indeed. This is your first time seeing me in this form. And I assure you, this won't be the last.”

“Next time you come back, we'll have a giant feast for your return. No pomegranates. It's a feast that may just be more memorable than your previous birthday celebrations. Truth is, once our prodigal King returns, she shall become a Stellaron Hunter.”

Elio promised you a feast.

Who are you to say no?

You gave him a mugshot smile only a criminal with an enormous bounty would wear.

You were no longer King (Y/n) of Daidalos.

“Is that so?” You grinned wider.

You were (Y/n), the prodigal Stellaron Hunter.

If he haunted your dreams for so long,

you’ll just have to haunt him back.

You harshly grabbed him by his necklace, your breath fanning his face. A giggle escaped your lips at his shocked expression. You swerved and pushed him until your positions switched. With one hand, you clawed both his cheeks, staring at him with an empty glare while the other hand slowly uncloaked him...

"If that is the challenge you present, then I bid you bring forth your utmost strength, dear Husband."

Taglist: @naraven, @macaronilovingracoon, @notthefib987, @chryseis-lxve

Actor!au behind the scenes for this fic: Blooper 1, Interview with Sunday,

[dumbbitchgalore]

Part 2: Just thinking about old man Price with an erectile dysfunction 💕

Continuation of this

Period hormones cause me to become horny by the weridest shit

Head bobbing up and down as her precum-mixed salivia dribbled down his cock, down his balls and onto the lust-stained bedsheets. He tries his hardest to not give away any signs of pleasure or satisfaction, it'll only rile her up more and cause her to do more work in fulfilling his contentment. He didn't want that. He shouldn't want that. His cherished angel shouldn't have to please him, that is not her job.

John was a man who reveled in the pleasing her and making her cum over and over again. Her cum-drunk expression was a vice he made sure to indulge in, soaking in the portrait of orgasmic gratification on her face as she is rendered speechless. Her breathy pants and soft sighs brought a salacious glimmer to his eyes. Oh his oh so perfect sweetheart.

She takes him all the way to the hilt of his soft cock, gagging slighty. She breathes through her nose to let an sliver of oxgyen to her brain, allowing her to think about how to best to make her love feel the appreciated. At the sound of her slight keck, John tries to push her head away from him. But his darling protests, moving his hand away before it can tangle into her hair and pull her off his cock. She whines. There is no way in hell John is going to stop her from doing what she wants to do and right now she wants to shower his dick with all the love in the world.

She suck his tip before letting go with a 'pop' noise.

"Please let me do this. I wanna make you feel good like how you make me feel good all the time. I want this, John." She mutter softly, nuzzling her cheek against his stupid, fat cock.

Before he can protest, she gives his head a few kitten licks. John gasps, choking back a moan that threaten to escape his mouth. Pressing soft, sweet kissess all over his limp dick, she giggles softly to herself. God, she loved this. Loved him, loved worshipping ever single part of him no matter how well it works. Her love deserves to feel good.

She moans softly as she licks and sucks the tip. She fondales with his balls enjoying how they feel in her hand. Her jaw begins to tire as she suckles his dick. Her eyes glossy, submerged with ecstacy as she looks up at him through her lashes.

John looks down at her. Fuck, she's hot. Hot and hardworking. He feels bad but knows that he can't stop his girl from persuing her ministrations so he lets her continue, no longer protesting.

He throws his head back, covering his eyes with the back of his forearm. He groans softly, singing her praise like the choir of a church caroling wholeheartedly. Shit, this feels good, too good.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He thinks to himself.

A familiar feeling returns, one that he hasn't felt in a long time. His insides coil up, threatening to snap at a moment's notice. She feels it too. His leaky cock on the tip of her tongue, salty yet sureal. She savours the taste as her work comes to fruition.

Snap.

A gutteral moan leaves his mouth as he arches his back. The unknown feel of release washing over his aching body as John's back slightly arches. She feels into too. It invades her mouth, unexpected but welcoming. She moans softly, not caring about the bitter, pungent taste. She did it, she can't believe she actually did it.

Coming down from cloud 9, John looks down at her. She still has her pretty, plump lips wrapped around his head confused as to what happened. Hell, he's surprised too.

She lets go of his cock, her mouth empty as the only thing remains is the remnants of his cum on her tongue. His still limp cock rests against his abdomen, glittering in the leftovers of his orgasm. Her eye's glimmer in wonderment as if she's opened the Pandora Box.

Panting softly, she looks up at him as she wipes her lips. She chuckles softly, giddy with excitement.

"You liar. I thought you said that I couldn't make you come."

(What the hell did I write? lol)

[anamina0]

Echoes

Part I , Part II , Part III , Part IV , Part V , Part VI, Part VII , Part VIII

Summary: Fleeing the wreckage of your heartbreak, you land in the chaos of Zaun, pouring drinks at a dingy bar. You're still facing unresolved feelings and emotions towards Ellie, but they’re easier to bury when Vi storms into your life—a whirlwind of sharp words and reckless energy. You start off bad, really bad but it's enough for you to think of something else for a bit.

warnings/themes : angst, heartbreak, lots of trauma, kind of enemies to lovers, unresolved feelings, a bit of violence, au

word count : 3.8k

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Back at it again, falling just where you started , completely alone , full of sorrow and regrets. Moving away to a completely unknown place was the best escape plan - literally. You knew nothing about this city, save for a few stories your best friend had told you. Yet, even the thought of staying in the same place as her couldn’t outweigh your choice - you'd rather wander off Zaun's shadowed streets, losing yourself for a lifetime than remain bound to the familiar.

City was close to what you have imagined. The fractures that happened few years ago helped to a great extent , after decades of suffering, the city had finally exhaled, though it had not lost its soul. Cleansed of its grime, its fumes, and its shadowed figures, the streets and the people remained exactly as your friend had described them—a perfect echo of her tales.

Finding a job wasn't hard , from now on you'd serve drinks in one of the city’s dim, suspiciously isolated bars—barely more than a shadow in the corner of a forgotten street. Pay wasn't good but it was enough for an apartment and food, nothing else mattered to you. You were trying your best to take as many shifts as you could, working whole night helped you not think about her , during daytime you would typically crash out , exhausted from your job. And yet, she always found a way to reappear.

At the bar, you distracted yourself by watching customers. Most of them came for a drink and a chance to ease their burdens, but for you, the real game was observing them—piecing together their stories from a glance, a gesture, a half-heard conversation. Sometimes , thought of her would reappear . Something would remind you of her scent, her voice, slipping into your mind without warning. But you had mastered the art of distraction, shifting your focus before the memories could take root.

It was in your dreams where she would visit most frequently, escape from her was almost impossible, as though she determined to remind you of what you wanted to forget: that no change of address, no new life, could erase her. She was etched into you, inescapably, a part of you as much as your own breath. But you had to move on , that's what you were best at, carrying pain and suffering throughout your life, god knows you've been doing that since the day you were born.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Can we talk?” she asked, her tone calm but firm, as she stepped closer to you.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “Ellie,” you whispered, bracing yourself for the inevitable fallout. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.” The words spilled out in a shaky breath.

Her green eyes searched yours, unreadable but sharp. “Why is that?” she asked, her voice softer now, almost careful.

“You already know why,” you said, your gaze flickering over her face—her furrowed brow, the tightness in her jaw. Anxiety clawed at your chest, every emotion colliding at once: fear, anger, love, and a desire that burned despite everything. Losing her wasn’t an option, not like this.

“That’s the problem,” she said, stepping even closer, her boots scraping softly against the floor. “I don’t know why. You told me how you felt and then ran off, didn’t even wait for my answer.” Her voice broke slightly, frustration seeping through, though she was clearly trying to hold it together—for your sake. “That’s not fair.”

“I couldn’t take it anym—” you began, but your trembling words cut short as Ellie moved.

Her forehead rested against yours, her breath warm and steady against your skin. “I need you,” she whispered, her voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. “More than you could ever need me.”

“Nothing’s going to change that,” she said, her voice unwavering now, as if it was the most certain truth in the world.

* * * * * * * * *

Once again, your own screams tore you from sleep, Ellie had found her way into your dreams.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, the echo of her voice lingered in your ears. You glanced at the clock hanging crookedly on the wall and exhaled in relief—it was almost time for another shift.

You moved through your routine on autopilot: a quick shower, clothes and out the door. The walk to the bar felt like a blur, your thoughts still tangled with fragments of the dream you couldn’t shake.

“Hey there,” you greeted Revek, arguably only person who could be considered as your friend in Zaun , as you stepped behind the counter.

He glanced at you with that signature smirk of his, tossing his apron onto the counter. “Well, well, look who decided to show up. Twenty minutes late, no less.” Leaning against the bar, he crossed his arms and tilted his head. “Alright, what is it this time? Lost your keys? Got cornered by some hooligans? Or let me guess—lost track of time again?” His smirk widened as he tapped the counter, signaling for his usual drink.

“Cut me some slack, you asshole,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “It’s not like they’re paying me enough to show up on time.” You reached for the shaker, pouring his drink without missing a beat. “I just… had a bad dream, alright?”

The smirk faded slightly as he took the cup from your hand, his gaze softening. “Not again,” he said, his tone shifting to something more serious. He took a long sip before adding, “You know, if you ever want to talk about it… I’m here.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you said quickly, brushing him off with a weak smile. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. Now scooch—you’re scaring off my customers.”

Revek gave you a knowing look, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he pushed himself off the barstool, raising the cup in a mock toast. “Fine, fine. Just don’t forget—I’ve got a hell of a good ear for this kind of thing.”

You watched him walk away, trying to shove down the unease crawling up your spine. Fixing your hair in the reflection of a glass, you turned to face the empty bar. The night was long, but at least behind the counter, you could pretend your mind wasn’t a battlefield.

The day had been dragging. The bar was dead slow, with only a few regulars stopping by for a drink and a bit of small talk. You made an effort to keep busy—wiping down the already spotless counter, rearranging bottles, polishing glasses—anything to make the hours pass. Not until she walked in. The air shifted instantly, the tension almost suffocating as the door swung shut behind her. You froze, your hand mid-reach for a glass, and looked up. You’d seen countless faces walk through those doors. From the desperate to the careless, from the downtrodden to the troublemakers, the bar had welcomed them all. Nobody ever stood out—nobody cared about anyone else here. That’s what you liked about this place. People came in, had their drinks, exchanged a few words, maybe played a game or two, and left as if they’d never existed to one another. But her? She shattered that silence like glass. You didn’t know who she was, but everyone else seemed to. Heads turned, conversations halted, and even the usual clamor of the old jukebox seemed to dull in her presence. She strode toward the bar, brushing off the stares that trailed her like shadows. It was obvious she didn’t give a single fuck about anyone in the room. Whatever power she held over the crowd, she didn’t seem interested in wielding it—at least, not tonight. Stopping at the counter, she gave the drinks menu the briefest glance before tapping the laminated surface with her finger.

"Can I have this?” she muttered, her voice low and uninterested, pointing to a drink. Then, without looking at you, she added, “Make it a double.”

“Sure thing,” you replied, watching her as you reached for the bottle. She didn’t meet your gaze, didn’t acknowledge you at all, but that only gave you the chance to study her features: pink hair cut into a sharp mullet, light blue eyes that didn’t seem to care about much, and freckles scattered across her nose like they’d been painted there.

“Here you go,” you said, sliding the drink toward her. She grabbed it without a word, her attention flickering to the room around her. Even now, she seemed utterly uninterested in you—or anyone else, for that matter. She didn’t sip the drink so much as down it, her throat working as the liquid disappeared almost too quickly. You found yourself leaning slightly forward, unable to look away. There was something about her, something impossible to read. You liked puzzles, and she was the hardest one you’d come across in a long time.

Who was she? Some kind of criminal? Or maybe she was the exact opposite? Why was she here? Trying to get drunk, or waiting for someone? Before you could settle on an answer, she tapped the counter sharply, her empty glass sitting in front of her. The message was clear. Another. You poured the drink without hesitation, the silence between you stretching long and tense. As you set the glass down, she didn’t so much as glance your way.

“You’re welcome,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm, hoping to at least provoke some kind of reaction.

It worked—but not the way you’d hoped. She turned her head, finally looking at you, and you almost wished she hadn’t. Her glare was sharp, cutting, and filled with barely-contained anger.

“Just do your job,” she said coldly, her voice low and cutting. “I didn’t come here for chitchat.”

She turned back to her drink, dismissing you entirely, but the tension she left behind lingered in the air, coiling around you like smoke. Whatever game you thought you were playing, she wasn’t interested.

“What an asshole,” you thought bitterly, dragging your gaze away from her and down to the bar. The question lingered in your mind—should you say something? Not because you couldn’t stand up for yourself, but because, you weren’t sure if she was even worth it.

She tossed back another drink, her sharp eyes cutting across the room as she motioned lazily for someone to come over.

“Again,” she muttered, her gaze flicking back to you. For a fleeting second, it softened—just barely. But the moment was gone as fast as it came, replaced by her usual aloofness when a tall man approached her with an appearance that screamed trouble. You busied yourself making another drink, ears pricked to catch their conversation.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here, Vi,” the man greeted her, his tone carrying an edge of wary excitement.

She chuckled dryly, grabbing her fresh glass without even looking at him.

“What are you playing over there?” she asked, dismissive, like she hadn’t even heard him.

He hesitated, glancing at his buddies like he was searching for backup. It was obvious he didn’t want her involved, but too afraid to say no.

“Just some boring cards,” he replied with a strained grin. “You’re, uh, welcome to join.”

“I’ll be right there.” Her words were ice-cold as she turned back to you. “Another one.”

You stared at her silently, letting your expression say everything your words didn’t. She noticed. Of course, she noticed.

But instead of acknowledging it, she took the drink you handed her and headed over to the table of men, sliding into a seat among the kind who spent their nights gambling away the last shreds of their dignity. Vi. That was her name. At least you had that much now. But she was still a puzzle—a unsolvable one. You watched her, lost in your thoughts, until Revek appeared from the back of the bar, his sharp eyes scanning the room before settling on her.

“Haven’t seen her in a while,” he muttered, settling onto a stool.

“Who even is she?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop yourself.

Revek leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Remember I told you abour shit that went down three years ago? Piltover, Zaun, all that Hextech chaos?”

You nodded.

“She was part of it. A big part.”

You squinted, piecing it together. “That explains why everyone knows her down here.” You frowned, the anger bubbling back up. “She’s an asshole.”

Revek chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, you could say that. After everything went to hell, she holed up in some dump around here. Doesn’t talk to anyone. Just drifts between bars, sometimes… worse places, drowning herself in cheap booze.”

“Was she always like this?” you pressed, desperate to understand.

“That’s a long story,” Revek began, but his words were cut off by the sharp sound of glass shattering across the room.

Your head snapped toward the noise. Of course, it was her, standing over some poor bastard, yelling and swearing. Revek shot you a look and stood, ready to step in, but you stopped him with a firm hand.

“I’ll handle it,” you said, your tone leaving no room for argument.

“You sure?” he asked, hesitation in his voice.

You nodded, already moving toward the chaos. By the time you got there, she was on top of the guy, fists flying with a fury that could have leveled buildings. The crowd around them was frozen, too shocked—or maybe too entertained—to intervene.

“Hey!” you shouted, but she didn’t even flinch.

“Stop it! Now!” you tried again.

Still nothing. She was too far gone, lost in her rage. Without thinking, you moved in to pull her off—but before you could, pain exploded across your face, and you found yourself on the ground, disoriented.

The room went silent.

When your vision cleared, you realized, she had hit you.

Vi stood over you, her expression flickering with something almost like regret. “Shit,” she muttered, reaching a hand toward you. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Get the fuck out,” you snapped, cutting her off as you staggered to your feet.

She hesitated, her gaze locking with yours. You made sure she saw every ounce of your anger, your disgust.

“Now,” you commanded, stepping closer.

For once, she didn’t fight back. She just turned and walked.

Days passed, and thankfully, she didn’t come back. Still, every time you stood behind the bar, her face crept into your mind—her cockiny, her sharp eyes, her unbearable attitude. It filled you with rage. You already had too much on your plate; the last thing you needed was to waste energy hating some pink-haired asshole. But despite yourself, you couldn’t stop thinking about her. It wasn’t all bad, you supposed. At least thoughts of her kept you from thinking about Ellie. But replacing heartbreak with anger wasn’t exactly a healthy trade.

It was another calm day, the kind you’d come to appreciate in the wake of the chaos she’d brought. If anything, her outburst had earned you some respect. The regulars gave you a nod, a look, as if standing up to her had proven something. But the peace didn’t last. The bar doors swung open, and the room fell into an all-too-familiar hush. You didn’t even need to look to know who it was. The tension in the air told you everything.

Vi.

Revek appeared at your side almost immediately, his eyes darting toward her. “This gonna be trouble?” he asked, his voice low.

“I’m fine,” you replied, keeping your gaze locked on her as she strode toward you. There was something deliberate in her steps, something… different.

Her eyes met yours from across the room, and you stood your ground.

“I think I made myself clear last time,” you said coolly, though your voice carried that simmering edge of anger you couldn’t quite hide. “You’re not welcome here.”

“I know,” she replied, stopping in front of the bar. Her tone was calm, almost subdued. “I’ll leave. But first, I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

You narrowed your eyes, studying her. There was no cocky smirk, no sarcastic retort. Just… awkwardness.

“I was drunk,” she continued, her voice low. “That guy said something—something that pissed me off. I lost control.” She hesitated, her eyes searching yours. “It’s not an excuse, but… I didn’t mean to hit you. I would never—”

“But you did,” you cut her off sharply, though you could already feel the fight draining out of you. She was being honest. You hated that you could tell, but you could.

“I know.” Her voice softened even more. “I didn’t see you. And I’m sorry. I really am.”

You exhaled, your shoulders dropping slightly as you leaned against the counter. You weren’t ready to forgive her—not entirely. But you were exhausted from carrying so much anger.

“Fine,” you said at last, pouring her the drink she’d ordered last time. Sliding it across the bar, you added, “I appreciate your honesty. I don’t appreciate assholes, though. And you? You were an asshole.”

A flicker of surprise crossed her face as she accepted the drink. For a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something else. But instead, she downed it in one quick motion, set the glass back on the counter, and walked out without another word.

She started coming back. At first, you thought it was a fluke—a one-time thing. But no. A few days later, she was there again. And again.

Sometimes she was alone, sometimes with a new girl on her arm, but the pattern stayed the same. She’d order a few drinks, stay for a while, and leave without so much as a word in your direction. She’d read your message loud and clear. But what you couldn’t figure out was why. Zaun was filled with bars—plenty of them even filthier than this one. So why keep coming back to this one? Was it defiance? Did she just not care about the fact that you didn’t want her here? Then there were the moments that left you even more confused. The way her gaze would linger,as she was hanging out with some random girl, her eyes flicking over to you when she thought you weren’t looking. It wasn’t often, but it was enough to notice. Enough to keep her lodged firmly in your thoughts.

Vi was a mystery. An infuriating, captivating mystery. And for some reason, you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting to figure her out. Maybe it was the distraction she provided, pulling you away from the ache of Ellie. Or maybe it was something else. Something about the way she carried herself, the way she owned a room even when she was silent. Whatever it was, she had you hooked—and you hated her for it.

Today was no different. She strolled in like she owned the place, another girl trailing behind her—a new one this time. She made a beeline for the bar and ordered a round of drinks before sliding into a table suspiciously close to where you were working. Maybe you were imagining things, but it felt deliberate. There were plenty of empty tables scattered throughout the room, especially ones better suited for whatever this was supposed to be. An intimate date? That hardly seemed like Vi’s style. The girl with her seemed sweet. Blonde hair with blue highlights that caught the dim lights of the bar, bright eyes, a soft smile. She leaned toward Vi as they talked, her body language screaming interest. But Vi? She sat back, arms draped casually over the chair, her expression distant, detached. It was like she craved the closeness but couldn’t bring herself to let anyone in.

It was… familiar. Too familiar.

You turned back to the counter, your hands working on autopilot as you wiped down the surface. Yet, no matter how much you tried to ignore her, your gaze kept drifting in her direction. And every time it did, you caught her watching you.

You didn’t like it.

Pouring yourself a drink, you told yourself it was just to take the edge off. One drink turned into two, and before long, the alcohol made everything sharper, more noticeable. You were too aware of her—every glance, every quiet laugh, every time her eyes flicked toward you. When it happened again, you decided enough was enough. You locked eyes with her, letting your gaze trail over her features, daring her to look away. She didn’t. At first, she looked confused, but that quickly morphed into something smug—a slow, cocky smirk creeping across her face. She leaned over, whispering something in the blonde’s ear. The girl nodded, and just like that, Vi stood and headed straight for you.

“Hey there,” she said, her voice calm but carrying that familiar edge of arrogance. Her eyes bore into yours, steady, confident.

“Well, look at you,” you quipped, leaning casually against the bar. “Turns out you can talk.”

She smirked. “Can you blame me? You called me an asshole and made it pretty clear you didn’t want me to talk to you.”

“Both of those things are true,” you replied with a dismissive shrug, though the faint trace of a grin played on your lips. You blamed the alcohol.

“So let me get this straight,” she teased. “You don’t want to talk to me, but you want me to talk to you? Maybe even acknowledge you?”

“Oh, I’ve noticed you acknowledging me,” you shot back, your tone dry. “Not with words, though.” Your hand idly wiped at the counter with a cloth, pretending nonchalance.

Vi chuckled, brushing off your jab. “Fair enough. Since you’re so insistent, let me drop the ‘asshole behavior’ for a minute.” She leaned in slightly. “I don’t even know your name.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning forward to meet her halfway. “It’s Y/N,” you said, your voice firm. A beat of silence lingered between you, tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Then, with a small smirk of your own, you added, “Now get back to your date. Don’t keep her waiting.”

You didn’t wait to see her reaction. The sudden surge of emotions made your chest tighten, and you dropped the cloth and glass onto the counter, heading for the backroom.

Intimacy—it wasn’t something you wanted. Not now. Not with her. Even the smallest brush of warmth from someone else felt like an open wound. You were comfortable in the cold, with the pain. Examining Vi had been easy, safe. She was uncertainty and sharp edges, not softness. You closed the door behind you, leaning back against it and exhaling deeply. Maybe one of these days you’d figure out what Vi was really doing to you. But not tonight. Not yet.

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Note from author: It's my first time writing something ever please please please let me know if you liked that! I think that this fic will have 6/8 parts , so there's a lot unfold here. I kinda changed finale of Arcane, because Vi and Caitlyn don't end up together. Also, I have included Ellie as reader's ex girlfriend, so she will have more appearances in future. It would mean world to me if you shared my work (if you liked it of course) and please don't hesitate to message me, ask me questions about it or let me know what are your thoughts! Thank you!