#something something something devour the hearts of those who once loved you to fill up the gaping chasm they left in your own chest

[theonewhowails]

family reunion

[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.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Hugs

About time I finished this WIP that randomly appeared in my head. I've just finished defeating Cazador and mannnnnn I really really want to hug Astarion and never let him go.

Summary: Astarion learns to hug you.

“Can’t get enough of me, darling?” Astarion purrs into your ear, sliding his arm around your waist to pull you closer. He leans in, pressing a kiss to the tip of your ear before letting his lips trail downwards, sending a shiver up your spine but you push him away, placing a hand on his chest.

“We don’t need to do this.” You shake your head, “I just want you, not your body, not your services.”

He feels his heart jump into his throat, anxiety gnawing at him but he smiles outwardly anyways, as practiced. “Which part of me exactly do you want?”

“All of you,” you breathe. He blinks, surprised as you intertwine your fingers with his, a thumb gently brushing over his smooth skin. The warmth sends tingles from his arm to his body, a fuzzy feeling blooming in his chest that fills him with uncertainty.

Is this genuine love? Is this how love is supposed to feel like?

Why would you want all of him?

He cannot understand why you would want the monsterous side of him, the side that craves blood, the side that is spoken in hushed whispers, woven into stories parents tell their children to scare them into bed. He hides his fangs whenever he smiles, afraid that your gaze will be drawn to them and that they will be all you ever see of him but you never seem to be scared of them, always open to him sinking them into your soft neck so that he can drink the ambrosia that is your blood.

You place an arm around his waist, noticing that distant look in his eyes and press your chest against his, hoping the sensation will bring him back from whatever abyss he’s fallen into and his head snaps up, ruby eyes locking with yours with a look you’ve never seen in them before. You feel his hand tremble as he tentatively rests it on your back and he inhales sharply.

“If you’re not comfortable we can stop,” you murmur. “I don’t want to force you to do anything.”

“You’re…not, darling. It’s just…” He swallows. “It’s nothing.”

You narrow your eyes. If all this time spent with him has taught you something, is that every time he says ‘it’s nothing’ it’s always something.

“Astarion, you can tell me anything, but take all the time you need, alright?”

His lips quirk up for a split second, instinctively sending you a reassuring smile but the smile quickly fades, replaced by a sorrowful look. He gazes at the ground, suppressing the urge to just melt into you. You deserve someone better than him, someone who could love you properly, who understood what love truly meant and didn’t feel disgust rising every time they placed a hand on your skin because of their past. No matter how much he loves you, he’s not the best one for you.

You reach out to him, a hand gently touching his cheek but he pulls away with a snarl, fangs bared and you quickly stumble backwards, surprised at his hostility. His eyes widen when he realises what he’s done and guilt devours him even further. Your touch feels tainted, even if it lacks the usual lust and desire behind it, but that is no reason to hurt you. He forces himself to reach for your hand, muttering a quiet apology as practiced and rests it on his cheek, willing his body to remain still like always.

Doing this should be easy, he’s been doing this for centuries, so why does it feel so difficult now?

You look at him with concern, an emotion usually devoid in the eyes of those who touch him and pull your hand away of your own accord.

“I’m sorry.”

Why were you apologising? He was the one in the wrong, he was the one who had broken the moment, he was the reason the night had turned from one of tranquility to one of tension.

“There’s no need to apologise, love. Shall we continue?” He leans in once more despite the sickening smell that your scent has transformed into. “You’re just that intoxicating.”

Still, you push him away, noticing how he’s zoning out each time he moves closer to you. Worry creases your eyebrows and you take a step back, moving just out of his reach.

“Did I overstep any boundaries?” You ask. “I’m sorry if I did.”

“You didn’t, darling.” He shakes his head. “You’re far too perfect to make such mistakes.”

Far too perfect for him.

“Astarion,” you realise what’s plaguing him. “No matter how long it takes, I will always be by your side. You are my star, my entire world, no one else can possibly replace you or be better than you.”

“I shouldn’t be,” he mumbles. “I only add to your burdens.”

“Well, it’s only fair that you do that since I do the same to you.”

“No you don’t!” Astarion snaps. “Don’t you ever say that about yourself!”

He glares at you, fists clenched, his clawed fingertips digging into his palms. You raise your hands in surrender, slowly stepping away from the riled up vampire spawn upon whom realisation has dawned. He inwardly curls up even more, despising himself for taking out his anger on you and yet no matter what he does, you refuse to leave. You’re still standing there, a safe distance away but within his line of sight with no intention of leaving him. He cannot wrap his mind around why you would do such a thing, why you wouldn’t leave someone as unstable and unloveable as him, but a small part of him is grateful for that, he can’t bear to watch you leave.

“Sorry.” He chokes out, the word leaving a foreign feeling in his mouth. “I —”

“It’s alright, apology accepted.” You smile. “We should return to camp, the others must be wondering what is taking us so long.”

Astarion shifts from one leg to another, scratching the back of his neck, “wait, darling, please.”

You pause, turning around to look at him, “yes, Astarion?”

“I…” He starts. “It’s not your fault, it’s mine. Everything feels tainted, touching you feels disgusting, being so close to you feels nauseating, but it’s not your fault. It has nothing to do with you, I promise, it’s —”

“I know. You don’t have to say it out loud if you don’t want to. I’m sorry I can’t erase the past, but I want to help you forge new associations with touch.” You raise a hand, palm facing him. He does the same, shakily moving his palm closer to yours but encouraged by your smile, he presses your palms together. He swallows the bile rising to his throat and looks to you, waiting for you to make the next move. You take a step closer and he does the same, although his step is filled with much more uncertainty. You give him an encouraging nod and take another step. This time, his step is more certain, made with the signature confidence you know and love.

After a third step, the both of you are close enough that your nose fills with the scent of bergamot, rosemary and a hint of rosemary, overlaying Astarion’s real undead scent. You cautiously put an arm around his waist and when he doesn’t flinch, you grow bolder, removing your hand from his and putting the other arm around his waist.

He freezes, but the action raises no memories he’d rather keep locked away so he tries to keep himself grounded, to feel the soothing warmth of your arms around him that mean him no harm. He locks eyes with you and your gaze washes all the fear away, stirring something within him. He wouldn’t have dared do this before, but tonight you’ve given him more than enough courage to attempt this.

Astarion steels himself, and then puts his own arms around you. His undead heart thunders in his chest, fear consuming his mind. What if you pull away? What if you hate his cold touch? What if —

You lean into his embrace, silencing all his fears and nuzzle into his chest. He lets out a breath he never realised he was holding and buries his face into your shoulder, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Your embrace is vastly different from the previous embraces he’s had, all you want out of it is a display of love and care, you don’t want his body, you don’t want what he can offer, you don’t want anything in return.

As he continues to hold onto you, never wanting to let go, he lets a hand wander up your back, finding a better position to pull you closer and you hum in response, happily burrowing deeper into his arms.

“I like this, you know,” he whispers. “Whatever it is that we have, I don’t want it to end.”

“I feel the same way,” you whisper back, breathing in his scent. “Let’s stay here like this, the others can survive on their own for a little while longer.”

“I’m sure they can, my love.”

Hugging has definitely made its way to the top of his list of favourite things to do with you, Astarion thinks, listening to your happy hums as you soak in his embrace. He should do this more often.

[samodivaa]

Deny the truth,set my world on fire (Part 1)

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Winter Soldier x Reader)

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ Part 2⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ Part 3 ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆* Part 4⋆*･ﾟ:⋆* He knew that she was having an affair...she denies, but the love marks on her body are still there. She can't tell him the truth, it will break him - the Winter Soldier is indeed inside of him, fucking her at night and Bucky doesn't remember. ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ Warnings - heavy angst, betrayal, smut, non consensual, dom!Soldat. rough!Soldat Words - 2000

Bucky was already waiting on the couch, tormented by the decision he has made – to confront her. Y/n enters their shared apartment, carelessly smiling at him. She seemed so generous about her love – a constant presence and support since the fight on the airport years ago. Grace and patience and consideration is what she made him master once again, these little qualities are in his control, thanks to her kind soul. Y/n helped him forgive himself and he chose to return love and compassion, chose to fight his past. Wakanda was their secret - beautiful and peaceful. Her heart was born open and although his hands were empty at the time, he filled them with the soft fire made from the two ember eyes. The dreamy mind is full, overflows with tender memories… When she enters a room, it blazes with red, pink, roses, but behind her blossomed spirit stood a façade he was not aware of. The floral presence is poisoned, spreading into him. And just like the deadly nightshade, she is indeed is a poisonous flower.

"How long has this been going on?" he asks coldly, taking a sip of his bottle before putting it back on the table. A stressed dove, mournfully looking at her as he gets up. "How long?" he asks again. „Bucky, what is the matter with you?“ There won’t be a chance of escape, he steps closer, towering over her as some sort of a warning. He just came back to life, laying under the warmth of it and is already being burned by the person who he trusted the most. Abstained for far too long, he needs to hear her says it – he needs the truth to devour his life. "Can I ask what happened to your neck?" pointing to her neck, his tone is still neutral, but his eyes are exhausted by the phantom following his mind the past days. Love makes knots, now it is brutally tearing them apart. He ran from the darkness of his nightmares for so long, only to find himself in a situation darker still. „I don’t know“ she is wearing a turtleneck shirt, she hates those – inside she is crumbling as much as her lies. “You don’t know?” his tone strays to the realms of anger – it consumes him, fear ensnares her until her back hits the wall behind, Bucky not withdrawing from her face even for a moment “Who was it?“

"No one, Bucky" she manages to retain her posture, not giving him the satisfaction of telling the truth. The blade of her words hit a nerve. "You’re terrible at lying" He crosses his hands, nails digging into his arms. Silence looms for a while before he nods, his dearest love painting his misery and his eyes ache with the weight of the unspoken truth. “So no explanation, got it" „I don’t know how I got them…“ Bucky’s eyes narrow slightly, trying to shackle his intention of breaking something. "So you have no idea what happened to your neck? Are you making fun of me or do you have brain damage“ his tone finally rises as he takes the collar of her shirt between his metal fingers, pulling it down rashly to reveal the bite marks. The image wraps around his throat as a wreath of spikes. “Who did that to your neck, because I am sure that it was not me“ „Jesus Bucky, why are you so angry, I didn’t do anything. We literally spend most-“ He laughs devilishly, still holding her by the colar. “Just so many bad things happening in my life. Nothing important, nothing new, just one thing after another, you know?” There is no such thing as life for him , it's just catastrophe. Unmoored and alone, his eyes become full of tears. The only still part is his body. He gives her one more chance to say something, to explain herself in any way, but the silence is pain chiselled forever into his chest, it hurts more than words. "Don’t be angry, please…let me go…“ "Don’t be angry…don’t be angry" he whispers as a lullaby, staring into her teary eyes. His eyebrows furrowed at her audacity to even cry. "We shared a life and you to cheated on me" His favorite beauty and terror on myriad levels keep her silence. He decides to let go of her collar, his fingers clenching to fists as their drop weightlessly to the sides of his body. "You expect me to believe this…? Really, y/n?” he says , his expression is still angry, but it appears softer "If you didn’t want to tell me because you‘re afraid, it‘s fine. Just be honest and tell me that, why are you still lying? That hurts me more than you think." „I am not…“ He stands there unmoving, staring at her and it seems like he‘s still processing this realty of her not having any concern towards him. Her mind is resting whilst his is grieving, wondering and reasoning. He can’t gain control of his dreadful spirit, he is the shell he was back at Wakanda. A tear runs down from the wet, dreamful eyes, landing on his cheek as he looks down, trying to hide it from her. Bucky takes a step away from her and rubs his eyes. His hands are shaking and it‘s obvious that he doesn’t want to cry in front of her. Their love is his apparition, a figment of his imagination. He observe her for a moment, he is dying in that house, buried underneath the floor of their shared past and she just watches it unfold. Bucky finally shakes his head in disbelief. "So you‘re telling me you have no idea where that bruise came from?" a weak laugh escapes his lips, choking back a sob. „You’re lying, I know it“ he says in a calm voice, but there was a quiet threat hidden beneath it. „I don’t want to leave, Bucky“ "And I don‘t want to get cheated on" he counters with an angry scream as his pain is infinite at this point. All kind of thoughts stirring inside of him. „I won’t say it wasn’t meant to be, because it was. We were. Only for a short while, maybe. But we were.“ It makes him tremble to remember their daily life, but now he is unsure which pain is worse: the shock of what happened or the ache for what never will. „I can’t tell you...I can’t...I will leave“ she whispers, having found a comfort in hiding. "Fine, leave then!” Bucky snarls, before he spins around as his heavy footsteps resonate through the quiet room, but he stops himself to look at her for the last time – the end of the line.

Bucky watches her leave, already nostalgic for his love. He doesn’t say a word, not even bothering to close the door as he stands in the doorstep, watching her go. Y/n notices him staring from the darkness of the doorway as she makes her way into the world. Bucky’s inner self is shutting down more and more, as though to protect himself, but it became inaccessible even to himself. Over the next couple of days, Bucky shuts himself completely in his lonely home. He only leaves the apartment to buy alcohol and some food. His days are spent either drinking or sleeping, and when he‘s awake and sober, he just sits on the couch blankly, staring at the wall. He is composed of nothing, but illness – a phantom built out of pain. The days turn to weeks. With his heart broken, he despises life. Rising from a grave with each morning, wallowing in his sadness and alcohol. („What went wrong...Did I do something wrong?”) he wonders for weeks repeatedly, tears again rolling down his cheeks. „What did I do to deserve this“ he screams, slamming his metal fist into the wall, there is nothing but a stain in his heart, it grew – infecting the whole heart. He slowly slides down, sitting on the ground as he buries his head into his arms and starts to cry.

- Two days before she left - „Bucky, baby…I don’t wanna do anything tonight, let’s just sleep“ he was getting harder and harder, pressing into her back to let her know. He whispers in her ear, but the voice is huskier than usual and filled with seduction „Цветок...“ (Flower) Bucky’s control is slipping once again and y/n gups at the realization. The metal grip tightens on her hip, drawing her even closer to his clothed cock. Fingers pass through the fabric of the nightdress, pulling it upwards to reveal her butt cheeks. His warm hand, spilled under her body proceeding to lightly trace his fingers over her nipple. She knows to her remove the panties by herself, not wanting to anger the Soldier from the very beginning as it happened last time. He groans, closing his eyes to savor the scent of her hair. Vibranium fingers digs his into her soft skin, leaving prints of evidence. „No, don’t…please…he will see“ she desperately tries to voice her concern, knowing there is no way of fighting him in this state. „Пусть он увидит…“ (let him see) His breath fanned the skin of her neck, sending chills to the bone.

He dragged his length through her wetness, pushing in fully leaving y/n with no time to adjust. Tears roll down her beautiful face, why this keeps on happening? The warm touches of his human arm move to from her nipple to her stomach „Я хочу ребенка...да.“ (I want a baby…yes) She takes a deep breath, sometimes regret settles in for not telling Bucky that the Winter Soldier was very present and real. He never seems to remember, they operate as different people. She whimpers at the cold touch to her clit, he was flicking it, making her body shake. His hand returns to her hip, grabbing it harshly as he starts thrusting deeply. His pace becomes erratic, being closer to his orgasm. Soldat forcefully holds her in place so he can fill her with hot cum. Her reality hurts so much. She wants to get away, but when she had tried before – resulted in him being close to sadistic. His fingers trail to her hair, removing it from her neck and he sinks his teeth. Goosebumps trickle up there, from fear, from pain as he slowly turns her head towards him – there is no sight of Bucky.

[logansargeantsbabymom]

Sweat (Lando’s Version)

Hunter!Lando Norris x fem!reader

Genre: smut

Summary: Y/N takes care of Lando after a hunt

The thud of the glass door closing is what jolted me away from the book that I was currently nose deep in. Looking up I'm met with the beautiful sight of my fiancé Lando who's been out hunting.

I watch as he walks from one end of the little home to the next as he puts away his hunting gear, his skin glistening in a beautiful sheer of sweat.

"You know I can feel your gaze on me my princess?" I hear a deep and thick English accent pierce the silence. The heaviness of his voice is enough for me to clench my thighs together in hopes of relieving the tingle at my core. Every time Lando talks, it's like something in me just sparks and I have to jump on his bones and fuck him until the sun comes up. It could be his accent or the way he just knows his way around every crease and crevices of my body or maybe it's the way his gaze on me makes me feel small against him.

Gosh, everything about Lando right now makes me want to do some unspeakable thing to him. "I'm talking to you" It makes me blink, how long have I been staring at him? I mean this is an everyday occurrence but it's still embarrassing to get caught.

"Hmm?" I said as I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my heads in hopes of clearing my mind from all the thoughts that are currently fresh in my mind.

"What are you thinking of? I can tell there is something going on in that pretty mind of yours." The compliments. If he doesn't stop soon we're gonna have to call his parents and tell the, that they’re going to be grandparents.

"I was just thinking about how much I need to take a bath," Lando quirks a brow as a tiny smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth as I speak "And how I would love for you to join me- just to save water." I see his eyes darken with lust as a low almost inaudible growl gurgles at the base of his throat.

Lando lowly strides towards me peeling his sweat drenched jacket off his body, his eyes still staring in mine "Really, just to save water?" he's closer now, so much so that I can start to feel his breath on my neck as he leans into me.

My heart pounds against my chest as Lando's lips near my ear before seductively whispering "And don't even think about lying to me darling." his palm comes up to caress my cheek before he grips my chin with enough force not to hurt but to make my eyes shoot open after not realizing they'd fluttered shut. "because you know how much I hate liars." something about the way he's talking to me right now is just so hot, sending shivers down my body and heat traveling to my core. His muscular arms are the only thing on my mind as my hand goes up to caress the back of his.

"I-I just want to see you naked," hearing my confession makes a full smile break out on his face "and wet." Lando could tell that I wanted to say more but he didn't want to push like he always does enjoying the way I shrink in embarrassment, instead he gave in almost immediately.

"What are we waiting for love?" within milliseconds of him saying that does he pick me up and swing me over his shoulders as if my body weight was that of a feather. His long legs striding towards the bathroom and once in, he kicks the door shut before setting me down as he walks over to the shower and turns in on, steam quickly filling up the small room.

Sergei turns to face me, his hands tugging at the bottom on his shirt pulling it up and over his head, before unbuckling his pants and kicking those off, his eyes still never leaving mine as he does so. My eyes rake over his body almost unsure of where to look first. Without thinking I rush in front of him, my hands cupping either side of his face before crashing my lips flush against his. I can taste the faint saltiness of his sweat on my tongue as we start devouring the taste of each other. I pull away needing air, using this time to strip myself of my clothes leaving me more exposed than Lando, who is still in his boxers.

"You look so sexy my love, I need you now" without a second thought, I pressed my lips against his again with enough force to have Lando stumble backwards. I feel his arm snake around my waist as he pulls me into the shower with him, his tongue licking my bottom lip, asking for permission which I grant him at an embarrassingly fast speed.

My hands find his hair as his roam my body, our lips never leaving each others. One of my hands travel south and feels up his hard on, wrapping my hand around his shaft, slowly pumping it while sucking on his tongue. My hand jerks him off faster before I get the sudden urge to wrap my lips around his beautifully long and girth cock.

The urge becoming too strong that I drop to my knees, the water hitting my face as I looked up at him, silently asking for permission as I lick my lips and continue jerking him off, Lando give a slight nod which was enough of confirmation for me to wrap my lips around his cock, so needy that I forced all 9 hard inches of him down my throat, my one hand kneading his balls while my other hand travels down to my aching clit, rubbing hard circles around the sensitive bud before feeling a hand grip my hair and yank me off his cock. A groan of disappointment leaves my throat as I look up at Lando, "Don't rush it baby, take your time." he says, leaning down a little to place a quick peck on my lips.

"I want it rough, I need you to ruin me Lando. I need it, badly." my voice sound pathetic but I'm too horny to actually care. I didn't have to say much because the second those words left my mouth, the hand that Lando has wrapped in my hair quickly guides my mouth back to his cock before shoving it down my throat, Lando's other hand coming to the back of my head forcing his cock further down my throat even though my nose is flush against his pubes. I flatten my tongue as a way to let him impossibly further down my throat, my eyes watering and lungs burning as I am unable to breathe. I tap on his upper thigh to signal to Lando that I need air which he was happily able to oblige to.

A few gasps of air and a wipe away of my saliva later, he's shoving my mouth back on his cock only for him to keep my head stationary and he thrusts his cock in and out of my throat, furthering himself down my throat with each thrust. I feel his cock twitch in my throat signaling that he's about to cum which prompts Lando to pull my mouth off his cock before yanking my body up and into his arms as he pushes me against the shower wall before reaching between us and grabbing his cock before mercilessly shoving it into my dripping wet and aching core.

Lando's thrusts are hard, rough and full of need. He's determined to fuck every drop of his cum so deep in me that it would have a 95% chance of fertility, not that it's what he's going for but he doesn't want any drop of his liquid gold to go unused.

Not that I let any drop of his cum go to waste on the regular anyway, whether he cums in my tight pussy or he cums down my warm throat it always stays in me. Who knows maybe if Lando deserves it, I might let him use my other whole. Only three times in the year and a half that we've been together have I let Lando fuck my ass and boy does it make him go feral each and every time.

I feel his hips shudder which means that he's close again, I've thought about it for a minute now and I think I'm just gonna do it, "Baby, fuck- you feel so good. I need to cum, are you close too." I whimper through my moans

"Fuck yes, I'm going to cum" Lando says as he captures my lips in a searing kiss. "Hmm, cum in my ass" I said as I rest my forehead against his. Looking at him, I see his eyes shoot open, his eyes raking my face as if he's trying to find a hint of a joke in my expression, once he finds none he quickly yanks his cock out of my pussy before slowly pushing it into my asshole.

The stinging pain was enough for me to want to tell him that I regretted saying that he could cum in my ass but the pain went away as fast as it came after only a few thrusts. It wasn't long before the pleasure became too much for me and I came undone, my lips attaching to his neck, sucking on the skin, sure to leave some bruising later. About 10 thrusts later does Lando's hips come to a halt and I feel him shoot long and warm ropes of cum in my ass. I hear a string a nothings coming from Lando's mouth, the water still hitting us.

After a minute of silence and slight overstimulation, does Lando pull out and set me down before cupping my face a placing a long and loving kiss to my lips.

"My love, will you marry me?"

[moochalove]

Thinking about how…

You would lead Sunday away from a busy crowd during one of his important dinner gatherings. How you lead him by the hand to a nearby storage room and begin to kiss his sweet face. At first, he was opposed to the idea and tried explaining he was far too busy to be messing around. But the way you kept teasing him throughout the night, the way you made his ears feel hot while you were reaching for a dropped utensil. The way you “accidentally” squeeze his thigh under the table.

How bold of you to pull such a stunt, especially in front of all his business partners. He should reward you for being so brave.

Sunday grabs your wrists and pins them above your head while he kisses and licks at your exposed neck. He loves to see you flustered and breathless, panting softly as you try to keep your voice down.

He’s surprised when you break free from his grasp and mirror his actions. Sunday lets out a small surprised moan when you take the reins. At first, he was taken aback by your actions, usually, he’s the one who has control over everything.

But he is exhausted from all the mingling he’s done throughout the night. Guess it isn’t so bad to let someone take control every once and awhile.

He immediately relaxes when you free his aching cock from his tight pants. He takes pleasure in watching you spit into your hand as you begin to stroke it at a slow pace. A smile is plastered on your face when you begin to go fast and turn your wrist with each stroke- your eyes meeting his. You both gaze into each other’s eyes lovingly. Almost as if the world around you has disappeared and it’s just you two in this intimate moment. (almost makes you forget you’re in a storage room…) His thighs begin to shake as you get closer and closer to his pink tip. He loves the way your thumb swirls over his creamy tip. Using your free hand you gently rub his face. The way you handle him with such care makes his heart skip a beat, and he practically melts into your touch.

As he begins to reach his high he presses his lips into your palms, muttering small prayers and thanking those in higher power for such a blessing (you). His breathing has become erratic as his prayers are mixed with little moans and whimpers. You lean into him to seal his lips with yours, devouring all his moans and little noises, all while you pump his length at a rapid pace. The room is filled with the wet noise of his precum and your spit rubbing along his cock. When he finally teeters over the edge he feels nothing but bliss. The wings adorning his head flutter and flap in response to his hard orgasm, and his arms have settled around your upper half. He hasn’t even realized he’s soiled his dress pants and your palm with his seed. Not like that matters right now…

Once he opens his eyes he’s greeted by an angel- no, something of a higher power, his dear lover. You stare down at him with such a loving gaze that makes him feel warm and mushy inside. He can’t help but hold you close for a couple of moments. No words are spoken, yet thousands of praises are known to one another.

Once he settles from his high he’s even more exhausted… He feels a little ashamed that he didn’t get to reward you like he initially planned, but when you voice how this is what you wanted, he can’t help but feel flustered once again. His wings cover his flushed face in embarrassment. Yet you gently push them aside as you rest your forehead against his as his wings wrap around your head.

Seeing Sunday like this was a rare treat only for the eyes that were close to him. You were truly honored to call him your partner.

Once you get Sunday properly cleaned up you head back to the party. No one really noticed you were gone.

Robin can’t help but tease and point out the feathers in your hair.

“Haha, it looks like you were “fighting” with a bird!”

[nvoirs]

Omg i saw that ur requests are open 🥹😭 Is it okay if I can request a plaga re4leon smut? 😭 it’s okay if u dont want to 😇 have a great day 🫶🏼

Part 2 is here Because of all the support on this piece of writing I did I was able to create a part 2 and I'm thankful for those who wanted it!

When you had found out that Leon was infected by the Plagas your heart dropped into your stomach. You wouldn't know what to do, trembling as he got worse. Becoming more feral and looking like he wanted to rip your cute little heart straight out of your chest and brandish the still warm organ like a trophy. It got to a point where you had to restrain him, all you could find was a frail piece of rope left behind by one of the now dead ganandos.

Ashley was still with Luis, hopefully so close to finding the vaccine. So close to bringing Leon back to you.

His panting would worsen, as he struggled against your restraints, lashing out telling you to release him and that he was fine, he was okay and you didn't have to worry.

He'd put you in so much sorrow and guilt that you wouldn't even realise he'd managed to cut through the tied rope around his wrists with the small dagger you forgot to confiscate.

Silly old you. Always so naïve and trusting when it came to Leon. He was your weakness, and he now knew that and had used it to his advantage lunging for your still vulnerable, hunched over body.

He'd have you pressed to the dirty ground, the air smelling of gunpowder as he inhaled deeply. You're terrified he can see it, those widened eyes threatening to fill with tears once again.Trembling beneath him his weight sandwiching your body between the ground and his broad-ranging chest. His eyes were no longer that sky blue that you once loved, now becoming something far sinister, a raging crimson colour replacing them.

But he isn't fully gone, he's still Leon so you were confused when you felt something hard pressed against your thigh. He rutted his hardened cock against your tactical pants releasing a forced squeak from deep within your throat.

“Don't think I can hold back anymore.. fuck. Wanna fuck you into the ground please.” 

He continued to rut against you like a cat in heat, squeezing your legs together as you could feel the certain wetness collecting itself inside of your underwear.

“Leon what’re you- shit is this the plagas controlling you?”

“No goddamnit it's me- the plagas is just outing me.” He purred.

Chuckling he came closer to your pursed lips, wanting to feel the softness of them, his dark blonde hair brushing across your reddened face.

And you let him. You let him swallow you whole, devouring your mouth till your lips were a ruby colour, a string of his saliva evident upon them once he pulled away. Your lips still puckered, you wanted more, no you craved more of this side of Leon. You knew it was wrong, he was infected with stage four of the parasite but you just couldn’t help it.

The effects of the plagas were becoming more visible. The prominent darkened veins stood out creating a sort of jumbled up criss-crossed pattern on his pale skin.

“Shit this is your fault, I've wanted to fuck you since I met you six years ago back when we were both rookies in training” His extensive grin agitated you as he dived down for your exposed neck.

Placing a pointer finger on the pulse, dragging it down behind your appealing small ear. He licked a searing wet stripe up the shell of your ear, as he began to leave mauve coloured love bites across your supple flesh.

Dessert before the main course sounded real good to Leon right now, and you happened to be his dessert.

The plagas was altering his mind, and Leon was looking at you like you were a piece of vanilla cake. Squirming underneath his tight hold, releasing effortlessly, melodic sounds as he nipped and bit at your bare neck.

“Fuck Leon!”

 You grabbed the material of his tight black shirt, digging your hands in and pulling him ever so closer. In return Leon hummed in approval before breaking his lips away from your decorated skin.

“Now the real fun begins.”

Dragging your tactical pants down your thighs, swiftly pulling them off and chucking them to the side. His glowing eyes stared down at where you needed him most, he could see the wet patch you’d made from your endearing arousal.

“Well what do we have here?” 

Fingering the material of your thin panties, Leon advanced to the very centre. His hand hovered before ripping your panties clean off. Gasping as he also threw your now shredded panties on top of your discarded pants.

“Leon why’d you do that I need those- fuck!”

While you were busy being a blabber mouth not knowing when to shut up, he’d lifted your calves before shoving his tongue deep inside of you. Writhing and twisting at his straight up tongue fucking, you cried out when he began to abuse your clit circling it relentlessly.

Licking lengthy stripes up and down your sweet folds, he pulled back moaning from your taste.

“You taste so sweet, I knew you would, I always knew.”

Going back down on you, you felt a cramping sensation building up in your lower abdomen and before you knew it you were releasing all over Leon’s face. He carried on lapping you up eagerly, tasting your sugar coated juices on his lips and tongue.

Dropping your legs roughly, you both panting your vision seizing and taking sight of Leon unbuckling his pants. His cockhead strained against the material of his briefs, his precum staining the front.

“Want you on your knees, sluts like you have to worship someone isn’t that so?” Grabbing you by your neck, you yelped as he nudged your nose against his clothed dick.

Obeying his demand you felt yourself blush, now this is wrong, it’s wrong, wrong, wrong! Ignoring your intrusive thoughts, you began to pull his briefs down his meaty thighs. You’ve always wanted to be with Leon like this, and now you can. You just couldn’t hold back.

Taking him in the palm of your hand, trembling hoping you didn’t do something wrong. Leon was a lot stronger as of now, he could easily overpower you. His tip was a mouthwatering sight, you never knew it could look this pretty? Taking him into your warm mouth, tasting the salty precum and hollowing your cheeks as you began to bob your head. Leon released a guttural groan, grabbing you by the ponytail you had up.

“This is all I could think about ha- when your hair was like this.”

Dragging his cock inside your mouth faster, before shooting his cumload straight down your throat making you gag.

“Swallow it, you whore, or I’ll make you regret it.” His threats should scare you, but It just turned you on even more.

“Need you inside me.” You whined, humping nothing as you bounced on yourself.

“Christ, don’t do that or I’ll seriously make you pass out. Take off your shirt then.”

Enthusiastically you did just that. Flinging your top leaving you in nothing but your bra. Leon licked his lips delightfully, before unclipping your bra allowing your tits to spill out. You looked like a goddess in his eyes, as he palmed your squishy flesh between his skilled fingers.

“Mmhph Leon! Feels good.” Sweat was forming on your chest like you’d been dusted with golden powder. Smirking Leon continued his assault on your breasts, switching to your firm nipples. Taking one and pinching it before rolling his tongue over it and taking it into his mouth. His eyes met yours as he suckled at your nipple, still giving the other attention by squeezing it between his index finger and thumb.

“Jump up onto me.” His command rang through your ears, as you jumped wrapping your legs around his waist. Leaning against the cobblestone wall Leon’s cock rubbed against your cunt teasingly before shoving himself inside of you.

You nuzzled into his neck smelling the sweat and dirt of him, but he still smelt so good a hint of citrus filling your nostrils as your face carried on colliding with his neck as he bounced you on his cock. Your moans rang out into the empty room, muffled slightly because of your loving assault on Leon’s neck.

“Your so- tight didn’t expect that from a slut.”

His grip grew tighter on your ass, bruising beginning to form under the tips of his fingers because of how tight he was holding onto you.

“I’m not a ha- slut!” You wailed, the pressure in your stomach coiling up.

“Oh yeah? Then who was that guy you were flirting with back at HQ?”

No way was he talking about that one guy. The one guy that actually showed any romantic interest in you, he’d asked you out to dinner when Leon was in the room and you had refused. That was because you liked Leon, but you had no idea he liked you back.

“I said no- fuck because I like you!”

Leon cocked his head to the side, watching your eyes roll back into your skull.

“Is that so?”

His pace got faster, ploughing into your guts like it was nothing until the tightly fit coil snapped in two. You whined as you came around him gushing and milking his cock. He carried on fucking you through your high, trying to chase after his own release.

“Ah- too much Leon too much!” almost strangling him but withstanding when he came deep inside your cunt, the contents dripping down your legs.Your hands still curled in his locks, fingers glued to his scalp as he hissed from the pain of your fingernails.

“Sorry.” Mumbling, you expected Leon to send you one of those signature smirks but instead felt a prick in the side of your neck.

What? Everything began to get fuzzy, and you felt Leon placing you on the cold floor.

“Shush It’s okay now, Lord Saddler could use another follower. And maybe just maybe he’ll let me keep you and we can be together forever my darling.”

The last thing you saw before you became unconscious was Leon’s ugly grin smeared across his once angelic features. You’d been caught in his spider's web once again.

[writingescapades]

Book Lover P

I love how we all came as a community and agreed that Pinocchio is a bookworm. As a fellow bookworm, this worms my heart!

It was Lady Antonia who really introduced P to the library. Well more like she said the entire hotel was his to explore, and explore he did.

His desire for reading really came from a desire to be like his father. Get his approval. The big thumbs up from Papi.

He prefers to read at night, everyone is asleep and he has nothing else to do with this time. At first, he would just go out and continue to destroy puppets, but something changed after that first book.

The first book happened to be The Ugly Duckling. He would read and reread that story. Not fully understanding why he kept doing so.

It was in this state you found him. You promised yourself a night of reading as a reward for doing boring tasks around the hotel. Lo, and behold there was Pinocchio… reading.

He immediately gets up, thinking you had a task for him. Poor boy. You inquire into what he’s reading and he hands it over, as if guilty.

Reading the cover, you smile and give it back, along with another book. It’s a book of fairytales. Needless to say, Pinocchio devours this book. There were more books of this nature??

Thus starts a bond between you two. Late night reading sessions. P eagerly tapping your shoulder when he sees something interesting. You reading aloud passages.

Many times the hotel residents would find you asleep on the floor  while P sat beside you and silently read. Lady Antonia asked him to move a sofa into the library, so that you could at least prevent catching your death of cold.

That scared P, who then always ushered you to the couch once you got your reading material for the night. He wasn’t killing puppets just for you to die of a cold.

As P grows and understands emotions, he would often bring a book to you, point to a passage where a character felt something he felt and then point to himself. It helped when you put words to define his emotions. He would store away that knowledge.

There were moments when P would come home after a late night of stalking, and instead of just spending time in the library, he would wake you up and silently point to a page in a book. He never said anything in those moments but the passage he pointed you told all.

He’s very adept at matching the people he meets (their stories) to the fairytales he reads. It became a bit of an inside joke between you too, such as thinking of red ridding hood when Alidoro appears.

And yes, as you two grow closer and he gains more humanity, he really relishes the closeness reading brings the two of you. Sitting together reading often ends up being wrapped up in blankets, sleeping (resting in his case). And he loves how you never seem to stop analyzing the books you read. Sometimes when he’s bored or needs to get through some chore, he likes having you around to fill the silence.

Loves to rest his head in your lap, around your chest and listen to you read. It’s not just your voice, but the vibrations he feels as he listens. It just makes him feel nice inside. If you fall asleep, he likes to pretend he also fell asleep, just to hold onto the moment longer.

Most of the relationship is you giving him books to read, but every once in a while, he’ll surprise you with a recommendation. It’s not always something he read, but something he thinks you might like.

And yes, any book he finds outside comes straight to you.

Imagine teaching him to write down his thoughts and make his own story! That thought really hits him when he denies his father and the fight happens. It’s the first time he chose his own path.

You can always tell what mood he’s in by what he’s been reading.

The day that made you cry though was several weeks after Geppetto’s death. P was strangely quiet about his father’s secret and subsequent death, and though you pressed him to communicate something to him, you also knew he needed his space. So you took to seeing what he had been reading. But there was only one book, The Little Match Girl. He had been reading the story over and over again, seemingly lost in the young protagonist’s visions. You cried hard that day. How must he feel after being betrayed, insulted, and rejected by his father as both Carlo and Pinocchio?

You hugged him hard that day, and told him that he is not doomed by a fairytale narrative.

You knew you had your Pinocchio back when you hugged your back and you could feel just a few drops of tears on your neck.

[slashyrogue]

It takes a ridiculously long time for Wade to realize he's pregnant.

Like, super fucking ridiculously.

Truth be told, he didn't know that getting pregnant was in the cards for him but when he did it was so anticlimactic that really understanding the gravity of the situation seemed like an afterthought.

Rewind a bit.

He should've known that getting kidnapped by the government would result in more than just waking up sore when Logan saved him only two days in but really he just wanted to be out of there.

The exhaustion - something that he rarely had with the regeneration and all that - made it easy to fall asleep on Wolvie's shoulder during the ride home but when he woke up all he did was want to be in Logan's pocket.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Wade just nuzzled his beard - which was just as fluffy as you'd think it was - and sighed. "Just wanna cuddle with my favorite kitty cat."

"Wade---"

"Pretty please?" he faked a cough, "I was tortured, Wolvie. Peanut, they cut things OUT I saw them."

Logan growled and the claws that had come out slid right back in. "Fine."

And so began Wade's "Week of Cuddles" which was AMAZING to say the least. Logan was NICE to him, and practically babied him better than anyone EVER had. It was like Christmas and Halloween AND his Birthday fucked and had a million babies.

100/10 would recommend.

The ice creams and chimichangas were never ending; the cuddles were abundant, and he even got to fall asleep on Logan's shoulder.

He secretly loved that one the best by the way but pretended he liked the ice cream the most.

The "Week of Cuddles" was followed by "The Week of Sleepovers" and he began "The Week of Chocolate" which was, in retrospect, a big mistake.

The minute Logan brought home the Choco-Tacos (after scouring for HOURS he found one lone store that had a back inventory that was....questionable) and he devoured it in seconds a new week began.

"The Week of Is Wade Dying Again?"

It was a terrible fucking week, mostly with vomiting but also horrible stomach pains, like something was clawing his insides and not in a fun way like the Honda Odyssey.

Logan kept telling him to "go to the damn doctor already" while increasingly seeming agitated and snarly which was cute because Wade pretended it meant he was worried about him.

He knew it was because he hated the smell of vomit with his kitty cat senses.

Obviously.

Althea finally called the X-Men because she was "sick of hearing him puke."

How did she know their number?

Apparently Colossus and here were friends or something he didn't know but when they showed up and Logan dragged him off he was toast.

And he puked twice more on the ride.

Beast then gave him the news.

"Wade, I....it seems you're pregnant."

Wade started to laugh, falling back on the hospital bed, and when no one joined him he was given the results.

Those government fuckers had somehow knocked him up.

How?

Well, it seemed that his body could adapt to anything, even a reproductive system that he shouldn't have.

Logan made Beast take the tests again, and even try to pinpoint who's kid they put inside him.

And....ding ding.

"Logan, I...." Beast said, his voice shaking, "I do believe it's yours."

Wade started laughing then, unable to stop, and Logan left the room.

What a fucking joke.

He grinned at Beast as tears filled his eyes. "Isn't anyone going to throw me a baby shower? I'm sure I'm gonna need some mittens to handle this one, am I right?"

No one laughed.

And Wade got up, still wearing just his heart shaped boxers, and went to put on his suit.

"You....Wade, you have options."

He paused, holding his suit in hand, and put a hand to his belly.

Did he?

It was goddamn selfish to see this through, he knew that, but the thought of NOT seeing it through made him immensely sad.

A once in a lifetime opportunity.

He was an incubator for potentially the next Marvel Jesus. "No," he said, shaking his head, "I don't." The team tried to talk him into staying but he didn't listen and walked outside to find Logan waiting on a motorcycle. "Did you bring that here for little ol' me, Peanut?"

Logan sighed. "Get on."

Wade did just that, holding him tight, and they took off toward fuck knew where.

All he knew was that he was carrying what might be his only offspring that was going to the most wanted mutant in the world once it was born.

Whatever government had done this would come back at the finish line.

But he had scary dog privilege who was currently driving him to his nest or whatever.

They might've thought it was a funny idea to see what would happen if they scrambled the offspring of two immortals and give them something to fight for.

Joke was on them.

There was no way that if there was a baby at the end of this mess that either of them wouldn't fight like hell.

Wade could hardly wait.

And hey, maybe this would turn out to be like one of those 90s sappy rom-coms where grumpy and the baby mama fell in love.

Ha.

Wouldn't that be something?

[soleilceirinen]

WHEN THE DARKNESS COMES | Thomas Shelby x Shadowhunter!Reader - Part 5

Summary: you are a shadowhunter investigating the sudden rise of yin fen in the Downworld, the trail leads you to Small Heath and a blue eyed gangster. Warning: nothing. A/N: English is not my first language, sorry if there are mistakes and thanks for reading! Words: 2.9k

Part 4 - PEAKY BLINDERS MASTERLIST

What are you supposed to wear to the races?

Despite not having been there before, at least you knew that it was some sort of social event, right? So you decided to wear a dress, the one that you brought with you to Birmingham just in case. Guess today was the day.

You took your time doing your hair and makeup, feeling the palm of your hands tingle with excitement. Tommy was taking you to the races and that had to mean something. Was it a date?

A little voice in your head reminded you of the purpose of your presence in Small Heath, but you pushed the thought away. For once, you were going on a date with no one but the leader of a gang, who by the way, was quite attractive and also had shown an interest in you.

Just a day, you thought, tomorrow I’ll continue with my duty. I swear by the Angel.

Without realising it, you had been clutching your tiny purse in your fists, so hard that your knuckles had turned white. Slowly, you softened the grip while shifting your weight from the tip to the heel of your feet as you waited for Tommy to come and pick you up. 

There was no reason to be nervous, but nevertheless, you were. And it was kind of irrational because almost every night you faced the most disgusting demons, all your life since you were a little girl, you had been surrounded by horror and death. Tommy was just a man, probably mundane. The small possibility of him being a warlock was not clear yet but still, why couldn’t you think of him without your heart beating like crazy?

You did not have the privilege to behave like a silly teenager in love, you were a nefilim. However, you couldn’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach whenever you remembered the night before. The thought of his plumped lips devouring your mouth with his hand on the back of your neck and the taste of whiskey on his tongue. 

Nothing to worry about, you repeated to yourself, like a mantra. You had been in worse situations.

In order to try to calm down, you started thinking. Perhaps you were feeling a bit uneasy due to the fact that you were quite exposed since you were not wearing any sort of shadowhunter gear or weapons. Only your trusted old dagger, attached to your thigh where your dress covered it from anyone’s sight. Your bag was too small to carry any weapon in it, even your stele did not fit, it was too long. 

Hopefully, none of those things was going to be necessary. Who or what was going to attack you in broad daylight? One of the horses? No demon would come out until the sun went down, anyway. And there were still several hours until that moment.

A car stopped in front of you, pulling you out of the tangled labyrinth of thoughts about everything that could go wrong.

Tommy was in it, watching you with interest. His blue eyes scanned you from head to toe. When he finished, you could see a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth. He raised an eyebrow as you approached the vehicle.

“Hello, Thomas”, you said, getting into the car. With the small bag on your lap, you crossed your hands over it and stared at the man sitting next to you.

He leaned over to kiss your cheek, barely touching your soft skin. “Hello,” he replied hoarsely. The scent of cigarettes filled your nose. “That’s a nice dress.” 

You looked down and touched the fabric with your fingers. “Thank you, I wasn’t sure about what I should wear.”

“Well,” he started the car, “you surely look lovely.”

Biting your lip, you tried to hide a smile and glanced away in a futile attempt to keep your thoughts at bay. It was complicated though, with Tommy’s hand on your leg.

-

The place where the races were held was packed with people. You caught glimpses of them staring at you as Tommy guided you through the crowd with a hand on the small of your back. Even when he stopped to talk to some of them, about business or politics as you could hear, he did not let you go away. He kept his hand constantly connected to your body, until you found the stables and Tommy took a few steps away from you, stopping in front of a horse. 

You approached them carefully, trying to avoid ruining your shoes, and admired the beautiful animal. 

“This is your horse?” you wondered in awe, slowly bringing your hand closer to the animal’s snout. 

The smell of the horses and the hay brought back some memories from your childhood in Idris, suddenly you felt very small. Tommy nodded in silence, caressing the horse’s neck with affection. 

After weeks of following Thomas Shelby around, watching and studying his every move and even the slightest interaction, this was the first time you had seen him showing anything resembling tenderness. This man had nothing to do with the intimidating and cruel facade that he showed to the rest of the world. In front of you, you had a man who was whispering words of affection to his horse in a language that you were not able to understand. 

“Oh! You’re here, Tommy” a feminine voice caught you off guard. She hadn’t seen you yet, so she kept talking to him. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon, not before the races at least. I’ve been thinking about our last conversation and…” 

Her voice grew smaller when you moved to the side, stepping away from the horse and a little closer to Tommy. The lady’s dark eyes danced from you and Tommy, almost as if indecisive. 

“I’m showing the horses to Y/N,” he said as if that explained his presence there, brushing your arm when he said your name. Her eyes finally rested on you for a moment, taking in the information before returning to Tommy. He was looking at you. “This is May Carleton, she trains my horses.” 

“Nice to meet you,” you said, as friendly as you could. 

She nodded, touching her hair and quickly looking away. You almost felt bad for her, disappointment oozed from every pore of her skin despite her attempt to hide it.

It made you wonder if something had happened between them. Probably, based on the way she tried to meet his eyes but he wasn’t into her, at least not anymore from what you could tell. 

It did not surprise you. Actually, it just confirmed one of your assumptions about Thomas, the fact that he was the kind of man who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. 

May’s face was so devastated that it only increased your sympathy for her. It wasn’t her fault to have fallen in love with him. The bastard had something that made it really hard to ignore him. He was like a light in the darkness alluring you to get closer and once you realise it, it is too late. You’re burnt and he is leaving you. 

Tommy cleared his throat and placed his hand in the small of your back once again, ready to lead you out of the stables. “We’re going to find our seats before the race starts, we’ll talk another day, May.”

As you two moved forward among the crowd, you gave him a side glance. He seemed unfazed after the encounter with her. 

“You could have been a bit nicer, you know. She clearly still feels something,” you said once you found your seats. 

He raised an eyebrow at you and shook his head, lightning a cigarette. 

“What May and I had ended a long time ago. Our current agreement is purely professional.”

“Does she know?”

“She’s a smart woman, she must have figured it out by now.”

-

You had no idea of what to expect of the horse races but definitely it was not this. People cheered and talked loudly about their bets and the horses and whatever. And you were bored as hell. Thomas kept his eye on his horse and he even smiled from time to time, probably every time he won a bet which meant he was making money.

It was hard to stay focused and enjoy, as much as you tried. Everyone around seemed to be having the time of their lives but you just couldn’t. The nerves were creeping up your stomach, making it impossible. Something was off, but you didn't know what it was. 

On more than one occasion, your intuition had saved your life. So you began to scan the crowd, searching for something that could explain your uneasiness.

As you did so, your fingers dug into Tommy’s forearm a little too hard. He frowned and turned his head to look at you. “Something is going on, I don’t know what it means yet but I would say that we are being watched,” you told him in a low voice. 

Tommy took a quick look around and shrugged before glancing back at you. He sighed at the sight of your face contorted with worry. His hand caressed your cheek.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to worry,” he said softly, resting an arm over your shoulders and pulling you closer to him protectively. As if you were a naive and vulnerable girl, as if he had forgotten the fact that you were a demon hunter. “People will stare, it’s normal. Don’t you know who I am? Also, my date is a beautiful woman. Let them look all they want.”

His arrogance made you frown. “No, Thomas. It’s not about that, you don’t understand what I mean. I think this is something beyond mundane, and we need to get out of here. We are too exposed, I need to figure out what’s going on.”

“Nothing is going on,” he said firmly. You opened your mouth to reply but he put a finger over your lips, pressing them gently. “Take a look around, see all the Peakys? We are safer here than anywhere else right now.”

He was right, all around you could see men wearing peaked caps and tailored suits. You even recognised some of them, there was Arthur and others whose names you did not remember. However, you were convinced that whatever it was, they couldn’t stop it. 

“Love, look at me.”

You looked up at him, he seemed so calmed that it made you feel a bit embarrassed. What if you had just let yourself get carried away? Tommy squeezed your hand. 

“But Tommy…”

“But nothing,” he cut you off before you could keep insisting. “Enjoy the races. I have a surprise for later.”

He was smiling almost imperceptibly, only for you to see it. You pursed your lips and ended up nodding, there was no point in trying to convince him, he was as stubborn as a wild horse. Even more than that.

So you rested your head on his shoulder and looked up, staring at the sky. The sun was starting to set. Now, more than ever, you regretted not bringing enough weapons with you. 

-

Relief filled your body once everything was over and you stood up, ready to leave. Tommy seemed to be in a good mood. Once again, he guided you through the crowd, this time he offered you his arm to hold on to as you made your way back to the car. You let him guide you, without paying attention to him or what he was talking about, still alert to any suspicious movement around. 

As you walked further into the dark streets, the feeling of being followed intensified. You were only a few metres from the car when you looked over your shoulder and saw it.

You stopped walking, digging your heels into the ground and making Tommy stop as well, he gave you a questioning look that you did not return because your gaze was on the alley you two had just walked by a few seconds ago.

A creature had sneaked there so fast that if you hadn’t been feeling that something was off all that time, it probably would have gone unnoticed. It seemed to be a ravener demon, like the one you had killed the night before.

Was it following you, or Tommy?

With a fluid movement you unhooked your arm from his and threw him your bag. It hit him in the chest but he managed to grab it before it fell to the floor. Reaching under your dress, you grabbed the dagger. The blade shone under the street lights. 

“Stay here, I’ll be back in a second. Don’t get any closer,” you warned him, adjusting your grip on the dagger. 

Before he could reply anything, you had already disappeared running towards the alley. But Tommy was not the kind of man who follows other people’s orders. He headed towards the alley too, stopping a few steps away from the entrance, unable to take his eyes off the scene in front of him.

The demon was hiding there, waiting for you. It only took you a couple of minutes to kill it, although you ended up covered in black, viscous ichor.

“Damn it,” you muttered, dropping the dagger and wiping your hands and arms on the fabric of your dress, trying to clean as much ichor as possible from your skin. The dress was ruined. 

You hissed at the burning sensation, taking a moment to put yourself together. Then, you turned around to face the entrance of the alley. Tommy was standing there, a lonely figure in the middle of the dark street. But wait, he was not alone. There was someone else. 

Suddenly, it all clicked in your head. The ravener demon was just a distraction, the real danger was still out there. 

Tommy was staring at you wide eyed. He had presumably witnessed the whole encounter with the creature and now more than ever since he saw you for the first time, he looked as if he had lost his mind.

Actually, he was kind of astonished by the speed at which you had moved and the way you had made that horrible thing disappear. 

He was not paying attention to his surroundings and even if you warned him, he could not react fast enough to avoid the man approaching him from the back. Luckily, you could move faster than a regular human. Using what was left of your speed rune, which wasn’t much because it had almost faded away at this point, you run to get between the man with the gun and Tommy. 

If you hadn’t been busy with the ravener, this guy would not have had a chance to get so close. The man pulled the trigger just when you were about to push Tommy away, the loud bang of it sent a shiver down your spine.

The sound seemed to snap Tommy out of his stupor. A million thoughts and emotions flooded his mind, this could not be happening. Not again. All of a sudden he was no longer in the middle of a dirty street but knelt on the floor while holding the limp body of his wife, who had just been shot by a bullet intended for him.

Tommy held you tightly, with his vision clouded by anger but focused. He took out his own gun and shot the man many times, not stopping until there were no more bullets left. The man fell like a ragged doll on the ground, a dark pool of blood under his thin body. 

It had all happened so fast... as you held onto Thomas tightly, he spoke softly in your ear. Or maybe he wasn't speaking softly, but the gunshots had sounded so close that you couldn't hear anything now. Well, you could hear your heartbeat inside your eardrums. And something else, a sharp pain that increased by each second. 

With trembling hands, you touched your chest just below your collarbone, where the pain was coming from. You looked at your fingers, covered in crimson. A sob escaped your lips and then you began to understand what Tommy was telling you. 

He kept repeating that you had to stay calm, that everything was going to be okay. A few men, Peaky Blinders, arrived at the scene alerted by the gunshots and Tommy started screaming orders at them. 

“I need an ambulance now!”, he shouted, returning his attention to you. “You’re alright Grace,” his voice was barely a whisper as he caressed your hair and rocked you back and forth. 

Even though it hurt, you tried to get out of his hold. Although it was the first time you had been shot, there were worse kinds of pain than the physical one. Tommy tried to make you stay still but you needed to see the man who had attacked you. 

Being closer now, you noticed his frail body, he seemed young. A teenager or a young man, he could not be older than you. But his hair was matted and completely silver. It was too dark to see the colour of his eyes but you were sure that they were silver too, just like the greyish tone of his skin.

A yin fen addict. 

[synnamonroll666]

Finally Me

Pairing: Syzoth X Fem!Reader Warnings: Fluff, Implied Monster Fucking, Teratophilia, Breeding Kink, Implied Breeding... Word Count: 488 A/N: Ever since I wrote that monster fucking prompt, it's been heavy on my mind. So I wanted to do a little something that's more in the perspective of Syzoth. I hope you all enjoy! 😁💚 Main MasterList: 🖤 Syzoth's MasterList: 🖤 Synny's Angels: @mornandil, @queenkhepri, @bihansthot, and @mmeerraa.

⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒

He knew he was a monster, and yet she didn't see him that way. He had wanted it for so long but was scared to grasp it in his claws. And here she is, bearing her fragile self to him while begging for him to bear himself to her—his true self.

Though the desire in his heart and instinct in his mind screamed with need, he was afraid—afraid of hurting the only woman who truly loved him for all that he was. But with a gentle hand upon his and a few sweet words of encouragement, Syzoth found himself changing once again. But this time, it was not to devour another victim. At least, not in the way he would usually do so.

Skin morphs into scales, and her eyes are filled with awe as she stares up at the 8ft beast before her. Not a look Syzoth is used to getting in this state—or any state, for that matter.

Her hand reaches out—shaky and clammy. Not from nerves but excitement—and those soft fingertips he adores so much brush over his leathery scales.

A low, purr-like sound is heard emitting from inside the walls of his muscular chest. He is embarrassed at first, since he didn't mean to do so, but her sweet smile makes those worries go away. He lays his head upon her chest as she continues to stroke his head—as she waits for him to make the final move.

His heart pounds like a drum, and salty tears prick his crimson eyes. He had never been so vulnerable in this form—hell, it was made for fighting and being a predator—but here he is, in the arms of a pure angel, melting like some love-sick puppy dog. The Zaterran wouldn't have it any other way, though. He loved his human more than anything—she was more precious to him than any amount of money or any rare gem in the universe.

He was fine to bask in her heat for a little longer until that voice within began to talk again, telling him that he still had a mission to finish. He raises his head, looking for confirmation, which she gladly gives.

Then he releases a breath to relax; the cold air fans her neck and makes her smile. He slowly pushes himself inside her walls, grunting as her heat consumes a more intimate area. He waits, listening to her whine and keen beneath him as she stretches over his large members. She had never had someone this big before, so it will take some time to get used to it.

But Syzoth would gladly wait for her, ignoring those voices scolding him and reminding him that his job is much too important to care for her well-being. He will still wait—all while the corners of his stiff, Zaterran lips turn up into a loving smile as he thinks about the children he is about to conceive.

⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒

[ph0enix-12]

Ichorverse - chapter 3

~ Knowledge’s keeper ~

This may sadly be the weakest chapter in the story, there just wasn’t that much to say

<- Chapter 2 . Chapter 4 ->

He was named Dust, for that was all he was, dust to be swept under the rug and forgotten. To be left in a library and gather over the books, to be quiet and invisible, to not ever be seen by anyone.

His family was far too powerful and influential in high society to be seen with a son like him, a frail and cursed child.

He was never fully alone, he saw spirits as they moved around his parent’s villa, but even they didn’t spare more than a glance at the forgotten child.

Many of the books of the library were used as decoration, lining the shelves just to fill them, like magic books, his favorite thing in the world. He was honestly grateful to be in that family just because it meant he could study magic. His mana lines always felt full and stuffy, making him always sluggish and sleepy. He only realized once he grew up that the reason for that was a surplus of magical energy hidden inside him.

He studied science even if magic was his true calling. Reading every single book written by the greatest researchers he could find was easy, always hungry for knowledge and more stimulus for his head.

He found magic books of all kinds and he ate through each one, devouring the words eagerly and stewing over each single page for days until he knew it by heart.

He quickly learned that spell casters were able to save spells as cards. Spell caster, mage, magic user, he loved those appellatives, he yearned to be called that too. So, he started to make his own cards, and even if the first ones were incredibly unsuccessful, he kept going every day he spent in that library. Painting and writing each little detail he found described in the books he so loved.

And then his parents had to ruin it all, of course.

After almost his entire life spent in that library, he was dragged out to attend some sort of party, which was weird, but he would have been an idiot to question them.

The lights were too bright and the music was way too loud even if soft jazz was the only thing playing. He felt the expensive garments he was made to wear stick to his bones and the lace itched badly, the tag of the shirt dug into his neck like searing needles. It was all too much all at once.

He couldn’t look people in the eyes, even if it was required for him to speak to other nobles. He didn’t care about this stupid thing, he didn’t care that he had the honor to be hosted in the king’s palace. Why the heck would he!? His library was perfect, he liked his living conditions!- to a certain degree..

He ran out into one of the openings that from the ballroom gave into the gardens outside. His breath was short and everything was spinning. Dust tried to shield his eyes, because everything felt too bright, and loud and- Something was wrapped over his head…it was a nice fabric, it felt like good quality, but not like some stupid fancy lace.

He heard someone quietly guide him to take deep breaths and he listened, slowly being able to open his eyes again.

He was utterly stunned when he saw the man in front of him, who had wrapped the cloth over his head. This was no ordinary man, this was a god.

The god had a golden crack over one of his eyes and from that close, Dust could notice tiny cyan freckles over his cheek bones. He knew very well who the god was, since there was only one other god to live in the mortal realm. This man was Nightmare, Dust had read stories about the six gods before, and he was the youngest among them even if he came from a set of triplets.

His older siblings made the sea and the planets in their galaxy, while he made the night. From the moon and the stars, to the darkness that was casted over the world- he had made it all.

And now, there he was, looking at Dust with a calm yet worried expression.

“Are you feeling better? Can you hear me now?” He asked, making sure to keep his voice low for the startled mortal, “Yeah- i am fine-“ Dust blushed at his stuttering, it wasn’t often he spoke to new people and it was surely the first time he spoke with a god.

The star sighed relieved, “good. I worried when you ran out” he tenderly wrapped the cloth around Dust further, it was like a big scarf made of heavy cotton and thankfully not itchy wool.

The god sat beside him on the grass, keeping his legs gracefully folded under himself, “thank you..” Dust muttered shyly, “I- don’t know what happened”.

“You almost had a meltdown” he was hesitant, but he gently placed a hand over Dust's shoulder in an effort to soothe him further, “did something in particular upset you? Did someone bother you?” Dust closed his eyes, surprisingly letting himself get touched. “Uh- I don’t know” he spoke softly, starting to get embarrassed- fuck, the king had to step in to calm him from a meltdown, first day out into society and he was already messing up.

“It was…loud and bright. And these clothes suck” the god chuckled amused by his brashness. “Yes well, fancy clothing isn’t really ‘sensory friendly’” he smiled at him and the mortal felt..understood, maybe.

“You are Dust, correct? I learned just today that the Arkani family had a son” He tried his hand at some light conversation, maybe trying to distract Dust from the noise of the party. “Yeah..I don’t get out much, I mostly study” He perked up, looking interested, “really? What do you study? I enjoy litterature the most”

A small smile bloomed on Dust's face, hidden under the scarf that wrapped around his head, “magic…I like magic studies”

He was admittedly very excited to finally talk with someone cultured about it.

Dust proudly showed him his cards, he hadn't even realized how much he needed someone to ask about them and to see his achievements-

“It is rare for a young man like yourself to be interested in this field. Who taught you?” Dust blushed, ashamed, “..no one taught me..your grace” he lowered my head- most nobles had a proper education, none of them were self taught like him.

“You learned magic by yourself? That is-'' Dust hunched his shoulder, ready to be chastised or something, “-quite impressive!”

To say Dust was stunned was quite the understatement- he had understood this man to be someone interested in culture, he would have imagined to be reprimanded for not having a teacher-

“You have quite the interesting talent for cards too” the god gently picked up one of the spells Dust had displayed on the grass. He studied it carefully, squinting his good eye and rubbing his chin, the mortal admitted to himself that the god looked a little silly doing so-

“-and the writing on the cards is very pristine and polished, it means that you have been writing multiple cards for a long time-” Dust hid his little snort of amusement as the god kept examining his work, he honestly felt a lot better now, the sounds and lights were dulled by the scarf he had been given.

The star offered him a polite smile as he handed the card he held back to the mortal. “How would you like a place in my court?”

Dust blinked. “Me?” the god chuckled amused, “yes, you, Dust Arkani”

He blinked again, “are- you sure your majesty?” the god shrugged a little, “why not? I don't think you want to be stuck in a library forever, no?”

How did he-

~~~

I’m so sorry Dust, I promise you are interesting in other chapters 😭😭😭

[merbear25]

hii!!! sorry i forgot to specify gender- trans male reader 😭😭

mayuri was definitely. unnerving. seeing him at first … especially with how he treated nemu, you’re very right!! i started to really like him after his fight with szayelaporro, hes very interesting ^_^

-🐊 anon

Hello again!! I attached the original ask because it'd help with context. Thank you for sending something in, my lovely 🐊 anon. I hope you like it and are still enjoying Bleach 💜🧡

There would be no feelings—that was the agreement. He was in no position to take on a partner, seeing as his business took up far too much of his freetime. Even with knowing he wouldn’t give you what you really wanted, you couldn’t help yourself; you kept coming back for more.

CW: NSFW, MDNI, trans m!reader, hard sex, penetrative sex, general terms used for reader, top surgery scars briefly mentioned, undefined relationship, angst

Blurred lines (Crocodile)

A man like him was hard to get close to. Well, that was only half true. Physical intimacy could be given out like playing cards, but it so rarely was an entry to many’s hearts. 

“What were you doing messing around with a man like him?” You often asked yourself this question but never had the answer. Suppose you developed genuine feelings for him—you already had. Suppose you decided to confront him about your feelings—you wouldn’t be so brave. Suppose there was a chance he returned your love—wishful thinking, that was all it was.

Each time that familiar pain rattled in your chest, it was momentarily soothed by the affection shown in the bedroom behind closed doors, where only the two of you know of your relationship. A band-aid plastered on the open wound only to be ripped off at your darkest hour, and yet he was the only one who made you feel alive.

A tango with the wolf who had shed his sheep’s clothing brought on obvious danger, but were you wrong to crave more? You shouldn’t keep going back, let alone fall for him. The heart wanted what the heart wanted.

Escorted to the premise just as discreetly as all the times before, as you climbed the steps to the chambers of hot and cold relations, that unsettling pain spread throughout your chest.

The fire was set—leaving the embers to dance with the life that would emanate within the room without long. The bed was made with those silky sheets you commented on liking once—filling your head with thoughts that your opinion was held in high regard. The man who you’d be lying with—a thrill that accompanied each rendezvous.

The world was treacherous even on its calm days, and although you knew he’d never truly offer you solace from the gale force winds, you took comfort in his arms if only for a night.

His hands favor your hips. He guided you closer to him, and you allowed him to press against you. The grip he had tightened. Your hands found their way to his chest, already clinging to the fabric covering the body that kept you awake at night when apart.

Taking handfuls of the backside that left him wanting more, he leaned in closely. His lips ghosted yours as if savoring the light gasps that left them. So frail and weak on the outside but a starved attention whore deep within.

“You like how I touch you, don’t you?” A low grumble trailed past your ear.

Your fingers raked down his chest. The way your smaller frame seemed to fit so perfectly with his was a weapon you wielded.

“I especially love when you throw me around and pin me into whatever position you need to have me in.” Your voice lulled him into the trance he would never admit being under.

“Such a naughty thing.” He picked you up effortlessly and tossed you on the bed. Swiftly tugging your bottoms off, you eagerly ripped your shirt off. 

When he flipped you on your stomach, you arched your back—a succulent piece of meat ready to be devoured.

He ran his hand down your back, letting it linger on your ass before landing a rough slap to it. That yelp you made never failed to put a sadistic smile on his face. His hand gripped your soft flesh, unable to resist spreading you. The way your breath quickened had you squeezing each sensitive nerve under his watchful gaze.

Without warning, he spit on your most private area. His saliva was dripping down your taint, serving as a pathetic excuse for lube as he plunged a finger in. Your body took to him instantly, wrapping around his thick finger and meeting his pumps with your own bucking enthusiasm.

“What’s the matter? Didn’t I fuck you hard enough last time?” He leaned down. With a fair amount of his body weight on you, your breaths quickened from the increased pressure. “Or are you just being greedy?”

He put in a second finger. His eyes stayed on your face, intently watching as the pleasure he was giving you etched on your face. Your body squirmed and withered under him, making you move further from where he wanted you. He slammed his hook over your neck. The sudden force of the chilled metal made you shriek.

“Stay still,” he ordered.

You huffed and panted, quaked and groaned: each sound and reaction you had was pushing his control to its limit. With your shame tightening around him, you were just about to go over that edge.

He pulled out. Your begs for more were only met with a low laugh—such a pathetic mess you were.

You felt as light as a feather when he manhandled you—flipped and turned however he desired you. On your back was one of your favorites. Adoring how his hand wandered over your torso, grazing your scars just to find your perky nipples. As embarrassing as you once thought, Crocodile couldn’t get enough of those sweet moans when he pinched and plucked at them. 

The heat nipping at your cheeks only added to your allure. Your legs trembled from the unexpected gentle caress between your legs. Such tenderness had your body rutting and pressing against his hand, yearning for more while desperately wanting more of what he was offering.

“Such a needy thing.” He grunted while positioning himself between your legs. The gaping hole of your arousal was beginning to twitch from the lack of attention. Slapping his cock against you, he barely gave you a moment before pushing inside of you.

A guttural groan sounded through the room as he picked up the pace. The way your body moved from the force of his hips combined with the silky fabric posed a slight issue—you escaping from him.

He pinned you under his hook once more, growling from the way you cried out. With your shoulders smacking against the metal and your lower half unable to stop shaking from your quickly approaching climax, you clung to him to help stabilize yourself.

“S-so good…” You whimpered through a clenched jaw.

Each thrust, your entire body stroking him fully, the choked gasps: you were perfect. A final thrust, he pulled out to coat you and the body he owned with layers of white hot lust.

Your shared high had the stars lingering in your vision, giving him an appearance that was far more angelic than he deserved. Gazing down at you, the same warmth was undoubtedly reciprocated. But he was a man with no time to commit to a relationship. That was what he told himself

[aclowntiny]

Puppy Love- Yunho x Female!Barista!Reader

I haven't forgotten about all my coffee shop stories 😁😁😁 Yunho in his ‘you like jazz?’ era

Word Count: 3536 | Coffee Shop, Fluff | Warnings: too dang fluffy 😝

Yunho’s dream had finally come true. A dog café had opened up within walking distance of work. What a time to be alive! What a lucky walk of the streets on his break, unsure how to spend his rare free time once he had it. Using it for an activity seemed simultaneously gratifying and overwhelming. Time to burn some energy off with some very good boys and girls instead! Some caffeine might also reverse-jitter him back into productivity…or at least into the right headspace to squeeze in an episode of that show he needed to finish.

Beneath an awning of striped lime green and white awaited the door to Leash Love Latte, the lovely windowed building decorated with paint-on art of joyous pups of all breeds, two of which held mugs and one of which was about to devour a bone-topped cupcake. Yunho couldn't help but smile as his eyes scanned the glass, jumping a bit at the noise when he opened the door, but the startlement easily fell into a laugh as he opened the security door once the front one was closed and was met with a barrage of dogs.

"Oh, hi," he giggled as one little papillon practically climbed up his leg, bending down to scoop her up into his arms. Flipping her collar tag, he saw it read 눈. A name meaning Snow made sense- she was a ball of pure white fluff after all.

Carrying her up to the counter, Yunho was met with the sight of an extremely nimble barista practically skating across the café floor to slide a pastry onto the counter and call out its owner’s name, then turn on her heels to catch a drink from the older man who held it out to her and repeat the process. Once that was done, she twirled around to face the counter.

“Sorry about that, just had an order to finish up,” she paused, taking a couple breaths and getting her hair back into place, smile never leaving her face, “oh, Nunie, are you making friends?” Her gaze had dropped to the sweet pup in Yunho’s arms, the nickname and her evident familiarity with the café dogs warming his heart.

“Yep," he agreed with a chuckle, holding her up a bit higher with fatherly pride despite their very recent meeting, "I think she'd have made a ladder of me if she could."

"Well, you are pretty tall," the girl joked.

"I guess that's true! So, what do you recommend here?"

She grinned. "Dog or drink?"

"Drink," Yunho responded, "I don't think I'll get away with any cheating today."

"How does a peanut butter mocha sound?"

"Great," he replied, "I've never had one before!"

Plucking a solid pink, paw-print-dotted mug from some unseen counter alcove, the barista grinned. "It's sort of my specialty."

"She's always trying to hock those!" The older man called out from deeper in the kitchen, offering a devilish grin.

"Hey! At least I have a specialty!" She called back, smiling when he shouted that she was a better barista than him and sliding the mug down the slick metal counter surface before turning back to Yunho. "Sorry, that's my uncle. He's a bit of a jokester. Your name?”

"Yunho. And that's ok. I can see how well you guys get along. So this is a family business, then?"

"Yep," she nodded, "everything I do, I try to do with my family."

Something about those simple words touched Yunho's heart, throwing its beat off even as he lowered himself into a bench, stroking his snowy new friend and laughing as a brown and white Jack Russel terrier and a little grey mutt with a folded ear scrambled up to fill his lap all the way. His gaze darted between them and the young lady behind the counter as she operated all the kitchenware with focused eyes and lightly smiling lips.

This place really was heaven.

~

"Here you go!"

Yunho's attention snapped up from the mutt, Sammy, to meet the eyes of the girl. He hadn't really paid attention to the color of them before, but the lime-and-pink shaded light dangling above his table must have somehow brought it out as she set his mug in front of him a respectable distance from the squirming dogs piled upon his lap.

"What was your name again?" Yunho blurted out before he could help it.

"(y/n)."

"(y/n)," he repeated with a smile, "wonderful. I just felt like I needed to have a name to go with the face."

Her eyes remained on him, though the smile on her face did not fade. Sammy licked at her sleeve, which only made it grow wider, her nose crinkling a bit. A wave of awkwardness crashed over Yunho.

"So, (y/n), you must really like peanut butter." That sounded much better in his head.

She just giggled. “I love it! I was eating a peanut butter cup when I got the idea for the drink.”

“That’s so cool! I have a friend who cooks and that seems hard, let alone designing something new, like I can’t even imagine.”

(y/n) waved a hand before reaching it back down to pet a fluffy spotted Australian shepherd that ran by her feet. “Oh, I bet you could come up with something,” she told him with a smile.

Yunho racked his brain, but beneath the tantalizing chocolate-peanut-butter-coffee-with-a-hint-of-espresso smell, the light of that obnoxiously cute lamp, the warm, wiggling puppy pile on his lap, and the faint, anticipatory flutter of the girl’s eyelashes, not much was floating up coherently. “I can’t think of anything that would be good in coffee,” he finally admitted.

“What about something that would be bad in coffee?”

“All my brain was giving me was fruit loops, so I’d say that.”

(y/n) gave a humored wince. “Ooh, yeah. Though that would make a good milk latte or shake! I could totally work with that!” And with that, she made another of her skate-like drifts across the shop, dodging three dogs darting at her feet as she fell back behind the counter, pulling out a couple appliances and taking notes like a mad scientist.

Well, that wasn’t too bad a response to fruit loops of all things. Patting Sammy, Yunho pulled his steaming mug to his lips, barely feeling the cup’s heat above that in his own sheepish cheeks.

~

A few days after his Leash Love Latte trip, Yunho was out for a walk to clear his head after a very early morning of choreography practice, having rinsed himself off and wanted nothing more than to get out into the sun and breeze, practically melting the industrial lighting out of his skin. Cleansing the sweat off had only been step one.

Veering off the paved walking trail, Yunho crossed over the inclination of a grassy green hill, wandering over the great emerald expanse and dodging the occasional frisbee. Ducking under one that was thrown high enough, even.

The small amount of skin exposed by his t-shirt warmed pleasantly in the moderate day's air as he passed an area surrounded by metal gating that bore a few tied-on signs. Within it, dogs of varying sizes tore across the grass, played tug-of-war, and ran to their owners with new friends in tow. As he got closer, he noticed that one of those owners had a haircut that looked quite familiar, a smile Yunho felt like he’d just been graced with.

It was (y/n)! Carefully undoing the safety gate with a deft motion of his fingers, he lifted the release and entered, immediately dodging dogs as he ran a hand through his hair hoping he’d straightened it. His other hand was already getting thoroughly sniffed, a few licks coming to it before he reclaimed it, giving a bulldog and a border collie some pats as he milled through the park. A mutt- maybe half terrier- ran up to him snuffling with a squeaky toy in its jaws, so Yunho threw it, laughing as it turned into a little spotted streak of lightning. Hopefully its owner was young. And then, turning on his heels, he faced you.

“Oh, hey, (y/n), right?” He leaned forward, resting a hand as casually as he could atop the bench a few feet from him, mock-guessing your name like it hadn’t made a few runs through his head of late. “Didn’t see you there. I’m-”

“Yunho from the café. Fruit loops guy.”

Fruit loops guy. “Yep, that’s me.” He put a hand to his chest. “Fruit loops guy.”

“I’ve been tinkering around with stuff and that idea is something that we might be adding to the menu if my uncle lets me!” She added, grinning as a pup Yunho recognized as Sammy ran up to her, leaning into her offered pets.

“Really? That’s great!”

“Yeah! Should I name it after you?”

“The Yunho? Might confuse some people-”

(y/n) chuckled, wrapping her arms around Sammy to pull him onto her lap. “Yunho, I was kidding.”

“Oh, right, yeah, I knew that. So, uh, taking Sammy to the dog park?”

“Yep,” she nodded, smiling, “I try to take all the adoptables out on an alternating schedule.”

“Oh,” Yunho tilted his head in thought, “the Leash Love Latte dogs are for adoption?”

“Indeed they are. The goal is people live them so much they want to take them home!”

“Guess then they’d really need a doggy bag,” he quipped.

(y/n)’s eyes widened as she burst out with a laugh. “Ok, that’s so perfect, mind if I steal that?”

“Be my guest.”

“I’ll try my best to credit you where I can. Hey, wanna play frisbee with Sammy? It’s practically as big as him, but he loves it.”

Was there even a question? “Of course! Come on, Sammy, let’s go!”

And with that, they both pushed off their respective bench seat and lean, jogging deeper into the park’s grass and dodging a fire hydrant in the ground as they took turns tossing the blue plastic disc (y/n) had ready in her backpack.

~

“Hey, remember the guy who inspired my fruit loops latte?” You called back into the kitchen as you refilled the coffee bean jars up front, dim evening lights of closing time filing Leash Love Latte.

“Tall fellow, right?” You uncle questioned in response.

"Yeah," you nodded, "him. If he comes back, I'm going to get him in the kitchen."

"In the kitchen?" Your uncle's voice raised both in incredulity and response to some barks from your café companions. "I thought you liked him."

"Oh, geez!" Plucking a not-so-wet grey washcloth from your counter, you lobbed it at your uncle and his jokes. "I do. You think I'd let any loser with a dazzling smile into my laboratory?"

The washcloth connected with your uncle's shoulder, breaking his face into a grin as he shook it into his hand and started wiping the kitchen surface with it. "Ugh, save the sappy crap for him, huh? What are you even going to make him do? A day of free labor?"

"No," you giggled, leaning on the shining metal of your counterspace, "I think he has better ideas than he gives himself credit for. I'm just going to let him try making whatever he wants."

"As long as you guys clean up after yourselves," your uncle teases you, giving you a fond smile.

"Of course we will," you reply with a joyous look of your own, anticipation coursing through you as you imagined all the things you could come up with on your quest for a new menu item...and maybe something else new for you.

~

"Get in the kitchen with you? Me?" Yunho looked at you with eyes wide, holding little Nun a bit tighter in his hands in startlement as if you'd suggested he set his pants on fire.

"Well, I wasn't exactly asking your invisible twin brother there," you teased, clicking the pen in your hand open, then closed again, as you glanced over his shoulder.

He turned his head that way too like there'd suddenly be someone there. There obviously was not. "Alright, point taken. You liked the cereal lattes that much, huh?"

That wasn't what I liked most, you wanted to say. You leaned a bit further out from behind the register. "Something like that. I think it would be fun! Don't you? We don't have to make something good, that'll just be a bonus!"

Yunho's smile returned as yours spread out, and he bent over and gently placed the little fluffball he'd been holding back on the floor, where she stood at his feet, sniffing Cherry, a black chihuahua. "I don't think it'll be fun, (y/n)..."

Your expression stiffened a bit, eyebrows raising to urge his trailed-off sentence on.

"I know it will be! Let's do it! As long as you're allowed to do this, of course."

And then you were smiling again, heart beating in anticipation. You were going to get this dog-loving man and his silly innocent brain in your life no matter what it took.

"Cleared with the boss man and all. Let's make something out of this dead workday!"

Yunho laughed at that, accepting the hand you held out, beckoning him into the sacred space behind the counter, aka your drink and treat lab.

"So," you grinned, folding both your hands under your chin, "wanna make a drink or bake something?"

"Why don't we bake?" Yunho replies, gaze breaking from yours in thought. "Hmm, what's a good dessert to go with a drink? Shortcake?"

"Like strawberry shortcake?"

"Yeah, but why is shortcake always strawberry? Why can't it be any other fruit?"

You shrugged, feeling your expression smugly egg him on. "Why can't it? What do you have in mind?"

"Have you ever seen those candied melons? What about melon shortcake? I bet no one's done that before," Yunho answered before pausing for a couple ticks of Leash Love Latte's dangly-tail dog-in-a-teacup wall clock, "or is that gross?"

Crossing further into the kitchen, you pulled open a silver cabinet and turned back to him. "Only one way to find out."

He shuffled into the kitchen beside you, bouncing on his heels. “Do you have a shortcake recipe?”

“I do indeed,” you said with a grin, taking an apron off the peg on the kitchen wall and handing it his way.

You set to work prepping and measuring the wet ingredients while Yunho took on the dry, the most prominent of which was the flour. Shortcake, you reminded him, wasn’t as sweet as a regular cake, so that seemingly small amount of sugar was in fact correct.

It all went nearly without a hitch, only a small chunk of butter plopping onto the silvery counter, which you quickly twirled around to wipe squeaky clean again. Yunho was doing great at sifting everything together, almost as if he’d done it before.

Well, until the last scoop of flour, that is. The last one hung just wrong, dropping from the measuring cup in Yunho’s hand and sliding down the edge of the mesh strainer, bursting in a cloud of curling pure white dust upon the counter, his apron, and even on the side of your pant leg.

"Oh my gosh, (y/n), I'm so sorry!" Yunho immediately exclaimed, holding his hands out like he didn't trust them anymore.

"Don't worry about it," you replied with a smile and a flippant gesture, "it won't be the first or the last time that happens in here. Besides, in Hallmark movies all things like this do is start a cheeky flour fight."

Yunho glanced down helplessly at his apron and the counter. "Wouldn't that just make it worse?"

"Oh, absolutely," you nod, "but if you just twirl it off your apron, you'll get a pretty cloud effect."

Expectation? A little shimmy. Reality? Yunho executing a perfect showman's leaping twirl, the move indeed enhanced by a puff surrounding him as the powder shook off of him and drifted down to the kitchen tile.

You might've been gaping, but it quickly faded into a smile as you drifted past him in search of a rolling pin. "Alright, so you're, like, an expert dancer, that's totally normal and not extremely cool."

"Oh, I'm no expert. I-I just dance for a living," he replied with a shy grin and darting gaze.

"I hate to break this to you," you leaned on the counter in front of him, rolling pin in hand and awe on your face, "but that makes you an expert. Certainly more than me. You should be there one of the many times I forget a step of the macarena."

Yunho's hands started drifting around in the general airspace above his shoulders, head, and hips. "Which part?"

All you could do was giggle and hold the rolling pin up in your hand, head shaking. "Have you ever kneaded and rolled dough before?" He had good dough hands. Certainly more proportional to the dough than yours!

~

"We did it, (y/n)! We made shortcake!" Practically floating above the tile, Yunho high-fived you after you set the tray down.

While your creation baked, the two of you had ditched your aprons and crossed the threshold back into adoptable territory to absolutely ruin all your kitchen-sanitary hands on the hurricane of dogs that surged after you, leaping into your arms like the sweetest of crests crashing onto your jean-clad knees.

This time you took Nun and Yunho had Mickey the Australian shepherd, who plopped right down on the café tile with his head in Yunho's now-seated lap. You held your fluffy ball of wonder close to your chest and she practically melted in, little black boba eyes fluttering contentedly shut.

Both of you whined how it was torture and apologized to the dogs as if it was a coordinated act as you waved and backed into the kitchen with four remorseful eyes on the adoptable crowd, and that was how the shortcake was procured.

Candying the watermelon went off without a hitch. Well, mostly. While a welcome strength boost to cut the honeydews, Yunho had you half giggling, half protectively extending an arm as he yelped at the bubbling sugar boiling in the pot. For that, you bid him mix the cream while you got the fruit ready.

More time with the adoptables as the candy set, and then you were stacking cake, cream, and shining, syrupy melon chunks into a light yellow-and-green treat topped with some melon balls and classic rosettes.

"It's beautiful," you congratulated Yunho with a wide smile.

"Better than the fruit loop latte idea?"

You just nodded as the sound of your business's door closing rang our behind you. "And here's our proof coming!" You clapped, rushing out of the kitchen in the bouncing dance of a barista on a mission. "Uncle, will you try our dessert please? Yunho and I worked really hard on it," you plead as you dragged your amused uncle into your workspace, one arm linked with his and the other gesturing with a flourish toward the lovely shortcake and your lovely fellow baker, who immediately bent his legs and struck an introductory pose at it himself.

"I can tell. This looks great, you two," your uncle told you, pride clear in his voice as much as on his face as he ruffled your hair with his free hand.

Wiggling gently out of your grip, he accepted the proffered fork from Yunho and reached over to dig into the plated treat you'd decorated on the counter, which of course you'd wiped down before he could see the mess you made. Didn't hurt to butter up the person trying your new innovation, right?

Your uncle's eyebrows shot up the moment the forkful of your shortcake entered his mouth, both you and Yunho leaping up as if watching the pinnacle of a photo-finish race.

"Well, how is it?" You burst out, practically wiggling under the suspense.

"Yes, sir," Yunho added, straightening the apron he'd put back on, "is it good enough to go on the menu?"

"It's very good, son," your uncle began, eliciting a loud cheer from you two and a resonant, stingingly strong high-five of elation to boot.

"But," he added, both of you inhaling at his next words, eyes not even leaving him when an audible, surely adorable play-wrestle broke out among the adoptables, "if you want this on the menu, there's one condition."

"Wh- what's that? Er, sir?" Yunho stiffened under your uncle's serious gaze.

Short-lived as it was; the expression soon melted into your beloved joker's smile of mischief. "You have to take my niece on a date."

"Uncle, I-" You began to protest, heat rising to your cheeks faster than any oven or milk steamer could preheat.

"Yes, sir," Yunho nodded, sparing you a quick glance and a small wave as if he'd forgotten you were there, "that's a much greater reward than the menu spot."

His smile turned almost into something you'd see on a lovesick cartoon, as if your heart hadn't flipped hard enough in the past few minutes or even from the first time he walked in and you saw him being gentle with the adoptables.

What could you say? Guess it was puppy love.

[alwritey-aphrodite]

okay so you know i had to send in a request!!! i’m so excited for you, congratulations again. could i get the prompt of handwritten letters with jamie, maybe he’s at England camp and they decide to keep in touch the old fashioned way? but honestly if you come up with another prompt that fits i’ll be very happy either way :))

The idea of spending months away from Jamie made your chest ache. You’d never tell him to stay home, not when this has been his dream for forever, not when you can text and FaceTime and call each other every day, but you had to admit that the idea of not waking up next to him for months made you a little sad.

Still, you sent him off to England camp with a big smile on your face, mostly because it would be impossible to look sad when Jamie’s next to you, practically bouncing up and down with excitement. So you gave him one last kiss and made him promise to call you once he gets there safely, and you return home to your empty house.

It’s only four days later when a letter arrives.

You inspect it thoroughly, confused as to who would send you a letter when all the mail you’ve ever gotten was bills and packages you’d ordered. When you notice the return address, the ‘Jamie Tartt’ in the upper right corner, you can’t help but to grin. Now that you know who it’s from, you waste no time in freeing the letter from its envelope, sitting yourself down at the kitchen table to devour everything Jamie wrote for you.

It’s a little less than a page long, in that sloppy scrawl you’ve come to love over the years. The letter recounts his first days at England camp but he mostly focuses on how much he misses you and how much he loves you and, to your slight embarrassment, what he wants to do with you when he finally comes home. Despite that last part that made your heart beat so fast you were sure you were dying, the smile didn’t leave your face the entire time you read Jamie’s words.

After reading the letter three times, you set it gently on your bedside table so you could look at it whenever you pleased before finding paper and a pen and an envelope, writing your own letters for Jamie.

This back and forth continues the entire time he’s away, giving you something to look forward to and a reason to desperately await the mail. Most of the time, your letters to him and his to you focus on how much you love and miss each other while filling the other in on day to day antics or any memorable moments. Sometimes, though, Jamie will write something so poetically raunchy that you need to set the letter down and let yourself breathe before you keep reading.

The two of you still text and call and FaceTime, but the letters are something extra special, something so sweet that Jamie came up with all on his own and when you think about it, your heart aches a little. Now, you have a whole box under your bed full of letters from Jamie that you can pull out and reread whenever you need to, whenever you’re feeling down or missing him a little more than normal.

Towards the end of Jamie’s trip, you stopped receiving letters. You’d sent a reply over a week ago but had yet to receive your letter from him, so you started to factor in time to anxiously wait for the mail into your daily routine. As you’re doing this, sitting at the kitchen table and bouncing your leg up and down, there’s a knock at your front door.

You practically throw yourself off your chair and hurtle to the door, unlocking and opening it as soon as you can to reveal Jamie, a letter in his hand. You waste no time in wrapping him in your arms, slotting your face into the space by his neck that makes you feel all safe and loved.

“Thought this would be better than another letter,” he tells you, and he’s completely right. As much as you loved receiving all those letters, nothing would ever be the same as having Jamie in your arms.

[ser3nityst4r]

Azul’s Backstory

Azul loved the water. It swirled around him, a comforting weight against his eight strong legs. He loved the way the coral reefs shimmered, the way schools of fish darted through the kelp forests. But most of all, he loved the quiet solitude of his secret grotto, a place where whispers of magic danced on the current.

But this peace was often shattered.

“Eww, look! It’s the inky octopus boy!”

Two mermaids, giggled as they swam past, their tails swishing with an irritating grace. Azul shrank back into his grotto, his heart a lead weight in his chest. Wishing to return to his usual state of being holed up into his octopot.

“Why does he even come here? The water gets all murky when he cries.”

“He’s probably just jealous he can’t swim as fast as us.”

Their cruel laughter followed him like hungry sharks. Tears welled up, threatening to spill and release the shameful ink that stained his reputation. He hated how easily he cried, how different he was from the sleek, graceful mermaids around him.

“They’re just ignorant,” Azul muttered to himself, clutching a worn, leather-bound book. It was a grimoire, filled with ancient spells and incantations. While other mer-children chased each other through coral arches, Azul devoured knowledge. He may not have been the strongest or the fastest, but he had eight nimble legs perfect for deciphering complex magical symbols and inscribing potent runes.

Years passed. The taunts continued, but Azul learned to find solace in his studies. He mastered spells that could manipulate water, control light, and even alter appearances. He learned of ancient pacts, agreements forged in magic, where power could be bartered and traded.

One day, a pair of eels, twins with mismatched eyes and sly smiles, stumbled upon his grotto.

“Look, Floyd, it’s the little octopus,” drawled the eel with jade green eyes.

Azul tensed, ready to unleash a blast of ink, but the other twin, Floyd, with eyes like the shifting sea, surprised him.

“Wow, what are those circles on the shells?” Floyd asked, swimming closer. “Is that your signature spell?"

Jade peered at the intricate patterns Azul had painstakingly etched onto the seashells. “Look at this, Floyd. Spells for changing forms, for stealing voices… this little octopus has been busy.”

Azul glared at them, his tentacles twitching nervously. “Don’t touch those! They’re not toys!”

Jade chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. “We wouldn’t dream of it. But tell me, little octopus, what exactly are you planning to do with all this power?”

Azul puffed out his chest, his voice trembling slightly. “I’m going to become stronger than anyone, even the Sea Witch herself! Then I’ll make them all pay for laughing at me!”

Floyd and Jade exchanged a look. They saw something in Azul, a spark of ambition that they found intriguing.

Years later, the whispers in the coral hallways had changed. No longer were they whispers of mockery, but whispers of awe, fear, and bewilderment.

“Did you hear? Coralia, the mermaid with the most beautiful voice, can only croak now.”

“And Nero, the fastest swimmer in our school, can barely move his tail! It’s like he traded it for something…”

Azul, now taller and more imposing, listened to these whispers with a satisfied smile. He had honed his magic, crafting contracts that exploited the vanities and insecurities of those who had once mocked him. With a flick of his wrist and a whisper of “It’s a Deal,” he claimed their coveted traits, their speed, their beauty, their very talents, leaving them with only a hollow shell of their former glory.

Azul had become a master of deals, a weaver of fates. He was no longer the scared, lonely octopus hiding in his grotto. He had turned their scorn into his power, their laughter into his triumph. And as he surveyed his underwater domain, he knew that the whispers would only grow louder, a chorus of fear and admiration for the octopus who had mastered the art of the deal.