WARLORD SYLUS, who has had his sights set on you for a good long while. the wife of an enemy tribe and chieftain, all he really cares about is having you for himself. land, cattle, wealth and resources—none of it does much for him anymore, not when in the face of the woman he longs for.
WARLORD SYLUS, who keeps tabs on everything. it's easy when you're a war-mongering, pillaging, raiding tyrant who's kept your home tribe, and the tribe you've been married into, strangely untouched. he has a reputation; a title and name and face that strikes terror into all the hearts of surrounding rulers, and it has its uses. the drottin, he's called. the imperator. the blood-eyed viking. the berserker. he doesn't care very much. he's got his eyes set on a bigger prize.
WARLORD SYLUS, who waits over a decade, and is willing wait longer, if necessary, before he unleashes his attack on your husband's tribe. sylus may be a notorious, bloodthirsty plunderer, but the chieftain you married has a far more depraved approach to things. he needs disposing of. it is something, sylus darkly ruminates, that is long overdue.
WARLORD SYLUS, whose “attack” isn't one of conflagrant, unrestrained strife, but one of cultured negotiating. a signature, frequent method of his, despite his reputation of butchery and violence, and one he's very good at. sylus is, first and foremost, a businessman. what better way to lure your husband into a false sense of security, an unguarded state, than to establish alliance and trade between your two factions first?
WARLORD SYLUS, who expected you to have little-to-no memory of him, but it's a punch to the gut regardless. he, who has been weathered and worn down with long years of battle and conflict and savagery, would, doubtlessly, be unrecognisable to a woman so lovely as you. a loveliness, a softness, a peace the man has gone far too long stripped of, and you're the only one who can fulfil that inanity within him.
yet, there is a weariness, a listlessness, to your face, too, and the sight causes him anguish. but that's okay, because the root of your own misery will soon be wrenched out forthwith, and the life you deserve shall finally be yours.
WARLORD SYLUS, who sometimes marvels at the patience he has toward toiling so endlessly for your hand, and the knowledge that he’d do it again, in all lifetimes, if need be. if not now, if not here, if not in this incarnation, then he will readily await the next.
WARLORD SYLUS, who doesn't have to wait very long until your husband is making the first move for him—the fool declares war by laying waste to one of sylus's communities, and forcing his hand. he is angry, before reason clears his judgement. finally, he has a valid reason to free you from that man and have you for himself—and one where, hopefully, you won't hate him too much.
WARLORD SYLUS, who disposes of your husband's male relatives first. you are that bastard's main wife, and did successfully bear him an heir, but the boy was caught in the crossfire at the battlefront. and when sylus arrives at the hall, the primary residence of the chief and his family, he finds the distraught, grieving figure of a mother who has lost everything.
like a coward, your husband uses you, and his concubines, as human shields whilst that looming, murderous figure strides toward him, axe in hand and smeared with red, eyes just as crimson as the blood drenching his boots. the candles are long snuffed out in here, and your husband grips you to his front, hands shaking, shrinking with every step the warlord takes forward. “get back!” the man, in a desperate, senseless attempt to spare his own sorry hide, draws out a dagger and holds it to your throat. your gasp is clogged with a sob, and you go limp against the blade, clutching at the wrist wrapped around your shoulders and front. “or i'll slit her throat, right in front of you!”
that serves to successfully bring sylus to an abrupt halt in his tracks, and the man is just a silhouette against the waning twilight easing in through the windowpanes. he says nothing.
“ha! that's right!” the dagger pierces the skin of your neck in a shallow slice, drawing a pearl of blood, and you squeeze your eyes shut. “did you think i was blind to the ways you look at my wife? did you think i was clueless to your clear coveting of what is mine? fool! take one more step forward, and this wretch of a woman is for helheim! you shall never have her!”
you're lucid enough to feel bewilderment at your husband's trembling words, and, in answer, you lift your eyes to the warlord standing mere feet away, hand grasping his dripping axe, right eye flaring scarlet in the gloom. you can't make out his features, and he remains silent.
“you raze a peaceful settlement of mine to the ground,” sylus eventually says, voice a rumble in the hall, “in a cowardly machination of war. we established trade, coexistence, allegiance—yet, you tossed that to the wind, and you expect me to make no retaliation?”
“please—” you croak, throat raw, “let us go.”
“i shall not,” the man answers, unmoving. “i shall not allow that miscreant to ravage my people, desecrate innocent women and children, and go unpunished. he shall pay.”
“you will have to kill this wench,” your husband grits, “to kill me.”
“coward,” sylus sneers. “you believe me so spineless and daft as to have no other option? no other ideas? it is you i wish to butcher. i have no need for the woman in your arms, nor the ones left you grovel behind. what use would more bloodshed be, when all i desire to see spilled is yours?”
the knife cuts further into your skin, and your breath catches in your throat, strangled. sylus's grip on his axe tightens. your husband shuffles backwards a little more, toward his high seat, inching for his own weapon. “you want my wife, right? that is the cause for all this needless carnage. that is why you approached me in the first place—lying in wait, skulking about the shadows, feigning a sincere desire for peace and nonviolence, until all comes to naught. well, it matters not! you make take your pick of the harlots here, you may have the livestock and vineyards and slaves, but this woman is mine! if you wish for her to live, then you will put that axe down, turn your back, and leave.”
sylus makes no reply at first. you resign yourself to your fate. you fail to see the point in any of it, and you fail you understand your husband's wrangling. in a heartbeat, he would desert you to spare his own skin and wealth, and leave you to rot. you know you will die. it will only take the mere flick of his wrist.
“if that is what you believe my motives were,” sylus begins after a moment of suffocating silence, “then why did you raid that village? why did you not butcher me first, instead of stoking my ire?”
“you won't kill me,” the man gripping you replies, “so long as i don't kill this old hag.”
“a bold assumption,” the warlord snorts, lifting his free hand to rub his jaw. “i've no desire for a married woman.”
“is that so?” the dagger at your neck does not withdraw, and the blood oozing from your wound prickles your collar. “i don't believe you. i watched you and your manner around my wife! a pitiful lovesick knave, yearning after the spouse of another—that is what you are! you wish to kill me, you wish to take my place, and have my woman for yourself!”
the looming brute heaves a sigh. “my patience has worn thin. such squawking and bellyaching grates on my ears. i've little interest in bearing further witness to the outrage of your wounded pride. let the poor woman go now, and face me like a man.”
bit by bit, throughout the entire dispute, you have loosened yourself from your husband's grip, and gradually eased to the edge of his lap. at the right of his girdle sits another, smaller knife, sheathed and within reach. you wind your fingers around it, palms clammy with sweat, and slowly draw it from its scabbard. then, with a trembling grip, you lift the dagger and bring it down upon your husband's thigh.
it's immediate—the arms around you slacken, your husband lets out a cry of pain, and you scramble from his lap. one of the concubines reaches for you, grabbing your arm to drag you further away and to safety—but you are, in the moment she lunged to help you, wrenched back by the hair.
“you bitch!” the sting of your scalp is nothing to the deep, burning ache in your middle as your husband impulsively thrusts his dagger into your torso—and then there is another yell from the chieftain, a series of heavy footfalls, and panicked calls of “my lady!” you're curled in on yourself, clutching your stomach, gasping for air. it must've punctured your left lung.
hands grip you, both gentle and firm and frantic, and you're being turned onto your back. vision blurred, you can see the silhouetted faces of your fellow women, their long hair brushing your face, and their calls for you to remain awake. your clothing is stuck to you, the blood is seeping to the ground, and everything is out of focus.
the last thing you see and feel is the sight of huge shoulders, warm hands and a weightlessness, and everything's black.
WARLORD SYLUS, who rushes you to his physicians, calling on your own personal one, and sets your dead husband's longhouse alight. he frees the concubines, but many wish to remain with their lady, and are a great assistance in nursing you back to health. but you are on the brink of death, and it takes much within him to conceal his dread and wrath and anxiety and not go on a rampage.
WARLORD SYLUS, who had made quick work of your bastard of a husband, despite his longing to give him as slow of a death as possible, and dropped everything once he recognised the gravity of the situation. the woman he yearns for, limp on the ground and bleeding out, mortally wounded by her own husband? he saw red. and then he saw desperation, and he had you in his own tent, medics fretting about you, their faces gaunt with the severity of your injury.
“her left lung was pierced,” one sombrely reported. “it will be a miracle that she survives.”
“then,” sylus coldly gritted in answer, “i would suggest you do your utmost to ensure such a miracle does occur.”
WARLORD SYLUS, who, in attempts to quell his perpetual nausea and worry, hunts and plunders and expands his territory, remaining away for days, or weeks, on end. but he eagerly receives mephisto whenever the crow flaps to a perch on his wrist, handing him letters, informing the man of the widow's recovery. and, usually, no news is good news.
and then he's kicking up dust and dirt as he steers his mount around one day, startling his men, racing off for the settlement miles away. it takes a good full day, perhaps two, of no stopping, no resting, before he finally arrives at the campsite. his poor steed practically collapses from exhaustion the moment its master dismounts, but it hardly occurs to sylus. he hands the reins to a servant, and he marches for his tent.
WARLORD SYLUS, who, once he draws aside the entrance flap and tentatively enters, dismisses the attendants fussing about the lady, and rests his eyes on you. you're propped up in his bed, mountains of pillows and furs supporting your weight, face drawn and weary. and your eyes are cautious, scanning him head to toe from beneath your brow, hands fisting the blankets and slack upon your lap.
you look, understandably, haggard, but certainly far less sallow than you did. and you attempt a smile in greeting. “sir.”
“how...are you feeling?” he begins, clearing his throat, suddenly realising his own physical state. flushed with exertion, unwashed, smelling of horse sweat and hair wild with the wind. “ah—apologies. i should have washed up first before barging in here.”
“it's alright,” you reply, shaking your head. you're polite, but you're guarded. “i thank you for your hospitality and mercy. i would like to apologise on the behalf of my foolish husband's actions. please know that i tried to persuade him otherwise, but he would not listen.” all sylus observes, in this moment, as you look down and away, is the face of a mourning mother, and it's a sight he detests to see. “it resulted in more pointless bloodshed. i am sorry. the instant i am well enough to walk, i will recompense you to the best of my ability, and then i will take my people and leave you in peace.”
“leave?” he straightens. “you wish to leave?”
you look at him sidelong, confused, and he catches the apprehension that flickers across your features. “…yes? am i not permitted to...?”
“no, i—forgive me.” sylus lifts a hand and rubs it over his face, half-turning away, biting back a groan. “…allow me to make a few clarifications.”
WARLORD SYLUS, who does his best to explain himself, running his fingers through his mussed ivory locks. “i ask no payment in return for granting you residence here during your recovery. consider it a gift. you are welcome, in fact, to remain here indefinitely and, if you so wish, permanently.”
“that is…that is far too kind.” your eyes are wide. “i couldn't possibly, not after what has been done to you! i must, at the very least, repay your kindness. it simply isn't right to solicit further charity and overstep my welcome. i appreciate the offer, but i must humbly refuse.”
“i ask for nothing,” he reiterates, gaze intent. “i swear to you. remain here as long as you desire. my people will attend to you to the best of their abilities.”
you shake your head firmly. “no, sir, i cannot. please accept my thanks and wishes to remunerate you. please.”
sylus is silent for a moment, and you grow self-conscious under the weight of his stare, heat rising to your cheeks. “…hm.” an idea begins to form, and he lifts a hand to rub his chin “you wish to repay me?"
you blink at his abrupt yielding. “i—yes. i do. by any means. just say the word.”
“that is a dangerous thing to offer up so readily, my lady,” he murmurs, voice lowering an octave. “especially to a man such as i.”
your mouth drops open, and you belatedly realise the implications of your words. “i—that's—sir, i assure you i meant nothing unseemly. i simply meant to offer anythi—”
“if you wish to repay me,” sylus softly cuts you off, taking mercy on your visible consternation, “then, i have one suggestion.”
you swallow, dreading whatever it is he has jumped to take advantage of, and you inwardly curse yourself for being so vague. “any…anything. just…say the word.”
and WARLORD SYLUS cracks a small grin, half-devilish, half-sweet. “marry me.”
Ya’know how they say: “Dino never bows”… what if reader makes him… ?? 😋
“dino never bows” until you make him
WARNINGS: reader and chan are each others booty calls, dom!reader x sub!chan, smut, power play, finger sucking, cock/balls squeezing-punishment?, cock riding, oral (f. receiving), hair pulling, degradation, praising, arms pinning, dirty talk, dry hump, jealousy, reader is called by ''noona'', bowing.
“ya! dino never bows!!!!!”
hoshi’s voice pierced through the restaurant, loud enough to make you pause mid-laugh at jeonghan’s joke. you looked over your shoulder, just in time to see chan stomping back to the table, his jaw tight and his hands shoved into his pockets. behind him, a girl you vaguely recognized from campus was walking the opposite direction, her head held high like she’d just won a pageant.
wonwoo raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between chan and the girl. “what was that about?”
“he just got dumped,” seungkwan snorted, not even trying to lower his voice.
“i didn’t get dumped,” chan snapped, dropping into the seat at the farthest corner of the table. his arms crossed over his chest, and he glared at the drink menu like it would soothe his ego flames.
“then what was that, huh?” jeonghan chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “looked like a classic walk of shame to me.”
“it’s not a walk of shame if i wasn’t even interested in her,” chan shot back, rolling his eyes. but the tips of his ears were burning red, and everyone knew it.
hoshi leaned across the table, eyes wide with fake sympathy. “oh no… our poor dino… bowing to rejection for the first time…”
“i said i didn’t get dumped!” chan’s voice cracked halfway through, and the whole table burst into laughter.
you raised an eyebrow at him, your lips twitching as you fought to keep a straight face. “what’s with the attitude, chan? you mad or something?”
his eyes flicked to you, narrowing slightly. “why would i be mad? can we not do this right now?”
“oh, we’re doing this,” seungkwan said, his grin practically splitting his face in half. “because ‘dino never bows,’ right? except now he’s sulking like a kicked puppy.”
“i’m not sulking,” chan mumbled, his voice muffled by his hands.
“okay, whatever helps you sleep at night,” you teased, turning back to jeonghan. but out of the corner of your eye, you could see chan glaring daggers at you, and it only made your smile grow wider.
the car ride home was tense, to say the least. chan hadn’t said a word since you both left the restaurant, but the way he slumped in the passenger seat, arms crossed and face scrunched up, was louder than any tantrum he could’ve thrown.
“where are we going?” he finally snapped, his tone sharp.
“my place,” you said simply, not even glancing at him.
“your place?!” he sat up straighter, glaring at you. “why the hell are we going to your place? you were supposed to drop me off at home.”
“yeah, well,” you said, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel, “plans change.”
“you can’t just—”
“shush,” you interrupted, cutting him off. “you’re being annoying.”
his jaw dropped again, and for a moment, he was too stunned to respond. but the second you parked the car in your driveway, he was back to sulking.
you got out without a word, leaving him to follow you up to the front door like a kicked puppy. when you finally unlocked the door and stepped inside, you turned to him, crossing your arms.
“bow,” you commanded, your voice firm.
chan blinked. “what?”
“you heard me,” you said, tilting your head. “bow.”
“are you serious right now?” he asked, his tone incredulous.
“as serious as you were when you tried to make me jealous earlier,” you shot back, smirking.
his face flushed, and he looked away. “i wasn’t—”
“bow,” you repeated, cutting him off.
“fuck no! i won’t!”
chan’s voice shot up an octave, like a toddler who’d just been told no more screen time. he crossed his arms and planted his feet firmly on your living room floor, his pout so exaggerated you almost expected him to stomp his foot.
you raised an eyebrow, your expression shifting into something that could only be described as menacing. chan froze, his breath hitching as he caught the way your eyes darkened—almost black, like a storm cloud about to burst.
“excuse me?” your tone was mean enough to slice through his little tantrum.
he stammered, backtracking immediately. “i mean—uh, i just—”
your arm shot out faster than he could process, your hand finding its target with exactitude that made his knees buckle. you grabbed a handful of his cock and balls through his jeans, squeezing just enough to send the poor boy to hell.
“oh my god—fuck!” he moaned, his head snapping back as his whole body curled forward, instinctively trying to escape the pressure. but you didn’t let go
“what was that? didn’t quite catch that.”
“i said—” his words were cut off by another involuntary moan, this one louder and more desperate. it was, admittedly, the best sound you’d ever pulled from him. his hands flew to your wrist, not to stop you, but to ground his shit, his fingers trembling as he gripped you.
“thought so,” you murmured, loosening your hold just enough for him to breathe. “dino never bows, huh? looks like dino’s about to fold.”
his eyes snapped up to yours, wide and pleading, his lips parted as he panted. “you—fuck—you’re evil,” he managed, though there was no real bite to his words.
“evil?” you echoed, tilting your head like you were contemplating the idea. “nah, i’m just practical. someone’s gotta keep your cocky ass in check.”
he whined—a genuine, high-pitched whine that made your stomach flip—and you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face.
“you’re insane,” he gasped, his knees wobbling as you finally released him. he staggered back, his hands flying to his thighs as he tried to collect himself, but his flushed cheeks and glassy eyes betrayed him.
“insane?” you repeated, crossing your arms. “coming from the guy who just moaned like i handed him the meaning of life?”
“shut up,” he grumbled, his voice shaky. but the way he bit his lip and avoided your gaze told you everything you needed to know.
“say it,” you said, stepping closer until there was barely an inch of space between you.
“say what?”
you grabbed his chin, tilting his head up so he had no choice but to look at you. “say you’re sorry. and say you’ll bow.”
his lips parted, a soft gasp escaping before he quickly clamped his mouth shut. he stared at you for a long moment, his pride and submission warring in his head. but when your thumb brushed against his jaw, his resolve cracked.
“…i’m sorry y/n-nie”
“and?”
he swallowed hard, his cheeks flaming. “and i’ll… bow.”
you tilted your chin higher, arms crossed tight as you stared him down, the very picture of authority. “and you better bow with your waist, not like some punk. i’m your noona, after all.”
chan blinked, his mouth parting slightly like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. then, like the good little brat he was, he dropped his gaze and bowed low, his hands clasped nervously in front of him, hovering over the space between his legs.
“good,” you hummed, circling him like you were inspecting a new recruit. “at least you know how to listen sometimes.”
he stayed bowed, head low, but you could feel the tension radiating off him—his pride battling against the heat creeping up his neck.
“what?” you teased, stopping in front of him. “you gonna cry?”
his head snapped up, eyes blazing. “no!”
you smirked, stepping closer, your fingers brushing under his chin to tilt his head back up. “then what’s with the face, huh? all red and flustered. you look like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.”
“you’re so—” he started, but you cut him off, pressing a finger against his lips.
“ah, ah,” you tutted. “no backtalk.”
his eyes widened, the defiance fading intothe face of someone who was growing needy he licked his lips, his tongue just barely brushing against your finger, and you felt the shift—the moment he gave in.
“that’s better,” you said softly, leaning down until your faces were inches apart. “show me what that mouth of yours is really good for.”
his breath hitched, but he nodded, sinking to his knees without another word. his hands found your thighs, steadying himself as he looked up at you, waiting for permission. you let him wait a moment, savoring the sight of him like this—wide-eyed, obedient, and completely at your mercy. then you reached down, tangling your fingers in his hair. “go ahead.”
he didn’t need to be told twice. his hands slid up to your hips as he pressed his face between your legs, no panties—chan doesn't even get surprised anymore—his lips and tongue immediately find you with a desperation that made you sit slightly on his face. you moaned, your fingers tightening in his hair as you rocked against him.
he groaned against you, the vibration making you gasp, mainly because his tongue is rolling inside your little hole, and you knew he was doing it on purpose.
“careful,” you warned, tugging his hair hard enough to make him pull back. his lips were swollen, his eyes glassy, and you could see the smugness lurking beneath the glossy lips.
“what?” he asked, his voice rough. “you’re the one who told me to use my mouth.”
“and you’re the one who’s about to regret getting smart with me,” you shot back, pulling him up by his hair and dragging him to the couch.
you pushed him down, climbing onto his lap and pinning his wrists above his head. “you think you’re so clever, huh?”
“i—fu-u-uck—” he stammered as you rolled your hips against him, the friction pulling a low, desperate sound from his throat.
your hands made quick work of unbuckling his belt, fingers steady despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. you pulled his pants down just enough to let his cock spring free from the navy blue briefs he was wearing, the fabric dampened at the tip where he’d been leaking. his abs flexed involuntarily as the cool air hit him, and you couldn’t help yourself—your hands slid under his shirt, pushing it up to expose his toned chest.
“god, chan,” you murmured, tracing the ridges of his abs with your fingertips. “you’re so fucking hot. like, unfairly hot. it’s distracting, y’know that?”
he froze for a moment, his ears turning bright red. he remembered the first time you’d said something like that—half-drunk at a party, your fingers poking at his stomach while you laughed about how annoying it was that someone could be this good-looking and have abs.
“you like my muscles, noona?” he asked, his voice pulling you back to the present.
you rolled your eyes, but your grin gave you away. “obviously, i do. doesn’t mean i’m gonna let you off the hook for being a little shit earlier.”
you licked your palm, wrapping it around his length and smearing the precum that had already gathered at the tip. his hips bucked slightly into your hand, and you tightened your grip just enough to make him gasp.
“noona,” he whined, his voice already high-pitched and needy.
“shh,” you soothed, leaning down to press a kiss to his jaw. “be good for me, baby boy.”
chan nodded, his hands gripping the couch cushions like they were his lifeline as you lined him up with your entrance. you dragged the tip of his cock through your slick folds, teasing him, making him squirm beneath you.
“please,” he begged, his eyes wide and glassy. “please, noona, i’ll be good, i promise.”
you sank down on him slowly, the stretch making you both moan. his hands flew to your hips, but you slapped them away, pinning his wrists to his sides.
“don’t move.”
“yes, noona,” he said, biting his lip to keep from making too much noise.
you started to ride him, your hips rolling in a rhythm that had him whimpering beneath you.
“sorry,” he choked out, his head falling back against the couch. “sorry, noona.”
“say it again,” you demanded, your nails digging into his chest. “say you’re sorry, and that you’ll never pull that shit again.”
“i’m sorry,” he whimpered, his voice cracking. “i’ll never do it again, i swear.”
“good,” you said, leaning down until your lips brushed against his ear. “because if you ever make me jealous like that again, i’ll rip that girl’s throat out with my nails.”
chan’s eyes fluttered open, a small, breathless laugh escaping him despite the situation. “you’re scary, noona.”
“damn right i am,” you replied, nipping at his earlobe. “but don’t forget, i’m yours. i don’t want anyone else—not your hyungs, not anyone. just you, my handsome baby boy.”
his breath hitched at your words, his hips jerking involuntarily as you rode him harder, faster, chasing both of your highs. “ahh noona,” he gasped, his voice desperate and broken. “d-dont say that! i—fuck, i’m so close.”
“hold it,” you commanded, your fingers wrapping around his throat lightly. “don’t you dare cum until i say you can.”
his entire body trembled, his hands fisting the couch cushions as he fought to obey you. you could see the effort it took, his muscles taut, sweat dripping down his temples.
“good boy, cum.” you praised, finally letting yourself fall over the edge. your orgasm crashed over you, your walls clenching around him and pulling him over with you.
“noona,” he cried out, his hips bucking as he spilled inside you, his moans muffled when you pressed your fingers to his lips. he sucked them obediently, his eyes locked on yours as he rode out his high.
Dragon!Sylus who has been searching for that which will fill the (metaphorical) void in his heart. He's convinced money will do the trick. It doesn't. And then he meets you.
Dragon!Sylus who covets you like his greatest treasure. All of the riches he has accumulated mean nothing to him now that you're by his side.
Dragon!Sylus who growls at anyone who will so much as look at you. Teeth bared, claws ready, tail standing on guard.
Dragon!Sylus who chitters and purrs when you caress him, his hair, his wings, his tail...
Dragon!Sylus who takes you for a flight around Philos and shows you his favorite spots, also discovering new ones by your side
Dragon!Sylus who always makes you sit on his lap and curls his tail around you protectively. No one will be getting near what's his anytime soon.
Dragon!Sylus who has a mating season, getting unbearably touchy and affectionate during it, wanting nothing more than to fuck make love to you.
Dragon!Sylus who is so big. In every sense of the word. Everything about him is big. His hands, his wings, his love for you, his di-
Dragon!Sylus who now gathers pretty things just to give them to you. As a sort of mating ritual. You accept them? Great, he's hauling you to his bed.
Dragon!Sylus who curls up next to you when he sleeps, snoring softly. Literally curled next to you.
Dragon!Sylus who has sensitive spots in... Different places.
Dragon!Sylus who is always so warm. You don't need any kind of heat source if he's there. He's the heat source.
Dragon!Sylus who bites bites bites. Loves to bite you. Not even to make marks, sometimes, he just wants to *nom*.
Dragon!Sylus who puts his wings around you when you sleep. Particularly often after a session of lovemaking.
Dragon!Sylus who will be clingy as hell. He loves you so much. Don't break his heart.
pixelskylines
blakekathryn
origamiaround
kaledo-art
titsay
germansingergirl
discoholicmusic
snowghoul
areudirty
