we should kiss like real people do (m, f, cw, ao3) - 4ggravate, getting together (sort of) , genius invokation tcg game night gone wrong, drunkenness. 2,417 words
synopsis; request by anon (2): dottore sees you crying
REQUESTS OPEN FOR THIS SERIES | chapter logs
taglist: @nambii, @sweetcrunchygrapes, @bodilyautonomy, @51kim-dokjas-wife49, @zenzeanie, @mei-simp, @sweetagaves, @166c74, @yekaterina4848, @esthelily, @cemirre, @darling-5yndrome, @def-not-daria, @taibami, @lunia-likes-pomegranet, @squ4respace, @pneumousia, @lazygirl966, @minandras, @salamiwrites, @peachicafe, @nekobii, @google-was-my-idea-1, @lunar-atlantis, @sakusa-saffron, @atlasinsomniac, @draconyx7, @orianewylit, @thegriffinbird, @arluene, @perfectlydeliciousenthusiast, @yuuuraaa, @cjafjakstke, @luvztarr, @poly-25ji, @katzline, @csxnctuary, @njellyous, @yursadreamer, @hehmeh, @starconch-e, @rooroops
author's notes: guess who's back yall. sorry for being gone for literally two weeks, i got no excuse, i just wanted a break for a bit. hopefully i can finish all of these requests and open them up again while i also work on my blue lock series... seasons 2 and 3 are coming soon !!
you are crying.
not quietly, either. it’s the kind of crying that comes in uneven breaths and sharp little inhales, the kind that makes your shoulders hitch like you’re trying and failing to hold yourself together.
dottore stops mid-step.
“…stop that.”
his voice is sharp, already threaded with irritation. he turns fully now, gaze sweeping over you with the same cool scrutiny he applies to malfunctioning equipment or failed trials.
“this is neither productive nor necessary,” he continues. “if you’re attempting to elicit sympathy, abandon the effort. it won’t-”
you sniff hard.
there’s a wet, unmistakably pathetic sound to it.
he pauses.
“are you injured?”
you shake your head, wiping furiously at your face with the back of your sleeve. it only makes things worse. your eyes sting, your nose burns, and another tear escapes, trailing down your cheek in a way that feels deeply humiliating.
“then explain,” he says. “immediately.”
you turn away from him, shoulders hunched, focusing very intently on the cutting board in front of you. another sniff. another tear.
dottore’s irritation sharpens into something colder. “this behaviour is inefficient. if you are distressed, identify the cause so it can be resolved. standing here and-” he gestures vaguely, “leaking is accomplishing nothing.”
“i’m not-” you start, but your voice cracks spectacularly.
you squeeze your eyes shut, teeth clenched.
dottore exhales through his nose. slowly. like he’s restraining himself from saying something far worse.
“this is becoming tiresome,” he says. “if you cannot maintain composure, remove yourself from the workspace.”
you turn to look at him then, eyes red, lashes clumped with tears, expression utterly miserable.
“i’m sorry,” you mumble.
that… gives him pause.
his gaze flicks again, this time more carefully. your posture. your breathing. your hands.
and then he notices what you’re holding.
a knife.
and on the cutting board…
“…is that an onion?” he asks.
you sniff. “yes.”
there is a very long silence.
dottore steps closer, peering over your shoulder with unmistakable disbelief. the onion is half-diced, pieces scattered unevenly. your eyes water again as you look down at it, traitorous tears blurring your vision.
“you’re crying,” he says slowly, “because of this?”
“it’s really strong,” you defend weakly. “and i thought if i just pushed through-”
another tear slips out.
dottore stares at the onion. then at you. then back at the onion.
“…you were not emotionally compromised,” he says flatly.
“no,” you admit. “it’s this stupid damn onion. i was trying to make something for you.”
that stops him properly.
“for me,” he repeats.
“yes,” you say, sniffling again. “you said you hadn’t eaten yet and i thought- i mean, i know you don’t need to, but still, i wanted to-”
he reaches out and takes the knife from your hand without ceremony, setting it aside well out of reach.
“you are catastrophically ill-suited to basic food preparation,” he says.
you wilt. “i know.”
“and yet,” he adds, quieter, “you attempted it anyway.”
he sighs, rubbing his temples.
“incredible.”
before you can respond, he reaches into a cabinet, retrieves a cloth, and presses it into your hands.
“wipe your face,” he orders. “you look absurd.”
you do as told, blotting at your eyes and nose. when you lower the cloth, he’s already turned back to the cutting board, sleeves rolled up.
“stand back,” he says. “and do not touch the onion again.”
you blink. “you’re… cooking?”
“yes,” he replies coolly. “we cannot let this onion go to waste, can we?”
you watch, a little stunned, as he efficiently finishes slicing the onion, no tears and no hesitation. he glances at you only once, noting your lingering sniffles.
“…next time,” he says, “announce the presence of irritants before exposing yourself to them.”
you smile, small and damp-eyed. “you were worried.”
he scoffs. “don’t be ridiculous.”
but he nudges a glass of water toward you anyway.
“drink,” he says. “and stop crying. it’s unbecoming.”
synopsis; request by anon: you and dottore taking a 'family photo' with the segments
REQUESTS OPEN FOR THIS SERIES | chapter logs
taglist: @nambii, @sweetcrunchygrapes, @bodilyautonomy, @51kim-dokjas-wife49, @zenzeanie, @mei-simp, @sweetagaves, @166c74, @yekaterina4848, @esthelily, @cemirre, @darling-5yndrome, @def-not-daria, @taibami, @lunia-likes-pomegranet, @squ4respace, @pneumousia, @lazygirl966, @minandras, @salamiwrites, @peachicafe, @nekobii, @google-was-my-idea-1, @lunar-atlantis, @sakusa-saffron, @atlasinsomniac, @draconyx7, @orianewylit, @thegriffinbird, @arluene, @perfectlydeliciousenthusiast, @yuuuraaa, @cjafjakstke, @luvztarr, @poly-25ji, @katzline, @csxnctuary, @njellyous, @yursadreamer, @hehmeh, @starconch-e, @rooroops
it starts, as most strange things with dottore do, with a declaration rather than a question.
“we will be taking a photograph.”
you look up from where you’re seated, half-curled on the edge of the worktable, legs swinging idly. “we will?”
“yes,” he says, adjusting the gloves on his hands. “for archival purposes.”
“that sounds suspiciously like a lie.”
“it sounds like it isn’t,” he corrects coolly.
you raise an eyebrow. “and the subjects of this archival photograph would be…?”
he gestures vaguely toward the far side of the lab.
you turn.
they’re already there.
the segments.
“…you’re joking,” you say faintly.
“i am not,” dottore replies. “this is the only occasion on which all active iterations are present in the same space. statistically, it is inefficient not to document it.”
beta laughs. “oh, this is delightful.”
delta tilts his head toward you. “you didn’t mention a photoshoot.”
“you didn’t ask,” dottore says.
you slide off the table, suddenly very aware of how outnumbered you are. “why am i in this?”
dottore looks at you like the answer is obvious. “you’re part of the constant.”
that… doesn’t help.
the camera, some overly complex device with far too many lenses, is set up against the far wall. a timer hums softly, counting down in low clicks.
“stand there,” dottore says, positioning himself with infuriating exactness. then, after a pause, he adds, “you go here.”
you’re placed beside him. close enough that your sleeve brushes his coat when you move.
the segments arrange themselves with varying degrees of cooperation. omega insists on standing far too close to you, leaning in with a grin. beta deliberately turns his body just slightly away, as if refusing to fully participate. zeta remains still, like a robot with nowhere to go.
“this is starting to feel like a family portrait,” you mutter.
there is an immediate reaction.
“don’t say that,” omega says, laughing harder.
dottore, however, says nothing.
he adjusts the camera one last time, then returns to his place beside you. the timer resets.
ten seconds.
“you know,” you say quietly, “most families smile.”
“i am not smiling,” dottore replies flatly.
“i noticed.”
seven seconds.
one of the segments drapes an arm over dottore’s shoulder.
it lasts less than a second before dottore shrugs him off without even looking.
“do not touch me.”
“worth a try.”
five seconds.
you glance around. for all their differences in posture, expression, and presence, there’s something uncanny about seeing them together. like reflections fractured across uneven glass. like proof that something impossible exists because someone refused to accept it couldn’t.
three seconds.
you don’t realize you’ve reached for dottore’s sleeve until your fingers curl into the fabric.
he stiffens slightly, but doesn’t pull away.
the camera flashes.
the light is bright enough to leave spots in your vision. the timer clicks off. silence settles back into the lab.
“it’s done,” zeta says, sounding almost disappointed.
“good,” dottore replies. “you may disperse.”
they do, one by one, vanishing into corridors and doors. the lab feels emptier for it, quieter in a way that hums.
you’re still holding onto his sleeve.
“…you can let go,” he says.
“oh. right. sorry.”
you step back, heat creeping into your face.
dottore retrieves the camera and inspects the image. his expression doesn’t change, but he looks at it longer than necessary.
“what will you do with it?” you ask.
“store it,” he says. “securely.”
“delete it later?”
“no.”
you glance at the frozen image: you, slightly off-balance; him, rigid and composed; the segments arrayed around you like a real family.
“it really does look like a family photo,” you say softly.
dottore huffs. “an inaccurate comparison.”
but he doesn’t throw it away.
and when he turns away, he keeps the device carefully tucked under his arm, like something fragile.
━ .ᐟ✧ GENERAL CONTENT WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, mentions of alcohol, recreational drinking (characters and mc), jealousy (guys + mc), drunk characters (guys + mc), use of Y/N, pet names, unprotected sex, never pulling out, fluff/crack/banter, individual content warnings below with their respective fics
━ ✧.˖ LINKS: original inspo | ao3
A/N: SURPRISE ITS HERE EARLY! oof another fic for all four guys? who is she? but actually after this i likely won’t be writing for all four guys like this again, or at least for a while. if i can somehow get better at writing fics that are 1-2k then ill start doing scenarios with all four again! i tried to keep this one short and they’re still all 3-4.3k per guy…this scenario was originally based off the one video of the drunk asian guy! see the clip above under ‘links.’
enjoy guys!! i’ll be taking a much needed break but may write slowly in my own time :) just depends how i feel, how much inspiration i have! i’ll still be on tumblr but will mostly be on my twitter <3 until next time bbs!
THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.
✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖
━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 4.3k
━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, sylus refers to reader genitalia as ‘she,’ public sex, sex in an alley, standing/against the wall sex, finger sucking, choking, outdoor sex, voyeurism, needy sylus, drunk sylus, jealous sylus, use of pet names, mentions of guns, tiny bit of violence, cumming in coochie, panties over cummies
━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: original inspo | video (how sylus kisses you in this)
Luke and Kieran watch the way Sylus’s eyes track you under the strobing lights of the nightclub. It wasn’t out of the norm for their dear boss to be obsessed with knowing a certain Hunter’s whereabouts. But this was excessive, even for him.
The way he’d already shattered two glasses with the force of his fingers, his eyes scarily unblinking as they trailed your every movement. The club manager didn’t dare kick Sylus out, apologizing to him as he’d cleaned up the glass from Sylus’s feet. But Sylus was too distracted to even notice.
The pair of troublemakers supposed it had to do with the fact that some sleezy drunk had his hands all over your bare thighs. They knew if Sylus had his way, that very man would be unconscious on the floor in half a second flat. But of course, when it came to you, Sylus was helpless as he was whipped, giving into your every desire, even if it physically pained him to do so.
And you had ordered Sylus not to intervene, not when you were undercover, trying to get classified information from the powerful men that frequented this very nightclub in the N109 zone. So he was left at the bar, quite literally fending thirsty women off left and right, watching the way you pretended to laugh amongst the unsuspecting targets. He tried to distract himself from the men who so clearly were thinking of ten different ways to fuck you.
A privilege reserved only for him.
So the twins, who had so enthusiastically begged to tag along, devised a plan to help Sylus take his mind off planning literal murder.
Really, they were trying to help!
But maybe they should’ve stopped after the fifth drink. When Sylus’s cheeks flushed the same shade of red as his eyes, ebbing all the way up to the tips of his ears.
And they definitely should’ve stopped after the tenth drink. When Sylus’s body started to move on its own accord, his Evol practically parting the crowd of drunk and sweaty clubbers to get to you.
But at that point there was no stopping the formidable man from taking what he wanted. And what he wanted, what he needed, was you.
Honestly, you nearly breathe a sigh of relief when you feel Sylus’s familiar Evol wrapping around your wrist, yanking you backward and away from the disgusting man trying to feel you up. You’re so happy to feel his strong arms around you that you don’t notice how atypically clumsy his Evol feels, like grasping for something when blindfolded.
“We’re leaving.”
Sylus’s words are dominating and commanding, ‘no’ not even a fathomable possibility. But there’s a slight waver in his gruff voice that makes you raise your eyebrow at him in question.
The idiotic man before you wraps his clammy hands around your waist, pulling you back, “Hey man. We’re in the middle of something.”
You look up to see Sylus’s crimson eyes, trained on the way the man’s fingers dig into your bare skin, burning with something dangerous, the air around him crackling with an erratic and sinister energy, and you know you have to defuse the situation as quickly as you can.
You bring your elbow to the man’s groin, digging hard. He groans pathetically, wilting to his knees. Truthfully, you didn’t have to elbow him that hard, but you’d become nauseated with how disgustingly he’d been looking at you, touching you, for the past thirty minutes.
“No, we’re really not.”
With that, you slip into Sylus’s side, his large arm wrapping possessively around your naked shoulders, your hand resting on his abdomen. Sylus’s lips quirk up, deeply satisfied with the way you can bring men twice your size to their knees before they can even blink. His girl.
As the two of you make your way out of the crowd, you start to notice the way Sylus’s movements are unusually sluggish, his feet trudging one after the other. Considering Sylus was always poised and elegant, you instantly knew something was amiss. When Luke and Kieran fall into step behind you, you turn to the two masked men.
“What happened?!” you hissed at them, “What happened to ‘Watch Sylus? Easy peasy lemon squeezy?!’” Your fingers are raised in air-quotes as you recall their confident words and uncontrollable giggles when you’d tasked them with keeping Sylus in line, knowing he’d have a hard time watching you faux flirt with other men, no matter how self assured he was.
Kieran is the first to speak, clearing his throat as the four of you exit the nightclub, the night air ruffling through your hair, “Well, you see –”
But he’s cut off when Sylus roughly grabs your chin, pulling your eyes up to his.
“Hey. Look at me.”
Your eyes flicker to his, surprised by his demanding, yet needy, words. Sylus smiles when you look up at him, his eyes, as unfocused as they were, beaming down at you.
His rough fingers caress your cheek, burying his face into your hair, inhaling your intoxicating scent, “Beautiful.”
The scent of alcohol on his breath is so strong you nearly wince. Luke and Kieran seem to notice your realization at the same time, their eyes widening as you start to yell in disbelief.
“Is he drunk?!” you demand, your arms wrapping tighter around his waist, Sylus in a world of his own as he mutters incoherent mumblings into your hair, shifting his weight onto you.
The twins grin at you sheepishly, raising their hands in surrender. Luke speaks, “Well, in our defense, boss never gets drunk –”
“Yeah! Boss is such a heavyweight –”
“So we thought, a few drinks might loosen him up –”
“You should’ve seen him! He was thiiiiiis close to commiting a crime –”
“So really, you should be thanking us!”
The twins finish rattling off, looking at you with puppy eyes.
You sigh, unable to feign anger at them, “How many drinks did you give him?”
“Umm…what was it Kieran…like…eight?” Your eyes widen as they scratch their chins.
“No…no, it was definitely closer to…like twelve?”
“Well we also gave him those cute little drinks with the umbrellas, he seemed to really like those!”
“Yeah and they had little chunks of fruit in them! Maybe that cancels out the alcohol?”
“Yeah! And the one with the olives too! Plus, boss always drinks like a bottle of wine a night!
“So we thought…a few mixed drinks…couldn’t hurt anyone!”
Your head spins as you try to keep up with their conversation, digging through your purse to find the unopened half bottle of water you’d brought. You quickly unscrew it, bringing it up to Sylus’s lips.
Sylus looks surprised when the cool plastic touches his lips, but once his hazy eyes focus on you again, he visibly relaxes. The sharp vermillion hues in his irises melt at the reflection of you, softening into the most beautiful carmine pools of red wine.
His hands come over to cup yours, holding your fingers affectionately in his as you tilt the water back so he can drink. You have to tip toe upward so you can follow his grip, his gulps greedy and eyelids shut in relief, the sensation of your hand cupping his jaw feeling like his own personal heaven.
With the plastic at his moistened lips, his eyes flutter open to look at you, his lids heavy with intoxication. Even though his eyes swim with a murky tiredness, they glow when they watch you, glimmering with a star-struck adoration. His intensity stares you down, a knowing heat piercing right through you. The very same heat that has seen both your naked body and soul.
The moment feels hot and strangely intimate. It definitely felt illegal to have Sylus looking at you like that while Luke and Kieran stood behind you.
He’s so distracted by you, eyes never leaving yours, that nearly a third of the water splashes onto his chest and the pavement floor. He drinks so enthusiastically that you almost want to giggle at how submissive he looks, drinking so obediently from your hands, eyes following your every move. Fortunately the pair of whispers behind you remind you that, even if Sylus stares at you like he’s ready to mount you right then and there, you are not alone.
When the bottle drains, he crumples it in one hand, tossing it to the nearest waste bin.
As it hits the metal trash can, you tear your eyes away from the way Sylus heatedly watches you, turning back to Luke and Kieran, “Are you two insane?!”
The twins look positively offended.
“How did you even convince him to drink so much?”
“Well, he was so distracted watching you that he just downed anything we put into his hands...”
You bite your lip, realizing how difficult it must’ve been for Sylus to sit back and just watch. But he did it, for you.
“Y/N.”
You try to ignore the way Sylus is stroking the bare skin of your shoulders, fingers coming dangerously close to your neck. His ruby eyes beg for your attention.
“Sylus might drink a lot, but he drinks wine –”
“Y/N.”
“Not hard alcohol! Look at how red he is! You guys, this was recklessly irresponsible!”
“Y/N.”
Sylus pulls you forcefully back into his arms, his head dipping into the crook of your neck, teeth nipping at your pulse. Through the darkness of the night, you pray Luke and Kieran can’t see the way Sylus whispers into your ear.
“I need you.”
You fight the shiver that threatens to unleash through your unsuspecting body, his hot breath washing against your skin, the contrast of the brisk night air making you all the more sensitive. His fingers hold you in place, his hard body pressed into your own.
You sigh, trying to brush the arousal away, “Let’s get you home, yeah? We can –”
He nips at your earlobe, eliciting a squeak from your lips as he gruffly demands, “Now.”
Before you can protest further, Sylus’s eyes direct to the twins in front of you, the pair of them snickering to themselves knowingly as he dismisses them, “We’ll meet you at home.”
–
You didn’t even make it to your car.
Far from it, you found yourself pressed into the cold brickwall of a nearby alleyway, not fifteen feet from where Luke and Kieran had left the two of you. Sylus’s lips are latched onto yours in a furiously passionate embrace, his hands alternating between grabbing torridly at your waist and threading into the back of your neck, weaving into your sweat-dampened hair.
Your arms are wrapped around his neck for support against his torridly forceful kiss, his head tilted to the side to give him full access to your mouth, your lips, your tongue.
He doesn’t even stop to breathe, opting to inhale your breath as his own. His tongue forcefully explores every inch of your open and willing mouth, and you struggle to keep up with his excitement. His fingers massage your neck, grabbing eagerly at every part of you he can reach.
Sylus has always been passionate, but this was something else. It felt as if the alcohol in his blood amplified everything tenfold, leaving his cock thicker than ever against your shivering abdomen. His hands roam down your naked back, pulling at your waist again, pressing your body harder against his erection that leaks against his underwear.
Sylus’s head tilts to the other side, your face moving opposite his to instinctively receive his unbridled passion. He cups the back of your head again, shielding you head from hitting the wall, the force of his kiss pushing you against it violently.
He pulls away briefly, panting into you, his canines grazing into the soft skin of your ear, “You’re going to be the death of me, little dove.”
You want to question him, but his lips are back on yours in an instant, consuming you once more. His fingers grip your jaw so tightly, funneling all the emotions he’d held back, while watching you on the dancefloor with other men, into the way he holds you against the wall. Into the way he devours you.
He gives you a brief second of reprieve, pressing his lips into your neck, voice coming out husky and sulky, “I don’t enjoy seeing you with other men.”
You gasp as he pushes you impossibly deeper into the wall, teeth simultaneously digging into the curve of your neck. Your fingers thread up into his hair, tugging to ground yourself as Sylus sucks your soft skin.
“M-sooorry,” you slur, as if you’re the one who’s drunk, “B-But I got the information I – nnghn – needed.”
Sylus growls into your skin, “I knew you would. You’re a force to be reckoned with.”
His thumb presses against your bottom lip, eyes glazed over with a drunken hunger, “And you always have me at your mercy.”
It isn’t long before he has your back arched into his abdomen, the front of your sweat slicked body pressed into the cold alley wall, his cock buried in your wet gummy walls. Your panties are pushed messily to the side, your skirt hiked up to your waist.
Sylus’s fingers are shoved into your mouth, claiming to try and minimize your sounds so passerbys don't hear the filthy things he was doing to you. In reality, he was just addicted to your sweet mouth wrapped around him.
His other hand holds both of your wrists, locking them against the small of your back, leaving you absolutely at the mercy of his thick cock ramming in and out of you.
“S-so damn beautiful,” Sylus is almost slurring, having gotten more drunk the longer the alcohol sat in his stomach. The acoustics of the dark alley made his body pounding against yours all the louder and more sinful.
His thrusts are sloppy, the alcohol making it harder for him to maintain control. But that only serves to arouse you more, the sight of Sylus’s hazy eyes when you crane your neck back to see him, the sweat sticking to his flushed skin.
You can only moan, the pads of his fingers pressing down into your tongue. The loud drunken giggles of people passing by make your eyes widen, but Sylus doesn’t stop, only going faster.
“Never gonna let another man touch you, ever again,” he moans into your ear, as he ruts angrily into your g spot, his fingers pressing tiny bruises into the fat of your hips. He’s ten times handsier when he’s drunk, almost as if the alcohol makes his muscles itch, your body his fixation..
He spins you around suddenly, nearly making you lose your balance, his cock entering you just as quickly as it had slipped out. Sylus is desperate to see your beautifully hooded eyes, the faces you make when you come undone for him.
You grip the thick muscles of his neck, admiring his damp and exposed chest. The buttons of his shirt had been yanked open in the drunken shuffle, leaving little to imagination.
“H-Hey,” Sylus mutters, the faintest hint of a whine beneath his words, “Look at me.” His thrusts, sloppier than ever, never stopping.
You grin, despite how blissed out your mind is becoming, at his adorably needy behavior. As you let your eyes lose themselves in his, you stroke his jaw lovingly.
“Tell me,” he pants, his cock twitching as it presses insistently into your walls.
“Nngh — T-Tell you what Sy?” you coo breathlessly, nails digging into his sweaty skin, trying to distract yourself from the no doubt filthy brick wall pressing into your exposed back.
“Tell me how I make you feel,” Sylus’s jaw tightens dangerously.
He thrusts especially hard and deep when you don’t respond, capturing your wrist and pressing it into the wall above your head, effectively trapping you against the wall, “Tell me.”
You squeal, biting your lips, “Sylus! F-Feels s’good. N-No one else can — hng — make me feel like this!”
Sylus’s glossy ruby red eyes flicker, his fingers finding your clit pressed against his pelvis, “Yeah? You love my cock, don’t you sweetheart?”
You want to smile at how adorably needy his words are, the alcohol fueling him with the rare desire to be validated. Instead you just nod vehemently as he plays with your clit, “I dooo!”
Sylus grunts, struggling to breathe as you tighten around him. He grabs your cheeks in between his fingers, squeezing them firmly until your moans are muffled, “Shhh, we wouldn’t want someone to find us, would we little bird?”
You nod obediently, but your body responds instinctively to his words, your abdomen fluttering in excitement at the thought of being caught in such a compromising position, with the revered leader of Onychinus no less.
Sylus chuckles darkly, his every nerve receptive to your tiniest micromovements, and especially the excited way your pussy clamps down on his erection. His lips come down to kiss your jaw sweetly, contrary to the mean way he bullies himself into your cunt.
When he reaches the space beneath your ear he presses a tender kiss there, whispering huskily, “I can feel the way you’re tightening around me. Do you like the idea of someone watching us?”
Your eyes widen at him, and that’s all the answer he needs.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I would love to give them a show. Especially that man who had his hands all over you, hm? What was his name?”
“I-I d-don’t – hah – remember,” you wheeze, holding on as he bounces you into the wall, the sound of drunk bar patrons growing louder.
Sylus smiles darkly, his red eyes glowing in satisfaction, “Good girl. This pussy belongs t’me, hm?” His words come out in a purr, slightly sluggish with intoxication.
You can’t speak, opting to nod as eagerly as you can, your brain muddling against the pleasure of your joined bodies. Sylus chuckles at your wordless agreement.
“My precious dove…can’t even speak?” he coos, fingers still splayed out against your poor quivering clit, the wet sounds of his furious ministrations echoing throughout the dark alley. He leans in close to your ear.
“That’s okay, sweetheart. She’s so loud she might as well be answering for you,” he grins, clearly talking about your soaked and squelching pussy against his demanding thrusts.
You’re about to retort when you hear another group of people passing by the alley. Your hands fly up to your mouth, forcing your uncontrollable moans away. Your eyes squeeze shut as the patter of feet gets closer and closer, fear and excitement taking over.
“Ah-ah,” Sylus tuts, “You know better than to hide your beautiful sounds from me.” Your eyes widen when his words sink in.
Your hands fly to Sylus’s broad shoulders, but it’s too late to push him back. His hands find the globes of your ass, lifting you off the floor, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist. At this angle Sylus can fully bounce you on his cock, using you however he wants. At this angle, the swollen tip brushes right into your cervix. At this angle, it’s physically impossible for you to muffle your cries.
Your nails dig into the ropes of his shoulder muscles as you squeal. Sylus only grins as the sound of feet falter, right in front of the alley.
You try your best to whisper, “Sy-Sylus, please. Th-they’ll hear.” But it was pointless. Even if you could hold back your whimpers, the echo of his arousal dampened pelvis slapping against the space where your thighs met your ass bounced off the walls of the alley like a resounding bell.
“You say that…” he murmurs, fingers coming back down to your clit, balancing you in just one arm, “But why is she getting so tight?”
He’s right, and there’s no denying it. Sylus is well acquainted with your body, knowing exactly what excites you, what you don’t like, what you love.
The heavy footsteps gradually fade, likely too drunk to hear anything than the pounding of distant EDM music. Sylus hears you sigh in relief, releasing a bated breath, but your cunt stays as tight as ever around him. It drives him insane.
Nearly getting caught has only pushed both of you to the cusp of your orgasms.
“Close, dove?” Sylus whispers into your ear, one hand pressed into the wall, the other bouncing you on his quivering cock.
Your head is thrown back as you nod, gasping for your next breath, “Y-Yes! So cloooose Sy!” At this point you don’t even care who could possibly hear you, only able to focus on the angry way Sylus’s cock twitching inside you, stroking your g-spot, begging to paint you white.
“M-Me too, Y/N,” Sylus’s uncharacteristic stutter, driven to madness by the alcohol and you, makes you clench down, hard.
He hisses, hips stuttering, teeth clamping down on your shoulder, tongue subsequently coming out to lap at the space where he bit down, soothing your skin.
The push of pain, the pull of pleasure, it’s just enough to tip you over, careening down the cliff of your orgasm. Your head falls back, eyes rolling with them, body fully preparing to show Sylus just how much you loved him.
But Sylus has other plans, squeezing your cheeks in between his fingers, directing you to look at him.
“Hey. Look at me, please.”
His commanding words remind you that he’s very much still intoxicated, making him adorably needy for your attention.
When your eyes level with his, his red eyes sparkle happily, like a puppy getting its ears scratched, “Hello, my love. Show me, hm?” The duality of his lovable desperation and his downright malevolent plunges into your cervix blurs the lines between pleasure and reality, sanity and madness.
You nod eagerly, holding his intense eye contact, while you burst at the seams, spraying all over his still clothed abdomen. Sparks of white hot electricity travel through every one of your nerve endings while you cum on him.
Sylus gulps, in awe of the way you sing for him, shame thrown to the wind. If anyone were to walk by, they’d hear the way you screamed for his cock. Hear the way your body made him gasp for his next breath. How he grunts with each rope of cum that he dumps into your waiting hole, each sloppy pump filling his vision with bleary stars.
As he cums, he whispers brokenly into your ear, “C-Can never get enough. I love you, sweetheart.” One of his big hands comes up to clamp around your throat, his fingers pressing down forcefully as he erupts inside of you.
“Ngh…I love you Sylus,” you murmur against the pleasure of your constricted air flow, clinging to him, truly like an injured bird.
Sylus kisses your lips tenderly as you both come down from your highs, his fingers carefully laying your panties back in place. When he sets you on the ground, you nearly collapse, your legs quivering from the way they’d been locked around his waist. His arms are back around you in an instant, holding you steady. His cum flows out of you like literal tears, but you can only clamp your thighs shut and pray your pathetic soiled panties can catch the streams of his milky seed.
He guides you carefully out of the alley, pressing affectionate kisses into the crown of your head as he holds your waist protectively. You’re so dazed you hardly notice that your skirt is still ridden up, until Sylus gently pulls it back down, smoothing the rumpled fabric with his large hands.
The sounds of two far too familiar voices greet you when you emerge from the backstreet.
“Are you guys finally done?”
“Do you have any idea how long we’ve been waiting?!”
Sylus groans, running his hand down his face, “Didn’t I tell you two to go back to base?”
And though you’re thoroughly mortified at the idea of the twins having walked into your…situation, you can’t help but smile at the way Sylus handles Luke and Kieran. Like a father reprimanding his children.
“Well we did —”
“But then you guys didn’t come back for a while —”
“So we thought maybe something happened!”
You shake your head at their frenzied explanation, the smile stretching on your lips as you watch the twins move their hands animatedly in their defense, “You guys are impossible.”
Luke gasps in exaggerated earnest, “How can you say that after what you’ve put us through?”
Kieran nods in agreement, shuddering dramatically, “Yeah! I feel like I just walked in on my parents…”
“You two better watch yourselves before I confiscate your guns again,” Sylus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. But you can see the corner of his lips fighting an amused smile.
Luke and Kieran simultaneously gasp, their reaction making it seem like Sylus was a father grounding his children, taking away their toys. You burst out into giggles, hugging Sylus’s side to keep warm as you watch the comical situation unfold.
“There’s no need for you to do that, Sy,” you murmur, looking up at him, admiring the way the moonlight frames his face. Sylus peers down at you, his face softening, before nodding curtly.
The twins snicker. Luke uses his hand as a shield in front of his mouth to whisper to Kieran, pointing to Sylus behind it, “Whipped.”
You shoot them a smile, a deceptively innocent and sweet grin, “I’ll gladly confiscate them for you.”
There’s nearly a cartoon puff of smoke left behind when the twins scurry off, desperately clutching their holsters and begging for mercy.
Sylus chuckles as he watches them run off, his arm slung over your shoulder, pulling you closer to his side as he presses a kiss into your forehead.
“Truly a force to be reckoned with.”
━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 3.8k
━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, drunk mc and xavier, pre-established relationship (but not first time), public sex/voyeurism, sex on the dance floor, standing sex, fingering, dancing without leaving room for jesus, grinding, jealous!mc, not a content warning but xavier is wearing tight black shirt and jeans…….MMMMMM, unprotected sex, handjob through clothes
━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: original inspo | pics (how xavier and you make out in this)
The thumping beat of club music pounds in your ears, making it difficult to hear even your own thoughts. But you really didn’t care, too intoxicated and having too much fun dancing with Tara in a throng of sweaty club goers.
The both of you had requested today off, wanting to see an up and coming DJ at the Linkon Lounge. You’d started the night off at your apartment, getting dolled up in your wispiest lashes and outfits that made you feel strong, confident, and beautiful. You’d shared a couple shots of tequila before slipping on your heels and scrambling out of your apartment, in a fit of tipsy and hushed giggles.
Coincidentally enough, you ran into Xavier on your way out. Your blonde-haired partner was in the apartment lobby, grabbing his mail, when you and Tara bumped into him, literally. If it weren’t for Xavier’s quick reflexes, his forearm darting out to wrap around your waist, you definitely would’ve ended the night before it began, with an ice pack in your hand rather than a fruity drink.
And that’s when Tara had invited Xavier out with you. Truthfully, you were sure Xavier would say no. The club definitely wasn’t his scene, and he undoubtedly had plans to have a cozy night in. But you were pleasantly surprised when he blurted out ‘yes’ before Tara could even get the words completely out. Tara knew Xavier wanted to come to keep an eye on you, and she was all too happy to play matchmaker.
You hadn’t seen Xavier for what felt like at least fifteen minutes. You assumed he went off to the bathroom, or maybe to order some more drinks. Before long, you started to worry.
“I’m gonna go look for Xavier! Will you be okay?” you practically scream over the music, pulling the side of Tara’s face to your mouth so she can hear you better.
“I’ll be here!” she yells, pointing at her phone, “Text me if you can’t find me!” You nod, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.
You push your way out of the crowd, apologizing profusely as you’re met with the displeased looks and groans of drunk patrons.
Eventually you make your way to the edge of the dancefloor, scouring the area for Xavier. You had a difficult time focussing your eyes, stumbling about, but did your best to look for the enigmatic Hunter.
You quickly check the line at the bar before deciding to check the bathroom. It’s then you catch the glint of familiar platinum blonde hair, Xavier’s body leaned up against the wall near the public water fountains.
You gulp at the sight of him, his head leaned back to rest against the wall, his hands folded across his chest. The musky sweat of the enclosed space made his black fitted t-shirt cling to his biceps, his skin glistening with sweat under the pulsing LED lights.
Even from this far away, it’s clear Xavier is drunk. His eyes are hooded with intoxication, his throat bobbing with shallow breaths.
You’re about to approach him when the groups of people in front of you shift, and you see a girl latched onto Xavier’s bicep. The two look far too cozy, Xavier not doing anything to push her off as she speaks animatedly up at him, her eyelashes batting seductively.
It’s not like you and Xavier were dating…but it was clear there was something deeply intertwined about the two of you. That, and the fact that you’d been intimate several times. But you had to admit, you’d never made things exclusive.
You turn on your heel, thoroughly perturbed at the sight of Xavier with someone else, making your way back to where you’d left Tara.
You’d just broken into the crowd when a firm hand catches your wrist, stopping you from pushing further. You turn back sharply, ready to throw your fist back, only to be met with the sight of Xavier, in all his flushed and handsome glory.
“Where are you going?”
You fight the urge to smack him, jealousy a true green-eyed monster, instead just feigning ignorance, “What? I can’t hear you!” You gesture wildly with your hands to emphasize your point. You turn away from him, starting to tug your wrist away again when he pulls you back, hard.
He twirls you effortlessly into his chest, his strong arms wrapping around you, secure and unrelenting. You look up at him in question. He leans down, and your breath catches as his lips come an inch away from yours. But he doesn’t kiss you, instead whispering into your ear.
“I asked where you were going. Didn’t you see me?” his breath is warm against your ear, the smell of alcohol invading your senses over the pounding music.
“You looked busy. I didn’t want to intrude,” you try to keep your voice level, but you can tell it comes out petty. You hope through the deafening music, Xavier can’t hear how sulky your voice is.
Xavier looks confused in his drunken state, but shouts into your ear, his tone genuine and endearing even amidst the music, “You’re never intruding.”
You sigh at his sweet words, tiptoeing up to speak to him and trying to be nice, “Who was your friend?”
Xavier looks even more bewildered for a second, before realizing the implications of your words, a lazy smile painting his features. He holds you close, one hand on the small of your back, the other coming up to touch your cheek.
“Not my friend. She couldn’t find her friends and wanted to wait with me.”
You roll your eyes. Xavier was too sweet and unassuming for his own good.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
Xavier chuckles, “You don’t have to be jealous, I only have eyes for you.”
Your cheeks flare amidst the flush of alcohol on your cheeks at his words, and before you can speak Xavier is leaning down to kiss you. You squeak in surprise, but respond to his lips, kissing him back.
Xavier kisses you slowly, gently, and tenderly. You can barely even hear the music around you, the musky people bumping into the pair of you. All you can feel is Xavier, lips on yours, his hands stroking your bare skin, his hardening erection against your stomach.
He pulls away for air, his lips swollen and wet from your passionate kiss. Your ears pound in excitement at the way Xavier looks down at you, hungry and wanting more. You hook your arms around Xavier’s neck, pulling him down until your foreheads brush against each other.
“Dance with me,” you whisper loudly against the music. Xavier’s eyes shine with excitement, and he nods, his hands gripping your waist as you start to sway to the music.
You turn around so you can watch the flashing lights, the alcohol making them look like a light show. You feel much bolder with the liquid courage running through your veins, so you grind back into Xavier, your rear molding perfectly against his crotch.
Xavier hardens so quickly against your movements, your body feeling so perfect against his. The alcohol makes everything feel much more fluid and raw, his body responding excitedly.
He too is fueled by the courage of intoxication, his hands roaming from your hips to your stomach, just above the fat of your cunt. He can feel the way you shiver at his touch, and he decides to dare further.
His strong hands wander up, until they cup your breasts through your sheer dress. He rests his chin on your shoulder, whispering into your ear.
“Is this alright?”
You crane your neck backwards to nod at him, eyes flickering to his lips. Xavier leans in to kiss you again, one hand still playing with your nipple, the other reaching up to hold your throat against him gently. The two of you kiss so passionately, so messily, that you hardly notice the crowd of equally drunk and horny people around you.
As you kiss him, your hand comes backward to cup the back of Xavier’s head, grabbing at his soft blonde locks. Your body continues to rock sensually into him, relishing in the way his hard erection sits between the slit of your ass.
Looking up at him through your wet eyelashes, you whisper, “M-More. I want more.”
Xavier groans, looking around, trying to find the quickest way out of the crowd. But you can’t wait, too aroused by the way Xavier’s shirt clings to his muscles, the way his cock fights against his jeans, straining to be with you.
The alcohol dares you to be bolder than you normally would ever be. You grab his wrist, bringing it down to the hem of your minidress, guiding his fingers to slip under it.
You can feel Xavier stiffen behind you, eyes darting around to make sure no one is watching. But he quickly realizes quite literally no one cares about the two of you, too focussed on the music, too focussed on their own partners, to even spare you a glance.
So he follows your lead, his hands roaming under your dress, digging into your soft thighs. You moan into his ear, your head laid back on his shoulder.
With his palm so close to your cunt, you grind right into his open hand, wanting more friction, more of him. Xavier groans at your enthusiasm, quickly forgetting about the people that are packed around you like sardines. He feels something damp against his fingers, making him all the more desperate to have you.
“You’re wet,” Xavier whispers sluggishly into your ear, “Is this all for me?”
You groan at his words, your muscles twitching with anticipation. You try and look at him, the back of your head still resting on his thick shoulder. Your hand grasps at the back of his neck, forcing his eyes to drift down to you, the azure blues flickering to your lips before they come back to your gaze.
“Touch me, please.”
Even under the strobing lights of the club you can see Xavier’s eyes darken, his jaw tightening. His eyes flutter shut as he leans down to kiss you.
At the same time, his finger gingerly dips into your folds, moving your panties to the side. At first he just rubs up and down with his middle finger, enjoying the way you moan into his mouth. But it becomes far too unbearable, not being inside you.
He slowly dips his middle finger inside of you, hissing when your little hole sucks him in tightly.
“Is this okay?” Xavier asks, wanting to make sure you’re alright. Your eyes dart around lazily, making sure no one can see Xavier’s hands underneath your dress.
You nod, your eyelashes fluttering shut as Xavier starts to pump in and out of you. The energetic music makes everything feel more surreal, only the occasional jostling of people bumping into the pair of you reminding you of exactly where you are.
Xavier’s index finger finds its way inside you, his thumb rubbing at your slippery clit. He alternates his free arm between shielding you from people pushing as they pass by, and cupping your breast through your dress. In all your writhing, your ass continues to grind against Xavier’s cock. Under his jeans, he’s leaking so profusely that your body rubs around the slick, creating a sticky mess.
Xavier pumps inside you, enjoying the feeling of you wrapped so tightly around him, the feeling of risk and wrong.
“Please – Please don’t stop,” you pant, looking up at him with starry eyes.
The look of complete and utter bliss on your gorgeously flushed face makes Xavier bite his lip, “I’ll never stop, angel.”
You clench down hard on his fingers at the endearing pet name, one he so rarely called you. It makes you writhe against his hot and hard body, pressed firmly into you, like a puzzle piece.
With your back still turned to him, you reach your hand back to where his bulge presses into you. With careful hands, you cup the massive swell of his manhood, biting your lip when he moans into your ear, teeth grazing against your earlobe.
You rub him enthusiastically through his jeans, enjoying the way he writhes under your touch, his cock straining through the tight restraint of his pants.
“You’re evil,” Xavier groans, pressing kisses into your neck, trying to contain the moans he wants to make for you.
You lean your head back, staring at him through hooded eyes, “Should I stop?”
Xavier holds you tight, almost crushing you, to keep you from stopping.
“No. Never.”
You giggle, turning back to the club stage, watching the DJ perform, hands finding their way back to Xavier’s crotch. His pants are heavy and breathy by your ear, fingers scissoring in and out of you furiously.
Soon enough, the feeling of just your plush body against his isn’t enough anymore. He needs more.
With his fingers never pausing, he asks, his voice smooth and sultry, “I need to be inside of you, is that okay?”
“Please,” you whisper huskily, grinding against his fingers, “I want you.”
You can feel Xavier shifting behind you, pulling out his cock. He feverishly pulls your panties down just slightly, so that they rest under your cheeks. He lifts your dress, enough to give him access but making sure you’re still covered. He would rather die than let anyone see your precious body.
As the music comes to a peak, the beat building alongside your release, Xavier slips his erection into you. You’re thankful for the heavy bass of the drop because you quite literally cannot hold back the scream that rips from your lips as he pushes himself into the hilt.
One of his hands travels from your waist to under the front of your dress. When he finds your clit, he pinches down hard.
“You’re so cute,” Xavier hisses into your ear, picking up his pace, “Were you jealous earlier?”
“N-No! Don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout,” you whimper, your fingers gripping the arm he has buried between your legs.
“Mmm,” Xavier hums, clearly not convinced, “That’s alright, Y/N. You have nothing to be jealous of, ever.”
“I-I’m not – I wasn’t!” you gasp, forcing the words together as Xavier’s cock nearly finds its way into your throat. But at this point you knew he could see right through you.
“Would travel through time and space for you,” he murmurs, words full of a boundless affection, “I only see you.”
He puts all that same adoration and passion into the way he fucks up into you, holding you protectively in place, making sure no one so much as brushes against you.
Your moans are strangled when his cockhead angles into your g-spot, cutting off the drunken confessions on the tip of your tongue. Xavier’s girth was always something you had a hard time getting used to, and taking him standing was infinitely harder. Your inner thighs burned with the strain of how fully he stretches you out.
Xavier’s hand comes over to cover your mouth, his smile pressed against your throat. The alcohol makes Xavier irregularly chatty, his inhibitions lowered completely, “You’re so loud. Does it feel that good?”
Your eyes are rolled back mesmerized by the flashing lights, unable to discern what comes from the nightclub’s light show and what comes from the pleasure of Xavier’s poignant thrusts. You do your best to nod, your teeth sinking into Xavier’s palm to keep yourself conscious.
You’re nearly doubled over now, your jelly legs unable to hold you up, with only the support of Xavier’s strong hand against your cunt and his other arm wrapped around your chest. He holds you up as securely as he can, his own intoxication growing having not drank any water since you’d arrived at the club.
“Are you okay?”
Xavier’s head snaps up to see a club patron in front of you, a concerned look on his face as he kneels down to be eye-level with you. Xavier squick readjusts to make sure you’re covered.
Your eyes widen, trying to straighten up, “F-Fine!” You nearly scream as Xavier continues to thrust into you, his movement much more conspicuous but somehow more intense.
“Are you sure? You don’t look so good.”
You want to be kind, but you can really only focus on the way Xavier continues to fuck you, not even caring that the good Samaritan in front of you was this close to realizing what was happening. The fact that you were still very much drunk did not help.
“N-No, I’m fine,” you squeak, eyes rolling back when Xavier hits your g-spot. You can’t see him but you just know he’s enjoying the position he has you in. He smirks in satisfaction, grinding into your ass, his thick length nestling into your every nerve.
The man looks skeptical, especially at your unfocused hooded eyes, “Do you want some water?”
He’s about to reach out to touch you, when Xavier yanks you back, both arms wrapped protectively around you, “She’s fine.”
At Xavier’s harsh tone, the man recoils, looking up, almost as if he’s just noticing Xavier. He nods awkwardly before disappearing into the crowd.
Xavier resumes his vigor, kissing your neck and whispering, “Mine.”
“Now look who’s jealous,” you giggle languidly, gasping when Xavier drives into you harder.
“Not jealous. It’s just the truth,” he murmurs, tilting your head back to kiss you, fingers back on your clit.
His tongue explores your mouth excitedly, your pleasures quickly reaching a peak after coming close to being caught. Your body convulses around him, wanting him to push you into the oblivion of ecstasy.
“Always so tight,” Xavier groans, “I-I won’t last long like this…”
You squeal, your sounds drowned out by the vibrating music, “Ngh – me too Xavier.”
“G-Gonna cum,” Xavier gasps as your cunt strangles him, ripping away from your lips and panting for air.
You crane your neck back to look at him, your eyes wide with wonder and desperation. The blissed out look on your beautiful face makes Xavier groan, his hips stuttering into his climax.
“Cum for me, Xavier,” you beg, impossibly close as well, “Want to feel you.”
Xavier shuts his eyes, his body following your every command. His cock explodes inside you, filling you with a hot warmth that spreads all the way to your fingertips and toes. Xavier doesn’t speak as he cums, only suckling hungrily at your neck, moaning and whimpering into your bruised skin.
He keeps thrusting into you, even as his cum starts to leak out of your hole, wanting you to come undone too. Even when the overstimulation starts to border on pain, he refuses to stop.
His cum makes it so there’s zero resistance, only the pure pleasure of his cock against your throbbing gummy walls. Soon, you’re cumming too, screaming into the pulsating music, your climax crescendoing with the drop of the song. The symphony of it all, the alcohol, the threat of being caught by any one of the dozens of people around you, makes it one of your most intense orgasms yet.
Your body instinctively clenches down as you release, making you cream all over Xavier, a mix of both your arousals. Xavier watches in awe at the beautiful way you cum, for him. It’s enough to make him pump a few more ropes into you, even as his dick throbs sharply in protest.
Xavier hugs you to his chest tightly, holding onto you for support as his cock quivers inside you. You can feel his chest heaving against your back, shifting as he slips out of you and redoes his zipper. Xavier puts your panties back into place, pressing a faint trail of kisses along your shoulders.
Suddenly, the crowd feels suffocating and icky and you desperately want to be somewhere quieter with Xavier. You pull him out of the crowd, nudging throngs of drunk and horny patrons out of the way as you make your way to the bar. Xavier follows you sluggishly, his fingers barely closing over yours as you guide him out..
When you reach the bar, you order a water and turn to Xavier worriedly, cupping his cheeks in your hands.
“Xavier,” you urged, “Are you okay?”
Xavier’s eyes flutter open, his eyes slightly rolled back, “M’okay. Just sleepy.” You giggle, patting his face gently, realizing the haze in his eyes is a mix of intoxication and post-sex bliss.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, you’re always so sleepy. Especially after…”
Despite Xavier’s eyes remaining closed, he smiles and mumbles as he leans against the wall next to the bar, “Can’t help it. You drain me.”
You blush furiously, despite it being loud enough where no one can hear you two. The bartender hands you a glass of water, and you bring it up to Xavier’s lips. Xavier’s eyelids flicker open, his long eyelashes fluttering as he takes in his surroundings again, like he’s so intoxicated off the alcohol and you that he can’t make sense of his bearings.
You take his chin into your palm, tilting him up gently so the water doesn’t spill. Xavier drinks obediently, not letting a single drop go to waste. His position against the wall makes it so that you tower a few inches over him, so he has to look up at you through his eyelashes. With each gulp of the icy water he never breaks eye contact with you, staring at you with all the awe and devotion in the world.
His hands gently grip your wrists, nuzzling into your hand. The way he watches you makes you want to squirm, his eyes glimmering under the flashing lights. His azure eyes feel like they hold the weight of an entire galaxy, but in reality it’s the reflection of you that makes his eyes sparkle with the brilliance of the stars.
“Hey! There you two are!”
You whip your head around to see Tara excitedly hurrying over to you as Xavier finishes the last of the water.
You turn to her, “Tara! I’m sorry, I found Xavier but then we got…caught up.”
She smiles and shakes her head. There’s a knowing mischief in her eyes, as if she doesn’t believe you, “It’s alright! I made some friends.”
She looks at Xavier. Even though you no longer hold up the empty glass to his lips, he still stares at you with the same starstruck look, a post-orgasm mist over his entire face.
“Why does he look like that?”
Your cheeks burn and you scramble to find an excuse, “Oh, he’s fine! He’s just drunk. And sleepy. Very sleepy.”
Tara grabs your chin, tilting it up in a squint, inspecting you. You’re about to ask what’s wrong, if maybe your false eyelashes came off, but when you look down at your shoulder you see exactly what she’s looking at.
A bright red, purpling bruise. In the exact shape of Xavier’s lips.
“Oh, I bet he’s sleepy.”
━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 3.7k
━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, drunk zayne, needy zayne, jealous zayne, couch sex, booby sucking, pretty vanilla tbh, slightly sub zayne, zayne begs a lot, prone bone, doggy, choking, making out, cumming in coochie, mentions of birth control usage, zayne is a lightweight
━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: original inspo | video | art (credit to @roschea-arts)
You stumble into your apartment, nearly tripping over the threshold as Zayne’s heavy arm slumps over your shoulder for support. You kick your heels off, briefly bending down to slip Zayne’s shoes off, before you lead him to sit on your couch.
“Sit here while I get some water for you, okay?” you whisper worriedly against Zayne’s nearly unconscious face, pressing a kiss to his heated and clammy temple. Zayne doesn’t respond, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he takes a shallow breath, nodding gently.
Well, this was definitely not how you’d expected tonight to go.
When you’d invited Zayne as your date to the annual UNICORN hosted Hunters’ Association Banquet, you expected it to be a relatively uneventful night. You never expected your raven-haired surgeon boyfriend to get drunk. In fact, you’d never seen him so much as tipsy since you’d known him.
And that was something Zayne intentionally made sure of; alcohol was not something he indulged in, ever.
Except when you’re so busy socializing all night that he gets unbearably bored, curious, and desperate for your attention.
So that’s how he ended up absolutely plastered off two cocktails. In his defense they were deceptively fruity and sweet, the rims coated in thick crystals of sugar. Truly his kryptonite.
So when Zayne grabs your wrist while you’re talking to a fellow Hunter, spinning you gently to his hard chest, you’re completely taken aback.
“Apologies. Can I steal my girlfriend for a moment?”
Your colleague, standing before the both of you, looks flustered at Zayne’s commanding voice, nodding fervently before he turns to leave. His face is pale, not realizing you’d brought a guest to the banquet, much less a guest that looked as handsome and imposing as Zayne. You whip around, eyebrows raised, to face the surgeon in question.
His face is uncharacteristically red, the tips of his ears burning so adorably bright. The first few buttons of his shirt had been undone, the collar disheveled, like he’d pulled at it until the enclosures gave way. What’s more, the tension that colored his words, alarming and unusual.
“Zayne? What’s wrong?” you reach up to touch his cheek worriedly, gasping at how warm his normally chilly skin was, “Are you not feeling well?”
Zayne releases your wrist, instead capturing your hand on his jaw with his own palm, pressing you deeper into his cheek. He practically purrs into your touch, nuzzling into your hand warmly.
“You feel nice.” His voice is low, almost a rough whisper against the cheerful laughter of the night.
It was very unlike Zayne to be so blatant with his affections, especially in front of either of your colleagues. In this case, the packed banquet hall of UNICORN’s annual Hunter’s banquet, filled with curious and nosy onlookers, peering at the two of you embracing in the middle of the party.
Perhaps the bustling activity became too overwhelming for Zayne, especially given that you had been pulled every which way to discuss your recent mission successes. You’d hardly had a chance to make sure he was doing okay.
“Did you want to leave? I can —”
Zayne pulls you closer to him until your bodies are pressed together tightly, his slender fingers holding your waist in place. You squeak in surprise, blushing as you try to ignore the prying eyes of your colleagues as Zayne strokes your cheek, fingers playing with your loose strands of hair.
“Who was that?” Zayne’s voice is deceptively calm against the top of your head as he breathes in your familiar scent, masking the demand and restraint lurking just below the surface. Your pheromones calm him down slightly, making him feel much more at ease.
“Who was who?”
Zayne bends down to reach your ear, his normally calm and stoic voice much more shaky than usual, “That man, who was making you laugh. He seemed friendly.”
Zayne’s words tickle your ear, making you shiver. It’s then you can smell the alcohol on him, as he leans down to whisper in your ear, the bitter scent of vodka mixing with the faint smell of his cologne. Suddenly the questions of his irregular behavior clicked.
You lean back to look at him in shock, “Zayne?! Are you drunk?”
Zayne looks sheepish, his hazel eyes still intense, “No. I don’t – hic – don’t think so.”
You want to laugh at his incriminating hiccup, the surgeon undoubtedly intoxicated. That fact is only confirmed to you when you tip-toe up to peck his lips and taste the bittersweet trace of alcohol on him.
“You were so busy, I got curious and decided to...indulge. Just this once,” Zayne admits, his eyes never leaving yours as he holds you close.
You don’t speak, in shock at the way his words are slightly whiny and sulky all at once, something you never heard from Zayne. Zayne was never one to be jealous, and much less to actually show that jealousy.
Zayne’s eyes lower, glowing at you in a soft regret, “I’m sorry.”
You giggle, resting your head on his chest, arms wrapping around his waist. For that brief moment, you forget all about the watchful eyes around you, only able to focus on the man you loved before you.
“How many drinks did you have?”
He pauses, looking genuinely deep in thought as he tries to recall the night, “Two, no…maybe three.”
You grin wordlessly. Zayne never drank, so he was undoubtedly a lightweight, that was no surprise. But you would’ve thought it would take more than three drinks to knock the formidable man off his ass.
Zayne’s jaw clenched as he admires how beautiful you look tonight, his wandering alcohol-fueled desires pushing him to want to see much more, “Would it be alright if we called it a night?”
You nod, peering up at him, “Of course, are you not feeling well from the alcohol?”
Zayne averts his eyes, clearing his throat. His neck bobs against his undone collar, his tie hanging loosely around his chest.
“I’m alright. I just…want to be alone with you.”
By the time you arrived at your apartment, Zayne had gotten considerably more drunk, the alcohol being further absorbed into his bloodstream.
You hurriedly bring him a cool glass of water, standing in between his thighs, over his limp body. Zayne’s head is thrown back against the cushion of your couch, already having yanked off his suit jacket and tie, the articles of clothing strewn over the arm of the seat, his neck and collar exposed. His snowy pale skin is splotched red, practically radiating a wave of heat.
Your fingers cup his sharp jaw, tilting his chin up, shifting to hold his heavy head in the palm of your hand, stroking his cheek lovingly. Zayne’s eyes flicker up to yours as you tilt him up, his glasses slightly fogged up from the heated crimson flush on his cheeks. His eyes light up when they meet yours, his eyelashes fluttering as he fights to keep his eyes open. You bite your lip, trying to keep your wide smile at bay. He looked so utterly adorable like this, looking up so affectionately obedient like this.
You bring the glass gently up to his lips, encouraging him to drink. Zayne obeys, lips latching onto the edge of the cup as you tilt it forward, gently nudging his chin upwards with your other hand.
His eyes flutter open at the feeling of your touch, his golden emerald irises trained solely on you as he drinks, refusing to look away. He’s so focussed on you that dribbles of water stream down his chin as he gulps down the entire glass, falling onto his collar.
His eyes never leave yours as he chugs the entire glass of refreshing water, the whites of his eyes shining in the dim lighting of your apartment. If anyone else saw the way Zayne looked at you, they’d swear they could see hearts reflected in them as he drank from your hands. He looked at you as if his entire world spun around you, the center of his universe.
When you pull away, Zayne’s eyes still don’t leave yours. Instead, they appear to become more intense, more fiery.
“Zayne? Do you want more water?”
He doesn’t answer. You’re too distracted by the incensed pools of peridot when Zayne yanks you onto his lap, lips capturing yours hungrily.
–
“Ngh – Zayne!” you moan, pulling away from his demanding and bruising lips. Zayne grants you a brief break to breathe, but his fingers firmly hold your hips in place atop his erection that strains against his buckled pants, the two of you nestled deep into the couch cushion.
He gives you a second before he’s yanking your chin towards him again, soft mouth crushed against yours in an instant. Your lips are captured gently between his teeth, his hunger for you insatiable. The taste of alcohol is still faint on his tongue, and he wants nothing more than to overwhelm himself with the taste of you.
You’re completely engulfed by him, the ferocity of his mouth against yours, the warmth of his breath against your tongue. Zayne’s jaw alternates, side to side, trying to give himself the best access to you he can possibly get. The cool touch of metal grazes against your cheeks, his glasses pressing against you in the vigor of his embrace. He groans in frustration into your mouth, forcing himself to briefly pull away.
Before you can even question him, he’s yanking his misted up glasses off by the temples, tossing them onto your coffee table without a second glance, without a single care. His eyes are hooded with desire, his glasses no longer obstructing you from him. They shut sensually when he leans back in, lips parting as his glasses clatter louding against the table.
He says nothing, smashing his lips into yours once again. You can vaguely feel the distinct bump of his nose, pressing into your skin, when he grabs the back of your head, pulling you harder against his all consuming hunger.
His tongue is unbelievably tender against yours, despite how urgently and desperately he devours you. His fingers press into the divots of your arched back, his arms are completely wrapped around you, bringing you into an affectionate embrace as he continues to consume you whole. His fingers stroke up and down the half exposed expanse of your back, enjoying how soft you feel against his big hands.
You grind down onto his cock as you try and match his passion, your panties sticking to your soaked folds. Your thighs are spread so widely against his legs, that the dampness smears against his dress pants, your dress doing little to hold anything back.
Zayne hisses at the delicious pressure, lips leaving yours to gasp into your ear, his hot breath caressing the sensitive skin.
“D-Don’t,” he gulps deeply, alcohol and anticipation making him trip over his words, “Unless you're willing to take responsibility for the consequences.”
You shiver at his words, leaning in to kiss his reddened earlobe, “And if I am?”
And that’s how you find yourself naked, sweaty, and writhing on your back, under the pressure of Zayne’s half naked body on top of you, his cock ravaging every inch of your poor cunt.
Zayne is a mumbling and moaning mess above you, droplets of sweat beading on his bright red temples, his damp hair dangling below his forehead. His unbuttoned dress shirt flies wildly, his thick muscles twitching every time his lower half drives into you like a madman. If it weren’t for the sweat lining your back, you’d undoubtedly be pushed around the couch like a ragdoll under Zayne’s furious passion.
You can barely see Zayne’s eyes, his dangling bangs obscuring much of his frantic face. You do your best to sit up, your chin on your chest, watching the way Zayne’s glistening body jackhammers into you, his rhythm erratic and desperate.
Trying not to drool, you watch his abdominal muscles twitch, his briefs and dress pants hanging off his hips. He’d been so eager to bury himself inside of you that he didn’t even take off his clothing, instead pulling his cock out from under the top of the waistband of his briefs. It’s so heavy and thick with excitement that the restraint of his brief’s waistband is no match for it.
“M’sorry,” Zayne mumbles, so slurred you barely even hear it through the clinking of his undone belt, hanging off his waist.
“Wh-what?” you pant, tugging at the sweat-soaked shirt that clings to his back.
“Didn’t mean to get so intoxicated,” he pants breathlessly, almost sounding guilty, “I’m sorry.”
Your heart clenches at the vulnerability shining in his eyes. You know he’s not used to letting himself feel his emotions like this, to really give into his needs and desires.
“Zayne, don’t apologize,” you whimper through the pleasure, stroking his cheek, “You’re allowed to let go sometimes.”
Your words nearly make Zayne snarl, his pelvis slapping into your ass, his hands elevating hips, your thighs wrapped tightly into his sides.
“You’re so good to me,” he rasps, eyes rolling back as his praises make your body instinctively clench down, “I–I love you.”
“A-ahh nghn – love you s’much Zayne,” you squeal as he thrusts even deeper into you, his confession only increasing the passion he feels for you in the drunken moment.
You’re surprised when you feel his damp hair pressing against your forehead, his cool lips brushing a soft kiss onto it, deceptively gentle compared to the way he ravages your wet heat.
“M’always thinking about you,” Zayne moans, voice muffled as he kisses your forehead over and over, unable to keep his lips, his hands, off of you.
“I think about y’too Za–ayne,” you pant, trying to focus on forming coherent words through the shape of his erection being molded into your core. You knew just how vulnerable the fog of alcohol had made Zayne and wanted more than anything to reassure him.
But his cock stretching you out, nearly the width of a clenched fist, made that so difficult.
“You looked – you look ravishing tonight,” he slurs, kissing down your cheek and onto your neck, “Had a hard time tonight, watching you – hic – be the most beautiful girl in the room.”
Your chest flutters and you blush, clenching onto him, “H-Hardly.”
Zayne’s eyebrows furrow, giving you a pointed thrust, making your breasts jiggle at the force, “Look at what you do to me.”
His fingers cup your breast forcefully, squeezing down on your poor nipple, “You know I’m not one for jealousy…”
“But even I am not immune when you look like that, giving everyone but me your attention.”
“Sorry, my love,” you murmur, trying your best to speak through his frantic thrusts, “You know you’re the one I come home to at the end of the day.”
Zayne’s eyes darken with satisfaction, his fingers twirling your nipple in between them, “I suppose. But does that give you the right to let men flirt with you shamelessly all night?”
“Zayne, they weren’t —” But apparently protesting was a mistake, because Zayne only starts to hammer into you harder.
“They were,” he growls drunkenly, letting his emotions take control for a split second, “But I can’t really blame them, not when you look like this. Not when you feel this perfect around me.”
You whine at his words, his simultaneous threats and praises making it impossible for you to think straight.
“I-I’m soorry,” you find yourself apologizing, wanting to please Zayne, “Won’t do it again, I’ll b-be good!”
“No need to – hah – apologize, my love,” Zayne groans, “Not when I plan on reminding you exactly who you belong to tonight, all night.”
Your body convulses around him, knowing just how much stamina Zayne has, just how serious his slurred words are. Zayne’s hips falter, his body buckling into you.
“You’re s-oo tight,” he groans brokenly, letting his head fall down to your chest, “All for me, right?
“Allll f’you! Only you!” you cry, your fingers gripping onto the back of his shirt when his teeth close over your nipple, nibbling gently. You claw at his back, desperately wanting to be able to touch his bare skin, but his white dress shirt is in the way.
“That’s my girl,” he moans, words muffled by the way his tongue circles around your hardened peaks, suckling like he was trying to find the antidote to intoxication, “So good for me.”
As his thrusts grow sloppier, you know he’s coming close to his end. But you’re surprised when he pulls out suddenly, leaving you feeling empty.
“W-Why?” you demand, leaning up on your elbows in protest. Your eyes widen, almost salivating, when you see the way Zayne is gripping the base of his cock, the thick head red, angry, and ready to burst. He curses, forcing himself to take deep breaths, desperately trying to hold his orgasm back. He was learning that alcohol significantly decreased his normally endless supply of stamina.
“Don’t want to – ngh – finish yet,” he pants, hooking his arm under your back and flipping you over so that your back faces him, your hips arched slightly off the couch. He quickly takes off his pants that are pooled by his knees, his briefs still clinging to his muscled thighs.
You squeak in surprise when you feel the wet smack of Zayne’s cock against your ass, the surgeon hissing at the painful yet arousing sensation. The sting helps to keep him from exploding right onto your beautiful body.
“Ngh – Zaaayne!” you squeal when Zayne shoves himself back into you, parting your cheeks to give himself better access. You claw at your couch as he picks up his speed, rhythm still unsteady.
“I’m sorry,” Zayne apologizes, his words bordering on frenzied babbles as he pounds into you, his heavyset balls slapping against your clit, “M’sorry, love. Let me make it better.”
He leans down, pressing a trail of kisses down your spine, his pelvis rippling against your rear. His veiny forearms cage you into the couch, his foot lifting to step onto the cushion, right by your waist. With his leg raising as leverage, he can truly jackhammer into you.
Zayne goes absolutely feral in this position, his fingers coming up to grab a fistful of your hair, tugging gently as he bounces up and down on your ass. The sounds of skin against skin, drunken moans, and moist squelches resounds like a symphony in the early morning lighting of your apartment.
His grasp tightens in your hair, his other hand kneading the plush of your ass as it ripples against his thrusts. His voice lowers, throwing his head back with a moan, “Been waiting all night to have you like this.”
“Oh-oh God!” you cry when he thrusts into you, particularly hard and deep, making you see stars, “Zayne I-I can’t – I’m so close!”
Zayne hoists you onto all fours, gently lifting your upper body by your neck so that you’re pressed firmly against him with your knees holding you up. He kneels behind you, wrapping one arm around your waist while the other secures your neck against his chest.
“Me too, angel,” Zayne pants into your ear, his breath hot and moist. You can feel the truth in his words, his thighs shaky against yours, his thrusts erratic.
“Please, let me cum in you,” Zayne rasps.
“When have I ever denied you?” you respond. Zayne came inside you nearly every time you two were intimate, ever since you’d started birth control.
“It’s a waste, if it’s not inside you,” Zayne slurs, “You’ll take it, right?”
When you don’t respond, too wrapped up in the bliss of it all, Zayne’s hand descends to pinch your nipple. The power of his thrusts, the tease of his hands, his aura. He commands authority,
“Tell me you’ll take it all, for me.”
“I will, I will! P-please Zayne, give it to me!”
Zayne groans, grip tightening against your body, hugging you for dear life, “That’s my girl, that’s it, just like that.
Zayne has always been vocal, but his drunken ramblings have taken it to another level. You clench down, ready to come undone to the sound of his filthy praises.
Zayne is close behind you, hands kneading your breasts, balls slapping against your clit, “It’s coming Y/N, take it. Take it for me, please.”
You scream in response, cunt spasming around the last of his messy ruts. Zayne’s own strangled groans mix with the sound of wet flesh slapping against each other. You can feel every beautiful ribbon of white hot cum painting your insides, coating every inch of your waiting womb.
Zayne’s skin often felt ice-cold, but his cum always came out so hot and heedy. And now, with the flush of alcohol still clouding his circulation, his milky ropes of seed nearly made you feverish.
Zayne slumps against you, his body spent, drained bone-dry. The weight of him against your quivering muscles is too much, and your thighs give out, sending you crashing into the couch. He catches you before you can slam face-first into the carpeted floor.
He sets your limp body gently into the couch, shrugging off his white button-up.
“Zayne,” you murmur groggily, savoring the image of his muscles peaking through his open shirt, “Come cuddle.”
The corner of his lip twitches, “I will, sweetheart. Let me clean you up first.”
Using the clean inside of his shirt, he carefully wipes off the slick that collects at your inner thighs, before it can pool onto the couch. Your legs are putty in his hands, Zayne cleaning you with the utmost care and tenderness.
When he’s done, he settles beside you on the couch, shifting you so that your neck rests on his forearm. He holds you close with one arm, the other drawing lazy circles into your stomach.
Zayne turns his head to the side, pressing a kiss into your temple, “Thank you. For taking care of me tonight.”
You can tell by Zayne’s calm and steady tone that he’s sobered up quite a bit from the orgasm, the control returning to his deep timbre.
You giggle, nuzzling deeper into his arm, the hairs of his underarm tickling your shoulder, “I hardly did anything.” In the comfortable silence, your eyes start to flutter closed.
“You did more than you know,” Zayne whispers, the tender smile in his voice unmistakeable. You simply nod, muttering incoherently as you fall into a deep and sated slumber.
“You are everything.”
━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 3.9k
━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, car sex, publix sex/slight voyeurism, sex while pulled over in da passenger seat, bottom raf, riding, face sitting, rafayel is a MUNCH, oral f!receiving, jealous raf, drunk rafayel, protective rafayel, somewhat mentions of violence, unprotected sex, no pull out ever
The night road ahead of you is peacefully calm, the drive back to Rafayel’s house a peaceful and scenic trip. There's very few cars beside yours, well Rafayel’s, on the main roads back, likely because it was close to 2am.
You were honestly having way too much fun driving Rafayel’s car, thoroughly enjoying the purr of the beautiful Benz. You didn’t have the opportunity to drive many cars, let alone a Gran Turismo.
Your fingers tap gently along the rim of the steering wheel, admiring the elegant LED lights that kept you awake. Rafayel had the car’s interior lights set to a blushed lavender color, ever since you’d said it was your favorite setting. It reminded you of the pink in his cotton candy eyes.
Your eyes flicker to your right, briefly checking on Rafayel as he groans beside you in the passenger seat.
He sat with his arm propped up against the passenger side window, his head resting on his palm. His breathing was still shallow, his eyes closed in a restless and light sleep. The alcohol was no doubt making it difficult for him to rest.
You sigh to yourself, trying to think back to how the night had ended disastrously with him so damn drunk.
Rafayel had invited you as his date to one of his endless art exhibits, a few cities over from your home. Only this one was special.
When they’d unveiled his starring piece, a beautiful oil painting on a massive canvas that nearly reached the ceiling, you nearly fell to your knees.
Because Rafayel had painted the most exquisite portrait of you.
You, surrounded in ribbons of coral and seaweed, the most colorful globs of intricate paint surrounding you, a mosaic of sea glass. You, dancing in the endless sea of pastel turquoise. You, in Lemuria. His home.
Rafayel had painted you countless times before, you were his muse after all. Even if he never admitted that openly to you. But this was different, he’d never so openly shared you with this world before. Never wanted to open himself up like this, to anyone, to you.
It was beautiful as it was magnificent. It made you feel like the most beautiful person in the world, more gorgeous than you’d ever felt in your entire life. The way he’d put paint to canvas and created literal magic.
It appeared others thought so too. All the patrons attending the gala that night clamored around the oil canvas, press snapping photos, writers grabbing at Rafayel, trying to get anything for their tabloids.
It was nothing out of the norm. You’d become quite used to the glitz, glamor, and madness that came with being his girlfriend.
What was unexpected, was the attention you got, as the subject of the painting.
The people who wanted a piece of you, the stunning woman in Rafyel’s newest piece. Rafayel did his best to keep you comfortable, shooing away the throws of people trying to get even a morsel of anything from you.
“Rafayel. It’s okay. I can handle it,” you give him your best reassuring smile, “Go mingle with your guests, I’ll be fine.”
Rafayel looks reluctant, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, unwilling to let go. Eventually you convince him, with the promise of a reward later if he listened, to go speak to the serious sponsors and buyers that demanded his attention.
“Never should’ve painted that damn thing,” he muttered as he walked off, looking back at you as Thomas dragged him off. He should’ve known sharing you with the world would have driven him insane.
So you spent the rest of the night trying to be as sociable as possible, not wanting to upset any of Rafayel’s guests. After a few hours you finally found a free moment, finding yourself in front of the portrait once again. Most of the people had cleared out, giving you a chance to really admire the masterpiece.
Rafayel was undeniably talented, maybe the most gifted artist in the world, you’d always thought so. But the way he painted you here was more than just art.
It was his heart on a canvas. And his heart, his entire world, was you. Every fiber of his soul, woven together into a tapestry of lustrous colors, each one depicting a different memory.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
You turn your head to the stranger’s voice, coming face to face with a handsome man, clad head to toe in the most luxurious brands. He stands so uncomfortably close to you that you can smell the nauseating cologne wafting off of him. And yet it’s his aura that makes your skin crawl uncomfortably.
He fills in your awkward silence, eyes looking you up and down, “Definitely not as beautiful as the real thing.”
You really don’t know how to respond to the stranger’s boldness, in shock at how forward he’s being. Your relationship with Rafayel was no secret, the paparazzi having photographed the two of you publicly many times. And you’d walked into the gala on Rafayel’s arm.
“Thank you,” you say curtly, offering a small smile, trying to return your attention to the display.
“I’m going to buy it, you know. And then maybe after, I can buy you a drink?” when his hand lands on your bare shoulder you flinch back, ready to resort to your tactical training. The thought of this man buying a portrait of you makes you nauseous.
Before you can give him a piece of your mind, he’s falling backward with a surprised yelp.
“Hands off the art,” an all-too familiar voice snarls, as he stands between you and the man. You’re too shell shocked to realize Rafayel is clearly drunk, his charismatic voice drawling muddily.
“Don’t touch me,” the man snaps, “I bought this piece, I legally own it.” The way he says ‘piece’ makes your blood boil, the misogyny dripping off his words.
Rafayel, drunk as he might be, catches on too. Fire burns in his eyes, matching the heat of his Evol. Thomas isn’t far behind, looking at you with desperation on his face, begging you to help him defuse the situation. Rafayel was spontaneous enough as it was, there was no telling the lengths he’d go to when he was intoxicated, especially when you were involved.
You reach your hand out, grasping Rafayel’s fingers and gently pulling him back towards you.
“He’s not worth it,” you whisper when Rafayel’s head snaps to you, his eyes softening instantly when they land on you. Rafayel spares the man, rubbing his wrist with a grimace, a glance. You wrap your arm around Rafayel’s waist tugging him close to you and trying to lead him out of the nearly empty gala.
Rafayel takes a deep and shaky breath, before nodding slightly. As he turns to leave with you, he glances back to the man and Thomas, his chin raised.
“It’s not for sale.”
“B-But I already wrote the check,” the man blew up, face red with anger and disbelief.
Rafayel smiles, a fake and genuinely terrifying smile, “I don’t care how many checks you write. You’re never looking at her again.”
It’s enough to even send chills down your spine.
With those words, Rafayel exited the gallery with you on his arm, you rubbing soothing circles into his back. It was rare Rafayel got full blown drunk; you’d seen him tipsy numerous times, but he was always careful not to cross the line into completely losing control of his inhibitions.
As he slumped in the passenger seat of his car, he briefly explained just how he found himself so shit-faced.
“Everyone was taking your time,” he slurred, breathing heavily. The alcohol made him bluntly honest, much more so than he’d normally be about something like this.
“Oh, Rafayel…” you giggle, bending over to latch his seatbelt in, “I know, it’s usually you getting the attention, it must have been weird to share it. I’m sorry.”
Rafayel scoffs, his head resting on the window, “S’not why I was upset. I don’t like sharing you.”
You bite your lip to fight the smile that threatens to sneak its way onto your face, “Why didn’t you just come back?”
“Was trying to distract myself. Didn’t want to disappoint you,” he mutters, his eyes closed and his arms folded across his chest as you start the car, “I know you wanted me to talk to the annoying old farts.”
And then he promptly dozed off, like a precious little baby.
You were about 15 minutes from his place when Rafayel stirred awake from the mere feeling of your hand on his thigh. It was far too dark to see the tent growing in his pants, all from your fingers stroking his sensitive thighs, even when he was unconscious.
“Hey,” you murmur softly, giving him a smile when you see the movement in the corner of your eye, “You feeling okay? I have water in my bag.”
“P-Pull over,” Rafayel slurs, still clearly drunk. His eyes are glued to your palm on his leg. Not even he knows why the innocent touch has him so worked up and feral.
“What?!” you exclaim in a mix of disbelief and shock, “We’re so close to home –”
“Pull over,” he urges you again, the strain between his legs growing painful, “Please.”
His urgency makes you nervous, and you quickly find a secluded area you can pull over, turning your hazards on when you do so.
“Do you need to throw up?” you turn to him worriedly, grasping his thigh tighter in your fingers and rubbing soothingly, unsure of what to do.
Rafayel groans at your unknowingly innocent actions, rubbing his hand down his face, which only makes you worry more.
You undo your seatbelt so you can sit on your knees and face him, your hands still rubbing up and down his thighs, hoping to make him feel better.
Rafayel takes that opportunity to undo his own seatbelt, hoisting you out of your seat and onto his lap. You try to muffle your scream as he effortlessly carries you onto his lap, cramped between his body and the front dash. It always surprised you just how powerful Rafayel’s body was despite his toned and slender build.
“Rafayel!” you squeal as he sits you on his lap, “What are you doing?!”
He doesn’t speak, only looking up at you with big wet eyes. He spreads your thighs so that they cage his own legs, his hands resting on your sumptuous hips. Despite his strong and possessive hold, you’re still able to twist around to grab your tote bag, pulling out a plastic water bottle.
“Don’t need to throw up,” he mumbles, looking up at you through his long and dark eyelashes, “Jus’ need you.”
With his hand on your back he pushes you down until your chest is flush with his, capturing your lips in a feverish all-consuming kiss. The bitter and sharp taste of alcohol is still strong on his tongue, his lips impatiently messy and insistent. Rafayel rocks up into you as he loses himself into your embrace, his very clear and prominent erection begging for attention.
“R-Raf!” you pull away, even at his whiny refusal, hands still tugging at the clothing at your hips, “Did you really make me pull over for this?” Your eyes dart around nervously, making sure there’s no cars around you. But it wasn’t necessary, Rafayel’s windows were so tinted that even if you had your nose pressed to the glass you wouldn’t be able to see much.
“Come on, at least drink some water while we’re pulled over,” you untwist the cap of your reusable water bottle.
“No,” Rafayel pouts at you, the rose flecks in his eyes glow as he looks up pleadingly at you, “I don’ want water, wanna kiss you.”
You can’t help but laugh, despite the risky and precarious situation you find yourself in. That situation being Rafayel’s very excited crotch.
“Don’t laugh,” Rafayel broods, his bottom lip jutted out, shiny with a sheen of saliva, “I wanted to be with you all night, ‘specially when everyone was getting your attention.” He presses his chin onto your shoulder, inhaling the scent of your body wash and pressing wet kisses into your neck.
“Wan’ my reward now,” Rafayel slurs, his wandering fingers hooking under the thin strap of your evening dress, slipping it off your shoulders.
“You’re drunk Rafayel,” you reason firmly, even though your body is already betraying you. Your thighs squirm, widening instinctively for him, excitement pooling at the apex of your legs.
“Sooo?” Rafayel’s head fall backs onto the headrest, “Just give me a taste, please?”
You want to keep a level head, deny his insane request, but his hard body against your pliable one makes you desperate for more. Besides…the windows are almost completely blacked out and you were in a very secluded upper-end neighborhood, where all the homes had nearly miles of yard between them.
“Fine…” you concede, “But only if you drink some water.”
Rafayel’s eyes practically radiate, nodding eagerly and raising his lips to the cool bottle. His sudden willingness is comical, and you smile fondly at him as you help him to drink. Rafayel’s fingers squeeze against your waist, your soft skin making him grow thicker and hotter by the second.
His body unconsciously grinds against you as he drinks the water, eyes open wide with a faux innocence, staring right at your heated and flushed cheeks. He’s so focussed on admiring the irresistible look of desire on your face as he relentlessly rocks into you, that he doesn’t even feel the cold streams of water trickling down his shaky chin.
His fingers trace delicate and intricate shapes into your waist, eyes hooded at the feeling of your heat against his throbbing member. His eyes never leave yours as he finishes the last of the water, looking up at you through his thick purple eyelashes. His eyes shine brightly, the pinks in them accentuated by the LEDs of the car, watching you with a vast sea of desire.
Just as you remove the bottle from his lips, Rafayel lowers the angle of the passenger seat, as far down as it can possibly go.
You shriek in panic, clutching onto Rafayel as the chair dips suddenly, limbs flailing wildly. Rafayel takes that opportunity to lift your thighs, hoisting you nearly to the top of the passenger seat until you’re kneeling with his face in between your thighs.
“R-Rafayel!” you yelp, gripping onto the leather backseat for balance, thighs squirming at the feeling of his warm breath fanning against your exposed lips. The slick that had pooled in your panties makes you much more sensitive to his heated pants. Practically dripping onto his face.
“You promised a taste,” he mumbles, all consumed by the way you glisten against the dim indoor lights of his car. He doesn’t let you get another word in before he’s pulling your panties to the side and licking a fat strip up your slit, all the way to your clit.
“Ngh – Raf!” If it weren’t for his strong hands on your thighs you would’ve crushed him with the way your knees buckled and you nearly fell on top of him.
Rafayel doesn’t speak, only a filthy string of wet slurps and strung out moans audible, this tongue writhing against you, positively starved. The way he makes out with your cunt makes your muscles melt, your body nearly melding into the seats.
Rafayel can feel your shaky legs struggling to keep you up and he pulls your hips down, guiding you to sit on his face. In your surprise, you fall completely, a choked sob of bliss ripping from your mouth when Rafayel completely engulfs your weeping cunt into his mouth.
You're a babbling mess of the most lewd cries, your thighs clenching unbearably at the pleasure Rafayel’s tongue forces into you. You try not to put too much weight on Rafayel, but he only pushes you down, wanting you to crush his skull.
“Tastes so sweet,” Rafayel moans into you, the vibrations of his praises reverberating through every single one of your nerve endings. As he eats you with a relentless excitement, his eager nose strokes along your folds, gathering your arousal with every stroke.
“And it’s all for me,” he whines in the most pussy drunken voice you’ve ever heard from him, likely from the heavy intoxication, “No one else's, just mine.”
You can tell he’s still reeling from the encounter at the gala, with the man who’d wanted to buy the piece he’d painted for you. Just reassuring himself of things he already knew to be fact.
“And you’re mine,” you gasp through the sparks in your vision, wrought with pleasure. You do your best to keep your nails out of the expensive leather upholstery, tearing at Rafayel’s skin instead.
He grunts with the sting of your scratches, the pain fueling his excitement, which he funnels into the way he devours you, slurping up every single drop that pools down your lips.
With one hand on your thigh, he palms himself through his dress pants, jerking furiously.
It isn’t long before he yanks you away with a desperate gasp, carrying you back down onto his lap, “Need to be inside you now, ‘kay?”
The ears ring with the whiplash, the pleasure being yanked away suddenly, staring at Rafayel with dumbfounded wide eyes. You barely register when he takes his bare cock out, rubbing it up and down your absolutely drenched folds, your dress bunched to your waist.
He holds himself firm in his fingers by the base, squeezing down as he rubs up and down your glistening slit, peering up at your rosy cheeks.
“Baby?” he huffs, sounding faraway, “Can I?”
You barely even register your nod, your body moving on its own volition. Rafayel grins, lining himself up and not wasting another second before sinking himself into you, his favorite place in the entire world.
Your face is stuck in a perpetual oh as Rafayel sinks all the way into you, his veins especially prominent in his intoxication. You can almost feel them throbbing as they squeeze against your tight walls, his hips flattering when he feels himself hit the soft walls of your g-spot.
“Ngh – I love you, Y/N,” Rafayel moans, his arms coming up to wrap around your back, pulling you tightly against his torso.
You nuzzle your head into Rafayel’s chest, needing the support as he starts to rock into you, bouncing your body off his lap with the strength of his thighs.
“O-Oh God,” you whimper into his chest, letting him man handle you against himself, too overwhelmed by the way he’d made you feel with his tongue, and now his cock.
‘J-Jus’ like that, baby,” Rafayel mewls into the crown of your head, taking in deep lungfuls of your scent. His arms are wrapped so tightly around you that you almost can’t breathe, but you only want him to hold you harder, tighter.
You can’t even be bothered to care that you’re fucking in such a public area, the risk of getting caught just a faraway thought. The only thing you can find yourself caring about is the way Rafayel drives deeper into your guts, forcing you to look at him as he buries himself into you.
“Hah – pretty girl,” he breathes out, his body slowing. You realize the alcohol must be making him tired, and you force your weight onto your knees.
“L-Let me, Raf,” you whisper, sitting up as much as you can until your head brushes against the car roof. Rafayel watches you with wondrous eyes as you begin to ride him.
“Oo-oh shiit,” he groans, mesmerized by the way you roll your body into him, “You're so perfect, Y/N. Just like that, please don’t s-stop.”
You whimper, biting your lip and trying to control the way his cock has your body screaming for release. You lean back onto his knees, one hand grappling at the window for leverage, the other cupping his balls.
Your hand is met with the wet condensation of the frosted window, the mixture of yours and Rafayel’s torrid breaths fogging up the interior completely. It’s such a sensual sight that you clench down on Rafayel, thinking about the passion of this moment, in the confined space of his favorite car.
Rafayel lets out the most delicious string of moans and expletives as you gently massage his balls in your fingers, fondling them delicately, “Oh God, that feels so good, you feel – angh – amazing.”
You throw all your energy into rolling your hips against Rafayel’s pelvis, wanting to use him until you were utterly spent.
“So big Raf,” you wail, struggling to keep up a rhythm as his size splits you in half, “I-I’m soo clo-ose.”
“Fuuck, me too,” Rafayel grunts, his neck craning back, back arching slightly at the way you ride him so filthily, “Don’t stop, I’m almost – ngh – there.”
His lewd words are your last straw, your hips stuttering as your cunt coils tightly around his length, your body orgasming so intensely through your tightly shut eyes. You desperately hope no one is nearby, because the muffled screams coming from the inside of the car were sure to be audible.
“You love me, right?” Rafayel slurs, his eyes wet and on the verge of coming undone, needing your words to be the final push.
“I love you Raf,” you gasp brokenly, still bouncing on his lap, “Soo-oo much!”
Your vice grip on him has Rafayel seeing stars of his own, the blinding pleasure signaling his own release. As he cums, he brings you back to his chest in a heated embrace, babbling into your mussed hair.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” comes his strangled mantra, the words overflowing from his wet puffy lips, “My Queen.”
You whimper as Rafayel fills you with rope after rope of his hot seed, it already beginning to seep out of your hole and down his still hard length. He gives you everything he has, the soul nearly being sucked out his body through his cockhead.
Rafayel digs his nails into your back as you overstimulate him with your languid thrusts, urging you to stop.
“N-No more,” he whines, holding you in place, “You’re trying to kill me.”
You still your hips with a chuckle, listening to his rapidly pounding heart, “I would never.”
Rafayel strokes your hair, holding you against his body, his cock softening and slipping out of you. You wince at the feeling of how much dampness leaks out of you, sitting up and trying to cup yourself so it doesn’t leak all over Rafayel’s seats.
But Rafayel holds you back down, “No. Stay.”
“Rafayel, it's going to ruin the seats!”
“I don’t care,” he mumbles, his voice still sluggish from the alcohol, nuzzling his face into your chest as he hugs you to keep you from moving.
“You care, you love this car. I love this car,” you whine, trying to pull away and keep the slick from spilling everywhere, but he doesn’t relent.
“Just say you love the car more than me,” he sulks, his bottom lip protruding.
You glare at him, before deciding to tease him and play along, “I love the car more than y–”
Rafayel covers your mouth with his hand, squinting at you, “If you finish that sentence I’ll scream.”
.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.
✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.
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 ❤️
》 pairing: aged up professor! c.jh x fem student reader
》 plot: Choi Jongho, a middle-aged professor struggling with a midlife crisis and an unfulfilling marriage, seeks a brief escape through an affair with a bright young student he meets at a bar during a faculty Christmas party. What begins as a distraction soon forces him to confront deeper guilt and dissatisfaction, leading him to question his choices and the life he's built.
》 content: aged up and married jongho (40s), college student reader, mentions of OC, emma (jongho’s wife), cheating, alcohol, FAT COCK JONGHO AGENDA, manhandling, spanking, creampie, blowjob, face-fucking, stand and carry position, smut with some angst
》 wc: 4.7k
》 a/n: all credits for this idea goes to @yun-fangz
🎧 warm on a cold night- honne
Jongho leaned against the wall, his whiskey swirling lazily in hand as he watched his colleagues laugh and chat over the hum of soft holiday jazz. The semester had finally ended, and a handful of faculty members had chosen to unwind at a cozy bar just a few blocks from campus.
The place was charmingly festive, adorned with twinkling fairy lights, cranberry-decorated wreaths, bright red ribbons, and polished wood paneling that radiated warmth. Inside, the air was thick with the cheer of the season, a stark contrast to the biting cold winds just beyond the frosted windows. Yet, no matter how long he lingered near the fireplace, or how many shots burned in his chest, the chill from outside seemed to cling to him, refusing to melt away in the glow of the celebration.
Jongho lingered in the corner, isolating himself from the rest of the group. He watched the other professors mingle, their laughter bubbling over clinking glasses. The sight stirred a mix of envy and disdain. Their holiday cheer felt hollow, a performance, and yet he resented how effortlessly they seemed to pull it off.
He’d considered skipping the party altogether but couldn’t bear the thought of going home tonight. Not yet.
He shouldn’t be drinking—not this much, anyway—but he kept ordering pint after pint, convincing himself that each one would drown his thoughts a little more. And for a while, it worked. Until it didn’t. Now, his thoughts swirled darker, heavier, impossible to ignore.
“It’s the most wonderful time of the year,” or so the song went. Jongho begged to differ. The Christmas trees, the holiday sales, the relentless jingles—it all made him tense. He was sick of it. Sick of forcing smiles through strained dinners. Sick of walking on eggshells at home. Sick of pretending that everything was fine, that he was still happily married, that he still wanted this. And the thought of hosting Emma’s family for Christmas dinner this year made his stomach churn. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up the facade.
What gnawed at him most was that he couldn’t point to any one thing to explain his unhappiness. There’d been no affair, no fights, no children to argue over. Just a slow, relentless erosion of something he couldn’t name. He had simply checked out, growing numb.
Emma, once a beacon of warmth and brilliance, now felt dimmed to him, like a candle flickering from a draft. He thought back to their early years—the long dinners spent debating poetry, the late nights whispering sweet nothings in the dark, tangling into each other over white satin sheets, her longing for him even when he was only a few feet away. Now, their evenings were quiet, their conversations perfunctory. They ate in near silence, their words dried up like an old well. Nights in bed were worse: two bodies lying back-to-back, the weight of unspoken things pressing down on the space between them, the burning desire for each other now snuffed out like a dying flame.
It wasn’t her fault, not really. And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was suffocating.
Unlike the rest of the faculty, Jongho wasn’t looking forward to the long winter break. While his colleagues spoke eagerly of trips, family gatherings, and restful days at home, he found himself filled with a quiet, gnawing dread. Work had become his refuge—long hours at the office, stacks of papers to grade, and the pretense of ‘office hours’ no one ever attended. It was all a convenient shield. The thought of being home with Emma, with no deadlines or lectures to hide behind, felt almost unbearable.
He’d toyed with the idea of seeing a lawyer. The thought of ending it all—cleanly, definitively—had crossed his mind more times than he cared to admit. But every time, the guilt stopped him. How could he serve her divorce papers without a clear reason? No betrayal, no dramatic blowout, just the suffocating weight of his own unhappiness. It felt cruel, cowardly.
So, instead, he stayed. He let his depression settle in, heavy and inescapable, like an unwelcome guest. His wedding ring sat on his finger like a shackle, not a symbol of love but an anchor pulling him further into the depths of his discontent. Some days, he wondered what it would feel like to let it drag him all the way down to the bottom of the sea.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath, staring down at the empty glass in his hand. The amber traces of his last drink clung stubbornly to the bottom, mocking him. With a groan, he pushed himself off the wall and stumbled back to the bar, his movements heavy and unsteady. He leaned over the polished counter, shaking his glass slightly to catch the bartender's attention. Without a word, the bartender nodded and began pouring another whiskey neat, the amber liquid glinting under the soft, golden lights.
As Jongho waited, his gaze drifted. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her—a familiar girl, laughing softly among two friends at a table on the far side of the bar. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders, and her giggles carried just enough to reach him, rising above the hum of the crowd and the muted jazz playing overhead. For a moment, he squinted, trying to place her. Then it clicked.
Y/N. His student.
He remembered your paper on Keats’ Ode on Melancholy. It was rare for him to recall specific assignments, let alone be impressed by them. Most of his students treated his class like an obligation, churning out rushed, half-hearted essays that betrayed their indifference to literature. But your work had stood out—not just for its clarity and depth, but for the way it annoyed him.
You’d written with optimism, arguing that Keats saw melancholy as a companion to joy, as something that heightened the beauty of life rather than drowning it. Jongho had scoffed at your words as he read them, unable to reconcile your argument with his own misery. To him, melancholy wasn’t some poetic counterpoint to happiness—it was a relentless weight, suffocating and inescapable. Still, he couldn’t deny the paper’s quality or the sincerity behind it.
The bartender slid his whiskey across the counter, snapping Jongho out of his thoughts. He picked it up, taking a long, deliberate sip before glancing back at you. Your friends had gotten up and were weaving through the crowd toward the exit, leaving you alone at the table. You didn’t seem to notice right away, your attention fixed on your phone, but when you looked up, a flicker of disappointment crossed your face.
Jongho hesitated. He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. But the whiskey burned warm in his chest, loosening his inhibitions and drowning out the voice of reason. Before he could think better of it, he picked up his glass and made his way toward you.
“Y/N?” he said, his voice low and slightly unsteady.
You looked up, startled, your eyes widening in recognition. “Professor Choi?”
He gave you a faint smile, gesturing toward the empty chair next to you. “Mind if I join you?”
You hesitated, glancing toward the door your friends had disappeared through. Then, with a small shrug and a curious smile, you gestured for him to sit.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, your tone light but your eyes searching his face.
“Same thing as everyone else, I suppose,” he replied, settling into the chair. “Avoiding reality.”
Your lips curved into a half-smile. “That’s not how you struck me in class.”
He raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “How did I strike you, then?”
You hesitated again, as if weighing your words, before saying, “Like someone who sees too much reality to avoid it.”
The comment caught him off guard, and for the first time that night, Jongho felt seen. Vulnerable, but in a way he didn’t mind. He took another sip of his whiskey, the silence between you stretching just long enough to feel charged.
“So,” he said, setting his glass down. “Do you always come to bars like this, or is tonight special?”
You laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “My friends dragged me here. They’ve abandoned me for some frat party, so… I guess that’s my answer.”
Jongho nodded, leaning back slightly. “Their loss.”
Your cheeks flushed faintly at the comment, and for the first time, he noticed how young you seemed outside the context of his lectures. Yet, your presence held a gravity that felt far beyond your years.
And as the conversation unfolded, Jongho couldn’t quite shake the thought: he shouldn’t be here, saying these things, feeling this pull. But he stayed anyway. “Can I ask you something?”
You paused, your fingers brushing the rim of your shot glass. You shared the same thought he had: maybe you shouldn’t be here, talking to him, sharing drinks, lingering longer than politeness demanded. But there was something about him tonight—a quiet vulnerability that mirrored your own. You could see it in his slightly hunched posture, in the way his eyes didn’t quite meet yours until they did, holding just a second too long.
And maybe, you admitted to herself, you felt a pull too. You were lonely. It was clear he was, too, and that unspoken connection put you at ease in a way you hadn’t expected.
“Sure,” you said softly.
Jongho leaned in, his voice dropping, as though he were about to share a secret. “Why Keats? Why not something easy, like Poe? Do you know how many essays I’ve graded on The Tell-Tale Heart or The Raven? Yours was the only outlier.”
You tilted her head, a small, thoughtful smile playing on your lips. You rubbed your fingers absentmindedly against the glass, the tequila inside still untouched. “I don’t know,” you said with a shrug, though your tone suggested otherwise. “I guess it’s just… comforting, you know?”
“Comforting?” He blinked, genuinely puzzled. “You think melancholy is comforting?”
You nodded, meeting his eyes directly. “Yeah. It’s like... it’s always there. Inevitable. You can’t escape it, but once you stop trying to, it feels less heavy. More like... a part of you. It’s something to be embraced, something to be experienced. It’s human. I think Keats got that.”
For a moment, Jongho didn’t respond. Your words hung in the air, resonating with something buried deep within him. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, his thoughts turning over themselves. “Most people run from it,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “They see it as a weakness. Something to be fixed.”
“Maybe it is,” you admitted, your gaze dropping to your drink. “But it’s also honest. Keats thought melancholy was the start of a new transition in life. Drowning it out by distracting yourself with alcohol or drugs would just ruin it.”
Jongho looked down at his drink. Your words struck a chord he hadn’t felt in years. This was the kind of conversation he used to have with Emma, back when they stayed up late talking about literature and life before the silence crept in. He felt the faintest spark—a flicker of something he couldn’t name. Connection, maybe.
“You think there’s harm in a little distraction?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes anything but. His gaze lingered on your face, studying every detail as though seeing you for the first time.
Maybe it was the whiskey or the fact that there was no desk separating you this time, but he realized how different you looked up close. Your eyes were wide, filled with a youthful energy that seemed so foreign to him. They practically radiated life, a stark contrast to the weight he carried in his own. The soft glow of the red Christmas lights hanging above reflected off your skin, casting a warm, rosy hue across your cheeks. He hadn’t noticed before—maybe he hadn’t let himself—but you were pretty.
You tilted your head slightly, your lips curling up in a shy smile as you considered his words. “I guess it depends on the distraction,” you said, your voice light, but there was a hint of curiosity there.
He took a slow sip of the dark liquid, his gaze never leaving yours. “Some distractions are good,” he said, his tone low and measured. “When you’re feeling stuck. Or....”
“Lonely?” you suggested, your voice soft and careful.
His expression shifted, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t his usual polite, practiced smile; it was something quieter, more real. Like you’d hit on something he wasn’t ready to say out loud.
For a moment, you allowed yourself to really look at him. The crinkles around his eyes and the subtle greys in his hair hinted at his age, but there was a boyish charm in the way his lips curved into that sly, gummy smile. It made you wonder what he looked like a decade ago, though you suspected he’d been just as magnetic.
Professor Choi was handsome—you’d known that since the first lecture. Most of the students had agreed on it, passing whispered comments and exchanging sly glances whenever he turned to write on the board. You’d harbored your own quiet crush on him, but it had been harmless, distant, academic.
This, however, was different.
Here, in this dimly lit bar, with his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a sliver of his collarbone, his salt-and-pepper hair slightly tousled, and the way his eyes lingered on you—longer than they should—you felt something shift. A warmth spread through you, pooling in your stomach, forcing you to press your thighs together under the table.
You traced the rim of your glass with your finger, the smooth rhythm giving you a moment to collect your thoughts. His gaze followed the movement of your hand, his whiskey glass forgotten for the moment.
“And what kind of distraction are you looking for, Professor?” you asked finally, your voice low, testing.
His eyes flicked back to yours, and for a second, he seemed to hesitate. His smile faded into something more serious, almost contemplative. “The kind that makes you feel something…something different,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur.
There was a rawness in his words that made your breath hitch. You liked it. He wasn’t like most of the boys you talked to. Of course, he wasn’t just any boy; he was almost twenty years your senior, and with that came maturity and experience. It was different—refreshing, in a way.
You hadn’t realized how close you were to him until now. Your knees brushed under the table, a subtle contact that sent an electric spark up your spine, though neither of you acknowledged it. The scent of his cologne—a mix of mint and sandalwood—filled your nostrils, making it harder to focus. His presence was all around you now, and you couldn’t pull away.
Your gaze drifted down to his hand, still holding his drink, and there, gleaming under the bar’s soft lights, was a shiny gold band on his finger. The sight of it made something inside you tighten, and your shoulders sagged with sudden disillusionment.
“And what if you’re not sure if it’s just a harmless distraction or a momentary lapse in judgment?” you asked.
He caught your glance at his ring, and the weight of it hit him, harder than he expected. Part of him recoiled, disgusted with himself for letting things get this far. Shame settled over him like a cloak. But another part, the part that had been suffocating for so long, felt a strange relief. He was tired—tired of thinking, tired of fighting. For once, he just wanted to feel something. He twisted his wedding ring around his finger, lost in thought, before looking back at you.
“I guess there’s only one way to find out.”
—
Jongho hissed as he watched you part your lips over his throbbing tip. You were kneeling in front of him, your knees cushioned by the fluffy pink rug that lay before your bed. You two had stumbled into your apartment not too long ago, kissing and tugging at each other’s clothes, until the desire within you grew too strong to resist, and you began palming his crotch crazily until you felt him harden in your hand.
You guided him into your mouth, your skilled tongue swirling around his girth with delight. His cock was so hard and heavy on your tongue that you couldn’t help but bring your fingers down to your clothed heat, rubbing yourself desperately as you imagined how good he’d feel when he’s buried deep inside you. You held onto his cock with your other hand, giving it a few lazy pumps as you sucked and slurped him.
“Feels so good baby,” he panted, his gaze fixated on you. Jongho refused to blink, stuck in a trance in which he couldn’t escape. You looked so sweet with your mouth stuffed full of him, your reddened, puffy lips and teary wet eyes enticing him even further. He felt himself melting into you, his core tightening in anticipation, but he held himself off, just enough to keep enjoying your warmth.
Jongho grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling it up into a makeshift ponytail so he could have better control. “All the way princess,” he coached, pushing you down his length until your nose was pressed against his pelvic bone. “Just like that, good girl,” he hummed, proud to see you take all of him so easily. You gagged around him, tears blurring your vision as he guided your head up and down, his sweet, honey-like moans making your core throb.
Your eyes fluttered up to meet him, watching intently as he tilted his head back, his brows knitting together and his mouth falling open. Each breath he took grew shakier, more unsteady, and you knew he was close. Despite his efforts, Jongho couldn’t hold it in anymore, and he reached his peak somewhat prematurely. He pushed your head down firmly, his hips stilling as he flooded into you. The taste of his salty, thick cum overpowered you, and you moaned in satisfaction over the crown of his cock, forcing him to grasp onto your hair even tighter.
“Swallow,” he rasped, fucking the last bit of cum he had left into your pretty mouth, “all of it sweetheart, don’t waste a drop.”
You gulped his creamy white just as he demanded, the bitterness on your tongue and his desperate whines making your head spin. You came off him with a plop, licking your lips to prove you listened to his directions well.
“Good girl,” he smiled down at you, wiping away a tear from your warm, red cheeks. His thumb lingered over your skin as he watched you lick him clean, your soft kisses on his tender head making his gut tighten in overstimulation.
You then wrapped your fingers around him tightly, his pretty cock standing tall in your small grasp. You lined his veiny length with wet, messy kisses, grinning to yourself each time he jolted and gasped in response to your touch. When you finally pulled back to look up at him, you were met with the sight of his flushed face, his chest rising and falling heavily. A light sheen of sweat clung to his brow, and he looked utterly spent— as if he might collapse into a long slumber at any moment.
"What's the matter, Professor?" you teased, your voice low and taunting, "Can't keep up like you used to, huh?"
Jongho chucked at your little jab. He leaned down, cupping your face tightly with his hand. “Oh, don’t worry darling, I’m just getting started.”
—
“F-fuck!” You wailed for the nth time as you fucked yourself over his hard cock, grasping onto your headboard to keep you steady. Your thighs burned with exhaustion, each movement growing heavier and more difficult. Your pace slowed significantly, despite your determination to keep going. Each time you lost your rhythm, Jongho would send a harsh smack on your ass, warning you to keep going.
He sat against the headboard, nipping and sucking at your tender nipples as you rode him, his big hands grasping at your rear to keep you in place. He loved how you felt in his hands, your skin so soft and malleable, a complete contrast to your wet and tight cunt.
Smack.
The sting ignited a fiery pleasure on your skin, but the overwhelming exhaustion had you teetering on the edge of collapse.“Please, Professor,” You begged with tears streaming down your cheeks, “just wanna cum…wanna cum on your fat cock.”
Jongho finally gave your swollen breasts a much-needed break, plopping off your flesh and sinking back against the headboard. He looked up at you in pure fascination, completely mesmerized by your messy hair and fucked-out expression. “Then cum baby…” He cooed, “What, do you need my permission?”
Your pace faltered once again, the little bit of strength you had left in your legs finally giving out. You yelped as he brought down yet another hard smack to your already red, sensitive skin. “Please...need help.”
Jongho understood now. He repositioned his hands onto your hips, grasping them tightly as he took over and jerked his hips up. He pounded into you so rapidly, the sounds of your frenzied moans and smacking flesh filling up the room.
“Almost there…” He huffed, his eyes locked onto your core, “cum baby, cum all over my dick, need to feel it.”
Following his words, your walls tightened around him, and before you knew it, your knees buckled in and a wave of relief took over you. You fell over into his chest, crying out as he pumped himself into you slowly now, your slick gushing all over him.
“That’s it,” He purred into your ear, your chests heaving against each other, “that’s a good girl. Made such a mess, didn’t you?”
The way he talked to you made you dizzy, and if it was possible to cum from just being called his good girl, you most definitely would. His movements paused, giving you a chance to catch your breath. Your lips lightly traveled over his shoulder, to his neck, until you finally met his plush lips. You felt his big hands caressing your bare back as he kissed you hungrily, his lips tasting of hard whiskey and sweat. He was still inside of you, and the excitement from your moany, wet lips made him stiffen up again.
Suddenly, he flipped you over on your back, your head falling onto your stack of pillows. You let out a soft groan as his lips pulled away from yours, longing for the kiss to linger just a moment longer. You ran your fingers through his soft, dark strands as he traced his lips over the swells of your breast, making his way down to your wet heat. You gasped loudly as he pecked your skin, his practiced tongue parting your folds until finally reached your aching clit.
“Taste so sweet,” he moaned into you, the vibration from his deep voice making goosebumps prickle all over your skin. You were so sensitive now, each swirl of his tongue making you melt further into the mattress.
You lost yourself in his warm mouth, arching your back and writhing in pleasure over your messed up sheets. But then, the warmth slipped away, replaced by a sudden, isolating chill.
Jongho stood at the edge of the bed now, pulling you closer to him before abruptly lifting you up. You gasped at the sudden move, your arms and legs wrapping around him almost instantly.
“What are you doing?” You asked, still feeling hazy and confused from the interruption until you felt him tap his cockhead on your dripping cunt.
You had never been in this position before. It felt all too new, too risky, and you worried if he’d be able to support you all the way. “Professor, I don’t know…” you hesitated, a look of anxiety washing over your soft features.
Jongho’s lips curled up in that same boyish grin of his. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Afraid you can’t keep up with me?”
Your nerves disappeared and gave way to determination. "No," you scoffed, a playful glint in your eye. "I’m just worried about your back. Wouldn’t want you to pull something.”
Jongho smirked. He liked how quick you were with your jabs. “How considerate.”
He pointed his cockhead towards your cunt, leveling you down just enough so he could slip inside of you. You screamed out as he pulled you up and down his length, working you open like the pocket pussy he keeps locked away in his office. His unrelenting tempo forced you to hold onto his broad shoulders for dear life.
Jongho was strong. He held you up with ease, supporting you with a tight and secure grasp under your thighs. The sounds of your broken sobs and wet skin smacking against his made your cheeks flame red, which Jongho noticed immediately. He loved seeing you so bashful.
“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep screaming like that, sweetie,” He said against your ear. Your pussy was so open, and each pump over his cock felt raw and hard. There was a mix of pain and pleasure; the sweet feeling of his cock massaging your walls, and the pain of him jutting into you so deep with precision. You swore you were starting to see stars.
He slowed down, and you expected to feel his cum rush inside you, but when you looked up at him, his expression softened with worry evident in his eyes.
“Oh, you're crying baby,” He soothed as he gently placed you back on the bed. You hadn’t realized the stream of tears running down your cheeks, your mind too preoccupied with being split open over his thick cock. He quickly leaned over you, his lips brushing against your salty tears, his hands gliding soothingly along your sides. “Want me to stop?”
Your fingers tangled in his hair once more, threading through the soft strands as he trailed kisses across your face. A soft giggle escaped you, charmed by his sudden tenderness and care.
“I want you to cum inside me,” You whispered, your voice tinged with a burning need.
Without haste, he slipped into you once again, this time slow and steady, his face just millimeters away from yours. He thrust into you in languid strokes, leaving soft touches all over your skin like you were a fragile vase he didn’t want to tip over.
“You feel so good,” He praised, sucking in the soft bit of flesh at your neck, “you’re doing so well for me.”
His pace quickened again, he was just seconds away from reaching his climax. His breath felt hot against your skin, his dark brown eyes glinting with a fiery desire. “Kiss me,” he whispered, his voice thick with need, “kiss me when I cum inside you.”
It wasn’t an odd request, but the way he said it—so desperate, so filled with need—you felt you had no other choice but to oblige. You pulled him in closer, your lips finding his once more. You both moved with equal fervor, your hands cradling onto his strong jaw as his cock twitched inside of you. Jongho groaned, his hips going still as he spilled into you, his warm seed filling you up. You laid like that for a while, your lips continuing to move in sync as his pearly white cum leaked out of you.
—
Later that night, you rested against his chest, your breathing steady as he ran his fingers through your hair. You were deep asleep now, but Jongho remained wide awake, his gaze fixed on the wedding band he'd placed on your nightstand. A wave of guilt slowly crept in, sinking its teeth into him. He wondered what Emma might be doing at this very moment. Losing his phone at the bar meant she most likely bombarded him with calls and texts, desperate for answers—wondering where he was, if he was okay, when he was coming home. He relished his time with you, the feeling of experiencing something new, something that made him feel alive. But your words haunted him. "What if you're not sure if it's just a harmless distraction or a momentary lapse in judgment?"
He thought it over, turning it in his mind like a puzzle he couldn’t solve. This wasn’t just about one night. It wasn’t about the alcohol, or the thrill of doing something he thought would give him a sense of control. He’d replaced drink with sex, thinking it would numb the ache, solve his midlife crisis, fill the emptiness. But it didn’t. It just made everything more complicated.
He felt even less of a man now. The feeling of power that once came with teaching, with being wanted, had faded. In the wake of it all, he felt small, insignificant. What was the point of it all? What was he really searching for? The guilt had been creeping in, but now it was fully consuming him.
This wasn’t just about breaking away from his marriage; it was about breaking down the man he thought he was. And as he lay there, staring at the ceiling, it became painfully clear: this wasn’t a solution. It was a reminder of everything he had lost and could never reclaim.
The warmth of your body against his and your hair's softness felt like a fleeting comfort. It made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t in years, but it didn’t fix the hole inside him. And no matter how much he wanted to ignore it, the truth remained: he was still trapped in a life he didn’t know how to leave behind.
Summary: It's Game Night at Cyno's house for the still-only friends 4ggravate crew, and Kaveh is making margaritas for their first round of Genius Invokation TCG. Yet, the alcohol keeps flowing, and by the third round of TCG, the air becomes a bit more charged with something other than competitiveness. (Author's Note at End)
CW: Drinking (until drunk), but read tags just in case
Crossposted on AO3
Kaveh rolled his eyes, his blush fading as he began to shake the margarita mix and tequila together, ice clinking inside the metal cup. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him as he poured a bit more tequila than necessary into it and shook it again before pouring it into the four glasses. Grudgingly, he took out the lime Cyno had sliced up and perched a slice on Alhaitham’s glass, just as he liked it.
“Alright you vultures, there you go,” he said, taking his and sipping from it. He hummed. He mixed it well.
Alhaitham gave him a leery look as if Kaveh might have poisoned his drink before taking a slow sip. He sat quietly for a moment before saying, “You can’t save money, but you can make a good margarita. Maybe you should quit being an architect and ask Diluc for a job.”
“And maybe you should get a job as a professional shit-talker,” Kaveh shot back. He wouldn’t lie and say he hadn’t considered doing architecture on the side, but when it came from Alhaitham’s mouth, it seemed utterly ridiculous.
“You’d make crazy money being a professional shit-talker,” Cyno piled on with a small smile. “You know, people pay to be degraded because they find it arousing. I bet you’d be good at that.”
Kaveh and Tighnari burst out laughing, and Alhaitham grumbled about how he’d never indulge strangers in such a lascivious way, looking down at his drink.
“Okay, okay,” Tighnari said around his laughter. “Game time, game time.” He slid off the counter, tail swinging back and forth and patting Alhaitham on the shoulder as he walked past.
They all followed him, Cyno flipping off the kitchen light as they settled around the dining room table.
Set-up went quickly, and soon, they were rolling the first dice of the game. By the second round, their glasses were empty, and Cyno brought out the spiked lemonade and straight vodka.
“You bastard,” Kaveh swore at Alhaitham as he officially killed his Nahida.
Alhaitham stared at him, gaze sharp yet slightly unfocused. “Play better then,” he replied.
“Ha!” Cyno yelled. He’d dealt enough damage to take Alhaitham’s Raiden down to 1. In victory, he downed a shot of vodka.
“Don’t celebrate, Cyno,” Tighnari said, cheeks flushed. He had stacked an artifact and dealt damage to all three of Cyno’s cards.
“You!”
Dice clattered across the table, and Kaveh felt a little unsteady, even sitting down as he finished his third spiked lemonade. Gods, he was going to be so hung over tomorrow. At least Cyno always let them spend the night.
The drunker he was, the less Alhaitham talked, and he was silent as he ended the last of Kaveh’s cards with a lazy swipe of his hand. Kaveh didn’t even know how much Alhaitham had drunk, but he didn’t care.
“How can you do that, Haitham?” Kaveh cried out, staring at his cards and then at Alhaitham’s two remaining. “It’s unfair you can’t be this good.”
“Yeah, you totally wrecked him,” Tighnari added, tapping on Kaveh’s Yoimiya. “You even got Yoimiya.”
“I’ll beat him, Kaveh, no worries,” Cyno said, eyes bright even as he missed the dice he grabbed for.
“It doesn’t matter, I lost!” Kaveh said and sat back, crossing his arms. “Again!”
“You talk too much for someone who always loses,” Alhaitham said. Kaveh was envious of his steadiness. Alhaitham always seemed to hold his liquor better than the rest of them, the only sign he was drunk was being quieter than usual and sleeping for way too long. “Shut up.”
“Make me.”
Alhaitham stood up and Kaveh scooted back in his seat, suddenly a little nervous.
“Uh oh,” Tighnari whispered, his ears drooped against his head from the alcohol.
Uh oh indeed, Kaveh thought as Alhaitham stalked over.
“Joking, Haitham, joking!” Kaveh exclaimed, holding his hands up in mock surrender. He scrambled out of his chair to put a few feet between him. He didn’t think Alhaitham would truly hurt him, but he had no clue what Alhaitham would do to make him shut up.
“Didn’t sound like a joke to me,” Alhaitham replied, closing the distance. His eyes glimmered, and Kaveh could smell the vodka mixed with Alhaitham’s cologne.
Before he could get him, Kaveh darted away, inserting himself between Tighnari and Cyno. He stumbled, catching himself on the back of Tighnari’s chair because his scrambled brain lied to him about where the floor was.
“I would stop running if I were you,” Cyno quipped, looking over Kaveh’s shoulder and leaning away. “I don’t think you’re getting out of this one, Kaveh.”
“No, no, I will not stop. I will not shut up until Alhaitham stops being a mean ass mmph–” Kaveh’s words were muffled as Alhaitham grabbed him and pulled him into a bruising kiss, Alhaitham’s hands clutching his face.
“Oh shit,” Tighnari said somewhere in the distance.
Kaveh didn’t breathe, didn’t even try to speak as the world practically dissolved around him. Alhaitham was so fucking mean, so ornery, but damn, them kissing felt so right, like a key sliding into your home’s front door lock. His lips tasted like the lime he’d sucked on and the peach vodka he kept at Cyno’s house to keep Kaveh out of it. Kaveh dug his fingers into the bunched-up fabric of Alhaitham’s white button-up, a small whimper leaving him.
With a quiet grunt, Alhaitham pulled away, shaking his head. “See, you shut up just fine,” he said and sat back down in his chair.
Kaveh blinked hard, drunk brain trying to catch up. Wordlessly, he sat down. He touched his lips and stared at Alhaitham. Was it merely to shut him up? An excuse?
Cyno and Tighnari shifted in their seats. Kaveh couldn’t tell if they were uncomfortable or…something else.
“So, what are you two waiting for? We have a game to finish,” Alhaitham muttered and rolled his dice. Cyno and Tighnari startled as if they were in a trance but nodded.
Still shocked, Kaveh got up and went into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water and sipped it, hoping to sober up. Alhaitham…kissed him. And fuck, if Kaveh said he didn’t want to kiss his stupid face again, he’d be a liar. From the dining room, he heard Tighnari lose his last card with a groan and his chair scrape across the wooden floor. Within a few seconds, Tighnari joined him in the kitchen with a quiet giggle.
“You know, Kaveh, Alhaitham might have had the right idea,” Tighnari said, leaning into Kaveh’s space. His ears flicked briefly up before drooping back down, his tail beginning to wag.
Absently, Kaveh petted Tighnari’s ears like he always did during their movie nights when Tighnari curled up between him and Cyno. “What do you mean?” he asked, not even thinking much of it as he nursed his glass of water.
“You can’t be that stupid from the alcohol,” Tighnari muttered, his tail wagging harder at Kaveh’s gentle hands on his ears. He grabbed the front of Kaveh’s shirt, pulled Kaveh to his height, and kissed him. Kaveh almost dropped his glass, fingers going limp at Tighnari’s insistent movements, pressing against him and nipping at his lips.
“Fuck,” Kaveh mumbled against Tighnari’s mouth, shakily setting down the glass before tangling his fingers in Tighnari’s hair. It felt similar to kissing Alhaitham but more passionate like Tighnari wanted to devour him. Gods he was fucked. Did friends do this? Kiss each other when they were drunk?
Tighnari pinned Kaveh to the counter, his feverishly hot hands beginning to slide under Kaveh’s shirt when they heard a shout of victory from Cyno. They jumped apart as if burned, Tighnari panting and Kaveh dazed.
Before they could even recover, Cyno bounded into the kitchen, practically singing. “See told you I would win, Kaveh!” Cyno crowed and ruffled Kaveh’s hair, seemingly oblivious to his and Tighnari’s states. Cyno picked up Kaveh’s glass and downed the water. Alhaitham wandered in, eyes sticking to Kaveh immediately.
Kaveh felt his face turn redder. Alhaitham looked…odd.
“Alright, alright, movie time!” Cyno said, wrapping an arm around Kaveh and Tighnari’s shoulders and dragging them into the living room, past the dining table with their abandoned cards and glasses. Kaveh stumbled over his feet, grabbing onto Cyno’s waist to stop himself from smashing his face on the floor. They were practically thrown on the couch, Alhaitham calmly following after and sitting much closer than usual to Kaveh.
“We’re watching Spiderman,” Cyno continued. “Into the Spiderverse.”
“Well, I’m laying down,” Tighnari mumbled, laying across their three laps as if it was nothing. And it was, for the most part. Tighnari did often lay across their laps during movie night but never drunk and never with three out of the four of them so…tense.
Kaveh watched as Cyno’s hand crept possessively into Tighnari’s hair, petting his ears as the opening credits rolled. And Alhaitham, usually not touchy, laid his hand on Tighnari’s calf. Kaveh rested his hands on Tighnari’s hip, unsure of what else to do because Tighnari usually had his head in Kaveh’s lap.
Ten minutes passed, and Kaveh could feel Alhaitham’s free hand sneaking into his hair, stroking softly. It was heartbreakingly tender, enough so that Kaveh wondered if the universe really had come up with nicer clones of people and had replaced Alhaitham at some point in the night. He wouldn’t say anything. He didn’t dare to possibly break the moment hanging between all of them. Instead, Kaveh closed his eyes and rested his head on Alhaitham’s shoulder. If his roommate was going to be nice, he would take advantage of every second of it.
Rough fingers brushed against his cheek, bringing with them the woody scent of bergamot and amber wood. Cyno. They traced over his cheek, over his lips, then across his jawline, as if he was trying to map Kaveh’s face.
With the weight of Tighnari in his lap and Cyno and Alhaitham touching him, Kaveh thought that it was something like heaven, the heaven he dreamed about when he hugged a pillow to sleep at night. His body felt heavy and slow as he drifted off, this moment seared into his memories.
A/N: Okay y'all, don't kill me. This is my first ever Genshin fic, and to be honest, I'm only AR 27 so I have not gotten to Sumeru like...at all. These four have been rotting my brain even before I started playing, but since I genuinely haven't had any in-game interactions with them, I've only begun to get an idea of their characterization and their dynamics from other fans (and reading the Wiki). So, I am open to constructive criticism for their characterization and dynamics! I do intend to continue this as a series, so feedback is really important.
chapter summary: finally it's time to move past things, it's just a question of how.
warnings: references to a/b/o dynamics such as heat and knotting and designations, not much else though...
notes: thank you all so much for your patience while i worked on this one! next chapter might take a little time too because work has been insane, but i'm doing my best to keep consistent for you all. i've also really enjoyed all the fun asks i'm getting! it helps keep me writing, so feel free to message me anytime! x
pairings: alpha!yunho x alpha!mingi x omega!reader
Your body aches from overuse, exhaustion pouring through you, but you need to finish, you have to. The muscles in your thighs are burning, your legs quivering as you try to steady yourself. With a slow exhale you try to center yourself, blinking away the sweat in your eyes.
San smiles down at you, “That’s good,”
“I can’t,” You shake your head.
“You can,” He nods, “I know, you can,”
His hand brushes along your forearm and he gives you the smallest squeeze.
“San,” You exhale his name in a tired breath.
“One more set,” He encourages.
One more set might kill you. You drop your hands from the handles by your shoulders, sinking back against the padded back of the leg press machine and give him one more shake of your head.
“Do you want to be the best?” San asks this time, a smirk on his face, “Or are you good with being just okay?”
“Fuck,” You mutter under your breath.
“Come on,” He taps your thigh as he shifts positions to stand directly at your side and spot you, “set it up,”
You shift back into position, holding the handles and adjusting your body into proper form. You brace yourself against the plate under your feet and unlock the safety at your side. The weight drops a little more heavily onto your shoulders, but you quickly shift into another headspace and with your teeth tight and your eyes focused on something distant at the other end of the gym you drop into a squat, pushing back up as smoothly as you can to your original position.
“Nice,” He comments, sliding his hand under the pad that sticks out past your shoulder, hovering his hand here, “Give me two more,”
You get your breath back, and go for one more.
“Good,” San says matter of factly.
Last one. You make it quick, ignoring the burn up your legs and exhaling hard when you make it back to the resting position.
You’re about to take your hands off the handle and lock the machine back in place but San taps the pad and shakes his head, “You got one more, I didn’t even touch this,”
“San,” Your chest is heaving.
“I didn’t touch it,” He tells you, “it’s not failure, come on, one more,”
You go again.
“Yep, one more,” He smiles, “let’s go,”
All you can do is press your eyes tight and sink low into the squat again. You know he won’t let you off the machine until you do. This time, you pause at the bottom, taking a deep breath before you start pushing up again.
“There you go,” San hypes you up, his hand still hovering under the pad, “don’t quit”
You let out a tight, pained noise at the top, letting your head fall back as the relief floods your legs.
“One more,”
There’s no way this isn’t the last one, you can feel it in every ounce of your body, but if failure is what he wants, that’s what he’ll get. You drop down again, but this time you're shaking on the push upwards, and San catches it immediately. He moves his hand up to the pad and shifts so he can catch the extra weight, supporting you as you make it back to the top and lock the safety in place.
“I got you,” He says, making sure the machine is locked before he moves out from under the pad to back at your side.
You’re still catching your breath, but with the extra weight no longer on you, you’re able to collapse out and rest against the press plate, “Damn,”
San pulls the towel off his shoulder and grabs the antibacterial spray from the shelving behind your machine, “You said you wanted to work harder,”
“Yeah,” You sigh, catching your breath, “I didn’t know you were going to turn into a drill sergeant,”
“Hey,” He laughs, “I’m very nice, I’m just not going to let you quit.”
“Mhm,” You reach for your water, gulping it down.
“You could have quit,” He finishes wiping down the machine and smiles, “but you didn’t. Be proud of yourself,”
“I am,” You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and take another breath, “practice is going to be hard,”
“Oh, yeah,” He tosses you another towel, “your legs are going to feel like jelly for a few days,”
“Great,” You laugh.
“It’s fine,” He brushes off your tone, “it’ll get easier, and if you’d use the foam roller like I told you,”
“Oh my god, okay,” You groan, “whatever you say, Coach Choi.”
His eyebrow quirks and he crosses his arms, “I like that,”
“Of course you do,”
“Wooyoungie!” He calls out across the gym, and you swivel your head to watch Wooyoung pull off one headphone, “If I asked nicely, would you call me Coach Choi?”
Wooyoung grimaces, “Absolutely not,”
You fall apart into laughter at his expression, but before you can add anything else another voice enters the mix.
“Hey, San,” Minseok says from a few feet away as he sets up on a bench, “you have time for a spot?”
A few more members of the crew trickle in behind Minseok, preparing for their own gym days and they disperse to pick out their machines and start their routines. Minseok doesn’t spare a second glance at you even though you’re hip to hip next to San, but it’s unsurprising, he’s never really taken the time to get to know you.
“Sure,” San nods and then turns back to you, “you’re just cooling down now, right?”
“Yeah,” You shake your head, “there’s literally no way I can do anything else,”
“Cool,” He smiles and heads towards Minseok, “you did so good, okay?”
“Okay, okay,” You roll your eyes and head for the treadmills, stepping up onto the one next to Wooyoung.
“Hey,” He says, a little breathless as he starts to slow his pace, having just finished the most intensive part of his run.
“Hey,” You amp up the incline and get your own machine started to have a cooldown walk.
“Are you regretting asking San for more training yet?” Wooyoung asks with a smirk.
“Mm,” You groan, “a little,”
“He loves it though,” He says and nods towards where San is now preparing to spot Minseok, “I think in another life he was an actual personal trainer,”
“I don’t know how he does it,” You admit.
Wooyoung smiles and takes a generous swig of his water as he slows to a walking pace that matches yours. “Has Yujin talked to you yet today?” He asks suddenly.
You swivel your head to look at him, “No?”
He smiles wide, “No reason,”
You lower your voice, “Tell me,”
“Nope,” He shakes his head, “she wants to be the one to tell you,”
“Is it bad?” Your stomach sinks, no idea what in the world she would have to tell you.
You’re suddenly full of sick, nervous knots. For the past few weeks everything has been tense and uncomfortable, Yunho and Mingi still keeping their distance and you always feel a half step behind no matter how close you’ve started to get with San, Wooyoung, and Seonghwa.
Wooyoung laughs at your expression, “Why would I look so happy if it’s bad news,” he says, “y/n, relax,”
“Okay, okay,” You breathe, “so it’s good?”
“Definitely,”
“I’m more confused now,” You confess.
“Don’t stress,” He repeats the same sentiment, “just go find her when you’re done with your workout,”
You chew the inside of your lip and flex your hands on the handles of the treadmill, “Okay,”
You walk silently side by side for another minute, just letting the ambient sounds of the gym pass over you, when Wooyoung hums quietly to himself.
“What?” You glance over at him and his tight expression.
His eyes dart right to you, and his voice drops so low you almost miss his words, “You started your new suppressants, right?”
“Mhm,” You nod, glancing around you to see if anyone’s in earshot.
“Hmm,” He shrugs, “weird,”
“You can’t just… what’s weird?”
“Minseok’s still eyeing you up,” He says, and you physically fight the urge to look over to where he and San are working out.
“He’s not,” You insist, “I swear to God, you think everyone wants to sleep with everyone,”
Wooyoung rolls his eyes hard, “Maybe he just likes you,”
You take the moment to subtly look his way, but despite what Wooyoung said, he’s not staring at you. He’s not even facing you, only San catches your eye and shoots you a friendly smile.
“Okay, see,” You nod towards them, “you’re definitely making this up,”
“I swear,” His voice spikes a little and you shake your head to keep him quiet, so he drops his voice low again, “I’m just saying.”
“Well, say something else,” You roll your eyes, “because that’s ridiculous.”
Wooyoung grumbles something under his breath, drinking more water and stretching out his arms and you let it lie. It’s taken weeks for things to balance back out to normal with your body. When nineteen days finally come and go, and with your insurance active and suppressants back in hand, you finally feel like you can relax.
For the three weeks between your heat and your first dose you did everything to dampen your omega scent using natural methods, hoping that some residual alpha pheromones would linger for just long enough to keep any extra attention off, but there’s nothing like the security of a strong suppressant. The difference is palpable, off them you can always feel the lingering stares of alphas, the way they always try to find little ways to get closer to you, the way they look. You’ve always hated it.
Wooyoung has been sticking to you like glue, and he’s the first person to make a face at an unwelcome advance, throwing an arm around your shoulders and pushing you right back into San and Seonghwa’s proximity. He knows what this feeling is like, the nervous glances over your shoulder and unwillingness to walk alone, and he never, ever lets you feel it for very long. Despite his insistence though, Minseok hasn’t been one of those alphas at all. He’s stayed consistently in his lane of ignoring you with the exception of a polite smile here and there. You’ve been far more aware of other alphas in the crew noticing you, and you’ve been doing your best to keep your distance.
“Maybe you should ask him out,” Wooyoung presses the button to turn off his machine and his steps slow.
You turn yours off too, ready to be done, “Woo!” You hiss under your breath.
“Maybe it would help,” Wooyoung shrugs, “you know, getting over them,”
“I don’t need to get over anyone,” You press, “you’re making things up again,”
“Fine,” He sighs, “I’m the crazy one,”
You curse softly under your breath as he hops off his machine.
“Hey,” He says, his voice once again at a normal volume and you turn towards him, “don’t forget to talk to Yujin,”
“Got it,” You move to wipe down your machine.
“Drinks later?” Wooyoung asks, giving you a smile as if he didn’t just try to dismantle your entire love life during a casual workout chat.
“Maybe,”
“Good,”
He’s gone in a flash, full of energy even after the workout and you’re left alone on the still treadmill, glancing over once more at San and Minseok, both of whom seem engrossed in their workouts. It’s not that he isn’t cute, you’ve definitely had a passing thought or two about his hair and the way he looks when he’s dancing, but you don’t know him. You don’t even really want to know him, at least not like that.
You shake off those thoughts and move to fill your water bottle up at the fountain in the back and let yourself cool off a bit. Whatever Yujin wants to talk to you about, it’s work related and you’d rather focus there than on anything else. You toss your towel over your shoulder and push open the door as you start to tap out a text message to Wooyoung, confirming drinks for later. A text that he surely already knows is coming.
You collide hard into a firm, warm chest and stumble back, “Sorry!”
Familiar hands catch your elbows, “No, no, I’m sorry,”
You take a natural step to the side and Yunho’s hands pull back quickly, another apology on his lips but he clears his throat and glances to the side into the gym.
This awkwardness has to end, it has to.
You take a little leap of faith, “Have you seen Yujin today?”
His eyes meet yours and he softens a little, work a safe topic, “Yeah, she’s in the far studio room,”
“Cool,” You give him a quick smile and dip your head a little, “sorry, again,”
He shakes his head, “It’s fine,”
“Okay,” You take a few steps back down the hall, “well, I’ll see you at practice later,”
“Yeah,” His voice is soft, but he recovers with ease, “yeah, see you,”
You want to ask him how he is, but he gives you one more small, polite smile before disappearing behind the gym door that swings shut with a heavy metallic sound. It’s not much, but it’s something.
You find Yujin stretching in the far practice room just like Yunho said. Dahan, another one of the female choreographers is by her side, looking through something on her phone as they talk casually. You’ve always liked them, both of them a large reason why you wanted to come work here, and though they’ve been kind to you, you still feel like you’re working on proving yourself to them.
“Hey,” You get their attention, “Wooyoung said you were looking for me?”
“He’s got the biggest mouth,” Yujin sighs as she knots her long blonde hair up in a twist.
“Oh,”
“I was just going to talk to Jaemin before talking to you,” She explains, pushing herself up from the floor, “so don’t get too excited,”
“Um,” You glance between them, “okay?”
Dahan gets to her feet as well, adjusting the waistband of her sweatpants, “It’s good news,”
Yujin nods, “You can’t tell anyone outside the family,” she starts off and you nod, “but we’re debuting a girl group next fall.”
“Really?” Your eyes widen.
“Mhm,” She nods, “they have their trainees put together, and they have two song guides ready,”
“That’s exciting,”
“We got the first guide this week,” Yujin explains, “and we’re getting started with choreography soon, your name came up.”
“My name?” You trail off.
“You’re quick,” Dahan jumps in, “and you make strong suggestions. We’d like to include you in some of those conversations.”
“Choreography conversations,”
“Yeah,” Yujin smiles, “Seonghwa and Yunho are running point on the choreo along with us, but we wanted to pull you and San into the initial conversations.”
“That’s amazing,” You manage.
“I still have to talk to Jaemin,” Yujin points out, “but it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“I really appreciate it,” You’re fighting the urge to grin like an idiot.
“Just keep it to yourself for the moment,” She follows up, “and next week when things get going, I’ll pull you in.”
“Thanks, Yujin,” Your body is swelling with nervous fluttering knots, torn between elated and terrified. A little piece of you had wondered what sharing your heat with Yunho and Mingi would do to your time here, if they would start to look past you entirely for opportunities, but you know now that was just your fear.
Back in the hall you can’t stop smiling. You feel dizzy, chest bubbling with excitement.
You want to tell someone so badly it hurts. Not someone, Mingi. You want to tell Mingi. After all the time he’s spent with you, working with you late at night and building your confidence and your skills, he’s the only one you want to call.
You picture the way he’d grin, wide and a little knowing. He’d play it off like you were being dramatic, but when he hugged you close you know he’d murmur something in your ear. You miss his voice. You thought by now these feelings would have faded away into nothing, but you sometimes still catch yourself sinking into this unfamiliar longing.
Your phone buzzes in the tight pocket of your leggings and you answer the call smoothly after the first ring, your worries fading the minute you hear his voice.
“Quick,” Seonghwa hums, “are you just sitting around waiting for my call?”
“Funny,” You smile, leaning back against the wall.
“You know that I am,” He says, and you can practically see the charming curve of his mouth.
“Mm,” You huff a small laugh, “did you need something?”
“That depends,” He says and you can hear the sounds of the streets in the background, “are you at the studio yet?”
“Yeah, I just finished training with Sannie,” You tell him, “if it’s anything that involves walking up and down stairs, I’m out.”
He laughs sharply, “No, no, I’m stopping at that coffee place you like,”
You had mentioned it to him one time two weeks ago, and his attention to detail makes you smile.
“Can I get you something?” You hear the sound change on his side of the phone and he must be walking into the shop now.
“Iced americano?”
“Got it,” He replies smoothly, “I’ll see you in a bit,”
“Thanks, Hwa,”
“Mhm,” He murmurs, and then the line cuts.
Growing closer to them these past few weeks has been everything. In the aftermath of what feels like the worst decision, you’ve managed to find three friends who genuinely seem kind and caring, and not at all interested in constantly flirting or trying to get into your pants. You feel like you’re finally slotting into place here, being brought into the fold of a longstanding group dynamic and despite the way you’re still catching up on inside jokes and references, you’re starting to make some of your own with them.
The tension that’s been lingering between you, Yunho, and Mingi has been smoothly shielded by the three of them, and where you once spent most of your time outside of practice alone, now you’re constantly in the fray. Coffee in the mornings, lunches out, drinks after work, weekend plans, a whirlwind of sudden fast friendship. All the slow steps of getting to know someone were thrown directly out the window when Wooyoung finally got his hands on you and threw open all those emotional doors, and it’s easy to trust them when it’s like this.
At the studio, you clean up quickly for the team meeting before practice, grabbing a protein bar from your bag for a boost of energy and filling up your water bottle. The day is starting to feel a little lighter, the interaction with Yunho earlier making everything a little less intense, but your steps falter again in the hall, the sight of Mingi at the far end of it by the back office.
He looks good today, an oversized black t-shirt and dark wash jeans, heavy work boots and a silver chain around his neck. His hair strikes you a little darker, and you don’t know if it’s the lighting or if he dyed it but it suits him and for a brief moment you catch yourself staring.
He glances at you briefly, catching your eyes for a second before he turns his face away and steps into the office, shutting the door behind him.
Yunho and I are not going to leave you.
The memory sinks into your stomach, and for the briefest moment you want to follow him, push open the office door and make him look you in the eyes again. Tell him your news, make him your friend again, take a page out of Wooyoung’s book and just force him to get over this sickening space between you all. Your chest aches.
You're proud of yourself, you couldn’t have done this without him, you want to tell him, you want him to know, need him to know. You take a few steps forwards, ready and bracing yourself and so unsure of what you’re going to say, but you know you need to say something, anything.
“Hey,” Seonghwa catches your attention, stepping in through the doorway to your right and interrupting your line of sight down the hall. Suddenly the urge to run to Mingi and tell him your good news fades, all you can see now is Seonghwa’s wide smile and kind eyes. He pushes your iced americano into your idle hands and nudges your arm, “what’s got you beaming?”
“What?” You refocus completely on him.
“You,” He nods, “you’re smiling like crazy, what’s up?”
“You probably already know,” You lower your voice a bit, stepping closer to him.
“Yeah?” He shifts a little, leaning his shoulder on the adjacent wall and looking down at you, taking a long sip of his own coffee, “Tell me anyways,”
“The new group,” You explain, still keeping your voice a little lower, “I just talked to Yujin,”
“Ah,” He grins, “it’s good isn’t it,”
At his knowing expression things click into place and your mouth drops, “Hwa, did you do this? Did you put my name up?”
He hesitates for just a moment and then shakes his head, “I wish I had, but Yunho got there first.”
“He did?”
Seonghwa nods, leaning down a bit more and lowering his voice further, “He talked to Jaemin about it last week,”
“But I thought,” Your voice trails off, remembering what Yujin said in the practice studio only twenty minutes ago.
“He told me he wanted you on the project,” Seonghwa shrugs, “maybe things are thawing out,”
“Finally,” You breathe.
“Congratulations though,” Seonghwa smiles, “it’s a big step here,”
Your face hurts from smiling but you grin again and nod.
“Hey, listen,” He gives your arm a friendly squeeze as he turns the direction of the conversation, “Are you free tomorrow night?”
“I think so,”
“You want to come to dinner with me?” He asks.
“Dinner?” You nod, “Sure, what are you,”
A body brushes past you both in the hall and you take a step back from Seonghwa, realizing how close in his proximity you were a moment ago and you clear your throat softly, glancing to the side. Mingi’s already four strides past you both down the hall and pushing open the practice room door and your stomach drops.
“Oh,” You breathe.
Seonghwa waits, but when you turn back towards him he doesn’t even acknowledge the bristling moment of tension with Mingil, “So, dinner?”
“Yeah,” You recover, remembering yourself, “yeah, sure,”
“I want you to meet a friend of mine,” He says.
“This better not be a set up,” You grimace.
“Not at all,” He shakes his head with a laugh, “I just thought maybe you’d like to meet one of the producers for the group,”
“Hwa,” Your eyes widen.
“It’s nothing crazy,” He assures you, “I’ve mentioned my friend, Hongjoong, haven’t I?”
“Yes, yeah, the Edenary producer,”
“We get dinner once a month when our schedules line up,” He explains, “come meet him.”
“Definitely, Seonghwa, this is great,”
“Good,” He fishes his phone out of his back pocket, “I’ll text him to update the reservation,”
You watch as he quickly taps out his message and then tucks his phone away again, smiling. He sighs and pushes off the wall and then taps the bottom of your americano with his finger before moving past you, “Drink your coffee, I’ll see you at practice,”
“Yeah,” You smile, but he’s already gone.
But practice is a unique kind of terrible today. Yunho seems tired, frustrated at something but it’s buried so deeply under the surface it’s almost impossible to see, but at least he’s maintaining the recent status quo of ignoring you. Mingi on the other hand is something altogether different. He’s given you three encouraging nods since the start and complimented you once, and you wish that you had a hidden camera pointed at Wooyoung for the way his eyes go wide at Mingi’s sudden attention on you.
It’s not much, no more time than he spends on anyone else, but compared to the drought it feels intense. It makes your stomach churn with uneasiness.
Seonghwa catches you once again after practice, trying to confirm dinner for tomorrow, but Wooyoung hangs off your shoulder and whines that you’ll be late for drinks, and he tugs you along until you relent.
San can’t come tonight, but he gives you a knowing smile about the upcoming choreography project, and by the time you make it through talking with each of them and get out the door cleaned up, you forget all about the feeling of Mingi’s eyes on you.
It isn’t until tomorrow becomes today and your coat is buttoned, ready to be done with the studio for the day and make it to your dinner reservations that you feel the sensation of his eyes again.
You know the sound of his steps intimately, having been listening for them around every corner the past few weeks, and something in your chest tightens when Mingi shuffles closer to you. He leans back against the far wall of the practice room with you, the closest you’ve physically been to each other in weeks.
“Hey,” He says, voice low.
“Hey,” You glance at him, but his eyes are downcast. Your chest aches again, but you push the feeling away.
A beat passes between you, but finally he nods and pulls his eyes up to meet yours, “I miss you,”
“Oh,” Your stomach flutters.
“I hate this whole thing,” He says, finally breaking this stiff tension that exists between you, “we said it wouldn’t be weird, and we’re making it weird.”
“Yeah,”
“I miss working with you,” He sighs.
“Me too,” You want to touch him, to rest your hand on his arm and soothe him, but you know you shouldn’t.
“Can we just let it go?” Mingi shifts to face you fully, “start over?”
“I think we should try,” You manage, “I just want to have my friends back,”
“Then let’s forget the whole thing,” He brightens now that he knows you miss him too, “we’re being stupid, it was just heat. Being friends, working together, that’s what’s important,”
“Please,” You sigh, feeling like your shoulders can finally fall after so much time walking on eggshells, “everything’s been so weird between us and all I want is to go back to normal,”
“Thank God,” He grins, “stay right here,”
“What?” He’s gone before you can really get the words out, jogging out of the room and leaving you alone to stare at yourself in the mirrored wall.
“Yunho!” Mingi’s voice is disconnected in the hall, and your stomach drops, “Get over here!”
You push off the wall immediately, moving fast and skidding into the hallway, “Mingi, it’s fine, don’t,”
“Relax,” He glances back at you and then shouts again, “Yunho!”
“Jesus, I’m coming,” Yunho’s not looking when he comes out of the back office and moves into the hall. He’s looking at something on his phone and he makes it halfway down the hall before he looks up and realizes you’re standing a few feet behind Mingi, “Oh, y/n,”
“Uh, hey,” You smile, and you can see the sudden confusion in his eyes at your change in tone.
“Can you help us with something?” Mingi interrupts the moment and gets the attention back on him.
“What’s up?” Yunho tucks his phone into the pocket of his sweats.
“We’re working on the new song,” Mingi lies, “can you talk us through it?”
You weren’t working on the new song, you weren’t even thinking about the new song, but Mingi knows how his best friend is and he knows the way talking about it will just scare him off. To get back to normal, you just have to be back to normal, and dance is what you all know. The rest will surely come.
“Well,” Yunho looks between you, “we haven’t really gotten into it yet,”
“So, let’s get into it,” Mingi claps his hand on Yunho’s arm, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, “come on,”
“y/n,” Yunho looks past him, “you’re staying late tonight?”
You aren’t supposed to. You’re supposed to meet Seonghwa and Hongjoong for dinner, but this is almost definitely the deciding moment on if you can repair your friendship with these men and put aside all the swirling feelings about them, so you make a choice.
“Yep,” You nod.
“You’re wearing your coat?” Yunho points out.
“Ah,” You shake your head, “I was running to the mart for something to eat real quick,”
A smooth lie and Mingi smiles.
“I have some stuff in the back office,” Yunho gestures as if you don’t already know where it is, “you know you can always help yourself to anything there,”
“Thanks, Yunho,” You haven’t said his name like that in what feels like months. You missed it on your tongue.
He smiles brightly, and just like that, the tense knot is gone.
“Let me hook up my phone, I’ll meet you in the studio?” Yunho asks you both.
“Yep,” Mingi nods, “I’ll grab us waters,”
Yunho moves through you both into the room behind you and you shrug off your coat and hang it back on the hook in the hall. Alone again, Mingi smiles at you.
“You’re kind of devious,” You whisper to him as you make your way up the hall with him.
“Maybe,” He shrugs, “all I know is, I missed you.”
“Mingi,” You stop short, reaching for him this time and closing your hand around his wrist to stop him too.
He waits for your words expectantly.
“I should have said something to you sooner,” You sigh, “and I’m sorry about that. I missed you both too,”
He turns his hand, taking your wrist and tugging you forward until he can close his arms around you in a hug, “Me too, but it doesn’t matter now, okay? Let’s just be friends again,”
It takes everything in your body not to take a deep inhale of his rich chocolate scent, and you tighten your first together behind his back to keep your mind of it while his settle arms around you for the first time in weeks. Friends, you assert to yourself quietly, just friends. You need to get a grip.
“Normal,” You agree after a moment, nodding into him.
His arms tighten for just a moment, and then he pulls back, letting his hands drop away and stepping back to give you space, “I’m not ruining your night, am I?”
“No!” You’re quick to assure, desperate to not upset the delicately remade balance.
“You don’t have plans tonight?” He asks, eyes flicking over you.
You shake your head, “I wasn’t doing anything special,” you lie.
“Good,” He smiles, “that’s good.”
He turns and opens the door to the back office and you follow him in. He fishes out a few water bottles from the large refrigerator in the corner and tucks them under his arm, grabbing a towel too from the folded stack nearby. You search blindly for something to eat so you don’t feel caught out in your little white lie and select a protein bar at random, something easy, though you’re so nervous to be with them again like this you don’t even know if you can keep it down.
Your phone feels heavy in your pocket when it buzzes.
With a quick glance at the clock you note the time. You’re supposed to be meeting Seonghwa and Hongjoong in about ninety minutes, you were going to go home and shower and become a presentable person and then make it across town. Maybe, just maybe, you can have this and make it there too.
“You coming?” Mingi interrupts your thoughts and jerks his head towards the hall.
“Uh, yes,” You follow, “let me just drop my stuff back off, I’ll be right there, okay?”
“Mhm,” He nods, “I’ll see you in there.”
Alone again you make short work of dropping your bags and tying your hair back up. You pull out your phone and send two texts at lightning speed.
To Seonghwa you do your best to keep it vague - I’m so sorry to do this but I’m getting caught up with something, I’ll be a little late to dinner, but start without me ok? Tell Hongjoong I’m sorry too, but I’ll hurry.
To Wooyoung you keep it honest - SOS. Staying late at the studio with Mingi and Yunho… they want to move past everything. Call me in an hour with an excuse, anything, I just need a reason to step away. PLEASE.
You don’t wait to see either answer. You tuck your phone back into the elastic pocket of your leggings and take a steadying breath, looking over yourself quickly in the small mirror on the back of the office door. You just have to trust that Wooyoung will come through for you, and he hasn’t failed you yet.
“y/n,” Yunho’s voice echoes from down the hall, “can you grab the CD on my desk?”
You turn towards his desk and find a stack of them, but the one on top in a clear jewel case hastily labeled seems right, “The top one?”
“Yeah,” He calls, “and hurry please, Mingi’s already driving me insane,”
You push open the office door, freshly burned CD in hand and smile wide when you see him hanging out the doorway of the studio, “Is that right?”
He looks like he’s holding his breath, but when you meet his eyes he exhales heavily and smiles right back, “You know it,”
Your phone buzzes in your pocket, but you ignore it, focused entirely on the man in front of you and the way that he’s finally looking at you in earnest for the first time in weeks. You’re sure there will be a moment eventually to clear the air, but right now you’re just grateful to see the look on his face, the way his cheeks get rounder when he grins.
Mingi shouts something from inside the studio and Yunho laughs sharply, his head falling back in delight and your chest tightens up at the sound.
You crack a joke right back, tension released like the threads of a too-tight knot finally coming free.
You cross over the threshold of the studio ready to let it all fall away, Mingi smiling again ahead of you and Yunho at your back.
warnings: yandere behavior, some cursing, negative thoughts, cheating, toxic relationships, (like, um, things aren't really healthy here in anyone's relationship except for reader and felix. sorry.)
summary:
They'll do whatever you ask. Anything you need. Anything you want. It's yours. They'll fulfill your every desire and whim. Give you the life you had always dreamed about.
And in exchange, you wouldn't just give them your soul. Oh, no, They weren't demons. What good was your soul when your purpose was better served alive and well? Your soul was nice, sure, but it wasn't all they wanted. It wasn't all they needed. They needed your body, your mind. Your blood. You entirely. Every single fiber of your being would soon be theirs and theirs alone.
The moment you signed that contract, everything would change. For them and for you.
And there was nothing you could do about it.
word count: 8.3k
a/n: i'm sorry it took this long, but i think i finally got this where i want it to be. i'm also laughing at my past self for saying this wasn't going to be serious and not really a novel and more of a series of one-shots, and yet, here i am, writing a novel because apparently i can't write anything else. oops. but, seriously, i hope you all enjoy. and let me know if i missed anyone on the tags or if you want to be added/removed.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
You stared at the open trunk of your car, wondering just how the hell you were going to get either box up to your new apartment by yourself. When you had ordered the new mattress and bedframe for your new place, you had been counting on Felix to help you move things in, but then he had called earlier stating he was sick and leaving you by yourself for the day.
You couldn’t blame him. Not when you knew he had been looking forward to this day almost as much as you had, eager for an inside look at The Paradigm and a possible peek at your future coworkers. But the timing of it all couldn’t have been worse for you, having already picked up your new furniture from the store by the time he had called you to let you know. If your situation had been normal, you could have just left them in your car until the following weekend, but you knew that would only put you in a worse situation. One where you might be forced to kiss your new life goodbye before it had ever even started.
Knowing there was an elevator did give you a slight boost in confidence, and you thought you could very possibly get the box that contained your bed frame up to your place. The mattress, however, was a different story. Perhaps you might have been able to do it if you dragged it, but even then, you risked making a commotion and you didn’t want to accidentally damage anything in the endeavor either. The last thing you needed was to make a worse impression than you already had; the fact you had been late to your lease signing still haunted your mind despite Seonghwa’s insistence it was fine.
The only other option you could think of was to ask one of your future coworkers for help. Since you had signed the lease last Monday, you had been added to a group chat with the eight of them, each who had been nothing short of sweet and welcoming to you. And though there had been multiple offers of help extended your way, you hadn’t actually expected to take any of them up on it. You didn’t want to bother them on a Saturday afternoon, especially with such a late notice, but your fear of keeping the boxes in your car for another week only to risk your boyfriend seeing them far outweighed your fear of asking for help.
Running a hand through your hair and doing your best to ignore the anxieties that popped up from the thought, you pulled your phone out of your back pocket and opened up the group chat. Your eyes briefly skimmed over the previous messages, unable to keep your cheeks from tinting pink at their content, especially knowing the face behind each name.
They chatted often. Not enough to where your phone was always blowing up, but enough for you to see the clear bond between them, leading to many occasions of you feeling like you were an intruder, not quite familiar with many of their jokes or references. But just when you would begin to wonder if they had forgotten you were there, someone would direct the conversation your way, directly asking your opinion on the matter or apologizing on the behalf of someone else in the chat.
You scrolled past the messages that had come through on your drive over as you hesitated - someone had borrowed one of Hongjoong’s jackets a few weeks ago and had yet to return it - fingers hovering over the screen for a few seconds as you wondered just how to word the message without sounding too needy. By the time you had come up with something and typed it out, you quickly deleted it before retyping something else before deleting and repeating the process all over a second time. This time however, you hit send before you could even think about talking yourself out of it and attempting to move in by yourself to avoid the anxiety asking for help always brought.
Your regret was immediate, and you quickly locked your phone up and slid it in your pocket to avoid seeing any responses the request might pull and wondering just what you were thinking. Your phone buzzed almost immediately, and you froze, wanting to pull it out, and yet, terrified all the same. When it buzzed once again a few seconds later, you slowly pulled it out, preparing yourself for the worst, but finding two acceptances instead. Jongho had been the first to respond with a short, but enthusiastic Me! while Mingi had followed a few seconds later, stating he was also free if an extra set of hands was needed.
There was relief in knowing you would be able to unpack your car this weekend, but the solution had come with its own set of problems. Not only did you still feel like an inconvenience for bothering them on the weekend, but you really didn’t know any of them at this point, and had yet to even meet either of the two who had offered to help you today face-to-face. From your previous experiences with each of them, you were confident you could get along well enough, but it would still be a while before you became comfortable enough around them that you didn’t always feel slightly on edge.
You sifted through a few of the other boxes and bags in your car as you waited for Jongho and Mingi to come, briefly checking your own appearance in your car’s rear view mirror. Now that you no longer needed your savings to rent a place of your own, you had been free to spend some of it on furnishing your new apartment and had spent the majority of the morning out shopping. Besides your clothing, books, and a few other belongings you couldn’t bear to part with, there was little you would be actually taking from your current place and you wanted this place to be as move-in ready as it could be by this time next week. And while you hadn’t gotten everything you needed, not quite having enough on hand to buy any other major furniture pieces besides a bed, you were able to snag some new towels, bedsheets, and enough dishware to get you started for the time being.
Your eyes glanced behind you every so often as you waited, looking out for the two who had stated they were on their way down once you had given them your location. You weren’t sure exactly what either boy looked like, but you did have a sneaking suspicion you would be able to spot them nonetheless. All you had to do was likely wait for the next two attractive strangers to leave the apartment building and you were sure to find them.
And though you did your best to not let your mind dwell there, you found yourself growing self-conscious of your own appearance, checking and straightening your hair up once more in the mirror. You had dressed simply for the occasion, putting your own comfort first, and merely pulling on a pair of joggers, cropped tee, and a jacket that you had since wrapped around your waist from the lingering summer heat. Before, you had at least tried to fit in with the higher class of the complex, but one brief look at the tenants who had just walked inside, and you were swiftly reminded of how much you stuck out here.
You didn’t have to wait too much longer. Just a few minutes later and you found you had been right in your earlier assessment. At the sound of the door opening behind you, you glanced back to find two men walking out, both equally as attractive as the others. The one on the left was tall, just as tall if not taller than Yunho had been, while the other was just a few inches taller than yourself. Something that had been said must have annoyed the shorter one, as he shoved the other as they made their way outside, but a smile was planted on each of their faces and the earlier action done playfully.
Upon seeing you standing by your car, both of their faces instantly lit up and the taller one was quick to wave. His smile was infectious, leaving you to follow suit with your own before returning his wave as well.
“You must be y/n.” It was the taller one who addressed you first as they drew close, holding out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Mingi.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Mingi.” Now that you were close, you could see his hair was not black like you had originally thought, but a dark blue. that shone through in the fluorescent lights of the parking garage.
His smile nearly had you melting up close, instantly setting your nerves to rest as you took his hand. So, this was the other doctor who served at the complex, seemingly just as sweet and gentle as Yunho had been. And with his appearance just as young as the former, you wondered if the two had met in medical school. They definitely appeared around the same age as each other.
“I’m Jongho.” The other swiftly stole your attention, his smile just as endearing as the one before. All it took was one quick look and you were struck with the sudden urge to know just what it felt like to be hugged by him, all but craving to be wrapped up in his warm embrace.
“So, you needed some help moving things in?” Mingi asked, snapping the strange spell that had grabbed hold of you in that moment, a slight edge to his tone that surprised you. You turned your gaze back to him just in time to see the look he had given Jongho, not quite angry, nor was it quite frustrated either, but almost reprimanding. But a smile was quick to replace it when his gaze met yours once more, leaving you wondering if it hadn’t just been a trick of the light.
“Yes, sorry.” Your smile became bashful, once again embarrassed by having to ask for their help. “My friend was supposed to be here with me today to help, but then he came down with something and wasn’t able to make it, so thank you, truly, for your help. I really appreciate it.”
You ran your hand through your hair, wondering if you would ever feel completely at ease around any of them. You had no want for any sort of romantic relationship once you finally broke things off with your boyfriend the following week, but the strange attraction you felt towards each of them was enough to keep you on edge, leaving you flustered more often than not, all but craving to get in closer.
“It shouldn’t take too long. I just needed some help with these two boxes,” you motioned to the two larger ones, inwardly cursing yourself. You had never had this problem before, not even with Haneul, who you had been silently crushing on since he had started working with you. “So, maybe just five or so minutes of your time and then you can return back to whatever it was you were doing beforehand.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’re both more than happy to help.” Jongho waved your concern away, moving past you to grab the heavier of the two boxes. “Neither of us were up to anything important. We were just hiding out at Wooyoung’s place while he started prepping for dinner tonight, which he said you are more than welcome to come to as well, by the way.”
“Careful, that’s-” You barely registered the invitation to dinner, more concerned about helping Jongho with the box he was pulling out, but he lifted it with ease, “...heavy.”
You found it impossible not to stare, watching it awe as he shifted the box onto his right shoulder to help support the weight, and unable to keep your eyes from wandering over the muscles on his arms. You had struggled to lift the box into your car earlier, and yet, he had made it look like it was nothing.
Just how much did this guy workout?
“Careful, Jongho,” Mingi’s voice held a similar tone from earlier, breaking you out from your thoughts once more. You were acutely aware you had been staring at Jongho in that moment, and shifted your gaze away, but not before Jongho had caught your wandering eyes out of the corner of his own.
“I’ve got it, I’ve got it.” He waved both of your concerns away, an innocent, yet almost smug smile on his face.
Mingi didn’t seem nearly as amused, but his expression lightened when he turned to address you. “Don’t worry, I can get the other one if you don’t mind getting the doors.”
You nodded, watching in a similar awe as Mingi grabbed the box that contained your new bed frame with just as much ease as Jongho before. You knew you weren’t that strong, but you didn’t think you were that weak either. Sure, you didn’t go to the gym every day, or even every other day for that matter, but you liked to think you had some muscles from casually working out with Felix over the past few years when you had the time.
It took you several seconds to comprehend Mingi’s request, body and mind not quite catching up to what was currently happening until Jongho called for you from further ahead. You shook your head, snapping yourself out of the daze and grabbing a few bags from your trunk before running up to grab the door for Jongho before he reached it.
You didn’t have to direct either of them to your unit. Upon reaching the elevator, Mingi had pressed the button for the sixth floor before you could even think to say something and guided you effortlessly down the hall to where the door to your apartment lay.
“Where would you like us to put them?” Mingi asked as he slid past the door you held open and into the main room. “Upstairs?”
“If it’s not too much trouble, that would be great.”
It felt strange coming back here, once again in complete awe of the space around you. It was more than you could ever dream of, and completely yours. A fact you didn’t think would ever settle completely in your head.
“Hey, y/n, this is your bed, right?” Jongho pulled you from your thoughts, leaning over the banister of the lofted area to address you. “You want us to put it together for you while we’re here?”
“Oh, no, that’s okay. I can get it myself later.” You shook your head, waving his offer away. “I’ve taken enough of your Saturday as it is.”
“Trust me, neither one of us minds. And if I’m being honest, you’re really doing us a favor. Hongjoong was trying to rope us into running a few errands for him since we were free and I did not feel like driving around town all afternoon.” Propping his elbows up against the edge, he rested his chin down into his hands. “So, we are now your humble servants for the rest of the afternoon, ready and willing to do whatever you need of us.”
He winked, and you hoped he couldn’t see the blush that tinted your cheeks as you turned your head away and used all your current brainpower to come up with a proper response.
“C’mon, while Jongho starts putting the bed frame together, why don’t you and I get the rest of the stuff from your car?” Mingi didn’t seem to have any reservations about Jongho’s former statement as he came back down the stairs, motioning with his head for the two of you to head back out. “And then we can help him finish when we’re done.”
He didn’t wait for you to agree, leaving you no choice but to follow after him and accept their offer of help.
“So, how long have you lived here?” You asked once the two of you had made it back down to your car, shuffling around some of the boxes to have a better grip.
“I’ve been here since The Paradigm opened,” Mingi replied, taking the heavier boxes from your hands and leaving you with just the new bedsheets and towels to carry. “Hongjoong and I have known each other for a long time, so when he introduced a new business venture he was interested in, I signed right up. The rent was free and it certainly beat the long shifts at the hospital.” He shrugged, closing your trunk for you now that it was empty. “What about you? Have you always lived in the city?”
You shook your head, readjusting the bags in your hands to open the door for the two of you. “I grew up in a pretty rural area up north, but moved down here for college, so I’ve only been in the city for about… three years now, I think.”
“And what do you think about it?”
“City life definitely has its pros and cons, and for the most part, I really do love living here, but I don’t know,” you shrugged, “sometimes it’s just a little overwhelming being in such a big place all on your own.”
“You’re by yourself?” Mingi’s head tilted, surprised by your words. “I’m sorry, I just assumed you had been living with someone else.”
“Well, you’d be right about that. I pretty much moved in with my boyfriend as soon as I arrived, but,” you paused, unsure how exactly to word your current situation, “I guess I've always felt like I was still all by myself.”
“Is that why you’re getting a new place?”
You shook your head. “We’re actually breaking up, so I was in need of a new place to stay.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, but it’s really for the best.” It was hard to meet Mingi’s eyes as you waited for the elevator, fingers nervously fidgeting with the bags in your hands. “The two of us might have been fighting the inevitable for a while, but it’s really something that’s been coming for a long time now, and honestly, as terrified as it makes me being out on my own again, I’m also relieved to finally be able to get away.”
“And why’s that?” It was hard to place Mingi’s expression. He was empathetic towards your situation, that was obvious, but there was something else there. Something more than the vague curiosity he presented alongside it.
You could feel your body freezing up on you, wondering if it was appropriate to dump all your past trauma on someone you had just met, but Mingi felt nothing but genuine next to you. His gentle nature all but encouraging you to tell him what was on your mind.
“Well, let’s just say the guy has never learned how to keep it in his pants.” The words rolled out with ease, prompting you to continue. “And I know, I’m an idiot for staying with him through it all this time, but each time I talked to him about it, he truly seemed sorry and willing to change, and it’s not like I had anywhere else to go.”
Your words trailed off, feeling self-conscious over your past attempts. It was so easy to see how foolish you were now. To see how you should have left. To see how anyone in their right mind would have left, and yet, you hadn’t. You had allowed him to convince you to stay each and every time, fully believing everything would work out.
You tugged the bags you were holding closer to your chest, suddenly feeling very small and insignificant in that moment. As much as you knew the problem lay with him and not yourself, you still fought against the lies that told you it was your fault, that if you had only been better, none of this would have ever happened. He would have never cheated on you; you would have never gotten yourself hurt.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dump that all on you.”
“I don’t mind. After all, it’s not good to keep feelings all bottled up inside and if it makes you feel better, I can listen to you rant about him as long as you need.” Mingi’s shoulder bumped against your own as the elevator came to a stop, and you could see his smile reflecting in the doors as they opened, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes this time around. “But I can’t help but feel a little concerned over the fact you’re still living with him over this next week. Are you sure that’s safe?”
“It’s not ideal, sure, but it’s not like I have any other choice. I would have loved to move in as soon as I had signed the lease, but he knows where I work and he would have just come in one day and convinced me to change my mind. He can be very persuasive when he wants to be.” You could feel your body tensing, not quite comfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. It was uncomfortable to talk about this side of your past, embarrassing to see just how easily you had allowed him to manipulate you. “But it’s nothing to worry about. I’ve been with him for the past three years, so I can do one more week as long as he doesn’t catch on that I’m leaving. And despite his cheating ways, he’s never done anything to hurt me. Well,” you frowned, instantly taking note of the lie you had just spoken, “not physically, at least.”
You drove the conversation to its end as you made it back to your apartment, motioning for Mingi to set his boxes on the kitchen counter for now. And while you made your way upstairs to check on Jongho and leave the conversation completely, Mingi excused himself out into the hallway to make a quick phone call once he remembered he had forgotten to list a few of the supplies he had needed Hongjoong to pick up during his time out.
“You want some help?”
Jongho had made some progress in your absence, the majority of the pieces scattered around him in the relative shape of a bed, and you couldn’t help but feel partially guilty for leaving him to do the task for you when it was your bed frame.
He nodded, motioning for you to come over. “If you could hold this together for me real quick, that would be great.”
“Of course.”
You matched his smile as you settled down on the ground beside him to take hold of the pieces he was talking about, and it didn’t take long for you to become aware of how close the two of you were in that moment. Especially, when he leaned in closer to screw together the two pieces you were holding for him.
“Once again, thank you.” You spoke after a few minutes, hoping to alleviate some of the tension you felt from being so close to him, and hating how on edge he made you. It was the same way with the others, and yet, it was distinctly worse around some than others. Jongho’s presence fell towards the latter, and you had a much harder time keeping a grip on your thoughts and emotions around him than you had with Mingi, and yet, one look at both of them was enough for all your solid reasoning to leave your body. “I really appreciate your help.”
“It’s no problem at all,” Jongho replied, arm brushing up against yours. “Like I said earlier, you’re really doing us a favor in return. We were looking for an excuse to be busy until dinner tonight.”
“Oh, yeah, you mentioned Wooyoung was making dinner for you. That’s very sweet of him.” You thought Jongho might have mentioned Wooyoung had also extended an invitation towards you, but didn’t want to make any assumptions in case you had heard him wrong, distracted by the show of strength of the boy next to you.
“He’s just about the only one of us who’s actually any good at cooking. Well, Seonghwa’s pretty decent as well, but he doesn’t enjoy it the way Wooyoung does, nor is he as willing to share with the rest of us. Woo usually hosts a dinner once or twice a week, but you’ll definitely have to watch out for him,” Jongho continued. “Baking is pretty much that man’s love language and he’ll load you with more goods and sweets then you’ll know what to do with.”
“Oh, well, if that’s how he is, I guess it’s a good thing I have a sweet tooth.”
The words were out before you could stop them, and it took you a few seconds to realize just what you had said and how it might have sounded, especially the chuckle it had pulled out of Jongho. You hadn’t meant anything by it, but as you quickly ran through the words in your head once more, you began to question what exactly Jongho had meant by his statement and if it hadn’t been as innocent as you had first believed. Especially when he was quick to quip back, “You’re not the only one.”
And was it your imagination, or had he shifted closer to you than necessary? Leaning forward into you as he reached around your body to tighten the piece he had you holding.
Thankfully, you were saved from responding when Mingi came up the stairs behind you, though the way he cleared his voice to announce his presence didn’t make you feel any better from the position Jongho had taken around you.
“Fucking hell, Mingi.” Jongho’s string of curses was almost too low to hear, leaving you once again wondering what exactly was going on around you as Jongho straightened back up. His eyes rolled, agitation once again lining his features, or at least you thought it had. One blink and the look was gone, replaced with another innocent expression as he motioned to his left hand. “Sorry, cut myself.” His hand rose to his mouth, briefly sucking on the end of his middle finger to get rid of the blood that had begun pooling on the tip.
You averted your eyes, shaking your head in an attempt to clear it and wondering just what was up with you today. Perhaps you were simply coming down with whatever illness Felix had. You had seen him the day before, after all, so you very well could have caught it from him then; the beginning of a fever clouding your mind and judgment. And yet, your forehead felt cool to the touch when you brushed the back of your hand against it despite the heat that flooded you.
Things calmed down once Mingi joined the two of you, helping you finish putting the bed frame together. Once it was completed, you directed them to where you wanted it to lie before unboxing your mattress and allowing it time to air out before tugging on the set of sheets you had bought.
By the time you were all done, it was nearly five and you were far more exhausted than you expected to be, especially knowing you had the opening shift tomorrow morning. You were supposed to be working it with Felix, but now you weren’t so sure since he had come down with something. You didn’t really have any qualms with the rest of your coworkers, nor with your managers, but working with Felix was always a lot less exhausting than working a shift with anyone else.
“Thank you again for helping me out,” you said as you made your way back downstairs, rolling out the kinks in your back. “I really appreciate all your help and I don’t mean to seem rude, but I should probably get ready to head back to my place soon.”
“You’re not going to stay for dinner?” Jongho asked, seemingly disappointed as he reminded you of the offer he had extended towards you earlier in the day.
“Oh, right.”
You had forgotten about the invitation until now, and quickly debated over what you should do. On one hand, you were exhausted and craved an evening to yourself, but on the other hand, you didn’t want to seem rude and turn down the offer either. It would be good to get to know them and the others a bit better, and if you wanted everything here to go smoothly as possible, it would be best to get on good terms with each of them.
“If you’re sure I wouldn’t be interrupting anything, I’d love to join you, but I probably can’t stay too long. I have work tomorrow morning and a fairly long drive back to my place.”
And with reassurances your presence was more than welcomed, you followed them out of your apartment and down to the floor beneath yours where Wooyoung’s own unit lay. The door was unlocked, and neither boy even bothered knocking and made their way inside as though it was their own apartment. You followed behind a bit more hesitantly, slipping off your shoes at the doorway and pushing them to the side.
The layout to Wooyoung’s place was vastly different from yours, having actual bedrooms towards the back instead of a lofted studio like your own. A large kitchen was directly to your right, which then flowed directly into a small dining room with a view of the city behind it, while the living area was to your left.
Wooyoung was busy in the kitchen upon your arrival, and you could faintly make out two figures sprawled out on the couch playing what looked to be Super Smash Bros.
“Oh, y/n, you came!”
Wooyoung was the first to notice your presence, but one mention of your name was all it took for the game on your left to pause and the two seated there to give you their attention as well. Now that their heads were turned towards you, you were able to see it was Yeosang and San seated there.
“Thanks for having me over, and for dinner too.” You returned his smile, shuffling awkwardly at everyone’s attention. “I’ve heard a lot about your cooking and can’t wait to try it.” And if it was anything like the cookies you had earlier in the week or the smell wafting from the kitchen, you knew it probably matched up to the hype.
“Well, unfortunately you’ll have to wait another hour or so before it’s ready and everyone else gets here,” Wooyoung turned as the timer on the oven went off, “but feel free to make yourself at home in the meantime and just let me know if you need anything.”
“Hey, y/n, we have plenty of controllers if you want to join.” Before you could thank Wooyoung, you were being waved over by San and Yeosang, the former waving a controller your way.
“Sure, I’d love to,” you politely excused yourself from Wooyoung as you were guided over to the living room by Mingi, “though I must warn you, I’m not very good. I never really got any of the combos down, so I’m usually just button mashing and hoping for the best.”
“Well, you wouldn’t be the only one,” San replied, motioning to the spot between him and Yeosang on the couch and handing you a controller when you had sat down. “Even the bots can beat Yeosang.”
“May I remind you that we only switched to this game because you got tired of me kicking your ass in Mario Kart.”
“Don’t feel too bad, I’m even worse at that game.” You giggled as Yeosang ended the game he and San had been playing, loading up a new preset for the rest of you to join. “Thankfully, though, I can always do pretty decent in Mario Party. Which is kind of sad, but I’ll take what I can get.”
“Well, we have that too if you want to switch.” Yeosang replied, but you shook your head, not wanting to ruin their fun.
“No, this is perfectly fine with me. I might be terrible at it, but I still enjoy playing.” You contemplated which character you were going to pick as you spoke. You had thought about starting with Link, but upon seeing Mingi get to him before you, you decided to just go with your other go-to for the first round.
“Sephiroth, huh?” Yeosang was the first to remark as you solidified your character.
“Mmhmm.” You shifted in your seat, pulling your legs up to your chest as you nodded. “Final Fantasy and Zelda were pretty much my childhood growing up, so I usually tend to orient towards those characters. Well, them and Joker. I never really got into the Persona games like my friend Felix, but I do love his aesthetic.”
It took you a few rounds to get back into the swing of things, having been several months since the last time you had played. You rotated between characters as you went, going from Shiek to Joker and then back to Sephiroth, but it was clear you were nowhere near the level of the others. Occasionally you would beat Yeosang, and even once managed to outlast Mingi, but on most occasions you would be the first one dead, proving your lack of skills for the game.
After a few more games, you decided to take a break, excusing yourself to go check on Wooyoung and feeling a little guilty from all the work he was doing by himself while you played. You weren’t much of a cook yourself, at least not on the level he was, but surely there was something you could do, even if it was just keeping him company for the time being.
He lounged against one of the counters, head buried into the phone he held. As his eyes scanned the small screen, a frown worked its way across his features and his fingers danced across the screen to form a reply to whatever had upset him.
“Can I help with anything?”
His head whipped up at your soft approach, and whatever had upset him was quickly replaced with a smile. With one last glance at his phone, he pocketed it and shook his head. “I don’t think so. Everything’s pretty much ready , so we’re really just waiting for the others to make it back. Hongjoong had some errands to run and it seems they had to make a few detours on their way back, so they’re running later than expected. Can I get you anything to drink in the meantime, though?”
“Water if you don’t mind.”
You took a seat at the island counter as Wooyoung fetched your drink, wondering if you would ever get used to living like this. If you would ever get used to living here at The Paradigm. Despite knowing you now had your very own place one level above, you couldn’t help but feel like it was all some hazy dream. That you would finally wake up and realize nothing had changed because you knew how crazy this whole situation was. It was just too good to be true, and yet, here you still were, seemingly still wide awake.
You chatted idly with Wooyoung as you waited, munching on a small snack he had given you when you had accidentally let it slip that you hadn’t eaten anything all day. You hadn’t meant to skip lunch, but it had just slipped your mind with everything else going on. Yeosang joined the two of you shortly after, giving video games a rest for the night after being severely beaten once more.
The others arrived shortly after, just as the sun was starting to set. You couldn’t help but grow slightly more on edge at their appearance, fully aware of Hongjoong’s and Seonghwa’s position above you in your new job, but it didn’t take long to ease back into a more relaxed state. Well, as relaxed as you could be around them.
Yeosang and Wooyoung kept their positions beside you, while Hongjoong took up the empty bar stool beside you. As you ate, you spoke of your childhood, your family, as well as your interests and how you had ended up in the city. You were aware of the way the attention seemed to be directed towards you, but any time you attempted to direct the conversation elsewhere and ask them about themselves, it didn’t take long for the conversation to drift its way back to you once more. You didn’t mind, not really, having nothing to hide about your past, but you couldn’t help but feel a little bad and hoped they didn’t think badly of the fact you were doing the majority of talking.
It didn’t take long for you to lose track of time, your phone laying forgotten beside you on the counter. It wasn’t until you looked outside and saw the sun had long set that you were suddenly reminded of the fact you still had a long drive back to your apartment. You grabbed your phone to check the time, barely recognizing it was much later than you had anticipated when you noticed several missed calls and a few texts from Felix alongside a message from your manager.
“Is everything alright?” Hongjoong was the first to take note of the confusion that crossed your features as you scanned over the text from your manager, the source of Felix’s concern.
“Yeah, yeah, everything’s good. It’s just…” Your words trailed off, trying to make sense of what she had sent you and understanding why Felix had now been trying to get a hold of you. “Do you mind if I go make a call real quick?” You excused yourself from the bar, making your way out of the apartment and out into the hallway for some privacy as you returned Felix’s call.
“Jesus, y/n, do you know how badly you just scared me?” Felix didn’t even bother with a greeting, leaving you cringing as you realized exactly what sort of state he was in. “Don’t tell me that fucking bastard found out you were moving.”
“No, no, nothing like that.” You frowned, understanding how it must have looked from his side, and yet just as lost as he was over the whole situation. “I’m sorry for scaring you, Lix, I really didn’t mean to, but to be honest, I’m just as confused as you are. For some reason Hana texted me an hour ago saying not to bother showing up to work for my last few shifts. I texted her back asking why or if I had done something, but all she’s said is that she just got someone else to cover me.”
“Wait, so she just took you off the schedule and said not to bother finishing up?”
“That’s what it looks like.” You took a screenshot of the conversation with your manager, sending it over to Felix to show him exactly what had been said. “I mean, I guess I don’t really mind. It’s not like I need the money now, but I just don’t understand why she did it without asking me first. You don’t think I did something do you? Something that might have made her mad?”
You had never had any problems with Hana before. Sure, you had your shared frustrations towards the way she managed the store occasionally, but the two of you had always gotten along, at least you thought you had. She had always seemed to appreciate your work ethic and she had never expressed any concern towards you before. But what if something had happened? What if she had overheard one of your conversations with Felix about you wishing you could just finish up this job and move on with your life and had gotten upset over it?
“No way, you were Hana’s favorite, so maybe she just wanted to give you a break.” Felix replied, pushing back any anxieties that had popped up from it. “You’ve covered a lot of shifts for her in the past, so maybe she just wanted to repay the favor here in the end, especially knowing how excited you are.”
“I don’t know.” You leaned back against the wall behind you, still trying to run the situation over in your head. Because of the delicate position you were in, you had only simply told her and your other coworkers you were moving. The only one who knew exactly where was Felix. “Maybe.”
“Well, regardless of what or how it happened, it looks like you now have the week off, so what are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know.” In all your confusion over what had happened with your schedule, you had yet to even think about what that meant for you or what you might be able to do with it. “I guess I could move in early now, but…” You paused, the weight of the situation hitting you. You had known all along what was happening, and yet, it had never quite hit you like it did now.
“But, what? Don’t tell me you're getting second thoughts about it all again, because if you are, I will drive over to your place right now and drag your ass out of there whether you want me to or not.”
“No, no, it’s not that.” At least you didn’t think it was. You wanted to leave, you did, but why did it suddenly scare you so much? “And I’m not even there right now, so your drive would be wasted.”
“Don’t tell me you’re still unpacking, are you?” You could hear the pity in Felix’s voice, fully aware he still felt terrible for having to bail on you earlier in the day.
“Oh, no. I got some help from Mingi and Jongho and we finished up hours ago.” You quickly waved his concern away. “It’s just that I got invited to dinner and lost track of time.”
“Dinner?” You didn’t have to see Felix to know what expression had crossed his face, and you did your best to hide your blush regardless of the fact you couldn’t see each other.
“No, it’s not like that at all. I guess Wooyoung hosts dinners occasionally, so I just got roped into going as well.” Your body shifted, growing uncomfortable by the inclination his voice had held and lowering your voice. “There’s absolutely nothing going on and they’re just being friendly, Lix. Just friends hanging out with friends, nothing more.”
“Well, at least for now.”
“Oh, come on Felix, it’ll never come to that and you know it.” And despite the teasing tone his voice had taken, you could feel yourself beginning to sink into yourself, realizing how stupid it would be to ever think otherwise. “I don’t doubt that most of them are already in a relationship, and even if they’re not, they wouldn’t be interested in me. I mean, why the hell would they?”
“Well, if you ask me, they’d be dumb not to be.” Felix’s voice softened. “I mean, if I swung that way, I’d snag you right up before anyone else could have a chance to steal you. You’re the ultimate package, n/n. You’re sweet, kind, smart-”
“You’re only saying that because you’re required to as my best friend.”
And he had to be, didn’t he? After all, how could you believe something like that when everything in life had told you otherwise? The only person to ever express an interest in you before had swiftly shown you weren’t worth it and continued to tell you so for years. He had proved that there was something wrong with you, because otherwise, he would have cared enough about you to not break you completely.
“I know it might be hard to believe it at times, but you are worth it, y/n, truly. And one of these days you’ll finally meet someone who will help to teach you that, but for now, you’ll just have to take it from me. And I promise you, I’m not saying any of this because I’m required to, but rather because I believe it.”
“Oh, Felix.” You wiped your eyes, brushing away the tears that had fallen and biting back the apology that fell at the tip of your tongue. You had had this conversation or similar ones enough in the past to know Felix would only immediately refute it, saying there was absolutely no need to apologize. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” You repeated the words you had said to him so often, truly wondering why he had ever decided to become your friend with all the baggage that came with you. In all the time you had known him, he had been a bright light in your life and a steady force that had gotten you through some of the roughest times in your life.
You talked for a minute longer to help lift your spirits back up, confirming with Felix that you were in a fit state to drive and would head back to your boyfriend’s place for the night and start packing up so that you were ready and gone before he came home tomorrow night. You strayed in the hallway for a bit longer once the call was over, attempting to get your emotions under control once more and prayed that your eyes weren’t red from crying.
Taking one last breath and doing your best to compose yourself, you made your way back into Wooyoung’s apartment to thank him, Mingi, and Jongho one last time before heading back for the night.
“Everything alright?” Hongjoong was the first to address you at your return, but you shook off his concern as best you could, fully hoping the smile you wore met your eyes.
“Yeah, it was just some stuff that came up with work.” Your hands fiddled with the end of your jacket’s sleeves, shuffling awkwardly at the eyes that watched you. “Apparently my manager found someone to take the rest of my shifts for the week and was just letting me know.”
“So, you’re now done?” Mingi asked, turning from his conversation at the table with Yunho to address you.
You nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I’ll still need to drop a few things off sometime this week, but I’ll probably do that sometime tomorrow after I’m done packing.” You paused for a moment before continuing, hoping you wouldn’t make things awkward by leaving directly after the phone call. “Which I have quite a bit to do now in a short amount of time, so I should probably go ahead and leave for the night-”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Hongjoong asked, stopping you from heading back to the door when he took hold of your wrist. “You did have quite a bit of wine earlier, and I don’t think it would be safe for you to drive.”
“What are you talking…?” Your head tilted, confused as to what he was talking about. You hadn’t drank anything tonight because you had known you would be driving back home. You had made sure of it.
And yet, now that you thought about it, you weren’t so sure. You didn’t think you had drank anything, but then why was there an empty wine glass next to your plate alongside the faintest memories beginning to pop up of you drinking it. Hadn’t Wooyoung offered you a glass before dinner had begun, and you had accepted thinking it would be fine if you drank it early enough?
God, how could you have forgotten you had been drinking? Were you really that drunk that you had completely forgotten what you had been doing? And how could you, when you could so clearly feel the effects of the alcohol in your system now, leaving you unsteady on your feet. What had you been thinking earlier? You were in no state to be driving. Not when you were now struggling to stand on your own two feet.
“Right, um…” You struggled to get your thoughts together, suddenly aware of how hot it was in there.
“Woah, you okay there, pretty?” It was Yeosang behind you who spoke, grabbing hold of your shoulder to help steady you when you attempted to take your jacket back off, the action leaving you stumbling forward.
He, alongside Hongjoong, who still had a hold on your wrist, used their grip on you to guide you back down to your seat, leaving your vision racing momentarily. When your eyes managed to focus once more, you saw Hongjoong leaning over you, his close presence doing little to calm your racing thoughts, and only serving to scramble them more than ever. And as you looked up into his eyes, all your mind could focus on was how breathtakingly beautiful he was alongside the deep yearning to feel his lips pressed against your own.
“Why don’t I take you back to your room?” His hand brushed the hair out of your eyes, expression painstakingly sweet. “And then maybe we can go over and help you pack the rest of your stuff in the morning when you’re in a better mindset, yeah?”
You didn’t hear exactly what he had said, your brain too scrambled to comprehend what exactly was going on, but you nodded your head in agreement anyways, ready and more than willing to do whatever it was he asked of you.
