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[syrupyuu]

hi everyone! it’s been a minute since i’ve posted, so i wanted to let you know i’ll be taking a break from posting for a while.

college + life have been keeping me super busy, and i don’t really have the time or headspace to write the way i want right now. i’m not sure when i’ll be back, but thank you so much for sticking around. i really appreciate you all :)

[syrupyuu]

sth sth zombie apocalypse au // mdni .

imagine fucking into your boyfriend while he's bent over a crumbling balcony in the middle of the apocalypse, with a swarm of zombies clawing and snapping just a few stories below.

you’ve got him bent over the balcony rail, arms trembling as he clings to the rusted metal. one slip, one bad angle, and he’s falling face-first into the horde.

meanwhile, your dick is still inches deep inside his tight ass.

his fingers are white-knuckled around the railing, arms shaking as you force him to arch his back. every time you slam into him, he jerks forward — tits dragging against the cold metal and bouncing with every snap of your hips, all while the monsters below shriek like they’re begging for him to drop right into their open mouths.

he’s sobbing, begging, “nonono, not here, not like this—” but the way his hole strangles your cock makes you think otherwise. poor thing. your puppy leaks like a broken faucet the second he’s stuffed, and to think he's too cock-drunk to see it..

you can't help it when laughter rips from your throat. so you grip his jaw, make him look down at the swarm below.

"see that? that’s what’s waiting if you fuck up. you slip, you’re meat. understand?”

he whimpers and nods frantically, but it doesn’t matter. you slam into him again, forcing his chest harder against the railing until the old steel groans under his weight.

“dumb bitch,” you spit, hand sliding down his belly to feel the way he spasms. “can’t even take cock without clinging for dear life. you’d die for it, wouldn’t you? maybe drop into those teeth just to keep me inside.”

tears streak his face, dripping onto the concrete as his voice cracks. “n-no— i don’t— i can’t— please!-” and yet his back arches, hole clutching around you like he’d rather be fucked into the abyss than let you stop.

your grip on his hips tightens even more. every thrust shoves him forward, the railing groaning like it might give way any second. his legs are shaking, knees knocking against the rusted bars as if they’ll buckle, but you don’t let up.

"every thrust rattles that railing. you feel it? shaking under you?”

his fingers claw desperately at the rust. you take notice and snap your hips again.

"keep squeezing me like that, and maybe i’ll take my hands off. let's see if those arms of yours can still keep you up, hm?”

you peel one hand from his hip, just to prove your point. his body lurches forward, chest slamming into the railing with a metallic screech. instantly, he yelps— "w-wait, don’t—!”

"aw," you laugh, still buried to the hilt with only one hand on him. “every time i let go, you sound like you’re falling. do you know how easy it’d be? one bad thrust and you’re gone.”

his shoulders tremble so hard flakes of rust break under his grip. “n-no— i-i’m holding— i won’t—ahahh!-”

you slam forward, harder, bouncing his tits against the cold railing. his words splinter into a sob.

"don't look at me,” you hum, shoving his head down until his wide eyes are forced onto the seething swarm. they shriek louder, frenzied like they can smell how close he is.

“p-please, i-i can’t— they’ll—!” his voice cracks, words cutting off in a moan when you rut into him again.

your free hand trails up his spine, until it grips the back of his neck. you squeeze just enough to arch him up under the pressure, while his body strains between the choke and the railing.

“now hold yourself up, slut.” you hiss in his ear. “show me you can keep yourself alive while i fuck you.”

his nails tear rust from the rail as he wails, “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’ll take it— i’ll take it all, just don’t let me fall, don’t let me go, please— please...”

—your favs! ♡

[syrupyuu]

kinda wanna revamp this whole entire blog rn,, aaa but im too lazy to :( maybe another time.. 💔

...aaanyway, i still have maybe a couple weeks before school fills up my entire schedule, and i feel in the mood to write some stuff before then. so feel free to send in some prompts to my inbox, and i'll see what i can do :3

[syrupyuu]

(rambling about kazu)

i love everyone you’ve written, but kazu will always be my favorite.

kazu feels like when a blade sinks into flesh and the wound scars. lingering, always present, aches in a way that forces you to remember him. he is sharp, he is undoubtedly the cause of destruction of man and monster and yet he is an unmistakable presence that yearns. he is cold steel, blood soaked clothes and yet he is beautiful in his cruelty. he is when the hero loses his path, his humanity, and the reader is a driving force that keeps him alive, even if he doesn’t realize it.

an unmistakable devotion coats his actions. he is what is left when the world has already given up on him and yet he stays when the deaths settle into the war grounds. there is nothing reason for him to keep the reader alive, he gains nothing from it, and yet, everything about him points to ruin. that if reader had not come into his life, he would live in his bloodied despair till he would rot in a world that had only seen him as a tool.

when living costs you so much, it is only fair that he reap the rewards for his endless loyalty. and his reward comes in the form of a being who smiles too sweetly in the face of hardship.

and i think that is why he’s my favorite.

(all your works are fantastic but kazu will always be my number one, he is fantastic and i want him to twist a blade into me so i can have a part of him with me forever after the wound scars. he’s perfect. have a good day or night!)

???????????DUDE. WHAT. WHAT IS THIS MASTERPIECE YOU SENT TO MY INBOX.

“like a scar” / “beautiful in his cruelty” / “living costs him so much” — HELLO??? anon your prose is so gorgeous btw, i was hanging onto every single sentence. you completely nailed the essence of him. kazu is sharp edges and despair, his life spent being molded into the perfect monster hunter, who gets the job done without ever asking for credit. he’s suffered endlessly, but underneath all that blood and cold steel there’s a devotion that refuses to die.

and you're SO right. without the reader, he’d just rot away as another cog in the machine. he doesn’t even realize it at first, but you become the one tether keeping him from disappearing into that cycle of ruin. and just. the way you framed it?? actually insane honestly (in the best way)

tldr; i’m genuinely floored that you put this much thought into dissecting him. paragraphs!! of beautifully written character analysis!! for one of my ocs!!! you don’t know how much this means to me <3

tysm for sending this ask, anon! i too, wish you a good night or day, wherever you are :)

[syrupyuu]

hello hello!! It’s me, Smiles. Im sending asks to mutuals right now, as you may now know i deleted my account (Blood-smiles), i feel super bad for leaving a lot of people in the dark and want to say im so extremely sorry!

I’ve been having a hard time lately, and I just can’t juggle so many things at the same time. I’ve decided to take my time off from Tumblr and internet in general.

im taking a step back, is what I mean to say

im doing perfectly fine right now, and I will continue to be 💗 I just need my own time, I realized that what I had started may not have been very good for myself but despite that I truly appreciate what the people and community on Tumblr has done for me!

Everyone is so nice and great people, there’s so much talent and passion on this app and I’m so thankful that I got to experience all of this.

You’re an amazing person Suri!!! Keep embracing your whimsy, thank you for interacting and sharing your work!!

Bye bye ❤️

i’ll miss seeing your OCs around so much, smiles!! 😭💗 you always put so much creativity and heart into them, and interacting with you has been such a joy. it makes me really glad to hear you’re doing okay.

bye bye for now!! <3 your presence will definitely be missed here, but i’m also really happy you’re taking the steps that feel right for you. you deserve all the rest, peace, and happiness that comes your way. i hope everything goes well for you, whether it’s school, life, or just enjoying some well-deserved quiet time. (｡•́‿•̀｡)

take care of yourself, okay? you’ll always be welcome back with open arms whenever you feel ready. until then, i’ll be cheering you on from afar!! 💞

[sallythemasterpiece]

Hi babe! I was looking for blood-smiles but apparently they deactivated their account, do you know anything about that? It kinda seemed all of a sudden for me, I’m super sad I loved briar and Alejandro ://

WHAT???????? I JUST FOUND THAT OUT NOW?! What happened???????

[syrupyuu]

OH MY GOD?????

[syrupyuu]

how does the "contract" between caelum and y/n work? his intro fic was SO fun to read, but maybe it's just me who's dumb. i really cant figure out the world building...

you're not dumb at all! i purposely left details surrounding the contract vague to focus more on the plot and characters, so i get the confusion! (・・;)ゞ

truth be told, i didn't put too much thought into how it would work. my initial main idea was for the contract to operate like a transaction: caelum casts a spell that completely heals you (also restoring you to perfect health) in exchange for your presence at his side for a year. should he chooses to revoke the contract, or if you kill him before a year passes, everything resets and you return to the state you were in before, right on the verse of death. which is also why its also indirectly hinted that you're bluffing in scenes where you threaten to take caelum's life ig. think of it as dirty talk, if that makes sense

(of course, he could’ve just healed you, but where’s the fun in that? he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t slip away after.)

also! to add more context (and maybe patch up a few plot holes here and there):

the reason the contract successfully went through despite never having been approved by you in the first place, is thanks to a sort of 'implicit consent cause', where the magic interprets silence or inaction in the face of an offered pact as agreement. normally, this is harmless since contracts of this kind are unstable if the recipient’s will pushes back even a little, but since the reader character was heavily injured and barely lucid when they first met caelum, he was able to exploit that loophole.

additionally (tiny lore drop here), contracts can be considered their own type of magic, similar to elemental or cultivational magic (though arguably less conventional). as such, they have their own system and rules that beings with an affinity for magic can use to their advantage.

so, yeah! hope this cleared things up for you :]

[syrupyuu]

— .TERMS OF FAMILIARITY ˚ ༘₊· ᚐ ❅.ᐟ

ft. yandere!sorcerer × dragon!reader

summary: a mysterious sorcerer drags you back from the brink of death, and binds you into a year as his familiar. some chains, it turns out, can’t be broken.

wc: 8.1k || tags: male yandere, gender neutral reader. drugging, mild injury detail, blood, possible power imbalance. reader has a dick regardless of gender. yandere is a 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌. porn w/ plot. unprotected sex, penetration(m!receiving), missionary. semi-unedited. MDNI

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 he finds you, you’ve fallen from the sky trailing smoke and blood; a lone, crumpled silhouette against the snow, looking like winter had claimed and cast you down into its silence.

You were trembling, your form flickering wildly between your human guise and true self, magic in your veins sparking erratically with every ragged breath. Warm blood runs freely over the snow in twisting rivulets, staining the drifts a vivid, impossible red.

Caelum almost sets his boot down on your wing.

He hadn’t expected a dragon here, of all places. Dragons belonged to high peaks and deep ranges, where valleys swallow men whole; never in these frostbitten woods where the only winged creatures were crows and the occasional migrating hawk.

Originally, he'd set out with nothing rarer in mind than winter herbs for his concoctions, but this… this was rarer still. Far better.

Snow continues to drift down in fat, lazy flakes, clinging to your torn scales and hair, melting against the heat still rolling off your body. He’d never been this close to something so alive and yet so clearly dying.

His breath curles in the cold as he stares with wide eyes, cataloguing every visible twitch, every ragged shift of scale to skin.

You were... a terrible kind of beauty; a beauty that bled and devoured. His heart beat too loudly in his ears. It felt wrong to witness this. Profane, almost.

The air smells of lightning. The ground hums with it.

"Oh." he returns to his senses, dropping to a crouch beside you as snow crunches under his boots. "You’re.." he falters.

Caelum takes in the blood crusting in your hair, the faint shimmer of scales threading beneath your skin, the scorched gouge in the snow where you must have fallen.

"…well," a low, breathless laugh slips from him. "aren’t you a rare one?"

You try to growl, but it comes out wrong. Smoke seeps from your mouth, while the rest of your body twitches in pain.

Your limbs don’t obey you. The weight of your form sinks into the snow like it’s trying to bury you. Your thoughts come disjointed, scattering like loose stones down a cliff: hunger, pain, fire, run. You want to flee, but the sky’s already flung you down once.

"Hey, don’t move," he says, as if you could. "you'll only strain yourself. Here, just—let me..." he peels off his gloves with his teeth, reaching for the cracked skin along your ribs where the transformation never finished.

His hands are warm. Much too warm for your liking.

You flinched when he touched you. The heat of his palms seeped through torn fabric and split skin, foreign enough to make your instincts snarl. You wanted to tear his throat out — you would, if your limbs weren’t heavy as stone.

Your blood had frozen mid-spill, crystallizing in the air before it hit the ground. Magic still spat and hissed from your wounds, burning perfect holes through the snow.

The world reeked of copper and ozone.

He murmured something under his breath; syllables none you could quite catch. Judging from the light that bloomed across your vision afterwards, it might have been an incantation — too soft for true flame, yet too intense to be healing magic.

You almost asked who he was, or why he was helping you at all. Curiosity pressed against the edges of your exhaustion, but it was smothered before you could give it voice.

A shame, really. If only you hadn’t blacked out first.

You wake to the sound of hinges creaking.

The first thing you notice is that you are not cold. No snow biting at your skin. No wind searing your lungs. The second thing you notice is the absence of pain — not its complete absence, but all that's left is a sensation so faint it feels more like a memory than a present reality.

...How long have you been out for?

You lie still, your eyes opening to a ceiling far too close for the open sky. Beams run across it in dark, rough lines, their edges worn smooth with age. The air is heavy with the scent of smoke, but not from any wildfire. The smell is much more akin to that of herbs.

But most noticeably, beneath it all is the metallic tang of your own blood. Faint now, as if it had been washed and rewashed from the air.

Your breathing comes steady. You remember the hitching gasps in the snow, how every inhalation scraped your ribs raw. Now your chest rises without resistance. The magic that once spat and cracked through your veins has quieted to a simmer, contained beneath your skin. Even your limbs — stone-heavy in the snow — now feel light enough to obey you.

It is wrong. Unnatural.

You should not feel this whole so soon.

The door shifts further open, wood groaning under its hinges. Caelum steps in, his presence cutting into the warm stillness like a blade through silk. He’s carrying a bowl, steam coiling upward in slow, languid ribbons, catching in the strands of his hair. His eyes are on the contents, lips curved faintly, like he’s weighing whether to sample it before bringing it to you.

You don’t give him the chance.

The moment his foot crosses the threshold, you move — faster than even you expect. One moment you are on the cot, the next you are upright, claws at his throat. The bowl rocks precariously in his grip but does not spill. Your other hand knots into the front of his robe, dragging him down until you can see the flicker of surprise — and then amusement — in his eyes.

His gaze lingers not on your face, but at the faint shimmer of scale still clinging to the curve of your neck. You think you see his lips move — counting? measuring? — before he blinks and smiles as if nothing had passed.

Your talons press lightly at first, then harder, just enough to catch on the thrum of his pulse.

His smile blooms like frost across glass. "I see you’ve gotten your strength back faster than expected."

You narrow your eyes. The steady burn in your muscles feels almost alien after the frailty you remember. "Where am I?"

"Safe."

"That’s not an answer."

He tilts his head a fraction, gaze slipping over your face as if mapping every detail. "It’s the only one that matters."

Your claws press a little harder. "And your name? Or am I supposed to call you ‘safe’ until I decide whether to kill you?"

His smile doesn’t waver. "Caelum." a beat passes, "Now," he raises the bowl slightly, an almost careless gesture, "I was bringing you something warm. Thought you might like a change from bleeding all over the snow."

The faint sting of your claws biting into his neck draws a bead of red. He doesn’t so much as blink.

"Let me go," you growl.

"Ah." his tone shifts and drops lower, "I’m afraid that isn’t possible."

Your grip tightens. "Why?"

"Because," he continues, as if explaining something to a child, "I bound us."

The words hit, sharp as a fang to the throat. "...you what?"

“A contract.” his voice is unhurried, almost indulgent. "You were dying. I saved you. And in exchange, you’re mine — for one year, at the very least. A fair trade, wouldn’t you say?"

"Release it."

He watches you for a long moment, a faint crease tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I could," he murmurs, "but then you’d be back in the snow, with your ribs split open, magic spilling into the frost. And…" his gaze lingers, unblinkingly still, "I’ve grown rather fond of having you here."

The air between you hums, taut with the same current running in your veins. His heartbeat stays maddeningly steady beneath your claws, as if death is an old friend he’s content to entertain.

"…step back," you say at last, low enough it almost isn’t a command.

His expression softens in a way that makes the hair on your neck rise. "Of course," he nods. "—but eat first."

He lifts the bowl between you, steam curling through the narrow space like smoke from a smoldering pyre.

You take the bowl from him without breaking eye contact, half expecting him to yank it back at the last moment — a reminder that you’re only here by his mercy. He doesn’t. His hands fall away easily, sleeves falling slightly over his wrists, leaving only the heat of the ceramic cupped in your claws.

The steam smells… edible. Rich, with something that sits low in the nose like bone marrow, threaded through with sharper, green notes you can’t quite place. No metallic sting of hemlock. No acrid bitterness that would cling to the tongue if it were laced with belladonna.

"Poison?" you ask flatly, testing.

Caelum’s mouth quirks. "Would it matter?"

You do not answer.

If he poisoned it, you tell yourself, you’ll know before it kills you. Probably.

You lower yourself back onto the cot, the wood creaking faintly under your weight. The bowl remains warm in your grip, and the surface ripples faintly as you stir it with the tip of a claw. Bits of root and shredded meat turn lazily in the broth. The heat licks against your face, coaxing the stiffness from your jaw despite yourself. You take the first mouthful like a dare.

It isn’t what you expect.

The broth is rich, almost unbearably so after the sharp, cold air of the snowfields — marrow thickened until it clings faintly to your tongue, undercut with the brightness of some herb you can’t name. There’s meat, soft enough to collapse between your teeth, and root vegetables boiled until they’ve given up all resistance. It’s… good. Infuriatingly good.

The second sip scalds your tongue, but not unpleasantly so. The heat unfurls through your chest like a slow burn, seeping into muscle and bone. The broth is rich, savory, threaded with an earthiness that anchors itself on the back of your tongue. You find yourself taking another mouthful before you mean to, chewing a piece of meat so tender it yields without resistance.

Fifty percent certainty of poison drops to… perhaps fourty-five.

Your claws remain half-curled around the rim, ready to drop it at the first twitch of wrongness in your veins. But it never comes. The only thing that settles into your body is heat.

You eat again. Then again.

When you glance up between mouthfuls, Caelum’s no longer watching the bowl, but you. Something in his gaze is different now; softer at the edges and taut at the center. The faint curve of his lips falters, then twitches.

"…what?" you ask, suspicious.

His eyes flick away and back too quickly to be casual. "Nothing," he replies, a touch too light. "I just… didn’t think you’d like it."

"It’s not too bad," you admit, if only because you’re too busy lifting another spoonful to your mouth to conjure something sharper.

That earns you a faint huff of laughter, though quieter than usual. Caelum looks like he might be hiding behind it, even. His hand comes up to brush the hair from his own face, fingers lingering at the corner of his mouth as if to school it into something more familiar.

You don’t mention the faint flush high on his cheekbones.

You keep eating.

You learn quickly that Caelum is not a quiet man.

Oh, his voice is soft, always — but he speaks often, and with a fondness for filling silence. His words wind around you like vines, draping over moments that might otherwise stretch empty between two strangers forced to share the same air. While you rarely responded, he never seems to mind.

He speaks to you like one might to a petulant child.

"You’re adapting better than expected," Caelum says one afternoon, near-black irises catching just a trace of light as his gaze flicks to your fingers moving steadily through a stack of dried leaves, sorting them into neat piles. "some of the familiars I’ve had before couldn’t tell rootwort from rotleaf. You, at least, have taste."

You don’t bother looking up then. "I’m not your familiar."

“Of course not,” he says agreeably, "but you're still mine, no?"

You shoot him a look. Caelum only smiles over the rim of his teacup.

Still, in spite of yourself, you find the rhythm of life here lulls into something almost bearable. Every day, you chop roots and haul firewood. You help sift through spell components, learning which dried husks are explosive and which are merely bitter. Sometimes you’re sent out to collect them — within the bounds of the "radius," of course — though Caelum insists on weaving protective charms into your sleeves before you go.

One evening in particular, you're rinsing herbs in the basin near the hearth, water lukewarm and flecked with bits of crushed root and leaf pulp, when Caelum’s shadow falls across your shoulder.

"You know.." he pouts uncharacteristically, voice trailing in with the smoke curling from the chimney, "it’s not fair."

You frown. "What isn’t?"

Caelum leans in a little. "That I’ve let you poke around my study, read my grimoires, even steal from my tea stash—" here, he gently flicks a droplet of water off your sleeve, "—and yet you still won’t let me take a proper look at you."

Your hands pause, fingers submerged in the cloudy water. “You look at me constantly.”

"But not academically," he sighs, propping his head on your shoulder. You don't have to look to sense the faint curve of his mouth that never reaches his eyes.

"I'm not a subject for you to gawk at."

"Of course not," he replies mildly. "You’re far more than that."

You withdraw your hands from the water, shaking droplets loose from your fingers. Your gaze doesn’t meet his. "Then act like it."

Silence laps between you for a moment or two. The basin shifts slightly as you lean your weight against the table, but Caelum doesn’t move away. You feel him there — close. you could even pinpoint the very rhythm of his magic; how it flows and pulses in thin air like thick syrup.

Eventually, he steps back. The weight of him retreats, just enough for your lungs to expand again.

"As you wish," he says finally, like he's granting a favor. Your brows furrow.

You get the feeling of wrongness as the moment passes, but ultimately choose to ignore it. Whatever that is, it follows you out of that moment, far into the following day.

Only by afternoon do you realize you should've trusted your gut.

. . .

At first, it was only present as vague heaviness settling behind your eyes, easy to blame on poor rest. Only, you couldn't excuse how the fatigue clung stubbornly to your limbs, tugging at your joints with invisible threads.

It’s while rinsing your hands in the basin, watching water ripple and distort around your fingers. The tips tremble faintly, a fine, shivering tremor that does not cease even after you lift them out of the bowl.

You stare at your reflection in the warped surface — flushed skin, clouded eyes, and a familiar silhouette rendered alien by the weight behind it. Your tongue feels slow in your mouth. A sour taste coats the back of your throat, barely masked by earthy and floral scents.

Suddenly, you remember tea.

A porcelain cup Caelum had offered you in the early morning. A blend "to wake the bones," he’d said. "You deserve a refresher," he’d said. The same cup you’d accepted without question, like a fool.

Your fingers curl into the edge of the basin, knuckles pale. The dull ache of betrayal is nothing new— but this... somehow, this is different.

You turn, not fast enough. The room spins slightly at the edges, light pooling too bright in some corners and fading too dark in others. You steady yourself against the table, blinking until the lines of the cabin stop wavering.

Unfortunately, you catch movement from the corner of your eyes.

Caelum stands at the far end of the room, partially silhouetted by the high window, sleeves rolled to the elbow as he arranges something along the shelf. Dried vines, glimmering in a faint magical hum, hang limply from a string between his fingers. He hums to himself, content.

You feel your lip curl.

He knows.

Of course he knows. He knew exactly how long it would take to reach your system. How your body would try — and fail — to purge it.

You grit your teeth and push off the table.

The floorboards creak beneath your weight, uneven and strangely distant, and it feels like you're walking across a dreamscape instead of wood. Still, Caelum doesn’t turn until you're nearly within reach.

When he does, however, the bastard smiles.

"Feeling all right?" he asks gently, "You look pale."

Your jaw tightens, the inside of your mouth gone dry. "You drugged me."

He has the audacity to tilt his head and blink. "Would you prefer I told you beforehand?"

Your hands twitch at your sides, "..I should've known," you mutter. The words rasp out low and bitter against your tongue. "I'm a fool for thinking you wouldn't."

He takes a step closer.

"You should lie down," Caelum says softly, reaching for you with one hand. "It’ll be easier if—"

But your hand shoots up, trembling though it is, and slaps his wrist away with more strength than you knew remained. The motion sends a crackling arc of heat through your arm, your magic rebelling in brief, violent protest. Caelum’s fingers stop mid-reach, suspended in the air between you, before slowly falling away.

He watches you with something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

"…You don’t want to do this now," he says softly, like the words he's uttering are a kindness. "Not while you’re half-lost in it. Just let the drug wear off, [name]. Then we can talk."

Your vision doubles briefly. The wall behind him shimmers, doubling and sliding like light through water. You shake your head, but it does little to clear it.

Caelum is already behind you.

You know it before he speaks, even before the warmth of his breath brushes your neck.

"Shhh," he murmurs, so close you can feel the vibration of the word where it touches the shell of your ear. "Don’t fight it. You’ll only hurt yourself."

You try to lunge. Or at least, you think you do. But your body doesn’t obey. Your arms twitch, but they don’t lift; your knees buckle instead of pushing forward. The world tilts and tilts, and then you’re falling, like a leaf carried by wind.

Arms catch you before the floor does.

You hate how steady he is.

Your instincts scream to thrash, claw, bite — but the commands never make it past your nerves. Instead you feel the steadiness of his grip, the low, infuriating hum of his magic through his fingertips, and the smallest, most shameful part of you almost leans closer just to stay upright.

"There we go," Caelum hums, as if settling a child to sleep. You feel him lower you gently, the sleeves of his robes brushing against your bare skin as he crouches with you. "That’s better, isn’t it?"

Your mouth moves, but no sound escapes. Your tongue feels thick. Even your fury dulls in your chest; not extinguished, but muffled, like it was never yours to begin with.

He exhales like he’s been waiting for this.

And then… then, he looks at you. His eyes trace the line of your collarbone, from the angle of your jaw, to the subtle rise and fall of your chest beneath your tunic. His fingers move to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, and lingers.

You want to spit in his face. Tear his throat open with your teeth. Rip the smug look off his mouth.

Yet all you can do is lie there, breathing shallowly while heat pools beneath your skin in sharp, humiliating pulses.

"No need to glare," Caelum mutters, even as he brushes a finger over your cheekbone, slow as a lover might.

He cups your jaw. Tilts your head. His smile widens.

"I'm only admiring," he hums, tone dipped in mock-innocence. "you’ve always been more breathtaking when you’re not trying to kill me."

Your vision gutters like a candle on its last gasp. The heat at your core curls tight into itself like a coiled spring, and then,

Darkness.

You wake in the same bed where Caelum always leaves you.

The sheets are warm, tucked loosely over your legs; the air smells faintly of lavender and crushed quartz — something he must have burned to mask the sharpness of what had come before. You recognize the scratch of linen against your skin and the familiar ache of your magic simmering low and restrained, leashed to your pulse like a tide waiting to rise.

There is a faint, buzzing pressure along the edge of your spine — what you're certain is the aftertaste of binding spells, recently used.

You do not move at first.

Instead, you let your senses stretch outward, then dissipate like smoke. You count your breaths. You test the sensory of your limbs, the weight of your own strength settling back into your bones like it never left. You test your hands under the blanket. Thankfully, they obey.

Another thing you notice, is that he's not here yet.

You sit up slowly, letting the blanket fall from your shoulders. Your pulse is surprisingly steady, considering the memory slotted behind our eyes.

He drugged you. He drugged you. Took your consent, your control, and pried it apart with silver-tongued lies. Even now, the room feels tainted — soft and comfortable the same way a muzzle would once slipped under your jaw.

You throw the covers off with a snarl.

The floorboards creak beneath your bare feet. The moment your weight settles into your stance, your magic rises with you. Your eyes drag across the space: the table, clean now; the herbs, reordered.

Your eyes land on the corner of the room, where a basin sits half-filled, a towel folded beside it. In the corner, a low shelf holds a neat line of glass vials. Some are empty; others cradle slow-moving swirls of something pearlescent. One holds a sediment of dried red at the bottom, dark as rust. You look away.

Before you could reach the door, it opens.

Caelum steps inside with a faint dusting of ash on his sleeve, a charmed vial dangling between his fingers. His gaze lands on you at once, and the look on his face is enough to turn your blood molten.

"Good morning," he smiles. "Sleep well?"

He doesn't get an answer.

Your feet move before your thoughts can catch up.

In the space between one breath and the next, you cross the room, moving with the full force of your body returned to you. You don’t shout, don’t curse, don’t give him the satisfaction of a warning. There is only the sound of wood slamming underfoot and the sudden, sharp crack of your palm as it catches his throat and drives him backward.

He hits the wall with a thud that shakes the frame of the house.

The vial tumbles from his fingers. It shatters against the floor.

You pin him there, forearm pressing hard into his collarbone. Not hard enough to break it (yet), but enough that he feels the weight of you. Enough that his breath stills for the first time since entering. The wall behind him groans in protest, and your claws twitch against the fabric of his robe.

The blush that spreads across Caelum's face does nothing but aggravate your anger.

"Oh," he breathes, the sound more exhale than word. "There you are."

..and maddeningly, corners of his mouth only pull further upwards.

Your eyes widen. "—Do you want me to kill you? Is that the fucking point of this? Because I will, Caelum. Contract or no contract."

Your claws tighten around his throat, sharp enough to draw blood.

"I'm only asking once. What did you do to me?"

His hands raise, not in self-defense, but in gentle framing; palms open beside your shoulders like he’s cradling your rage.

“Only what I needed,” he says without flinching, "a few samples, some quick readings… oh, and a rather enlightening look at how your draconic magic reacts under suppression."

For a split second, he laughs— then brushes a hand against your cheek with an expression you can only describe as eerie infatuation.

"Is that enough to sate your curiosity, dearest?"

Your breath rasps sharp between your teeth,

“Enlightening,” you repeat, your voice low enough to vibrate in your chest. “You think I’m here for your research?”

Caelum’s lashes lower, and for the first time there’s the smallest tremor in his breath. “You’re here,” he murmurs, “because I wanted you here.”

Your grip on his throat tightens until you feel the deep thrum of his pulse against your claws.

“You wanted me here, and so you took me. Bound me. Drugged me. All because you couldn’t stand the thought of not having your little experiment at arm’s reach.”

His breath hitches, if only because of the way your body crowds his against the wall, the weight of you unrelenting. “Yes,” he admits, voice shameless and hoarse with the strain of speaking through your hold. “Yes, I did. I still do.”

Your claws are still at his throat, hooked just enough to feel the steady throb of his pulse under the pads of your fingers. Blood beads where you’ve broken skin, slick and warm against your grip, the copper tang curling up between you. Caelum doesn’t shrink from it.

“...Do you make a habit of putting your hands on dying creatures and keeping them?” your voice is low enough that the words hum against his skin. “Or am I the first one you decided to cage?”

Caelum’s mouth parts, a shallow breath pulling at the cut along his neck. “The first worth keeping,” he says, breathless under the pressure of your arm.

Onyx eyes follow you the way a starving dog might watch the hand that feeds it. You don't miss the way his gaze intensifies.

“You know what I should do?” you mutter, with a tone steady enough to cut through the tension. "End it here. Snap your neck before you get another chance to put anything in my veins.”

His breath shivers faintly between his teeth, but he doesn’t blink. “And yet,” he murmurs, voice rasping around the pressure on his windpipe, “you haven't.”

You press harder until the rhythm of his pulse beats against your claws. “Don’t mistake restraint for mercy.”

A faint smile flickers at the corner of his mouth, but it's not the smug you're used to. “I don’t,” he rasps. “I just don’t think you have the spine for anything else.”

You let the silence stretch just long enough for his breath to hitch again before you shift your grip, sliding from his throat to his jaw. Your palm forces his head back until it meets the wall with a muted thud. “Control,” you say, leaning in until the words brush the shell of his ear. “the same thing you thought you had.”

That gets you the smallest flicker in his expression. His lips part like he might speak, but nothing comes. You see the thought form behind those irises, the way it tightens the lines of his face.

Your other hand catches in the front of his robe, dragging him forward an inch before slamming him back against the wood. The wall complains, but Caelum’s breath is the only thing you hear.

“You want me close?” you ask, not waiting for the answer. “Fine. But you’ll take it on my terms.”

Recognition curls slow in his features, stripping them of anything that might be mistaken for doubt. His eyes narrow a fraction, then lower, almost involuntarily. When your knee slots between his legs, the sharp, stifled inhale that follows is nothing to surprise you.

"—Hhnf—!"

Your smile is little more than a shadow, there and gone in the curve of your mouth. “On your knees.”

For a beat, he stays still, but the tension in his shoulders gives him away. Then a faint shiver betrays him, running through his shoulders, loosening the breath from his chest. He lowers himself until the floor presses its cold bite into his knees, eyes never once breaking from yours.

The blood at his neck is still fresh enough to gleam.

—PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!

"—hahh—! nghhh—!" Caelum’s voice cracks, head tipping back as the force rocks him forward each time. Fingers claw at your shoulders, at your arm, at anything that keeps him grounded, but his knees keep sliding against the floorboards.

Your pace doesn’t falter. The sharp slap of skin meeting skin rings out, every thrust jarring another gasp, another strangled moan from his throat. His robe hangs half-off his shoulders now, fabric sticking to sweat-slick skin, the tie belt long discarded somewhere on the floor.

"F—fuck—" his breath stutters, teeth sinking into his lip to bite back a sound that still spills through anyway. The way his eyes glaze makes it clear he’s past caring how shameless he looks.

Every time you drive in, his whole body jolts, muscles trembling under your grip. His hands slip again and again, nails digging crescent marks into your skin before scrabbling for a better hold. "Hhnn—aaah—! ah—hahhh—!"

You press deeper, harder, until the pitch of his cries tips higher. The tremor in his thighs spreads up through his hips, every thrust breaking him open a little more. Sweat drips down his temples, clinging to strands of hair that stick to his flushed face.

You lean over him, close enough that your breath brushes his ear, your body shadowing his flushed, trembling form.

"Look at you," you murmur, your lips grazing the curve where his jaw meets his neck. The words make him shudder, his thighs quivering where they hook around your hips. "Can’t even—ngh!—think straight, can you?"

His head tips back with a gasp, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. "N-no—ahhh!-"

You thrust in harder, swallowing the way his breath stutters under the weight of you. His hands scrabble at your back, the sharp bite of his nails barely masking how badly his body’s giving out beneath yours.

The sound of skin meeting skin echoes in the close heat between you, drowning out everything but the broken noises spilling from his lips. Each push forces your shape deeper into him, the thick ridge at the base dragging against hypersensitive walls that flutter and squeeze around you in shuddering pulses.

You can feel the way his body tries to take you evenly, but fails — the blunt stretch making him seize up before melting open again around the next thrust. Every twitch of your length grinds against spots that make him keen, the flared tip nudging somewhere deep enough to knock the air from his lungs.

"—hahhh!—hhhnnn—nngh—" Caelum’s voice breaks into a gasp, then a choked, half-formed, "plea—ahhh—please—" His thighs tighten around your hips, trembling with each roll of your hips. "D-don’t!—hhhnn—hahhh!—fuhhhk—!"

You don’t slow. The steady, pounding rhythm makes him throw his head back again, a breathless whimper slipping between gritted teeth, followed by a desperate, high-pitched moan that turns into an incoherent string of sounds when you shift just slightly, hitting that same deep spot again.

His hands fist in the fabric at your back, his knuckles pale, as if holding on is the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

Your hips keep driving into him, unrelenting, each thrust dragging another fractured sound from his throat. His head lolls back against the floor, hair sticking to flushed skin, his mouth falling open around a sharp gasp that tumbles into a breathless, "’m—’m close—’m—hahhh—close—!"

The words spill out between sob-like moans. His body arches up into you, seeking more, every roll of your hips making his walls flutter tight around you in helpless rhythm.

"Lu—luvvv—ahhh—I—hahhhnn—" the syllables break, twist, melt into a raw, needy cry as you slam deep again, the ridge at your base catching just right and making him jerk under you. "L-love you, [na—ahh—ngh—"

His nails dig harder into your back, clawing like he needs something to anchor him while his whole body trembles around your length. The repetition turns desperate, breathless—"’m close—’m close—’m close—luvv you, luvv you-nghhh!"—until the sounds are barely even words anymore, just pleading, slurred nonsense tangled in the hot air between you.

Every thrust sends a shock through his frame, his legs tightening around you as though he could pull you in even deeper. The heat and wet around you pulse with each heartbeat, each gasp, as he teeters right at the edge, so far gone his gaze can’t focus on anything but you.

You don’t hold back. With one hand braced on the floor beside him, the other reaches up to grip the back of his neck, fingers tangling in damp strands of hair. Your teeth sink into the raw, aching wound there, a sharp sting bleeding heat down his skin as you anchor yourself to him. His breath hitches, broken and ragged, throat tightening around a strangled cry that sounds both pained and desperate.

Driven by the bite, your hips slam in harder, each thrust jerking a ragged moan from him that’s equal parts agony and bliss. His body shudders beneath you, trembling violently as his nails rake down your back again, nails sharp enough to draw thin lines of blood where they catch.

“Ghh—f-fuck—ahh—shit—” he pants, slipping between urgent gasps and nearly unintelligible sounds. “Y-yeah—fuck—right there—ngh!—harder—”

You grind into him without mercy, teeth still clenched on that tender spot, tasting iron and sweat mingled with the salt of his skin. His muscles coil tighter, thighs squeezing you with frantic desperation as a low, guttural groan bubbles up from deep inside him.

“’M-’m yours—all yours—hahh—[name]! love you—so much—” his voice breaks in a breathless rush, a tear slipping down the side of his face as his fingers curl into fists, nails pressing harsh crescents into your skin. “Plea—ah!—don’tstop—”

Your teeth drag free from his neck, leaving a raw, wet mark in their wake. His breath is still catching, high and uneven, when you slow to a craw, then stop altogether.

You pull almost all the way out and stay there, letting the stretch of emptiness burn. Caelum makes a noise awfully similar to a whine, and his hips twitch upward, chasing you.

"Aw, what's wrong?" you murmur against his ear, your tone dripping with mock sympathy. "You were so eager a second ago. Now you can’t stand it when I take my time?"

His nails flex against your skin, leaving shallow, stinging lines down your back. “Nnghh—y-you—” his voice catches, shaking with frustration, “—you’re doing it on purpose.”

“Mmh.” Your lips curl into a smile he can’t see. “Maybe. I just like watching you lose your mind. Pathetic little mage. You’d probably finish just from me sitting here, wouldn’t you?”

"Don’t—" he swallows hard, the heat in his eyes at war with the warning in his tone. “Don’t talk like that. You’re mine.”

“Oh?” you hum, rocking your hips just enough for him to feel the drag without any real relief. His breath stutters out in a sharp gasp. “Then prove it, take me. Make me yours, Caelum."

Something flickers dark in his gaze. You would be alarmed under normal circumstances, had he not been trembling right under you this very moment.

“You think I won’t?” he growls, breathless, locking his legs tight around your waist. “I’ll—hahhh—I’ll make sure no one else ever—”

You cut him off with a brutal snap of your hips. The sound he makes is raw and startled, almost pained. You don’t give him time to recover, setting a deep, punishing rhythm that grinds the blunt ridge along every hypersensitive nerve inside him.

"That’s it," you whisper tauntingly, "that’s the face I wanted to see. Go on, master, fall apart for me."

You thrust in deep and hold, grinding until his breath fractures into a cry. The tremor in his thighs peaks, his body locking tight before breaking apart completely. Heat spills between you as his muscles clench in desperate, fluttering waves around your length.

His head tips back, a choked moan spilling out. “F-fuck!—nghh—right there—hahhh—!” his walls clamp down hard around you, the pulse of him wild and erratic. “Close—so close—don’t—”

You keep him pinned, thrusting through every shudder until he’s left panting into your neck, nails dragging weakly at your shoulders.

You don’t even let him come down from it. Your hips keep moving — albeit slower, but still deep enough to make him twitch and gasp — drawing every aftershock out of his body. You drag your hips slow, deep, just enough to make his muscles twitch around you. His head lolls back against the floor, his chest rising and falling too fast.

"Still think—" your voice hitches faintly, the sentence catching on a sharper thrust before you rein it in, "—you can use me like that and just… walk away?"

Caelum swallows hard, eyes glassy but locked on yours. His nails press into your shoulders again, not enough to push you off, but just enough to hold himself steady against the drag of your body inside him.

"You wouldn’t—" he breathes, lips parting around a shaky exhale, "—kill me."

You smile, sharp and humorless. "No," you agree, rocking into him just enough to make his thighs tremble, "but I can ruin you however I like."

A gasp catches in your throat when he clamps down harder. Your breath stutters, and his gaze flares with the smallest flicker of satisfaction before your hips snap forward hard enough to knock it clean away.

His breath breaks into a strangled sound, and you catch his jaw in your hand, tilting his face up until your mouths are a breath apart. “Contracts don’t say I have to be gentle.”

"I—hahhh—know," he gasps, voice fraying at the edges. His fingers slide down your back, catching on the fresh, stinging marks his nails left earlier. "You’d… like it if I begged, wouldn’t you?"

Your hand wraps around his jaw, tilting his face back up to yours. "I’d like it if you meant it," you rasp, the faint strain in your tone cutting sharper than the words. "Not just another trick from a little mage who thought binding a dragon would make me his pet."

He swallows again, his throat working under your palm. "Not a pet," he says, his voice breaking as you push in deep enough to make him shudder. "Mine."

"Yours?" you echo, punctuated by a roll of your hips that makes him gasp. "You think this—" another harder thrust, pulling a helpless sound from him, "—makes me yours?"

His lips part, the start of a word on his tongue—“I—”

You slam into him, and whatever he meant to say folds into a sharp, breathless, “—hhhaahhh—!” His head jerks back, eyes screwing shut, his nails dragging helplessly down your sides.

“Go on,” you taunt, your voice a low rasp against his flushed ear. “Finish that thought.”

“I—nghh—hahhh—” His hips jolt under yours when you grind in deep, the blunt stretch catching somewhere that knocks the air from his lungs. “D-don’t—ahhh!—fuck—”

Your pace stays merciless, each thrust cutting clean through whatever words he tries to form. “Don’t what? Don’t stop?”

A choked moan tumbles out of him instead of an answer, his voice breaking on the next push. “mmhh—nnhhh—ahhh—” His thighs tremble where they lock around your hips, barely catching your rhythm before you snap your hips forward, the sharp slap of skin on skin ringing out.

His back arches, mouth falling open around a stuttering cry that sounds almost like your name but dissolves into another wrecked moan.

“Say it, Caelum,” you urge, your breath hot against his temple. “Tell me what you were going to say—”

“I—hahhh!—nnghh—fuhhhk—c-can’t—!” His nails bite into your skin, trying to ground himself against the deep, relentless pace. His eyes glaze over, words slipping away as each thrust drives them back into incoherent, desperate noise.

Your rhythm turns brutal, hips slamming forward until every push grinds your shape into the deepest part of him. He’s wrecked beneath you, slick with sweat and trembling; voice cracked to little more than gasps and needy cries.

“Ghh—hahhh—f-fuck—” his head tips back, throat bared and glistening where your teeth left their mark earlier. The sight of his damp hair clinging to his forehead, the shine of fresh blood still blooming at his neck, twists something low in your gut.

No. You shouldn't want this. Not with him.

But he’s right there, offered up. Yours to take, to keep.

What kind of dragon sees treasure laid bare and turns away?

Your hips don’t slow, even as heat spills in jagged waves between you both. He’s trembling, slick with sweat, helpless beneath you, and the faint, wild panic in his gaze sets fire to instincts older than thought itself.

Dragons mate for life. Once claimed, there’s no turning back. The thought hits you mid-thrust, sharp as the bite of your teeth on his neck: Caelum was counting on this. He planned it. He brought you here so he could give himself to you.

You pause for a heartbeat, long enough to watch his chest heave, to see the tiny shivers running up his spine as your hips drag over him. A low growl curls from your throat before you can even register it.

“You can’t leave me,” you find yourself saying, with your lips brushing the side of Caelum's jaw, teeth grazing his soft skin. His eyes flutter open when your claws catch at his shoulders, dragging shallow crescent marks into the sweat-slick skin. “Not now. Not after this.”

His breath hitches. “Nnghh—y-you—” he chokes, but you cut him off with a deep roll of your hips that makes him mewl, body folding tighter around yours.

“Shh,” you whisper, tilting your face close enough that your hot breath grazes his ear. "You said you were mine, right? And I'm yours, too. That means... I'm not done with you."

Caelum’s laugh is low, shaky, and so far gone it doesn’t sound entirely sane anymore. It bubbles out against your jaw, his breath uneven as his nails curl harder into your back. “Not—ah!—d-done with me?” he repeats, and the tremor in his voice doesn’t quite hide the thrill threading through it. “Good, don’t be. Don’t you dare think you can be.”

His eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide, but the focus in them now pins you in place like a knife point.

“You think binding you to me was done with just magic? It’s more than that. You’re mine now, and you’re never—” your next thrust drags a hiss from him, but he powers through it, leaning up until his lips almost brush yours, “—ever leaving me.”

His legs lock around your waist, pulling you in until you’re buried deep, the clench of his body forcing a stutter into your breath. His hands slide up, one cupping the back of your neck, the other digging into your side with bruising insistence.

“I don’t care if I have to c-chain you in the deepest crypt or rip your wings off so you can’t f-fly away—” his nails bite in sharply, the threat made intimate by the breathless devotion in his tone, “—you’re staying with me, whether you like it or not.”

You open your mouth to retort, but his hips roll up against you with sudden force, the desperate, greedy drag of him making your breath catch. He nearly damn grins in response, and the expression is all teeth.

Before you can speak again, his hand slides from your neck to the back of your head, guiding — no, pressing — you down until your cheek is flush against his chest. The thud of his heart hammers against your skin, and his breath shudders out above you.

"Hahh... you feel that, [name]? My heartbeat's faster. You like hearing it, don’t you? Feeling what you do to me. How deep you’ve got me. How far I’ll go—” his chest rises against your cheek, pulse stuttering beneath your ear, “—and how I’m not stopping.”

Your fingers curl against his ribs, anchoring yourself against the weight of his body, his voice, the madness in his gaze. His heartbeat thrums fast and unsteady under your cheek, and the sound works its way down your spine like a brand. He’s right. You do like it.

You press your mouth against his chest, right over that racing pulse, and let your teeth scrape his skin in a gesture halfway between a kiss and claim. His breath stutters, then catches in a low groan that melts into laughter

"Just like that," he gasps, words running hot into your hair. His hands are in your hair , in your back, everywhere, keeping you close as though he could fuse your bodies together if he just held tight enough. “Don’t hold back. I want all of you. Give it to me.”

So you do. You push in hard, deep, until his voice pitches and cracks. His hips meet yours with frantic rhythm, every grind and snap of movement sending heat spiking through your body. His walls clutch and flutter around you, coaxing you further, pulling you into his pace.

“M-mine!—hahhh—mine—nghhh—mine,” he keeps saying, broken between moans, “mine, mine, mine—” like if he repeats it enough, the word will carve itself into your bones.

Your hands slide to his hips, pinning them down as you rut into him, letting his desperate clench draw every thrust deeper. His body’s trembling again, chest heaving against your cheek, and you realize you’re chasing it — the shuddering, the high hitch of his breath when you grind just right.

“Caelum,” you rasp, the sound rougher than you mean it to be, “you feel so—fuck—” You don’t finish, because his nails rake down your back at the same moment his walls clamp in a relentless squeeze that drags a growl from deep in your chest.

“Ahhh—hhhnnn—nghhh—” his voice cracks around the sound, hips jolting against yours, “d-don’t stop!—hahhh—[name], please!” his nails bite in harder, dragging down your slick back as you drive into him again and again, the slap of your hips meeting drowned under the noise spilling from his throat.

You lean down, your mouth hot against his ear. “Beg prettier for me,” you whisper, low and steady despite the pace. “You want me to stay? Want me to fuck you until you can’t think?”

“Y-yeahhh—hahhh—f-fuck!—hhhnnn—yesyesyes-” he cries out, voice breaking into another moan, his head tipping back.

It’s too much — heat, pressure, the wild pulse of him around you — and you know from the way his thighs tighten, how his voice breaks into a sobbed moan, that he’s there with you.

His climax hits like a wave, “—ahhh!—hahhh—fuckfuckfuckfuck—!” spilling over, dragging you under with it. You thrust through it, hips grinding into the fluttering heat of his body until you’re both shaking, gasping into each other’s skin.

You didn’t know how long you kept going. The world outside the heat of his body might as well have vanished, replaced by the slick press of skin, the wet pull of him around you, the broken noises spilling past his bitten lip.

Every thrust dragged another tremor from his legs, another gasp from his throat, another flutter from the muscles milking you deeper. His back arched again and again under your hands, sweat rolling down the curve of his spine, until even his moans started to dissolve into breathless whimpers.

You only slowed when your own rhythm began to falter, hips grinding forward one last time to bury yourself in him to the hilt. Caelum doesn’t let you pull away, his arms a locked cage around your body, his breath still quick against your ear.

"..See?" breathless, almost laughing, he nips at your temple. “Told you; mine. And now—” a shiver runs through him, “—I’m yours. Forever.”

You huff against his shoulder, too wrung out to push him off. “…You talk too damn much,” you mumble, the words slurred with exhaustion.

But your arms don’t move from around him, and you don’t try to pull free. By dragon standards, it’s a piss-poor way to seal a bond — to be drugged, cornered, and worn down until you caved — and yet here you are, mated anyway.

Just your luck, hm?

[syrupyuu]

— .TERMS OF FAMILIARITY ˚ ༘₊· ᚐ ❅.ᐟ

ft. yandere!sorcerer × dragon!reader

summary: a mysterious sorcerer drags you back from the brink of death, and binds you into a year as his familiar. some chains, it turns out, can’t be broken.

wc: 8.1k || tags: male yandere, gender neutral reader. drugging, mild injury detail, blood, possible power imbalance. reader has a dick regardless of gender. yandere is a 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌. porn w/ plot. unprotected sex, penetration(m!receiving), missionary. semi-unedited. MDNI

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 he finds you, you’ve fallen from the sky trailing smoke and blood; a lone, crumpled silhouette against the snow, looking like winter had claimed and cast you down into its silence.

You were trembling, your form flickering wildly between your human guise and true self, magic in your veins sparking erratically with every ragged breath. Warm blood runs freely over the snow in twisting rivulets, staining the drifts a vivid, impossible red.

Caelum almost sets his boot down on your wing.

He hadn’t expected a dragon here, of all places. Dragons belonged to high peaks and deep ranges, where valleys swallow men whole; never in these frostbitten woods where the only winged creatures were crows and the occasional migrating hawk.

Originally, he'd set out with nothing rarer in mind than winter herbs for his concoctions, but this… this was rarer still. Far better.

Snow continues to drift down in fat, lazy flakes, clinging to your torn scales and hair, melting against the heat still rolling off your body. He’d never been this close to something so alive and yet so clearly dying.

His breath curles in the cold as he stares with wide eyes, cataloguing every visible twitch, every ragged shift of scale to skin.

You were... a terrible kind of beauty; a beauty that bled and devoured. His heart beat too loudly in his ears. It felt wrong to witness this. Profane, almost.

The air smells of lightning. The ground hums with it.

"Oh." he returns to his senses, dropping to a crouch beside you as snow crunches under his boots. "You’re.." he falters.

Caelum takes in the blood crusting in your hair, the faint shimmer of scales threading beneath your skin, the scorched gouge in the snow where you must have fallen.

"…well," a low, breathless laugh slips from him. "aren’t you a rare one?"

You try to growl, but it comes out wrong. Smoke seeps from your mouth, while the rest of your body twitches in pain.

Your limbs don’t obey you. The weight of your form sinks into the snow like it’s trying to bury you. Your thoughts come disjointed, scattering like loose stones down a cliff: hunger, pain, fire, run. You want to flee, but the sky’s already flung you down once.

"Hey, don’t move," he says, as if you could. "you'll only strain yourself. Here, just—let me..." he peels off his gloves with his teeth, reaching for the cracked skin along your ribs where the transformation never finished.

His hands are warm. Much too warm for your liking.

You flinched when he touched you. The heat of his palms seeped through torn fabric and split skin, foreign enough to make your instincts snarl. You wanted to tear his throat out — you would, if your limbs weren’t heavy as stone.

Your blood had frozen mid-spill, crystallizing in the air before it hit the ground. Magic still spat and hissed from your wounds, burning perfect holes through the snow.

The world reeked of copper and ozone.

He murmured something under his breath; syllables none you could quite catch. Judging from the light that bloomed across your vision afterwards, it might have been an incantation — too soft for true flame, yet too intense to be healing magic.

You almost asked who he was, or why he was helping you at all. Curiosity pressed against the edges of your exhaustion, but it was smothered before you could give it voice.

A shame, really. If only you hadn’t blacked out first.

You wake to the sound of hinges creaking.

The first thing you notice is that you are not cold. No snow biting at your skin. No wind searing your lungs. The second thing you notice is the absence of pain — not its complete absence, but all that's left is a sensation so faint it feels more like a memory than a present reality.

...How long have you been out for?

You lie still, your eyes opening to a ceiling far too close for the open sky. Beams run across it in dark, rough lines, their edges worn smooth with age. The air is heavy with the scent of smoke, but not from any wildfire. The smell is much more akin to that of herbs.

But most noticeably, beneath it all is the metallic tang of your own blood. Faint now, as if it had been washed and rewashed from the air.

Your breathing comes steady. You remember the hitching gasps in the snow, how every inhalation scraped your ribs raw. Now your chest rises without resistance. The magic that once spat and cracked through your veins has quieted to a simmer, contained beneath your skin. Even your limbs — stone-heavy in the snow — now feel light enough to obey you.

It is wrong. Unnatural.

You should not feel this whole so soon.

The door shifts further open, wood groaning under its hinges. Caelum steps in, his presence cutting into the warm stillness like a blade through silk. He’s carrying a bowl, steam coiling upward in slow, languid ribbons, catching in the strands of his hair. His eyes are on the contents, lips curved faintly, like he’s weighing whether to sample it before bringing it to you.

You don’t give him the chance.

The moment his foot crosses the threshold, you move — faster than even you expect. One moment you are on the cot, the next you are upright, claws at his throat. The bowl rocks precariously in his grip but does not spill. Your other hand knots into the front of his robe, dragging him down until you can see the flicker of surprise — and then amusement — in his eyes.

His gaze lingers not on your face, but at the faint shimmer of scale still clinging to the curve of your neck. You think you see his lips move — counting? measuring? — before he blinks and smiles as if nothing had passed.

Your talons press lightly at first, then harder, just enough to catch on the thrum of his pulse.

His smile blooms like frost across glass. "I see you’ve gotten your strength back faster than expected."

You narrow your eyes. The steady burn in your muscles feels almost alien after the frailty you remember. "Where am I?"

"Safe."

"That’s not an answer."

He tilts his head a fraction, gaze slipping over your face as if mapping every detail. "It’s the only one that matters."

Your claws press a little harder. "And your name? Or am I supposed to call you ‘safe’ until I decide whether to kill you?"

His smile doesn’t waver. "Caelum." a beat passes, "Now," he raises the bowl slightly, an almost careless gesture, "I was bringing you something warm. Thought you might like a change from bleeding all over the snow."

The faint sting of your claws biting into his neck draws a bead of red. He doesn’t so much as blink.

"Let me go," you growl.

"Ah." his tone shifts and drops lower, "I’m afraid that isn’t possible."

Your grip tightens. "Why?"

"Because," he continues, as if explaining something to a child, "I bound us."

The words hit, sharp as a fang to the throat. "...you what?"

“A contract.” his voice is unhurried, almost indulgent. "You were dying. I saved you. And in exchange, you’re mine — for one year, at the very least. A fair trade, wouldn’t you say?"

"Release it."

He watches you for a long moment, a faint crease tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I could," he murmurs, "but then you’d be back in the snow, with your ribs split open, magic spilling into the frost. And…" his gaze lingers, unblinkingly still, "I’ve grown rather fond of having you here."

The air between you hums, taut with the same current running in your veins. His heartbeat stays maddeningly steady beneath your claws, as if death is an old friend he’s content to entertain.

"…step back," you say at last, low enough it almost isn’t a command.

His expression softens in a way that makes the hair on your neck rise. "Of course," he nods. "—but eat first."

He lifts the bowl between you, steam curling through the narrow space like smoke from a smoldering pyre.

You take the bowl from him without breaking eye contact, half expecting him to yank it back at the last moment — a reminder that you’re only here by his mercy. He doesn’t. His hands fall away easily, sleeves falling slightly over his wrists, leaving only the heat of the ceramic cupped in your claws.

The steam smells… edible. Rich, with something that sits low in the nose like bone marrow, threaded through with sharper, green notes you can’t quite place. No metallic sting of hemlock. No acrid bitterness that would cling to the tongue if it were laced with belladonna.

"Poison?" you ask flatly, testing.

Caelum’s mouth quirks. "Would it matter?"

You do not answer.

If he poisoned it, you tell yourself, you’ll know before it kills you. Probably.

You lower yourself back onto the cot, the wood creaking faintly under your weight. The bowl remains warm in your grip, and the surface ripples faintly as you stir it with the tip of a claw. Bits of root and shredded meat turn lazily in the broth. The heat licks against your face, coaxing the stiffness from your jaw despite yourself. You take the first mouthful like a dare.

It isn’t what you expect.

The broth is rich, almost unbearably so after the sharp, cold air of the snowfields — marrow thickened until it clings faintly to your tongue, undercut with the brightness of some herb you can’t name. There’s meat, soft enough to collapse between your teeth, and root vegetables boiled until they’ve given up all resistance. It’s… good. Infuriatingly good.

The second sip scalds your tongue, but not unpleasantly so. The heat unfurls through your chest like a slow burn, seeping into muscle and bone. The broth is rich, savory, threaded with an earthiness that anchors itself on the back of your tongue. You find yourself taking another mouthful before you mean to, chewing a piece of meat so tender it yields without resistance.

Fifty percent certainty of poison drops to… perhaps fourty-five.

Your claws remain half-curled around the rim, ready to drop it at the first twitch of wrongness in your veins. But it never comes. The only thing that settles into your body is heat.

You eat again. Then again.

When you glance up between mouthfuls, Caelum’s no longer watching the bowl, but you. Something in his gaze is different now; softer at the edges and taut at the center. The faint curve of his lips falters, then twitches.

"…what?" you ask, suspicious.

His eyes flick away and back too quickly to be casual. "Nothing," he replies, a touch too light. "I just… didn’t think you’d like it."

"It’s not too bad," you admit, if only because you’re too busy lifting another spoonful to your mouth to conjure something sharper.

That earns you a faint huff of laughter, though quieter than usual. Caelum looks like he might be hiding behind it, even. His hand comes up to brush the hair from his own face, fingers lingering at the corner of his mouth as if to school it into something more familiar.

You don’t mention the faint flush high on his cheekbones.

You keep eating.

You learn quickly that Caelum is not a quiet man.

Oh, his voice is soft, always — but he speaks often, and with a fondness for filling silence. His words wind around you like vines, draping over moments that might otherwise stretch empty between two strangers forced to share the same air. While you rarely responded, he never seems to mind.

He speaks to you like one might to a petulant child.

"You’re adapting better than expected," Caelum says one afternoon, near-black irises catching just a trace of light as his gaze flicks to your fingers moving steadily through a stack of dried leaves, sorting them into neat piles. "some of the familiars I’ve had before couldn’t tell rootwort from rotleaf. You, at least, have taste."

You don’t bother looking up then. "I’m not your familiar."

“Of course not,” he says agreeably, "but you're still mine, no?"

You shoot him a look. Caelum only smiles over the rim of his teacup.

Still, in spite of yourself, you find the rhythm of life here lulls into something almost bearable. Every day, you chop roots and haul firewood. You help sift through spell components, learning which dried husks are explosive and which are merely bitter. Sometimes you’re sent out to collect them — within the bounds of the "radius," of course — though Caelum insists on weaving protective charms into your sleeves before you go.

One evening in particular, you're rinsing herbs in the basin near the hearth, water lukewarm and flecked with bits of crushed root and leaf pulp, when Caelum’s shadow falls across your shoulder.

"You know.." he pouts uncharacteristically, voice trailing in with the smoke curling from the chimney, "it’s not fair."

You frown. "What isn’t?"

Caelum leans in a little. "That I’ve let you poke around my study, read my grimoires, even steal from my tea stash—" here, he gently flicks a droplet of water off your sleeve, "—and yet you still won’t let me take a proper look at you."

Your hands pause, fingers submerged in the cloudy water. “You look at me constantly.”

"But not academically," he sighs, propping his head on your shoulder. You don't have to look to sense the faint curve of his mouth that never reaches his eyes.

"I'm not a subject for you to gawk at."

"Of course not," he replies mildly. "You’re far more than that."

You withdraw your hands from the water, shaking droplets loose from your fingers. Your gaze doesn’t meet his. "Then act like it."

Silence laps between you for a moment or two. The basin shifts slightly as you lean your weight against the table, but Caelum doesn’t move away. You feel him there — close. you could even pinpoint the very rhythm of his magic; how it flows and pulses in thin air like thick syrup.

Eventually, he steps back. The weight of him retreats, just enough for your lungs to expand again.

"As you wish," he says finally, like he's granting a favor. Your brows furrow.

You get the feeling of wrongness as the moment passes, but ultimately choose to ignore it. Whatever that is, it follows you out of that moment, far into the following day.

Only by afternoon do you realize you should've trusted your gut.

. . .

At first, it was only present as vague heaviness settling behind your eyes, easy to blame on poor rest. Only, you couldn't excuse how the fatigue clung stubbornly to your limbs, tugging at your joints with invisible threads.

It’s while rinsing your hands in the basin, watching water ripple and distort around your fingers. The tips tremble faintly, a fine, shivering tremor that does not cease even after you lift them out of the bowl.

You stare at your reflection in the warped surface — flushed skin, clouded eyes, and a familiar silhouette rendered alien by the weight behind it. Your tongue feels slow in your mouth. A sour taste coats the back of your throat, barely masked by earthy and floral scents.

Suddenly, you remember tea.

A porcelain cup Caelum had offered you in the early morning. A blend "to wake the bones," he’d said. "You deserve a refresher," he’d said. The same cup you’d accepted without question, like a fool.

Your fingers curl into the edge of the basin, knuckles pale. The dull ache of betrayal is nothing new— but this... somehow, this is different.

You turn, not fast enough. The room spins slightly at the edges, light pooling too bright in some corners and fading too dark in others. You steady yourself against the table, blinking until the lines of the cabin stop wavering.

Unfortunately, you catch movement from the corner of your eyes.

Caelum stands at the far end of the room, partially silhouetted by the high window, sleeves rolled to the elbow as he arranges something along the shelf. Dried vines, glimmering in a faint magical hum, hang limply from a string between his fingers. He hums to himself, content.

You feel your lip curl.

He knows.

Of course he knows. He knew exactly how long it would take to reach your system. How your body would try — and fail — to purge it.

You grit your teeth and push off the table.

The floorboards creak beneath your weight, uneven and strangely distant, and it feels like you're walking across a dreamscape instead of wood. Still, Caelum doesn’t turn until you're nearly within reach.

When he does, however, the bastard smiles.

"Feeling all right?" he asks gently, "You look pale."

Your jaw tightens, the inside of your mouth gone dry. "You drugged me."

He has the audacity to tilt his head and blink. "Would you prefer I told you beforehand?"

Your hands twitch at your sides, "..I should've known," you mutter. The words rasp out low and bitter against your tongue. "I'm a fool for thinking you wouldn't."

He takes a step closer.

"You should lie down," Caelum says softly, reaching for you with one hand. "It’ll be easier if—"

But your hand shoots up, trembling though it is, and slaps his wrist away with more strength than you knew remained. The motion sends a crackling arc of heat through your arm, your magic rebelling in brief, violent protest. Caelum’s fingers stop mid-reach, suspended in the air between you, before slowly falling away.

He watches you with something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

"…You don’t want to do this now," he says softly, like the words he's uttering are a kindness. "Not while you’re half-lost in it. Just let the drug wear off, [name]. Then we can talk."

Your vision doubles briefly. The wall behind him shimmers, doubling and sliding like light through water. You shake your head, but it does little to clear it.

Caelum is already behind you.

You know it before he speaks, even before the warmth of his breath brushes your neck.

"Shhh," he murmurs, so close you can feel the vibration of the word where it touches the shell of your ear. "Don’t fight it. You’ll only hurt yourself."

You try to lunge. Or at least, you think you do. But your body doesn’t obey. Your arms twitch, but they don’t lift; your knees buckle instead of pushing forward. The world tilts and tilts, and then you’re falling, like a leaf carried by wind.

Arms catch you before the floor does.

You hate how steady he is.

Your instincts scream to thrash, claw, bite — but the commands never make it past your nerves. Instead you feel the steadiness of his grip, the low, infuriating hum of his magic through his fingertips, and the smallest, most shameful part of you almost leans closer just to stay upright.

"There we go," Caelum hums, as if settling a child to sleep. You feel him lower you gently, the sleeves of his robes brushing against your bare skin as he crouches with you. "That’s better, isn’t it?"

Your mouth moves, but no sound escapes. Your tongue feels thick. Even your fury dulls in your chest; not extinguished, but muffled, like it was never yours to begin with.

He exhales like he’s been waiting for this.

And then… then, he looks at you. His eyes trace the line of your collarbone, from the angle of your jaw, to the subtle rise and fall of your chest beneath your tunic. His fingers move to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, and lingers.

You want to spit in his face. Tear his throat open with your teeth. Rip the smug look off his mouth.

Yet all you can do is lie there, breathing shallowly while heat pools beneath your skin in sharp, humiliating pulses.

"No need to glare," Caelum mutters, even as he brushes a finger over your cheekbone, slow as a lover might.

He cups your jaw. Tilts your head. His smile widens.

"I'm only admiring," he hums, tone dipped in mock-innocence. "you’ve always been more breathtaking when you’re not trying to kill me."

Your vision gutters like a candle on its last gasp. The heat at your core curls tight into itself like a coiled spring, and then,

Darkness.

You wake in the same bed where Caelum always leaves you.

The sheets are warm, tucked loosely over your legs; the air smells faintly of lavender and crushed quartz — something he must have burned to mask the sharpness of what had come before. You recognize the scratch of linen against your skin and the familiar ache of your magic simmering low and restrained, leashed to your pulse like a tide waiting to rise.

There is a faint, buzzing pressure along the edge of your spine — what you're certain is the aftertaste of binding spells, recently used.

You do not move at first.

Instead, you let your senses stretch outward, then dissipate like smoke. You count your breaths. You test the sensory of your limbs, the weight of your own strength settling back into your bones like it never left. You test your hands under the blanket. Thankfully, they obey.

Another thing you notice, is that he's not here yet.

You sit up slowly, letting the blanket fall from your shoulders. Your pulse is surprisingly steady, considering the memory slotted behind our eyes.

He drugged you. He drugged you. Took your consent, your control, and pried it apart with silver-tongued lies. Even now, the room feels tainted — soft and comfortable the same way a muzzle would once slipped under your jaw.

You throw the covers off with a snarl.

The floorboards creak beneath your bare feet. The moment your weight settles into your stance, your magic rises with you. Your eyes drag across the space: the table, clean now; the herbs, reordered.

Your eyes land on the corner of the room, where a basin sits half-filled, a towel folded beside it. In the corner, a low shelf holds a neat line of glass vials. Some are empty; others cradle slow-moving swirls of something pearlescent. One holds a sediment of dried red at the bottom, dark as rust. You look away.

Before you could reach the door, it opens.

Caelum steps inside with a faint dusting of ash on his sleeve, a charmed vial dangling between his fingers. His gaze lands on you at once, and the look on his face is enough to turn your blood molten.

"Good morning," he smiles. "Sleep well?"

He doesn't get an answer.

Your feet move before your thoughts can catch up.

In the space between one breath and the next, you cross the room, moving with the full force of your body returned to you. You don’t shout, don’t curse, don’t give him the satisfaction of a warning. There is only the sound of wood slamming underfoot and the sudden, sharp crack of your palm as it catches his throat and drives him backward.

He hits the wall with a thud that shakes the frame of the house.

The vial tumbles from his fingers. It shatters against the floor.

You pin him there, forearm pressing hard into his collarbone. Not hard enough to break it (yet), but enough that he feels the weight of you. Enough that his breath stills for the first time since entering. The wall behind him groans in protest, and your claws twitch against the fabric of his robe.

The blush that spreads across Caelum's face does nothing but aggravate your anger.

"Oh," he breathes, the sound more exhale than word. "There you are."

..and maddeningly, corners of his mouth only pull further upwards.

Your eyes widen. "—Do you want me to kill you? Is that the fucking point of this? Because I will, Caelum. Contract or no contract."

Your claws tighten around his throat, sharp enough to draw blood.

"I'm only asking once. What did you do to me?"

His hands raise, not in self-defense, but in gentle framing; palms open beside your shoulders like he’s cradling your rage.

“Only what I needed,” he says without flinching, "a few samples, some quick readings… oh, and a rather enlightening look at how your draconic magic reacts under suppression."

For a split second, he laughs— then brushes a hand against your cheek with an expression you can only describe as eerie infatuation.

"Is that enough to sate your curiosity, dearest?"

Your breath rasps sharp between your teeth,

“Enlightening,” you repeat, your voice low enough to vibrate in your chest. “You think I’m here for your research?”

Caelum’s lashes lower, and for the first time there’s the smallest tremor in his breath. “You’re here,” he murmurs, “because I wanted you here.”

Your grip on his throat tightens until you feel the deep thrum of his pulse against your claws.

“You wanted me here, and so you took me. Bound me. Drugged me. All because you couldn’t stand the thought of not having your little experiment at arm’s reach.”

His breath hitches, if only because of the way your body crowds his against the wall, the weight of you unrelenting. “Yes,” he admits, voice shameless and hoarse with the strain of speaking through your hold. “Yes, I did. I still do.”

Your claws are still at his throat, hooked just enough to feel the steady throb of his pulse under the pads of your fingers. Blood beads where you’ve broken skin, slick and warm against your grip, the copper tang curling up between you. Caelum doesn’t shrink from it.

“...Do you make a habit of putting your hands on dying creatures and keeping them?” your voice is low enough that the words hum against his skin. “Or am I the first one you decided to cage?”

Caelum’s mouth parts, a shallow breath pulling at the cut along his neck. “The first worth keeping,” he says, breathless under the pressure of your arm.

Onyx eyes follow you the way a starving dog might watch the hand that feeds it. You don't miss the way his gaze intensifies.

“You know what I should do?” you mutter, with a tone steady enough to cut through the tension. "End it here. Snap your neck before you get another chance to put anything in my veins.”

His breath shivers faintly between his teeth, but he doesn’t blink. “And yet,” he murmurs, voice rasping around the pressure on his windpipe, “you haven't.”

You press harder until the rhythm of his pulse beats against your claws. “Don’t mistake restraint for mercy.”

A faint smile flickers at the corner of his mouth, but it's not the smug you're used to. “I don’t,” he rasps. “I just don’t think you have the spine for anything else.”

You let the silence stretch just long enough for his breath to hitch again before you shift your grip, sliding from his throat to his jaw. Your palm forces his head back until it meets the wall with a muted thud. “Control,” you say, leaning in until the words brush the shell of his ear. “the same thing you thought you had.”

That gets you the smallest flicker in his expression. His lips part like he might speak, but nothing comes. You see the thought form behind those irises, the way it tightens the lines of his face.

Your other hand catches in the front of his robe, dragging him forward an inch before slamming him back against the wood. The wall complains, but Caelum’s breath is the only thing you hear.

“You want me close?” you ask, not waiting for the answer. “Fine. But you’ll take it on my terms.”

Recognition curls slow in his features, stripping them of anything that might be mistaken for doubt. His eyes narrow a fraction, then lower, almost involuntarily. When your knee slots between his legs, the sharp, stifled inhale that follows is nothing to surprise you.

"—Hhnf—!"

Your smile is little more than a shadow, there and gone in the curve of your mouth. “On your knees.”

For a beat, he stays still, but the tension in his shoulders gives him away. Then a faint shiver betrays him, running through his shoulders, loosening the breath from his chest. He lowers himself until the floor presses its cold bite into his knees, eyes never once breaking from yours.

The blood at his neck is still fresh enough to gleam.

—PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!

"—hahh—! nghhh—!" Caelum’s voice cracks, head tipping back as the force rocks him forward each time. Fingers claw at your shoulders, at your arm, at anything that keeps him grounded, but his knees keep sliding against the floorboards.

Your pace doesn’t falter. The sharp slap of skin meeting skin rings out, every thrust jarring another gasp, another strangled moan from his throat. His robe hangs half-off his shoulders now, fabric sticking to sweat-slick skin, the tie belt long discarded somewhere on the floor.

"F—fuck—" his breath stutters, teeth sinking into his lip to bite back a sound that still spills through anyway. The way his eyes glaze makes it clear he’s past caring how shameless he looks.

Every time you drive in, his whole body jolts, muscles trembling under your grip. His hands slip again and again, nails digging crescent marks into your skin before scrabbling for a better hold. "Hhnn—aaah—! ah—hahhh—!"

You press deeper, harder, until the pitch of his cries tips higher. The tremor in his thighs spreads up through his hips, every thrust breaking him open a little more. Sweat drips down his temples, clinging to strands of hair that stick to his flushed face.

You lean over him, close enough that your breath brushes his ear, your body shadowing his flushed, trembling form.

"Look at you," you murmur, your lips grazing the curve where his jaw meets his neck. The words make him shudder, his thighs quivering where they hook around your hips. "Can’t even—ngh!—think straight, can you?"

His head tips back with a gasp, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. "N-no—ahhh!-"

You thrust in harder, swallowing the way his breath stutters under the weight of you. His hands scrabble at your back, the sharp bite of his nails barely masking how badly his body’s giving out beneath yours.

The sound of skin meeting skin echoes in the close heat between you, drowning out everything but the broken noises spilling from his lips. Each push forces your shape deeper into him, the thick ridge at the base dragging against hypersensitive walls that flutter and squeeze around you in shuddering pulses.

You can feel the way his body tries to take you evenly, but fails — the blunt stretch making him seize up before melting open again around the next thrust. Every twitch of your length grinds against spots that make him keen, the flared tip nudging somewhere deep enough to knock the air from his lungs.

"—hahhh!—hhhnnn—nngh—" Caelum’s voice breaks into a gasp, then a choked, half-formed, "plea—ahhh—please—" His thighs tighten around your hips, trembling with each roll of your hips. "D-don’t!—hhhnn—hahhh!—fuhhhk—!"

You don’t slow. The steady, pounding rhythm makes him throw his head back again, a breathless whimper slipping between gritted teeth, followed by a desperate, high-pitched moan that turns into an incoherent string of sounds when you shift just slightly, hitting that same deep spot again.

His hands fist in the fabric at your back, his knuckles pale, as if holding on is the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

Your hips keep driving into him, unrelenting, each thrust dragging another fractured sound from his throat. His head lolls back against the floor, hair sticking to flushed skin, his mouth falling open around a sharp gasp that tumbles into a breathless, "’m—’m close—’m—hahhh—close—!"

The words spill out between sob-like moans. His body arches up into you, seeking more, every roll of your hips making his walls flutter tight around you in helpless rhythm.

"Lu—luvvv—ahhh—I—hahhhnn—" the syllables break, twist, melt into a raw, needy cry as you slam deep again, the ridge at your base catching just right and making him jerk under you. "L-love you, [na—ahh—ngh—"

His nails dig harder into your back, clawing like he needs something to anchor him while his whole body trembles around your length. The repetition turns desperate, breathless—"’m close—’m close—’m close—luvv you, luvv you-nghhh!"—until the sounds are barely even words anymore, just pleading, slurred nonsense tangled in the hot air between you.

Every thrust sends a shock through his frame, his legs tightening around you as though he could pull you in even deeper. The heat and wet around you pulse with each heartbeat, each gasp, as he teeters right at the edge, so far gone his gaze can’t focus on anything but you.

You don’t hold back. With one hand braced on the floor beside him, the other reaches up to grip the back of his neck, fingers tangling in damp strands of hair. Your teeth sink into the raw, aching wound there, a sharp sting bleeding heat down his skin as you anchor yourself to him. His breath hitches, broken and ragged, throat tightening around a strangled cry that sounds both pained and desperate.

Driven by the bite, your hips slam in harder, each thrust jerking a ragged moan from him that’s equal parts agony and bliss. His body shudders beneath you, trembling violently as his nails rake down your back again, nails sharp enough to draw thin lines of blood where they catch.

“Ghh—f-fuck—ahh—shit—” he pants, slipping between urgent gasps and nearly unintelligible sounds. “Y-yeah—fuck—right there—ngh!—harder—”

You grind into him without mercy, teeth still clenched on that tender spot, tasting iron and sweat mingled with the salt of his skin. His muscles coil tighter, thighs squeezing you with frantic desperation as a low, guttural groan bubbles up from deep inside him.

“’M-’m yours—all yours—hahh—[name]! love you—so much—” his voice breaks in a breathless rush, a tear slipping down the side of his face as his fingers curl into fists, nails pressing harsh crescents into your skin. “Plea—ah!—don’tstop—”

Your teeth drag free from his neck, leaving a raw, wet mark in their wake. His breath is still catching, high and uneven, when you slow to a craw, then stop altogether.

You pull almost all the way out and stay there, letting the stretch of emptiness burn. Caelum makes a noise awfully similar to a whine, and his hips twitch upward, chasing you.

"Aw, what's wrong?" you murmur against his ear, your tone dripping with mock sympathy. "You were so eager a second ago. Now you can’t stand it when I take my time?"

His nails flex against your skin, leaving shallow, stinging lines down your back. “Nnghh—y-you—” his voice catches, shaking with frustration, “—you’re doing it on purpose.”

“Mmh.” Your lips curl into a smile he can’t see. “Maybe. I just like watching you lose your mind. Pathetic little mage. You’d probably finish just from me sitting here, wouldn’t you?”

"Don’t—" he swallows hard, the heat in his eyes at war with the warning in his tone. “Don’t talk like that. You’re mine.”

“Oh?” you hum, rocking your hips just enough for him to feel the drag without any real relief. His breath stutters out in a sharp gasp. “Then prove it, take me. Make me yours, Caelum."

Something flickers dark in his gaze. You would be alarmed under normal circumstances, had he not been trembling right under you this very moment.

“You think I won’t?” he growls, breathless, locking his legs tight around your waist. “I’ll—hahhh—I’ll make sure no one else ever—”

You cut him off with a brutal snap of your hips. The sound he makes is raw and startled, almost pained. You don’t give him time to recover, setting a deep, punishing rhythm that grinds the blunt ridge along every hypersensitive nerve inside him.

"That’s it," you whisper tauntingly, "that’s the face I wanted to see. Go on, master, fall apart for me."

You thrust in deep and hold, grinding until his breath fractures into a cry. The tremor in his thighs peaks, his body locking tight before breaking apart completely. Heat spills between you as his muscles clench in desperate, fluttering waves around your length.

His head tips back, a choked moan spilling out. “F-fuck!—nghh—right there—hahhh—!” his walls clamp down hard around you, the pulse of him wild and erratic. “Close—so close—don’t—”

You keep him pinned, thrusting through every shudder until he’s left panting into your neck, nails dragging weakly at your shoulders.

You don’t even let him come down from it. Your hips keep moving — albeit slower, but still deep enough to make him twitch and gasp — drawing every aftershock out of his body. You drag your hips slow, deep, just enough to make his muscles twitch around you. His head lolls back against the floor, his chest rising and falling too fast.

"Still think—" your voice hitches faintly, the sentence catching on a sharper thrust before you rein it in, "—you can use me like that and just… walk away?"

Caelum swallows hard, eyes glassy but locked on yours. His nails press into your shoulders again, not enough to push you off, but just enough to hold himself steady against the drag of your body inside him.

"You wouldn’t—" he breathes, lips parting around a shaky exhale, "—kill me."

You smile, sharp and humorless. "No," you agree, rocking into him just enough to make his thighs tremble, "but I can ruin you however I like."

A gasp catches in your throat when he clamps down harder. Your breath stutters, and his gaze flares with the smallest flicker of satisfaction before your hips snap forward hard enough to knock it clean away.

His breath breaks into a strangled sound, and you catch his jaw in your hand, tilting his face up until your mouths are a breath apart. “Contracts don’t say I have to be gentle.”

"I—hahhh—know," he gasps, voice fraying at the edges. His fingers slide down your back, catching on the fresh, stinging marks his nails left earlier. "You’d… like it if I begged, wouldn’t you?"

Your hand wraps around his jaw, tilting his face back up to yours. "I’d like it if you meant it," you rasp, the faint strain in your tone cutting sharper than the words. "Not just another trick from a little mage who thought binding a dragon would make me his pet."

He swallows again, his throat working under your palm. "Not a pet," he says, his voice breaking as you push in deep enough to make him shudder. "Mine."

"Yours?" you echo, punctuated by a roll of your hips that makes him gasp. "You think this—" another harder thrust, pulling a helpless sound from him, "—makes me yours?"

His lips part, the start of a word on his tongue—“I—”

You slam into him, and whatever he meant to say folds into a sharp, breathless, “—hhhaahhh—!” His head jerks back, eyes screwing shut, his nails dragging helplessly down your sides.

“Go on,” you taunt, your voice a low rasp against his flushed ear. “Finish that thought.”

“I—nghh—hahhh—” His hips jolt under yours when you grind in deep, the blunt stretch catching somewhere that knocks the air from his lungs. “D-don’t—ahhh!—fuck—”

Your pace stays merciless, each thrust cutting clean through whatever words he tries to form. “Don’t what? Don’t stop?”

A choked moan tumbles out of him instead of an answer, his voice breaking on the next push. “mmhh—nnhhh—ahhh—” His thighs tremble where they lock around your hips, barely catching your rhythm before you snap your hips forward, the sharp slap of skin on skin ringing out.

His back arches, mouth falling open around a stuttering cry that sounds almost like your name but dissolves into another wrecked moan.

“Say it, Caelum,” you urge, your breath hot against his temple. “Tell me what you were going to say—”

“I—hahhh!—nnghh—fuhhhk—c-can’t—!” His nails bite into your skin, trying to ground himself against the deep, relentless pace. His eyes glaze over, words slipping away as each thrust drives them back into incoherent, desperate noise.

Your rhythm turns brutal, hips slamming forward until every push grinds your shape into the deepest part of him. He’s wrecked beneath you, slick with sweat and trembling; voice cracked to little more than gasps and needy cries.

“Ghh—hahhh—f-fuck—” his head tips back, throat bared and glistening where your teeth left their mark earlier. The sight of his damp hair clinging to his forehead, the shine of fresh blood still blooming at his neck, twists something low in your gut.

No. You shouldn't want this. Not with him.

But he’s right there, offered up. Yours to take, to keep.

What kind of dragon sees treasure laid bare and turns away?

Your hips don’t slow, even as heat spills in jagged waves between you both. He’s trembling, slick with sweat, helpless beneath you, and the faint, wild panic in his gaze sets fire to instincts older than thought itself.

Dragons mate for life. Once claimed, there’s no turning back. The thought hits you mid-thrust, sharp as the bite of your teeth on his neck: Caelum was counting on this. He planned it. He brought you here so he could give himself to you.

You pause for a heartbeat, long enough to watch his chest heave, to see the tiny shivers running up his spine as your hips drag over him. A low growl curls from your throat before you can even register it.

“You can’t leave me,” you find yourself saying, with your lips brushing the side of Caelum's jaw, teeth grazing his soft skin. His eyes flutter open when your claws catch at his shoulders, dragging shallow crescent marks into the sweat-slick skin. “Not now. Not after this.”

His breath hitches. “Nnghh—y-you—” he chokes, but you cut him off with a deep roll of your hips that makes him mewl, body folding tighter around yours.

“Shh,” you whisper, tilting your face close enough that your hot breath grazes his ear. "You said you were mine, right? And I'm yours, too. That means... I'm not done with you."

Caelum’s laugh is low, shaky, and so far gone it doesn’t sound entirely sane anymore. It bubbles out against your jaw, his breath uneven as his nails curl harder into your back. “Not—ah!—d-done with me?” he repeats, and the tremor in his voice doesn’t quite hide the thrill threading through it. “Good, don’t be. Don’t you dare think you can be.”

His eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide, but the focus in them now pins you in place like a knife point.

“You think binding you to me was done with just magic? It’s more than that. You’re mine now, and you’re never—” your next thrust drags a hiss from him, but he powers through it, leaning up until his lips almost brush yours, “—ever leaving me.”

His legs lock around your waist, pulling you in until you’re buried deep, the clench of his body forcing a stutter into your breath. His hands slide up, one cupping the back of your neck, the other digging into your side with bruising insistence.

“I don’t care if I have to c-chain you in the deepest crypt or rip your wings off so you can’t f-fly away—” his nails bite in sharply, the threat made intimate by the breathless devotion in his tone, “—you’re staying with me, whether you like it or not.”

You open your mouth to retort, but his hips roll up against you with sudden force, the desperate, greedy drag of him making your breath catch. He nearly damn grins in response, and the expression is all teeth.

Before you can speak again, his hand slides from your neck to the back of your head, guiding — no, pressing — you down until your cheek is flush against his chest. The thud of his heart hammers against your skin, and his breath shudders out above you.

"Hahh... you feel that, [name]? My heartbeat's faster. You like hearing it, don’t you? Feeling what you do to me. How deep you’ve got me. How far I’ll go—” his chest rises against your cheek, pulse stuttering beneath your ear, “—and how I’m not stopping.”

Your fingers curl against his ribs, anchoring yourself against the weight of his body, his voice, the madness in his gaze. His heartbeat thrums fast and unsteady under your cheek, and the sound works its way down your spine like a brand. He’s right. You do like it.

You press your mouth against his chest, right over that racing pulse, and let your teeth scrape his skin in a gesture halfway between a kiss and claim. His breath stutters, then catches in a low groan that melts into laughter

"Just like that," he gasps, words running hot into your hair. His hands are in your hair , in your back, everywhere, keeping you close as though he could fuse your bodies together if he just held tight enough. “Don’t hold back. I want all of you. Give it to me.”

So you do. You push in hard, deep, until his voice pitches and cracks. His hips meet yours with frantic rhythm, every grind and snap of movement sending heat spiking through your body. His walls clutch and flutter around you, coaxing you further, pulling you into his pace.

“M-mine!—hahhh—mine—nghhh—mine,” he keeps saying, broken between moans, “mine, mine, mine—” like if he repeats it enough, the word will carve itself into your bones.

Your hands slide to his hips, pinning them down as you rut into him, letting his desperate clench draw every thrust deeper. His body’s trembling again, chest heaving against your cheek, and you realize you’re chasing it — the shuddering, the high hitch of his breath when you grind just right.

“Caelum,” you rasp, the sound rougher than you mean it to be, “you feel so—fuck—” You don’t finish, because his nails rake down your back at the same moment his walls clamp in a relentless squeeze that drags a growl from deep in your chest.

“Ahhh—hhhnnn—nghhh—” his voice cracks around the sound, hips jolting against yours, “d-don’t stop!—hahhh—[name], please!” his nails bite in harder, dragging down your slick back as you drive into him again and again, the slap of your hips meeting drowned under the noise spilling from his throat.

You lean down, your mouth hot against his ear. “Beg prettier for me,” you whisper, low and steady despite the pace. “You want me to stay? Want me to fuck you until you can’t think?”

“Y-yeahhh—hahhh—f-fuck!—hhhnnn—yesyesyes-” he cries out, voice breaking into another moan, his head tipping back.

It’s too much — heat, pressure, the wild pulse of him around you — and you know from the way his thighs tighten, how his voice breaks into a sobbed moan, that he’s there with you.

His climax hits like a wave, “—ahhh!—hahhh—fuckfuckfuckfuck—!” spilling over, dragging you under with it. You thrust through it, hips grinding into the fluttering heat of his body until you’re both shaking, gasping into each other’s skin.

You didn’t know how long you kept going. The world outside the heat of his body might as well have vanished, replaced by the slick press of skin, the wet pull of him around you, the broken noises spilling past his bitten lip.

Every thrust dragged another tremor from his legs, another gasp from his throat, another flutter from the muscles milking you deeper. His back arched again and again under your hands, sweat rolling down the curve of his spine, until even his moans started to dissolve into breathless whimpers.

You only slowed when your own rhythm began to falter, hips grinding forward one last time to bury yourself in him to the hilt. Caelum doesn’t let you pull away, his arms a locked cage around your body, his breath still quick against your ear.

"..See?" breathless, almost laughing, he nips at your temple. “Told you; mine. And now—” a shiver runs through him, “—I’m yours. Forever.”

You huff against his shoulder, too wrung out to push him off. “…You talk too damn much,” you mumble, the words slurred with exhaustion.

But your arms don’t move from around him, and you don’t try to pull free. By dragon standards, it’s a piss-poor way to seal a bond — to be drugged, cornered, and worn down until you caved — and yet here you are, mated anyway.

Just your luck, hm?

[syrupyuu]

new oc! just some concept art i made on the plane :3

originally, i planned to draw him after finishing his introduction just so i can better capture his character, but alas.. my writer's block strikes again (｡T ω T｡)

haha.... did i cook, chat..?

[syrupyuu]

making a midnight snack rn and im very proud to say i dont overcook my instant noodles

also my next fic might get posted a little bit later than planned, since turns out ill be taking another flight back to my hometown. aaa

btw.. how do u guys feel abt another monsterfucker yandere.... no reason... none in particular...

[syrupyuu]

chat we are SOO back rn. how do yall feel abt a new yan? i've got a few ideas already but i'm open to suggestion !!

[syrupyuu]

I just discovered your blog and I lovelovelove every single story🥹🥹 I get an urge to wrap your ocs up and kidnap them every time I read your stories! I also find myself enjoying plots that I usually don't So I just wanted to express how much I love your stories😘😘😘 I hope to see more of whatever you have to share with us!

hello, and tysm for this message!! i'm really sorry it's taken me a while to reply, esp since i’ve been caught up with some things offline, but reading this truly meant a lot to me!!! ^v^

hopefully once things settle down a bit, i’ll be able to get back to posting more regularly,, (*/_＼)

[syrupyuu]

18+ | tags — dom reader, sub male character. semi-public sex, anal, teasing. reader's dick can be interpreted as a strap. unedited.

imagine fucking a bigger man. he's shaking in your arms, chest heaving in quick, shallow gasps as you press him into the cramped dark of a storage locker. the air is thick with sweat and muffled breaths, every sharp little gasp strangled behind swollen lips. his arms are trembling, hands braced uselessly against your shoulders as if that'll stop you from fucking deeper.

he's trying to be quiet. you told him to. but it's hard when your cock’s buried to the hilt in his messy hole, slick from the lube you barely bothered to use. he shudders when you drag your hips back, just to slam forward again—hard enough to jolt a whimper out of him. you clamp a hand over his mouth fast, leaning in close.

"shh.. you don't want to get caught, do you?" you whisper against the shell of his ear, "someone might open the door and see you like this, all stuffed full and needy."

his cock twitches against his stomach. poor thing. he's so fucked out already, thighs trembling, hole fluttering around you like it's struggling to keep you in.

he’s bigger than you, strong enough to throw you aside without much effort, but right now? he's nothing but a pathetic, stuttering mess, voice cracking beneath your palm as he tries and fails to hold in the moans you're pulling out of him.

“p-please,” he breathes out, voice muffled against your palm, “g-god, i—i can’t hold it, i’m gonna cum—”

you almost laugh. "god, look at you." you murmur, lips brushing his sweat-damp cheek. "can't handle me, baby? we've barely even started.."

he shakes his head weakly, blinking up at you with glassy, pleading eyes. another choked moan trembles in his throat when you push deeper, until your hips press flush to his ass and his legs threaten to give out.

“f-fuck—oh god—” he mewls, his voice cracking as you roll your hips again, slow enough that he feels every inch. his fingers curl tight into your shoulders, nails scraping skin.

his whole body shudders. you feel the helpless flutter of his walls around you, squeezing down so tight it’s almost hard to move. he’s close — you can tell by the way his chest heaves, how he can't seem to stop trembling against you.

“n-no, don’t—please—” he tries to pull back, but the locker wall catches him. nowhere to run. nowhere to hide.

you drag your cock out halfway, just to watch the way his eyes roll up, then snap your hips forward again, hard enough that the thin metal shelf above your head trembles slightly with impact.

he bites down on a moan that still manages to break free, loud enough you almost expect someone to come yank the door open then and there.

"so noisy," you hiss, hand sliding back to cover his mouth, "you want someone to hear you? want someone to see you like this? bent over and drooling on my cock like a slut?"

his moan vibrates against your palm, cock jerking where it’s pinned between you, smearing precum across your stomach.

you fuck him harder, shallow thrusts that grind against the spot that makes his whole body twitch. every time you bottom out, his breath hitches, his legs buckling a little more.

he chokes on a gasp when you slam forward again, your hips pressing him harder into the locker door, making the whole structure rattle.

for a moment, neither of you breathe, locked together in the sticky heat with your cock buried to the hilt in his tight, needy hole. he’s so close now, you can feel it in the frantic pulse under your palm, the way his cock kicks helplessly against your stomach.

“gonna cum?” you tease, almost pitifully. “gonna make a mess all over yourself?”

he tries to shake his head again, but it’s useless. you slide your free hand between your bodies, curling your fingers around his leaking cock. he whimpers, high and broken, his hips jerking helplessly.

“so pathetic,” you whisper, squeezing just tight enough to make him sob. “cum for me. do it now.”

his body convulses. for a split second, you watch his expression collapse into something beautiful — mouth falling open, eyes wide and wet as he spills across your hand and both your stomachs.

his legs give out entirely. you catch him before he can crumple to the floor, pinning him upright with you still buried inside him. he’s trembling so hard you can feel it in every shiver of his thighs.

“f-fuck…” he rasps, voice wrecked, forehead pressed to your shoulder. you don’t let him have the moment.

instead, you grind your hips, slow and deliberate, feeling him twitch around you. his overstimulated body tries to squirm away, but there’s nowhere to go.

“too much—” he whimpers, the words broken by a sob. “i-i can’t… i can’t—”

you hush him softly, your hand stroking through his hair. “yes, you can,” you breathe against the shell of his ear. “you’re going to take it.”

he shakes his head, but the motion is weak. his walls flutter helplessly around your cock, already sensitive, already raw. you know he’s past the point of resisting.

you pull back just enough to watch your cock slide out, glistening with slick and cum — then push back in, burying yourself to the hilt again as he gasps.

and god, you think, you’re going to ruin him for anyone else.

— your faves <3

[lovehazard]

Hello everyone. I'm open for art commissions.

I'll be working through PayPal, Ko-fi, and VGen. If you're interested in commissioning me, feel free to check them out through the links below:

Ko-Fi | VGen | T.O.S

If you have any questions or need more information, don’t hesitate to send me a DM.

[syrupyuu]

absolutely tutely! could you give me a bit for me to get a more comprehensive list of tips? you said you're scared of oil splatters, and there's tips for that.

but are there other areas you struggle with that you more aware of? (ex. following recipes, cooking terminology, specific styles of cooking, gauging cook times without a timer, stuff like that)

there's no shame in learning how to cook at any time and any age ^u^ (i still get worried about cooking chicken every time. but i've never gotten nor given anyone salmonella, but i have overcooked my chicken before lol)

okay yay hi again!! thank you for being so kind and offering help, seriously (´｡• ᵕ •｡`)

so yeah aside from my fear of anything oil related, i think my biggest issues are timing stuff and seasoning? like i’ll either finish one thing way too early and then it’s cold by the time the rest is done, or i’m juggling five things at once and burning at least two of them 😭 also i never know how much salt is too much until it’s waay too late, and i feel like i under-season 80% of the time because i get scared lmao

also, sometimes recipe instructions feel weirdly vague?? like what does “cook until fragrant” even mean. how fragrant are we talking. give me units!!

anyway, if you have tips for any of that i would love you forever omg 🥺💗

[tinseltina]

ahh okie dokie

first for the oil thing, it could be a couple of things, either your oil is too hot in which case you can either:

test for by hovering your hand over the pan if you're more experienced,

using a thermometer,

by sticking a wooden chopstick in the oil to see if it bubbles (if it does, that's usually ok to start frying)

or even testing by putting in a couple of breadcrumbs or a bit of batter, again to see if it bubbles.

you can also try starting from a lower temperature setting on your stove to ensure it doesn't get too hot too fast, or immediately lowering your stove knob (to around the medium setting) when you put the food in the oil

but these are both methods to try using earlier than letting your oil get hot.

or it could be because the thing you're putting into the oil has water or ice on it or is too cold. for that you want to make sure you've patted your foods dry before putting them in the oil.

*if the thing that is splattering is eggs, that'll be a heat issue, see the "oil too hot" tips for that.

you can also buy something called a "splatter screen" they can come in a more rubber form or more of a mesh like a strainer. Neither are 100% effective at keeping oil from going places (especially the metal strainer one, but it lessens how far it can splatter) but they can be good for feeling more secure while frying and decreases the amount of mess it makes on the stove.

or you can also fry in deeper pans or pots if you have them. that also decreases the amount of splatter mess on your stovetop.

regardless this is definitely one of those trial and error skills, lots of people get worried even if they've done it for years (like me. i dont like frying) more tips under the cut!

Timing

for timing, if you're not good at gauging the passing of time (which you could potentially develop the skill for, or not. doesn't really matter ^^;) then i would recommend a timer even your phone will do. and before you begin cooking, check your recipes or search online for recommended cook times, and then punch that in ahead of time so you can press start as soon as you're ready to begin timing things (ex. i look up how long a potato takes to bake in the oven).

when it comes to timing food prep for whole meals, i'll admit i still struggle with. That takes planning and then building up experience to get a better idea how long certain things take for you to do (ex. prepping potatoes to be boiled for potato salad takes me longer than making a green salad, i'm not quick with peeling potatoes).

one again this is one of those times where consulting a recipe and checking their "time" guide (most recipes online include a general baseline for prep and cooking time for dishes). and depending on the blog they also already paced the recipe to make sure everything ends up hot and pleasant on the dish by the time you finish.

salads and dressings can generally be prepped ahead of time (without actually dressing/putting the dressing on the salad, as that can lead to wilting especially if the dressing is acidic. wait until you're about to serve the food for that)

meat and baked items also take longer to do so you'd want to start those earlier

desserts that need to be warm during serving can be warmed near the end of a meal/around the time people either get 2nds or stop eating altogether. i think generally people like a moment to talk and sort of let the food settle before they get dessert. not me tho i always want dessert immediately)

pasta dishes are my weakness. I think prepping the sauce before the noodles is the better idea because otherwise i just let my noodles get cold in the strainer and they kinda stick together...or i put it in the serving dish immediately and once again it gets cold and sticks together. but when you're doing a meat and a pasta dish it depends on the meat, but generally start the meat first and then halfway through that cooking time start the pasta (like frozen meatballs take 20 minutes in the oven, and pasta takes 11 minutes so halfway to meatballs is pasta time)

Seasoning

for seasoning, the key is "taste as you go" :) It's what I do and it's what chefs do. Adjust as needed from there.

you can under-salt lots of things because you can just add salt later anyway

garlic is also a good flavor enhancer if you're trying not to salt something too much. but don't get crazy a little goes a long way. powder stimulates the salt tastebuds more than fresh garlic does.

The longer you cook garlic the less potent and spicy it becomes. If you're not cooking garlic from a long time, then there is such a thing as "too much" if you don't LOVE garlic. but it depends on you and you're tastes. (also cook garlic, like if you're starting a dish and it says sautee first, try that on a lower setting rather than on high immediately. garlic burns fast if it's alone in a pan)

dried herbs tend not to be as strong/potent as fresh ones (*garlic powder is still quite strong). they're still good but you can probably use less if you're using fresh.

you can also double up on things like garlic powder/onion powder/dried minced onion with the fresh stuff (fresh onions, especially depending on the type can taste very different to the powder.) minced garlic in the jar typically comes in brine, and it does affect the flavor (i think it makes things taste a bit sour) so i also include the powder for stronger flavor)

this is gonna sound contradictory for a sec but if you enjoy flavorful food/very seasoned food, you don't need to be scared of seasonings besides salt and spice (unless you love spice). I don't know how large the portions your make generally. if you are cooking for 1, then a sprinkle or 2 of spices and herbs are great otherwise use like half a teaspoon at a time and again TASTE AS YOU GO U_U

if what you are making is a raw meat and you want to make sure you put enough seasoning, cook a little bit of it and check the seasoning if it's to your liking (sautee some of your ground meat, or cut off a piece of a steak)

protip: if something in a recipe looks like something you know you don't like, you don't have to put it in. I hate clove so i skip clove in everything (i usually swap for cinnamon for that strong earthy, woodsy flavor)

Cooking Terminology

oh the joys of jargon cooks assume everyone already knows.

"cooking until fragrant" so for that, the implication is whatever you're cooking doesn't already smell very strong. So as soon as you get hit with a wave of "oh that's onion and garlic" or if someone comes up and says "something smells delicious" and you're literally just sauteeing some garlic, THAT'S fragrant. It doesn't take very long usually, maybe 2 or 3 minutes in my experience. Once you learn to really recognize the smell of something when it's cooked, then you won't have to time it. garlic smells like garlic perfume all around your kitchen, or onions begin smelling kinda sweet. and then you move on to the next steps of your recipe.

"fold it in", you take a spatula and maneuver it to scrape it down the side of the bowl to the bottom until it is sorta horizontal/flat. then you bring up some of the thing in the bowl while trying to twist the spatula to "flip" the batter over to lie on the top of the batter. i have attached a crappy animated gif to show the process

"cream together" is a thing that happens when you mix butter and sugar while incorporating air into it. it makes the butter lighter and fluffier. it's easier to do with a whisk or an egg beater or electric mixer. but you can also just mix the 2 together using a spatula or a spoon if you don't wanna break out the other tools. It can effect the final product (like desserts and stuff) but it all still tastes good in the end.

"cook until golden/golden brown" can mean different things to different people. i prefer a darker gold/orange-y color, and some people prefer something paler in their fried foods. the cooking method can also influence how dark stuff gets when it's "optimally cooked" (frying vs baking vs air fryer) as long at the breading isn't as pale as you started with, it should be fine. my mom burns/chars* her breading all the time (her issue is the oil is too hot and our pans aren't level so things don't cook evenly which leads to burning. this is combated by turning down the heat to around medium or medium-high and paying attention to what we're cooking) *what's the difference between burn and char, you may be asking? Uhh whether or not you like the flavor. charred meat can be delicious, burnt meat isn't. that's some cooking humor for ya ;)

"cook until well done" check their pictures for what "well done" means. If it's steak, look for a chart online for what the different types of meat rarity are called/what they look like on the inside and how long to cook them. I have no idea i ain't got that kinda money.

Ok this is everything off the top of my head! please leave any lingering questions you may have in the comments, tags, replies, or you can consult the google and find an actual professional's advice for this sorta stuff.

[syrupyuu]

holy crap this is SO much amazing info, i’m actually blown away?? i’m 100% bookmarking this for future kitchen crises lol. seriously, the fact that you took the time to write all this out?? you’re a lifesaver <3

first of all i didn’t even know splatter screens were a thing. that alone might actually change my life tbh?? i actually took notes while reading, and yea i'm definitely gonna be trying out a bunch of these tips next time i brave the kitchen! also thank you for validating the oil fear lol, i was starting to think it was just me 😭your timing + seasoning advice makes so much sense too, plus i feel like i finally kinda get cooking lingo now?? wild..

quick question though! would you say it’s better to master a few easy recipes first, or just jump in and try a little bit of everything to build experience?

either way, this was all insanely helpful and i appreciate it SO much!! you're the best AARGH

[tinseltina]

in your case, I'd say get some basics down first before getting too crazy; if for nothing else, if anything goes wrong with more experimental stuff later, you still have backup recipes. but if you already know how to grill a cheese, or fry an egg, or something like that, then you've already got those couple of basics and you can move on to something else if you want

for things like learning techniques like flipping things in pans, i'd say practice with non food objects to get a sense of the feeling or do pancakes before trying out looser foods like fried rice. also wider pans (but not ginormous, just a little more of a safer "net") and smaller portions/pancakes for that. again just to get you more comfortable with the movement. and use a spatula to flip it the first time and then when the pancake is totally cooked you can start flipping it more until you get confident with the feeling.

oh another tip, if you are cooking something with liquid (this works better for soups and sauces, but remove the meat) and it's too salty, peel a potato and put a chunk of it and boil it for like 5 minutes. potatoes absorb salt really well.

and if you don't mind/and are able to find someone, you can always bring in/phone someone to supervise/give moral support to you in the kitchen. especially helpful if they're a bit better in the kitchen but they don't have to be masters or nothing. just someone who can talk you through moments you might feel overwhelmed.

do you have any recipes in particular you've really been fantasizing about making?

i've never made pad thai before, that's one i'm going to try this week, im excited and got new ingredients for it :D. my food doesn't always come out pretty and my kitchen ends up a disaster, but i have fun and i usually get something edible out of it. that's part of the fun of cooking is the process.

we just gotta get you used to more of it and then who knows, maybe it'll be a new hobby!

[syrupyuu]

you’ve honestly given me so much to work with, and i’m really grateful for it! having a few go-to recipes as a fallback makes a lot of sense actually, and i really like the idea of building up comfort with the basics before experimenting. also, that pancake tip is genius, I never would’ve thought to practice with that first!

the potato trick for salty food is also going straight into my mental library. and yeah, i do agree that someone nearby (or even just on standby for moral support) would make a huge difference when i'm feeling overwhelmed. might try inviting a friend over for that sometime, honestly (￣▽￣)

i don’t have a specific recipe in mind yet, but now i’m kind of excited to go looking. hope your pad thai turns out great btw! thanks again for taking the time to walk me through all of this. it really does make cooking feel a lot less intimidating (´,,•ω•,,)♡"

[syrupyuu]

absolutely tutely! could you give me a bit for me to get a more comprehensive list of tips? you said you're scared of oil splatters, and there's tips for that.

but are there other areas you struggle with that you more aware of? (ex. following recipes, cooking terminology, specific styles of cooking, gauging cook times without a timer, stuff like that)

there's no shame in learning how to cook at any time and any age ^u^ (i still get worried about cooking chicken every time. but i've never gotten nor given anyone salmonella, but i have overcooked my chicken before lol)

okay yay hi again!! thank you for being so kind and offering help, seriously (´｡• ᵕ •｡`)

so yeah aside from my fear of anything oil related, i think my biggest issues are timing stuff and seasoning? like i’ll either finish one thing way too early and then it’s cold by the time the rest is done, or i’m juggling five things at once and burning at least two of them 😭 also i never know how much salt is too much until it’s waay too late, and i feel like i under-season 80% of the time because i get scared lmao

also, sometimes recipe instructions feel weirdly vague?? like what does “cook until fragrant” even mean. how fragrant are we talking. give me units!!

anyway, if you have tips for any of that i would love you forever omg 🥺💗

[tinseltina]

ahh okie dokie

first for the oil thing, it could be a couple of things, either your oil is too hot in which case you can either:

test for by hovering your hand over the pan if you're more experienced,

using a thermometer,

by sticking a wooden chopstick in the oil to see if it bubbles (if it does, that's usually ok to start frying)

or even testing by putting in a couple of breadcrumbs or a bit of batter, again to see if it bubbles.

you can also try starting from a lower temperature setting on your stove to ensure it doesn't get too hot too fast, or immediately lowering your stove knob (to around the medium setting) when you put the food in the oil

but these are both methods to try using earlier than letting your oil get hot.

or it could be because the thing you're putting into the oil has water or ice on it or is too cold. for that you want to make sure you've patted your foods dry before putting them in the oil.

*if the thing that is splattering is eggs, that'll be a heat issue, see the "oil too hot" tips for that.

you can also buy something called a "splatter screen" they can come in a more rubber form or more of a mesh like a strainer. Neither are 100% effective at keeping oil from going places (especially the metal strainer one, but it lessens how far it can splatter) but they can be good for feeling more secure while frying and decreases the amount of mess it makes on the stove.

or you can also fry in deeper pans or pots if you have them. that also decreases the amount of splatter mess on your stovetop.

regardless this is definitely one of those trial and error skills, lots of people get worried even if they've done it for years (like me. i dont like frying) more tips under the cut!

Timing

for timing, if you're not good at gauging the passing of time (which you could potentially develop the skill for, or not. doesn't really matter ^^;) then i would recommend a timer even your phone will do. and before you begin cooking, check your recipes or search online for recommended cook times, and then punch that in ahead of time so you can press start as soon as you're ready to begin timing things (ex. i look up how long a potato takes to bake in the oven).

when it comes to timing food prep for whole meals, i'll admit i still struggle with. That takes planning and then building up experience to get a better idea how long certain things take for you to do (ex. prepping potatoes to be boiled for potato salad takes me longer than making a green salad, i'm not quick with peeling potatoes).

one again this is one of those times where consulting a recipe and checking their "time" guide (most recipes online include a general baseline for prep and cooking time for dishes). and depending on the blog they also already paced the recipe to make sure everything ends up hot and pleasant on the dish by the time you finish.

salads and dressings can generally be prepped ahead of time (without actually dressing/putting the dressing on the salad, as that can lead to wilting especially if the dressing is acidic. wait until you're about to serve the food for that)

meat and baked items also take longer to do so you'd want to start those earlier

desserts that need to be warm during serving can be warmed near the end of a meal/around the time people either get 2nds or stop eating altogether. i think generally people like a moment to talk and sort of let the food settle before they get dessert. not me tho i always want dessert immediately)

pasta dishes are my weakness. I think prepping the sauce before the noodles is the better idea because otherwise i just let my noodles get cold in the strainer and they kinda stick together...or i put it in the serving dish immediately and once again it gets cold and sticks together. but when you're doing a meat and a pasta dish it depends on the meat, but generally start the meat first and then halfway through that cooking time start the pasta (like frozen meatballs take 20 minutes in the oven, and pasta takes 11 minutes so halfway to meatballs is pasta time)

Seasoning

for seasoning, the key is "taste as you go" :) It's what I do and it's what chefs do. Adjust as needed from there.

you can under-salt lots of things because you can just add salt later anyway

garlic is also a good flavor enhancer if you're trying not to salt something too much. but don't get crazy a little goes a long way. powder stimulates the salt tastebuds more than fresh garlic does.

The longer you cook garlic the less potent and spicy it becomes. If you're not cooking garlic from a long time, then there is such a thing as "too much" if you don't LOVE garlic. but it depends on you and you're tastes. (also cook garlic, like if you're starting a dish and it says sautee first, try that on a lower setting rather than on high immediately. garlic burns fast if it's alone in a pan)

dried herbs tend not to be as strong/potent as fresh ones (*garlic powder is still quite strong). they're still good but you can probably use less if you're using fresh.

you can also double up on things like garlic powder/onion powder/dried minced onion with the fresh stuff (fresh onions, especially depending on the type can taste very different to the powder.) minced garlic in the jar typically comes in brine, and it does affect the flavor (i think it makes things taste a bit sour) so i also include the powder for stronger flavor)

this is gonna sound contradictory for a sec but if you enjoy flavorful food/very seasoned food, you don't need to be scared of seasonings besides salt and spice (unless you love spice). I don't know how large the portions your make generally. if you are cooking for 1, then a sprinkle or 2 of spices and herbs are great otherwise use like half a teaspoon at a time and again TASTE AS YOU GO U_U

if what you are making is a raw meat and you want to make sure you put enough seasoning, cook a little bit of it and check the seasoning if it's to your liking (sautee some of your ground meat, or cut off a piece of a steak)

protip: if something in a recipe looks like something you know you don't like, you don't have to put it in. I hate clove so i skip clove in everything (i usually swap for cinnamon for that strong earthy, woodsy flavor)

Cooking Terminology

oh the joys of jargon cooks assume everyone already knows.

"cooking until fragrant" so for that, the implication is whatever you're cooking doesn't already smell very strong. So as soon as you get hit with a wave of "oh that's onion and garlic" or if someone comes up and says "something smells delicious" and you're literally just sauteeing some garlic, THAT'S fragrant. It doesn't take very long usually, maybe 2 or 3 minutes in my experience. Once you learn to really recognize the smell of something when it's cooked, then you won't have to time it. garlic smells like garlic perfume all around your kitchen, or onions begin smelling kinda sweet. and then you move on to the next steps of your recipe.

"fold it in", you take a spatula and maneuver it to scrape it down the side of the bowl to the bottom until it is sorta horizontal/flat. then you bring up some of the thing in the bowl while trying to twist the spatula to "flip" the batter over to lie on the top of the batter. i have attached a crappy animated gif to show the process

"cream together" is a thing that happens when you mix butter and sugar while incorporating air into it. it makes the butter lighter and fluffier. it's easier to do with a whisk or an egg beater or electric mixer. but you can also just mix the 2 together using a spatula or a spoon if you don't wanna break out the other tools. It can effect the final product (like desserts and stuff) but it all still tastes good in the end.

"cook until golden/golden brown" can mean different things to different people. i prefer a darker gold/orange-y color, and some people prefer something paler in their fried foods. the cooking method can also influence how dark stuff gets when it's "optimally cooked" (frying vs baking vs air fryer) as long at the breading isn't as pale as you started with, it should be fine. my mom burns/chars* her breading all the time (her issue is the oil is too hot and our pans aren't level so things don't cook evenly which leads to burning. this is combated by turning down the heat to around medium or medium-high and paying attention to what we're cooking) *what's the difference between burn and char, you may be asking? Uhh whether or not you like the flavor. charred meat can be delicious, burnt meat isn't. that's some cooking humor for ya ;)

"cook until well done" check their pictures for what "well done" means. If it's steak, look for a chart online for what the different types of meat rarity are called/what they look like on the inside and how long to cook them. I have no idea i ain't got that kinda money.

Ok this is everything off the top of my head! please leave any lingering questions you may have in the comments, tags, replies, or you can consult the google and find an actual professional's advice for this sorta stuff.

[syrupyuu]

holy crap this is SO much amazing info, i’m actually blown away?? i’m 100% bookmarking this for future kitchen crises lol. seriously, the fact that you took the time to write all this out?? you’re a lifesaver <3

first of all i didn’t even know splatter screens were a thing. that alone might actually change my life tbh?? i actually took notes while reading, and yea i'm definitely gonna be trying out a bunch of these tips next time i brave the kitchen! also thank you for validating the oil fear lol, i was starting to think it was just me 😭your timing + seasoning advice makes so much sense too, plus i feel like i finally kinda get cooking lingo now?? wild..

quick question though! would you say it’s better to master a few easy recipes first, or just jump in and try a little bit of everything to build experience?

either way, this was all insanely helpful and i appreciate it SO much!! you're the best AARGH