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The Dragon, The Healer and the Hole

Commission for Zayne X Reader X Sylus

Synopsis: You are the pretty pawn between Dragon!Sylus & Village Healer!Zayne. After you and Sylus get into far too much trouble for the poor Healer’s heart, he punishes you. Who knew Dragon tears could be so pretty?

Warnings: Poly, Poly!Lads, Threesome, Hard Dom Zayne, Switch Sy, Overstim, Monster Fudging, Dragon Sandwich, Two Cawks, Aphrodisiac, Drooling, Tummy Bulge.

A/n: This was a request from someone as a Christmas Gift! I loveddd writing this. Bratty Sylus is superior. If you enjoy this commission, I’m holding my Christmas Special Commission until Christmas Day!

The villagers whisper about you. The fairmaiden who dances with a dragon, while poor Zayne is left to patch up the aftermath.

It starts small. Sylus “accidentally" singeing the thatched roofs when he swoops too low to show off for you. Then comes the trampled crops. That one is your fault, really. You’d dared him to land mid-sprint.

And by the time the two of you send a wagon full of turnips careening into the river during a game of aerial tag? Zayne is already pinching the bridge of his nose in the distance.

"Must you constantly—" he begins, only to cut himself off as Sylus proudly drops a half-drowned chicken into his arms—"This one was almost a snack."

You grin, perched shamelessly on Sylus’ shoulder while the dragon preens under your attention. His tail is flicking with satisfaction as Zayne sighs the long-suffering sigh of a man who knows the ale barrel explosion last week wasn’t actually an accident.

Somewhere in the distance, another roof catches fire.

"I need a drink," Zayne mutters.

Sylus leans in, fangs glinting. "We know where you keep the good ale."

The tension between the three of you simmers like a pot left too long over a flame. Until one night, after yet another village disaster, this time involving a misplaced firework and Farmer Borris’ prize-winning pumpkin, Zayne finally snaps.

"Enough."

His voice is quiet, dangerously so, as he throws his healer’s satchel onto the table. The usual exasperation is gone, replaced by something raw and unspoken. Sylus goes still beside you, his tail curling around your ankle while Zayne runs a hand through his already disheveled hair. It’s fallen from the leather tie that usually keeps his hair pinned back.

"I can’t keep doing this," Zayne admits, shoulders slumping. "Covering for you two. Lying to the village. Pretending I don’t—" His voice cracks. "Pretending I don't care."

"Then stop pretending," you whisper, stepping forward, bridging the gap between healer and dragon and Lady, between duty and desire.

Zayne’s laugh is bitter. "It’s not that simple."

"Yes," Sylus growls, it’s low, reluctant. "It is."

And then, because diplomacy was never his strong suit, the dragon yanks Zayne forward by his tunic and kisses him.

It’s all teeth at first. Then softer. Then desperate.

You watch with wide eyes as Zayne melts against him, years of frustration dissolving into something infinitely sweeter. When Sylus finally pulls back, smug but shaken, it’s your turn to step in. You cup Zayne’s face in your hands before pressing your lips to his with a promise.

"No more hiding."

The three of you spend the rest of the night arguing, kissing, and finally figuring things out. The village can manage one evening without its healer.

Together, at last.

But things are far from perfect in your little world.

By the time Zayne finally returns to the lair, his shoulders are slumped with exhaustion. The scent of herbs and medicinal salves clings to him like a cloak, sharp and bitter in the chill air.

He finds you and Sylus waiting near the hearth, the two of you attempting to look nonchalant by the fire. But Zayne isn't fooled. Not for a second.

"What happened?" he demands. Before you can offer a flimsy excuse, he’s striding towards you with all the exasperated authority of a healer.

"Show me."

Despite your protests that 'it's just a small cut, really' and 'we were both careless, it won't happen again,' Zayne is having none of it. You and Sylus find yourselves on the receiving end of the most thorough examination of your life, punctuated by a litany of disapproving noises and muttered curses in several languages.

His touch is both gentle and sharp, probing over bruises and gashes with efficiency. It's only when he notices the way you wince at his ministrations that Zayne finally snaps.

"Damn it, you almost got killed."

Zayne's hands still abruptly as he peels back your torn tunic, revealing the ugly, jagged gash slicing from shoulder to hip, its edges still oozing sluggish crimson. His breath catches as Sylus snarls, claws digging into stone hard enough to crack it.

"You said it was nothing." The dragon's voice is dangerously quiet, red eyes burning with fury. Not at you, but at himself for not noticing sooner.

You grit your teeth, fingers twisting in the furs beneath you. "I didn’t—hng—want to worry you."

Zayne exhales through his nose, already reaching for his salves with hands that only tremble slightly. "You idiot," he chastised.

Zayne's voice is steel, despite the exhaustion clinging to his bones. "Hold her," he orders Sylus and for once, the dragon doesn't argue.

Sylus’ hands are firm but trembling as he pins your wrists gently against the furs, his tail wrapping snugly around your waist for stability. His claws dig into the bedding, not you, but his eyes burn with rage. Both at your recklessness and himself for failing to protect you.

"Talk," Zayne snaps at him as he threads his needle, sterilized with a flick of fire from Sylus’ own breath.

Sylus growls low. “She leapt in front of the commander’s blade. For me."

Zayne’s glare could melt stone. He presses a flask of strong, honeyed ale into your free hand. "Drink. All of it."

He waits until the alcohol settles in your bone. You lean against Sylus’s strong chest, eyes flicking down to the gleaming jewel on his chest. Sylus can feel your body heat heighten and can smell the relaxation in your muscles. He gives Zayne a single nod and the Healer pushes the needle under your skins

You choke back a scream, Sylus’ grip tightening just enough to keep you still as Zayne works quickly. He pretends to not flinch with each of your cries of pain.

No one speaks. Not until the last knot is tied, and Zayne’s forehead finally drops against your shoulder. His breath is ragged with fear, fury, and love.

Zayne’s punishment doesn’t come in a normal form. Definitely not that night. Sylus heals far quicker than you do. But within a few weeks you are back to your mischievous nature.

That is, until Zayne tells both of his lovers to meet him at his cabin, via crow. Mephisto was particularly nice that day and delivered the message to his Masters lair. Only because Zayne gifted him some berries that WEREN’T poisonous.

The cabin is tucked into the woods, the sweet scent of herbs hanging in the air like a welcoming embrace. You find Zayne hunched over a makeshift workbench, hands stained with crushed petals and oils. When he senses you standing in the doorway, he looks and the shadows beneath his eyes betray how little sleep he’s had in the past few days.

"You're here," he murmurs, setting aside his mortar and pestle. "Good. Close the door."

The moment the door clicks shut behind you, Sylus melts out of the shadows like a wraith. His usual dramatic flair dialed up to eleven just to watch Zayne roll his eyes.

"You called, healer?" The dragon purrs, already making himself at home, stretching across Zayne’s narrow cot like it’s his throne, tail flicking lazily against the woven blankets.

You, meanwhile, beeline for Zayne’s shelves, snagging a jar of honeyed figs with the ease of someone who’s stolen from him far too many times.

Zayne sighs, long-suffering. But he can’t stay mad for long. Not when Sylus is already dragging him closer by the belt, and not when you pop a stolen fig into his mouth with a grin.

Chaos. But his chaos.

In less than a minute, Zayne has Sylus kneeling on the cot, claws digging into the wooden frame as he whines in impatience. His tail trembles, scales gleaming in the firelight as Zayne murmurs a warning to "Settle, dragon."

It's not enough.

Your breath hitches at the sight of them. Zayne's fingers pressing deep into Sylus while the dragon's tongue slides against you, long and rough in a way that's far too good.

And he has the audacity to laugh, low and rumbling. "Is this our punishment, little healer?" he growls. "For what, exactly?"

Another finger joins the first, and he can't help but buck, tail snapping at the sound of Zayne's next words—

"Shut up," he murmurs. "I’m working.”

Zayne presses a third finger in without warning, twisting them just so. It draws a sharp gasp from Sylus that vibrates deliciously against your clit.

"For this," Zayne scoffs, his fingers trailing over the long scar he helped stitch along the base of Sylus’ tail. His voice is rough with hunger as he drags Sylus back by his horns. forcing the dragon’s mouth deeper against you while his own fingers work mercilessly inside him.

Sylus snarls, fangs grazing your thigh in protest but he doesn’t pull away.

He knows better.

Instead, he takes it, takes everything, as Zayne bends him over the cot completely, replacing fingers with the thick press of his cock in one brutal thrust. Sylus arches, wings flaring, as Zayne groans above him. Nimble and long fingers grip silver-white hair, the other sliding up to press between your shoulder blades, urging you down onto Sylus’ tongue.

"Stay." The command is ragged a plea and a prayer, as Zayne sets a punishing pace. Each snap of his hips driving Sylus’ face harder against you. The dragon’s tail lashes wildly before coiling around Zayne’s waist, pulling him deeper.

When you come with a cry, Sylus drinks it down greedily, his own pleasure muffled against your skin as Zayne fucks him through it. His breath comes in ragged bursts against the sweat-damp curve of the dragon’s spine.

No more hiding. Only this, heat, and teeth, and the three of them tangled beyond repair.

The moment Zayne’s salve seeps into Sylus’ body, it begins its work. It’s a slow, merciless heat that coils through his muscles like liquid gold. At first, Sylus only growls his tongue still working lazily between your thighs, rough ridges dragging against oversensitive skin.

But then the warmth deepens.

His claws slacken on the cot, his wings drooping like heavy silk as the salve’s magic spreads, unraveling every coiled tension in his body. A shudder wracks him, violent and involuntary. as his head lolls heavily against your thigh. His tongue finally stilling inside you. His breaths come slow and deep, lashes fluttering like he’s drunk on the sensation.

"F-fuck," he slurs, voice thick and ruine as Zayne leans down to murmur against the shell of his ear.

"Good dragon."

Sylus whines but he can’t so much as twitch now, utterly pliant beneath Zayne’s hands.

And oh, how the healer smirks.

Zayne is no brute. No unthinking warrior. But the sight of Sylus helpless beneath him, that proud dragon reduced to shuddering submission, sends something primal surging through his veins. His hips snap forward with a roughness that makes Sylus’ neglected second cock twitch pathetically. It’s already dripping pre-come onto the sheets beneath them.

And gods, Zayne looks every inch the conqueror. How healer’s hands, usually so gentle, now grip Sylus’ hips with bruising force. Moonlight spills over the hard lines of his torso, muscles flexing with each punishing thrust, sweat glistening along the scars that crisscross his shoulders. There are marks from battles fought long before he ever tended herbs.

His breath comes ragged, eyes dark with hunger as he watches Sylus’ body take him. Sylus is stretched, yielding and undone.

"How the mighty have fallen," he chuckles, thumb swiping over the dragon’s slack lips, slick with your cum. "So greedy for it."

Sylus can’t even growl in protest, just a weak, shuddering moan as Zayne fucks him deeper and harder. You watch, fingers tangled in silver-white hair, as your healer claims his dragon thoroughly.

Zayne's voice drops low and serious, the kind of voice he reserves for fevers that won’t break and wounds that fester, as he leans over Sylus’ trembling form, hips never stuttering in their relentless pace.

"You don’t get to touch," he growls, catching Sylus’ wrists and pinning them to the small of his back with one firm hand. The dragon’s claws flex uselessly against empty air, his cocks aching, flushed dark and twitching with every deep thrust. "Not until you learn."

Sylus snarls, or tries to, but it comes out ragged, broken, as Zayne angles his hips just so, grinding against that spot inside him that makes his vision whiten.

"You want to burn fields? Shatter carts?" Another punishing thrust, Sylus’ tail thrashes, then goes limp. "Then take your punishment like the beast you are."

And oh, Sylus does.

He comes untouched, a hoarse, shattered cry ripped from his throat as his cocks spills between the sheets, his body clamping down around Zayne’s in helpless pulses.

Zayne follows close behind. He usually would use those disgusting pig-skin protective things around his cock when he fucks you. Worried about bringing children into this fucked-up world. But with his Dragon, his seed spills messily from Sylus’s weeping hole and down muscled thighs.

"Good boy.”

You watch, breathless, knowing full well your turn is next.

You try to twist away, legs scrambling against the furs as Sylus’ deadweight lolls bonelessly against your thighs. His head is still nestled between them like some decadent, drowsing predator. His tail, though limp, somehow coils tighter around your waist, anchoring you in place, as Zayne’s gaze sharpens on your futile squirming.

"Oh no you don’t," the healer purrs, still buried deep inside Sylus, still watching you with dark, knowing eyes. One hand strokes absently down the dragon’s spine. “Our beast here has had his lesson."

His free hand reaches for you, calloused fingers wrapping around your ankle and yanking you back down onto the cot beside them.

"Now it’s your turn."

Sylus, though blissed-out and pliant, chuffs in weak amusement against your skin.

You are trapped, caught and doomed.

While you try in vain to squirm away, Zayne makes short work of you, pinning you down with an ease you should not find as frustratingly hot as you do.

His fingers, those of a healer, familiar and gentle, prepare you with a soothing salve, its warmth sinking deep in your core.

But before you can even catch your breath, Sylus is there, hovering over you with a hungry glint to his red eyes, tail lashing impatiently behind him.

"Ready, little one?" he asks, and even in his languid state, the hoarse growl making you whine. Both cocks rest like hot irons against your inner thigh.

Taking both cocks was a feat. Zayne knew that better than anyone. One time while in a Rut, Sylus had torn him so bad you had to hold his hand each trip to the chamberpot.

But this seemed to be a good punishment befitting the crime.

"Wait—wait—"

Your protest dies in a strangled gasp as Sylus presses forward. The thick head of his first cock stretching you mercilessly, that familiar burn of too much making your toes curl. The salve helps, Gods, it helps, but nothing prepares you for the way his second length rubs insistently against your entrance, demanding.

Zayne’s hands settle on Sylus’ hips, guiding, controlling as he whispers against the dragon’s sweat-damp shoulder.

"Slow."

Sylus obeys, barely, his entire body trembling with the effort as he sinks into you by torturous degrees. His breath comes in ragged pants, his claws embedding in the furs beside your head as he fights his own oversensitivity.

“Fuck," he grits out. “S’ tight Precious…”

And then, just when you think you can’t take anymore, Zayne’s fingers dig into Sylus’ waist, forcing him deeper, until—

Pop.

Both cocks pop into your slick hole, stretching you beyond what you thought was possible.

You scream, back arching off the cot as Sylus howls above you, his tail thrashing wildly. Zayne’s palm splays over your stomach, pressing down as if he can feel the obscene stretch from within.

“Easy there,” his voice is the same as when he hushes an injured child as he fixes a scrape on their knee. It has no place in a circumstance where you are taking two monster cocks against your cervix. “Keep going. She can take it.”

Sylus, sweet, overwhelmed, overstimulated, Sylus, does as he says.

Your fingers claw into the furs, knuckles white as Sylus’ massive cocks stretch you to the brink. Every single inch is a ruthless, searing fullness that borders on pain. Tears spill down your cheeks as you whimper, hips jerking in a futile attempt to escape the overwhelming stretch.

"N-no—too much—please—!"

But Zayne is merciless. His warm palm presses flat against your trembling belly, fingers splayed on the bulge near your guts.

"Shhh," he murmurs, voice filled with a dark promise. "You chose this when you played recklessly with our dragon."

His other hand fists in Sylus’ hair, forcing the dragon’s face down to yours, his fangs scraping your jaw as he pants in ragged, helpless pleasure.

"Take it," Zayne orders. “Take them both. Needy little girl…”

Sylus growls against your lips, his hips rolling with a punishing slowness that has you seeing stars. His cocks drag against every overstimulated inch inside you, the stretch bordering on unbearable. Until Zayne’s fingers suddenly press down on your clit, rough and deliberate.

“Cum for us,” Zayne commands and you do, shaking apart between them with a sob. Sylus snarls, his own release following as his claws tear through the furs, marking you, claiming you, ruining you.

Zayne’s voice drops watches your tummy bulge with Dragon seed. In the back of his mind, he highly doubts he can craft not one, but two protective skins big enough for Sylus’ cocks.

But maybe the thought of little dragon babies and watching you swell with eggs also overrules his thinking.

“Next time,” he coos, “you’ll think twice before burning down another village.”

You won’t.

Zayne's hands are gentle now, tender as he tends to your trembling limbs and Sylus’ dishevelled scales and limbs. He whisper low words of comfort, soothing and soft; fingers tracing lazy circles over tender skin bruised by dragon talons.

Sylus is clingy now, a heavy, warm weight pressing against your side, his tail curling around your ankle in a possessive grip. He makes a soft sound, almost like a whine, when Zayne pulls back to check your wounds.

"Greedy beast," the healer teases, but his voice is fond, affectionate.

Sylus melts into the healer's touch, his expression softening even as he grumbles. He’s still oversensitive and languid from his earlier release. He lets Zayne maneuver him onto his side, his wings drooping against the furs as he watches you be cared for.

"You're too gentle," he groans, lips curving into a smirk as Zayne's fingers linger on your waist.

Zayne just laughs. "Only to those worth being gentle with.”

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