☆ superman gets struck by... *checks notes* sex pollen?!
☆ a/n — i imagine reader physically & aesthetically to be a very 2004!catwoman-esque character. this is my first time writing about sex pollen, so please a little bit of grace <3! and as always, written with black!reader in mind, but anybody can read! (ok, but like i actually had fun writing this??)
☆ warning — use of sex pollen. thief!reader who goes by the name "nyx". no use of y/n. lex being a perv. god's name being used in vain. p in v action (unprotected). sub!superman. use of the word "mommy". voyeurism(?). mentions of oral. slightly proofread. male masturbation.
☆ word count — 1,816
you're just an honest, humble villain.
taking over the world? never interested you. killing innocent civilians? very much beneath you. standing side by side defeating do-gooders with mr. clean himself? please, you could laugh.
but diamonds, jewels, money, oh my. how great did obtaining those valuable items please you more than any heinous act could. and you decided you could score once more tonight!
through the grapevine of lex luthor, you heard a nearby bank had the big three, few guards, and a simple escape route. it made you briefly question why he would give you that intel, but you chopped it up to his unfortunate crush he had on you—of course not reciprocated.
it was quite easy. a little bit of sleep powder blown into the face of the guards, threatening one to disable the security system and open the large walk-in vault for you, then knocking him out.
you practically moaned entering the vault. more money than you have ever seen at once, sitting green and pretty, waiting for you to take it home. diamond and gold twinkling in the corner calling your name, promising you that it would look gorgeous adorning your neck, ears, and hands.
"god, i could cry right now."
"you can cry in prison," a deep voice declared from behind you, "exactly where you'll be going." superman. of course.
with a sigh, your turn to face him with a wad of money in your hand, "hiya, supes. can't ya let me have just a 'lil bit of fun?" though you couldn't stand any of them, you always favored superman to be the do-gooder to thwart your plans. simply because he was hot. "i've been a really, really, really good girl supes," slowly, one foot in front of the other crossing over with a sway of your hips.
wrapping your arms around his neck as you leaned your body weight into his and stood on your tippy-toes to whisper in his ear, "y'know you wanna." you could hear his breath hitch.
so engulfed into staring into his blue eyes—god they're so blue, a loud BANG! boomed from the vault closing. the sudden noise made both of you jump, which surprised you, isn't he supposed to have superhearing? mmtch, what a poser.
"what the hell?"
"what in the world?" what a prude, too.
the sound of the vault handle turning and locking grabbed your full attention as you ran to you, pushing against it. "c'mon superman! use that superstrength of yours to get me the hell outta here!" walking over to where you are standing, superman, with all of his might, pushes against the steel door.
he punches, pushes, kicks, eye-laser beams the door. all futile, but very fun to watch him struggle. he huffs as he catches his breath.
he turns to see you laying comfortably on top of the stacks of money. half of your body laying off the edge as one leg lazily sways and your fingers dance along the money, "superman, save me! save me! pfft, whata joke!"
"no, something's not right. it...smells funny."
you shrug as you watch him eye around the sealed room, "blamin' it on smells now. gosh, supes. maybe y'jus—"
your words interrupted with a piercing nose making you wince in pain. a small crackle broke from the ceiling speakers, "so glad to see my two favorite people so cozy." luthor.
jumping down, landing on your feet, you see light pink dust creep into the room. "what the actual hell?!" your eyes widening in fear, superman flies over to you, using his cape as a mask for your face so you don't breath in the unknown dust.
"what is this luthor? what do you want?!"
"i just want to have a little fun. doesn't that sound familiar, nyx?" the tone of his voice disturbed you greatly, it sounded too lustful. but for some reason, you felt funny.
well not, funny, but warm and tingly. and wet… oh my god, i'm turned on! clamping your thighs tight together, you felt your clit throb and throb and throb. it felt painful and non-stop. you bit your lip at superman as the sensation became stronger.
"hmm, seems to have already overcome her. won't be too long until it's you superman. have fun, i know i will."
the speaker let out one more crackle after luthor said his goodbyes. god, it's hot in here. superman could hear how fast your heart is beating, how erratic your breathing is. yet, he started feeling a tightness in his trunks.
not now, he thought to himself. he stares into your eyes, seeing that your pupils are completely blown, nothing but black. but holds a look of desire in them. "there has to b-be another—mmph—way out of here. ju-just keep this against your face."
you nod as he scans the room, walking around. deciding to sit against the money, your latex suit feels tight and hotter than normal. you look down to see your nipples piercing through your top. jeez. pressing down against your nipples, you try your best to flatten them, but it feels really good. the small of his red cape highlighting against your black latex as you squeeze your breasts.
moans escape your lips the more you squeeze. your hips mindlessly begins to roll, making your clit rub against the fabric. god you felt like a whore, getting off to tit squeezes. but you couldn’t help yourself, it feels too good.
lost in your personal moment, superman can’t help but to hear your soft moans and soft squelching noises from your pussy. enthralled by it, he makes his way over, standing right in front of you. your breathing skips as you feel your tight hole pulse and cream. “fuck…”
struggling to catch your breath, you still don’t feel satisfied. feeling eyes gawking at you, you smile and pant, “enjoyed the show? i think ya got the same dilemma as me, supes.” his pupils blown, a curly tendril sticks to his damp forehead, and the best part, his print sticking out like a sore thumb in his trunks. “if this dust is what i think it is, and i’m pretty damn sure it is, our best option is to help one another out.”
he stayed quiet, but by the look on his face you could tell he is going through inner-termoil. you stood up, taking your sweet time walking over to him, feeling your slick drip down your thighs. “it’ll make you feel so much better, if you just give in,” you kiss his jaw as you softly palm his dick. giggling, you could feel his pre-cum leaking through his trunks. “please, superman. i’m asking as nicely as i possibly can. I need you to save me. i need you deep in my pussy.”
——
“g-goodness, nyx—plop, plop, plop—i’m so close.”
if future you spoke to yesterday you and told you that you were gonna end up fucking superman in a locked bank vault, you would’ve laughed in your face and ask what are you on. but now?
superman sitting on the floor with his legs stretched out as you straddle him with your arms wrapped around his neck. his dick–long, thick, topped with the prettiest shade of pink—welcoming itself inside your tight, warm cunt. looking down, you see your pretty white cream coat his dick. god, he feels so good.
“please let me cum, please.” he looks so pretty begging. his normal slicked back hair is sticking entirely to his forehead, the curls more defined due to the sweat. tears falling from his eyes, making his blue eyes more vibrant than usual. his fingers kneading into the flesh of your round ass—how many times he’s found himself staring at your ass and now he can finally hold it.
leaning in close to him, you steal a kiss from his lips. The kiss being for two different reasons—him begging you to allow his release and you continuing to assert your dominance, not caring for his desperation of cumming. your teeth clash against each other as he whimpers in your mouth.
pulling away from his plump lips, a string of saliva connects the two of you by your lips. you smile as his bottom lip wobbles. “mmf, fuck—i don’t know if you deserve t’cum yet,” the sound of wet sex intensifies. superman’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he squeezes your flesh harder. he’s definitely not gonna make it.
“look at me baby. say “mommy, can i please cum? can i please cum in your pussy?” c’mon, baby. you got it.”
superman, with tears in his eyes and down his face, locks eyes with you as you hold his face with your hands. he croaks, “please mommy, can i cum? can i please cum in your pussy?”
leaving a peck on his lips, you nod and smile down at him, “yes baby. fill me up.” as soon as you give him the green light, superman flips you onto your back and lays on top of you. he thrusts deep inside of you, his tip roughly kissing your cervix. the feeling was too much for the both of you.
keeping one arm around his neck and one hand gently on his face, you pull him in close—your bodies molding into each other. his thrusts gets sloppier by the second. with a straggled moan, superman releases warm ropes of cum inside of you while you squirt over him. he thrusts and thrusts until he feels the last drop come out.
your thumb soothingly rubs against his cheek as you both catch your breath. his body laying lazily on top of yours, you press a kiss against his lips, which he begins to deepen. moaning into his mouth, you can still feel how hard he is inside you.
gently pulling away, you eye the superhero and ask, “so are you still gonna take me to jail?”
“i think that’s the last of our worries,” he snickers then moves closer to your lips for another kiss.
you press two of your fingers on his lips to stop him, “well if that’s the case, supes—i need you to clean me up,” you nudge his head down to where your pussy is, “start with your tongue.”
—
over at lexcorp, lex luthor observed the whole 2 hours. once he had you and superman locked in, he eagerly dismissed whatever staff he had in the room with him.
seeing you control superman as if he wasn’t the strongest out of you two, had lex scrambling to unfasten his belt and free his aching dick.
with a stroke, lex shuddered as superman’s mouth found a home on your breasts. he moaned around your brown nipple and two fingers slid into your soaking cunt.
how did Lex come up with this plan? hell, he wasn’t even completely sure himself. but he knows for sure, he’d do it again.
❥ summary: She was moments from sealing her fate at the altar when a dragon crashed through the cathedral and stole her away. Imprisoned in his tower, she raged—until she began to understand that perhaps her gilded cage had been the true prison all along. What began as captivity became sanctuary, and somewhere between his gentleness and burning red eyes, she fell for her dragon.
❥ genre: fluff + angst + smut (18+ mdni)
❥ total fic word count: 36,7k MAIN STORY (I am not normal about sylus sorry <3)
❥ word count for the epilogue: 20,4k (I need help :))
❥ warnings/tags: alternate universe, royal!au, dragon!au, dragon sylus, fantasy/fantasy!au, developing relationship, princess!mc, pining sylus, sylus sometimes shifts back to his sylus dragon companion form (half dragon/half human), longing/yearning, kidnapping, captivity, kinda shy!reader, reader is described as shorter than sylus, emotional!reader, no use of y/n (don’t really use it anymore tbh), attempted murder (not shown but hinted at that it was gonna happen) by named original male character, unhealthy family dynamics (bc certain expectations being set on royals), the fiancé being used as a malicious misogynistic plot device, romance, sylus kinda has been watching reader from afar for years. sylus is soft for reader. minor character death. blood mention, blood/ injuries. soulmates.
❥ warnings/tags for the epilogue: mating. monsterfucking because hello, unprotected sex, piv sex, soft!dom sylus, ok… just in overall bye, sub!reader, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, overstimulation, major major major size kink, praise kink, dirty talk, oral fixation. huge breeding kink aaaaa sorry. they’re both FREAKS. scent kink? knotting. sylus is worshipping his sweet princess ok! doggy style / prone bone (meow) and multiple other positions. lots of pet names (mostly sweetie. kitty/kitten. little kitten). lowkey pillow princess vibes. this is high key sweet and soft and then turns filthy (and then turns soft again). cum overflow, also there is ALWAYS aftercare in my fics even if I don’t explicitly write it. reader has hair, no further description though. body transformation, reader growing horns and a tail. heightened senses. pregnancy. this is not beta read sorry
⟶ A/N: okay so this started because I saw this fan art from this amazing artist. it’s very nsfw and it’s obviously monsterfucking. NEVER thought I’d be into this but here I am dnndjdj anyways THE EPILOGUE IS HERE !! this part made me genuinely emotional so. I am so excited to share this with y'all 🥺 this part follows after extra/part 3 🥺 <3 I love telling this story sososo much. I am so proud of this series and I genuinely love this story and dragon sylus so much 🩷🥰
this goes without saying, but if you don’t like it don’t read it <3
AO3 • story masterlist • previous parts; part 1 • part 2 • part 3 • extra • epilogue • extra (2)
It had been nearly a week since that first night. Six days of waking up wrapped in Sylus’s arms, six days of making love in every way imaginable—sometimes gentle and slow, sometimes desperate and rough, but always filled with love so intense it made your chest ache.
He was careful to always check with you first, to make sure you wanted it, that your body was ready. And you always did. Always wanted him. Craved him with an intensity that should have embarrassed you but instead felt right, natural, like breathing.
But something was changing.
It started small. A heightened awareness of everything around you—the sound of snow falling outside became almost deafening in its clarity, the scent of the pine forests miles away filled your nose like you were standing among the trees, the texture of the sheets against your skin felt overwhelmingly vivid.
Then came the sensitivity.
Your whole body felt like a live wire, every touch magnified tenfold. When Sylus would stroke your hair, you’d gasp at the intensity. When he’d kiss your neck, you’d nearly come apart from just that. And when he’d slide inside you—god, when he’d fill you—the pleasure was so overwhelming you’d sob with it.
“You are so responsive lately,” Sylus had murmured that morning, his voice filled with wonder as you came apart on his cock for the third time. “Even more than before. So sensitive, sweetie. I barely have to touch you and you are trembling.”
You hadn’t understood why. Hadn’t understood any of it.
But then came the itch.
It started on the third day after your first night together. A persistent, maddening itch on your scalp—two specific spots, symmetrical, that no amount of scratching could satisfy. It felt like something was crawling beneath your skin, like your scalp was alive with sensation that had no source.
You were reading by the fire that afternoon when it first hit, your fingers flying to your head instinctively, scratching at the spots with growing frustration.
“Kitten?” Sylus looked up from where he’d been watching you with that soft, adoring expression he always wore. “What is wrong?”
“It’s—” You scratched harder, wincing. “My head. It itches. These two spots, right here—” You pressed your fingers to the spots on your skull, trying to describe it. “I can’t seem to make it stop. It’s like—I don’t know. It’s maddening.”
His brow furrowed with concern as he moved closer, settling beside you. “May I?”
You nodded, leaning toward him gratefully.
His clawed hand came up to your head with careful precision, his fingers finding the spots you’d indicated. And then—oh god—his claws.
He scratched gently, so gently, the tips of his claws dragging across your scalp with perfect pressure. The sensation was incredible—relief flooding through you as the itch began to ease under his careful attention.
A sound escaped you before you could stop it—something between a sigh and a moan of pure relief.
“Better?” he murmured, the corner of his mouth curving upward.
“So much better,” you breathed, your eyes falling half-closed at the sensation. His claws moved in slow, careful circles, scratching with devastating precision. The relief was almost euphoric after the maddening itch.
He continued for several minutes, his touch patient and thorough, until the itch had faded completely. You leaned into his hand like a cat seeking attention, completely lost in the comfort of it.
“Thank you,” you whispered when he finally stopped.
“Anytime, sweetie,” he promised, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
The itch came back that evening. And the next morning. And the next afternoon.
Each time it returned, you’d find Sylus. And each time, without needing to ask, he’d gather you close and use those careful claws to ease the persistent sensation. Sometimes while you sat between his legs, leaning back against his chest while he scratched with gentle, rhythmic strokes. Sometimes while you lay curled against him on the bed, half-asleep, his claws moving through your hair and across those two specific spots with devoted attention.
It became a ritual between you—something intimate and comforting that made you feel cared for in ways that went beyond the physical relief.
“Does it hurt?” he asked one evening as he scratched, his voice quiet with concern.
“Not really,” you murmured, eyes closed. “It’s more like—pressure? And the itch is so intense sometimes I want to tear my own scalp off. But your claws—” You pressed into his touch. “Your claws make it bearable.”
Something flickered in his expression—concern, maybe guilt—but he said nothing, just continued his gentle ministrations.
Along with the itch came the headaches.
They started small. A dull throb behind your eyes that would come and go throughout the day. Manageable at first—you’d press your fingers to your temples and breathe through it, and it would fade after a few minutes.
But they grew worse with each passing day.
By the fifth day, the headaches were lasting longer, hitting harder. You’d be in the middle of reading or cooking or simply sitting by the fire when a sharp spike of pain would lance through your skull, making you gasp and press your hands to your head.
Sylus noticed immediately. Of course he did—he noticed everything about you.
“The headaches are getting worse,” he said one afternoon, his voice carefully neutral but his eyes betraying his worry. It wasn’t a question.
You nodded weakly from where you sat curled in your chair, fingers pressed to your temples. “They’re getting more frequent. And stronger.”
“How bad?” he asked, kneeling before you.
“Bad enough that I want to cry sometimes,” you admitted quietly.
His jaw tightened. He reached for you, pulling you gently from the chair and into his arms with such careful tenderness.
“Come here,” he murmured. “Let me hold you.”
He carried you to the bed—effortlessly, like you weighed nothing—and laid you down with infinite care before settling beside you, pulling you against his chest. His claws found those spots on your skull again, scratching with that gentle, relieving pressure that always eased the tension.
“Better?” he asked softly.
“A little,” you whispered, pressing closer to him. The scratching helped with the itch but did little for the growing headaches.
The pattern continued over the next two days. The itch intensified. The headaches grew sharper, more frequent, lasting longer each time. And Sylus was there through every single moment—scratching when the itch became unbearable, holding you when the headaches hit, carrying you to the bed when the pain made it difficult to stand.
He never once complained. Never once showed impatience. Just held you and comforted you and scratched those spots on your skull with devoted attention, night after night, day after day.
You noticed him watching you sometimes—studying you with a thoughtful, searching expression. Like he was trying to figure something out, trying to piece together a puzzle.
But he said nothing. And you were too consumed by the growing discomfort to ask what he was thinking.
And then came the morning everything changed.
You woke feeling wrong immediately. The itch was back—worse than it had ever been, so intense it felt like your scalp was on fire. And the headache—
The headache was unlike anything you’d experienced before.
It hit you the moment you opened your eyes. A deep, searing, all-consuming pain that radiated from two specific points on your skull and spread outward like cracks in glass. You gasped, your hands flying to your head as tears immediately sprang to your eyes.
“Sylus—” you choked out, barely able to form words through the agony.
He was awake instantly—had he even been sleeping?—and his arms were around you immediately, pulling you close.
“I know,” he murmured, his voice gentle. “I know it hurts, sweetie. I have you.”
“It’s worse,” you sobbed. “It’s so much worse than before—something’s wrong—something’s really wrong—”
“Breathe,” he instructed softly. “Focus on my voice. Focus on breathing.”
But the pain was escalating rapidly, consuming everything. You couldn’t breathe through it, couldn’t think through it, could only sob and cling to him as agony tore through your skull.
“Sylus—please—” you begged through tears. “Make it stop—please—I can’t—”
“Shh,” he murmured, adjusting his position so he could cradle you more comfortably. “I have you. You are safe. I am not going anywhere.”
His claws found those spots on your skull again—scratching gently, trying to ease the sensation even as the pain intensified. But this time the scratching barely helped. The pressure beneath your skin was too intense, too overwhelming for surface relief to make any difference.
You writhed in his arms, whimpering and crying as the pain built and built. Something was happening beneath your skull—you could feel it. Something shifting, something moving, something trying to break through.
“Something’s trying to—” you gasped. “Inside my head—it’s trying to—”
And then Sylus understood.
You saw it happen—saw the moment realization dawned in his burning eyes. His expression shifted from concern to understanding, and something like awe flickered across his features.
“Oh,” he breathed softly. “Oh, sweetie. Oh my precious kitten.”
“What?” you begged through your tears. “What’s happening to me? Please—tell me—”
“You are not dying,” he said first, firmly, as he settled beside you and gathered you back into his arms. “You are safe. I promise you, kitten. You are safe.”
“Then what—” Another spike of pain cut you off and you screamed, your body curling in on itself.
He held you through it, one hand stroking your back in soothing circles while his other hand carefully, gently scratched at those spots on your skull—even though it barely helped anymore, he kept doing it because it was all he could offer.
“You are transforming,” he said softly, his voice infinitely gentle. “Changing. It is a side effect of mating with a dragon. Of being bred by me. Your body is adapting, becoming something more.”
“More?” you whimpered.
“You are growing horns, little kitten,” he explained with such tender care. “Right here—” his fingertips brushed the spots on your skull where the pressure was building, “—can you feel them? Something trying to push through?”
You focused on the sensation through your pain—yes. There. Two points of intense, building pressure, like something was trying to emerge from inside your skull itself.
“It hurts,” you sobbed. The words were so inadequate for the agony consuming you.
“I know,” he murmured, pulling you tighter against his chest. “I know it does, sweetie. I am so sorry. I wish I could take this pain from you. I wish I could spare you this.”
His voice was thick with emotion—guilt, helplessness, anguish at being unable to do anything but hold you through this.
“How long?” you gasped. “How long will it hurt like this?”
“Not much longer now,” he promised, his lips pressed against your hair. “The horns need to break through. Once they do, the pain will fade. I promise. I am here. I have you. You are not alone, kitten. Not for a single second.”
You focused on him—on his warmth, his presence, his steady heartbeat against your back. On his arms holding you safe. On his voice, low and soothing, murmuring words of comfort and love and reassurance.
He was your rock. Through every moment of this, he was your rock.
The pressure continued building for what felt like an eternity. Sylus never let go, never stopped holding you, never stopped scratching those spots with gentle care even though it barely eased the pain anymore. He just held you and breathed with you and loved you through every second of it.
Then the pressure peaked—
And the skin and bone of your skull split.
You screamed at the sharp, overwhelming sensation, at the feeling of something pushing through, emerging from inside your very skull. It felt like being torn apart and remade all at once. Blood trickled down from the two points, warm and wet against your skin.
Sylus held you tighter, his arms a cage of safety around you. “That is it,” he murmured against your hair. “Almost through. You are doing so well, kitten. So brave. So strong. Almost over now. I have you. I have you.”
The pain peaked higher, impossibly higher—and then something broke through completely.
You felt them emerge—two elegant horns, small and curved, rising from your skull like they had always meant to be there. Like they had been waiting inside you all along, just biding their time.
The sharp pain began to fade almost immediately, subsiding to a dull, throbbing ache that was manageable compared to what you’d just endured. You collapsed against Sylus, completely boneless, shaking and exhausted and soaked with sweat and tears.
“It is over,” he murmured, pressing gentle kisses to your face, your neck, your shoulders. “The worst is over, sweetie. You did it. You survived it. I am so proud of you.”
You were shaking in his arms—from exhaustion, from residual pain, from the shock of what had just happened to your body. He held you through it all, patient and steady, letting you cling to him as hard as you needed for as long as you needed.
“Let me see,” he murmured eventually, when your shaking had subsided somewhat. “May I look, kitten?”
You nodded weakly, too exhausted to speak.
He carefully tilted your head back, and his eyes widened. Then they filled with such profound love and awe it took your breath away despite your exhaustion.
“Beautiful,” he breathed reverently. “Kitten, you are so beautiful. Your horns are elegant, delicate and carved. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
He carefully wiped the blood from around the base of your horns with a soft cloth, his touch impossibly gentle. Then he pressed the softest kisses to the horns themselves, and you gasped—they were sensitive, more sensitive than you’d expected. His touch sent tingles cascading down your spine.
“Can you feel that?” he asked, noticing your reaction immediately.
“Yes,” you whispered. “They’re… so sensitive.”
“I will always be careful with them,” he promised, helping you sit up slightly against the pillows.
You reached up with trembling hands to touch them yourself. They were smooth, warm, rising from your skull in gentle, elegant curves. Undeniably real. Undeniably there. Part of you now.
For a long moment, you just sat there in his arms, touching your horns, trying to process what had happened. What you had become.
“I’m not really a princess anymore,” you finally whispered, your voice small and wondering. “Am I?”
Sylus’s arms tightened around you immediately. “You are still a princess,” he said firmly, tilting your face up to meet his burning gaze. “You will always be a princess, sweetie. That is who you were born as, and no transformation changes that.”
“But—”
“But,” he continued gently, “you are becoming something more now. Something beyond just a title given by birth. You are becoming my mate in every sense—body, soul, and now physically marked as such. You are becoming something new. Something stronger. Something uniquely and beautifully yours.”
You touched your horns again, feeling the truth of his words settle deep into your bones. “I chose this,” you said wonderingly. “I chose you. I chose this life, chose freedom, chose love. And now my body is changing to show that choice.”
“Yes,” he agreed softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead just below one of your new horns. “You chose. And this is the physical manifestation of that choice. Of your freedom. Of our bond. Of the love between us.”
You leaned against him, exhausted but strangely peaceful now that the pain had faded. He held you close, one hand stroking your back in soothing patterns while being careful of your new horns.
“Do you—” you hesitated, suddenly vulnerable. “Do you still find me beautiful? Even like this?”
His laugh was soft and incredulous. “Beautiful? Kitten, I am falling even more in love with you seeing you like this. You are breathtaking. Stunning. Every change makes you more perfect to me. More mine.”
Relief flooded through you, warm and sweet like honey. And with that relief came something else.
Awareness.
Your body was pressed against his, and suddenly you were acutely conscious of every point of contact. His chest against yours. His arms around you. His warmth seeping into you. His scent—smoke and spice and something uniquely him—filling your nose with overwhelming intensity.
And that heightened sensitivity you’d been experiencing? It was still there. Even more intense now after the transformation.
Heat began to pool low in your belly, slow but undeniable. Your breathing changed slightly, becoming shallower. You shifted against him, trying to ease the sudden ache between your thighs, and felt him stiffen slightly.
His nose twitched. He inhaled slowly, and you saw his eyes darken, his pupils dilating.
Sylus inhaled deeply—and froze.
You felt his whole body go rigid beneath you, felt every muscle lock tight. His breath caught audibly, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled again, slower this time, more deliberately. Searching. Analyzing.
“Oh,” he breathed, and the single syllable was barely a whisper.
You tilted your head up to look at him, confused by his sudden stillness. His eyes were wide, fixed on nothing, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. Like he was listening to something only he could hear, or in this case—smelling something only he could detect.
“Sylus?” you murmured. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” he said slowly, still distracted, still focused on whatever his senses were telling him. “I just—” He inhaled again, deep and thorough, his nose buried in your hair. “Your scent. It has changed.”
“Changed?” you repeated, curious despite the warmth still pooling lazily in your belly.
“Yes.” His voice was wondering now, reverent almost. “It is stronger. Sweeter. More—” He paused, searching for the right word. “More ripe.”
The word sent a small shiver down your spine.
“Ripe?” you echoed softly.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, and the expression on his face was one of barely concealed awe. “The transformation,” he said carefully, like he was working through this in real time. “It has done more than give you horns, kitten. Your body has changed in other ways too. Ways that are not visible.”
You blinked up at him, fascinated despite your exhaustion. “What do you mean?”
“Your womb,” he said, and his voice dropped lower, softer—like he was sharing something sacred. “It has changed. Reshaped itself. Adapted.”
Your breath caught. “Adapted how?”
“To carry my young,” he said simply, and the quiet certainty in his voice made your heart stutter. “Your body has prepared itself. Made itself ready. More receptive. More fertile than any human woman could ever be.”
You stared at him, your lips parting slightly. “More fertile?” The words felt strange on your tongue—heavy with implication, with possibility. “My body just—did that? On its own?”
“Yes,” he confirmed, his clawed hand coming to rest gently on your abdomen with such tender reverence it made your chest ache. “Without pain. Without you even noticing. While the horns were forming, while your senses were sharpening—your womb was changing too. Quietly. Silently. Making itself the perfect home for our young.”
Something about the way he said it—our young—made heat flood through you like being doused in warm water. Your breath quickened, your skin prickling with sudden awareness.
“So I’m—” you started, eyes widening as a thought struck you. “The times we’ve been together this week. Am I—could I already be—”
Sylus’s expression shifted—something flickered across his features, something hopeful and careful all at once. “I have a feeling,” he admitted quietly, his hand still resting on your abdomen with impossible gentleness. “A strong feeling. But I cannot be certain. Not yet.”
“A feeling?” you breathed, your heart hammering.
“Your scent,” he murmured, inhaling again with obvious reverence. “It does not smell different yet—not in the way it would if conception had already taken hold. But it is close. So close, kitten. Your body is begging to be bred. Every instinct I have is screaming that you are ready. That you were made ready.”
The words hit you like a physical force. Your womb, your body—changed without your knowledge, reshaping itself in the quiet hours to become the perfect vessel for his young. Ready and waiting and aching to be filled in ways that went deeper than just physical pleasure.
“That’s—” You exhaled shakily, your mind racing even as your body responded with increasingly urgent heat. “That’s incredible. My body just—changed itself? To be ready for you? For us?”
“Yes,” he said softly, and the love in his voice was so profound it made your eyes sting. “You are becoming something extraordinary, sweetie. Something beyond what either of us could have imagined.”
You lay there for a moment, processing everything he’d told you. The horns. The heightened senses. The increased strength. And now this—your womb, your fertility, your very biology reshaping itself to accommodate the bond between you.
And then the heat in your belly flared.
It was like someone had poured liquid fire through your veins—sudden and intense and impossible to ignore. The arousal that had been building quietly beneath the surface surged forward with new purpose, new urgency. Your entrance clenched desperately around nothing, a hollow ache that pulsed with every heartbeat.
Sylus inhaled sharply—and you watched his pupils blow wide.
“You are—” His voice came out rough, strained. “Kitten, you smell—” He swallowed hard. “You smell intoxicating. Like everything my body craves.”
“I know,” you whispered, and you could hear the breathiness in your own voice, feel the flush spreading across your skin. “I can feel it. It’s—it’s like a fire, Sylus. Everything you just told me—my body changing, becoming ready—it’s making me want you even more. I didn’t think it was possible. I didn’t think I could want you any more than I already did.”
His jaw clenched. You could see the war happening behind his eyes—desire battling with concern, want fighting with protectiveness.
“Kitten—” His voice was strained, careful. “You just went through a drastic change. Your body needs time to recover. I should not—”
“I know,” you breathed, cutting him off. But you pressed closer to him anyway, unable to help yourself, unable to stop the way your body gravitated toward his like a flower turning toward the sun. “I know, but—but I want you. I want you so much it hurts. And it feels different now. Deeper. Like my body isn’t just wanting you—it’s needing you. Needing you in a way it didn’t before.”
His breathing had grown rougher, his chest rising and falling more rapidly against yours. His cock was already hardening where your bodies pressed together—you could feel it, warm and growing against your thigh.
“You are going to be the death of me, little kitten,” he groaned, his forehead dropping against yours.
You smiled against his lips—a small, desperate, wanting smile—and then turned your face into his neck.
Your lips found the warm skin there and you pressed a kiss to it. Soft. Tentative. Then another, slightly firmer, slightly more desperate. You could feel his pulse beneath your lips—fast, racing, betraying just how affected he truly was.
And then your tongue.
You dragged it slowly along the column of his throat, tasting salt and smoke and something uniquely him. The sound he made—a low, strangled groan that vibrated through his entire body—emboldened you. You licked again, slower this time, savoring the way his muscles tensed beneath your mouth, the way his breath stuttered.
“Kitten—” Your name—your petname—came out wrecked. A warning and a plea all at once.
You ignored it. Pressed open-mouthed kisses along his neck, your tongue tracing the ridges where scales met skin, feeling the heat radiating from him. You nuzzled against him, inhaling his scent deeply, letting it fill your lungs until you were dizzy with it.
His arms tightened around you—his restraint evident in every rigid line of his body, in the way his claws curled carefully at your back, in the way his breathing had become harsh and ragged.
“You need to stop,” he managed, his voice barely controlled. “If you keep doing that I will not be able to—”
But the ache between your thighs had become unbearable now. A desperate, pulsing emptiness that demanded to be filled. Your pussy clenched and unclenched rhythmically, trying to find friction, trying to ease the hollow need that consumed you.
You shifted in his arms—slowly, deliberately—lifting your leg and hooking it around his hip. The movement pressed your wet center against his thigh, and the contact made you gasp, your whole body shuddering at the sensation.
“Oh—” The sound escaped you involuntarily, breathless and broken.
You began to move. Slowly—so slowly—grinding your aching, soaked center against the firm muscle of his thigh. The friction was maddening. Not enough. Never enough. But it eased the desperate ache just slightly, just enough to keep you sane while simultaneously driving you more insane.
Your hips rolled in slow, languid circles, each movement deliberate and needy. You could feel your wetness smearing against him, could feel how desperately your body was seeking relief. Each roll of your hips drew a small, broken sound from your lips—mewls and whimpers that you couldn’t contain, couldn’t control.
“Please,” you breathed against his neck between kisses and licks. “Please, Sylus—”
“Kitten—” His voice was absolutely wrecked now, barely recognizable. You could feel the tremors running through his massive body, could feel how desperately he was holding himself back.
You ground against him again—slower, more desperately—your pussy clenching around nothing even as you sought friction against his thigh. The emptiness was consuming, the need to be filled so acute it bordered on painful.
“I need you,” you whimpered, your lips brushing against his neck with each word. “Need my dragon. Need to be filled. Need—” Another slow, desperate grind. “—need to be bred. Please. Please.”
The word seemed to shatter something inside him.
You felt it—the exact moment his resolve snapped like a bowstring pulled too far. His entire body went taut, every muscle locking, and then his hands were on you—one tangling in your hair, the other gripping your hip with firm possession—and he was pulling you away from his neck.
His mouth crashed against yours.
The kiss was consuming—desperate and passionate and hungry all at once. Not gentle. Not careful. A claiming. His tongue swept past your lips with clear intent, tasting you, owning you, swallowing every desperate sound you made into his mouth. His hand in your hair held you exactly where he wanted you, tilted at the perfect angle for him to kiss you until you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel the fire consuming you both.
You moaned into his mouth—a broken, needy sound—and felt his grip tighten, felt his cock throb hard against you where your bodies pressed together.
He was done holding back.
He pulled back from the kiss just enough to breathe, his forehead pressed against yours, both of you panting. The taste of you still lingered on his tongue from earlier this morning, and the scent of your arousal filled the air between you like something sacred.
“I want to taste you first,” he growled, his voice wrecked and possessive. “Want to feel you come on my tongue before I fill you. Want to worship you properly, kitten.”
His eyes dropped to your body—still wrapped in that soft little nightdress you’d changed into before bed. The thin fabric clung to your curves, riding up slightly at your thighs where you’d been grinding against him moments before. And beneath it—nothing. No underwear. Just warm skin and wet heat and everything he craved.
Something dark flickered in his expression as his gaze traced the hem of the nightdress where it had ridden up your thighs. His breathing deepened.
“This needs to come off,” he murmured, and his voice had dropped to something low and deliberate.
His hands found the hem with careful precision—claws retracting slightly to avoid catching the delicate fabric. He gathered the thin material in his fingers, his knuckles brushing against the bare skin of your thighs as he did. The touch—even that light, incidental contact—made you gasp, made heat surge through you.
He lifted it slowly. Deliberately. His eyes never leaving your body as inch by inch more of your skin was revealed. Over your hips—bare and warm beneath the fabric. Across the soft plane of your stomach. Up over your ribs, the curve of your waist. His gaze tracing every inch as it was uncovered, like he was committing you to memory.
“Arms up, kitten,” he instructed softly.
You obeyed immediately, lifting your arms above your head. He drew the nightdress up and over, pulling it free with practiced ease and tossing it aside without ceremony.
And then you were bare. Completely, utterly bare beneath his burning gaze.
He looked at you—really looked at you—and the expression on his face made your breath catch. His eyes roamed over every inch of exposed skin with undisguised hunger, reverence, and something so tender it made your chest physically ache.
“Perfect,” he breathed. “Every single inch of you. Perfect.”
His hand came up—trembling slightly, you noticed—and traced the line of your collarbone with one careful fingertip. Down between your breasts. Across the soft skin of your stomach. Lower—over the swell of your hip—until his fingertips brushed the inside of your thigh and you whimpered at the sensation.
“So sensitive,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Every touch makes you tremble. Every brush of my fingers makes you gasp.”
He leaned down, pressing his lips to the center of your chest—right above your racing heart. You could feel the warmth of his mouth, the slight scrape of his fangs against your skin as he kissed you there. Then lower—a trail of reverent kisses down your sternum, across the swell of one breast, down the curve of your ribs.
Worshipping you. Every inch. Before he even began.
“Sylus—” you whimpered, squirming beneath him. The ache between your thighs was growing more insistent with every passing second, every kiss, every brush of his lips against your heated skin. “Please—”
“Patience, little kitten,” he murmured against your stomach, pressing another kiss there. “I want to savour every inch of you before I taste you properly.”
His kisses continued their slow descent—across your hip bone, down the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You were trembling beneath him now, your fingers tangling desperately in his silver hair, your hips lifting instinctively seeking contact that he deliberately withheld.
Finally—finally—he settled between your spread thighs.
His breath washed over your soaked center—hot as a forge—and you cried out at just that sensation alone. You were so wet, so desperate, so thoroughly aroused that even the ghost of his breath against you made your entrance clench desperately.
He inhaled deeply—a long, reverent breath—and groaned. “You smell incredible, kitten. Intoxicating. Like everything I have ever wanted.”
His tongue found you without further preamble.
The first stroke made your back arch clean off the bed, a broken cry tearing from your throat. He ate you like you were sacred—like you were the most precious thing he’d ever tasted. His tongue swept through your folds with devastating thoroughness, lapping up your arousal with obvious relish, savoring every drop like the finest delicacy.
“So wet,” he groaned against you, the vibration sending sparks cascading through your entire body. “So ready. Your body is begging to be bred, kitten. I can taste it. Can taste how fertile you are. Even more than before. How perfect. How ripe.”
His tongue found your entrance and pressed inside with sinuous grace—curling and thrusting with devastating precision that made your vision blur. You sobbed his name, your hands tangling desperately in his silver hair, pulling him closer, holding him to you as pleasure built with alarming speed.
“That is it,” he encouraged, his tongue never stopping its devastating rhythm. “Come for me, sweetie. Let me taste your pleasure. Let me feel you fall apart.”
Your first orgasm crashed through you with startling intensity—sharper than before, more consuming, amplified tenfold by your transformation. You screamed his name as your pussy clenched rhythmically around his tongue, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through you until you were trembling and gasping and completely undone.
He didn’t stop.
His tongue gentled only slightly before building again with single-minded purpose. The oversensitivity made every touch feel like lightning striking, made you writhe and whimper and sob beneath him.
“Again,” he rumbled against you with clear intent. “I want to feel you come again, little one. Want to taste more of you. Want to feel your perfect little pussy pulse around my tongue.”
“It’s—too sensitive—” you whimpered weakly, even as your hips lifted of their own accord, seeking more contact despite your protests.
“You can take it,” he promised with absolute certainty, his tongue circling your clit with devastating precision. “Your body wants this. Wants to come for me again and again. Let go, kitten. Let me have you.”
His tongue focused on your clit with ruthless accuracy—circling, flicking, pressing with perfect pressure. Then his tongue slipped back inside curling against that spot that made you see stars—
Your second orgasm tore through you even harder than the first. You cried out so loudly your voice cracked, your whole body convulsing as pleasure consumed you entirely. Tears streamed freely down your face, overwhelmed by sensation, by need, by the sheer devastating intensity of everything your transformed body was feeling.
He worked you through every aftershock with devoted patience—his tongue gentling to soft, reverent licks as the tremors slowly subsided.
Finally, he withdrew—pressing one last lingering kiss to your inner thigh before rising up on his knees between your spread legs.
His eyes were absolutely wild. Pupils blown so wide the red was barely visible around the edges, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. His cock was straining against him, thick and hard and leaking copiously down its length.
“I want you like this,” he said, his voice rough with need but certain. “Want to look at your face while I claim you. Want to see your eyes while I breed you. Want to watch every expression while I fill you.”
But you were already shaking your head desperately, already shifting on the bed, already consumed by a need that went deeper than thought.
“No—” you whimpered, your voice wrecked and breathless. You lifted your hips—raising them instinctively, desperately off the bed as you reached for him with trembling hands. “Behind—please—I need you to fuck me from behind—please, Sylus—”
You lifted your hips higher, rocking them slightly in the air as you begged. Your pussy was clenching visibly, desperately, wetness glistening between your spread thighs. Everything about your body language screamed need—raw, primal, consuming need to be taken from behind, to be mounted, to be bred.
“Please,” you begged again, your voice breaking with desperation. “Please please please—from behind—I need you to breed me from behind—need to feel you so deep—please—my dragon—please—”
Something shifted in his expression.
Something dark and hungry and possessive flickered behind his burning eyes—satisfaction at your begging, at your desperate need, at the way you lifted your hips and offered yourself so willingly.
And then he moved.
His hands found your waist—firm, commanding, unyielding—and in one fluid motion he flipped you over. Not gently. Not carefully. With a decisive, possessive force that stole your breath entirely and made your heart race with a thrill that went straight to your core.
A growl rumbled from deep in his chest as he maneuvered you—low and primal and possessive, vibrating through the air like thunder. The sound made your pussy clench desperately, made heat flood through you in a rush.
Before you could fully process the movement, his hands were on you again—gripping your hips and pulling you up onto your hands and knees with commanding strength. Your palms pressed against the mattress, your knees finding purchase, your body trembling in this position.
Exposed. Vulnerable. Completely at his mercy.
His hands found your thighs—gripping the soft flesh firmly—and spread them apart. Wider. Wider still. Until you felt completely open, completely displayed, every wet, desperate inch of you visible to his burning gaze from behind.
You heard his breath catch.
Your pussy was clenching visibly—rhythmic, desperate pulses around nothing. Wetness glistened between your thighs, slick and abundant, trailing down in thin rivulets from how desperately aroused you were. Your pussy fluttered and twitched with each passing second, aching to be filled with a need so obvious it was almost painful to witness.
“Beautiful,” Sylus breathed, and you could hear the reverence in his voice even as hunger threatened to consume it entirely.
Then you felt the shift.
The air around you changed—grew warmer, charged with something ancient and powerful. You heard the rustle of expanding wings, felt the bed creak and groan beneath suddenly much greater weight. When you glanced back over your shoulder, Sylus had shifted fully into his dragon form—massive and magnificent and utterly overwhelming.
And his cock—
Oh god, his cock.
It was enormous and so beautiful. So very thick, ridged and textured and pulsing with visible veins that throbbed with each heartbeat. The head was broad and blunt, dark and glistening, and even from this angle you could see the steady stream of clear pre cum leaking from the tip in thick, continuous rivulets.
So much of it. More than seemed possible. It dripped and pooled, running down the length of him in slow, viscous trails.
You whimpered at the sight—a small, broken sound of both want and intimidation. You couldn't wait until he was inside you, cumming inside and stretching your tiny hole to its limit.
He moved closer, positioning himself behind you with careful deliberation. You felt the heat of him first—radiating from his massive body like standing near a furnace. Then the warmth of his breath washing over your exposed center as he leaned down, inhaling deeply.
“Perfect,” he groaned. “So ripe. So ready. So mine.”
Then he straightened again, and you felt it—the broad, blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance.
But he didn’t push inside.
He just held it there. Pressed firmly against your fluttering opening, applying enough pressure that you could feel the weight of him, the heat of him, the impossibly thick promise of him—without breaching you.
And the pre cum.
It leaked steadily from the tip, pooling against your entrance before slowly, inevitably sliding inside. Not his cock—just the warm, thick fluid, easing past your tight ring of muscle in slow, continuous streams. You gasped at the sensation—the heat of it, the intimacy of it, the way it filled you just slightly, just enough to coat your walls and ease the desperate aching emptiness.
More and more leaked inside you. Slow and relentless and deliberate. A taste—just a taste—of what was to come. Of everything he was about to give you.
“Oh—oh god—” you whimpered, your entrance clenching around the steady stream of pre cum. It felt incredible—warm and slick and alive with his essence. Your body welcomed it eagerly, desperately, your pussy pulsing around the sensation like it was trying to draw more inside.
“That is just the beginning, little kitten,” he rumbled, his voice pure dragon now—deep and ancient and vibrating through every cell of your body. “Just a taste of what I am going to give you. Going to fill you so full. So full of my seed. So full of me.”
“Please,” you sobbed into the pillows, your hips trembling, your entrance fluttering desperately around the flow of his pre cum. “Please—I need you inside me—need more—please—”
“More?” Another thick stream of pre cum slid inside you and you cried out. “More of what, kitty? Tell me.”
“More of you,” you begged, your voice breaking with desperate need. “All of you. Please—I can’t—I need you to fill me—breed me—please—”
He groaned—a deep, rumbling sound that shook the air—and pressed forward.
So slowly.
Agonizingly slowly.
The blunt head began to ease inside you inch by devastating inch, stretching you open with inexorable patience. The pre cum that had been pooling inside you eased the way—slick and warm and abundant—but the stretch was still intense, still overwhelming. Your entrance burned with the effort of accommodating him, forced wide to take him.
“Oh—oh—” Broken sounds escaped you with each fraction of an inch. Your hands fisted desperately in the sheets, your knuckles white, your whole body trembling.
He paused when he was halfway inside—just the thick crown and a few inches of his shaft buried in your tight heat—and you felt him throb. Felt his cock pulse against your inner walls, felt more pre cum flood inside you in a hot rush.
“So big,” you gasped, tears pricking at your eyes. “You’re so big—so massive—”
“And you are taking me so beautifully,” he praised, his voice rough with barely restrained need. “Such a perfect little pussy. So tight. Squeezing me so well.”
Your pussy clenched around him desperately, trying to adjust, trying to accommodate his impossible size. The walls of your pussy trembled and fluttered around his cock, struggling with the stretch even as your body desperately tried to pull him deeper.
“More,” you whimpered, surprising yourself with the words even as they left your lips. “I need more of your cum—please—I can feel it—it feels so good—”
As if responding to your plea, his cock pulsed again and another thick wave of pre cum flooded your insides. You moaned at the sensation—the warmth of it spreading through you, coating your walls, mixing with your own wetness in a slick, heated combination.
“Greedy little kitten,” he groaned with evident pleasure. “Wanting more of my pre cum. Wanting to be filled before I even breed you properly. So hungry for me.”
“Please—” you sobbed. “Please—all of you—I want all of you inside me—”
With an animalistic groan that rumbled from somewhere deep in his massive chest—a sound so primal it made the very air vibrate—he thrust the rest of the way inside in one smooth, powerful stroke.
You screamed.
The fullness was indescribable—consuming, overwhelming, everything. He filled you completely, stretching you so wide it bordered on too much, his thick cock buried so deep you could feel him in places you didn’t know could be touched. Every ridge, every bump of his draconic cock pressed against your sensitive walls simultaneously.
He held still—completely, perfectly still—buried to the hilt inside you. Letting you feel every inch. Letting your body adjust to the invasion.
And then his head lowered.
His tongue—warm and wet and impossibly gentle—traced along the curve of your neck. Slow, reverent licks that contrasted beautifully with the intensity of being so thoroughly filled. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, your spine, the sensitive skin behind your ear.
“So perfect,” he murmured between kisses and licks, his breath hot against your skin. “My beautiful kitten. Taking all of me so perfectly. So brave. So strong.”
You whimpered beneath him, your body trembling as it adjusted around his massive cock. Each small movement sent waves of sensation through you—the stretch, the fullness, the intimacy of being so completely claimed.
His tongue continued its worship—licking along your neck, tasting the salt of your tears and sweat, pressing reverent kisses to every inch of skin he could reach. The contrast between the gentleness of his mouth and the overwhelming fullness inside you made your heart ache with love so intense it was almost painful.
Minutes passed. Or maybe longer. Time meant nothing while he held you like that—buried inside you, kissing and licking your neck with devoted attention, letting your body slowly, gradually adjust around him.
Then he straightened.
You felt his hands move—one finding your hip, the other sliding down to your bottom. And then his claws—careful but firm—gripped the soft flesh of your ass cheeks and spread them apart.
Wide.
You whimpered at the sudden exposure, at the vulnerability of the position. You could feel the cool air against the place where you were joined, could feel how stretched you were around him, could feel the obscene wetness gathered there—your arousal and his pre cum mixed together in thick, slick abundance.
And Sylus was watching.
You could feel his gaze on you—burning and possessive and absolutely transfixed. Watching where his massive cock disappeared inside your tiny, stretched entrance. Watching the way your pussy trembled and clenched around him, still trying desperately to adjust, still struggling with his impossible size.
“Look at you,” he breathed, and his voice was thick with awe and hunger and something deeper—something almost reverent. “Look at your pretty little pussy trying to take me. Trying so hard to adjust. Trying to accommodate every inch of my cock.”
Your pussy pulsed and fluttered around him—involuntary, desperate movements as your body worked to stretch and accommodate. Each clench drew a low groan from him, each flutter made his cock throb inside you.
“You will never fully adjust to my size,” he observed, and there was dark satisfaction in his tone. “Will you, kitten? My cock will always be too big for your tiny little pussy. Will always stretch you. Will always fill you beyond what your body was designed to hold.”
You could only whimper in response, overwhelmed by the truth of his words and the sensation of him throbbing inside you.
Then his gaze dropped lower—to where you were joined—and you heard his breath catch.
A white ring had formed at the base of his cock where it disappeared inside you. Thick and visible—a mixture of your wetness and his abundant pre cum, creamy and slick, coating the place where your bodies connected. Evidence of everything he’d already given you. Evidence of how thoroughly your body was responding to him.
“Beautiful,” he groaned, his grip on your ass cheeks tightening. “Can see exactly how wet you are. Can see my pre cum mixed with your arousal. Can see how perfectly your body is responding to me. How ready you are to be bred.”
His hips shifted—just slightly, just enough to test the sensation—and you cried out at the movement inside you.
And then he began to move.
Not slow this time. Not careful. Not the agonizing patience of before.
This was something else entirely.
His first thrust was deep and firm and powerful—hitting places inside you that made your vision white out. A punishing rhythm that was rough but filled with heat, with passion, with a love so fierce it consumed everything in its path.
“Yes,” he growled as he fucked into you with devastating force. “Take it. Take everything I give you, little kitten. Take my cock. Take my seed. Take all of me.”
Each thrust drove the air from your lungs, each one hit that devastating spot inside you with unerring accuracy. The sounds filling the room were obscene and intoxicating—wet, slick noises of skin against skin, your desperate cries, his animalistic groans, the creak of the bed beneath you both.
His claws stayed on your ass—holding you spread open, watching where he disappeared inside you with each thrust. Watching your tiny pussy stretch and clench around him. Watching that white ring of mixed wetness grow thicker with each stroke.
“My perfect little pussy,” he growled between thrusts. “Taking my cock so well. Being bred so perfectly. You’re all mine.”
His tongue found your neck again—licking and tasting between thrusts, pressing hot kisses to your skin even as his hips drove into you with passionate ferocity. The combination of his rough thrusts and the tender worship of his mouth on your neck made tears stream down your face—overwhelmed by pleasure and love and the sheer consuming intensity of being claimed by your dragon.
“Sylus—” you sobbed his name like a prayer. “Sylus—please—”
“I have you,” he rumbled against your neck. “I have you, kitten. Going to breed you so thoroughly. Going to fill you up. Going to make you mine in every possible way.”
The pleasure was building—enormous and inevitable, coiling tighter and tighter with each devastating thrust. Your pussy clenched around him rhythmically, trying desperately to milk him, to draw him deeper, to hold him inside where he belonged.
And through it all—through the roughness, through the passion, through the primal claiming—you felt it. Beneath every thrust, beneath every growl, beneath every possessive grip of his claws—
Love. Pure, consuming, all-encompassing love.
He fucked you like he wanted to consume you entirely.
Each thrust was deep and powerful and precise—hitting that devastating spot inside you with unerring accuracy that had you screaming into the pillows. The sound of skin against skin filled the room—obscene and intoxicating—mixed with your desperate cries and his animalistic groans and the wet, slick sounds of him moving inside you.
His claws kept your ass spread wide, held you open so he could watch every single inch of where you were joined. Watch your tiny entrance stretch and clench around his massive cock with each thrust. Watch that white ring of mixed wetness grow thicker and thicker. Watch your body take everything he gave you.
“So good,” he growled, his pace relentless. “Your pussy feels so good around my cock, kitten. So tight. So wet. So perfect.”
Your arms were trembling beneath you, your face pressed into the pillows, muffled cries escaping with each powerful thrust. The pleasure was building in waves—each one bigger than the last, each one more consuming than before. Your transformed body felt everything with amplified intensity—every ridge of his cock, every brush against your sensitive walls, every pulse of pre cum that continued to leak inside you.
“Sylus—” you sobbed. “Sylus—I can’t—it’s too much—”
“You can,” he promised, his tongue finding your neck again—licking a slow stripe up your spine that made you shiver violently. “You can take it. Take everything I give you. Your body was made for this. Made for me.”
He shifted his angle slightly—tilting his hips—and suddenly every thrust was hitting deeper, harder, more devastating than before. You screamed—actually screamed—at the intensity, your whole body jerking forward with each stroke.
“There,” he growled with dark satisfaction. “That is the spot. Going to keep hitting it, kitten. Going to keep making you scream.”
And he did.
Thrust after thrust after thrust—relentless and consuming and impossibly deep. Your pussy clenched around him desperately, rhythmically, your inner walls trembling and pulsing around his cock. The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly—wound so tight it almost hurt, building toward something massive and inevitable.
“Going to come,” you gasped, barely coherent. “Sylus—I’m going to—”
“Yes,” he rumbled with obvious satisfaction. “Come for me, kitten. Come on my cock. Let me feel your pretty little pussy milk me.”
One more devastating thrust and you shattered.
Your orgasm tore through you like wildfire consuming everything in its path. You screamed his name until your voice broke, your whole body convulsing violently as pleasure crashed through you in relentless waves. Your pussy clenched so hard around his cock it almost hurt—rhythmic, desperate pulses that tried desperately to pull him deeper, to hold him inside where he belonged.
“Yes,” Sylus groaned, his hips never faltering, never slowing. “That is it. So perfect.”
He fucked you through your entire orgasm—every single devastating wave of it—his pace never wavering, never easing. If anything he fucked you harder, deeper, chasing something of his own while drawing out every last tremor of your pleasure.
You collapsed forward onto the pillows, boneless and trembling, barely able to hold yourself up. But he wasn’t finished with you.
Not even close.
His thrusts grew harder. Faster. More desperate. More primal. The rhythm shifted from controlled to something hungrier—something that bordered on feral. His grip on your ass tightened, pulling you back onto his cock with each thrust, meeting you halfway, burying himself impossibly deeper with each stroke.
“Fuck,” he groaned, and his voice was wrecked—barely recognizable, consumed by need. “Your pussy—kitten—you feel incredible—cannot stop—need to—”
His thrusts became punishing. Hard and fast and deep—each one driving the air from your lungs, each one making you cry out with the overwhelming force of it. The sounds filling the room were obscene—the wet, slapping rhythm of skin against skin growing louder, faster, more desperate.
You could feel it building in him. Could feel his cock swelling, growing thicker, the base beginning to swell with inevitable purpose. His thrusts were growing more erratic now—less rhythm, more desperate need. His claws dug into your ass cheeks, holding you spread, holding you still as he drove into you with single-minded ferocity.
“Going to—” he growled, and his voice was barely human now—raw and primal and consuming. “Kitten—I am going to—”
His hips snapped forward one final time—burying himself as deep as physically possible—and held.
You felt his knot slide inside you.
The stretch was enormous—sudden and intense and consuming, forcing your entrance wider than it had ever been forced. You screamed as it popped past your entrance and locked firmly in place, sealing him inside you completely.
And then he came.
Not just a release. Not just an orgasm.
His cum was flooding inside you.
The first pulse hit your cervix like liquid fire—hot and thick and impossibly forceful. You gasped, your whole body jerking, as wave after wave of his seed flooded inside you with devastating volume. It was endless—pulse after pulse after pulse, each one more than the last, each one filling you fuller and fuller.
“Mine,” he roared, and the sound shook the very walls. “My kitten. My mate. Mine.”
His hips kept moving—small, shallow, desperate ruts that pressed his cock deeper with each micro-thrust. Not fucking you in the traditional sense—rutting. Primal and instinctual and completely beyond his control. Each rut pushed more of his seed deeper inside you, pressed his cock more firmly against your cervix, pumped more and more of his cum into your womb.
You could feel it—could feel the seed flooding past your cervix, filling your womb with warm, thick heat. So much of it. More than you thought possible. More than your body could hold—and yet it kept coming, kept flooding inside you in relentless pulses as he rutted against you.
“Oh—oh god—” you sobbed into the pillows, overwhelmed by the sensation of being filled so thoroughly, so deeply. Your belly was distending with the sheer volume of it, swollen and tight with his seed.
His rutting continued—slow, rhythmic, possessive—even as his release began to subside. His cock still throbbed inside you, still pulsing with smaller waves of cum that leaked deep inside you in steady streams. Each pulse made you clench around him, made you whimper and mewl into the pillows.
And then something shifted inside you.
The sensation of his cum—so much of it, pressed so deep against your cervix, flooding your womb—triggered something primal in your transformed body. Something new. Something that hadn’t existed before the transformation.
Your pussy clenched hard around him—involuntarily, desperately—and pleasure crashed through you without warning.
You came again.
Not from his thrusts. Not from friction. From the sheer overwhelming sensation of being bred so thoroughly, of feeling his seed flood your womb, of your body responding to the mating with everything it had.
You cried out—a broken, shattered sound—as another orgasm ripped through you. Your whole body convulsed, your pussy pulsing rhythmically around his still-knotted cock, milking him even as he continued to pump seed inside you.
“Yes,” Sylus groaned, and you could hear the awe in his voice, the reverent satisfaction. “Feel you coming again. Feel your perfect little pussy milking me. Taking my seed and my cock so well.”
He moaned as you clenched around him—actually moaned—a deep, satisfied sound that vibrated through his entire body and into yours. His hips continued their slow, lazy rutting, pressing his cock deeper with each movement, drawing out every last drop of cum and pushing it deep inside where it belonged.
“So good,” he groaned, his forehead dropping against the back of your neck. “You feel so good around me, kitten. Your tight little pussy clenching on my cock. Taking everything I am giving you. Perfect. So perfect.”
You lay there, trembling and sobbing softly, completely consumed by sensation. His knot kept you locked together—sealed, connected, bred. His cock throbbed inside you with each fading pulse of his orgasm. His cum filled you so thoroughly you could feel the weight of it, the warmth of it spreading through your entire body.
Minutes passed. Maybe longer. Neither of you moved—couldn’t move. Just stayed locked together, breathing together, existing together in this moment of primal, consuming connection.
Slowly—so slowly—you felt his knot begin to deflate.
The swelling eased gradually, inch by inch, until finally—after what felt like an eternity—it slipped free of your entrance with a wet, obscene sound.
The sensation was overwhelming—his thick cock withdrawing inch by devastating inch, dragging against your oversensitive walls with a friction that made you sob. Every ridge, every bump, every textured inch of him pulled free with agonizing slowness until finally—with one last wet, obscene sound—he was completely out of you.
The emptiness hit you like a physical blow.
Your pussy clenched desperately around nothing—rhythmic, involuntary pulses that you couldn’t control, couldn’t stop. Like your body was trying to pull him back inside on its own, refusing to accept that he was gone. Thick streams of his cum began to leak from you immediately—too much to stay inside, spilling down your thighs in warm rivulets that pooled beneath you on the sheets.
You whimpered—a small, broken sound of loss.
Behind you, Sylus stilled completely.
You heard his breath catch. Heard the sharp intake of air through his nostrils as his gaze fixed on you—on the way your entrance pulsed and clenched around nothing, desperate and empty and aching. On the way his cum leaked from you in thick, continuous streams. On the way your body trembled with the need to be filled again.
A low moan escaped him—deep and rumbling and utterly undone. Not a growl. Not a groan. A moan—raw and reverent and consumed by want at the sight of you like this.
You felt his hands move—one large, warm palm sliding up the curve of your ass with reverent slowness. His claws traced lazy patterns across your skin, caressing you with a tenderness that contrasted beautifully with the primal hunger you could feel radiating from him.
Then both his claws found your ass cheeks.
He gripped you firmly—possessively—and spread them apart.
Wide.
The cool air hit the place where you were dripping, and you shivered. But you could feel his gaze on you—burning and transfixed and absolutely consuming. Watching your entrance clench and pulse around nothing. Watching his cum leak from you in slow, thick rivulets. Watching your tiny, used pussy desperately trying to find something to clench around.
The silence stretched—heavy and charged—as he watched. Just watched. His thumbs pressed into the soft flesh of your cheeks, holding you spread open for his inspection with firm possession.
Then—
A growl.
Deep and primal and hungry—rumbling from somewhere ancient inside his chest. It vibrated through the air, through the bed, through your very bones. The sound made your pussy clench harder, made more wetness flood from you, made your whole body shudder with desperate need.
You felt his cock press against your entrance before you even registered him moving.
Not inside. Not yet. Just there—the broad, blunt head resting against your fluttering opening, hot and thick and throbbing with renewed need. You could feel how hard he still was—impossibly hard, like he hadn’t just come hard enough to flood your womb.
“Please,” you whispered into the pillows, your voice wrecked and barely audible. “Please—don’t stop—I need—”
He began to slide inside.
So slowly.
Agonizingly, torturously slowly—like he wanted to savour every single inch, wanted to feel every desperate clench of your oversensitive walls around him as he filled you again. The cum—still leaking steadily—eased the way, but the stretch was still intense, still consuming, your body still trembling with the effort of accommodating him even after everything.
“Oh—” The sound escaped you involuntarily as the head slipped past your entrance. Your walls clenched around him desperately, welcoming him back, trying to pull him deeper.
He moved another inch. Then paused.
You whined and mewled.
It was involuntary—a high, desperate sound that escaped before you could stop it. Your hips shifted restlessly, trying to push back against him, trying to take more, trying to ease the aching emptiness that still consumed you despite the inches of him already inside you.
“More?” he murmured, and you could hear the dark amusement threading through the strain in his voice. “Impatient little kitten.”
“Please,” you mewled, pressing your face harder into the pillows. “Please—more—need more—can’t wait—please—”
Another inch. Slow. Deliberate. Torturous.
You whimpered—broken and desperate—your hips rocking back against him with increasing urgency. Your pussy pulsed around his cock in rhythmic waves, clenching and releasing, trying desperately to draw him deeper on its own.
“Please, Sylus—please—” You were babbling now, words tumbling from your lips without thought or shame. “I need you—need all of you—can’t—I can’t wait anymore—please please please—”
Your mewling and whimpering filled the room—needy, desperate sounds that seemed to drive something primal inside him. You could feel it—the shift in his energy, the way his breathing roughened, the way his grip on your ass tightened.
And then—with a low, satisfied growl—he thrust the rest of the way inside in one fluid, devastating stroke.
You cried out.
The sudden fullness after that agonizing, slow build was overwhelming—consuming—every nerve ending firing at once as he buried himself completely inside your oversensitive body. Your walls clenched around him so hard it almost hurt, squeezing and pulsing and tightening desperately around his massive cock.
“There it is,” he groaned, his voice thick with satisfaction. “There is my greedy little kitten. Wanted it faster, did you? Wanted all of me right now?”
He didn’t wait for a response.
He began to move—and from the very first thrust, the pace was hard.
Deep, punishing strokes that drove the air from your lungs with each one. Your tiny pussy struggled to keep up—pulsing and tightening and clenching around him with each thrust as your body desperately tried to accommodate his size all over again. It never got easier. It never would.
And the faster he moved, the harder he thrust.
Each stroke built on the last—deeper, harder, faster—like he was chasing something, consuming something, claiming you over and over and over again. The rhythm escalated with breathtaking speed, going from deep and powerful to brutal and relentless in the span of minutes.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his hips snapping forward with devastating force. “Your tight little pussy—kitten—feels so fucking good—”
You could only mewl in response—small, broken sounds that escaped with each thrust. Your pussy pulsed around him constantly—tightening, squeezing, clenching in desperate waves that you had absolutely no control over. Each clench drew a groan from him, each squeeze made his cock throb inside you.
His hands stayed on your ass—holding you spread, watching where he disappeared inside you with each brutal thrust. Watching your pussy stretch and struggle around his massive cock. Watching the white ring of mixed wetness grow thicker and thicker with each stroke. Watching your body take everything he gave you and beg for more.
He growled, his pace never faltering. “Your pretty little pussy is always too tight. Always too tiny. Always struggling to take me.”
You whimpered—high and desperate—as another wave of pleasure crashed through you without warning. Not a full orgasm—not yet—but aftershocks of sensation that made your whole body tremble and shake beneath him.
“That is it,” he encouraged, his tongue finding your neck—licking a slow, reverent stripe up your spine that made you cry out. “Feel everything, kitten. Feel how perfectly we fit together. Feel how your body was made for me.”
The hours bled together.
Time lost all meaning beneath him.
He fucked you like he could do it forever—like he had all the time in the world and intended to use every second of it claiming you. The pace shifted and changed in waves—sometimes brutal and fast, driving you toward the edge with devastating efficiency. Sometimes slower, deeper, more consuming—savoring every clench, every pulse, desperate sound you made.
And each time—each time—you came apart.
The rest of the night was a blur of sensation and love and consuming, all-encompassing pleasure.
You lost track of how many times he moved you—repositioned you—claimed you in entirely new ways.
On your back, your legs wrapped around his waist as he drove into you with devastating force, his forehead pressed against yours, breathing each other’s air. His eyes never left yours—burning red locked onto yours with such intensity it stole your breath. Each thrust was powerful but his hands on your face were impossibly gentle, cradling you like something precious even as his hips moved with consuming need.
“Beautiful,” he breathed between kisses. “So beautiful, kitten.”
On your side, his massive body curled around yours from behind—intimate and consuming. One of his hands intertwined with yours, pressing your joined fingers against the mattress as he moved inside you with slow, deep rolls of his hips. His lips pressed against the back of your neck, murmuring words of love and devotion that made tears slip silently down your cheeks. This was not fucking. This was worship. Pure, unhurried, consuming worship.
“I love you,” he whispered against your skin, each word punctuated by a slow, deep thrust that made you gasp. “I love you so much it terrifies me. Before you, I did not know love could feel like this.”
Then the mood would shift—like a tide changing—and suddenly his hands were firmer, his pace harder, his growls deeper. He lifted you effortlessly—your back pressed against the wall of the tower—and fucked you with brutal intensity that made the ancient stones tremble. Your legs wrapped desperately around his waist, your arms clinging to his shoulders as pleasure tore through you in blinding waves. His mouth found yours in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and desperate hunger.
“Mine,” he growled against your lips. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”
And you were. Completely. Irrevocably.
He laid you on the edge of the bed—your upper body draped over the mattress, your legs dangling—and took you from behind with a pace that stole every coherent thought from your mind. His hands gripped your waist, your hips, your shoulders—holding you exactly where he wanted you as he drove into you again and again. The angle was different, deeper somehow, hitting places inside you that made you scream into the sheets.
Then—without warning—he stopped. Withdrew completely. And when you whimpered at the loss, confused and desperate, he scooped you up into his arms like you weighed nothing at all.
He carried you back to the bed. Laid you down with such careful, tender reverence that your heart clenched painfully in your chest. He settled over you—above you—and for a long moment simply looked at you. His burning red eyes traced every inch of your face with such open, unguarded adoration that it took your breath away.
“My princess,” he murmured, and the way he said it—like it was the most sacred word in any language—made fresh tears spill down your temples.
He entered you so slowly that time itself seemed to stretch. Inch by devastating inch, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with yours. When he was fully seated inside you, he simply held still—buried completely—and kissed you. Not desperately. Not hungrily. Softly. Tenderly. Like he had all the time in the world and wanted to spend this particular moment simply existing with you.
His hips moved in slow, deep undulations—waves rather than thrusts—each one building pleasure so gradually it felt like warmth blooming through your entire body. His claws explored you with unhurried devotion—tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts, the elegant lines of your new horns. Memorizing you. Committing every inch to his eternal memory.
“I could do this forever,” he whispered against your lips, and you believed him completely.
You came like that—softly, gently—a warmth that spread through your entire body like sunlight breaking through clouds. No screaming. No convulsing. Just a quiet, consuming wave of pleasure that made you sigh his name against his mouth and feel your heart expand until it ached.
He followed moments later—buried deep, his forehead pressed to yours, a low, reverent moan escaping his lips as he spilled inside you. Not with violence or force. With tenderness. With love so profound it seemed to fill the entire room, the entire tower, the entire world.
Then there was the last time.
Dawn was beginning to lighten the sky outside—pale gold and soft pink bleeding through the tall windows—when he pulled you into his lap. You straddled him, your knees pressed against the mattress on either side of his hips, your arms draped around his neck. He was in his hybrid form—warm and solid and safe beneath you—the gem in his chest pulsing softly with contentment.
He held your hips with gentle claws, guiding you as you sank down onto him—slowly, so slowly—taking him inch by inch with quiet sighs and soft gasps. His eyes never left yours. Watched every flicker of expression cross your face with devoted attention.
You moved together in a rhythm that felt ancient—unhurried and deeply intimate. Your hands tangled in his silver hair as you rocked against him, your foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air. His claws roamed your back, your waist, drawing you impossibly closer with each slow roll of your hips.
“Kitten,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. His claws rested against your abdomen—careful and reverent, the tips of them so gentle against the slight swell there, warm and impossibly tender.
You looked down at his hands. At the way they rested against you with such careful hope.
“I cannot wait,” he breathed, and his voice was thick with emotion—raw and vulnerable in a way you had rarely heard from him. His claws rested against the slight swell of your abdomen—careful, reverent, trembling ever so slightly with the weight of his hope. His burning eyes lifted to meet yours, and in them you saw everything. Every hope. Every dream. Every desperate wish he carried in his ancient heart. “Cannot wait to see you grow with our child. Cannot wait to feel our young moving inside you. Cannot wait to hold the proof of our love in my arms.”
Tears slipped silently down your cheeks—not from sadness, not from pain, but from the sheer, overwhelming weight of his love. Of this moment. Of everything you had become together.
You leaned down and pressed your lips to his—soft and slow and filled with every ounce of love you possessed.
“Soon,” you whispered against his mouth. “Soon, my dragon.”
His arms wrapped around you—pulling you flush against his chest, his face buried in the curve of your neck. You felt his wings unfurl behind you both—wrapping around you in a warm, protective cocoon that blocked out the rest of the world entirely.
And there, wrapped in his wings as dawn painted the sky in gold, you held each other in the quiet aftermath of a night that had changed everything.
Two hearts beating as one.
A princess who had chosen freedom.
A dragon who had finally found his home.
And somewhere—deep inside you, in the quiet warmth of your changed womb—there was a promise. A promise of new life, waiting to bloom. Waiting to become real. Waiting to be the living proof of a love that had defied kingdoms, fate, and everything the world had tried to keep from you.
⋆°.☾⋆. 𓆩 𓆪 ೃ࿔*:⋆
It happened four days after the horns.
You were curled up by the fire, wrapped in one of Sylus’s furs, reading peacefully while he dozed in his hybrid form beside you—one wing draped loosely over your shoulders like a living blanket. The evening light filtered softly through the windows, painting everything in warm amber.
Everything felt normal. Peaceful. Safe.
And then you felt it.
A strange tingling sensation at the base of your spine—not painful exactly, but odd. Persistent. Like something was waking up inside you that had been sleeping for a very long time.
You shifted slightly, frowning, and set your book down.
The tingling intensified—spreading, building—and then came the pressure. Similar to the horns but different somehow. Lower. More insistent. Less painful but deeply, strangely consuming.
“Sylus,” you murmured, reaching out to touch his arm. “Something’s happening again.”
He was awake instantly—alert in the way only a predator could be—his eyes snapping open with immediate focus. His gaze found yours and whatever he saw in your expression made him sit up immediately, shifting to face you fully.
“What is it?” His voice was calm but his eyes were searching, scanning you with obvious concern. “Are you in pain?”
“Not really,” you said, shifting uncomfortably. The pressure at the base of your spine was building—not sharp like the horns had been, but deep and consuming, like something was slowly unfurling. “It’s at my—” You gestured vaguely toward your lower back. “It’s like something is trying to—”
Sylus’s eyes widened with sudden understanding.
“Oh,” he breathed softly. And then—unlike with the horns where he’d been confused—a smile spread across his face. Soft and wondering and filled with such tender awe it made your heart flutter.
“What?” you asked, a hint of panic creeping into your voice. “What is it this time?”
“Your tail, kitten,” he said gently, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face with careful tenderness. “You are growing a tail.”
You stared at him. “A—a tail?”
“Yes.” His smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners with obvious delight. “A beautiful dragon tail. Just like the rest of you—perfect and elegant and entirely yours.”
The pressure built stronger and you whimpered slightly, shifting onto your hands and knees instinctively. The sensation wasn’t painful—not like the horns—but it was intense. Strange. Like something vital was being added to your body, like a part of you that had always been missing was finally arriving.
Sylus moved beside you immediately, his hand finding the base of your spine with gentle warmth. His palm pressed there—steady and grounding—and you focused on his touch as the sensation intensified.
“I have you,” he murmured softly. “Breathe, sweetie. It will not hurt like the horns did. I promise.”
And he was right.
It was uncomfortable—stretching, pulling, an odd sensation of something emerging that was entirely foreign—but not painful. More like a deep stretch after holding a position for too long. Relief mixed with intensity as something broke through the skin at the base of your spine and began to extend outward.
You gasped—not in pain but in shock—as you felt it. A new appendage. Yours. Warm and alive and connected to you in a way that felt as natural as breathing.
It grew slowly—inch by inch—curling slightly as it emerged. Slender and elegant, covered in smooth dark scales that caught the firelight like polished obsidian. It extended behind you with graceful, serpentine curves—longer than you expected—settling somewhere between half a meter and a full meter in length.
And then it stopped.
You stayed on your hands and knees for a long moment, breathing hard, trying to process the strange new weight and sensation. You could feel it—every inch of it. Could feel the air against the scales, could feel the slight draft from the fire, could feel Sylus’s gaze on it with obvious reverence.
You turned your head to look back at it.
It was beautiful.
Slender and elegant—matching your horns in its delicate grace. The scales gleamed in the firelight like dark jewels, and the tip curled slightly inward with a natural, serpentine elegance that took your breath away.
“Oh,” you whispered, wonderstruck.
“Beautiful,” Sylus breathed behind you, and when you glanced back at him his expression was one of absolute adoration. “My perfect little kitten. Growing more magnificent by the day.”
You straightened slowly, sitting back on your heels, and experimentally tried to move the tail.
It twitched. Just slightly. An awkward, uncoordinated movement that made you giggle despite yourself.
Sylus laughed softly—a warm, delighted sound that filled the room. “It will take some time to learn to control it,” he assured you. “But it will become as natural as breathing, sweetie. I promise.”
You looked back at him over your shoulder—at his beautiful, adoring face, at the way the firelight caught the scales on his skin—and smiled.
A tail. You had a tail.
You were becoming something entirely new.
And you had never felt more like yourself.
[Two Weeks Later]
The little pink dress was lovely.
Sylus had presented it to you that morning with such barely concealed excitement that you’d almost laughed—this massive, powerful dragon, who was about to practically bounce on his heels as he held up a delicate dress made of the softest fabric you’d ever touched. Pale pink, with a fitted bodice and a flowing skirt that fell to just above your knees. And the back—
The back had been carefully, thoughtfully designed with a small, elegant slit that allowed your tail to move freely. The seamstress—whoever Sylus had somehow commissioned in secret—had clearly been given very specific instructions, because the opening was perfectly positioned, perfectly sized, perfectly everything.
“I had several made,” Sylus had admitted, watching your face with obvious nervousness as you examined the dress. “In different colours. Different styles. All tailored for—” He gestured toward your tail with a slightly sheepish expression. “I wanted you to be comfortable. To feel beautiful.”
You had looked up at him—at this ancient, powerful dragon who hunted bears for breakfast and could level entire villages with a single breath—and felt your heart swell so enormously it physically hurt.
“You are the most thoughtful creature in existence,” you’d told him firmly, pressing up on your toes to press a kiss to his jaw.
The flush that had crept up his neck had been absolutely worth it.
Now, hours later, you stood at the top of the winding staircase that led down to the kitchen, smoothing your hands nervously over the pink fabric of the dress. The soft material settled against your skin like water, and the skirt flowed around your legs with effortless grace.
Your tail, however, was another matter entirely.
It hung behind you—slightly curved, the tip swishing with every small movement you made. And it was bothering you.
It had been bothering you for days, if you were honest. The tail was still new, still strange, still something your body and your brain hadn’t fully reconciled. You could feel it—every single inch of it—but controlling it was like trying to coordinate a limb that had only just been attached. It moved when you didn’t want it to. Stayed still when you tried to move it. Knocked things over. Brushed against walls and doorframes and furniture in ways that made you stumble and flinch.
And right now, standing at the top of these stairs, it was making everything worse.
You’d tried three times already to descend and each time your tail had shifted your balance in ways you didn’t expect—throwing you slightly off center, making you grip the stone railing with white-knuckled hands. It was such a small thing. Such an insignificant, stupid problem. Everyone learned to walk at some point. Babies did it. Children did it. And here you were—a grown woman, a princess no less—struggling to navigate a simple staircase because of a tail.
The frustration burned hot behind your eyes.
You pressed your lips together firmly, blinking rapidly. No. You were not going to cry over this. This was ridiculous. This was—
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.
And then another.
And then—oh god—you were crying. Properly crying, silent tears streaming down your face as frustration and embarrassment and something deeper, something hormonal and overwhelming that you couldn’t quite name, crashed over you like a wave.
You pressed your hand over your mouth, trying to muffle the small, broken sounds that escaped. This was so stupid. It was just a tail. It was just stairs. Why couldn’t you do this? Why did everything feel so impossibly hard lately? Why did everything make you want to cry?
You’d been like this for days. Weepy over the smallest things—a sunset that was particularly beautiful, a moment when Sylus looked at you with those burning eyes, the way the snow fell outside the window. Everything felt amplified. Everything felt too much. Your breasts ached constantly, tender and swollen in a way that confused you. You’d been exhausted—bone-deep, consuming fatigue that made your limbs feel like lead no matter how much you slept. And the cramping—low and mild but persistent—had been there for over a week now.
You’d attributed it all to the transformation. To your body still adjusting, still changing, still adapting to everything that had happened since that first night with Sylus.
You wiped your face with trembling hands, took a shaky breath, and began your descent.
Down in the kitchen below, Sylus moved between the worn wooden counters with practiced ease.
The kitchen was one of the warmest rooms in the tower—a large stone fireplace dominated one wall, and a pot of something fragrant simmered over the flames. He’d spent the afternoon preparing dinner for you—a habit he’d fallen into since your first night together, one that brought him quiet, deep satisfaction. Cooking for his mate. Nourishing her. Taking care of her in ways that went beyond the physical.
He was in his hybrid form—more practical for cooking, more dexterous—his tail swishing lazily behind him as he stirred the pot with careful attention. The scent of herbs and roasted meat filled the air, mingling with the ever-present smell of woodsmoke and the particular warmth of the tower.
And beneath all of that—beneath the cooking and the fire and the ancient stone—was her scent.
It had been growing stronger for days now. Sweeter. Richer. More complex in ways that made something deep inside him stir with quiet, knowing awareness.
He’d noticed it first about a week ago—a subtle shift in the way she smelled. Not dramatic. Not obvious to anyone who wasn’t paying close attention. But Sylus had been paying attention to her scent for six years. Had memorized every nuance of it during all those nights watching over her from the shadows. He knew her scent the way a scholar knew ancient text—intimately, thoroughly, completely.
And something had changed.
He’d had a hunch. A feeling that had settled deep in his chest like an ember—warm and persistent and quietly certain. But he hadn’t been sure. Hadn’t wanted to say anything until he knew. Until the scent told him what his heart already suspected.
He stirred the pot again, absently, his mind turning over the changes he’d noticed in her over the past two weeks. The way she cried so easily now—over things that wouldn’t have moved her to tears before. The way her breasts had swollen, tender enough that even the lightest touch made her wince. The fatigue that seemed to consume her no matter how much she rested. The mild cramping she’d mentioned, trying to hide it from him with that stubborn independence he loved so fiercely.
All signs. All pointing toward the same inevitable conclusion.
But he needed to smell it. Needed that confirmation before he could—
The sound of footsteps on the stairs made his head lift.
And then—
The scent hit him like a wave.
He went completely still. The wooden spoon paused mid-stir, his hand frozen above the pot. His eyes fell closed as he inhaled—slow and deep and deliberate—drawing her scent into his lungs with careful, reverent attention.
There it was.
Not a hunch anymore. Not a suspicion. Not a feeling.
Certainty.
Her scent had shifted—unmistakably, undeniably. The sweetness he’d been noticing for days had deepened into something richer, something layered with new complexity. Something that every ancient, primal instinct inside him recognized with absolute, bone-deep certainty.
His mate was with child.
Their child.
The spoon slipped from his fingers and clattered against the edge of the pot. His hand was trembling—actually trembling—and something hot and fierce and terrifyingly tender bloomed in his chest like fire catching on dry kindling.
He pressed his palm flat against the counter, steadying himself. His breathing had gone ragged, his heart hammering against his ribs with a force that surprised even him. Six years. Six years of watching her from the shadows, of loving her from a distance, of dreaming of this exact moment—
And now it was here.
He heard her footsteps falter on the stairs—heard the small, shaky breath she took—and turned his head just enough to see her descend the last few steps into the kitchen.
And his heart clenched.
She was beautiful—god, she was so beautiful it hurt to look at her sometimes. The pink dress fell around her like a whisper of silk, the colour soft and delicate against her skin. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, slightly tousled from the day. Her new horns caught the firelight—elegant and black—and her tail trailed behind her with an awkward, slightly unsteady grace that made something fierce and tender surge through him.
But it was her face that made his breath catch.
Her eyes were red-rimmed. Her cheeks were tear-stained—fresh tears still clinging to her lashes, her lower lip trembling slightly with the effort of holding herself together. She was trying so hard not to cry, and failing, and the sight of her like that—vulnerable and frustrated and so painfully, achingly beautiful—made him want to cross the room and hold her and never let go.
“Kitten,” he said softly.
She looked up at him—and the moment their eyes met, the dam broke.
A small, broken sound escaped her lips and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. She pressed her hand over her mouth, shaking her head slightly—embarrassed, frustrated, trying desperately to pull herself together.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick and wobbling. “I don’t—I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s so stupid. It’s just—” She gestured vaguely behind her, toward the stairs, toward her tail. “I can’t—I keep almost falling and I can’t figure out how to—and it’s just stairs, Sylus, it’s just stairs and I can’t even—”
Her voice broke completely and she pressed both hands over her face, shoulders shaking with quiet, frustrated sobs.
Sylus crossed the kitchen in three strides.
His arms wrapped around her—carefully, gently—pulling her against his chest with infinite tenderness. One clawed hand cradled the back of her head, guiding her face into the curve of his neck where she could cry without shame. The other wrapped around her waist, holding her close, his tail curling protectively around hers.
“Shh,” he murmured against her hair, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “Shh, sweetie. It is alright. You are alright.”
“It’s not alright,” she sobbed against his neck, her fingers curling desperately in the fabric of his shirt. “Everything makes me cry lately and I don’t understand why and my tail keeps—it keeps throwing me off balance and I feel so stupid—”
“You are not stupid,” he said firmly, tilting her chin up so he could look at her face. His claws traced the tears on her cheeks with feather-light gentleness, wiping them away even as fresh ones fell. “You are brave and beautiful and you are adjusting to extraordinary changes. There is nothing stupid about finding it difficult.”
She sniffled, her lower lip still trembling, her eyes searching his face with that open, trusting vulnerability that made his ancient heart ache with love so fierce it was almost painful.
“The crying,” she whispered. “Why do I keep crying over everything? I cried yesterday because the sunset was pretty, Sylus. That’s not—that’s not normal—”
He held her gaze. And for a moment—just a moment—he considered waiting. Letting her discover it on her own. Giving her more time.
But the words were there, pressing against his lips with desperate urgency. The emotion still burning in his chest—that fierce, terrifying, all-consuming tenderness—demanded to be spoken. Demanded she know.
“Kitten,” he said softly. His clawed hands moved—one coming to rest gently against the side of her face, the other sliding down to settle against her abdomen. Careful. Reverent. Trembling ever so slightly.
Something in his tone made her still. Made her breath catch. Made her eyes widen just slightly as she searched his expression with sudden, sharp attention.
“What?” she breathed. “Sylus—what is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” he said, and his voice was thick—genuinely thick with emotion in a way she had rarely heard from him. His burning eyes glistened with something that looked dangerously close to tears of his own. “Nothing is wrong at all, sweetie. In fact—” He swallowed hard, his claws trembling against her skin. “Everything is more right than it has ever been.”
She stared at him, confused and tear-streaked and so unbearably precious it made his chest physically ache.
“I can smell it,” he whispered. His hand pressed more firmly against her abdomen—gentle, so gentle—and his gaze dropped there with such reverent awe it stole the air from her lungs. “On you. In you. I can smell it now—clearly, unmistakably. It is no longer a feeling or a hope or a hunch.”
“Sylus—” Her voice was barely a breath.
He lifted his eyes back to hers.
“You are with child, kitten,” he said, and his voice broke on the words—actually broke—cracking with the weight of six years of love and longing and desperate hope finally, finally becoming even more real. “You are pregnant. With our young. Our child is already growing inside you.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
You stared at him.
Your lips parted. Then closed. Then parted again.
The tears that had been falling moments ago dried on your cheeks as your mind scrambled to process what he’d just said. Your hand—trembling—drifted down to rest over his claws on your abdomen. Pressing there. Feeling the slight warmth beneath your palm, the gentle press of his claws, the impossible weight of his words settling over you like a physical thing.
“I’m—” Your voice came out as barely a whisper. “I’m pregnant?”
“Yes,” he confirmed, and the single word was so thick with emotion it was almost unrecognizable. His eyes were glistening—actually glistening—and the sight of this ancient, powerful dragon on the verge of tears made something crack open inside your chest.
“But how—how do you know?” you asked, your voice shaking. “How can you be sure?”
“Your scent,” he said softly, his clawed hand still resting against your abdomen with trembling reverence. “It has changed. Deepened. There is something new there now—something I have been watching for, hoping for. Something that tells me, with absolute certainty, that life is growing inside you. Our life. Something that is both of us.”
Your hand pressed harder against your stomach. Against the place where—impossibly, miraculously—something new was beginning.
“The crying,” you whispered, realization dawning. “The fatigue. The—the cramping. It wasn’t just the transformation—”
“No,” he confirmed gently. “Your body is doing something extraordinary right now. Something even more extraordinary than the horns or the tail. It is nurturing new life. Our child.”
A sob escaped you—but this time it wasn’t from frustration or embarrassment or hormones you didn’t understand.
This time it was from joy so overwhelming it physically hurt.
“Sylus,” you breathed, and his name on your lips sounded like everything—like a prayer, like a promise, like the beginning of something vast and beautiful and eternal.
He pulled you back against his chest, holding you so close you could feel his heartbeat—fast and fierce and full of love—hammering against your ear. His face buried itself in your hair and you felt him inhale—deep and reverent—breathing in the scent of you, of them, of everything you were becoming together.
“My kitten,” he murmured against your hair, and his voice was wrecked—beautifully, completely wrecked. “My incredible, perfect, miraculous kitten.”
You cried against him—both of you crying now, tangled together in the warm kitchen with the fire crackling and the dinner simmering and the evening light painting everything in gold. Holding each other like the world might fall apart if you let go.
For a long time, neither of you moved.
Just breathed. Just held each other. Just existed in this moment—this perfect, life-changing, heart-shattering moment—together.
Eventually, you pulled back just enough to look at him. Your face was a mess—tear-streaked and red-eyed and probably blotchy—but you didn’t care. His expression mirrored yours—vulnerable and overwhelmed and filled with such profound love it made your breath catch every single time you saw it.
“How long?” you asked quietly, settling back against him, your hand still resting on your abdomen. “How long have you known? Really known?”
“I suspected for about a week,” he admitted, his claws tracing absent, soothing patterns on your back. “The signs were there—the changes in your scent, the way your body has been responding. But I wanted to be certain before I said anything. I did not want to give you hope and then have it taken away.”
You looked up at him with soft eyes. “You waited. Even though you were almost sure—you waited until you knew. So I wouldn’t worry.”
“Of course I did,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You are my mate. My everything. I would wait a lifetime if it meant sparing you even a moment of unnecessary worry.”
Fresh tears slipped down your cheeks—happy ones this time—and you pressed your face back against his chest, breathing him in.
The silence that followed was comfortable. Warm. Safe. The kind of silence that only existed between two people who understood each other so completely that words weren’t always necessary.
But eventually—after several long, peaceful minutes of simply holding each other—you spoke again.
“Sylus?”
“Hmm?”
You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with an expression that was curious and wondering and slightly confused all at once. “Can I ask you something? Something that has been on my mind for a while?”
“Anything, kitten,” he said immediately. “Always.”
You chewed your lower lip, trying to find the right words. “When we first met—when you brought me here—I was terrified of you. Obviously.” A small, self-deprecating laugh escaped you. “But even then, even when I was scared and angry and confused… I felt something. Something I couldn’t explain. Something that made me want to be near you even when every rational part of me was screaming to run.”
Sylus went very still.
“It was like—” You frowned, searching desperately for words that kept slipping just out of reach. “Like a pull. Not physical, exactly. More like… something inside me recognized something inside you. Something that felt ancient and inevitable and completely beyond my control. And the longer I spent time with you, the stronger it got. Until it was almost painful—this need to be close to you, to touch you, to feel you.”
You looked up at him with slightly vulnerable eyes. “I have never had a word for it. I have never been able to explain it, not even to myself. But it has been there since the very beginning. Since before I even understood what it was.”
Sylus was watching you with an expression you had never seen on his face before.
It was not surprise. Not exactly.
It was something deeper. Something that looked like relief and confirmation and profound, aching tenderness all woven together. Like you had just spoken words he had been waiting to hear for a very, very long time.
“Kitten,” he said, and his voice was impossibly gentle. “What you are describing—what you have been feeling—has a name.”
You blinked. “It does?”
He nodded slowly, reaching out to cradle your face in both clawed hands with such careful reverence it made your heart stutter.
“We are soulmates,” he said softly.
The word settled over you like falling snow—quiet and gentle and absolutely, unmistakably right.
Soulmates.
You turned the word over in your mind, feeling the shape of it, the weight of it. And with each passing second, something clicked into place inside you—like a lock you hadn’t known existed suddenly finding its key.
“Soulmates,” you repeated, barely a whisper.
“Yes.” His thumbs traced the curve of your cheekbones with feather-light tenderness. “It is a bond that exists beyond choice, beyond circumstance, beyond anything either of us could have controlled or created. It is ancient—older than dragons, older than humans. A connection between two souls that were always meant to find each other.”
“Always meant to find each other,” you echoed wonderingly, your heart beating faster.
“Yes.” Something flickered in his expression—something vulnerable, something raw. “I felt it the moment I first saw you, kitten. Six years ago. The instant my eyes found yours across that crowded hall—before you even knew I existed—something inside me shifted. Like every part of me suddenly understood its purpose. Like every moment of my existence before that had simply been… waiting. Waiting for you.”
Tears were falling again—silent and steady—but you barely noticed them.
“Six years,” you breathed. “You felt it for six years before I even knew you were there?”
“Yes.” His voice was thick. “And every single day of those six years, the pull grew stronger. The need to be near you, to protect you, to know you—it consumed me. It was the most exquisite torture I have ever endured.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, and there was no accusation in your voice—only genuine curiosity. “When we first met here—when I was adjusting—why didn’t you explain what this was? What we are?”
Sylus’s expression shifted—something complicated and tender and slightly pained crossing his features.
“Because I was terrified,” he admitted quietly, and the honesty in his voice—the raw vulnerability—made your breath catch. “Not of the bond itself. Of what telling you might do to you.”
“What do you mean?”
He took a slow breath, his claws trembling almost imperceptibly against your skin.
“You were a princess,” he said carefully. “Taken from your life, your home, your kingdom—against your will. Brought here by me. And then I was supposed to tell you that fate had decided you were meant to be with me forever? That there was a bond—ancient and unbreakable—that tied your soul to mine?” He shook his head slowly. “How would that have sounded, kitten? How would that have felt? Like another thing being decided for you. Another choice being taken away.”
Your lips parted. The realization of what he was saying—of what he had been protecting you from—settled over you with quiet, devastating weight.
“I never wanted you to feel that way,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never wanted you to feel like you didn’t have a choice. Like your feelings for me were just—chemistry. Biology. Fate forcing you into something you hadn’t consented to. I wanted—” His voice cracked slightly. “I wanted you to come to me freely. To choose me—choose us—because you wanted to. Not because some ancient bond told you that you had to.”
“Sylus—” Your hands came up to cover his, pressing his claws more firmly against your cheeks. Holding him there. Holding him close.
“So I waited,” he said. “I let you discover your feelings on your own. Let you come to me in your own time, in your own way. And when you did—when you chose me, chose this life, chose us—” Something bright and fierce and overwhelmingly emotional flickered in his burning eyes. “It meant everything. Because it was real. It was yours. Your choice. Freely given.”
The tears were flowing freely now—yours and, you realized with a start, his. Just barely. Just the faintest shimmer in those ancient red eyes that he was trying desperately to conceal.
“You are the most extraordinary creature I have ever known,” you whispered, your voice breaking with the weight of everything you felt. “Do you understand that? You—a dragon who could have simply claimed me—chose to wait. Chose to let me find my way to you on my own. Chose to protect my choice even when it meant suffering in silence for months.”
“You deserve nothing less,” he said simply.
You surged up on your toes and pressed your lips to his—not desperately, not hungrily. Softly. Tenderly. With every ounce of love you possessed pouring into the press of your mouth against his.
When you pulled back, you kept your hands on his face, your foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air.
“I choose you,” you said, and your voice was steady—certain—despite the tears. “I chose you then. I choose you now. And I will choose you every single day for the rest of my life. Soulmate bond or not—I would choose you. Always.”
The sound he made—somewhere between a breath and a sob—was the most beautiful thing you had ever heard.
His arms wrapped around you—pulling you flush against him, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe but you didn’t care. His face buried itself in your hair and you felt the tremors running through his massive body—felt the weight of six years of love and longing and desperate hope finally, finally finding its home.
“My kitten,” he whispered against your hair. “My soulmate. My everything.”
You held him just as tightly, your face pressed against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek—fast and fierce and full.
For a long time, you simply held each other.
The fire crackled softly. The dinner continued to simmer. Evening light painted the kitchen in warm gold and amber.
And in the quiet space between two heartbeats—between two souls that had always been meant to find each other—everything felt exactly, perfectly, completely right.
Eventually, you pulled back—just slightly—and looked up at him with soft, wondering eyes. Your hand drifted back down to your abdomen, resting there gently.
“Our child,” you whispered, and a smile—small and radiant and full of quiet awe—spread across your tear-stained face. “We made a child, Sylus. A life. Together.”
His claws covered your hand on your abdomen—warm and careful and trembling with barely contained emotion.
“Together,” he echoed, and his voice was filled with such profound reverence it made the word sound sacred.
You smiled up at him—your dragon, your soulmate, your everything—and felt something settle deep inside you. Something warm and certain and eternal.
Like coming home.
Like finally, after everything, being exactly where you were always meant to be.
You looked up at him—at this magnificent, ancient, impossibly gentle creature who had waited six years in the shadows for you. Who had saved your life without hesitation. Who had held you through pain and transformation and tears. Who had chosen to protect your freedom even when every instinct inside him was screaming to claim you.
Your dragon. Your soulmate. The father of your child.
“Stay with me,” you whispered, even though you both knew the answer. Even though there was nowhere else either of you would ever be.
“Forever,” he said without hesitation. The word fell from his lips like a vow—ancient and unbreakable and absolute. His claws lifted from your abdomen to cradle your face again, tilting it up so he could look at you—really look at you—with those burning red eyes that held centuries of loneliness finally, beautifully, irrevocably filled.
“Forever and beyond, kitten. Until the stars burn out and the mountains crumble to dust. Until there is nothing left in this world but you and me and the life we have built together.”
A laugh escaped you—wet and breathless and full of joy so pure it ached. “You are such a romantic,” you murmured against his lips.
“Only for you,” he said simply. “I have only ever been romantic for you.”
He kissed you then—slow and deep and unhurried—like a promise being sealed. Like something sacred being written into the fabric of the universe itself. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you impossibly closer, and you felt his tail curl gently around yours—intertwining, linking, holding.
When you finally pulled apart, both of you were smiling—soft, radiant smiles that held the quiet weight of everything that had just been spoken between you. Everything that had shifted. Everything that had clicked into place.
“Dinner,” Sylus murmured suddenly, glancing back toward the fire with a slightly sheepish expression. “I have been cooking all afternoon and it is going to burn if I do not attend to it.”
You laughed—a real laugh, bright and warm and full—and the sound made his entire face soften with evident delight.
“Then cook, my dragon,” you teased, settling yourself into one of the worn wooden chairs at the kitchen table with a contented sigh. Your tail curled beneath you as you sat—still awkward, still slightly uncoordinated—but you found that you minded it less now. Everything felt lighter somehow. Like the world had rearranged itself into something warmer and more beautiful while you weren’t looking.
Sylus moved back to the fire with obvious purpose, ladling something fragrant and steaming into two bowls with careful attention. The smell was incredible—rich and herbaceous and deeply comforting—and your stomach growled audibly in response.
He glanced over his shoulder at the sound, one elegant brow raised, the corner of his mouth curving upward.
“Hungry, kitten?”
“Starving,” you admitted without shame, pressing a hand to your abdomen with a small laugh. “Apparently eating for two already.”
Something flickered across his expression at your words—that same overwhelming tenderness, that same barely-contained emotion—but he schooled it quickly, turning back to the pot with a soft smile.
He set the bowl in front of you with careful reverence—like he was presenting you with something precious rather than simply dinner—and settled into the chair beside you. Close enough that your knees touched beneath the table. Close enough that his tail could rest against yours, curled together in quiet, intimate connection.
You took your first bite and hummed—actually hummed—at the warmth and richness of it. The flavours were incredible—tender meat falling apart on your tongue, vegetables roasted to perfection, a broth so deeply flavoured it made you close your eyes in pleasure.
“This is incredible,” you said around your spoonful, not even bothering to be delicate about it. “Sylus, this is amazing. When did you learn to cook like this?”
He shifted slightly—and you could have sworn the faintest flush crept up his neck, though it was difficult to tell with the scales.
“I have had a long time to learn,” he murmured, suddenly very interested in his own bowl. “And I wanted—” He paused, clearing his throat. “I wanted to take care of you properly. In all ways.”
Your heart swelled so enormously it physically ached.
You reached across the table and covered his clawed hand with yours—pressing your fingers between his, feeling the warmth of his scales against your skin. He looked up at you, and the expression in his burning eyes was so open, so vulnerable, so filled with quiet adoration that it stole the breath from your lungs.
“You take care of me better than anyone ever has,” you said softly. “Better than anyone ever could.”
His claws curled gently around your fingers—careful, always careful—and he lifted your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles.
And then, somehow, the heaviness of the evening began to lift.
It started with something small—you reaching for your water and your tail knocking your napkin off the table with an undignified thwap. You stared at it. Then at your tail, which swished innocently behind you as if it had done nothing wrong.
Sylus’s lips twitched.
You narrowed your eyes at him.
And then—simultaneously—you both burst out laughing.
It was the kind of laughter that came from somewhere deep and genuine—the kind that bubbled up unbidden and refused to stop. You laughed until tears pricked at your eyes again—happy ones this time—and Sylus laughed too, that rare, full sound that you treasured more than almost anything in the world.
“Your tail,” he managed between laughs, shaking his head with obvious delight. “It has a mind of its own.”
“It does!” you protested, giggling helplessly as your tail swished again—knocking nothing this time, but clearly trying. “I swear it’s plotting against me.”
“Perhaps it simply wants attention,” Sylus suggested, his eyes dancing with amusement and warmth.
“Perhaps,” you conceded, and when you experimentally tried to curl your tail around the leg of your chair in retaliation, it instead wrapped clumsily around Sylus’s ankle instead.
He looked down at it. Then back up at you.
You both dissolved into laughter again.
The conversation flowed easily after that—warm and unhurried, moving from topic to topic with the natural ease of two people who had all the time in the world and no desire to rush a single moment of it.
He told you about the forests beyond the mountains—about the ancient trees that had stood for millennia, about the rivers that ran clear as glass through valleys hidden from the rest of the world. Places he wanted to show you someday. Places where no one would ever find you, where you could run barefoot through wildflowers and feel the sun on your skin without fear.
You told him about the books you’d been reading—about the stories that had captivated you as a child, about the dreams you’d had as a girl that had nothing to do with crowns or kingdoms but everything to do with adventure and freedom and love.
“I always dreamed of being loved like this,” you admitted quietly, tracing idle patterns on the back of his hand with your fingertip. “I just never thought it was possible. Not for someone like me.”
“Someone like you?” he repeated, something gentle and incredulous in his tone. “Kitten, you are the most extraordinary person I have ever known. Of course love like this was possible for you. It was inevitable.”
You smiled at him—soft and radiant and full of quiet wonder—and squeezed his hand.
The bowls were emptied. Then refilled. Then emptied again—your appetite seemingly insatiable, which made Sylus smile with quiet, private satisfaction each time you reached for seconds.
Outside, full darkness had fallen. The stars emerged one by one above the tower—brilliant and countless, scattered across the velvet sky like diamonds spilled across black silk. Snow continued to fall in gentle, unhurried flakes, dusting the world in silence.
Inside, the fire burned lower—casting everything in warm, dancing amber. The kitchen felt smaller somehow in the darkness. Cosier. More intimate. Like the tower itself had drawn closer around you, creating a bubble of warmth and safety that held out everything else.
Eventually, the conversation drifted into comfortable silence—the kind that didn’t need to be filled. You leaned against Sylus’s side, your head resting against his shoulder, your tail curled loosely around his. His arm wrapped around you, his claws tracing absent, soothing patterns on your arm.
“Shall we go upstairs?” he murmured after a while, pressing his lips to the top of your head.
You nodded against his shoulder, suddenly aware of how bone-deep tired you felt. The pleasant, warm kind of exhaustion—the kind that came from a full belly and a full heart and an evening spent in the company of someone you loved completely.
He stood first, then turned to offer you his hand. You took it—let him pull you gently to your feet—and together you made your way toward the winding staircase.
You paused at the base, eyeing the stairs with a slightly wary expression. Your tail swished behind you—as if sensing your hesitation.
Sylus noticed immediately. Without a word, he shifted closer—one arm sliding around your waist to support you, steady and warm and completely secure.
“I have you,” he murmured simply.
You leaned into him and began to climb.
The ascent was slow and unhurried—nothing like your earlier struggle. With Sylus’s arm around you, with his steady presence beside you, the stairs felt manageable. Easy, even. Your tail still swayed with each step in ways that weren’t quite coordinated, but you found yourself caring less and less. He was there. He had you. Everything else were details.
The chamber upstairs was warm—the fire there had been stoked earlier, casting the room in soft golden light. The bed was piled with furs and blankets, inviting and impossibly comfortable. Moonlight filtered through the tall windows, silver and ethereal, painting everything in gentle luminescence.
You changed into a soft, loose nightgown—one of the simpler ones Sylus had provided, pale cream and incredibly comfortable—while he shifted to his hybrid form, settling onto the bed with practiced ease.
You climbed in beside him—and immediately, instinctively, curled into him.
His arms wrapped around you without hesitation—pulling you against his chest, your back pressed to him, his body curved around yours in a protective embrace that felt as natural as breathing. His wings draped over you both—warm and heavy and safe. A cocoon. A shelter. A home.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Just breathed together. Just existed together in the quiet warmth of the chamber, listening to the soft crackle of the fire and the whisper of snow against the windows.
Then you felt his claws move.
Gently—so gently—they slid from where they rested at your waist, drifting downward with careful, reverent intention. They settled against your abdomen—splayed there with tender precision, warm through the thin fabric of your nightgown.
And they stayed.
His claws traced slow, lazy circles across the slight swell of your stomach—feather-light touches that were barely more than a whisper against your skin. Back and forth. Round and round. Gentle, unhurried, completely absorbed in the simple act of touching you there.
Touching them.
You pressed your hand over his—covering his claws with your palm—and felt the faintest tremor running through his fingers.
“Are you alright?” you whispered.
“More than alright,” he murmured against your hair, his voice thick and quiet and reverent. “I am just—” He paused, searching for words. His claws continued their gentle caressing—slow, devoted strokes across your abdomen. “I cannot stop touching you here. Cannot stop thinking about what is growing inside you. Our child, kitten. Ours. And I want to protect it. Want to hold it close. Want to keep you both safe and warm and loved.”
Fresh tears pricked at your eyes—but you smiled through them, pressing back against him more firmly.
“You will,” you whispered. “You already are.”
His lips pressed against the back of your neck—a kiss so tender it made your heart ache. Then another, just below your ear. Then another, along the curve of your shoulder.
Soft kisses. Reverent kisses. The kind of kisses that said I love you and I am here and you are everything all at once.
His claws never stopped their gentle caressing of your abdomen—tracing patterns there like he was memorizing the shape of you, committing every inch to memory. Sometimes his touch would drift lower and linger there with such careful, quiet devotion it made your breath catch.
Time passed in gentle, unhurried waves.
And then—slowly, naturally—the mood shifted.
It started with his lips lingering longer against your neck. With his breath growing slightly warmer against your skin. With the way his claws paused their gentle circles on your abdomen and simply rested there—warm and present and full of quiet need.
You turned in his arms—slowly, deliberately—until you were facing him. His burning eyes found yours in the soft firelight, and in them you saw everything. Love. Want. Devotion so deep it was almost worshipful.
You closed the distance between you and pressed your lips to his.
The kiss was slow. Unhurried. Like everything between you tonight—tender and consuming and full of quiet, devastating passion. His clawed hand came up to cradle your face—careful, always so careful—while the other remained on your abdomen, warm and steady.
You moved together onto your back—Sylus settling over you with careful weight, his body a warm cage of safety and desire. His mouth moved against yours with reverent slowness—tasting you, savouring you, like he had all the time in the world.
And tonight, he did.
He undressed you with trembling claws—peeling away the thin nightgown with such painstaking gentleness it felt like worship. Each inch of skin revealed was met with a kiss—your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, the soft plane of your stomach. His lips pressed there—against your stomacch—and lingered. A kiss so tender and full of quiet awe that tears slipped silently down your temples.
“My miracle,” he breathed against your skin.
When he entered you—slowly, so slowly—it felt different tonight. Not less intense. Not less consuming. But deeper somehow. More meaningful. Like every movement, every breath, every whispered word carried the weight of everything you had discovered together.
He moved inside you with devastating gentleness—deep, rolling thrusts that built pleasure like sunrise. Gradual. Inevitable. Warm. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with yours, his eyes never leaving yours for a single second.
“I love you,” he whispered with each slow thrust. “I love you. I love you.”
You held him close—your arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers tangled in his silver hair—and felt every single word settle into your bones like something eternal being carved into stone.
The pleasure built slowly—a warm, consuming tide that rose and rose until it crested in a wave of quiet, devastating release. You came softly—a gentle, all-encompassing warmth that spread through your entire body like sunlight breaking through clouds. A sound escaped your lips—his name, barely a whisper—and you felt tears slip down your cheeks as the sensation washed through you.
He followed moments later—buried deep inside you, his forehead pressed to yours, a low, reverent moan escaping him as he spilled warmth inside you. Not with violence. Not with force. With love. Pure, unhurried, consuming love.
Afterward, he held you.
Wrapped you in his arms and his wings and his warmth, and held you against his chest like you were the most precious thing he had ever been given. His claws found your abdomen again—settling there with quiet reverence—and resumed their gentle, absent caressing.
You lay there in the soft firelight, listening to his heartbeat, feeling his breath against your hair, feeling his claws trace lazy, loving patterns across the place where your child was growing.
And you smiled.
Not because everything was perfect. Not because the world outside was kind or safe or simple.
But because here—in this tower, in this moment, in the arms of this extraordinary creature who had loved you before you even knew he existed—everything that mattered was exactly as it should be.
Also available on AO3, depending on where you prefer to read!
Thanks to @zuunary for letting my use her incredible JJK art! Go check it out, it's awesome!!
Part 1 here! ❣️
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
CW: Yandere!Na'vi Gojo Satoru, Alternate Universe, Alien/Human Relationships, Female Human Reader-Insert, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Forced Proximity, Smut, Extremely Dubious Consent, Riding, Rough Sex, Gojo Satoru has a Big Dick
A/N: Ok so as always I am a bit nervous when it comes to writing smut but I'm still happy with what I did! I also managed to smuggle some plot in and tiny pieces of Sa'toru lore lol, enjoy!
“No!”
You immediately tried to flee, scurrying off the same way lizards did when startled under the sun, back on Earth, except the shelter you were reaching for was a clump of overshrooms and not warming up stones. Two big, gentle blue hands slowly closed over your sides, dragging your hissing and twisting body back without an ounce difficulty. Sa’toru’s gaze was thoughtful as he looked from your snarling face to the three broken exopack masks lying on the ground. The shards of glass were now littering the soft bed of moss, gleaming almost proudly under the dim pulsing lights of sun lilies in the cave. The ragged stone you had used, the murder weapon, had been tossed next to what should have been your fourth victim.
You looked at him fiercely, angrily, spitting like a feral cat, ready to fight him with all your small human might, wishing he would fight just as hard, just this once. However, your little act of rebellion, not the first, maybe the last, was yet again met with the same forgiving, benevolent gaze you always got when you misbehaved.
Sa’toru started manipulating you with great care, thumbs rubbing over your ribs, bringing your writhing form close to his tall one. You squirmed, protesting loudly, your dreading mind fighting against your body warming up to what was to come, but the Na’vi ignored your pleas, as always. He sat comfortably, knees first in the dirt. You were then placed right on his crotch, where you could already feel his stiffening dick between your legs. His body folded around yours, lithe arms closing over your shoulders, muscled legs twisting around your own, his whole shape bending and curling around you like a protective leaf. With practiced gestures he removed your shirt, careful not to widen the tear he had made the first time. The fabric went over your head and fluttered to the ground like a discarded sheet, followed by your pants. You were left completely bare in the half-light of the cave. Again. The feeling of cold air flowing over your skin was sickeningly familiar to you now. Your squeals of protests were replaced by pitiful whines when his cock tingled the inside of your thighs, sticky pre-cum smearing your skin, pushing softly between your wet folds.
“It’s okay,” he murmured in your ear, his braid trailing against your shoulder. “I’m not mad at you.”
Your first instinct was to whirl, bite and scratch, slap that gentle, loving tone right out of his peaceful face. Your continued resistance, the poor little efforts you could make to oppose him were always reduced to that voice, to a childish human tantrum he could just brush away with a flick of his tail and a wave of his hand. As if you didn’t matter. And the truth was, you didn’t. As a scientist, you knew denying facts, logical or psychological, could only lead to a wall. As a human, you couldn’t give less of a shit. The cozy little cave was a prison. The quirky Na’vi was a captor. You were no one and nothing, with no way of getting out or ever surviving by your own means. The environment around you was tailored for dependence, to further be reinforced by the only living creature you could talk to. Pandora had lost pretty much all its shine now that your world had been cut down to a cave, an ikran and an insane, lovestruck Na’vi.
You whined again as he slowly buried himself to the hilt inside you with a grunt, his big, veiny Na’vi cock painfully stretching every inch of your human pussy. His Na’vi body was too big, too strong for you, trying to fit itself into a human shape too unfit for a proper union between two alien fleshes, but difficulties had never stopped Sa’toru before. They hadn’t stopped him for this. What some would have seen as an obscene act against nature, he saw it as the greatest proof of love he could bring to you. Sa’toru still believed in humans reading actions much more efficiently than words and took each opportunity to speak his own attachment through the gentle caresses or loving rolls of his body against yours. Each time you felt filled to the brim by his throbbing cock, slithering in your flesh until you were so full it almost hurt, was one more victory over you, one more solidification of a relationship you didn’t want to exist. You couldn’t move without feeling each slimy inch stretching you, rubbing stubbornly against your plushy, wet walls. You squirmed uselessly on his crotch, feeling his thick dick grind slowly against your aching pussy, a faint need to resist fighting against the pleasure that was pooling both around your legs and his cock.
Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the first thrust. You arched, half-moaning, half-whining as Sa’toru started pulling you up and down with a wet squelch on his hard leaking dick, hands locked around your arms, hips rising as gently as he could without hurting you while keeping up a firm pace. The faint need to resist gradually faded away while you were bounced like a mere toy on his lap, wearing nothing but your stupid breathing mask. Your breasts, covered in a thin sheen of sweat and free of the constraints of your bra, bounced joyfully along each thrust in a delicious, painful way against your torso, tearing another strangled moan from you. The glass of your exopack rapidly fogged up with little puffs of harsh breathing. The glinting cave blurred in front of your eyes, and soon your world was quickly narrowed to your harsh pants mixed with his own growls and the fierce swatting of his tail against nearby plants.
Sa’toru picked up the pace, as always when he got overwhelmed by pleasure, slamming his cock a bit too hard deeper inside of you, tip kissing your walls in sloppy thrusts. Pain exploded alongside pleasure and you arched again, back immediately snapping forward as obscene leaks of drool trickled lazily over your chin, pleasure coiling low in your belly. Suddenly, the Na’vi’s hands crawled from your hips to your sides. His own hips slowed down, his cock reluctantly pulling out of your body shaking after waves upon waves of pleasure. He locked his hands around your sides, gently pulling you forward. You understood his intention and got on all fours, fingers sinking slightly into the moss beneath, the soft caress of the grass momentarily soothing your overwhelmed senses. He followed, his tall, thin body draping over you like a warm, overheated blanket. His lean torso, slightly out of breath, heaved against the entirety of your back. His kuru braid fell in front of you, snowy locks trailing against your cheek, pink filaments opening to instinctively seek a connection your flesh couldn’t provide. You watched in a daze the frail pink tendrils curl around your wrist in a firm grip, shivering at the dozens of tiny claws stabbing into your skin. The sight always left you with a strange taste, reminding you of Pandora’s great mysteries, but also the twisted mindset you found yourself in company of. You panted, sweaty with the effort, when strokes fell on your body, words of love translated by caresses of wonder. There was a firm gentleness to the Na’vi as he carefully listened to your body, testing its boundaries with precaution. Each time he had sex with you was a way for him to rediscover your human body, so small and pliable, so prone to weakness, with wonder. Hands touched your ribs, skimmed over your nape, grabbed your breasts, ridiculously small in his palms, groped and cupped firm, round ass cheeks. Slender fingers dwarfed your own. Fangs sunk in your skin. Passionate love bites rained on your back, replaced by apologetic kisses when you cried out in pain, tongue lapping over bruises.
You moaned softly when his hands glided over your damp skin, rough palms trailing down your quivering body. They rested on the small of your back for a few seconds, squeezed your ass cheeks hard around his cock, once, twice. Then he picked up the pace again. Your moans soon filled the otherwise empty cave, echoing off the stony walls, accompanied by grunted out growls of fresh pleasure. No matter how gentle Sa’toru tried to be, he still remained twice as tall as you, perhaps more, and each snap of his hips was a fierce pounding inside your womb, his cock forcing its way in and out with ugly, dirty squishy sounds. Sa’toru had to hold you to keep you your body still, hips slapping harshly against your own while your hands slipped in the earth at the brutal force of his thrusts. The wet sound of skin repeatedly smacking skin filled the cave as well, growing and swelling until it drowned even your shared noises of pleasure. Then It finally came. Pleasure shot through skin. Eyes rolled back. The orgasm bloomed, exploded and ripped through your pussy. The Na’vi’s claws sunk in your ribs and he arched behind you, coming just as you did with a rough, unintelligible cry.
The obscene sounds of interspecies sex died little by little, first harsh pants, then softening gasps slowly replaced by a peaceful silence. You would have collapsed had Sa’toru not held you, his grasp assured and firm against your shivering frame. You had barely lied on the grass when the angry beeping of your mask and lowering oxygen levels broke the fragile peace. Sa’toru huffed behind you, a smug little sound you knew all too well by now. He pulled out of your pussy, your thighs slick with his dripping seed and your own wet arousal. He grabbed an exopack out of the pile he had gathered for you, tearing the straps of the old one off your face, putting on the new device with regular gestures that were second nature to him now. It was a strange kind of aftercare, but you supposed it was better than nothing. You let him do it, taking a deep breath of the newly recycled oxygen, your exhausted body, still coming down from the aftershocks, was grateful for. The Na’vi curled around you, burying your small self against his muscled chest, one arm slung protectively around you, tail soothingly brushing your thigh. You breathed, too tired to think, and sleep came swiftly.
The breaking of the exopacks had been your third attempt at asserting defiance over Sa’toru’s control of your mind and your body. You had involuntarily repeated a pattern you had failed to notice and understand, but still believed you could overstep. The mixed, slimy liquids leaking slowly down your legs was proof you couldn’t.
Over the past few days, Sa’toru had left little clues, little cracks in the solid walls of the captivity he had constructed around you, cracks you had immediately thought about exploiting. The truth was, your attempts were doomed from the start, but you didn’t care. You hadn’t thought about how obvious each trap was, like Sa’toru’s ikran purposefully left without surveillance. Of course you would try to mount the damn thing and escape, cursing quietly as the beast simply stared at you with a curious kind of look. Of course Sa’toru had caught your transgression right away. Of course you had ended up fucked out of your brains.
The second time was even more obvious than the first, making it even more embarrassing. Sa’toru was crouched, weaving new feathers into the ends of his arrows, leaving his bow well out in open, alone and unguarded. You had pounced on the opportunity, crawling like a little creature hiding in the shadows toward a weapon too big for you to maneuver anyway. You had wanted to try nevertheless. You were too desperate. The string was too thick, too tight, the arrows out of reach, and you weren’t muscular enough or even trained to use the bow correctly, but that hadn’t discouraged you from stopping inches of it. You had drunk in the sight of what you thought to be a possible way to freedom, looking carefully at Sa’toru’s idle flicking tail. In your distraction you had failed to notice his ears angled toward you. Your eyes had trailed over the wood, stopping on three names carved with obvious, tender care in the curve of the bow. The letters ran deep, rising in gentle but proud curls. Then you had frozen. Next to the names was a hideous scar, violently stabbed into the weapon, a stain into the majesty and gracefulness the weapon carried, like the very touch of darkness Sa’toru kept in him. Your most dreaded fear about him, coming true. The mark of banishment.
That was when Sa’toru had turned with a mischievous smile toward you, and you had ended up on all fours again. Sa’toru loved to see you quietly planning in your little corner, drawing blurry maps in the damp ground, hastily erasing the lines when you heard him coming, searching for potential weapons among the ferns, testing the solid boundaries of the world he had constructed for you. Your discontent pout and grumbling amused him to no end. However, he also thought it was a great way of teaching you what you could and couldn’t do within his realm. The Na’vi’s apparent carelessness allied gentleness to cruelty in his guiding, wanting to lead you to the eventual understanding of your own powerlessness, which would last as long as he was around. You were still stubborn for now, but Sa’toru was hopeful his teachings would come to fruition.
That was the last time, you swore to yourself as you rode the Na’vi’s dick, hips rolling in short movements against his own.
The remnant of Sa’toru’s poisoned dinner laid next to you. You had tried to lace it with a broken shard of glass in a half-hearted and sloppy attempt. After so much time spent away from your peers, alone and defenseless, your heart was slowly realizing you truly had no way out of this pretty prison of greenery, no matter how badly you wanted it. You hadn’t even hidden the piece well. It poked out of the meat, tearing through cooked tendons like a tooth of glass peeking out of burnt gum. Sa’toru had simply inspected his meal with curiosity, turning the food over and over in his palm. Then he had looked at you, and thus the ritual had begun, except this time Sa’toru had chosen to reward your guilty, fleeting stare by letting you take over.
You were slightly ashamed of your own neediness, but it felt good to be handed even this little piece of control back over something as trivial as a sex position. It felt good to see the giant warrior lying under you, whimpering lips curled over predatory fangs, snowy hair fanning out in a white, messy halo on the ground, neck tilted to offer you his flesh, back arched in obvious pleasure. It felt very, very good to set your own pace, slamming yourself on him however you wanted, letting your swollen pussy milk his throbbing cock over and over, even though you looked ridiculously small on top of him. Your hands didn’t even reach his pecs when you leaned on him. Your fingers instead splayed over tightening abs, nails sinking in his blue skin, tearing through a constellation of white dots. A pathetic whine was torn out of the Na’vi lips, his eyes rolling at the delicious mix of pain and pleasure, fingers long enough to crush your head curling helplessly in the earth. You kept going, letting sensations drown out sour shame, using the ripples of pleasure twisting your body to cope with the sadness the knowledge of your long-term captivity brought. Emotions mixed, welled up inside your chest. You stubbornly ignored them, instead focusing on the sounds of your breathy moans and Sa’toru’s constant whimpers. Tiny drops of blood blossomed like tiny roses on his wounded skin, swirling over the torn dots of white. His hands rested on your hips, thumbs brushing over your hipbones, steadying you with a gentle grip. You hated and loved the feelings of his slender fingers holding your body with such care, as if you were a doll of flesh, fragile and breakable. Which you were.
The thought was so sudden, so sharp you couldn’t stop an uncontrollable, unexpected sob among your whines and whimpers. Sa’toru’s eyes snapped back from their haze of pleasure to yours, panicked, worried, caring. The Na’vi sat up, one hand crawling over your back, before pulling you gently against him. He took over, hips pushing into you with all the gentleness he was capable of while tears flowed freely on your cheeks. It felt horrible. It felt good. You let him cradle your face in his chest, glass bumping against his sweaty muscles, feeling blood and cum drip over your trembling legs. With a frustrated hiss, as sudden as your sobs, you unstrapped the cursed thing and let it fall on the ground. Sa’toru’s breath hitched in surprise, but he didn’t stop you as you nuzzled against his chest, feeling his skin, alive, breathing, rippling with life, against you. Sa’toru’s body folded against yours again, shielding your tears as the orgasm came, jerking your body against his own.
You looked up at the stars. The wind brushed softly over the ikran’s wings, and the beast uttered a little cry, carving its way higher against the breezes to get closer to what its rider was admiring. Here, the sky was pure, untainted even by nightly drifting clouds. The stars unfolded above you like a dotted tapestry, the thin milky white tail of distant comets and the bright green of exploding nebulas weaving themselves into the familiar dark blue pattern of the night. The planet Polyphemus hovered like a gentle giant above it all, its eye of twirling clouds watching over his little Pandoran sister in the emptiness of space. It was beautiful. It was gorgeous. There weren’t enough words to describe the soft swirls of otherworldly colors and the lovely twinkling of stars above your head.
Yet you couldn’t feel anything.
There was once a version of you who would have craved the sight, eyes jumping from stars to stars, noticing patterns, mapping down a new sky your young mind had dreamt of walking under. There was a version of you who would have loved comparing the curling paths of stars the constellations here, new and foreign, were made of to the old constellations of Earth. Well, to say you felt nothing was maybe a bit of an overexaggeration. At least here the quiet song of the wind, calmer, more soothing brought you a small relief. It was infinitely better than that awful silence you were locked in, back at the cave. Out in the open, you could enjoy this tiny piece of freedom Sa’toru was willing to give to you. He was sitting behind you, arms laced tenderly around your waist, letting you lean against him when the ikran turned or gained altitude. A necklace of carefully collected feathers and seashells adorned your bitten neck, designed to match the color of your eyes. The Na’vi had made a point of taking you out at least thrice in a week, to let you familiarize yourself with what he definitely saw as your new home. He loved to let you discover places he particularly enjoyed, like secluded meadows draped over rolling hills in the plains or shivering ribbons of coiling water falling into lush valleys. Sa’toru also hoped one day to get rid of your fear of flying. It saddened him to see your stiff fingers and rigid postures whenever you mounted his ikran. If the beast had long gotten used to you, you still weren’t comfortable with having your legs dangle miles away from the ground, no matter how hard Sa’toru was holding you or how careful his ikran was flying.
The good part of these frequent outings was that you could at least pretend you weren’t treated like a prisoner. The bad part was that you couldn’t pretend you weren't treated like a pet.
Sa’toru pressed his chest against your back, ears twitching as he sensed your tired, dwindling interest. The loving nuzzle he gave your neck and the tiny but sharp nibble he gave your ear brought you back to the present. You turned toward him and he smiled, leaning in to press a kiss on your head. The Na’vi’s affection was both a gift and a curse, something you couldn’t refuse. However, you didn’t have much choice but in a world deprived of interaction with any other living creature.
“Isn’t this beautiful?” he repeated cheerfully, tail curling, trying to coax your old wonder back to life.
You nodded.
“It is,” you whispered, eyes travelling over the dancing patterns of stars.
Comfortable silence fell over you. You searched among the glittering, frozen strings of dots above you, trying to distract yourself from the rising gusts the ikran was fighting off. Suddenly Sa’toru straightened behind you, his tail swishing excitedly from side to side.
“Y/N! Look! Up there!”
You followed the direction he was pointing at. Your eyes widened. A shining star, a mess of grayish white, burned brightly in the sky, way closer than it should have been. You squinted, slightly intrigued, slightly uneasy. Then you understood.
Not a star. A spaceship.
Your breath hitched. Sa’toru understood too. He let out a hiss full of defiance, hungry for battle. The ikran screeched softly.
You heard neither, eyes locked on the ship. The distance made its outlines nearly impossible to distinguish, but the geometrical, unnatural shape among the gracefulness of space was unmistakable. The RDA, the mighty company you had deluded yourself into thinking was gathering its strength back, was fleeing. Humanity bowing in front of the might of the bioluminescent planet and its unseen goddess. For a few seconds you pictured the inside of the only vehicle capable of bringing you home. The rough, metallic corners hovering precariously above a hostile atmosphere. The vague smell of oil and repairs flowing into the corridors, almost sweet, too bitter. The walls, low, clear-cut, practical, pulsing almost imperceptibly with the vibrations of the engines below, roaring to life, their thundering noises of burning fuel absorbed by the interstellar space outside. The stark, annoying beeping of too control panels. The staff running into positions, scientists and civilians hastily strapping themselves into the safety of their cabins, pilots meeting head-on the millions of light years separating them from Earth. You saw it, as clear as day, your mind temporarily transported to the spaceship, the one which had sheltered your frozen body during your trip to Pandora.
A trip you now knew you wouldn’t be coming back from.
A tiny part of you had hoped. Even strapped on this ikran, skin adorned with Na’vi bites, your captor holding you against his chest, you had hoped for it. A miracle. Stumbling on a patrol during one of your outings with Sa’toru. A SA-2 Samson chopper flying near the string of floating islands, close enough to the entrance of the cave to notice you. Patrols of AMP suits roaming the forest for missing members of Bridgehead. Anything.
But no. Humans weren’t coming back.
Or at least, they weren’t for a long, long time.
A numbness settled over your heart like a quiet fog. Your eyes stayed glued to the retreating figure of the spaceship, high, high above, the lights of engines faintly piercing the calmness of the Pandoran sky. Sa’toru snickered behind you, lips victoriously curled back over sharp fangs, body stiff with feverish, arrogant pride, as if the spaceship itself was just another competition for territory he had finally managed to ward off.
“Serves them right. Good riddance,” he scowled, his usually melodious words emerging out into a smug growl.
The rough sound was picked up and amplified by his ikran, whose wings cut relentlessly through the air, picking up speed as if heading for battle, fueled by the sudden hostility of his rider. The colorful scales rippled under your fingers, quivering under the strength of the increasing growl. You were already dizzy with fear when the beast let out a powerful, ear-tearing shriek, a raw mimicry of his rider’s war cry, a sound so full of aggressivity you startled on the saddle, recoiling in front of such contained ferocity. Sa’toru laughed good-heartedly, proudly patting the ikran’s sides while you involuntarily snuggled your body against his chest, seeking reassurance from the sharp teeth and the snapping wings of the beast you were riding on. Sa’toru smiled, nuzzling your head soothingly.
“Don’t worry. He gets excited when I’m like this.”
You glanced at the tsaheylu joining them.
“I bet.”
Sa’toru kept patting the ikran’s sides until it settled back into a normal flying position, with little growls of frustrated bloodlust. You stayed securely snuggled against Sa’toru, watching warily the ikran shake its head once, twice, as if trying to get rid of his rider’s previous murderous thoughts.
You looked up again, quietly. Sa’toru noticed. He kissed your shoulder, letting his lips linger against old bruises and blossoming new ones.
Summary: You write back to the Don. Not too long after, you get a visit from her wife.
An: Let's ride cool kids.
Series Masterlist | Masterlist 1 | Masterlist 2
Dear Don Maximoff,
I have struggled to find the words to write back to you. A ‘thank you’ feels in order, but it also doesn’t feel like enough. This type of relationship is foreign to me, but it does not bother me to be in your debt. The idea of freedom seems unreal to me. I don’t think I’ll truly understand it until I’m out of this suit and out of this cell. I’ve gone 10 years, thinking that my life would waste away in this cell. I’ve told Kate and Peter to forget about me more times than I can remember. I lost my youth, I abandoned my hopes and dreams, but the longer I sat with it, the less those things bothered me. The only thing that bothers me now, is that people think I killed my mother. The most traumatic day of my life was finding her in that kitchen face down in a pool of her own blood filled with stab wounds. I was 16, stabbed, bleeding heavily, cuffs on my wrist, right next to her dead body. They tried to get me to take plea deals and say that I did it, but I wouldn’t. I don’t know if any of this is relevant, I apologize if it isn’t. I just wanted to express my gratitude. Thank you, Don Maximoff.
From, Y/n L/n
“Who do I address it to?”
Carol shakes her head, “No one. You give it to me and I make sure she gets it.”
You don’t have the chance to respond before a guard comes, “L/n you got a lawyer here for you.”
Unlike when you first met Natasha you wouldn’t be going to the visitor’s area. Private meetings happened in a place that looked like an interrogation room. You hadn’t been in one since your case. It made you a bit uncomfortable.
The guard ushered you inside the room while standing just outside the door. You sat across from Natasha, playing with your cuffed hands.
“They’re supposed to take those off when you’re in here,” Natasha states.
“It’s ok,” you offer.
Natasha stands and knocks on the door. You can’t hear what she says but the tone of her whisper says it all. The guard stumbles into the room and unlocks your cuffs, before heading back out with a small ‘sorry’.
“Better?”
“Yeah,” you meet her gaze.
“So I submitted the appeal, you should be out in a month. The release will be conditional until we go back to court.”
Your eyes go wide, “Court?”
She raises an eyebrow, “Yes, court. This is now a wrongful conviction case. You have a problem with court, I take it?”
“Well, I am in jail,” you joke with her.
She smiles a little bit, “Right, but don’t worry. I never lose.”
You nod slowly, “I gathered that. Does it have anything to do with your… left hand?”
You didn’t know if this was a space where you could speak freely. Yet you had many questions floating around your brain.
You see Natasha twist the ring on finger, indicating that she knows what you meant, “Not particularly. My skills speak for themselves, Y/n.”
You duck your head in a bit of shame, “Sorry for the insinuation. I’m just a little nervous about all of this. It’s not something I thought was possible.”
“Y/n, possibilities are going to be a lot different outside of this prison. Let’s go over some of the conditions,” Natasha's tone softens.
“Ok.”
Natasha begins reading off a page in front of her, “You aren’t allowed to leave the state, you will have to have an ankle monitor, you will be subjugated to random drug testing, you can’t miss any court appearances, and most obviously you cannot get in any trouble with the law. Breaking these terms will have you back in jail. While that doesn't mean we lose the appeal, it definitely does hurt the process.”
It sounds easy enough. The more she spoke the more the gravity of the situation was hitting you. You would be getting out of here. Freedom was not some far away dream, it was coming.
“Y/n?”
There’s some concern in her eyes as she stares at you. It’s then that you feel the wetness on your cheek.
“Oh, sorry,” you wipe away the tears with your sleeve. “I think it’s hitting me,” you laugh, still wiping at some of the tears.
Natasha gets up from her seat and encourages you to stand. You follow her lead curiously. She wraps her arms around you and it’s a comfort you hadn’t experienced in a long time.
She smells like vanilla and hazelnuts. She’s shorter than you, but encourages you to put your head on her shoulder all the same. You felt more tears spill from your eyes.
“It’s ok to cry about this,” she rubs circles on your back, “You were only 16, malysh.”
You close your eyes tightly, hoping to stop some of the tears. You pull yourself out of her arms, fiercely wiping at your eyes.
“I ruined your suit,” you say looking anywhere but her eyes
“It’s just a few tears, nothing to have fuss over,” she explains delicately.
You shake your head, “I had my dirty prison jumpsuit all over it.”
Natasha cautiously steps closer to you, taking your hands in hers, “I hugged you. I made you stand up, and pulled you into me, not the other way around. I’m not worried about the suit, they’re a dime a dozen. You, you’re one of a kind Y/n.”
“I don’t understand why you’re helping me or why you’re doing all of this, but thank you,” you say while sniffling.
“You might not know it, but you’re loved and protected, Y/n.”
The guard comes in, indicating that your time is up. The cuffs go back on your wrists and you have one last look at Natasha.
When you go back to your cell you flop down on the mattress of the bottom bunk.
“How long did she say?”
You sigh, answering Carol, “About a month.”
Carol hops off the bed to face you, “That’s not too bad, why are you all sad then?”
You sit crisscross on the bed, patting the space across from you. She sits facing you, waiting for an explanation.
“I’ve been in here since I was 16, I’m 26 now. I'm…scared,” you say with much effort.
“Scared of what?”
You whisper, “Everything. I don't know if I'm equipped to live outside of prison. I can't cook, I can't drive, I’ve never worked, I don't even remember how to socialize.”
The blonde thinks before answering, “All things that you can be taught. I think when you get out, you assume you're going to be on your own. That's not the case. You’ll have people helping you until you go to court and even beyond that. Your friends held you down for 10 years in jail, you really think they’d do all this just to abandon you once you’re out?”
“It’s just a lot to come to terms with at once. Especially learning where I'm getting this help from. I didn’t know that Peter and Kate did things like this,” you begin playing with your fingers.
“Peter and Kate are good kids. They are acquainted with your… helpers because Kate is seeing Yelena. That’s all. They went to school together and all became friends. Peter and Kate are attached at the hip. So where she goes, he goes; and she was going after Yelena.”
You nod, putting the pieces together in your head. Natasha was Yelena’s older sister, she was also married to the Don. So it was some sort of trickledown effect that gave them these kinds of connections.
“I understand.”
Carol gets up and pats your head, “Everything is going to be alright. Don’t worry about it too much.”
You appreciated her words but they did little to calm your nerves as you got closer to being released. It was a week later that she returned to your cell, with another letter. You weren’t expecting a response, so it was a little surprising.
Dear Y/n,
I understand what you’re feeling to a certain extent. I have also spent a number of years in jail. It changes you, makes you feel like you’re losing yourself. I can only imagine being locked away during the years of self-discovery. You probably feel at war with yourself. However you don’t have to be. It is never too late to find a purpose or a passion. Kate and Peter say that you are quite the artist, maybe you could draw something for me. I will help you become something more than what they tried to make you out to be. I know you didn’t kill your mother and soon the world will know it too. You will not be defined by the incompetence of the justice system. I will make sure of it.
Pairing: mark grayson x sinister mark x Mohawk mark x viltrumite mark x F!reader (god damn)
Synopsis: been awhile since the invincible war ended. A few of them ended up being captured in your world and kept in the prisons. Cecil allows you to visit them and (clearly) has not a damn clue as to what you’re saying or doing with them. Usually, it’d be complete chaos and nothing would change or happen in the room. However, you finally try something new with them…all of them…(should be good to mention here that you have powers…if u didn’t you’d honestly be stupid going into that room with confidence 🧍🏾♀️)
Warnings: story will lead to smut, slightly suggestive, harsh words (like bitch, pussy, or slut), not proofread, some corny dialogue (bear with me pls)
W.c: 2,086 (rlly doing my big one)
A/N: (there’s alot I have to say so pls bear with me 😭) first off, thank all of u for all the constant support on my other fics and even my shitty little doodles I posted. Means a lot to me. This is my first series/series writing and it’s also the first fic I’ve made with multiple ppl speaking let alone mark variants. So I’m begging you, please bear with me. If anything is overly fucking terrible or bad feel free to dm me advice. Also I’ll be making a master list soon for all my writings. Or wtv. This is part one to the series and it’ll get super smutty in the next one so I hope u js enjoy this one for now. It’ll be meh…(I highkey think it’s bad but wtv)
Long after the Invincible War, you were still intrigued by all the versions of your boyfriend that had come into your world to reek havoc and chaos. Most were dead, some were in prison, and some were thrown into whatever place they went to. Being a superpowered scientist under Cecil had its perks–you got to not only examine and see these variants, but you also got to speak to them (only with the supervision of your world's Mark of course). Your visits grew more and more frequent to them, it went from once a month, to once a week, to 3 times a week. They had memorized the times you visited, the clack of your heels, and your pen clicking before you entered their cell each time.
Your Mark always complained–sometimes it was genuine concern for your safety and reasoning, other times, it was clear and blatant jealousy.
“Why do you always want to go see those bastards, they almost destroyed the entire world. Not only that one of them almost crushed you to fucking death! If this gets too bad we're not seeing them again…” he was annoyed–making good and fair points. Sadly, you were too stubborn to attempt to listen to them.
“You've almost crushed me to death before,” you said with a shrug as you kept walking down the long hall getting ready to get to the cell that held the marks.
“WHAT!? When was this?” Mark had stopped for a second now having genuine concern as he hadn't remembered ever doing that. He tried his best to make sure you were protected from anything and everything.
“You crushed me plenty of times in bed–it's ok though because I've crushed you back just as much so we're even.” you had one smug ass smirk on your face seeing Mark's annoyed one before you two finally made it to the room. Before you could swipe your keycard to enter the room, Mark grabbed your arm having you stop and listen to what he had to say. “I'm serious babe…let them get out of line and we aren't seeing them again, they'll just rot in here till Cecil finds something to do with them.”
You used your free hand, swiping the keycard as the door opened. You turned to your mark lifting his chin with your pen as he looked prepared to hear whatever you had to say.
“I will decide when this research is over. However, you know if you want it to truly end and for me to stay out of this cell, you would only need to tell Cecil you won't accompany me anymore. Until you do that…we're continuing.”
You were stern and stubborn, meaning every single word you said. You finally pulled the pen down—giving his cheek a soft kiss before walking into the cell.
“Well, we see who wears the pants in your little relationship.” The mark with the mohawk said before he just started laughing trying to bother and mock your mark as best as he could.
“Hey well at least I get to leave here, I'm not locked in a fucking cell with my arms hanging up!” your mark snarled back–getting closer to Mohawk Mark as they glared each other down.
Sinister Mark cut into the conversation, having a lot worse to say about your mark and his “submission” to you.
“Hey, does she fuck you too? I just wanna get a full scope on how pussy you are! God, you're pathetic…weak…”
They were being little assholes ganging up against your mark, all besides the viltrumite one. He was just silent, observing your behaviors. As those 3 bickered, you walked up to him with crossed arms.
“Nothing to say?” You asked leaning in closer to his face. He backed up as best as he could, struggling to even move a bit because of his restraints but he found small ways.
“No…bitch…” he said before scrunching up his lips. You just leaned into him closer and closer knowing he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. “Don’t your people have a thing for respecting higher-ups? Am I not higher up right now?” You were absolutely smug watching as his expression kind of dropped. He knew you were right and he hated every bit about it.
The cell was silent now…the other marks wondered why he stopped fighting back, falling silent.
“Don’t tell me you're all pussy now too!?” Mohawk Mark had said in a snarky tone. Your mark was walking up to you to pull you back from him. You raised your hand stopping him from coming closer as you used your other hand, softly rubbing viltrumite Mark'sk'sace.
He jolted from your touch for a second—not being used to anything like it at all. However, he had been in that cold cell for days, weeks even, with no warmth whatsoever. He melted into your hand as you kept rubbing it softly—he felt odd…like he had never felt before. He released soft huffs the whole time until you finally stepped back.
“W..wait-“ he exclaimed trying to get your attention again. Before he could even say what he wanted, sinister Mark butted in.
“What the hell did you just do to him!? He’s never been like that ever!”
Your mark wanted to be filled in as well, waiting for your response.
“I just touched 'em relax.” You were honestly shocked yourself.
“C'monn…let’s go, your mark said wanting to get the hell out of there. The other marks were getting angry and you were touching another mark…one that wasn’t yours—it made him a bit jealous.
“Wait wait…I wanna something…” you said with a grin as you rushed to Mohawk Mark. He looked a bit annoyed but intrigued. You drew closer and closer as the other marks watched once again—it’s all they could do…
“Listen whore, I’m not your mark…so hands off.” He said in a snarky tone. You just kept moving your hands towards his face not giving a damn, you were testing every ounce of patience he had.
“I will fucking bite you! I promise it…” Mohawk Mark tried to move his head back as quickly as he could to get away from your hand. Eventually, it landed right on his forehead before moving upward, softly stroking his hair. He tried to bite you for a second so you used your powers. With a hard glare from your eyes, his body was paralyzed in mere seconds as you rubbed it softly. You released your hold on his body just as fast as you used it.
You kept stroking his head, you saw him moving his head forward as best as he could so you could keep going. Your other hand reached up to his face, squishing it softly before you began to stroke it. He let out a noise of pure satisfaction…a soft moan. As soon as he realized, you backed up satisfied with your work on his behavior. He went from snarling and snapping to melting in your hand.
Your mark grabbed your shoulder, making a notation to get the hell out of there. You just gave him a soft kiss trying to keep him satisfied as you had one more mark to deal with. You knew your mark was getting jealous quickly so you had to hurry it up.
As soon as you walked over to sinister mark in his restraints he spat on your face. The other marks watched waiting to see what happened your mark dashed over to you as he began a screaming match with sinister mark.
Ignoring them and all their noise, you just spat right back on his face as the room fell silent. You were even now—the only difference was you could wipe the spit off of your face but he couldn’t get it off of his. Your hand reached up to his face as he prepared to bite you but you flicked his nose before continuing. You rubbed his hair—making it messy in mere seconds before you looked him dead in the eyes, smiling warmly.
“I promise you, if you ever spit on my face again I will break your face in.”
Your mark was just frozen in the spot waiting for this interaction to finish. Sinister Mark's eyes widened a bit before going back to normal—he was surprised at how you could look so gentle while threatening him.
“Yes bitch…” he said in a snarky tone trying to get some power back in the situation. You smiled before pinching and twisting at his nose. He couldn’t do a single damn thing about it.
“Huh? What’d you say?” You waited for him to change his manner of speaking. Your mark reached to pull your arm down as you 2 shared a look. He was trying to figure out what you were even doing but you gave him a glance that said you could handle it.
“Yes…ma’am” sinister Mark said in an annoyed tone this was basically his version of surrendering defeat. Your hand went to his face stroking it just like you did to the others. At first he acted like he didn’t give a single fuck about you or your touch—seconds later he was melted into your cheek moving his own face to have it happen faster. You stroked his face slower and began scratching his hair as Mohawk Mark began complaining how that wasn’t fair. Sinister mark was losing himself—lifting his chin to have that touch and rubbed to. He bit his lip trying to keep in any sounds he would’ve made but eventually one slipped out.
“F…fuck…” he moaned out roughly before you moved your hand away from him
“Good boy.” You said back with bliss in your voice. You honestly felt aroused by the fact you had 4 Marks folding for you just at the simple touch of your hand and sternness in your voice.
“God…what did she do to us…” Viltrumite Mark said sounding embarrassed or even frustrated that that even happened. The other Marks (sinister and Mohawk) just told him to “fuck off” as they kept their heads down in a bit of shame. They were absolutely in shock at how they folded that fast but knew they wanted more. They were pissed that they clearly weren’t getting more.
You had them fold enough for the day. Plus, your Mark looked like he wanted to snap sinister Mark's neck for spitting on you. He was tired of being in that damn room for the day. Your mark grabbed you by the waist giving you a look that said “You needed to leave” You just nodded and let him lead you out of the cell. You and your mark left the cell making your way out of the building. Mark was flying you 2 home as he wanted to talk about what the hell happened.
“So…what was that..” he asked in a genuine and jealous tone. He wanted to know what was up with all of it. Why did you guys keep going back, why were you touching them, how did you make them fold that easily? He wanted answers…
“Honestly…I don’t know. I didn't even think it’d work on the viltrumite one but as soon as it did I just had to try it on the rest of them and it worked. Guess you’re just weak for me in every universe?” You gave the best answer you could to your mark waiting for his response.
“Not gonna lie…I was a bit jealous. They practically killed everyone and now they wanted to fold just cause you touched them!” Mark exclaimed before you kissed his face softly. He had calmed down quickly just from your lips.
“Relax... you're the one who gets to take me home. You win either way. However...I do need you to take me back there tomorrow. It’s something I wanna do with you there. All of you…” you had something a little sinister and against the rules on your mind.
“Again!? What is it…I’m so sick of that place…” your mark wanted to know what you’d do if you went back. He was tired of going there and honestly was ready to never go back again. However, he was trying his best to trust your judgment and see where it’d go.
“Don’t worry about it…just know that you’ll have fun. All of you, trust me. You said with a smile before Mark finally landed, bringing you two to your house. You had plans…foul plans…and you couldn’t wait to put them into action tomorrow.
summary: when charles admits to listening to unsolved, Ferrari take it upon themselves to play matchmaker
a/n: Hope everyone has a good 2025!
a/n2: I made up all of these murders and mysteries. My bad if they’re actually real
scuderiaferrari
liked by yourprivate, maxverstappen1, arthur_leclerc, and 3,138,723 others
scuderiaferrari: Carlos and Charles took the stage today to answer fans’ questions!
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user1: god do they look good
↳user2: i knnnnnoooowwwww
↳user1: gnawing at the bars of my enclosure right now ngl
user3: loved the little baking lesson that Carlos had going on there at one point
↳user4: god can we get charles to take notes???
↳arthur_leclerc: it wouldn’t help
↳charles_leclerc: stop lying! I can cook
↳arthur_leclerc: you can’t
↳user4: we saw that pasta video…unless you’ve gotten vastly better no you can’t
user5: my big surprise takeaway was that charles also listens to unsolved? He seems like that would be too scary for him tbh
↳user6: listen that man has been in Ferrari for years now
↳user6: listen to the horrors? No no no. He lives with them. He is them
↳user7: alrighty there Mr. Philosophy. Chill
user8: ok but did you see his blush when they asked why he liked unsolved?
↳user9: YES! I think the mans likes the podcaster, not the podcast!
↳user8: can you blame him? They’re hot af
user10: ok but i feel like this is the start of a meet cute? liked by charles_leclerc, yourprivate
↳user10: did??? Did Charles just like my comment???
↳arthur_leclerc: 😆😆😆😆
unsolved
liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly, maxverstappen1, and 724,293 others
unsolved: Let’s talk death and disappearances this month — three cases spread across 3 states and 3 decades that have never been solved that starts and ends in Boston! Lisa Miller, …more
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user11: chilling…
user12: ok but why do they match so well…did you just somehow connect these 3 murders?
user13: damn do the fbi need to hire you. liked by the fbi
↳user13: wait what???
maxverstappen1: good stuff 👍🏻
↳user14: what in the earth is this crossover???
↳user15: vroom vroom guys listen to murder mystery podcast??
↳charles_leclerc: NO. NO WE DONT
↳unsolved: shame 😞
↳charles_leclerc: no wait wait wait. I DO! They don’t.
↳pierregasly: 😂😂
↳user16: what in the world…
oscarpiastri: interesting, interesting…
↳charles_leclerc: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP
↳oscarpiastri: that’s no way to speak to your son…
↳user17: what is going on in the House of Commons???
↳unsolved: that’s what we would like to know as well…
↳charles_leclerc: ABSOLUTELY NOTHING IS HAPPENIGN!!
Private Emails
scuderiaferrari
liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, unsolved, and 2,133,464 others
tagged: unsolved
scuderiaferrari: COTA here we come…with a mysterious guest!
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user18: OH MY GOD did they really invite the unsolved podcaster Charles has been not so secretly thirsting over???
↳user19: they did! I bet it’s gonna be a really interesting race…
charles_leclerc: we look forward to seeing you!
↳user20: how long did it take you to type that out and not completely freak??
↳arthur_leclerc: longer than you think possible!
this comment was deleted
↳carlossainz55: his face was redder then our cars
this comment was deleted
↳pierregasly: I was fielding panicked calls all day. You have no idea
this comment was deleted
↳maxverstappen1: I just took his phone and did it for him 😂
this comment was deleted
user21: my fingers are crossed. I am sat. Please please please give us a good episode of unsolved with Charles and Carlos. You don’t understand my NEED for this to happen
↳user21: god I’m just imaging something like their prison episode from 2 years ago? Like spooky and creepy to the extreme!
↳user22: sorry but can you explain? I’m new to unsolved and am working backwards!
↳user21: of course! So about 2/2.5 years ago the unsolved crew camped out in a decommissioned prison with a ghost hunter group (I forgot their name sorry!)
↳user21: while the hunters were, you know, searching for ghosts, the unsolved crew were doing an in-depth study on all the creepy and dangerous murders that happened in the prison!
↳user21: it was a really fun crossover episode!
↳user22: oh! That’s so cool! And austion has some pretty haunted places — maybe they’ll do it again here!
unsolved has posted 3 stories
[COTA here I come!] [beautiful!] [The setting for tonight!]
user23 replied I’m so excited!
scuderiaferrari replied glad to see you on the way!
↳unsolved thanks for setting this up!
↳unsolved I’m very excited!
user24 replied oh my god that’s such a pretty photo!
user25 replied go get your man
↳unsolved whaat??
↳user25 oh my god you don’t know??
↳unsolved ???
↳user25 oh this is gonna be funny af
scuderiaferrari replied …you’ll have both our drivers back in one piece right??
↳unsolved of course!
charles_leclerc replied that’s…that’s where we are staying??
↳unsolved yup!
Bluesky
Bluesky
unsolved
liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, sebastionvettel, maxverstappen1, and 1,231,122 others
unsolved: only 1 driver was hurt in the making of this video and his name was…Jasper White! Thanks to scuderiaferrari for loaning us their drivers to make this amazing video that took a long look at some of the most haunting deaths in this local Austin landmark! And thanks to the Spirit Sleuths for helping us out last night!
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user26: spooky…
↳user27: it feels unreal that there were so many deaths in one place in such quick succession…
oscarpiastri: glad to see you made it though the night
↳charles_leclerc: of course I did! There was no problems whatsoever
↳unsolved: I’m pretty sure I have a couple of hours of video that show you screaming and clutching at me to prove that wrong…
↳charles_leclerc: you don’t ☺️☺️☺️
↳maxverstappen1: ohhh share?
↳unsolved: that’s no footage I guess
↳pierregasly: shame
↳charles_leclerc: thank you 😊
↳user19: hmmmmm user53??
↳user53: i see it. I see it
arthur_leclerc: ok but how many drivers were screaming???
↳unsolved: all of them!
↳charles_leclerc: no! Just 1 🥹🥹
↳unsolved: sorry just one!
↳carlossainz55: compañero?
↳charles_leclerc: just 1!!!
↳unsolved: sorry 🤗
↳user19: hmmmmm
↳user53: adding it to the folder now
user28: that was such a fun episode!
↳spiritsleuths: just wait for our cut of the night!
↳user28: I’m sitting. I’m sat. I’m ready.
sebastionvettel: never thought I’d see the day after that incident in 2019
↳landonorris: share!
↳oscarpiastri: don’t you mean the inchident
↳maxverstappen1: another inchident??
↳carlossainz55: it was for a love interest
this comment was deleted
↳charles_leclerc: this time it won’t be just an inchident
scuderiaferrari
liked by yourprivate, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, oscarpiastri, and 2,293,124 others
tagged: charles_leclerc
scuderiaferrari: And that’s our COTA winner Charles Leclerc!
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yourprivate: Where's the trophy? He just comes running over to me
↳charles_leclerc: who are we to fight the alchemy?
user29: man he moves fast
↳charles_leclerc: very fast!
↳charles_leclerc: not letting this chance escape me!
↳user29: oh my god im so jealous right now
↳yourprivate: 🤭🤭🤭
carlossainz55: congrats mate!
↳charles_leclerc: you too!
↳charles_leclerc: for both reasons!!
↳carlossainz55: shush!
↳user30: oh??? user19, user53???
↳user19: …I’m on it
↳user53: I’ll start the coffee
↳user31: COFFEE??!?? ARE YOU GUYS TOGETHER???????
↳user53:WHAT NO? AHAT? SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP
↳user19: I DONT KNOW AHAT YOURE TAKKING ABOU AHAHAHA
↳user32: user19 user53 act normal challenge — failed
pierregasly: thank god. Now stop texting me asking how to ask them out
↳charles_leclerc: stop. talking.
↳yourprivate: awww were you nervous?
↳pierregasly: if nervous includes texting me over 200 times in an hour with different pick up lines and selfies asking how his hair and outfit looked?
↳pierregasly: yes
↳charles_leclerc: im going to run you over 😄
↳scuderiaferrari: you can’t actually say that Charles!
↳charles_leclerc: for legal reasons this was (not) a joke
↳charles_leclerc: 😁😁😁
↳pierregasly: …I don’t like that emoji calmar
↳charles_leclerc: 😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁
user33: the way he sprinted over to her…
↳user34: I have NEVER been so jealous as I am right now
↳yourprivate: ehehehehehe
↳user34: ok no need to rub it our faces
↳yourprivate: why wouldn’t I?
↳charles_leclerc: 🥰🥰🥰🥰
↳yourprivate: 😘😘😘😘❤️❤️❤️❤️
↳user34: right in front of my salad???
user35: wow that highway is calling my name tonight…
Summary: after his first shift back you try and make your best friend feel good.
Warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, blowjob, forced orgasm.
Frank and you entered your apartment after a long shift at the PTMC. It was Frank’s first day back at work after his stint in rehab. He had moved in with you after his divorce, because he was one of your closest friends.
“You ok Frank?” You asked noticing how quiet he was.
He flopped down on the sofa, and ran a hand over his face.
“I’m ok it was just intense.” Frank said.
“I know Frank. But you did great.” You said sitting next to him, allowing him to rest his head on your lap.
You stroked his hair, and he closed his eyes relishing in the feeling of your hands in his hair.
“You think so?” He asked.
“I know so. I saw everything you did. I was there with you the whole time. You did so well. I’m proud of you.” You said pressing a kiss to his forehead.
“Yeah well Robby and Santos didn’t see happy to see me there.” Frank said.
“Well Santos is going to have to learn to live with you being back. And as for Robby, he eventually saw sense and apologised. You might not have accepted, but it could have been worse. Robby’s on sabbatical now maybe when he’s back you two can properly make up.” You explained.
“He just seemed so disappointed in me being there. He hates me.” Frank said the tears finally flowing after that gruelling first shift back.
“Frank look at me.” You said.
Frank looked up at you. You slowly wiped the tears.
“Robby doesn’t hate you. And he isn’t disappointed in you. He hates himself, and is disappointed in himself for not having seen the signs when you were struggling. If he hated you he would have made sure you were fired and went to prison. He gave you the chance to get better which you have. That shows he still cares about you. He’s just upset with himself. As your attending he should have seen the signs.” You explained.
“You think so?” Frank asked.
“I know so.” You said smiling at him.
Frank finally smiled.
“Thank you I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Frank said.
After a while of just laying there as you ran your fingers through his hair, Frank went for a shower.
It had been a long day and all he wanted to do was shower and get in bed. What he didn’t expect was to turn around whilst he was showering and have you stood there naked in front of him.
“What are you doing?” Frank asked looking you up and down.
“Thought you could use some company.” You said a sparkle in your eye.
“I don’t think that’s. Fuck.” He said as you grabbed his cock in your hand.
After a few strokes he was hard.
“Y/N. I can’t.” He whined.
“Please Frank I just want to make you feel good.” You said getting down on your knees on the shower floor.
“I can’t. I haven’t since my ex wife.” Frank said.
“Please let me do this for you.” You said before slowly licking the tip of his cock, which was already leaking pre cum.
“Fuck please I can’t.” Frank said.
“Are you sure Frank?” You asked, looking up at him.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Frank said.
“Fuck fine. Ok do it.” Frank said before he could change his mind.
Slowly you took his cock in your mouth. Bobbing your head up and down his shaft.
“Fuck.” Frank said as he started bucking his hips.
Keeping up the rhythm you could tell when Frank was getting close because he pushed your head further down his cock.
But then suddenly he lifted your head so his cock slipped out of your mouth.
“I can’t.” He said as he shut off the water and got out of the shower.
You stayed on your knees looking dumbfounded.
When you finally got up you found Frank in his bedroom. Laid on his bed his cock still hard, and his body still wet from the shower. He hadn’t bothered grabbing a towel.
“Frank.” You said from the doorway. Dripping water everywhere as you too didn’t grab a towel.
“I can’t do this.” Frank said. Hands covering his face.
You sat down on the bed next to him.
“Frank I’m sorry, I just thought you needed some tlc.” You said.
“I just can’t do this with you.” Frank said.
“Why because we’re colleagues? Because we’re friends? Or because I’m not Abby?” You said
When Frank didn’t answer you got up to leave, but he grabbed your wrist.
“I’m sorry.” Frank said.
“I just don’t know how to do any of this anymore.” Frank admitted.
“I just wanted you to feel good after the day you’ve had.” You admitted.
“I know you did. But I’m happy just cuddling up with you, on the sofa watching some trashy movie. You don’t have to do anything for me.” Frank said.
“I’ll leave you to it.” You said.
“No don’t. I’m still hard. I’m just scared.” Frank said.
“You don’t have to be scared.” You said.
“Then make me cum.” Frank said.
You chuckled before grabbing his cock again. This time you opted for stroking his cock.
Picking up the pace Frank felt himself getting close again.
“Cum for me Frank.” You said.
“I. I can’t.” He said almost crying, at how good it felt but knowing he didn’t think he could actually cum when it came to it.
“Yes you can. Cum for me.” You said again.
“Please I can’t.” He cried out.
You leaned down to kiss his lips. Your stroking not stopping once.
“Yes you can. Cum for me. Now.” You said.
You stroked a few more times, until Frank cummed. His cum squirting high in the air. Coating your hand and his stomach.
There was so much of it. It was the best orgasm Frank had in a long time.
“Let’s go get you cleaned up.” You said. But Frank’s legs were still shaky. So he was slow at getting up.
After the two of you shared a shower you went to go to your own bedroom, but Frank dragged you with him to his bedroom.
“Frank what are you doing?” You asked.
Frank didn’t say anything just smashed his lips against yours.
When he pulled away he caressed your cheek, resting his forehead against yours.
“Stay with me for tonight at least?” He asked.
All you could do was nod. The two of you then got into bed and he pulled you into his arms.
“I’m so sorry about everything.” Frank said.
“Don’t be sorry Frank. I completely understand. I know I’m not Abby I’m not trying to replace her. I just want you to feel good.” You said.
“I know. You’re the only one who’s been with me through this whole shit. I want you to know I care about you. And I want to try this with you.” He admitted.
“Try what?” You asked looking at him confused.
“Being more than friends. Even when I was still married to Abby I was attracted to you. I know it was wrong. I loved Abby. Part of me always will. She is the mother of my children. But I’m ready to move on. And there’s no one better than my best friend.” You said.
“Frank. It’s only been a few months since your divorce. And only ten months since she left you. How do you know you’re ready?” You asked.
“Because of tonight.” Frank said.
“What me forcing you to cum made you realise you’re ready to move on?” You joked.
“No I meant the pep talk. Telling me what I needed to hear. That’s when I realised how much you’ve really done for me. And made me realise that I have fallen for you.” Frank said kissing your lips once again.
“Frank are you sure about this?” You asked.
“I’m sure. You’re the only one keeping me sane and keeping me from relapsing.” Frank said.
“That’s not healthy you can’t be with someone because they’re stopping you from relapsing,” you said.
“I want to be with you because I’m in love with you silly. Everything else is just a benefit.” He said.
“Then we’ll will take this slow. We won’t rush this.” You said pressing your lips to his again.
“And for the record I’ve been in love with you for a long time. But I never said anything because of your marriage. I respected you too much for that.” You admitted.
“Well I’m all yours now.” Frank said as you laid against his chest.
