Fictional Men My Beloveds

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But not when he looks at you with those eyes. The ones that darken, that feel hot. Hungry. The ones that cause a shiver to ripple along your arms, raises the fine hairs no one can see.

What does it mean to be desired?

You’ve heard people talk about it. Like drinking fine wine in a dark room, something rich, deep, that coats the mouth and warms from the inside. Desire is sated by some in dim lights and by fluttered eyelashes, enough alcohol to dull the senses, open them to accepting the risks your otherwise sober brain may weigh. A swipe of a card, maybe a charming grin if the charmed is lucky. Others find it deformed into desperation, or perhaps depravity, searching for the easiest fix in loud bars, a dirty back ally.

To you, it has always been different.

It made you feel like meat. Not something glamorous to chase, or something to woo, to win over with the right combination of magic tricks. It felt like being meat. Unglamorous, wholly unnoticeable, another slab cut from the carcass of romance. Something to be consumed, and then inevitably discarded. There is always a butcher shop open, there is always fresh meat, served in dodgy night clubs, under throbbing lights, in gentlemen’s and women’s clubs (though there are hardly any of the latter), waiting for the knife, for teeth. What once lived as love died as romance, and became the flesh that feeds desire.

You could never be satisfied with meat. Perhaps it makes you greedy, greedier than those claimed by desire. You can’t settle for meat when you want the living breathing animal. You want love. You want to live beside it, hear its gentle breaths mimicking your own, watch it bound over the lushness of a cultivated, patient romance. Each blade of grass a gift in the jewel of your hearts, a seed planted and nurtured into something profound beyond the sea of wildflowers. No, you can’t settle for the taste of love and romance long dead, dripping down your chin, painting you in violent red instead of gentle green, bright pinks. The thought is unbearable.

It is frustrating how often lust, and consequently desire, is conflated with love. You’ve been sold the story enough times, in everything you see. It is an easy entryway to romance, to start with the instinctive and primal; sweat slicked bodies writhing like worms severed down the middle. It is easy to start there as the foundation of intimacy, and shape romance around it. You’ve already seen each other at your most vulnerable, what is there left to be afraid of? You’ve already trusted each other with the most tangible parts of yourself, your body, surely it is no great leap to offer the mind next.

It never made sense to you. And reality seemed content to prove you right. Rarely have you seen the pursuit of lust result in actual love, nigh actual romance. People want to fuck, that is a fact of life, and it isn’t inherently wrong. But rarely does desire extend beyond that. It is much too impatient to wait for the payoff of loving and committing romance to another. Why bother, when the next slab of meat is being packaged and shipped as we speak?

So, even though you know Xavier isn’t the kind of man to see you as something to consume, then dispose of, you can’t help but see desire underneath those stares. Ugly, insatiable desire wearing the face of your best friend, threatening to rip him away if you rebuff him.

Again, you know Xavier is not like that. He is far too kind to you for it. But you have played this game before, you have seen how it ends, who the winners and losers are. Too many times you pushed back against their desire, took the mask of who you thought were your friends from that hungry creature, and tried to just continue as friends. Too many times they became angry, called you anything from ‘a tease’, ‘stuckup’, or even went silent, turning into ghosts that haunted your memories. In the end, they will ‘win’ and only walk away with the anger of not being satisfied, and you will ‘lose’, left to pick up the shattered pieces of your broken heart.

And that is what you’ve felt like for so long. Broken. Everyone has this desire you seemingly lack. ‘Sex is what makes us human!’ some would say. The statement always struck you as ludicrous; all animals experience sex, even plants do to some extent. But then, what does that make you, if that desire is just…not there? It never was, and you didn't grow into it. You waited and waited, through middle and high school, through college and now as a hunter, you waited to feel the attraction that everyone else seemed to. But you never did. Maybe something’s wrong with you. Maybe you’re not even human at all.

But that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst was the dread.

You knew about sex, thought about it. You understood it from a scientific and emotional perspective. You understood why people did it. You even occasionally enjoyed the thought of it; you could touch yourself when the need arose and not feel the need to extend the experience beyond that. But when you thought of actually experiencing it, in real life, with your body…the dread creeped in. Up from the bottom of your stomach, it spread sickening coils throughout your body. You wanted to recoil from yourself. You couldn’t, you can’t. The terror will eat you alive.

So you smile at him. You smile at him through the discomfort, and try to change the subject. Act like you never saw the darkening of eyes, the hunger that threatens to split his face and swallow you whole. Your smile that is not a smile, but a desperate begging of please, please don’t abandon me for this, I can’t give you what you want, please please don’t leave me for that. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

The relief you felt after the paralyzing fear of him narrowing his eyes, assessing, looking you up and down, then that stare melting away into his normal soft expression is indescribable. And again, you are struck with wanting to give him what he desired as a thank you, a present for not packing up the pieces of himself he left in your life to try his hand at an easier catch. You want to properly express what it means to you that he chose to stay, despite your not-very subtle rejection. You settle for a firm hug, which he returns, his gentle chuckle shaking you both.

The days working with him get easier, the tension slowly bleeding out of your shoulder blades. He tried again a few times, letting the darkness cloud his face and gadging your reaction, before he stopped doing so completely.

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I hope this doesn’t come off as too anti sex (or anti Xavier. I love our sweet bunbun, and all the boys will be addressed in a similar manner). I love that other people can enjoy sex. I just…don’t want it. And as this blurb describes, frankly, it scares me a lot. Being sex repulsed in a culture that simultaneously deeply values and demonizes sex is so odd.

This piece is also inspired by a few things, along with, of course, my own experiences. Inspired by the ‘Feed Us Your Girls’ song/cartoon I’ve seen, and also by @/little bomb (inflitratorN7) on AO3, who writes beautiful pieces about introspection and what it means to be loved by Sylus.

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You tried so, so hard to stay awake after work for him.

Sylus could see it, every time you walked through his door. The cracks in the dam you built to hold back your exhaustion would spider, heave in defeat. He watches the moment the flood cascades down your body, shoulders finally slumping, lungs expelling a long awaited sigh. You close your eyes, just for a second, trying to build a hasty replacement so you could smile at him. He loves your smile, but the cost of these tired ones are far too great in his mind. Lukewarm aftershocks of forgotten coals compared to the roaring bonfire of your full affection; the only thing that will satisfy his greedy heart.

He’d tell you to rest, that you didn’t have to brave the long commute into the N109 Zone just to see him. A phone or video call would suffice until the weekend, he assures. But then, you’d look at him with the most adorable pout, crossing your arms as you mumbled something about that not being enough for you. You didn’t want to wait that long to see him, you’d say, you wanted to spend more time with him. A trait you two share, and despite Sylus’s penchant for teasing you about it, he couldn’t be more thrilled at such an admission.

Your desires match his own. His greedy, greedy kitten.

So you come in, kiss his cheek in lieu of ‘hello’ (which he infinitely prefers), and sit down at his table for a meal. You have dinner while he has breakfast, the warm scent of coffee tickling your noses. He’d offer you some, admiring you over the rim of his ‘Best Boss’ mug the twins got him for some occasion. The messy strands of your hair sticking out after a hard day's work, the slope of your shoulders, the delicate flexing of your fingers around his sterling silver cutlery.

You’d wrinkle your nose at him, the adorable kitten you are, and adamantly refuse the coffee. Your ADHD meant caffeine acted more like a sedative rather than a stimulant, much to your apparent frustration. If you didn’t pass out after dinner like your droopy eyelids prophesied, then the coffee was sure to put you to sleep. Your face twists at the very thought; you weren’t going to waste what precious time you had with him sleeping. A great offense, given your glare at the dark liquid. Would that you could stay the night, but with work in the morning, the commute would destroy you.

So you ate and spoke, much like a normal couple would. The irony of it isn’t lost on either of you, but you’d already had your fair share of laughs at the absurdity of the notion. Once you finish eating, you’d migrate into his office, where the dealings of Onychinus warble loudly for his attention. Nothing had ever made him regret building an empire like the wailing babes that drew his attention from you, in papers that needed signing, phone calls that couldn’t wait, trades that had a deadline. Disasters, waiting for the wick’s ignition, where they could detonate around your peace, your fragile heart, which he so diligently guards.

It’s okay, you’d tell him gently, smiling at him with so much fondness over the phone in his hand, the war in his eyes. Just being in his presence pleases you, calms you, you said. You could survive while he built up the ramparts of his fortress, the heavy metal thing around the gentle life he wished to give you. The lull of his soft breaths, his scent, masculine and sweet, his warmth against yours, soothes the hungry thing inside you with its teeth around your heart. You could survive staving off the clamping down, the blood flowing through merciless jaws, knowing it would come later when you are forced to part from him again.

So you settled on the couch together, a low fire burning across from you, stretching your shadows over the room in the shape of a conjoined silhouette. You pull out some handheld console or another, letting the fantasy consume you while he clicks through his phone, making deals, securing negotiations. His free hand rests absently on your thigh, thumb rubbing up and down over the fabric covering your skin. On busy nights like these, this is usually how you both spend the handful of hours you have together; wallowing in the presence of each other. When the exhaustion gets too heavy for you, you will sigh and regretfully inform him of your departure.

But you don’t do that, this night. It was only out of his periphery that Sylus starts to notice you losing your battle with consciousness. Your head began to rest heavily on his shoulder, much to his delight. He easily hid the pleased twitching of his lips when you stubbornly jerk yourself back upright, making a low sound of upset and blinking the sleep from your eyes. It was very, very cute watching you try so hard to fight against your own body.

You are starting to fully surrender, though. At some point you’d turned off your game, placed the console on his coffee table in front of you. You’d angled yourself into him, pressing your body into his side, and he gamely lifted his arm, curling it around you, letting you snuggle closer. You watch him work, his fingers gliding over the screen like graceful figure skaters, precision channeled through controlled speed. He had no interest in hiding his world from you if you desire to learn, and he lowers his other arm from where it laid on the armrest so you could get a better look. He lost time, focusing on his work, the soft warmth of your body and the sweet flutter of your calm heart relaxing him, letting him enter a smooth, productive flow.

After some time has passed, he’s not sure how long, his attention returns to you. He isn’t quite sure how you’d gotten into your current position.

Sylus pauses, lets his gaze drift down to your prone form on top of him. You are fully asleep now, light snores matching the easy rise and fall of your chest. One of your legs has been carelessly thrown over his, draping over his thigh and dangling off the couch, effectively straddling him. Your face and chest are flush with his breast, mouth open, a stream of drool seeping into his dress shirt, the wetness starting to cool a patch of skin there. One of your arms has been thrown loosely around his waist, as if you wished to embrace him, but lost the strength to commit to the contraction. The arm that was holding you has moved to instinctively cradle you against him, supporting you so you don’t slide off his lap.

It is a wholly unflattering position, Sylus knows. He knows you would be mortified if you were awake right now.

But you are so, so beautiful like this.

Warmth floods through his chest. It is devastating, and entirely unfair, how beautiful the emotion is. With you in his lap, completely relaxed, vulnerable. He has dreamed of this. Of you finally opening the gate for him, leading him down the tended path to your heart, a heart that has held too much for too long. You protect it fiercely; fear is carved into the scars that still hurt in memory there. He has waited patiently for you to let him in, to let yourself and all your weaknesses be bared before him. You are sleeping on him. Willingly. Openly. Your trust was not easy to build, but it is finally here.

He has wanted this for lifetimes, tasted it on his tongue. Succor, given in a single drop, then told he will never be allowed to taste it again. His punishment; languishing in the memory of beauty in his mouth that tastes like you. Smells like you.

His arm tightens around you, pressing you into himself. His phone is consumed by inky-red tendrils, no longer needed. Sylus lets his hand slide just beneath your shirt, the tips of his fingers drawing circles and figure eights into your lower back. He presses his nose into your hairline, inhales deeply, and uses every ounce of willpower he has cultivated to keep his eyes from rolling back in sheer disbelieving bliss. His chest rumbles, a deep, contented sound he wasn’t aware he was still capable of making. He lets the tip of his nose glide across your forehead, tilting it up so his lips can too. Barely pressing them into your skin, kisses so feather light and reverent that their existence is questionable. His tongue flicks out once, instinctive, and the salt of your flesh settles over his taste buds like a blanket wrapped around cold, shivering bones.

This reunion of souls, one-sided as that knowledge may be, is more euphoric than he imagined.

Until the door to his office bursts open with all the care of a bomb.

“Boss!” The twins sing-song in unison, parading into the space like cats who got the canary and the cream. “We found the mole you were looking for! We’re tracking his location as we speak—”

Sylus doesn’t often feel genuine anger. Frustration, annoyance, those are commonplace. But there is little left after so many lives that makes him feel truly angry.

But all he feels right now, as Luke continues to excitedly detail how they figured out where the rot in his empire lies, very loudly, is nothing but pure, unfiltered rage.

He does not bother to hide it from twisting his face into one of the most severe expressions he’s possibly ever made.

Kieran, having apparently been the one to inherit all of their survival instincts, abruptly freezes, finally taking in the scene. If looks could kill, he is sure the whole of the N109 Zone is in danger of spontaneous combustion from the look Sylus gives them. He quickly smacks Luke over the back of his head, trying desperately to save his brother.

“Ow!” Luke yelps, rubbing at the sore spot. “What the hell was that for!?”

“Luke, shut up.”

“What? Why—”

“Luke.”

It’s only then that he finally stops to take in what his eyes failed to properly communicate. He immediately goes rigid upon seeing the obvious landmine they both so casually stumbled over.

“Boss—” Luke tries tenderly.

“Out.” Sylus snaps, and it is the closest thing to a snarl he will allow himself. The word barely touches air before the twins practically bolt out of his office, tails tucked between their legs. Though even in their haste, they make a point to close his door with uncharacteristic lightness, hardly making a sound as it shuts after them.

Quiet returns to his office, and Sylus lets his anger bleed out through a long, drawn out sigh. He looks down at you, and although your eyes are still closed, you are now smiling.

“Be nice to them,” you say softly, shifting to plant yourself more firmly in his lap. “They were just excited.”

“And they disturbed your sleep,” he said lowly, annoyance still curling around the edge of his words. “Sleep that you desperately need.”

“’M not that bad,” you protest, but the yawn you let out betrays you. “I get plen’y of sleep.”

Sylus can’t help but chuckle at that, at how your body is already starting to relax back into him, words slurring together. The warmth that coiled around his chest from before returns, expands at the pleased look on your face, how comfortable you clearly are pressed against him.

“Sweetie,” he admonishes fondly, lips forming around a smile. “You slept on me so soundly, I was starting to think you were a cat.”

You hum, nuzzling deeper into his neck, as if confirming his assertion. “And d’you know what it means when a cat sleeps on someone?”

“Enlighten me,” he purrs, fingers gliding up your spine, pressing delicately his nails into the apex of your vertebrae.

“It’s a cat’s way of showing complete trust and affection,” you say, voice growing distant with the pull of sleep. “Cats only sleep on people they feel completely secure and protected with. It means total safety for them.”

The words sit heavily in Sylus’s mind as you let yourself succumb once more to exhaustion, oblivious to the way his heart seems to kick at the implication.

Trust. Affection. Safety.

All the things he desperately wishes to fulfill for you. All the work he did in service of giving these things to you.

Perhaps the Daturas are finally starting to bloom, after years of reaping and sowing.

And Sylus couldn’t be happier. He runs his fingers through your hair, lets his forehead rest against yours as he closes his eyes, breathes you in. No, he really couldn’t be happier.

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Based on a dream I had, but it was actually the reverse 😂 Sylus fell asleep on top of me, and the twins busted in which woke him up. He was none too happy about that development.

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Sylus stared at you eagerly, hungrily.

As he should.

You’d rang the bell.

The bell in the old chapel Sylus had conquered for you. A gift for his wife, the very place where he’d declared you as such. You’d made a home out of it now, your flowers growing between the pews, every homage to the forgotten deity, whose church this once was, disposed of. The space reminded you of him, red blending with inky black decor, your own color splashed between them. A reflection of your interwoven fates.

But the grand bell at the top of the chapel remained untouched. Sylus said he had no intention of using it, which felt like such a shame to you. You always enjoyed the sound, even if you despised the reason for their chiming.

So, you made your own reason to ring it.

Sylus had a nasty habit of disappearing, either into the bowels of the church or into the reddened night, places where you could not find him until the first light of day (or at least, until day would’ve come, were it not for the oppressive blood moon). Too often after growing bored of your reading and craving his affection, you’d gone to find him only to wander the halls for hours, unable to locate him.

So, you rang the bell.

To signal to him your need. For his attention, his love, his desire. To satisfy something inside you that had grown to crave him, body and soul. An urgent thing that wouldn’t wait for him to finish whatever had dared to pull him away from you.

A signal that Sylus understood well.

You'd felt that need grow inside you some hours after you’d settled down before the hearth with a book. You hadn’t seen Sylus much that day, and felt your heart hurt in his absence. Soon you were wandering the halls, a path through every hidden room and corridor in search of him. Only when you reached the back of those dusty halls with no sign of your husband did you realize Sylus had gone out.

He’d gone out, without telling you before he left.

And you missed him. Desired him. Felt the ache deep in your stomach that could only be soothed by him.

So, you’d rang the bell.

It echoed for miles across the valley, the barren wasteland of your home. Sylus hadn’t told you where he was going, but you knew he heard its toll all the same. He always did.

It was some time before you heard the front doors of the chapel fly open.

You turned from where you stood, gazing across the pews at the figure silhouetted in red. You could see the faint glow around his eyes, even at a distance. The hard tic of his jaw, wings flexing behind him.

You raised an eyebrow in challenge.

He began to stalk towards you, slowly, much like a predator does while sizing up its prey. Each step echoed ominously against the stained glass, the intent clear on his face.

You weren’t getting out of this one alive.

It didn’t take him long to reach you, nor for him to walk you back into the wall, caging you against it with his body, wings wrapping possessively over you both. He pulled your left arm up, forcing his face into the palm of your hand as a frown played at his lips.

“You called to me while I was away, where I could not easily get back to you,” he said darkly, narrowing his eyes at you. “What a dirty trick.”

You glared at him, lifting your chin. “You left and didn’t tell me where you were. That was rude.”

The rumble of his subdued laughter traveled down your arm, but your attention stayed on the points of sharpened teeth his curled lips revealed.

“A most terrible sin,” he said with pseudo outrage, smirking oh-so smugly. “Whatever can I do to atone?”

You pretended to ponder it, fighting a smile as you tilted your head, appraising him. When you were satisfied, you surprised him by stepping forward, closing what little gap was left to trap his chin between your thumb and index finger.

“Do all that I say and I’ll consider forgiving you.” Now you let your smile bloom across your face; a smirk wicked enough to match his own.

Your words had the desired effect. His eyes flashed, the glow in them growing more intense, as did his hunger.

“Oh, but kitten,” he purred, pressing a kiss into the heel of your palm. “You already know the price of my servitude.”

With that, he began to trail his lips down your arm, open mouthed, letting you feel the hot puff of each breath he took, the faint ghosting of the tips of his fangs over your skin. He didn’t grant you a full kiss or bite, simply letting you feel the delicate plushness of his lips, his breath, his teeth.

Until he reached your elbow.

Your veins were so prominent, blue streaks of your essence spidering under your skin. He nuzzled his nose against it, thanking you as mortals thank their chosen deity before a meal. Then, his jaw opened and you felt him place those dangerous points directly over his prize and bite.

You gasped softly as your skin broke, sparks of pain flying across your nerves as the vein gave with a crunch. Sylus tightened his grip, making sure you were steady before allowing himself the first rush of your crimson to pool in his mouth.

Ambrosia. Sweet, sweet ambrosia.

Sylus moaned around your arm, unabashedly enjoying your flavor. You watched, morbidly fascinated, as his throat flexed with his first swallow, and he immediately lost himself in you. His drinking became feverish, the tug on your arm turning harsh as he took eager mouthfuls of you in quick succession.

Though he’d gotten rougher, the pain had subsided, warmth taking its place around your heart. Something about watching him, how his Adam’s apple bobbed with each impatient drag, made you feel immeasurably pleased. To know that you were the one to feed him, to give his body life, gave you a great deal of pleasure.

Pleasure that quickly sunk low into your gut, pooling with deep seated need.

Need that quickly possessed your free arm, having it trail up his abdomen, warm with your blood. You gently ran the back of your knuckles over his cheek, affection softening your smile.

“Such a good boy, feeding from me,” you purred in a low voice. A reward, for filling you with such delicious warmth.

His eyes opened, locking with yours as he let a deep growl rumble from his throat, clamping down on you harder. You chuckled at that; possessive creature.

Sylus fed as long as he could until with some reluctance, he unlatched from you, his mouth remaining flush with your skin. He pressed sweet kisses into each of the puncture wounds, lips stained a glistening red. His tongue poked out, catching the drops that lazily oozed from your wounds. You hummed in appreciation, relishing his affections that would sooth that ache that was sure to bloom there.

He continued his journey down your arm, his lips roving across your skin. Your blood smeared over you both, your flesh being painted by the shape of his mouth. He curved up your shoulder, over the thin strap of your nightdress…

When he reached your neck, he breathed in deeply, groaning as your scent traveled down his throat. You were heavenly. Divine.

He couldn’t hold himself back.

He lapped at the space there, tongue laving long stripes from the bottom of your shoulder to the underside of your jaw. He dragged his teeth over your skin in a similar fashion, peppering a mix of open mouthed kisses and gentle nips on your flesh. You tilted your head to the side to allow him better access, letting out a low sound as your skin rippled with pure ecstasy. His free hand stapled with yours, holding it against the wall as he continued to graze.

But he did not bite you. Not fully.

You whimpered at the feeling of him pulling at your skin with his fangs, still denying you a proper bite. “You mean to tease me now?” You whispered, voice muffled by the pleasure coursing through your veins.

Oh, how you longed to share it with him.

Sylus hummed, running his nose along an artery he scented. “I don’t often get to indulge,” he husked, voice heavy with need. “So…I want to savor this.”

With that, he moved to your other side, dotting your neck with more nibbles while he let the others blossom claiming bruises. You moaned, squirming as the need inside you grew and grew until it was nearly unbearable, the pressure painful. Sylus, the doting being that he was, gamely shoved his knee between your legs, the arm that was holding up your palm circling your waist, pulling you onto him. His wings tightening around you. You groaned with relief as you began to grind into it; deep, deliberate rolls of your hips, hand gripping the back of his neck.

You could feel the smirk reforming on his face in response, but you didn’t have enough presence of mind to care. All you could think about was how much you craved him, desired him, longed for him. You pushed your neck up against his mouth, letting a soft whine slip past your lips to signal your impatience.

That was all the invitation he needed.

His teeth were on you again almost instantly, and you couldn’t help the moan you breathed as they sliced through your flesh. His feeding was much slower this time; while before he had been starved for you, now he meant to fulfill his promise of savoring you. He let your blood slowly drip onto his tongue, swirling it around his mouth before gulping it down hungrily. You could feel his neck move with each swallow, the wave of motion sending a jolt of utter euphoria along your spine.

As pleasurable as it was for both of you, Sylus didn’t allow himself to feed for long before pulling away. You whimpered at the loss as he leaned back to stare at you, watching dribbles blaze scarlet paths into your nightdress.

His smile would be unnerving to most, bloody and satisfied. You, however, thought he never looked more handsome than when he was covered in blood.

“If we’re to continue this on the comfort of our mattress, I want you fully awake and aware,” he explained, lifting your head with a curled finger. He bent down close, let his next words etch themselves into your skin. “I want you aware of everything I’m doing to you.”

As much as you hated him for it, you knew he was right. You were definitely a little past woozy at that point, blinking blearily at him and trying to keep your head from lolling to one side. Still, your wits were not so easily smothered, and you fixed him with a teasing smile.

“How do I taste?” you asked, words slurring a little.

Sylus chuckled, a dark, deep timber. He unlaced his hand from yours, running his thumb along his lower lip to collect the evidence of his messy feast.

“Why don’t you tell me?”

He brought his thumb to your mouth and you accepted it obediently, closing your lips around it and sucking. The iron-y taste quickly spread over your tongue; familiar, warm, permeating. You made sure to lick the fabric of his glove clean, not wanting any of it to go to waste. All the while, Sylus kept his eyes firmly on you, pleased with the way you dutifully tasted yourself.

He slipped his thumb out of your mouth, giving you almost no time to recover before he craned his neck to slot his mouth over yours, diving his tongue past your lips to coat every crevice with your flavor. You hummed happily as it grew stronger, pulling him further into you by wrapping both your arms over his shoulders, leaning into his sturdy form. You let your own tongue glide along the sharp tips of his teeth, teasing the threat of cutting yourself on them.

“Sylus,” you sighed, wanton between wet kisses, brief windows when he readjusted, devoured you from a new angle.

“Mmm?” He rumbled into you, unwilling to part from you long enough to speak.

“Take me to bed.”

He opened his eyes a crack, met yours over your noses. Without a word, he slid his arms beneath your thighs, hoisting you up with little effort. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, lips never parting as he carried you towards your bedroom.

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I started with my main, of course:

P.S. don’t mind the reflectiveness, I put page protectors over these

I really like how it turned out, but his pages aren’t done yet! I want to get some more generic crow/dragon stickers at comic con as accents for the page, so they don’t feel quite as empty.

I was also happy I got an excuse to use some of my Monster Hunter stickers! They’re gorgeous and I didn’t know where to stick them, but they fit perfectly with our dragon 💕

Next is Xavier. I actually did his first cause I was really excited about the KoDK print I got at RCCC this last weekend, it’s so beautiful! These pages are personally my favorite, I had the most stickers and things to fill in the space with for him. A friend of mine gave me a bunch of random astronaut stickers one night, and they are perfect for Xavier!

And here’s the latest one, my beautiful fishie:

Fishie is not done either! I’m hoping to find some sea animal/wave stickers for the boarders and to have swimming across the pages. I’m very excited to see how it’ll turn out!

My sincerest apologies to the Zayne and Caleb girlies, I haven’t had the chance to work on their pages and I’m leaving for Hawaii tomorrow morning 😩 I also have the least amount of stuff for them, but I’d be happy to share when I finish their pages! For Zayne I have a bunch of old winter/Christmas stickers I’m looking forward to trying out 🥰 Caleb will be getting all the apples and planes I can find!

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Your footsteps are silent as you approach the bed, where your lover lies. His back is to you, bare and draped in lavender sheets, hung low on his waist. His breaths are even, peaceful, even though he wears a golden cloak of gentle sunlight, filtered through the only unobscured window in the otherwise dark room. His pillow is clutched possessively beneath him, the tassels spilling down the defined muscles of his arms.

He looks like those old depictions of the divine, a god slumbering under the halo of morning. Your heart hurts with heavy adoration as your unworthy eyes drink in the shape of your beloved, and wonder how you came to be worthy of divinity.

The bed dips under your weight, gentle though you tried to be. Sylus doesn’t stir, his chest continuing to rise and fall rhythmically. He remains still even when you climb atop him, straddling his hips, your eager touch grazing across the expanse of his back. Then, because you simply cannot survive containing your affection any longer, lest your heart burst from it, you lean down and let your lips dance across his unfairly soft skin, let them bask in the presence of your lover. Slow, languid kisses are pressed into the perfect curve of his shoulder bones, up to the sensitive nape of his neck, and down the valley of his spine. Unhurried, your fingers drag lazily across him in time with your lips, reverent and worshipful.

Sylus’s skin ripples in a shudder. A deep, sleep addled groan breaks the fragile silence, a bleary red eye opening to peer at you over his shoulder.

“Kitten?” He breaths, voice roughened and deeper.

You stop kissing him, to his displeasure, resting your head on his back as you meet his eyes.

“Beloved?” You whisper, smiling at him.

He sighs a groan again, his eye slipping shut. He adjusts slightly, pulls his pillow down to lay his chest over it.

“Join me?” He says, lips barely moving, the words slurring together from his drowsiness.

“Am I not already doing that?” Your brow furrows in confusion.

He hums, pretending to contemplate it. Then, his mouth curls upward, catching on a smirk. Before you can react, because you know what that look means, he suddenly rolls, and you squeal as you’re thrown off his back and onto the bed. Without opening his eyes, he hooks the arm that was clutching his pillow under your waist, lifts you up and over to deposit you beneath him. “Sylus!” You cry, indignant, but he is already settling atop you, burying his face into your chest and letting his full weight crush you into the mattress, like a giant, lumpy weighted blanket. Your view swims with unkept silver strands, and his arms snake underneath you, replacing his pillow with your supple flesh.

“There,” he sighs, satisfied once he’s stopped moving. “Now you’ve joined me.”

You huff, glaring at him, even though his eyes aren’t open to appreciate it. But, it’s hard to continue pretending to be upset when he has already begun to relax into you completely, the rise and fall of his chest slowing. The pleased smile on his face begins to dissolve as he loses his battle with sleep, his open-mouthed breaths warming your skin.

You pause for a moment, let it stretch so you can keep admiring him, your safety, your home. You can’t quite explain the joy you feel, watching him drift to sleep in your arms. That a man who always sleeps with a gun under his pillow feels comfortable enough to fall asleep with you. That there wasn’t a trace of tension in him, despite the stressful life he lives.

It makes you so, so happy.

Without thinking, you reach up, letting the tips of your nails resume gliding over his back, feeling out the dips and curves of his body. Sylus shudders again, his body vibrating with a delighted hum while you gently scratch his back. You crane your neck to reach him and press kisses into his unbelievably soft hair, your nose filling with the scent of his shampoo. Unable to resist the temptation, one of your hands leaves his back to begin combing your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. Your eyes close in bliss, wrapped in the warmth of him, feeling his arms slide further beneath you to hold you tighter.

It isn’t long before he’s asleep again, soft snores escaping his throat. You’re not long to follow, trying to blink the tiredness from your eyes as you lean back on the pillow that was once his.

“Goodnight, beloved,” you sigh with the last of your consciousness.

“Goodnight my love,” Sylus murmurs.

You’re both asleep as soon as the last word is out of his mouth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yeah the new art for that promise card is diabolical

“What are you thinking about?”

A gust of air from his great wings preceded him as Sylus gracelessly thumped down beside you, sending up flecks of snow into your hair. You grunted in annoyance at him, brushing them out with your fingers before hugging your knees to your chest again, letting your head rest on your arms. Your eyes lazily scanned across the white covered valley, through the leafless trees and frozen peaks, to where the last torches in Tarus City flickered in the biting evening wind. The snow caught stray beams of the day-old sun, dying it a sparkling amber, like chunks of agate picked from a beach, or a perfectly ripe orange begging to be plucked from a branch.

The sun had been much higher in the sky when you first went out there. Your little slice of solitude, the place where you could go to think, where the cave walls didn’t feel like they were closing in around you. You could breathe and the air tasted fresh and crisp, instead of stuffy from the layers of dust that covered everything in Sylus’s nest, after centuries of disuse. The little cliff edge overlooking the valley had become your respite, your escape from the constant reminders all around you of how…different everything was.

Different…and you didn’t know how to feel.

Did you wish you could go back to the way things were? You didn’t…think so.

Are you happy now? That, you also weren’t sure about.

Sylus kept your thoughts away from such places, most days. He carried you, with infuriating effortlessness, across the whole of Philos, to every place where the earth was trampled by the weight of Judicator boots. He carried you to them, set you down and told you to be greedy. And like any beast starved of its desire, once finally given, you indulged him with hungry ferocity. You basked in the bloodshed, feasted on their wails with a gluttony not unlike the kings they served, your heart a war drum for the vengeance you vowed against them.

When you returned, pouches full of clinking spoils and skin saturated with a proudly worn veil of crimson, you assumed all you would do was rest, recover from the excursion. But Sylus was relentless; he taunted and teased you, tempted that little angry thing inside you that hadn’t healed, hadn’t been given the time nor care for it and dared you to demand more from the world to soothe it. He saw the finest minutiae of your desires, breathed life into those tiny sparks until they raged and burned like a bonfire inside you, becoming incandescent flames that gave off a black smoke so thick it stung your eyes.

Your body, your blood, sang for a recompense that could only be paid in ruin.

And when he conducted your blood to sing, it was forced to bury the emptiness that had begun to invade your heart, in the quiet between it all. A crack, a seam, a tiny hole dug by overzealous fingers, insignificant to how you thrummed for violence at his behest. The nagging of thoughts unacknowledged went silent when he was near, too busy chasing chthonic desires to stop and feel.

You’d recently come to realize the tragedy of it. Tragic because Sylus served as a bandage over a festering wound; his distractions hid, but did not heal. Your flesh continued to fester unobserved, infection burrowing sickly tendrils deeper and deeper, ambivalent to its host’s awareness. When you were inevitably forced to peel it back, when you didn’t go on raids, lazed about the cave with nothing but racing thoughts to chase after, you couldn’t pretend to be surprised that the infection had only worsened, instead of magically disappearing.

On quiet nights, you thought of the Sanctuary. Of stone walls made of white marble, that seemed to glow in the morning light. You thought of the cat, how it crouched before the wall, its butt wiggling right before it launched itself into the air, only to land back on the well-kept grass in failure. Trapped, just as you were.

You thought of your little dragon. Tucked away under your covers, taken out when you pressed too hard on the bruises of your lonely existence. You thought about how it felt when it was ripped from your desperate hands—bloody from clutching it so tightly—and how it took a piece of you with it.

You thought of people you would’ve once considered friends. Their bright faces when they snuck past the Judicators that hoarded you in the Sanctuary, snuck into your dark room at the dead of night. How they would smuggle you out beyond those walls, into the Ivory City proper, into what you perceived must be what true life was. After being locked in that cage for so long, the open sky was almost scary, as it took the form of endless yawning streets, alleyways and rows of buildings that stretched and stretched, but you relished in the rush of wind in wings that never knew air before.

You thought of the modest little party they threw for you at the turning of every year. Of candles blown out, a desire you kept all to yourself. You felt special. Like people believed you were worth celebrating.

You thought, and you mourned.

You hated it, how much you mourned. You hated how much your heart ached for the company of those who abandoned you like one does an overused rag; thoughtlessly, indifferently. Ready to be replaced with something just as disposable. Of when you were caged, but you could convince yourself to be happy with the morsels of joy you found in those nightly escapades. That merely stretching your wings for such a short moment was the equivalent of exploring an endless sky, the ground rushing by below, the world a playground for you to explore.

It was becoming harder to ignore the cries from your mourning heart as of late. They made you stubbornly cling to those things, like a child threatened with having their favorite toy taken away. Even if you now know that toy—a beloved stick salvaged from a forest floor—was covered in poison ivy. Your heart ached with an emptiness that felt so terribly hungry.

And what did that make you, if you desired that blissful ignorance again?

Did it matter if your life was built on lies, if you were happy? Did it matter, as long as you enjoyed living?

You didn’t know. You didn’t know, and it bothered you. Especially after seeing the Judicators twist the shadow of dragon wings overhead into an excuse to miam, torture and kill anyone who didn’t clap to the rhythm of their footfalls. How quickly your ‘friends’ had turned on you.

“You’ve been out here a long time,” Sylus said, when you remained silent. He plopped down in the snow beside you, stretching out his legs so they teased the edge of the cliff. You’d cleared a small patch away so you could sit without getting your clothes wet, but Sylus held no such reservations, leaning back on his claws comfortably, his tail swishing lazily in contentment.

You bit your lip, as you looked at him. You didn’t really think Sylus would be interested in your musings. Gods, he’d probably see it as you being weak again, pondering the what ifs and thinking about your old life. A life that ended when they saw that little dragon clutched in your hands. He was the one who encouraged you to be more greedy, to grow your own dragon horns and be reborn, to be stronger.

And you would be strong. You survived. One of your greatest delights had been rubbing your survival in the world’s face.

Even if it meant pretending you didn’t think, and didn’t mourn.

“Nothing so important,” you said, smiling a little sadly.

Sylus narrowed his eyes, his lips twitching downward. Your emotions were never so easily hidden from him.

“Then surely you are willing to share?” He probed.

You let out a heavy sigh, watching your breath mist like a puff of smoke, a dragon’s breath. You’d never seen Sylus breathe fire like the myths claimed, but you didn’t doubt he could, if he wanted to.

You supposed it wouldn’t really hurt to tell him. Even if some greedy, possessive part of you curled around those soft, squishy truths, hissing and spitting. A cobra reared up, frill expanded.

“It was winter when they threw me in the Abyss.”

The words curled around you both, a dark cloak of silence descending, sticking to your skin as the implication sunk in. You’d been surprised yourself when you came to that realization early into your brooding. You’d been so distracted with everything else; feeding the growing fire inside of you, letting it consume and burn the village that refused to raise you, while some part of you wept over the ashes. It left little room to really feel all that time go by, neither of you even noticing the seasons bleed into each other—or, at least you didn’t. Not until the first few flakes of snow nipped at your cheeks, the cold flowed down off the mountaintops in droves, and you’d realized how much you’d missed from back home.

Maybe you didn’t notice because the peaks were always covered in snow.

Or, perhaps, you had desired vengeance deeply enough to the point of tunnel vision.

“Have you enjoyed it?”

You blinked, turning to the voice next to you. Sylus had a softened look on his face as he gazed back at you, frown replaced by a slight smile.

“What?”

He gestured to you. “Dragons live much longer than humans.” He spoke as if you were unaware. “Are you happy that you spent one year of your short life with me?”

Ah, the crux of your dilemma. Such a simple question, yet loaded with so much nuance. How to explain it to a being so unlike yourself?

“I…am,” you said slowly, voice wavering around the edges with uncertainty. “But there are some things I miss.”

Sylus straightened, looking at you intently. His slit pupils grew wide in interest. “Such as? Name it, and I can give it to you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound a hollow mockery of amusement. “Even with all your power…it’s not possible. What I miss is a feeling. It’s not something physical that you can conjure.”

“You doubt my abilities?” He huffed. “Have I failed in satisfying any of your desires thus far?”

Your face fell at his insistence, a forceful sigh shoving past your lips.

If he wanted a real answer, he could have it.

“You can’t make me forget the reality of what the Justicar’s really are,” you said quietly, the words too thick to speak any louder. “You can’t make the world built on their lies into reality. You can’t make their goodness reality.” You let your gaze slowly fall to his prone form. “You can’t make my friends love me again.”

Sylus bristled, scoffing as he averted his eyes, tail lashing violently behind him. “What useless things to desire,” he growled, talons flexing against the stone of the cliff.

You hated to see him displeased, even less so to be the cause of it. But he needed to understand.

The desires of the broken are not so easily granted. And perhaps, that is what made you truly greedy. Your greatest sin.

How could one have the audacity to ask for what can never be given?

You curled in on yourself, your heart sinking, falling, far too heavy for your ribs to bear. Some part of you despised it, anguished that so many of your most honest desires resided back behind those stone walls. You longed for it, despite the abuse, the pain and the misery that place carved into your soul, in raised skin you could run your fingers over on cold nights.

You shouldn’t want it.

And yet you did. You could admit it to yourself, when you sat down and thought.

You looked over at your silent, scorned companion. Even discontent, your eyes were drawn to the beauty of this magnificent creature. The spines on his leathery tail, the graceful curve of his pointed claws.

This wasn’t the first time he acted confused by the wants of humans.

You couldn’t help wondering, as you looked at him, if he acted so indifferent to protect himself. If he did know the kind of pain you spoke of, but pretended not to, so he could tell himself he didn’t feel it. You wondered if he buried the same kind of desires you anguished in by acting satisfied with sparkly trinkets, gold, jewels. He seldom ever spoke of his own desires; his focus was always on fulfilling yours, no matter how asinine or inconvenient. Even his talk of devouring your soul quickly tapered off as the year went by, to the point you couldn’t remember the last time in recent memory he mentioned it. You were sure your soul had been fattened up with more than enough desires filled to be satisfactory, and yet…nothing.

Did he long for a time when he was smothered in the warmth of his kin, too? When he took for granted a privilege that felt so filling, it masked as a right? Cherished, instead of shunned. Loved, and not hated, for being born to the wrong people. For having horns and a tail, where there should’ve been nothing but smooth, tender skin.

You wondered if dragons celebrated life the way humans did. And, if so, if that meant his life had gone uncelebrated for so much of it. If he even remembered what it felt like to be celebrated.

You hated that.

You hated the thought that Sylus was haunted by the same ghosts that disturbed the cobwebs in the darkest corners of your mind.

You hated it more than you wanted to admit.

Those thoughts guided you into thinking about all he went without that you craved so wholly. You’d gone a year without everything you believed you would ever love. Sylus had gone…what, 2000 years or so without grace in any of its comforting and forgiving forms? Grace that he may not even remember, because he was so little when it was snatched from his chubby fingers.

You hated that.

It didn’t feel fair.

You wanted to fix it.

You stared at him, thinking. The bright red of his eyes, narrowed from the scowl he left on his face, almost glowed as the world grew darker. The hook of his scrunched nose caught the last beams of evening sunlight, casting a gentle shadow over his pale cheeks, along the dark scales running up his jaw. His tail flicked occasionally, thumping back into the snow with a crunch, clearing it away in a half circle behind him. One scaly arm draped over a bent knee, shoulders slumped, red and blue veins poking between the scales on his biceps.

You wondered how anyone was able to look at him and see a monster, instead of the beautiful being he so clearly was.

“When were you born, Sylus?” You asked abruptly.

He paused, eyes darting to you wearily. His shoulders lowered, scowl fading when he saw the earnest expression plastered on your face.

“Born?” He drawled. “I was not born, I was hatched.”

“Gods,” you laughed, forcing the tension out of your tight muscles, out of the space between you. “When were you hatched, then?”

Sylus snorted, letting your question hang in the air. He rolled a small clump of snow between his fingers, watching his claws crush and shred the fragile crystals. “Sometime in spring. That is when all dragon eggs hatch.”

You furrowed your brows. “You don’t know the exact date?”

“Why would I?” His tone now sounded just as bored as he looked. “It’s not something worth keeping track of.”

You shouldn’t have been surprised. He said it himself; dragons lived so terribly long. After a certain point, what significance does one’s age—or even, continued existence—have?

Such logic did little to stop the flood of disappointment you felt wash over you.

“So you don’t celebrate your birthday?”

He tilted his head, narrowed his eyes. “I have heard of such a thing. From my understanding, it’s to celebrate growing older?”

You wrinkled your nose. “It’s a little more complicated than that, but yes, basically.”

“Then I have no need for such celebrations.” He waved his hand dismissively, like you were silly. “I stopped counting my age centuries ago. Most dragons don’t even bother to start.”

You huffed, taking your turn to scowl back at him.

How foolish of you to worry about the lost humanity of a dragon.

“Birthdays aren’t just about getting older,” you said defensively, feeling a need to justify yourself. Sylus shot you a doubtful look, so you continued. “It’s about celebrating making it through another year. That you’re alive, and that you get the chance to spend another year with the people you love. It's for people to let you know they’re glad you’re still here.”

His face noticeably soured at that. He gazed out at the valley, his eyes distant, unfocused, clouded over by unseen thoughts.

“…Then I still have had no reason to celebrate it.” His voice came out flat. “Not now, or ever.”

Your heart shouldn’t hurt either, hearing that. You shouldn’t feel the weight of sorrow, twisting into inadequacy and pulling your fragile heart down.

You’d grown so fond of him, over the year. The dragon who was infinitely more complex than anyone had ever believed. His cruelty, which encompassed all of what the world saw in him, so easily eclipsed by the kindness, the tenderness that made up the truth of himself. You saw how he pretended it was fake, that he was the ruthless beast knights got drunk and sang about slaying. You watched him hoard certain treasures close to his bed—well, what he considered a bed—because he liked how they felt against his scales. How he brought back smooth river stones to rake his claws against to keep them sharp, and how he scratched between his shoulder blades with the tip of his tail, let out a deep purr when he hit just the right spot. You’d learned how he sounded when he slept, the light snores that rumbled from his chest and the soft mumblings that you strained to hear, to understand.

He was adorable. Sweet. Dangerously charming. How could you blame yourself for growing so fond of him?

And yet…he so easily lumped you in with the rest. Those who held no love for him, and who would curse his life instead of rejoice in it.

“Are you trying to tempt me with your human love?”

His voice rang like a bell, echoing through your head with finality. He’d said it with such derision.

Is spending time with my love not worthy enough? Does it not deserve celebration?

You know it’s stupid, and not really why he said that. You’d only known him a year; a drop in the sea of his existence. Even if you spent the rest of your days with him, could you really expect to hold a place in his mind? He had lived so very many, and would live so many more. What was the consequence of one human in the vastness of immortality?

You curled yourself further into a little ball, hoping the ground would open up to swallow you whole. That darkness would engulf you, fill your soul and keep it from feeling all the things that hurt. Your voice came out barely above a whisper when you next spoke.

“I guess I don’t have a reason to celebrate it either, then.”

You could sense the frown on his face. You didn’t have the strength to bother trying to keep the melancholy in your chest from seeping into your voice. Sylus considered you for a moment before he sat up a little straighter, his brow dented in worry as he watched you.

“Would you…like to celebrate your birthday?” His usually rough voice was sanded down, unsure.

Your fingers flexed, squeezing your forearm. You didn’t really want his pity. Besides, he misunderstood the reason for your quietness. The small chuckle that escaped you was no less blue.

“No,” you said firmly. You would not force him, if he felt you two were not so close. You were not so prideful as to expect fanfare for your existence when none had even wanted it.

At least he hadn’t pretended he did, like your loved ones from the Sanctuary. At least he didn’t put on a smile, hand you a gift and say ‘happy birthday’ before shoving you into oblivion.

The air thickened with the displeasure that oozed out of his scales. The times when you rejected his offers to fulfill your desires had become few and far between. He’d prided himself on that.

“Are you certain?”

“Positive.”

He fidgeted, displeased with your answer. You weren’t entirely sure what to make of the look on his face. But then he huffed, turned away. Silence once more overtook you, and you felt a bit guilty for striking him down so thoroughly. You did appreciate his offer but…it wouldn’t feel right. Wouldn’t be the same.

But you didn’t want to let him think you were ungrateful for his attempts to soothe you the only way he knew. It wouldn’t be fair to him. At least not in your mind.

Making a sudden decision, you scooted over to him, leaned your head against his shoulder. His skin was a blistering heat after sitting in the cold for so long and you shivered, snuggling closer. He stiffened very briefly before he relaxed again, pretending to be indifferent to your new proximity.

“Thank you for the offer, Sylus,” you said softly, letting your eyes flutter closed as your body absorbed the heat from his skin. You felt him tilt his head down at you, tutting, though you heard the scrape of scales over ice, followed by a firm, warm pressure against your thigh and leg. His arm moved, claws wrapping around your waist and pulling you into his side, where you sighed happily as you got more comfortable.

“Of course, kitten.” His breath ghosted over the top of your head, lulling you into a sense of safety and calm that you quickly let overtake you, succumbing to its beckons.

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Sylus had become more sluggish lately.

You noticed it when you went hunting in the valley, an old bow from his den slung across your shoulders and Sylus flying high above you to look for prey. He’d spotted a stray doe very quickly; his efficiency there was no different, but when he swooped down for the kill, instead of the clean neck break you were used to, the deer had twisted, and Sylus was unable to adjust before he slashed a deep gash along its side. The doe had then bolted into the forest, your flimsily shot arrows never banking the right way and landing harmlessly in the ground. You’d never been good at archery, much to your own—and your instructor’s— embarrassment. You’d hoped with more practice you’d be able to assist in Sylus’s hunts, but so far you’d only been successful in abusing the ground.

At first, you’d been worried about him. You’d never seen him falter in such a way before, not even when faced with the legions of the false holy. But Sylus was stubborn, insisting he was fine and taking flight without letting you get another word in, his shadow following the obvious trail of pink snow. In truth, you weren’t too upset. He didn’t need to tell you for you to make a guess; even though dragons ran internally hotter than most mortal beings, winter was typically a time for reptiles to hibernate. Being cold blooded probably made the biting wind especially sharp, and his reflexes were suffering as a result. You’d tell him to stay in his lair and rest, wait for the winter months to pass, but you knew he wouldn’t listen, so you kept your mouth shut and tried not to flinch every time he seemed to stumble in the snow.

You trudged after him, snowdrifts reaching up past your ankles as you waded through them, lagging behind. You cursed your lack of foresight in not asking Sylus to swipe a pair of snowshoes for you during one of your raids. You normally had no hope of matching his speed on the ground anyway, but you might’ve stood some chance with the extra help. But no, instead, you grumbled as you felt your leather boots soak through, the tips of your toes and fingers starting to go numb.

Sylus better catch that damn deer before you freeze.

You let out a frustrated sigh, vaulting over the hollow carcass of a fallen tree, sinking deep into the slush on the other side. You picked up more of your wayward arrows, grimacing at how far off the mark they were before slinging them into the quiver on your back. As you pulled the last one out of the ground, your gaze drifted absentmindedly across the pile of splintered wood it’d landed in. Broken off from the fallen log, you assumed, frost-dusted branches breached the surface of the snow like spindly fingers.

You weren’t sure why, but you paused, staring down at the disparaged wood. Without thinking, you reached out, plucking one of the amputated branches out of the deep snow. It was wet, half thawed ice soaking it through, but you rotated it in your hand, scrutinizing it. It had a decent heftiness to it, a good thickness, the water darkening the brown-gold redness of the wood.

You thought of all the trinkets you’d seen in Tarus City, turning the branch in your hand. The baubles and knickknacks made of little rocks, scraps of fabric held with twine, bone and feathers. You were always impressed with how resourceful the people of a supposedly ‘depraved’ city were. How they could turn nothing into something. And one of your favorites of those creations were the little wood carvings that’d made you stop, stare at them as the shopkeeper whittled his next piece behind a table. Horses, birds, snakes and butterflies leapt from unremarkable woodscraps, petrified in dramatic poses that captured their playfulness, their pride, their beauty.

You remembered the way Sylus looked at them. His pupils expanded for a moment, curious, as he leaned over them to get a closer look. His gaze lingered on some; a unicorn rearing back, a griffin mid flight. He straightened quickly, eyes back to slits.

“No dragon,” he’d scoffed.

Your fingers curled around the damp branch. You looked up, squinting at the silhouette of a dragon against the backdrop of a clear, blue sky.

Maybe you hadn’t been clear enough, about how much he mattered to you.

Spring, huh?

You tucked the piece of wood into a back pocket, hidden underneath your quiver, as you slowly followed after the shadow of webbed wings gliding across the ground, footsteps crunching in half frozen snow.

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“Why are your hands covered in cuts?”

You froze, the gold coin you’d been polishing slipping from your fingers, clinking on the ground and bouncing away. You turned, staring at Sylus with wide eyes, your blood running cold. He didn’t sound or look pleased, your eyes roving across the slight dip in his brow, his arms crossed over his chest and his stiff posture as he leaned against the mouth of the cave opening.

“What?”

The pinch in his brow deepened, and he wasted no time marching over to you, tail dragging across the floor. He snatched your wrist from where it hung in the air, his rough, jagged claws tightening around it as he brought your palm in front of your face so you were forced to look at the myriad of cuts scattered across your skin. His eyes burned as they met yours between your fingers.

Shit.

“What happened?” His voice was low, bordering on a snarl, his lips curling to reveal pointed fangs with every word.

You’d tried your best to keep your little project a secret; you wanted to surprise him, after all. Unfortunately, your hands were unsteady and unpracticed; you had no teacher nor artisan to guide them. The result meant the blade was prone to slipping, biting into your flesh instead of where you wanted it. When you realized how chewed up your hands really looked, you tried your best to dress them as discretely as possible. You refused yourself bandages, not wanting to risk something so obvious, instead washing off the blood in a nearby stream before Sylus could notice the wounds.

In hindsight, trying to hide injuries from him, no matter how small, was clearly always an impossibility.

“It’s nothing, really!” You chirped, trying to sound cheerful. “I’ve just been practicing a new technique with the daggers. You know how clumsy I am with them.” You laughed awkwardly, the lie tasting like ash on your tongue.

Sylus managed to look even less amused. “A technique with the daggers.” He said slowly, letting you hear how unconvincing it was, giving you a chance to be truthful.

“Yup!” You plastered a wide smile on your face, squashing that chance mercilessly. “I’ll have to show it to you when it’s ready.”

He squeezed your wrist, staring at you with unblinking eyes. His slit pupils were so narrow you could barely see the streak of black inside pools of rich wine. You couldn’t help but want to shrink away under the weight of that piercing gaze.

“Don’t lie to me,” he warned, voice roughened with a faint growl.

You briefly wondered if he could hear how hard your heart was beating against your chest. Even though you knew he wasn’t necessarily mad per-say—that was just how he processed the unpleasant feelings that surfaced when he knew you were hurt—the bloodlust in his eyes was impossible to ignore.

“I’m not lying!” You managed a pout at him, hoping he would just let it go, even if it was fairly clear he knew you were hiding something. Sylus had always been remarkably perceptive, too much for his own good, you lamented. If you were lucky, he would take pity on you, and your abysmal attempts at pretending to believe he would buy your pathetic excuse.

The silence stretched for several beats, and Sylus let it, watching you fight the urge to squirm. He then grunted, an impatient puff of hot smoke blown in your face from the fire in his belly itching to crawl out of his throat. You choked on the smell, coughing as you stepped away, and Sylus let your wrist go. Waving the smoke out of your face, you watched him turn his back to you, stalking back out of your chamber.

You breathed a silent sigh of relief, letting your muscles relax as you turned to the gold pile you’d been working on. Sylus must’ve been feeling merciful, you thought. He was rarely so lenient, even with you. You’d have to devise a better way to keep your wounds from him, or get better with the carving knife. Still, you were pleased that your gift remained a secret for another day.

Until you felt a warm breath against the nape of your neck, your back suddenly flush with a wide chest. Your heart leapt into your throat, and your body went rigid again, hairs standing on end.

“I can smell it every time a drop of your blood is spilled,” Sylus said in a purr, low, sultry right into your ear. Your skin pebbled, the words making your stomach roil and knot.

“Don’t make a habit of it,” he hissed. “I don’t tolerate blemishes on my treasure.”

And just as quickly as he’d come, he was gone again, your skin cooling considerably as he stepped away. You sucked in a ragged breath, turning to watch as he retreated from your room, tail swaying lazily as he walked. The tension in your shoulders seeped out when he rounded a corner and was completely out of sight.

Way, way too close, you thought. You glanced at the enclave where your little secret remained tucked away, safe and sound. Hidden now only because Sylus allowed you to get away with your little excuse.

You’d have to be more selective about when you worked on it in the future.

🐉 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 🐉

The snow was starting to melt.

The lower slopes of the mountains blotted the landscape with patches of bald rock, the snow retreating up into the cooler elevations of the peaks. Streams of freezing cold thaw dripped down into the cave, and you readily drank from them, enjoying the refreshing, clean taste. As the days went by, the sun reached higher and higher into the sky, the breeze no longer digging into your skin with frosted talons, the nights no longer so drawn out and only manageable when snuggled into Sylus’s warmth. When you went up to your humble cliff, let your legs dangle over the edge, you swore you could see the branches of the trees in the valley outlined in a fine, green fuzz.

Spring was coming.

Sylus was feeling it too, you could tell. His scales looked brighter, his complexion more pink as his reflexes and strength returned. When you helped him hunt a boar the prior week, his prey was felled in one clean strike, just as he always used to. You felt relief swell in your chest as his body shook off the remnants of a brutal winter, happy his refusal to hibernate hadn’t caused any lasting damage.

In the next few days you noticed the newborn spring even more. Now when you woke up, you could hear the distant chitter of birds chirping at the rising sun, frogs croaking as they played in the newly formed streams made of melting snow. If you were lucky, you could hear the thundering hooves of elk herds returning to the fields, the bucks proudly prancing about and showing off their impressive antlers they spent the winter growing as they prepared to mate.

You smiled to yourself when the trees were dotted with lavender, scarlet and periwinkle, petals and leaves following the sun’s arch throughout the day. You’d waited patiently for about a month for the last traces of winter to fade, to be sure the date you picked out to reveal your labors had some chance of coinciding with the actual date of his birth. Hatching, you corrected with a chuckle.

It's time.

🐉 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 🐉

“Just trust me. I promise you’ll like it.”

Sylus chuckled, allowing you to lead him through the tunnels towards the room he had given you. His claws curled around your wrists as you held his eyes closed with your hands, carefully stepping around his piles of treasure while you walked backwards. His tail swished behind him in interest, his smile—laced with smugness—stuck on his face when you almost tripped over another rock.

“Are you sure you’re not leading me off a cliff?” He teased, holding you steady.

You scoffed, craning your neck as you continued on. “What would be the point? You have wings, you’d just fly away.”

“Indeed,” he hummed. “So what are you planning, sweetie?”

“You’ll find out in a minute. We’re almost there.”

Sure enough, you soon crossed the threshold into your chambers, and you smiled as you looked at the small items and decorations you’d spent so much time preparing for him. It’d been hard to keep him from noticing the preparations, but you took advantage of every small moment you could. While he slothed deep in the mountain, or went on long midnight flights, you fussed about your little corner of the cave, making sure everything was perfect.

You stopped him when you reached the center, instructing him to stay put. He huffed, but indulged you, keeping his eyes closed to let you quickly snatch up the gifts you’d worked so hard on. Your skin rippled with nervousness and excitement, a pulsing base that tingled your blood down to the soles of your feet.

They weren’t shiny, or particularly good. But you hoped he would like them. You hoped he could see the care you put into everything you’d done.

“Okay, open your eyes.”

Sylus obeyed immediately, pupils expanding, blinking the darkness from them. When they finally focused, took in the state of you and the room, his smirk faltered in shock as his eyes grew into saucers.

“Happy birthday!” You cried, holding up your little carving and berry tart to him, a candle flickering on the side of the plate.

He stood there, frozen, blinking at you. He looked awestruck, or dazed, as his eyes carefully traveled from you around the room, letting him absorb every detail.

First, he stared at the neatly organized piles of treasure pushed up against the walls, polished and glowing in the orange candlelight. You hadn’t the time to organize the whole of his hoard—that would take decades—but you’d managed the piles that he left in your room. Gold in one pile, diamonds in another, rubies off to the side next to sapphires, emeralds, pearls. You’d carefully cleaned them all of any dust or grime left in their owner’s absence, and now they sparkled wavy reflections against the rocky walls.

Then he gazed at the pile of rusty weapons in one corner of the cave. You didn’t notice how his breath caught for a moment, when he realized what they were; all the weapons from his would-be executioners. All the swords, axes, spears, maces and morning stars once pointed at him. All 108 of them.

You hadn’t polished them, or restored them. No, you’d trashed them, snapped their hilts and chipped their blades. Some had been bent in so many different directions, they resembled gnarled branches. Some had their blades broken clean off, without any way to wield them. Spikes had been curved inward, chains severed cleanly.

He looked up, and saw you had hung a tapestry. One that depicted a dragon casting its shadow over a small town, wings spread wide in graceful flight. He hadn’t remembered getting that for you.

Then his gaze fell back to you, with your little statue and your little pastry.

“…My birthday?” He said quietly, looking between you and the items, pupils expanding even more until they resembled black holes, framed in bloodred moonlight.

You nodded enthusiastically, taking tentative steps forward.

“You said you didn’t know an exact date…so I picked one for you,” you said gently. “It’s a few days past a fortnight in Eostur, meaning Spring is in full effect, and you very well could’ve hatched by now.” You thrust your wood statue at him, forcing him to take it. “Here, you should have your present first.”

Sylus cradled the carving with utmost care, holding it to his chest as he peered down at it with poorly concealed wonder.

In his claws, the statue of a dragon took shape, proud wings spread wide as it leapt into flight, snout tilted up and legs pushing off the ground. Its tail curved down in a graceful arc, connecting it to the square base you made so it could stand up on a flat surface. On its right shoulder, a small cat peeked out from behind its wing, though it looked more like a round blob with two points for ears.

He cupped the base delicately, as if afraid he may damage it, while he stared intently at the little thing. It wasn’t perfect by any means; some proportions were off, the statue not quite symmetrical everywhere it should be. It was much smaller in his big claws than it was in your hands, smaller than you wanted it. You had to restart several times before you were able to get it to an acceptable quality. You just hoped your definition of ‘acceptable quality’ was similar to his.

You’d been so excited to give it to him, but when he remained silent, some small part of you writhed in self doubt, worried it may not be to his tastes. Dragons loved shiny, valuable things, and this was neither of those. You knew that, when you decided to make it, while you were carving it, when you looked at the finished product. But something always told you to keep going, even when you thought of how silly it was to try throwing a dragon a birthday celebration.

“Where did you get this?” He asked, eyes never leaving the carving.

“Oh, I made it.” You smiled shyly.

“Made?” He breathed, disbelieving. He let the tip of one talon glide over the edges, over every bump and uneven carve you’d made. His eyes briefly darted between the statue and your hands, understanding dawning on him as he probed the uneven cuts and slashes.

“…And that?” He pointed at the pastry on the makeshift plate you held.

“I made this too,” you said. You felt your cheeks warm as you looked down at it, at the ridiculousness of it. “I know you can’t taste food, but everyone gets a cake on their birthday, so you deserve one too.” You shifted your weight from foot to foot. “I wanted to make you a proper cake, but with the Judicators torching most of the fields…there’s hardly any flour or sugar left. This was the best substitute I could think of.” You let out a self deprecating laugh. It probably wouldn’t taste very good, but the thought of letting Sylus go without a cake—even a terrible substitute for one—felt utterly wrong.

It wasn’t a proper birthday without a cake. And the presents.

Sylus looked around again, lost. Your smile faltered, seeing the uncertainty on his face. You’d meant this to be a happy occasion, but it dug cracks into your glass heart to see him like that. To see him dumbfounded by such simple acts of kindness. He looked so much like the little boy he must have been the last time he ever received something from someone.

“You did all this?” He murmured, his eyes slowly drawn back to yours. “For me?”

You fought down the sorrow that seeped through your ribs. You forced your smile to stay in place, but it softened, crinkled the edges of your eyes.

“Yes, because your life and your achievements deserve to be celebrated.”

His eyes widened. They traveled down to the statue in his hands, his claw running over it again.

“No one has ever said that to me,” he said, after letting the silence grow.

Your heart lurched, resolve failing, and you let your smile fade. Your thoughts jumped with what to say; ‘I’m sorry’, ‘It’s not your fault’, ‘You didn’t deserve that’. They balanced on your tongue, but tasted wrong. They were dressings for a hurt that’d been bleeding for centuries. Nothing you could say or do would change that, make the scar disappear.

But you could try. For him. He’d done so much for you.

You wouldn’t be upset, spending the rest of your life trying.

You took the last step to him, the space between you shorter than a breath. You had to crane your neck to stare up into the harshness of his lovely face, the heavy weight of his tumultuous expression.

You stood up on your tiptoes, allowing your forehead to meet his. You held the head of shyness underwater, and closed your eyes to let yourself whisper.

“Then I’ll make sure to keep saying it to you. That way, you can’t forget.”

You could feel how rigid he was, trying to process that. When the weight of your words finally sunk in, you felt his skin pressed more firmly into yours, nuzzling you back. The soft hum of a purr tumbling from his throat, comforting and so familiar it bloomed in your chest, made you smile again. His tail curled around your ankle, his gratitude made physical in the gentle caress of his scales. When you leaned back on your heels and met his eyes, he was smiling too. Warmth spread under your skin as you admired that look, imprinting it in your memory for safekeeping.

Though, reluctantly, you broke his gaze, gesturing at the wood carving still in his hands.

“Do you…like it?”

He clutched it more tightly to his chest at your question.

“Yes. I like it very much.”

To prove his point, he walked over to the pile of gold you’d polished, taking a moment to appreciate the work you’d done. Then, he unceremoniously raked one arm across the top of the pile, sending coins clinking and scattering across the cave floor in every direction. He then placed the statue in the center and scooped the coins back into place. You watched him curiously, tilting your head as you came up behind him. Sylus, once finished, threw a smirk over his shoulder at you before stepping aside, letting you see what he’d done.

The dragon statue leapt from the top of the gold pile, the base perfectly buried so it appeared to emerge from the priceless mountain, a sovereign of wealth and riches.

Mine, he said, placing it with the rest of his treasures.

My favorite, he said, letting it loom and lord over all of them.

You couldn’t help the weightless swooping of your heart, nor the wide smile that spread across your face as he accepted your gift. Cherished it, as he did with all his hoard.

“This is also for you,” you held up the little plate and treat you prepared, breathless with excitement and joy at how fondly he’d received his other gift.

Sylus’s lips parted, a wondrous look on his face as he approached you. He cupped his claws over your hands, holding you and the pastry you made. He seemed happy, as he looked over your next offering, until his eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Did you forget to make one for yourself?”

You blinked up at him. “One for myself?”

“Yes,” he nodded, as if it was obvious. “How can we eat together if you only made one?”

You looked between him and the pastry. When he remained silent, you let a laugh bubble up from your throat, seeing how serious—and apparently displeased—he was that you hadn’t made one for yourself. You hadn’t expected that from him, or even considered making one for yourself.

“It’s your birthday,” you said, pushing the plate towards him. “You’re the one who gets the sweets and presents.”

He stiffened, taken aback for a moment before he regained his composure with a gentle smile, a deep chuckle vibrating out of his chest.

“You must forgive me, I’m unfamiliar with the customs,” he shook his head. “But if that’s the case, then…” He lifted one hand, bringing a claw through the center of the pastry, cutting it cleanly into two pieces. The baked berries begin to seep out of the cut, covering the plate in deep purples and blues.

“I choose to share it with someone important to me.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “That-,” you choked on the words, clearing your throat.

Sharing wasn’t a concept you thought dragons were familiar with, much less encouraged. Yet here was your dragon, sharing something you made just for him, with you.

Could you really be surprised, when he already shared his hoard with you?

You’d meant to protest; the point of this day had been to do something for him for a change, but…you wouldn’t deny him on his birthday.

“If that’s what you want.”

His lips hooked on a dangerous smile, satisfied, mischievousness glinting in his eyes.

“You did insinuate it probably wouldn’t be very good. We should share in all of life’s delights, and conversely, all its disappointments.”

You gaped at him then, sputtered indignantly, but it quickly morphed into a laugh as you saw the smug look on his face.

“I see, this was all a plot to make me taste the terrible tart I made you?”

He hummed, grinning. “You caught me. It’s only fair you taste the fruits of your labor.”

You rolled your eyes. You supposed it was your own fault for believing he would let your good deeds go entirely unpunished.

“Am I supposed to eat this too?” He tilted his head, poking at the candle with a claw.

You suppressed a chuckle, shaking your head. “No, you blow it out and make a wish.”

Sylus glared at the tiny flame. “A wish?” He said, unimpressed. “What use would I have for a wish? What I want, I have. And if I don’t, I take.”

You scoffed, surprised by such shortsighted words from him. For a being so old, he sometimes struck you as equally naive as any mortal. The defining trait of greed was that it could never be satisfied, something you were sure he knew. He preyed upon it, after all.

“Really? You have everything you want?” You prodded.

He puffed out his chest, looking quite pleased with himself. “Indeed I do.”

You almost flinched, frowning in disbelief. “What about your family, other dragons, you’re telling me you wouldn’t wish—” You bit your lip to stop yourself. How cruel of you would it be to remind him of everything he lost, and could never get back?

But you couldn’t help wondering; did he not crave the company of dragons?

It was stupid, it shouldn’t really matter. It’s not like the wish is real. Still, some part of you was perturbed. For a being who fed on greed, how could he have such base desires?

You flexed your fingers, feeling the ridges and bumps of his hands over the back of yours. Smooth, hardened scales tapering into pointed claws. Sylus was oddly silent as you avoided his gaze, tried to think of a way to broach the topic gently.

Was he truly unbothered by the same thoughts that kept you up at night? Had he simply not thought of the possibility? Had he not considered them something to desire?

“You mean you wouldn’t wish you weren’t an endling anymore?” You breathed, almost inaudibly.

The platter lifted slightly as Sylus straightened. Your eyes instinctively followed the movement and you saw the downturn of his lips, the crinkle on the bridge of his nose between the furrow in his brow. You felt yourself wanting to shrink back; you’d upset him on his birthday; but his thumbs closed over yours. Just enough pressure to ask you not to withdraw, but not so much as to demand you stay. And you respected him enough not to retreat, when he was asking so gently for you to listen.

“You humans worry about all the wrong things,” he said softly. He met your eyes, pupils expanding from where they’d begun to reform into slits. “You spend so much time looking over your shoulder, you don’t see what’s right in front of you.”

You stared at him, wordlessly. Before you could say anything, he leaned back down and blew out his candle. You both watched as the smoke curled up towards the ceiling, embracing you with the scent of old fire.

“What did you wish for?” You asked breathlessly. It was normally something kept to one’s self, that was tradition. You’d been excited to teach him about it, a secret desire for him to hoard, but knowing Sylus, he would probably give you hints on.

Now, you wanted to know. You needed to know.

He didn’t want the return of his kind…so what did he want?

Unaware of such traditions, his answer came freely. “I wished you would be here with me to celebrate my next birthday. That way, I will have a reason to celebrate it.”

You sucked in a breath, your eyes going wide as the air was squeezed from your lungs.

You thought your heart had withered, blackened. You thought it’d become mutilated with the scars of betrayal, hatred, revulsion for just existing. For beating out of time with everyone else’s. You’d spent so long convincing yourself the truth of it.

You’d thought you were no longer capable of feeling the lightness that spread through your chest when he said those words.

You couldn’t help but smile. Big, wide, goofy in its giddiness. Sylus matched your expression, a carefree grin, round and playful and innocent, unlike his usual smirks, it made him look so much younger. He finally took the plate from your hands, opening his arms for you, and you instinctively jumped into his hold, wrapping your legs around his waist as he supported you with one arm. His eyes were gentle, dangerously gentle as they gazed up at you, waiting for your answer.

“Of course I will,” you said softly, the warmth in your voice unmistakably fond. You cupped his face with your hands, and Sylus closed his eyes, nuzzling into your palms as the whole of his chest rumbled with a deep, happy purr. You bit down on your lip to keep yourself from giggling; he was just so adorable when he purred, his tail swaying lazily in pleasure.

Such a contented sound, all because of you.

“Then it seems I was right,” he hummed, smugness returning tenfold with a crook of his lips. He looked at you with half lidded eyes, comfortable, teasing.

“Oh?” You lifted a brow in challenge. “Right about what?”

His teeth poked through as his smile grew. He leaned forward, his tail curling around your leg as his forehead touched yours. His breath fanned across your face, warm, too warm to be human.

“I have everything I could ever want.”

Your playful grin dropped instantly.

How could you be playful, when he said things so achingly loving it felt like they shattered everything that made you?

You stared at him, helpless, as you filled with so much affection from his words, from the way he looked at you, it overflowed and spilled down to tingle in your fingertips, hurting with how surreal it felt.

You’d thought Sylus had made your blood sing before…but those broken warbles were nothing compared to the sweet melody it swept into your soul in that moment.

Sylus only made it worse when he tilted his head up and let his forked tongue flick out, delicately gliding it over your cheek, the edge of your mouth. It took your lame brain a moment to catch up and realize he was grooming you. Something Sylus had once told you was reserved only for mated pairs when it came to dragons, when you tried to help comb his hair once.

So this is what a dragon’s affection feels like.

It was…overwhelming. Your body felt too small to contain it.

But oh, how long you had wanted it.

You surged forward, wrapping your arms around him in a choking embrace, burying your face into his neck. You felt the chuckle that vibrated his throat, the tug on the mark on your neck before his other arm wrapped around you, splayed his fingers across your back. You gave his shoulders a squeeze, imbuing them with everything you didn’t have the courage to say.

My comfort, you said, nuzzling into his deceptively soft skin.

My home, you said, letting yourself melt completely into his form, your whole body vibrating with the strength of his purrs.

My safety, you said, pressing a hesitant kiss into his lean muscles.

Sylus shuddered in delight. His tongue resumed gliding softly along your neck, stripes etched from your shoulder up your throat, the prongs so sweet and delicate they tickled your sensitive skin. When he reached your ear, he nibbled on the lobe, the doughy cartilage rolled between pointed fangs. When his teeth left your flesh, his voice came out as a breathless whisper.

“Sing for me?” He breathed, pressed his nose into the side of your head, inhaled deeply your scent. Addicted, insatiable for it.

How could you deny such a genuine plea from your dragon?

You leaned back, basked in sharp rose colored eyes whose thorns had been snipped, rounding their sharp edges. The curve of a perfect, innocent smile.

“Always,” you murmured, bumping your nose against his.

His grip on you tightened, crushing your body to his. He had no need to verbalize his thanks.

As your voice rose to fill the cavern, you thought of how you could be content like this, letting yourself get lost in his eyes while you sang, breathing in the scent of your dragon. Your skin warmed under the unwavering scrutiny of adoring dragon eyes, but you couldn’t help enjoying it, craving it. No one had ever looked at you like that before.

You decided, then, you didn’t need everything you’d spent so much time missing to be happy. The bright marble walls and nighttime escapades, streets that rolled with the topography of the hills they were built on. Cats, guards, oracles.

The false love of sycophants who wore the masks of friends.

How did you ever think it could compare to what a dragon made you feel?

All that time wasted worrying…

When everything you wanted had been right in front of you for a year.

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👏👏 SLIT PUPIL SYLUS 👏👏FORKED TONGUE SYLUS👏👏

I doubt Sylus is used to receiving gifts; he’s usually the one giving. I wanted to spoil him though 💕I also HC that it took him a long time to recognize love for what it was. He’d have this warm feeling when with MC/reader but didn’t know what to call it. Thus, his dismissals at the beginning of this story :)