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The sights are breathtaking here, lofty and surreal; it’s like you’re at the zenith of the world. Yet it’s hard not to feel down on your luck as you linger by the mouth of the cave and wait for dusk to settle fully.

Once it’s dark, the kids- and your mate, equally childish in all his prancing around with them- will pull in and retreat for the night.

But until then, you’ll sit here alone, watching, and find your feelings at odds with one another.

In all of this— your capture, his unwillingness to let you go and then the three pregnancies that came thereafter, muddying the timeline from there to now— you’ve been involuntary. That’s been made abundantly clear to him.

The village you came from is a distant memory, more like a dream forgotten than anything at this point, but despite the amnesia, you’ve been very vocal with him, too, on your desire to re-experience it. To go back.

It wouldn’t be a hard task for him, you know. Releasing you entails a brisk flight over the valleys and rolling hills (for him, nothing to sweat over), and then dropping you off at the foot of your little town.

The shock would be there, yes, but once they ascertained you weren’t actually an apparition of the baker’s daughter, they’d rejoice and welcome you back in with open arms. Sylus would slink back off to his mountain, then, to his den, chalk-full of stolen treasures and shiny things, and you’d both go on with your lives.

For better or for worse.

That plan changes, however, is lost, as soon as the kids are factored in.

You can’t-

…Even if he did agree, how could you possibly explain the wings, the tails, the fucking horns- to them? Each are more damning pieces of evidence to their fiendishness than the last.

They’ll see them for what they supposedly are, fiends- or at the very least, crossbreeds of them- and revolt.

How could you save them from the fate they’d be given? The townsfolk would gather up and slaughter them on sight. You’d stand there, helpless to it all, and witness as the pith of your existence is brutally terminated in their tracks.

Maybe, once, you would’ve joined them in that stance, shown up with pitchforks and armor, the strongest men flanking your side.

Just the thought of it now steals your heart and twists it.

Loathed as he is, you’ve seen the scars on Sylus. The jagged marks and the raised edges, unordinarily pale keloids on otherwise tanned, unblemished skin. The humans would wage war against them- the “evil kin” of the terrible dragon.

You’re not oblivious to what will become of you, either. Once they discover you played a part in their making, they’ll cut off your head and hand it to you.

Though, Sylus would sooner raze the entire kingdom to the ground before letting that happen.

A soft sigh escapes you.

Trapped, once, by the great, malevolent drake…

Trapped now, by the love for what he’s given you.

Your youngest makes it difficult to linger on pains of the past when she comes fumbling over with a bouquet in hand. Makeshift, sure, already bending in her chubby fingers, but endearing all the same.

Fiend. The derisive judgement rings in your mind, and you scoff at it. That couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“Petal,” you smile by way of greeting, pulling yourself from your troubles. She won’t be privy to your pity party while you wallow away, not if you can stop it.

She hands that bouquet to you, “Here, Mama. Flowers!”

You chuckle softly, charmed. Though a part of you wants nothing more than to humor your baby girl and accept her lovely little gift, truth be told, you don’t have any real intention to.

That doesn’t stop six-foot-something of lean muscle and obsidian scale from intervening anyway, towering over you both in an instant.

Milliseconds before you look up, a scold is on the tip of your tongue: where are the boys? But that’s cut prematurely when you spot them both on either of his broad shoulders, perched up there no different than birds on branches— looking very proud about it, might you add.

That’s reasonable. Riding on a dragon’s back must feel like surmounting the highest peak, conquering the world itself- and you’d know, of course, because he loves to drag you along in your seldom alone-time to soar the night skies.

Sylus, to the best of his ability, gently snatches the scarlet posy from her. He takes both of her hands, tiny in his left one, and extends his other to rest on your thigh when he crouches down low to get on your level.

Your daughter might’ve been stressing the poor, yet fatal flowers (granted on accident; she’s a child) but Sylus is suffocating them.

“Petal.” He starts lightly. You don’t miss the urgency laced within the seemingly pleasant tone; concern for your safety translating into something… more intense. “Those flowers aren’t for Mama. I told you, remember? Get her wildflowers, if you want, or better yet- something more valuable, like colorful gems. Those won’t hurt her.”

You have to bite back a huff at that. While it’s true that he’s come leaps and bounds in terms of emotional intelligence since your first-meet, he still leaves much to be desired on that front...

It’s just like your dragon, isn’t it? to find the most thoughtful and heartfelt gestures simple if they’re given without gold.

Yet… That’s not entirely true. Not when he’s unloading the boys in the next moment, leaning forward with a, “Hey, sweetheart,” and angling your crown upward to place a chaste, lingering kiss there.

He grabs you then, swooping you up in his arms and flipping you over to land in his lap, caged between his long legs. Your hair falls against his shoulder, his red rubellite heart, and he holds your back flush to his bare chest.

That action in itself produces nothing shiny, nothing worth diamonds or pearl. But clearly it’s important to him, having you close like this.

The boys gather around, but it’s Petal you assign most of your attention to as she cuddles up to you, wobbling lip and all, and murmurs out an ‘I’m sowwy, Mama’ that pieces apart your soul.

You’re quick to caress her chubby face, a set of crimson eyes tracking the interaction in real-time as he rests his chin on your head. He rumbles out a content, little sigh. You ignore it in favor of comforting her.

“Oh, Petal, it’s okay. Daddy didn’t mean to be mean,” a soft scoff at the accusation; that too is overlooked, “Mama thinks those flowers are so pretty. You did a great job at picking them out.”

“Pretty? Hmph. They’re poisonous,” The silver-haired one murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, the sound as venomous as its definition.

Without missing a beat, you continue on. “They just make mama a little sick, that’s all…” you rub circles on her cheekbone with your thumb, “But I can still admire them from afar.”

Easily upset, easily placated. Petal suddenly returns your gentle smile with a kilowatt one of her own, and then she’s hopping away.

They know to play close, so you’re not overly worried about her whereabouts— not that they could slip far anyway when Sylus knows the mountain like the back of his hand— that, and her designation happens to be the grassy patch right behind her father, her brothers already squabbling there.

You allow yourself to let out a sigh, relieved. That delicate posy, unfairly pretty for the quiet threat it carries, lays discarded now, but the reminder of what it’s done to you before—

Delirious. Sweating from your brow to your boots, hobbling into the warm light emitting from the den, the basket of goodies you set out with no more than fodder for the forest animals, forgotten at least a mile down the path.

Your heart is thumping madly, the world around you- so colorful it’s garish- nauseating you to the point of diplopia.

But that… cave looks…

As if it could provide any reprieve from your inner turmoil, you close your eyes. A set of talons, black and attenuated- make no mistake, very deadly- meet the slope of your face, roving over it with a care that doesn’t seem logical coming from a creature so beastly.

…Safe enough for the night.

Once, you’d thought he kill you with them. Draw a line down your torso, starting from your collar and stopping just past your belly button, and flay you open like a fish. Then, he’d eat you alive or subject you to a demise more sanguinary than you’d originally feared- and nobody would ever, ever see or hear from you again.

Only a fraction of that came to pass.

“You didn’t have to scold her like that, you know. She doesn’t know any better.” You murmur.

Sylus graces you with a dismissive hum, claws still dallying up your jaw, your neck.

“Perhaps.” He concedes.

It’s getting late, you really don’t have it in you to bicker with him or rile him up— that will only ever end in one of two ways: irritation or sex. (Though he’s not against delivering both at once.)

Tonight, you’d like to keep things peaceful.

So you rest your head against him. Tilt your chin back and look up to the sky, hoping that, if nothing else, you can appreciate your front row seat to the setting sun and the blazing hues it pelts along the horizon- mauve, amber, gold, all of it drowned out by a color more intense—

A thick, spiky tail appears overhead. Curling in slow motion, making a long arc over Sylus.

On top of it— Petal, Aster, and Clay, balancing precariously and laughing.

Laughing!

You’re ready to say something- then stop yourself early.

It’s not the first time they’ve unanimously designated their father as their personal playground, and all four of them- yes, Sylus included- insist that it’s fine, but you can’t help those maternal instincts from kicking in every so often.

As if reading your mind, a velvety voice purrs in your ear, “Relax.”

The youngest pushes aside Aster, her current assailant, in preference of grabbing onto the point of her father’s tail and dangling- (Oh, if that doesn’t make your heart gallop in your chest, what could?)- and as Clay finds his feet, the boys turn to eachother now for combat.

Unlike you, the man-thing at your back seems entirely too at peace with the shenanigans. You suppose it’s in his nature, though, to favor the unruly, and at the end of the day, you know his amusement comes from a place of benignity (small as it may be; reserved only for his treasure).

You know there’s no corner of the earth he wouldn’t search, or destroy, if any four of you wound up missing. You know that. And yet…

Sylus chirps, free of any earlier heat, “Petal- when you fall, fall into Mama’s lap. She’ll catch you.”

“Mama catch me?”

You sharply gasp. “Hey-! Aster, don’t pull on your brother’s arm while you’re on daddy’s tail-!”

A deep chuckle rumbles at your back, rattling your chest through and clipping your shriek short. He lowers your outstretched, cautionary hand and kisses the knuckles of it.

“It’s all-right, sweetie. Don’t worry. Daddy won’t let anything happen to either of them.”

He does glance up, though, a more sage look in his eye as he shifts his tone and warns, “Boys: play nice. You’re upsetting your mama.”

Once recognition flashes in their respective gazes, the duo stiffening at their papa’s gentle but firm command and more or less conceding to it, you let yourself relax against him.

The sun gradually drops itself in the sky. Stars lifting their heads over the drifting, grey clouds as the moon finds the perfect spot to keep vigil.

Soon, you’ll go back within the den, plop in the intricately-crafted nest, and do your best to ignore the summer heat as you’re joined by three children and your dragon, each more eager than the last to envelop you completely; vying for your attention, a bedtime story, a kiss to the forehead- anything.

Until then, you won’t grudge yourself for delighting in the moment.

None of them can use their wings yet. Sylus is intent on teaching them skills he claims are vital for every dragon— hunting, looting, how to choose a location most suitable for a den and nest, to name a few— and while their draconic features play an integral role in that, he knows there’s no point in trying to force growth. That will do more damage than anything.

It’ll happen when it happens. And when it does, he’ll be there.

Your daughter actually manages to hoist herself up, smirking triumphantly, and stands on the tip of Sylus’s tail like she’s put a flag in it. Despite their stubby horns, tails, and momentarily useless, planar wings, the strength that’s been passed down to them isn’t quite as slow to develop…

You’ve voiced your concerns to Sylus before, worries that they’ll use it for evil, or miscalculate their power in a moment of mischief or anger and wet the ground with blood.

He’s rather blasé about it all. Maybe it’s just a beast-specific thing, or an extreme trust in his own kin’s yet-to-be understood instincts, but he’s…

At peace with it.

His simple explanation is that half of his fiendishness went to them, yes, but so did half of your humanity.

You want to trust him. Despite it all, everything he’s subjected you to in the past years— bloodshed, possession, the death of each of your dreams to go back home, multiple pregnancies, even— you really, really do.

Because maybe he’s right when he tells you it’s better here with him, perched above the fog-ridden valleys, out of earshot from the several villages flanking the mountains. Maybe he’s right.

After all… can you truly continue to call that place home when you know they’d have your head and theirs if you returned with your treasure in tow?

Warm breath tickles the shell of your ear. His thick, sinewy arm slung across your chest like the sturdiest barricade to your heart. It is.

Aptly, he croons, “How could you possibly want for the village when we’ve already made our own paradise here?”

And he does have a point.

…

Nightfall is better.

Not cooler by a lot, but by a margin.

It grants just enough relief from the unrelenting heat of daytime to not need to constantly extricate yourself from various sticky limbs when you’re all curled up together.

You’re fine like this. Feel safe, even, with your offspring here in your arms, your back tucked to Sylus’s muscular front as he shrewdly keeps you wedged between him and the kids.

It’s him who plucks you up hours before sunrise without explanation.

Though you suppose one wouldn’t be necessary.

As he drags you deeper into the cave, his eyes simmering with barely-repressed hunger, coins crunching underfoot, even fresh from sleep you’re wholly aware that it’s for a little bit of…

Alone time.

The annex of the cave he brings you in isn’t quite as cozy, lived-in, as the nesting room. By no means rudimentary, though; over the course of several decades, he’s stockpiled away more riches than the kingdom rulers have to their names as a collective. Even the speleothems, like glowing pillars, look somehow… noble.

On a lavish medallion rug sits a stone table- durable enough for what he has planned- and he moves aside its trinkets to place you there.

His hands descend your midriff first, groping the soft flesh of your waist and hips to the best of his ability without scratching you, and then he’s silencing your disoriented cry—

“Sylus-“

—With a clash of his lips to yours.

“Quiet, woman,” he grunts, but the heat there is less frustration and more lust.

Hot, primal need.

His obsidian-like forearm wraps around your torso, his other lifted as he captures your jaw in his hand- ever so considerate not to grab too tight; there’s been times where’s he’s lost himself in the heat of the moment, times where the bruises and cuts left behind remain as an unintentional testament to his passion.

It’s easy to blame him, but you know it’s not purposeful.

In any case- you’ve been a witness to far worse.

Men who’ve come wandering up the wrong shaded path, adventurers in search of a thrilling tale or the lost village girl- their bodies diced to bits, no more than red ribbons left in groves for scouts or animals to find.

So yes, you know what Sylus is capable of.

“You’ve come around to me,” he murmurs against your neck, his forked tongue near volcanic in temperature when it laves down your skin. Kissing, nipping, suckling.

It’s hard to give anything but a breathless yelp when his lips coast to your collar, pulling down the negligee of your linen dress to resume his sensual assault there.

The dragon muses aloud, “Though, I suppose that’s to be expected. I’ve only given you… what, how many little imps now?”

His clawed, black hand ventures to your belly. Settles over the smooth pouch of it. Possessive.

He’s merely a dragon hoarding gold. Nothing more, nothing less.

“…A to-be four?”

That information, yet to be divulged to him, comes as a surprise to you. Albeit, it’s not like you were working yourself up to confess it: it was only a suspicion on your end. You didn’t know for sure if you were pregnant.

Besides a delicious gasp, you go along with it anyway- letting him push you down on the cool surface, lifting your thighs up and pinning them either side of your breast. Of course, there’s no guarantee he’s correct anyway- not when he’s in the white heat of his libido; that comes with its own package of hazards, conditions, for the dragonborn.

An inclination to delusional thinking is one.

Another:—

“It’s a maddening scent… The nest smells of it, too. Do you really,” he heaves, apropos of nothing, thin pupils unnaturally large, “Expect me to sleep in it when the owner of such sweetness is right beside me?”

Fine fabric rips down the middle, torn in a breath. The bodice of your dress- tatters, now, on the floor.

—Partial or full loss of control.

Fortune must favor you, though, because it seems he still has a speck of restraint when he leans in to take a nipple into his mouth- careful not to draw blood with his fangs. There’s been other nights where you’ve taken the proof of his frenzies; his fiercest heats imparting marks you blush over when the kids ask about.

Thankfully, Sylus always has an excuse at the ready.

It’s obvious, little one. Mama is a human. Humans are… Fragile. Weak. She fell.

They’re young now, but you can’t help but wonder if all those white lies will work once they mature.

Amid the sloppy, wet attack to your breast and neck, you can hardly form syllables. So when he husks out, “Did you want to tell me? Or did you plan to let me figure it out?” you decide your best bet is to tell the short truth.

“I didn’t know,” you squeak, fingers tugging at his scalp. He groans at that. Obscene. If the townspeople somehow managed to find you now of all times, you’d send them back out of shame.

Because a piece of you needs him. You need your dragon and he’s made that an ugly truth.

Should their… wrath ever find you, and your bastard, wicked children, he would protect you.

For that, you hold onto him tighter. Hands in his silver hair.

Crimson eyes meet yours. The glint there, you can’t tell if it’s reprimanding, unconvinced, or appeased— but it’s certainly aroused. “Is that so?”

He moves lower without warning, chin dipping between your thighs.

And oh, that forked tongue makes quick, graceful work of you.

The cleric at home- your old home, the one he says you’ll never return to- insists such creatures are evil, altogether devilish. But one could argue that Sylus’s mouth is divinity in action.

When you’re primed and ready (ready as you ever possibly could be, anyway), he lines himself up. The red line trailing down his abdomen reaches the tip of his cock as it weeps, thick and heavy— every bit as monstrous as him. His other one bobs over your belly, neglected for the moment- and visibly upset because of it.

For later, maybe.

But, pregnant or not- he believes it, and generously spares you the discomfort of having both your holes stuffed full of him.

Nonetheless. It’s hard to be thankful when he begins to fuck you so hard, so deep and thorough, that it’s almost just as overwhelming anyway.

“You’re wet, desperate, because of me…”

He nibbles at your ear. No better than an animal. His hips clattering against the underside of your thighs as he drives himself to the hilt inside your velvety, hot pussy.

Your mind fogs, eyes fluttering back in your skull.

A mixture of his grunts, your whines, and low, drawn-out moans that are unexpectedly dulcet coming from Sylus echo throughout the cave.

The stalagmites, the cold, glittery walls and the stalactites dangling precariously from the ceiling— all of them throw your lewd sounds right back at you.

If it’s meant to embarrass you, it’s working.

He snarls at your throat, “Mine,” completely unabashed by any of that as he runs his teeth there, down to the delicate skin of your shoulder.

Itching to rebrand that old, fading scar he loves to touch up every so often.

He does.

Sharp teeth sink in, the sting so hot- so searing- so good- that you actually get whiplash for a moment, your jaw falling open in a silent scream.

You’ve no talons, but your nails work just as well, digging into the planes of his naked back and making striations of your own.

Sylus shudders.

His neglected second cock twitches over your navel, your cunt baring down on him without your control— delicious, mind-numbing.

The sensation doesn’t belong to this world- it can’t.

You both feel it, an electric current bolting through you with all speed. The few centimeters of air between you crackles, like lightning fissuring out, but the real thunder comes in the form of his confession.

“My greatest treasure,” he gruffs, moving up to capture your slack lips in another barbaric, reckless kiss. “My soul lies with you as much as yours does with me. There’s no… ngh… undoing that.”

It’s dizzying. The bond, the zealous words. Too much. You come with him. You come hard.

Outside the cave, in the thick of night, the daturas have opened fully. Things of the darkness take refuge in the darkness, that’s only natural.

What isn’t is the fact that you’re not borne of it- but still when your dragon opens his wing like the petals of a nightshade and offers it for you to hide, you draw near and let him tuck you by his breast.

Dangerous.

Pretty.

You don’t know better than to touch.