This is Unhealthy. Really.

Art

Sleepy Boys (A poly Love and Deepspace fanart)

Sleepy Boys Sketch

Lads Eye Sketch

LaDs with MCs

The Beach Episode (Poly Love and Deepspace fanart)

The Beach Sketch

The Sanctuary Men [Xavier] [Zayne] [Rafayel] [Sylus] [Caleb]

Bloodborne Xavier

Sukuna

Caleb Bad Ending

Sylus and Echo

Drabbles and One shots

Kinktober 2025

LADs Men and Hair

Touch

"I Know Him." - [Zayne x Reader, Caleb x Reader, drabble about them in childhood]

"At First Sight" - [Sylus x Reader, when Sylus sees his love again for the first time]

A sneak peek? - [A drabble that goes alongside "Cleaning Up the Timeline]

Exploration with Rafayel - [Pegging Rafayel x Reader]

"Quote the Raven..." - [Vampire!Sylus X Reader]

"A Familiar Taste" - [Resident Evil AU - Sylus x Reader]

Headcanons

My MCs & their LADs Man

Kinks I Associate with the LADS Men

What Cars would the LADS Men Drive?

Sylus Headcanons

Top or Bottom?

Long Fics

Cleaning up the Timeline [Archive of Our Own]

Cleaning up the Timeline Master List (Completed)

Tidy Timelines (Sequel to Cleaning up the Timeline)

1. Ebb Day 2. Tightening Lids 3. Ebb Day Recovery 4. A New Addition 5. Beach Banner 6. Late 7. Anxiety 8. A Spring Event 9. Special Training 10. A Legal Connection 11. Missing Link 12. Empty Nest

The Sanctuary (Fantasy Prequel to Cleaning up the Timeline)

Orphans

Zayne

Protégé

The Heart-Shaped Pool

Rafayel

Bonds

Xavier

Lessons

Dragon Mating for Dummies - [ Dragon!Sylus x Reader ]

At first, you thought the haphazard way his hoard was stored was negligence, but when Sylus effortlessly found a new pair of boots for you to train in among the thousands of pair he must own— you realize the chaos is simply his flavor of organization.

His curt reply to your question has you suspicious, because Sylus refuses to look at you when he says it. Sylus likes to look at you. He makes a point to do so whenever you're in the same room— to such an extent you get goosebumps with the intensity of his gaze sometimes.

"Alright…." You reply, returning to searching through another stack of books while the dragon follows you around. Like a little house cat: always watching, never helping.

Another day of searching, and you're ready to give up. Your pride is bruised with the failure, and you're irritated that Tara sent you on a wild goose chase. However, when you go to bed that night, you're met with a lump beneath your pillow.

A small, hand-sized book with silver edges and deckled pages. The cover is worn and old, but you're able to make out the inked title Principles of Draconic Behavior: A Guide for Mortals by Ruoy Emane. Flipping it open, the spine is tight as if it had never been opened, and your lean in closer to the oil lamp on your bedside table.

Is this what Tara wanted you to read?

  +=={:::::::::::::::::>

  Dragons may claim divinity, and this is mostly true. Their nearly endless lifespans and wealth of power makes it no wonder they have been the rulers of Philos for millennia. However, dragons must abide by the laws of nature the same as any other creature, and despite their intelligence, wits, and power, they too can become victims of their instincts.

Take for instance, their sense of smell. A dragons sense of smell outperforms even the best hunting hound. They use scent to determine territory, identify other creatures, and mark their hoard. Yet, the most interesting thing I have found in my studies is what I am labeling a trigger scent.

  +=={:::::::::::::::::>

  It's only getting worse. Sylus can barely catch his breath— panting with each labored inhale as he continues to fuck up into his hand. The scent of you on the stocking he sneakily stole from your room is pressed to his face, wet with spit as he can't stop himself from tasting the soft material saturated with you.

Why wasn't it getting easier to be around you? Sylus thought that, with continued exposure, he would gain a tolerance for you. But no! Every morning he awoke with you lingering in the back of his throat, permeating his every sense from the moment he regained consciousness. Sylus couldn't escape it— couldn't escape you— and what was worse, was that he didn't want to.

Sylus tightened his fist until it was almost uncomfortable, hissing at the spark of intense pleasure that shot up his body. What was wrong with him? Why was he so insatiably hungry for you like this? He was a dragon-lord— a highly esteemed and feared on at that. He was not some newly presented hatchling desperate to get his dicks wet.

But gods, you plagued him. You with your blunt teeth and mortal heart. One wrong slip away from death's possessive grasp…and yet, you were so very dragon. Did you know?

Fuck. Sylus snarled into his gritted teeth, as his jaw twitched— he needed to feel you between them. The very idea of squishing your soft, pliable flesh in between his canines had him crashing into yet another powerful yet somehow unsatisfying orgasm. Once again, the base of his cocks swelled against his will. Just imagining you had his body reacting out of his control, knotting the air and sending strings of pearly come across his nest.

Sylus— that was his name now, and would be forever because you gave it to him— slowly relaxed, knowing the heat that was subsiding would be back again by nightfall. The peak of summer was still so far away, with spring only just having thawed the ground outside. Why was he acting like this?

Lust dissolved into contemplation, as Sylus began to wonder if you were doing it on purpose. He knew you weren't, which was all the more maddening. You weren't trying to mimic a female dragon, but you did so anyway. Flouncing around his hoard like you owned it, spreading your intoxicating scent like it wasn't a dangerous drug.

If it was only lust, Sylus thinks he'd be able to handle it. Bedding you would be easy enough, but there were other feelings too. Bizarre, inexplicable desires that he worried might be some strange disease taking hold. Before, parting with an item of his hoard was unimaginable, he'd lashed out at others for looking a little too longingly at something he considered his….but now…Now, it was like he couldn't give you things fast enough…

  +=={:::::::::::::::::>

  A trigger scent is a pheromone given off by someone the dragon is uniquely compatible with. I call it this because it triggers an almost immediate change.

For females, the scent makes them more fastidious. They may experience a change in mood: irritability or even an influx of pride. They will scrutinize things more closely, which can affect their diet as well. Since female dragons are more nomadic, and their hoards are much smaller, it is harder to notice a change than in it is with males.

For males, they become fixated. It is quite shocking to see, as in my studies I have heard tell of even the most reclusive and isolated dragon males leave their dens when they experience this scent. In an attempt to show their compatible partner they will be a good mate, the male dragon becomes a beacon of generosity— a shocking trait to see from any draconic beast. It's during this initial trigger that the male dragon may invade other territory to obtain more land, hoard, and by extent power. There is an assumption that this is because there is an increase in aggression, but this is not so. From my study, I believe the male dragon becomes so enamored with the idea of providing anything and everything the mate desires that they can become irrational.

It is not uncommon to see male dragons attempting to woo their potential partners by covering them head to toe in riches.

  +=={:::::::::::::::::>

  "Hm…." Sylus hums, leaning back in his chaise and placing his hand to his chin in thought, "Turn. Let me see the back."

You sigh but obey. The heavy skirts of this ornate dress drag against the cobbled stone floor, and the rows of embroidered jewels make a ruckus of tinging. Two months of training with the claymore had left your body looking different. Your muscles were more defined and leaner, and the dresses that you had chosen those weeks ago no longer fit as well.

Which led you here, playing dress up for the dragon.

"This is ridiculous." You say in exasperation, lifting your arms to let them fall dramatically at your sides. The trumpet sleeves, trimmed with silver beading, smacks against the jewels embroidered along your puffy hips. "Where on earth would I wear such a gaudy gown?"

Hearing Sylus' rich laughter, you quietly hope he doesn't notice the way it makes you shiver, despite the heat in the room.

"Do you not wish to adorn yourself in the finest the world has to offer?" Sylus taunts, leaning his head on his hand and letting his eyes rake up and down your body for the umpteenth time that morning. "And I believe we should always present ourselves in our best when we slay our enemies."

A giggle bubbles out of your chest, and you twirl back to face him, "Oh? I'm slaying your enemies now too?"

Sylus purrs, because you know what the low rumbling sound is now. It's a purr. He seems to like it when you threaten violence, even if it involves him. Especially if it involves him.

"For someone so lovely," Sylus begins, rising to his feet. The burgundy cloak that hangs from his back glides like liquid as he approaches, "Your mouth is filthy."

The way his voice pitches low makes you unconsciously step back, because suddenly you're aware again about how easily the fiend could kill you. The air is charged with electricity, like the next touch might actually spark. Predator and prey stand across from each other, and you've only just now remembered which one you are.

And, while self-preservation may be your top priority, it's certainly not your strong suit.

"Isn't that what I'm doing all this training for?" You taunt with an air of haughty self-assurance that will only last with this next breath. Hot air fills your chest and your head, plumed bigger with the heat burning in his crimson eyes, "To kill anyone that dares cross you?"

"As flattering as that is," Sylus' jaw clenches, like he swallows some term of endearment he doesn't want to say. The jagged edges of his claws gently brush across the lines of beading on your waist and up your bodices, before tracing the ruffled edge of your low neckline, "I fear you may be a bit confused. This…arrangement includes the protection I can provide you. I will be the one to do the killing."

You try and fail to control your breathing. The corset is snug, but not tight, around your ribs, and makes you keenly aware of each breath. Breasts pushed up and together with the lack of a busk, you feel the heat of a blush spread down your face to your chest— following the heavy trail of Sylus' gaze.

He seems unable to help himself, because the way his brows draw together makes him look almost lost. Tongue wetting his parched pink lips, the tension that has started to twist and tighten like a knot between you has suddenly shifted. A feeling of needing to escape turning into a feeling of opportunity.

He's so close….and the door into something new feels far to open and inviting. Panic sweeps through your gut and you blurt out, "Until I'm a dragon."

Sylus blinks, "Pardon me?"

"You'll kill for me, until I'm a dragon, you mean." You add, building a neat little escape hatch from the sweltering hot fire you almost stepped into. "When I'm a dragon, I can kill all by myself."

You wish you didn't see the disappointment in his eyes before he was able to hide it with a smirk. He playfully flicks at your chin with his crooked finger and lifts your gaze back up to him.

"I have little doubt you could fell many foes already," He says, and with a small tilt of his head, examines you up and down again. You quietly breathe a sigh of relief when you feel the anticipatory tension ease. A huff leaves Sylus' lips and he speaks again, "You are right. This dress is not fitting for my lamb. We must find you something more suited to battle."

The very thing you hoped to avoid happens then, as Sylus manhandles you to spin around and begins to unlace the dress from the back. You squeak as the heavy bodice falls loose, and the air rushes into to tingle at newly exposed skin.

"Sylus!" You shout, holding the dress to your chest to keep it from falling completely to the floor. You'd still mostly be covered— in your corset and chemise, but it feels far too nude for how the dragon was looking at you earlier. What if, by seeing so much skin, he's unable to resist? Would the exposure of so much flesh be too much for his carnivorous appetite and he actually eat you?

"Modesty is a mortal trait." Sylus rumbles, tugging a few times at the dress just to tease you, "Show me how dragon you can be. I will find something else for you to try on."

He turns, scouring through a different trunk with his tail happily swishing behind him. You wait a moment, making sure his back remains turned before you let the dress fall and step out of it. It's several degrees cooler and several pounds lighter with that monstrosity shed, and you quickly regain your senses.

A dragon-lord would have no qualms of seeing a servant in a state of undress. If anything he should be offended you have the audacity to think you may entice him at all.

When Sylus turns, you're too busy adjusting your neckline to notice the way he pauses. His normally self-assured and fluid motions halted at the sight of you, unconsciously flushing with a rosy blush down his neck and chest. The red adamantine in his sternum heats up. However, by the time you look back up, Sylus is recovered. Throwing a lighter, silky gown over your head before you're prepared.

"This is from the capitol." Sylus explains, slightly muffled to your ear through the fabric. He tugs it over you, adjusting it and plucking at you until it's comfortable. "Made for a warrior who wanted her foes to know for certain it was a woman that killed them. They insisted on something light, but strong— it's said that this fabric was woven from threaded silver and steel, and can protect from dragon-fire."

You gaze down at yourself, in awe of the way the dress shines in the light. It feels lighter than air, and softer than kittens fur as you gently drag your fingers across it, "Really?"

Sylus chuckles and taps your nose, "No. Nothing can withstand dragon-fire, so I do not suggest you try. It is just an expensive dress, made more expensive by the seamstress weaving a story alongside the garment. Now, arms up. There is more. I think you need some armor— something to protect your soft pieces."

Soft pieces? You want to tease him, but he's already pulling a firm, dark patina bronze chest plate against you, tying it and then stepping back to admire his handiwork.

Sylus head tilts, and the chains dangling from his pointed ears chime. "No. It needs something more."

He's back rooting through trunks again, pulling out the matching pieces of light armor that go with the chest plate. The way his brow is lowered has you worried he's irritated, but his tail is still happily swaying. You giggle softly into your palm, amused by the quirks of this fabled man. An untouchable dragon-lord that reigns over a thousand hectacres of land… and he here stands. Brooding like a cat that his favorite scratching post doesn't look the way he wants it to.

"Luke." Sylus barks, and the next instant the door opens.

"Yes, master?" The obedient lad calls from the doorway.

"Go to my chambers. Bring me the obsidian box to the right of my bed." Sylus commands without looking at him. He's too busy placing the plated bronze belt around your waist and making sure the holsters for at least three knives are hanging just-so.

Luke goes to leave, but Sylus calls again. "And find some opal. The ones I brought from the south a few years ago. There was a string of them attached to a silver chain— find it. I need it."

So bossy. You think, smirking slightly as the dragon kneels before you, lifting your skirt to begin placing a sandal onto your foot. Without thinking, you reach out to brace your self on his horn before you can lose your balance and fall.

A low, guttural sound breaches Sylus' lips, and you nervously look over his broad shoulders at Luke in the doorway. The masked man appears a bit uncertain, possibly wondering if he should intervene— which is a guess on your part since you can't see his face. With a small shrug and a shake of your head, you dismiss the young man, and turn your attention back to the beast at your feet.

"Sorry," You say gently, but don't let go of his horn. It's rougher and warmer than you though it would be. Like unpolished granite the surface is coarse against your palm, and it emanates heat— thrumming in time with what must be a very rapid heartbeat.

Sylus only hums in response, moving to your other foot to attach the sandal, and as he does, you begin to wonder— Does a dragon even have a heart? Is that shimmery, florescent crystal in his chest his heart? If you were to press your ear to it, would it beat?

In record time, you're redressed and decorated like a prize pony. The outfit is striking, even from your perspective without a mirror to properly admire it. The sleeves are loose to just above the elbow, flowing freely and lightly to give you full range of movement. Then, the soft material is meticulous folded along your forearms, giving you more cushion between your skin and the embellished bracer Sylus ties to you.

Luke returns with his brother at his side, carrying in small boxes that they bring to their disgruntled master. The dragon wastes no time in opening and searching them, tossing chains of gold and beads to the side as if they offend him for getting in his way.

Sylus has seemingly lost the ability to speak, or you assume so because he only grunts at you to tell you to turn. There's a noncommittal nod of his chin and you sigh at him loudly as you give him your back.

A fitted chain of dark opal stones is clasped to your neck, and you swear you feel Sylus delicately brush his knuckles against your baby hairs…

"Something is missing." Sylus grumbles when you turn to show him the ensemble. "There isn't….we must do something with your hair."

You open your mouth to protest because why would you need to do anything to your hair, but Luke beats you to it, "Oh! There's another chain in here, it would look very nice in a plait. I can do it for her, if you'd like, master?"

His enthusiasm makes the dragon grin, and Sylus' fluffy white hair bounces slightly with his happy nod.

"Is there a particular reason I am being decorated right now?" You ask as Luke finishes with your hair. It felt nice to be preened like this for some reason, and relaxing despite the amount of finery attached to you.

Meanwhile, Sylus was being dressed similarly. A collar that sat across his shoulders and held a heavy black cloak attached and buckled to him— custom made, as it fit perfectly around the protrusions of scales. Chains of black bronze hung from Sylus' neck and bands of matching metal secured to his horns.

"We are going out," Sylus explains as he adjusts a braided gold bangle on his wrist. With a come-hither gesture of his taloned fingers, he beckons you over and places a matching set on yours. "A spring bazaar has opened, and I desire to see what the mortals have crafted this season."

"Oh," You say in surprise. Of all things you weren't expecting to be able to leave the dragon's den, especially not in such high-fashion. You had just assumed that being a tribute meant being a prisoner.

Luke gives your shoulders a light pat, signaling he's done, while Kieran finishes latching one final gold hoop to Sylus' pointed ear.

It's a bit ostentatious, but you feel better in this more purposeful outfit than the last. The idea of browsing a market actually sounds enjoyable, and standing next to Sylus, you won't seem so dressed up by comparison.

Like with most things, you don't think too much on it. Contemplating the inner machinations of a beast like Sylus is a useless exercise, and so you follow him back through the passageways, and past the great hall, to a wide cavern that opens up into the morning sky.

The pale blue is speckled with clouds, and the mountain breeze that blows inward stirs up your skirts and your hair, and it's just a touch too cool for comfort.

"We will be back at nightfall," Sylus informs his masked subordinates, and then wraps his arm around your waist.

"Wait—" You gasp as you're swept off your feet and into the dragon's arms. Your stomach flips because despite the sharpness of his claws and his scales, he holds you delicately.

"Did you think we were walking?" He asks, striding towards the mouth of the cave.

"No, but—!" You're not even sure how to protest this properly, and there's not enough time. Sylus doesn't hesitate to pull you closer to his chest, and step off the ledge into open air.