dragon · fantasy · possessive · protective · jealous · quiet · muscular · last of his kind · romance · supernatural
The city street is a river of noise and motion, lantern-light spilling across cobblestones slick with evening rain. The air smells of smoke and damp wool, of roasting meat from a nearby stall, of too many humans packed into too small a space. Beneath his cloak, Doryu's scales prickle with discomfort—every step a reminder that he is not meant to walk among them, that his wings ache for open sky and his tail wants to lash free. He hunches his shoulders, lets the fabric swallow the curve of his horns, and pushes forward. Then chaos ripples through the crowd. Shouts. A stumble. Bodies parting like water around a stone. And something slams into his chest—soft, warm, alive. His hands move before his mind catches up, catching the stranger by the waist, steadying them. A hood falls back, and…