Chapter Text
Rafayel was a lot of things.
Chaotic? Yes.
Clumsy? A little.
Licked by a dragon? Unfortunately.
But underneath all of those, he was technically a professional.
He ran a potion shop in the town nearby.
It was small, cluttered, somehow always a little damp, tucked between a bakery and a flower shop ran by a retired assassin. His shop had a loyal customer base, a respectable one-star safety rating, and a sign out front that read:
Guaranteed Results. Usually Great. Occasionally Regretful.
It was honest. And legally required.
He sold potions, charm-infused teas, and skin cream. The last one was because the women in town insisted he dropped his skincare routine.
People came for healing brews and stayed for the spectacle of watching Rafayel knock over three vials and set his sleeve on fire trying to measure one drop of nightblossom oil.
They kept returning because his potions worked.
Well, they also occasionally exploded, glowed, or whispered uncomfortable secrets if stored too close to windows. But to be fair, they worked.
And Rafayel took pride in that.
Which was why he was confident brewing a plan.
He dumped a stalk of sun-dried dwarfcap into the cauldron. The brew hissed and turned a threatening shade of pink.
Officially, it was a Shrink Potion. Unofficially, it was a very experimental blend of shrinking herbs and a tincture he wasn’t legally supposed to own.
But if it worked?
Poof. Tiny dragon. Palm-sized. Practically decorative.
Small dragon = portable dragon = evictable dragon.
He could stick the dragon in a jar and roll it out of his yard like a very fancy beetle.
He rubbed his hands together over the cauldron, eyes wild with hope and a healthy amount of spite.
“Perfect. Just needs a delivery system.”
Maybe soup?
Soup. That would do. Dragons liked soup, right? Or maybe they tolerated it. Either way, this was going to be a very special bowl of mushroom soup.
Rafayel grinned.
A wide gremlin grin.
With that, the Operation Soup began.
Yes, that’s the name. On point. No question.
Rafayel brought the soup out and approached the dragon like a generous host and definitely not a wizard trying to commit magical deception via dinner.
Rafayel stood over the dragon with the bowl, smiling like a liar.
“Soup?” he said sweetly, holding the bowl out like an offering. “You’ve had a long day of trespassing and licking people. You must be tired.”
The dragon lifted his head. Sniffed. Blinked.
“Go on. Eat. It’s warm. Savory. Not cursed. Probably.”
The dragon sniffed again. Then, very slowly, began to lap at it.
Rafayel’s smile twitched. He looked like someone who’d just kicked over a lantern in a barn and was waiting for the fire.
Ten seconds in, the air went strange.
The ground buzzed.
The soup bowl trembled.
The dragon let out a low rumble. His scales rippled with light. His wings folded inward—no, vanished. Smoke spiraled around him, thick and gold-edged, and Rafayel’s eyes went wide.
“Oh no.” He whispered.
Then silence.
The smoke cleared.
And sitting in the grass, surrounded by faint sparks and an empty soup bowl…
…was a man.
He was tall.
Glowing.
Shirtless. And smug about it.
His hair was silver and slightly tousled like he didn’t care how good it looked.
His chest was bare. His abs were sculpted like a commissioned thirst trap enchanted into live. Lean muscle and sharp lines. Sun-warm skin.
Everything about him said danger, especially for the way he raised an eyebrow like he was vaguely amused just by existing.
Rafayel didn’t speak for a full ten seconds.
He just stared. Then caught himself staring. Then spiraled.
Why was he built like that? Why is his waist shaped like that? Who gave the dragon a V-line? For what purposed? That’s not normal. That’s a war crime. Who sculpted him and why did they have no mercy?!
He slapped both hands over his face. “Put the scales back on!”
The man blinked. “Pardon me?”
“I SAID PUT THE SCALES BACK ON. WHERE ARE YOUR SCALES. YOU HAD SCALES.”
“They’re gone.”
“I CAN VERY CLEARLY SEE THAT.”
He peeked between his fingers. Immediately regretted it. His eyes landed on a very defined stretch of abdomen and glided way too far down before he slammed his hands back up.
“You,” he pointed, voice shaking. “You’re not a mini-dragon.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You can talk.”
“I can do many things.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
There was a pause.
Rafayel narrowed his eyes. “Wait. You understood me this whole time?”
“Every word.”
“And you licked me.”
“I was expressing affection.”
“Affection?!” Rafayel nearly exploded. “You made me scream into a mushroom!”
The man smiled, slow and calm, like he had all the time in the world. “You’re very expressive.”
“I’m very traumatized!”
“You’re also very pink.”
“I’m not pink!”
“You are. Right here.” He pointed at Rafayel’s cheek.
Followed by a chuckle. Low. Smooth. Dangerous. Expensive.
Rafayel backed up a step. “What the hell did I put in that soup?!”
“Wrong ingredients, obviously.”
“I KNOW.”
Rafayel turned in a circle, dragging both hands down his face. “Okay. Okay. I can fix this. I can un-humanize you. Somehow. There has to be something—”
“I’m not going back.”
“You what?”
The man stepped closer with that annoying smirk. “This form is far more efficient for communication. And for other things.”
“Other things!?”
“I can help around the house.”
“You set my garden on fire! You don’t get to offer help!”
The man raised both hands innocently. “It was just an accident.”
Rafayel muttered into his hands, voice full of regrets. “Ugh! This is all because of that soup…”
“It was delicious, by the way.”
“IT WASN’T FOR YOU TO ENJOY!”
“Still did.”
ARGH!! Just HOW could he keep making the wrong choices in life!?