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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons [Epilogue]

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 12.9k

Summary: Slay the dragon? Nah, man. Lay the dragon. Or, Dragon Courting traditions are actually very sweet, and they are going to kill you.

A/N: This is the epilogue for Donkeys & Dragons, but it can also more or less be read on its own as well! If you'd like to read only the 7k+ words of fluffier bits and not the spicier, please stop at the section that begins with '“Tell me more about your human courting traditions."'

🌶️🌶️🌶️ WARNING for Spicy Content!

READ WHAT YOU LIKE, BUT BE MINDFUL OF WHAT YOU READ

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]

If Tsunotarou—Malleus, you reminded yourself with a fizzy feeling like soda pop bubbling in your tummy—if Malleus had been sticky before the whole ‘held hostage by dragon slayers’ incident, then now he was the clingiest monstrosity to have ever existed in all four realms.

“What can you do?” Lilia had hummed indulgently upon seeing you struggle under the weight of an entire ass dragon head. (You had lied down, and then Malleus had lied down. And now his giant, frilled, maw was no better than a paperweight. With you of course being relegated to the role of some very flattened paper). “It’s the honeymoon phase.”

“There is no honeymoon to phase,” you spluttered out, as if that made even a lick of sense.

The demon? Fae? Monster? Horror beyond your comprehension? dainty gentleman just shrugged. He wasn’t always around—only occasionally slipping out of shadows like some creeping wraith. But when he was, he seemed incredibly fond of just propping his pointy chin against his palm and watching the pair of you. Like it was his favorite play, or some gaudy theater production he just couldn’t get enough of.

“I’ve never seen him so happy,” he cooed, crimson eyes soft and smitten. “What a time to be alive, hmm?”

The Gargoyles, as silent or huffy respectively as they often were, seemed to rumble their agreement.

“I won’t be alive for much longer if he keeps squashing me,” you threatened.

“Nonsense,” Lilia chirped from somewhere overhead. He dipped close enough for a moment that you were able to catch a brief flash of pink out of the corner of your eye, but little else. As much as the little monster enjoyed basking in his ward’s romantic endeavors, he seemed particularly cautious about maintaining his physical distance—especially when it came to the towering nest that had long since swallowed up most of the grand ballroom. “I’m sure all his coddling is doing wonders for your constitution.”

Despite his guardian’s cheery reassurances, Malleus rumbled low in his throat at your complaints, and you felt the vibrations of it all the way from your head to your toes. He lifted his huge head, instead plucking you from the hoard of bedding by the scruff of your collar and depositing you into the warm hollow beneath his wing. He curled his head around to tuck up against you—burrowing his scaly cheek against your outstretched legs like a cat making itself comfortable in the sunny spot on a windowsill. A compromise to your aching bones, at least. Even if it was really no less claustrophobic than being used as a chin pillow.

You sighed, hoping it sounded far more put upon than you were sure it actually did, and reached out to trace the grooves in his horns.

“You’re lucky you’re comfortable,” you grouched with no real heat, and he warbled contentedly as he settled in to continue his afternoon nap.

When your next mealtime rolled around (breakfast, lunch, dinner? Who had a concept of time anymore? Not you, that’s for sure), you plopped yourself at the little, makeshift, table you’d managed to construct out of some debris, and waited patiently for whatever culinary monstrosity was about to grace your palette this fine day.

Malleus claiming that he’d been going to see Lilia to ask after your ‘delicate, human, diet’ because the little demon ‘knew what he was doing,’ had turned out to be the worst joke ever put into existence. Made worse yet by the fact that he didn’t even realize it until one of his Pseudo-Parent’s oozing, tar-like, dishes had brought literal tears to your eyes. From the smell the alone.

So now, the quieter and more sensible of the Gargoyles—‘Silver,’ as the Angry One had called him—would duck out on occasion and return with something more or less edible. Fruits budded off near mystical plants that would glow ominously in the soft gloom of the castle’s interior. Strange roots and herbs that sometimes danced on your plate, like them waving around their little, planty, arms would make you not want to immediately murder them in coldblooded terror. The freshly carved meat off of animals you’d never even heard of before.

It was all certainly An Experience, but none of it had poisoned you yet. So you’d make do with what you had. Plus, a little sprinkle of Prestidigitation did wonders for making it all a bit more edible.

Malleus stepped forward, a suspicious lack of trays, or bowls, or anything else in his hands. Your brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before you shrugged—unbothered—and moved to lean your weight back on your elbows. Because Mister Clingy, Clingy, Clingy very much enjoyed using your mealtimes as an excuse to drape himself across your legs like an overgrown cat, and it was easier to just invite him in at this point than it was to wait for him to find a way to curl himself into your personal space.

But then, rather than plopping himself across your lap, Malleus knelt down and very pointedly swept you up into his. You definitely did not squeak, or flail around, or lose face in any sort of way. Nope. Not you. And when he settled back against the stone floor with a low hum and began to contentedly rub lazy circles into your hips, you most definitely did not melt.

Sure, it was a bit of a deviation from his usual brand of smothering, but it was far from unpleasant. And really, it would have been perfectly sweet and all. Except for that teensy, tiny (but not really ‘tiny’ at all, and holy fuck you were not going to let your brain go there), totally not something to immediately freak out about, problem. Which was, of course—

“You’re not wearing pants,” you entreated. “Or anything.” But the pants. The pants were the big issue at the moment. Because yeah. His chest was all fine sculpted planes of ivory and natural, aesthetic, perfection that would make the most accomplished artists weep with envy. And as distracting as all that normally was, the area below said spread of chiseled, lithe, muscle was what was setting off sirens in your brain.

His chin dug into your shoulder and you felt his cheek rub along yours as he ducked in closer to make eye contact.

“I am aware,” he said, arching a brow. “We’ve discussed the matter extensively.” And then a pout. “You told me to do what I found to be most comfortable.”

“This is comfortable?” You managed to squeak, incredulous. Because you knew that there were parts of you touching parts of him that surely could not have been—have been—

He hummed and tugged you closer.

“Of course,” he rumbled on the tail end of a contented sigh. “You’re so wonderfully warm. And besides, how else should I feed you? I doubt you’d appreciate me kneeling after you like a child.”

What.

“Feed me?” you spluttered.

“Of course,” he continued, nonplussed—like the idea of pressing dainty, bitesize, treats to your lips while you were stretched out across his very naked thighs was not a setup straight out of some terrible, trashy, erotica. “And while I admit the concept on its own is a temptingly enjoyable one, I’m only trying to maintain decorum.”

“What decorum?!” you wailed.

Tsunotarou went quiet then, almost like he was hesitant. Or… no—like he was preparing himself to launch into one of those grand, immortal, monologues of his. Usually they were about architecture, or the strange difficulties of tending to rose bushes. He took a soft, low, breath that whistled past your ear, and then his lips quirked back into a smile.

“Unique circumstances of our meeting and your species aside, I have decided that you deserve a proper courtship nonetheless,” he responded merrily, in the tone of someone who very much believed such a declaration deserved all the head pats. “I spoke with Lilia about the matter, of course, because while I am well aware of the concepts of such an endeavor, actually putting the ideas into practice is… unfamiliar to me,” he huffed, almost embarrassed. “And I wanted to ensure that despite our differences in culture and ancestry, that I could find a way to ensure you would enjoy our draconic customs as well.”

Which was—was—

It was certainly one thing to hear Tsunotarou make casual declarations of ‘bestowing titles’ and whatever other romantically archaic gibberish made it past his fangs, but to just sort of BAM. Lay it all out. Right there. With a ‘you deserve a proper courtship’ and everything. It had heat rising high along your cheeks and something light and bubbly dancing through your stomach.

“…That’s sweet of you,” you managed to get out, so thoroughly twitterpated that for half a second you even managed to forgot that you were having this whole conversation while you were sitting in his very, very, naked lap.

“Sweet?” he repeated, so openly bewildered it made you laugh.

“Yes,” you hummed, regaining a teeny bit of your courage, and let your head fall back to rest against his shoulder with an affectionate lil’ bonk. “Very sweet. The sweetest.”

“…I do not think I have ever been referred to as such,” he mumbled, sounding torn between being content at the compliment, and baffled over its existence in the first place. And yeah, objectively speaking, there were plenty of more fitting, much grander, descriptors you could attach to such an ancient, all-powerful, creature. Majestic, incredible, intelligent, awe-inspiring, handsome—

Tsunotarou made a strange sort of strangled sound from behind you, and you realized in horror that you’d been rambling all that out loud.

That brief spark of courage vanished even faster than it’d come, and you dropped your head forward to hide in your hands.

“I did not realize you regarded me so highly, Child of Man,” he crooned, puffing up in pride at your back.

You buried even further into your palms. Maybe if you pressed hard enough, you’d manage to lobotomize yourself. And then you’d never have to worry about being embarrassed ever again.

“How could I not?” you complained, sounding smooshed and pathetic behind your fingers.

“In my experience, most creatures tend to feel quite the opposite when I am involved,” Malleus mused, sounding far too soft. “But I suppose you have always proved to be the exception in many things.”

You could feel the familiar, firm, warmth of his fingers curling along your wrists as he gently tugged you out of your impromptu hidey hole.

“Humans are many things, and you certainly continue to surprise me. But I don’t think you’ve yet discovered how to eat without using your mouth.” He gave your palm a light squeeze before letting it drop back to your side. “So unfortunately, trying to hide your face away in shame isn’t productive at the moment,” Malleus grinned, sharp with humor. “But perhaps later, if you are still feeling too overwhelmed by your sentiments.”

“I’m not overwhelmed by my sentiment,” you grumped.

He hummed, low in his chest and terribly fond. And clearly not buying your bullshit for a second.

“And there’s not even any food for my dumb, human, mouth to eat,” you continued petulantly.

“Is that so?” he mused.

“Yes. Is so,” you snipped.

That little, happy, grin of his grew a bit too wide, a bit too pointy at the edges. And then he was reaching up with one hand to cup your chin and hold your jaw in place. Softly, carefully, in a way that certainly wasn’t uncomfortable, but with a firmness to it that definitely made it feel like you weren’t going anywhere.

“Open,” he ordered—kind as always, but with a haughty sort of authority that had heat rushing to your cheeks so quickly you realized that hyperbole of your earlier ramblings aside, you may actually be having a fucking stroke.

The dragon pinched his fingers at the corner of your lips, the sharp tips of his blackened nails bumping up along your canines, and your mouth fell open like your jaw had unhinged itself from your face. His other hand reached around you deftly in a grand show of ridiculous sparks and mist. And then there was something small, and warm, and mouth-wateringly savory pulled from thin air and tucked up between his fingers. He leaned over your shoulder to take a pointed bite out of the creation, chewing slowly and exaggeratedly, before moving to hold the remaining piece up to your parted lips.

Your mouth was more or less hanging open like you were trying to make a career out of catching flies, so he didn’t have much trouble setting the delicate, little, morsel atop your tongue. The burst of flavor was instantaneous, intense, and part of you wished that your brain wasn’t so high on its ‘what is HAPPENING?! AHHHH!’ madness so that you could better appreciate the taste of the ethereal treat. But it was. And your head was broken. So here you were—sitting in a handsome dragon’s naked lap, with some kind of mystical food in your mouth, and your tongue practically lolling out of it like you had brain damage.

“Aren’t you going to eat it?” Malleus asked, brow furrowing at your continued paralysis. Like you refusing to do anymore than sit there like a human vegetable was another one of your attempts at petty resistance.

And okay. Really. You weren’t trying to be a little brat. Your brain had genuinely fled the building—packed its bags, flipped your empty skull the bird, and sailed off into the sunset to find someone who might actually try and make use of it. There wasn’t enough ‘rational thought’ left for you tomake the decision to be a sassy little shit.

The dragon’s eyes narrowed at your completely unintentional obstinance and the pointed ends of his claws flexed against your cheeks.

“Swallow.”

You gulped, out of habit if nothing else—the rest of you spiraling away in a long line of holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck—

“There,” he purred, and you were having a heart attack. “Was that so difficult?”

He loosened his grip enough for you to softly shake your head back and forth, and his countenance brightened once again at your assent.

“Excellent!” he beamed, and conjured up another one of those tiny bits of ambrosia. “What is that expression humans are always using…” he mumbled to himself, brow furrowed as he pondered. “Oh—that’s right.” He cleared his throat and pressed the next morsel back up your mouth. “Say ‘Aaah.’”

The choked off, gurgling, noise that tore out of your throat must have been an acceptable substitute, because he nodded and pushed the treat past your lips.

“Good,” he hummed, low, and rubbed more of those little circles into your hip with the clawed fingers that weren’t busy feeding you all kinds of magical nonsense. “Lilia did mention you might be adverse to this for some reason,” he muttered to himself, dragging his cheek along yours like an overgrown cat, before turning that indulgent, deadly, smile back on you with all the cutting efficiency of an assassin’s blade. “But I knew you’d do well.”

You were going to die.

“This food is made with my own magic,” he explained, proud, and definitely at least partially oblivious to the fact that you were one-hundred-percent having an aneurism. “And I would love to feed you nothing but these creations of mine, but unfortunately, Lilia was not entirely certain how much sustenance it would actually provide to a human body,” he sighed, practically pouty.

“Is that so…” you wheezed.

“Hmm,” he rumbled, and snapped another mouthful of arcane wonders into existence. “Would you like some more?”

You looked up towards the grey ceiling and the infinite, uncaring, void of space somewhere beyond. You prayed to every God, Demon, Deity, and half-baked Patron that you could think of for mercy.

“What did you tell him?!”

“Oh?” Lilia hummed, lazily glancing over his sharpened nails. You’d found him dangling upside down from a banister in one of the sparser hallways, like that was a perfectly pleasant place to relax for the afternoon. “Did you not enjoy it?”

You squawked like the world’s most indignant chicken, and Lilia had the absolute fucking gall to laugh at you.

“That’s not the point!”

“Is it not?” he chirped, looking beyond pleased with himself.

“NO!”

He trilled merrily nonetheless and floated down to stand before you.

“I’m sure this is all still a bit confusing to you, little one. But,” he smiled, positively doting, “a smidgen of embarrassment is certainly a fair price to pay for so many future years of happiness, don’t you agree?”

“That’s not—I’m not embarrassed,” you settled on, which was a lie.

Lilia grinned at you like you were something fascinating. Or like he was a cat, and you were a very funny little mouse who’d managed to trap itself under one of his paws. After a moment, he chuckled softly under his breath and reached down to fish about in the pockets of his robes.

“Perhaps this will help bolster you courage, hmm?” he hummed and slid a strange, glass, flask into your hands.

You glared at him cautiously for a moment before uncorking the potion and taking a swig. It settled along your tongue, heavy and fruity, with a soft, herby, aftertaste. Grandiose nature of its presentation aside, the concoction was actually pretty familiar.

“This is just wine!” you complained, and Lilia laughed harder.

When you ate your (assumed) dinner for the evening, Malleus took his usual spot draped across your lap and seemed happy to let you feed yourself. You stared down at the dragon cautiously, eyes narrowed. Suspicious.

“Lilia said it would be best not to overwhelm you with too much too quickly,” he said after a few long moments of your apprehensive silence, burrowing his nose against your thigh.

“I see,” you droned, still more than a little irritated at the tiny man��s meddling, but thankful enough that he at least seemed to understand that your fair constitution was not built to survive an onslaught of draconic ‘courting.’

“Unless you would prefer that I—”

“No!”

That night you collapsed atop your blanket nest like a log—physically and emotionally wrecked from trying to survive your first ever encounter with Seduction. (And wasn’t that a trip? A fully fledged Bard, stumbling over their own tongue and shriveling up like a pious little maiden at the first inklings of Romantic Intent. What a failure you were. ‘Fuck around and find out?’ Ace used to mock. ‘Nah, get fucked and find out, am I right, Bardy?’ And you’d laugh. Like you were some suave, sexy, master of love. And not just some moron who could sometimes talk their way in circles well enough to get their friends out of a tavern brawl.)

You squeaked out a yawn—some lazy, tired, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you burrowed deeper into your plush fortress. You were going to go to sleep and stay asleep for hours. Days. Months. You were going to make that ‘Sleeping Beauty’ chick look like an insomniac.

The blankets cocooning you dipped with extra weight, and you blinked your eyes back open to see Malleus looming over you, his neon eyes illuminating the dark and casting odd shadows over his cheeks.

“Are you cold, Child of Man?”

Huh. Weird. But whatever.

You hummed and burrowed deeper into the blankets. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Sure, the castle was gloomy and dank even when the sun was at its highest, let alone in the black of night. But you had a literal furnace camped out next to you, and no natural chill was breaking past that space heater. You yawned again and rolled back onto your side with a comfy little stretch. You were just about to sink back into the soft, foggy, cloud of sleep when—

“Are you certain?”

You sighed and scrunched your nose irritably. “Yes, Tsunotarou.”

A pause.

“Are you… too warm, then?”

You groaned.

“I’m fine.” And then, pointed. “Just tired.”

“I see.”

You waited, frowning sleepily into your pillow pile. When after a solid two minutes the dragon had made no further comments, you let your eyes slip back closed.

“But are you positive?” he asked again, and you wanted to scream. “There’s nothing troubling you about our nest? Nothing at all?” You smashed your face into a duvet and felt a panicked set of claws flutter along your shoulders. “I would only hope that you’d feel comfortable enough to inform me if there is anything amiss. If there is anything that I might do, to correct any inadequacies—”

“Malleus,” you interrupted, and you felt him freeze. Perhaps using his True Name out loud for the first time in a fit of overtired petulance was low, but come on. What else were you supposed to do? “The nest is perfect. You’re perfect. Can we please just—go to sleep?”

“Oh,” he breathed, and you watched the soft, emerald, glow around him pop in and out of existence as he blinked his wide eyes at you. The sharp, reptilian, lines of his pupils shrank to pinpricks—swallowed in a sea of green. “I see.”

You weren’t sure exactly what this great, eldritch, monster was ‘seeing,’ but he did shut his mouth with a content little rumble and haul you up against his chest to finally settle in for the night, so you couldn’t really find it in you to care about the particulars.

The next morning, when Malleus tried to feed you breakfast, you had prepared yourself enough to not keel over on the spot. You very respectably accepted his tasty treats and only thought you were about to pass out, like, three times. So overall, an improvement.

That is, until you dutifully swallowed the last of the tiny morsels he’d pressed to your lips, and he smiled at you like you’d hung all the stars in the sky.

“You really are such a good little thing, aren’t you?” he sighed, and you had to bury yourself in your blanket nest like an ostrich with its head in the sand for a solid half hour before you were ready to be a functional person again.

But other than that brush with near death, you were doing great! Great enough that you were even willing to indulge the angrier Gargoyle as it huffed and puffed about whatever had managed to ruffle its feathers that day.

“I still cannot believe you thought to steal from my master! TO STEAL!” he repeated. “FROM HIM!”

You sighed and rested your chin in your palm. “To be fair, we didn’t exactly know anyone was living here. It’s not like we intentionally tried to tangle with a dragon.”

“Well, you would have lost,” Sebek sniffed, indignant.

“We did lose,” you huffed, amused, and Lilia’s snicker echoed from some shadowed corner of the hall. “But I promise, if we’d known that we would be trespassing into someone’s actual home instead of just breaking and entering an abandoned castle, I never would have come.”

Malleus warbled out an unsettled sort of sound from his place resting at your back, his snout bumping up against your shoulder in an inquisitive little thump.

You reached out to give his giant, scaled, nose a pat.

“But I’m glad I did,” you promised. “My friends’ idiocy worked in all our favors, I guess.”

“You ought to thank them when they return next month, your grace,” Lilia called to his ward, still too entrenched within the darkness to be visible as anything other than a glinting, halfmoon, smile. “For ensuring your lovely human’s arrival.”

Malleus hummed and shifted his wings to settle back more fully once again—whatever unpleasant sort of discontentment brewing about him having clearly been assuaged.

“THOSE WHO WOULD ATTEMPT TO BURGLE MY MASTER DO NOT DESERVE GRATITUDE!” Sebek yowled, arching up like a pissy street cat.

“To be fair,” you said, “there ended up not being much actual theft involved.”

Sebek gasped and ducked in to complain straight to your face, like that extra foot and a half of distance would somehow make all the difference in his lecturing. But then, as he swung in closer, his stone talons brushed up against the edge of your mattress-nest. It was just a little thing, barely even enough to put a nick in the rippled corners of the more delicate fabrics. But with that movement, the atmosphere of the chamber melted from its usual pleasant haze into something cold, and dark, and heavy that pressed down on your shoulders like a tangible thing. Within the next moment, Sebek was falling back in a panic to avoid the set of massive, black, jaws closing around him.

Malleus reared forward with an absolutely blood curdling snarl—curling down from his perch at your hind to spit and lunge at his servant with all the terrible ferocity of the ancient beast that so many accused him of being.

Sebek reeled away in an absolutely manic frenzy, twisting from death’s maw with a slew of panicked squawking-slash-sobbing that sounded an awful lot like he was begging for forgiveness amidst his harried attempts at escape.

And as much as you certainly hadn’t wanted to be lectured for the umpteenth time about some trivial garbage, the blind rage twisting your dragon’s face was… definitely unfamiliar.

You reached out nervously to rest a hand against his flank, and instantly Malleus was back at your side—curling the entirety of his bulk around you and only unfurling the long, slim, stretch of his neck to hiss a low, threatening, sound in the direction Sebek had fled.

“Tsunotarou…?” you called hesitantly, letting your fingers twist against the slippery smooth surface of his scales.

He lowered his head, and you could see each and every one of those sharp teeth of his glinting in the lowlight. He kept his neon-green glare locked at the corner of the hall with that same, startling, intensity, but the simmering rage that had been sparking along his canines dropped into a softer, more reassuring, rumble.

“MY DEEPEST APOLOGIES, MY LORD!” Sebek wailed, popping up stupidly from behind the pillar he was using as a shield. “I NEVER MEANT TO—”

Malleus snapped at him again—his teeth closing around empty air with an echoing clack. The Gargoyle ducked back down with an ‘EEP!’ and the dragon curled his lips in distaste. The heavy scent of smoke and sulfurpooled from his maw, and emerald sparks danced dangerously up from his throat.

Lilia materialized then from the shadows, slipping forward from the darkness with a deep bow that nearly had his nose pressed to his knees. He hovered over the pair of them—the cowering, stone, monster and the fire spitting dragon that was seemingly determined to rend his faithful servant into pebbles.

“My Prince,” Lilia coaxed, composed and crisp in the face of his hissing ward. He started to straighten himself again cautiously, only to freeze half-way when Malleus started up his grumbling again. “Malleus,” he tried instead, voice stern and gentling. “It’s alright. I’m sure it was only an accident.” Crimson eyes flicked pointedly to the rafters. “Wasn’t it, Sebek?”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO!” Sebek absolutely sobbed. “I WOULD NEVER DISRESPECT THE YOUNG MASTER SO!”

“What the fuck is even happening?!” you gaped, beyond confused.

“Little one,” Lilia began, only to pause when Malleus curled his lip threateningly at him. “If you wouldn’t mind, please inform your dearest companion that you’re perfectly well and unharmed.”

“What?” you frowned. “Of course I’m unharmed!”

“Once more,” Lilia chirped, without any warmth to it. “If you’d please.”

Your brow tugged together tight in bewilderment, but you turned back to face the heaving hide of the dragon that was currently wound around you tighter than a bow string.

“Malleus,” you tried, perhaps far too quietly all things considered. But that terrible, earthquake of a snarl of his broke off all at once—like you’d dropped a cone of Silence over the whole of him. His great, green, glare cut down to you and instantly he was lowering his sneering maw to blow misty smoke rings over your head. “Malleus,” you said again, running a hand along his scales. “It’s alright. I’m fine. Nothing’s happened.”

Tsunotarou blinked at you, tight and fast. And then after a very, very, long moment of that sneer twitching on and off his face like a flickering light, his pricked pupils relaxed back into something curved and long—still thin, but no longer constricted to the point of near absence. He lowered his head to crash into the heap of comforters, and pillows, and soft, cozy, things. The sigh that blew past his fangs was all kinds of exhausted—sounding like it’d clawed its way out from the very marrow of his bones. The little lick of green flames that accompanied it was a teeny, bright, thing—lacking that sharp bite of heat and sulfur.

Lilia sighed too, like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. Silver relaxed from the perch where he’d tucked himself away at the start of it all (high enough to be out of range, but close enough to dive in if needed), and Sebek nearly doubled over in hysterical tears.

The strange, little, demon turned then on the spiked Gargoyle with an unhappy click of his tongue.

“Sebek,” he huffed. “You should know better.”

“I know,” the Gargoyle hiccupped, uncharacteristically quiet. “I’m sorry.”

“Would someone please tell me what that was,” you begged, running nervous hands along Tsunotarou’s purple crests like they were a giant, wavy, set of stress balls.

“Drakes are naturally protective creatures. There’s certainly a reason that so many tales of our Lord’s ancestors stalwartly guarding their hoards have passed into legend,” Lilia explained, some of that black severity finally seeming to fade from his soured expression. “And, of course, when one is partaking in an event as monumental as the courtship of a perspective mate, they can understandably be… particularly tetchy about their territory being disturbed.”

“But it’s not like you’re intruders or anything! He’s known you all for ages,” you frowned. “And this is just—you’ve all been in here plenty of times before. It’s just a pile of pillows.”

“Not to him it’s not,” Lilia mused, soft.

You worried at your lower lip, and your gaze slipped back to the dragon pressed up against your side. He was busy fanning his tail out, carefully smoothing the fabrics that had been disturbed in his upset—fluffing up the blankets that had fallen out of place and rucking all those comforters up around the both of you.

‘A perfect nest,’ you had called it. For a perfect dragon.

Oh.

You cleared your sticky throat and patted reassuringly at the softer, more delicate skin at the base of Malleus’s horns. He paused his fretting to glance back down at you.

“Why don’t we hit the hay early today, yeah?” you offered, and he let out a relieved sort of huff as he settled more heavily at your side. His eyes slipped closed like they were physically weighted down, and his tail whipped up and around to encircle the two of you in a set of soft loops. Lilia sent you a look that was half-appreciative, half-outright fond.

“We’ll leave you both be for the next few days,” he said, before gesturing for the pair of Gargoyles to follow him out the door.

You nodded, and then called out just as the more haggard of the duo was about to slip past the threshold.

“He probably didn’t mean to get so mad,” you offered as kindly as you could, and you weren’t sure if a Gargoyle could actually get misty-eyed (what with the whole ‘entirely constructed of stone’ thing being a bit of hindrance), but Sebek was certainly putting the effort in to try.

Not that this whole thing had been entirely one-sided, but as you laid there in your nest with your dragon—carefully carding your fingers through his black hair and along the divots in his horns—you couldn’t help but feel like he’d been putting a whole lot more effort into this ‘fairytale romance’ of yours than you had.

Okay, granted, you were apparently the one being courted in this whole situation. Which theoretically meant that you were also the one who was supposed to be getting spoiled with attention, and food, and… whatever that whole territory debacle had been. But still… It felt a bit selfish not to be doing something for Malleus in return. Particularly seeing how much of himself he was putting into all of this. And again, sure, you were technically originally a hostage or whatever. Sure, not a few weeks ago you would have laughed off this entire thing like it was a bad joke. But now you were… sort of in it for the long haul, weren’t you?

Because Malleus was kind and startling intelligent, even if that big ol’ brain of his sometimes stumbled over the silliest things. He had a wickedly dry sense of humor and an inquisitiveness that was entirely endearing. And on top of it all, he was ungodly attractive and a motherfucking dragon. What sort of fool would turn that down? Idiot you may be, but man, even you weren’t that stupid. Deuce, maybe. But not you.

So you sighed, feeling very much like a haggard old maid doing their best to walk some moron through their own burgeoning romance—except in this case you were both the old crone and the idiot, and—Ugh. This metaphor was too much for your brain. You carefully slipped out from beneath Malleus’s arm, and man, if it didn’t say all the more about just how much he’d exhausted himself the other day that he didn’t immediately spring awake to demand to know where you were sneaking off to. You patted his silky hair and tucked him in a bit tighter before carefully making your way over to the corner of the nest where you’d stashed your travel pack.

You knew better than to try and start your own fire at this point, and while heating a kettle with the lingering, wispy, sparks of Prestidigitation was a bitch and half, you did it. Because you were—ugh—in love. Or at least getting there. And people who were (maybe) in love did all sorts of ridiculous, taxing, nonsense for the sake of making their Person (dragon) happy. You brewed a pot of warm tea, tossing in all the fancy, dried, leaves that you kept bundled in the little side pockets of your bag. Chamomile as a base, to settle his nerves. A pinch of lavender to aid that calm. A sprig of lemon balm for tartness and… also calm. Everything you had for relaxation. Just. Dumping it in the pot. You were halfway through debating if adding a bit of Passionflower would just make your already questionable concoction taste absolutely vile when a sleepy grumble dragged you out of your musings.

“What are you doing all the way over there?” Tsunotarou complained, head only just poking out from the mound of blankets you’d buried him in. And, wow, he must have been… He hadn’t even scuttled his way down to latch onto you like the leech he normally was.

You gingerly climbed your way back up the pile, balancing the mug of tea in your hands so, so, carefully—making sure not to spill a single drop.

Malleus had sat up fully by the time you arrived, and he was busying himself with rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He still looked a bit woozy—a bit out-of-body. You leaned forward and pressed the warm cup into his clawed hands, only pulling back once you were certain he had a good grip on it.

“I made tea,” you said lamely. “To, uh, help with… To help. Tea helps,” you finished, more lamely.

And then, because you never knew how to stop when you were ahead (and to be fair, you were never really ‘ahead.’ And your dumbass bumbling certainly didn’t land you anywhere near that), you leaned forward, valiantly fighting the butterflies having an all out rave in your fucking intestines, and planted a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Erhm,” you mumbled as he stared up at you with wide, wide eyes. “Feel better.”

Malleus gaped at you, and then slowly—like his limbs were moving through a vat of honey—he reached up to rub at the skin you’d just pecked.

“What was that?” he asked, bewildered but not… unhappy. No. Definitely not unhappy.

“A kiss?” you squeaked, warring with all Seven Levels of Hell that were fighting for real estate in your cheeks. “It’s… uh. It’s something humans do to… show our affection?” It wasn’t meant to sound like a question, but the statement twisted up high-pitched and thready at the end either way.

“I see,” he murmured, gaze still a bit distant. Though perhaps not for the same reason anymore. He blinked a few times, as if to clear away that cloudy haze, and then smiled one of those heart-stopping smiles of his. “May I have another?”

You spluttered, and fought the urge to bap him over the top of the head like an unruly bar patron.

“After you finish your tea,” you managed to squawk. “Maybe.”

And so he went about sipping at the concoction you’d brewed for him with all the steadfast determination of a good student. By the time he reached the bottom of the cup, his eyes were drooping all over again and he was stretching out to lounge back against the pillows with a sleepy little sigh. He slipped back off to sleep quickly enough, but you leaned forward anyways to give him a peck on the cheek—as promised.

“Tell me more about your human courting traditions,” Malleus demanded the next morning, clearly feeling well enough again to be back to his usual, sticky, habits. He had situated himself with his head in your lap—bumping his forehead up pointedly against your navel until you sunk your hands into his hair.

“I thought Lilia told you plenty,” you grumbled. “You just want me to kiss you again.”

His eyes sparkled with mischievous mirth. “Perhaps.”

You sighed and fought the urge to titter into your palms in embarrassment. You were a bard, goddamn it! And you would not shame your profession further!

“Well, from what I understand, one doesn’t exactly see their intended in your sort of state until much later in the proceedings,” you sniffed petulantly.

“My sort of state?” he repeated, canting his head.

“Naked.”

He laughed, sharp and loud.

“Of course,” he trilled, twisting to bury his nose into the seam of your thigh and sending shivers all along your spine. “I always forget about your antiquated sense of modesty.”

“My antiquated—?!You’re thousands of years old!”

“And yet, you are always the one so caught up in the notion of my propriety,” he sighed, that clever smirk still tugging at his lips. “Trying to defend my honor, perhaps?”

“My honor,” you hissed, giving into the urge to burry your head in your hands. “What do you do then, huh? What do dragons do if they don’t kiss each other?”

“Bite,” he shrugged, and the spark of something that shot through your gut like the first sparks off a campfire was entirely fucking unfair.

You swallowed.

“Like—erhm. When you’re like this?” you asked, gesturing awkwardly to his human-fied form.

“I suppose some must,” he hummed, eyes going lidded and dark as he pondered your inquiry. “But most prefer their scales, I’m told. Mating bites are a fairly universal practice—both in their practically of providing a physical telltale for differentiating those who have been claimed from those who have not, and also as a… more romantic overture.”

“How is biting romantic?” you huffed, only to immediately regret the question when the dragon’s eyes lit like firebugs.

Tsunotarou sat back on his haunches, dislodging your hand from his hair in the process.

“It’s all very poetic,” he enthused, face awash with genuine fascination. The same sort of way he got when he was talking about his precious gargoyles or the wonderful uniqueness in flavor of the different variations of frost giants. “It leaves the impression of a mortal wound that was, of course, in reality anything but. The careful curation of allowing one’s life to fall so easily into the hands of another. It really is all very lovely.”

“But dragon teeth are…” you trailed off, debating if you were just regurgitating the obvious. “It must leave some pretty nasty scars, at least.”

“Of course it does,” Malleus hummed. “That’s certainly the point of it. And usually, the goal is to bite deep enough that the scales can never regrow.”

“But, that’s—!” Again you tapered yourself into silence. He wasn’t saying that like it was bad thing. In fact, he sounded a bit dreamy. “Isn’t that dangerous?” you asked instead, quiet. “To lose some of your armor like that?”

“Oh, certainly,” he crooned, reaching out with one, clawed, finger to trail the tip of a blackened nail along the hollow of your throat. “The most common sites are here.” You gulped, and he dragged that talon of his down to rest at the center of your chest. He tapped at the skin there slowly, lightly, like the rhythm of a ticking clock. “And here.”

“I—uhm.” You swallowed. “That just seems more dangerous.”

“The hope behind it is to show your unwavering conviction—your faith,” he explained, his nail still tap-tap-tapping just above your heart. “That the one you’ve chosen to entrust yourself to will be the one willing to protect those delicate places instead.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, eyes wide. Because… alright. That was a bit—It was at least a little…

The hand lingering over your ribs reached out to tangle with your own, and he brought your palm up to rest against the soft, alabaster, curve of his neck. You could feel the steady thrum of his pulse beneath your fingers.

“I know your teeth aren’t quite strong enough to scar a dragon’s hide, but I’d be happy to gift you my scales, if you asked them of me,” he sighed, content. And woah. Holy fuck. Holy fuck— “Perhaps you could fashion your own armor from them,” he mused, looking far too invested with that burgeoning idea for it to be something he’d just magically thought up on the spot.

“I’d rather not do anything to hurt you at all,” you rambled, because your brain had evaporated.

“Oh?” he droned. “Even if I asked you to?”

And fwoosh went the ashy remnants of your intellect, completely blown out of your head.

Malleus leaned forward into your little bubble of space—the one that had more or less popped out of existence the moment he’d decided that he would very much like to keep you at his side. But somehow, despite all the times he’d crowded in on you before, this time felt… more significant. He kept your palm pressed into the hollow of his throat and ducked down to press his nose into the sensitive nook of your own. You could feel the whistle of his breath against the thin skin there—warm, and slow, and with just the slightest bit of humidity that pulled goosebumps up all along your shoulders.

“Of course I would never mark you while in my scales,” he assured, like that was even an option to begin with. “Your flesh is far too delicate. And while I know I could heal the damage, it’s not something I’m keen to inflict in the first place.”

You shivered and tilted your chin—away (exposed), not down. Not into the protective little bow you ought to have.

“H-Hypocrite,” you spluttered, and Malleus chuckled, delighted.

“I suppose so,” he hummed. “But it does make me wonder, what could we do, hmm? In these forms?”

You could bite me like this, you almost said. Like an absolute, suicidal, maniac.

“Oh?” he trilled, enthusiastic. “I could, couldn’t I?”

Holy fuck you needed to get your rambling under control before it killed you.

“I do hope you keep at it,” he mused, tilting forward so that you could feel the brush of his bangs tickling along the back of your neck. “You say the loveliest things when you’re not burdened with those poor attempts at filtering yourself.” His lips curled up into a smile and you could feel it pressing into your throat like a brand. “Incredible, you called me. Do you remember? Majestic. Handsome—”

“Yes, yes,” you spluttered, head still tilted way too far back for someone putting up any kind of token protest. “Mock the afflicted.”

“Afflicted?” He grinned. The points of his canines dipped past his lips to skim along your skin and leave the teeniest, little, divots in their wake. Never pushing forward, never breaking that soft barrier at your throat. But there. “With what, dearest?”

“Don’t make me say it,” you begged. Because you were already likely to keel over twitching from a stroke at any moment now, let alone if you tried to say—if you actually admitted out loud that you—you were—

“Should I, then?” he asked, a streak of something stalwart and genuine mixed in with the teasing.

And then, like a horribly unwanted Divine Intervention, Ace’s voice flicked through your thoughts with all of the stereotypical ridiculousness of a beam of sunshine parting a cloud covered sky.

‘Fuck around and find out?’ he’d laughed. And then you’d laughed. ‘Nah, get fucked and find out.’

And goddamn it all, you would never, ever give that smarmy, ginger, bastard credit for anything—let alone bestowing you with sage life advice. But, well—

“Fuck it,” you gasped and you threw yourself forward to tangle your arms around Malleus’s neck and pull him into a kiss.

It was perhaps the most inelegant smashing of lips ever put to record, and you immediately nicked yourself on one of his fangs. But after a moment of working past that driving ‘get as close as you can, get so, so, so close—’ you managed to maneuver things into something that was more a wave of particularly enthusiastic kisses than just outright gnawing at each other. Malleus didn’t seem particularly put off at your messy attempt to jump his bones, and leaned into whatever you were throwing at him with ardor.

You parted your lips and Malleus’s own opened immediately beneath yours. His tongue flicked out and you felt it run along the fresh cut there—tracing the little, red, graze and soothing the sting. It was a little longer than you were expecting, a tad thinner. Not quite reptilian, but different enough that you recognized it as something alien. But if there was any apprehension to begin with (hint: probably not. You were too far gone on this idiot), it was wiped clear when he tilted his chin forward to harshen the angle and attempted to plunder your mouth in earnest.

There was still all a bit more teeth and biting than the glorious romances heralded in all those garbage tavern songs, but for someone who’d only just yesterday been asking you ‘what’s a kiss?’ this felt like great progress. And honestly, there was something better about this too. Maybe because the feel of his sharp canines dancing so perilously close to your sensitive skin was a bit thrilling. Maybe the mess, and the heat, and that ‘closer, closer, closer’ made it feel more real. Or maybe it was just the simple fact that this was your Tsunotarou.

Eventually the kisses tapered off to dot along your cheek—with another long, slow, lick along the barely-bloodied nick in your lip for good measure—and then down the curve of your jaw. Malleus pressed forward, and you could feel the sharp intent there as he meticulously began to cover every available inch of your throat in little, stinging, love bites. His clawed hands began to work their way under the hem of your shirt, rucking it up along your abdomen until the fabric caught just beneath your ribs. He dug his thumbs into the newly exposed skin, and you fought through a wave of shivers to reach down to help him pull it the rest of the way off you.

The brief barrier of your shifting clothes cut you off from the world like a blindfold, and when you were back again, facing the softly lit gloom of the familiar cavern, you realized that you were staring down a fully naked dragon. Who, yes, was technically always running around in his birthday suit. But now—I mean—if you were doing this sort of thing with him, and he was really courting you and all… You could look now, couldn’t you?

So many painful hours you had spent counting pebble piles, and reciting mostly made-up religious verses, and smacking your cheeks like a school matron threatening rowdy teens. So ceaselessly hard had your poor eyes worked to never just look down.

And finally, you let yourself take in the entirety of him.

Woah.

And thank fuck he didn’t lurch forward with that wide, self-satisfied grin of his, because at least that meant you’d managed to keep your internal ‘!!!’ to yourself for once.

Malleus had always been unfairly pretty. Because naturally, if you were one of the most powerful creatures to ever walk this planet, you also had to be one of the most beautiful. It was the logic of fairytales and mythos only, and now all that ethereal allure was staring you down almost like a challenge. Like, ‘see? You thought people this stupidly hot could only exist in your dreams? Hardy, har, har. Have fun with your hypertension and newfound inability to feel anything below your navel.’

And now he was just there. All sculpted planes of white marble that cut sharp angles at the jut of his hips, and then the rest of him. Which was equally as well cast and pale, with just enough of a pink flush to look like something alive rather than some untouchable statue in a museum.

You averted your gaze with a self-conscious little ‘eep!’ Because surely being leered at like a slab of meat had to be all sorts of unpleasant. I mean, if Tsunotarou had been looking at you like that, you’d—Well. Actually. Maybe it wouldn’tbe that bad. But either way, you were practically drooling over the guy, and that self-indulgent ogling had to be at least a teensy bit embarrassing.

Instead, when you finally managed to lock gazes again, the dragon was practically preening.

“Do you find me pleasing, Child of Man?” he asked, eyes half-lidded and dark.

You looked back up at the ceiling and cursed all those stupid deities that had never deigned to grant you even a single sliver of that mercy you’d ask for.

“You know I do,” you finally said, fighting a losing battle against the rampant heat overtaking your entire face.

Malleus leaned back in to press a drawn-out peck to that same little cut, letting that thin tongue of his peek out to clean around your swollen lip one more time. You could see his pupils jumping within his irises—shrinking to tight, tiny, pinpricks before rounding out into something nearly human. The gaping black there practically swallowed the neon, green, sea of his eyes whole.

“You can take from me whatever you’d like,” he hummed, reaching out to drag the hand that had caught at his ribs down to rest along the sharp dip of his hipbones.

“You are literally going to kill me,” you hiccupped, cheeks burning like you’d just taken a merry jaunt through all Seven Halls.

His brow furrowed loosely in the familiar start of that ‘I am an Immortal Drake King and Have No Real Concept of Over Exaggeration as Comedy’ bewilderment of his, and you leaned forward to press a kiss against that little crease.

“In a euphemism sort of way,” you clarified with a flustered grumble. “I promise.”

“Of course,” he nodded, in a fashion that made it very obvious that he didn’t really get it, but also easily acknowledged that now was neither the time nor place for a lesson on human vernacular.

Instead of focusing on your so-claimed impending demise, Malleus leaned forward and picked up exactly where he had left off—even taking the time to pause over the last of his little love bites to soothe at it with his tongue and get it darkening up all over again. As he trailed those sharp, sticky, kisses down your front, you felt your own fingers begin to slip further south—naturally skating down deeper along the slope where he’d placed them.

Your knuckles brushed against sleek, near silky, skin and the shudder that worked its way up the dragon’s back had the teeth he’d buried at your collarbone near vibrating into your skin. Which was… probably good, right? Actually, you know what? If anything, it was a hell of a lot better than good. So you reached forward with a bit more confidence to twine your fingers around him in earnest, and the groan that rumbled out from Malleus’s chest was deep enough to rattle your bones.

The first few strokes were a bit clumsy as you tried to feel out what he enjoyed best. There was something not quite human about it all—just like how even though he had two legs, two arms, and a perfectly lovely face, there had always still been something just a smidge off about this form of his. A little too ethereal to be real.

Though he certainly felt real now—with the way his hips were rising in short, sharp, jerks against your sliding palm, and in how his breath was beating a brisk tempo against your throat.

“You know,” you admitted a bit shakily. “Do you realize how hard it was to just not stare at you every freaking hour of the day when you were waltzing all over the place with—with this,” you complained, giving the aforementioned ‘this’ a pointed squeeze. Malleus made a punched-out sort of noise that tapered into a growl, and he rutted back against your grip hard enough to nearly topple you over.

And then he kept pushing forward until you did fall backwards into the nest of blankets at your back. You landed with a breathy little ‘oof’ and he crowded over you immediately—bracketing you in between his knees. The clawed hand that had been playing along your waist shifted to better mimic the position of your own busy digits. He ran a blackened nail sluggishly along the inseam of your trousers before flicking it back up to undo the button there with a pop.

“You were always more than welcome to partake,” he beamed, sounding far too delighted for his own good. “I’d hoped my parading around was obvious.”

Well now it was!

“I was trying to be polite—” you cut off on a gasp as he pressed his own hand past the waistband of your pants andspread his fingers out like a fan, searching. “You—You were the one who said clothes weren’t—weren’t—” His skin was cold, smooth, and when he found what he was looking for, he pressed down so, so, carefully. You bit back an absolutely obscene gasp and managed to spit out, “—weren’t comfortable.”

“Of course they aren’t,” he sniffed, and took a long moment to lay another sucking mark at the bridge of your shoulder. “But I don’t make a habit of crawling into the lap of every adventurer who wanders through my home.” All at once his hand stilled against you and you fought the godawful impulse to whine. “Am I welcome as well?”

It took your scattered thoughts far too long to process that he’d been asking you a question.

“Are you welcome to what?” you breathed.

“To partake?”

Fucking hell in a handbasket—

“Yes,” you wheezed, squirming up against the wide, flat, surface of his palm. “Of course you are. Just—"

Malleus surged forward to capture your lips once more and immediately licked his way into your mouth—intent and probing. His fingers matched the pace, and he swallowed each of your squeaks, and squawks, and unintelligible nonsense enthusiastically.

It should have come as absolutely no shock just how attentive he was to… everything. Malleus always seemed so eager to soak up new information like the gigantic, draconic, sponge he was. Always so excited to learn. And he approached this new venture with all that usual enthusiasm and more. Like the terrible, embarrassing, noises pouring out of your throat were a symphony that he could not only learn to conduct, but fine tune to his liking.

Oh, he was happy to venture forth and explore the entirety of this unfamiliar territory, but he was conscientious to circle back to the softest, most sensitive, bits of you again, and again, and again. The parts that made you buck back against him and burry your nose in the crook of your arm like ‘hiding’ from your buzzing nerves was an option at all at this point.

Your pants were worked down to your knees before you’d even realized they were gone, and you kicked awkwardly out a few times to try and untangle yourself from the remainder of them. And then it was just you—laid out atop all those blankets and as bare as he was.

His bitey little kisses kept with their descent, until he’d slid himself far enough down that you couldn’t keep your grip on him anymore. He slipped out of your hand and you made a little grumbly noise of protest that only cut off when he dropped a particularly harsh nip at the inseam of your thigh. He nosed along the delicate skin there, laving his tongue indulgently over the teeny wound he’d left, and you gulped when his nostrils flared on a sharp inhale. His fingers were still tracing along the core of you, but slower now—steadied. Like his once rapt attention had clearly been snagged by other prospects.

Malleus’s neon leer ticked back up to lock with your own, and he rested his pointed chin atop your inner thigh with enough weighted intent to have you nearly leaping out of your skin.

“Is something the matter, dearest Child of Man?” he asked, brows jumping a bit in a way that gave away the fact that his polite, little, inquiry was far from the innocent fair he was putting on.

“You know,” you laughed, breathless and dazed. “When I first came here, before I actually got to know you, I was always so worried that you were going to eat me alive.”

“Is that so,” Malleus mused, pointed nails tracing the shivers that were dancing up your legs. “And now?”

Another startled laugh, and you hid your flaming cheeks behind the cage of your fingers. “Don’t make me say it.”

“If you insist,” he hummed, perfectly unruffled, before ducking forward to bury his face in the heart of you.

Your head fell back with a frankly startling yelp, and your hands immediately moved to twist into his hair. The inky strands melted like the finest silk through your fingers, and you had to take a moment to physically ground yourself to keep from yanking on him—only for one of Malleus’s own hands to reach up and tangle your fingers up all the tighter. He ran his tongue along the entirety of you, and you dug your nails into the soft skin where his horns met his skull. He rumbled out a moan, and that naturally vibrated all the way up from where his mouth was currently very busy devouring every part of you that he could reach.

It was messy, and wet, and occasionally you could feel the razor-sharp tip of a fang dance too close to things that were already far too sensitive. But maiden clumsiness aside, there was certainly something to be said for his enthusiasm. Soon enough, that embarrassing keening of yours was even starting to make your own ears ring, and it only got worse when he shifted his grip on you to maneuver your calves over his shoulders and lock your ankles behind the curl of his horns.

His mouth left you with a soft pop, and he looked up at you with eyes that were shot through with so much black that you could hardly make out anything else. His too-long tongue poked out to trace along his wet lips and you absolutely did not let out the most embarrassing whimper known to man.

“Do you remember the story you told me, about the Cheshire Cat and the Man with the mad hats?”

You blinked, not even sure if you were coordinated enough to manage that right. Your melted mind tried its best to put meaning to words, and then words to context. Eventually you managed to muddle through something that felt half-familiar.

“I think so,” you said, still not entirely cognizant.

“Hmm,” he hummed, and nuzzled his nose back against you. “I remember lying in your lap that day. And that was the first time I could really smell you.”

Oh fucking hell—

“And you felt so wonderfully warm,” he sighed, like your absolute mortification was one of his most pleasant memories. “I would have loved to savor you then as well, but you hadn’t entirely seemed amenable.” He burrowed deeper and gave one, last, long, lick that had you nearly shivering out of your skin. “And either way, that tall tale of yours was too compelling to speak over.”

“It was a children’s story about an acid trip,” you complained. “You are more than welcome to interrupt any of my godawful retellings of penny novels to—”

You cut off with another wholly undignified noise when Malleus surged back up to kiss you fully on the mouth. His tongue coiled around yours and you could, you could taste—

“But I do so love hearing your voice,” he sighed, pulling away again with a little rumbly purr that was far too besotted. “And, actually, I find it to be quite a shame. And perhaps one of my many failings,” he drawled, that teasing, spiked, smirk of his curling across his mouth and doing terrible things to the butterflies trapped in your stomach.

“What?” you managed to eek out as he pulled you back flush up against him.

“You’re a traveling minstrel, are you not?” he hummed, rubbing his cheek along yours as he had so many times before. “And yet, I’ve never quite managed to make you sing.”

You gasped into the next kiss and let him maneuver you so that you were pressed back-to-front, with his looming horns casting shadows over the both of you. And gods above, you knew you’d promised that the whole ‘killing you’ comment had just been a playful euphemism, but even you weren’t really sure about that anymore. Your heart certainly seemed determined to beat its way out of your chest, and you did probably need that to go on living. Not that you could find it in you to care even a lick. If you collapsed after all this and never woke up again, you would have at least died happier than most.

Malleus pushed forward, draping his bulk across your back, and you wound up on your knees—collapsed forward on your elbows and cushioned by the soft piles of blankets, and pillows, and every other comfy treasure that the pair of you had worked to find together.

“Did you mean what you said?” he asked, trailing wet, openmouthed, kisses across your shoulder blades.

“What did I say?” you mumbled, arching up under his mouth like a cat being stroked along its spine.

“That you would let me mark you like this,” he said, closing the last of the kisses off with a gentle nip.

Your head lolled to the side as if of its own accord, bearing your throat in a way that had the dragon flat out groaning from above you.

“My fangs are sharp,” he rumbled, rolling his hips down against yours and letting his lips pull back over his canines in an expression that in any other situation you would have called a snarl. “So sharp you might not even feel it. But,” he continued, with another languid grind, “I think I would prefer that you do.”

And how on Earth would you ever have been able to say no to that?

One of the hands ensnaring your waist slid back down south, trailing over the areas he’d already well acquainted himself with. You rolled your hips back into his palm, and something not unlike a hiss ripped its way out of his throat. And then he was pushing forward again with that same, near agonizingly gentle, probing. Even if this time there was a great deal more intent behind it than just feeling around for all the best spots to have you shaking out of your skin.

The glide of his fingers was smoother than you’d been expecting without the aid of oil, or, well, whatever. But then you remembered that magic was a thing, and briefly thanked all those gods you’d been cursing, because at least that was something. And also the fact that this gloriously wonderful dragon had only literally just eaten you out like his fucking immortal existence depended on it, and that’d probably helped quite a lot with the whole ‘making things a bit more slippery’ logic.

That same desperate call of ‘closer, closer, closer’was singing in your blood again, and by the time he’d worked up to two fingers, then three, you were writhing around like all the most ridiculous, overblown, Bard Stereotypes that you’d always hated. Because no one was really that wanton or clingy—it was just shitty, tavern, gossip that Ace liked to use to get a rile out of you. But man alive, if all those busybody bargoers who’d had to sit through your staunch ‘Bard’s Aren’t Actually Like That!’ speeches could see you now.

(Not that you had any delusions about Malleus letting anyone see you like this—what with the way his guttural growls were rolling through your bones like a tangible thing with teeth, and claws, and fire.)

“You look a bit flustered, darling,” he mused, the words a muddied kiss against the hollow of your throat. You couldn’t see his expression past your own, squinting, ridiculousness, but you had a feeling he was teasing you. Or at least really fucking good at ripping the thoughts out of your brain to comment on at his leisure.

“Really?” you gasped, hoping it sounded more annoyed than it probably did. “Why ever might that be?”

You managed to drill enough focus back into your brain to will your eyes to turn and glare up at your enchanting, wonderful, perfect tormentor. And didn’t someone have a lot of nerve trying to poke fun at you when he looked half-a-step away from feral—a fevered red stained high across his cheekbones and mouth parted with a perpetual sort of panting that had thin trails of grey smoke seeping past his fangs to swirl in the air around you.

You breathed in that heady fog and put every last remaining thread of your Bardic Charisma on the attack.

“Well?” you demanded, swaying your hips back against the pulsing heat of his own. “Was all this courtship stuff to make me your mate or wasn’t it?

The sound that punched out of Malleus’s gut was nearly wounded in its intensity, and then he was bullying his way as close into your space as was physically possible—latching onto your mouth from over your shoulder with something that was far more ‘bite’ than ‘kiss,’ and sinking all the way in to the root of him with one, long, push.

Your toes curled on a yelp and you just barely managed to swallow a noise that was even more humiliating than that. It took a few, solid, thrusts for him to figure out how to settle himself inside you without just shoving the both you forward at the hips—skidding through the unstable surface of the fluffy blankets pooled beneath your knees. His clawed fingers came down to dig into the pillows by your head, bracketing you in and creating a point of stabilization amidst all the senseless heat. And with that, your brain had officially abandoned the building. Malleus dipped his hips forward in a particularly sharp roll that had something inside you twitching and tightening on a gasp. You could see the muscles cord along his lower arms, how the tendons of his wrist stood out taught against all the smooth, sculpted, white of him.

Your elbows shook and your shoulders curved forward as you tried to steady yourself. Malleus slipped one of the hands that had bracketed itself by your head to instead curl into the space beneath your chin and help keep you propped upright. The support had your back arching into something new, and his hips rolled down against that fresh angle like it was a challenge. You squeaked, and that horribly embarrassing noise twisted up into something long, and high, and thready when he ground down hard.

“Ah,” he trilled, all animal satisfaction. “There’s that song of yours.”

Whatever sort of obligatory, whining, protest you were about to make was overridden by a hiccupping gasp when he dragged you back against him only to shove forward with enough force that you wound up with your face buried in fabric and your back aching. In a pleasant sort of way—not the ‘he may have literally just fractured my fucking spine’ way. Which, who knew? Maybe that was a possibility here. You were human, and small, and mortal. And he was a beast that sat only a ladder rung down from godhood. But with the heavy, hot, push push push drumming away at your core, you couldn’t find it in you to care if you never walked again.

You’d been prepared for a build—because that’s how it went, right? The slow, romantic, cresting of sparks that would eventually unfurl through the rest of you like a dream. But instead, one moment you were gasping like a damn asthmatic against the strong arm keeping you upright, and the next your gut was snapped tight, and sharp, and hot, and you were wailing into your pillows as a dam you didn’t realize was wearing away broke. You shuddered through the electricity searing your veins, and Malleus snarled over your shoulder.

He bit down into your neck with something that was practically a roar, and you felt your own teeth sink less impressively into the arm that he’d propped beneath your head. He was right—his fangs were sharp. And you were left less feeling like you’d had a chunk of your shoulder chewed into bits, and more like there was just a heavy, hot, pressure burrowing its way into your skin as far as it could go.

You gasped through the lingering, jerky, sparks zipping along your spine, before eventually that endless grinding, and fullness, and the new and very obvious flood of liquid warmth became too much, and you slumped fully on your front to pant into the blankets. Malleus collapsed at your back not long after, and immediately moved to curve himself against you like a pair of foxes in a den—entwined from head to toe. You could feel the snuffle of his breath as he sighed against you, his hands kneading almost absentmindedly into the sore flesh at your hips.

It took a great deal of time for your heartrate to settle back into a semi-stable rhythm, rather than continue its valiant attempt to gallop straight out of your chest. And you could feel the dragon’s own great pulse slowly gentling into a low thump-thump, thump-thump against your hide.

Once you’d melted into something a little less shivery and fucked-out-of-body, Malleus shuffled himself forward and began to drag his tongue in soft strokes against the weeping mark he’d left at the junction of your neck. That weighted pressure had faded into a tempered throb—nothing more sore than the rest of you, to be perfectly honest. Even if you could feel the beginnings of tacky blood trailing down your front. He cleaned you diligently, delicately. Like this new wound of yours was a treasure that rivaled those he kept hoarded away in the cavernous rooms beneath your feet.

“Is it what you expected?” you asked softly, mostly referring to the stark mark now stamped into your skin like a brand, but also too swirled up in contentment to differentiate too much from the pleasant ache burning through your hips. Through your everywhere.

“Better,” he trilled, chest rumbling with something that was too deep to be a purr, but was certainly something like it. He lifted his arm to observe the faint impressions your own teeth had left against the pale skin there. “Though this one will certainly need refreshing.”

“My teeth aren’t as sharp as yours,” you lamented, and he raised a lazy thumb to trail the pad of his finger along your blunted canines. “It’d probably hurt a lot if I tried to leave something more permanent.”

“You speak as if that’s any sort of deterrent.”

You huffed in fond amusement before rolling onto your back to give your muscles a good stretch. With all that jostling around, the sticky sort of wetness beginning to seep along the inside of your thighs became much more obvious. Malleus stared down at the mess between your legs with an expression that was half fascination, half frustration. He reached out with a stern sort of pout on his lips to run a finger through his cooling spend and press what he could back inside you. The sharp, hot, tug that yanked from below your navel was so much worse than any kind of wincing oversensitivity.

His petulant leer shifted back up to your own, uh, not entirely composed expression, and he huffed softly—sending a puff of warm, smoky, breath along your cheeks.

“I’d prefer for you to keep as much of it as possible,” he rumbled, like that wasn’t one of the most unintentionally debauched things you’d ever heard come out of another living being’s mouth. “Your human nose may not be able to discern the difference, but for us drakes, the change in scent is certainly a strong indicator that a mate has been properly claimed and is no longer free for the taking.”

You sniffed pointedly, and all that swam through your head was the heady, musky, perfume of sex—all underlaid by that familiar smoke and petrichor smell of his. Heavier now, maybe. Like the charred remnants of a forest fire being doused beneath the fat drops of spring rain for the first time.

“What?” you giggled good naturedly. “In case some other immortal, all powerful, dragon comes along to steal me away?”

He rumbled under his breath, and the claws at your hips flexed into pinpricks against your skin. Lightly enough to let you know he understood it was only a joke, but probably one that he wasn’t overly fond of nonetheless.

“You are certainly a worthy enough prize,” he said.

“Ah, yes,” you lamented. “With my spindly spells and impeccable ability to regurgitate the most garbage fairytales in existence. You’d have to go to war for my hand.”

“Of course I would,” Malleus said, with such quick certainty it had your heart kicking up a fit all over again.

“Well, if it’s that much of a concern, we can always just keep working at it,” you hummed, a little of that cheekiness tapering off into genuine fondness at the end. “You know, like a layering process.”

“Is that so?” he droned, a lazy, satisfied, grin working its way across his mouth. It was crooked and a little odd on his face—just like the lopsided smile he’d gifted you after you’d handed him a bundle of cheap fabric and stuffing and called it a friend.

“I mean, I still have a whole side of my neck with no teeth marks or anything, Tsunotarou,” you pointed out, and the bark of laughter that erupted from his throat was all dark, velvety, warmth.

“Oh, my dearest little human,” he sighed, far too besotted for a creature that could likely rend the world in two if he so wished. Instead, Malleus Draconia—last of the Great Briar Beasts of Old and Master of the Castle within the Lava Lakes—just tucked his silly, little, bard up tight into his chest, like he could crack open his ribs and hold you there forever. “I’ll definitely be keeping you.”

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sentientcave · 1 month

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Heavy Weighs the Crown

Had to stop working on everything else and write a whole bunch of this instead. Usually I like to finish things that I think might be on the longer side before I start posting, but we're gonna live on the edge with this one. Expect updates in 1-2 Bearimys.

Chapter One - Sweetpea

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Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, Large men picking up reader like a football, No Y/N, A spot of magic, Some exposition, Reader's dad (deceased) was a real piece of work, Reader descriptions kept as neutral as possible but keep in mind that she is a character to me and does have a specific appearance so things might slip through. This is just me having a bit of fun with a fantasy setting because it is my favourite type.

~3.4k Words - MDNI

Sunlight streams down through the light scattering of clouds above, as you carry your nearly empty basket into town to buy a few things for your auntie Kate. She’s not truly your aunt, but over the past few years it’s hard to think of her as anything less than family. She’s not warm, exactly, but she’s honest, and you know that you can trust her with anything.

Kate would usually be at your side when you go into town, watching the crowd with hawkish intensity, as though she still expects agents of the new king to materialize and snatch you away, but she’s away on business, and her wife much less paranoid. You expect that anyone who was ever looking for you has given up on you now. After the civil war, there was a time of instability, and you laid awake many nights, half expecting armed men to break into your bedroom and snatch you away, but everything is smoothed over now, and there’s no reason why Price would feel like he needed you to cement his rule.

You’re happy to just let him have the kingdom. You have more freedom as an ordinary girl, and you’re happier now than you ever have been. You were miserable living in your father’s halls, just a spindly little flower growing without enough sun or rain. And your people are happy now too. It twists your stomach something fierce, to think that your father was never a good king, but the reality is that he wasn’t. People starved while he feasted behind his walls. He sent good men to wage war on his behalf, to die in far off lands when they should have been home building better lives for themselves and their families. He allowed his chosen men to terrorize the women and children and old men living in the towns still. Things had been bad.

So yes, let Price have the crown, and the castle, and the responsibility and anything he likes. What difference does it make to you now?

What matters now is the sun on your face, and the gentle sound of birdsong around you, and the dull bite of the occasional stone through the soft leather soles of your shoes. The air smells sweet and green, although there’s a slight prickle at the back of your nose that tells you that there will be rain tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest. There’s nothing to worry about aside from whether or not the children in town will like the end of the book you have tucked into your basket.

You see a young man sleeping by the side of the road on your way into town, his horse tied to a long halter while he lounges beneath a tree. As you pass by, a bird flying too close startles the horse, and it pulls up the peg it’s tied to, and bolts. The young man doesn’t stir, so you dash after the horse without a thought, dropping your basket so you have both hands free to seize the halter.

You try to dig in your heels to stop the big, white-stockinged horse, but it half-drags you a little ways down the road before finally stopping, swinging it’s head around to look at you as though you’ve personally offended it. “Come on,” you tell it, exasperated. “You don’t belong out here.”

Arms wrap around you from behind, hands much larger than yours close over your wrists. “You’re awfully pretty for a horse thief,” a voice says in your ear.

“I’m not a horse thief!” you protest. “I was trying to help!” The horse snorts, as though it intends to tattle on you for something that you most certainly were not doing.

“And you didn’t think to wake me up?” The man behind you lets go of one of your wrists and spins you around, the movement smooth and graceful, like you’re two dancers at a ball, rather than two strangers meeting along a country road. But when you look up, you find the all too familiar face of one of Price’s knights.

“Sir Garrick!” you gasp.

“Princess,” he says, smiling. He’s far too handsome, his smile bright, teeth a little bit too sharp. “How very nice to see you. I thought for sure you’d have left the kingdom by now.”

“No! Oh no.” You push against his chest uselessly. He’s strong, so much stronger than you. Despair claws at your ribs. Your nightmare-come-true may be wrapped in a pretty, familiar face, but you have no desire to return to the capital. “Please let me go. I promise I don’t want the kingdom. Price can have it— You can have it. I just want to be left alone, I swear, I’ll never—”

“Hush, sweetpea.” He tucks a few of your thin braids behind your ear, fingertips grazing down your neck. “I have to bring you in. But you can make your case to Price. Maybe he’ll let you come back, alright? Don’t fret. He’s always been reasonable.”

You’re not certain how to get out of this. Sir Garrick has kind eyes, but his grip is like steel. He lifts you up easily and sets you on his horse before you so much as think of protesting or making a feeble attempt to fight him off.

“We’re not far from the capital. We can make it there before dark,” he continues, voice low and reassuring, as though you’re worried about the travel, and not the destination.

“But— What about my aunt? I should let her know where I’ve gone.”

“We’ll send word. Don’t you worry, your majesty.”

“No, no, don’t call me that. That’s for kings and queens, and I’m neither.” I’m no one, you want to shout.

He's amused by that, amused by you, as if you're just being a silly little girl. "I suppose we'll settle on sweetpea for now." He holds his palm out and three little white birds materialize and fly off in different directions, spectral and iridescent as soap bubbles. And then he swings into the seat behind you and pulls you most of the way into his lap, wraps strong arms around your waist, and nudges his mount into a walk.

“So,” Sir Garrick says conversationally, his voice low, lips far too close to your ear. It’s overly familiar, but you’re already practically sitting in the man’s lap. “What have you been doing out here all these years?”

“Um. Gardening. Embroidery. Taking care of my chickens. Lessons, for some of the children that live nearby. Just letters and arithmetic. I’ve been thinking about organizing a proper schoolhouse.” You can feel your nerves bubbling up as you babble, thoughts coming to you disorganized and stilted. “I never realized how few people can read. It seems a shame. I do a few hours of reading around town, help out at the church. I keep busy. I haven’t any real purpose, so I have to go out of my way to make one.” You sigh, thinking of how you had left things at a particularly gripping point in a story you’d been reading to the town children. They’ll be disappointed if they never hear the end of it, but you still have hope that Price will decide you’ve become something of a country bumpkin with no place in the court, and let you go back home soon. “How have you fared? Is your family well?”

“Quite well. My sisters will be glad to see you again. They always thought you were sweet. Rosie’s opened her own dress shop in the city, and Camellia has five children now. I think Kylie and Jorah were just two or three last you saw them. My mother lives with Cam to help out.” Sir Garrick’s mother and sister used to work at the palace, and he had been apprenticed to the court wizard before he specialized in battle magic and became a knight. You hadn’t been friends, exactly— You’re not sure you ever really had friends— but he’d always been nice enough, when your paths crossed.

“And what of you?” you prompt gently. “Have you found yourself a wife?”

He laughs lightly. “I’m working on it. I’ve a girl in mind, but I think she’ll take some convincing.”

“Oh I doubt that, Sir. You’re perfectly unobjectionable.”

“High praise indeed, princess.”

The two of you chat idly as you travel, mostly about nothing, but it’s pleasant enough. Sir Garrick— Kyle, he insists you call him— is far more charming than you remember, and he makes you laugh so much that you’re certain that you’d simply fall right off the horse if he wasn’t holding onto you so securely. He’s the very picture of a romantic hero, all chivalry and smiles, handsome in the dappled light under the canopy of trees as the road carries you from farmland to forest. You come to a bridge, and he dismounts so his horse can drink, and lifts you down so you can stretch out stiff muscles. His touch lingers, strong hands resting on your hips for a few beats longer than would be appropriate, but you don’t really mind.

You part from his company so you can relieve yourself a little ways into the trees, glad he’s not concerned about you making a run for it. His assurances that Price can be reasoned into letting you go home once you’ve spoken to him is enough to make you cooperative. You’re certain that he’ll take one look at you now and send you right back home. You’ve never had any luck with the young men in town, and if that’s any indication, you’ll be back to your little bedroom in Kate’s house before the week is up.

You fix your clothes and walk back to the road, humming lightly under your breath. Kyle is speaking to a flat glowing disc that hums with energy, floating above his palm. He gives you a smile and a nod and retreats to the tree line while he finishes his conversation. You catch a glimpse of a face on the disc as he turns, searing blue eyes meeting yours for a moment. Price, certainly. You recognize those eyes.

Kyle’s gaze slips over to you again as you kneel by the creek, one arm keeping your skirt out of the water while you trail the other hand through the water idly, the cool stream a pleasant offset to the heat of the afternoon. If you were alone, you would consider stripping down and going for a swim, but as nice as Kyle is, he’s still a man, and not one you know particularly well anymore, if you ever did.

When you look over again, he’s tucking the crystal disc into the front of his tunic, and a wolf is behind him, stalking out of the woods, low to the ground and ready to pounce. “Kyle!” you shout, pointing behind him. He turns quickly, a spell glittering on his fingertips, but the wolf pounces before he can cast it, both crashing into the packed earth along the side of the road.

You rush over, although halfway there you wonder what help you expect to be, and an arm snatches you around the middle, hauling you back. You’re beginning to get a bit annoyed at how much you’ve been manhandled today, and you start kicking as you’re lifted off your feet. “Let me go!”

“Easy, sweet girl. Let the lads say hello,” a deep voice says behind you, the sound rumbling through you like a cat’s purr. “No danger ‘ere.”

You look at Kyle and the wolf again. Only there isn’t a wolf anymore, just a large, naked man laying on top of Kyle, kissing him ardently and more than a little messily. The sound of it makes your cheeks burn. “Oh.”

The man who was a wolf stands up, and you look away, too flustered by the sight of so much bare skin to do anything else. The big man puts you down and turns you to face him, putting your back to the werewolf. “Johnny, put some clothes on before you say ‘ello. We know you were raised by savages, but you don’t need to act like it,” he says firmly, his heavy hands on your shoulders.

You stare at the skull embroidered on the black tunic in front of you, recognizing the emblem, and then the black fencers mask tied around the man’s face, obscuring even the shape of his features. You see a glint of light when he drops his chin to look at you though, gleaming eyes that look at you inscrutably. You know him, by name and reputation and deep, rumbling voice, if not by his face. No one knows him by his face, but he was as highly ranked a knight as Price was, one of your father’s personal guard before the war. Often tasked as your guardian, a solemn but comforting presence always. “Hello, Ghost,” you say, cheeks burning all the hotter. “Been a while.”

“Not as long as you might think,” he says. You can almost hear the smile in his voice. “Been keepin’ an eye on you.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. “For how long?”

“Knew where you were this whole time. Wun’t about to let you disappear, princess.” He tucks you against his side, keeping an arm around your shoulders protectively. “Johnny. Come meet our girl. Best behaviour.”

Johnny the werewolf grins at you as he walks up, still adjusting the drape of the tartan fabric around his hips, broad chest bare and dusted with hair, swirling blue tattoos printed on his scarred skin. His hair is shaved on the sides, a stripe of it left long in the center. “Nice ta finally meet ya, princess. Officially, anyway. We’ve bumped intae each other once or twice, but I was told no’ ta approach unless ye approached first, aye? Shame ye never did.” His smile is crooked, his too-bright blue eyes intent on yours. “Think we’ll get along.”

“The whole time?” you ask, skipping back a few paces in the conversation, glancing up at Ghost. “But Kyle said—”

“Sorry, sweetpea,” Kyle says airily. “I lied.”

“Typical tricksy wizard shite. But dinnae ye worry none, we’ll keep him honest for ye.” Johnny grabs your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles, and then to the inside of your palm. His rough fingertips push your sleeve back, and he kisses the inside of your wrist too. When you squeak, he gives you a heated look and does it again, teeth grazing sensitive skin as he opens his mouth and licks a stripe across your pulse.

You’re warm from the tips of your ears to your chest, your breath catching on ragged nerves. You tug your hand out of his grip and cradle it with your other, like you’ve been burned by his brash touch.

“Johnny,” Ghost says, exasperated. “S’that what you call best behaviour?”

“She likes it, sir.”

“I most certainly do not!” you protest.

“Oh, aye ye do. Werewolf, ye ken. Can smell ye.” Johnny taps the side of his nose and winks at you. “Ye dinnae need ta be embarrassed, sweetpea. Ye can hardly blame yerself, faced with all this.” He gestures to his admittedly impressive physique, the broad and lean shape of near-perfect manhood on immodest display.

“Let’s move.” Kyle’s hand brushes your elbow. “You can ride with me again.”

Ghost shakes his head and turns, pulling you with him. “No. Come meet Nox.” He whistles, and a huge black shape hurtles down from the sky, glossy black wings snapping open just before the creature hit the ground, flapping a few times so that it lands lightly on four mismatched limbs, stirring up dust leaves. You shrink back against Ghost’s side, eyes wide. A gryphon.

The massive beast has a raven’s head and wings, and shiny black fur on it’s haunches. The catlike tail, with it’s tuft of feathers at the end, twitches back and forth as the bird head tilts to regard you, dark, slit-pupil eyes watching you with interest.

You look up at Ghost for reassurance, and he nods. “Go on. Offer ‘er your ‘and. She won’t bite. Hey, girl?” he scratches the gryphon behind the ear, and it opens it’s mouth to make a vibrating, keening sound that makes Kyle’s horse snort nervously. “That’s right, sweetpea’s a friend.”

You offer your outstretched hand to the giant creature, bolstered by Ghost’s calm, and it sticks it’s beak under your palm, making the same keening sound again. The last of your apprehension melts away, and you step closer, smiling. “Aren’t you a pretty girl?” You scratch the spot where her beak meets her feathers, and her eyes close for a moment.

Johnny reaches for the Nox’s side, and she whips her head around and hisses at him, her throat feathers fluffing up defensively. “Och, yer no’ goan ta git my fingers, ye wee beastie. Thought ye was gettin’ soft.”

“Away, Johnny. Let the girls get to know each other.” Ghost stands behind you and guides your hands to points just behind Nox’s jaw. The gryphon croaks and leans her head on your shoulder, nudging Ghost with her beak.

“Not so scary,” you coo, pressing your face into the soft cloud of feathers. “What a sweet girl.”

“How about it, Nox? Can she ‘op up?” Ghost asks. The gryphon croaks again and backs away enough to lean her front half down. Ghost picks you up and sets you on her back, on a flat saddle that sits right behind the joint of her massive wings, which fold up over your legs like she’s holding you steady. He pats Nox on the neck and starts walking, and she follows, padding beside him, sticking her beak between the joints of his leather armor playfully whenever he takes his hand off her.

You grab the edge of the saddle, mindful of Nox’s feathers, and it takes a moment to adjust to her movement. It’s not the side to side sway of a horse, but she’s steady, like she’s trying her best not to spill an inexperienced rider. Thoughtful of her.

Behind you, Kyle scrambles up onto his horse, and Johnny hustles to catch up, positioning himself on Ghost’s other side, giving Nox a wider berth.

“Thought we weren’t supposed ta tell her we were watchin’,” Johnny said. “Price said—”

“She ought to know. I wun’t too ‘appy about it in the first place, but a deal’s a deal.”

“A deal with who?” you ask.

“I’ll let Price tell you that much, sweetpea. But if it were up to me I’d’ve dragged you back home years ago.”

You shake your head tiredly. “Home is where I was. And I’m going back as soon as this business with Price is done. I don’t know what he wants, but I’m sure we can work something out. Kyle said he’s reasonable.”

“Oh, did ‘e?” Ghost asks, amusement colouring his deep voice. “S’pose that’s ‘ow ‘e had you comin’ along purrin’ like a kitten, hm?”

The blood drains from your face as you turn to look at Kyle, but he doesn’t look guilty, or like he’d been lying to you. “Well, again, I’m perfectly happy to cooperate. There’s no reason why he wouldn’t let me go when he gets what he wants, is there?”

Johnny chuckles, exchanging a look with Ghost that’s inscrutable. “Aye, ye’ve got a point. I’m sure ye’ll have no trouble dealin’ with the old man. Born diplomat, aren’t ye?”

Your stomach twists with nerves. It’s been many years since you’ve seen John Price. You don’t know him as well as you know Ghost. You’d always found the big, faceless man strangely comforting, easy to talk at, if not to, especially when you were still young and silly. But John Price, when he fixed you with those fathomless dark blue eyes, had always rendered you speechless, turned your usually clever tongue to lead. He was a knight captain then, a natural leader of men, a hero. Not someone that your father wanted you to get close to. It’s easy for you to see why now, with your father dead in the ground and Price wearing the crown, but you were glad for any excuse to stay away.

You wish you could ask Nox to fly away with you on her back, maybe home, but maybe somewhere else entirely, where no one knows you, where you can start again without the weight of the crown hanging heavy over your head, an executioner’s ax waiting to fall.

***

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

#Fantasy AU #cod mw fanfiction #x reader #x fem Reader #141 x reader #Heavy Weighs the Crown #Cave Writing #This is mostly gonna be fun and light-hearted I just really enjoy fantasy and I've been watching a lot of DnD content lately #“He's always been reasonable” Kyle lies thinking fondly of his boss - the least reasonable man in the realm #Let me know if you need any content warnings in here but I feel this one's pretty light

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ms0milk · 3 months

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𝟏𝟒 | 𝐑𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"He does not notice because you are a distraction, the tumult stirring in the castle behind you. He cannot understand his heart’s frustration at your warm fingers against his own."

no cw talking never works for the two of you, will a sparring match? bruises, grappling, unsubtle admiration (with a live studio audience). heartstopping smiles. the arrival of a new and dreadful ghost that reader tries to kill on instinct. 4.5k

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The Queen of Takoba cracks open her bedroom door just as early as you suspected. Threats and growling stop in the face of her beauty, gulps and pulses start up when she yawns. You lower your head to the floor. You kneel beside her chamber door with three glaives pressed sharp to the back of your neck and three dull guards insistent on spoiling your apology.

“Go play,” she murmurs and turns back inside, disinterested.

“It was cute.”

“It was unnecessary,” Bakugou growls.

Princess Fuyumi hikes up her skirts in her floury fists and jogs to keep pace beside her sous chef, “You’re chronic Katsuki, this is ridiculous,” and smiles when he bares his teeth.

“She should be resting.”

“She is not your soldier.”

“She’s a soldier! She is ridiculous, not me!” The two twist in sync through frosty hallways towards Aizawa’s training pit. The castle is teeming with staff and lords this morning so they take back passageways. Morning meetings be dammed– party planning, flower arranging, appetizer testing, inseam measuring get fucked.

You have spent your morning hunting down queens and princesses and completely disregarding the one thing asked of you. You are not so dense as you pretend and as Bakugou storms to find you, he can’t help but be impressed by your dedication to being an uncontainable menace– finding all the places he might hide in Takoba not for his protection, but so you can avoid him when it serves you.

You should have been more careful, Bakugou sneers as he erupts onto the gallery, because where he underestimated you, you underestimated Half n’half and his propensity to be a fucking airhead.

“She looked well this morning.” Todoroki sat on a bench in the kitchen, eyes bleary and nursing a tankard of coffee. His sister and friend hunched over their latest attempt to recreate Alderan biscuits and both jolted when he spoke. Fuyumi sent every telepathic message she could to her brother who just kept talking. Bakugou’s stare melted holes in the table.

“She’s looking for you too Fumi,” the hotandcold prince yawned. Deku was wandering around somewhere with eye bags just like his and they both looked exactly like a stubborn guard had woken them up at dawn, “said she had an errand in the soldiers’ quarters so I gave her the address of your dressfitting in town tonight.”

Bakugou grips the gallery railing above the training pit and the metal in his fist starts to squeal as his magic slips out, because of course you’re there. Striking the training sword your opponent holds over their head desperately, over and over until it cracks and your weapon thunks their shoulder. Of course you’re smiling.

“Kirishima’’ll worry,” Fuyumi wheezes and plants a hand on Bakugou’s back to steady herself. Bakugou doesn’t take his eyes off the ring.

“Let him.”

You’ve overpowered two guisarmier by the time your prince winds through back passageways onto the floor of the pit because you are an Alderan halberdier and Takoba does not train much in polearms. You have also just cracked a middle-ranked sabreur over the head because you are a decorated fencer and your opponent didn’t prepare for melee combat before agreeing to duel.

Your cheeks are red with exertion and excitement. Half-armored soldiers lounge at the edges of the area laughing and hydrating. Some play cards. Uraraka is among them eating snacks and she nudges Shinsou forward with her foot, “You promised.”

“You promised,” you parrot and bounce a few paces into the center of the room because apparently you are well enough to fight Takoba’s future Armorer. Uraraka, the beast of melee and master-in-the-making, snorts and reclines on a pile of pads.

Bakugou steps forward before truly thinking and then Aizawa booms from the office above, “Halberds!” The doom spreading in your prince’s gut doesn’t know whether to multiply or dissipate. You still do not see him. You grin.

Two soldiers pass you the weapons their master ordered and you take your place eagerly while Shinsou finishes dusting himself off. The weapon twirls like a dancer between your hands.

As much as he berates him for it, Bakugou thinks just as much as Deku does.

Did Master Aizawa give you halberds for your advantage or Shinsou’s? Was it meant to embolden you– trick you? Did he predict how cocky you get when you think you have the advantage? Is Shinsou proficient? Is this to humble you?

He is thinking until the second the match bell rings and then gawks. Shinsou readies his weapon gracefully and crouches in position. You flourish the polearm once more in a figure-8 around your chest and shoulders and then abandon it entirely, spear thrust into the ground, to launch and tackle your opponent.

Aizawa wasn’t trying to embarrass you. It wasn't revenge for defeating his soldiers or discharging your weapon into a crowd of dinner guests. Shinsou grunts. He doesn’t drop his weapon but you are obviously too close to use it and his shoulders are already flat on the ground in defeat, “Shiny toys only help if you’re faster than me, weaponmaster.”

Shinsou erupts into laughter underneath you and nods in concession. Aizawa rumbles from his office, “You will learn creativity from Aldera or she will kill you,” clearly smiling as he speaks. Dread evaporates. It looks like they’re running a pin-drill, non-lethal, adaptive, against an unfamiliar fighting style. It’s just training. You’re not being held hostage by an army with a grudge. Takoba is not afraid to demean guests and it wouldn’t be the first time Bakugou picked a fight to defend the dignity of an Alderan. At home you are well respected and intimidating, but everywhere you are odd.

“s’not like we’re going to war,” Shinsou grumbles as you help him to his feet and dust off your knees.

The sabreur cackles under his bag of ice on the sideline, “Lucky us.”

“Royal contender!” Uraraka suddenly sings because she’s bored and has spotted entertainment from across the room, “An exotic prince wishes to challenge our victor.”

Your eyes shift from shared apprentice smiles to the place Uraraka gestures with her chin, the place where Bakugou has forgotten, momentarily, that he has a body.

He shakes his head without taking his eyes off of you.

“What? Does the prince not spar with his soldiers in Aldera?” Uraraka stops short of booing. He only knows she is mocking him because he has known her so long. Your face goes slack like his. “Todoroki trains with us all the time.”

“I’m not fighting an outpatient.”

“Right, of course. Worried three days of coma made her too strong?”

Bakugou scowls knives in her direction. When Master Aizawa descends from his office there is obviously no way out of his apprentice’s instigation.

“Would you consider showing my recruits an Alderan combat exercise?”

He knows you well enough, he has known you all your lives, and when Bakugou looks to you for a response he knows what you’re going to say before your lips part.

“Yes sir.”

“Weapon?”

“Unarmed sir.”

Aizawa nods, “Alderan hand-to-hand then. Takoba relies too much on magic anyway.”

Warmth drains first from Bakugou’s fingers and then his feet as the Master disables his magic and tips his head toward you, standing sure in the center of the arena under sunshine.

“Good morning, Highness” you murmur as your prince skulks into the light and takes his begrudging place in front of you.

“You’ve been fucking busy.”

He is skilled enough not to hurt you, and so this show will be simple. That’s all it is. A performance for the incompetence of Takoba. Aizawa takes a seat beside his apprentices to keep dust far away from his eyes, “Learn something, the lot of you.” His battalion falls silent.

Aldera excels in two things, combat and cultivation. Fruits richer than any on the planet. Warriors fiercer than you could find in hell. Bakugou is a culmination of his parents’ perfect magic and his mother’s aptitude for violence. He can speak the languages of the continent, he has trained under her men and has chosen his own Champion. What are you made of?

Right now it’s something like apprehension as he extends his fist towards you and your open palm to him. Jeanist’s defensive stance, a wide open hand ready to swing, grab, or close. You assume he’ll attack first. Your eyes are bright and focused, muscles warm, and usual braids tied back high with a length ribbon Fuyumi snuck into your dressers. Of course you would recover from a three-day coma overnight. Worry falls from him like a bucket with a hole.

He steps forward in a crouch. Your wrists cross.

“She’s not made of glass, Kats!”

There’s a grunt and he can only assume Aizawa thwacked his apprentice over the head but it’s enough for him to harden his stance because any warrior would dream of the opportunity to catch him in disorganized anger, even for a moment. You don’t flinch.

He wasn’t wasn’t wrong, apprehension fills you and now his worry drips higher. You are no blank unreadable foe and your own worry is written all across your eyes. Jeanist taught a terrible poker face.

“Any day,” Aizawa grumbles this time. You have spent the morning cracking the skulls of Takoba’s guards and now Bakugou is the one who appears apprehensive to a room full of strangers. He looks to you one more time and ducks forward to strike with his fist.

He meant to hit a rib, durable, flexible, and send you to the ground without the danger of a drawn out grapple but you step carefully out of his way. You’re fast, which he knew, but when he readies himself for retaliation you take the beat to solidify your footing and don’t make a single move towards him. It’s just your open palm and a crouch in his direction. The crowd hums.

Fine, one more. This time Bakugou skips forward with his arms drawn high at his side and dips in close to feign a strike to your chest. His kick to your ankles is well timed and serves to surprise onlookers but you only pounce with your feet together, then land beside him where you should have had every instinct to knock him prone. Instead you slip back two more steps out of range and ready yourself again.

Oh, Bakugou rolls his eyes as he stands again on two feet. He’s overcomplicating the obvious, “You’re permitted to fight me.”

Your ears perk like hound.

“Wouldn’t you like a real opponent after a morning of,” he gestures to the lounging soldiers, “this?” They suck their teeth but do not clamor. Your eyebrows raise in thought because you really do have a terrible poker face. Was that it? Apprehension at hurting your prince? “Cmon then.”

You do not make him wait when, lightfooted, you prance back into striking range. He plants one foot and swings forward to leave an obvious opening, it’s simple and always has been. You will dive into his fake opening and he will pin both your elbows in one arm to drop you on your back with the other.

You do not take the bait or a strike against him. You jump and tuck your head close to your chest to roll across his shoulders when he is still stuck in the motion of his faux swing. Bakugou growls and reaches behind himself to catch you where you land, which you somehow do not, hooking one leg around his waist to sling yourself back where you started. His heart pumps a little faster.

Where he punches, you duck, where he knees, you dodge, where he reaches, you redirect until you have danced your way around the ring a full rotation and still not exchanged a blow.

Are you really this useless without a weapon? Only able to defend? Bakugou spits and dives for your stomach in a full body attack. His heart pumps faster. You fall to your knees and bend far enough to slip under him and back upright on the other side.

He’s seen you fight and knows you’re capable of more than just taunting. Why will you spar with these useless fucks in a foreign kingdom and not him? Prince Bakugou does train with his soldiers at home but never with Jeanist’s precious Second. Everything but gratuitous hardships, a waste of time. Beneath you.

“Does this coward serve my kingdom?!” He roars, heart snapping, and spins when he lands on his palms like a cat to charge. Still like a hound, your ears pull back with his words.

“Take note,” Aizawa mutters.

Now your poker face– a bronze mirror really, channeled through your heart– blazes white hot, perfect. Two more steps. Bakugou was trained by Jeanist too and so you cannot hide from him.

Not that you’re trying to. Not that anything Jeanist taught would help him anticipate your dropped shoulder and open palms coming for him in a head on collision. You’re just as hot-headed as he is if a little shit talk riled you up this much.

Before Bakugou can tackle, you have dove flat underneath of him and grabbed his bicep with those ever-ready fists Jeanist tried to teach him to use. He’s thrown through the air with his own momentum and over your head faster than his heart can beat again. With your fists you pull, with your knees you push, and with two feet planted firm you sling him over your shoulder and sprawled onto the ground a few paces away. You are at his throat before he can blink.

“I am not a coward,” you hiss and hold a hand across his neck in clear victory.

Your prince watches the shape your lips make when you’re biting your cheek like he’s never seen anyone do it before. And the forest fire behind dark lashes. “No,” he breathes.

Aizawa’s knees crack when he stands and normally a few men would giggle, but every eye is on the foreign prince and his secret weapon. “Most deaths on the battlefield happen through carelessness.” The Master is probably pointing and lecturing but all Bakugou hears is the pulse in your chest and the crackle sand makes when sweat drips from the soft parts of your body. You blink to the crowd for a second.

“You should all remember your lessons from Aldera today on the element of surprise.”

“Rematch,” your prince grins. His arms fly above his head and he brings them down faster than you can get away, trapping your limbs against you and flipping you onto your back, much to the entertainment of the audience who, along with startled Aizawa, have forgone the lesson.

He pins your wrists above your head to keep them from gouging his eyes out and pushes hard on your thighs with his hips. A full body hold.

“Cheater!” Uraraka boos.

You think so too because you send a knees straight between his legs. With your speed he can only dodge one strike at a time so when he shifts to block, you pull your arms back in tight. He’s lost fights before, spars against Kirishima and the rest, but he’s only lost to unmatched brute force or poor magic pairings.

When he falls forward, you bow away and wrap an arm around his neck to trap him flat against you with a grunt. Cradle his back with your hips. Lock your arms tight around his throat and taunt him with easy breath over the shell of his ear. It’s been an awfully long time since he’s had to think in a fight. If either of you could hear over the blood in your heads you’d be charmed by the excitement of Aizawa’s men.

“Three out of five,” your prince wheezes and before you can utter your huh, he leverages his weight to roll onto his knees and without any of the gentleness he cautioned before, jerks forward to throw you over his head.

Your grip does soften but not because he’s caught you by surprise. It’s so you can lock your legs around his neck instead of your arms and twist him, writhing, back onto the ground beneath you. His weight won’t help him here. Magic might not make a difference either.

Bakugou has tucked a hand beside his neck to keep you from knocking him out and grunts with two squeezed cheeks between your thighs. The tighter you squeeze, the slower he moves because you’re not the only one with tricks. Think about the body like armor. He snakes his hand through the sand to hide the noise and grabs at the crease where your thigh meets your hip with thick vicegrip fingers. You shudder around him instead of yelping and his heart swells, half at the sound, and half at the opening he’s made.

Slipping out of your hold and back onto his feet where you no longer have the advantage in flexibility or wrestling, he spits sand and gravel. “Ticklish?”

You’re already on your feet just two strikes’ distance away and Bakugou’s heart does something different than beat this time, because you wipe the blood from your split lip and grin. Big and cheesy. Your eyes crinkle like he always imagined they might.

“Four out of seven?”

“Count to ten,” his mother instructed fifteen years ago. “Katsuki, don’t let go of her.”

“Mm.”

She hoisted her beautiful cape over your shoulders beside one another and promised to be right back with clean clothes. The King and Jeanist had scattered in search of the doctor.

“What’s your name?”

You didn’t answer. A gash in your eyebrow had started to swell.

He squeezed your little hand tighter, “You’re at my house.”

“is my mother okay?”

He never could have guessed what the bloodsoaked puppy in his autumn carriage would turn into. That your eyes would go as big as the moon under his magic or that you would love his library and chat with the wind through open windows instead of eating with everyone in the Hall.

This time he is flat on chest and you have both his arms bent behind him tight at the elbow. Aldera doesn’t excel in shit, you excel, in everything. You protect his kingdom on a whim like a brooding dragon.

“I’m unarmed,” Bakugou winces, smiling.

You huff lightheartedly, “me too,” and thumb over the callouses magic made in his palms.

He does not notice because you are a distraction, the tumult stirring in the castle behind you. He cannot understand his heart’s frustration at your warm fingers against his own.

Others notice before he does. You certainly beat him to it.

“What was that?”

“What? Tired already?” He coos and snaps his biceps away from you like he probably could have done this whole time. Your prince is too distracted by everything that makes you– his odd little dragon– neatly trimmed nails and shiny scars like lace sprinkled across every part of your body. The thin line in your eyebrow. The cursed smell of the sea that still clings to your hair and the sweet sour of sparring all morning. He rolls back and bursts to his feet to coax you into another round.

You’re not quite paying attention. For the first time this morning you take your eyes off of him and pebbles drop in his chest because maybe not even a dragon can heal overnight, but you are not in the same daze as yesterday. Your fingers twitch like you’re remembering how to hold something as you rise to face him again– facing but glaring at something through him.

“Down Highness,”

Which is, all in all, a terrible omen because you only look the way you do now when you’re preparing to kill someone you are certainly not supposed to.

Bakugou snaps around when the doors of the soldier’s quarters explode from their hinges in hellfire.

If the flames had been blue, they might not have been able to stop you. An intruder looms in the smoke of his destruction in the seconds before charging but you are already between Bakugou’s legs and out the other side before he can finish the syllables of your name, diving for a discarded handaxe from earlier duels and leaping– arms crossed over your face to shield from fire– as guard and executioner.

“Wait!”

“Majesty?!”

“Y/n!” With her half suit of armor and two biceps braced at her shoulder, Uraraka crashes into you and destroys your momentum before you can get one good step off the ground. Two guards collide. One is smashed flat across the training room floor.

The intruder does not stop and wouldn’t have flinched if you took his head; he is the most despicable man after all, undeterred by evil or the stench of death.

“Attention whore,” Bakugou spits as Enji Todoroki clears the floor in a wake of screaming flames his soldiers can barely escape. Magic from Aizawa doesn’t refill your prince’s veins fast enough to stop the immolating man from knocking him four good lengths and picking him up again by the front of his tunic in his giant stride. He’s huge. And he’s set himself on fire in his fury.

“Majesty, stand down!”

“Which Alderan rat set fire in the North Wing?” He roars as the prince shakes sand from his hair.

Bakugou bares his teeth so sharp the crowd worries he might bite. He’s close enough to. “Can’t even do absentee father right.”

You are struggling in a poor match between Aldera’s strongest soldier and Takoba’s lightest. No matter what hold or jerk you attempt, trying to escape from Uraraka is like screaming underwater. “I’m sorry!” She groans, mostly at the pin she uses to hold you but also at the fire that hops just out of reach of her greaves. No one remembers the might of the mellow apprentice until she stops smiling. Before you hit the ground your ax soared into the air with a life of its own– it’s still there now. It spins rapidly in its trapped momentum but still floats, harmless, up towards the glass ceiling.

“Highness!” You grunt and Uraraka apologizes again, and again after you try to break her nose with a weightless headbutt.

“I’ll put down your yapping dog and light up every rat infesting my castle,” the King is almost foaming. Bakugou itches at the prospect of a fight.

“Declaration of war, old man?”

“Enough!”

It’s not an accident that you escape– that Uraraka softens– as the princess appears in the arena. The intruder tosses your prince away before sparks can ignite his hellish beard and swings hard at the new voice. You barrel into her. You like a shield and poised in seconds to take his arrogant hand with a shortsword.

You couldn’t possibly know who this is. No one could have guessed he would return, today or at all. Bakugou could only pray that he died at sea long ago.

Mountains of soldiers ready at your back, archers trained on the new man’s neck, hesitant faces twisted with contradiction in every flow of movement– drawing weapons, dashing to the scene, racing to protect their princess and still somehow hesitating– before the giant hand freezes, and you with it, before your sword can cleave it off at the wrist. The flames disappear.

“She said, enough,” Aizawa barks. It’s not a shout, it’s something much more terrible, something like poison. It’s horrible enough to back away with the princess kept tight between your shoulders as the Master approaches. The intruder is not less intimidating without fire. They both glare. Four dozen soldiers watch.

Fuyumi hollers, “I gave the North Wing order!” over your arm when you won’t let her push forward and then your skin prickles at the grating of a voice you hoped was knocked unconscious, safe but out of the way, on the other side of the room.

“No she fucking didn’t,” Bakugou growls, and it’s everything you can manage to keep a hotheaded princess and a live grenade behind the cover of your back. Your prince presses forward, “I’ll burn down this whole fuckass seashell to keep my people warm.”

“Not helping!” Uraraka hisses with a group of her men racing to pat out pockets of flame before they catch on piles of padding. It wasn’t meant to.

The pit is an echo of heartbeats and rapid breathing. Half of the soldiers frozen in their attempt to stop you from killing their King and the other half frozen, now with fear, in their attempt to help. Fuyumi stares at her father through the adjoined shoulders of the Alderan prince and his Captain.

The King looms over the Master with his hands set in fists. No matter how intimidating he tries to be, he is still extinguished. “It was your job to protect my kingdom.”

Aizawa bristles at the insinuation.

“I have been rotting at sea for the sake of this kingdom and you can’t keep a single rat away from–”

“We weren’t expecting you, Majesty.”

“Would you have done a better job if I penned you a letter? Like a yearning fucking maiden.”

“It’s been eleven years.”

Bakugou knows what he’s doing. Keeping the King from exploding again, but it’s everything he can do to stay beside you on the sidelines and listen without exploding himself. Enji Todoroki looks like shit now that the fire has died down. Expensive shit. A thousand yards of now-ruined silk wrapped and spooled around and over his open chest. Blue and silver as far as the eye can see. What has he been doing for a decade? The belt at his hips drools with obscene wealth. A decorative sword Bakugou would like to see buried in his guts.

What do you think of him? This King. He’s half-giant and half-sea mad already, a waste of muscle and trimmed always in fire. His hair and beard, the ridges of his fingertips that singed round shapes into the collar of his tunic. Bakugou makes a note to ask you about it later, if not just for an excuse to poison another Alderan against him. Not that it would take much push. When he looks down at you, the torchlight behind your eyes flickers furiously with thought.

The King takes one more look around the room when he decides he can’t win in a staring match with Aizawa. “Your Masters never taught you to kneel?” He seeths at his jumbled soldiers and the room immediately scrambles to the ground. You don’t flinch. Shinsou crosses his arms beside his master and Uraraka lays flat on her back in exhaustion some ways off. The King takes his satisfaction with a suck of his teeth and storms back across the room through the doors he destroyed. Fires still hop in the hallway beyond.

You don’t take your eyes off his shape even after it’s gone, “Was that..”

“My father,” Fuyumi answers quickly and equally as distant as you.

“Forgive me, princess.”

“Better luck next time.”

Bakugou watches you both somewhat frozen together, staring after fire, and moves before he’s thought out the action. Your knuckles are white on the sword you still raise.

“Stand down,” he murmurs as his hand wraps around yours. You are so strange. You both know too much. At his touch your weapon drops immediately through your fingers to the floor.

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tagged angels ✧.* @nnubee @nonomesupposedto @kotarousproperty @strawberry-mentos69 @sveetnn @lunrai @km7474 @cathwritestragediesnotsins @idimmadontgiveashit @kooromin @k1tk4tkatsuki @litiri @kiwibao @sarcasticlittlebook @condy-wants-a-cookie @mysticalfridge @falling4fandoms @katanaski @romiinlove @cherripunch26 @acid-rain27 @bakugouswh0r3 @zukowantshishonourback @ultracrii @chandiewashere @screechingdreameater @when-you-are-just-done @levisbae2 @flyhighinthesky @1astr0id1 @thebluespacecow @mizzfizz @butterscotch-ripple-icecream @phoenix-draws77 @ltadoriyuujl @dreamingoftomorrow @optimisticprime3 @misscaller06 @the-omnipotent-phlowr @king-dynamight @sky-angel101 @rosiejacklyn

could not tag for some reason :,(

#ch 15 will be out soon as well <3 sister chapters #it just got too long to publish as one and the content of each section was too different to try and keep together #a hymn to black water #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha fantasy au #mha fantasy au #bnha #mha #fantasy bakugou #fantasy bakugo

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sucka4pain · 6 months

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𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝐴𝑅𝐸 𝑀𝐼𝑁𝐸~!♡︎

𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒!𝑇𝑜𝑘𝑦𝑜 𝑅𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑥 𝐹𝑒𝑚!𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

Pronoluge Chapter 1

ᴡᴄ: 3.1ᴋ

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠/𝑇𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑠: 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑏𝑎𝑑 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑑, 𝑎𝑏𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑡𝑜𝑥𝑖𝑐 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑠𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔.

𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒈𝒐 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒍𝒖𝒈𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒅! 𝑩𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒄𝒌!!

Free….

What does it mean to be free?… How does it feel to be free?…What even is free?…

Thoughts running through her head as she was packing her bags and trying to ignore all of the screaming that was coming from the living room downstairs under her room. Everything in her room is now empty, but it wasn’t like this before..no it wasn’t. Back then, it was full of her favorites colors and aesthetics.

But why now is it blank and lifeless? What happened to make it all go blank? It felt as if it was a beautiful piece of art, that eventually began to be torn apart bit by bit from her family and relationship which she still hadn’t recovered from.

Growing up wasn’t the best either. Dealing with bullying due to her appearance, getting a job at an early age just to have her parents take every penny she earned and using it for their own selfishness, having a boyfriend in middle school and thinking he was the person who truly cared about it but oh boy she was wrong. He was the complete opposite of what she imagined her relationship to be like.

The relationship she imagined it to be was like a scene you would see in an anime. The main character falling deeply in love with the side character and they eventually get together, making it look just so perfect…maybe a little too perfect.

‘I hate this…I hate it…please, help me…’

The thought running through her head as she finally finished packing her bags. The floor underneath her creaked as she took steps to her door, opening it and peaking her head out to make sure that her parents aren’t upstairs. Once the cost was clear, she quickly yet quietly walked to her parents bedroom and got inside.

‘Okay…I hope it’s still in the same spot..’

She thought before walking over to her parents dresser, making sure to watch her steps. As she was walking, she accidentally stubbed her toe onto one of legs of the bed frame.

‘Fuck..!..’

She mentally cursed and her movements froze as she heard downstairs suddenly silent, too silent. The sounds of footsteps coming up the stairs caused her to panic and quickly got under the king sized bed her parents shared.

A hand covering her mouth, making sure to keep quiet so she doesn’t get caught. The footsteps stopped right in front of the door as a shadow loomed under the door. All she heard next was just grumbling and words that she couldn’t make out due to them being slurred.

Her parents were drunk, it was a daily thing with them. Constantly drinking until they possibly drop dead, but of course that didn’t happen yet.

Once the shadow has walked away from the door, she quietly sighed in relief before sliding out from under the bed and quickly crawling over to the closet. Reaching for the small brown crystal knobs and opening up the black doors. There was a black box that she new was underneath all the clothes that was stacked on top of it.

‘Yes!…it’s still here..’

She thought before carefully taking out the box and opening it. There was a safe inside. Her fingers placing themselves on the black knob and twisting it then stopping it a few times at the right number combination.

As she put the knob on the last number, she got it opened and her eyes gazed over the cold hard stacks of cash that laid in it.

Relief washed over her as she closed the safe and picked it up, holding onto it for dear life as she stood up. Her legs moved and made her way to the door, peaking out to the quiet hallway and running back to her now empty room.

Nothing left in the room besides a sheet-less mattress, an empty closet, and all of her posters ripped that she did from her anger that was bottled up and finally popping out.

Stuffing the safe in one of the duffel bags she had, putting her two duffel bags on her shoulders and her backpack in her hand. She took her phone out, putting her headphones in and playing some music. The melody and best passing through her ears from her headphones as she made her way to her window.

The house she lived in was about a two story house. Wasn’t too big but also wasn’t too small. She cracked open the window and sat on the window sill with both of her legs dangling on the outside as the back heels of her shoes hit the brick wall. She turned her back to face her room one last time before looking down at her ground below her and jumping down.

When she jumped down and landed on the grass, she stumbled from the quite far jump but managed.

‘Run…run like how you’ve imagined…’

She thought before her legs quickly moved, sprinting through the wet grass and drizzling rain. The music in her ears was the thing that tied it all together.

Running away from your home in the rain while listening to music, feeling free for once. But, that isn’t what free really means. Being free means that you are living your best life with no problems to deal with. If she really was free, she wouldn’t have all these problems and trauma.

But why did it have to be her that had to deal with it all? Why did it have to be her? That’s what she wants answers to.

Out of all of the people in the world, she just had to be chosen for this life that she doesn’t want. It only causes her more pain and suffering. She continues to run until she made it to a train station. Despite it being late, the train station was still opened. Walking over to the ticket slot and buying one that would take her out of the city and to another. She went over with her ticket in hand and stood by the train.

It was quite chilly outside since it was drizzling but the clothes she was wearing is enough to keep her warm for a while. The train passing by her and many others standing by in the speed of light, it was beautiful since the train was covered in cherry blossom art.

The train came to a stop and the doors opened. People coming out of the packed train and she walked in after those people have left. She managed to find a seat and sat down with a small sigh leaving her lips. The train did get packed pretty quick but it was no problem for her since as long as she has her music then it’s fine.

It felt calming, maybe a little too calming but it was better than she had expected let alone imagined.

Hours and hours have gone by and the train finally came to a stop, the speakers saying her destination and she stood up along with some other people who were on the train. She made sure her bags were with her and walked out of the train, her nostrils taking in the relaxing earthy atmosphere from the rain that lingered in the air.

She started to walk around the empty streets, lights coming from building signs and the stars lit up the dark streets. It was stunning, almost like a fantasy dream. Her legs made her stop at an apartment complex. The outside was unreal. Magnificent was the best word to describe it in her mind.

“A red carpet? A little too fancy for my humble ass..”

She mumbled before walking in, her hand gripping the golden handle and pulling it opened. The inside was definitely something that didn’t even look real. It was too perfect. A big white chandelier hanging from above with gold and white marble walls with a white tile floor that had the logo of the building in the dead center of the floor in black.

“Hello and welcome to the Inashoji Paradise! How may I assist you?” The front desk person spoke to her as she made her way over to him.

“Hi, I would like to get a room?” She greeted the polite man as he flashed her a smile, showing off his pearly whites and typed on the keyboard.

“Alright, do you have an id? Since you are minor by the looks of you, you must have an id.” The man spoke and looked up from his computer screen and at her.

She gulped thickly as she didn’t have an id, at least not yet. “I-…don’t have an id, but I do work! I have a job and I do part time online.” She spoke.

“I’m sorry, I’m going to need some kind of id. I can’t let you.” An apologetic expression placed on his face.

“Please. I really need this. I’ll do anything.” Her voice desperate for help just to get the apartment room, making the desk man sigh.

“Okay, I’ll give you a room, but, you need to at least have a school to go to. Cause you can’t only just have a job.” He said, finally giving in.

“Thank you.! I’ll make sure, thank you so much.” She thanked him frantically as he handed her a card.

“That’s a school I recommend and it’s really close by, it’s just a five minute walk to it.” A smile placed on his lips and he gives her a key to her room.

“5th floor, room 306 on the left. Enjoy your stay.” She took the key and card, bowing to him then walking to the elevator. She got in and pressed the button to the fifth floor. The doors shutting and the elevator moving up then stopping with a ding. The doors opened up and she walked out, looking at the door numbers until she reached room 306.

She put the key inside the key hole and twisted it, a click snapping and the door opening. The room was really good looking, it even smelled nice and fresh.

Her feet moving towards the bedroom and placing the bags on the floor.

Plopping down on the mattress, the soft surface making her sink into it and she looked up at the white ceiling.

“I wonder how that school is gonna be like.” She mumbled to herself and closed her eyes, her body falling limp and going into a deep sleep.

The sunlight flashing through the curtains making her groan from the sudden flash. She looked at her phone.

7:23 a.m.

‘I guess I should go to that school and sign up.’

Rubbing the sleep away from her eyes, she sat up and stretched her arms out. She went over to her duffel bag, taking out some clothes and going to the shower. The shower was relaxing, the nice not too hot water hitting her skin as she felt warm take over the coldness that she was covered in from the rain.

After getting out, she dried her hair and body then put on some sweats and a hoodie. It was still pretty chilly out so she didn’t want to get cold again. Stepping out of the apartment and to the elevator and making her way to the main floor.

“Good morning, Y/n!” The same desk person from last night greeted with a warm smile.

“Hey, good morning….” She dragged before looking down at his name tag. “Fujisiko.”

He let out a small laugh which was pretty cute. “You need directions to the school?” He asked.

“Yes please.”

“Alright, I’ll have someone cover for me and I’ll take you down there and help you get set up. I went to that school so I know everything about it.” A cheeky smile as he stood up, getting a co-worker to cover for him and walked to the main entrance. He pulled the gold bar handle and offered her to go first.

“After you.” She thanked him and walked through with him behind her. Small puddles on the ground from the rain of the night before as they walked in comfortable silence.

“This might not seem appropriate to ask but, how old are you?” Y/n said breaking the silence.

“Oh, I’m 45.” He replied giving a smile which made her look at him in shock.

“What?!…I thought you were at least in your early twenties, you look so young!” She exclaimed.

“Working out and staying on a Healthy balanced lifestyle keeps the skin lookin silky smooth and young.” He said with a shrug.

‘In order to stay looking young, I gotta work out and stay on a balanced lifestyle? Noted…’

She made a mental note and kept walking with him in comfortable silence.

“Alright, here we are!” He said as they made it to a huge building.

“Woah…” She mumbled staring at it.

“Come on, I’ll take you to the main office. If they ask, I’m your dad, okay?” He said to her and she looked over at him with a nod.

He may not look like her father but he does act a little like one.

‘Is this what it feels like to have a dad that actually is nice?…’

A thought popped up in her head before snapping back to reality and quickly following behind Fujisiko who was way ahead of her.

They walked into the building and was greeted with many eyes.

‘Of course people are staring…’

She thought. But then again, Fujisiko has a velvet red and black suit with a gold name tag, black dress shoes, tall, half up half down black hair, brown eyes, a few tattoos, and had a Rolex.

She had her head down to try and avoid the gaze of those around.

“Isn’t that Kowada Fujisiko?!”

“Holy shit you’re right! I heard he’s the owner of Inashoji Paradise!”

“But that’s a really expensive apartment building!”

“Is that his daughter?”

“There’s no way it is.”

She grumbled to herself hearing them whisper only for them to finally make it to the main office.

They walked to the principals room and walked in. The principal looked up and stood up then bowed.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Kowada! How’s the business going?” The principals raspy voice spoke with excitement as Fujisiko.

Fujisiko nervously laughed and bowed in return.

“It’s nice to see you again after many years, principal Juro!” A smile appeared on his lips.

“Oh? and who is this little one?” He asked looking down at Y/n.

“This is Y/n! I want her to enroll here! She’s my…daughter.” Fujisiko said.

“Wow, never knew you had a daughter! Although she doesn’t really look close to you but who am I to judge?” He shrugged and sat back down and offered the two to sit which they did.

“Alright Y/n, what’s your full name and what grade are you in?” Principal Juro asked Y/n.

“My name is L/n Y/n and I’m a sophomore.” She replied.

“Perfect! I’ve been looking for another student to add to the sophomore class. I hope you don’t mind, every class is full of males except gym class. Gym class has very few females but at least you won’t be uncomfortable only being surrounded by males.”

He said as he started typing on his computer, putting her information into the school system. The printer make some noises and a paper came out. He grabbed the paper and handed it to her. She looked down and it was her classes.

First period: Algebra II

Second period: ELA

Third period: World History

Fourth period: Physics

Fifth period: Business Class

Sixth period: Gym

Extra: Advisory (only 30 minutes!)

Seventh period: Free Hour

Fujisiko peaked over her shoulder and his brows twitched in confusion.

“She’s a sophomore, why does she have junior and senior classes?” He asked and looked at the principal.

Juro crossed his arms and leaned back in his rolling chair.

“Well, since I looked up her name and got her records from her previous school she has amazing records. Also, those classes are the same classes that she was taking in her previous school.”

He explained making Fujisiko nod.

“Go to the front desk lady and let her bring you a few pairs of our uniforms. If you want pants you can just ask her for it instead of a skirt. Even though the pants are strictly for the males only, I’ll let you have them.” He said with a smile and the two stood up and bowed, thanking him before leaving the office.

They made it to the front desk lady and she looked at them.

“What can I do for you?” She asked.

“I would like a few pairs of the uniform…but instead of the skirt, can I get the pants?” Y/n asked.

She raised a brow. “The pants are strictly for the males.”

“Principal Juro said that it’s okay for her to get it.” Fujisiko said making her hum and stand up.

She walked to the back and came back with three pairs of the uniform top and three pairs of the uniform pants.

She handed it to them and smiled slightly.

“Hope to see you tomorrow early young lady, have a good rest of your day.” She said and the two walked out.

“How do you feel?” He asked Y/n as they walked away from the school campus.

“What if I don’t fit in? What if they start bullying me all cause I’m the new student? Or if they look at me weird because I’m wearing the boys uniform and not the skirt like all the rest of the girls?…”

She rambled making him look down at her as they walked back to the apartment complex.

“Hey, hey hey, it’s gonna be alright. You don’t have to worry about anything. If they do something let me know.” He reassured her making her slightly calm down.

He hands her a piece of paper.

“Here, it’s my number. Whenever you need me or just wanna hang, I’m always available. But, I’ll text you my working hours so that you know when to not text me, understand?”

His voice changing from soft to suddenly strict and stern, making her gulp and nods. He laughed and ruffled her hair.

“Get a good nights sleep, kid.” He said and went back to the front desk.

A sigh leaving her lips and she went back to her room. Once she made it to her room, she plopped down on the soft mattress.

“I hope it’s not too bad…”

She mumbled before closing her eyes and falling asleep, while thinking of how her day is going to go.