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skaryskylar · 4 years

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Toss A Coin To Your Witcher

Pairing: BakuDeku, DekuBaku Switch

Type: One-Shot

Prompt: Twin Stars Week/Day 1-Fantasy

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: All the smut, Minor KiriKami, Dubious Consent, improper Use of Magic

Read on AO3

His stomach growled as he settled into the darkest corner of the inn. The ale in his cup had already gone warm, but he didn't dare waste a drop. It was bitter on his tongue, dry and heavy on the hops. Swishing through his jaws with difficulty, it seeped rather than flowed down his parched throat.

But it was all he could afford.

The pouch at his waist was depressingly empty, silent without the jingle of coin. He needed to sit and wait. See if something cropped up. But the inn didn't seem to be overflowing with those in need. No, it was fool's night. The bard atop a table strummed his lute, singing a tale of a honeyed, fair maiden chased down by a horrible beast of a bear. It was a lewd little ditty. If he could, he'd scrunch his face in disgust.

But that would mean he wouldn't look 'approachable'. In this line of work, and with a pocket as barren as his own, he needed to keep an easy going appearance at all times.

He tried to direct his ears elsewhere. Some of those gathered at the bar-common townsmen and farmers out for an evening drink-were whispering amongst themselves. It wasn't hard for him to pick up on the murmured sounds.

"-'s him. I'm sure of it."

"That's not him! He's short! They say that this Witcher is ten feet tall, wide as a bear and twice as fierce!"

"I heard he's got a hound's gnashing canines for teeth and blackened claws on his hands."

"He walks with a peach-colored wolf. It used to be white, but blood stained the damn thing's fur red so many times it started to grow out a strange, rosy color."

Ochako whined at his feet. Her dark eyes peeked up from under the table, ears downcast. Those assholes. Didn't they know she had a sensitive soul? Smiling at her comfortingly, he scratched behind her ears, a silent apology.

"Fool! He doesn't walk with a wolf! He is a wolf! When the full moon hangs low beneath the clouds, they say he transforms into a monster neither man nor beast."

"Shh! He can hear us! Don't you know he has ears large enough to hear for miles? See how they peek out from that head of dark curls!"

"I keep telling you that's not him! What would the Symbol of Strength, the Slaughterer of Shigaland, the Devil's Wicked Right Hand, Izuku of Yuuei be doing here of all places?"

"Perhaps he's come to slay the dragon."

Izuku perked up at that. His stomach groaned in protest but he had long ago learned to pay hunger no mind in the face of work. A dragon's head huh? That would fetch him a pretty penny. Perhaps enough for him to make it to the next town over with a sackful of dried meats, bread, berry...

And a horse. By the gods, how he needed a new horse. He lost the last one in a nasty encounter with some graveirs a while back. Travelling was a royal pain in the arse without a horse.

He stood to his full height, pushing his day-old ale aside as he made to go stand by the bar, leaning some of his hefty weight against the creaking wood of the counter. It was warmer there. Whether it was the heat of their fearful gazes or the warmth of human touch, he didn't care to find out.

He had something better to focus on.

"What's this I hear of a dragon wreaking havoc on innocent citizens?"

He went for a charming smile. The same that had maidens fall over him all the way from Shiketsu to Aldera. It didn't work. Men were less susceptible to his charm. They took one look into his eyes-saw how unnatural the green was with its sheen and flecks of gold, and knew he was not of their same blood and bone.

(No, he was stronger. Faster. More cunning and full of tricks. Without the folly of their emotions to weigh him down. A symbol of strength just as his master had been a symbol of peace.)

Sure enough, the one closest to him with the greasy black hair and gaunt face took one look into his gaze, and immediately blanched, tugging his mug of ale closer to his chest.

"M-M-Mind yours Witcher! Yer not welcome here!"

"It's not the Witcher." One of his friends snorted into the foam of his drink. "Don't mind a fake trying to trick his way into some coin."

Rather than speak to defend himself, Izuku drew his sword from its scabbard. The inn went silent in the wake of its gleam, watching how the silver glinted and shone even in the dim light. It was a beautiful piece of work, made from the finest goblin ore and elven wood, forged by dwarves in the deepest fires of Mount Rocklock.

It had passed from worthy hand to worthy hand till it found its way into his own calloused grip. The feats performed with it granted it a name fitting for its prestige.

"One for All." One of the men breathed. He reached out as if to touch iy, but Izuku was quick to slide the blade back into its sheath.

"Now," He grinned cheekily. "About that dragon."

The dragon, he learned, was terrorizing the farm lands towards the edge of town. It hadn't done much in terms of fire damage, just a few burnt stables here and there. A rabbit hutch for one man.

But it was surely taking its fill. A shepherd had lost half his flock while they were grazing in the hills, and that was just the beginning of it. Chickens, goats and cows had all fallen under the things clutches. There was no blood spilled so it naturally ate them whole.

But to spite the farmers, the thing had even stolen barrels of cheese and crates of milk, just throwing salt into the festering wounds. Slowly but surely, the little bastard was creeping closer and closer to the main villages. It wouldn't be long before it ran out of animals to eat.

Maybe then it'd decide it fancied human thigh instead of lamb.

"Listen, us farmers, we have a pact," The most reasonable out of the bunch, Inasa the dairyman, approached him with a fresh drink and a hot plate of roasted chicken. He was about to descend upon it with vigor, when a paw reached up to settle on his knee.

Ochako stared at him from under the table, brown eyes wide. Sighing, he split the meat in half, offering her the larger share.

"We'd be willing to pay if you can get the damn thing out of our hair. It won't be much in the way of coin, but you'd be guaranteed food for the next month at least. My wife and I can offer our place for you to rest your head for a night upon your return to sweeten the deal."

Izuku's stomach growled in response, the meager meal having not been enough. He willed an embarrassed blush to fly up to his cheeks, painting the backdrop of his multitudes of freckles a rosy red.

"Sounds like we've got a deal." He said, rubbing the back of his neck.

(If the farmer and his wife renegaded on their part, he would leave them out during the upcoming full moon and have Ochako rip them limb from limb.)

Promise of food stuck fast in his mind, he collected his things and began to walk out. The wolf was quick on his heels, gnawing at an abandoned chicken bone as Izuku adjusted his sword at his hip. He was only a few paces from the door when a voice called out,

"Wait! Witcher! Mister Slaughterer Sir! Wait!"

He nearly didn't stop. If Ochako hadn't spat out her bone to growl, he wouldn't have.

Certainly not for the bard. He was young. Mature in human years but his jaw was still smooth with youth. Neither hair nor scar marred his features, boyish grin bright with a fool's bliss as he clumsily stumbled his way over, golden eyes taking the setting sun's last rays into their depths to shine bright as day in the encroaching darkness.

"Let me come with you."

Izuku smiled.

"No."

Turning right on around, he once again set off on his journey. Ochacko huffed at his side as the bard continued to follow them. He maintained a distance just outside of his sword's reach so if Izuku fell prey to the building desire to turn and gut the man where he stood, he'd have to put some effort in.

And that was energy he did not have.

His stomach rumbled. The wolf at his side gave a keen whine.

"-can sing songs about our travels! Of who we meet and what we dare to do! I heard you're setting out to kill a dragon. Imagine what limericks I could reap from that!"

He pulled out his lute, cleared his throat and sang,

'The dragon with tongue of fire and death

Nearly killed us all with one sniff of its breath'

Izuku stopped in his tracks. He gave the other man a long, soul-searching look. The bard scrambled to get back, saying some nonsense about how he'd work on those horrible lyrics. In his haste, his hat ripped from his head, exposing long locks of flaxen hair, a single stray jagged line of black towards the side. But that anomaly wasn't what caught Izuku's attention: it was the pointed nubs of batlike ears that pointed through the matted fray, of a paler complexion from the rest of the man's skin due to the lack of exposure to sunlight. Immediately, his hands left the lute to cover them up, pulling his green flouncy hat low beyond their tips once more.

"You're an elf."

"Half-elf!" The man protested. "My mum's about as human as they come." After a beat of silence, he picked his lute from the ground, inspecting the wood for damage.

Izuku's smile widened.

A half elf. This was perfect. The only thing dragons enjoyed more than sheep was a roasted, honey-eyed elf. The bard would be a useful trap.

"What's your name stranger?"

"Denki Kaminari."

"You may come along. Don't get distracted, nor can you distract me. Dragons are dangerous after all."

It would've been an easy trip if the fool didn't talk so much. He had an easy voice; it chimed like bells. All the masculine grit stuck to the back of his throat, leaving only light melody to flow from his lips. It made him sound naturally friendly and open. Izuku wished for that. Every tone of his own words had to be thoughtfully considered before he spoke, lest he fall into the same gruff, monotone of his kinsmen.

That wouldn't do. He had to be personable to get jobs. Strong to make results come to fruition and cunning to ensure he always had his way.

His master was not lazy with his tutelage. One could not become the Symbol of Peace without accumulating centuries of wisdom, and that same wisdom was bestowed upon him with each lesson; each fletching of an arrow, crushing of yarrow root in mortar with a pestle, and adjustment of his manner of speech came with some kind of warning. It was the warning that made him careful. It was his care that made him great.

But the bard, Denki, wasn't taught. He wasn't raised as he was. He was just...human. Well, half-human.

And fully annoying. So, so annoying.

Like a pest he flew around Izuku as they walked, commenting on his height, how his arms were twice as thick as his own. He was writing songs as they made their way up the hills to the farmlands.

If he had to hear another comparison of his 'wild, curly locks' to a 'dewy clearing on the first morn of spring', he would cut off his ears and throw them to Ochako to eat. At least then one of them wouldn't be starving.

"And your eyes! Cut from the finest jade no doubt! They say Witchers can see in the dark like a cat. They say your kind prowl the forests at night searching for prey from a young age, and that's how they find you, bloody babes wrapped in wolf skins. Is it true?"

"You are not born a witcher," Izuku said idly, coming to a stop. They had arrived at the appointed farm. He could see the burnt rabbit hatch; how meager the gathering of cows was in the field.

But this story didn't add up.

"Witchers are made. It is not a path suited for every man. Be happy you're a bard."

"I'm terribly fond of my profession good sir. There's nothing the fairer sex fancies more than a man who can sing their troubles away."

"Is that so?"

The scent. The scent was wrong. He knew what dragon smelled like and this wasn't it. There was smoke yes. The anger, of course. The acrid scent of soot and all-consuming fire, but there was a sweetness that betrayed its magical origin.

Dragons did not smell sweet. They smelled like a viper pit after a night of rain, like the petrichor seeping off the ground before lightning struck true. They stank of death and doom with the smoky after notes of all-consuming rage.

At least, that's what he knew from his own experiences. Perhaps this one was a runt.

"They quickly find my tongue has many uses. Singing makes it nimble and quick. Easy to fit in, uh, tiny spaces if you get my meaning."

He did, but refused to give any indication that it was so. Humming good-naturedly, he moved towards the main cottage without a word, letting the bard talk him down the stone path.

If it was a dragon, then the bard would draw him out. If it wasn't, he could still use the man as a distraction as he created a better plan. Win-Win situation.

The woman that answered the door was thin. Her head of hair had already started turning gray, and there were dark circles beneath her fearful brown eyes. She spoke in whispers and murmurs, as though she thought speaking about the dragon itself would bring it back to harm her. Izuku ignored the usual talk about the terror the victim felt, how helpless they were in the face of such a mighty beast, and focused on the facts.

The attack happened two days ago, which meant the scent would still be fresh if he tracked it down. They were missing all their rabbits, half their cows, and a barrel of cheese. The first two was nothing out of the ordinary. Dragons weren't known for having a small appetite.But the barrel of cheese was strange. Even stranger yet was the missing cherry pie.

"I remember leaving it on the windowsill to cool that morning, but when I came back it was gone." She said, pressing a hand to her head.

He would've written it off as a common thief taking advantage of a disaster, if the last detail she uttered hadn't set off all his alarms.

"The worst part was its laughter."

"Laughter?" The bard spoke the question on his mind between bites of apple pie. "What kind of dragon laughs?"

She sighed, pressing her eyes to her hands as if she were about to weep.

(Izuku hoped she wouldn't. He didn't do well with females, nor their tears. They made him...unsettled.)

"It was horrible. My husband and I went out to put out the fire and we heard the thing just laugh and laugh and laugh. It sounded almost human, but there was a darkness to it. It was small, but if you heard it you'd notice. No one, not even the worst of the worst sinners, sounds that evil."

Izuku set off with suspicion in his heart and a bit of dried meats in his pouch. The bard kept trying to break into his head, see what plans he was making behind his 'jolly demeanor' but he remained silent, smile locked to his face as if it were an iron mask. Ochako had no such patience. When the bard got close enough to brush Izuku's shoulder with his hand, she barked and snapped her teeth, sending the man running several paces back.

"Control your dog Witcher!"

"She's a dire wolf." Izuku corrected cheerily. The good little pup snarled her agreement. He didn't need to look to see the man was terrified. The sharp scent of a little piss was one of the wafts in the air.

The trail was leading them into the mountains. It would be a day before they reached the end of it. Izuku would've walked through the night with his wolf at his side, but elves, half or not, were prissy about darkness.

They settled at the foot of the mountain. Izuku set a fire with ease, magic crackling electric green in his palm before shooting out to the bundle of sticks and tinder. Ochako took her place at his back, licking her fur for a quick clean before settling on her paws and falling asleep. Her snores rang out throughout the land, imposing and fearsome, letting all woodland creatures know that a direwolf was present and ready to rip out their throats if they strayed too close.

He could sleep easy so long as she kept snoring.

"Witcher,"

But not as long as the bard insisted on speaking.

"This dragon...I've got my reservations about it. Wouldn't we have seen its claw marks in the dirt?"

"Dragons fly bard." The Witcher answered, eyes shut as he lay against the direwolf's back. She was warm beneath him, fur tickling the skin of his neck as he shifted to get comfortable. There were a few moments of darkness and blessed, blissful silence.

Then:

"I can't get that laughter tidbit out of my mind. What kind of dragon laughs Witcher? Will we face a particularly fearsome one?"

"The fiercest." Izuku replied, because he couldn't resist. The bard's 'eep' of fright sparked a distant amusement in his chest.

"Perhaps if you tell it a funny tale or two, you'll distract it long enough for me to take its head."

He felt the vibrations of the bard laying out a bedroll. (Made of fine material no doubt. Ever the prissiest those elves) The ground gave a slight shake when the man threw himself upon it.

Izuku's eyes remained closed as Denki gave a long sigh.

"Hopefully I'll live to see another night."

Izuku did not hope. He had been told he inspired such a feeling in others but he himself was immune to such irrationality. He was a man of facts, of odds and probability, of notes scrawled on paper well into the night, of the smell of ink lingering on calloused hands.

He did not hope. He predicted, anticipated and prepared.

His odds of survival were high. There was an off-chance he would perish: burning to his demise or falling off the face of the mountain seemed to be the top two contenders for the 'final blow'. But the probability of him strutting out of there with a dragon head slung over his back and Ochako gnawing on rawhide at his side was greater by far.

The bard though?

...Hmm.

The man continued to talk to himself through the night, attempting to assuage his own fears. Groaning, Izuku turned his back on him, and tried to fall asleep to the anxious melody.

The first thing he noticed upon waking was the silence. Ochako's warmth was still at his back. He could feel her chest rise and fall with each breath, but the loud fearsome snores that should've been ringing out were muted. He could taste the magic of the silencing spell in the air before he could taste the bitterness of morning. Hand already at his scabbard, he leapt up, only to get slammed back down by a leather boot.

Crimson eyes cut from ruby and forged in flames leered down at him. The wicked, sharp grin of his attacker loomed inches above, teeth sharp and white blotted red with blood, so close he could taste the copper of it.

He thought of the bard. A quick sniff told him the man was still alive. Terrified, if the whimpers and more than subtle waft of piss meant anything, but still alive.

He quickly scanned the attacker. His chest was bare, golden skin not marred with scar nor birthmark, immaculate and smooth save for the rolling hills of his abs and pink peaks of his nipples, stiff in the mild morning frost. A cape the same color as his eyes gave a few flaps in the easy winds. It was clasped by a silver dragon around the neck, white fur lining the shoulders above his defined collarbone. Clearly a luxury, but not a symbol he could put a royal family name to.

His pants were dark, but made of fine material. He had only seen kikimore silk once before in his life: at the royal wedding of Prince Shoto of Endeavour and Princess Momo of Creati. Her dress had been made from two yards of it and a stunning, hand-sewn lace. It was a white so pure it glistened when the sun hit it, rivaling the shade of the snow as it fell upon the pair underneath their wedding arch.

This was that same material, but dyed a black so harsh it absorbed all color, cuffs tucked into his boots. Lined with that same white fur as the cape, they had spikes beneath their soles. Armor was strapped around the man's knees, sharp points tacked on so they could be used as a weapon if need be, Every inch of this man was a weapon. Sharp. Dangerous.

And he smelled nothing like a human. Izuku didn't recognize this scent. Sweet and sultry, like golden ambrosia presented before an altar, or the exotic perfumes of a passing noblewoman. He had to lean away to catch the fresh winds and clear his head from the hazy mist that threatened to settle over him at the smell of it.

But there was something else on that wind. The smell of a viper pit after a heavy rain. He looked to where the edge of the attacker’s cape billowed in the gentle breeze.

Hmm.

Izuku slipped on an easy smile. It was second-nature by that point, but it only seemed to make the man angry. His eyes narrowed into slits, confident smirk morphing into a bitter scowl.

"Don't play innocent with me Witcher. I've met others of your kind. You don't have the heart for kindness."

Smart one. Arrogant asshole. Izuku made a point to smile harder, quirking a brow in what he hoped would look like a playful jest, as if the man were an old friend rather than the next victim of his blade.

"Now, now. I'm sure we can talk about this-."

He saw the dagger coming down before it was even raised. Heaving, he got the man away from him by turning suddenly, rolling across the ground. Grabbing Ochako by her scruff, he tossed her to the screaming bard and went to face his rising opponent.

Izuku reached for his sword, only to find the scabbard empty.

The other man twirled it about in his hand, checking his reflection in the blade. The tip was already stained red. If the beheaded, mangled deer towards the edge of their camp signified anything, it was that his blade was stolen from him while he slept then used to hunt breakfast.

Which meant that this one who appeared in the image of a man, licking the last of the blood from his teeth, was definitely not mortal. Izuku could sense other life forms even while unconscious. No one touched anything so close to him without his fist closing around their neck. This one was...was...

"Who are you?" The bard yelled. He was bound in rope, hands behind his back and ankles together. His cap still covered his ears securely. Izuku angled himself so the stranger wouldn't see the elf's face, lest he catch the spark in his eyes and begin to suspect.

"I am Prince Kacchan."

"Prince of what?" Denki snorted. "Thieves?"

There was that rage from the farm, smelling of soot and ash. It was thick in the air, hot and violent. Sparks skittered up Izuku's skin as those eyes came to meet him again. They looked him over, slowly, with intention.

Then there was the glint of a smirk full of salacious promise and scandal.

"I think you look better beneath me Witcher."

"I think I'm going to need my sword back Prince Kacchan."

He didn't miss the shiver that racked through the man at the sound of the title. The air was heavy with their auras, challenge and intrigue passing between the two of them, neither willing to drop their masks.

Until a pained roar came down from mountain high, sending birds squawking away from shuddering treetops as the ground rumbled. Kacchan leapt up at once, landing on a branch in a show of nimbleness.

He tossed back a wink.

"Come find me Witcher. I have need for some company." He said before taking off. Leaping from tree to tree, he kept the sword still in his grip as he disappeared into the foliage.;

Izuku bit back a curse. Gathering his things, he used the blade he kept within his boot to cut the bard free. Ochako led the charge as they ran, kicking up dust and dirt in their haste. The bard was too slow to keep up so Izuku swung him onto his shoulders, matching Ochako's pace with ease.

"Where do you think he ran off too?"

If the scent that clung to the man's cape was right, then he had run off to meet their dragon. Izuku didn't reply with this, gritting his teeth as he set a faster pace, thoughts of his sword flashing through his mind along with the possible outcomes of the situation.

The higher up they went, the worse the options became.

The scent was thickest at the very top. There was a cave or rose quartz, large enough for a dragon, but decidedly empty of its large hulking mass. There was no camp set up for Prince Kacchan, only a couple large stones here and there.

Izuku knew better than to judge by first glance. He moved to enter the glistening cavern when the bard pounded his shoulder.

"There is no way I'm going into that cave without a battle plan Witcher! What if it drops from the skies and roasts us where we stand?"

"Then we die," Izuku said simply. Though the bard screamed and yowled his protest, he did not release him, edging his way into the dark cave overflowing with the sharp scent of dragon.

And blood. So much blood and death.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly, narrowing on everything in his path. Kicking aside a cow's skeleton, bones white and licked clean, he brought his tiny party further to the back of the cave, where the smell was strongest and the warmth of fire began to trickle through.

"I'm not too sure about this Witcher."

"Just sit up there and smell pretty bard."

"What do you mean by-?"

A deafening roar cut them off. The ground shook beneath his boots, dust falling from the pale pink stalactite above. He leapt back as one of the spikes dropped, bursting into shards in the same spot he once stood. Deeper and deeper he went as the roar continued. The more he listened, the more pained the cry seemed. It was...off. This wasn't anger. It wasn't lashing out. He doubted it even knew they were in there at all.

He crept closer to the scent of fire, inching along the wall of the cave, straining his ears to hear beyond the wail.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. It hurts. Quit wailing you big baby. You're acting like you lost a ball sack."

That was Prince Kacchan. The jackass who stole his sword. Clutching the bard's ankles tight, he dared to creep in further, murmuring a spell to hide his and Ochako's scent.

Bracing himself, he peeked around the corner.

It was a dragon alright. Definitely not the runt of the litter though. It was huge, looming several feet above his own head even in a crouch. Its horns were long, thick as a tree trunk, curling around his head like that of a rams. Its scales were red so dark they were almost black, taking in the light of the fire, each as long as Izuku's hand.

But it wasn't its massive size that drew his attention.

It was its wounds.

A gaping hole tore through one wing, the other folded at an awkward angle behind him. Broken, no doubt. Its claws were long and sharp on all three limbs.

The fourth was missing. Its dark eyes were glued to the spot where it should of been, watering with unshed tears of pain as Prince Kacchan cleaned and wrapped the wound. At the blonde's side was Izuku's acclaimed sword, sitting still and idle, waiting for him to grasp it in his hand once more. The discarded bandage pile was where the stench of blood was strongest. Izuku sniffed, identifying the sour smell of infection in the cloth.

"Whoa," The bard breathed and, immediately, all eyes darted to their location.

Izuku could've killed the man himself, but it seemed like the dragon wanted to take a go first. He let Denki go, dropping him to the ground when the thing raised its head to strike, then rolled to snatch his sword before it was too late.

Two things happened then.

The dragon gave a keen whine, then began to collapse in on itself, shrinking in a blaze of red light till a man stood where the beast once sat. His spiky hair was the same shade of crimson as the scales, and his build more similar to Izuku's own bulk than Kacchan's lithe muscle. There was a bandaged stump where his left hand should've been, a clean cut slicing just above the wrist. His eyes were curious, a light reddish-brown as they fixated on the bard and the bard alone.

He was also completely nude.

The second was that Izuku reached for his sword, fingertips brushing the hilt when lava burst from the floor below, wrapping around his ankles and wrists, pinning him to the ground. He grunted when the familiar sensation of a spiked boot stepping on him came from his back.

"We meet again, Witcher."

His face in the dirt, Izuku dropped any mask, letting a cold fury envelope him as he struggled. He was close. So close. One inch more and One for All would be where it belonged.

But the Fates did not will it to be so. Kacchan gave a savage, mocking laugh as he plucked the sword up from the floor. He did some kind of magic to turn Izuku over so that he was facing the ceiling.

He couldn't see Kacchan, but he could feel his witchcraft. Powerful, it thrummed through the air, enveloping his limbs like a restraining caress till he was immobile.

At least the dragon found the bard. If he could enjoy nothing else, it would be the fact that he could hear the annoying little man being ripped limb from limb before he died.

...But the Fates didn't will that to be so either.

"You're an elf!"

"A-A-And your prick is out sir! I implore you to get a covering. Where are your trousers?"

"Oh! My apologies. I didn't mean to offend."

Izuku sniffed. Sweet and heady. Nervousness. Anticipation. Attraction. Arousal-.

Oh fuck.

"I've never met a real elf before. My mother says your kind are as sweet as honey and have eyes of starlight. If I may see your ears?"

"I-I don't really like letting people look."

"But they're beautiful!" The dragon insisted, as if scandalized. "Elves are the most beautiful creatures in all the land. I should know! I'm a dragon! My kind collect pretty things."

There's the sound of someone shifting. Probably the elf, blushing like a maiden at the flattery. Izuku fought the desire to throw them all off the mountain.

"I have a cousin, Mina. She courted an elf. At their celebration, there wasn't a dry eye on that mountain top. From envy of course. A good half of our family was ready to kill her to take her place."

Gritting his teeth, Izuku made a mental note to rewrite the segment on Elven-Dragon Relations in his journal.

"So I assume you're the one that's been harassing the farmers then," He said, trying to get Kacchan's attention. Maybe Ochako would be able to catch the man by surprise if he kept him distracted. "You need to feed your friend after all, and he's not fit to hunt."

"Hey!" The dragon-shifter's voice was stunned, and a little hurt. "I thought we agreed we'd live off the land."

"Those beasts were on land." The Prince said arrogantly. "Our land. Those hills belonged to my kind long before these filthy mortals claimed the earth as their own."

That shortened his list. Demi-god? That'd be a bitch to take down. He would have to go off of rumors for that. The last Witcher to take down a Demi-God was centuries ago. One of the Vampire Fathers maybe? They walked the world long before his own kinsmen did, but their weakness to silver was common knowledge. He just needed One for All back and he'd make it work. It wouldn't be easy, but it would be possible.

But that wouldn't explain the fire.

He'd never heard of a vampire capable of making molten lava out of rose quartz then cooling it quick enough to bind a Witcher.

"Those farmers are poor and scared. They've sent us here to kill the dragon ravaging their homes," The bard said because he had a big mouth and just couldn't shut up. Izuku tried to think, tried to run through all the information he'd gathered so far to find a way of this mess. He strained against his binds, but even with all his strength, they wouldn't budge. Fortified by a dark magic no doubt. He would need to wait and build his power to counter it.

That could take days. Months even.

He'd be dead by then if Prince Kacchan wished it so.

"That's horrible," The dragon was saying. "I'm terribly sorry this has happened. I had no idea where he was getting the food. We'll leave if that would please you...and, uh, the farmers of course!"

"Oi! Shitty hair! We're not leaving! Do you know what I went through to find this place-!"

"Splendid! Did you hear that Witcher? A bit of diplomacy and we've saved the townspeople!"

Izuku gave a long, tired sigh, smile straining as soon as he pasted it back up.

"Wonderful," he said through grit teeth, failing to keep the sarcasm from his tone. "Now if I could get my sword, we'll be on our way."

At the sheer implication, the dragon hissed. Izuku shut his eyes to the sound, already aware of the sharp claws that were undoubtedly reaching out for the bard to stuff him further back in the cave. Territorial little bastards, those dragons. And if his gut was right, he wouldn't be letting the bard go anytime soon.

"By the gods, what is it man?"

"Oh! Sorry! The claws, they, uh, do that sometimes. It's normal."

Izuku could taste the lie on the air, sweet as cherry wine and just as deceptive.

"But you all don't have to leave now," The dragon continued. "Let us feed you! We've got plenty of food to share! And that lute! You're a bard, aren't you elf? Tell me some of your tales!"

The bard, like a fool, agreed.

To his credit, Izuku did not resist as he was lifted roughly to a stand. Prince Kacchan's fist was wrapped in his tunic, pulling him away from the ground even as his other hand wove sigils into the air, completing the stone cuffs around his wrists and ankles into dark circlets. He pulled his aching arms down to his chest, bending his elbows as he was hopped over to a smooth raised stone by the fire.

He took the seat, lips pressed tight as Kacchan sat right next to him, avoiding eye contact with all lest they see the calculations in his eyes. The fire rose high, hot against his front, with pointed wooden spikes at its base. If he kicked out at the right angle, could he launch one into the Prince's chest? Once he was gone, Izuku could take a lame dragon with Ochako's help.

The direwolf sat at the edge of the light, watching the Prince with wary eyes as he went about roasting the cow. Ever a loyal girl. Izuku didn't deserve her.

"Let's share names then," The dragon-man said, now with a fresh pair of breeches covering his bits. "I'm Eijirou the Wild. I'm from the mountain range of Kirishima."

"I'm Denki, a bard. Half-elf." He emphasized. "And that's Izuku of Yuuei. The Slaughterer of Shigaland and the Devil's Wicked Right Hand. He's a Witcher."

"And I'm already bored of this conversation. Eat and then leave bard."

"Don't be rude Kats!" Eijirou the Wild smiled, a grin with sharp pointy teeth and fawning eyes for the bard alone. Kats. What was that short for? Was Kacchan not his 'true name'? What kind of creatures needed to hide their names?

"Don't mind him. He's been sour ever since his mother tossed him out for stealing her favorite plaything."

"She didn't kick me out," the Prince said sourly. "I left of my own accord."

But his words went ignored. The dragon and the bard were already well on their way to a rousing conversation, speaking to each other in fervent whispers, inching closer by the minute till they could pick the remnants of meat off each other's laps. No one asked the Witcher about his life, because they didn't care. Prince Kacchan was too caught up in his own annoyance. and the dragon just wanted to know more about the bard, looking at him as if he was the one who cast away the moon to hang the sun in the sky.

Honestly, how did he get 'Elven-Dragon relations' so wrong? Didn't they have a lesson about this at Kaer Morhen? His old master would be so ashamed.

The bard of course played right into their hands. He relished the attention, even got comfortable enough to take his hat from his head, shyly allowing a clawed hand to wondrously prod at the pale tips of ears.

When he pulled out the lute, the Witcher knew they were in for a long night. He played song after song, growing more loud as they opened a barrel of orc gin and passed it about. Izuku sat there, small smile beginning to ache, ears ready to bleed as they began a new ballad,

'A dragon there was, a dragon, a wild one

All red and fierce and ready for fun!

The dragon! The beast! The wild one!'

He was going to beg for the sweet release of death. There was no other choice. The bard was annoying the shit out of him.

"You're annoying the shit out of me bard." Prince Kacchan spoke for him. Tossing the last of his scraps into the fire, he stood and emptied the contents of his waterskin on his hands to clean them. Wicking them out to dry, he commanded, "Find yourself elsewhere."

"Don't talk to him like that-!"

"Leave!"

Eijirou frowned. Pointedly snatching up Denki's hand, he led the bard off towards the edge of the fire's light, in the direction of the cave's entrance, continuing their rapid fire conversation about some frivolity. Izuku didn't trust the bard with the dragon alone. Silently, he looked to Ochako. The direwolf rose to her feet. Huffing her displeasure, she heeded his wordless request and turned to follow the pair.

It left him and the Prince alone, only the crackling of the fire to fill the gap between them. He kept his eyes on the flames, watching the wood split and burn from their heat.

"You're a quiet man Witcher. What's in that head of yours?"

His smile froze.

"I'm trying to figure out what you are."

A partial lie that left his mouth dry. He chanced a glance at his unfortunate companion. Kacchan's expression betrayed nothing but a fox's cunning. There was trickery afoot. Izuku took pride in his ability to catch it

"How about I let you guess? Hmm. Three tries."

A game then. The Prince doubted the extensiveness of Izuku's bestiary. He could see a vision of victory already dancing in the man's eyes, and swore to keep it as was: a vision rather than a reality.

"If you win-,"

"Then I get your true name."

The man's eyes narrowed into slits. A tell if any. That narrowed his list once more. Vampires didn't give a damn about 'true names'. Maybe an elder member of the fae?

"If I win then I get to lay claim to what's yours."

Tricky wording. Fae then. He'd seen a good share of their cunning.

But when he spoke his guess aloud, the man only smirked.

"You could break a fairy with one sweep of your hand couldn't you Witcher? Just snap them in two."

Red eyes traced the length of his biceps, something unreadable in their gaze. Izuku gave a sniff but he couldn't smell anything past that heady perfume. It clouded his head, made his mind lazy even as he resisted. He used his eyes instead, studying the curve of his collarbone, the path of a bead of sweat down his pecs, past the taut skin of his stomach to the low hanging hem of his trousers. There was a coil tightening in his gut, the pressure of a low flame.

"Vampire." He said hoarsely, throat suddenly parched. The scent got closer as Kacchan slid even closer. Every inch of skin pressed to his side burned hotter than any fire ever could. Crimson eyes dancing, the man dropped his chin to the butt of his hand, pouty lips forming an arrogant smirk at the end of a short, "Nope."

His last guess. Izuku was silent, eyes searching to see what his nose couldn't smell. He looked like a human. A dangerous human but a human nonetheless. What creatures could adopt this form, especially one as easy on the eyes as this? He wished he had his notebook in hand rather than down at the inn. He would have taken his time going through old pages of lessons till he found the right one.

Now he had only his intellect and his gut to guide him, and the former was fading fast, lost to a rosy haze of heat and need.

Wait...wait...wait...There was magic at work here.

"You're human. A sorcerer that's filled with trickery and cunning."

Kacchan gripped him by the arm, fingers digging into his skin like little daggers before swinging his other leg over. He nestled himself into Izuku's lap, firm thighs on either side of his waist as a hot breath caressed the shell of his ear.

"Wrong. Honestly Witcher," He shifted. Izuku felt his arousal twitch once through the fabric. "Have you never met an incubus before?"

"...Ah."

"Yeah."

"You said you were a Prince."

"Prince of Corrupted Virtue."

"Is that what they're calling it this age?"

"Fuck if I know," The Prince's voice lowered into a growl as he pounced. Again, Izuku was one his back, hands and legs pinned to the ground as the incubus nuzzled its nose to the junction where his jaw met his neck.

"You smell good Witcher. Of magic and strength, pine, firewood and all those-Mmm," He fidgeted as a breathy moan got caught in the air. "All those other manly things. You owe me a prize, don't you?"

"How about a pat on the back?" He asked sardonically. With each twitch he made, the other just tightened around him, hot hands locked on his raised biceps as an armor-less knee kept his legs apart. Kacchan pressed a gentle kiss on the lobe of his ear, then changed his mind, switching for a long, slow swipe of his rough tongue against the shell.

(He shivered reflexively, a heat beginning to spread in his loins.)

"Come now, Witcher," He said the title with a voice promising sin. "A demon's gotta eat."

"I don't suppose we could negotiate terms?" He tried squirming out from his grip, but the Prince only laughed, low and raspy, descending upon his neck to bite down on every bit of bared skin.

His hands ventured under the hem of his tunic, hot against the cool skin, ripping the fabric apart to leave his chest bare. Izuku made a keen sound of annoyance. The old forgotten sensation of self-consciousness tried making itself known, but he beat it back with a fierce refusal. He had scars. It came with the job. There were many. They were gnarly. They were hideous.

He had a lengthy kill record to match.

Kacchan was not afraid. He took his time with each one, pressing his lips to the scarred skin as he were a lover rather than a parasite. Izuku squirmed with each caress, grinding against a firm thigh in search of any friction.

"You're a fighter," he crooned. Izuku hissed when teeth grazed his nipple. Kacchan licked a long stripe up the area in apology, flicking the tip back and forth till the nub was a pert peak of pink. "Why do they call you the Devil's Wicked Right Hand?"

The question was meant to distract him from the fingers inching toward his belt. Did he have anything under there that could help him? He sold his dagger months ago. His potions stock was low but there were some salves.

Nothing magic. Nothing useful.

He bit back a curse when the fingers met their target, one hand ripping the belt away while the other palmed at him through the rough cloth.

"Answer me," Kacchan demanded. Izuku groaned when his slick tongue dipped into his navel, pressing kisses down the curly trail of green leading past his trousers.

"They say I do his work for him," He gave a stuttered gasp as the Prince squeezed. "I've sent both man and monster to fill his domain. More than he could ever ask for."

"She's got more space down there than you think."

"Your mother I-ah-I'm guessing?"

Kacchan rose. A thin string of spit connected his rosy lips to Izuku's abs, snapping in sync with red eyes gone to look him in the face.

"Do you always talk about your partner's mothers before you fuck? I know your kind are socially inept, but really?"

"Let's get this over with then. Eat your fill and let me go."

The Prince smirked, yanking at the loose band of his trousers till his cock sprang free, already at thick with his arousal, tight against his stomach. He watched as Kacchan fondled it in his rough palm, shame and anticipation at war in the back of his mind. He bit down on a gasp when the demon finally descended upon his cock like a man starved. His warm, slick mouth wrapped around the length, cheeks hollowing out to deliver a firm pressure as his tongue swept at the bead of pre-cum, slow and careful on the slit.

Izuku watched, breath heavy with lust, as the tufts of flaxen blonde bounced with each suck, straining against his stone cuffs to be able to reach out and tug at it, to retain some sense of dignity and control.

But he had no intention of letting him free. As if sensing his efforts, he laughed, a deep vibration in his throat that made the witcher try and lock his legs with a pained grunt, beating back a tidal wave of pleasure with sheer spite alone.

"You're going to have to come eventually Witcher." Kacchan huffed as he let his prick loose, a pop sounding out when the tip left his lips. "Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be."

Tin and canisters of salves had rolled out from his pockets when his trousers were tugged. The demon selected one at random, removing the cork with a careful sniff, then emptied some the contents on his palm, rubbing the oil between his fingers then turning to look at his prey with mischievous eyes.

Izuku took one whiff and was overrun with the scent of mint. He recoiled as much as he could, knowing the other's intention before he could even act.

"That's for muscle pain."

The Prince's smirk was wicked. Wild.

"Then it's perfect."

"Not that kind of muscle pain. It's a salve from the Isles of Chiyo. It's meant to-,"

A low scoff was the only warning before a discarded shred of his tunic was stuffed into his mouth, the salt of sweat heavy on his tongue.

"You talk too much."

The demon stood. Casting his cape to the side, he took off his boots, then his own trousers, standing bare and golden in the wake of the fire. Izuku tried not to stare at the taut muscle, the shadows cast by the dim glow, and the arrogant grin on the man's face as he returned to his place above him.

(He failed. Miserably.)

"Stay still Witcher. This won't hurt." Izuku glanced at the salve again, wincing at the sharp scent of fresh mint. "I hope."

Izuku knocked his knees as soon as the man approached, eying the slick between his fingers with wary eyes. Kacchan tried to pry his thighs open, but Izuku was stalwart, shaking his head like a virgin bride on her wedding night.

The demon huffed.

"You have to consent. It'll taste bitter if you don't come willingly."

'You're the worst seductress I've ever met,' Izuku said through the cloth. 'I've met common prostitutes that're better.'

The demon's gaze flickered from his prick, still standing at full attention, to the sheen between his fingers. A blush filled his face, redness darkening the sharp planes of his cheeks.

"Would it be easier if I..?" He glanced away, stubbornly glaring to the ceiling.

And wasn't that a tale to be told? A shy incubus? Where was the bard when you needed him? Izuku almost pitied the little Prince. Almost. He gave a grunt, shifting back and forth. His knees relaxed slightly in the process and red eyes locked on the movement.

The demon must have taken this for a 'yes'. Leaning on his haunches, he gave Izuku a full view as he prepped himself, two fingers scissoring back and forth, in and out with sinful, slick squelches and low, halted groans filling the space between the crackling of the fire. \The heat pooling in his stomach began to simmer. He wanted to touch- to be touched- but his hands remained atop his head, He was painfully unable to do anything but watch as the demon rocked onto his own fingers, the other hand wrapped around his cock, pumping steadily till it was a pretty, flushed rouge.

When he decided he was ready, he crawled forward, pulling himself atop Izuku till he was lined up properly.

When he finally sank down, he could only hold onto his hands, biting down on his teeth to distract himself when the simmer in his gut turned into a raging boil.

The Prince was a tease. There was nothing shy about the way he lifted himself till the tip was barely brushing the tight ring of muscle, then rocking down to the hilt, one hand braced against Izuku's chest and chest fondling his balls-coaxing him to come with a masseuse's touch and sultry whispers. But he refused to be the first. He met every buck with one of his own, eyes never straying from that of his partner. Every twitch and spasm had the demon tightening around his length.

"Be a good boy, Izuku." Even his name came out in a hiss, arousal evident in every vowel, so thick he could practically taste it in the air.

Red eyes flinched a little when Kacchan's hand reached to touch himself, shutting completely as he alternated between spat compliments and insults.

"You're taking too long. Do all Witchers have this kind of restraint?"

"God you're so thick and-Ah! Oh, oh fuck."

"How many people have seen you like this? At their mercy? Lain out beneath them like a common whore?"

Izuku spat the cloth from his mouth, fire in his lungs and tears in his eyes.

"Faster," He demanded in a low groan. The demon smirked, slowing his pace to something torturous. He snapped his hips up, silently making his plea known, but the demon only pressed down against his chest, peppering kisses up his clavicle as his cock slid against his navel. The smell of mint was ever-present, but not as strong as that of fire. Ash and soot clung to the air as the crackling of the flames became a roar. The wood split in deafening claps, flames climbing higher as the demon's breaths quickened.

He gave up on the slow rolls, bouncing up and down on Izuku's cock desperately, cleaning around him as keening into his jaw with a low whine till finally, the incubus found his release. And with it, he lost control of his powers. Izuku's wrists and ankles sprang free. He sat up just as the flames hit the ceiling, licking at the stalagmites as his hands went to grasp the demon's hips, holding him down as he fucked into his tight, wet hole, chasing after the tide that was once so keen to swallow him whole.

Soft fingers ran through the hair at the nape of his neck. A quiet, murmur was in his ear, begging him to "go, go, go" till he came with a shudder that racked through his spine. He blinked back red and green stars. Collapsing on the warm, lithe body beneath him, he took a moment to steady his breathing, enjoying the post-coital bliss.

He cleaned them off with the remains of his tunic then cast the scrap into the fire pit to sit with the soot. The smell of mint and ash was strong. The salve was particularly potent. He couldn't feel any part of his groin, numbness spread to even parts of his backside which was concerning, but not as much the one lying next to him. The fire had snuffed out, plunging them into a darkness so deep, even his vision was blurred. A voice spoke into it, raspy from use, gentle with its curiosity.

"...What is your name Witcher? Your true name?"

He was at ease, but he was no fool.

"They called me Deku as a child. Some in Kaer Morhen came from a place where such a name meant 'uselessness'. Weakness. They taunted me for it, so I cast it away."

He turned to the side, where he knew ruby eyes shone upon him.

"And you, Kacchan? Any childhood nicknames you didn't favor."

"They wouldn't dare," He said, puffing out his chest. "I would've ripped out their tongues if they had tried. Disrespecting me is disrespecting the devil herself."

Izuku made a sound of disbelief. Crimson eyes narrowed. "You doubt me?"

"I just...I'm sure there was something. Everyone has a nickname."

"Except for me."

The tunic that was tossed burst into flame, small and timid but still hot enough to destroy the fibers. He was getting somewhere.

"And we can't forget that you're royalty. They had to have called you something when you turned your back. Sparky?"

"No."

"Smoky?"

"They called me Prince Katsuki or nothing at all." The demon snarled.

Then he froze.

Izuku smirked.

"Katsuki," he tried. The name was fire on his tongue. Every syllable screamed of power "Prince Katsuki."

"Don't do this Witcher."

Izuku saw him moving before he even thought of it. He stopped the blackened claws from plunging through his heart at the last second, strong grip on the wrist. He looked straight into crimson eyes as the pupil swallowed the irises whole, engulfing the red in black with the force of his rage. The tension in the air was strong enough to become a physical weight bearing down on his shoulders. His grin never faltered.

"Katsuki," he said sweetly. "I forbid you from harming any member of my party."

Those eyes narrowed into slits. The fire roared once more to life, lighting the cave into a brilliant scarlet.

"How dare you command me-?"

"Katsuki, I forbid you from harming farmer, common man, shepherd, and from stealing any of their property."

"You're making the worst mistake of your life! My mother will find you and rip you limb from limb-."

"Katsuki, I order you to hand me my sword."

The demon stiffened. Gritting his teeth the entire while, he rose as if he were a marionette pulled by invisible strings. His movements were blocky as he made his way through the dark to the discarded blade. One for All glinted in the light, a startling green sheen to the metal as Katsuki laid it flat against his palm, kneeling before him like a knight did his king.

Izuku accepted the offering with grace, not bothering to resist the urge to ruffle soft blonde tufts after the blade was safe in the scabbard.

"That wasn't so hard was it?"

"DAMN YOU WITCHER!"

"What is going on here?"

The bard and the dragon stood at the edge of the shadows, eyes wide as they took in Izuku's state of undress. Shameless, he took his time in collecting what was left of his clothes, watching the demon screaming insults and threats all the while. The demon never moved to harm him, but a good Witcher was always careful.

"Nothing," he answered the question terribly late, so much so that Denki jumped when he answered. "We'll be taking our leave now. The problem's solved."

He saw the way the bard and the dragon looked at each other, then held back a groan.

"-WILL SLAUGHTER YOU AND EACH OF YOUR BASTARD CHILDREN YOU GREEN SOD-!"

"Where's Ochako?" he asked wearily. At the sound of her name, the wolf gave a short howl from the direction of the cave's entrance.

As long as she was safe, he could go. If the bard wanted to stay, marry a dragon, and live forever as a prissy hoarder in bliss, he couldn't care less. The demon wouldn't pose a threat. The dragon wouldn't dare harm an elf. He could tell the townspeople the bard died gruesomely during his battle, and his absence would serve as the proof he needed for payment.

Everyone would leave this encounter happy.

"-FAIR-FACED FRECKLED FUCK! I'VE MET STABLEBOYS WHO WERE A BETTER ROMP THAN YOU! YOU SMILING SIMPLE LIMP-DICKED-!"

Everyone that mattered would leave this encounter happy. Without even a backwards wave, he left the trio behind. Ochako fell into his pace with ease, and together they went down the path into the night, bare-chested with his trusted blade at his side. Screamed curses rang out into the dark, carried by the smooth glide of the wind. Izuku smiled, small but true.

The sounds were greater than any song the bard could write.

The pouch of coins slammed against the counter, a few gold coins spilling out onto the wood. The attendant behind the wood stared at him with blank violet eyes, hair of a similar shade a messy mop atop his head. A pipe hung from his lips, steady stream of smoke billowing through the air.

"A horse," Izuku said with a tired smile. The man stared back with dead eyes. "Please."

Groaning, the attendant set his pipe aside. Ten minutes later, Izuku walked away from the stables with a mare of his own choosing. It was an easy day in a new town. The whispers followed him as they always did, curious eyes following him as he walked his horse through the town.

Only one was brave enough to break through them all. A little girl with hair of silver and eyes a familiar scarlet.

"Witcher," She began with the familiar tones of a plea, pale hands clutching at the edge of her frumpy gown as tears swan in her gaze. "My-My cat! It's been taken by a d-d-dragon! Please help me get it back before it's too late!"

Izuku took one long look to the mountain range. As if sensing a possible repeat scenario, his prick began to burn uncomfortably. His hesitation must've shown on his face because she dropped to her knees, hands clasped in a plea.

"P-Please! I would've gone myself, but his laugh was so scary I couldn't move!"

Ah, then there was no doubt. Swinging onto his horse, he offered the girl a small comforting acceptance, then set off to the mountains, Ochako running at his side.

At least, this time, he had a salve more...suitable for salacious cause.

#KatsuDeku #bkdk au #bkdk fic #bkdk fanfic #bkdk fantasy au #bkdk smut

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