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yandere-daydreams · 8 months

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Title: Dragon On The Tower Roof.

Pairing: Yandere!Malleus x Reader (TWST).

Word Count: 4.2k.

TW: Fantasy AU, Mentions of Blood/Bruising, Mentions of Injury to Reader, Implied (Consensual) Sex, Possessive Behavior, and Manipulation.

Malleus met you at the base of his tower.

With a single movement of his wings, he descended from his perch and landed in front of you – placing himself between you and the stone behemoth. Had you been a more imposing figure, a knight or a prince or the general of some distant army, he would’ve cut you down the moment you entered his valley, but your only armor was a thin rucksack tunic and your only weapon was a rusted sword – the tip of its chipped blade currently planted in the ground as you struggled to keep yourself on your feet. He could smell blood on you, although he couldn’t be sure if its source was the jagged, poorly bandaged wound on your calf or the dark stains painting your humble clothes. You were clearly not a knight, much less a prince, and if you were a general, your army had abandoned you long ago. Altogether, you were not the most intimidating nuisance he had ever had to dismiss. He might’ve been grateful, had you not been a nuisance at all.

In the past, his visage alone had been enough to make even the bravest adventure abandon their quest, but your weary eyes only glazed over his black-scaled wings, his spiraling horns, the slit pupils of his unnaturally green eyes. You acknowledged him with a slight nod, putting more of your weight on your makeshift aid. “I believe I’m here to slay you, dragon.”

His greeting, likewise, came in the form of a bowed head, a narrowed gaze. “And to rescue the prince, I assume.”

You shrugged, the gesture alone threatening to cost you your balance. “I’m sure they’d prefer if I didn’t. I think they’ve got someone else for that – a lord, or maybe a king. Someone more befitting than a filthy criminal, surely.”

At that, Malleus felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his lips. Novelty was rare, this far into his everlasting life, and he could not say he’d ever had a prisoner sent after his head. “What sort of crime gets you sent to the lair of a monster?”

You brightened at the question. “Thievery,” you answered, pride overshadowing your exhaustion. “I could either face you or let them cut off my hands and, well, I find those to be quite essential to my burgeoning career.”

This time, you earned an airy laugh, a reflexive flick of his tail. He took another moment to evaluate you before speaking. “You are tired, thief.”

It wasn’t a question, but you answered regardless. “It was a long journey. You aren’t an easy monster to reach.”

“And injured, presumably by the fangs of some great beast of legend.”

“Right again.” You paused, then added, “If there are any legends about wolves, I mean.”

“And hungry.” Your smile fell. When you failed to respond, he went on. “May I invite you to share a meal with me before our battle?”

He watched as you swallowed, as you straightened. Your sword was pulled from the ground and allowed to hang limply at your side as you stared up at him with such a hopeful expression – his heart, had it not been so terribly calloused, might’ve broken at the sight alone. “Well,” you started, your humor gone in exchange for pure, unabashed desperation. “I suppose I can’t refuse such a kindly offered invitation.”

With no further conversation, he stepped to the side, raising his staff to the tower. After only a moment, the endless cobblestone pulled away to reveal a simple, wooded door – already open and awaiting his entry. Smiling, he motioned for you to follow him, and without protest, you obeyed.

You ate, to put it politely, like a starving animal.

There’d been an attempt at decency when you first sat down at the opposing head of his banquet table, a gallant effort to make use of the flatware arranged into neat, never-ending lines on either side of your plate, but what little energy you had for such pleasantries was depleted quickly as your attention was dedicated entirely to the whims of your empty stomach. Countless other dishes decorated the table – ranging from fine delicacies fit for the pallets of kings to common staples even the lowest of peasantry would’ve been familiar with, but Malleus was content to nurse a goblet of dark, herbed wine as he watched you bask in the feast.

Only after you’d gotten your fill did you seem to remember that you had company, your expression taking on a sheepish note. “This is what they brought me to trial for. Trespassing, I mean,” you began, and Malleus hummed in acknowledgement. “It was a baron’s manor – not quite a castle, but close to it. I heard he had the most beautiful gardens on this continent, and at the time, it seemed unreasonable to have to wait for an invitation just to take a look.”

“I thought you were a thief?”

“You must have the wrong person. I’ve been many things, but never a thief.” You leaned back in your chair. “I’m afraid I’ve always been too tender-hearted for that kind of thing. I could never stand to insult my hosts.”

“Such a considerate guest I have,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “I suppose I won’t have to worry about being robbed blind if I let you stay the night, then.”

You shook your head, feigning ego. “I would never, dear dragon. Your reclusive prince, on the other hand—”

Whatever you might’ve gone on to say was swiftly replaced with a sudden gasp as every torch within sight burst into a pillar of vicious emerald flame, casting the dining room in a blinding, sickly green before dying out just as abruptly as it’d erupted. Malleus let out an exasperated breath, bringing a hand to his temples. “My apologies. My patience has grown—” He cast a wayward glance toward the ash now seared into the stone walls, the ceiling. “—thin, over my time here.”

You allowed a beat to pass by in silence, then another. “Your prince,” you said, finally. “Is he important to you?”

“I can think of nothing I value more.” The answer came easily, even if the intensity of his sentiment surprised him. “An old friend asked me to ensure his safety. I’ve performed my role dutifully ever since.” The taste of blood rose into the back of his throat, but he drowned it out with another long sip from his goblet. “They used to send entire armies to reclaim him, then lone knights, then the occasional adventurer. You might be the first human to come seeking my head in two or three decades.”

Your smile took on a shy lilt, your eyes drifting to the table. “I wasn’t really supposed to come after you, either. Most people just take it as an exile, but they gave me a sword, and…” It was your turn to laugh, now, to be surprised with yourself. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I thought, even if I don’t get to rescue any princes, it could be nice to see how much of the fairy tale is true.”

“And you’re satisfied with what you’ve found?”

“Not entirely,” you admitted. “But I’m glad I met you, dear dragon.”

After some hesitation, he pushed himself to his feet and closed the distance between you. You stiffened, your gaze flitting blatantly toward the sole exit, but you didn’t attempt to flee as he pulled the closest seat in front of you and fell into it. “May I see your leg?”

You were far more than reluctant, but complied. The material of your travel weary trousers was pulled above your knee, the strips of fabric you’d attempted to fashion into bandages cut away with his own pitch-black talons. The wound was worse than he’d assumed, more severe than he assumed. Ragged skin stretched from your knee to your ankle, harsh puncture marks littering what little flesh was still in-tact. The stress of your journey had prevented the brunt of the damage from healing, and even without the use of his advanced senses, he would’ve been able to feel the heat radiating off of your skin, the first signs of infection beginning to set in. You were lucky you’d made it to his tower before the fever spread. His territory was cruel to the most resilient of creatures, and you seemed far from resilient.

“I have a salve in my collection that should aid in your recovery. That, paired with a few days of bed rest, should have you on your feet again in a week’s time.” Not a lie, but not far from one, either. He’d mended worse with a snap of his fingers, but there was no reason you should have to be burdened with such knowledge. “If you can find it within yourself to share a roof with a monster and delay our duel yet again, I can provide room and board while you recover.”

Your laugh was bright and strained. “You’re terribly kind to someone who came here to take your life.”

“And you’re very trusting of a creature who could easily end yours.” He let his pointed claws scrape over your bare skin, prolonging his evaluation. “Think of it as a show of my gratitude. My time here is well-spent, but tends to pass slowly. Visitors, whether benevolent or malicious, help to color my days.”

“Then I will have to be the most colorful visitor you’ve ever had,” you chimed, your grin renewed with fresh vigor. Clearly, you were not the type of mortal who could go long without a task. “I’ll make you wait on me hand and foot and bend to my every whim, until the thought of encountering another human being makes you sick. When I’m done, there might even be a dragon in this tower worth slaying.”

His only response was a steady nod, a low hum. He stood and, in the same motion, hooked one arm under the bend of your knees and another around your waist, lifting you into the air before you had the chance to so much as think to pull away. Instinctually, you attempted to re-balance yourself against him, and Malleus couldn’t help himself – laughing as he pulled you to his chest. “If I am to dote on you to the point of sickness, then let me start now. You’re in no state to walk on your own.”

You opened your mouth as if to complain, but anything you might’ve said was deemed too unimportant to warrant the effort. Your smile softened, your eyes falling shut as you rested your head against his shoulder. You lingered there, quiet and content, as he carried you through the halls of what would come to be your home.

Your prescribed period of bed rest came and went. Your bruises healed, then your leg (although you still tended to limp during particularly heavy rainstorms), and your exhaustion was replaced by a buzzing sort of restlessness. He never asked you to leave, and after some time, you seemed to stop expecting him to. You spoke rarely of your past (aside from the ever-changing series of events that led you to his tower, of course) and never of your future. When Malleus was in one of his more indulgent moods, he allowed himself to believe that, when he did catch you looking in his direction with such a glimmering worry in your eyes, you weren’t afraid of him, but of the possibility that he might send you away.

Despite your claims of spoiled houseguests and encumbered hosts, he was only driven to near-madness once while sharing your company. It’d been shortly after you instated yourself as a resident of his tower, rather than a fleeting visitor, and took to exploring your new dwelling without reservation. It’d been his own fault, really. He’d forgotten to warn you away from the upper wing, to resketch the protective runes he’d long-since allowed to fade, but such rationality had escaped him as he stood in the doorway, his mind empty and his eyes trained on your kneeling figure. He watched, paralyzed, as you raised a hand, reaching towards the marble slab, and then he was behind you – the points of his talons grazing the skin of your throat before he managed to restrain himself, curling his fist around the collar of your shirt, instead. Without warning, he hauled you off your feet, ignoring the half-choked shriek you let out in response.

His eyes fell to Silver, searching for any signs of harm, of disruption. Of course, Silver was unchanged. His colorless hair remained fanned over his velvet-cushioned pillow, the silk sheets and hand-stitched quilts still folded neatly at the foot of his bed – waiting to be put to use when the weather turned in autumn. Malleus took a moment to observe the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the gentle movement behind his closed eyes, before letting out a breath of relief and turning to you. “I don’t recall giving you permission to enter this chamber.”

“Sorry, I— I was just looking around, and I saw the flowers on the door—” Silver’s own craftsmanship, preserved from the ravages of time by Malleus’ spell work. He’d painted them as soon as he was old enough to hold a brush, along with matching murals on his bedroom walls that hadn’t survived the passing ages. “—I got curious, that’s all. Is this the prince I was sent after?”

Malleus set his jaw, straightening his hunched posture. “…it is,” he answered, eventually. He let go of your collar and let you stumble onto your feet. “His name is Silver. I never knew him by any titles.”

Malleus’ gaze shifted to you, but your eyes remained fixed on Silver. “He’s beautiful.”

Despite himself, he felt the edge of his lips turn downward. He rested a hand on your shoulder, and you seemed to recover from your daze, turning to face him with a hopeful smile. “Do you know when he’s going to wake up?”

Malleus felt a coil of heat form in the back of the throat. The taste of ash laid heavy over his tongue, but he swallowed back his guilt and forced himself to respond. “In another hundred years, perhaps,” he mused, his tone melodic and detached. “There’s no known cure for a curse like his.”

A phantom of disappointment flickered across your expression, but it was suppressed quickly. Rather, you turned your attention outward – to the heavy, woven curtains draped over each crystalline window. “Will you help me let in some light? I hate to insult your taste, but it’s terribly depressing in here, and—” You brightened, taking him by the sleeve and tugging gingerly. “We don’t want his highness to have any nightmares, do we?”

With some reluctance, Malleus nodded. “Light, but nothing else.” When you failed to acknowledge him, he caught you by the wrist, squeezing with just enough pressure for your smile to falter. “Light, but nothing else. Do you understand?”

Your eyes darted back to Silver, but only for a moment. He was thankful for that – for your restraint. A second longer, and his true nature might’ve overshadowed his better judgement. “Of course, dear dragon. Nothing else.”

He inhaled sharply, then let go of you altogether.

It was a choice that, in the approaching months, he would only come to regret.

“This is what they banished me for, you know.”

“This?”

“Yes, this exactly.” You propped your chin on his chest, positioning yourself to more easily card your fingers through his hair. He let his eyes fall shut, basking in the warmth of your affection, of your bare skin pressed into his. Your clothes laid discarded on the grass around you, one of his wings bent and raised to shield you from the harsh light of the setting sun. He would have to get you back to the tower, soon. He’d always been indifferent to the deadly chill of night, but you – in your precious, delicate mortality – were not so durable. “Actually, not quite – I don’t think I ever made it to this part. It was the first time I’d ever attended a royal ball, and I happened to dance with a young lady so breath-taking, I couldn’t help but drop to one knee and dedicate my heart to her the moment our hands touched.” You sighed, feigning remorse. “Little did I know that she was the princess that ball was being thrown for, and so moved by my passion, she refused to let me out of her embrace until I agreed to marry her. Of course, her father – the king, as the fathers of princesses tend to be – couldn’t have that. It’s a shame, really. We would’ve made a gorgeous couple.”

Malleus pursed his lips, fighting back a smile. “And what does that make me? The next scorned lover of a silver-tongued rouge?”

“Oh, no. If you asked me to marry you,” You propped yourself up, pressing a kiss into the curve of his jaw. “There’d be nothing in the world that could stop me, dear dragon.”

Your hand fell to his cheek, and wistfully, you lulled him into a kiss – shallow but lingering, punctuated with a playful nip at his bottom lip. You pulled back with a smile, another quick peck to his cheek. You moved to say something, but he interrupted you, as mournful as he was to cut off such a precious moment so callously. “I found your wildflowers.”

Immediately, your expression fell. “I made sure not to—”

“I know, beloved, I know.” You knew better than to lay a hand on Silver. Your small bouquet had been left on the corner of his bed, another additional chain of asters and lavender braided into one of the longer strands of his waist-length hair. As much as he wished he could say he was only concerned for Silver’s well-being, it wouldn’t have been the truth. Something else, something darker, had accompanied the discovery – something it would be better for you to stay ignorant of. “We’ve talked about this. Silver is vulnerable, in his current condition. Even the simplest luxury is an unspeakable risk.”

Your shoulders dropped, your body going slack against his. You bowed your head, burying your face in the dip of his shoulder, and despite his frustration with you, he didn’t push you away. “I’m sorry. It just feels so cruel to let him suffer alone.”

“He’s never been alone.” His tone was more curt than he’d meant it to be. “He’s always had me.”

“I know, but—” He expected you to raise your hair, to flash him that brilliant grin. Instead, you only settled against him, speaking softly into the crook of his neck. “He just seems so sad.”

Malleus took a deep breath, clenching his eyes shut.

Then, before he could let himself think better of it, he wrapped an arm around your waist. In one fluid motion, he turned you over – leaving you on your back, one of his knees planted on either side of your waist, your form tucked safely underneath his. His kiss was less gentle than your own – that deep, aching sort of hunger overwhelming his cautiousness as his tongue raked over yours, as he groaned unabashedly into your mouth. You returned his affection emphatically; your fingers soon knotted in his hair, your eager touch preventing so much as the thought of distance between your body and his. Because there never would be distance between you and him. Because there was no reason you should ever have to be taken away from him.

Hours later, when the last traces of light had faded and the stars were painted in swirling patterns across the sky, he would carry you back to his tower – unconscious and pliable in his arms. That would be the first night you spent in his bed, and as he laid there with you, he couldn’t help but imagine how wonderful it would be if you never left.

The runes carved into Silver’s door were redrawn, Malleus’ enchantments refreshed, and your bittersweet sympathy slowly rotted into a distinctly bland melancholy. You didn’t speak of him (Malleus could only wonder how you ever managed to speak of anyone when so many of his marks so often decorated your skin), but he noticed new scratches around the well-rusted lock on Silver’s door, caught you braiding chains of daisies and crowns of marigolds with no intended recipient in mind, and at night, you tended to slip out of his hold and wander. Sometimes, he waited for you, lying awake as you hunted for whatever solace there was to find in the empty halls of an ancient tower. Most nights, tonight, he chased after you.

He found you in a window near the tower’s highest room, laid across the wooden sill, your back propped against the empty frame. He didn’t ask to join you – wordlessly lowering himself to the floor at your feet. As if by reflex, your hand fell to his horns, your thumb tracing over a particular ridge near the base as you broke the quiet. “Have ever told you why I’m here, dear dragon?”

Countless times, but he still played along. “Who has my heart been stolen by today, beloved?”

“A murderer,” you said, hollowly. “And not a particularly clever one, at that.”

He waited for you to go on, to spin some elaborate tale of love and loss and betrayal and poor humor, but you only lapsed back into silence, your gaze turning back to the pitch-black valley. He watched your vacant expression for a moment, then another before letting his eyes fall shut and resting his cheek against your thigh.

Malleus had expected there to be more anger than this.

You were in a similar position to one you’d taken the first time you stumbled into Silver’s chambers – kneeling beside his marble bed, your ever-weary eyes fixed on the unknowing object of your adoration. The only difference was that, today, Silver’s hand was raised to your lips, now slightly parted in shock. He didn’t have to guess at the source of your astonishment. In front of you, Silver was sitting up. His posture was unsteady, his eyes barely open, but the obvious was undeniable.

He was awake.

To think, there was something of merit to Lilia’s stories of true love after all.

Rather than anger, rage, pure and undiluted fury, an odd sort of calm settled over his blank mind as you snapped in his direction. Your astonishment turned to horror in an instant. “Malleus, I didn’t— I was only trying to—”

He put you out of your mercy quickly. He raised his staff and, propelled by some unseen force, you were torn away from Silver’s bedside and thrown against the nearest walls – the force of the collision far from fatal, but enough to leave you limp and unconscious. With your safety ensured, he stepped forward, approaching Silver. He was awake, but only just. So many decades of uninterrupted sleep would not be so willing to release him from their taloned clutches without a struggle, and there was a certain dream-like lull to the way his eyes skirted over the limited scenery before settling on Malleus, his features immediately softening in relief. “Malleus?”

“I’m here.” Malleus allowed himself a small smile before bringing the end of his staff to Silver’s forehead. “You can rest, brother.”

There was just enough time for the edges of Silver’s lips to turn downward before he collapsed back onto the marble slab. Malleus would arrange him later on. For now, his attention turned to you.

He gathered your crumpled form in his arms and carried you through the halls of his lonely tower, before stepping into the clear air and fresh heat of the valley. He laid you in the tall grass and, after taking a moment to appreciate your peaceful expression, brought a hand to your face, cupping your cheek tenderly. The spell came to him instinctually, but he took his time, mourning the loss of your time together with each mumbled word. That was a silver-lining of immortality, though. Infinite time allowed for infinite repetition, and he couldn’t imagine giving up the opportunity to fall in love with you again.

When he was done, your eyes fluttered open, a smile quickly finding its way to your lips. “Hello, dragon.” You gazed darted to either side nervously, your mind struggling to catch up with your clever tongue. “I would love to introduce myself, but it’s the funniest thing – I can’t seem to remember what I’m doing here.”

He bit back a smile. You tried to force yourself into a more dignified position, but barely managed to get an arm underneath you before pausing, wincing, reaching for the back of your head and coming away with blood smeared across your fingertips. Malleus did what he could to hide his delight.

“You’re a thief. You injured yourself attempting to scale my tower. It was an impressive effort, but tragically unnecessary.”

This time, he couldn’t hide the wide, simpering grin that came to rest across his lips.

“I was always going to invite you inside.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #yandere twisted wonderland #twst x reader #yandere twst #twst imagines #malleus x reader #yandere malleus #yanderecore #yancore

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tubbytarchia · 7 months

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@mcyt-yuri-week day 2 Royalty/Knight, for which I had a very basic idea and then spiralled fully into AU territory without meaning to... Gem is a dragon huntress and it turns out the princess is a secret dragon shifter haha oops!! More thoughts under cut

Gem is a knight who serves the kingdom via hunting dragons to make ends meet, accompanied by a "hound" dragon, raised from birth to hunt other dragons and obey humans - The kingdom's "gift" to her to aid her. (Because how the hell is some basic solitary knight gonna hunt dragons without any help)

One day she spots, ambushes and follows this moth-like dragon that she's only heard of in rumors before

(the little butterfly tail is to distract or lure teehee)

In an attempt to escape the dragon weasels itself into a small cave but Gem's dragon quickly sniffs it out, only for her to come face to face with the princess. Naturally she's like "oh shit you're the princess this is awkward" (also no dragon shifters have been known to exist) and ofc she's not going to kill her then. Not only is there the moral dilemma of killing an innocent human but she also hasn't much to gain from it. Instead she just needs to figure out a way to get Pearl back to the kingdom and try to treat her injuries as well as think up an excuse for why Pearl would be in such a sorry state. She assures Pearl that she won't rat her out even though Pearl is convinced she will because it's valuable intel. Gem could probably swindle a lot of money out of this. But Gem's way too panicked regardless because her life is as good as over if anyone finds out that she harmed the princess

Gem is kinda brash and grits pleasantries through her teeth whenever she's talking to royalty so being stuck with the princess is hell (and somehow almost as concerning to her as the fact that she just discovered a dragon shifter) meanwhile Pearl is trying to get her to drop said pleasantries and appeal to her in an effort to stop Gem from revealing her to anyone (even though Gem wasn't going to regardless but Pearl's equally as panicked as Gem)

Also the hound awoo (I didnt mean for it to have almost the same bodytype as Pearl dragon oops)

And I guess idk!! Im a sucker for any monster shapeshifter forbidden romance plot etc man. That shit makes me weak. So this can just transpire into some little adventure/discovery story. Pearl struggles to accept that Gem doesn't want to rat her out and in trying to appeal to her, she quickly becomes genuine when they hit it off and Pearl finds newfound yearning to leave her princess life behind now that someone knows about her secret. Gem is actually working for the kingdom because something is being held against her, but she leaves duty and goes awol (and becomes wanted oops) to venture out with Pearl to help her find what she's looking for because Gem feels eternally guilty given their first confrontation. Pearl's wings also need to heal for awhile so that's further reason for Gem to aid her. Maybe she also likes Pearl a bit. Just maybe. Idk could be anyone's guess.... Would be crazy if she did

#Gem isnt wearing a helmet because I dont know how to draw a cool looking helmet and still retain Gem's recognizability haha dont look at me #gempearl #pearlgem #shiny duo #shinyduo #mcytyuriweekvalentines #trafficshipping #hermitshipping #Im so weak IM SO WEAK for this type of story #save me gempearl save me #tw blood #cw blood #blood #sorry forgot about these hhh #tubby art

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linuxealcipher · 1 year

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I can't believe I haven't been drawing more dragons for smaugust.

Anyways have this art I did for silly times.

The orange dragon isnt my oc, it's based on @moemoemammon obey me Mc. The dragon design is my silly creation. For both of them.

#goblin bastard art #they are all dragons #obey me!#obey me mammon #om! mammon #obey me shall we date #obey me otome #dragon mammon #Obey me Dragon Au #obey me mc #i miss drawing them #im thinking of opening like #dragon commissions like this #I think it would be good practice #anyways

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acronym49 · 1 year

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How would sheep MC react to dragon brothers.

Just found your page and I'm already loving it

thank you! This is actually perfect timing since I just finished working on a drawing of one of the dragon brothers lmao.

Anyways!

It depends on which type of mc, but I think they'd immediately be into it. Dragons are badass, after all! Might be a bit intimidated, though, because the brothers are so much bigger than them (and more weaponized), especially Diavolo. You can bet that the moment sheep mc "moves in," they'll be annoying everyone with so many questions about dragons and dragon culture despite any potential fear. Once they get the pact with Mammon, they'll be a bit more confident and act like the annoying little charmer the brothers all know. I don't necessarily think the reaction would be too different aside from the initial "hot dang they're sexy dragons who could kill me", and since they're all quadrapedal (or can shift into a quadrapedal form, haven't figured out which would be best), the jarring shift would be a little easier. I don't think mc would be able to ride them too easily, given that hooves have no traction and minimal flexibility, but they could very easily be held within claws! (Personally, my version of mc would ABSOLUTELY ask Solomon to turn them into a dragon, too)

(Also thanks for the ask! I love being able to talk about my au's and how they work and whatnot. It's fun!)

#Obey me #Obey me hc #Obey me au #obey me dragons #Obey me mc #Obey me sheep mc #Sheep mc #obey me shall we date #omswd #My works

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journey-to-the-attic · 6 months

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3rd anni req 9: [DRAGON AU] lucifer / bonding

ao3 link

note: quick note/clarification just in case: ik has nicknamed lucifer and mammon "boss" and "goldie" respectively, so those are the dragons she's referring to in her narration!

∎ ∎ ∎ ∎ ∎

“I’m not having any part in this,” Lucifer had said. “This is to be your responsibility only,” He’d said.

He’s… not entirely sure how this happened in the first place. At some point over the last few weeks, he’s gone from disapproving overseer of Mammon’s inexplicable adoption of a human child, to that same child’s primary caretaker.

Mammon is usually in charge of finding her a spot to sleep, but it’s Lucifer who makes sure she eats at the same times as them, or escorts her to the stream every morning so she can wash her face. Occasionally, he brings her strangely-shaped rocks, or sticks and flowers from the forest, so that she has something to play with.

He’s not sure why he feels the need to intervene. He’ll blame Mammon’s incompetence - and the child’s rather unhappy habit of walking straight into mortal danger.

The latest in her series of mishaps involves fish, a river, and a very panicked Levi. Lucifer is - as usual - surveying the territory when his brother comes racing up the hill, and dumps the human in a soggy heap at his feet.

“What now?” He asks, mildly aggravated, then pauses. This isn’t the first time she’s taken a tumble, but this is the sorriest state he’s seen her in so far.

“It’s not moving!” wails Levi, bounding in distressed circles and getting water all over the rocks. “I think— I think I killed it, Lucifer!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” He replies, a little distracted by his running. “What hap— will you stop that?!”

Levi skids to a stop. His barbels twitch anxiously.

Lucifer ducks down and nudges the child with his snout. When she doesn’t respond, he puffs a cloud of smoke into her face, then tries again. This time, she makes a bubbly sound.

“Is it alive?” Levi asks anxiously.

“Stop calling her an it, Levi,” He grumbles, then straightens up. “She’s fine.”

“Oh. Okay.” Levi relaxes. He regards the little human for a moment - nose twitching - then flicks his tail and bounds off again.

Lucifer watches him go and heaves a silent sigh. He’s been seeing a new, fickle side to his younger brothers as of late. They can’t seem to decide whether or not they enjoy their new ward’s company.

Well, except Mammon. Perhaps this is the upside of being simple-minded - he doesn’t seem to care about everything that comes attached to the word ‘human’ for dragons like them.

Lucifer isn’t so naive, but it’s hard to look at this half-drowned little creature and think ‘dangerous’. It’s even harder to think ‘cruel’, ‘murderer’, or anything else in between. Still - best not get too attached.

“Up you get.” He attempts to nudge her to her feet. She just coughs pitifully and slumps back onto the ground. “We can find you a sunny spot to dry off in.”

The child - predictably, considering she can’t understand him - doesn’t move. She looks rather ill, actually.

Lucifer thinks for a while. The child blinks up at him with far-too-large eyes as he clicks, ignites the fire in his chest, then settles down beside her.

“Don’t get used to this,” He warns her, which is completely futile, and he knows it. “It’ll be a hassle if you get sick.”

The human doesn’t respond, of course, but manages to prop herself up enough to huddle closer to his side. He finds himself blowing idle smoke rings as he waits for the heat to dry her off.

“Be more careful next time,” He says after a while. “Leave the fishing to Levi.”

The child looks up at him cluelessly, then makes a series of chirpy noises. This is, in particular, is something new to him - he’s used to hearing human language from a distance, in gruff shouts from steel-clad giants, or shrill shrieks from beige-clothed merchants.

The way the child talks is almost musical, lilting from one register to another. The strangest part is that, sometimes, he feels like he might understand.

He supposes he’s a little glad that she doesn’t seem frightened by the growls of dragon-speak. He’s found himself unconsciously making adjustments, anyway - speaking softer, trying not to make the sounds too harsh, as if trying to imitate a human register.

He’s almost dozed off by the time he remembers why he lay down in the first place. He looks down. The child’s gone and fallen asleep, still curled against his side. For some reason, the sight makes him think of baby ducks.

Lucifer contemplates this for a while. Well, he supposes there’s no helping it. Humans must get their rest, especially small ones - otherwise they won’t grow properly.

Which means he might as well stay here. If he’s needed for something, surely it can wait.

Boss definitely seems like the most frightening dragon of the lot, but he’s actually pretty easy to get along with - as long as you follow the rules. If he starts rumbling, proceed with caution. If he’s blowing smoke rings, you could start hitting him and he won’t even care.

At least, that’s the impression I have. My fists are of inconsequential force to a dragon with near-impenetrable scales, though, so he might not have even noticed.

Living with dragons is a lot more ordinary than I thought. I had images in my head of them smashing mountains and eating boulders for fun, but mostly they just hang around and play - just like people do.

Apart from Boss. He seems to spend most of his free time standing silently on the mountain peak, staring out into the horizon. Sometimes he goes out hunting, and sometimes he goes for a fly around the forest, but mostly he just… watches.

He’s much more considerate than he looks at first glance. Less brutal killer, more affable-but-irritated caretaker. I knew all the dragon horror stories couldn’t possibly be true, but it’s nice to be vindicated.

I want to try returning the favour, but I’m not sure there’s anything I have - or can get - that a dragon would want. So I pay a little extra attention to what he gets up to the next day, and I note something useful.

Sometimes, while he’s land-watching, the wind whistles through the mountain ridges in just the right way to produce a little song. When that happens, he closes his eyes, and puffs out contented little smoke rings until he notices someone looking. So…

Goldie has a lot of shiny things in his cave. I don’t quite dare touch his main hoard, but he leaves a lot of the less precious-looking things unorganised by the walls - which means there might be something I can use there.

He’s clinking happily through his coin collection when I slip into his cave. He grunts in greeting, then goes back to organising them by colour.

“Hi, Goldie.” I stoop and squint at something small and bony-looking. “Do you think you have a flute or something around here?”

He tilts his head to the side. “Rhh?”

“It’s— ah, don’t worry. I’ll figure it out.” I set aside something that looks like a watch face. “...oh!”

A pan-flute - it’s a little dusty, but not damp at all. I try blowing an experimental little melody. I’m no maestro, but I still think it sounds lovely.

Goldie makes a chittering sound. His spines flatten back as I test just how high the pipes can go.

“Oh— sorry!” He makes a show of ducking down and covering his head with his wings. “Did I hurt your ears?”

He peeks a single blue eye out and trills. It’s funny - neither of us really know what the other’s saying, but we always seem to get the message across anyway.

The next day, as soon as I notice him flapping off to find a vantage point as usual, I scramble after him. I don’t know if I’m imagining it, but I feel like his spot today is a lot easier to navigate up to than usual - less vertical rock faces, less jagged edges.

I sit down on the ledge beside him. He’s radiating heat, as always - his crimson eyes flick down to me, and stay there.

“I’ve got something to show you,” I announce, then pull out the pan-flute. “Listen.”

His tail flicks cautiously. I bring the flute to my mouth - slowly, so as not to alarm him - and play him a little tune.

Just as he does when the mountains whistle, he closes his eyes and relaxes. The smoke rings come soon after that.

I play through all the tunes I can think of, then improvise a few new ones. Some time after I lapse into silence, Boss opens his eyes again.

Something about him seems to have shifted. A little nervously, I give his dark scales a pat. He snorts (there’s another puff of smoke), but doesn’t look irritated at all.

“Do dragons have names?” I ask him. He just looks at me.

I tilt my head to the side, as if listening to something, then point up at him. He stares for a little while longer, then makes a rough, crackling sound, and looks off into the distance again.

Then he looks at me. Then to the sky. It takes several more tries before I realise he’s trying to draw my attention to something.

“Sun?” I muse. “Is that your name?”

He doesn’t react. I try again. “Sunny?”

Nothing again. What else do you call the sun that’d make a good name for a dragon? “Hmm… Morning-star?”

Or something that means the same thing?

“Lu…cifer?” I try.

He blinks. Then his wings flick up, and he exhales - blowing what I can only assume is a pleased puff of smoke into my face.

I beam up at him. “Do you wanna hear another song?”

I don’t know how much of the question he understands, but his eyes light up when I pick up the pan-flute again. He settles down in that way that so reminds me of a cat, and lifts a wing to shield the bright morning sun from my face.

Lucifer likes music. That’s good to know.

#3rd anni event #dragon au #obey me lucifer #jtta ik #obey me mammon #jtta aus #writing

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 3 months

Text

snowflakes dancing on the wind

the wistful wyvern, chapter one

a/n: this series is the second instalment i my eflorr trilogy. if you haven't already read fused with the foe, then i'd highly recommend reading that first so that you know what's going on.

summary: three years where you’d sworn off love entirely, tried to interpret it as a good thing, a gift really. You could be more productive, more focused. But now that you were home again, hearing the molasses tone of his voice and seeing the beads of sweat slowly rolling down the landscape of his body, over the ink that crawled up his left arm, you knew three years wasn’t enough to mend your heart. The rest of your life probably wasn’t long enough either.

warnings: knight!bucky barnes x knight!reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, ex-friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers, former fuckboy!bucky, tattooed!bucky, slow burn, one-sided pinning, flashbacks, alcohol consumption, kissing, dragon attack, childbirth (with very ronja rövardotter timing), blood, weapons, violence, crying

word count: 4296

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TEN YEARS AGO, ON THE THIRTY-SEVENTH DAY OF WINTER 848 PR

A biting chill swirled through the echoing halls of Yoslor Penitentiary that noon when two gruff guards yanked you from your cell and dragged you to the far side wing of the prison.

Passing countless doors, at last, they arrived at one with someone already on patrol on the outside. As a rusty key twisted in the lock with a reverberating click, the guard, still barely letting your feet skim the dirty floor, practically shoved you inside the chamber.

As they threw you down into a cold chair and yanked at your chains to fasten them in a strong loop smelted into the stone floor by your feet, a voice suddenly caught your ears and caused your squinting eyes to flicker up.

“Easy, boys! No need to drag her by the scruff of her neck as if she were a cat and not an eighteen-year-old girl,” you noticed the man already seated on the opposite side of the table, “would you please uncuff her?” he requested with an outstretched hand, a command, to your surprise, the guards obeyed, “thank you,” he leaned back in his seat as the manacles fell from your sore wrists.

Rubbing the angry marks wrapped around your joints, a shiver ran through you as you saw the cloud of your exhale clear in the air.

When the guards had settled on either side of the exit behind you, the blonde stranger opposing you tilted his head and asked, “do you know who I am?”

“Should I know who you are?” your gaze lifted from your wrists and met his, “look man,” you sighed heavily, “if I at some point stole something from you, I don’t have it anymore. I don’t really have much of anything anymore in here,” a short and dry chuckle tied a bow on your statement.

With his stare never straying, his chin then tilted slightly as he said, “I am Steven Grant Rogers, crown prince of Eflorr,” his title rolled off his tongue with such ease as if it didn’t have any merit at all, “and you’re Y/n Y/l/n, daughter of the famed One-eyed Ollie,” he rested his forearms against the table’s edge, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Blinking back at the royal, your brows furrowed softly at the mystery of why a man such as him would pay someone like you the time of day, “…alright, uh, sure.”

“We’ve kept an eye on you for a very long time, long before your father slipped away and made you take the fall for the break-in at the Sulmier estate,” your jaw couldn’t help but clench at the memory, “you’re very talented.”

“Yeah, can you just hurry up and tell me what you want?” you grunted as your knee tensely bounced beneath the table, “they’re serving soup today for supper and I’d rather not miss it.”

Huffing out what seemed like an amused breath, the prince glanced down a moment as he announced, “I have a proposition for you,” he met your gaze once more, “either you can pay for your father’s crimes here in prison or you can come work for me,” he offered slowly, “twenty years either way, but in here you will be treated as, well, essentially an animal,” his eyes briefly flicked around the cold chamber, “whereas with me you will be just as any other warden. You will have the same rights, the same opportunities, maybe even a home by the end of it.”

“…you wanna give me a job?” you squinted back at him.

To which he simply nodded, “yes.”

“Me?” your eyebrows only seemed to knit together tighter.

“Like I said, you’re very talented. I could use someone of your skillset,” he then leaned back in his seat, “so, I’ll give you some time to decide,” he clasped his hands together in his lap, “if you don’t show up at Fort Borün before all the snow has melted, then let’s just say that you wouldn’t be able to get very far with the bounty there’ll be on your head.”

The heavy ivory pelts that made up your cloak billowed around your frame as the piercing wind whirled it around. You had to lean forward a bit to even make any headway in the howling blizzard that coursed around you. Icy snowflakes struck the upper part of your features that the tugged-up scarf didn’t cover.

Squinting in the snowstorm as you crested the hill and walked under the archway, you glanced above and spotted icicles hanging from the drawn-up portcullis.

As you glanced around the courtyard and the snow-dusted castle looming in the background, your feet soon carried you over towards a pair of bundled-up wardens posted outside a door.

“Excuse me,” you interrupted the lewd joke one of them was halfway through telling, “could any of you–”

But it wasn’t till the soldier to the right jumped and yelped, “ah, by Apa!” that it occurred to you just how camouflaged your frosty visage had been in the blizzard.

“Holy fuck!” the other one clutched his heart after nearly drawing the crossbow strapped to his back.

“Oh gods, sorry. Thought you were a snowman some fucking pixies had put a curse on,” the first knight, whose head was warmed by a thick knitted cap, steadied his breathing with a short laugh, “what do you need?”

Glancing between them, you asked, “could you point me in the direction of Master Tully’s office?”

“Ah,” the beanie-wearing warden nodded, “you’re a new recruit?”

Stifling a laugh, you tilted your head and huffed, “you could say that.”

“I’ll show you,” the dark-haired one gestured, “come with me.”

“Thanks,” you offered him a small smile as he then held the door behind them open for you to enter first.

The dining hall of the bustling barracks that you entered nearly gave you whiplash with the warm contrast it had to the freezing environment you’d just been trudging through for weeks. The fireplace down on the far wall warmed the interior and lit up the faces of the soldiers halfway through their meals.

As you pulled back your snow-dusted hood and tugged your frosty scarf down to expose your nose and mouth, your palm attempted to brush some of the flakes off of you.

“He’s right over there,” your guide pointed to the balding man sitting alone at a table in the corner of the chamber, before he disappeared from your side and joined some comrades on a long bench, sneakily stealing a chunk of bread from one of their bowls.

Slowly stepping closer to the older man, hunched over some parchments as he dipped and softened a crusty piece of bread in his stew, you carefully croaked, “master Tully?”

“Aye?” he lifted his gaze to find you.

“Hi, I was told to come talk to you,” you stepped closer and reached out your hand, “I’m Y/n, I don’t know if you–”

“Ah, yes, Y/n! Great to have you on board, lass,” his gruff hand swiftly gave yours a shake, “you must be tired after that long journey, so why don’t you grab a bowl,” he briefly pointed to the humble buffet off to the side, “have a wee rest, and then we’ll sit down and discuss everything after that, yeah?”

Offering him a light nod, you agreed, “sounds good, sir.”

As you wandered over to fill up a bowl, Tully waved over the warden who’d shown you the way.

“Barnes?”

Swiftly, the soldier rose from his seat, “yes, sir?”

“Go show Y/n her quarters,” Tully returned his attention towards his stew.

Barnes’ dark brows then knitted together, “who’s Y/n?” to which his commander simply pointed with the hand still clutching a chunk of bread, “oh…” the warden’s glance followed the trail, “right…” before raising his voice to catch your ears, “oi, snow!” you didn’t turn around even as he neared, “hey!”

Dragging the curve of a spoon from your lips when you finally noticed his stare, you finally perked up, “who, me?” and pointed to yourself.

“Yeah you,” he didn’t slow down as he gestured for you to shadow him, “come.”

“Oh, uh,” with the bowl of stew still in your gasp, you tried not to spill as you scurried to keep up, “my name is actually Y/n,” you corrected him.

Halting his step momentarily, he turned and reached out an inked hand for you to shake, “Bucky,” a small smirk tugged at his lips as your eyes finally got the chance to wash over his visage now that his striking features weren’t veiled by a blizzard, “welcome aboard, snow.”

PRESENT DAY

You felt like somehow you should have predicted that this would be your welcome home greeting. That this striking heartbreak could have somehow been prevented if you’d only remembered when training was usually held.

It was just rubbing salt into the wound you’d been trying so fiercely to mend. Yet, it was still there, open and festering, bleeding till you nearly passed out. You couldn’t start doing that again, purposely seeking out the salt just to feel something, just to for a single second feel good before reality settled in again. Perhaps your timing had been on purpose, perhaps your subconscious had just been so strong that it had forced you to return home right at the time that practice was held in the middle of the courtyard, and none other than Bucky stood in the centre, shirtless and glistening with sweat, as he ran the newcomers through a drill, sparring with each and every one of them till they yielded.

You tried to get your feet to move again, you truly did, but you couldn’t keep walking past, couldn’t look away, could barely even breathe as he moved like water through the trainees.

But then suddenly, as your fiddling fingers had found the long, braided leather cord wrapped nearly a dozen times around your wrist to form a bracelet, the playful comment that left Bucky’s lips to egg the recruits on fell short, as his ocean eyes flickered up to find you, only worsening the bittersweet agony you were in.

THREE YEARS AGO, ON THE SEVENTY-SECOND DAY OF AUTUMN 855 PR

“Oh, wow,” Bucky swiftly lowered his goblet from his lips and exclaimed as his stare found you, right as you passed over the threshold and entered the bustling ballroom, “holy shit.”

Closing the short distance between you as he was standing off to the side, your skin prickled at his alarm, “what?”

“No, just–, you’re in a dress,” his gaze danced across the emerald silk draped around your form, the fabric’s shade made you stand out amidst all of the warm harvest fest decorations, “never thought I’d see the day…”

“Well, they aren’t really that practical in our line of work, so–”

“Oh, I beg to differ…” he smirked, taking a sip of wine which by the looks of it was in no way his first cup, “I think you should always be dressed like this…” slowly stepping closer, his stare continued to lick you up in a way it never had before, “especially with a neckline as low cut as that,” as his eyes brashly dipped to your cleavage, your hand couldn’t help but shoot up to tug it up a bit more, a nervous instinct that only conjured a deep chuckle within his chest, “happy harvest fest to me.”

With cheeks burning hotter than the sun, you coughed out, “you–, uh, you look good as well.”

“Oh, yeah?” he cheekily cocked a brow and leaned in a bit closer, causing your spine to press up against the wall behind you, “how good?”

As your heart fluttered and nearly flew out of your chest, you heard yourself sputter, “oh, well, I mean, you always look good, you just–, uh…” your words then poofed away into nothing as he nonchalantly tugged a stray piece of hair behind your ear and let his touch linger on your heated cheek, “uhm…”

“I just what, snow?” he purred, and you swore you saw his gaze flicker down to your lips.

“You–… you–…”

But before your wildest dreams could come true, an individual accidentally bumped into Bucky and lodged him far enough away from you to snuff out your hopes of the taste of his lips.

“Wow,” the guy briefly clapped Bucky’s wide shoulder, “sorry, mate.”

“It’s alright,” he smiled as the fella went on his way. Raising up his goblet for another sip, he then turned his attention back to you, “so,” his grin was still bright on his features, “you gonna let me dance with you tonight?”

“Dance?” your eyes grew wide, “oh, y-yeah,” you tried your best, though still failed to sound casual, “sure, if you want to.”

“Great,” he held your gaze a moment longer before saying, “I’m gonna go grab another drink, you want anything?”

“No thanks, I’m good,” though there was now a decent enough distance betwixt you two, you still stood virtually plastered against the wall.

“Alright,” he breathed as he began to back up, offering your gown one last glance before he disappeared, “that dress…” his head gently shook from side to side as a long exhale flowed from his lungs, “gods, you look way too hot tonight, it’s not fair.”

When his visage was no longer in sight, you slumped down a bit and took a generous breather, the grin on your face nearly making your cheeks ache.

After your pulse had settled back from the nervous butterfly he had transformed it into, a fellow warden spotted you and shouted.

“Hey, Y/n!” he waved for you to come over and join the little cluster he was on the edge of, “you’re still here! I thought you’d left already with lord fancy pants or whatever.”

“Lord Witherington, and yeah, it’s first in the morning that the ship leaves port,” you walked up to him.

“Well, at least you get to enjoy one last harvest fest extravaganza before becoming a babysitter.”

“Hey, he is doing important research up in Efira, in areas that haven’t been explored since Rimesunder’s demise,” you raised a slightly defensive hand as you noted the historical significance, “it’s an honour to protect him.”

“Yeah, yeah, honour and all that crap,” he sighed light-heartedly as he raised his mug up to his lips, “but you still have time to get seriously fucked up tonight.”

“So that I can be both seasick and hungover tomorrow?”

“So that you can for once cut loose and have one last fun night before you leave!”

Marinating on his point a moment, your thoughts couldn’t help but float away to Bucky.

What if tonight was the night? What if you just finally took the leap and told him how you felt?

Then, like a clock arm clicking into the new hour, you made your decision.

“Give me that,” you grabbed the drink out of his hands before he could take another sip.

“Wow, that’s what I’m talking about,” the soldier cheered as you swiftly downed the strong brew, “yeah!”

“Gods,” your face screwed up when you swallowed the last gulp, “that’s disgusting. What is that?”

“My uncle’s mead.”

“Urgh,” the sickly sweet taste burned on your tongue.

“Yeah, he’s not that good at it,” he accepted the mug as you passed it back in his grasp, “but it’ll sure get you pissed in two sips or less.”

Hoping that the half tankard you’d downed would grant you the courage you sought, you glanced around the ballroom, “I gotta–, uh, did you see where Buck went?” and when he then pointed out towards the main hallway, you offered him a small smile, “thanks,” before disappearing down that way.

You felt like you were gonna be sick as you walked through the crowds. But if it was from the nerves or the mead that was already making you dizzy, that you weren’t sure of.

As you searched the castle, carefully poking your head into drawing rooms and narrow hallways, you found yourself anxiously muttering just beneath your breath.

“…I just thought you should know that I like you–, no, not like that…” you shook your head at your tongue-tied attempt at figuring out how you’d profess to him, “James, I have been in love with you since the day I met you–, no, that’s stupid, I never call him James, that would just be weird–”

Your murmuring then hushed as you turned down a secluded hallway and spotted the very warden that you had combed the palace for, down towards the end of it.

The only thing was, he wasn’t alone.

Sliding deeper into the shadows, you couldn’t spare yourself the heartache and not look.

Bucky’s lips were attached to the long neck of some leggy blonde. Her quiet whimpers echoed against the fortress walls as he felt her up and surely littered her skin with heated lavender marks.

Suddenly, they shifted, turning till Bucky’s back was pressed up against the walls and, to your surprise, now no longer obscured by his bulky physique, another lady, a redhead, appeared beside the hickey-adored one.

“So,” the redhead bit her lip as she slid her palm down to pet the palpable tent in his pants, “are you gonna show us to your chambers or what?”

“Yes,” he breathlessly nodded, “yes I am,” before seizing their hands, “right this way,” they then stumbled further down the dark hallway till they disappeared from your sight, leaving you frozen in the engulfing shadows with tears silently streaming down your face.

PRESENT DAY

“Snow?” his eyes grew as wide as his grin, “gods, it is you!” Bucky then all but forgot about the training session he was in the middle of teaching and crossed the courtyard, “it’s really you!” once his brisk stride reached you, he plucked you up into his brawny arms and spun you around, “you’re back!”

As soon as your feet touched the ground again, you took a large step back, though hated how the distance gave you a better view of his naked torso.

“Hi, Bucky,” you uttered, readjusting the bag strung over your back.

Why did his touch still have to make your heart flutter?

“Three years,” he placed a wide palm on your shoulder, “three fucking years!”

Three years where you’d sworn off love entirely, tried to interpret it as a good thing, a gift really. You could be more productive, more focused. But now that you were home again, hearing the molasses tone of his voice and seeing the beads of sweat slowly rolling down the landscape of his body, over the ink that crawled up his left arm, you knew three years wasn’t enough to mend your heart. The rest of your life probably wasn’t long enough either.

“Yeah, you–, uh,” you swallowed the thickness of emotions that peeked through in your tone, “you grew a beard.”

“And you still look exactly the same…” his gaze washed over you as a soft sigh flowed from his lungs, “gods, I’ve missed you,” he then tilted his head and asked, “you missed me?”

“I–,” blinking back into the stormy sea of his eyes, you felt your frame begin to tremble at the feelings that were still as alive as ever, “uhm…” averting your gaze, you had to get away before everything burst, “I need to go report to the king,”

“Oh, yeah, right,” his electric touch slid from your shoulder, “last I saw, he and the queen were in the blue drawing room. You haven't met her yet! She’s kind, you’ll like her.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you refused to look back at him as you turned towards the main entrance to the castle.

And as you began to walk away, you heard his voice call after you, “really is good to have you back, snow!”

Nearly ripping the door off its hinges, a fleeting gasp escaped you as you saw the queen by the open window, shooting arrows after the beast that whirled outside.

“Your majesty,” you exclaimed as your eyes briefly flickered to her pregnant belly, “there you are!” you then swiftly crossed the room to yank open the small servant’s door, “this way!”

Reluctantly, the royal stepped back from the window, smoke and ash gushing into the castle from the opening, and followed you up the revealed stone spiral staircase.

As you rushed up the tower, your glances didn’t just dart back to the queen, only a few paces behind you, but every time you passed one of the narrow windows, your vision couldn’t help but catch the chaos down below.

The stubborn dragon, that had plagued the town of Borün for two whole years now, had returned.

With daggers still tight in your grasp, you tried not to think about the people you knew to be down there in the fray, wonder if they had all been burned to a crisp, but instead attempted to shake it off and focus on your mission at hand. The king had commanded you to flee the fight and protect his wife and unborn child.

A glint of fire reflected in the queen’s eyes as you glanced back at her to find her pace halted and her palm clutched on her stomach as she stifled a groan.

“My queen,” you dropped back down a step closer to her, “are you–”

“I’m fine,” she waved you off and drew in a shaky breath, “keep going, I’m right behind you.”

Soon at the top of the tower, you pushed the door open and held it for the noble to enter, your glance though darting out the window as she passed.

But when a low groan seeped from her throat, your gaze darted back to her with worry, “alright, that really doesn’t sound that good,” the door slammed behind you as you sheathed your weapons and stepped closer to her, “did you get hurt?”

“No, I’m–, ah! I’m alright,” she uttered through gritted teeth, her eyes squeezed shut as one hand reached out for the wall while the other stayed on her belly, “fuck…”

Glancing down towards her hand as it rubbed in slow, soothing circles, your eyes then widened, “are you–… your majesty, a-are you–”

“In labour?” her eyes barely opened as she met your tense gaze, “yeah. My waters broke a while ago.”

“Oh gods!” now you truly wished you’d just stayed down with the dragon, “now? Here? I–, I–, wha–, can’t you just turn it off?”

Letting both her quiver and bow slide off her frame and drop to the floor, she let out a strained exhale, “not really how it works.”

“I–, I–, okay, I don’t know what to do–”

“That’s fine,” her arm then reached out for your support, “I do,” you carefully helped her further into the chamber before she sank down a wall till she was seated on the floor, her pale yellow gown bunching around her legs, “alright, I’m gonna need one of your knives when its time to cut the umbilical cord.”

“O-okay,” eyes still wide, you checked your belt just in case they’d mysteriously disappeared in your panic.

Noticing the terrified expression on your face, the queen’s head tilted slightly as she said, “Y/l/n, please don’t pass out on me, I need you here with me.”

“No, no, I’m not gonna pass out,” you rushed to reply, though weren’t completely convinced yourself, “I just–, w-what do I do? Do I do anything?”

Raising up her fingers, she panted, “take my hand.”

“Alright, yes, of course,” you swiftly grabbed her palm.

You had no idea how much time passed, if your hand would eventually fall off for how hard she was squeezing it, or even how many times the royal’s groans, which threatened to morph into screams, reverberated off the palace walls and mixed with the chaos rumbling from outside.

Then suddenly, an echo shot through the castle, “dove!” and though she couldn’t find it in her to yell back, the familiar voice visibly thawed something within the queen.

“Up here!” you yelled as loudly as you could.

Swiftly, the door was kicked down, and in stormed a honey-haired man, whose bloodstained shield and stout axe promptly dropped to the floor with a loud clang.

“Steve!” the queen cried out through the relieved smile that softened her pained expression, “you’re here!”

“Yeah,” he looked as if a feather could have knocked him over, “I’m here, I’m here,” the king then rushed to switch places with you, kneeling beside his wife and clutching her hand in both of his, “what fucking timing our daughter has,” a soft chuckle bubbled out of him as he bought the back of her palm up to his lips and planted a chased peck upon it, “not even born yet and she already wants to join the fray,” he uttered, conjuring a slight laugh to crack through her pain, “a real fighter, just like her mom.”

Gazing up at him, a sombreness suddenly washed over her features as she then murmured, “my love, if I don’t–”

“No,” he swiftly cut her off, “that’s not gonna happen, you hear me? History won’t repeat itself, you’ve done everything in your power to make that so. You can do this, dove. I know you can.”

He held her hand through it all, took the sting as each one of her nails broke his skin and every ear-piercing curse she threw at him, till a new life was suddenly in the room, laying against the exposed skin on her mother’s chest and wailing about the sudden change in scenery.

#lea’s writing #eflorr au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes hurt/comfort #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #sebastian stan smut

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minced-mangoes · 9 months

Text

I'm bored so I drew Levi

But fucked up and evil, obviously

Okay but this was a for fun doodle as I try to conceptualize an Obey Me AU where the Demons are much more freaky

Only thing that carried over from those thoughts is LONG Levi tail, and bioluminesence. Since I love bioluminesence.

But I'm really thinking about this giant lung dragon monstrosity with flickering bioluminesent scales and eyes, constantly dripping wet and/or slimy

Also give him the inhuman skin tone and overly long limbs

Then we're cooking

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #tomi's obey me au #obey me leviathan #headcanon #doodle

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 3 months

Note

Z 🐉🥵🍎

Excellent choice. this was very fun to write! 🐉❤️

A welcome distraction

Rated: E

Words: 980

Tags: Fantasy AU; dragon!Eddie; king!Steve; established relationship; mates; soul bond; cock warming; edging; anal sex; monsterfucking; that's right, that monster gets fucked

Notes: Set in the same universe as Hic sunt dracones

Sometimes, Steve hates being king. He loves his people, but some days, he'd rather fight a hundred more usurpers than suffer through another day of audiences and paperwork.

Stifling a yawn, he grasps for the bowl of fruit Joyce brought. It's almost empty, but the pile of documents awaiting his signature is still as large as it was hours ago. He sighs, popping a berry into his mouth and pulling the next page from the stack. He squints in the flickering candlelight, trying to concentrate, but reading feels like trying to move through sludge. Steve groans and reaches for the bowl again.

He comes up empty.

He keeps groping around for a moment, but finds only the surface of the desk.

“What the-?” he mutters, looking up.

The bowl is gone.

While Steve is still staring at the spot of thin air that has taken its place, something at the back of his mind starts to tickle. The mental equivalent of a poorly restrained cackle.

“Really?” Steve rolls his eyes. “You'll do anything for attention, won't you?”

A blueberry flies from the shadows, hitting his chest.

“Oh dear,” says the darkness, unfurling leathery wings, and the sound is home. “My king is grouchy.”

“My dragon is annoying,” Steve retaliates, but his mouth tugs into a grin as Eddie peels himself from the shadows, crowding him into his chair. “Anything you wanted? Apart from throwing food at- Get your ass off the desk, I'm reading that!”

Eddie obeys gladly, nudging Steve's knees apart so that he can settle on the ground by his feet.

“Want what's mine,” he purrs against Steve’s lips. “Want you.”

“Eddie, c’mon,” Steve says. The words come out around a gasp as Eddie nips at the bite mark on his shoulder. “Let me finish first.”

“Don't worry, beloved,” Eddie's hands find the bindings of his pants. “I'll let you finish alright, but first we’ll-”

“Oh no, we won't,” Steve snaps, pushing him off with one hand and gesturing at the pile of documents with the other. “Nobody is finishing before I'm done here. Is that clear?”

A heartbeat passes in silence. Then, Eddie’s offended scowl morphs into a devious grin. The bond thrums with mischief and desire, and Steve knows he did this to himself.

Steve scrawls his signature onto another document. It comes out wobbly and almost misses the line, little drops of ink splattering all over the parchment. He doesn’t even wait for it to dry, just slams it on the pile with the finished ones. A quick glance reveals that there’s two more left. He groans in frustration, trying to shift in his seat, trying to gain more leverage, more friction, more of that delicious, wet warmth. It’s no use. There’s two strong hands on his hips, holding him firmly in place.

“Eddie,” he whimpers. “Please, c’mon, you’ve made your point.”

His dragon hums at the sound of his name, the vibration sending little sparks up Steve’s spine, then pulls off his cock with an obscene, wet sound.

“No can do, beloved,” he laments, glancing up at Steve from below dark lashes. His eyes are pure gold in the candlelight. “You said no finishing before-”

“Fuck,” Steve swears. His hips twitch feebly in Eddie’s hold. “There’s only two left, I can do these tomorrow, please, I-”

Eddie licks a long, hot stripe all the way from his base to his leaking tip, and the words trail off into an incoherent moan.

“Wouldn’t want to keep my king from his duties,” Eddie rumbles, breath cool and ticklish against the sheen of his own spit. “Now come on. You’ve lasted so long, you can do two more.”

And then, without waiting for a reply, he swallows Steve’s cock again. Steve feels that throat constricting, feels that wicked tongue teasing at his balls. Feels Eddie’s cock pressing into his leg as his dragon adjusts his position, and knows that he’s just as desperate for it.

“Oh Gods, I hate you!” he groans.

Eddie laughs, wrecked and muffled around the weight on his tongue, and lust coils in Steve’s abdomen like a spring, wound tight and waiting to snap.

He yanks the two remaining documents towards himself, scribbling something vaguely resembling a signature somewhere near the bottom of both in one jerky movement before he slams the quill down on the desk. It snaps. Ink splatters on wood, and he knows the stains will never come out. He doesn’t care.

“Done,” he rasps. “C'mon, c’mon, please!”

His hands land on a horn and a fistful of hair, yanking so hard it must be painful, but Eddie doesn't complain. Instead, he scrambles into Steve’s lap and impales himself on his cock, all in one, fluid blur of movement. Their lips meet, and the taste of himself on Eddie’s tongue, the feeling of his mate clenching around him, is all it takes. Steve shatters apart with a hoarse moan, and Eddie greedily licks it out of his mouth while he spills inside of him.

“You're a menace,” Steve tells him between sloppy kisses, once he's found his voice again. “Distracting me from work like that.”

“Oh?” Eddie grins. “If anything, I think I made you work faster.”

“Except I have no idea what I just signed,” Steve replies, snorting when his dragon nuzzles his throat playfully. “Peace treaty? War declaration? Who knows?”

“Who cares?” Eddie quips, standing from the chair and stretching languidly. “Sounds like a tomorrow problem to me.”

“Wait, woah!” Steve yelps as he is picked up and carried out of the study. “Where are we going?”

Eddie laughs as he kicks open the door to their bed chamber.

“What do you think, my love? You may be done, but I’m not. I plan on changing that. And maybe after …,” he grins down at Steve, all fangs and hungry golden eyes, “I'll let you finish some more.”

"Yeah, sorry your treaty is all crumpled up. My dragon sat on it."

More celebration ficlets

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie brainrot #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #hic sunt dracones #hype's 1k follower ficlets

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