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tteokdoroki · 8 months

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ೀ⋆OCT 8TH 2 FAST 2 FURIOUS ━━ yoichi isagi + overstimulation !

୨୧ — caution, you are now watching. yoichi isagi + overstimulation. if winning a street race means getting ravaged by your ex boyfriend over the hood of your car then… move bitch! get out the way! (5.6K)

୨୧ — rated r. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, characters aged up to 20s, street-racer!au, exes to lovers, toxic relationships, overstimulation, scratching, fingering, sweat kink, pain kink, food play (candy), dry humping, multiple/forced orgasms, oral sex (f!recieving), public sex, possesive sex, unprotected sex, street racer + fem!reader, ex boyfriend + street racer!yoichi isagi.

୨୧ — director’s note. slay! the third kinktober installment is here! i hope you guys like this one, isagi makes me so dizzy...i think he has the bes dirty talk!! enjoy mwah mwah! - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ✧

there’s something about street racing that just…gets you off.

you’ve always enjoyed its thrill, the way having control over the wheel makes you feel when you push yourself to top speeds. adrenaline becomes your new dopamine. like a drug injected straight into your veins — driving makes you feel high. more alive than anything.

the glamourous pink S2K that you drive is your lover, the unpredictable twists and turns of the race course — your best friend. you adore beating men at their own game and looking absolutely fucking stunning at the same time. though, what you love the most, is the thrill of chasing after yoichi isagi.

next to you — your on and off boyfriend, isagi, is probably the best street racer in town. an unpolished gem of untapped potential and a beast of a driver. though with a man like that, competitiveness between you both comes easy — like a third party in your own relationship. its been that way since you met, the two of you falling into the toxic cycle of, racing, winning fucking and breaking up.

and as bad as it sounds, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“you lose tonight, precious,” isagi wipes the grease from his knuckles with a rag as he approaches your car, cocking his head to the side with a smile so twisted it sends a pang of heat from your head to your core. together or not, he’s always had this effect on you — like a fog sweeping over your mind or the oceans waves pulling you under. “and we get back together.”

“boy, don’t you know i have a race to win?” leaning over the hood of your car, it’s your turn to tilt your head to the side — like a puppy dog, mocking him. your lashes flutter against your cheeks as you peer up at him, the pink of your tongue wrapping around finding a centre point for the bubblegum you’re blowing. it pops on its own. all the while, a flirtatious confidence seeps from your bones into the night air, luring isagi into your usual game of cat and mouse right before you’re due to race. “i don’t need any distractions, ‘ichi.”

you can’t help but revel in the way that he shudders upon hearing your name drip from his lips, like the finest and purest form of honey. out of all the girls he’s ever known, you’re the only one who gets him riled up like this without even trying — activating his raw instincts, that carnal desire he always has for you that he keeps locked away whenever you’re not together.

“baby,” crouching down to your height, isagi smirks as your predatory gaze follows his actions like a vixen in the night. “you know i’d never mess up a race of yours on purpose.” one of his elbows comes up to rest on your hood, the glittery vinyl stickers reflecting against the deep ocean blue in his eyes. your ex lets the weight of his head rest in his palm, a faux pout on his lips as he speaks to you. “how about it, wanna make a bet?”

you inch closer, close enough for isagi to catch a the whiff of strawberry candy in your breath over the thick sexual tension brewing between you both. “wha’do i get if i win?” you hum slyly, blowing another bubble into the face of your ex lover.

yoichi mirrors your movements, sliding closer to you so that he lick through your bubblegum, landing a breath’s width away from your sugar-coated and syrupy lips. “you win, ‘n i promise to leave you alone forever.” he rasps, pushing past the lustful tone lodged in his throat.

standing to your full height, you ruffle his midnight locks with a condescending air about it. “oh baby, you’re so silly.” the superlicious murder slips from between your perfectly glossed lips before you even think to stop it, accompanied by your light laughter. testing your man’s patience has always been your strong suit.

but before you have a chance to walk away, isagi hooks his fingers through your belt loops and tugs you flush against his tone frame — chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis. “what, you don’t like those terms?” he huffs. “i thought they were perfectly reasonable.

“it’s just that… it’s cute that you think winning me back works that way.” shaking your head, you fail to let isagi have the last word and finally manage to pull yourself from the tendrils of his grip before you become putty in his arms and a mess under his gaze — that twisted mix of annoyance and desire already turning within your stomach, oozing into your nether regions in the form of liquid lust.

“fuck me,” a breathless and playful chuckle resounds in isagi’s throat like a tune base boosted on the stereo, only interrupted by a slick statement that serves to frustrate you even more. “so you’re sayin’ you don’t miss playin’ with my joystick?” he calls out to you while you’re still in eyeshot of his cerulean orbs — the ones that track the sway of your hips as you walk away from him. isagi wants nothing more than to dig his fingertips into the fat at your waist, pull your hips over his hardening cock as blood pulses through it and make you eat those words.

but he also knows, and from experience, the more pissed off you are — the better you’ll race and the more you’ll want to fuck him later on.

“i’ll start missing it when you get the right set of tools.” you sing back, sending a wink his way as you hope into the driver's seat of your precious pink baby, shooing off the girls who’d helped you prep your S2K for the race. he watches as you wave to your competitors, buttering them up with your charm before you leave them in the dust.

and even though he has no right to be jealous — especially when you’re broken up like this, isagi can’t help but want admit to you how seeing you race makes him feel. like now — how you drive right up rin itoshi’s ass and curse at him to ‘bend over’. everything has sex crazed hormones rushing to his cock and his head gets a little dizzy like he’s been inhaling car fumes and diesel for too long. you fuck him up like no girl ever has before — he’s completely obssesed with you, the ups and downs and fall out of your messy relationship.

he wants you. feverishly, carnally, and in every way possible and as you pull up in first place after the race — isagi realises, it’s not the race that makes him feel alive.

it’s always going to be you.

“you’re so fuckin’ frustrating.”

the cash prize isn’t the only good thing about winning your races, it’s the way isagi lives to devour you whole afterwards.

dark ocean eyes drink in the way your back arches from the hood of your car and it’s cool metal surface — chasing isagi in the heated and humid air, while his hips rock against your cunt almost in tune with the music in the background. the tune of your celebrations. “am i?” you grin, wild and delirious and breathless. “it’s not my fault. thought i told you to quit chasin’ me, yoichi.”

you giggle, earning a delicious twitch of his dick between your panty-clad folds, spreading a delicious layer of arousal over his clothes. your rival racerpretends to ignore your antics, knowing that he’ll only get riled up and instead focuses on tugging down your flimsy tank top to reveal your sweat shined skin.

“you could never get rid of me, baby.” you’ve never been immune to the charm of isagi’s hypnotic voice paired with his teasing rows of pearly white teeth that coast over your flesh until goosebumps rise over its expanse. your ex has a way about him, a way that makes it hard for you to shut him out and easier for you to hold your breath and deprive it of the oxygen you need to think clearly.

to think about escaping this toxicity.

sloppy kisses to taste the salt on your skin turn to little bite marks, barely there whilst leaving a warm shine to your throat — the temperature proving to be a lustful contrast to the cold metal of your car. he licks and sucks at you possessively, even when other racers pass by and in the back of your mind you briefly recall bachira hollering at the two of you loudly.

just as you reach out to him and wave back, yoichi grabs your wrists in one rough palm and pins them above your head — chuckling into the trail of wet smooches he drags down to your tits, followed by a wild whine that resonates deep in his chest when his cockhead catches on your rock hard clit from behind the many barriers of your clothes. you huff at your newfound restriction.

a slow, cocky smile spreads over the film of isagi’s lips as if he’s remembered something about your body, that only he knows, in your time apart. how it anticipates and tingles while waiting for his every move, craves to be ravaged and torn apart by him. “focus on me, baby. don’t miss what’s most important to you.” he drawls, gentle notes of condensation slipping into his usually chipper voice. “me.”

lifting his head from your chest expectantly, being a gentleman and waiting for your consent to kiss. another laugh escapes him when you writhe desperately in yoichi’s grip and wrap your legs around his taut waist to drag him closer for the lip lock you deserve. your prize for being such a winner. he follows your lead, selfishly trapping your lower lip between his teeth before toppling into a hungry kiss — his devious tongue delving it’s way into your mouth to claim it’s every inch possessively. the more you kiss, the more it knocks the lollipop on your mouth about.

all the while, isagi never stops grinding against you — cockhead oozing precum over your cotton decorated pussy lips and budding clit, painting you in the early signs of his arousal. the heat in the air only carries the scent of your sex and mingled notes of diesel fuel — enough to make you dizzy and crave more friction from the street racer as he ruts between your thighs. you’re growing delicious, letting ecstasy trickle through your veins and onto the hood of your car while yoichi drags his cock through your silken slit over and over again until his clothes and his erection are dripping in your sweet juices.

“didnt plan ever plan on… on g-gettin’ rid of ya, pretty boy.” you say through thready breaths, using the strength in your thighs to squeeze isagi close. maybe it’s the adrenaline from your racing high or the fact that isagi cages you in against the car, using his free hand to pinch and pull at sensitive parts of you while he humps at your fluttering and sopping mound — whatever it is, you can feel an orgasm approaching faster than you can register.

tucking your lollipop into your cheek, you gaze up at isagi with glassy, angel eyes — your mouth open as you pant his praises like a common whore. “did you miss me? i know he did.” then, your eyes shoot down to the rough outline of his dick as it makes you shudder, sex clenching over the veins on his shaft while you practically ride your ex’s precum loaded tip. your dirty talk earns a hearty moan from isagi, his tongue rolling out of his mouth like a dog in rut while he laps at the sweat bearing on your collar bones and neck. “missed my cock so much.” you goad adoringly, a little sick and a little twisted.

your possession over him fills isagi’s body with concerning amounts of desire and only serves to make him feral — snapping his hips into you faster and harder. his blue eyes drown in an ocean of mirth as they hone in on the light bounce of your chest, his tongue drips in the taste of your light perspiration while he finds his voice over your salacious bump and grind.

“missed you too baby. missed my fuckin’ pussy,” yoichi grunts selfishly, breathing heavy against your skin and adding to your chorus of shared high pitched moans the closer you get. with one hard thrust, isagi has your unused little hole drooling and your head flying back onto the car’s hood, banging against the metal. the pain only fuels the expanding fire of desire burning bright in your lower tummy — raising the temperature between your bodies. “she’s so sensitive, guess you haven’t fucked anyone while i’ve been gone.”

his voices oozes condensation, messes with your mind and drags you under the control of your toxic and selfishly possessive ex. it’s like he lives for the the way your thighs quiver around his waist and give all your neediness away, you can’t hide anything from him. he puts your pleasure under a microscope.

“you’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” isagi grins evilly, letting go of your hands as he watches you tremble and spasm and twitch beneath him. rendered useless against the very car that got you to win your race.

he’s not wrong, however, for the knot that had been tightening up in your lower tummy begins to unravel too fast for your own liking. an orgasm crashes down on you like a heavy storm that’s escaped isagi’s deep blue eyes and he bucks into you monstrously through it all — hardly giving you a second to breath. your release pours out of you in a clear stream, your eyes disappearing into your skull and your shaky fingers into the roots of your ex’s hair as you tug on it to ground yourself.

it gets everywhere, seeps through your ex boyfriend’s clothes, splashes against your S2K and gathers in a pool beneath your shaky ass. yoichi coaches you through it with soft, loving praises as if you’d never been broken up. kisses that make your knees knock and breath hitch. you cum so fast, so hard and so soon that your lollipop rolls out from between your swollen spit slicked lips, but isagi is quick to grasp the sugary treat dragging it over your them and down your body.

he follows it’s sticky trail over your clothes, sucking its flavour from the planes of your skin. the sound of tearing fabric flies under the bustling crowd and revving engines — isagi having ripped off your shorts to expose your temperate, glistening mound to the night air and gleam of car headlights.

“h-holy shit, ichi! wait—!”

your nails sharply rake at the racer’s scalp in surprise, shocked at the warm-ish sensation of your lollipop pressing against your budding clit as it throbs between the slickness of your folds. “awh, is it sensitive? good.” he tuts down at you menacingly, his voice lowers scratching at the patch of your brain that controls your lustful drive. with the sweet treat still in his grasp, isagi rubs tight circles into your pleasure centre and grind to himself when your thighs instinctively jump apart to give him a better view of the even sweeter dessert between your thighs.

he knows you. inside and out.

knows what you even with how on-off your relationship is — as if he’s always been genetically programmed to make you feel good, get you that same high racing gives you. yoichi crouches, no longer standing over you so that he can get a whiff of your scent — the musk of your sex more dizzying than the fumes of gasoline throughout the track. “wanna taste you gorgeous, while you’re still cummin’ for me.” he groans, deep and hungry like he’s been waiting to eat a good fucking meal all day. “that okay?”

“please…fuckin’ hurry.” comes your impatient reply, bucking your hips up into the humid air as you chase the friction of the candy against your clit. you feel as though you’re seated right on the edge of another orgasm, inches away from crumbling off of the cliff of euphoria. “you’re so slow,” you heave again, head lolling to the side with your drool oozing onto the hood of your pretty pink car. “see you never learned how to use your…oh—! tools!”

your voice escapes you, shock intertwining with the electrical spark of desire running down the length of your spine to the heartbeat in your pussy. you’re surprised once more when isagi gently nudged the lollipop past your entrance to tease you — ripping it away when you gush like you’re about to cum.

sitting up and resting on your elbows, you glare down into mischievous blue eyes as he pops the candy into his mouth. “mother fucker.”

“alright, watch it.” the corner of isagi’s lips quirk up into a cocky smirk, enjoying how you writhe against cool metal in contrast to how hot your skin is to the touch. like a furnace, burning from the inside out.

“you said you wanted to taste me!” you whine, auffovating in the humidity and anticipation. you want him to touch you, but the ghost of kisses he presses along your inner thighs just aren’t enough.

“i didn’t say i was gonna eat you out though, pretty girl.” isagi whispers, pushing the lollipop into his cheek so he can focus on sucking an array of marks into the swell of your to leave his claim on you. the pointed edge of his teeth sink into the doughy flesh, imprinting a ring of bite marks in place as well. “dunno, don’t think you deserve it.”

he simply rolls his eyes in response, grunting as he spreads you even further — revealing the webs of cloudy slick that tie your shaky limbs together. yoichi drags a finger through your puffy pussy lips, it’s tip dragging on the silken strings of your arousal until he’s able to circle it over your clenching entrance.

you let out a defiant whimper, hips rising from your car while a trail of your sweet juices ruin the paint job on your car. “hate you.” comes your weak whisper, trapped in the lodges of your throat while isagi pressed further into your tight little hole and stretches you open.

“yeah whatever.” he grins lazily, warm breath fanning over your pulsating mound while his nose nudges your sensitive clit. “that’s why you keep coming back to me, precious.”

the sensation makes your hips buck up, chasing the delicious friction of your ex’s fingertips against your soaked ribbed walls as they ripple around him. but isagi lives to punish you, make you work for your pleasure or torture you with it for leaving him the dust each and every time. his free hand splays over your navel, pinning you to your own car as a second finger joins the first inside of you — instantly curling to bare down on your spongy g-spot.

the cry that escapes you is raw and powerful, louder than any engine in any model of car — serving to remind isagi of where you are, how on display you are for the hungry eyes of his competitors. he takes this as a chance to remind everyone of who you belong to. no matter how much of a hot shot racer you are, you’ll always belong right underneath yoichi isagi.

he does nothing to soothe your whimpers and cries, thrusting his fingers deep into your squelching pussy as it echoes into the parking lot in a sweet symphony with your moans. you drool into the seat his palm, thrash on the hood of your car and squeeze down on him with a grip so tight isagi fears that you’ll never let him go.

“you’re so tense, baby. relax for me,” the man mumbles darkly against your sex. “what’ll make you feel good? should i play with this cute little clit too?” pressing a loving and syrupy kiss to the pleasure nub, isagi moans at your arousal as it pearls on his eager lips. “oh i knew you’d like that. my girl always likes it when her man plays with this messy pussy.” spitting onto your cunt, a sick laugh rumbles in yoichi’s throat as he fucks the frothy mixture back into you, drinking in the way you whine and writhe about the place. all for him. “c’mon, louder baby. let the people hear how pretty you are. how good i’m making you feel.”

saliva coats your tongue, making difficult to breathe between the languid push and pull of isagi’s fingers as they stroke at your insides. he has you ruined, for any other man— sticky and sloppy between the thighs. the both of you know that only he can get you like this.

and the sick part about it all, is that you’re fucking enjoying it.

the thrill of being watched by your fellow racers makes you act up, has you crying and moaning a little louder than usual — putting on a show for your ex as you fall back into your toxic routine. those sweet salacious sounds spike higher and higher the closer you get, the more isagi sucks on your clit and scissors his fingers around to press up against sensitive spots along your gummy walls.

“that’s it pretty girl, give it to me. louder. good girl, good job.” he coos into you oh so condescending, face coated with a crude mix of spit and slick that glistens under the artificial light from the street lamps above. a blistering sense of pride lodges itself in yoichi’s chest when you scream his name, tugging on the roots of his hair once more. “you can do better than that, louder.”

“ohmygod—! yoichi!” you yelp sheepishly, throwing an arm over your heated face. though it’s not in shame, you can hardly bring yourself to feel embarrassed about gushing on your ex’s face in front of your fellow racers and racing crew. the pleasure he gives you has you too far gone, like a smoke screen over your hazy mind. “g-god i’m… y-yoichi i’m close!”

“yeah?” he laughs breathily, flicking his tongue over your budding clit, pulling the lollipop from the confines of his greedy mouth to slap it against your quivering pussy as well. “you gonna cum?” it’s far too soon, far too much for you to be reaching another orgasm. but there’s been a steady pressure bubbling up just below your navel, tightening and tightening until it threatens to snap.

you shake your head pathetically, the metal of your car creaking below your hips as you try to run from isagi’s fingers wildly pumping in and out of you. “c-can’t!”

“can’t? you don’t wanna, hm.” he sucks his teeth, the sound layering softly over the lewd slushy noises echoing from between your thighs. “too bad. i don’t care. cum for me, precious.”

its like your body has a mind of its own, wilfully ignoring the pain of overstimulation as you cum for isagi once more. milky white runs down your ex’s arms in a boiling hot stream, squirting from your abused and used sex. white spots blur the edges of your vision and you shake violently all throughout your second high, the stacks of ecstasy isagi had been building up within you coming crumbling down and leaving you suffocating in your own dust-cloud of lust.

the rest of your arousal burns a trail down your pudgy thighs like fuel that’s been set on fire, and you can’t even tell what’s up or down anymore. “c-cumming! ‘m…fuck, yoichi.” you scream, chest heaving, head rolling to the side— pressed against your car’s cool surface. “please, i can’t.”

“already? you were talking so big before your race now look at you. s’all too much… poor baby.” isagi works you through your orgasm, controlling your every twitch and every aftershock until you damn near pass out.

you’re almost too far gone to register the sound of rustling clothes and the feeling of your rival (and ex) pressing himself over you. but then he’s patting your cheek lovingly, drinking in your sweet and tired expression with big blue eyes full of adoration before slipping his lollipop into your drooling mouth to pacify you.

“‘ichi…” you bleat, exhausted.

“yeah, yeah. i know, precious. but i think we can manage one more, yeah?” he asks you softly, a little more tender than before as he kisses your forehead, licking up a bead of sweat that runs down it. no matter how many times you break up, he’ll always be good to you. always check in with you. make you cum as many times as you can manage while still making you see stars. “need to show all those fuckin’ losers who you belong to. need to make you mine again.”

weakly lifting your head, you notice the slight audience of racers you’ve gathered while letting isagi fuck you publicly. all the men you’ve beaten in races over time, staring at the way your man ravages you like the sight is a cool glass of water. it would be a lie to say that the feeling of being watched didn’t send another spark of lust shooting down your spine.

“one more?” you question him and pout around the lollipop that tastes like you, big bambi eyes blinking up at your ex boyfriend.

“one more.” yoichi confirms, pressing his forehead to yours in order to coax a kiss out of you. “don’t worry, you can take it.” there’s reassurance hidden in his lustful tone as he lines his drippy cock up with your ruined entrance (having pulled it out earlier). he pulses to life against you, the blood rushing through his shaft teeming with desire for you. isagi lets you sit up on your elbows so that you can watch him bully his cock past your fluttering entrance.

isagi’s eyes gloss over with debauchery while you swallow him down, brows creasing in the centre of his forehead when he bottoms out inside of you — both of your mouths hanging open in hot moans. only adding to the humid air. blindly, he fumbled for your pretty throat, squeezing it gently with each clench of your slippery walls around his aching shaft.

“you won’t break, baby.” he tells you, drawing his hips back from the snugness of your cunt to set a slow roll to his thrusts. the feeling makes you cry out, hoarse and needy before being soothed by isagi’s leaking tip pushing along every pleasure spot he knows by heart inside of you. “try a little harder for me.”

his words leave you breathless and dumbfounded, every logical thought and smart-ass retort having escaped you while isagi’s milky, bulbous tip churns up your insides. your sexes slot together perfectly, his girthy dick wrapped in gorgeous blue and green veins keeps you nice and full and reaches the spots you couldn’t dare to reach on your own. isagi hands over you, supporting his weight on one hand, with his lips a breath’s width away from your own.

the both of you are love drunk on the sex-crazed hormones buzzing in the hot air between you — particles of lust smashing together the more your bodies start to sync up and move together. yoichi devours you, takes parts of your body and claims them with his teeth and tongue and hand gently squeezing around your throat. he fucks you with vigour, so hard that your car shakes beneath your ministrations and you nearly lose the candy in your mouth once more.

you return the favour, clawing up and down isagi’s back while his dark hair tickles your forehead, cascades down to your neck as he kisses you wetly and laps over the salt on your skin. everything about you never fails to pull him back into your toxic cycle. where he loves you, fucks you and breaks you. a satisfied groan takes root in his chest like a sturdy tree at the taste of you, his hips still pumping into you at a rapid pace, painting you with thick layers of opaque white that cling to your swollen pussy lips and clit.

“you’re mine, f-forever. not gonna let… mhm.. anyone else touch you.” he slurs menacingly into the junction between your neck and shoulder, finally letting go of your throat so he can push your knees into your chest — forcing his heavy cock into your cunt as deep as it can go. “never gonna let you go again, precious. never gonna let you go without my cock this king again. you’re fuckin’ mine.”

“all fuckin’ yours,” you drawl back with a delirious smile, dizzy from the new angle. your pleasure mounts once more but with the addition of a spark of pain from the overstimulation. yoichi knows your limits, he knows how much his precious girl can take but delivers it in the best of ways — sinfully bucking down into you so hard that his heavy breeders balls smack rhythmically against the curve of your ass. he succumbs to the tight grip your iron hot core has on him, begging him to stay and to never leave you ever again.

you have one another in a choke hold, falling into a synced up and salacious bump and grind against the hood of your car. every time isagi ruts into you, you clench down, gushing on his dick and covering him (and your car) in an early release.

“that’s right baby,” isagi seethes through gritted teeth, blinded by white and the stars from up above as he gets closer and closer to his high. he can no longer stave it off for the benefit of overstimulating you, strung along by each twinge of pain he feels from your nails forming crescent moons in his shoulders and drawing blood. “say it like you mean it. scream my fuckin’ name for all these people, yeah? you want me. the only man who’ll ever make you feel this good.”

you will yourself to speak but barely have the chance to with the way isagi fucks you sensless. you choke on air, following your biological instinct to rut up into him, whilst you’re reminded all the reasons why your rival racerwill always be the only man for you. he fucks you like he’s never loved you, like a stranger he may hate but he moans and mewls against you like you’re the only person he’s ever loved.

isagi doesn’t care about the racing, or the money or the people watching him ruin your sluice sex over and over again.

he only cares about you.

“c’mon baby,” he goads, licking up your cheeky nastily. “you can do it, tell me how much you want me. how much you love me, precious.” each syllable that he purrs out shoots straight to the winding, orgasmic knots in your belly. making them tighten painfully. “god, you’re fuckin’ milking me.”

so you wrap both arms around isagi’s neck, yank at his hair, rip through the skin on his back with your nails (because you know how much he likes it when you hurt him) and say. “i need you, ‘ichi. y-you’re the only one i’ve ever wanted!”

and that’s all it takes, to give isagi that last burst of energy to make the both of you really feel it. after one, two, three more thrusts — you’re both sent flying over the edge in unison. “m-‘my precious baby, fuuck, all mine. gonna cum…you better cum for me.”thick waves of viscous white cum floods your puffy folds, whilst yoichi bites down hard on your neck to state his high pitched whines, fucking his seed deeper into you until he calms down.

you’re in no better condition, squirting so hard that you almost lose your grip on reality. a world of colours flash behind your darling eyes when you cum for the third and final time that night, static ringing in your ears alongside the sweet symphony of your ex boyfriend’s moans and the groaning metal from your car.

you’re sure the paint has been completely tainted with cum by now.

by the time you finally come to and stop spasming around isagi’s softening cock, he’s peeling your sweaty skin away from your car to coddle you in his chest — shielding you from the hungry eyes of your competitors. “keep your eyes to your fuckin’ selves.” he snarls with teeth bared, despite how gently he holds you.

“easy there tiger,” you sigh, snuggling against him as exhaustion settles into your fucked out bones. “i think they know who i belong to now.” grabbing at his neck, you pull isagi down for a sloppy kiss — mewling happily at the taste of sweat, sex and sugar on his tongue before passing him the lollipop once more. “guess the money wasn’t the only thing i won tonight.”

“you’re kinda sick, you know that?” he laughs in response, but before he can kiss you again — the racing crowd starts to scramble at the sound of police sirens.

still curled into your (ex? oh what the hell) boyfriend, you crack a tired smile. “looks like we gotta split, boy.”

“you comin’ back with me this time, precious?” a smooch is pressed into your hairline while isagi gathers you into his arms fast — bundling you into the passenger's seat since you’re clearly in no state to play get away driver. he doesn’t bother with your clothes.

“you know that you can’t get rid of me, baby.” you got the keys into the ignition in time for isagi to slip into the driver’s side — steering you away from the scene of the crime. “i’m yours forever, remember?”

he only chuckles at that, wild blue eyes reflecting the blue and red cop car lights as he looks to you while speeding away.

“god you drive me crazy, i love you. you fuckin’ maniac.”

1K notes · View notes

dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons [Epilogue]

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 12.9k

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

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

🌶️🌶️🌶️ WARNING for Spicy Content!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hummed and tugged you closer.

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

What.

“Feed me?” you spluttered.

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

“What decorum?!” you wailed.

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

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

Which was—was—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that so?” he mused.

“Yes. Is so,” you snipped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Swallow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were going to die.

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

“Is that so…” you wheezed.

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

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

“What did you tell him?!”

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

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

“That’s not the point!”

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

“NO!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Unless you would prefer that I—”

“No!”

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

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

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

“Are you cold, Child of Man?”

Huh. Weird. But whatever.

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

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

“Are you certain?”

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

A pause.

“Are you… too warm, then?”

You groaned.

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

“I see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes sparkled with mischievous mirth. “Perhaps.”

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

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

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

“Naked.”

He laughed, sharp and loud.

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

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

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

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

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

You swallowed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Woah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well now it was!

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

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

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

“Are you welcome to what?” you breathed.

“To partake?”

Fucking hell in a handbasket—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh fucking hell—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[TAG LIST] CLOSED

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @its-clockwork-princess, @liliasleftpinkytoe, @emyluwinter, @simpcreator, @buckketboy, @insideous-beez

@novaloptr, @imlost-sendhelp, @matcha-berry @preciosayorgullosa @whoretaglia, @kookygirlwholikescookiesandcoke, @nanauedorian, @trixeraptops, @voxnipop, @starkling25, @thedum1, @horcrux-alchemist, @sleepykitty21, @apathicace, @instantregret101, @nekanecorvus, @looney-mori, @re-ducing, @my2phetaliaheadcanons, @naughtybodypillow, @rendy-a, @carmen-404, @candy284, @thealiennamedterry, @their-name-is-fake, @huetolog, @glacticrose, @seraphinariddle, @rabioa, @sn00zl4x, @dreasimping, @jeidoreech, @ai-dev, @galaxyshine24-7, @fatally-incorrect, @juulranch, @camrastuff, @nocteetdie, @stargaryengirl,

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader #Malleus Draconia #Malleus x Yuu #Dragon Malleus #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #Twst Fantasy AU #SPICY CONTENT #Lilia Vanrouge #Sebek Zigvolt #Silver TWST #Donkeys & Dragons #Monster Mayhem Malleus Part 5 #Monster Mayhem Malleus Epilogue

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intotitties · 8 months

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mm maybe a hazel x cheerleader!gf!reader where reader is a little taller than hazel and usually wears heels and that makes her taller and more intimidating, as if the majority of the school pisses themselves in fear every time she passes by except for hazel who only looks at her with heart eyes. Obviously all this if you feel comfortable!

Hazel Callahan x reader

warnings: cursing, mention of broken bones

a/n: it took sm time to write this bc i had 72817938 ideas at the same time but i love the idea

-ˋˏ ༻❀༺ ˎˊ-

You were one of the popular cheerleaders who has always been told that she looks scary. When people in the school hear a characteristic noise of heels they immediately get out of the way, knowing that you are coming. Everyone feared you.. except for her.

— Morning Hazee - you hugged your girlfriend from the back in front of the girls from the fight club that she was a member of.

— O-oh good morning - she blushed at your gesture.

— Are we still up for tonight? - you pecked her cheek.

Hazel nodded slightly, her friends from the fight club looking at you both like they couldn’t believe their eyes.

You ran your hand through her hair and left to the class with a smile on your face. The only thing you could hear was Hazels friends whispering behind your back.

— I don’t know what you see in her - Britt said as she sat down on her table.

— Good, i hope no one else than me does - you winked at her.

— No but really, she’s a weirdo - said Isabel.

— You’re literally crushing on Josie, you don’t have the right to speak up - you giggled at which she just rolled her eyes.

— Anyways, are you going to train the choreography with us later? - Brittany asked.

— Isn’t the gym taken by the fight club after lessons? - you looked at your friends.

— We can just tell them that we need to practice, gyms big I’m sure we won’t be disturbing them a lot - she answered before the class started.

-ˋˏ ༻❀༺ ˎˊ-

As soon as the lessons ended, you, Brittany and Isabel went straight to the gym.

Girls from the fight club had already started and you could see Hazel and PJ throwing punches at eachother.

— Hi girls! - Isabel came closer - Would you mind if we use the corner to train our choreography? - she smiled.

— No! - Josie answered immediately - I mean.. go ahead, please - she corrected herself nervously.

She’s such a simp.

You sent a smile to your girlfriend and went to the corner with your friends.

The time passed quickly and in nice atmosphere. You noticed a lot of looks in your direction, which made you smile a little bit.

You were doing the last step of the choreography - backflip. You’ve always feared it the most of all the acrobatic stuff you’ve learned.

But instead of landing on the ground, you tripped on a ball and fell down with a scream.

— Oh my god ladies i’m so sorry, it was supposed to be them! - Tim ran to you immediately.

Of course, he wanted to eliminate the club members.

— You’re pathetic Tim - Isabel said while helping you to stand up.

— Fuck! - you hissed - I swear if you broke my arm, i will end your sad little life.

— Slay girl! You tell him! - Sylvie hyped you up.

— I said that im sorry, now you’re just being dramatic - he said.

— Yeah? So im gonna tell you something - you said quieter - I’ve got videos from the last party and guess who’s the main character? - you looked at him with a smirk on your face - you. so you better leave the club alone, and be more careful next time - your smirk disappeared with the end of the sentence.

You waved him goodbye as he left without any words.

Before you could say anything you felt Hazels body crashing into yours and her messy kisses on your lips. It took you a while to turn it into a gentle yet passionate kiss.

— Thank you so much for dealing with him for us! - she wanted to hug you but you stopped her.

— Please call a doctor first.. im gonna pass out - you said as you looked at the bone sticking out of your arm.

-ˋˏ ༻❀༺ ˎˊ-

#hazel callahan #bottoms movie #hazel bottoms #bottoms 2023 #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan fluff #wlw blog #kit tanthalos fluff #ruby cruz #kit tanthalos #kit tanthalos x reader #willow 2022 #willow series #hazel callahan bottoms

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anjian · 5 months

Text

Notes below.

1. Lubraean adult and infant.

2. The City. I think there are still many things to iterate on here. The scale is too small, and there needs to be terraced farms in place around the beam. Overall, architecture needs its own dedicated post.

3. "I kill many looking for a sign of you. Wash my hands with their blood in the hopes of your continued existence."

“My cell was dark. I did not fear the dark. It may have been enough to make the City-dwellers cower, but I was able to rest when they let me, oblivious to the other inmates' snivelling cries. They begged for light and warmth; I carried it within me. Ever since Father was taken, a fire had burned inside my chest. I had fed it with the bones of my enemies, and no amount of blood would quench it until Father was returned to me. My real Father – not the coward they had made of him, with dulled teeth and bound quills and sandalled feet, dressed in such an unnatural white that I could not bear to look at him, only his shadow as the Stalkers forced my face into the dirt. In the dark, I still dreamed of rescuing him. One day, when they were careless, when my nails had grown back, I would act. I would slay all who would stop me. I would find him, I would grab him by the arm, I would wrestle him back into the forest. I never did manage to kill any of the wardens, though it was not for lack of trying. I fed my little light with my dreams instead.

“But, my Witness, that light… that light was nothing before the Light.

“It was already the dry season when they brought me before the jury. The butcher’s stone was cold against my cheek. The Light did not warm it. Father spoke of reason, of setting examples and paying debts. There was no warmth to his words, either. The judgemental stare of the crowd did not inspire shame. The weight of the Glaive against my neck did not engender fright. I felt as though I was a hollow vessel, made of clay instead of flesh. My quills lay flat against my spine. I could not even feel my own heartbeat. There was no fire inside, after all. The Light had burned it out. It had seared away my delusions of fighting back, and I was left only with the desire to separate Father’s head from his neck.”

5. Rhulk's "Apocalypse Maiden" outfit.

6-8. Shattered Suns lorebook ending.

#anjiandraws #long post #rhulk #lubrae #destiny 2

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sommerflue-22 · 1 year

Text

Carrying You After Battle — Kamaboko Trio

You got injured during a mission and couldn't really move. You could wait for the Kakushi brigade to help you out, or you could send your Kasugai crow to ask for an aid. Your partner doesn't think it's a good idea. The best thing to do is to carry you as fast as they could to the nearest Wisteria House.

Featuring: Tanjiro Kamado, Zenitsu Agatsuma, Inosuke Hashibira

Warning: Demon Slayer!Reader, major character injury, broken bones, blood, near death experience

Word Count: 1,6k

Author Note

This is not beta read and it's my first KNY headcanon here. I've attached the link of images to help you visualize how they did the carry. As always, feel free to interpret these actions as platonic and/or romantic. Feel free to request something if you'd like, just leave it in my ask box! Hope you enjoy this :)

Tanjiro - Pack-strap Carry (Image)

You tried to regulate your breath as you chased the demon. It was running away from you and Tanjiro. At that point, you were sure the demon realized how it was no match for the both of you. You were a few inches away from slashing the demon's head when you lost your footing and fell on your knees. A part of your pants near your right knee was torn by a protruding tree root on the ground..

You weren't sure if it was just your imagination, but you swore you could hear your bone cracked. You let out a scream as you lay face down on the forest ground.

"Stay still, (Y/N)!" Tanjiro yelled as he continued chasing down the demon.

You bit your fist, trying to hold back your tears. It was so painful to the point where it made you feel dizzy.

Tanjiro came back only a few moments later, panting. It seemed that he succeeded in slaying the demon.

"Oh dear, (Y/N)!" Tanjiro kneeled next to you. "(Y/N), what... do you think you can stand up?"

"N-no." You choked up, finally letting yourself go. Guess it was the Tanjiro Effect. His presence let you loosen up your tough façade. Tanjiro was one of the few people who had seen you cry.

"Alright, alright, it's okay. I'll carry you, okay?" Tanjiro caressed your cheek, wiping off the tears. "I'm sorry, this might hurt a bit."

Tanjiro gently flipped you to your back. You winced in pain as he helped you up, maneuvering until your chest was against his back and he was holding your arms close to his chest.

"I got you, (Y/N). It's okay. We'll meet up with Zenitsu and Inosuke. I've sent Matsuemon to get help. It's okay, I got you."

Tanjiro kept trying to calm you down a little bit as he made his way to the rest of the squad member. He could feel every inch of his body screamed in agony, but he pushed through. There was no way he would let you on your own feet when your leg started to get swollen.

You met up with the rest of the squad. As usual, Zenitsu started to panic and cried seeing your injured leg. Inosuke cursed at you for not being careful enough. Tanjiro shushed them as he carried you, while also leading the squad, out of the forest.

The Kakushi brigade finally came. They examined your leg and thought it might be fractured. A member offered Tanjiro to carry you on their back so he could rest for a little. Tanjiro refused.

"It's fine. The Butterfly Mansion isn't that far, is it?" Tanjiro turned them down with a genuine smile.

All of you made your way back to the mansion.

"You don't have to carry me, you know?" You said, resting your chin on Tanjiro's shoulder.

"I know, but I want to." Tanjiro replied. "It's okay to cry, (Y/N). I know it hurts. You don't have to pretend to be strong all the time. Just wait for a little longer, yeah."

You muttered a protest but couldn't help yourself. You cried. It really hurt like hell.

Zenitsu - Bridal Style (Image)

You heard a familiar voice calling out your name, a few meters away from where you sat. You realized it was Zenitsu. You wanted to call out to him, to tell him that you're nearby. However, you couldn't bring yourself to say anything. Your hand was clutching the right side of your stomach where the demon had attacked you, resulting in a deep wound across your lower abdomen. You could only coughed in pain, yet it was enough for Zenitsu to locate you.

"(Y/N)?" Zenitsu crouched in front of you, panic written all over his face when he saw blood on your uniform. "(Y/N), what happened?"

"I got... slashed..." You panted.

"(Y/N), you're losing a lot of blood."

"I know..." If you were in a better state, those words would come out way more sarcastic. You were quite literally dying, either you and Zenitsu could tell.

"Oh, (Y/N), I'm so sorry!" Zenitsu whined as he easily scooped you up into his arms. "I'm so sorry! I didn't know you were hurt!"

"...It's fine, Zenitsu..."

"No, it's not fine!"

You could tell by the way his voice trembled, Zenitsu was in the verge of crying. You leaned your head on his chest and looked up. You were right, tears were pooling in his eyes.

"Zenitsu," you reached out to touch his cheek, "It's alright..."

Zenitsu didn't say anything in return. He kept running, trying to bring you to the nearest Wisteria House before it was too late, while starting to sob. You were both sent to finish off a demon that had been haunting a small village. You managed to chase it to the forest nearby, but as you slashed its head off, the demon delivered its final move. It cut your abdomen quite deep.

You couldn't bring yourself to say anything. You just looked up to the sky, watching your crow led the way. Ah... How wonderful the sky was... The sun was about to set, and it turned into a lovely orange color. So bright and warm, like the color of your partner's hair.

Zenitsu cried even harder when you closed your eyes. He knew you weren't dead, but he still felt guilty for not coming with you to the forest faster. If only he was braver...

With lots of effort and tears, you both finally reached the house. As if they could sense your arrival, a young female staff quickly opened the gate and ushered both of you in. Zenitsu let you go, wouldn't budge from where he stood until you were out of his sight.

After being treated by a doctor and cleaned up by the staff, you were put inside a room. It took you a whole day to regain consciousness and the first person you saw was Zenitsu. His face was red and his eyes were puffy. He saw you opened your eyes and immediately cried (again).

"(Y/N)-CHAN! I THOUGHT YOU WERE GONE!"

You winced in pain. "Oh, shush Zenitsu... You know nobody can get rid of me easily..."

You wouldn't tell your other friends, but you let Zenitsu craddle you for a whole day after that.

Inosuke - Firefighter Carry (Image)

Normally, being sent on a mission with Inosuke is not a problem. You both are good fighters and was able to work together to exterminate any demon. However, that one time you both got sent to a mountain. The terrain was really steep. Inosuke might be used to it, but that wasn't the case with you.

You kind of struggled during the fight, but you didn't want to worry Inosuke. You tried your best to hold on for your dear life. It's okay, you reminded yourself over and over again, it won't be long, now.

Even though it was way more difficult than your usual fight, you managed to defeat the demon. It approached you in a fast speed, but the blade of your sword was faster. You took a step back, bearing your whole body weight in one of your legs, and slashed the demon's head off with all the power you had.

As the demon's head rolled to the ground, you let out a scream. You were just so relieved. You couldn't wait to go back and take a shower.

"(Y/N)!" You heard Inosuke called out your name. No, he wasn't laughing maniacally, he wasn't boasting like usual...

Inosuke's call sounded more like a warning.

Before you could asked him what was wrong, you felt the ground underneath your feet crumbled. You couldn't think of anything as you fell. While fighting the demon, you didn't watch where you were going and stood on a hillside. The ground wasn't really solid as it has been raining the day before. As you stepped on it, it broke down and the land slipped.

Thankfully, it wasn't a fatal landslip. You only fell nine feet from where you first stood. Yes, it was bad, but it could be worse. You could only lay down on the ground. It felt like your whole body was smashed and you were dizzy. The last thing you saw before you passed out was Inosuke jumping off to save you.

"Wake up, underling!" Inosuke shook your shoulder. "Oi! (Y/N)!"

It was no use, you fainted. You hit your head pretty hard, resulting in a concussion. Inosuke stayed silent, his eyes widen and mouth agape underneath the boar mask. He couldn't believe it, you—someone whom he considered a strong person—fell down from a landslip.

"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" Inosuke yelled in frustration. "Damn that demon!"

He picked you up rather gently and slung your unconscious body over his shoulder. Inosuke knew it would be awhile until the Kakushi arrived to clean up and help you. So, he took matters into his own hands and started sprinting. He ordered your crow to lead him to the nearest Wisteria Mansion, spitting profanities and curses as he ran.

Once you both arrived, he made sure the people there "fix" you almost immediately. He swatted anyone who was about to clean his own wound, yelling "You mind my underling first!" He hated to admit it, but he was scared you'd die.

You regained consciousness the next morning, just before the break of the dawn. Your body felt like it could break anytime soon, but you forced yourself to sit up from the futon. You didn't notice at first, but Inosuke was lying down, resting his head near where your thighs were. He even took off his boar mask. He wouldn't like anyone to see him like that, so you remained quiet. Though, you couldn't help but touch his hair, thanking him for saving your life.

Let me know if you enjoyed this! I really did read a few sources to write this headcanon so T^T

#kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny headcanons #demon slayer headcanons #kamaboko squad #kamado tanjiro #zenitsu agatsuma #inosuke hashibira #tanjiro x you #zenitsu x you #inosuke x you #reader insert #kny x reader #major character injury #new blog #new writers on tumblr

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bottlesandbarricades · 11 months

Text

The Hour of Ghosts

Summary: A short story exploring the supernatural consequences of the Dance of the Dragons. Word Count: 2961 Warnings: Major spoilers for House of the Dragon season 2 / Fire & Blood, Major Character Deaths, Suicide, Mental Illness, Violence, Graphic Injury, Spooky Themes A/N: Hello! This is my first time writing something hotd-related and is essentially my coming-out-of-writing retirement fic to ease myself back into writing. Big thank you to @beaconofthehightower for pushing me to finish this and @dreamymoomin for beta reading. Anyway, I hope you enjoy my silly little ghost story 👻

The Dance of the Dragons left deep scars on the Seven Kingdoms, political and otherwise. Although the literal stench of death was vigorously scrubbed clean, the stains remained, ingrained into the very fibre of the people and the world left behind.

The battered, burnt banner of fire, blood and loss hung over the ruins of a once noble house. Hastily patched and practically mended with rough hands attempting to salvage what remained of House Targaryen and restore order to the realm. The bitterness of it all stuck to the tongue like ashes in your mouth - it had been for nothing.

No one had won; everyone had lost.

The generations to come would debate the facts and wage their own war with words, for and against each side’s claim in volume after volume of biassed histories. Others would simply gloat with the gift of hindsight, suggesting that those involved should have foreseen that a war of kin slaying kin and dragon fighting dragon would never have had a glorious victor.

As the years passed, the memories of the war faded from the sharp, throbbing string of freshly cut wounds to aching battle scars. Moving into that part of the collective memory, where the lines between fact and legend become murky and confused. Truths became as tangible as wisps of smoke from an open hearth, sewn together with the thread of imagination by every wet nurse in Westeros.

Something haunted these lands - collective trauma manifesting and twisting into tales of ghosts, ghouls and fantasm.

From the North shore of the God's Eye, where the blackened ruins of Harrenhal sit decaying, it is said that some evenings as the sun drops below the Western horizon, a high-pitched whistle can be heard in the wind. A piercing unnatural sound that makes the blood in your veins run cold.

To the native smallfolk, this sound is a well-known harbinger, a sign to shutter your windows tightly and turn in for the night - less you wish to glimpse something eerie illuminated in the moonlight over the inky black water.

The story goes that the shrill sound of Prince Daemon's mount, Caraxes, is always followed, even on the clearest of nights, by a rumbling like thunder, so loud that it sends ripples through the lake - the roar of the once mighty war dragon, Vhagar.

Phantom snarls shake the ground, hailing the infinite clash between the Blood Wyrm and the she-ancient dragon of the one-eyed Prince, Aemond Targaryen.

The sound of wings that no longer beat and gnashing jaws that have long since crumbled to dust echo for dozens of miles. Sparks of white-hot dragon fire gone cold reflected in the water below. As spectral flashes of red and bronzy green scales appear against the colourless void of night, weaving and merging like a coil of translucent serpents, struggling and writhing for dominance.

Shades of memory replay - Caraxes’ jaw locked tight around the larger dragon's throat, as Vhagar clawed, bit, and ripped in bloody retaliation. Tearing scales from flesh, and flesh from bone with the ease of Valyrian steel.

However, most unnerving are the two pale princes themselves mounted on the ghastly long dead beasts, as silver as their hair was in life, both gaunt with death and cadaverous to the eye. Sallow skin pulled taut over their skeletal faces, cheeks stained with tracks of red from bloody tears, which ran from sunken eyes.

Two souls destined to be locked in a battle for eternity, forever to play out their mutually assured destruction. The elder fated to leap from his dying mount and drive his blade of moonlight into the younger’s skull - again and again overlooked by Black Harren’s accursed seat.

A sickening and frightening spectacle for mortal eyes to perceive, yet in the absence of fear you might say there was a chilling beauty to the scene. Always to end the same way - poetically some would say - in fire and blood.

To the south, high above the city of King’s Landing upon Aegon’s Hill, the mighty Red Keep plays host to many ghosts of its own. This is no surprise as many people would wager that enough blood had been spilt within its walls over the years to fill the Blackwater. The castle is plagued by ghouls from across the ages, some from the days of the conqueror, himself.

Folk could pass many a long winter’s night recalling the countless tragedies of that castle and those who were said to remain there. It appeared that this war of dancing dragons only added to that grisly spectral collection.

It is Maegor’s Holdfast, where servants don't dare linger alone and guards dread to be posted in fear of hearing her. The whisper of phantom sobbing that murmurs just beyond the reach of your ears or more terribly ghoulish shrieks of anguish that grasp your throat with fear and settle in your chest. It is the sound of grief-driven madness consuming a gentle, yet tortured soul.

Even as the years passed, the agony of Queen Helaena’s bereavement was palpable, the sounds of her anguished cries were enough to drive anyone to madness. They consumed you, drowning you in sorrow and dragging you down with suffocating melancholy.

Some say that Helaena’s haunting was part of what drove her Mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower to her own derangement in the years following the war.

Tormented, not only by the loss of her three sons but also by the cries and whimpers of her dead daughter, which echoed off the pale red stone. Confined within the very same walls that had been sweet Helaena’s home turned prison in the last half year of her life before she had flung herself from the window to her death, impaled on the spikes below.

Alicent Hightower had been harshly punished for her sins. The feeling of being trapped, one way or another, had been a constant companion throughout her life. Yet it seemed being locked away, like her daughter before her, was the final straw.

No needle and thread nor book could save her sanity.

She spent her time attempting to converse with people unseen, sickened by the colour green and longing to hold and comfort her dearest babe in distress whom, like the rest of her children Alicent could no longer picture the face of.

On her deathbed, it appeared that the raging fever quieted the madness and allowed for moments of clarity and reflection for the Queen in chains. As expected, Alicent spoke at length of her regrets and confessed her transgressions. It seemed for the first time in a very long time, Alicent Hightower was at peace.

“I want to see my sons again.” Alicent had said, as her life ebbed away. “And Helaena, my sweet girl.”

The Septa who sat in vigil over Queen Alicent that night, failed to mention everything that happened in the final hours of Alicent’s life in her official account. What the poor woman had witnessed as the rain lashed against the castle windows had left her shaken, clutching her seven-pointed star so tightly that each corner had left tiny cuts on her palms and fingers.

At the hour of the wolf, the Stranger had come for Alicent Hightower, but it appeared death was not alone.

The Queen’s breaths had become shallower and shallower until finally, the death rattle had set in. It was then that an eerie coldness filled the bed chamber, at odds with the raging fire in the grate. Gooseflesh prickled across the Septa’s skin as the chill engulfed her. A cold so biting that she could feel it seep through the numerous layers of her coarse linen robes.

It was strange and unnatural.

With an abrupt rush of wind, the fire was extinguished from the hearth. Snuffing out her last fragile defence against the fear that had suddenly taken hold of her. The room was consumed by darkness and the Septa’s only solace now was a handful of low-burning candles clinging to their flame within the bedside lantern.

She knew she should move; she should attempt to rekindle the logs that smouldered in the fireplace or call out to the guard on the door and yet she could not. Instead, she sat frozen in her chair and was forced to bear witness.

Between the hammering of her own heart, the rasping breaths of the dying Queen and the rain that pounded relentlessly at the window panes, it was hard for the Septa to hear them at first.

The voices started softly and indistinct, like overhearing a conversation in another room, but grew louder and more coherent with each passing moment. Till it was as if they were in the very bed-chamber itself.

Initially, she believed they were children’s voices due to their high and melodic quality. However, as the Septa strained her ears to hear, she soon realised these voices chopped and changed in tone with every few syllables, distorting into a heavier and deeper pitch and then swiftly returning to a higher register.

Stricken with fright, all she could do was listen. Discerning that the voices seemed more masculine than feminine, the Septa tried to focus on distinguishing meaning in the sea of words as the voices continuously talked over each other.

Then she heard it, the common thread. One word was repeated over and over.

“Mother.”

The realisation was scalding, in sharp contrast to the icy air that surrounded her. The Septa’s initial instincts were correct; these were the voices of children - Alicent’s children.

The blinding clarity only seemed to make the voices grow louder. Becoming more frantic and fractured, flicking rapidly between youth and maturity. It was chaotic and confusing, as if years of memories were trying to compress themselves into a single moment. Blurry, broken and half-remembered.

“Where are you, my loves? I can’t see you.” Came the weakened voice from the bed between laboured gasps.

The Septa’s eyes had now adjusted to the dark and she watched in horror as she began to notice the movement of unnatural shapes forming in the gloom.

Hearing them was one thing, but seeing them was another.

Twisting and bending, the four misshapen figures that manifested could not decide what they wished to embody. They shifted in stature and years in the same disturbing manner as their voices, morphing from adult to child and back again.

They crowded the bed, tugging at the bedclothes as they had once tugged at Alicent’s skirts in life, so many years ago. All the while their voices kept on calling for her. It was too much to bear.

This fresh wave of alarm seemed to bring the Septa to her senses and she did the only thing she knew she could. She began to pray, hands clasped together around her seven-pointed star. Shutting her eyes tightly as she recited the words, she wished to hear no more, to see no more.

Time seemed stagnant as each minute that slipped by felt like ten. The Septa focused on her prayers, drawing comfort from the words she knew so well. The familiarity shielding her from the ghoulish sights and sounds around her.

Until all of a sudden, she felt a shift in the air and the voices were gone, fading just as fast as they had come. A balmy glow now beckoned through her closed eyelids.

There was light and warmth as the fire returned to the grate. The logs were ablaze once again, heat flooding the room and banishing the chill which had consumed it.

The Septa took a shaky breath before daring to open her eyes, taking a moment to bask in the feeling of being warm and alive in the peaceful, blessed silence.

As the rain pattered softly against the glass, she realised the storm had passed, along with Alicent Hightower.

Across the water, clinging to the face of the volcano known as Dragonmont, sits the fortress of Dragonstone. A place of salt, smoke and brimstone. The ancestral seat of House Targaryen, a relic of Old Valyria forged by dragonfire and the forgotten magic of Dragonlords.

This castle was the grim and eerie backdrop where some say Aegon II claimed victory over his half-sister, the Black Queen. A hollow and costly victory, which hardly tipped the scales in the face of all that he had lost.

One final petulant jab in this bloody squabble.

Though accounts from both sides of the warring factions differ on many things, they find common ground on one exchange, which took place upon Rhaenyra’s arrival from King’s Landing to find herself betrayed and Aegon in situ.

“Dear Brother, I had hoped you were dead.” Rhaenyra called out at the sight of Aegon’s half-charred and twisted form. Delighted by the small triumph of his injuries and satisfied that even though she would almost certainly die at his hand, Aegon would spend the rest of his days bearing scars done in her name.

“After you. You are the elder.” King Aegon spat back with a pained grin, his jaw clenched hard as he fought to hide the agony that coursed throughout his broken body. He had refused milk of the poppy out of the fear of poisoning and paid tenfold for it.

“I am pleased to know that you remember that.” Rhaenyra replied.

Now friendless and at the mercy of the enemy, Rhaenyra Targaryen was forcefully separated from her son. Little did those present know that once the dust of conflict had finally settled, this child would in fact be King in his own right. But, for now, he was just a boy.

A boy forced to watch his Mother die.

The Realm’s Delight was served up to Aegon’s dragon, Sunfyre, who bathed her in red-hot dragonfire. As the flames consumed her, Rhaenyra raised her head skywards and shrieked out one last curse.

What didn't burn, was swiftly devoured. The final memorial to the Half-Year Queen being nothing more than the scorch marks left on the ancient flagstones.

The words and meaning of Rhaenyra’s dying curse are lost to time, but many suspect it was the root cause for the strange happenings that followed.

It started at the site of her killing, a peculiar sweltering heat rising from the stone for which there was no logical source. Those foolish enough to dare place their hand on the blackened marks themselves would come away harshly burned in searing pain. A mere moment's touch brought about hideous blisters that bubbled on the skin and left the surrounding flesh charred and cracked.

Then came the sightings, it was said that if you ventured to cross the courtyard in the dead of night you may catch a glimpse of the Black Queen herself.

A haunting apparition composed of swirling smoke and glowing embers. The flaming skirts of her gown twirled around her as long silver-gold hair burned bright like white hot iron. Flames licked around her once beautiful face, now reduced to nothing but ash and a pair of hollow eyes.

The smell of burning flesh and brimstone filled the air as an aura of blistering heat that radiated around her form, shimmering and distorting. No words came from her blackened mouth, only thick, choking smoke as she silently screamed, leaving trails of cinders in her wake as she stalked the castle grounds.

Rhaenyra Targaryen conveyed her displeasure through the flame, which had been her demise. Burning anything to which her spirit took offence. Newly hung tapestries were known to spontaneously combust and seven pointed stars melted in their holders.

She may not have held the Seven Kingdoms or sat the Iron Throne, but it was clear that Dragonstone was her domain and even in death she would remain its mistress.

As the decades passed, it appeared her restless soul seemed to quieten - the sudden fires becoming less frequent and sightings fewer and fewer. Till the tales of her spectre had become nothing more than a story to frighten children.

Theories to the reason for this change were in the dozens, some claiming that a young brave Septon had been to Dragonstone and bravely banished the fiery ghoul from the castle, casting her down to the Seven Hells where she belonged.

Others believe her spirit's suddenly passive nature was linked to an even greater shift, something was changing for House Targaryen itself. Where the air of Dragonstone had once been thick with Valyrian enchantment there seemed to be rot.

Their magic was dying, eroding away further and further with each generation.

People once said that the Targaryens were closer to Gods than men and yet it would seem that the sin of the dance had angered something much older and much crueller than the deity of several aspects worshipped by the faith of the Seven.

This was something ancient and primal that wished to punish them for tearing apart their house with the blessing of dragons that had made them Kings. Many argued that the sins of the Greens and the Blacks were the reason that after the war House Targaryens’ dragons declined, getting smaller and weaker as their power faded with each malformed dragon and unhatched egg.

In the end, the doom of the Targaryen dynasty was inevitable. The damage was done and the dominos would continue to fall uninterrupted. Without their dragons what truly separated them from the other great houses of the Seven Kingdoms?

How long would it be before others saw the mirage for what it was and another contender took their chance for the Iron Throne?

After all, power only resides where men believe it resides. Truth does not matter, only perception and once the illusion of power is extinguished, snuffed out with the dying breath of the last dragon, there is no returning to what once was.

#Rach Writes Sometimes #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #hotd fan fiction #hotd #House of the Dragon #the dance of the dragons #fire and blood #Daemon Targaryen #Aemond Targaryen #Helaena Targaryen #Rhaenyra Targaryen #Alicent Hightower #Aegon ii Targaryen

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lolahasmoxie · 1 year

Text

Making Up for Lost Time - E.M.

So like 4 months ago, I wrote "Sleep Tight" which I can't believe has over 1300 notes. Anyway, I am finally writing something else with these two.

As background, Eddie and Reader have known each other since they were kids. The reader left Hawkins after graduating (Eddie's first try @ Senior Year) and moving to Chicago for college. They lose contact with each other for about 10 years until Reader returns to Hawkins. Eddie has a 4-year-old son Ronnie, and Eddie and Reader are about 28.

Tags are at the end from everyone who said they wanted a part 2.

WORD - 1.8k

FOLLOW UP TO SLEEP TIGHT

WARNINGS - smut and feels. Angst w/ a happy ending

Italics are flashbacks

You were waiting in your driveway, looking down the street anxiously for any sign of Eddie's white van.

"Peanut, we need to get going." your dad said with a sigh. Your mom was already in the passenger seat, the back of the station wagon filled with what you would be taking to Chicago. You were genuinely ready; your best friend was the only thing missing.

He had promised he would be here. He promised he would be here to send you off on your next adventure, yet the road in front of your house was silent, with no sign of Eddie's van.

"Just five more minutes, ok?" you asked, and your dad simply smiled as he shook his head. You continued standing there, arms crossed across your chest. With a defeated sigh, you turned towards your car when you heard it. The sound of a fast-coming vehicle approaching, and with a grin on your face, you watched as your best friend came to a screeching stop in front of your house.

"I'm here!" he shouted, nearly falling out of the driver's seat as he made his way towards you, not giving a single fuck about the volume of his voice and how it might irritate your neighbors at 7am.

"I knew you would make it," you said with a smile as you hugged him eagerly. Eddie looked past your shoulder and waved at your parents.

"Good to see you, son." your Dad chuckled. "Was afraid you were gonna be a no-show."

"No way," Eddie said with a grin. "Couldn't let the college girl go without seeing her off proper." Your dad chuckled to himself before he climbed into the driver's seat. "So, you ready for Chicago?"

"The question is, is Chicago ready for me," you said with a tone of pure confidence that made Eddie's heart skip in his chest.

"You're gonna be fine; you'll slay 'em dead," he said with an assured voice. He paused when he saw a look of worry flash across your face. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"It's nothing," you said, looking away for a moment before you spoke again. "It just, what if..."

"What is it?"

"What if I fail?" When you looked back at Eddie, you were met with his warm brown eyes, a warm smile spreading across his face.

"Are you kidding me? You were the class salutatorian; you're gonna do great!" Eddie said with an assured voice.

"That was here; Hawkins is a tiny ass pond compared to Chicago. What if I fuck it all up?"

"Then you come back home, lick your wounds, and we'll get you back into the big bad world." Eddie sounded so sure, but he had always been your biggest cheerleader.

"Maybe I should stay," you said quietly. Eddie let out a sigh and placed his hands on your shoulders.

"You could," he started, his heart clenching at your hopeful face." But I know you, and you would hate yourself if you didn't go." You sighed, knowing every word he spoke was accurate.

"What will I do without you?" you asked, and Eddie hated the hitch in your voice.

"You're gonna be fine. And besides, if anyone gives you problems, just call me, and I'll roll in and kick some ass." You chuckled, your hand quickly moving to wipe a few tears that had fallen down your cheeks. Eddie didn't say anything; he simply pulled you into a bone-crushing hug. He rested his head on yours, inhaling deeply and trying hard to remain stoic.

"Y/N," you heard from the car. "We gotta get going if we want to make it by check-in!" You pulled back and looked up at Eddie. You slowly pulled away but stopped when you felt his hand in yours holding on. You turned towards your friend, the one who knew you better than anyone else. He looked like he wanted to speak, and you tilted your head at him.

"Eddie," you asked quietly. He sighed before he squeezed your hand.

"Just," he said before letting out a heavy sigh. "Call me when you get there. I want to know you got there safe." You nodded before turning back towards your car. You opened the door but paused before closing it and returning to Eddie. His heart beat wildly, bracing himself as you leaped into his arms.

"I'm gonna miss you," you said, and he squeezed you tighter. He placed you back on the ground and ran a hand over your hair before running a thumb over your cheeks.

"You're gonna see me in two weeks. Plus, you're amazing; you'll have new friends in no time."

"But they won't be you."

"Damn straight," he said with a cocky grin that made you chuckle. "You'd better get going; we both know your dad is a stickler for a schedule." You nodded before reaching up on your tiptoes to place a soft kiss on Eddie's cheek.

"I'll call you when we get there." Eddie nodded as he watched you climb back into the car. He watched as your dad started the station wagon and smiled as you leaned out the window to wave goodbye to him. He stood there until your car had vanished down the road and was no longer in sight, on its way to take you to a new city and a new life without him.

He climbed back into his van and took his time driving back to Forest Hills. The ride was silent; he just didn't have it in him to turn on the radio. He parked the van and entered his trailer, standing in the center of the living room and only turning when he heard Wayne's pickup. He didn't move as his uncle entered their home.

"Hey boy, you back already from seeing your girl off?" his uncle asked with a hopeful grin. "Tell me everything; what did she say?" Wayne's grin fell when he noticed Eddie's shoulders slump.

"I couldn't do it."

"What?" Wayne asked in a quiet voice. He moved to stand before his nephew; he hadn't seen him look that heartbroken since the night the police had dropped Eddie in his care. "What do you mean you couldn't tell her?"

"She's going off to a new life; she doesn't need me holding her back."

"That's horseshit, and you know it, boy," Wayne said with gruff certainty. "Shit, you've loved her since you were 13." Eddie sat down with a huff on their old sofa. He rested his elbows on his knees, his head resting in his hands as he looked up at his uncle.

"She said thought about staying," he said quietly. Wayne's face lit up.

"Are you kidding me? That was your in, boy!"

"I told her to go." Wayne let out a heavy sigh before taking a seat next to Eddie. "I told her to go because I didn't want her to hate me when she realized she should have left Hawkins when she had the chance."

"Oh, Eddie," Eddie sniffled this time, and Wayne wrapped his arms tightly around his boy when Eddie finally started crying. Eddie hugged his uncle back, letting out his grief that his best friend had left and had taken a piece of his heart with her. His best friend had left, and he had done nothing to stop her.

----------------------------------------------

The feel of calloused fingers down your back brought you slowly out of sleep. You shifted closer to Eddie, your arms tightening around his ribs as you turned your sleepy face towards him to see his brown eyes already focused on you.

"You're being a creep," you said, causing Eddie to pull you closer to his side. You couldn't help the content hum from you as you felt his lips against your hair.

"Couldn't help it; spent years dreaming about just this scenario," he said as his lips found yours again.

Your first date had been a smashing success and was hands down the best either of you had ever had. It was nothing fancy; Eddie had taken you to a movie, followed by a last stop at the diner. You had concluded that the date was going so well because you already knew everything about each other, so there was none of that awkward get-to-know-you bullshit. On your porch, you had kissed and kept kissing before asking if he would like to come in for coffee. Two rounds of coffee later, you had fallen into a blissful sleep until now.

You glanced at your alarm clock, seeing 3:15am staring back at you. Shuffling closer to him, you placed soft kisses on his chest, over the demon's head tattoo that you had held his hand through when he was 16. "It's late," you mumbled before placing your head over his heart.

"We've got time," Eddie said, and you smiled as you felt his hand lift your chin up to look at him. Before you could reply, his lips were on yours again, his tongue sliding into your mouth when you gasped at the feel of his other hand trailing down your sternum. He shifted you until you were underneath him, all sense of sleepiness gone as you felt his cock hot and heavy against your thigh as Eddie's lips moved to your neck. Your breaths were heavy when he pulled back, reaching a hand down to run his cock through your folds as a whine left your throat.

"Besides," he said as he pushed forward, entering you fully before resting his forehead against yours. "We have so much time to make up for."

His chest was pressed against yours, his hips grinding deeply against yours, hands intertwined and clasped tightly. When you came, it was with his name on your lips, heart nearly bursting when he did the same seconds later. In the afterglow, you noticed tears brimming in his eyes, and all you could think of was how you wanted to live in this moment forever. Your hands cupped his face and brought him down for a deep kiss, pouring your love into him before pulling him down to rest against you. His head against your chest, you could feel your own tears beginning as you felt his lips place soft kisses over your heart.

"Ssssh," you whispered as you ran a hand over his hair. "I'm not going anywhere, promise." He shifted his hips, his cock finally pulling from your heat as he shuffled the two of you onto your sides. He pulled you against his body, his grip firm as if he feared you would disappear into the night.

"Love you," he said softly. You felt your body blush as his lips moved against your hair. He finally let out a sleepy yawn before he continued. "Gonna marry you, so act surprised, yeah?" You couldn't help the smile as soft snores told you that Eddie had fallen asleep. You yawned, feeling sleep coming for you as well, and you pressed a final kiss on Eddie's chest before closing your eyes.

"Looking forward to it."

---------------------------------------------

@kimmi-kat @feltonswifesworld87 @mrsmunsonxquinn @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @hahahafucku @emilyroxy @ihatepeanutss @mackyboo21

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #dad!eddie munson

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quecksilvereyes · 1 year

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Forgive me, brother, for I cannot follow. The nave of this cathedral has long been robbed of its candles and the doors of the confessional have rotted off their hinges an age ago. The lattice has broken from the window, the curtain hangs no longer.

If I leant forwards on this weeping wooden bench, I could fit my palm to the slope of your jaw. I could lay my forehead against yours, I could taste the salt on your cheeks. The window is wide enough, brother.

Forgive me, brother, for I have drowned myself in spirits. My hems are wet and the world is spinning. My tongue tastes as though some sick, bloating thing has made itself at home within my mouth. I've stuck my own head below the surface, brother, and I screamed until my lungs burned and my nails broke where they clutched for purchase.

A question, brother. A thought. How long must I claw at divinity to drag it down to earth? Someone has fallen. Another must surely follow. Do you not think it lonely, in that box? The stone is crumbling, and the earth is shifting. How long does a god sit atop waning faith?

Your knuckles are raw. There is blood on your lips, and your back is hunched. A self-important prick. A blown-up brat. Too busy trying to get himself shot to watch where he's going. It is the four and twentieth day of the month and this is the twenty-fourth phone call mother has made, her mouth drawn tight.

This is a confessional, brother. Did his teeth crack under your fist? Did his blood run warm? Did he apologise for the way he looked at you, or the way he stood where you walked? Did you reach for a sword no-one can carry here? I know the way you dig your teeth into a duel, brother, but this was no duel.

This was just a boy.

Forgive me, brother, for I doubt you. Your hands are shaking, and in the dim sunlight that reaches through the dirty windows of this cathedral, your eyes are a sky dipped into a brilliant twilight. In the darkness of your mouth, your teeth shine like stars.

These are no earthly constellations. The vowels on your lips are not of a language we share with our parents. How many rosaries must I pray, brother, for these sins? Must I shed dress and negligee and girdle and skin, and bare to the yawning mouth of this cathedral my flayed flesh?

Will you dig your claws into me, will you rip muscle from me in ribbons until you find, nestled between my lungs and crushed by my spine, the pearl of my faith? Will you pry me open with golden, bruised hands, and take from me the only thing of worth I can still produce? So you may hold it up when you return, upon a pillow of silk - an offering. There is just a delay. Worry not, the faith is still there.

Forgive me, brother, for I will not board the train. I will not clutch the little ones to my breast, and I will not bury my face in your chest.

I watched you slay a beast-god when we were children. Its blood soaked you to the bone, ten-and-three and weeping sorrow, red from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. To the tip of your sword and the tip of your tongue, until the field was flooded and the skies groaned.

I took your face in my hands and kissed your slick cheek. At our feet, the last breaths of the one hundred year winter rattled from the witch's lungs, and the beast's claws wore themselves to dust. Our little brother lay dead in the sludge. Our little sister wailed until her voice gave out.

Eight. And ten.

Forgive me brother, but I am reaching through the window. My nails are broken, I know, and my hands are calloused. I am digging into your flesh, I know, but maybe, if you folded yourself right, you could fit through it. Maybe, if you bandaged your knuckles and closed your eyes, you could submerge yourself, full-bodied, and draw the blood from your every pore.

There is no holy water in the basin anymore, but the river by the mill might do. Perhaps we will find a hammer with which to smash the pillars of your shoulders. My brother, where will the skies rest then? Won't they slide from you, and aren't they already shattered?

You do not move. The twilight shines with salt. Your hands shake and your hair is golden. Come with me, you say. You go through a wardrobe and I follow, you drape yourself in hide and I follow, you are crowned and I follow. You walk from a train station and I follow, you duel the man who has sat himself upon your throne and I follow. My skies and horizons, my brother.

You will board the train. I will dip my face below the waterline. Forgive me.

The cathedral is ransacked, and I do not know how to make it fit for worship.

- High Queen Susan the Gentle gives her last confession to her brother, High King Peter the Magnificent, successor of the lion by right of blood.

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nervousgardenerkid · 2 years

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i finally decided to write something omg,,anyways MINORS DNI!!! seriously we'll fucking fight if u do. kinda smut?? mainly just the reader loving eddie. i don't think i used any pronouns? but it is implied that the reader is female. anyways hope u enjoy! and send more stuff i like writing :) i got this pic off of twitter so slay👁🫦👁

Eddie Munson was by far one of the prettiest boys you've ever seen. It didn't matter what he was doing. If he was sleeping he was the most beautiful sleeper there was, even if there was a bit of drool on the corner of his mouth, and his hair was all over the place.

When he played his guitar you cursed the gods for not giving you a single creative bone in your body cause the number of pictures you could draw or paint would be endless. You knew they'd never do him any justice, but the way he furrowed his brows as he tried to match the notes to his new favorite song. His teeth gently biting down on his bottom lip as he finally started to hit all the right notes, eyes lighting up in the process of it all.

He's pretty no matter what he does, but you think he's the prettiest when his head is between your thighs. You let out little giggles while he leaves trails of kisses along your inner thighs. He steals a glance at you and you feel your breath get stuck in your throat. As the sun sets in the distance the soft orange lighting found its way to the window in his bedroom at the trailer and painted his body a beautiful golden color. It's as if the universe was on your side and decided to freeze time for you.

His eyes were full of warmth, love, and lust all wrapped up in one, and his smile. God, that smile was going to be the absolute death of you. He was going to be the death of you. You let out a gentle “hm?” as your body shivered from his hand grabbing yours.

“I asked if you were okay, sweetheart,” he mumbled while placing another kiss on the inside of your thigh. His nose gently nudged the smooth skin.

“I'm fine,” you whispered, sitting up and resting your free hand on his cheek. He narrows his eyes at you sitting up so that he's now at eye level with you.

“What's going on in that pretty head of yours?” he mumbles to himself more than you.

You smile and let go of his hand to place yours on his other cheek. He leans into the warmth of your touch as you let out a sigh of contentment.

“You're so pretty. You know that?” you said softly as you lean in slowly.

“No matter what you do,” you kiss his cheek. “You're pretty while you sleep,” a kiss on his other cheek.

“You watch me sleep?” he teases.

You roll your eyes and flick his forehead before kissing it. “You're pretty when you spend hours playing your guitar.”

You feel his face get warm and you pull back a bit to catch a glimpse of the pink dust across his cheeks. “Pretty while you plan your D&D night,” you're littering kisses across his jaw and neck.

“My pretty boy,” you mumble against his lips. Eddie lets out a small chuckle and wraps his arms around you while dragging you into his lap.

“When am I at my prettiest?” he asks while looking at you with bright eyes.

You feel your cheeks heat up and let out a whine while putting your face in the crook of his neck. It's one thing to think this to yourself, but to say it out loud is another thing.

“Oh? Now that I know your reaction you have to tell me,” his hands fumble with the hem of your shirt. You shake your head and let out a yelp when he lays you down, his body hovering over you.

“Well that's not fair now is it sweetheart? I asked nicely and everything,”

You giggle once again and lift your head enough to meet his lips halfway. He let out a hum and put one hand on your waist while he used his arm for support. The kiss was slow and sweet, like you both had all the time in the world and decided to spend it with each other. You pull away breathless and put your lips near his ear.

“You're the prettiest when you go down on me.” When you pull away you don't expect his face to be as red as yours, but it is. He giggles. He actually, giggled before he finds himself making his way to his original position.

“You think so?” He asks quietly before teasing you through the soft cotton that acts as a barrier.

You nod your head, letting out a low moan when he moves the cotton to the side. His fingers now teasing you.

“Well,” he starts, middle and ring finger slowly making their way in. “I think you look beautiful while I’m down here.” He picks up the pace a bit and places a kiss where you need him the most. You whimper at the contact of his lips, almost pushing his head back with the heel of your foot. He smirks up at you and glances back down.

“Let's see how pretty we can get tonight, yeah?”

There are very few hills you would die on but Eddie Munson being the most beautiful boy there ever was is a hill you'd happily die on.

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader

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typ1calaizetsu-lover · 11 months

Note

can you write a yandere Zohakuten x reader please? Im not sure if you need a plot but if you do, what about reader being a young demon slayer and stumbling upon Zohakuten but instead of killing them he takes an obsessive interest in them? Thank you have a good day/night!

(AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

thank you so much for requesting this! I've been considering on making one but this is SO much better!

I'll make sure it meets to your standards, anon! god i can tell this is gonna be longggggg)

TW: sexual themes (?), obsessive behavior, kidnapping, yandere act.

running.

you remembered running and running.

you remembered running because you could sense danger from this way. you remembered the extreme scent of danger coming from the forest.

you remembered tripping on a big rock in the way in the midst of running to the sign of death.

you remembered trying to get up, only to meet gold, narrowed eyes watching your every move.

you remembered freezing at the sight of the startling, glowing, gold eyes.

a boy- no, a demon, about your height, with black hair that reached upward in several directions, his skin was brown, and he bore a fierce scowl in his face. his ears were also pointed.

you also remembered noticing his muscles and his biceps through his clothes.

if revealing his belly and covering the top with a gold plate armor counted as clothing.

you remembered the menacing aura that radiated the demon, his eyes had the kanji, "hatred", in them.

you remembered the demon boy crouching down, his right knee against the dirt, his left knee up, and his elbow on his left thigh.

you remembered his face inches within yours, you remembered feeling his warmth breath graze on your skin.

you remembered trembling and shivering slightly when he leaned closer to your face, so close, your nose and his was touching.

it almost seemed like he wanted to smell you.

taste you even.

you remembered you worriedly bit your lip, daring not to say anything. your grip on your katana tightened to the point your knuckles was turning pale.

he must've noticed, because he had grabbed your sword and tossed it behind him.

you remembered whimpering anxiously.

the fear stretched into your face must've pleased him, because he had cupped your chin in his fingers.

you remembered your heart pounded and you felt like passing out.

his aura was so strong. it was painful, like it was trying to swell your heart, or it tried to burn every single bone in your body.

you remembered whimpering even more in pain as you tried to move your arms, but it turned out your body went numb.

"weak, pathetic. what is the point of joining the demon slaying corps when you can't even bear to fight one? Or wield a katana, no less?"

he spoke harshly, moving your chin to the left so he could inspect your cheekbones.

"don't bother fighting me, you'll end up dead. and i don't want that, yet."

the way he spoke.. it almost sounded like a purr or a coo..

he lifted up his other hand, the nail of his index finger pressed against your soft and delicate skin, then sliced through it.

you remembered gasping in pain, and you wished you hadn't.

his gold orbs moved to look at your desperate state, then 'tsked'.

the perfect cut of your cheek was satisfying for him.

the way the red ooze went down your cheek slowly, the way you hissed and breathed in pain and silence, the way your chest heaved in and out..

it made him crazy...

you remembered he opened his mouth to reveal a pair of sharp fangs in the front, his tongue reaching out..

his tongue met your skin, trailing it on the cut, licking all the blood away.

his mouth made a fascinated 'pop', and then his eyes moved back to yours, his head traveled closer yours, his lips inches from yours...

"you belong to me now. you're mine."

his words faded slowly, you remembered your eyes drooped, everything blackening out...

chained in silver, gagged by the mouth, your perfect build was tied together.

your hands were tied up on the wall, but your legs weren't chained.

at least, maybe not yet.

you weren't sure whether he'd come back, but you hoped he didn't.

you needed to get out of here. as quick and silent as possible.

you whimpered and groaned as you tried to hitch the chains from the wall.

your body still felt the same numbness from earlier, and you realized your clothes had been slightly torn. had that demon tore it off while you slept? did he do something to you?!

you shuddered.

for a few minutes, you started to think of how cute he kind of looked, a slight pink tint crept into your cheeks.

you wondered what was wrong with yourself.

"ah, you're awake, my love."

the familiar, deep voice of the demon startled you completely.

"spread your legs out for me, won't you, lovely?"

your eyes traveled to the boy in front of you, who had entered your cell quietly as possible.

still frightened, you didn't move.

"tsk tsk tsk, humans have become worthless these days. fine, i will do it myself. but next time, mortal,"

the demon crouched down to part your legs with brute strength.

"you will do everything i say. understood?"

you whimpered again, and then nodded your head.

the demon got closer to your face, and when he had raised his hand (with those nasty crusty nails), he cupped your cheek to remove the gag wrapped around you face, and then placed his lips onto yours.

your eyes widened.

you could feel him tasting you. his teeth slightly biting your tongue.

you stifled a moan, shuffling your body.

it almost felt like he was putting more pressure into your body by just kissing you.

his hand was running up against your thigh, near your crotch, and you almost flinched. his hand then ran up to your sides, then caressed it.

with so much force.

you couldn't handle it, it almost felt like eating and you wanted to stop, but you couldn't.

your belly hurt, your legs and arms hurt.

you muffled a sort of scream or groan of pain, and the demon opened its eyes at you.

"what is wrong, lovely?"

the demon asked in an unusual, tone of care and kindness.

well it sounded like it.

"i-.."

you gasped out, your chest heaving in and out.

the demon placed his chin between your breasts, waiting for you patiently like a stray.

"er-... n- nothing.. it's just-"

"you didn't expect a demon like me to do that?"

he smirked, standing up now.

"you are probably so hungry, lovely, humans like you are delicate, i wouldn't want you to die.."

he places one last kiss in your lips and then proceeded to exit your cell, leaving you alone again.

you were really gonna stay here for a long time...

bubbles of tears formed in your eyes.

sorry, master kagaya, i didn't want to be here..

\\ lol this was really fun to write! apologies if it's short!! //

#`kny #kimetsu no yaiba #zohakuten x reader #yandere zohakuten #zohakuten

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demonslayedher · 1 year

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AU idea: Tanjuro's disease passed down and he caught it early on so now his entire quest to save Nezuko and defeat Muzan is on a time limit before he expires from his illness.

"Oniichan, your face..."

"Oh, is there still soot on it?"

"No, you look pale," said Nezuko, giving sleeping Rokuta a scoot higher up her back. "Do you want me to go with you?"

Tanjiro would never had asked this of her, he didn't need help to carry charcoal, and could go faster on his own. He assured her he was fine, and later regretted the decision not to spare her of her fate that night.

With how absorbed he was in thoughts of his sister's condition, Tanjiro didn't spare his own worsening condition any thoughts. As the tiredness and burn in his lungs crept in, he attributed it to the thin air of Mount Sagiri and the toll of practicing swordsmanship and Breath technique.

There came a day while striking with all his power at the boulder that he found his thoughts drifting back to a day of practicing Hinokami Kagura with his father. Tanjiro had asked how his father could sustain a whole night of dancing in the frigid cold in his sickly condition, and his father assured him that it was thanks to the correct way of breathing. Doing it wrong, though, was hard on the body, and would take its toll. It felt like an odd thing to wonder while powerlessly striking at a rock, but he had to ask himself, was he breathing wrong at Hinokami Kagura all those years?

Later, when Makomo identified the errors in his Water Breath, he found himself asking, "Can you hurt yourself by doing this wrong?"

The question had given her pause, and then she replied, yes, she supposed it could. That night in his diary, Tanjiro admitted for the first time, "I'm afraid of not having enough time."

As Tanjiro grew and developed in his awareness and Breath technique, he was able to determine the sources of his exhaustion--physical exertion, injury, lack of rest--but for what he could not otherwise account for, memories of his father always arose and made sense of his symptoms. It seemed Nezuko did not notice anything amiss, which Tanjiro was grateful for. His face had firmed like a man and he had gained a sturdy build, there was nothing amiss to notice.

However, on the night Tamayo examined his broken ribs, she took pause. "Tanjiro-san," she asked, "Are you ill?"

The moment she said so, he felt overcome with chills from his head to his gut, and faint like she had summoned all his mounting tiredness to surface. "Am I, then?" he asked.

"You mean to slay demons in this condition?"

"It's the only way to take care of Nezuko. I want to see her become human again. I'm sure she'll be healthy and will get to live a long human life--she takes after our mother! I always took after our father so this is probably something I was born with, but Otousan lasted long enough to see the birth of six children! I'm only 15, that gives me lots of time!" he beamed flexed.

Tamayo placed a hand on his cheek, much to her assistant's consternation. "Tanjiro. Don’t think lightly of illness."

"A... alright," he frowned.

"I suppose Nezuko-san really should go with you. She's a demon and she's stronger than you. You need to rely on her strength if you're going to last. Please rely on mine, too. I'll treat you with whatever medicine I can, but under the stress of fighting demons, your condition is bound to worsen."

"If it means Nezuko can be human again, then that's something I have to accept. But... how long do you think I have?"

"Whatever battles lie ahead of you will tell."

"You might get killed by a demon before long anyway," added Yushiro.

"That's true! In that case, how long this illness will give me doesn't matter. I have to hurry for Nezuko's sake--and to see an end to Kibutsuji Muzan."

So it happened that Chachamaru delivered medicine and samples of blood back and forth, and in Tanjiro's letters to Tamayo, he gave her detailed reports of his health. The human doctor who treated his broken bones did not notice his condition, he assured her, nor did Shinobu when treating his injuries after fighting Lower Moon Five. He asked the girls at the Butterfly Mansion lots of questions about the medicine he was given, which made them think he was very bright and curious, and made Zenitsu think that he was rubbing in how his tasted better. It was hard to stay awake in those first few days, though, he had pushed himself too hard at the Pillar Meeting and he was so dizzy. Maybe he was becoming more like Nezuko, needing to recover his strength through bouts of sleep that snuck up on him more quietly than demons or Shigeru's laundry attacks.

Nezuko, though... she had finally looked away from the Wind Pillar when she heard Tanjiro wheezing for air.

Tanjiro was careful in his Breath training and recovery not to worry Nezuko like that again. As long as he maintained stamina and was mindful of his technique, he could limit potential damage. He had a passing thought after Rengoku's advice that maybe he could use Breath technique to stave off the illness, but his thoughts were so consumed with his inadequacy during that time that it was hard to recover the will to do so. Everyone knew how hard Tanjiro took Rengoku's death, so much so that no one questioned the bags under his eyes. Nezuko didn’t question them either, but she knew. On the nights when they were alone together, she pushed him to lay down and stroked his head with tiny hands, humming at him to go to sleep. Their mother had done that for their father, and Tanjiro found it helped to soothe the headaches.

"Thanks, Nezuko," he smiled to her as he drifted off to sleep. "Niichan... still has time..."

Oddly, it was when Tanjiro was at his most feverish that he felt the most energetic. For something that should had been damaging, he had a livelier pulse and more acute senses. Hinokami Kagura, though. A practice could sap him of energy for days, and the coughing fits would knock him to his knees.

"Hey! Hey, Tanjiro! Are you alright?"

"Is he hungry?"

"Shut up, Boarhead!"

Despite Zenitsu and Inosuke being close at his side, it felt like they were far away, down a long tunnel. Tanjiro's thoughts were not there, they were far away back in his childhood, beyond that, in his father's youth as though he had inherited the memory, as and he watched as his father fell to his knees in the same way.

Otousan... you went through this too, didn’t you?

On his missions Tanjiro typically used Water Breath, as that was gentler on his physique. Still, on the walks home he'd often find a good place under a shady tree to set down Nezuko's box and lean against it for a nap together. He was good at waking up when he intended to, but one day Nezuko heard him wheezing and scratched her box to wake him up. "Oh! I wasn't keeping up Total Concentration Breathing, was I? Let's go back, I'll take a good nap and then--whoa!" he teetered to one side as he stood under the weight of her box. "O-tto-tto!! That was close. You alright in there? Sorry, I'll be more careful," he said, but as he stood up straight, a hot and clenching feeling rippled from the core of his chest.

He wrote to Tamayo about that at his first chance, and even if he could keep it from interfering with his battles and daily life, the feeling never went away. Tamayo increased the amount of medicine for him to keep on his person, daily concoctions to maintain his health, and others to take when the wheezing or squeezing in his chest got too bothersome. She advised him that the relief he felt from fevers was temporary, and that it was stealing from his stamina each time it happened. He thanked her for her efforts in keeping him in shape to fight demons.

As the changes were gradual it didn't seem anyone but Nezuko had noticed, and for as long as he had Kiyo as his nurse to check his vitals, there was nothing amiss on his charts, aside from the temperatures she less and less felt she could keep secret and begged in her heart for Shinobu to take notice of. She had caught Tanjiro taking medicine once which had not been prescribed to him, but she was too startled by this behavior to know if she should say anything, and how.

Koinatsu-oiran was not so shy when she caught the same behavior. "Sumi-chan. If you're ill, you shouldn't be here."

"Ko-koinatsu-san!" he nearly dropped the hot cup he was just about to drink from. "I'm not--this isn't--"

"If anyone finds out you're ill, you'll be sent to the kirimise on the edges of town. The living quarters are too close here, you'll be considered too much of a risk."

"I--I promise, it's not contagious. Please, don’t tell anyone, I won't let it cau--guhh-huh!" he coughed, "I promise it won't--hh, hhh!--cause anyone trouble."

"Sumi-chan," she put a hand to his face, "It's not good for you to be working so hard."

She smiled in a way that assured him of secrecy, which put Tanjiro at ease. "Thank you."

"You'll give yourself away looking so gaunt, though. Come here, let me help you with your makeup."

"Aaaahh--I can't take off this makeup, though!"

"Don't worry. We'll make you look more feminine, too."

"Ahh. Thank you! I, I love to look pretty!"

"You'll hurt your voice trying to sound like that," she giggled, then explained her methods as she went along, how she added a natural glow to his cheeks and covered the bags under his eyes. Though he tried to refuse, she gifted him a few pieces to keep.

Work in the pleasure quarters wasn't anything Tanjiro found strenuous, and he was surprised how good Koinatsu had made him look. Maybe to see such a difference, he really had started to lose that firmness in his face.

A couple nights later, Tanjiro faced the more gaunt person imaginable, Upper Moon Six, who bashed his hand against Tanjiro’s head and broke his fingers and laughed at him for being too weak to protect Nezuko. Those words came back to mind as Tanjiro watched the last of that demon’s sparks disappear, and then all at once, the hot squeeze in his chest seized him and knocked him out cold before he could manage even a cough.

In the weeks following the desolation of the Pleasure Quarters, Inosuke’s condition demanded the intention of all medical staff of the Butterfly Mansion. The series of damages he sustained required series of life-saving measures, and the fact that he could recover at all was a miracle. Tanjiro was stable, and left to be stable, though Nezuko often crawled out of her box to curl up at his side.

When the drama of Inosuke’s condition had at last subsided, the Butterfly Mansion fell quiet. In the quiet wandered Zenitsu, going down the halls in crunches, his ears leaning into the eerie silences. He sat next to Tanjiro’s bed one day, and filled the silence by whispering, “What's with that sound you keep making? It’s creepy. I don’t like how it’s all soft and sickly. I hate it. Stop.”

His whispers were heard by Kiyo, the keeper of Tanjiro’s charts who found more reasons to grow concerned every day. Tanjiro was losing muscle tone faster than other demon slayers who fell into long comas, there was a wheeze in his chest that wouldn’t go away, and it seemed worse and worse the more normal Tanjiro’s temperature became.

“Um, Nezuko-san,” she asked, “Do you, um, do you know where Tanjiro-san keeps his other medicine? I thought he might need it… and I’ve been looking, but…”

Nezuko took her hand and brought her to the window and pointed. The instant Kiyo peeked outside there appeared a cat, and Kiyo was so startled that she screamed. She was so absorbed into thinking about how Shinobu would not like to see a cat there that her hands moved automatically as Nezuko and the cat indicated for her to open the pouch and retrieve a vial of medicine.

When Tanjiro at least awoke, he enjoyed a few peaceful moments with Kanao and the others, then he drifted to sleep again. The second him he awoke, he smelled Tamayo’s medicine… and anger.

“Good morning, Tanjiro-kun,” smiled Shinobu.

“Ahhh—I can explain!!” he sat up, but the sudden movement triggered a harsh fit of coughing and wheezing and that hot, squeezing feeling in his chest. Nezuko was at his side to support him, and she grumbled through the bamboo at Shinobu, who set aside her smile.

“I didn’t know you were so well-versed in medicine to have concocted this. It’s very impressive, I had to reverse-engineer it to understand it. I can only imagine what conditions this is supposed to treat.”

“I—I didn’t mean to keep my condition a secret—”

“Secrets run the risk of any medicine I’ve ever given you harming you—”

“Guhh—huhh! Guh-huh, gh-hhhh—”

“What even is this, Tanjiro-kun? How am I to treat you if I can’t even know what I’m working with?”

“Ggh-hhhh—”

“And you expect to fight demons like this?”

“Shinobu. Lecturing him won’t help his condition.”

“Oyakata-sama!”

The word hadn’t fully left her lips before she had spun toward and kneeled, and Tanjiro’s coughing subsided to a soft shutter as he looked up to see a man in condition many times worse than his own, struggling through the door with the help of his wife, Amane.

“Oyakata-sama, your health is too precarious to have troubled yourself coming here.”

“Please let Oyakata-sama use this last chances as he likes,” replied Amane, and Shinobu kept her mouth shut and lowered her head further.

“Tanjiro,” Kagaya smiled in his direction, “It’s good to hear you’re finally awake. I’m very proud of you, and Tengen, and Inosuke, Zenitsu, and Nezuko. But it seems this is the second time we’re meeting with you under trial.”

“Hmmn,” he managed, his hand his in front of his mouth to stifle the cough.

“Shinobu is right. She could had prescribed medicine that would harm you without knowing your full condition.”

“I’m ashamed at myself for not noticing it sooner. I wouldn’t had given him clearance to go out and hurt himself.”

“You’re not one to speak on that,” he said, and yet again, Shinobu lowered her head further. “Tanjiro’s illness drives him to accomplish all he can with the time he has left. Those are feelings I understand very well. I hope you’ll support him in that.”

“As you wish,” she answered.

“Tanjiro. That was rude of you to follow someone else’s medical expertise while under Shinobu’s care, and it could had been dangerous. I take it Tamayo-san was careful with this, though?”

“Ah---yes!!”

“Tamayo-san?” Shinobu lifted her face, not bothering with any smile or cheer. “Who is this Tamayo-san?”

Thus, as Kagaya requested, Tanjiro explained his wishes for her cooperation and his invitation to come and meet the Corp. Tanjiro likewise explained the trouble he was in with Shinobu, and implored them to work together, assuring Tamayo that Shinobu was also a brilliant doctor and that she had always said she wanted to befriend a demon. Tamayo was wary, but for Tanjiro’s sake, she and Yushiro arrived in secrecy. Though Shinobu was cordial as Kagaya introduced them, she did not at all seem to be looking for friends, so Tamayo kept her focus on Tanjiro, whom she asked to examine.

His smiled was bright, but thin, and when she listened to his chest, she put a hand to her face to hide the tears. Yushiro gasped and growled at Tanjiro, but before he could get a word out, Tamayo sniffled as asked what in the world he could had done to himself to make it get this bad. Seeing her concern, but Yushiro and Shinobu softened, waiting to hear whatever Tanjiro might have to say. He could only think back to that battle with Upper Moon Six, and how he only managed to cut the demon’s neck when he had poured every ounce of strength into his grip, and how all his hearing started going BOOM!! BASH, BA-BA-BASH!! BOOM!! KIIIIIII!!!!

Tamayo, Yushiro, and Shinobu could only stare back at him in wonder. With the air cleared, they soon found themselves settling into productivity and cooperation. Tanjiro recovered enough to gain permission to go wait for his sword in the Swordsmith Village, with instructions that the hot springs might be good for him and to incorporate it into his recuperation. As much as Tanjiro wanted to cheerfully get to know every Kakushi carrying him along the journey, he often found himself apologizing, and asking that they allow the sleep to steal him away.

As they were wont to, demons interrupted. Tanjiro found himself pulling from those feverish sources of strength again. He kept from falling into a coma this time, but the dizziness and headache and the pain radiating from his chest to his wrists and fingertips, he wished he had.

Otousan… Otousan…!

Nezuko stroked his forehead. “There, there…”

The acute pain soon subsided, but Tamayo and Shinobu were besides themselves with frustration at how little they could do to reverse the toll that battle had on Tanjiro’s condition. It was like he was borrowing against his own strength, against his own lifetime… and having said those words, Tamayo gasped and asked Shinobu if she had ever heard of the Mark.

The days in recovery were peaceful until Inosuke broke through the window to announce the start of Pillar Training, eat Gonpachiro’s food, and generally welcome Kentaro back, as he had seen so little of him since the Pleasure Quarter days. While playing a game to prove how sensitive Inosuke’s skin was to threats, Inosuke found his stomach dropping at Tanjiro’s touch.

“Hey,” he postured, “When did you become so weak?”

“Ah, this? It’s happened overtime.”

“You weren’t supposed to be weak. I was going to defeat you to show you how strong I was.”

“You’re very strong—”

“Why did you get so weak?” he turned the beast snout to face him, with tears in his voice. Too frustrated to wait for an answer, he yelled and punched the bed before running off. Whatever the answer was, he didn’t want to hear it.

Tanjiro was allowed to participate in Pillar Training, only after his leg injury recovered, and only with limitations. He felt ready to move around after that all that time in bed, but first, Tanjiro had to go find Giyuu. He hadn’t seen Giyuu in a while, so he used the makeup he received from Koinatsu. Giyuu did notice that Tanjiro’s cheeks were unnaturally rosy, but it felt odd to stare, so he didn’t.

That was why it took Giyuu by such surprise when in the middle of their fight against Akaza, Tanjiro fell to his knees in a coughing fit.

In the aftermath, Tanjiro fell unconscious with that horrible feeling choking all through his torso, but he awoke moments later in Giyuu’s arms, with Giyuu screaming his name. “Tanjiro! Tanjirooo!”

“Tanj—” he started, but when he spied blood hit the tatami, he tensed to a scream.

“What’s this? Is this why you were weak all along? An illness?” Akaza taunted him, but something itched in his mind. He hated it, and that itch kept distracting and distracting him, clear up the point that Tanjiro hit him completely unexpectedly and took his head off.

“Giyuu-san…”

“Why were you fighting in this condition? When did you get so frail?”

“I might had been born with it,” he found himself smiling. “It might had only been supposed to get me through tonight.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Shinobu-san said I’ve been borrowing against my time… to give all that time to Nezuko, so she can be human again.”

Giyuu had tears streaming down his face before he knew it.

“Tonight’s the night she takes Tamayo-san’s medicine… and it’s the night we defeat Kibutsuji Muzan,” he said, rocking forward out of Giyuu’s arms, and then up to his feet. “You’re borrowing time now too, aren’t you, Giyuu-san?” he said, pointing to Giyuu’s cheek. The Water Pillar self-consciously placed his hand over the Mark, and all at once understood what Tanjiro meant. This battle was the most lively and powerful Giyuu had ever felt in a life of powerlessness, and in the depth of his heart, he cared nothing about a future if only for this one night of success. There was a peace among the danger.

But Tanjiro had been borrowing all along, and had less to spare…

Though the illness lapped at his back and his heels like tongues of flame, Tanjiro fought on that night, using every last ounce of strength of his lifetime to power his Breath.

Tousan… help me get these Breaths right!

I can’t go down before sunrise… I have to last through sunrise!!

---

Muzan was a being who had stolen time from others.

He lived an unfair millennium longer than he had right to, however unfair his lifespan was to start, giving him little to borrow against.

For as much as Tanjiro wanted Muzan’s time to end, how odd that he had received it. It came into his being, filling every cell already down to its last strength.

All that cruelly stolen time had come to Tanjiro, to be his.

“That’s too bad about your arm,” said Nezuko, feeling the wrinkled skin. “It’s all shriveled up and lifeless.”

“These cells weren’t mine in the first place, it’d be unfair to use them,” he said. “Same for my eye. It’s like the cells all ran out of time all at once.”

“But the rest of them?”

“Filled up like they’ll overflow! It’s the strangest thing, like I’m a newborn baby!”

“Haha! You’d be a big baby to take care of, I can’t carry you now! But if you’re going to put it like that, I feel like the opposite has happened to me. I had eternity throughout my body, but now I already feel all my time slipping away, and that the end is coming. Someday I’ll run empty, too.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. That’s what it means to be human.”

“I never said it was a bad thing,” she smiled. “What matters is what we choose to do with it. The time we’re given.”

“Right,” he said, looking out the window at the cherry blossoms. “Let’s live with our heads held high.”

#for being an AU I sure didn't change much #anyway here's a 3819 word fic

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