Betraying The Gods In Three Easy Steps || Malleus Draconia

Betraying the Gods in Three Easy Steps || Malleus Draconia

Step 1: Befriend the Demon King.

Step 2: Fall in love.

Step 3: Quit your hero job.

Betraying The Gods In Three Easy Steps || Malleus Draconia

The first thing you learned upon being chosen as the hero was that the gods were, in fact, morons.

This revelation came to you as you stood in their grand celestial court, bathed in holy light, staring at the pantheon of divine beings who had just bestowed upon you a sword that actively whispered threats into your ear.

"Go forth, O Chosen One," boomed the god of war, his six eyes burning with sacred fire. "You must slay the Demon King who lurks in his cursed lair atop the Black Hills!"

You shifted your weight and cleared your throat. "Okay, so... question. Just a tiny one. What, exactly, has the Demon King done?"

The gods exchanged glances.

"He is evil," the goddess of fate offered.

"Uh-huh. Examples?"

"He... exists," the god of light said, waving a golden hand vaguely.

There was an awkward silence. You rubbed your temples. "Right. But, like, has he pillaged villages? Enslaved kingdoms? Kicked a puppy?"

"He has refused to die despite our many attempts to kill him," the god of judgment said gravely.

You squinted. "So you're mad that he’s alive."

"YES," they all said in unison.

Fantastic. You had been chosen to carry out a divine grudge match.

Still, you weren’t in any position to argue. The gods had given you a bunch of ridiculously overpowered artifacts, including a holy sword, an indestructible shield, and a cloak that supposedly made you invisible but mostly just made you look like a very blurry ghost. They also kind of expected you to die like all the previous heroes, but that was a problem for later.

So here you were, standing at the edge of the Black Hills, staring up at the Demon King’s lair—a suspiciously well-maintained castle that looked less like a fortress of darkness and more like the summer home of someone who enjoyed gardening.

This whole thing reeked of bureaucracy.

With a deep sigh, you tightened your grip on your murderously sentient sword and marched forward, fully prepared to commit deicide if this entire mission turned out to be as dumb as you suspected.

You had braced yourself for a dark, ominous fortress filled with twisted creatures, rivers of lava, and at least one chandelier made of bones. Instead, you walked into what could only be described as a cozy study.

The room was warm, lit by a fireplace that crackled gently in the corner. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, filled with neatly arranged tomes, some of which looked suspiciously like romance novels. A tea set rested on the table, next to an open book. And sitting in an armchair, casually flipping through the pages, was a man.

A very tall, very elegant man with sharp green eyes and black horns curling from his head.

He blinked at you, clearly just as surprised as you were. "Oh," he said. "Hello."

You stared at him. "Uh. Hi?"

There was a long pause. He looked at your very dramatic hero attire, then at the glimmering, divinely blessed sword in your hand, then back at you. "I assume you’re here for a reason?"

You shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, so, the gods sent me to kill the Demon King, but like… lowkey? I don’t know what he looks like."

The man nodded, as if this was a completely reasonable statement. "I see." He gestured to the chair across from him. "Would you like some tea?"

You squinted at him. "I feel like you’re not taking this whole ‘assassination attempt’ thing very seriously."

"Should I?" he asked, pouring tea into a cup with unnerving grace. "You don't seem particularly invested in it yourself."

You couldn't exactly argue with that, so you sat down, placing your god-blessed weapon awkwardly on your lap. The man slid a cup toward you. The tea smelled… nice. Suspiciously nice. You sniffed it. "This isn’t, like, drugged or cursed, is it?"

He looked amused. "Only if you consider chamomile a powerful sedative."

You took a cautious sip. It was delicious.

"So," he said, leaning his chin on his hand. "Tell me about the outside world. It’s been a while since I last left these hills."

You shrugged. "Nothing much. The gods are idiots, as usual."

His lips curled in interest. "Oh?"

You leaned forward conspiratorially. "Okay, so get this. When they summoned me, they gave me this holy sword, right?" You tapped the weapon resting on your lap. "Only problem? It won’t shut up. The gods literally forgot to turn off its voice function, so now it just screams battle cries at all hours of the day. I had to wrap it in three layers of cloth just to get some sleep."

He let out a chuckle, eyes gleaming. "That is… incredible."

"Right? And that’s not even the worst part. The god of wisdom—actual title, by the way—accidentally set fire to their own temple last year because they miscalculated a lightning spell. They blamed it on ‘mystical forces’ but everyone knows they just got their math wrong."

The man—who, now that you were really looking at him, was ridiculously attractive in a dark-and-mysterious way—laughed. It was a rich, deep sound, the kind of laugh that made you feel like you’d just told the best joke in the world.

You grinned, feeling oddly comfortable. "Oh, and don’t even get me started on the god of fate. She got into a brawl with the god of harvest because she made a prophecy that all the wheat fields would burn down, and then the god of harvest was like, ‘You know that’s literally my job, right?’ and cursed her with hay fever. Now she sneezes every time she tries to predict the future."

Your new tea-drinking companion actually had to cover his mouth to stifle his laughter.

You took another sip of tea, feeling very proud of yourself. "Anyway," you said, stretching your arms. "By the way, have you seen the Demon King? Because, like, technically, I’m still supposed to be doing that job."

The man calmly pointed to himself.

You stared at him.

He stared back.

You blinked. "I'm sorry. What."

"Malleus Draconia," he said, setting his teacup down with the kind of elegance that made you feel like an unwashed peasant. "And you are?"

You were still reeling from the realization that you had spent the last half hour drinking tea with the exact person you were supposed to kill, so it took you a second to answer. You introduce yourself. "Hero chosen by the gods. Here to, you know…" You made a vague stabbing motion.

Malleus nodded, completely unfazed. "Ah. Yes. That would explain the weaponry." He glanced at your holy sword, which had mercifully remained silent for the past few minutes. "Though, I must say, you don’t seem particularly enthusiastic about your mission."

You sighed and set your cup down. "Yeah, well. I don’t really get why the gods have it out for you. I mean, do you actually do evil stuff? Are you stealing souls? Raising the dead? Kicking puppies?"

Malleus tilted his head, considering. "No, no, and—well, I suppose there was one incident with a puppy, but in my defense, I was trying to return it to its owner, and it misunderstood my intentions."

"That’s a really vague way to say 'I accidentally terrified it.'"

He sipped his tea, saying nothing.

You squinted at him. "So you’re telling me the gods declared a holy crusade against you for… what? Vibes?"

Malleus shrugged. "I assume so. They don’t seem to like my existence very much."

"Wow. Must be nice not giving a shit."

"It is quite freeing," he agreed. "Would you like a tour?"

You blinked. "A tour? Of your evil lair?"

"My home," he corrected, as if you were the unreasonable one. "I assume you have never seen it before."

"You assume correctly." You rubbed your chin. "Eh. What the hell. Show me around, mighty Demon King."

And so, instead of assassinating him, you spent the next hour wandering through the halls of his "evil lair" (read: very fancy castle), learning about his book collection, admiring the admittedly cool-looking stained-glass windows, and getting distracted by a particularly fluffy cat lounging on one of the rugs.

Somewhere along the way, you had fallen into easy conversation, sharing more absurd stories about the gods’ incompetence while Malleus listened with increasing amusement. You barely even noticed how natural it felt, how quickly you forgot the whole "mortal enemies" thing.

It wasn’t until you were about to leave that you remembered why you had come in the first place.

"Ah, right," you said, gripping the hilt of your holy sword. "The whole… uh, slaying thing."

Malleus lifted an eyebrow.

You exhaled and held the sword out to him. "Here. Take this."

He looked at you, then at the sword, then back at you. "You are giving me your divine weapon?"

"Look, man, I don’t know if you can tell, but I am very bad at this job."

Malleus took the sword, examining it with mild curiosity. The moment his fingers curled around the hilt, the weapon, which had remained blissfully quiet all day, suddenly came to life.

"FOUL BEAST! UNHAND ME AT ONCE—"

Malleus flicked his wrist, and the sword immediately went silent.

You gaped at him. "You can do that?!"

He hummed. "It appears so."

You put your hands on your hips. "You know what? Yeah. You can keep it. I don’t want it anymore."

Malleus smiled. "How generous of you."

You waved him off and turned toward the exit. "Anyway, this has been fun and all, but I should probably get going before the gods smite me for treason. I’ll, uh… I’ll get the job done next time."

Malleus watched you with that same unreadable expression, something like quiet amusement playing at the edges of his lips. "Of course. Next time."

You nodded, totally believing yourself, and left.

The gods were getting suspicious.

You could tell by the way they kept summoning you more frequently, their celestial faces lined with divine skepticism, their glowing, omnipotent eyes narrowing just a little more each time you gave your mission report.

So you did what any responsible, chosen-by-the-heavens hero would do: you doubled down on the lies.

“I’m gathering intel on the enemy.”

A few gods murmured in approval, nodding at your strategic foresight.

(The truth? You had spent the last four days sprawled across an absolutely sinful couch in Malleus’s absurdly cozy castle, debating whether a dragon could, theoretically, play the lute. Malleus had very strong opinions about claw dexterity and string tension. You were just trying to figure out how to smuggle the couch home.)

“I need to study his weaknesses.”

More nods. One god even stroked their beard, looking impressed.

(The reality? You were currently studying how many cookies you could consume before he started looking mildly concerned for your well-being. The number was high. Concerningly high. You were probably committing a sin against your own digestive system, but that was Future You’s problem.)

“He’s probably planning something evil, so I need to keep an eye on him.”

Now the gods were practically glowing with approval. One clapped you on the back, nearly knocking you off your feet.

(Meanwhile, in the demon king’s lair, Malleus was sitting in his massive library, sipping tea like a distinguished nobleman who had never even considered jaywalking, much less world domination. At one point, he sighed dramatically and looked out the window, the very picture of a wistful poet pondering the meaning of life. You had watched him do this for ten whole minutes, waiting for a sign of villainy. Nothing. The man was the least demonic demon king you had ever seen.)

The gods, thoroughly convinced that you were hard at work, dismissed you with a vague warning to “stay vigilant” and “not fall for any demonic tricks.”

You barely made it back to the castle before collapsing onto your new favorite couch with a groan. “They think I’m doing such a good job,” you mumbled, stuffing another cookie into your mouth. “I could probably ask for a raise.”

Malleus looked up from his book, amusement dancing in his emerald eyes. “A raise? What exactly would they be paying you for?”

“For my noble heroism,” you said around a mouthful of cookie. “My unwavering dedication. My strategic mind. My—” You gestured vaguely. “—efforts.”

Malleus hummed, setting his book aside. “Ah, yes. Your valiant efforts. Lounging on my furniture. Eating my desserts. Entertaining me with tales of divine incompetence.”

You wagged a finger at him. “You say that like it isn’t an important job.”

He smirked. “Oh, I quite enjoy your company. But I do wonder how long you plan to keep up this charade.”

“As long as I can,” you said without hesitation, grabbing another cookie. “At this point, I think I deserve an award for Best Hero in the Field of Procrastination.”

Malleus chuckled, resting his chin on his hand as he watched you with what was definitely, absolutely, 100% not fondness. Probably. “Indeed.”

Getting Malleus out of his lair was easier than expected. Getting him to wear the disguise, however, was a battle of wills.

“It is absurd,” he said flatly, staring at the comically large hat in your hands.

“Absurdly effective,” you countered.

“It looks like it belongs to a—”

“Fashion icon?”

“A cursed scarecrow,” he finished, unimpressed.

“Okay, rude. But listen, if you walk into town looking like that—” you gestured vaguely at his horns, “—people will either think you're about to declare war or host a very dramatic poetry reading. The hat helps.”

Malleus gave you a long, contemplative look, then, to your eternal delight, sighed and took the hat. It sat atop his head with the solemn dignity of a royal crown, though the sheer size of it made him look like he was about to start selling potions out of a roadside wagon.

“Very well,” he declared. “Let us proceed.”

Thus began the grand adventure of sneaking the Demon King into town.

Turns out, no one even noticed.

Which, to be fair, was kind of expected. This was a town where a man once tried to pay his taxes in live chickens and where the local bard wore sunglasses at night “because it added to his mystique.” Some guy in a huge hat? Not even in the top ten weirdest things people had seen this week.

Still, you felt an odd sense of pride as you dragged Malleus through the bustling streets. The Demon King, who had spent untold centuries isolated in his ominous gothic estate, was now watching a juggler toss flaming batons while a street vendor tried to sell you “cursed amulets” that were clearly just painted rocks.

He was fascinated.

His first stop was the bakery, where he became personally and spiritually invested in the concept of croissants.

“These are quite remarkable,” he murmured, carefully inspecting the flaky layers. “It is as if the very essence of light and air has been woven into dough.”

“You’re making it sound way fancier than it is,” you snorted. “It’s just bread.”

“A divine bread,” he corrected.

“You’re literally a demon.”

“I can still appreciate divinity when I taste it.”

Next, you took him to the bookstore, where he spent an unreasonable amount of time debating which tomes to purchase. At one point, you caught him flipping through something called One Hundred and One Curses to Ensure Your Enemies Remember You Fondly, which felt both deeply specific and incredibly on-brand.

While he was distracted by a book of poetry so dramatic it might as well have been personally written for him, you slipped away for a moment. A nearby flower stall caught your eye, and on impulse, you picked up a delicate bloom, its color strikingly similar to Malleus’s eyes.

You returned just as he was still deep in thought over which book to buy. Without a second thought, you reached up and tucked the flower behind his ear.

Malleus froze.

His expression didn’t change immediately—he just stared at you, his usual unreadable gaze flickering with something… complicated. His fingers hesitantly brushed against the petals, and for a moment, he looked genuinely baffled, as if no one had ever done something like this before.

You grinned at him. “Looks good on you, Your Evilness.”

Malleus exhaled a short, amused huff. “I must admit, I do not often receive accessories from my sworn enemies.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” you said, already dragging him towards the next store. “Now come on, I still need to introduce you to the single greatest achievement of human civilization.”

He tilted his head, intrigue sparking in his expression. “Oh?”

“Fried food.”

For the first time in centuries, the Demon King of Darkness, Terror of the Gods, Eternal Wielder of Unholy Power… was genuinely excited.

You were not bringing Malleus more books because you liked him. Obviously. That would be ridiculous. You were simply executing a strategic maneuver—an information-gathering mission, if you will. The more books he had, the more he would talk, and the more he talked, the more you learned.

This was all very professional. A tactical decision. Absolutely nothing to do with the way his eyes lit up whenever you brought him something new or the fact that you may or may not have started associating his lair with peace instead of doom.

So, with arms full of books that were definitely not handpicked to match his interests (including one on celestial phenomena, which was coincidental and not an attempt to make him happy), you strolled into his lair like you owned the place.

And that was when you met him.

Lilia Vanrouge.

You knew the name. You’d heard it whispered in the temples, spoken with the kind of reverence usually reserved for plagues and natural disasters. The Scourge of the Battlefield. The War Demon. The Dark General Who Consumed Kingdoms Whole.

You had also heard it from Malleus, who described him as eccentric, mischievous, and one of the few people he respected.

And the moment you laid eyes on him, you realized once again that the gods were complete and utter morons.

Because standing before you was not a nightmarish harbinger of destruction. No, the man currently floating upside down in the air, cheerfully snacking on something, looked more like an impish uncle who would absolutely teach children how to commit tax fraud for fun.

He looked at you. You looked at him. He grinned. You immediately braced for impact.

“Well, well! So you’re the fabled Chosen Hero,” Lilia chirped, righting himself mid-air and landing gracefully before you. “How fascinating! I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“I—” you began.

“I must say, this is not what I expected!” he continued, completely ignoring you. “From what I’ve heard, heroes usually barge in with righteous fury, divine proclamations, and very little self-preservation! Yet here you are, standing in the Demon King’s domain, casually handing him books.”

You turned to Malleus, who looked completely unbothered, still examining the latest tome you had brought him. “You told him?”

Malleus, without looking up: “He asked.”

You turned back to Lilia. “And you’re not freaking out?”

Lilia tilted his head, amused. “Should I be?”

“I don’t know, I just assumed one of Malleus’s generals would take issue with me being, you know, the divinely ordained slayer of your king?”

Lilia snorted. “Oh, please. Do you have any idea how many so-called ‘heroes’ I’ve seen storm in here? You’re already my favorite.”

“…Thanks?”

“Of course! It’s just so refreshing to see one of you actually using your head for once.” He floated up again, upside down, resting his chin on his hands. “Though I must admit, I was expecting something a little more… impressive.”

You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lilia smirked and gestured to the table where you and Malleus had been previously engaged in very serious discussions. Your stomach dropped. You had left out your papers.

Specifically, the ones where you had been doodling different armor designs and asking Malleus for his fashion advice.

Malleus, the traitor, casually picked one up. “I am partial to this one,” he said, holding up a particularly elaborate sketch. “The embroidery detailing is quite striking.”

Lilia laughed.

You buried your face in your hands as the War Demon, the Living Nightmare of the Battlefield, the Eternal Scourge of Kingdoms—wiped away tears of laughter over the fact that instead of slaying the Demon King, you had apparently made him your personal stylist.

It was, all things considered, not your proudest moment.

It had been months since you first stepped foot into Malleus’s lair, and, well… things had progressed.

Not in the way the gods wanted, obviously. If they had their way, Malleus’s severed head would be mounted on a sacred altar by now. Technically, you were still on your holy mission to vanquish the Demon King. Technically, you were gathering information. Technically, you had every intention of fulfilling your duty.

But, if one were to take a completely unbiased look at your current situation… it might appear that you were just hanging out.

A lot.

Like, a lot, a lot.

Malleus now made your drink exactly the way you liked it—sometimes before you even asked. You didn’t even have to tell him anymore. You’d wander into his lair after a long day of doing absolutely nothing related to demon slaying, and he’d already have your favorite drink ready, at the exact right temperature.

And you? You, the so-called “Divine Champion of Justice,” the god-appointed warrior of destiny? You had, against all logic and reason, started bringing him gifts. It wasn’t even a conscious decision at first. But every time a merchant came through town, you found yourself idly picking up little trinkets or books that looked like they’d interest him.

You told yourself it was just diplomacy. A strategic bribery effort. It had absolutely nothing to do with how much you enjoyed seeing his face light up whenever you presented him with something new.

You weren’t even sure when the shift had happened.

One day, you were the brave hero, standing before the terrifying Demon King with divine orders to smite him. And now? Now, you were practically living in his lair. Casually.

You’d gotten comfortable here, a fact that you refused to acknowledge out loud. Malleus’s lair was peaceful, quiet, and—to your horror—pleasant. The enormous gothic windows, the soft candlelight, the bookshelves stacked high with ancient tomes… It was all just so much nicer than the gods’ temples, which were always cold, sterile, and filled with divine bureaucrats who asked too many questions.

And worse—worse—when you weren’t here, you were usually thinking about what to do for Malleus next.

Should you bring him something from the next merchant caravan? Maybe take him to another festival? He liked those. Maybe introduce him to the weird little bakery in town that sold those oddly-shaped pastries you kept seeing. He might find them amusing.

You were planning surprises for him.

Like a friend.

No. Not just a friend.

A best friend.

You slammed your head onto the nearest table with a thud.

The gods could never find out about this.

You were having an existential crisis. A real one. The kind that made you stare at your reflection in a soup bowl and wonder if you had any meaningful purpose in life beyond being the divine equivalent of a glorified errand runner.

Lilia, of course, noticed. Because he was an agent of chaos and probably fed off emotional turmoil like some sort of tiny, ancient demon bat.

“You seem troubled,” he had said, watching as you slumped dramatically over Malleus’ very fancy dining table, exhaling the world’s most pitiful sigh. “Why don’t you and Malleus spar?”

Your head lifted slightly. “What?”

Lilia smirked, clearly pleased that he had successfully baited you out of your misery. “It’s been months, has it not? If the gods ask, you can tell them you’ve been honing your skills, preparing for the final battle.”

That… actually wasn’t a bad excuse. The gods had been getting nosy again, demanding updates. Maybe you could make this work.

Which was how you ended up here.

Standing in the grand, sprawling courtyard of Malleus’ lair, stretching out your limbs while he calmly removed his cloak, draping it over a bench like he was about to have a casual stroll instead of engaging in combat.

“You sure about this?” you asked, gripping the hilt of your sword.

Malleus tilted his head, looking amused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You smirked. “Just saying, if I win, I demand tribute.”

Malleus chuckled. “And if I win?”

“… Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Lilia was off to the side, grinning like this was the best form of entertainment he’d seen in centuries.

You inhaled deeply, grounding yourself. Okay. This was it. You were going to fight the Demon King, and it was going to be serious. No more cozy tea parties. No more lighthearted book shopping trips. It was time to—

“Would you like me to go easy on you?” Malleus asked.

You scoffed. “Pfft. No. Give me everything you’ve got.”

Malleus hummed, looking almost pleased at your confidence. “Very well.”

And then, without warning, he disappeared from sight.

You barely had time to register the movement before a gust of wind slammed into you at full force, sending you flying backwards like a poorly thrown ragdoll.

You crashed into a bush.

For a moment, you just lay there, staring at the sky, contemplating every choice that had led you to this moment.

Then, groaning, you rolled out of the shrubbery, shaking off the twigs as you picked up your sword. “Okay,” you muttered, adjusting your grip. “That was just a warm-up round.”

Malleus was still standing in the same spot, looking entirely unbothered.

And his hands were behind his back.

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you—” You took a deep breath. “Are you fighting me with your hands behind your back?"

“Of course,” Malleus said pleasantly. “You told me not to go easy on you.”

You could hear Lilia choking on laughter in the background.

You squinted at Malleus, wondering if you should feel honored or insulted.

Fine. You could work with this. You charged again, ducking low, aiming for his legs. A flicker of green magic intercepted you, sending a harmless but powerful shockwave that knocked your weapon out of your hands.

You stared at your empty hands.

Malleus looked mildly impressed. “Good attempt.”

You retrieved your sword. Tried again. And again. And again.

Malleus never used his hands. Never lifted a finger. He just sidestepped your attacks with casual ease, occasionally flicking his magic at you, like you were a mildly annoying housecat trying to pounce on a much larger, much more powerful predator.

Somewhere along the way, you stopped trying to win and just started having fun.

And then, eventually, your energy gave out. You collapsed onto the ground, spread-eagled, arms outstretched, staring up at the sky as you caught your breath.

Malleus stepped closer, looming over you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“I do believe you’re my favorite hero,” he mused.

You groaned and slapped a hand over your face.

The gods were going to kill you if they ever found out about this.

You couldn’t sleep.

Which was fine. Heroes probably weren’t supposed to sleep. Heroes were supposed to lie awake at night, tormented by the burden of their destiny, haunted by the weight of their mission, plagued by—

"What if I let him win?"

You bolted upright so fast you nearly knocked yourself unconscious on your headrest. You slapped a hand over your mouth like you had just spoken a heresy so foul the gods would strike you down immediately.

That was not a normal thought for a hero to have. That was the most absurd, blasphemous, outrageous, morally reprehensible—

"Am I technically dating the Demon King???"

NO. NO NO NO NO NO NO—

Your hands went to your temples. You squeezed your eyes shut. Maybe if you just thought hard enough, you could physically remove this thought from your brain. Or maybe, if you focused, the gods would finally smite you like they had always threatened to do.

You flopped back down onto your mattress, dragging a pillow over your face, as if that would smother the absolute nonsense your mind was generating tonight. But the problem was, now that the thought had entered your brain, it had built a home there. It had a mailbox. It was paying taxes. And now it was decorating with even worse thoughts.

Because now you were remembering the way Malleus had smiled when you let him talk for two whole hours about gargoyles. How his eyes had lit up like you were the first person to ever listen. The way he carefully, deliberately made your tea exactly how you liked it, as if he had memorized it from the very first time. The way he always tilted his head when he listened to you, genuinely fascinated by even the stupidest things you said.

The way he let you exist in his space. Not as an enemy. Not as a hero. But as…

… oh no.

OH NO.

You slapped a hand over your mouth again. Your other hand clenched into the sheets like you were physically trying to hold onto your sanity.

You were NOT—this was NOT—

You rolled over, kicking your legs violently under the covers. Maybe if you shook your entire body hard enough, you could dislodge this thought from existence. Yeet it into the void. Purge it from reality. But all that happened was that you pulled a muscle in your back and now you were lying there, in agony, emotionally and physically, because you were starting to realize something terrible.

You weren’t just fond of Malleus. You didn’t just enjoy his company.

You liked him.

You LIKED him.

YOU LIKED THE DEMON KING.

You sat up again, legs crossed, hands clasped together in front of you. “Dear gods,” you whispered, voice trembling, “please smite me where I sit. I have failed you.”

Nothing happened.

“…Cowards,” you muttered.

You flopped back down, staring at the ceiling in pure despair.

You were going to bed. You were going to sleep, and when you woke up, you would not be in love with the Demon King. You would be normal. You would be reasonable. You would be a good hero.

You closed your eyes.

Five seconds passed.

You opened them again.

Gods help me.

Literally.

You were having the time of your goddamn life.

Malleus' lair—again, as usual. You were halfway draped across his lap, leisurely popping fruit into your mouth while Lilia spun some absolutely deranged tale about the time he tricked a king into believing he was a vengeful forest spirit. Malleus sipped his tea, vaguely amused, and you? You laughed so hard you nearly choked on a grape.

The atmosphere? Immaculate. Life? Good. Everything? Perfection.

And then the door SLAMMED open.

You flinched so hard you nearly tumbled off Malleus’ lap. The tea cups rattled. The room’s easygoing tension evaporated as you stared at the figure in the doorway—some guy, just some guy—storming in with his sword drawn, looking like he was about to say the most dramatic thing you’d ever heard in your life.

“I HAVE COME TO SLAY YOU, DEMON KING—”

He stopped.

Because you—the actual hero—were very much not slaying the Demon King. You were, instead, sprawled across him like a spoiled house cat, eating his fruit and giggling like an idiot.

A horrifically long pause followed as this budget hero—who was not chosen by the gods, by the way—took in the scene.

Scrambling upright, you waved your hands frantically. “This—this is not what it looks like—”

“It is exactly what it looks like,” Lilia corrected, taking a dainty sip of tea. “Please, continue.”

Budget Hero looked insulted. Absolutely offended. “You—you’re supposed to be a hero! You’re supposed to be fighting him, not—” He gestured at you and Malleus with a face of pure betrayal. “—whatever this is!”

Panic surged. “I am fighting him!”

Budget Hero squinted.

You cleared your throat. “It’s just—” A vague gesture at Malleus. “A mental battle.”

Lilia snickered. Malleus lifted a brow, deeply entertained.

Budget Hero wasn’t buying it. His face hardened with righteous fury as he turned his sword back on Malleus. “No matter! If the gods will not choose a proper hero to strike you down, then I shall—”

And that’s when it happened.

Before Malleus could even think about obliterating him, you moved first. Instinctively. Violently. Viscerally.

Budget Hero never saw it coming. His weapon went flying in a single fluid motion, and before he could process it, he was done. Just absolutely demolished.

Silence.

Then:

Lilia. Wheezing. “Oh, that was brutal.”

You stared down at Budget Hero’s crumpled form, still gripping your weapon, stunned.

Because here’s the thing. That wasn’t a calculated attack. It wasn’t self-defense. It wasn’t even to protect Malleus, exactly.

It was pure, unfiltered spite.

Who did this guy think he was? Marching in, sword drawn, acting like he was Malleus’ sworn enemy? That was your job. Your dynamic. The thought of anyone else trying to take that place—trying to take any place in Malleus’ life that wasn’t yours—was so disgusting, so offensive, that your body moved before your brain did.

…Oh no.

Quickly sheathing your weapon, you coughed into your fist. “Welp. That’s enough murder for today! I should get going!”

Malleus blinked at you, unbothered. “You only just arrived.”

Lilia, still recovering from laughter, wiped a tear from his eye. “Stay! We haven’t even finished discussing your new armor—”

“Nope!” You laughed—too forcefully. “Nooope! I just—I have to, uh—cleanse myself. Spiritually. From, um. Today’s events.”

Malleus tilted his head, intrigued. “You’ve killed before, haven’t you?”

You sweat. “Yeah, but this one was just, uh, really emotionally charged. You know how it is.”

Lilia’s grin was so knowing it made you ill. “Do we?”

You needed to leave immediately.

“Anyway, see you later, besties!” Backing toward the door, you threw up a hand. “Malleus, you’re great, Lilia, you’re also great, I’m normal, and definitely not in any sort of crisis! Bye!”

And then you fled. Like a coward.

You had been avoiding him.

Technically speaking, you had only been gone for a week. But considering you usually barged into his lair daily—arms full of books, or pastries, or some weird trinket you thought he’d like—it was an absence that did not go unnoticed.

After all, you had never run before.

Even when you first met him, when you had been sent to kill him, you had walked right up to him and said, "Hey, so the gods told me to kill you, but honestly, I don’t feel like it." And he had smiled, slow and intrigued, and offered you tea. That had been the beginning of everything.

You had stayed. You always stayed.

But yesterday, after that absolute disaster of an encounter with that third-rate hero, after watching yourself cut him down before Malleus could even lift a hand, after realizing with gut-wrenching horror that you had reacted viscerally to the mere idea of someone else claiming that they were destined to fight him, to be his rival, you had fled.

Because what the fuck did that mean?

Because why had your stomach turned in disgust at the thought of someone else standing in your place?

Because you had looked at Malleus, and something inside you had snarled mine, and the weight of that realization had nearly knocked you off your feet.

So you ran.

Cowardly. Embarrassing. You, the so-called chosen hero, the one who had spent months dragging Malleus through town, shoving hats over his horns, feeding him sweet treats, listening to him ramble about gargoyles with the fondest expression on your face—you had panicked and run away like a flustered maiden in a fairytale.

You didn’t even have the excuse of battle wounds. The only wounds were entirely self-inflicted, entirely emotional, and entirely stupid.

So today, after daysof pacing and telling yourself to get it together, you forced yourself to return.

You spent the entire week gaslighting yourself into thinking nothing happened.

That reaction? Not weird. You were just… caught off guard! Maybe a tiny bit possessive. Maybe incredibly deranged about Malleus to the point where you instinctively obliterated someone for even thinking about taking your role as his arch-nemesis—but that was normal. That was just healthy rival dynamics!

So when you walked into Malleus’ lair the next week, it was with the confidence of someone absolutely not having a mental breakdown over their supposed mortal enemy.

“Yo,” you greeted, hands in your pockets, a casual whistle leaving your lips. “What’s up, big guy? Ready for some classic, good old-fashioned, not-at-all suspicious hero vs. villain conflict today?”

No answer.

It was silent. Too silent.

Usually, Lilia was there to greet you with some teasing remark. Usually, Malleus could sense you the moment you entered his territory, and you’d be met with a soft “You’ve returned.” Usually, there was some kind of warmth, a quiet hum of life in these ancient halls.

But today, there was only cold stone.

Your stomach twisted as you searched for him.

You found him by one of the enormous windows, hands clasped behind his back, staring at the sky with an expression you’d never seen before. His shoulders—usually poised with an almost arrogant regality—were slack. His jaw, tight. His eyes, distant.

For the first time since you met him, he looked exhausted.

“…Malleus?”

Your voice came out softer than you expected. Almost hesitant. As if part of you already knew what he was about to say.

He didn’t turn, didn’t shift, didn’t react right away. Just stood there, gazing out at the vast horizon like he was searching for something.

Finally, after a long, slow exhale, he spoke.

“…I thought you weren’t coming back.”

Your breath caught.

You had been gone for a week. You figured skipping a few visits wouldn’t matter much. That you could collect yourself, sort out whatever this was, and return once you weren’t a flustered disaster.

But standing here now, staring at him, it hit you just how much he had felt your absence.

His fingers curled a little tighter behind his back. His voice, barely above a whisper—

“If someone were to kill me,” he murmured, “I think I’d rather it be you than anyone else.”

The breath whooshed out of your lungs.

Because suddenly, you understood.

He wasn’t just speaking in hypotheticals. He wasn’t musing about battle. He wasn’t challenging you, wasn’t provoking you, wasn’t setting the stage for a dramatic clash between hero and demon king.

No.

Malleus had lived centuries watching heroes march to his doorstep, brandishing divine weapons, shouting righteous declarations, vowing to end him. And yet, he had never once fallen. Never once faltered. Never once let a blade even graze his skin.

But yesterday, when you hadn’t returned, he had thought—ah. So this is how it ends.

If he had to be slain, he wanted it to be by your hand.

If he had to see someone for the last time, he had hoped it would be you.

You broke.

Instantaneous. No hesitation. No rational thought. No clever quip or theatrical deflection. No last-minute is this a good idea? self-reflection. Just a sharp inhale, a rapid closing of distance, and then—

You kissed him. Hard.

Not soft, not slow, not gentle. Desperate. Raw. Months of pent-up feelings, of endless late nights spent thinking about him, of hands brushing and shared laughter and quiet understanding and—fuck. You were so gone for him.

Malleus stiffened—but only for a second.

Then he melted into you.

His hands rose—one tangling in your hair, the other curling around your waist, pulling you so close you swore you could feel his heartbeat hammering against your chest. He kissed back just as desperately, just as fiercely, like he’d been waiting just as helplessly as you had.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he stared like he’d never seen you before. Wide-eyed. Lips parted. His grip on you so tight, like he was terrified you’d vanish if he let go.

“…I suppose that was your way of saying you refuse?” His voice, unsteady.

A breathless, shaky laugh. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Yeah, I refuse.”

His forehead pressed to yours, breath warm against your lips. His hands didn’t loosen their hold.

“…Then don’t ever leave me.”

You closed your eyes. Gripped his shoulders.

Nodded.

“Never.”

The celestial being—divine embodiment of justice and order, an ancient force revered throughout history—descended upon Malleus’ lair in a blinding display of light and holy power.

Wings of pure radiance unfurled. A golden staff crackled with divine energy. A voice, imbued with the might of the cosmos, boomed across the chamber:

“CHOSEN HERO. DEMON KING. IT IS TIME FOR YOUR DESTINED BATTLE.”

You blinked. Looked up from where you were curled against Malleus, sipping tea and reading a book titled 1,001 Architectural Wonders (That Are Not Gargoyles, Please Stop Asking).

Malleus glanced up from the game of chess he was currently losing against Lilia. “Oh?” he said, perfectly unbothered. “Has it truly been that long?”

“Yes, it has been that long!” the celestial being thundered. “You were sent here to vanquish the Demon King, not—” their eye twitched as they took in the scene, “—play house with him.”

You frowned. “Okay, first of all, rude.”

"Rude? RUDE?!" The celestial being practically vibrated with fury. "YOU LIED TO US!"

“I did not lie,” you said, deeply offended. “I gave you very detailed mission updates.”

“‘I’m gathering intel on the enemy’?”

“I was!” you huffed. “Did you know Malleus actually prefers honey in his tea instead of sugar? Crucial information.”

The celestial being sputtered. “You literally wrote, and I quote—” they conjured a glowing scroll and read aloud, “‘I need to study his weaknesses.’”

“Well,” you said, nodding toward Malleus, “he is weak to compliments. Call him ‘awe-inspiring’ and he gets all flustered. It’s very endearing.”

The being looked one breath away from smiting you. “AND ‘HE’S PROBABLY PLANNING SOMETHING EVIL, I NEED TO KEEP AN EYE ON HIM’??”

You pointed at Malleus, who was currently sipping tea with perfect elegance, staring at you like you personally hung the moon in the sky.

“Look at him,” you said dryly. “He’s clearly up to something.”

Malleus delicately set down his teacup. “Indeed,” he mused. “I was just plotting whether to have scones or biscuits with my tea tomorrow.”

The celestial being’s golden aura flickered like a candle in the wind. “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO KILL HIM!”

Malleus frowned. “That seems excessive for a difference in snack preference.”

The celestial being inhaled sharply, hands trembling. You were pretty sure you just heard them whisper I hate my job.

“Enough!” they roared. “FIGHT! NOW!”

You and Malleus exchanged a long glance.

There was a beat of silence.

Then, with all the excitement of two overworked employees being forced into another useless meeting, you both sighed and reached for the nearest decorative swords.

You lifted your sword. Malleus did the same.

And then, with all the enthusiasm of two toddlers being told to pretend-fight for Grandma’s amusement—

—you both half-heartedly tapped your swords together.

clink.

“There,” you said, monotone. “We fought. Can we go back to cuddling now?”

The celestial being screamed.

The celestial being didn’t so much escort you to the heavens as haul you there like a parent dragging a misbehaving child to a disciplinary hearing. You barely had time to adjust to the blinding light before being unceremoniously dropped onto the cold marble floor.

Above you, the gods loomed from their gilded thrones, their divine radiance pulsing with something that was not quite anger—because gods did not feel anger, only divine disappointment, which was so much worse.

The celestial being, standing smugly beside them, crossed their arms. “I told you they weren’t taking this seriously.”

The first god spoke, voice like rolling thunder. “Chosen hero.”

Another voice, this one like a windstorm, joined in. “You were sent to slay the Demon King.”

A third, calm and cold as deep water. “And yet, you have done nothing.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the celestial being snapped their fingers, and suddenly, an image materialized before you. A glowing vision of you, fully reclined across Malleus’ lap, popping fruit into his mouth while he read a book.

You stared.

“…Okay,” you admitted, “this looks bad.”

The celestial being glared. “Because it is bad!”

The gods ignored them, their voices deepening into something more final.

“This war against the Demon King has lasted centuries,” one intoned.

“You were our last hope,” another added. “If you do not complete your duty, there will be no other hero for another hundred years.”

“Without a hero,” the celestial being hissed, “there will be no one to protect the world from his inevitable destruction.”

Their words should have shaken you. You should have felt the weight of them pressing into your spine, the consequences of this moment sinking into your bones.

Instead, you just felt tired.

Tired of this war you never understood. Tired of the gods, who sat safe in their gilded heavens, while they sent hero after hero to their deaths.

Tired of pretending that Malleus was something he wasn’t.

You took a slow breath. Then, you reached up and began unbuckling the divine armor. The metal rang loud as it clattered to the ground, reverberating through the silent chamber. You ripped the sacred amulet from around your neck, tossing it aside like an afterthought. The enchanted boots that carried you here? Gone.

The gods watched, speechless, as you stripped away everything that bound you to them.

Then, you stood taller than you ever had before.

“I quit,” you said simply.

The chamber erupted. The celestial being choked. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” you interrupted, stretching your arms, reveling in the freedom of it. “And I am. You want a hero? Find another poor fool. I’m done.”

The gods stared, as if they truly couldn’t comprehend your audacity.

“There will be no other hero for a century,” one god reminded you. “Do you understand what you are forsaking?”

You grinned. “Yeah. Unnecessary slaying.”

And with that, you turned on your heel and walked away, the celestial doors parting effortlessly before you. The gods did not stop you. Perhaps they couldn’t.

You returned to Malleus’ lair lighter than you had ever felt.

He was waiting for you when you arrived, standing near the entrance, his expression unreadable. His eyes—those impossibly green eyes—watched you carefully, searching for something.

“You’re back,” he said softly.

You stepped closer, meeting his gaze. “Of course.”

Something flickered in his expression—something relieved, something like hope.

You exhaled, the weight of everything lifting off your shoulders. “I’m free now, Malleus. No more gods. No more divine duty. Just… me.”

For the first time, you saw it—true joy in his gaze. He stepped forward, closer, until there was nothing between you.

And then he kissed you.

It was not hesitant. Not questioning. It was certain, like he had always known this moment was inevitable, like he had only been waiting for you to realize it too.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his lips curling into a smile.

“I was hoping you’d choose me,” he murmured.

You smiled back, fingers threading through his.

“I always would have.”

It happened over tea, as most of your most life-altering conversations with Malleus tended to.

You had been lounging on his absurdly comfortable sofa, sipping something floral he had brewed just for you, feeling very much like a person who had absolutely no idea that their entire life was about to be rearranged.

Malleus, ever composed, set down his own cup and regarded you with something almost too fond.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, “about how long we’ve been together.”

You blinked. “How long?”

He hummed, tilting his head. “Since you gave me your sword, of course.”

You continued blinking, because surely, surely you had misheard him.

“…My sword?”

Malleus nodded, utterly serene. “Yes. It was an elegant proposal.”

You made a sound. It wasn’t a word, exactly, but it conveyed your confusion well enough.

Malleus watched you, waiting patiently for what he must have assumed was joyous realization.

You, meanwhile, were still trying to process whatever the hell was happening.

“…Proposal,” you echoed, because maybe if you repeated it, reality would shift into something that made sense.

Malleus offered a rare, knowing smile. “A symbol of devotion. Offering one’s most treasured possession to another—it is an unbreakable vow, a declaration of lifelong commitment. The moment you placed your sword in my hands, you became mine.”

A long pause.

You stared at him. He continued to look pleased.

You, meanwhile, were experiencing an entire existential crisis.

“Hold on,” you said slowly. “So you’re telling me that, in demon culture, giving you my sword meant—”

“A proposal,” Malleus finished, nodding. “It was quite romantic.”

Your brain short-circuited. You thought back to that moment, a year ago, when you had so casually handed him your holy sword, thinking haha, maybe he can make this thing shut up.

In reality, you had apparently gotten engaged like an absolute moron.

You set down your tea with the careful precision of someone trying very, very hard not to spiral. “Malleus,” you said, voice deceptively calm, “why didn’t you tell me?”

He blinked, puzzled. “I thought you knew.”

“Malleus, I’m human.”

He tilted his head, considering. “Ah. I see the problem now.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling deeply. “So, in your mind, we’ve been betrothed this whole time?”

“Yes,” he said, utterly unbothered.

You stared at him. He stared back, composed as ever.

And then you just—laughed. Because of course. Of course you had accidentally proposed to the Demon King like an idiot.

“Well,” you said between snickers, wiping at your eyes. “Since we’re apparently already engaged, wanna just go ahead and get hitched?”

Malleus’ grin was blinding.

“Absolutely.”

Masterlist

Tags

twisted wonderland twisted wonderland x reader twst x reader malleus x reader malleus draconia x reader

The Dragon's Hoard

dragon x princess

Cw: enemies to lovers, kidnapping, oral sex, coming untouched, depression, blood

Word count: 9k

A million thanks to the lovely @marigoldendragon for doing art for this, it's all lovely, go give them all the love in the world!!!

The window of her carriage was closed. She’d long since grown tired of the endless trees as the carriage bumped and jostled her around on her way through the foliage.

There was nothing to do on her travels. She couldn’t play any games, with no place to put any cards without them sliding away with the rocking of the carriage. She’d discovered reading was not in the cards either as waves of nausea washed over her when she’d tried.

She couldn’t help but feel for the decoys that had been sent out alongside her, to confuse outsiders. At least she was being moved to keep her safe. They were being stuck in identical carriages to protect a princess they’d never met, likely also bored out of their minds.

So she was left alone, fighting off the ever present motion sickness, shut in the dark.

And then chaos broke out outside.

It felt almost as if she’d wished it, so bored that her wandering mind wanted something, anything, to break up the monotony,

She’d never unwished something so quickly.

The sounds of battle echoed through the thick walls, intended to keep her safe from any incoming dangers. She lifted her hands to cover her ears as the clanging of metal against metal was overrun by screams and horrible, wet noises of steel on flesh.

And then everything quieted. It felt very sudden. The clanging of metal disappearing was a welcome change but she hated to imagine what had caused the immediate cessation of their screaming without so much as a word being spoken.

Before she could so much as move, the door swung open.

A man stood in the doorway, backlit by the sun, and he looked down at her where she’d fallen onto the floor without so much as noticing. He was a rugged looking, scruffy sort of man. His face was calm and he seemed unmarred by the battle. He didn’t move nor speak, just observed her from the entrance to the carriage.

The longer he stood there, the more disconcerting things she noticed about him. Most importantly, she’d never seen him before and he was not wearing the colors of her knights.

He seemed disheveled, certainly. His clothes were askew but other than that, the battle seemingly hadn’t affected him. Not only was he unwounded, she realized, but he had no blood on him at all, his or otherwise.

As she peeked between his legs to the scene outside, it became even more disconcerting. The floor of the forest was painted red. He was clearly the only survivor, a pile of bodies littered across the ground, both in her kingdom's colors and bandits gear, in dark greens and browns to hide amongst the trees.

In what should have been good news but instead simply seemed even more disorienting, this stranger was not wearing bandits attire either. Instead, he seemed to be wearing a random selection of clothes, none of which fit together. His shirt was too big, a little torn at the side, with puffed sleeves. His pants looked to be jesters pants, split down the middle with bright colors on either side. His shoes didn’t even match, the left closer to a sandal, wrapping halfway up his calf, while the other was a short, sturdy boot.

He stuck his hand out to her and she nervously eyed it, like her willingly taking it would put her in any more danger than she was already in.

“What do you want?” she asked, standing up on her own and dusting off her skirts, trying her best to keep her gaze locked on him and away from the bodies on the floor.

“Me?” he said, like there was anyone else she could be speaking to. “I just came out to see the carriage, honest. There were rumors that there was a royal carriage coming through. We know about the decoys, had heard of all the identical carriages and charades because of that dragon but a royal carriage is a sight to see, even if it doesn’t look quite as grand as they normally do, and even if there is a little pretender inside. Everyone else ran when the bandits came but I couldn’t just leave. I’m not much of a fighter so I hid but then your knights lost and there were only a few bandits left so I did the best I could. I got lucky, I suppose. Didn’t take much to kill some unsuspecting, injured men.”

“So you killed them.”

He looked at her, brows furrowed. “Did you not want me to? I’m sorry if you didn’t, it just didn’t seem right, leaving you to fend for yourself like that.”

It sounded reasonable. They tried to keep her nondescript but she was well aware that very few people were traveling through the woods in fully covered carriages, of course it would draw suspicion from people who noticed them. There were other carriages traveling without her in them, to try and spread suspicion across them all, but she was sure each of them had drawn similar attention.

She looked down at all the bodies of the men she’d known for years, had grown up alongside, and of the ones who had been after her. She wondered what they would have done with her if they’d won, if this stranger hadn’t come along and finished them off. Would they even have recognized her for who she was? She supposed now she’d never know.

“Thank you,” she said, voice shaking as her eyes remained locked on the bodies, unable to force them away.

And then a warm hand covered her eyes. She tried to pull away but it held her firm and steady, the sight in front of her diligently hidden away.

“You’ll make yourself sick,” he said from right behind her. “I’m going to take my hand away, just don’t look, I’ll lead you out.”

She took a deep breath, steadying herself as her vision came back, the stranger's hand falling to take hers as she let her eyes fall shut.

She stepped forward with his guidance, a wet noise sounding as her foot hit the ground.

A sob escaped her throat as the faces of all her men ran through her head, wondering which of their corpses she’d just desecrated.

And then she was being lifted unceremoniously from the ground. He immediately began moving faster, no longer hindered by leading her blindly through a battlefield.

He walked for long enough that she knew he wasn’t only getting her through the battlefield but far away from it. She didn’t open her eyes even when she knew they must be far from it simply because if she opened her eyes she would have to confront the fact that a strange man was carrying her.

Eventually, she felt herself being slowly and carefully lowered and, as her feet touched solid ground once more, she opened her eyes.

“Where were you heading?” he asked as he gently placed her down, hand lingering around her waist for a moment to ensure she didn’t drop to the ground like dead weight.

He pulled away when she managed to stand and she was embarrassed that her only answer was a shrug. “They didn’t tell me. They just said somewhere safe.”

“Well,” he said with a smile, “luckily I know some safe places, though I doubt it’ll be the same one.”

“Where?” she asked cautiously.

“Local village. Has some of the kingdom's knights there, I’m sure they’ll know what to do.”

“Right.” It sounded fine. It wasn’t like she had many better options.

He started walking and she tentatively followed him. He turned backwards as he walked, so he could face her and move at the same time. It did not give her confidence in his navigation skills that he wasn’t even bothering to look forwards. “Not that you’ll answer me honestly, but are you a decoy or the real princess?”

She couldn’t tell him the truth, she knew that much. It would be monumentally stupid. “I think I’m supposed to say I’m the princess but at this point it seems we are a little beyond that.”

He chuckled. “It seems we are. Do you have a name, not princess?”

She pulled the first name she could think of, that of her handmaiden. “Phillipa.”

“Lovely name,” he said with a smile. “Much better than Princess Ophelia. Less stuffy, certainly.”

She nodded, trying her best not to show her displeasure at the comment. She quite liked her name.

“I don’t think you should speak ill of our princess like that,” she said in a measured tone.

He shrugged. “Maybe not.”

“And you? It’s not fair to exchange names only one way.”

“Kadrin.”

“Oh. I’ve never met someone with that name before.”

He shrugged. “I was born outside the country. What, you’ve never met someone who wasn’t from Aplor?”

“I have,” Ophelia huffed. “Just not with that name. Where are you from?”

“Far away. That’s all you need to know.”

It was a rude sentiment, certainly, but she allowed it to pass, not wanting to push the only friendly face she had left.

They moved in silence after that, her questions having seemingly ruined the amiable conversation.

It became evident fairly quickly that he was going to take her up a mountain.

She was in heavy skirts and had no desire to climb the winding path on the rocky mountain, but she didn’t seem to have many other options.

“Is this really the only way to this town?” she asked as she almost tripped again, skirts gathered up in her hands.

“It is,” he said, his tone more curt than it had been before. He was staying a few steps ahead of her now, not providing any sort of help. “It won’t take long though.”

The horrible silence that had begun to fall over them couldn’t be blamed on her, at least not entirely. She tried to make conversation as they walked, wracking her brain for things to talk about with this near stranger she was lying to. “May I ask what the clothes are about?”

“I go through clothes quickly,” he grumbled, less light-hearted about the topic than she had hoped. “It’s hard to find enough.”

And that was the end to her attempt at conversation. It seemed he was perfectly willing to talk on his own, but any attempt from her to strike something up was quickly shut down.

The mountain was largely barren. She could see the harsh surface as they climbed higher and higher, no more trees to block her path.

And then, as they climbed and wrapped around the mountain, she looked down and saw the path they had climbed thusfar, winding around and around, going up and up and up.

And it was the only path she saw. No other path winding back down the mountain, nowhere else to go as they circled the pillar of rock and dirt.

So there was no town. This much was clear to her now, as they climbed still upwards with no way down. She was a fool to believe him at all, this stranger who had offered her salvation. Why would he have her best interest in mind? It was a stupid mistake, one she hoped would not cost her her life.

Kadrin spoke up again, sounding chipper, completely unaware of her inner turmoil. “What were you running from again? Or, rather, what was the princess running from? I suppose you were just collateral.”

“A dragon,” she muttered, trying to mimic her tone from before so she wouldn’t alert him to her realization, desperately trying to come up with a plan for escape.

“A dragon? I’ve never seen a dragon, are they really real?”

“They aren’t common,” she said, the lines of her body tense, moving even more slowly up the mountain to put more distance between the two of them than her struggle up the mountain had already established. “My father made a deal with one years ago. Now it wants me.”

“You?” he said, stopping and turning to face her. “Well, that doesn't make any sense. Why would some deal mean he was coming after you?”

“It was part of the deal,” she muttered, her gait slowing to an almost complete stop.

“Part of the deal? Well this doesn’t seem fair then. You running. Or, her running, I mean. If you were promised to him. She. If she was promised to him.”

She had no logical plan of escape, there was no good way out of this. So instead, she turned on her heels, and she began to run.

There was no way she could make it out, could run faster than him. She knew that, but she at least had to try.

As she moved, half running and half tumbling down the steep stone, she chanced a look behind her and saw that Kadrin wasn’t giving chase. He was just standing behind her, arms crossed, watching her run.

Relief ran through her for a second before, with her head turned, her pounding feet misstepped and she found herself tumbling off the edge of the path.

It was too far of a fall, down the sheer face of what could only be described as a cliff. The only thing she could feel was fear, wondering if she should have just stayed and taken her chances with this bizarre stranger.

A roar sounded above her and before she could process it, talons were closing around her shoulders.

She looked up and found herself in the clutches of the very dragon she’d been running from, cursing herself for being this stupid.

They flew over a familiar pile of mismatched clothes, torn to shred on the ground, flying right past them as they soared towards the top of the mountain.

“Let me go,” she called out, struggling inside harsh talons that didn’t so much as budge at her movements. “This isn’t fair.”

“Fair?” he snarled. His voice was recognizable from what it had been, but with a distinct rumbling growl underlying it now. “You know what isn’t fair? Going back on a deal the second it’s time to pay up.”

He soared into a cave and dropped her unceremoniously to the floor.

“You’re him,” she said with a gasp as she fell to the ground.

“You are brilliant, aren’t you?” he said, his tone cruel and mocking.

As she tried to stand, she stumbled, the ground unsteady under her feet.

And then, she managed to draw her eyes off of the dragon for a moment to look down. She found that she was not, in fact, standing on the ground, but instead on a massive pile of gold and gems.

“And you,” he said with a snarl, “are not a decoy.”

“Well, I guess we’re both liars,” she huffed.

“You more than I. I’m just using the tactics your kind pioneered. I am a man of my word, I think you’ll find. But now you’re here, as promised, and there is no more reason to lie. Everything is as it should be.”

“As it should be?” she cried out. “I didn’t ask for this. I wasn’t even alive when this deal was made. It’s not fair.”

“Perhaps not. But you’re here now, and you will not be going anywhere.”

He shifted in front of her, moving a boulder she hadn’t even noticed in the corner of the cave until it was right in front of the entrance, sealing her inside.

“It’s been a long day,” said the creature, his low voice feeling almost mocking. “You should get some rest.”

She hated that he was right. She was exhausted, her limbs feeling heavy and her brain moving slower than she was accustomed to. The adrenaline was wearing off, unable to carry her for this long, despite her still clearly being in danger.

So she sat on the gold, the creature curling up around the massive pile of treasure. Around her.

It was deeply uncomfortable, the various pieces of hard metal digging into her skin through layers of skirts.

She moved, careful not to shift too suddenly and frighten the hulking creature encircling her, and climbed carefully over his tail in an attempt to sit on the cool cave floor. She curled up on the ground as soon as she reached it. She’d certainly never slept on the floor before but it was far better than the harsh edges of the treasure.

And then cold talons wrapped around her and she was being lifted again before being unceremoniously dropped atop the gold once more.

“I can’t sleep up here,” she said, knowing it was a bad idea to complain about her comfort to her captor but unable to restrain herself. “It’s too uncomfortable. I’ll take the floor if I must, just please, not up here.”

“You will learn,” he said, his voice low and threatening.

No matter how she positioned herself, it was awful. If she had been any less tired, she would have laid awake on the treasure endlessly.

But as it stood, she was half convinced she could fall asleep on a bed of nails, and as such she found herself nodding off, despite the sharp pains of the cool metal below her.

Before she knew it, she was awakening again, sore from the pieces of gold that had been poking into her side through the night, to the feeling of wind blowing over her.

As she opened her eyes, she realized the wind was from the flapping of wings overtop her, the dragon flying in from outside.

And then, with a thud that echoed through the treasure, something was unceremoniously dropped beside her.

She turned to see a bed, one that had clearly been stolen from someone’s home. The blankets and pillows were awry from the flight and it had seemingly lost a pillow or two on the journey here.

“There,” he said, curling up around the gold once more. “Now you can stop complaining.”

She should have made a break for it while he’d been gone, she’d slept through what could be her only chance at escape.

It didn’t make real sense but she felt she couldn’t sleep in the bed, like that would be giving into her captor, letting him win. It was a matter of pride.

She did not fall asleep again that night, wallowing on his piles of riches.

But as the sun began to rise and peek through the cracks in the entrance to the cave, she thought maybe there was some use to the bed.

And so she pulled at the misshapen covers and curled up underneath them, covering her head completely.

And there she stayed, tucked away, blocking out the world as much as she could. So long as she couldn’t leave, what else was there to do?

She wasn’t sure how long passed like that. She was fairly sure she drifted in and out of consciousness but it was hard to tell, the whole world filtered through anger and exhaustion and thick brown blankets smothering any light that had snuck in through cracks in the stone.

And then the blankets were being pulled from atop her. She stayed adamantly still, curled up in a ball, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

She heard him snarl above her head and fought back a flinch. A cold, hard claw poked at her and still she stayed, head tucked against her knees.

And then he grumbled and left her alone, the blanket being haphazardly dropped atop her.

It continued on like that for who knows how long. Every now and then, how long there was between she had no way of knowing, he would check in on her. It started out with him being frustrated, angry even. Every few times he’d spew vitriol at her, things like, “Is keeping your word really this abhorrent to you,” and “You simply cannot be this weak.”

But then the remarks began to shift. His pokes and prods got softer, the placement of the blanket more precise.

And then something seemed to shift in the air and his responses stopped completely for what felt like an eternity. She’d begun to ache, lying there like that, still, motionless. Part of her wanted to stretch but that felt like letting him win.

The position began to feel more necessary as hunger began to take over her, an awful cramping taking over her stomach. At least it was minimized by the fetal position, curled up on herself in a way that had begun to feel almost natural.

She’d starve there, she realized. She was going to die in this bed. There was no other way about it.

And then the irritating talon returned, poking her through the blankets this time. “You need to eat,” he said, the low rumble of his voice practically resonating in her bones.

She said nothing. She had already resolved herself to her fate. There was nothing for her here, it was better this way. There was no way out. At least this way he wouldn’t get to play with her, there’d be no chance for him to do whatever this monster had planned for her.

She felt him huff, his breath wafting warm air over her.

And then she felt a shift, the gold the bed was resting on moving as his weight changed.

A human body sat on the bed beside her.

“Please,” he said, his voice softer than she remembered it being. She almost hated him more for it, for trying to sound comforting as her kidnapper. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“I’m going to make myself dead,” she said, her first words in a long time, her voice cracking over the effort of forcing them out. “So you won’t be able to get any sick satisfaction out of me.”

She felt him reel back at her words and wonder what it was that had done it, her harsh tone or the idea of him losing his brand new toy.

“Is that really what you want? You’d rather die than be here?” He sounded sad and it made the anger rise even further in her. How dare he ask that, act like she had any other option.

And then his presence was gone and she heard the shift, gold spilling onto the floor as he grew back to his true size.

And then, with a horrible grinding noise, the boulder in front of the door was shifted.

She didn’t fall for it. She knew if she ran he’d be after her, could catch her in a second. So she stayed, curled up tight, a horrible dread sitting in her stomach.

“Please look at me,” he said, his voice low and frightening again in his true form, but undeniably sad. It shouldn’t have gotten through to her. It was so obviously a trick, but something about it tugged at some emotion inside her and she shifted to peek out from where she was hiding her head.

He was lying on the floor, head pressed against the ground and wings tucked against him. It was clear to her that he was trying to look non threatening, for what reason she could not fathom.

“Would you prefer my other form?” he asked, shifting a little uncomfortably as he spoke. “I don’t want to frighten you.”

“No,” she spat. “I don’t enjoy being lied to.”

“Right. Can we talk? I have been unfair to you, I fear. Blamed you for sins that are not your own.”

Her nose scrunched up. “What sins? What could you possibly blame me for?”

“What did your father tell you about us?”

She shrugged. “Everything. All of it, how you started destroying everything, how he had to give me up to stop you, how there was no other way if he wanted the kingdom to survive, to stop the senseless violence.”

He sighed. “Dragons were peaceful creatures, once. I’d say we still are, though I’m sure many would disagree. We were sought after though. Our scales are almost impenetrable, an invaluable resource. Your father figured that out and simply could not bear to let that resource go to waste. He decimated our population, my family, my parents and brothers and sisters. I am not a destructive force but I was left with nothing else, nothing to do but get revenge. Your father took my family, it was only fair that I get his in return. I can’t send you back, I can't let him have that victory. Not after everything. But I don’t want to cause you pain. I have no quarrel with you. I can provide for you, care for you. I know this isn’t what you wanted but it doesn’t have to be the way it has been.”

“You’re a liar,” she spat at him. “My father wouldn’t do that.”

“No?” he asked. “So you’ve seen no dragon scales then, scattered around, built into armour and displayed proudly. The skin of my loved ones, where do you think he got that? And if dragons are so very violent, how did he get it in the first place? No, we are peaceful and he slaughtered us. I was turned violent, he turned me violent.” His words got louder and louder until he was snarling out the words by the end of his speech.

She couldn’t help but flinch, pulling back into herself at the malice in his tone. “I don’t-” she stammered out. “I can’t-”

His body language shifted instantly, hard lines of tensed muscles softening. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just wanted you to understand. I take no joy in your misery but I cannot let you go, not after everything he has done. But that doesn’t mean I need to lock you away like some criminal. I will make this as pleasant for you as I am able.”

She shifted in her seat. She did not want to be miserable. She supposed no one ever did. Who was it helping, really? Her wallowing in this awful bed, starving herself, would aid no one. Her father would never know it, her kingdom would miss her no less as a corpse. “Fine,” she said. “If you’re willing to try then I suppose I am too.”

A sigh escaped him, one of relief if she had to guess. She wondered if the state she’d been in had really been weighing on him or if she had just been an inconvenience.

“If you’d like to start somewhere,” she said. “I could really use some food.”

He nodded, turned, and left, flying off into the distance.

She watched him go, knowing there was no use in running. He could travel so much faster than her and see so much farther, there was nowhere she could go in the next few minutes where he couldn’t find her. Better him think her complacent, perhaps fall into a false sense of security. Then she could make a real attempt at an escape.

He returned fairly quickly, though it was still immensely difficult to tell time here in this stupid cave, even with the sun in sight. The shadows were all wrong, harsh and unfamiliar against the cold walls of the cave.

As he returned, his wings stirring up the typically still air hidden away in the rocks, he dropped talons full of fruits and breads and pastries at her feet, them immediately getting dirty on the cave floor. Hooked into one of his claws was also a full bucket of water, so at the very least she could clean the fruit, though the bread at the bottom of the pile may be a lost cause.

“Will this do?” he asked, looking at her eagerly.

“I suppose,” she said, lifting some of it off the filthy ground as quickly as she could.

He stared at her expectantly and she refused to dignify the look with a thank you. “Are you going to eat?”

He stared at her. “I can’t like this?”

“What?”

“In this form, I can’t eat anything but meat.”

“Can you leave then? Or at least shift into your other form. I’d rather not eat in front of you while you stare at me.”

And then he began to shift. It was the first time she had seen him change. It was an odd affair, less frightening that she would have guessed. Where she had expected to see something horribly frightening, this was fairly seamless, his dragon scales seeming to melt off of him, sinking into the ground below him and leaving a man standing before her. A man who, she quickly realized, was entirely nude.

“Goodness gracious!” she said, her hand flying up to cover her eyes. It did no good, the image of his bare form was seared into her mind. “Can you put some clothes on?”

“Right,” he said with a huff, his human voice returning. “I always forget about your hang ups about nudity. It really isn’t such a big deal. And it is so irritating. I tear the clothes I’m wearing every time I shift and I have to keep finding new ones constantly. Such a grating tradition. If I had my way, I’d be rid of them entirely.”

Her spare hand, the one not being used to protect her propriety as best she could, reached down to clutch her skirt defensively. “You will do no such thing. Speaking of, I need new dresses. Nice ones, if you may.”

“Where am I supposed to find nice dresses?” he whined as she heard the shuffling that hopefully signified him putting on clothes. “I’m a dragon, they don’t exactly let me into stores.”

“So shift!” she said. “Go buy them. I am a princess, I need more than one dress.”

He groaned. “With what money should I buy these dresses, princess.”

If she’d been able to look at him, she would have shot him an exasperated look. “You have me sleeping on a pile of gold, what do you mean with what money? You have nothing but money.”

“You mean my hoard? I can’t give up my hoard, are you insane?”

She scoffed. “Why does it matter, it’s not like you’re using it for anything.”

“Not using it for anything? I’m using it for being my hoard! It’s a very important job.”

She had half a mind to stop talking to him once again. “Whatever. Do what you’d like.”

“I will. You can open your eyes, by the way.”

Once again, he looked absurd, dressed in a horribly mismatched set of clothes. “You look like a madman,” she said, picking up the half forgotten bread she’d selected and taking a bite.

“Do you want me to eat with you or not?” he asked with a huff.

She gestured graciously towards the pile of food and he sat beside her and began to tear into it.

He was a horribly messy eater but she figured that was a battle not worth fighting.

“You could at least give me stuff for my hair,” she said, reaching up to touch her unruly curls. “I know it’s unsightly, I’m sure you’re tired of looking at it. I appreciate you not mentioning it, I really do, but I know it can’t be fun to be forced to look at it day in and day out.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Who told you that?”

“What?”

“Who’s been calling your hair unsightly?”

“What do you mean who? Everyone has, everyone since I was old enough to have hair.”

His nostrils flared, a puff of hot air wafting over her. “If you’d like to give me names I can deal with that.”

“What?” she practically squeaked. “Deal with- What does that mean?”

“Kill them. I don’t take kindly to people insulting beautiful things in my hoard.”

“Beautiful. You think I’m… wait, in your hoard? I’m not a part of your hoard!” she squeaked out.

“Yes you are. You sleep there,” he said, sounding confused.

“I am not an object.”

His head tilted to the side. “I never said you were.”

“I am not some piece of treasure you can hoard, how dare you.”

“Not a piece of treasure, no, but valuable. Priceless. And here, in my den. I don’t see how you could be anything but part of my hoard.”

“Valuable? Valuable as what, a tool of revenge? A bargaining chip? I am just an incidental victim in a war between you and my father, I do not appreciate the value that gives me.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “That’s not all you are.”

“What?”

“I was pursuing revenge all those years ago, I’ll admit that much. But it's been so many years and I’m the only one left. It’s been very lonely.”

“So I am also valuable because I am the first person who’s been willing to speak to you in decades? And you had to kidnap me to do it.”

“I didn’t kidnap you, we made a deal.”

“We did nothing, I think you will find. You made a deal with someone before I was even born that I had no say in. I think I will eat the rest of this meal alone, thank you so much for your kindness,” she spat out, scooping up a few pieces of food and stumbling her way back to her bed.

He was gone for hours after and she was more than content to eat her pastries in bed and very much alone.

When he returned, he dropped a piece of fabric on her bed, one that looked suspiciously like a dress.

“It’s for you,” he said, nudging it towards her.

“Most people apologize with their words, you know,” she said with a huff

“Apologies, princess. It’s been some time since I’ve spoken to anyone, let alone apologized.”

“Have you really been alone all these years?” she asked, fighting to keep any sympathy out of her voice.

“I tried to use my… less threatening form on occasion, go into the villages. It did little to stave off the loneliness, talking to people I know would try and kill me, should they know what I was. I gave up on that a long time ago, resigned myself to this life. I’ll see my people again in the next one.”

“Right. That sounds… unpleasant.”

“It does. I’m afraid it may help explain my behavior towards you, though. I’m deeply unaccustomed to having guests.”

“A guest.” She scoffed. “Is that what I am?”

“It’s what I’d like you to be,” he said, sounding almost nervous.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, certainly not when I cannot leave.”

“I will still try my best,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “At the very least, to not make your stay unpleasant. As I have told you, I have no quarrel with you.”

“And yet I am the one being caged.”

He sighed, dropping the dress on her bed and turning away from her.

She leaned forwards to grab it, not wanting to let the only available change of clothes out of her sight. It was beautiful, the fabric soft and silky and glinting in the light. It also looked almost perfectly her size, which she had no idea how he managed, especially when his own clothes were so often misshapen and ill fitting.

“Where did you find this?” she asked, running her hands along the smooth fabric. “It’s beautiful.”

“I bought it,” he said, turning back to her, a smug aura beginning to drift off of him.

“You… With your hoard? But you said you could never?”

“Well, I figured you’re part of my hoard now, so as long as it’s for you it's alright.” He sounded almost sheepish.

“I am no such thing, but I appreciate it nonetheless. Thank you,” she said, and then leaned over to press a kiss atop his snout before moving off to change.

“Can you turn around,” she called back to him, turning to see him completely frozen in place, his eyes almost looking a bit crossed, like he was trying to look at his own snout.

Her words seemed to snap him out of it, head jerking up a little before he turned with a quiet, “Right, of course.”

She got dressed as quickly as she could, eager to show him. “Turn around,” she said, swaying her hips a little to see the movement of the fabric. “Isn’t it lovely!”

He stared at her, pupils blown wide. “Yes. Lovely.”

She grinned, giving him a twirl in the dress, the soft fabric billowing around her legs as she spun.

The more time that passed, the calmer things became. She’d stopped refusing to take care of herself, and more than that stopped refusing to take gifts from Kadrin. She figured so long as she was here, she might as well try and enjoy herself.

As soon as she gave herself permission to be happy here, it was like things began to fall into place. It was nice here, if she forgot their rocky beginning and how she’d found herself living in this cave.

Despite earlier protests about using his hoard to buy her things, Kadrin seemed to have no issue with it now, running off to get her whatever she requested at a moment’s notice. She’d acquired a massive pile of books, a deck of cards, and her own small wardrobe of clothes, far more than her dragon had. She’d even managed to convince him to get her a small embroidery kit, one that she thanked him for by embroidering flowers along the collar of one of his nicer shirts.

He began wearing that one a lot after that, though it never did seem to end up ripped to pieces like the rest of his clothes did in the midst of his transformations

He on occasion would say unusual things, though she wasn’t quite sure if they were attributable to him being a dragon or if he was just strange.

Though he kept getting her dresses, he would occasionally push the issue, insisting that she didn’t need clothes, after all he didn’t wear any and dragons don’t care about that sort of thing.

Even if he didn’t care about propriety, she was not a fool and caught the mischief in his voice, staring at him before asking, “Are you trying to see me naked?”

He answered no a bit too fast for it to sound convincing and never pushed the issue again, though she did catch him angrily staring at her dresses a few times.

For all intents and purposes, aside from some minor jabs, he seemed obsessed with making her happy and comfortable here, and it was working.

One day he returned with some more gifts for her in his talons, his shirt also tucked beneath his claws, not ripped and abandoned like most of his clothes, and he got an odd look on his face, staring down at her where she lay, reading in her bed, some new romance novel he’d gotten her a week ago.

“Would you like to go outside?” he asked, and she sat up immediately, eyes widening.

“Can I?” she asked, sounding almost breathless.

He nodded. “I didn’t even think about it, you should have asked me sooner.”

She cocked her head to the side, staring at him like he’d lost his mind. “I didn’t think I was allowed. I am a prisoner here.”

Sadness flashed through his eyes, darting quickly away from her. “You can ask for anything,” he said, his voice soft, or at least as soft as it could be in his dragon form. “Now come on, let’s go.”

She stepped hesitantly towards him, unsure how exactly he was planning on transporting her down the mountain.

His talons closed around her shoulders and before she could even process it, her feet were lifting off the ground and she was being flown. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked down at the ground far below her and she reached up to try and hold onto his talons as they flew.

She shut her eyes, trusting Kadrin to get them there and not wanting to see just how high up they were any longer.

Before she knew it, her feet were touching down on solid ground. She collapsed to the ground as soon as Kadrin’s talon’s released her, feeling the grass against her skin.

“This is amazing,” she said with a smile, feeling the sun beating down on her face. “Thank you for taking me out here.”

He did not seem pleased by her enjoyment. Instead he looked more devastated than anything, staring down at her with sad eyes. “You should have asked to come out sooner, I would have given it to you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Stop thinking about that. Now that I know I can, trust me, we’ll come out here a lot. Oh, do you know any fields with flowers? I could bring them back to the den, it would be lovely.”

He nodded, though his mind was clearly elsewhere. “I can get you flowers. I always would have gotten you flowers. I just didn’t know.”

She scrunched her nose up. “Can you stop being so strange? We are having a nice day out, don’t you ruin this for me with this bizarre mood you’re in.”

He did his best, trying and failing to conceal how upset he was.

To Ophelia’s dismay, this mood continued on long after their day out. He only grew more distant as time passed, still bringing her gifts but with few comments this time, barely so much as speaking to her.

And then, after nearly a week of being practically ignored, when she was close to snapping and yelling at him, he came to her.

He still was melancholy, his tail practically tucked between his legs. He avoided her gaze as he spoke, keeping his head down. “I think you should go.”

“What?” she cried out, wondering what she could have done to be sent away like this.

“You should go home,” he said, his voice low. “I can’t stand the thought of you feeling imprisoned here, the idea that I’m making you miserable. I’ve been trying and I thought you were fine but then you didn’t ask to go outside like you were a prisoner and I can’t imagine how many other things you’re missing out on because I’ve trapped you here. I don’t know how I could’ve been so delusional to think you’re happy here. I kidnapped you, took you from your family, of course you couldn’t be happy. It’s about time I stopped deluding myself.”

She furrowed her brows. “What about your revenge? And your people?”

“Your happiness is more important than my revenge. I want to find another way to get that revenge but he’s your father. Anything I can think of would hurt you too and I don’t know if I could stomach that, not now. Not after all this.”

“And so what, you’ll just go back to being alone again?”

“Don’t worry about me. I was fine for decades, I will be fine now.”

“You’re not fine. You’re miserable.”

“Better than it being you. I can stand to be miserable, I cannot stand to watch you become everything that killed me for so long, watch you be the one taken from your people, you be the one stuck alone.”

“I’m not alone,” she said with a huff. “I’m with you.”

“It’s not enough.”

She paused, thinking through her words carefully before speaking, thinking about the food and the dresses, thinking about how he never seemed to mind her making a mess or the wild curls in her hair, thinking about how he was so eager to please her and how the thought of her being miserable here was enough for him to give up on this mission of his he’d held longer than she’d been alive. And then she said, “There is a way to get revenge without hurting me.”

He huffed. “And what exactly would that be?”

“You could just keep me,” she said with a shrug.

“No,” he said, with a firm shake of his head. “I told you, you need to be with your people, I can’t be selfish and…Wait, what do you mean that wouldn’t hurt you?”

“I don’t know, it’s safe here. You take care of me, you don’t judge me. I’m happier here than I ever was in court or in my room as my handmaidens desperately try to tame my hair or when suitors turn me down for having too many thoughts to be a suitable wife. I don’t know, there’s worse places to be. And besides, you’re here, and against my better judgment, I think I would miss you terribly. ”

And then, his scales began to melt, a familiar human form appearing from the shifting black mass, pacing over to her and grabbing her, hands cupping her cheeks and pulling her close to him, lips pressing to hers.

Her hands rose to his face, holding him close.

She’d never been kissed before but she’d certainly imagined it, especially lately with all the romance books Kadrin had been getting her. Only then, with his lips against hers and his hand on the small of her back, his skin warm against her, did she admit to herself that she’d perhaps been imagining a certain dragon whilst reading the romance novels. Even the steamier ones.

But not quite like this.

“Wait,” she said, barely pulling away from the kiss to speak, still practically pressed against him.

He pulled back, almost breathless. “This is too fast,” he said, pupils blown wide. “You’re a princess, you’ve never done anything like this before, I’m so sorry.”

“No,” she said, scrunching up her nose. “I’m a big girl, I can take it. Besides, I don’t have to worry about court propriety anymore, they’ll never see me again. I just… I don’t want you to look like this, I want you to be you. At least this first time. That is, if you’re amenable.”

He looked incredibly nervous at the suggestion. “Right. We can certainly try, but the last thing I ever want is to hurt you and I fear I’m quite a bit… bigger in my other form.”

She smiled at him. “Nothing stopping us from trying.”

“Certainly not.” And then he began to shift, shoulders broadening and scales seeping back through his skin.

He was a sight to behold. She regretted that it had taken her so long to appreciate it, having spent so long being afraid of him. She should have seen sooner just how beautiful he was.

She rose up onto the tips of her toes and he sunk his head down to meet her. As soon as he was within reach, she pressed a kiss onto his snout. “Kissing is certainly harder without lips,” she said, eyes raking over his face, really taking him in.

“I wouldn’t say that,” his low voice rumbled, and then he leaned forwards and licked right up the side of her face.

She squealed, pulling back a little on instinct before leaning back into him. “You have to warn me next time.”

“If you want me to warn you, you shouldn’t make cute sounds like that,” he said, and she could feel the rumble of his voice running through her.

And then, as he stopped speaking, the rumble remained and her mouth fell open. “Oh my god, are you purring?”

He shrunk back a little, clearly embarrassed. “It happens when I’m happy sometimes, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“Don’t you dare apologize, that’s adorable.”

He let out a little groan. “I’m not adorable, I am ferocious and horrifying and for very special princesses, occasionally handsome. Never adorable.”

She giggled into the scales on his neck, pressing closer to feel it more strongly. “Sorry, you don’t get to make that call, I do. And I say you’re adorable.”

“We’ll see about that,” he said, before knocking her back into the pile of gold they were standing on, shifting over her so he was pinning her down, a playful look in his eyes.

Her eyes darted downwards and widened as she saw his arousal, evident in the way his dick, usually absent in his dragon form, had emerged from somewhere inside him.

She’d read about sex in her romance books too, although those women typically had more proportionate partners and she wasn’t exactly certain how much of that information she could transfer to dragons.

“It might take a while. To get me ready for.. you know,” she said, face flushing bright red as she gestured vaguely at his lower half.

He tsked at her softly. “Not this time, little one. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“Then what…” she stopped as he flipped her skirts up, his claws closing around her legs and he gently pulled them open.

She’d been forgoing her bloomers most of the time she’d been here. There was no real reason to wear them, it wasn’t like she was riding or doing something dangerous and Kadrin so often forgot to bring new pairs, regardless of how many dresses he bought her.

She wasn’t sure if she was pleased or upset at this fact as he revealed her core to him. He certainly seemed pleased, if the increase in the volume of his purring was any indication.

“You’re enjoying this rather too much, I think,” she declared to him.

He let out something resembling a laugh, low and rumbling. “Is that not the point?”

She shuffled where she sat, mildly uncomfortable in how exposed she felt. “Perhaps.”

He shushed her softly, echoes of a laugh present in his voice, and murmured, “Don’t be nervous, I promise I’ll take care of you.”

His head began to delve under her skirts, his face disappearing from her view. It was nerve wracking this way, not being able to see him, hoping she was doing everything right. Her mind flew through all the books she’d read, trying to figure out what she was supposed to do, how to make this work.

And then she felt a soft lick on her thigh and suddenly, she wasn’t thinking quite so much anymore. She squirmed, something warm building in her stomach at the sensation, unsure if she wanted to shift away to gather herself or to shift closer to him. Instead, she found herself simply writhing on the floor as another gentle lick from a broad tongue fell, even further up her thigh.

A surprised little squeak escaped her and she heard a chuckle sound in response before a third lick was placed, this one right at her core.

It was a light touch, almost teasing in nature, but it felt so good. She could feel a dampness between her thighs entirely separate from the hot wet tongue that had begun lapping at her. Instinctually she went to close her thighs, to try and abate this growing need that was building, but Kadrin’s head blocked her path, forcing her legs open.

The soft, gentle licks commenced for some time, teasing and soft but building that warmth inside her that she’d never felt the likes of before. And then, with no warning, the tongue began to push inside.

An odd noise escaped her, something strange and loud. It certainly didn’t seem attractive to her, but Kadrin seemed to enjoy it, redoubling his efforts, seeming to want to pull more odd noises from her.

Her insecurities over the noises she was making faded quickly as he delved deeper inside, the sensation of him filling her so completely with his thick, hot tongue fighting off almost all thought. There was no room to be nervous or self conscious when she was bordering on brainlessness.

The warmth in her began to build and build until she swore something inside her was about to break. Her squirming began again, unable to keep herself still under his attentions. She wasn’t sure what she would be warning him of exactly, but she felt the need to warn Kadrin of her current state. It was just so difficult to manage anything outside the pleasure consuming her now.

She managed to squeak out, “I think…” before something inside her snapped and waves of pleasure went running through her, the likes of which she’d never felt before. All her muscles went taught and her vision got blurry, the gray roof of the cave fading out of focus.

Kadrin dutifully worked her through it, his tongue shifting against her until the last waves of pleasure had washed over her and everything began to feel too much. Eventually, she huffed out a quiet, “I can’t take anymore,” that finally drew him out from under her skirts.

As she panted heavily, lying, sated, on the floor, he laid his head on her torso. She found herself too content to complain about the weight.

And then she sat up with a start. “Oh goodness, I’ve forgotten about you.”

“There’s no need,” he said, shifting slightly above her. “I may have gotten… carried away, during.”

She broke out into a massive grin, looking down at him wide eyed. “You did?”

“Don’t get too smug, next time I’m going to make you do some work, mark my words. It’s not my fault you’re so pretty and soft and taste so good”

She let her head fall back with a giggle. “You’re absurd.”

No longer sufficiently distracted, she could now acutely feel the gold digging into her back.

She clambered up to the bed, her legs a little shaky as she stood, a warm snout pushing into her back to help keep her upright until she managed to collapse into the sheets.

And then warmth surrounded her, Kadrin curling up around the bed, the heat radiating off his scales blanketing her where she lay.

She snuggled down into the blankets, although they were hardly needed with Kadrin’s body heat surrounding her, and drifted safely and happily to sleep.

282 notes View Post

tinydreamtimemachine

2 months ago

An aquarium in Japan was closed for renovations, and their resident sunfish got depressed not seeing visitors. So the staff put some uniforms with printed faces against the tank, and it immediately recovered.

143K notes View Post

tinydreamtimemachine

2 months ago

THE TWST4 KOMA😭😭

"Go to bed" ruggies face while counting the madols look devious lmao

POOR JACK BUT ALSO THATS SO CUTE😭😭

Also i need to point out how GORGEOUS vil is in this comic this month like yasss queen

RUGGIE NO DONT EAT THEM

love how cute jack is

Also ruggie wrong lyrics

Evryone here is a freak,its not even shocking anymore

NEW REACTION IMAGE: ACQUIRED

Tags

twisted wonderland

3K notes View Post

tinydreamtimemachine

3 weeks ago

To the rescue!

There is a deleted scene in The Nightmare Before Christmas where Lock, Shock, and Barrel watch Oogie torment Sandy and Sally, appearing amused. Director Henry Selick explained that this scene was cut because it made the trio too mean.

Instead, the scene was reframed so the trio alert the Mayor that Jack is alive, leading him to Oogie’s lair so that Jack could be rescued (fortunately, Jack had already unraveled Oogie by the time they arrived). I always loved this change so I decided to draw how I think the new scene might have played out!

1K notes View Post

tinydreamtimemachine

2 weeks ago