Haley Thistle
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Dragon Boyfriend: Deiphobos (complete)
🕑 Added 2020-12-11 20:00:02 +0000 UTC
Female Reader x Male Monster (both cis)
Stories have been passed down for generations about the dragons forging the lands with their fire and strength. It was not man who first founded what is now known at the Ruby Empire, but dragons. The isles that were formed by the dragons were given the names of gemstones, each one the territory for a certain tribe of dragons. The Ruby Isle was one of the biggest, and later became home to the rakshasa and lizardfolk kingdoms.
Over time, the isles joined together, forming the Dragon’s Chest before they became the Ruby Empire. Your home, Malachite, is an inconsequential island south of the rakshasa shores. While malachite are still in abundance around your home, copper is your most common export. The men in your family have been miners for generations.
The women, on the other hand, are prodigious cooks. Even in your earliest memories you were in the kitchen, where your great-grandmother taught you how to make dough, roll it and let it rise. Your grandmother passed down recipes that had been in the family for generations. Your mother bestowed on you cookware and knowledge of presentation on the plate. Before you had reached puberty, you were a master chef in your own right.
Due to their culinary skill, the women in your family are highly sought by the richest households on the island. Your grandmother still works for her original employers, as she has for decades. Your mother works for the household you were born in. You’ve been in the employ of another family for a decade, ever since you were sixteen.
It’s also a family tradition to never cook your best for the household you serve. You save your best for your blood, something your great-grandmother taught you during her final days. “When you work, you do not put love into the food,” she told you. “It does not come out the same, but people who don’t know will never know. Only those you love will be able to taste that care. Do not work yourself to death trying to make others see your gifts when it will not matter to them either way.”
The birthday of the young daughter of the household is approaching. She had been so young when you arrived, barely five. Now she’s celebrating her debut, something you find utterly remarkable. You’ve heard your mother and grandmother talking about the celebrations and milestones which they prepared feasts for in the houses they worked. You’ve certainly had your fair share of feasts, but in your ten years of work this feels like the first household milestone you’ve witnessed. Also, this girl is like a sister to you. She hides in the kitchen to escape the bickering of her family, watches you cook, and has even picked up cooking skill in her own right. She loves making bread, kneading for hours to create a perfect loaf.
As her birthday draws nearer she talks more about her dresses and who she wants to dance with. She has daydreams about meeting the love of her life at the party.
“Are you married?” she asks you one day, in the midst of describing a romance with a foreign prince.
You smile back at her. “I am not.”
Her expression widens into shock at this. “I thought you were!”
You’re chopping vegetables that will be fried and tossed in a sauce. “I am not. My family tends to marry older because of how busy we are. Either working in the kitchen, or working in the mines.”
“How awful,” the girl murmurs.
You shrug, tossing a batch of chopped vegetables into the pan to sizzle and pop. “Not really. Mama says it helps to keep us young. The later we get married, the longer we go without the stress.”
The girl seems to think long and hard about this. After all, her parents married young, had her young, and all they do is fight. “I still would like to meet someone,” she says decidedly. “Then I could have my own household and staff, and I could take you with me.”
You throw back your head and laugh. “Are you ready to put up a fight with your mother, young lady?”
“Very,” she says brightly. “I would not be able to stomach anyone else’s cooking besides yours. I would simply ask my father, and he would have no choice but to let you leave here to come and be with me.”
You smile as you stir the contents of the pan, tossing in spices to combine with the sauce in a wonderful symphony of flavor. “If you say so, dear.”
“What would your dream man be?” The girl practices dancing with an invisible partner as she asks you this. “How would you want to meet him?”
“How are you so sure it is a man?” you ask teasingly.
The girl grins at you. “Then that would certainly be the talk of the house!”
You chuckle and shrug. “I never really thought about it. I grew up only knowing miners. I suppose a scholar or an artist might be interesting.”
The girl continues to dance. “Then how would you meet?”
You hum as you think. “I would want it to be a surprise. Something sudden, like a bolt of lightning.”
“That sounds scary.”
“Does it?” You toss the vegetables in the pan. “I think it sounds rather romantic. The shock and surprise of it all is what binds you. You talk about it, you learn from it, and you slowly grow to know each other more. Eventually, it’s second nature.”
“What about seeing each other from across the room? Your eyes meet, and you are pulled to one another by a force stronger than yourselves?”
You snicker. “When was the last time you saw someone across the room and didn’t avert your gaze immediately?”
“Well...” she murmurs.
“Those are stories, little one. More than likely, you will bump into someone while getting a drink. You’ll both laugh, he’ll offer to fill your glass, and the night will progress from there.”
“That sounds boring,” she whines.
“That’s life. It’s not what you want, but what is expected.” You offer her a taste of what you’re cooking with a blob of rice. “Now try this and tell me what you think.”
She happily takes the bite. “It’s spicy!”
“Good, that’s what the rice is for.”
You begin preparing the feast for her party days in advance. You work on the cakes first, then soups, then chop up everything, and so on until the day arrives and you begin putting everything together. You start early in the morning, knowing you’ll be working until late that evening.
Suddenly there is a great commotion, but you figure it’s just the party commencing. Perhaps someone already had too much to drink and knocked over an entire table. You continue working, even as screams begin to pour into the hallway. You finally stop when the noise begins to bother the rest of the staff. “What’s going on? Is there a fire?” You walk away from the stove right as the doors burst open and some of the servers come running inside.
“Dragon!” one screams.
“Impossible!” you scoff. “How can there be a dragon? They’re all gone!”
“It’s circling the island!” another server blurts. “It’s heading this way! You can see it outside.”
“This must be a trick,” you scoff. You step towards the doors which lead into the garden. “I’m seeing this for myself.”
“Chef! Don’t go out there! It’s dangerous!”
You open the doors and walk out, surprised by how dark it is already. You assumed it was earlier. Then, you hear a low growl, and just as you look up, it lands in the garden. There’s no way to describe what you feel then. You’ve been told all your life that all the dragons had died, or returned to Grattertock to hide. You’re shaking, but quickly close the doors behind you so the dragon doesn’t see the staff inside.
The dragon descends, looking directly at you with bright golden eyes. “Something smells divine”.
The shaking spreads from the core of your body all the way to your hands. “You’ve come to the kitchen.”
The dragon tilts its head. “Are you the cook?”
You’re not sure why - probably because you are only moving on instinct - but you nod.
The dragon holds out a forepaw. “Then come with me.”
You don’t remember what happens after that, and you must have fainted. When you regain consciousness, you find yourself in a wholly new place, surrounded by the rich green color of the malachite. There are veins of it in the stone walls and the floor. All around you are pillows piled high to form a nest. As you lift yourself from the pile, you see a massive fireplace lined with copper and great stone pillars carved in the shape of dragons, their eye sockets filled with various gemstones.
You try to get out of the nest, but you keep falling backwards, plopping into softness each time. You shake in frustration, until you finally manage to find some footing in something solid and brace yourself at the edge.
As you’re pulling yourself out, the dragon steps out of the fireplace. You yelp as you fall back into the void of down. “Good. I was hoping you would be awake.” The dragon reaches in and pulls you out, setting you on the malachite floor.
“No!” is all you can say, throwing up your hands and jumping back when the dragon releases you.
The dragon lowers to the ground, massive, strong, and hypnotically beautiful. His scales are various shades of copper, from golden to fiery red. His great head tilts down to you as he closes his golden eyes. “Forgive me, but I only intend to keep you here for a short while. My name is Deiphobos, and I am humbly asking for your help.”
“You’re a dragon!” you blurt.
He opens his eyes again. “I am.”
Your mouth opens and shuts like a landed fish.
“I understand you’re frightened, but I want to change that. You see, I have just woken from a long slumber, and I found I am alone. I need help.”
“Why?” you sputter. “Why me?”
Deiphobos tilts his head to the side. “Your smell is very familiar to me. Before I fell into my deep sleep, I used to partake in the festivals below my keep, and one woman used to make a special dish in my honor. Whatever you were making smelled exactly like it.”
“I am a chef,” you murmur.
Deiphobos lowers his head further. “I am alone, little chef. I am afraid. Please, all I ask is your presence and understanding. I will let you go once I am able to clear the path from my keep. Then people can come and go as they please, and my home will be filled again.”
“You can be afraid?” you ask in awe.
“All creatures can,” he replies quietly. “Fear is familiar to all of us.”
You wring your hands as you look up at him. “You aren’t going to eat me?”
Deiphobos shakes his head. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
The quaking in your chest hasn’t subsided, but it has moved away from your hands. “What are you afraid of?”
“I am lonesome,” he murmurs. “My keep used to be filled with people and other dragons. But now...”
You look at him apologetically. “Dragons,” you start nervously, “I’m so sorry to tell you that dragons haven’t existed in some time. Sightings have been rare. Most are gone, either dead or returned to Grattertock.”
Deiphobos sighs heavily. He lays his head and long neck upon the floor and begins to weep. “I missed it! I was foolish, and thought it was a mere nap!”
“Don’t cry on the malachite!” you exclaim urgently. “It’ll make you sick!”
Golden tears fall from his eyes, splashing onto the ground and cooling to form hard lumps upon the ground. “The mass migration, the hibernation... I thought there was more time.”
You approach him gingerly, kneeling beside his head and touching it. He’s hot to the touch, and his scales are like smooth metal.
“I know this means nothing to a human like you,” he sniffles. “But I missed a rebirth. I will be lost to the ages.”
“I’m sorry,” you reply. “Usually, I cook something when someone is sad. I don’t know what to do here.”
Deiphobos chuckles softly. “You smell like the festivals that were held at the base of my keep. It makes me feel safe.”
You continue to pet him, rubbing his muzzle and the sides of his face until his head is in your lap. Never in your wildest dreams did you ever expect to hold a dragon in your hands, let alone comfort it in your lap. “I am sorry,” he sighs. “I will take you home. You don’t need to take care of me.”
“I would like that very much. But I would feel bad knowing you’re here alone.” Warring instincts toss back and forth inside you. “Take me home. But just long enough for me to see my family and pack my things.”
Deiphobos lifts his head and stares at you in disbelief. “You would do that?”
“Once you clear that path, I can come and go as I please, right? Not only that, my family could come as well.” You give him a firm nod. “Let me cook for you if my work smells so familiar. Let me help you fill your home again so you are not alone.”
Deiphobos nudges your cheek and breathes against your hair. “I will greatly reward this kindness. Ask for anything, and I will give it to you.”
“Right now, I’ve used up everything in me to decide upon this. Let me think about it and I will let you know.”
“That’s fine,” he chuckles. “Do you want me to take you to your home now?”
“Please. I’m sure my family is panicked beyond reason.”
Deiphobos places you on his back, and as he walks through the fireplace he comes out the other side flying into the sky. You direct him where to go, and he lands in the street outside your house. It is utter chaos. Your grandmother tries to rush into the street with her best knife to attack the dragon, only to find that his scales break the blade. She keeps trying to attack him, and you have to force her inside. While your family tries to convince you to hide, you have to calmly talk them down.
It takes what feels like hours, but eventually you convince them of your plan. “I want to cook for him. I’m not sure why, but I feel as though this is what I’ve been preparing for since our family began. Don’t ask me to explain it. I just...”
“I see,” your grandmother murmurs. “My mother used to tell me that our recipes came in the hopes of finding favor with the dragons.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “I thought she was crazy. Always talking about dragons, that one. But now… seeing this creature on our doorstep, I have to admit my mother may have been right.”
“But we can’t just let her go!” your mother argues.
“I know it’s frightening,” your grandmother says. “But giving up your child is in itself the most frightening thing a parent can do. Granted, I expected her to go off with a miner like everyone else. Living with a dragon? It’s a shock to this old heart, but not much different.”
Your mother looks at your grandmother like she’s ready to attack her with a knife too. “You’re joking, right, mother?”
“Only a little.” Your grandmother stands and goes into the kitchen. From under the cupboards she takes a giant pan and hands it to you. “This was to be your birthright on your wedding day, but I think now is the proper time.” The pan has been in your family longer than even your name. It’s been used during celebrations and family gatherings, only for the most important of events. It’s been your family’s greatest heirloom and pride, used since the festivals first began.
“Take it now to please your dragon,” your grandmother says. “The more of a dragon’s trust you earn, the greater your fortune becomes.”
“This is crazy!” your father argues. “We can’t just let her go with this beast! How do we know she’ll be safe?”
You take the pan into your hands. “Because he remembers our family’s cooking. Our ancestors used to feed it to him at the festivals.” You look into his eyes. “He just wants a companion. He won’t hurt me. My food will make him happy.”
“And he will bless our family in return,” your grandmother says thoughtfully.
You finish packing your things, including more spices and cookware. You say a tearful farewell to your family. “It won’t be long. Once the path is cleared we can all come and go as we please.”
Your grandmother kisses your cheeks. “You’ll call it home soon, and we will come visit.” She brandishes another knife at Deiphobos. “You owe me a new knife!”
He tilts his head. “You attacked me.”
Your grandmother waves the knife, and your father quickly takes it away. “And I’ll do it again if you hurt her!”
“Then I will make sure nothing does.” Deiphobos loads your supplies onto his back, then gently lifts you up and lets you say one more goodbye before flying back to his keep.
“Your grandmother felt familiar,” he says.
You chuckle. “Sorry she tried to stab you.”
He glances back as he flies, a smile appearing on his face. “She loves you. I understand her motives.”
