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#twst spicy
idiasdiscordkitten · 1 year
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Hi! I am so so happy to see you are back! I love your writing :)
(spicy!) What do you think would be their kinks? Maybe one per student?
Thank you!
aaa i'm so happy to hear that! it means a lot to me to hear that <3 thank you! i'm glad to be back :)
also i have Lots of opinions on this, but it’d be best to limit it to 1 per student.  i tried to not repeat anything and keep it all gender neutral!
if anyone wants more of my thoughts on a specific character, just send an ask!
NRC students’ kinks
*all characters are depicted in a university setting and are 18+
🔥 SPICY UNDER THE CUT! 🔥
Heartslabyul
riddle: bdsm
ace: lingerie
deuce: i am convinced that deuce does not know what a kink is
trey: daddy kink (being called daddy)
cater: roleplay
Savanaclaw
leona: hair pulling
ruggie: chest fetish
jack: breeding
Octavinelle
azul: edging
jade: foot fetish
floyd: choking
Scarabia
kalim: blindfolds
jamil: bondage
Pomefiore
vil: degradation (example: calling his partner a whore)
rook: predator/prey dynamics
epel: praise (giving & receiving)
Ignihyde
idia: phone sex
Diasomnia
malleus: role reversal
lilia: anything he hasn’t already experienced before (he does like toys though)
silver: hand fetish
sebek: body worship
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Feelings Thawed
Character; Cater Diamond
Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, pining, ice skating (to various degrees of success)
Word Count; 650+
Author's Note; This is a present/thank you to my mutual @i-like-forgs. I hope you enjoy this ice skating scene with Cater, and that you get to skate soon!
As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist
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The brisk wind bit at your nose, and you pulled up your scarf, trying to keep away the offending wind. Around you it was a winter wonderland, all made possible in the temperate conditions thanks to Cater, who was filming you skating around on the frozen pond’s surface.
“You know,” you hollered, making sure that you caught his attention, “you should join me! It’s fun!” You came to a stop by the pond’s edge, where Cater was standing with a large thermos.
Cater just shot you a wink, handing you the thermos. “This is for you though, silly!” 
He was deflecting, you could tell; behind that bright and cheery smile that he always seemed to wear around others, you knew when there was something off with Cater. You accepted the thermos though, and took a sip of the spicy apple cider, still piping hot.
You gave him a look and pulled lightly on his coat sleeve. “Yes, but it’s more fun with others, come on Cater!” You stepped back onto the ice, and slowly skated near him, waiting with an eager smile.
He looked at you, and then back at the ice, but he stayed standing in the light snow, shooting you that smile. “But I can’t take photos if I’m out there with you!” He scratched at the back of his neck.
Liar. “Cater,” you looped back around and stepped onto the bank, balancing on your skates, “do you not know how to skate?”
Cater’s smile turned sheepish, and his ‘ahahaha, looks like my gig is up’ chuckle made its appearance. He had been found out. “Never got the chance to,” he hid his face slightly in his scarf, either to keep the cold at bay or to hide that his cheeks were turning pink. “So I’d just slow ya down.”
You took his hand into yours, “Well, I could teach you if you wanted. Just a warning though, you’re gonna fall on your butt a lot, might get a few bruises.”
Cater looked down at your entwined hands. Mittens and gloves separated your skin from touching one another, but Cater could swear that he could feel the sensation nonetheless through the layers of fabric.
“You would? Even if I pull you down with me?” 
The last question wasn’t just about the ice skating; Cater didn’t want to force you to do anything that you didn’t want to… and that included being his friend. His heart seemed to whisper stronger emotions though, but he didn’t want to ruin what the two of you had.
You walked him out to the ice, and the both of you swiftly fell down on the ice, hard. But you just laughed and got right back up again, “Well, we did just fall. There isn’t anything scary about falling down; yes it stings and might leave a gnarly bruise, but in order to move forward we have to fall and get back up. So yes, is what I guess I’m saying.”
Cater looked up at you, the sun illuminating you and the snow glittered behind you. You were holding your hand out again, waiting for him. And Cater took your hand. 
It took him a while to get the hang of it, and he fell down quite a bit, but every time he fell down you helped him back up. And by the time that the sun was setting in the west, the both of you were cold, and both were going to wake up tomorrow with some bruises. It was fun though, which is all that mattered… but that whisper in Cater’s heart was by now singing, and maybe he would listen to it, but for now, he was happy with how the way things were, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, especially with how much you had smiled today. Your smile and knowing that you had fun with him was enough.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Tags; @eynnwwyjth, @ithseem, @krenenbaker, @silvers-numberonefan, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii
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hisui-dreamer · 2 months
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jamil, who loves showing affection by cooking food for his loved ones, making sure the curry is seasoned to perfection and your favourite dessert to go along with the meal.
and you, with zero spice tolerance but so incredibly overwhelmed with gratitude and affection for how hard jamil's worked. and with your favourite dessert right there enticing you, you're determined to finish every drop of curry on your plate.
...
it doesn't go too well.
indeed, you have finished every drop of curry. but you've also downed around 12 cups of water, and the burning in your mouth is still unrelenting. jamil visibly looks concerned with how much water you're drinking and it's unavoidable you address your non-existent spice tolerance.
jamil sighs, and his eyes show a hint of exasperation you often see when he's following kailm's whims. you avert your gaze to the floor, upset at yourself that you've disappointed him and maybe he hates you now how could you not like his fo-
flick!
ouch! your hands reach up to shield your forehead, and your eyes meet his. not exasperated, maybe slightly, but amused and... loving??
"dummy, don't go forcing yourself to eat what you don't like," he sighs
you timidly explain you could never do that with how much time and effort he puts into his cooking
his smile widens slightly.
"for now, i guess i'll be making more desserts for you then,"
he chuckles at the way your eyes light up.
"here," he feeds you a spoonful of the chilled dessert. "is your mouth still burning?"
oh. you don't think it is anymore.
but your heart sure is.
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dilatorywriting · 7 months
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Monster Mayhem: Love Drunk
Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 1.9k
Summary: You are a succubus, who is apparently really bad at their job. At least if your poor, nitpicking victim has anything to say about it.
A/N: Sorry for being horny on main, but here we are lol I've been writing a lot of little bits lately for a Twst OC of mine, and decided that hey, y'know what, might as well revamp some of the ones that are easily revamp-able into my usual reader-insert style and pump out some shenanigans rather than just letting them languish away in google docs. So here we be.
🌶️🌶️🌶️ WARNING for Spicy Content!
READ WHAT YOU LIKE, BUT BE MINDFUL OF WHAT YOU READ
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“You’re late.”
The steam billowed as if with a sigh, and a familiar figure melted from the warm spray.
You blew a wet strand of hair out of your face with a noise that was nearly a raspberry. “I was busy.”
“I didn’t realize you had a life outside me,” Vil droned, only mostly serious. The little succubus seemed to pop out of the shadows at the slightest beckon, and even when you were gone, you always came back with nothing but talk of all the ways you’d worked to improve your craft since the last they spoke. And of your strange, card-faced friends, on occasion. But that was a topic you tended to hoard closely to your chest like a dragon to gold.
“Not everything revolves around you,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes.
Vil leaned his head back to rinse the remainder of the conditioner from his hair. “Then maybe you shouldn’t act like my good opinion is the only thing keeping you employed, fed, and housed.”
You went warm in the ears, even under the heat of the steam, and crossed your arms petulantly over your chest. At least you’d been keen enough to not pop into his shower fully clothed this time. That had been a mess. You shifted back and forth on the balls of your feet with a grumpy, little huff and Vil didn’t bother to fight the way that his eyes followed the slowly rolling droplets of water that trailed lower with each fidget.   
“Whatever. I’m here now, aren’t I?” you grouched. “But anyways, what’s the plan for today? Out late again?”
“More all-day shoots,” he said, reaching up to replace one bottle of custom hair product for another. “And an interview to follow that’s meant to be a pre-recording for the morning programs tomorrow. So that could be close to midnight, depending on when we finish up.”
Your nose scrunched in sympathy. “Ew. I don’t get why you do all this stuff. It sounds like a nightmare. Human media is so strange.”
Maybe it was. But—
“It’s worth it,” he huffed, running one of his newer serums through the silky strands of his pale hair. He glanced down at you from beneath his dripping bangs. “Have you been using the conditioner I gave you?”
“Do you think there are functional showers in Hell?” you snipped, and then averted your gaze in chagrin. “I have been trying. I just—it’s not always an option all the time,” you said, a bit embarrassed.
“Come here,” he sighed, twirling his finger in a sign to show him her back, and you shifted closer obediently.
It was always so funny, he thought, as he reached out to scrub white bubbles into your mused hair. That you would spit and hiss, and throw such a tantrum over everything. But when it came to actually obeying his orders? You were always putting one foot in front of the other to meet him more than halfway. If he said ‘jump,’ you’d whine and complain but inevitably ask ‘how high.’ Like a loyal little stray that growled and raised its hackles but would come preening for food and attention at the first whistle.
“Sounds like a stressful day,” you hummed, arching into his fingers like a cat being stroked down its spine. “Are you still stuck working with that one guy you hate? Nigel, or whatever?”
“Neige,” he huffed, giving your hair a soft tug in rebuke. “And yes. The project hasn’t wrapped yet.”
“So a very stressful day,” you mused, tilted your head back to thump against his chest and stare up at him through the steady stream of water overhead. He watched the thin, feline-like, pupils of your eyes flash and widen into something round and dark. “This’ll be perfect then.”
“What?” he scoffed, as if he hadn’t just seen those pulsing, black pupils himself and felt something in his stomach tug. “That I’m stressed?”
“No,” you huffed, cheeks puffing out in irritation like he’d known they would. “Because I’ve been practicing.”
He arched a pointed brow and your cheeks went rounder yet. You stepped out of his hold and turned so the two of you were chest to chest. Vil let his hands fall to rest at the dip in your back and you pressed along him in one, lean line from toe to hip. Those strange, iridescent irises of yours flicked over his face, his lips, and those rabbit cheeks went hot with embarrassment. (“Humans kiss each other,” he’d said during one of their earliest meetings, when he’d leaned in with a smirk to brush his mouth against your temple and you’d nearly started seizing. “It’s what they do.” And you’d gone rattlingly indignant and started sputtering about impropriety of all things. All while you were sitting there butt naked and demanding he let you jerk him off so you could meet your weekly quota).
Your eyes dipped low beneath your lashes. And then you darted up quick to press a peck to his chin before immediately dropping to your knees. You leaned forward to nuzzle into the soft, blonde hairs tufted there and then dragged your tongue up the length of him in one, long lick. Vil fought a shiver.
“Practicing, huh?” he droned, affecting boredom as best he was able.
“Yes,” you replied, determined, and gave another lick. Shorter, this time. And more focused along the delicate, pink crown of him. “You made fun of me last time! Called it a ‘High Schooler’s First Blowjob!’ How could I not practice?”
“Oh? With who?” he scoffed, a bit more bitter jealousy seeping into the sneer than he would have liked.
Your face went scrunchy with embarrassment again and then you were sinking back down to run your tongue against the thick vein along the underside. Vil reached out to twine his fingers in your hair and you ducked forward to take him into your mouth.
“You’re lucky you caught me before I got out of the shower,” he said on a sigh, hips twitching when you gave a firmer suck. “This would hardly be worth dirtying myself all over again for—”
You pressed her tongue sharply into the little slit at the head and then dragged the muscle forward in a wide sweep—circling the whole of the most sensitive creases and then applying that same, lovely, suction all over again. Vil groaned, low and rumbling, and he could practically taste the bubbling excitement of your pride bursting along his lips.
You hummed—smug—intentionally loud and muzzy, so that it shot through the buzzing nerves in his skin like a symphony. Vil grit his teeth and dug his fingers into your hair to yank. Instead of popping off with an indignant whine and a trailing string of saliva, you narrowed your eyes at him and then dove forward—relaxing your throat and swallowing him down until your nose was pressed into his pubic bone. Vil cursed, head falling back against the tile wall with a punched-out moan and fingers twining shakily in the short hairs by the base of your skull.
“You have been practicing,” he mumbled, fighting the urge to go a bit cross-eyed when you swallowed around him.
You hummed in affirmation. It vibrated all the way from head to base and he shivered in time with it.
After too many long, long seconds of him nearly slipping down the wall with the curl of his toes, you popped off with a cough.
“I can hold my breath for ages now,” you declared proudly, a smear of milky white smudged along the corner of your lips. You leaned forward to prop your chin up against the jut of his hip bone and smirk up at him with a look that was a touch too genuinely excited to be truly impish. “Told you I could do it.”
“How foolish of me to have ever doubted your dedication,” he scoffed, still a bit too breathless for the sarcasm he was trying to spit. It nearly came out on a gasp and your grin grew wider. He sneered, a bit too harsh under his fluster, “What with your stalwart focus on never even touching the kits I’ve bought you. Let alone making any of the other bevy of improvements that I’ve been trying to put into place for weeks now.”
“Oh?” you droned, sharp. “Well, sorry to disappoint, Lord Vil. I guess I’ll just have to try harder.”
And then without preamble, you were swallowing him down all over again all the way to the root—nose brushing the soft, pale, hair there as you dutifully squeezed your throat and ran your tongue along the underside until he was practically seeing stars. You drove forward further, hands coming up to dig your nails into his thighs as you pushed yourself until you were trembling and pinpricks of sharp tears dotted your lashes. One of those hands shifted between his legs, and you reached out with careful fingers to twine around the delicate stones there and squeeze.
Vil curled forward and came with something that was nearly a shout, trembling and loose as he emptied himself down your throat. You swallowed around each pulse, sending zip after zip of oversensitive buzzing through his veins.
You pulled away with another round of coughing, looking positively debauched. You scrubbed some of the dripping water out of your eyes and then moved to swipe away the stray drops of sticky whiteness that had managed to escape your otherwise valiant efforts to drink him dry.
“Better?” you grinned, hair mused and cheeks wet and sore.
A quip rested on his tongue. Something about how you could not be, when there’d been nowhere to go but up? But the genuinely delighted look on your face, and the soft, hesitant, undercurrent of nervous tension underneath had him loosening his fingers from your hair to rub at one of the milky stains littering your chin.
“It was good,” he said. “Better than that, even. Well done.”
“Worth taking another shower for?” you beamed.
“Worth an entire morning’s routine,” he smiled, far too soft, and leaned down to press a long, wet, kiss to your lips when you went spluttery and shy.
.
.
“I can come by your trailer, if you want,” the succubus offered, as Vil busied himself with blotting a towel over your dripping hair.
“Oh?” he mused. “I thought you only needed to feed once a day.”
“Well, sure. But I mean for your stress relief,” you said on an indignant little puff, crossing your arms tight across your chest. You peeked up from beneath your lashes, cautious. “I mean, only if you’d want that sort of thing.”
He reached out to cup your cheeks and pinch. You whined under his prodding but didn’t swat him away.
Vil sighed, dramatic and put upon. “I suppose if you insist. How could I deny my most precious little protégé anything they ask, hmm?”
“Easily, if the past few weeks are anything to go by,” you sneered around his tugging. “And who’s ‘your protégé’?! I’m the succubus here!”
“Yes,” he drawled. “A succubus who’s needed me to teach them everything they know. What a fearsome creature, indeed.”
“I could fuck you to death,” you threatened, eyes flashing bright and eerie.
Vil pinched harder, until the skin under his fingers went nearly white, and you winced—those same, slitted eyes going a bit glassy and nervous. He leaned forward until his breath ghosted along your lips and he watched your throat bob in a gulp.
“I’d like to see you try.”
.
.
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selya711-twiste · 4 months
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kissing strangers
The way Rollo kisses you is chaste at first. It's his first time being intimate with anyone and he's rather shy. You had to ease your way into his personal space very slowly. He starts trying to get used to having a person close to him in life. He would prefer to make it quick, and there were times he'd bump his nose into yours. When you two begin to know each other longer, he starts holding you tighter to him and he feels and tastes so desperate when you kiss, but he retains gentleness so as to not scare you off. It's hard not to notice his change in demeanor when appearances are the most important thing to him, even in private. If you point it out, he'll look away and deny it, but then he begins losing even more of his inhibitions. It was gradual, but you feel like it snowballed when you kissed his handkerchief in front of him, a personal belonging that's always pressed against his lips. He knows what you meant by that. When he used to lightly push you away to preserve his peace, now he won't let you go. There are certain days where if you move while he's close to you, he'll grip you thinking you're trying to get away, and there comes that delirious expression you can't ignore… He's obsessed with you now. Rollo is the one initiating it, and then he blames you for tempting him to act like this. When there's no other person in sight, somewhere secluded, you should grow used to anticipating a pair of hands grabbing your shoulders and turning you around to meet the stern gaze of your lover.
On the other hand, Fellow has more experience as an older man. He must've had flings with other people in the past, so he knows just what to do with your lips. In the first stages of his relationship with you, he thinks everything is a game at first. He just treats you like the others, fast-paced and teasing, occasionally lightly grazing your neck with his fangs. He knows you love it when he does that with the way you shudder and even bare your skin for him to mark with kisses. You play along with the fox, and for every time he tricks you, you return the favor. He stole a kiss from you once in passing, so you took his wallet. There's nothing in it, of course. He doesn't know whether to swoon or curse at how you've outsmarted him. He'll only start treating you like a valuable doll when you both start taking it seriously, which took a while to establish. You find him becoming more easily flustered with you as you unearth the real him underneath the layers of lies. His showbiz-like persona starts fading away when you two are close together, and his voice becomes slower and softer... It's more obvious when he's speaking right against your ear. In comparison, nothing about you has changed. "How do I know you're not playing tricks on me again, Fellow?" You pout with your arms crossed. He smiles with his teeth and he stutters a little bit as he places his hand on his heart. "I would never lie to you, my dear, or my name isn't Honest John!" Yeah, right...
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ryllen · 5 months
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mischievous jade
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spicywasabae · 6 months
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Gamer boys
Just two socially awkward shut ins in comfy clothes UwU
This was part of an Art Trade with @sleepycroissantt (ily ( ˘ ³˘)❤)
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yuri-is-online · 2 months
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Oh man, i love My Senpai Is Annoying. I really loved that scene when she tugged on his sleeve all teary eye and asked, "Why couldn't i be your wife?" 🥺 so freaking cute. Thinking about the eels in that situation is so cute, they would def tease.
I should have answered this immediately but I was like no >:C i wanna think about this >:CCC also there is a fanart i rb'd on this blog somewhere that's literally this concept w Jade except he makes a comment about his dick
The main sort of gag in My Senpai is Annoying is that Futaba (mc) is very in denial about how down bad she is for her oblivious senior Takeda. The eels aren't exactly oblivious to Yuu's feelings, it's just that Floyd's affections can sort of blur the line between friendship, bullying, and flirting whereas Jade keeps his true feelings close to the chest until he is CERTAIN he has Yuu on tenterhooks.
So if a particularity in denial or stoic Yuu were to get a bit tipsy, start to sniffle and ask "Why couldn't I be your spouse?" Oh they're so fucked.
Floyd is never letting Yuu live this down. Ever. He laughs so hard you almost get kicked out of the Lounge. Since you wanna be his spouse so badly you won't argue if he starts introducing you like that yeah? Seven help you if you play sports or are part of an arts club that does performances because he's standing up and yelling "THAT'S MY SPOUSE!" at every opportunity. If you get embarrassed he just reminds you that you asked for this and mimics what you said right down to the tears (he does exaggerate it a bit). Sometime much later when you're older and well into your relationship he'll tell you what a massive ego boost that was in a way that's very sweet but you're still young rn so let him be obnoxious. He really does love you a lot, promise.
Jade is much more subtle. His smile is as wide as it is sinister and he probably does make a comment about how small Yuu is in comparison to his merform as for why they couldn't be his spouse, but he gets really close to say it. If you were sober you would probably see just how excited he is, Jade's literally shaking because finally. FINALLY. He has some confirmation of how you feel. Sort of. He gets a bit more direct with his flirtations and courtships because Jade wants you to say that sober. He wants there to be no grey areas, he wants you to shove him up against a wall and ask him why you can't be together so he can flip you around, scold you for treating him so roughly, and explain to you thoroughly, gently just how good of a spouse you can be~
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robo-milky · 2 months
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“…Master Rook, I understand if you don’t like… ‘stronger flavours.’”
“I can’t say I can experience the yin yang hot pot fully if I only ate from one side, no?”
Late CNY Celebration Doodle
Maybe family is the 垃圾猫 and 老外 you bring home <3
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cloudwonder · 10 months
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No you don't understand....demon! Boyfriend...everyone thinks that based on the fact that whenever your in public he looks so intimidating and always has a hand on your waist that he's in charge,but they couldn't be more wrong because once you're inside the walls of your shared home his whole facade slowly fades and he becomes the whiniest boy :((
mhmhmhmhmhhm
mama like. i've done a similar prompt in the past!!!
minors do not interact. i will block you. you will never be welcome here.
cw: overstimulation, size kink, riding, bondage, role reversal, pussydrunk bf, top! reader, bottom! fav, sorta sacrilegious?, chubby/plus size reader, dacryphilia. pure filth.
it's funny really.
on the outside?? your sweet bf sent men and women running during your outings.
he'd glare at shop clerks until they gave you a discount, growl at snobby waitresses when they tried to flirt with him and ignore you. hell, one look from him sends karens to the back of the line apologizing profusely.
so how could this hulk, nightmare of a man, crumble at your feet so easily??
pretty easily, actually.
your beloved hellspawn bf was tied to your shared bed, arms and legs spread and restrained, eyes wild n delirious with lust and want 🥺
his moans are whorish n loud, his tail whipping behind the two of you n his horns scraping your poor headboard 🥺
he just can't help it! he cries out when you try to chastise him for it, hot tears welling up in his eyes as his forked tongue lulls out of his mouth. your delicious weight pressing on his toned body, the tight wetness of your cunt milking him for all he's worth, and your own moans adding to his delusional state. 🥺🥺
he's trying his best to thrust up into your cunt, ribbed cock throbbing against your walls while he begs you to please! slow! down!! his whines are depraved n hungry, his rapidly thrusting hips thrusting faster despite his begging otherwise. he's just so cute beneath you, you could just make him cry 🥺.
he cries your name like a prayer, calling to his beautiful succubus, praying his goddess of filth. his usually deep and cool voice heightens in octaves until he's screaming n twitching all over, releasing another load of his now watery cum inside you as you cum around his aching cock.🥹
when you finally stop riding, his head falls back against the bed as he takes deep breaths to ground himself. his bliss turns to confusion when he notices you haven't gotten off his cock yet, looking up to see a mischievous expression on his face.
his cock still stiff inside you, you lift off his cock until only his head remained only to slam down against his pelvis. his cry is a mix of pained n pleading 🥺, begging for just a 5 minute break!!!
but no no no! he's gotta be a good boy n give you every last drop.
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auraxins · 1 year
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wc: 0.6k
warnings: pathetic idia, reader gender unspecified (non-specific terms used for genitalia), dacryphilia, overstimulation, reader-receiving penetration, slight dom/sub dynamics, aftercare mentions, premature ejaculation, marking (bites & scratches)
okay i have been at war with this and at one point it became part of another drabble and now it isnt again and i now am simply posting it before i can change my mind LMFAO
MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI
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Idia cries the first time that you have sex. 
It worries you at first- whether you’d done something to upset him, whether you had unwittingly pressured him into this despite how thoroughly you had discussed the prospect together beforehand. 
“Is everything alright?” you ask carefully, one palm braced against his chest and the other tenderly cupping the side of his face. You stretch your thumb across to his undereye and swipe away the salty tears that have built up. “Tell me if you want to stop.”
His cheeks and the tips of his hair are flushed, his lips parted and slick, pupils blown so wide you can barely see the pretty yellow irises you know so well. Idia’s hands press deeper against your flesh, fingertips digging in like an anchor, and he whines. 
“Don’t stop, please.” 
You feel his cock pulse and throb inside you with anticipation, his hips grinding up to try and urge you to move again. When you oblige, slowly sinking down once more, you feel his grasp shift as he drags his nails up along your back and his own arches, head falling further into the soft cotton pillow below. 
“Feels so good you had to cry, huh?” you muse, lavishing Idia’s neck with loose kisses as you curl your body into his to find a better angle. 
Broken exhales brush the shell of your ear as he holds you to him, rutting desperately up into you to meet your pace. He cums far quicker than either of you had expected, hard and loud, and you can’t help but release an amused chuckle when you sit upright and he gives you the widest, most bewildered expression, like he really hadn’t expected to release so abruptly. 
“Sorry,” he offers mildly, sheepishly smiling at you with those bright sharp teeth of his.
“It’s okay, baby,” you soothe, running your hand through his hair. “As long as you enjoyed yourself, yeah?”
A fervent nod is your response, an exhalted chuckle, and Idia deflates back against the mattress as you lift yourself away and clamber off the bed. The washcloths you had left upon the bedside table are rough against your fingertips as you pick them up, and you turn them over idly on your way to leave. 
“Where are you going?” he asks, propping up on his hands to watch you. 
“Gonna go wet these so I can clean us up, okay?”
“But you didn’t- “
“I don’t need to.” 
He pouts. “I wanted to make you feel good.”
From where you stand now, Idia Shroud truly is a sight to behold. 
A thin sheen of sweat glazes his face and chest, reflecting the blue LEDs that light the room, offset by the complementary reddish blush tone that swells across his chest, his face, the tip of his still-hard cock. The bitemarks you’ve left on his neck and collar stand out against stark white skin like an abstract painting, a masterpiece if you do say so yourself. (And the knowledge of having your own matching set littering your throat makes it all the more enticing.) 
And he has mastered the pleading, puppy-eyed pout that he had picked up from you mere months before, the quiet little “please?” that is insurmountably more endearing when it is being weaponized against you. 
“I hope you understand what you’re in for,” you warn teasingly as you close the door again, returning the cloths to the bedside and instead picking up the bottle of lube. “Because now we aren’t stopping until I’m satisfied, okay?”
Idia shudders in anticipation. “Good.” 
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idiasdiscordkitten · 1 year
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would NRC students get pegged?
this must be settled once and for all i am so sorry
*all characters are depicted in a university setting and are 18+
🔥 SPICY UNDER THE CUT! 🔥
not only is into pegging, but actually brought it up to you first
cater, vil, lilia
desperately wants to get pegged, but is too embarrassed to say anything himself
ace, azul, idia
will try anything once
ruggie, floyd, kalim, rook
will give it a chance if you really want to, but wouldn’t seek it out himself
riddle, jack, epel, silver
has to be the right circumstances, otherwise no
deuce, trey, jamil, malleus
absolutely not
leona, jade, sebek
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Desi!yuu and Jamil (part 1)
Jamil: This dish is something that you made! Yuu: No, it made it self!...Of course I made it you fool! Jamil: But...I thought.... Yuu: That what? Kalim wouldn't go crazy for anyone else's food because he has yours. Jamil: ( with a scowl) yes No, I just need the recipe and I'll be on my way becau- Yuu: ( slamming the door on his face) No.
The context here is that Kalim falls in love with Yuu's dum aloo ( a desi dish that's vegetarian (made of potatoes )) and refuses to eat any of Jamils remakes ( it's nice but it is not the same!). Jamil comes to find out he tried this mystery dish from Yuu's lunch box, which leads us to the present conversation.
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twistedtrashposts · 1 year
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No wait I just had the funniest text meme/kinda headcanon thought and now you're all getting subjected to it
Afab!MC sending their s/o a dick pic, then being like "oops, wrong person"
While their s/o is like "who's the right person??? WHO'S DICK IS THAT???"
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dilatorywriting · 1 year
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Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons [Epilogue]
Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 12.9k
Summary: Slay the dragon? Nah, man. Lay the dragon. Or, Dragon Courting traditions are actually very sweet, and they are going to kill you.
A/N: This is the epilogue for Donkeys & Dragons, but it can also more or less be read on its own as well! If you'd like to read only the 7k+ words of fluffier bits and not the spicier, please stop at the section that begins with '“Tell me more about your human courting traditions."'
🌶️🌶️🌶️ WARNING for Spicy Content!
READ WHAT YOU LIKE, BUT BE MINDFUL OF WHAT YOU READ
[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]
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If Tsunotarou—Malleus, you reminded yourself with a fizzy feeling like soda pop bubbling in your tummy—if Malleus had been sticky before the whole ‘held hostage by dragon slayers’ incident, then now he was the clingiest monstrosity to have ever existed in all four realms.  
“What can you do?” Lilia had hummed indulgently upon seeing you struggle under the weight of an entire ass dragon head. (You had lied down, and then Malleus had lied down. And now his giant, frilled, maw was no better than a paperweight. With you of course being relegated to the role of some very flattened paper). “It’s the honeymoon phase.”
“There is no honeymoon to phase,” you spluttered out, as if that made even a lick of sense.
The demon? Fae? Monster? Horror beyond your comprehension? dainty gentleman just shrugged. He wasn’t always around—only occasionally slipping out of shadows like some creeping wraith. But when he was, he seemed incredibly fond of just propping his pointy chin against his palm and watching the pair of you. Like it was his favorite play, or some gaudy theater production he just couldn’t get enough of.
“I’ve never seen him so happy,” he cooed, crimson eyes soft and smitten. “What a time to be alive, hmm?”
The Gargoyles, as silent or huffy respectively as they often were, seemed to rumble their agreement.
“I won’t be alive for much longer if he keeps squashing me,” you threatened.
“Nonsense,” Lilia chirped from somewhere overhead. He dipped close enough for a moment that you were able to catch a brief flash of pink out of the corner of your eye, but little else. As much as the little monster enjoyed basking in his ward’s romantic endeavors, he seemed particularly cautious about maintaining his physical distance—especially when it came to the towering nest that had long since swallowed up most of the grand ballroom. “I’m sure all his coddling is doing wonders for your constitution.”
Despite his guardian’s cheery reassurances, Malleus rumbled low in his throat at your complaints, and you felt the vibrations of it all the way from your head to your toes. He lifted his huge head, instead plucking you from the hoard of bedding by the scruff of your collar and depositing you into the warm hollow beneath his wing. He curled his head around to tuck up against you—burrowing his scaly cheek against your outstretched legs like a cat making itself comfortable in the sunny spot on a windowsill. A compromise to your aching bones, at least. Even if it was really no less claustrophobic than being used as a chin pillow.
You sighed, hoping it sounded far more put upon than you were sure it actually did, and reached out to trace the grooves in his horns.
“You’re lucky you’re comfortable,” you grouched with no real heat, and he warbled contentedly as he settled in to continue his afternoon nap.
.
.
When your next mealtime rolled around (breakfast, lunch, dinner? Who had a concept of time anymore? Not you, that’s for sure), you plopped yourself at the little, makeshift, table you’d managed to construct out of some debris, and waited patiently for whatever culinary monstrosity was about to grace  your palette this fine day.
Malleus claiming that he’d been going to see Lilia to ask after your ‘delicate, human, diet’ because the little demon ‘knew what he was doing,’ had turned out to be the worst joke ever put into existence. Made worse yet by the fact that he didn’t even realize it until one of his Pseudo-Parent’s oozing, tar-like, dishes had brought literal tears to your eyes. From the smell the alone.
So now, the quieter and more sensible of the Gargoyles—‘Silver,’ as the Angry One had called him—would duck out on occasion and return with something more or less edible. Fruits budded off near mystical plants that would glow ominously in the soft gloom of the castle’s interior. Strange roots and herbs that sometimes danced on your plate, like them waving around their little, planty, arms would make you not want to immediately murder them in coldblooded terror. The freshly carved meat off of animals you’d never even heard of before.
It was all certainly An Experience, but none of it had poisoned you yet. So you’d make do with what you had. Plus, a little sprinkle of Prestidigitation did wonders for making it all a bit more edible.
Malleus stepped forward, a suspicious lack of trays, or bowls, or anything else in his hands. Your brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before you shrugged—unbothered—and moved to lean your weight back on your elbows. Because Mister Clingy, Clingy, Clingy very much enjoyed using your mealtimes as an excuse to drape himself across your legs like an overgrown cat, and it was easier to just invite him in at this point than it was to wait for him to find a way to curl himself into your personal space.
But then, rather than plopping himself across your lap, Malleus knelt down and very pointedly swept you up into his. You definitely did not squeak, or flail around, or lose face in any sort of way. Nope. Not you. And when he settled back against the stone floor with a low hum and began to contentedly rub lazy circles into your hips, you most definitely did not melt.
Sure, it was a bit of a deviation from his usual brand of smothering, but it was far from unpleasant. And really, it would have been perfectly sweet and all. Except for that teensy, tiny (but not really ‘tiny’ at all, and holy fuck you were not going to let your brain go there), totally not something to immediately freak out about, problem. Which was, of course—
“You’re not wearing pants,” you entreated. “Or anything.” But the pants. The pants were the big issue at the moment. Because yeah. His chest was all fine sculpted planes of ivory and natural, aesthetic, perfection that would make the most accomplished artists weep with envy. And as distracting as all that normally was, the area below said spread of chiseled, lithe, muscle was what was setting off sirens in your brain.
His chin dug into your shoulder and you felt his cheek rub along yours as he ducked in closer to make eye contact.
“I am aware,” he said, arching a brow. “We’ve discussed the matter extensively.” And then a pout. “You told me to do what I found to be most comfortable.”
“This is comfortable?” You managed to squeak, incredulous. Because you knew that there were parts of you touching parts of him that surely could not have been—have been—
He hummed and tugged you closer.
“Of course,” he rumbled on the tail end of a contented sigh. “You’re so wonderfully warm. And besides, how else should I feed you? I doubt you’d appreciate me kneeling after you like a child.”
What.
“Feed me?” you spluttered.
“Of course,” he continued, nonplussed—like the idea of pressing dainty, bitesize, treats to your lips while you were stretched out across his very naked thighs was not a setup straight out of some terrible, trashy, erotica. “And while I admit the concept on its own is a temptingly enjoyable one, I’m only trying to maintain decorum.”
“What decorum?!” you wailed.
Tsunotarou went quiet then, almost like he was hesitant. Or… no—like he was preparing himself to launch into one of those grand, immortal, monologues of his. Usually they were about architecture, or the strange difficulties of tending to rose bushes. He took a soft, low, breath that whistled past your ear, and then his lips quirked back into a smile.
“Unique circumstances of our meeting and your species aside, I have decided that you deserve a proper courtship nonetheless,” he responded merrily, in the tone of someone who very much believed such a declaration deserved all the head pats. “I spoke with Lilia about the matter, of course, because while I am well aware of the concepts of such an endeavor, actually putting the ideas into practice is… unfamiliar to me,” he huffed, almost embarrassed. “And I wanted to ensure that despite our differences in culture and ancestry, that I could find a way to ensure you would enjoy our draconic customs as well.”
Which was—was—
It was certainly one thing to hear Tsunotarou make casual declarations of ‘bestowing titles’ and whatever other romantically archaic gibberish made it past his fangs, but to just sort of BAM. Lay it all out. Right there. With a ‘you deserve a proper courtship’ and everything. It had heat rising high along your cheeks and something light and bubbly dancing through your stomach.
“…That’s sweet of you,” you managed to get out, so thoroughly twitterpated that for half a second you even managed to forgot that you were having this whole conversation while you were sitting in his very, very, naked lap.  
“Sweet?” he repeated, so openly bewildered it made you laugh.
“Yes,” you hummed, regaining a teeny bit of your courage, and let your head fall back to rest against his shoulder with an affectionate lil’ bonk. “Very sweet. The sweetest.”
“…I do not think I have ever been referred to as such,” he mumbled, sounding torn between being content at the compliment, and baffled over its existence in the first place. And yeah, objectively speaking, there were plenty of more fitting, much grander, descriptors you could attach to such an ancient, all-powerful, creature. Majestic, incredible, intelligent, awe-inspiring, handsome—
Tsunotarou made a strange sort of strangled sound from behind you, and you realized in horror that you’d been rambling all that out loud.
That brief spark of courage vanished even faster than it’d come, and you dropped your head forward to hide in your hands.
“I did not realize you regarded me so highly, Child of Man,” he crooned, puffing up in pride at your back.
You buried even further into your palms. Maybe if you pressed hard enough, you’d manage to lobotomize yourself. And then you’d never have to worry about being embarrassed ever again.
“How could I not?” you complained, sounding smooshed and pathetic behind your fingers.
“In my experience, most creatures tend to feel quite the opposite when I am involved,” Malleus mused, sounding far too soft. “But I suppose you have always proved to be the exception in many things.”
You could feel the familiar, firm, warmth of his fingers curling along your wrists as he gently tugged you out of your impromptu hidey hole.
“Humans are many things, and you certainly continue to surprise me. But I don’t think you’ve yet discovered how to eat without using your mouth.” He gave your palm a light squeeze before letting it drop back to your side. “So unfortunately, trying to hide your face away in shame isn’t productive at the moment,” Malleus grinned, sharp with humor. “But perhaps later, if you are still feeling too overwhelmed by your sentiments.”
“I’m not overwhelmed by my sentiment,” you grumped.  
He hummed, low in his chest and terribly fond. And clearly not buying your bullshit for a second.
“And there’s not even any food for my dumb, human, mouth to eat,” you continued petulantly.
“Is that so?” he mused.
“Yes. Is so,” you snipped.
That little, happy, grin of his grew a bit too wide, a bit too pointy at the edges. And then he was reaching up with one hand to cup your chin and hold your jaw in place. Softly, carefully, in a way that certainly wasn’t uncomfortable, but with a firmness to it that definitely made it feel like you weren’t going anywhere.
“Open,” he ordered—kind as always, but with a haughty sort of authority that had heat rushing to your cheeks so quickly you realized that hyperbole of your earlier ramblings aside, you may actually be having a fucking stroke.
The dragon pinched his fingers at the corner of your lips, the sharp tips of his blackened nails bumping up along your canines, and your mouth fell open like your jaw had unhinged itself from your face. His other hand reached around you deftly in a grand show of ridiculous sparks and mist. And then there was something small, and warm, and mouth-wateringly savory pulled from thin air and tucked up between his fingers. He leaned over your shoulder to take a pointed bite out of the creation, chewing slowly and exaggeratedly, before moving to hold the remaining piece up to your parted lips.
Your mouth was more or less hanging open like you were trying to make a career out of catching flies, so he didn’t have much trouble setting the delicate, little, morsel atop your tongue. The burst of flavor was instantaneous, intense, and part of you wished that your brain wasn’t so high on its ‘what is HAPPENING?! AHHHH!’ madness so that you could better appreciate the taste of the ethereal treat. But it was. And your head was broken. So here you were—sitting in a handsome dragon’s naked lap, with some kind of mystical food in your mouth, and your tongue practically lolling out of it like you had brain damage.
“Aren’t you going to eat it?” Malleus asked, brow furrowing at your continued paralysis. Like you refusing to do anymore than sit there like a human vegetable was another one of your attempts at petty resistance.
And okay. Really. You weren’t trying to be a little brat. Your brain had genuinely fled the building—packed its bags, flipped your empty skull the bird, and sailed off into the sunset to find someone who might actually try and make use of it. There wasn’t enough ‘rational thought’ left for you tomake the decision to be a sassy little shit.
The dragon’s eyes narrowed at your completely unintentional obstinance and the pointed ends of his claws flexed against your cheeks.
“Swallow.”
You gulped, out of habit if nothing else—the rest of you spiraling away in a long line of holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck—
“There,” he purred, and you were having a heart attack. “Was that so difficult?”
He loosened his grip enough for you to softly shake your head back and forth, and his countenance brightened once again at your assent.
“Excellent!” he beamed, and conjured up another one of those tiny bits of ambrosia. “What is that expression humans are always using…” he mumbled to himself, brow furrowed as he pondered. “Oh—that’s right.” He cleared his throat and pressed the next morsel back up your mouth. “Say ‘Aaah.’”
The choked off, gurgling, noise that tore out of your throat must have been an acceptable substitute, because he nodded and pushed the treat past your lips.
“Good,” he hummed, low, and rubbed more of those little circles into your hip with the clawed fingers that weren’t busy feeding you all kinds of magical nonsense. “Lilia did mention you might be adverse to this for some reason,” he muttered to himself, dragging his cheek along yours like an overgrown cat, before turning that indulgent, deadly, smile back on you with all the cutting efficiency of an assassin’s blade. “But I knew you’d do well.”
You were going to die.  
“This food is made with my own magic,” he explained, proud, and definitely at least partially oblivious to the fact that you were one-hundred-percent having an aneurism. “And I would love to feed you nothing but these creations of mine, but unfortunately, Lilia was not entirely certain how much sustenance it would actually provide to a human body,” he sighed, practically pouty.
“Is that so…” you wheezed.
“Hmm,” he rumbled, and snapped another mouthful of arcane wonders into existence. “Would you like some more?”
You looked up towards the grey ceiling and the infinite, uncaring, void of space somewhere beyond. You prayed to every God, Demon, Deity, and half-baked Patron that you could think of for mercy.
.
.
“What did you tell him?!”
“Oh?” Lilia hummed, lazily glancing over his sharpened nails. You’d found him dangling upside down from a banister in one of the sparser hallways, like that was a perfectly pleasant place to relax for the afternoon. “Did you not enjoy it?”
You squawked like the world’s most indignant chicken, and Lilia had the absolute fucking gall to laugh at you.
“That’s not the point!”
“Is it not?” he chirped, looking beyond pleased with himself.
“NO!”
He trilled merrily nonetheless and floated down to stand before you.
“I’m sure this is all still a bit confusing to you, little one. But,” he smiled, positively doting, “a smidgen of embarrassment is certainly a fair price to pay for so many future years of happiness, don’t you agree?”
“That’s not—I’m not embarrassed,” you settled on, which was a lie.
Lilia grinned at you like you were something fascinating. Or like he was a cat, and you were a very funny little mouse who’d managed to trap itself under one of his paws. After a moment, he chuckled softly under his breath and reached down to fish about in the pockets of his robes.
“Perhaps this will help bolster you courage, hmm?” he hummed and slid a strange, glass, flask into your hands.
You glared at him cautiously for a moment before uncorking the potion and taking a swig. It settled along your tongue, heavy and fruity, with a soft, herby, aftertaste. Grandiose nature of its presentation aside, the concoction was actually pretty familiar.
“This is just wine!” you complained, and Lilia laughed harder.
.
.
When you ate your (assumed) dinner for the evening, Malleus took his usual spot draped across your lap and seemed happy to let you feed yourself. You stared down at the dragon cautiously, eyes narrowed. Suspicious.
“Lilia said it would be best not to overwhelm you with too much too quickly,” he said after a few long moments of your apprehensive silence, burrowing his nose against your thigh.
“I see,” you droned, still more than a little irritated at the tiny man’s meddling, but thankful enough that he at least seemed to understand that your fair constitution was not built to survive an onslaught of draconic ‘courting.’
“Unless you would prefer that I—”
“No!”
That night you collapsed atop your blanket nest like a log—physically and emotionally wrecked from trying to survive your first ever encounter with Seduction. (And wasn’t that a trip? A fully fledged Bard, stumbling over their own tongue and shriveling up like a pious little maiden at the first inklings of Romantic Intent. What a failure you were. ‘Fuck around and find out?’ Ace used to mock. ‘Nah, get fucked and find out, am I right, Bardy?’ And you’d laugh. Like you were some suave, sexy, master of love. And not just some moron who could sometimes talk their way in circles well enough to get their friends out of a tavern brawl.)
You squeaked out a yawn—some lazy, tired, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you burrowed deeper into your plush fortress. You were going to go to sleep and stay asleep for hours. Days. Months. You were going to make that ‘Sleeping Beauty’ chick look like an insomniac.
The blankets cocooning you dipped with extra weight, and you blinked your eyes back open to see Malleus looming over you, his neon eyes illuminating the dark and casting odd shadows over his cheeks.
“Are you cold, Child of Man?”
Huh. Weird. But whatever.
You hummed and burrowed deeper into the blankets. “I’m fine, thank you.”
Sure, the castle was gloomy and dank even when the sun was at its highest, let alone in the black of night. But you had a literal furnace camped out next to you, and no natural chill was breaking past that space heater. You yawned again and rolled back onto your side with a comfy little stretch. You were just about to sink back into the soft, foggy, cloud of sleep when—
“Are you certain?”
You sighed and scrunched your nose irritably. “Yes, Tsunotarou.”
A pause.
“Are you… too warm, then?”
You groaned.
“I’m fine.” And then, pointed. “Just tired.”
“I see.”
You waited, frowning sleepily into your pillow pile. When after a solid two minutes the dragon had made no further comments, you let your eyes slip back closed.
“But are you positive?” he asked again, and you wanted to scream. “There’s nothing troubling you about our nest? Nothing at all?” You smashed your face into a duvet and felt a panicked set of claws flutter along your shoulders. “I would only hope that you’d feel comfortable enough to inform me if there is anything amiss. If there is anything that I might do, to correct any inadequacies—”
“Malleus,” you interrupted, and you felt him freeze. Perhaps using his True Name out loud for the first time in a fit of overtired petulance was low, but come on. What else were you supposed to do? “The nest is perfect. You’re perfect. Can we please just—go to sleep?”
“Oh,” he breathed, and you watched the soft, emerald, glow around him pop in and out of existence as he blinked his wide eyes at you. The sharp, reptilian, lines of his pupils shrank to pinpricks—swallowed in a sea of green. “I see.”
You weren’t sure exactly what this great, eldritch, monster was ‘seeing,’ but he did shut his mouth with a content little rumble and haul you up against his chest to finally settle in for the night, so you couldn’t really find it in you to care about the particulars.
.
.
The next morning, when Malleus tried to feed you breakfast, you had prepared yourself enough to not keel over on the spot. You very respectably accepted his tasty treats and only thought you were about to pass out, like, three times. So overall, an improvement.
That is, until you dutifully swallowed the last of the tiny morsels he’d pressed to your lips, and he smiled at you like you’d hung all the stars in the sky.
“You really are such a good little thing, aren’t you?” he sighed, and you had to bury yourself in your blanket nest like an ostrich with its head in the sand for a solid half hour before you were ready to be a functional person again.
But other than that brush with near death, you were doing great! Great enough that you were even willing to indulge the angrier Gargoyle as it huffed and puffed about whatever had managed to ruffle its feathers that day.
“I still cannot believe you thought to steal from my master! TO STEAL!” he repeated. “FROM HIM!”
You sighed and rested your chin in your palm. “To be fair, we didn’t exactly know anyone was living here. It’s not like we intentionally tried to tangle with a dragon.”
“Well, you would have lost,” Sebek sniffed, indignant.
“We did lose,” you huffed, amused, and Lilia’s snicker echoed from some shadowed corner of the hall. “But I promise, if we’d known that we would be trespassing into someone’s actual home instead of just breaking and entering an abandoned castle, I never would have come.”
Malleus warbled out an unsettled sort of sound from his place resting at your back, his snout bumping up against your shoulder in an inquisitive little thump.
You reached out to give his giant, scaled, nose a pat.
“But I’m glad I did,” you promised. “My friends’ idiocy worked in all our favors, I guess.”
“You ought to thank them when they return next month, your grace,” Lilia called to his ward, still too entrenched within the darkness to be visible as anything other than a glinting, halfmoon, smile. “For ensuring your lovely human’s arrival.”
Malleus hummed and shifted his wings to settle back more fully once again—whatever unpleasant sort of discontentment brewing about him having clearly been assuaged.
“THOSE WHO WOULD ATTEMPT TO BURGLE MY MASTER DO NOT DESERVE GRATITUDE!” Sebek yowled, arching up like a pissy street cat.
“To be fair,” you said, “there ended up not being much actual theft involved.”
Sebek gasped and ducked in to complain straight to your face, like that extra foot and a half of distance would somehow make all the difference in his lecturing. But then, as he swung in closer, his stone talons brushed up against the edge of your mattress-nest. It was just a little thing, barely even enough to put a nick in the rippled corners of the more delicate fabrics. But with that movement, the atmosphere of the chamber melted from its usual pleasant haze into something cold, and dark, and heavy that pressed down on your shoulders like a tangible thing. Within the next moment, Sebek was falling back in a panic to avoid the set of massive, black, jaws closing around him.
Malleus reared forward with an absolutely blood curdling snarl—curling down from his perch at your hind to spit and lunge at his servant with all the terrible ferocity of the ancient beast that so many accused him of being.
Sebek reeled away in an absolutely manic frenzy, twisting from death’s maw with a slew of panicked squawking-slash-sobbing that sounded an awful lot like he was begging for forgiveness amidst his harried attempts at escape.
And as much as you certainly hadn’t wanted to be lectured for the umpteenth time about some trivial garbage, the blind rage twisting your dragon’s face was… definitely unfamiliar.  
You reached out nervously to rest a hand against his flank, and instantly Malleus was back at your side—curling the entirety of his bulk around you and only unfurling the long, slim, stretch of his neck to hiss a low, threatening, sound in the direction Sebek had fled.
“Tsunotarou…?” you called hesitantly, letting your fingers twist against the slippery smooth surface of his scales.
He lowered his head, and you could see each and every one of those sharp teeth of his glinting in the lowlight. He kept his neon-green glare locked at the corner of the hall with that same, startling, intensity, but the simmering rage that had been sparking along his canines dropped into a softer, more reassuring, rumble.
“MY DEEPEST APOLOGIES, MY LORD!” Sebek wailed, popping up stupidly from behind the pillar he was using as a shield. “I NEVER MEANT TO—”
Malleus snapped at him again—his teeth closing around empty air with an echoing clack. The Gargoyle ducked back down with an ‘EEP!’ and the dragon curled his lips in distaste. The heavy scent of smoke and sulfurpooled from his maw, and emerald sparks danced dangerously up from his throat.
Lilia materialized then from the shadows, slipping forward from the darkness with a deep bow that nearly had his nose pressed to his knees. He hovered over the pair of them—the cowering, stone, monster and the fire spitting dragon that was seemingly determined to rend his faithful servant into pebbles.
“My Prince,” Lilia coaxed, composed and crisp in the face of his hissing ward. He started to straighten himself again cautiously, only to freeze half-way when Malleus started up his grumbling again. “Malleus,” he tried instead, voice stern and gentling. “It’s alright. I’m sure it was only an accident.” Crimson eyes flicked pointedly to the rafters. “Wasn’t it, Sebek?”
“I DIDN’T MEAN TO!” Sebek absolutely sobbed. “I WOULD NEVER DISRESPECT THE YOUNG MASTER SO!”
“What the fuck is even happening?!” you gaped, beyond confused.
“Little one,” Lilia began, only to pause when Malleus curled his lip threateningly at him. “If you wouldn’t mind, please inform your dearest companion that you’re perfectly well and unharmed.”
“What?” you frowned. “Of course I’m unharmed!”
“Once more,” Lilia chirped, without any warmth to it. “If you’d please.”
Your brow tugged together tight in bewilderment, but you turned back to face the heaving hide of the dragon that was currently wound around you tighter than a bow string.
“Malleus,” you tried, perhaps far too quietly all things considered. But that terrible, earthquake of a snarl of his broke off all at once—like you’d dropped a cone of Silence over the whole of him. His great, green, glare cut down to you and instantly he was lowering his sneering maw to blow misty smoke rings over your head. “Malleus,” you said again, running a hand along his scales. “It’s alright. I’m fine. Nothing’s happened.”
Tsunotarou blinked at you, tight and fast. And then after a very, very, long moment of that sneer twitching on and off his face like a flickering light, his pricked pupils relaxed back into something curved and long—still thin, but no longer constricted to the point of near absence. He lowered his head to crash into the heap of comforters, and pillows, and soft, cozy, things. The sigh that blew past his fangs was all kinds of exhausted—sounding like it’d clawed its way out from the very marrow of his bones. The little lick of green flames that accompanied it was a teeny, bright, thing—lacking that sharp bite of heat and sulfur.
Lilia sighed too, like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. Silver relaxed from the perch where he’d tucked himself away at the start of it all (high enough to be out of range, but close enough to dive in if needed), and Sebek nearly doubled over in hysterical tears.
The strange, little, demon turned then on the spiked Gargoyle with an unhappy click of his tongue.
“Sebek,” he huffed. “You should know better.”
“I know,” the Gargoyle hiccupped, uncharacteristically quiet. “I’m sorry.”
“Would someone please tell me what that was,” you begged, running nervous hands along Tsunotarou’s purple crests like they were a giant, wavy, set of stress balls.
“Drakes are naturally protective creatures. There’s certainly a reason that so many tales of our Lord’s ancestors stalwartly guarding their hoards have passed into legend,” Lilia explained, some of that black severity finally seeming to fade from his soured expression. “And, of course, when one is partaking in an event as monumental as the courtship of a perspective mate, they can understandably be… particularly tetchy about their territory being disturbed.”
“But it’s not like you’re intruders or anything! He’s known you all for ages,” you frowned. “And this is just—you’ve all been in here plenty of times before. It’s just a pile of pillows.”
“Not to him it’s not,” Lilia mused, soft.
You worried at your lower lip, and your gaze slipped back to the dragon pressed up against your side. He was busy fanning his tail out, carefully smoothing the fabrics that had been disturbed in his upset—fluffing up the blankets that had fallen out of place and rucking all those comforters up around the both of you.
‘A perfect nest,’ you had called it. For a perfect dragon.  
Oh.
You cleared your sticky throat and patted reassuringly at the softer, more delicate skin at the base of Malleus’s horns. He paused his fretting to glance back down at you.
“Why don’t we hit the hay early today, yeah?” you offered, and he let out a relieved sort of huff as he settled more heavily at your side. His eyes slipped closed like they were physically weighted down, and his tail whipped up and around to encircle the two of you in a set of soft loops. Lilia sent you a look that was half-appreciative, half-outright fond.
“We’ll leave you both be for the next few days,” he said, before gesturing for the pair of Gargoyles to follow him out the door.
You nodded, and then called out just as the more haggard of the duo was about to slip past the threshold.
“He probably didn’t mean to get so mad,” you offered as kindly as you could, and you weren’t sure if a Gargoyle could actually get misty-eyed (what with the whole ‘entirely constructed of stone’ thing being a bit of hindrance), but Sebek was certainly putting the effort in to try.
.
.
Not that this whole thing had been entirely one-sided, but as you laid there in your nest with your dragon—carefully carding your fingers through his black hair and along the divots in his horns—you couldn’t help but feel like he’d been putting a whole lot more effort into this ‘fairytale romance’ of yours than you had.
Okay, granted, you were apparently the one being courted in this whole situation. Which theoretically meant that you were also the one who was supposed to be getting spoiled with attention, and food, and… whatever that whole territory debacle had been. But still… It felt a bit selfish not to be doing something for Malleus in return. Particularly seeing how much of himself he was putting into all of this. And again, sure, you were technically originally a hostage or whatever. Sure, not a few weeks ago you would have laughed off this entire thing like it was a bad joke. But now you were… sort of in it for the long haul, weren’t you?
Because Malleus was kind and startling intelligent, even if that big ol’ brain of his sometimes stumbled over the silliest things. He had a wickedly dry sense of humor and an inquisitiveness that was entirely endearing. And on top of it all, he was ungodly attractive and a motherfucking dragon. What sort of fool would turn that down? Idiot you may be, but man, even you weren’t that stupid. Deuce, maybe. But not you.
So you sighed, feeling very much like a haggard old maid doing their best to walk some moron through their own burgeoning romance—except in this case you were both the old crone and the idiot, and—Ugh. This metaphor was too much for your brain. You carefully slipped out from beneath Malleus’s arm, and man, if it didn’t say all the more about just how much he’d exhausted himself the other day that he didn’t immediately spring awake to demand to know where you were sneaking off to. You patted his silky hair and tucked him in a bit tighter before carefully making your way over to the corner of the nest where you’d stashed your travel pack.
You knew better than to try and start your own fire at this point, and while heating a kettle with the lingering, wispy, sparks of Prestidigitation was a bitch and half, you did it. Because you were—ugh—in love. Or at least getting there. And people who were (maybe) in love did all sorts of ridiculous, taxing, nonsense for the sake of making their Person (dragon) happy. You brewed a pot of warm tea, tossing in all the fancy, dried, leaves that you kept bundled in the little side pockets of your bag. Chamomile as a base, to settle his nerves. A pinch of lavender to aid that calm. A sprig of lemon balm for tartness and… also calm. Everything you had for relaxation. Just. Dumping it in the pot. You were halfway through debating if adding a bit of Passionflower would just make your already questionable concoction taste absolutely vile when a sleepy grumble dragged you out of your musings.
“What are you doing all the way over there?” Tsunotarou complained, head only just poking out from the mound of blankets you’d buried him in. And, wow, he must have been… He hadn’t even scuttled his way down to latch onto you like the leech he normally was.
You gingerly climbed your way back up the pile, balancing the mug of tea in your hands so, so, carefully—making sure not to spill a single drop.
Malleus had sat up fully by the time you arrived, and he was busying himself with rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He still looked a bit woozy—a bit out-of-body. You leaned forward and pressed the warm cup into his clawed hands, only pulling back once you were certain he had a good grip on it.
“I made tea,” you said lamely. “To, uh, help with… To help. Tea helps,” you finished, more lamely.
And then, because you never knew how to stop when you were ahead (and to be fair, you were never really ‘ahead.’ And your dumbass bumbling certainly didn’t land you anywhere near that), you leaned forward, valiantly fighting the butterflies having an all out rave in your fucking intestines, and planted a soft kiss on his forehead.
“Erhm,” you mumbled as he stared up at you with wide, wide eyes. “Feel better.”
Malleus gaped at you, and then slowly—like his limbs were moving through a vat of honey—he reached up to rub at the skin you’d just pecked.
“What was that?” he asked, bewildered but not… unhappy. No. Definitely not unhappy. 
“A kiss?” you squeaked, warring with all Seven Levels of Hell that were fighting for real estate in your cheeks. “It’s… uh. It’s something humans do to… show our affection?” It wasn’t meant to sound like a question, but the statement twisted up high-pitched and thready at the end either way.
“I see,” he murmured, gaze still a bit distant. Though perhaps not for the same reason anymore. He blinked a few times, as if to clear away that cloudy haze, and then smiled one of those heart-stopping smiles of his. “May I have another?”
You spluttered, and fought the urge to bap him over the top of the head like an unruly bar patron.
“After you finish your tea,” you managed to squawk. “Maybe.”
And so he went about sipping at the concoction you’d brewed for him with all the steadfast determination of a good student. By the time he reached the bottom of the cup, his eyes were drooping all over again and he was stretching out to lounge back against the pillows with a sleepy little sigh. He slipped back off to sleep quickly enough, but you leaned forward anyways to give him a peck on the cheek—as promised.
.
.
“Tell me more about your human courting traditions,” Malleus demanded the next morning, clearly feeling well enough again to be back to his usual, sticky, habits. He had situated himself with his head in your lap—bumping his forehead up pointedly against your navel until you sunk your hands into his hair.
“I thought Lilia told you plenty,” you grumbled. “You just want me to kiss you again.”
His eyes sparkled with mischievous mirth. “Perhaps.”
You sighed and fought the urge to titter into your palms in embarrassment. You were a bard, goddamn it! And you would not shame your profession further!
“Well, from what I understand, one doesn’t exactly see their intended in your sort of state until much later in the proceedings,” you sniffed petulantly.
“My sort of state?” he repeated, canting his head.
“Naked.”
He laughed, sharp and loud.
“Of course,” he trilled, twisting to bury his nose into the seam of your thigh and sending shivers all along your spine. “I always forget about your antiquated sense of modesty.”
“My antiquated—?!You’re thousands of years old!”
“And yet, you are always the one so caught up in the notion of my propriety,” he sighed, that clever smirk still tugging at his lips. “Trying to defend my honor, perhaps?”
“My honor,” you hissed, giving into the urge to burry your head in your hands. “What do you do then, huh? What do dragons do if they don’t kiss each other?”
“Bite,” he shrugged, and the spark of something that shot through your gut like the first sparks off a campfire was entirely fucking unfair.
You swallowed.
“Like—erhm. When you’re like this?” you asked, gesturing awkwardly to his human-fied form.
“I suppose some must,” he hummed, eyes going lidded and dark as he pondered your inquiry. “But most prefer their scales, I’m told. Mating bites are a fairly universal practice—both in their practically of providing a physical telltale for differentiating those who have been claimed from those who have not, and also as a… more romantic overture.”
“How is biting romantic?” you huffed, only to immediately regret the question when the dragon’s eyes lit like firebugs.  
Tsunotarou sat back on his haunches, dislodging your hand from his hair in the process.
“It’s all very poetic,” he enthused, face awash with genuine fascination. The same sort of way he got when he was talking about his precious gargoyles or the wonderful uniqueness in flavor of the different variations of frost giants. “It leaves the impression of a mortal wound that was, of course, in reality anything but. The careful curation of allowing one’s life to fall so easily into the hands of another. It really is all very lovely.”
“But dragon teeth are…” you trailed off, debating if you were just regurgitating the obvious. “It must leave some pretty nasty scars, at least.”
“Of course it does,” Malleus hummed. “That’s certainly the point of it. And usually, the goal is to bite deep enough that the scales can never regrow.”
“But, that’s—!” Again you tapered yourself into silence. He wasn’t saying that like it was bad thing. In fact, he sounded a bit dreamy. “Isn’t that dangerous?” you asked instead, quiet. “To lose some of your armor like that?”
“Oh, certainly,” he crooned, reaching out with one, clawed, finger to trail the tip of a blackened nail along the hollow of your throat. “The most common sites are here.” You gulped, and he dragged that talon of his down to rest at the center of your chest. He tapped at the skin there slowly, lightly, like the rhythm of a ticking clock. “And here.”
“I—uhm.” You swallowed. “That just seems more dangerous.”
“The hope behind it is to show your unwavering conviction—your faith,” he explained, his nail still tap-tap-tapping just above your heart. “That the one you’ve chosen to entrust yourself to will be the one willing to protect those delicate places instead.”
“Oh,” you mumbled, eyes wide. Because… alright. That was a bit—It was at least a little…
The hand lingering over your ribs reached out to tangle with your own, and he brought your palm up to rest against the soft, alabaster, curve of his neck. You could feel the steady thrum of his pulse beneath your fingers.
“I know your teeth aren’t quite strong enough to scar a dragon’s hide, but I’d be happy to gift you my scales, if you asked them of me,” he sighed, content. And woah. Holy fuck. Holy fuck— “Perhaps you could fashion your own armor from them,” he mused, looking far too invested with that burgeoning idea for it to be something he’d just magically thought up on the spot.
“I’d rather not do anything to hurt you at all,” you rambled, because your brain had evaporated.
“Oh?” he droned. “Even if I asked you to?”
And fwoosh went the ashy remnants of your intellect, completely blown out of your head.
Malleus leaned forward into your little bubble of space—the one that had more or less popped out of existence the moment he’d decided that he would very much like to keep you at his side. But somehow, despite all the times he’d crowded in on you before, this time felt… more significant. He kept your palm pressed into the hollow of his throat and ducked down to press his nose into the sensitive nook of your own. You could feel the whistle of his breath against the thin skin there—warm, and slow, and with just the slightest bit of humidity that pulled goosebumps up all along your shoulders.
“Of course I would never mark you while in my scales,” he assured, like that was even an option to begin with. “Your flesh is far too delicate. And while I know I could heal the damage, it’s not something I’m keen to inflict in the first place.”
You shivered and tilted your chin—away (exposed), not down. Not into the protective little bow you ought to have.
“H-Hypocrite,” you spluttered, and Malleus chuckled, delighted.
“I suppose so,” he hummed. “But it does make me wonder, what could we do, hmm? In these forms?”
You could bite me like this, you almost said. Like an absolute, suicidal, maniac.
“Oh?” he trilled, enthusiastic. “I could, couldn’t I?”
Holy fuck you needed to get your rambling under control before it killed you.
“I do hope you keep at it,” he mused, tilting forward so that you could feel the brush of his bangs tickling along the back of your neck. “You say the loveliest things when you’re not burdened with those poor attempts at filtering yourself.” His lips curled up into a smile and you could feel it pressing into your throat like a brand. “Incredible, you called me. Do you remember? Majestic. Handsome—”
“Yes, yes,” you spluttered, head still tilted way too far back for someone putting up any kind of token protest. “Mock the afflicted.”
“Afflicted?” He grinned. The points of his canines dipped past his lips to skim along your skin and leave the teeniest, little, divots in their wake. Never pushing forward, never breaking that soft barrier at your throat. But there. “With what, dearest?”
“Don’t make me say it,” you begged. Because you were already likely to keel over twitching from a stroke at any moment now, let alone if you tried to say—if you actually admitted out loud that you—you were—
“Should I, then?” he asked, a streak of something stalwart and genuine mixed in with the teasing.
And then, like a horribly unwanted Divine Intervention, Ace’s voice flicked through your thoughts with all of the stereotypical ridiculousness of a beam of sunshine parting a cloud covered sky.  
‘Fuck around and find out?’ he’d laughed. And then you’d laughed. ‘Nah, get fucked and find out.’
And goddamn it all, you would never, ever give that smarmy, ginger, bastard credit for anything—let alone bestowing you with sage life advice. But, well—
“Fuck it,” you gasped and you threw yourself forward to tangle your arms around Malleus’s neck and pull him into a kiss.
It was perhaps the most inelegant smashing of lips ever put to record, and you immediately nicked yourself on one of his fangs. But after a moment of working past that driving ‘get as close as you can, get so, so, so close—’ you managed to maneuver things into something that was more a wave of particularly enthusiastic kisses than just outright gnawing at each other. Malleus didn’t seem particularly put off at your messy attempt to jump his bones, and leaned into whatever you were throwing at him with ardor.
You parted your lips and Malleus’s own opened immediately beneath yours. His tongue flicked out and you felt it run along the fresh cut there—tracing the little, red, graze and soothing the sting. It was a little longer than you were expecting, a tad thinner. Not quite reptilian, but different enough that you recognized it as something alien. But if there was any apprehension to begin with (hint: probably not. You were too far gone on this idiot), it was wiped clear when he tilted his chin forward to harshen the angle and attempted to plunder your mouth in earnest.
There was still all a bit more teeth and biting than the glorious romances heralded in all those garbage tavern songs, but for someone who’d only just yesterday been asking you ‘what’s a kiss?’ this felt like great progress. And honestly, there was something better about this too. Maybe because the feel of his sharp canines dancing so perilously close to your sensitive skin was a bit thrilling. Maybe the mess, and the heat, and that ‘closer, closer, closer’ made it feel more real. Or maybe it was just the simple fact that this was your Tsunotarou.  
Eventually the kisses tapered off to dot along your cheek—with another long, slow, lick along the barely-bloodied nick in your lip for good measure—and then down the curve of your jaw. Malleus pressed forward, and you could feel the sharp intent there as he meticulously began to cover every available inch of your throat in little, stinging, love bites. His clawed hands began to work their way under the hem of your shirt, rucking it up along your abdomen until the fabric caught just beneath your ribs. He dug his thumbs into the newly exposed skin, and you fought through a wave of shivers to reach down to help him pull it the rest of the way off you.
The brief barrier of your shifting clothes cut you off from the world like a blindfold, and when you were back again, facing the softly lit gloom of the familiar cavern, you realized that you were staring down a fully naked dragon. Who, yes, was technically always running around in his birthday suit. But now—I mean—if you were doing this sort of thing with him, and he was really courting you and all… You could look now, couldn’t you?
So many painful hours you had spent counting pebble piles, and reciting mostly made-up religious verses, and smacking your cheeks like a school matron threatening rowdy teens. So ceaselessly hard had your poor eyes worked to never just look down.
And finally, you let yourself take in the entirety of him.
Woah.
And thank fuck he didn’t lurch forward with that wide, self-satisfied grin of his, because at least that meant you’d managed to keep your internal ‘!!!’ to yourself for once.
Malleus had always been unfairly pretty. Because naturally, if you were one of the most powerful creatures to ever walk this planet, you also had to be one of the most beautiful. It was the logic of fairytales and mythos only, and now all that ethereal allure was staring you down almost like a challenge. Like, ‘see? You thought people this stupidly hot could only exist in your dreams? Hardy, har, har. Have fun with your hypertension and newfound inability to feel anything below your navel.’
And now he was just there. All sculpted planes of white marble that cut sharp angles at the jut of his hips, and then the rest of him. Which was equally as well cast and pale, with just enough of a pink flush to look like something alive rather than some untouchable statue in a museum.
You averted your gaze with a self-conscious little ‘eep!’ Because surely being leered at like a slab of meat had to be all sorts of unpleasant. I mean, if Tsunotarou had been looking at you like that, you’d—Well. Actually. Maybe it wouldn’tbe that bad. But either way, you were practically drooling over the guy, and that self-indulgent ogling had to be at least a teensy bit embarrassing.
Instead, when you finally managed to lock gazes again, the dragon was practically preening.
“Do you find me pleasing, Child of Man?” he asked, eyes half-lidded and dark.
You looked back up at the ceiling and cursed all those stupid deities that had never deigned to grant you even a single sliver of that mercy you’d ask for.
“You know I do,” you finally said, fighting a losing battle against the rampant heat overtaking your entire face.
Malleus leaned back in to press a drawn-out peck to that same little cut, letting that thin tongue of his peek out to clean around your swollen lip one more time. You could see his pupils jumping within his irises—shrinking to tight, tiny, pinpricks before rounding out into something nearly human. The gaping black there practically swallowed the neon, green, sea of his eyes whole.
“You can take from me whatever you’d like,” he hummed, reaching out to drag the hand that had caught at his ribs down to rest along the sharp dip of his hipbones.
“You are literally going to kill me,” you hiccupped, cheeks burning like you’d just taken a merry jaunt through all Seven Halls.
His brow furrowed loosely in the familiar start of that ‘I am an Immortal Drake King and Have No Real Concept of Over Exaggeration as Comedy’ bewilderment of his, and you leaned forward to press a kiss against that little crease.
“In a euphemism sort of way,” you clarified with a flustered grumble. “I promise.”
“Of course,” he nodded, in a fashion that made it very obvious that he didn’t really get it, but also easily acknowledged that now was neither the time nor place for a lesson on human vernacular.
Instead of focusing on your so-claimed impending demise, Malleus leaned forward and picked up exactly where he had left off—even taking the time to pause over the last of his little love bites to soothe at it with his tongue and get it darkening up all over again. As he trailed those sharp, sticky, kisses down your front, you felt your own fingers begin to slip further south—naturally skating down deeper along the slope where he’d placed them.
Your knuckles brushed against sleek, near silky, skin and the shudder that worked its way up the dragon’s back had the teeth he’d buried at your collarbone near vibrating into your skin. Which was… probably good, right? Actually, you know what? If anything, it was a hell of a lot better than good. So you reached forward with a bit more confidence to twine your fingers around him in earnest, and the groan that rumbled out from Malleus’s chest was deep enough to rattle your bones.
The first few strokes were a bit clumsy as you tried to feel out what he enjoyed best. There was something not quite human about it all—just like how even though he had two legs, two arms, and a perfectly lovely face, there had always still been something just a smidge off about this form of his. A little too ethereal to be real.
Though he certainly felt real now—with the way his hips were rising in short, sharp, jerks against your sliding palm, and in how his breath was beating a brisk tempo against your throat.  
“You know,” you admitted a bit shakily. “Do you realize how hard it was to just not stare at you every freaking hour of the day when you were waltzing all over the place with—with this,” you complained, giving the aforementioned ‘this’ a pointed squeeze. Malleus made a punched-out sort of noise that tapered into a growl, and he rutted back against your grip hard enough to nearly topple you over.
And then he kept pushing forward until you did fall backwards into the nest of blankets at your back. You landed with a breathy little ‘oof’ and he crowded over you immediately—bracketing you in between his knees. The clawed hand that had been playing along your waist shifted to better mimic the position of your own busy digits. He ran a blackened nail sluggishly along the inseam of your trousers before flicking it back up to undo the button there with a pop.
“You were always more than welcome to partake,” he beamed, sounding far too delighted for his own good. “I’d hoped my parading around was obvious.”
Well now it was!
“I was trying to be polite—” you cut off on a gasp as he pressed his own hand past the waistband of your pants andspread his fingers out like a fan, searching. “You—You were the one who said clothes weren’t—weren’t—” His skin was cold, smooth, and when he found what he was looking for, he pressed down so, so, carefully. You bit back an absolutely obscene gasp and managed to spit out, “—weren’t comfortable.”
“Of course they aren’t,” he sniffed, and took a long moment to lay another sucking mark at the bridge of your shoulder. “But I don’t make a habit of crawling into the lap of every adventurer who wanders through my home.” All at once his hand stilled against you and you fought the godawful impulse to whine. “Am I welcome as well?”
It took your scattered thoughts far too long to process that he’d been asking you a question.
“Are you welcome to what?” you breathed.
“To partake?”
Fucking hell in a handbasket—
“Yes,” you wheezed, squirming up against the wide, flat, surface of his palm. “Of course you are. Just—"
Malleus surged forward to capture your lips once more and immediately licked his way into your mouth—intent and probing. His fingers matched the pace, and he swallowed each of your squeaks, and squawks, and unintelligible nonsense enthusiastically.
It should have come as absolutely no shock just how attentive he was to… everything. Malleus always seemed so eager to soak up new information like the gigantic, draconic, sponge he was. Always so excited to learn. And he approached this new venture with all that usual enthusiasm and more. Like the terrible, embarrassing, noises pouring out of your throat were a symphony that he could not only learn to conduct, but fine tune to his liking.
Oh, he was happy to venture forth and explore the entirety of this unfamiliar territory, but he was conscientious to circle back to the softest, most sensitive, bits of you again, and again, and again. The parts that made you buck back against him and burry your nose in the crook of your arm like ‘hiding’ from your buzzing nerves was an option at all at this point.
Your pants were worked down to your knees before you’d even realized they were gone, and you kicked awkwardly out a few times to try and untangle yourself from the remainder of them. And then it was just you—laid out atop all those blankets and as bare as he was.
His bitey little kisses kept with their descent, until he’d slid himself far enough down that you couldn’t keep your grip on him anymore. He slipped out of your hand and you made a little grumbly noise of protest that only cut off when he dropped a particularly harsh nip at the inseam of your thigh. He nosed along the delicate skin there, laving his tongue indulgently over the teeny wound he’d left, and you gulped when his nostrils flared on a sharp inhale. His fingers were still tracing along the core of you, but slower now—steadied. Like his once rapt attention had clearly been snagged by other prospects.
Malleus’s neon leer ticked back up to lock with your own, and he rested his pointed chin atop your inner thigh with enough weighted intent to have you nearly leaping out of your skin.
“Is something the matter, dearest Child of Man?” he asked, brows jumping a bit in a way that gave away the fact that his polite, little, inquiry was far from the innocent fair he was putting on.   
“You know,” you laughed, breathless and dazed. “When I first came here, before I actually got to know you, I was always so worried that you were going to eat me alive.”
“Is that so,” Malleus mused, pointed nails tracing the shivers that were dancing up your legs. “And now?”
Another startled laugh, and you hid your flaming cheeks behind the cage of your fingers. “Don’t make me say it.”
“If you insist,” he hummed, perfectly unruffled, before ducking forward to bury his face in the heart of you.
Your head fell back with a frankly startling yelp, and your hands immediately moved to twist into his hair. The inky strands melted like the finest silk through your fingers, and you had to take a moment to physically ground yourself to keep from yanking on him—only for one of Malleus’s own hands to reach up and tangle your fingers up all the tighter. He ran his tongue along the entirety of you, and you dug your nails into the soft skin where his horns met his skull. He rumbled out a moan, and that naturally vibrated all the way up from where his mouth was currently very busy devouring every part of you that he could reach.
It was messy, and wet, and occasionally you could feel the razor-sharp tip of a fang dance too close to things that were already far too sensitive. But maiden clumsiness aside, there was certainly something to be said for his enthusiasm. Soon enough, that embarrassing keening of yours was even starting to make your own ears ring, and it only got worse when he shifted his grip on you to maneuver your calves over his shoulders and lock your ankles behind the curl of his horns.
His mouth left you with a soft pop, and he looked up at you with eyes that were shot through with so much black that you could hardly make out anything else. His too-long tongue poked out to trace along his wet lips and you absolutely did not let out the most embarrassing whimper known to man.
“Do you remember the story you told me, about the Cheshire Cat and the Man with the mad hats?”
You blinked, not even sure if you were coordinated enough to manage that right. Your melted mind tried its best to put meaning to words, and then words to context. Eventually you managed to muddle through something that felt half-familiar.
“I think so,” you said, still not entirely cognizant.
“Hmm,” he hummed, and nuzzled his nose back against you. “I remember lying in your lap that day. And that was the first time I could really smell you.”
Oh fucking hell—
“And you felt so wonderfully warm,” he sighed, like your absolute mortification was one of his most pleasant memories. “I would have loved to savor you then as well, but you hadn’t entirely seemed amenable.” He burrowed deeper and gave one, last, long, lick that had you nearly shivering out of your skin. “And either way, that tall tale of yours was too compelling to speak over.”
“It was a children’s story about an acid trip,” you complained. “You are more than welcome to interrupt any of my godawful retellings of penny novels to—”
You cut off with another wholly undignified noise when Malleus surged back up to kiss you fully on the mouth. His tongue coiled around yours and you could, you could taste—
“But I do so love hearing your voice,” he sighed, pulling away again with a little rumbly purr that was far too besotted. “And, actually, I find it to be quite a shame. And perhaps one of my many failings,” he drawled, that teasing, spiked, smirk of his curling across his mouth and doing terrible things to the butterflies trapped in your stomach.
“What?” you managed to eek out as he pulled you back flush up against him.
“You’re a traveling minstrel, are you not?” he hummed, rubbing his cheek along yours as he had so many times before. “And yet, I’ve never quite managed to make you sing.”
You gasped into the next kiss and let him maneuver you so that you were pressed back-to-front, with his looming horns casting shadows over the both of you. And gods above, you knew you’d promised that the whole ‘killing you’ comment had just been a playful euphemism, but even you weren’t really sure about that anymore. Your heart certainly seemed determined to beat its way out of your chest, and you did probably need that to go on living. Not that you could find it in you to care even a lick. If you collapsed after all this and never woke up again, you would have at least died happier than most.
Malleus pushed forward, draping his bulk across your back, and you wound up on your knees—collapsed forward on your elbows and cushioned by the soft piles of blankets, and pillows, and every other comfy treasure that the pair of you had worked to find together.  
“Did you mean what you said?” he asked, trailing wet, openmouthed, kisses across your shoulder blades.
“What did I say?” you mumbled, arching up under his mouth like a cat being stroked along its spine.
“That you would let me mark you like this,” he said, closing the last of the kisses off with a gentle nip.
Your head lolled to the side as if of its own accord, bearing your throat in a way that had the dragon flat out groaning from above you.
“My fangs are sharp,” he rumbled, rolling his hips down against yours and letting his lips pull back over his canines in an expression that in any other situation you would have called a snarl. “So sharp you might not even feel it. But,” he continued, with another languid grind, “I think I would prefer that you do.”
And how on Earth would you ever have been able to say no to that?
One of the hands ensnaring your waist slid back down south, trailing over the areas he’d already well acquainted himself with. You rolled your hips back into his palm, and something not unlike a hiss ripped its way out of his throat. And then he was pushing forward again with that same, near agonizingly gentle, probing. Even if this time there was a great deal more intent behind it than just feeling around for all the best spots to have you shaking out of your skin.
The glide of his fingers was smoother than you’d been expecting without the aid of oil, or, well, whatever. But then you remembered that magic was a thing, and briefly thanked all those gods you’d been cursing, because at least that was something. And also the fact that this gloriously wonderful dragon had only literally just eaten you out like his fucking immortal existence depended on it, and that’d probably helped quite a lot with the whole ‘making things a bit more slippery’ logic.
That same desperate call of ‘closer, closer, closer’was singing in your blood again, and by the time he’d worked up to two fingers, then three, you were writhing around like all the most ridiculous, overblown, Bard Stereotypes that you’d always hated. Because no one was really that wanton or clingy—it was just shitty, tavern, gossip that Ace liked to use to get a rile out of you. But man alive, if all those busybody bargoers who’d had to sit through your staunch ‘Bard’s Aren’t Actually Like That!’ speeches could see you now.
(Not that you had any delusions about Malleus letting anyone see you like this—what with the way his guttural growls were rolling through your bones like a tangible thing with teeth, and claws, and fire.)
“You look a bit flustered, darling,” he mused, the words a muddied kiss against the hollow of your throat. You couldn’t see his expression past your own, squinting, ridiculousness, but you had a feeling he was teasing you. Or at least really fucking good at ripping the thoughts out of your brain to comment on at his leisure.
“Really?” you gasped, hoping it sounded more annoyed than it probably did. “Why ever might that be?”
You managed to drill enough focus back into your brain to will your eyes to turn and glare up at your enchanting, wonderful, perfect tormentor. And didn’t someone have a lot of nerve trying to poke fun at you when he looked half-a-step away from feral—a fevered red stained high across his cheekbones and mouth parted with a perpetual sort of panting that had thin trails of grey smoke seeping past his fangs to swirl in the air around you.
You breathed in that heady fog and put every last remaining thread of your Bardic Charisma on the attack.
“Well?” you demanded, swaying your hips back against the pulsing heat of his own. “Was all this courtship stuff to make me your mate or wasn’t it?
The sound that punched out of Malleus’s gut was nearly wounded in its intensity, and then he was bullying his way as close into your space as was physically possible—latching onto your mouth from over your shoulder with something that was far more ‘bite’ than ‘kiss,’ and sinking all the way in to the root of him with one, long, push.
Your toes curled on a yelp and you just barely managed to swallow a noise that was even more humiliating than that. It took a few, solid, thrusts for him to figure out how to settle himself inside you without just shoving the both you forward at the hips—skidding through the unstable surface of the fluffy blankets pooled beneath your knees. His clawed fingers came down to dig into the pillows by your head, bracketing you in and creating a point of stabilization amidst all the senseless heat. And with that, your brain had officially abandoned the building. Malleus dipped his hips forward in a particularly sharp roll that had something inside you twitching and tightening on a gasp. You could see the muscles cord along his lower arms, how the tendons of his wrist stood out taught against all the smooth, sculpted, white of him.  
Your elbows shook and your shoulders curved forward as you tried to steady yourself. Malleus slipped one of the hands that had bracketed itself by your head to instead curl into the space beneath your chin and help keep you propped upright. The support had your back arching into something new, and his hips rolled down against that fresh angle like it was a challenge. You squeaked, and that horribly embarrassing noise twisted up into something long, and high, and thready when he ground down hard.
“Ah,” he trilled, all animal satisfaction. “There’s that song of yours.”
Whatever sort of obligatory, whining, protest you were about to make was overridden by a hiccupping gasp when he dragged you back against him only to shove forward with enough force that you wound up with your face buried in fabric and your back aching. In a pleasant sort of way—not the ‘he may have literally just fractured my fucking spine’ way. Which, who knew? Maybe that was a possibility here. You were human, and small, and mortal. And he was a beast that sat only a ladder rung down from godhood. But with the heavy, hot, push push push drumming away at your core, you couldn’t find it in you to care if you never walked again.
You’d been prepared for a build—because that’s how it went, right? The slow, romantic, cresting of sparks that would eventually unfurl through the rest of you like a dream. But instead, one moment you were gasping like a damn asthmatic against the strong arm keeping you upright, and the next your gut was snapped tight, and sharp, and hot, and you were wailing into your pillows as a dam you didn’t realize was wearing away broke. You shuddered through the electricity searing your veins, and Malleus snarled over your shoulder.
He bit down into your neck with something that was practically a roar, and you felt your own teeth sink less impressively into the arm that he’d propped beneath your head. He was right—his fangs were sharp. And you were left less feeling like you’d had a chunk of your shoulder chewed into bits, and more like there was just a heavy, hot, pressure burrowing its way into your skin as far as it could go.
You gasped through the lingering, jerky, sparks zipping along your spine, before eventually that endless grinding, and fullness, and the new and very obvious flood of liquid warmth became too much, and you slumped fully on your front to pant into the blankets. Malleus collapsed at your back not long after, and immediately moved to curve himself against you like a pair of foxes in a den—entwined from head to toe. You could feel the snuffle of his breath as he sighed against you, his hands kneading almost absentmindedly into the sore flesh at your hips.
It took a great deal of time for your heartrate to settle back into a semi-stable rhythm, rather than continue its valiant attempt to gallop straight out of your chest. And you could feel the dragon’s own great pulse slowly gentling into a low thump-thump, thump-thump against your hide.
Once you’d melted into something a little less shivery and fucked-out-of-body, Malleus shuffled himself forward and began to drag his tongue in soft strokes against the weeping mark he’d left at the junction of your neck. That weighted pressure had faded into a tempered throb—nothing more sore than the rest of you, to be perfectly honest. Even if you could feel the beginnings of tacky blood trailing down your front. He cleaned you diligently, delicately. Like this new wound of yours was a treasure that rivaled those he kept hoarded away in the cavernous rooms beneath your feet.  
“Is it what you expected?” you asked softly, mostly referring to the stark mark now stamped into your skin like a brand, but also too swirled up in contentment to differentiate too much from the pleasant ache burning through your hips. Through your everywhere.
“Better,” he trilled, chest rumbling with something that was too deep to be a purr, but was certainly something like it. He lifted his arm to observe the faint impressions your own teeth had left against the pale skin there. “Though this one will certainly need refreshing.”
“My teeth aren’t as sharp as yours,” you lamented, and he raised a lazy thumb to trail the pad of his finger along your blunted canines. “It’d probably hurt a lot if I tried to leave something more permanent.”
“You speak as if that’s any sort of deterrent.”
You huffed in fond amusement before rolling onto your back to give your muscles a good stretch. With all that jostling around, the sticky sort of wetness beginning to seep along the inside of your thighs became much more obvious. Malleus stared down at the mess between your legs with an expression that was half fascination, half frustration. He reached out with a stern sort of pout on his lips to run a finger through his cooling spend and press what he could back inside you. The sharp, hot, tug that yanked from below your navel was so much worse than any kind of wincing oversensitivity.
His petulant leer shifted back up to your own, uh, not entirely composed expression, and he huffed softly—sending a puff of warm, smoky, breath along your cheeks.
“I’d prefer for you to keep as much of it as possible,” he rumbled, like that wasn’t one of the most unintentionally debauched things you’d ever heard come out of another living being’s mouth. “Your human nose may not be able to discern the difference, but for us drakes, the change in scent is certainly a strong indicator that a mate has been properly claimed and is no longer free for the taking.”
You sniffed pointedly, and all that swam through your head was the heady, musky, perfume of sex—all underlaid by that familiar smoke and petrichor smell of his. Heavier now, maybe. Like the charred remnants of a forest fire being doused beneath the fat drops of spring rain for the first time.  
“What?” you giggled good naturedly. “In case some other immortal, all powerful, dragon comes along to steal me away?”
He rumbled under his breath, and the claws at your hips flexed into pinpricks against your skin. Lightly enough to let you know he understood it was only a joke, but probably one that he wasn’t overly fond of nonetheless.
“You are certainly a worthy enough prize,” he said.
“Ah, yes,” you lamented. “With my spindly spells and impeccable ability to regurgitate the most garbage fairytales in existence. You’d have to go to war for my hand.”
“Of course I would,” Malleus said, with such quick certainty it had your heart kicking up a fit all over again.
“Well, if it’s that much of a concern, we can always just keep working at it,” you hummed, a little of that cheekiness tapering off into genuine fondness at the end. “You know, like a layering process.”
“Is that so?” he droned, a lazy, satisfied, grin working its way across his mouth. It was crooked and a little odd on his face—just like the lopsided smile he’d gifted you after you’d handed him a bundle of cheap fabric and stuffing and called it a friend.
“I mean, I still have a whole side of my neck with no teeth marks or anything, Tsunotarou,” you pointed out, and the bark of laughter that erupted from his throat was all dark, velvety, warmth.
“Oh, my dearest little human,” he sighed, far too besotted for a creature that could likely rend the world in two if he so wished. Instead, Malleus Draconia—last of the Great Briar Beasts of Old and Master of the Castle within the Lava Lakes—just tucked his silly, little, bard up tight into his chest, like he could crack open his ribs and hold you there forever. “I’ll definitely be keeping you.”
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[TAG LIST] CLOSED
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erenspussy420 · 2 years
Text
twst guys who would totally let you use them as a  🍆🍆 part 2
Part 2, to using the twst boys as you’re 🍆👅. I take no criticisms on this, it’s brainrot at it’s finest.
Fem Reader insert
Everyone is 18+above.
MDNI, 18+ONLY
If anyone knows how to link posts to each other please tell me, I’m very dumb.
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Leona Kingscholar: Yeah I fucking said it, but I have a point! And so does he! And so did you with the way you promised him he can use you as he likes next time. All he had to do was let you use him and he could sit back and enjoy the show. He's taking you in his dorm room, even if the windows are wide open who the fuck is even ballsy enough to try and take a peek? No one, who still has any common sense. With that, Leona lays on a mountain of pillows, watching you drool on his cock, using your hand to make up what your mouth couldn't fit. You’re hands on his hips, bobbing your head up and down, mewling, when his hand gives you guidance to take more. Your top is gone, with your tits out free for him to enjoy earlier when you massaged his cock between them, they’re still covered in his thick white seed. He lays back with a smug look on his face, as you pleasure yourself with his dick alone. Maybe he should let you do this more often.
Neige LeBlanche: Even with his sweet and usually calm composure, his hand that holds his tea cup is shaking so bad he spilt half his tea before he could even set it down. Oh, how can you do this to sweet, innocent, doe eye Neige? Because you want to, and he usually can't say no to you even to this. Neige has to sneak out of his own dorm to yours as he shared a room with some of the dwarves, the thought of you using him urged him to sprint faster in the forest. He has to be careful ok, can’t have fans find out. Even if the idea of you, with your phone out camera rolling as you fuck Neige into the bed, both of his wrist held over his head were in your grip, and a camera pointed down on him as he begs you to go faster. He has complete trust in you, but the idea of you two on camera is thrilling. You kiss him hard, rolling your hips down on him, before telling Neige he’s going to be your toy until he’s emptied everything in you. He hopes he can make it before the first bell in the morning. Bonus: He gets his own video of you using him, he was so lucky to have his phone on silent in his dressing room, because he sure damn wasn’t silent in that video.
Azul Ashengrotto:
Azul's glasses cracked the second you tell him you want to use him as a dildo. He's so fucking happy no one is in the office except you two when you told him that. If he wasn't trying to stop from dying, he would admire your bravery. He's a hot mess though, so please give him time ok, he'll do it for you ok. But human form, gotta work your way up to living the tentacle dream.  With pants off, boxers shoved down, you're making yourself comfortable on his lap, grinding against his dick, as his hands dig into the armrest of his chair. The heat of your cunt on him,  grinding down on his hard dick, how badly he wants to be in you, but you won't let him yet. Then the praises for him as a dildo, from the way it stretches you out, the feeling of it throbbing and how it’s cute, is make it hard for him to swallow, especially the way you describe wanting his tentacles in you, cause the tentacle dildo back at your dorm isn't enough. He can feel his body burn up at that, you- you have a tentacle dildo at your dorm. His mind is racing before he knows it you shuffled back a bit, taking his wet cock into your hands squeezing it as the pearly white cum milks out. He's gasping, writhing in his chair. "Oh this dildo is so good, mmm I just wonder how many more can I stuff in me next time?" Fuck, he can stuff you as much as you want.
Rook Hunt: Please, please look at him and tell me he wouldn't. He would be so ecstatic at the idea of it. You don't have to even convince him, just stop him from going all out ok. Rook is a great lover, so supportive, he takes in account of all your needs and praises your courage when you two are in his room, surrounded by rose petals and nice smelling perfume in the air. He even tied himself up for you for easier access, don't ask how he did, but it's very nice of him. Gag him, please. You might want to, but you're going to miss out on him praising you to his full vocabulary. You're so beautiful in his eyes, even with sweat beading down from you, as you snap your hips down on him, taking him fully to the hilt, you're bent forward using his legs as leverage as you continue to pleasure yourself on him. He has a beautiful view of your behind, his eyes dilated at the sight of his cock coming in and out of you so smoothly, the slick of your pussy on him. Is it so bad he helps with a bit more thrusting for your pleasure? The way you're moaning as you shove your hips down wildly on him, has him pick up the pace for you. He's very glad the mirrors on the ceiling are showing the most beautiful reflection for him.
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