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ooogaboogabeepbop · 11 months ago

Text

The Ball

(Image is NOT mine, it’s from Kate Kotova’s YouTube Community.)

Astarion x F!reader

Word count: A LOOOTTT

First time writing so please give any constructive criticism. Tell me if Astarion is out of character or whatnot. Here I wanted him to be pretty frustrated so he’s rougher than usual. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS.

Summary: You were getting ready for a ball until Astarion randomly fucks you into oblivion.

Warnings: use of gross words, cervix fucking, VERY rough sex, extreme discomfort, neediness, blood, ruined makeup, anger, cnc, pain, tears, ripping of clothing, weird inconsistent pov, scent, breeding kink, cringe writing, past trauma, voyerism, harsh choking, lots of eye rolling, short sentences, regret

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The edge of the drawer dug into your ribs harshly and the pain was becoming intolerable. Your palms flat against the waxed wood, pushing against the weight behind you. You winced when the figure behind pressed harder into you, being far from comfortable. It was like talking to a brick wall when you opened your mouth to speak. He was stuck in a deep trance involving your scent, and the unsteady beating of your heart. All he could hear was the hammering of the pulse and you smelled and looked absolutely amazing. Beyond amazing. Astounding. The way your dress fitted you perfectly. Breasts threaten to burst out of the dress, almost overflowing from the top. Your cleavage being the most prominent part of your whole get up, other than the accessories. The dress was white with laces on the rim surrounding your breasts, and on the end of your clothing as well. The outfit shimmered and was made to stand out from the others in the ball. The jewelry was what really stole the show though, dangle earrings, waist chain over the fancy fabric, bracelet, and a pearled necklace. You were adorned head to toe, your beauty would stun the crowd. Yet Astarion has you here, secured in his grip. It’s like he didn’t want anyone to see you in such a glamorous outfit. Someone could steal you away. It has been a while since Astarion initiated such intimate touching. With his view on sex tainted, you withheld from being inappropriate in any way. Worried about scaring him away, or reminding him of anything unpleasant. You stuck to loving words and affections that he so eagerly accepted and appreciated. The man was madly in love, and you, yourself. You showered him in so much care that it perplexed him. He only imagined or dreamed of being looked out for during years of hell, and never thought that it would actually come to fruition.

His nose and lips firmly pressed against your neck, providing soft kisses here and there. Cold breath sends shivers through your body. It was like a chilly winter breeze, making your hair stand. The kisses were sloppy, leaving small trails of saliva up and down your throat. You had an expensive perfume on, a bitter flavor to the tongue that he did not seem to mind. Too engrossed in this moment to care, wanting to feel and taste more. Maybe he liked the combination of the perfume and the flavor of your skin. Grabbing the arm that was locked around your waist, you squeeze, giving him a small warning to stop. The ball had already started, he promised to take you out dancing and flaunt your beauty to everyone there and show that you were his. It appears he regretted this decision. You were excited to sway and spin, to be close to him and your companions. You longed to see the others and the others wanted to see you too. You wanted to see the lights and the decorations. To see just how fancy the place was.

“I want to greet everyone.” You say, with his arms still locked around you. You tried excusing yourself to not remind him of ugly recollections. Trying not to have him cringe in disgust at any possible moment. Even with all of his confessions, he still held 200 years of secrets and uncomfortable experience that he was not willing to share. His coldness migrated behind your ear, hearing his sharp inhale. Very touchy this evening. What has him so worked up? Was he okay?

“They will see you soon enough, my love. Be patient.” He assured whilst rubbing his face against you, groaning, trying to lock in all of your musk mixed with perfume. He was ravenous. Mouth agape. A strong hand traced your left arm all the way up to your shoulder, and flipped the few wisps of your hair to the other side. Kisses now traced your jaw. Lips dry and chapped, moisture gone from the smooches. You could see the white curls come into view. Body flush against yours like a mold. Pale hands gripping your waist harshly and angling them to have the curve of your ass on his groin. “You look like an absolute treat tonight.” You could feel how each roughened finger dug deep to the point of almost hurting. Oh how you loved this. You missed his touch. Whether it be soft or hard, you still managed to enjoy yourself. Every movement made warmth course through you. Unexpectedly, he pricked your skin with one singular fang and licked the sweet red bead that came out with a sigh. Driving him crazy. Cool tongue teasing the sharp pain.

You grabbed the curls and ripped his lips off you.

“How about you be patient?” Your grip was firm, hurting his sensitive scalp. He hissed and even dared to flashed his fangs at you.

“You are hurting me.” You say bitterly. He presses less of his weight against you, letting you finally breathe better. But still being sandwiched between him and the drawer caused a sting.

“Still hurting me…”

He reluctantly pulls back, not much, but enough to keep the edge of the drawer from biting at your skin.

“I am starving—“ Words nothing but a whisper.

“I can tell.”

“Well be a dear, and give me just one bite?” He asked with honeyed words and puppy eyes.

“It’s never just one bite with you, Star.”

His hands roamed your body through your white dress, pawing at your breast, then down in between your thighs. The dress being an annoying obstacle.

“Oh how I missed you.” He sighs. You giggle at his words while you twirl a strand in your finger. It has not been long at all. He was quite literally in the other room while you did your makeup. And before that, both of you organized and planned your outfits for the day of the party together. You look over your shoulder with a smirk and a raised brow.

“Star, I was simply getting ready for the ball. I won’t take much longer.” You take a glimpse at his attire. All white, matching yours. The turtle neck, the colors, the swirls and patterns of his suit were all beautiful. Just like him. The shoulder pads that pronounced his shoulders. And his broad chest. You wanted to run your hands up and down his muscular figure but he firmly held you locked in place. He leaned into you again, though not as hard as before, your back arching to accommodate his body. Grinding on your bum. Noticing just how steel hard he was, your knees shook and your heels almost gave out.

“One bite? It won’t take long, love.” The man was hungry despite being fed the day before.

“Yes.” He immediately dives in and pierces your jugular. Fangs cause a sharp sting that makes you flinch. He will feed, then the two of you can finally go to the ball. Not wanting to suck you dry, he took shallow gulps. A moan rumbled from his chest and it vibrated through you. Astarion looked so hot with his composure uncharacteristically broken. The blood dribbling from the puncture being the sweetest he's ever savored. It was like some form of drug. Astarion’s favorite medicine. Faint whines of his satisfaction adding to the wetness below. You could see his brows knit together in concentration from the corner of your eye. Savoring you. He continued to rub your cunt through your dress while your hips circled to increase the pace that was set. He was too distracted to notice the teasingly slow speed of his fingers. Or maybe not. Perhaps he was deliberately trying to drive you insane. The friction of your panties and dress mixed with his talented digits made your clit throb. Your hand pushed his down, trying to create more traction to satisfy your need. Your hips still managed to gyrate even under his hold, rubbing right up on his erection. You moved faster against him, earning a whine from your vampire's throat. The hard rod pressed to your bum had you yearning for more. He kept moaning. Large pale hands traveled up to the very start of your dress and roughly pulled down, ripping the clothing and bra with it. The initial sound of the rippage filling the room with its sheer force. You shrieked as your tits suddenly jumped out of its confinements. Bouncing from its vicious release. Soft and supple skin, round and pretty nipples. Your outfit is in complete tatters.

“Astarion!” You shouted. Visibly upset. Such a beautiful dress put to waste. You waited months for this dress to be tailored, for its patterns and shimmers to be suited into it. So happy to try it on, so happy the way it hugged your curves when you got your hands on it. You attempted to turn to scold the ever living shit out of him but he held you in place with his strength. “Ugh!” You leered down at the irreversible mess and felt your face grow hot with rage. Then you looked into the mirror at the sight. Your nipples out in the open. How you wished to see him behind you, to see the dark and lustful red eyes looking deep into yours. What's gotten him so wild? Shifting his gaze towards your tits through the mirror, he moaned at the view of you. Quickly moving his palms onto your plump flesh; his big hands dwarfing both mounds. Astarion squeezed and played to his heart's desire and all you did was watch. Pliant skin caving and yielding. You were angry, livid, exasperated but… when was the last time he’s sought you out to touch you so sensually? When was the last time he felt okay with pleasure? You would put your anger aside, albeit begrudgingly, for this rare occasion. You were gonna give him hell afterwards though. Have him pay for the dress AGAIN and some complaining. It felt amazing, having him play, grope, and gently dig his fingers in. Savoring you. Passionately massaging them. You were upset. So upset. But you loved the touch. He was disorganized and chaotic which was so uncommon of him. Eventually, once you’ve calmed, your hands combine with his large ones, joining in on the fun. Then you realized something. The door to the room was open. Your head swirled to its direction and you were able to hear the distant chatter. Terror took a hold of you.

“Star. Stop. They will see.” Your concerns meant nothing to him though even when you pushed. He was too lost in you to even care. A huff was his only response. His fangs soon left you and he raised his head to nip at your ear. The blood from the wound seeped into your pearled necklace.

“I am being serious.” He grabbed your face, the skin indenting in his strong grip, and turned it enough to give you a searing kiss. The smooch was slippery from the gloss and the lipstick stained him, mixing with the blood he took from you. You sighed at the way his lips pressed upon yours. He parted his lips and snaked his tongue in your mouth, drawing an obscene moan as you unhinged your jaw for him. The blend of lipstick, gloss, blood, and the perfume he kissed off was rather tart. You opened your eyes and looked into the mirror. You looked so lewd. Both of you panted into the kiss. His left hand still played with your breast. His right hand grabbed yours and placed it flat against the wood, fingers interlocking. Astarion abandoned your mouth and licked long strides up your neck, cleaning the remaining blood then proceeded to give more pecks to it.

“What is this all about, Star?”

“I simply crave you little love. Is that so bad?”

“You ruined my dress. It was so glamorous…I waited months for this you damned bastard.”

“I’ll have another one made, my treasure.” He did not seem phased by your anger. The glam clothing was being pulled and balled up, enough to show your plush thighs. Wearing stockings and lingerie underneath. You half expected to fuck, just not so early.

“My, my. What’s this all about, dear?” He repeated your question from earlier as nimble fingers ran along the stockings. You blushed deeply at his words. Hands fixed on your butt. Delicately rubbing.

“Astarion, the door. Least close the door.” He pushed your face against the drawer, and raised the rest of your dress, showing your pretty ass. The fabric laid right above your hips. He slapped it hard. Another one came after that with full force. The sting was so intense tears began to form. No, you were not going to cry with how much effort you put into your makeup. He grumbled at your request.

“Not a chance. Where else will I get my warmth from? Karlach? Lae’zel?” He tsked. Red marks adorned your bum now from the manhandling. Blood rushing and heating the stinging flesh.

The warmth radiating onto his icy palms pleased him as it made a nice contrast. “You know, It gets quite cold being undead, darling.” Pouting as he feigned sadness.

“I will still be here once you come back. It's just mere feets away! Plus I'm sure Karlach wouldn't mind sharing her never ending heat.”

“Ah, but that would be no fun. Truthfully, the possible thrill of being caught excites me to no end…and I believe it does the very same to you too, darling.” He said, slipping the panties to the side to expose you. “I can tell just by your heartbeat.” He murmured. You purred when his rough thumb slithered up and down your wet slit. You sway your waist to taunt his desire. Without warning, he soon rooted two digits deep inside to prepare you to fuck hard. The sudden intrusion caused you to bite your lip. He grazed and memorized each ridge of your soggy cunt, especially the spongy part. You grinded in tandem to his fingers but it wasn’t enough.

“Then please, hurry up.” you whimper. He hummed.

“Since you asked nicely.” He caressed the bud halfheartedly. Swiftly he lost interest then pulled his fingers out. You could hear the belt buckle and his pants unfasten.

He slid all the way into your gummy walls with a loud hiss. You felt incredibly full, so stretched out and already worn from his dick. Cunt squeezing and contracting, trying to adjust to the fullness. You were so overwhelmed that it made you dizzy. Your pussy ravenously swallowed his thick dick which was not helping with your lightheadedness. The tip of his cock snuggling your cervix, causing your knees to weaken.Good thing he was holding you up. There was an impossibly deep, deep want inside your walls that set you ablaze. The feeling so intense your legs wobbled more. The desire was gut wrenching, so powerful and desperately needed his cock. He was fully sheathed but it was not enough. You needed him to move, drag and stroke himself along slick walls. Your clit throbbed. Placing your fingers onto the bundle of nerves you spun quick circles that briefly had your eyes roll. You couldn’t wait anymore and began to throw yourself back on him, forcing a garbled moan out of him. Both of you needed to get this over with fast. Cursing yourself for falling into your own desires as easily as he did. All he had to do was close the door but no. He loves risks and this situation made his dick painfully hard for him. What is pleasure without a little pain? You imagined him saying. He observed you like a hawk, watching you fuck yourself. Hearing him gulp then heave faster. His mouth was open, curls misplaced (from his usual hairdo), and brows knitted together again… A deafening laughter came from the halls when you began to panic. You stopped to peer at the cracked open door. He tightly grabbed onto your waist and pressed his thumbs into your back dimples, treating them as thumb holders. The first thrust was hard. You were caught off guard when your body lunged forward, causing objects to fall from the desk you leaned on. The laughing paused. Then the next one was even harder. He barely even started and tears began to sting in your eyes. His hair now falling towards his face, ruining his perfect pomade. Each movement he made, his locks swiftly followed. You felt the way his cock hauled to and fro. He knew how tight and warm you were but it always left him in shambles. Your walls clenched, subduing his bulging veins, and molding his dick on each thrust. He wanted to cum. He wanted to be deeper. He wanted to be one with you. Anxiety was through the roof but, thankfully, the people accompanying the halls continued with their conversation. All your attention was on the door where all the sounds originated from. The pace changed as you tried to listen for any footsteps.

Then all of a sudden he trembled and went stiff. He placed his chest against you for leverage. Lowering his head, listening how each breath was a struggle for him. You could see his wet curls in your peripheral vision. You turned your head to look.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You asked with genuine fear in your heart. Endless questions began to flood in your head. What if he didn’t want it? What if he regretted this decision? What if a bad memory was prompted? Was he disgusted by the thoughts of long ago?

“I’m close.” He choked out, “I need you to come first.” You found yourself relieved that he wasn’t uncomfortable. He was far from it. He withheld his own pleasure though, choosing to serve you before anything else. Being used to lifelong servitude and to pleasing others, it was only natural to him. This was going to change eventually. Astarion was walking on a thin line and quickly losing his balance. It took all his will and power just not to cum deep in your womb. He was right on the edge, so close all he needed was a push. You whined and wiggled your hips.

“Do not move.” He ordered, cock violently twitching inside you and mouth pulled into a snarl.

“Just cum!” You could see his head shake from the corner of your vision, “please!” You lifted your face from the drawer and held onto the wood the best you could. Your hips snapped back into him. He threw his head back and groaned loudly as if it pained him.

“Please, please, please, please!” You continued to beg. He was seconds from bursting just from your pleading. Your manicured nails drove deep marks on the drawer and the mirror began to shake back and forth. Your rapid breath fogged up the reflection in front of you and blocked the view. You kept going faster. Your earrings swayed back and forth with all the movement, along with your long necklace that was repeatedly bumping against your breasts. His whole body weight was on you now, ceasing your thrusts, and he placed himself deep inside. The drawer was back to painfully jabbing at you and it kept you from breathing properly. And whatever air trapped in your lungs was forced out of you when he rammed into you one last time. His cockhead glued to your cervix when he blew his fat load into you. His eyes went wide. Hair completely down. He looked like he was dying and ascending at the same time then damn near screamed.

He leaned back to give your aching bones some rest with a sweaty forehead against your shoulder. He was groaning even past his orgasm. You reached up to caress him.

“My star. I really wanted to go to the ball.” You sigh. He held onto your breasts again and pinched your nipples. “Are you not done?” Your makeup was ruined and so was your dress. You didn’t even get to cum either. But that was okay, as long as he relished in himself for once.

“Not quite. I’m sorry, darling. I’m sure there’s a spare dress.” He lifted his head and applied soft kisses to your cheeks

“Star, I really liked this dress.”

“I am sorry, my treasure.”

“This occasion was important to me.”

“I’m sorry…” It’s not often he would apologize. “Please, one more…” He sounded so weak and shattered. His head against your back just huffing and puffing. He held onto your waist, lovingly running with thick fingers down your exposed skin. Your skin was squishy compared to his rough finger pads. He was still hard and deep within you, his tip still cuddling your cervix. Another sigh escaped your lips, and you felt your clit throb again. Still unsatisfied. Your eyebrows arched upwards at the sensation. He wanted more and so did you. He felt so good just being seated inside you with his cum seeping out of you, most likely staining his pants and traveling down his balls. You could feel the stretch his thick dick provided to your abused walls. The same familiar feeling of want was still coiled up within, you needed release so badly. You wanted him to fuck it out of you. You bit your lip and looked into the mirror. Pretending to see his own reflection standing behind you. The thought of it made you clamp down on him and you both moaned. You turned your head and looked into his cat-like eyes. His broken voice did not match the way he was glaring at you. Seeming possessive.

Astarion pressed your back against his chest and your lips instinctively pressed on his jaw when he did so. When he pulled out, you could feel his cum spill between your thighs. Must’ve been very pent up. He moved his hand up towards the torn dress that was clinging to your hips, and tried to pass it down your legs, but the waist chain kept it from doing so. He ripped the pearled chain, and the beads fell onto the floor with the dress itself. The torn material was a tripping hazard that pooled around your feet. You didn’t even try to express your anger since he wouldn’t have acknowledged it. The only clothing you had on was the lace panties, the stockings, the jewelry, and your high heels. The vampire behind you was still completely clothed. You could still sense his icy coolness even through the layers of his attire. Your slim hand went down to begin playing with your clit.

His arm wrapped around your waist as the other slid his dick back inside you. Your pussy welcomed him hungrily. Your other hand grabbed onto his strong forearm as he began his thrusts. You kissed his jaw and cheeks, staining them a nice red with the remaining pigment you had on your lips. Astarion shut his eyes for a brief moment, cherishing in your care. He felt overwhelmed with love and lust. He had no idea how to express it. You were the best thing that’s happened to him. Finally someone who would put him first. Providing him soft affection and kind words even when he thought he didn’t deserve it. Being treated so kindly angered him in a way. The way you kissed him was so gentle compared to the way he was fucking you. Astarion felt guilty for rutting into you so harshly, but he couldn’t contain what he was feeling. Whatever that feeling was.

He looked down to watch as you played with yourself. Seeing your hand movements down between your breasts. Each thrust had them bounce. Your mascara ran down your flushed cheeks as your lipstick smeared against your chin and nose. Your eyeshadow and liner was smudged as well. It was all a mess and he loved it. He loved this. He loved you. Something so beautiful ravaged by him. Astarion kept going and wouldn’t stop; he couldn't. Not with the way your walls eagerly swallowed him. How it would squeeze down on him everytime he pulled back, asking him not to leave. You were velvety, tight, and wet. Feeling every ridge and every flutter. Felt your legs shake and wobble. He sensed how you would progressively compress on him the closer you got. Barely even able to shove himself fully into you. The tip kept hitting that perfect spot, the spot that had your eyes rolling and he kept striking and beating it devastatingly fast. You stopped kissing him, having a hard time breathing through the vicious motions. You can’t think. Everything was a blur and you felt dizzy. Your pretty nails dug into his forearm without a care in the world. The sound of your hips meeting was far too loud, anyone with ears would be able to listen. You tried your best to stay quiet, but the hits Astarion kept giving was blowing your cover. The slapping was loud, the way the desk rumbled was loud, the way the mirror shook was loud and each time it trembled it would hit the wall. You hoped the music was deafening enough to muffle everything while he was giving you a throrough fuck. Completely surrendering yourself to him. Taking him so well. Your hair was all over your face now, whisps sticking to sweat, to tears, and to gloss. The edge of the drawer was pinching the hand that was between your legs and it hurt, squishing your arm. Astarion began to lean forwards now which made it even worse making your nails dig deeper into his sleeved arm to brace yourself. He was never this rough before. One hand came up and moved your hair out of the way to smooch you.

“Good pet.” He whispered rasply. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. He bended further into you. Not only did the drawer now hurt your arm but it went back to crushing your ribs. You were on your tippy toes from the positioning and positive that your heels were breaking. Your fingers rubbed quick circles on your clit while he plowed through you, which had a sob escape you. You’ve been trying to keep quiet. Despite the other ruckus the both of you have been doing, the last thing you wanted was someone hearing you delighting yourself in such a publicly debauched way. He himself wasn’t holding back though. Anyone would be able to hear him panting. You were doing this to him. It all felt so wrong but it only further encouraged the throbbing in your core. He let a long, pained groan go while baring his teeth. The sharp fangs gleamed in the light as he slowly glided his tongue over them. He was frustrated and wanted this to last longer.

“Gonna cum again?” You tease.

“Yes.” His eyes were wide now as he slammed in. He looked crazed. Like a rabid animal chasing his own high. White silver hair framing his sculpted features. Red orbs peering through the strands. He was actually enjoying himself. Actually enjoying sex without the weight of his past bearing down on him. That realization made you gush. Eyes rolling as you felt his (previous) cum and wetness drip down your ankles.

“Yeah?” You coo.

“Yes.”

“Then do it. Fuck your child into me. Do it. Fuck me.” You said through gritted teeth. You didn’t mean for it to sound like a command and it made your heart drop the second those words left your mouth. You could only hope at the moment that he was okay with it. You were going to apologize until he jerked your hair back and forced your face upwards. Unleashing something primal the second you finished that sentence. He wanted you to bear his child even if it was an impossible feat. Astarion hates kids but the thought drove him mad and he was willing to give you everything you desired. He kept pulling until you were able to look into his red eyes. Towering over you. You could see just how deranged he appeared. Consumed by passion. The insatiable hunger that radiated off his cold body was intoxicating. Your back was impossibly arched now and you felt like you were gonna snap in half. Even more so whenever he bucked his hips. The severe pain on your arm made you abandon your needy clit.

“Yeah? Like that, darling? Huh? Just like that?” You couldn’t say a word. Not one. The ache in your ribs, back, scalp and neck was intolerable but you needed him to cum. To not care about anything else but his own pleasure. You could feel his dick pummeling through your guts and mistreating your cervix. Somehow you were still reaching your high.

“This is what you want? Huh? Yes? No? Tell me.” He spoke but it didn’t mean anything. All words lost their meaning. Astarion was fucking your brains out. The heels broke under his ministrations. He was wrecking everything. Your vision went blurry from the tears, they kept spilling and wouldn’t stop. You were going to cum crying. You were gonna cum just like this.

“So cockdumb you can’t even answer me?” The eye contact was driving you both crazy. The view he had was so fucking hot you wouldn’t believe it. His cum stained balls smacking your clit with each hit. You grounded your cunt against him just to grind your clit against his balls and you rolled your hips for more. Finally your bundle of nerves was getting the attention it deserved. Your mouth was open, spilling silent cries when your eyes moved to the back of your head. No longer able to stare into his blown pupils. He gruffed in anger and grabbed you by the throat instead of your hair.

“Look at me.” He told you as his hand squeezed ruthlessly. You listened. “There you go, my sweet little treat. You’re taking me so well.” Astarion smiled down at you villainously, teeth white and shiny. Silver hair all over the place. Eyes manic. He was fucking mental. Juices flowed down as you came, If his pants were not ruined before, it was ruined now. You came looking deep into his soul, violently trembling and jolting in snapped heels. You needed to scream but couldn't because of the choking. Mouth opened and closed for air. The tear soaked makeup slightly burned when it slipped into your eyes. Veins pulsing the best it could despite the blockade Astarion’s ivory hands gave. Your head was hurting and thumping and your palms laid on what was in front for any form of support. Once again your nails worked itself into the wooden drawer leaving behind more horrible marks in its wake.

Astarion fucked your beaten pussy past your orgasm. Back being all sorts of blown out. Your walls were milking his dick and balls, begging for his seed to flood your womb and hoping to knock you up. It made him grip your throat even tighter. Your Adam’s apple tried bobbing up and down to swallow up any breath you could seek. In his point of view your face was a light scarlet because of the lack of oxygen, with a vein protruding from your forehead. Him mistreating you, and you letting him sent shivers up his spine. He let go once your vision almost faded and blurred, then brutally drove his fangs into your neck. You gasped for air when he unclasped, somewhat because of the sudden pain and mostly because of the choking. Having large amounts of air fill your lungs helped you regain vision. The mirror was no longer foggy and you could get a good view of the situation. You were in tatters. Hair. Makeup. Outfit. Embarrassment creeped in with just how fucked out and shameless you seemed. Is this what you really looked like? Or was the mirror playing tricks? Is this what Astarion has been seeing this whole time? How depraved and disgusting. He loved the view though. Your jewelry, tits, and locks kept moving with the thrusts. But with the aggressive and speedy drinking, your sight would blur up in no time. And with your desperate breathing, the mirror would soon fog up again. The tang in your blood was sweeter than before and his fangs pushed further in to drain you better. Astarion was properly feeding this time and didn’t hold back in greedily sucking you up. Every muscle was sore and you were surely going to pass out. Then the taste of euphoria in your blood made him burst. Abruptly grabbing onto your breast, his yell was muffled since his teeth were still latched. He jerked with each rope of cum he shot into you. The tip probing and nuzzling your spent cervix. You let out a long moan when he started filling you to the brim a second time.

“Fuck. I'm sorry…” Astarion wiped your tears away when he came to his senses. Heavy pants mixing together. Your body was in horrible pain and limp but you felt joy in bringing him pleasure. He nuzzled you while skimming his fingers on the dark bruises kindly. “I’m so sorry darling. I don’t know what possessed me. I’ll make it up to you… what do you want to eat? I’ll bring food to you.” The marks on your neck began to show and he felt intense regret. How could he lose himself like this? How could he treat you this way? To someone he loved and appreciated so vastly? “Please forgive me, my love.” He said, fear in his trembling voice. He fucked up badly.

“Gods…” he whispered. You slumped onto the desk. Astarion was going to be hellbent on compensating you for the harm he had done.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Well, yes, but—“

“Then it’s okay.”

“No. It is not okay. I am truly sorry. Do not try to validate my actions. I am so sorry about the ball, darling.”

“Yeah, you’re an asshole for tearing my dress and for breaking your promise to take me dancing.” You admitted as he embraced you. “But you can make it up to me by buying me a new dress. AND by giving me lots of cuddles. If you’re up for it.” You offer.

“Of course, my treasure, how could I say no?”

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copperbadge · 4 months ago

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This is not to sniff at packaged food in any way, because cheap, uniform, nutritious, premade food is important and necessary. And despite what your local tiktok orthorexic may tell you, packaged food is still capable of providing solid nutrition.

That said, I've been making my own bread for about twenty years, and for the last ten or so it has often been easier to make bread than buy it, solely because I don't need to leave the house to do so, and I live alone so a decent loaf can last me a good ten days. Being able to make ones own bread in this modern era is a product of privilege -- the resources to buy the ingredients (especially high quality flour, not cheap), the time and space to bake, the stamina to knead or equipment to make kneading easier -- my breads improved a lot when I got a good stand mixer, and those aren't cheap. But also, to make a decent edible boule you can get by with flour, water, yeast, salt, and time. Throw in a little oil and you can make pizza crust; add in kneading and a bit of sugar and you have bagels.

It did somewhat change how I eat, because homemade bread is often a little difficult to make a sandwich with, but I was never a huge fan of sandos anyway. These days I often don't even make loaves -- I make rolls or bagels, or flatbreads.

But all of this is to say that because I'm now accustomed to eating my own bread, which is necessarily small-batch and produced without stabilizers that make commercial bread so soft and uniform, I am starting to struggle when I do buy bread because the flavor and texture often feel off. It's not that it's objectively bad food, but it's very different from what I'm used to, which is unpleasant. I've been aware of the issue for a while but previously even if the bread wasn't as good to me as my own, it was edible and convenient, so it was fine. Making your own hot dog buns is a pain in the ass.

I just bought a loaf of Italian bread, reasonably fresh, a brand I used to eat regularly, because I wasn't feeling up to baking anything. I've been making toast with it mostly. But yesterday morning -- admittedly while dealing with some nausea -- I bit into a sandwich I'd made with it (cashew butter and strawberry jam) and thought, "this feels like eating upholstery fabric."

I haven't been able to eat any more of it since. The soft, dense texture, the specific preservative flavor, the mouthfeel. I tried to eat some toast just now and had to spit it out because it felt like buttered brocade and I started to gag. I'm kind of mad about it, honestly.

The bread won't go to waste -- if I can't eat the rest of the bag I'll dry it out and crush it for breadcrumbs for fried chicken or a panade -- but it's both sad and funny that I have functionally baked myself into a corner where packaged bread is no longer even an option.

It feels like I'm becoming one of the middle-aged eccentrics I used to know when I was a kid -- older people or couples in my church, sometimes parents of my school friends, who were just kind of oddballs, hippie leftovers, what I still think of as Berkeley Weirdos (affectionate) even though Berkeley has long since gentrified. The lady who didn't have a functional oven or stove because she ate raw vegan or the family that converted their old station wagon to biofuel but kept the rear-facing back seats with no seatbelts and would give us death-defying rides to the community pool in them. I'm already growing my own basil because I eat an unlikely amount of pesto for one person. My signature potluck dishes are kiwi dip or egg-free meringues.

I don't mind, exactly. I loved the Berkeley Weirdos and the community they built for us kids. But it's definitely not a place I imagined ending up.

#food #weirdos #i should break out my copy of the Happy Mutant Handbook and see how well it's aged

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inbabylontheywept · 1 month ago

Note

Realizing in hindsight that the only reason I was so skeptical about your camp story is that being covered in a combination of crusty, sticky pink residue and rotten fish oil for days on end while sleeping on a wooden floor in the Arizona heat sounded like such unbearable sensory agony that I wanted to convince myself it was fake, because I didn't want to believe that anybody had genuinely been through that. I'd have walked out of that place with a rucksack of pink ooze and either find my way back to civilization or become crispy pink buzzard chow after day 2.

Like, legitimately, I think about my reaction to that post a lot. The imagery was so deeply unpleasant that I was desperately scrambling to convince myself it wasn't true like I'd just found out my spouse was a serial killer. There was no torture, no death, no hunger or disease, just a bunch of sweaty guys being covered in sticky fruit-flavored slime, subjected to unpleasant smells, and sleeping blanketless on the floor. And you can't even smell! You were spared a good third of it! Yet your experience still horrified me worse than any war story, medieval torture device or horror movie for reasons I cannot hope to fathom.

idk, I've had this ask stewing in my head for months, but I keep forgetting to actually write and send it. In my heart of hearts, I knew your story was perfectly plausible. I was just grasping at straws, praying for you to admit that no, nobody has ever showered in off-brand Gatorade and then not slept for 3 days while being expected to attend uni lectures. It's all untrue, a ruse, a trick, and such things could never happen outside of the cruelest depths of hell. Santa Claus is real, teachers live in the school, babies are delivered by storks, and the pink sauce incident never happened.

My mom pulls me into a warm hug after I scrape my knee. The plastic egg I found under the couch opens to reveal a piece of chocolate. A dollar magically appears under the pillow where I'd put my tooth. All is well. I am safe. The universe is kind, and whoever's running it loves me.

It's a sunny August day and I'm holding a popsicle on the swingset. I'm using my plastic dinosaurs to act out an improvised battle between good guys and bad guys as I sit on the carpeted floor. I'm playing Fossil Fighters on my dinged-up Nintendo DS in the plush brown armchair by the window.

I add the carrot nose to my snowman. Candy plops into my Halloween bag. The speaker on the classroom wall announces that school's out for summer, and we all bound out the door with wild glee, free at last.

Panting, wheezing, I drag my battered form back into the cobbled-together wreckage of my innocence, only one arm remaining with which to drag myself, blood and intestines trailing behind me as the storm rages overhead, washing my entrails downstream. I huddle underneath what remains of my once-pristine shelter from the cold and wet, pulling the shards back together as best I can as the wind howls angrily, hatefully. It's no use. It's broken. It's gone. It cannot be repaired. My innocence will never return to me. The rain seeps through the cracks and lands upon my face.

The rain is pink, I realize, and I cry.

First off: I haven’t actually been on the receiving end of this before and I have to say, it's an almost literally gripping experience. I felt this rat for the last three paragraphs.

Incredibly well done. Second: If you just didnt' want to believe, that's fine, I barely have room in me for medium fries - a grudge would just pour out the top, too much tea for my cup. But you don't have to like, gaslight yourself into thinking the story is totally normal and believable (I always stretch my stories out a little) or beat yourself up over it for months. I meant it when I said we're good, you and I. It still makes me happy to see a comment or a like or, rarely, a question like this from you.

If it's just something that pops into your mind every now and again, I dunno, don't sweat it. I'd hate to give you a complex. Did I mention that I loved that writing for this? Incredible experience.

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bigtedbear · 25 days ago

Text

" 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 "

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐨𝐛 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

content warnings: nsfw content 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 𝟏𝟖+, dom top male reader, bottom male character, mlm, gay sex, anal sex, anal penetration, implied mpreg, breeding kink, implied impregnation (there's existential dread washing over me as I write this wondering what my ancestors think), unsafe sex (i fear condoms don't exist yet), they're both virgins but blade definitely doesn't act like one, the reader on the other hand-, sub top reader kinda, dom bottom blade kinda hallelujah amen, they're basically just both horny losers, medieval alternate universe, monsterfucking, blade is a dragon, mating rituals, extremely brief mentions of religion/purity/chastity, i didn't tag this as yandere cause that's kinda just blade???, hey 🪷 anon,,, pov getting over blade's creepy tendencies because of his absolutely fatal face card

ADDED CONTENT WARNINGS: body piercings (nipple piercings), mentions of lactation (there's no real lactation sorry guys i have to stick to the timeline), HEAVY talk of mpreg like that's the whole premise of this part, nipple play, reader is a FREAK for his wife, it came out way softer than I meant it to????, blade is still emotionally constipated but less than usual because he's also a horny loser

" new contact noted! caller blade has been added to your phonebook! - love, operator t-19 "

NOTE: hey guys I forgot about blades pierced nipples, both my heart and the hearts of my audience were broken

the public has spoken, I'm adding on more smut that's probably gonna basically revolve around his tits will update when this has been amended 🫡

SECOND NOTE: the section has been added in, you can read it as part of the entirety of the post of just a single drabble on foreplay with blades tiddies and HEAVY discussion of mpreg

" welcome back caller 🪷! connecting your line as we speak..."

‘The atmosphere swam around you like fish in a bowl; dark, dank, musty.

The strange tension in the air pulled you into an equally strange trance. Dazed, your perception seemed to fade in and out, in and out. Fully alert one moment, your eyelids were drooping as a wave of fatigue overtook you the next. You did your best to still the shaky sense of being that rocked the environment like a cradle, opting to try and break down the situation using your individual senses.

Sight: the air was cloudy and gray, thick like a curtain. You couldn't see it, but you knew there was a fire somewhere. It was shielded by the cold stone walls and the glittering mountains of gold and jewels.

Sound: the crackle of the fire and the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. Ominously, the quiet “drip… drip… drip…” of an unknown source tickled your eardrums.

Smell: sulfur and smoke curled and singed the tips of your nose hairs. The unpleasantness almost completely shrouded the warmth of the smoldering firewood. Some other smell, however, also permeated the area… something strong but hidden beneath the smell of smog.

Taste: akin to bile and equally nauseating, it crawled up your throat and threatened to spill past your lips. Infused with the noteworthy copper tone, the flavor in your mouth was disgusting at best.

Touch: there was a considerable weight in your dominant hand. It drew your arm down, down, down. Metal coated every inch of your body, but you were already used to that as a knight.

You forced your arm up, revealing to yourself what you had been holding. Of course, it was your own aged, well-loved sword…

drip… drip… dripping crimson.’

As much as your body urged you to sit up straight the moment you were awake, your lackluster sleep kept your body flush against your equally lackluster bed. Thrown together with what little blankets you could manage to carry, it was too thin and too flexible to adequately support your body.

Still, despite the recurring nightmares and terrible moral dilemmas, you forced your impossibly heavy body to sit up. The tiny wisps of sunlight that peeked through the openings of your makeshift tent forced you to squint. .Calloused hands met your face, trying to wipe the tired crust out of your eyes and bring some kind of sensation to your skin.

How pathetic. A Xianzhou Luofu knight afraid of a little blood.

It was a wonder you managed to retain your position, nonetheless become the unspoken “Chosen One” among your ranks.

Sure, you were tall, imposing even, muscular and sharp-witted. But even then, all that qualified you to be a top-rank knight was equally balanced with factors that should've barred you from the position altogether.

A pacifist, an outlander, and more than just uninterested, you were not only an oddity, but an exception to many of the hiring requirements. It was a shame your chosen profession as a botanist became a long forgotten dream you only seemed to remember when you weren't patrolling (never).

Combing your fingers through your hair served as a self-soothing gesture when you became lost in your thoughts. It'd first been pointed out to you by the Arbiter General. However, as you found yourself traversing the narrow, winding passages of inner conflict, you found it impossible to get into a rhythm.

It was to be expected after a few weeks of traveling. Your body was coated in soil and your hair was no exception. It was starting to get matted and knotted, more than just difficult but near impossible to comb through.

Of course you'd washed yourself during the prior few weeks, but continual travel and no access to good soap stunted what could be washed off your body in cold streams or still ponds.

The mountains nearby actually were known for two things; natural hot springs and… that other thing. While you might have originally intended to climb the mountain for one, the other served a pleasant add-on.

…

…maybe a hot bath would help ease your mind just a little bit.

However, deciding to take a bath in a hot spring was one thing. Then came the question of how you'd find a hot spring to take a bath in. You turned the query over in your head a few times before you came to a final decision.

‘I mean, they're everywhere, aren't they? It shouldn't be too hard to find one around here.’

With the decision made, you made the effort to stumble through your usual morning routine. Making breakfast, packing up your tent, and pulling on your heavy suit of armor, you prepared for another long day scaling the mountain.

With nobody to talk to, the only voice that cut through the sounds of the mountain habitat was your internal monologue. Crushing the twigs and branches under foot, the sparsely marked path was all but forgotten as the imagery of the strange visions from your sleep dotted your vision.

It was only when you'd nearly fell into a hot spring that you seemed to wake the fuck up and stop thinking about the nonexistent blood staining your sword.

Carefully, you propped your pack on a nearby tree, shielded by some shrubbery for safe keeping. Piece by piece, you began to strip the heavy pieces of iron armor that weighed down your fatigue worn body. They dropped to the hard, arid soil.

They looked as though they were smeared with red.

You blinked, rubbing your eyes.

It was just the same armor you always donned. Free of blood, free of stains.

You chastised yourself mentally for being such a wimp. All it took to make you crack was a task and a little sleep deprivation.

When the final piece of armor hit the sparse grass, you were left in the thin shirt and worn pair of trousers. Carefully, you unlaced the drawstrings at your collar, hastily tugging your shirt off to lay on the dirt. You kicked off your shoes and peeled off your socks next. Despite being all alone in the mountains, for fear of being watched, you crept closer to the water before beginning to unbuckle your belt.

The warm water on your skin was a luxury you seldom had the fortune to indulge in; one you hadn't indulged in since leaving. Sinking into the depths of the tide, your eyes fluttered shut. Finally, what greeted you in the darkness of your mind wasn't the visage of murder scene.

Originally, you’d chosen to bask in the warmth of the natural hot spring to clear your mind. Your task and the blood that would be on your hands… it weighed heavy on your conscience.

Observing the abundance of flora that decorated the banks of the water, you managed to strangle an eerie serenity you’d thought you’d lost. Sitting against the rocks and letting the soft slosh of the waves wash the muck and mire off your body, the tension building in your muscles finally seemed to release just a little bit.

Still, when your hands shook while brushing through the knots in your hair. Something unsettling resting at the bottom of your stomach told you not to get too comfortable.

Why did it feel like someone was watching you?

It took a day and a half to find the entrance to the cave.

For holding such a strong, looming beast in its walls, the opening to the nest wasn’t nearly as imposing as you’d imagined it to be. It made sense, thinking about it objectively. It wasn’t as though the dragon was trying to be found…

Still, you considered that perhaps it would’ve wanted to set up some kind of deterrent to all those that dared to enter.

With a heavy heart, you laid your possessions off to the side of the opening in the stone, taking the first few lumbering steps into the opening.

It was more than just eerie how similar the inner workings of the dragon’s den were to the visions you'd been having. Like some kind of prophet, the sights, the smells, the sounds, even the weight of your sword in your hand from your dream were like they were ripped straight from this moment in time exactly.

It was difficult to be quiet. The spilling piles of metal trinkets and gold coins littered the floor and clinked against the pieces of armor that adorned your figure.

Still, creeping in deeper to the cave, you came to a strange realization.

The dragon’s den was empty.

Despite knowing you were afforded the unique opportunity to have the upperhand in enemy territory, it didn’t seem to calm your anxious heart in the slightest. Instead, a new anxiety wrapped your pulse like a parasite.

You didn’t know why.

Up until this point, you attributed your nerves to fear of inadequacy. You were a head taller than the rest of the Cloud Knights, you worked hard for your position, but hard work did not equal competence.

Patrols were worlds away from dragon slaying. The worst you’d had to deal with was the occasional thief, a dispute in the squares, you weren’t killing mythical beasts on the daily. Relatively speaking, you were still at the very beginning of your life as a long-life species. You were a novice—a baby–in comparison to any of your superiors.

Stalking up the mountain, the weight of your sword was perpetually heavy in your hands because you felt you hadn’t earned the right to wield it.

But now, here you were.

There was a golden opportunity served to you on a platter, an ambush. You could sneak up on the dragon, free its head from its shoulders and return from the mountain a hero.

So why were you suddenly even more scared than before?

Why could you not just appreciate this blessing bestowed upon your shoulders?

As more and more doubts started to cloud your mind, you could feel your breathing start to pick up.

Aeons, this entire thing was becoming far too real.

You could pretend you were just going on some other trip while you were hiking up the side of the mountain. You could pretend this was just some training exercise when you laid down in your makeshift shelter at night. But right now? Right now, it seemed like reality was starting to set in.

You were inside of the dragon’s lair. You were inside of the den.

The light from somewhere deeper in the stone maze flickered and tickled the underbelly of the smoke and smog that hung heavy in the air. The shiny piles of gold that seemed to decorate every wall were almost mockingly bright. Even when you closed your eyes, the outline of the giant glittering heaps of extravagance traced the darkness behind your eyelids.

Rather quickly you came to the conclusion that you were hyperventilating. The grip on your weapon became harder to maintain as the influx of breath caused your vision to swim.

Still, when you heard a noise at the other end of the cavern, you ceased at once.

The shoddy handle you had on your sword suddenly became bone crushingly tight. You cringed at the noise of steel handguards scraping the metal handhold.

Soon enough, the shrill screech was nothing but a distant memory as the room was swarmed with the curious sound of rushing air. The thick, dark smoke that hung like a cloud was suddenly moving in a frenzy, rushing about like it had somewhere to be. Instead of clearing up, it seemed the moving smoke only further clouded your vision.

Your free arm came up to try and keep it out of your eyes. You screwed your feet to the sticking plate, remaining in stance and trying to figure out what exactly you were hearing beyond the opening of the dragon’s den.

The pit of dread forming in your stomach took a steep turn for the worse when you realized exactly what you were hearing.

The flapping of giant wings drew closer to the entrance of the cave and suddenly your previous courage started to dissipate into nothingness. You might have seen the dragon from afar when it came to ambush the treasury before, but the sound it was making now made it seem as though it was the size of the entire castle.

Taking a much stronger liking to your former ambush plans, you shuffled to one of the few exposed walls in the ever winding corridors of stone.

Good gods, the sounds were getting even closer now.

Both hands gripped the handle of your rather large weapon, the shriek of metal against metal all but drowned out by the louder and louder beating of your heart against your eardrums.

‘THUD!’

Your heart jumped into your throat.

The smoke began to settle again.

You forced your breathing to do the same.

You waited…

…and waited…

…and waited some more…

…but curiously…

…you didn't hear anything.

You realized something was wrong, but it took you a few more breathing cycles to actually solidify your resolve to check.

‘One…

Two…

Three!’

Cautiously, you peeled your back off the wall as quietly as possible. Despite your best efforts, there was a just barely audible scrape of stone against the back of your metal shin guards. Your face twisted with displeasure.

Still, nothing.

Waiting for another moment, you finally turned the corner and peeped just beyond the wall and back to the entrance of the cave.

The beast heaved through its nose as evidenced by the smoke billowing out of its nostrils. Its wings curled into its sides, but with the uncanny angling of the bones, the posture they had taken was awkward and forced.

It was about then you noticed the glaringly obvious problem the dragon had been confronted with.

A comically oversized crossbow arrow lodged where its ribs should've been. Grimly, you recognized the arrow to belong to the Zhuming. A clawed foot rested over the injury, most likely trying to feel for a solution of some kind.

Based on its current predicament, it was failing miserably.

Before you could even process what you were seeing, there was a blinding flash of light that forced you to shield your eyes. When you finally lowered your arm, you had to blink a few times to process what you were seeing.

In the previous position of the dragon, sat a man.

…but he was also obviously the dragon?

Long curled horns atop the crown of his head, a long serpentine tail dragging behind him on the ground, he heaved the same smoke and cradled the same injury.

Despite your reservations, you approached.

Sword heavy in your hand, you dropped it clattering to the ground.

That was when the man locked eyes with you.

Dragons were slowly beginning to die out.

Of course, that was only natural when their usual courting rituals involved pissing off every other species known to man. The larger the stash of gold, the more desirable a dragon would be to another. The more valuable the gold, the harder it would be to steal.

One would think this wouldn’t apply to Blade, a dragon with little to no interest in settling down. However, at his core he was still a dragon and he still felt the need to build his own little stash of gold for peace of mind.

What little dragons were left in the world had exactly zero appeal to him. The proud, strong ones had all been eliminated by technology and weaponry far beyond the capabilities of a singular beast. The only ones that seemed to be left were those that took to hiding and settling for paltry sums that served more as a courtesy than something that would draw a potential match in naturally.

He frowned upon it entirely.

Blade seemed to be the only dragon left in the Xianzhou with the upright morals that made up the core belief system of the species as a whole. But because of his own steadfast values, he also seemed to be the only dragon that refused to form a bond with one of his own.

He had never known the comfort of another, never.

Yet when he awoke, he found himself atop a nest of soft blankets. Blinking away the fatigue from his eyelids, he was greeted with the visage of a man at rest.

Half stripped of armor, a few meters away from him, a knight polished his breastplate while watching something roasting over a fire. Completely at peace in the tranquility of the silence, (e/c) eyes sparkled in the low light against the dreary atmosphere of the cave.

The smell of meat stunk up the corridor with an aroma enticing enough for Blade’s mouth to water. His clawed hands searched for some kind of purchase against the fluff of the comforters you'd laid him on as piercing red eyes swept his cave.

Your sword was nowhere to be seen.

Why?

Blade would've asked if he wasn’t already in an extremely compromised position.

You hadn’t even done anything to him, he had been incapacitated in his own home without you having to so much as raise a finger. You had been sent to kill him, even if you had chosen to do the exact opposite as of now, he didn’t know if or when you would feel the need to go back on your silent promise not to hurt him.

As he went to lay his tousled hair back against the blankets you’d laid out on the cave floor, embarrassingly, he misjudged the stability of his arms. With an even more embarrassingly loud–but muted–thud, his clawed fingers slipped against the fabric and his face hit the comforter just a second later.

The noise cracked the little moment you were having by the fire roasting meat over the open flame. Your eyes trailed over to where he was laying, basically completely still. He hoped that if he played dead, you wouldn’t comment on him falling back onto the makeshift mattress. Unfortunately, his prayers went unanswered.

“Careful,” you admonished him gently, “I just stitched up the puncture, if you strain too much, I’ll have to do it again and you probably won’t be asleep this time.”

Still, instead of coddling him like a baby, you turned back to the shiny piece of metal in your lap reflecting the impassioned red hues of the fire. With a damp rag, you swept over each and every scratch and dent with a special precision and care Blade was both unfamiliar and uncomfortable with.

Still, despite the idea being completely foreign to him and the soft nausea that rocked his gut with the unfamiliar trepidation, he found it difficult to pry his eyes away from your hands.

You used your fingernail to pick at the larger pieces of dirt, otherwise pressing the pads of your fingertips to the rag to wipe and wipe until the heavy armor shined. This, Blade wasn’t unfamiliar with. The gleam of the metal mirrored the mounds of spoils he’d managed to snag from the surrounding kingdoms. After you finished with the breastplate, the rag and the plate were set to the side in favor of grabbing a dagger strapped to your thigh.

To this, the man sprawled on the sheets visibly seemed to cringe and crumple in on himself.

He was increasingly vulnerable: you knew this.

You really didn’t want to infantilize him, he was a feared predator and someone who far outmatched you in terms of experience and wisdom. You brandished the dagger as you would’ve any other times, but avoided making any sudden movements.

You cut into the rather large slab of meat carefully, observing the color of the meat and the feeling of the muscle under the edge of the knife.

Satisfied with the hue and smell of the meat, you stomped a boot onto the pile of leaves you’d used to establish the fire. The dragon was visibly alarmed by the sudden loud noise, but you paid him no mind. Instead, you removed the stake you’d been using to roast the meat from the precarious stand you’d painstakingly crafted.

Using the dagger once again, the goat meat you’d be salting and seasoning for a couple days slid off the stick you’d whittled down with ease. You dropped the generous flank steak in front of the observing party. You sheathed the dagger in its holster on your thigh once again, dropping back onto the stone you’d turned into a makeshift stool.

It took Blade a moment to realize that the portion of meat was for him. His mouth watered at the smell, especially since the hide had been pierced and the true aroma of the seasonings began to mingle with meat. He poked at it carefully with a taloned finger.

You watched him prod at the food, crossing your arms in front of your your chest as you observed.

“...”

Finally, the other man pulled himself to sit up. Dragging the meal into his lap, he began to eat.

Once again, you watched him with a nonchalance that sent the hairs on the back of Blade’s neck standing up.

After he finished eating, you seemed to turn away from him once again to give him his privacy. Instead, you picked up the next piece of dirty armor to start to scrub off the accumulated dirt.

“Why?”

Blade’s cheeks simmered a baby pink upon the realization his voice had cracked. Instead of pointing it out, you skipped over it entirely.

“Why what?”

“Why are you helping me?”

You shrugged.

He blinked.

“...”

You hummed, “Perhaps I’m not cut out to be a knight.”

He balked at your response.

You bit the inside of your cheek, “The entire time I was climbing the mountain, I thought I was scared I wouldn’t be able to kill you.” You chipped away at the building dirt on the surface of your shin guard, “I eventually realized it wasn’t that I couldn’t kill you.”

“...”

“...Then what’s stopping you?” His clawed fingers gripped at the plush material beneath him, “You need to kill me, so why don’t you?”

You sighed, sweeping off the chalky remains of a particularly rough mud stain, “I don’t want to. I really don’t want to kill you; I don’t want to kill anyone.” You held the rag tight in your offhand, “If I can, I really want to solve this in a way where you don’t die.”

“...”

You swallowed the building lump of spit at the back of your throat,

“So, name your price. What exactly do you need in order to stop attacking Xianzhou?”

What did Blade want in return for not attacking the Xianzhou Alliance?

He didn’t know.

He was honest in not knowing what he wanted in exchange. You appreciated it… to a certain extent. He was honest and he didn’t lie to you when he said he didn’t know, but his indecision also put you in the precarious position of not knowing whether or not he was stringing you along until he healed and could properly fight you.

You were half tempted to put a deadline on his decision, but every time you looked over at his pitiful body lounging around on your blankets in his loose drapery, you decided against it.

It was around this point you learned his name.

You had what you liked to believe was a gentleman’s agreement. Even with the lack of any verbal acknowledgement, you would stay here and oversee his healing process. Eventually, he would make a decision on what he wanted in exchange for peace. Even if he decided there really wasn’t anything you could provide for him, he would allow you to walk away from this alive if you ultimately came to the decision to not try to kill him.

It was a little bit awkward to start with, neither trusted the other.

You were worried he’d grow tired of you taking up the space in his cave and slaughter you in your sleep. He was worried you’d do the same if you eventually grew tired of his indecision or some kind of outside pressure from your commander came up. Still, that was an awkward conversation to bring up so you opted to avoid it entirely.

After a week or so, the two of you seemed to grow a lot more comfortable with each other. It was about then you were starting to run out of meat.

While Blade had been unconscious, you’d been making trips to and from the closest water source to get your hands on some water for stew. You boiled some of the rabbit bones you’d held onto for broth, pulled out some salt and leftover meat you dried to make him some soup. He couldn’t chew while he was awake so that was the best you could do for him.

When you started running out of those ingredients, you went out and brought back a mountain goat for meat. While in the process of cooking yourself a nice, juicy flank steak, Blade had woken up. It’d be rude to hold a big hunk of meat in front of him without giving him some of the spoils, especially since he hadn’t been eating anything but bland rabbit stew while he was out of it. For the next few days, you cooked up what remained of the goat and shared it between the two of you.

Goats were not an infinite source of magical forever meat though, so you ended up having to go out to get more food. You left and came back with another goat, started cooking it. Around the time you came back, it seemed Blade was waking up from a nap and he fully came around when the cooked meat was basically being dangled right in front of his nose.

Once again, there weren’t any words exchanged between the two of you but the air seemed to be a lot more relaxed than usual. He didn’t seem to be picking at every bite of food you served him and you weren’t watching him like a hawk while you were clearing your own plate. A few more days went by before you actually started talking over your food.

You’d been the one to initiate the conversation, asking if he’d been thinking about anything that could possibly convince him to stop adding to his ever growing treasure hoard. He responded he had, but he still hadn’t come to any conclusions.

You didn’t press any further.

The next day while eating, you asked him again. Once again, he answered in the negative. Again, you didn’t press any further.

The third day, when he answered in the negative, you decided to press him further. You asked him, “Why exactly do dragons create hoards?” It was a long talk about mating rituals and explanations later that he seemed satisfied with his answer. You, also, were satisfied with this answer.

A few more days of asking went by before you would run out of meat again. At this point in the year, summer was beginning to come to a close and the peaks of the mountains were becoming colder and colder.

Instead of venturing out in just your shirt and trousers, you’d decide to pull on your armor before venturing out of the cave. While it was definitely warm inside the stone walls of the dragon’s den, the air outside the cave couldn’t say the same. In order to preserve your body heat, putting on more layers was the best course of action, even if the layer was made completely out of metal.

It seemed, while you were suiting up in armor that Blade watched you with a special curiosity he had yet to display before. For the first time since you’d stitched up his wound, he made the effort to approach you first. He gave you a once over in your suit, eyes dragging over the shine of the metal in the light of the fire.

You didn’t know why he was looking at you, but you’d made a habit of not asking too many questions about things you didn’t understand. He seemed satisfied after a little bit, nodding his head and letting out a grunt of approval. You nodded in response, holstering your sword in your belt.

Eventually, you would return with another goat. It really was the only option for food seeing as two grown men needed a little more food than a few rabbits could provide. With the goat over your shoulders, you made the long trek back to the cave and back to the warmth that came with it.

When you eventually found your way back to the same stone walls, Blade was at attention waiting for you at the door. You dropped the fresh game onto the ground, the dragon watching intently. It made you uneasy, but what could you do about it?

As you went to strip yourself of your armor, it seemed something about your hunting trip had caused something to change inside what you believed to be your temporary companion. Your hands rested on top of the large steel helmet, but before you could tug it off, there were clawed fingers fumbling with the hooks on the inside of your shoulder plates.

You jumped, startled.

Quickly, the same talons retracted.

You turned your head to face him, chastise him for sneaking up on you like that and putting his hands on you. However, your complaints were promptly swallowed. His expression hadn’t changed in the slightest, but he still managed to look like a kicked puppy.

Despite the stone cold nature of his face, his fingers clasped close to his chest like he didn’t know what to do with them. The long draconic tail was tucked between his legs and his head was painted a bashful pink and lowered just the slightest bit to avoid eye contact.

Your brows furrowed, really wondering if you should be letting him do this. The longer you looked, the more moved your poor, weak heart was. In the end, you huffed through your nose before going back to removing your helmet and turning your back on him again.

Slowly this time, the hands crept up your shoulder to unhook the heavy plate from your bicep. You didn’t pay him any mind the second time around, undoing the buckle that kept your metal handguards flush against the back of your knuckles.

He was a quick learner, especially once he'd gotten into the groove of helping you take off the amalgam of pieces that clung to your clothing. Soon enough, you were back in your shirt and trousers, turning to start a fire so you could warm up.

He trailed back over to the little pile of blankets you'd laid out for him. His eyes lingered as you started to skin the goat you'd brought home.

His home.

Something clicked in his brain as he observed. Despite the piles of gold that covered every other square inch of the scenery, he couldn't take his eyes off of you. He didn't know why.

When you were in armor he could write it off as another innate attraction to something shiny for his hoard. But at the moment you were in plain clothes, doing something he'd seen you do before already. Still, he watched with what he could only describe as bated breath. Mesmerized by the simple movement of the dagger cutting through the layers of fat.

As he tapped his nails against the plush fabric, he seemed to realize something.

His fingers stopped moving.

He blinked a couple times

'Yes,' he concluded,

... perhaps he knew what he wanted.

It was quiet, as it usually was for the majority of the time you would be eating dinner. Usually, you’d be the one to initiate the same conversation every single day. It was monotonous and predictable to the point that you could recite word for word what the two of you would say, the tone, and in what order.

“Have you thought about my offer at all, today?”

“I have.”

“Have you come any closer to making a decision?”

“I have not.”

If nothing else, you could count on Blade to be reliable.

Tonight however, your mind wandered.

Instead of striking up the usual conversation the two of you would have over dinner, you found your thoughts drifting off to your life on the Luofu. The temporary situation you found yourself in wasn’t bad, not at all even. If you were to make any complaints, it would be about how lonely you felt.

Even if you had a dragon to keep you company day in and day out, the dragon wasn’t all that good at being company. He didn’t like to talk but he liked to watch. Instead of having someone to pass comfortable silence with, it felt more like you were being observed by a camera.

Again, you really didn’t mind. You enjoyed your solitude and alone time. Today specifically, you reminisced on your home, your garden, your coworkers. You missed the privacy that came with living alone, you missed quiet afternoons on your days off tending to a low maintenance garden. Even if your coworkers annoyed you most of the time, they still made the effort to make you feel included.

Adrift among the clouds of memory lane, it completely slipped your mind to start up your usual conversation. Not only did you not pick up normal conversation, it seemed you were somewhere else altogether. You didn’t even notice the nervous fidgeting across the makeshift fire pit.

Blade’s long nails tapped all but silently on the cushioned ground. The long tail that trailed behind him swished back and forth quicker than usual. Instead of the same lethargic, languid movement, scales brushed over the bed haphazardly like the pendulum of a grandfather clock.

Tonight, he would be the one to initiate the conversation.

“I’ve thought about your offer.”

You blinked a couple times, taking a second to process what was being said.

“You have?”

Finally in the present moment, your hand reached forward for your own share of dinner laid out between the two of you. Absent-mindedly you raised the steak to your mouth, chewing and swallowing in the time it took for the other man to respond.

“I have.”

The tapping of his nails ceased, instead taking to poking and prodding his food.

You nodded, falling into the familiar lull of the conversation. “Have you come any closer to making a decision?”

“...”

A pause.

That was new.

“I have.”

“...”

That was newer.

You finally tore your gaze away from the slab of meat in front of you, making direct eye contact.

His expression was immovable and stone cold as before. At least, it appeared to be upon first glance. You were quick to notice the tension in his jaw and the tiny crease between his eyebrows. It seemed he was… nervous?

“...you have?”

Instead of responding verbally, he gave a curt nod of the head.

“...”

You tilted your head to the side, thoughts of eating all but abandoned the more and more the reality of the situation set in.

“What did you end up deciding?”

“...”

He folded his arms into his lap, swallowing the lump of spit at the back of his throat in the process. “I want you to stay here; permanently.”

“...”

You cocked your head to the side, “...as a companion?”

“...”

It took him a second to respond; his hand clenched around the hunk of flesh in his palm. Internally, you cringed at the noise his talons made tearing into the meat.

“...I suppose it'd be similar to that.”

You didn't grasp what he was trying to get at, still. “Similar? I… I'm getting the feeling that I'm not quite following.”

He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. You could feel a pang of anxiety nip at the corners of your pulse. Like always, it seemed he struggled to find the words to accurately articulate himself. He always paused before he said something, searching for exactly the right way to convey himself.

“Dragons collect hoards to draw in potential partners; I explained this to you a few nights ago.”

Then it clicked.

“...oh.”

Still, the man sitting across from you continued. “If I fulfilled the purpose of collecting a hoard, there wouldn’t be a need for me to continue visiting the Xianzhou.”

Your cheeks started to burn indignantly. “I-” you bit the inside of your cheek, “Wouldn’t you prefer help in finding a partner rather than just settling with the first person to enter the cave? It seems counterintuitive to collect such a… robust hoard and partner with someone such as myself. We wouldn't be able to produce any... offspring seeing as we're both men.”

Instead of his usual pause, Blade was quick to respond in the negative.

“I find you to be more than satisfactory.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but found it increasingly difficult to find the right words to say. “It’s just-” you stammered, “I’m not- I don’t-”

Your jaw snapped shut after a couple attempts to open a dialogue. Your brows crept down your face in an expression of exasperation. You flexed your hand into fists and then relaxed them again, trying to collect your thoughts.

Directly in front of you, the dragon sat with an unmoving expression.

You huffed a sigh, trying to ignore the painful flame across your cheekbones, “This would cause a few complications for me, is all. I’m unsure why you’re choosing this; I can’t seem to find the logic behind this and I’m frustrated. I want to confirm that this is truly what you want before I commit to fulfilling your request.”

Once again, he seemed to answer in the affirmative without a second thought.

“I am sure.”

You locked gazes with him. It almost seemed like you were challenging his resolve. Without any prompting he confirmed himself.

“I have thought on this matter for a period of time, I have confirmed this is the best option.”

You chewed on the inside of your bottom lip, seemingly going through the processes that would be required to actually fulfill the task set out in front of you. Without really thinking too much about your next words, you pondered to yourself aloud, “Isn't the purpose of mating to have children? You really wish to be married; married to me?”

The end of his tufted tail rattled in the air, seemingly amused, “Is that what the people of the Xianzhou call it? Aside from the issue of marriage, dragons have long evolved for both male presenting and female presenting partners to be able to carry children.” It was difficult to gauge what he was actually feeling, “...if that is the context you must view it in.”

Your face got impossibly redder, food completely forgotten by this point. “Well, that-” you made a gesture with your hands, “-That would require a ceremony–a wedding– because of my own pledges as a Knight.” Your hands fell into your lap, “I would need to assemble a dowry for a proper proposal, exchanging rings, vows…” In a much quieter voice, you all but whispered, “...and the expected traditions after the wedding…”

For the first time during the discussion, Blade’s expression shifted. His lips pressed into a thin line. There was an awkward silence that hung in the air.

“...”

Eventually, he sighed, “The Xianzhou complicates these matters too much for my own liking.”

You avoided eye contact, the flush on your face having long crept down your neck and up your ears. “...”

Once again, Blade’s expression changed. He closed his eyes to let out a sigh, raking a hand through his silky navy blue hair. “We can go through these rituals quickly, yes? I don’t see the need for a large affair, the agreement is between the two of us.”

You didn’t really have the mind to reject him, nodding your head slowly after a pause that felt a little bit too long,

“I suppose so.”

“I believe a fitting dowry would be your armor. You will be giving up your status as a knight to stay here with me, will you not?”

Despite the fact you’d already seen his upper torso unclothed in the process of stitching up the crossbow wound cutting across the bottom of his ribs, the new context of the situation made your face flush a bright red. Where there had been a deep puncture wound carved by arrow, lay a star-shaped imprint of the memory.

His dexterous fingers wound up your sides on top of your clothes, stopping when they came to grasp the draw strings keeping your collar closed.

You realized you could stop him from pulling on them any moment now, he even paused to make sure he wasn’t moving too quickly. Instead of grabbing his wrists to stop him, you laid your hands on his thin, lean waist. Leaning against the impossibly soft hug of the blankets he’d been sleeping on top of for weeks, you tried to stay grounded and slow down your breathing. While avoiding eye contact, your eyes trailed down to his chest.

They were pierced.

Ripping your eyes away, you suddenly were now very conscious of where you were putting your eyes. Instead of giving him any verbal encouragement, your hands gently squeezed his love handles.

His throat gave a pleased rumble, his hands pinching the ends of the drawstring not unsimilar to how one would undo the ribbon on a gift.

“I’ve amassed a plentiful amount of rings to choose from, pick two and we’ll exchange them now.”

With a healthy amount of trepidation, your hands found themselves tracing Blade’s waistband. The loose bottoms he usually wore were equally loose around his hips, displaying a navy blue trail of hair framing the center of his pale stomach.

Impatiently, he raised his hips so you could tug his pants off. You hesitated to follow suit, suddenly seized by a wave of anxiety. Still, it seemed Blade was less than happy with that outcome.

One of his hands moved from bracing his weight on your thighs to making a grab towards your chest. He leaned forward, all but hovering over your body. Despite being in such a compromising position, it was hard to not be a little intimidated by the constant look he had in his eyes. It was almost like he was constantly planning a murder.

With his non-verbal request to go a little bit faster, you finally pulled his waistband down below his knees.

“Vows aren’t a complicated matter, it’d be much easier to speed up the process here. We can say our vows while consummating the marriage, can’t we? I don't want to delay the mating rituals of my own kind either.”

Like he was following a rhythm, little huffs and panting fell past his open lips. His eyes were wrenched shut, hips falling back onto your lap with each little movement he made. His thighs shook as you tried your best to stretch him out. He wasn’t making it easy, long clawed fingers digging into your shoulder blades the deeper your fingers were reaching.

He let out a particularly loud whine as your fingertips just barely grazed the little spot inside him that made him see stars.

His grip on your shoulder tightened, hips shifting impatiently to inch closer to your knuckles. You hissed, feeling the very tips of the talons start to break the skin. You started to draw your fingers from his hole, chastising him for not being more gentle. “Careful, I’ll bleed if you squeeze that hard.”

When confronted with his lack of self-control, it seemed Blade retreated into himself. With the two of you sitting up at this point, it was difficult to shy away from your eyes. His face transitioned from a sweet pink to an embarrassed cherry red. He didn't answer your admonishment verbally, but it was clear he heard you.

He stopped squeezing your shoulders, winding his arms around your neck instead. Avoiding the shame burning up his skin, he hid his nose in the crook of your neck.

You tried to give him a little grace period, but your offer was entirely unwanted. A few short seconds passed before his sharp canines were nipping at your collarbones, painfully hard leaking cock grinding against your still clothed thigh.

No words were exchanged, but the things that needed to be said were clearly communicated.

His neck was right in front of your waiting lips, tempting you really. Before going back to stretching him open on your fingers, you laid an open mouthed kiss on his jawline, dripping with a sweet taste like honey. Still embarrassed, he bit back the whimper that threatened to spill forth from his lips.

He let out a shaky sigh as he could feel your fingers start to hollow him out again. Almost immediately you were jabbing at the little lump that was his prostate. He keened, pressing back onto your fingers with shaky legs while he balled up his fists. His long nails dug into his palms this time, leaving your shoulders unblemished. You were particularly aware of the movement with the way the cold metal nipple piercings rubbed against the front of your torso.

If he was this excited you reasoned, he was most likely ready for a third finger. Slowly, doing your best to be gentle, you finally added in the last finger. He let out a little groan of discomfort, but ultimately didn't make any moves to stop you.

You continued to try your best to make him feel comfortable, gentle and slow as you could manage. As another moan slipped past his lips, you curled your fingers against his insides for the last time before completely pulling your fingers out of him.

You didn't know how you could tell, but you could feel a brewing sense of frustration wafting off of Blade. Your suspicions were confirmed when he all but lunged for your belt buckle.

He fumbled with the leather for a moment before you grabbed his wrist, stammering, “Wait, wait-” You swallowed some spit to wet your dry throat, “We, We haven't said our vows yet. We haven't officially been married.”

The dragon situated on your lap didn't seem happy when he was stopped. Instead, he hesitated to let go of your belt for a few long, awkward seconds before finally sitting back on his burning loins.

“Go on, quickly.”

He stressed the last word adamantly. It was extremely clear the speed at which his patience waned.

You swallowed more spit for a second, trying to rack your brain for the typical contents of wedding vows. “I-”

He watched you expectantly, tufted tail whipping back and forth on the blankets expectantly.

“For- For as long as I live, I swear to love and to cherish you as my wife,” the memories seemed to roll just out of reach, your inner monologue desperately grasping at straws, “With the lord as my witness, be it for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part I will fulfill my duty to you as a husband. To protect and honor you until my final breath.”

You held your breath for a second, trying to think of anything you missed. On the other hand, the oh-so “bashful” bride seated on your lap gave a straightforward nod. The next second, his clawed fingers were flying towards your belt again.

Reflexively, you stopped him, only further agitating what little patience he had left. “Wait!”

“What is it now?” His hands rested on your thighs, pointer finger tapping on your leg indignantly. Despite the accusatory tone of his voice, it seemed his eyes were trained on what exactly was hidden underneath your hand.

“You…” you paused, “You haven't said your vows yet.”

His brows furrowed, the first change in his expression the entire night. He sighed, grip tightening as he did his best to ignore the aching weight of his erection on your leg. “Fine.”

He sat back on his thighs to restrain himself, pulling his grip to sit lower on your thighs.

“As your wife, I swear to…” he paused, trying to recall your own vows, “love and cherish you for as long as I live.” He took a deep breath, trying to figure out what else to say. You had mentioned your duty as a husband, protecting and honoring him… what would his duties as a wife entail? Well, there was the obvious.

“I will fulfill my duty to you as a wife, bearing your children, honoring, and protecting you.”

“...”

He reached forward experimentally, testing to see if his own vows had been satisfactory.

You averted your gaze, moving your hand aside to give him full access to your belt buckle.

At this point in time, Blade was regretting his own lack of patience.

His thighs clenched with the exertion, flexing and unflexing while he tried to relax and sink a little bit further onto your dick. His breathing was labored, the flame of desire flickering and tickling at the bottom of his gut. You weren’t faring much better, fists gathering up the sheets in a vice grip. It took every fiber of determination in your body to not slam him down ass first onto your pelvis. Your jaw was tight, only breathing heavy out of your nose. You let out a particularly harsh breath the lower he managed to get. He was barely halfway down and you were already starting to see sounds. As a knight, you’d sworn yourself to abstinence your entire career. Was this really what you had been missing out on this entire time?

Without any warning, Blade’s legs completely seized up. His thighs squeezed together, clawed fingers suddenly scraping your skin. He braced himself on your chest, leaning his torso forward so you’d catch him. The change of angle didn’t seem to help him at all, a choked moan slipping out of his usually reserved lips the harder the tip of your dick prodded at his prostate. One of your hands moved from strangling the sheets to wrap snugly around his waist.

Despite your compulsions, your arm stayed draped around his midsection without applying any pressure. The sensations were overwhelming, so overwhelming you were struggling to keep any noises from sliding out. In the heat of the moment, you pushed yourself up from where you were leaning on your remaining arm to bury your face in the teal hair that framed his neck. Nuzzling your nose into his collarbone, you stifled what would’ve been a pathetic whine against his bare skin.

His hips nudged just a little bit lower, getting ever closer to bottoming out. Unlike yourself, he didn’t feel the need to try and be quiet. He pushed his neck up closer to your face, using a shaky hand to grasp the one you were still clutching the sheets with. He groaned, pulling your wrist to guide it onto his waist. You obliged him, fully cradling him between your large biceps. In return, his hands made their way up and around your neck.

They rested over your broad shoulders, still shaking when he finally managed to slide your dick in all the way to the hilt. He was breathless, feeling like he couldn’t breathe with how much room you were taking up in his guts. His core felt even hotter when you squeezed him tight in your arms, carving the imprint of your teeth into the side of his neck. He exhaled a shaky moan, hand trailing up the back of your neck to tangle his fingers in your hair.

In response, the clamp of your jaw drew tighter, a wave of heat surging over Blade’s entire body. Even with your impromptu gag, the sounds you were making were only further fueling his instincts. You huffed a raggedy breath through your nose, trying to hold back from bucking your hips up like an animal. You were a gentleman, you wanted your receiving partner to be the one to set the pace for fear of hurting him.

But you really were only human, and your blood was currently not rushing to your brain. Your heels dug into the mattress with how hard you were trying not to move, so it definitely wasn’t that you weren’t holding it in. But he was really warm and tight and sitting still was starting to get underwhelming and almost painful when you were this hard.

Blade let out a surprised noise when you pulled him in impossibly tighter, followed up by a punched out gasp when your hips involuntarily jerked upwards. Desperate at this point, you unlatched your teeth from the side of his neck, pressing feverish kisses up his jawline to his ear. In the process, you really couldn’t afford to try and mute any of your noises. Blade’s heart felt like it stopped when you whined directly in his ear. Suddenly very aware of his own dick rubbing up against the defined muscles of your abs.

You sounded like a kicked puppy when you whimpered into his ear, “Are you ready to move? Can I please move?”

Even if he tried to deny it, it seemed he wanted to move just as much as you did when a thick bead of precum dripped down your stomach.

Instead of immediately giving you the go ahead, though, he moved his arms from around your neck, grabbing at the hands wrapped around his waist. Pressing them back against the makeshift mattress, you took it as the go ahead to move, thrusting up slowly to start. He let out a drawn out moan, before putting his hand on your stomach, “Wait, wait-”

At this point, you could feel frustrated tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes but still, you stopped moving. You let him press his other hand on your chest, flexing and unflexing your hands to try and keep yourself from busting like a teenage boy seeing a pair of tits for the first time. You didn’t complain when he urged you to lay on your back, one of his hands bracing itself on your pecs, the other resting on the middle of your abdomen.

Experimentally, he rolled his hips. Instinctively, Blade bit down on his lower lip, feeling the delicious mix of pleasure and pain send an addictive shudder up his spine. Without even thinking, he rolled his hips again to get another taste.

And then another.

And another.

And then he couldn’t stop moving his hips, chin tilted up with his mouth hanging open. The movement was easy and the friction divine with the generous prep you’d done beforehand. The generous amount of precum sprouting from the end of his drooling tip made his dick slide across your stomach with ease, only encouraging Blade to move his hips even faster in search of euphoria. It really didn’t help his sanity when your large hands grappled his hips, serving to drag him up and down your length all while his legs seemed to grow weaker and weaker. It also didn’t help that it looked like you were equally lost in the fervor.

Saliva pooling in the back of your throat, you swallowed thickly when it seemed Blade’s arms gave out. He slumped against your chest, navy hair covering the lower half of his face awkwardly. Despite the harsh impact against your chest, you couldn’t seem to care less, finding a lot more frustration in the lack of movement. He used a shaky hand to brush the hair out of his face, chasing after your lips with his own. Before he could quite reach it, your hips seemed to develop a mind of their own, suddenly bucking up into his waiting insides.

The kiss ended up being teeth first, canines clacking against canines before your lips ended up locking. He let out a heavy groan when your hips still didn’t stop moving from behind. Combined with the new pressure on his dick from all sides, his piercings were dragging up and down the dips of your stomach every time you moved. His eyes fluttered open when the two of you finally parted for air, high-pitched whines rhythmically pushed out of him the harder your thighs hit his ass.

Drool trickled from the side of his mouth, leaking onto your shoulder before he tried to warn you, “Closer- agh~ really- mmmhmmnn close-” He really wanted to hold back for the sake of finishing at the same time, but the feeling of you rearranging his guts just about had him crying like a baby.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck, I’m gonna- Ouhhghh~”

His talons broke the skin on your shoulders while his orgasm cut through him sharp and intense, an echoing squeal resounding through the room as sticky white cum shot out of his angry red tip onto both of your stomachs. With the way he clamped down around you, you only lasted for a few more thrusts before you were cumming basically in unison. You bit down hard on your bottom lip, tasting iron on your tongue.

For a moment, the two of you lay in a sweaty pile of limbs. Focused on breathing and recuperating your energy, you didn’t think to pull out. Eventually though, you’d gone soft and the sound of your heart pounding in your ears wasn’t as loud as your thoughts anymore. Slowly, you went to pull out so you could start clean-up–that’s what couples normally did, right?--but despite his numb legs, Blade pushed back onto your flaccid cock.

Blearily, you looked up at him, blinking away the fatigue that crept in at the corners of your vision.

“Did you think we were only going to have sex once?”

What he said didn’t compute in your tired brain.

“...huh?”

He hummed, you could hear disappointment in his tone.

“It’s customary for dragons to continue mating until pregnancy is guaranteed.”

"When you're pregnant, how exactly… will your body change?"

For the sake of Blade’s back and legs, the two of you decided a few rounds were enough to ensure he was actually pregnant. He lay splayed out on the thick stack of blankets, having made it his favorite place in the den long prior. He was on his stomach, resting his head on top of his crossed arms.

“Why? Did you not expect it to?”

You were a few feet away from him, sitting up cross-legged. Despite the two of you having been fucking minutes prior, you were still a little shy about sitting completely naked in the open expanse of the cave. For a bit of added modesty, you let your hands rest in your lap to cover up your dick at least a little bit.

“It’s not that I didn’t...” Your neck dropped at the miniscule creep of shame across your face. “I’m not versed in…” You fumbled with your words for a moment, rocking back and forth in an effort to get your blood from your dick back up to your brain.

“Pregnancy?”

You lagged for a second before nodding in agreement. “I haven’t spent much time around the women of the Xianzhou, usually it was with plants or other knights.” Your leg started bouncing when the air fell stagnant, “That isn’t to say I don’t know basic anatomy, it’s just… that I'm unfamiliar with some of the more intimate changes… not to mention, you’re also a man.”

To this, Blade raised an accusatory brow. “You say that as if you still don’t believe I can bear children.”

You held your hands up in front of your chest defensively, “That isn’t what I’m saying at all!”

Your partner let out a tired huff, not engaging in conversation further.

“...”

“I’m…just worried I’ll fail to support you properly while you’re carrying our child.”

Another silence hung, thickening into a kind of tension you couldn’t quite place your finger on.

“...”

“...come here.”

Immediately, you perked up.

Dutifully, you shuffled over to where your spouse had beckoned you forward. Watching him push up on tired arms and a strained back, you couldn’t help but admire the sheen of shiny sweat that gleamed in the warm firelight. He always tended to show things better with actions rather than words, cuffing your wrist in one of his hands. You let him guide your hand to rest on his stomach.

“The most notable change will be weight gain.”

Immediately, you fervently nodded your head, completely at attention.

“The weight gain won’t just be my stomach,” he continued, “the rest of my body will start to swell. Simple tasks like walking and bending over will become difficult, especially in the later stages of pregnancy.”

You nodded a little bit slower.

“Physical illness is also possible, but my ancestors didn’t struggle with it as commonly as other draconic lines.” He positioned your hand at his hips, “During the first trimester, I’ll likely become more sensitive to smells. That can cause symptoms like vomiting.”

His grip eventually guided your hand to his back, all but tilting your body to drape over him. “The added weight will stress the back. I’ll be relying on you to do much of the heavy lifting.”

You nodded again, even slower than the last time.

Finally, he moved your hand to rest on his chest. The rush of cold from the silver piercing sent a rush of red hot flame to your cheeks. For the sake of paying attention to your pretty wife lecturing you about what would happen when he gets pregnant, you wrestled any nasty thoughts out of your mind.

“Based on genetics, the chest will begin swelling around the end of the second trimester.” With the minimal amount of light in the room, you could just barely make out the pink hue on the usual impassive features of the man in front of you. “I’ll be unusually sensitive, at times I could start lactating.”

“...lactating?”

Suddenly, all your efforts to be a gentleman were forgotten.

You repeated it again, this time a little bit louder. “Lactating?”

Blade didn’t respond.

Unintentionally, your grip on his tit got a little bit tighter.

He grunted, his own grip around your wrist tightening. “How else would I feed the child?”

This time, you didn't answer him. Your free hand was moving from your lap to tickle up his exposed side.

The higher up his side your touch danced on his skin, the darker he could feel the flush on his cheeks. Now, he was the one to avoid looking you in the eyes. Even in his embarrassment, he didn’t stop you from pushing him to lay flat on his back. He didn’t stop you when you kissed the underside of his jaw, he also didn’t stop you as you kissed a line down his jaw to his collarbones.

Most importantly, he still didn’t stop you when your teeth clacked against one of his piercings.

“How long will that take?”

In this position, there were two things that seemed to jump out to Blade in particular.

One, your breath was fanning hot against his chest and especially steamy over the nipple you were hovering over.

Two, your hard-on was starting to leak on his leg.

Much to your dismay his lips pressed into a tight line. However, even in the face of a roadblock, you didn’t relent. Experimentally, you licked a stripe up the exposed skin in between his pecs, drinking in the explosive shudder that ripped through his body.

Trembling fingers all of sudden were tangled in your hair, unsure whether or not to push your head away or pull it in closer. In the thick of it, you almost didn’t catch him muttering under his breath.

“...pervert.”

In retaliation, you tugged on one of the silver piercings with your teeth. He let out a strained whimper, suddenly pulling your hair away from his chest. You pinched the other nipple between two fingers, listening to the whine that was forced out of his throat. Eventually, you relented with a lewd click of enamel against metal and the even lewder noise created by the spit accumulating on his skin. “What was that?”

Even if your sudden burst of confidence was out of the blue (and starting to make him nervous), Blade’s own pride didn’t allow him to take anything back.

“Pervert.”

You cupped his pecs with both hands, sitting up on your elbows to make a point. “Ah, but last I checked you like this just as much as I do.” To punctuate your statement, you rutted against the inside of his thigh, all but pointing at his own excitement with your cock.

He looked away, closing his eyes shut with furrowed eyebrows.

An amused smile pulled at your features, suddenly emboldened by the surplus of blood rushing to your dick. “So tell me, how long will it take until you start producing milk?”

“...”

“...6 months.”

You frowned, groping his chest with both hands. Only a little groan managed to slip past Blade’s lips. “Ah… are you sure? Your chest already seems sensitive.”

He nodded his head, still refusing to make eye contact.

You rolled one of his nipples in your hand, positively ecstatic when his dick twitched in tandem. “You’ll start lactating because you’re pregnant, right?”

Thinking nothing of it, Blade gave a hum of affirmation.

There was your opening. “I think I should test to see if you’re actually pregnant then.”

Before he could process your words, your lips were already suctioned around one of his nipples. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, failing miserably to drown out the whine caught in the back of his throat. “That’s not- HnNg~”

Obviously, you didn’t neglect the other one. While your tongue laved over one, you pinched and pulled at the other with a pair of fingers. You groaned when his claws started to dig into the back of your head, the tight pressure only serving to add another layer of intimacy to the moment. He gave a particularly high-pitched whine when you started to thrust your cock against the inside of hip dip.

“Mmhgn~ Wait- ahn~ Wait-” he pleaded.

Insistently, you hooked your canines around the piercing and continued to suck on his chest. That was enough to have him rutting against your stomach. At this point, you finally pulled off of his chest with what one would call “a shit-eating grin”.

“Hm, nothing seemed to come out… maybe I’ll have better luck with the other one.”

The hand he was using to grapple the sheets flew up to your shoulder, trying to push your head back, “That isn’t how it works!”

Despite his complaints while you moved your head, they all seemed to get caught in his throat when your lips wrapped around his other nipple. His chest shook with the effort it took to breath through his nose without letting out any more pathetic whimpers. This time you got nasty with it. After a moment of suckling on his hardened bud until it turned a cherry red, you pulled back to spit on it.

At the same time, you flicked his other piercing with two fingers. Drool spilling past your lips at this point, you watched with satisfaction as his head fell back against the comforter. His thighs started to rub together as you flicked the nipple that wasn’t in your mouth again a little harder the second time around.

Feeling a little extra mean, you locked your teeth on the soft skin before pinching the other abused nub hard. He keened, nails scratching bloody lines into your upper back. Ultimately, you took your mouth off of his chest in favor of starting to kiss up the center of his chest in between his tits.

In between leaving sloppy wet kisses on his collarbones, you smiled, hands trailing back down to his sides before finally hooking the underside of his thighs. You looped one of his shins over your shoulder, watching with glee the panic interlaced in the way he whipped his head around to look you in the eyes.

You leaned over him, basically folding him in half to put a kiss on his lips.

“Nothing’s coming out… I’m not really sure you’re pregnant yet.”

You hooked his other thigh over your hip, blowing on his ear when your hand wrapped around your cock. Alarmed, his hands braced themselves on your shoulder. “What are you-”

You lined yourself up with his ass, biting on his earlobe. “Well, I thought maybe we’d go a couple more rounds to really make sure you’re pregnant.”

there's a note attached to the side of the phone booth, read it?

" you guys have to promise not to make fun of me for writing this after making a bit about how much mpreg terrifies me "

to my dearest anon for whom this was written:

i hope you're doing better SINCE YOU TOOK YOUR MEDICINE

YOU BETTER KEEP TAKING UR MEDICINE OR I'M NOT GONNA START ON UR SHORT REQUEST AFTER THIS ONE

to everyone else:

mentioned briefly in my little posts between updates, it's been so long since I've written smut I had to like take a break after every other word to look over my shoulder and make sure nobody was reading it from behind me or something (I am home alone with two cats)

one of the most humbling experiences is going back and editing your own smut, like damn what position are they in I've gotta go back and write in more details 🏃

as of now, i'm planning on having my update schedule consist of a lot more short requests than long requests since they're going to be a lot easier to update consistently with

now that college has rolled in I have a lot less time to write the longer form content my audience loves me for so expect drabbles most of the time

i'm still planning book content but as of right now, I'm struggling with concepting and figuring out ideas that I can consistently stay motivated for

I might scrap the book I'm planning right now and go with something else in its entirety, but we shall see

a big thank you to all the lovely supporters who have stayed by my side through my inactivity, you will be rewarded one day when I graduate promise

love all of you, also love blades titties <3

incoming shameless plug: if you guys were wondering about my next follower goal (238/300) follow for clear skin and part 3 ayato fic (mpreg edition)

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fuckingrecipes · 3 months ago

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Everyone's tongue is unique to them.

Everyone is going to have a different experience, tasting the same thing.

It's pretty well-known that some people have a gene to taste cilantro as 'soapy' or not. There are many other variants like that!

Some people are VERY sensitive to bitterness, and when they eat bitter flavors, they perceive that bitterness as far more overwhelming than someone who isn't sensitive. Children in particular are well-known to be bitter-sensitive. Dark chocolate, coffee, some types of vegetables, and other bitter compounds are revolting.

On the same token, there are people whose sense of bitterness is 'delicious!', so they REALLY enjoy things like mushrooms, matcha, beets, and other earthy flavors.

Some people are VERY sensitive to sweetness. Actually, your tongue can be adapted to sweetness, and perceive it less over time. Many people report no longer being able to stomach candy and sodas after cutting added sugar from their diet - your tongue literally changes how it perceives flavors, based on what you eat frequently.

Some people cannot taste major flavor compounds found in avocados, pomegranate, and blueberries. They'll say 'it tastes sour/sweet but otherwise like green water' - But other folks know all three fruit have very distinct flavors of their own.

Some people have trouble tasting the flavors in meat - My wife, for example, claims there's little to no taste difference between beef, chicken, and pork - that the only difference is in texture. Meanwhile I'm over here slurping beef juices off the plate.

And there's many other like this!

With that in mind - that our tongues are literally having entirely different experiences when touching the same foods... and also changing as we age, and based on what we eat...

There is no perfect food that will be universally good to everyone.

It doesn't matter how meticulous you are about cooking your steak, or folding your batter, or hand-picking only the freshest leaves on a dewy morning.

There will always be someone whose tongue is simply built different than yours, who thinks your favorite food is unpleasant to eat.

And that's okay!

Sometimes experiences can be unique and personal. A food doesn't have to be universally enjoyed to still be exquisite to those whose tongues can perceive it.

------

This is also a love letter to Durian, you sweet, foul-smelling fruit. Your innards taste like sweet, creamy vanilla-almond custard, but the gods have cursed you with a wretched hot-rotting-garbage stench to hide the divine dessert within.

You are beloved, beloathed, and banned from several forms of public transit. <3

#Durian #Food science #Maybe one day I'll meet the Durian who doesn't develop the odor until 3 days after its picked #and try the fruit without that smell #But until then #My poor nose must suffer for the delight of my tongue

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barbs111claims · 20 days ago

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You are Universe looking back at itself

(Guys, brace yourself because it is not going to be your usual post.)

I don't know if you guys understand why it is "assumption".

The thing we see, hear, smell, touch, taste. They aren't real. I'm not trying to say the same thing again and again.

I'm not emotional blackmailing you to have faith in imagination in order to have your desires in 3D. But I'm telling you to have faith in imagination because it is the only truth. The source creation.

If the 3D is actually real and vivid as it seems,

there wouldn't be Ageusia, Dysgeusia, Color Blindness, Anosmia, Anaphia and literally tons other mental illness or disorders.

Dysgeusia: A condition where taste is distorted, leading to unusual or unpleasant flavors. Color blindness: A deficiency in color vision, usually involving difficulty distinguishing between certain colors. Dysacusis: A hearing disorder where sounds are distorted or unclear, making them hard to understand despite normal hearing. Anosmia: The total loss of the sense of smell, often caused by damage to the olfactory system Anaphia: The loss or impairment of the sense of touch, often due to nerve or brain damage.

Similarly between them?

"In short, they all relate to disruptions in the way the body processes sensory information."

Now, what proves that our entire lives that what we feel is not a distortion?

our brain? the only thing that distorts?

science? the thing is which is created by human brain?

These disorders happens due to a change in neural pathway in brains or due to medical treatment of which it affects the brain of some people which alters their entire reality.

People with color blindess don't know that their brain cannot see certain colors until other people make that person aware. Only then, the person with the color blindness gets aware of their condition, so till then... That person assumes that is their reality because that's what consciousness does.

So now, what if everyone on earth had color blindness?

It would simply just be the 'true reality'.

Brain provides distortion and consciousness accepts which then repeated becomes a belief in deep subconscious mind.

Nothing is "truth". We don't actually see 3D but the brain repeats us the old assumptions again and again.

That's why 3D is a reflection of our own mind.

The assumptions doesn't affect the 3D but becomes the 3D.

Assumptions are the true reality, 4D is the true reality.

Whether new or old, there is no "true reality" out there. (link)

There is no active 3D existing. Everything is 4D. Your so called material world is just interpreted by your brain through sensory nerves. You were always living in your head.

"Oh but why do need something external like water if we only live in our head?"

Because you exist in a physical body at this moment. Your body needs it. You don't. So you can actually shift to a reality where you don't need water.

Our physical never had to suffer or endure pain, we were provided with abundant water, minerals, trees which ripe fruits, vegetables, human physical and mental strength to power other creatures since the dawn.

"Oh then why do we innovate new physical objects if it already exists in 4D?"

Because we are source of creation. Our imagination, 4D. We don't just create out of no where. Just like how the airplane was a fantasy of the Wright brothers before it came into existence. We imagine something, we drive in creating.

Everything that is existing right now is a fantasy of the creator.

We are a mere fantasy of I am.

We are the I am conceived in human form who then forgot ourselves and became a dream character.

When we are first born, our subconscious develops at 6months. The duty of subconscious is solely to protect and serve you. The baby in the womb knows how to suck milk from the mother. Your subconscious protects you now and forever, you then develop consciousness which has the possibility to change the subconscious belief considering changes in adaptation in surroundings and to mend with the society.

That's why kids are very 'spongy' from 6-8yrs. Their conscious and subconscious both are developing together. This is where their majority life's belief starts forming deep onto their subconscious.

(Your subconsciousness is why you are here, making you able to read this at the moment. Heart beat, lungs functioning etc. It developed long ago and is consciously listening, it can't process every thoughts like consciousness, it just simply takes you as the dominant thought)

You get adapted to 3D and forget about 4D.

So it becomes 3D-> 4D->3D (old assumptions becomes 'true'.)

instead of 4D-> 3D-> 4D (you create assumption, your own reality which then becomes the 'true').

You are only truth, I am.

Whatever state you associate yourself with after that is an illusion that you can choose to be.

Anything is possible to I am.

You were/are/will be void forever.

You are whatever you desire and get conscious of.

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zara-renata · 1 month ago

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Not my type | ao3 | part 8 of this series

a tragicomedy starring Sylus and his clueless crush

Summary: Sylus pesters you on your day off while you're at the arcade until you agree to "lend your talents" to him for the evening. So of course you show up at the designated location only to discover it's a nightclub, and you're dressed for a murder, but not on the dance floor.

Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc This story contains: slow burn, angst, grief, banter, stalking (Sylus), an ongoing one-sided misunderstanding that will be resolved in the next instalment in a way that hopefully won't destroy the romantic tension, mc with self-esteem issues, mentions of self harm, Kieran and Luke and some ocs that hopefully you'll like.

In the days following your utter humiliation at the hands of the Hunter Association’s most wanted criminal, you’re doing fine. Really. You are Fine.

You had a great time at the bookstore with Xavier, who kindly said nothing about your state of dishevelment or the glaring human bite mark on your shoulder when you answered the door that morning. You both lazily wandered between the bookshelves, leisurely reading summaries and showing each other finds that you thought the other would also enjoy. You stopped at the bookstore café and loaded up on sugary iced coffee.

“Here, try this, I think you’ll like it,” you offer your iced mocha with caramel drizzle and whipped cream to Xavier as you begin walking back home together, each carrying a shoulder tote full of manga stuffed with hot guys and big swords, after having spent probably half of this month’s paycheck in one impulse-fueled spree.

“Okay, but then you also have to try mine,” he smiles, holding his own cup out to you. You look at it dubiously, recalling from hearing him order that it had some sort of peppermint flavor in it.

“No way I’m drinking sugar-flavored toothpaste,” you grimace, shaking your head.

“What? Noo, it’s really good, I promise. The peppermint is really subtle. You can’t only just consume chocolate and caramel in your desserts. You’ve got to be a little more adventurous, or you might miss out on something surprising,” he earnestly advises, blue eyes wide, a little pout on his lips.

You eye the offending drink again, and then figure, why not? You’ve gone through much worse, recently, in terms of unpleasant experiences. You should try new things, of the food variety. Because you’re done trying new things of the people variety.

You take his cup and hand over yours, and you both quietly sip for a moment. Your eyes meet again, and both of you grin. “That’s really good!” you admit, and Xavier gently knocks your shoulder with his. “I told you so,” he smiles serenely.

“All right, all right. I’ll listen to my partner more from now on,” you exchange drinks again.

It was nice. Back at his place, you both lazed around on his soft couch and bean bag chair and read until the sunlight drifting through his windows was the golden-tinge of the setting sun, and his persistent yawning was so frequent that you decided to put him out of his misery. You couldn’t punish him by overstaying your welcome simply because you didn’t want to go back to your empty flat with all of your racing thoughts.

“Thanks for today, it was a really nice break,” you tell him as you’re gathering your manga volumes and slipping them back into your tote bag.

“It was,” he yawns again, tears forming at the sides of his clear bright eyes. “We should do it again soon. But I’m going to be out of town for a little while, starting tomorrow.” He gives you an apologetic look.

“Hey, no worries. I wasn’t going to demand you spend all of your leave entertaining me,” you smile, genuinely. You always miss him when he disappears mysteriously, but he’s gotten so much better at telling you when he plans to be away compared to how he was when you first partnered with him.

“I know. I just…” he pauses. “If you need me. For anything. Just send me a text, okay? I’ll come back as soon as I can. I don’t like the idea of you being left to your own devices for too long.” He gives you a teasing smile. “Who knows what other strange companions you’ll pick up if left alone for too long,” he continues, obviously referring to how you stumbled upon him in the no-hunt zone so many months ago. However, the only thing that comes to mind when he says “strange companions” is the image of narrowed scarlet eyes, a laugh that warms you like a shot of whiskey, and big, big hands.

You chuckle, totally naturally, and not nervously at all, mind racing, trying to figure out if he somehow knows that Sylus was at your place last night, and if so, if he knows who Sylus is exactly. Shit. Shit. Nope. You’re not doing this. Xavier is making an innocent joke about how the two of you met, and Sylus does not get to bulldoze into your thoughts while you’re having fun with your partner.

“I’ll be the paragon of caution, I promise,” you say solemnly. “I promise I won’t talk to any shady strangers while you’re away.” You nod firmly to him.

He smiles, seemingly reassured. “Good. Try to get some rest over the next few days. The Captain is right, you need some R&R. Even I couldn’t decipher your reports, and I feel like I’ve gotten pretty good at translating your … particular style of writing under most conditions.”

“Hey, at least I use actual words when texting,” you roll your eyes, pointing at him. He snorts softly, and you wave and make your way back to your apartment, where you proceed to spend the next few days manically cleaning your apartment and researching online for advice regarding acting, bluffing, the subtle art of reading micro-expressions and how to control your own, and in general all things you tell yourself are useful for your undercover work, and not because you anticipate having to lie to everyone you know and care about for as long as a certain hooligan continues to insert himself into your life when you least expect it.

But as the days pass, you don’t hear anything from said hooligan. The only crow feathers outside your window are of the normal variety, swaying in the branches of trees whose leaves are falling as autumn encroaches on the last days of summer in the city.

You decide, once again, to grab the memory of him by the throat and shove it down deep, with all of the other things you refuse to examine too closely. You’re probably close to running out of storage room, but that’s a problem for future you.

For present you, it’s time to hit the arcade. You haven’t been in a while. So that’s what you do, enjoying the cacophony of games music and sound effects, people laughing and shrieking as they win and lose, the too-bright lights, the scent of fried food. The wall of sound and lights and other people just having a simple, entertaining weekend afternoon is enough to drown out any overthinking you might otherwise be sucked into.

It works for a while. You spend some time beating teenagers at some 1 v 1 fighting games, beat some younger kids at your favorite motocross simulation. You manage to not make anyone cry, although for one poor kid it seemed like a close call for a minute or two, before his buddies dragged him away to get some soda as a consolation drink for being beaten within an inch of his pubescent life by the adult weirdo who demolishes children in video games.

You’re finally trying your hand at getting a few new plushies to bring home when you realize you’ve managed to go a couple hours without missing your grandmother, or Caleb. The only people who knew you, really knew you, as a child, and were therefore the scaffolding holding up the unfinished architecture of the adult you, with all of its missing floors and windows, and all the storage rooms hidden behind walls with no doors. But that scaffolding is gone now, and you can’t turn to them and reassure yourself: I am still me, right? I am still the me who I always have been, despite the scarlet voices in my head that come to me in frightening dreams, despite the endless hunger, the exquisite drowning I felt the one time I resonated with Sylus…I’m a good person. I’m a kind person. I’m a loveable person. Right? You loved me, right?

There’s no one left to ask, now. Just you, looking at yourself in the glass reflection of a claw machine, in a noisy arcade filled with people having fun. You haven’t been able to win even one plushie yet.

You take your hand off the joystick, suddenly exhausted. You will not cry in front of the stuffed llamas and penguins. They don’t deserve that.

Your phone dings.

You fish it out of one of your cargo pants pockets, and scowl when you see the name of the person texting you.

Not My Sy: I feel that Ive been more than generous in giving you sufficient time to draft your little rules, but Im starting to get bored waiting for you to send them.

You just stare at your phone, as the door of the basement that you had just slammed closed where you stuff all of your unwanted thoughts bursts open, flooding you with feelings you’re trying so hard not to feel. Just the sight of the nickname he gave himself in your phone fills you with a rush of anticipation—a thrill that aches. And that is exactly why you hadn’t sent him the rules you had insisted on imposing on his surprise visits to your place. One, because you refuse to reach out to him first and therefore lose. Lose what, you’re not sure, but you’re tired of feeling like you’re losing to him. If he wants to talk to you, he knows your number. Two, there is no longer any point to sending him the Rules. He can’t come to your place if he wants to talk to you, because the deal’s off. He can find some other place to recuperate from headaches and papercuts and someone else to manipulate and to… kiss, and bite.

You will not allow him to affect you like this anymore. You stuff your phone into your back pocket and decide to save all the tokens you still have for another day. Time to pick up some tacos and go home to binge watch a series of films that make you yell at the screen because no one can get shot that many times and not fucking die, what a load of bullshit, but you’ll keep watching anyway because the gunplay choreography is pretty badass even if it’s completely nonsensical. There’s also a dog in it. You’ve never been able to resist an anti-hero with a soft spot for animals.

Your phone dings again. You tell yourself that you won’t look. You have plans, dammit. Ones you just made, granted, but you’re not going to get roped into whatever little scheme Sylus thinks he can run on you today.

You wrap your hoodie tighter around yourself in preparation for the rush of cool autumn air as the arcade’s door swings shut behind you. Your phone dings again. You grit your teeth and reach into your pocket to flick your phone to silent.

Almost immediately, your phone begins to vibrate in your pocket. And it doesn’t stop. It just… keeps going. You jerk to a halt and just stand there, feeling it vibrate against your ass, over and over and over again. What the fuck is this lunatic doing?!

Finally, you reach for your phone again and angrily open his messages as you start moving again.

Not My Sy: Hmm, I see youve been busy in your phone settings. Cant say Im fond of the change. Allow me to fix it for you.

My Sy: Much better.

My Sy: Oh, I see how it is. A certain kitten thinks I can be left on read without any consequences. Are we feeling a little sullen today, sweetie?

My Sy: Hmm, I see that you decided not to wear one of my gifts out today on your little jaunt to one of my establishments. Probably for the best. They fit you perfectly, but expose enough skin that theyre not very practical for a brisk autumn afternoon at the arcade. Good call.

My Sy: I also dont think the teenagers you just slaughtered at the arcade could have handled the loss and the gorgeous view.

My Sy: Ah, would we prefer vibration as stimulation this afternoon? Im happy to help with that.

My Sy: Pick

My Sy: Up

My Sy: Your

My Sy: Phone

My Sy: I

My Sy: Can

My Sy: Do

My Sy: This

My Sy: All

My Sy: Day

My Sy: You

My Sy: Look

My Sy: Adorable

My Sy: When

My Sy: Youre

My Sy: Mad

My Sy: Like

My Sy: A

My Sy: Fluffy

My Sy: Little

My Sy: Kitten

My Sy: Back

My Sy Arched

My Sy: Fur

My Sy: Puffed

As the wall of messages load, you stop so quickly on the sidewalk that someone bumps into you from behind. You barely resist the urge to launch them into traffic with a one armed shoulder throw. Two more messages pop up.

My Sy: Oh I like the look on your face now

My Sy: Makes me want to grab you by the tail

The person behind you has the good sense to just keep going without saying anything to you, but that may have something to do with the fact that you’re now spinning in circles, eye darting wildly in an attempt to locate Sylus, or Mephisto, or the twins, or some security camera, so that you can take out whatever eyes are feeding Sylus your image right now.

You: where is it?

Instead of an answering text, your phone begins to vibrate in your hand, and … a picture you did not take appears on the screen along with Sylus’s incoming call.

In the photo, Sylus is leaning against your pillows, one arm leisurely bent behind his head, his bare bulky chest on full display as he lifts the phone with his other arm. You are fast asleep on top of him, face turned so that all that is visible in the picture is your hair—bedhead on full inglorious display. It is clear from the photo that you have your face smashed between Sylus’s man tits. He is smiling wide, the laughter clear in bright eyes that stare straight into the camera lens and now into you, with your mouth agape at finding this as his contact picture on your phone.

He must be texting while letting the call continue, because the notification of a new text pops up over his contact picture.

My Sy: I can work with this facial expression too.

You shut your mouth so fast and hard that your teeth click.

My Sy: While I love your teeth most of the time, well need to work on that bite.

Before your brain melts from imagining what he could do with your open mouth and how he’d handle your sharp teeth, you slam your thumb on the end call button, power down your phone, stuff it back in your pocket, and begin marching toward the metro station to get home. Fuck him. Fuck the tacos. You’ll go to Xavier’s apartment with the spare key he gave you for when he’s out of town, order takeout, and hide for the rest of the night.

Suddenly, your phone begins vibrating once again. You stop again, this time startling a pair of teenage girls who take one look at your face and cross to the other side of the street before continuing in the same direction. Great, now you’re not just pummeling children at video games, but scaring them as well. You open your phone and see Sylus calling again. You stare at the one nipple you can see in the picture. Your mouth waters. You’re not even surprised that he has fucked with your phone to the point that he can simply turn it back on remotely if you decide to turn it off.

My Sy: I told you kitten, I can do this all day. Some friendly advice: might as well accept the inevitable and pick up. Im used to your attention now. I don’t like being ignored.

The phone keeps ringing, vibrating in your hand. You let your hands hang at your sides, and tilt your head to look up into the crisp, sunny autumn sky.

You wonder if you’re strong enough for this. You can eliminate wanderers in your sleep. You can outmanoeuvre, outfight, outgun and outlast most hostile humans. You can even outsmart and outplay most people you meet when you’ve had a proper night’s sleep. But you’ve never met anyone like Sylus Qin. You can’t hide in Xavier’s flat forever. No matter how friendly you’ve become since you first partnered with him, he’d probably throw you out the window if you tried. And eventually, Sylus will come to collect what he thinks you owe him for allowing you to shoot him through the fucking heart. Wouldn’t it better to pretend to be on good terms with him, to make it as painless as possible? Instead of being a stone wall, trying to keep him and all the ways you know he can already hurt you out, you can be like water. Let him and the pain he’ll bring simply… pass right through you. Water is resilient. And if he burns you, well. You already saw it coming, right? You’ll simply dissipate into a puff of steam and float away. With enough time, you’ll heal—you’ll re-coalesce in the atmosphere, and you’ll fall back into yourself like rain. You can survive him, if you can adapt quickly enough.

You lift the phone, dig your earbuds out of one of your pockets and put them in your ears, and then answer his video call.

“Took you long enough,” Sylus’s beautiful voice flows directly into your brain.

“Sorry, I was a bit busy. Can I help you with something?” You close your eyes and will your face to relax, let your shoulders fall. You breathe in, the earthy scent of dying leaves filling your nostrils. You are water. You open your eyes.

He’s staring at you through the phone, a slight frown on his severely handsome face.

“Sylus?” You hold the phone a little closer to yourself as people flow around you on the sidewalk. When you look back, he’s still just… watching you.

“I have to admit, sweetheart, that this is not the greeting I was expecting when you finally picked up.”

“And what were you expecting?” You decide to keep walking. You’ll be fine. This will be fine. Multitasking is good. One foot in front of the other, and Sylus’s face, so distant, but still in the palm of your hand, in a small way. You can be satisfied with this.

He takes a moment, seems to choose his words carefully. “A little more life,” he responds. You let your hand holding the phone fall to your side for a moment. It will take a little while, to fully get into the headspace where whatever he says, can’t affect you. You just need a little more time. You breathe, you breathe, you breathe.

You bring the phone back up to your face, make your way through the crowd on the sidewalk. People must be scrambling to enjoy the last few bright days of the year before the long slide into the dark fall. You hadn’t expected so many to be out and about on a lazy Saturday afternoon.

“One would think you’d be used to me disappointing you by now,” you say, shrugging. “Can you tell me why you called?”

Sylus suddenly looks angry, and you resist the fear-fueled urge to throw your phone. You haven’t seen him look at you like that since… well. For a while.

“Sylus?”

“In what universe have you ever disappointed me?” he asks, voice even, controlled.

You can’t help it. You laugh. The kind of laugh that can spiral into something unhinged, if you weren’t water. Instead, it sinks into you like a stone. “Oh, I dunno, maybe this one, when you literally said ‘How disappointing’ and sneered that there was something wrong with me when I couldn’t resonate with you,” you say drily. You are water. Whatever he says next will simply ripple through you, and then fade into stillness.

But he doesn’t say anything. You peek at the phone screen. He’s looking away, his hand covering his mouth. You can’t tell what expression he’s making. Maybe Luke and Kieran are doing something silly offscreen.

In the end, none of it matters. “Okay, well, if you don’t want to tell me, I’m about to head into the metro. You can send a text if you change your mind.” Your thumb hovers over the end call button.

“I need your … particular talents this evening,” he answers right before your skin makes contact with the screen.

Oh. He really did have a reason to call— he needed your help with something dangerous.

That’s fine. You hadn’t actually had the fleeting thought that maybe he was calling because he just wanted to hear your voice, the way you never, ever found yourself feeling. Even in the past few days, since the Unfortunate Event of the Other Morning.

“And Kieran and Luke are unavailable this evening? Or anyone else from your hoard of henchmen who you can order to come back you up?” You’re being herded in a mass of other bodies into the metro station. You notice for the first time that Sylus is dressed really nicely—some sort of vest over a button down shirt. You find yourself trying to hold the phone discretely to minimize other people being able to see what you’re seeing.

“Kieran and Luke do not possess your particular talents. And besides, why would I want to see them this evening? I have to look at them on a daily basis, the last thing I want is to have to see them on a Saturday night.”

“I see. Had enough of a break from seeing me that you can stomach it again?” You smile, smooth as ice. Ice is just frozen water, right? You can ask Zayne to help—pick his brain to figure out how he stays so calm, in the face of so much chaos, not revealing a damn thing.

Sylus is just staring at you again, silver brows furrowed.

“So is it like, bring a gun to a knife fight kind of thinking? Do you really think that whatever situation you want my help with is too dangerous even for your minions?”

He just continues staring at you, and if anything, looks more displeased. You have no idea why he seems so pissed off. Maybe he’s rethinking asking for your help. You might be able to watch those movies after all.

“I see now that I've made a grave miscalculation,” he finally answers, rubbing his forehead. He suddenly sounds … tired? Or sad? You're so bad at reading other people.

You have no idea what you’re supposed to say to that, but you feel bad that he seems to be so exhausted and it sounds like your fault. You decide that you’ll help him tonight, with whatever he needs. And then maybe you will have finally, finally balanced the scales between you. And then you’ll be free.

After a few moments of you just awkwardly watching him in silence, he seems to come back to himself. “Why bring a gun to a knife fight when you can bring a grenade launcher?” He adjusts the buttons on the deep red vest under his tailored black suit jacket. The black shirt underneath the vest has its first few buttons undone, exposing his pale throat and collarbone. He’s also wearing a black leather collar, and you once again imagine a cute, bell on it, chiming with every one of his movements. You do not think about slipping a finger under the thick strip of leather and pulling him down, down to your level.

You shake your head. “I’m the grenade launcher in this little metaphor? What about you?”

“Do you even need to ask?” He pulls a watch over his hand, something antique and mechanical that probably ticks loudly when its quiet, and it clicks heavily as he fastens it on his thick wrist. You suddenly think of the night you spent searching for his brooch, the handcuffs around those same wrists, how he let them hold him there for you as your hands ran along his arms, under his soft silk robe, across—

“Then I think you’ll do just fine on your own tonight,” you clip out, wondering how much it would hurt if you slammed your face into the metro car’s heavily smudged, reinforced window in an effort to dislodge the intrusive thoughts that have become alarmingly frequent the longer you let this man stay in your life.

“Violence should be used strategically, sweetie. I would prefer to reserve the nuclear option for when it’s actually necessary. And isn’t it your job as an upstanding citizen to de-escalate conflict? Having you by my side will not only be useful for me, but is actually a public service for any bystanders.”

“I serve Linkon City, not the N109 zone.” You don’t know why you’re arguing. You had already made up your mind to help him. But the return of this familiar, smug and argumentative Sylus seems to pull you back into the pattern that is so easily repeated between the two of you.

“What an appallingly shortsighted response from someone who I know has gone to other cities and even other countries to fight wanderers in order to protect non-Linkon City citizens. Are the people of the N109 zone not also worthy of your devotion?”

It’s hot in the metro car, and you’re relieved as your stop approaches. You wait until you’re able to shoulder your way out of the mass of bodies and can breathe fresh air in order to respond freely.

“For shit’s sake Sylus, how did we go from hesitation about whether you actually need me to serve as your bodyguard tonight to me failing my duty to protect innocent people?”

“Is that honestly the only thing you can imagine when I request your talents? When did I ask you to be my bodyguard?” he asks, but before you can respond, he continues, “You’re the one who insists that you aren’t available to help people in the N109 zone tonight.”

“You, Sylus. Not people, you.” You step aside to allow a man with an adorable tiny fluffy dog move past, but it stops and sniffs you instead of moving along. You glance at the man, who’s actually quite handsome in a Finance Guy kind of way, which means he’ll be handsome to you up until the point he opens his mouth, but you can’t resist asking “May I pet this cutie?”

The guy’s face lights up. “Go ahead! Cricket loves pats.”

“Aww, Cricket is such an adorable name for such an adorably doggy!” You kneel down and offer your hand for Cricket to sniff, and then run your hand along the dog’s soft fur. It preens and arches its back, and then curls its hips around to ensure that you give it scritches near its tail.

“Aren’t you a good doggy,” you murmur, feeling the tension melt from your shoulders. You would love to have a pet, if you only had the time to take care of it. You give Cricket one final pat, and then stand back up. “Thank you, I really needed that,” you smile at Cricket’s dad.

“Anytime! Do you live in the neighborhood? Maybe, if you want—”

Suddenly you hear a loud crash on the other end of the phone, and the shock makes you wince.

“Or not,” the man rushes out. “It was just a thought.” He waves awkwardly, and then continues along his way, having to pull on Cricket's lead a little bit as the dog only reluctantly moves away from you.

You’re left standing there, wondering what the hell just happened. You look back down to your phone, where Sylus is looking somewhere off screen with a bored expression on his face. “The fuck, Sylus?”

“My apologies for interrupting your little interlude. It appears Mephisto knocked my phone off my nightstand,” he shrugs. “He’s not as well-behaved as… Cricket, it would seem.”

Interlude? What interlude? Petting a dog? “Uh, okay? I thought Mephisto isn’t a pet.”

“Correct.”

You wait for him to elaborate, but he remains serenely silent. “So why are we comparing Mephisto to a random dog on the street?”

“We’re not,” he lies. You stare at him. He seems to think for a moment, eyes moving back to the screen, taking in whatever he’s seeing on your side. Probably an unflattering view of your chin disappearing into your neck as you look directly down at your phone, still trying to weave through people on the sidewalk to get to your flat. You lower your head even further, trying to give him a good view up your nostrils, as a treat. There is no universe in which you care about what you look like to him. None. Certainly not this one. Finally, he speaks. “In any case, back to business. How about I make you a deal?”

In your happy break petting Cricket you had forgotten about the world, including what Sylus is demanding of you.

“If you come to me… and lend me your talents tonight, I’ll owe you a favor.”

You snort. “You already owe me for every day I haven’t delivered your head to my employer.”

“Then I’ll owe you a favor that I actually acknowledge owing to you,” he responds calmly. “Because I think you benefit just as much as I do from not delivering any piece of me, including my … head, to the authorities.”

You do not imagine any pieces of him. Delivering them, or doing anything else with them.

You’re finally within sight of your building. “I see. So you’ll owe me a favor. Any restrictions? Or are you actually offering me anything I want?”

“Anything you want. No restrictions, no conditions.”

“What if I told you to turn yourself in?” you ask, genuinely curious if he actually has no limits on this so-called favor.

“Done,” he says easily. Your feel your eyes widen, and he continues. “But again, for the same reasons that you haven’t already betrayed me, I don’t think that’s the favor you’ll call in.”

“And you’re really willing to place all your bets on that? Maybe I just haven’t turned you in out of laziness.” You watch him slip a pair of gloves on one big hand, and then the other, the supple leather gliding over his hands like a second skin.

“I’m all in on that bet.”

“And why’s that?”

“You are the furthest from the definition of laziness that I have ever encountered,” he says gravely. “And let’s just say, aside from the aforementioned benefits you enjoy with me walking around free, I think you’re more fond of me than you care to admit, even to yourself.”

You make a disgusted noise. “Let’s hope for your sake that your confidence isn’t misplaced.”

“Oh, there is no question that my confidence, in all things, is justified,” he smiles, one corner of his mouth quirking.

His arrogance is so thick, even through the phone, that you could gag on it. “Ugh,” is all you can say.

“Excellent. See you at 23:00. I’ll text you the address. I advise dressing appropriately and to bring the toy I left you when I had a headache, kitten.” And with that, he disconnects the call, leaving you standing in your elevator, wondering what the hell you just agreed to.

And now, here you are. Black leather pants, combat boots, a semiautomatic with red flames engraved along the hand grip in your side holster underneath your black leather jacket, various knives strapped along your forearms and in your boots. You brought two duffel bags with you. One is full of toys that might be useful if things get really ugly. The other simply contains something of Sylus’s that you’ve been wanting to return ever since he left it at your place. As you were getting ready, it occurred to that this might be the last chance you have to give it to him.

You’re standing in line in front of some upscale nightclub, waiting for your turn to be judged by the bouncer and either admitted or refused. Likely the latter, if Sylus doesn’t show up soon.

You showed up at exactly 23:00, approaching the long line with trepidation. You hadn’t realized when Sylus sent the address that it was actually a nightclub called Amnesia—a rather exclusive nightclub, with a selective policy regarding who they allow in. You hadn’t realized this until you saw the subtle sign glowing softly in the N109 zone's perpetual gloom and did a quick search on your phone. Most of the club goers are dressed in surprisingly tasteful club clothes—tightly tailored pants, artfully low necklines and backless tops, sensual dresses, except the sequins—so, so many shiny sequins. You squint and wonder how the hell you’re going to get in dressed like you’re ready for a biker rally with an arsenal big enough to stage a small coup. Mission objective number one, adequate renaissance of the target location: failed. But it’s your bedtime and you don’t even want to be here in the first place, so this is Sylus’s problem to solve. You wait. And you wait. The line inches forward. The longer you wait, the more irritated you get. Where the fuck is he? You glance at your phone, but there are no new messages.

So you dutifully stand in line, which continues forward at a very slow pace, quickly outpaced by your anger. You notice that the group of women in front of you have clearly been pre-gaming pretty hard. They’ve noticed you, and are side-eyeing your outfit. You’re worrying they’re going to say something mean, when one of them glides over to you effortlessly on very tall high heels. You straighten your spine and prepare yourself. I am a role model for the Deepspace Hunter’s Association, I will not punch a civilian in the solar plexus for saying something mean to me about the fact that I am a fashion disaster. I will not—

“You look so badass,” she grins, tossing her silky brunette hair over her shoulder. One of her friends sidles up behind her. “For real, and like, really hot. This whole look is a vibe.” She waves one beautifully manicured nail in front of you, to encompass the whole of your outfit.

You squint again, wondering if they’re making fun of you, but the entire lot of them are nodding and chattering amongst themselves. “Is it like, a cosplay event or something? Did we miss the announcement on Amnesia’s socials? I want to dress like I can murder someone with a look too!”

“Hey, I think most of our heels are sharp enough to count as weapons, right?” the first one says to her friend, and then looks at you hopefully for… confirmation? Approval?

“Oh, definitely,” you encourage her, because she really does seem earnest. “You can stomp your opponent on the foot or go for the groin! And you know, if you hold your keys like this,” you say, fishing your motorcycle keys out of your leather pants and holding the long, narrow part of the key between the knuckles of your index and middle finger while clutching the wider base in your palm, “you can use them as an improvised shiv! Just go for the eyes! Or the throat!”

You’re met with a chorus of “Ooooohs,” and wide, perfectly winged eyes. You’re feeling like a pretty good teacher when your phone dings. You fish it out of the inside of your leather jacket.

My Sy: Youre late.

You glare at the screen.

“Can you teach us that look, too? You look like you really want to end someone,” one of the women asks hesitantly. You nod.

You: no, you’re late. i’ve been standing out front since 23:00.

You look back up to your new friend and point at your eyebrows, lowering them to an exaggerated degree. She nods and tries to mimic you. Her gorgeous, perfectly plucked brows form a scowl. You nod and look back at your phone.

My Sy: Youre standing in front of the club?

You: huh, mr. sylus qin’s not as omniscient as he likes to pretend. looks like you should fire mephisto.

My Sy: No such luck, sweetie. Ive decided to put him on permanent kitten observation duty after tonight. Why are you standing out front, instead of going inside?

You point at your chin now, and lower your head so that you’re looking at the club girl like a bull about to charge. She gives you a thumbs up and lowers her head, and then stomps her foot for good measure.

You: because there’s a line. which you’d know, if you bothered to show up.

My Sy: Of course. I should have known youd obey the rules and refuse to jump the line. Another miscalculation on my part. Stay put.

You roll your eyes. Of course he expects you to just keep waiting. Maybe he needs to find a parking spot. You turn to your friend. “Yeah, you look really intimidating now! Do that to the next person who hits on you and won’t take no for an answer.” You grin at her.

She laughs and you two proceed to try to out-glare each other, until you see her eyes go wider than previous attempts. You tense when you sense a large presence behind you, but calmly turn, hand drifting to your jacket holster containing the gun Sylus gave you.

It’s just the bouncer. Or at least, you think she’s the bouncer. She’s tall, muscular, and has a tight black t-shirt with Amnesia written in small, tasteful letters in the middle, right under the collar.

“Are you…” she pauses, and checks her tablet again. “The boss’s ‘sweet little hunter?’” she intones, clearly reading the words against her will, but she manages to keep the look of disgust that you’re pretty sure is trying to fight its way onto her face from appearing with admirable professionalism.

“By boss, you mean…?” You already know the answer. Of course you do. Your anger ratchets up another notch.

“Mr. Sylus Qin,” she says. “So are you the hunter, or not?”

You nod. “All right, follow me.” She lifts the velvet rope, and your new friends wave enthusiastically and cheer loudly for you as the bouncer leads you past the crowd and into the club. You stare at the bouncer's back, where her shirt reads ‘security’ in large block letters. She has an obvious pistol harness crisscrossed over her strong shoulders with two semiautomatics strapped into each holster. This is the N109 zone after, all. It doesn’t surprise you that Sylus’s bouncers are well-armed.

Once inside, she gestures vaguely towards the back of the huge space and says “He’s waiting for you in the Lethe VIP lounge.” And then she’s gone.

You quickly scan your surroundings, assessing threats, noting exits and bottlenecks. The atmosphere is completely different than THE BOOM BOOM ROOM, the only club you’ve visited recently. This place smells expensive. No stale beer and stale sweat, but probably diffusers hidden along the walls that emit the scent of sandalwood and other subtle spices. The music is full of reverb, heavy, with slow beats, sensual—specifically composed to make the listener feel reckless and sexy after a few strong drinks. The décor is a blend of vintage details and modern sleekness, and somehow it works to create the impression of tasteful decadence.

A long, dark wooden bar lines one wall, with standing tables and booths filling the space in front of it. Vases of fresh, dark-petaled flowers sit on each surface. Beyond the seating area, the dance floor spreads out in front of a slightly raised stage, where a DJ is playing to coordinated LED lights. Acrobatic performers, faces painted to resemble crying jesters and theatrical masks, hang suspended by hoops from the ceiling above the dance floor. They slowly twist and arch their bodies through, over, and off the hoops, spinning gently over the heads of the surging dancers.

If nothing else, it has been worth coming tonight to watch one in particular, with curly ginger hair, lean chest bare, arching gracefully through a sequence, bowing their back until their foot touches the top of their head. You wonder what kind of mobility exercise routine is required to attain that level of flexibility, and make a note to do an online search—but you’re here on a mission. Although the longer you look, the less you understand why Sylus asked for your help tonight. The place is crawling with security. He has a small army on staff. Why does he need you?

As your assessing gaze continues to wander, you see two familiar figures at the far end of the bar. And a third, unfamiliar person standing with them. From across the darkened, tastefully lit room, you see a beautiful woman. She’s wearing a tasteful suit, dark hair coiled in beautiful braids. She’s laughing at something one of the twins has just said, her slender hand on his shoulder. They have the easy familiarity of people who have known each other for a long time.

She looks like who you had imagined, as Sylus told you that you had the sophistication of a cactus. You look down at your scuffed combat boots. The clunky duffel bags clutched in your gloved hands, in this beautiful nightclub full of beautiful people. You look back at Sylus’s associates. One of the twins has his masked face turned towards you, but you have no idea if he has noticed you. You turn away.

You are water. You can drown in yourself, before anyone can drown you first. You won’t give them the satisfaction. You focus on the dancers again. The handsome ginger catches your eye, and smiles. Your heart hurts, they’re so pretty.

You haven’t heard shit from Sylus since he told you to sit tight. He didn’t bother to give you proper intel about this night at all. And he clearly already has all the security he could possibly need in this edgy, sensual monstrosity of an establishment. You’re suddenly so pissed you can hardly see straight. You could be watching John Wick 16: the Penultimate Chapter right now, but instead your heart is drowning in your chest and the person he was probably dreaming about the other morning is in the same damn room. You make a fist and pound your chest, once, hard, right over your heart.

The pain brings you back to your senses. You turn away from the dancers, find a staircase leading to the upper floors of the club, and take two steps at a time, relieved that the rooms on the top floor have elegant nameplates, each named after something in mythology regarding memory and the psyche. You stop in front of a black door with the plate reading ‘Lethe’, and kick open the door. What? Your hands are fucking full.

Inside, the room is as over the top and beautiful as the lower floors of the club. You have an impression of deep maroon walls, black leather furniture, low-slung and perfect for fucking, for an orgy really, your intrusive thoughts tell you. There are people: the twins, the woman. Huh. They must have slipped upstairs while you were staring at the dancers again. And there are two men, but you only catalogue the men long enough to determine that they are not visibly armed. No threats. All you can see now is the relaxed man straight ahead of you, at the back of the room, his arms stretched wide across the back of the black leather booth, manspreading as usual.

You reach down, fling the duffel full of weapons over your shoulder, and unzip the other, incredibly full one as you stride towards the smug asshole who summoned you here.

“Finally, I was starting to—” Sylus’s voice hardly penetrates the fog of rage coursing through you.

“I have a present for you,” you interrupt him, and he perks up, a subtle smile lifting one corner of his beautiful mouth, but that’s the last you see of him before you expertly launch the absolutely stuffed duffel bag at him. It lands on his lap, where you aimed it, and the feathers he left on your bed the other morning explode into the air and gently rain down on him, covering him from head to toe in a thick layer of black. At least the landslide that has spread from him to the booth are hardly distinguishable from the leather.

You were right. The only thing you can hear in the ensuing silence is the tick of his fancy fucking watch.

You close your eyes. That felt good. You open them. He’s still sitting in the same relaxed position, but now there are black feathers caught in his silky silver hair, dusting his shoulders, filling his lap. He makes no effort to brush them off.

“You really didn’t have to, kitten,” he says peacefully into the ticking, shocked silence. "You already had my attention without launching another aerial assault."

“I know. But I couldn’t bear the thought of how sad the feathers would be, separated from you. I couldn’t just leave them to suffer on my bed.”

As soon as the words are out of your mouth, you slam your hand over it. Oh shit. If that woman really is his actual object of interest, you just made it sound like something is going on between you and Sylus that most definitely isn’t. You glance at her. She’s watching you from between the twins, and has a grin on her face. Maybe she didn’t hear…?

Someone clears their throat. You turn again, this time sweeping your gaze over the two well-dressed, handsome men, one seated next to Sylus and (you wince) who caught some of the feather fallout, and the other seated across the low table from Sylus. They’re dressed sharply, but not like they’re going clubbing. Almost like this is a… business meeting. But the dude who got caught as collateral feather damage is seated like, really close to Sylus. Now that you're actually looking at him, you realize that he’s really beautiful. Like, as pretty as Xavier. He's looking at Sylus, grinning from ear to ear. His teeth are blindingly white. Maybe it’s not the beautiful woman who Sylus was dreaming about, but this guy?

Why do you even care? You are a waterfall, drowning out any inconvenient feelings about this wanted felon. You are not a psycho who assumes that everyone who breathes the same air as Sylus is a potential romantic rival. Not even a rival, because you’re not competing. This is not a competition, you have no horse in this race, this is neither your circus nor your monkeys, you were just the hired help for the evening and it’s clear that there is a surplus of staff in the security department tonight so you’re going to go home and watch a man murder a football stadium worth of humans because of a puppy.

“Well, I’m so sorry to have interrupted,” you say, as if you had just accidentally peeked into the wrong room, instead of careening in here like a cannonball and launching a full scale feather assault on the owner of the establishment like a lunatic. “I will get out of your feathers—I mean, hair.” You bow slightly, because why the fuck not, tighten your hold on your remaining duffel. Sylus can just keep the other one—you definitely do not want a souvenir from this night. You then stride back the way you came.

You refuse to turn and look at Mister Toothpaste Commercial sitting next to Sylus again as you go. But as you approach the twins, you can’t help but take one last look at the woman since she’s standing next to your exit. You’re just curious. Nothing else. Just a curious little… lake. Because you’re water. And nothing can hurt you if you’re just a placid lake in a serene forest.

Yikes, after getting a better look at her face, you realize she is young. Like, teenager young? Okay, age gaps are fine if both parties have a certain level of maturity. Who are you to judge? You hope if she is the one he wants to bite that they’re happy together. Really. You’re just the bottom of the ocean, and you can survive great pressure.

“Are you just going to leave right after giving me such a considerate gift, without allowing me to even thank you?” Sylus’s sardonic voice seems to fill the room.

You stop, but can’t bring yourself to turn around. “No thanks necessary. It's not even a gift. Just returning property to its rightful owner.” You take another step.

“What about our deal? You still haven’t given me what we bargained for tonight.”

This time you turn your head. “I’m pretty sure you have enough security for your needs tonight. Let’s just call everything off, okay? No one owes anyone anything, and you can offer that favor to someone else.” You look at the girl, but she’s not smiling anymore—rather, she’s looking at you with… confused disgust? Fuck it’s hard to read people. Maybe she’s suffering from intestinal gas. Maybe Sylus carries around lactase tablets for both the twins and his girlfriend.

Someone clears their throat behind you. “Sir, perhaps I should return another time when you’re not so entangled in… domestic strife,” a respectful voice sounds behind you. You whip around. The man seated across from Sylus and wearing a nicely tailored blue suit is glancing between you and Sylus.

“Oh no,” you say, holding up your gloved hands. “No, sorry, this isn’t .. a domestic anything. Like, we are not like that.” You shake your head. The man suddenly looks relieved. You feel encouraged. You don’t want Mister Toothpaste Commercial or Miss Jailbait to get the wrong idea. You’re nobody.

You look at Sylus. He just looks steadily back at you, as if waiting to see what the next spectacle you have to offer will be. Why isn’t he saying anything to deny such an absurd allegation?

“So you are not the partner he wanted to introduce to me tonight, is that correct?”

He wanted to introduce his partner to this guy? Who even is this guy? You know what? None of your business. All you need to know is that he does, in fact, have a partner, and that partner, is in fact, not you, and it doesn’t matter that he helped you fall asleep a few times and touched you like you were precious, because he has a partner and that partner is not you and might be the child bride over there in the corner or the teeth whitening product model on the booth next to him. You are water so deep that you’re the Marianas trench. You’re so deep, no life can survive at all. You ignore the fact that you think you read somewhere that little weird volcanic tube worms can survive down there. Because where there’s no life, there’s no pain: the only solace of death. You’re fine. No tube worms at all.

“That’s correct. Just ask him! I mean, I’m not his type. And honestly, he’s not mine.”

The man looks alarmed for a moment, like he is afraid for you to keep going. But you do anyway. You try really hard to think about why Sylus wouldn’t be your type, when everything about him is gorgeous and intelligent and fascinating and when he wants to be, so, so sweet. “I mean, I’m only interested in someone who is tall. And who clearly spends enough time in the gym. Like, ripped. And who’s actually incredibly bright, who can make running multiple businesses look easy. And someone who seems really scary at first glance, but is actually heartbreakingly sweet when he feels like it. And funny! Who can honestly make me laugh on the worst day of my life.” You trail off. Clear your throat. “So no. Sylus is not my type.” You snap your mouth shut. You rub your heart—it must still ache from when you hit it earlier. That’s all this pain is.

The man, who has nice dark hair, and nicely trimmed facial hair, and nice shoes that may be oxfords or brogues but you have no fucking clue which, nods slowly, as if what you just said isn’t wildly awkward. “Oh, so when you said you wanted to introduce us to your partner,” he looks back curiously at Sylus, then at the woman standing with the twins. “Are you who he meant?”

Okay, is this guy just going to ignore Mister Toothpaste Commercial as a potential love interest? Maybe he’s bi-phobic. You don't know where Sylus's tastes lie. Again, not your business. You’re going to stomp your phone to smithereens the second you get out of here, you’re not going to stay at Xavier’s, because it’s too close to home. You’re going to Rafayel’s, and you’re going to sell your place. You’re going to apply for a hunter position in the arctic. You will be surrounded by snow there, all the frozen water you could ever want, and you’re never going to find yourself in such a fucked up situation ever again.

“I’m afraid not,” Sylus says. “She's not my type.”

You pause, just for a second. You don’t actually want to hear why she’s not his type, because in the end, it’s not your business. And even if you thought she was his partner there for a few minutes, you don’t want to hear him say things that might hurt her feelings. Because you know how it feels to be on the receiving end of Sylus's disdain, and it sucks.

“I’m only interested in someone who is effortlessly surprising." He looks at you. "Who uses their strength to protect the weak, instead of exploiting them. Whose tongue is sharp enough to match my own. A tongue I don’t mind surrendering myself to, to be shredded on again, and again.”

Again, there’s only the ticking of that insufferable, sexy watch on his insufferable, thick wrist.

Your heart doesn’t hurt at his description. At all. You must have just really hit it a little too hard earlier. You're a raindrop. It's your job to splatter all over the ground. You're just doing your job. You've always been very, very good at doing your job.

The person he’s describing sounds fascinating, and the perfect match for him. He'll never get bored with them, and maybe their goodness will rub off on him. Good for him. You had wanted to be friends with him, right? Before you realized that you might actually have feelings beyond hate, beyond wanting to fuck his brains out and then never speaking to him again. This is good. Your friends deserve people they can care about the way he just described caring about this person. Everyone should get to experience that in their life, at least once.

The silence and your thoughts are shattered when Miss Child Bride snorts. “Thank fuck. Cause we already went over why that would be gross.” She turns to Kieran and Luke. “Now I see what you mean. What a shitshow.”

“Right?” One of the twins responds. “So are you in?”

“Yeah. But I see your two weeks and raise you two months.”

The other twin fist bumps her. “You’re on.”

Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Clear the room,” he commands.

Kieran, Luke and Miss Jailbait all do little lackadaisical salutes and turn to leave. As the girl walks past you, she waves her hand in front of your face. You jerk back, hand instinctively going to the knife strapped on your thigh.

“Woah there, hunter. No need to get defensive.” She grins at you.

You suppress the urge to see how big she'd be smiling if you swept her legs out from under her sensible heels and then did a diving elbow drop onto her prone form as punishment for invading your space. She might be Sylus's partner and thus owed some respect because you respect him, but you don't like when people you don't know get in your space. “What the fuck was that for?” you ask instead, because you're polite.

“Just trying to see if you're blind.”

One of the twins puts his hand on her shoulder. “Rule number four: refrain from teasing boss’s pet hunter, or else he will get angry.”

“Yeah, cause he likes to do it himself.” The other twin chimes in, putting his hand on her other shoulder. “Let’s go get you to Linda before you're fired before you’re actually hired.” They guide her out the door.

You just stand there. You feel like what just happened is really offensive, to someone, somewhere, but you have no fucking clue why.

The two men have also gotten to their feet and are now moving past you, and Mister Toothpaste Commercial is grinning at you like you just made his night for some reason. Why is everyone in here a nutcase? you wonder hypocritically. You tighten your hold on your duffel and start trailing after them.

Only to be lifted in the air by the scarlet-ink tendrils of Sylus’s evol, its energy making the hair along your arms stand on end. “Not you, kitten.”

Against your will, you find yourself being carried gently to the booth and deposited onto the surprisingly soft leather, right next to Sylus. The feathers puff up, and then settle around you again.

Wordlessly, Sylus slips the duffel’s handle from your shoulder and with a little surprised grunt of effort, sets it on his other side. Yeah, it's heavy. You brought a lot of hardware in case things went south tonight. Which they did, just not in the way you anticipated. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him sweep a look from your head to your toes. “I tell you that I need your talents and to dress appropriately, and this is what you show up wearing?” he asks, as if all of the weirdness that just happened is of no significance. He sounds genuinely curious.

“Well, yeah. I can't wear my hunter gear into the N109 zone, and figured the leather was better than my usual cargo pants and harness. If we had to fight our way out of a group of assailants, or jump out of a window onto say, a gravel surface, this is still a lot more practical than…” you pause, eyeing his attire in turn. The black suit with the scarlet vest he is wearing is clearly tailored to fit him like the gloves stretching over his huge hands. You refuse to look at his hands. The fabric of his suit lovingly embraces his broad shoulders, nips in at his narrow waist, and leaves very little to the imagination regarding what he’s… packing, on both sides of the whole package. You will not think about what he is packing. What you felt against you, the other morning—

“I see. So this is what you consider your talents?” His voice mercifully interrupts your not thinking about bulges and the ‘Is that a billy club in your pants or are you just happy to see me’ dumpster fire in your head.

“This? What do you mean by ‘this’?”

“The ability to be prepared for any violent scenario and meet it with competence, in the service of someone else.” His blood bright eyes bore into you, and you know he’s not using his aether core on you, but it kind of feels like it.

“What else could you have meant?” you ask, genuinely confused. You eliminate wanderers. You fight, apprehend and on occasion, have had to kill humans who would have killed you if you had hesitated. You can’t think of any other talents you might possess that Sylus would want. Or any other talents, at all. Even if you could remember who you were when you were a child, you’ve been a hunter long enough now that it’s hard to remember who you were before you put on the uniform and dedicated yourself to defending those who are unable to defend themselves.

“Yes, what indeed? Good question, kitten.”

“And you didn’t tell me that you wanted me to meet you at one of your nightclubs,” you mutter, the irritation surging again. “If you didn’t want me to show up and embarrass you, ready for a fight, you could have just said so.”

“Is proper intel gathering before going on a mission not part of your hunter’s handbook?” Sylus asks, running a finger along your leather-clad shoulder.

“Of course it is.”

“Then why didn’t you investigate the location of our rendezvous tonight before heading out?”

You look away from him, staring through what you now realize is a one-way mirror. The room looks out over the two floors below, each with dance floors and bars, pulsating lights, tables adorned with those strange beautiful flowers. The undulating bodies of dancers are lit dramatically from the light show pulsing to the rhythm of the music.

You frown. “Since it was you, I just assumed it was some shady warehouse or something.”

Sylus is quiet, but you feel his finger continue drifting along your shoulder until his hand comes to rest on the back of the booth near your other shoulder. “That’s an unfortunate habit you’ve had, since the first time we met.”

You turn to look at him, only to find his face so close to yours that you can count the dark striations in his red, red irises. They’re all you can see for a long moment.

“What do you mean?” you whisper, because anything else would feel like shouting in the quiet of the room, with his face so close to yours.

“Assuming things about me.”

You’re alert enough to know that he’s not just talking about your assumption that tonight would take place somewhere dangerous. Your thoughts flit to your assumption that he had… that he had been responsible for the house explosion. For your grandmother and Caleb. Your assumption that he wouldn’t have a plan for dealing with his enemies at the auction. Your assumption that he would take advantage of your nudity in the hallway of your home by looking his fill. What else have you assumed about him? You remember his bite along your shoulder, and the assumption that it was meant for someone else. “You only tell me what you feel like telling me. How else am I supposed to fill in the blanks?” you ask.

Sylus’s hand along the back of the booth drifts back to your shoulder, over the collar of your jacket, up the sensitive skin along the back of your neck. His fingers find their way into your hair, and he gently runs them through its locks. It feels so good, you have to stifle a groan of pleasure.

“You could always ask me,” he says.

“Would you even answer me? You have a habit of answering questions with other questions,” you sigh, giving in to the temptation to let your head fall back into his big palm, his fingers gently massaging your scalp. You try to let your hands rest at your sides, but jerk a little when one of them lands on his big thigh. You move it, but he grabs it with his hand that isn't busy in your hair, and rests it back on his thigh again. He’s so warm, as always. You shouldn’t want to let him touch you like this if he has someone else. You can’t bring yourself to move.

“Well, you won’t find out until you try, will you?” he asks. You let your head roll in his hand, so you can see his face.

“Who was that man sitting next to you earlier?” you ask. Maybe if you start simple, you’ll lull him into telling you the truth when you ask him what you really need to know. What you don’t want to actually know, because then the illusion of Sylus treating only you like this, the illusion that you’re special, will dissipate like mist under sunlight.

His fingers pause, but then he continues caressing you. “That’s Aidan.”

You wait. He stares at you steadily. “You’re really going to make me ask detailed follow up questions, instead of just answering the question fully?” you scowl at him, but don’t move. His hand in your hair feels too damn good. He smiles, clearly amused by your frustration.

“I don’t give away intelligence for free. I need something in return for providing you thorough responses to all of your burning questions.”

You sigh. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

“What do you want, Sylus?” you ask. If the price is too high, you’ll somehow stand up and walk away, and live with wondering for the rest of your life about who these people in his life are, and if he belongs to someone else.

“The price will depend on the quantity of intel you request tonight,” he gently tugs on a fistful of your hair. You are boneless. You are melting into the couch from the pleasure, despite the negotiation.

“I could always use the favor you owe me for even coming out tonight,” you remind him.

“I think not. You haven’t earned that favor yet. The only thing you’ve done tonight is show up late and assault me with plumage.”

“Excuse you, I was here at exactly eleven. It’s you who were late in realizing that you didn’t exactly tell me where to find you. And as for my present, just think of it as me contributing to a more environmentally sustainable lifestyle. I could have just trashed them, but instead I re-gifted them. Now you can stuff a fleet of throw pillows or the body of an enemy to display as a warning to others.”

Sylus laughs softly. “What a delightful image.”

“I'm fucking delightful,” you sniff.

He hums in agreement. You both sit there in companionable silence, with only the distant sound of the club below and his hands moving in your hair filling the space between you. After awhile, he says, “So what will it be? Are you willing to buy now, and pay later for the opportunity to interrogate me?”

You want to know. You don’t want to know. You follow the sharp lines of his face with your eyes: his panther eyes, his aquiline nose, his generous mouth, the cut of his jaw. You’re so tired of making a decision, only to fold and abandon it in the face of his indomitable will. You want off this roller coaster ride already. You need to decide whether you’re in, and want to be a part of Sylus’s life, in whatever form he’ll have you, or out. And then, once you’ve made your decision, you need to have the steel resolve that he so effortlessly displays—if you’re in, you’ll bury your affection and misplaced hope in him, and treat him like any other friend. If you’re out, you will destroy your phone. You will move. You will ask for a transfer that will put you out of his reach for a long enough period of time that he’ll finally lose interest in toying with you. You sit up, and his hand falls away from your hair.

“Do you have a coin on you? The one you do that little villain bit with when your mind is racing?”

His eyebrows lift a little, as if he’s surprised that you noticed that he tends to fidget when he’s thinking hard. The corner of his mouth tilts up. “Villain bit?”

“Do you have it?” you repeat.

“I do.”

“May I use it for a moment?”

He stares at you, amusement fading. Whatever he sees on your face has him letting go of your hand and reaching for his pocket, but suddenly your own arm is jerked forward.

“What the—” you try to pull away, but only succeed in slightly pulling Sylus’s arm back toward you. You look down and find the scarlet-golden glimmer of the energy shackles linking your wrist to his. You haven’t been linked like this since the one and only time you managed to resonate with him.

“The fuck, Sylus?”

Sylus looks down as well, and then scowls deeply. “Why are you asking me? I was wondering what was on your mind, but was willing to let you keep your secrets for now. However, now I must insist on knowing what’s going on in that busy brain of yours.” He lifts your linked hands and gently taps your forehead with his index finger.

You try to pull away again, but he just grasps your hand in his, tightly.

You glare at him. He stares at you.

You stick your tongue out at him.

“Careful, kitten. Don’t make offers you’re not ready for me to accept.”

You look away. The club below is fascinating. You will not let him win. Finally, you hear him huff. He brings your clasped hands to his trouser pocket, slipping both into it. You feel his strong hip along the back of your hand through the cloth of his pocket. He pulls your hands out again and releases yours. And then, coin held between his index and middle finger, he solemnly offers it to you.

“Which side comes up more often than the other?” you ask as you take it from his fingers with your unlinked hand, careful not to touch him.

“Tails,” he responds immediately. You don’t trust him for a second.

If it’s heads, you’ll walk away from him and the life that allows him access to you.

If it’s tails, you’ll ask him who these people were tonight and whether he has a partner. You’ll be his friend, no matter what, and close off that needy, delusional part of yourself that hopes for more from him, and you’ll never think of it again.

You toss the coin in the air and watch it as it flashes, twisting in the air. You catch it in your palm. You take a deep breath. You open your palm.

You are the water in a bottomless well. All of the things that can hurt you are down so deep, you’ll never be able to access them again. You let the fledgling feelings for this impossible man slip quietly into the well. You’re a serene pond, reflecting an endless blue sky, and there’s nothing underneath at all.

“Who is Aidan?” you ask.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #how many tags are there in this fandom this is exhausting #my fanfic #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus x you #yup you #i really meant to resolve the misunderstanding in this part #but this ending up being way too long #so the big question for mc will be answered at the beginning of the next part #which is half written #i'm not going to drag it out too long #thanekrios ensured that this part is only slightly grilled cheese instead of an entire cheese board #i hope it's enjoyable

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