“we really shouldn’t.” comes the captain’s response, his lips quirking up in a wry smile.
you both know of the consequences if you were caught. of his honour tarnished, your name disgraced, the fine line you tread between these altercations. for what would the world say, if they saw their beloved princess — the treasure of khaenri’ah, defiled by the likes of a common man?
but tucked away in a clandestine retreat of a private garden, you would say to hell with it.
oh it must be so terrible, the way he touches you, staining you with his blood soaked gauntlets, there is surely better company you can indulge in than the captain of the royal guard himself, battle hardened, and with that helmet surely hiding a monstrous face — for why else does he wear one?
alas, you’re the only one who knows why, it lying discarded beside him alongside your underwear.
and he is far from anything terrible, handling you with a gentleness that almost couldn’t possibly have been associated with his imposing being, the brush of his fingertips featherlight, pushing up your skirts and spreading your legs.
his breath fans against your core, warm and airy, barely giving you any time to think before he’s brought you to bliss, dragging his tongue against your folds in a singular motion.
your hands tighten on the top of his head, fingers entangling between ebony locks as a choked gasp escapes you, eyelids fluttering gently. ”oh gods.”
the rest of your words fade into babbled, incoherent moans just as quickly under him, his tongue delving deeper inside you, swirling around your walls and flicking over your sensitive spots like a man starved.
“f-fuck capitano.” your legs tighten around him, caging him in, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes at every thrust of his tongue, sending pure ecstasy through your veins, your head falling back, holding him there as you shudder and curse out.
it hasn’t even been that long and you’re shaking, hips thrusting up against his face. and you gaze down at him, how he flicks his eyes up at you, sapphire irises gleaming in the light with such devotion. he’s beautiful.
toes curling, you can’t control the moans coming from your throat. it makes a delightful sound mixed with your heavy breathing. how you love him, you need more—
“capitano, please,” you gasp out between trembling breaths, tears staining your flushed face. “need you…hh—”
he lifts a hand to wipe away your tears a moment later, shushing you — stopping those words from slipping past your lips, a solemn reminder of where you stand.
“don’t. you know i cannot.”
he closes his eyes, loosing a breath. he knows what you desire, and despite all the lines you’ve crossed already — this was one he would never cross, the last scrap of dignity and honour whom he is loath to part with.
the royal guards existed to serve, and he had already gone above and beyond in that field, in the chase for your pleasure. but to indulge you further — lay a claim upon your body, take you as his, went against everything.
“but i would let you. no other should.” you enunciate, the dazed, glassy look over your eyes has dissipated, peering up at him with such burning indignation. ruin me, ruin us — i’d let you.
“i know.” he murmurs, dipping his head, your fingers tracing the scarred outlines of his face with the gentle caress of a lover’s.
but you know in your heart, you could never be that. the nation always came first.
you would soon be wed, a suitor chosen for you amongst the nobility. and you would live out the rest of your days, serving your nation to the best of your abilities. he would not take it from you, be the one to deflower you, leave you tainted and defiled by the touch of a common guard.
his honour would never allow it, to take what is not his to claim.
but you cannot seem to let each other go completely. the feel of his skin brushing against yours, searing kisses shared beneath the twilight entwined in this delicate dance that teeters upon a precipice of ticking time, yet restrained by it all the same.
you would always desire more, eternally yearning.
“i love you.”
he presses a chaste kiss on the top of your head. “i know.”
“we really shouldn’t.” comes the captain’s response, his lips quirking up in a wry smile.
you both know of the consequences if you were caught. of his honour tarnished, your name disgraced, the fine line you tread between these altercations. for what would the world say, if they saw their beloved princess — the treasure of khaenri’ah, defiled by the likes of a common man?
but tucked away in a clandestine retreat of a private garden, you would say to hell with it.
oh it must be so terrible, the way he touches you, staining you with his blood soaked gauntlets, there is surely better company you can indulge in than the captain of the royal guard himself, battle hardened, and with that helmet surely hiding a monstrous face — for why else does he wear one?
alas, you’re the only one who knows why, it lying discarded beside him alongside your underwear.
and he is far from anything terrible, handling you with a gentleness that almost couldn’t possibly have been associated with his imposing being, the brush of his fingertips featherlight, pushing up your skirts and spreading your legs.
his breath fans against your core, warm and airy, barely giving you any time to think before he’s brought you to bliss, dragging his tongue against your folds in a singular motion.
your hands tighten on the top of his head, fingers entangling between ebony locks as a choked gasp escapes you, eyelids fluttering gently. ”oh gods.”
the rest of your words fade into babbled, incoherent moans just as quickly under him, his tongue delving deeper inside you, swirling around your walls and flicking over your sensitive spots like a man starved.
“f-fuck capitano.” your legs tighten around him, caging him in, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes at every thrust of his tongue, sending pure ecstasy through your veins, your head falling back, holding him there as you shudder and curse out.
it hasn’t even been that long and you’re shaking, hips thrusting up against his face. and you gaze down at him, how he flicks his eyes up at you, sapphire irises gleaming in the light with such devotion. he’s beautiful.
toes curling, you can’t control the moans coming from your throat. it makes a delightful sound mixed with your heavy breathing. how you love him, you need more—
“capitano, please,” you gasp out between trembling breaths, tears staining your flushed face. “need you…hh—”
he lifts a hand to wipe away your tears a moment later, shushing you — stopping those words from slipping past your lips, a solemn reminder of where you stand.
“don’t. you know i cannot.”
he closes his eyes, loosing a breath. he knows what you desire, and despite all the lines you’ve crossed already — this was one he would never cross, the last scrap of dignity and honour whom he is loath to part with.
the royal guards existed to serve, and he had already gone above and beyond in that field, in the chase for your pleasure. but to indulge you further — lay a claim upon your body, take you as his, went against everything.
“but i would let you. no other should.” you enunciate, the dazed, glassy look over your eyes has dissipated, peering up at him with such burning indignation. ruin me, ruin us — i’d let you.
“i know.” he murmurs, dipping his head, your fingers tracing the scarred outlines of his face with the gentle caress of a lover’s.
but you know in your heart, you could never be that. the nation always came first.
you would soon be wed, a suitor chosen for you amongst the nobility. and you would live out the rest of your days, serving your nation to the best of your abilities. he would not take it from you, be the one to deflower you, leave you tainted and defiled by the touch of a common guard.
his honour would never allow it, to take what is not his to claim.
but you cannot seem to let each other go completely. the feel of his skin brushing against yours, searing kisses shared beneath the twilight entwined in this delicate dance that teeters upon a precipice of ticking time, yet restrained by it all the same.
you would always desire more, eternally yearning.
“i love you.”
he presses a chaste kiss on the top of your head. “i know.”
the arrangement was clear from the start — there was supposed to be no feelings, no strings attached.
feelings are fatal, and desire all the more. they bring down everything you have built up, worming their way into even the most wretched, shrivelled up of hearts if shown the slightest of weaknesses.
but blade is no man of such weakness.
in his mind, there is only one singular goal he chases, and nothing was to lead him astray from its path laid out by destiny’s slave. it is rare that any other need should arise, and even so, they are normally dealt with quickly, efficiently, like he is known for.
you are but one of those methods, reserved for such occasions where he is stricken by the urges that plague every human. for immortality has not changed him completely, only giving him an eternity to let his grievances and frustrations fester. the mara lingers in the back of his mind, always threatening to overtake him, in reminder he cannot hold all this within him.
you know he’s dangerous — you don’t pretend as if you haven’t seen his face in wanted posters across the galaxy. it’s all the more reason you should never cross that line with him, into anything else beyond mere passing acquaintances. nothing good is sure to come of it, meeting those piercing crimson irises that seem to burn into your frame.
it’s bad, it’s reckless, it’s every infringing word that comes to mind, yet it still leaves you gasping for breath and your body trembling — those same hands that soak in bloodshed and end lives, that do nothing now but bring you pleasure.
“fuck.” he hisses through gritted teeth as he pushes himself into you, slowly, so you can feel every inch of him, stretching you out as your legs wrap around his hips, your walls clenching around his length, desperately sucking him in.
it’s a blurring of contradictions upon one another, that sweet mixture of pain coupled with the thrumming of desires within your blood, and the way such cruel hands could be capable of such sensibilities, rocking into you as tears spring to your eyes amidst its euphoria.
there’s something that’s oddly, devastatingly beautiful about him in the moonlight, pale skin illuminated in a silvery incandescent glow, the hard planes of his chest carved in the likeness of a marble statue, and loose ebony black hair spilling over his shoulders. you can only wonder why he has turned to such a crude existence, chipping away at himself as nothing more than a blade.
and one day, will you find that blade turned upon you? such thought hangs heavy over your head, shuddering when his grip tightens against your skin, digging into flesh, threatening to draw blood. he holds your life precariously in his hands, yet too exposes his own vulnerability, and in allowing this — what is it that he sees in you?
you can never tell. his face betrays little emotion, with eyes just as cold — they scrutinise your form, as if finding the most efficient way to reach your climax with each thrust of his. perhaps it really is only transactional, with you yourself just lucky enough to have caught his attention.
but there are times where he almost holds you with the gentleness of a lover, cradling your cheek, his breath warm against your face, eyes drifting to your parted lips. they’ll never touch, of that which you had agreed, your skin remaining unblemished and unbroken — leaving no reminder such an altercation had existed.
instead he presses his head deeper into the crook of your neck and deeper into you. you inhale sharply, surrounded by his scent which seems to grow stronger in your proximity — flowery and rich and smooth and comforting.
your hands entwine themselves within the soft stands of his hair, grasping it in between your fingers, itself but a fleeting moment to cherish, alongside every roll of his hips, brushing against the most sensitive spots inside you, your body arching into his as he draws pleasured moans one after another out of you.
it’s a good night, a good time — so where did it begin to go wrong?
but it happens all too quickly, yet another reminder that moments like this are short lived. every conjecture is entertained by your fancy, only to be shut down by its contradiction, cementing your place in the reality of it all.
when you awake, the sun’s rays are peeking through the windows, bathing the room in a golden light — you’re surprised to see him still here, fast asleep, instead of a cold bed.
it strikes you, that you’ve only ever seen him beneath the silvery outlines of moonlight, himself like an eclipsing star, disappearing before the morning light can creep up upon him. the way the light that dances across his skin is mesmerising, giving him a touch of colour across his cheeks, and illuminating the navy hues you didn’t know existed in his hair.
you had foolishly wondered what it was like to wake up to this view every day, spurred by the giddy feelings pounding in your chest. you had reached your hand out to brush away the bangs covering his face for a better view, fingers trailing across his skin — it’s soft, his expression relaxed.
or for a moment it was.
you’ve brushed against the line, threatened to cross it. but he stops you in your tracks, eyes snapping open immediately at your touch, scarlet hues widening with alertness as his hand flies to grasp your wrist, suspended only mere inches from his face. “what are you—”
“i—” you start, opening your mouth to apologise, voice quivering slightly at the look on his face, those same eyes boring into you with a piercing intensity.
he’s unamused, eyes narrowing, his expression hardening. he’s returned to the way it always has been — cold, unfeeling and apathetic. his walls come up again, after having unwittingly let them down in front of you.
“save it.” blade turns away, dropping your hand. he slides out from underneath the sheets without another word, already moving to get dressed.
you watch his back muscles flex as he ties up his hair — you’ve never questioned the pale, jagged scars that crisscross his figure, nor what exactly that he is. you are reminded once more that you truly know almost nothing about him, and that it should stay that way. nothing good comes out of knowing more than you should.
to want that, to want anything more than he owes you is a selfish wish.
“we’re done here.” his admission is biting, set with a sense of finality. he doesn’t give you a chance to react to his abrupt outburst, merely turning on his heel and leaving as quickly as he could allow.
he offers you no explanation, nor does he spare you one last glance, still curled up in surprise on the bed, as you watch him retreat out the door — as nothing more than a stranger.
you won’t see him again.
that is just the reality of your relationship.
and such will remain as the truth to you. it is the truth blade wants to believe as well. but unlike you, who has had no choice but to accept what has come from his mouth, doubt lingers in the back of his mind — you linger there.
would it be worse, had he stayed for a moment longer, indulged you? the thoughts eat away at him like pounding nails in his head — the very reason he cannot be in yet another second of your presence ever again.
you’ve made him think, when all he had wanted was to be lost in a mindless haze.
you’ve made him feel weak. even if it was only for a moment, to let his thoughts have been consumed by the idea of you. your lips, the soft mound of your flesh, they invite nothing but a temptation he hasn’t felt in a long time — the very thing that had led to his downfall once. it cannot be something he can indulge further, even for a momentary final glance.
so he tries to forget you, amongst what he does best, hacking and slicing away at his frustrations, tearing through the path he’s cut with his bare hands, drowning in a red sea pilfered with weeping misery. he is like his name, unrelenting and unmoving, each edge as sharp as the next.
but it offers only a brief reprieve from all the pains his body is racked with.
for it creeps up on him, on nights of tranquil silence and when he stands as the sole victor amidst fields of slaughtered dead — that his existence is a lonely one.
he feels the absence, pressing in on him in the darkness of his dimly lit room, freeing his hard-on from the constraints of his pants, palming it in his hand.
it’s a poor replacement for something he knows could be better, he remembers it all too well — the way your pussy had clenched around him, the feel of supple flesh beneath his fingers and the fleeting illusion that there had been something shared between you.
“fuck.” he groans.
he thinks of you, all the ways you had been splayed out before him, moonlight dancing upon the curve of your delicate breasts. you had been so vulnerable, so soft — his teeth ached to bite, yearning to leave marks across the valley between your breasts until the skin is bruised in the shape of his name.
and your lips — your lips had always seemed so enticing, glistening cherry red, never to be touched, to be sullied by him.
he wonders, would things have been different, in that moment had he closed that distance, tasted its forbidden fruit upon his tongue?
it’s a threat, laced with a hint of sarcasm as you feel the cold metal of a gun press against the back of your head — a loaded one at that, for the galaxy rangers do not play at such bluffs.
perhaps you should’ve thought twice before crossing him, now at the mercy of the same man, pushing you further into the wall, trapping you between him.
“shame if i had to blow your pretty brains out don’t ya think?”
oh he’s entertained the idea, after having chased you through the streets and across rooftops — you’re far more than just an innocent barmaid that had served him his drinks. especially with the way you’ve utterly ridiculed him, swindled him from right under his nose with the sway of your hips that too had bore away almost all his credits.
you’re a tricky one, he’ll give you that. people like you, they’ll find a way to slip through the cracks. but he won’t let you escape this time, not under his watch — and not until you pay back what is due.
with a face like that, it really is a shame. if you had asked him only mere moments ago, it would almost be hard to believe a person like you had an inclination toward such criminal things.
for you had been good, so very good to him.
“another drink?” your voice wafts in his head, sultry and full of a saccharine sweetness that too lies present upon your lips.
indeed, you were a rare beauty amid the desolation, and he had been awestruck, enraptured beneath your spell, passed into a momentary daze where all conception of reality had flown from the window.
for what seemed like a moment, you had been whispering sweet nothings in his ear, hands tangled in his hair as another had moved lower, tracing along his chest and then further down… until he didn’t remember where you had gone, nor had realised why his pockets had felt almost infinitely lighter until now.
“to think we were havin’ a heck of a good time, until you sweep all my savings from under my nose! we have unfinished business, don’t ya think?”
“i—”
you feel the metal dig further into your head in response as he leans in, hot breath tickling your neck as he whispers, almost in disbelief. “you’re a damned crazy woman. making me chase ya all this way? can’t leave me hanging like that.”
“i should get my money’s worth at the very least.” boothill grins, dragging the gun down your face, tilting up your chin with it, eyes meeting monochrome ones glinting beneath the light of the sun — fixated upon your figure as if you’re a target finally caught in his sights. “you’ve practically made it off with all my money for fudges sake!”
you have nothing to say back to him, he’s right after all. your mouth betrays you, the words on the tip of your tongue cut off by the quiet gasp that escapes you. you’ve dealt with all sorts of people over the years — but you seem to have bitten off far more than you can chew this time.
“what’s wrong? cat got ya tongue?” he asks, hands digging into your hips as his breath tickles your chin, closing a distance you hadn’t recalled was ever there, his bodies pressed against you back. you can feel every ridge of hard metal, as his fingers slip downward, brushing against the flesh atop your thighs, slowly creeping between the folds of your dress.
his teeth nip at the exposed skin of your neck, its abrupt sharpness causing you to arch back with a stifled gasp, teetering on the edge of pain as pleasure as you subconsciously buck your hips against him, almost as if he still didn’t have a loaded gun pointed at your head.
one wrong move and it could go off, a part of you has the sensibility to remember.
truly, you think, if anyone were to walk down this alley at this moment, they’d witness such a spectacle of debauchery — you’ve never felt nor been seen as pathetic as you are now. he’s barely done a thing, yet you’re dripping wet, bent over at his mercy.
you wonder, has that been how he had felt? being left feeling so hopelessly vulnerable after a mere taste you had offered so tantalisingly. you shudder beneath his touch, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel him slip a finger inside.
the sound that escapes you is nothing short of debased, an altercation between a surprised gasp and a pleasured moan, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes at the sudden intrusion. it’s not anything you’re used to for sure — it’s cold, textured almost, with its rough edges.
he hardly gives you any time to adjust before he’s curling his fingers inside you, feeling your walls flutter around him, coated with slick. soon does his name falls from your lips like a plea for forgiveness, a high pitched moan rolling from your tongue as he finds that sweet, sweet spot within you.
“haah… fuck… boothill...!” you brace yourself against the wall, legs trembling as he continues with an almost reckless abandon, leaving your figure reduced to dishevelled mess beneath him.
boothill thinks you’re prettier like this, when you’re dancing in the palm of his hand and not him in yours, one that had only had him wanting more, left to only entertain as mere thoughts as you had showed your hand, disappearing like a faint wisp. for that taste had been your spell and yet too a disenchantment.
you may have covered his eyes, yet still he runs on primal instincts, chasing after you like a hunter pursuing its target, spurred on by necessity yet too partially from lust. he does not only think of his hard earned credits that now dangle tauntingly from his reach, but how they’re grasped in your delicate hands, that had held him only moments ago, where the ghost of your touch lingers upon his skin.
oh you had been crazy — crazy enough to test him at the very least. he won’t hesitate to remind you of that, for you too have unknowingly tread into the domain of a thrill seeking madman.
he lowers the gun pressed against your head, grinning like a shark.
in your muddied haze, you hardly notice the pressure being lifted — whining almost at the loss of contact as his fingers slip out of you at the same time. you feel empty momentarily, not registering where his gun has slipped to, until it’s moved elsewhere much more sensitive.
your eyes widen as you feel the rough edge of the gun brush against your entrance, a choked noise escaping your throat as you shoot him a look of disbelief. “that’s not…!”
“oh you can take it darlin’”
“i— ahh…” you whimper as the tip of the gun dips between your folds, your legs trembling even harder than before, slick coating the barrel and dripping down your thighs. you feel tears streaming down your face again, as if mourning the loss of the remaining shreds of self dignity you had left.
“there ya go.” boothill rasps against your ear, teeth latching onto your neck as he pushes it further in, your walls clamping down around it with a mixture of fear and anticipation.
then without so much of a warning, he drags it out and plunges it back in, watching as you turn to putty in his arms — your eyes are rolled to the back of your head in a fucked out bliss, your body shaking beneath him in equal force to his thrusts.
“ha! that’s more like it baby.”
you cry out as his hand cracks down on your ass, the stinging pain fading into the waves of pleasure crashing down on you, the rough edges of the gun brushing against your puffy clit coupled with the grip he has on your neck — there’s stars swimming before your eyes almost.
you’re babbling incoherently, his name spilling from your lips with each thrust amid your gasps and moans, with that tightly wound knot coiled in the pit of your stomach threatening to snap at any moment.
and when you’re begging for forgiveness, for him to let you come, hips grinding against his hand for more friction in a desperation for release — truly, it’s filthy, yet endearing at the same time.
but he only adjusts the position of the gun in you with a smirk, his other hand squeezing your ass.
your casino, before the ipc had come and run it to the ground, along with every other business your family had owned in this world — crushed beneath the weight of taxes, tallying up to a century's worth of unpaid debt now imposed by this foreign corporation.
he seems to be having fun though, you think dejectedly, as you scan the brightly lit room, where the blonde haired male now sits in the middle of it all, engrossed within a game of poker, chips piled high by his side. you can only watch as golden coins are exchanged between hands and cash is pocketed, knowing its profits will never reach you.
everything belongs to the ipc now. they’ll soon drain this world dry and move on to things with greater promise, as you look hopelessly at the business card he had handed you earlier, embellished with the logo of the ipc and his name written in curling golden letters on the other side — aventurine.
“aventurine.” the name rolls from your tongue quietly, trying to hide the slight tremor in your voice — you’re still unsure of this whole affair, as you approach him.
the game pauses.
aventurine lifts his head, glancing up at you. his lips pull up into a smile a moment later, his purple eyes gleaming. “ah miss y/n, we meet again.”
he knows you — your type, barging in to negotiate as if another singular conversation would lift the debt on your families, to change the mind of the ipc. perhaps the spirit is there, but truly you have no grasp on any business, nothing more than a girl who had grown up among riches, who now had the world crashing down around her, seeking him out in desperation.
you’re all clueless, and willing to do anything — this the first time in your life where you’ve struggled, despaired even, at the uncertainties of the future which had once been promised to you.
“this game is over.” he tells the others crowded around, throwing a bag of gold onto the table. they scatter immediately, scooping up any loose coins before disappearing out the door.
some spare you an almost pitying glance, as they pass you on the way to the door, leaving you alone with aventurine.
he gets up from his seat at the table and walks over to a nearby couch, plopping himself down with a sigh. he pats the spot next to him, indicating for you to sit down.
begrudgingly you sit, careful not to let your dress ride up.
“i’ll have you know there is little i can do for your situation.” aventurine sighs, lounging back, his arm splayed across the back of the couch.
you look pretty today, he thinks, swept up in a short dress that hugs your figure. there’s something about you that gives off regality, despite the slow collapse of it all he’s to witness — he’s surprised you’re keeping it together still.
“i know but,” you swallow. “there is something right? can’t you pull some strings? this isn’t right— this must be a mistake, they should reinvestigate this. my family has always been honest and paid their taxes, it doesn’t make sense for all this to happen all of a sudden.”
he huffs. “of course i can pull strings, but that comes at a price, one that many aren’t willing to pay.”
“we can pay it.” you blurt, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “we still have some money left in savings—”
“uhuh” he places his finger on your lips as if to silence you, and you pause, a confused expression crossing your face. “not that price. it’s not something able to be bought. you can’t buy a lot of things these days i suppose; loyalty, respect, sincerity all that.”
“don’t cry.” he adds, as he notices your face fall, almost as if it offers any consolation to your situation — to himself even. he knows he’s a terrible person, having committed countless sins to get to the position he sits in now.
“what do i do then?” you glance up at him, looking almost hopelessly lost. but he can see the faint flicker in your eyes, that’s still willing to blindly sacrifice. you really are clueless — so much, it’s almost endearing. perhaps he is to offer his guidance.
“i really do like you y/n, you know.” aventurine offers you a look, a pitying one almost. but alas, you can never truly tell what intention brews behind those eyes. “it really would be a shame to see someone like you lose everything like this.”
“you’re quite a pretty thing aren’t you?” he murmurs in your ear, hot breath tickling your neck as his cold hand slides across your exposed thighs, eliciting a quiet gasp from you. “and what can i say to a damsel in distress after all? i can’t let her leave unhappy.”
“aventurine—” you don’t recall how you ended up sitting atop his lap, his mouth trailing across your bare neck as his free hand slides beneath your dress, toying with the band of your panties, before pulling it aside.
“shh relax.” he silences your muffled cry with his own mouth, lips meeting your own as he slides a finger into you — then another, there’s tears watering your eyes again as your walls clench around him, soft whimpers escaping you as he pushes them further in. “you’re so tight, let me fix that.”
truly he does think you’re pretty, from your first meeting where you had stood as an elegant figure of ethereal grace — he had not thought such a treasure existed in such far flung corners of the universe. and now, he sees you laid out before him, face flushed, in likeness to a fragile porcelain doll he handles carefully, lest you break amid the tears that stream down your face.
his free hand pulls down the zipper of your dress, you shiver — revealing the full flush of your figure, his mouth trailing past your collarbone, down to your exposed breasts, his tongue flicking out as if to savour the feeling of your bare skin, a low moan of satisfaction escaping him. do you know you smell so heavenly? so divine?
it’s inviting. he thinks maybe you look prettier when you cry, tipping your head back as he curls a finger against that sweet spot inside you, his name pushing past your lips.
yet even such a sight is not enough for him — one who seeks the most grandiose spectacles after all. he’s not a selfless man, looking only to pleasure you. you had been the one that had come to him begging, owing him a debt that has yet to be repaid. and had he not taken that opportunity for himself?
you just make it all the more tempting for him, as he pulls his fingers out from you, denying you. you seem to shudder at the loss, vacantly staring as he licks your arousal from his fingers. it’s sweet, he thinks.
he unbuckles his belt, letting it slip to the floor with a clink, snapping you from your daze. there’s a brief moment of hesitation that seems to flash across your eyes at the sight of his hardened length. but you seem to get the hint, remembering who it is you serve — perhaps you aren’t entirely clueless after all.
your eyes flutter shut as you swallow back a gulp, sinking down on his cock, your breaths shaky and haggard, burying your face in the crook of his neck, as if to stifle your cry, as a groan rumbles in his own chest. “fuck.. you feel so good.”
“look at me baby.” he gasps, pulling you from his chest, fingers tangling themselves in your hair, violet irises dancing, as he rolls his hips against yours and you moan. he didn’t think you could make such a beautiful noise, lips crashing against yours as if poised to devour the essence of your angelic being completely.
it’s truly some exalting paradox in your existence, yourself a diamond in the rough. he thinks himself enamoured by you in the height of his pleasures, drawn in by this innate vulnerability you exhibit toward him when you yourself are at your lowest, marked by the tears upon your lashes — and momentarily he questions, is it sinful to have taken such an advantage over you?
but alas, he’s committed a great many sins.
you’re dancing in the palm of his hands, tits bouncing up and down as he thrusts upwards into you, letting that sweet, sweet melody of your pleasure fill his ears, pushing any coherent thoughts from aventurine’s mind.
your own mind is equally blank, you’re numb, shaking all over as you ride his cock, gasping as his fingers dig into your thighs, lifting you up and slamming you back down — a cry escaping you, your legs trembling, as the knot in your stomach seems to tighten with each movement of his. he’s grown rougher, faster.
“a-aventurine!”
“mm you’re beautiful.” he kisses along your neck, as you wrap your arms around him, nails digging into his back amid a muffled sob, as he continues, settling into a steady pace.
at this point you’ve begun to lose count of the times he’s abused your cunt, your vision blurring as a sudden orgasm crashes through you, the knot in your stomach growing taut — then snapping, without so much of a warning, as his cock hits that sweet spot of yours, one that has you seeing stars.
he fucks you through your release, your first, and then every other one that follows, in chase of his own, your walls growing tighter and more desperate — your cries becoming higher and higher in pitch, you’re practically keening with your head thrown back, eyes rolled back into your head.
you can’t feel your legs anymore, aventurine being your sole support, bouncing you up and down. you feel his cock twitch inside you moments later, a breathless moan leaving you as his warm seed spills into you, the excess leaking down your legs in a stream of milky white.
you slump against his frame with a tired sigh. you don’t know how long you sit there for, his cock still inside you. he doesn’t make any effort to move either, content to have you rest against him.
“so.” he says a moment later, lazily caressing your bare thigh, arching an elegant eyebrow at you. “same time. next week?”
back to business so quickly, you think. you manage to raise your head to look at him with a confused expression, eyes bleary and unfocused.
“you seriously didn’t think repaying this debt was a one time thing did you?” a smile curls across his lips, purple eyes gleaming in the light.
when the mara strikes, blade becomes someone else completely — a victim to such carnal feelings that had once lain dormant within him.
for there’s nothing to be heard between the two of you but the shaky, staggered breaths that push themselves past his lips, and the lewd squelch of you sinking yourself down on his length, head tipped back in a breathless moan at the feel of his cock inside your walls, rolling your hips slowly against him.
but still, it’s not nearly enough to satisfy him, eyes of burning amber boring into your own, the flames that dance behind his gaze fueled with this all consuming desire that writhes within him, beneath flesh rendered undying by the sickness that plagues his body and mind, rearing its head in provocation once more.
you’re trying to curb his desperation, cling to the tether that restrains him from that edge of insanity, to the mara that wells up inside him that wants to drown him within such depths. yet he sinks further into its depravity, the hands that grip your ass tightening, and the stinging feeling of nails digging into your skin, holding you down as his hips rut upwards into you with reckless abandon.
it’s a mistake, you think, visiting the luofu. it’s done nothing but let memories of the past resurface, something that should’ve stayed buried with all his anger and sorrows. he’ll never get to take it out on those responsible, their existences having slipped through his fingers like sand in an hourglass of time, left to repeat a vicious cycle with no end.
blade takes it out on you instead — you wonder what it is he sees, as you plant your hands on his heaving chest to steady yourself, your legs trembling from exertion. perhaps he sees a past love in you and seeks to replicate it, or you’re just a means that serves his needs to forget, among the mara that consumes his mind.
yet you’re losing yourself within this madness of his, that faint shred of control you had tried to hold over him dissipating in the feeling of his touch that sets your skin aflame, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your body shudders around him, his cock twitching inside you, emptying his hot, sticky load within you.
but he’s far from done, you realise.
there’s barely a moment's respite before he flips over, shifting you from atop him to slam your back against the mattress. he seems to decide it’s not enough. the look in his eyes is almost feral, animalistic even, tangled strands of dark hair framing his face as he looks down at you panting heavily, his warm breath tickling your skin.
and when he kisses you, it’s rough and uncontrolled, simmering with aggression — the edge of his teeth grazing your bottom lip, sharp enough to draw blood, leaving a stinging, metallic taste upon your tongue as he explores your mouth, leaning into you, pushing apart your legs.
“w-wait… blade…” you manage to gasp out between breaths, eyes wide as your figure trembles beneath him, squirming in his grasp. but he’s too consumed in his own thoughts to pay any mind to you, fixated on your dripping entrance still leaking with his cum, inviting to be filled again.
an uncharacteristic laugh escapes him as if the sickness has finally taken root in his mind, a cruel, deranged smile ghosting across his lips as he pushes himself inside you without so much of a warning, tip kissing your cervix, watching your face twist in a mixture of pleasure and pain with an odd sense of crude satisfaction.
“you always understood the price better than any of us.” he rasps against your ear, fiery embers dancing with madness in his dilated pupils.
it’s guttural and harsh, so utterly removed from his normal tone, as if he’s talking to a different person entirely — imagining someone else in your place as he slams his cock into you again, and then again, any words you had to say choked into silence by the hand he wraps around your throat.
you can’t breathe, each thrust of his easing out lilting gasps from you, shaking legs wrapped around his figure, nails digging into his back as you take all of him in, walls desperately clenching around his length.
he’s picked up the pace, and at this angle he’s practically abusing your cunt, mouth moving down the column of your neck in a slow, deliberate motion, before biting down hard — your body arching into his, tears pricking at your eyes as you cry out his name. “b-blade!”
the stellaron hunter ignores your sobs, burying his face in the crook of your neck, rutting his hips into yours with such force almost as if he’s trying to split you in half — utterly consumed by this feeling of tearing into you with an all-consuming fervour, his suffocating mouth finding yours again, dredging the taste of your honeyed lips upon his burning tongue.
you let it overtake you, clouded with this fucked out pleasure, letting him do as he wishes to satiate his appetite, trailing kisses down the length of your torso, catching the nipple of your exposed breasts between his teeth, his tongue flicking out as if to savour the feeling of you and your bare skin in between, a low groan escaping him, voicing the epithets of his madness in the silence.
“hah… don’t you forget.” he hisses through gritted teeth, chest heaving with a broken laugh, eyes fixed on you with almost burning resolution, one that continues to pierce you with this fragmented shard of an unfinished business, that sticks as a memory to relive in his mind. “of five people, three must pay a price.”
you feel your vision swim, you’re seeing stars almost, that tightly coiled knot that’s been building up within you straining to snap at any moment, his name rolling from your own tongue in an incoherent babble, driven senseless as he recites his own woes with each thrust, directed to the silent ghost of the past, all pushed onto you with barely a discernment.
then you’re gushing on his cock, shuddering as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm — over and over, until your vocal cords are in shreds, tears freely flowing down your face as you can only part your lips in silent bliss.
and he'll keep going, the long years of grudges and hatred something to be savoured, like ice-cold aged liquor, one slow sip after another until the bottle of resentment is finally empty.
yingxing knows he’s good with his hands. it’s expected of a master craftsman like him — from one who forged some of the greatest weapons the xianzhou have seen in centuries, to piecing together intricate jewellery and designs with equal dexterity.
he’s shrouded in reverence, head filled with the praises of many. few may call him arrogant and proud, but even they cannot deny the truth of the talent held within the palm of his hands, blessed with this heaven sent gift, imbued in the creations he’s ever held the honour of handling.
one could almost mistaken him for some sort of divine god in their fervent admiration, with the essence of creation at his fingertips. the irony, you seem to think — if only they knew where else those fingers have been, the same ones who had put together such relics to banish sin.
truly, you think it’s almost sacrilegious, in the way they’re used now to coax such lewd sounds from you, his name rolling off your tongue like a sinful prayer.
it’s almost enough to bring you to tears, your legs trembling as he drags his fingers in and out of you at such an agonisingly slow pace, one that has your walls desperately clenching around them, wanting for more.
“just look at you,” he croons in your ear, taking in the sight of you spread out before him on a crafting bench, weapon blueprints and unfinished projects scattered around you — yingxing analyses you as if you’re another one of his creations, like you’re the greatest curiosity he’s ever beheld.
he tilts his head to the side, silvery white hair cascading over his bare shoulders as he raises his free hand to stroke your cheek, almost in mock sympathy at your pitiful state. he’s barely done a thing, and you’re already dripping wet, so needy for him that he thinks could make you cum with just the two fingers he has inside you.
“yingxing.. please.” you beg, but he knows exactly what he’s doing, in that he’s memorised every inch of your body, and knows exactly where to touch you, to see you come undone in front of his eyes.
to someone like him, taking something apart and putting it together are one in the same in the process of craftsmanship. humans and scrap metal are no different in that they have weak, sensitive points, and when he curls his finger against that sweet, sweet spot inside you, he’s rewarded with the sight of your eyes rolling to the back of your head, a soft moan pushing past your lips.
gods, he’s addicted to it, abusing that same spot over and over as you babble his name incoherently in some form of broken desperation. it’s almost like music to his ears, as if he’s the only person who can make you feel this good, that you’re all his.
because isn’t he just better than everyone else?
no other hands are as skilled as his. it’s what he’s been told his entire life, and that vain, self-satisfied part of him knows it to be true. no one would be able to do what he’s done with such precision, to be able to see the sight of you before him, reduced to a crying mess from just two of his fingers.
he wouldn’t let them try anyway. he’s a selfish man who always has something to prove, the sound of the bell tinkling as footsteps enter his workshop only gives him more incentive, roughly pinching your puffy clit in response, sending another sudden wave of pleasure coursing through you with a shudder.
the noise that escapes you is nothing short of shameful, yourself mortified such a sound could’ve come from you, clapping a hand over your mouth as if to silence yourself, but your arm is swatted aside, met with eyes of piercing sapphire.
he only smirks. “let them hear it. let them know how good it feels.”
you don’t know how he manages to push his fingers even deeper inside you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as your body arches into his, your nails digging into his back.
but you’re utterly delirious beneath him, his mouth sucking and biting at the sensitive spots across your skin, watching your eyelids flutter and the whimpers that escape you as his fingers work in and out of your dripping hole in tandem.
that small part of you that holds your remaining dignity thinks it’s so incredibly filthy, from the moans that now spill freely from your lips, to the things he whispers in your ear, as he brings you closer to that edge of pain and pleasure, that tightly coiled knot that’s been building up within you straining to snap at any moment.
“come for me.” he seems to say in the clouded haze of your pleasure, as your hips seem to tremble beneath him in response.
and then he’ll have you crumble completely in his arms, knowing he’s the only one that can piece you together, to fill you up again.
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