good is not soft

The Hound was behaving…atypically. Clarice always strove to maintain the standards of vocabulary her royal tutors once expected of her, and so she would not stoop to calling her subordinate’s ceaseless hovering “really weird” or “getting pretty annoying.” She would have simply agreed if someone else said such things. 

While it was true that the man who called himself The Hound could not survive if he strayed too far from Clarice for too long, he usually treated their forced proximity with distaste and showed no interest in her daily life. He waited for orders and then obeyed them to the letter. He did exactly what she asked of him and not a bit more. He chafed at Veyron’s instructions to look after the Princess of the fallen Sechs Empire, and Clarice privately couldn’t blame him—it must be humiliating beyond measure for a fallen god to play nursemaid to the woman who killed him. 

And now his continued existence depended on hers. Regardless of what either thought of it, that much was true. It was impossible to read whatever thoughts may lie behind The Hound’s icy visage, and a princess would never beg a dog to share his opinion of her. Clarice did, however, feel compelled to seek at least some answers on the third consecutive day of his odd behavior. He simply wouldn’t leave her alone. 

“Do you not have other duties to attend, Hound?”

“Oh, I’m sure I do, but I can’t seem to recall any…Princess.” Vague words and a spiteful tone, as always. 

“Your carelessness is not amusing,” she bit back. “I asked you to find the amulet of sacrifice. Upon your suggestion, might I remind you.”

“Consider me reminded,” he drawled, and did not make any attempt to leave the tent that served as the war room of what remained of the Sechs Empire. Clarice thumped her hands onto the wooden table, the force of it sending miniatures and placemarkers toppling over. The Hound whistled. She spun on him. 

“What is your problem with me?”

“You can’t really be asking me why I might have a ‘problem’ with the woman who struck me down in my prime,” said the insouciant man who leaned against the table like he owned it and avoided meeting her eyes. He picked up a small paperweight—shaped like a beast’s fang—and toyed with it between his fingers. He clearly wanted to bait her into a blame game and dig up the past so he could unsettle her and walk away all the more insufferable. Clarice did not feel like playing. 

“What is your present problem?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why are you shadowing my every step day and night? I’ve caught you peering over my shoulder as if spying on me twice today already, and it is barely past noon.  It is not welcome.” 

“Oh, don’t let it trouble you, Princess,” the wretch replied. He started rolling the brass fang between his palms. “I’m only keeping an eye on you like dear old Veyron said I should. I always do as I’m told, after all.” He was rolling the paperweight back and forth quite fast by the time he finished dramatically sighing out that excuse. 

“Are you trying to start a fire with that thing? Put it down, Hound.” He wrapped his hand into a fist around it and smacked it down on the table with a heavy thump. Clarice jumped a little, despite herself. He closed the distance between them in only a couple of strides, and then he was standing far too close to her, blowing right past any kind of respectful distance. Clarice pulled back but the Hound grabbed both her arms to hold her in place. 

“Remove your hands at once!” she squeaked, trying to sound authoritative. And failing badly, she knew. His grip tightened. “T-this is inappropriate. I would punish you for this, if you were an ordinary man—”

“Ah, there it is,” he said cryptically. 

“There is what? I’ve just about had it with you, Hound. Speak plainly.”

“My present problem, as you put it. I’m not an ordinary man, am I?” Of course not, Clarice thought. While he took the form of a handsome young man, this creature was a monster through and through. The monster shifted his grip to her waist and shoved her against the edge of the table. A moment later, she was pinned down by his hips against hers. Clarice let out a choked gasp as two equally intense feelings ran through her at once: horror, and desire. 

“So sorry,” The Hound whispered into her ear, not sounding the least bit sorry. His ice-cold breath made her shiver. “I thought I might be free of it, honestly, now that I’ve been reduced to this pathetic form, but it seems…not.” 

“F-free of what? Your sanity?” 

He barked out a laugh. “Can’t lose something you never had.” Clarice made a half-hearted effort to push him away. The reason didn’t really matter; this behavior was out of line. He ground his hips into hers in response, hard. “No, Princess, you’ll stay put. I can tell from your scent that you don’t hate this.” He grabbed her chin with one gloved hand and pulled away from her ear to look her in the eye, his face a cruel mockery of tenderness. “Do you, sweetheart?”

Clarice forced herself to look away from his piercing blue eyes and willed her own eyes to land on the most boring possible thing in the tent. Anything but The Hound’s smug face; his pretty and almost perfectly human looks made it too easy to forget what he was. Her body, however, could not ignore him as easily. She opted to just shut her eyes before she spoke. “You at least owe me an explanation for this insubordination, Hound. I’ll decide what to do with you when I hear it.” It was difficult to retain the upper hand when her adversary had her quite literally pinned down. He only laughed again, the sound as fake as the rest of his Tagesanbruch persona. 

“Very well. I suppose I can indulge you a little,” he purred. “You fought me in my true shape, dear Clarice, so I don’t need to tell you that I am a wolf. A god, too, of course…but still a beast. It seems even though you’ve forced me to reform my body into this…spirit, of sorts, I’m still subject to all the same old instincts.”

“Such as the urge to eat innocent people?” Clarice spat out. She whipped her head around when she said it, putting her only a couple of inches from his face. From his razor sharp teeth. 

“Yes, though that one’s been less pressing lately,” he said, surprising her. “I suppose I do have you to thank for that. And oh, relax—I’m not going to eat you.” 

“You must indeed be insane if you think that’s what I’m concerned about at this moment.” 

He tapped his fingers against her sides. Then, he dug them into her skin so hard it hurt. He grinned. “Don’t worry about a thing, Princess. I’m only going to fuck you for long enough to be rid of this maddening desire. You’ll enjoy your part in it well enough.” 

Clarice would have snarled if her throat was made to produce such sounds. “You truly believe you’ll have me? You killed my family.”

The Hound’s wickedly sharp fangs caught a slant of sunlight as he threw his head back, baying. He took his hands off her to rake them through his strange light-to-dark hair as he shook with laughter.  Even now, he mocked her. She hated him. She hated him so much. “And you killed me,” he hissed out at last. 

“You cannot truly think those two things-–”

“I don’t think anything you don’t allow me to think, Princess. I live to serve.”

“And yet you show me disrespect and disobedience even now.” She finally managed to fully shove him away from her. He let her. She looked at him, all of him—it was true that he appeared…affected by something. She’d never once seen him drink alcohol, but something similar to drunkenness obviously burned through his veins. His face was heavily flushed and his hands shook along with his legs. His breathing came heavy. His eyes kept flicking to her breasts, her waist, the exposed parts of her thighs. 

It occurred to Clarice that the arousal she felt might not be entirely her own. There was precedent for this man’s most intense desires to alter and even overshadow her own feelings. He didn’t know that she knew, but the wicked Kamurosaki had infected her with his curse—and consequently his thirst for vengeance—the moment she struck him down. This slender young man was what remained of the legendary wolf god who laid waste to Azuma and eventually made his way to Adonea, where he slaughtered nearly every survivor of the fall of the Sechs Empire. He was, for a long time, the most dangerous being to roam the world. He was spoken of in whispers and appeased with sacrifices. And in this moment, he looked pitiful. The thought of finally having this destructive, wild entity entirely at her mercy, dependent on her for more than simple survival, was admittedly…exciting. He would resent this view immensely, so that feeling must be all Clarice. 

 “If you mean to serve me, Hound, then cease barking and begging like a mad dog and serve. Get back in the field and find the amulet.” It gave her no small pleasure to deny him. It gave her even greater pleasure to watch the immediate effect it had on him; his handsome face twisting as if pained, his shaking hands balling into fists. 

“A mad dog, huh? I’m afraid that’s all I am, Princess. But you keep me around because I get the job done. I’ve been so effective, haven't I? I’ve handed you everything you wanted, everything you needed to get your revenge. And I’ll get your damn amulet. Give me this one thing in return. It’s your fault, anyway.”

She kept him around because he’d quite literally possessed her and she had no choice. She didn’t value his service or his contributions—he was nothing but an enemy she kept closer than her friends, because she had few left, because he ate most of them. What he wanted did not matter. In fact, nothing could possibly matter less. The Hound was the ghost of the calamity that destroyed her home. He deserved the state he was in: dead, diminished, and desperate. 

She grabbed the ring of his collar and tugged. He groaned. His face broke into an ecstatic grin so wide she could see all four of his lethal fangs. She leaned close, close enough to whisper in his ear:

“Bring me the amulet.”

“What?!”

“You heard me, Hound. Be a good dog and fetch it for me. If you manage that, we’ll see about addressing your…situation.” 

He stood completely still for a moment, his shaking aside, and then turned and stormed out of the tent, ripping claw marks into the draping as he went. 

The princess lounged on the grassy hillside with as much lazy inelegance as she could ever allow herself. The slight incline faced a dead-end cliff with a waterfall and held nothing of interest or use to anyone else, so Clarice could reliably steal a moment of time alone with the roaring water quieting the rest of the world. Today, though, she was not alone on the hill.

“I hope you have a warm, safe home waiting for you,” Clarice told the adorable wooly sitting beside her. It had appeared out of nowhere, but Clarice welcomed its company. She loved woolies. She sighed. “I wonder what you would think of all we’re doing here, little one.”

She couldn’t trust anyone with her true feelings, even Veyron, who looked after her like a father. But this little friend wouldn’t judge her for being weak and it wouldn’t try to take on her burdens. It wouldn’t even remember anything she said. So, on impulse, she told it everything. How she once had a home of her own, far across the sea, beloved even though it was built on the memory of a terrible empire. How she would have been happy staying in humble peace with her family forever. And then he appeared.

“The monstrous god Kamurosaki descended upon us from Azuma. Our streets ran red with blood. My father, mother, sister, even my little brother…none were spared.”

The little wooly’s nose twitched as it beheld her with wide, uncomprehending black eyes. A simple and pure creature like this wouldn’t have any way to understand her suffering, nor could it comprehend the absurd excess of violence that Clarice witnessed that day. The Lord of Lightning stole her life and he would pay in kind. Keeping the wolf god as some sort of ridiculous pet, dressing him up in gold tassels like he earned his place in her ranks, letting him sulk around the war room where no one heeded his words, tolerating his angry silence at her table as he ripped into meats and left everything else to rot—none of that made him her ally. Nothing would ever make him her friend. And none of it was fitting punishment.

The Hound was a weapon. Once he’d served his purpose and Clarice had claimed a new home for the Sechs Empire using his power, she would purge the last remnants of Kamurosaki from this world.

“Rest assured, little one. I will take back what he stole from me. I will fight to ensure no one else ever has to suffer the same tragedy. I will slay every god of this land for allowing Kamurosaki to live, and I will save him for last.”

“There you are, Princess,” came a familiar voice.  “I am sorry to disturb your reverie.” If Veyron was willing to approach her here, he must have something important to say. The Hound trailed after him.

Clarice rose to her feet. The wooly swiftly shuffled away as the two men drew near, as if it sensed danger. Clever little thing, Clarice thought. I suppose a sheep would know the scent of a wolf. She would not let The Hound harm this creature even if he tried, but oddly, he paid it no mind at all. He was just staring at her.

“How fares the operation?” she pointedly asked Veyron.

“Splendidly, I daresay,” he replied with confidence. “Everything proceeds apace.” Her companion gave his full report in a brief but comprehensive manner.

“Excellent,” Clarice said in response. She kept her eyes fixed on the two other members of the Dawnstar Trio; looking at the wooly might draw The Hound’s attention. He could be very fast when he saw something he wanted to kill. Or wanted in general, apparently, if his haste to get into her bed was anything to go by.  Clarice noticed that the sorry beast appeared to have come back empty-handed. She couldn’t help but feel a rush of…disappointment. She couldn’t very well let him get what he wanted when he did not do as told. That would hand him all the power.  That would make her look easy. She was startled when The Hound slowly strode towards her. He drew something from his cloak.

“Here. Got you the last Amulet of Sacrifice.” His voice was free of his usual bitter disdain, but not for the better. He sounded flat, disinterested, and above all, bored. His eyes were cold and cautious. The Hound stood as far from her as he could as he handed off the Amulet. Clarice wondered if between two days ago and now, he’d worked his own way out of whatever was affecting him. A bit unfortunate…but no doubt for the best.

“Hound!” snapped Veyron. “How dare you address the Princess with such brazen disrespect?!”

“Hold, Veyron,” Clarice commanded. She ran her fingers over the scratched surface of the wooden tablet. The very last one in the world, found who-knows-where. Or how. It couldn’t have been easy. “It’s exactly what I wanted. Well done, Hound.”

A wide, wicked smile snapped into place across his face. It was the same look he’d given her the other day, when she grabbed his collar and made him think he was about to have her. The Hound stretched his arms above his head as he tipped it back, showing off his neck, as if he knew she was thinking about that moment. “I’m glad I’m worthy of your praise,” he purred. “…At least.”  

“Veyron,” Clarice said. The Hound narrowed his eyes at her. “Thank you. You’ve given me much to think on. I would like to venture out for a walk to consider our next move. Go about your day and continue your research.”

“Yes, Princess, as you wish.” The tall man bowed and retreated. Clarice waited until Veyron went into the war room tent before she turned and walked out of the main entrance to their hideout. She would not slither or slip away from her own base. That was for him to do. The Hound may be nothing but a weapon, a tool, but if so: why shouldn’t she make full use of him? Clarice felt rather than saw The Hound make some kind of movement as she passed the gates, and then his presence disappeared entirely.

Clarice found herself walking around for a while and not thinking much at all about the Tagesanbruch’s plans. Maybe she misread the petulant wolf god. It would not be the first time. She would have thought her meaning was obvious, but after nearly half an hour of strolling down dirt roads and looking at the foliage of the Autumn Wilds, she suspected she was incorrect about that, or…perhaps he was no longer interested. Clarice meandered into a small sheltered cluster of brightly colored gingko.

“Don’t scream.”

“Hu—hhhmpgh!” A hand came down over Clarice’s mouth as the weight of a body shoved her against the trunk of a tree. She would know that cruel voice anywhere. She stamped her heel onto the arch of its owner’s foot.

“Oh fuck you,” The Hound snapped as he was forced off balance. “I waited so politely for you to finally find us some privacy, and this is how you treat me?”

Clarice bit at his hand, her blunt human teeth not doing much against the leather of his glove. Even so, The Hound uncovered her mouth. He instead wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, right at the base of her skull. He used that leverage to force her head to the side so he could lean close, barely above her skin, and take a deep breath. Whatever the wolf scented there made him moan, as if pained. He licked a wet stripe across the narrow swath of bare skin not covered by her collar, dragging his fangs along the path of his tongue. Clarice should hate everything about this. She didn’t.

“You do not know,” the wolf hissed, “The extent of your own cruelty.”

“Oh, but you know it all too well, don’t you…Kamurosaki? You should be well ac—” The Hound clapped his other hand over her mouth to shut her up. He proceeded to force his gloved fingers past her lips and nearly down her throat. She tried to pull away, gagging, but he still pressed on the back of her neck.

“Enough,” he snarled. “I’ve had enough. I tried to play nice. You could have let me have you before and been done with this. But no, you had to draw out my torment for two more days. Do you know what it’s like—being in a state like this for a whole damn week?”

Clarice shook her head as much as she was able.

“Of course you don’t,” The Hound said softly, almost sweetly. False, sickening sweetness. “This particular madness doesn’t affect humans. I know that much about your wretched kind. But you, my dear…I’m afraid you are affecting me. You’re especially receptive right now. I can smell it all over you every time you insist on coming near me. Can’t help it when you’re in season like this, hm? No, no,” he laughed as she tried to speak around his fingers. “Don’t try to bargain—I already know how you’ll make it up to me.”

She wasn’t going to ‘bargain’ with the beast; she was going to argue that he was the one who kept coming into her space and not the other way around. And why would her fertility level be the cause of this behavior, if that was what the vile man meant by all this ‘receptive’ and ‘in season’ business? The princess would bet the second coming of the Sechs Empire that Kamurosaki was not interested in fathering children. She shuddered to think what he might have done to any woman in the past who was misfortunate enough to get with child by him.

“Oh, excited, are we?” he whispered, mistaking her shudder of horror for a shiver of arousal.  “Well. Unlike you, I am merciful.” The Hound took his hand off her neck. Clarice turned her head just enough to see him rip his glove off with his teeth and toss it to the ground with a shake of his head. Without fanfare, he reached under her skirt and ripped away her undergarments. Of course, a wolf would have no sense for subtlety, she thought, and then stopped thinking at all when the Hound plunged two bare fingers past her entrance. Clarice’s entire body seized up at the sensation; not because it was an unwelcome invasion, but because his hands were ice cold. He aggressively worked his frigid fingers in and out of her as Clarice gasped and choked around the digits still in her mouth. There was no discernable technique in his movements, and his hand was shaking so badly Clarice could feel it from inside herself. After a few rough strokes, he stopped and muttered, “Ready enough, I suppose. Let’s see…”

She couldn’t quite tell what The Hound was doing, but his entire body went still and stiff a moment later. He released her jaw from his grip. Clarice took a few deep, ragged, unobstructed breaths and then took the opportunity to wriggle around and look behind her. She was surprised that he allowed it. She saw The Hound had his fingers—the ones he just pulled out of her—in his own mouth and had a strange look on his face. Dazed, perhaps?  He closed his eyes as he slowly drew his hand away, sucking his fingers until he released them with a pop.

“Damn.” He opened his eyes and they cut over to her, his gaze so arresting and predatory that it froze her in place. “That’s good.”

 “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you still have a taste for humans,” Clarice ground out. The Hound grabbed her by the waist and spun her around to face him.

“More than you know, Princess.” He went down onto his knees.

“Finally decided to show me some fealty? How becoming of you, Hound.” His eyes flicked up to meet hers for just a second, but he said nothing. “What’s this? No biting back this—”

He bit her inner thigh. Clarice instinctively recoiled, but The Hound wrapped his hands around her rear and hauled her up to sit on his shoulders, her exposed center right against his face and her back against the tree. He began lapping into her folds, pressing into her with such force that she would have indents from the bark in her backside afterwards. It felt amazing. He was absolutely devouring her. That thought sent a bolt of fear through Clarice which cut clean through the haze of lust. She willingly let Kamurosaki get his mouth on her. Kamurosaki. Had she lost her mind?

She reached down and dislodged his hat and grabbed his hair, right at the roots where it was all white, and tried to pull him off her. He moaned as if she did it to please him. She bucked her hips next, trying to force a break in his ministrations. It only served to get him a better angle so he could push his tongue all the way inside her. It also caused her to cut herself on his fangs. The sharp pain made her gasp, and he growled, the sound so deep it reverberated through her entire abdomen. He kept growling as he plunged his tongue into her for a few more passes and then began licking and sucking hard on her most sensitive region in a rapidly alternating pattern, moving as if he must taste as much of her as possible.

Clarice came like she got struck by lightning.

She writhed in The Hound’s hold as he ate her through it, not letting up in the slightest. The aftershocks had long faded by the time he finally got off her. The wicked wolf god looked up at her with a dreamy expression so unlike him that Clarice almost laughed. His pretty face was coated in her juices. And a little blood.

"You're loud," he said.

"W-what?! I..I am not!” Clarice was hardly aware of making any sounds at all. She certainly would not want this awful, selfish creature thinking she enjoyed his rare generosity as much as she did. Admittedly…she very, very much did.

"I like it." He rocked back on his haunches to let her legs fall from his shoulders and then rose to his feet, yanking her up with him. “Did you enjoy that?”

“Do you care?”

“No,” he said, grinning. “It’s only that I’ve never done that before, and I was merely curious if it’s equally enjoyable on the…other end.”

“Ah. Well. Um. I suppose I can commend you for your service for a second time today,” Clarice replied, hating how her face flushed. He shouldn’t get the satisfaction—her acknowledgement should be enough for him.

“Whatever,” The Hound shot back, still smiling. “You were squeaking like a puppy’s chew toy.” Before she could react to that audacity, he was backing her against the tree again. "You'll have to let me know how it feels when I fuck you.”

“And what, pray tell,” Clarice asked with asperity, “Makes you believe I’ll let you do that?”

He grabbed her and spun her away from him. Then, fast as anything, he seized one arm around her neck and put the princess in a headlock. She struggled despite knowing it was futile, just so she could later tell herself she resisted him as best she could. She was fairly certain The Hound was undoing his belt and his trousers with his other hand—yes, he was, she heard the metal of his buckle hit the ground by their feet, followed by a rustling sound. Done with undressing—as little as absolutely necessary, it seemed—her subordinate let go of her head but shoved her down in the same motion. He adjusted his grip.

The princess was left in a rather compromising position: her rear pressed against The Hound’s crotch, and her body’s upper half dangling uselessly, held up only by his hands around her forearms.

“Since you asked, I believe…” he whispered. Clarice was confused. What exactly had she asked? It was difficult to remember with the way he’d begun grinding his naked erection against her, not quite slipping inside. “You’ll let me do as I please, as I need, because you want it, too. You always have. I’ve seen the way you look at me, Princess.”

With that, he thrust inside of her all at once, harsh and unloving. He gave her no time to adjust to his surprisingly thick member before he was snapping his hips into her. He set a ruthless pace. The Hound was moaning and growling the entire time without pause. Clarice was sure now that she did sound like a squeak toy, because she felt like one; tossed around and chewed up and pressed in all the right places to rip her apart.  Or make her fall apart. Which she very nearly did—again—a little while into being pounded by her sworn enemy. Her core began fluttering around his length.

“That’s it, Princess, ohhhh,” he cried shamelessly. “That’s fucking it.” He picked up his pace, his voice growing smoky and strained. “Damn…never felt it like that before.”

“Never made a woman finish?” Clarice spat out mockingly, or at least that’s how she meant it. “Unsurprising.” Her amusement at her quip was short-lived. The Hound stilled himself.  

“Oh no, dear Clarice, never once in all my days,” he said, his tone sarcastic and cutting. “You must be so special.” The bastard actually spat on her back. “Please.”

“I am special,” she replied, trying to shift her hips so he might be tempted to continue. “I’m the Princess of the Sechs Empire. And the one who slayed Kamurosaki.”

‘Right,” said Kamurosaki a moment before he pulled out of her and proceeded to bodily push her to the ground. He mounted her, still from behind, but now gripping her face in total cruelty to grind it into the forest floor. He rutted into her.

“Well, Princess of the no-more Sechs Empire,” he hissed. “How do you think your precious people would feel about you getting fucked into the dirt by the very god who felled your kingdom? Getting bred by a beast like a bitch in heat?”

Clarice had nothing to say to this, because she couldn’t possibly imagine it. They would despise her for it. For her inability to resist this immoral temptation. For her pitiful desperation to achieve release. Her only recourse was to use all of the core strength she’d developed in her journey across continents to squeeze down on Kamurosaki’s cock so firmly he couldn’t push in any farther. The wolf wailed.

“Hold still, you heartless whore.”  

He started slamming into her so hard it hurt, proving himself the heartless one. It wasn’t long before Clarice hit her second pinnacle, writhing and crying out the name of the monster who ruined her life.

That monster reminded her exactly what kind of violent, dangerous creature he was when he sank his teeth into her neck. He bit down with such intensity that Clarice feared he would do permanent damage. Maybe she deserved it, for letting him do this at all. Especially for what she let him do only seconds later—he finished inside of her, spilling his seed straight into her womb. She prayed to every god except him that it wouldn’t take.  

He unlatched his jaws from her neck, and Clarice almost mourned the way she didn’t feel any closer to death. Death incarnate pulled out of her and she felt his hot spend drip down her thighs.

Clarice was vaguely aware of The Hound tossing her torn underwear in her direction and re-dressing himself from the waist down. He never removed the rest of his Tagesanbruch uniform. She didn’t even notice in the heat of the moment. It wasn’t like she would have gotten a good look at his figure anyway when he insisted on taking her from behind.

“Well, wasn’t that fun?” said The Hound, as lightly as if they’d actually gone for a walk. Clarice couldn’t find it in herself to reply—her entire body felt heavy and sleepy in the best possible way. If this were any other person, she might have wanted to cuddle up together and take a post-coital nap. “Oh, and Princess, one more thing.”

“Hm…?”

 “If you take anyone else to bed, I’ll kill them.”

Her drowsiness disappeared and was replaced by sheer offense. “Th—that is NOT for you to decide. I will bed who I choose!”

He shrugged. “I won’t stop you. I’ll just kill them after. So, if you need company…come find me.” He spun and walked off with a wave of his hand. A moment later, Clarice saw the telltale purple pillar of light that heralded his godly teleportation magic. She was left alone among the trees.

Clarice supposed she could use him for her pleasure just one or two more times before disposing of the wicked Kamurosaki.

“Eiland,” you whispered. “You don’t have to run. I’m not at risk of bleeding out.” 

“Hm? Oh! But Valen should see you right away…you know, even though the soil in Mistria is quite healthy compared to most places around Aldaria, it could still harbor unknown bacteria, and we don’t know what exactly you hit-–’”

“A rock, Eiland.” You sighed. His speculative nature was always cute, but you didn’t want him whipping himself up into a worried frenzy over this. “Let’s just rinse it off and see how it looks, alright?”

“Alright,” he replied, clearly skeptical. He slowed his pace and changed course. 

“Where are we going?”

“If you don’t want to see Valen yet, I’ll allow it, but I’m not going to toss you into your house to fend for yourself. We’re going to the manor.”

That made sense. It was closer anyway, having come from the Western Ruins into the center of town. You acquiesced and fell silent, snuggling closer into his chest for warmth. You could feel more than hear when he started humming—a soft, vaguely familiar melody. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You kept your eyes closed, content in Eiland’s arms, as he managed to get the front door open and enter the main hall. Someone was playing the piano. You only stirred and looked around when you felt him start to ascend the stairs. Interesting.

“Are we not going to your office? Wouldn’t that be easier?”

“Ah, it would, but far less comfortable!” Eiland announced cheerily and smiled down at you. Then, his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I would prefer to have you in my bed.” The words sent a flash of heat through your body. He surely didn’t mean it like that. Sweet, bashful Eiland would never manage to sound so smooth if he intended to be flirtatious. He probably meant exactly what he said. He preferred to have you in his bed to recover because it would be more comfortable. That made sense, just like coming here in the first place made sense. 

Moments later, you melted into a pile of blankets that both looked and felt expensive. Eiland was an outdoorsy person, but in his home, he did enjoy the finer things. His bookshelves were covered in history texts and board games and relics, but the quality and cut of the wood was still obvious. His bed felt pleasantly lived-in, but it was sturdy in a way that cheap construction never was, and the sheets no doubt had a thread count the better part of a thousand. You bunched one of them in your hand. The feeling of these sheets against your skin was not entirely unfamiliar. You’d been here before, of course, just not for the purpose of receiving medical treatment.

You glanced at your arm. It was no longer actively bleeding. That gave you some relief—at least you wouldn’t ruin Eiland’s fancy bedding like you had probably ruined his clothing. He didn’t seem to pay that any mind. He’d thrown his elegant cloak on the floor and was fishing through a box of what looked like basic medical supplies. You sat up, feet hanging off the edge of the mattress.

“Aha!” he cried, lifting a roll of bandages and a bottle. He grabbed some fresh cloth and tipped out a bit of the bottle’s contents onto it. “Here, hold out your arm. This might sting a bit!” He wiped the cloth over your cut, causing you to wince and hiss. He winced back. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I—”

“It’s fine, Eiland, really,” you said, laughing. “You did exactly what you’re supposed to do.”

“Did I, my dearest? I let this happen in the first place.” He looked morose as he finished cleaning you up. The scrape really didn’t look so bad afterwards. Eiland took the bandages, applied some ointment, and wrapped up your arm. “In any case, I think you were right; we probably don’t need to see Valen about your arm. Now, let’s have a look at that ankle. May I?” 

You nodded. Eiland sat down on the bed and unlaced your shoes, slid them off. Then, your socks. Finally, he raised the hem of your pant leg up as high as it would go to expose your injured ankle. His cool, slender fingers skimmed over your skin.

“Hmmm,” he hummed. He held your foot aloft, gingerly, as if inspecting a rare artifact.

“Eiland, can you actually tell what’s going on, or are you just preparing to guess?”

“It’s called a hypothesis when you have data.”

“Oh, forgive me, Professor Eiland,” you teased. He blushed. He ran his hand higher up your leg, onto your calf, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Does that hurt at all, sweetheart?”

“No, not at all,” you replied. “It’s really just my ankle, and honestly, even that’s not so bad now that I’ve been off my feet for a bit.”

“I’m glad to hear you say so,” he murmured, moving closer. He slid his hand up even farther as he looked thoughtful. “Hmm…I’d call that anecdotal evidence. That’s when—”

“Eiland,” you said, laughing and giving him a playful shove. “I know what that is. I hear you talk about the most reliable methods of ‘understanding the people of the past’ every day!”

“I think you haven’t been paying attention to my lessons,” he replied. His indigo eyes scanned you up and down—or perhaps, studied would be a better word for the way he looked at you. Then, he hooked his arm under your knee and pulled you flat onto your back. Caught by surprise by his casual show of strength, you froze as he climbed into bed and leaned over you.

“W-what do you mean, Eiland?” You peered up at him, feigning innocence. As if you hadn’t suspected his intentions the moment he first set foot up the stairs. “I’m always paying attention, if it’s you talking.”

“I—um,” he trailed off, blushing furiously. “Now, that’s not fair! You know my heart can’t take it when you say things like that without warning.”

“My sincerest apologies, Professor,” you purred. “Anecdotal evidence? You were saying?”

“Ahem, yes.” Eiland cleared his throat. He dipped his head, his mouth only inches from yours, but he did not let your lips meet.  “Anecdotal evidence, while valuable, is generally not considered the ‘most reliable’ source of information about our history.”

“I see. And what is?”

“Think for yourself,” he replied, and began kissing his way down your neck.

“It is…physical evidence?” His lips reached your chest.

“Very good.” He placed a gentle kiss on your stomach. “Hmm. I would be remiss to ignore such a perfect opportunity to model correct research techniques.” Spirits, he was such a nerd, but you loved him so much. Eiland unbuttoned your pants and drew them over your hips. You stopped thinking anything about him being a huge dork—you stopped thinking any thoughts at all—when he licked you right through your flimsy undergarments.

“Ah…ohhhh,” you moaned as you writhed under his attentions. You wrestled off the rest of your pants yourself—caution the farthest thing from your mind—as he lapped at you, wanting more freedom to move. It seemed Eiland had other plans for you. He took both hands and ripped your underwear out of his way and then used both hands again to push your thighs up against your chest.  Your ankles crossed behind his head. That put a little pressure on your sprain, but you hardly felt any pain with Eiland’s talented tongue on the most sensitive part of your body by far. You raked your fingers into his pretty pale hair and pulled. He looked up at you, eyes shining with lust and mischief, and then gave a particular hard suck that had you breaking eye contact to see stars instead. You couldn’t help but whine shamelessly. After a few more strokes that had your body arching off the bed and your heels digging into the back of his head, Eiland tore away, gasping.

“Ahh…as sweet as always,” he sighed and licked his lips, savoring the taste of you. “But you’re not being very well-behaved, are you, my dearest?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you shot back, totally out of breath. “I promise, I’m paying attention now.”

“Yes, I can tell. But you’re interfering with my lesson plan…and my treatment plan.” He pushed himself back, getting up. As he rose, he carefully separated your feet from tapping against each other with his every movement. “Oh well. I suppose I can indulge my favorite student.” He stood up. Before you could question or complain, he began stripping off his heavy winter clothing. You sat up and reached out to help with the lacing, but he stopped you. He took a moment to pull your hand closer and place a soft kiss on the inside of your bandaged wrist. So charmed were you by the tenderness that you hardly noticed when he shrugged off his shirt and stepped out of his trousers.

He pulled off your shirt next. “Hmm.” He raked his eyes over you. Your cheeks grew red. No matter how many times he assured you otherwise, you always worried that Eiland found your naked body disappointing. He stood there unclothed, looking like one of the beautiful stone statues he unearthed on occasion, but hard as a rock in a very different sense.

“Eiland…?”

He wordlessly bent down and grabbed something beside you. Ah. Your torn underwear. He held the scraps up on a finger, frowning.

“This isn’t one of the pieces I got for you.”

“O-oh,” you stuttered, blushing harder. “Everything you gift me is so nice…I didn’t want to wear it out all day on a dig.” Not to mention that you hadn’t expected to wind up undressed in his bedroom quite so soon…today, at least.  

“We’ll make sure you’re attired appropriately next time,” he said, stroking your cheek.  

“Am I getting a dress code violation?” you teased. Your voice shook with arousal, though, and you knew he could tell. You pressed your thighs together. If he didn’t do something soon, you were going to lose all the momentum from earlier. May as well try to bait him a little. “Am I to be punished?”

“Quite the opposite.” He pulled you off the bed.

“H-hey, wait, my—”

“Shh, it’s alright,” Eiland cooed as he lifted you from the bed and manhandled you into an upright position. He held you in front of him with one arm around your ribcage and the other under your thigh; the leverage kept your injured foot completely off the ground. “See? Just trust me.”

He sheathed himself inside of you in one movement. It knocked the breath from your lungs. Eiland was usually so gentle, so moderate. He moaned appreciatively, nuzzling his nose into your hair, and began to roll his hips into you from behind. He set languid but controlled pace. It seemed he was in a hurry to get inside of you, but he intended to take his time with you now that he had you. You pushed your free foot against the floor, causing you to tense and rise against his hips; this earned you a muffled groan. You didn’t have much room to maneuver with Eiland’s arms so firmly wrapped around you, but you tried to reach behind and grab at his hair, or even just his shoulder—anything to regain some sense of control as he bounced your helpless body with each thrust.

“Ah, ah,” he chided you. “We’ve had enough insolence for today. This is for your own good.” He adjusted his grip around your chest so that your upper arms were pinned. His hands caressed your chest. You noted that he didn’t take the easier option of just grabbing and holding your wrists. Thoughtful, even in the throes of passion. With your motion completely restricted, you could do nothing but take it as he gradually increased the speed and depth of his strokes. The way he was lightly rolling your nipples in his work-hardened fingers as he fucked you nearly sent you into overstimulation. Eiland’s breath tickled your ear as it grew ragged. You could feel his lungs rising and falling against your back, faster and faster in time with the pace of his hips. Then he unexpectedly…slowed. Stopped.

“Huh?” was all you could manage to say. Your brain was fuzzy from pleasure.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he whispered right against the shell of your ear. “You do deserve a little punishment.”

“W-why?!” What could you possibly have done wrong? Eiland slid out of you and half carried you a few steps until you were pushed down onto the bed face-first.  Was he going to drop you off and leave you hanging? Was that the reprimand of his choosing? That would be so uncharacteristically mean. But Eiland was never mean. You were reminded of that when he mercifully pushed himself back into you. He took hold of your hip with one calloused hand and pushed down between your shoulder blades with the other. The pressure was not hard enough to risk hurting, but it was enough to keep you pinned in place against the sheets as he slowly drew away…and then slammed home. He held still, his member deep inside of you but maddeningly motionless.

“Why, you ask?” He rubbed his palm in a circle on your back, which both felt nice and kept you from rocking back to try and fuck yourself on him. You hissed in frustration. He shifted to holding you down by the neck. “Because I’m taking such good care of you, and I haven’t heard you cry my name even once.”

He didn’t bother with keeping his rhythm controlled this time. Eiland pounded into you as a stream of constant praise fell from his lips. He sang your praises as your walls fluttered around his length, moaning and keening about how you felt like heaven itself.

“Ah—whuh—Eiland, it’s too much, please,” you babbled.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he rasped, breathless. “Louder, please.” He cocked your hip up, creating a new angle that had your vision going blurry.  The hand on your neck disappeared and suddenly his fingers slid around your front, working on you while he increased the intensity of his movements more than you imagined possible. 

“Eiland!!” you cried. You chanted his name over and over. “Eiland, Eiland, please, I’m so close.”

“V-very…very good,” he groaned. “That’s good…ah, sweetheart, so good…”

He pitched forward and wrapped both arms around your waist, scooping up your middle and putting so much pressure on just the perfect spot on your lower belly that your orgasm hit you like a thunderclap. You spasmed and twitched in Eiland’s arms, screaming his name. He held you and gently ground his hips into you until the last aftershock passed and you went limp. Then he dropped you onto the mattress and snapped his hips hard. It only took a few seconds of that to have him following you over the edge. He finished inside of you, wailing your name.  

You panted as you rolled over. You stared at the ceiling, trying to steady your rapid breathing and your spinning head. Eiland flopped down beside you, equally boneless.

“How does your ankle feel?” he mumbled into the pillow. “Should we go to see the good doctor after all?” The only thing your body felt like right now was jelly. · · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“Oh, no, I don’t feel like going anywhere at present,” you said lazily. You drew little shapes on his back with your nails. “And it already feels much better.”

“That is wonderful news, my love.” Eiland yawned and propped himself up.  “I don’t suppose I could convince you to at least venture as far as my bath, then?”

“For you, my prince, I believe I can manage that. A hot soak sounds perfect.”

“Prince? What happened to Professor?”

You laughed and kissed his shoulder. You leaned on him as he walked you over to his elaborate, claw-footed bathtub.  Eiland massaged the tension out of your neck while you sat together, waiting for the bath to fill with steaming water, and he even kept at it once you were both blissfully submerged. He rambled happily about what excursions you could embark on once you were back on your feet, what books you might find interesting, what you should have for dinner.

She is tenderness itself. This is a very special time to Celine. What could possibly be more intimate than sex itself? To Celine, the answer is that hazy lovely time when you’re both lying in each other’s arms, coming down from the high. She loves pillow talk. Giggling and cuddling after fucking each other into seventh heaven is truly paradise on earth. Though she is loath to leave your embrace, she is willing to do whatever you may need; if you want a bath or a towel or especially a backrub, she’s your girl. She’s really very fond of giving each other massages while you’re still naked and blissed out. From the very first night, she’s hoped that you can continue this sweet post-sex ritual forever. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Celine is often too overwhelmed by the general wonderfulness of you to really think about picking a favorite part of you, but, if you were to ask, she would try her best. And her best guess would have to be your wrists. She has this recurring fantasy of tying your wrists together, and one of tying your wrists to the bed, and yet another of just pinning them down with her own two hands. She’s always admired the way the muscles of your wrists flex as you lift up a watering can to tip over her garden. You can take that statement literally, or suggestively.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

In the realm of reality: none at all, before you. Entirely untouched. Celine was what those of old might call an ‘innocent maiden’…on the surface, at least. She always had thoughts. She was always a bit curious. But she is a deeply romantic woman; seeking out something that wouldn’t last just to see what it’s like was not for her. She sought her sexual education from books and gossip. When the two of you started sleeping together, she was nervous, but also excited. She was pretty mentally ready for it. It just took a bit for her to gain confidence.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Celine generally prefers sincerity over silliness. That said, she does love your sense of humor, in whatever form it may take, so she can find room in her heart (and bed) for a bit of goofiness during sex. You just need to read the room. If she’s trying to engage you in a very romantic and passionate evening, that’s maybe not the right time to joke around. She wants to know that you take her seriously. As long as you reassure her of that, and you avoid making light of significant moments, you’re fine to get a little funny.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

She trims it up a bit even if you couldn’t care less. She hangs onto a bit of girlish insecurity even into adulthood, and that little leftover voice says that her partner might find her less attractive if she’s “unkempt.” That is, of course, untrue, and her efforts are sort of unnecessary anyway. She’s really not a hairy person. There’s not even that much to trim. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Extremely and sincerely intimate. Celine is the definition of a romantic at heart. As much as she may fantasize about a few less-than-polite things, she ultimately wants to ensure that sex is an expression of your mutual love. She is not afraid to tell you exactly what she loves and admires most about you while she’s got her entire hand inside of you. Those two actions do not cancel each other out. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Extremely and sincerely intimate. Celine is the definition of a romantic at heart. As much as she may fantasize about a few less-than-polite things, she ultimately wants to ensure that sex is an expression of your mutual love. She is not afraid to tell you exactly what she loves and admires most about you while she’s got her entire hand inside of you. Those two actions do not cancel each other out. 

It’s very important to her that you reciprocate this energy. She WILL start asking if something is wrong if you seem unusually stoic or mechanical during sex. If you’re not super feeling it on a given night, it’s best to tell her that plainly and prior to getting busy.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Listen…this here is a romance book girlie. She may have been a total virgin before you got to her, but she was no stranger to her own company. She’s always had a very vivid imagination. She could get herself off just fine while she was waiting for her knight in shining armor to finally ride along—or, jump along over a broken bridge into town. She still indulges herself now and then even once you’re taking care of her. Nothing wrong with it. She mostly thinks about you now, though, instead of some fictional hero. You’re a real hero and you’re right here.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Celine is, like most, a fan of the bedroom as a venue for intimacy. It’s always available and it’s always private. She thinks her bedroom in particular is very cute and comfortable. However, there is something so special about making love in a bed of flowers instead of sheets. It’s so dreamy. It does carry a few additional risks, but it’s just worth it for the elevated experience. If you can take Celine away on a picnic and find a suitably secluded field in bloom, that’s perfect. Being swept off her feet and then getting it good while looking up at the blue sky or down at the green grass is magical.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

She will not cause you harm under ANY circumstance. There is simply a zero percent chance that Celine is cutting you or whipping you or slapping you with force. If you cry out in pain instead of pleasure, everything stops until she’s sure you’re alright. Even if you ask, she just can’t do it. She’s fine with small things that don’t do any damage, like pulling your hair or grabbing your hips a little too hard. She also has basically no tolerance for violent treatment towards her. Just don't!

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Celine is a lover first and foremost, and that means she is very happy to both give and receive. She wins either way. If she is giving you oral, that means she’s giving pure pleasure to her favorite person in the world. If she’s receiving, that means that her lover is lavishing attention on her. She didn’t quite know how to go about giving head at first. It took a bit of figuring out. And of course, in the early days, being eaten out made her feel shy and self-conscious. All of that goes away with time. Time…and repetition. That’s how you learn, right? Celine learned, alright. Eventually, she may have a thing or two to teach you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Really not her thing. She’d prefer to have all the time in the world to spend with you, or at least all night. As much as she desires you, she is liable to postpone lovemaking if all that’s on offer is a quickie. She dislikes feeling pressured and constrained by the clock. It’s distracting. It makes her feel like you’re just fitting sex in where it’s most convenient. She is a firm believer in making dedicated time for sexual intimacy just like with romance. You may be able to convince her of the hotness of the quickie; it would be wisest to attempt this not long after a good, thorough session.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Celine is…timid, on risk taking. The idea of it excites her, of course. Doing something wild and crazy sounds amazing in *theory*. She’s just concerned about, well, the risks. She can be a bit of an overthinker. Sexual acts that are way outside of the norm for your relationship will need to be introduced slowly and carefully. Be prepared to really hear her out and address any concerns. 

At the end of the day, she doesn’t need to experiment a whole lot to be satisfied with your sex life. She’s open to it, under the right conditions, but she’s happy to just have you in her bed in the first place. Getting this far with you WAS the wild and crazy leap!

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

She may have managed to acquire a little something to help finish the job before she had you. She was surprised when you expressed interest in continuing the use of toys in bed. She sort of had this impression that they were placeholders and she didn’t realize they could be used as enhancements in sex with another person. She was delighted to be proven wrong. Celine has no issue at all with bringing out a toy or two while you’re going at it. She would prefer it if you got ahold of them from now on, though. She’s shy.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Balor

bindings/restraints (both ways, mostly you)

shibari (also mostly you)

suspension (you, but he’s interested in letting you try it on him)

brat taming (you are brat)

edging (you)

dirty talk (both ways)

gagging (you)

hair pulling (both ways)

light to moderate impact play (both ways)

collaring (you)

marking/leaving hickies (on you)

Caldarus

size difference

literal power dynamics (physical strength, not emotional control)

fucking outdoors

body worship (both, but on him, you better be praying over it)

sex in water

aphrodisiacs (he would like you both to try some)

abandonment play (towards him)

marking/leaving hickies (both ways)

breeding kink (which he isn’t fully aware of)

watching you touch yourself

Eiland

lingerie (on you)

teacher/student roleplay

“taking virginity” roleplay (who plays the virgin? depends.) 

partially clothed sex

mirror sex

verbal foreplay

praise (both ways and every time)

body worship (both ways)

face sitting (you on him) 

panty/underwear stealing

food play (whipped cream, honey, melted chocolate, and the like)

Hayden

BREEDING KINK x5000

pregnancy kink (distinct from breeding but still you)

cockwarming (on him)

size difference

titty fucking (if you’ve got enough to fuck)

creampies (in you)

face sitting (you on him)

service dynamics (him to you)

play fighting/wrestling

being ridden while (he is) immobilized

March

overstimulation (mostly you)

talking you through it (you means you)

face slapping (him, he likes it!)

begging (you to him)

manhandling (both ways, grab that tiny waist!)

praise (both ways but…he really wants it)

deep throating (him)(can border on facefucking)

non-structured dumbification (essentially, just fucking you stupid)

breeding kink that he buries deep down in his soul (march reasons)

play fighting/wrestling

Ryis

semi-public sex

voyeurism (someone else watching both of you)

fucking outdoors

role reversal (both ways)

massage that “unexpectedly” leads to sex (mostly on him)

innocence/naivety roleplay (you act like you have no idea you’re turning him on)

rescuer/victim roleplay

intense eye contact

talking you through it (both ways, depending)

making you touch yourself while he watches