—Vivienne

Life on the Luofu was a dream come true. Well, that's what anyone in your place would say, given you were the lover of the man in charge—the one and only Jing Yuan. With the flick of a wrist, anything you wanted was yours, no matter how expensive or outlandishly rare it was, Jing Yuan would have it in your hands by the end of the day.

However, that came with a cost that often had potential to drive a wedge between the two of you: his job. The long hours, responsibilities, duties, it all wore him down tremendously. However, he was not one to ignore or make excuses to his favourites, let alone his lover. So, whenever he got the time, he was all yours, in every sense of those words.

By the time he'd stumble back home, he'd walk past anything and everything in his path to get to you, and that's when he'd finally soften. The tension of his shoulders would finally soften and he'd let out a relaxed sigh, totally letting his guard down near you.

To anyone in the Luofu, it was painfully obvious how much he adored you. As much as he paraded you at times, he made sure you were safe at every possible moment. He couldn't let another dear person be taken from him again, not when he could prevent it. So, naturally, he was willing to use his own body as a final, desperate act of defense–if the time ever came.

But again, it was peaceful. Jing Yuan swore to himself to always be in your bed by the end of the day, no matter what it took, he swore to himself that his work would never become a problem between you two. That's what he always told himself. But you can't predict the future, can you?

Days had passed since a particularly heavy workload swarmed his desk. Nothing new, really, but every day he'd come home later and later, more and more tired. Naturally, doubt began to surface in your mind, and Jing Yuan being the person he was, noticed it immediately.

He noticed it on a late night where you had opened a bottle to unwind after a long day. Usually, you shared those with him, but he assumed that perhaps it had been a rather strenuous day for you as well and you just wanted it first thing when you got home.

So he quietly sat down next to you and poured himself a cup, his hand going around your waist after. He seemed weary himself, almost sad.

"I wanted to apologize for spending so much time away." he said slowly, giving you that gentle expression. "I'm aware that you probably know it's out of my control."

It was out of his control for the most part, so you just let it go for a while, and succumbed to the comfort he exuded whenever he got to be tangled up with you like this on your couch.

"I often think about what it'd be like when Fu Xuan finally takes on my role as the Luofu's General." he mused quietly, as if talking to himself. "Perhaps we could go and explore the cosmos, stop by a few planets…what do you think?"

An explorer at heart, slaving away at a wooden desk with his back turned to his city. It was painful to think about at times.

Eventually, you both loosened up due to the alcohol, and Jing Yuan relaxed like always. It was pretty rare for either of you to be up so late, but it was a guilty pleasure you both deserved, an indulgence long waiting.

Jing Yuan was shameless in his loving. He was the one in charge, holding all the power on this Flagship, why should he care? Wherever, whenever he wanted, he showed how much he adored you to anyone who was there to watch, if anyone was there. But, in the privacy of your home, he tended to let that dominant, in control persona drop and he became quite the opposite; desperate, whiny for your attention.

He seemed to enjoy it as much as you did, begging for your attention, to please him, to do with him as you saw fit, anything just to feel your touch and breath on his skin, his strength rendered useless and basically nonexistent.

He was a sight to behold like this, all worked up and panting when you barely touched him, barely started with anything. His body had already broken out in a light, sheer sweat as he watched you just sit and stare at him from the edge of your massive bed.

Sure, thr alcohol had left you both in a slight state of slurring and stumbling, but it was manageable. His long hair was already a mess from him begging you to touch it, tug on it.

You watched as you slid your hand down his abdomen, down to between his legs, watched his breath tremble with every feathery touch.

If anything, he secretly adored when you were the one in control rather than him. Sure, he was…amazingly good at it when you two were alone like this, but his guilty pleasure was you being the one to dictate everything. So you did.

For what seemed like hours, he didn't budge, neither did you. That's how slow you were taking it, dragging out every single breath from his lungs until even that became too much for him to bear.

Perhaps it was the alcohol's doing, or the painful teasing you had put him through, but the moment you finally chose to sit down on him…you had never heard a moan rip through him like that. So desperate and needy. He only watched you on top of him, mouth dropped to the floor as all those desperate sounds came out of him with no shame on his part.

He could never really keep his hands off your body, always reaching for something to hold onto or caress, but even now, desperation seeped into his every action, and the grip on your waist and back said enough as he moaned out your name over and over again.

His hair was a mess from you tugging on it, pulling it just enough to cause that painfully pleasurable sensation. However, it didn't take long before his hips jerked forward and he reached his orgasm. He wasn't one to be too expressive, but tonight he arched against your plush pillows just a bit too much, a faint blush crossing his cheeks and causing them to feel like they're burning.

Meanwhile, you only allowed him a few seconds of recovery before going back at it again, causing him to whine and asking you to slow down a bit, give him a bit to recover…but you both knew that's the last thing he truly wanted. For now, he just groped at your torso and let his head fall back. He'd wake up the next morning to his neck bruised by your biting and kissing. For now, he let you tear at his neck as much as you pleased, and he'd later return the favour.

All he could mutter was a pathetic "please," along with a few of those petnames he often used on you, but they came out so choked you could barely make anything out in the midst of it all. His priority was always your pleasure above all else, so it was no shocker that after a bit, he subtly took charge for a while, as if the past hour or so had vanished. But still, all he ever wanted was to see you satisfied any way he got it.

So, caged in his strong arms, he panted into your ear like a dog, his hips moving and gently hitting your backside with sloppy movements. He said all kinds of things, kissing all over your shoulder. He couldn't get enough of you, enough of the feeling of being in you, of how you moaned because of it. It was heaven to him.

He kept one of your legs up in the air, slowing down just before either of you reached yet another orgasm, dragging it out of the both of you even when it was reaching that point of being unbearable without relief.

Still, he tortured himself just to sweeten the expression on your face after, watched with a gentle little smile as he urged you on, praising you whilst he was at it.

When he finally lost his patience, and frankly was at his actual limit, he sped up and just like you hadn't stopped earlier, he went past his own and your limits just to drag those (almost) pained whines out of you, to hear you moan his name like you always did.

But he wasn't one to leave a job undone now was he? While your vision blurred slightly and you panted, he slowly pulled himself out and slithered his body between your legs again, gently lifting your lower half off the mattress while he remained kneeling on it.

That's when he began his work, cleaning you up with gentle kisses and licks while every touch sent a shockwave through your body. Through his hair, he glanced at you oh so often, smiling to himself as he tasted you so thoroughly.

Ashveil was the closest thing you'd get to a perfect lover. As perfect as a sleep deprived, concerned father figure of the Galaxy Rangers could get.

The Ashen Detective Agency had long become your second home, with its messy yet comforting atmosphere while Ashveil worked, tirelessly running from one place to another to solve another crime. Like an animal, constantly searching for the next lead, any scent of a trail that would end in his teeth sinking into his prey.

Unfortunately, with whatever was stuck inside his body, that violet-pinkish mass that he called upon so often, he often went off the rails; aeons forbid you were involved and in danger's way. Nothing could stop a wild hound like him when he decided that enough was enough.

While his protectiveness of you was rather endearing and attractive, the violence he could exude never met you. With you, alone, in the comfort of his own offices, he was more like a puppy rather than that violent dog you knew he could be. But today, it seemed he had gotten excessively violent.

Usually, the sight of Ashveil covered in blood was an oddly pleasing one, akin to eye candy for you. He didn't even try to get the bloodied clothing off before he ran straight to you, trying to kiss you. Straight to his usual worship of you, not even denying any of it as he clawed at your arms.

Claw as he may, you rendered his mouth useless with the muzzle you placed over it.

Tight, secure, reducing his mouth to its actual purpose–making sounds. That's all you got from Ashveil as he stuttered helplessly and grunted. His broad chest was now collapsing in on itself and showing how hard he was panting as you brought him just enough pleasure to almost make him come—only then to pull away and watch him whine for you.

"You really got it customized, huh?" he panted, as if his brain had finally caught up to the detailing on the muzzle–sharp canine teeth, all the details in between that made him look even more like a dog, a wolf even.

"Really, I…should've foreseen this." he mumbled to himself, gathering enough courage to throw a brief glance at you. "It's nothing shocking you'd do this."

He was about to speak again, only to get cut off by a slap on his face; whatever remained exposed of his cheek and not hidden beneath the metal of the muzzle. He whined.

"I…you…I, ugh…agh!" is all you heard from him for a long while. Every teasing touch, every pathetic whine, begging for more yet flinching at your hand when it raised….and yet he still got red when you spat out insults to him; how dumb he was at times, how stupid he could be, how pathetic he was.

For you, he was the dumbest dog in the entirety of the cosmos, willing to keep his mouth shut as long as his eyes focused on you. Not once did he think being the one tied up and restrained to such a degree was something he'd enjoy so extensively.

Justice could wait for a bit, maybe, as his body felt too weak, too ravished by your sadism for him to pursue justice or any case for that matter. As he finally lowered himself into his freezer, he wished to take you with him, to have another layer of protection and security against his nightmares and phantom pain, but the cold was enough for now…hardly. It paled in comparison to the comfort you brought, as warm and alive as your body may be.

Inspired by "Lilac wine" by Jeff Buckley

Blade was still that lightweight drunk, getting tipsy from mere spring water as he did when he was an old, mortal man.

You saw it firsthand, of course, the slurred apology, the way he asked for your forgiveness, it was all there, all lingering in the cool air of the ship; and now in the misty light of the Luofu yet again.

Again, he had a drink in his hand, not uttering a word to you as you separately watched the skyline, the Ambrosial Arbor in the distance, the Starskiffs passing by. All in dead silence.

Blade had never openly drank in front of you, perhaps not even in front of the other Hunters, but that slump in his sharp shoulders and the downturn of his eyes was still more painful than any wound you had endured.

And so, he sat alone on the Luofu. You weren't there, not really. He barely slept as is, but the added alcohol from last night's activities with you, his heart was being eaten from the inside out; remembering what he said to you, how he said it.

But he felt the warmth of it, your touch. He could have sworn he saw the faint blue of your horns, your tail swished by, could have heard your voice, your moans. He heard it all, but it was all so hazy to him.

What to think of first—he thought—the memories that long passed, those of his friends now scattered to the winds, or the one who had pierced through him sharper and deeper than Jingliu's stabs?

If anything, his head felt like it was full of cotton, hazy and fuzzy. The glass felt heavier than his sword at the moment, heavy like the love he once carried and showed to those select few.

Now, however, the thought terrified him. It was like pressure laying straight on his lungs, unable to breathe or function properly as every breath felt like a death sentence; oh, what he'd do to finally rest, especially now.

Then, he heard it again: your voice, clear as day, beckoning him. His head snapped up, but the air was empty. Silence ruled save for the Starskiffs so far away.

In all honesty, maybe he wasn't ready. Blade wasn't ready to risk handing his heart out like money, but maybe the drunken visions of what he really wanted to see—your face, your gentle hands with the sharpest of nails, and a voice that could send him to sleep so easily.

Castrum Kremnos in all its glory, what a sight to behold. Even more so, the king of Castrum Kremnos was arguably one of the sights worth seeing…if you were lucky enough. You, perhaps, held that double-edged sword we call luck. You had held it and wielded it carefully for a long while now.

As it was, Mydeimos' land thrived on conquest and glory, on bloodshed and war, your own homeland had long fallen under its rule, all the while kremnoans basked in the horrifying beauty of it all, or rather their king.

Being the youngest Chrysos Heir, Mydeimos was still so lively and confident, still not letting his immortality or constant battles wear him down, never let the scars of war run too deep lest they scarred a bit too much.

Unfortunately or fortunately for you–again, a double-edged sword–you got lucky to not be a lamb in the slaughter of Mydei's campaigns, instead, you got to witness him after a long, long day after his duties.

The other servants would have long prepared the necessary things for his nightly soak—the towels, the huge and luxurious bath set at the perfect temperature and your job was to simply clean him off and nothing more. After that, you'd leave wordlessly and allow him silence after a long day, like how we all deserve.

The palace would settle into this almost creepy, unsettling silence right as Mydeimos would enter his bath chambers, shoulders slightly slumped yet still held up with the desperation and stubbornness you had long grown familiar with.

He'd greet you, and you'd greet in turn, as you were expected to. Wordlessly, you'd take his metal gauntlets and details off before setting them aside. In that meantime, he'd undress and sink into the bathtub without a word.

A routine you had long grown familiar to, really. It was all you had since the invasion and fall.

Mydeimos would only let out soft grunts or groans as you massaged his head, lathered it with shampoo and then rinsed, only to follow it by trailing your hands down to his shoulders, chest, all in utter silence. He never really spoke much, as it was almost always midnight by the time your duties rolled around, but he was never harsh with you.

In fact, quite the opposite. He was quiet, cooperative and surprisingly gentle when tiredness took its hold on him. His arms were slack as you scrubbed and rinsed, all the way down to his torso before he'd sink back in.

"That'll be all, thank you." is what he'd normally say, glancing at you as you set the towels a little closer to him so he'd easily reach whenever he wanted. As the red marks glowed on his body ever so slightly, you'd excuse yourself and bid goodnight to him, and he'd reply the same.

Perhaps it was another chase you didn't want in your life. Sure you were running from the IPC and such, any other organization that was willing to give a limb to catch you, but you didn't expect to be caught at a club just when you lowered your guard.

Now, where the hell were you?

Oh. What a joke, a hangover so bad you can't even get your head right and the whole floor is spinning beneath you. Had someone spiked your drink? Had someone done that and then worse, had someone—

Oh…well.

A hand on your waist explained a bit too much all at once: cold, slender, undead, and absolutely the last thing you needed. You looked to your side, and there he was, asleep, covered in hickeys and your lipstick all over his neck; red and smudged. All over his scars, even smudging on the bandages he had.

Last night was all a blur, really. You didn't dare to move or even heavy your breathing as you looked at his sleeping face and desperately tried to find an explanation, tried to remember what you did last night.

Where the hell were you, seriously? Some hotel it seemed like. Your train of thought was caught off as soon as you heard Blade groan, his hand not moving from your waist as he laid on his back, chest displayed in its full, scarred glory.

For a moment, his grip tightened and you thought he woke up, but he remained asleep, letting you exhale in relief. Unfortunately for you, it was short lived, almost like every moment of respite you've had since being on the run, when his eyes opened and landed on you after a few moments.

A tense silence followed before he grinned, moving to hug your waist and keep your side pressed against his chest, his arms loose enough to allow you movement if you so desired.

"Do you remember last night?" he asked, voice sleepy and raspy. "No, I don't remember anything." you replied, face burning up as his hands gently trailed down your body, so familiar in their movements and how they lingered on specific spots like your waist or hips. He said nothing after your reply, kept his hands gentle before he sat up and let go of you.

The scars from you practically slicing him open were now obviously and unsurprisingly healed, though they seemed to stand out in their sheer size across his built body.

He stood there in silence, then silently handed all of your clothes that were carelessly scattered across the floor, merely offering them if you were already trying to bolt out the door. To his surprise, no, you stayed. An awkward moment followed before he tugged you onto his lap, hands settling on your hips yet again before he kissed you: warm, fast and breathless as your hands fought to touch everywhere they reached.

Sometimes it felt like you were living alone rather than with your boyfriend Leon. Y'know, with him being out in some ditch buried underground for days if not weeks.

Sure, he'd been on the job for years, even if it wasn't exactly what he had expected all so long ago, but hey, he was still the top man for the job, right?

And so, when you finally got that call, you thought you'd send your phone flying with how quickly you picked it up.

"I'm coming home." Leon said, quick and simple before hanging up. Like always, he was battered and his illness seemed to get worse every single time, but still…he was such a sight to behold every single time; and he seemed to share the sentiment with you, always eyeing you with such a fond gaze.

His stupid jokes were always welcome even if he came limping and basically half dead, he still had the energy to talk your ears off by the time you'd get him in the shower or even take his clothes and equipment off.

For a man so formidable and intimidating as Leon, he treated you as the most valuable thing in the world, his stature meaning nothing as he peeled your clothing off with the gentlest of motions before dragging you into the shower with him.

Insisting he could clean himself was often an unsuccessful tactic, as you'd often help with his wounds and in general with his body after he'd come back. That well built, undestructable body of his turned into a puddle under your gentler, softer hands in an instant, and it was the one thing he so deeply cherished in the midst of fighting anything and everything, the one thing that truly kept him going.

Leon usually didn't sustain so many injuries, so it was odd seeing him so brutally battered this time. Like always, he brushed it off and tossed in a sarcastic joke for good measure.

Sometimes, it was like laying next to young, 20 year old Leon in your bed, you could still see that determination in his eyes even when he swore he was relaxed and at ease, even when you finally got his face all clean from the dirt and grime, it was like staring at that young cop who had no idea what he was doing.

Ashveil is a sore loser. Really. I mean, even after your drunken fling, he seemed so off balance. Thinking you weren't around, he was rambling in the tiny closet he called his office to the Narrator.

All you could hear was his voice—concerned and panicked as he kept rambling, pacing with such heavy footsteps you really thought he couldn't be so dumb to leave evidence like that.

"But what if…" he'd say before rambling to the monkey, groaning in frustration. He couldn't stop. Meanwhile the Narrator seemed annoyed, trying to calm down Ashveil.

You continued on with your day, or atleast tried to focus on your work. It was just you and Ashveil most of the time, anyway. However, when you went for a break and came back to your desk, you saw him leaned on it, a hand behind his back.

He seemed nervous out of his mind.

"Hey," he said awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "About…well, whatever happened." he added, pulling his hand from behind his back to reveal a bouquet; small, delicate, cute. His face gave the impression that he wanted to crawl into his fridge and never come out again. Yet he still spoke nervously.

Now, how will you solve the mystery that awaits you this beautiful morning?

Really…how were you going to solve this?

"Can you really solve something without any clues, detective?" you heard a familiar, raspy voice that snapped you out of your daze. Turning your head, you saw Ashveil; messy hair, eyebags and laying in your bed. On top of that, naked, both of you.

Even as he spoke, he seemed no less affected by the hangover caused by last night's alcohol, despite his insistence to be sarcastic and playful.

You could only let out a groan, sitting up whilst covering your body with the duvet. You felt his eyes lingering on you like they always did, and you felt a hand on your lap, reaching out slowly.

"You didn't mind last night?" he asked, his tone soft and concerned. "I hope it wasn't uncomfortable for you, in public like that." To be honest, it wasn't if you're drunk enough. "Nobody caught us, right?" you replied, grinning a bit. He smiled in response and nodded. He tugged on your hand gently, grasping your wrist and pulling you back down. His eyes held this gentleness that was uncommon from him, hair tousled and all over your bed.

Right, this, you thought. Maybe being sober was better, you could experience it fully in the comfort of your own bed. "How does taking a day off sound?" he asked, kissing your cheek gently, almost reverently, as if testing the waters.

You could use a break, definitely one like this.

The covers were soon hanging off the bed, haphazardly thrown off as Ashveil got you on top of him. His hands flew to your waist, mumbling something about your body as you moved your hips slowly. He hissed, letting you line up with him. When you did, he let out a breathy moan, tilting his head back on the headboard.

Too early for this, you thought, but it felt so good, bringing back memories of last night so quickly and intensely that it almost felt like your hangover was gone from the sheer excitement.

You would think a man like him would be experienced, atleast slightly popular with the others, but…he seemed unsure, watching you as you moved up and down, unsure yourself.

What happened to the passion of last night, you wondered. Alcohol really does have an odd way of letting out the worst, or best, in humans. With you and Ashveil, it seemed alcohol had unveiled what you two truly felt about eachother below all the work and documents and countless sleepless nights.

Now, it was just two unsure people, looking at eachother, without the security and passion of the night before. Ashveil's gaze, however, held a certain adoration in it, like he could finally rid himself of the cases plaguing his mind and focus on something truly worth his time.

Working for Ashveil was….interesting, to say the least. As if Planarcadia's chaos wasn't enough to throw you off from your investigations and interrogations, his attitude towards work was almost as distracting, if not worse. His odd habits and ways of doing things were sometimes more interesting to observe rather than your actual work. You know, literal crime scenes and things that would make any other person lose sleep.

Well, not that you didn't lose sleep, but it was rather from trying to figure out some case you had been stuck on for months. It was as if Ashveil intentionally chose the difficult ones, handing them to you while he just went off and about with that monkey he simply called "Narrator".

What a joke, you thought, hunched over papers was not how you thought your life was going to go. Atleast it seemed like in the movies sometimes, standing in front of a huge pinboard with pictures and other papers, trying to figure out some huge mystery while Ashveil was sleeping in his fridge…really, was he even human?

Nevertheless, he was actually pleasant to be around; a sort of charm hung to him that was hard to avoid, sewn into his tone of voice and sarcasm. Sure, he was lazy sometimes, but he was his own boss, no? Then again, you were his only other employee working at the office, so, he took his time having fun with you.

It started off small with simple teasing and little comments that had you smiling and teasing him back, then it grew a bit more personal. An innocent while of flirting, jokes that seemed a bit too serious and his constant glancing at you while you worked.

After you successfully helped solve another case, Ashveil took you to the World's end tavern. It was particularly busy that night, and his useless "Narrator" was gone, so it was just the two of you talking over drinks. It seemed he put just a bit more effort into himself that night.

The booze was heady, getting you both tipsy only after a couple of shots. The tavern filled with more people while Ashveil got more and more flustered, pink dusting his face. You weren't any better, though. You two snuck off to some corner of the tavern, dark and unnoticeable.

There, Ashveil finally let go of himself and kissed you. You didn't resist and it didn't take long for it to escalate. He didn't seem to mind the thought of being caught here, but to you it was a bit embarrassing to be caught in such a compromising way.

"Nobody will see us here," he said, his voice reassuring you slightly. His hands, cold and eager, went down your body whilst his eyes were glued to your face, watching your every reaction to what felt good and what didn't. Whatever did feel good, he continued, and your drunken mind was too weak to resist him.

He had you shoved in a corner, a hand unnecessarily over your mouth—the music was loud enough to drown out the sinful sounds you both were making. You had to admit, the thrill of being caught made you even more excited—perhaps he was onto something with his insistence. Your hands dug into his shoulders while your legs stayed around his waist. Every twitch and spasm from you made him moan and groan, it excited him too much.

Still, the thought crept into your mind again: he's my boss, this isn't right. But there's no point in caring now, is there? You've already said yes to this, and it felt too good to even consider telling him to stop. His body was still so cold but it felt almost exhilarating against your far more heated skin.

You couldn't tell if it was the music or his drunken, lustful gaze, but you didn't want it to stop.

"Look at me." he said, and your eyes focused on him automatically. He grinned at that. Bites all along your neck and shoulders, swollen lips and his hand finally letting go of your mouth was the last thing you remembered, followed by a loud, disgustingly filthy moan.