Rsn_17
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Summary
"A trauma?" he raises his brow.
"U huh. You see, Your Grace, back then, you held your instincts back from purring. Now that you let your instincts free, your body is still not used to it and that makes it hard for you to purr," Sigewinne explains, "Purring is kind of a skill too, you know. In order to be good at it, you need constant practice,"
That makes sense.
"So...?" Wriothesley raises his brow even higher, "You're saying...?"
"Start practicing!" The melusine claps, looking positively giddy, "Try to relax, and make yourself comfortable. You'll be able to purr in no time, Your Grace!"
or; Wriothesley learning how to purr with the help of people around him. Sigewinne's help, mostly.
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“Make me a promise,” Varka says.
It's the middle of the night, and he should be asleep, tucked against Flins’ front with the blanket wrapped around them both. Flins wonders what stirred him: the laughter of the patrons of the Flagship? The clinking of glasses, audible through two closed doors? Or maybe it was Flins’ own unnatural constitution: the coldness of his body where they're pressed skin to skin, or the stillness of his chest where no heart beats behind made up ribs?
“Anything,” Flins answers, and he means it.
[A promise made between Varka and Flins]
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Jing Yuan has had a crush on his roommate for a while now. He loves being able to pick up on minor changes in peoples' attitudes towards him, and he can't help but notice Ren's shift. It's like he wants Jing Yuan to notice him, but won't go further...
Who could blame Jing Yuan when he takes a glance at the man's internet search history to figure out what's going on?Day 1 of Jingren Week 2025
Series
- Part 1 of Mage's Jingren Week 2025
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Still a young Lieutenant-General, Jing Yuan escapes from the dreariness of his daily life to a tavern on the outskirts. He sees a slave being auctioned and in a fit of chivalry, decides to rescue him. What Jing Yuan doesn’t know is that the man is a milk slave. And now he has a fiery, lactating captive with him on a very long road trip.
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Blade doesn't lean forward, doesn't follow the touch. If Jing Yuan wants to play games, so be it.
"You have no one but yourself to blame, failing to conceal such secrets."
"Is that so?"
He's roughly turned around, inducing a dizziness that echoes delightfully in the empty hallways of Blade's mind. The pressure of Jing Yuan's calloused fingers on his forearms tingles through him, a measured coarseness interlaced with tenderness. It's safe— a feeling Blade doesn't care for and doesn't desire, but is somehow forced to experience everytime he's here. Maybe Jing Yuan can't help but make others feel safe.
There's the clink of metal against metal, and then metal against skin. Blade relishes the way it digs into the bone of his wrist.
"You are under arrest," Jing Yuan whispers into his ear, playful air tainted by darker intent.
Blade's deliberate disobedience comes with consequences he intends to suffer— except for the one consequence he failed to predict.