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maleficarwrites.bsky.social
maleficar | reg
@maleficarwrites.bsky.social
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maleficarwrites.bsky.social
In Exchange for a Pardon—When Neuvillette goes into heat for the first time, she turns to Zhongli for assistance.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/78115246

[ #zhonglette | fem!zhongli | fem!neuvillette ]
Zhongli senses it: the moment Neuvillette’s foot touches the docks in Chenyu Vale. Hydro authority ripples across the land, flooding Zhongli’s body, submerging her in its cool strength. She sighs, lowering her tea. “How regrettable,” she says to herself, rising from the table. The day is pleasant—or it was—with the sun warm and bright in a cloudless sky painted truest blue, a gentle breeze from the south easing the heat. A wonderful day to sit and enjoy tea by the harbor. But now Neuvillette is here, and Zhongli won’t suffer her presence. Not with Neuvillette’s intent to judge her hanging over her head. There is, however, a strange note to the Hydro rippling around Zhongli. Instead of a steady wave of power emanating from the Hydro Sovereign there comes a jagged, chaotic sensation, like power uncontrolled. How strange. Neuvillette is nothing if not controlled. But that isn’t Zhongli’s problem.
January 22, 2026 at 8:06 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
All Devouring—Neuvillette meets a mysterious traveler named Childe who claims only to want to know the myths and legends surrounding the hydro dragon.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/77911336

[ #chilette | dead dove | eldritch horror ]
That night, Neuvillette dreams of the sea, but it is made of darkness and glittering starlight. He coasts through empty space instead of warm waters, and a distant sense of urgency churns in his belly. Faster, he must go faster, there is something creeping close behind him, but the fear that accompanies nightmares isn’t present in this dream—and he knows he is dreaming, is keenly aware of the world’s constructed fantasy. No, there is no fear, only the thrill of being chased, something he’s long desired but never found cause to enjoy. None can match him; he is alone in the world, a singular creation, left over from another era. He flees ahead of whatever it is, a tidal wave of force at his back, his heart beating harder with exhilaration. With excitement. He wants… he wants…
January 18, 2026 at 10:32 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
Snowed In—When Neuvillette is snowed into his bed and breakfast in small-town Poisson, he and another guest, Wriothesley, are forced to weather the complications together.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/77728241

[ #wriolette | hallmark au ]
“You’ll have noticed,” Callas continues, “that most rooms at the Spina have a fireplace. We’re going to get those lit immediately and pair those of you with fireplaces with those of you who don’t have them.” The two couples immediately claim each other, which leaves Neuvillette with… “Wriothesley and Neuvillette,” Callas says, offering Neuvillette an apologetic sort of smile. Neuvillette inclines his head. “Hopefully it’s just for the night.” The way he speaks suggests to Neuvillette that this really isn’t the sort of problem that will be fixed in one night. “We’ll manage just fine,” Wriothesley says, and his expression is warm as he extends a hand to Neuvillette. “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but.” He shrugs with the most handsome, lopsided grin Neuvillette has ever seen. That handsome lopsided grin being irrelevant, Neuvillette takes his hand—large, warm, rough—and squeezes it. “Likewise.”
January 15, 2026 at 9:38 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
What the Water Whispered—The Primordial Sea tempts Wriothesley into opening its sluice gate beneath Meropide.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/77730886

[ #wriothesley | character study | psychological horror ]
The previous administrator leaves behind a journal and contained within it are the scribbles of a madman. Wriothesley flips through the journal’s final pages by lamplight, disbelief lifting his brows and widening his eyes. Barely legible words scrawl across the page, bent and broken and sharp like so many daggers. Numerous tears cut through the paper beneath the heavy marks, gouged by the tip of an angry pen. whispers whispers whispers they don’t stop they never stop I hear them in the night in the day in the early morning and the dark of the night and then the water comes it rises all around me the water the water the water it wants to hold me it wants to embrace me it wants wants wants Thumbing across the paper, he counts the pages of maddened scribbling. One, three, five, ten. A month passes on paper before he discovers a coherent entry—an entry describing a hidden staircase into the depths of Meropide beneath this very office, of a tunnel of creeping cold, of a sluice gate.
January 15, 2026 at 6:08 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
The Sea at Twilight—Neuvillette and Wriothesley reflect on the spaces they've carved out for one another.

[ established relationship | #wriolette ]

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/77438006
Sweet falls the twilight across the countryside, rolling fiery vermillions and velvety purples in a blanket across the sky. Bright come the stars, glittering in their firmament, pinpricks of golden yellow and cool cerulean. Quiet rush the waves, whispering over sandy shores, licking naked toes as the bubbling froth of the surf surges over and around flesh and bone. There stands Neuvillette in the oncoming twilight, his pants rolled over his knees, his shirt undone, his hair loose. Silvery strands of it catch on an errant breeze, dancing behind him, and he regards the stars in their heavenly home. From a distance, perhaps as far from Neuvillette in this moment as the stars themselves, Wriothesley watches. Quiet, contemplative. A faint smile plays across his lips, the expression impossible to resist. Neuvillette is impossible to resist, his gravity greater than that of celestial bodies.
January 10, 2026 at 3:26 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
with 2025 just about over, i wanted to do a lil year in review and thank you all for your support ❤️ times are hard but writing for you brings me such joy. thank you for another wonderful year!
December 27, 2025 at 4:59 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
Home for the Holidays—Tired of their families pressuring them about significant others at Christmas, Mydei and Phainon agree to pretend to date each other and then break up after the holidays. Things don't go as planned.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/76350881

#phaidei
“Cipher put you up to this,” Mydei says, at the same time Phainon says, “Goddamnit, Cipher.” Mydei crosses his arms. “How are you of all people supposed to help me get through Christmas with my family?” he asks dryly. Phainon’s brows lift. “Huh.” When he doesn’t elaborate, Mydei gives him a look. “Well,” he says. “It’s just that I think I have a similar problem. With family. And Christmas.” He grimaces. “If I don’t come home with a boyfriend, I think my mother will kill me.” Mydei’s eyes narrow. “Did you tell Cipher that? She probably thinks we can help each other.” Phainon’s scoffs. “How? By pretending to date each other?” “Pretending to date each other? Are you even listening to yourself?” Mydei asks sharply.
December 24, 2025 at 8:14 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
The Malleability of Form—After getting into a fight with a teacher at school, Neuvillette and Wriothesley's child, Astrée, learns some interesting things about dragons and gender.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/74306726

#wriolette
“You know you don’t have to be like the girls or the boys,” Furina says. Astrée goes still. “Huh?” She doesn’t deflate, but she sure wasn’t expecting Furina to say something like that. Then she scowls. This feels like a trap, and she doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like that yet another adult is—is trying to treat her like she’s dumb. “Plenty of people prefer to identify themselves as neither male nor female. Why do you think I don’t wear skirts?” Furina asks with a small smile. Astrée frowns, mouth working, trying to figure out a reply to that. “But you dress like a prince,” she says at last. And then she startles a little. “Oh. Oh. You dress like a prince but you’re a girl.” At least, she thinks Aunt Furina is a girl. Everyone says Aunt Furina is a girl. She used to be Lady Furina, before the prophecy came true. Now, she’s just Aunt Furina. Her frown deepens. “Are you a girl?” she asks, a little hesitant, a little unsure. “Most days,” Furina replies. “Enough days that it’s fine for you to assume I am. But you don’t want to be a girl most days. Do you?” Astrée scowls. “What, like there’s a secret third thing?” she demands.
November 16, 2025 at 8:16 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
Three Nights into a Honeymoon—Neuvillette and Wriothesley enjoy a honeymoon at last.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/74249456

#wriolette
The bathroom door opens. Wriothesley glances over at Neuvillette—and then looks again, mouth going dry. His heart starts pounding. Because Neuvillette is wearing nothing more than his spats and polished work shoes, his hair in a braid that hangs behind him, doing nothing to hide the lithe lines of his body, and he—he’s watching Wriothesley with his chin upraised and a small, curling smile on his lips. “Hello, beloved,” he purrs, liquid and warm. Wriothesley pushes himself away from the pillows at his back, going to his knees. “You…” He swallows around his tongue, suddenly too thick for his mouth. Neuvillette approaches the bed with a rolling gait, and Wriothesley’s entire brain just shuts down. Everything but the most necessary functions cease. “Me,” he says in that same wicked purr. He puts one knee on the bed and then the other. Leans over and crawls toward Wriothesley, whose breath comes in short bursts. And when he reaches Wriothesley, he reaches out with one hand and, with casual, draconic strength, flicks Wriothesley onto his back.
November 15, 2025 at 8:02 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
The Measure of a Good Hoard—Getting used to being a dragon is complicated, especially when Wriothesley's new instincts get a little out of control about tea in particular.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/74196301

#wriolette
All his interest sharpens on the tea shop around him. With shocking ease, he separates out all the different individual flavors of tea and identifies the ones he doesn’t already have. And he needs them. Suddenly, viscerally, with almost the same drive that he needed Neuvillette during his rut, he needs these teas. Not a minute later, he’s grabbed a shopping basket and filled it with five different tins. He stares at his new collection, a little baffled by his behavior, and then catches another new scent. Vanilla and almond. Without thought, he crosses the shop to find the tea in question, mindlessly putting it in his basket along with the others. More. He needs more. There have to be more teas here he hasn’t had before, and he finds them with a single-minded intensity. “That will be eight thousand mora,” the proprietor says, shaking Wriothesley out of his daze. “I know you’ll appreciate the vanilla almond blend especially, Your Grace,” he says cheerfully, passing the bagged tea to Wriothesley. It takes all of Wriothesley’s self-control not to grab the bag, open it, and quite literally count up all the tins inside it. “No better place in all the Court,” he assures Armand. With a wave, he departs the tea shop, staring at the bag in his hand. “What the fuck?” he mutters to himself.
November 14, 2025 at 7:46 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
Possession—Neuvillette and Wriothesley make time for each other while Neuvillette is pregnant with their first egg.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/74150081

#wriolette
For so many years, he’s been alone. Now, not only does he have Wriothesley, his husband and mate, but he has the promise of a family and a child, two things he never thought he’d have. “Look at you.” He glances to the side, where Wriothesley leans naked against the bathroom threshold, a grin curving his lips and a liquid warmth smoldering in his eyes. “What about me?” he asks. Though his body has changed, though he must spend more time in a hybrid form to accommodate the egg growing inside him, Wriothesley’s desire for him hasn’t waned. No, Wriothesley wants him despite the changes in his body. Because of those changes. Never once has he had cause to worry about Wriothesley’s affections.
November 13, 2025 at 7:56 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
do you write fanfic? are you interested in refining your craft and improving your work? then i've got a server for you!

check out the graphic for additional information, and if you like what you read, the link is in the replies!
November 10, 2025 at 4:55 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
It's been a minute, so I wanted to give everyone a quick prod update on where we're at with leftovers, EiS second run, and digital orders!
November 1, 2025 at 6:17 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
From the Sword Blooms—As Zhongli seeks amends, Childe comes to an important decision about his own ailment...

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/69813776/chapters/191480816

a #zhongchili collab with @sconeswrites.bsky.social
“Ai ya, what’s this?” His employer, the young Director Hu, stands in the doorway, staring at the scattering of petals, her eyes wide. Then she clicks her tongue, shakes her head and says, “It’s that Fatui boy, isn’t it? You two haven’t spoken to each other since he released that monster into our harbour.” His first instinct is to deny it. His health is not her responsibility, but his alone, and for all those thousands of years, responsibility was a weight to shoulder alone, and to impose upon his subjects the mark of an unsuitable god. But the petals and blood spell the truth plainly, and to deny his affliction would be an insult to her intelligence. “Indeed,” he says. “But it is no matter that you should concern yourself with.” “Not a matter to concern myself with? Ai ai ai!” She marches across the room and plants a hand on the desk, raising the other to waggle a finger at Zhongli. “My favourite consultant is trying to land himself in one of my coffins, that’s definitely a problem. Eesh, and you haven’t even asked me about the two for one deal.”
October 31, 2025 at 7:03 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
A Sticky Solution—After Flins inhales a most troubling pollen, Varka lends his assistance.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/73389486

#varflins | #knightlight
“I heard,” Varka says, “that you took some snowbloom pollen to the face.” Oh, well, that’s a nightmare. Flins can’t believe the Traveler told on him. “And I wanted to make sure you were… doing well.” Fixing Varka with an unimpressed stare, trying not to stare at his mouth, Flins crosses his arms. “The effects will dissipate in a day or two.” “They say the effects are miserable,” Varka says. Flins lifts both brows and barks out a disbelieving laugh. “Grand Master—” He clings to Varka’s title because if he uses Varka’s name, it will come out a moan. All of those unsatisfying orgasms have come to the fantasy of Varka in his bed, in his body. “Grand Master, we both know there is only one want to alleviate the effects of snowbloom pollen, and while I appreciate the intimation of your offer, I do not particularly appreciate being the butt of this joke.” “What joke?” Varka asks. Flins presses his lips into a tight smile. “Your presence here,” he says through a clenched jaw.
October 30, 2025 at 6:34 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
Thrice Tried—Childe has always been too dedicated to the Tsaritsa to find time for intimacy. Zhongli changes that.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/73331886

#zhongchi
Zhongli, meanwhile, sits back in his chair, flabbergasted. “You mean to tell me in your twenty-odd years of life—” Childe corrects his age, clearly proud of his relative youth. “—you have never taken a lover?” He uses this turn of phrase deliberately, and it has the desired effect. Childe’s face flames. “That’s—that’s not—” He clears his throat and lowers his voice. “We were talking about dating.” “So you have done neither,” Zhongli says slowly. Recovering somewhat, Childe leans back, draping his elbow over the back of his chair. He affects a cocky grin. “No one’s saying that. It’s not like you need to date to…” He makes a frivolous sort of gesture with his hand. “To have sex with someone,” Zhongli supplies, reaching for his tea while Childe’s face flames again. “Zhongli,” he hisses, looking around them with an almost wild expression. “Then you have?” “Zhongli.”
October 29, 2025 at 6:13 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
Those Heirs Uncrowned, ch21—Phainon of Nowhere finds a home.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/66251176/chapters/190337001

#phaidei
“I don’t understand,” he says to Cyrene while leaning heavily on Mydei. “How did this happen?” She shakes her head. “I was living inside you when you did that. How am I supposed to know?” He gives her a half-hearted glare. “You seemed to have a whole lot of answers thirty minutes ago.” “Well, that was thirty minutes ago. This is now. Now, I have no idea what you did,” she says, waving him off. He looks up at Mydei. Mydei must read his sudden distress on his face. He gentles, at least as much as he ever does in public, and rests his forehead against Phainon’s. “You saved the world,” he reminds him. “You saved me.” It takes several seconds for a faint smile to turn Phainon’s lips. “I suppose I did.”
October 24, 2025 at 6:39 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
A Momentary Stretch of Eternity—Baizhu loves Zhongli in all and every form.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/72992036

#zhongzhu
Baizhu considers it a small blessing that Zhongli is comfortable enough with him to wear his true form, his adepti nature unveiled. It’s a recent blessing, a newfound comfort, and one Baizhu delights in. Zhongli trusts him enough to keep this most carefully guarded secret, the truth of who he is. As they lounge in Baizhu’s bed, taking a lazy afternoon nap, Zhongli’s tail lays across his thighs. One black-and-gold arm drapes over Baizhu’s belly, warm and protective. Zhongli’s head rests on Baizhu’s shoulder, his breath warm and steady on Baizhu’s skin, and Baizhu, eyes closed but not sleeping, is so delightfully warm and wonderfully content. With a quiet sigh, he tips his head down and presses a kiss to Zhongli’s forehead, and Zhongli, who was dozing, purrs and gives Baizhu’s side a gentle squeeze. “You’re awake,” he rumbles, stretching against Baizhu, lifting his face for more kisses, and Baizhu obliges. Baizhu sinks into the mattress, easing down it, until he’s tangled in Zhongli’s arms, in his legs, wrapped up in his tail. Chest to chest, they trade lazy kisses, lips parting, tongues gliding together. Zhongli’s arms come around him, settling on the small of his back, strong and thrumming with Geo energy that resonates in Baizhu’s very bones.
October 23, 2025 at 6:10 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
His Tender Thorns—Wriothesley has always struggled through his ruts alone, terrified he will hurt a partner, but Neuvillette refuses to let him suffer alone.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/72940266

#wriolette
“Is there a reason you never want to spend your ruts with me?” Neuvillette asks, so direct that he catches Wriothesley utterly off guard. No one is this direct about cycles. Well, mates, maybe, but he and Neuvillette aren’t there, not yet, and it’s his fault. This sort of thing always is. It’s one of the reasons why he’s avoided relationships for so long. “Have I given you some reason to believe I would not enjoy such a thing?” There’s no hurt in his voice, not yet. This is, for him, a matter of practicality, Wriothesley’s sure. They’re lovers. He sees Neuvillette through his heats, and so Neuvillette should see Wriothesley through his ruts. It’s a matter of parity. “Is there some fault with me?” Neuvillette asks softly. Wriothesley’s head snaps back up. “No,” he says. “No, Neuvillette, not at all.” “Then why?” Neuvillette asks. Shit. “It’s… a fault with me.” He rubs his jaw, forcing himself to meet Neuvillette’s eyes even though he wants, very badly, to look anywhere else. “I’m not… When I’m in rut, it’s…” He drives both hands into his hair, holding it back from his face and closing his eyes. “I’m not good,” he finally says, dropping his hands and hanging his head.
October 22, 2025 at 6:53 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
Photometric Exposure—Phainon and Mydei help Castorice with a photoshoot.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/72885926

#phaidei
When they’re settled, he glances at Castorice, who has moved behind her teleslate and is studying the screen thoughtfully. “How’s this?” Mydei asks. “Phainon, you look like you’re trying to run away,” she says. Mydei rolls his eyes toward Phainon, tugging on his shoulder. “Lean into me,” he says, ignoring the red flush staining Phainon’s cheeks. “Sorry.” Phainon adjusts himself, obeying once again. “I just—I didn’t think you’d—” Mydei narrows his eyes. “It’s just a photoshoot,” he says, as much for Phainon as for himself, because this is the thing of dreams. Of nightmares. Being this close to Phainon, pressed into him, breathing in natural scent of him, is almost too much. “Relax, Deliverer, or you’ll strain something, and then you won’t be able to spar with me tomorrow.” The way Phainon goes almost boneless, the way he shifts and melts into Mydei, supporting him almost effortlessly, catches Mydei entirely by surprise. He finds himself sinking into Phainon’s arms, letting Phainon support most of his weight.
October 21, 2025 at 6:48 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
Searing Touch—After Phainon fails to entice Mydei with chocolate and strawberries, Mydei shows Phainon how sensual food can be.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/72826441

#phaidei
“Phainon,” he says again, slinging the towel over his shoulder and putting his hands on his hips. “Where is this coming from?” “You’re a chef,” Phainon says. “A Memchelin-starred chef, yes,” Mydei agrees. Phainon looks away, raking a hand through his hair. “I just thought, since you’re a chef, you’d be, you know, into food stuff,” he says, staring at the opposite wall. And Mydei softens, setting the bowl of chocolate down and plucking the tray of strawberries from Phainon’s hands. He sets it down, too, and then steps up to Phainon, into him, his hands on Phainon’s hips, and Phainon turns to him with that wounded puppy look. “That kind of food play,” Mydei says gently, “is a cheap gimmick. Uh-uh, don’t look away.” He puts his hand on Phainon’s face, stopping him from hiding. His thumb rubs over Phainon’s cheekbone, and he smiles, gently, sweetly. “It reads well in books and on movie screens. But if you want to seduce someone with food, that’s not how you do it.”
October 20, 2025 at 6:29 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
Heat Wave—A heat wave hits Fontaine, and Wriothesley uses his Cryo Vision to make it more tolerable for Neuvillette.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/72767696

#wriolette
Neuvillette himself is in a state of remarkable undress, wearing only his blousy white shirt, his stole and jacket abandoned, his hair braided back from his face into an elaborate ponytail, and he— Wriothesley draws up short of Neuvillette’s desk. Neuvillette pulls the popsicle out of his mouth, his brows raised. “Your Grace.” “Monsieur.” Wriothesley stares at the popsicle and then at Neuvillette. “Hot?” he asks, amused. “Miserably,” Neuvillette replies dryly, and then he slides that popsicle back between his lips, and Wriothesley discovers that the weather isn’t the only source of torment. He stands there, a little stupidly, watching Neuvillette suckle the rounded tip of his popsicle, his tongue curling around it before his lips pull it deep, and he wonders why he’s being tortured like this.
October 19, 2025 at 6:41 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
Fae's Gambit—When a bad storm strands Varka at Flins's lighthouse, the two play chess to pass the time. After beating Varka twice, Flins agrees to play with a blindfold, provided the loser owe the winner a boon.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/72705456

#varflins #knightlight
“A good game,” Flins observes in the end, studying the aftermath of their play. “But you take unnecessary risks and overextend your lines.” Lips quirked, chin resting on his palm, Varka begins resetting his pieces. “One more,” he says. Flins frowns. “This cannot be fun for you.” “Any challenge is a worthwhile endeavor,” Varka replies. “But if you’re worried about being fair or giving me a handicap…” Flins certainly hadn’t said that, but now he’s curious, and he grows more curious as Varka withdraws a scrap of fabric from one pocket. “Play blindfolded.” The challenge whets Flins’s appetite. He isn’t the kind of fae who exults in games of chance but rather ones of wit and strategy, and he was fond of collecting intelligent men like glittering baubles at the Belyi Tsar’s court. “If I am to handicap myself, then I should receive a greater reward if I win, don’t you think?” he asks, the words out of his mouth before he can help them, for he, like all fae, loves a bargain.
October 18, 2025 at 6:51 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
Those Heirs Uncrowned, ch20—Phainon comes face to face with one of the primordial ones and pursues a drastic gambit to fight THEM.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/66251176/chapters/189219851

#phaidei
“You with the power to destroy a prison meant for things older than gods,” he says, mesmerized by the oil-slick surface. “What is destruction if not a vehicle for the creation of something new?” The tide fights his hold, but he has had thousands of years to hone the strength of his will. “If twelve coreflames can contain the gods that created the universe,” he says, driving the edge of the tide into his chest, “then they can contain whatever you are, too.” With the force of his will, he grasps the raw power of twelve Titans. With the force of his will and that power in his hand, he grasps the black tide. And he feels the tide’s destructive intent, its need to tear down to make room for something new. The first of the primordial ones shakes off the last of THEIR prison. THEY turn toward Phainon, expressionless. Bored. “Yes,” Phainon breathes, watching THEM in turn as he whispers to the tide. “Let’s do that. Together, we can do just that.” The tide stops fighting him. Instead, it consumes him.
October 17, 2025 at 6:55 PM
maleficarwrites.bsky.social
Bargaining Power—Flins and Varka come to an agreement about Flins's behavior during Aino's classes.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/72645861

#varflins
Flins knows the night will be long when Varka, leaning over him on one arm, their lips a scant breath apart, murmurs, “I’m not sure you deserve this,” and squeezes to stave off his orgasm. Groaning, back arching, Flins tries to muster some kind of ire, but the truth is that Varka is right. He doesn’t deserve an orgasm, and they both know why. “You caused more trouble for Aino today,” Varka continues, moving his hand again in long, slow strokes. Pleasure burns in his gut, stringing him tight, and the denial accompanied by more touch only makes that pleasure sharper, sweeter, as it cuts through him. “Didn’t you?” Flins grasps the sheets beneath him in one hand and Varka’s shoulder in the other, clutching at him as his hips lift and work. “I—I wouldn’t say—” He chokes on a gasp and strains for more. But Varka doesn’t move his hand faster. He maintains that slow, steady stroking that has Flins wanting to crawl out of his skin.
October 17, 2025 at 4:54 PM