How Do You Think Korryn Reacts To.. Making Nerdy Reader Squirt? I Think It's Bound To Happen With How

How do you think Korryn reacts to.. making Nerdy reader squirt? I think it's bound to happen with how she's fucking her. If Korryn likes it, she'll even press her hand to Readers stomach to stimulate it even more? Would she tease her with no end? Poor nerdy reader! (sarcasm(

I can see Korryn murmuring every curse under the sun if you squirt. You’re always so quiet and timid around her, so to see you gush and drool over her strap with so much slick has her bucking her hips up even wilder than before.

“Poor” Nerdy Reader is so overwhelmed. Korryn isn’t making this any easier on yourself, wanting to hear your voice crack and whine her name while she sends you to pound town. Squirt again for her will you, yeah? Coat that cock of hers and make it all pretty, all shiny and wet from how pathetic her sweet baby is 💕

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・There was no fear in you when you were around Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion.

・The first dragons in hundreds of years and you saw them as puppies. Okay well, truly you saw them as beings to be respected and revered

・But you treat animals with that same respect anyway - usually preferring them over human company...

・You understood that each dragon had a different personality. It defined how you treated them

・Drogon was the most independent; he hated being coddled too much. He just likes to play and explore

・Rhaegal always wanted to keep up with Drogon, but he wasn't fast enough. And he liked being close to Dany.

・Viserion though - he adored being held; soft touches and gentle pets were his favourite. It took a long time for him to realise he was too big to sit in your lap :(

・Dany loved that someone else saw her children the way she did. With dignity and astonishment

・Other people were incredibly shocked to find you laying in the grass with three dragons. All lazily flopped on top of you somehow. Either with their head, wing or foot

・You actually know secrets about the dragons - how Drogon has ticklish feet. Rhaegal likes to be called 'a good strong dragon,' and Viserion sometimes whines for his mother.

・Your relationship with Dany definitely helps as well. You adore her, and she you. You do love her ... as more than friends, more than her being your ruler...

・But you could never admit that

・Too bad though, she herself is deeply in love with you. And it shows - you're allowed alone with her children. Allowed to look after them when she isn't there to

・Like ... another mother to them

・And gods forbid if anything happened to you - the dragons would kill anyone who comes into mere feet of you.

・There's always one of them nearby.

Hi, can you please write a Yan!Daenerys prompt 27?

[27]; "My dark nature is a reflection of the depth of my love for you. I know I'm a monster, but I'm your monster."

❝tw: mention of death, mildly angst (?) and obsessive behavior.

The smell of ash and blood filled King's Landing almost like a plague. The screams of those burned by Drogon, once so excruciating, became just uncomfortable memories in Daenerys' mind.

For that was all they would eventually become. It wasn't right but Daenerys didn't care. She no longer cared about becoming what she became. As long as she had you in her life, the entire world could be consumed by dragon fire.

You were all that mattered to her.

Daenerys watched the devastation around her, her eyes fixed on the smoldering ruins of the city that once represented the heart of the Realm. Her expression was a mix of cold determination and a rare tenderness reserved only for you.

She did it for you. All for you.

"I did this for us. For you." Daenerys whispered in awe, more to herself than anyone else. Your presence beside her was an anchor amidst the chaos, a shining light in the darkness she had created.

You looked at her as if you no longer recognized her and, in a way, that was true. This was no longer the Daenerys you knew and once loved. This was a shell of what she once was.

A woman dominated by grief and the fear of losing someone else she loved. And only the gods knew what Daenerys would do to the world if something happened to you.

"Some things need to be destroyed so that others can flourish." She continued, turning to look at you. "They would never understand. They would never accept the world I want to build."

You felt the weight of his words, the intensity of his gaze. There was a deep pain there, a loneliness that only you seemed able to alleviate. Even with all the power and destruction she commanded, Daenerys was, deep down, a woman looking for love and acceptance. And she wanted that from you, just you.

Her gaze, although filled with burning passion, had a coldness that hadn't existed before. The glow in her eyes was now more intense, but also emptier, as if an essential part of her humanity had been consumed by the fire of her own despair.

And it hurt. The sight of a person you loved, maybe still love, being destroyed like this was too much to bear.

"You didn't have to do that." You tried to say, trying to reach the real Daenerys that remained somewhere inside her. "You didn't need to destroy King's Landing, you didn't need to burn all those people and destroy their home. There was another way, there always is."

But your words seemed to be lost in the freezing winter wind, swallowed by the distant sound of echoes from a city in ruins. She lifted her head and the strength in her voice left no room for doubt. "I can't go back anymore." She declared. "What's done is done. And now, you're all I have."

There was a palpable fear in her words, a fear of what might happen if you walked away, a fear that made her cry out for your presence, not just as a partner, but as her anchor in a sea of ​​uncertainty. Not that she would let you get away, but she wouldn't want to hold you prisoner.

Daenerys looked at you with an intensity that mixed love and despair, her voice a painful whisper filled with truth. "My dark nature is a reflection of the depth of my love for you. I know I'm a monster, but I'm your monster."

Her words seemed to hang heavy in the air like a sentence of condemnation and devotion at the same time. She was not just revealing herself, but giving herself completely, displaying her scars and shadows as if they were a sign of absolute love.

What was left of Daenerys, the woman you loved and feared, was desperate to hold on to what she still could hold, even if it meant sacrificing the world around her. And when you looked into her violet eyes, you knew there was no going back.

She was your monster. Your queen. And she loved you so hard that she would be willing to burn the world to the ground, even if that wasn't your desire. It didn't matter in the end, though. Daenerys would always hold on to you.

sara has been poisoned.

you know this because she has been sick longer than any fever lasts for, but more so because you’ve spent nearly the entire past decade of your life studying poisons in sumeru. the anatomy of a poisoning is an old friend of yours; the poison, the poisoned organism, the injury to the cells, and the symptoms and signs—which is usually succeeded by death, although you are not so unskilled to undo the effects of a simple almond-based poison. no, the poison itself is not your concern, hastily and poorly concocted as it is.

no, your concern is the bastard who would dare do such a thing to your wife.

sara shivers as you pat a damp cloth to her forehead. her face is flushed with fever, sweat beading on her neck. her fingers grip and relax the bedding of her futon, eyes squeezed shut as the poison rips through her. you’ve already administered the antidote, but the aftereffects are still something sara must weather alone. it makes your heart ache. you are used to seeing your wife as a pillar of strength, so to see her reduced to quivering frailness brings out a grief in your heart you only experienced once, as your mother lay dying. you lean down and press a kiss to her forehead, squeezing her hand. sara groans, but some of the tension in her expression melts at the gesture.

just then, the door slides open with a soft sound. by the cadence of the footsteps—even, controlled, but with the weight of the house’s master—you know it is your brother, ayato. you do not look at him when you speak, your voice deceptively soft.

“have you discovered the culprit, brother?”

ayato hums behind you. “i have. one kujou kurose, a minor officer from one of the kujou branch families.”

“a fellow member of the kujou?”

“yes. though, he has made his disapproval of takayuki’s adoption of sara clear from the beginning. now that takayuki is out of the picture, i suspect he felt bold enough to make his move and get rid of her as well.”

you snort derisively as you brush some damp hair out of sara’s face. “he would commit treason out of jealousy?”

“the human heart is fickle,” ayato says evenly. “so, what is it you plan to do, sister?”

you tuck the sheets a little tighter around sara, then rise to your feet. you turn, and offer ayato a carefully measured smile—the smile your father taught both you and ayato to wear; the one that brings with it unrest. ayato recognises it innately, and a spark of amusement lights up his usually placid eyes.

“why, invite them to tea, of course.”

-

kujou kurose is a poor actor.

you learn this as you sit across from him at tea, listening to him ramble and rave about just how terrible it is for general kujou to have fallen ill. your hands squeeze your teacup tight enough that the glass might have cracked in your grip. instead, you grit your teeth and patiently endure his incessant blabbering, before insisting he have some tea.

“sakura blend,” you elaborate. “the petals came from the sacred sakura. it is intended to promote good health.”

kujou kurose idly strokes his beard and chuckles. “is that so? then let us drink to general kujou’s continued good health. please, pour some for me.”

you smile—polite as ever—and lean forward to lift the teapot. the collar of your kimono shifts with the action, and you can feel kurose’s eyes linger on the brief flash of your exposed collarbones. a stab of annoyance flickers through you, but you tamp it down. you pour his tea, then return to your seated position. kurose, to his credit, is not so barbaric to forget the etiquette of tea. he sips his tea from his cup slowly, expression smoothing out as the warm, sweet liquid tips down his throat. your smile does not leave your face. when he sets his cup back down, his expression is utterly calm, relaxed.

fool.

your own tea is untouched. you watch him carefully as you speak. “is the tea to your liking, my lord?”

kurose gives you a look. opens his mouth and tries to speak.

he fails.

you cannot stop the sheer delight on your face as you watch the man realise he cannot move at all. his eyes, once arrogant and deceptive, are now filled solely with fear. rage flickers across his expression briefly, but the fear resurges without mercy as he experiences what it is like to have no control over your body. as he remains stone-still in paralyzed fear, you raise your own cup to your lips and take a sip. the tea is warm and sweet—but to your seasoned palette of poisons, the subtle bitter hints of paralytic are obvious.

not that it bothers you. you’ve been ingesting your own poisons (in controlled doses, of course) since your first year at the akademiya to get a leg up on your coursemates in describing and documenting the effects of assorted poisons. suffice to say, you’ve developed a reasonable amount of tolerance to poisons, especially the ones you crafted yourself.

others, like kurose? not so much.

when you set your teacup down, there is nothing in his expression but despair. that dark, vindictive part of you howls with glee at the sight, and you give him your first true smile of the afternoon. when you speak, your voice is low, like a serpent slithering through tall grass.

“did you think i would not know, kurose?” you use his first name casually, as befitting your status both as a kamisato, and the general’s wife. “the walls have ears, kurose, and you have been so very loud.”

his throat bobs. you had given him just enough of a dosage to paralyze most of his muscles, but not enough to freeze the ones in his lungs or heart. at least, not yet.

“i know you poisoned my wife,” you continue, your tone hardly betraying anything. the conversation flows as if you were merely speaking of ther weather. “and i know it is because you are too much of a bitch to face her in honorable combat.”

if kurose could move, he would have flinched. but he can’t, so the best he can manage is a frenzied look of pure panic in his eyes.

“so you resorted to these… pathetic, underhanded methods you know sara would never dream of partaking in. and you thought, like this, you might win. and even if she didn’t die, you could not be implicated because of a lack of evidence, and that sara’s own respect for the law would let you walk free. but i’m afraid your cowardice is only matched by your stupidity,” you spit, unable to contain your vitriol any longer. “because if you think i subscribe to such restrictions, you are sorely mistaken.”

you have been away from inazuma for years, studying in the land of wisdom. and many have forgotten just who you are, but you are a kamisato. they call your sister a heron, sweet and beautiful. they call your brother a fox, cunning and charming. but you? you are nothing so warm-blooded. you are a snake in the grass, coiled in on yourself, fangs filled with venom. and archons help whoever is foolish enough to tread too close to your nest.

“make an attempt on my wife’s life again, kurose, and i will watch the light leave your eyes myself.”

and with that, you stand, forgoing a bow, and leave the trembling man in your living room with a swish of your silk kimono.

-

sara blinks as she looks down at one of her documents. she’s since recovered from her illness, and has resumed her duties as general. currently, she’s going over her backlog of paperwork that accumulated while she was unwell. and one of them is particularly odd—kujou kurose’s resignation letter.

“strange,” she mutters, and you look up from your embroidery to glance at her. you tilt your head in question.

“what is, dearest?”

“uncle kurose resigned,” she says, scanning over the document again. “he said he feels ‘too old’ to keep attending to his role within the clan. he’ll be… taking an extended trip to liyue to recuperate, apparently.”

you only hum at that. “mm, it is not too surprising. he is quite old, no?”

“well…” sara sighs. “he is old, yes, but he is also… tenacious. i didn’t think he’d resign unless he died. so it’s just weird, i suppose.”

you set your embroidery down with a smile, rising to your feet to pad softly over to her side. your brush her bangs away from her forehead and press a soft kiss to her temple. sara makes a tiny, surprised noise, a delicate flush settling on her cheeks as your hand rises to cup her jaw.

“you’re so caring, my dear,” you chuckle. “i’m sure he’s quite fine. it isn’t like he was threatened or anything—he’s still a kujou, after all. who would dare?”

sara sighs again, and leans into your touch. “you’re right.”

“i always am,” you quip, and sara rolls her eyes affectionately. she turns her head and presses a quick kiss to your palm.

“i love you,” she whispers, and your eyes soften. you lower your head to catch her lips in a soft kiss. she tastes like peppermint tea and sugar, the blend you made specifically for her. you breathe your reply against her lips.

“i love you too, my dear.”

Could we have more mouse reader? They are absolutely adorbs <3

The mouse reader is actually a reply for a post from @//jymwahuwu, Please keep in mind their blog is 18+! So I won't tag the post here.

I posted it on my nsfw blog, but I can share the art here because it is sfw!

Plus some other rat/mouse reader sketch.

No lore, just drawing

plum blossom soliloquy.

summary: ruan mei is the one person in the universe who can touch you.

notes: 3.6k words, author's notes, themes of codependency/worship, made-up science, loosely inspired by cardia from code realize

Ruan Mei collects pieces of you everyday. 

With insulated gloves pulled up to her elbows and safety goggles perched on her nose, she extracts samples of your blood, strands of your hair, and biometric readings from her scanner. This is your daily ritual, and Ruan Mei’s visits mark the beginning of your day. She never fails to come in like clockwork, more consistent than the sun itself.

You don’t ask what she does with the samples; her explanations never make much sense, and your education is woefully limited. But Ruan Mei always hums as she works, delicate strands of music like peach blossoms waving in a spring breeze, and you can never take your eyes off of her as she carefully clips strands of your hair, head bent over in concentration. Close enough that you can smell the plum pastries still clinging to her, warm and sugary and fragrant. She must have had some for breakfast.

“How are your findings?” you ask. 

“The high toxicity level of your body remains stable,” she murmurs. “And yet, you still don’t feel any discomfort?”

When she says this, Ruan Mei looks at you with calculations and dreams swirling in her eyes like a galaxy. You flush at her evaluating gaze, as if she can stare past your skin into the hollows of your soul, everything stripped bare in front of her. 

“No, not at all,” you say softly. “I feel normal.”

“You’re a marvelous specimen,” Ruan Mei responds. 

You bite back a smile at her words, pressing your teeth down on your bottom lip. There’s a miniature sun in your chest, burning and bright, at her praise.

“Will I see you at the same time tomorrow?” you ask her. 

Ruan Mei stands, briskly arranging all her samples. “Yes, of course. Your meals will be delivered as per the usual time.” 

“Ruan Mei,” you say quickly, “May I make a request?” It’s audacious of you to ask. You’ve never voiced your thoughts to her before. You don’t dare to disturb her, and try to stay out of her way as much as you can. What is so different about today? Nothing, nothing at all, but the sight of her back to you makes you feel lonely. So, you offer your words to her like a worshiper to a god, hopeful for any acknowledgement.

She frowns thoughtfully at you. “Yes?”

“May we have today’s meal together?” 

“Together? I fail to see the point of such an endeavor,” she says. “We run on different schedules.”

“I’m sorry if it’s presumptuous,” you murmur. You should have known better than to bother her. “You can forget it if it’s too much.” 

Ruan Mei tilts her head at you, squinting as if you’re some particularly strange calculation. Your skin tingles under her gaze, and you fight to keep your own eyes locked on hers.

“I suppose I can,” she says at last, “if that’s what you wish.” 

“Thank you,” you say.

She nods, once, before exiting out of the lab. You let out an exhale, before hugging yourself at the unexpected clemency she has granted you. 

The two of you do not talk much outside of the scheduled appointments in which she, like clockwork, shows up at eight in the mornings per standard time to collect samples of your body. Though she has given you free reign of her lab, outside of a few forbidden zones in which she conducts delicate research, you mainly squirrel yourself away in the little room she’s provided for you. It’s comforting to burrow in your corner of her lab; the idea of disturbing her experiments with your carelessness worries you endlessly. You’re not used to having space to wander, either, and keeping your world small and limited is easier for you.

Some might call her cruel, but that’s only because they do not understand the nature of her work, so grand and all-consuming that you’re honored to have a role to play in it at all. You would gladly offer up every last piece of yourself if only to feel Ruan Mei’s touch once. After all, what other use would a body like yours have? Your body, which is toxic to the touch. Prolonged exposure to your skin is lethal. Flowers wilt. Birds choke up. Everything beautiful dies when it comes into contact with you.

But Ruan Mei, as lovely as a plum blossom, is the only beautiful thing who hasn’t. 

—

Your story before Ruan Mei was painfully dull. There was nothing to say about that time, which was filled only with a monotony of endlessly repeating days, of set meals and lessons and an empty manor, with its carefully preserved artifacts.

You didn’t remember your parents. Perhaps you had killed them, or they had abandoned you. Maybe you didn’t have any parents at all, and had simply sprung into existence by an aeon’s will. You had never learned the truth about your heritage, no matter who you asked. Not that there was anyone to ask. In your frozen wasteland of a home, you had grown up with only a few android servants for companions, who oversaw your education and general health. Outside of that, you were alone. You could only learn about the world through the books you read. 

“What’s this?” you pointed a finger at a picture of a tree, pink flowers blooming voraciously across its every limb. You must have been seven or eight, and had never seen anything so colorful before. 

“That is a plum blossom tree,” your android teacher said, its motors whirring. “It is a tree that can be found across the Xianzhou Luofu, and is a popular subject of art. It blooms during the spring, and the fruit has a variety of uses in cooking and medicine.”

“Plum blossoms…” You trace the brushstrokes of the petals with your fingers, as if you could feel the soft silk if you just tried hard enough. You knew what trees were, but you had never seen one in person. Nothing green could survive in the icy landscapes of your particular planet. “Do you think I’ll be able to see it one day?”

“Negative. It is too dangerous for you to venture away from your home. It is possible your body could contaminate the tree and sicken it, as well.”

“Oh.” 

It was just the way things were. You were dangerous. You could not leave. You would most likely stay in your isolated mansion, surrounded by drifts of snow and ice, until you died. 

There were no visitors. All you understood about the world came from the books the androids offered you. There was no advanced technology in your household, as if someone had forbidden all your contact with the outside world. The most you were allowed was a scratchy record-player, out of which poured music you had no context for.

That was your life. At least it was until Ruan Mei arrived.

Ruan Mei had not bothered to knock on your door. Instead, she had picked the lock and strode in as if the mansion belonged to her, even as the androids fruitlessly tried to get her to leave. She brought in swirls of snow, trekking ice across the floor, sending your servants into a panic. She was calm, even as they pushed her with their mechanical arms.

The commotion and the noise had driven you out of your room, where you hovered on the second floor, watching this strange woman. Slowly, you crept closer, down the stairs, to the first floor, to the source of the disruption of your average life. 

When Ruan Mei saw you, she strode towards you. Entranced, all you could do was watch her. This was the first human you had encountered in your entire life. Was she a dream? Or a ghost? It wasn’t until she was close enough to raise a gloved hand to brush against your cheek that you flinched back, skittering from her touch. 

Still, enough of the glove brushed against the edge of your cheek so that the silk sizzled and blackened against your corrosive skin, revealing her pale fingers.

“Curious,” she said, flicking the glove aside. “It seems the rumors weren’t wrong. You are a strange specimen.” 

“You shouldn’t do that,” you rasped, still edging backwards. “You shouldn’t touch me. You could get hurt. It’s— it’s dangerous.”

She tilted her head. “I’m a scientist. It’s part of the nature of the profession to do dangerous things.”

What a strange woman. Were all humans like her? You couldn’t tell, but there was a strange shine in her eyes, an endless hunger when she stared at you. It made something in you catch alight, sending trails of fire through your veins.

She was the most beautiful woman in the galaxy, who disrupted everything you thought you knew and understood. Where had she come from? From your dreams of companionship, like a fairy tale sprung to life? Or from the fervent wishes of your heart, answered at last by a star or an aeon?

“Who… who are you?” you finally brought yourself to ask. You couldn’t look away. 

“You can call me Ruan Mei,” she said calmly. She extended her ungloved hand to you, palm up, fingers spread. Pale skin, traced through with blue rivers of veins and valleys of creases. Nothing like the smooth, unblemished synthetic hands which nurtured you for years. “And I am going to take you out of here.” 

It was dangerous. You were trapped here for a reason. You couldn’t leave. If there was one thing you had been taught, it was that it was your duty to stay in your manor.

But she was so beautiful. Even if you didn’t take her hand and tried to chase her away, she had stolen something from you that you could never get back. 

There was only one choice for you now.

—

You learned more about Ruan Mei’s mission in her aircraft, where you were bundled up in a blanket you brought from home so you wouldn’t burn through the seats. You didn’t bring much with you, outside of a few objects that she wanted to examine.

Ruan Mei wanted to understand life. No, she wanted to create a perfect lifeform. It was her self-imposed mission, and when she had heard rumors of you from a colleague, she had immediately flown to your glacial planet to find you. 

“A human who is not a human is the closest thing to an aeon,” she explained calmly. 

The idea that someone like you could even be close to divine felt wrong, but the way Ruan Mei said it made you wonder if it could be true.

You learned more about her in the following months. She was diligent and articulate. She loved desserts, and enjoyed embroidery. She was a member of the Genius Society, and took tea every morning before she began work. 

From the meetings you overheard her conduct, her coworkers called her cold, and disinterested. But they couldn’t have been more wrong. She was the one who had found a way for you to live in her home without melting everything you touched. 

Ruan Mei hypothesized that the entire manor you had once lived in had somehow been treated so you could touch things without your poisonous skin corroding it. The fact you didn’t melt your own body was proof there could be a way to counteract your own poison, and that she could find a way to prevent you from doing the same to the things around you. It took her only a few days to collect samples of your blood and to use the blanket you brought back from the manor to create a solution she used to treat the entire area in which the two of you lived. Now, you could touch things with your bare hands without fear.

“It’s for the sake of my research. I can’t do work if you melt every beaker I try to use to collect samples,” she said, but you were grateful regardless. 

You had never been useful before. It wasn’t a possibility you were aware was possible. 

“So you’re the lab rat she’s dragged in,” one of her colleagues had told you dismissively. Dr. Ratio, that was his name, perhaps. He had visited to share lab results with Ruan Mei, and you had run into him by accident, jumping a mile in the air at the sight of the stranger. 

You had burned with emotion then, and it was only now, after replaying that scene in your head again and again, that you could finally come up with the proper words to refute him. 

“So what if I am? She needs me.”

Using you? Even if that was true, what did it matter? Love, affection, care… Those sorts of emotions were quick to fade and notoriously unreliable. You wouldn’t be able to trust them. But her experiments on you, each and every day? Those were real. Those were proof that you were important to her, more important than anyone else could ever be.

Your body’s condition was finally good for something. It had brought Ruan Mei to you.

—

The appointed time of dinner draws closer, and you still haven’t figured out how to prepare for her arrival. 

What should you wear? No, should you tidy up the area? There were automated bots who cleaned each room and made the meals, as Ruan Mei found such things a bother to tend to when she was busy. Ah, maybe you should have asked if it was okay to make something for her, perhaps a cake that she liked– not that you could cook. You couldn’t serve her terrible food. And it wouldn’t nearly be enough to repay her for everything she’s done for you.

A soft, elegant knock echoes against your door. The time has passed faster than you expected. You leap up, heart pounding, as Ruan Mei steps into your room, a bot trailing behind her, carrying a tray.

“Hello,” she says. “I’ve brought you your meal.”

You pull out a chair for her, and she slips into it with a word. Her every moment is precise, elegant, with no wasted movement. Every minute of her day must be carefully planned and executed. She could have a mathematical equation for the entire universe, hidden in the palm of her hand.

The bot lumbers over to your side and sets a stainless steel plate down in front of you. To your surprise, it’s not the usual mush, packed with, as Ruan Mei says, enough nutrients to keep you healthy, even if not the most favorable meal. Instead, it is a real dish: fragrant stir-fried vegetables and braised meat, steamed fish and two bowls of rice, set with a pair of chopsticks perched across each bowl. It’s food from Xiangzhou Luofu.

“Well?” Ruan Mei says, already plucking a piece of fish into her bowl. “Eat.”

Emotions choke your throat as you tentatively reach for the chopsticks, and poke at some of the vegetables. The poison in your body makes it hard to taste the food before it dissolves in your mouth, but to your surprise, you can taste every ounce of flavor in these vegetables, succulent and lightly-seasoned.

It’s delicious. Ruan Mei must have done something to your meal; had she poison-proofed it somehow? But for what end? So you could enjoy the meal? But why? It seems the sort of sentimental behavior she doesn’t tolerate.

There’s nothing but the clinking of chopsticks against porcelain plates as the two of you eat. You’ve never been with her for such an extended period of time. What can you talk about? Her papers for the Genius Society? No, you wouldn’t understand a word of it. You could mention the books you’ve read lately, but you don’t know if she would care about romance novels.

“How is your research progressing?” you ask timidly. That’s a safe subject, at least.

“It’s progressing smoothly with your assistance,” she says. She flicks a glance at you, scrutinizing. “How are your accommodations?”

“Perfect! The pillows are soft, and the temperature is always mild, so I never felt too hot or cold. And you’ve given me plenty of books, so I never feel bored,” you say. “Thank you, Ruan Mei.”

“It’s only natural,” she says. “A lack of stimulation might lead to a degradation in your condition. I’m only trying to keep your environment stable for my own research.”

“That’s extremely thoughtful of you.”

“So that’s how you see it,” she murmurs. You sneak a peek at her, but she’s focused on eating. Better not to comment, then. Maybe that’s a sentiment you aren’t supposed to respond to.

Silence falls again. The rice is dwindling, and only sauce is left on the plates. What can you do to make her stay? To engage her interest? This is a rare opportunity, one that might not come about again. 

Sometimes, you think about faking illness, if only to keep her by your side for longer. Any change in your condition would concern her. But most likely, she would just send in a medical bot to check on you, and your ruse would be easily discovered. A childish ploy for attention would never work on someone as intelligent as her.

She’s standing now, neatly folding her chopsticks over her plate. Why did she accept your invitation, again? Maybe that’s not for you to question. You’re fine with your relationship. You’re fine, so you shouldn’t get too greedy, and to want more than you are allowed.

“Ruan Mei,” you say again.

“Yes?”

“Am I helpful to you?” you ask plaintively. 

She doesn’t answer right away. Ruan Mei looks at you, really looks at you, her gaze luminous and all encompassing, like a lighthouse in a storm. Her gaze flays you open, excavating every last inch of you for her appraisal. Without her attention, you would revert back to who you were before, a lost person trapped in a glacial manor, all alone.

She walks over to where you still stay sitting. She reaches out one gloved hand and places it alongside the length of your cheek. There’s an emotion struggling to break out through the calm waters of her eyes. You can see it, floating right beneath, under her tranquil exterior.

You can’t breathe. You wait for the sizzle of acid, of melting flesh. You wait for her to recoil. You wait for the words you’ve always heard, the knowledge you’ve always known: your body is a curse. It’s dangerous. You aren’t meant for human connection, much less someone else’s touch.

But none of that happens. Ruan Mei’s touch is gentle, ghosting against your skin. You can almost feel her warmth through her glove, and can almost imagine how soft her hand must be, how lovely it would be for her to touch you, to really touch you.

You still remember the sight of her hand, the first time you met her. Flesh and bone and blood and nerves, all the delicate components that come together in a miraculous fusion of life.

“You are helpful,” she says curtly, pulling away. “I need you.”

“Okay,” you say smiling. “I’m glad.”

Raw, naked need. It’s more reliable than Ruan Mei saying she likes you, or cares about you. Need is hard and visceral, like plum seeds packed in fertile ground. 

The bot clears away the food, and your table is as clean as if you’ve never had a meal there in your life. You sit in your chair with your hands folded in your lap like a doll.

Ruan Mei is by the door when she pauses. “By the way. I have something for you. It followed me home, and since I have no need for it, I believe you may find better purpose out of it than I could.” As she speaks, a strange, furry creature darts between her ankles and into your room, a flash of gray fur and wide eyes.

It’s only when it comes to a stop that you see it’s some sort of… cat? A cat that looks like a cake, with its tail curled close to its body as it looks up at you, its head peeking out of its cake-like body. 

Wide-eyed. Scared. Needing.

You hug your arms around yourself. “What if I–”

“It can survive your touch,” she interrupts. “I made sure of that.”

“Ruan Mei,” you say breathlessly, holding out your arms. You say her name like you would say the name of a god. The creature scampers into your hold, but she’s stepped out, and the door is sliding closed, and still you add, “thank you.”

There’s no response. You hold the creature to your chest, and it is so, so warm. It’s alive and trembling and soft. This is the touch of another living being. This is what being alive means: to feel the touch of others. To hold them. To know you are real.

“What’s your name?” you coo, stroking the creature’s fur. It feels like velvet.

“Don’t have one,” it replies. You almost drop it; you haven’t expected it to actually reply. But Ruan Mei is a genius; of course her experiment has some measure of intelligence. 

“I’ll give you a name,” you say. “What about Plum?”

“Plum? It sounds nice,” the creature says, nuzzling into your grasp, finally relaxing in your grip.

“It’s because…” You remember that book about plum trees you read as a child. You remember the smell of Ruan Mei’s favorite plum cakes, clinging to her skin. You remember Ruan Mei, pulling you out of your dull existence. “It’s because plum blossoms are the most beautiful flowers in the universe.”

You hug Plum closer to you. Whether Ruan Mei is an angel who saves you, or a devil who pulls you into hell, or a cruel god who will destroy you, it doesn’t make any difference. As long as she is the one reaching out her hand to you, you will take it, no matter where she leads you.