Archive of Our Own

Hypshay stared at the…gifts she’d received from the fellow female fighters of Arcadion.

Raha was still in the shower, so she took the moment to unwrap the contents herself—then immediately regretted it, flushing from head to toe as her gaze swept over the array before her.

They were exotic, to phrase it delicately.

A pair of metal cuffs, the insides considerately padded with soft cushioning. A few bottles of curiously pink-hued potions. A short leather riding crop, black from handle to tip, and very sturdily made. A leather suit that revealed far more than it concealed; and although she had worn her fair share of armor, the craftsmanship of this one left her wondering how one was even meant to put it on. Another set, composed entirely of black lace, which prompted the less charitable question of why one wouldn’t simply forgo clothing altogether. A handful of rings whose size suggested they fit better around her wrists than her fingers—and she went even redder when she realized they were not meant for wrists. Then, a wide selection of curious-looking…electrope contraptions, each accompanied by its own neat little manual explaining its use in far too much detail.

And lastly, a heart-shaped note from Vamp Fatale that read, in charming script:

“Our good girl, hope you’d enjoy this ❤.”

Her horn caught the sound of water still running in their bath, and she hastily shoved everything back into the large bag they’d come in, then pushed her face into her hands.

Twelve help her.

How the gifts had arrived was another story entirely. Shortly after their departure from Arcadion, they had returned to Sharlayan to spend the Starlight season. When Resterra later visited with Eutrope—explaining it was their off-season trip they’d planned around Eorzea—they welcomed them at the Last Stand, at Raha’s request. He hadn’t had the chance to cook that day and had insisted she not trouble herself with any mundane tasks—far more likely because he didn’t trust her cooking.

The meal had been pleasant enough, but once they were finished, Eutrope cleared her throat and drew Hypshay aside.

“...I want to apologize,” the fighter had said, cheeks tinged pink. “For my earlier words and actions. And to thank you—for everything you’ve done for us.”

“You needn’t apologize,” Hypshay had answered with a smile. “I understand the need to protect those you care for. And I’m glad things ended well. It was a good experience for me, too—rarely do I have the chance to enjoy the thrill of battle without it being life or death. Exercise helps me stay vigilant.”

“Bold words, but…convincing, coming from the crown holder of the Hall of Fame,” Eutrope had said, lifting a brow. “I’ll remember that and challenge you again, once I’ve gained the experience.” Then she’d flushed a little deeper. “And, ah, I actually brought you some gifts. We all pitched in, the gals and I, but Vamp Fatale was the one who swore it would suit your tastes. Wait until you’re home before you open it, alright?”

Hypshay had blinked when, instead of producing a neat little parcel from the large bag she was carrying, Eutrope simply shrugged the whole thing off her shoulder and handed it over.

“I… truly appreciate this,” Hypshay had murmured, a little stunned. “But all of this is for me?”

“All of it,” Eutrope had confirmed with a firm nod—though the faint flush returned. “And seriously—wait until you’re home.”

Now Hypshay understood why she had insisted twice.

On one hand, she would probably not last more than three seconds without breaking into laughs if she put it on. On the other hand however—Raha’d been in charge for far too long, and though she’d enjoyed the dominant part of him very much, it was occasionally good to see him begging too. Knowing Raha, he’d absolutely be on his knees the instant she so much asked, but she wanted it to tear down that civil skin he’d worn herself.

His lighthearted humming was still coming from the bath as she reached for the leather suit and after a deep breath to steel herself and put on the leather suit—much faster than she had expected, given the complication of the suit, then rushed towards the foyer to grab the leather heels that she’d sometime worn off battle. 

She made it back as the sound of the water went off, and hastily pulled the riding crop out of the bag, and tested it on her own hand—not too painful, just the right amount of excitement, perhaps. The rest of the content in the bag she kicked away towards underneath the bed.

Hypshay summoned the image of Vamp Fatale on the stage and steeled herself one last time, trying very hard to ignore how the leather suit was holding on her now.

From beyond the bathroom door came the sound of footsteps.

And the door opened.

—---

G’raha Tia was enjoying himself when he made his way out of the bath, and when he pushed the door to their bedroom open—

For a heartbeat he thought he’d walked into someone else’s dream.

Hypshay was wrapped in black leather that clung to her like a second skin, straps framing the lines of her body, the cut of it carved her waist into a clean, sharp curve; long leather-clad legs were planted shoulder-width apart, weight resting in one hip. The outfit revealed way more than it hid—strategic slashes of skin catching the glow, the sweep of her collarbones, a scandalous glimpse of the swell of her chest where the leather parted—where he could see everything. 

His throat closed on nothing.

In one gloved hand, she held a riding crop. A thin, black thing, all clean lines and promises. She flicked her wrist once, lazy, and the leather kissed the air.

Whoosh.

The sound slid straight down his spine.

Raha’s mouth suddenly went dry. He licked his lips without thinking, acutely aware of every droplet still clinging to his skin, of the loose knot of the towel at his hips. Her gaze tracked him from his damp, tousled hair down the line of his throat, pausing at his bare chest, then lower, where the towel hung precariously. Her eyes lingered there a heartbeat too long before drifting back up, half-lidded, unreadable.

“Hey,” she drawled, the lazy confidence in her voice a perfect impression of Vamp Fatale, “fancy a little game, Archon?”

His brain promptly forgot every language it knew.

“Aught you want,” he said at once, far too quickly. The words came out low and rougher than he intended. “Anything.”

He probably sounded like a man ready to sign away his soul for another look, because Hypshay stared at him for a second, then a snort of laughter burst out of her, sharp and incredulous. Her shoulders shook and the deadly pose wobbled.

“You are not supposed to sound so eager,” she complained, breaking character for all of two heartbeats. 

“How can I be aught but eager?” he laughed with her, spreading his hands, taking a half-step toward her before he caught himself. “You look—” He stopped, because the words jammed in his throat, and gestured vaguely at all of her. “Twelve, you look—how did you—where did you even—?”

She didn’t answer him, and Raha was more than fine with that—not caring in the slightest where the costume had come from, only silently thanking whoever had convinced her to wear it. Instead, she straightened once more, slipping back into the performance like another layer of armor. The hand holding the crop lifted a fraction, the tip pointing neatly at his chest.

“Stop,” she said lightly.

Raha froze on instinct.

The crop moved then, and he felt the cool leather glide up his chest until it reached his chin, chilling and thrilling at once as she tapped his cheek with a deft flick. He drew in a sharp breath as one of her boots lifted slightly.

“I’d like to see you on your knees,” she whispered.

He knelt on command.

The world rearranged itself around the new height; he found himself staring at the curve of her waist, the strong line of her thighs framed in leather, the faint swish of her tail betraying a tremor of nerves beneath the confidence. He rested his hands loosely on his thighs and lifted his eyes back to her face.

She was devastating like this—powerful and exquisite—and his cock strained painfully against the towel as he watched her, pupils blown wide, while she stepped closer and pressed one boot to his chest. Every instinct screamed at him to pounce and flip the entire scene on its head, to take control as he so often did—but this side of her stole the breath from his lungs, and he wanted to follow her lead, wherever she meant to take him.

“Ere we start this little game,” she said, pressing the heel of her boot a touch more firmly against his chest, and he straightened to give her a better angle, all the blood in his body apparently migrating south, “I’d like to make sure the rules are clear. If at any point you feel uncomfortable, or you want to stop—”

“There should be none of those moments, I promise you, my love,” he cut in before he could stop himself. “In fact, why don’t you go ahead and—”

Whoosh.

Before he could finish, the crop snapped through the air, and he could almost feel the frost in her voice as she spoke.

“You will not interrupt me again tonight,” she said quietly. It was the tone she used on the battlefield when she gave orders, and that only excited him more. “You will tell me when you want to stop, and you will use your word. Is that clear?”

“Yes, my star,” he whispered, fighting the urge to arch his chest more firmly into her boot.

Hypshay smiled at his answer, then lowered herself slightly, the heel digging just a fraction deeper into his sternum, heightening every sense. She tilted her head, a dangerous smirk curving her lips.

“Now tell me the word you will be yelling when you want me to stop. And you will remember that word well.”

“Noumenon,” he murmured, because he’d spent far too many late nights buried in that library for the word ever to slip out of him by accident in a moment like this—not when she looked this lethal and he was already aching for whatever came next.

The corner of her mouth twitched, clearly at his choice, but she managed to keep her composure. She lowered her boot and stepped nearer still, until she was practically flush with him, the scent of leather and her soap wrapping around him, dizzying.

“Good,” she purred, lifting the crop so that its tip hovered just beneath his chin. “Now, when I say don’t move, you don’t move. When I say stop, you stop. You can only take what I give you. Clear?”

His pulse jumped. The crop hadn’t even touched him, and still he felt it.

“Yes, my star.”

Her eyes softened for a heartbeat, then she flicked her hair back over her shoulder and leaned down again.

“If you don’t like something, you tell me. If you like something, you tell me.” She paused, her voice dropping to a low, sultry murmur. “And if you really like something—”

Her breath brushed the tip of his ear, and he could feel the words more than hear them. Heat speared straight through him; his cock surged against the towel, tenting the fabric obscenely as he shivered.

“Beg.”

Everything in him went up in an inferno at that single word, and he was torn clean in two between the primal urge to bite her throat and press her down, tearing apart that lascivious leather and making her beg—making her come so many times her eyes rolled back—and the bone-deep loyalty he felt towards her, the aching urge to serve, to be hers utterly and let her reign over him.

He sucked in a breath, then whispered,

“Please.”

She looked almost pleased at that, her gaze raking over him again, more openly this time.

“Drop the towel.”

He held her eyes, drew a steadying breath, and let the towel fall to the floor with a quiet thump.

Her gaze dipped, then rose again, and this time she did not bother to hide her reaction. A faint flush climbed along the scales at her neck when she saw he was fully erect and painfully hard without her even touching him once.

“Well,” she drawled, voice huskier, “that’s…very good for my ego.”

“I am delighted to be of service,” he answered, a little breathless. “Any further instructions?”

“Yes.” She flicked the crop toward their bed and lifted her chin in its direction. “Lie on the bed.”

He obeyed at once, rising and crossing to the mattress. He paused at the edge and asked,

“May I ask—do you want me on my belly or on my back?”

“On your back.”

Raha stretched himself out compliantly on the bed, sinking into the pillows as he took in the sight of her—the soft bounce of her perfect breasts as she moved across the room toward him, the little crop in her hand almost hypnotic.

Hypshay stopped when she reached the bedside, looking down at him as though assessing a piece of artwork—or an instrument. Something to be used. The thought alone stoked the heat inside him, anticipation burning hot.

He watched, entranced, as she traced idle patterns—nothing sharp, nothing punishing—just a slow, deliberate exploration. Up his thigh. Across the plane of his stomach. A gentle tap against his hip. He made a whimpering noise and she hummed, amused, and let the crop wander higher again. Across his chest this time, flicking briefly over one nipple just to see the way he gasped and arched, then back down to his ribs. And he wetted his lips as he waited in anticipation, hoping his pleading with his eyes alone would make her show him mercy. 

She chuckled at his expression, and at last, she lifted the leather crop and let it slide along his bare thigh, then slowly guided it upward toward his cock. The tip of the crop brushed his hardened length as she toyed with him, patient and deliberate, tapping lightly at the head, then tracing down the shaft, giving a single sharp flick to each side of his balls and then up top, until he bucked at the phantom-light touch—nowhere near enough to sate his hunger.

Whoosh.

The crop landed precisely on the lateral of his thigh—not harsh enough to wound, but firm enough to halt his movement. Heat bloomed where leather met skin, a brief sting melting into a throbbing awareness. He gasped, more from the shock than the pain.

Hypshay wet her lips, eyes dropping to where she’d struck. A faint pink line was already rising on his skin.

“You will take what I give you,” she said, lifting the crop again to tap his thigh twice in a softer echo of the blow—two chiding, almost playful pats. “Not a bit more. Or you will earn your punishment.”

He met her gaze, chest rising and falling more quickly now, breath coming in shallow, ragged pulls. His entire body shivered from the excitement and from the keen sensitivity where the cold leather was now kissing his skin again, drawing idle, taunting circles.

“Yes, my love,” Raha heard himself saying obediently.

—---

She took her time simply enjoying the view, tracing the crop along his abs, watching how his muscles twitched at the slightest touch, how his throat bobbed under the light tap, how his cock jerked even without direct contact. She had to admit, now that she had him like this, she understood the allure of taking control in bed—something she usually gave rather than claimed. Seeing trust and raw desire in his gaze was more satisfying than any physical pleasure alone.

“Keep your hands on the sheet, where I can see them. You will not move them unless told to,” she commanded.

She didn’t even wait for his answer before closing the distance and wrapping her gloved fingers around his cock, delighting in the way Raha sucked in a sharp breath and visibly fought the urge to thrust his hips, only managing a strained,

“Yes.”

She worked him languidly at first, starting at the base of his cock and gliding up and down his length. When she reached the tip, she stayed there, using her thumb to tease and flick, back and forth, watching his eyes glaze over as precum beaded and spilled from the swollen head. The muscles of his lower abdomen shivered with each measured touch.

“How do you feel?”

“Hot,” he hissed, the word ripped out of him when she pressed just a fraction harder at the tip. “Good. Very good.”

‘Twas more than satisfying to reduce the usually eloquent Miqo’te to a wrecked, panting mess, and she forced down the urge to give him exactly what he wanted. Instead, she quickened her strokes, smearing his own precum along his length, while her other hand slipped lower to play with his balls, tugging lightly just to hear the whispered curses he bit out under his breath. Her right hand moved faster, pumping him in ruthless rhythm.

Both his hands were clamped onto the sheets, knuckles stark white. If not for her command, she knew he would already have dragged her into his arms, crushed their mouths together and fucked her hard until she screamed his name. But now he was helpless beneath the onslaught, able only to lie there and pant as she stroked his cock faster. After a few more passes, his eyes rolled back a little and his hips almost jerked upward—he managed to stop himself at the last moment, and she chuckled, knowing how close he was, then doubled her efforts until his cock throbbed and twisted, more precum leaking freely.

Then she stopped.

“Oh gods,” Raha groaned, his crimson eyes hazy as he craned his neck to look at her. His voice was ragged, pleading, unable to form a full sentence, but somehow he still kept both his hands and his hips perfectly still. “That was good, that was—”

“And you’ve been a good boy for me,” she murmured, “who deserves a reward.”

At her words, his eyes lit even more, a drunk, dazed expression crossing his face as he watched her push aside the ridiculous strip of leather that was the only thing covering her wetness. She climbed up to straddle him, pressing her slit against his chest first, rubbing there once, savoring the way his throat bobbed. Then she shifted higher, until she hovered over his face, and he made a tiny, pained sound as he begged,

“Please, please, please give it to me—”

“Patience,” she chided. One hand braced against the headboard for balance, while the other gave his cheek the gentlest slap with her fingers—more a teasing pat than a strike—which only drew another desperate groan from him. “Remember what I said? Use your words. Tell me what you want.”

“Sit on my face,” Raha all but growled in response, then remembered his role and softened his tone into a low, broken plea. “Please, my star, allow me to pleasure you. Please.”

She paused, then, instead of immediately lowering herself, kept her legs spread over his face to give him an unimpeded view of her cunt. Slowly, she slid one finger into herself, taunting him as she pushed the digit deeper, just to watch how his hands clenched the sheets even tighter. Knowing how hard he was fighting the urge to pounce and devour her was far more fun than she had anticipated. She worked herself at a leisurely pace, savoring the way his breath grew hotter against her slick, until he was practically sobbing beneath her. Only then did she pull her finger free and offer it to him.

Wordlessly, Raha took her hand, tongue lapping eagerly at her fingers, swirling and sucking at them greedily, drinking in her taste as though he wanted every last drop and more. His tongue moved over her fingers with practiced devotion, as if he could not get enough, and when she finally withdrew them, he let out a needy, broken little whine so lewd she found she, too, could hardly wait any longer. Still, she reined herself in and checked one last time,

“Are you ready for your reward?”

“Yes, yes, please!” Raha groaned hoarsely. “I am ready!”

She laughed softly at the strain in his voice, then sank down fully onto his face—and his tongue was on her at once. It was almost unfair how skilled he had become at pleasuring her with his mouth; he took every chance he could to do it, and she almost blamed herself for the needy moans that spilled out of her as his tongue swept slowly across her slit, then thrust into her wet heat, fucking her with his tongue while his lips sealed around her folds, devouring her hungrily.

One hand grabbed the headboard, the other flew instinctively into his hair—this position was far too familiar to her now. Her thighs locked around his head to steady herself as she rode his tongue, grinding her clit against his face, chasing the pleasure. Raha let out another low growl when she pressed down harder, and she knew that, if his hands were free, he would force her to put her full weight on him. He had done it many times when he was the one in control, despite her protests—he would gladly smother himself between her legs if she did not push him away. Even now, without control, he used the tremor of her thighs to angle his head just so, pressing his whole face deeper into her, tongue spearing into her in quick, hungry thrusts, licking and circling until her breath came in sharp, ragged bursts and she screamed his name as she rocked against him,

“Raha~Ra—”

She cried out in pleasure, grinding harder against his mouth, and he redoubled his efforts, tongue moving in fast, tight circles over her clit as he sucked.

She came undone almost instantly at that, the climax crashing over her in a hazy, delirious wave, her body slackening as she slumped backward out of reach of his mouth, ending up seated on his chest instead. Raha made another aching sound at the loss of her heat but did not chase; his face glistened with her arousal as he licked his lips and met her eyes, his crimson hair damp and tousled, pupils blown wide.

She took another second to calm her breathing until, at last, she could smirk again. Then she purred,

“You’ve been good for me,” she whispered. “Now. Let me enjoy you a bit.”

—---

Raha would do anything for her—had done anything for her.

So it shouldn’t have been so hard to keep his hands on the bedsheet, to simply obey her instructions and still his hips, but it was so hard, so, so hard.

The moment she finished, she climbed down over him, and being the little minx she was, he could almost tell what she was going to do. She took that ridiculous leather strap and used it to her advantage, pushing her tits together so tightly it made his vision blur, then slid two fingers into her own hot mess to gather some of her slick and smeared it between her breasts.

Every nerve in him was screaming to just grab her and tie her up, to pleasure her until she could do nothing but lie there soaked in his cum, but he kept his hands flat against the sheet as she’d ordered, and obeyed by not moving his hips an ilm when she pressed his cock between her cleavage.

And oh, it was the heaven he’d gladly die for.

He cursed under his breath and shifted just enough to catch a better view of her, with both his hands still planted on the bed. The sight nearly destroyed him.

She worked him harder between her tits, bouncing them along the length of his shaft, darting her tongue out to catch the tip like she loved to do whenever she let him fuck her perfect breasts, tasting him because the full length wouldn’t fit into her mouth. When he looked down, she shot him a taunting smirk and chuckled, squeezing her tits tighter around his cock.

“You are allowed to look,” she teased.

He immediately pushed himself up a little, and she adjusted, letting him settle back against the headboard, half-sitting now. She knelt between his legs and resumed her exquisite torture, the crop discarded for the moment in favor of her hands and body. Each time the head of his cock disappeared between those leather-wrapped tits, he felt his debauchery deepen further. He had never thought himself one to enjoy such a display, used to despise the performative lust at Eulmore as the Exarch—yet on her, any otherwise sinful attire looked divine, and he simply could not stop wanting her.

His cock twitched and burned, still so close from her earlier touches and from tasting her that it took everything in him not to thrust up. She clearly knew it, because she doubled her efforts, rubbing her tits harder, biting her lip, licking her own slick from her mouth—and then suddenly dipped her head to take almost half of his length between her lips, and she sucked.

There was no stopping his hips this time as he bucked once into that impossibly hot, wet mouth, and he froze immediately, stammering,

“I—I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

Hypshay pulled back at that, teeth catching on her lower lip as she watched him, a wicked smile lighting her face.

“Hmmm,” she purred. “Punishment, then.”

Instead of retreating, she pressed in once more, fitting his cock between her breasts again, easing herself into position as she looked up at him and commanded,

“Your hands, on my breasts.”

Raha stared at her, horror and desire twisting together into the sweetest torment she’d yet inflicted on him—but he followed orders. He set his hands on her breasts, and his eyes rolled back from the sheer bliss of touching her again, fingers cupping and molding those beautiful tits a little harsher than he meant to. She didn’t stop him; she only smiled.

“You can move your hips and hands now,” she whispered, “but only with my breasts.”

And he obeyed eagerly.

The instant she allowed it, he began to knead and play with those perfect nipples, pressing her tits tighter around his cock as he followed her command and fucked her cleavage, letting the soft flesh bounce and squeeze around him just as he’d been aching to. His breath came in ragged bursts, his thoughts unraveling under the friction while he drank in every little sound she made when his thumbs rolled over her nipples, her quiet, breathy moans feeding the fire.

“Stop,” she said suddenly. “Hands down and hips still.”

He stopped on command, dropping his hands to the mattress as he dragged in a deep breath and fought down the overwhelming urge to flip her onto her back and grab her tail. Instead, he forced himself to be still, to take a few steadying breaths, and looked at her—pleading, though he hardly knew whether he begged for his release or his execution.

“Please…” he whispered hoarsely. “Please, my star…”

She made a satisfied sound, then leaned in to lick the tip of his cock once, swirling her tongue around the head before pulling back with a predatory chuckle that made his spine shiver.

“Restart,” she ordered.

And he immediately thrust himself back between those soft, yielding curves, using her chest for his own pleasure as she’d allowed. His mind was almost mush from the pent-up frustration and searing lust as he focused on her face—the way those cyan eyes lit every time he groaned, the way her mouth curved when his movements grew faster and rougher—until he was sure it would take only another heartbeat—

“Stop.”

“Fu—”

He cut the curse off at the last moment, hands dropping reluctantly to his sides as he panted, chest heaving with frustration and the urgent need to come. He obeyed her command again and slumped back. She seemed to take real pleasure in watching him like this, for she let her hands slide along his length and began to stroke him—but so lightly, nowhere near enough to tip him over the edge. For a heartbeat, he saw red.

“How are you holding up?” she asked, her voice far gentler than her cruelty. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” Though it was pure torment, though he longed to seize control again, he begged, “No, no…please don’t stop. Don’t stop…”

Hypshay smirked and leaned in once more, her tits brushing his cock.

“Tell me exactly what you want to do now.”

“I want to use your tits,” he answered hoarsely. “And I want to come on them.”

“That’s all?” she teased, one finger trailing along his twitching length. “Everything you want?”

“And I want to fuck your cunt too,” he said bluntly, rougher and more honest than he’d ever been, frustration and excitement burning hot in his chest. “Press you into the pillow, tear that costume apart with my teeth, make you come for every time you stopped me.”

She smiled in satisfaction at the filthy words spilling from him unchecked, then positioned herself between his legs. She caught both his hands in hers, guiding his fingers to her breasts, pressing them together around his cock, and chuckled as she gave her final command.

“Restart.”

He surged forward at once, thrusting between her soft flesh, using his own precum as slick as he went faster and faster. Her surprised, delighted gasps spurred him on when his thumb crushed against her nipples, all restraint forgotten as he chased release with abandon. The hot, messy slick between her tits heightened every sensation, and it didn’t take long—he’d been perched on the edge too long already. After only a few strokes, he came hard, seed splattering over her breasts, some of it even reaching her face.

He collapsed bonelessly onto the sheets, panting, while she licked the come from her lips and purred her next instruction.

“Now you can fuck me.”

He was barely down from his orgasm when his cock flared back to life. He growled a curse, hauled her into a fierce kiss, chased her tongue, swallowed her gasps, then flipped them so he was pinning her to the bed, his cock sliding hot against her stomach. One hand dipped between her thighs to test her readiness, and he cursed again at the slickness he found. He didn’t wait a second longer—he thrust into her, bottoming out until she keened beneath him, then began to drive into her hard. She trembled under him as he wrapped one arm around her waist to keep her impaled on his cock, fucking her without restraint until her walls clenched and fluttered tight around him and he knew she was coming again. He gasped,

“Can I—” His breath hitched. “I want to—”

“Yes,” she murmured, hazy with pleasure. “You may come inside.”

He lost himself completely.

A few more thrusts and he buried himself deep, groaning into the crook of her neck as he spilled inside her, drawing another gasp from her lips. He stayed there, holding her close, unwilling to let go. Being able to touch her freely after such torment felt like a blessing. He kissed her cheek, her brow, her mouth, then down her neck until she laughed and flicked his ear.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For trusting me with this. I’m so proud of you for holding back so long.”

“Anything for you,” he kissed her again. “I won’t lie—it nearly drove me mad, my star. But a torment like that with you is something anyone would die for. I count myself fortunate.”

“Flatterer,” she blushed.

“Only honest,” he countered, easing out of her and drawing her against his chest. “Where did you get all that, though? I have no complaints, but you don’t strike me as someone who keeps such things on hand—and I certainly didn’t bring them home.”

“Gifts.” Hypshay’s voice softened against his chest as she hid her face there, refusing him a look. It swelled his heart—and other part—at once. “The Arcadion girls. I only used the costume and the crop. The rest…I think we’ll need to read the manuals first.”

“The rest?” he echoed, silently offering heartfelt thanks to those fighters. “After years with the Ironworks, I fancy myself something of an engineering enthusiast. If you like, I’ll read every last one.”

She nuzzled him once, then bit lightly at his chest before lifting her face, cheeks still flushed.

“They’re under the bed,” she whispered. “If you’re that curious…perhaps we can try a few more come Starlight.”

And G’raha Tia was quite certain this would be the best Starlight he would ever know.