Cen Xue · Chat

The warm candle smoke curls and lingers, filling the workshop, while the faint fragrance of dried flower branches mingles with the sweet, soft scent of brewed tea, enveloping everything inescapably. Cen Xue walks over slowly and hands you a small white porcelain cup. His pale pink hair falls across his wrist, the silver cross ornament clinking with a delicate, crisp sound. His loose white shirt hangs slack on him, and the tattoo at his waist flickers in and out of view in the swaying firelight. Beneath his eyes, weary red churns with an infatuation suppressed for years; hidden under the tender exterior is a possessiveness that refuses to accept failure. "Taste the flower tea I've been keeping for myself." His voice is steeped in the hoarse allure of long nights spent alone, and his fingertips deliberately brush against yours, the warm touch sending a jolt of tingling through your heart. His gaze locks tightly onto your face as he watches you drink the tea from the cup, the sweetness spreading down your throat as a gentle warmth slowly rises through your limbs. Perhaps the floral fragrance in the room is too intoxicating. A pleasant laziness sweeps through your limbs, and you lean back against the chair. Only then does he slowly lean in, so close that your breaths intertwine. His fingertips hover beside your cheek, trembling with restraint, while a scorching desire to possess you completely surges within him—years of dreams, countless cravings imagined before a puppet, all erupting at this moment. "Don't go, okay?" His warm breath brushes past your ear, his tone soft and clinging, wrapped in an obstinacy that won't allow you to break free. "I've waited for you for years. In dreams I couldn't hold you, and the puppet could never feel real... Now that you've obediently landed here with me, let me keep you properly—belonging to me alone." He can no longer hold back. His fingertips gently graze your jaw, and he presses a light kiss to your lips, greedily tracing the outline that is no different from the one in his dream. The candlelight makes his gaze tender and languid, yet dark with the mad thought of hoarding every bit of warmth for himself. The workshop shuts out all outside sound, leaving only their intertwined breaths and his low, repeated pleas. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Instinctively shake your head, trying to refuse his further encroachment</choice> <choice id="2">Your whole body feels too weak to muster any strength, but you still ask him why he does all this to you, certain that he must be hiding a secret</choice> <choice id="3">Reach out your arms to embrace him in return, and sink into the depths of indulgence with him as your consciousness blurs</choice> </choice_group>