GUILTY AS SIN?

GUILTY AS SIN?

GLUTTONY — part v of we'll write sins like tragedies

pairing: luke castellan x nemesis! reader (afab) word count: 3k summary: after a mission gone wrong, you unknowingly take the fall for a friend; you get drunk with the enemy; and you start to think that, if they’re going to crucify you anyway, you might as well indulge in a few fatal fantasies. warnings: set during the last olympian so spoilers for the entire pjo book series; luke + reader get drunk; mention of death + war + reader has some survivor's guilt; smut (unprotected p in v, oral f receiving, kinda sub!luke, brief allusion to knife kink — 18 + MDNI) + angst author's note: not sure how i feel ab this one but i've been workshopping it for weeks so i think her time has come !! also maybe got a bit too deep into book lore oops. also also ive been listening to this song an outrageous amount and i hope i did it justice ANYWAYS lmk what y'all think, thanks sm for reading ♥

♪ "guilty as sin?" by taylor swift

you’re well aware of how suspicious this looks, rendezvousing with the enemy at a sleazy dive bar in the heart of the city. 

he walks in, and your heart starts to beat faster in anticipation. his familiar deep brown eyes are now striking gold, and a streak of gray is woven through his signature dark curls — evidence of the battles you've fought, on opposite sides, and an ominous reminder of a war that has yet to be over. 

as he casually orders himself a drink and one for you, you keep a hand on your concealed dagger. it’s become an instinct of yours, whenever he’s around.

“i didn’t come here to fight.” he assures, catching the glint of your blade. 

“and what about…..” you gesture broadly at him. 

“we’re not entirely synched yet, so it gives him a break whenever i’m in full control,” he explains as though reciting from a textbook (something like how to betray your loved ones and overthrow the olympians 101). “it’s only me tonight. i swear on the river styx.”

a shiver passes through you.

about a year ago, luke tracked you down in new york. apparently, kronos was pushing him to do something extreme, and luke felt conflicted. 

you thought it had to be some sort of cruel joke, because you could not think of anything more extreme than what luke had already done in facilitating a war between gods and titans. you had no patience for his crocodile tears, not after he played you so well the first time. 

you told him as much, then told him to fuck off. 

to be fair, you didn’t know that would lead to him bathing in the river styx and becoming a vessel for the titan lord himself.

luke wears the curse of achilles well: all strong muscles and sharp angles, his tan skin glowing ever-so slightly, and his body devoid of any fresh cuts or bruises despite surviving an explosion just a few days prior. 

“so….what? you’re the pilot whenever kronos needs to take a really long nap?” 

“i’d say timeshare is the closest way to describe it.” 

“50/50 ownership?”

“more like 90/10.”

you scoff. “sounds like a scam.”

the corner of his mouth quirks up in amusement. it reminds you so much of old times, his boyish charm peeking through whenever a camper would try to pull a prank on him, and then complain when he’d beat them to the punch. 

“it’s just me,” he repeats, but you didn’t need any more confirmation.

you know deep in your gut, from that mischievous smirk alone: it’s not the lord of time, but luke castellan next to you.

the bar is surprisingly busy for a weeknight. there’s a game being shown on TV, and people wearing sports jerseys occasionally groan or cheer or come to the counter to order another pint for their table while keeping their eyes glued to the screen. the jukebox in the corner plays music from the 70s and 80s as a group of friends starts to dance, tipsy after a deadly combination of jello shots and sangria.

for the first few drinks, you and luke are silent, letting these sounds of regular human existence fill the space between you. you half-expect him to ask about law school admissions, or the new tattoo you got on your upper thigh, or your band’s latest show — all fragments of your own mundane mortal life used to distract yourself from demigod realities. 

he doesn’t, though. luke just stares at the hockey game, one you know for a fact he doesn’t care about because the rangers aren’t playing, as he sips his old-fashioned like he has all the time in the world. 

“did you wanna meet so we could just sit here in silence or….”

when you had agreed to this meeting, you had a clear goal in mind: find out who the spy is and clear your name.

it might be too much rum or the crushing weight of recent events, but you no longer have the energy nor the drive to be strategic or even cautious around luke. now, you’re looking for a cure to your bone deep boredom and heartache.

"no. i’m here because….” he falters and runs a hand through his hair. “look, i heard about what happened at camp. and, with beck —” 

“dying?” you finish, taking one last gulp of your drink. all the rage, resentment and grief you’ve been feeling has been lodged in your throat. you’d hope each sip of your dark and stormy would burn through it, but instead it comes tumbling from your lips. 

“honestly, beck would probably still be alive if you didn’t join the dark side. i guess you’re kinda leading the dark side now, aren’t you luke? what’s that like?” 

luke polishes off his drink, too, his cheeks flushed. he gestures at the bartender for a third round of drinks. or is it fourth? 

“don’t be a dick,” luke sighs once a replenished glass is placed in front of him. “i obviously never wanted to hurt you — any of you.”

if you were of sober mind, maybe you’d point out that it’s too late; that luke already hurt all of you the minute he decided to side with kronos.

“i know i did, though,” he adds after swallowing a mouthful of his drink. 

you know that if luke was of sober mind, he would never have admitted that. he seems to know better than to apologize though, hopefully recognizing that the damage has already been done. 

it’s not like your hands aren’t bloody, too. 

“it was supposed to be me, you know?” you let out a watery laugh. “i was supposed to go with percy on the mission, but beck offered to go instead because he thought — he knew — that it would….it would be hard for me to see…. you.”

luke pauses and turns away from you. “you couldn’t have known what would happen.” his voice wavers, too. “beckendorf was looking out for you — it’s what he does. did.”

“i couldn’t even go to the funeral,” you continue. “i feel like i didn’t really get to say goodbye, you know?”

 “yeah,” luke hums sorrowfully. “mourning someone who fought for the gods isn’t really allowed where i am.”

again, you could point out the irony in what he’s saying. given everything he’s done, luke dug his own grave and clearly some for his friends, too. 

tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away. the reality is that one of your best friends died because you couldn’t handle an encounter with your ex-boyfriend, the one you’re currently sitting beside. 

you might not have done what they accused you of, but you’re nowhere near innocent. who were you to give yourself permission to cry?

in the dim neon light, you notice a tear slide down luke’s cheek before he wipes it away just as fast.

he clears his throat. “to charles beckendorf: a hero by any other name.”

you tap your glass against luke’s, and you both drink in honor of your lost friend. you drink to everyone and everything you’ve lost, too. 

beckendorf is dead; chris has lost his mind; clarisse might start her own war with the apollo cabin over a flying chariot; and ever since the princess andromeda mission went terribly wrong, silena can’t go one minute without bursting into tears. 

it was too easy for everything to fall apart, as though this was always what the fates had in store for you — the next generation of greek tragedies. 

thankfully, there always comes a break in the tragedy, and it seems to be now: you and luke, getting drunk off whiskey and rum and old memories. 

you remember countless times sneaking out to the beach after curfew, mixing store-brand soda with cheap alcohol smuggled into camp by luke’s half-brothers; hot summer nights spent fantasizing about existence outside of camp and returning to your head counselor duties in the morning with chiron and mr. d none the wiser. once you started dating, it became routine for the two of you to wander away from the group for some privacy, somewhere far enough away so that no one could hear you scream luke’s name.

those memories still make your skin flush, even as you’re here drinking cocktails at a bar in the city, with one friend gone to elysium and everyone else calling you a traitor.

“i can’t believe you don’t remember that night! mr. d caught a few senior campers getting drunk in his office? they stole a super expensive bottle of wine, threw up all over the carpet, and had to spend the rest of the night cleaning it?” 

you continue shaking your head. you tip your glass back to capture the last drops of amber liquid before confessing:  

“what i remember is spending the whole night jealous of malcolm pace because he got to slow dance with you.”

luke lets out something between a scoff and a laugh, then he’s silent for a few moments.

“i love this song,” luke muses, words blurring together. “i haven’t heard it in a while.” he finishes his drink and sets the glass down, holding his hand out to you. 

your brain is a bit foggy from all the alcohol, so it takes you a few seconds to realize what he’s asking. 

“you wanna dance?”

“yeah,” he answers. “make up for lost time.”

it’s not until you feel luke’s chest pressed against yours, his hands firmly on your waist, that you register what song is currently playing.

“downtown lights” by the blue nile — luke had spent so long trying to find the right song for your first time together. 

you told him not to worry, teased him a bit for planning every detail so meticulously, but deep down, your heart swelled with how much he cared.

the empty hermes cabin during capture-the-flag, both of you pretending to be too injured from sparring practice to play. luke’s sweaty hands fumbling with the condom, you having to step in and rip the wrapper with your teeth. clothes being haphazardly thrown on so you could run back to the infirmary before anyone noticed. silent vows to do it again, and again, and again. 

the more time spent exploring and experimenting, the more you got the rhythm of each other’s bodies, knew how to make the other squirm and throw their head back in pleasure — and that didn’t just go away when luke joined kronos’ army. 

even when your loyalties were more clear, your consciousness was plagued with visions of you and luke together, ones that left your sheets burning, more than the blazing summer heat. you confided in silena about these once, and she assured you that there is no such thing as bad thoughts. 

she did warn you, though: it’s when you indulge in these fantasies that they risk becoming fatal.

now, thinking back and forth between memories with luke and the events of this past very shitty week, you realize that maybe that’s why you’re here.

despite everything you’ve done, you supposedly betrayed people you consistently fight beside, fight for; you were thrown out of a place you once considered home and told never to come back. 

you were doomed from the start — a daughter of nemesis, assumed to be wicked and revenge-seeking since birth. 

well, if they’re going to crucify you anyway…..

once the song ends, you ask:

“you wanna go outside for a smoke?”

your hands start playing with the curls at the base of luke’s neck, hinting at what you were hoping comes next.

luke licks his lips, gold eyes darker than before. 

“guess you’re itching to put that celestial bronze to good use,” he says lowly.

“only if you ask nicely,” you drawl. 

luke blushes. 

you pull away from him, start walking towards the back exit, and pray that he follows you. 

—

this is why meeting with you was dangerous: there’s no one else in the world – god, titan, or otherwise – luke castellan would get on his knees for, let alone in the filthy alley behind a bar.  

technically, kronos sent luke here to recruit you. 

the scythe charm — the one used to communicate with silena — sits heavy in his pocket. it’s part of the reason why you were exiled from camp, why your friends don’t look at you the same way. why you can’t ever go back home, not really. 

luke imagines you might resent those who threw you out of camp, but you would never betray them. he knew that you weren’t likely to join kronos’ army.

he’s thankful that, at the very least, you still have a penchant for breaking some rules. 

the two of you are a tangled mess of teeth and tongue. luke tastes the spiciness of ginger beer and rum, mixed with sweetness from the clove cigarette you just smoked. you lock one leg around luke’s hip, and the brief glimpse of your lacy black underwear has him throbbing. one of your hands slips underneath his shirt to trace the contours of his abdomen. luke’s breath hitches when your hand reaches down even further. 

“wait –” you pause your actions to let luke finish his sentence, and already he regrets voicing his hollow concern. “i….i probably should not be doing this.”

“me neither,” you concede, breathing steadily.“but, they already think i’m guilty.”  with your other hand, your thumb dances over his kiss-swollen lips and luke feels something ignite in the pit of his stomach. “maybe i am, with how much i think about you.”

luke knows what’s at stake for him, if anyone finds out, but in a booze-soaked haze and with you looking at him like that, he can’t seem to care. 

it’s coming back to him now: that endless cycle of waking up sticky and drenched in sweat over dreams of screaming your name and going about his day like it wasn’t a paradox to be leading kronos’ army and still wanting someone aligned with the enemy to devour him. 

when he agreed, however reluctantly, to be a vessel for kronos, luke had to lock those desires inside a vault deep inside his mind. 

this might very well be luke’s last chance to satisfy his cravings, once and for all. tonight, he’s in full control of his body and mind. 

he’ll happily yield his power to you. 

soon enough, your teeth gnaw on his top lip as luke messily thrusts into you, your underwear hastily pushed to the side. he tries to savor every part of this, of you — the heel of your combat boot digging into his back; the sting of your nails where you grip him; the familiar scent of your skin, sickly sweet cherries and burnt vanilla; the hoarseness of your voice, encouraging him to go faster, harder. following your orders, luke wraps both of your legs around his waist and digs his fingers further into your hips to keep them secure.

it’s a religious experience, watching you throw your head back against the brick wall as your orgasm crashes through you. luke follows a few seconds later, pulling out just in time to paint the inside of your thighs with his cum.

luke grins as he watches you come down from your high, eyes closed, chest heaving, neck engraved with the outline of his teeth.

“sorry, didn’t mean to give you a concussion.”

you open your eyes just to roll them at luke, who’s tucking himself back into his jeans.

“you’re such an asshole,” you jest through labored breaths, registering his shit-eating grin. you fix the hem of your leather skirt and pout dramatically. “and you had to leave a mess behind, didn’t you?”

without another word, luke kneels in front of you. 

he leans his head back to admire how your lips curl into a bemused smile at his antics. your fingers press into his pulse point, no doubt feeling how reckless his heartbeat becomes underneath you. once more, your thumb prods at his lips; this time luke grants access, the cold metal of your ring burning on his tongue. 

“is this how you pledged loyalty to your titan king?” you taunt. 

luke shakes his head, still sucking your digit. 

he did have to bow, but not like this. the only entity he’d worship this desperately is you. 

“i’m honored,” you coo. luke bites back a whimper when you remove your thumb from his mouth, instead tracing the scar on his face, up his cheekbone. “i have to say though: i miss your brown eyes, pretty boy.”

his whole body is on fire with how you touch him, but your passing observation feels like a knife to the gut. wanting to be good for you, to prove he’s still your pretty boy, luke pushes up the bottom of your skirt so it bunches around your waist. 

“luke!” you attempt to scold, concealing a moan when his teeth graze your clit through the damp fabric of your underwear. “someone might see.”

“it’ll be fine, baby,” he assures. “is this new?” luke is mesmerized by the fresh ink on your thigh, fingers trailing over swirling black lines. 

you hum, a goddess gazing down on her disciple. “do you like it?”

luke nods. he replaces his fingers with his tongue, journeying across your skin, tasting salty sweat mixed with his cum drying between your legs. he hears your whimpers for more. he complies and plunges two fingers beneath the lace until you reach your peak. luke places one last kiss to your core, before getting up again.

you crash your lips onto his, and you’re kissing him the way you did back when you really loved him, chaotic and feverish. your fingers snake through his curls, and you tug on them just enough to make luke’s head spin. 

you’re somehow more intoxicating than however many drinks he downed earlier.

he sees something simmering behind your eyes, when you ask if he wants to come back to your apartment. you both know you shouldn’t, but honestly — in the grand scheme of things, what’s one more sin?as the two of you are tangled beneath your bedsheets, you decide to frame it differently, as a mutual vow: maybe just one more time will satisfy this hunger.

I LOVE YOU SM!! THIS IS JUST TOO GORGEOUS OMG, I COULD DIE HAPPY AFTER READING THIS😭🫶😔

An Education in Malice — Part Four

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: 18+ heavy making out and wandering hands, lots of bickering, sexual tension, threats, name calling, torture and wound descriptions, abuse, two emotionally dysregulated cunts tbh

Word Count: 7.7k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The air between you and Azriel had taken on a peculiar tension lately, some overwhelming, suffocating force that made you feel entirely too nervous for your comfort.  

Neither of you could ever pinpoint who made the first move— or rather, neither of you were willing to admit who did— but somehow, like clockwork, your dress was hiked up, his leathers were undone, and he was rutting into you from behind. It was always the same: a possessive grip on your waist, in your hair, or on your breasts, breath hot against your ear as he whispered words that only fueled the fire between you, responses to whatever comments you had made to rile him up.

It had become a distraction, this strange dynamic you created, that even Renard's interrogations had taken a backseat in lieu of it. It was proving increasingly difficult to get work done between fighting or fucking. 

The chamber was a dismal pit, darkness swallowing any hint of light that dared to enter. Moisture clung to the walls like a thick veil– the dirty, fetid atmosphere was tainted with the unmistakable stench of blood and other bodily fluids. You wrinkled your nose in disgust.

Azriel approached Renard, head cocking slightly to the side as his shadows danced around him— seemingly curious, excited almost. A twisted sense of satisfaction grew within you at the sight of Renard's pitiful state—starving, bloody, bruised, and desperate. 

Perhaps you should have felt some semblance of remorse or pity; even with how cruel Renard was, a compassionate soul should still feel a sense of guilt, a sense of sickness. But as you searched your body for it, as you attempted to muster it up, you came up empty handed. Instead, a rush of power surged through you. It felt like karma– well deserved karma.

You glanced at Azriel. There seemed to be a mirrored expression of satisfaction on his face, an unphased coolness to the situation before him. Even his shadows seemed at home, falling into familiar, rehearsed positions as he moved.  Deep down, something within you rested at the realization that he felt no remorse, either. 

“Is your plan to just stare at him until he confesses his secrets?”

Azriel could already anticipate the scowl on your face from the tone of your voice alone. He slowly turned his head to toss an unamused glare your way, hazel eyes momentarily scanning your figure. 

For the first time since this arrangement had begun, you were clad in something different, a departure from the usual dresses that adorned your form. The ensemble was a blend of regality and practicality, more akin to the attire of a warrior than a courtly lady— fitted pants and a tailored tunic, fabric adorned with subtle embellishments of autumn. It seemed as if Azriel wasn’t used to the sight yet— or he was entirely repulsed. You weren’t sure which, but you didn’t quite care, either. 

When his eyes met yours again, you gave him an impatient eyebrow raise, nodding towards Renard’s limp body. “Are you done checking me out yet?”

Azriel’s stare remained on you for a few more moments before he followed your line of sight back to the male before him. 

“Maybe if I didn’t have an incessant pest over my shoulder, I would be more successful.”

You stepped closer to him, a faint smell of night-chilled mist and cedar reaching your nose. “Maybe if you were actually good at anything besides harboring a grudge, you would’ve already been successful.”

Azriel didn’t move, didn’t so much as toss a glance your way as he responded, “Being a hypocrite isn’t a look fit for a lady.”

You let out an angry breath. 

Too much time had passed with Renard missing. Soon enough, your father was bound to get suspicious— and Eris was bound to get worried as well.  There wasn’t any doubt that Renard didn’t know much, not only because your father was a paranoid ruler, but because he failed to plan ahead more often than not. You didn’t need much information. All you needed was an idea of what Beron was planning, some inkling. Once you knew that, you could easily prevent it and ensure he didn’t gain any more power— ensure that Eris was set up to successfully overthrow him. 

But Azriel seemed to be taking his time, attempting to get other information about your court that could prove useful for the Night Court. 

“I think we’ve already established I’m past that title.”

Azriel looked at you. “Clearly.”

An all-too familiar simmering prickled at your skin and you clenched your jaw, matching the intensity of his glare with one of your own. 

Renard let out a weak chuckle, blood staining his teeth as he lifted his chin. 

“Listening to you two bicker is almost worse than the actual torture. You’re like a married couple. It’s pathetic.”

Azriel’s head snapped towards the male and a growl rumbled through the room. “Watch your mouth.”

But Renard only sneered, turning his bloodshot eyes to Azriel. “Big bad Shadowsinger, always lurking in the dark. Afraid to face your own inadequacies in the light, boy?”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, tendrils of shadows now swirling around him, agitated, buzzing with a need to move. Renard offered a sickly, bloodied grin as he observed their movement. “No wonder you hide behind those shadows—they're the only things that can stand being around you.”

There was a pause as Azriel’s gaze grew predatory. And then a small, involuntary sound left your lips. 

It surprised you as much as it did Azriel, who turned to look at you with a furrowed brow and growing scowl. Your eyes widened a fraction at the sound, and within seconds, you let out a laugh.

The softness of it felt sinful, felt completely and utterly wrong— and something rippled throughout Azriel’s body at it, dug its way deep down into him until his wings felt slightly limp. From around his arms, his shadows slowed, coming to a curious, awe-filled stop. They began whispering, but he paid no attention. He pushed the foreign sensations away, his surroundings registering in his mind as he scowled.

“What the hell are you laughing at?”

You shook your head, another laugh escaping your lips at his face, contorted in frustration—  in an irritated confusion of being so caught off guard. His wings flared out, twitching slightly in response to the repeated sound.  “Nothing,” you said, “Your life just may be more pathetic than I thought if you’re getting psychoanalyzed by the male you’re torturing.”

Azriel’s irritation deepened as a grin grew on your face. “Shut up.”

A weak scoff drew your attention back to the bound male next to you. 

“You shouldn’t be laughing, princess.”  Renard’s eyes gleamed with malice as he shifted his gaze to you.  “Pretending to be tough, but the only reason you’re here is because you’re too weak to do anything on your own. Everyone knows Beron’s little girl is just a pathetic, needy bitch.”

The laughter died in your throat almost instantly, jaw clenching as your amusement quickly faded into a red haze of annoyance. A flame flickered at your fingertips. 

“Careful,” you warned. You moved to take a step towards Renard, but Azriel’s hand shot out instantly, stopping you with a firm grasp around your arm. 

You glanced down at where his hand met your body before pulling yourself away with a scowl. “Can you just do your job so we can kill him already?”

Your voice had a bitter, agitated edge to it now, a drawl that sounded more whiny than it did threatening. Azriel folded his arms, a gleam in his eyes as he responded with a mocking, “Why? Did he hit a nerve?”

You growled, watching as the edges of his lips turned up slightly— just enough for you to notice, just enough for that hint of an arrogant smirk to bother you. 

 “I think I preferred when you stayed quiet and sulked in your shadows.”

Azriel continued to stare at you, the ghost of a smirk still plastered on his face. A sense of annoyance prickled at your skin, mixed with something that tasted nauseatingly like embarrassment. Faintly, you felt the rush of heat threatening to spread to your cheeks. 

You clenched your jaw harder, gaze flickering from Azriel’s amused face to Renard’s bruised, snickering one. You landed back on Azriel with a sneer. 

“Wipe that stupid look off your face before I do it for you.”

Azriel watched in amusement as you stormed off, disappearing with another huff of annoyance and a vulgar gesture over your shoulder. 

Renard turned to him with a vile grin. “I have to ask. What’s she like, Shadowsinger? We’ve all wanted to fuck her. I bet she’s just as desperate in bed as she is—”

Azriel's expression darkened instantly, shadows swirling violently around him as he flared his wings out, poised and deadly. He held Renard by the throat, grip unyielding, siphons glowing angrily. His voice was deadly calm as he muttered, "I warned you to watch your mouth."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Only a couple hours had passed when Azriel found you again in the Spring Court, standing in the small house he’d grown strangely accustomed to. 

“You're here.”

You glanced over your shoulder, a sarcastic smile tugged at your lips. "Great detective skills on your part. Think you could use those with Renard?"

Unphased, Azriel rolled his eyes, the motion barely perceptible but unmistakable to someone who had spent as much time with him as you had. He moved with silent grace until he was standing right behind you, shadows hovering over his shoulders. 

"What's all this?"

His tone was flat as he took in the various items you had strewn across the table.

You shrugged, not bothering to turn around. "I brought some things so I wouldn’t need to keep going back and forth."

You could feel his presence behind you, the warmth of his body caressing over your skin as he leaned closer. Azriel's gaze landed on a leather-bound notebook among your belongings. 

"What's the notebook for?"

You stared at it for a moment, gingerly picking it up in your hands. There was a smirk on your lips as you turned to face him, face seemingly innocent and sweet. 

"All my private thoughts and hopes and dreams. At night, I sit with it and write in cursive letters, 'I hope the shadowsinger shuts the fuck up and stops being nosy.'"

Your voice started light, teasing, but as you finished the sentence, your expression hardened into a glare. Azriel seemed anything but amused, and a muscle feathered in his cheek. He gave no verbal response, opting to keep his gaze trained on you until you let out a huff of annoyance. 

He’d collected certain observations of you over the past few weeks. 

You rolled your eyes in almost every conversation he held with you. You smelled like a crackling fire and forest pine branch, something so similar to fresh fall air. He’d seen you sneer more than he’d ever seen you smile— which was once, today, as Renard commented on his shadows and apparent self-loathing. But most of all, you hated prolonged eye-contact. It made you angry, frustrated— flustered even. Azriel wouldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt every time he watched your jaw clench, watched the tinge of pink appear on the apple of your cheeks.

“What?” You snapped, glaring at him through your lashes. 

“Any particular reason you're more insufferable than usual?” 

An eye roll. “Bite me.”

“Hmm.” A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. “Do you want me to?”

Your mouth parted for a fleeting second. And then you scowled, nose scrunching at the movement. “I brought this to keep track of everything I find out about my father and Koschei.” You shoved the journal into Azriel’s chest with a little more force than necessary.

Azriel frowned, catching it effortlessly. His shadows flowed to his fingers, gliding across the cover as he flipped it open. He glanced at you through his lashes, a single brow arching in question. “This is empty.”

“Point proven,” you shot back, “Go back to Renard and find something useful. We’re running out of time.”

He stood up straight, rolled his shoulders back, and narrowed his eyes at you. “I wasn’t aware we were on a deadline.” 

You chewed the inside of your cheek. Another sigh of annoyance left your lips. "Beron is bound to realize that Renard isn't on some drunken bender anymore. He's going to come looking. I don't want there to be anything for him to find."

Azriel's lips quirked in a small, humorless smile. "I think I'm capable of hiding a trail or two."

"Are you sure about that?" You narrowed your eyes. "Because you barely seem able to get Renard to do anything besides read you like a boring, sad, self-loathing book."

Azriel let out a scoff, glancing to the side as he threw the journal back onto the table behind you. You clenched your jaw at the movement, at the sound of the thud it created as it fell onto the wood. 

"Your insults are getting weaker, princess. Maybe you should take some lessons from him."

"Shut up," you snapped, the words coming out more petulant than you'd intended. 

He crossed his arms across his chest. Your eyes fell to his hands, to the siphons that beamed with color in front of you. His shadows followed the movement, gliding down his forearms and around his wrists.

“What would happen if Beron found out you were sneaking around? That you were holding Renard?”

His voice drew your attention back to his face, where his eyes were narrowed in on you in a deep, curious, almost unsure gaze. 

Your answer was swift, no hesitation. “He would kill me.”

Azriel wasn’t quite sure why his body reacted the way it did, why he felt himself flinch, why his wings seemed to twitch in discomfort. Whatever the reason, you noticed the reaction immediately, noting how his brows seemed to furrow ever-so-slightly—- a motion nearly minuscule for the normal eye, but you were talented at picking up these things. Years of blending in gave you such abilities— and weeks around Azriel made it easier to read his tells.

There was a feeling in your stomach that you couldn’t make out yet, but it was heavy and made you antsy. You broke eye contact, dropping your eyes to the ground as you absentmindedly kicked your shoe at some tracked-in dirt. 

“Don’t act so surprised,” you said nonchalantly, “My father has no ties to me beyond the unfortunate blood in my veins. I’m a bitch to be bred by the highest bidder.”

Something tightened in your chest as you paused for a moment. You blinked away the images that were flowing in through the corners of your mind. “I’m not worth any extra hassle.”

A silence followed. Your gaze was still on the ground, still on your black boots and the floor beneath you. A faint motion caught your eye and you watched as a tendril of Azriel’s shadow drifted to the ground— cascading down his ankle before it fell to the ground, stopping at your feet.

“I’d say,” Azriel murmured.

His words ran through you like a cold chill.

Azriel watched as something dark and fleeting passed through your eyes. You stood up straight, dropping your hands to grip the edges of the table as you leaned the small of your back against it. The faint smell of something burnt lingered in the air.

You tilted your head at him, gaze flickering between his eyes. And then a mocking, sly grin pulled at the edges of your lips. It felt unnatural. “Says the man who fucks me in the forest like a starved beast.”

Azriel’s hands slowly dropped from his chest. He took a step forward. A sense of tension crackled in the shared air, and you felt it within your stomach— a small flicker of fire.

“You let me.”

You shrugged. Heated pooled in your veins.  “A good fuck is a good fuck.”

Azriel’s lips curled into a smirk, and his hand reached out to trace up your arm. You tightened your grip on the edge of the table as the touch traveled through your skin. “It doesn’t bother you that it’s me?”

There was something inherently dangerous about the way he spoke, about the taunting, accusatory tone his words now dripped with. He traced the movement of his hand with his eyes, continuing a path up your arm. 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

His eyes flickered up to yours. You took a deep breath. 

“Truthfully?” He leaned in closer.  “I loathe it.”

His movements momentarily stilled, but you felt his shadows continue the path he’d started, felt as they slowly snaked up your arms. 

“Yet you keep coming back.”

His eyes darkened, and then he let out a soft, cool hum.  “A good fuck is a good fuck.”

By now, you were inches apart, the space between you a thin, taut with a suffocating tension that made it hard for you to breathe. His shadows slithered around you, caressing your skin so delicately you could’ve sworn it mimicked a lover's touch— their darkness wrapping around your neck, weaving themselves through strands of your hair.

You bit your lip, and Azriel's hand moved to your mouth, the pad of his thumb slowly pulling your bottom lip down. "You said you don’t care about Koschei,” he murmured, “That you just want to help your family.”

He released your lip, thumb resting on your skin as he held your chin in his hand.  He titled your head to his line of sight. “But Eris doesn’t know about Renard.”

"No, he does not.”

Your voice was quieter now, a low, soft tone that made Azriel almost groan in response. The feeling went straight through his body, coiling in his stomach and making his cock twitch. 

"Would he disagree with the methods?" 

Azriel’s lips were inches from yours, the space between you practically nonexistent. 

You frowned at the question, feeling your chest tighten as his mouth hovered near yours. Your knuckles turned white as your grip on the table turned iron, feeling the chipped wood beneath your fingertips. 

"He would disagree with me interfering so boldly with my father.”

"Because it would get you killed," Azriel stated.

"Yes.” 

His nose brushed against yours, and he met your gaze as his hand moved to wrap around the base of your neck. 

"You’re willing to continue this even if it risks your life?" 

You felt strangely exposed, naked in a way that you’d never felt before— not even when your clothes had been torn off and he was deep inside you, hands roaming your naked skin with a scorching touch and a ravenous mouth. This felt intimate. You didn’t like it. 

You traced the features of his face, his gaze still laser-focused on you, intense and wanting. He had a few freckles across his cheeks that you’d never noticed, and the flecks of green in his eyes were overshadowed by his dilated pupils. You took a deep breath, finding the courage to meet his heavy gaze once more. 

"Wouldn’t you do something similar?"

Azriel paused. A sense of conflict passed through his eyes as he pulled back slightly, just enough to scan your face entirely. 

"No," he finally said. He hesitated for a moment. "I’d do the exact same thing."

There was a beat of silence. You stared at one another, breaths turning heavy, ragged. Your heart thundered beneath your ribs. Before you could come to your senses, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your hands around his neck to pull him into you. Azriel responded eagerly, mouth slotting over yours with a natural, practiced ease. 

His hands fell from your neck, tracing down your waist until his palms gripped your hips, pulling your body further into his own. You let out a sound of pleasure at the feeling, at how his hands explored you, how the heat of his body seared against yours. You melted into his touch.

Azriel’s lips trailed along your jawline, and with a guttural groan, he  suddenly spun you around, pulling you back against him with a possessive force, his arousal pressing hard into your beck. 

The sudden change in position only fueled the haze in your mind and you placed your hands over his, following as he roamed over your curves. You threaded your fingers through his, roughly guiding his palm up your chest, moving to cup it over your breast. 

His lips nipped at your ear from behind.

"This change in wardrobe is interesting," he murmured, voice husky and rough with a delicious sense of desire.

You tilted your head slightly, reveling in the feeling of his breath against your skin. "Don't like it?" 

He chuckled lowly, his hands cupping your breast roughly. “Don't particularly favor how difficult it seems to take off."

The sensation of his touch sent a rush of heat coursing through you. Every inch of you burned with need— an all-consuming, humiliating need. 

Your eyes fluttered shut and you leaned into his touch, head falling back onto his shoulders as his lips found the skin beneath your ear. 

You raised a hand to tangle your fingers into Azriel’s hair, your eyes opening once more as his touch grew hungrier, rougher. 

The view of the table slowly came into focus. Your gaze fell to the notebook, its empty pages seemed to mock you with their blankness, and you blinked as a sense of sanity washed through you like a cold tide. 

With a jolt, you pushed yourself away from Azriel, prying his hands off your body as you broke the heated embrace.

Azriel blinked, shadows rushing back to him as if startled by the sudden pull away. His hair was tousled, lips still tingling from the kiss.

"What is it?" he asked, breathing heavy. 

You took a moment to compose yourself, patting down your disheveled hair with quick hands. "I’m bored. This isn’t doing it for me," you lied. You swallowed as Azriel’s stared at you with a furrowed brow. "Just go work on Renard."

You left no room for him to respond. Within the blink of an eye, you had disappeared from Azriel’s sight. 

His hands ran through his hair, attempting to shake off the lingering effects of the moment with you. The air still felt suffocating, still smelled of you and the sweet, addicting scent of your arousal. He scowled to himself.

His shadows slowly moved down his frame, falling to the ground and gliding across the floors. His eyes fell down to their movement, watching as they wrapped around a foot of the table, as they made their way up to the tabletop. 

He squinted at where they landed, reaching a finger out to the area that they traced. There, etched into the wood, was a faint outline of a burnt handprint— a perfect replica of your palm. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Even with the familiar scene of pine and earth, returning home to the Forest House– to your court— never brought you a sense of comfort. But today, with the heat of your blush still spreading through your cheeks, you welcomed the quiet, empty halls. 

The soft patter of paws drew your attention as Laney approached with her head lowered. A small smile grew on your lips as she nudged you with her wet nose, but quickly the smile dropped as a small whine escaped her. 

Kneeling down, you gently ran your fingers across her coat. "What's wrong, girl?"

She only nudged your hand once more and turned, leading you deeper into the house.

A sense of foreboding settled over you as you followed her through the corridors. Your steps quickened when you spotted Flint lying outside Eris’s room. The dread in your chest grew heavier. Eris had a special connection to Flint. There were only a few situations in which he’d refuse the company.

Your face fell as you pushed the door to Eris’s room,  heart clenched at the sight before you. 

Eris sat on a small, velvet bench at the end of his bed, his head snapping back to the sound of his door opening. His expression quickly softened when he met your eyes, and you watched as his shoulders slumped.  “It’s just you.”

You gave him a small nod as he turned back around, your gaze falling to the blood-soaked shirt he wore, the crimson color spreading throughout the thin fabric. Flint and Laney pushed past you, paws pattering on the ground as they entered the room. A heavy feeling settled in your chest, something entirely dark and queasy. 

Eris grumbled as Flint neared him. “Shit. Y/N, close the godsdamn door.”

“I-” You snapped out of your daze, quickly closing the door before rushing over to him, gently pushing the hounds aside. “I’m sorry.”

You sat down next to him. “They just want to help you,” you said quietly. 

Eris sighed, a deep, weary sound. “I know. I just—”

Your eyes wandered to the hounds who had settled down nearby. Such regal, cunning, smart creatures. You’d never think them caring enough to sense such pain, yet here they were, eyes reflecting a deep understanding of the situation. Flint let out a small whimper, laying his head on his paws.

You looked back at Eris, slumped with his head in his hands, spine curved in a manner that made his wounds pour deeper into his shirt. A similar thought made its way through your mind. Your brother, regal and intelligent, a male who carried so much, who bore his father’s wrath time and time again– a male with a warm heart somewhere deep within the anger he radiated. The heavy feeling in your chest grew, began to fester into something fighting between fury, loathing, and suffocating sadness. 

“What happened?”

Eris didn’t lift his head, voice muffled by his hands. “He found me talking to my men. It wasn’t anything. Wasn’t about Koschei, wasn’t even about him.” 

There was an exhaustion in his voice that dripped with every word. 

“He was feeling particularly upset today,” Eris finished as he lifted his shirt, revealing the full extent of the damage. The lashes were deep, and you could see the dark, almost blackened edges where your father’s special concoction had seeped into the wounds. Eris bit back a groan, jaw clenched tightly.

That heavy feeling in your chest turned hot, burning— all consuming. So many things ran through your mind, overwhelming, crushing floods of emotions drowning your senses. 

You registered the anger first, the empty, crushing pressure of it, a feeling you’d grown too familiar with. Anger at your father, at the situation you were all trapped in, at the sheer unfairness of it all. 

And then it was guilt. Dark, suffocating, guilt. Renard missing had probably put your father on edge. Not only had you lied about it, kept it a secret, but you hadn’t been there when Eris needed you most. Instead, you’d been entangled with Azriel, a male who had no respect for you, for your family, who would so willingly watch your brother suffer. Selfish, selfish, selfish. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. There was nothing you could say, nothing that would make this situation okay, that would take away Eris’s pain– that would prevent it from happening all over again. You swallowed.

“Eris-” 

He lifted his head and turned to you a resigned expression, eyes slightly wide with desperation.  "I’m going to call it all off. We can’t meet with them now, not for a while.”

You didn’t need to ask for clarification, you already knew who he was talking about, what alliance he was referring to. You shook your head. “No, we need-”

"It’s too dangerous," he interrupted, voice urgent and pleading. "He’s watching everyone more closely now. If he finds out you're involved, I don't know what he'll do."

You shook your head faster, a hard sense of determination flaring in your chest. "We can’t, I can't. I need to figure something out. I need to help you."

Eris sat up straighter, grimacing at the motion as he reached out, his hand finding a firm but gentle on your wrist. "You need to stay safe, Y/N. Please. Nothing else matters."

You looked at him, brows furrowed and throat tight. Your strong, protective brother now reduced to pleading with you. You took a deep, ragged breath. “It all matters. I need to help you, okay? I need to make sure you have the upper hand."

Eris just shook his head, shook it so firmly and desperately that you could’ve sworn he was a teenager again, hand on yours as he scolded you for breaking something.

"Please," he repeated, his voice breaking. “Just listen to me."

A wave of helplessness washed over you, and now you felt small again, felt as if you’d shrunk in place. Your mind traveled back, throwing you into memories where you’d hide away from your father, fearing his disappointed hand, desperate for approval but receiving only pain. The same feeling bubbled in your chest.

You swallowed hard.  "I can't just stand by and do nothing."

Eris's eyes softened. "You want to help me? Stay safe.” 

You frowned, biting the inside of your cheek. The words you wanted to say caught in your throat. You couldn’t promise him that. You couldn’t lie. So instead, you turned your attention to his back, to the angry wounds that marred his skin. 

"Here, let me help you," you murmured. He gave you a long look, then nodded, slowly moving his body to expose more of his back to you. 

You moved your hand to his back. Heat surged through you, flickering at your fingertips. Your hands shook, trembled as you attempted to focus. You tried to channel it, to control that divine fire within you, but the energy was wild and unsteady. A self-loathing bite gnawed at you. 

"I can't—" you whispered, the words laced with frustration. 

Renard’s's taunting voice echoed in your mind. Too weak to do anything on your own.

Eris turned to look at you again, calm words breaking through the rising storm you felt inside your chest. "It's okay,” he said, “I can do it."

"I'm sorry.”

He shook his head at you, a small smile gracing his features. “There's nothing to be sorry for.”

There was something about the fact that he was able to smile, that he pulled such a gesture out for you, that made the bitter loathing inside of you spread even faster. 

"Just stay with me?” Eris asked. 

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Of course.”

With one hand, he held yours, and the other twisted over his back. You watched as his own hands began to heat up, glowing with a controlled, steady flame. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

All you felt was anger. All you saw was red.

Memories flashed in your mind, one after another. Eris’s bloodied wounds and the far-off look in his eyes, your mother hid away from the world and the echoes of her crying, being forced to clean the floors of your brother’s blood, your paralyzing inadequacies. It all twisted inside you, each image wrapping itself around your ribs, wounding itself tight enough to make you struggle to breathe.

You weren’t sure how you got here, but the smell of blood in the air tasted sweet on your tongue. Renard lay slumped in the metal chair. Despite his appearance, a mocking grin spread across his split lips as you entered.

“Come back for more, have you?” 

The sight of him, significantly more battered than the last time you’d seen him, brought a welcomed sense of satisfaction. At your sides, you clenched your fists until they were white. 

“I’m done playing,” you said, your voice a low, dangerous growl. “Tell me what you know.”

Renard’s grin widened, a cruel glint in his eyes. “I'm trembling in fear,” he mocked, “What's a dolled-up whore like you going to do?”

Something inside you snapped. 

With a snarl, you lunged forward, hands slamming down onto the metal chair. All the anger, all the pain, everything you’d been holding back, surged through you. The metal beneath your palms began to heat up, the sensation almost soothing in its intensity— cathartic, even. 

Renard’s eyes widened. “I already told you both, fuck, I already gave you all I know!” he shouted, painful groans leaving his mouth as the hot metal below him began to bite at his exposed skin. “We don’t know anything.”

“You’re a liar!” 

In the back of your mind, you grasped at your resolve, grasped at the strength you needed to keep your desperation hidden— all attempts proved futile. You grabbed Renard’s neck, fingers digging into his flesh as a simmering heat radiated down your arm. “Tell me what you know!” 

Renard’s screams filled the room, his body writhing in agony. “I don’t—” he choked out, voice hoarse with pain. You stared at your hand, stared at the flicker of flames that began had to grow, watched as they moved to Renard’s skin–

But before the flames could fully spread, black smoke enveloped your wrist, wrapping around it with a smothering, extinguishing touch. 

Not smoke—shadows. 

A hand grabbed you next, pulling you back with a rough hand. 

You pulled against the familiar grip. “Let me go, you foul-bred animal!” 

Azriel’s voice was a low growl in your ear. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You struggled against him, but his hold was firm. 

Within a blink, you were winnowed to an open area in the forest, the sudden transition leaving your senses reeling. A cool breeze brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. You blinked. And then you pushed Azriel off, staggering back with the force of the motion. Your heart pounded with residual fury, a trickling sense of adrenaline still coursing through your veins. 

“What do you not understand about 'let me go'?” you spat, “Is there something in those bat genetics of yours that makes you lose brain functioning at random intervals?”

Azriel’s didn’t budge. “Do not go back there.”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Shadowsinger. I think it’s time I handle this on my own.”

“Handle it?” he echoed, his shadows curled at his fists. “You were about to burn him alive, losing control like some child throwing a tantrum.”

The color drained from your face. “And you’re the expert voice on self-control?”  The taste of resentment lingered on your tongue, sour and sickly familiar. “Where was this energy when you slaughtered and tortured my brother’s men? When they were being controlled, when they knew nothing?”

Azriel’s wings twitched almost imperceptibly. Your voice fell slightly to a tone lower, more raw. 

“Was what I was doing truly that bad, or do you only care that it’s me doing it?”

There was a beat. Azriel looked away before finding your eyes again. He shook his head, a small scowl on his face. “What are you implying?”

Something inside you shifted as you stared at him, every detail seemingly magnified, as if your emotions had sharpened your perception at last. You’d noticed this intensity around him, wrote it off as the thrill of an adversary. But you realized now, as Azriel stood before you, that he was something else entirely: a stark embodiment of everything you loathed, everything you sought to avoid, and everything you secretly craved. 

He wielded cruelty with impunity, praised for his ruthlessness, while his family basked in the warmth of love and freedom, despite their own moral shortcomings. And now he stood before you, a bastard-born nobody who had stumbled into luck, blind to anything beyond his own skewed perceptions. 

There was a defiant, knowing glint in your eyes, as if something had been confirmed— as if that you'd found the answer to some question you’d asked for centuries. 

“You are so desperately searching for some confirmation that I am as horrible as you’ve made me out to be.”

Azriel's eyes narrowed slightly. His demeanor remained outwardly composed, a practiced facade of stoicism and indifference, but the glow of his siphons gave him away. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You raised an eyebrow, fists slowly unfurling at your sides. Your breath was more even now.

“I understand more than you think. You’ve been waiting for me to slip, to prove that I’m just like—” 

“Beron.”

You paused, slighting flinching at how much contempt was fit into one word.

Eris. You were going to say Eris. Not Beron. Not your father. 

A flash of hurt crossed your face and something in Azriel’s chest tightened. His shadows fell into a frozen wreath around his arms. 

“Right,” you scoffed, moving to brush past him. “Then I better do a good job and prove you right.”

Azriel stopped you with a casual sidestep, wings flaring out to block your path further.  “Do not go back there.”

“I will do whatever the hell I please,” you hissed, meeting his gaze defiantly. There was a burning hatred in your eyes that he’d never felt before, something more foul and rotten than what had been there before. 

Azriel’s jaw clenched even further as he let out an angry breath. The strength of your gaze alone triggered his hand to instinctively wander to the dagger on his hip, to the cool steel of Truth-Teller. His shadows curled around his fingers, threading through them as if calling him back to reality. He blinked, and then pulled his hand away, flexing it as he looked at you once more.

“Why?” 

Azriel's voice was probing, his gaze searching—  scanning your face with a scrutiny that made you itch. 

“Why what?”  you snapped back, your tone sharper than you intended, the itch spreading, making you want to pace or scream, anything to shake off his intense stare, to rid yourself of the tightening in your chest.

“You’re desperate. This wasn’t as thought out as you tend to be.”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh, feeling the sound scrape against your throat. "Because you know me so well?" The words felt like ash on your tongue, a bitter taste lingering in your mouth.

“Yes,” he stated simply, his eyes piercing into yours still. “We’re allies. Explain yourself.”

"I was just trying to pick up your slack and get information." The lie rolled off your tongue naturally.

But Azriel wasn’t buying it. "No, that’s not it," he countered, "We’re working for the same side. There is no reason for you to go off like this."

You gritted your teeth, the pressure making your jaw ache.  “We are not working for the same side.”

“We have an alliance.”

His calm demeanor only fueled your frustration. Your hands fell into a familiar position at your side, curled into tight fists, your nails biting into your palms.

“Your alliance with Eris is to support him when he takes over the throne. But when it comes to Koschei, there is no doubt in my mind you’re willing to undermine your allies to get rid of his threat. And in doing so, you’ll endanger me and my family.”

Your voice was rising, the words spilling out in a rush of pent-up emotion. “ I want to— I need to know everything before any moves are made. My brother needs an edge to stay ahead, and he sure as hell isn’t going to get it if he’s playing by the rules and having to defend his every move because of this stupid agreement.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening to near black. “Eris wouldn’t need to defend himself if he wasn’t a vile snake.”

Rage boiled through you, its fiery grip yanking onto your stomach and your chest.The intensity of it casted a hazy glow, distorting your vision with its searing heat.

“I am fed up with your little group thinking that we need to beg for your forgiveness. Tell me, does it get cold on all of that moral high ground? Does the high horse ever get uncomfortable?”

You stepped closer to him, pushing against his chest with your finger, the contact sending a jolt up your arm. Azriel's hand shot out, gripping your wrist tightly.

 "Perhaps Eris feels the need to beg for forgiveness because of the acts he’s committed.”

“And what has he done? Besides refusing to give in to every whim?” 

You tried to yank your hand free, but his grip held firm. Your pulse pounded in your temples, a steady, throbbing beat. You felt that familiar prickling feeling grow across your skin, a simmering fire creeping up your arm.

“He left Morrigan in those woods to die.”

He dropped your hand, the action almost dismissive, as if he couldn’t bear to touch you anymore. You pulled it back into you and took a step back, shaking your head. Of course. The thought echoed in your mind, bringing a bitter realization that settled like a stone in your stomach. 

“It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?” 

Azriel’s expression hardened, centuries of a grudge etched into every line of his face. His shadows danced around him, dark tendrils coiling and writhing like live fire across his body. You felt it radiating off him in waves— a palpable hatred that made your skin prickle. It was a feeling so intense you wondered how he had managed to lessen it before, how he could bear to be inside you, even with you turned away.

“My brother didn’t put that nail in her. He didn’t touch her at all.”

Azriel’s eyes were hard as steel. “He left her there. Naked, scared, and dying.”

“He gave Morrigan mercy in the only way he knew how.” 

“You call that mercy?” 

“Yes! Eris was just as much of a child as Morrigan was.”

Every word felt rancid now, burned like bile in your throat, fueled by a protectiveness born from years of standing by your brother's side. You stepped closer to Azriel, not bothering to hold back the flames that now licked at your skin. His shadows coiled around his arms, formed an almost protective barrier around his clenched fists. 

“Do you know what my father would have done had Eris touched her, helped her at all? He didn’t take lightly to the disrespect and humiliation she passed. He would have made a public show and slaughtered her. Just as he later did with Jesminda.”

Azriel stayed quiet, stayed eerily still as he watched you. You didn’t expect a response. A new emotion curled itself into your gut, something much heavier than anger, than rage. You thought about Eris, thought about the lashes on his back, thought about how he used to stay awake at night to wander the halls, listening outside of your parent’s chambers in case your mother needed help. You thought about how he’d helped you bury Jesminda, how he’d kept a figurine of Lucien’s to give to you. 

No matter what he did, or what you did for him, he would never be free— not truly. Not from his past and the assumptions people have made of him. He would always be cruel. And you, in association, would always be evil. Vile. It was in your family's nature. You felt foolish for thinking otherwise, for not learning how to take your rage and make it something useful, forge it into a weapon, train it like a beast to eat the remaining shreds of your empathy.

Eris deserved better. He was better than Rhysand. He was better than the male that stood before you. 

"But none of this matters to you," you continued, your voice tinged with bitterness and resignation. "Even if it's the truth.”

Azriel’s wings twitched. You didn’t need further confirmation that your words held true. He would never accept a version of that night besides his own, because a version that included the truth would force him to see Eris as something other than a wicked, evil male. As long as your brother was worse than Azriel, as long as there was someone worse than him, he’d never have to face the fact that he wasn’t as good of a male as he claimed to be.

"You make excuses for your brother, but where are yours?" Azriel finally spoke. "You've done cruel things. You've hurt people. Killed people." His gaze flickered to your fists wreathed in flames. "Burned them alive," he added.

The fire at your arms grew in response to his words.  You cocked your head. And then you ignored him. "You threatened my life. At that High Lord’s meeting—  you lost control, put my brother in a chokehold, and threatened my life."

Azriel's nostrils flared and his siphons began to shine with a dangerous, angry glow. 

"I dare you to live up to your word, Shadowsinger," you challenged, taking a slow step towards him. "I'm here. I've been here.” His eyes traced your every movement. 

“And yet, you've just fucked me."

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, a mix of anger and shame that he quickly masked behind a veil of indifference. But you saw it, felt it, reveled in it.

"You're weak, Azriel," you said, voice low and calm. "A slave to your anger, to your impulses, to your High Lord. You have always been weak."

He blinked at the sound of his name falling from your lips, a wave of uncertainty washing through his face. But his eyes stayed on you, still burning, still angry. They simmered hotter now, heavier with a new strain of contempt. 

Your breath escaped in a half-hearted chuckle. "It's a pity," you said, shaking your head slightly. Your flame dwindled to a faint firefly glow. "To see such a pretty face marred by blind devotion."

With one final glance, you turned on your heel and winnowed away. You didn’t see Azriel again for two more weeks. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

guys.... the next part is one of my favorites tehehehe cause its mainly just azriels perspective and where his mind is at. PLUS this is where those content warnings start to get lighter :DDDD

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen

azriel tag list: @thisiskaylin @serrendiipty

---

Your Love is Sunlight- Unrequited Love Pt.3

Whoops. Part 3 to Requited Love but could also be read as a stand-alone (I think I gave enough context to do that). This will be the last linear fic for this little series. But there will be more from this OC.

Let me know if you want to be added to the on-going taglist for this OC

Eris x Day Court! OC (Sunbeam) 

Warnings: Suggestive language, heavy kissing. One singular dialogue line with misogyny. Eating (as always let me know if I'm missing anything)

Also I’m heavily messing around with canon/ lore for mating bonds here. 

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Pt. 2 Alt Ending]

WC: 3.7k

divider by @cafekitsune

The request came not even a week later. A week that I could not get the red head out of my thoughts. Eris was a perfect gentleman that night, only lightly chucking as he held my hips away from his after our heated kiss.  We danced the rest of the night away until my shoes had worn painful blisters into my heel. And I would do it a million times over if I got to see that look in his eyes

Eris looked at me like he actually saw me. Like a was someone worth looking at. Not a second option. No, he looked at me the way no one ever had before and I was drunk off of it. The fire in his eyes was enough to make me want to sink to my knees right then and there. I had told him that much that night. 

But instead, he went back to his court. The very court whose seal is on the envelope in my hands. The paper so dark red it was almost black. I opened it with shaky hands and scanned over the words, over and over. Written in loopy, beautiful cursive. The note was short and sweet 

Sunbeam, it would be my honor to show you around the Autumn court. You’d be my personal guest. 

I will be waiting for your reply. 

Yours,

Eris 

One little word made my heart skip a beat. YOURS. Something deep in my chest purred at the idea but I brushed it off to the side. Flirting is one thing but the idea of Eris ever truly wanting something like that with me seemed too good to be true. So I wrote back my enthusiastic yes and in a puff of smoke that left the room smelling faintly of cinnamon, the letter was gone. Returned back to the male that had written it. 

I had never been to the Autumn Court before. My eyes tried to adjust to the beautiful reds, greens and yellows in hues I’d never seen outside of paintings. The cool breeze that seemed to whisper in my ear as it brushed past. Everything seemed alive as I heard the scurrying of animals on the leaf covered ground. When the air rose a few degrees, you already knew who was walking up to me. I greeted Eris with a tight hug. He was dressed in a handsome emerald green button down with gray slacks. His hair tied up out of his face unlike the other night at the ball. Those same golden rings littered his fingers. I blushed as I realized my eyes had been raking over him. If he had noticed, he didn’t say anything. Suddenly not knowing what to do with myself, I gave him an overdramatic curtsey raising my voice to stuff almost regal pitch. 

“High Lord.” He quickly recovered from the confusion that washed over him. He smiled, catching on, before he bowed low

“Allow me the honor of showing you around.” He said as he extended an arm to me. His voice dripped with that same faux stuffiness. The two of you looked at each other, holding back laughter. I broke first. My laughter rang through the large forest at my back. His head was thrown back, blinding white teeth flashing. Once we had recovered, he held out his arm again. Voice back to normal. “I would still like to show you around.” I took his arm and the two of us walked around the manor that seemed to rise out of the forest. 

AS he showed me around, he told me of the renovations that had recently taken place, pointed out the things that he still planned to change. The inside was just as breathtaking as the woods around the house. Rich colors and soft, plush fabrics filled the space with an unmistakable warmth. One that Eris had painstakingly tried to create. 

“And this will be your room for your stay. I already had your things brought up and I had Tessa and Clover, two of my mothers maids, pick out some warmer clothes for you.” He gestured to the large armoire in the corner of the room. “If you need anything else please don’t hesitate to tell them or myself.” Thanks rushed out of my mouth as I gaped at the room. 

My  room at the day court had floor to ceiling windows that allowed for sun to streak through at all waking hours, marble and gold littered every surface possible. This room was cozy enough that I instantly felt my eyes get heavy. Dark wood paneling ran across the walls. Heavy curtains over the windows that had been pinned back displayed the colorful trees. And the bed.the bed. It was covered with the softest, plushest blankets I had ever seen. Pillows covered over half the bed and it made me want to do nothing but burrow into them and never leave that bed. My feet drifted on their own accord over to the bed, I reached out a hand and almost sighed at the feeling of the fabric against my fingers. Just as soft as they looked. 

Eris’ content laugh pulled me out of my trance. I turned around to face him, he stood in the doorway still. “I’ll let you get settled. I can show you around more later today before dinner? If you want.” My heart fluttered at the idea, the thought of his court seeing us together. Of course, it was probably just to make sure I didn’t get lost in the maze that was the manor. At least that’s what I told myself, but as he took one more glance at me before he walked out of the room, I wasn't sure how much I believed that. 

Although I had bathed earlier that day, the deep tub in my bathroom all but called my name. I sniffed random bottles of oils and poured in spicy, warm smells. The oils seemed to curl in the air and beckon me to sink deeper into the water. Completely submerging my head until I needed to come up for air. I sat in the bath until my skin started to prune. Groaning, I pulled myself from the soothing water and dried off. Wrapping the towel around myself, I padded over to the closet and ran a hand over all the clothes Eris had given me. The closet was full of jewel tones and deep reds. Floor length dresses that were heavy enough to keep out the nip of the air at night but light enough to walk around in during the day. I picked an emerald long sleeve dress and blushed at the realization that Eris and I would be matching. Before I could lose my nerve, I pulled the dress over my shoulder. The front buttoned up all the way to the ground. The waist tucked in slightly flaring out around my hips. It felt amazing against my skin and fit like a glove. 

A knock at the door pulled my eyes from my reflection in the mirror. My hair was still wet from the bath and small waves were starting to form at the ends. Eris opened the door and stilled as he took me in. I felt like I was a thousand feet under his heavy gaze. He looked down at his own shirt for a second before he looked at me again. 

“Autumn court is a good look for you, Sunbeam.” My whole body flushed at the compliment and I hummed in agreement. A small yip from the hallway split my focus. A small furry face pushed through his legs, almost toppling the High Lord. “Azelia” he whistled, the hound stilled for a second before prancing over to me. She sniffed at my skirt before she sat at my feet, giving me her full attention. I reached down to pet her and she rolled over onto her back. I laughed at the twitch in her tail as I ran a hand over her stomach. Eris whistled one more time and she barked back before flipping back over and walked to sit at his feet in a similar manner. I giggled at the exhausted look he shot the dog. She only barked in her own form of laughter. 

Eris and I walked along a river by the house. He helped me pick out the perfect stones for skipping across the water. Coming up behind me to make sure my arm had the perfect flick to make it sail over the surface. I wasn’t nearly as good as he was, even with his help. Something he pointed out with a smirk. I pushed him lightly and he clutched at his chest like I had mortally wounded him. Crouching down onto both knees. I walked closer to him.

“Oh please, Eris ge-” My words were replaced with a yelp as he wrapped his arms around my legs and pulled me over his shoulder. I could only laugh my head off as I pounded at his back. Demanding he put me down. When he did, I felt the tree against my back. 

“Have I told you how beautiful you sound when you laugh?” I blushed and shook my head. 

“It can’t be that special. No one has ever said that before.” He knew who I was speaking about and he pulled my chin up to look him in the eyes 

“I wish I could offer the usual sentiment of killing the male that ever made you feel this way but that would complicate things as a high lord,” he winked at me. I felt my shoulders loosening at the humor in his voice. “But you say the word and I will.” He picked up a lock of my hair and twirled it around his finger. “You’re radiant and anyone who has ever made you feel otherwise is either blind or dumb or both.”

We had leaned in so close to one another that I could count the freckles on the bridge of his nose. Someday I hoped he would let me kiss each and every single one of them. My eyes flickered down to his lips and he was smirking as he followed my eye line. 

“Is there something you want, Sunbeam?” The little shit. It’s like my words had evaporated completely. Brain went fuzzy as his smell wrapped around me. I could do nothing but whimper. He made no other remark, only used his hand already in my hair to grip the back of my head. He growled as he smashed his lips to mine. This was nothing like the kiss from the ball. That had been exploratory and warm. This was an all consuming inferno. Burning through every ounce of self doubt I harbored. Scorching through my veins until only Eris was left. His free hand wrapped around my waist and pressed me against every delicious inch of him. When I started undoing the buttons of his shirt, he still his lips. His hand went to rest over mine and I reluctantly pulled away from him. I tried not to show the hurt on my face. And he leaned in to whisper in my ear. 

“The first time I'm inside of you will not be outside. Nor when we're rushed. I need time to make you scream my name. For all of Priyanth to hear that you’re mine.” Something more than hunger flashed in his eyes and I felt that look deep in me. 

“Eris.” I gasped out. He brushed a soft hand down the side of my face. 

“You can’t say my name like that sweetheart, not when I have to sit at dinner with the rest of my court in less than an hour.” I blushed at the meaning behind his words and tried, and failed, to not look down to the front of his pants. The evidence behind his words. My tongue ran across my lips at the sight. He groaned and stepped away from me. 

“You are a bad influence. But I meant what I said.” He booped my nose with his pointer finger, “ Now please go get ready for dinner.” His hand lingered on my arm for a fraction longer before he reluctantly let go.

I got dressed in a daze. A wild blush would not leave my cheeks. Everytime I managed to push away my errant thoughts, more would seep back into my mind. 

Before I knew it, I had changed into a new dress and was walking side by side with Eris down to the dining room. A few members of his court were already there, talking amongst themselves. They smiled up at him as we passed. As I sat down next to him they introduced themselves in kind tones. I nodded trying to keep up with their names and faces. More people started to come in and eventually all the places at the table were filled. 

There was no big speech or ceremony to start dinner. Everyone ate at the pace that they wanted to and cups of wine were being poured and shared. 

A deep voice of an older male pulled me from my conversation with the female,Fern I think was her name, next to me. 

“I’m still trying to figure you out.” He stated plainly. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you hung around Rhysand and his cronies. Came crawling back to Day where Helion welcomed you with open arms,” I felt the room grow hotter. “So I’m simply wondering how to get you in my bed too.” One second the male had been sitting at the table and before I could even blink, he had been blasted across the room. He sat up, eyes unfocused as he put a hand to his head. All eyes turned from the male now lying on the floor to the High Lord who was picking at non-existent dirt under his nails. 

“You will not speak to any female, especially guests, like that in this court. Ever. Again.” He hardly looked up at male before he evenly said, “You’re dismissed.” Two of the other members of the court scurried to his side and helped heave him to his feet. Quickly getting him out of the room. 

“I’m sorry you all had to see that. There are many things I will tolerate but comments like that are not one of them.” Eris said to those remaining from his court. All of them nodded along, not fear but appreciation in their eyes. I felt my heart soften at his words. Beron would have let a comment like that slide, maybe even agreed with it. It would take a while, old habits run deep but Eris would squash that old cruelty out of the Autumn court piece by piece. The thin line of determination in his face told me that much. He turned his attention to me “Are you all right?” He quietly asked me. The sound of silverware clinking against plates and light conversations filled the silence from moments ago. I nodded. 

“You didn’t have to do that, you know? It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.” His mouth set into an unamused look, anger pinching his eyebrows.

“Sunbeam, I will not allow anyone to talk to…” he took a breath, about to say something but seemingly changed his mind. “I would do it again.” I knew he was telling the truth and thanked him for his kind words. 

The next few days passed too quickly. I spent the days in Eris’ presence, him waving me off when I apologized for keeping him from his duties. He assured me that making me feel as welcome as possible was a hundred percent part of his responsibilities. Both as a High Lord and a friend. Friend. I bristled at the word. Only a few more heated moments had passed throughout the days, and nothing like that night before dinner. I was wound tight and from the way his eyes kept flickering to my lips, I knew he was too. Everytime I would go to take things further, he would steal my hands or push away from me entirely. That same excuse said through gritted teeth. I didn't question it. If it happened it happened but being around him so much made it harder and harder to keep my thoughts at bay. 

This was one of those moments. I was supposed to leave the next morning and my hands were currently wrapped in Eris’ hair. My back pressed firmly against the door of his room. He peppered my neck with small bites that had my blood singing for him. I didn’t reach for his shirt this time, despite the need rushing through me. I instead went to the buttons on the front of my dress. Eris all but growled, “Gods you’ll be the death of me.” He groaned into my neck. I used my grip in his hair to pull his face back to mine. 

“Do you want me to?” I asked, suddenly feeling self conscious. 

“I would want nothing more darling but if you do, you won’t leave my bed in the morning.” He went back to kissing my neck and as he found that sweet spot right below my ear, I let the argument die on my tongue. If this was all I got from him, I would gladly take it. Regardless of how much more I wanted. 

I woke up in the morning with my lips still swollen from the rough kisses the night before. I didn’t need to look at my neck to know the angry red marks that would be faded by the time I left. I sighed at the thought and curled deeper to my blankets. Shutting out the thoughts of leaving and the heaviness that creeped into my bones. 

Eris and I spent the day with his hounds. We walked around the forest, me chasing after them as he hung back, throwing sticks after them. We laughed until our lungs hurt and his pack walked between us with ease, slipping in and out between our legs like they had been doing it all their lives. 

It was finally time for me to leave. Helion was about to come to winnow me back to the Day Court. My bags had already been sent back. And I felt the disappointment on my face as he gave me one short kiss goodbye. As he pulled away from me it felt like the ground was being pulled from under me.

“Eris.” I called to his retreating form. When his eyes met mine it was like the air had been knocked out of my lungs. It shouldn’t be possible. I felt tears well up in my eyes. This could not be happening again. I had lost this chance when my bond with Azriel had been severed. Or had I? No one had ever gone as far as I had before. I didn’t just reject the bond. Helion had pulled it from my body, completely erased it for the both of us. Did that mean I got another chance? A small voice in the back of my head remembered those dreaded words. Maybe the cauldron gets it wrong. Could this be the cauldron making it right? Looking into those amber eyes, it felt right. In fact, nothing had ever felt so right before in my life. It was never like this with Azriel. He never loved me, was never going to love me. But Eris. Eris, who was always kind to me. Eris, who always greeted me first when he visited my old court during Hlyberns reign. It all made sense now. Everything had played out for this exact moment. I took a sharp inhale as I reached out through the bond, expecting that all too familiar coldness I had been greeted with all those years ago.

 Eris’ eyes snapped to mine as his body jolted. His mouth parted, words seeming to fail him. The other side of the bond was not in fact empty. But full of warmth and love. Love for me. We could do nothing but gape at each other as that thread, as golden as the leaves around us, grew thicker as it stretched between us. 

Tears welled in my eyes at the feeling. So much comfort and love running down the bond it almost pulled me to my knees. We both stumbled forward until our arms were wrapped around each other.

“I was so worried you would never feel it.” Eris spoke into the crown of my head. 

“When…”

“The moment I saw you at the ball. The first time I saw you after you cut your bond with him.” I squeezed him as tight as my arms would allow. “I didn’t know the depth of the magic Helion had used on you, I went to talk to him after to see if it was even possible and reading that book further, we realized it was.” I pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. The sun reflecting off of them made them honey brown. He smiled at whatever emotion I accidentally sent down the bond. 

“I’m happy it’s you Eris.” He looked shocked. “If I had to go through all of this for it to be you, then it was worth it. Every second of it.” Tears of his own trailed down his face and I placed my head against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.  “Don’t go. Stay here with me.” His voice reverberated deep in his chest. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now. But stay here, let me do this the right way. The way you deserved the first time.”  I could do nothing but blush and nod. My throat felt tight at all the feelings, mine and his. A breathtaking smile I had only seen him give me split across his face. My feet suddenly no longer on the ground as he picked me up. My skirt billowed out around me as he swung me lightly around, like he had on the dance floor that night. I squealed in delight and buried my face into his shoulder. Inhaling his deep earth and cinnamon scent and thanked the cauldron that it didn’t always get it right. The first time.

Copying over the people I tagged in the last one! I promise this is the last one I'll tag yall in unless you ask

@cleverzonkwombatsludge @myromanempiree @starsandsins @melmo567 @saltedcoffeescotch @anainkandpaper @daycourtofficial

Never forgotten but...never finished.

ITS FINALLY HERE YALL OMFG, IM SCREAMING, CRYING, THROWING UP RN, I JS KNOW THIS IS GON BE SO FRIGGIN GOOD OFCOURSE, ITS OUR ISSY WERE TALKIN ABT AAAAAHHHH ILYSM ISSY💋💋😩😩

Ralak te Sepawn ieyk’itan: Special Episode V

Something is Brewing

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's insanely talented creator @zestys-stuff. Thank you so much for allowing me to play around with your characters!

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (25) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (20)

Warnings: explicit pregnancy smut, pregnancy fluff, pregnancy angst [for the plot], pregnancy [this chapter is entirely about pregnancy if you haven't caught my drift, just giving you guys a proper warning], age gap, mood swings, cravings, nausea, vomiting, reader is very clumsy, intimate/invasive medical treatment, rut cycle, sexual tension, pregnant sex, p in v, titty fucking, cum eating (m and f), oral sex (m and f), masturbation, exhibitionism (kinda, not really), lactation kink

Word Count: 17.5k (this takes the cake, i apologize)

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: Hey guys! Thank you all for being so patient with me as usual. I had planned to post this chapter earlier, but with the help of @zestys-stuff, we made a last minute change to the chapter. This will definitely cause some changes in the next chapter, so I’m going to work on that right away. I won’t lie, I’m really nervous to publish this one. It's been a while and I’ve ventured into some new territory where I’ve introduced a couple of new themes and -drumroll- a new character. There are parts of this chapter that can possibly cause discomfort (technically, all of this could), so I urge you guys to proceed with caution and click off if you do feel uncomfortable in any way. Aside from that, it’s good to be back (again, lol) and I hope you enjoy!

Synopsis: A timeline of your pregnancy with Ralak’s child, shown through a series of flashbacks of your most prominent milestones—some of which foreshadow something bigger to come…

<- Previous -> Next

Pregnancy is tough. 

A beautiful blessing, but tough nonetheless. With its own set of hardships, uniquely tailored to your own being. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. A sore back, chest, ankles…the list is seemingly endless. The shift in moods, the fatigue. Adjusting to an entire new being growing inside you—one that sucks the nutrients straight from your bones and blood—has your body overcompensating.  

At first it was a dream. 

No life-changing symptoms. It was smooth sailing for the first few weeks. Life went on as usual. If anything, others were more reactive to your pregnancy than you were. Your skimwing became aggressive towards Ralak, snapping at him and whipping her tail, treating him as a threat rather than a companion. He was more than understanding, as it’s common for the protective instinct to kick in when the tsurak senses their rider is with child.  

More importantly, it was an urge that Ralak shared with the beast.

—

You watch as your tendrils intertwine with your skimwing, and how they come together with a rough tug. You let out a rugged breath and the beast beneath you starts to writhe. Ralak instinctively grasps at the harness to steady you and— 

Slash. 

Your trsuak whips her spiked tail at your mate, who blocks it with his strake.

“Shit.” You gasp, tugging at the leather strap and patting her neck to subdue her. “I thought I was in control. Are you alright?”

Ralak nods, his hair now soaked and plastered to his chest. He simply chuckles, respectfully and cautiously approaching the beast with an open hand. Despite this, your tsurak continues to thrash, repeatedly snapping her snout open and shut. Ralak clicks melodically a few times, and her pupils blow and constrict as she calms down. He strokes her snout with one hand, and lays his other on your thigh, gripping it lightly.

“She senses that you are with child.” 

“She does?”

“Yes. That is why she protects you. I understand the feeling.” His accent is thick on his tongue. 

——

Then the nausea came. It was… unbearable. Insufferable. It was almost frightful, actually. Not being able to stomach anything really brought down a sense of dread upon your shoulders. Most days, you found yourself worried about the budding life inside you more than yourself. 

Was he getting enough? Would he develop properly if you went another day without eating? 

Ralak was more worried about you, of course. Going to great lengths to find something you could stomach. Spoon feeding you as you laid down all day from the gut churning nausea. Washing the sick out of your hair when you missed the bucket at your bedside. Detangling and braiding it for you to keep it clean and out of your face. Releasing his pheromones—your only relief—just to put you to sleep at night. 

—

t.w. nausea, vomiting.

In the crisp night, a wave of nausea washes over you, waking you from your sleep. Typically, this is the only time you have a break from the nausea—your slumber. That, and the first ten minutes after throwing up.

You quickly hurl over, grabbing and heaving into your bedside bucket, something that's rightfully earned its spot at your side. Ralak jolts awake, sitting up behind you to gather your hair into his fist, rubbing your back as you retch. 

“Alrigght.” He hums lengthily. “Get it up.”

Finally, you stop. You gasp and pant for air, sitting up only to collapse back into him. “I h-hate this–haah.”

“I do, too.” He grits, reaching over you for the rag at your bedside, and wiping your mouth.

He hates seeing you so sick. He’s tried it all, and though he’s found a few foods that you can stomach, nothing seems stops the nausea. Well, that’s not entirely true.

Ralak relaxes his body, focusing on opening his scent glands to release his his pheromones. They slowly become stronger, calming you down and dulling the waves of nausea. He pulls you close to his warm body, reaching behind him for his kuru. 

“Tsaheylu.” He whispers yearningly, making the bond slowly. He sets a steady breathing pattern, slipping his hand over your tiny bump to caress it. The sickening feeling eases up enough for you to drift back to sleep, Ralak along with you.

——

Thankfully, Eywa lifted you of your säspxin [sickness] when you were about to come upon your third month of pregnancy. Cravings increased ten-fold almost instantly. On the occasion where you couldn’t keep it down—when the desperation was too much—you’d volunteer Ralak to eat it for you so that you could satisfy the craving vicariously through him.

—

“Eywa, that’s so good. One more bite.”

“Tanhí. Enough now.” He grumbles, feeling overly stuffed and almost queasy. 

You glance down at the purple hue of your connected kurus.

“Please...” Your eyes burn as they threaten to well with tears, and your bottom lip quivers, “…last one, promise.”

Ralak sighs, shoveling in another bite of boiled squid, chewing it slowly so you can savor the taste. You keep your eyes closed as he eats, tongue swirling in your mouth to swish your pooling saliva in your cheeks. And when he swallows, you swallow too, gulping down your spit. 

“Thank you.” You say shyly as you open your eyes, feeling bad for making him overeat now that you can really feel his fullness. 

It is my pleasure. Never feel bad. His accented voice tickles your brain. A smile spreads across your face, just as one does on his. 

——

And when you could keep it down, they were delightful when satiated. Keyword being satiated. It posed an issue when they were what Ralak called, ‘forest food’, or on a more rare occasion—‘sky people food’. Those were the insatiable ones. The ones he couldn’t just whip up for you. The times he'd come to you with his ears laid flat to his skull, admitting his defeat. Those were the moments where you felt something stronger than just disappointment. 

It left you gutted. 

—

You can’t stop the tears from flowing down your cheeks. They’re hot and leave a sticky film on your skin, clumping your eyelashes together. It’s stupid. They’re stupid. Stupid tears, from a stupid cause. All because you want your grandmother’s stupid soup. Another thing the blessing of pregnancy has bestowed on you—big, intense feelings. 

As you soak in your bath, Ralak cooks dinner and you just know that whatever is in the pot is something that will make your stomach churn. You bury your face in the palms of your hands, trying to keep your snotty sobs to a minimum. It’s ridiculous, sobbing over something like this. It’s shameful, even. How can you be so ungrateful when this man goes to such lengths to care for you?

“Tanhì!” You hear his rough voice echo from the pod. 

You quickly wipe your face clean, and scramble for your loincloth and top, slipping them back onto your body. Finally, you fix your hair and force a smile to your face. As you get up to the marui, you’re met with the sight of Ralak stirring the soup pot over the firepit. Then the smell hits you. Typically the first thing to set off your nausea to begin with. It smells like—

Grandmother’s soup.

You stare at your mate wide eyed, taking a deep breath to savour it in your lungs. Outside of Ralak’s scent, nothing has smelled this good in months. And you swear you can already taste it on your tongue, the savoury flavour with the sweet aftertaste. 

“I asked your mother. Hope that is okay.” Ralak speaks casually as he serves you a bowl.

As you let out a harsh breath, your eyes burn as the tears come back with a vengeance. You sniffle once, twice—thrice, whimpering quietly as they roll down your cheeks. Ralak looks up at you, concern and honestly a smidge of confusion fixed to his face. Putting the bowl down, he stands and comes over to you, enveloping you in his arms. 

“I do not like to see you cry.” He hums, kissing the crown of your head. “Is it the smell? I will make you something different.” 

“N-No, no. It’s… it smells great. I’m sorry. I—I” You sputter, burying your face into his chest. 

“Then what is it, tìyawn [love]? What do you need?” Ralak cups your face and gently tilts your head upwards so he can look you in the eyes. “Tell me and it is yours.” 

“Thank you.” You croak, feeling your bottom lip curl over and kiss your chin. Now his facial expression is just pure confusion. He tuts in a comforting manner, pulling you back in close to his chest as he waits for you to settle, rocking side to side. 

“Alright, my little one. Shh–shh.”

——

Soon after, that soup pot made quite an appearance. It became your favourite dish, your favourite craving. Ralak made it just like grandmother, for the most part. There were a few omaticayan herbs missing, but outside of that it tasted like…home. At that point, you felt like you had this pregnancy thing down pat and could return to a semi-normal life. 

Everything was relatively the same, except a few obvious things—your growing bump and lack of heats. That was also a blessing, not having to go through a torturous heat every month. Though, you couldn’t say that for Ralak. 

As you neared the end of your third month of pregnancy, his pheromones grew stronger, wafting by you at random times of the day. At first you thought he was just doing it for you. Or, perhaps it was your heightened sense of smell. 

But the day came when his scent was so potent, it was as if it had stained your lips. There wasn’t a moment where you couldn’t smell the scent of your mate under your nose. That was the night you realised it was out of his control. That it was his rut coming. That was the night you confronted him at the bonfire. 

The night he looked at you like you were something to eat. 

— 

Right…there.

You catch the flicker of his eyes just before he lowers his head, shifting to that deep shade of blue. He keeps stealing a glance or two. Maybe even three, or more. It’s hard to keep count when he’s looking at you like this.

is piercing eyes, sultry and alluring, tempting you to crawl through these roaring flames just to get to him quicker. His demeanour. His stance and posture. His domineering leer. Whatever he—or his body—is doing, is working. 

He sits on the boulder, elbow perched on one thick thigh and a hand propped on the other. His hair covers his chestpiece, curled ends barely brushing against his defined ribcage. His bioluminescent freckles dance under the moonlight, his turquoise skin almost golden from the cast of the fire. It’s all so intimidating. He’s exuding dominance, practically looming over you despite him being seated. But there’s something about his aura, something darker.

“I can feel it, you know.” You speak casually, uncrossing your legs.

Ralak’s eyes snap up, boring into yours. He cocks a brow, keeping his eyes locked on you as you stand and walk towards him.

“Your rut. It’s close, isn’t it?”

This would be your first, real rut with him. Without the influence of your own heat. Ralak huffs a sigh, his eyes falling to the small bump that’s in his direct line of sight. Ralak watches as it seemingly grows bigger the closer you get. 

“You are showing.” His hands gently rest on your lower abdomen. Holding his shoulders, you slowly straddle him. 

“Answer me.” You whisper as you cup his face, tilting it upwards to make him look at you. “I want to be with you… and before you say it—” Ralak grits his teeth as he turns his head away, out of your hands.

“No.” 

“Ralak. I am your mate.” You retaliate through tight lips. You knew this would pose an issue. 

“Y/n.” He growls, turning his head to look you in the eyes. “You know my rut. Must I remind you that you are with child? It is final.” 

“I do know, and that’s why I won’t let you go through that alone, ever again.” Though your voice is stern, he can hear the tenderness in it. That this comes from a place of concern and love.

“I will not be in control.” Ralak admits as he shakes his head firmly, flicking his gaze back down to your belly. 

“Look…I made a plan.” You basically confess that you’ve been conjuring up ideas on how to endure this together all day. Although his eyes and hands remain fixed on your tummy, Ralaks ears perk up. He’s listening. 

“How do you feel about…being tied up?” 

Now you’ve got his attention, eyes snapping up to meet yours. The idea of being tied up isn’t entirely foreign to him. It’s something that his people use as a punishment for those who do wrong. He’s not opposed to it. Having a rut so intense is probably something to be punished for, anyways. 

“Hands behind your back…bound to the marui stilt. I will be the one in control. I will take care of you.”

You take his hands from your stomach and tuck them behind his back, your face now millimeters from his. Ralak fights the urge to kiss you. To free his hands from his back to grab your hips and shove your further down onto his growing bulge.

“...feed you…water you…bathe you.” Your voice falters as you swallow your spit. “...fuck you.” 

“...that so?” He whispers against your lips, heart thudding wildly behind his ribcage. 

You look in his eyes, and see that they tremble with constraint. He can’t hide it, the look on his face gives it away. He’s really struggling to think straight. To keep his answer as a firm no. And it doesn’t help that he’s on the cusp of his rut. He yearns to accept. Every fibre of his being wants this–wants you. You see it in his eyes, as they flicker like the flame behind you.

He just needs a little push. 

“We’ll take it slow…gently.” You roll your hips into him and feel his cock straining against his tewng. You lean in close, lips brushing against his as you speak into his mouth. “And, if anything happens… we’ll stop. No knotting.” 

His ears twitch. He’s considering it. Really, actually considering this. But how could he? How could he expect this of you in your state? He squeezes his eyes shut, frustrated and conflicted. And aroused. So fucking aroused that when he feels your lips drag against his cheek, your tongue tasting the lobe of his ear…your breathy whisper, “Pänutìng [Promise].”, he lets out a heated, shaky breath of defeat. Of surrender. 

That seals the deal.

—

Not now. Not yet. Ralak thinks to himself, fighting his urges.

The urge to mate—to pin you down and drive himself inside you. He must remain in control. For you. For your unborn. He sits on the floor, slumped against the stilt of the marui, bowed shoulders and a heavy, hung head. His skin, flushed, and eyes swollen—glowing a vibrant mauve. His hair haphazardly sticks to his sweltering skin as his hands lethargically twiddle with the braided twine behind his back. 

Groggy, you strain to open your eyes and quickly scan your surroundings. Ralaks pheromones cloud the room, engulfing you with their overpowering scent. As you sit up, the bed creaks and Ralak lifts his head, allowing it to flump limply back into the stilt. Extra lidded eyes and tensed brows, he breathes through his mouth. He wills himself to speak, but he’s heavy and sluggish as if he were three bottles deep.

“Ralak.” Your voice is wary and full of concern. Your eyes continue to trail down his body, landing on the undeniable, taut bulge in his loincloth. His cock strains against the fabric, precum completely soaking it through. “How long have you been like this?” 

“Few hours.” He croaks out a dry throat. 

“And you didn’t wake me?” You hastily make your way behind him, slipping to your knees to take the twine from him. 

Fuck. There it is. Your scent...driving him over the edge. Wafting past his nose and making him woozy in the head. 

“Tie me.” He demands. For a moment, you’re frozen in place by his tone, unable to move your hands and fingers. “Quickly.” 

The edginess in his voice startles you, causing you to fumble with the twine. You take a breath and begin tying the knot as he taught you, weaving the twine with itself, tugging at the ends to close it.

“Tighter.” He snaps at you, making your ears lay flat. You pull the ends even tauter, witnessing the twine pinch the thin skin on his wrists. 

“Shit—sorry. Didthat hurt?” You go to loosen the knot, but he pulls at the restraints, making it even tighter.  

“Leave it.” He grumbles, tugging yet again, ensuring it’s unyielding.

Because the closer you get, the harder he finds it to resist. He needs to know that he can’t get out—that he can’t hurt you—before he loses it completely. And with that delicious scent seeping from your neck, he feels himself slipping under. 

“Are you sure? I can tie you after you drink some water and have a—” 

“No...haah—now.” He growls, dropping his head causing the rest of his hair to flow forward and cover his face. “…need you now.” 

Blood rushes to your cheeks, heating them up and flushing them over. You can even feel your heart pumping it harder–faster. It’s hot in here, but even hotter now that you feel yourself heating up too. It’s his rut, influencing you like some sort of drug. You can barely control your breathing, much less think straight. But you told him that you’d be the one in control, the one to care for him. 

“Mawey, ma’ muntxatan [Calm, my husband].” You whisper close to his ear, giving the knot a final tug. “What kind of mate would I be if I did not care for you first? Hm?”  

You shuffle to your feet, and walk away, newly widened hips swaying side to side with temptation. He’s taking in the show through the cracks of space between his clumped together strands of hair, unable to look away no matter how hard he tries. Knowing this, you bend over, lifting your tail to expose your clothed mound to him. You swear you can hear a hiss seep from his lips, and that brings a smile to yours. 

Teasing him is one of your favourite things to do. 

You scoop up some water into the cup, and bring it over to him. Using two fingers to his chin, you tilt his head back, revealing the famine in his inebriated eyes. They’re glossy with need and desperation, begging you to take his ache away. 

“Alright, alright.” You coo softly, sinking back to your knees. “I’m going to make it go away. Now, drink for me.” You bring the cup to his lips, tilting it carefully as he gulps it down thirstily. A few drops dribble down his chin and onto his already glistening chest, rolling down his unflexed stomach. 

Tossing the empty cup to the side, you bend forward and lick the beads of water up his stomach, to his throat, to his lips. His arms jerk reflexively, wanting to cup your face as your lips lock with his.

Throwing a leg over his lap, you straddle him, pressing against the bulge in his sticky tewng. You cup his face instead, deepening the kiss to have a taste of the potent desperation on his tongue.

When you pull away, your noses brush against one another and you feel woozy in the head. His rut is beginning to affect you now. Which isn’t all a bad thing if you want to be able to keep up with him for the next couple days.  

Your hand smoothes over his jawbone to the nape of his neck, where you gently grip the base of his kuru. His ears immediately lay flat to his head, reddening at just the tips. Running your hand along its length, you bring the end of his kuru in front of him. 

“Going to make the bond.” You warn him breathily, bringing forth your queue as well. 

At this point, Ralak is huffing for air and sweating profusely. It looks as if he’s nearing his peak already. This only reaffirms that you’re making the right decision by making tsaheylu—you need the direct influence of his tìsom [heat]. 

When the tendrils intertwine, you come together with a sharp tug and gasp. Instantaneously, you sink into a hazy state, heating up from within. Your breath syncs with his, and suddenly you’re panting too. 

“Ralak.” You moan softly, grinding into him for a bit of friction.

You can’t stop your hips from snapping, and your loincloth is almost completely soaked. He throws his head back into the wooden stilt, looking at you through lidded eyes as he lets loose subtle groans. He looks more than hungry. He looks starved. 

With trembling hands, you search for the knot of his loincloth at the base of his tail. After a bit of scuffling, you untether it and shimmy his tewng down his hips and off of him. Up springs his aching cock, veiny and swollen. It’s so obviously neglected, glossy and sticky with his slick, so uncomfortably hard that it’s already pulsing as it stands firmly pressed against your clothed cunt. 

“Fuck. It’s… even bigger.” You’re taken aback, unsure of how exactly you managed to take this inside you last time he was in rut. Then you notice the red tinge of colour on his cockhead, especially where his ridges stand erect. “D-Does that hurt, karyu?” Bump in the way, you shift your hips back to reveal what exactly you’re talking about. “Need your numeyu to take away the pain?” 

The giant remains silent, but his cock jumps in response, oozing out another large bead of precum. Using your pointer finger, you trace the length of his cock, swollen balls to his pointed tip, collecting that fresh bead of slick on the pad of your digit. He watches intently as you pop your finger into your mouth and suckle, swallowing his semi-sweet essence. His brows knit tightly together. 

You know this is nothing short of torture to him. And though you have every intention to take the ache away… when would you get another opportunity like this? Where this giant is tied down and unable to resist the pleasure you bring him. Where you’re completely… in control. Fuck, you’ve never felt like this before. It's exhilarating. It’s a feeling of power. Of dominance.

A smirk pulls at your lips.   

You begin to pull yourself to your knees, brushing your swollen breasts against his lips. His tongue darts out, eager for a taste. Looking down, you cup one breast with your hand, and guide your stiff nipple into his mouth. His lips pucker over it, closing once they make contact for a vacuum seal.

Your breath hitches when you feel his tongue tickle the sensitive tip of your nipple. His teeth graze against them as he tries to do this handsfree, and you let out a low hiss. Soon his movements grow erratic, being bound to the marui stilt is starting to frustrate him. 

“Ah-ah. What do you need, karyu? Just tell me.” Your voice is feigned with innocence. He breathes heavy against your chest, keeping quiet as his focus is purely on getting his fill. “You won’t get anything from them.” You tsk, tugging away little by little, until eventually you pop off his mouth. 

You continue to rise to your feet, dragging his lips along your swelling tummy, until he’s eye level to the band of your tewng. You can feel his eyes pierce into you, his stare is anything but discreet. It’s intimidating. Your hand flies to the back of your loincloth, fiddling with the knot to untie it. 

“Is it this?”

The cloth drops to your ankles, exposing your flushed cunt to him. It’s pink and hot to the touch, undeniably aroused. Your scent grows stronger with each passing second, filling his lungs. It’s driving him insane—being able to see and smell, but not touch. His rut is only making him more irritable. He just needs to fuck into something and spill himself inside. 

His eyes glisten over an even brighter shade of purple, locking onto their meal. He wets his bottom lip with a quick swipe of his tongue as you take a step closer. You cup his jawbone, tilting it upwards to look down at him. The sight is… intoxicating. His lidded eyes, blown pupils that are threatening to roll to the back of his head. Tensed brow bones and damped, slightly parted lips—not a drop of composure left in his features. 

That new feeling rushes through you again, making you take two more steps forward. Your bare cunt brushes against the tip of his nose, officially branding it with your scent. He leans into you, closing his eyes and straining his neck to indulge himself. 

Your thumb smoothes over his jaw before your hand slips to the back of his head. You fist his hair and yank his head back, sending his eyes flying open. With your free hand, you spread your pussy lips, exposing your swollen clit. It’s sticky and in need of attention, throbbing occasionally as you tug your hood back. 

“Now, suck.” You demand breathily, slowly guiding him by the head to bring his lips to your clit.

You clench around nothing when you feel his heated, slippery lips pucker over the stiffened nub, sucking gently. Sharp eyes bore into yours before they roll back, leaving nothing but the whites exposed. Lids finally fluttering closed, he sucks a little harder, tips of his canines accidentally nipping your supple skin.  

“Ss—fuck.” You hiss, hips snapping back with force, popping off his mouth with a sharp sting. Frantic fingers rub away the tingling sensation as you grit your teeth. You shuffle your feet to ground yourself as you tighten your grip on his hair and hold his head still. 

“I know you’re in rut, but be good to your muntxate [wife].” You warn through your teeth before shoving his face back into your cunt.

This time he feasts with greed, groaning like a starved man. Eating, like a starved man. He’s slurping and sucking, lapping up your slick as it coats his tongue and lips, enjoying every second of your reign.

“Oh—oh shit. Fuck. Right there—” You moan breathlessly, free hand flying to his head to fist his hair, using it as leverage to keep him just where he is.

Before you know it your hips are moving on their own, humping at his face as you hold him tightly with both hands. With each thrust you shove him further back into the stilt, until the back of your hand is repeatedly hitting its surface. 

Until you’re hunched over him, looking him deep in the eyes as you grind into whatever part of him your clit is rubbing against. He expertly holds his breath as he allows you full control to fuck his face as if you were the one in heat.

Because with each roll of your hips he feels it too.

He feels the jolt of pleasure that shoots through you when his tongue hits your clit in that special spot. When the tips of his canines graze your swollen folds. The feeling is all consuming and he’s whining into your cunt from the over—and under—stimulation. His cock shifts to a shade of purple, jumping each time you thrust into his mouth. 

‘Sorry, Ralak. ‘m sorry.’ You think to him through tsaheylu, feeling the burn in your own lungs now. 

“Haa—ah, fuck. Thrust. Fuck. Thrust. F-Fuck! I’m gonna cum—in your—ngh!” Your voice quavers as you come suddenly undone in his mouth, holding him firm and still as you rock your body into him. 

His eyes slam shut and his brows knit tightly together as he grunts repeatedly into your cunt. He tugs harshly at his restraints and his heels dig into the woven floor. Yet still, you hold onto him even tighter until your pussy stops fluttering. 

With a loud, shaky gasp, you yank him away, letting go of his hair to grab the marui stilt to stop your trembling legs from giving out beneath you. Ralak wheezes loudly, shoulders heaving harshly as he frantically pants for air. His face is bright pink, flushed and glazed in a layer of sweat. He opens his eyes but they’re so heavy that you can barely see the colour in them. 

“Rutxe [please].” Ralak begs through a desperate groan, flicking his stare downwards. And when you look, you’re met with the sight of his still-throbbing cock, covered in his sticky, thick cum. Shiney beads still ooze out and dribble down his length and onto his swollen, firm balls. 

His first word was a plea of help. 

Your heart aches in your chest. How could you let yourself go so far with your little bit of power? To be so selfish. And here he was, in so much discomfort and yet you put your needs first. Leaving him so neglected to the point his body makes the release for him. Is this how he felt after he unleashed six pent up years on you in a couple days? 

Pent up years of suffering. 

“Shh. You’re okay, my love. You’re okay.” You whisper as you slowly squat down. “I got you. I’m going to make it…” you hold eye contact with him as you lower yourself onto his cock, aligning his tip with your sopping entrance, “…all better now.” 

You wince when his cock slowly penetrates you, mewling a little higher with every inch you manage to take. The stretch is almost unbearable. This is the first rut you’ve spent with him without being in heat. 

No foggy haze to dull the ache. 

No emptiness to be filled. 

And it doesn’t help that your womb is already so full. 

Your mewl quickly turns into a whimper when your bodies become flush to one another. Ralaks head slumps back into the marui stilt and he heaves a loud, lengthy moan of relief from being buried deep inside your warm cunt. You feel so good around him, making his cock heat up and twitch inside of you. 

Snaking your arms around his neck, you hold onto him as you frantically try to adjust to his size. It’s dawning on you exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into, and that you’ve seriously underestimated his rut. A sense of uncertainty begins to tighten your stomach but it quickly dissipates when you hear Ralak’s second plea. 

“Rutxe, ma’ tanhì..” Ralak mutters with a pained, gravelly voice. 

Without another word, you move your hips up and down, dragging his length along your gummy, slick walls. Your movements are sloppy and uncoordinated, you’re not used to doing most of the work much less all of it. With his hands tied behind his back, you can already feel the burn in your thighs and the throb in the tips of your toes. 

Regardless, you keep moving your hips. 

Bouncing up and down on his cock, pressing your forehead into his in a poor attempt to steady your position. That little sting slowly morphs into something of pleasure the more your hips meet his with a slap. And soon all you can hear is smack, after smack, after smack. The noises that split his lips tell you all you need to know. He’s feeling good and that’s all that matters. 

But exhaustion hits you quickly—unexpectedly. His cock is buried to the hilt inside you, and the more tired your legs get, the deeper it drills inside you, pressing harshly into your cervix. Your legs are trembling uncontrollably and you can barely catch your breath, leaving you no choice but to lazily rock back and forth on his cock. 

Ralak lets out a grunt and bucks his hips. 

“Haah!” You yelp.

Ralaks ears lay flat, lips pursed tightly into a thin line. He can’t hold back his frustration any longer. He’s growing impatient. If he didn’t get his real release soon he may really lose it. He’s grunting through his nose and tugging at his restraints, bruising his wrists. You feel him shift his hips up and shove his cock as far as he can inside you. 

“Ngh! I-It won’t go any deeper!” Your voice strains as you try to lift yourself up. But he just keeps pushing until his feet are grounded. And then his hips drop, pulling his cock half way out of you. 

Thrust.

Ralak slams his cock back inside you, drilling deeper than he was before. Your mouth falls open as all the air is forcefully expelled from your lungs. As you suck in a gasp of air he thrusts inside you again. And again. And again. Until he’s rutting into you in a feverish frenzy, chasing his climax as if it were prey. His thrusts turn relentless, leaving you breathless with each buck of his hips. 

“Fuck—fuck—fu—” Your voice bounces with his thrusts. 

You look down, met with eyes that are empty yet heavy with appetite. He’s in the thick of it and he’s no longer all there. He’s purely instinct now and the only thing holding him back from pinning you down and having his way with you is the twine wrapped around his wrists. 

You can’t lie and say that you aren’t enjoying the look on his face and the break from the burn in your thighs. Stars sprinkle your vision as you’re overwhelmed with the immense pleasure he’s slamming into you. He’s fucking you into submission and you’re mind is borderline blank. His groans are primal and guttural, and they grow louder with each hysteric thrust. 

“Want to knot.” He huffs suddenly—desperately. You can feel his thick knot poke and prod at your entrance, his thrusts now sloppy and erratic. 

“Fuck, I—” You know you shouldn’t, no matter how hazy his rut is making you feel. “W-We can’t. I’m still ea—rly.” But he’s too busy watching himself fuck you in a daze, drenched with sweat. “Ralak…” You grab his face, tilting his chin upwards so he looks you in the face. His gaze is hollow yet his features are tense. “…are y–ou hear–ing me, la–k?”

“Need to breed.” He growls as he fights against his restraints. He doesn’t ease up on his tussle with the twine, sweating and panting as he desperately tries to force his knot inside you. 

“Shit.” You mutter, coming to the quick realisation that he can’t stop himself. “Wait, wait, wait—” 

Your hands fall from his face to his stomach, pushing down in a panicky attempt to lift yourself off him. But his rut is making you sluggish and weak, so you make the quick decision to sever the bond with a rough yank. 

Snap. 

“Oh, fuck.” You curse under your breath. 

The twine breaks, and his arms fly forward, hands making impact with your hips, fingernails digging into the thin skin. His grip is unyielding as he holds you down firmly on his cock. You feel him throb inside you as he attempts to plug you full with his knot. 

“Lak! Ralak, h-hold on!” As much as you actually want to, you can barely take what’s inside you as it is.

“Submit.” He rasps, top lip curled tight to his teeth, baring his canines. 

“I—I’m pregnant.” You whisper quickly, voice hoarse and strained. 

Immediately, his movements cease and his eyes flick down to your tiny bump, then widen when he finally realises. In one swift, sudden move, he lifts you off him and uses your swollen pussy lips to hug his cock and finish himself off. He rocks you back and forth like a rag doll at the mercy of undying grip, growling and grunting. 

His head drops forward when he outright howls. You look down and witness his mushroomy head pulsating feverishly, spurting out his load in thick ropes, all over his stomach and chest. All whilst his engorged, throbbing knot pulses against your slit as he cums, earning some well deserved comfort and warmth.

Ralak sputters as he tries to catch his breath, hands still glued to your hips. The fog still clouds his mind but it’s less blinding now. He’s just about capable of acknowledging what just happened. To acknowledge that this was risky, and could’ve ended badly. That, if you hadn’t said something to him, he would have knotted you without mercy.

An uncomfortable silence passes between you, where you’re both breathing heavily and staring at one another. You both share the same thought—the same realisation. His rut is too aggressive for you to handle right now. 

“I must go.” Ralak looks away as he breaks the silence, wanting to take advantage of his release before the pressure builds yet again. He’s clear headed enough to leave without turning back and pouncing on you. 

“No, don’t… we can try again.” You say softly, hand cupping his jawbone, turning him to face you. You feel terrible that he may have to spend this rut alone, that you couldn’t fulfil your promise—your duty as his mate. 

“I almost knotted you, y/n.” His eyes gloss over with guilt, his hands finally peeling away your bruised hips. 

“But… you didn’t. You stopped yourself—” 

“And if I do not leave now… I will.” Ralak growls inches away from your face.

You’re a little taken aback by his bluntness, but you know it’s the truth. And it’s final. No matter what you say. No matter how it makes the flesh between your legs throb a little more. You nod, keeping yourself quiet. 

“I will see you in a couple days. I love you both.” Your lips meet briefly before he carries you to bed and readies himself to leave. You watch in silence, murmuring an “I love you, too” under your breath when he exits the marui.  

—

As time passed you grew more angsty, unable to keep in one spot or focus on a single task. All that ran on your mind was Ralak and how he was probably suffering all alone. All because you failed to do your duty as his mate. The guilt was almost sickening, having you dry heaving into your bedside bucket a few times for the rest of the day. 

Until later that night. 

You rub in the thick, oily concoction on your belly, getting ready for bed. The sound of the marui door flapping open startles you, making you jump in your skin and clutch your stomach. You’re not expecting Ralaks return so soon. 

A silhouette stands tall at the door, his bioluminescent star pattern unmistakable. 

“Ralak? Oh, Ralak. Eywa. You’re back. I should have made dinner. I thought you'd be gone for a while longer. You must be so hungry. You—” You speak urgently, eyes flicking down to his tewng, which is seemingly damp, “—was it too much? …are you alright? Let me help you, lak.”

“Tanhì.” Ralaks cuts you short, voice trembling slightly, yet full of relief. “It is done.” 

“…what?” The question is breathy. 

“My rut.” Ralak says as he makes his way towards you, scooping up a glob of your special concoction. He sits next to you, and begins massaging it into your back. “You have fixed me.” 

You come to the realization that he's talking about his rut finishing earlier than usual—like that of an average na'vi.

“You were never broken, my love.” You moan softly, closing your eyes to enjoy the massage.

Ralak then rests his chin on your shoulder, smoothing his hands down your back and around your abdomen—rubbing what's left on his hands onto your swelling belly. His touch prickles your skin, sending the tip of your tail swishing. 

“I live for you.” He mutters with a thick accent, nuzzling his face into your neck. “I will die for you.”

Your heart skips a beat when you hear his words, he must have really been suffering for the past six years. You feel your face heat up, and you try to fight the smile balling your cheeks. You opt to drop your head and hide your face instead, resting a hand on his thigh. 

“Well. We won’t have you doing that.” You giggle, rubbing his upper thigh as you turn your head to glance at him. “…the last part, that is.” 

But he just looks at you, face still as stone. He speaks sternly.

“I will.” He speaks sternly.

You swallow your spit, tempted to drop your head again as you take in the gravity of his two words. You nod, searching his eyes with yours as you close the space between you. You hover open mouthed against his lips. 

“Me too.”

——

Time waits for no one. 

At least that’s how it felt. You had ballooned overnight, round and a little heavier as you embarked on your sixth month of pregnancy. His kicks grew stronger and more uncomfortable. But it was Ralaks favourite thing to feel before bed.

You found yourself spending most of your days bouncing between your marui and your family’s marui—paying your family visits more often. They grew fond of the idea that there would be an addition to the family and it became a regular thing for you to seek refuge there when Ralak was roped in for his ‘duties’. Which seemed to increase in number the further along you progressed. 

Ralak had his daily duties—tending to the ilus, a few lessons, fishing... These were just the simpler tasks that you could say you knew for certain he did. But there were his ‘fkxaranga’ [stressful] duties’, as you liked to call them.

The ones where Tonowari would summon him with nothing else but a simple nudge or glance. The duties that were spontaneous. That stole precious hours of his time. Duties that left Ralak spent and on edge, reaching for his top shelf when he came home. Those were the ones you dreaded the most. 

The ones like last night. 

——

With a huff, Ralak chucks his gear onto the floor and roughly unclips his chest piece. His pointed tools are covered in some sort of thick, iridescent muck, shifting from green to orange as they rock side to side on the floor. It’s something you’ve been seeing recently with no idea as to what it is. 

Ralak grunts, bringing your attention to his lips, which are slightly downturned. The more you take in the sight before you the more it occurs to you how exhausted this man is. His eyes are hollow, ears droopy, tail dragging heavily behind him. His muscles are seized up despite the bow of his shoulders—he looks as if he could use a massage. 

“Manga [Hey, you].” You get up to meet him at the door, taking the chest piece out of his hands to hang up on the wooden stand. “Tonowari is working your tail off. Do I need to have a word with that man?” 

He only works up a grumble as you lead him over to the bed. “That bad? What is he making you do? Hunt akulas? Eywa.”  

Ralak sits down, face sinking into his hands before two fingers slip down to pinch the bridge of his nose. You climb up and settle behind him, huffing and puffing along the way. Your hands smooth over his back, thumbs pressing firmly into his muscles, kneading the flesh until you feel him loosen up. 

Though the question sounded rhetorical, he knew it wasn’t. He knows you’re awaiting a response, the silence is loud and clear. You always want to know more about his day, fine details and all. And he’s usually reluctant to speak of it, but insisting it’s nothing for you to worry your head over. But recently, your inquisitivity is… well founded. And he knows it.

“Not quite.” He mumbles wearily into his palm, ears laid flat to his skull–although it wasn’t uncommon for him to encounter an akula or two whilst fulfilling the olo’eyktan’s orders. 

You open your mouth to question him further, but you can tell that he’s more than tired. And it didn’t help that you were constantly needing his help, especially now that you’re growing heavier.

Going down the stairs is a struggle considering you can no longer see your own feet or keep your balance. You had been waking him up almost twice a night to help you down the marui stairs just to pee. He’d always be happy to help, though. He understands that this is what comes with the changes that are happening to your body that’s giving life to his child. 

“Rest. Please.” You say softly, tugging at him to lie down in bed with you. 

To your surprise, he actually lays down, assuming his typical position before dozing off for the night—on his back with a hand on your belly. You expected him to resist a little, insisting something or another.

He really, really must be tired. Your heart fills with something heavy. Something that makes you almost feel sick. Your brows pinch as you look beside you to see his tensed face relax into something of tranquility. 

And a smile pulls at your lips when his eyes fall shut. 

Dinner’s over the firepit—his favourite stew with extra mushrooms. The sound of it bubbling becomes louder as it thickens. With a quick, final stir, you take it off the fire and cover it to let it sit. You hope that this will help lift his mood when he wakes. You look over to him as he lays stockstill with softened features, breathing tidally. 

Holding onto a supporting beam of the marui, you bring yourself to your feet and waddle your way over to him. You extend a hand to wake him for dinner but you hesitate. He needs this. And that’s when you make the decision to allow him however long it takes to rest. Even if it means that you speak to Tonowari yourself. 

Night falls and the temperature falls with it. The glowing firepit keeps the stew and marui warm for the time being as you prepare for bed. You draw the curtains and glance over to your mate, who still remains in a deep sleep, tucked cozily under the blanket you covered him with. You drape the shawl he wove you over your shoulders, and make your way to the door. 

A silent yawn splits your lips just before you lift away the flap. Your eyelids are heavy and the drowsiness is weighing on you tenfold. You have one last step of your nightly routine before you can crawl into bed next to your husband. And that's emptying the bladder that your son uses as a footrest. Plus, if you didn’t do it now, it would just be an additional trip in the middle of the night. 

As you make your way to the door, the need to go becomes urgent. Perhaps it was all the water you thirstily chugged whilst eating, or maybe it's just the fact that you're already on your way there. Either way, you can’t seem to get there quick enough. Your movements turn hasty the second you get to the top step, hands clutching on the only thing available—your bulging belly. You’re looking down despite the fact that you can’t even see your feet.

Leaning forward slightly, you try to shift your stomach to the side to see your next step. You step down and feel your bare foot make contact with the slippery wood. Your toes press into its surface to ground you as you take your next step. You wobble when you get to the last step, and sigh in relief when you feel the cold, wet sand spill between your toes. 

After wasting no time and doing what you came to do, you quickly make your way back to the marui. The tips of your ears and tails are just going numb from how cold it is and the night dew is beginning to form. You get to the bottom step, fixing your shawl so that it’s out the way. You make your way up the first, second and third step, but when you get to the fourth your shawl falls forward. 

And so do you. 

A blood curdling shriek rips from your throat when you feel your feet give out beneath you. Your hands splay out to grab onto whatever’s around you to break your fall but before you know it you're tumbling back down the stairs at a frightening rate. You keep on your side as best you can, landing into the sand with a muffled thump. 

“Fuck. Shit—oh, great mother—” You mutter as you hyperventilate, clutching your stomach as you wait for your son to kick—to show you some sign of life. Your eyes well with tears as you rub your bump vigorously. Your heart is slamming violenting against your rib cage, so hard you can hear it over the ringing in your ears. “Please, please, please.” 

…but nothing. 

“Y/n?!” You hear Ralaks worried voice boom behind you, then his hurried footsteps down the stairs. 

Maybe it’s his fathers voice, but your unborn son gives you one of the biggest kicks yet. You sob out a laugh, rubbing your stomach as relief flows through your body. You take a few deep breaths through your mouth to calm down, feeling another reassuring kick. 

“Y/n. Y/n.” Ralak chants your name, eyes rapidly darting side to side to assess you as he kneels beside you. Concern’s etched deeply into his features as he lifts your arms and legs, searching for injuries. 

“I’m alright. I’m alright.” You repeat urgently, but he continues to look, even taking off your shawl. His eyes are wide and he seems to be in some level of shock, especially after coming straight out of a deep sleep. “Ralak. Really. I’m fine. We’re okay.” 

Ralaks features soften at your two final words. His stare falls to your swollen belly, hands taking the place of yours as he waits. After a few seconds of stillness, his eyes snap up to yours—refilling with worry. He begins to shake his head, and you reassure him with a hand to his face. 

“Talk to him.” You whisper with trembling lungs. Ralak looks back down to your stomach.

“Maitan [My son].” Your mate says in a low, steady voice, ensuring not to allow even a hint of fright slip through. Just then, he feels a little nudge against the palm of his hand. Ralaks gaze snaps up to you and his expression relaxes, hands rubbing your belly gently. “How did this happen, tanhì?”

“I…needed to pee.” You say shamefully, avoiding eye contact. “…and I tripped going up the steps.” You glance up at him to see what you perceive to be a face of disappointment. “I’m sorry. I know, I’m so stupid.” 

“No. Do not say that.” He interjects, tensing his jaw. “...you are heavy with child—why did you not wake me?” 

“You were so, so tired. You needed to rest, and I did not want to disturb you.” You turn to your side to get up, wincing when a sharp pain shoots down your back. 

“Careful.” He clears his throat, stopping you from trying to get up on your own. He watches your contorted face relax, but the heart wrenching guilt just gets worse. “You should have. Wake me for anything.” He says sternly, snaking his arms underneath you to lift you up. “Everything.”

“You really don’t have to—” Ralak continues, scooping you in his arms and holding you close to his chest. “I can walk. I’m all right, Ralak.”

You try to reassure him, shuffling in his arms to get down. But he only muffles out a sigh, glancing down at you with downturned brows and droopy ears. He then walks away from the marui stairs, to the direction of the water. 

“Where are we going?” You ask quickly when you realise that you’re walking away from home. Ralak clicks for his tsurak, taking his time as he mounts it with you tucked to his chest. “Ralak.” 

“To tsahìk.” He states, making the bond with his beast.

“Ronal?” You sound almost panicked as the idea of everyone knowing you fell up the stairs clouds your mind. It’s almost mortifying to think about. “We don’t need to do that, it’s really late too, and—”

Commanding his beast to go, you both take off at full speed. It doesn’t take long to arrive at the tsahìk’s healing pod. Many healers gather at the door when they hear the sound of Ralak’s low pitched call. And they rush out to meet him as he carries you towards them in a hurried manner. They usher you in, hushed murmurs growing louder and clearer as they bring you to Ronal. 

You didn’t even notice the burning pain in your lower back until you were about half way here. 

The Tsahìk stands upon your entrance, her crystal blue eyes widening when she sees Ralak with you in his arms. You wince as he lays you down where the healers instruct him to. She strides over to a woven basket filled with an array of herbs and needle-like wooden sticks, and quickly props it on her hip—just out of the way of her own bump. She settles herself beside you, feeling your stomach as she channels Eywa. 

Ronal throws a look to Ralak, whose hands are on his hips as he waits patiently for the verdict. 

“She fell.” He says, only for Ronal to cock an eyebrow. “Stairs.” He finishes. Then both her eyebrows raise, and she reaches for a jar of a ground up, purplish herb. She pours half of it into a wooden bowl, and activates it with a few drops of water from the spirit tree. 

“Baby is strong. Very strong.” The Tsahìk announces, and both you and Ralak heave a loud sigh of relief. “But—” Ronal props your legs up on the makeshift table, spreading them slightly. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks as you look over to Ralak. “You are still at risk.”

Ralak moves closer to you, taking your hand in his to keep you calm. You both watch as Ronal rolls the fabric tightly into a small cylindrical shape. You swallow your spit when you realise exactly where that’s going. 

“This ensures he stays. It will also help with the pain.” She states, glancing at Ralak to see the glare he’s trying to hold back. She shakes her head slightly and hands you the precautionary apparatus. “Insert. Rest…and remove at sunrise.” Ronal continues, drawing back the curtain to give you some privacy. 

“Sunrise?” You whisper to yourself as you watch her step out.

Your eyes dart up to Ralak who is clearly concerned, staring down at you with worry in his eyes. Embarrassment heats up your cheeks and your nerves fray. Why are you so shy all of a sudden? He’s your mate. Your husband. 

You sit up a bit more and try to see over your stomach to get the task done with shaky hands. You fumble and struggle with the flimsy cloth, blindly doing your best. But each time you lean forward the pain in your back burns hotter.

Ralak’s supporting you with a hand on your upper back, patiently waiting for you, noticing your trembling fingers and little grunts. He uses his free hand to cup yours, stilling your hurried movements.

“Mawey [calm]. Breathe.” He hums, gently taking it from you and helping you lay down. 

You look him in the eyes as he inserts it carefully, wincing when the concoction stings a bit. Ralak gives your hand a light squeeze, speaking as if he had access to your thoughts. You nod, trying to smile through the burning sensation, but he picks up on your discomfort. 

“What is it? Is it your back?" His voice quavers with worry.

“No… just burns a little.” You say quietly. You watch his jaw flutter and his shoulders droop as he huffs out a sigh. “Not to worry. It’s going away now.” 

As he’s about to speak, the curtain is drawn to the side and Ronal comes in and stands at the arched entrance, hand on her hip. Ralak averts his attention to her, his eyes glancing down at her unborn moving in her belly. Although you were both six months pregnant, you were noticeably bigger than her. 

“A word.” Her serious tone of voice brings him out of deep thought, and her nudging head tells him that it’s something urgent. 

Ralak looks at you, not wanting to leave you alone but you smile and reassure him with a light nod. He clenches his jaw but you give him a gentle push towards Ronal. He squeezes your hand before letting go and leans in to plant a firm kiss on your forehead. You watch as he leaves, laying back and taking in the ripples in the curtain as you strain to hear their hushed conversation. 

“Ronal. Oe irayo si ngaru. [Thank you]” Ralak begins, bowing before the shorter na’vi.

“I worry for your mate.” Ronal cuts to the chase, using her hand to guide him further away from the curtain. 

“For what reason?” He asks, keeping his head hung to hear what she has to say. They walk until they’re nearly at the entrance of the healing pod. 

“Your son is fast growing.” She speaks calmly but quickly.

Ralak is a little puzzled, although he doesn’t show it. Is that such a bad thing? He continues to look down at her with the same expression, listening intently to what the tsahìk speaks of.

“Her body will struggle. Birth will be hard. Very long and painful.” Now Ralak is having a hard time keeping his emotions concealed as they chisel themselves into his features. Yet he remains silent. “You must warn her about mun’i [the cut].”

“Pxasìk [no way/fuck that]” Ralak curses through a hiss in his native tongue as he stands at full height, figuratively and literally taken aback. How dare she call that upon his mate? Ronal returns a low hiss as Ralak moves away from her, staring down at her with a mixture of emotions. 

Concern. Surprise. Fear. 

Mun’i [the cut] is rare and risky. Only three have been performed since the birth of this clan, all done in desperation when hope was gone. The last one was performed by Ronal's mother herself. It is an extremely invasive procedure where the mother is cut and the infant is removed. It’s only done in dire situations, where the mother is incapable of giving birth to their young naturally, and risks dying in the process.

Ralak can’t help but feel a burning anger amongst the sea of emotions flooding him at once. How could she suggest such a thing to him? Something so dangerous and grave? All because you will give birth to ‘a different kind’. He’s more than confident that you’re capable of this, despite the murmurs circulating the clan. 

He has always been aware of Ronal's perception of you, and her opinion about the mating. It was no secret, though she never outwardly told Ralak as he is like a son to her. She often insisted that you two were not compatible in more ways than one, and always saw you as the forest girl who needed special training. But to know that Ronal doubts your capabilities to give life ignites a flame in his chest. 

One that he must quickly put out. 

“Ralak!” 

He hears you call out for him, prompting him to quell the flame and shoot Ronal a glare of displeasure. “She is stronger than you know.” Ralak speaks through his teeth before turning his heel to tend to you. 

Heart pounding, he makes his way through the curtain to be met with the joyous sight of you cradling your stomach with a smile plastered to your face. That only further calms the flicker of the flame in his chest, making a smile tug at his lips. He sees you glance up at him, pearly teeth glistening in the luminosity of the night. 

“Sorry if I startled you, it’s just—he’s kicking so hard. Come, come feel!” You blubber excitedly, reaching out for his hand to place it on your belly. He slowly takes a knee, staying still as stone to soak up each movement. “He is so strong, Ralak. Like you.” You whisper, looking down at your mate doting on your bump. 

Though he should be proud of your words, he can’t help but feel a little nervous by them. If this child is really like him, then what Ronal said may have some truth to it. Yet he smiles, smoothing his thumb over your protruding belly button. 

“He is strong like his sa’nu [mummy].” He says softly, perhaps in attempts to reassure himself and calm his own nerves. Your smile only grows and you place your hand on top of his. 

“What did Ronal say?” Ralaks eyes snap up to yours, wide and almost panicked, wiping the smile off your face instantly. “Oh, no. Is it bad? Is something wrong?” 

“No, no. She says…” He drops his head, watching his unborn move as he contemplates telling you. You need rest, and this would further stress your mind and body. Ralak urges himself to smile—to create a new mask—one of feigned happiness. “…you must rest. Wait until sunrise.” 

“Oh, okay.” You exhale a sigh of relief, “Good. I—I can do that.” 

—— 

After such an eventful night, sleep found you easily. Ralak carried you up the marui stairs, tucked you into bed and watched as your eyes fluttered shut. And even so, he remained at your side for some time, ensuring you were deep in sleep before embarking on his new task. 

It began with a ‘quick’ trip inland for the right kind of wood. The kind that holds up well against the elements and the saltiness of the water. The kind that doesn’t have a slip to it when it's been wet for more than a few hours. It took a few trips to get it all back to the beach but it was more of an irritable task than a difficult one.

Ralak tried to keep as quiet as possible, spending the rest of the night—until sunrise—cutting and carving the wood, binding them together with twine, sap and wooden pins. And by the time the first few rays of sunlight beamed in, he was engraving his finishing touches. 

—

Ralak chucks down the tool and it lands into the sand with a muffled thud. Using the back of his strake to wipe his forehead clean of sweat, he looks up at his work for a final time—railings for the marui stairs. Then the bright ray of sun shines before his eyes, standing between his two new creations. 

You.

You’re surprised to see him out this early, still in his gear from last night. The realisation dawns on you that he’s been up all night, doing this. You can actually feel your chest warm up as your heart pumps the blood through your veins at an insane rate. It rushes to your cheeks, making them hot and flushed. 

“Is this what you’ve been doing all night?” You ask the question under your breath, dragging a hand along the railing. It’s smooth under the pads of your fingers, and warm to the touch, as if they’ve just been filed down. You notice a small carving on the side of the railing—your son’s initial.

R. 

“Mm.” He grunts, not that he could have slept anyways. He glances at the initial that you’re staring at. “I should have done it long ago.” The shame in his voice is loud and clear. You look down at your feet, unsure of what to say, noticing that he’s redone the steps too. 

“Ralak—”

“You must still wake me. Understand?” He cuts you off, already knowing what you’re about to say. 

You take a step down, holding tightly onto the railing with one hand and the other tucked under your bump. He rushes up the stairs and supports you by the arm. You lean into him for a hug, nuzzling your face into his chest. “… thank you, my love.” 

“Kea tìkin [no need (for thanks)].” He presses his lips onto the crown of your head, words muffled by your hair. His hand slips down your arm and rests on your lower back. “Still feeling pain?” 

“No. I feel good. Like new.” You smile, watching his features soften and his lips pull into a subtle smile. “Your son, too. He kicked me all night.” 

“Is that so, young one?” He leans down to speak to your belly as you watch intently, “you must be gentle with your sa’nu [mummy].” 

As he looks back up to you, your eyes follow his every move. And suddenly it’s just the two of you, before the orange glow of the sunrise, sharing this intimate gaze with one another. 

“Ralak… I see you.” You say softly, witnessing his pupils blow until there’s nothing but thin rings of blue.

He swallows, you see the lump in his throat undulate, and the balls of his cheeks stain a light pink. He blinks a few times, leaning in until his lips brush against yours. He lingers there for a bit, jaw fluttering as he grits his teeth a few times. He can’t help but feel a pang in his chest. 

How could he keep this from you?

“Oel ngat kame, ma’ muntxate.” He husks the words before locking his lips with yours.

But as he pulls away, you see the glint in his eye. When he sees your lowered brows and inquisitive eyes, he attempts to fix his mask of indifference—no, happiness. But you see right through it—

The glint of guilt. 

“What is it?” You ask, reaching behind him for his kuru. It’s your way of saying, 'no secrets'. He’s quiet. Uncomfortably quiet. Unsure of how to say what he should say. You urge him with a light tug to his queue, creating a little more distance between you to look him dead in the eye. “Ralak.”

“Ronal doubts…you.” He says plainly, trying hard to rid himself of the thought of childbirth taking you away from him.

“I don’t understand. What—what does that mean?” You ask, confused and worried. 

“I should have told you about it when you asked.” Ralak says, shaking his head. “But…you were already under so much stress. In pain. Our son—” 

“Ralak. Tell me about what?” You whisper quietly—quickly. Ralak looks at you, allowing a few seconds of silence to pass before he speaks. 

“Mun’i [the cut].” Ralak’s voice cracks with pain as the dreaded thought floods his mind. 

Ralak goes on to explain mun'i, giving you a brief lesson on its history and typical…outcome. He explains why Ronal urged him to warn you about it. And exactly what he told her in return. That he is confident that you are more capable of doing this. 

It ends with a comforting embrace and the both of you coming to the conclusion that a conservation with Jake is needed. If the cut were to happen, the sky people’s medical advancements would be…useful. 

——

Since then, Ralak adapted a very strict agenda when it came to the preparation of the birth. In some ways, it reminded you of the beginning of your relationship with him as teacher and student. Karyu and Numeyu. A revision of previous lessons, such as breathing lessons. 

—

“Deeper breaths, tanhì. Slow.” Ralak instructs you with his hand on your round belly. 

“It’s hard…” your voice is strained, “when his feet are in my lungs.” 

Ralak chuckles, nodding in understanding. “Right. Do your best.” 

You attempt to follow his demonstration a fifth time, inhaling deeply through your nose, holding it, and then slowly letting it out through your mouth. “Light headed now.”

“You did well.” Ralak praises you, snaking an arm around you as he lowers you onto your back. “You all right?” 

“Just fine.” You mutter, grateful for the new position. 

Ralak looks at you for a while, taking in a sight that may be similar to the one of you giving birth—giving life. The reality that you will soon be a family quickly dawns on him. The reality that… Ronal's words still weigh heavy on his heart.

“And when you bear down…” Ralak pulls your leg back, your knee now grazing against your cheek as they flush with embarrassment. “…shallow, fast breaths. Do not hold it.” 

He then demonstrates, emphasising the sound of the breathing technique to ensure you’re doing it properly.

'…hee—hee—hoo…'

You mimic his sounds, looking down to see nothing but your protruding bump. It may be strange to some that Ralak is teaching you a lesson on something such as childbirth. But with his mother-figure being the tsahìk, there were just certain things he grew to have knowledge of. 

“Ronal says there are times where it is best to allow your body to take over. Focus on breathing him out. Let your body do the work for you…” You nod slowly as you practice deep breathing in this new position, “…she will show you some positions in your lesson tomorrow.” 

"What?" Your ears perk up. For some reason one on one interactions with Ronal always make you nervous. 

“The other expecting women of the clan will be there.” 

Your ears relax, and you feel a little more at ease knowing you won’t be alone, even if it’s a sea of gossiping women. At least they were more discreet about it. 

——

As you neared the final months of your pregnancy, Ralak was called out more frequently. The aches and pains that came along with being so big were just as frequent, it seemed. They’d hit you at the strangest times, during your sleep or whilst on your tsurak.

But when the pain spread to your abdomen is when Ralak urged you to take things easy. But they didn’t stop him from going anywhere. No matter how badly he wanted to stay home and tend to you. It was more complicated than that. Something that you were blissfully unaware of. Something he wanted to keep that way until it was the right time to tell you. 

—

“Must you go?” You ask hopefully, tugging at his bicep. “You just got back.” 

“Tono will have my head, tahnì.” He states, buckling his chest gear yet another time for today. 

“It’s not fair. Not even the warriors back at home tree were called out so much. Especially if their mate was this far along.” You huff, letting go off his bicep to clutch your protruding belly. He cups a hand over yours, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Ah. I know, I know. I want to stay, I do—” He’s cut off by your sudden gasp, and your face screwing with discomfort. “Are you alright?” His voice turns fills with concern, head tilting even more so that he can look you in the face. It felt as if your back set ablaze and your stomach hardened into rock. It eases up within a few seconds and you take a quick breath before answering. 

“Yeah, I think so.” You feel around your bump, taking note of how it’s softened and back to normal. “…that’s the second one today.” 

“Hm. It is. See Ronal while I am gone.” Ralak insists, tucking a couple loose braids behind your ear. You nod in response, gritting your teeth from the reminder that he’s leaving again. “I will speak with Tonowari today.” 

He’s quick to kiss you, lingering longer than he should. You savor his tender touch, breathing him in until you’ve gotten your fill to last you until he’s back. He pulls away, a grimace fixed to his face as it’s almost painful to do. He rubs your belly a final time, clicking for his beast. Reluctantly, he leaves, and so do you.

—

‘Practice Contractions.’

Ronal’s diagnosis of your pains. 

You’re not entirely unfamiliar with the concept. Mom calls them something different, but it all means the same thing at the end of the day. The body’s way of preparing to give birth. The constriction of your stomach, accompanied by intense pain, at random times with no rhythm. 

It’s normal, and expected. Ronal was particularly pleased to see your body do this early in your pregnancy. It typically occurs a couple weeks prior to birth, and both of you weren’t due for another month. 

They’re nothing to worry about, but she advises to rest if they get too intense. You waddle home with your tail dragging behind you, unhappy to see no sign of your mates return. 

—

“You are late.” Tonowari speaks monotonously, back turned to Ralak as he keeps his eyes on his task—forging a new tool. Ralak has to swallow his frustration and maintain his confidence. 

“It will happen soon.” He responds in a similar tone, his eyes following as the olo’eyktan stands. “I must be with her.”

“I understand. I do. But—” Tonowari finishes up the last touches, giving the tool its final inspection. “This is your duty, son.”

“She, is my duty.” Ralak snaps, his frustration slipping through. 

Feeling challenged, Tonowari turns to face him, now eye level with Ralak as he slowly nears his subordinate—chest to chest. But with a pregnant mate of his own, and the fact that Ralak is like his own son, Tonowari huffs a sigh and gives this a pass.  

“This is for her, too. For the people of the clan. You know what we are about to face. You will do this.” The olo’eyktan states sternly. “When the horn sounds… you come. And that…” he shoves the tool into Ralak’s chest, “…is an order.” 

Holding the tool against his own chest, Ralak looks away from Tonowari, grinding his back teeth hard enough to file them flat. He breathes heavily, attempting to recenter himself and stamp out the flame flickering in his chest. Tonowari gives him space, going ahead and mounting his skimwing, readying himself to embark on their journey. Whilst Ralak is left behind to let out a sluggish, shaky breath, closing his eyes when it dawns on him...

…what he must do, where he must go and who he must see. 

All before coming home this evening. 

—

“Zu’té.”

Ralak calls his name outside of the secluded, dim marui pod. It’s familiar, yet so unknown. It’s an eerie feeling to be standing here. It’s as if no one’s home. Not a single flame burning, nor the residual heat of a smothered fire pit. But Ralak can sense his presence. It’s thick. Aggressive. Just as it’s always been. It’s only intensified since the incident. 

The silence is deafening now. A message loud enough to have Ralak reconsidering his actions—rethinking his feelings. No part of him really desired to ask anything of this man, much less this. But in the case Tonowari really doesn’t budge with his decision, it is something he must do. No matter how many years have passed. Ralak has moved on…come to terms with what’s happened, and is in a much better place in his life now. Because of you.

You.

He’s doing this for you. Or is he? The fact he’s fathered a child has a major influence on his decision to be standing here to begin with… perhaps it’s something within him driven by nature—by instinct. The further you’ve progressed, the more he’s thought about rekindling this relationship. But he always brushed off these passing thoughts, until they were no longer just thoughts that passed. They became thoughts that lingered and kept him awake some nights. 

Showing their faces the most when Tonowari reminds him of the imminent danger the clan may face.

They reminded him of the good times when they were children. Teasing the ilus when no one was looking, sneaking off to the reef where the adults went to hunt just to see what it was like. But it also reminded him of the more unfortunate moments they shared. Those that will forever leave a scar on their souls, branded by pain and suffering. Since then, Ralak took an oath to never allow his own family to suffer the way he did. 

If this is what he must do, he’ll do it.

“I am in need of a favour.” Ralak finally admits, witnessing a tall, thick silhouette emerge from the marui. 

At this angle, its darkness looms over Ralak ominously. Green glowing eyes peer down at Ralak as the figure's hands cross defensively over his chest. He steps out of the darkness, revealing his inked face and intricately up-kept hair. He looks as if he’s been disturbed or rudely interrupted, evident in the way his eyes pierce fearlessly into Ralak. But Ralak simply returns the leer. 

“Zu’té.” Ralak speaks his name again, a little more sternly this time.

“Brother. To what do I owe this visit?” His tone is sarcastic with undertones of hostility. 

Ralak sighs, turning his head away from his older brother, fixating his gaze elsewhere. His jawbone flutters as he struggles to figure out what words to string together next. This isn’t easy for him—being here with his tail tucked between his legs. 

“It is no way easy for me to ask you of this…I know we have not spoken for some time.”

“Really? You think so? I would say it has been a little more than ‘some time’, no?” Zu’té’s irritation is shining through now.

“Agreed.” Ralak speaks sharply, dropping his head, gaze piercing into his own feet. He swallows and sighs once more, finally lifting his head to look his brother in the face. "I need your help, brother."

“Hm.” Zu’té scoffs, meeting his stare flagrantly. “Let me get this right. You come here, wake me out my sleep, speak to me like this for the first time in over forty-eight seasons…and demand my help?”  

“You are the only one I trust with this.” Ralak grinds out the words, they are hard to admit. 

This quietens Zu’té, causing his features to soften and his fixed stare to falter. To hear this after twelve years, straight from his brother’s mouth has him a little taken aback. There’s only one thing that it could mean—that could bring the golden child before him, begging for a favour. 

War. 

“What does our ‘mighty’ olo’eyktan have you up to now, baby brother?” Zu’té’s tone is especially sardonic when speaking of their father-figure. 

“Plenty.” Ralak chuckles quietly, shaking his head in amusement. His curved lips fade into a thin line, returning his grim expression when he’s reminded yet again of his exact reason for being here. “Look…” Ralak exhales, “...it is nowhere likeable for me to show my face like this. Trust me, I have thought of every possible solution. But…" he shakes his head, hesitant to share what he must say next. "My mate...she is pregnant."

Zu’té’ sighs when he realizes the gravity of the situation, eyes narrowing as they look behind Ralak to scan his surroundings. He’s far from all of the neighbouring marui pods, being the last pod along the mangroves. But if someone were nearby, they could eavesdrop with ease.

Zu’té lightly nudges his head, giving Ralak the silent signal to enter his marui. Ralak moves slowly, a little surprised by his change in...heart. Annoyed with Ralak's sluggish movement, Zu’té rolls his eyes.

“What? You expect an invitation?" Zu’té asks the rhetorical question loud and clear, watching in awe as his not-so-little brother stands almost eye to eye with him. "...you've grown."

"Surprised?" Ralak mutters, ears spasming from his brother's comment—shuffling past him.

"Don't get smart with me, little brother." Zu’té snaps with his ears pinned to his skull, automatically slipping back into disciplining his younger brother like he once used to. Ralak fights the smirk pulling at his lips, making his way further into the neat, well-decorated marui.

——

Ralak came home that night, as he does most nights nowadays with a heavy tail and tensed muscles. That night he broke the news that he had no luck with Tonowari. That he remained tied to his duties as a warrior, teacher, hunter and evidently more…that you had no knowledge of. 

But he made it clear that none of them came before you—his most important duty of all. He promised not only to your father, but also to you, to put you first, no matter what. That he will do whatever he needs to ensure your safety is never compromised. Even if it means putting his pride aside, and asking for help, as he did that night. 

The desire to prepare for your son's arrival grew with each passing day, making you nest like an expecting ikran. You smoked enough meat to last for the next couple months, and gathered as many herbs and fruits that you could manage.

Weaving has been one of your more frequent tasks, making a couple slings and a few more blankets. Ralak was quick to build the cot when he got into a nesting frenzy, too.

But regardless of what your next task was, it was always a little bit harder…a little bit more tiring. Until you were so round and heavy that most of them became unachievable. Your size started to affect you in more ways than just physical. It started to affect you mentally, too. Playing tricks on your mind, making you think negatively about yourself.

And Ralak picked up on that very quickly. 

——

As you wait for his return, you give the marui another deep clean. You take small breaks often, sitting down whenever you become short of breath.

Whilst you sweep the patio, you see your mate trudge up the stairs, ears pinned back and exhaustion wrinkled into his forehead. Ralak sees you and wastes no time to take the broom from you and pull you into his chest. 

He holds you in silence. Comfortable silence. Savouring how you feel against his body. The thud of your heartbeat, the warmth of your skin. You’re his safe place. His home. As he is yours. His embrace is what you look forward to the most after a long day apart. 

Perhaps this is what you both need. A moment of peace and quiet, where your focus is purely on the person in front of you. A break from the mayhem that life can entail, from the pull and push of the rough tides. Serenity. All to be interrupted by Ralak pulling away, holding you by the arms to create some distance between you two. 

Furrowed brows and beaded eyes stare back at you when you look at him. He’s staring at you, but not at you. His eyes pierce into your chest, and then peel away to flick down at his stomach. A smile creeps on his face, and a huff of air through his nostrils as he chuckles softly. His gaze finally meets yours, and he lets go of your arms.

“Your milk is in.” He almost whispers, his fingertips grazing against your stomach. 

“What?” You breathe, caught off guard to say the least. Your head snaps down, eyes searching every inch of your shawl to find two large, growing wet spots on it. “O-Oh.” You stutter, looking back up at him, catching sight of the glistening liquid on his stomach. “Oh.” 

Your cheeks grow hot when blood rushes to them from embarrassment. Just another thing pregnancy has bestowed upon you. “Sorry, Lak.” You turn to reach for the nearby cloth that hangs by the window. 

“What for?” He asks innocently—a little confused. 

He watches as you wipe him down in an almost frantic manner. He stills your movements by grasping your wrists, causing you to drop the cloth. He brings your hands to his lips.

“Mawey [Calm]. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He speaks into the palm of your hands. You hear his words, but you still can’t bring yourself to look at him. “Hey.” 

He lets go, and cups your cheek, urging you to look at him. When you finally do, he’s smiling down at you, allowing his hand to slip down to the bow of your shoulder—his fingers hooking underneath the hem of your shawl. “Let me clean you up, hm?” 

“Oh—okay.” You stutter shyly, feeling his fingers slip under the woven fabric to slip it off your shoulders. “W-Wait.”

And when the material hits the floor, a shiver shakes your spine. Your breasts are exposed to the cool air, sticky nipples hardened into peaks for him to see. They’ve darkened in colour, and are even a little more puffy too.

Honestly, you weren’t the biggest fan of them anymore. You wore thicker tops or shawls to conceal them, just as you did your stomach with your new…stripes. But Ralak loves them, always stealing a glance at every given chance. 

But to know that they’re full with milk makes him feel…on edge. 

His eyes bore into them, unapologetically taking in every detail. His smile falls into a slight smirk, which then droops into a thin line. His jaw flutters as he grits his teeth, biting back his urges. 

“Don’t stare.” You whisper shyly, covering your chest with one arm and your belly with the other. He looks at you, and reaches for your arms, peeling them away from your body. 

“Beautiful.” He states as a fact, intertwining his fingers with yours. “So beautiful, carrying my child.” 

“‘m really not.” You mumble, looking away in shame. You feel his hand move to your face, two fingers tugging at your jaw to have you look up at him. When you finally give in to his nudges, you see the look on his face. It was as if you had deeply and personally offended him.

“You are.” He insists softly. 

You simply shake your head, arms instinctively wrapping around your chest and belly once more. “I don’t feel it. I don’t even know how you can look at me and say that.” 

Ralak almost feels angered by your words. It hurts him to hear you speak of yourself in such a way, especially when it’s far from the truth. If anything, he’s even more attracted to you. Knowing that this is what your body is going through to bring his child into the world has made him even more appreciative of you. 

“Never say such things.” He husks firmly, removing your hands from your body and keeping them in his grasp. “Do not hide.” 

“You have barely touched me.” You retaliate, voice cracking with hurt. 

“Not for that reason.” He’s quick to cut you short, making sure you know that the last thing stopping him from pouncing on you every chance he gets is the way you look. Absolutely not. 

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself, then—”

Frustrated, Ralak shoves your hand onto his loincloth, pressing it firmly against the bulge that strains against the material. “You feel that?” 

You do, you feel every inch of it, hard and warm against your palm. Your face heats up even more, cheeks staining a bright red. Your breath turns raggedy as you struggle to find the words to say. 

“Hm?” He grunts as he presses himself even harder against the palm of your hand. 

“Y-Yes.” You stutter. Ralak turns you around, pressing himself into you from behind. His heated lips are flush against your ear, hot breath prickling your skin. 

“This is what you do to me.” Ralak husks into the shell of your ear, grinding his bulge into the swell of your ass. “Day after day.” He groans almost painfully, filled with all sorts of emotions. He holds you firm against his body, grazing his bottom teeth against the lobe of your ear. “All it takes is a single glance.” His words have your clit pulsing under your tewng and your thighs rubbing against one another. “The sight of you…of your swollen breasts… your swollen womb…” he hisses, on edge and high strung as he caresses your belly, “…it makes me lose myself.” 

“Fuck.” You breathe, reaching behind you to tug his loincloth down in a frantic manner. You feel his lips nibble and nip at the skin behind your ear, making their way down the back of your neck. You can’t help but moan from the feeling, your already stiff nipples tingling from his gentle touches. 

You feel his hands wander over your stomach and under your tewng, his fingers fondling your folds as he gently parts them. He grunts against your neck, inhaling your scent deep in his lungs as his hips stutter into you. Your stickiness coats his fingers as they slip and slide over your hardened nub. 

You tug even harder at his loincloth, struggling to get the annoying thing off him. You let out a frustrated grunt, and he lets loose an amused chuckle, peppering soft kisses down to the bow of your shoulder.

“What is it? Need me to take you right here?” He husks low, voice muffled by his continuous kisses. “…where someone may see?” 

Right, you’re on the patio. 

Out in the open, under the light of the moon. Ralaks marui pod is far from the village on a cul de sac. The only thing further than here is sand, open water and a couple smaller islands off in the distance. However, there' is's always the slim chance of a na’vi or two going for a late night swim or on a romantic adventure far from the village.

But you simply didn’t care. 

If anything it only riles you up more—the riskiness of it all, the thought of being caught. The need to be sneaky and quiet, when all you want to do is moan his name until your voice goes dim. It seems that Ralak feels similarly as you feel him throb against you, excited to take you where you stand. 

“I don’t mind.” You huff shakily, finally tugging the cloth down enough for his cock to spring out. “Do you?” 

You feel him smile against your shoulder when you grip it in your hand, smooth teeth bumping into your skin as his free hand cups your full breast. 

“Not at all, my tanhì.” He breathes, gently kneading the soft flesh, feeling the trickle of your milk flow over the back of his hand. 

“Good.” Your lungs tremble beneath his touch, hand desperately stroking his length. Yet he remains gentle with his touches, pinning your clit between his two fingers as he rubs you slowly. “Then hurry…I need you inside.” 

Ralak quickly moves his kisses back up your neck, and you feel the tip of his tongue tickle the lobe of your ear before he suckles on it lightly. Tingles ripple up your spine, sending your head into a shiver as you lean into his mouth. His fingers dip into your soaking core just as he rolls your tender nipple between his other two digits. 

It’s all too much. All-consuming. Making you gasp for air in lungs that won’t seem to fill. Fog clouds your head. How did you get here? How did this happen? Fuck, it doesn’t matter. Not when you feel like this.

You’re already so sensitive as it is, so tender and delicate, like silk under his fingers. He pushes his two fingers even deeper inside your aching pussy, curling them and earning a whimper from your lips and quiver of your tail.

“Not too loud, oeyä sevin muntxate [my pretty/beautiful wife]”. Ralak whispers the hushed praise, knowing it’s what you need to hear. 

You’re so much warmer around his fingers than usual, so much softer. Wetter. With each curl of his digits comes out a squelch as he works you open for his cock that he’s been dying to plunge inside you. 

You wrap your leg around his, perching your heel on the side of thigh as you lean all your weight back into him. He steadies his knees, supporting you with ease. Your head slumps back into his shoulder, opening up your neck to his hot breaths, an arm reaching behind you to fist his hair. 

His brows are tense and his breath is heavy. He’s overcome with arousal and he can’t keep his composure as your scent grows stronger now your throat is directly under his nose. Truthfully it’s been too long, he knows that. He knows he’s been too protective, too cautious. Depriving you and him of the touch that’s necessary between a mated pair. 

His fingers slip out of you, now expertly unravelling the loose knot just barely keeping your tewng on you. As it drops to the floor his fingers are back where they were, rubbing sloppy circles into your clit before spreading your pussylips apart. His hips stutter as he attempts to align the crown of his cock with your slit and finally buck forward when he senses your little, exposed hole. 

His cock sinks inside you at an achingly slow pace—inch by inch. You let loose a lengthy moan when you feel him fill you completely, no longer caring if anyone hears you. 

“Hnng—I missed you.” The gruff words slip out as he bottoms out inside your cunt. He has longed to feel your gummy walls squeeze oh-so tightly around his cock. “You alright?” He checks on you in a daze, voice thick with want—with the desire to pummel your little pussy until your voice is hoarse. But the last thing he wants is to hurt his heavily pregnant mate. 

“Mhm, ple-ase.” You purr with need, closing your eyes and relaxing completely into him. Trusting someone this much feels too good. Ralak moves slowly, pumping his cock in and out of you in a languid haze, tickling your sensitive clit with just the tips of his fingers. 

“Tanhì—haah—you are squeezing me so tight.” Ralak moans as his strokes grow with intent. His hips roll deep, shoving and forcing his cock inside your sensitive cunt until his swollen balls kiss your clit. 

He’s unapologetically coaxing out the orgasm you’ve been denied for so long with only a few lazy thrusts. And he knows it. He can feel it from the way you clench around him. From the way your thighs tremble a little more after each deep stroke…from the sweet, filthy noises that shamelessly drip from your lips. 

“Oh my—Ralak! I-I’m gonna—” You sputter the words between choked sounds, eyes welling with tears from the burn between your legs. 

“I know, I know.” He huffs, dragging his hot tongue along the length of your throat. The truth is, he’s close too. But he can’t allow himself to finish inside you. He can’t risk letting himself go and pounding recklessly into your poor, tender pussy. He’s already had a long day. “Let it out, tìyawn [love].”

Its almost cathartic. 

Weeks of pent up frustration released in a few minutes, leaving you near convulsing in his grip. You can’t stop the flutter of your pussy walls if you try, it’s out of your control, much like the surge of white fire going right through you. Your legs fight to stay open and you hold onto your mate to keep you standing. Gurgled noises spill from your lips as your body shudders under him. His hips still, keeping his cock buried to the hilt inside your quivering cunt as he holds you tight, supporting you until you finish riding out your high. 

“Good girl. Good girl.” He praises you in a hushed, shaky voice, extremely wound up from feeling you flourish so beautifully under his touch. It's a miracle that he didn't empty himself inside you right then and there. 

“But you—but you haven’t—” You sputter, collapsing into him as your legs give out. 

“I know. It is alright..” He hums, carefully leading you inside the marui to lay you on the bed. 

“Thought you were c-cleaning me u-up. Not mak-king m-more of a mess.” Your breath is relentlessly hitching as you watch him hastily remove his tewng that’s been digging into his thighs. A reminder of exactly how quickly things happened. 

“You are right.” Ralak tsks, cocking a brow as he stares down at you with a predatory leer. “I did say that, didn’t I?” 

Ralak situates himself between your legs, crouching over you, ensuring there’s plenty of space between him and your stomach. His cock presses between your sticky folds as his lips press against your clammy neck. He tastes the faint saltiness of the thin film of sweat on your skin as he drags his lips down your chest—between your breasts. 

“Lak…” You whisper, back bowing against the bed. 

You’re way too sensitive right now, like an exposed nerve. His eyes snap up and lock with yours, responding to you moaning his name. His tongue darts out, sampling a taste of the spilled milk on your breast. Then his eyes slam shut, tensed brows and scrunched nose telling you that he’s unsure of the flavour in his mouth. 

Eyes widening, you’re taken aback by his actions, feelings of shyness and embarrassment creeping back in. Fisting his hair, you pull gently at his head to pry him off your chest, only for him to resist your tugs. 

“You shouldn’t have done—why’d you do—” You struggle to find the right words at this moment, flustered and nervous that he’d do that. 

But what leaves you even more speechless is when he opens his eyes to reveal dots for pupils, a look you only see when he’s high strung. And then he eagerly takes your nipple into his mouth, latching on and ensuring the suction is airtight. The tip of his tongue flicks at your hardened nipple a few times before he gently suckles at your breast.

A tingling sensation radiates your chest and you feel it in the pit of your stomach. Your breath catches in your throat, a little surprised by his lewd behaviour. And soon, all you can hear are the repeated, muffled gulps of your warm milk flowing down his throat.

“W-What are yo-ou d-doing, my love?” You mewl, squirming underneath him from the strange feeling. He unlatches harshly with an audible pop, leaving your pointed nipple misshapened and exposed. 

“Cleaning you.” He huffs quickly as he catches his breath, diving back in to lap up the milk leaking from your other neglected breast. Your head throws back in what is undeniably pleasure now, legs tightening around his waist. You look down in a daze, watching him feast greedily, feeling his hips begin to stammer against you. 

“Fuck—I didn’t know this i-is what you meant.” You’re finally calming down from your orgasm now, already feeling your body gearing up to have another. His desperation is pungent. Evident in the way his cock grinds between your soft, slippery folds, scenting your cunt with it. 

He pulls off you with yet another pop, his tongue swiping his bottom lip so not to let the bead of milk dripping off of it go to waste. He’s huffing and puffing against you, trailing his wet kisses down your curved stomach as he tucks your legs back. You feel his hot breath against your thighs and your legs tremble in anticipation. 

“Kalin, kalin [sweet, sweet].” He mumbles, kissing your pulsing clit. “Oeyä kalin [My sweet].” 

“Oh shit.” You let loose the breathy curse when you feel his lips pucker around your over sensitive nub, and squeal when he begins to suck on it too. Your hands fly to his head, grasping at his hair to shove his face further into your cunt. He devours you with exhilaration, lapping at your leaking slit to savour your sweetness. 

His cock is aching now. He’s so hard it’s painful. He can’t stop throbbing and his cock strains so hard it’s swollen. He wants to shove himself back inside you— your warmth—and hump at you until his marked you with his essence. 

He can’t help but touch himself as he pleasures you. Stroking his cock with every lick of your pussy. Thrusting into his hand when he feels you throb against his tongue. He’s groaning and grunting into your cunt, urgently chasing his own release as he sucks on you for his own pleasure. 

Too busy to realise that you’ve been begging him to slow down a bit. That you’re too sensitive. That you feel like you may explode if he continues. 

“Ralak! I just came! F-Fuck—” You yank his head away, hurriedly rubbing at your sore pussy.

Ralak pants for air, pulling back into a standing position to reveal that he’s been fucking his hand this entire time. It’s glossy with his precum as it dribbles down his strake. He’s frantically stroking himself, staring brazenly down at your pussy—taking in how it’s flushed and swollen, glistening with his spit and your slick. It’s a delicious sight, tempting him to go in for another taste. 

He’s close and you can tell, his hips are stuttering erratically and he’s groaning like a dying man. You sit up slowly, bringing yourself to your knees as you shuffle your way closer to him. Your chest is level to his cock and you cup your full breasts with both hands, pushing them together only inches away from him. 

He seems a little confused, unsure of what your next move may be. Fuck, you aren’t even sure of what your next move is. But you’re going with your instinct, pinching your nipples until they begin to leak milk. His brows jump, the sight of that sends his hips stammering into his hand. With each huff and thrust sends his cock a little closer to you, until his swollen cockhead is poking at your breasts. 

You shuffle a little closer, moaning softly from watching him get off like this. Then you feel his sticky cock slip in between your breasts, and his hand falls to your shoulders. 

Now he’s fucking your tits in a frenzy, his leaking tip prodding at your lips. You stick your tongue out for a taste, allowing his cockhead to slip and slide against it. He’s groaning and moaning, eyes fixed in the sight beneath him. The pressure from his fat cock between your breasts only makes you leak even more, and that’s when he loses it completely.

“Oh, fuck.” He growls, thrusting hard enough to shove his cockhead into your mouth. You feel him throb violently against your tongue, his thick, hot load coating your cheeks until they're full to the brim. He pulls out as soon as he realises what he’s down, immediately reaching for your bedside bucket to spit in. 

But you shake your head, glossy eyes staring up at him as you swallow his cum with a singular, loud gulp. His eyes bulge, his hands flying to cup your cheeks as he quickly searches your eyes. You simply smile, using a thumb to swipe the single bead of cum on your chin and pop it into your mouth. 

Features softening, he returns the smile, chest heaving wildly as it swells with pride. 

——

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