“keep up, little knight,” he’d called over his shoulder at one point, grin sharp as his blade. “or i’ll have to carry you too.”

varka. grandmaster of the knights of favonius. knight of boreas. and right now, a man on the edge.

normally he’s loudest at the fire—booming laugh, big hands clapping shoulders, spinning stories that make even the greenest recruits forget their homesickness. but tonight, he’s restless. too hot. you can see it in the way sweat beads at his temple, in the taut flex of his hand around his mug, in how his grin falters a little too quick when someone bumps his shoulder.

he’s been like this for days. short-tempered, running hot, chewing out the men in a way that’s uncharacteristic. and you know why.

his rut is building.

and you—his so-called “designated knight”—have been mentally bracing for it.

“the knight of boreas looks a little tamed tonight,” one of the younger men jokes, emboldened by drink. laughter ripples, but dies quick when varka’s head snaps toward him.

the low, warning growl he gives doesn’t belong to a man.

your stomach flips. his eyes—bright, wild, hungry—cut past the poor recruit and pin you. you freeze, mug halfway to your lips.

then, in a voice that rumbles low and even:

“my tent. now.”

the fire might as well go out for how quiet the camp gets. no one dares to move, but you can hear the whispers anyway.

“poor thing…” “definitely won’t be walking straight tomorrow.”

your face burns as you set your mug aside and stand, his gaze following you until you slip into the shadows.

inside his tent, the flap barely falls shut before you’re slammed against a pole, breath stolen.

“wait–” you gasp, but his mouth swallows it, hot and demanding, tongue pressing past your lips like he hasn’t kissed you in months. his body radiates heat, burning through your uniform, and his hands—archons, his hands—are everywhere.

you were meant to be a knight. trained with steel in your hand, sworn to fight alongside him. instead, you’d become something else. the one who steadied varka’s shaking hands, who let him rut into you until dawn and left you sore and marked.

“knew you were watching me.” his grin is sharp, feral, as he pulls back just enough to speak. his voice vibrates in your bones, dripping with mockery. “sweet thing, sitting there pretending you aren’t waiting for me to lose it.”

“varka—”

“grandmaster,” he corrects, chuckling darkly, his hand sliding down to cup your ass and drag you against his hard cock. even through his trousers you feel the obscene swell of his knot, already straining, begging to be buried inside you.

you shiver. you’ll never get used to that.

he doesn’t give you time to retort. your back hits the bedroll, his weight caging you in. his big hands tear at your clothes like they’re nothing, tossing each piece aside until you’re bare beneath him, shivering under the heat of his body.

then his belt clinks, trousers shoved down—and when he frees himself, your breath hitches hard in your chest.

“ahh, there it is,” he drawls, fist wrapped around the base of his cock like he’s showing it off. it’s monstrous, thick enough your thighs press together instinctively, heavy veins running along the flushed shaft, the tip already glossy with pre. worse—there’s already a bulge at the base, that small swollen knot that makes your stomach flip.

“fuck—” the word slips out of you before you can catch it, eyes wide.

his grin is sharp, wolfish. “mm? what’s that, little knight? seen me like this plenty of times, and you still look surprised?” he gives himself a lazy stroke, squeezing just under the forming knot, and more pre dribbles down over his fist. “hah, still makes you gasp, doesn’t it? look at you, staring like you’re scared i’ll split you in half.”

you shake your head, but it’s a weak denial, thighs clenching tighter.

he chuckles low in his chest, leaning down until the blunt, leaking head smears against your slick folds, smearing pre all over your cunt. “don’t worry, pup. you’ll take it. you always do. and this time, you’re not just takin’ me—you’re keepin’ me. right here—” he presses his cockhead snug against your entrance, letting you feel the tip straining against your folds, “—locked inside, ‘til every drop’s bred deep.”

outside, the campfire chatter picks back up. boots shuffle. mugs clink. and you know they’ll hear everything.

“lemme hear you, pup.” his grin widens when you turn your face, biting back a whimper. “i didn’t train you to be shy. let them know who keeps you stuffed full every rut.”

and then—he sinks in, thick and brutal, splitting you open until the stretch steals your breath and your nails claw helplessly at the bedroll.

“ahhh, there it is,” he rumbles, rough hands gripping your hips, fingers pressing bruises into your skin. “trying to fight me already? thought you’d be used to this by now, little knight.”

you gasp, trying to arch away, but he just pins you harder, pressing your shoulders to the furs underneath. “you’re not going anywhere.” his free hand slides up to your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his wild, blue wolfish gaze. “look at me. look at who’s gonna breed you tonight.”

your back arches on instinct, hips jerking forward. you whimper, tiny noises spilling past your lips. “varka—please—”

he laughs, low and wicked, and his cock drives into you again and again, heavy body pinning you down so there’s no escape, no reprieve. each thrust is ruthless, deeper than the last, until your thighs are trembling, until you can barely remember how to breathe.

you’re already coming undone, clenching around him hard, body breaking apart on his cock.

“hah, there it is,” he growls, grinning like he’s just won a fight. “sweet little knight’s already twitchin’ on me—haven’t even knotted you yet. that’s why you’re my most valuable one, y’know? don’t need your blade when you’ve got this cunt squeezing me like it was made to.”

his words hit as hard as his thrusts, each one pushing you deeper into that haze of pleasure and humiliation. you try to turn your face, muffle the sounds spilling out of your throat, but his hand is right there, rough thumb pressing against your tongue, forcing you to moan around it.

“good pup. louder.” his voice drops into that sing-song mockery that makes your belly tighten. “let ‘em all hear how well their grand master fucks his favorite knight.”

you whimper, body shaking, nails clawing at the bedroll. “ ‘s t-too much—”

he just laughs, hips slamming forward so hard your back arches off the furs. “too much? no such thing. besides—” his thrusts get messier, sharper, the weight of him grinding you down, “—you know what’s comin’, don’t you?”

the blunt swell keeps bumping against you, pressing insistently, and panic tangles with your pleasure. you’ve taken him before, survived it before, but every time it feels impossible until it’s happening.

“n-no, varka—”

“grand master,” he corrects again, voice a rumble, a growl. his mouth is at your ear now, hot breath washing over your skin. “have some respect, pup.”

you shake your head, but he feels the way your pussy tightens around him, the way your hips try to jerk up even as you plead.

he pulls back, only to slam forward again, knot grinding against your entrance, forcing another sob out of you. you’re half trying to crawl away, half melting under him.

varka chuckles darkly, turning you around and pushing your shoulders down until your cheek’s mashed to the bedroll. “look at you. already crying on my cock and i haven’t even stuffed you full yet. you think you’re ready to march back to mondstadt after this expedition? or should i pump you full right here? make sure you’re carrying my pups before we ever see the city walls?”

your head jerks up at that, but he just grabs the back of your neck, holding you down like a wolf pinning its mate, thrusting with sharp, brutal snaps of his hips.

“hear me?” his voice is a growl now, low and possessive but still teasing at the edges. “by the time we’re back home, everyone’ll smell me on you. might even see your belly startin’ to swell. they’ll know who fucked the fight outta their little knight.”

your whole body jolts at the grand master’s words, a strangled moan tearing out of your throat as your cunt clenches around him. the mental image of trudging back to mondstadt with his scent all over you and his seed dripping down your thighs is too much. you break, gushing around him, eyes rolling back as he snarls against your ear.

“just like that,” he growls, hips never stopping. “show me you want it. squeeze me until that little hole’s ready to take my knot.”

you whimper, still dizzy, but he just presses harder on the back of your neck, keeping you pinned. “good pup. that’s it. the harder you cum, the easier it’ll be to lock you down and pump you full.”

his other hand snakes around to your front, palm flat on your stomach where it bulges around his cock. he presses down, making you feel every inch.

“so small,” he coos, laughing breathlessly. “can feel myself right here. fuck—this cunt was made to hold the grand master’s knot, wasn’t it?”

you whimper something that’s not quite a no, not quite a yes, but he just keeps moving, pushing his knot against you over and over, testing your limits.

“open up,” he grinds out. “gonna split you on it. stretch you ‘til you’re stuck. you’ll thank me later when you’re heavy with my pups, when everyone knows you’re mine.”

then, with one brutal roll of his hips, the knot pushes inside, swelling immediately, locking you around him. your whole body arches, a sob breaking out of your throat as you’re stuffed to the brim.

“ahhh—fuck, that’s it,” he snarls, voice going rough. “tight little thing. keep milkin’ me. i’ll give you every drop—fill you so full it leaks down your thighs. won’t stop ‘til you’re bred properly.”

he moves even while locked, little grinding thrusts that send sparks up your spine. outside, you hear someone shift near the campfire, but varka only laughs, low and wicked, as he bends over your back.