#march x reader

you seemed to have become really good at this in such a short time, at scrambling his brains to the point where he stopped knowing when his thinking got sidetracked from work, work, more work, and work again. and work is the furthest thing from his mind now, when all he's focused on is the fact that you only came by for a second, already on your way to the museum… or the mines… or fishing. he didn't register the words you chirped at him and eiland. he couldn't have, when you waved and smiled and just… looked like that.

it bothers him now that you barely breezed past him all day today, he couldn't help but wonder when you'd come by to actually talk to him so he could talk to someone other than olric and ryis that he actually enjoys being around while he's sober.

not that he'd admit it, of course. at least not quite yet.

it's already so late that the street lights have started attracting bugs, everyone has gathered at the inn, and he's scanning the room in hopes of seeing your figure mingling with the townspeople, grabbing something to eat from reina, playing along with whatever elsie may be gossiping about, or really just sitting there trying not to get lost in the endless swirling sea of chatter. but nothing. not a peep, not a glimmer of your grin at the large door. the night keeps getting more and more hopeless for march.

the crowd stays as lively as ever, and he usually doesn't mind, not when he's slowly feeling lighter and lighter, gently swaying on his feet as he hiccups and slurs along with the rest of the townsfolk when they decide it's high time for a sing-along. tonight, though, whatever drink hits his tongue feels like ash, dead and grey and horrid, making his stomach turn.

"where ya goin'?" olric looks at him, one eye open and leaning back on his chair. a dangerous choice, march imagines at least five tragic outcomes of this action.

"home. not feeling well." he rubs a hand on his stomach to emphasise his point, though he's been sour all evening, nobody could doubt him even if they were sober enough to do so. and with a halfhearted wave of his hand he turns and leaves them all behind as he walks out into the night. march gives himself exactly two seconds to feel the breeze in the air before his face returns to the scowl that so many people know on him.

an entire day has passed, he thinks while making his way back home, and you barely came by. an entire day and you gave him the same smile that you give everyone else. even eiland got the same treatment, he got to smell your very light perfume as you fluttered past them on your way west with a sword strapped to your back. now his mood sours even more.

a rock lands a few steps ahead as he's kicking it on the way to his house, focusing more on its path to avoid his mind going to other places. the places he really shouldn't be entertaining. the places where his jealousy will get the better of him. where he'll imagine the rock is eil—

"fuck!" he groans, shaking the thought out of his head, knowing it will get him nowhere other than into a spiral of jealousy and hardly covered up aggression towards everyone that speaks to him — something he knows he should work on, but not when it means admitting that he wanted to be the special one, the person you'd smile at the most, the person that could make you at least as flustered as you make him.

"march, hi!" a voice as light as the breeze stops him as he's about to forcefully push open the front door. his head whips around, ears as hot as the sand in the summer, cheeks tingling with the blush that's spreading across them with no help from the beer this time.

"h-hi."

march tries, he really does, to keep a hold on at least some of that frustration, because what's coming for him may be worse. he keeps a grip on the corners of his lips, willing them not to rise. he keeps his fists balled up, not letting himself run a hand through his hair, though there's no point in fixing it since you've already seen him in all his sweaty and messy glory.

"back so early?" you chirp, leaning against the anvil by the entrance, standing at a very comfortable distance from him. maybe a little too comfortable.

"not feeling the crowd. and you? back so late?" he nods at you, keeping one fist against the door where he froze it when you caught up to him.

"got… a little sidetracked." you chuckle, a devastating sound. "not feeling the crowd either."

he lowers his gaze, seeing the way your leg slightly wobbles, almost struggling to hold your weight. the way you still smile at him despite so clearly being hurt is enough to make his walls drop, at least until he can be mad at you safely again.

"what's up with your leg?" he asks, as cold as he can make himself be when all he wants is to kneel in front of you and fix you up if you let him.

"ah! it's fine, actually, just a sprain probably."

"a sprain doesn't bleed." march scoffs, pushing himself off the door and allowing himself a few steps towards you, where he can now see just how tightly your fingers are gripping the edge of the anvil, knuckles going pale against the dark steel. "either you walk inside with me or i throw you over my shoulder. your choice."

he watches you squirm, not that bright and cheerful anymore, not when you need to accept help. from him. a breath of relief escapes him when you let go of the anvil and hobble along with him, walking into the shop while he secures the lock after you. march should be used to seeing you here at this point. it's been the place where you bothered him the most at first, always chatting away with olric while he was concentrating on very detailed work at his desk, but at the same time trying to will his ears not to perk up every time you giggled at something his brother said. he can't have been that funny…

every so often he caught you looking over his shoulder, trying to sneak a peek at his latest project, and every time he'd go to protect it from your view out of pure habit, not thinking you would be interested in what he's doing but instead tease him for it. it feels weird to him not to try and cover up everything he's worked on this time, to just let you limp over to his chair and nearly sit, but it slides away from you, and you're falling, falling…

"done playing brave and strong?" he huffs, having lunged forward to grab you before you managed to land on the floor. you serve him a smile, a sly little curve barely visible in the darkness before the lights flicker on, but he just clicks his tongue, refusing to feel the warmth that crawls up to his cheeks. it's not fair, not fair at all how you get him flustered at the drop of the hat. it's not fair how his heart keeps hammering against his ribs, so loud in his ears, echoing so hard he's half-certain you could hear it. his grip on you tightens, and without much ceremony he lifts you up, hooking his other arm under your knees.

that might have been a mistake on his part, because as he's making his way to his bedroom — where the bed he's planning to place you on won't slip from under you — all he can smell is your scent. in his head he's seeing you breeze past him like so many times already, making him want to drop everything and follow in your every step like a puppy, the same way that he wanted to drop his hammer this morning, eiland's requests be damned…

march grits his teeth, not caring that you can so clearly hear it as your head is leaning against his chest — a feeling he knows he'll definitely revisit when he's not trying to push down the betrayal rising in his stomach — but the sight of your brilliant smile as your light steps took you away today keeps flashing before his eyes. he pushes the door open with his knee, slowly lowering you down onto the edge of the bed where you immediately sink into the mattress with your wounded leg outstretched. without a word, he reaches for the box of random stuff he got from valen a while ago where it sits forgotten on the bottom shelf.

just from a quick glance your way — another mistake on his part — he decides not to believe his eyes. you most certainly, definitely, absolutely did not just check him out. at least as far as he's ready to believe. not when he's bent over like that, his trousers maybe a little too short now, in need of fixing some stitching… no, it must have been his mind playing tricks. he feels his cheeks warm up too fast, damn it, and he hides the colour in his face in the darkness, avoiding the little lamp on his bedside table as much as he can.

he puts the box down on the bed beside you, glad to have an excuse not to look you in the eyes as he kneels down in front of you, shrugging his jacket off and throwing it over the chest at the foot of the bed before carefully taking the leg you've been sparing into his hands and examining it. not too bad, he decides as the box opens and he fishes out everything he needs, just in a very awkward place. you shouldn't be moving your foot too much as you'd most likely just keep it agitated, not allowing the wound to close properly if it doesn't get any rest. and knowing you…

"how did you manage this?" he says with a scoff.

you shift on the mattress, no doubt trying to see his careful hands working the bandage around your ankle and calf with such precision.

"stupid rock exploded too close to me." you murmur, still looking down at him, a fact he's a little too aware of now, feeling your eyes pierce his skin like a million heated needles.

"i— exploded?" he lifts his head, furrowing his eyebrows. but that… that may have been the biggest mistake he's made so far with you. because what meets him there is your pretty face illuminated only by the warm glow of the lamp beside you, keeping half of your face hidden in the shadow, but the side that's light? golden. like the sun itself. march has to remind himself to breathe in that moment, replaying the last few seconds of your conversation to himself as if to restart at the last chapter. "what the hell is happening in those mines?"

you chuckle, sighing once he returns to tightening the bandage on your leg. "stuff i neither can nor want to think about right now. it's… interesting down there. full of wonders. oh, and—" you reach into your pocket and take out a small, but brilliant piece of what seems to be—

march inhales sharply, nearly dropping your leg on the floor. your heel rests on his thigh as his hands fly upwards to cup the item you're handing him. the most incredible, beautiful piece of gold ore he's seen in his life. gold. actual perfect gold ore. the exact size he would need to examine on his desk, too. he takes it from your hand, gulping as your fingers brush against each other, and leans over to the light to get a better view. his breath hits your hand, something he becomes aware mere moments after it happens. his chest is pressing against your legs, face so close to your thighs he can feel the warmth radiating from your body.

he dares not move for a while. even if it kills him.

pretty sure his heart stopped there for a few moments and started again when you cleared your throat and spoke, march pulls away to move from you. he busies himself with putting the rest of the bandages into the box and crawling away to put it back on the shelf, not trusting his legs to work after this.

"so you like it?" you ask, not letting your eyes leave his figure while he's making himself not return the gaze.

"like it?" he scoffs, finally sitting on the floor in front of you. "it's perfect. it's literally in the name. perfect gold ore. i love it."

however, his face drops when that quick mind of his lands on something he doesn't want to think about anymore. was this really for him or was it as fleeting a gift as your smile that morning. he can't believe he's still bothered by it, it shouldn't matter, not when you're right here in front of him, and if he were to look at you properly instead of relying on his peripheral vision, he'd see a softer version of that same curve on your lips, this time just for him.

"well good," you lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees as he puts the piece of ore away, "because i had a feelin' you'd like it. love it, whichever. that's the only reason why i went to get it." march tilts his head to the side, raising a brow at you. "what? i really did. knew i should've gone back up to the surface at that point, at least to catch you before you go to the inn but—"

the bed barely has time to creak before march shuts you up with his lips on yours.

his hand is warm, rough, cupping the side of your head almost too tenderly, as if he's afraid you'll melt like a piece of metal on his anvil. his lips are clumsy, trying to give and take at the same time, unsure of what he actually wants to do, but luckily you're moving along with him, letting him try to kiss you with the intensity that he feels in his chest. his breath escapes into your mouth between two very needy kisses, hot and quick, and it takes a second before you're reaching behind his back and tangling your fingers into his hair.

it's hard to stop once he starts, nearly impossible, because you're responding so perfectly. because all of a sudden march's knees are digging into the mattress too, and he's pressing you down into it, caging you between strong arms flexing when he's holding up his weight on them and the knee that's slotted between your thighs. your hands, your damn hands gently go along the back of his head, making his entire body shiver and nearly collapse on top of you. he's barely holding onto the reins his own desire, the beast that's been banging on the inside of his chest for far too long to be contained now, it's demanding to be fed, demanding to get satisfaction between your bodies.

your little moan against his bottom lip almost ends him.

march is almost completely surrendered when you slide his headband off and toss it aside, making space to trail your wandering hands all over his scalp. it's nearly burning up with excitement, but fear as well. fear that he's not doing it right, that he's messing up by being too eager — something he doesn't even know how to stop at this point — but your body arches up into him regardless, and that thought simply evaporates out of his mind.

it feels natural, having your curves pressed against his body, feeling your waist under his callused palm so warm to touch. march never thought he'd get here, feeling your softness and the goosebumps on your sides. but now that he is, he's not ready to part with the sensation.

until you tug on his hair.

and he fucking groans into your mouth.

and you buck your hips upward, rubbing yourself against his thigh.

and he's sinking deeper into this spiral of want.

and sinking.

and losing his mind.

and his lips find your neck, deciding to kiss it just to feel your pulse quicken under them.

driven completely by his body moving before he has time to think, he lowers his body against yours, not completely stopping you from rutting against his thigh, but making it a little harder, in turn feeling your movements against his crotch. he's beyond saving as soon as his hips move as well. rolling with the grace he never knew he had, what may only be described as a desperate rolling of waves one over another, he's breathing hard against your neck, fighting the urge to bite you — as punishment for making him so needy. as punishment for ignoring him. as punishment for being so tantalising with your soft yet strong body and your warm neck and your pretty, pretty moans that have him scrambling to stay alive.

the heat from his body seems to be pooling in his cheeks as well as in his abdomen, that tightness that he's somewhat used to now increasing at least tenfold, overwhelming when he's rolling his hips against you, and he's certain there is only one way this can end. march can't hold it in anymore, he licks a stripe up your neck and bites down, letting himself groan against your wet skin, gripping your pliant body like he needs it to stay afloat. the pleasure is quickly taking over him, taking over any and every molecule of his being that's telling him to pull back, pull himself together, pull away and stay calm. he's done staying calm.

the way you throw your head back might just be his undoing. he's moving faster, chasing after something he thought he shouldn't want while you helplessly lift your hips to rub yourself against his leg like that, moaning and whimpering in frustration, like it's there for you as well — that finish line glowing golden behind your eyelids. march tightens his hold on your waist, lying pressed against you while your fingers tug on his hair. it's right there, he can feel it, if only he can—

the whine that leaves your lips is heavy. he's never heard a sound so powerful, and with a stutter of your hips he knows you've found your peak. the heat is even stronger in his abdomen, he presses a little harder against you, replaying that tight sound in his mind until he's cursing into the warm skin of your neck, bucking his hips like a desperate animal while release takes over him, covers his brain with wool, stuffs his ears with it, until the only things he can feel are the echo of your pleasure in his mind and the cum leaking from his oversensitive cock.

the only sounds in march's room are two breathing patterns intertwined together as you lie trapped underneath him.

somewhat tentatively, your hand leaves the messy strands of his fiery red hair to glide down between his shoulder blades. he shivers at the tenderness with which your fingers touch him, sliding just under the fabric of his shirt to feel the muscles underneath. he should move. he really should. he should get off you and make sure he doesn't catch your leg that should be resting, get cleaned up… should he help you clean up as well? probably, maybe it would be the nice thing to do when he just used your body to get off, even if it is in his pants.

but you just keep… holding him there. not pushing him away, not making him get off you once you got your fill too, so he just tries to… lean into it. he lets go of your waist and instead digs his hands under your body to embrace you and hold you against him. he hasn't done that before, and yet the touch feels familiar. like something he's been craving but didn't know it. like something he might even be able to get used to.

but it soon comes to an end when you squirm underneath him, adjusting your hips so he's not crushing you completely.

"can you… i need to take these off." you request, and it takes him a moment to realise you mean your underwear. oh. he scrambles off you, cursing as he knocks the edge of the bed with his foot, and he helps you sit up. as he stands there in front of you he can hardly look away, not when you pause with your fingers hooked under the waistband of your pants, not when you chuckle and continue the movements anyway, not when he can feel the wet patch on his pants, not even when he gets hard again, only minutes after blowing his load to the feel of you.

"you're just gonna—" he starts, but one look at your smirk only tells him he should be making a move himself.

"are you not gonna give me something to change into?"

he's forgetting where his clothes are, where his mind has gone, where he is. quickly, he grabs the first thing he can reach, a change of clothes that should be okay for you, but there's no way he's letting you walk out of here, at least not tonight. wounded leg and all, of course.

you've already changed into his clothes by the time he decides he probably should've looked away, the blush on his face may as well be permanent, the way it creeps back as soon as he shakes off the dream-like feeling that wraps around his body and mind every few moments. wow, you must think he's some kind of a loser, the way he reacted as soon as you told him you had done something for him just because. and he might be… he very well might be. an absolute loser, who can't think much further than how he's going to do that with you again, get you to touch him like you just did, gently caressing his back like you don't want to ignore him and breeze past him in the mornings.

"come on." you murmur, and he notices that you've already got yourself into his bed.

into it. not on. covered with his duvet, pushing your hair to the side as you lie down on the cold white pillow.

"you want me to—" he points at the empty space behind you, and you wreck him by giggling.

"i'm not going home tonight, march." you say as if it's the most normal sentence in the world. "and i'm not sleeping on the floor. neither are you, come on."

march moves in slow motion.

his steps are a line of half-remembered movements that somehow lead him to the edge of the bed again. he grumbles as he takes his shirt off, throwing it over the jacket on the chest at the foot of the bed, following it by his pants and underwear that he replaces when he turns around to not risk you taking an accidental glance. almost naked, almost completely bare, he slides under the covers and immediately faces away from you, but there's no escaping the feeling of your body so close to him. surely there's no way he got addicted to feeling your touch after only a few minutes… surely, it must be something else, it must be the weather getting into the real autumn mood, the air cooling down enough to where he's going to have to think about wearing actual clothes to bed instead of barely covering himself in order to not soak the sheets with sweat.

then he feels the duvet shake a little as your body shivers.

"what was that?" he murmurs, half turning to your side of the bed. well, his side, but yours for the night.

"what?" you ask, pulling the covers over you a little tighter.

"you're cold?"

"yep."

he sighs, trying to find a way out of this. there isn't a spare blanket, but he could give you more clothes. he's about to get up and hand you some when your hand closes around his.

"come closer."

now a shiver runs down his spine. march turns his head and sees you curled up on the side of his bed, so still, odd when he's used to you fluttering around town always on your way to the next thing. but you're gently pulling him a little closer — and he gives in.

his body slots against yours like a puzzle piece.

march tries not to breathe as he lies down again, his chest pressed against your back, very keenly aware of the softness of your ass against his crotch. still hard. unlikely to go down soon. or ever. you don't let go of his hand, instead leading him to drape his arm over your torso, leaving his palm to just… sort of dangle there. halfway between your navel and your chest, and march knows where he'd rather have it — if he were brave enough, of course. still, he keeps a little bit of distance between his face and the back of your head, just so he's not forced to inhale your scent and get lost in it all over again. it has to get easier, he can't be aware of every heartbeat in these four walls forever.

"you're doing this on purpose," he accuses you, huffing as he flexes his fingers across the slightly uncovered skin of your stomach, "enjoy playing with my feelings?"

your laugh is quick, soft, and completely disarming.

"stars forbid a girl wants some body heat from a cute blacksmith."

march shakes his head, refusing to let the corners of his lips quirk up at that. "cute?"

"aren't you?" he can hear the smile in your voice. you're bold. toying with him like this when he doesn't even know where he stands with you… or even himself.

"shouldn't you tell me that?"

"i wouldn't do this… with just anyone, march." he rolls his eyes at you. "i'll tell you again… in the morning when i'm not as… tired." your voice keeps trailing off, so he knows you must be telling the truth, you're surely about to pass out any second now, what from the exhaustion of mining, what from the drop in adrenaline of… he chases the memory out of his head.

"sure. good night." march closes his eyes, trying to clear his mind of the images of you. you from just a few minutes ago, arching into him seeking release. you from earlier tonight, smiling at him like you're ecstatic to have run into him before he made it to bed. you from this morning, smiling at him — and only him in his head — as you waved and hurried off to find something to gift him. sometimes he feels like an absolute idiot, pining in silence and torturing himself instead of just laying it out there and giving you a chance to accept him as he is — flustered, clueless, and desperately horny for you.

march can feel your breathing slow down as the clock ticks on.

he's already used up his bravery for the day — hell, maybe even a month — but your skin is so warm he can't resist but slowly move his hand until it's resting above your heartbeat. there's something soothing about it, the rhythm even and constant, that makes march's head feel lighter, lighter, lighter as he rests with his eyes closed and finally decides he can let go of consciousness.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

the door to march's bedroom open with a loud creak.

olric stumbles into the room, apologising to the hinges, the floor, the wall, and march takes those few seconds to snap out of the initial panic and… panic even more once he realises you're still in his bed. that wasn't a dream, and he can't have his brother finding out about it, even if he is completely wasted by the sounds of it.

"h-hey march!" he slurs, half-yelling as he holds onto the door frame. "ya missed out! ha, reina mixed sum stuff an' let m' be her guinea pig!"

in a moment of sheer desperation, march tries to cover you up as much as possible, shielding you from view with his body and the covers. your soft, cold hand rests on his forearm where it presses against your neck, and only then does he realise he's got you in a headlock. but… you're not pulling it away. if he could show his reaction to you, he might even be shocked, albeit a little aroused as well, but you're holding his arm like this is the best placement for it.

"what the shit?" march mumbles, louder than intended. thankfully, olric took it as a reply to him.

"he-hey man, tomorrow! you gotta come t'morrow! don't ca— oh damn," he stumbles, barely saving himself from the fall by grabbing onto the door knob, "care if yer stomach hurts you goooootta come!"

you're quiet, march has to give you credit for it, but your pulse is quickening under his forearm, and it's doing something to him. he's getting uncomfortably hard, the bulge in his underwear precisely pressing against your body, the feeling of which is not helping him right now. march can feel your smile widen, the muscles on your cheeks shifting and he reflexively tightens his hold on you, saying this is not the moment. but you've never been one to listen.

with slow, barely there movements, you're lowering your hands under the covers and march has to try and move along with you to not put unnecessary attention to what's really going on in his bed.

"olric, leave me alone, i was just about to fall asleep." march grumbles, loud enough to cover up the sound of fabric being dragged along the sheets. you've successfully taken off the clothes that he gave you earlier. oh he's done for. rock hard and in a pickle, trying to be loud enough for his brother to not hear, but not loud enough to draw attention to his movements. "we'll talk tomorrow, just… let me sleep." his arm flexes against your neck, bicep twitching on your cheek to try and warn you, but you don't stop. instead, you're already shifting, hand reaching behind you to brush against his aching bulge, and he's doing all he can — which is really nothing — to stop himself from bucking into your touch.

he recalls the feeling of your pliant body as he was grinding his hips against you, your hands tugging on his hair, your moans… he needs it all again, but this time he's not sure he could be satisfied with just that. it's a slippery slope, having you here freshly undressed and looking for trouble, because you're already reaching into his underwear, wrapping that cold hand around his cock. his brother is apologising to the door for bumping into it again, but march can't even roll his eyes at it because fuck you feel so good, slowly stroking him so good he's instinctively pressing closer against you in search for more of your warmth. you're so soft, his cock is flush against your ass now and it takes him more self-control than he has available to stop himself groaning against the back of your head.

"you said sumthin?" olric murmurs, finally having finished his conversation with the door.

"no!" march exclaims, too loud, too panicked, "just go…" he can't take it anymore, not with your gentle hand guiding him, your legs parting slightly, your… your damn wet pussy just perfect as he nudges it with his tip when you release his cock. march is so gone, head swimming with desire, with the wish to feel you but also punish you for being such a temptation for him. for making him act like a fool, for making him scramble to make up a believable lie to his brother, for making him panic and try to hold you as close to his body as possible to not get found out, for enjoying his arm around your neck holding you in place.

his reward for holding out this long is just a touch away now, and all march has to do is to angle his hips a little, trying to be inconspicuous and not make a damn noise. it's proving to be more difficult than anticipated, especially when he feels your breath hitch, a dainty little huff against his forearm that he reflexively tightens and groans to cover up the sound of your moan.

"'m gonna go t' bed now," olric announces, to which march can't help but sigh in relief, "but… one more thing…"

march can't do it anymore, he nudges your soft folds apart, olric be damned, and now he finds himself in the warmest, softest dream he's ever had. his arm is tight around your neck, a warning not to be loud, and your hand rests on his forearm, as if grounding you while his cock sinks into you, pushing into your slippery, squishy cunt.

"… i know yer all sulky today because of the farmer not comin' by. 's a little obvious…" olric continues, and march can hardly take in half of his words as he's struggling to stay afloat while your pussy squeezes him as you adjust. "give 'er a break, march… she's doin' her best, so… maybe be nicer to 'er, yeah?"

march breathes heavily against the back of your head, pressing you into his chest as he tries to get enough breath to speak.

"yea. fine." he squeezes through his teeth. "good night."

without another word, but with plenty of stumbling noise, olric closes the door to march's room and leaves you all alone again.

"be…" you start, straining against his forearm, "nicer to me, huh?"

march huffs. you've made it all but easy for him. tonight and all the times before, with your fleeting smiles and offhanded touches, with your gifts and your attention and your goddamn teasing. he moves his hips now, slightly pulling back before snapping them forward like he's been dying to do to you.

"you liked that, did ya?" he grunts into your hair, holding you in place as he takes you like he wants. "liked bein' a menace while my brother was here? liked makin' me work extra hard to be quiet?" his hips snap forward again, this time not giving a shit if you squeal or not… in fact, hoping you do. "or did you wanna get caught?"

the noise you're making has him roll his eyes as your warm walls squeeze around him, making his hips stutter while he's moving them, repeatedly thrusting into you. his anger is bubbling up, frustration growing thicker in the air as he fucks into you, harder, harder, snapping quick punishing thrusts into your cunt like it doesn't matter that his heart is racing. because you will be the end of him with how well you take him. the pulses of your squelching cunt — and now he doesn't give a damn that you're noisy — the tiny little whimpers as your nails dig into his forearm, everything about you screams to him that you're right where you want to be, fucked out of your mischievous mind on his bed.

now, when the danger is gone, when the door to his room is shut, when the creaking of the bed is only between the two of you, he grunts and curses against your ear, baring his teeth as the tip of his cock hits a beautiful spot in you, the spot that has you whimpering into the darkness.

march really has no idea what he's doing. all that his mind and body are agreeing upon is that he simply has to keep fucking you as long as you're making those sounds and clenching around his shaft like that. and for now, that's all he needs to keep him thrusting. the symphony of your choked little breaths and stuttered curses keeps his rhythm steady, keeps his mission clear even when his brain is chock-full of static, the electricity sparking in the code of your name.

it's infuriating, the power you have over him, how he wants to have you even when you're doing your best to bring him down to his knees like he was mere hours ago when he wrapped your leg in bandages, to make him flustered like every time you say hi in that stupid giggly tone that leaves him stunned for a full minute.

a harder thrust, a higher pitched whine. he's enjoying turning the tables on you, now you're the one who can't even form a word that doesn't sound like his name, you're the one blushing and begging and tightening with every pointed thrust of his thick cock into your spongy walls, like you're trying to keep him there forever. oh how it feels to have the higher ground now, he grazes the shell of your ear with his teeth, just as he feels the pressure in his abdomen get impossible to handle without breaking into pieces. he won't choke you any tighter, though you sound like you're exactly where you're supposed to be — on the precipice of pleasure with him stuffed inside you.

"f-fuck march i'm gonna—" the sweetness of your moan mixed with the filthy slapping sound of his hips on your flesh makes for a concoction that march will never be able to get out of his head.

he shakes out of a haze at your words, gritting his teeth against the side of your head. "yeah? fuck… you're that filthy are you? getting off to me puttin' you in a headlock?" he struggles to taunt you any more, being so damn close himself. he's losing the thread, all the words he wants to say just turn into a long string of fuck please please need you in his mouth. your soft hand leaves its place on his forearm, reaching down between your legs to rub little circles on your swollen clit, something he heard felt good from juniper's countless tipsy lectures at the inn. seems like something actually stuck in march's head, because he's feeling the effects of your movements in the fast fluttering of your perfect pussy around him.

march is so close to tumbling over the edge with you when your entire body shudders and he feels his cock get coated in slick, warm release, fucking you through it all. you're moaning more softly now, all satisfied as you pulse for him, curses slipping from your lips like praises. he groans one last time as you squeeze around him and pulls out reluctantly, keeping his cock between your warm thighs as he thrusts between them, whispering nonsensical babbles and finally… finally letting go. orgasm wrecks him like a carriage, knocking him sideways as you squeeze your thighs together and his tip spills pearlescent white cum between them. he fucks your thighs all through it, stuttering in his rhythm as he feels more and more weightless, loosening his arm around your neck.

everything goes quiet.

save for your heartbeats.

there's no other sound that echoes in march's head, no other distraction from the feeling of your soft, sweat-slicked skin against his. he flexes his hand, until then tightly balled into a fist, and glides it down your torso, almost as if making sure you're really there and it hasn't been a sick trick of his imagination. your breathing gets a little deeper once your neck is free of the pressure of his forearm, and it takes only a few moments for your hand to reach his, resting atop his rough palm. it's no longer cold like it was when you reached for him to come closer, now it feels like comfort.

march is not thinking clearly. he presses his lips against your bare shoulder, instinctively trailing kisses up to your neck like he knows on some level it would beat with the rhythm of your heart and he would be able to tell that you don't regret this. he needs to know you don't regret this.

"march…" you begin, and he freezes. "not to be a pain, but… i don't wanna lie in a puddle of your cum."

he blinks the haze away, then blinks again, registering what you said. "my…"

"march—" you snicker, body shaking against his chest while his hand rests on the top of your thigh, gently squeezing, not even realising he's doing it. damn, the way you say his name in the bliss of pleasure does damage to his heart, stabbing it with arrows adorned with feathers of your voice, devastating him to the point he wants to make you cum again, and again, if anything just to hear that noise again.

"right… sorry." he pulls back, gasping as his softened cock slips from between your thighs, slick with your release. "but i'm not doing that now."

he can tell you're about to protest, but before you get the chance he grips you tighter and flips you over his body to the other side of the bed where you land unceremoniously, holding onto his forearms. once you're settled again, he pulls you into his chest, warm like you never left. like an overgrown cat, reluctantly accepting affection, he glides his other hand up and down your side, in what seems almost unconscious movements. it feels nice under his fingertips, though, the softness of your skin so different from the tools he is used to.

"gross." you wrinkle your nose and he really can't care less about the puddle currently drying on the other side of the bed.

"you're gross." he murmurs through what can maybe even be classed as a smile. a sweet, soft little curve of his lips as he buries his face into the back of your head. at least until the morning.

march doesn't think about what will come after. not about the explanation for why he's keeping olric staring at something on his desk while you take the chance to sneak out of the house, not about the annoying wash he will need to do to clean the sheets, not even about how the hell he will be able to function around you knowing about what you did tonight. instead, he thinks about tonight, not about tomorrow. all of that will happen at some later point, after he's done taking this moment and finally understand that he is special. at least a little bit. at least to you.

The thought of telling you hurts. He can imagine the questions you'd ask him, the look of disappointment on your face, the betrayal you might feel by it. He's hates the thought of turning his back on you like that. Months ago, he had promised you that you would be helping Mistria get on its feet again together. All your work has been intertwined since that day. Every morning when Balor comes to check on your shipping bin before the sun has even risen solidifies that. It's a truth he can't ignore. He works better by your side.

It's the first time he's ever had a partnership quite like this, and he fears it will be the last time, too. Moving away from Mistria for better pay means leaving you behind. There's no world in which he can have both. And now, he has to make the choice. A glamorous life working far, far away from Mistria, or staying in the one place he's started to feel is home.

The decision is tearing him apart piece by piece, and he's never once felt this fragile or indecisive. Months, even weeks ago, he would have packed his bags overnight and left before morning, chasing opportunities as fast as the wind. He's always been selfish, self-preserving, self-obsessed, and any other vain word one could describe him as. Balor has heard them all, and every time has been unable to defend it. It's the truth, after all. There is nothing that drives him quite as much as tesserae in his pocket. Over time, he's tried to embrace it, living year after year as a vagabond.

He's never shown anyone how lonely it can get. No one ever seemed to care. No one, except you.

He's never given his deepest wants any time to consider. He's always been stubborn like that, convinced that this way of life is the only one that suits him. He doesn't deserve stability or a place to settle down. He doesn't need a home—things like that just aren't compatible for him. And who would even want to make a home with him? Who would even give him the chance?

You.

It's always been you, day after day, month after month. Every time you show up at his stall, every morning you eat breakfast with him at the inn, every night you stay up talking in his room at The Sleeping Dragon, spilling your wants and fears and aspirations. You are the first person who has ever made Balor feel a little less alone—that is why he feels so torn at the thought of leaving you. No one has ever cared if he stayed or not, no one bothered to make a strong connection. Only you.

Balor knows as much as he wants to hide this secret from you, word spreads fast in this town. The second he spilled it to Hemlock at breakfast, he knew it was only a matter of time until you got the news.

The knock on his door is desperate and rushed. He doesn't even have time to answer it before you let yourself in, breathless and determined. Balor expected this. There was no way you would let him go without a fight, and that thought makes his heart feel both guilty and loved at the same time.

"You must be out of your damn mind, Balor," you rasp, staring daggers at him. He stands, pushing his hair back in an attempt to get his thoughts together. How is he supposed to say it to your face? How is he supposed to say goodbye to the person who made him feel the most alive?

"Business calls," he mutters, feeling smaller than ever. Where has his shameless pride gone? Why does he feel so shitty about the whole situation? He should be overjoyed. "I answer. You know me… this is what I do."

"So you're leaving just like that?"

"I already overstayed my welcome. Mistria doesn't need me anymore—" Balor tries to argue. It feels weak and useless. He's dancing around the elephant in the room, too scared to address it. You do it for him.

"I need you, Balor. We're supposed to be in this together, a-and now you want to throw it all away for what? A higher salary?" you stammer, your emotions raw on your face.

Balor feels worse than he thought he would. He's quiet, studying you as if you have the answers. The pain in your eyes is clear as day. The crease of your eyebrows is a desperate plea for him to stay, and the way you gnaw at your lip anxiously a silent confession. The realization hits him like a stab to the heart. He can't leave the person he's fallen in love with.

EILAND

Eiland, despite how knowledgeable and observant he can be, is still as dense as the artifacts he discovers. Perhaps its a royal trait passed down on him, or maybe there's a missing connection between his brain and eyes, but he's missed all the signs thus far.

If you weren't so down bad for him you would have found it frustrating. Instead, it's somehow endearing. The entire town is seated for the entertainment of it all—when will Mistria's beloved lord Eiland realize his own feelings?

Juniper has offered to make you a love potion for him to speed up the process. Reina has planned nearly a dozen dinner dates for you, all of which have been perceived as merely platonic by your dear prince. Holt has given you insights to a man's perspective on it, but even he agrees that Eiland is a rare and almost hopeless case. How could someone be so blind to your pursuits?

You're not even sure how much more you can take before you shut up his excited rambling about Aldarian history with your lips. But still, you force yourself to be patient. One of these days, he has to realize your feelings for him, right?

Today is not unlike any other day spent with Eiland. You've made a fresh strawberry cake—sweet whipped cream and juicy berries filling the layers of soft sponge. It's always been Eiland's favourite. You think his excitement every time a dessert is involved is adorable, and you always find yourself feeding his sweet tooth more and more.

Eiland had sent a letter to you this morning about deciphering an ancient scroll he had come across. You make a good team together, uncovering more about Mistria's past than ever before. Eiland gets delighted whenever you find so much as a speck of new information.

Today's work has stumped Eiland. The words you're picking out from the ancient text seems to all be flowery poetry and figuring out what the meaning behind it is proves difficult. The information you have so far is limited. You know the letter is from an old Aldarian king, but neither you or Eiland can figure out who it's addressed to or why the letter was sent.

"Pass over the cake, I'm having no luck with this," Eiland says in defeat. You slide a piece over—already his second—and scoop some up with your spoon. Holding it up to his mouth and prompting him with an 'ah', Eiland doesn't even question it. He opens his mouth and lets you feed him, a satisfied hum following as he closes his eyes to savour the sweet taste. From the corner of the room, you see Elsie winking at you. You smile back knowing exactly what the scene looks like.

There's nothing that says best friends about it. Eiland's desk is a mess of papers and pens, always enough stationary for both of you, always set up for two. His chair is pulled up right next to yours; too close to not suggest something different. And then there's the way he relaxes next to you every time, as if your mere presence reminds him to relax the tension in his shoulders and let his neck have a rest from hunching over his desk all day.

To the outside eye, it couldn't be more clear. But Eiland still lives oblivious day by day.

Your eyes draw back to the scroll laying on the desk, shifting back and forth between the text and feeding Eiland spoonfuls of cake. You notice one of the words at the top of the letter, almost entirely worn away but just barely legible. Juniper had talked about ways ancient Mistrians' referred to their lovers while trying to help you with Eiland. You recognize the word to mean dearest lover.

You straighten in surprise, losing hold of the spoon in the process in a way that causes some cream smear to the side of Eiland's lips. He opens his eyes again in response to your startle, noticing the spark in your eyes as you piece it all together.

"It's a love letter, Eiland! The king was writing to his dearest lover—look here," you exclaim, pointing to the top of the scroll again. Eiland leans down in excitement, gasping at the detail he had somehow missed.

You get lost in the way his lips turn up in a smile and earrings sway. The shimmer in his purple eyes drawing you closer and the bit of whipped cream on his lip tempting you further. You reach out to wipe it away. Eiland's breath catches in his chest. You're suddenly very close, perhaps too close. He tries to distract himself.

"So the ancient nobles used poetry to win over their lovers… How… romantic…" he whispers, eyes drawn back to yours. His cheeks are dusted with blush all over.

"What about modern day nobles?" you ask quietly, drawing yourself ever closer to Eiland. He takes a breath, considering it carefully.

"I think… they tend to be a bit bolder nowadays."

Your heart soars when you hear that, knowing you've finally got him. When you lean in, his lips are sweeter than you could have imagined. Perhaps its the lingering taste of the strawberry cake, but you have a feeling that Eiland always tastes like this. Whichever it is, you'll have many more months to find out, because when Eiland pulls away, flushed a bright red in shyness, he looks at you with only one emotion in his eyes: love.

HAYDEN

The scene is perfectly domestic in a way that makes Hayden almost shiver. The sun is just starting to peek through the windows of his cottage casting golden beams on the counter-top of the kitchen and the couch where you sit. Henrietta is in your arms, happier than he's ever seen her, and something feels unmistakably right about it all.

You had stopped by his farm early this morning, still sleepy and hair clearly not brushed yet, asking if you could have breakfast with him. Who was he to say no to that adorable sight?

Ever since the news of a new farmer moving into town reached Hayden, he's been curious about you. You became good friends within a few weeks, but something started to shift lately. Over the past six months, you've started putting extra effort into ranching on your own farm, and your passion for it is undeniable. Hayden has always loved like-minded people, those who understand his love for animals and how precious they are. Someone who also wants to spend their life caring for them. Seeing you like that made something in his heart shift. You're kind, patient, perseverant… you fit all of Hayden's standards almost too well.

Love is a tricky subject for Hayden to tackle. He's always felt content in his independent life, alone with his animals for company. It's never felt lonely. There was never anything "missing". He's seen Josephine and Hemlock, Nora and Holt be perfect lovebirds, running the town through the strength of their strong marriages. Hayden has watched their families grow and the town become more lively because of it.

But he loves the quiet life, the routines, the farm-work. He loves Mistria with all his heart, even if the town was far too small for the chance of meeting new people. Everyone knew that newcomers arriving to Mistria was rare. The small community was part of its charm. Growth was a hard thing to achieve.

But when you arrived after the earthquake, determination in your eyes, and a goal that everyone could see, you started to shake Hayden's small world. Every improvement you made to the town: helping with repairs, boosting sales, growing more food locally—made impacts bigger than anyone else ever had before. For the first time, the small town of Mistria started to grow bigger than it ever had.

Hayden has always admired your work ethic. You never seem to tire, and are always up for a new challenge. You learn quickly, are amicable with everyone, and generous beyond nature. But he also adores the faults he's seen in you too. How short-tempered you can be when you reach a stumbling block, your mutters under your breath trying to keep up with all your tasks, and your panic whenever you arrive back home so late your animals have fallen asleep outside. You're not perfect, but you always keep moving forward, and Hayden couldn't ask for anything more in a person.

These thoughts surrounding you swirl in his head as he cracks a few eggs into a sizzling frying pan. They're still warm, freshly laid this morning. Next comes beautifully browned pieces of toast, slathered with butter he had mixed up just two days ago from a fresh batch of cream. Hayden takes pride in his animals and their produce. Happy, healthy animals means fresh, nourishing food.

He sets down the plates on the table and you shoot your head up at the smell. Henrietta squawks, hopping off your lap, allowing you to rise and join Hayden at the breakfast table.

"Looks delicious, Hayden! Thank you, this'll wake me right up," you say, rubbing away the last bits of sleep from your eyes and smiling at him. Hayden's breath catches, strong hands gripping the back of his chair. He waits for you to take a seat before settling down too, eyes never able to leave you.

Maybe it's something about the angelic quiet of the morning, or the soft glow of the sun streaming on your face. Hayden can't help but imagine spending every morning just like this, making you breakfast, talking about the plans for the day. A gentle companionship, something that wouldn't take away from the life he's already built. When Hayden thinks about it, he realizes how perfectly you already fit into it. The way you greet his animals on your way inside. The way Henrietta bawks excitedly at your arrival every time. The way his lips can't help but burst into a breathless smile when he sees you.

Maybe—Hayden thinks—this is what love feels like.

MARCH

Your daily routine confuses March. You spend all day running around, completing different errands. Some days you're planting a new field of seeds. Others, you're delivering something for Adeline. And at least three times a week you're at the mines, digging deeper for fresh ore and gemstones. Your schedule has been busy since the first day you arrived, and March cannot imagine having so much energy and excitement for everything. It makes him exhausted just seeing it.

But what keeps him pondering is how you always take time out of your day to talk to him. Usually you have some ore to give him as well. In the beginning, he tried to refuse it, feeling as though accepting it would hurt his pride in some way. After months, he's learned how determined you are. There's no refusing you anything. You'll always find your way to do what you want, and that includes giving him freshly harvested minerals daily.

Your streak is almost impressive… not like March has been keeping track or anything. You're nearing almost six whole months straight without missing a single day. You're always stopping by first thing in the morning or late at night before heading home—not like he's paid close attention to that—so when the clock strikes 1AM and March still hasn't seen you all day, he starts to wonder what's keeping you. You've never been this late before.

March can't sleep. He tosses and turns in his bed; his pillow feels too warm despite it being a chilly Autumn night, and his blankets scratch and irritate his skin. Why didn't he see you today? Have you finally decided to stop pursuing him so stubbornly? Has he finally gotten rid of you for good? No more interrupted work at the forge? No more bracing himself when he sees you across town and knowing you'll start sprinting towards him any second?

If that's the case, then he should be happy. He's wanted that since the first day you arrived and started bothering him like it was your only daily mission. But… he's not happy at the thought. In fact, he feels the opposite. His chest tightens and his mind is cloudy when he thinks of his day ending without seeing you, without talking to you.

At first, your daily conversations were something he tried to end as fast as possible. But now he's gotten used to them, and perhaps even… looks forward to them. But no, he shouldn't care. If you decide to stop whatever routine you've crafted for the past six months, March won't even bat an eye. His life was fine before you came into it. He can easily go back to pretending like you don't exist.

But he still can't sleep, and the thought still continues to bother him throughout the night.

At 5AM, he gives up trying to sleep. A hot shower and fresh clothes does enough to hide his eye bags, and although he's tired, he has enough energy to start on a new order for tools at the forge. It's a bit early to start business, but it beats staring at the ceiling while you race in his mind. He's starting to get annoyed by how you refuse to leave his head. You decided to not stop by to see him, yet you won't let him stop thinking about you for even a second? Unfair.

He's able to ignore the pit in his stomach for a few hours as he works, getting half the order finished by lunch time. There's still been no sign of you. Just as he's accepting that his suspicions are confirmed—you really have decided to give up your daily visits—he squints over at the fountain. There you are.

He averts his eyes immediately. He can't look too excited to see you again, or you'll never let live it down. But still, he sets down his tools and wipes his hands on his apron, preparing for the impending conversation.

"Morning, March!" you say, cheery as ever.

"It's afternoon," he points out, stuffing his hands in his pockets and turning towards you. Damn, you look prettier than usual.

"You're right—guess I'm a bit late," you shrug, opening up your bag and sifting through it.

"Where were you yesterday? You didn't stop by," March asks, trying to sound as uninterested as possible, even as his heart races to know the reason. If you've stopped by like usual, then surely his original thought must be wrong. You still like seeing him every day… right?

"Ah, I was at the mines!" you explain, biting back a smile. "I lost track of time, though. By the time I got out, I was about to pass out. Plus, I'm sure you were already asleep. It was way past 1AM." He was definitely still awake at 1. He would've opened the door for you. "And look what I found while I was down there!"

You pull out a shiny piece of metal from your bag and plop it into March's hands. He holds it up, studying it. The most perfect gold ore he has ever seen. It's too rare to be turned into a regular bar—heck, it should probably get displayed somewhere. He's never seen a piece of metal so flawless.

"For you!" you grin, eagerly awaiting a response. March just gulps, hoping his red ears don't give him away completely.

God, what have you done to him?

RYIS

When Ryis first started taking orders over from his uncle, he often found it overwhelming doing everything by himself. He's good at his craft, and enjoys it fully, but the demand could easily overload his own ability to keep supplying. But, ever since you've started taking on more jobs with him, he's felt that burden lessen. You're not just a great farmer, but an excellent carpenter, too. Ryis has always found himself drawn to passionate people. Perhaps your talent is what keeps him so invested in you. Hours a week spent in your company still isn't enough for what he craves.

You've been quite productive this morning, stopping by the shop early and getting straight to work on a new set of bookshelves for a library commission. The birds singing has been your background noise, and you flow together with Ryis so naturally anyone would think you've been working together for years. In truth, it's only been a few weeks.

"You know, you're quite like a bird yourself," you say offhandedly, catching Ryis' attention from the other side of the porch. He's at his workbench, biting at his pencil (a habit he can't seem to quit) while thinking of what type of wood would hold up the best for the main bookshelf. It'll have to hold a lot of weight, and given the ornaments and embellishments the commissioner wants, he'll need to pick a wood both sturdy and easy to carve. Mahogany is probably his best bet, although it'll be expensive to supply. You're sorting through some of Landen's old toolboxes, searching for broken pieces and signs of wear.

"How so?" Ryis prompts, turning a fresh piece of paper over to sketch a new print idea.

"You and all your sisters growing up together in your parent's bakery—your "nest", so to speak. But you couldn't stay forever. Birds have to learn to fly on their own eventually. I think it's brave of you to be the first one to take that step. You took a leap of faith, and now look at you? You're soaring," you grin.

Ryis flushes a little. You spell out the thought that he's has had for a long time so clearly. Like you extracted the exact ideas he's had in his head and put them into words. His fascination with birds has always come from a feeling of solidarity. But it's also mixed with admiration (he's sure that anyone could tell that much).

He envies their innate ability to survive and adjust. Birds, upon close observation, have distinct patterns and behaviours. They always seem to know exactly what to do during each stage of life. Migrating south, returning to certain forests for mating, or even the best spots to find food for their young. The many guidebooks he owns on them gives him all the secrets he needs to appreciate all the native species. Their similarities and their differences. He finds a piece of himself in all of them.

Ryis wishes there were a similar guidebook to tell him what he should be doing with his life. You tell him that he's soaring, but most day's he isn't too sure. He misses home; his parents, his sisters, the bakery. At the same time, he's doing his best to make a new home for himself here. He loves living with his uncle and taking over the carpentry business. It feels fulfilling enough. But he feels lonely sometimes too.

"You seem quiet. Thinking?" you inquire, walking over to his bench and pulling up a stool.

"You know, I've always felt a little conflicted. Most days, I feel so glad I took the risk and moved here. I love how closely-knit the town feels. I love seeing how much I can help out. I love having nature in my backyard and waking up to the sound of birds chirping," he smiles. You can't fully decipher the mix of emotions behind his eyes.

"But I also miss the Capital. My family was always busy with business. Even with me and all my sisters, we somehow always felt short-staffed at the bakery. It was always loud… chaotic at times, too. But it felt like home, you know? And, I miss it…"

You pass him a sympathetic smile. "Homesick?"

He nods, biting on his pencil again. Melancholy is an emotion you don't like on Ryis. For someone who shines so brightly in your eyes, he looks deflated. But even in his down-turned state, he's still beautiful. You trace your eyes over his chocolate skin, strong calloused hands that suggest the years he's put into his craft, his deep brown eyes that have stared at you with both wonder and excitement.

Ryis glances back at you, granting a smile that tell you not to worry. He doesn't have to say it out loud for you to know. You make Mistria feel more and more like home every day. With every look and every conversation. Every project you complete together, and each hour you spend birdwatching with him. It's all been adding up faster than Ryis can keep up, but he doesn't need a guidebook to know that he's fallen so in love with you.

© mistria-chronicles ── do not repost translate or copy

Right away, he tried to self-reflect, just in case he had done something to contribute to this outcome. “Have I done something to upset you?” he blurted out at once, his voice unsteady. His mouth hung half open as he wished to ask you so much more, but had to refrain to pace himself.

You shook your head. “No, Cal, you’re fine,” you started, ready to explain your reasoning, but by that point, he was already fretting.

“Then why do you wish to go on a break for something we both actively enjoy?” he asked, tears rising to his eyes. “Have I not been satisfying you properly?” he asked again, without giving you time to consider the first question. “I know I have said that being in this new form is strange to me, but I have been doing my best to—” he stopped himself, coming to stare at you with wide, startled eyes. “If you’re not happy, then please, let me try and do better—”

At last, you were able to catch him, rendering him silent for just a moment. “Cal, breathe. It isn’t that,” you assured him with a patient, grounding tone. Your hands reached out to take his into your own, keeping him from trembling. “I’m only suggesting that so you can get more settled in your form. Maybe sex has just been… too distracting lately, when you should be focusing on other things?”

“D-distracting?” he echoed, tilting his head to the side. His long, teal locks fell like silk, catching on his robes. “How could something so pleasant be distracting?”

You brought his hands to his chest, trying to explain it the best that you could. “Because you’re still learning how to even live in this form, aren’t you? Maybe you should be reading more—which you’re already doing, mind you,” you added with a light teasing tone that didn’t quite land on him. “Maybe if you didn’t have to think about intimacy for a while, you would be happier?”

His brows knitted in genuine confusion as he tried to process your words, his tail coming to nervously swish around against the tiled floor. A shaky breath left him as he tried to form a response, initially failing to do so. When he tried once again, he was slightly more successful in maintaining his voice, even if it sounded as nervous as before.

“I don’t understand why you should propose something like that at all, is what I’m lost on,” he said, trying to keep himself steady before continuing. “A good part of living has been the ability to explore everything,” he said, dropping his hands from yours, coming to cup his palms around your face instead, his touch searing hot, “and a significant part of that means exploring you—especially you,” he added before taking a deep breath. “Yes, I will admit that I am greatly enjoying catching up on the history of an era long gone, but it would be a waste if I couldn’t experience you alongside those things, of which I get to learn of your pleasure—and mine,” he added, his face darkening as a certain sort of heat spread across his features. “I apologise for how messy I have been as of late, but do not wish that for a second at all that I desire to be parted from you.”

You considered his words, already feeling silly about suggesting a break at all. “Alright, Cal, I’ll not propose something like that again, but… you’ll have to meet me halfway also, here. I know you’re new to a physical form, but can you… initiate more?”

Caldarus caught your implication right away, dropping his hands from yours at once as he reached to pull you close to him. One hand came to rest on the back of your head, crushing you against his chest, while the other settled over the middle of your back. He hushed you softly, petting you with soothing motions.

“I always, um, wish to,” he admitted quietly, his face looking guilty as he forced himself to confront these thoughts and feelings. “Always,” he added, but then immediately ceased just as his hands found your hips, as if embarrassed. “I am new to this,” he admitted after. “It will take me a while before I can… request so openly,” he added, his golden eyes, however, sharpening as they settled on yours. “Unless you show me—tell me—exactly how you wish to be desired?”

At his plea, you tiptoed up to meet with his lips, pressing a kiss to his mouth, walking him back a few steps until he met with the cool press of the wall, nearly tripping over his tail in the process. Without thinking much, he reciprocated the gesture, kissing you back as if it were a secondary instinct.

“I want you to try being more assertive,” you suggested, pulling back just a little, coming to meet with his flushed face.

“A-assertive?” he repeated, blinking down at you as if he were unsure all of a sudden. “I-I can try,” he quickly said, accepting the challenge.

Within a matter of seconds, he tried to hoist you up, pulling you to meet with his impressive height head-on, encouraging you to find stability by wrapping your legs tight around his waist and to secure your arms around his neck. He kissed you again, his head tilting to find your lips. “Like this?” he asked, seeking your validation.

“Yes,” you nodded along. “But you’ll have to assume that I like everything you do, so no asking questions.”

A heavy gulp passed down his throat as a look of visible nervousness broke out on his face, nodding quickly. Without prompting you any further, he walked you back towards his bed, gently pushing you down against the mattress, coming to hover over you with his clear hardness pushing against you. His skin was scalding by now, searing into your skin through your clothes as he loomed over you. The heat that spread from his body was almost too much, and his eyes burned with want.

“I desire you so utterly,” he admitted at once. “I wish to show you just how much.”

A warm bloom of something hot and anticipatory anchored in your gut. You watched with bated breath as he moved down you, your body half draped over the bed, and your back sprawled out over the mattress. When he met with your lower end, he paused to take off your clothes, coming to stare at your bare form a second later.

“Exploring your body has been… heavenly,” he stopped to admit, his hands slowly parting your legs. “I wish to show you my appreciation.”

Before you could respond, his mouth was already sealed tight between your legs, his tongue tracing along the sensitive skin. Your back arched on reflex, your chest rising outwards with your fingers clawing at the sheets, almost tearing them in the process. His mouth felt so eager, so willing, as he worked on you.

“You taste incredible,” he praised, his voice low and gravelly, his face buried in the apex of you. “I wish to explore you like this—taste you like this—all of the time.”

“C-Cal—” you gasped out, your hand shooting down to grab his hair, instead stabilising yourself as you settled on one of his horns. At your touch, he pushed himself even further in, his motions becoming almost violent in their intensity, eager to have you become putty in his hands.

For if you wished for assertiveness, he would give it to you—he would have you surrender at his mercy and then take care of the mess he had created, melting under what he was responsible for making you feel. He loved how your body responded—how human you were, and to be denied this pleasure all because of misguided consideration—would have ended him entirely. He did not want that. No, goodness, no. He wanted to show you just how important it was to him—how important you were at all.

The intensity of his attention deepened, and by now you were building up to something you could no longer hold back on. Your legs quivered with anticipated release; a warm tingle rising from your coiling gut, the rising pressure gripping your insides. Your hips bucked slightly forward, filling him even further with the taste of you. Your legs were close to giving out entirely, flooding him with your much-anticipated release not even a minute later.

You panted heavily as you felt yourself come, your breath still hot, your vision a blur of stars and whatever else. When you looked back down at him, a new expression settled on his features. Pride, maybe?

“That was incredible, Cal,” you admitted. “How silly of me to even suggest a thing…”

He smiled at you then, wiping your residue off his chin. “All forgiven,” he said softly. “But please, don’t think such things again.”

~~~

March: 2 days

March had a bit of a problem in bed lately, in which he was perhaps trying to prove something to you that you didn’t see the point in. For whatever reason, he kept on trying to last as long as possible, to the point where neither of you would come. It almost felt like an attack on your self-esteem after a while, because he would keep on going until he reached physical exhaustion, unable to finish, leaving both him and you blooming with mutual frustration.

When he proposed, earlier on, another night that you were certain would lead nowhere, you turned your nose at him in an instant.

“Nuh-uh,” you pouted, turning away from him in bed, rolling off to your side, leaving him looking visibly stunned. “It’s just gonna last forever, and then we’ll both be sweaty and frustrated.”

March blinked at your back as you mumbled under your breath, his brows creasing in frustration.

“Now, just what the hell are you talking about?” he asked. “It’s all about the feeling anyway, isn’t it?”

You huffed under the blankets, pulling them over your head to block him out. Maybe you were being immature, but you were also tired from being neglected, the release you were craving so badly.

“Yeah, I like the feeling, but I like the build up too, March,” you blurted out at once, all of your pent-up feelings spilling into the open, “because it means we get to cum, which we haven’t been doing—”

He blinked at your outburst, suddenly lost for words.

“So, I propose that we have a little break until you last less in bed,” you suggested, suddenly feeling silly over how odd it sounded.

A breathless scoff left his lips. “As in a break from sex?” he asked.

You hummed agreeably, turning around and letting the covers fall, coming to face him once more. You could see him look visibly frustrated under that mess of red hair, glaring at you with disbelief. His jaw was pressed tight as he bit his tongue, fighting to keep his composure in check.

“You do know that I only try to go for so long because I think you like it, right?” he asked you, sounding a touch defensive. “You’ve never told me you dislike it, so you’re putting a ban on sex, why, exactly? Don’t you think you’re being unfair?”

At this point, though, you were so far deep into it that you had no choice but to stand your ground. “Yeah, and I’m giving you a break from having to try that hard,” you replied. “Give you a little chance to barely last a second in me.”

March could only stare at you as you gave him the strangest ultimatum he had ever heard before, sagging his shoulders, dropping into bed.

“Well, alright,” he muttered after, not sounding too pleased, but not willing to entertain the matter further. “A week, then. Whatever.”

However, long after you had woken up, and long after even a day—let alone two—had passed, March was already losing it. Somehow, that entire outburst of a conversation felt like an attack on him personally, and you were criticising a vital part of him. Yes, he was going for a longer time because of the noises you were making, but he didn’t do so with the intention of prolonging his release, let alone putting it off at all. He straight up just didn’t know you didn’t like it.

By the end of the second day, therefore, with visible frustration written on his face, he confronted you as soon as you were both off from work.

“So, you want me to fold for you then, huh?” he asked you as soon as he saw you getting ready to head in, his voice loud and assertive.

You blinked and looked around, just in case anyone else was nearby. Thankfully, it was just you two.

“March?” you replied.

“You want me to barely last when I’m in you, is that it?” he asked you again, unable to help but tease you a little. The distance between you both quickly closed as he walked right up to you. His voice lowered when he was right in front of you. “You want it that bad, huh?”

A scoff of a laugh tore from your lips. “It hasn’t even been a week yet.”

“Yeah, it hasn’t,” he replied, mirroring your scoff. “If you really want me to fuck you stupid, though, I’ll be glad to,” he promised, his hands coming to settle on your waist, pulling you close to him.

You blinked at him, laughing breathlessly. Your eyes were now a little too fixated on the rest of him as you spotted a look of genuine yearning fixed in his gaze and the way his arms were so tightly bound with tension that his veins pulsed beneath his skin. He was a little grimy, too, his flesh slick with sweat and peppered with grit after standing behind the furnace all day long.

“March, I—” you uttered, your words suddenly lost.

“You want it just as bad, huh?” he challenged, his voice softer now.

“If you remember our talk, then yes—”

He interrupted you quickly. “I’m going to be so intense, he quickly promised, his voice barely above a whisper. “Both of us will barely last.”

Then, after a pause.

“That sound good to you?” he questioned.

A choke of a gasp left your lips, shuddering from the way his hot breath rolled against your skin as he spoke. “Y-yes,” you obliged, already determined to scrap that silly notion of a plan, ready to dive into his promise.

March smiled widely, then leaned in closer, whispering into your ear, “So, how do you want it?” he asked, pulling back to look into your eyes, before proceeding anyway, the answer finding him a second later. “Or, no, wait. How about I get you on your hands and knees and see how far deep I can go before I can’t take it anymore?” he offered, promising you something that was built from pure sensation.

“Yes, please,” you found yourself blurting out.

March let out a soft breath, walking you back into your shared house, letting you both inside as he guided you through the interior. He turned you over at once, positioning you so that you landed on your hands and knees, wasting no time in helping you out of your workwear, already making quick work of his own. Just as swiftly, he pushed his bare form against the soft give of your ass, groping the mound roughly, making his interest abundantly clear. His cock throbbed against your entrance already, letting you feel the heat of his arousal pulse right at the edge. “Ready?”

You sounded out a soft hum of approval, your words already lost.

Letting out a breathless sigh, March guided himself into your entrance before slowly—almost agonisingly so—easing himself into your core, letting you adjust to the sensation of him, before beginning to move. He went slowly at first, just like you were initially used to, before his hands curled around your hips tighter to find purchase, and he started to snap forward in impactful lunges.

Your breath was pulled from your lungs as he continued to bury himself as far into your sex as he possibly could, finding that each time, the air felt stolen from you. This repeated motion began to loop as he focused on deep, heavy strokes rather than just speed alone, already starting to lose his composure from being so tightly buried within you. The friction was so delicious—the noises you uttered were so intoxicating—the build-up was already happening.

Though first, it was you who surrendered—something hot and tingling spreading through your lower stomach that had emerged in deep, sweeping pleasure—radiating hotness across your form. You cried out his name as he followed up second, lost in the sensation of his cock twitching from within, scalding ropes of built-up pressure finally spilling deep inside of you.

The force of his peak was so great that for a moment, when he pulled back, he went slack before steadying himself. You, on the other hand, were not so subtle, and your knees went weak over the bed, resulting in both of you stumbling over one another, becoming hopelessly entangled.

“A-again tomorrow?” you asked, drunk on the sensation.

A breathless laugh left his lips. “I’ll try,” he gasped, his voice all gravely and low, “maybe for this kind of intensity, breaks are actually needed.”

You laughed, too, supposing he might be right. “Yeah, maybe.”

~~~

Balor: 1 week

When you had first proposed a sex ban for Balor, likely after becoming a bit too tired of hearing his business ventures where they had no place to be repeated—such as the bedroom, right before you were about to have sex—he thought you must have been joking. He thought you were being a bit of a tease, maybe wanting him to grovel before giving him what he thought you both wanted, but then, he found out that you were being serious.

Even after he had dramatically begged for your forgiveness—at his knees, no less—asking for your mercy, you confessed that you were not joking at all. Your expression remained fixed and stern, and you revealed to him that you were at your limit.

At that, he finally, albeit reluctantly, obliged. If you were upset with him and wanted to have a break from intimacy, fine, he wouldn’t push you into anything you were uncomfortable with, but it left him feeling empty in the following week. For one, it was already impacting his life in a way he did not like: suddenly, everything seemed off—even his sales were not built up with such a spark anymore. When speaking to his friends about anything at all, he found himself all dry and closed up. All he cared about in the last five days was making things right with you.

Come Saturday—your usual date day—he was already hoping to amend his wrongdoings, keen to never repeat business talk in the bedroom again, by taking you out on a date and treating you to a nice, big meal, but you were nowhere to be found.

This, alone, already impacted him more than he wanted it to. On a personal scale, he was the one who was used to being the distant one in personal relationships, but this was something far more serious than anything casual. He wanted to have a life with you, so if you were genuinely upset, then he, too, was upset with himself. He did not want to run from this problem, finding that if he were to resolve whatever he had caused, he would have to confront you and fix this.

By the time he had come home, he was a mess as he dragged himself to bed—to you—his eyes glinting with apology as he fell to his knees at the edge of it, his hair dull, his gaze entirely fixed on you.

“Let me start by saying that… you are so important to me,” he began, the apology evident in his voice, his hand reaching out to take yours, kissing you by the knuckles. “You know that, right?”

You allowed him a small, sleepy nod. “I mean, I hope I am.”

“You are,” he insisted, his tone firmer that time. “I shouldn’t be talking about others when the focus should be us, I recognise that now,” he said, reflecting on his earlier actions, feeling regret surface. “All I want at the end of the day is you. Only you.”

“Balor, I understand… if maybe the sex ban was too much,” you began, already backtracking.

“No, you’re right,” he said, holding his ground. “It forced me to think back on what’s a real issue in our relationship. I have been acting too… selfish in our talks. It’s always been about me, my business or about vendor drama, and… that was stupid of me,” he admitted. “I want to amend all of this by making our time in the future about us—only us—no more business talk. What do you say?”

You nodded gently. “I’d like that a lot.”

Balor smiled, lifting himself only slightly so that he could crawl over the bed, coming to hover over you. He pressed his body down against yours, testing for your reaction, before anchoring himself downwards, planting a heavy, deep kiss over your lips. His breath was hot against your skin, his touch was light, explorative, as he felt all around you.

“Let me just focus on you,” he murmured.

At his touch and promise, you lifted your hips to allow his fingers to hook over your underwear, his fingers catching on the elastic. Slowly, then, he fumbled with his trousers, taking out his already erect cock before guiding himself to the entrance of your sex. Leaning back a little, he spat over the heat to coat his tip, before slowly pressing it against your opening, easing it inside with shallow thrusts until your heat enveloped him.

A soft groan of appreciation left his lips as he lurched forward, coming to rest both of his palms on either side of your body, bracing himself over the mattress. Your hips remained pointing upwards as you took him in, your legs spread wide, feeling him push and pull as he bucked into your core. Low, breathless moans were drawn from you with each impact from the sensation of him filling you so deeply.

Balor found himself quickly losing control as the pleasure rose, succumbing to the rising bliss from being buried within you, finding that a week away from you in that regard had already been too much. He leaned back at once, tugging your legs back, keeping your thighs apart as he started to rut into you with abandon. Rough grunts of aching need spilt from his lips as he pounded into your body, his movements quickly becoming an erratic mess as his end neared—of which happened so much quicker now that his focus was purely on you.

“Fuck,” he hissed out. “Almost—”

“Balor, oh god, please—”

At your plea, however, he found himself succumbing immediately, feeling something hot travel in a surge of release, spilling completely inside of you. He could feel his length pulsing, draining him completely of the anticipated release. His whole body was overcome with sweat—a slick sheen coating his forehead and chest before pulling out again—slowly—hissing again, but due to the loss of sensation that time, before collapsing right over you.

Your release was in time with his—squeezing out the pleasure at once—before your body too, collapsed over the bed, feeling his breath race to catch up as he recovered. You, too, heaved from the aftershocks.

“Don’t ever have me stay away from you for so long again,” he muttered sleepily, his nose buried into the crook of your neck, his words coming out as muffled. “And, let me take you out tomorrow,” he added hurriedly. “I didn’t get there earlier today.”

None of them expected him to be here.

Even March 7th had heard the stories. Whispered in half-truths from planets scarred by war or paranoia, about a man who’d once left entire systems reeling. Some called him the Blightmaker, others simply the General. The tales never agreed on his face, but they agreed on his cruelty—strategic, surgical, relentless.

The stories didn’t end with death. No. He simply… vanished. Faded like a shadow at dusk.

“Wait… you’re telling me he might be here?” March said, eyes wide as she reviewed the local data logs.

“Looks like it,” Dan Heng replied, his tone cautious. “Coordinates match the sector where he reportedly disappeared. We should proceed carefully.”

They expected an old fortress, maybe a crumbling ruin surrounded by mercenaries.

What they found instead was a farm.

Rolling hills. Sunlight heavy in the air. Rows of golden wheat swaying in a warm breeze. And him—standing alone in a field, sleeves rolled up, hands stained with soil and sap.

You.

You didn't reach for a weapon when they approached. You didn’t run, didn’t even flinch. You just looked at them like they were an unexpected storm on a summer day.

“Visitors?” you asked. Your voice was calm. Scratchy like gravel, like it hadn’t been used in years for anything more than talking to the wind.

Himeko was the first to speak. “You’re… you're the one they call—"

“No,” you cut her off gently. “I was. Now I’m just a farmer.”

March stared. “But you… you crushed an entire regime here, didn’t you? Stories say you broke their military in two days.”

You scratched your chin, then bent down to check on a row of herbs growing by the fence. “They were bleeding the planet dry. I did what needed doing.”

“Then vanished,” Welt added. “People assumed you’d crown yourself king.”

You looked up, amusement glinting in your tired eyes. “Why would I want that? Ruling sounds worse than fighting. Constant talking. Meetings. Expectations. No time for sunrises.”

They exchanged glances. Suspicion. Curiosity. Confusion.

“I don’t get it,” March finally said. “You were… a monster. That’s what the stories say.”

“I was angry,” you replied softly. “Anger makes monsters out of men. But I burned through it. Nothing left now but the smoke, and the silence it left behind.”

Dan Heng narrowed his eyes. “And the lives you took?”

You didn’t flinch. “I remember them all. That’s why I don’t leave this place. This land’s mine to tend now. I took from the universe. Now I try to give back. Quietly. Without anyone else bleeding for it.”

No defensiveness. No smugness. Just… stillness. A man so tired of the weight he once carried, he buried it under seed and soil.

You invited them in for tea.

They sat on wooden chairs you’d carved yourself. You poured from a chipped pot and offered biscuits made with local grain. Outside, the wind rustled the trees like applause for a show long ended.

None of them truly knew what to make of you. This was no grand villain, no hidden mastermind biding his time.

Just a man who had chosen to stop fighting.

Maybe that was the strangest part of all.

"fuck.. taste so good," he murmurs from his spot between your thighs, his tongue kitten licking across your slit as he gets a taste of your juices.

he has you spread open on his bed while he has the house to himself, Olric gone off to the inn with the others. now he's able to savor and lose himself in your taste without worry.

his head dips down, those maroon locks so soft between your fingers. little jolts of pleasure start to zip through you as he licks against your clit, giving it some much needed attention after your busy work week.

his tongue flattens and laps deeply from the bottom of your slit, dipping into your enterance, and up to circle your clit. again, and again, and again. its like he gets lost in a trance, his own heavy breaths and barely audible groans low in his throat.

"love this pussy.." he murmurs, his eyes fluttered shut as he laps and laps at your clit.

he lets out another low groan when your fingers tighten in his hair. spurred on by the slight sting and your pretty moans, he sucks lightly on your clit, flicking his tongue over it.

he doesnt notice that you've cum until your swatting him away, and its only then does he realize he had been lapping eagerly at you through your orgasm and had made a mess of his chin.

but he doesnt care. he give a muffled huff before hes prying your thighs apart again, nudging his tongue at your messy slit.

"mh.. you can give me another one, can't you?" he asks, eyes opening to look up at you with that faint drunk glimmer in them. "just one more?"

you bite your lip, letting him lap slowly at you. your eyes are locked, yours taking in his current state while he just gazes up at you as if in devotion. his tongue is slow at first, but it doesnt take long for him to get back into that trance of lapping at you, deep and eager.

"fu-uck.. so fuckin wet.." he groans, his hips lightly shifting against his mattress while he presses his tongue against your slit to lap up as much of your juice as possible. "this all for me..?"

you can only whine and nod in response, fingers buried in his hair.

his strong hands lock on your hips, holding you flush to his face while he gets lost, heavily panting while he makes out with your cunt.

"so perfect.. so fuckin perfect.." he moans, suckling on your sensitive clit once again.

it earns him another orgasm from you, which he eagerly lowers his head to lap up.

his eyes are dazed by now as he looks up at you, slowly licking you despite your squirms.