ϟleep tomorrow but tonight go crazy ❤

He doesn't have a particular criterion. He tells himself and others who dare to be nosy enough to inquire that he’ll simply know when he finds it. It also doesn't mean that he doesn't get pent up from time to time, taking on partners for the task, but never marking or breeding them.  

Years go by, but he never loses patience. It’s not like the matter ever required any. He knows that if it’s out there, the time will come. If not, then so be it.  

However, the time does align one day. It's not as obvious as he expected. He sees you for the first time, and he doesn't know—he thinks. He wonders. He inspects. 

The moment your eyes meet his, it's not an explosion. It's the slow up and down dance of a scale that's just had weight added to the other side. He's met plenty of others who he would consider spiritually equal, but the balance has never been quite right. The more he sees of you, the more he gets the feeling that the shape of your existence is distributed in such a way as to perfectly counterbalance his. The scale still bobs up and down like the changing of the tides. 

Just as the moon exposes itself more and more throughout its cycle, so does your allure. It’s the clarity of your tone, the tilt of your chin when you stand, the steadiness in your step, and the perception in your eyes. It’s the strangest thing for him to think the world needs more of that, and yet to want to keep it all for himself. He wonders if he simply hungers for prey.

The moon is days away from being full. You agree to train with him, but you both know it’s a test. Varka confirms that you’re just as much of a predator as he is. Unlike him, however, you don’t use your fangs. You’re the clever kind, reading his intentions, constricting his body with your legs, fogging his mind with your intoxicating, venomous scent until he believes he might lose himself. He almost stakes his claim in the moment, but there is yet to be placidity over the fulcrum. 

Like he always believed, time, location, and company align. The moon happens to not only be full, but also closer to Teyvat. Gravity is affected, albeit subtly. It's just enough to play on the masses on the scale. The push and pull dance comes to an end, and the animal lodged within him when he gained the title Knight of Boreas rouses in the moment of stillness and balance. 

The day of the full moon, Varka awakens to a different reflection. The blue of his eyes barely shines through the oily amber sheen coating his corneas. His jaw aches, making room for the growth of his fangs. Most notable are the inhuman ears poking out of his thicker and fuller hair—pointed, fuzzy, and so much more perceptive—and a tail matching the dusty gray of his ears. 

He isn’t concerned with the changes in appearance. The change to his internal balance takes the forefront of his concern. He’s hot. He’s hungry. He feels like he’s about to explode and collapse at the same time. There’s a thud of his heart that hits harder than the rest of the beats. Blood surges. Rushing. Rushing. Rushing until it’s as though something is going to tear in his abdomen. 

He bolts out of his quarters. Knights try to address him, but he can’t even register their faces. The moon is out, huge and bright in the sky, laughing at him. There’s an urge to yell at it, but he won’t stop for such a futile action. With the wind at his tail and instinct guiding him, a primordial voice persuades him to seek what will release him. It feeds his mind with primal images, making his steps heavier, but the sense of urgency stronger. 

By the time he gets to your quarters, only a shred of his human rationale remains to knock rather than force his way through the door—albeit a very insistent and alarming knock. When you open the door, the sight of your face causes another thud of his heartbeat. Varka reaches and grips the doorway to keep himself upright through the agony of his veins swelling. Saliva pools around his tongue, making him lick his lips and swallow. 

“Sorry,” he rasps, tail swishing behind him. “Needed to see you.” 

He steps in. You step back. He doesn’t take his eyes off you even as he closes the door behind him. Without fresh air, his scent quickly fills up the entire unit—heady, musky, peppery. Your pupils go wide as you shift your weight from foot to foot. It takes every ounce of will for him not to pounce. His blood surges again. It’s impossible to ignore the tightness in his pants. The outline of his cock throbs prominently, already staining the fabric with leaking dabs of precum. 

“I’m not quite feeling myself today,” he says as he shamelessly traces a finger over his erection, breath heavy and hitching. 

You wet your lips, unable to hide the intrigue in your eyes. Sweetness rolls off you in waves, spread by the subtle rubbing of your thighs together. 

“I can see that,” you say, taking in not only the lewd bulge in his pants, but his lupine features as well. “A rut, if I had to guess.” 

“Yeah? I’m no expert. My cock is killing me, though,” Varka says as it painfully throbs against his pants. “Got any idea how to get through it?” 

You take a deep breath, his scent clearly having an effect. 

“You’re the one who came to me. I suppose you already have an idea.”

True. In hindsight, he knew from the start what you would be to him, but that was when he was all human—they practice tact in such matters. But the beast speaks now, and he is not beholden to modest approaches. 

He takes another step forward. There’s nowhere to go with a wall behind you. 

“Say it,” he demands. “I need you to say it.” 

“And if I don’t? Will you take care of it by force?”

“Don’t,” he growls, flashing his canines. Every second that goes by has him throbbing harder, pouring out more and more of his scent, and making it impossible to ignore the subtle signs of your arousal. “I’m still a knight beholden to the code.”

“Oh?” You smile. “Let’s test that.” 

Varka’s eye twitches, though he supposes this is exactly why his instincts chose you. You peel yourself off the wall and remove your sweater, dropping it to the floor. Next to come off are your socks, then your top. It takes all of his pride and will to not dive after each clothing item and drown himself in the smell. The last item to come off is your pants. To him, it’s as though the lid has been lifted to a delicious roast, letting the tantalizing scent waft through the room. 

“Touching yourself?” You say, eyeing the way he palms his cock over his pants. He didn’t even notice what his hands were doing. 

“Don’t care. Gotta hold myself back somehow.” 

He can’t help it. The sight of you just in your underwear is mind-melting. He has never once hated his title of Knight of Boreas, but right now, it feels like a curse. The title is chained to his nature by magic—binding him to the honor of a knight but with the will of a beast. It’s as though you and the moon are one in the same, taunting the beast and probing the knight. 

“I’m not cruel. I just want to enjoy the final steps of our mating dance,” you say, once again, wetting your lips. 

Varka growls low, nostrils flaring at the acknowledgment of what this is. He grasps his cock more tightly, noting the unfamiliar form of a knot forming at the base. 

“You say that, but I’m dying over here,” he says.

“So dramatic. Fine then, I’ll wrap it up,” you tease with a light laugh and cross your arms over your chest. “On your knees.” 

“What?” He huffs, taken aback that you would make such a demand of him right now. Surely you’re—

“On your knees,” you repeat, though this time you reach down and run a finger over the damp fabric of your panties. “Knights shouldn’t have an issue bending the knee.” 

The beast submits to the code of the knight. Varka lowers himself to the floor, wincing as his cock struggles against the shift of his pants. You step forward, and he reaches out to grab the soft meat of your thighs. He looks up at you, patience and frustration warring in his eyes. The smell of your arousal is a cooked steak in front of a starving animal. 

“Go on,” you say, running your hand over his blond hair and a soft, pointed ear. 

He shoves his face right in, pressing his nose right into your clit, inhaling the intoxicating scent that plunges straight down to his aching cock. So much precum soaks the front of his pants that if not for the furious desire for release, he would think he’d already let go of a load. His mouth waters, urging him to part his lips and lap up the juices soaking through your panties. He fully wraps his arms around your thighs, forcing you to clutch into his hair for balance as he hungrily indulges in the aroma.

He swears he can feel your clit swelling against his tongue as a mixture of your juices and his saliva drips down the back of his throat. His hips move on their own, desperate for any friction, even if it’s just the damp inside of his pants. Curses get lost in the incessant movement of his mouth against your clothed cunt. He needs to fuck you, to breed you, but he can’t tear himself away from the succor of eating you out. 

“V-Varka!” You cry out between moans and ragged breaths. “That’s—mmmm! I’m ready. Please.”

He stops, tongue still pressed to your clit. It’s as though a blade has been lifted from his neck. Everything is more clear and in focus. The beast can move freely. 

He doesn’t waste another moment, letting go only to tear off his sweat-soaked coat and tunic.  He pulls you down to the ground with him, rolling over top of you with a feral grin. He’s tuned in to everything: the attraction in your eyes, the shine of your lips, the way your chest rises and falls, the sweet aroma of your need for him—the need for what he’s about to do. 

“Last chance to stop this,” he says as a courtesy. He’s almost certain he can’t stop. “Otherwise, I’m not going anywhere until I know for sure that you’re carrying my pups.” 

You swallow, bringing his attention to your neck and the fact that he wants nothing more than to sink his fangs into it. 

“That’s the plan,” you say with a playful smile and small nod. 

It shouldn’t be as sexy as he finds it. He curses and uses one hand to undo his belt and pants, breathing in relief when his cock is free of the confines. He kicks and pushes the clothing away. Finally, he can indulge in having you in his arms. 

He kisses to steal your breath. You kiss to electrify his nerves. His tongue dives between your lips, rolling and licking against yours. His hard, throbbing cock is pressed to your belly, spreading an obscene amount of precum over your skin as he mindlessly moves his hips against you to the sound of your moans. He craves more and more—your nails clawing at the scarred skin of his shoulders, the way your tongue sends jolts through his body, the sweet and wanton sounds from your throat. 

Reaching between your bodies, he finds the front of your bra and pulls at it, letting the edges and straps dig into your skin until it snaps. The feel of your hardened nipples against his palm is the only thing that coerces his lips to leave yours in favor of sucking on your tits. The way your chest arches off the ground while your nails scratch against his scalp has him slipping further and further into the heat of his rut. He keeps suckling on your nipple, convinced that you’ve already come undone by the way your whole body trembles and the debauched cry you let out. 

“Please, please! I want it, please,” you beg, squirming your hips to press and rub the leaky head of his cock into the wettest patch of your underwear. Your pussy is practically making out with the tip through the fabric with the way it clenches, hoping to pull him in with every squeeze. 

“Yeah? Weren’t you the one who wanted to prolong the mating dance?” He teases, though it’s hard not to completely give in to your pleas. 

“And you,” you say, still desperately rubbing yourself against him, “You said you were dying.” 

He chuckles and moves his face to kiss the corner of your lips. It’s true, though he feels more in control now, calmed by the fact that he knows he’ll be inside of you and relieving the ache in his entire core. 

“Still have it in you to be cheeky with me? We’ll see how much you have to say once you’re filled to the brim with me,” he says as he helps you out by pressing his hips into you, letting you feel the length of his cock against your folds. 

He swiftly rips away your panties that might as well be wet tissue at this point. Leaning back on his haunches, he takes a moment to admire you, his mate, and the swell and shine of your lips, your pert nipples, the trail of precum on your stomach, and most importantly, the mess smeared on your thighs. 

He can’t help himself. He grabs your legs and pushes them up so he can bury his face in your cunt unobstructed. You cry out for him to hold on, that you just want him to fuck you already, but he can hardly hear over the wet sounds of him devouring your essence. He adjusts his hold, gripping your thighs and ass from below, using his strength to pump your hips up and down, from nose to tongue to chin and back up again. Only when he’s completely covered in your scent is he satisfied. 

“That’s more like it,” he says, cheeks and chin shining with slick and spit. He turns his head and nips the inside of your thigh, earning a weak yelp from you. 

He moves up your body, stopping to kiss the space beneath your belly button, knowing it’ll be home to his pups. The prospect excites him. He’s always known he’s been cut out for being a father, serving as a patriarchal figure for the nation and all, but right now, he can’t imagine the lives that don’t exist yet. It’s the mental image of you swollen and plump with his young that sends a surge of thrill through him, right down to his already impossibly stiff cock. 

“Fuck, I can’t wait,” Varka rasps, shifting to nestle his hips between your thighs. 

The underside of his cock slips and slides against you, dragging the frenulum up and down over your clit. Both of you pant in anticipation as he brings his face to yours, leaning down and swiping his dripping tongue against the tip of yours. He drops his weight, devouring you in a kiss. The tip of his cock catches your entrance while you grind into each other, but slips away. 

However, just like the dance of the scale, everything falls even and perfectly aligned. He pushes himself in slowly. It’s welcoming despite the thickness. You gasp and shudder, rolling your head against the floor until he steadies you with his hands and another deep kiss. Soon enough, he’s settled in up to the bulb of his knot. 

“Fuuuuck,” he swears against your lips with a low rumble. “Fuckin’ perfect fit.”

Even though you’re completely stretched, you still manage to squeeze and pulse around him, beckoning him to move. He obliges, not even attempting to take it slow. He can’t take it anymore, and he knows you can. The wetness, the way your cunt grips him, your delicious moans and cries, all tell him you want this just as bad as he does. 

“Varka!” You cry out, adding red streaks to the scars on his back. “Gonna go crazy!” 

“That’s it. Scream my name. Let everyone know who’s fucking you, that you’re getting mated and bred. They’re all gonna know,” he huffs against your neck, teasing it with grazes of his sharp teeth. 

He drives himself into you harder, matching the volume of your wanton moans with loud slaps of his balls and knot against the sticky wetness of your cunt. He lifts his head and watches you lose control—unable to keep your eyes focused or form words. The tight grip of your walls tells him what your lips can’t. 

“Gonna come already? Do it! Come for me, and I’ll shove this fat knot inside of you. Give you what you really want.” 

He pushes himself up on his knees so he can grab one of your legs and hold it to his body for leverage. It hits different in this position. The curve of his cock has the head rubbing at some insane spot deep inside you. You desperately grab for anything to hold onto, but find nothing. Varka gets a clear view of how your back arches off the ground, the way your chest heaves, and your face helplessly succumbing to the mind-scrambling pleasure. He can even see your foot flexing and scrunching out of the corner of his eye as he presses his cheek to your extended calf. 

“Yeah? Feelin’ that good on my cock?” He coos. “Wait ‘til you feel my knot.”

He doesn’t slow down, determined to prolong your blissful state and bring you there over and over again. His effort is rewarded from the orgasm. Your cunt is greedy, practically sucking in his knot without him having to press in much harder. 

“Fuuucking—mmmggf!” He groans. “You really wanted it, yeah? Want my knot and my pups that bad?”

He picks up your other leg and leans forward, folding you in half and letting his weight push his cock even deeper. His hips are locked into yours by the knot, but he still grinds into you, nearly kissing your cervix with the very tip. 

“You feel that? My cum is going straight into your womb as soon as I bust, and you're gonna take it all. No going back. How do you feel about that?” 

You don’t answer. However, the walls of your hungry cunt squeeze and massage his shaft and knot, milking him for all he’s promised you. Varka sees stars, making him chuckle at how badly you want it and how close he is to giving it to you. He stirs his hips, rocking his sealed cock into you. You grip even tighter around him, panting and whining. 

“Ohhh fuck,” he groans and releases your legs from the press he has you in. 

You wrap your legs around his lower back, ankles locked by his tail, pulling him in as close as he can get. He sinks into your body, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck and licking your pulse. So warm, and wet, and needy, and sweet. He hears you attempting to form words amongst your whimpering. 

“What was that?” He says into your neck. 

“Nnnnn! Ahh! I….Ple-! Mmmm! Pups. Give me pups!” 

Varka’s eyes flash. His knot swells impossibly tighter. He rubs his cock inside you as much as he can move it, feeling the slick warmth of your pussy all around. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Gonna fill you up—knock you up!” 

One more quiver of your cunt is the final stroke his cock needs to release spurt after spurt of thick, white-hot cum directly into your most fertile region. Your body shakes in his hold as you gasp and moan at the sensation of being pumped full. He’s never had a release like this. He can’t stop, as though it’s a limitless volume of seed pouring out. He muffles a proud groan by biting the soft side of your neck, marking you and claiming you in more ways than one. 

“Fuuuck!” He growls, releasing the bite on your neck. “That’s it. Take it all. Get fuckin’ nice and pregnant for me.” 

He blissfully laps up the thin trickling of blood from the bite. His hips twitch and contract as the final gushes of cum empty themselves inside of you. He’s spent, but still keeps you locked in place and plugged up with his cock. 

Slowly, you begin to relax your hold on him, letting your feet find the floor and your hands slide down to rest on his shoulders. It’s challenging, like waking up in the morning, to lift his head from your neck. However, getting to gaze up your face in the afterglow is worth it. Both of you are so ruined with strands of hair stuck to the layers of sweat and whatever other fluids likely spread around. He thinks you’re more beautiful than the moon. 

“Feeling better?” You ask, still finding your voice and breath. 

Varka chuckles. He does feel a bit of his human sense coming back to him. 

“I feel something, that’s for sure. Are you alright?” 

“I’m alright. Confused, but alright,” you say with a tired smile.

“Confused?” He’s running on too much of a high to feel guilty, but it isn’t the description he wanted to hear. 

“Well, I mean, you literally turned into a bit of an animal.” 

Varka blushes and finally pushes himself off and out of you so he can run a hand over his lupine ears. He never stopped to question how or why he ended up in this state. For whatever reason, it makes enough sense to him. It feels right. 

“Sore too,” you say as you slowly sit up and try to loosen the parts of your body that were in contact with the floor. You wince as you stretch your neck, bringing your fingers up to touch the bite mark. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he says sheepishly. He’s not sorry. 

He reaches out and pulls you into his chest. Even if he’s not sorry, he feels the strong urge to comfort you in any way he can. With large, rough hands, he smooths over your arms and back, resting his cheek on the crown of your head. 

“I’ll move us somewhere more comfortable in a moment before we do it again. You can bite me, too, this time.” 

“Again?” You question, though you don’t sound repulsed by the suggestion. 

“Well, yeah. The moon is still full. We have plenty of time before it’s even at its highest in the sky,” he says as his lip twitches into a feral smirk. “And then we’re really going to be in for it.” 

a/n: euuuughh blehhhh nobody look at me. thank you van morrison for the title.